The heavy, steel-reinforced iron carriage gradually slowed to a firm halt as its massive, rune-engraved wheels ground harshly against the jagged rocks and gravelly soil of the southern borderlands. Outside the tightly sealed iron walls, the natural atmospheric environment had transformed entirely; the crisp, clean mountain breeze of the Sun-Moon Academy was suddenly replaced by a suffocating, sickly dense humidity that carried the heavy stench of damp earth, decaying swamp vegetation, and the faint, unmistakable copper tang of stale blood.
Inside the quiet cabin, Railin slowly opened his dark eyes.
The thorough refining process of the twin brothers' stolen Stage Two Foundation spirit essence was officially complete. Deep inside his lower dantian, his First Level Foundation Establishment Core spun with immense speed and flawless stability, noticeably denser, larger, and far more lethal than it had been merely three hours ago when he first boarded the carriage.
Beside him on the plush, dark leather bench lay the two completely withered, dried-up, and desiccated corpses of Gao Feng and Gao Lei. Railin did not even bother to spare their shriveled forms a second glance. He casually reached out his pale, steady hand, swiftly plucking the glowing spatial storage rings from their lifeless, brittle fingers, and tossed them into his own pouch before pushing open the heavy, soundproof carriage door.
CREAK—
The thick iron door swung slowly outward, instantly releasing a dense, surging wall of translucent, silver-grey fog that violently flooded into the cabin space. The natural mist of this valley was profoundly uncanny; it was unnaturally cold to the touch and carried a subtle, intrusive array-like property that actively sought to suppress a cultivator's physical vision and spiritual consciousness.
Railin stepped out of the carriage, his dark boots coming down firmly onto the damp, moss-covered ground.
The old carriage driver sat completely motionless on the front wooden bench, his wide, woven bamboo hat pulled down exceptionally low over his face. He did not ask a single question regarding the two inner disciples who had failed to step out of the carriage alongside Railin, nor did he bother to glance back inside the open cabin. He was an experienced borderland driver; he knew that asking questions in these isolated zones was the fastest way to earn a early grave. He merely whipped the Scale-Iron Bulls violently, turned the heavy iron carriage around in a tight arc, and vanished back up the winding, rocky mountain trail, immensely eager to distance himself from the infamous graveyard of the outer borderlands.
Railin stood silently at the yawning mouth of the Ghost-Fog Valley.
Directly before his eyes lay a massive, terrifyingly deep, and jagged ravine carved between two towering, pitch-black basalt cliffs that seemed to pierce the clouded sky. The desolate valley stretched for tens of miles toward the distant horizon, completely buried beneath an endless, restless sea of rolling, ethereal silver fog. The ancient trees growing inside the valley had mutated over centuries, their trunks twisted and gnarled into grotesque shapes, their leafless, sharp branches resembling skeletal hands desperately reaching up toward the shrouded sky.
"The Ghost-Fog..." Railin murmured softly to himself, taking a slow, quiet breath of the humid air.
The natural spiritual suppression field of this ancient valley was indeed formidable. An ordinary Stage One or Stage Two Foundation Establishment master stepping into this mist would immediately find their spiritual sense crippled and restricted to a radius of less than ten paces around their body, effectively rendering them stone-blind to hidden lethal traps, poison arrays, and waiting ambushers.
However, as Railin activated his newly refined Upper Dantian, his pitch-black spiritual consciousness erupted outward without the slightest restraint. Heavily reinforced by the three-hundred-year-old Glacial Soul Lotus and his three fully condensed Soul-Piercing Needles, Railin's spiritual sense pierced straight through the dense, oppressive mist with absolute, effortless ease!
It expanded outward in every direction with mind-boggling speed—one hundred paces... one hundred and fifty paces... two hundred paces!
The dense, magical fog could not obscure or hide a single jagged stone, creeping insect, ancient tree root, or breathing creature within his absolute two-hundred-pace spiritual domain.
"Imposing a severe restriction on physical sight only works against fools who rely blindly on their eyes," Railin noted dryly, stepping smoothly past the massive rock pillars marking the boundary of the valley. His dark navy robes brushed softly against the damp, black rocks as he walked forward with calm, measured, and rhythmic steps.
Deep inside the shrouded canyon, roughly a mile from the primary entrance, two shadowy figures crouched completely motionless on a massive, moss-covered basalt rock suspended directly above the narrow, winding stone pathway.
