"Maybe," he said after a pause. "Maybe not."
The ambiguity cut deeper than certainty.
The domain's pressure eased slightly.
Áo Shuāng forced himself to steady, suppressing the turmoil in his chest. Pride screamed at him to lash out again, but reason prevailed.
He swallowed and spoke carefully, voice strained yet controlled. "First, the realm discovered is not meant for humans—"
"So?" the man interrupted calmly.
He took another sip from his flask, eyes never leaving Áo Shuāng.
"Does that mean humans can't benefit from it?" he asked. "Don't you beasts fight over realms that have nothing to do with your kind all the time?"
Áo Shuāng's jaw tightened.
He knew that argument.
And he knew he'd lost it before it even began.
He exhaled sharply, anger bleeding into resignation.
"You really cannot take twenty quotas," he said quietly. "Each token allows two people. There are only twenty tokens. Asking for twenty quotas means ten tokens, twenty people. Claiming all twenty tokens would take everything. That is impossible."
He lifted his gaze, eyes sharp despite his condition.
"If it comes to war," he added coldly, "you know we aren't afraid."
The man remained silent for a moment. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as the domain hummed faintly around them. After a pause, he gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"Fine."
The word fell like a verdict.
"Ten tokens," he said. "Twenty people."
Relief flickered briefly across Áo Shuāng's battered face before he forced it down. He nodded quickly, seizing the chance to end this.
He explained the realm with obvious reluctance, leaving out certain details. He described the conditions of entry, the cultivation level required, and its unique nature. He spoke of the time distortion within, how two years inside equalled one year outside, and how the realm would close without warning when its cycle ended.
The man listened without interruption.
When Áo Shuāng finished, the man took another drink, then turned away as if the matter were already settled.
But he paused.
Halfway through his step, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Those guys from that place should come too, right?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
He laughed softly, took another gulp, and continued walking.
The domain collapsed.
Snow rushed back in. Wind howled. The frozen plains returned exactly as they had been, as if nothing had happened at all.
The man vanished.
Áo Shuāng stood alone, breathing heavily, his swollen face already shrinking rapidly as draconic essence circulated to heal his injuries. His eyes were distant, mind reeling.
He pulled me into a domain effortlessly…
And might have entered that realm…
A chill ran deeper than the cold.
He pulled out a talisman, whispered a few sharp words into it, and sent it flying into the distance.
Above Northwatch Stronghold, the snow continued to fall, untouched and indifferent, unaware that a decision had been made—one that would soon ripple across many lives.
Only two parties had taken part.
The next day, the beast tide pressing against the frozen plains beyond Northwatch Stronghold suddenly withdrew. The killing intent that had saturated the land receded like a drawn blade being sheathed. The restless tremors that had lingered beneath the ground for weeks faded into an uneasy silence. The war ended without warning.
Those with true authority said nothing of the reason. Orders were simply adjusted. Patrol routes were shortened. Defensive rotations relaxed. Life within the stronghold resumed its familiar rhythm.
To the ordinary soldiers, it felt like waking from a nightmare without ever learning why it had ended.
Chu Feng sensed that something must have intervened. Yet he did not dwell on it. His time at the Northern Border had taught him a simple truth. Questions without strength were meaningless.
So he trained.
Every hour not assigned to duty was poured into honing himself. His sword intent grew sharper under constant pressure, stripped of excess and refined to killing clarity. His body endured heavier gravity loads than before, muscles tearing and rebuilding again and again beneath layers of frost-tempered resilience. His understanding of runes deepened as well. He practised layering formations during live combat drills, no longer relying on raw instinct alone, but on structure, timing, and calculation.
His alchemy advanced just as quickly.
With the war's aftermath came abundance. Beast corpses were processed with efficiency, every bone, core, and drop of blood essence carefully catalogued and distributed. The alchemy halls of Northwatch Stronghold burned day and night. Cauldrons steamed without rest, producing recovery pills, detox agents, and battle stimulants to replace everything the conflict had consumed.
Chu Feng thrived in this environment.
Two months passed in focused silence.
By the time the stronghold fully returned to its routine operations, his alchemy had reached the threshold of Grade Three. He had not yet officially refined a Grade Three pill, but the foundation was complete. His control was precise, his fires stable, his efficiency refined. The senior alchemists no longer treated him as a student. They spoke to him as a craftsman still sharpening his edge.
Calm settled over Northwatch Stronghold.
Then the news arrived.
The information spread quietly at first, confined to the commanders, then filtered through the ranks in carefully measured fragments. The beasts had uncovered a secret realm, one tied to an ancient beast ancestor. The recent war had not been reckless aggression but a calculated diversion. While humanity fought and bled along the border, the beasts had turned inward, probing the depths of their inheritance.
They had not gone unnoticed.
Humanity had secured twenty slots.
The realm would open in one month.
Word spread quickly after that. Powerful clans, ancient families, and even hidden bloodlines were preparing to send their younger generations. What had once been dismissed as a savage frontier was now a focal point of ambition. The Northern Border was no longer just a battlefield. It had become a convergence ground for the future.
The next day, shadows swept over Northwatch Stronghold as two massive flying ships descended from the clouds. Their hulls gleamed with refined spiritual alloys, each surface etched with clan sigils that pulsed faintly with authority. Protective arrays shimmered along their edges, layered with a level of precision far beyond anything used on the frontier.
They hovered above the stronghold like silent judgments.