Seconds bled away like dripping wax. Wilsar and Molor sweated cold, breath snagging like a startled sparrow. The crystal orb had shown a way to free Wanxin half an hour ago, yet the needle barely moved.
Truth is, the method wasn’t complicated—simple as untying a knot. It used the Primordial Source Xiyue had sealed inside the orb to unwind the seal shackled on Wanxin like frost-chains.
The orb had slipped past Xinuo to land in Wilsar’s hands, which meant the Primordial Source inside had to be scant. Scant as dew on cold stone. The unsealing crawled like moss over rock. With no interference, it would take a week of sleepless grind.
Time was the one thing they didn’t have. A week? They couldn’t spare an hour. Distant rumbles rolled like storm drums—Mizumi Clan would catch up soon.
Once, they wouldn’t have flinched. Wilsar and Molor were Law Realm powerhouses; fear shouldn’t have nested in them. But after fleeing Yugong Sacred Sound last time, their faith crumbled like a cliff in rain.
Even Wansheng and Wanling, two Zenith of Law Realm artifact spirits, could swat them aside like flies. Let alone Yugong Sacred Sound and the Dragon Kin at the Law Realm.
At this point, only an Origin Realm stepping in could flip the board; otherwise, Wilsar and Molor had one road—death. They shook, dread gnawing like winter wind, fearing Mizumi blades would burst in any heartbeat. But you can’t rush a thaw. The orb’s Primordial Source was thin as mist; it demanded slow craft.
“This current… it’s Sir Xiyue’s, no doubt. It tastes of old rain. I’ve missed it.”
By contrast, Wanxin drifted in a rapture, like a leaf floating on moonlit water, blind to their breaking nerves. Back then, he’d fought life and death beside Xiyue. Feeling her power again stirred warm embers in his chest.
“Wilsar, this won’t do! In half an hour at most, the Mizumi pack will be here. If we don’t move now, we’re done!” Molor blurted, pulse beating like drums.
“If I could, I’d run.”
Wilsar sighed, despair written on his face like ash. Ahead, there’s no exit. We can’t brute-force a tunnel, not with our strength. Unless we jump to the Zenith of the Law Realm right now—dreams and dust. Turn back, and we hit Mizumi blades. That’s sheep walking into a tiger’s jaws.
“So we sit and wait for the axe?!”
Despair crashed over Molor like black surf. Not even when he slipped from Yugou Sage’s grasp had he felt this hollow. Regret nipped at him. After resurrection, he should’ve hidden and healed, not chased the Mizumi hornet’s nest. There’s no medicine for regret; even if there were, would it soften those claws?
“No… we keep working. Don’t stop,” Wilsar said, holding to a thin reed of hope. “We place our lives in Sir Wanxin’s hands. He’s Origin Realm, sovereign as a mountain. He must have a way.”
Trusting your breath to another tastes bitter, but Wilsar had no other road left in this maze.
“I hope so,” Molor murmured, voice dry as dust. “Even if we live through this, where do we go next?”
Keep fighting Mizumi? Molor didn’t have that spine anymore. He’d clawed his way back to life; now he guarded it like a candle in wind. There wouldn’t be a second resurrection. He’d been a calf unafraid of tigers, blind to Mizumi’s weight and chill. He’d assumed any clan monopolizing the Central Continent’s resources sat fat and stagnant.
The result? A single junior—Yugong Sacred Sound—crushed him like dry leaves. It wasn’t just the Semi Origin Artifact talking.
A person’s power isn’t just raw cultivation; it’s their gear too. Even the Origin Realm uses arms—save Xinuo. You can’t demand a bare-knuckle duel in a world of blades. That’s a fool’s daydream. He was lagging behind the times, Molor told himself with a bitter smile.
“What’s the Mizumi Clan’s true backing? What makes you this hopeless?” Wanxin asked, interest flickering like a moth. He’d been confined here for years beyond counting, cut off like a stone beneath ice.
“Uh…” Wilsar faltered, thoughts snagging on the name behind Mizumi—Xinuo. He feared Wanxin would cut ties the moment he heard it.
“Set that worry down,” Wanxin said, voice steady as old pine. “You came by Sir Xiyue’s will and kept me company. As long as no Origin Realm hunts you, I can barely keep you safe.”
“Then our thanks, Sir Wanxin. The Mizumi Clan is…” With an Origin Realm’s promise, the weight on their backs eased like snow melting. They sketched Mizumi’s story for him, though uncertainty still pricked.
“So that’s it. No wonder you panic like leaves in wind. I didn’t expect the aloof Sir Xino to back a faction.” “And you still provoked them… no, with Sir Xiyue’s orders, you couldn’t refuse.”
Learning Mizumi’s lineage, Wanxin’s tone hardened like iron. He wondered if he’d promised too quickly. Cross Xinuo again, and sealing might be the gentle outcome.
“As you said, Sir Wanxin, we can’t shake even a hair on Mizumi’s hide. Yet Sir Xiyue’s orders stand. There’s no second road.”
When he first reached the Prime Realm, Wilsar mocked its backward pace, pride puffed like a rooster. Now the memory felt pathetic.
“Since Sir Xiyue sent you here, I can guess her plan,” Wanxin said, sigh heavy as rain. His clouded eyes fixed on the end of the black passage behind them.
“Your pursuers will clear the last gate soon.” “Tsk, what a fearsome procession.” “Two artifact spirits at the Zenith of the Law Realm.” “Two Dragon Kin at the Law Realm.” “A human fresh to the Law Realm, likely Mizumi by age.” “Another girl, magic and martial both, strong enough to match early Law Realm.” “And two little ones, scarier still—they carry Origin Artifacts.” “Shattered Light and Ice Illusion Moon.” “Clear as day: disciples of Sir Xino and FrostyLily Dream.”
Wanxin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “With that lineup, even at my peak I’d take a detour.” “Never mind the rest—Shattered Light is Sir Xino’s natal Origin Artifact.” “Most Origin Realm would bow their heads at its gleam, even if its bearer is still a green youth.”
Silence pooled like stagnant water. Wilsar and Molor went white as bone. …
