Chapter 8 Lawrence Awakens
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"Hah—"
"Cough... hah—"
An eternity passed before the white-hot agony in Henry's dantian finally subsided, no longer gnawing at his nerves.
"Huff— huff—"
Wheezing like a spent marathon runner, it took him forever to steady his ragged breaths.
His spiritual vision flickered inward instinctively—only for his lips to twist into a grimace. His inner sight revealed a wasteland where his cultivation once flourished.
His dantian stood barren, the once-glistening Spirit Sea utterly devoured by that ominous golden coffin—the Soul Passage Coffin.
The relic had mercifully spared his dantian's structural integrity. A fleeting consolation—it meant he could still rebuild his cultivation from scratch.
But before relief could fully settle, the coffin stirred again.
It spun frantic circles in his dantian like a ravenous beast circling its prey, its movements frantic with predatory anticipation.
Then—snap!—the golden relic jerked upright. Henry sensed its thrumming eagerness vibrating through his meridians.
Like it had just detected an ambrosial banquet.
"A banquet? Wait—"
His blood turned to arctic sludge. Oh no.
"Goddammit—!"
The curse tore free as the coffin pulsed with golden light, plowing through his energy channels with reckless abandon.
Right toward his Sea of Consciousness. Just as he'd feared.
Henry knew exactly what lurked there—the only thing that could make this gluttonous relic salivate: Nether Mausoleum Force.
But the Sea of Consciousness wasn't some expendable dantian! If the coffin wreaked havoc there like it did to his Spirit Sea? He'd be reduced to a mindless husk.
Yet paralyzing dread seized his core. Even at his peak—pre-Rebirth Cave, pre-seal—he couldn't have stopped this.
All he could do was watch, teeth gritted, as the coffin plunged into his spiritual sea and loomed victoriously in the ruins of his cultivation.
"I'm done for..."
Henry slumped to the ground with a defeated groan, his last shred of hope evaporating.
Just as darkness threatened to consume him, a rich, resonant voice echoed through his Sea of Consciousness. "Ahhh—what a feast! That hit the spot!"
The voice could only belong to one person—that damned Lawrence!
"You... treacherous... old... fox!" Henry spat through clenched teeth. "Finally decided to grace me with your presence?"
Lawrence's belated appearance didn't calm Henry—it ignited fresh fury. Though communicating through thought alone, every syllable carried the weight of a dagger thrust.
In their mental realm, Lawrence shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, youngster," he offered weakly, "I may have... needed extra beauty sleep."
The excuse only poured oil on the flames. "Heh." Henry's bitter laugh escaped like steam from a boiling kettle as he wrestled down his rage.
Months of stewing in his thoughts had honed them razor-sharp. Every moment since the Soul Passage Coffin had stormed into the Wraithrealm of Shattered Souls played behind his eyes like a cursed scroll.
"Enjoy your little vacation in the Wraithrealm?" Henry's question dripped venom.
"Adequate," Lawrence's spectral form materialized, leaning casually against the coffin. "Exactly as I predicted."
Henry's smirk turned glacial. "And your grand scheme? Everything go according to plan?"
"Mostly. Though three ancient relics wouldn't stop sniffing around."
Henry's expression darkened—just as he'd suspected. "So you exploited the Rebirth Cave's properties," he hissed, "to rebirth yourself and sever all ties to your past identity. Am I right?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Did you get a kick out of playing me for a fool?"
Lawrence stiffened. The brat had outmaneuvered him—six years of sleep had made him sloppy. "You little—! Fine, so what if I did?" He scoffed. "Doesn't change who's currently trussed up like a festival goose—you! Let's see..."
Lawrence theatrically scanned their surroundings before feigning shock. "Well well... Looks like someone's been locked up tighter than a spirit vault!"
"Well well, looks like we're sealed up good and proper?"
The man's shameless grin bore zero resemblance to the sage-like demeanor Henry had imagined.
[Think you can tough this out with me?]
Fuming internally, Henry let out an icy chuckle:
"Oh wonderful. I suppose Her Majesty the Radiant Phoenix Immortal Emperor remains unaware of your awakening?"
The blatant threat in his tone wasn't even thinly veiled.
No way would the Immortal Emperor have gone through the trouble of imprisoning him without surveillance measures.
Henry made a show of shifting as if to rise, feigning intention to summon the guards.
The moment the words left him, Lawrence's devil-may-care attitude in the Sea of Consciousness evaporated.
"How many times must I say it?" the man said with sudden seriousness. "Shared trials, shared survival—such bonds make 'Venerable Elder' far too formal! Call me brother!"
Henry had to wonder how many fools had been swayed by that righteous facade and silver tongue.
Their war of words revealed them both—one a cunning fox, the other a seasoned manipulator, neither to be trifled with.
What finally made Henry relent was Lawrence's next offer:
"Lad, curious about resolving cultivation system incompatibilities?"
A single sentence doused months of building rage.
Henry never fancied himself some destined protagonist, transmigrator or not.
Oh, how he'd raged!
Raged at the chain of disasters since Lawrence's appearance—
Mighty experts snatching the Soul Passage Coffin, k******e rush into the Rebirth Cave,
Now this sealed imprisonment,
All tracing back to one man.
Worst was being thrust into conflicts between emperor-tier entities.
Like hurling a mayfly into a supernova.
After three brushes with death, he'd been dancing with the reaper one too many times.
Had this happened to anyone else, discovering Lawrence had orchestrated all these misfortunes would've driven most people over the edge.
But Henry was different.
Two lifetimes of experience—plus sixty years hauling coffins—hadn't just honed his patience. It forged something colder in him: brutal pragmatism.
And pragmatism meant?
Playing the hand you're dealt!
He was a small fish.
Even titles like Coffin-Bearer just made him a slightly special nobody.
That was his survival instinct—knowing his place.
In this world of cultivators, making it through today alive trumped everything.
Well, almost everything. Living to break these seals came a close second.
Power? Winning over immortal beauties? Pure fantasy right now.
He had to admit:
Next to a silver-tongued fox like Lawrence, he was still green at reading people.
But admitting it didn't mean giving up.
Oh no—Henry wouldn't waste this prime bargaining opportunity.
Now that was pragmatism in action.
"Brother Lawrence! [mockingly] Since when'd we get so formal?"
"Haven't we both waded through the Rebirth Cave and stared down death with the Empress breathing down our necks?"
"Knew you were a stand-up guy—you'd never go forgetting your favorite little brother!"
- Writer
