An Understated Dominance (Dustin Rhys) Chapter 2671 TO 2680 ENGLISH VERSION

ENGLISH VERSION  2671

 

“It’s one of the people who landed before us,” a guard whispered, his voice trembling.

An older, more seasoned guard knelt beside the corpse, his brow furrowed. “He’s been dead less than a month,” he said gravely. “The wound… isn’t from any weapon or beast I’ve ever seen. It’s too clean—like an energy beam pierced straight through him in an instant.”

Before anyone could respond, Logan suddenly stiffened. His eyes sharpened, locking on the half-buried wreckage of a bronze tripod a few steps ahead.

“Careful—!”

He hadn’t even finished the warning when several faint hissing sounds sliced through the air. Thin, almost invisible beams of light-gray energy—no thicker than a strand of hair—shot out from behind the bronze debris like venomous snakes, streaking straight toward the nearest guards!

They were impossibly fast—faster than crossbow bolts, faster than the eye could follow.

Logan’s reaction was instinctive. The moment he sensed the attack, his fingers came together like a blade. A burst of sword energy flashed behind him and streaked forward, intercepting the gray beams midair.

“Pfft… pfft… pfft…”

The collision made a faint sizzling sound, like water hissing on fire. The beams disintegrated under his sword aura—but not without resistance. Logan felt the lingering energy, cold and corrosive, like poison gnawing at the edge of his consciousness.

“What in the world was that?!” a guard cried, drawing his weapon.

All eyes turned toward the wreckage.

The ground behind the bronze tripod trembled—then three small mounds of earth suddenly split open with a dull pop. From within, three strange creatures crawled out.

Each was about half the height of a person, their bodies formed from dark brown soil and stone, veined with pulsing dark-blue lines that shimmered faintly, like ancient circuitry.

They had no visible heads—only a single, red, crystal-like eye embedded atop their torsos. Beneath that, several thin, flexible tendrils writhed like living whips. The gray beams had come from those tentacle tips.

“What are those?” Grace murmured, her eyes wide. “Mechanical puppets? Or… some kind of beast?”

“Neither alive nor dead,” Logan replied, his tone calm but cold. “They’re alchemical constructs—‘reverberations’ of the battlefield. The lingering resentment of fallen souls fused with ancient mechanical formations that still function. Monsters like these exist only to eliminate intruders.”

As if to prove his words, the creatures’ single red eyes flared brighter. Their blue circuit lines blazed, and dozens of gray energy beams erupted from their tentacles in a relentless storm, filling the air with sizzling death.

At the same time, they began to move—jerky, clumsy, but fast—spreading out in an attempt to flank the group.

“Defensive formation! Protect the young lady!” shouted the captain of the guards.

In an instant, the soldiers raised their shields, forming a tight circle around Grace. The metallic clang of beams striking steel filled the air. Sparks and gray smoke erupted wherever the beams hit. The fine steel shields began to pit and corrode, the metal edges hissing and deforming.

Logan moved like a phantom, his form blurring. In the blink of an eye, he appeared in front of one of the one-eyed creatures.

The monster reacted instantly. Its red eye flashed, and several beams shot out point-blank toward Logan’s face.

But he didn’t dodge.

His left hand flashed out, fingers glowing faintly green as they sliced through the air. He caught the invisible beams between his fingers—and crushed them. The energy hissed once, then vanished.

A heartbeat later, Logan threw a simple, direct punch. No flourish. No technique. Just raw, devastating force.

Boom!

His fist struck the creature square in its crimson eye.

The monster froze. The blue lines across its body flickered violently, then went dark. Its rocky frame lost cohesion, crumbling to the ground in a heap of soil and stone. Only the red crystal eye rolled free—dull, cracked, and lifeless.

The other two monsters hesitated. Red light pulsed rapidly within their single eyes, as if they recognized the threat. Then, almost in unison, they turned and began retreating, trying to burrow back into the ground.

“Not a chance.”

Logan flicked his foot, sending a broken piece of armor into the air. With a twist of his wrist, he infused it with true energy and hurled it like a throwing blade.

Swish! Swish!

Two flashes of light tore through the air, striking the monsters squarely in their crimson eyes.

The result was the same. Both constructs convulsed, their energy lines extinguished, and their bodies collapsed into dust and rubble.

Silence settled once more.

The guards lowered their shields, staring at the corrosion marks and pitted steel with pale faces. Even these minor echoes of the ancient battlefield were deadly. What would await them deeper within?

Logan crouched and picked up one of the broken red crystals, turning it over in his hand. A faint pulse of mixed energy—neither purely spiritual nor purely mechanical—still lingered within.

“The energy structure is strange,” he murmured. “A fusion of resentment and earth essence. Whatever created these… was far from ordinary.” His gaze shifted toward the distance, where the shadows thickened.

After that encounter, the team grew even more cautious.

They advanced slowly, following Logan’s lead, and soon faced several more waves of “reverberation” monsters—some shaped like the one-eyed stone constructs, others drifting like spectral energy forms that screamed into the mind.

Each time, Logan acted swiftly and decisively, his strength keeping the team intact.

As they ventured deeper, the battlefield remnants began to change. The broken bones and rusted weapons grew sparse, replaced by fragments of carved jade and shattered architectural ornaments. Here and there, dried spiritual springs and twisted roots of long-dead plants jutted from the ground like brittle veins.

The air grew denser with a faint spiritual aura—peaceful, almost pure—but it was tangled with something darker, something cold and murderous that refused to fade.

Finally, after passing through a jagged “forest” of shattered jade pillars, the landscape opened up before them.

A massive crack split the mountain ahead, as though an invisible blade had carved it apart. From within the rift, pale spiritual mist flowed gently, hinting at a hidden world beyond.

At the mouth of the crack stood a colossal bronze gate, nearly ten meters high.

The door was shut tight, covered in intricate carvings of suns, moons, beasts, and swirling clouds. Ancient vines—withered to a dark golden hue but still unyielding—twined through the cracks, binding it shut.

Above the lintel, two enormous characters were engraved in the same ancient Cloud Seal script they had seen before.

Even through the erosion of countless years, they remained clear—radiant with lingering power.

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The towering bronze gate loomed before them—majestic, ancient, and silent. What lay beyond it might be the legendary Hanging Garden… or a deeper, deadlier trap.

