As Wenrui and his group draw closer, they see three figures clashing in the air—one against two—moving so fast they blur in and out of sight.

The sky trembles under each collision, flashes of fire and stone lighting the clouds.

Wenrui’s gaze shifts to the two enormous Weird Bodies hovering motionless above the battlefield, and confusion fills his mind.

“What’s the point of releasing Weird Bodies? Just to intimidate the enemy?” he wonders aloud.

Shen Yimo, whose cultivation has reached half-step Great Warlock, closes his eyes, his spirit expanding like ripples through the air. “That’s not the real battle. Watch with your spirit,” he says calmly.

The others follow his lead, eyes closing one by one.

Wenrui hesitates for a moment before doing the same.

When his spirit spreads, the illusion of the three figures fades—and before him, three masses of energy clash in raw form.

A vast crimson light pulses with blood and fire, a smaller silver light sharp as a sword, and opposite them, a swirling multicoloured energy that shifts between earth, wind, fire, and water.

Each surge is an attempt to dominate the surrounding weird energy, the shockwaves cracking through the spirit space like thunder.

Bai Ruchen’s voice echoes softly, “Jingxuan’s trying to forge the Great Warlock path through four elements at once. He’s too ambitious.”

Shen Yimo replies, “In a year, he’s reached a strength most can’t touch in a lifetime. Ambition suits him.”

Gue Xinlan adds, “Even if he fails, he’s young enough to start again.”

Bai Ruchen nods. “He’s only twenty-three. There’s still time to learn from failure.”

Their eyes open as a deep rumble shakes the west. From the storm clouds, a massive thunder spider descends, its sixteen eyes glowing as it hangs from webs of lightning. Then comes another—a great lightning serpent coiling through the clouds.

From both sides, Dark Sun–realm warlocks of the royal court and enemy factions arrive, each glancing warily at one another before turning toward the battle.

Above, Jingxuan fights against the two with calm precision.

His control over the shifting elemental energy keeps him slightly ahead—but not enough to end it.

The clash of weird energies turns the sky into a storm of light and destruction, and though Jingxuan’s strength and elemental understanding eclipse theirs, his path is not yet formed, so he cannot finish them.

Other warlocks, having reached peak Dark Sun, then forged their Way and Weird Body together, while Jingxuan—who formed his Weird Body before breaking Dark Sun because of his comprehension of weird energy—still lacks an established Way and finds their resistance stubborn.

He knows ultimate victory would be his—his power will outpace theirs once his Way is set—but for now, the balance holds, and he pushes to overwhelm their space.

Jingxuan punches Zhi Ning in the chest with bone-shattering force, cracking ribs as the man crashes to the ground, then blocks Zhi Yan’s fan-blade with his other hand and stops a waist strike, pivoting his heel to slam into Zhi Yan’s jaw and shove him back.

Suddenly, the energy-dimension tilts: the small silver sword-essence erupts and, bearing together with the crimson blaze, forces Jingxuan’s pressure to recoil.

Another Weird Body materialises—a skeletal armoured figure brandishing twin sword-hands—while Zhi Ning lifts from the ground and rejoins Zhi Yan, the two now fighting with renewed ferocity.

Though both are only slightly weaker than him, Jingxuan curses inwardly at the timing—why must a villain break through in the middle of a life-and-death clash, or is he the villain instead—and forces himself to think of his Way as the battle rages on.

Realising the fight has reached an impasse, Jingxuan calls out, “Let’s stop for today; neither side can finish this now.”

Zhi Yan and Zhi Ning refuse, speaking through spirit-link: Zhi Yan suggests pausing, but Zhi Ning snarls that stopping would doom their mission and urges no mercy.

Zhi Ning’s eyes flash as he scans the valley and shouts, “Everyone—come help us kill him! We’ll not get such a chance again,” summoning the rebels into the storm.

Chaos erupts instantly. Rebels and weirds surge toward Jingxuan, while the imperial court’s forces descend to shield him, and the entire sky becomes a battlefield of clashing powers. Amid the frenzy, another half-step Great Warlock—Lei Zhiyi—joins the fray, and the tide shifts against him.

Jingxuan’s control over weird energy begins to falter as the three synchronise their assault. His aura flickers, space closing around him, defeat looming like a tightening snare.

