Within the shadowed abyss, the alchemical forging continued relentlessly. Months bled into one another, until at last, within a chasm cleaving the cliff face below, Wang Lin inhaled deeply, drawing into himself the swirling mists of nascent soul-essence that permeated the air.

He drank it as one might swallow clouds, and as the ethereal vapor vanished, it revealed a gaunt figure, the subject of his arduous craft. A chilling aura, bone-deep and unsettling, radiated from the figure, clinging to the surrounding stone.

The figure’s skin was pallid, as if devoid of blood. Indeed, its lifeblood had been utterly transmuted, woven into the very sinew and bone of its being.

Wang Lin’s face was grim, etched with a weariness that spoke of countless failures. “Another setback,” he sighed, his voice echoing in the cavern.

In this first stage of flesh-crafting, these past months had been a litany of broken attempts. Yet, the ancient jade scroll offered solace, promising that even in failure, the subject would not dissolve into nothingness.

Gazing upon the imperfect construct before him, Wang Lin furrowed his brow. The scroll dictated that during the refinement, various materials must be introduced, fused within the flesh, to bring this initial step to completion.

“Gold, silver, copper, iron – a scale of strength. Alas, it has yet to reach even the resilience of a Jiaoxian Guard,” he murmured, his voice laden with frustration. After a moment of deliberation, Wang Lin tapped his pouch of holding. Immediately, a multitude of lesser-grade enchanted artifacts poured forth, objects that had once held promise, but were now too weak for his needs, yet too valuable to discard outright.

“I lack raw materials, but I possess these enchanted relics. Perhaps, by melting them down and infusing the resultant essence into this construct, some desired effect can be achieved…” A glint of inspiration sparked in Wang Lin’s eyes. With a swift hand gesture, he conjured a mystical flame, enveloping the scattered artifacts.

The flames danced, and one by one, the objects surrendered to the heat, their forms shifting, twisting, until nearly all had liquefied, coalescing into a single sphere of black luminescence, roughly the size of a clenched fist.

With a moment’s pause for reflection, Wang Lin delved once more into his pouch of holding, sifting through its contents. More enchanted items materialized, joining the swirling sphere of molten metal. This was no mere addition, but a true purging of Wang Lin’s accumulated possessions.

Over eight hundred years had passed, filling Wang Lin’s pouch with an eclectic array of artifacts. Most had seen only fleeting use before being outstripped by his growing power.

And so, they were cast forth, one after another, into the seething orb. Then, suddenly, a rose of deepest azure appeared in Wang Lin’s hand.

He held the rose, his gaze distant, as if a crimson-clad figure flickered at the edges of his memory. With a slight hesitation, he returned the rose to his pouch, selecting instead another artifact to hurl into the crucible.

This process persisted for days, the cleansing of the pouch yielding a torrent of low-tier, mid-tier, and even some high-tier artifacts, all consumed by the alchemical fires.

As a result, the sphere floating before him transformed into a kaleidoscope of color, its surface shimmering with refracted light, each facet telling a tale of forgotten battles and discarded enchantments.

With a decisive movement, Wang Lin grasped the pulsating orb and slammed it against the construct’s unyielding flesh. A new cycle of refinement began, promising either breakthrough or utter devastation.

Two moons passed in the heavens above. Then, on a fateful day, a lambent yellow glow erupted from the construct’s form, momentarily banishing the darkness from the fissure.

Wang Lin opened his eyes, his face etched with weariness, but a spark of hope flickered within their depths. Yet, as he beheld the yellow aura emanating from the construct, his hope faltered, replaced by disappointment.

“Mere bronze-grade resilience…? Alas, it may have to suffice.”

Though the first stage of the Immortal Guard was complete, the second – the grinding and shaping of a captive soul – was fraught with peril. A single misstep would lead to total failure, the body rendered incapable of spirit possession, forever beyond refinement.

Wang Lin inhaled deeply, a rare moment of hesitation clouding his eyes. He glanced towards the fissure’s entrance, where the ever-present pull from the outside world had grown stronger over the past half-year, an ominous warning of impending doom.

With gritted teeth, Wang Lin once more plunged his hand into his pouch of holding. This time, the Soul Banner emerged, unfurling to reveal a colossal head floating within its shadowed fabric.

The head was spectral and ephemeral, its form wavering within the banner’s confines. Its skin was a ghastly shade of blue-black, its skull bare, like that of a malevolent spirit. Its eyes, though immaterial, seemed to burn with a chilling, palpable malice.

The vast majority of souls within the Soul Banner instinctively recoiled from this entity, as if too terrified to approach, leaving it to occupy a domain entirely its own.

Only the Kirin defied this universal dread. Since devouring copious amounts of Immortal Grain, the creature had undergone a series of peculiar transformations. Now, upon seeing the head bellow, it answered with a guttural growl.

The head’s eyes locked onto the Kirin, neither yielding in the face of the other’s ferocity, their snarls infused with an unrestrained, primordial fury.

This head… was none other than a Celestial Ghoul! Wang Lin fixed his gaze upon the creature, his hand rising to seize the Soul Banner. With a forceful grip, he tore the Ghoul free from its confines. A Celestial Ghoul was a harbinger of devastation, a being of pure malice. Had it not been caught at its weakest, before it had the chance to fully recover its power, it would have been a foe beyond reckoning.

The Ghoul thrashed in Wang Lin’s grasp, its jaws opening wide, intent on devouring him whole. Wang Lin’s eyes flashed, and with a cold snarl, he activated the soul-mark he had embedded within the Ghoul long ago. The creature convulsed, its form threatening to disintegrate.