The dark golden vines that wrapped around the door’s cracks appeared withered, yet when touched, they felt like cold metal—unyielding and almost alive.

A faint glow pulsed beneath the cloud-seal talisman carved into the gate, weaving an ancient and powerful enchantment. Breaking it by force wasn’t just difficult—it could trigger unpredictable consequences.

Logan spent several moments probing the seal with his divine sense before finally withdrawing and shaking his head. “This gate’s seal is intact and connected to the earth veins. Forcing it open could cause a major backlash. There might be another entrance—or perhaps a specific key or opportunity to unlock it.”

The hope that had carried them this far wavered. The promise of discovery stood just beyond that massive gate, yet it was unreachable. Grace stared at the fog-laced fissure in the mountains ahead and said thoughtfully, “If this way is blocked for now, we should explore along the edge of this crack. Maybe we’ll find another path. The ‘Yaochi’ mentioned in the murals might be nearby.”

Logan nodded. He sensed faint but active spiritual fluctuations in that direction. With renewed caution, the group continued forward along the cliff’s edge, moving deeper into the island’s heart.

Before long, the world around them began to change.

The clear air thickened into a grayish-white mist that felt almost alive. It was dense and heavy, flowing in slow, eerie waves that muffled both sight and sound.

Even their voices distorted and faded in the haze.

More unsettling was the mist itself—it carried a strange, corrosive power. It didn’t burn the skin but seeped through the pores like countless invisible needles, silently draining their spiritual energy.

The guards’ breathing grew heavier. Their meridians clogged, their strength waned, and exhaustion seeped into their bones.

“Keep moving! Don’t stop!” the captain shouted, his voice muted by the fog. “This mist—it’s draining our energy!”

They immediately activated their internal energy, forming thin layers of protective true force around their bodies.

The air sizzled where the mist met their defenses. Though it slowed the corrosion, their energy burned away at twice the normal rate.

“Miss, I can’t… hold on much longer,” one female guard gasped, her face pale and drenched in sweat.

Grace’s cultivation was strong, but even she could feel her strength fading faster than it should. She glanced toward Logan—only to notice that the mist refused to touch him.

An invisible barrier surrounded him, repelling the fog entirely. He looked calm, untouched, as though walking through a storm without feeling the rain.

“Stay close to me,” Logan said. His voice cut clearly through the oppressive air, carrying a quiet authority that steadied their nerves.

The invisible force around him expanded, covering Grace and several nearby guards. The draining pressure lifted instantly, and they could breathe again.

“Thank you, Mr. Rhys,” one of them said, gratitude in his trembling voice.

Logan shook his head slightly, scanning the fog. “This isn’t just draining our strength—it’s suppressing spiritual perception.”

He tried extending his divine sense, but it was like pushing through mud. His awareness could barely reach a hundred feet—and even that felt distorted.

“There’s something moving in the fog,” he warned grimly.

The words sent a cold chill through everyone.

When vision and senses fail, the unknown becomes the most terrifying enemy.

Step by step, they pressed on—guided by Logan—like blind travelers feeling their way through a nightmare. The moss-slick rocks beneath their feet squelched faintly. The only sounds were their breathing and the thudding of anxious hearts.

Then—

A sharp, blood-curdling scream tore through the silence.

Everyone spun around. The fog churned violently, and one of the flank guards vanished—dragged backward by something unseen.

He didn’t even have time to shout for help. Only a dark drag mark and a few drops of blood remained, quickly absorbed into the mossy ground.

“Back to back! Defensive formation!” the captain roared.

The guards drew their blades, pressing shoulder to shoulder, sweat cold on their skin.

“What was that?” Grace demanded, her short sword gleaming faintly in the dim light.

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he focused on where the guard had disappeared. Though his divine sense was restrained, he caught a fleeting flicker of twisted, negative energy.

“It’s not a physical creature,” he said gravely. “Or at least, not entirely. It’s a fog-born demon spirit—formed from this mist’s corrosive essence and the lingering resentment of the dead. It’s formless, intangible, and feeds on the life force of the living.”

As if to prove his words, faint whispers began to echo through the fog—thousands of overlapping voices murmuring in a language that clawed at the soul. The sound made their blood boil and their hearts pound uncontrollably.

Then, out of the swirling mist, several distorted gray shadows emerged. Their shapes shifted constantly—sometimes like writhing tentacles, sometimes like screaming human faces. They emitted no sound but radiated silent malice as they lunged straight toward the group.

 

 

 

English version 

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“Stay calm! Attack them!” Grace shouted.

The short sword in her hand gleamed with icy light as she slashed through the nearest gray shadow.

The blade tore straight through the misty figure, making it ripple and twist violently. A sharp, ear-piercing hiss echoed—but the creature didn’t vanish. Instead, it surged forward even more viciously.

Around her, the guards fought desperately. Their blades and qi attacks cut into the shadows, but the results were disheartening. The sword auras barely thinned the fog-like creatures, and it often took multiple strikes just to destroy one.

The mist shadows’ counterattacks were even stranger. They slipped easily through ordinary protective energy, and once they made contact with flesh, icy death spread instantly.

A guard screamed as one of the shadows brushed his arm. Before anyone could react, his limb turned gray and shriveled, drained of all vitality. He stumbled backward, pale and trembling.

“We can’t hold them off like this! Our attacks barely hurt them!” the captain shouted, panic creeping into his voice.

Two more guards fell within moments, their energy stripped away, their bodies lifeless husks.

Logan’s expression hardened. He could tell that these entities—born from fog and resentment—were resistant to both physical and spiritual attacks. The only thing they feared was higher, purer energy—something bright, yang-infused, and cleansing.

He brought his fingers together, and a blinding golden light burst to life at his fingertips. It wasn’t searing, but its aura was vast and sacred—pure yang energy that could banish all evil.

“Pure Yang Finger.”

The moment he spoke, Logan flicked his finger. A streak of golden light shot forward like a divine arrow, piercing the thickest part of the fog.

A shrill, otherworldly wail split the air. Wherever the golden light passed, the distorted shadows melted and evaporated like frost under the morning sun. The suffocating cold of the fog lifted, thinning noticeably.

The remaining mist creatures recoiled, their twisted forms trembling. Then, like frightened animals, they scattered back into the depths of the fog and vanished.

