An Understated Dominance (Dustin Rhys) Chapter 2681 TO 2690 ENGLISH VERSION

ENGLISH VERSION 2681

 

After resting for a while, Grace exhaled softly, trying to steady her nerves. She turned to look at the few who had chosen to stay.

Alongi’s eyes were resolute. The two remaining guards, though pale and exhausted, held their weapons in a death grip, refusing to waver. Old Jhangi leaned against the rock wall, his broken arm wrapped in cloth, his eyes dull but calm—resigned, yet quietly steadfast. Stevie stood beside him, worry etched across his face.

Finally, Grace’s gaze fell on Logan. His eyes were still closed, his breathing deep and even, as if the chaos of the outside world had never touched him. That quiet composure, so detached and unwavering, somehow eased the storm in her own heart.

“Let’s go.”

Her voice, though calm, carried a steel-like resolve—a tone that left no room for hesitation.

Logan opened his eyes just then, nodded slightly, and without another word, took the lead toward the narrow passage that stretched into the unknown.

The tunnel was dark and damp, forcing them to stoop as they moved single file. The air reeked of earth and decay—completely different from the faint sandalwood scent of the cave behind them.

They advanced cautiously, each step echoing through the silence, wary of traps or hidden formations. After what felt like an incense stick of time, a faint light appeared ahead—accompanied by an odd mix of earthy musk and the sweet fragrance of medicine.

Pushing aside the hanging vines at the entrance, they froze in collective awe.

It was as if they had stepped into a world forgotten by time.

Before them lay an enormous cavern—half natural, half man-made. Cracks in the ceiling let in streaks of filtered sunlight that scattered across the ground below, illuminating a vast, overgrown medicinal garden.

Rows of stone ridges—once carved from smooth, white jade—still faintly glimmered beneath a tangle of weeds and vines. Though much of it had collapsed, traces of its former grandeur remained.

And amidst the ruins, countless strange and luminous plants continued to thrive.

Some glowed red like living flames, radiating warmth.

Others shimmered with icy-blue frost, chilling the surrounding air.

A few bore blossoms as large as bowls, shifting colors with every flicker of light.

And at the center of one withered bed lay a crystal-like seed, no bigger than a baby’s fist—its translucent surface swirling like a tiny galaxy.

“My god…” Stevie gasped. “These are—these can’t be real…”

Even without knowing their names, the sheer vitality and spiritual aura pouring from the plants were undeniable.

Alongi, though battle-hardened, stood dumbfounded. Never in his life had he seen so many legendary herbs gathered in one place.

Grace hurried forward, stopping before a plant half her height—its leaves gleamed like emerald jade, and at its tip hung a golden fruit the size of a longan. Her voice trembled with disbelief.

“This… this might be Jadeite Ganoderma! And over there—those silver leaves forming a seven-star pattern—that’s Star Grass! Both of these were thought to have gone extinct!”

She turned in every direction, wonder lighting her eyes. “Flame Crimson Flos, Ice Crystal Snow Lotus, Illusion Heart Orchid… This place—it’s a treasure trove of ancient elixirs!”

Even as a princess, accustomed to the treasures of royal vaults, she had never witnessed anything like this. If these herbs could be brought back to the empire, their worth would be beyond measure.

But Logan’s expression remained unchanged. He moved quietly through the ruined garden, his gaze sharp and assessing.

While the others marveled, his senses probed deeper—tracing the faint ripples of energy around each plant, the texture of the soil beneath their feet, the faint hum of something unnatural.

Finally, he stopped, crouched down, and picked up a handful of earth.

The soil wasn’t black or brown—it was a dark, blood-red hue, warm to the touch, as though it still held a trace of life… or death.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The herbs are extraordinary, but something’s wrong here.”

He straightened, his gaze sweeping toward the deepest part of the garden. Several ancient stone tablets stood half-buried in vines and moss. The inscriptions had mostly eroded, but faint cloud patterns carved into the surface hinted at their ancient origin.

Grace joined him, excitement fading into solemnity. Together, they brushed away the moss and read what little remained.

Most of the text listed the names and properties of rare herbs—but the final lines carved into the largest tablet froze them both in place.

“The Emperor, in his wrath, slew the evil dragon of Fairyharbor.

Its blood soaked the land, bringing death to all things.

Yet those who absorbed its corrupted essence gained strength,

and strange transformations began to appear…

The waters of Yaochi Lake can cleanse defilement,

but beware the Dragon Blood Bodhi that grows beside it.

Though it appears as an elixir, it is born from evil.

Consume it, and your soul will perish—or worse,

you shall become a puppet of the dragon’s will.

Be warned! Be warned!”

Grace’s lips moved unconsciously as she whispered the final words. “Dragon blood… Dragon Blood Bodhi…”

A shiver ran down her spine.

Her thoughts flashed back to the mural of the sealed dragon they had seen before—and to the undead beasts whose strange, unnatural strength had nearly destroyed them.

Could it be… that the horrors of Fairyharbor Island, the so-called ‘miracle pills,’ and the ancient dragon’s seal… were all connected?

2682

Crossing the treacherous medicinal garden felt like dancing on the edge of life and death.

Those once-alluring elixirs that shimmered with divine light now appeared to everyone like hidden demons waiting to strike.

They followed closely behind Logan, avoiding every patch of land that pulsed with abnormal energy. Every step was taken with absolute caution, their nerves stretched to the breaking point.

At last, the fog thickened, and the faint sound of running water grew clearer.

Pushing through the final veil of spiritual mist, what lay before them stole everyone’s breath away.

A vast expanse of water stretched out like a mirror, shimmering in a dreamlike shade of azure.

The lake’s surface radiated pure, tangible spiritual energy. Just breathing it in made them feel rejuvenated, their drained inner strength slowly returning.

At the center of the lake stood a small island, faintly visible through the drifting mist. The outlines of ancient pavilions and towers flickered like a mirage, exuding a celestial, otherworldly grace.

“Yaochi! This must be the legendary Yaochi!” Stevie gasped, her voice trembling with hope.

Even Old Jhangi, whose eyes had been dim since his injury, showed a flicker of light for the first time.

But the heavenly scene was marred by something deeply wrong.

Near the shore, the pristine azure water turned a dark, murky red, as if tainted by blood. Violent spiritual currents surged from those crimson depths, clashing with the lake’s peaceful aura and distorting the air with a sense of chaos.

The shoreline itself was stained the same eerie red, its soil matching the corrupted earth of the medicine garden. Twisted plants grew along the bank, their warped forms releasing a faint, familiar scent—the same as the tainted herbs they had seen before.

