Tunde still had subtle flashbacks from his first tempering process—the crude, rushed version Thorne had forced upon him at the start of his cultivation journey. That brutal awakening into the madness of power left a lingering distaste in his mind. Staring at the large furnace before him as Ifa meticulously sorted through the gathered resources didn’t help. His lips curled slightly in unease.

  “Is there any reason we’re doing this outside?” he asked, eyes shifting between Ifa and the furnace.

  “Not unless you want Heaven’s Crucible to completely demolish the building so generously provided by the clan,” Ifa replied with a knowing smile.

  “I doubt we have enough lumens to pay for the damages.”

  Tunde sighed, realizing the logic behind it. Zhu, however, remained as enthusiastic as ever, his eyes practically sparkling as he watched Ifa at work.

  “Uncle Ifa is about to refine Tier 5 pills for you!” the divine beast declared, grinning ear to ear.

  Despite his more mature form, at heart—and often in mind—Zhu was still a child. His excitement was infectious, but Tunde had learned to temper his own expectations.

  “Since when were you an alchemist?” he asked, folding his arms.

  Ifa chuckled as he casually inspected a handful of rare ingredients.

  “Not quite,” he admitted.

  “But the pill refinement techniques and elixirs vital to our people were engraved into my very being long ago.”

  Tunde let out a tired sigh.

  “And when exactly were you planning to pass that knowledge on?”

  “When the time was right.” Ifa’s answer was so resolute, so final, that it had Tunde glancing at him for a long moment before shaking his head in exasperation.

  Nearby, Zhu was practically drooling over the resources laid out before them. His jade-colored hair shimmered under the dimming sky as he examined each rare ingredient with the same greedy fascination one would expect from a seasoned alchemist.

  “Essence crystals, star fruit, heart lotus, flame seeds…” Zhu’s eyes widened with every new treasure revealed.

  “These must have cost a fortune!”

  Tunde shrugged.

  “The clan will pay for them all.”

  Zhu pondered for a moment before muttering,

  “Perhaps I could become—”

  “No,” Tunde cut him off, already knowing where that train of thought was headed.

  Ifa chuckled.

  “Ah, I see the greed of alchemists has already begun to set in.”

  Without further delay, Ifa raised his hand, and with the precision of a master, his aura lifted the precious materials into the air. He guided them directly into the furnace with a controlled grace, each ingredient settling into the cauldron at just the right moment. Then, a burst of brown essence flames erupted from his palm, flowing seamlessly into the furnace’s core.

  Tunde watched, transfixed. He had never seen Ifa use these techniques before. The old master moved through unfamiliar hand seals with a fluidity that suggested years—no, centuries—of practice. The furnace groaned in response, its metal frame glowing under the heat, while above them, the sky darkened.

  His Ethra Sight flared to life, revealing pure Ethra coalescing, drawn downward as if summoned by an unseen force. The energy funneled into the furnace, swirling within it like a living thing. Ifa remained focused, his hands never stopping as he added elixirs, herbs, and even finely ground Ethra crystals into the mix.

  It went on for some time, the furnace fluctuating between violent tremors and eerie calm. One moment, it looked ready to explode; the next, it simmered down as Ifa continued his relentless refinement.

  Then, in one fluid movement, Ifa lowered himself to the ground, folding his legs beneath him. His hands kept moving, his breath steady, his aura unwavering.

  Zhu inhaled sharply beside him. His body stiffened, eyes widening before he abruptly dropped into a seated position, mirroring Ifa’s posture.

  Tunde frowned.

  “What’s happening to him?”

  “He’s grasping the foundations of alchemy and pill refinement,” Ifa answered, his voice tight with strain.

  Zhu’s jade-colored hair pulsed with a radiant glow. His breathing evened out as an unseen understanding settled within him. Tunde watched with silent wonder.

  Above them, a single crack of lightning tore through the sky. The bolt speared down, striking the furnace with a deafening boom, illuminating it from within. Then, just as quickly as it came, the energy was absorbed, the furnace shuddering under the force.

  When the process finally ended, the furnace let out a final hiss of steam. Its lid rattled open, and five glowing pills floated outward, carried by Ifa’s aura.

  Ifa exhaled deeply before speaking.

