English version 2651
“Boom—”
Black thunder cracked through the lead-gray sky, and the hull of the Dragon Elephant tossed like a leaf in raging waves.
Water pooled on the deck, mixed with shards of ice, and the gale whipped it into the soldiers’ armor with a sharp crackle.
Tristan clung to the mast, his brocade robe soaked, yet he kept his spine straight.
Ahead, the silhouette of an island emerged through the mist. His brow eased, and fire lit his eyes.
“My lord! It’s Fairyharbor Island! We’ve reached it!” Milton, the butler beside him, trembled with excitement.
Even this shrewd old man couldn’t hide his relief.
After
battling storms, three sea monster attacks, and losing their way twice,
they had at last reached the legendary island in what felt like a final
gamble.
Elite soldiers crowded the deck, staring at the land veiled in rosy clouds. Cheers burst from throats long clenched with fear.
Some even ignored the wind, stretching out their hands to catch the stray shafts of sunlight as if holding hope itself.
When the Dragon Elephant nosed to shore, Tristan was the first to step onto the beach.
Warm,
soft sand pressed up through his boots, a jarring contrast to the
biting cold at sea. He inhaled deeply; the air was sweet with grass,
trees, and briny mist—pure refreshment after weeks of hardship.
“What a beautiful place,” a soldier murmured.
Fairyharbor Island looked exactly as the old books promised: “Four seasons like spring, white blossoms never fading.”
Exotic
flowers sprawled from shore to forest, pink petals drifting like
butterflies, purple vines curling around ancient ginseng trees heavy
with crystal fruits glittering in the sun.
Mist
wreathed the distant mountains, and faint stream-sounds whispered from
their slopes. Colorful birds flashed by, trailing clear, bell-like
chirps.
Tristan
strolled among the blooms, fingertips brushing a vivid red flower. Its
petals layered like silk, its stamens jeweled with dew—harmless, or so
it seemed.
“Your
Highness, no!” Milton lunged forward, seizing Tristan’s wrist. His
voice was hard. “There’s danger in these plants. Everyone step back!
Touch nothing without orders!”
Tristan blinked, startled. “Milton, why so nervous? These flowers look normal—full of spiritual energy, even.”
The soldiers paused too, confusion on their faces. To them, the flowers were a sign of paradise. How could there be danger?
Milton didn’t argue. He stooped, picked up a fist-sized rock, and hurled it at the red blossom.
Snap!
The
flower flared open with a hiss, petals curling back to reveal a
blood-red maw lined with thorns. Fangs gleamed as it snapped shut,
swallowing the rock whole.
A sharp crunch followed, and the stone crumbled to dust, powder dripping from the calyx.
Soldiers recoiled in horror.
Worse
still, the movement stirred the entire glade. Pink petals sprouted tiny
venomous spines, purple vines writhed like snakes, and even
docile-looking ferns folded inward, trapping a butterfly. When the
leaves unfurled, only a few drops of dark-red fluid remained.
“This… this is a carnivorous plant! A whole field of them!” a soldier gasped.
Cold sweat broke across Tristan’s back. His earlier excitement died instantly.
He stared at the deadly garden, fear rising. If Milton hadn’t stopped him, he would have been the flower’s next “snack.”
“Milton…
thank you.” Tristan drew a steadying breath and forced himself calm. He
turned to the troops, voice hard. “Listen carefully! From this moment,
stay tight to the formation. Touch nothing—no leaf, no fruit—without my
order. Anyone who disobeys will face military law!”
“Yes, sir!” the soldiers answered sharply, gripping weapons, eyes darting warily, even their breathing subdued.
Milton
stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Your Highness, this island may
look like paradise, but it’s riddled with hidden dangers. Some so-called
fairylands are nothing but traps wrapped in beauty. We must treat every
step as perilous.”
Tristan nodded, glancing toward the misty forest.
He
understood now—the hunt for the elixir had barely begun, and these
man-eating flowers were only Fairyharbor Island’s first warning.
Rescue
Li
Wenxing, Li Guanglong, and Li Juntang sprinted desperately, glancing
back every few steps, terrified that the dreadful man might suddenly
give chase.
Not
until they had run several miles, far from the pit, did they finally
slow down. They gasped for air, faces still stricken with lingering
terror.
“That…
that thing—what kind of monster is it? How can anyone possess such
power?” Li Juntang leaned against a tree, his face pale.
Li
Wenxing shook his head. “I don’t know… but one thing’s certain—he’s no
mortal. This time… we may have truly stirred up disaster.”
Li
Guanglong gripped his spear tightly, his voice low and grave. “This
isn’t the time to debate. We must get out of here, find somewhere safe.
Who knows if that monster will suddenly pursue us?”
The three exchanged looks, fear flickering in each other’s eyes.
They
didn’t stop running. Stones tore at their boots, thorns ripped at their
robes. None of it mattered—they could only flee as far as possible from
that pit.
Behind
them, their troops dwindled. Many, in their panic, were dragged away by
the island’s strange plants—leaving behind only short, stifled screams
before vanishing without a trace.
The
sun dipped westward overhead, their shadows stretched long. Every
glance back revealed that blood-misted sky, lingering like an unshakable
nightmare.
“Your
Highness… slow down… this old servant truly can’t run anymore…” Qian
Jin panted heavily, leaning on a broken branch for support. His white
hair was disheveled, his face streaked with sweat and grime, his legs
trembling uncontrollably.
He was old. After fleeing an entire day, his strength was long past its limit.
Li Wenxing halted, turning to look at the ragged remnants of their force. A chill spread through his chest.
What had once been nearly a thousand elite troops was now barely thirty men. Their clothes were torn, their faces exhausted.
Drawing
a deep breath, he rasped: “Everyone, stop here and rest for a bit. Eat
some dry rations, drink some water. Before nightfall, we must find a
place to hide.”
The
men, as if pardoned from death, collapsed to the ground. They tore into
their food like starving wolves, gulping water so quickly they coughed
and choked.
