Mirror Dream Tree-V.4.157. Refining the Dao Weapon
Merin's native world—
Dracois
.
Far below its skies, Merin’s true body—the
Lunar Tree
—shudders.
Its roots thicken, twist, and burrow deeper, carving through strata like serpents searching for prey.
They push downward.
Deeper.
Hotter.
Until they reach the
core
of the world.
Then they coil.
And the Lunar Tree
enfolds
the core like a beast capturing a beating heart.
Moments later, it begins to
devour
.
The
Nalvuri
are the first to notice.
A race born of calculation and destiny—seers who read probability the way mortals read breath.
Their god, weakened and resting aboard the void-ship above Dracois, freezes.
A
black omen
coils around the fate-line of their entire race—an omen so heavy the god does not even attempt to explore it.
He is injured.
He is vulnerable.
He chooses survival.
He orders a complete retreat.
The Nalvuri abandon Dracois.
The native humans cheer as their invaders depart—believing they have won.
Believing the world has been liberated.
They do not realise the
radiation energy
sustaining Dracois is already thinning…
Year by year, breath by breath.
Soon after, a strange tree begins growing in the desert.
At first small.
Then larger.
Then, impossibly tall, piercing the cloud layer of the world.
Many believe it to be a spiritual treasure.
Many come to seize it.
None returned.
Its vines drink them dry.
Their flesh, their blood, their life—absorbed without mercy.
The tree grows.
And grows.
And grows.
The world's radiation fades completely.
Dracois becomes an ordinary world again.
Then the desertification begins.
The sands spread outward from the tree in every direction as the roots siphon every nutrient, every drop of energy, every breath of life.
Humans resist.
They unite.
They fight.
It is useless.
The world shrivels beneath the hunger of the Lunar Tree.
Finally, where Dracois once stood—where continents once thrived, where oceans once churned—
There is only a
colossal World Tree
, its trunk like a pillar supporting the heavens, its roots piercing the void and drinking from it.
Then—
A
sigh
escapes the bark.
A translucent figure steps out from within the great tree:
An old man in black, long silver hair trailing behind him, the
Dream Mirror
hanging from his neck like a locket.
He gazes at the ruined world with calm satisfaction.
“I have finally awakened.”
His fingers brush the Dream Mirror.
“My plan worked. Choosing that boy… a child surrounded by Heaven and Earth’s favour.”
He closes his eyes, sensing inward.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, the incident.
When they open again, his features soften with frustration.
“The Dao injury I suffered when attempting to break through
Stage Seven
… remains.”
A faint chuckle escapes him.
“I had planned to take the boy as a servant—to aid my recovery.”
His expression shifts into a crooked smile.
“It seems he did not have the luck for that.”
Then, almost fondly:
“No… perhaps this is his luck.
A fortune of a generation—
to help
me
recover.”
----------
At the supreme world, inside the residence of the Spirit Dragon Clan, a heavy stillness hangs over the meeting chamber. The air itself feels weighed down as the latest war from the Human Race and the Fire Divine Race is announced.
A result none of them wanted to hear.
The human race has
won
.
An elder’s face twists as he asks, “Gu Qi, are you certain the human in this is the same one who escaped from you?”
Gu Qi nods stiffly. “From the picture… yes. It is him. And now he has advanced to the Great Saint realm.”
Another elder frowns deeply. “Where did he obtain a Quasi-Supreme Weapon? There is no record of such an item ever existing.”
The Holy Son folds his arms, voice steady but eyes cold. “He escaped into the void. Perhaps he crossed paths with humans from the Human World, and they gave it to him.”
Silence crashes through the chamber.
Human World.
The words alone drain colour from several faces.
An elder breaks the tension with a hesitant whisper.
“Should we… halt the announcement of the execution?”
The Holy Son immediately answers, “No—we cannot.”
Every pair of eyes turns toward him.
He speaks slowly, calculatingly.
“Everyone in the universe is fighting for the chance to become the next Supreme. My own chances are low unless I obtain assistance… specifically, Gu Silan’s assistance.”
He pauses—letting his intention settle.
“Our clan possesses a supreme technique—the Fire and Frost Harmony Technique. It is divided into two paths: the Fire Chapter and the Frost Chapter. Two practitioners can cultivate them separately, and when their Daos align, dual cultivation will allow both to break through to Quasi-Supreme with ease.”
He presses on.
“Gu Silan’s Dao perfectly matches the Frost Chapter. If she fully masters it, and I master the Fire Chapter, then dual cultivation with her will allow me to break through quickly—boosting my chances of becoming a Supreme far beyond the others.”
The implication is clear:
Merin must die.
And it would be best if Gu Silan killed him herself, making it easier for the Holy Son to later bind her to him through the Harmony Technique.
An elder slams his palm on the table.
