CHAPTER 40: CHAPTER 40

Jade pendant?

"This is...?" Ethan lifted the intricately carved trinket between his fingers, eyes narrowing in fascination.

The pendant was forged from purple jade, a shade deep and regal, the surface polished to a luster that caught the flickering candlelight.

A sinuous purple dragon curled across its face, engraved with fine detail that suggested ancient craftsmanship steeped in rich symbolism.

The cold stone was warm in Ethan’s palm, pulsing faintly with a life beyond mere rock.

The moment Ethan’s fingers brushed its surface, he felt a subtle draw—energy whipping through his veins as though the pendant called to the primordial flow of qi and blood within him.

The currents accelerated, swelling with renewed vigor.

"Hmm... it actively hastens the circulation of Qi and blood," he thought, lips twitching into an appreciative smile.

"An excellent treasure for cultivation. This should be made with a expensive material."

Eager to test its worth, Ethan extended a finger, attempting to imprint his spiritual mark. Almost instantly, a familiar voice echoed within his mind.

"This purple jade pendant is my gift to you," the voice said softly.

"Use it as a token within the Azure Origin Dao Sect. Should you encounter danger or need aid, show this pendant—doors closed now will open for you, no matter what doors you talk about."

"The scroll is a heavenly martial art I chanced upon during my travels. It harmonizes perfectly with physical cultivation, so I entrust it to you."

The unmistakable timbre belonged to none other than Mr. Burn. Ethan’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. When had Mr. Burn slipped this jade pendant and the scroll into his hands? He recalled sharing wine just last night, and yet now here were these priceless gifts.

Could it be a calculated plan, carefully arranged in advance?

No. That made no sense. This was their first meeting, at least for him.

Why would a man carry expensive gifts for a stranger without preamble?

Another unsettling thought stabbed—if the pendant bore Mr. Burn’s signature, yet no spiritual presence lingered, could it be that the commander had been surveilling him secretly all along?

Ethan’s eyes narrowed, mind weaving through possibilities. Perhaps this seemingly casual encounter was no accident but part of a long game.

The presence of Lilith, the interest of the sect—all connected by threads only now partially revealed.

Regardless, he trusted Mr. Burn had no ill intent. A man of such age and strength could end him with a mere finger; the kindness was unfeigned.

Resolute, Ethan stowed the purple jade pendant carefully within his inventory space.

The scroll awaited his unhurried attention.

Details proclaimed it a martial technique of heavenly grade—rare and precious above most others he’d encountered.

His collection already boasted the Celestial Jade Scripture, a saint-grade technique of monumental complexity. He did not have any other Heavenly Martial arts, Even after thousands of system missions completed.

His curiosity sharpened.

Spiritual techniques came in many forms in this world. Some required particular spiritual roots, others cold mental acuity. Some talents blossomed from the pure strength of the physical body, but at the all spiritual techniques required spiritual energy.

Spiritual techniques was prized, yes, for its versatile applications and sheer power. Many cultivators abandoned the grind of physical practices upon reaching Qi refinement, instead devoting themselves to the mysterious paths of spirit, energy, or soul.

But Martial arts where made for the physical cultivation, Using martial arts didn’t require any spiritual energy, the only requirement was a strong physical body ,the refinement of flesh and blood alone, while often ridiculed as a perversion or oddity, contained depths lost to all but a few.

Long ago, ancient texts described a complete system of physical cultivation—one that harmonized muscle, bone, blood, and qi to transcend mortal limits.

Sadly, those scrolls were lost, scattered to time’s abyss.

Ethan mused that in that distant, forgotten age, physical cultivators had realms and stages as lofty as today’s spirit schools.

If he could recover even a fragment, if the scroll before him contained but a sliver of that heritage, the path ahead would blaze with hidden light.

Resolute, he unfurled the scroll with hands steady yet eager.

A faint glow traced its seal. Martial arts of this stature granted protection: only those whose mental strength could meet the challenge could unlock their secrets.

Pouring his Mental engergy into the seal, Ethan felt chains of limitation melt away as the words lifted. Runes, characters, and diagrams floated before his inner vision—letters streaming like blood-red rivers, etching into memories with the clarity of divine lightning.

The knowledge flooded his mind, the arcane choreography of cultivation and combat, the wisdom and techniques encoded in the scroll filling every corner of his consciousness.

Suddenly, scenes projected—visions vivid and true:

He found himself high atop a canyon cliff, the wind roaring like ancient drums. Below him spread jagged stone and plunging precipices.

There, a figure stood prone beneath a shadowed cloak—tall, slender, cloaked in black with hints of frost-blue embroidery. The man’s face was veiled by hat and shadow; only a sharp chin peeked from the gloom. His arms wrapped in dark bandages, formidable yet mysterious.

He drew in breath slow and deep, gathering rivers of qi and the steady pulse of blood into a fisted right hand.

Black mist surged, wrapping and thrashing in tandem with his exhaled will.

In moments, the swirling mass took shape—a colossal palm, forged from blackened shadows and the crackling fire of blood energy.

With a deafening roar, the massive hand blasted forth, smashing into distant mountain peaks with furious strength.

The earth trembled, rock cleaved, and stone collapsed—the thunderous devastation a whispered legend, the breath of gods unleashed.

But the power did not cease.

The man wielded the spectral palm like a continuous wave, swiping aside hills and rending courage from southern forests.

Meteoric debris scattered, fiery shards cascading like final judgment.

"This... this is heavenly-grade martial art: the Black Mist Palm!" Ethan breathed in awe.

Each movement brimmed with unholy vigor, weaving demonic energies with devastating worldly force.