Li Guanglong leaned against a tree, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings.
This
was a dense forest, ancient trees blotting out the sky. Only a few rays
of light pierced the leaves, the air thick with damp rot. Strange bird
and beast cries echoed from afar, lending a chilling air.
“Eldest Brother… do you think that monster will follow us?” Li Juntang asked, chewing dry bread.
The
bloody scene from before kept replaying in his mind. Commanders of
Grandmaster level had been swatted aside like ants—obliterated with a
mere flick of the man’s hand.
The thought made his heart shiver.
Li Wenxing shook his head, solemn. “Hard to say. His power is unfathomable. Best we keep as far away as possible.”
Li Guanglong frowned deeply. “We can’t sit and wait for death. Rest for now—then we press on.”
Just then, the forest darkened abruptly. The already sparse sunlight vanished.
A chill wind swept through, rustling the leaves with a sharp “saaa” sound.
Everyone
instinctively looked up. And when they saw—it was as if a freezing
spell bound them in place. Their faces drained of color.
Floating
silently in midair, clad in white robes, was the same handsome man. His
body shimmered faintly with light, even in the dim forest he shone like
a beacon.
His cold gaze swept down at them—indifferent, detached. As though their desperate flight had never mattered in the slightest.
“He…
he caught up?!” a soldier stammered, his teeth chattering. His bread
fell from his hand as he tried to flee—yet his legs buckled, and he
collapsed to the ground.
Li
Wenxing, Li Guanglong, and Li Juntang shot to their feet, gripping
their weapons. Their faces turned ashen, their eyes full of dread and
despair.
They had fled with all their might for an entire day, only to discover they could not escape this monster.
The man spoke no words. He didn’t even acknowledge their panic. He simply lifted his right hand, pressing downward.
The
sky seemed to collapse. A massive hand materialized out of nothing,
descending like a mountain. Its crushing aura blotted out the heavens,
pressing down upon them.
Intricate
lines traced the colossal palm, radiating terrifying might. The air
crackled and shrieked under the pressure, leaves tore free from
branches, and the ground shook violently.
“It’s over…” Li Wenxing closed his eyes, despair filling his heart.
He could feel that dreadful force bearing down. Resistance was impossible. Death was inevitable.
Li Guanglong and Li Juntang gripped their weapons tighter, their faces ash-gray. Yet they had no will to fight back.
The soldiers were even worse—terrified beyond reason, on the verge of collapse.
Just as the giant palm was about to crash down, a dazzling golden sword-light suddenly streaked across the sky from afar.
Like a meteor splitting the night, it screamed through the air, crossing miles in an instant—
and struck the massive hand head-on! And the fight begin
An Immortal?
The
air around the pit seemed to freeze in an instant. Every gaze locked on
the handsome man who had suddenly opened his eyes within the coffin.
Hearts pounded wildly, as if about to burst from their chests.
Those eyes
were too deep, carrying the weight of millennia, steeped in desolation
and cold killing intent. Just being stared at by them made a chill rise
from the marrow.
The next instant, something even more terrifying happened.
The
man’s body stirred slightly, and without warning, he floated out of the
crystal coffin. As light as a feather, he slowly rose into the air,
stopping half a zhang above the pit.
Sunlight
spilled over his white robe, outlining his tall, straight form. A faint
aura of radiance surrounded him, as though a deity from legend had
descended. Looking down upon the crowd below, his gaze was filled with
indifference and disdain, as though watching a swarm of insignificant
ants.
Li Wenxing, Li Guanglong, and Li Juntang exchanged glances. In each other’s eyes, they saw deep doubt and dread.
That overwhelming pressure, that ethereal aura—it far surpassed their expectations.
Who was this man?
“Could it be… an immortal?” a soldier whispered, his voice trembling.
Qian Jin’s brow furrowed, his grip tightening on the branch in his hand until his knuckles turned white.
If the man before them truly was an immortal, then they were in grave danger.
The
handsome man slowly swept his gaze across the group. Wherever his eyes
passed, soldiers lowered their heads, not daring to meet his gaze. Even
their breathing became cautious.
When his eyes finally fell upon the three brothers, his coldness grew sharper still.
“Breaking
into Penglai Island… disturbing my slumber…” The man’s voice was clear
and cool, like jade, yet carried an undeniable authority. It resounded
like thunder in their ears.
“You… must all die.”
The moment the words fell, he lifted a slender hand and pointed at one of the commanders in the crowd.
The commander’s face changed drastically. He tried to dodge, but found his body locked in place, unable to move at all.
A
moment later, agony tore through him. His body suddenly exploded with a
deafening “boom,” spraying blood and flesh in every direction. The
grisly remains splattered onto the soldiers nearby, painting the scene
with horror.
“Ahhh—!”
Soldiers screamed in terror, panic surging like a flood. They stumbled
backward, desperate to escape this dreadful figure.
Li
Guanglong’s pupils contracted violently, his expression betraying
shock. Yet, seasoned by countless campaigns, he forced himself to
steady.
He knew—hesitation now would only lead to swifter death.
“All men, hear my order! Seize him at once!” Li Guanglong roared.
Several experts among his troops reacted, weapons flashing as they leapt toward the man in midair.
These were the finest warriors of the army, each one unmatched on the battlefield. But before this man, they were insignificant.
The handsome man glanced at the rushing figures, the corner of his lips curving into a mocking smile.
Slowly, he raised his left hand and waved casually. The gesture seemed effortless—yet it carried dreadful power.
The
dozen or so warriors in the lead froze midair, then—just like the
commander before them—burst apart with thunderous cracks. Flesh and
blood exploded into a mist, filling the sky. They perished without even a
scream.
The remaining fighters paled, rooted to the ground. Fear overwhelmed them; none dared to advance further.
Li
Wenxing and Li Juntang stood frozen, their bodies cold as ice. Watching
the carnage, their hearts felt gripped by an invisible hand, nearly
stopping altogether.
