Dragonblood Chaos Heir

Chapter 8: The Slap That Echoed Through the City

The Blackroot Woods lived up to their name. Ancient trees with bark the color of charcoal clawed at a sky choked by a permanent, dripping canopy. Thick roots snaked across the spongy, black earth, ready to trip the unwary. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and the fertile, aggressive life that fed on it. For Lin Feng, stepping into this gloom was like entering a pressurized room of wild, untamed energy.

Here, the life-forces weren't the gentle green pulses of the outer forest. They were sharp, hungry, and territorial. He could feel the cold, skittering aura of venomous insects in the mulch, the slow, grinding consciousness of the trees themselves, and the hot, predatory sparks of the spirit beasts that called this place home. His Chaos Dantian reacted to the onslaught of stimuli not with fear, but with a low, eager hum. The vortex spun a fraction faster, as if tasting the air.

He was not here to hide. He was here to hunt.

His target was the Iron-Hide Boar, a low-level spirit beast common to these woods. It was a creature of brute force and surprising resilience, its skin toughened by earth-attribute qi to the point of deflecting ordinary blades. For a typical 1st Layer Body Tempering cultivator, it was a death sentence. For Lin Feng, it was the perfect whetstone.

He found signs quickly: gouges in tree bark from tusks, deep hoof-prints in the soft ground, and the pungent, musky scent of the creature. He followed the trail, moving with a silence that was becoming second nature. His senses, amplified by chaotic qi, painted a vivid map of the energy around him. He felt the boar before he saw it—a dense, earthy ball of aggression about fifty yards ahead, near a small, murky stream.

Lin Feng crouched behind a fallen log, observing. The boar was massive, the size of a small pony, its skin a mottled grey-brown that seemed to blend with the stone and root around it. Small, intelligent eyes gleamed with a malicious light as it rooted for grubs, its tusks, each as long as a man’s forearm, easily flipping heavy stones. It was a creature of pure, uncomplicated power.

Consume. Convert. Command.

Lin Feng didn't draw Frost Desire. This test was about his core, his qi, his new body. He stepped out from behind the log.

The boar sensed him instantly. Its head snapped up, snout wrinkling. It didn't charge immediately. It assessed, its beady eyes taking in this lone, seemingly frail human who dared enter its domain. It let out a low, rumbling grunt that vibrated through the ground—a warning.

Lin Feng merely stood, his hood thrown back now, his face calm. He stretched out a hand, palm open, in a deliberately taunting gesture.

The challenge was understood. The boar’s earth-attribute qi flared, a visible, dusty brown aura clinging to its skin, making it look like a moving boulder. With a sound like a rockslide, it charged.

The ground shook. Trees seemed to flinch away from its path. It was a force of nature, a living battering ram aiming to pulp Lin Feng against the nearest trunk.

Lin Feng didn't dodge. He planted his feet, sinking into a low stance he’d seen his father use a lifetime ago. He focused. As the boar closed the last ten feet, tusks aimed for his gut, he activated his dantian not to defend, but to devour.

He thrust his open palm directly at the charging beast's forehead, not to strike, but to meet it.

The collision was silent for a split second, then a sound like a mountain sighing filled the clearing.

The boar’s momentum didn't stop, but it… slowed, as if hitting a wall of molasses. The dusty brown earth qi cloaking its body didn't shatter; it streamed away from the point of contact, pulled into Lin Feng’s palm like smoke into a vacuum. He felt the raw, brute energy flood his meridian—crude, heavy, and thick with bestial intent. The Chaos Dantian spun violently, processing it. The bestial rage was stripped away, converted into raw power. The earthy stability was absorbed, adding a new layer of resilience to his chaos.

The boar itself, now cut off of its protective qi, slammed into him with only its physical mass.

It was like being hit by a cart. Lin Feng’s feet skidded back in the loam, a grunt of pain forced from his lips. But he held. His body, tempered by dragon’s blood and chaotic rebirth, didn't break. He absorbed the impact, his bones singing with strain but holding firm. His free hand came up and slapped the boar’s snout.

It wasn't a punch. It wasn't a blade strike. It was an open-handed, almost dismissive slap, channeling a burst of the very earth energy he’d just stolen, now refined and laced with chaotic discord.

THWACK-CRACK!

The sound was unnaturally crisp, cutting through the woods' damp silence. It wasn't the sound of flesh on skin; it was the sound of force meeting unguarded matter.

