"You’ll be guarding this place for the next year."

  The cold, detached voice of the Punishment Hall disciple echoed like distant thunder, carrying an ominous weight. He stood at the edge of the crater, his dark silhouette stark against the molten glow of the volcano. The air was thick and oppressive, the heat wrapping around Devor like a suffocating blanket, while the sharp tang of sulfur stung his nostrils.

  Devor's eyes drifted downward into the churning abyss of the volcano. Below, a swarm of Spiritual Beasts writhed through rivers of molten rock and shadow, their movements sinuous and tense, like predators poised to strike.

  "You’ll be maintaining the formation here," the disciple continued, his tone flat but edged with a quiet menace. "If you fail..." He let the words hang, his gaze piercing as it locked onto Devor’s. "Let’s just say you’ll regret it."

  Devor didn’t flinch. He gave a silent nod, the weight of his punishment pressing down on him. The black robe he wore clung uncomfortably under the relentless sun, its heat bearing down on the jagged peak.

  The disciple sneered, a flicker of disdain crossing his face before he turned and strode away, leaving Devor alone on the perilous path.

  Devor stood still for a moment, lifting his gaze to the summit where the faint shimmer of the formation danced in the sunlight like a distant mirage.

  "A year..." he muttered, his voice low but steady. A faint, defiant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "That’s nothing."

  With measured steps, he began his descent down the narrow, winding path carved into the cliffside, the sharp wind tugging at his robes. Below, tucked into the rock face, was a small cave—his dwelling for the next year. Yet to Devor, it felt more like a prison than a refuge.

  Devor stepped cautiously into the cave, his brows knitting together at the sight before him.

  "What... is this?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, echoing softly off the stone walls.

  The cave was far larger than it had seemed from the outside, stretching at least fifty square meters. A soft, natural light filtered through a crack in the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the space. In the center, a mound of rich, dark soil rose about half a meter high, its surface faintly shimmering with spiritual energy.

  He knelt beside the mound, letting his fingers sink into the soil. It was surprisingly soft, almost unnaturally so, and pulsed faintly with life—a clear sign it was ideal for cultivating Spiritual Plants.

  "This soil..." Devor murmured, grabbing a handful and letting it sift through his fingers. "It’s perfect for growing Spiritual Plants."

  Rising to his feet, he cast a sharp gaze around the cave. The space was too precise, too deliberately arranged to be a natural formation. The ventilation kept the cave cool despite the volcanic heat outside, the soil radiated spiritual energy, and the steady stream of light was perfect for nurturing plants.

  A creeping unease settled in his chest.

  "This isn’t just punishment," he muttered, his eyes narrowing. "It’s... a test."

  He began to pace, his mind racing to piece together the puzzle. The sect had known—of course, they’d always known he was innocent. But the rules were unyielding, and someone had to take the fall. Still, this was far from the punishment he had anticipated.

  The fertile soil, the light, the cool air—it all pointed to something far more deliberate.

  "The sect hasn’t abandoned me," Devor murmured, his voice steady with newfound resolve. "They’ve given me the tools to grow."

  He turned back to the mound of soil, his eyes hardening with determination. This wasn’t just about guarding the formation. The sect had seen his potential, recognized his talent for cultivating Spiritual Plants. They had placed him here not as punishment, but as a challenge—to refine his abilities and push him toward something greater.

  Devor crouched again, his fingers brushing over the soil’s surface.

  "If this is their test," he whispered, a spark of defiance flickering in his eyes, "then I’ll rise to the challenge. Let’s see how far I can go in a year."

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  Rising, he walked to the mouth of the cave, his gaze drifting to the smoldering abyss below. The Spiritual Beasts writhed and twisted in the molten rivers, their movements both mesmerizing and menacing. Above them, the formation shimmered faintly, a fragile barrier holding back the chaos.

  Devor clenched his fists, the weight of his task settling over him.

  "A year..." he repeated softly. "I’ll endure. And I’ll come out stronger."

  The distant rumble of the volcano echoed through the air as Devor stepped back into the cave, his mind already turning, crafting plans to turn this so-called punishment into an opportunity for growth.

  Devor let out a long, measured sigh, caught in a whirlwind of emotions—relief at the subtle support from the sect and simmering anger at the injustice of it all. The Azure Sky Sect, with its rigid rules and hypocritical traditions, somehow still left space for growth, even in punishment. Yet the blend of justice and unfairness weighed heavily on him, like an invisible chain binding him to his resentment.

  He crouched by the mound of fertile soil again, tracing its surface with care. "Alright," he murmured, his voice low but resolute. "If they want me to grow, I’ll surpass anything they could have imagined."

