As an outer disciple of the sixty-first generation of the Dragon-Tiger Sect's Talisman Branch, Thunderbolt (Lei Ting) naturally recognized what this unremarkable stone chamber before him truly was.
The words "Zhang Daoling" were carved into the stone wall ahead. No one in the entire Dragon-Tiger Mountain would dare inscribe those three characters so boldly!
The legendary place where the founding patriarch, the Celestial Master Zhang, had ascended to immortality—was it really here? Though the stone chamber appeared weathered, it showed no signs of decay. Even when Thunderbolt had accidentally broken the protective barrier earlier while training, there had been no reaction.
It must have been the passage of time weakening the seal. Otherwise, with Thunderbolt's meager cultivation, he would never have been able to breach the patriarch's barrier.
His mind raced. Should he report this to his master and the sect leader now? Or should he explore it himself first? The Talisman and Qi Branches were locked in fierce rivalry, and as an outer disciple, if he could retrieve something valuable from inside and present it to his master, he might earn his favor—and perhaps even learn new talisman inscription techniques.
Decision made, Thunderbolt lowered his head and stepped inside.
The moment he entered, an overwhelming surge of spiritual energy flooded into his body, saturating every inch of his skin with an intoxicating comfort. Thunderbolt was certain that aside from the elusive Penglai Immortal Realm, nowhere else in the world could compare to this place in terms of spiritual density. The patriarch truly was the patriarch—a single barrier had sealed such an immense concentration of energy.
The chamber was small, devoid of furnishings except for a single meditation cushion.
Glancing around, Thunderbolt found no treasures or relics left behind by the patriarch. Disappointed, he approached the cushion.
Even if it was just an ordinary object the patriarch had once used, presenting it to his master would surely please the old man.
But before his fingers could touch it, a mere gust of air from his movement reduced the cushion to dust.
"Ah—" Thunderbolt froze. In his excitement, he'd forgotten that after nearly two thousand years, the cushion was nothing more than a fragile relic.
The image of his master whacking him with a rod flashed in his mind, and he gulped hard.
His master must never find out about this!
Pursing his lips, he blew hard, scattering the remains into nothingness. No evidence, no crime.
Hmph! Just as Thunderbolt turned to leave and report his "great discovery," his gaze caught on something beneath where the cushion had been—a small, unassuming orb.
What's this? Curious, he reached for it.
The moment his fingers touched the orb, chaos erupted.
The surrounding spiritual energy surged violently toward the orb, swirling around it like a frenzied storm. But the energy couldn't penetrate the orb—instead, it found an outlet through Thunderbolt's body, flooding into him from every direction.
"Ahhh—!" Blood gushed from Thunderbolt's seven orifices as his body swelled unnaturally. The spiritual energy he had once desperately sought in cultivation now felt like a death sentence.
Outside, the skies above Dragon-Tiger Mountain darkened. Thunder cracked across clear heavens, shaking the earth. Countless sect members rushed toward the disturbance, led by two figures wreathed in spiritual energy—their auras profound, their demeanors immortal-like. Yet even they paled at the celestial phenomenon unfolding before them.
Within moments, Thunderbolt realized with horror that his years of cultivation had been obliterated. Worse still, the rampaging energy had shattered his meridians beyond repair.
The orb's glow intensified, blindingly bright.
Then—**BOOM!**
The energy reached its limit, and at the center of the vortex, Thunderbolt's body exploded into pieces. In the flash of light, the orb vanished.
Freed from its confinement, the gathered spiritual energy erupted outward in a devastating shockwave, sending disciples tumbling like leaves in a storm. The gale howled, and only after what felt like an eternity did peace return to Dragon-Tiger Mountain.
Soon after, two men entered the stone chamber. Their faces turned ashen at the sight of blood and scattered remains.
"Blasphemy! How dare he defile the patriarch's ascension site?!" One of them clenched his fists, veins bulging.
"Junior Brother, fate plays cruel tricks. Do not blame him further," the other sighed, raising a hand. "From the signs, he must have disturbed the Spirit-Suppressing Orb left by the patriarch."
"That orb stabilized the spiritual energy of these lands, providing our disciples with a nurturing environment. Once moved, the fate of our sect—!"
"Find the orb first!" the sect leader cut in, his face pale. Already, he could feel the mountain's spiritual energy thinning. The future of the Dragon-Tiger Sect... If that blasphemous disciple hadn't already been torn apart by the energy, the sect leader would have personally executed him.
But after scouring the chamber seven or eight times, they found no trace of the orb.
Unbeknownst to them, Thunderbolt had no idea his recklessness had doomed his entire sect. Now, he deeply regretted his impulsiveness.
