“At once!” Morvane bowed and slipped an arm beneath Luther’s to guide him out. Their retreating footsteps echoed softer, urgency cushioned by hope.
Elder Gloam shifted his attention to Jared again. “Young Jared, I sense wounds on you as well. If you do not mind, remain in Nether City and heal.” The offer sounded more like advice delivered by a physician who already knew the diagnosis.
“The nether aura here is unusually thick,” he continued, “and it may harmonize with that rare power within you. Consider it an unexpected boon.”
A faint smile softened the elder’s ancient features for half a heartbeat. It was exactly the invitation Jared had been hoping for. He cupped his fists. “Then I shall impose on your hospitality and thank you for it.”
Relief flickered through his battered meridians at the thought of respite. Elder Gloam turned slightly toward the dim margins of the hall. “Neoma…”
The single name broke the shadow like a bell note, summoning a figure from the gloom. She slipped out from behind a pillar, the hem of her midnight dress brushing the stone with a noiseless sweep. Moonlight, or what passed for it beneath the black braziers, ran over her cold, sculpted face and turned every contour into sharp glass. The aura she carried roiled at High Immortal Realm Level Five, and her eyes, narrow and bright, looked as capable of cutting flesh as any blade.
Elder Gloam’s gravelly voice broke the stillness. “Take Jared to Shadowrest Lodge. See that he is treated well.” The command cracked like a hammer on stone, leaving no room for misunderstanding.
“Yes!” the woman answered without hesitation, her voice as cool as the steel in her gaze. Neoma stepped forward and offered Jared a guiding gesture, palm angled in silent invitation. The faint scent of ghost-fire incense drifted from her sleeve as she waited.
Jared stepped after her, boots clicking once on the temple floor before the cavernous doors swung shut behind them. They walked through torch-lined streets toward the city’s western quarter, the crowd thinning until only silent stone walls kept pace. At last, Neoma stopped before a secluded courtyard tucked under a jagged cliff face.
The courtyard was modest, barely wide enough for two peach trees and a flagstone path. Yet every lantern and bamboo screen had been arranged with deliberate taste that whispered rather than boasted. At its center gurgled a pool wrought entirely from congealed nether aura, a living spring famous for knitting torn flesh and spirit.
“If Mr. Jared requires anything, shake this bell…” Neoma offered a tiny bone chime between two pale fingers. “Nether City does not welcome outsiders,” she added, her tone still glacial. “Please avoid roaming without reason.”
“Understood.” Jared inclined his head once. The answer carried neither offense nor submission, only calm certainty.
When Neoma’s footsteps faded, the courtyard slipped into a hush broken only by the soft bubbling of the spring. Jared settled cross-legged on the warm flagstones at the water’s edge, breath steadied, senses sinking inward to inspect every wound.
The confrontation with the Beast-Quelling Venerable had left more damage than he first admitted. Internal bruises pulsed beneath each breath, a dull echo of the moment that giant palm had slammed into his chest. His reservoir of chaotic force now felt like a drained cistern; only stubborn traces clung to shattered channels. Several meridians showed ragged tears, and a hairline fissure ran across his energy center like a spiderweb under glass.
Any ordinary cultivator would have been ruined already; the unique resilience of chaotic force alone kept his foundation intact. One on one, he could have buried each foe with ruthless efficiency. Instead, tens of thousands had surged at him together, discarding honor for sheer exhaustion tactics. Their strategy aimed at nothing more elegant than burning through his reserves until he collapsed.
A sharp urgency pressed against his ribs; he had to enter the High Immortal Realm as quickly as possible. Only after that step would he stand equal to the celestials and earn the right to avenge King Ironhide and every fallen beast warrior.
Jared opened his sleeve and spilled a small mountain of trophies onto the stone: King Redstinger’s crimson gourd, King Nightbat’s leathered wings, King Goldtoad’s venom core, and several storage rings from other beast kings. His spiritual sense poured into the nearest ring; inside, treasures towered like peaks beneath a silver sky. Millions of top-grade spirit crystals glittered in neat stacks, flanked by vats of pills, rare ores, and sheaves of cultivation manuals.
Jared sorted through the hoard, lifting out every pill or reagent that might hasten a breakthrough. With practiced movements, he traced sigils across the flagstones, arranging crystals into a Spiritual Energy Convergence Array.
***
Three days slid by like sand through clenched fingers. In that span, Jared seldom stepped beyond the threshold, devoting every minute to mending his wounds and fine-tuning the array. The dense nether aura drifting through the courtyard wrapped around him like cool mist, coaxing his chaotic force to regenerate at a gratifying pace. He resisted the temptation to unveil the Pentacarna Tower; among strangers, such a treasure would draw hungry eyes.
*Better to heal slowly than court disaster…*
On the third evening, lantern light spilled over the gate as Neoma arrived. “Mr. Jared, the Great Elder requests your presence.” Her expression remained winter-hard.
Jared gathered his cloak and followed her through the winding lanes toward Nether Hall. Inside, Elder Gloam waited on the dais, and Luther stood nearby, already looking far sturdier than when they parted. The moment he spotted Jared, he strode forward. “Mr. Jared, it’s a relief to see you unharmed!”
Jared smiled, giving the man’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “You’re recovering nicely yourself.”
From the raised platform, Elder Gloam’s mild smile gathered everyone’s attention. “Jared, this old man has summoned you to discuss a serious matter.”
“Please speak, Great Elder.”
Elder Gloam’s face turned grave. “I have learned from Luther about the western region and the blood debt you carry against the celestials… Tell me, do you possess the will to topple the Celestial race and restore order to the thirteen heavens?”
“Yes.” The word left Jared’s mouth without a flicker of doubt.
“Good!” A keen light flashed through Elder Gloam’s eyes. “In that case, Nether City will stand beside you. Together we oppose the celestials.”
The final word still rang off the stone pillars. Several elders who had been quiet a moment earlier stiffened as if an unseen chill brushed their spines. A broad-shouldered elder with a ruddy face sprang upright, his chair scraping across the slate.
He leveled a sharp look at the Great Elder and barked, “Great Elder, is this not reckless? Nether City has hidden for three thousand years. To expose ourselves for one human youth, I fear…”
