[Command Accepted]
[User has learned the
[Transferring the details of the
A massive torrent of information surged into Ethan's mind the instant the System completed its confirmation. It was not a slow or gentle process. Instead, it was as if countless ancient manuals, diagrams, explanations, warnings, and cultivation theories were forcibly engraved into his consciousness all at once.
His head throbbed violently.
For a brief moment, Ethan felt as though his skull might crack apart under the sheer weight of the knowledge being poured into him. His vision blurred, his breathing turned ragged, and his heart pounded erratically inside his chest.
Yet, despite the overwhelming sensation, he did not resist.
He knew better than anyone that resistance would only make the process more painful.
So Ethan clenched his teeth, steadied his breathing, and allowed the System to complete the transfer.
Slowly—very slowly—the storm of information settled.
When the transfer finally ended, Ethan stood there silently, his eyes unfocused, his expression dazed. The world around him felt distant, as if separated by a thin veil. It took him several long seconds to reorient himself and fully return to reality.
Only then did he realize something astonishing.
He completely understood the
Not just its surface-level usage, but its core principles, hidden dangers, theoretical foundations, and long-term implications. It was as if he had spent decades studying this technique under the guidance of an unparalleled master.
The System had not merely given him information.
It had given him mastery.
Of course, the price he paid for this mastery was nothing short of terrifying. Five hundred thousand Skill Points—borrowed entirely on credit. If not for the System's assurance that this technique was crucial for his survival, Ethan would have never dared to take on such an outrageous burden.
Yet, as he carefully reviewed the knowledge now embedded within his mind, he felt a strange sense of calm.
This technique… was worth it.
When he thought about his long-term development, about the path he intended to walk, about the kind of existence he wanted to become, the cost—however absurd—felt acceptable.
Painful, yes.
Terrifying, yes.
But acceptable.
The
Each split Spirit retained individuality.
Each could think independently.
Each could cultivate independently.
Most importantly, each split Spirit could walk a completely different cultivation path.
This single fact alone was enough to shock any cultivator to the core.
In the cultivation world, the Spirit was sacred. It was the foundation of consciousness, willpower, perception, and comprehension. Damaging it—even slightly—could cripple a cultivator for life. Destroying it outright meant instant death.
And yet, this technique deliberately fractured the Spirit.
Not as an accident.
Not as collateral damage.
But as a deliberate cultivation method.
To most people, this would sound like madness.
But the deeper Ethan analyzed the technique, the more he realized just how terrifyingly profound it truly was.
The manual provided an illustrative example.
Imagine a cultivator who had spent thousands of years cultivating and had risen to become a supreme existence in the entire Mortal Realm. He stood at the very peak, feared by all, respected by countless sects and empires.
And yet… something felt wrong.
Despite his strength, achievements, and the reverence he received, an unshakable sense of dissatisfaction lingered deep within his heart.
Regret.
He would look back on his cultivation journey and think:
"If only I had chosen a different path back then."
"If only I had not abandoned that opportunity."
"If only I had refined my foundation more carefully."
"If only I had taken another road…"
But time could not be reversed.
Cultivation paths, once chosen, became shackles as much as they became stepping stones. A wrong decision made early could haunt a cultivator for their entire life.
Such regrets were not rare.
In fact, they were extremely common—especially among high-level cultivators.
The higher one climbed, the more clearly they could see the countless crossroads they had passed without realizing their importance.
Yet no matter how strong they became, there was no second chance.
Their Spirit had already been shaped.
Their path had already been chosen.
Their destiny had already been carved into existence.
All they could do was endure.
But with the
A cultivator could split their Spirit and start anew.
One part of the Spirit could continue walking the original path, preserving all accumulated cultivation and strength. The other part—or parts—could embark on entirely new journeys, experimenting with different cultivation methods, refining foundations, or even pursuing paths that were once abandoned.
The original Spirit would not lose its cultivation base.
The cultivator would still possess their original power.
They could still defend themselves using the strength of their primary Spirit whenever they wished.
This alone made the technique invaluable beyond measure.
But Heaven never allowed perfection without cost.
The disadvantage of the
Once the Spirit was split, the total Spirit strength of the original Spirit would be permanently reduced.