Both men were completely clad in skin-tight, jet-black leather armor inscribed with delicate shadow-concealment runes that absorbed the ambient light. Their faces were fully concealed behind featureless, polished silver masks, leaving only their cold, calculated eyes exposed to the mist. Their physical breath was entirely suppressed, and their heartbeats had been slowed to a single, quiet pulse per minute through specialized dark-market breath-holding arts.
They were top-tier, ruthless shadow assassins hailing from the infamous dark markets—codenamed Ghost-1 and Ghost-2. Both men were seasoned, blood-soaked Stage Three Foundation Establishment veterans who had successfully slaughtered dozens of high-ranking sect cultivators for the right price.
"Is the primary target finally approaching?" Ghost-2 transmitted his voice through a localized, private spiritual link, his sharp eyes scanning the dense, swirling fog below their perching spot.
"Gao Lei's short-range signal token went completely dark fifteen minutes ago," Ghost-1 replied cold-bloodedly through the link, his gloved hand resting firmly on the hilt of a razor-sharp, poison-coated short blade. "Either those two twin fools made a fatal blunder and got themselves killed, or the kid realized he was walking into a trap and struck first while they were still inside the carriage cabin."
"It makes zero difference either way," Ghost-2 sneered softly through the spiritual link. "He is merely a greenhorn Stage One Foundation brat who consolidated his core three days ago. Even if he somehow managed to surprise and slaughter those two Stage Two enforcement dogs inside a cramped space, stepping into this valley means he has entered our absolute domain. The client offered fifty thousand high-grade spirit stones and a rare Stage Four breakthrough pill for his severed head. We take zero chances and execute him swiftly."
"He's here," Ghost-1 suddenly interrupted, his narrow eyes locking onto a point in the mist below.
Through the translucent, drifting silver fog, a solitary figure dressed in navy robes walked casually along the narrow, stone-paved path. His pale hands were tucked comfortably inside his wide sleeves, his footfalls light, quiet, and completely unhurried, appearing for all the world as if he were taking a peaceful, leisurely stroll through a sect garden rather than walking directly into a notorious, blood-soaked killing zone.
Ghost-1 and Ghost-2 immediately held their suppressed breath, merging their physical bodies seamlessly with the pitch-black shadows of the basalt rock above. They waited with absolute, terrifying patience, allowing Railin to walk directly beneath their perching spot—the absolute dead-angle for an overhead assassination leap.
Ten paces... five paces... three paces... right beneath their blades!
"Execute!" Ghost-1 commanded silently through the link.
SWISH—!
The two top-tier shadow assassins vanished from the high rock like phantom smoke!
They dropped from the sky with terrifying, silent, and sound-barrier-breaking speed, their poison-coated short blades tearing through the thick fog without making a single audible sound. Two razor-sharp, exceptionally lethal beams of pitch-black, shadow-attribute qi shot with absolute precision straight toward Railin's unprotected head and heart!
It was a textbook, flawless assassination strike executed simultaneously by two Stage Three Foundation veterans. Against any ordinary inner sect disciple or core member, this dual overhead strike would have decisively concluded the fight before the victim could even realize an attack was underway.
However, the exact millisecond their poisoned blades came within three inches of his navy robes, Railin didn't even bother to dodge, raise his arms, or turn his body around.
HUMMM—!
An invisible, suffocating, and terrifying wave of supreme spiritual force erupted violently from Railin's brow center, instantly expanding into a two-hundred-pace domain of pure, razor-sharp soul pressure!
Third Soul-Piercing Needle!
SHOOSH!
The third, newly condensed Soul-Piercing Needle—the darkest, thickest, and most lethal of the three—shot upward into the air like an invisible streak of black, lightning-fast soul energy! Guided by his vast consciousness, the needle instantly split into two precise, razor-sharp soul threads that pierced straight through the foreheads of Ghost-1 and Ghost-2 mid-air before their blades could touch his skin!
"WHAT—?!"
"MY SOUL—!"
A horrific, silent, and mind-shattering explosion echoed deep inside the upper dantians of the two falling assassins! The sheer, overwhelming, three-hundred-year-old cold-soul energy harvested from the Glacial Soul Lotus tore through their mental defenses like red-hot steel cutting through fragile paper!
CRACK! CRACK!
Both Stage Three Foundation assassins froze completely mid-air as their spiritual seas were instantly fractured and shattered! The terrifying downward momentum of their lethal leap instantly vanished as their nervous systems lost all motor control, their heavy bodies crashing helplessly and ungracefully onto the hard, gravelly path right in front of Railin's boots!
