The Shattered Vortex

Chapter 8 The Price of the Harvest

The silence that followed the shattering of Elder Zhao’s core was heavier than the golden pressure that had preceded it. Five thousand cultivators sat frozen in the marble tiers, staring down at the ruined, white-haired mortal who had been a senior elder just moments before. Zhao lay curled in the mud, his chest heaving shallowly, weeping tears of dust as his remaining life force bled out into the cold stone.

Lu Chen did not celebrate. He stood perfectly still in the center of the smoking crater, but internally, a war was raging.

The stolen, golden energy of a mid-stage Core Formation master was too vast, too dense, and entirely too volatile for an Iron Qi body to contain. Within his lower torso, the jagged vortex was spinning so fast it had become a blinding white heat. The glass-like shards of his foundation were chipping, grinding against the influx of foreign power. His newly knitted ribs cracked open once more under the internal pressure. Blood welled up in his throat, and he forced himself to swallow it down, his jaw locking so tight his teeth creaked.

If I don't refine this energy in the next ten minutes, Lu Chen realized, his vision blurring at the edges, my pathways won't just fracture—they will detonate.

"He... he killed an elder," Deacon Meng whispered from the dirt, his voice trembling so violently he could barely hold his iron ledger. "The demonic arts... he must be executed..."

"Silence, Meng," a voice echoed from the heavens.

The voice did not come from the high dais, nor did it carry the explosive fury of Elder Zhao. It was a calm, smooth tone that felt like a cool breeze passing through the stifling heat of the coliseum. Yet, the moment it spoke, every single inner disciple and outer aspirant in the stadium immediately dropped to their knees, bowing their heads until they touched the shattered marble.

From the highest, cloud-shrouded peaks, a single figure drifted down. He did not fly on a spiritual sword, nor did he display a grand aura of light. He simply stepped through the air as if descending an invisible staircase. He wore simple, dark blue robes and carried a plain wooden staff. This was the supreme leader of the mountain: Sect Master absolute, Jiang Chen.

Lu Chen forced his trembling legs to stay locked. He raised his head, his pitch-black eyes meeting the serene, ancient gaze of the Sect Master.

Sect Master Jiang landed softly on the edge of the crater, his boots completely dry despite the blood and mud covering the arena. He looked down at the withered husk of Elder Zhao, then turned his gaze back to Lu Chen. There was no anger in his eyes—only a terrifying, clinical curiosity.

"The Shattered Mirror Technique," the Sect Master murmured, his voice audible only to Lu Chen. "A suicidal path created by a madman four hundred years ago. I watched nine of my own brothers attempt it in my youth. All nine became blood mists. Yet, you survived. Not only did you survive, but you mutated the manual into a devouring maw."

Lu Chen clutched his stomach, his knuckles turning white as a fresh surge of golden energy threatened to tear his navel open. "Are you here... to finish what Zhao started?" he rasped, his voice thick with copper.

"Zhao was an arrogant fool who allowed his greed to cloud his judgment," Sect Master Jiang replied calmly, leaning slightly on his wooden staff. "The Vermilion Sect values strength above all else, Lu Chen. You have proven that your worth far exceeds his. However... you are currently dying."

Lu Chen didn't deny it. The red lightning leaking from his pores was striking the ground with increasing frequency, scorching the stone at his feet.

"Your jagged vortex is strong, but your flesh is still a mortal vessel," Jiang continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You cannot contain a dragon's wealth in a beggar's purse. Within minutes, that stolen Core Formation energy will obliterate your physical body."

"Give me... the solution," Lu Chen growled, taking a staggering step forward. "Or I will turn this entire plaza into an explosion that takes half your outer peak with me."

A faint smile touched the Sect Master’s lips. "Arrogant to the end. I like that. I will offer you a bargain, Lu Chen. I will give you the key to surviving this harvest, and I will declare you the prime Inner Disciple of the Vermilion Sect, untouchable by the regional clans."

"And the price?"

"Beneath the floating peaks lies the Myriad Beast Abyss—a subterranean labyrinth where the sect seals the most volatile, ancient demonic entities we cannot kill," Jiang said, his voice dropping into a cold, transactional tone. "The seal on the third layer is failing. Enter the abyss. Use your devouring vortex to consume the leaking, corrupt energy of the seal to stabilize your own core, and keep the entities contained. If you survive for three months, you return as the undisputed successor to my seat."

Lu Chen looked at the Sect Master, then down at his own smoking hands. He knew the Myriad Beast Abyss was a suicide mission disguised as a promotion. The sect master wasn't showing mercy; he was testing a weapon. If the weapon broke, the sect lost nothing. If the weapon survived, the sect gained a monster.

But internal agony left him no choice. The golden energy inside his belly gave a massive, violent lurch, tearing a new line of blood from his nose.

"Give me the stabilization chant," Lu Chen rasped, his eyes burning with an unyielding, dark fire. "And open the gates to your abyss."

Sect Master Jiang raised his wooden staff, tapping it once against the cracked floor. A stream of cool, emerald spiritual text flew from the staff, embedding itself directly into Lu Chen’s forehead. Instantly, a wave of ancient, sealing knowledge flooded Lu Chen’s mind, teaching him how to temporarily compress the wild, stolen golden energy into a volatile, temporary knot within his vortex.

The intense, burning heat in his gut subsided into a cold, throbbing ache. The red lightning stopped leaking from his skin. Lu Chen stood straight, his breathing slowing, though his internal pathways remained on the absolute brink of collapse.

"The gate is open," the Sect Master said, waving his arm toward the grand obsidian doors at the back of the coliseum, which led deep into the roots of the mountain. "Do not disappoint me, Lu Chen."

Lu Chen did not look back at the thousands of staring eyes, nor did he look at the broken Zhou clan heirs. He turned his back on the sunlight of the grand plaza and walked directly into the dark, yawning cavern of the mountain roots. He had survived the beggar's life, the wolf cage, and the elder's wrath. Now, he was walking straight into the jaws of hell, ready to consume whatever was waiting inside.