The Black Dragon Tree is a rare timber that rivals forged iron in hardness and weightiness though being wood in essence. Its trunk resembles a coiled, lithe black dragon that surges with an ancient, sinewy strength. Even its leaves reflect an emerald blackness, smooth and as polished as ink jade.
It’s this rare timber which bears two wondrous uses—the first and the obvious is weapon craftsmanship—its stony hardness being an obvious factor. However, when incinerated into flames, it burns with uncommon vitality and brilliance. Not more than the width of a palm laid bare, enough heat from such a small piece would suffice two pots of cooking meat.
Ordinarily, it fuels metallurgy; for the sake of Shi Hao—today, they had gone into preparation. Ancient medicinal herbs, venomous worms, mountain spring water, arcane cauldrons—nothing subpar was selected including the wood kindled below the vessel, the prized Black Dragon Tree. The ceremony required nothing less than the peak essence available, the purest blood boiled out beneath ancient wood flames.
Perched over a great stone slab, a young child—dubbed “Little One” by the tribe—had immersed his body within a natural bathing pool. Overhead, pure-spring water continuously dripped down in rivulets, cleansing every inch of his skin. Before entering the ritual boiling pot, they needed a pristine corporeal foundation sealed within. The entire ritual remained an act of reverence; not only the watching elders, but even the Little One carried a silence that conveyed seriousness and respect.
Even the beast known as Suanni was brought near. Its gilded frame glittered in celestial golds, its silky hair as dazzling as spun metal threads. Especially at the break of dawn, within those first glimmers of celestial flame rising over distant mountains, it radiated with an aura of living splendor. Some three meters long, two crimson horns stretched from beside the young one—one pair of antelope horns like polished ruby, pulsing like liquid fire within each vein. Born of ancient lineage, it carried potent “Fangzhi Fireblood.”
A second item came in the form of a demon ape’s arm, not massive, not larger than an average adult’s forearm—but it radiates an endless malevolence from ancient epochs, a rare gift harboring true lineage essence.
Overseeing the rite stood a massive black cauldron, heavy on mythic artistry: carved into the ancient vessel lay engravings resembling landscapes, beasts in chase and even cosmic celestial scenes from ages past. All were depicted within swirling glyphic inscriptions, the work of elder civilizations lost in obscurity—an atmosphere of otherworldly majesty filled its every corner.
Right now, within that boiling crucible, water began steaming away into clouds, the firewood beneath roaring in an ever-rising inferno. From the searing cauldron rose the essence of ultimate herbal dominance.
Head Elder Shi Yun Feng oversaw the entire procedure in person. With his hands, one by one, he fed rare plants of untold worth from centuries of preservation straight into the flames’ crucible. From the high plains—herbs aplenty; but only the choicest of these had passed the tribe’s discerning eye.
Time had barely stretched past noon before an intoxicating fragrance bloomed within that steaming brew—richness in every essence. Each plant and its unique signature aroma swirled into a miasma so thick they nearly glimpsed their very colors in scent itself.
Following his orders, Elder Shi unearthed dozens of ceramic urns, each sealed tightly shut.
The first vessel, upon unsealing, immediately spat a massive purplish centipede forward like a whip crack of life itself: half of a fully grown man, in length—a terrifying beast to behold.
With a wave, runes shimmered between his wrinkled fingers—the Elder lifted a violet-tinted mallet before landing a decisive whack. The beast exploded into a fleshy mist—the shattered carapace dropped like an offering into the boiling mix beyond as an assisting component.
A second urn revealed an otherworldly sight—one cloaked by thick, metallic casings upon arrival. Within it lived a scaled creature of brilliant silver hues that sparked with metallic lusters.
The Elder repeated the act of percussion—one strike, one kill. The creature tumbled into the mix where even in its dying death throe, the silvery scaled animal fought in the water like a tempest—tossing foam about with its last strength.
One urn after another opened. From those chambers released mystical beasts, venomous lifeforms each possessing a unique presence. Golden serpents long as a pair of fingers. Silvery winged arachnids who darted through the skies of their new, aqueous prison.