Yet his expression stays calm. He knows true defeat is impossible—he could, at any moment, summon the immortal source of his past life. But doing so would shatter his plan to forge the balance of positive and negative thunder.

So he endures. Each parry, each counterattack, is measured, deliberate as he searches for another path. Two remain: to force his breakthrough into the Dark Sun Realm now, or to forge his Way.

“I haven’t completed the Earth Demon Body Refining Technique,” he thinks, blocking a strike that splits the clouds. “But I have a few hours before my energy is fully sealed.”

He chooses to forge his Way.

In this world, they call it Way, the foundation of a Great Warlock—but for Jingxuan, it is no different from the immortal source he once held, only smaller, more fragile, like a sun reduced to a grain of dust.

He already planned to fuse positive and negative thunder in this life, and for that, the first step is to unite the four elements. To do so, he needs a single concept—one that can contain them all.

While Jingxuan continues his battle, Wenrui faces his own struggle. He clashes with a Dark Sun Realm warlock from the rebels, only to be ambushed by another—the same warlock he once defeated in the ancient ruin castle. Though their cultivation paths differ, Wenrui’s realm stands one level below his two opponents.

His National Martial Art grants him an edge against the Warlock way, allowing him to fight evenly at first, but against two Dark Sun Warlocks, the balance breaks. Their combined spells twist the air, pushing him back, cracks spreading across the ground beneath his feet.

As the fight rages, an eyeball floats high above, its pupil reflecting Wenrui’s every move.

The scene it records transmits to a dimly lit chamber far away, where a mirror shimmers on the wall—showing Wenrui’s battle in real time.

Two figures sit before the glass, crowned in gold and wrapped in white-and-gold robes, their faces lit by the mirror’s cold light.

The younger brother frowns, watching Wenrui stagger beneath the two attackers: “Brother, I don’t think he can handle both of them.”

The elder’s gaze never leaves the fighting image; he answers without alarm, “Why worry? He will not die—if he’s in true danger, Kratos will take over his body, and remember our goal.”

Silence slides across the younger man’s face, reluctance written in every line, and the elder notices it.

“You hesitate at my method of sacrifice?” the elder asks softly, reading the doubt.

The younger says nothing; his expression answers for him.

The elder exhales, the sound heavy with age and calculation: “Little brother, do you think I want to use such a method? There is no other way—I feel this thousand-year turmoil may be my end.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from NovelBin. Please report it.

He leans closer to the mirror and continues, “I do not care for my own life so much as I care for you, our family, and those who worship me; to keep them safe, I must resurrect Kratos.”

The younger swallows and asks, “Brother, are you sure Kratos will stand with us?”

The elder’s face hardens for a heartbeat. “I am not sure.”

“Then why proceed?” the younger presses.

“Because the three before us are not only our enemies but his as well,” the elder says, voice calm and absolute, “and if Kratos wishes not to be sealed again after coming out, he will have every reason to stand with us.”

The younger raises his hand and channels divine energy into the mirror. Its surface ripples, shifting to show Jingxuan locked in battle against three opponents.

“Brother,” the younger says, narrowing his eyes, “what’s going on with the descendant of the Ji family? In just a year, his cultivation rose to the peak of the Moon Realm, and he even formed his weird body.”

The elder’s brows draw together in thought. “According to Kratos, he’s a god-stage cultivator undergoing reincarnation.”

“Then isn’t he a better option than Kratos?” the younger asks quietly.

“I would like to win him over too,” the elder replies after a pause, “but I know nothing about him.”

The younger’s tone turns curious. “He might know the method to become a god.”

“He may,” the elder concedes, “but why would he share it with us?”

“Then we should find out what he wants,” the younger suggests.

The elder hums, gaze steady. “He’s marrying one of our descendants. When he comes to the capital, we’ll meet him.”

The younger nods, and with another pulse of divine energy, the mirror’s view shifts back to Wenrui’s battle.

Wenrui’s body is covered in wounds, his breath shallow. A crimson blast from the Demon Hall warlock slams into him, hurling him into a massive tree that splinters on impact. He crashes to the ground, rolling down the rocky slope before stopping with a groan.

Teeth clenched, Wenrui forces himself up, blood dripping down his arm. The two warlocks advance through the broken forest, their auras pressing on him like a tide.

