The Flame That Does Not Fade in the Mind
The Abyss was silent.Not the silence of death, but that of a world that watches.
Long Yanshen, after years of forging his body under forces that would crush any other living being, sat at the center of a circle of golden runes carved by Long Zhuan himself.The Dragon watched from above, wings folded, gaze fixed.
— A strong body without an awakened mind, — he said, his voice vibrating through stone and blood — is nothing more than a blade without an edge.
The Trial of the Mental Chains
Ten thousand voices echoed through the Abyss.They were deep, shrill, sweet, cruel… whispers Yanshen knew.The voice of his grandmother, calling him home.That of slain enemies, mocking.That of women he had never loved, but could have loved.Promises of absolute power, of kingdoms at his feet, of immortality without pain.
Each voice was a chain, winding around his mind, trying to drag him down.He felt ice at his temples, heat at his nape, weight on his shoulders.
But he breathed.Breath of the Celestial Serpent.
Little by little, each chain shattered, like ice under fire.
The Revelation of Long Zhuan
The silence that followed the name of the technique was not empty.It was the silence of an army holding its breath.
Long Zhuan stepped back a few paces, his golden body undulating like a living ocean.
— Now, Yanshen… show me if you are capable of bearing the weight of the seven arts.
The ground split open.From the abyss within the Abyss, rose creatures that belonged to no era — amalgams of shadow and bone, covered in arcane markings, moving as if each step were a flaw in reality itself.
There were dozens.Each taller than a city wall.Each carrying a fragment of ancient hatred.
Yanshen closed his eyes for an instant. Breathed.Breath of the Celestial Serpent.
When he opened his eyes, the Abyss no longer seemed oppressive — only a battlefield.
First Flow — Refined Frozen Lotus
One beast charged, roaring with a thousand voices.Yanshen raised his hand and, with a gesture, froze the air itself.Not only the creature's body, but the sound of its roar, the vibration of space, even the flow of its blood ceased.The beast toppled like shattered glass.
Second Flow — True Crimson Lightning
Another came from behind. Yanshen turned, feet tracing an arc on the ground.Crimson lightning tore through the void, not bound by space — it ripped the very seam holding the world together.The creature split into four pieces… but before touching the ground, it vanished like smoke torn away by the wind.
Third Flow — Perfect Celestial Mirrors
Three enemies surrounded him.As they advanced, they found… Yanshen, identical, moving toward them.Each reflection mirrored their attack perfectly — but instead of copying them, it rewrote their fate.In the next instant, the monsters were tearing each other apart until no form remained.
Fourth Flow — Pure Shadow Veil
From the upper rifts, serpentine creatures descended, drops of venom falling from their fangs.Yanshen stepped into his own shadow and vanished.The world around fell silent. The beasts tried to scent him, but there was no smell, no aura, no presence.When he reappeared, it was inside one of them — tearing it apart from within.
Fifth Flow — Hundred Eternal Voices
An impossible choir echoed.It was not a sound, but all sounds.The harmony made the Abyss tremble, and the remaining beasts retreated, their heads bowed as if the Dao itself had commanded them to kneel.A final note — and bones shattered without a single drop of blood spilled.
Sixth Flow — Immortal Stone Heart
A colossus the size of a fortress charged, striking with limbs like falling towers.The blow landed full on Yanshen.Nothing broke.He absorbed the impact, turning the received force into energy, and returned it multiplied — hurling the monster back into the depths.
Seventh Flow — Primordial Solar Breath
The last beasts retreated, but there was no escape.Yanshen raised both hands, and a blazing sun formed between them.The light was not mere heat — it burned essence, body, and even the laws keeping the creature alive.When the glare faded, only golden dust floated in the air.
The field lay empty.Ash fell like black snow.Yanshen breathed steadily, but sweat streamed down his face.
Long Zhuan approached, his claws striking the ground like war drums.
— You have mastered the seven, — said the Dragon. — But the Dragon's Roar That Ends Worlds is not merely another technique.
He leaned in, gaze burning like a furnace.
— It is the union of them… and of something that cannot be taught.
For months — or perhaps centuries — Yanshen trained each one until they became instinct.
The Creation of the Eighth Path
One day, Long Zhuan summoned him to the center of the Abyss.Behind the Dragon, a rift of golden and black light opened, as if the void itself had been torn.
— From the seven arts was born the eighth. One that carries my name and my blood.
He closed his eyes, and the air quivered.Deep below, a sound emerged — deep, ancient, so vast it seemed to come from everywhere at once.
The Abyss shook.Creatures retreated.And Yanshen fell to his knees, heart racing as if before a collapsing sky.
— 灭世龙吟 — said Long Zhuan. — The Dragon's Roar That Ends Worlds.— This technique is not merely an attack. It is decree. Where it echoes, the world will bow… or break.
Long Zhuan opened his eyes, the golden light blazing like a thousand suns.
— But you are not ready.— When your mind is as empty as your heart… I will give you the roar.