Read The Almighty Dominance Novel (Alexander Leonhart and Sophia Lancaster) by Sunshine Updated 2025 -26 - The Almighty Dominance Chapter 569

They kept eating.

Hundred-year ginseng. Rare spirit mushrooms. Spirit fruits and glowing leaves that shimmered under the lantern light. Trays of precious herbs that would’ve driven ordinary disciples insane with envy.

Alex ate whatever they pushed toward him.

So did the other fatties.

He kept swallowing until his vision blurred. Dense spiritual energy surged through his veins like liquid fire. His head spun. His face burned red. Heat radiated from his skin, and soon thin white steam curled from the top of his head like he was a kettle left boiling too long.

He felt drunk.

No—worse than drunk.

The more he forced himself to eat, the warmer Big Fatty and the others became. Their eyes softened. Their grins widened. They watched him like proud older brothers initiating a rookie into some secret brotherhood.

By the end, they leaned back, slapped their massive stomachs, and roared with laughter. The kitchen walls trembled.

“Everyone,” Big Fatty First declared, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “We follow tradition. Last one to finish cooks. The rest cultivate while the energy’s still fresh. Number Eight, it’s your job to show Number Nine the ropes.”

“Yes, Brother!” Number Eight beamed, practically glowing. Finally, someone ranked below him. Someone he could order around without getting chewed out.

One by one, Fatty Number One through Fatty Number Seven shuffled out. Their heavy footsteps faded down the corridor as they rushed off to cultivate, eager to lock in the surge of spiritual energy before it dissipated.

The kitchen fell quiet.

Number Eight waited until the last of them disappeared.

Then he slowly turned to Alex.

“Number Nine,” he said proudly, “other servant departments would kill to send one of their own to the Outer Disciple Sect. But us? We’d kill to stay right here in this kitchen. Who even wants to go out there? What’s so great about being an Outer Disciple?”

His chest puffed out.

“Ninth Brother, here’s the truth. Our cultivation? Strong enough ages ago to enter the Outer Sect. Some of us could even step into the Inner Sect.” He lowered his voice. “We just choose to hide it.”

He casually picked up a five-hundred-year-old ginseng root and waved it like a trophy.

“Look at this. Outer Sect disciples would kill for one bite. Just one. And we chew it like it’s a common radish.”

He snapped off a thin rootlet and tossed it into his mouth, chewing slowly, deliberately—making sure Alex watched. Then he swallowed and shoved the thick root toward him.

“Do we look scared?” His eyes narrowed. “Go on. Eat.”

Alex’s stomach churned. The herbs were still raging through his system. His veins burned. His body felt swollen with energy.

“Elder Brother… I’m full,” he said hoarsely. “I really can’t—”

“Ninth.” Number Eight’s tone hardened. “You’re too skinny. So skinny the girls in the sect won’t even look at you. In Wudang, they like men like us—solid, sturdy, built right!” He let out a thunderous burp and grinned.

He leaned closer. “You know why Wang Junhao wanted control here? Because we manage the rare herbs. Every disciple would kill for this position.”

He tapped the ginseng against Alex’s chest.

“But not everyone can keep it.”

The fatties grinned.

And as Alex sat there, sweating and dizzy, something clicked.

This kitchen wasn’t a joke.

It was power.

“Ninth.”

Number Eight handed him a thin, worn book. “Read this. It explains how to refine a Food Pill for cultivators. You can handle it, right?”

Alex flipped it open.

The instructions were straightforward. Food Pills were meant for cultivators entering long meditation. Instead of eating daily meals, they could swallow one pill—concentrated spiritual nutrients extracted from herbs and spirit plants—enough to sustain the body while the mind focused entirely on cultivation.

For most cooks, this would be advanced work.

For Alex—the God Hand—it was basic.

“No problem, Brother Eight,” he said calmly. “Before I came here, I worked with high-grade ingredients. This isn’t difficult.”

Number Eight grinned wide. “Good. Then it’s yours. I need to cultivate.”

He hurried off without another word, robes fluttering behind him, leaving Alex alone.

Alex understood why they rushed away. They had just consumed a mountain of century-old herbs. If they didn’t circulate and absorb that energy immediately, it would leak away.

He set the manual aside and sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor.

Back in Prussia, he had studied multiple cultivation systems. With Mother Al assisting his analysis of ancient techniques, he had compared countless methods—mapped strengths, identified weaknesses, refined principles.

Among them all, one stood above the rest.

The Royal Cultivation Art.

The technique he had purchased at auction.

Rare. Restricted. Forbidden.

Even owning the manual didn’t guarantee success. The method rejected unqualified bodies. It demanded a specific lineage. A specific constitution.

Royal blood.

That was why the bidding had been ruthless. Why the price had soared into insanity. Most believed it was nothing more than an ancient relic—impossible to activate.

But when Alex practiced it, there was no resistance.

No backlash.

The technique flowed through him as naturally as breathing—like his body had been engineered for it.

He inhaled slowly and focused.

The surrounding spiritual energy responded instantly. Not elemental fire or water or metal—just pure, neutral origin energy.

Raw force.