The guards stood frozen, breathing hard, staring at Logan in stunned silence.

One of them finally spoke, voice filled with awe. “Mr. Rhys… thank you. You saved our lives.”

Logan shook his head lightly, still focused. “Don’t thank me yet. These were just fragments—residual spirits disturbed by our presence. The true source of the fog—and something far stronger—is still ahead. We can’t stay here. We need to move.”

He looked toward the densest part of the mist. The energy there was turbulent, but beneath the chaos he could sense something else—gentle, flowing, and pure. A water spirit’s resonance.

“Follow me,” he said quietly. “That direction feels right.”

They moved forward again, exhausted but resolute, pushing through the devouring fog.

And then—suddenly—it ended.

As if they had crossed an invisible threshold, the suffocating mist dissolved. The air turned clear and bright, sunlight spilling across a breathtaking valley. For a moment, they stood speechless, almost believing they had stepped into the realm of immortals.

Before them stretched a valley nestled between emerald peaks. Waterfalls cascaded like silver ribbons from the cliffs, filling the air with the soothing sound of flowing streams. Exotic flowers bloomed in dazzling colors, their fragrance crisp and intoxicating. The very air shimmered with pure spiritual energy that filled their lungs and slowly restored the strength they had lost.

At the valley’s heart stood a cluster of jade pavilions—graceful, ethereal, and otherworldly. Built from white and green jade and luminous spiritwood, they shimmered faintly beneath drifting clouds. The curved roofs and carved beams glowed softly in the golden light, blending perfectly with the surrounding mountains and mist.

Cranes glided through the sky. A few spirit deer grazed near a pond, unafraid. And from somewhere unseen came the faint sound of celestial music—hauntingly beautiful, like a lullaby that reached straight into the soul.

“This… this must be Xuanpu,” Grace whispered, her eyes wide with awe. “A real immortal realm…”

The tension in everyone’s shoulders melted away. The guards looked around in wonder, disbelief giving way to reverence.

For the first time in days, Grace felt light. Her chest swelled with hope. Maybe here… maybe here we’ll find it.

Her gaze fixed on the pavilions, where she imagined a glowing elixir floating inside—its light pulsing softly, waiting to heal her father’s dying body. The vision filled her heart with warmth so intense it almost hurt.

“Finally… we found it,” she murmured, her voice trembling. Her steps began to quicken without her realizing it.

“Wait.”

The word cut through her thoughts like an icy blade.

A cool hand settled on her shoulder, stopping her mid-step. The touch sent a refreshing calm through her, dousing the fire of her excitement.

Logan’s voice was low and steady. “Be careful. Not everything beautiful is real.”

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“Stay calm?” Grace blinked in confusion, turning to Logan with a puzzled look.

But Logan wasn’t admiring the breathtaking scenery around them. His sharp, eagle-like gaze swept across the valley, carrying a faint chill that could pierce through deception itself.

“What you’re seeing might look real,” he said quietly, “but it isn’t right. The spiritual energy here—though rich—is unstable, almost impatient. The music sounds beautiful, but it’s too perfect, too flawless to be natural. Look closer—the scent of the flowers, the rhythm of the water, even the drifting clouds. Doesn’t it all feel… staged? As if it exists solely to please the senses?”

His words struck like a spark in the fog. Grace and the more seasoned guards focused their senses, and suddenly the perfection began to feel wrong.

The floral scent, once refreshing, now seemed overly sweet—so cloying it made them dizzy. The steady rhythm of the water never once changed, as if it were on a loop. Even the floating mist above the valley followed a fixed, unnatural pattern.

“It’s an illusion!” Grace gasped, her heart skipping. A cold sweat ran down her back.

If Logan hadn’t pointed it out, she would’ve gladly drowned in this too-perfect paradise.

“What a remarkable illusion,” Logan murmured, half-admiring, half-serious. “This isn’t a simple trick—it reaches directly into the heart, showing you what you most desire. It doesn’t create falsehoods; it reflects the truth inside you.”

As if responding to his words, the world around them began to shift.

The jade pavilions grew clearer. Then, faint figures appeared within the tallest tower.

Grace’s pupils shrank. Her breath caught in her throat.

At the window stood a middle-aged man in bright yellow robes—his face kind, yet pale with sickness. His eyes looked into the distance, filled with longing.

Her father.

And beside him—her mother, long gone—graceful in a flowing palace gown, smiling gently and waving.

“Father! Mother!” Grace cried, her voice breaking. Tears welled up instantly, her reason slipping away as a tidal wave of emotion crashed through her.

She took a step forward—ready to run into their arms.

“Wake up!”

Logan’s cold voice thundered inside her mind like a crack of lightning.

His fingers came together like a blade, glowing with a pale, sacred light that cleansed the spirit. He touched her brow lightly.

A chill surged through her body. Her vision blurred as the figures of her parents twisted like water disturbed by a stone, then faded—shattering into mist. The brilliant palace melted away, leaving only gray fog.

The illusion was gone.

But the loss hit her hard. Her knees buckled, and she would have fallen if a female guard hadn’t caught her. Her breathing came fast and shallow, her face ashen.

All around her, the other guards were still trapped in their own false paradises.

Some saw caverns filled with gold and jewels. Others saw lost loved ones, smiling and alive. Some stood tall as martial kings, basking in the worship of thousands.

They laughed. They wept. They fought shadows and hugged ghosts—utterly unaware of the danger surrounding them.

“Hold your minds steady!” Logan’s voice boomed again, deep and commanding, carrying waves of spiritual power. “Guard your hearts! What you see is not real!”

His shout reached some—but not all. A few with strong wills blinked out of their trances, faces pale and shaken. The rest remained lost, eyes glazed.

Two guards even turned their blades on each other, fighting over an illusory “treasure.” Steel clashed, and blood splattered across the rocks. Both fell with faint smiles—dead, yet believing they’d won.

Grace trembled. The chill of fear crawled up her spine.

Logan’s frown deepened. He knew he couldn’t let the illusion consume any more lives.

He drew in a deep breath. A blue-gold glow flared in his eyes, vast and heavy as the sea, sharp and unyielding as forged steel.

“Break—the delusion.”

No thunder. No roar. Only a silent wave of power bursting from his mind, rippling outward like circles across still water.

Wherever the ripple passed, the false paradise began to unravel.

