Three days had passed.
Niharika's footsteps dragged lightly across the crum-bling plain as she finally reached the ruins she had been chasing. Before her stood what remained of a destroyed complex. She had hoped, truly believed, that this was a prime sect.
But as she stood at the edge of the devastation, her brows furrowed. The reality before her felt like a cruel joke. The entire area was reduced to rubble. Towering buildings once majestic and regal had fallen, their debris scattered like broken bones across a war field. Statues were cracked in half, bridges split at the center, and the air itself hung heavy with the scent of dust and lost time.
There were no signs of protective formations. No pulses of trial energy. No ancient guardians. Nothing to sug-gest that this was a prime sect trial Only silence—and emptiness.
Frustration welled inside her. "Just my luck…" she mut-tered bitterly, biting her lip and glancing up at the dim sky. She turned on her heel, ready to walk away, her faith in this mission eroded—until something caught her eye.
There, in the very center of the broken zone, untouched by the destruction around it, stood a small wooden cot-tage.
A single structure, simple and aged, yet wholly undam-aged—like it had been placed there only moments ago. Not a speck of dust touched its roof. Its walls held not a single crack. The contrast was jarring.
Cautiously, Niharika stepped toward it. The sound of her boots brushing over shattered tiles echoed unnatu-rally loud in the silence.
As she came within reach of the cottage, an invisible force blasted outwards.
With a loud grunt, she was flung backward. Her Saint Level 1 cultivation, did nothing here. The pressure was overwhelming—like a celestial barrier carved from in-tent itself. She stood, brushed herself off, and tried again… and again.
Each time, she was pushed back with unwavering force.
Eventually, she stopped. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as sweat glistened on her forehead. Her fists clenched, nails biting into her palms.
"…I can't claim this," she whispered, frustration giving way to quiet resignation.
Stepping back, she cast one final glance at the small home. "There's nothing good here anyway," she lied to herself, her voice filled with disappointment as she be-gan to walk away.
Just as she was about to leave the region entirely, a vio-lent fluctuation rippled through the air—far off, but unmistakable. Niharika turned sharply, her eyes narrow-ing. In the distance, the very fabric of space-time itself was collapsing, twisting, folding unnaturally.
Her heart skipped.
"Can be a hidden spirit tomb?" she gasped, eyes spar-kling with sudden hope.
Without a moment's delay, she shot toward it, her body moving like a streak of wind against the shattered hori-zon.
Unbeknownst to her, behind her… the cottage's quiet exterior shimmered.
A single, old, wooden sign beside it—until now dull and dust-covered—glowed softly under the starlight. One word engraved into it lit up like silver:
"STAR SEA."
Outside the Void Haul – 10 days since opening
Beyond the barriers that separated the Void Haul from the rest of the world, the crowd was growing anxious. Tension thickened in the air. Word of the incident from three days ago had spread. A terrifying energy had erupted within, so intense that even seasoned cultiva-tors like Keal and Karnmash were left stunned and un-easy.
That pressure had been unnatural—like the sky had cracked open from within.
Now, however, the entrance was stable again. The cha-otic fluctuations had ceased. But silence lingered.
"What happened in there?" many whispered, voices trembling with fear and curiosity.
The crowd had no answers.
They didn't know about the fierce battle that had shak-en the foundation of a hidden space. But Keal… he stood with furrowed brows, eyes locked on the Void Haul's entrance. He had his suspicions.
Only a few cultivators had returned so far. Most held only silver tokens, a few lucky ones held gold. Time flowed differently inside; what was ten days here had been over a month inside.
Now, only five remained.
Among them: Lamar and his two lackeys… Niharika… and Sheo.
Inside the Void Haul
Lamar slowly opened his eyes.
He sat cross-legged within a half-collapsed temple, a faint smirk playing at his lips. His vision drifted toward a distant distortion in the space ahead—subtle, but powerful. His instincts told him something significant was hidden there.