“Dragon blood soaked into it… even Yaochi couldn’t resist its corruption,” Grace murmured, her voice heavy with unease.

Hope stood right before them, yet even this sacred land had not escaped the touch of evil.

As they stood there searching for a way to cross the lake, a calm, aged voice suddenly echoed in their ears, carrying neither malice nor warmth:

“It is no small feat to pass through so many trials and arrive at the edge of Yaochi Lake.”

Everyone froze, instantly on guard. Their eyes darted toward the voice—

An old monk sat cross-legged on a smooth slab of jade-blue stone by the shore.

It was the same monk in robes they had met in the bamboo courtyard days ago.

He looked unchanged—white hair and beard, his robe simple and worn, his face thin but serene. His eyes were deep and still, like an ancient well that had witnessed centuries of rise and fall. It was as though he had been waiting there for them all along.

The guards tensed up immediately. Alongi stepped in front of Grace, gripping his weapon, his instincts screaming danger. The old monk’s presence felt heavier than the beasts they had faced before—calm, yet terrifyingly unfathomable.

Logan stepped forward protectively, shielding the others behind him. Bowing slightly, he said evenly, “Senior, we mean no offense. May I ask if you have guidance for us?”

The old monk smiled faintly, his whisk brushing the air as he spoke. “Guidance? I dare not presume. I am Cassius, guardian of this island. To see someone capable of overcoming the mirages and illusions, to pierce through the secrets of the medicine garden—it must be fate.”

His words carried no hostility—only the quiet fatigue of one who had lived through countless ages.

Grace’s heart stirred. Stepping forward respectfully, she bowed. “Senior Cassius, I am Grace. Since you already know who we are, then you must also know why we came. I seek the elixir to save our dying Emperor. Please, I beg you, show us mercy and guide our way.”

Cassius looked at her, his gaze filled with both compassion and sorrow. “Child, I know your heart. But the ‘immortal elixir’ you seek is not what you believe it to be.”

He raised his hand, pointing first to the mist-shrouded island at the lake’s center, then to the crimson-stained waters at their feet.

“This place is called Fairyharbor. It is not some blessed land of immortals. Its true heart is a seal—an ancient one, forged to contain the Ruin Dragon you saw depicted in the mural. That creature was born from chaos and sought to devour all life under heaven.”

“Xulong…” Logan murmured, his voice low. The name itself carried a weight of destruction.

Cassius nodded gravely. “Yes, the Ruin Dragon. Its power corrupts and consumes. Everything you’ve faced—the undead beasts, the mist spirits, the illusions, and even the bloodthirsty plants in the medicine garden—all of it stems from the dragon’s leaking aura. Over countless years, its evil seeped through the seal, tainting the land and everything that lives on it.”

His eyes softened as he turned back to Grace. “And the so-called elixir that can raise the dead? Its key ingredient—the Dragon Blood Bodhi—is formed from the Ruin Dragon’s own evil essence.”

Grace’s heart sank. Though she had suspected it after reading the stone tablet in the garden, hearing it confirmed by the guardian himself struck like a hammer to her chest.

“Senior… you mean the elixir itself is a curse?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Cassius inclined his head solemnly. “Indeed. The Dragon Blood Bodhi contains the purest essence of corruption and life intertwined. It may heal wounds and restore the dead—but at a cost. The price is the soul itself. The moment it enters the body, it begins consuming the spirit, burning lifespan, and twisting the mind. In the end, those who take it are likely to become dragon puppets—mindless, bloodthirsty, and forever bound to the dragon’s will.”

His words fell like thunder in the silent air.

“This elixir,” Cassius said softly, “is not a medicine of life. It is a charm of death—a poison that destroys the soul.”

2683

The moment those words left Cassius’s lips, Grace’s face went pale.

The fragile hope she had clung to shattered like glass. In her mind, she saw the horrifying image of her father not being healed but instead turning into a monster—his body twisted, his soul devoured by the very elixir meant to save him. The despair hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless.

Stevie dropped to her side, catching her as her knees wavered, eyes brimming with tears of her own.

Logan stood quietly nearby. He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to comfort her. Some truths could not be softened—they simply had to be faced.

Cassius looked at Grace, his ancient eyes full of quiet sympathy. He sighed. “Child, it’s not that I wish to deny your filial devotion—it’s fate itself that toys with you. To draw upon the Ruin Dragon’s power is to drink poison to quench thirst. It might bring temporary relief, but it will also hasten the breaking of the seal. When that happens, life will perish, the earth will wither, and everything you hold dear will be destroyed. That is a burden no one can bear—a sin too great for any mortal to carry.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Logan and the others. “Emmitt, another guardian, and I—we are the keepers of this seal. The duty has passed through generations: to ensure that the Ruin Dragon never rises again. But your intrusion, however unintentional, has already shaken the balance. My advice is simple—leave this island while you still can. Some of the herbs you’ve found here may indeed help with mortal ailments, but to think they can reverse death itself… that is nothing but a dangerous illusion.”

Cassius’s voice carried the weight of centuries. His words revealed the cruel truth behind Fairyharbor Island—the elixir they sought was not salvation, but damnation itself.

Grace’s mind was in turmoil. Her heart split between two impossible choices: to continue seeking the elixir and risk unleashing catastrophe, or to abandon her final hope and live forever haunted by guilt.

Her father’s kind smile, her mother’s dying wish, the desperate faces of her people—all collided violently in her thoughts. Cassius’s warning echoed in her ears, painting visions of the Ruin Dragon breaking free, consuming the world in flames.

Logan remained beside her, silent and steady as ever. He didn’t push her, didn’t speak a word. He knew—this was a choice only she could make.

After a long, suffocating silence, Grace finally raised her head. Her eyes were red, but within them burned a fragile, unwavering light.

“Senior,” she said softly, her voice trembling but firming with every word, “I understand your teachings.”

She drew in a deep breath and continued, her tone now resolute. “As a daughter, it is my duty to save my father. But as a ruler, I must place the lives of my people above all else. If I, out of selfishness, awaken something that brings ruin to the world… even if my father returned, he would never forgive me. And I could never forgive myself.”

Straightening her back, she bowed deeply to Cassius. “Thank you for your wisdom, Senior. I am willing to give up my search for the Dragon Blood Bodhi.”

The words came out steady—but the moment she spoke them, she felt both a crushing sorrow and an immense release. The unbearable weight she had carried seemed to lift, even as the ache in her heart deepened.

