Ter shook his head, forcefully pushing the absurd thought out of his mind.
The mere idea that Kahn, the powerless, broken slave who had spent the last four years rotting at the bottom of the sect’s hierarchy, could be responsible for a phenomenon this massive was completely laughable.
It was an impossibility that defied every known rule of the cultivation world, and Ter felt foolish for even letting his mind wander down such a ridiculous path for a single moment.
He steadied his breathing, his features settling back into a harsh, calculative expression as he reasoned through the situation.
’But still...’ he thought, his eyes narrowing as he stared intently at the dark stairwell leading down to the prison. ’If a strange, powerful cultivator is actually down there with him in that cell, chances are the idiot is already dead now.’
A master capable of draining the Qi of an entire sector wouldn’t hesitate to crush a fragile, useless mortal like Kahn just for taking up space in the room.
Meanwhile, deep within the the cell, Kahn remained completely undisturbed, seated firmly on the cold, dusty floor in a lotus position.
He was entirely disconnected from the panic unfolding in the upper levels of the sect, his mind fully turned inward as he managed the incredible forces reshaping his destiny.
The ambient energy of the environment hadn’t slowed down in the slightest; the thick, glowing Qi was still being violently sucked into his expanding dantian like an insatiable black hole, swirling around his body in dense, visible currents of power.
The two terrified guards Ter had sent down the stairs soon arrived at the heavy iron gates of the prison sector, their heavy boots skidding to a halt against the stone floor.
They raised their torches, intending to confront whatever monstrous, hidden cultivator had invaded their territory, but the light immediately revealed a sight they were completely unprepared for.
Their eyes widened to the absolute limit, bulging with sheer disbelief as they stared directly at Kahn sitting calmly in the center of the vortex.
One of the guards blinked repeatedly, rubbing his eyes aggressively as if convinced that the dark, flickering shadows of the prison were playing a cruel trick on his mind.
He shifted his torch forward, trying to reconcile the image of the battered, broken slave they had beaten just days ago with the glowing, powerful figure currently meditating in front of them.
The sheer confusion left his mind completely blank, and he stumbled backward a half-step against the stone wall.
His voice trembled violently as he finally managed to find his words, breaking the heavy, humming silence of the cell.
He muttered under his choppy breath, "Is that you... Kahn...?"
The question sounded entirely foolish even to his own ears, but the physical features of the boy were undeniable, even if the terrifying aura radiating from his body felt like an entirely different entity.
Hearing the shaky voice of his former tormentor, Kahn slowly opened his eyes, the dark irises gleaming with a sharp, terrifying clarity that seemed to pierce straight through the gloom of the prison.
The previous weakness and exhaustion that had defined his gaze for eighteen years had vanished entirely, replaced by an absolute, domineering confidence.
Looking at the two stunned men, his lips slowly curled into a freezing, razor-sharp cold smile that sent a shiver of pure terror straight down the guards’ spines.
He looked directly at them, his voice smooth and entirely devoid of his previous fear as he said, "Of course it’s me... did you two miss me so much you came to greet me in this cell?"
The mockery in his tone was heavy, a direct challenge to the authority they had used to oppress him for four long years of misery and slavery.
Before they could even attempt to answer or draw their weapons, Kahn calmly reached down and clenched his bare fist tightly around the thick iron chains binding his feet to the stone wall.
He didn’t heave or struggle; he simply squeezed his fingers together, channeling a fraction of the immense power now humming through his newly tempered body.
The heavy, reinforced iron links groaned for a fraction of a second before they immediately crumbled into fine, grey dust under his grip, trickling through his fingers onto the floor.
The two guards’ eyes widened, their jaws dropping completely open as they witnessed the effortless display of monstrous physical strength.
They stood entirely frozen, their hearts skipping a beat before they subconsciously glanced at themselves, sharing a frantic, terrified look as if desperately trying to confirm that they had both just seen the same impossible thing.
