The silence in the collapsed mine shaft was deafening, broken only by the crackle of the torch lying on the damp ground.
Han Feng stood motionless, staring at his own hands. The skin on his palms was calloused and grime-stained, just as it had been an hour ago, but beneath the surface, he could feel a terrifying new reality. His blood was no longer just blood; it was a carrier for a heavy, predatory heat.
The corpse of Overseer Liu lay at his feet. It looked like a discarded husk of dried leather. The terror on Liu's face was frozen in a rictus of eternal scream.
"I killed him," Han Feng whispered. The realization should have brought fear. The penalty for killing an overseer was death by a thousand cuts. But instead of fear, Han Feng felt a cold, hard satisfaction.
He tried to kill me first. This is just the natural order.
The silver vine pattern on his left wrist pulsed once, sluggishly, as if burping after a small meal.
[ Energy Assimilation Complete. ] [ Current Rank: Body Refining Level 2 (Mid-Stage). ] [ Note: Host body is severely malnourished. 40% of absorbed essence diverted to organ repair. ]
Han Feng clenched his fist. The air popped audibly. Body Refining Level 2. It wasn't high—most of the guards were Level 3 or 4, and the Sect Elders were in the Spirit Realm—but for a "cripple" who hadn't cultivated in six years, it was a miracle.
He crouched down beside Liu's body. Sentiments were for the living; the dead had no use for possessions.
He patted down the dried robes. Liu was a greedy man, known for skimming off the top of the miners' quotas. Han Feng's fingers brushed against a heavy pouch concealed in the inner lining of the sash.
He pulled it out and opened the drawstring. a faint, soft blue light spilled out.
"Spirit Stones."
There were three of them. Low-grade, roughly the size of a thumb, and clouded with impurities. To a true cultivator of the High-Cloud Han Clan, these would be trash. But here in the Black-Iron Mines, a single stone could buy a slave a month of extra rations. Three could buy a life.
He also found a rusted iron token with the word "Iron" stamped on it—Liu's clearance pass—and a small, serrated dagger tucked into a boot sheath.
Han Feng took the dagger. It was crude, likely forged by a mine smith, but the edge was sharp. He slashed the air experimentally.
Whoosh.
"Better than a pickaxe," he muttered, tucking the blade into his belt.
He picked up the torch. The tunnel behind him was blocked by tons of rubble. The path ahead led toward the main shaft, where dozens of guards would be stationed. Walking out there with a dead overseer's blood on his hands was suicide.
He needed a way out that no one else knew about.
He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth in his belly—the Root.
Guide me, he thought.
The Akashic Mycelium responded. It wasn't a voice, but a shift in his perception. Suddenly, the darkness wasn't just black; it was textured. He could "feel" the flow of air currents like invisible rivers. He could sense the heavy, dense vibration of the earth, and... something else.
To his right, hidden behind a jagged formation of slate, he sensed a faint, rhythmic pulse. It felt like the heartbeat of the mountain.
Wind. Fresh air.
Han Feng moved the slate aside. Behind it was a narrow fissure, barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through. It looked natural, likely opened by the same earthquake that caused the collapse.
He squeezed through.
The fissure opened into a natural cavern that smelled of sulfur and wet fur. The air here was cooler, indicating a vent leading to the surface, but the path was winding and treacherous.
Han Feng moved silently. His new strength made his movements fluid. He leaped over a gap in the rock, landing cat-like on the other side.
Skree!
A shadow detached itself from the ceiling.
Han Feng didn't think; he reacted. He threw himself into a roll as a blur of gray fur and yellow claws slashed the space where his head had been.
He scrambled up and raised the torch.
Hissing at him from a stalagmite was a rat. But this was no ordinary vermin. It was the size of a dog, its fur matted and spiky like steel needles, and its eyes glowed a sickly red.
[ Target Identified: Iron-Hide Rat. ] [ Rank: Equivalent to Body Refining Level 1. ] [ Threat: Low. ]
An Iron-Hide Rat. These beasts infested the lower mines. Their skin was tough enough to deflect pickaxes, and their bite carried a paralytic toxin. A normal miner would be dead in seconds.
The rat shrieked and launched itself at him, aiming for his throat.
Han Feng's eyes tracked the movement. To his surprise, the rat looked... slow. It was as if time had dilated slightly.
Is this the sensory enhancement of the Root?
He sidestepped the lunge, his movements crisp and precise. As the rat sailed past him, Han Feng drove the serrated dagger downward.
Clang!
