A mystical Eight Desolations Spirit-Gathering Cauldron suddenly causes Andrew Walker, the top special agent of Yanhuang, to become a useless person unable to cultivate in another world. Yet this magical cauldron mysteriously exists within his brain.

Using the cauldron as a medium, he repairs his meridians, tempers his body with spiritual energy, and embarks on the path of spiritual cultivation.

The Eight Desolations Spirit-Gathering Cauldron, unfathomable and mysterious, and the Eight Desolations God-Burying Art turn Andrew Walker's cultivation journey into a path defying the heavens.

Laughing proudly in the mortal world, martial dominance over all, the name of genius resounds throughout the Eight Desolations!

Volume One: Spiritual Energy Body Tempering

Chapter One: Life and Death

"This kid is really foolish. He can't even cultivate, yet he still gets into fights. With that body of his that could be blown away by a gust of wind, how could he possibly withstand the punches of someone at the fifth level of Body Strengthening..."

"Sigh, yeah, the head of the Wu family is probably going to go crazy this time. Even though this kid can't cultivate, he's still his most beloved youngest son. Now he's about to be beaten to death like this, sigh."

"This time, the feud between the Wu family and the Wan family has gotten huge... It’s definitely a fight to the death now."

...

Andrew Walker's head felt like it was about to explode, every pore of his body seemed to be filled with excruciating pain and utter weakness. Those hushed, fragmented words reached his ears, giving him a strange, inexplicable feeling.

Head of the Wu family?

Who is that?

Fifth level of Body Strengthening?

What is going on?

Before Andrew Walker could even let his mind analyze the situation, he felt a large hand grab his chest and forcibly lift him up. The sudden, intense sensation of weightlessness made Andrew Walker snap his eyes open.

A tall, fierce-looking young man was staring at him with a sinister grin. One hand gripped his belt, the other clutched his chest, lifting him high in the air. Judging by his posture, he was about to slam him down hard!

Driven by an instinctive reaction to a life-or-death threat, Andrew Walker clenched his fist, curling his fingers like a phoenix’s beak, and struck heavily at the young man's elbow joint. To his surprise, the blow felt like hitting solid rock—his fingers throbbed with pain, as if they had snapped.

Painful as it was, Andrew Walker's punch still had an effect. The young man felt a strange numbness in his arm, and the hand gripping Andrew Walker's chest involuntarily loosened. At that moment, Andrew Walker kicked out sideways, landing squarely on the young man's abdomen.

The hand gripping Andrew Walker's belt also let go, caught off guard by the unexpected kick. Andrew Walker's body plummeted toward the ground, but just before hitting it, he nimbly stretched out his hand, palm down, to brace himself and soften the fall.

As soon as he landed, Andrew Walker rolled to his feet, alertly watching the figure before him.

Opposite him stood a young man, about twenty-three or twenty-four years old, nearly two meters tall, staring at him with a vicious gaze. Yet there was a hint of surprise in his eyes, as if he hadn’t expected his lethal attack to be dodged.

The young man's exposed skin was covered in bulging muscles, so pronounced they looked like blocks of iron, his taut body seemingly brimming with explosive power. However, on the robe covering his abdomen was a clear footprint, making him look somewhat ridiculous.

He wore loose trousers and a silk robe on top, a golden belt fastened at his waist. The hem of his robe was messily tucked into the belt, and he wore a pair of leather boots, his whole presence exuding a fierce aura.

Andrew Walker's gaze passed over the young man and landed in the distance, where a cluster of buildings in a completely unfamiliar style stood. The nearest building had a cloth banner above the door, bearing the image of a wooden mug of beer frothing over—apparently a tavern.

At the tavern entrance stood a crowd, all wearing expressions of eager anticipation, whispering among themselves. Their clothing also struck Andrew Walker as strange and unfamiliar.

Who are these people? Where is this place?

Wasn’t he just in a newly discovered ancient tomb, locked in a deadly struggle with a gang of ruthless tomb raiders?

He looked down at himself and found he was also wearing a robe, though his was coarse cloth, unlike the silk robe of the man opposite.

Andrew Walker stretched out his hands, noticing how slender, fair, and frail they looked. With just one glance, he was certain these were not the hands he knew so well. Suddenly, his pupils contracted sharply—he saw a mark on the back of his hand.

A small, green, four-legged cauldron!

Andrew Walker's heart pounded violently, his eyes filled with shock, as if he had seen a ghost!

He had seen this four-legged cauldron before!

Not as a pattern, but as a real, tangible object!

A real four-legged cauldron!