This fear was not unfounded—especially after uncovering the truth of souls.

Why use dragon blood?

I'll use my own soul blood.

The thought surfaced with a sharp, unwavering clarity.

If anyone else heard it, they would have branded him insane on the spot. Soul blood was not like ordinary essence or qi. It was the core of one's existence. To expend it was to wound the soul itself, and every cultivator knew one unshakable truth: injuries to the soul were the most fatal of all.

Wang Chen knew this better than anyone.

And yet, he also knew something others did not.

This soul was not truly his.

What made him Wang Chen were his memories, his accumulated experiences, his will. As long as those remained intact, damage to the vessel—however severe—was a price he was willing to pay.

More importantly, this method left no hidden strings behind.

No ancient bloodline.

No dormant will.

No forgotten creator waiting to awaken.

Only him.

The pain, the risk, the consequences—he would bear them all himself.

With that resolve set, Wang Chen lowered himself onto the frozen ground of the Nether Realm. The surface was colder than death, biting into him even without physical contact. He steadied his breathing, forcing his turbulent thoughts into stillness.

Then, without hesitation, he raised a finger and pressed it to his forehead.

His attainments in the Sword Dao were already at a terrifying height. Under his will, even flesh obeyed like steel beneath a blade. There was no resistance—no dragging, no hesitation.

Like a knife through butter, his finger pierced his forehead.

Golden blood welled out.

Not ordinary blood—but radiant, soul-infused essence, glowing faintly even in the darkness. Drop by drop, it slid down his face and gathered at his fingertips.

Siish—

The pain struck instantly, sharp and all-consuming. Wang Chen sucked in a breath of cold air, his vision wavering for a fraction of a second.

But his expression did not change.

This was not the time for pain.

Not the time for hesitation.

With eyes colder than glacial ice, he guided the soul blood downward, letting it drip onto the Nether Realm's surface. Using his finger as a brush, he began to carve.

A circle.

Drop by drop.

Line by line.

The blood sizzled as it touched the ground, sinking into the dark earth as if the realm itself were drinking it. Each stroke drew more from his soul, and with every passing hour, the weakness deepened.

The process lasted nine full days.

Nine days of unbroken focus.

Nine days of relentless agony.

Nine days where the boundary between willpower and madness blurred.

By the final day, Wang Chen's soul body was barely holding together. His form flickered faintly, edges indistinct, as if he might dissolve at any moment. Strange gaps appeared in his thoughts—names he struggled to recall, moments that felt distant and unreal.

He had begun to forget.

That was when he stopped.

Before the damage became permanent.

Before the cost surpassed what even he could endure.

On the ninth day, the formation was complete.

A vast circle nearly one kilometer in diameter lay etched into the Nether Realm, glowing faintly with golden runes formed entirely from soul blood. Even standing near it, Wang Chen felt a terrifying suction force tugging at his existence, as if the array itself were hungry—eager to begin its purpose.

He did not admire it.

He could not.

His soul was grievously injured, frayed to the brink of collapse. If he had continued even a moment longer, the loss would have been irreversible.

Still… he had succeeded.

And that was enough.

This was no ordinary formation.

By using his own soul blood, Wang Chen had not merely constructed the Nether Monarch Soul Gathering Array—he had given it life. It would not remain static like conventional formations carved from dead rules and borrowed power. With the passing of years, it would grow on its own, adapt on its own, and—if fate allowed—evolve.

That alone made the price worthwhile.

The Garden of Eternity was destined to expand beyond anything he could currently imagine. If the Nether Realm lagged behind its growth, the imbalance would eventually turn catastrophic. He could not allow that to happen.

And so, despite the exhaustion clawing at his consciousness and the dull ache pulsing through what remained of his soul, Wang Chen did not stop.

Death was not gentle.

Cultivators who died carried with them layers upon layers of emotion—terror, regret, hatred, obsession. Most of it was poison to rebirth. A soul burdened by such residue could not reincarnate cleanly. Even if it managed to do so, the result would be tragic: malformed bodies, broken minds, missing senses, lives doomed from the moment of birth.

Blind children.

Limbless infants.

Souls born already fractured.

Wang Chen refused to accept such a future.

He did not want a realm filled with crippled remnants and hollow existences. He wanted geniuses, seekers, beings with the potential to walk further than he ever could.

So the cycle needed purification.

And for that, he already had an answer.

The Samsara Cleansing Pool.

A legendary construct spoken of only in fragments—said to heal damaged souls, erase lingering trauma, and wash away karmic scars so completely that rebirth began with a blank, healthy slate.

While the thought settled, Wang Chen raised his hand and invoked the Non-Existence Authority.

Reality trembled.

One by one, treasures long erased from history emerged from nothingness—artifacts that had vanished billions of years ago, summoned as though extinction itself were merely a suggestion.

Samsara Dew – Condensed droplets formed at the precise instant a soul turns back toward life.

Echo-Soothing Lotus – A rare lotus capable of calming lingering soul imprints.

Rebirth Sand – Fine gray grains gathered from sites of mass death and renewal.

Still-Mind Jade Powder – Stabilized the soul and prevented memory collapse.

Karmic Clearwater – Spirit water purified through countless reincarnation cycles.

Remnant Ash of Letting Go – Ash left behind when unresolved obsessions finally faded.

Cycle-Root Essence – Extracted from an ancient tree that had survived innumerable eras.

And many more.

Under the blazing radiance of the True Fire, each treasure dissolved without resistance, melting into luminous streams that flowed together upon the ground. The Nether Realm itself seemed to hold its breath.

Wang Chen did not forget the most important step.

Once more, he let a portion of his soul blood drip into the forming pool.

The reasoning was the same as before.

He wanted it to live.

To grow.

To never fall behind the Garden of Eternity's evolution.

Moments later, a vast pool nearly one kilometer in diameter took shape in the corner of the Nether Realm. Its surface shimmered with a soft, milky white glow, faint ripples spreading as if it were breathing.

The effect was immediate.

Simply standing near it caused the pain tearing through Wang Chen's soul to ease, as if unseen hands were gently stitching the damage together.

"This should be enough… for now."

His voice was low, almost a whisper.

There were other improvements he could make—refinements that would push the reincarnation cycle closer to perfection. But he knew his limits. His soul had already been driven to the brink. One more reckless act, and the cracks might deepen into something irreversible.

He had not achieved true immortality yet.

The risk was not worth it.

So Wang Chen watched in silence as Ni Lua's soul was finally seized by the Nether Monarch Soul Gathering Array. The faint, flickering remnant was drawn downward, carried gently into the Nether Realm, and submerged within the Samsara Cleansing Pool.

Given the damage Ni Lua had suffered, the process would take time.

A long time.

Wang Chen murmured this to himself—yet he did not notice his vision blurring, nor the faint haze creeping into his perception as exhaustion finally caught up to him.

For the first time in a very long while, his will wavered.

Just slightly.

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