Then a cold voice whispers in his mind—Kratos’s voice. “Borrow my power, and you can easily defeat them.”

Wenrui straightens, his arm limp at his side, eyes sharp despite the pain. “No,” he answers inwardly.

A thunderbolt slams into him before the word fades, the rebel warlock’s spell sending him tumbling down the slope again.

They no longer dare close combat—keeping their distance, hurling spells to crush him from afar.

Wenrui staggers to his feet, only to be blasted off the slope again.

He crashes onto a narrow path between two mountains, dust and broken stone raining around him. Lying there, he wonders if he’ll have to borrow Kratos’s power after all.

He clenches his teeth. The thought alone chills him.

Borrowing Kratos’s power doesn’t just alter his body—it reshapes his entire spirit space.

If that happens, Kratos will have a foothold strong enough to take him over completely.

Wenrui knows he cannot let that happen, not even to survive this battle.

Groaning, he pushes himself up, his thoughts racing through pain.

He’s in the Small Heavenly Realm now—the next step, the True Heavenly Realm—where one’s way is truly forged.

The Small Heavenly Realm mirrors the Moon Realm of warlocks, but the True Heavenly Realm corresponds not to the Dark Sun Realm but to the Great Warlock Realm, for both paths demand the creation of a way.

His advancement will skip the Dark Sun stage entirely—straight from the Moon to the Great Warlock level.

A blast of energy slams him into a rock, shattering it. He coughs blood as mocking voices drift through the dust.

“He’s like a cockroach—won’t die no matter how much you crush him.”

“Should we finish him up close?”

“No. He might still have some strength left.”

Another spell hits him, burning across his chest.

His knees tremble, but his mind sharpens. He understands now—he needs a new realm, a step that will strengthen him before he reaches the True Heavenly Realm.

Cultivating within the Small Heavenly Realm will eventually bring him to the Dark Sun equivalent, but that would take too long.

He needs an evolution, a realm to bridge the gap—a stage that increases raw strength while maintaining the progression toward the True Heavenly Realm.

He closes his eyes amid the chaos, tuning out the pain and the spells raining around him. His breath shudders, but his mind steadies—sharp, focused.

The warlocks form an ocean in their spirit space; his path lies within his body. He must forge his own sea within the Dantian.

Inside him, the white sphere of Qi floats at the centre of his Dantian, dim and trembling.

He channels his will inward, pressing it against the sphere, moulding it like molten metal.

At the same time, he draws in the weird energy from the world around him, filtering it through sheer will.

The twisted will of the weirds screams as he crushes it, purifying the energy before allowing it to merge with his Qi.

The white sphere begins to compress. Its surface ripples and folds, spinning faster with every turn.

Each revolution releases waves of energy that surge through his body—mending torn muscles, knitting shattered bones, and strengthening his organs.

He endures another hit; blood spills from his mouth, but he doesn’t falter. His consciousness dives deeper. The Qi sphere tightens until it quivers on the edge of collapse.

Then, with a soundless tremor, it fractures—splitting into countless motes of light.

Each mote condenses further, shrinking into a single point, smaller than dust, brighter than flame.

His Qi no longer flows as a mist or sphere—it becomes atomic, each particle pulsing with immense density and purity.

When the transformation completes, a shockwave erupts from within.

The atoms of Qi resonate in harmony, sending a deep, resonant pulse through his veins. His flesh vibrates, and the old limits of his body shatter.

Every cell drinks the energy, evolving—bones harden like divine steel, blood thickens with vitality, nerves hum with power.

He exhales once, steam rising from his mouth like smoke. The pain dulls. The mountain trembles faintly beneath him.

The next spell that strikes him scatters harmlessly against the faint shimmer of light surrounding his skin. His body—reborn, reforged—has ascended into a new realm.

Before the two warlocks can even react, Wenrui moves.

His figure flickers, vanishing from sight, and in the next instant, he appears before them.

His fist drives into one warlock’s abdomen, the impact rippling through flesh and bone, while his leg sweeps upward, kicking the other square on the jaw.

A dull crack echoes through the air.

The warlock struck in the jaw falls lifeless to the ground, his neck twisted unnaturally.

The other, clutching his stomach, collapses moments later, his organs ruptured under the internal shock.

Wenrui lowers his head, his breathing rough and deep. Those two strikes—each carrying the full force of his newly forged realm—drain the last of his gathered strength.

