After leaving the Mystic Sky Sword Sect, Jared and the Vermilion Demon Lord veered off the main trail, slipping into a lonely ravine shrouded by cliffs and night-black pines.
“Senior, if you are ready, I’ll tear open the gate to level eleven.” Vermilion nodded, voice low and rough. “Do it. But remember, level eleven is no tame cousin of level ten. More predators, harsher lands. We move with caution, or we do not move at all.”
Jared said nothing more. He pressed his palms together, fingers flickering through seals that glimmered like threads of pale lightning. The mixed blessing of chaotic celestial essence inside him stirred, embracing every law it touched. His brief sojourn within Maxwell’s void corridor had gifted him a taste of space itself, and now that insight flowed through his veins.
Jared thrust both arms forward, muscles taut beneath travel-stained sleeves, and roared, “Open!”
Space answered with a scream of tearing silk. A rift blossomed in the air before them, a curtain of night pierced by drifting pinpricks of starlight. Winds born of nowhere howled inside, shards of chaotic void swirling, yet the passage clung to a fragile stability. Jared was first to leap into the breach. “Go!”
Vermilion slid in behind him, and the wound in the world sewed itself shut, leaving the valley silent and unmarked.
Within the corridor, darkness did not reign. Holographic shards of distant realms drifted past like lanterns—oceans upside-down, burning deserts, temple spires floating in a violet sky. Then the pressure came, an invisible vice crushing from every direction. Any traveler below the Heavenly Immortal Realm would have been pulped in a heartbeat. Jared expanded a shell of chaotic essence, its milky whirlpool embracing Vermilion as well. Shimmering within that cocoon, they sliced through the corridor at breakneck speed.
After what felt like half a day, though time here was a fickle thing, a silver gleam blossomed ahead. Jared’s eyes lit. “We’re through!”
A whipcrack of displaced air, and they tumbled out of the tunnel, boots skidding across a barren expanse of rust-colored gravel. Behind them, the breach winked out like a candle, as though it had never been.
Vermilion surveyed the wasteland, crimson eyes narrowing. “So this is level eleven…”
An immeasurable brown desert stretched to every horizon; above it hung three suns of uneven size, each flinging spears of white-hot light across the cracked ground. The air was oven-dry, a punishing furnace that stood in cruel contrast to the Eternal Icefield Jared had trekked not long ago. Spiritual energy here was richer by several orders, but it roiled with untamed currents—fire, wind, lightning, and things unnamed wrestling beneath the surface.
Jared drew a slow breath, tasting heat and power. “Abundant, yet volatile. Every mouthful could as easily nourish you as tear you apart.”
Testing the ground, he felt how this realm’s fabric was denser; gravity tugged at his boots like hidden anchors. He lifted off, but the air resisted. His speed dropped nearly a third, and the drain on his essence spiked accordingly.
Vermilion landed beside him, cloak whipping in the thermal wind. “Seems our strength will be throttled here.”
Jared gave a short nod. “True, but the density will also fuel faster cultivation… First, let’s find inhabitants; information is worth more than spirit crystals.”
The two figures lifted off the scorched plateau, riding narrow ribbons of air that spiraled beneath their boots like quicksilver banners. For almost two hours, they cut across a pale sky. At last, a splash of emerald glimmered ahead—an oasis whose palm crowns cradled ghost-gray silhouettes of walls and roofs.
“There… a town…”
Jared’s eyes flashed with restless excitement. He banked toward the green smear, and Vermilion swept after him, scarlet mantle cracking in the desert wind. With every heartbeat, the mirage sharpened, trading watery haze for the hard outlines of rampart and tower. The settlement curled around the water in a rough crescent—modest yet sound, large enough, Jared guessed, to shelter several tens of thousands.
Its walls, built from locally quarried brown stone, stood nearly thirty yards high. Beneath the sun-bleached gate, uniformed sentries kept silent watch. Jared stifled his aura and, with Vermilion beside him, touched down before the gate.
