Chapter Fourteen: The Mortal Limit—Ninety-Nine Thousand Pounds

With this thought, Chu Han nodded slightly and glanced at the system’s loading progress—it had risen from eleven percent to twenty percent. Though the progress bar was moving, it was slow, as the effect of the previous lightning-struck wood had yet to wear off. If he added this new piece, the system should be suppressed for a long time.

According to his estimation, once he entered the Primal World and found the second half of the Thunder Emperor’s technique, he would be able to completely suppress the system. By then, no one would be able to stand in his way.

It was already midnight, the perfect hour for cultivation. He drew a dagger, placed his left hand on the lightning-struck wood, and drove the blade ruthlessly into his own heart with his right.

As the dagger pierced his heart, a bloody hole appeared, and blood gushed forth madly. He frowned, enduring the excruciating pain. At that moment, the lightning-struck wood under his left hand shattered, releasing a surge of thunder energy dozens of times stronger than before.

The wild bolts of lightning crackled and tore through the air, their relentless noise threatening to rend the room asunder, making one’s hair stand on end.

Chu Han swallowed hard, worrying if his body could withstand such a violent onslaught of thunder energy. But having come this far, retreat was never an option. Fortune favors the bold. Gritting his teeth, he steeled himself, opened his mouth, and drew every arc of thunder from the air into his body.

The mighty thunder energy flooded him in an instant—what did it feel like? Chu Han felt himself torn apart by lightning. His mouth hung open, his body out of control.

Agonizing pain shot through every nerve, burrowing into his very bones. He collapsed to the ground, rolling over and over in silence, fighting to keep from crying out. His skin was charred black by the thunder’s searing heat, thick smoke rising as his hair stood on end—he seemed possessed, lost to the world.

His face twisted in a hideous grimace, teeth clenched so hard they made an eerie creaking sound.

“Just this bit of pain, and you want me to yield? Compared to the suffering I endured in my previous life, this is nothing. Refine it!” Chu Han roared, sitting up cross-legged, and began to forcibly refine the wild thunder energy within him.

The lightning wrapped around his body gradually thinned and merged with his flesh; the system’s loading number slowly fell from twenty percent to nine, where it finally froze.

The thunder energy was being refined, bit by bit, his strength multiplying. He adapted to the pain—it no longer threatened him. The charred skin slowly healed, his hair regained its luster and fell smoothly over his shoulders. His body, tempered by thunder, grew fairer, longer, and more elegant than before.

Chu Han sensed his strength had reached eighty thousand catties—several times that of a master at the peak of the Tempered Body Tenth Layer. He closed his eyes and continued refining the thunder energy, time slipping quietly by.

As dawn broke, Chu Han opened his eyes, a flash of lightning shooting forth. Rising from the floor, he flexed his fists, relishing the immense power within him, joy swelling in his chest.

His strength had climbed to ninety-nine thousand catties—the very peak of mortal limits. His Thunder Body had reached minor completion; with the help of medicinal pills, he could easily break through the hundred-thousand-catties barrier. Yet he chose not to. Drawing on past experience, he knew the foundation was everything in cultivating the Thunder Body. He wanted to see if he could shatter that threshold by relying on his own power—this would determine whether he could one day reach the realm of Heavenly Venerates.

Having finished his training, he left his room and joined his family for breakfast.

“Han, I want you to deliver some supplies to the Lantian Camp later,” Tang Hao said at the table, handing him a task. “These are military goods ordered by General Lantian. Just send them over. Also, no one knows how the First Divine General’s coup is developing, so be careful.”

Chu Han nodded noncommittally. The turmoil surrounding the First Divine General’s attempted seizure of power had been making waves at Lantian Camp, but he paid it little mind—it had nothing to do with him.

After the meal, he harnessed a cart and set out for Lantian Camp, loaded with the military supplies General Lantian had ordered.

It was noon when he arrived. Lantian Camp was the largest barracks in Jingyuan City, with tens of thousands of soldiers drilling on the grounds, presenting an awe-inspiring sight.

He entered the camp, asked a soldier to report his delivery, and waited outside.

He waited for what felt like an eternity, growing impatient, when at last, a man clad in deep blue armor strode out, frost in his gaze and disdain on his face.

“So you’re from the Tang family’s smithy? I need to inspect the goods,” the man said coldly, and the nearby soldiers quietly stepped aside.

There was nothing wrong with an inspection, but the man’s attitude grated on Chu Han.

“And who are you? These are military supplies ordered by General Lantian—do you think you can just inspect them at your whim?” Chu Han shot him a scornful glance, raising a hand to stop him.

“I am the Seventh Divine General, Monk. I believe I have the right to inspect the goods on the general’s behalf. You’re just a humble blacksmith’s apprentice—remember where you are. Don’t make trouble for yourself.” Monk’s voice was icy as he brushed past Chu Han to examine the cart’s contents. Chu Han clenched his fists, watching him coldly, silent.

Ten minutes later, Monk finished his inspection and returned, as arrogant as before, looking down his nose at Chu Han.

“The goods are fine. You may leave,” he said with a dismissive wave. Several soldiers moved to take the cart.

But Chu Han had no intention of letting them just walk off with the cargo. Only a deposit had been paid, and the Seventh Divine General before him showed not the slightest intent to settle the balance.

“Seventh Divine General, was it? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten—the balance hasn’t been paid. It’s eighty thousand gold coins. Should I go speak to General Lantian, or will you pay it here and now?”

Chu Han blocked the soldiers, standing firmly in front of the cart, his voice icy cold. He planted his feet, ready to act at any moment. He already saw through Monk’s game—the man had come looking for trouble; the balance would never be paid.

“Haha, did I hear you right? You’re demanding the balance from me? Take a good look at where you are. If you want to leave here alive, you’d better get lost now—or don’t blame me for what happens next.”

Monk burst out laughing, the surrounding soldiers joining in. He shot Chu Han a vicious glare, menace thick in his words.

The soldiers caught on to Monk’s intent and slowly closed in, hemming Chu Han in and cutting off all avenues of escape.

“So you mean to say you’re not paying the balance? Forcing a sale isn’t exactly Lantian Camp’s style, is it?” Chu Han smiled, utterly unconcerned by those before him. As for the camp’s descent into such lawlessness, it was surely tied to the First Divine General’s coup.

“Hmph. Lantian Camp listens to me now. Take him down!”