Chapter 144: The Sovereign To Be

Two months prior, Jiang Feng had stirred awake on the frost-kissed ground just beyond this humble blacksmith's abode—a dual sanctuary of craft and solitude. For an entire month, he had lain unconscious, his body a vessel for the Sovereign's Crown as it wove its dark threads into his being, fusing smoothly with his Dao. When his eyes finally fluttered open, a surge of astonishment gripped him after checking his body's composition and condition: he teetered on the cusp of the second level of the Golden Core realm, a leap that defied all he'd known, with a little push, he could enter the second stage at any time.

Within his dantian swirled five Dark Golden Cores—a marvel unspoken of even in the annals of the old days. The Eternal Flame Codex, the Aetherion Dragon, or the Heavenly Flames had no records of such an event ever happening before, it was unprecedented and though millions of years ago, cultivators used to practice reverse cultivation, it was never so pronounced and exaggerated as it was now. Such a constellation of power was a riddle beyond the grasp of ancient wisdom.

More bewildering still, the crown bore a legacy of its own, instilled into his mind and heart from the previous Dark Sovereigns. Across the eons—from the primordial chaos to this fleeting now—only two had borne that shadowed mantle. He was the third. When the Heart of Dark Ages reshaped his own heart into a wellspring of dark essence, its voice fell silent, leaving Jiang Feng to unearth its secrets alone, piece by obscure piece.

In the two months since, he'd pieced together his whereabouts based on the conversations he overheard from passerby: the towering, snow-clad expanse of the Azure Peaks. This cave—both shop and home—had belonged to a blacksmith who'd recently slipped into death's embrace, claimed by the quiet toll of 547 years. Old age had taken him, not battle or malice, and Jiang Feng learned through scattered notes that the man, Sung, had no kin to inherit his legacy. His life had been poured into his craft, molten and unyielding, until the end.

That first day, Jiang Feng had stepped inside and found Sung's body, cold and still, seated at his forge as if reluctant to part from it. A note scrawled in a steady hand, lay beside him. After reading it, Jiang Feng carried the old man out and laid him to rest behind the shop, crafting a headstone from a slab of steel. With a blade's edge and a steady hand, he etched the words: *Here lies Blacksmith Sung, Master Craftsman—the Twilight Blade.* The inscription gleamed under the mountain sun, a quiet tribute to a life forged in fire.

Now, seated with a clay cup of steaming tea cradled in his hands, Jiang Feng let his gaze roam the cave. He'd taken out his father's forging table from its resting place and spent these past two months laboring to recreate the Twilight Blade that Sung was famous for—a weapon that haunted his thoughts. It was no mere sword but a crescent of midnight steel, its edge a shimmer of violet dusk that seemed to drink in the light.

Sung had imbued it with a rare alloy from the Azure Peaks, tempering it with ice-wind essence until it sang with a low, resonant hum when struck. Jiang Feng marveled at the ingenuity—the old man had woven a lattice of spiritual runes into the blade's core, granting it a balance of flexibility and unyielding strength. "He must've spent decades perfecting this," Jiang Feng mused aloud, his voice a soft echo in the cave. "A blade that doesn't just cut flesh but severs intent—Sung wasn't forging a weapon; he was crafting a will."

"And then there's this," he said, setting the tea aside to retrieve a mirror forged from profound ice, its surface impervious to the fiercest heat. Smooth as glass, it reflected his face with crystalline clarity. Staring into it, Jiang Feng watched his eyes shift—now a deep, inky black, fathomless as a starless night, then a tranquil gray, serene and unshaken, it had been changing on its own recently as if adjusting to his body, Jiang Feng still didn't know what function they had. "So this is the ruler's eyes huh?" he murmured, tracing the mirror's edge.

His aura had transformed, an invisible tide that pressed outward, cold and aloof, detached from the world's clamor. It was a presence that could root the weak in terror, bending their wills to his own without a word.

Yet within, his mind churned like a storm-tossed sea. For three months, a single desire had gnawed at him: to return to the Obsidian Woodlands. But the how and why eluded him—why the Azure Peaks, of all places, when the Woodlands sprawled so vast? "I hope the old man's holding his on," he said, a wry laugh breaking free as he thought of the man who had caused a blade to twist his heart when he saw Lin Moyi's body fall. "The Celestial Shadow Church, hahaha!!" He threw his head back, the sound spiraling into something wild, edged with madness. His eyes glinted, dark and unhinged, as memories of that cataclysm three months past flickered through him. "Just you wait!"

Over these two months, Jiang Feng had thrown himself into the forge, crafting tools, swords, blades, and armor under the guidance of the *Abyssal Crucible* passed on to him by the Codex. The ancient text taught him that the Eternal Clan used forging to temper not just metal but their hearts and minds, a bridge to the Creation Dao that honed both skill and cultivation. It extolled the Infernal Breathing technique—a rhythm of breath that synced with the hammer's fall, boosting the quality of each piece and slashing failure rates by thirty percent.

"If I stick to the materials in this shop, my failure rate's forty-five percent at best," Jiang Feng muttered, glancing left to a heap of flawed works. There lay warped swords with edges that curled like wilted leaves, breastplates pocked with uneven tempering, and a dagger whose hilt had fractured mid-quench—a gallery of missteps, their surfaces dulled by cracks or faint discolorations where the heat had betrayed him. "But if I blend them with the ores in my spatial ring and use Infernal Breathing, the odds swing in my favor by eighty-six percent."

