A month had passed since that night of carnage.
Haotian stirred. His eyelids twitched, and with a groan like stones grinding, he forced them open. The first thing he saw was a jagged ceiling of stone, cracks glowing faintly with spiritual moss. The scent of smoke hung in the air. A small fire burned steadily nearby, its warmth filling the otherwise cold cave.
He tried to move. His body screamed in protest. Pain lanced through his chest, arms, and legs. Even lifting his hand felt like tearing through rusted chains. He forced himself upright, trembling, veins bulging at his temples—only for his strength to fail. His body collapsed back onto the bed of fur that cushioned him.
Haotian gasped, sweat cold against his skin. "Where… am I?"
The flames crackled, as though mocking him.
And then—he felt it. A sudden tug, like invisible hands seizing his spirit. His vision blurred, the cave dissolved into light.
In the next breath, he was no longer in the cave.
Haotian found himself standing in that vast, unfathomable expanse again. The Sea of Alter's Consciousness.
The air shimmered with tranquil majesty, endless horizons of starlight and waves. At the center, the familiar stone table beneath the gondola awaited him.
And then came the voice.
"Welcome back, young dragon."
Alter's tone was both casual and immense, echoing across the endless sky.
Haotian staggered, then clenched his fists. "You again…" His voice rasped, torn by exhaustion. He looked down at himself — here in the sea of consciousness, his form was whole, yet the phantom ache of his broken body lingered.
Alter chuckled. "You sound like you didn't miss me."
Haotian scowled. "I don't have the strength to argue with you right now. My body's… ruined. What happened?"
The waves shimmered as Alter's presence swelled, calm yet heavy as the cosmos itself.
"You lived," Alter said simply. "Barely. Your heart core awakened, but the price was steep. Your meridians are torn. Your body is a shattered vessel struggling to hold your spirit. By all rights, you should be dead."
Haotian's breath hitched. The truth was bitter, but he had felt it already.
"…Then why am I still alive?"
Silence. Then, like a smile hidden in the shadows, Alter's voice came:
"Because I refuse to let you die."
The words hung in the vastness, a vow carried on the starlit waves.
Haotian stood in the shimmering void of Alter's sea, his chest tight as he waited for the answer.
Alter's voice came smooth and teasing at first, echoing with that familiar irreverence: "Look at you—lying around like some spoiled noble. You were cut to pieces, brat. Yet here you are, sulking instead of thanking me for dragging your soul back from the abyss. Maybe I should've let you rot and gone back to my nap."
Haotian's eyes twitched. "Not exactly encouraging words…"
"Encouragement? Pfft. I'm not your mother. I'm the War God Alter." A pause, then a chuckle. "Though honestly, I must admit—your stubbornness impressed me. You clung on even when your body was nothing but torn meridians and broken bones. You're more dragon than man."
For a moment, Haotian almost smirked. Almost.
But then Alter's tone shifted. The humor drained, replaced with a weary sigh that carried the weight of mountains.
"Listen carefully, boy. Your condition was worse than you realize. When your heart core awakened, the resonance tore your meridians apart. I spent an entire month—an entire month of my energy—mending the damage. Without your Ten Elemental Body Physique and the Undying Dragon Sutra, you'd have been nothing but ash. Your body will recover in time… but your meridians…"
Haotian's breath caught as he clenched his fists. "My meridians…?"
Alter's voice dropped, calm but sharp.
"I rebuilt them. Thread by thread, vein by vein. I reconnected them to your cores. I salvaged what I could. But your cultivation… collapsed. You've fallen back to the Core Condensation realm."
The words struck like a hammer. Haotian's chest tightened, his head lowering. After everything… he had fallen so far.
"…Core Condensation…" His voice was hollow. "After all I fought for—"
"Stop moping!" Alter snapped, his roar shaking the void. "So your cultivation fell. Big deal! Your body can recover. Your cultivation can recover. Time is all you need! Don't look at what you've lost—look at what you still have. You're alive. Your cores are still there. And you're not done yet, brat."
Haotian's fists trembled. Alter's fury carried a strange comfort, dragging him out of the abyss of despair.
Alter sighed again, the edge fading from his tone.
"Still… I'm pissed. I just got to stretch, and now I've drained nearly all my energy patching your sorry carcass back together. I'll have to go back to sleep. What a waste… all because you don't know how to properly cultivate what I gave you."
Haotian swallowed, staring at the endless sky. "So what do I do now?"
"Survive," Alter growled. "Survive in this land of ice and water. Find a sect, rebuild your strength, recover your body and cultivation. Then, when the time comes, return to the Western Continent. That's your path forward."
Haotian narrowed his eyes. "…Where are we?"
