The cage that held the god was not made of enchanted jade or spirit wood. It was made of six inches of transparent, multi-laminated polycarbonate, reinforced with a conductive tungsten mesh.
Inside, Ancestor Xue sat on a steel chair. He was bound not by ropes, but by a Neural Suppression Collar that sent a disruptive electric pulse into his spine every time he tried to gather Qi.
The Nascent Soul Ancestor, the terror of the Northern Wastes, looked small. Without his aura, without his blood mist, he was just a withered old man in a glass box.
Jiang Chen stood on the other side of the glass, holding a tablet. Beside him, Master Gongshu of the Heavenly Craft Sect—who had stayed behind after the trade—was practically vibrating with excitement.
"Administrator," Gongshu whispered, pressing his face against the glass. "You are certain? This machine... it can extract the Foundation of a cultivator without killing the host?"
"Energy cannot be created or destroyed, Master Gongshu," Jiang Chen said, tapping the glass. "Only transferred. A Nascent Soul is just a high-density battery with an ego."
Jiang Chen pressed the intercom button.
"Ancestor Xue. Your trial begins in one hour."
Xue looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, but the black void within them was gone. "Trial?" he rasped. "You are a mortal. You have no authority to judge the Heavens. Kill me and be done with it."
"Killing you is a waste," Jiang Chen replied. "And I don't waste resources."
The Central Square of Beiluo City was packed. Not just with the 15,000 citizens, but with refugees, spies, and merchants from a dozen nearby cities who had flocked to the "Iron City" after hearing the news of the victory.
In the center of the square stood a new structure. It looked like a gallows, but instead of a noose, there was a complex array of copper coils, vacuum tubes, and heavy cables running into the ground (connected to the city grid).
The Spirit Siphon.
The crowd went silent as the heavy doors of the City Hall opened.
Two Titan Mark II exosuits (repaired and piloted by loyal guards) marched out, flanking a floating anti-gravity stretcher. On it lay Ancestor Xue.
"It's him," a merchant whispered, trembling. "The Blood Devil. I saw him wipe out a village with a glance ten years ago."
"He looks... weak," a factory worker muttered, clutching his wrench.
Jiang Chen walked onto the platform. He didn't wear a crown. He wore his grey Administrator's coat. A microphone stand amplified his voice to every corner of the city.
"Citizens," Jiang Chen began. "For thousands of years, you have been told a lie. You were told that Cultivators are chosen by the Heavens. That they are superior. That you exist only to serve them, feed them, and die for them."
He gestured to the shivering old man strapped to the machine.
"You were told they are gods."
Jiang Chen walked over to the machine. He began flipping switches. The vacuum tubes glowed with an orange warmth. The copper coils hummed.
"But in Beiluo, we know the truth," Jiang Chen said. "They are not gods. They are just parasites who hoard the world's energy."
He locked the clamps onto Xue's temples and chest.
"And today, we take it back."
Jiang Chen slammed the main lever.
VROOOOOOM.
The machine engaged.
Ancestor Xue screamed. It wasn't a scream of pain, but of violation. He felt the machine latch onto his Dantian. It didn't ask for permission. It used Magnetic Resonance to forcibly destabilize his spiritual core.
Inside his body, his Nascent Soul—a glowing, infant-like projection of pure energy—was being torn away from his physical vessel.
"NO!" Xue shrieked. "YOU CANNOT! I AM ETERNAL! I AM—"
ZAP.
A bolt of pure white energy shot out of the extraction port. It arced through the copper coils, spiraling up the tower.
The crowd gasped. They saw the "soul" of the Ancestor being pulled out like smoke from a chimney.
"Look at the streetlights!" a child shouted.
As Xue was drained, the lights in the square flared brighter. The hum of the factories grew louder. The heat in the radiators intensified.
Jiang Chen pointed to the readout.
[Output: 1.2 Gigawatts.]
"He is powering your homes," Jiang Chen announced. "His lifetime of cultivation. His 'divinity'. It is now boiling water for your tea."
Xue convulsed one last time. The light left his eyes. His skin sagged. The aura of a Nascent Soul vanished completely, leaving behind a fragile, mortal body.
The machine wound down.
