C8 Black Dragon Crystal
In a space completely sealed off from the world, there were no doors or windows, no trace of light, no whisper of sound—it was as if even the air had ceased to flow.
This chamber resembled an ancient weapon, slumbering through the ages, awaiting the destined owner's arrival.
At the heart of this space, an intricate pattern of lines mysteriously materialized on the floor, exuding a faint, otherworldly glow. The light coalesced into the form of a black dragon suspended in the void.
The dragon was so vivid it seemed to come alive, its ethereal light shimmering as it twisted and coiled, its majestic form stretching freely within the confines of the room. A distant dragon's roar echoed, and an ancient, formidable presence filled the air.
Within the phantom dragon, a silhouette began to emerge. The delicate strands of light appeared sentient, carrying an enigmatic aura as they slowly converged into the figure.
Simultaneously, a strange breeze rose from beneath, revealing numerous oil lamps set into the walls, all unlit and empty. Yet, with the movement of the air, one by one, the lamps sparked to life, their blood-red flames dancing, piercing the darkness with an unsettling light.
As the figure fully materialized, the black dragon pattern and the surrounding luminous mist vanished without a trace, as if they had never existed. The atmosphere grew denser, heavier with their absence.
Standing roughly 1.8 meters tall, the figure's long black hair was neatly bound atop his head, cascading down his back. His black eyes sparkled with intense curiosity as he surveyed his surroundings.
Though his frame was not particularly muscular, he radiated a regal and proud aura that matched, even surpassed, the solemnity of the space around him. He was like an emperor surveying his domain.
This figure was none other than Nangong Fan, transformed into Hei Ze.
The room, spanning a mere hundred square meters and sparsely adorned, felt somewhat barren. It was hard to imagine that this could be the Hei Family's secret, hidden away for a millennium—no one would readily believe such a tale.
Nangong Fan's gaze was drawn to a three-foot-long sword hanging on the wall ahead. The sword's hilt bore the likeness of a fierce dragon's head, its crossguard resembling twisted horns, and at its center lay a lustrous black scale, three-dimensional and gleaming. The light from the oil lamps shone through, transforming the scale into a monstrous entity that seemed to swallow all the light. Beneath the illumination, a dragon-like liquid was revealed, swirling within the scale as if a dragon were traversing the oceans.
The sword lay concealed within its scabbard, yet a faint sound emanated from it—a sound that was reminiscent of both a sword's ring and a dragon's roar.
Crafted entirely from black scales, the scabbard caught the glow of the oil lamp, casting a bright light throughout the room.
"Black Dragon Sword"—these three ancient, blood-colored characters were subtly visible among the scales of the scabbard. The intricate lines of each letter seemed to flow through the scales, imbuing them with a sense of life. Merely the sight of these words could unsettle an onlooker, as if a deity were surveying the mortal realm with a watchful eye.
The Black Dragon Sword itself was mounted on the wall, quivering ever so slightly as if it were a dragon ascending through the mists, poised to conquer the celestial heights.
Directly beneath the Black Dragon Sword, a wooden table stood against the wall, neatly adorned with three delicate jade boxes. Beside them, a portrait was affixed to the wall.
The portrait featured a middle-aged man with jet-black hair, bushy eyebrows, and piercing eyes. His long hair was gathered into a bundle by a black cloth band. A scar, about an inch long, marred his right cheek, lending him an air of authority.
In his left hand, he cradled a dragon horn helmet, majestic and imposing. His right hand grasped a three-foot-long sword, the dark hilt shaped like a dragon's head, which seemed to clench his hand in a firm grip. Sword and man appeared seamlessly united, the blade an extension of his arm. The sword's edge, though merely depicted, conveyed a sense of lethal sharpness.
This was the very Black Dragon Sword that adorned the wall.
The man was clad in a suit of armor pieced together from black scales, his robust frame suggesting a fierce general engaged in the throes of battle, exuding an aura of indomitable strength.
Nangong Fan recognized the man in the portrait as strikingly familiar, but before he could ponder further, an odd sensation arose from beneath his feet.
He stood upon a black altar, each side measuring five meters, with a total of nine tiers. Each tier receded inward, the area diminishing with each ascent.
Nangong Fan found himself on the ninth and topmost tier of the altar, a space just large enough to accommodate a person sitting cross-legged.
Strands of cold air seeped from the ground, enveloping his entire body in an icy embrace that pierced straight to his heart.
Stimulated by this chill, Nangong Fan felt every part of him—his blood and even the cells he could scarcely perceive—stir to life, as if a starving man had been presented with a lavish feast, eager to sate his hunger.
Nangong Fan let out a breath of frigid air, his mind swirling with memories that inexplicably revealed the origin of the crystal beneath his feet. He whispered to himself, settling into a cross-legged position.
"Black Dragon Crystal."
The words were spoken not with the arrogance and pride of Hei Ze, nor with a trace of inferiority. Instead, they were uttered with the poise of a scholarly young man reciting ancient texts, his tone warm and refined, his demeanor ethereal.
In the martial way, the cultivation of essence, energy, and spirit are all grand avenues to power. Most choose one path to mastery, reaching the pinnacle of their potential. Those with extraordinary talent might cultivate two or even three paths to achieve invincibility among their peers.
