Chapter 658 - 63: Inner Alchemy Golden Core (Slightly Accomplished)

Chapter 658: Chapter 63: Inner Alchemy Golden Core (Slightly Accomplished)

He captured, recorded, and fed the wave frequency of every strand of Dark Energy into the Mind Furnace.

[Analyzing spatial fluctuation data...]

[Analysis Target: Spatial rift opened by Cheris Douglas]

[Samples Collected: 1,247 sets]

[Analyzing...]

[Analysis Complete]

[Target plane coordinates locked.]

[Spatial Stability: Medium]

[Recommendation: Host currently does not possess the ability to traverse space of medium stability.]

Murphy ignored the recommendation.

[Oh, Seeker adrift in the mortal world, destiny has Manifested two vastly different, grand paths before you.]

[Option One: In gratitude for the Saintess saving your life, guard the branch sect, purge the wicked, and await her return. With a heart as steady as a rock, unmoved by any trial, a thousand miles will feel like a single step.]

[Reward: Inner Alchemy Golden Core 「Slightly Accomplished」]

[Option Two: In gratitude for the Saintess saving your life, Break the Realm with your sword, charge into the Ancient Witch Cursed Domain, slay the evil creatures, and rescue her from peril. You would not regret it even if it meant dying a thousand deaths, and your name would be known throughout the world.]

[Reward: Ten Thousand Laws General Outline 「Initial Glimpse」]

Murphy sighed.

"Cheris, you really know how to cause trouble for me."

At the same time, within his Dantian, his Mana began to surge.

Essence, Qi, and God—the three slowly merged under the guidance of the Qi Absorption and Eating Mist 「Entering the Hall」 Technique.

The boundaries that had once constrained his Magic Power Quality began to slowly blur...

5.0...

5.05...

5.08...

5.1!

Murphy’s eyes snapped open.

A flash of Crimson light burst from the depths of his pupils, fierce and pure, illuminating the entire room.

And then—

His body transformed into a streak of sword light, slicing a rift in the void before him. With a flash, the sword light plunged into the void and vanished.

...

I opened my eyes.

Everything around me was gray.

The ceiling was gray, the walls were gray, and even the light filtering through the gap in the curtains was gray.

It was as if someone had mixed a handful of old ashes into the air, which hung heavy, making my chest feel tight.

I sat up in bed, and the bedframe let out a dry creak.

The row of stuffed animals was still crowded onto the nightstand. The old rabbit’s ears drooped, and the new teddy bear stared with wide eyes, but in this light, they all looked like they were covered in a thin layer of dust, their fluffy texture blurred.

A faint, sweet scent lingered in the air, but it was very weak, like a dream fading at the edge of memory.

I glanced down at the space beside me.

There was a shallow impression on the sheet, as if someone had lain there, curled up and nestled close.

The indentation was already smoothing out, leaving only the faintest curve as proof that it had ever existed.

I raised my hand, my fingertips brushing the side of my shoulder.

A bit of warmth still lingered there.

It was very light, very faint, like the residual warmth from someone’s cheek having rested there.

I was silent for a moment—

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

A knock sounded at the door.

Three knocks. Unhurried, dry, and dull, as if someone were rapping on the door with a dead branch.

I turned my head and looked at the bedroom door.

The door was ajar, and beyond it was the living room.

The light in the living room was even dimmer, gray and hazy, obscuring any details.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Three more knocks.

I threw back the covers and got out of bed. As my feet touched the floor, a chill spread up from my soles.

I walked through the bedroom, pushed open the ajar door, and stepped into the living room.

The front door was by the entryway.

Gray light seeped in through the cracks around the door, tracing a blurry outline of its frame.

I walked over and pulled the door open.

An old man was standing outside.

He was very old.

So old that the first word that came to my mind upon seeing him wasn’t "old man," but "decaying object."

He was like something forgotten for years in the corner of an attic. His skin hung loosely on his frame, and the wrinkles on his face were as deep as a dry riverbed, crisscrossing and distorting his features.

His hair was sparse, a mix of gray and white, like dead grass stems in winter.

His eye sockets were deeply sunken, his eyes hidden within a mass of wrinkles and shadows—cloudy, dim, like two scuffed-up old glass marbles.

He wore a dark gray coat of an old style, its collar worn white and its cuffs showing several small tears.

His back was hunched, and his whole body seemed to curve inward, as if he had been squeezed from all sides and compressed into a gaunt, fragile silhouette on the verge of collapse.

Then I smelled something.

The smell was faint, yet distinct—the scent of decay.

Not the foul stench of rotting garbage, but the decay of passing time.

It was like opening a long-stored old book, like stepping into an old house that hadn’t been cleaned in years, like autumn leaves slowly rotting in damp soil.

It was the smell of accumulated time.

The old man stood in the doorway, looking up at me.

He was so short and hunched over that he had to lift his entire chin just to look at me.

His cloudy eyes rested on my face for a moment, as if trying to recognize something, yet also as if seeing nothing at all.

Then he spoke.

His voice was hoarse and dry. "I’ve come here to eat noodles."

His tone was calm and natural, as if he were stating a simple matter of fact.

I was taken aback for a second.

But only for a moment.

"Alright, please come in." I stepped aside, holding the door open.

The old man nodded and slowly stepped over the threshold.

His movements were sluggish, each step seemingly taking all his strength, his feet making a faint SHUFFLE sound as they dragged across the floor.

As he passed me, the scent of decay grew stronger, but not to an unbearable degree—it was like the smell of an old bookstall, which, after a while, actually felt rather quiet.