Cassius’s expression softened with admiration. “It is rare to find one so young who can see beyond their grief and choose righteousness over desire.” His voice lowered, carrying a faint, cryptic undertone. “Yet… your father’s illness may not be without hope.”

Grace’s head snapped up, tears still glistening in her eyes, but now mixed with a spark of renewed life. “Senior, what do you mean?”

Cassius turned his gaze toward the heart of Yaochi, where the mist shimmered like living light. “The water at the lake’s core contains the purest essence of heaven and earth. It can cleanse filth and restore vitality. While it cannot resurrect the dead, it may prolong life and heal chronic wounds. That, child, may be the sliver of hope you seek.”

He paused, his expression hardening. “However… that core lies at the weakest point of the seal. The Ruin Dragon’s consciousness lingers there—it watches, waiting for any chance to break free. It is perilous beyond imagination. And I am not the only guardian of this place.”

Cassius’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Emmitt has already fallen to your strength, and the Mirage Spirit’s illusion was broken. Though they have retreated for now, not all who guard the seal share my view of mortals treading this land. Some may not let you leave in peace.”

He didn’t say more—but the warning was clear.

Even as one burden lifted, another path full of danger unfolded before them.

Grace wiped her tears, her expression firm once more. “Even if there’s only the faintest chance, even if danger waits at every step, I must try. Please, Senior—grant me your guidance.”

Cassius looked at her for a long moment, then turned to Logan—whose calm gaze met his without flinching. Finally, the old monk lifted his whisk and pointed toward the shimmering, divided lake.

“To reach the core,” he said slowly, “you must cross the Weak Water. Nothing floats upon it—not even a feather. Even birds cannot fly across its surface. Only by channeling pure spiritual power or using rare artifacts can one open a temporary path. And beneath the surface…”

He paused, his eyes deep as the lake itself. “Beneath lies a trial all its own.”

His words rippled through the air like a stone thrown into still water, their meaning spreading and sinking deep.

The terror of the Ruin Dragon, the discord among the guardians, and the perilous path through the Weak Water—each revelation weighed heavily on their hearts.

For a moment, the silence around Yaochi felt absolute, heavy with dread and the faint shimmer of fragile hope.

2684

“Weak Water…”

Grace’s gaze fell upon the vast, deceptively calm lake before her. The deep blue waters shimmered faintly, yet there was something unnerving about them—as if they could swallow not just light, but sound and hope as well. Even standing at the shore, she could sense the strange, oppressive laws woven into the water. Her brows knitted together.

The legends were true—a feather cannot float, and even a bird cannot fly across it.

Though Grace’s cultivation was strong, she could already tell that keeping the Weak Water at bay for long would be nearly impossible.

Logan stepped forward, kneeling by the water’s edge. A soft hum of energy formed at his fingertip as he gathered a trace of pure mystical power and let it drift toward the surface.

There was no splash, no ripple. The energy sank as though into thick syrup—dense and heavy. Movement slowed to a crawl, and then an unseen force began to grind against it, stripping the energy away bit by bit until nothing remained.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s true,” he murmured. “This water is bound by laws of dissolution and gravity. Ordinary light-body skills won’t work. To cross, we’ll need a spiritual barrier—or a tool infused with spatial or aquatic energy.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward Grace and the others. Clearly, none of them had such means.

Grace turned back to Cassius, her voice low but steady. “Senior, is there another way to cross safely?”

Cassius’s whisk swept gently through the air as he gestured toward the far shore, where the lake’s azure glow bled into the dark red taint of dragon blood. “The Weak Water’s reach is vast, but not endless,” he said. “If you follow the edge of the corrupted waters, you may find an ancient stone path leading toward the core. However…”

He paused, his tone darkening. “Time and the dragon’s corruption have eroded that path. I cannot promise it still stands. And where the blood and evil converge—what’s born there is neither man nor beast. Be on your guard.”

His words left no room for optimism. But it was the only path forward.

With no other choice, the group began their careful journey along the border between the serene blue and the tainted red of Yaochi’s waters.

The contrast was jarring.

On the corrupted side, the lake churned a murky crimson, reeking of blood and sulfur. The shore was blackened and cracked, its surface pulsing with dark red veins that throbbed like exposed arteries. Twisted, grotesque plants grew in abundance, their leaves like claws, their stalks oozing acid that hissed as it hit the ground.

The air itself was thick with madness. It clawed at the edges of their minds, whispering, pulling.

Alongi and the other guards struggled visibly, their breathing ragged as they used what little internal energy they had left to resist the influence. Even Stevie pressed a hand to her chest, face pale, her steps unsteady.

Logan led the way. The invisible energy field around him rippled faintly, pushing back the chaotic aura like waves breaking against rock. His expression was focused, his senses stretched thin—not just to protect the others, but to study their surroundings for hidden dangers.

After half an hour of tense, silent walking through the foul air and shifting shadows, they rounded a jagged cluster of rocks—and froze.

Before them lay a vast, open hollow beside the dark red lake.

And in its center stood an ancient altar—a massive structure ten feet high, built from black stone so old it seemed to drink in the light around it.

The circular platform was covered in dense carvings—runes so twisted and alien they looked alive, like serpents slithering beneath the surface. The moment anyone’s eyes lingered too long, a wave of dizziness followed, as if the symbols themselves were whispering into their minds.

Around the altar stood broken stone pillars, their surfaces scarred by time. From each one hung the remains of rusted chains—some still clinking faintly in the wind.

The ground was worse.

Dark brown stains covered everything—old blood, thick and nearly black. The stench of decay and resentment filled the air so heavily it seemed almost solid. It pulsed faintly, resonating with the evil taint of the lake.

And scattered around the altar were signs of something recent—shattered blades, scraps of torn clothing, and several corpses not yet fully decayed.

Stevie gasped and stumbled backward, covering her mouth.

Grace’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself closer, scanning the scene carefully.

The clothing was varied—some bore the insignias of Central Plains warriors, others clearly belonged to foreigners from distant lands. These people hadn’t come together. They’d all been drawn here—by the same desperate purpose—and met the same end.

By one of the corpses lay a bronze waist plate, half-charred but still engraved with a symbol: a twisted, flame-entwined ghost, screaming silently.

Alongi’s face turned ashen. His voice trembled as he whispered, “A… blood sacrifice. This is a blood sacrifice altar!”

The words struck everyone like a blow.

He swallowed hard, his gaze drifting toward the crimson depths of the lake, where faint ripples moved unnaturally beneath the surface. “Someone… used the flesh and souls of living beings as offerings. And the one they offered to—”

He stopped, his eyes wide with terror.