He stood, slowly stretching. The energy surrounding him surged with a heavy, reddish hue, revealing his new cultivation: Saint Level 2.
The aura wasn't natural. It bore the savage traces of a beast.
He had claimed the heritage of the Devil Wolf Sect, a prime sect known for its brutal power and sinister lega-cy. With the Devil Wolf's energy now embedded with-in him, Lamar felt unstoppable.
His two companions approached. Without speaking, Lamar gestured toward the spatial distortion. The trio moved silently, dangerous intent simmering beneath every step.
Far from Lamar's approach, within the heart of a dying pocket space, a body lay motionless.
Sheo.
He had been there, unmoving, for days. But now… signs of life stirred.
A faint breath. A twitch of fingers. Muscles tensing un-der blood-soaked robes.
The energy that once swirled chaotically around him had all but vanished, absorbed into his body. The af-termath of awakening the Heaven's Battle Body and wielding the Holy Sword of Destruction had left his system devastated.
But it had also transformed him.
His body jerked slightly. He gasped.
Eyes fluttered open.
Pain—searing and deep—filled every inch of his body. It felt like his very bones had cracked and healed a hundred times over. The weight of what he had experi-enced wasn't a dream.
Slowly, he sat up, clutching his head.
His body was whole—miraculously—but it throbbed with internal wounds, wounds left not from blades or claws, but from the sheer backlash of channeling some-thing too great for his current Level.
He took a shaky breath and focused inward.
What he saw left him speechless.
Cultivation: Pinnacle of Saint Level 3.
His Sword Mind had also advanced. It had finally sta-bilized into the Low Santara Level.
Still trembling, Sheo summoned his gene tablet.
A light-blue screen shimmered into view before him:
Name – Unknown
Gene Energy Type – Unknown
Energy Affinities – Lightning, Flame, Air
Body Type – Heaven's Battle Body (Incomplete, Up-gradable)
Race – Unknown
Gene Weapon – Holy Sword of Destruction (Incom-plete)
Gene Treasures – 1. Flame Core (Incomplete)
2. Death Emblem
Sheo stared at the screen for a long time, unsure wheth-er to laugh, cry, or scream.
So many mysteries… and yet so few answers.
But he didn't have time to reflect, not yet.
In the distance, a figure moved.
Sheo's breath caught.
A shadow sat silently atop a nearby rock—shrouded in drifting black mist. Its form was translucent, yet real enough to be unsettling. There were no distinct features, only the shape of a figure cloaked in darkness. Its eyes were hollow, void of any emotion, watching Sheo in absolute silence.
Sheo struggled to his feet, his body still aching from the strain he had endured.
"Who are you?" he asked sharply, his voice strained and tense.
The shadow didn't respond. Instead, it vanished with-out a sound—and the next moment, it appeared right beside him.
The sudden proximity made Sheo freeze.
A quiet voice spoke, low but unmistakably familiar.
"My identity doesn't matter right now."
Sheo's eyes widened. That voice—he had heard it be-fore.
It was the same voice that echoed inside him when his Gene Weapon had awakened.
"You…" Sheo muttered. "You were inside me. You controlled that purple energy… What are you?"
His voice carried a mix of confusion, fear, and frustra-tion.
The shadow gave a faint, dry chuckle.
"So many questions," it said. "But let's be honest. None of them really matter. Not now. With the strength you currently possess… your life will end soon."
There was no emotion in its tone—just a blunt state-ment of fact.
"You're unworthy of the power you've been given," it continued. "It's almost laughable. That old woman real-ly chose you… When did her standards fall so low?"
The words stung, but Sheo clenched his fists.
The shadow leaned closer. "Listen carefully. From now on, your only goal should be to get stronger. Everything else is meaningless."
Sheo, annoyed by the condescension, snapped back, "Who the hell are you?"
Without warning, the shadow grabbed his chin and lift-ed him effortlessly into the air. Sheo could feel its grip—firm, yet somehow not physical.
