Memories, cherished ones, of his master, of his friends, of his mother; Lu Mo forced himself to recall them repeatedly to distract himself from his predicament.
And he counted each second. Two hours. That's how long he had been following the light. The light from the spark grew sharper, illuminating his surroundings, verdant green and dark brown.
Lu Mo just wanted this to be over with.
The perpetual ponder, contemplation, and thought of him meeting the unknown and the loss of his master and the talisman weighed heavily on his mind.
Through it all, could this be a fortuitous encounter? He wondered, hoping.
The spark grew clearer, distinct in shape. It was akin a miniature sun, hovering in the air, blazing with heat that welcomed and finally scraped away at the negative whirlpool of emotions he was stuck in.
Suddenly, a deluge of gold light, like a tidal wave from the heavens, consumed Lu Mo and his surroundings.
Lu Mo felt no pain.
Blinking, the sight before him had changed. Trees flanked a path leading deeper into the forest, dense undergrowth chirping with glowing insects, yet the canopies still cloaked the skies.
He was led deeper, peripheral vision observing effigies carved onto trunks of men kowtowing to a giant blazing orb in the sky, of a man sitting down holding a parchment, and another of people playing instruments and dancing.
Faith. The word popped into Lu Mo's mind. They were worshiping.
Had he entered the dwelling of an Essence Cave Lord? He wondered. The manipulation of space-time certainly lent credence to the presumption, as mere first-grade warriors and second-grade masters, even newly ascended third-grade essence lords, would be unable to impose such authority over their cave worlds.
Usually, when once ascended to a lord, they were already a century old, and they were peculiar. Like the Essence Lord of their Flame Sword Sect preferring to use water-attributed techniques despite his title as the Flame Sword Lord.
Why a Essence Cave Lord wouldn't vie for resources in the Hol Empire, where each one was treated like royalty, and instead come here to play god to a bunch of people Lu Mo didn't know. He didn't care. What mattered to him was what the man behind the scenes wanted with him.
Then he saw.
Talismans of green parched paper with gold scribbled within a circle stuck to each trunk.
A premonition struck Lu Mo, only to find he couldn't feel what he felt. The horror he should've felt was no longer there, only a numbness under the peculiar comfort he felt.
The trees parted wide to form a funnel of sorts, a clearing at the end with sunlight gracing the land from overhead.
He would've never presumed seeing sunlight would make him so jovial.
The light was a soothing pale gold as he entered a rectangular field walled by trees, blades of grass seemingly emitting light with it.
He raised his chin, turning towards the light.
"He's dead," Yang Jiang declared, holding the destiny pearl that had turned pitch black in her right palm.
In the most expensive room in the inn, she was seated behind her desk, brows furrowing.
"Dead the day they went into the wilderness," her guardian, Lezu, in brown robes and short stubby hair, pointed out.
"Indeed." Yang Jiang nodded, pondering. Three men, one each month, boarding one of her sky-ships into the Eastern wilderness with the same fate: a scorching light, all dead the day they were ushered into the Eastern Wilderness, all with resplendent destinies. This wasn't how it was supposed to work out.
Humans with brighter destinies lived longer, achieved grand feats, and transcended the masses, not just dying on the same day they were ushered into the Eastern Wilderness.
"It's a conspiracy," she muttered.
"It appears so," Lezu said, arms crossed, leaning forward to peer at the destiny pearl in her hand. "A method of harvesting, perhaps."
That was a logical deduction. Though the establishment of the Hol Empire a century prior had led to the purging of all known rogue and demonic sects along with their techniques, the possibility of people stumbling upon them by accident wasn't ludicrous.
"Whoever is harvesting them must be a lord of demonic practice if being a subject of harvest turns one into a destined being," she said in admiration.
As the elder heir of the Yang Clan in the southeastern prefecture of Holas, she didn't detest demonic practices, for she had grown old enough to see past prejudices of others around her and form her own opinions. She thought everything, be it demonic or just, had its uses in her world.
She saw destiny, and rather than seizing it, she sought out those destined and curried their favor. It wasn't what her father had expected, but if life was all about living up to the expectations of others, even parents, and not of oneself, Yang Jiang thought it was a life wasted.
"Guide someone to Lu Mo's trail," she ordered, wanting to observe if their presumption was true.
Though curious, she wasn't dumb enough to spearhead an operation into the den of a presumed demonic powerhouse. No matter. She thought. She too knew how to use less than ethical methods.
"Playing the kind grandpa again?" Lezu chuckled.
"Do you have any other disguises perfected?" She turned, staring deadpan at Lezu.
"Well," he stared at the ceiling in ponder, "maybe the grumpy, jaded grandpa."
Yang Jiang scoffed. "Just do it, kind grandpa," she said. "Also, make contact with the lord in the wilderness if you can."
An ally hidden in the wilderness with formidable might would aid immensely in times of need, especially with the race for the Unione Chairman coming up in two months, and though a lot younger than other circle leaders in the Unione Falcon, she wasn't about to back down from the fight.
It was destined to be hers.