Two more years pass.
After Leng Qiujie's death, the battlefield does not calm—instead, it grows more violent. Several more third-stage existences fall, drawn into an accelerating cycle of escalation. By now, the lines are clear: the martial artists have formally allied with the Night Dynasty, standing together against the Wizard Way and the Twilight Race.
The frozen wasteland is no longer frozen.
Snow turns red and then vanishes altogether. The terrain itself collapses under the weight of repeated third-stage clashes. Volcanoes tear open the earth, spewing fire into the sky. Deserts spread where glaciers once lay. Ravines without visible bottoms split the land apart. Lakes of crackling thunder form and persist, refusing to disperse. Rivers of blood carve new paths. In some places, giant trees rise overnight—unnatural, massive, born from warped elemental balance.
This is not destruction alone.
It is rule contamination.
Every third-stage cultivator drags their own inner field into reality when they fight, overwriting the natural order of the world around them. After years of this, the battlefield becomes a patchwork of incompatible laws, stitched together by violence.
Kaelan reads the latest reports in silence.
On the wizard side, three Great Wizards have fallen. On the opposing side, five third-stage beings—split between the Night Dynasty and the martial artists—are confirmed dead. No side can claim advantage. Only attrition.
As he finishes reading, Kaelan senses a familiar shift.
The surrounding rules begin to bend—not violently, not chaotically, but smoothly, as if making room.
Isla has arrived.
She does not announce herself. She does not release power. She simply exists, and the world adjusts. Light grows softer. Space becomes more orderly. The elements align themselves around her presence, not in submission, but in recognition.
Kaelan narrows his eyes.
She has reached the peak of the Great Wizard realm.
Her inner field is no longer confined within her body. It has stabilized, matured, and begun to project outward. Even without intent, it influences the environment, subtly overriding local rules. If she were to remain in one place long enough, the land itself would reshape to suit her—without spells, without effort.
This is the sign.
They sit across from one another.
Kaelan pours tea. Isla does not touch it.
"Are you ready to complete the ritual?" he asks.
"Yes," Isla replies, then adds calmly, "but I want to advance further first—beyond Great Wizard."
Kaelan frowns.
Until now, his thoughts about the realm beyond Great Wizard have remained theoretical. He himself is still at the initial stage of Great Wizard. Creating a new realm without fully standing at the peak would normally be reckless.
But Isla's presence changes things.
As he observes her field pressing gently against reality, an idea takes shape—clear, structured, unavoidable.
The next realm.
It must exist.
Between the third stage and the fourth stage, there is a gulf so vast that it dwarfs every gap before it. The jump from mortal to third stage is insignificant by comparison. Reaching the fourth stage requires a qualitative transformation—not merely more power, but a fundamental change in existence.
That change is the awakening of the True Spirit.
The True Spirit is not the soul.
It is the core of the soul—the immutable identity that persists beyond bodies, beyond lifetimes. It is what allows a being to anchor themselves to eternity. Without it, immortality is impossible.
Kaelan knows this.
His true body—a fifth-stage Void Monster—has already awakened its True Spirit. Though the circumstances differ, the essence is unmistakable. When he focuses on it, the sensation mirrors something else he has felt before.
The World Will.
He cannot yet determine whether this similarity is universal or specific to this world. But the direction is undeniable.
In the wizard path, the Great Wizard realm is about constructing the inner field—a personal domain of rules, identity, and authority. The realm beyond must then be the stage where that field is refined, condensed, and transformed into a foundation capable of birthing the True Spirit.
That realm is the bridge.
The Demigod Stage.
Not a title.
A function.
A preparatory realm where the inner field ceases to be merely an extension of power and becomes a cradle—a structure capable of sustaining the awakening of the True Spirit itself.
Kaelan looks at Isla again.
She is already standing at the threshold.
The next realm—the Demigod stage—is not about refining the inner field further, but about constructing an outer field.
Unlike previous realms, the Demigod stage has no fixed upper limit. It is a foundation realm, meant to prepare a cultivator for the leap into the fourth stage. How far one advances within it depends entirely on confidence and comprehension. When a cultivator believes their foundation is sufficient, they may attempt the breakthrough.
Kaelan looks at Isla and says calmly, "To advance to the next realm, you must begin building your outer field."
Isla frowns slightly. "An outer field?" She shakes her head. "The World Will would never allow it."
She understands the danger well.
