The forest has turned against him. What was once still beneath a canopy of red leaves now breathes — the ground pulsing like flesh, veins of dark energy crawling along roots and stone. Every breath Lin Dong takes carries a metallic tang, a reminder that this grove drinks blood, not sunlight. A tremor passes through the soil, and the faint whisper he’d heard before grows into something more defined — a chorus. Not of voices, but of lamentations. Lost spirits bound to the grove’s ancient curse. Lin Dong steadies his stance, drawing a slow breath. “So this is the Wilderlands,” he murmurs. “A test of courage or a tomb for fools.” The talisman within his pouch hums faintly — reacting. The faint sigils across its surface flicker with azure light, as though answering a call he cannot yet comprehend. The moment it does, the trees groan. Roots uncoil from the ground like serpents. A monstrous form rises. It is a Spirit Devourer, a malformed beast born from centuries of corrupted Qi. Its

The Iron Mountains stretch before Lin Dong like a fortress of the gods — towering peaks of black stone streaked with veins of silver ore. Mist coils around their jagged ridges, and thunder murmurs perpetually in the clouds that crown them. Few dare to enter this range; fewer return. It is said that the mountains breathe, that the Qi here is alive — dense, heavy, almost sentient. Those who train here risk not only death, but madness. Lin Dong tightens the straps of his pack and begins his ascent. The terrain is merciless — cliffs crumble underfoot, the wind howls with a voice like a beast. Yet beneath the danger, he can feel it: the raw pulse of spiritual power that makes this place a cradle for both monsters and cultivators. The talisman at his chest hums faintly, guiding him. Every time he loses his way, it flickers — pulling him toward an unseen path. Hours pass. The mist thickens. Then — movement. A flicker of light arcs through the fog ahead, followed by the ringing clang

The dawn breaks cold and gray over the Iron Mountains. Mist coils through the cliffs like pale serpents, shrouding the valleys in ghostlight. Every step the trio takes sends echoes tumbling down into unseen depths, swallowed by the endless fog. Lin Dong’s body aches from the previous battle. His ribs throb with every breath, but he presses on. The talisman at his chest has gone dormant — silent, as though conserving its strength. Yan Shu walks ahead, fire flickering faintly around her hands to ward off the chill. Her crimson hair glows in the gloom like an ember refusing to die. Lu Chen, silent and sharp-eyed, moves beside her with the poised grace of a predator. The three have not spoken much since the Stonehide Beast’s fall. The air between them is heavy — not with distrust, but with unspoken questions. It’s Yan Shu who breaks the silence first. “You’re not from any sect I know,” she says, glancing back. “And that technique you used… it doesn’t belong to the lower paths.” Lin

The climb down from the Hollow Summit led through narrow crevices slick with condensation. Each breath rose in pale clouds. The world smelled of iron, frost, and something older — like the breath of a slumbering forge. Yan Shu’s flames flickered weakly as they descended. “This air… it’s wrong,” she muttered. “Fire doesn’t breathe here. It hides.” “Then we follow where it hides,” Lin Dong replied quietly, running his hand along the jagged walls. The stone was warm to the touch — faintly pulsing. Lu Chen’s gaze sharpened. “The mountain’s alive.” “No,” Lin Dong said, listening. “It’s waiting.” They reached a cavern so vast the ceiling vanished into shadow. At its center, a wide basin of molten rock churned with dim crimson light. Chains of black metal hung from the darkness above, some broken, some still swaying as if recently disturbed. This was no natural formation — it was a forge. Ancient, hidden, and still breathing. Yan Shu knelt near the edge, eyes wide. “A Spirit Forge… I

The flame tests all things — even those who dare to wield it. The cavern shudders under the weight of the thing awakening. Ash swirls like a storm around Lin Dong and his companions, drawn into the colossal being forming before them — a creature forged of memory, anguish, and molten light. Its body towers over the cavern floor, a fusion of charred armor, bone, and ember-veined stone. The faces of the fallen shimmer across its surface, each screaming in silent agony before vanishing back into the ash. Yan Shu’s firelight dances across its shape. “What… what is that?” Lu Chen doesn’t answer. His eyes narrow, tracking the flow of spiritual energy coursing through the creature’s chest — a molten core pulsing like a heart. “It’s every soul that failed this trial. Bound together by the forge’s will.” The guardian moves. Its first step makes the ground quake, sending cracks spidering across the stone. Lin Dong braces himself. The Qi inside him — still resonating with the rhythm of th