Even before he said it, everyone knew what he meant.

The offering… was the Ruin Dragon.

2685

Logan stepped toward the altar, unbothered by the waves of resentment swirling around it. He crouched down, picked up the bronze waist plate, and ran his fingertips over the twisted symbol carved into its surface. His eyes were cold and sharp.

“More than one group,” he murmured. “Judging by the age of the bloodstains and the decomposition of the remains, at least three separate factions have conducted blood sacrifices here—spanning several decades.”

He walked to a nearby corpse, one that was relatively intact. Examining its bones, he noticed something unnatural—the sternum glowed faintly with a dark golden hue, its surface riddled with hairline cracks.

“This man was powerful,” Logan said quietly. “At least Grandmaster level when alive. But his death… wasn’t natural. His blood, essence, and soul were forcibly drained. Even the spiritual imprint within his bones has been stripped away.”

Grace frowned, her thoughts flashing back to Cassius’s earlier warning—that the Ruin Dragon’s seal had been decaying, leaking its power over time.

“Was this blood sacrifice meant to communicate with the Ruin Dragon?” she asked, her voice tight. “Or to weaken the seal?”

“It’s possible,” Logan replied, rising slowly. His gaze swept across the altar until it settled on the stone trough at its center—a shallow depression, smooth and dark, as though worn down by countless offerings.

The inner wall of the trough still reeked of blood. Beneath the scent lingered a faint, eerie vibration—something ancient and sacrilegious.

“This ritual wasn’t just about breaking the seal,” Logan said gravely. “It was feeding the Ruin Dragon—nourishing it with the essence, resentment, and souls of the living.”

A chill rippled through the group.

So the danger threatening Fairyharbor Island wasn’t merely the result of time and decay—it was intentional. Someone had been accelerating the ruin.

Grace’s face paled. “But who would do this? And why?”

Whoever found this island, constructed this altar, and performed such depraved rites had to be powerful—and deliberate.

Logan’s tone was low, analytical. “Their motives aren’t clear. But someone’s trying to draw strength from the Ruin Dragon’s power. That would explain the surge in violent beasts and the seal’s instability. These blood sacrifices… they’re like hammers striking a dam already cracked and ready to burst.”

His eyes turned toward the heart of the lake. “We’ll need to move faster. Finding the Yaochi Water isn’t enough—we need to uncover who’s behind all this. The ‘divergent views’ Cassius mentioned might be tied to these blood rites.”

As Logan spoke, Old Jhangi—who had been silently surveying the surroundings—lifted his damaged arm and pointed toward a massive rock formation behind the altar. His voice was hoarse. “There… on that reef. There’s writing.”

Everyone turned. Carved roughly into the stone’s surface were jagged, blood-red words—scrawled as if by a dying hand:

“With blood as my guide and soul as my sacrifice, I implore the Dragon Lord to grant me great power… The Black Evil is immortal…”

The inscription ended abruptly, the final strokes jagged and uneven, as though the writer had been interrupted—or killed mid-sentence.

“Black Evil?” Grace muttered, exchanging a confused glance with Alongi. Neither had heard the name before.

Logan’s eyes darkened as he studied both the inscription and the strange symbol on the bronze plate. He committed every detail to memory. Whatever this Black Evil was, it was deeply entwined with the altar—and the unseen forces manipulating the Ruin Dragon from the shadows.

The discovery cast a heavy gloom over the group. The air felt colder, thicker, and the silence heavier than before.

Logan finally turned away. “Let’s move. We need to find the stone path.”

He pushed his thoughts aside and led the way out of that cursed hollow, the others following in tense silence. Each step away from the altar felt like wading out of a nightmare—but the unease didn’t fade.

After nearly a mile along the corrupted lakeshore, they finally found it—a narrow, faintly glowing path half-hidden behind a patch of foul-smelling aquatic plants.

The stones were pale jade, glimmering faintly beneath the dark red water. It stretched like a fragile thread through the lake—an almost unreal bridge toward the unknown.

When Logan stepped onto it, he felt a subtle current beneath his feet—a pulse of spiritual energy, ancient and deliberate. It was this power that kept the Weak Water’s corrosive pull at bay.

But the path was treacherously thin, barely wide enough for one person. The slightest misstep would send them plunging into the blood-tainted waters on either side, where the lake’s surface churned like the maw of a waiting beast.

Grace followed close behind Logan, her focus absolute. Yet her thoughts churned beneath her calm exterior.

The altar’s discovery weighed heavily on her heart. There weren’t just natural dangers here—something intelligent, malicious, and hidden was orchestrating chaos. And with each step forward, her hope of finding her father felt more fragile, more desperate.

Behind her, Alongi and the two guards moved with painstaking care, balancing themselves while scanning the waters for any sign of movement.

Stevie walked in the middle, supporting Old Jhangi. The old man’s breathing had grown labored, his face ashen from the oppressive aura pressing in from all sides.

The group moved slowly, step by step, swallowed by silence.

Then—when they reached the middle of the jade trail, with no end visible before or behind—something changed.

The air trembled.

The lake around them rippled, not from wind or motion, but from something alive.

The faint hum beneath their feet faltered.

And in that instant, every instinct screamed—

something was rising from the depths.

2686

The dark red lake, which had only been lightly rippling moments ago, suddenly exploded into chaos—as if something colossal had awoken beneath its depths.

Without warning, the surface split apart. From the blood-soaked waters surged massive tentacles, each as thick as a water tank, formed from congealed blood and foul energy.

They lashed out with a shrill, grinding sound—like metal scraping bone—and a reeking wind swept across the narrow jade path. The monstrous limbs whipped toward the group from every direction, like countless giant serpents rising to devour them alive.

“Careful!” Aaron shouted, swinging his sword toward the tentacle aiming for Grace.

Steel met the fleshy appendage with a deafening clang. Sparks flew.

The tentacle’s surface was so tough it rang like forged iron. A wave of corrosive energy burst from it, numbing Aaron’s arm. A film of dark red slime spread over his blade, dimming its spiritual light in an instant.

The two other guards attacked as well, but their strikes only carved shallow gashes that quickly sealed over. Instead of pushing the enemy back, they were being overwhelmed.

Grace slashed with her green bamboo dagger again and again, but the weapon barely left dents on the tentacles’ surface.

“Get behind me!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos.

His eyes sharpened, steady as ever. He didn’t draw his sword—instead, his hands blurred through a series of seals. Spiritual energy surged through his body, condensing into a massive, rotating emerald Tai Chi diagram that spread outward and enveloped the group.

