Scattered across that plain, mystical herbs towered as tall as a grown man. Their leaves shimmered with spiritual light, and ruby-red fruit hung at their crowns, pulsating with delectable spiritual energy.
Here and there, veins of living jade heaved up from the soil, exposed celestial ley lines. Dim gold spiritual energy rushed through the translucent stone like blood through a giant’s heart.
“So this is Celestial Fall Plains,” Jared murmured, wonder slipping through his usual composure.
On level five, I’ve seen many spiritual veins, yet never a network of celestial ley lines this dense or this pure…
Just the resources beneath their feet could rival half the power blocs of level five combined. No wonder Celestia reigned as one of the apex forces of level six.
The realization left a cold admiration coiling through Jared’s chest.
Bound and silent, Lorraine felt the familiar aura of homeland rise to meet her. Instead of comfort, the sensation carved fresh bitterness across face.
She turned head away from the fertile plains, as though the very soil that had once nurtured the celestials sickened her.
“Ahead lies Celestia City,” said at last, voice cool as a blade. “Three concentric barriers guard it. Only those bearing Celestia’s token or bloodline of the celestials may pass. Force your way through, and the barriers set up with celestial power will tear you apart.”
Jared offered no reply. His eyes narrowed on the horizon.
There, at the far edge of the plain, a colossal silhouette surfaced, a city-wall crown emerging from the haze.
The ramparts were hewn from pale gold celestial stone, soaring three hundred meters high. Intricate divine markings, each line humming with sacred law-crawled across the masonry.
Their shifting glow fed a translucent dome that wrapped the entire metropolis, radiating a pressure that made even the clouds hesitate.
At the gate stood several dozen Celestial Guards in silver armor. Every guard’s aura burned at Earthly Immortal Realm Level Seven or higher, and the divine wings markings on their spears flashed like starlight, forbidding as drawn swords.
Jared descended with Lorraine beside the main gate. The instant his boots struck stone, two Celestial Guards strode forward, spears leveled at his chest. “Identify yourself! Dare you trespass upon Celestia City? Release Her Highness at once!”
Lorraine lifted chin, eyes Icy. “I came of my own will. Summon your commander! Immediately.”
The Celestial Guards exchanged bewildered glances.
Their last orders had been explicit, retrieve Lorraine at any cost. Yet here was, delivered by a lone human cultivator, claiming voluntary return. No drill manual covered such a twist.
One guard, armor clanking, spun on his heel and sprinted through the towering gate, vanishing into the city’s golden gloom to raise the alarm. His comrades tightened their formation, uncertain whether to salute or strike.
The air between lances and intruder trembled with expectation.
The ring of rifles never quite faded, yet the Celestial Guards held their fire. They circled Jared and Lorraine like wary wolves, eyes fixed on him, shoulders taut, ready to spring the instant so much as breathed wrong.
Half an hour crawled by. From deep inside the capital drifted a bright shimmer of chimes, crisp as silver water against stone.
A woman appeared, gliding rather than walking.
She wore pale lavender court robes embroidered with divine markings of a phoenix, black hair swept into a soaring bun pinned by a gemstone hairpin. Porcelain skin, sly brows, the calm heat of someone who knew exactly who was.
She looked barely twenty, yet the aura coiled around said otherwise, a Top Level Earthly Immortal Realm Level Eight.
“Buddy, my thanks for returning Her Highness to Celestia City…” The newcomer’s tone was steady, eyes measuring. “I, Yuliana Fiala, serve as the king’s adviser. May I ask your name? And do you have any requests for bringing the princess home safe?”
Jared studied Yuliana, weighing the blade beneath the silk.
An adviser this young, this deadly, either born brilliant or carried here by very special cultivation… To stand at a monarch’s elbow, most spend centuries clawing upward…
She has managed it before thirty. She must be exceptionally gifted…
The cut of robes was not queenly, yet the fabric sang of treasuries far above a mere minister.
