The Strong Mana Region was never meant to be tamed.
For centuries, it had existed as a wound in the land—a vast volcanic mountain range where mana surged violently, erupting without rhythm or mercy. Cultivators who entered either went mad from overload, were torn apart by unstable elemental flows, or simply vanished into the molten depths. Entire sects had marked it as forbidden, a place where ambition went to die.
Kaizen Zaiton stood at its heart.
Before him rose the central volcano, its caldera glowing like an open furnace. Rivers of magma crawled down its sides, and thick black smoke rolled endlessly into the sky, heavy with fire-aspected mana so dense it distorted the air.
This was the core.
This was where the land screamed.
Kaizen exhaled slowly.
"One month," he said to himself. "That's all you get."
He stepped onto the edge of the caldera and raised the Sacred Spear.
Voultron hummed in his grasp, its runes flaring to life one by one. The spear seemed eager—almost hungry—as if it recognized what lay beneath the mountain.
Kaizen did not hesitate.
He thrust the spear downward.
The moment Voultron pierced the molten rock, the volcano roared.
The earth trembled violently as if something ancient had been stabbed awake. Lava surged upward, but instead of erupting outward, it was dragged inward, spiraling toward the spear like a collapsing star.
"Level One — Absorption."
The technique activated instantly.
Mana—not just ambient, but raw, violent volcanic mana—was ripped from the mountain itself. Fire-aspected energy poured into Voultron in blinding streams, screaming as it was devoured. The spear's shaft glowed a deep crimson-black, its runes burning brighter than ever before.
Kaizen planted his feet.
The pressure was monstrous.
If even a Grand Elder stood here, they would have been crushed in seconds.
But Kaizen did not stop.
"Fifth Level — Purify."
The moment he activated it, the chaos changed.
Inside Voultron, the raging volcanic mana was broken down, stripped of its volatility, refined layer by layer. What emerged was no longer destructive—it was perfect, stable, and pure.
Kaizen opened his mana channels.
The purified energy flowed safely into his mana core, reinforcing it, expanding it, carving deeper pathways within his body. His bones hummed. His blood burned. His cultivation surged forward in controlled waves rather than violent leaps.
Not all of the mana went to him.
Some of it—carefully measured—was left inside Voultron.
The spear drank deeply.
The volcano did not erupt.
It quieted.
Day after day, Kaizen repeated the process.
Morning.Night.Storms of ash.Silence thick enough to suffocate.
He stabbed Voultron into different nodes of the region—mana convergence points buried beneath magma and stone. Each time, absorption. Each time, purification. Each time, controlled refinement.
For one straight month, Kaizen did not leave the Strong Mana Region.
His clothes burned and reformed through protective runes. His skin darkened slightly, tempered by fire mana. His presence grew heavier, denser, as though the mountain itself had begun to recognize him as its master.
The volcanic smoke changed.
At first, it was poison—thick, corrosive, killing lesser beasts instantly.
But as Voultron continued to absorb and refine, the smoke thinned, transformed. It swirled around the spear unnaturally, drawn toward it even when Kaizen was not actively cultivating.
On the thirtieth day, Kaizen felt it.
A shift.
The smoke above the volcano no longer dispersed into the sky.
It spiraled downward.
Voultron pulsed violently.
Kaizen narrowed his eyes. "So that's it…"
The Sacred Spear absorbed the volcanic smoke entirely, condensing it into a dark, mist-like essence within its core. The runes on its shaft rearranged themselves, forming a new configuration—older, sharper, more lethal.
Knowledge flooded Kaizen's mind.
A new skill.
Volcanic Smoke Integration.
The smoke was no longer just residue.
It was a medium—one that could erase presence, devour life force, and mask killing intent completely.
Kaizen tested it.
He activated his Zero Aura Technique.
Instantly, his presence vanished.
No pressure.No killing intent.No detectable fluctuation.
Then he channeled the Volcanic Smoke through Voultron.
The spear did not glow.
It darkened.
Reality around its tip seemed to thin, as if existence itself hesitated.
Kaizen's instincts screamed a single truth:
If this spear struck while Zero Aura was active—
There would be no resistance.
No reaction.
No survival.
An instant kill.
A true life-ending spear technique.
Kaizen exhaled slowly, dispersing the smoke and sealing the skill.
"This changes everything," he murmured.
Behind him, the volcano stood quiet.
Not dead—but subdued.
The Strong Mana Region had been stabilized.
Not permanently.
But enough.
Enough to build upon.
Enough to cultivate within.
Enough to become the foundation of a sect.
Kaizen turned and left the mountain.
At the base of the volcano, waiting where no one should have dared to approach, stood a black carriage adorned with the Zaiton sigil. Spirit beasts were harnessed at the front, calm despite the oppressive environment.
A driver knelt immediately.
"My lord," he said respectfully. "We were sent to escort you home."
Kaizen stepped inside without a word.
As the carriage rolled away from the mountain, the Strong Mana Region behind him no longer felt hostile.
It felt claimed.
The Zaiton Manor buzzed with controlled urgency upon his return.
Elders moved swiftly. Messengers ran through corridors. Formation lights flared and dimmed as defensive arrays were reinforced.
Arron Zaiton was waiting for him.
"You returned at the right time," his father said grimly.
Kaizen removed his cloak. "Report."
"One of the established sects bordering our territory has called for reinforcements," Arron said. "They've rejected our classification. Publicly."
Kaizen's eyes sharpened. "Name."
Arron hesitated for half a breath.
"The Iron Vow Sect."
Kaizen nodded once. "Expected."
"There's more," Arron continued. "They've invited a figure to lead their resistance. Someone… dangerous."
Kaizen finally looked fully at him.
"A Grand Master."
"Yes."
The room seemed to grow colder.
"He arrived at dawn," Arron said quietly. "And upon arrival, he declared war against the Zaiton Empire."
Kaizen's lips curved faintly—not in anger, but interest.
"What's his name?"
Arron spoke it carefully.
"Stannly Stanno Vabrigas."
The name carried weight.
A man whose combat record was legend. A Grand Master whose fighting prowess was said to be unmatched in the entire region. A cultivator who did not rely on tricks, formations, or armies—only overwhelming, perfected martial combat.
"Witnesses say," Arron added, "that he defeated three sect masters in single combat without taking a single step backward."
Kaizen turned toward the window, where the Zaiton banners fluttered in the wind.
"So," he said calmly, resting a hand on Voultron, "the world has sent me a blade."
Far away, atop a stone platform stained with old blood, a tall man stood with his arms crossed. His hair was streaked with iron-grey, his posture relaxed—but the ground beneath his feet was cracked from restrained power alone.
Stannly Vabrigas opened his eyes.
"Kaizen Zaiton," he said slowly, a faint smile forming. "Let's see if a rising god can bleed."
The war had ended.
A duel was coming.