The night was at its deepest ebb, the dead hour when both mortal and spiritual defences grew lax from exhaustion. Arin pressed his body into the narrow fissure he had forced, bracing himself for the climb. The pipe, slick with alchemical residue and filth, was a treacherous vertical path.
He ascended with meticulous care, relying entirely on the crushing strength and friction provided by his Bone-Forged resilience. His grip was absolute, his movements silent. He focused his will on his core, ruthlessly suppressing the minimal Qi he had managed to cycle into his meridians, forcing his spiritual self into a state of profound emptiness. He was not a sentient being; he was a cold, dense, inanimate rock.
He reached the top of the pipe, where the small, forced crack in the foundation stone offered a glimpse into the secondary storage room. This was the moment of truth. He could feel the cold, electrical hum of the Life-Sensing ward vibrating across the threshold.
Arin eased himself through the narrow gap. As his body passed the threshold, he felt the spiritual sense of the ward wash over him a chilling, invasive touch that sought out a core of life force. It swept right over him, lingering only on the cold density of the stone he resembled. The ward registered a piece of heavy rubble, not a sentient, powerful thief. Victory. His emptiness was his perfection. The grand arrogance of the Duskwind Sect had been defeated by their own contempt for the powerless.
He was inside the secondary storage, a windowless, low-ceilinged room used for temporary overflow. The air here was dry and thick with the mixed scent of rare herbs and dust. The security was immediate.
Huddled in a hammock slung between two shelves, a young Inner Court Disciple was slumped in a deep, oblivious sleep, his breathing slow and heavy. On a small table beside him, a sleek, copper-scaled Guardian Serpent, a low-grade spiritual beast used for silent protection, lay coiled, its single eye slightly ajar.
The sleeping guard was simple incompetence; the Guardian Serpent was the true, silent threat.
Arin moved toward the beast with a predatory stillness. The serpent sensed him the moment he moved, its eye snapping open. It coiled, preparing to unleash a silent, paralysing poison. Arin did not hesitate. He moved. He lunged, not to fight, but to smother. He slammed the flat of his Bone-Forged hand down over the serpent's head and throat, using his immense, silent density to pin the creature instantly. He didn't crush it; he simply compressed it, silencing its struggle and its toxic venom with brute, relentless physical pressure. The serpent was neutralised, pinned to the floor, stunned and paralysed by the sheer weight of his enhanced frame. The guard snored on, oblivious.
Arin's gaze swept the room. The Cloud-Drifting Bloom was the only thing of value. It sat on a circular pedestal in the centre of the room, sealed beneath a simple, clear glass dome. It wasn't the lock that guarded it; it was the herb itself.
The Bloom was exquisite and profoundly dangerous. It was a single, fist-sized flower that seemed to hover on its stem, its petals shimmering with a pearlescent, ethereal light that slowly shifted colour, resembling the passage of clouds. A faint, sweet, cloying scent, the volatile narcotic pollen Seliora had warned him of, leaked even past the glass dome.
Arin knew he couldn't break the glass; the resulting plume of pollen would instantly paralyse him. He could not risk it entering the air.
He reached into the glass dome's pedestal, which was not locked, but merely sealed with a simple pressure clasp. Arin carefully undid the latch.
The moment the glass dome lifted an inch, the concentration of the paralysing pollen intensified, washing over Arin. He felt the familiar, terrifying sensation of Qi disruption his meridians convulsing, his blood slowing, the first wave of paralysis hitting his diaphragm.
He relied entirely on the brute endurance of his Bone-Forged stage. His bones, reinforced by divine runes, resisted the systemic paralysis. His internal fortitude held against the chemical attack. He didn't rely on Qi; he relied on physical integrity.
Gritting his teeth against the seizing pain, Arin plunged his hand in, wrapped the flower gently in the stolen, oiled fabric, and yanked it out. The contact was brief, but the toxic burn was immediate, searing the skin of his reinforced fingers.
He slammed the glass dome back onto the pedestal, sealing the volatile air and forcing the residual paralysis out of his body. His hands were shaking, but the flower was secured, the toxic paralysis receding as quickly as it had struck.
The theft was complete.
Arin didn't linger. He retrieved the stunned Guardian Serpent, tossing it back onto the sleeping guard's chest a confused but non-alarming distraction for when they woke. He slipped back to the wall, eased his frame back through the forced fissure, and descended silently into the sewer tunnels.
The core of the Sect was violated. He had stolen a resource so valuable its loss would trigger an investigation from the highest Elders and the Celestial Tribunal itself. This was the defiance, the challenge to fate, that his soul craved.
Safe in the solitude of his hidden niche, Arin carefully unwrapped the Cloud-Drifting Bloom. It pulsed with an almost audible spiritual energy pure, life-affirming, chaotic power.
He knew what he had to do. He broke off a single, tiny, luminous petal.
The raw energy contained in that fragment was immense, enough to sustain a high-level Inner Disciple for a month of cultivation. Arin swallowed it whole.
The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. A tidal wave of pure, refined spiritual energy exploded in his core. It wasn't the slow trickle of the spiritual berries; it was a roaring deluge. The power slammed against his empty dantian, threatening to destroy his rebuilt core.
But this time, his body was ready. The Bone-Forged meridians and core, painfully toughened by the basic circulation technique, held the flood. The crescent Mark devoured the initial chaotic surge, transforming the volatile spiritual energy into refined Lunari fuel.
The energy was so dense, so pure, that Arin felt his spirit sea instantly replenish and swell. The paralysing weakness vanished. His bones, his skin, his very essence hummed with sustained life force.
The immense spiritual sustenance immediately eased the strain on the divine Mark. The energy was absorbed and stored, stabilising the fragmented essence and readying Arin for the final, most terrifying step: the Marrow-Sealed stage. He had the fuel, and he had the perfect, immediate target for defiance.
He was no longer a beggar thief. He was in power. He was a high-grade cultivator in the eyes of the cosmos, fueled by a mythical resource, hidden in the filth beneath the feet of his enemies, and ready to face the full weight of the Sect's rage.