As his breathing steadies, he channels his energy to heal his wounds, strange currents of Qi threading through torn veins and cracked bones.

When he looks up again, his eyes narrow.

Above, the sky churns with chaos. At least ten Weird Bodies now clash in the storming heavens, their roars shaking the mountains. Another high-level weird—its presence suffocating—has joined the fray.

His allies are faltering. Each of his group members is surrounded, besieged by two or even three opponents.

The imperial court had sent only four Dark Sun–realm warlocks, and the Heart Mirror members had added four more, but even their combined strength cannot hold the tide. Without them, each warlock from the court would face four or five enemies alone.

Wenrui clenches his fists, his gaze fixed on the storm raging above. His strength has risen—but so has the scale of the war.

The imperial court commands hundreds of times more warlocks than the rebels, yet this is the Divine Domain, where most of the empire’s forces are stationed at the borders or beyond.

The court had planned to suppress and reclaim the Thunderstorm Mountains using the Divine Army—but plans seldom endure chaos.

Before the army could even arrive, the final battle among the high-level warlocks had already begun.

Wenrui scans the battlefield, gauging where he might turn the tide.

The half-step Great Warlock battlefields are beyond his reach—his strength has grown, but not enough to face them yet.

Then, before he can move, the sky trembles. Jingxuan’s Weird Body—the armoured, four-armed figure—separates its hands from the prayer position.

In one palm materialises a stone cube pulsing with the essence of earth.

In another, a spinning sphere of water gleams like liquid glass.

The third hand births a miniature cyclone, and the last holds a flickering wisp of flame.

His movement draws every gaze; the battlefield stills as all eyes turn toward him. Jingxuan brings the four elements together before him.

The moment they touch, a violent surge of energy erupts—earth, water, wind, and fire fuse into a single, violet brilliance.

The world falls silent.

Every cultivator feels it—a suffocating weight clamping down on the weird energy around them, as though unseen chains have locked the air itself.

Then, just as suddenly, the pressure fades, leaving only trembling hearts and the violet energy swirling in Jingxuan’s hands.

Fear replaces awe.

None can name what they are seeing, nor understand what “way” Jingxuan has formed.

Then, before anyone can speak, the Weird Bodies of Zhi Yan, Zhi Ning, and Lei Zhiyi shatter in the energy dimension.

Their forms burst apart, and the three cough blood, crashing toward the ground as control over their bodies collapses.

Cries erupt across the sky. “Brother!” “Captain!” “Zhi Yan!”—their allies shout in panic.

But Jingxuan does not stop.

The violet energy in front of him sharpens into countless spears that tear through the air, piercing the fading Weird Bodies and striking the three high-level weirds watching from above.

The weirds, unlike the Weird Bodies, do not explode—they scream, thrashing in agony as the violet energy burns through their essence, driving them into madness.

The half-step Great Warlocks, already weakened by their shattered Weird Bodies, are left broken and bleeding.

Jingxuan had targeted their flaw—an unperfected Weird Body.

If they had truly completed them, they would already stand as Great Warlocks, but now they could only fall. Seeing their strongest warriors crushed, chaos spreads among the rebels.

The imperial side presses forward.

With their leaders crippled and Jingxuan advancing relentlessly, the tide turns completely.

The Lei family, sensing the outcome, switches sides, attacking the rebels from within. The rest flee or are cut down before escape.

When the battle finally ends, thunderclouds scatter, leaving a blood-stained silence over the mountains.

Jingxuan convenes briefly with the other commanders and, according to their agreement, begins construction of two fortresses to secure the region.

Though they have won the battle, the true objective—purging the weirds from the Thunderstorm Mountains—remains unfinished. It will require the full strength of the divine army.

Returning to his fortress, Jingxuan meets the princess inside the newly built hall.

She congratulates him, her eyes soft but weary from war. “When are we leaving?” she says, “Our wedding is in a week.”

Jingxuan gives her a date, but his thoughts are elsewhere. After she leaves, he enters seclusion, sitting cross-legged within his retreat chamber.

His goal is clear—he will perfect the tenth stage of the Earth Demon Refining Body, then break through the eleventh, and not emerge until he reaches the twelfth stage and steps into the Dark Sun Warlock realm.