A Furnace of Flesh and Flame.
The sun hovered at its zenith, casting long, rippling shadows across the battlefield below Verdant Flame's southern cliffs. Heat shimmered on stone and steel, but the tension hanging in the air was colder than any blade.
They came like a flood—red-cloaked warriors of the Iron Wyrm Alliance, their numbers stretching down the mountain pass. Nearly two hundred cultivators, armed with spirit-crushing talismans, forged iron soul spears, and battle-hardened pride. Their presence warped the qi of the land.
At the front of the formation stood Gao Yun, now upright but leaning heavily on a golden-bladed spear, eyes burning with vengeance. Beside him, Elder Zhao exuded pressure so thick the very air struggled to move around him—Late Nascent Soul Realm, his aura bristling with suppression intent.
"He's just one man," Gao spat. "Crush him. Break his harem. Shatter the Sutra. Leave nothing."
They surged forward like a tidal wave.
And atop the ridge, Haaron waited.
Lian Rou's illusion tails flickered in anticipation. Mei Lin sharpened her nails with a wicked smirk, venom qi radiating from her skin in shimmering ripples. Haaron stood between them, shirtless, calm, his body wreathed in energy that pulsed in three colors—silver, green, and pale blue.
"Are we running?" Mei Lin asked, though the smirk said she hoped not.
"No," Haaron said. "We're refining."
Lian Rou snorted. "I like him more every day."
The first wave arrived—eighty disciples at Mid to Late Core Formation Realm, charging with blades drawn and suppression talismans raised.
Haaron raised one hand.
"Open Sutra Protocol—Phase One."
The air cracked.
A tri-node formation exploded beneath him—his harem's spiritual bond awakening. Lian's charm, Mei Lin's venom, and Yue Shilan's control—though distant, her node still pulsed—merged into a spinning web of energy that wrapped around Haaron like an aura of divine lust and power.
The talismans meant to suppress dual cultivation fizzled uselessly as his qi surged. His body blurred. When he moved, he left afterimages like a dozen lovers dancing in rhythm.
He appeared mid-charge.
A palm strike to one chest.
Another to the throat.
A third snapped a man's wrist—and then Haaron's hand dove into his chest, spiritual rather than physical, gripping the man's golden core.
"Refine."
The man screamed, body trembling as his essence was siphoned, compressed, and drawn into Haaron's palm. A crimson pill formed, glowing with stolen power.
Haaron smiled.
"One down."
More charged. More fell.
Mei Lin spread toxic mists with a flick of her fan, her laughter laced with madness as she danced barefoot through poison fields. Men fell foaming, convulsing, their spirit seas rupturing as her venom liquefied their qi.
Lian Rou stood at Haaron's side, veil swirling around her body like living silk. Men halted mid-attack, enchanted by the illusion—seeing her as a goddess, a savior, a fantasy.
They dropped their weapons.
And Haaron refined them without mercy.
"Soul compression. Qi convergence. Sutra merge."
Each soul he claimed was folded into a new type of pill—one that only he could absorb, one that deepened his understanding of pleasure, combat, and Dao intent.
Each pill he consumed pushed him further Stronger,Sharper, More complete.
The Sutra sang with hunger and satisfaction.
From the rear, Elder Zhao finally moved. His aura was suffocating.
A spiritual dragon of molten fire leapt from his hands, roaring through the battlefield with the force of a Nascent Soul cultivator.
"Enough tricks," Zhao thundered. "I'll burn your Sutra down!"
Haaron turned toward the fire with a smirk. He opened his arms.
"Open Sutra Protocol—Phase Two."
The aura of his harem surged again.
Lian's illusion turned the dragon's flames into harmless roses midair.
Mei Lin's venom fused into Haaron's bloodstream, transforming his qi into a corrosive tide.
And from afar, Yue Shilan's control node activated—her icy suppression spiraling around Haaron like chains made of divine will.
The dragon shattered. The crowd gasped. Zhao's face went white.
"You… that technique… it's not just dual cultivation—it's a cultivation system."
"No," Haaron said, stepping forward, aura roaring. "It's a kingdom. And I'm its emperor." He appeared before Zhao in a blink. Their clash shook the mountain.
Zhao's spear met Haaron's open palm. Metal cracked. Qi screamed.
Then Haaron struck the elder's chest with both hands.
"Triple Sutra Pulse."
Zhao's spiritual sea buckled under the triple wave of energy—charm, venom, control—folded into a single blast of pure will. The elder vomited blood.
Haaron grabbed him by the throat, raised him high, and whispered:
"Let me show you what it means to become useful."
He plunged into Zhao's body—spiritually—and extracted the man's core, compressed it instantly, and refined it into a ruby-sized pill.
The battlefield went silent.
The Iron Wyrm disciples dropped their weapons and ran.
No one chased them. They weren't worth the effort.
In the aftermath, Haaron stood among the ruins of war, his chest rising with breathless calm. His spiritual sea burned with the power of dozens—cultivators turned into pills, enemies folded into essence, all added to his furnace.
He had claimed another realm of strength—not just in qi, but in fear.
His name would spread now.
A rogue cultivator….A harem emperor….A soul refiner.
Far above, Yue Shilan watched with clenched fists.
She had tried to suppress it—her feelings, her jealousy, her longing,but now?
Now she saw him not as a rogue.
But as a king.
And a part of her wanted to kneel.