  “Highlord Realm is the last stage where pills and elixirs will make a tangible difference to your cultivation,” he explained, guiding the pills toward Tunde’s waiting hands.

  “From Master Rank onward, you must begin to understand the profound laws of existence and your own concept. Only then can you advance further.”

  “So we need to pump him full of as many pills as possible before then?” Zhu asked, blinking.

  “In a sense,” Ifa admitted.

  “Grade 5 pills are the limit of his body right now. But our people’s alchemy is more potent than you can imagine.”

  Tunde stared at the dark violet pills resting in his palm.

  “These are—”

  “The Celestial Devourer Pill strengthens your Ethra absorption and techniques,” Ifa explained meaningfully, unwilling to name the true nature of his affinity even under the protection of his aura barrier.

  “The Void Refining Pill fortifies the body and core’s ability to refine Ethra.”

  “The Voidheart Pill enhances the heart’s absorption of energy.”

  “The Astral Eclipse Pill improves the ability to absorb and refine essence flames.”

  “And finally, the Ebon Soul Pill strengthens the soul’s capacity to absorb energy as well.”

  “Together, they will forge your body into a true vessel for your path.” Ifa’s expression turned serious.

  “Swallow them and step into the furnace.”

  Tunde nodded, stripping off his robes before leaping into the still-steaming furnace. The heat welcomed him, wrapping around his body like an old friend.

  He swallowed the pills in one fluid motion.

  Instantly, raw power erupted within him. Lightning-hot energy surged through his veins, burning away the old, refining the new. He gritted his teeth, sinking deeper into the furnace as his body absorbed the heat and residual energy left behind from the pill refinement process.

  “Do you remember the mantra?” Ifa’s voice rang in his ears.

  Tunde barely managed a nod, his jaw tight with exertion. The energy inside him was chaotic, but he forced it to circulate, guiding it with sheer willpower.

  His essence flames roared to life, surging brighter than ever as the Astral Eclipse Pill reinforced them. His core—now stepping fully into the Highlord Realm—was purified, its structure refined beyond its previous limits.

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  Then his heart pounded—steady, powerful—as the Voidheart Pill took effect, strengthening it even as veins of raw energy illuminated his body from within. The sheer force pressing against him made his muscles tremble, but he focused, forcing his mind into clarity.

  And then, he began to chant.

  "The boundless sea consumes all rivers, yet itself remains still.

  The falling leaves return to the soil, yet give rise to new life.

  The void is not absence, but the womb of creation.

  All paths converge into one, and one dissolves into none.

  To grasp the void is to hold infinity.

  To become the void is to transcend all boundaries."

  Over and over, he repeated it.

  As the furnace grew hotter, the runes carved into its interior activated, burning away the last remnants of impurity within him.

  Then, Ifa began the next phase.

  More ingredients poured into the furnace. His body absorbed them hungrily. His Ethra Sight blazed to life, but the strain on his form was immense. His body locked up, his neck stiffening as if trapped between boulders. His mind opened wider, brushing against the Eight Profound Laws of Existence—concepts so vast they threatened to consume him.

  He was too weak to grasp even a sliver of their meaning.

  But it was enough.

  Above him, the Heaven’s Crucible snarled into existence, recognizing his defiance. It roared, crackling with cosmic fury.

  The final trial had begun.

  Tunde had been warned countless times about the consequences of denying Heaven’s Crucible its due. It was not just a force—it was an ancient will, a merciless enforcer of balance. And now, as it loomed above him like a vengeful deity, crackling with barely restrained fury, Tunde clenched his fists, bracing for the inevitable reckoning.

  The sky split apart with a deafening roar. A spear of divine judgment descended, wreathed in blinding, furious lightning, striking him with the wrath of a being scorned. The impact was cataclysmic. Power surged through his very bones, searing his flesh, his nerves alight with unspeakable agony.

  Every fiber of his being felt as though it were being unraveled, his Ethra veins ripped asunder—only to be reforged, stronger, purer, woven anew by the unrelenting force of the Crucible’s decree.

  The furnace, a prison of heat and energy, trapped the rampaging storm within its confines, cycling it through his body, forcing the untamed power to integrate with his very essence. His mouth opened, a silent scream torn from his soul, yet even through the agony, his lips instinctively formed the words of the mantra, his mind grasping at something vast and unknowable, a profound truth just beyond his reach.

