The wind carried the stench of metal, sweat, and smoke. Even from this distance, the city roared with life—hammers striking anvils, wheels grinding stone, the constant pulse of movement from dawn to dusk.

He stood atop a jagged cliff overlooking Steel City, a dark silhouette against the pale sky. Dressed in a deep yellow cloak, he kept his hood down, letting the breeze toy with his unkempt hair. His eyes, however, never strayed from the horizon.

Steel City. A place where spirit forgers were born and broken.

Behind him, the door creaked open. Light footsteps. Hesitant.

The young man didn't turn.

"Well?"

The guard halted a few paces away, head bowed. "My lord… The Iron Wolf gang failed… along with the others."

Silence. Cold and immediate.

Then came the snap.

A palm slammed into the desk beside him with such force it didn't just crack—it exploded.

Splinters flew. Papers burst into the air like startled birds. The map pinned beneath the wood tore in half as the force rippled through the chamber.

"You failed me." His voice was low, measured—but barely.

"My lord, I—"

"Speak again, and I'll make your son watch me rip it out."

The guard froze, jaw clamped shut. Blood ran down his cheek where a wooden shard had struck. He didn't dare wipe it.

The young man stepped away from the cliff's edge. His boots crunched over glass and gravel.

"The item," he said, pacing, each word sharper than the last. "Was it there?"

"Not confirmed, my lord. No one saw it, but… reports say something in Brackenhill glowed at night. Just once. Under the stars."

He stopped. Turned.

"Under the stars?"

"They said it shimmered… like a curtain of drifting light—unnatural and silent."

His eyes narrowed. Then drifted toward the shelves lining the far wall—ancient scrolls, crumbling parchments, forgotten records. He stepped closer, fingers brushing past them until they found the one he wanted.

A brittle diagram. A round stone inked in detail, faint colourful curtain emitting from it. Above it, a name in faded calligraphy: Star-Devouring Ore

He studied the drawing, lips pressed thin. "It could be it," he muttered. "The ore glows under starlight, just as the clan records claimed. A fragment of the heavens… buried, cursed, dangerous. But there are other things that shine in the dark. Tricks of moonlight. Old talismans. Spirit-forged tools."

He exhaled slowly. "Still… if it's the one from the records, and Brackenhill had it…"

He turned, gaze cold. "Then the bandits were fools to fail. They were meant to raid and retrieve, not burn and bungle."

The guard nodded quickly. "Brackenhill's not like the others. There was resistance. A cultivator, maybe two. One wore blue robes. Not local. No known affiliation. Fast. Skilled."

His fingers curled into a fist.

"And the ore?"

"Missing. After the attack, it vanished. Some say, it was destroyed. We believe the youth took it."

"Find him."

The command cut through the air like steel.

"Track every traveller from that region. Search wagons, ask questions—subtly. If we need to pay, we pay. Just don't let the clans catch wind. Not until I say so."

"Yes, my lord!" The guard bowed and fled, boots echoing down the stone corridor.

Left alone, the young man walked back to the wreckage of the desk and picked up a splintered piece of wood. It crumbled between his fingers.

He stared once more at the city far below—oblivious, teeming, noisy.

And somewhere beyond it, in a ruined village or slipping between shadows, the thing he desired most had slipped through their fingers.

But not for long.

🔱 — ✵ — 🔱

The waterfall roared like it always had—unyielding, relentless, loud enough to drown thought if he let it. But Aaryan had long learned to quiet the world. He sat cross-legged on the flat stone beneath the crashing torrent, bare-chested and still, his skin marked by the constant pounding of water. Muscles tensed and relaxed with each breath, every movement deliberate.

His eyes remained shut.

For the last three days, he hadn't spoken a word. No thoughts of the past. No glances at the future. Only breath. Only flow.

