Chapter 706 – "The Frost Moon's Gaze"
The Frost Moon Palace quarters in the Central Continent were far removed from the noise and chaos of the market streets. Here, silence reigned. The air carried a faint, perpetual chill, and pale-blue silk drapes swayed gently in the stillness, as if stirred by an unseen winter breeze.
At a low table sat Lan Xueya, a Level 8 cultivator whose reputation within Frost Moon Palace was as sharp and unyielding as the ice she commanded.
She set aside the scroll she had been reading, her mind drifting back to the moment earlier that day when she had crossed paths with Yu Mei.
Yu Mei.
Her lips curved faintly — not in warmth, but in detached approval. The young woman's aura, the way her ice bent so naturally to her will, and the calm she carried even under scrutiny… all of it had stirred Xueya's interest. Not in friendship, nor in sisterhood, but in potential. Potential worth shaping — or claiming.
There had been no such feeling for the man beside her.
Alex, masked and silent, had barely registered in Xueya's thoughts beyond a single, dismissive conclusion: an ordinary male cultivator, perhaps hiding behind some clever treasure to conceal his level. Mildly interesting, but not worth more than a passing thought.
Such detachment was not unique to her. It was the nature of Frost Moon Palace itself — a sect that valued only power and talent aligned with their cold, unyielding creed. Men were, at best, irrelevant; at worst, unwelcome.
For Lan Xueya, Yu Mei was worth watching. Alex… was just another man.
The Frost Moon Palace's inner courtyard shimmered faintly under a dome of protective ice qi, the air colder here than anywhere else in the compound. Rows of disciples stood in perfect formation, their pale-blue robes lined with silver thread.
At the front of the gathering, the Sect Master sat on an elevated seat, flanked by the sect's senior elders. Her gaze swept over the assembled women — each one trained, disciplined, and utterly loyal to the Palace's doctrine.
"Today," the Sect Master's voice carried clearly through the cold air, "we finalize the disciples who will bear our name in the Central Continent Tournament. Nine competitors. Ten reserves. All of you will be ready."
There was no murmur of excitement, only a collective, disciplined nod from the gathered women.
Standing in the first rank was Lan Xueya, the strongest disciple of Frost Moon Palace — Level 8, and widely regarded as the pride of her generation. Her presence was like a shard of living ice: still, beautiful, and dangerous.
The Sect Master's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than the others. Everyone here knew Xueya would lead the nine chosen to compete.
"You are the blades of winter," the Sect Master continued. "The frost that will freeze the arrogance of every other continent. In this tournament, we will show the Central Continent and beyond that Frost Moon Palace bows to no one."
The disciples bowed as one, the gesture crisp and flawless.
Xueya's eyes remained cold, her thoughts already on the tournament — and on Yu Mei, the one outsider whose ice had left an impression.
The Sect Master's gaze swept over the assembled disciples once more, her tone steady but edged with ambition. "In the last Central Continent Tournament, Frost Moon Palace stood in fourth place. Above us was the Heavenly Sect in third, the Immortal Flame Pavilion in second, and the Celestial Dragon Sect in first."
A faint chill rippled through the courtyard — not from the weather, but from the collective will of the women standing there.
"We will climb higher," the Sect Master said. "The gap between us and the top is not insurmountable. With the strength we've cultivated over the past decade, we will carve our way to the summit."
The disciples answered in perfect unison, their voices sharp as the bite of midwinter: "Yes, Sect Master!"
From her place in the front rank, Lan Xueya's expression did not change. But inside, her resolve was already set. Fourth place was not enough — and if she had to shatter the pride of other sects one opponent at a time, she would.
And perhaps, along the way, she would see if Yu Mei's ice truly measured up to her own.
The Sect Master's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked over her elite. "Our current strength surpasses what we brought to the last tournament. We have five disciples at Level 8, six at Level 7, and eight at Level 6."
A ripple of frost-kissed pride ran through the formation. These were the strongest women Frost Moon Palace had ever sent.
At the head stood Lan Xueya — the undisputed strongest, her mastery of ice so refined that even blizzards bent to her will. Her presence alone could freeze the air within a hundred paces.