The jade towers twisted, the waterfalls flickered, and the flowers melted into gray smears of light. The illusion peeled away like paint from old parchment—revealing the truth beneath.

There was no fairyland.

Only a desolate valley—jagged rocks, lifeless trees, and dark red soil that looked soaked in old blood. The air was thick with the stench of decay and sulfur.

The “music” had turned into the mournful wail of wind. The “fragrance” was just the stink of rot.

Even the sparkling spring in the distance was ringed by piles of bones—human and beast alike.

The paradise was nothing more than a graveyard wrapped in illusion.

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The remnants of the illusion shattered under Logan’s spiritual force. One by one, the dazed guards regained consciousness, only to be met with the grim reality before them—the desolate valley, the foul air, and their fallen comrades lying lifeless in pools of blood.

Fear gripped their hearts. Faces turned pale. The paradise they had seen moments ago now felt like a cruel joke.

“What a terrifying illusion…” Grace whispered, her voice trembling. “It reflected our deepest desires so perfectly.” Her gratitude toward Logan deepened, the thought of what could’ve happened without him sending a chill down her spine.

But Logan’s eyes were no longer on her. They flashed like lightning as he turned his gaze toward the one thing that had remained unchanged—the spring at the far end of the valley.

The air above the spring began to twist. Ripples spread through the void, and a figure slowly took shape—a woman in a shimmering, multicolored gown. Her beauty was haunting, almost otherworldly. She seemed woven from mist and light itself, her body flickering between substance and illusion.

Barefoot, she hovered above the spring, radiating an intoxicating allure that made the soul quiver. Her eyes were deep and endless, reflecting all things—and nothing at all.

She looked at Logan, lips curving in a faint, entrancing smile. Her voice was soft, airy, and unsettlingly seductive.

“You actually saw through my Seven Emotions Illusion… and broke it by force. Impressive, outsider. Your spirit is… unusually strong.”

Logan’s sword gleamed coldly at his side, his expression composed and steady.

“You feed on the desires of others—building false paradises, trapping the lost, devouring their spirit and essence. You’re the guardian of this formation… Mirage?”

The woman—Mirage—laughed lightly. The sound was like crystal chimes carried on a poisonous breeze.

“Guardian?” she echoed, her tone playful. “Perhaps. But really, I just enjoy watching mortals struggle—drowning in their own desires, begging for dreams they can’t have. When they finally give in, I consume what’s left of them. It’s quite beautiful, really.”

Her gaze shifted toward Grace and the others. The look in her eyes turned hungry.

“Your companions, however…” she purred. “They are far more fragile than you.”

Logan stepped forward, shielding the others with his body. His sword tilted downward, its blade humming. The air around him grew sharp and cold as his sword intent tore through Mirage’s lingering charm.

“It ends here.” His voice cut through the tension like a blade.

But Mirage only smiled wider, her voice echoing through the valley like a haunting song.

“Ends? Oh, no… it’s only beginning. You humans cling to pain, call it reality, and reject joy because you fear illusion. Yet… what you seek is obsession, not truth. Isn’t bliss—no matter how false—better than despair?”

Her words slithered into their minds like smoke.

The guards who had just escaped her illusion began to falter again. Their eyes lost focus, faces softening with longing as the scenes of their greatest desires resurfaced in their minds.

Even Grace staggered. She saw her father again—frail, coughing, his hands reaching for her. Her chest tightened; her heart ached. The pain was too real, too heavy.

“Enough!” Logan’s voice thundered, cracking through the trance like a whip.

He couldn’t let Mirage drag them into her rhythm. Once she took control of their emotions, they’d be lost for good.

He raised his sword, and with a flick of his wrist, the blade released a piercing cry like a dragon waking. A surge of green energy burst forth—pure and blinding, cutting through the seductive haze and flying straight toward the Mirage above the spring.

The strike was swift as lightning—deadly and precise.

But just as it was about to hit, Mirage’s body twisted and rippled like a reflection disturbed by water. She vanished.

The sword energy slammed into the rock behind her, carving a deep gouge and scattering shards of stone.

A soft laugh echoed from all directions, mocking and distant.

“Hehehe… brute force? That won’t work here, warrior. You can’t shatter illusions with a sword.”

Her voice was everywhere at once, blending with the wind, teasing the edge of madness.

A heartbeat later, she reappeared beside a withered tree, her form coalescing in a swirl of color and mist. She smiled—calm, unhurried, and impossibly beautiful.

Logan’s eyes narrowed. He moved again, his form a blur. Sword light danced, weaving a net of green energy that slashed toward her new position.

The strike connected—yet again, it only tore through light. Mirage’s figure dissolved like smoke, reappearing atop a large boulder across the valley.

She tilted her head, amusement glinting in her eyes.

“Futile,” she murmured, her voice sweet as poison. “My true body is everywhere and nowhere. This entire Mirror Flower Water Moon Valley is me. Tell me, how can you kill a dream?”

She lifted her delicate hand. The world rippled.

In an instant, everything changed again.

The blood-red ground turned lush and green. Dead trees sprouted blossoms. The air filled with the fragrance of flowers, and the foul spring transformed into a pool of crystal water, radiating pure energy.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Their companions’ faces began to change.

To Grace, the female guard beside her morphed into someone she despised—an old enemy, smirking cruelly.

The guards, too, saw their comrades twisting into enemies from their pasts—rivals who had betrayed them, foes they longed to strike down.

“Stay back!” one guard roared, eyes bloodshot, slashing wildly.

Another screamed, retreating in panic while swinging his blade at empty air.

Chaos erupted.

Even knowing it might be an illusion, the sensory assault was too real—the sounds, the faces, the emotions. Under such pressure, their fragile minds began to crumble.

And once again, Mirage’s laughter echoed through the valley—soft, musical, and utterly merciless.

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“Stevie! It’s me—calm down!”

Grace grabbed her comrade’s wrist before the blade could fall. Her instincts screamed at her to defend herself, but she fought the illusion’s pull, forcing herself to remember who stood before her. Her cultivation was strong, her mind resilient—but even so, the twisted reality around her made her heart pound with confusion and dread.

Across the chaotic field, Logan’s frown deepened.