  Scooping up a handful of soil, he let it crumble through his fingers, studying its texture, moisture, and the faint spiritual energy pulsing within. He reached deeper with his Qi, probing the soil’s essence. A faint smile flickered across his lips, more grim determination than joy.

  "Beastbound Hollow, huh?" Devor muttered, his gaze drifting to the distant mouth of the volcano. A challenge lit his eyes as he whispered, "Let’s see who leaves this place stronger."

  Though exiled to this forsaken crater, the sect hadn’t left him defenseless. At his waist, a few cloth pouches held Cultivation Pills, Spirit Stones, and basic provisions. But the heaviest burden Devor carried wasn’t the physical weight of supplies.

  His fingers absently traced the cool surface of the Spatial Ring on his finger. The faint shimmer of the ring caught the dim light filtering into the cave. Taking a deep breath, Devor closed his eyes and activated his Spiritual Sense, diving into the quiet, isolated space within.

  The Spatial Ring felt emptier than usual, its silent void echoing the hollow ache in Devor’s chest. But then his gaze settled on what he was looking for. With a thought, a worn notebook materialized in his hand.

  Sitting cross-legged on the cool stone floor, Devor flipped through the pages, each one filled with meticulous notes—years of observations, formulas, and experiments carefully recorded.

  Reaching into the Spatial Ring again, he pulled out a small collection of seeds. The faint spiritual energy radiating from them filled the cave with a soft hum, like whispers of life waiting to be awakened. Devor carefully lined them up in front of him, his movements deliberate and precise, as though arranging the pieces of an intricate puzzle.

  "My earlier experiments showed promise," he murmured, his eyes narrowing as he examined the seeds. "Now, I have the time to perfect them."

  His fingers hovered over the seeds, lightly brushing each one as he mentally calculated their compatibility.

  "I’ll need thirteen Yellow-Grade Seeds and two Earth-Grade Seeds," he whispered, his tone calm but sharp with focus.

  The formation he envisioned wasn’t just a test of his abilities—it was a critical step toward his ultimate goal. If successful, this experiment would create an environment capable of nurturing the elusive Sky-Grade Seeds.

  Sky-Grade Spiritual Plants were treasures coveted by cultivators for their rarity and immense power. Even a single successful harvest could elevate a cultivator’s status within the sect—or across the entire cultivation world.

  Devor’s breath caught as he stared at the seeds, his mind racing.

  "I’ve got 156 Yellow-Grade Seeds and 23 Earth-Grade Seeds," he muttered. "But less than half are compatible with what I need."

  His brow furrowed deeper. Trading would be the obvious solution, but his exile in Beastbound Hollow left him isolated. He clenched his fists, searching for alternatives.

  "I can’t leave this place..." His eyes narrowed as a new thought sparked. "But others can come here."

  Yulin’s words from before his exile echoed in his mind.

  "I’ll visit you every month. If you need food or anything else, just ask."

  Devor sighed, the memory heavy in his chest. Thinking of Yulin and the others only deepened the guilt weighing on him.

  "Because of me..." he whispered, his voice trembling, "they suffered for something they didn’t deserve."

  Wulin’s image surfaced in his mind, and Devor’s fists tightened, his nails digging into his palms.

  Wulin had trusted him, prepaying for an entire year’s harvest. But Devor had failed to deliver. The payment had been partially refunded, yet a quarter of it had already been spent on Earth-Grade Seeds and cultivation materials.

  Devor shook his head bitterly. "I could live peacefully in this world," he said, his voice cold and resolute. "But others won’t let me."

  He snapped the notebook shut, setting it down beside him. His gaze hardened as he stared into the flickering shadows at the cave’s entrance.

  "Whoever the real culprit is..." Devor’s chest rose and fell, anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. "I’ll make them pay. A hundredfold."

  His eyes drifted back to the seeds scattered before him. The hardships he had endured had etched one undeniable truth into his soul: his weaknesses had become weapons for others to exploit.

  "But not anymore," Devor whispered, a faint smirk forming on his lips. "They thought they could break me, but all they’ve done is give me time to sharpen my edge."

  His gaze shifted to the mound of fertile soil, the seeds gleaming faintly in the dim light, and the formation diagrams etched in his notebook. Slowly, the pieces of his plan began to align.

  "This isn’t just punishment," he muttered, his voice steady with quiet resolve. "This is my crucible. Let’s see what kind of weapon emerges from the fire."

  The sound of his determination echoed softly in the empty cave as Devor began sketching the formation’s outline in the soil. The faint glimmer of the seeds reflected his unwavering focus.

  He was no longer the naive cultivator they had targeted. This was the start of his transformation, forged in the heart of the volcano.