Even with prep, our grasp of the Soulless Sanctuary was thin as mist, nowhere near Wansheng and Wanling’s.

Records on it were scarce, like scattered bones—beyond origins and surface history, there was nothing.

What they knew came from their master, the Magic Progenitor (Origin Realm), like torchlight in a cavern, deeper than anything we had.

So Wansheng and Wanling led us forward, our steps falling like pebbles into a silent lake.

The deeper we went, the pressure pressed like a deep-sea trench; without Aunt Saintvoice’s ward, we’d be gasping under a mountain.

Corpses multiplied along the walls like withered shrubs, and the blood-scent thickened into an iron fog.

Her protective ward sealed off the filthy air like a glass bell, easing body and mind like cool rain.

Meanwhile, Lixue walked and flicked out ice Sword Aura, leaving layered frost like stacked glass behind her.

Pure snow rolled in and buried the eye-souring piles of bodies, a white shroud over a battlefield.

After ten minutes, the dank black corridor turned into a corridor of ice, white as winter noon.

The blood tang gave way to the crisp breath of snow, and the change sped up when Qianji Sister joined with ice magic.

"Phew—this is so much better; leaving it unclean was a thorn in the eye."

"Mm, Qianji Sister and Lixue were a real help, like two brooms in a blizzard."

Lingxiao and Lingsaki had wanted to act, but Lixue and Qianji beat them to it, like swallows diving first.

I agreed—the current scene sat easier than the old filth, like clear water after sludge.

"Past this corridor is the Town of the Dead—the undeads’ patrol range," Wansheng warned, voice taut like a drawn bowstring.

"The whole Soulless Sanctuary is wrapped in a subtle ward, threads fine as spider silk around stone."

"It seems to convert Primordial Source into a special energy to keep this place alive, and grants the undead endless rebirth."

As we neared the exit, Wansheng grew grave, dropping truths like cold stones we hadn’t heard.

"Wait—there’s Primordial Source inside the Soulless Sanctuary?" The shock bit like ice on teeth.

Annoyance spiked like a pricked thorn—tell us that earlier, please—then I bit back the complaint.

Wanling read me and shook her head, solemn as winter bark, matching Wansheng’s steadiness.

"At first we weren’t sure; near the Town of the Dead, the Primordial Source aura swelled like a rising tide."

"This sanctuary likely carries a ward that converts Primordial Source, using it to seal an Origin Realm existence."

"Sealed by its own source, knotted like a loop with no blade to cut."

"Can that even be done?" The question fell like a stone into a bottomless well.

A being of the Origin Realm being sealed was beyond our maps; the next blow numbed me like frostbite.

"An ordinary Origin Realm can’t do it, not even our master," Wanling said, calm as moonlight on ice.

"But if it’s Sir Xino, doing that isn’t hard—like moving a chess piece you carved yourself."

"Wansheng, you mean that Origin Realm existence was sealed by Xinuo?" The thought struck like thunder under skin.

What sin must weigh on Xinuo to be driven this far; sealed by one’s own Primordial Source is an iron coffin forever.

It’s a knot no lifetime can untie, a pain sharper than death, an eternity nailed to the Soulless Sanctuary.

"Don’t get heated; it’s a guess, though eight or nine parts right," Wansheng said, voice steady as a plumb line.

"Besides Sir Xino, I can’t imagine anyone else who could weave such a net."

"Mm." The air grew heavy, like rain before a storm, pressing down our voices.

We left the corridor and reached the Town of the Dead, our steps cautious as cats—then—

"Little Emperor, danger!" The cry snapped like a bowstring in a hailstorm.

Clang!! A crisp sword-chime rang by my ear, clean as a striking bell.

Before I reacted, a fresh fragrance rushed my face like spring wind through plum blossoms.

I came to and found Heartvoice had pulled me back a few paces, her arms a shield like willow branches.

In front of her stood an undead in heavy, old armor, a relic moving like a rusted wolf.

It had just been forced back; if it made Heartvoice rush a defense, its strength spoke for itself—Law Realm.

No wonder I missed it at first; an undead’s near-zero presence, plus Law Realm power, is a perfect assassin’s cloak.

"Don’t get tangled up with them, or their endless revivals will drown us, Holy Voice!"

"Got it!" Holy Voice’s reply cracked like flint under a boot.

As the words fell, Aunt Saintvoice swung the Allsaints Spirit Staff, and a massive elemental sphere formed above like a pale moon.

Thousands of magical lasers rained down like a monsoon, pounding the undead below in a blind bombardment.

As the beams fell, Wanling cast a defensive ward around us, a cocoon of light to keep the storm outside.

She tried to blink us straight across the Town of the Dead, but seconds passed like stuck gears.

Nothing happened; we were still rooted, held fast like flies in amber.

"No good—the Primordial Source aura has hardened space like frozen steel," Wanling said, jaw set.

"We can’t slip through; we’ll have to break through by force, like ramming ice with a prow."

No sooner said than a swordlight flashed straight through the laser rain, a silver needle threading a storm.

Wanling stayed calm and called down a giant pillar of light, a sunbeam from the heavens that erased the attacker.

Just then, the laser storm cleared; the ground wasn’t cratered to tatters, only scratched like scarred bark.

The undead regrew fast, knitting themselves in barely ten seconds like weeds after rain.

"Under the Primordial Source aura, their strength and regeneration spiked, and their numbers swelled like locusts."

"Yumigawa Sumeragi, be careful; we and Holy Voice will take the two strongest."

"Little Emperor, stick with us." The call tugged like a towline through churning waves.

At once, Wansheng and Wanling, with Aunt Saintvoice, carved into the town center like three comets.

There waited the two strongest Law Realm undead; counting the others, there seemed to be six in all.

"Understood!!" Our answer rang like iron on iron, brief and bright.

We readied for battle without fuss, falling in behind Aunt Saintvoice and rushing like arrows loosed.

Heartvoice and Celia Maya, both Law Realm, opened the way, cutting a path like scythes through tall grass.

For a moment it felt easy, a wind at our backs and the road smooth as packed snow.

But the other four Law Realm undead arrived and tangled with Heartvoice and Celia Maya like chains from four directions.

Around us, the undead we’d culled half a minute ago kept reviving, swarming back like a black tide.

Some of the stronger ones took over nearby corpses, wearing them like filthy coats, and rose as zombie-like abominations.

The Town of the Dead sprawled wide, with structures and fixtures intact like a model city, yet every inch ruined.

No corner was fit to look at—everything was broken, a small township reduced to a hungry ruin.

Bodies lay everywhere like driftwood after a flood; a sweep of Sword Intent counted thirty to forty thousand.

I guessed the treasure hunters who braved the Soulless Sanctuary died most here, their dreams swallowed like sparks in rain.

...