"Your fire's too strong again!" the Mistweaver Protector gagged, waving a hand in front of his face. "I can smell the char from here. One bite of your cooking and I'll be sick for a week."

  "Sorry, sorry!" The Flameweaver Protector laughed, scratching the back of his head. "When I get excited, the flames get excited too—it's a bad habit. Tell you what: sky's getting dark, dinner's on me tonight. Heping Town's seafood is legendary around these parts.”

  The Mistweaver's mouth watered despite himself, but before he could reply, the Saint Emissary let out a heavy sigh.

  "Alas... The prophecy spoke of the Five Elemental Powers rising in the East. Yet half a year has passed since we left the Sacred Domain, and we have found nothing. I fear the cataclysm that looms over the Spirit-Sovereign Continent may be inevitable."

  At those words, the two Protectors snapped to attention, abandoning their tasks.

  "The Flareglory Kingdom grows bolder by the day," the Mistweaver Protector—Protector Mo—said gravely. "They swallow villages and minor cities without pause, feeding their strength. Even the Five-League Alliance may no longer be able to hold them back."

  "Protector Mo speaks truly," the Saint Emissary nodded, voice heavy. "This is precisely what the Sacred Sovereign feared. Six months ago, during the Soul Journey of Ten Thousand Signs, the Sovereign beheld a vision: the Spirit-Sovereign Continent shrouded in darkness—ruins stretching to the horizon, mountains of corpses, rivers of blood. Yet in the deepest despair... a faint glimmer of Five-Colored Sacred Light flickered in the East."

  "But half a year, and nothing!" Protector Zhu, the Flameweaver, blurted out. "I say there is no Spirit-Sovereign Paragon!"

  Protector Mo coughed sharply, but it was too late.

  "Protector Mo and I have cultivated nearly a century and only grasped two Elemental Powers,"

  Zhu continued, heedless. "You, revered Emissary, command three after three centuries of discipline. To master all five and achieve Spirit-Sovereignty? Five hundred years wouldn't be enough! Even if the Sacred Sovereign declared someone the Paragon tomorrow... who in the entire Sacred Domain would dare challenge it?"

  His words were blunt, but they carried a bitter truth everyone in the Sacred Domain knew: the Sovereign dwelt deep within the Sanctum, detached from mortal affairs, emerging only once every decade during the Month of Divination.

  "Protector Zhu, ever the blunt blade," the Saint Emissary chided gently, though weariness lined his voice. "If the Five-League Alliance or other realm lords heard such talk, the Sacred Domain would know no peace."

  Protector Zhu bowed his head at once, chastened.

  The Saint Emissary stepped to the railing of the wind-skiff. His gaze pierced the clouds, fixing on the Watch Legion territory far below. Massive elemental beasts thundered across barren plains while Legion soldiers struggled to maintain fragile order.

  On a distant hillock, another grey-robed figure recorded the surroundings. Seeing the air ripple before him, he stepped through the sudden spatial rift and appeared instantly on the skiff. He handed a data slate to the Emissary.

  "After days surveying these lands, the Spirit-Gauges confirm it: ambient spirit-energy here remains rich. The beasts still wield power comparable to War Chiefs."

  "Your diligence is noted, Protector Jin," the Emissary said. "It is time... to test the mettle of this ancient legion."

  The three Protectors lined up behind him, bowing deeply, right hands pressed reverently over their hearts.

  "We await the Sacred Emissary's command!"

  "Descend," the Emissary ordered. "Stir the earth. Let us see how the 'Mother of the Land' withstands the tide."

  "Protector Mo obeys!”

  "Protector Zhu obeys!"

  "Protector Jin obeys!"

  The Emissary raised a hand. Space warped and tore open into a shimmering rift. The three Protectors stepped through and vanished.

  Moments later, the barren land below rippled. Three figures emerged beneath the sunlight, golden Five-Element Sigils gleaming on their grey robes.

  "Draconic Breath Art!"

  Twin rivers of crimson flame erupted from each Protector's feet. The three torrents merged, twisting into a colossal fire dragon that roared skyward before diving earthward—its maw unleashing a blazing pyroclastic flood.

  BOOM!

  The resting elemental beasts panicked, surging like a broken dam in a chaotic stampede toward the Watch Legion border.

  High above, a button-sized communicator hovered silently, transmitting every moment directly to the eyes of the Sacred Sovereign deep within the Sanctum.

