In the different corners of the empire, there were a lot of places that were both dangerous as well as filled with thick, potent qi. So much qi that sects had historically tried to wipe out the dangers in order to build their sect grounds there—to bask in the qi and let their disciples grow stronger by cultivating in such dense energy. Most of these places were either on top of a qi vein, deep in the ground where qi leaked from the center of the earth, or at the tallest peaks in the empire.

  Frostpeak Sect, one of the four Guardian sects, had chosen the latter. They stood on top of Mount Tianhan, the tallest mountain in the empire, where snow covered everything and even simple travel from one place to another could cost lives. Because of this, they were known as the sect that would survive even if the entire empire fell. Something that every member of the sect firmly believed.

  But they were special in a different way too. They were the only sect that hadn’t moved to kill off all the dangers around their peak. Instead, they used every dangerous element around them to forge their disciples, pushing them to become stronger, faster, tougher, and far more resolute than anyone else in the empire.

  Even now, in the cold morning air, dozens of disciples ran around an open ground within the sect, chains looping in their hands as they rolled, dodged, and jumped while balls of flame and ice crashed into the floor around them, trying to kill them. Up in the sky, flying beasts circled and screeched, their shadows sweeping across the snow as they eyed the disciples below.

  They were snow wyverns, the original rulers of Mount Tianhan. For the last few centuries, they had been in constant battle with the Frostpeak Sect and its disciples. Their original nesting grounds had been taken over by the sect long ago, forcing them to retreat to distant peaks, but they always returned, intent on killing humans and taking revenge. And the sect used them as training targets.

  Centuries of living in the cold had given these fire-aspected beasts the ability to wield freezing ice, making them far more dangerous than any other wyverns in the empire. But Frostpeak disciples didn’t even flinch at their attacks. They stayed in a formation that, to an outsider, would look like a frantic, chaotic scramble, but every step was coordinated.

  At the front of the group was Han Qingshi, the prodigy of the sect and the son of the current sect leader. A peak foundation establishment realm cultivator.

  Elders stood at the edges of the training field, watching as Qingshi rolled away from a blast of frozen flame and hurled his metallic chain straight at the wyvern. The chains wrapped around the beast’s legs, catching and tightening around its claws as Qingshi pulled hard.

  That was the signal.

  The disciples who seemed to be running randomly suddenly acted in perfect sync, throwing their chains from different angles and latching onto more parts of the wyvern’s body. Then, together, they pulled.

  The wyvern crashed downward. Even before it hit the ground, the waiting disciples leapt onto it. Qingshi reached first, loosening his own chain only to flick it upward and loop it tightly around the wyvern’s mouth, clamping it shut before the beast could release another attack.

  An axe materialised in Han Qingshi’s hand, its surface a dull stone-grey. He didn’t hesitate—he hurled it straight at the wyvern’s mouth. The weapon tore through the creature’s face in a single, brutal cut. He left the axe lodged there, unclipped the chains, and leapt over the wyvern’s collapsing body. His eyes swept the sky, immediately landing on the three remaining beasts still firing attacks at the other disciples.

  “I’m going to finish all of you in the next ten seconds,” he said, loud enough for the entire training ground to hear. It wasn’t a boast—more like a declaration of fact.

  Before the elders could blink, he flung his chain toward the wyvern that had just frozen several disciples. This time, he didn’t pull the wyvern down. The wyvern pulled him up. His body shot into the sky like a fired arrow, reaching the beast in two seconds.

  Another axe appeared in his hand. He loosened the chain mid-air and pushed off the surrounding qi, propelling himself straight toward the wyvern. The creature spat a stream of freezing fire, but Qingshi blocked with his axe and forced his way through. Then he struck the wyvern in its eye, burying the blade deep. Blood sprayed out, but he was already climbing, sprinting across the wyvern’s back while it thrashed in pain.