They
had never witnessed such terrifying power. With a mere wave, the man
had obliterated more than ten experts—without giving them even a chance
to resist.
“Retreat! Retreat now!” Li Wenxing finally reacted, his voice shaking.
He knew clearly that with their current strength, they could never match this man. Staying longer would only mean annihilation.
Li Guanglong, too, understood. Though unwilling, he knew retreat was the only option.
He waved his hand and shouted to the remaining soldiers: “Fall back!”
The
soldiers, already terrified out of their wits, clung to the order as if
to a lifeline. They turned and fled madly toward the beach, wishing
they had grown extra legs.
In an instant, the once-orderly formation crumbled into chaos, each man caring only for his own survival.
Hovering
above them, the handsome man did not give chase. His eyes held no
ripple of emotion. He simply stood in the air, cold and aloof, watching
these “ants” scatter in panic before him.
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2652-2655
The team moved slowly along the edge of the beach, the gravel under their boots crunching with every step.
Tristan walked in front, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning the surrounding vegetation.
After
the scare with the man-eating plants, no one dared to relax. Even their
breathing had become lighter, as if afraid of disturbing whatever
lurked nearby.
Milton
followed at Tristan’s side, a branch in his hand to push aside vines.
His thin fingers brushed the plants carefully, his expression tense.
“Your
Highness, the vegetation here is thicker than before,” Milton murmured.
“Besides the scent of grass and trees, I can feel a faint chill in the
air.”
“What did you notice?” Tristan asked softly.
“I’m
not sure,” Milton replied, shaking his head. “But this island is too…
ordinary. Other fairy islands have rare treasures but not so many hidden
dangers. We should leave this flower zone and head for the forest. It
might be safer.”
Before
Tristan could answer, the sky suddenly dimmed. The sunlight vanished,
and from the clouds a dazzling golden light shot downward, dragging a
long tail like a meteor.
“It’s too bright—”
“What is that?!”
“Could it be a treasure?!”
The soldiers threw up their arms to shield their eyes, voices filled with shock.
Tristan’s gaze sharpened with excitement. He had a feeling this was no monster.
“Quick! Move to the landing site of that light!” he ordered.
Milton frowned at the anxious faces but could only follow, warning as he went. “Slow down! Don’t rush into a trap!”
They hadn’t gone far when a deafening roar split the air. The ground shook violently.
A
massive blast of air rolled toward them like a solid wall. It struck
Tristan first, hurling him backward. He hit the ground hard, his brocade
robe torn by flying gravel, pain lancing across his back.
The
soldiers were swept off their feet, some crashing into trees, others
tumbling into the shallows. Shouts and groans rose everywhere.
Milton, slower but steadier, clung to a thick trunk, his old eyes wide with horror.
The windstorm lasted three full minutes before fading. The sky brightened again, but the air reeked of scorched earth.
Tristan pushed himself up, ignoring the pain. “Everyone! Up! Come with me!”
The soldiers staggered to their feet, bruised but alive. After a quick check, they pressed on.
The farther they went, the more cracked the ground became. The smell of burning grew stronger.
When they reached the center of the blast, they stopped dead.
A
massive crater gaped before them, its walls smooth and blackened.
Vegetation all around was charred, thin wisps of smoke curling upward.
And
in the middle of the pit lay a crystal-clear coffin, glowing faintly
blue. Sunlight glinted off its surface, making the whole pit seem
unreal.
Tristan stared, frowning. He had expected a treasure. Instead, he had found a coffin.
“How can it be a coffin?” he muttered.
Milton
stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Your Highness, this is no ordinary
coffin. Look—no impurities in the crystal, and see those lines? They’re
like an engraved formation.”
Tristan
followed Milton’s pointing finger. Fine patterns did cover the surface,
weaving into something complex, though he couldn’t make out the full
design from up here.
“Milton, who could be inside? Why would it fall from the sky?”
Milton
shook his head. “I don’t know. But with an island already full of
mysteries, a coffin like this could make things even worse. For safety’s
sake, it’s best not to open it.”
2653
Tristan
hesitated at Milton’s words. Walking away from a sky-fallen relic felt
almost impossible. Even with unease churning in his chest, the risk
might be worth it.
Before he could decide, the clatter of hurried footsteps and armor rang from the distance.
“Who’s there?!” Tristan spun, hand on his sword.
Milton and the soldiers raised their weapons, eyes narrowing.
Out of the trees emerged another party—Matthias and Nathaniel at the front, dozens of elite soldiers behind them.
“Matthias, Nathaniel?” Tristan’s brows rose in surprise.
Nathaniel was first to speak, eyes glinting. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Brother. What a coincidence.”
Matthias added, “We saw the golden light and followed it. Didn’t expect you to arrive first.”
Tristan gave a wry smile. “So the three of us meet here. Fate indeed.”
“Perhaps God’s will,” Nathaniel replied lightly.
But
Matthias’s gaze had already shifted to the coffin. “Brother, this thing
fell from the sky. Strange indeed. What do you intend to do?”
“I’m
debating whether to open it,” Tristan admitted. “It’s too strange,
maybe dangerous. But if I walk away, I could miss vital clues.”
Nathaniel
nodded. “Brother, you’re right. Since we’re all here, why not decide
together? This coffin may hold something tied to the elixir. Open it and
see.”
Matthias agreed. “Third Brother speaks sense. Instead of standing here, find out for ourselves—but with full precautions.”
The three quickly moved into action.
Matthias ordered his soldiers to form a ring around the pit, shields and spears at the ready.
Nathaniel handed yellow talismans to his men. “If anything odd happens, stick these on the coffin. They may suppress it.”
Tristan told Milton to distribute antidotes and healing pills, preparing for poison.
Milton sprinkled a special powder around the pit. “Evil-repelling powder. Might deter whatever’s inside.”
Once everything was set, the three princes exchanged a long look—anticipation and wariness mingled in their eyes.