Jiang Chen unlocked the clamps. Ancestor Xue fell to the floor of the platform. He breathed, but it was the wheezing breath of a dying old man. He looked at his hands. They were shaking. He tried to summon blood magic. Nothing happened.
He was empty.
"Take him to the elderly care facility," Jiang Chen ordered the guards. "Give him a broom. If he works, he eats."
The crowd stared in shock. Then, slowly, someone started clapping. Then cheering.
It wasn't the polite applause for a king. It was the roar of a people who realized the monsters under their beds were just batteries waiting to be harvested. They looked at the cultivators in the crowd—spies and merchants—and for the first time, there was no fear in their eyes. There was calculation.
Thousands of miles away, within the Imperial Palace of the Grand Xia, a jade cup shattered against a wall.
Emperor Xia sat on his Golden Dragon Throne. He was a man of indeterminate age, his presence so vast it made the air in the throne room heavy.
Below him, the Minister of Intelligence knelt, pressing his forehead to the floor.
"He... stripped a Nascent Soul?" The Emperor's voice was low, dangerous. "Publicly? And turned him into... electricity?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. The reports are confirmed. The Alliance of Seven is dissolved. The surviving sects are begging for mercy. The commoners in the Northern Region are starting to riot against their local lords. They are chanting 'Iron and Oil'."
The Emperor stood up.
"This is not rebellion," the Emperor said. "This is heresy. This Jiang Chen is breaking the foundation of the world. If mortals believe they can harvest us..."
He looked at the shadow behind the throne.
"Notify the Thunder Sound Holy Land," the Emperor commanded. "Tell the Holy Abbot that a demon has appeared who desecrates the soul. The Empire cannot act openly without causing civil war, but the Holy Lands... they protect the Dao."
Meanwhile, in the Western Wastelands, a different force was watching.
In a canyon made of black glass, a massive portal swirled with green fel-energy. This was the gateway to the Nether Sect, a faction that had been sealed away for centuries.
A figure clad in living armor stepped through the portal. He held a staff topped with a skull that whispered constantly.
"The balance shifts," the figure hissed. "The Blood Soul Ancestor has fallen. The light of the North is bright."
A minion, a twisted creature of sewn-together flesh, scurried up. "Master... the energy signature from that city... it tastes like... the Old World."
"Technology," the armored figure said, recognizing the scent. "The Ancient Enemy returns."
He slammed his staff into the ground.
"Prepare the Eclipse Ritual. If they play with machines, we shall drown them in rust."
Back in Beiluo, Jiang Chen sat in his office, watching the snow fall. The excitement of the execution had faded, replaced by the cold reality of logistics.
He had won the war for the North. But he had painted a target on his back that could be seen from space.
"System," Jiang Chen said. "Status of the captive Xue's energy data?"
[Data Analyzed. Nascent Soul energy signature contains trace amounts of "World Source".][Hypothesis: Cultivators are inefficiently hoarding the planet's core energy.][Tier 3 Project Update: The Manhattan Project is ready for a delivery system.]
Old Wu knocked on the door. He looked pale.
"Administrator. We have... visitors."
"More merchants?"
"No, Sir. Envoys. From the Thunder Sound Holy Land."
Jiang Chen paused. The Holy Lands were the superpowers of this world. They were above the Empire. They were above the Sects. They had cultivators who had touched the Spirit Severing stage—beings who could survive a nuclear blast.
"They are demanding an audience," Old Wu said. "They say you have committed a sin against the Heavens."
Jiang Chen stood up, checking the pistol at his hip.
"Let them in," Jiang Chen said. "And tell Captain Han to prime the V-2 Rockets. I have a feeling this won't be a polite conversation."
As the door opened, three monks walked in. They didn't walk on the floor; they floated an inch above it. Their skin was painted gold. Their eyes were closed.
"Benefactor," the lead monk said, his voice echoing like a bell. "You have strayed from the path. Deliver the sinner Xue to us, and submit to the Holy Mountain for purification. Or face the Vajra Wrath."
Jiang Chen looked at the monks. He looked at the energy readings on his HUD. [Target Threat: Extreme. Kinetic Shields Active.]
"I don't do purification," Jiang Chen said, sitting back down. "But I can offer you a tour of the power plant. You might learn something."
The monk opened his eyes. They were not peaceful. They were burning with electric fury.