Steadily Upgrading Everything!

The fifth day aboard the ship drew to a close with a hush that felt almost unnatural.

Outside his small porthole, streaks of gold and crimson painted the horizon as the sun dipped low, its dying light glinting faintly off the metallic frame.

Inside his cabin, John sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, his mind steady yet simmering with anticipation.

He had been waiting for this moment ever since he began upgrading the Death Clone Technique.

A slow smile crept onto his lips as he summoned the familiar translucent interface.

---

[System Panel]

Name: John Coral

Age: 25

Cultivation: Spirit Seed Realm (1584 / 3200)

Upgrade Slot: Empty

Skills:

Meditation (Level 6 – Max)

Breathing (Level 5 – Max)

Spatial Awareness (Level 5)

Slow Toad Breathing Skill (Level 10 – Max)

Double Face Lizard Technique (Level 7 – Max)

Basic Flame Control (Level 3)

Alchemy (Level 5)

Twelve Circle Slashes (Level 4)

Soul Piercing Gaze (Level 5)

Lightning Bull Kicks (Level 3)

Death Clone Technique (Level 4 – Max)

Ten Serpents Breathing Skill (Level 0)

---

"So… it finally reached the maximum level," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he studied the glowing words. "But… is it truly worth all the time I invested?"

At first glance, the skill's description didn't seem drastically different from its earlier stages.

The only way to know for certain was to test it.

John's expression hardened, and he spoke the command aloud.

"Death Clone Technique."

The air in the cabin rippled.

A faint distortion shimmered before him, like heat waves rising from desert sand.

Then, suddenly, the distortion solidified into a figure.

John's own face stared back at him.

The clone was… perfect. Its stance, its clothes, even the way its eyes glimmered in the dim cabin light, it was like looking into a flawless mirror that breathed.

But what truly made his blood run cold wasn't its appearance, it was the aura radiating from it.

"Wait… this is..." He extended his spiritual sense toward the clone and froze.

Its cultivation wasn't at the Skin Refinement Realm anymore.

It was at the Spirit Seed Realm.

Exactly the same as him.

John's pulse kicked into overdrive.

Without hesitation, he ordered the clone to perform the Double Face Lizard Technique.

The clone's hands blurred, muscles rippling under its identical robes, executing the technique with absolute precision.

No hesitation, no falter, just a flawless replication of his own movements and strength.

A slow, incredulous laugh escaped him.

He had expected an upgrade in quality, but this… this was beyond anything he had dared to imagine.

The only flaw he could find was that he could only maintain one clone at a time.

Yet even that limitation hardly dulled his excitement.

Having two of himself, each with the same cultivation and skill repertoire, on the battlefield could turn an impossible defeat into an overwhelming victory.

His heart pounded like war drums as the full implications settled in.

This wasn't just an upgrade, this was a second chance in every fight.

A wide grin stretched across his face. "Looks like I just got myself a new trump card."

He dismissed the clone in a flash of dissolving energy, still riding the thrill of discovery, when a heavy, impatient knock rattled his door.

"Hey, shithead! Open the door!"

Crimson's gruff voice was unmistakable.

"We're there," the man barked.

John exhaled, schooling his expression back to calm.

Rising from the bed, he opened the door to find Crimson standing with crossed arms and a barely disguised look of irritation.

"Let's go," John said simply.

Crimson snorted but turned away without further comment.

Stepping out onto the open deck, John saw the other three Silent Swords already waiting.

Around them stretched a vast clearing surrounded by towering trees, their dark green canopies swaying in the wind.

The smell of pine and damp earth hung in the air, a stark contrast to the metallic tang of the ship.

"Is this the place?" John asked, his eyes scanning the perimeter.

"No," Benneca replied in her usual flat tone, her gaze fixed on the tree line. "We still have to walk a few hours before we reach it."

John gave a silent nod.

"I hope you can keep up, turtle pace," Crimson added with a smirk.

John didn't bother answering.

The four of them descended from the deck into the wilderness, John easily matching their swift pace with the help of his Lightning Bull Kicks.

At the same time, he quietly set the Ten Serpents Breathing Skill to auto-upgrade, knowing every bit of progress could make the difference later.

The terrain soon shifted as they left the clearing, the ground sloping steeply downward into rocky wilderness.

Jagged outcrops jutted from the earth, and the path was scattered with loose stones that crunched underfoot.

For ordinary travelers, the descent would have been perilous, but for cultivators, it was little more than an extended stride.

Hours passed in near silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of unseen beasts.

By the time they stopped, they stood before a massive hill that blocked the path entirely.

The sheer wall of earth and stone stretched high above them, offering no visible route forward.

John frowned. "A dead end?"

Benneca said nothing at first. Instead, she stepped forward, her movements precise and deliberate, and pulled a yellow talisman from her sleeve.

Pressing it against the hill's surface, she murmured an incantation.