A single strand of qi emerged from his dantian, thin as a silk thread, gleaming faintly against the network of his meridians. Aaryan guided it slowly—painstakingly—through his spine and down to the soles of his feet, then up through his chest and arms in one complete, uninterrupted circuit. There were no tremors. No uncertainty. Only the quiet hum of control.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Above, the sun filtered through the mist in fractured beams. Water cascaded in endless white sheets around him. And beneath the surface, Vedik weaved between bubbles and drifting leaves, flicking his tail as he spiralled upward.

The dragonling paused.

Head breaking the surface, golden eyes locked onto the figure under the waterfall. His tongue flicked once, tasting the air. Something had changed.

Aaryan exhaled. The sound was soft, but it cut through the water's roar like a drawn blade.

Then—his eyes opened.

Calm. Focused. Ready.

The strand of qi now hovered above his heart, dancing gently like a thread in the wind. It pulsed in time with his heartbeat, alive with his intent.

From within his ring, he drew out the dragon scale. The essence of flame coiled within it—alive, shifting, ancient.

It wasn't fire in the traditional sense. The scale of the Nine-Coloured Mirage Dragon shimmered like a living breath of heat and illusion, constantly shifting in colour and form. Red one second, violet the next, before settling into a soft blue that held the quiet depth of a night sky. It floated above his palm, whispering promise and danger both.

He remained still, gaze locked on the scale.

This was not a moment to rush. Fusing a foreign essence into one's qi wasn't as simple as swallowing it or pushing it into the dantian. It had to be welcomed. Understood. Conquered without crushing.

Vedik pulled himself up onto the rock's edge, his wet scales catching the light in silver ripples. He chirped once, but softly—no playfulness, no noise. Only awareness.

He knew.

Aaryan shifted his posture, adjusting his spine, letting the qi thread circle once more through his chest and back into his palm. The scale leaned forward, drawn by the rhythm of his qi, its motion delicate—like silk tugged by a hidden current.

His gaze didn't waver.

It was time.

The moment it brushed against his chest, the world seemed to hush.

A soft thrum pulsed from the scale, then—light. Not blinding, not fierce. A flickering wisp rose from its surface, shimmering with countless shifting colours—like oil on water, like dawn caught in a dragon's breath. It hovered for a heartbeat, pulsing in tune with his own, then slipped into his chest as though it had always belonged there.

Aaryan gasped. The warmth hit all at once—raw, immense, and utterly wrong inside a human body. Like something ancient had been poured into him without asking if he could endure it.

The scale in his hand trembled once. Its glow faded, leaving behind a dull sheen of muted iridescence. Then it slipped from his fingers and settled in his lap, quiet and changed—but not dead.

But Aaryan didn't notice.

The flame essence entered—and his body convulsed as if struck by lightning. His face turned deathly pale.

Searing pain surged through every nerve. Aaryan clenched his jaw, shut his eyes, and drove his consciousness inward, into the chaos.

What he saw filled him with dread. The colourful wisp had vanished—replaced by countless threads of multi-coloured flame rampaging through his body like wild beasts. Everything in their path was incinerated.

He focused on one such thread—and froze. It was a miniature version of the nine-coloured mirage dragon. Though the flame lacked a will of its own—likely because the dragon had removed it before giving him the scale—it was still something no human body should contain. It belonged to a dragon.

The flames carried terrifying heat, and wherever they passed, that heat seeped into his meridians. Already, many of them were damaged—and this was only the beginning.

Aaryan summoned qi from his dantian, trying to shield his meridians. But the layer of protection was too frail, barely noticeable. The flame dragons tore through it effortlessly.

The meridians—vital, delicate—were being grilled alive.

Even though his meridians had been reforged by Sampoorna using the Heavenly Root Rebirth Pill and Boneforge Divine Essence—making them tougher and broader than most—they still weren't enough. Under the onslaught of the dragon flame, they twisted grotesquely, warping like scarred flesh. What had once been stable channels were now scorched into ruin.

