On the Central Continent, on the eastern plateau, a colossal beast lay like a mountain under the sky, a relic of millions of winters, one of the oldest alive. From afar it loomed like a ridge line; half the bulk of Mount Serca, the largest peak here, its presence pressed like a cliff on the chest.

“Big sis, what are we looking for?” FrostyLily Dream trailed behind me, her eyes drinking the scenery like spring water, curiosity fluttering like a sparrow.

“Materials to build a Worldgate,” I said, voice calm as a still lake, intent straight as an arrow.

“Materials for a Worldgate… what for?” Her doubt curled like morning mist, words soft as drifting petals.

“One Worldgate won’t survive Xiyue’s tossing about, so I’ll make another,” I replied, cool as moonlit steel, patience thin as paper.

We came to the beast’s fore. I tipped my head back, measuring it like I stood at a mountain’s foot, its breath slow as boulders. It was, in truth, just an oversized turtle, a lunker in a stone garden, weak at only Half-Step Origin Realm.

Our steps stirred it like pebbles rippling a pond. It woke from its long sleep and cracked open a maw like a horizon, a mouth that wanted to swallow sky and earth. “Who dares step into my domain and rattle my sleep? Hm? You two little ants?” Its roar was a storm over plains; the wind knifed past, and the ground shuddered like a drum.

Its bluster scraped my mood like grit under the lid; I wasn’t pleased. Lesson first, talk later. I raised my hand and flicked out a strand of Sword Aura, casual as a finger snap, toward its shell matted with rock-like trees.

That single line of Sword Aura was tiny beside that bulk, like a needle cast into a midnight sea, a glint against a great tide.

BOOM!

Despite that massive body, the ‘small’ Sword Aura blasted it hundreds of meters back, pain ripped from its throat like a wounded whale, and the earth quaked beneath a veil of dust.

Huh. Only a dozen cracks on the shell, lines like lightning in stone. Tough as mountain bone.

“Kamanor, did you wake stupid? You dare talk like that in front of my sister?” FrostyLily Dream hissed, heat flaring like a torch. I held her back with a wrist, or she’d kick it while it was down, stones to a fallen well.

Kamanor—so the beast was named—carried a loud alias: the Devourer of Sky and Earth. With that hulking frame, the name fit like iron to an anvil.

“This aura… are you Sir Xino and Lady FrostyLily Dream?!” It forgot its wounds and scrambled back like a landslide reversed, massive head bowing like a hill in rain. Upon seeing us, it trembled and begged, voice low as a river in dusk. “It’s my fault—I slept muddy-headed and failed to sense Sir Xino and Lady FrostyLily Dream. Please be generous and overlook this unmeant offense.”

“It’s fine. Call it a lesson,” I said, cool as frost. “Mind yourself next time.”

“I will remember!” Relief washed over it like thawing ice, and it dared to lift its gaze like a deer peeking from brush. “May I ask why you two have come?”

“I want Source Crystals. Do you have any?” My intent was plain as a bell at noon, no extra frills.

“Sir Xino, I still have some.” Without wasted breath, Kamanor set down twenty to thirty fist-sized crystals, dull gleams like moons in stone, likely its whole stock.

“Are these enough?” It looked pained, heartstrings pulled taut like old vines, yet obedient like a river finding its bank.

“Barely,” I said, tucking them away like pocketing cool stars.

With that, my mind ticked toward the next material, plans moving like chess pieces under lantern light. To forge another Worldgate, I only needed three main materials.

“Good. If Sir Xino and Lady FrostyLily Dream need more, tell this old one.” His shoulders loosened like clouds parting.

“Bring me Crimson Godwood and Soulfeathers,” I said, laziness coiling like a cat in sun; no need to fetch them myself if Kamanor could run.

“Crimson Godwood, Soulfeathers… that means those two stubborn old coots…” His voice faltered, old grudges like thorns in dry brush.

“Just drop my name,” I said, sharp as flint. “Quit dithering and go.” I began to gather another Sword Aura, the edge humming like a cicada. He yelped “Going now!” and vanished in a heartbeat, huge body moving swift as a storm hawk.

“Big sis, isn’t a Worldgate mainly forged from Primordial Source? Why the materials?” FrostyLily Dream’s gaze lifted to me, worry fluttering like willow leaves.

“They’re just media,” I said, simple as rain. “They let Primordial Source take shape and set, like mold and quenching. Without them, forging a Worldgate is hard.”

“I see… but will a second Worldgate really help?” Her concern perched like a small bird on a twig, delicate and stubborn.

“Not much in a big way. A little, yes,” I said, shaking my head like a reed in wind. “We don’t have a better way.” Xiyue loved to toss me chores like stones into a pond; right now she’s, like me, at the Pinnacle of Origin Realm, and there’s little I can do to her.

If Xiyue and I fought in earnest, life or death, the aftermath would sweep the world like a tidal wave, and all living things would likely burn out like lamps in a gale.

She knows that, so she keeps inching forward, certain I won’t go wild like her, a fox testing fence lines.

Forget it. A flat life is dull as stale tea; a ripple or two keeps the heart awake like rain on tiles.

“Right… how’s the Inner World?” FrostyLily Dream asked, voice soft as dusk.

“Under Xiyue’s push, it’s developed hard, better than the Prime Realm,” I said, tone dry as sand. “But that’s the ceiling. Its resources are gnawed to the bone; the environment’s harsh as salt wind. I hate staying there.”

The Inner World began as a barren pocket, a desert bowl under a thin sky; getting it this far is impressive. I’m not that industrious, and world-building never held my interest, like a crafts table left in dust.

Besides, its population rivals the Prime Realm, heavy as a full granary. The Inner World can’t bear that weight; no wonder the air feels choked.

Before long, Kamanor came back, bringing two ancient beings like himself—the Sacred Phoenix and the Soulbeast Felreiman—old fires and old shadows under one sky.

“Sir Xino, forgive me,” Kamanor said, apology low as fog. “Once I explained, they insisted on coming.” He shot them a glare or two, sparks under ash.

“It’s fine. Did you get what I asked for?” My words were light as drifting snow.

“Sir Xino! Here’s the Crimson Godwood you require,” the Phoenix bowed, feathers shimmering like sunrise.

“This is the Soulfeather,” Felreiman offered, aura deep as midnight water. “May it serve you well.”

The moment I spoke, they presented the goods with respect, the stock piled like stacked leaves and flame. It looked enough to forge a Worldgate...