“Mystical energy protects the body—no evil shall invade!”

The tentacles struck the spinning Tai Chi phantom with thunderous blows. Bang! Bang! The air vibrated with each impact.

Pure mystical energy clashed violently with the filthy evil power, sizzling and smoking as black vapor hissed upward from every collision.

The Tai Chi shield wavered but held. The first brutal onslaught had been stopped.

Yet the assault didn’t relent.

More tentacles burst from the lake, coiling around the edges of the glowing Tai Chi barrier instead of striking it directly. Their blood-red slime sizzled as it ate away at the shield’s energy, trying to corrode and unravel it from within.

At the same time, the lake released a dense, blood-colored mist. It rolled toward them in choking waves, heavy with spiritual corruption. The fog seeped through the barrier, whispering in their ears—showing twisted illusions and dark visions, trying to drag their minds into madness.

“Hold your hearts steady!” Logan’s voice rang like a clear bell, slicing through the fog of illusion.

His hands never stopped moving, maintaining the Tai Chi formation. But his eyes—cold and razor-sharp—fixed on something deep within the blood mist.

“Enough hiding,” he said flatly. “Show yourself.”

A voice, cold and full of resentment, echoed back:

“Heh… perceptive as always, Logan.”

The lake suddenly parted, water churning and surging to the sides. From the depths, a figure cloaked in white light slowly rose—hovering above the blood-red surface.

Emmitt.

But this was no longer the weakened man they’d fought before.

He still wore his pristine white robe, untouched by the filth around him. His once-pale face now glowed with vitality, his skin almost luminous, as though carved from jade. A terrifying new power pulsed through him—far stronger than before.

The indifference in his eyes had been replaced by burning hatred, and a twisted thrill of vengeance.

Suspended above the lake, wreathed in blinding white light that clashed violently with the dark red below, Emmitt looked like a fallen god rising from the depths of hell.

“Dragon Blood Regeneration Pill…” Logan muttered, eyes narrowing.

He could sense it—the violent, rejuvenating energy inside Emmitt’s body. The dragon blood’s aura was nearly identical to that of the lake and the blood altar, but far more concentrated.

So that was it. Emmitt had taken the elixir from the burly man. Not only had his injuries healed—his strength had multiplied.

“You didn’t see this coming, did you, Logan?”

Emmitt’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “Thanks to you, I’ve not only rebuilt my body—but my brother rewarded me with the Dragon Blood Elixir. Now, my power has transcended what it once was! Today, you die here. You and all these worthless insects who disturbed my rest!”

Before his words even faded, he raised one hand—and pointed.

A spear of white light, so dense it seemed solid, shot from his fingertip. Its edges were traced with dark red threads of blood energy, writhing like veins. The beam tore through the air, crossing the distance in an instant and slamming toward Logan’s Tai Chi barrier.

BOOM!

The beam struck the center of the spinning diagram. The shield shuddered violently, spiderweb cracks spreading across its surface.

Logan’s body trembled from the impact, his face tightening.

Emmitt laughed, his voice echoing across the lake. “Do you see it, Logan? This—this is true power!”

He raised both hands now, and a storm of blinding white beams rained down from the sky, each one laced with crimson threads that pulsed like living veins.

The air howled. Energy exploded in every direction.

Each strike slammed into the Tai Chi shield like a hammer from heaven, shaking it to its core. The tentacles below joined in, pounding and coiling around the weakened barrier.

Under the relentless dual assault—inside and out—the Tai Chi phantom’s light began to dim.

Cracks spread faster, multiplying like lightning through glass.

Then, with a sharp, resonant crack—

The shield was on the verge of collapse.

2687

“Go! Keep moving forward along the stone path!” Logan shouted in a deep, commanding voice.

He knew they couldn’t just keep defending. With a sharp motion, he withdrew the Tai Chi diagram and, instead of retreating, surged forward—turning into a streak of brilliant green light as he charged straight into the storm of light beams.

Clang!

His sword finally left its sheath, releasing a clear, dragon-like roar.

Logan’s wrist trembled slightly, and the blade burst into motion. The sword’s light poured out like a waterfall, weaving a dense green curtain of blades before him.

Ding! Dang! Boom!

Light beams crashed into the sword curtain in a violent clash, scattering sparks and waves of energy. Most beams shattered upon impact, but a few still tore through, slamming into the lake behind Logan. The blasts sent up bloody waves and even shattered part of the jade path beneath their feet.

A Long and the others were pale with fear. They didn’t dare hesitate—forming a protective circle around Grace, Stevie, and Old Jhangi as they dashed forward along the trembling stone path.

“Trying to run? Did I say you could leave?” Emmitt’s voice cut through the chaos, cold and sharp.

His figure flickered—and in the blink of an eye, he appeared at the front of the path, blocking their escape.

He pressed his fingers together like a blade, and a searing white edge of light flared forth, carrying the power to tear apart the world itself. It slashed toward A Long, who led the group.

The attack was as fast as lightning—far too fast for A Long to react.

At that critical instant, a streak of green sword light flashed out of nowhere, colliding perfectly with the side of Emmitt’s white blade.

Bang!

The light blade was deflected, barely missing A Long, and sliced into the lake behind him instead—carving out a deep trench that stretched for dozens of feet.

Logan appeared beside A Long, sword in hand, his breathing slightly unsteady. The rescue had cost him; several of Emmitt’s earlier beams had grazed him.

“Your opponent… is me,” Logan said calmly, his eyes locked on Emmitt with an unshakable resolve.

Emmitt’s lips curled into a cruel grin. “Fine. I’ll kill you first—then deal with the rest.”

His hands came together, white light and dark red energy intertwining wildly around him. The space trembled as a terrifying energy built up in his palms.

“Nirvana Wave!”

He thrust both palms forward, unleashing a half-white, half-red sphere of annihilation. It streaked toward Logan like a meteor, radiating the power to crush everything in its path. Wherever it passed, the air twisted, light vanished, and even space itself seemed to groan under the pressure.

This was Emmitt’s full strength—fueled by the dragon blood elixir and his own malevolent aura. It was enough to obliterate a mountain.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. He could sense the devastation this attack carried. There was no room for restraint.

Drawing upon every drop of his mystical true energy, he poured it all into his sword.

The blade trembled and sang, glowing with an even brighter green light. At its tip, a point of complete darkness began to form—so deep that it seemed to devour the surrounding light itself.

Slowly, Logan raised his sword. The motion looked almost unhurried, yet it felt as though it pulled on the very energy of heaven and earth.

