The stares were immediate.
Azrael had barely taken ten steps outside his cave before three outer disciples stopped mid-conversation to gawk at him. Their eyes widened, mouths falling open slightly. One of them actually took a step back.
"Who is that?" one whispered.
"I don't know. That aura... is he an inner disciple?"
"No way. Look at his robes. Those are outer sect colors."
Azrael kept walking, trying to ignore them. But more heads turned. A group of female disciples training nearby paused their sword forms to stare. One of them blushed and looked away quickly.
This was going to be a problem.
His transformation had made him too noticeable. The heavenly aura, the perfect physique, the eyes with their swirling fractals—all of it screamed "important cultivator" in a way that didn't match his outer sect status.
He needed a solution. Fast.
Azrael ducked into a quiet alcove between buildings and closed his eyes, focusing on his Fire Law comprehension. At 97% understanding, he could manipulate matter at the molecular level—a side benefit of comprehending fundamental forces.
Cultivators who mastered a law above 50% could synthesize materials from energy, as long as they understood the molecular structure down to the atomic level. At 90% or higher, they could rudimentarily use the basic fundamental rules of the universe itself.
The four fundamental forces: gravity, electromagnetism, the strong nuclear force, and the weak nuclear force. Controlling any of these could make you a god—if you had the energy to sustain it.
Azrael didn't need to be a god right now. He just needed a mask.
He reached into his spiritual awareness and began pulling together atoms from the ambient qi. Carbon for structure. Silicon for flexibility. Trace metals for conductivity. He shaped them using electromagnetic force, bound them with strong nuclear force at key points, and stabilized the weak force interactions to prevent decay.
one minutes later, a mask materialized in his hands.
It was sleek and modern-looking, covering his entire face from forehead to chin. No eye holes, no mouth opening—just smooth surfaces with geometric lines etched across it in flowing patterns. Tiny runes glowed faintly along the edges, pulsing with soft blue light. It looked expensive, mysterious, and most importantly, like something a cultivator might wear.
Azrael put it on. The mask adhered perfectly to his skin, breathable despite having no visible openings. His enhanced perception let him see through it as clearly as if it weren't there.
He also reined in his aura, compressing it inward. The heavenly presence faded to a subtle background hum—noticeable only to those with sharp spiritual senses.
Much better.
When he stepped back out, a few disciples still glanced at him, but the reaction was muted. Masks weren't uncommon in the sect. Many disciples had grudges or wanted to hide their identities during specific missions. Some wore them for years.
Nobody would question it.
Azrael made his way toward the Celestial Trading Hall, but his mind was already elsewhere. Three months of isolation had been intense. He needed a break. A chance to relax and process everything he'd learned.
But he also needed to improve his standing in the sect without raising suspicions about his true capabilities.
The literature cultivation path might work.
It was a rare specialty—using spiritual power, qi, brushes, and ink to draw runes that achieved specific effects. Talismans, formation plates, enchanted scrolls. Highly valued but uncommon because it required exceptional control and artistic skill.
Azrael had both.
If anyone questioned his sudden improvement, he could claim enlightenment struck while practicing calligraphy. Cultivators experienced sudden breakthroughs in understanding all the time. It was plausible.
And it would give him a legitimate reason to study formations and runes openly.
Perfect cover story.
But first, he needed materials. And that meant spending spirit stones.
As he walked, something else tugged at his awareness. A faint sense of unease. Not immediate danger, but a premonition—like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.
Cultivators developed this intuition at higher levels. The stronger your soul, the more sensitive you became to threads of fate and causality. Azrael's soul was abnormally powerful for his realm, reinforced by six law comprehensions.
Something was coming. He didn't know what, but his instincts screamed preparation.
He needed combat techniques. Not just law comprehension, but actual martial applications. Sword attacks. Movement arts. Escape techniques. Defensive barriers.