"The Northern Continent," Alter replied. "They call it Xuanbing Domain, land of glaciers and endless seas. Every sect and faction here traces their heritage to water or ice. Cold, ruthless, unforgiving—fitting for where your next trial begins."
Haotian nodded slowly, committing the name to memory.
Then Alter's voice lightened, just a touch.
"Oh, and some good news. The Azure Dragon Sect is safe. Lianhua is safe. And… your child is safe, too."
Haotian froze. His head snapped upward toward the starry sky of the sea of consciousness. His mouth went dry.
"…Child?" His voice trembled. "What do you mean… my child?"
Alter barked a laugh. "Oi, slow down, brat. Let me finish before you blow your veins."
But Haotian's heart was already racing. A child? His child? The words thundered in his head, more shocking than any battle he had fought.
The stars shimmered overhead in the sea of consciousness. Haotian's pulse hammered in his chest, his breath caught between disbelief and hope.
Alter's voice rolled through the void, casual as ever: "When I first helped you resonate the heart core, I sensed it. A faint spark of life within Lianhua. At the time, she was about one month along. Now, it should be three months."
Haotian's eyes widened, his voice caught. "…Three months?"
And then it struck him like thunder. His whole body jolted. His lips trembled before the words burst out of him: "I'm… a father? I—I'm going to be a father?!"
He shouted into the endless sky, laughter breaking free as tears threatened his eyes. His voice echoed across the waves of starlight, raw with disbelief and joy.
Alter groaned loudly. "For heaven's sake, stop yelling, brat! You'll rupture my eardrums. I'm already half-asleep here."
But beneath the complaint, a warmth lingered in his tone.
"This is good news, boy. Better than good. Now you have something worth clawing your way back for. A reason to rebuild, a reason to fight. Your woman and your child are waiting for you. That should be motivation enough."
Haotian's grin stretched wide, his chest swelling with new strength. "A father…" he whispered again, as though the words alone anchored him. "I'll return to them. No matter what, I'll return."
"Good," Alter said, his voice softening. Then a massive yawn shook the void. "Now… that's enough sentiment. I've spent nearly everything patching you together. I'm almost out of energy. Time for me to sleep again."
"No—wait, Alter, I—"
"Save your thanks," Alter interrupted lazily. "I've left you a few gifts. The nearest town lies one day's walk east. In your spatial ring, you'll find supplies I prepared—use them well. Survive. Grow stronger. Return home when the time is right."
"Alter—" Haotian tried again, excitement still bubbling in his chest.
But the words were cut short.
A sudden force slammed into him, hurling his spirit out of the starry expanse. The sea of consciousness shattered like glass, the voice of the War God fading into the abyss:
"…Take care of yourself, brat…"
Haotian's eyes snapped open in the cave. His heart pounded. His lips curved upward despite the pain.
"I'm… going to be a father."
The words were quiet now, but their weight filled the cavern.
The flickering firelight painted long shadows across the cave walls as Haotian sat still, his hands trembling lightly over his knees. The words Alter left him reverberated again and again: Lianhua is safe. Your child is safe.
A child. His child.
The realization still felt surreal, as though it might vanish if he blinked too hard. Yet the warmth in his chest was real, blazing hotter than any flame. He clenched his fists. I'll live. I'll recover. I'll return. I swear it.
His gaze drifted toward the spatial ring resting on his finger. With slow movements, he poured his consciousness into it. Supplies shimmered into existence at his side: folded robes, dried rations, spirit-gathering talismans, and a simple long blade of tempered steel—not a divine treasure, but solid enough for survival.
There was also a fur cloak, thick and coarse, cut from some beast of the north. A straw hat fashioned of animal hide, rugged but reliable. Haotian let out a faint laugh—Alter had thought of everything, even down to a traveler's garb.
"…Even when he calls me a brat, he cares."
He set the items in order, then braced his hands on the fur bedding. Pain jolted through his frame as he pushed himself up. His knees buckled, but he forced himself steady, his breath ragged but determined. Piece by piece, he changed into the martial training robe, the fabric plain but comfortable against his healing body. He draped the fur cloak over his shoulders and tied it with practiced ease. Finally, he lowered the straw hat onto his head, its rim casting his eyes into shadow.
When he stepped toward the cave's mouth, his heart pounded louder than the ache in his bones.
The cold struck him first—sharp, clean, merciless. He inhaled through his nose, the chill cutting down into his lungs. Yet it carried a freshness unlike anything he had known. The air of the Northern Continent, heavy with ice and snow, seemed to whisper both warning and welcome.
Haotian squinted at the sky. The sun hung high, its light refracting against distant glaciers, turning the horizon into a blinding silver sea. Noon.
He turned slowly, aligning himself. East. That was where Alter had pointed him. Somewhere, beyond frozen ridges and endless snowfields, lay a city. Civilization. The first step on his path back to strength.
