"Argh… my head hurts…"

The moment his eyes opened, Wang Chen groaned softly. Both hands rose to his temples, fingers pressing in slow, deliberate circles as if he could knead the pain out by force alone. The ache from earlier still lingered—dull, stubborn, and deeply rooted—refusing to dissipate no matter how much he willed it to fade.

The fact that he was still sane after wringing out the very last drop of his soul blood was, frankly, absurd.

If it were anyone else, their mind would have shattered long ago. Madness would have taken them without ceremony. Yet here he was—conscious, thinking, breathing.

That alone was unsettling.

"What could be the reason…?" Wang Chen muttered hoarsely.

He searched his memories, his theories, his understanding of the soul, but no matter how many explanations surfaced, none felt complete. None truly satisfied him.

After a while, he gave up.

With a tired sigh, he slouched deeper into the chair, his body finally allowing itself to relax. For once, he had no intention of moving.

If demons invaded again?

He didn't even plan to lift a finger.

After everything he had done, the universe could handle itself for a while.

"I deserve a break," he murmured, nodding faintly as if affirming a contract with himself.

And really—who could argue?

First, he had spent one hundred thousand years wrestling with reincarnation itself. Then, without rest, he had forged the Nether Realm from nothing but will, pain, and soul blood. Thinking back on it now felt unreal, like recalling someone else's memories.

…Did I really do all that?

The thought made him snort quietly.

For the first time in a very long while, Wang Chen felt the urge to pat himself on the back. Not for power. Not for achievements.

But for enduring.

As these thoughts drifted lazily through his mind, his eyelids grew heavy. At some point, without him realizing it, they closed.

From outside, the faint clack of wooden swords striking echoed through the air—steady, rhythmic, familiar. Training continued. Life moved on.

Perhaps it was exhaustion. Perhaps it was peace.

Either way, Wang Chen failed to notice that nearly a month had passed since his breakthrough. The turbulence surrounding Phoenix and Dragon City had long since settled. The shock, the fear, the speculation—most of it had faded into quiet acceptance.

If anything strange happened, people simply shrugged.

"It must be that mysterious immortal again."

After all, this was the man who had slain an Original Demon. If something defied common sense, it was only natural to blame him.

Wang Chen lay there, eyes closed, savoring the rare stillness.

Outside, the Bodhi Tree stirred softly, its leaves whispering in the breeze. The oppressive heat of summer had passed, replaced by a gentler warmth. Life returned to the branches, to the grass, to the world itself.

For now…

Everything was calm.

Under Ming Yao's strict guidance, Fang Biyu and Fang Zhirou practiced their sword arts in the open courtyard.

Wooden blades cut through the air again and again, producing dull whacks that echoed against the stone tiles. Sweat soaked into their sleeves, arms trembling from repeated strikes, yet neither dared to slacken under Ming Yao's watchful eyes.

Outwardly, Ming Yao appeared fully focused on correcting their forms. Her posture was straight, her expression sharp, every instruction crisp and unforgiving.

Yet from time to time, her gaze betrayed her.

It drifted—almost unconsciously—toward Wang Chen's closed quarters.

Almost a month had passed.

And he still hadn't come out.

A faint crease formed between Ming Yao's brows.

What if something went wrong…?

She had seen his strength with her own eyes. She knew how terrifying he was. And yet, the silence gnawed at her nerves in a way she couldn't quite suppress.

"Huh…?"

Fang Biyu noticed it.

Unlike Ming Yao, she wasn't particularly worried. Life inside the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo had long taught her one thing: when strange things happened around Master, it was usually best not to panic. Compared to the chaos they had lived through before, a month of silence was hardly alarming.

Still, seeing Ming Yao's unease, Fang Biyu couldn't help but speak up.

"Teacher Yao," she said carefully, lowering her wooden sword, "if you're that anxious… why not go inside and check on Master?"

"No."

Ming Yao shook her head instantly, without even thinking.

The refusal was sharp. Absolute.

Even after witnessing Wang Chen's true strength, her thoughts had not changed.

She still wanted to marry him.

She still wanted to stand beside him.

She still wanted to leave behind an heir that carried both their bloodlines.

But—

…There's no way I'm inferior to him.

Her eyes hardened slightly.

He must have cultivated for countless years to reach his current realm. Time was the only difference between them. Given enough years, she was confident she would reach the same height—or perhaps even surpass him.

Once that thought settled in her mind, Ming Yao's agitation faded.

Her breathing steadied.

The next moment, her gaze snapped back to the Fang sisters, sharp and commanding.

"Continue practicing," she said coldly. "Who told you to stop?"

"Teacher Yao—no—I can't anymore!"

Fang Zhirou immediately protested, her arms shaking as she leaned heavily on her wooden sword, face flushed from exhaustion.

Beside her, Fang Biyu tightened her grip.

Unusually tight.

Her knuckles turned pale as she held the sword as if it were a lifeline.

She didn't want to be weak again.

She wouldn't be weak again.

She remembered that moment too clearly—the helplessness, the fear, the crushing realization that she could do nothing but watch. She had already sacrificed herself once for others.

Never again.

No matter how painful training became, it was nothing compared to regret.

The regret of standing powerless while everything was taken from her again.

....

…Naive.

From beneath the shade of the Bodhi Tree, Zi Han observed the scene in silence.

She didn't need to hear Ming Yao's thoughts to understand them.

Talent alone would never reach his realm…

Her crimson eyes flickered as memories resurfaced—Wang Chen standing calmly as the Original Demon was erased from existence, as if annihilating a world-ending calamity were nothing more than brushing dust from his sleeve.

At first, Zi Han had believed him to be merely a Heaven-Shaking Realm expert.

Now?

She didn't even dare speculate.

Wang Chen was undoubtedly an immortal.

And the fact that he could remain in the Lower Realm so comfortably… spoke louder than any display of power.

…

Meanwhile, the very man occupying their thoughts lay quietly within his chambers, completely unaware of the tension and speculation surrounding him.

He was resting.

For once.

Then—

A blue window slammed into his vision without warning.

[Ding! New Quest Issued: The Price of Humiliation]

Wang Chen's eyes snapped open.

[Your disciple Lin Huang had everything taken from him by his childhood friend and the Sect Master of the Thousand Sword Sect. Under your care, he has grown strong enough—but the heart demon within him still persists.]

[This heart demon can only be erased through revenge.]

Wang Chen's expression slowly darkened.

[Task: As a master, it is your duty to ensure your disciple's grievances are fully redressed. Your disciple Lin Huang has challenged the entire Thousand Sword Sect.]

[Reward: Depends on the outcome.]

Silence filled the room.

Wang Chen closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again—calm, cold, and razor-sharp.

"So… it's finally time."

A faint smile appeared on his lips.

This time—

No one was walking away untouched.

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