It took him nearly an hour to comb through everything stored in the jade slip.
When he finally opened his eyes, there was a strange sharpness behind them.
An almost unfamiliar clarity that settled deep into his mind.
"I understand it now"
"I'm officially a second-grade, low-level Spiritual Puppeteer," he muttered, a soft grin tugging at his lips, "From now on, making money and self protection could be secured in this rundown place"
He got to his feet and brushed the dust off his robes with a slow, deliberate motion. "And I've even gained a spark of inspiration for my upper-level, first-grade Spiritual Planter path. All I need now is a tier-two spiritual plant inheritance to break through"
"Once that's done, I can officially call myself a second-grade dual-path spiritual arts cultivator."
The thought alone sent a rush up his spine.
Just yesterday, he was nothing more than a mediocre low-level cultivator scraping by, and now, in the blink of an eye, he'd made a breakthrough that countless others failed to achieve in a lifetime.
The gap between first and second grade was no small step, it was a canyon.
No amount of grit or effort alone could close it without talent or opportunity.
Liam understood that better than most.
After all, the body he now lived in had been walking this dual path for decades.
It wasn't technically his struggle, but the memories felt so ingrained, so vivid, that the distinction no longer mattered.
It might as well have been his own.
"Next step, design the dungeon."
His voice dropped to a murmur as he sat back down and let his awareness dive inward once more.
The terrain within the dungeon floated before his inner sight, empty yet full of potential.
Then, something clicked.
A flicker of an idea rose from the depths of his thoughts, nowhere in the information provided had this been mentioned, but based on what he had learned, it didn't seem impossible.
"If I can drag monsters and eggs into the dungeon's domain… wouldn't it make sense that I could bring other things too?"
He leaned forward slightly, narrowing his eyes at the mental image of the dungeon.
The system stated that once monsters or eggs were within the dungeon's sphere of influence, its rules automatically kicked in, spawn rates, refresh cycles, loot generation, and so on.
The moment they crossed the threshold, they were no longer wild entities, they became part of the dungeon's operating mechanism.
"Then… what if I planted a spiritual plant inside?" he asked aloud, voice low with a mix of wonder and scheming. "Would the rules treat it the same way? Would it become refreshable? Would it develop its own internal mechanics? Or... is this just wishful thinking?"
The longer he sat with the thought, the deeper it took root.
It was perfectly in line with his core approach to everything, dig for loopholes, wring the most benefit out of them, and do it quietly.
He wasn't desperate for people to rush into his dungeon.
That part didn't matter much.
The system would continue to function whether or not monks flooded in to explore it.
But for long-term growth? That was a different matter.
To unlock more advanced features, increase his dungeon count, or boost its size, Liam needed something else, something called Existence Essence.
He didn't know much about it, but according to the data, this essence was something every living being carried, and the dungeon could extract it harmlessly each time a cultivator came inside.
The comparison given was simple: like pouring water into a cup that never overflowed.
This essence just… renewed itself endlessly for each person.
His gaze flicked toward the base of the dungeon interface.
There, just beneath the spatial layout, was a slim bar labeled "Permission Progress." It sat at zero percent.
"I guess that's how I'll level up the dungeon," Liam murmured, tapping a finger against his lips. "Probably can't expand anything or create a higher-tier dungeon until I increase that permission level."
It made sense.
The information download he'd received earlier had been vast, dense enough to give a weaker man a headache, but even so, it hadn't covered everything.
There were blind spots.
He sighed and shook his head. "That damned voice really just dumped everything on me and vanished. No guidance. No follow-up."
"One day in a mountain, the next in the ocean," he said under his breath, a phrase that fit the path he walked.
Slow. Quiet. Intentional.
One step at a time.
A turtle took hours to walk a certain distance, but it did eventually.
So, be patience.
Refocusing, Liam turned his attention back to the dungeon and started molding the terrain.
It was pliable under his will, like clay shaped by thought.
But this wasn't true creation, just reshaping.
A matter of structure, not substance.
He decided to reserve the surface area for planting later, wanting to test him theory out.
That much was non-negotiable.
So he turned his effort inward, carving out a massive underground cavern beneath the open land.
The design was simple, crude even, but given the limited space available right now, that was inevitable.
He started by shaping the entrance: a hundred-meter-long tunnel that began at just two meters wide and gradually expanded to ten.
The ceiling was high enough that three grown men could sit stacked on one another and still walk comfortably inside.
It wasn't much, but it was a start.
No further decorations or details yet, his permissions were still too low for anything fancy.
But one thing stood out immediately.
"It's pitch black in there," he noted, eyes scanning the darkness in his mind's eye.
That was fine, preferred, even.
He already had a plan for the type of monsters he'd install inside, and darkness played directly into that.
His gaze drifted further inward.
"And now... the main area," he murmured, his mind already piecing together what would come next.
For the main chamber, Liam envisioned a vast underground hall riddled with disjointed architecture, pillar-like protrusions twisted in strange angles and scattered without rhythm.
The terrain was anything but friendly.