  Clad in pristine white vestments, the Sovereign gazed at a vast map of the Spirit-Sovereign Continent. The screams of distant battles echoed endlessly in his ears. His withered, elongated fingers traced the parchment as countless agonized cries resonated in his mind.

  "Emissary... does the Spirit-Sovereign Paragon truly exist?" he murmured.

  "Spirit-energy fades across the land... desire devours all..."

  "Sovereign, preserve your strength," came the Emissary's swift mental reply. "I will bring news the instant it arrives."

  Below, the Protectors completed their spell and stepped back through a new rift. As it sealed, the beast tide—a churning storm of dust and primal fury—thundered toward the verdant forest border.

  The Forest Border – Watch Legion Outpost

  Atop a towering watchtower that straddled forest and wasteland stood a woman of commanding presence. Military-green combat fatigues hugged her powerful frame; her cloak snapped like a war banner in the wind.

  Her hawk-sharp eyes had long locked onto the ominous dust plume and the seething black mass of beasts darkening the horizon.

  "Wilderness Guard—ATTENTION!" Her voice cracked like a whip through every soldier's micro-bead. "Beast tide breaching the Verdant Border! Defensive posture! Activate Earthen Labyrinth! Divert them to the Great Chasm!"

  A chorus of "Roger!" snapped back. Soldiers moved in perfect trios—running, leaping, even gliding on spirit currents—to their assigned points. Their combined spirit-power surged as one.

  The earth groaned. Massive stone walls erupted like the spines of buried leviathans, weaving into a vast, intricate maze. The charging tide slammed against unyielding barriers, fury bleeding away.

  Guided by the labyrinth, the frenzied beasts gradually calmed, their chaos redirected into an ordered, unstoppable flow.

  "Captain Guo! Scorchhorn Alpha broke containment! Heading straight for Boundary Line Sigma!"

  Following the warning, a colossal Scorchhorn Behemoth came into view—towering over its kin, eyes burning blood-crimson. Storm-forged lightning crackled around its massive, curved horns.

  It plowed through earthen defenses, shattering barrier after barrier. Frost spells burst harmlessly against its hide, evaporating in steam.

  Soldiers fought desperately to reinforce crumbling walls—futile against its rampage.

  "FALL BACK!"

  Captain Guo roared. The earth beneath her surged upward, lifting her on a stone platform until she stood level with the charging monster.

  Muscles corded in her arms as she clenched her fists. Raw earthen power fused with blazing fire-essence coursed through her. She slammed both fists down.

  KRA-KOOM!

  The ground detonated. Gigantic obsidian spires—thick as temple pillars and sheathed in cold metallic sheen—erupted skyward. They crashed together with crushing force, forming an iron-stone cage around the beast king.

  A thunderous "MOO-OO-ARRGH!" shook the air. Enraged beyond reason, the Scorchhorn Alpha hurled itself against the prison.

  Blood-weeping eyes blazed as its iron-shod hooves tore the earth. Savage spirit-power compressed and exploded around its colossal frame.

  CRACKLE-ZZTTT!!!

  A storm of crimson lightning burst outward. Thick, whip-like arcs lashed the obsidian cage. The screech of tortured metal filled the air.

  Hairline fractures spider-webbed across the supposedly impregnable surface like dark lightning. Searing bolts spat outward, radiating blistering heat that forced every soldier back two full paces.

  A crimson bolt of lightning tore through the air, erupting from the massive beast horn with a deafening crackle as it streaked downward.

  Captain Guo stood unmoving, essence of earth circulating steadily around her. She neither dodged nor flinched. The instant the lightning struck, it failed to breach her defenses—instead, it sank into her like water into parched soil, absorbed completely by her indomitable earthen form.

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  “Worthy of the Earth Mother!” the deputy captain exclaimed, awe flashing across his face. “With you here, these beasts stand no chance.”

  No one else in the Watch Legion had ever honed earth essence to such perfection.

  “Enough chatter—reinforce!”

  “Eye!”

  The stunned warriors snapped back to focus, channeling their spiritual energy with renewed vigor. Earth and stone surged across the breaches in the iron cage, sealing them seamlessly.

  Inside the colossal steel prison, the scorched rhinoceros leader charged three more times in frenzy. At last the terrifying red glow faded from its eyes, returning to a docile deep brown. It panted heavily and grew still.