The blade sparked against the rat's hide. It didn't penetrate deep enough. The Iron-Hide Rat twisted in mid-air, its tail whipping around to strike Han Feng's leg.
Han Feng grunted, feeling a bruise forming instantly, but he didn't retreat. He dropped the torch.
"You want to eat?" Han Feng snarled, his left hand shooting out to grab the rat by the back of its neck.
The rat thrashed, its claws scraping against his iron-hard skin, but Han Feng's grip was like a vice.
"Then let's see who eats who."
He squeezed, channeling the hunger of the Root into his palm.
The rat's shriek turned into a high-pitched squeal of terror. The silver light flared in the dark cavern. The beast's struggle weakened instantly as its essence—wild, chaotic, and savage—was ripped from its flesh and funneled into Han Feng.
This energy was different from Overseer Liu's. Liu's energy had been human, refined but tainted with greed. The rat's energy was raw, bloody, and full of vitality.
[ Beast Essence Absorbed. ] [ Trait Acquired: Iron Skin (Trace Amount). ] [ Strengthening Dermal Layer... ]
The rat went limp, turning into a dried husk. Han Feng tossed it aside.
He looked at his arm. The skin seemed to shimmer with a faint metallic luster for a split second before returning to normal. He ran his fingernail across his forearm; it left a white scratch but didn't break the skin.
"It doesn't just give me Qi," Han Feng realized, his heart pounding. "It steals their attributes."
If he ate enough Iron-Hide Rats, would his skin become impenetrable? What if he ate a tiger? A dragon?
The possibilities were endless. And terrifying.
He picked up the torch again. The hunger in his gut had subsided slightly, replaced by a feeling of fullness. He continued deeper into the cavern.
After an hour of traversing the winding tunnels, the air grew fresher. He could smell rain and pine needles. He was close to the surface.
But just as he saw a glimmer of moonlight ahead, he heard voices.
"I'm telling you, I heard a scream from the lower vents," a man complained.
"Probably just the rats eating a straggler," another voice scoffed. "Why do we have to check? The collapse sealed everything."
Han Feng pressed himself against the wall, extinguishing his torch.
Two figures emerged from the moonlight at the tunnel exit. They wore the gray armor of the Black-Iron Guard.
Guard A: Body Refining Level 3. Guard B: Body Refining Level 3.
They were blocking the only exit.
Han Feng touched the dagger at his waist. He was Level 2 (Mid-Stage). Fighting two Level 3 guards head-on was risky. If they alerted the main camp, he would be hunted down by hundreds.
But he couldn't go back.
He looked at the ground. There were loose rocks everywhere.
Han Feng picked up a stone the size of a fist. He weighed it in his hand. He wasn't a master of hidden weapons, but with his enhanced strength and the "Time Dilation" effect of his senses, he didn't need to be a master.
He needed to be a predator.
Thwack.
He threw the stone, not at the guards, but at the cavern wall deep behind them.
"What was that?" Guard A spun around, leveling his spear at the darkness.
"I told you!" Guard B drew his sword. "Something is in there."
"Go check it out. I'll watch the entrance," Guard A ordered.
"Why do I have to go?"
"Because I'm senior to you, idiot. Go!"
Guard B grumbled and stepped cautiously into the gloom, moving away from his partner.
Divide and conquer.
Han Feng waited. He slowed his breathing until it was almost non-existent.
As Guard B walked past Han Feng's hiding spot, peering into the deep dark, Han Feng moved.
He didn't use the dagger. He didn't use the Root to drain him—that took time and contact. He used pure, brutal momentum.
Han Feng stepped out of the shadow and wrapped his arm around Guard B's neck in a chokehold. Before the guard could shout, Han Feng twisted with all his might.
Crack.
The sound was sickeningly loud in the quiet cave. The guard went limp.
"Zhang? What did you break now?" Guard A called out from the entrance, annoyed.
Han Feng gently lowered the body. He didn't devour it. Not yet. There was no time. He picked up the dead guard's sword—a standard-issue steel broadsword, much better than his dagger.
"Zhang?" Guard A shouted again, taking a step into the cave. "Stop messing around!"
Han Feng stepped into the patch of moonlight.
Guard A froze. He saw a young man in tattered slave rags, covered in grime, holding a sword that dripped with nothing, but radiating a killing intent that froze the blood.
"You..." Guard A's eyes widened. "You're the cripple from the Han Clan. Han Feng?"
"I was," Han Feng said, his voice calm. He raised the sword. "Now, I am your executioner."