The Myriad Spiritual Library contained thousands of techniques, but he hadn't properly studied most of them. Time to change that.
Azrael split his consciousness.
It was surprisingly easy with his enhanced soul. Like opening multiple browser tabs in his mind, each running independently.
30% focused on comprehending runes and talisman crafting.
30% focused on formation theory and array construction.
30% began studying combat techniques—sword arts that matched his fire/water/earth/wind/wood/space law foundation, movement techniques for speed and evasion, escape arts for emergencies, barrier techniques for defense.
The remaining 10% handled his physical body and daily activities.
It felt strange at first, like trying to hold four conversations simultaneously. But his enhanced consciousness adapted quickly. Each partition worked independently while sharing information through his central awareness.
Efficient.
The Celestial Trading Hall was enormous.
It occupied an entire plaza near the center of the outer sect, a three-story building with jade pillars and golden roof tiles. Disciples flowed in and out constantly, carrying packages, arguing over prices, or browsing the display windows.
The first floor sold basic goods—cultivation pills, spirit herbs, weapons, talismans. The second floor specialized in rare materials and advanced items. The third floor was by appointment only, for expensive treasures that required elder approval to purchase.
Azrael entered through the main doors and immediately felt the shift in atmosphere.
The interior was spacious and well-lit, with spirit stone lamps casting warm light across polished wooden floors. Display cases lined the walls, filled with glittering pills, gleaming weapons, and mysterious artifacts. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood incense.
Dozens of attendants in green robes moved between customers, answering questions and processing transactions. Most were outer disciples working part-time for contribution points.
Azrael climbed the stairs to the second floor, noting how other disciples unconsciously stepped aside to let him pass. His suppressed aura still carried weight—enough to mark him as someone important without drawing excessive attention.
The second floor was quieter and more refined. Fewer customers, more expensive goods. The display cases here contained items that glowed with their own spiritual light.
He found the formation materials section tucked into a corner alcove. Shelves lined with jade boxes, each labeled with neat calligraphy. Spirit ink. Formation flags. Array plates. Spiritual wood. Metal ingots infused with elemental qi.
And the prices.
Azrael picked up a jade box labeled "Grade 5 Formation Plate (Blank)" and checked the tag.
Fifteen thousand spirit stones.
For ONE blank plate.
He set it down carefully and picked up another. "Grade 5 Spirit Ink (Fire-Aligned)" - eight thousand spirit stones for a single bottle.
"Grade 6 Array Flag Set" - forty-five thousand spirit stones for five flags.
"Grade 7 Spatial Anchor Stone (Fragment)" - one hundred and twenty thousand spirit stones for a tiny piece.
Azrael's eye twitched behind his mask.
He'd thought seventy-five thousand spirit stones was a fortune. It was more wealth than most outer disciples earned in a lifetime.
But formation materials—real, high-grade materials—were obscenely expensive.
He did quick mental calculations. For the formations he needed, he'd require at least:
Multiple Grade 6 formation plates for the concealment barrier Grade 7 spatial materials for the portal formation Grade 8 components for the dimensional anchor
Minimum cost: half a million spirit stones.
Possibly more.
He didn't have even a fraction of that.
Azrael turned and left the trading hall, his mind churning. His entire plan—the formations, the spatial portal, the safe cultivation space—all of it hinged on materials he couldn't afford.
His path to godhood had hit an obstacle called MONEY.
He descended the stairs slowly, other disciples parting before him without conscious thought. His 10% consciousness handled walking while the other 90% worked on their assigned comprehension tasks.
The rune partition was making progress—basic understanding of how spiritual energy could be encoded into symbols.
The formation partition had identified potential workarounds—using multiple lower-grade materials in complex arrangements could potentially replace single high-grade components.
The combat partition had selected three sword techniques, two movement arts, one escape skill, and four barrier methods to master.
But none of that solved his immediate problem.
He needed money. Lots of it.