Matthias gestured to two of his strongest men. “Go down and open it slowly. Any unusual movement, stop immediately.”
The soldiers climbed carefully into the pit. They placed their hands on the lid and pressed.
A faint “click” sounded. The lid slid open, a soft fragrance drifting out—similar to the island’s scent but older, stranger.
Everyone held their breath.
Inside lay a man’s body, perfectly preserved as if only asleep.
He
wore a white robe covered in intricate embroidery. His face was
striking—skin pale as jade, long lashes, high nose bridge, thin lips.
Even lifeless, he radiated an otherworldly presence.
“Who… who is this?” Nathaniel whispered, shocked.
Matthias frowned. He had seen countless corpses, but never one so intact—or so beautiful.
Tristan
stared, confusion churning. This was no ordinary man. Why was he in a
crystal coffin that fell from the sky onto Fairyharbor Island?
As
the three princes wrestled with their questions, the corpse’s eyelids
twitched. Then his eyes snapped open—deep as the night sky, hazy with
sleep but quickly sharpening, locking straight onto them at the pit’s
edge.
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The
air around the deep pit froze. Every gaze locked on the man in the
coffin who had suddenly opened his eyes, hearts pounding so violently
they felt ready to burst.
Those eyes were bottomless—carrying centuries of coldness and killing intent. One glance sent a chill down the spine.
Then an even more shocking scene unfolded.
The
man moved, rising from the crystal coffin as if weightless. Without a
single sound he floated upward, stopping half a meter above the pit.
Sunlight
poured over his white robe, outlining a tall, slender frame. A faint
halo clung to him, like a god descending from legend. He looked down at
the crowd with indifference and disdain, as though at a swarm of ants.
Tristan, Matthias, and Nathaniel exchanged glances and saw the same suspicion and fear reflected back.
That pressure. That otherworldly aura. It far surpassed anything they had imagined.
“Could this… could this be an immortal?” a soldier whispered, voice trembling.
Milton’s
brows knit tightly. His grip on the branch turned his knuckles white.
If this man truly is an immortal, we’re in serious trouble.
The man’s gaze swept across the clearing. Wherever it passed, soldiers ducked their heads, hardly daring to breathe.
When his eyes fell on the three Linsor brothers, his stare sharpened even further.
“You
have trespassed on Fairyharbor Island and disturbed the Lord’s
slumber…” His voice rang cold and heavy, like a bell that cracked
thunder in their ears. “You all must die.”
Before anyone could react, he lifted his right hand and pointed at a general.
The general’s face blanched. He tried to move but found himself frozen in place.
A sharp pain shot through him—then his body exploded with a deafening bang. Blood and flesh sprayed the soldiers around him.
“Ah—!” Screams erupted. Soldiers stumbled backward in terror, desperate to escape the horror in front of them.
Matthias’s pupils shrank. The sight chilled him to the core. But long years on battlefields forced him to steady himself.
Retreating now meant death even faster.
“Everyone listen! Move forward and capture him!” Matthias barked.
Several
elite masters leapt into action. Weapons drawn, they sprang toward the
man in midair. They were veterans, each unmatched in battle—yet in front
of this man they looked small.
The floating figure’s lips curled faintly in mockery.
He raised his left hand and flicked it outward. A casual motion—yet brimming with terrifying power.
The
first wave of masters froze midair. Then, just like the general before
them, they erupted one by one with a string of sharp bangs. Blood mist
filled the sky before a scream could escape.
The remaining fighters went pale, rooted in place, fear in their eyes.
Tristan and Nathaniel stood rigid, ice creeping through their veins. Their hearts felt clamped by an invisible hand.
Never had they witnessed such power—one gesture, and over a dozen masters erased. Not a single one had lasted even a round.
“Retreat! Retreat now!” Tristan shouted, voice shaking.
He knew staying meant annihilation.
Matthias’s jaw tightened, but he understood as well. “Retreat!” he ordered.
The
soldiers, already terrified, seized on the command like drowning men
grasping driftwood. They turned and ran, scrambling toward the beach.
Order dissolved into chaos. Everyone thought only of escape.
Above
them, the man hovered silently. He did not pursue. He did not strike
again. He simply watched from midair—calm, indifferent, like a bystander
observing a swarm of ants scatter.
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Tristan,
Matthias, and Nathaniel ran as fast as they could, glancing over their
shoulders, terrified that the white-robed man might appear behind them
at any moment.
Only after several miles—far from the deep pit—did they slow down, gasping for air, faces still drained of color.
“What…
what kind of monster is that? How can anyone be that powerful?”
Nathaniel leaned against a tree, his voice trembling, his complexion
pale.
Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know… but I’m sure he’s no ordinary man. We’re in serious trouble this time.”
Matthias’s
grip tightened on his sword. “Talking won’t help. We have to move on
and find somewhere safe. Who knows when that monster will appear again?”
They exchanged looks and saw the same flicker of fear in each other’s eyes.
Their
boots crunched on gravel, thorns tore at their clothes, yet the rhythm
of escape didn’t stop. Sanji had thought only of running, never once
looking back.
Behind
them, the once-orderly troops thinned. In the chaos, a young soldier
was dragged screaming into the strange plants that covered the island,
vanishing without a trace.
The
sun slid westward, stretching their shadows. Each time they turned
back, they saw the sky still stained by that blood mist—like a nightmare
following close behind.
“Your
Highness, slow down… I can’t run anymore…” Milton staggered after
Tristan, leaning on a broken branch. His gray hair hung in disarray;
sweat and dust streaked his face; his legs trembled.
He was completely spent, his strength long since overdrawn.
Tristan stopped and looked back at the handful of soldiers still with them. A chill crept into his chest.
Nearly a hundred elites had left the shore. Barely thirty remained—clothes torn, faces haggard.
He drew a hoarse breath. “We’ll rest for a bit. Eat something, drink some water. We need a hidden place before dark.”
As if pardoned, the group collapsed where they stood, devouring dry rations and gulping water so fast they choked and coughed.
