Chapter 67

  The star-strewn horizon stretched endlessly before them.

  Adam and Lyne stood at the treeline, staring into the vast unknown.

  “So… how do we even get back?”

  They had already gone over dozens of possibilities — spatial cracks, connected secret realms— but nothing seemed feasible.

  Finally, Lyne sighed.

  “We go straight. Keep direction constant. If we hit obstacles, we detour — but never lose bearing. It’s the safest bet.”

  “How about flying all the way until we reach somewhere familiar?”

  Lyne gave him a look that said ‘you can’t be serious.’

  “We could. But we’ll have to be wary of flying beasts.”

  “I could use my death aura to ward them off.”

  She folded her arms.

  “You can, but unlike lower-realm beasts, Core Formation ones are intelligent. They won’t be scared off that easily.”

  “And besides, beasts hate the death element. If a death-type beast ever appears, the others will band together to destroy it. You’d basically be painting a giant target on your back. But maybe.. since you have a star core…”

  Adam grimaced, recalling the sea serpent Elder Guo fought back in the trials — intelligent, malicious, and terrifyingly aware.

  “Right. The serpent did talk, didn’t it?”

  Lyne nodded, her tone sharper now.

  “Not just that. If you use your death aura… I’ll be affected too. Did that not occur to you when you thought of it?”

  Adam paused for a moment. Then, with seriousness—

  “Of course I thought of you.”

  She arched an eyebrow.

  “Oh really? And what was the brilliant solution you came up with?”

  “I’ll put you inside Granitsa’s subspace cube.”

  Lyne blinked once, then smirked.

  “That came to you at the perfect moment, huh? Lucky you.”

  “I can only keep you in there for seven days before it ejects you, so we’ll save that for emergencies. This forest looks way too big and… unnaturally quiet.”

  Lyne adjusted her robes, eyes narrowing as she looked toward the skies.

  “Then let’s go.”

  The two of them took to the air — a trail of Qi light following in their wake — soaring toward the unknown, toward home, and perhaps toward whatever test fate had prepared next.

  The two rose high above the emerald canopy, the forest below stretching endlessly like a green ocean beneath the sun and twin moons.

  For the first few hundred miles, their flight was smooth — silent, save for the rhythmic pulse of Qi beneath their feet. But as they ventured deeper, movement stirred across the horizon.

  Every fifty kilometers or so, flocks of Foundation Establishment–realm flying beasts would appear. Winged serpents, horned ravens, sky mantas, and other creatures alien to both Adam and Lyne filled the air.

  They didn’t engage. They didn’t dare.

  Because each time the beasts got too close, they’d falter midflight — their instincts screaming as they sensed the core inside Adam’s chest.

  The Star Core.

  It radiated a controlled but undeniable pressure — enough to make lesser beasts turn away without a sound.

  Still, not all creatures were that cautious.

  Every few hours, the skies would darken as a Core Formation–realm beast appeared — massive, intelligent, and surrounded by flocks of lesser followers orbiting like loyal soldiers. Their roars shook the clouds themselves.

  These were the kind of predators that weighed risk against opportunity. And two human cultivators traveling alone across their domain were tempting prey.

  Adam and Lyne tensed each time.

  To avoid drawing full attention, Adam released just a thin veil of death aura — faint enough not to corrode the air, but dense enough to send shivers through the soul.

  Lyne instinctively widened the distance between them, her own Qi barrier flaring to resist the corrosion.

  That was all it took.

  The nearby Core Formation beasts froze mid-air, eyes glinting with a mixture of confusion and fear.

  Because what they felt wasn’t the aura of a newly advanced cultivator.

  It was something higher — darker, heavier, like the breath of a peak Core Formation being on the verge of transcending. Far above the beast is now.

  Within seconds, the creatures scattered.

  Adam slowly pulled his death Qi back in, exhaling through gritted teeth.

  “I hate using that. Feels like the air itself turns heavy.”

  “It’s effective, though. You’re lucky your Star Core amplifies everything you do — even your presence.”

  “Yeah. Lucky me.”

  He looked toward the horizon. The sky seemed endless, yet something about it felt off — faint distortions flickered like ripples across the clouds.

  “We keep this pace, we’ll need to rest soon. Beasts or not, this domain doesn’t feel stable.”

  Adam nodded, his gaze sharp.

  “Agreed. Let’s find somewhere safe before the next group gets curious.”