THUD! THUD!
The two feared shadow assassins writhed violently on the damp, mossy earth, their hands frantically tearing at their cracked silver masks as fresh, dark crimson blood poured uncontrollably from their eyes, ears, mouths, and noses.
Railin slowly came to a halt. He turned his head casually, looking down at the two twitching, agonizing assassins with absolute, cold-blooded, and emotionless indifference.
"Stage Three Foundation Establishment assassins..." Railin spoke smoothly, his voice flat, dry, and terrifyingly calm as he took a slow step forward. "Hao-Lin and Shu-Lin certainly paid an extraordinarily heavy price to secure your professional services today."
Ghost-1, his silver mask partially shattered from the rough impact, looked up at Railin through a thick veil of his own blood. His mind was in absolute, chaotic agony, his soul sea torn to shredding bits by the invisible needle that had pierced his forehead a second prior.
"You... what kind of... unnatural monster are you...?" Ghost-1 choked out through a throat filled with blood, his raspy voice trembling with sheer, unadulterated horror. "That strike... was a direct spiritual attack...! How in the world can a Stage One brat possess a soul sense powerful enough to instantly crush two Stage Three masters...?"
Railin did not bother to answer his useless question. He slowly raised his pale right hand, his slender fingers extending smoothly as a dense, pitch-black void aura began to violently swirl around his open palm like a miniature, starving black hole.
The Ashen Devouring Technique!
"Wait...! STOP! PLEASE!" Ghost-2 screamed out in absolute, desperate horror as the creeping dark void aura wrapped tightly around his chest, forcing its way directly into his lower dantian. "We were only hired dark-market mercenaries...! We can give you the exact names of the shadow brokers who arranged this contract...! WE CAN GIVE YOU EVERYTHING YOU WANT—!"
"Your spoken information is entirely useless to me," Railin whispered ice-coldly, his pitch-black eyes gleaming like dark jewels inside the silver mist. "Your Stage Three spirit essence, however, is exceptionally valuable."
BOOM!
The dark void aura flared violently into a storm of abyssal energy!
Thick, glowing, liquid streams of rich, highly condensed Stage Three Foundation spirit essence were forcibly ripped from the struggling dantians of Ghost-1 and Ghost-2! The vast streams of energy surged along Railin's open arm, flowing straight into his lower dantian with unstoppable force!
"AHHHHHHHHH—!"
The desperate, agonizing, and blood-curdling screams of the two top-tier shadow assassins echoed wildly through the damp, misty canyon. However, the dense, magical, sound-dampening fog swallowed their desperate cries whole, preventing even a single echo from escaping the boundaries of the valley.
Within less than three minutes of continuous extraction, the two feared Stage Three assassins were completely reduced to two withered, completely dried-up, and lifeless husks lying motionless on the damp gravelly path.
Deep inside Railin's lower dantian, his First Level Foundation Core expanded at a terrifying, mind-boggling speed! Absorbing the immense, highly refined spirit essence of two Stage Three masters combined with the previous two Stage Two enforcement disciples pushed his core cultivation to its absolute physical threshold!
CRACK—!
A crisp, intensely loud, and resonant sound echoed violently from within Railin's chest!
His First Level Foundation Core officially shattered its upper boundary, expanding twice its original size and rapidly solidifying into a far larger, vastly denser, and immensely stable core that radiated a terrifying, heavy void-attribute pressure!
Second Level Foundation Establishment!
Railin stood alone amidst the silent, rolling silver fog, exhaling a long, dark breath of refined spiritual qi that dissolved the damp air around him. He slowly raised his hands, looking down at his pale fingers as he felt the massive, roaring surge of new, raw power coursing smoothly through his broadened meridians.
"Stage Two Foundation Establishment..." Railin murmured softly under his breath, a cold, dark, and terribly sinister smile slowly appearing on his lips. "Shu-Lin... Hao-Lin... I must truly thank you for sending such extraordinarily generous gifts straight to my doorstep."
He turned his head slightly, his dark eyes looking deeper into the dense, endlessly swirling fog of the Ghost-Fog Valley. His vast, two-hundred-pace spiritual sense picked up several faint, lingering, and volatile energy signatures further down the deep canyon—the physical remnants of the ambushed outer sect supply convoy and the hidden dark-market outpost operating within the valley.
Railin casually dusted off his dark navy robes, stepping cleanly over the dried husks of the two dead assassins as he walked forward, disappearing effortlessly into the deep, silver mist.
See you in next chapter....