The darkness grew and spun, condensing into a miniature black hole that floated at the sword’s tip—radiating a silence more terrifying than thunder.

“Mystical Energy Returns to the Ruins!”

Logan’s voice was low, filled with power. He thrust his sword forward—straight into the oncoming sphere of annihilation.

There was no deafening explosion. No blinding flash.

The moment the black hole touched the annihilation sphere, the world seemed to freeze.

Then, a silent, soul-crushing suction erupted.

The annihilation sphere—once powerful enough to level mountains—was caught in the black hole’s pull. Its violent energy twisted and screamed as it was torn apart and consumed.

In seconds, the massive energy sphere began to shrink and dim before their eyes.

The triumphant smirk on Emmitt’s face froze. His pupils shrank in disbelief.

“No… impossible! What kind of power is this? How can it devour the Dragon’s Evil Power?!”

He frantically tried to stabilize his attack, but it was useless—like trying to stop a flood with bare hands. The sphere collapsed, its light swallowed completely by the dark vortex at Logan’s sword tip.

In only a few heartbeats, the annihilation sphere was gone—erased from existence.

Only the small, swirling black hole remained, its presence radiating a darkness that made the soul tremble.

Logan’s face had gone pale—drained from the immense effort—but his sword arm stayed firm. The black hole’s tip still pointed straight at Emmitt, as if declaring that he would be the next to vanish into nothingness.

Emmitt stared into that darkness, feeling an ancient dread rise from the depths of his being. For the first time, fear drowned out his arrogance and fury.

Even with his newfound power, he realized he was facing something he couldn’t comprehend—let alone defeat.

“Y-You… who are you?” he stammered, his voice trembling.

Logan said nothing. He simply lifted his sword slightly.

Emmitt’s expression shifted from rage to panic. Abandoning all pride, he turned and fled—transforming into a streak of white light that shot across the blood-red lake. His voice echoed behind him, twisted with hate and unwillingness:

“Logan! You just wait! Fairyharbor Island will be your grave!”

The enemy vanished, and silence returned.

Logan slowly lowered his sword. The black hole at its tip faded away, dissolving into the still, crimson air.

He exhaled deeply, calming the turbulent energy in his body.

Though victorious, the battle had pushed him to his limit. “Mystical Energy Returns to the Ruins” had drained nearly all of his true energy.

Grace and the others finally snapped out of their stunned silence and rushed toward him.

“Logan! Are you okay?” Grace asked anxiously, her voice trembling.

Seeing the pallor on his face, her heart filled with both worry and gratitude.

“I’m fine,” Logan said, shaking his head lightly.

His gaze shifted toward the direction Emmitt had fled, then down to the dark red lake still rippling with malevolent energy. The path ahead stretched endlessly, shrouded in blood and mist.

The White Cicada might have retreated—but the danger wasn’t over.

The next enemy could be even stronger.

2688

“Let’s move. We can’t stay here.”

Logan was the first to step onto the fractured, slippery stone path. His stride remained steady, though Grace could sense something different about him—the calm power surrounding him had become quieter, more focused, as if he were conserving strength for whatever lay ahead.

The group followed in silence. The air itself felt heavy.

Alongi and the other two guards gripped their weapons tightly, their eyes darting toward the blood-red waves on either side, half-expecting some monstrous thing to burst out of the water at any moment.

Stevie supported Old Jhangi, whose condition was rapidly worsening. The dragon blood’s corruption was eating away at his life force, leaving his skin pale and his eyes unfocused.

As they ventured deeper, the scenery began to twist and blur.

The once-clear boundary between the lake’s azure waters and the dark red contamination started to fade. The two colors mixed like oil and paint, bleeding into each other to form a surreal, distorted landscape.

The air itself grew unstable—spiritual energy and violent power blended together, becoming wild and chaotic.

Then came something worse: an invisible but crushing sense of oppression that seemed to press in from every direction. It didn’t come from an enemy—it came from the space itself.

The first thing to go wrong was gravity.

At one moment, their bodies felt unbearably heavy, as if a thousand-pound weight had been dropped on their shoulders. The jade path beneath them bent and groaned. The next moment, gravity suddenly reversed—lightening until they nearly floated off the path, forcing them to use all their inner strength just to stay grounded.

The fluctuations were completely random—sometimes pulling them down violently, other times making them feel weightless. The constant shifts drained both their energy and their focus.

“Steady yourselves! Control your breathing—match it to the rhythm of the changes!” Logan’s voice cut through the chaos, calm yet commanding.

Around him, an invisible field shimmered faintly. It dulled the erratic gravitational pull, giving those nearby some relief—but even Logan had to divide his concentration to maintain it.

Unfortunately, gravity was only the beginning.

Moments later, the world itself began to warp.

The path still looked straight—but when one stepped forward, they’d find themselves veering off course, dangerously close to the lake’s edge.

The scenery stretched and compressed like a mirage; light bent unnaturally, distorting perception until everyone’s heads spun.

“It’s… spatial distortion!” Grace gasped, her face pale.

She tried to steady herself, extending her spiritual sense to find the true path through the warped space—but the chaotic laws of this realm tore at her mind like a raging storm, scattering her focus to pieces.

One of the guards attempted to swing his sword at a particularly twisted patch ahead, but when the blade touched it, it felt as though he were cutting through thick glue. The weapon bent under the strain before he hastily pulled it back, his heart pounding.

And that was just the beginning.

The deeper they went, the worse it became.

Invisible cracks began to appear in the air—thin as glass and nearly transparent. Anything that brushed against them was instantly severed.

One guard wasn’t fast enough. A corner of his robe brushed one of those cracks and disintegrated into powder. Cold sweat poured down his face.

At times, wild elemental energy erupted without warning. A flare of blue fire would blaze to their left, while to their right, an icy wall would form in an instant—the clashing forces of flame and frost warping the air between them.

Fragments of illusions occasionally broke into their minds—random flashes of memory or nightmare, trying to shake their grip on reality.

It felt as though they had entered a world where the laws of creation itself were breaking apart—a domain where even heaven and earth had turned hostile.

“Ah!”

Old Jhangi finally reached his limit. When gravity suddenly doubled again, his weakened body couldn’t keep up. His balance faltered, his mind clouded with hallucinations. With a strangled cry, he slipped off the edge—toward the lake filled with invisible spatial rifts.

“Old Jhangi!” Stevie shouted, reaching out instinctively—but a violent gust of chaotic energy shoved him back.

Just as Old Jhangi was about to fall into certain death, a flash of green streaked through the air.

