rin stands at the fifth layer of Furness Hell—
where five-elent flas burn white and shriek like molten beasts,
where everything born of the five elents surrenders to heat.
Here, the temperature is finally worthy.
He breathes once.
And the fire bows.
His Dao—now blooming—spreads faint ripples around him, bending the laws of fla into silence. He takes out the rare materials gathered across worlds: tals that hum with ancient mory, crystals distilled from frozen void, fragnts of fallen star cores still pulsing with celestial breath.
One by one, he casts them into the sea of fire.
They do not lt imdiately.
They resist—vibrating with their own laws, clinging to identity, refusing dissolution.
rin raises a hand.
“lt.”
The flas compress at his command, twisting into a spiral hotter than lightning.
The materials scream as their forms unravel, turning molten, turning fluid, turning willing.
rin extends his other hand, and his Dao takes form behind him—
The Single Heavenly Eye of the Virtual Engine, turning slowly, each rotation dissecting the world.
He draws the molten mass upward, shaping it with will alone.
The forging begins.
He compresses threads of liquid tal, twisting them into a lattice—
a skeletal fra built with impossible precision.
Runes of computation, correction, and clarification etch themselves across the forming structure.
Every stroke exact, every angle perfect—
a forge of mathematics rather than hamr and fla.
The Heavenly Eye shines, projecting arrays of logic into the tal.
The molten mass vibrates, reshaping to match the computation.
rin whispers:
“Synchronise.”
His Dao releases the Harmony Protocol, a theoretical law unique to the flowering stage of his Virtual Engine Dao.
Contradictory laws twist together, spiral once, and fuse.
A stable dual-core ignites at the centre of the forming weapon, pulsing like twin hearts.
rin draws a circle in the air.
The embryo of the virtual engine shifts as he inscribes the rune he comprehended from the Transformation Dao.
Each rune carved makes the tal alive, and he senses every particle responding.
The molten fra parts on their own, revealing the Heavenly Eye in its heart.
He begins inscribing runes that let the weapon see the underlying laws of the world and send everything to the inner engine for analysis.
Runic channels grow like arteries, connecting every component to the eye.
The weapon now sees.
It perceives heat, space, force, and flaw.
It begins predicting.
It begins learning.
It is no longer a tool.
It is the beginning of a thinking weapon.
rin lifts both hands, palms downward.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The fire rises with a roar.
He guides streams of fla to lick along the forming engine, burning away impurities too small for mortal sight.
Each fla-thread carries micro-runes:
Devour, Transform, Rebuild, Simplify.
Every impurity removed strengthens the foundation.
Every correction aligns the Dao Weapon more perfectly with his path.
Seven tis he refines it.
Seven tis the material shrinks, condenses, evolves.
When the core stabilises, rin draws out teoric alloy to form the external body—
a shape elegant and minimal:
a sphere the size of a man’s heart,
smooth,
mirror-black,
etched with silver circuits of light.
This is only its resting form—
The Virtual Engine Dao Weapon can shift shape when awakened.
Hamrless, he moulds the alloy with will.
Heat bends to him.
tal flows like water.
The sphere closes around the core, sealing perfectly.
The only step impossible to fake.
He bites his thumb.
A drop of Great Saint Blood—golden-red, laden with laws he has mastered—
falls into the weapon.
The Virtual Engine shudders.
The Heavenly Eye opens inside the shell.
A soft, resonant hum trembles through the fifth layer of Furness Hell—
The birth-cry of a quasi-supre weapon whose master has not yet reached that height.
A newborn spirit flickers weakly, sensing its maker.
rin lifts the sphere in both hands.
“Awaken.”
Light spills through the runes.
The Heavenly Eye rotates once—
and the flas around him freeze mid-motion.
Ti slows across the entire fifth layer.
A ripple spreads.
rin rises as the flas lick his feet, and he draws back his Dao.
He examines the engine, gaze settling on its heart.
It hums with vitality as if breathing.
He has heard of Supre Weapons that, after their master’s death, broke their tal shells and ford living bodies.
So every Dao Weapon carries the potential of life.
He sends the newborn engine into his dantian to nourish it with Saint Essence.
For now, it is only a prototype—barely at the level of a Great-Saint Weapon.
