After a thousand years of cultivation, he returns at the pinnacle!

The next morning, in the abandoned factory area south of Jiangzhou City.

The morning light had just pierced through the broken walls and ruins of the factory, casting jagged shadows on the cracked concrete floor. The air still carried the damp scent of last night's rain, mixed with the metallic smell of rusted steel bars and the dry smell of concrete dust.

Wang Kai and Shen Qingxue stood in the center of the open space. One was wearing a school uniform, the other a tracksuit; one had a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his fist, the other held a newly formed ice sword. The two were about ten meters apart, both with serious expressions.

Jiang Chen leaned against a wall that hadn't completely collapsed not far away, holding a cup of hot coffee he bought from the convenience store at the entrance of the community, and a blade of grass he'd picked up from somewhere dangling from his mouth.

"Let me state first that I'm not very good at teaching, since I don't have much experience myself. Please feel free to point out any problems."

Wang Kai and Shen Qingxue nodded at the same time.

"Wang Kai, you have laid a solid foundation. Starting today, you will officially enter the Qi Refining stage."

He raised his right hand, his index and middle fingers joined together, and lightly touched Wang Kai's dantian. A pale golden light flew from his fingertip and entered Wang Kai's body. Wang Kai's body trembled violently, as if something within him had been ignited. Deep within his dantian, a warm current began to slowly rotate, its speed increasing and its temperature rising, like a miniature sun being born there.

"Follow the spiritual energy circulation route I taught you last time, circulate this true essence within your body thirty-six times. Each time you circulate it, a portion of the true essence will be transformed into your own spiritual power. After circulating it thirty-six times, you will no longer be an ordinary person."

Wang Kai sat cross-legged and closed his eyes. His breathing became long and even, and the light from the miniature sun deep in his dantian shone through his skin, gleaming faintly golden in the morning light. The tiny wounds on his bandaged fists, left by overtraining, were healing at a visible speed.

Jiang Chen turned to Shen Qingxue.

"You lack spiritual roots, so you can't follow the orthodox path of cultivation. But you can still reach the pinnacle of physical cultivation. The foundation of physical cultivation isn't spiritual energy, but blood and qi. When blood and qi are refined to their extreme, the strength, speed, and defense of the physical body can surpass the limits of an awakened being."

He raised his right hand, his five fingers spread, and a ball of dark golden light appeared in his palm. That light was different from the pale gold of true essence; it was more concentrated and heavier, like a physical entity formed from pure physical power.

"This is a diagram of the circulation of Qi and blood in body cultivation, simulated using my true essence. Memorize it, and then follow this route to temper your physical body using your ice-type spiritual power in conjunction with your Qi and blood."

Shen Qingxue received the ball of dark golden light and closed her eyes. The light slowly merged into her skin in her palm, spreading throughout her body along her meridians. She felt her blood flowing faster, her bones trembling slightly, and her muscles contracting, relaxing, and reorganizing in a way she had never experienced before.

"There's one more thing," Jiang Chen's voice came from the front. "Your ice-type spiritual power doesn't conflict with the blood and qi power of a body cultivator. Ice can temper bones, fire can refine flesh, lightning can strengthen tendons, and wind can invigorate the meridians. The innate attributes of an awakened person are not obstacles for body cultivators, but tools. How you use them is up to you."

Shen Qingxue opened her eyes. She looked down at her hands, which were enveloped in icy blue spiritual energy, and then slowly clenched her fingers. The icy blue spiritual energy flowed between her fingers, no longer in a sharp and cold form, but becoming more restrained and concentrated.

Her eyes were incredibly bright.

Jiang Chen leaned against the wall and took a sip of his now-cold coffee. He looked at the two people in front of him—one sitting cross-legged in meditation, his true essence slowly rotating deep within his dantian; the other standing still, his icy blue spiritual power intertwining and merging with his blood and qi.

At six o'clock sharp, a man and a woman stood in the open space of the abandoned factory. One had lost his usual carefree and jovial demeanor, and the other had abandoned the airs of the eldest daughter of the Shen family. They simply stood there, each carrying their own convictions and hopes for the future.

Jiang Chen casually tossed the empty coffee cup into the nearby trash can. The curve of his lips was slightly more pronounced than usual.

"Let's start with the basics today," he said. "In three hours, I'll personally train you on the moves."

In the distance, on the skyline of Jiangzhou, the morning light is shining over the rooftops, turning the entire city into a pale gold.

...

In the Apostle Realm, the eternal dark golden sky is being disturbed by an unsettling ripple.

In the center of the ring of void surrounded by twelve thrones, a massive light screen, condensed from pure dark golden law power, floated. The screen repeatedly played the same scene—Jiang Chen, on the hundredth floor of the Twelfth Apostle's Hall, pierced Morjana's soul core with a single sword strike. Golden sword light stretched across the heavens and earth, shattering the void, collapsing the laws, and Morjana dissipating into pale golden specks starting from her chest.

This scene has been played hundreds of times.

The silence of the ten apostles on the circular throne continues. But today, it is not any of the apostles who break the silence.

At the center of the circular throne, in that void that had never been set foot in by any being, suddenly began to distort.