Logan appeared beside him like a phantom. One hand caught the back of Old Jhangi’s collar, while the other formed a sword with his fingers, slashing several times at what seemed like empty space ahead.

Buzz!

A strange ripple spread outward. The twisted air before them suddenly flattened, as if an invisible hand had forcibly smoothed the distortion.

Seizing that brief moment, Logan pulled Old Jhangi close and blinked through the danger—dodging several invisible blades and bursts of corrosive energy before landing safely back on the trail.

Old Jhangi collapsed to the ground, gasping, his face pale and eyes wide with terror.

The others stared, stunned, cold sweat trickling down their backs.

Logan gently set Old Jhangi down, his expression darker than before.

He scanned the warped, shifting landscape ahead and spoke in a grave tone.

“This is the core region of the Sealed Rift. The Ruin Dragon’s power has broken the laws of this place, creating what’s called a Law Chaos Realm. Every step we take here could trigger disaster—so don’t rely on logic or what your senses tell you.”

He turned his gaze to the group—Alongi and the guards, exhausted and pale from the energy drain; Old Jhangi, barely hanging on; and Stevie, whose cultivation was far too weak for this place.

“Stay close to me. Don’t use spiritual power unless I tell you to, and suppress your aura as much as possible. The less you resist the chaotic laws, the safer you’ll be.”

From that point on, every step was torture.

Logan led the way, his eyes glowing faintly with cyan-gold light. He no longer relied on spiritual sense but on something deeper—his sense of the Dao itself—to feel and adapt to the shattered rules around them.

Sometimes he stopped suddenly, signaling them to wait for a surge of chaotic energy to subside. Other times, he’d veer sharply off course, stepping into what appeared to be empty space—only for that step to land on the one stable point in the entire distortion.

Occasionally, he’d strike with a single, precise motion—breaking a newborn spatial crack before it could fully form.

He moved like a helmsman steering a fragile ship through a hurricane, relying on instinct, mastery, and profound understanding of heaven’s laws to carve a safe path through the storm.

The others followed closely behind, stepping in his exact footprints, afraid to breathe too loudly.

They stared at Logan’s back—narrow yet unwavering—and awe swelled within them. It wasn’t just a difference in strength. It was the difference between worlds.

Here, in this collapsing realm, Logan wasn’t just a cultivator. He was the axis around which their reality still held.

Time lost all meaning.

Minutes or hours—it was impossible to tell. Every breath felt longer than the last. Their strength was nearly gone, their willpower the only thing keeping them moving.

Then, at last—the distortion ahead began to fade.

The twisted colors softened, space settled, and gravity steadied once more.

From the distance came a wave of energy—vast, refined, and alive. Though faintly hostile, it carried a gentle vitality that washed over them like the first breath of dawn.

They had finally passed through the death zone.

 

 

 

English version 

2689 

After crossing the death zone, the view ahead suddenly opened up.

At the end of the path lay a vast circular platform made entirely of pure white jade. It floated above the surface of the Yaochi Lake, shrouded in clouds and mist, while spiritual energy hung in the air so densely it felt like falling rain.

In the very center of the platform bubbled a spring no more than ten feet wide. What flowed out wasn’t ordinary water—it was a dense, luminous spiritual liquid, swirling with iridescent colors.

That was the source of all the pure energy and spiritual power!

Yet, as soon as they stepped onto the jade platform, the overwhelming spiritual aura didn’t soothe their exhaustion. Instead, a pressure far greater than Emmitt’s—and even stronger than the chaotic laws they had just endured—pressed down upon them like an invisible mountain.

In the middle of the platform, the radiant spring still flowed, and beside it, the cracked seal gaped like a bleeding wound, releasing faint streaks of dark red murderous energy.

And before that spring stood a solitary figure.

He wore a dark black battle robe embroidered with faint golden patterns, his frame towering and broad like a mountain. Merely standing there, he seemed to anchor the entire Yaochi realm—like a demon suppressing the gates of hell.

His face was sharp and striking, yet in his deep, cold eyes lay an unfeeling indifference—an arrogance that regarded all life as nothing more than ants.

It was Aukon, the chief guardian of Fairyharbor Island.

His gaze swept over the group—worn out, battered, and running low on strength. His eyes paused briefly on Grace, where a trace of royal aura lingered around her, and an almost imperceptible look of disdain flickered in his eyes. Then, finally, his attention locked onto Logan like a predator sizing up his prey.

“This place is not for ants to tread,” Aukon said. His voice wasn’t loud, but each word vibrated with an oppressive law, striking their souls like heavy hammers.

Alongi and the two guards groaned in pain, blood seeping from their lips as their knees nearly buckled.

Grace and Stevie trembled, their faces pale.

Only Logan stood firm, his posture as steady as a pine. A faint sword intent flowed around him, quietly dissolving the crushing pressure.

“Is Fairyharbor Island your private property?” Logan asked calmly. “We’re here to seek a chance at survival, not to offend you.”

Aukon’s lips curved into a cold, mocking smile. “A chance at survival? You’re already standing at your grave. Your flesh, blood, and souls will serve as nourishment for the Dragon Lord’s resurrection. Consider it an honor, ants.”

He didn’t even give Grace the chance to speak—her existence didn’t seem to matter to him at all.

His piercing eyes never left Logan. “Especially you… You possess an extraordinary vessel. Your body and soul are perfect materials for a puppet of Ji Jia. Once refined, you’ll become a formidable dragon puppet warrior.”

Before the last word faded, Aukon casually lifted his left hand. His fingers moved swiftly, weaving through the air like playing the strings of an ancient instrument, forming a mysterious and ancient seal.

The spiritual liquid around the spring and the dragon blood’s murderous energy suddenly boiled and surged!

Buzz—!

The air trembled violently.

Four dark red beams of light, tinged with the glow of the colorful spiritual fluid, shot upward from around the spring. Within each column, a humanoid silhouette began to take shape until, with a heavy thud, four figures landed on the platform, standing between Aukon and Logan’s group.

They were dragon-blood war puppets.

Each was human-sized, their metallic bodies veined with pulsing red lines that looked disturbingly like living blood. Their heads were smooth and featureless, save for two glowing crimson orbs that burned with pure destruction.

A deathly stillness radiated from them, intertwined with the venom of dragon blood and the unnatural energy of the Yaochi Spirit Liquid—a contradiction so intense it warped the very air around them. Their claws gleamed like forged blades, ready to tear through flesh and bone alike.

The energy each puppet released was no weaker than Emmitt’s after he had taken the Dragon Blood Rejuvenating Pill. Worse, their auras resonated with one another, forming a subtle but deadly killing formation that sealed off every escape route.