Now, within the cauldron, the contents frothed and changed: multicolored, rich aroma in full bloom. Yet to all the gathered youths watching on, the air held an air too grotesque, perhaps—a vision of dread that made their pale complexions paled. Among them, a group of young children gazed with horrified curiosity.
Countless forms—some with legs, with stingers, others too tiny to name!—danced inside with swirling eddies of ancient, arcane herbs, mixing into an abomination of coloration that threatened madness from the senses. They were thankful, though, that what boiled there wasn’t for their flesh but merely for their youngest friend.
Minutes stretched to long minutes within that steaming pot, then long hours. Finally, the bubbling calmed—the contents settling into viscose mushy broth. The secondary ingredients of preparation, this would soften Shi Hao’s ordeal and prepare him for the coming transformation.
“Cut open the Suanni, and introduce the Blood Essence now!!” cried out Shi Yun-Feng in a resounding thunderclap.
A magnificent beast lay stretched before them, golden brilliance emanating like eternal flame even in eternal stillness. Suanni lay there, golden in form like sculpted sunlight. Though already devoid of life, the beast exuded dominance—an oppressive, unrelenting force of kingship beyond mere death.
Despite the lifeless state that had overtaken its once-mighty being, its hide refused to yield to mundane weapons.
When blades clashed upon golden fur, showers of white-hot iron sparks scattered into the breeze—the clang reverberated, a sound more resembling war hammers upon anvil in a rhythmic forging ritual than cutting into a body that had long passed away a death that brought no true end to its form.
In truth, fate favored the tribe. Though this ancient monster could still breathe upon its passing moment with a flicker of fading might into final defiance, the Suanni engaged in a death throes final battle against another beast—the Flame-Blood Bull King. The clash had weakened the great one and caused its armor-like body to fracture.
These cracks became the weak spots the stone villagers exploited—clean strikes guided deep into where the divine beast showed the first fractures of ruinous death.
They called to two of their most gifted warriors of the new generation: Shi Lin-Heng and Shi Fe-Jiao, both bearing physical strengths nearing ten thousand jin with one swing—one with an axe forged under the mountain sun—the other with twin hammers black enough to absorb moonlight. To these two, such a feat should have been trivial but even they, through sheer sweat poured upon the task, found themselves exhausted beyond reason.
This Suanni body had proven resilient beyond human imagining!
When the golden bulk at last parted beneath their efforts, ancient elders stepped into the gilded mess and scooped out golden liquid—richer than blood—its essence shimmering in streaks of molten sunlight through a vessel of silver. Even in death, this blood refused to coagulate.
Its essence—poured and preserved under the finest tools in storage upon golden altars and gleaming vessels scattered over stone table tops—all of which became quickly half-filled with the life-giving flow.
With an obsidian ceremonial blade, Shi Yun-Feng himself entered sacred duty, carving out the most treasured organ—the still golden heart, the size of a small basin. Embedded even upon its casing were swirling runes and residual light—a radiance that seemed as if stars danced in its liquid depths.
Not wanting to waste this gift, he immediately cast the still pulsating heart into the boiling crucible, a precious treasure, while calling out once more, “Pour the blood!”
The two urns of golden blood were tilted over, “plunk—plunk,” and released their contents into depths within the black caldron. In place of water—the blood mixed together with the previously boiled plant matter. The ancient wooden embers roared with new life, the cauldron shook as from a mighty wind and the images upon the walls seemed to stir. The creatures carved of the old eras howled within their stone prisons at the rising heat and presence of the beast blood poured inside. The brew roiled. Within the pot—golden hues bubbled, its energy rising in golden clouds that shot up, dancing toward the sky before fading downward in showers of radiance. The fragrance it emitted was beyond anything the tribe had expected.
This was true legacy—living artifact of the ancient blood!
“Maintain this searing heat; the Elixir is nearing perfection!!” roared the elder. “Little One—ready yourself; entrance into the cauldron comes shortly!”
The child answered, “Understood, I’m ready!”