Those heavy chains had been forged from solid, reinforced iron, specifically crafted by the demonic sect to keep even unruly low-level cultivators firmly locked away without any hope of escape.
They were dense, heavy, and meant to withstand immense physical force over long periods of time.
Yet, Kahn had simply crushed them to fine dust with a single squeeze of his bare hand, treating the reinforced metal like it was nothing more than brittle, dried clay.
The gray powder still drifted slowly through the air, settling quietly around his bare feet on the stone floor.
Kahn slowly stood up, rising to his full height in the center of the dark prison cell, his movements fluid and entirely unbothered by the lingering tension in the air.
He raised his arms above his head and made a few casual stretches, his joints popping with a healthy, crisp resonance that echoed sharply against the damp walls.
He tilted his neck from side to side, a deep sense of physical liberation washing over him as he tested the seamless, effortless mobility of his newly transformed physique.
He looked down at the empty space where the heavy metal cuffs had bound his ankles for so long, and he muttered, "Feels good... to not have a chain hung over your leg."
The simple words carried the weight of four long years of slavery and misery, but his voice was now steady, deep, and entirely smooth.
He took a single, light step forward, savoring the absolute freedom of movement that had been stripped from him for so long.
The two guards’ faces remained completely frozen, their expressions locked in a state of absolute, unadulterated terror as they stared into the cell.
They desperately wanted to turn around and sprint back up the stone stairwell to safety, but they found their legs completely glued to the ground, refusing to obey their frantic mental commands.
Fear had paralyzed their muscles entirely, locking their knees and leaving them rooted to the spot like statues, completely trapped under the weight of Kahn’s sudden gaze.
The Kahn they vividly remembered as a weak, frail child—the helpless slave who couldn’t even lift a heavy water bucket without gasping for air—was absolutely not the one that stood in front of them now.
That pathetic, broken boy had vanished completely, leaving behind an entirely different entity that didn’t resemble a slave in the slightest.
The sheer contrast between the past and the present was so staggering that it completely broke the guards’ ability to comprehend reality.
This version of Kahn was noticeably taller, his posture perfectly upright and commanding, with a slightly more muscular frame that filled out his tattered clothing in a completely new way.
His shoulders were broader, and his chest possessed a firm, athletic density that radiated an undeniable physical strength.
The frail weakness that had defined his entire childhood in this world had been entirely overwritten by a powerful physique that looked as though it had been meticulously sculpted by a master artist.
His black hair, which had previously been dull and matted with dirt, was now as white as pure snow.
His skin, which had been covered in dark bruises, deep cuts, and ugly scars from years of ruthless beatings by the sect members, was now entirely clear and completely without blemish.
He had even gotten far more handsome than before, his facial features sharpening into an elegant, aristocratic mold with a razor-sharp jawline and piercing, intelligent eyes.
Standing there in the middle of a filthy, damp cell, he didn’t look like a prisoner at all; instead, he seemed exactly like a prestigious prince originating from a fabulously rich kingdom, completely out of place in the grim surroundings.
But his altered physical appearance wasn’t what truly broke the guards’ spirits; what terrified them the most was the dense, suffocating aura exuding from his body, which unmistakably carried the distinct pressure of the Qi condensation realm.
He wasn’t just a strong mortal anymore and was radiating the raw, heavy energy of a true cultivator. The sheer speed of his transformation defied everything they knew, making the pressure feel incredibly heavy against their chests.
The oppressive weight of his presence made it feel like they were standing directly before a wild, untamed beast that could snap their necks before they could even blink.
Every instinct inside the guards’ bodies was screaming at them, warning them that they were no longer dealing with a human being, but a dangerous predator.
A primal part of their minds completely took over, frantically telling them to run as far as they possibly could from what stood directly in front of them.
The entity before them didn’t seem at all human anymore, but rather a monstrous force of nature that had awakened in the dark to exact its vengeance.