The Mirage’s illusion was no simple trick—it was alive. It seeped into thought, emotion, and instinct, manipulating everything it touched. The illusions weren’t merely visual; they attacked the very heart and mind. If this continued, his team would destroy itself long before Mirage even lifted a finger.

He sent out another pulse of spiritual energy. The wave of divine power rippled through the fog, momentarily shaking the hallucinations—but its effect was short-lived. The Mirage’s magic clung like a parasite, wrapping itself around each person’s soul, feeding on their fear.

“Close your eyes! Shut your ears! Focus on your mind and trust only your comrades!”

Logan’s voice struck through the chaos like thunder—cold, commanding, impossible to ignore.

At his order, the guards clung to sanity like drowning men grasping a rope. One by one, they forced their eyes shut, suppressing the urge to look, to listen, to believe.

They drew closer, forming a tight circle with their backs together, relying only on memory and the pulse of familiar energy around them. The clash of illusions faded slightly—but not for long.

A low, mocking laugh rippled through their minds.

“If you shut your eyes, do you think you can escape your fears?” Mirage’s voice whispered, curling through their consciousness like smoke. “Your greatest emotion is coming for you…”

Then—darkness.

Even with eyes closed, each mind became its own battlefield.

The ground split open in their thoughts, skeletal hands clawing from beneath to seize their feet. The blood-red sky rained acid and ash. From the corners of their minds, shadowed figures crawled closer, whispering their names.

It wasn’t sound. It wasn’t sight. It was felt—a direct assault on the spirit itself.

“AHHH!”

A guard screamed. His body convulsed, blood oozing from his eyes, ears, and nose as his mind collapsed under the pressure.

Grace shuddered violently, her breath ragged. Visions of her father’s death flashed over and over, of his cold hand slipping from hers, of the empire crumbling around her. The grief threatened to crush her.

Logan’s eyes hardened. He couldn’t just defend anymore—if he didn’t strike now, they would all die here.

He forced his mind into stillness.

He took a slow breath and closed his eyes. The sounds of chaos faded—the screams, the whispers, the illusions, even Mirage’s mocking laughter. All of it drifted away until there was nothing. No noise. No fear. No illusion.

Only silence.

In that stillness, Logan’s spirit expanded outward, vast and clear. His inner world became a calm, mirror-like lake—undisturbed, perfectly still.

And in that reflection, he saw it—the truth.

Beneath the endless distortions of the Mirage’s magic, countless threads of colorful energy pulsed through the valley. Every illusion, every emotion, every lie was tied to one source—

the spring.

And within that spring, buried deep beneath the surface, pulsed a single radiant core of shifting light. It throbbed like a heartbeat, alive, brimming with stolen energy.

The Mirage Pearl.

“That’s where you are,” Logan murmured, his eyes snapping open.

Gone was the confusion—his gaze was like steel, sharp enough to pierce through reality itself.

The illusions surged again—wails, faces, phantom claws—but he didn’t flinch.

In one fluid motion, he drew his sword. His energy surged, and his figure blurred into a streak of emerald light that cut through the air like a thunderbolt.

Man and blade became one.

The sword didn’t aim at the illusion—it went straight for the heart beneath the spring.

The blade’s glow condensed to a single point, locking onto the pulsing Mirage Pearl. The air trembled. Space itself seemed to bend around his strike.

The Mirage finally screamed, her composure breaking for the first time.

“No—how could you possibly—!”

She poured every ounce of power into defense. Illusions rose in a storm—walls of light, whirling vortices, even the figure of someone dear to Logan materialized, reaching toward him.

But Logan’s strike was no longer bound by emotion.

It was pure intent—his heart sword, formed from will so sharp it cut through illusion, through lies, through reality itself.

The tip of the blade pierced the spring.

A sound like a bubble bursting—soft, almost gentle—echoed across the valley.

Then silence.

For one breath, everything stood still.

Then the world shattered.

The valley trembled violently. The radiant pavilions and blooming gardens exploded into fragments of light, scattering like glass under the sun. Ghostly hands, blood rain, and black shadows vanished like smoke in the wind.

The false paradise dissolved into nothing.

When the shaking stopped, the group stood once more in the barren, colorless valley. The spring had dried up completely, leaving behind cracked earth and silence.

At the bottom of the drained pool lay a single object—a small, round pearl glowing faintly in shades of soft color. But a deep crack ran across its surface, and its light was fading fast.

Logan stood beside it, sword sheathed. His breathing was steady but shallow, his complexion pale. That single strike had consumed almost all his energy and focus.

A wavering shape appeared above the ruined spring—the Mirage herself.

Her once-blinding beauty had dimmed. Her body flickered like candlelight in the wind, translucent and fading.

She looked at Logan, her eyes filled with disbelief, fury, and the faintest trace of awe.

“What… a sword,” she rasped. “You actually… broke my soul…”

Her voice was hoarse now, stripped of its charm, the last vestiges of pride burning out.

Logan said nothing. His eyes remained cold and calm, like still water after a storm.

Mirage knew she was finished. Her soul was fractured; she could no longer maintain her illusions. Yet, before vanishing, she burned her image into memory—of the man who had seen through her dream and destroyed it.

Then her figure shattered, exploding into ribbons of colored light. The fragments swirled once, scooping up the cracked Mirage Pearl, and vanished deep into the rocky walls of the valley—

gone in an instant.

2677

As the Mirage’s final trace of energy vanished into the cliffs, the valley fell completely silent. The oppressive aura that had gripped their hearts slowly dissipated.

One by one, the survivors opened their eyes, their hands trembling as they lowered them from their ears.

The world before them had returned to its true form—bleak, colorless, and utterly still. The vivid illusions that had felt so real moments ago were gone, leaving only desolation.

Several guards collapsed to the ground, pale and gasping. Fear lingered in their eyes as if they had just clawed their way out of a nightmare.

Grace stepped toward Logan, worry etched across her face. “Logan, are you alright?”

He shook his head slightly, his expression calm but weary. “I’m fine. Mirage’s energy is depleted, and her body is wounded. She won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

Stevie pressed a trembling hand to her chest. “That was terrifying… There was no way to fight it. If Mr. Rhys hadn’t found her core, we’d all be dead.”

Logan nodded, his gaze sweeping over the team. “Remember this. On Fairyharbor Island, the most beautiful places often hide the deadliest traps. Never trust what looks serene.”