The dark golden light seemed to be torn open from the inside by an invisible hand, and a vertical crack appeared out of thin air.

Something is gushing out from the crack.

Ancient, heavy, with the acrid smell of sulfur and rust, carrying the wails of countless souls and the inextinguishable glow of the molten lava from the depths of the abyss. The moment this aura surged from the rift, for the first time, the eternal dark golden sky of the Apostle Realm displayed a color not belonging to the Apostles—the light curtain surrounding the rift was being eroded by some force, the dark gold fading from the edges, replaced by a murky, seemingly polluted dark red, like a drop of ink falling into a pure golden pool, slowly but irresistibly spreading.

The Fourth Apostle Mephistopheles' deep purple pupils suddenly contracted. Her short, silver-gray hair turned pure black in the same instant—it was her mirror law's instinctive reaction when it sensed a threat, copying the other party's aura and analyzing their essence.

Then her face changed color.

"Not an apostle." Her voice lost its usual languidness; each word seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of her throat, as if weighed down by something. "It's the abyss. It's the scent of a demon."

Baal's dark pupils contracted sharply, but he didn't roar or stand up as usual. He simply lowered his thick arms slowly from his chest, his fingers curling involuntarily on the armrests, and beneath his dark red skin, a molten light was rapidly flowing along the veins of his veins. This was the instinctive warming of the crucible of war, the most primal preparatory reaction of this beast when it smelled the scent of another beast.

In Sorg's pure white eyes, the flow of all runes ceased simultaneously. On the surface of his white robe, composed of countless layers of light, intricate spatial runes began to light up autonomously—one layer, two layers, ten layers, a hundred layers—weaving the surrounding space into a dense defensive net. He sensed something. Not a threat, but something far more unsettling: chaos. Pure chaos, unbound by any laws, diametrically opposed to the order of the Apostles.

The First Apostle, Kahn, opened his eyes.

He didn't move. His amber pupils reflected the rift, the dark red aura emanating from it, and the dark golden light curtain being eroded at its edge. His expression remained unchanged. But his right hand, resting on the armrest of the throne, was tapping its index finger very slowly, rhythmically, on the surface of the armrest. It was a habitual gesture he made when he was thinking.

"Let them in," Kahn said. His voice remained clear even in the void, causing the dark red aura emanating from the rift to momentarily pause.

The crack suddenly widened.

Dark red light surged from the cracks like a tide, staining the entire void with a faint blood-red hue. At the center of the light, a figure slowly materialized.

It was a being dressed in a tattered black robe.

The material of the black robe was unidentifiable, seemingly woven from lava from the depths of an abyss, or perhaps stitched together from countless fragments of dead souls. The surface of the robe rippled constantly, and one could vaguely see distorted faces struggling, wailing, and then falling silent on its surface. The hem of the robe had no feet, only a wisp of dark red mist that constantly dissipated, within which something wriggled, like countless eyeless snakes.

The newcomer raised his head. Beneath the hood was the head of a half-human, half-beast. The left half of the face was that of a withered old man, his skin as white as tree bark, his eye sockets deep-set, containing a constantly rotating dark green eyeball; the right half of the face was that of a goat's skull, its horns curving backward from its forehead, the surface of the horns covered with dense ancient runes, each rune slowly wriggling, crawling from the base of the horn to the tip, and then back from the tip to the base, like living creatures.

Baal rose from his throne. His dark eyes were fixed on the dark green eyeballs on the half-withered old man's face, and a wild and dangerous smile slowly spread across his lips. His fiery short hair suddenly shot up a height on his head.

"Barsalon." He uttered the name, his voice rough like volcanic rock rubbing against each other, "You old geezer, you're still alive? I thought you'd been devoured by those insects you raised three hundred years ago. What, the Demon God Realm has finally had enough?"

Balthazaron—one of the Seven Pillars of the Abyss, known as "The Plague of a Thousand Eyes." His dark green eye slowly rotated, sweeping over the circular thrones of the Apostles, over the two crumbling empty thrones, over Baal's wildly smiling face, and finally resting on the silent figure on the first throne.

He spoke. His voice was hoarse and husky, like the simultaneous hissing of countless snakes.

"Three hundred years ago, the Demon God Realm and the Apostle Realm made an agreement. You descended from the outer heavens, and we awoke from the abyss. You ruled the heavens, and we occupied the earth. Humanity was our hunting ground, and we would not interfere with each other."

His dark green eyes continued to roll, scanning once more the two crumbling empty thrones. The movement of his eyes was so slow that each apostle could clearly see the slowly moving, parasitic dark green patterns inside them.

"Now, two of you are dead. Astra, the law of reversal, immortal and indestructible—is dead. Morgiana, the soul howl, the cry of all things—is also dead. Dead at the hands of the same little human."

Balsalon's voice suddenly rose, mixed with some indistinct, beast-like growls.

"The Demon God Realm was originally happy to see your apostle in trouble. But the problem is—the power he used is not the spiritual power of an awakened being."

Mephisto's deep purple pupils instantly turned back to silver-gray. Her Mirror Law had completed its analysis of Balthalon's aura, but the results made her remain silent for several seconds longer than usual.