Chapter 402 – Life 109, Age 27, Martial Lord 3

While Emperor Chan did agree to seek out an Artifact Spirit, he didn’t take away my sheet of Rank 8 metal. Chan would help me find a refiner who was willing to forge a pill furnace, but I would need to work out the final agreement with said refiner on my own.

This would, of course, take time. There were only a few dozen Spirits in the entire domain, and only a fraction of them had a talent for refining. So, while Emperor Chan helped me search out a new business partner, I turned my focus toward improving my and my team’s abilities as much as possible.

For myself, this mainly involved continuing to cultivate at a steady pace and experimenting with new herbs whenever they became available. The herbalists that I had entered into contracts with had begun to produce herbs in larger quantities, and this gave me more freedom in my experiment with herbal teas.

Making this especially valuable was that they had started to produce herbs that, while simple to grow, generally weren’t available due to low demand, including herbs with unusual elements such as shadow, acid, and rot. The Palace didn’t have any recipes that made use of these herbs, but that’s what made them perfect for my experiments.

What was the difference between shadow and dark? I didn’t know, and neither did anyone I asked. All I knew was that shadow herbs possessed a unique form of medicinal energy that imbued pills with slightly different properties from their dark counterparts.

As for my team, my initial goal was to help them strengthen their souls as quickly as possible.

This goal was… not good. Growing one’s soul too rapidly could result in any number of side effects, almost all of which were disastrous. However, if these children wanted to become talented Pill Emperors in a mere 10 years, this was their only option. Even if it was dangerous, I still had to show them the path forward. All I could do was let them make the final decision on whether or not to walk it.

The Palace’s Soul Cultivation Library had a low-power, large-scale Soul Suppression Formation to help its members grow their souls slightly faster, but this wasn’t sufficient for what I was trying to accomplish. So, I used palm-sized stones from my inner world to create adjustable, small-scale Soul Suppression Formations that each person could wear on their waist.

If someone wanted to grow their soul faster, they could turn their formation up to a higher setting. If they wanted it to grow slower—or if they just wanted to relax—they could turn it down.

This let each person decide what they were willing to risk in the pursuit of growing stronger. Since I had told everyone that the two people with the weakest souls would be cut from our roster, this choice wasn’t entirely free, but it was the best that I could do for them.

Somewhat surprisingly, the person who pushed himself the hardest and followed all of my instructions the closest was Mandakh. Every time I looked at the man, I could feel the resentment that he had toward me, but he didn’t allow this to hold him back. He wanted to become stronger and join the Temple, and he was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen.

I reciprocated this dedication by spending a significant amount of time crafting a personalized training regimen for him.

He wanted to be a leader? Fine. He wanted to focus on trees and wood qi? Also, fine.

My problem with Mandakh wasn’t his obsessions. It was that these obsessions controlled him. Wanting to focus on wood qi was great and all, but the fact that he couldn’t set this desire aside for long enough to build up a new affinity and earn an enlightenment was a problem.

So, I assigned Mandakh a course of study that centered around a mix of Daoist and Moralist philosophies. He needed to learn that “The green reed which bends in the wind is stronger than the mighty oak which breaks in a storm.”

Every day, Mandakh went to the library, turned his suppression formation up to the highest setting that his soul was able to handle, and read the books I told him to read. And, with each day that passed, he was able to turn up the dial on the formation slightly higher.

This didn’t make his resentment for me dissipate, not in the slightest, but it helped him master it. A month into his training, Mandakh came to me to ask questions. Six months into his training, he was meeting with me almost every day. He still saw me as nothing more than a rival that needed to be suppressed, but he no longer hesitated to use me as a resource to fuel his own advancement.

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After two years of this relentless training, I called everyone to one of the Palace’s martial arts training fields, where I had placed ten cultivation mats atop a single, large Soul Suppression Formation. As each of the ten alchemists who were vying for a spot on our team entered, an attendant guided them to one of these mats.

At the front of this formation, I had constructed a wide platform that held a single, gilded throne. And, once all of the competitors had taken their places on one of the mats, I entered and claimed this throne for myself.

Mandakh wasn’t the only person in the group who was incensed by this, but I ignored their whispers of discontent. I just stared down at them with my best granite expression.

“Two years have passed since I first instructed you to begin training your souls. Today, we will find out what you have been able to accomplish.” I waved and activated the formation. “With each second that passes, the effects of the Soul Suppression Formation will become more powerful. The first two who either give up or fall unconscious will be eliminated from our team.”

