Merin steps into the portal, leaving the dead-end void behind.
The shift of space pulls him forward, and when his feet touch ground again, he freezes.
His eyes narrow, mind racing back to the memory of the room he had just left—two portals, one leading here, the other the way he came.
But now, with the portal behind him, two more whirlpools shimmer into being, one to the east, one to the west.
Suspicion sparks in his chest. Slowly, he turns back and steps through the portal he just came from, expecting to return to the dead end.
But the space before him is different—no dead end, no lizard monster.
Instead, yet another chamber, with portals waiting in place of what should have been finality.
"The spaces are ever-changing," Merin mutters, his tone low and heavy.
To confirm, he turns again, stepping into the whirlpool behind him, testing whether it will lead him back. But no—he emerges into another void, different yet the same, portals gleaming faintly in the dark. The difficulty of escape rises like a wall before him.
He floats at the centre of the emptiness, his gaze sweeping the three portals that circle him. "Crossing one after another… it might eventually lead to the exit." His brow tightens. "But that's just luck. And I don't gamble on luck."
Closing his eyes, he lets his spirit unfurl, threads of perception spreading across the void. He searches for cracks, for anomalies, for anything that might distinguish one path from another. At first, nothing stands out—only silence and the endless hum of space.
But then, faintly, he feels it.
Each portal hums with a different rhythm, subtle fluctuations in the law of space, each carrying its own unique frequency.
His lips curve into the ghost of a smile. "Found it."
He steps into one whirlpool, passing into the next void.
Three new portals await him, shimmering softly. He focuses, senses reaching outward.
Among the three, one hums with the exact same rhythm as a portal from the chamber before.
Understanding sharpens his gaze. "So that's it."
Without hesitation, he steps toward the matching frequency.
He emerges into another void, this time with only two portals shimmering before him. One hums with a rhythm he already knows; the other is still foreign.
He focuses, tracing the new vibration until its pattern settles clearly in his mind.
Then, choosing the familiar path, he steps through the portal linked to the rhythm from the first chamber he entered.
From there, his journey becomes a relentless trial.
He moves from void to void, each passage unravelling another unfamiliar frequency.
With every new rhythm committed to memory, the maze grows less chaotic, its shape slowly etched in his thoughts.
A map begins to build itself, strands of frequency weaving into a pattern of corridors and chambers.
But even with understanding, the labyrinth is merciless.
One step too far, and he finds himself at a dead end once more.
This time, however, he doesn't turn to flee. He has already sensed the portal's frequency fading, silence swallowing it whole.
At the chamber's centre, ripples spread like water, and once again a lizard monster emerges, scales gleaming, claws poised.
It vanishes.
Merin does not move. He has prepared.
The creature reappears at his left, claws arcing toward his ribs—only to halt, trembling an inch from his body.
A formation of space locks tight around it, threads of law binding it mid-strike.
Merin's claws blaze. He rends the monster apart, tearing it into ribbons of light. Its shredded body collapses into radiance, dissolving into the now-familiar crystal of space essence.
He seizes it, lets its energy sink into him. His wounds close, scales thicken, and claws sharpen further. His spiritual body grows stronger, steadier, more bestial in form.
From then on, his march through the void continues.
Portal after portal, each new chamber adds another piece to the map in his mind.
And with each dead end, another lizard awaits—stronger, faster, fiercer than the last.
Merin answers their growth with his own.
His arrays become sharper, his space-trapping formations more intricate, no longer crude but woven with precision.
Every crystal he claims refines his body, hardens his scales, and deepens his control over the law of space.
Step by step, fight by fight, he pushes forward, threading the endless maze, hunting for the path that leads to the true exit.
But at last, in one of the void chambers, Merin halts. His face is drawn tight with tension.
Days have already bled into weeks, and though he has charted countless frequencies and carved a map of the void's skeleton, no trace of the true exit has revealed itself.
Each time, new spaces form, but never a way out.
"I have to find a new way to leave the maze," he mutters under his breath, the weight of time gnawing at him.
He sits cross-legged in the centre of the chamber, retracing every step since he first entered.
Every portal, every frequency, every dead end.
The maze is not a random trick of space—it is a trial left by a Supreme.
A Supreme of space would never design an exit to be reached merely by chance, stumbling through endless portals like a blind rat.
No.
The path forward must be won through space itself.
With that thought buried in his heart, he rises and moves again, shifting from chamber to chamber, his spirit sense trailing across the frequencies with sharper intent.
Hours later, he steps into another void chamber—a dead end.
The air ripples.
From the centre of the void, the lizard monster takes form once more.
It vanishes, reappears in a flash at his flank—but this time, Merin does not rush to finish it. His array triggers, freezing the beast mid-teleport, with its claws inches from his body.
He does not attack. Instead, his spirit sense threads into the monster's frame, piercing through scales and sinew, sinking deeper. His eyes narrow, breath steady.
"There should be more to you than slaughter," he whispers.
