Chapter 20 - A Home

The cave once served as a refuge—a place of desperation where De-Reece had hidden from the monstrous, Komodo dragon-like beast that ruled the deeper woods.

Now, it serves a different purpose.

A training ground.

Here, he sharpens his techniques—his Domineering Demon Sword Style, the alchemy knowledge he has painstakingly pieced together, and the formation studies that have fascinated him since his arrival in this world.

It is a place of hardship, but more importantly, a place of control.

Here, no eyes pry into his methods. No curious whispers spread about his abilities. He trains as he wishes, pushes himself without restraint.

He grows.

The bag at his side shifts as he moves, the weight of supplies pressing against his hip. The sheathed sword rests against his back, a constant reminder of the battles fought and the ones yet to come.

Solar follows silently, her larger form weaving through the shadows as if she were part of them.

The cave mouth yawns before them.

Cool air greets De as he steps inside, the damp scent of stone mingling with the lingering traces of burnt embers and crushed herbs. His past training remains etched into the walls—faint scorch marks, fractured stone, crude formations carved into the dirt.

This place has witnessed his struggles.

Now, it will witness his next breakthrough.

De sets his bag down, unfastens his sword, and exhales.

First—consolidate the gains.

The battle against the wolves was brutal, but it gave him something far more valuable than Qi—clarity.

His Domineering Demon Sword Style is no longer just a concept; it has been tested against real opponents. It holds power, but it lacks refinement. His Qi still fluctuates, unstable from the fresh influx he absorbed. If left unchecked, it will stagnate.

Breakthrough looms close.

The cave pulses with unseen energy.

De lowers himself into a cross-legged position, spine straight, Qi flowing like molten steel through his meridians. His muscles ache, but the discomfort is a mere whisper against the storm of focus within him.

He steadies his breath.

Now.

The 7th Node.

A cultivator's hand nodes dictate the flow of Qi into their strikes—affecting speed, impact, and precision. The right-hand node, the one he now aims to break open, holds direct combat significance.

If he succeeds, his close-quarters attacks will reach a new level.

If he fails…

Pain.

A deep, searing agony unlike anything before.

He directs Qi to his palm, veins illuminating with violet streaks. A sharp burn spreads through his skin, creeping into his forearm like molten fire flooding a cracked vessel.

The node resists.

His fingers twitch. His palm clenches. The sensation is unbearable, yet he pushes forward.

Solar watches from across the cave, ears flicking, but does not move. She has seen him endure worse.

De exhales sharply.

Force alone is not the answer.

Control.

Breathe in—gather.Breathe out—compress.

Pain ripples through his body, twisting deep into his meridians. For a brief moment, doubt flickers.

Is this too soon?Is he forcing progress recklessly?

No.

He has no choice.

The sect selection looms in three months.

He cannot afford weakness.

A sharp, electric crack splits through his palm.

Agony. A sudden rupture.

His entire arm feels as if it has shattered from the inside, yet—

The 7th Node ignites.

Power erupts from his fingertips, flooding through his palm, sinking deep into his bones.

His hand no longer feels like mere flesh and blood. It feels forged, tempered steel molded by battle.

The pain fades.

De slowly unfurls his fingers, flexing them, testing the refined power now coursing through his veins. His Qi output is smoother, his strikes will be sharper, faster.

It is done.

Breakthrough.

His body demands rest. He gives it none.

De rises to his feet, moving toward the makeshift alchemy station in the cave's corner. The stone slab holds remnants of past experiments—scattered crushed herbs, a worn pestle, and a small metal cauldron.

The air shifts with the scent of burning embers, mingling with dried herbs. The cauldron sits in the centre, its surface etched with ancient inscriptions pulsing with faint Qi.

Solar settles nearby, eyes half-lidded, yet keenly observant.

De flips open a worn, ancient book recovered from the cave weeks ago—Heavenly Demon's Alchemical Notes.

The ink is faded, but the knowledge within is anything but weak.

His fingers trace over a particular passage:

The Four Pill Levels of Alchemy: Normal-Level PillsWeak, herbal remedies. Almost useless to cultivators. Spirit-Level PillsThe true start of alchemy.Restores Qi, heals minor wounds, strengthens the body.Used by most outer sect disciples and rogue cultivators. Earth-Level PillsCrafted by true alchemists.Enhances breakthroughs, bolsters Qi pathways, speeds up recovery.Sects prize these for their disciples. Sky-Level PillsThe pinnacle of alchemy.Can force breakthroughs, heal fatal wounds, and alter constitutions.Only legendary masters can create them.

Most never reach Earth-Level. Few ever glimpse Sky-Level.

De?

He doesn't need to reach the peak today. He just needs to start.

De shifts his focus to the ingredients scattered beside him.

Bloodroot. Ember Grass. Ironvine Sap.

Each herb carries distinct properties, their interactions delicate, precise. Alchemy is not just about mixing ingredients—it is the balance of fire, Qi, and essence.

