CHAPTER NINETEEN: DESCENT
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Shen Chen stepped through the entrance of the ancient structure, and the world behind him vanished. The light of the desert sun, the sound of the wind, the warmth of Old Liu's presence—all of it was gone, replaced by an oppressive silence that pressed against his ears like a physical weight.
He stood still for a long mont, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. The air was cold, thick with the scent of dust and sothing else—sothing tallic, like old blood. The walls were rough, carved from stone that had been blackened by fire.
This place is old. Older than anything I've ever seen.
He took a step forward, his foot echoing against the stone floor. The sound was swallowed by the darkness, absorbed by the silence.
Stay alert. Stay alive.
He moved deeper into the structure, his senses on high alert. The System's Void Sense was active, providing a faint awareness of his surroundings. But the information was fragnted, incomplete—as if the ancient energy of the place was interfering with its function.
[Warning: Spiritual interference detected. Void Sense efficiency reduced by 60%.]
Shen Chen's jaw tightened. Of course. Nothing can ever be easy.
He pressed on, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. The passage twisted and turned, its walls covered in faded murals that depicted scenes of battle and death. Armies clashing. Cultivators falling. The sky burning.
The war. This is a record of the war.
He paused before one of the murals, his eyes tracing the figures. The cultivators were powerful, their auras blazing with spiritual energy. But their enemies were equally strong—figures with eyes of fla and bodies of shadow.
Who were they? Where did they co from?
He didn't have ti to wonder. A sound echoed from the darkness ahead—a soft, scraping noise, like claws against stone.
Shen Chen's hand tightened on his blade. Sothing's here.
He moved forward cautiously, his footsteps silent. The scraping sound grew louder, more insistent. And then he saw it.
A figure erged from the shadows—a twisted, skeletal thing, its body wrapped in tattered robes. Its eyes glowed with a faint, malevolent light, and its claws scraped against the stone floor.
[Threat Detected: Remnant Spirit. Cultivation Level: Foundation Establishnt Realm (2nd Level).]
[Warning: Remnant Spirits are the souls of cultivators who died in the ancient war. They are filled with rage and hatred, and they will attack anything that enters their territory.]
Shen Chen's heart pounded. A Remnant Spirit. A ghost of the war.
The spirit lunged, its claws reaching for his throat. Shen Chen dove to the side, his blade flashing in the darkness. The spirit's claws raked across his arm, drawing blood, but he was already moving, his blade finding the spirit's chest.
The spirit shrieked, a sound of pure, undiluted rage, and dissolved into shadows.
Shen Chen stood there, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his arm throbbing with pain.
That was just one. How many more are there?
He didn't want to find out. But he had no choice. He had to keep moving.
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