From the perspective of Zhuge Su Yeon
The winter forest stretched like a white and green ocean, and for nearly half a month my footprints had been etched across its frozen skin. It wasn't difficult — truth be told, the map I had drawn was ready long before my mind admitted it. The hard part wasn't charting the land, but enduring the monotony.
I divided that sea of pines into three regions, as one separates chapters of a book.
The first was the border — familiar ground, full of underpaid hunters and minor cultivators who believed they were exploring the unknown. A comforting farce. Danger was limited to beasts of the 3rd level in the Spiritual Condensation stage; rare enough, good enemies for hot-blooded youths, but nothing more than noisy flies to me.
The second region, however, was "the true stage." At least, that's how the White Flame Empire described it. There, fourth-level beasts reigned, equivalent to cultivators of the Golden Core realm. A single roar from them could make entire cities dream of catastrophe.
I entered with caution, of course. Not out of fear, but out of habit. It would be embarrassing to have my body torn apart just because I tripped over the script of foolish courage. But it didn't take long to notice a detail almost offensive: all that caution was useless.
The beasts simply didn't see me.
My Qi, aligned with the very breath of heaven and earth, carried no difference. Even beside a slumbering beast with fangs capable of cutting through walls, I was nothing more than cold midnight wind. Invisible, harmless, discardable.
Suddenly, the "land of nightmares" revered throughout the Empire became… my private garden. As long as I didn't raise a hand, I was ignored like dust stubbornly resting on snow.
A dry laugh almost escaped.
"So this is it. For others, a hell. For me, a backyard where the author forgot to place enemies."
It was like playing a poorly coded game. The rules worked for everyone — except for the one character the system failed to balance.
I moved on, my steps light upon the thick snow, while each distant roar became nothing more than background noise for my silence.
And, for some reason, I felt that this silence was far more dangerous than any roar.
But, however much it was said that fourth-level beasts ruled the Winter Forest, the truth was far less grand than the bards liked to sing. It wasn't a "multitude of calamities" lurking among the trees. There were only three.
Three lords of territory.
Three colossi who divided the forest the way bureaucrats divide districts on a map.
In the east, the Blue Tiger, its fur shimmering like sapphire beneath the snow, its roar cracking the frozen ground into jagged lines. Hunters said those who heard its voice awoke days later, buried up to their necks in ice.
At the center, the Hydra, a creature of many heads that rarely left its frozen lair. Its breath did not burn in fire, but suffocated in crystals — each exhalation turning trees into brittle glass sculptures. A monster that breathed entire winters.
And in the west, the Sparrow King, a colossal bird whose wingbeats stirred winds strong enough to topple century-old pines as though they were weeds.
None of them surpassed the power of a Golden Core cultivator at the third level. Nothing more. Enough, of course, to terrify the entire White Flame Empire, which still regarded the Winter Forest as a living wall against expansion.
I watched each territory from afar, Qi concealed, and walked as one crosses a silent marketplace where the vendors still sleep. Rumors claimed those three beasts were uncontested kings, but what I saw was different: they were merely lazy guardians, each keeping its piece of forest under silence.
At last, I reached the third and final region.
Or rather: the final mountain range.
There, where pines thinned and the wind cut like blades, the forest gave way to walls of stone and ice, a natural barrier closing the territory like the period at the end of a sentence.
It was the edge of the map, the margin where even beasts hesitated to set claws. A silence deeper still spread across those mountains — not the expectant silence of an arena, but the silence that devours even the memory of sound.
As I traced the final lines in my mind, I realized: the whole world might fear the Winter Forest, but to me it had become nothing more than a poorly written book. Three decorative beasts, a final mountain range, and a silence so thick it seemed to forget it should at least be balanced by something.
The first time I dared approach the final range, every pore of my body screamed in alarm. It was as if skin, bones, and meridians resonated in unison: "do not advance."
Not even a single beast dared approach that place. The emptiness was absolute. A white desert guarded only by cutting wind and utter silence.
For a while, I considered turning back. I could simply mark that region in my mental map as forbidden and continue with the plan of turning the Winter Forest into a home. Or, easier still, abandon the idea altogether and settle for the quiet life of Grey Sky City.
But then… just before I turned away, my body crossed something invisible. A curtain of air.
And all the pressure vanished.
The sensation was unmistakable.
A formation.
It didn't matter what kind. Against my Supreme Jade Body, it was useless. Formations, poisons, illusions — all of them were nothing more than wind trying to scratch stone.
And yet, my concern did not lessen. On the contrary.
Beasts were predictable; their power was bound to instinct and territory.
But formations… were the work of human hands.
And humans, invariably, were far more dangerous.
I thought of returning.
But the reasoning was simple: if there was a hidden threat here, then not even Grey Sky City or the White Flame Empire could be considered safe.
Before the unknown, the best choice was the most counterintuitive: to advance.
So I did.
I crossed mountain after mountain with care. The cold wind struck my face, each step taken as if I feared an invisible blade might appear at any moment.
And then I saw it.
On the last mountain, solitary, stood a black castle, facing the frozen sea. A desolate palace, sustained upon nothing, at the very edge of the world.
At the end of the Winter Forest… there was a black castle.
I watched for days. Fifteen, to be exact.
I saw no smoke. No footprints. No human presence.
The fortress seemed abandoned for centuries — perhaps millennia.
Only after so long, weighing the choice, did I decide to advance.
When I finally reached the castle gates, there was the confirmation: another formation.
But this time, my heart eased.
It wasn't a hidden threat.
It was just another cliché.
An ancient formation, yes, but of a pattern I recognized instantly: allowing entry only to youths up to twenty years old, cultivators at the Spiritual Refinement stage. A barrier not meant to protect the place, but to protect it from the wrong hands — or, in other words, to ensure only protagonists could pass through.
A field of inheritance.
One of those legendary sites where generations of authors like to dump opportunities.
Before the black walls and their obvious formation, I drew a deep breath and did something unusual for me.
I risked it.
The sensation of passing through a curtain of air returned.
And without further hesitation, I stepped inside.
It wasn't a leap without purpose. It was calculation.
I risked it because, until now, this was the greatest cheat I had ever witnessed in this world.
My Supreme Jade Body, inside an ancestral inheritance.
I smiled, dry.
If this world were an online game, I have no doubt: my physique would be banned from every match.
It was as if the narrative, until now so carefully detailed, had simply forgotten to balance my existence.
No barrier recognized me. No restriction held me.
I crossed walls and formations as one walks through mist.
And perhaps that was what worried me most: when the author forgets to balance silence, what remains is not freedom… but a void waiting to be filled.