Everyone nodded, chastened. After the ordeal in the “Mirror Flower Water Moon” valley, their reverence—and fear—for this island had deepened beyond words.

After a brief rest, the group gathered themselves and pressed on.

Yet, as they moved forward, the air still felt heavy—haunted by the echo of Mirage’s illusions. Even in silence, it was as though her presence lingered, unseen but watching.

Fatigue weighed on every step. Those wounded in both body and mind needed help to move, and the entire group slowed to a crawl.

As they advanced, the valley walls grew steeper, their color darkening to a deep crimson, like rock scorched by fire—or stained by ancient blood.

A harsh, sulfuric odor filled the air, growing thicker and sharper with each breath.

“Miss… this smell—it’s making me dizzy,” Stevie murmured, covering her nose.

Grace’s stomach churned. She circulated her inner energy to block the stench, only to realize with alarm that her energy was draining faster than before.

“Everyone, be careful,” she warned. “The air is poisonous. Hold your breath as much as possible and use your internal energy to resist.”

But their reserves were already running dangerously low.

After endless battles, toxic mists, and illusions that gnawed at their minds, even the strongest guards were nearing their limits.

Moments later, one of the wounded stumbled and fell. His skin turned blue, lips purple.

“Captain! Awu’s down!” a guard cried, panic rising in his voice.

The captain knelt to check, his face hardening. “The poison’s too deep. His energy’s gone. He’s… gone.”

Despair crept through the group like a slow-moving fog. They watched helplessly as another comrade’s life faded away, unable to save him, unable even to grieve properly.

How long had they been here? Days? Weeks?

They had already lost nearly half their men—and the legendary elixir they sought was still nowhere in sight.

“It’s all for that damned elixir,” someone muttered bitterly. “How many more have to die for it?”

The voice was low, but its venomous edge cut deep. It died away quickly, yet the words hung in the air, sinking into the hearts of those already burdened with fear and doubt.

Grace stiffened but didn’t turn around. She understood their resentment. They had followed her faithfully through every danger—but exhaustion and grief could break even the strongest will.

Still, she could not falter. Her father’s life hung in the balance. She swallowed the ache in her chest and kept moving.

Logan heard the murmurs too but said nothing. Words couldn’t untie the knots of despair.

He simply watched the path ahead, eyes sharp as a blade, his mind alert to every shift in the air.

A few miles later, the valley forked.

One path led deeper into the cliffs; the other veered into a narrow crevice. A faint current of air drifted out from the crack—cool, moist, and subtly fragrant, carrying a whisper of spiritual energy that stood in stark contrast to the island’s noxious aura.

“This way,” Logan said firmly, pointing toward the crack.

They followed his lead. The passage was narrow and slick with moss, forcing them to move single file, each step cautious and slow.

After walking for about half an incense stick’s time, the tunnel opened abruptly.

They stepped into a hidden grotto—quiet, untouched, and startlingly serene.

A small, crystal-clear pool lay before them. Its sandy bottom shimmered faintly, and a few silver fish darted lazily through the water. At the center, a spring bubbled softly, releasing ripples of cool air infused with gentle spiritual energy.

After the choking fumes outside, this place felt like paradise.

“Oh thank the heavens—water!” one of the parched guards exclaimed, rushing forward.

“Wait!” Logan’s sharp command stopped him in his tracks. “Something feels off. Don’t rush.”

He crouched by the pool, studying it closely. The water was cool, clear, almost alive with faint energy. He dipped his hand in and raised it slowly.

The water glistened between his fingers—pure, vital, and untainted.

“It’s safe,” he said after a moment, “but don’t drink too much. The energy here is clean but weak—it won’t restore what we’ve lost.”

Following his instructions, the guards took careful turns, drinking small sips and washing their wounds.

The effect was immediate. The fatigue that had weighed them down began to lift, replaced by a fragile sense of relief. The wounded looked better, their breathing steadier.

For the first time in days, hope flickered faintly among them.

But just as that fragile peace began to settle—

—the water in the pool rippled.

A faint vibration stirred beneath the surface, subtle yet unmistakable.

And once again, the calm they had found began to crumble.

2678

“Boom!”

A deep rumble echoed from behind them. The ground quivered, and loose gravel rained down from the walls.

“What was that?!” the captain of the guards shouted, turning toward the narrow crack they had come through.

Before their eyes, the passage sealed itself off. A massive boulder—dark and smooth—had slammed into place, blocking the only exit as if an unseen hand had deliberately trapped them inside.

“No! Our retreat’s been cut off!”

A guard rushed forward and pressed his shoulder against the stone, grunting with effort. It didn’t budge. Even when several joined in, hacking with axes and blades, they only managed to scratch the surface.

“This rock isn’t natural,” someone gasped.

Stevie’s face went pale. “It’s a formation. We’ve been trapped!”

Grace’s stomach dropped. The path behind them was gone, the road ahead unknown. They were like insects sealed inside a jar.

“Calm down,” Logan said firmly, his voice cutting through the panic like steel through silk.

He stepped forward, laid his hand on the cold boulder, and closed his eyes. The energy pulsing through the stone was unmistakable—earth essence intertwined with a sealing array. It was deliberate, and powerful.

“Someone led us here,” he said after a moment. “This formation seals only the entrance. That means there’s another way out. If we were meant to die, the air itself would’ve been poisoned by now.”

His gaze shifted toward the pool in the center of the cave. The clear water shimmered faintly in the dim light.

“Which means,” Logan continued, “the path forward lies beneath the surface.”

He focused his spiritual sense, letting it sink deep into the water. The spring was far deeper than it appeared. After a dozen feet, his perception brushed against something—a concealed passage hidden among rocks and aquatic plants. Water flowed through it, leading into darkness.

“There’s an underwater passage,” he said, standing.

Everyone’s eyes darted to the pool, anxiety and curiosity battling on their faces.

“An underwater road?” Stevie muttered. “Who knows where it leads?”

“I’ll find out,” Logan said simply. “Stay here. If there’s danger, I’ll return immediately.”

He took a deep breath. A faint green aura enveloped his body, isolating him from the cold water. Without hesitation, he dove in, disappearing beneath the rippling surface.

The group waited in silence.

The cave was still, the only sounds the slow drip of water and their own ragged breathing. Every heartbeat stretched the waiting longer.