Jagged rocks jutted from the walls like broken fangs, and the floor... well, calling it a floor was generous.
Some parts tilted so steeply they were practically vertical, while others dipped into sudden drops or rose into uneven mounds.
You couldn't tell if you were climbing or falling unless you were already on the ground.
"Sometimes up is down, and other times, down's just pretending to be up," Liam muttered, a grin stretching across his face.
"I hope this terrain gives those monks a real adventure," he chuckled, the kind of laugh that was both playful and a touch sinister.
He stuck with the designing for hours.
Every corner, every twist of rock, every precarious ledge came from deliberate thought.
On the outside, he looked peaceful, slouched comfortably in a wooden reclining chair under the afternoon sky, posture casual and unbothered.
But within his consciousness, the dungeon had transformed completely.
A dark, suffocating cave sprawled out beneath him.
Black as ink, its walls serrated with stone teeth and obscure shadows.
The pillars, some thick, others skeletal thin, rose at odd angles, some toppling halfway as if gravity had briefly lost interest in them.
The ground was treacherous, impossible to memorize even with repeated steps.
One misstep here, and it wouldn't just hurt, it could kill.
Liam exhaled a laugh, soft but laced with grim amusement. "Just one mistake, and someone's cultivation journey ends with a cracked skull and regrets," he said, tapping the armrest of his chair with two fingers.
His eyes reflected something deeper, thoughts that lingered past morality and convenience.
"I wonder…" His gaze drifted toward the space where the dungeon core hummed faintly below ground. "If a monk dies in my dungeon, can I collect their possessions?" He asked it out loud, casually, as though wondering what to have for lunch.
That was the kind of question that summed up cultivation in a single breath.
Mercy existed, sure, but only where it didn't cost you anything.
And interest?
Interest shredded brotherhoods and buried sects.
The cultivation path was a narrow, cold ladder built against the sky.
If you hesitated, someone climbed over you.
If you failed, you were discarded.
Liam had long since made peace with that.
"I chose to stay where I am. I'm not chasing titles or provoking fights." His words were quiet but firm. "If that gets me killed, I have no one else to blame. And neither does anyone else on this road."
"There's no medicine for regret."
"There's no pain but for one's own weakness'
He let the words hang in the air, then sighed and leaned back in his chair again, eyes closing briefly with a flicker of satisfaction.
"Whatever the case, the dungeon's ready," he muttered. "Well, except for the monsters."
His brows furrowed, thoughtful now, as he rubbed his chin absently.
Monster eggs weren't just lying around for the taking, and risking his neck wasn't on today's schedule.
He's an elixir cultivator for most, strong on paper but weak on the outside.
Instead, he reached for the leather bag resting at his side.
His hand dug into it and pulled out a handful of strange-looking materials: coarse, blackened wood, luminous shards of crystal, and several heavy stones that radiated a low energy.
All of them Tier 1, top-grade materials, perfect for puppet crafting.
A flicker of intent passed through his eyes, and thin tendrils of qi threaded out from his fingers.
They danced through the air, then latched onto the materials like invisible silk.
"Let's make some puppets. I'll just trade them at the black market for what I want," he muttered, fully focused now.
Puppet creation wasn't all that different from refining weapons, just less glamorous and a lot more delicate.
It required shaping the raw materials, fusing them with the creator's will, and then stitching it all together.
Fortunately, his recent breakthrough into second grade low-level Spiritual Puppeteer meant handling Tier 1 materials was almost too easy now.
His control was fluid, each line of qi slicing and molding the materials.
Within thirty minutes, several figures began to take shape in the middle of the courtyard.
They stood nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered with armor-like plating shaped from darkened wood and stone.
Their surface shimmered with a faint oily sheen under the light, and their eyes, if you could call them that, glinted faintly, like embers behind smoked glass.
Four puppets in total. Each one possessing the unmistakable pressure of the peak Qi Refining Realm.
Liam stood slowly, arms folding behind his back as he admired them. "Most Tier 1 puppets are trash," he said, half to himself, half to the puppets. "These use a second-grade core concept. No need for a full energy core. They just need an energy container and can absorb ambient qi on their own."
His hand reached out, fingers trailing across the coarse arm of one puppet.
The grain of the wood felt dense, almost metallic under his touch.
"I even added a self-destruct mechanism," he mused. "If triggered, the explosion's strong enough to take out a group of careless monks at peak Qi Refining. Not bad for something made in my backyard."
After a few more inspections, tightening a joint here, adjusting a seal there, he nodded in approval.
With a single wave of his hand, three of the puppets vanished into his storage bag, their presence snuffed out like candles.
He left one behind to accompany him, after all, he needed protection too.
After all, despite everything, Liam was still just a sixth-layer Qi Refining cultivator.
In this city, that didn't mean much.
Middle class, at best. His dual path gave him some edge, some recognition, but not enough to keep stronger monks from getting ideas.
He glanced at the puppet, then at the empty courtyard, and shook his head.
"Alright," he muttered, stepping toward the door. "Time to get moving.