Matthias leaned against a tree, wiping blood from his face with his sleeve, scanning the forest around them.
Towering
trees blotted out the sky; only scattered shafts of sunlight pierced
the canopy. The air smelled of damp rot. Unseen creatures cried in the
distance, adding to the eerie silence.
“Brother… do you think that monster will chase us?” Nathaniel mumbled around his food.
The
bloody scene kept replaying in his mind—the general, a master in his
own right, erased like an insect with a single wave. The memory made him
shudder.
Tristan’s gaze hardened. “We have to assume the worst. His strength is unfathomable. The farther away, the better.”
Matthias frowned. “We can’t just wait to die. Rest now. We move on soon.”
Then the light vanished. The forest dimmed as the last threads of sun slipped away.
A cold breeze rattled the leaves.
Everyone instinctively looked up—and froze. Color drained from their faces.
High above, the handsome man hovered in his white robe, halo faint but unmistakable. Even in the dim woods, he shone.
He stared down with icy detachment, as if the frantic chase meant nothing to him at all.
“Why…
why is he here?!” A soldier’s teeth chattered. The dry ration tumbled
from his hands as his legs gave way and he collapsed in terror.
Tristan,
Matthias, and Nathaniel sprang to their feet, gripping their weapons,
faces paper-white, eyes full of horror and despair.
They had run all day. They still hadn’t escaped.
The man said nothing. He didn’t even acknowledge their panic. He simply raised his hand and pressed downward.
The sky seemed to shatter.
A
colossal palm materialized out of thin air, blotting out the canopy. It
descended like a mountain, the weight of destruction rolling with it.
Fine
lines etched the surface of the palm. Its pressure compressed the air
until it hissed. Leaves ripped from branches; the earth trembled.
“It’s over…” Tristan closed his eyes, despair washing through him.
He could feel the power—absolute, inescapable. Death was seconds away.
Matthias and Nathaniel’s faces were grim. Weapons clenched tight, yet courage had already fled.
The soldiers were worse—eyes wide with terror, bodies trembling.
Then, just as the giant hand was about to crush them, a blinding sword-light burst from the far horizon.
It
streaked across the dark sky like a meteor, its shrill whistle cutting
through the air. In an instant it crossed miles, slamming head-on into
the descending palm.
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2656-2659
Boom—!
A deafening roar split the sky. Fairyharbor Island shook as if the world itself were about to crack open.
Where
the golden sword-light slammed into the massive palm, a blinding
brilliance erupted—bright as the sun, forcing everyone to shield their
eyes.
The
shockwave rolled out like a tidal wave. Towering trees were ripped up
by their roots; shattered rocks and splintered branches rained down. The
ground itself split into jagged chasms.
Tristan,
Matthias, and Nathaniel were hurled backwards, crashing hard into the
earth. A metallic tang rose in their throats before they spat blood.
Ignoring the pain, they forced themselves to look up.
High
above, the golden sword-light and the giant palm locked in deadlock,
gold and white intertwining with a “sizzling” hiss as each force
devoured the other.
For
the first time, surprise flickered across the handsome man’s face. His
brows knit as he turned toward the source of the golden light, a trace
of solemnity in his eyes.
He had not expected anyone on this island to block his strike.
A
heartbeat later, the golden sword-light flared, ripping the massive
palm apart in a spray of radiance before dissipating into the air.
Suspended
mid-air, the white-robed man stared at the place where his attack had
been broken. His expression was no longer completely indifferent.
His
slender fingers curled slightly. That palm strike—though casual—had
carried thirty percent of his power since waking. Even a grandmaster
should have been obliterated, not dispersed.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his cold voice no longer entirely flat.
Far
off, deep within the misty forest, a faint sword intent
pulsed—restrained yet vast, like a dragon asleep beneath the mountains.
He narrowed his eyes. Ripples flickered around the halo of light cloaking him.
Compared with the mortals beneath him, this new presence could actually be called an “opponent.”
Without
another glance at Tristan and the others, he shifted. The white light
around him surged, his body blurring into a streak of brilliance. Like a
meteor he tore across the sky toward the forest’s depths, vanishing
almost instantly.
Tristan
pushed himself up, clutching his ribs, eyes wide as the streak of light
disappeared. “You… you’re leaving now?” His voice trembled in
disbelief.
The suffocating oppression had barely faded, and yet the enemy had turned and gone. The abruptness left him stunned.
Nathaniel
straightened his disheveled robes, still shaky. “That sword-light… it
wasn’t ordinary. To make that monster retreat, whoever struck must be
terrifyingly strong.”
The memory of the giant hand descending made his stomach twist. Without that golden light, they’d already be corpses.
Matthias slowly uncurled his bloodless fingers from his sword hilt; deep red marks striped his knuckles.
He
stared into the forest where the light had gone. “Fairyharbor Island
hides secrets. That monster was already beyond belief, and yet someone
even stronger lurks here. It’s… unnerving.”
A complicated glint flickered in his eyes.
Milton
hobbled over on his broken branch, beard trembling, breath ragged. “I
once heard the late emperor say Fairyharbor Island is an ancient
immortal land, home to astonishing secrets. Perhaps the one who
intervened is an ancient guardian.”
Murmurs rippled through the surviving soldiers—relief at still being alive, mingled with curiosity about the mysterious savior.
Meanwhile,
the white-robed man—now a streak of light—had crossed layer upon layer
of forest. Ancient trees bowed from the gust of his passing; leaves
scattered like a tide.
Within half an incense stick of time, he slowed and descended at the edge of a lake.
The
water lay clear as glass, reflecting drifting clouds. On the grassy
shore stood a cluster of tents—clearly a treasure-hunting team’s camp.
Sword-energy still lingered in the air, faint but razor-sharp, as though it could slice skin.
The
handsome man walked forward. His gaze swept over the guards polishing
weapons, then fixed on a stone table at the camp’s center.