Beside her was Bai Lianhua, a tall woman with hair like falling snow and eyes like cut crystal. She wielded the Moon Petal Spear, her ice techniques blooming like deadly flowers in battle, beautiful and lethal in equal measure.
Next was Han Yuelin, calm and unreadable, her movements as smooth as drifting snowflakes. Known for her defensive mastery, she could weave ice barriers that even peak-level strikes struggled to break.
Fourth was Shui Hanyue, a fierce and direct fighter who preferred to shatter her enemies in a storm of ice shards rather than let them suffer slowly. Her style was relentless, her will unshakable.
Finally, Qin Xueyao, youngest of the Level 8s but already notorious for her speed. She struck like a blizzard wind — unseen until it was too late, her blade leaving only frozen statues where her enemies once stood.
"These five," the Sect Master said, "will anchor our formation. The rest of you will follow their lead."
The courtyard seemed to grow colder as the names settled into the minds of every disciple present.
Chapter 707 – "The Emerald Jade Sect"
The Emerald Jade Sect's quarters in the Central Continent could not have been more different from the icy reserve of Frost Moon Palace. Warm lamplight spilled from tall, open windows. Rich green and gold silk curtains swayed lazily in the scented air, heavy with the fragrance of incense meant to heighten desire.
Inside, the sounds were unmistakable — soft gasps, low moans, and the rustle of bodies moving in rhythm.
Here, dual cultivation was not merely a practice; it was the core of the sect's identity. Disciples trained in pairs, male and female, their bodies entwined in every corner of the expansive chamber. The sect held no shame in this — to them, intimacy was simply another form of cultivation, as natural as breathing.
Some pairs moved slowly, savoring the moment, while others were locked in fierce, breathless coupling, their mana circulating wildly between them. Along the far wall, a pair of senior elders were instructing their disciples directly, their own bodies joining in to guide the flow of energy more effectively.
The room was thick with lust, every surface and shadow a testament to the sect's philosophy: that the union of yin and yang was the fastest path to power.
And yet, for all their skill and devotion to this method, it was still a pale shadow of what Alex had achieved with his lovers. Not even one hundred-thousandth of the potency, connection, or cultivation leap that his sessions brought.
To them, this was the pinnacle of dual cultivation. To Alex, it would have been little more than a warm-up.
Among the many pairs in the chamber, one stood out for the sheer command of presence it exuded.
Elder Mei Suhua — 460 years old, yet her body remained that of a woman in her prime. Her skin was smooth and pale, her curves full, her movements deliberate and sensual. Even here, in the act of dual cultivation with one of her favored male disciples, she carried herself like a queen on a throne.
Suhua's hips rolled with a slow, practiced rhythm, her breath warm against her partner's ear as she spoke.
"Earlier today," she murmured between soft sighs, "I noticed a man in the city… wearing a black mask. He was walking with a woman — her aura was icy, refined. But the man…" Her pace quickened slightly, her eyes narrowing as she remembered. "…the man was different."
Her disciple gasped, his fingers digging into her hips. "Different… how, Elder?"
Suhua's lips curved in a knowing smile, her movements never faltering. "My instincts told me… if I could dual cultivate with him, even once, my cultivation would soar. It was… as if his body carried a tide of mana unlike anything I have felt in centuries."
She tilted her head back slightly, letting out a quiet sound of pleasure before continuing. "The woman beside him was beautiful… but him? That black mask made him mysterious. Dangerous. I could feel the hidden power."
The disciple beneath her swallowed hard, torn between arousal and awe. "Will… you seek him out?"
Suhua's hips moved more firmly now, a subtle challenge in her eyes. "If fate puts him in my path… I will not waste the opportunity."
The disciple beneath her trembled, his breath breaking into short, uneven gasps. "Elder… I can't—"
Before he could finish, his body stiffened, and he released into her with a shudder.
Suhua's eyes half-lidded, her movements slowing only for a heartbeat before she let out a faint, dissatisfied sigh. "Mm… better than earlier… but still not enough."
She lifted herself from him with smooth, unhurried grace, her skin glistening faintly in the warm lamplight. Without covering herself, she turned her head toward the far side of the room, her voice carrying easily over the sounds of other pairs.