“These dragon-blood battle puppets were crafted from the corpses of fallen monks,” Aukon said coldly, as if describing mere curiosities. “Infused with dragon blood, evil spirits, and Yaochi Spirit Liquid, they possess an undying will to fight—and a fragment of the Ruin Dragon’s power.”

His gaze drifted over the horrified faces of Grace and the others before settling once again on Logan. His tone was indifferent, almost dismissive:

“If you can defeat them… perhaps you’ll be qualified to glimpse the true secrets of Fairyharbor Island.”

With that, his body dissolved into a dark-golden stream of light and sank into the crack at the center of the platform—vanishing as abruptly as he had appeared.

But the four puppets remained.

Their eight scarlet eyes burned with murderous intent, locking onto Logan like the gaze of death itself.

In an instant, the tranquil jade platform was submerged in a tide of killing aura.

2690

“Protect the princess!”

Alongi roared, his voice hoarse and filled with defiance. Ignoring the pain tearing at his soul, he and the two remaining guards mustered the last of their inner strength, forming a simple triangular defensive formation around Grace, Stevie, and the barely conscious Old Jhangi.

But they all knew the truth—against these four monstrous battle puppets, their defense was as fragile as glass.

The battle was inevitable.

Meanwhile, deep within Fairyharbor Island…

Inside the luxurious palace, the debauchery continued—wine flowed like rivers, dancers twirled, and the haunting melody of zithers lingered in the air.

Aukon’s imposing figure reappeared silently on his massive white jade recliner, as if he had never left.

“Big brother’s back?” The effeminate man stopped playing his zither, a sly smile curving across his lips.

The Taoist-robed man and the stunningly beautiful woman also looked up, curiosity glinting in their eyes.

Aukon ignored them. He leaned back lazily, accepting the cup of wine offered by the beauty beside him. His gaze, however, was fixed ahead—at the massive, rippling mirror that had appeared in midair.

Within its shifting surface, the scene of the white jade platform came into sharp focus—Logan stood there, surrounded by four towering dragon-blood battle puppets radiating pure destruction.

“Oh? So this is the one who defeated Emmitt and broke the Mirage Maiden’s Illusion?” The Taoist-robed man leaned forward, intrigued.

The stunning woman giggled softly, her eyes gleaming like water. “He is handsome. I just hope he doesn’t get shredded in the first few seconds—that would be such a waste of good entertainment.”

The effeminate man plucked a sharp, teasing note from his zither. “Still, it’s impressive he forced my brother to use four battle puppets. Let’s see how long his brilliance lasts.”

Aukon took a slow sip of wine, his expression calm and detached—as if he were merely watching a gladiator fight for sport.

Back on the white jade platform…

The four dragon-blood battle puppets stood like walls of living iron, their auras intertwining into a web of killing intent. The air itself seemed to tremble.

Logan knew that testing them would be useless.

He inhaled deeply, and the nearly exhausted True Energy in his body roared to life like a storm. The sword intent that had been quietly restrained now erupted, surging skyward like a divine weapon unsheathed!

“Roar!”

The four puppets howled—a sound that was neither human nor beast—and in the next heartbeat, they vanished into streaks of dark red light, attacking from all directions. Every swipe of their claws distorted the space around them.

Logan’s eyes sharpened. Instead of retreating, he advanced.

His longsword rang with a clear, dragon-like cry, its blade gleaming with dazzling azure light.

“Green Lotus Sword Domain!”

With a shout, countless strands of sword energy burst from his body, spreading outward like blooming lotus petals. In moments, he was surrounded by a radiant sword domain—an impenetrable sea of cyan light.

Clang! Clang! Hiss!

The four puppets stormed into the domain. Claws and blades clashed in a relentless rhythm, sparks flying, each impact shaking the air like thunder.

But their bodies were terrifyingly durable. Even when struck directly by Logan’s sword energy, only faint white marks appeared—his attacks couldn’t break through their armor.

Worse, the dragon blood’s malevolent energy seeped into the air, corroding his sword aura and slowing the operation of his domain.

“What a brutal shell,” the Taoist-robed man muttered from within the palace.

The beautiful woman chuckled. “Of course. My brother forged them himself—bodies soaked in dragon blood and Yaochi spirit liquid for years. Ordinary sword energy can’t even scratch them.”

On the platform, Logan adjusted instantly. His swordplay shifted from wide sweeps to pinpoint precision. His figure flickered like a phantom amid the chaos, his strikes fast and exact, each thrust aimed at the puppets’ weak points—their joints and glowing eye sockets.

“Mysterious Purity Breaks Barrier!”

The tip of his sword gathered pure, cleansing energy—the natural enemy of the dragon blood’s corruption.

Pfft!

His blade pierced one puppet’s eye socket. The crimson glow within dimmed instantly, and its movements faltered. But before he could press the advantage, the other three closed in, claws flashing.

Logan didn’t even turn his head. His sword carved a perfect arc through the air.

“May all things flow as they should.”

A crescent of sword energy exploded outward, knocking back the oncoming puppets. The force still sent a shock through his body, and blood rose in his throat as he staggered back several steps.

The clash grew fiercer by the second.

Logan pushed every technique he had—his footwork, his swordsmanship, his True Energy—to their limits. Sword light and dark red shadows danced wildly, each collision echoing like thunder across the platform.

The entire jade platform trembled, and the energy waves forced Alongi and the others to retreat again and again, barely keeping their footing.

Inside the palace, Aukon drank silently, his face expressionless.

The zither’s rhythm quickened, drawn into the rhythm of battle. The once-casual observers now watched intently.

“This young man’s swordsmanship is divine,” said the Taoist-robed man quietly. “His movements are flawless, and his control over power is extraordinary. Were he not so drained—and if those puppets weren’t so unique—he might have already destroyed them.”

The woman nodded slowly. “Yes, but even the strongest human has limits. His energy is fading, while the puppets will fight until death—or beyond it. If this continues, he won’t last long.”

As if echoing her words, a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of Logan’s mouth. His breathing grew ragged, his movements slightly slower.

The puppets sensed it. Their attacks grew faster, more savage—their bodies burning with dark red fury as they closed in for the kill.

Logan’s eyes flashed.

He knew he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Planting his sword into the white jade ground, he began forming hand seals faster than the eye could follow. Ancient power surged through him—vast, timeless, and drawn from the very fabric of the heavens.

The air trembled. The clouds above churned.

Logan was about to unleash his true trump card.