Unshaped. Unclaimed.

It flowed toward him effortlessly.

The kitchen air trembled. The lingering essence from the ginseng, spirit fruits, and medicinal roots he had eaten was drawn from his body like iron to a magnet.

Pure origin energy.

Clean. Untainted.

He needed only thirty minutes.

In that time, he absorbed every trace of refined spiritual essence inside him. Not a single strand was wasted.

Most cultivation methods gathered energy into a single compressed core at the center of the body.

The Royal Art was different.

It didn’t confine.

It flooded.

Every cell absorbed energy. Every vein carried it. Every strand of muscle became a vessel of origin force.

The entire body became the core.

And for Alex, it felt effortless.

Natural.

Like coming home.

When he opened his eyes, his breathing was slow and steady. His limbs felt light. His mind was razor clear. The bloated heaviness from overeating was gone—replaced by sharp, vibrant strength humming beneath his skin.

He stood and returned to the herbs laid across the tables.

He reread the Food Pill manual carefully—every step, every ratio, every temperature.

The nanobots at his neck—Gaia—activated silently. Streams of data flickered across his vision. Calculations ran in real time.

“There are ten optimized refinement sequences,” Gaia said calmly in his mind. “Each surpasses the manual. Estimated improvement: approximately two thousand percent in efficiency and potency.”

Alex wasn’t surprised.

The book’s method was crude. Some herbs neutralized each other if combined incorrectly. Others lost essence when overheated. A few required cooling cycles before integration.

Wasteful.

With his knowledge—combined with Gaia’s analysis and the cultivation texts he’d studied in Prussia and Xia—a new formula took shape.

Superior.

If executed precisely, each pill would be worth at least twenty times more than the standard version.

Alex didn’t hesitate.

He divided ingredients with precision. Adjusted flame temperatures by instinct and calculation. Some herbs he slow-roasted. Others he steamed. A few he chilled before grinding to fine powder.

Nothing rushed.

Nothing wasted.

He worked without stopping.

Day turned to night.

Night turned to day.

Three days passed inside that kitchen.

When the final batch was sealed, exhaustion finally caught up to him. He leaned against the wall and fell asleep where he sat.

He had no intention of returning to his room.

Not yet.

Wang Junhao was still out there. And Alex had no desire to make himself an easy target.

On the third morning, Big Fatty First finished cultivating and headed to the kitchen.

The moment he stepped inside, he saw Alex asleep in the corner.

He frowned.

Then his gaze shifted to the shelves.

He walked closer.

And froze.

Based on ingredient yield, they should have produced at most three thousand pills.

Three thousand was the absolute limit.

But stacked neatly before him were nearly four thousand.

His expression darkened.

Too many.

If quantity exceeded the ingredient limit, quality would drop. Spiritual density would thin. The Outer Sect disciples would notice instantly—and the kitchen would take the blame.

“That damned Eight Fatty,” he growled. “Letting the Ninth work alone…”

He grabbed a pill and swallowed it without hesitation.

The moment it dissolved on his tongue, his body went rigid.

He froze.

Seconds passed.

He grabbed another pill. Swallowed.

His eyes widened.

Still silent.

He tested pills from different batches.

Every single one—

Identical.

Dense. Stable. Perfectly balanced.

No dilution.

No fluctuation.

Four thousand pills.

Every one flawless.

His throat went dry.

This wasn’t luck.

This was mastery.

By then, Fatty Number Two and Number Three had entered.

“Four thousand?” Number Two muttered. “Impossible. If quantity’s higher, quality must’ve dropped.”

“This is bad,” Number Three added.

“Shut up,” Big Fatty First snapped.

He shoved a pill into each of their hands. “Eat before you talk.”

They swallowed.

Both went rigid.

A concentrated surge of spiritual energy blasted through their meridians—clean, explosive, overwhelmingly dense.

One by one, the other fatties rushed in. Each took a pill.

Each reacted the same way.

Shock.

Disbelief.

Silence.

Finally, Number Eight stumbled inside.

He took one look at the shelves and nearly choked. “No way! Ninth made four thousand? This is a disaster!”

He immediately bowed deeply to Big Fatty First.

“Senior Brother… Ninth said he knew how to refine Food Pills. He’d done similar work in Xia. I believed him. I take full responsibility. If there’s punishment, I accept it.”

Big Fatty First didn’t respond.

He simply shoved a pill into Number Eight’s hand.

“Chew.”

Number Eight obeyed.

The second it dissolved, his body trembled.

“This… this energy…” His voice shook. “It’s at least ten times stronger than usual.”

Big Fatty First stepped forward, expression steady and grave.

“It’s twenty,” he said flatly.

No excitement. No exaggeration. Just fact.

“Twenty times denser. Twenty times purer. Cleaner circulation. Faster absorption. Almost zero waste.”

He stared at the shelves.

“With the same ingredients… how?”

Silence filled the kitchen.

All eight fatties slowly turned.

In the corner, Alex still slept, breathing evenly.

They didn’t see a skinny junior anymore.

They didn’t see a new recruit.

They were looking at something else entirely.

A monster in the kitchen.