“But if the Human Race supports Merin, then this is like an egg striking stone—and
we
are the egg!”
Murmurs ripple.
The Spirit Dragon Clan is powerful, yes.
But the entire Human Race… is still the strongest race in the Supreme World—even with their Supremes absent.
The Patriarch lifts a hand, silencing them.
“Then stop spreading the execution notice.”
At those words, the Holy Son’s composure cracks.
This is not going according to his plan.
His mind races—calculating, weighing risks, threading destiny lines—and then a spark flashes in his eyes.
Leverage.
He abruptly bows and shouts, “Patriarch—we
must
continue spreading the execution news!”
Every elder stares at him, some in confusion, others in irritation.
One sneers, “Gu Yanzhen, we know you want to kill your competitor, but you must consider the clan’s survival.”
The Holy Son lifts his head, gaze sharp.
“It is not only I who sees Merin as a threat.”
He sweeps his hand across the room.
“There are countless others who want him dead.”
The Patriarch narrows his eyes. “Who? The Fire Divine Race?”
The Holy Son smiles faintly.
“Not only them. The Fire Divine Race, the Ancient Divine Race, the Holy Spirit Race, the Dapeng Clan, and many more. No power in this world wants the birth of a new Human Supreme.”
Silence falls again—but this time, it is agreement.
Slowly, one by one, the elders nod.
The Patriarch leans back, expression darkening.
The execution will proceed.
And the entire world will be watching.
---
Merin steps off the void boat, boots touching the scorched stone.
Behind him, the dingy vessel—rowed by a skeleton draped in rotted flesh—silently fades back into the void, as if it had never existed.
He turns once, gaze sweeping over the horizon of
Furness Hell
—a world of endless crimson flame, molten rivers, and floating smithing platforms suspended by heat alone.
Then he moves.
Not toward the cloud city above, where traders and weapon refiners haggle over treasures worth entire lifetimes—
—but toward the
centre
, where the true fire sleeps below the surface.
The entire ground of Furness Hell burns, a world-forge built for Saints and Quasi-Supremes to temper their weapons.
But Merin dismisses the upper flames instantly.
Too weak.
His Dao has already reached the
Flowering Stage
, equal in essence to a Quasi-Supreme.
And his goal is not to refine some ordinary weapon—but to create
a Dao Weapon equal to his future realm
.
For that, the surface fire means nothing.
He walks among the crowds.
Tao Space experts stand on floating anvils, refining spirit blades.
Fights break out nearby as cultivators compete over territory, flames roaring with each clash.
Merin ignores all of them and continues.
At the centre of the layer, the heat is enough to melt Saint-grade steel into vapour.
He pauses only briefly—because the fire law here is exquisite—but shakes his head.
Not now.
Increasing his comprehension would deepen his Dao, but also slow his future advancement.
And what he needs
right now
is not a higher understanding—
—But to reach
Quasi-Supreme as quickly as possible
and forge the weapon that will perfectly merge with his Dao.
From Great Saint onward, the path is no longer about accumulating power; it is to
harmonise body and Dao
until, at Quasi-Supreme, they become one.
Only then can the Dao naturally distort the world.
He steps into the throat of the volcano, descending.
A hole opens downward, leading to the next layer.
The second layer greets him with heat that can melt Saint Kings.
Still insufficient.
He continues down, passing the third layer—hot enough to scorch Dao Lords to mist.
Then the fourth—where even Quasi-Supreme materials begin to warp.
But Merin walks through it with steady breath.
Finally, the
fifth layer
.
Here, the fire is thick, viscous, like molten law itself.
Not enough to melt the two Quasi-Supreme weapons he carries—
but perfect for melting the auxiliary materials he prepared.
And exactly hot enough to
forge the embryo
of his Virtual Engine Dao Weapon.
He stops.
Flames curl around him like serpents, unable to burn his body.
He opens his storage ring and takes out the materials—each one glowing with its own Dao rhythm.
Then he lifts his hand.
Fire gathers—
compressed, shaped, sharpened by his will—
and wraps around the materials.
They melt one by one, turning into shimmering pools of essence.
Merin begins shaping them.
Slowly, deliberately, he moulds the molten metal and spiritual ores into a
miniature Virtual Engine
, its core a condensed Heavenly Eye.
And as he shapes—
He engraves runes.
Stroke by stroke, line by line.
Each rune corresponds to a law he controls:
Five Elements, Emotion, Space, Devouring, and now the beginnings of Fire and Ice.
And deeper still—
—the structural logic of his Dao.
The flames dance in perfect rhythm to his movements.
This is not merely forging.
This is
worldbuilding in metal
,
a Dao given form.
And this embryo—when complete—
will be the weapon through which Merin shakes the Supreme World.
---
V.4.157. Refining the Dao Weapon
Comments