Closing his eyes, he perceives its abilities.
Far away, two Saint King cultivators arrive, drawn by the ripple.
They spot rin standing still, eyes closed.
One says, “It isn’t the birth of a treasure. Soone refined a Dao Weapon. Let’s leave.”
The other—a boar-faced Tusk clansman with curved tusks—sneers, eyes shining with greed.
“Leave? Why should we go empty-handed? A fat sheep stands right there.”
The first grows thoughtful, the tips of his tusks burning with fire.
“A human, Great Saint realm. Easy prey. I’ll attack. You seal the surroundings.”
The other nods.
Neither believes a human of rin’s level can threaten them.
rin sensed them long before they arrived.
With his strength, he cares little.
And when hostility rises in their hearts, he recognises a perfect chance to test the Dao Weapon.
He waits.
One Tusk clansman steps forward.
The other blocks the surrounding space, locking all escape paths.
The attacker punches, sending a shockwave of energy howling toward rin.
The Dao Weapon activates—
Analysing the attack in a fraction of a second.
rin throws a counterpunch.
His energy collides with the weakest point of the shockwave, shattering it into fla and ash.
The Tusk clansman sneers, unimpressed.
“Oh? A genius?”
A sinister crimson spear studded with thorns appears in his hand.
“I love killing geniuses.”
He thrusts forward.
The Virtual Engine instantly feeds rin the weakest point in the spear strike.
rin deflects it with effortless precision.
The Tusk warrior snarls and continues the assault.
Strike after strike falls.
With the Dao Weapon guiding him, rin deflects each blow, maintaining just enough force to suppress but not overwhelm—pushing the engine to analyse more, adapt more, learn more.
Hours pass.
The second Tusk clansman frowns, holding the spatial blockade steady.
Sothing feels wrong—deeply wrong—yet he cannot grasp what.
Frustration twists his boar-like features, and he finally decides to join the attack.
rin feels him closing in.
The mont the first Tusk clansman’s punch is deflected again with effortless precision, the second steps in, his Dao Weapon—a wide moon-blade—cleaving down with brutal force.
rin tilts his wrist.
The blade misses its intended path, redirected with a smooth parry that feels almost casual.
Both attackers freeze for half a heartbeat, instinct whispering that sothing is off.
rin says nothing.
He simply continues.
The battle resus.
The first thrusts with his thorned spear.
The second swings his moon-blade in sweeping arcs.
Golden flas and spatial ripples explode around them as their strikes weave together in a deadly pattern designed to overwhelm any Great Saint.
rin deflects every blow.
Not by brute force, but by precision—touching the exact weakness revealed by the Virtual Engine with every movent.
His feet barely shift, his expression calm, his heartbeat unchanging.
Minutes pass. Then tens of minutes.
Still, he deflects.
Still, they fail to notice.
rin sighs internally.
How long will they take to understand?
He begins to feel bored.
His Dao Weapon has already analysed their patterns, their Dao resonance, their intent.
There is nothing new to learn.
Another barrage cos.
Another effortless deflection follows.
Finally—after nearly an hour of futile attacks—the second Tusk clansman stiffens.
His eyes widen as the truth crashes down on him.
“This— this is wrong! Dorak, escape!”
He turns to flee.
The first, Dorak, confused but loyal, spins and flees as well.
rin exhales softly.
“It is too late.”
He raises two fingers.
“Chess Field—open.”
The world folds.
The Tusk clansn freeze mid-stride, immobilised.
Black-and-white tiles spread beneath their feet, stretching into infinity.
They stand on a cosmic chessboard, unable to move, unable to breathe freely, their Dao sealed the mont the field ford.
rin does not need words.
He has already analysed their Dao paths.
He simply reaches out, taps the air—
—and both beings unravel into motes of light.
Their Dao Weapons drop from the collapsing fragnts of their existence.
rin retrieves them with a gesture.
The flas of Furness Hell rise at his command, lting the two weapons into raw essence.
He refines the essence and feeds it into the Virtual Engine, strengthening its channels, feeding its heart, and sharpening the Heavenly Eye.
Only once the integration completes does he move.
He steps toward the tunnel leading to the sixth floor of Furness Hell.
His Dao Weapon hums softly in his dantian—
alive, evolving, waiting for the next test.
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