"I am the third master of the Holy Sword of Destruc-tion," the shadow said calmly. "And a former Emblem."
There was a pause. Its voice remained steady, but there was a hint of weight behind the name.
"The Emblems are not just a name—they're one of the two ruling organizations from the higher planes. The Emblems and the Pillars oversee the power structures across realms."
As Sheo stared into the figure's unreadable face, the shadow continued.
"Call it a curse, or call it an opportunity. The power within you exists in its purest form. That means you'll either reach a level of strength no one has ever seen… or you'll die in a way that most wouldn't even imag-ine."
Sheo's breathing slowed. The gravity of the words pressed down on him.
"In this world, the power you carry is considered a threat. A curse. So keep your divine energy and those treasures hidden. If others find out… they won't give you the chance to explain."
The shadow released him, letting him fall gently to the ground.
"I will help when you truly need it," it said flatly. "But don't disturb me unless it's necessary. My spirit is al-ready severely injured."
It took a final step back.
"And one more thing," the shadow added. "Do not use your battle body carelessly. Not with your current level of strength. You'll end up destroying yourself before your enemies even get the chance."
With that, the shadow dissolved into a faint wisp and disappeared—slipping back inside Sheo's body as if it had never been there at all.
For a moment, Sheo remained still, overwhelmed by what had just happened. He tried to speak, to ask more questions, to demand answers—
But there was no response.
Only silence.
The presence was gone, or at least not listening any-more.
He stood there for a while, unsettled. The weight of everything he had just heard sat heavily on his mind.
What exactly was he?
And what had he become entangled in?
No answers came.
Only more questions.
And a lingering cold within him.
He needed to focus. There was no time to waste, not now.
Sheo slowly began circulating his energy again, letting it course through his body, and this time, he immediately noticed the difference. His energy had become sharp-er—more refined. Even his breathing had become easi-er.
He placed his hand lightly over his chest. The pain was still there, echoing deep in his bones, but it was bearable now.
Then, wordlessly, he extended his arms and summoned his Destroyer Wings.
They burst from his back with a thunderous hum, their majestic purple feathers glowing with metallic sheen, gently stirring the surrounding air. They had changed too. Grown stronger. Denser.
Sheo's Space Heart, too. He could feel it.
It had finally reached Core Level Two—the Space Re-fine Stage.
He smiled faintly.
The Space Heart technique, was built in five stages: Ob-serve, Refine, Seal, Destroy, and finally Create. Reach-ing the second tier meant he could now disturb the flow of weak space currents—opening minor rifts, bending space around him, even slipping through unstable cracks in the void.
With his heightened awareness, he closed his eyes and extended his senses. The space around him, once chaot-ic and vague, now unfolded like an open book. Weak points shimmered. Currents pulsed. Invisible boundaries became visible to him.
He adjusted his posture, tightened his grip, and let his wings lift him into the air.
Then, he flew.
A single blur across space. Graceful. Sharp.
Far outside, just beyond the space distortion, another figure approached.
It was Niharika.
She had finally arrived.
Her robes were torn slightly at the edge from travel, and her boots bore the dust of countless broken plains. But her eyes still held the same fiery arrogance—until they met the sight before her.
The unstable space she had seen from afar—gone.
Destroyed.
And the force that had caused its collapse… was be-yond terrifying.
Her breath hitched.
To destroy such a space without collapsing from the sheer backlash… that meant only one thing. Whoever did this wasn't just strong—they were on a different level altogether.
She swallowed hard.
Her instincts told her to leave. But curiosity gnawed at her.
She looked around.
Far in the distance, nestled behind a ridge of jagged plain, stood a proud and ancient structure. It pulsed gently, like a slumbering beast.
Her eyes widened.
"Is that… the Green Jade Sect?" she whispered to her-self.
