The morning light struggled to pierce the dense, violet fog clinging to the jagged spires of the Inner Sect. The cold mountain wind carried the sharp, damp smell of spirit flora mixed with the ancient scent of stone and iron. Standing before the glowing central board of the Mission Hall, Railin adjusted the long, flowing sleeves of his dark navy robes. The faint blue light emitted by the grand mission array bathed his sharp features in a cool, ethereal glow, highlighting the quiet, analytical focus in his pitch-black eyes.
Behind him, the vast plaza of the Mission Hub hummed with low, restless activity. Hundreds of disciples milled about, their eyes occasionally darting toward Railin with a mix of cautious curiosity and suppressed malice. The sharp confrontation with Senior Disciple Lu just moments prior had drawn significant attention. Everyone present knew that Lu was an enforcer for the Ninth Peak faction—a powerful branch of the Imperial Dragon Peak. Railin's flat refusal to yield, combined with his casual dismissal of Lu's open threats, had drawn a clear line in the marble floor.
Railin ignored the lingering stares and hushed whispers. He retrieved his black jade identity token from the grey-robed administrative clerk at the counter. The token now glowed with a soft crimson light, indicating his official registration for the upcoming Crimson Mist Mountain Trial.
"Disciple Railin," the clerk said, his voice dry and clipped as he gestured toward a side counter. "Since you have registered for an Extreme Risk trial, you are entitled to inspect the sector boundary map and purchase discounted survival supplies from the Sect Ordnance Pavilion on the east side of the hub. The transport airship leaves from the Southern Landing Platform at noon sharp. If you are late, your registration fee will be forfeited, and your merit standing will be docked."
"Understood," Railin replied smoothly, sweeping the glowing token into his sleeve with a fluid flick of his wrist.
He turned on his heel and walked away from the main desk, leaving the silent, watchful eyes of the Mission Hub behind.
His immediate destination was not the transport platform, but the crowded rows of the Sect Ordnance Pavilion—a massive, circular stone amphitheater located on the eastern edge of the central hub. Here, hundreds of independent disciple stalls and official administrative shops traded in raw spirit minerals, defensive talismans, refined pill bottles, and low-grade spirit array flags.
Railin needed to prepare. While his recently consolidated Ninth Level Spirit Refining base and the newly forged Soul Needle gave him a formidable edge over ordinary disciples, he knew better than to rely solely on brute force. The Crimson Mist Mountain was an ungoverned boundary zone, notorious for its poisonous blood-fog, ancient residual traps, and treacherous terrain. More importantly, it was an unmonitored zone where the inner academy's strict rules against disciple murder held no real weight.
The Imperial Dragon Peak's noble factions would not miss an opportunity to eradicate him away from the watchful eyes of the peak elders.
Railin navigated through the bustling stone aisles of the Ordnance Pavilion. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, molten metal, and rare herbs. Disciples were haggling loudly over shiny spirit weapons and protective talismans.
He stopped before a quiet, unassuming stall tucked into the shadow of a grand marble pillar. The stall was managed by an elderly, hunchbacked disciple with grey hair and a missing left eye, wearing the faded robes of a former logistics clerk. Displayed on a ragged black cloth were several dusty wooden boxes containing array flags, copper compasses, and sealed parchment maps.
"Looking for boundary gear, young man?" the old clerk rasped, his single eye narrowing as he took in Railin's calm demeanor. "The inner mountain paths are dangerous this time of year. The spirit fog is thickening."
"I need a complete topological map of the Crimson Mist Mountain's outer perimeter," Railin said, his voice low and steady. "Along with a set of three Shadow-Veiling Array Flags and two bottles of Cleansing Vitality Pills."
The old clerk eyebrows twitched slightly. He looked up, assessing Railin with renewed scrutiny. "Shadow-Veiling Flags? Those are non-lethal defensive items used for concealing spirit qi during deep-forest concealment. Most young hotheads come here looking for High-Grade Fire-Burst Talismans or reinforced chest armor to fight beasts."
"I am not interested in fighting beasts if I can avoid them," Railin replied flatly, placing five mid-grade spirit stones onto the wooden display table. The brilliant green gems glowed with intense, pure spiritual energy in the dim shadows of the stall.
The old clerk's eye sparkled at the sight of the mid-grade stones. Without another word, he reached beneath the counter and pulled out a rolled leather scroll bound with an iron clasp, three small obsidian flags carved with fine silver runes, and two porcelain pill bottles.
"The map is updated as of last month's expedition," the old man murmured, sweeping the spirit stones into his coat. "It marks the known territories of Third-Rank Spirit Beasts, the poisonous fog pockets, and the ancient ruins near the center of the valley. As for the Shadow-Veiling Flags... drive them into the ground in a triangular formation. They will suppress your aura and obscure your physical presence from anyone below the Foundation Establishment realm for up to two hours."
Railin picked up the items, verifying the structural integrity of the array flags with a brief sweep of his spirit sense. Finding no flaws or hidden tracking markers, he stored them neatly into his spatial pouch.