The boar’s head snapped to the side. A tusk, now unsupported by its earth qi, splintered at the base. The beast let out a shrill, confused squeal of pain and shock, stumbling sideways. It shook its massive head, dazed. The intelligence in its eyes was replaced by primal fear. This human hadn't fought it; he had taken its strength and used it to humiliate it.

Lin Feng pressed his advantage. He flowed forward, his movements now fluid with the boar’s own stolen power. He didn't use a fancy technique. He simply grabbed one of the beast’s ears, channeled another sharp burst of chaotic force into his grip, and slammed the boar’s head down into the trunk of a nearby Blackroot tree.

CRUNCH.

The tree trembled. The boar went limp, its skull fractured. Its life-force, a vibrant, warm ember, began to gutter.

Lin Feng didn't wait. He placed his hand on the boar’s still-warm skin. He willed the Chaos Dantian to consume. Not just the residual qi, but the very vital essence of the beast.

It was a different kind of feeding. Richer. More profound. A river of hot, potent energy—life itself, condensed—flowed into him. The vortex blazed, swelling slightly. His muscles, fatigued from the impact, knit themselves stronger. His senses grew sharper. He felt a raw, physical boost, a deepening of his foundation. He had just performed the equivalent of months of hard meditation and spirit-beast meat consumption in seconds.

When he stood, the boar was a a dried husk, its skin gone dull and papery, its flesh devoid of any spiritual nourishment. He had taken everything.

He looked at his hand, the one that had slapped the boar. No mark. No pain. Only power, humming under the skin. The Slap That Echoed Through the Woods was his first true, created technique: Chaos-Stealing Palm. A touch that could drain an opponent's fortified energy and return it with devastating, amplified interest.

He took the unbroken tusk as a trophy and a potential tool, then cleansed his hands in the stream. As he did, he reviewed the fight. He had won, but it was messy. He’d taken the charge head-on, relying on his body’s toughness and his dantian’s devouring power. Against a faster, more agile opponent, or one with ranged attacks, that could be fatal. He needed movement. He needed finesse.

As if answering his thoughts, a memory surfaced from the Dragon Emperor’s imprint—not a technique, but a principle. The Dragon Adapts. Chaos was not rigidity; it was fluidity. It could be as light as stealing the warmth from sunlight, or as heavy as swallowing a mountain's heart.

He spent the next few hours in the clearing, practicing. He focused his chaotic qi into his legs, not for brute strength, but for explosive, silent movement. He tried to mimic the quick, darting energy of the insects he sensed, the flowing persistence of the stream. He created a basic footwork pattern, Chaos Shuffle Step, that allowed him to move in unpredictable, short bursts, leaving faint afterimages of distorted energy.

By the time the grey light of the forest began to dim toward evening, he was exhausted, but thrumming with growth. He had consolidated his 1st Layer Body Tempering foundation and pushed firmly into the threshold of the 2nd Layer. His qi reserves had perhaps tripled. More importantly, he had two crude but effective personal techniques and a instinctive understanding of his power.

He was no longer just surviving. He was becoming a predator.

He made his way back to the edge of the woods, his mind now fixed on the city and the plan taking shape. The merchant caravan. The Earth-Spine Convoys were due in two days, bringing raw materials from the Deng Clan’s mines to Verdant Cloud City, a shipment that would now undoubtedly include "tribute" for the new Elder Tian of the Lin Clan. The convoy would be guarded, but by Deng clansmen and hired mercenaries, not Lin elites. It was a perfect, isolated piece of his uncle’s new power structure.

He would hit it. Not to steal coin or mundane goods. He would target the Spirit-Stone Ore, the raw, unrefined earth-attribute crystals that were the lifeblood of cultivation for earth-aligned clans. He would consume it, every last pebble, draining the wealth and symbolically devouring the foundation of his uncle’s support.

As he approached the Roosting Phoenix Teahouse from the back alleys to gather any evening gossip, a new sound reached his ears. Not the murmur of the city, but the clear, arrogant ring of a voice he knew all too well, raised in laughter from the teahouse’s main floor.

“Another round! To my dear, departed cousin! May the worms find him as useless in death as he was in life!”

Lin Tao.

Lin Feng’s cold smile returned. He pulled his hood up, the fur brushing against his cheeks. He had just tested his power on a beast.

Perhaps it was time to test his control on a different kind of animal.