There sat a man in white, head lowered, calmly polishing a long sword.
Though his clothes were plain, his posture was straight as a pine. Even seated, he radiated freedom and uprightness.
His
profile was like carved jade, sharp yet smooth. Beneath his high nose
bridge, thin lips pressed into a line tinged with aloofness.
When
he lifted his head, eyes clear as a mountain lake met the handsome
man’s gaze—eyes that seemed to see through all things, yet rippled with
no emotion.
The sword in his hand gleamed coldly in the sunlight, perfectly matching his presence.
A
flicker of surprise crossed the white-robed man’s eyes. Slowly he said,
“I didn’t expect to find someone like you on Fairyharbor Island.”
The man in white paused, set the sword down, and raised his head. A faint smile curved his lips.
It was Logan—newly arrived on the island.
2657
The
smile on Logan’s lips lingered as his fingers brushed the
cloud-patterns etched into his scabbard. His voice, clear and flowing
like the lake beside them, cut softly through the still air.
“Since you’ve awakened from your slumber,” he said, “why turn your wrath on mortals?”
His
gaze drifted over the white light sheathing the man above him. In
Logan’s eyes the glint of stars seemed to move, as if he were peering
straight through time’s dust to the truth behind the other man’s face.
Sunlight
pooled on the long sword resting on the stone table. The turquoise set
into the scabbard’s edge glimmered faintly in the shifting light, and a
trace of fresh plant-fragrance curled from it—a warm counterpoint to the
ancient chill radiating from the man floating above.
The white-robed figure in the air hesitated. Surprise flickered again in his eyes.
He
had been awake only days. Other than the sudden clash of sword-energy a
moment ago, no one had approached him; yet with a single question this
man in white had pierced his “sleep.” That insight forced him to
reassess.
“You…
know me?” His voice, still cold, carried a thread of uncertainty. The
halo of light around him tightened, hardening from flowing mist into
white jade edged with glints of ice. Even the surrounding air picked up a
brittle chill.
“I don’t,” Logan replied, placing the polished sword flat on the stone table, “but I’ve heard the rumors.”
Rumors
of an immortal sleeping on Fairyharbor Island. If fortune favored you,
you might gain medicine from him. If not, you would be snuffed out like
an ant.
The man above gave a thin, humorless smile. “You’re well-informed. But let’s see how many moves you can take from me.”
The
sky dimmed as he spoke. Air pressure dropped, reeds along the bank
bowing as if under invisible weight. He drifted higher, robes whispering
in the currents. His long black hair snapped free of its band and
streamed around him. Oppression rolled from him like a tide.
The
smile vanished from Logan’s eyes. He did not rise. He only sat, still
as stone—yet an unseen ripple spread from him. The tea in the cup beside
him shivered. Tent-curtains trembled as if brushed by a silent wind.
Up
above, the white-robed man also came to a stop. His eyes lowered,
half-closed, as though slipping into a waking dream. Only the white
light breathing around him moved, rising and falling like his chest.
Outside the tents, the guards noticed. One lowered his whetstone.
“Who is that?” he whispered. “Why’s he dressed like someone from a legend?”
“Floating like that—he’s at least a Grandmaster.”
“No…” another muttered, paling. “That pressure—he’s far beyond a Grandmaster.”
They stared upward, murmurs rippling through their ranks.
The
tent-flap lifted. Grace stepped out in a lavender dress, her hair
caught by the lake breeze. She felt it at once: not a clash of spiritual
power but something deeper, heavier, making each breath feel thick.
Beside her, a female guard’s hand slid to the dagger at her waist, knuckles whitening around the grooved hilt.
Seeing the two men unmoving, the guard started forward.
“Don’t!” Grace caught her wrist, grip firm, her usually gentle face now edged with gravity. “Stay back.”
“Miss… what is it?”
“Their
realms are far beyond you,” Grace said, voice low but absolute. “They
haven’t even struck, and already they’re crossing wills. Step closer and
you’ll die.”
The guard froze, eyes widening. She backed away, awe and fear mingling as she looked again at the two figures.
Even the air there seemed different. Sunlight warped, like heat haze rising off stone; the lakeside’s light and shadow blurred.
A
flicker of motion drew the guard’s eye: an egret gliding low over the
water, wings flashing white in the sun. It skimmed the lake, droplets
arcing behind it, and flew straight toward Logan and the man
above—innocent of danger, chirping brightly.
It crossed into a ten-meter ring around them—
—and
without sound, without warning, the bird convulsed as if caught in an
invisible fist. Its graceful form twisted, white wings bursting. A
heartbeat later it became a drifting blood-mist, tiny feathers and red
spray scattering through the air, dissolving before it could even cry.
2658
The instant the egret burst into blood-mist, the entire camp froze into silence.
The
female guard’s scream lodged in her throat. Her fingers clenched the
dagger at her waist so hard her knuckles whitened, nearly splitting
skin.
She
could only stare as the mist drifted off in the breeze, white feathers
speckled with flesh settling across the grass—a vision so shocking it
made her knees weak.
Moments ago the bird had been graceful and free. Now a crawling chill climbed her spine until she shivered uncontrollably.
“Miss… it’s good you stopped me just now. Otherwise…” Her voice broke.
The thought of stepping closer—ending like the egret—made her stomach knot with dread.
“This
is what makes the confrontation of high masters terrifying.” Grace’s
tone was solemn. “Their mental power becomes a tangible domain. Anything
entering it is crushed like an ant in a millstone—nothing left, not
even bone.”
Around
them, soldiers shrank back a few paces. Eyes fixed upward, they no
longer dared to whisper. Even their breaths thinned, afraid to disturb
the two figures locked in stillness.
By now Logan and the white-robed man had sunk fully into the spiritual world.
There was no sky, no earth here—only a boundless, ink-dark sea.
Its
surface lay eerily still, a sheet of frozen sapphire without a trace of
sun. Occasionally a low tremor from the depths sent tiny ripples across
the water. There was no wind, but each breath felt like swallowing
shards of ice.
