Eternal Sovereign of Pills, Artifacts, and Formations

On the day I reached the summit, my cultivation partner and sworn brother joined forces to stab me in the back. They stole my Dao Bone, crippled my cultivation, and threw me off the God-Burying Cliff. They thought my story was over. But they had no idea that the bones of the founder of formation arts lay buried at the bottom of the cliff, that the blood of the supreme alchemist flowed there, and that the primordial Dao music of artifact crafting echoed through it. When I returned to the mountain sect in a mortal body, Pills could bring the dead back to life and regrow flesh on white bones, but they could also refine immortals into puppets and corrode souls and bones. Artifacts could stabilize heaven and earth and subdue mountains and rivers, but a single strike of the hammer could also make all weapons submit. Formations could trap heaven and earth and lock away reincarnation, but with a single thought, they could also become a prison and bury the myriad heavens. I looked at the terrified “old friends” seated high above and brushed a speck of dust from my clothes that wasn’t even there. “Don’t rush. We’ll settle our debts one by one.” “And everything you stole, tricked me out of, or took from me...” “I’ll take it all back with interest, with my own hands.”