An outer field directly interferes with the rules of the world contained within it. Before a cultivator reaches the fourth stage, such a field cannot be retracted. The cultivator must remain within it until the field stabilizes. Only then can they leave—while the field itself remains anchored to that location.
And if the cultivator continues expanding it, the field could eventually grow large enough to overlap with the world itself.
From the perspective of the World Will, that is unacceptable.
An outer field large enough could replace the World Will within its domain.
That is why the World Will reacts violently to any premature attempt to form one.
Isla meets Kaelan's gaze. "So how am I supposed to form it without provoking the World Will?"
Kaelan is silent for a moment. Then something clicks.
"There is a place," he says slowly, "where forming an outer field will not trigger a reaction from the World Will."
Isla leans forward, eyes bright with anticipation. "Where?"
"Follow me."
Kaelan stands, and Isla rises with him. They walk out of the tower together.
But before he can lead her further, Kaelan's steps halt.
A small boat is gliding across the seven-element lake toward the island.
Only two people are allowed on this lake without asking his permission.
At the bow of the boat stands a young girl, not yet ten years old. Her dark hair carries faint violet strands, and her golden eyes mirror his own. The moment she sees him, her face lights up—then she frowns slightly, as if remembering she is supposed to be upset about something.
She is his daughter.
An Qiumei.
Behind her stands a boy of similar age. Rose-colored hair falls neatly around his face, and the same golden eyes look forward with quiet composure. He is almost unnaturally perfect, like a living embodiment of desire given form.
Declan.
The boat reaches the shore.
Qiumei jumps down first and sprints toward him, arms outstretched.
"Daddy!"
Declan follows at a slower pace, watching silently as his sister runs ahead.
Kaelan kneels and lifts Qiumei into his arms. Now that his power is fully under control, his presence no longer harms them. Both children can stand close to him, be held by him, without fear. Their cultivation remains at the mortal stage, but their physiques have already reached the First Stage of Transcendence—an inheritance born of Kaelan's divinity.
He twirls Qiumei once, her laughter ringing out, then sets her down beside Declan.
Qiumei immediately points at Isla, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Who is she?"
Then, without waiting for an answer, she tilts her head and asks innocently, "Is she our new mommy?"
Kaelan freezes.
Before he can respond, Qiumei continues, clearly aggrieved.
"Why did you choose her and not Aunt Soraya?"
Kaelan straightens abruptly, his ears burning. "She is not," he says far too loudly. Then, more carefully, "She is my friend. Her name is Isla."
He clears his throat. "Say hello to Aunt Isla."
Qiumei and Declan greet her politely, Declan with a small bow, Qiumei with a curious smile.
Kaelan exhales, then looks at them both. "Why did the two of you come here?"
Declan answers calmly, "Father, you said you would protect us when we break through to the official wizard realm. Bronze Wizard."
Kaelan's expression softens. His perception spreads instinctively, examining them. Their foundations are flawless, their mana pools full. Both stand at the absolute peak of the Wizard Apprentice realm.
He remembers.
"I did say that," Kaelan murmurs.
He turns toward Isla, lips parting. No sound comes out. For a moment, he hesitates—torn between two priorities. Isla's breakthrough to the Demigod stage is critical. Yet these are his children.
Before he can speak, Isla steps forward.
"Their advancement will not take long," she says gently. "I can wait."
Kaelan looks at her, then nods. "Thank you."
He turns back to the children. "Come in."
He leads them into the tower, guiding each of them to a separate room. The rooms are simple, unadorned, but saturated with seven-elemental energy, perfectly stable.
At the doorway, Kaelan pauses and looks at them. "Inside these rooms, you can break through safely."
Declan glances at his sister. "Sister, you go first."
Qiumei nods immediately.
Kaelan opens his mouth. "You can advance together—"
"No!" they shout in unison.
Kaelan raises both hands in surrender. "Alright, alright."
He smiles faintly. "Then my lovely daughter, you advance first."
Qiumei nods solemnly, steps into the room, and closes the door behind her.
The moment the door seals, the room falls silent.
Inside, Qiumei sits cross-legged, her small hands resting on her knees. The world feels close here, gentle, as if watching over her. She closes her eyes, recalling everything she has learned—how mana moves, how it listens, how it answers.
Her mana begins to circulate.
Outside, Kaelan stands still, sensing the first stirrings of change. He does not interfere. He will not interfere.
This is her step to take.