Chương 38: They’re Already Coming (3/3)

Tsk, that was just the foundation…

A second, far heavier wave of reconstruction crushed him with the weight of a collapsing building—no, worse. It felt as though the entire sodden marsh itself had compressed into a single column of pressure and dropped onto his spine with the inevitability of an executioner's blade.

"Hah... h-hah..." Shi Yan instantly dropped to one knee, his right hand plunging downward and burying itself to the wrist in the freezing black mud just to keep himself from face-planting into the fetid swamp water. The suction was immediate and hungry, the cold slime squelching between his fingers as it swallowed his hand whole. His left palm remained braced against the rough bark of the cypress trunk behind him, nails scraping grooves into the ancient wood as his body convulsed.

This time, the alterations bypassed the flesh entirely and dug straight into his skeletal structure. His bones—already black as polished obsidian from the previous transformation—grew impossibly dense, the marrow within them boiling and crystallizing as they violently absorbed the excess heat of the Roaring Hearth. He could feel each individual vertebra locking into place, fusing with a series of soft, sickening clicks that reverberated up his spine and into the base of his skull.

He clamped his jaw shut, tasting copper flooding across his tongue as his teeth ground together with enough force to crack mortar. The metallic tang mixed with the sulfurous rot of the marsh air, creating a vile cocktail that made his throat tighten.

It's building an iron maiden inside my chest, he thought through the haze of white-hot agony. He felt his ribs mechanically shift, each one thickening and expanding outward before curving inward with deliberate, architectural precision. They thickened and fused at the sternum, locking perfectly into an overlapping, impenetrable internal cage designed to shield his heart and lungs from catastrophic impact.

His chest expanded slightly—perhaps an inch, perhaps more—the newly minted muscle weaving over his torso like interlocking plates of living armor, each fiber purpose-built with extreme elasticity to absorb catastrophic blunt-force Daoist trauma without rupturing.

Steam rose from the back of his neck in thin wisps as the internal heat spiked, only to be smothered by the relentless freezing rain hammering down through the skeletal canopy above. Water dripped from his jaw, his chin, the edge of his hood, pattering onto the black leather of his coat and mixing with the faint sheen of sweat that had broken out across his scarred face.

When the white-hot burning sensation finally receded from his marrow—leaving only a low, powerful hum thrumming through his blood like the idle growl of a war engine—Shi Yan slowly stood up.

He pulled his mud-caked hand from the muck with a wet, sucking schlorp, black sludge dripping from his fingers in thick rivulets. He flexed them slowly, deliberately, watching the tendons shift beneath his pale skin. They felt entirely different. The painful physical latency—the fractional delay between thought and action that had plagued him since his transmigration—was gone.

Now there was an absolute, terrifying intent behind every micro-movement, as though his body had finally synchronized with the cold tactical precision of his mind.

He drew the cold steel dagger from his belt with a smooth, fluid motion, its edge still slick with the vile Grave-Rot toxin that glistened faintly green even in the dim marsh light. He didn't even notice the weight of the metal anymore; the blade felt as light as a feather, an extension of his hand rather than a separate tool. He gave it a single experimental twirl, the motion so effortless it was almost contemptuous.

He blinked once, twice, and then smiled—a brief, sharp expression that didn't reach his dark, unblinking eyes. Perfect.

But the smile was brief, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes shifted away from his physical hands and focused squarely on the glowing blue interface still hovering in his peripheral vision, its translucent text pulsing faintly against the backdrop of rain and fog.

Pushing his skeletal and muscular structure to a flat 55 had stabilized his chassis, yes, but...

I have over five thousand Embers left. He tapped a finger against the rough bark of the tree behind him, the sound muted by the incessant hiss of rain. Let's say I have high stats... the enemies are probably twice as strong as me, considering my assumption that they're at peak Tier 2.

The thing was, even if he spent all of his [Dao Embers], it looked like he couldn't reach even the late stage of Tier 2, since pushing his stats to 55 had only yielded the fixed suffix of Tier 2, Middle, Roaring Hearth.