Her lips parted in awe. The Green Jade Sect—one of the most prized ancient Prime Sects. She had heard of it before. It was one of her goals for this journey, one of the sects she truly sought.
Without wasting a second, she dashed forward.
But just as she crossed a rocky outcrop—
A sword light came crashing down before her, obliterat-ing the path in front.
Stone and debris erupted from the impact. She barely managed to leap back, her heart pounding.
"What the hell!?" she shouted.
As the dust settled, three figures stepped out from the shadows.
And at the center—stood Lamar.
That arrogant, twisted grin stretched across his face.
"Aww," he said mockingly, "did my little hothead not find a Prime Sect yet?"
His voice dripped with ridicule. The two figures flank-ing him—his so-called 'friends'—snickered.
Niharika didn't flinch. She gave him no satisfaction. She simply turned, brushing her hair back calmly, and started walking toward the Green Jade Sect's entrance again.
But Lamar, ever the predator, waved his hand.
The two shadows beside him moved quickly—blocking her path.
Niharika stopped.
Her voice was flat. Cold.
"What's the meaning of this, Lamar?"
He chuckled darkly. "You already know what I want."
Her jaw clenched.
Slowly, she reached into her storage ring and pulled out a small item—a sinister blue ring, humming with chaotic space energy.
The very air around it distorted.
"This is your last warning," she said. "Move."
Lamar just laughed. "So trash like you will order me now?"
That was enough.
With a flick of her wrist, the dimensional ring shot for-ward like a comet, heading straight for Lamar's throat.
But—just before it hit—
A green seal shimmered in the air and wrapped around the ring, neutralizing its momentum.
Niharika's eyes widened in horror.
"You… You brought your sects Space-Sealing For-mation?" she whispered.
Lamar's smile twisted further.
"Today," he said, "I'll show you what power looks like."
He raised his sword. Red energy, darker than blood, surged into it—twisting and screaming in a demonic resonance.
In a flash, he dashed forward.
When they had first entered the Void Haul, both Lamar and Niharika were at Saint Level 1.
But now?
After absorbing the Devil Wolf Sect's legacy… Lamar was in a league beyond her.
She raised her spear to defend.
One strike. Two. Three.
And it shattered.
Her treasured weapon splintered into fragments. She tried to run, cast techniques—anything.
But it was hopeless.
Another blow struck her squarely in the chest, tearing her robes and sending her crashing against a rock wall. She gasped, choking on blood.
She covered her body instinctively.
Lamar approached slowly, laughing.
"You lost," he said. "Months ago, I offered you a chance to stand beside me. You rejected it. So now I'll offer you a better deal."
He knelt beside her, leering at her face—at her wound-ed body.
"Give me your Gold Token… and become my slave. Maybe then I'll let you live."
Niharika's fists trembled. Her eyes filled with hatred, but her spirit was collapsing.
She thought of resisting—but her energy was sealed.
She thought of dying—but even that was denied to her.
And just as Lamar reached out to touch her—
A sword light cleaved the ground between them.
An icy voice followed:
"Lamar… don't you think you've crossed your limits?"
Lamar followed the voice with an annoyed twist in his expression, scanning the ridge above the broken land. And there—on a higher rock, bathed in soft sunlight and shadow—sat a lone figure. Calm. Unmoving. Looking down at the scene below with cold indiffer-ence.
A boy.
His robes fluttered gently in the wind, and the light caught the sharp outline of his eyes—eyes filled with neither rage nor mercy, only a quiet, suffocating still-ness.
Lamar squinted. Recognition struck.
"Tch… You," Lamar said, narrowing his eyes. "You're that kid who fought Wani, aren't you?"
He gave a crooked grin.
"Well, this is my matter. I'd appreciate it if you didn't interfere."
Then, as if mocking Sheo further, Lamar added with a sneer, "If you want, I can even share her with you. I'm generous that way."
Sheo let out a slow sigh. His voice, when it came, was quiet—almost too quiet—but sharp enough to cut through steel.