  “Captain… poachers?” the deputy asked, brow furrowed.

  “Whoever spooked this herd isn’t ordinary. To be safe, send scouts to sweep the area. If we catch poachers, turn them over to Regiment Commander Yi.”

  “Understood! Wind Snake squad—with me!”

  A squad leader acknowledged the order and led his team into the depths of the barren wilds.

  A scream pierced the air moments later, drawing every head toward the dense forest.

  “That’s Fei!”

  Rui Guo’s face paled. She had never heard her son cry out like that—not since the day he was born.

  “Captain, we’ll handle things here.”

  “Good. I’m going.”

  She had sent Fei to help young Timo hunt wind spirit rabbits only shortly before. That scream boded ill.

  Earth rose beneath her feet in a platform; with a few powerful leaps, she shot like an arrow into the shadowed woods.

  Deep in the Black Forest, vines coiled everywhere, massive webs of spider silk draping the canopy.

  Timo Yang stirred groggily, consciousness returning amid the stench of rotting wood and acrid foulness.

  He realized he was trapped inside a swaying black sack.

  It’s over. I’ve been kidnapped. If I struggle now, who knows what they’ll do.

  Rumors said Evil Cultivators drained spiritual energy and turned the living into puppets. Was this his fate?

  Timo could never have imagined that after three years searching for a wind spirit rabbit, finally encountering one—not only failing to awaken his wind essence, but getting Fei killed in the process.

  At three years old, his parents had died in battle. He and his sister had clung to each other since. With her spiritual root damaged, who would care for her without him and Fei?

  Lost in dark thoughts, the sack jolted to a stop.

  In the gloom, the ice Evil Cultivator and fire Evil Cultivator each carried a bulging black sack toward an ancient, crumbling ruin.

  Black miasma hung thick in the air; fleeting shadows whispered in the dark.

  “You won’t cut me out this time,” the fire Evil Cultivator rasped, clinging close.

  “I admit you found the wind spiritual root—you deserve half the credit. But this chance means more to me.”

  “Seven days until the blood moon. Once the Spirit Taming Master succeeds, he’ll help us break through to tri-elemental power. You’re just rushing to outrank me…”

  The ice Evil Cultivator ignored the taunt and dashed ahead into the ruins.

  The fire Evil Cultivator lagged, his withered hand trembling as it clutched the sack.

  They plunged deeper, straight toward a hidden underground laboratory. Flanking the passage, fractured runes exuded chilling malice in the silence.

  Inside, manic, hoarse laughter echoed.

  “It’s happening… it’s happening! On the day of spirit taming, I will walk the world again! Another century—millennia! Cough…”

  The closer they drew, the more reverent the cultivators became. At the entrance, the fire Evil Cultivator barged in without waiting for permission.

  Dim light revealed a suffocating horror: over twenty children lay deeply hypnotized on cold tables.

  Eerie smiles stretched their young faces. Countless thin tubes extended from energy-siphoning devices above, greedily draining pure spiritual essence.

  Multicolored streams flowed into storage orbs, then funneled into a massive central glass vessel.

  Beside it, a hunched black-robed crone wearing a crown of blood-red gems danced in frenzy.

  Her claw-like hand seized a fistful of orbs and crushed them.

  Pure essence misted into her nostrils. Her desiccated body shuddered violently, as if quenched after endless drought.

  “Not enough… more! I need more!”

  After inhaling, faint vitality returned to her withered frame.

  “Exalted Spirit Taming Master—see what treasure I have brought!”

  The crone, interrupted mid-feast, whirled in irritation.

  Her bulging eyes fixed on the fire Evil Cultivator, who dared not raise his head.

  A slight twist of skeletal fingers bent the cultivator’s body into an S-shape.

  “Before I grind you to dust… your treasure had better be worth your worthless life,” she hissed, voice like shattering ice.

  “This time I guarantee satisfaction. If not, take my spiritual root!” Pain warped the cultivator‘s voice.

  “Hah! On the verge of tri-elemental breakthrough—you’d surrender it?”

  “For the Spirit Lord’s great cause, I would give my life without hesitation,” the cultivator gritted out.

  The crone’s mad laughter rang out; her fingers relaxed.

  The ice Evil Cultivator waited outside, too wary to risk the same fate. Only when the fire cultivator emerged unscathed did she creep in.

