Chapter 106 – The Journey South
James had finally ascended to King Level, and though the power coursing through his veins was intoxicating, it brought with it a burden that pressed heavier than any crown. The very air seemed to acknowledge his rise; when he inhaled, the wind bent to his breath, and when he exhaled, snow scattered as though bowing before his will. Every step he took now carried a gravity that stilled lesser beasts, and even the distant predators hidden beneath layers of frost did not dare stir while he stood upon the tundra.
Yet power alone was a fragile currency. Time was the true tyrant.
He stood at the edge of the northern expanse, where glaciers cut the horizon into jagged silver and the mountains loomed like silent titans. Before him stretched an eternity of snowfields—white, endless, merciless. Behind him, faint smoke trails marked where he had burned his campsites, lonely smudges swallowed by the storm. To the south, beyond ridges of ice and miles of unbroken frost, awaited the Amber Dunes . Beyond those dunes lay the Human base #12072008, the only place where supplies, shelter, and allies could be found.
His calculations had been precise. The trek would take no less than fifteen days, and the Event— scheduled to begin in eighteen. It left him three days of margin, three fragile days that could vanish with a single misstep: a storm, an ambush, or even exhaustion gnawing away at his body. If he delayed even by an hour, the sands of time would turn against him. He could not afford hesitation.
James's jaw tightened. He raised his palm.
From the depths of his soul sea, where echoes of slain titans slumbered, he summoned forth a beast of memory. Essence rippled outward in luminous waves, bending light, trembling air. The frozen wind stilled as if holding its breath, and then reality itself tore open with a resonant hum.
The Echo emerged.
It towered above him, a colossus sculpted from translucent energy, yet bearing every scar and muscle of the mammoth James had slain in a battle that painted the snow crimson. Its tusks curled like ivory crescents, gleaming faintly with runes carved not by tools but by memory itself. Frost clung to its phantom hide, and with each step, the ground quaked as though stone, not snow, lay beneath its feet. It was not flesh and blood, yet it radiated presence—a titan that existed between life and remembrance, bound to James's will.
With calm precision, James climbed onto its back. The mammoth lowered itself slightly, acknowledging its master, before rising once more with a grunt that thundered across the barren expanse. From this vantage, James could see further than the naked eye allowed—white plains stretching endlessly, the faint shimmer of ice ridges, and the distant darkness of mountains standing as silent wardens between lands.
"South," James murmured, his voice barely audible, but the Echo responded as though the earth itself had heard him.
The mammoth's feet crashed into the snow, splitting the silence with each thunderous step. Ice cracked. Frost splintered. The ground trembled beneath its colossal weight, scattering snow in waves behind them as they advanced toward the desert beyond.
The wind screamed against his face, sharp enough to cut, yet James's eyes never wavered from the horizon. He had only fifteen days, and the world would not wait.
Two days later, the world began to shift. The white veil of snow thinned, giving way to rolling slopes of green grass, like a wound of color opening across the pale land. And farther still, shimmering under the horizon, the endless sea of golden dunes awaited—the Amber Desert.
James dismissed the mammoth Echo with a thought, its colossal frame dissolving into motes of essence that flowed back into the depths of his soul sea. In its place, he summoned another memory, one more suited for the terrain ahead. The air thickened with power, and from the shimmering veil of his soul's imprint, a vast shadow uncoiled.
A serpent, colossal and spectral, took form. Its scales glinted like burnished bronze under the dim light, each one a shield etched with faint runes of remembrance. Its eyes blazed with cold, spectral fire, not of life but of will. The ground trembled as it slithered forward, body thicker than an ancient oak and long enough to vanish into the horizon. It hissed once—low, thunderous, a sound that seemed to slither beneath the skin—before lowering its immense head.
Without hesitation, James stepped onto the broad crown of the beast's skull. The serpent lifted him with fluid grace, and in the next instant, it surged across the frozen plains. Its body undulated with terrifying speed, slicing through snow and ice like a living avalanche, weaving between rocky outcrops, scattering frost in its wake. Wind whipped at James's cloak, tearing it backward, yet his gaze remained fixed southward, unwavering.
Ten days had passed.
Ten relentless, unbroken days since he had abandoned the snowy wastes of the north. Days where dawn and dusk blended into one endless march, where the horizon offered no comfort, only another reminder of how far he had yet to go. His world had become the rhythm of travel—the rise and fall of Echoes beneath him, the burn of cold air in his lungs, the constant hum of essence in his soul sea.
He had encountered essence beasts along the way—wolves with crystalline fangs, birds whose wings cut the air like blades, even predators half-buried in snow that lunged with the hunger of famine. Any other traveler would have fought, stripped materials to trade for wealth or equipment. James did not even draw his blade.