"You have thirty seconds."
He stood now, rising from the rock with steady, delib-erate movements.
"If you don't disappear from my sight," he said flatly, "I guarantee… you'll never see the sun again."
The air grew colder.
Even the wind seemed to halt.
One of Lamar's companions, clearly provoked, shouted back.
"How dare you speak to our boss like—!"
But the sentence was never finished.
Without warning, his body froze mid-motion.
And the next instant—
His head slid off his neck silently, as if severed by an invisible blade. His body collapsed onto the ground, lifeless. There was no grand burst of energy. No flash of light.
Just death.
Silent and sudden.
A chill ran through Niharika's bones.
Even Lamar flinched.
Half-saints… were nothing to Sheo now.
Sheo didn't move. He didn't even blink.
His voice came again. Colder than before.
"Time's up."
Before Lamar's second friend could even blink, an eerie presence wrapped around his throat—something un-seen, something fast. And then—
Another body dropped.
Two of Lamar's men were dead. Instantaneously. Without resistance.
Sheo descended slowly from the rock, each step silent but heavy with pressure. He didn't look at Lamar. He didn't look at the corpses.
He walked straight toward Niharika.
She sat hunched against the rock, holding her torn robe tightly against her chest. Her breathing was ragged. Her eyes were wide, yet hollow.
When Sheo stopped in front of her, he didn't speak.
He simply lifted his wrist, and with a flick of his fin-gers, retrieved a simple black robe from his storage ring. He tossed it toward her gently.
Niharika caught it with trembling hands.
No words were exchanged.
Behind them, Lamar's voice trembled with fury. He was still trying to put on a brave face.
"You… you bastard!" Lamar hissed. "How dare you kill my people!?"
But the venom in his voice was already weakening. His bravado… cracking.
He knew.
He was facing death itself.
Still, he continued, desperation dripping from his words.
"Listen… you can have her! I don't care anymore. Just let me go and I won't seek revenge. I swear!"
Sheo, however, paused mid step and glanced back. His expression remained unreadable. A long sigh left his lips.
Then, without a word, he stopped.
Lamar took that moment of stillness as an opportunity.
He summoned all of his energy in one burst—a furious surge of red light engulfing his body as he activated the Devil Wolf Sect's strongest technique.
The Hollow World Domain.
It formed like a dark cocoon around him—crimson, swirling, laced with crackling demonic patterns. Inside it, space itself distorted. It was a technique designed to obliterate one's enemy with sheer chaotic force.
He launched forward.
Sheo's response was a whisper.
"Some people… never learn."
He slowly reached into his ring and pulled out a sword—one that looked completely ordinary.
But as soon as it touched open air—
It changed.
A sinister black aura spread from the blade, wrapping the sword in a deathly glow. The energy it radiated was unnatural—silent, suffocating, and absolute.
It was the Death Sword technique refined far beyond its initial state. Calm and cold. It didn't roar with pow-er. It devoured everything around it.
The moment Lamar's Hollow World collided with it—
Boom!
Lamar's body was launched like a cannonball, thrown helplessly across the field. Dust and rock erupted in a shockwave. Sheo didn't flinch. Not even an inch.
Before Lamar could even understand what had hap-pened—
Sheo disappeared.
And in the blink of an eye, he reappeared right in front of him, blade already mid-swing.
The blade moved like a dragon wrapped in lightning—elegant, inevitable, and merciless. It pierced Lamar's chest, straight through the heart.
Lightning burst from the blade, tearing through Lamar's body—destroying nerves, organs, bones. His entire tor-so erupted in a storm of destruction.
And his body—once proud and arrogant—fell cold. Lifeless.
Silence.
The battlefield quieted. The wind began to move again.
Behind the devastation, Niharika sat frozen. Her hands still clutched the robe he gave her, pressed against her chest. Her lips quivered.
Tears were still tracing down her cheeks.