Amidst flame’s fury, in the thickening aroma, gold-tinged steam rose into a vision—a Suanni, spectral phantom and magnificent beyond form stood forth in its final farewell, roaring an eternal echo across millennia into its descendant kind.
Some say in those rising clouds—its silhouette returned: swallowing sun and moon beneath each breath, forcing galaxies to tremble in response.
A cry echoed among the elders. Fear gripped them momentarily; many could barely maintain their composure from fear at its presence.
“The imprint,” one Elder said, calming himself enough to speak after the awe subsided. “Residue of Suanni Blood King left within this young bloodline. In such, its ancestral heritage and the fount from which its divinity is drawn is born.”
They added further refinements, strands of sinew harvested cleanly from bone and marrow of golden glow—added in to increase its potency and brilliance to new heights.
Suddenly a shout rose above the gathering. “Chieftain! Upon this bone—these inscriptions! Something still pulses alive beneath the carvings!”
Stone axes dropped in awe.
The old ones turned immediately in disbelief and with hearts thunderstruck.
The flesh had peeled back from the forehead of Suanni where—in an eye’s gaze, a sigil pulsed within its form—a swirling spiral that kept morphing like celestial star trails in an endless dance.
“Could it really be…” the Head Elder’s eyes widened, trembling with emotion.
“This remains? Impossible!” His voice trembled with awe before dissolving into laughter so loud tears nearly flowed down from his aged eyes in sheer disbelief at the phenomenon.
Prior knowledge held firm beliefs—Suanni would attempt self-destruction, erasing ancestral sigils upon death’s doorstep—ensuring that legacy would not fall into rival clans.
This very behavior was why Original Fangzhi Bone became an irreplaceable treasure of great value to warriors. Truly elite tribes held perhaps but a single dominant treasure technique—supporting one or two additional lesser talents, if that. Now, here before them remained a gift not just of rare flesh, of precious marrow. Not only a heart beating with residual vitality—but an inscription of undiluted knowledge remained intact—unsullied and unbroken from battle’s carnage against other great beast bloodlines!
Never did they think such divine fortune might bless humble Stone Village’s fate: a legacy once thought beyond reach had become their birth gift.
“Silence!! Secrecy above all else!” Shi Yun-Feng turned his gaze in seriousness.
“This gift, Heaven gifted to our people for enduring hardship. With possession of this Sigil, a treasure technique of extreme potency comes with it—a fact too important to speak of beyond these walls.”
The Head Elder turned sharply to face Shi Zhao, “Proceed, Little One, now, with your rite!! Upon your exit into renewal’s dawn—you must study and grasp the treasure sigils and the Suanni Legacy it embodies.”
Elder’s words fell on eager shoulders.
“I had completed everything moments ago, Greatgrand-Chief!”
Cleansed of impurities from ritual baths, the radiant child leaped forward, his skin aglow, shimmering with runes across his frame—a dazzling blend of ethereal beauty and innocence—diving forth into a golden cauldron that roared with power.
Immediately echoed through the ritual site was the command of “SEAL THE POND”
In unison they dragged with might—placing onto the mouth of the black cauldron that aged cover; it fit precisely without gaps even against the heat.
Back to the onlookers among lesser children—they had gone pale at the thought.
Was he safe in there with nothing to break his skin, with so much scalding heat and steam? How even draw breath?
As if to respond to their concerns, the Elders gave a knowing glance to all watching, explaining, “When you complete the forging of inscriptions into all flesh, converting their flows to resplendent golden threads of vital strength within blood vessels, your essence would rise as cosmic radiance.”
“And when such transformation nears perfection: fire could not scorch. Water will not drown. Breath—no matter what—will continue.”
Even in his moment of expanse, Shi Yun-Fang had kept one portion from completion—the Devil Claw of Demon-Ape and Red-Crater Horn of Flame-Blood Bull had been left to later.
Why?
Out of compassion—due to caution for the boy being so young—this might break even what divine ritual could repair. The Elders wished to watch first how he would adapt, before introducing any higher degree to danger.
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