Blood Essence—from an outsider's perspective, it might have sounded like something grand, mystical, even divine. But in truth, it was simply one of the many properties within blood. It acted as a vital nutrient source for the body, an anchor for one's soul, and a cornerstone of cultivation.

From the moment of birth, every being was granted a portion of Innate Blood Essence. This was their true inheritance—unshaped by technique, untainted by the world. It was drawn from the deepest wellsprings of their bloodline, molded by ancestry and karma, and it held within it the blueprint of their destiny. The purity of this essence determined their potential: whether they would soar like dragons or be crushed like dust beneath others' feet.

The Blood Essence could be strengthened, refined, and even increased in quantity—but that required relentless training and the discipline to maintain consistency over the long years of cultivation.

In truth, Blood Essence was directly proportional to a cultivator's health and vitality. If the essence mixed in the blood was lost for any reason, it would be nearly impossible to fully recover. Cultivation demanded Blood Essence—it was as crucial as spiritual stones were to formations. No matter how intricate a formation was, it was useless without sufficient energy to power it. The same logic applied to the human body.

Yet the road ahead offered no charity.

Its value could not be overstated.

Blood Essence was inseparably tied to a cultivator's talent, core foundation, and future achievements. Their comprehension speed, Dao affinity, and capacity for breakthroughs—all were influenced by the quality and quantity of their Blood Essence.

And to lose even a single drop?

Devastating.

A drop spilled recklessly was a fragment of the future irreversibly torn away. It could cripple a genius, stifle a prodigy, or forever cap the heights they might one day reach. Some cultivators, after sacrificing even a small portion, would find themselves stagnating—forever barred from ascending past a certain realm, no matter how diligently they cultivated.

To give one's Blood Essence was not a mere act of charity—it was the offering of one's fate.

Though Blood Essence flowed through the same veins as ordinary blood, it was fundamentally different—denser, heavier, and charged with spiritual resonance. It wasn't merely a physical fluid, but a living imprint of the cultivator's soul, interwoven with their Qi, Will, and Dao Foundation.

And to extract it?

No simple feat.

The body protected it fiercely. Even grievous wounds typically spilled only mortal blood. Blood Essence wouldn't flow unless summoned.

To willingly release it, a cultivator had to first resonate with it. This was achieved by activating their core cultivation technique, circulating Qi in a precise pattern that aligned with the essence locked within their heart, marrow, and spiritual root. This inner current would stir the Blood Essence like a tide, guiding it toward the surface.

Then, at the wound site, the cultivator would direct the flow with sheer intent—Willpower was the key. Only through conscious sacrifice could Blood Essence pass the threshold of flesh and pour forth.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Skilled cultivators often relied on specialized meridian techniques or spiritual seals to isolate the Blood Essence from mundane blood. Some sects even had manuals detailing how to make a precise incision at specific points—like the base of the palm or near the heart—where Blood Essence pooled most densely.

But the most crucial factor?

Intent.

The body would not part with its essence without the cultivator's will. Just as tears do not fall without grief, or the Dao does not emerge without belief, Blood Essence could not be forced. This was why forcibly taking it required immense skill—through seals, contracts, or ancient artifacts. Without the soul's consent, even the sharpest blade could only draw blood, not essence.

Above the coffin, where a man with sky-blue hair and pale cyan eyes lay silently, a single drop of blood began to form—suspended in the air like a jewel forged from heaven's will.

It wasn't Mei Xueyin's Blood Essence—Long Chen could sense that clearly, even from a distance. The pressure radiating from that single drop was suffocating. It held such overwhelming might that it could elevate him to the status of a supreme in this domain. It wasn't merely potent—it was transcendent.

Mei Xueyin was slumped to the side of the coffin, clutching it weakly as she panted, her body trembling. Yet Long Chen ignored her. The Blood Essence no longer required her to be the willing donor.

The being within the coffin had begun to absorb it on his own.

A miracle.

An impossibility made real.

Because the man in the coffin wasn't a corpse—he was a Dragon Lord.

Dragons. Revered as apex predators from the ancient era. Even a single drop of their blood was enough to transform a snake into a flood dragon. Though not every dragon bore a pure bloodline, a dragon was still a dragon. The power of their heritage was absolute.

Despite their supremacy, dragons did not meddle in the affairs of humans or other lesser races. They secluded themselves, detached from the world's petty struggles. Only when the realms faced annihilation would one of their kind descend to interfere.

No one knew where they lived—or if they dwelled among humans in disguise. Dragons had the innate power to fully assume human form, indistinguishable from mortals. Their secrecy and power made them legends—untouchable, unknowable.

Then, a voice echoed in Long Chen's mind.

[Disciple, this step is the most important. You must make the drop of Blood Essence recognize you as a worthy inheritor.]

"Master… can a human really become a Dragon Lord?"

[Greedy disciple! Who said anything about becoming a Dragon Lord? You are a human—remember your limits. But that single drop of Blood Essence will allow you to carry the Dragon Race's power in your veins. And not just any blood—but the purest kind. Even one drop will transform your destiny. And given your absurd luck, you may well find more in the future.]

[Now approach the coffin—and do so respectfully! Not just in form, but in thought. Show even a sliver of disrespect in your heart, and that drop will devour you and vanish.]

"…But Master, the ruin is still active. Mei… whatever her name is… she's still losing her Blood Essence. Am I really safe walking in now?"

Long Chen's heart pounded. He trusted his luck—but luck had its limits. Charging into danger blind wasn't bravery—it was idiocy. If someone walked up and stabbed themselves in the chest, and survived, that wasn't luck. That was divine manipulation—or worse, being toyed with.

[The ruin has already selected her as the sacrifice. It will not target you. Now go!]

With the confirmation, Long Chen exhaled deeply and took his first step forward.

Mei Xueyin sat motionless on the marble floor, her eyes dazed and lifeless. Her blood continued to stream upward, drawn into the lips of the being inside the coffin. She had no idea what was happening anymore.

Long Chen approached slowly. Reverently. He knelt a short distance away and bowed deeply.

"Junior Long Chen greets the exalted being—Dragon Lord. I apologize for disturbing your rest… but my life is in peril. I am hunted by beings far stronger than I am. If I am to survive... I need strength—enough to resist, to fight back."

He lowered his head until his forehead touched the marble floor.

"Our meeting must be the will of fate. I vow on my life and soul—I will not dishonor the legacy of the Dragon Race. Please… grant me your Blood Essence, and I will ensure that the name of the Dragon Lord echoes across the continent once more."

His voice was clear. Firm. Full of burning ambition.

A heartfelt plea.

And yet, beneath the sincerity of his words lay a cold, calculating truth:

He had used Mei Xueyin as a furnace. Sacrificed her blood. Risked her life.

All for this one, shining opportunity.

And he never looked back.

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