Logan
stood on a narrow, blue-gray craft formed from condensed sword-energy.
Its hull was blade-sharp; each tilt carved faint sword-marks across the
sea. In stark white robes he blazed against the gloom, his long sword
glowing green, the cloud-patterns on its blade pulsing softly with his
breath.
A
hundred meters away, the handsome man floated above the water. The
white light around him had become a vast whale, scales glimmering with
cold pearl-sheen. One flick of its tail raised waves several stories
high, their crests laced with razored spiritual shock, cutting toward
Logan.
“Is that all you’re capable of? You dare stand in my way?” His voice boomed across the sea.
Logan’s gaze narrowed. He raised his sword. A single slash of green light split the incoming waves cleanly in two.
The
whale lunged through the gap, jaws opening to a vortex of darkness.
Even the surrounding sea spun inward, sucked toward that void.
Logan
tapped the boat’s prow with his toe. His body blurred into a streak of
light. Sliding past the whirlpool, he rained sword-energy at the whale
like a storm.
But each strike dissolved against its scales, leaving only faint marks—like scratching stone.
“Your mental power is strong,” Logan said quietly, “but it’s too overbearing. You don’t know restraint.”
As
his words faded, his own power burst outward. From the seabed,
countless green sword-pillars speared upward, a forest of blades hemming
the whale in. Their edges boiled the water around them.
The man snorted. “Restrain myself? Why should I?”
His hands formed seals. The whale flared with dazzling light, swelling larger, and hurled itself at the encircling pillars.
Boom—!
The
spiritual sea quaked. Where pillar met whale, water evaporated into
nothing, exposing dark fissures in the seabed. Black turbulence surged
up from the cracks, writhing like venomous snakes.
Logan
moved without haste. His sword dissolved into a swarm of miniature
blades, a green storm cutting through the black turbulence, shooting
straight at the man above.
A fierce glint flashed in the other’s eyes. He abandoned all reserve. The white glow contracted until the entire sea trembled.
Far
below, a monstrous whirlpool rose—an abyssal “sea-eye” brimming with
destructive force. It spun faster and faster, twisting the very space
around it.
“Die!” his voice roared. The whirlpool lunged at Logan, devouring the ocean into darkness as it came.
Logan
drew a long breath. Every thread of his sword-energy converged into his
blade, flaring brilliant green. It twisted, shaping itself into a
dragon of swords.
The dragon roared, its scale-lines sharp as etched gold, claws glittering like razors as it hurtled headlong into the sea-eye.
Bang!
The collision shattered the spiritual world.
The
deep blue sea rolled back into thousand-meter walls. Cracks veined the
ocean floor. Fragments of thought and spirit burst like meteors through
the air.
A
shockwave tore outward. Logan’s sword-boat splintered; he staggered
back, a thin line of golden blood sliding from the corner of his
mouth—mental damage echoing into his real body.
Across from him, the whale’s phantom shattered. The white-robed man hovered unsteadily, chest heaving, eyes wide with disbelief.
He had not expected this quiet man to withstand his full-force strike.
Both were flung to opposite ends of the sea, staring at each other across the churning expanse.
The
waters still raged, turbulence crackling everywhere. Neither moved to
strike again. They only watched one another, cold and intent, the scent
of war thickening in the air.
2659
“I do have some abilities.”
The handsome man’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening into genuine seriousness.
“You’re not bad either.”
Logan’s
tone stayed calm, but inwardly he was taken aback. Since stepping into
the land of immortals he had never met a true equal. Yet today, one
stood before him.
“Come again!” the handsome man growled.
The
light around him condensed once more. The broken shadow of the whale
did not vanish—instead it fractured into thousands of silver light-fish,
each fin lined with tiny blades. Darting through the water, they wove
an impenetrable net of light.
A
flick of his fingertips shrank the net. Countless light-fish hissed as
they dove for the sword-platform beneath Logan, shredding the sea into
spiderweb cracks wherever they passed.
Logan’s eyes gleamed. With a twist of his wrist, his sword cut three flowing arcs.
The
sword-platform shot hundreds of feet upward. From the waters below,
countless green sword-peaks erupted like a forest of spears, spearing
through the light-net as easily as shoots through spring soil.
The
instant the light-fish struck the sword-peaks they burst into motes of
silver, but the swarm behind kept coming, pelting the peaks with sharp
“ding-ding” sounds.
The handsome man snorted, fingers flashing into seals. “Whale Swallowing—Silent Destruction!”
All
the scattered light above Logan surged together, condensing into a
whale-shadow far larger than before. Its vast mouth yawned open; the
dark vortex within spun faster and faster, exuding a suction many times
stronger than before.
The
platform under Logan’s feet quaked. The surrounding peaks cracked. Even
the edges of his robes whipped inward with a harsh rustle.
Logan
inhaled deeply. Sword-energy flared around him. His whole form became a
streak of green light, rushing straight into the storm of waves and
fire.
“Sword Dance!”
He
wove through fire and ice like a phantom. Each swing of his blade cast a
barrier of sword-light, shattering ice-spikes, cleaving through flames.
Every cut avoided the attacks’ deadliest edge while striking back at
the whale’s weak points with unerring precision.
Wherever his sword-light passed, the whale’s glow thinned, deep sword-marks scoring down to its very bones…
At that moment, in the real world—
The lakeside camp’s atmosphere froze to the point of pain.
The
handsome man hung in mid-air, robes stirring without wind. The light
surrounding him surged and rippled in visible rings. Grass withered
under each pulse. Stones cracked.
A
strange flush touched his pale cheeks, and faint golden liquid traced
from the corner of his mouth—signs of mental energy burning too hot.
At the stone table, Logan sat motionless. Yet his hands locked so tightly around his sword-hilt his knuckles swelled.
Air
warped around him. The tea on the table boiled, droplets lifting free
to float like trembling crystals as the ripples spread.