  They adjusted their flight path — two streaks of light cutting through the heavens, watched silently by unseen eyes from the clouds and the forest below.

  They kept flying.

  Days bled into months. And for cultivators, months were little more than flickers of time.

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  Still, every ten months, Adam and Lyne would descend from the skies to rest. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to keep a low profile — suppressing their energy signatures and avoiding unnecessary encounters.

  During one such stop, they chose a quiet ridge above a misty valley. The wind carried a strange scent — faint traces of spiritual herbs and beast musk. A perfect hiding spot.

  Adam leaned back against a boulder, staring into the vast, unfamiliar sky.

  “Wife, I’ve been wondering about something.”

  Lyne glanced at him from the campfire she was tending, a small smile tugging her lips at the word wife.

  “You’ve been wondering about a lot of things lately. Which one this time?”

  “Why can’t the Core Formation beasts here talk? The sea serpent I met back when I was still in Qi Condensation — it spoke fluently.”

  Lyne poked the fire absently with a branch, embers floating upward like fireflies.

  “They can learn to talk, Adam. Some just choose not to. For most beasts, there’s no real benefit in learning our language. It’s not worth the effort when they already have their own ways to communicate.”

  “Then that serpent…”

  “It probably had contact with humans. Maybe it found our language interesting, or maybe it needed it to trade or threaten. Intelligent beasts pick up things that amuse or benefit them — not out of curiosity, but purpose.”

  Adam rubbed his chin, thoughtful.

  “Huh. So their silence isn’t ignorance, just disinterest.”

  “Exactly. Just like most cultivators never bother learning the beast tongue.”

  He chuckled softly.

  “Guess I’ll have to be the exception, then. If I can talk to them, it’d be a huge advantage later on.”

  Lyne laughed lightly, shaking her head.

  “Good luck with that. Finding an intelligent beast willing to teach you their language? That’s rarer than finding a dragon’s fang in a mortal market.”

  Adam’s smile didn’t waver. His eyes gleamed faintly — part amusement, part challenge.

  “With how our luck’s been, it might be closer than we think.”

  A soft wind brushed past them, carrying distant roars that echoed faintly through the valley — almost like voices whispering in another tongue.

  Adam and Lyne continued their journey, cutting through the skies like twin streaks of light.

  Hours passed before the scenery below shifted — a stretch of forest so vast and ancient that even the wind hesitated to cross it. The trees here were darker than any Adam had seen before — not just in hue, but in presence. The leaves were an unnatural green, deep enough to look almost black under the sunlight.

  “This forest… looks different.”

  “Yes. The trees are denser. The Qi here feels… stagnant.”

  They decided to descend as dusk bled into the horizon, setting up a small camp amid the roots of titanic trees.

  At sunset, a strange stillness cloaked the forest. The air was thick — so thick that even their spiritual sense couldn’t stretch as freely as before.

  Sitting by the campfire, the two discussed who would stay on watch.

  “We should alternate. I’ll take the first half of the night—”

  “No. I’ll stay up first. You rest.”

  “You barely slept last time. I can—”

  They both stopped mid-sentence.

  The forest was silent. Too silent before.

  Not a single chirp, buzz, or rustle broke through the quiet. Even the crackle of the fire sounded muffled, as though the air itself refused to carry sound.

  But when the last traces of sunlight faded, the stillness shattered.

  From the shadows between the trees, the noises began. Not the soothing hum of a healthy forest, but the discordant chorus of everything — croaks, howls, clicks, hisses — all at once.

  Nocturnal predators emerged from the black, but so did creatures that should’ve been asleep: deer, rabbits, even spirit birds with diurnal habits, all wandering aimlessly beneath the oppressive dark.

  “What is happening here…?”

  “I don’t understand it either. Even beasts obey the balance of light and dark. This… this feels wrong.”

  The bonfire flickered as if gasping for air.

  Adam looked around — his eyes, trained by cultivation, could pierce the dark easily — and yet the forest remained too dark.

  Not a natural darkness, but one that swallowed light whole. Even the flames only carved a few feet of visibility before melting into the black.

  “Why does the darkness here feel… heavier? Even the fire’s afraid of it.”

  The air around them pulsed once — a slow, rhythmic thrum — almost like the heartbeat of the forest itself.

  Both cultivators stood, their hands instinctively near their weapons.

  Something about this night was alive.

  They saw them.

  At first, Adam thought they were faint reflections of the campfire — but no, those were eyes.

  Dozens at first. Then hundreds.