Four guards waited in identical gray tunics, each chest stitched with a single sand-brown sigil. Their cultivation hovered around Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Three.
A respectable level, nothing lethal… Jared decided, feeling the knot between his shoulders ease. So the famed level eleven isn’t wall-to-wall monsters after all…
Here on the frontier, a Level Three or Level Four Heavenly Immortal already counted as the backbone of the garrison.
“Hold it! Entry fee, ten inferior-grade spiritual stones, or goods of equal worth!” The sentinel’s tone was brisk rather than bullying, the cadence of one long accustomed to obedience.
Unwilling to spark trouble, Jared placed twenty inferior-grade spiritual stones in the guard’s open palm. The man weighed the payment, let his gaze skim Jared’s deliberately restrained aura—Heavenly Immortal Realm Level One, harmless—and waved them through.
Inside, the streets ran surprisingly clean. Stalls and timber shopfronts flanked orderly flagstones. Traffic bustled; most passersby carried the Level Four or Level Five of Heavenly Immortal cultivation. Now and then, a Level Six expert strode past, their entourage parting the crowd for them.
So, Level Four or Level Five is average, and Level Six counts as elite… Confidence settled in Jared’s chest like warm iron. With his current strength, anyone below Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Eight would fall quickly, and even a Level Nine foe could be coaxed into retreat. As long as no High Immortal monster appeared, survival seemed assured.
“First, lodging,” he told Vermilion. “And while we rest, we’ll sniff out rumors of Jadeheart Marrow.”
They wandered until they found an inn whose lantern-lit porch looked acceptably clean.
“Welcome, honored guests! Rooms or a meal?” the porter asked, bowing with practiced grace. In a place like this, innkeepers learned to read power. Although Jared masked his cultivation, his easy bearing warned the porter that he was no ordinary cultivator.
“Rooms… two of your best,” Jared said. “And I need a bit of information.” He set a single mid-grade spiritual stone on the counter, its faint glow enough to buy silence and cooperation.
The inn servant’s eyes lit up. He whisked the spiritual stone into an iron box, snapped the lid shut, and beamed so brightly the lamplight seemed dull beside him. “Anything you wish to know, sir. I have roamed Sandrock City for centuries. Whatever I have heard, you shall hear—no secret left unspoken.”
Jared didn’t bother with pleasantries. He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “Have you ever heard of something called Jadeheart Marrow?”
The servant mouthed the words, brow creasing like crumpled parchment. “Jadeheart Marrow? I’m sorry, sir… I’ve never heard of it. What marvel might that be?”
Hearing this, disappointment tugged at Jared’s chest. Hmm… Even the locals have never heard of it?
Seeing the traveler’s expression dim, the servant scrambled for another answer. “Treasures that rare seldom circulate in a place as modest as ours. You might try the Myriad Treasures Pavilion in the city center. They trade in rarities and keep their ears open.”
Jared inclined his head. “Where exactly is this Myriad Treasures Pavilion?”
“Straight ahead to the city’s very heart, the tallest building there. You cannot miss it.”
Jared offered a final nod, then led Vermilion upstairs. The guest room smelled of sandalwood and fresh linen. They barely set their packs down before slipping back into the sunbaked streets, every stride aimed at the pavilion’s looming spire.
The Myriad Treasures Pavilion dominated the skyline: five stories of carved caves and gilded rafters that glittered in the harsh light. Two guards, Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Four, clad in burnished armor, flanked the door while cultivators of every stripe flowed in and out without pause. Inside, shelves stretched wall to wall, crowded with pills, artifacts, and materials that shimmered like constellations trapped in glass.
An elderly steward glided forward, robes rustling like parchment. “Good sirs, how may the Myriad Treasures Pavilion serve you today?”
Jared spoke without preamble. “We’re searching for a material called Jadeheart Marrow. Have you heard the name?”
