I will never forget this day. For every drop of blood the demons spilled, I will demand a river in return! Jared had no idea how long had been running. His lungs burned, calves on fire, yet kept sprinting until the silhouette of Cloud Valley finally surfaced through the dim haze ahead.
At its mouth, veils of mist drifted like living curtains. Every few breaths, the vapor rippled, showing faint tremors in the air, echoes of that forbidden spatial technique Aurelius had once told about.
Relief cut through Jared’s exhaustion. He pushed himself faster, shifting Aurelius on his back to a steadier grip and charging for the valley’s threshold.
Then, without warning, the clash of steel and roars behind fell silent. His body locked.
Jared turned, each vertebra creaking, and stared into the dark forest they had just escaped. The tar-black miasma had dispersed. in its wake lay more than a dozen beast race cultivators, brothers in arms, sprawled across blood-soaked roots.
Their leader, a mighty bear beast cultivator, was pinned upright against an oak, a bone spear punched straight through his chest. His eyes, white and furious even in death, still glared as if cursing the unseen demon who had felled them.
“Ah!” A strangled roar tore from Jared’s throat, raw enough to taste iron. He dropped to one knee, facing the fallen cultivators, and bent in a deep how that trembled with grief.
“Brothers…” rasped, voice sandpapered and steady, “Rest easy… I will avenge you. I swear I’ll drive every last demon from level six…”
Stirred by the tremor in Jared’s chest, Aurelius cracked open heavy eyelids and whispered, “Jared… What happened?”
His words floated like cobwebs, thin and weightless.
Jared dashed a sleeve across the tears gathering at his lashes and forced calm into his tone.
“Nothing to worry about.” He managed a half smile. “We’ve reached Cloud Valley. Hold on a little longer. Someone in the Herb Sect will patch you up soon.”
Bracing Aurelius against him, stepped over the valley’s threshold.
With every ounce of strength left, Aurelius lifted one hand and traced a labyrinth of sigils In the air, chanting words that flickered like embers.
Space rippled. A glassy barrier materialized, invisible until candlelight caught its edges. Jared guided them through.
Behind them, the entrance sealed, erasing the carnage, shutting sorrow and vengeance outside. Instantly, the world transformed. Warbling birds, sweet flower scents, and the warm tang of medicinal herbs washed over them. It was as though they had stepped from midnight into high noon-blood-spattered nightmares replaced by a garden painted in sunlight.
But Jared’s chest felt carved hollow.
Again and again, saw the beast race cultivators falling, heard the snap of bones, the hiss of demonic laughter. Those faces, bright, defiant, branded themselves onto his heart.
A new weight settled on his shoulders. He still had to heal Aurelius, recapture the Ritual Manual, and rescue the entire level six. Now also carried the debts of the beast race cultivators who had died to buy this chance.
“Demon scum… Soul Devourer…” muttered, each name a knife edge. Fingers clenched around the hilt of Dragonslayer Sword, the blade quivered, answering the fury that crackled through him.
Footsteps whisked over the grass.
Several women in snow-white gowns hurried toward them, medicine chests swinging at their sides. Their expressions were wary, protective.
“Who are you? How did you slip into the Herb Sect?” the one in front demanded.
“We need help!” Jared blurted, pulling Aurelius closer as if shielding from the very air. “He’s gravely wounded, tainted by demonic energy. Please, show mercy and let us through!”
The women exchanged a quick glance. Their leader stepped forward, fingers gentle yet decisive as inspected Aurelius’s black-veined wounds.
Her brows knit. “Injuries this severe, corruption that deep… Follow us… The sect leader is in the front hall. Whether lives will be decision.”
Jared bowed in gratitude and hurried after them, cradling Aurelius while the white-robed healers parted the perfumed air ahead.
Along the path, noticed something striking, every figure passed, all tending gardens, grinding powders, teaching fledgling healers, was a woman.
Concentration shone on their faces like prayer candles, their calm a stark, almost surreal contrast to the chaos still raging beyond Cloud Valley’s veil.
Just outside the great entryway of the front hall, the leading disciple halted beneath the carved eaves. Her voice, sharp with urgency yet disciplined by training, rang through the chamber beyond. “Ms. Lughlin… Two visitors seek healing. One bears grave wounds, the taint of demonic energy is eating at his spirit.”
“Show them in…” The answer drifted out in a tone as gentle as falling snow and as calm as still water, a voice that carried quiet authority without the need to rise above a measured murmur.
