Consciousness returned not as a gentle dawn, but as a throbbing ache deep within his bones, a testament to the brutal clash he had barely survived. Gù Tiānháo lay in the oppressive darkness of the Ironhide Boar's den, the beast's musky scent thick in the air, a grim reminder of his victory and its cost. Though the miraculous spiritual fruits had knitted his bones and sealed his wounds, a profound exhaustion lingered, and the phantom pain of shattered ribs and torn flesh echoed with every shallow breath.
He remained still for what felt like hours, perhaps a full day, simply allowing the lingering energies of the spiritual fruits to circulate and soothe his battered body. He focused inward, observing the state of his cultivation. The potent energy of the mid-tier fruit had not only healed him but had forcefully pushed his Refinement Realm cultivation to the absolute peak of the 2nd Level. He could feel the vibrant, dense Qi swirling in his Dantian, far more powerful than before, pressing against the invisible barrier that separated him from the 3rd Level. It was a tantalizing threshold, a promise of greater strength, yet he knew forcing a breakthrough now, in his weakened state and with meridians likely strained from the reckless use of the Tyrannical Art, would be foolish. Consolidation was paramount.
Slowly, carefully, he began circulating his Qi according to the Nine Cycles technique. Each cycle was initially sluggish, his meridians protesting with dull aches, but he persisted patiently. The technique, designed for steady cultivation and meridian strengthening, gradually smoothed out the turbulent energy left by the spiritual fruits, integrating it more fully into his foundation. He focused on reinforcing the pathways, ensuring the Qi flowed smoothly, solidifying his gains rather than rushing towards the next realm. The process was slow, requiring intense concentration, but with each completed cycle, he felt his control over his newfound power increase, the aches lessening, and the foundation of his peak Level 2 cultivation becoming as solid as rock.
After another period of rest and meditation, hunger gnawed at him. He cautiously moved towards the den's entrance, peering out into the misty grey light of the forest. The massive carcass of the Ironhide Boar lay where it had fallen in the muddy clearing, undisturbed. The lingering scent of blood was strong, a dangerous invitation to scavengers, but it seemed the sheer ferocity of the battle, or perhaps the lingering aura of the powerful beast, had kept lesser creatures at bay for now. He knew he couldn't leave such a treasure trove untouched.
Processing the boar was an arduous task, even more so with his body still recovering. The hide, true to its name, was incredibly tough, resisting his hunting knife's edge. It took considerable effort, finding seams and weaker points, to begin the skinning process. He worked methodically, his movements economical despite the strain, remembering techniques gleaned from the Bead's vast, fragmented knowledge stores about butchering spirit beasts. The hide itself, once removed, was heavy and stiff, but he knew it could be treated and potentially crafted into rudimentary but effective armor far superior to his current leather gear.
Next were the tusks. They were embedded deep in the boar's skull, thick and wickedly curved. Extracting them required careful work with his knife and leveraging rocks, lest he damage the valuable material. Finally, they came free – heavy, ivory-colored weapons that pulsed with a faint Earth-attribute Qi. He set them aside carefully.
Harvesting the meat was simpler, though the sheer volume was daunting. He selected the best cuts, knowing he couldn't possibly carry it all, and planned to smoke or dry what he could preserve. Lastly, and most importantly, was the beast core. He located it within the boar's chest cavity – a fist-sized, irregular crystal, primarily earthen yellow but shot through with veins of metallic grey. It pulsed with a dense, powerful Qi, significantly stronger than the cores of the Level 1 beasts he'd collected. This alone was a substantial reward, valuable currency in any cultivator market.
As he worked, covered in blood and sweat, the grim reality of the fight replayed in his mind. The sheer power, the near invulnerability, the blind fury of the boar. He had won through a combination of desperate tactics, exploiting momentary weaknesses, reckless self-endangerment with the Tyrannical Art, and finally, a suicidal last-ditch strike. It wasn't elegant; it was brutal, primal survival. The memory didn't bring pride, but a cold sobriety. He had been lucky. Luck, however, was not a reliable strategy for navigating the path of cultivation. His resolve hardened; he needed more strength, yes, but also more skill, more control, more knowledge.
He spent the next day resting in the den, meditating to further consolidate his Qi, and carefully processing his gains. He cleaned the tusks and the beast core, wrapped the valuable hide securely, and smoked strips of boar meat over a small, carefully concealed fire just outside the den. His body felt stronger, the aches fading into memory, replaced by the vibrant energy of his peak Level 2 cultivation. He was ready to move on, deeper into the Black Mist Forest, armed with new resources and a stark understanding of the dangers ahead.