The pain was indescribable. His limbs jerked violently, muscles bulging like worms beneath the skin. His face, already pale, turned ashen—bloodless, corpse-like.

And yet, Aaryan kept his mind clear. He had trained for this. Anticipated it. Spent days refining his control over qi for this exact moment.

Forcing his thoughts into focus, he drew a large surge of qi and directed it toward one of the draconic fire-thread coiling near his heart.

The colourless qi shot forward and struck the flame. Pain exploded in his chest, sharp and immediate—but he pressed on, trying to wrap the dragon in a shell of his qi.

It didn't work.

The dragon burned through it in seconds, scattering his control like ash. Restraining it was like trying to leash a tempest with thread—futile.

But Aaryan didn't stop.

Again and again, he tried—driving his mind beyond its limit. At only the first stage of Qi Condensation, his qi reserves were paper-thin. As soon as he sensed it depleting, he blindly reached into his ring, grabbed a herb, and threw it into his mouth.

He had no pills that could quickly restore qi. Drawing spiritual energy from the surroundings or spirit stones would require purification—and too much focus. So he relied on the rare herbs he'd prepared beforehand.

One failure. Two. Three…

He reached for another herb—only to realise it was the second last.

If this attempt failed, there would be nothing left. His body couldn't hold on much longer. While he'd focused on taming one flame dragon, dozens of others had torn through him. Inside, he was a mess of charred wreckage.

He didn't know if the scale still held any flame essence. Didn't know if his body could heal from this. He had prepared so diligently—and still, it wasn't enough. But he couldn't retreat now.

With everything he had, he hurled his qi at the dragon one final time.

This time, the qi held for a few more breaths.

Then came a draconic roar from deep within the flame.

The shell shattered.

'It's not enough. I'm not enough.'

Aaryan sighed, chest heaving. He could try again—maybe—but time was running out. If he didn't extract the flame essence soon, his body would be turned to ash from the inside out.

Vedik was ready. He shared the flame's origin and should be able to suppress it—if only briefly. Enough time for Aaryan to break the jade and summon Maya.

It had been a gamble.

And he had failed.

He was just about to withdraw all his qi and protect his heart and dantian—when something stirred deep inside him.

It was a presence.

Ancient. Indignant.

As if some slumbering king had been challenged by a commoner.

The pain halted. Just for a breath.

Everything inside him went still—unnaturally still.

The heat didn't fade, but it paused, as if holding its breath.

Then—a roar.

Not heard, but felt. Like a thousand chains snapping all at once.

A pressure surged through his chest and tore upward, crashing through his nerves. It rang out in his bones, in his blood, in the forgotten corners of his soul.

The flaming dragons that had been rampaging freely now froze in place, as if afraid—or hesitant—toward something unseen. The searing pain subsided slightly, and although Aaryan didn't know exactly what was happening, he knew one thing: this was his chance.

Without hesitation, he directed another surge of qi and wrapped it around the immobilized ember-beast. It struggled faintly, but under the weight of that mysterious pressure, it couldn't resist for long.

His qi encased it swiftly, and Aaryan began guiding it along the route described in the Confluence Codex. Outside, sweat streamed down his forehead like a thin river, stinging as it flowed over skin cracked from the heat. But he kept his focus locked on the encased serpentine blaze, which still writhed subtly as it neared the completion of a full circulation.

As the dragon moved along the meridian path, Aaryan noticed the colours within it beginning to fade. The chaotic blend of hues dimmed, and a dominant colour slowly emerged—a radiant silver, laced subtly with threads of gold. His once colourless qi had started merging with the silver-gold flame dragon, and as the final cycle completed, the fusion was done. Only a single, shimmering wisp of silver qi remained. Aaryan didn't hesitate—he guided it into his dantian.

A rush of relief followed, as if all the pain had suddenly vanished. But Aaryan forced himself to suppress the bliss. This was only the beginning. He still had to convert all of his qi and fuse it completely before he could even think about starting the final stage.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.