"One more thing," Railin added, leaning in slightly. "What do you know about the central lake inside the mist mountain?"
The old clerk froze for a fraction of a second, his single eye flickering with a shade of deep caution. He leaned back, lowering his voice to a whisper. "The Blood-Mist Lake? It is a dead zone. Decades ago, a ancient spirit vein ruptured beneath the lakebed, mixing pure spiritual energy with ancient underground corpse poison. The beasts there are mutated, far more aggressive than the outer perimeter monsters. Furthermore..." The old man paused, glancing around the crowded market before continuing. "...the noble factions of the Imperial Dragon Peak frequently use the lake area to conduct private trials. Disciples who go near the central lake without an official noble token usually don't come back."
"Good to know," Railin said smoothly, his tone revealing nothing.
He turned and walked away, his mind quickly analyzing the information. The old clerk's warning aligned perfectly with his expectations. The central lake was an unmonitored dead zone—a perfect place for the noble factions to set an ambush, but equally a perfect place for him to hunt without leaving evidence behind.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, casting a harsh golden glare over the soaring mountain peaks, Railin arrived at the Southern Landing Platform.
The platform was a massive, circular disc of solid granite jutting directly out from the side of a sheer thousand-foot cliff. Moored to four thick iron chains attached to bronze pillars was a massive wooden transport airship. The vessel was fifty yards long, constructed from heavy ironwood, and reinforced with glowing arrays along its hull to withstand high-altitude mountain winds.
Dozens of inner disciples had already gathered on the stone platform, waiting to board. They were divided into clearly defined groups, their clothing and aura indicating their background and factional allegiances.
On the left side of the platform stood a group of around fifteen disciples dressed in uniform silver and gold robes—the scions and followers of the Imperial Dragon Peak. They moved with arrogant posture, their weapons prominently displayed, laughing loudly as they discussed their plans for the upcoming trial. Standing at the center of this group was Senior Disciple Lu, his long golden saber resting against his hip. Beside Lu stood two tall, muscular youths with identical cold expressions—both possessing peak Ninth Level Spirit Refining cultivation bases.
On the far right side of the platform, standing in quiet isolation away from the main crowd, were four disciples from the Ice Mystic Peak. They wore frost-white robes trimmed with silver ice crystals, their faces cold and expressionless. Among them was the icy young woman Railin had encountered twice before. Her long black hair fluttered in the mountain wind, and her piercing blue eyes scanned the horizon with absolute detachment.
The remaining disciples on the platform were commoners or independent inner disciples, standing in small, quiet groups, looking nervous as they eyed the surrounding factions.
As Railin stepped onto the granite platform, his dark robes rustling softly, the atmosphere shifted immediately.
The arrogant laughter of the Imperial Dragon Peak group trailed off. Senior Disciple Lu turned his head, his narrow eyes locking onto Railin with a dark, promise of violence. He leaned over to the two peak Ninth Level youths beside him, whispering something into their ears while glaring directly at Railin. The two youths looked at Railin, their lips curving into cold, cruel smiles.
Railin completely ignored them. His gaze swept across the platform, taking note of every individual's posture, weapon choice, and breath control. He noticed that the icy girl from the Ice Mystic Peak gave him a fleeting glance before turning her gaze back toward the clouds, her expression completely unreadable.
BOOM!
A heavy wooden horn echoed across the landing platform, signalling the departure of the transport ship.
A middle-aged deacon with a stern face and broad shoulders stepped onto the boarding ramp of the airship. He wore the heavy navy robes of an official Sect Transport Overseer.
"All registered disciples for the Crimson Mist Mountain Trial, present your identity tokens and board immediately!" the deacon shouted, his voice amplified by spirit qi. "The journey to the southern boundary will take two hours. Once inside the Crimson Mist boundary, thesect's defensive arrays cannot assist you. You are responsible for your own survival. Any disciple who attempts to sabotage the transport vessel during flight will be executed on the spot!"
The disciples began moving forward in an orderly fashion, showing their glowing tokens to the deacon before stepping onto the broad wooden deck of the airship.
Railin waited calmly near the end of the line. As he stepped onto the boarding ramp, he felt several sharp, murderous spirit senses lock onto his back. He did not turn around. He simply walked onto the upper deck and moved toward the stern of the vessel, resting his hands inside his sleeves as he leaned against the heavy wooden railing.
With a low, vibrating hum, the transport ship's array activated. The heavy iron chains holding the ship to the cliff platform unhooked with a loud metallic clash. The massive wooden vessel rose smoothly into the air, its sails catching the mountain winds as it turned southward, plunging directly into the sea of clouds hovering between the soaring peaks.
The two-hour journey through the high-altitude cloud cover was tense and quiet.
While commoner disciples spent their time checking their weapons and reviewing boundary maps in small groups, the Imperial Dragon Peak disciples occupied the forward deck, subtly positioning themselves around the deck's exit points. They did not attempt any direct moves—the presence of the Transport Overseer deacon on the main bridge guaranteed temporary peace—but their intentions were entirely transparent. They were marking Railin's position, ensuring he could not slip away unobserved once the ship landed.