  Still, the storm raged on, burning him down to his core, tearing away the old to make way for the new.

  His flesh blackened and sloughed off in molten ribbons, only to be reborn, rebuilt by the combined might of the heavenly lightning and the sacred resources Ifa had meticulously prepared. His body was no longer just flesh and blood—it was something more, infused with the very nature of his concept, reforged by the storm’s relentless baptism.

  When at last the lightning subsided, the furnace burned white-hot, its structure held together only by the intricate runes inscribed upon its surface. The very air shimmered from the lingering heat, the space around it warped by residual energy.

  But Tunde stood untouched.

  He inhaled deeply, his lungs filled with the raw power of the Highlord realm, and exhaled, Ethra flowing through his veins with the unrestrained might of his newly elevated existence. The transformation was complete. His heart, core, and essence flames had fully ascended. He was no longer on the cusp of the Highlord realm—he had stepped into it completely.

  With an effortless motion, he leapt out of the furnace, landing lightly, his movements infused with newfound grace and strength. His form was pristine, all traces of weakness and impurity burned away.

  Zhu let out a long whistle, his eyes wide with awe.

  "Highlord realm," he murmured, taking in the sight before him.

  Tunde, however, barely heard him. He was staring at his own hands, his own body—clean, renewed, unshackled. Every part of him thrummed with power, his essence transformed, his path solidified. He had crossed the threshold. And now, there was no turning back.

  **********************

  After Tunde’s rather eventful advancement, it was finally Zhu’s turn, and while his own ascension to the realm of Highlord was just as fascinating, it was an entirely different spectacle. Unlike Tunde, Zhu had no specially refined pills tailored for his transformation. Ifa simply had no knowledge of how to prepare elixirs for someone of Zhu’s unique lineage. Instead, the solution was absurdly straightforward—consume. And consume he did.

  An obscene amount of pills were devoured by Zhu, a small mountain courtesy of the Golden Pill Pavilion. Tunde noted he should pay them a visit soon, not just to settle accounts but also to check in on the Baron.

  The transformation, however, was anything but ordinary. A crystalline cocoon, eerily similar to the one that had birthed the divine beast, formed around Zhu, encasing him as his body underwent its metamorphosis. Tunde could feel the struggle within, could sense the shedding of the old, the breaking down of the weak, and the rebirth of something greater. His void concept pulsed in resonance, somehow intertwined with Zhu’s very essence—no doubt a lingering effect of the divine beast’s previous assimilation of it.

  When the cocoon finally shattered, Zhu emerged, fully transformed. He no longer bore the antennae of his insectoid lineage, and his once-piercing jade eyes had softened into a calm sea-green. His skin, once paler, had deepened into a darker tan, now almost as close as Tunde’s own. His seaweed-like hair had thickened, growing fuller, flowing like strands of living energy. But it wasn’t just his physical form that had changed—there was something else, something deeper.

  Tunde saw it in his gaze.

  There was wisdom there, a depth that hadn’t been present before. Zhu stretched his frame, rolling his shoulders, testing his new body, and for the first time, there was no trace of the jade carapace that had once armored him. It had fully melded into his flesh, absorbed, integrated, and refined into something more.

  It was a quiet but momentous shift.

  Yet, Tunde didn’t linger—he had his own path to walk. Without hesitation, he retreated into seclusion.

  The training chambers hidden beneath the building assigned to him had revealed themselves at last, as if waiting for this moment. It had been under Varis’ orders, apparently, to keep them sealed until he reached the realm of Highlord.

  The chamber was vast.

  Inscribed across its walls were ancient scripts, talismans of strength, and intricate formations humming with power. With his steadily growing knowledge of formations, Tunde could pick out the layered protections woven into the structure. It wasn’t just a training chamber—it was a fortress, a place capable of containing the strength of an early-tier Highlord.

  Here, he immersed himself.

  He raided Harumi’s ring, consuming every elixir and pill he found, his Void Devourer concept refining them, reducing the toxins that would have otherwise built up in his system. The resources were of the highest quality, their purity near flawless, leaving little residual waste behind.

  The days blurred together, lost in the cycle of meditation, formation practice, and raw physical training. He honed the Spirit Barrier Formation, deepened his connection to his soul, and adapted to the boundless strength that now coursed through him. His Asura Martial Arts grew sharper, deadlier. He tested his techniques relentlessly, each strike carving through the chamber with devastating force.