He could have killed them. Easily. One strike, one flare of power, and their lives would have been snuffed out, their treasures his. But wealth meant nothing now. Wealth could be rebuilt, gathered again. Time could not. Every moment spent in battle was a coin spent from a dwindling purse. And James knew, perhaps better than anyone, that the world demanded payment in full.
So he ignored them all. He pressed onward.
The serpent coiled and surged again, carrying him further across the frost-bitten wilderness. James's hands tightened behind his back, his expression carved into grim resolve. His power was greater than ever, his will sharper than steel—but even Kings were not immune to the tyranny of time.
And time was running out.
By the eleventh night, James found himself surrounded by barren wilderness again. The serpent Echo hissed softly beneath him, its massive body rippling like a dark river across the sand. Then James lifted his head—he could already feel the sky darkening.
He clicked his tongue, dispelled the serpent into his soul sea, and quickly began preparing camp.
A compact tent unfolded from his storage ring, its reinforced frame designed for harsh conditions. Around its perimeter, he sprinkled a ring of beast-repellant liquid, the sharp, acrid scent dispersing into the night air.
With practiced ease, he retrieved slabs of dried meat from his ring and skewered them on a metal spit over a small fire. The flames crackled, their warmth a fragile island against the vast cold of night.
When he leaned back, his eyes lifted to the heavens. Above him stretched a breathtaking tapestry of stars, galaxies, and two moons, painted across the endless expanse. James knew, of course, that this was only an illusion—the so-called "outer space" was but the reflection of a greater seal, a false sky built into the very laws of this realm.
But knowing did not matter. The sight still stole his breath. And for once, James allowed himself to simply look.
The scent of roasting meat pulled him back. He glanced down and realized it had already browned too far, nearly charred at the edges. With a quiet chuckle, he pulled it free and bit into it directly, unbothered by the heat. The flavor was plain, coarse, but filling.
For days, he had barely spoken. The silence of travel had swallowed his voice. Yet as he chewed, he muttered aloud, almost to himself—
"Ah… good. But I miss seasoning."
When the fire began to die, James reached for water to douse the embers. But then—he froze.
A sound.
Faint. Human.
Someone was calling. Voices, carried on the wind.
His eyes narrowed. Slowly, deliberately, James rose to his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a weapon from his soul sea—a slender Eel Dagger, its blade glowing faintly with crackling currents. He gripped it casually, but his posture radiated quiet menace.
And then he saw them.
A small group emerged from the darkness, silhouettes trudging cautiously toward his campfire. They were human. Six in total—four men and two women. Their clothes were worn, their steps heavy with exhaustion.
The moment they noticed the dagger in James's hand, their pace faltered. But they did not turn back. They continued forward, slower now, as if weighing the risk of approaching a predator.
James's voice, low and cold, cut the silence once they were within ten meters.
> "Identify yourselves."
The group exchanged quick glances before stepping closer into the firelight. One by one, they gave their names.
"Ethan."
"Wei."
"Hiro."
"Aarav."
"Mei."
"Sophia."
James studied them carefully, his gaze sharp. Then he gave a single nod.
"James."
The name struck like a spark. Aarav and Hiro stiffened instantly, eyes widening. It was as though recognition had slammed into them.
"A-are you… James Lee?" Hiro asked, his voice trembling with sudden excitement.
James's expression flickered, then steadied. "…Yes."
Hiro's face lit up. "No way—are you by chance the son of Mr. Lee of Lee Enterprises?"
A shadow of suspicion passed through James's eyes. His grip on the dagger tightened slightly, but at last, he inclined his head in confirmation.
The reaction was immediate. Aarav actually leapt with joy, laughing aloud. "I knew it! This is unbelievable! You're Steve Lee's youngest son—James Lee!"
James frowned slightly. "You… know my father?"
"Not personally," Hiro admitted quickly, raising his hands. "But we've seen his interviews. Everyone knows the name."
James looked away, awkwardness brushing against his otherwise iron demeanor. He was not used to this—being recognized not as the warrior he had become, but as the child of a man whose shadow loomed so large.
Still, he allowed them to stay. He noticed their weary movements, the way they glanced around nervously at the darkness beyond. They explained that their beast repellant liquid had run out days ago—most of it spilled in an accident. For nights, they had survived only by sleeping in shifts, two people awake at all times to keep watch, none of them truly resting.
James said nothing, but his silence was answer enough. He gestured to the edge of his repellant circle, wordlessly offering them safety. Relief washed over their faces, and for the first time in many nights, the six travelers lowered themselves into slumber without fear.
James sat quietly by the dying fire, eyes once more lifting to the stars above. The illusionary sky shone brilliantly, galaxies burning in silence.
And in the hush of the night, the air seemed to whisper: The path ahead had only just begun.
To be continued…