The Spirit-Suppressing Orb—the Dragon-Tiger Sect's most sacred treasure. Every disciple knew of it, but none, not even the sect leader, knew its exact location.
Only when Thunderbolt picked up that orb did he realize—the patriarch had sealed it within his own ascension chamber.
A failsafe. Moving the orb would not only disrupt the mountain's spiritual energy but also curse the sect's destiny.
And yet, by sheer misfortune, Thunderbolt had trained in that very spot daily for years, wearing down the ancient barrier until it gave way.
The orb had two functions: to suppress the mountain's energy, preventing its dissipation, and to steadily gather ambient energy for the sect's use. Any diligent disciple who studied the archives would know this.
But no one had ever seen the orb. So Thunderbolt hadn't given it a second thought.
Yet... shouldn't he be dead? Why was he still conscious? Without a golden core or nascent soul, his spirit should have been dragged away by the underworld's enforcers. But this sensation... it was strange.
An endless, dark journey. Thunderbolt didn't know where his consciousness drifted—no light, no sensation, only an abyss of terror.
When Thunderbolt finally awoke, he sat on the bed, dazed.
His mind was chaos—his own memories tangled with another's.
Looking down at his body, then around the unfamiliar room, he rubbed his throbbing temples.
His head ached as if splitting in two. The foreign memories surged like boiling beans in a pan.
The door creaked open. A girl in rough linen clothes entered, carrying a basin of water.
The moment she saw Thunderbolt, her delicate face lit up with joy. She gasped, then dashed out, shouting, "Uncle Oak! Uncle Oak! The young master is awake!"
Heavy footsteps rushed in. A weathered man in his fifties—Oak, the butler—burst in, tears welling in his eyes as he clutched Thunderbolt's hands. "Young Master! You're awake! Are you hurt anywhere?"
Uncle Oak. Thunderbolt recognized him—the butler. But how? He didn't know.
The girl—Tifa, the maid—hurried back in, panting, her face flushed with relief.
Seeing Thunderbolt silent, Oak panicked. He checked his eyes, patted his face. "Young Master, say something! Don't scare me!"
Thunderbolt forced a weak smile and pulled Oak's hands away. "I'm fine, Uncle Oak."
"Are you sure?"
"Really."
Tifa stepped forward, dipping a cloth in warm water before gently wiping Thunderbolt's face. He glanced at her—this girl was his maid, Tifa.
Her cheeks reddened, and she scrubbed harder.
Memories slowly aligned. These people matched the fragments in his mind.
A grim realization struck Thunderbolt—he had crossed into an unknown world, inhabiting the body of a young noble.
"Young Master, thank goodness you're alright," Oak sniffled. "After you collapsed, I was at my wit's end. If not for Tifa holding things together, our family would've been ruined."
"Collapsed? I was beaten!" Thunderbolt said coolly. Oak sighed and fell silent.
In his memories, the young master—Colin Ullman—had been beaten unconscious by a local tycoon's thugs. The reason? This very girl, Tifa.
"Ever since the master and mistress passed, the Ullman family has..." Oak trailed off, shaking his head.
Colin Ullman. A minor baron's son, barely nobility. After his father's death, the family's fortunes had crumbled. Servants fled, lands were seized, and now, only Oak and Tifa remained.
A nearby landowner had recently taken a liking to Tifa, demanding to buy her. Colin refused—and paid the price with a brutal beating.
Colin was pitiable—his family ruined, his life one of humiliation. And now, his soul had been devoured by Thunderbolt.
"Young Master..." Tifa bit her lip, tears rolling down. "If they come again... just sell me. Then they won't hurt you."
"Nonsense!" Thunderbolt glared. As a disciple of the Dragon-Tiger Sect, how could he traffic people? Especially a girl like her.
"I know you're protecting me..." she whimpered. "But if this goes on—"
"Enough. My decisions are mine." Thunderbolt snatched the cloth and wiped his neck. His body felt grimy, as if unwashed for days.
"Tifa, tend to the young master. I'll prepare dinner," Oak said, sensing the tension. He left with a sigh.
Once alone, Thunderbolt sat up despite the pain. He hadn't suffered like this in years—back on the mountain, only his master's rod had ever chased him.
Now, his body brimmed with energy—far more potent than his former cultivation. But it wasn't true spiritual power.
What was this energy?
Mana. The word surfaced from his merged memories.
No way. Skeptical, Thunderbolt cycled the energy through his meridians. It flowed smoothly, the ambient spiritual energy here even richer than Dragon-Tiger Mountain's. But once it reached his dantian, it transformed—assimilated into mana.
Though his cultivation was gone, his senses remained. Probing inward, he recoiled in shock.
Within his dantian floated an orb.
Not a golden core.
The Spirit-Suppressing Orb.
Will he ever reclaim his true power?