His lips pressed into a thin line. "Why… does it always have to be so far?"
He exhaled, letting his breath fog in the air before him. Then, with one last glance at the cave that had cradled his recovery, Haotian took his first step into the snow.
The journey east had passed without event. Snow crunched beneath Haotian's boots, the fur cloak shielding him from the biting wind as the sun arced across the sky. He kept his pace steady, conserving strength, the straw hat shielding his eyes from the glare of ice and snow. By the time the sun dipped toward the horizon, the silhouette of walls and towers broke through the pale fog.
At last—civilization.
Haotian paused on a ridge overlooking the city. It was vast, sprawling across the frozen landscape like a fortress of frost. Jagged walls of white stone, reinforced with formations that shimmered faintly against the sunlight, encircled the settlement. Towers rose high, their spires tipped with frozen runes that glowed an icy blue. Great gates, carved with motifs of glaciers and crashing waves, stood tall enough for titanic beasts to walk through.
Above it all, plumes of mist drifted from the city's heart, where waterfalls cascaded endlessly from the mountainside and froze into crystalline arcs before reaching the ground.
So this is the Northern Continent's pride… Haotian thought. Hánjiān Chéng.
Descending the ridge, he approached the main road. Merchants and travelers shuffled in lines toward the gates, their wagons piled high with spirit ice, ore, and pelts of exotic beasts. Disciples in robes of pale blue patrolled the path, their auras cold and sharp, each one bearing the emblem of a snowflake crossed with a wave.
As Haotian joined the line, heads turned toward him. A stranger in a plain robe and beast-fur cloak, his straw hat shadowing his face. He could feel their stares—measuring him, dismissing him, curious of him. But he kept his steps calm, steady.
"Next!" A guard called out, stepping forward. His breath misted in the air as his eyes scanned Haotian. "State your name and purpose for entering Hánjiān Chéng."
Haotian's lips curled faintly upward. "Zhenlong Haotian. A traveler seeking rest and work."
The guard's eyes lingered a moment longer than expected, as if something in his bearing set him apart from the others. Then he waved him through.
"Very well. Welcome to Hánjiān Chéng."
As Haotian stepped beneath the towering gates, the city opened before him in a dazzling expanse of frozen streets and bustling life. Spirit ice lanterns glowed with cold light. Disciples from countless sects moved in groups, their emblems gleaming on their robes. Merchants called out their wares, steam rising from hot meals sold on the corners. The air was alive with a strange mix of warmth and chill, of survival and pride.
Haotian exhaled slowly. A new land. A new path. And somewhere, far across the continents, a woman and unborn child waiting for his return.
His hand clenched at his side.
I'll recover.
I'll rise.
For them.
Crossing beneath the city's grand gates, Haotian was immediately struck by the icy grandeur of Hánjiān Chéng. The air shimmered faintly with frost, yet the streets were alive with motion. Streams of spirit water, redirected from the mighty river behind the city, ran through carved channels that glowed faintly with azure runes. Bridges arched elegantly over them, each inlaid with spirit crystals that glimmered like stars against the pale stone.
Vendors crowded the main thoroughfares, their stalls heavy with icy wares:
Spirit ice shards, harvested from the northern glaciers, humming with suppressed qi.
Snow lotus buds, their petals refusing to wither even in the open air.
Frozen beast pelts, still radiating faint traces of the monstrous aura they once belonged to.
The air was filled with the calls of merchants hawking their goods, the laughter of disciples walking in clusters, and the faint crackle of frost formations lining the streets.
Haotian walked calmly through it all, his straw hat shadowing his gaze. He observed quietly, noting the strong sect presence in the city. Disciples bearing crests of waves, snowflakes, and frozen moons walked in groups, their icy robes flowing like river mist. Some bore faint pride in their eyes, others arrogance. The powerful sects of the Northern Continent clearly held sway here.
His eyes lingered for a moment on a massive tower near the city's center, its surface carved with a river that cascaded endlessly in glowing runes. Disciples in pale silver-blue uniforms came and went in disciplined formations. Whispers from the crowd named it the Cold River Sect Pavilion, one of the great powers that ruled Hánjiān Chéng.
So this city truly thrives under the rule of water and ice sects, Haotian thought. It's a different world compared to the western lands.
As he continued walking, he caught sight of an open plaza where young disciples sparred under the supervision of an elder. Their strikes were crisp, each move followed by misty traces of ice qi. A few glanced his way but dismissed him—just a wanderer in simple robes. Haotian smirked faintly beneath the brim of his hat.
By late afternoon, fatigue weighed on him. Though Alter had healed his body enough to function, Haotian could still feel the fragile state of his cultivation. He needed rest, recovery, and time.