His gaze shifted to the opposite corner, where a neat stack of successes gleamed. 'With the Abyssal Crucible, my success rate for the creation of Mundane Tier weapons sits at eighty-six percent,' he thought. "A little more practice, and a hundred's within reach." For a month, he'd forged dozens of Twilight Blades, their violet-tinged edges a tribute to Sung's design.

He'd even crafted armor to match the Twilight blade, something similar to the Ember Armor he had created in the Obsidian Waterfall Realm for Ji Moran and himself—sleek, lightweight plates that shimmered faintly with infused ice essence. "These should fend off attacks from the fifth to seventh stages of Essence Condensation," he mused, running a finger along a cuirass's curve. "Even a third-stage cultivator could trust it to hold. I wonder what they'd fetch in a market down below or even up here?"

The pile stood proud—blades and armor aligned with care, their surfaces catching the forge's glow. Each piece was a step closer to mastery, a tether to the man he'd been—and the sovereign he was becoming. With his father's forge and the path of darkness a head, he embarks on the path of fire, creation, and death Dao.

"You've been holed up in here for two months—don't you crave a breath of fresh air?" The voice of the Codex shimmered through Jiang Feng's mind, piercing the haze of his thoughts like a ray of light through storm clouds. It carried a gentle chiding tone, as if coaxing a stubborn child from a cave.

Jiang Feng shook his head, the steam from his tea curling upward in lazy spirals. "Not yet, Senior Codex. My mind's still a tangled mess—I need time to steady it. These Ruler's Eyes... they're trouble I can't unleash on the world until I learn to rein them in. One wrong glance, and I could sow chaos for others—or myself. And my cultivation's still unsteady; my five Golden Cores churn like wild beasts. Stepping outside now could invite ruin."

He knew his limits well. The five Dark Golden Cores pulsed within his dantian, a constellation of power that defied mastery. Their energy surged and clashed, a tempest he could feel in his bones, and until he tamed them, the Azure Peaks beyond this cave might as well be a battlefield. The power granted to him was very hard to control and he needed time.

The Codex hummed, its presence a faint ripple in his consciousness. "Very well, keep forging then. Once your success rate climbs to ninety-five percent, you'll have mastered Mundane Tier crafting. Enchanted Tier's a distant peak—don't strain for it yet. I'll leave you to your work." With that, its voice faded, a whisper swallowed by silence.

Jiang Feng exhaled, his breath mingling with the tea's fragrant mist before he finished his cup. "Senior Aetherion?" he called inward, his voice a quiet thread in the vastness of his mental sea.

A deep rumble answered, resonant as thunder rolling through a cavern. "What's on your mind, kid?" Within his will space, the Aetherion Dragon coiled amid a sphere of blood-red lightning, its scales glinting as it gnawed at the crackling energy. The tribulation force snapped and hissed, a meal it devoured with methodical relish.

Jiang Feng leaned back against the cave wall, the cool stone grounding him. "Which should I tackle first—the Dragon Ritual or the Titan Ascendance Art?" The question had simmered in his thoughts since he'd awoken two months ago, a choice that weighed heavy. His arsenal brimmed with half-mastered techniques and legacies that anyone would die for, and he feared overreaching might shatter his fragile balance.

The dragon's voice growled low, laced with the patience of eons. "It'll take me four years to consume this tribulation energy. This isn't mere lightning—it's laced with karma's sting, a harvest of what you've sown. It'll strengthen us both in time. Focus on the Titan Ascendance Art for now; when I'm done, we'll begin the ritual. But brace yourself—for the Concept of Chaos will descend soon enough just the same."

Jiang Feng's brow furrowed. The Aetherion's words carried the weight of the inevitable, and he felt the stirrings of something vast beyond his grasp yet again. "Concept of Chaos?, something on equal footing with the concept of darkness"

The dragon shifted, sparks flaring as it spoke. "Each of the Nine Eternal Concepts is a Sovereign Dao, a law unto itself. When one awakens to its chosen—or when a seeker comprehends its path—the concept's 'Will' descends. It takes a form tied to the human body, easing its fusion with heavenly law. The Chaos Grand Bone draws from the Chaos Realm, just as your Heart of Dark Ages drinks from the Dark Realm. But the Chaos Realm is a locked vault—none but the Chaos Ruler may tread there. Any fool who stumbles in dies, no exceptions." Its tone grew grave, as if imparting a secret the world had forgotten. Sensing its four-year seclusion looming, it seemed intent on arming Jiang Feng with knowledge no text could offer.

"I see," Jiang Feng murmured, nodding as the pieces slotted into place. The cave's stillness wrapped around him, the forge's embers a soft heartbeat in the quiet, lighting up the room and providing warmth.

"There's more," the Aetherion pressed, its voice a low rumble. "Only one soul in any era can wield a Sovereign Law. Another can claim it only when its bearer falls. Steel your mind, kid—those with the spark to cross that threshold will hunt you or anyone down to seize the chance for themselves."

The words sank into him like a blade into earth, sharp and unyielding. Jiang Feng set the tea down, its warmth forgotten, and let his gaze drift to the forging table. The Twilight Blade's silhouette lingered in his mind—a weapon of dusk and will, a mirror to the path he now walked. Enemies would come, drawn by the shadow of his power, and he'd meet them not as the boy he'd been, but as the sovereign he was becoming. The cave felt smaller now, its walls a fleeting shelter against the storm he knew awaited.