Chapter 172: 172- BT [3]

Fang Yuan arrived at the mouth of the spirit mine, the air faintly cool as the earth seemed to hum with hidden energy.

The two guards straightened the moment they saw him. Fang Yuan gave them a courteous nod first, his calm voice cutting the silence.

"Anyone inside?"

"Not yet, Clan Head," one of the guards replied with a bow.

"Good. Make sure no one enters until I emerge."

The guards answered with a firm nod, their expressions solemn.

Without another word, Fang Yuan turned and strode deeper into the mine.

The tunnels stretched on, a labyrinth of stone veins glistening faintly with traces of spiritual energy.

His footsteps echoed softly until, at last, he emerged into the chamber that cradled the spirit pond.

The moment he stepped within its range, the atmosphere shifted. The spiritual energy surged, dense and intoxicating, washing over him in a tide so much richer than the outside world.

It pressed against his skin like cool spring water, threading into his pores, into his marrow.

The feeling was calming, ethereal and almost divine.

Closing his eyes, Fang Yuan released a pulse of qi, sweeping it through the cavern.

The space was empty, no other presence lingered here but his own. Satisfied, he exhaled slowly, his focus sharpening.

From his sleeve, he withdrew a small bundle of formation flags. His fingers moved with practiced precision as he placed each one: a defensive formation, a sound-repelling barrier, and an invisibility shroud.

Each flag sank into place, threads of light weaving into the pond’s aura until the chamber seemed to fold away from the outside world entirely.

It took nearly an hour before everything was complete. When the last flag dimmed and locked into position, Fang Yuan stepped into the pond’s center, the rippling qi curling around him like mist.

All that remained in his mind now was the breakthrough.

Surely... with the Hollow Spirit Pill, I will be able to step into the Hollow Spirit Realm.

There was no doubt about it in his heart.

He sank into a lotus position, back straight, expression serene yet burning with determination.

With deliberate care, he drew out the jade bottle he had stored earlier. The cool weight of it in his palm seemed to thrum with promise.

Uncorking it, he withdrew the Hollow Spirit Pill. Its surface glimmered faintly, and the instant it touched his lips, a wave of sensation washed over him.

First came the taste, like savoring countless exquisite desserts at once, sweet layers unfolding in perfect harmony.

But the moment his teeth sank into the pill, everything changed.

The sweetness vanished, replaced by a sudden rush, sharp and clean, like drawing in the first breath atop a snowy peak, crisp, biting, and utterly invigorating.

And then came the flood.

The pill dissolved, and spirit energy erupted like a storm within him.

Extreme, violent and potent beyond his expectation. His body trembled, sweat beading instantly along his brow as though he stood against a crashing waterfall.

The sheer force of it threatened to tear through him, yet he dared not open his mouth, not even to gasp.

One slip, and that energy would scatter, wasted.

Grinding down every fragment, he forced the remnants into his core, his will as unyielding as steel.

He clamped down on the surging tide and began the arduous task of refining it, absorbing it, claiming it as his own.

The Hollow Spirit Pill’s energy was not a river to be diverted; it was a tsunami intent on scouring him clean.

Fang Yuan’s veins felt like they were filled with molten lead and lightning.

Every meridian screamed in protest as the raw, unrefined power of the pill crashed through them, threatening to burst his channels wide open.

His face, once serene, was now a mask of strain. Teeth gritted, tendons standing out on his neck, he focused every ounce of his will on the foundational cycling technique of his clan.

It was a simple, robust method, designed to be an unyielding anvil upon which spiritual power could be hammered into obedience.

Grind the energy, compress the energy and absorb as many as you can.

The mantra became his entire world. He was a man clinging to a cliff face by his fingernails in a hurricane.

The initial, violent surge of the pill began to slow, its wild energy reluctantly bending to his will, funneling into his core to feed the radiant, cross-legged Nascent Soul within his dantian.

The mini version of himself glowed brighter, its form becoming more solid, more real.

It was reaching its absolute peak, a state of perfection he had never before achieved.

A flicker of triumph, hot and heady, rose in his chest.

It’s working. I can do this.

It was in that moment of premature pride that the first true test began.

The excessive energy from the pill had been absorbed, but the process had super-saturated his spiritual pathways.

The real effect of the Hollow Spirit Pill wasn’t just raw power.

It was a catalyst, a key designed to violently unlock a higher state of being.

It began to vibrate at a frequency that resonated not with his body, but with the space around it.

The air in the sealed cavern warped.

A low hum, felt more than heard, pressed against his eardrums. The glistening walls of the spirit mine seemed to waver like a mirage.

The spiritual mist from the pond didn’t just swirl; it fractured into impossible geometric patterns before dissolving back into chaos.

Fang Yuan’s eyes flew open, but he wasn’t seeing the cavern. He was seeing the seams of the cavern.

Hair-thin, black lines etched themselves across his vision, the faint stresses in the fabric of local space itself.

The Hollow Spirit Pill was doing its job: it was forcing him to perceive the Void, whether he was ready or not.

A cold, sharp terror, entirely different from the pain of overflowing energy, lanced through him.

This was too vast, too abstract.

He was a man of substance, of blood and bone and measurable power.

This was the opposite. This was nothingness. This was the end of all things.

His breath hitched. The meticulous cycling of his energy faltered.

No. No, no, no. Focus! he screamed at himself internally.

But it was too late. The first heart demon, born of his fundamental flaw, his inability to control his terror in the face of the incomprehensible sank its claws into his fractured concentration.