Turning off the main street, he searched for lodging. Before long, he found an inn nestled against the flow of a spirit-water canal. A lantern shaped like a frozen lotus hung by the door, its glow steady against the dusk. The sign read in flowing characters: "Still Water Pavilion Inn."
Inside, warmth greeted him immediately. The floors radiated soft heat, likely powered by spirit stones beneath the wood. The scent of herbal stews and roasted meat drifted from the kitchen. Travelers chatted quietly at the tables, their breath no longer misting in the air.
A kindly innkeeper, a woman with streaks of white in her hair, looked up as Haotian approached the counter.
"Welcome, traveler. You look as though the road has been long."
Haotian gave a polite nod. "A room for a few nights. Nothing extravagant, just a place to rest."
She smiled knowingly, her eyes flicking to the beast-fur cloak and the simplicity of his gear. "We have rooms available. Three silver spirit coins a night. Meals are included."
Haotian reached into his spatial ring and produced the coins Alter had left for him. She took them with a nod and handed him a wooden key engraved with a lotus sigil.
"Room three, second floor. Supper will be served shortly. Rest well, stranger."
Haotian inclined his head in thanks before climbing the stairs. Inside his room, he set down his pack and removed his straw hat, placing it on the low table. The walls were simple, but the air was warm and the bed was lined with thick quilts.
He let out a long breath and sat at the edge of the bed. His hand unconsciously brushed against his chest where his heart core lay—flickering, fragile, but alive. He thought of Lianhua. Of the child he hadn't yet seen.
One step at a time, he told himself. Recover here. Grow stronger. Then return.
Outside, Hánjiān Chéng bustled into the night, the sound of rivers and laughter echoing faintly through the walls.
Haotian lay back, eyes closing slowly. Tomorrow, he would begin his search—for opportunities, for allies, for the next step forward.
The warmth of the inn seeped into Haotian's weary body, soothing muscles still bearing the faint ache of battle and the agony of his trial with the Heaven Sundering Trinity Scripture. After a quick supper of herbal broth and roasted fish, he retired to the common room with a pot of tea. The fragrance of snow-lotus leaves calmed his nerves as he leaned back, half-hidden beneath his straw hat.
The Still Water Pavilion was alive with chatter. Merchants, travelers, and disciples shared stories of trade routes, monster hunts, and sect rivalries. Haotian kept silent, his ears open. Information in a foreign land was as valuable as spirit stones.
A group of younger disciples sat at a nearby table, their robes embroidered with a wave crest. They spoke in low but eager voices.
"Did you hear? The Cold River Sect is holding a recruitment test next week. They say even minor sects are sending their best to compete."
"Hah! Compete? No one can rival Cold River in Hánjiān Chéng. Unless the Frost Moon Pavilion dares to challenge them again."
The others chuckled. But one disciple leaned in and whispered, "It's not just about recruitment. Rumor says Frost Moon Pavilion has been in secret talks with outsiders—sect envoys from the central continent."
Haotian's eyes narrowed slightly beneath the brim of his hat. Central continent? Here as well?
On the far side of the room, two older merchants clinked cups of warmed wine. Their voices carried louder than they intended.
"Mark my words, the balance in this city is shifting. The Cold River Sect grows stronger by the year, controlling the river flows. But the Frost Moon Pavilion has the moon-water scripture—its influence spreads every winter when the tides rise."
The other merchant snorted. "And you forget the Glacial Saber Sect. They keep to the north, but their disciples are sharper than ice itself. If they ever march south into the city, Cold River and Frost Moon would both bleed."
Haotian drank his tea slowly, his mind turning over the names. Cold River Sect. Frost Moon Pavilion. Glacial Saber Sect. Powerful forces, each one shaping the destiny of Hánjiān Chéng.
Then, a quiet but bitter voice from another table caught his attention. A lone cultivator, drunk and slumped forward, muttered to himself.
"They think this city is safe… but in truth, the sects are nothing more than beasts gnawing on the same carcass. Always plotting. Always devouring each other in shadows. Even disciples aren't safe. Betrayal comes easy here, easier than a blade through the heart…"
The innkeeper hurried over, gently leading the man upstairs before his words spread further.
Haotian's gaze remained on his cup. His thoughts were heavy.A city thriving with life on the surface, but beneath it—currents of rivalry, plots, and blood waiting to spill.
As the voices dimmed and night grew late, Haotian returned to his room. He sat cross-legged on the bed, hands folded, and let his breath settle. He did not yet have the strength to intervene in the tides of this continent, nor to claim a place among them. But he would learn. He would watch. And when the time came—he would rise.
Far away, he imagined Lianhua. He imagined her hand on her stomach, his child growing within. That thought steadied him, banishing the loneliness of a foreign land.
For them, he reminded himself, I will not falter.
And with that, Haotian closed his eyes, letting the city's muffled sounds lull him into rest.