Deep in the dark starry sky beyond the Demonstone Minor World, no light reflected off anything. Darkness concealed it all; even a Great Emperor scanning with divine sense would have found nothing.
Within that black curtain, millions of steel warships, fighter craft, and Starry Sky Fortresses wheeled like planets around a sun. Each followed an almost tangible orbit, together forming a terrifying chaos formation that spanned the stars. They stood ready for battle at every moment, never relaxing for an instant.
At the center of the vast Starry Sky Fleet, within the phantom of a world veiled in purple qi, a pale-skinned boy of sixteen slept quietly. He had been asleep for years.
He was no longer just a head.
His body had regrown beneath it. Flesh had regenerated; shattered bones had multiplied and knit together; meridians and dantian had recovered. The power of flame laws had been purged from his flesh. Where it could not be removed, that flesh had been discarded and replaced by tissue grown from what remained intact, forming a whole body once more.
He now had a complete human form.
But his skin was deathly pale, without a trace of color or blood flowing beneath it. His regenerated meridians and flesh were terribly fragile, nowhere near strong enough to bear Nascent Soul-level cultivation.
Spell cultivators had requirements for their physical bodies too.
Their bodies were not as tough as body cultivators' bodies and could not withstand magical treasures head-on, but the demands were still high. Their affinity for spiritual power, their adaptability to it, and their capacity to hold it all had to meet exacting standards.
A spell cultivator's physical body evolved entirely toward spellcraft and sword arts. Like an assembly of precision chips and cutting-edge hardware, it was indispensable to a cultivator.
Suddenly, the