"You," she called, her tone as commanding as it was inviting. "Come here."
Another male disciple — younger, but broad-shouldered and eager — quickly broke from the group he had been training with and approached. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of her, but he didn't hesitate.
Suhua sat back, one hand beckoning him closer, the other resting lightly on her own thigh. "Let's see," she said with a faint, knowing smirk, "if you can do better than your senior brother."
Her first partner, still breathless, could only watch as the second disciple stepped forward, clearly aware that being chosen by Elder Mei Suhua was as much a test as it was a reward.
The younger disciple knelt between her legs, his hands tentative at first until Suhua's fingers tangled in his hair, guiding him with an unspoken command. She lowered herself onto him in one smooth, practiced motion, her breath catching in a low, pleased hum.
"Mm… yes… better," she murmured, her hips beginning to roll with a deliberate rhythm.
Her gaze, however, wasn't on him — it was distant, fixed on a memory rather than the man beneath her.
"That masked man…" she said slowly, as if savoring the thought. "Even through the crowd, I could feel it. His mana… dense, untamed, yet refined in ways I cannot name. Every instinct in my body told me — one night with him, and I would break through every barrier that has held me for the last century."
The disciple gasped beneath her, his own control already slipping under her expert pace.
Suhua leaned forward slightly, her lips brushing his ear as she continued, "He moved like a predator that doesn't need to bare its fangs. Calm. Silent. Dangerous. Men in this world fight for my attention… but he? He did not even glance my way. That makes me want him more."
Her hips moved harder now, her nails grazing the disciple's shoulder. "If the Heavens place him in my path during the tournament…" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "…I will not let him go until I've taken everything I can from him."
The disciple moaned, the heat of her words only pushing him closer to the edge. Suhua smiled faintly, not for him, but for the image in her mind — the man in the black mask, and the surge of power she imagined flowing through her if she could claim him.
The younger disciple shuddered beneath her, his breath breaking into ragged gasps before he released with a muffled groan.
Suhua let him stay there for a moment, her hips slowing to a stop. Then she exhaled through her nose, the faintest curl of dissatisfaction tugging at her lips. "Better… but still not enough."
She rose from him with unhurried grace, the lamplight tracing the smooth lines of her body. Both men now sat panting on the floor, their expressions a mix of awe and exhaustion, but she spared them only a passing glance.
Her mind was already elsewhere.
The image of the masked man filled her thoughts again — the quiet confidence in his steps, the way his presence pressed faintly against the senses without ever revealing its depth. It was a lure unlike any she had felt in centuries.
"I wonder…" she murmured to herself, walking toward the low table where a silk robe lay draped. She didn't put it on, only let her fingers run over the fabric as her thoughts deepened. "The Central Continent Tournament will gather every sect in one place. All I need is the right opportunity. A draw in the competition… a meeting in the arena corridors… perhaps even a staged encounter in the city."
She smiled faintly, not in warmth, but in hunger. "And when that moment comes, I will make sure he cannot refuse me."
The two disciples exchanged uneasy glances. They knew that tone — Elder Mei Suhua had set her sights on someone. And when she did… she always got what she wanted.
Chapter 708 – "The Celestial Dragon Sect"
High in the upper levels of a grand guest pavilion reserved for the Central Continent's strongest sects, the Celestial Dragon Sect disciples gathered around a long jade table. The walls were adorned with carved dragons coiling through clouds, their eyes set with gemstones that glimmered faintly in the lamplight.
The atmosphere was calm but charged — every disciple present knew what was at stake in the coming tournament.
One of the senior disciples, a broad-shouldered man with faint dragon scales along his forearms, leaned forward. "As always, the rewards will be worth the fight. The treasures granted to the top ranks are more than enough to push one's cultivation forward by leaps."
A female disciple with long silver hair nodded, her voice smooth but confident. "And more important than the treasures — the top ten sects will once again be granted the right to enter the Secret Realm. That opportunity alone is priceless."
Another added, "The treasures within the realm are said to be the legacy of the ancient dragon kings themselves. Herbs, artifacts, even dragon blood essences… each one enough to raise an expert's strength to a new level."
