Sidney’s chuckle eased the tension only a little, then he began to lay out a map Jared had never seen. “Mr. Chance, the thirty-six levels aren’t stacked like bricks. They’re grouped into the Lower, Middle, and Upper Realms, each defined by how complete its laws are and how rich its energy flows… See that?”
“The Lower Realm covers levels one through twelve. Your level twelve stands at its peak—good laws, decent energy, but still fundamentally different from the Middle… Within the Lower Realm, yes, void tunnels work… The Middle Realm spans levels thirteen to twenty-four: larger worlds, finer energy, stricter laws. My wife and I are sheltering in a hidden corner of level thirteen…”
“Above that is the Upper Realm, level twenty-five up to the fabled thirty-six. Stories say its laws verge on perfection, holding the very source of the Grand Way itself. I can’t speak to that; I’ve never climbed so high.”
The explanation cracked open a door in Jared’s mind; he had known the numbers but never the gulf between them. He swallowed the rush of possibilities. “Senior Sidney, if the laws differ so sharply, what does it really take to cross from level twelve into thirteen?”
Sidney’s eyes grew thoughtful, as though measuring unseen walls.
“The barrier between levels is easy compared to the one between Realms,” he said. “What looks like a single step is actually a leap from the Lower to the Middle… Raw strength can tear space inside the Lower Realm, but it can’t pierce the membrane that safeguards the Middle. That living film rejects or dissolves any power or life-form that doesn’t already resonate with its laws…”
Sidney’s voice dropped to a lecturer’s calm. “Second, you need something that calls the Middle Realm to you,” he said. “There are two ways.”
Jared kept his eyes on the man, chest tight around the promise inside those words.
“First, a powerful clan up there can open a sanctioned ascension corridor and pull you through. They only bother for prodigies in the Lower Realm, or for disciples carrying a sacred inheritance.” Jared pictured the corridor—something bright and knife-sharp cutting a seam through night.
Sidney continued, “Or you find a relic soaked in Middle-Realm law. Use it as a beacon at the right place and hour, throw obscene power at it, and force a makeshift gate. That trick barely works. The portal shivers, wants to tear itself apart, and usually drags its maker with it.”
Sidney raised his hand before Jared could dream further, his expression stone-still. “Last, and this matters most. Your own being must climb high enough… Down here that means the High Immortal Realm… Your body, mind, and the path you walk all have to molt, accept deeper rules. Not every High Immortal can touch level thirteen. Insight weighs more than brute power. Without it, the Middle Realm’s heavier, denser laws press until bones crack, or its purer air starves the core and you wither.”
Sidney’s explanation tugged open a sealed memory. Jared remembered the Celestial Stairway, each glowing step trying to erase him, only letting him pass because the sky itself wanted him there. If that ladder had not existed, he would never have reached the celestial realm in the first place.
Sidney turned, softening only when his wife’s palm brushed his sleeve. “We came to level twelve because we felt Mr. Chance’s aura and used an old treasure to mask ourselves from the Lower Realm’s rules. But the artifact is temporary. If we linger, the reverse pull of these laws will gnaw at our foundations.”
Sidney’s gaze flicked to his partner, regret and devotion tangled behind his pupils. “That is all we can share, and now we must go… Take care of yourself, Mr. Chance.”
The urge to keep them lingered on Jared’s tongue, but he bent instead, folding his arms in a deep salute. “Thank you, Seniors, for lighting the path. Your help will stay with me.”
Sidney helped him upright, a warm grin chasing away the earlier steel. “Mr. Chance carries vast fortune and a steady mind. One day, perhaps above level thirteen, we’ll meet again. Treasure yourself. Fuse your power until it is truly yours. The Ancient Energy Refiners’ Abode could be the spark that lets you soar.”
A muted gray light unfurled around the couple. Space rippled like disturbed water; their outlines thinned, washed away, and were suddenly gone—no afterglow, no echo, nothing. Silence pressed on the valley for a long breath, everyone blinking as though words might still hang in the air.
Jared pulled fresh air into burning lungs and let it settle. He turned toward the Vermilion Demon Lord. “Senior, shall we move?”
The demon’s forked tongue swept across his lips; crimson eyes kindled like forge coal. “I’ve waited long enough. Let’s see what baubles that dead refiner hid.”
Jared faced Aurelian and the others. “I’m going after the chance that can break this stalemate. Please, guard the valley. Keep hidden from the Malevolent Path Hall. Your safety matters more to me than treasure.”
Aurelian’s head bobbed with firm emphasis. “Go, Mr. Chance. We’ll hold the line and patch ourselves up. Just, stay alive.”
Blaine clapped Jared’s shoulder hard enough to rattle bones. “Come back breathing, kid. I still want to storm the Malevolent Path Hall with you.”
Oswald’s voice cut the air like frost. “Return swiftly!”
Jared met the demon’s gaze; resolve mirrored back at him. In the same breath they burst into motion—one gold streak, one crimson—piercing the valley’s warding mist and sprinting west toward the rumored Void Gale Belt.