  Just before the creature dropped toward the ground, Qingshi jumped again. His chain snapped outward and wrapped around a second wyvern. This time he didn’t land on its back. Instead, the axe vanished from his hand and a longer chain appeared in its place. With a clean throw, he wrapped the second chain around the third wyvern’s torso.

  Then he pulled.

  Both wyverns were ripped off balance and slammed into each other with a crash that echoed across Mount Tianhan.

  Han Qingshi hit the ground with a heavy thud, the stone beneath him cracked from the impact. He pushed himself up in time to see the two wyverns he had smashed together tumbling off the cliff, their bodies shrinking into the distance. From that height, there was no chance they would survive.

  He took a breath and footsteps drew his attention. Several elders were walking toward him across the training ground. Around them, the other disciples had finished off the remaining wyverns, but none of their kills compared to his four. Qingshi pulled his chains back into his spatial ring just as the elders stopped in front of him.

  The leading elder gave a short bow.

  “You did well, Qingshi. As always. These wyverns are no match for you.”

  Qingshi shook his head. “I only used what the sect taught me.”

  One of the female elders smiled faintly. “Good. You still have humility. That will take you far, especially with the Pagoda of Eternity opening soon.”

  Qingshi lowered his gaze for a moment, remembering what his father had told him about the inheritance inside the pagoda. A legacy left behind by a nascent soul cultivator. A chance that came once in a lifetime.

  “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  “We know you will.” The elder’s voice carried confidence. “The other Guardian sects will be there. This is your chance to show them you stand above every member of your generation.”

  Qingshi nodded once. “They’ll understand that soon.”

  His eyes drifted toward the distant sky. He imagined the Corpse Lands, the towering pagoda, and all the rivals waiting inside it. His fingers twitched with anticipation. He could already picture their blood on his chains.

  Once he reached the top of the pagoda, the entire empire would know his name.

  ***

  If there was any place in the empire known as the land of alchemy, it was the Emerald Sun Sect. Everything about the sect—its training, its reputation, even its history—was built on fire, cauldrons, and pills. They were the only Guardian sect whose main path wasn’t the sword, body, or the elemental aspects. Their disciples trained their dantian to hold hotter, denser flames than anyone else, and they pushed their alchemy so far that some believed they could refine pills strong enough to change fate itself.

  Most cultivators in the empire thought pills were just support tools—useful, yes, but not worth basing your entire life on. No one in the Emerald Sun Sect agreed. To them, alchemy was as equal as cultivation.

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  And among them stood one man who believed that more than anyone else to the point that he lived by it. To him, pills were the reason to cultivate.

  Elder Ruan Minghe, the youngest elder the Emerald Sun Sect had ever produced. He was only eighty-nine years old, but already at the verge of breaking to the fourth realm of cultivation. He could have attempted the breakthrough months ago, but he refused. His alchemical foundation wasn’t perfect, and he believed that if the foundation of his craft wavered even a little, there was no meaning in rising higher.

  So instead, he stood at the edge of a cliff near the sect’s main alchemy grounds, guiding the flames inside his cauldron with absolute focus.

  The cauldron roared, bubbling as if alive.

  Ruan Minghe added ingredients one after another without hesitation—Crimson Bone, Moonvine Blood, and chipped pieces of Ironwood. Each material struck the mixture with a violent reaction. The liquid inside churned in aggressive waves, threatening to explode at any second.

  But Ruan Minghe’s qi pressed down on it firmly, controlling every motion.

  The heat increased. Flames curled up in a perfect vortex, wrapping the cauldron in a tight spiral. He extended two fingers, weaving refined strands of fire through the mixture. Slowly, the essence within the materials began to separate. A faint glow lifted from the bubbling mess, rising into the air as if responding to his will.

  Making pills at his level wasn’t about whether he could succeed. Ruan Minghe already knew the result would be a success. What mattered was purity. If a pill dropped below seventy percent purity, he considered it a complete failure. To be known as the best alchemist in the empire, he needed to reach a point where almost no essence leaked into the air, even during difficult mixtures.

  But that was far easier said than done.