Around the table, their eyes glinted with ambition. The Celestial Dragon Sect had claimed first place in the previous competition, and their pride in that fact was absolute. But they also knew that holding the top spot demanded constant vigilance.
A tall, golden-eyed youth — clearly the strongest among them — spoke last. "We are not here to defend our title. We are here to crush any thought that it could be taken from us."
The room filled with a quiet rumble of agreement, like the growl of dragons circling their prey.
The golden-eyed youth rested his elbows on the table, his gaze sweeping over his fellow disciples. "We should be clear on our threats before the tournament begins."
The silver-haired woman spoke first. "The Frost Moon Palace will be stronger this year. I've heard they now have five Level 8 cultivators, all women, and their formation work has improved. Their ice arts can lock down entire teams in a group battle. If they freeze the arena early, even we could be slowed."
A man with short black hair snorted. "Ice melts. They'll never hold the title."
"Perhaps," she replied, "but underestimate them, and you'll be the one frozen solid."
Another disciple leaned in. "The Heavenly Sect is an unknown. Third place last time, yes, but I've heard rumors they've… changed. Their core disciples haven't been seen publicly in years, and some say their new leader's cultivation is unfathomable."
The golden-eyed youth's brow lifted. "Unfathomable? Or just hearsay?"
The man shrugged. "Hard to say. But even the Sect Masters of the Western Continent treat him with unusual respect."
A fourth disciple added, "And let's not forget the Immortal Flame Pavilion. Second place last year. They've likely refined their fire formations further — their coordinated burning fields were already dangerous enough."
The golden-eyed youth tapped the table lightly. "So — Frost Moon Palace for their control, Heavenly Sect for the unknown, Immortal Flame Pavilion for raw offense." His eyes narrowed slightly, a faint glint of challenge in them. "It doesn't matter. When we face them, they'll burn, freeze, or fall like the rest."
A low murmur of agreement passed through the group, their confidence unshaken.
The heavy doors at the far end of the pavilion opened, and the room fell silent.
The Sect Master of the Celestial Dragon Sect entered, his long black-and-gold robes trailing behind him, each step exuding the presence of a being who had stood unshaken at the peak for centuries. The dragon-shaped clasp at his chest glimmered faintly, the eyes of the gold carving seeming almost alive.
Every disciple rose to their feet and bowed deeply. "Sect Master!"
He gave a faint nod, his golden eyes sweeping across the room. "I see your vigilance. I see your discipline. It is worthy of our name."
Several elders murmured their approval as well, their gazes warm with pride. One commented, "At this rate, in a few hundred… perhaps four hundred years, many of you may reach the Ninth Level yourselves."
That drew quiet smiles from some of the younger disciples. One of them finally asked, "Sect Master, if the Ninth Level is the peak… are there any levels beyond it? A Tenth, or Eleventh?"
The Sect Master chuckled softly, his voice resonating like a deep dragon's growl. "No. The Ninth Level is the summit of the cultivation realms we know. There is no Tenth, Eleventh, or Twelfth. But…" His eyes sharpened. "…this peak is not the same for everyone."
A few brows furrowed. "Not the same?"
"The Ninth Level can be strengthened endlessly," the Sect Master explained. "There is no major breakthrough as there is from the Seventh to the Eighth Level — no great surge that changes your entire foundation. But every battle, every refinement, every breath of cultivation can push your Ninth Level higher. Two cultivators may both stand at the Ninth Level… and yet one could crush the other with a single strike."
A murmur of understanding swept through the hall. The disciples straightened, the weight of those words settling into their bones.
The Sect Master's gaze lingered on them a moment longer before he added, "Strive not only to reach the peak — strive to make your peak unmatched."
A hand rose from among the seated disciples. "Sect Master… if the Ninth Level can keep growing stronger without end, does this stage have a name? Something to mark it apart from the ordinary Ninth Level?"
The Sect Master's gaze softened slightly, as though pleased by the question. "Some call it the True Apex, others name it the Dragon's Peak or the Limitless Summit. Titles change from sect to sect, continent to continent. In truth, there is no single, agreed name — only the understanding that this is the point where mortal limits fade and the cultivator becomes… something more."