She watched as Sheo walked calmly toward Lamar's corpse. He bent down, picked up the space sealing for-mation Lamar had used earlier—a jade-like artifact with no master now—and carefully placed it inside his stor-age ring.
Then, Sheo turned and walked to her.
He stood still for a moment, looking at her—not with pity, not with pride. Just calm silence.
Then, without saying much, he threw her a small bottle of recovery pills.
She caught it instinctively.
And finally, he pulled a message token from his sleeve and handed it to her.
"Give this to Uncle Keal," he said plainly.
Niharika opened her mouth to say something—to ask, to speak, to react.
But he was already gone.
A blur in the wind.
Vanished.
She sat there for a long time—wrapped in silence, wrapped in the robe he gave her. Her fingers trembled as she looked at the token in one hand, the pill bottle in the other.
The boy she had mocked… hated… cursed for years—
Had saved her.
Protected her.
Without asking anything. Without making a single in-decent remark. Without looking at her with anything other than cold resolve.
And in that moment…
The image of Sheo , once so simple in her eyes, shat-tered completely.
And something new took root in her heart.
Elsewhere, Sheo floated silently in mid-air, his robes rustling faintly against the shifting breeze. His eyes stared ahead, but his mind was busy recalling the map etched into his memory—the one that marked the posi-tions of the three great sects.
He whispered their names under his breath, as if repeat-ing them would help decide.
"…Snake Witch Sect… Flokida Sect… and… the Star Sea Sect."
His brows furrowed slightly. Each of them had their own unique strengths. Picking one wasn't easy.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice that echoed directly in his mind, calm but assertive.
"Choose the Star Sea Sect."
Sheo blinked. That voice again—it belonged to the shadow inside him.
"You're reading my thoughts now?" Sheo muttered bit-terly under his breath. "This is so unfair. You can even see my memories?"
The voice replied with a flat tone.
"Shut up. I'm helping you. You don't have time. I've seen your memories—you don't have any real martial arts techniques yet. But your understanding of for-mations is decent. The Star Sea Sect excels in both mar-tial arts and formation theory. You'll gain the most there."
Sheo clicked his tongue in annoyance but didn't argue further. He already knew the shadow wasn't wrong.
A pause.
"Back in my time," the voice continued, "I traveled through this region. If my memory serves me right, near the northern mountains of Pulkina, a rare Seven-Life Tree used to grow. If it still exists… then chances are high that the dungeon you'll be entering has formed around it."
Sheo raised an eyebrow. "Seven-Life Tree?"
"A relic of power. If it's there, chaos is about to break loose. You'd best prepare yourself."
Their conversation was silent—telepathic—passing quickly through thought rather than voice.
While this dialogue was ongoing, Sheo descended from the air. Below him lay a ruined plain. Everything was torn down, broken, scorched. Yet amidst the devasta-tion, one thing remained untouched—a lone wooden cottage standing at the center of the shattered land, completely unharmed.
"That," the shadow said immediately, "is a folding space. It's not a normal structure. The sect's trial likely begins there. Expect traps—formation-based."
Sheo smirked. He pulled a small black token from his storage ring and held it up. The moment he did, a thin shimmer—an invisible barrier that had surrounded the cottage—vanished, followed by a deep hum.
Without warning, a mist flooded the entire area.
Formation had been activated.
Sheo's eyes narrowed.
"Let's see what this trial has to offer."
Activating his Space Heart technique, he immediately began moving along the pre-learned paths of the Nine Path Movement Technique. The illusion formation wasn't just layered—it was deceptive. For an entire day, Sheo struggled, using precision footwork and ad-vanced sensing to break through shifting pathways, illu-sion traps, and misdirection fields.
When he finally stepped through, drenched in sweat and mentally drained, he muttered under his breath, "Damn… that formation was no joke."
But the sight ahead made it worth it.
He now stood in front of the previously untouched cot-tage. Carefully, he placed his hand on the door and pushed it open.
