In the laboratory at the top of the West Tower, corrosive acid bubbled with faint purple light in the test tubes. Del gazed at the small vial of overloaded stock—mixed from “Earth Vein Holy Water” residue and hallucinogenic poisonous herbs—his fingertips rubbing the cool glass.

  “Chip, monitor stability.”

  Judgment: 32 minutes. The stock will forcibly strip away the ‘Bedrock’ camouflage. Due to the host’s dantian reaching its limit, releasing the black sand origin will cause irreversible fissures.

  Del looked up out the window. At the distant castle edge, several circling vultures screeched mournfully—not merely messengers of carrion, but Torry’s harbinger of death.

  Meanwhile, in a hidden, abandoned watchtower on the castle outskirts.

  Several men in filthy gray cloaks, reeking of blood, huddled around a tattered map. They were the “Vulture Mercenary Band”—madmen who would assassinate even gods for enough gold.

  “Captain, assassinating a freshly awakened kid requires our whole squad?” The one-eyed leader hefted the coin pouch, voice hoarse.

  Torry emerged slowly from the shadows, armor glinting with cold silver. “Don’t underestimate him. I’ll issue an ‘emergency transport of alchemical materials’ mission to lure him to the sealed underground storage. Your job is to wear down his stamina first. Once he shows weakness, I’ll personally confirm the source of that ‘mutated power.’”

  “Mission: Emergency escort of alchemical stock.”

  Del looked at the document bearing the Ironthorn emblem, a cold, expected smile curling his lips. He picked up the medicine case and stepped slowly into the dark, damp underground passage. The moment he entered the storage room, the heavy iron door slammed shut, and a hexagram isolation barrier rose instantly.

  “Is this Lord Torry’s way of receiving guests?” Del set down the case, facing the three Vulture mercenaries emerging from the shadows.

  “Die, brat!” The one-eyed mercenary lunged, his short dagger flashing coldly toward Del’s vitals.

  Del’s gaze turned icy. His cross-shaped sword flashed from its sheath.

  [Black Wind Sword · Fills the Sky]

  The longsword vibrated at a frequency beyond human comprehension. Its edge made no breaking-air sound—instead producing a faint, grating buzz. Under the chip’s precise guidance, every sword trajectory overlapped perfectly.

  Ding! Ding!

  Two light clinks—the one-eyed mercenary watched in horror as his fine steel dagger shattered into dozens of fragments upon contact with Del’s blade, as if cut by countless micro-gears. Del’s sword tip flicked; a wisp of black force slithered like a venomous snake along the broken edge into the mercenary’s wrist.

  “Ah!!” The mercenary screamed. His right hand back exploded into a bloody mist; flesh twisted into pulp by the invisible vibrational force.

  “Ignite!” The remaining mercenaries roared. Special explosive powder detonated instantly, filling the room with searing thick smoke that blocked vision. In that instant of billowing smoke, a hidden compartment shattered—Torrey emerged like a silver-armored tyrannosaurus, sweeping his peak mid-tier wind-element heavy sword.

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  “Del—die!”

  Two utterly different forces collided at the center of the narrow chamber.

  [Black Wind Sword · Annihilation]

  Del held the sword one-handed, his body tracing a bizarre arc. The cross-sword tip was no longer smooth—instead, extreme vibration trailed a ring of black afterimages.

  Clang—!!

  The heavy sword clashed hard against the cross-sword. Torrey felt an extremely insidious, mountain-heavy vibration transmit through the blade—like ten thousand madly spinning iron brushes grinding away his wind-element barrier.

  “This frequency… this isn’t a knight’s swordsmanship at all!”

  Torrey roared, battle-qi erupting again. Del couldn’t hold; the cross-sword shattered completely. He flew like a broken kite, slamming into the wall—the crisp crack of breaking ribs clearly audible.

  “Cough… cough cough…” Del spat blood.

  Torrey was already panting. Looking into Del’s still terrifyingly calm eyes, an unprecedented chill rose in his heart. As a high-ranking figure with wizard-apprentice qualifications, he keenly sensed some power beyond this world’s logic awakening inside Del.

  “Del… wait!” Torrey suddenly halted his sword, leaning on the heavy blade, expression flickering. “There’s no need for us to fight to the death. With your talent, if you submit to me, I can recommend you to the count as chief captain. We could even join forces to sideline that old man Ian—split the castle’s resources between us. How about it?”

  Del wiped the blood from his mouth, revealing a mocking smile. “Lord Torry—between us, can anyone really live?”

  “Since you insist on dying…” Torrey’s face twisted ferociously.

  He pulled from his bosom a pitch-black statue carved with wailing faces—his secret, forbidden wizard artifact: the “Blood Sacrifice Idol.”

  “I didn’t want to use this…” Torrey laughed miserably, stabbing the idol into his own abdomen.

  Massive blood was devoured by the statue. Torrey’s lower body withered and petrified instantly—as if sacrificed to the void. In exchange, a terrifying second-circle sorcery fluctuation erupted, turning the entire underground storage into a blood-red hell.

  “Die!! Blood Spirit Curse Kill!!”

  Torrey roared madly,

  “You forced me—you forced me—die!!! Die!!!”

  This power could melt any beginner-tier professional instantly.

  Del watched the oncoming blood torrent, took a deep breath, and crushed the purple vial in his left hand.

  Buzz—!!

  Blinding white light exploded instantly! In the absolutely sealed chamber, the radiance fell like a blazing sun.

  “My eyes!!” Torrey screamed.

  In that instant, a massive sound of shattering came from Del’s dantian.

  The sword moves originally altered for camouflage completely vanished. That primordial, tyrannical force suppressed for millennia—from the Eastern apocalypse—tore through everything in this moment.

  [Black Buddha Fist Art · Great Black Heaven Collapse]

  Del stepped forward and punched.

  It was an extremely primitive, almost clumsy straight punch. No superfluous swaying, no flashy variations—simply sink shoulder, twist waist, punch.

  Yet in Torrey’s blurred vision—enhanced by sorcery to perceive spiritual senses—he saw not a youth.

  Behind Del rose a colossal figure towering to the sky, formed of roiling pitch-black wind-sand. Clad in tattered kasaya, its face neither smiling nor crying, it sat quietly on a throne of countless bleached bones—the Black Sand Evil Buddha.

  As Del’s simple punch struck, the Evil Buddha slowly raised its arm, mirroring the exact same fist posture.

  This punch crossed the dust of time, carrying the final resentment of a sect’s destruction, crashing heavily into the blood torrent.

  Pfft.

  The blood torrent couldn’t hold even a microsecond—it turned directly to nothingness.

  Del’s fist imprinted on Torrey’s chest.

  No explosion—only an extremely dense “rustling” sound. Torrey’s sorcery-reinforced half-body, upon contact with the fist, disintegrated like a sand sculpture—reduced to primal metal and flesh powder.

  Torrey’s eyes froze in utmost terror. In that punch’s intent, he saw countless souls wailing in black sand.

  Boom—!!

  Without the caster’s support, the chamber’s array chain-exploded from core collapse.

  Del leaned against the shattered altar, letting rubble bury him.

  “Chip… clear… all… fist intent remnants.”

  Del closed his eyes, hearing Ian’s hurried footsteps.