Discovering the Sea Dragon’s remains this easily blindsided Cerqin.

Silver Luan had said the Sea Dragon clans scoured these waters for centuries, nets coming up empty.

Day one in this zone, and they tripped over the target like a shrine underfoot.

But inside the round, egg-hard sphere, she couldn’t move or scout, like a butterfly pinned in amber.

With Silver Luan still asleep, she could do almost nothing, like a boat becalmed.

Deep-sea behemoths sensed mana like sharks scenting blood; any twitch would ripple out and betray them.

If one swallowed them whole, what followed would be a storm without a map.

With no choice, Cerqin waited for Silver Luan to wake, holding her breath between waves.

The scales bled life energy like spring sap, and her cultivation surged like a breached river.

In a few days, she might brush the Sixth Rank’s threshold, a lone lantern in a long night.

Above, dusk bled across the sea; the Black Dragon Battleship crouched like a grounded predator.

The deck air felt heavy as a storm, and waiting soured every breath.

Aileaf sat on the rail with eyes shut, her spirit a lantern behind silk.

Four stars marked her soul; two blazed, and two lay dim like embers.

A silver glint flickered. Aileaf opened her eyes and searched the steel-blue water.

“Aileaf, the scouts are back. No abnormal stir in the surrounding waters.”

Baili appeared behind her like a shadow in armor; his calm voice couldn’t hide rain-dark worry.

He gave the report, then frowned, lines cutting like knife marks. “It’s really strange…”

No beast tide rolled here, though a massive school of black sharks drifted like a moving reef.

It held high-rank predators and three Sixth Rank giants, yet the sea stayed quiet.

Stranger still, black sharks entered a habitat that didn’t suit them, like wolves in a desert.

“If something drew them, the trail should be a scar. Low-rank beasts should bolt like sparrows before a hawk.”

Aileaf rubbed her chin, doubt pooling like mist on the deck.

The fishing grounds showed no monster trouble, yet a vast host slipped in without a ripple.

Why come here at all, and why so quiet, like thieves walking on snow?

“Maybe it’s a quirk of the black shark clans…” she said, her voice trailing like smoke.

Aileaf guessed the high-rank leader could veil its pack, like fog swallowing a coast.

As for this zone, it might be a habit humans never charted, or tied to that leader.

Or they were searching for something sunk and old, like dogs nosing a buried bone.

Black sharks sat mid-tier among ocean behemoths, iron knives without jeweled hilts.

No glaring weakness, no overwhelming gift, just balance like a level scale.

“Maybe they smelled something,” Baili said, tasting the air like a hunter in snow.

Their scenting was decent, especially for rot and blood, sharp among sea beasts.

“Smelled… what?” Aileaf frowned, a shadow skimming still water.

She knew their gift, but it ran toward gore and corpses, like a compass set to iron.

She doubted this sea hid enough blood to pull a whole host, leader and all.

And yet they came like ghosts, with not a single wave out of place.

“Black sharks care about corpses and blood, right? There shouldn’t be anything here that draws a pack this big…”

Her words faltered. Memory snapped taut like a bowstring.

“No. This zone is said to hide a body, or what remains of one.”

“Sea Dragon remains?” Baili blinked, surprise flashing like lightning on a blade.

He followed her thought like a ship catching a current. “Is the Sea Dragon’s treasure about to surface?”

“Very possible… and.” Aileaf hesitated, her heart testing the wind.

The star map in her soul lay calm; danger would have set those stars trembling.

Cerqin and Silver Luan were gone too long; it could tie back to this, like two kites tugging one string.

“For all we know, they’ve stepped into the Sea Dragon’s secret realm.”

“Very possible,” Baili said, nodding as worry drained like rain off eaves.

“If so, the seabed here likely holds the entrance, like a keyhole under silt.”

These deep reefs throbbed with quakes; a recent one could crack an ancient seal.

A trace of scent might leak like wine from a chipped jar, drawing nearby clans.

They hid their trail to feast alone, like wolves guarding a kill.

Inside the Sea Dragon’s remains, boredom gnawed at Cerqin as heat pooled where Silver Luan held her, like coals under silk.

In the solid, egg-like sphere, she couldn’t do much; she wriggled like a minnow in a gourd.

She used her smaller frame to shift bit by bit, chasing a sliver of shade.

Softness brushed her face and stole her breath; a dragon-scaled tail looped waist and legs like a clasp.

“Ha…”

How long must she hold this pose, like a crane standing in cold water?

There was water inside the shell, so it wasn’t too awkward; she held to that reed.

Then a stray thought rippled: in such a sealed space, would mixed fluids muddle the water?

Her mind wandered like a kite in crosswind, and then the arms around her eased.

Silver Luan might be waking; the tide drew back from the shore.

Silver light flared in the ink-black sphere, like moonfire racing over scales.

Draconic mana thickened into substance; its glow beat like a heart and filled the cramped space.

Joy sparked in Cerqin, then worry pricked; would sea beasts catch the surge?

Her spiritual sense spread thin as mist; the pulses didn’t leak beyond the shell.

The round wall caught all of it like a bell catching sound.

She dared not move, like a statue under snow.

After a long moment, the water itself began to glow.

Faint dragon chants brushed her ear, like wind through bronze chimes.

Her body drank the thick mana like nectar, but only passively and slow.

It was nothing like Eastwind City, where power had slammed in like a floodgate torn wide.

Even so, with this density, her body hardened and her mana pool swelled like a reservoir after rain.

She didn’t know how dangerous this was for others; draconic mana could twist roots toward dragonization.

Only the Love God’s shelter let her turn that tide into strength and keep her foundation whole.

At this pace, breaking into the Sixth Rank within a day wasn’t impossible.

As that thought formed, Silver Luan woke, announced first by spiritual pressure like a cold river.

The stronger scan brushed Cerqin’s soul; a winter thread tugged at her heart.

“Why is there draconic mana in your body…?” Silver Luan’s voice drifted up, cool as moonlight.

Wounded, she had burned a hidden card and called the Dragon Deity’s power to mend her, like a buried ember flaring.

She let her soul sleep short and deep, healing inside a day like ice sealing a crack.

Waking, she let her spiritual power slip out—and froze like a stag in torchlight.

The girl in her arms leaked her own scent, unmistakable, like embracing a reflection.

If not for the familiar feel, she would’ve pushed Cerqin away on instinct, like shaking off a mirror-ghost.

She opened her eyes and looked down, a frown cutting between her brows.

“Hm?”

“Ah…”