When I first activated the formation, I barely put any qi into it, causing its power to be incredibly weak. This caused several of my potential teammates to give each other smug grins, but the smarter ones already knew that this was only the beginning.

After ten minutes, everyone was still calmly meditating on their cultivation mats.

After twenty minutes, several people had started to sweat.

After thirty minutes, several of the competitors were bent over at the waist, heads pressed firmly against the ground.

This was one of the interesting things about the Soul Suppression Formation. It didn’t increase gravity, and there was nothing pulling anyone down, but the weight it placed on people’s souls made it feel like one was being pressed down.

By this point, several of the alchemists who had started out as Grandmasters were barely holding on, but no one was willing to be the first to quit. Unfortunately, though, what they wanted didn’t matter.

34 minutes into the competition, the first person fell unconscious. A minute later, the second person joined them.

“Congratulations,” I said, in a loud, booming voice. “The eight of you who are still awake have passed.”

I gave everyone a moment to let out a sigh of relief. Then, I said a word that absolutely no one wanted to hear: “However.”

A few of the young men and women who had begun to straighten fell back down to the ground.

“We will continue this exercise until every single one of you either gives up or falls unconscious. You may quit at any time, but the first person to do so will be ranked last, and the last person to do so will be ranked first. This ranking is only to let you know where you stand, but remember this: there are only five slots for the final competition against the other two Palaces, and I already occupy one of them. Only the best four of you will be allowed to join me.”

My casual declaration that I was guaranteed a spot in the final competition while everyone else had to fight for one caused yet another wave of angry discontent to wash over the group.

I was hoping that everyone would be able to channel this anger into forcing themselves to do the best they could. However, less than a minute after I made this announcement, one of the former Grandmasters raised his head and chose to give up.

This started a chain reaction, and within only a few minutes, a mere three competitors remained: Mandakh, Lau CoiHung, and our guandao cultivator—the same three who had done the best in the previous competition.

By this point, the pressure of the Soul Suppressing Formation was barely equivalent to what one would face in the Nine Rivers Sects when journeying from Profound City to Earth City—pressure that people were expected to endure as first-level Kings. Considering that all three of these youths were barely able to hold on as Peak Kings, I was still far from satisfied with their results, but they had made excellent progress over the past two years. They just had to keep at it.

Once the pressure reached the point where I felt that it would be challenging for a normal second-level King, the guandao cultivator fell unconscious. Then, when it was within the range of what I felt was suitable for a high-level King, Lau CoiHung joined him.

This only left Mandakh. Thanks to all of his hard work, Mandakh was still able to hold on even when the soul pressure reached the limit of what only Peak King would normally be able to endure.

At this point, I waved my hand, causing the pressure of the Soul Suppressing Formation to slowly dissipate.

I smiled and nodded. “Well done, Mandakh. I am confident that, as long as you remain diligent, you will be able to do the Palace proud in the final competition.”

Mandakh seemed less than pleased by my praise. He lifted his chin and stared at me in challenge. “What about you? We had to endure this torture, but what about you? Shouldn’t you prove that you are worthy of your position as our leader? Why don’t you step down here so that everyone can see which of us can endure this formation the longest?”

I smiled politely, stood, walked to the side, and gestured to the gilded throne that I had just vacated. “If any of you wish to replace me as the leader of this group, then please, do so. All you need to do is sit down in my chair.”

Again, the smarter members of the group knew that this was a trap—it was obviously a trap—but by this point, Mandakh couldn’t simply back down without losing too much face. So, he stood and walked toward the platform that held my throne.

The moment Mandakh placed his first foot upon my platform, he hunched over in agony. The moment his second foot came down, he collapsed, unconscious.

The entire group watched as I lightly walked over the Mandakh’s body, picked him up, and tossed him onto the ground.

“Would anyone else like to try?” Not a single person was willing to meet my eyes. “Very well, then. We have three years before the Palace will make a final decision on who will be members of our team. During this time, I want all of you to continue cultivating your souls. If you want any hope of being able to concoct decent Rank 6 pills in time for the final competition, then you need to be able to stand on this platform without buckling. Is that understood?”

Everyone except Mandakh—who was still unconscious—lowered their heads in agreement.

“Aside from that, we need to start working on your alchemy skills. Additionally, if any of you wish to take part in a Return, you may do so, but let me know first, and do your best to keep it short. We still have a lot of work to do, and we don’t have any time to waste.”