Railin sat cross-legged on a wooden crate at the rear of the deck, his eyes closed in pseudo-meditation.
Beneath his calm exterior, his internal perception was fully awake. His Ninth Level core pulsed with a slow, heavy rhythm, refining the tiny residual specks of power from his morning breakthrough. At the same time, his soul sphere in his forehead spun with razor-sharp precision, extending a invisible, microscopic thread of mental sense across the wooden deck.
He listened to the muffled conversations around him without opening his eyes:
"...the northern valley has the highest concentration of Blood-Core Herbs..." a commoner disciple whispered to his teammate nearby. "...but we have to avoid the eastern ridge. Disciple Lu's crew cleared out the commoners there during the last trial."
"...keep your eyes on the commoner brat at the back..." a soft voice murmured from the forward deck among the noble group. "...Brother Lu wants him driven straight toward the Blood-Mist Lake. The traps are already set."
Railin's lips twitched upward into a microscopic, lethal smirk beneath his shadowy hood.
Traps? he thought coldly. They think they are driving a lamb into a slaughterhouse.
Two hours passed quickly. The dense white clouds surrounding the airship began to thin out, replaced by a strange, unsettling reddish-purple mist that blanketed the vast mountain range below.
The air growing colder and damper, carrying a faint, copper-like metallic odor. Down below, massive jagged mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, covered in dark, twisted crimson foliage. A thick, swirling fog hugged the valleys, so dense that the ground beneath it was completely invisible.
"We have reached the perimeter of the Crimson Mist Mountain!" the Transport Overseer deacon's voice boomed across the deck from the upper bridge.
The airship descended slowly, stopping fifty feet above a broad, natural stone plateau that protruded from the northern ridge of the mountain range. The thick crimson fog swirled violently beneath the ship's hull as the engine arrays created massive air currents.
"The airship will return to this exact platform in seven days at noon," the deacon declared sternly. "Disciples who fail to return to the landing platform before the ship departs will be left behind in the boundary zone until the next seasonal trial in three months. Step onto the landing ropes and descent!"
Thick, heavy hemp ropes were tossed over the sides of the airship, dropping down to the stone plateau below.
Immediately, the disciples began sliding down the ropes in rapid succession, eager to hit the ground and secure early positions in the mountain valleys.
The four disciples from the Ice Mystic Peak were the first to descend. They dropped from the deck with light, elegant movements, their frost-white robes fluttering like snowflakes as they landed softly on the stone plateau below. Without waiting for anyone else, they darted into the dense crimson mist, disappearing from view within seconds.
Next were the disciples of the Imperial Dragon Peak. Disciple Lu glanced back at Railin one last time, his eyes flashing with a cold, cruel promise, before sliding down the rope alongside his two peak Ninth Level lieutenants. The rest of their fifteen-man group followed closely behind.
Railin took his time. He waited until the majority of the commoner disciples had descended before walking casually to the side railing.
He grabbed a heavy hemp rope with one hand and stepped off the deck.
Swoosh.
He slid down effortlessly, his leather boots touching the damp, moss-covered stone of the landing plateau with a silent, feather-light thud.
The moment his feet touched the ground, the intense, suffocating aura of the Crimson Mist Mountain pressed down upon him. The air was thick with ancient, damp spirit qi mixed with a faint trace of natural hallucinogenic toxins. For an ordinary cultivator with weak meridians, breathing this air for extended periods would cause sluggish spirit flow and mild dizziness.
Railin inhaled deeply.
The Ashen Devouring Technique inside his dantian flared up instantly, automatically filtering out the natural toxins and converting the dense spirit qi into pure energy. The environment here was harsh for ordinary disciples, but for him, it was an ideal hunting ground.
He looked around the plateau. The other disciples had already dispersed into the surrounding wilderness, their footsteps fading fast into the roaring mountain wind.
However, using his sharp spirit sense, Railin immediately noticed three faint spirit qi signatures lingering just two hundred yards down the main valley path, hidden behind a cluster of giant crimson boulders. They were standing still, waiting for him to follow the main trail down into the valley.
It was a primitive ambush set by Disciple Lu's scouts.
Railin glanced back up at the transport airship, which was already beginning its slow ascent back into the high clouds, returning to the Inner Sect. The link to the safe zone was officially severed.
A dark, cold light flickered in Railin's eyes.
"They expect me to run, or to follow their path like a blind fool," Railin murmured softly to himself.
Instead of taking the broad valley path where the scouts were waiting, Railin turned sharply to his left. He stepped off the edge of the granite plateau, plunging directly into a steep, unpaved ravine covered in dense, razor-sharp purple briars and thick crimson fog.
His body moved like a dark phantom, sliding through the shadows without making a single sound.
The Crimson Mist Mountain Trial had officially begun—and the hunter was no longer taking orders from the script.
See you in next chapter.....