“Miss, look at their breath…” the female guard whispered, voice taut.
Through
the shimmering air she saw space itself stretching, bending. Sunlight
passing through refracted into colored halos, and everything inside the
glow warped as if under water.
The lake’s surface dropped. Soil hardened to stone. The air turned knife-cold.
“Their
mental strength is at the breaking point,” Grace said, face grave. “If
this continues, the entire lakeside will be flattened.”
Even as she spoke, two waves of light and ripples slammed together.
An invisible shockwave burst outward.
Ancient
trees snapped like twigs. Debris whirled. Guards dropped to their
knees, clutching their heads against crushing pressure.
In
mid-air the handsome man’s figure trembled. The ripples of light
widened, cracking the ground all the way to the lake’s edge. Water
boiled, mist rising in dense sheets.
The
stone table under Logan shattered. Blue light drenched his clothes. The
air around him twisted so violently even sunlight struggled to pass.
Guards had retreated far back, staring at the dreamlike battlefield with faces full of fear and awe.
Grace’s brows knit. She felt the terrifying pressure rising, on the verge of exploding at any moment—
Then, suddenly, the surging ripples began to draw inward like a receding tide.
A heartbeat later, twin beams of dazzling light erupted from both combatants.
Boom!
Thunder cracked across the sky.
At the sound, Logan and the handsome man snapped their eyes open at the same time.
English version
2660
Two
blinding rays of light—like twin miniature suns—detonated over the
lakeside. Heaven and earth tipped out of balance; even the rushing wind
froze still.
The
handsome man’s whole body shuddered. A line of glaring crimson slid
from his left nostril, staining his robe with a stark blood spot.
He lifted
a trembling hand, slender fingers brushing his nose. Seeing the blood
on his fingertips, his normally icy eyes flared with rage.
He had never endured humiliation like this. Not only had his mental assault failed, it had left him wounded instead.
“You’re looking for death!”
His roar cracked like thunder. The light around him flared severalfold.
The
clear sky darkened at once. Black clouds boiled overhead, and purple
electric snakes slithered through them with a sharp, sizzling hiss.
He
thrust one palm toward the heavens. The remaining spiritual power in
his body roared up, resonating with the thunder above. Lightning as
thick as bowls cascaded from the clouds, converging in his hand like
rivers returning to the sea.
Amid that raging thunder, a spear of pure lightning took shape.
It
stretched three meters, the tip as sharp as a blade, flashing with
destructive cold light. Dense runes crawled along the shaft, each one
alive in the lightning, exuding suffocating pressure.
The
air warped and scorched. The lake boiled, mist rising in sheets. Ground
cracked like spiderwebs from where he stood, and gravel floated
weightless under the pull of thunder.
“This… this is the power of heaven’s thunder!” someone in the distance gasped, faces paling.
When the spear finished condensing, the handsome man’s arm corded with veins. He hurled it at Logan like a thunder god’s wrath.
As
it tore across the sky, a dark seam ripped the air. Mist along its path
burned away, and miniature bolts burst outward, pocking the earth with
smoking craters. Even space itself rippled as if ready to collapse.
Facing this cataclysm, Logan did not retreat. Battle-fire lit his eyes.
He
rose in a single motion. His long sword hummed; green sword-energy
erupted like a volcano, shattering the stone table’s remains into dust.
“Come on!” Logan shouted. Both hands locked on the hilt, he poured every thread of true energy into the blade.
The cloud-patterns on the sword flared, coalescing into a hovering green dragon whose roar shook the sky.
“Blue Dragon Breaks!”
Logan twisted his wrist. The long sword and its dragon avatar lunged toward the lightning spear.
The blade cut so fast it left only afterimages. The dragon’s jaws gaped wide, fangs bared to clash with thunder.
When they met, time seemed to stop.
A
silent shockwave spread first. Tents by the lake flattened in an
instant. Trees hundreds of feet tall snapped like brittle sticks, debris
whirling skyward.
Then
the boom arrived, deafening. Green sword-energy and purple thunder
writhed together, forming a massive orb of destruction where they
collided. Lightning flashed inside the orb like caged stars.
The
onlookers clutched their ears, yet their eardrums still burned with
pain. They stared as the orb swelled and warped the air so badly even
sunlight bent away.
Just
before it could burst, Logan’s eyes narrowed. He poured out a final
surge of power. The dragon swelled, slamming headlong into the spear’s
tip.
A sharp crack split the sky. The runes on the lightning spear shattered one by one. Purple thunder dimmed.
The handsome man’s face blanched. He tried to pull the spear back—but sword-energy raced up its length, numbing his arm.
Before he could recover, Logan used the recoil to hurl himself forward, a stream of green light rushing down the spear’s body.
The hiss of his blade slicing air stabbed into eardrums. Sword-energy wrapped him like a cone, piercing what thunder remained.
“No—!”
The handsome man’s pupils shrank. Terror replaced arrogance.
He tried to dodge but found himself locked inside Logan’s sword-field, limbs frozen.
All he could do was watch the incoming strike.
With a single, unerring thrust, Logan’s sword punched through his chest and burst out his back.
Green sword-energy surged from the blade into his body, tearing apart meridians and shattering his spiritual core.
Stiffly the handsome man looked down at the wound. Blood poured over his dark-blue robe.
Rage and pride drained from his eyes, replaced only by fear.
He opened his mouth to speak but managed only a hoarse hiss of escaping air.
His body shook violently. Light flickered under his skin as though something within was about to detonate.
Bang—!
He exploded.
Blood, flesh, and bone fragments splattered across the lakeside, staining the grass and water red.
The hovering light vanished. The air reeked of blood and faint spiritual energy.
Deprived
of its core, the orb of energy burst apart. Countless lights scattered
like falling meteors, fading quickly into nothing.
Silence fell over the lakeside. Only wind through leaves and the soft sound of water remained.
Logan slowly lowered his sword. Blood dripped from the tip, pooling at his feet.
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