Chapter 198: A Bitter Pill
Hearing Lordi’s words, Donovan’s brow furrowed. His expression grim as he sifted through the fragments of Krogh’s arrogant ramblings.
"Not much," the muscular tall man admitted, voice rough. "Just scraps—same as what Junior Sister Dawson had acknowledged. That devil sword wasn’t born sentient. It’s not alive, not really. But it knows—like roots know to seek water, like moths burn in fire. It knows hunger. It knows murder. Some might call it half-sentient. A tool with instincts."
A pause. Then, darker:
"But during Krogh’s Foundation Establishment, during the Soul Bound Tribulation... that’s when it changed. The heavenly lightning tempered it, forged something new—the Sword Born. True intelligence. It recognized Krogh through their soul bond... until the final trial, the Ju-On Tribulation’s Threads of Fate severed that link."
His jaw tightened with uncerntainty. "Now? That man eating sword relies only on its master’s Sword Will to know him. That’s... all I’ve got."
Lordi’s breath caught in his throat, his pulse suddenly pounding like war drums in his ears.
Sword Will? Sword Intent?
True Insights of Sword Path?!
A memory exploded across his mind’s eye—sharp, vivid.
There, in the shadowed grandeur of the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine, he had played the perfect fool. Wide-eyed and deferential, he’d coaxed Krogh Hanz into lecturing him with the man’s sword insights, dangling the pretense of verification. At the time, it had been nothing more than a gambit—a means to an end, a way to squeeze time to let the AllFullOS System absorb every line of the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique.
But out of his expectation, the AllFullOS had recorded everything.
Including the Sword Insights Krogh had unknowingly revealed.
Lordi’s stomach lurched.
Could he—?
No.
This wasn’t just opportunity—it was insanity.
A plan crystallized in the chaos of his panic—reckless, half-formed, but all he had.
The Sword of Red Run was no mere artifact weapon—it was a man eating predator, a devil thing of hunger and murder wrapped in steel. And he was considering walking up to it armed with nothing but stolen knowledge and sheer audacity.
His palms slicked with sweat.
This is suicide.
But what other choice was there?
Seeing no further information to glean from Donovan, Lordi dipped his head in a final, respectful nod. "Senior Brother... take care of yourself... Please..." The words tasted like ash. "This humble junior will take his leave."
"Alright then..." Donovan exhaled, the ghost of a weary smile touching his lips. His voice was rough but warm, "Farewell, Payne Bro."
The Mister First Dominator inclined his head slightly. When he lifted his gaze again, his expression had hardened into the familiar, unyielding resolve of the Dominator Squad Captain. "Oh, Payne. If you make it out of this haunted estate, report everything to the Task Division immediately."
"Aye, Captain!" Lordi responded, his voice steady and respectful. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment, the picture of obedient deference. But the moment he turned away—
The mask of clam shattered.
His breath came fast and shallow as he activated the Blood Spectre Footwork Technique, his body dissolving into a streak of crimson mist. The world blurred around him as he raced through the estate’s twisted pathways, his mind churning.
Find somewhere hidden. Somewhere safe.
The plan unfolded in his head with terrifying clarity.
That evil Sword Born was a malice creature of limited intellect—it recognized its master only through the True Insights of Sword Path. And its true master, Krogh Hanz, was trapped beneath the Moon Reflection Mirror, bound by the Threads of Fate.
Meanwhile, the Ju-On had mimicked Krogh’s appearance, his mannerisms, even his sword will.
So why couldn’t Lordi do the same?
The sheer audacity of the idea sent a jolt through him, equal parts exhilaration and bone-deep terror.
This is either genius or suicide.
But what other choice was there?
The AllFullOS System had recorded Krogh’s lecture—every word, every inflection, every scrap of Sword Insight. If Lordi could master them, if he could become convincing enough...
He might just fool that sword.
Or get himself butchered for the attempt.
His pulse hammered in his throat as he skidded to a stop in an abandoned courtyard, the air thick with the scent of damp woods.
Time to cheat fate.
Or die screaming.
——
Donovan Valdez moved like a shadow through the mountain estate, his powerful frame cutting through the mist-laden air with grim purpose.
While Lordi raced toward some desperate gambit with that reckless hope of his, the Mister First Dominator carried only bitterness in his chest. His mood was a storm—dark, churning, thick with reluctant duty and the sour taste of impending doom.
Fuck. Fuck all of this.
His scarred face twisted as he vaulted over a crumbling wall, boots landing silently in the overgrown courtyard beyond. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, his minds urging at him to run, to abandon this suicide mission before it was too late. But he couldn’t.
Because of course I fucking can’t.
He scouted the area with the precision of a man who’d spent a lifetime surviving ambushes, then slipped into a dilapidated chamber, its wooden door groaning as he shoved it shut behind him. Dust swirled in the dim light as he dropped into a cross-legged position.
Then—
His fingers closed around the egg-sized elixir pill in his storage pouch.
The moment he pulled it out, the weight in his chest grew heavier.
That Lordi Payne ...
That young alchemist really was a damn genius.
The pill in his palm was a masterpiece—crystalline, flawless, its surface like polished dark ruby veined with streaks of midnight sapphire. The energy within was so perfectly contained that not even a whisper of medicinal scent escaped.
A Legendary level Foundation Establishment Pill.
The first fucking Legendary level elixir pill I’ve ever held.
His throat tightened. Years ago, he’d caught a glimpse of a Legendary level Wound Healing Pill at some high-tier auction—a basic Qi Refinement elixir—and even that had sent Foundation Stage cultivators into a bidding frenzy.
But this?
