The Secret Realm was a barren harvest this year. It was a simple, brutal calculus: the realm opened only once every few decades, and centuries of relentless scouring by generations of cultivators had stripped it to the bone. The earth had been turned, the caves plundered. Even nature had its limits; celestial herbs and mystical roots required millennia to mature, a timeline that the greed of invaders refused to respect. Consequently, true treasures were now a statistical anomaly, found not through skill, but through sheer, dumb luck.
Luo Zhen knew this better than anyone. The Ginseng Doll he had refined—the very catalyst that had painted a target on his back—had been a fluke, a sentient root that popped out of the earth at the wrong place and the wrong time.
Now, half a day into the expedition, the frantic scavenger hunt was over. The Demon Generals and human martial artists had picked the carcass of the outer realm clean. With the appetizers finished, the collective gaze of every powerhouse in the dimension turned toward the main course: the core.
The Spirit Pool.
Luo Zhen, opting for discretion over valor, activated his stealth techniques. He moved like a phantom, a ripple in the air, drifting slowly toward the center of the map. He wasn't interested in the skirmishes on the periphery. He was here for the prize.
When he finally arrived at the basin housing the Spirit Pool, the atmosphere was already electric with violence. It was a chaotic soup of flashing steel and roaring magic.
The scene was a temporary, fragile alliance. Demon Generals and human martial artists fought shoulder to shoulder, pouring their destructive energy into a herd of magnificent, terrifying creatures. They were Crystal Light Beasts—bison-sized monstrosities constructed of what looked like living diamond, their bodies refracting the ambient light into blinding prisms.
Luo Zhen perched on a high vantage point, hidden from sight, and let his scanning ability wash over the battlefield. Data cascaded across his vision.
Species: Crystal Light Beast
Cultivation: Late Demon Core Realm
Abilities: Crystalline Shockwave, Intimidation, Whirlwind Slash.
Note: Indigenous to the Spirit Pool. Highly aggressive pack hunters. Despite high cultivation, they retain feral forms.
There were at least fifty of them, a shimmering wall of muscle and light, every single one boasting the power of a late-stage Demon Core expert. But they were merely the royal guards. Behind the herd, towering like a siege engine, stood a behemoth the size of an elephant. The Beast King. Its aura was suffocating, teetering on the edge of the Demon King realm—a "Half-Step" King.
"Strange," Luo Zhen mused, stroking his chin as he observed the slaughter. "The weakest of them is comparable to a mid-tier cultivator, yet not a single one has taken human form."
It was a fundamental rule of demon cultivation: once a Demon Core was formed, the beast gained the ability to shift. They usually adopted a hybrid form—like Luo Zhen's current state, a Nuwa-esque blend of human torso and serpent tail—before eventually achieving a full human guise upon reaching the Demon King stage. But these creatures remained stubbornly bestial. Perhaps the Secret Realm plays by different biological rules.
Luo Zhen dismissed the thought. The world was vast; anomalies were the norm, not the exception. His attention shifted past the blood and gore to the prize they were dying for.
The Spirit Pool was unassuming at first glance—a square, stone-lined basin roughly the size of a small house. It reminded Luo Zhen of the communal bathhouses from his previous life, utilitarian and geometric. But the liquid inside was extraordinary. It was a thick, milky-white emulsion that seemed to bubble with its own internal energy. The pool was filled to the brim, the surface tension threatening to break.
A dense fog of spiritual Qi rolled off the liquid, heavier than air. Where the mist touched the barren ground, wildflowers bloomed and withered in seconds, a cycle of life accelerated by raw power. Luo Zhen inhaled deeply, even from his distance, and felt a rush of euphoria wash through his meridians.
It was liquid power. Pure and simple.
The battle raged on. The humans and demons were ruthless, but careful. They unleashed hell upon the beasts, yet not a single stray spell flew toward the pool. The water remained mirror-calm, undisturbed by the shockwaves tearing the earth apart mere yards away. Greed, it seemed, was an excellent disciplinarian.
Luo Zhen settled in. He was the audience for a play written in blood, and he intended to enjoy the show.