Finally—after what felt like an eternity—water splashed.

Logan broke the surface and climbed out, his clothes steaming dry under the faint hum of his energy.

“The passage connects to another chamber,” he said. “It’s clear and safe—for now. There’s light at the end. We move, one by one. Stay close, hold your breath, and don’t lose focus.”

No one questioned him. Under his steady tone, their panic subsided enough to move.

One after another, they dove into the cold depths, following the faint glow of Logan’s energy ahead of them.

The passage wasn’t long—barely ten feet. Soon, a silvery light flickered ahead. They pushed forward, breaking through a thin film of water, and emerged gasping into open air.

The sight that greeted them was breathtaking.

They were in a massive natural cavern. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like crystal spears, glowing faintly white and illuminating the entire space in a soft, ethereal light. The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and dew.

The pool here connected to the one they’d just swum through. Around it grew luminous moss and short, strange plants that shimmered faintly with life.

For the first time in a long while, the air felt calm. Clean.

But what drew their attention most was the pile of supplies stacked neatly in a corner.

Several oiled leather bags, sealed tight. Old yet still sharp weapons. And a small box filled with healing pills.

“These… these are human supplies!” Stevie said, stunned.

Grace approached cautiously. The leather was soft and pliant, not decayed. She opened one of the bags—dry rations, perfectly preserved. “They’re not ancient,” she murmured. “Whoever left these was here not too long ago.”

The guards nearly wept from relief. They hurried forward, distributing food and water, savoring the taste of survival.

For them, this find was salvation.

Logan, however, remained silent. His gaze had fixed on the far wall, where faint carvings were etched into the stone.

He stepped closer. The markings weren’t runes, but rough pictographs—simple, human, and deliberate.

They told a story.

Figures—human cultivators—battling monstrous beasts. Discovering this cave. Leaving behind supplies. Then, an arrow carved into the rock pointed toward a narrow gap at the far end of the cavern.

Above the arrow, strange symbols depicted swirling clouds and jagged lightning. Danger.

At the very end of the mural were a few hastily scratched words:

“If you find this place, help yourself to what remains. The road ahead leads to certain peril. Beware the storms—beware the heart of the island. —Iker.”

Grace’s breath caught. “Iker?”

The name struck a chord. Iker—an independent cultivator whose fame had once shaken the world. Eighty years ago, he’d disappeared after venturing into an uncharted secret realm across the sea.

Could this be where he came?

The thought sent a chill through the room. If even a master like Iker had failed to leave this island, what hope did they have?

The newly lifted spirits of the group froze once more, weighed down by that grim realization.

A faint sound drew their eyes toward the marked gap in the rock wall.

From beyond came a low hum—a mix of wind, thunder, and something else.

Logan stared at the passage. His eyes narrowed.

Beyond that narrow path pulsed a strong current of spiritual energy—pure and clean, unmistakably tied to water essence. But mingled with it was something fierce and violent, like lightning barely restrained.

His heart stirred.

“Yaochi…” he murmured softly. “It might be just beyond there.”

2679

Iker’s warning lingered in the air like a curse, pressing down on the cave until even the sound of breathing felt heavy.

After the supplies were distributed, there were no more surprises—only a wary silence, the kind born from exhaustion and despair.

The water and dry food were divided evenly. Grace kept the box of healing pills close, saving them for emergencies.

Everyone ate in silence, chewing the coarse rations that tasted like sand and ash.

In the far corner, two gravely wounded guards slumped against the rock wall, their faces ghostly pale. One of them, still suffering from the mist shadow’s wound, had a patch of bandages across his chest already darkened by a creeping gray hue. The deathly aura continued to spread; his shallow, ragged breaths betrayed how close he was to the end.

The other had lost an arm. Though the bleeding had stopped, the agony and blood loss left him half-conscious, groaning incoherently in fevered delirium.

Their suffering was unbearable to watch—each labored breath a cruel reminder of what awaited the rest of them.

“Awu… I don’t think he’ll make it through the night,” a scar-faced guard whispered, glancing at the man beside him—a wiry, sharp-eyed figure known as Housan.

Housan’s gaze flicked toward the dwindling pile of food, then toward Logan—still seated in silent meditation—and Grace, whose expression was drawn with worry.

He swallowed the dry crumbs stuck in his throat and muttered, his voice barely audible, “If he dies, that’s one less mouth to feed. Brother Zhaotie, look around… The path ahead is a dead end. Even Iker fell here. What chance do we have?”

He didn’t need to finish the thought. The message was clear.

Zhaotie’s expression darkened. His grip tightened around his water skin. “We swore to protect Her Highness. That’s our duty… but this—this is suicide. I’ve got a wife and children waiting for me at home.”

“Who doesn’t?” grumbled another guard missing half an ear as he staggered closer. “If I’d known this island was cursed, I would’ve never taken this job. No way forward, no way back—just the gates of hell ahead. How long do you think we’ll last with what little we’ve got left?”

The complaints spread like a slow, poisonous fog, seeping through the camp.

The men’s eyes, once steady and determined, now shimmered with fear and hopelessness. And when they glanced at Grace and Logan, there was no longer admiration in their gaze—only doubt, and something darker.

Grace noticed. Of course, she did. But she said nothing.

Instead, she knelt beside the dying Awu, gently lifting his head and letting him sip a little water from her flask.

Awu swallowed with effort. For a moment, gratitude flickered in his dim eyes—but more than anything, there was a longing for peace.

“Hold on, Awu,” Grace whispered softly. “We’ll find a way out.”

He tried to smile. Only a faint, gurgling sound escaped his throat before his head slumped sideways. The light in his eyes went out.

Silence fell like a stone.

The man with the broken arm stared at his fallen comrade, his body trembling violently. Then he broke.

“Dead! He’s dead!” he screamed hoarsely, clutching his head. “We’re all going to die! All of us! No one’s getting out alive!”

His outburst ripped through the group’s fragile composure.

Kui, one of the stronger guards, jumped to his feet, eyes bloodshot. “Shut up!” he yelled, voice shaking. “I don’t want to die! I want to go back!”

He turned to Grace. Though he still spoke with the barest hint of respect, anger laced his tone. “Your Highness, it’s not that we’re cowards—but even Iker couldn’t make it through this place! What can we rely on? Mr. Rhys?” He pointed toward Logan. “No matter how strong he is, can he protect us all? Awu’s dead! Laozi’s useless! Who’s next? You? Me?”

