After running nonstop for nearly three more hours, John's breath remained calm and steady, his Level Five Breathing Technique working continuously to replenish his stamina and endurance.
Each step was fluid, each movement calculated.
His body, honed through battle, hardship, and months of disciplined cultivation, moved like a silent predator through the underbrush.
What truly kept him safe during the sprint through the wild interior, though, was his Level Five Spatial Awareness.
The ability expanded like an invisible sphere around him, extending out twenty meters in every direction.
Every vibration in the ground, every flutter of wings, and every twitch of muscle from hidden predators registered in his senses before they could surprise him.
Thanks to this ability, he avoided at least six different beasts during his journey, one of which gave off an aura so oppressive that John's chest tightened just sensing it.
"Blood Refinement Realm…" he whispered at one point, crouching behind a bush as the massive, scaled beast passed only thirty meters from him.
Even at a distance, the creature's footsteps left small tremors in the soil.
Its eyes were glowing crimson, and it had thick iron-like fur down its spine.
John stayed perfectly still, barely daring to breathe until it moved on.
"I can't face monsters like that yet. The difference between Marrow Refinement and Blood Refinement… it's like heaven and earth."
He waited until the pressure faded entirely before moving again, deeper into the twisting, overgrown labyrinth that was the inner wilderness.
Finally, he stopped.
And then he saw it.
In the middle of a patch of towering trees, shielded on all sides by thick undergrowth and overhanging branches, stood a massive ancient tree, its bark dark as obsidian and etched with lines that resembled veins or runes.
The trunk was at least ten meters wide, like the leg of a titan, and at its base yawned a shadowy hollow, tall enough for a man to walk through upright.
John stopped, eyes gleaming with interest.
A shelter. A hidden place.
He extended his Spatial Sense cautiously into the hollow.
...Nothing.
No movement. No breathing. No beastly aura.
He stepped forward slowly.
But the moment he entered the ring of roots that circled the base of the tree, something shifted.
The air grew colder, more still. He felt a light shiver trace down his spine, and the forest seemed to muffle itself, no wind, no rustling leaves.
Even the insects went quiet.
Too quiet.
He stood at the entrance, one foot just over the threshold, and peered into the hollow.
It was dry. Spacious.
Big enough to lie down and still have room to stretch his limbs.
The bark inside had a strange ashy hue, and faint scratches marred the surface, marks that looked too deliberate to be from animals.
He stepped inside, ducking slightly.
The stillness deepened. And then...
A whisper.
Faint. Almost like wind... but there was no wind.
"...Leave…"
John froze, turning sharply.
But there was no one.
He swept his Spatial Sense again.
Still nothing.
"Just nerves," he whispered to himself.
"I've been running non-stop. Probably just… the wind brushing through bark."
But even as he spoke, he felt it again, a pressure, ever so faint, like someone was standing behind him and watching.
He didn't turn.
He simply walked to the back of the hollow and placed his hand on the wall.
It was dry… yet slightly warm.
Was that warmth pulsing?
No.
He withdrew his hand and shook his head.
"It's fine," he muttered. "It's a good space. Hidden. Quiet. I can cultivate here."
And it was.
The hollow had enough room for the Slow Toad Breathing Skill's footwork patterns, which he desperately needed space to practice.
The canopy above shielded it from aerial view, and the surrounding trees created a natural barrier from both beasts and humans.
Perfect.
He sat down cross-legged in the center, the earthy scent of the tree wrapping around him.
Still, as he closed his eyes and began regulating his breath, something echoed faintly in the back of his mind, a memory, or maybe not his own.
A figure. A man.
Sitting just like this.
In this very spot.
Eyes sunken. Hands folded. Blood dripping from his lips.
Whispers.
"...You'll die here too... just like me…"
John's eyes snapped open.
Nothing. Just the hollow. Still. Quiet.
His breathing slowed again. Controlled.
"I'll make this place mine," he whispered. "Even if I have to burn the ghosts out of it."
John remained seated cross-legged, but his mind was no longer at ease.
