Lin Shu was panting—his breath ragged, his chest heaving beneath his armor. His Qi reserves were dangerously low. Across from him, Ren Hao and Yan Qing weren't faring much better. All three exchanged quick glances, the silence between them heavy with fatigue and unspoken dread.
The smoke finally cleared.
Han Yi stepped forward from the haze, her figure dimly lit by the dying glow of Qi. But she was not unscathed—a fresh wound bled from her shoulder, though it was already beginning to close. An artifact glimmered faintly beneath her robe, runes flickering before fading.
She had survived.
She had used that artifact alongside her defensive technique to minimize the damage—and unlike the trio, her Qi reserves were still strong enough to fight. She nocked another arrow with unnerving calm, her aim steady even as blood slid down her arm.
Ren Hao clicked his tongue.
"Of all people… why did it have to be her that found us? Damnit," he growled.
He moved back into position, and the others followed. Han Yi's bow never wavered as she advanced, the wound in her shoulder healing faster by the second.
Then—it came.
Out of nowhere, a ripple of Qi surged through the world around them.
A Qi so violently twisted it seemed to scream against existence itself. It was like fury given form—raw, destructive, alive with hatred. The trio instinctively recoiled, their eyes wide as the oppressive wave brushed past them.
They had only felt a sliver of it—so distant, so faint—and yet it paralyzed them. At the mine, it must have been overwhelming.
"Wh-what… what was that?" Yan Qing stammered, his voice dry, his body stiff.
Ren Hao's voice cracked. "H-how the hell would I know?!"
Lin Shu didn't answer. His eyes, half-hidden behind his mask, flickered with something rare.
Fear.
He stepped back.
"We need to leave," Ren Hao snapped. "Whatever that thing is—it's not something we can fight. Not now. Maybe not ever."
Even Han Yi was shaken.
Though she stood tall, her gaze was no longer fixed on them. She stared back toward the direction of the mine, her surveillance technique feeding her clearer readings than the trio could comprehend. What she felt wasn't just power.
It was carnage. Madness. A storm made flesh.
"…Should I go back?" she thought, torn. "Should I finish this mission—or return to help?"
She hesitated only a moment before her mind flashed to her master—Lu Zhenhai.
"Yes… Uncle Lu will know what to do."
From her spatial ring, she retrieved a small wooden token, its surface covered in layered encryptions and ancient symbols. Without hesitation, she snapped it in half.
"Uncle Lu will be notified the moment the Whisperwood Signal breaks. He'll come to the mine—and he'll find me. He should be able to aid the Vice Dean and… stop whatever it is I sensed."
Placing her trust in her master, she turned back to the fleeing trio.
They had already widened the gap again, taking advantage of her distraction. But she was not letting them go.
Not yet.
With renewed focus, Han Yi resumed the chase—her bow gleaming under the midday light, her mind a whirlwind of conflict, dread, and resolve.
Back at the shattered edge of the mine, chaos reigned.
The Yan twins sprinted side by side, breath sharp, clothes torn, their bodies bruised from falling debris. Just behind them, Xie Lang and Zeng Shiyang followed—equally battered, equally desperate. No words were exchanged. No taunts were thrown or weapons drawn.
Not now.
Not when the very earth behind them screamed.
The ground was convulsing, buckling with each step. What once was a small hill had become a seething wound in the land. From its gaping mouth, massive roots erupted—ancient, barkless things blackened by time and saturated with demonic Qi. They burst from the mine like serpents, coiling and whipping through the air with terrifying speed, as if the mountain itself had awoken in a fury.
"Faster!" Zeng Shiyang barked, voice hoarse.
Xie Lang snarled, "I am running, you idiot!"
They jumped over a collapsing ridge as the path behind them caved in, one of the roots whipping past them with enough force to split a boulder in two.
Up ahead, the Yan twins veered right, following an outcropping trail. Yan hei glanced back, eyes narrowing at the sight of their enemies.
"Tch. They're still alive," he hissed.
His brother grunted. "Let them be. We much bigger problems to worry about since The demonic beast wants all of us dead."
A sharp crack split the air. The mine—what was left of it—completely crumbled in the distance, sending out a shockwave of dust and Qi. Jagged stones and charred splinters rained down like a storm.
They weren't out yet.
The path they followed curved sharply to the left, leading toward a sheer cliffside drop. There was no time to turn.
The Yan twins didn't hesitate. They exchanged one glance—then leapt.
Their bodies twisted mid-air, Qi flaring around their feet as they crashed into the slope below, rolling, scraping, but alive.
Xie Lang and Zeng Shiyang skidded to a halt just before the edge.
"No way!" Zeng shouted.
"They made it," Xie Lang muttered, fury in his voice. "Damn them—"
Then the cliff beneath them cracked.
"Move!"
They dove, roots slamming down behind them like divine punishment. They fell nearly ten meters, smashing through undergrowth, tumbling down the rocky incline, each impact drawing pained grunts from their throats.
But they lived.
When they finally staggered back to their feet—bruised, bloodied, and coughing—they looked up.
The mine was no longer a hill.
It was a chasm of writhing roots and shrieking Qi, black mist rising like smoke from its core. The forest surrounding it had grown quiet. No birds. No beasts.
Only silence.
The Yan twins stood a dozen meters away, breathing hard, watching their rivals.
Xie Lang met their gaze. Zeng Shiyang wiped blood from his mouth. As they got up each trying to run away from what they can only describe as an impending apocalypse.
Not too far away, Jiang Wuyu and Lu Heng stood atop a broken cliff edge, half-shrouded by the drifting mist and the thick stench of demonic Qi that hung in the air like a curse.
They didn't move.
The beast had fully awakened.