“Kui! Watch your mouth!” the captain of the guards, Alongi, barked, though even his voice trembled with weariness.

Grace stood, her expression composed but her heart heavy. Fear pressed down on her chest like iron, yet she couldn’t afford to show it.

“Kui, I understand your frustration,” she said quietly, her voice calm but cold. “But panic and infighting will only get us all killed. Mr. Rhys is doing everything he can to find a way forward. We—”

“Find a way?” Housan interrupted, his tone sharp and mocking. “Your Highness, it’s not disloyalty—it’s reality. There’s no way out. Rather than starving together, we should divide the food and let each man fend for himself.”

His eyes slid toward the corner, where the remaining supplies were stacked.

Stevie’s hand flew to her dagger, fury flashing in her eyes. “You dare speak of rebellion?!”

“Rebellion?” Zhaotie barked out a bitter laugh, stepping forward and resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “We just want to live. Hand over the supplies and the pills, and we’ll go our own way. Whether we live or die after that—it’s none of Your Highness’s concern.”

The air grew taut.

Zhaotie, Housan, Kui—their stance and the fire in their eyes said it all. They’d made up their minds.

Grace’s heart sank as she looked at the faces of men who once stood by her side with unwavering loyalty. Now, twisted by hunger and fear, they looked more like strangers—desperate, feral, and dangerous.

She steadied herself, her voice firm but calm. “If we separate now, no one will survive. The only chance we have is to stand together.”

Zhaotie sneered. “Together? Following you is what got us here in the first place. We’ve already lost too many chasing after this so-called elixir. If we keep going, none of us will leave this cave alive.”

“That’s right!” another guard shouted. “I’ve got an old mother at home, a wife, children! I can’t die here for nothing!”

“Your Highness,” Kui said through clenched teeth, “please… let us go.”

Their voices echoed in the cavern—fear, defiance, desperation—all blurring into one chaotic roar.

And in that moment, Grace realized something chilling.

The greatest danger on Fairyharbor Island wasn’t the poison, the illusions, or even the beasts that hunted in the dark.

It was the fear festering inside the hearts of men.

English version 

2680

Now, all they could hope for was to take a few supplies and search for another way out through the cave.

Even if the chance of survival was slim, it was still better than marching straight toward a dead end.

Captain Alongi’s face turned pale. He clenched his fists, wanting to scold them—but when his eyes met the terror and despair in the faces of the men who had once fought beside him, the words caught in his throat. His duty and loyalty kept him silent.

Stevie, frustrated and angry, stamped her foot. “You… How can you do this? His Highness has treated you with kindness, and now that we’re in danger, you want to abandon her?”

Grace looked at the desperate guards before her, each trembling and pleading for life. Her heart ached. Disappointment and sorrow welled within her, but above all, she felt compassion—and a deep sense of helplessness.

She understood their fear. Even Iker had seen no hope in the road ahead. Who among them wouldn’t be terrified? They weren’t faithless, just broken. The endless terror and the deaths of their companions had shattered what courage they had left.

Taking a steadying breath, Grace fought back the sting in her eyes. Though her voice was soft and hoarse, it carried a quiet strength.

“Forget it,” she said. “Since you wish to leave, I won’t stop you.”

Zhaotie, Housan, Kui, and the others were taken aback—then relief and joy flickered across their weary faces.

Grace walked to the small pile of remaining supplies and counted them carefully.

There were five bags of clean water, some dry rations, and the box of healing pills resting quietly beside them.

She took three bags of water, a portion of the food, and several ordinary wound and detoxification pills from the box. Wrapping them neatly in a cloth, she turned and handed the bundle to Zhaotie.

“Your Highness!” Stevie and Alongi exclaimed in alarm.

Grace lifted her hand, signaling them to stop.

Her gaze softened as she looked at the men. “Everyone chooses their own path. I won’t force you to stay. Take these. I hope they help you survive and find a way out.”

Zhaotie and the others stood frozen, their expressions conflicted. None of them had expected the princess to agree so easily—or to share the precious supplies.

Shame and gratitude washed over them, mingling with confusion.

“Your Highness, I…” Zhaotie’s voice cracked. His hands trembled as he accepted the heavy bundle.

“No need to say more,” Grace interrupted gently, her tone weary but kind. “Whatever happens, live. If you manage to return home safely, please… check on my father for me.”

Her words struck like a blade to the heart. The men lowered their heads, unable to meet her eyes.

Grace turned to Old Jhangi, the guard with the broken arm. “What about you? If you wish to leave, it’s not too late. You can still take your share.”

Old Jhangi looked at her, then down at his empty sleeve. A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “In this state, I’ll die wherever I go. I’d rather stay with Your Highness. At least that way, I’ll die with some peace.”

He chose to stay—not because he believed they’d survive, but out of a quiet loyalty that death itself couldn’t shake.

Two other guards hesitated for a long moment. Their eyes darted between the departing group and Logan, whose calm, unreadable face gave nothing away. In the end, they clenched their teeth and stepped forward to stand beside Alongi, choosing to stay.

Finally, Zhaotie, Housan, Kui, and two others bowed deeply to Grace, guilt shadowing their faces. Without another word, they turned and disappeared into the dark tunnel, their footsteps fading into silence.

Now, only seven remained in the cave—Grace, Stevie, Logan, Captain Alongi, Old Jhangi, and the two guards who stayed behind.

The air was still heavy, but the tension of open conflict had vanished, replaced by a grim calm and quiet resolve.

Logan, who had been silent all this time, finally opened his eyes. His gaze lingered on Grace, and a faint, unspoken admiration flashed within it.

He didn’t comment on those who had left. Instead, his voice was steady and cool. “Everyone walks their own path. Forcing them to stay would’ve been useless. Weak resolve only leads to disaster.”

Grace nodded. She knew he was right.

Letting them go was the right choice—not just out of kindness, but to protect those who remained from instability.

“Let’s rest for a bit, then move on,” she said softly but firmly. “The road ahead is dangerous, but since we’ve chosen it, we’ll see it through.”

Logan inclined his head and closed his eyes again, resuming his meditation.

He knew, as did everyone else, that the true trial was only just beginning.