The Frostveil Range shivered long after the echoes of battle had faded. Jagged cliffs, scarred and bleeding frost from the clash, trembled like the lungs of a sleeping giant. Loose stones skidded, avalanches roared in the distance, and clouds above swirled violently as if the heavens themselves hesitated to settle. Shafts of dying sunlight pierced the mist, catching the remnants of Spirit energy that still danced in the air—trails of qi scarred like the wake of a comet.
At the very summit, Tiān Lán stood unmoving, a solitary figure etched against the jagged horizon. His aura, though no longer violently flaring, was far from diminished. It was a restrained, unshakable force—like an ocean held back by the sheer will of its master. Spirit Severing energy flowed about him, obedient and precise, a tide he did not command but harmonized with. The Guardian hovered at his side, wings trembling slightly as if tasting the difference between the old and the new. Even the air seemed to bend around him, acknowledging the ascendancy of one whose limits had shattered.
Tiān Lán slowly opened his eyes.
The world looked different. The threads of Spirit energy were no longer hidden—rivers of power flowed through mountain, stone, and beast, weaving across the landscape like luminous veins. He could hear them—the faint pulse of the Frostveil peaks themselves, resonating in rhythm with his own heart. Each breath drew the mountain closer; each heartbeat drew the continent nearer.
> So… this is Spirit Severing.
The exhilaration that surged within him was quiet but profound. The chains of the Nascent Soul—once tight, constricting, unyielding—had shattered, leaving behind only clarity and resonance.
---
The wolf was first to respond. Its body bristled with raw anticipation, fur glinting in the twilight frost, each pawstep leaving subtle ripples of qi imprinted on the ground. It prowled around Tiān Lán, eyes burning with a feral intelligence as though testing the edges of this newfound power.
The fox, its nine tails swirling with arcs of cerulean flame, settled at Tiān Lán's feet. Sparks drifted lazily into the air, catching the last light of day, tracing ghostly trails of qi. Each flick of its tails harmonized with his heartbeat, like a pendulum syncing to the pulse of the mountain.
High above, the dragon circled, its enormous wings scattering snow clouds and its scales catching the ghostly light of Spirit currents. Its roar, deep and resonant, reverberated through the cliffs and valleys, a silent proclamation: its master had transcended.
All three beasts bowed in unison, heads lowering toward him. Their forms shimmered, tethered not merely to his contract but to his soul. They were no longer allies—they were extensions of his will, living conduits of Spirit Severing mastery. The bond was complete; power and essence intertwined.
---
Not far behind, Yao Xiangyi gasped, breath catching in her throat. Her hands trembled as she clutched her blade, eyes wide, unable to tear them from the figure standing atop the summit. She had thought herself strong, had measured the gap between her and the elites of this world. But witnessing Tiān Lán ascend mid-battle had undone every lesson she had learned. Every certainty shattered. Cultivation itself had taken on a new meaning.
Beside her, Lán Xi pressed a hand over her chest, feeling the rapid drum of her heartbeat. Awe battled fear within her—not fear of Tiān Lán, but fear of the world reshaping itself around him. And yet, beneath it all, a profound sense of safety grounded her. With him standing there, even the heavens seemed a little less formidable.
Neither spoke, for words would only dilute the enormity of what they saw. Both understood, with the quiet certainty of the awakened, that Tiān Lán was no longer a peer. He was a pillar, unshakable, one they would follow to the edge of the world and beyond.
---
On a distant ridge, hidden disciples of rival sects watched, faces pale, voices trembling as if speaking too loudly could summon the very man they feared.
"He… he broke through… during battle?" one whispered, voice barely audible.
"Impossible. It's… monstrous," another muttered.
"He was Nascent Soul Peak mere breaths ago. Spirit Severing—under pressure? How many across the continent could even dream of such a feat?"
A third disciple shook his head slowly. "Every sect will hear. Every elder. The Mountain Phantom… he is no rumor anymore."
Their whispers dissolved into the wind, carried across the peaks, powerless to stop the legend that had just been born.
---
Far deeper within the range, where the snow never melted and the sun dared not linger, a cloaked figure stirred. Arms crossed, he had observed everything through a hidden formation, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness.
"So… you awaken faster than expected," he murmured, voice rich with the weight of centuries. "Yè Tiānshuāng… you think you can reclaim what was once stolen? Hah."
He turned, vanishing into the swirling storm of frost and shadow.
"If the heavens are foolish enough to let you rise again," he muttered to the wind, "I will remind them… and you… that your past sins have not been forgotten."
---
Back atop the summit, the wind ripped around him, tearing at his robes but failing to shake him. The world lay before him like a map of infinite potential, every peak, river, and valley pulsing with subtle Spirit currents. His allies waited, spirit beasts circling, the mountain itself groaning in quiet submission.
He raised a hand, letting it fall, slowly and deliberately. The roar of ambition had vanished, replaced by a calm, icy determination. His voice, low and measured, carried farther than any shout could:
"I will ascend… not for glory, not for power. I ascend… because I must."
His gaze sharpened, eyes piercing through clouds and storm.
"To protect what I hold dear. To destroy what must be destroyed. To reclaim what was stolen from me."
The words did not drift to the ears of mortals—they were a vow to the heavens, a message woven into the currents of Spirit itself.
The mountain remembered. The continent shivered. And far above, in the silent expanse of the sky, the heavens listened.
---
Snow fell softly, catching the faint glow of residual Spirit energy. Peaks shimmered like distant stars, frost twinkling with every breath of wind. The air itself seemed alive, charged with the resonance of a cultivator who had transcended.
The Frostveil Range sang again, and for the first time in centuries, a name echoed across its heights:
"The Mountain Phantom… has awakened."