Another disciple leaned forward, curious. "So it is not a formal realm?"
"No," the Sect Master replied firmly. "It is a state. A height reached only by those who refuse to stop at the boundary the world accepts as 'enough.' Few achieve it, and fewer still can hold it. But those who do…" He allowed a faint, knowing smile. "…stand above all others in the same realm."
The room was quiet for a heartbeat, the meaning settling in. Then the disciples bowed again, their determination sharpened like a newly forged blade.
Chapter 709 – "The Name That Should Not Be Spoken"
The Sect Master's gaze swept over his disciples, the weight of his presence still pressing on the room. "I am at the Ninth Level," he said plainly. "And not just any Ninth Level — I am among the strongest Ninth Level cultivators in the world."
There was pride in the words, but also certainty, as if he were simply stating a fact that none could dispute.
But then… his tone changed. The warmth of authority faded, replaced by a weight that made even the elders straighten unconsciously. "However…"
The pause was long enough for the room to grow tense. "…there is one creature that, no matter the circumstances, I am absolutely forbidden from engaging with."
The disciples glanced at each other, unsettled by his uncharacteristically grave voice.
"I have traveled to countless secret lands," he continued. "I have walked through realms hidden from the eyes of mortals and immortals alike. And once… I stumbled upon it."
His gaze turned distant, as though seeing a memory he would rather forget. "I almost lost my life that day. Not because it attacked me… but because it noticed me. And the worst part—" his voice lowered, "—is that it was still sleeping. Not even awake."
A ripple of shock passed through the hall. For a creature to almost kill someone like their Sect Master without waking…
"It didn't speak aloud," he went on. "It spoke in my mind. A single thought, heavy enough to freeze the blood in my veins. And in that strange half-dreaming state, I knew its name."
He looked over the disciples, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "The Great Old One."
The words seemed to dim the light in the room for a moment, as if the name itself carried weight.
The silence in the hall stretched, the name lingering in the air like a shadow that refused to fade.
One of the braver disciples finally spoke. "Sect Master… what was it like? What—"
"Enough."
The single word cut through the question like a blade. The Sect Master's gaze was sharp now, his earlier distance replaced by a hard edge. "I will not speak of it further. The less you know, the better."
Several disciples lowered their eyes immediately, the gravity in his tone leaving no room for curiosity.
"You must understand this—" he continued, his voice slow and deliberate. "If you ever come across something that even resembles what I've described… you do not fight. You do not speak. You do not even look at it longer than a heartbeat. You turn and leave."
His eyes swept over the room, holding each disciple's gaze for a moment. "There are some beings in this world that exist beyond our understanding. This was one. And… I have reason to believe it may not be the only one."
A ripple of unease moved through the gathered disciples. The idea that there could be more than one such creature — each possibly as incomprehensible as the first — was not something they had ever considered.
"That is all," the Sect Master said at last, his voice final. "We return now to the matter at hand — the tournament. But remember my words. Should your path ever cross with theirs… your life depends on walking away."
The tension in the air remained, even as the conversation shifted back toward battle formations and strategy.
Chapter 710 – "Flames Before the Storm"
The great hall of the Immortal Flame Pavilion burned with a constant, gentle heat. Golden fire lanterns hung from every beam, casting a warm glow across the polished stone floor. Around the central table sat the Pavilion's top disciples, each wearing crimson and gold robes embroidered with intricate flame patterns that seemed to shimmer when they moved.
The Sect Master sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. "The Central Continent Tournament draws near. Last time, we claimed second place. This time, I expect nothing less than the top."
A murmur of confident agreement moved through the room.
One elder leaned forward. "The Celestial Dragon Sect will be the hardest to unseat, but their pride is also their weakness. Frost Moon Palace will be dangerous in group battles, and the Heavenly Sect… is an unknown."
"The unknown is what concerns me," another elder added. "Reports say their disciples haven't appeared publicly in years. We don't know if that means they've grown weak… or dangerously strong."
The Sect Master gave a small nod. "Then we will treat them as strong until proven otherwise. Our fire formations will overwhelm any defense, and in single duels, you are to press relentlessly. The Pavilion's flame is not for flickering — it is for consuming."