He searches for the reason, the meaning behind these beasts, convinced their existence must be tied to the law of space itself—and perhaps, to the very key that will unlock the maze's true exit.
Merin's spirit sense pierces deeper into the monster's body.
What he finds makes his eyes sharpen. Every scale, every tendon, every droplet of blood—down to the tiniest cell—pulses with faint traces of the law of space.
"The monster… It's the perfect embodiment of space," he whispers.
Yet the more he studies, the more unease coils in his chest.
This thing is too flawless, too pure.
No natural creature in the world could ever be this refined.
Perfection is the greatest lie because perfection has no room to grow. If an unknown danger appears, the perfect cannot adapt—they can only shatter.
That is why the world never creates perfect beings.
It births creatures flawed and incomplete, so they may stumble, suffer, and change when calamity comes.
Imperfection is survival. But this lizard… this is different.
If something is perfect, then someone must have made it.
A creator that does not fear the unknown—because if danger comes, he can simply alter his creation again.
Merin breathes deep, sinking his will into the lizard's life structure.
His spirit body absorbs the patterns hidden in those cells, and slowly, his own spiritual form shifts.
His body begins to take on a faint echo of the lizard's outline, while his perception of the law of space sharpens like a honed blade.
Hours pass, perhaps days. Finally, when he has wrung every shred of comprehension from the creature, he slays it in one clean strike.
He presses onward, stepping through chamber after chamber, meeting more lizards.
Each is stronger, their life structures more advanced than the last.
Each time he traps, dissects with spirit sense, and merges with his spiritual body.
With every monster, the resemblance grows, and his grasp of space ascends another step.
Until at last, standing before a dead end, Merin feels it—the faint thread of the exit.
His claw arcs through the air. Space tears open with a shriek, forming a gap. Without hesitation, he steps through.
On the other side lies another void space, ringed with portals. He tries once more to rip space apart, but this time the wound closes, leaving only faint scars. His eyes glint.
"This must be the next level of the maze," he murmurs.
Turning from the portals, he begins moving again—but not to chase the exit. Instead, he seeks the dead ends, the places where the lizard monsters lurk.
For now, they are no longer foes to kill, but stepping stones to carve his way deeper into the path of space.
While Merin clears the trial field, his strength rising with every breath, far away in the Shenyuan Continent, the human alliance's main chamber falls into silence heavy enough to crush stone.
Every saint of the human race is present, their faces grim.
News has arrived—Merin has stepped into the battlefield realm.
Suddenly, one saint slams his palm on the jade table and rises to his feet. His gaze sharpens like a blade.
"Jun Tian, we offended Yu Feng because of you. Now you solve it."
Jun Tian's chest tightens. Words tremble on his tongue, but before he can release them, he feels the press of dozens of saintly gazes. Their auras lock on him like iron chains.
Another voice follows, calm but ruthless.
"If you cannot, then we will hold you responsible… and hand you over to Yu Feng."
The chamber echoes with voices of agreement. Most saints rise and leave one by one, their robes whispering like falling leaves, leaving only the pressure of their judgment behind.
When the chamber empties, only Jun Tian and the saints of Purple Jade Mountain remain.
A female saint, her voice laced with both ice and weariness, breaks the silence.
"I warned you—we mustn't suppress the talented."
Jun Tian's teeth grind.
"Then why did you not oppose me when I proposed killing Yu Feng?"
"I did oppose you," she snaps back.
Jun Tian's lips curl into a sneer.
"But you agreed afterward. Was it not after I gifted you a bottle of medium source liquid? Has your greed consumed your righteousness?"
"You—!" Fury flares in her eyes, her aura trembling with killing intent.
Before the clash can ignite, an old saint with a weathered face and gray brows raises his hand. His voice is steady, yet laced with cold finality.
"Enough. Do not quarrel. The truth is, all of us agreed to suppress Yu Feng. We are bound together in this matter. And so… we must also end it. Once we gain entry into the battlefield realm, our foremost objective should be the death of Yu Feng."
Jun Tian exhales, shoulders loosening slightly. He nods. The other Purple Jade Mountain saints also lower their heads in agreement. One by one, they disperse.
But later that same night, in a hidden chamber lit only by flickering soul-lamps, those very saints gather again—without Jun Tian.
The old saint sits at the head, eyes half-closed, voice deep as a funeral bell.
"Orders have come down from the ancestor himself."
The others lean forward, expressions tense.
The old saint's next words strike like thunder.
"Jun Tian is to be killed. And he must die in front of Yu Feng."
Shock rips across their faces, but none dare speak against it.
The old saint continues, each word slow and heavy.
"Yu Feng's value surpasses Jun Tian's. The ancestor has judged that Yu Feng may reach the Great Saint Realm. If that day comes, he will be the pillar of our sect after the ancestor falls."
Silence reigns for a long moment before one saint after another nods in grim acceptance.
The fate of Jun Tian is sealed.