Two hours of grinding attrition later, the battlefield was silent save for heavy breathing and the groans of the dying.
The pack was gone. The Crystal Light Beast King stood alone amidst the shattered corpses of its kin. The cost of victory had been steep; half the alliance lay dead or incapacitated. But the humans and demons had no time to mourn.
The Beast King, witnessing the extinction of its herd, went berserk.
It didn't roar; it shrieked, a sound like grinding glass that shattered eardrums. It charged into the thinning ranks of the cultivators, unleashing blinding shockwaves of light.
"Form up! Those who can stand, get in here!" a human commander screamed, blood streaming down his face. "If we don't drop it now, nobody gets the water!"
"Why are they always here?" a warrior shouted, dodging a massive crystalline hoof. "We wiped them out the last time the realm opened!"
"They respawn," a veteran barked back, parrying a strike. "They evolve from the lesser beasts in the realm. As long as this place exists, the Crystal Light Beasts are eternal. Focus!"
"It's a Half-Step King! Stop talking and hit it!"
The desperation was palpable. They threw everything they had at the monster—talismans, forbidden techniques, blood essence. It was a messy, uncoordinated bludgeoning, but eventually, the weight of numbers prevailed.
With a final, earth-shaking crash, the Beast King collapsed. Its light faded, leaving behind a mountain of dull, grey stone.
Silence returned to the basin, heavier this time.
Less than twenty cultivators remained standing. The rest were strewn across the dirt, clutching severed limbs or nursing shattered ribcages, their moans filling the air. The survivors panted, leaning on their weapons, eyeing the pool, then eyeing each other.
The tension shifted. The common enemy was dead. Now, the math problem remained: Too many mouths, not enough water.
Suddenly, the violence resumed—but not between the two factions.
A human swordsman spun around and drove his blade into the chest of his own teammate, a man who was lying on the ground reaching for a healing potion.
"Boss?" the wounded man gurgled, eyes wide with betrayal. "You can't..."
"Sorry, Third Brother," the swordsman whispered, twisting the blade.
It was the spark that ignited a purge. Across the field, the able-bodied turned on the wounded.
"What are you doing, Song?!"
"No! Don't—"
The screams were short-lived. In moments, the field was quiet again. The wounded were dead, their throats slit by the very people they had fought beside moments ago.
"Don't look at me like that," the human swordsman muttered, wiping his blade on his fallen brother's robes. "The pool is small. There isn't enough for everyone. They were crippled anyway. I just... saved them the disappointment."
"Hah! Humans are disgusting," a Demon General scoffed, kicking a corpse aside. "You kill your own kin and then wrap it in self-righteous logic to sleep better at night."
"And you're different?" the human retorted.
"I'm honest," the demon sneered. "I don't need excuses. The weak don't deserve the Spirit Water. That is the only law that matters."
"On that," another demon grunted, "we agree."
Fourteen remained. Seven humans, seven demons. A perfect, deadly equilibrium. The weakest among them was a Late Demon Core cultivator. These were the apex predators of the expedition.
A Yellow Tiger Demon General, towering and muscular, broke the standoff. "We are the elite. We are unscathed. If we fight now, we destroy each other, and nobody wins. The pool is small, but it's enough for fourteen."
"Agreed," a human elder nodded, sheathing his weapon. "A truce. We divide the pool evenly. Sit in a circle, absorb what you can."
"A wise choice."
The tension dissipated, replaced by a greedy anticipation. They turned as one toward the milky white water, lowering their guards.
Luo Zhen, watching from the shadows, sighed. The play was over, and the actors were leaving the stage without killing each other. It was disappointing. He uncoiled his tail. If they weren't going to fight, he would have to make his move.
He drifted forward, still cloaked in invisibility, aiming to slip into the pool unnoticed.
He was ten yards away when a jade pendant hanging from a human warrior's belt suddenly screamed. It vibrated violently, emitting a piercing beam of white light that cut through the air and locked directly onto Luo Zhen's invisible chest.
"Who's there?!"
