Wu Heng closed his eyes, and his consciousness sank into them.
It was as though he stood at the center of an invisible force field, surrounded by trait patterns of 'conflict,' 'deprivation,' and 'mutation.'
The three traits intertwined, forming a primal and powerful force of rules that tempted anyone who sensed their existence to Siphon and merge with them.
It was the instinct of the soul.
Just as a hungry person knew to eat and a thirsty person knew to drink, the soul instinctively knew that these traits could make it stronger.
This craving was even more tormenting than hunger.
The sensation was like a pot of steamed buns about to finish cooking, their rich aroma already seeping from beneath the lid and stirring the deepest appetite.
Wu Heng could 'smell' the potential within them—potential enough to elevate his level of power once more.
As long as he wished it, he could forcibly extract the remaining origins from the three rings. At the very least, it would allow the traits within him to fully merge and reorganize into something even stronger.
But he did not.
Because these three rings alone were not enough—not enough to give him the power needed to 'leap' into the next level.
Forcing open the pot would only let the steam inside escape early. What he gained might merely be a few half-cooked lumps of dough, far from the most perfect result.
He needed to wait.
Wait for the fourth 'Death' Ring to serve as firewood, wait for this batch of buns called Supernatural to steam through completely, and wait for the conflict between Heaven and Hell to reach a critical point. That would be the best time to harvest.
Suppressing the hunger deep within his soul that had arisen from sensing those 'traits,' Wu Heng