  A cold glint flashed in the fire cultivator’s eyes. He snatched the ice Evil Cultivator’s sack in one swift motion.

  “Since the wind-taming clan’s extinction, a natural wind spiritual root is a once-in-a-century find. Behold my offering!”

  He raised the sack triumphantly, voice shrill with excitement. “Master—your peerless treasure!”

  The crone glided like a specter to Timo as the sack opened.

  In her eyes, the boy’s spiritual root shone flawless—crystalline, untainted—utterly unlike the polluted, depleted roots on the tables.

  “Well done… well done! This spares your punishment. You have earned great merit.”

  Excitement mounted in her voice. Timo, head finally free, stared into the hellish scene and felt his soul fracture.

  This underground crypt, these inhuman Evil Cultivators—terror seized him. Wind stirred instinctively at his feet; he bolted.

  “Idiot!” the ice Evil Cultivator snarled, firing ice needles to intercept.

  The crone flicked a finger; the needles shattered to dust.

  “His vessel is worth a million of your miserable lives! Deal with the others.”

  “Y-yes, Master!”

  The ice Evil Cultivator bowed hastily, dragging the figure from the second sack toward a table.

  “Master, let me assist—”

  “No need.” The crone’s greedy gaze locked on fleeing Timo. She raised a claw. “Let me savor this perfect vessel.”

  A pouch of glowing spiritual stones sailed toward the fire Evil Cultivator.

  “These will aid your breakthrough to tri-elemental. When I rule the world, you shall be my chief envoy.”

  “Thank you for your boundless grace! I would smear my brains upon the ground for you!” The cultivator knelt in rapture.

  The crone ignored the flattery. Timo reached the massive stone door. A cruel smile split her withered lips; her claw traced lingering shadows in the air.

  A thunderous boom.

  The titanic door slammed shut. The last sliver of light died in Timo’s despairing eyes. bolt of liThe titanic door slammed shut. The last Death waits in stillness.

  The thought flashed through his mind. Then his gaze caught a half-ajar iron gate in a side passage. He whirled and shot through it like a loosed arrow.

  "Haaaa! Run, little hare!"

  The crone's cackle chased him down the crypt-cold corridor, a night-owl shrieking after prey. Each desperate stride only fanned the bloody gleam in her eyes—this scion of the Windrunners was a prize worth savoring.

  Beyond the gate stretched a gallery of rusted cages. Inside each, skeletal figures hunched—eyes void, flesh withered to parchment. Puppets stripped of souls.

  Is this hell? Or the black heart of the Black Forest?

  Questions exploded in Timo's skull, but his legs carried him through the nightmare gauntlet.

  "Hail the Spirit Sovereign!"

  The chant rose from every cell—mechanical, soulless. Worse still: black vapors writhed between the bars, carrying fractured whispers.

  "Save me..."

  "I don't want to die..."

  "Take me home..."

  Deeper in, the pleas swelled into a chorus of despair. The air thickened with rancor, a viscous dread that drowned his lungs.

  "Where are you hiding, little sparrow...?"

  Bony knuckles rapped the bars behind him. Tap. Tap. Tap. The crone's croon coiled through the silence like a serpent.

  "Mama! Mamaaa—!"

  A child's shriek pierced the gloom. A shadow-mass shot through Timo's chest.

  Soul-deep cold seized him. He stumbled, crashing to the stone.

  He looked up—and his blood crystallized.

  Above him, thick chains dangled row upon row of desiccated corpses. Three still wore the sigil of the Dawnwatch.

  "You... hag!" Terror ignited into white-hot rage. Tears streaked his cheeks as he scrambled backward on numb legs. "The Dawnwatch will salt your grave!"

  "Silence."

  The crone's withered face darkened. Timo's lips sealed as if stitched shut. An invisible force pinned him, then lifted him into the air, drifting like cursed flotsam in her wake.

  Deep within the lab, the fire Evil Cultivator greedily tore open a spirit-stone pouch. A single stone touched his lips; his gnarled left hand flushed with stolen youth.

  "Ten years of loyalty!" he muttered. "When I breach the Triune Threshold, I'll raise you higher. We'll share the throne when our Sovereign reigns!"

  Nearby, the ice Evil Cultivator laid an unconscious youth on a rune-carved slab. As the boy settled, tension melted from his face—sweet dreams in a hellish cradle.