This was a treasure beyond measure. A pill that could carve a cultivator’s path straight into the Foundation Stage with near-perfect success.
Donovan stared at the pill in his palm, its crystalline surface catching the dim light like a shard of frozen blood.
"Ascend to Foundation Stage through Human Path... What the fuck..."
The words tasted like rusty steel in his mouth. Just moments ago, this legendary elixir had represented his brightest future. With the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique and this pill, he could have shattered the heavens themselves, his name blazing across the holy sect like a comet.
Now?
Now it was a fucking consolation prize.
"Tch." A bitter laugh escaped his clenched teeth.
Human Path ascension? That was for desperate fools and third-rate cultivators—a shabby backdoor to power that would forever chain him to mediocrity. The difference between Cosmic Path and Human Path was like comparing a dragon to a sewer rat. One soared beyond the clouds; the other scuttled in the dirt.
And I’m about to become the fucking rat.
His lips peeled back in a snarl.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.
He—Donovan Valdez, a genius cultivator of the Abyss Pit Sect, the man who’d carved his legend in blood and defiance—was meant to ascend in a storm of celestial power. He’d spent decades honing his killer instincts, laughing in the face of righteous cultivators who called him a demon. Even without the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique, his talent alone should have earned him a chance of acquiring the Earth Path ascension technique from the holy sect.
Not this.
Never this.
Human Path was surrender. It was admitting defeat before the battle even ended.
But—
A vision flashed behind his eyes: Zoe Wright’s blank stare as the Ju-On’s malice puppeted her body. Liam’s blade arm raised against him. Ryn’s youthful face twisted into something unrecognizable.
Fuck!!!
His fingers trembled around the pill.
Regret was a knife in his guts, twisting deeper with every breath. If he’d been stronger sooner... if he hadn’t been so godsdamned arrogant...
Too late for ifs.
The choice was brutal in its simplicity:
Die a Qi Refinement Stage ant.
Or live as a crippled Foundation Stage cultivator.
"FUCK!!!" The roar tore from his throat, echoing through the abandoned chamber. His teeth ground together hard enough to taste copper, the metallic tang of blood flooding his mouth.
Fine.
If this is the hand fate dealt...
A feral and desperate light kindled within the depths of Donovan’s gaze, a fire stoked not by ambition but by pure, unadulterated survival.
It was the look of a cornered beast, where every noble aspiration for the future was scorched away, leaving only the raw, immediate need to prevail in the present moment. The philosophical debates about the purity of the Human Path, the whispers of its limitations, all of it crumbled into irrelevance before a single, unassailable truth.
The chasm between Foundation Stage and Qi Refinement was an absolute law of the cultivation world, a divide as fundamental as that between a raging river and a vast, tempestuous ocean. It mattered little if his foundation was flawed or his future was considered shabby by the arrogant elites of the great sects; the sheer, brutal Spirit Essence thrumming within a Foundation Stage cultivator’s veins was enough to crush any Qi Refinement Stage expert’s Spirit Energy with the casual, dismissive force one might use to snap a dry twig. In this desperate moment, that power wasn’t a promise of future glory—it was the only key that could possibly unlock his squad’s survival, the sole barrier standing between his comrades and a fate worse than death: an eternity of servitude as mindless puppets.
A torrent of bitter reluctance and scalding indignation surged through him, so violent and all-consuming that it momentarily wiped his mind clean of all coherent thought. It was a white-hot void, filled only with the screaming injustice of being forced to shatter his own potential, to willingly cap his destiny for the sake of a single, desperate battle. He was trading a limitless sky for a gilded cage, and the knowledge of that sacrifice was a poison in his soul far more potent than any legendary elixir pill could ever be.
Yet, from that searing emptiness, a single, unyielding conviction emerged, hardening like diamond within his heart.
As long as a single breath still steamed the air before him, as long as his heart continued its stubborn beat against his ribs, there remained a sliver of hope. He would cling to that hope with a bloody grip, no matter the cost to his body or his future. He would endure any torment, bear any shame, and pay any price to seize that chance.
Even if the path forward was paved with the shards of his own shattered dreams and led straight through the deepest, most agonizing hells, he would crawl its length. He would drag his broken body on shattered knees, scraping a path through the ashes and embers of his own potential, if it meant protecting those who stood with him. This resolve solidified into a final, visceral sound—a wordless, guttural snarl that was ripped from the very core of his being, a raw emission of defiance directed at the heavens, at fate, and at the cruel choice he was forced to make.
With a final, wordless snarl of defiance, Donovan threw his head back—
—and swallowed the legendary level pill whole.
This was the taste of legend, the flavor of a power that could bridge the gap between mortal clay and immortal divinity.
A profound serenity descended upon Donovan as the pill settled upon his tongue. It did not require the crude mechanics of chewing; rather, it seemed to dissolve of its own divine accord, melting away like a whisper of solidified dawn mist meeting the first rays of the sun. An exquisite, floral sweetness blossomed within his mouth, a taste that transcended mere sugar or honey.
This was no mere confection. The flavor was layered, profound, carrying within it the very song of creation. It was a sweetness that cleansed the palate of all mortal dross, a nectar that seemed to scrub the very soul. As the liquid essence glided down his throat, it left a shimmering, cool trail of comfort, like a gentle, benevolent spirit weaving its way through his meridians. A soft, golden warmth began to radiate from his core, pulsing in time with his heartbeat, as if his very blood was being replaced by liquid light.
But the Mister First Dominator’s thick eyebrows twisted together in a spasm of pure, unadulterated agony, his entire face contorting as the pill melting gradually. A single, choked thought echoed in the void of his mind.
Fuck... This shit’s bitter as hell.