"So that is how it is," Assane said slowly, as if weighing every word before letting it leave his mouth. "It is fine if you do not know this story. After all, even among us, many treat it as nothing more than a legend passed down from our ancestors. We do not know how much of it is true, and how much of it has been distorted by time."
"It doesn't matter," Ethan replied calmly. "Even if it is only a legend, it is better than ignorance. What I felt earlier was real. That pressure almost crushed my soul. If I don't understand the reason behind it, I won't be able to rest peacefully. So please, tell me everything you know."
Assane nodded. He took a deep breath, as though he were about to reopen an old wound buried deep within his heart.
"If that is the case," he said, "then I will tell you what has been told to us, generation after generation."
He paused, then began.
"A very, very long time ago, long before cultivators ruled the land, this place was nothing more than an ordinary mortal settlement. Our ancestors lived simple lives here. They farmed the land, raised children, grew old, and died. Back then, this place was not special at all. There was no abundant spiritual energy, no treasures, no cultivation grounds. Just soil, rain, and human struggle."
Assane's eyes grew distant as he continued.
"One day, the sky itself began to change. Dark clouds gathered without warning. Thunder roared endlessly, shaking the earth. Lightning fell again and again, striking the land as if the heavens were furious. Torrential rain followed, flooding homes and fields alike. Many houses collapsed under the storm's wrath, and fear gripped everyone's hearts."
Ethan listened silently. He could almost imagine the scene—the chaos, the screams, the helpless mortals staring at an angry sky.
"And then," Assane said softly, "a golden light descended from the heavens."
His voice lowered instinctively, as though even speaking of it demanded reverence.
"The golden light fell near the home of one particular family. It did not scorch the land, nor did it destroy anything. It simply existed—quiet, radiant, and terrifying in its majesty. No one dared approach it at first. The villagers watched from afar, trembling, unsure whether it was a blessing or a calamity."
"Eventually," Assane continued, "the elder of that family gathered his courage. Against the pleas of others, he walked toward the golden light. What he found within it changed everything."
"There was a man," Assane said. "A man covered in blood, his body broken and shattered beyond comprehension. His wounds were so severe that even looking at them made one's heart tremble. Yet he was still alive."
Ethan's fingers curled slightly. The image felt disturbingly familiar.
"The elder did not hesitate," Assane said. "Despite knowing nothing about this man's origin, despite the fear, he carried the injured man into his home and tended to his wounds with everything he had. Herbs, bandages, prayers—he used whatever a mortal could use."
Assane shook his head.
"But it was useless. When the man finally awoke, he looked at his own body and smiled bitterly. He told the elder the truth: his injuries were far beyond what mortal medicine could heal. His life was already at its end."
A heavy silence fell inside the hut.
"Yet," Assane continued, "that man was moved. He was deeply moved by the elder's selflessness. In his final moments, he decided to repay that kindness in the only way he could."
"He transformed this land."
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly.
"With the last remnants of his power," Assane said, "the man turned this entire region into a paradise of spiritual energy. The land became fertile beyond imagination. The air itself grew pure. He bestowed cultivation manuals, techniques, and resources upon our ancestors."
"For a brief time," Assane admitted, "our ancestors rejoiced. Who wouldn't? To mortals, cultivation was a dream beyond dreams. Longevity. Strength. Freedom from illness. They believed fate had finally smiled upon them."
"But it was also a curse."
Assane's voice darkened.
"Before they could even establish a proper foundation in cultivation, disaster arrived. Powerful cultivators descended upon this place like wolves. They sensed the transformation of the land. They saw it as an unclaimed treasure."
"They slaughtered everyone."
Ethan felt a chill run down his spine.
"Men, women, children," Assane said quietly. "None were spared. Our ancestors' newfound cultivation was laughable before those invaders. Blood flowed like rivers. Screams echoed through the land."
Then Assane's voice trembled.
"And that was when the mountain responded."
Ethan's heartbeat quickened.
"The mountain where the golden man had gone," Assane continued, "began to shine. The sky split apart, and a pair of enormous eyes appeared above the heavens. Those eyes were filled with countless stars—entire galaxies revolving within them."
Ethan's breath caught.
"It was him," Assane said. "The man of golden light. Or rather… his soul."
"The Soul God," Assane whispered.
Ethan's mind shook.
"The Soul God manifested his will," Assane said. "His face filled the sky, vast beyond imagination. But unlike before, there was no kindness in his expression. Only rage."
"Under his gaze," Assane continued, "every invading cultivator was annihilated. Their bodies fell one after another. The land was drowned in blood. Even the strongest among them could not resist. Their souls were crushed, erased completely."
Ethan remembered the vision—the corpses, the blood-red sky, the overwhelming pressure.
"It matches…" he murmured inwardly.
"When it was over," Assane said, "the Soul God apologized."
Ethan looked up sharply.
"He apologized to our ancestors," Assane said. "He admitted that his gift had brought them calamity. Our ancestors, terrified and broken, no longer wanted cultivation. They begged him to take everything back. They wanted nothing more than to live simple, mortal lives."
Assane closed his eyes briefly.
"The Soul God agreed."
"He reclaimed the cultivation manuals. He drew away the excess spiritual energy. And with the remnants of his soul, he erected a barrier around this land."
"Any cultivator who enters," Assane said slowly, "will face his will."
Ethan's expression turned grave.
"As generations passed," Assane continued, "the story became legend. Fear turned into familiarity. Familiarity turned into disbelief. Yet the village remained untouched. Cultivators never returned."
Assane finished quietly.
"That is the tale of the Blissful Village."
Silence filled the hut.
Ethan lowered his gaze, his thoughts in turmoil.
Soul God…
That pressure…
Those eyes…
Everything aligned too perfectly to dismiss as coincidence.
Yet one question burned in his mind.
If cultivators are annihilated… why am I alive?
A sudden chill ran through Ethan's body.
"What if…" he thought grimly, "this is not survival, but a delayed death?"
Without hesitation, Ethan activated Heavenly Gaze and inspected his own body.
And then—
His expression changed completely.
"What… is this?"