Each path is fraught with challenges and requires a wealth of resources. Without a solid foundation, one might stumble upon a treasure trove yet remain oblivious to its value and the proper methods to harness it. Each celestial treasure demands its own unique method of harvest and application.
The Black Dragon Crystal, however, should not exist in this realm. A low-grade sub-dragon crystal, perhaps, but not this.
Dragon Crystals are nurtured over years by demon beasts with dragon lineage, forming from the spiritual essence and unique dragon aura they emit.
Even in the Upper World, the Black Dragon Crystal is a rare treasure. A demon beast with even a trace of dragon blood can become a formidable creature, that trace offering boundless potential to ascend to divinity.
The Black Dragon itself is a force to be reckoned with among the True Dragon Clan. The energy within its crystal is so potent that it is beyond the capacity of ordinary beings to absorb.
In the Aerial Boundaries, martial cultivators are classified into ten realms, each divided into low, intermediate, high, peak, and perfection levels.
Martial Disciple, Martial Warrior, Martial Master, Martial Ancestor, Martial Marquis, Martial King, Martial Emperor, Martial Saint, and the realm of legends. Beyond legend lies the opportunity to ascend to the Upper World.
One is considered a true Martial Ancestor when they can introspect and manipulate spiritual energy within themselves.
A Martial King has mastered the art, capable of using their spirit energy to defy gravity, floating momentarily in the air. With advanced movement techniques, soaring through the clouds becomes effortless.
In this realm, not even the most legendary of warriors could absorb the essence of the dragon crystal as effortlessly as Nangong Fan did.
Having once associated with a true dragon, why would he be concerned with a mere dragon crystal?
Nangong Fan was seated cross-legged above the black dragon crystal, which exuded a cool mist that seeped into his body.
The stimulation from the black dragon crystal enabled him to achieve a level of self-awareness usually reserved for a Martial Emperor.
The cool mist, assertive and relentless, revitalized his frail body, invigorated his delicate yet resilient and vibrant cells, and fortified his bloodline. It even reached his brow, nourishing his spirit.
Nangong Fan observed the cool mist weaving through his body, gradually infiltrating his heart—the seat of his essence. A strong heart is the foundation of a robust physique.
Yet, even with the ability to introspect, Nangong Fan found his heart to be somewhat peculiar; he was utterly unable to discern it clearly, much less the transparent threads that enshrouded it completely.
A normal person might have delved into such a mystery, unwilling to tolerate the presence of an inexplicable entity within themselves.
But Nangong Fan felt no such urgency. Was it because the cool mist's onslaught left no room for concern? Or had the impulse to examine his heart been severed from his thoughts?
The answer remains unknown.
The threads, akin to fishing lines, exuded an enigmatic and formidable presence.
Originally gold-brown, the heart had taken on the blood-red hue common to all, transformed by the threads' entanglement.
The secrets within the gold-brown heart were concealed by the transparent lines.
Deep within the heart, beyond Nangong Fan's perception, a noble and haughty black and red blood bead lay coiled next to a blue blood bead half its size.
The black and red bead, subtly resonating with dragon chants, remained confined within the heart, its sound unable to escape the threads' seal.
As the cool mist entered the heart, the once boastful dragon essence became as tame as a kitten, encircling the black and red bead, surrendering its final radiance to be voraciously absorbed by it within Nangong Fan's heart.
The dragon qi within the body seemed to have received a command, diving into the bloodstream and coursing through the entire body. If the heart is the cornerstone of cultivation, then the blood is its most vital source of power. As the heart generates blood, the strength of the heart dictates the potency of the blood. With robust circulation, the blood fortifies the body, creating a formidable vessel.
The blood, a vibrant red, raced through the body, drawing in all the energy from the surrounding chill and nourishing every part of the body in a flawless cycle. Streaks of an unusual hue mingled with the crimson; a tawny yellow, bearing the profound essence of the earth, yet tinged with an imperial nobility.
Red and white intertwined—fiery red and icy white. These two distinct forces blended seamlessly, as though fire and ice were naturally symbiotic. The blood strands voraciously consumed the cool air flowing from every direction.
With the dissipation of the cool air, the golden-brown and the mysterious red and white blood strands became more prominent within the bloodstream. Like young saplings, they thrived and strengthened under the nourishment of the cool air.
A fleeting glimpse of a blue strand could be seen deep within the blood, exuding an aura of the divine—regal and indifferent, overseeing all that transpired.
Nangong Fan was oblivious to the transformations occurring within his blood. His eyes remained firmly shut as he focused on drawing in the cool air that swirled around him. Relying on the chill emitted by the dragon crystal, he could only perform a rudimentary internal examination. He observed a wisp of mist-like energy taking shape in his vacant dantian, meandering through his delicate meridians, flowing ceaselessly in cycle after cycle, much like a young shoot sprouting with robust growth.
He also sensed his heartbeat growing stronger, his slender frame becoming more solid. A gentle twitch at his brow signaled a tingling sensation, as if something within was slowly taking form, ready to emerge.