The whispering… the cold… the vague sense of being watched…
It wasn't just exhaustion or fear.
It was spiritual.
He exhaled slowly, calling forth his Level Five Spatial Awareness, expanding its range to the limit.
His sense swept over the interior of the tree, through its bark, into the roots, and out toward the forest floor.
Still nothing alive.
But… there were flickers. Echoes. Residual vibrations.
Like invisible threads hanging in the air, cut off from the world of the living.
John frowned, remembering the fragmented whispers he'd overheard during his time in the Nine Sky Clan.
There were cultivators who specialized in Soul Arts, spiritual techniques that could control or combat wandering souls.
The elders said that powerful cultivators often left behind will remnants after death, or that tragedies birthed spiteful ghosts who couldn't move on.
He hadn't had time to explore soul cultivation back then.
His day had been a blur of hiding, studying, and preparing to escape.
All he'd learned was this:
"If you feel cold but nothing moves…
If you hear your name, but no one calls…
If the wind blows in a place with no air,
You are not alone."
Now, sitting in the hollowed-out tree, John felt all three.
He expanded his Spatial Sense to the limit again, this time holding it taut like a net, straining to feel even the slightest ripple.
Then… something stirred.
Just a flicker. Barely a movement.
A pulse from the space directly in front of him.
John's eyes flew open.
A child stood there.
A small figure, no taller than John's waist. Pale, barefoot, wearing a tattered robe that looked centuries old.
But it wasn't the clothes or the size that chilled him...
It was the eyes.
Pitch black. Void of reflection. Not angry. Not sad. Just… watching.
John's breath froze in his chest.
Before he could move, the very roots of the tree groaned and twisted.
They slithered up and across the entrance like snakes, closing it off with a wet, wooden thud.
The light dimmed. The hollow darkened.
And the child smiled.
Then the world shattered.
The Illusion
John gasped, he was suddenly back in the prison.
The air smelled of sweat and rock dust.
The sound of pickaxes clanging echoed around him.
His muscles felt weak again. His hands were blistered.
Chains dragged from his ankles.
"No… I escaped this place…" he muttered, but his voice was thin. Hollow.
"You never left," whispered a voice beside him.
He turned.
Fatmaster stood there. Alive. Laughing.
"You thought killing me would free you?" he sneered. "This world is just another cell, John. You'll never leave."
Other prisoners surrounded him. Guards. The Warden. All jeering.
"You're nothing without your system! You're still just a rat in a cage!"
John clutched his head. His heart thundered in his ears.
His Qi refused to move.
His breath broke its rhythm. He was suffocating inside his own mind.
Then, deep inside the chaos, a voice, not a ghost's voice, but his own, spoke.
"This is not real. This is fear. You have faced worse. You have survived. You have grown."
The razor focus of his Level Six Meditation surged forward.
His heartbeat steadied. His breath slowed.
He saw the illusion for what it was, a veil.
With a shout, he shattered it.
Back in the hollow, the child spirit shrieked, its form distorting violently.
"You don't belong here!" it wailed, voice warping into multiple pitches.
The roots shook, the very walls of the tree trembling under spiritual pressure.
But John rose to his feet, eyes cold and focused.
He clenched his fist, drawing Qi from his Marrow Refinement Realm.
A pale golden light surrounded his hand, veins glowing faintly beneath his skin.
"You tried to trap me in fear," he said, stepping forward. "Let me return the favor."
The spirit lunged, arms stretching like smoke.
John's punch connected with its chest.
There was no resistance, only a brilliant explosion of Qi and light as the spirit screamed, disintegrating in an instant, its essence torn apart by the force of John's will and power.
The tree groaned again.
The roots slithered back to their original position, revealing the moonlight outside once more.
Silence returned.
John stood, chest rising and falling, a cold sweat on his back.
He looked around.
No sign of the child. No whispers.
The pressure was gone.
He sat back down, the glow of his Qi fading.
"…This place may be haunted," he muttered, "but now it's haunted by me."
And with that, he resumed his cultivation, more alert, and more powerful, than ever before.