Meaning... probably 60 is the cap, and 70 or 80 is the next cap?

Like a heavily armored tank is useless if the driver doesn't know how to steer, or if the transmission is built for a civilian sedan. He exhaled slowly, his breath misting white in the cold air even beneath the shadow of his hood. The attributes gave me the hardware upgrade. Now I need to patch the software.

Just like how he'd defeated the physician: not by overpowering him with raw stats, but by exploiting technique, timing, and the lethal application of knowledge the man hadn't even known existed. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

He focused his intent, commanding the System to display his current operational arsenal.

[Techniques] [1. Phantom-Ash Veil (Physiological Toggle)] - [Lv. 1: Novice] Description: Bypasses Qi-laws to artificially mimic a Tier-1 Cinder-Blood cultivator's aura by radiating localized vascular heat. Cannot be dynamically adjusted.

[2. Black-Iron Body Art] - [Lv. 1: Novice] Description: Doubles raw physical kinetic output. Brutal cardiac strain limits operational window to 60 seconds.

[3. Blood-Ignition Flash Step (Physiological Toggle)] - [Lv. 1: Novice] Description: Detonates blood in lower extremities for supersonic propulsion. Imposes severe micro-tears requiring 30-second physiological cooldown.

Shi Yan stared at the [Lv. 1: Novice] suffix attached to every single technique, his brows furrowing until the scar tissue around his eyes creased into deep, weathered lines.

Orthodox cultivators train for decades. They sit under frozen waterfalls, meditate on mountain peaks, and grind their martial arts into their muscle memory until it becomes instinct.

But for him? Well...

I don't have ten years. I have maybe ten minutes before a full group of Cloud-Mirror disciples marches down that path.

So...

He selected the first technique with a deliberate mental flick. The [Phantom-Ash Veil] was currently his disguise, but at Level 1, it only projected a weak, static Tier-1 aura—the spiritual equivalent of wearing a mask that didn't quite fit.

It's a good foolproof trick against enemies, but let's just upgrade it to Level 2. After all, having people constantly look down on him... His jaw tightened, scarred fingers curling slightly at his side. The feeling was bad.

System, upgrade the Veil to Level 2.

He commanded it internally, though his eyes watched the screen with a flicker of uncertainty and hesitation. After all, his entire theory was based on assumption—he'd only noticed the level suffix on the last technique name. This was also the first time he'd upgraded a technique through the System.

But it seemed the System didn't disappoint him.

[Command Accepted. Dao Embers Deduced: -1, 000] [Initiating Cognitive and Physiological Integration...] Ohh wow, 1k [Dao Embers]? That's too much— But just as surprise flickered across his scarred face, the next reaction came.

It wasn't a violent physical tearing like his attribute upgrades. Instead, it was a sharp, localized spike directly into the base of his skull—a sudden, dizzying download of pure data and instinct, as though someone had driven a red-hot needle straight through the brainstem and injected liquid knowledge directly into his neurons.

Shi Yan grabbed the bridge of his nose with his free hand, grimacing as a dull ache blossomed behind his eyes like a spreading bruise. The world tilted slightly, the rain-slicked cypress trees warping at the edges of his vision before snapping back into focus.

Tsk... cognitive injection, he thought, shaking his head sharply to clear the phantom memories that weren't his own—or were they now?

It was a deeply bizarre sensation, like remembering a dream he'd never had.

But he suddenly possessed the ingrained muscle memory as if he had practiced the Phantom-Ash Veil tens of thousands of times. The knowledge settled into his mind like silt drifting to the bottom of still water, heavy and permanent.

Is this the feeling?

He instinctively knew which specific capillaries to constrict, which veins to dilate, and exactly how to hyperventilate his lungs—shallow, controlled breaths that would completely alter the ambient thermal radiation of his body without triggering any external tells. He didn't have to think about it anymore; it was as natural as deciding to blink or clench a fist.

