A blinding light flared—and then vanished.
Yang Yin Long stumbled forward, boots sinking into damp earth. The familiar scent of moldering leaves and demon beast musk filled his nostrils. His eyes darted around—towering pines, broken rocks, claw marks gouged into bark. He wasn't outside the forest.
He was still in it.
"This… isn't outer boundary of Monarch Fall City," he muttered, grimacing. "I'm still in the outer region of the Demon Beast Forest."
He looked back, half-expecting the teleportation talisman to flicker again, but its power had already faded. The realization hit him—he had used it inside the abyss, the deepest part of Monarch Fall Valley.
Even a Nascent Soul's artifact might not function perfectly there. He should have known. The geography around the Abyss distorted space itself.
He sighed and adjusted his robes.
"So it only brought me part of the way out. Could have been worse—I might've ended up inside a beast's nest."
He steadied his breath and began moving north, tracing the direction of the distant spiritual beacon that marked the city's protective formation.
---
The forest was quieter than before, the aftermath of the earlier roars still echoing faintly in the distance. But Yang Yin Long's mind wasn't on the danger around him.
He withdrew the small bundle tucked safely inside his sleeve—three plain-looking Gourd Fruits.
Gone was the radiant glow, the divine hum that had once filled the abyss.
Now, they looked mundane—greenish, dull, with faint striations like any ordinary Vine's gourd.
Yet when his fingers brushed the surface, the truth pulsed faintly beneath the disguise.
He could sense their distinct signatures, each one sleeping, waiting for his will to awaken them.
The Heaven-and-Earth Refining Vine had cloaked its creations.
A safeguard. A concealment technique of divine craftsmanship.
"Even treasures hide their light," Yang Yin Long whispered. "So this is your doing, old vine…"
He could sense the faint message imprinted within him when the seed fused with his soul:
To protect the master, the vine conceals its fruits.
If the Gourd Fruits had shown even a trace of divine aura, the fragile formations inside his first-order storage bag would have melted instantly. Worse, every demon beast in a hundred miles would have gone mad with greed.
Even a Foundation Establishment or Core Formation beast might have been drawn from the forest's depths.
He shuddered at the thought.
"You've lived countless years, haven't you? Even broken and dormant, you still know how to protect your chosen one…"
The question rose unbidden—why him?
Why would a treasure with such a long, ancient will choose someone like him?
As if hearing his thought, a faint warmth stirred between his brows—the divine seed's voice, gentle and weightless.
> "Because only one whose fate cannot be devoured can hold me."
The meaning settled in his heart like a whisper from eternity.
Any ordinary cultivator chosen by the vine would have been drained dry of fate energy before even touching the fruit. The vine required immense fate to survive—it had already consumed almost everything around it, even the lifeblood of the Monarch Fall Mountains.
He froze mid-step.
"Wait… that mountain…"
He remembered the rumors. The Monarch Fall Mountain—once a sacred land brimming with qi, worshipped as a Saint-level mountain—had decayed inexplicably tens of thousands of years ago. The lands lost vitality, the beasts vanished, and a valley of death replaced it.
"Was that… you?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
The vine had been feeding, slowly draining the mountain's fate for millennia.
His palms grew clammy.
A treasure that could drain a saint mountain of life over eras—what level did it truly belong to"A vine that refines heaven and earth… perhaps even immortals fear it," he whispered.
---
The days bled together as he moved through the forest, careful and swift.
But his luck—no, his fate—seemed to mock him.
The first beast appeared at dusk—a Flame-Toothed Tiger, late 7th stage of Qi Condensation.
He killed it after a drawn-out battle, three mid-grade talismans reduced to ash.
The second was worse—an 8th-stage Stone Boar, skin like iron, tusks that gleamed with earthen light.
He managed to slay it using a formation trap he'd crafted months ago, but not without nearly shattering his spiritual veins in the process.
The third—a Silver-Furred Lynx, sleek, fast, 8th stage. He barely caught its heart with his metal-element sword technique, collapsing against a tree afterward.
"Three beasts in one day…" he muttered through gritted teeth, wiping blood from his sleeve. "Have the heavens decided I'm too lucky lately?"
He could feel exhaustion settling in his limbs. His qi was steady, but his spiritual energy was stretched thin.
Even for someone at the ninth layer of Qi Condensation, this many fights back-to-back was excessive.
"This shouldn't happen in the outer region," he muttered, scanning the trees. "Too many high-level beasts this close to the city's boundary…"
Then he remembered the earlier roars—the True Lord's battle with the Nascent Soul Beast Lord, the explosion of qi from the Heart Bewitching Lotus, and the violent spiritual fluctuations that followed.
"Of course. The beast tide was never a rumor—it was an echo of that battle. The creatures were frightened out of their territories."
The forest trembled faintly underfoot. A ripple passed through the leaves, like a wave of breath exhaled by the woods themselves.
Then—he heard it.
A long, piercing howl split the silence.
Followed by another.
And another.
A chorus of wolves.
He turned sharply, body tense, qi circulating through his meridians. The wind shifted—and shadows emerged between the trees.
At least two dozen Wind Fanged Wolves slinked out from the fog, their fur flickering with traces of greenish light. Each pawstep left a faint ripple of wind essence on the ground. Their eyes glowed faintly azure.
Behind them, three stronger auras rose—one at late stage, another at eighth stage, and the last…
His breath caught.
The largest wolf, fur silver as moonlight, towered above the rest—its eyes filled with cold, predatory intelligence. The sheer weight of its presence pressed on him like a mountain. Its cultivation… 9th layer of Qi Condensation—peak perfection.
He felt his throat tighten.
"A Wind Fang Wolf King…"
The surrounding beasts growled low, their formation tightening. The wind itself began to circle them, gathering in invisible blades.
For the first time in years, Yang Yin Long felt the tremor of genuine fear.
"Twenty mid-stage wolves… three late-stage… and one peak."
"This isn't a hunt."
His eyes narrowed. His grip tightened around the hilt of his artifact sword.
"This is a trial."
He drew in a slow breath, calming his heart. The forest seemed to close around him, every direction filled with gleaming eyes and rustling fur. The wolves began to move, their steps soundless, their breath synchronized like a tide.
The leader's howl split the air—
—and the pack lunged.
---
End of Chapter 8
---