As the door creaked, the space around him distorted.
In a blink, the world changed.
Gone was the ruined plain. Instead, he now stood amid a lush, vibrant landscape—mountains in the distance, a roaring waterfall nearby, and the sky glowing with spir-itual light. He felt a natural abundance of pure energy flowing around him.
It was a hidden realm.
He stepped forward, eyes scanning the area.
There were cold energy pills laid across wooden tables, stacks of high-grade spirit stones, and various cultiva-tion materials neatly arranged. But among them, five items drew his attention.
His Gene Tablet activated automatically and displayed their details.
The first was a translucent armor—light as air, it shim-mered with energy and appeared as though it could mold itself perfectly to his body. It had no weight, no restriction.
The second was a silver-white sword with a faint, sinis-ter gleam. It pulsed slowly with energy. Sheo recog-nized the feeling—it was a weapon specialized for en-ergy retention. It would be perfect for his Death Sword Technique.
The third item was a stone—a Star Gem.
Before Sheo could react, the shadow's voice rang out again.
"Absorb that gem. It'll accelerate my recovery—and the healing of the Death Emblem."
Sheo rolled his eyes. "You sure make a lot of demands. Don't you have a name, or am I just supposed to call you 'the voice' forever?"
There was a brief silence.
Then, for the first time, the voice answered sincerely.
"…Nisach."
Sheo memorized it silently.
Then his attention shifted to the final two items. They looked like scrolls—thin, glimmering sheets of paper.
One read: The Clever Battle Martial Art
The other: Blood Maya Formation Art
He let out a long breath. "No wonder this sect was con-sidered one of the greats…"
But before he could decide what to do with all of it, his Gene Tablet flickered again.
Folding Space Analysis Complete.
Would you like to absorb and merge this dimension into your current folding space?
Sheo's eyes widened.
"You can… do that?"
A smile slowly spread across his face.
"Yes."
Inside this space, time moved faster—ten times faster than the outside world.
Sheo took a deep breath, sat cross-legged beneath the energy-rich waterfall, and began his training.
Five days later…
Outside the Void Haul, Niharika emerged. Her aura was refined, dense—she had reached the pinnacle of Saint Level 2. Clutched in her hand was the message token Sheo had given her.
Without delay, she bowed before Keal and passed the token over.
Keal read it quietly. A rare smile formed on his usually stern face.
He looked at the others.
"We're retreating from here," he commanded. "Our next destination is the dungeon beneath the Pulkinas."
Six days after that…
Within the silent depths of the merged folding space, under the rushing waterfall, a boy's eyes slowly opened.
Sheo inhaled sharply.
Three months had passed in that space.
His aura had transformed.
He now stood at the pinnacle of Saint Level 5.
If anyone had witnessed such progression, they would have been stunned. With the combination of advanced techniques, rare treasures, high-speed time flow, and powerful inheritances—Sheo had achieved the impossi-ble.
More importantly, his techniques were now fully mas-tered for his current level. His battle awareness was re-fined, and the synergy between his body, mind, and weapons was seamless.
He stood up, brushing water off his arms.
A pulse of energy surrounded him. The folding space began to shift and retract, compressing into a singular spatial node—it became part of him.
With one final breath, he steadied his energy. And then—
A powerful dragon's roar pierced the silence.
Sheo looked up. In his Gene Tablet, a notification blinked:
Pet: Arctic Dragon – Rank: Emperor Level 1
A grin formed across his lips.
"Perfect timing."
Moments later, the air split open. A majestic, scaled dragon—icy-blue and covered in swirling frost—descended before him.
Sheo mounted the beast with ease.
With renewed strength, countless secrets, and hidden weapons, he looked ahead with determination in his heart and calculated strategies in his mind.
The Arctic Dragon roared again, its wings spreading wide.
It tore through the space, opening a rift, and exited the Void Haul—heading straight toward the northern mountains of Pulkina.
Their next destination awaited.