Kael sat cross-legged beneath the jagged arch of a ruin three kilometers from camp. He had chosen this spot carefully—far enough that he would not be disturbed, close enough that he could return swiftly if danger pressed.
The air here shimmered faintly, thick with spiritual essence. It pooled like a hidden spring, seeping from cracks in the black earth and silver-leafed trees. When Kael inhaled, the qi rushed into him eagerly, so dense it almost felt liquid.
"Perfect," Kael murmured, settling deeper into meditation.
In his palm rested the core of the Rank Four beast they had slain—the monstrous black-scaled colossus whose will he had shattered. The core pulsed with violent power, a storm compressed into crystal form. Each throb resonated with the Immortal Book's hidden mark within him.
The others might have struggled to absorb it. But Kael's body—transformed by the Book's choice, refined by countless battles—accepted the core's energy with frightening ease.
Threads of qi swirled into him, hotter than fire, colder than ice. His veins burned. His meridians stretched, flexed, reshaped. Pain seared him, but behind it came a rush like lightning breaking storm clouds.
"Strong… too strong…" He grit his teeth, sweat beading on his brow.
For hours he wrestled the torrent. By dawn, the core had crumbled to dust in his hand, its essence fully drawn into him. His dantian blazed like a newborn star, and his qi flowed thicker, heavier, as though each strand carried the weight of a river.
Kael opened his eyes, exhaling a long breath. The morning light caught in his gaze, sharper than before.
"So this is the strength of devouring battle itself," he whispered.
A faint smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded. Strength brought survival… and enemies. Always enemies.
---
When he returned to camp, the others were already preparing to depart. No one commented on his absence, though a few eyes lingered with suspicion. Darius's gaze in particular burned like oil on fire.
The Master of Mystica's words echoed in all their minds: Survive at all costs.
And so they ran.
For fifteen days, their bodies blurred across the broken terrain of the Secret Land. They crossed silver forests, black deserts, rivers of molten flame, and bone-strewn valleys where ancient titans had once perished.
Each day brought battle.
A Rank Five serpent, wings spread like sails, fell beneath their blades after hours of grinding combat.
A Rank Six armored beast that spewed venom from a hundred spines drove them to the brink until Kael's quick thinking collapsed a cliff on top of it.
A Rank Seven predator that moved faster than thought tore through three of their number before Kael and two others combined spirit strikes to pierce its skull.
And finally, a Rank Four nightmare—a beast whose roar split mountains. Their clash lasted from dawn until the crimson moon rose again, ending only when the four Sage-tier geniuses fought as one.
By the end, their robes hung in tatters, blood streaked their skin, and their qi ran thin as dying embers. Yet they endured.
Kael noticed how exhaustion stripped away arrogance from even the proudest. Here in the Secret Land, pride had no place—only survival.
Still, his brother Darius's hostility never faded. At every chance, Darius maneuvered to place Kael in the beast's path. Kael noticed. Kael remembered. But he said nothing.
For Kael, silence was sharper than words.
---
On the sixteenth day, the land changed.
They reached a valley where the very earth seemed burned away. The ground was black glass, cracked with rivers of molten light. The air was so hot it warped vision, every breath carrying the stench of sulfur and decay.
And in the distance, a field stretched endlessly, littered with bones—human, beast, even weapons shattered into ash. The ground pulsed faintly, as if alive.
The moment Kael stepped into its aura, every hair on his body stood on end.
"This place…" he whispered.
The others slowed, their confidence faltering.
An old story came to Kael's mind—whispered by sect elders, spoken only in warnings. A place in the Secret Land where even sages vanished. The Ground of Hell.
It was said to be the mouth of something older than sects or gods, a scar left when divine weapons clashed in forgotten wars. Cultivators who entered were never seen again.
Darius scoffed, though his face was pale. "It's just a story. We have no choice but to pass through."
The group stood at the edge, the only path forward stretching across the blackened field. Behind them lay beasts, exhaustion, and death. Ahead lay… something worse.
Kael's chest tightened. His instincts screamed at him. Don't go forward.
But the jade gate that would one day open again… lay beyond.
He clenched his fists. No choice. Forward.
They stepped into the Ground of Hell.
---
Far beyond the Secret Land, the divine heavens trembled.
In the vast marble hall of the Gods' Domain, the weakest among them descended from his throne. He was called the Gilded Steward—a god only at Tier One by divine measure, yet his presence still eclipsed every mortal's comprehension.
His hair gleamed like molten gold, his robes stitched with light itself. Each step he took shook the domain.
"I will descend," he said simply.
The Messenger bowed low. "My lord, the mortals already tremble beneath your shadow. Is this not… excessive?"
The Steward's gaze was cold. "The Immortal Book has acted. The chosen bearer evades even our gaze. Excessive? No. It is restraint."
And so, the Gilded Steward descended.
The skies above the Auralis Continent split apart. A golden rift tore reality wide, and from it stepped the god. Mortals across mountains and seas fell to their knees instinctively, their souls crushed beneath divine presence.
Even continent masters gathered at once, their faces tight with dread.
The Steward's voice rolled like thunder: "Where is he?"
The masters exchanged glances. The Gold King stepped forward, armored in light. "We do not know of whom you speak, Lord Steward."
The god's eyes narrowed. "Do not mock me, mortal. The Immortal Book's bearer is in your world. I cannot feel him. Explain."
The Auralis Master of Mystica inclined his head. "We have not seen him. The Secret Land swallows all senses—yours, ours, anyone's. Even gods cannot pierce it."
For a moment, silence crushed them all.
Then the Steward laughed softly, though his mirth was colder than ice. "You dare tell me there is a place beyond divine sight? Then prove it. Bring me every name, every cultivator who entered that land. Fail, and I shall unravel your continents one grain of sand at a time."
The masters bowed, hiding their fury beneath obedience.
When the Steward vanished back into his rift, the silence he left behind was heavier than his presence.
The Gold King's hand trembled on his sword. "If the bearer is discovered…"
The Auralis Master cut him short. "Then we pray the Secret Land keeps its secrets. If not… our world burns."
---
Back in the Ground of Hell, Kael's steps slowed. Each pace forward made the weight in his chest grow heavier. The bones beneath his feet crumbled like sand. The air tasted of iron and blood.
He glanced at the others. They tried to mask their fear, but he saw it clearly in their eyes. Even Darius.
Kael closed his eyes briefly, feeling the Immortal Book's mark pulse faintly within him. It was as if the land itself recognized it.
"This place…" he whispered, "is not natural."
The crimson moon above bled brighter. The ground rumbled. Something beneath the field stirred.
Kael's eyes snapped open. His instincts screamed louder than ever.
Danger.