bullyxtreme V.4.289. Return
V.4.289. Return
Behind the great door, beyond the Bone Palace, in the secret space, the Spirit Lake lies in still silence, no longer the radiant, living expanse it once was, but a quiet body of water whose surface reflects a sky that no longer answers it.Before Merin began his cultivation, countless spirits filled the lake, numbering in the hundreds of thousands, drifting like stars fallen into water, each one carrying pure essence and ancient vitality.
Now,
Less than a thousand remain.
And even these are fading.
As Merin continues his cultivation, they too are destined to disappear, one by one, until nothing is left.
His method is absolute.
He does not merely absorb spirits.
He transforms them.
Each spirit is refined into a Dragon Spirit, its essence reshaped, elevated, and bound to his will before being drawn into his soul.
And as they merge with him, they do not remain separate.
They become part of him.
Fuel.
Foundation.
Evolution.
His soul is no longer simply human.
It is changing.
Turning.
Becoming something greater.
A dragon.
He can feel it clearly now.
The transformation is nearing completion.
Every breath brings him closer.
Every moment tightens the threshold.
It is almost,
Finished.
Then,
His eyes open.
Sharp.
Clear.
Without hesitation, his figure vanishes from the secret space.
He appears within the Bone Palace.
Then again,
He flashes forward.
Exiting the palace in an instant.
Rising into the sky.
His body begins to change.
Not slowly.
Not gradually.
But all at once.
His form expands.
Distorts.
Rewrites itself.
A Virtual Dragon takes shape.
Violet scales shimmer across his body, vast wings unfold with overwhelming presence, and a long tail cuts through the air as his robust frame solidifies beneath a massive, ancient head.
Yet it does not stop there.
His form flickers.
Shifts.
Overlaps.
At one moment, he is a Black Dragon, embodying dominance and depth.
The next, a Holy Dragon, radiant with pure and sacred authority.
Then a Wither Dragon, carrying decay and silent annihilation.
Then again, a Wolf Dragon, fierce and relentless.
Then a Rose Dragon, beautiful yet deadly.
All forms.
All dragons.
They appear.
They overlap.
They coexist.
Yet beneath them all,
He remains.
The source.
The origin.
His true form does not change.
But every dragon that has ever existed, or will exist, reflects through him.
Then,
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His soul separates.
It rises from his body.
No longer humanoid.
It begins to transform.
The power of heaven and earth gathers.
It pours into him.
Endlessly.
His soul stretches.
Reshapes.
Becomes a Dragon Soul.
Ancient.
Primordial.
Complete.
And then,
It roars.
The sound spreads across the world.
Not through the air.
Not through space.
But through existence itself.
Only those who have reached the Soul Transformation Stage can hear it.
Only those with Dragon Bodies can feel it.
And when they do,
Their hearts tremble.
Their souls shake.
An overwhelming pressure descends upon them, as if something above them has awakened.
Far away,
The Star Singer Tower responds.
The tower vibrates.
Its formation lights flicker.
Within it, the Tower Lord opens his eyes.
He senses it.
Understands it.
And makes a decision.
He will step out.
He will personally join the war.
Merin remains unaware.
He does not know what his breakthrough has set into motion.
He does not see the wheel of fate begin to turn.
He does not know that the Star Singer Tower Lord walks toward his demise.
He does not sense the unseen hand that begins to manipulate the threads of destiny.
All of it unfolds beyond his perception.
And even if he knew,
He would not care.
His soul descends.
It returns to his body.
The dragon form collapses inward.
His shape shrinks.
Condenses.
Becomes human once more.
Yet this human form,
Is no longer his truth.
It is a restraint.
A limitation.
And the moment he settles into it,
He feels it.
The constraint multiplies.
Tenfold.
His movements feel bound.
His existence compressed.
He takes a step forward.
And disappears.
The sky bends as he moves.
Each step carries him across kilometres in an instant.
Then further.
Then faster.
Distance loses meaning.
With every step, his understanding deepens.
The law of space reveals itself.
Unfolding before him.
And he moves through it,
As if it has always belonged to him, Merin steps through space and appears above Dragon City, his figure emerging silently in the sky as his gaze falls upon a city that no longer resembles the one he left behind.
The vast lake that once separated the inner city from the outer city has completely vanished, its waters long gone over the decade he spent within the Totem Palace, leaving behind a unified expanse where the boundaries between power and common life have blurred into something new.
The city feels different.
More alive.
More dangerous.
More… aligned with him.
Before he can observe further, space ripples lightly before him, and three figures appear, their movements respectful yet steady, as they lower themselves into a bow.
Nazar.
Emirus.
Sirius.
Their voices rise together, firm and filled with reverence.
“Congratulations, Lord, for advancing to the Soul Transformation Stage.”