Azrael pushed through the exit doors back into the plaza, his dejection clear even through his masked face.
He was so absorbed in thought he almost missed the commotion near the main notice board.
A crowd had gathered—easily five hundred or six hundred disciples, all talking excitedly. Some were pointing at a freshly posted announcement. Others were arguing amongst themselves.
"—once every ten thousand years!"
"The elders are taking this seriously. Look at the quota numbers."
"My great grand cousin entered last time. She came back with a spirit herb worth fifty thousand spirit stones."
"Yeah, but multiple disciples didn't come back at all."
Azrael moved closer, his curiosity piqued. The crowd parted slightly as his suppressed aura made them unconsciously give him space.
The notice board held a massive scroll, easily three feet tall, written in elegant script with official sect seals at the bottom.
CELESTIAL PEAK SECT ANNOUNCEMENT
SECRET REALM OPENING: THE ANCIENT FORMATION SECT INHERITANCE
Opening Date: Two Weeks From Today
Duration: One Month (Realm will close automatically)
The notice continued with dense text explaining the situation. Azrael read quickly, his enhanced perception absorbing every detail.
The secret realm had belonged to an ancient formation sect, destroyed over hundreds thousand years ago by jealous rivals who feared their heaven-defying formation techniques. The realm only opened once every ten millennia, and entry was restricted—Golden Core cultivators and below, less than 40 years old.
Previous expeditions had failed to claim the main inheritance. A massive formation protected the central treasury, and despite the sect's best efforts, they'd never broken through. Instead, they'd harvested spirit herbs that had matured for ten thousand years and searched for buried treasures in the outer regions.
This time would be no different—probably.
The sect was conducting a competition to establish quotas:
Top 50 outer disciples, Top 50 inner, disciples Top 50 core disciples, and 5 true disciples which are exempted from competition and also Formation genius disciples are exempted from competition.
The five true disciples were the cream of the crop—peak Golden Core cultivators under 30 years old, geniuses who could fight above their realm. They'd be tasked with attempting to break the formation protecting the inheritance.
The formation disciples would work alongside them, deciphering the arrays and identifying weak points.
Everyone else? Harvest resources and try not to die.
The secret realm was divided into three zones:
Outer Realm: Relatively safe. Spirit herbs, basic treasures, spirit beasts up to Foundation Establishment level. Outer disciples encouraged to stay here.
Inner Realm: Moderate danger. Rare herbs, better treasures, spirit beasts up to Golden Core level. Inner disciples should stick to this area. Core disciples could explore the edges.
Core Realm: Extreme danger. The formation sect's ruins, the protected treasury, and spirit beasts equivalent to Nascent Soul realm. Only true disciples were encouraged to venture here.
The beasts were the real problem. Over ten thousand years, they'd multiplied and become the realm's overlords. Nascent Soul-level spirit beasts were apex predators that could casually slaughter Golden Core cultivators.
"Is this the so-called plot armor?" Azrael muttered behind his mask. "Opportunities just falling into my lap?"
A nearby outer disciple glanced at him curiously but said nothing.
Azrael's mind raced. This was perfect. Too perfect.
A formation sect's treasury. Advanced formation techniques. High-grade materials. Dao stones, qi stones, weapons, resources—everything he needed, all in one place.
And the sect had never managed to break through the formation protecting it.
But Azrael wasn't the sect. He had Heaven-Defying Comprehension. His formation and rune understanding was advancing rapidly—already approaching Grade 7 in his mind.
He could break that formation. He was certain of it.
And once inside the treasury...
He smiled behind his mask.
The notice board listed competition details at the bottom:
Outer Sect Qualifying Competition: One Week From Today
Top 50 advance to secret realm expedition
Register at the Mission Hall within three days
One week. He had one week to prepare.
Azrael turned away from the notice board, his steps lighter now. The dejection from the trading hall was gone, replaced by focused determination.
He had work to do.
[END CHAPTER 6]