The morning mist clung to the surface of the black-water pond like a funeral shroud. Shen Yuan stood at the edge of the pavilion, his gaze fixed on the distant, jagged peaks of the Myriad Beast Range. He was no longer the bruised boy who had crawled into the woodshed. Though his robes were simple, he carried himself with the terrifying stillness of a deep-sea trench.
Inside his body, the thousand spirit stones had been reduced to fine grey dust. In their place, a web of golden light pulsed beneath his skin. He had successfully reached the 4th Level of Mortal Shackles, but his true strength was an anomaly. Because of the Nine Evolutions, his physical density was ten times that of a normal cultivator at his level.
'The Iron Scale requires more than just energy,' Shen Yuan thought, clenching his fist. The air in his palm hissed as it was compressed. 'I need the essence of a draconic beast to act as a catalyst. Only then can I break through to the Origin Opening realm.'
He didn't leave through the main gates. He didn't want to waste time slaughtering the low-level guards who would inevitably try to stop a "cripple" from leaving. Instead, he moved like a shadow, leaping over the high walls of the Shen Estate and vanishing into the dense forests that bordered Linhe City.
As he walked, his senses—sharpened by his Sovereign soul—picked up the clumsy vibrations of three individuals following him.
"You can stop hiding," Shen Yuan said, not bothering to turn around. "Your breath is as loud as a thunderstorm in this silence."
Three men stepped out from behind the massive oak trees. They were wearing the leather armor of mercenaries, their faces scarred and weathered. At their lead was a man with a jagged scar running across his nose—Zhao Hu's elder brother, Zhao Yan.
"My brother was a fool, but he was still a Shen Clan servant," Zhao Yan growled, unsheathing a heavy broadsword. The faint glow of 5th Level Mortal Shackles Qi coated the blade. "Shen Tao paid us well to ensure you don't make it to the mountains. He said if we bring back your head, he'll give us a seat in the auxiliary clan."
Shen Yuan finally turned. He looked at the three men with a gaze so detached it was as if he were looking at falling leaves. "Shen Tao is a poor judge of character. He sent three sheep to slaughter a wolf."
"Die!" Zhao Yan roared, lunging forward. The broadsword swung in a wide arc, aiming to decapitate Shen Yuan in a single strike.
Shen Yuan didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even move his feet. As the blade reached his neck, he simply raised two fingers.
Clang!
The sound of metal hitting metal rang out. The mercenaries froze. Zhao Yan's eyes bulged as he realized his heavy sword had been caught between Shen Yuan's index and middle fingers. No matter how much Qi he poured into his arms, the blade wouldn't budge.
"Is this the extent of your 'Origin'?" Shen Yuan asked softly.
With a flick of his wrist, the broadsword—made of refined iron—shattered into a dozen jagged pieces. Before Zhao Yan could scream, Shen Yuan stepped forward, his palm striking the man's solar plexus.
Dragon-Art: Shattering Pulse.
The strike didn't send Zhao Yan flying. Instead, the force stayed inside his body, vibrating through his bones and liquefying his internal organs instantly. The mercenary leader collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, dead before he hit the grass.
The other two mercenaries dropped their weapons, their faces turning a ghostly white. They didn't run; their legs refused to move under the weight of the aura Shen Yuan was subconsciously releasing.
"Tell Shen Tao that his 'gifts' are appreciated," Shen Yuan said, stepping over the corpse. "Each one he sends only helps me temper my heart. But tell him this: when I return, I will not be looking for servants. I will be looking for him."
He didn't look back as he plunged deeper into the forest. The Myriad Beast Range awaited, and with it, the first true step of his evolution.