Chương 66: When the World Screamed (2/3)

The sound of the freezing rain drumming against the wooden shingles filled the quiet room, each droplet striking the warped tiles with a hollow, persistent rhythm that echoed through the thin walls. Water streamed down in uneven rivulets, pooling in the sagging corners of the patched roof above, creating a steady, almost hypnotic percussion that blended with the distant groans of settling timber.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Shi Yan allowed his mind to stop scanning for immediate physical threats, forcing himself to organize the sheer chaos of the last few days. His shoulders, which had been tensed since the moment he'd left Su Yin's chamber, finally began to settle, the coiled readiness in his muscles easing by slow degrees.

"It's so tiring..." he said, his voice quiet and rough, barely audible over the rain. The words came out as a low exhale, carrying the weight of exhaustion that had been accumulating in his bones like lead.

But more important was the feeling of the bed he currently lay on and the view...

It felt surreal.

Not a week had passed since he had awakened as a corpse at the bottom of the Charnel Abyss, his spine shattered, his spiritual root violently ripped from his body by an arrogant Sect Elder. The memory still carried a phantom ache—a cold, hollow sensation where something vital had once been anchored. He had been given a death sentence.

A Daoless vessel.

A glitching system.

Yet, here he was.

He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, the calloused palms rough against his skin. His fingers pressed into his brow, thumbs tracing the edges of his temples as he let his weight settle into his elbows, braced against his knees. The bed ropes creaked softly beneath him, protesting the shift in pressure. He sat like that for a moment, plotting the timeline of his survival, piecing together each brutal step that had brought him to this shabby room.

He had crawled out of the mass grave by butchering mutated scavengers to force broken biology to knit itself back together. The image flashed behind his closed eyes—clawed hands tearing through rotted flesh, his own body convulsing as foreign tissue grafted itself into place, bones grinding and resetting with agonizing slowness.

He had slain the Abyssal Overseer through pure trap-logic, using the environment as a weapon when his body had been too broken to fight directly. He had successfully counterfeited a cultivator's identity by neurologically hacking the [Phantom-Ash Veil] into his vascular system to project a fake Qi signature, a trick that still left a faint metallic taste on his tongue whenever he activated it.

And then, his first true commission.

Physician Li and the blood array.

He had expected a simple assassination—a clean in-and-out job, something he could execute with minimal exposure.

Instead, he had walked into a massacre tied to the highest echelons of Skycloud City's politics. The scent of charred flesh and the slick, acidic reek of demonic ichor still clung to the edges of his memory, vivid and nauseating.

He had fought a mutated, grief-mad healer whose body had twisted into something barely recognizable as human, then turned around and slaughtered an elite hit squad from the Cloud-Mirror Sect—an act of violence that had yielded him a fortune in resources. His knuckles still bore faint bruises from the impacts, dark smudges beneath the skin that hadn't fully faded.

Thirty-five thousand Dao Embers. An arm from a Tier-1 Peak boss. Seven spatial pouches full of silver, spirit stones, and orthodox techniques, Shi Yan cataloged mentally, ticking off each asset with the precision of a quartermaster inventorying captured equipment.

But the victory felt hollow when placed against the weight of Su Yin's intelligence report.

"Fuck me..." he sighed, dragging his hands down his face slowly, fingers pulling at the skin beneath his eyes before dropping away. His whole body ached—a deep, bone-level fatigue that settled into his joints and muscles like cold iron—but instead of fear, his eyes widened slightly, a faint gleam breaking through the exhaustion. His lips curled into a grin, lopsided and sardonic, the expression of a man confronting absurdity with dark amusement.

"Isn't this what those cultivators dreamed of? And those readers? Entering a xianxia world... and cultivating..." he said, his tone edged with bitter irony. The words hung in the damp air, mingling with the scent of mildew and rain. It was just that his situation was a bit special... Luckily, he had been in the military. If not...

"How could someone survive this? Tsk." He clicked his tongue, the sharp sound punctuating his incredulity. The grin faded slightly, replaced by a harder, more contemplative expression.

Not only that, he had also discovered that the Cloud-Mirror Sect wasn't just a group of corrupt hypocrites; they were actively trying to breach a Shattered Realm—a mythological dead zone behind their mountain. The implications spiraled outward like fracture lines in glass, each new revelation threatening to shatter whatever fragile stability he'd managed to construct.

"Well, this is about what I expected from the plotting type," he added, his voice carrying the weary resignation of someone who'd seen too many ambitious officers overreach and drag their subordinates into the resulting bloodbath.

They wanted something called Celestial Marrow.

