The Ascendant Grounds changed subtly as they advanced.
At first, Chen Yuan thought it was merely the terrain growing harsher—rocks sharper, the wind colder, the sky dimmer. But after hours of travel, he understood it was something else entirely.
The land itself feels… hostile.
Each step carried a weight, as if the ground remembered every foot that had once marched upon it. Every breath tasted faintly of iron.
Lu Fu walked ahead, consulting ancient rubbings and fragments of maps etched onto jade slips. His movements were precise, practiced, almost ritualistic.
Too practiced.
Chen Yuan's hand drifted closer to his weapon more than once.
He has not hesitated a single time, Chen Yuan noted. No wrong turns. No uncertainty.
Doubt crept in—not fear, but vigilance.
Then, without warning, the world opened.
They stood at the edge of a vast canyon, so wide that the opposite wall blurred into mist. Its depth was immeasurable, the bottom hidden by shadows and drifting red fog. The wind rose from below in long, mournful currents, whispering sounds that were not quite voices, not quite screams.
Blood.
Cold.
War.
Chen Yuan's eyes narrowed. Even without the system, he felt it—this place had been shaped by slaughter.
Lu Fu stopped.
"We are here," he said quietly.
Chen Yuan stared down into the abyss. "The door?"
Lu Fu nodded. "Below."
Without further explanation, Lu Fu removed a coil of rope from his pack, fastening one end securely to a jagged rock formation. He tested the knot twice—three times—before throwing the rope over the edge. The hook caught on stone far below with a dull, echoing clang.
Lu Fu exhaled, steadied himself, and began his descent.
A scholar to the bone.
Chen Yuan watched him for a moment.
Then he stepped forward—and jumped.
The wind roared past him as his body fell freely into the abyss. His qi surged instinctively, stabilizing his descent. With a single step against the canyon wall, he redirected himself and landed smoothly near the canyon floor, stone cracking faintly beneath his boots.
Lu Fu reached the ground moments later, slightly pale but intact.
He glanced at Chen Yuan, then looked away with a resigned smile. "As expected. Cultivators truly live in a different world."
Chen Yuan did not respond.
The canyon floor stretched endlessly in both directions, carved by ancient forces and stained deep crimson. The stone was not naturally red—it had been dyed. Even now, the smell lingered, thick and unmistakable.
Blood that had never fully faded.
They walked in silence.
Minutes passed. Perhaps more. Time felt distorted here.
Then Chen Yuan stopped.
Ahead, the canyon wall broke inward, forming a crude, jagged opening. Not carved by tools—but by violence. The stone around it was darker, soaked in red so deep it bordered on black. The air flowing from within was cold and heavy, carrying the unmistakable scent of dried blood and rusted steel.
Lu Fu swallowed.
"This is it," he said softly. "The threshold."
Chen Yuan stared into the cave.
The system remained silent.
No warnings. No guidance.
Only the oppressive stillness of something ancient, waiting.
The war had ended long ago.
But here—
it had never truly stopped.