The Tomb crumbled behind him.
Stone collapsed in sheets, ancient murals split and fell, and the echo of divine silence unraveled into chaos. Aezrael's body staggered, bones grinding with every step. He had survived the Warden's annihilating blows, but the cost carved deep into his flesh. His veins burned as if molten iron replaced his blood, and his skin split with fractures of black flame that refused to fade.
Every breath he took felt like dragging air through broken glass.
Yet the system's cold chime rang in his ears, steady and merciless.
> Ding!
[Bloodline Overload: Stabilization Required]
[Warning: Core Fracture Detected – Repair Imminent]
He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. The obsidian key, still clutched in his palm, pulsed with a rhythm that matched his heart. It was leading him—not away from the Tomb, but deeper, into the wilds that stretched beyond the forgotten ruins.
The exit collapsed behind him, sealing forever the Tomb of Silent Gods. Dust rose in a storm, scattering the starlight overhead. He had escaped, but freedom came with no safety.
The forest beyond was not the one he remembered. It was older, darker. Trees towered like titans, their bark glowing faintly with veins of silver, and beasts stalked between them with eyes like shards of crystal. The silence of the Tomb had bled into this place, leaving an unnatural hush that pressed against his skull.
Even the wind dared not whisper here.
Aezrael leaned on his scythe, every step heavy but unwavering. His cultivation was shaking violently. After one hundred years of rebirth and twenty of seclusion, his foundation was flawless—yet the Silent Core fragment had pushed him far beyond the realm he should command. His Origin Core perfection strained, threatening collapse at any moment.
He needed time. Time to adapt, to stabilize, to transform what he had seized into something unshakable.
But time was a luxury the world never granted.
Hours passed like days as he stumbled deeper into the Shattered Wilds. He left behind trails of blood that hissed against the earth, corroding stone and soil alike. The beasts of the forest kept their distance, instinctively repelled by the aura of something far beyond prey or predator.
At last, he reached a clearing. In the center lay a pool, black as ink, surrounded by runes carved by no mortal hand. The key pulsed violently in his hand as though urging him forward.
"Another altar…" he muttered, voice hoarse.
But this one was incomplete, broken, its stone pillars shattered and its runes faded to scars. He dropped to his knees at its edge, exhaustion finally breaking through his will. For the first time in decades, he allowed himself to collapse.
As his body fell against the runes, the system responded instantly.
> Ding!
[Emergency Stasis Initiated]
[Silent Altar Resonance Detected]
[Repairing Core… Estimated Time: 3 Years]
A shell of black crystal formed around him, encasing his body in a cocoon. His scythe embedded itself into the earth beside him, humming faintly like a guardian.
Within that prison of silence, his body began to repair. His broken bones fused, his veins calmed, and his bloodline whispered promises of greater heights.
But outside… the world shifted.
Far from the Shattered Wilds, storms of qi swept the heavens. The destruction of the Tomb had torn balance from the land, and cultivators across the region felt it. Rumors spread like fire:
"The Tomb of Silent Gods has fallen!"
"A forbidden guardian slain!"
"An unknown cultivator wields the scythe of silence itself!"
Whispers grew louder, and soon, they reached the ears of sects, clans, and wandering immortals. Hunters began to gather, each seeking the one who had stolen power not meant for mortals.
And among them, the Azure Sky Sect moved faster than all.
Back in the Wilds, a single crack formed in the crystal cocoon. Aezrael stirred within, caught between slumber and awareness, his mind drifting in endless dark seas. His body healed, but his spirit sharpened like a blade honed for war.
The key pulsed one last time before going silent, embedding itself into his chest.
Unseen, the forest bent around him. The silence that once threatened to crush him now flowed outward, reshaping the Wilds themselves into his silent domain. Beasts fled, rivers stilled, and the stars above dimmed.
For three years, the world would forget his presence. But when the cocoon shattered, the silence would not remain forgotten—it would roar.