Merin looks at them carefully, his silver gaze passing over each of them not as a ruler inspecting subordinates, but as a source observing extensions of his own path.
“You three have chosen to practice the Dragon Transformation technique,” he says calmly, his voice carrying quiet certainty.
He already knows.
The moment he broke through, the dragon forms that appeared within his perception were not random.
They were born from them.
He had given them only the foundation.
The most basic form of the Dragon Transformation technique.
Yet from that foundation, they each walked their own path.
Nazar stands as a Rose Dragon, her aura carrying both beauty and hidden lethality, like a bloom that conceals thorns capable of drawing blood without warning.
Sirius embodies the Wolf Dragon, his presence sharp and fierce, driven by instinct and strength, a path that values dominance and survival above all else.
Emirus,
A Summer Dragon.
Warm.
Vast.
Endless.
Merin’s gaze lingers on him for a fraction longer.
Within Emirus, he perceives something deeper.
A Dao that extends beyond its current form.
The Dao of Summer.
But not limited to it.
From Summer, one can touch Spring.
From Spring, Autumn.
From Autumn to Winter.
And from there,
The Dao evolves.
The Dao of Seasons.
And beyond that,
Cycle.
Life and Death.
Even Time itself.
The path is long.
But it exists.
Even without evolving into the full Dao of Seasons, the Dao of Summer alone holds depth enough to reach extraordinary heights.
Nazar and Sirius also possess potential.
But theirs is narrower.
Sharper.
If they do not further develop their Dao, their cultivation will become increasingly difficult as they advance, eventually reaching a bottleneck they may not overcome.
Merin says none of this.
His thoughts pass in a single instant.
They are not children.
They are experienced.
Their paths are theirs to walk.
Advice given unasked can become a chain.
If they do not seek it, he will not impose it.
Nazar steps forward slightly, her expression respectful yet unable to hide a trace of excitement.
“Lord, thank you for granting us the opportunity to practice this technique,” she says.
“Even with only the physical Dragon form completed, our lifespan has already increased by a hundred years.”
Merin looks at them, his expression turning solemn, his presence pressing down not with force, but with expectation.
“Do not be satisfied with this,” he says.
His voice is calm.
But absolute.
“With your extended lifespan, you should aim higher.”
“Aim for Sainthood.”
The words fall.
Heavy.
Final.
The three of them freeze.
Shock spreads across their faces.
Because in their understanding,
Once Merin achieved Sainthood, he would stand alone at the peak.
He would not allow another to rise to the same height.
Yet now,
He speaks of it as something they should pursue.
As if the path remains open.
As if he does not fear being challenged.
As if,
He welcomes it.
They stand frozen for a brief moment, the weight of his words settling deep within them, because what he has just said does not merely grant permission but overturns a belief that has been carved into the world for generations.
The Totem Palace.
A force born from a Saint.
A history older than their own lives.
Recorded.
Feared.
Unquestioned.
When the Totem Spirit Saint ascended to Sainthood, he did not guide the world,
He suppressed it.
Every peak Soul Transformation Stage cultivator was hunted down and killed, leaving no rival who could threaten his position.
Those who chose to surrender were not spared.
They were marked.
Sealed.
A binding placed upon their very existence, preventing them from ever stepping into the Saint Stage.
Every cultivation manual beyond the Soul Awakening Stage was destroyed.
Erased.
As if such knowledge had never existed.
And every cultivator who reached Soul Awakening or higher was forced into the Totem Palace, their freedom stripped, their future controlled.
Even within the palace,
They were not free.
The same seal was placed upon them, forbidding even the thought of breaking through.
One man.
One Saint.
And because of him,
The world stagnated.
For thousands of years.
No one rose.
No one challenged.
No one dared.
Yet now,
Merin stands before them, having just crossed into the Soul Transformation Stage, and instead of closing the path behind him,
He opens it.
They feel it.
The difference.
The freedom.
Slowly, the shock on their faces fades, replaced by something else.
A quiet, rising joy.
They smile.
Not out of politeness.
But from the depths of their hearts.
“We will do our best,” they say together, their voices steady, yet carrying a determination that did not exist before.
Merin nods once.
Simple.
Unadorned.
“Then go,” he says.
“Continue your cultivation.”
The three bow again.
And disappear.
Merin does not linger.
His figure flickers.
In the next instant, he returns to his throne, seated once more within the chamber as if he had never left.
Silence settles.
Only for a moment.
Then,
Climbing the stairs.
Ziqi steps inside, his expression calm as always, his presence steady like an unmoving pillar, each step measured and unhurried as if nothing in this world can disturb his composure.
Behind him,
A small figure rushes in.
Fast.
Unrestrained.
“Father!”
Biyun’s voice echoes through the chamber as he runs toward him, his excitement impossible to conceal, his steps light yet filled with a longing that has quietly grown over the years.
“You’re back!”