Inside that zone, every wraith’s lunge slowed to the crawl of molasses, as though time itself had become a pit of tar. The trio of Wraith Kings sensed the horror first. They thrashed like beasts trapped in quicksand, yet the gray domain bore a will of its own, an unseen gravity that dragged their massive shadows to a standstill.
Meanwhile, Jared’s complexion blanched by the heartbeat. Veins rose across his temples, and a ribbon of blood slipped from the corner of his mouth. For someone at his current cultivation level, forcing the technique Chaos Origin Return to the Void exacted a brutal price. Yet he refused to yield.
Teeth grinding, he flipped his hands, shattered the previous seal, and wove a fiercer one in its place.
“Return!” At the command, the murky field imploded with a thunderous sigh, racing inward toward Jared. Like a soap bubble pricked by a pin, the hundred-foot expanse collapsed into his open palm, condensing into a fist-sized orb of swirling, gun-metal mist.
Within that dim sphere, countless miniature wraith silhouettes clawed and howled, their cries muffled as if beneath kilometers of water. Outside, the swarm that had moments ago carpeted the valley was simply gone. They were not slain; they had been devoured whole, dragged screaming into the newborn chaos orb.
An uncanny hush spread across the gorge, so profound it felt sacrilegious to breathe. Winslow, Leopold, and Selina stared at the slowly rotating orb in Jared’s hand, then at the now-vacant valley. For several seconds, words abandoned them.
Vermilion Demon Lord and Gerald had by then finished their own fights and returned to Jared’s flank, shock and grave respect mingling in their eyes.
“Jared, that move you just…” Vermilion Demon Lord began, then stopped, unable to find language big enough.
Jared answered with a weary smile and loosened his fingers. The chaos orb unraveled like smoke. As it faded, what remained of the compressed wraiths dissolved into pure, silvery soul energy that dispersed on the wind. His knees buckled, but thankfully, Gerald caught him before he could fall.
“I overdid it…” Jared muttered, the words thin.
Gerald pressed a heated palm to Jared’s spine, pouring refined earth fire energy into his meridians. “This divine power is undoubtedly mighty, but the energy drain far exceeds what you can endure,” the elder said, voice low but stern. “Unless desperation forces your hand, do not use it again.”
Jared nodded and folded into a seated pose, drawing breath, letting his aura knit itself together. In that fleeting instant of casting, he had felt his soul, his celestial energy, even his life itself yanked toward emptiness like dust toward a black hole.
Had the chaotic celestial energy and the regenerative might of the Golden Dragon Bloodline not answered, he would have been a husk before the divine power was completed. Yet the result was staggering. One blow had scoured kilometers of battlefield clean, erasing the wraith horde and its three kings alike.
For the moment, the Ancient Battlefield lay secure.
An hour later, Jared opened his eyes. The weakness lingered, but the danger had passed. Winslow stepped forward, his expression a tangle of amazement and dawning comprehension. “Jared, now I understand how you found the courage to enter level twelve alone…”
Power and methods of this caliber have already leapt far beyond the bounds of an ordinary Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Three cultivator… This Jared Chance is no ordinary man…
Jared shook his head, lifting the stray dust from his shoulders as if batting away praise that did not belong to him. “You flatter me, Mr. Walden. Those strikes were nothing but a bit of sleight-of-hand. As you can tell, chaotic celestial energy happened to fit the air in this ruin. Elsewhere, I doubt the result would sparkle half so bright…”
“In any case, what’s more urgent now is contacting the survivors on level twelve… See that gray-white beam clawing at the eastern rim? We must reach every sect that still draws breath here. Mr. Walden, you said Azure Firmament Sword Sect has fallen, but there are still a few sects putting up a resistance, yes?”
Winslow’s smile faded. His eyes, as old as winter stone, slid to the southeast horizon. “That’s right… Malevolent Path Hall may be powerful, but level twelve is vast; there’s no way they can wipe out every faction in such a short time…”
“As far as I know, at least three forces are still fighting back. To the southwest, seventy thousand kilometers away, lies the Myriad Beast Valley. Ancient beast-taming arts thrive there. Every disciple bonds with a demon beast from birth and rides that fury into war. The valley keeps tens of thousands of such creatures, from low-level Gale Wolves up to Thunderwing Golden Eagle…”
“There are even rumors that, deep within the valley, several ancient, primeval beasts still lie in slumber. Their leader, Lord Beastmaster Blaine Leedon, is a High Immortal Realm Level Two cultivator and has a Three-Headed Flame Lion King no weaker than himself… Malevolent Path Hall has attacked them twice, but drowned both times beneath stampeding claws…”
“Well… But no matter how formidable the beasts are, when facing the Soul Hunters, specialists in attacks on divine souls, there is always the risk of vengeful souls possessing them and turning on their masters.”