[Upgrade Complete] [Phantom-Ash Veil (Physiological Toggle)] - [Lv. 2: Masterhood] Description: The host possesses flawless control over their internal vascular temperature array. Unlocks 'Mutable Output'—the ability to seamlessly dial the projected false aura anywhere from 'Utterly Daoless/Dead Zero' up to 'Tier-2 Peak Stage,' deceiving high-tier spiritual senses.

Excellent. Shi Yan gave a single, slow clap—his mud-streaked palms meeting with a muted, wet sound that was swallowed immediately by the rain.

Then, with a mere passing thought, the intense heat radiating from his Roaring Hearth vanished entirely.

The steam rolling off his sodden coat ceased mid-curl, the faint wisps dissipating into the cold marsh air like ghosts fleeing dawn. To the outside world, he was suddenly a cold, unreadable black hole in the marsh—a void where life and spiritual energy should have been. Even the rain seemed to fall differently around him, as though the world itself had forgotten he existed.

Another thought, and he forcefully spiked the heat upward with vicious intent. The air around him shimmered, distorting like the space above sun-baked stone, and an oppressive, suffocating aura rolled outward—mirroring the crushing spiritual presence of a peak Tier-2 cultivator. The nearest fungal growths on the cypress trunk behind him withered and blackened at the edges. He dialed it back down to a negligible Tier-1 crawl, the pressure evaporating as smoothly as it had appeared.

It's perfect. The ultimate camouflage.

Next, he looked at the [Black-Iron Body Art], his gaze sharpening.

[2. Black-Iron Body Art] - [Lv. 1: Novice] Description: Doubles raw physical kinetic output. Brutal cardiac strain limits operational window to 60 seconds.

This was the good old technique that had carried him from the reek of the abyss to this point.

Well, although I didn't transmigrate that long ago, he chuckled—a low, dry sound that barely escaped his throat before being drowned by the rain.

But his eyes narrowed, the brief humor evaporating. A sixty-second operational limit is a death sentence here.

The thing was, the Cloud-Mirror disciples probably wouldn't engage in honorable close-quarters brawls. They weren't street thugs or desperate bandits.

They'll just blast me with their flying swords and elemental attacks.

System. Upgrade the Body Art too.

[Command Accepted. Dao Embers Deduced: -1, 000. Remaining: 3, 275] [Initiating Cognitive and Physiological Integration...] Ohh, another 1k [Dao Embers], so Level 1 only consumed 1k, then Level 2... 2k?

This time, the download was accompanied by a deep, resonant hum throughout his entire circulatory system—a subsonic vibration that made his bones ache and his teeth buzz in their sockets.

Shi Yan exhaled slowly, watching as thick, black veins briefly surfaced along the back of his mud-caked hands like dark rivers breaking through pale earth. They pulsed once, twice, then settled.

But unlike the violent, bulging, explosive reaction of the Level 1 technique—veins that had looked like they might burst through his skin—the Level 2 veins were smooth, controlled. They flattened out, weaving cleanly and tightly into his pale skin like an elegant layer of subcutaneous carbon-fiber plating, barely visible unless the light caught them at just the right angle.

He clenched his fists, listening to the heavy, methodical thud-thud, thud-thud of his heart. It wasn't racing dangerously anymore, straining against its own structural limits. The technique had fundamentally optimized its own efficiency, actively filtering lactic acid out of his bloodstream as fast as it was produced—a closed-loop system that recycled its own waste into fuel.

[Upgrade Complete] [Black-Iron Body Art] - [Lv. 2: Masterhood] Description: The technique reaches physiological refinement. Muscular densification occurs with a fraction of the structural strain. Operational time limit aggressively expanded.

Current Maximum Duration: 3 Minutes (180 Seconds) Three minutes... interesting. He nodded eagerly, a faint glint of satisfaction sparking in his dark eyes. In modern close-quarters combat, three minutes is an eternity. It's an absolute slaughterhouse window.

He looked at his final technique, the newly acquired [Blood-Ignition Flash Step]. The glowing interface confirmed he had 3, 275 Embers left. He could easily push it to Level 2 as well, but...