The warrior reacted on instinct. He didn't ask questions; he slashed. A massive arc of sword energy, seven meters long, tore through the space where the light pointed.
Boom.
Luo Zhen was forced to parry, the impact shattering his stealth. He materialized in a flash of green light—a striking figure, half-man and half-dragon, hovering above the carnage.
The crowd froze.
"It's him!" someone shouted, pointing a trembling finger.
"The one who stole the Ginseng Doll!"
"Senior Red Face has a bounty on his head! We looked everywhere for this slippery snake, and he delivered himself right to us!"
Greed, far more potent than the lust for the Spirit Water, flared in their eyes. The Spirit Pool was valuable, yes, but a Ginseng Doll? That was a legend, a ticket to immortality.
Luo Zhen ignored the shouting. He was staring at the warrior's pendant with genuine curiosity. "Interesting toy," he murmured. "Automatic threat detection, stealth negation, and a target lock? Impressive engineering."
"Fellow Daoists!" a human shouted, stepping forward. "The pool can wait. This demon has a living treasure on him. We kill him, split the doll, then split the water!"
"He can fly! Don't let him gain altitude!"
"Kill him!"
Weapons were raised. Mana surged. But before the first spell could fly, the Yellow Tiger Demon General roared, leaping between the humans and Luo Zhen. The other six demons instinctively followed their leader, forming a wall.
"Hold!" the Yellow Tiger bellowed.
"Move aside, Tiger," the human elder growled. "Are we starting the war after all?"
"No war," the Tiger smirked, turning his back to the humans to face Luo Zhen. "I just want to talk to a fellow demon."
The Tiger looked Luo Zhen up and down, his eyes predatory. "Kid, look at the math. The humans want you dead. You're alone. You're weak. You cannot survive this."
Luo Zhen raised an eyebrow, hovering silently.
"But," the Tiger continued, voice dripping with false magnanimity, "we look after our own. Give us the Ginseng Doll. We will hold off the humans, save your life, and even let you sip from the pool."
"Right!" another demon shouted. "Hand it over! We'll protect you!"
"You have five seconds to decide, kid. Don't be stupid."
The humans were apoplectic with rage, but the demons held the line. They were trying to secure the treasure for themselves through extortion rather than combat.
Luo Zhen looked at the demons, then at the humans. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "I appreciate the offer, truly. But there's a small problem."
"What problem?" the Tiger demanded.
"The Ginseng Doll is gone."
The battlefield went quiet.
"Gone?" The Tiger's eyes narrowed. "Did you lose it?"
"No," Luo Zhen patted his stomach. "I ate it. Raw. Swallowed it whole. Not even a root hair left."
The Tiger stared at him for a beat, then burst into mocking laughter. "You think I'm an idiot? That's a heavenly treasure! The medicinal energy in a Ginseng Doll is strong enough to melt a mountain. Even a Demon King would need a year to refine it safely!"
"He's lying," another demon spat. "If you ate it, you'd have exploded into a fine red mist by now. You're just a little Demon General. You couldn't digest a toe of that doll, let alone the whole thing."
"Stop talking nonsense and hand it over!"
From the human side, the elder burst into laughter. "Oh, this is rich. Hey, Tiger! He's playing you! He thinks you're stupid. Look at him—he's radiating vitality. He clearly still has it."
The Yellow Tiger's face darkened. His patience had evaporated. "I gave you a chance, snake. I offered you life. You chose to mock me?"
"I'm telling the truth," Luo Zhen shrugged, spreading his hands helplessly. "I have a very robust digestion."
"Enough!" The Tiger roared, his aura exploding outward. "If you won't give it to me, I'll rip it out of your corpse! Brothers, kill him!"
"Finally!" the humans cheered.
The truce was back on. Fourteen elites, the survivors of the slaughter, turned their unified, murderous intent toward the floating dragon-man.
Spells lit up the sky. Fire, lightning, sword beams, and claws converged on Luo Zhen from every angle, a tidal wave of destruction designed to erase him from existence.
Luo Zhen didn't flinch. He just smiled.