Forced to retreat, the Ghoul fixed its gaze upon Wang Lin, its guttural growls laced with resentment. “The construct’s physical strength is insufficient, and its spirit fragile. It is unlikely to withstand the rigors of the second phase. However, if I infuse it with this Celestial Ghoul, take its fury, take its spectral essence… then, if it still fails, then this Immortal Guard is not worth my effort!” Wang Lin’s decision was made. Grasping the Ghoul firmly, he pressed it against the construct’s brow. “Since I am undertaking this creation, I shall craft a masterpiece! If it is only comparable to a peak-stage late-cycle Ascendant cultivator, it would be an insult to these treasures and to this Celestial Ghoul!” A chilling glint appeared in Wang Lin’s eyes. With his left hand, he formed a hand seal, touching it to his brow. As he pulled away, threads of lightning snaked from his skin, crackling with a raw power. With a flick of his wrist, he sent these energies spiraling into the construct’s body.

“Forge!”

The Celestial Ghoul, a creature of primal rage, naturally resisted being imprisoned within the construct. With a thunderous roar, it attempted to break free, but Wang Lin’s right hand suddenly held a whip, which he unleashed with a violent crack.

The Ghoul shrieked in agony, its spectral form writhing. It knew the whip; it was the bane of its existence.
Had the insidious tendrils of a Scattered Soul Demon’s spirit not begun to coil so deeply within Wang Lin’s own essence, he would have considered nurturing it as a second, parasitic soul. To cast it into the newly forged sentinel would have been simpler, perhaps, yet the unruly nature of demon-souls rendered them difficult to command, far less tractable than the Heaven-Ghoul.

Weeks blurred into a moon as Wang Lin tirelessly refined the puppet, the Heaven-Ghoul within warring with and consuming Du Jian’s lingering spirit, only to be ground down into utter obliteration. But the Heaven-Ghoul, even in its annihilation, remained interconnected, a web of lingering essence woven through the puppet’s being.

This interconnectedness, the ancient jade slip declared, was the most crucial requirement for the second step of this forbidden art. Failure stemmed almost universally from the spirit, not from its lack of power, but from the unbearable agony of its annihilation. A moment’s wavering would bring death.

Even unflinching endurance might not be enough, for without achieving perfect interconnectedness, one could never truly empty their vessel of spirit, yet hold that spirit within their will.

Only those possessed of a burning obsession, a will akin to that of a Reverse Cultivator, could succeed! This explained why those who had forged their own Dao, their own personal truth, found the path to creating Celestial Guardians so much easier.

After nearly half a year, Wang Lin had forged his first Celestial Guardian puppet. Though the success rate was notoriously low, the capture of a Heaven-Ghoul and its integration with a lingering spirit made this more than a simple twist of fate.

Even for Wang Lin, the creation of a second such sentinel would be impossible without resorting to the volatile power of the Scattered Soul Demon.

A flicker of triumph crossed Wang Lin’s face. He inhaled deeply, calming his racing heart, and gazed upon the gaunt, sallow puppet before him. A sensation of absolute control pulsed through his mind.

The Celestial Emperor Qing Lin, loath to allow betrayal by his creations, had woven countless safeguards into the forging process. Through the slow, painstaking infusion of his own spiritual essence, Wang Lin’s dominion over the puppet had reached its zenith.

The Heaven-Ghoul, though stubbornly wild, had been broken and bound by powerful incantations during its assimilation into the puppet’s flesh.

Wang Lin pricked his finger, releasing a drop of blood that landed upon the puppet’s brow. It pulsed with crimson light, sinking into the flesh. Abruptly, the puppet’s eyes snapped open. They were vacant, hollow orbs, yet a keen, dangerous glint lay hidden within their depths.

“The realm of Yin-Yang Illusion!” Wang Lin’s spiritual sense swept over the puppet, detecting an aura akin to that of Situ Nan in his prime, though not quite as potent.

Wang Lin roared with laughter, his heart brimming with respect for the Celestial Emperor Qing Lin. The man’s genius was undeniable, to have devised such a method of crafting living weapons.

“Though the blending of spirit and flesh renders this guardian incapable of wielding many common magics, unable to truly match a cultivator of the Yin-Yang Illusion, the jade slip held specific spells tailored for it!” Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.

“Furthermore, I have a special gift prepared for my sentinel.” Wang Lin tapped his brow, unleashing a torrent of gray mist, a million shards of pure, unbridled bloodlust that plunged into the puppet’s body.

The puppet’s eyes blazed with savage intent, flickered violently, then dimmed, the bloodlust hidden, yet leaving its gaze sharper than ever.

Having done this, Wang Lin retrieved the jade slip from his storage pouch. He flicked it forward, pressing it to the puppet’s brow. Light danced around it, and fleeting runes seemed to flash within the sentinel’s eyes.

After a long silence, the jade slip fell back into Wang Lin’s hand.

“Conceal,” Wang Lin commanded, his voice even.

The sentinel shimmered, then vanished, merging seamlessly with Wang Lin’s shadow. Though the lightless depths of this place offered no visual confirmation, Wang Lin knew that the Celestial Guardian now lurked, hidden within his silhouette.

“With the sentinel’s abilities, I have a sixty percent chance of escaping this place. It may be a prison, a cage, but that very fact makes it…safe.”

Wang Lin fell into thought. After a moment, he reached into his storage pouch and withdrew a massive sword, its size akin to a door. “Giant Ruler… my first sword, Wang Lin’s first sword! What secrets do you hold?” He gently stroked the blade, allowing his mind to drift and merge with its essence.