The Berserking Pill—a low-tier Spirit-Level pill—acts as an amplifier. For a short burst, it heightens a cultivator's aggression, strength, and reflexes, pushing the body past its normal limits. But the risk?

Loss of control. Qi backlash. Post-berserk fatigue.

Used improperly, it could just as easily be a curse as it is a blessing.

De moves carefully, laying out each herb in order of preparation. Alchemy demands method, not haste.

His fingers reach for the Bloodroot first, a dark crimson tuber known for its ability to stimulate the bloodstream and Qi pathways. The exterior is rough, gnarled with tangled fibres, but inside—pure potency.

He grips it tightly, then channels a thin thread of Qi into his fingertips, focusing it into a razor-like sharpness. A precise cut—no waste. The outer layer peels away in smooth, deliberate strokes, revealing the pulsing, vein-like tendrils beneath.

Bloodroot must be crushed, but not with brute force. Qi refinement is key.

De places the peeled root onto a flat stone, then presses down with his thumb, sending a controlled pulse of energy into it. A faint crack sounds as the fibers split apart. The root does not shatter. Instead, it softens, breaking down into a thick, viscous liquid, its color darkening into a deep, wine-red essence.

He lets it sit. The natural fermentation process begins immediately—without this, the root's Qi-stimulating effects would be too volatile.

Next—Ember Grass.

De reaches for the dried orange-bladed plant, its tips sharp like needles, the scent faintly smoky even before contact with flame. Ember Grass is an ignition catalyst—it stirs Qi flow, heats the blood, enhances raw strength. But the key to controlling its properties lies in preparation.

A direct flame would burn away its delicate Qi-imbued oils. Instead, De crushes the blades between his palms, rolling them slowly, allowing friction and heat to activate the latent energy within. The grass crumbles into fine, ember-colored flakes, releasing a slow, warm pulse of energy into the air.

Satisfied, he sets it aside.

The final component—Ironvine Sap.

A thick, dark syrup extracted from the roots of the Ironvine tree. Known for its ability to reinforce bones and muscle fibers, it serves as the stabilizing agent for the Berserking Pill. Without it, the other ingredients would push the body beyond its limits, causing internal collapse instead of enhanced power.

De grips the tiny ironwood vial containing the sap. The liquid is dense, slow-moving, with a faint metallic sheen. Extracting it is an arduous task—one drop too much, and the entire mixture will become rigid, slowing Qi instead of enhancing it.

He tilts the vial over the crushed Bloodroot, watching as a single drop falls onto the crimson liquid. The moment they make contact, the two substances react.

A low hiss rises as the bloodroot darkens further, absorbing the sap's strengthening properties.

Now. The fusion process begins.

De moves toward the cauldron, placing each prepared ingredient inside.

The bloodroot liquid pools at the bottom, its deep red glow barely visible in the dim cave light. The Ember Grass flakes settle on top, pulsing faintly. The Ironvine Sap clings to the sides, thickening the mixture's consistency.

A slow breath.

He raises his hand over the cauldron, channeling his Qi into the flame beneath. The heat rises—not all at once, but gradually, carefully controlled.

Too much heat, and the potency burns away. Too little, and the fusion fails.

The first stage—activation.

The liquid begins to bubble softly, faint wisps of white steam curling upward. The Bloodroot essence reacts first, expanding within the cauldron, its Qi unlocking, turning thicker, heavier, more potent.

De maintains the temperature, watching for the precise moment—when the surface ripples in steady, even waves.

Then—the second stage. Merging.

With a steady hand, he releases a stream of Qi into the mixture, guiding the essence of each ingredient toward the Ironvine Sap. The metallic liquid resists at first, dense and unyielding.

He does not force it.

Instead, he weaves his Qi carefully between the elements, urging them together—like molten metal folding into itself, reinforcing, strengthening.

The third stage—condensation.

The once-liquid mixture thickens rapidly, the energy compressing into solid form.

De tightens his control over the heat, lowering the flame bit by bit, until the bubbling subsides and the mixture hardens into three dense, dark-red pills.

The scent of alchemy thickens in the air—bitter, sharp, but unmistakably potent.

Low-grade Spirit-Level Berserking Pills.

They are far from perfect. Their surfaces are rough, their essence not as pure as it could be. But they are complete.

De picks one up, rolling it between his fingers. The energy within hums faintly, contained yet raw. A single dose of this could push a cultivator's body to its limits—at a cost.

He sets them aside, exhaling slowly.

The process has drained him, but the success is undeniable.

De closes the alchemy book, his fingers lingering over the faded ink of its pages.

Earth-level pills remain beyond him for now. Sky-level? A distant goal.

But Spirit-level pills?That is within reach.

With time, with refinement—perhaps one day, his alchemy will rival even the sect's master alchemists.

But for now, he takes his first step.

He seals the pills inside a small container, storing them safely before turning back toward the cave entrance.

Beyond the shadows of the Heavenly Demon's Cave, the world waits.

And De-Reece intends to meet it head-on.