  Eyes of every imaginable color — gold, crimson, azure, silver — glimmered faintly in the oppressive dark. Some were high in the branches, others low among the roots. All of them were fixed on the two cultivators.

  And then Adam noticed one pair that defied reason — a glow that was dark, a colorless light that shouldn’t exist. It was neither shadow nor luminescence, yet it pulled your gaze like gravity itself.

  “A glowing dark… that doesn’t make sense.”

  They waited. The eyes didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

  They simply watched.

  Minutes bled into hours. The standoff stretched on, taut and breathless, until the fire withered to embers.

  Still — no attack.

  No movement.

  No malice in the air.

  Only the crushing sensation of being seen.

  Finally, Adam exhaled and sat back down, turning his back on the watchers.

  “What are they doing…?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no killing intent coming from them either.”

  So they chose to ignore the unseen audience. One rested while the other kept watch — though both knew the eyes never left them.

  ---

  And this continued.

  Every time they stopped to rest — in valleys, plains, riverbanks — the eyes would appear.

  First far away, then closer each time. Always silent. Always countless.

  Their rest intervals began to shorten.

  From ten months between stops, to seven… to three… to just one month.

  No matter how rested their bodies were, their minds frayed faster each time. Sleep brought no peace. When they closed their eyes, they still felt those eyes watching — even in their dreams.

  Then came the hallucinations.

  Adam would sometimes see movement where there was none — Lyne’s shadow turned two, the light of trees shifting just slightly when he blinked.

  Lyne, too, began to hear whispers — like dozens of voices murmuring at the edge of hearing, all speaking the same phrase she could never quite catch.

  Both of them began to wonder if they were truly awake anymore.

  Lyne tiredly asked, “What’s happening to us…?”

  “I don’t know. But this forest… it’s not natural.”

  The eyes were still there. Watching.

  And for the first time, Adam thought — maybe they weren’t watching them at all.

  Maybe the eyes were watching something else, standing right beside them.

  The voices came next.

  Whispers — faint at first, like the forest itself had started murmuring. They came from every direction and from nowhere at all. Sometimes they echoed from the trees, sometimes from inside their minds.

  The rest stops shortened even further — from once a month to once a week… then once every few days.

  That shouldn’t happen.

  Core Formation cultivators were supposed to possess mental fortitude strong enough to resist exhaustion, hunger, and sleeplessness. Their minds should not fray like this.

  And yet, both of them could feel it — their thoughts were slowing, slipping, as though something invisible was grinding away at the edges of their consciousness.

  Lyne began to flush red despite the cold. Her breathing grew uneven, her Qi flickering wildly between too much and too little — as if her own body was forgetting what balance was.

  [Her body temperature’s wrong… spiritual flow unstable…]

  He sat beside her as she lay wrapped in a thin blanket of Qi.

  She looked feverish, trembling — like she was freezing and burning at once.

  Then the whispers grew louder — closer.

  Sleep… just a little rest… she’s fine… you’re tired too…

  A cartoonishly manipulative kinda way

  Adam blinked — and there was someone standing in front of him.

  It looked like himself — but with no light in the eyes.

  Hallucination softly said “You’ve done enough. She’s fine now. You deserve some rest too.”

  “You’re not real.”

  Hallucination smiling faintly “Then why do you look so tired? Come on… just a few minutes. Nothing will happen.”

  The whispers melted into a single voice, coaxing him down. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, as if weighted by invisible hands. Adam thought whether this is actually hallucinations or is it his thoughts leaking out.

  And then, in a single flash of clarity, he thought:

  [First… I need to remove those scrutinizing eyes.]

  He turned toward the darkness, Qi beginning to stir around his arm — but the hallucination suddenly snapped.

  Hallucination sharply said “Are you insane?! You’ll kill her and yourself!”

  And before he could react — it slapped him across the face.

  Adam jolted awake with a start. His heart hammered against his ribs, sweat cold on his back. He rubbed his temple, breathing hard. The hallucination was gone.

  The whispering, too, had stopped.

  He glanced at Lyne — still resting, her face calmer now — and then back at the forest.

  The eyes were still there.

  Silent.

  Motionless.

  Patient.

  The next day

  They hadn’t moved an inch, not even when he nearly lost consciousness.

  Adam in a hoarse whisper “You’re just watching… waiting… waiting for what…?”

  He clenched his sword-arm, the faint glow of the blade pulsing once in the gloom.

  For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw the eyes blink — all at once.

