Alchemist Reborn: Ruler of the Immortal Legion

7

The basement of Sector 7 didn't look like a laboratory anymore. It looked like a forge from a nightmare.

Han Chen had stripped off the Italian silk tuxedo, tossing the ruined rags into a corner. He stood shirtless in the center of the room, his skin glistening with sweat that evaporated the moment it touched the air. Around him, three industrial-grade heaters were pushed to their limits, but the real heat wasn't coming from the machines. It was radiating from the bronze vat in front of him—a repurposed coolant tank he’d etched with jagged, glowing runes.

"How much longer?" Valerie asked. She was standing near the reinforced door, her hand white-knuckled on her sidearm. The ventilation system was struggling to suck out the thick, herbal steam that smelled like ozone and old earth.

"The Dragon Grass is stubborn," Han Chen grunted, his eyes fixed on the simmering liquid. "It’s been growing in a world of trash. It doesn't want to let go of its impurities. If I rush this, the pill will crack, and this entire block becomes a crater."

"You might want to speed it up," Valerie said, glancing at the security monitors. "The Shadow-Step Clan doesn't do 'patience.' They’ve bypassed the perimeter. Tigor is holding the main stairwell, but they brought something... bigger this time."

Han Chen didn't look up. "Tigor knows what to do. He’s no longer a man; he’s a wall. Let the crows peck at him."

---

At the end of the hallway, the air suddenly dropped twenty degrees.

Tigor stood like a mountain of scarred meat and black armor, his new arm twitching with a rhythmic, golden light. Behind him, the nine members of the Eternal Guard waited in the shadows, their breathing so synchronized it sounded like a single, massive lung.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The sound came from the shadows of the ventilation shaft. Then, the ceiling exploded.

Four figures in slate-gray robes landed silently on the concrete. They didn't carry guns. They carried jian—straight swords that vibrated with a sickly, pale-blue light. These weren't the "Raven" from the auction. These were Executioners.

"Step aside, mortal," the lead Executioner hissed, his voice sounding like dry leaves skittering on a grave. "The boy stole what belongs to the Shadows. We are here to reclaim the debt in blood."

Tigor didn't speak. He didn't have to. He simply stepped forward and slammed his fist into his open palm. The shockwave of the impact cracked the tiles beneath his boots.

"Kill him," the Executioner commanded.

The four moved at once. They were fast—supernaturally fast—their blades blurring into a web of blue steel. Tigor roared, his golden Qi flaring out like a sun. He didn't dodge. He caught the first blade with his bare hand, the metal screeching against his toughened skin, and snapped it like a dry twig.

The hallway turned into a slaughterhouse of light and shadow.

---

Back in the lab, Han Chen slammed his palm against the side of the bronze vat.

"Now!"

He reached into the boiling liquid with his bare hand. Valerie gasped, expecting to see bone, but Han Chen’s arm was coated in a shimmering golden film. He pulled out a single, pulsating sphere the size of a marble. It was a deep, bruised purple, veined with streaks of pure gold.

The Foundation-Forging Pill.

The moment it touched the air, the glass beakers in the room shattered from the sheer spiritual pressure. Han Chen didn't hesitate. He tossed the pill into his mouth and swallowed.

The effect was instantaneous.

His eyes didn't just glow; they ignited. A pillar of golden flame erupted from his body, incinerating the rolling cart he was leaning on. He fell to his knees, his muscles bulging and rippling as the pill began to dismantle his mortal biology at a cellular level.

"Han... Chen?" Valerie stepped back, shielding her eyes from the heat.

He didn't answer. He couldn't. Inside his mind, he was back in the Nine Heavens, his soul expanding until it filled the room, the building, the very city itself. The poison from Marcus, the paralysis, the weakness—it was all being burned away, replaced by a skeleton of jade and blood of liquid fire.

CRACK.

The sound came from his very core. The bottleneck was broken.

Han Chen stood up. He didn't look bigger, but he felt heavier. The air around him seemed to warp, unable to handle the sudden density of his existence. He picked up his discarded combat knife, and with a casual thought, the steel turned from dull gray to a brilliant, vibrating gold.

"The Shadows are here, aren't they?" Han Chen asked. His voice was no longer a rasp; it was a calm, melodic bell that vibrated in Valerie’s chest.

"They're... they're outside. Tigor is—"

"Tigor is tired," Han Chen interrupted. He walked toward the door, his movements so smooth he seemed to be sliding through space. "It’s time I showed these crows why the sun doesn't fear the night."

He kicked the reinforced door. The three-inch-thick steel didn't just fly off its hinges; it disintegrated into dust.

In the hallway, Tigor was on one knee, his armor shredded, three blue blades buried in his shoulder. The lead Executioner was raising his sword for the final blow.

"Wait," Han Chen said.

The Executioner froze. He tried to move his arm, but it felt like the air had turned into solid granite. He turned his head slowly, his eyes widening as he saw the man walking toward him.

Han Chen didn't look like a prisoner. He looked like a god who had decided to take a walk in a gutter.

"You... what have you done?" the Executioner stammered, his blue Qi flickering and dying in the presence of Han Chen’s golden light. "That aura... that's not Qi Condensation. That’s..."

"That's a level you'll never reach," Han Chen said.

He didn't even use the knife. He just pointed a finger.

A needle-thin beam of golden light shot out. It passed through the Executioner’s forehead, through the wall behind him, and through the next three walls of the facility. The man didn't even have time to bleed. He simply stood there for a second before his body collapsed into a pile of ash.

The other three Executioners didn't wait. They turned to flee, leaping toward the ventilation shafts.

"Stay," Han Chen commanded.

The gravity in the hallway suddenly increased tenfold. The three men were slammed into the floor with such force that the concrete shattered. They lay there, pinned by an invisible hand, their bones creaking.

Han Chen walked over to Tigor, placing a hand on the giant’s shoulder. The golden light flowed into Tigor, and the wounds on his body closed instantly. The broken blades were pushed out of his flesh by new, healthy muscle.

"Rest, Tigor," Han Chen said. "You've done well."

"Tuan..." Tigor gasped, looking at his master in awe. "You... you've reached the Foundation?"

"I've started," Han Chen corrected.

He turned his gaze to the three Executioners pinned to the floor. He stepped on the hand of one, feeling the bones crunch beneath his heel.

"Go back to your Shadow-Step Clan," Han Chen said, his voice dropping to a whisper that echoed in their souls. "Tell your Master that I'm keeping the grass. And tell him that if he wants it back, he should come himself. I need more 'ingredients' for my next batch of pills, and a High-Level Cultivator’s heart is exactly what the recipe calls for."

He waved his hand, and the pressure vanished. The three men scrambled away, not even daring to look back.

Han Chen turned to Valerie, who was staring at the hole in the wall.

"Captain," he said, wiping a speck of dust from his shoulder. "I think it’s time we stopped hiding in this basement. I want the best hotel in the city. The one with the highest roof."

"Why?" Valerie asked, her voice trembling.

Han Chen looked up, as if he could see through the layers of concrete to the stars above. "Because I’m tired of breathing the same air as the ants. It's time to show Arkas City who its new King is.".