The thudding of fists echoed like a smith hammering on molten steel.
Within the sealed cave behind the village cliffs, dim firelight flickered across blood-slicked stone. Zhen Wuji stood shirtless, muscles trembling and streaked with bruises. Steam hissed from his skin, and his bones groaned with each movement like coiled beasts yearning to roar.
His breath was ragged, but his eyes were sharp. Focused.
Flesh Tempering—the third layer of the Heaven-Crushing Titan Body Scripture. Unlike Bone Refinement or Marrow Ignition, this stage demanded direct confrontation with the limits of flesh: pain, force, recovery, and then more pain. Again.
"The Titan Scripture doesn't coddle," Wuji muttered hoarsely. "It doesn't flow like Qi. It roars like the wrath of the world."
His body was the forge. His will was the hammer.
The boulder-sized chunk of ironwood before him had long been stained with blood. Each blow he struck against it was not just training—it was war. Every strike smashed tendon, tore muscle, and dislocated bone. And yet… the resonance in his flesh deepened with each repetition.
Bang!
Another punch. The ironwood quivered. Blood sprayed from his knuckles, yet he didn't stop.
"Again."
The mantra of madness.
Every cultivator in the Lower World sought balance—body and Qi, or Qi and soul. But Wuji had chosen a path few even dared look at: pure force, forged not from heavens' favor but human resolve.
He recalled what Elder Mu had told him a week ago.
"You're walking a path that will destroy you if you hesitate. Body cultivation is a monster's road—glorious or tragic, never ordinary."
And that was precisely why Wuji never hesitated.
He slammed his body against the stone pillar, letting the rebound dislocate his shoulder. With a growl, he wrenched it back into place and struck again.
Pain bloomed. Power surged.
Flesh Tempering was not simply about hardening muscles. The Titan Scripture taught that each fiber of the body must learn to respond to trauma with evolution. It was not resilience—it was rebellion.
His flesh began to vibrate with low resonance, the same trembling hum that once came from his bones. It synchronized now, slowly forming a rhythm between marrow and muscle. A rhythm of power.
Suddenly, the cave shuddered.
Zhen Wuji paused, blood dripping from his fingertips. That tremor... it wasn't from his body.
Outside, in the direction of Dustfall Village, came faint echoes—shouts, the crack of wood, and something worse.
Burning.
His eyes narrowed. "Raiders?"
He didn't hesitate. Throwing on his tattered shirt, he wrapped his arms in crude cloth bindings, now soaked in dried blood. With one final punch to the stone—crack!—he splintered it.
Then he turned and ran, bare feet slamming the cavern floor like thunder.
The village was ablaze.
Flames licked the rooftops of the northern quarter. Screams rang out, and children ran for the forest. The air was thick with the stench of smoke, blood, and fear.
A crude banner fluttered on the ridge—three bloody scars slashed across black cloth.
The Three-Scars Sect.
Zhen Wuji's eyes went cold. The same bastards who had stolen from the villagers months ago. But this time they hadn't come to rob. This time, they were killing.
He spotted Elder Mu fending off two disciples, his Qi blade flickering. But the old man was faltering.
Without hesitation, Wuji sprinted into the fray. A nearby Three-Scars thug turned just in time to see a human fist slam into his face like a battering ram.
CRACK!
Bone shattered. The man flew six meters and collapsed like a sack of meat.
Wuji grabbed a smoldering cart wheel and hurled it like a discus into another attacker's chest. Wood cracked. Ribs snapped.
"Zhen Wuji?!" Elder Mu coughed. "You broke through?!"
"No time. Where are the others?"
"Some fled to the woods. But the Sect's outer elder is here. He—!"
A chilling laugh echoed from deeper in the village.
A tall, gaunt man with a red-marked face strode forward, stepping over a corpse. His eyes were cold, and a suppressive Qi spread from him like a toxic mist.
"So you're the brute the villagers whisper about," he sneered. "Bare fists against a cultivator's Qi. Let's see how long your bones last."
Wuji stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.
"I don't need Qi to kill trash."
The elder scoffed. "Arrogant insect!"
He raised his palm—Qi surged in a spiral of wind and force.
Wuji didn't flinch. He charged.
Internal Monologue:
He's stronger. Late-stage Qi Condensation. His meridians are open. He can cast arts.
But that power flows from borrowed heaven. Mine?
Mine is carved into every drop of blood.
The elder unleashed a Frost Palm, a wave of blue force roaring forth.
Wuji didn't dodge.
He planted his feet, twisted his core, and struck out with all the might of his Flesh Tempered body.
Primordial Tyrant Fist: Heaven-Breaker – First Echo!
His punch didn't simply meet the Qi—it ripped through it.
The palm shattered like ice against a hammer. The shockwave split the air, sending dust and flames scattering.
The elder's eyes widened. "What?!"
Too late.
Wuji's second fist came low, driving into the elder's gut. Something popped. The man bent double, vomiting blood.
Then Wuji rose up and delivered an uppercut that launched the elder off his feet. The sound of the jaw breaking echoed like thunder.
He collapsed, wheezing.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
The Three-Scars thugs stared, stunned.
"Your Qi… is nothing," Wuji said coldly. "When faced with absolute force."
Some fled. Others knelt.
The village had been saved.
Later that night, Wuji sat at the cliff's edge, breathing slowly. His muscles ached, his skin was torn, but within his body... a pulse flowed. A new rhythm.
The third resonance had awakened—Flesh now joining Bone and Marrow.
He had stepped into a level of strength no one in the Lower World had seen from a mortal village boy.
Elder Mu limped over and sat beside him. "You were reckless."
"I was necessary," Wuji replied.
"You're walking further and further from the realm of ordinary men."
Wuji's gaze turned to the sky.
"That's because ordinary men are bound by what they think is possible."
"But you…"
"I break those boundaries. With fist, flesh, and will."