  Adam and Lyne decided enough was enough.

  They couldn’t just keep enduring it — they needed to understand it.

  “Something’s wrong inside us. Maybe it’s not spiritual— maybe it’s… chemical.”

  “You think it's poison?”

  “Or something close.”

  Both of them sat cross-legged, closing their eyes, Qi flowing deep through their pathways. The world around them dimmed as their senses turned inward.

  And there it was.

  A faint, pulsing haze — foreign, unnatural, impercivable. It clung to their spiritual pathways like dust motes in syrup, radiating faint psychic waves. A hallucinogenic compound, woven directly into their Qi circulation.

  “It’s… alive?”

  “Not alive. Just persistent. Some kind of natural hallucinogen— or a curse mixed with a drug.”

  They tried flushing it out with Qi.

  Circulating pure energy through the pathways — no reaction. The substance absorbed it, feeding off the motion itself.

  So they switched to elemental Qi.

  Lyne cycled earth, grounding herself — no change. Fire, burning through every vein — still nothing. The haze only shimmered brighter, mocking her efforts.

  Adam tried next — light, metal, neither worked.

  Then, finally, he drew upon the Death Qi within him.

  The moment the black current coursed through his meridians, the haze recoiled.

  It shrieked — not with sound, but with pressure — and dissolved into foul vapor.

  Adam’s body convulsed, and he coughed, expelling thick mucus streaked with black threads. The moment it left him, the fog in his head cleared. His breath steadied. His thoughts aligned like stars reforming after a storm.

  Adam pantingly “There it is. That’s what it was doing to us…”

  He looked toward Lyne — still struggling, her Qi lines trembling faintly.

  He reached out instinctively but froze halfway. He couldn’t use Death Qi on her — not without risking her life.

  “I can’t risk it. We’re getting out of here.”

  He pulled her onto his back, cradling her gently as his star core pulsed once.

  Qi flared beneath his feet, and they rose into the air.

  Flying was harder now. The air itself felt heavier — warmer.

  And then Adam noticed it.

  The light.

  It felt too bright.

  And too white.

  He squinted up — and his heart stuttered.

  Two suns burned above them.

  One golden and one silver — both casting light from opposite ends of the sky, their radiance overlapping like crossed blades.

  Adam under his breath “...Two suns? That’s impossible.”

  Lyne stirred faintly in his arms, her face pale but conscious.

  Lyne weakly “Adam… what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t think we’re on the same side of the world anymore.”

  The silver “sun” wavered as Adam narrowed his eyes.

  It wasn’t a celestial body at all.

  Feathers. A beak. The glint of talons.

  And behind it, shimmering plumes fanned outward — feathers patterned like countless unblinking eyes.

  A peacock.

  A white, radiant peacock burning with light so intense it mimicked a sun.

  Its brilliance wasn’t holy — it was toxic. That glow, Adam realized, was the very source of the hallucinogenic that had plagued them.

  Adam grimly “So it was you…”

  Even from this distance, the oppressive might rolling off its body made the air tremble.

  A Nascent Soul-stage beast.

  And its countless eyes turned—all of them—toward him.

  The forest around him stilled. The world seemed to bow in silence beneath that gaze.

  The peacock’s wings spread wide, each feather a blade of light ready to slice through the heavens.

  Adam didn’t hesitate.

  He opened his subspace cube, his voice low but firm:

  “Cui, take care of her.”

  “Understood, Master.”

  Lyne’s form shimmered and vanished into the cube.

  The very next instant, Adam dived—straight down through the forest canopy. Branches tore against his robes as he fell.

  A blinding flash erupted behind him.

  The peacock had given chase, a streak of silver fury tearing through the sky.

  Its talons descended, each one large enough to crush mountains.

  And just as they were about to close around him—

  —darkness moved.

  A blur lunged from the shadows, intercepting the blow.

  A roar split the heavens as claws of black Qi clashed with radiant light.

  Adam hit the ground hard, tumbling through roots and earth before stopping amid shattered stone. Dust filled the air.

  Overhead, light and shadow collided—

  The white peacock and a black tiger were locked in furious battle, each strike splitting the air with shockwaves that rippled through the forest.

  Feathers burned. Shadows screamed.

  Two titans of opposing realms tearing the sky apart above him.

  Adam could only watch, breath heaving, as the forest trembled beneath the wrath of beasts far beyond his realm.

  Adam in a low, awed whisper“...Nascent Soul against Nascent Soul.”