A deep ache settles into De-Reece's bones, the kind that doesn't come from mere exhaustion but something deeper—something that claws into his very essence, draining him, leaving him hollow.
His eyes crack open, vision swimming in the dim light of the cave. Disorientation grips him, the weight of an unnatural sleep pressing against his mind. Fragments of memory drift in and out of reach—the fight, the rogue cultivator, the pill.
Then, nothing.
His last clear recollection is swallowing the Berserker Pill.
And after that? Flashes.
Solar bleeding. Hands trembling. His body collapsing.
Breath catches in his throat, the fog in his mind burning away beneath a single, overwhelming thought. Solar.
Muscles scream in protest as he forces himself upright. His hands dart forward, fingers pressing urgently against her side.
Still breathing.
But weak. Far too weak.
The moment his fingertips brush against her fur, a sluggish pulse of qi flickers through their bond—barely there, a whisper of life hanging by a thread.
He doesn't waste time. Not again.
Ignoring the sharp protests of his battered body, he scoops her up, cradling her close to his chest. Unsteady footing almost sends him staggering, but he pushes forward. Instinct takes over, narrowing his thoughts to a single objective.
Get her inside. Get her safe.
The cave swallows them, its cool darkness a stark contrast to the heat still burning in his veins. As soon as he steps across the threshold, his mind sharpens, pulling at the weak points in his previous formations.
If that rogue cultivator had found the entrance, who else could?
Fingers trace through the dirt, correcting rushed inscriptions—sloppy work, improperly anchored arrays. Foolish mistakes. A luxury he can no longer afford.
By the time the last sigil is reinforced, the cave is sealed, layered with redundancies. Only someone who knew exactly what to look for would see past the illusion masking the entrance.
Now, he turns back to Solar.
Pills. He needs pills.
Laying her carefully on the stone platform that serves as his makeshift bed, he moves quickly, pulling out every healing pill in his storage. A low-tier Spirit Pill is the first to be pressed past her lips. His free hand rests against her chest, sending a faint pulse of qi into her body, urging the medicine to take effect.
Agonizing seconds pass.
Nothing.
Fingers tighten around the remaining pills. Weak. Ineffective. The wound runs too deep for anything this low-grade to fix.
Then, a thought strikes.
The healing pill from the overseer.
Much stronger than the ones he's already wasted. Without hesitation, he tears into his storage pouch, yanking it free. The moment it's crushed into fine powder, he feeds it to Solar, guiding the mixture down her throat with a trickle of water.
The reaction is immediate.
Qi flares—faint, but stronger than before. The tension in her breathing eases, her body absorbing the pill far better than the lesser ones had.
But she still doesn't wake.
De exhales sharply, leaning back on his heels.
Not enough.
Still not enough.
His gaze darkens as his mind claws for another solution.
Outside, the rogue cultivator's corpse still lies untouched.
Pushing to his feet, he moves with brutal efficiency, dragging the body inside and setting it near his alchemy station. Hands work fast, peeling through layers of fabric, hidden compartments, storage pouches—searching for anything of value.
Gold. Useless.
A low-tier cultivation manual. Inferior.
A handful of pills. Weak. Worthless.
Nothing.
Nothing worth saving. Nothing strong enough.
Teeth grit.
Fine.
His eyes snap to the alchemy book—the one left behind by the Heavenly Demon.
The thick tome sits on the stone slab, its pages yellowed but sturdy, filled with flowing script detailing methods that should be beyond his reach. Fingers flip through the text, skimming over familiar sections until they land on something new.
"The Fusion of Pill Essences: The Art of Elevating the Mundane."
Breath catches. Eyes scan the passage, absorbing each word with sharp, fevered focus.
A theory. A method.
Two pills—fused into one.
Combining their properties, amplifying their effects.
Dangerous. Difficult.
His only option.
Mind races. If he fuses a Bloodline Pill with a high-tier healing pill, could it create something strong enough to pull Solar back from the brink?
No hesitation.
Hands move instinctively, gathering the last of his materials—rare herbs, crushed beast cores, powdered qi-infused roots.
The air thickens with the scent of burnt herbs and raw desperation. The cauldron before him cracks slightly, heat warping the metal from repeated failures.
Breathing turns ragged. Fingers tremble. And still, he refuses to stop.
Ten times.
Ten failures.
Every rare ingredient painstakingly gathered over weeks—reduced to ash.
The first attempt collapses under unstable fusion, ingredients clashing, their qi annihilating each other before disintegrating into useless dust.
The second attempt is worse—a violent backlash that scorches his forearm, leaving a raw, red welt.
By the fifth attempt, his hands start shaking.
By the seventh, despair digs into his ribs like knives.
Now, staring at the charred remnants of his tenth failure, something inside him fractures.
Fingers clench so tightly his nails pierce his palms, thin rivulets of blood dripping onto the stone table.
He has wasted everything.
And Solar still hasn't woken.
Jaw locks. A bitter growl rumbles from deep within his chest. His fists slam onto the table with a force that sends a violent tremor through his arms. Pain lances up to his shoulders, but he welcomes it.
Weak.
Useless.
This is NOT enough.
Teeth grind together as his gaze sweeps across the dwindling pile of ingredients. The absolute last of his stock.
A handful of rare herbs.
The last of his beast cores.
And… the Bloodline Fruit.
Breath stills.
Forgotten in the deepest part of his storage pouch, saved for a day when he thought he'd need it most.
For himself.
But now?
It is her only chance.
No hesitation.