The talisman flared with golden light, and the solid stone began to ripple like water.

A wide staircase slowly revealed itself, descending into darkness.

"We hid this place when we were here previously," she said, her voice calm, as if unveiling a hidden fortress was an everyday affair.

Without waiting, she stepped onto the first stair and disappeared into the shadows below.

Clark followed silently, his boots thudding softly against the stone.

Crimson went next, throwing John a sidelong glance as if to say try to keep up.

John smirked faintly and brought up the rear, stepping into the hidden passage.

The air immediately grew cooler, carrying the scent of ancient stone and something faintly metallic, like blood long since dried.

The descent down the narrow staircase seemed endless, the air growing colder and heavier with each step they took.

The sound of their boots against the stone echoed unnaturally, as if the walls themselves were listening.

Faint flickers of spiritual energy shimmered along the moss-covered walls, remnants of old protective arrays that had long since weakened.

The pathway eventually widened, revealing intricate carvings on the stone, grotesque scenes of warriors being devoured by monstrous beasts, their screams immortalized in the rock.

A faint metallic scent of blood seemed to seep out from the cracks, as though the walls remembered what had been sealed here.

John's senses sharpened, his Spatial Awareness brushing against something ahead, a faint, suffocating presence that made the back of his neck prickle.

Crimson stopped for a moment, turning his head just enough to glance at John with a faint smirk, as if to say this is where it gets interesting.

After several more minutes, the claustrophobic tunnel opened into a wide, circular chamber.

At the far end stood an ancient, towering door carved from black stone, the surface etched with twisted runes that seemed to writhe when looked at for too long.

Layers upon layers of yellowed talismans were plastered across it, each marked with symbols drawn in crimson ink.

But it wasn't just ink. Even from here, John could feel the faint, iron-like tang of dried blood embedded in the seals.

The talismans pulsed faintly, as if something inside was breathing, slow, steady, and waiting.

"This…" John muttered, his voice involuntarily low.

Benneca's expression didn't change, but she stopped just a few steps from the door. "The thing we want is behind this. And so is the reason why it's sealed."

Crimson chuckled, though even he kept his voice low, his gaze never leaving the ominous barrier. "You ready, turtlepace? This is where the fun begins."

The door loomed over them like a slumbering beast, and John couldn't shake the feeling that if they disturbed it carelessly, it would open its maw and swallow them whole.

"John, you have to break that seal." Benneca's voice was calm, but there was a faint gravity to it, as though she understood exactly how dangerous the task was.

Her slender finger pointed toward a small but ancient-looking metal lock.

It was almost black with age, yet faint lines of crimson energy pulsed across its surface like veins.

Deep red talismans, each one marked with twisting, incomprehensible runes, clung tightly to the lock as though they were alive, their corners fluttering despite the stillness of the underground air.

A faint, almost inaudible whisper seemed to echo from them, carrying a feeling of malice that prickled against the skin.

"Only an ancient spirit technique like yours has the power to break the seal," she continued, her monotonous tone making the words feel heavier, more absolute.

John stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he examined the lock.

There was something about it, a wrongness that seemed to warp the space around it.

Without hesitation, he extended his Spatial Sense to its full twenty-meter range, probing through the layers of stone and shadow.

His awareness slid along the cold surface of the door… and met nothing but impenetrable darkness. No matter how he pushed, it refused to reveal what was beyond.

Then...

A backlash slammed into him like a hammer to the skull.

His vision blurred, his knees buckled, and a sharp pain tore through his head.

He staggered back, clutching at his temple as a metallic taste filled his mouth.

Blood spilled from his lips, warm and bitter.

"Don't try to pry into things you can't handle." Benneca's expression didn't change, but her voice carried the faintest note of warning, like a teacher scolding a reckless student.

"Hehehe…" Crimson's low, mocking laugh echoed in the narrow stone corridor. "Shithead, don't tell me you have Spatial Sense. I never thought a piece of crap like you would have one." His smirk was wide, but his eyes betrayed something else—slight, begrudging jealousy.

Clark, who had remained silent until now, finally turned his head to regard John.

His usually indifferent gaze held a flicker of respect. "You really are something," he said slowly. "For you to achieve Spatial Sense this quickly… that's no small feat."

Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, John straightened, meeting Clark's eyes for a brief moment before turning his attention back to Benneca.

The faint throb in his skull was still there, but it only fueled his resolve.

He took in a slow, steady breath, letting the stale underground air fill his lungs.

Then, without another word, he called upon his Soul Piercing Gaze.

From the center of his forehead, a sharp beam of golden-yellow light erupted, thin as a needle but impossibly focused.

It shot forward, cutting through the gloom and slamming into the metallic lock with a sound like steel striking steel.

The talismans shuddered at the impact, their blood-red lines writhing as though they were alive, and the whispering grew louder, turning into a faint, hissing chorus that seemed to echo inside his very mind.