If their Patriarch acquired it and broke through to the Soul-Eclipse Realm, the entire political balance of the city would collapse, and Shi Yan's fragile camouflage would likely be swept away in the resulting purge. He'd be exposed—a foreign soul wearing a dead man's body, a fraud playing at cultivation in a world that devoured weakness without mercy. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

But now... his thoughts had changed. Although he was still weak...

I am no longer a scavenger dodging city guards. I'm basically a black-ops contractor positioned between two massive geopolitical factions, tasked with invading a cursed legacy dungeon.

The shift in perspective settled over him like armor—familiar, heavy, purposeful. This was terrain he understood. Asymmetric warfare. High-value targets. Deep penetration into hostile territory with minimal support.

To survive a Shattered Realm, a place where the laws of physics and life were fundamentally broken, he needed extreme preparation.

First...

"System," Shi Yan muttered, the word barely more than a breath. The blue holographic interface instantly flared to life in the dim room, casting flickering azure light across the warped floorboards and stained walls. The glow reflected off the pooled water beneath his cloak, creating rippling patterns of light that danced across the ceiling.

"Status."

The text materialized in crisp, angular characters, hovering in the air before him with an unnatural stillness that defied the rain-soaked atmosphere: [Host Entity:] Foreign Soul Merged [Heavenly Alignment:] NULL (Daoless) [Vessel Status:] STABLE [Current Dao Embers:] 35, 275 Dao Embers [ATTRIBUTES] Physique: 55 (Tier-2, Mid / Roaring Hearth) Might: 55 (Tier-2, Mid / Roaring Hearth) Agility: 55 (Tier-2, Mid / Roaring Hearth) Spirit: 5 (Tier-1, Mortal Shell) Anomaly: 10 (System Override Tier) [SYSTEM DIRECTIVES & TRAITS] Daoless Vessel: Ambient Qi absorption disabled.

Immune to baseline spiritual pressure.

Vessel Leak Suppressed: Metabolic containment active at baseline.

Combat Sieve Effect: Stamina drains at 400% during active Arts.

[TECHNIQUE ARSENAL] Phantom-Ash Veil (Lv 2 - Masterhood): Physiological toggle. Can project a fake aura ranging from blank void up to Peak Tier-2.

Black-Iron Body Art (Lv 2 - Masterhood): Kinetic Multiplier. Doubles physical output (Effective Force: 110) for 180 seconds.

Blood-Ignition Flash Step (Lv 1 - Novice): Supersonic physical dash. 30-second cooldown. Heavy recoil.

Once again, every time he saw his stats, a hint of pride glinted in his gaze, a faint spark of satisfaction warming the cold calculation in his pale eyes.

"I'd say... my physical stats are really great," he said, smiling this time, the expression genuine if restrained. His lips curved upward slightly, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

When his [Black-Iron Body Art] was engaged, doubling his output, he could physically shatter a Tier-2 cultivator's barriers and crush their bones. The memory of splintering ribs and crumpling protective talismans was still fresh, visceral in its clarity.

But physical force wasn't enough. Instead, let me focus on my... techniques. Of course, I can't always rely on Black-Iron Body Art.

"I remember that senior disciple had used a cultivation technique that looked like it created a third eye," he said, his brow furrowing slightly as he recalled the fight. The spectral aperture that had opened in the disciple's forehead, glowing with pale luminescence, tracking his movements even when he'd circled behind cover.

Currently, he had no ability to detect an enemy using stealth. In a Shattered Realm, where there could be invisible Yin-ghosts and spatial anomalies, being magically blind was a death sentence. He'd be stumbling through a minefield without a detector, relying purely on luck and reflexes that might not be fast enough.

So he leaned down and opened the heavy beast-hide satchel, his fingers working the leather straps with practiced efficiency. The satchel's mouth gaped wide, revealing the contents within—stacks of glowing spirit stones that cast soft, multicolored light across his hands, bundles of oiled paper crackling faintly as they shifted, and the smooth spines of bound manuals nestled beneath.

He bypassed the glowing towers of spirit stones and the silver taels entirely, reaching into the depths of the bag to pull out the four distinct, velvet-bound cultivation manuals he had looted from the Cloud-Mirror disciples. The fabric was rich beneath his fingertips, soft and expensive, embroidered with fine silver thread that caught the weak gray light from the window.

He lined them up neatly on the straw mattress, arranging them in a precise row like ordinance awaiting inspection. The bed creaked softly as he shifted his weight, the rope supports groaning in protest.

They were elegantly written, carrying titles that sounded like poetry—flowing brushstrokes in archaic script that seemed to shimmer faintly even in the dim light, as though the ink itself retained a trace of spiritual essence.