  As he mixed the essences floating above the cauldron, a silver glow flashed in his eyes. It was the technique known as [Silver Vein Eyes], and it was the only reason he had reached this level at such a young age. The technique showed him what ordinary alchemists couldn’t see—the tiny streams of essence escaping into the surroundings with every second that passed.

  And right now, far too much essence was slipping away.

  Ruan Minghe narrowed his eyes and increased his speed. He poured more of his qi into the mixture, tightening his control and forcing the essences to compress toward the forming pill. Every breath he took felt like he was fighting against time itself. More essence leaked out. More resistance came from the ingredients. But he didn’t slow down.

  He dragged the remaining essence out of the Crimson Bone. He pulled the last drops of purity out of the Moonvine Blood. He spun the Ironwood essence into the mixture, keeping it from scattering.

  Some of the essences clashed violently, pushing away from each other because they were naturally incompatible. Ruan Minghe didn’t panic. He simply pressed his own qi into the mixture, smoothing the conflict and forcefully stabilizing them.

  The pill shape slowly became solid. The heat rising from the cauldron grew sharp enough to distort the air.

  Ruan Minghe clenched his jaw and poured out half of the qi in his dantian in one go. A bright light burst above the cauldron.

  The flames flared high, then abruptly died down. The clashing essences in the air vanished. All the chaotic heat snapped into stillness.

  And then—finally—a single pill formed above the cauldron, floating in place like it had always been there.

  Without wasting a second, Ruan Minghe raised his hand and wrapped his qi around it, pulling the pill into his palm.

  He turned the pill over in his palm, inspecting it from every angle. It was a deep jade-green, smooth on the surface but with faint swirling lines inside—traces of the three essences blending together. When he pushed a thread of qi into it, the pill gave off a steady glow, the colour brightening at its core.

  Ruan Minghe narrowed his eyes and pushed a bit more qi into the pill to check its purity. A moment later, numbers formed in his mind, and he allowed himself a small smile.

  Seventy-seven percent.

  Better than expected. He had assumed this pill would barely scrape past seventy. Some atmospheric qi had slipped in during the process—his own mistake—but it didn’t affect the pill’s overall strength. It only meant he needed to be sharper next time.

  He closed his fingers around the pill for a moment, then lowered his hand and looked out across the mountain.

  Far along the cliffs, dozens of other alchemists were working in the cold air, each standing beside their cauldrons. All of them were disciples, not Elders, and all of them had been ordered to refine as many pills as possible before the trip into the Pagoda of Eternity. Flames rose and died across the slopes like flickering stars.

  Thinking of the pagoda made Ruan Minghe’s smile widen.

  He had fought for the position to lead the Emerald Sun Sect into it. Some Elders had wanted to seal their cultivation with pills and enter themselves, but in the end, the sect leader chose him. And Ruan Minghe intended to make sure the Emerald Sun Sect came out on top.

  But prestige wasn’t the only reason he wanted to enter the mythical pagoda.

  There was another goal—one shared quietly by every senior alchemist in the sect.

  The pagoda was filled with secrets. Ancient techniques. Pills lost to time. And somewhere inside, hidden within the first ten levels, was said to be the legacy of a master alchemist who had crafted Heaven-grade pills. A man who left behind treasures meant for an alchemist “with enough fire in his heart.”

  Ruan Minghe’s fingers tightened around the pill pouch at his side.

  He wasn’t going to the pagoda just to climb it—he was going to claim everything that the master alchemist left behind.

  Once he had that legacy in his hands, being the youngest Elder would feel small. Too small.

  With that thought, he turned back to the cauldron, and summoned the flames again.

  It was time to make the next pill.

  ***

  A/N - You can read 30 chapters (15 Magus Reborn and 15 Dao of money) on my patreon. Annual subscription is now on too. Also this is Volume 2 last chapter.

  Magus Reborn 3 is OUT NOW. It's a progression fantasy epic featuring a detailed magic system, kingdom building, and plenty of action.