They continued exchanging strategies, discussing likely matchups, countering Frost Moon Palace's ice arts, and avoiding the traps of Emerald Jade Sect's dual cultivation styles.
When at last the meeting concluded, the Sect Master remained seated, his gaze turning distant.
The Celestial Dragon Sect…
He thought back to his old friend, the Sect Master of the Celestial Dragon Sect. Years ago, that man had returned from a journey in a state few could have imagined — grievously wounded, his vitality drained to the brink.
The Pavilion Master had wondered endlessly what could have injured such a man. One day, unable to let the question rest, he followed the same path his friend had taken.
And then he saw it.
Even now, the memory brought a faint shiver down his spine. The sheer presence of the sleeping creature had been suffocating.
He had been lucky — luckier than his friend. He escaped before it noticed him, and even then, his strength had felt as though it had been leeched away.
He never went back.
And he never forgot the name his friend had spoken in a whisper — the Great Old One.
At the Frost Moon Palace residence in the Central Continent, the air was as cold and pristine as the mountain peaks their sect called home. The Sect Master stood by a tall, frost-covered window, her gaze turned toward the distant arena where the tournament would soon begin.
She had never seen the creature herself.
But she had heard the name.
Two hundred years ago, during a private gathering of the top sect leaders, she had passed through the inner courtyard just as the Sect Masters of the Immortal Flame Pavilion and Celestial Dragon Sect spoke in hushed, serious tones. Their voices carried only a few words — enough to etch themselves into her memory.
Great Old One.
At the time, she had dismissed it as some obscure threat, far removed from her reality. But the look in their eyes that day… it was the look of warriors who had seen something that could not be fought.
She was at Level 9, the peak of the known realms. So were they. But even at that level, she knew — quietly, without bitterness — that she was slightly weaker than the two of them. If they had come back shaken, if one had been nearly killed…
Her fingers curled slightly at her side, the frost at the window thickening.
Whatever it was, she would never allow herself to cross its path.
Far across the city, in the shadowed, torch-lit quarters of the Blood Moon Sect, its Sect Master sat alone, a goblet of dark red wine in his hand.
He was a man whose name carried fear wherever it was spoken — a cultivator who walked the path of the devil without hesitation, known for cruelty as natural to him as breathing.
And yet…
Years ago, whispers from his spies had reached him: the Celestial Dragon Sect Master, a man of unmatched power, had returned from a journey gravely injured. The details were scarce, but to the Blood Moon Sect Master, one thought immediately took root.
Treasure.
A place that could wound such a man must hold something beyond imagining.
Without hesitation, he had traced the path his rival had taken, moving through barren valleys and ancient, wind-swept ruins. His cruelty had always been paired with curiosity — and the absence of fear.
Or so he believed.
Days into the journey, following faint traces of dragon mana, he saw it.
Far in the distance, beyond the veil of warped air, something loomed. Its shape was wrong, its presence like an endless abyss that stared back without eyes.
And in that instant, his blood ran cold.
A suffocating dread crushed down on him, so complete that he turned and fled without a second thought. His flight was not graceful — it was desperate, reckless, almost frantic.
Even when the sect's black gates closed behind him, the terror clung like frost to his bones. For days, his hands trembled. His cultivation sessions ended early. His temper was short, but even his most loyal elders noticed he spoke little of where he had been.
It took months before he could think of it without his heart pounding in his chest.
He never returned.
And he never asked the Celestial Dragon Sect Master what that thing's name was.
And so, in different corners of the Central Continent, four Sect Masters — the Celestial Dragon Sect, the Immortal Flame Pavilion, the Frost Moon Palace, and the Blood Moon Sect — each carried the same shadow in their hearts.
One had nearly died.
One had barely escaped.
One had overheard enough to know it should never be approached.
And one had learned fear for the first time in his life.
None of them knew the full truth. None of them had spoken openly of what they had seen or heard, for to do so felt like inviting disaster.
But the secret was the same — a name that should never be spoken.
The Great Old One.
And not one of them realized… that somewhere in the same city, a man wearing a black mask had already faced such creatures — and slain them.
That man was Alex Elwood.