Tower of Infinite Enlightenment

First Floor

A vast horde of resentment ghosts drifted across the barren land, their translucent forms wavering like tattered shadows. Hollow eyes stared into nothingness as they wandered aimlessly, mouths frozen in silent screams that would never be heard. There was no rage left in them—only an endless, suffocating emptiness.

With just a single glance, Wang Chen felt a chill creep up his spine.

There were too many.

Far too many.

Each ghost carried the unmistakable imprint of a cultivator's soul. Their auras were fractured, incomplete, as if they had been torn from their bodies mid-existence and ground down by something far beyond mortal comprehension. This was not the aftermath of ordinary slaughter. The barren land beneath their feet, the warped horizon, the despair that pressed down on the mind—all of it pointed to a single conclusion.

This first floor had once been a battlefield.

Not a clash between armies or sects, but a place where beings of cosmic scale had exchanged blows. Techniques powerful enough to scar reality itself had been unleashed here, permanently twisting the geography and erasing everything that once lived upon it. The resentment ghosts were merely leftovers—ash drifting after a fire that had burned too hot for the world to endure.

While these thoughts passed through his mind, Wang Chen's hands moved almost subconsciously.

The Thousand Soul Banner unfurled with a soft, ethereal hum. Pale runes flickered across its surface as it began to draw in the wandering ghosts, one after another. Streams of distorted soul-light were absorbed into the banner, their resistance negligible, as if even resentment had grown tired of struggling.

After his previous use of the banner to open a pathway to the Upper Realm—though only his consciousness had crossed—more than half of the stored souls had been consumed. The loss was not insignificant. Wang Chen knew better than anyone that the banner could not support future expeditions in its current state.

Only now did the analogy fully settle in his mind.

The Thousand Soul Banner was nothing more than a battery.

And it was running low.

He didn't bother checking what class the tower had randomly assigned him this time. It didn't matter. Classes were tools; his Dao was absolute. With a calm breath, Wang Chen released his intent, and the Eternal Heart Sword Dao flowed outward like an invisible tide.

Resentment ghosts that drifted too close were erased instantly.

No dramatic clash. No resistance.

Their forms simply unraveled, dispersing into nothing as sword intent passed through them, clean and merciless. To Wang Chen, this floor had already lost its threat. The ghosts were fuel—nothing more.

There was no sun here. No sky to mark the passage of time.

Yet Wang Chen felt it in his bones.

At least six hours had passed.

It was an intuition sharpened by countless repetitions, countless deaths, and an eternity spent within the Tower of Infinite Enlightenment. Time might be distorted here, but his sense for it was not.

And he knew—

This was only the beginning.

When the Thousand Soul Banner was nearly restored to its former brilliance, Wang Chen finally noticed something strange.

Ten resentment ghosts were fleeing.

Not drifting. Not circling. Not lunging at him in mindless hatred.

They were running—faces twisted in raw panic, distorted mouths stretched wide as if screaming without sound. For the first time since he had entered the Tower of Infinite Enlightenment, the ghosts didn't even spare him a glance as they rushed past, fleeing in the same direction like prey escaping a catastrophe.

Wang Chen did not stop them.

He simply turned, watching their retreating figures with narrowed eyes and a growing sense of disbelief.

This made no sense.

Resentment ghosts were creatures born of obsession and hatred. They possessed no rational fear—only instinctive aggression. The moment one detected his presence, it would usually charge at him without hesitation, even knowing it would be destroyed.

Yet these ghosts… had chosen flight over attack.

As the silence settled, a single possibility surfaced in his mind.

"…An elite resentment ghost," he murmured.

"Or worse… a resentment ghost king."

The thought made his eyes light up—not with fear, but with anticipation.

An elite resentment ghost was worth hundreds of ordinary ones. A resentment ghost king, thousands. Their condensed soul cores were so pure and powerful that capturing even one would instantly restore the Thousand Soul Banner to peak condition—perhaps even push it beyond its original limits.

For someone else, such an entity would spell death.

For Wang Chen, it was an opportunity.

Without hesitation, he turned toward the direction from which the ghosts had fled.

Boom!

A thunderous sonic boom tore across the wasteland as Wang Chen kicked off the ground. His body shot forward like a released cannonball, the barren terrain beneath his feet exploding into fragments. Cracks spider-webbed outward as slabs of broken earth were hurled into the air behind him.

The world blurred.