From their vantage point, they could see the chaos left in its wake—the broken earth, the shattered mine, the twisting roots that pulsed with a darkness far beyond mortal comprehension. Its Qi surged like a flood, violent and unrestrained, tearing through the heavens. They both knew what it meant.
Others would come.
Powerhouses from distant sects. Wandering cultivators with no allegiance. Scavengers. Opportunists. And if fate truly despised them, even someone from the Emberwake Realm itself.
Their original plan was dead.
Take the beast for themselves, seal it away in secret, and keep everything hidden. That plan now lay buried beneath the rubble of a broken mountain. And no amount of wishful thinking would bring it back.
Lu Heng's mind raced, but not with fear.
With calculation.
He didn't care for the core. Others might covet it—emperors might send armies for it—but not him. What he wanted was the corpse. The blood, the tendons, the bones—those were the keys to his own path, to a secret that even Jiang Wuyu did not fully know. But it wouldn't be easy.
He glanced sideways at Wuyu, expression dark.
He couldn't betray him.
They had made an oath.
They were Bound by Qi and if the oath is Broken whoever broke it will suffer a miserable death.
So even if he wanted to twist the blade, he couldn't. And even if he tried to silence the witnesses—his students, the Jiang clan members scattered in panic—there were too many. At least a dozen had already escaped or were on the run.
The beast itself was watching him.
It sensed something in him and wuyu—some threat. And it would strike the moment they overstepped. Of all those gathered, they were the one's it specifically marked for death.
Yet he still wanted that corpse.
He needed it.
To preserve what little life he had left. To reclaim what had been stolen from him long ago. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked.
"Wuyu," he said, voice low and sharp. "How much do you want that core?"
Jiang Wuyu didn't answer at first.
He only looked up—slowly—his height forcing him to tilt his head toward Lu Heng.
Then Lu Heng continued, eyes narrowed. "Are you willing to go against the sects? Against the Empire itself… for it?"
There was a beat of silence.
Jiang Wuyu turned his eyes toward the heavens, then lowered them to the beast. It raged still, far away—but his gaze pierced the distance. What Lu Heng asked was no simple question.
It was everything.
"Am I… willing to sacrifice all of it?"
His people.
His clan's legacy.
Countless lives.
His own life.
All for one boy.
"Is he worth it?"
The face of his son came unbidden.
Zhenyu's smile.
Zhenyu, swinging a wooden sword, laughing in the courtyard, memories of his son learning playing or walking with into meetings learning from him and looking at him with stars in his eyes as if he was looking at his role model the man he aspired to be, wuyu could never forget those memories.
But whenever he remembered them his most painful memories came as if to remind him of the present., Zhenyu… gasping in pain, his meridians torn, his dantian poisoned by the very blood of their own clan.
He remembered his son's voice trembling, asking why the pain wouldn't stop.
He remembered the hopelessness in his eyes—the way life had started to slip away.
He remembered the shaking hands, the blood on the bed sheets, the nights his son spent weeping in silence.
He remembered everything.
And Jiang Wuyu—Master of the Jiang Family, a man feared across provinces—began to cry.
Tears that fell freely, without shame, like molten steel leaking from a broken furnace.
But his face never changed. If anything… it hardened.
The rage behind his stillness boiled. His breath slowed. His posture straightened. His Qi burned—not with desperation, but with brutal, unshakable purpose. He had become a weapon. One honed by grief and fury.
He stepped forward, voice like thunder.
"I Am," he said.
"I will face the Emperor himself for that core. No beast, no man, no demon—nothing will stop me from keeping my promise. For I am Jiang Wuyu—and I will die a miserable death before I ever break what i promised."
Then he whispered, barely audible, "Zhenyu… my son… wait for me. I'll come back. Even if I have to crawl through dirt and burn in flames."
And the storm inside him finally found its direction.
Lu Heng, surprised by Jiang Wuyu's response, had assumed he was like any other cultivator—drawn to the demonic beast for power, for wealth, or for status. But this… this was different. The way Jiang Wuyu had spoken, the way his voice had lowered with something close to reverence—it wasn't greed. It was as if everything he did was for someone else a promise to fullfil.
Lu Heng furrowed his brow. "Isn't his son practically unseen? Never appears in public… Could it be for him? Or maybe someone else? Jiang Wuyu does have many children or maybe his wives?..."
But before the thought could reach its end, Jiang Wuyu's Qi exploded outward, fierce and resolute. His giant blade rose high, catching the red glow of the ruined sky—then in an instant, he vanished, propelled forward by sheer killing intent.
Lu Heng didn't hesitate. He dashed after him, his own Qi surging. Whatever Jiang Wuyu's reason, the corpse of the demonic beast would be his to claim.
The Crimson Vein Tree sensed them before they arrived. And it turned.
It rose from the wreckage like a nightmare uprooted. A towering, grotesque fusion of tree and flesh—its trunk stood upright, blackened crimson and swollen with veins that pulsed with molten red Qi. The ground split open around its roots as they tore upward, writhing like serpents—some ending in jagged hooks of bone, others tipped with gaping mouths that drooled steaming red sap.
The air burned. Its presence bled into the land.
From its crown hung remnants of corpses—dried husks of beasts and cultivators alike, fused to twisted branches like withered fruit. The leaves were no longer leaves, but thin, glowing membranes that leaked a mist the color of blood. It hissed where it touched the earth, killing everything it clung to.
From deep within its trunk, a massive slit split open, revealing a jagged, fanged maw of living wood and surging Qi. It had no face, no eyes, and yet it knew.
A low, thunderous groan rumbled through the forest—less a sound, more a force—and the Crimson Vein Tree lunged.
This was not a beast hunting for prey.
This was an ancient fury, awakened and starved for slaughter.