  Her hand hovered over the siphon array. Black ice sheathed her fingers, sharpening them to daggers. The tip grazed the machine. She snatched back, eyes glinting with frost-fire.

  "What I desire, the Sovereign gives. I need no pity. We rise by our own blades." Her voice could freeze magma.

  The fire socerer clapped, thumb jabbing upward in mocking salute. "That's why I admire—"

  He froze. Ecstasy twisted his features. "Hear that? The Proving Grounds call!"

  A rift shimmered before him. His own double waved from within. With a howl of triumph, he vanished into the vortex.

  The ice Evil Cultivator's lips pressed bloodless. Knuckles whitened. Why him? Her power hovered a hair's breadth from the Triune peak. Her gifts dwarfed his. Yet he stepped into glory first.

  "Bitter draught, is it not?"

  The voice grated like stone on stone. The Grand Tamer stood behind her.

  The ice Evil Cultivator bowed deep. "This one presumes nothing, Sovereign."

  "I know the Triune Threshold eludes you by a breath. Few understand our symbiosis with death. Be patient. This leyline's heart will be mine. When he ascends... you are next." The crone's robes stirred in a windless void. "The Blood Moon nears. No missteps."

  "Your grace humbles me." A tremor laced the ice Evil Cultivator's voice.

  "Clever child. Your service proves your worth. When I rise, you shall be my Hand..."

  Kaff...

  A cough shattered the spell. The ice Evil Cultivator blurred—a streak of shadow—to a bulging sack in the corner.

  Steel pierced the burlap, aimed for her gut.

  The Grand Tamer watched, impassive. She knew her tools.

  The blade met not flesh, but crystalline black ice. Frost-Mist shimmered were steel scraped.

  Suspended mid-air, Timo strained his eyes.

  A figure exploded from the torn sack—a lithe girl, deadly as a night-strix, twin blades flashing.

  Timo's heart seized. Lulu! The Dawnwatch prodigy. Eight years old when she marched to war... How was she here?

  Before he could process it, the force bearing him shifted. It set him gently upon a central dais—an ancient stone disc ringed by monoliths. Blood-red sigils flared beneath his feet. A shaft of corpse-pale light speared down from the vault, dust motes dancing like cursed stars.

  "Intriguing..." The crone's gaze locked onto the girl.

  The ice Evil Cultivator parried Lulu's whirlwind assault, holding back deliberately. Such ferocity in one so young... it sparked hunger.

  "Her spirit-root mirrors the boy's. Waste not the flesh—consume it!"

  Hesitation vanished. Killing intent surged.

  As Lulu's twin blades lanced in, the Wraith stamped. Black ice crawled up the girl's legs, rooting her fast.

  The ice Evil Cultivator closed in, cold smile forming—

  —and struck empty air.

  Lulu vanished.

  Blades reappeared behind her, a scissoring cut aimed at the neck.

  Ice-arms crossed. Shink!

  Two gashes opened, bone-deep. Black ice sealed them instantly. The Evil Cultivator's eyes blazed with perverse delight.

  "Such skill, little blade! The Sovereign gathers strength. Join us. Live."

  Lulu stilled. This ice-pale woman had worn a villager's face once, lured her with false tears. Trapped. Outmatched. The crone's power smothered the air like grave dirt.

  Bargain. Buy time.

  "You kidnapped me... to recruit me?"

  "Honor, for you alone. The rest? Slaves."

  Slaves.

  Lulu's mind raced. Play the fool. Escape. Bring the Legion.

  Her eyes swept the lab—the slabs, the sigils, Timo trapped in that awful light. She would not become a specimen.

  Blades slid back into wrist-sheaths. She cocked her chin with calculated insolence.

  "What is this little club? I dance with powers, not pawns."

  The defiance thrilled the Wraith. The killing frost thawed a fraction.

  "Behold the Grand Spirit Tamer! Sovereign of the Penta-Elemental Throne! The Ascendant who walks among mortals!"

  Lulu's gaze flicked to the hunched crone. At "Spirit Tamer," a snort escaped her. Then laughter—sharp, derisive barks that echoed off the stone.

  "Pfft—HAH! Spirit Tamers? Old wives' tales to scare children! You expect me to swallow—"

  "INSOLENT WRETCH!"

  The crone materialized before her. A skeletal hand clamped Lulu's throat, lifting her like a rag doll.

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