The leader of the Helvetica Union, Chancellor Elene, nodded grimly.
"We concur. Our satellites recorded the exact same instantaneous disappearance—no energy spike, no residual trace."
President Luca of the Gallia Dominion added, "Same data here. Clean excision."
Mordan rubbed his temples. "So the prize slipped through every net on Earth. Untraceable."
A heavy silence followed.
Then Mordan straightened. "Any progress on breathing techniques? Cultivation methods? Anything to counter Xin Xuan's advantage?"
Vlim shook his head. "Nothing concrete. No confirmed breathing techniques beyond Xing's controlled release. But we have discovered four high-concentration Magic Energy zones inside our borders—accessible. Roamed by powerful but manageable beasts. Essence density is rising slowly, as if the sites are… generating it. We believe these are origin points—natural wellsprings. Construction of fortified research bases began yesterday."
Mordan felt a stab of envy. "India has only detected two. One in the Tarkan mountain range, one in Yutsa Valley—the same valley we still cannot enter."
Chancellor Elene spoke next. "We have three such zones—all accessible. Early beast presence, but our joint expeditionary teams are clearing them."
President Luca: "Two for us. Also accessible."
Mordan exhaled slowly, masking his frustration. India—the cradle of ancient spiritual traditions—lagged in harvestable origin points.
He leaned forward. "Then we need coordination. A shared ranking system for these sites—density, growth rate, accessibility, potential yield. Prioritize research and defense. If one alliance controls more origin points, we all benefit."
Vlim nodded immediately. "Eurasia has the most identified so far. I will compile initial data and propose a ranking framework. We reconvene tomorrow—same time."
Agreement rippled across the holograms.
"Tomorrow, then," Mordan said.
The screens winked out.
Alone again, Mordan stared at the darkened displays.
Envy lingered, but so did resolve.
India might have fewer accessible origin points now… but it had the Eastern Valley—still sealed, still promising secrets.
And it had alliances built on trust, not coercion.
The race was far from over.
_____
Some time ago.
Dark Haven fortress, Ankit sat motionless in his sealed cultivation chamber.
Ankit had just completed substage 3 of Stage 4. His Third eye core fully compressed. Yet the true trial now awaited: integrating his soul with the third eye core.
He closed his eyes and sank his awareness inward, diving past his cores, past the rhythmic beat of his heart, deeper still—into the boundless quiet at the very center of his being.
Time lost meaning. Minutes stretched into hours as he concentrated, searching the depths of his mind.
Then, at last, he saw it.
A vast, empty expanse unfolded before his inner sight—an infinite dark void illuminated only by a single presence. There, suspended in the center, drifted a formless golden cloud. Soft, radiant, and ever-shifting, it had no fixed shape, no limbs or features. It simply was—a nebulous mist of pure golden light, the essence that defined his existence.
His soul.
For the first time in his long path of cultivation, Ankit beheld his own soul.
Awe filled him, followed swiftly by instinct. He reached out with his will, trying to grasp and command it as one might move an arm or leg. The golden cloud remained unmoved, drifting serenely, unresponsive to force or coercion.
Ankit paused, reflecting. This was not a tool to be controlled—it was him. The deepest part of himself.
He changed his approach. Instead of commanding, he simply willed. A gentle intent, soft as a whisper: forward.
The golden cloud responded instantly, flowing in the direction of his desire.
Joy surged through him. Again he willed—up, down, left, right—and the cloud obeyed effortlessly, as natural as thought itself. No resistance, no delay. It was extension of his very being.
In that moment of realization, he named the boundless space around it: the Soul Abode. His inner sanctuary, the true home of his consciousness.
Now came the perilous step.
Ankit guided the golden cloud, making it leave the "soul abode", then drawing it toward the centre between his brows where the third eye core awaited—a light orb, dense and unyielding, pulsing with power.
Integration demanded perfect harmony. Too forceful, and the soul would shatter against the core's defenses. Too weak, and the merger would fail, leaving both weakened. Worst of all: damage to the soul itself—scarring that could stunt his future for lifetimes.
With infinite caution, Ankit willed the golden cloud closer. The moment it touched the surface of the core, a violent tremor ran through his soul. Pain flared, sharp and cold, as the core resisted the intrusion.