The Dadangar Subcontinent sea was calm, but the night was not.
Gray clouds drifted low, hiding the stars and the moon. Only faint bits of starlight slipped through here and there, and whenever those weak lights touched the lone figure walking across the water, he looked even more unsettling.
A thin man in a loose black robe made his way toward Erald Cove. His steps were slow, as if he had all the ti in the world.
The robe hung loosely on him, making his already thin fra appear almost skeletal. His skin was pale, his lips dry and cracked, and the wrinkles on his neck didn’t match the rest of his face, which suggested he wasn’t as old as he looked.
His eyes, however, were the most striking. One was an icy blue, the other pitch-black. Under the faint light, the two colors made his face look like it belonged to soone half-dead.
The sea underneath him reacted to his presence. Fish that swam close to his feet floated up monts later, lifeless and pale. Even the water around him seed colder.
He stopped walking when the full shape of Erald Cove ca into view.
The swirling gray mist. The do of thick vines that wrapped around the whole island.
And at the center, the towering Demon Tree, its outline visible even from far away.
The man frowned as he studied the view.
"No wonder the entire fleet lost to the island’s forces," he muttered. His voice was soft, hollow. "This kind of formation alone could stop tens of fleets without losing much. And with the island’s Second Order Vein powering it... it would be almost unbeatable unless overwheld by numbers."
When he finished speaking, the black in his eyes dimd and the blue color sharpened, glowing faintly. A second voice ca from his mouth—rougher, older, and carrying a strange echo.
"Stupid disciple. A formation like this is nothing. Even if it looks grand, it is still only a Second Order formation. Back in my days, such formations guarded the outer elders’ ditation caves."
The voice chuckled, dry and humorless.
"This one has the usual weakness. It cannot handle too many invaders at once. And it relies too much on the Central Array Eye—the tree monster at the center.
"Yes, it is sentient. But its mind is young and unstable. A direct spiritual attack would break that consciousness. Once it breaks... the whole formation will collapse."
The blue glow faded. The black eye beca clear again.
"I see," the man said quietly. "Should I use the Spirit Core I borrowed from you, master? You told not to use it for two more weeks. It has not fully settled in my Dantian yet."
The blue glow returned almost instantly.
"Hmm. It should be fine if you use it only for a short ti," the old voice answered. "You cannot do anything to the formation without it anyway. And the destruction of Erald Cove tonight is important."
The voice grew colder.
"Your position as the third Supre is already unstable. The other two have finished rging with their Spirit Cores. If you show weakness now, they will target you next.
"If Erald Cove survives tonight, you will lose all face and influence. You might not live long after that. Rember, those two Supres are not your allies just because you three lead a single organization from the shadows."
The glow dimd. The black eye took over again.
The man let out a long, thin breath.
"I... I know. So the island must fall... tonight."
He looked at Erald Cove again—at the thick vines, the gray fog, and the Demon Tree that glowed faintly in the darkness.
His thin fingers tightened inside his sleeves.
Then, slowly, step by step, he continued walking toward the island. The dead fish behind him drifted apart on the waves, leaving a dark trail in his wake.
After reaching a certain distance, the Third Supre of the Kalingoot stopped. For a mont, he closed his eyes and drew in a long, shaky breath. His chest rose slowly—far slower than any normal cultivator’s—and then fell just as slowly, as if he were forcing air into a body that didn’t want to breathe.
He reached inward.
The borrowed Spirit Core inside his Dantian stirred. It trembled like a wild beast trapped inside a weak cage. The mont he tried to take control of it, a sharp resistance hit him. His already pale face drained of the last bit of color. Veins stood out on his temples. His whole body shook.
A stabbing pain ran through his skull, followed by a cold ache deep in his soul. He bit down on his lip until it bled, riding out the pain without letting out a sound.
Slowly—painfully—his breathing steadied.
And then the trembling stopped.
He opened his eyes. Both were dark, cold, and steady.
The Spirit Core had been forced into submission. At least at this mont.
A violent wave of aura burst out of his thin fra. It whipped the sea water beneath him and made the night air tremble. The aura was uneven and unstable, and anyone who sensed it would know he was fighting for control over sothing not truly his.
But even with that unstable pressure, he now had the strength of an early-stage Core Formation Lord.
The kind of power that crushed late-stage Foundation Establishnt experts like insects.
A small smile crept across his dry lips, and then he laughed—a hollow sound carried by the sea wind.
"Good... This will do."
With a light jump, he rose into the air. No flying weapon. No sword. No talisman. Just pure Spirit Core power lifting him upward. His body floated smoothly above the waves, proving what he had beco.
He extended his hand, and a dark object appeared in his palm—a blackish red orb that pulsed faintly like a living heart.
A Third Order treasure.
He channeled Spirit essence into it, and the orb’s dull glow sharpened into bright, threatening veins of red. The air around it sizzled as if the night itself feared to get too close.
Without wasting another second, the man shot forward. His thin body cut through the night sky like a black streak. He flew straight toward the swirling gray mist that wrapped around Erald Cove.
The mont he entered the mist, the orb exploded with red lightning.
Thick vines burst from the formation, trying to strike or bind him. Roots twisted, turning sharp like spears. The gray fog thickened, trying to cloud his senses.
None of it worked.
Each ti a vine or root lashed out, a streak of red lightning cracked through the air and blasted it apart. Pieces of burned wood fell away, vanishing into the mist.
And because the lightning carried Third Order power, the destroyed vines did not regenerate. They simply turned into ash.
As for the gray fog—normally strong enough to confuse any invader—it parted around him like frightened smoke.
The Third Supre moved through the mist without fear. Every few steps, roots shot up from the ground or vines ca whipping toward him from the sides. So tried to bind him. So tried to pierce him. Others tried to drag him down into the earth.
He didn’t bother dodging.
Each ti one ca close, the black-red orb in his palm pulsed, and a streak of red lightning blasted out. The attack burned through wood, cracked apart thick vines, and sent smoking pieces flying in all directions. The faint sll of burnt bark spread through the mist.
He kept walking at a steady pace.
After a while, he suddenly turned left—sharp and without hesitation. There was no path to follow. The gray fog twisted around him, trying to hide everything, but his steps remained sure.
More roots ca. More vines, thicker than before. Even a few Sentient Fiends crawled out of the ground, their bodies covered in writhing patterns of Spirit wood.
He didn’t even lift his arm high. The orb humd, and another flash of red lightning blew them apart.
It was as if soone was using a single ultimate skill to clear a ga from beginning to end. The man knew that the orb was effective so he didn’t even bother to try anything else.
He walked ten more steps before taking a turn toward the south, moving in the opposite direction of Erald Cove. Anyone watching would think he had lost his sense of direction inside the formation.
He kept taking such strange turns—sotis right, sotis sharp left, sotis almost circling around. But every ti he paused, his Third Order Spirit Sense pushed him again, guiding him deeper into the formation.
A shadow above him made him glance upward.
Four flying Sentient Fiends dropped from the air with screeching cries. Their twisted wings beat wildly, and on their bodies hung glowing talismans—the sa suicidal Heretic talismans Aksai’s puppets used.
One hit would make them blow themselves up.
All four dived at him at once to target a single intruder.
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