  By the end, the chamber was in ruins.

  The once-pristine walls were cracked, formations flickering, barely holding together under the strain of his power. His wolf tattoo, once a clear symbol upon his chest, had begun to twist and reshape itself into something unrecognizable—a single blot, dark and shifting. Whatever it meant, Tunde had no answers, nor did he dwell on it.

  What mattered was that he could feel it.

  He had taken a massive step forward.

  The Highlord realm.

  He clenched his fist, inhaling deeply, then exhaled, watching as Highlord Void Ethra and Aura coalesced seamlessly around his arm, a flickering sheen of Essence Flames rippling through. With a single motion, he unleashed it—a silent roar of power, a strike that carried the weight of an cultivator whose wrath had not been quelled, merely stoked.

  The impact hit the formation barrier.

  It flared, resisting for an instant—then shattered.

  Tunde exhaled, calming himself just as a knock echoed through the chamber.

  In the blink of an eye, he was at the entrance, his movement so instinctive that Void Step was barely necessary. Distance was becoming an aspect of his concept, a reality he was slowly coming to terms with.

  He opened the door to reveal a flushed-looking maid, frozen in place, staring wide-eyed at his half-naked form.

  Tunde had never put much emphasis on his physical appearance, but he was well aware of what he had become. His body was carved from sheer necessity—lean, honed, and lethal. Not a single muscle was wasted, his sinews as taut as metal cords yet as flexible as spider silk. His Ethra Sight allowed him to see the flickering fluctuations in her aura, the rising heat of her embarrassment.

  “How may I help you?” he asked softly.

  The maid jolted as if struck, cheeks staining a deep crimson.

  “I—I beg your forgiveness, honored Highlord,” she stammered, bowing quickly.

  “But you have a guest waiting for you. The honored Highlord claims to be from the Thousand Burning Flame Smith.”

  Tunde’s eyes widened slightly.

  He nodded in thanks, watching as she turned to scurry off—but before she could, he moved.

  Effortlessly, he lifted her, eliciting a startled squeak, and then, in a single step, he traversed the entire building, Void Stepping into the upper levels as if the air itself carried him forward. The world blurred—one moment they were below, the next at the entrance.

  The maid wobbled as she landed, her face pale, looking as if she might faint.

  Tunde winced.

  “Apologies,” he muttered as she hurried off, likely in search of somewhere to regain her composure.

  His attention, however, had already shifted.

  Standing before him was a familiar figure—the same Highlord who had once led him to the chambers of the Master and the Hidden Saint.

  At his side rested a large wooden rectangular box, taller than even Tunde, bound in glowing talismans, their inscriptions pulsing with power. The pressure emanating from the crate was immense, suffocating even. Whatever was inside… it was barely contained.

  The Highlord’s gaze locked onto him, sharp and assessing.

  “Highlord realm,” the man noted, his tone unreadable.

  Tunde bowed at the waist, pride swelling in his chest.

  “Indeed, Highlord,” he replied evenly.

  A flicker of something dark passed through the man’s eyes.

  Before he could dwell on it, another presence made itself known.

  Tunde turned, already aware of who it was.

  Harumi.

  The now Highlord-realm cultivator stood nearby, his unsheathed blade resting at his waist, his expression a mask of cold neutrality. But Tunde saw past it—the brief flash of shock before it was hidden away.

  “Harumi,” Tunde greeted evenly.

  Harumi said nothing at first, then nodded stiffly, composing himself.

  The Highlord, however, was not interested in the exchange.

  “The Venerable Master has completed your weapon,” he announced, slamming a palm against the wooden crate. The talismans flared in protest.

  “But he warns you—this is a soulbound weapon. It will not easily bend to your will. In fact…” The Highlord’s lips curled in something almost like satisfaction.

  “It will actively seek to kill you.”

  Tunde’s core flared to life, Ethra surging through his veins as his instincts sharpened.

  The Highlord’s eyes glinted.

  “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

  With a single fluid stroke of Aura, he tore the talismans free.

  The wooden crate exploded—and from its shattered remains, a dark violet metal shot forward, moving with a will of its own, hurtling straight for Tunde like a predator seeking its prey.