At the rim where level thirteen met the Fourteenth Firmament, space loosened into a storm of formless haze. No stars glimmered there, no light at all, only rolling darkness braided with knife-edged spatial currents.
Any High Immortal Realm traveler who blundered in would be ripped apart before a cry could form. Yet two silhouettes advanced, each step firm as though they trod solid ground instead of chaos. They were Jared Chance and Luther.
Jared carried the bone scroll Elder Gloam had gifted him, letting its etched route guide his eyes through the whirling dark in search of a hidden seam. From beside him, Luther sent a low warning. “Mr. Chance, the space ahead thrashes harder than normal. We may be walking into danger.”
Jared answered with a single nod and awakened the Eye of Chaos; silver light flickered across his pupils as he looked forward. Within that altered sight, the maelstrom rearranged itself into orderly layers he could read like a map. Webs of fractures stretched everywhere, but one slender tear glowed faint gold—the very Rift Between Worlds etched on the scroll.
Excitement sharpened his voice. “There it is. Keep tight behind me.” He broke forward first, slipping through the golden slit; Luther followed in the tail of his wake.
The instant the fissure swallowed them, the world flipped; up became down, and a roaring surge tossed them like a skiff on storm water. Every ribbon of spatial wind carried enough bite to shred a High Immortal Realm Level Seven, each gust licking at the shield of air around them. Jared spread a dome of chaotic force, folding Luther inside. The barrier shuddered under every strike, flexed, then held.
Time lost meaning until, far ahead, a pinprick of light finally pierced the gloom.
“Almost there!” Jared barked, driving toward the glow with new speed. A muffled boom shook the void. They blew through an unseen membrane, and sudden openness unfurled before their eyes.
Clean air rushed over their faces; spirit energy thick enough to taste flooded every pore. Above them stretched a scrubbed-blue sky dotted by lazy cloud banks. Below, endless immortal peaks spilled waterfalls and springs, beds of rare flowers, and spirit beasts wandering at leisure. Yet it was the heavens themselves that seized the breath.
Nine suns hung in a precise nine-square pattern, their light warm, never searing. Between those blazing discs, faint stars winked, sun and constellation sharing the same blue canvas.
Luther’s voice dropped to a hush. “So this is the Fourteenth Firmament…” Awe flooded his eyes. The ambient energy here felt at least ten times heavier than level thirteen’s thin breath. One day of training in such richness could rival a full month back home.
Jared inhaled deeply; chaotic force and Golden Dragon Bloodline sluiced through his meridians with surprising ease, sparks of strength flickering under his skin. He exhaled, half-smiling. “A vast world indeed…” Battle heat lit his gaze. “Celestial Palace, Celestial Basilica, Celestial Court… Jared Chance has arrived.”
He turned to Luther. “First, lodging and news.”
Luther nodded firmly. “The Great Elder said Ghost Clan kin live here as well. I will seek them out.”
Both men condensed into streaks of white and shot forward. Soon a mountain surfaced ahead, wreathed in cloud and spilling strands of celestial energy. Jared angled toward it. “Come on, let’s have a look.” He veered toward the slope, Luther pacing him wing-for-wing.
From the foot of the rise, the summit hid beyond sight, swallowed by its own height. The outline looked wrong for a natural peak, edges too clean, planes hinting at deliberate carving. Distance lent it the shape of a colossal figure, facial hollows and limbs only half suggested yet unmistakable. Whether art or accident, Jared could not be sure.
All around, cultivators streamed toward the path, choosing to walk rather than fly. Some advanced a few steps, dropped to their knees in worship, rose, and trudged on. A broad plaza sprawled at the base, already crowded with pilgrims.
Luther frowned. “Mr. Chance, why are these people walking like mortals when every one of them can fly?”
Jared glanced sideways. Luther’s shoulders stayed stiff, his chin tilted as though he searched for a seam in the air itself. His eyes kept bouncing from the crawling pilgrims to the towering slope. Whatever he saw refused to make sense.
Everyone who managed to survive in the Fourteenth Firmament, Jared reminded himself, sat somewhere inside the High Immortal Realm. Nobody below that threshold could even breathe this air for long. Drop any one of these cultivators into the mundane world and the kingdoms there would crumble overnight. A single gesture from such a traveler could flip mountains and rewrite thrones.
Ordinarily, a light push of immortal essence would let them glide over peaks. Yet here they shuffled forward on sore soles, bowing every few steps as if gravity itself demanded worship, their knees thudding against stone like ordinary pilgrims.
Luther rubbed the bridge of his nose, lips moving without sound. Whatever rule forced these powerhouses to act like peasants stayed hidden from him, and the not-knowing clearly grated.
Jared kept his voice low. “I don’t have the answer either. The mountain itself feels off. Let’s get closer and hear what the locals say.”
Luther gave a short nod and fell in beside him, boots crunching against gravel as they headed for the broad plaza at the foot of the slope. Before the plaza guards looked their way, both men dimmed their presence, letting their cultivation heat sink beneath the skin. They merged with the slow river of worshippers until even the breeze treated them as part of the crowd.
Faces around them shifted from human to scaled, furred, or horned. Most pulses Jared sensed hovered between High Immortal Realm Level Three and Level Six—strong enough to level counties, not strong enough to ignore whatever force ruled this mountain.
“Greetings, fellow cultivator,” Jared said, keeping his tone respectful enough to pass for a pilgrim. He stepped into the path of an old man in green robes and offered a cupped-fist salute. “My companion and I are new here,” he said. “Could you tell us why everyone ascends on foot and pays homage at every turn?”
The elder’s eyes swept over Jared, noting the understated grace in the younger man’s posture.
“You must be travelers,” the elder replied. “This is the Sacred Mountain. Legend says an Ancient Sacred Paragon’s remains rest inside. Whenever the nine suns trade places, holy light spills down the slope. Anyone who stands within that glow can seize a chance at breakthrough.”