The more the Spirit was divided, the weaker each individual Spirit became.
This meant reduced comprehension.
Reduced perception.
Reduced potential.
A strong Spirit was the backbone of a powerful cultivator. It determined how quickly one could comprehend techniques, understand Dao principles, resist mental attacks, and break through bottlenecks.
Without a strong Spirit, even the most talented cultivator would struggle to advance.
For ordinary cultivators, this drawback was fatal.
Even if they could successfully split their Spirit, they would spend countless years—sometimes entire lifetimes—just trying to recover the lost Spirit strength.
And improving Spirit power was far more difficult than improving physical strength or cultivation realms. It was even more arduous than Heavenly cultivation itself.
For most people, the
But Ethan was not "most people."
He was an exception.
An anomaly.
As long as he possessed Golden Points, he could directly enhance his Spirit strength through the System.
He did not need decades.
He did not need rare treasures.
He did not need ancient inheritances.
He only needed to complete missions.
As long as he could earn Golden Points, he could raise his Spirit power to absurd levels whenever he wanted.
This single factor completely negated the greatest drawback of the
For Ethan, the loss of Spirit strength was merely temporary.
A minor inconvenience.
Something that could be fixed at any time.
Moreover, he had another crucial advantage.
The System had already confirmed that, because he possessed the Heaven's Equality Body, this technique would not bring any fatal drawbacks or irreversible damage.
If anyone else attempted this technique, they would likely die during the splitting process.
But Ethan?
He was protected.
Guided.
Safeguarded.
As these thoughts settled, Ethan's gaze sharpened.
He recalled the mention of the ongoing 'V'-rank mission.
If he could complete it successfully, the rewards would be unimaginable. Enough to not only clear his debts, but to push his cultivation to heights that ordinary people could never dream of.
That mission was no longer optional.
It was essential.
Meanwhile, the System had already completed its task.
All information regarding the
There was no hesitation left in Ethan's heart.
He sat down cross-legged and immediately began following the procedure described in the manual.
He gathered all of his spiritual energy and guided it upward, concentrating it toward his forehead.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He compressed it.
Condensed it.
Refined it.
Until it became incredibly thin—sharp to the point of being terrifying.
The concept behind the technique was simple.
Cut.
Just like cutting paper with scissors.
Or splitting a wooden plank with a hammer.
But what Ethan was about to cut was not wood.
Not metal.
Not flesh.
It was his Spirit.
If he attempted to do this without the
His Spirit would shatter.
His consciousness would collapse.
Death would be instantaneous.
But the technique ensured safety.
As soon as he activated it, a mysterious golden energy appeared within his body. This energy did not feel hostile. On the contrary, it felt gentle, warm, and strangely reassuring.
It guided his actions.
Stabilised his Spirit.
Protected his consciousness.
Ensured that no irreversible damage would occur.
Even so, there was a cost.
His comprehension ability would be halved.
A severe price.
But Ethan did not hesitate.
Compared to the benefits, this was nothing.
He chanted the incantation described in the manual.
The moment the final syllable left his lips, the golden energy surged outward and enveloped his forehead.
It merged seamlessly with his compressed spiritual energy.
Instantly, the sharpness, purity, and quality of his spiritual energy were amplified several times over.
More strangely, the golden energy radiated a sense of tranquility and trust.
Ethan did not know what it was.
He did not know its origin.
Yet, instinctively, he trusted it.
A cultivator's Spirit resided within their mind.
Ethan took a deep breath and followed the final step of the technique.
He guided the fused energy inward.
Toward his Spirit.
The golden energy found its target almost instantly.
And then—
It slashed downward.
The moment it touched his Spirit, Ethan's entire body convulsed violently.
An indescribable pain exploded within him.
It was not physical.
It was not mental.
It was something far deeper.
Something that struck at the core of his existence.
Blood surged up his throat.
He nearly coughed it out.
His vision turned white.
His consciousness trembled on the verge of collapse.
Yet Ethan endured.
He clenched his teeth.
He held on.
Because he knew—
This pain was the price of walking a path that no ordinary cultivator could ever tread.
And he was willing to pay it.