The entrance to Thunderscar Gorge lay southeast by north, about 30 miles from the Elderwood Path. Unlike the route taken by the official expedition, the terrain here was far steeper and more dangerous.
There were no stone steps at the entrance. Instead, a deep canyon had been carved open by years of relentless violet lightning.
The rock walls on both sides were charred black and veined with lightning scars. The air carried a faint stench of ozone and sulfur, and violent lightning-aspected spiritual energy churned restlessly throughout the gorge.
A team of about 50 people had gathered at the entrance. They all wore matching dark blue combat uniforms under light armor, and the armor bore subtle Mosey insignia. This was the elite mountaineering team Seamus had dispatched, led by his most capable foster son, Anders.
He was a Grandmaster-level expert, his cultivation at the peak of the Adept stage. In the mortal world, that was naturally quite impressive. But in the eyes of true cultivators, his strength was merely average.
At that moment, five people stood quietly about 100 feet in front of Anders and his men. Leading them were Evander and Elowen.
Evander wore a deep-blue, cross-collared long coat. His expression was as calm as still water, his hands clasped behind his back, as though the perilous Thunderscar Gorge before him were nothing more than an ordinary view.
Meanwhile, Elowen had changed into a moon-white fitted outfit suited for movement. With her long hair tied back, she seemed less ethereal and more capable. She studied the thin arcs of lightning that occasionally leaped within the gorge with open interest.
Behind them stood three middle-aged cultivators. Their energy waves were restrained, and their expressions impassive. They were the Quinton family guards, each at late-stage Adept or higher, with one having already reached the quasi Core-Forged realm.
“Mr. and Ms. Quinton, ahead lies Thunderscar Gorge,” Anders said, stepping forward. He kept his head lowered, his tone carefully deferential.
“According to ancient manuscripts, this gorge not only suffers from natural lightning strikes, but also contains lightning spirits formed from condensed Violet Thunder Miasma left over from ancient times. It’s extremely dangerous. So, perhaps-”
Evander didn’t even bother to look at him. ”
Since you know it’s dangerous, let your men take the lead and clear the path. We will follow behind.”
For a heartbeat, something dark flickered across Anders’ face before it vanished. He cursed inwardly at the realization that they were being used as cannon fodder. But with the situation stacked against him, he could only swallow his pride and agree.
He answered humbly, “Yes. We will comply with your instructions, Mr. Quinton.”
He turned around, his face hardening, and barked orders to his subordinates. “First squad, form the Mystic Water Formation, then lead the way. Watch out for lightning strikes and be alert for lightning spirits. Move out!”
Ten Moseys’ elites answered and stepped forward. Each produced a water-blue formation flag and channeled spiritual energy into it. In an instant, a shimmering, aqueous defensive array took shape around them as they cautiously entered Thunderscar Gorge.
Inside the canyon, the light was dim. Overhead was a narrow strip of sky, and violet electric arcs occasionally leaped and crackled between the rock walls. The ground was rugged and slippery, covered in sharp stone fragments shattered by lightning strikes.
The Mystic Water Formation formed by those ten men glowed with a faint blue light, blocking the occasional small lightning arcs that struck down.
The first quarter mile passed without incident, but deeper into the gorge, the Violet Thunder Miasma grew thicker, and the stray arcs of electricity in the air multiplied.
Suddenly, a mass of thick Violet Thunder Miasma on the cliff wall ahead began to roil and condense. It formed into a leopard -shaped creature made entirely of lightning that silently roared and lunged at the Mystic Water Formation.