He picked up the first one: [Cloud-Rending Crescent Cleave]. The velvet cover was cool and smooth, the weight of the manual substantial in his palm. It was the offensive sword art the senior disciple had used against him, the technique that had sent arcs of cutting wind screaming through the air, carving furrows into stone.

Looking at the cultivation manual, Shi Yan caressed his chin thoughtfully, fingers rasping against the faint stubble there.

"Hmm... Let's try the old method."

System. Consume and process.

The blue interface flickered, pulsing with activity as invisible tendrils of diagnostic light swept over the velvet book in his hand. The sensation was faint but tangible—a subtle tingling that traveled up his arm, as though the System were tasting the manual's contents through his skin.

[Directive Acknowledged. Scanning Daoist Text...] A pause. The light intensified briefly, then dimmed.

[Error: Technique requires active Dantian and Wood/Water elemental meridians.] [Host Vessel lacks foundational requirements. Incompatible.] Shi Yan's eyes narrowed, the pale irises darkening slightly as his pupils contracted, but he wasn't surprised. The flicker of disappointment that passed across his face was brief, controlled, already expected.

He tossed the book aside with a dismissive flick of his wrist, the manual tumbling end-over-end before landing on the mattress with a soft thump, velvet cover splaying open to reveal densely packed text. He knew he couldn't shoot sword beams.

"The problem lies in basic hardware compatibility," Shi Yan analyzed, staring at the discarded sword art with the detached focus of an engineer examining a failed prototype.

"An offensive Daoist technique requires a cultivator to project external elemental forces—like Wood or Water Qi—out of their body. I lack those meridians. More importantly, there is no biological equivalent inside my human anatomy to act as a substitute."

He tapped a finger methodically against his knee, each tap a measured beat of thought, the rhythm steady and deliberate.

"The System cannot hack an elemental sword beam into existence because I literally do not have a physical organ capable of shooting water or generating wind. The conversion parameters are brutally specific.

"The System isn't magic; it is a bio-mechanical override. It can only rewire and mutate the physical material that already exists within my vessel."

His tone was clinical, matter-of-fact, the voice of someone breaking down complex machinery into understandable components.

Eventually, he picked up the second and third manuals, handling each with the same careful precision. One was a Qi-gathering meditation technique, an inner art, its pages filled with breathing diagrams and circular flow charts showing energy pathways through the body. The other was some kind of minor array-formation manual, dense with geometric patterns and inscribed runes that seemed to pulse faintly when he tilted the pages toward the light.

Once again, he tried, holding each manual while mentally issuing the command, and of course the System rigidly spat back the exact same error message: Vessel Incompatible. The blue text flashed with finality each time, unyielding and cold.

"This is the last one. I hope... it's possible." Shi Yan placed his hand on the final manual, his palm settling against the leather cover with a mixture of anticipation and caution. His fingers curled slightly, gripping the edges.

Then he picked it up, lifting it with both hands. This was a slim, leather-bound book taken directly from the spatial pouch of the senior disciple. Its title was austere, embossed in simple, unadorned characters: [Wind-Listening Breath]. Unlike the ornate velvet of the others, this manual felt functional, practical—a tool rather than a trophy.

Shi Yan flipped open the heavy parchment pages, the aged paper crackling softly beneath his fingers. The scent of old ink and preserved leather wafted up, mingling with the damp air of the room.

Unlike the offensive manuals, which were filled with abstract, poetic philosophy about "becoming one with the sword" or "borrowing the wrath of heaven," this book read more like an anatomical diagram mixed with strict breathing exercises. The illustrations were precise, clinical, showing cross-sections of the human skull with meridian pathways traced in red ink, branching through bone and tissue like neural networks.

His eyes scanned the ancient characters, his mind rapidly parsing the esoteric cultivator terminology, translating flowery phrases into concrete mechanical processes.

The manual detailed a secondary sensory art.

According to the text, a native cultivator was supposed to draw a thread of refined Qi from their Dantian, threading it upward through the cervical spine and carefully injecting it into the auditory and olfactory meridians of the skull. The diagrams showed the pathway clearly—a luminous line ascending from the core, splitting at the base of the neck, then branching into the inner ear canals and nasal cavities.

By using Qi as an amplifier, the cultivator's spiritual sense would overlap with physical space. They could map microscopic disturbances in the air, tracking a target by the displacement of wind and the faint, lingering scent of blood, even in absolute darkness.

Basically, an organic active sonar paired with a chemical tracking suite, Shi Yan translated smoothly into military doctrine, his lips quirking slightly as the familiar framework clicked into place. Well, it's an integrated tactical radar.