The heavy stone door of the cultivation chamber ground shut, sealing the master of the Cloud-Peak Pavilion into the subterranean darkness once more. The air was still thick with the lingering, sweet scent of his wives, Yue Lingshan and Hua Ling, a fragrance of jasmine and affection that hung in the spiritual mist. But as the silence stretched, Wang Jian's expression shifted. The tenderness he had shown the women who held his heart evaporated like morning dew under a scorching sun, replaced by the cold, iron-hard visage of a tyrant king preparing to forge weapons.
He sat on the stone dais, his naked body radiating a terrifying heat. His new Core Formation realm foundation was a roaring furnace, and while he had shared a portion of his energy with his wives to gently elevate them, he still held a reservoir of violent, chaotic power that needed a different kind of outlet. He needed vessels that could withstand the storm. He needed his furnaces.