After a pause, Winslow added, “To the east, ninety thousand kilometers away, stands the Heavenly Sword Pavilion, the foremost sword sect of level twelve… Every disciple trains in the Nine-Skies Sword Canon, a technique that emphasizes breaking all defenses with a single strike.”
“Their leader, Sword Zealot Oswald Dugan, may only be at Top Level Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Nine, but his swordsmanship is so powerful that he’s able to fuse with his blade to become a single breath… Because of that, he has inflicted grievous injuries on a High Immortal Realm Level One cultivator despite the rank difference…”
“On top of that, Heavenly Sword Pavilion’s defense formation, Myriad Blades Convergence Array, can draw upon the metal and iron energies within a thousand-mile radius to form blades and strike enemies with unmatched power. However, sword cultivators are mostly proud and aloof by nature. Convincing them to unite will likely not be easy.”
Fascinated, Jared continued to listen intently.
“To the northeast, 120 thousand kilometers away, lies the Five-Element Sect,” Winslow said. “The sect cultivates the way of the five elements, and its disciples are divided into the Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth branches, excelling in elemental magic and combined formation techniques. Their sect sits at the convergence of the Five Elemental Ley Lines, allowing them to draw power from heaven and earth.”
“The sect leader, Five-Element Saint Aurelian Metalhart, is a Top Level High Immortal Realm Level One cultivator, skilled in elemental escape techniques and transformations… The Five-Element Sect excels in defense, and their Five-Element Cycle Grand Array endures endlessly; even Malevolent Path Hall’s assault for over a month failed to breach it…”
“Yet the sect has a fatal flaw: its internal factions are numerous, and the five elemental branches often quarrel among themselves. Were it not for the pressure of external enemies, they would likely have already fallen into disunity.”
With that, Winslow turned to Jared. “These three sects are currently the backbone of level twelve’s resistance against Malevolent Path Hall… Myriad Beast Valley can take the Soul Hunters head-on, Heavenly Sword Pavilion boasts the most powerful offensive sword cultivators, capable of cutting down enemy leaders, and the Five-Element Sect’s defenses are unmatched, serving as an unyielding fortress…”
“If the three could truly unite and cover each other’s flanks, they would indeed have a chance at turning the tables.”
Light flared behind Jared’s pupils like sparks striking steel. “Myriad Beast Valley is closest, and Malevolent Path Hall has already failed there twice… That fear means a third assault is brewing. We head for the valley, now.”
Vermilion Demon Lord bared perfect white fangs in a grin. “A beast-taming sect? Delightful… I wonder whose pet stands taller, their menagerie or my Celestial Devourer.”
Gerald stroked his soot-stained beard. “I met Blaine Leedon decades ago. He may be hot-tempered, but he’s a man of his word. If we can earn his trust, it will make our mission much easier.”
“Then let’s set off now.” Jared turned to Winslow. “Mr. Walden, are there any shortcuts we can take?”
Winslow raised the battered bronze compass. A breath of power, and a ghost-map unfurled in scarlet light. One winding line led southwest.
“Three thousand kilometers from here sits a ruined teleportation array, originally constructed by the ancient Spiritmaster Sect. It leads directly to the Hundred-Beast Range, which is the outskirts of Myriad Beast Valley. However, it is very old, and much of the formation is damaged; it can only be used once repaired by someone skilled in array techniques.”
At Jared’s boots, the small fire unicorn yipped, thrusting one claw at its own puffed-up chest, amber eyes sparkling with pride.
Gerald laughed, smoke-rough and warm. “This little one feels the flow of energy better than any sage. Let it prod the ancient array; it might just work.”
Jared snapped his cloak around his shoulders. “All right. Let’s go now!” Soon, seven silhouettes bled into streaks of colored light and tore across the sky toward the distant southwest.