Wind screamed past his ears as his divine sense expanded in all directions, scanning every ripple of resentment, every distortion in the ambient soul field. His gaze was sharp, methodical—calm, yet burning with intent.

A resentment ghost king did not hide well.

Such beings were the nucleus of hatred itself, their presence warping the environment simply by existing. The air around them grew heavy, suffocating, saturated with despair.

And just as he expected—

It didn't take long.

Only moments later, Wang Chen spotted it.

Floating above the desolate land was a massive entity—an enormous spherical mass of condensed resentment, layered upon layer of writhing black mist. Faces surfaced and vanished across its surface, each one frozen in agony, rage, or madness. The air around it twisted unnaturally, as if reality itself recoiled from the pressure of its existence.

A resentment ghost king.

Wang Chen slowed, a sharp smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"So it is you," he murmured softly.

And somewhere within that pulsating sphere of hatred—

Something noticed him back.

The resentment ghost king hovered in the air like a grotesque hot-air balloon, its swollen, cloudlike body pulsing rhythmically. At its center, embedded deep within the semi-translucent mass, was a blue crystal—smooth, luminous, and disturbingly beautiful. The gem glowed faintly, like a living heart, each pulse sending ripples through the surrounding resentment.

The instant Wang Chen noticed it, the ghost king noticed him as well.

The vast entity drifted slightly, as if adjusting its focus. This presence was unfamiliar—not one of its kind. Not a mindless fragment of hatred. Something… alive.

A low, confused gurgle echoed from the ghost king's core.

Then, from the surface of the blue crystal, a viscous, slimy drop slid free and fell through the air.

The moment it emerged, Wang Chen felt it—an invisible tug, like cold fingers brushing against his soul. The ghost king was tasting him. The dense, refined soul energy within Wang Chen's body was rich beyond imagination, far purer than any cultivator it had devoured before.

The crystal trembled.

Greed replaced confusion.

Roar!

A piercing shriek erupted from the ghost king, sharp enough to fracture the air itself. Invisible waves slammed outward, the sound cracking reality like fragile glass. Wang Chen's vision blurred, his feet skidding backward as the soul scream tore straight toward his consciousness.

For an instant, the pressure was suffocating.

But Wang Chen did not panic.

After countless battles against resentment ghosts, he understood them too well. The stronger the ghost, the lazier it became—relying on overwhelming soul pressure to annihilate opponents in a single strike.

A direct hit. A killing scream.

He had expected this.

Wang Chen's eyes hardened as his spiritual defenses flared. He absorbed the brunt of the scream, pain flashing through his mind like lightning, but his Dao heart remained unshaken.

"Frozen World."

The temperature around him plummeted.

He slashed forward with his hand.

Wring!

A spatial tear finer than a strand of hair sliced into existence. It didn't explode or roar—it whispered. Space itself split cleanly apart, the two halves sliding against each other with terrifying precision.

Boom!

The resentment ghost king's massive body burst open as if punctured by an invisible blade. The cloudlike form dispersed violently, fragments of black mist evaporating into nothingness. In less than a breath, the towering existence was gone.

Only the blue crystal remained—tumbling through the air.

"Not so fast, little guy."

Wang Chen shot forward, caught the crystal mid-fall, and without hesitation tossed it into the Thousand Soul Banner.

The banner trembled violently.

A deep, resonant hum echoed as cracks of dull light surged across its surface. The Realm Gate within stabilized completely, the artifact restored—no, reinforced—by the ghost king's condensed essence.

Wang Chen exhaled slowly.

Now, he could finally focus on what truly mattered.

…

He surveyed the battlefield. Cleanly severed stone slabs lay scattered across the wasteland, their edges unnaturally smooth. Wisps of dissipating resentment drifted through the air like fading smoke. A handful of lesser ghosts hovered at a distance, drawn by the commotion but too terrified to approach.

Then Wang Chen spoke, his voice calm, almost amused.

"Keke… we've known each other for so long, yet you still prefer watching me from the shadows."

His gaze fixed on a specific direction.

Silence answered him.

Wang Chen wasn't bothered. If Mo Huiyuan didn't want to reveal herself, no force in this tower could compel her. He waited patiently, the faint smile on his lips only growing wider.

A moment later—

The space rippled.

Cold wind surged as reality parted, and a figure stepped out gracefully. Mo Huiyuan emerged, her long hair flowing freely behind her, eyes glinting with unmistakable admiration as they settled on Wang Chen.

"No matter how many times I watch it," she said softly, "I never grow tired of your swordsmanship."

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