The elixir seeped into Lorcan's abdomen, and he swiftly channeled his intent, dispersing the liquid throughout his limbs and sinews.

  Unlike martial cultivators who funneled medicinal energy into their dantian before distributing it, Lorcan had no spirit root—his dantian was a hollow void, incapable of storing energy. Instead, he diffused the medicinal power into every cell. Though the herbs were mundane, Lorcan's alchemical genius amplified their efficacy to staggering levels.

  As the elixir surged through him, pores yawned open across his skin. Each cell behaved like a drowning man gasping for air, voraciously absorbing ambient life force energy.

  BOOM.

  A muffled explosion reverberated within Lorcan's body. Sealed meridians burst open, and he gritted his teeth against the agony. While others cultivated gradually, nurturing their channels with dantian energy, Lorcan had no such luxury. He forced external energy inward like a tidal wave crashing into a riverbed—a violent method few could endure.

  "This pain... I will remember it," Lorcan hissed, sweat beading on his forehead. If not for the theft of his spirit root, he would never have resorted to such madness.

  One by one, his meridians fractured and reopened. With each rupture came waves of searing pain. By the time the final channel yielded, Lorcan collapsed, trembling, and required a full hour to recover.

  When the torment subsided, he found his pores attuned to the invisible currents of life force energy. With each breath, his body drank in the ambient power, revitalizing his flesh.

  "Excellent. The meridians are clear. Cultivation begins anew."

  Testing his strength, Lorcan punched the air. A howling gale erupted from his fist, and a smile spread across his face. The suffering had not been in vain.

  Ordinary cultivators advanced through stages: Sensing Qi, then Gathering Qi. Lorcan, however, had bypassed convention. By leveraging elixirs to pry open his pores and channel external energy, he had leaped directly into the Gathering Qi stage—at least in bodily refinement. Without a dantian, he could not condense a qi vortex, so his progress remained incomplete.

  Sifting through his memories, Lorcan discovered a singular martial technique amid countless alchemical arts—the Nine-Stellar Domination Technique. To his exhilaration, the technique seemed tailor-made for his predicament. Instead of cultivating a dantian, it awakened nine "starmeres," secret reservoirs within the body. Each activated starmere functioned as a dantian, multiplying his potential.

  But as he read further, dread coiled in his gut. The technique demanded prodigious quantities of pills—mere absorption of external energy would take lifetimes to progress. To awaken even the first starmere, the "Wind Mansion," required pills so numerous they strained belief.

  "How am I to afford this?" Lorcan's jaw tightened. The Long family's coffers were bare; his mother had pawned her jewelry for a single substandard pellet. Yet without pills, the technique was a castle built on sand.

  Part I: The Broke Heir's Gambit

  Lorcan emerged from the manor, the midday sun casting long shadows over the desolate侯府. Once a seat of noble pride, the Long family's estate now housed barely a dozen servants—enough to keep the rats at bay, but scarcely more.

  In the martial fervor of the Phoenix Cry Empire, Lorcan's inability to cultivate made him a laughingstock. His father, General Long Tianxiao, was a legendary war hero whose very name made barbarian hordes tremble. Yet Lorcan, his son, was a "spirit rootless weakling"—a slap in the face to the general's legacy.

  The final humiliation had come days prior when Zhou Yaoyang, the heir of the Savage Marches侯, taunted Lorcan's parentage. Enraged by the implication his mother was unfaithful, Lorcan had challenged Zhou to a duel—a suicidal act against a cultivator of the Seventh Qi Condensation stage. The resulting beating left Lorcan unconscious and the capital in stitches.

  Now, Lorcan strode toward the Capital Herbalist's Bazaar, intent on researching medicinal prices. Along the way, fingers pointed and whispers followed him—a familiar dance he no longer acknowledged.

  "Protected by his father's shield, yet spits on his own son," Lorcan mused bitterly. The empire reaped the benefits of General Long's bloodshed while casting his family into shadows.

  As he quickened his pace, a sneering voice cut through the air.

  "Well, well. Isn't this the Lord Lorcan? Last I heard, you'd been beaten so badly you didn't recognize your own mother. Up and about so soon?"

  Before him stood Li Hao, a petty noble's heir flanked by two lackeys. His silk robes and lacquered hair masked the bully beneath.

  In times past, Lorcan would have retreated. Today, he met Li Hao's gaze, shook his head, and drawled, "They say a good dog doesn't block the road. Clearly, you're no good dog."

  Li Hao's face flushed crimson. "You'll regret those words, weakling."

  "Regret? The only thing I regret is not teaching you manners earlier," Lorcan replied, sidestepping past the sputtering noble.

  Enraged, Li Hao lunged—only for a thunderous voice to intervene.

  "Li Hao, threatening my brother? You'll choke on your own arrogance!"

  The newcomer was Shi Feng, a hulking giant of eighteen winters with the physique of a mountain and the temper to match. His presence alone silenced Li Hao's bravado.

  "Stay out of this, rock ape," Li Hao spat, though his bravado wavered.

  Shi Feng, a cultivator of the Eighth Qi stage and natural heavyweight champion, needed no further provocation. "Lorcan's my brother. Touch him, and you'll answer to me."

  Lorcan placed a hand on Shi Feng's arm, warmth swelling in his chest. "Save your fury for those worthy of it. I'll settle this score myself."

  Unconvinced but loyal, Shi Feng fell into step beside him. Together, they turned to leave—until Li Hao's voice sliced through the air.

  "Coward! Face me if you dare!"

  Lorcan halted, the air suddenly frigid with his intent. "You seek a duel?"

  Li Hao, trapped by his own bluster, forced a grin. "What? Scared?"

  "Not scared. But I require higher stakes."

  Li Hao scoffed. "Stakes? Your family can't afford bread, let alone bets."

  Lorcan's lips curled into a cold smile. "Shi Feng, lend me your blade."

  The steel sang as Shi Feng drew his saber.

  "This blade, crafted by a master smith, is worth eight thousand gold coins. I'll value it at five thousand. Win, and it's yours. Lose, and you pay me five thousand gold. Agreed?"

  Li Hao's eyes gleamed. The blade was a fortune—Lorcan was offering him a pig in a poke.

  "Delighted," he sneered. "Let's bind the contract at the arena. Today, I'll make you eat your teeth."

  Lorcan's smile never wavered. "As you wish."

  As they marched toward the capital's dueling grounds, Lorcan's mind raced. Li Hao was but a lapdog to Zhou Yaoyang—what schemes lurked beneath their taunts? Yet regardless of their plots, Lorcan knew patience would turn to reckoning. And when it did, the empire would learn never to mock a rising star.