ARK SPIRIT

The path up the mountain within the Python King’s territory could barely be called a path at all.

What remained were little more than gaps between rocks and trees that had once been crushed aside by the Beast King’s enormous body. Many large trunks had been flattened, their roots torn from the ground, while boulders taller than a man had been broken into pieces. Broad, deep grooves wound their way up the slope, making the entire area look as though some unimaginably heavy object had plowed through it.

The traces left by the Python King were still obvious. Although several days had passed, the cold, bloody aura unique to the demonic serpent had not completely dispersed. Wherever its body had passed, much of the vegetation had withered black. A thin layer of dried fluid still clung to several low stone surfaces, catching the secret realm’s dim gray light and giving off an unpleasant, earthy odor.

Hao Nhien did not move too quickly.

Quan Nha’s failure to return at the agreed time made him anxious, but the more urgent the situation became, the less willing he was to let that anxiety blind him to clues that might help him find her. As he advanced, he continued examining patches of ground, cracks in the rocks, and the bushes along both sides.

In one narrow gap that had escaped the Python King’s passing body, he found a Spirit Recovery Herb growing between two stones. Its leaves had begun to wilt, but the roots were still intact. Nearby, beneath the shade of a large boulder, a small pale red Blood Lingzhi clung to the rock. Its spiritual qi was weak and its value not particularly high, but it could still be exchanged for examination points.

He collected both as he passed.

It had become a habit since arriving at Tieu Dao Mountain. Worry did not mean he should abandon his ability to observe. In a place like the Spirit Beast Forest, even an insignificant medicinal herb could unexpectedly become something that saved his life.

After traveling a little farther, Hao Nhien stopped beside a patch of low grass near a field of broken stone.

Several blades had been pressed down in the same direction.

He crouched. The traces were already faint, but in the thin soil between the grass roots, part of a familiar human footprint remained. A few steps farther ahead, a small patch of dust had also been brushed away from the surface of a slanted stone.

It was not a demonic beast.

Someone had passed through here.

Following the direction of the flattened grass, he quickly found two more footprints. The spacing between them was uneven. Some steps were steady, while others veered to the side, and in one place the surrounding grass had been disturbed more heavily, as though whoever had passed through had stopped there for some time.

Hao Nhien studied the traces for a while, his expression gradually darkening.

This was the same direction Quan Nha had taken.

A few footprints were not enough to tell him what she had been thinking at the time, but one thing was fairly clear. Whoever had left them had not been in a stable condition.

He continued upward.

According to the secret realm’s cycle of light, nearly half a day passed. The dark sky above grew somewhat brighter, but the enormous moon still hung among layers of gray cloud, leaving the entire mountain region trapped in a cold half-light that made day and night difficult to distinguish.

After climbing a root-covered slope, Hao Nhien suddenly stopped.

A dark stain marked a fairly flat stone beside the path.

Dried blood.

There was not much of it, but the color had not yet turned completely black. The trace was not fresh, though neither had it been there for very long.

He crouched and touched the edge of the stain. His spiritual awareness extended only within a very limited range, following the point of contact to sense what little aura remained. The imprint was extremely faint, but there was still something familiar enough to make him think of Quan Nha at once.

A dead branch nearby had been snapped. Caught at its tip was a tiny piece of pink cloth, its edge torn and marked with dried blood.

Hao Nhien removed it.

He recognized the fabric.

It came from Quan Nha’s clothing.

The vague unease that had been lingering in his heart became much more concrete.

He rose and spent a long time examining the surroundings. There were no signs of a major battle. The trees remained largely intact, and the ground showed no claw marks, violent impact scars, or chaotic spiritual fluctuations of the kind normally left behind when a cultivator fought a demonic beast.

If Quan Nha had been ambushed here, the area should not have been this clean.

Hao Nhien looked again at the direction of the footprints.

They continued forward.

Not toward their meeting place.

She had been injured, yet she had still gone deeper into the Python King’s mountain territory.

Why?

He tightened his grip around the scrap of cloth, then forced his breathing back into a steady rhythm. The more anxious he became, the easier it would be to overlook something important.

Hao Nhien closed his eyes for several breaths and allowed his mind to settle.

The Soul Art began to circulate, stabilizing his Divine Soul. His spiritual awareness did not spread far, remaining only within the immediate area around him. It could not search the entire forest, but once his mind was no longer clouded by worry, the signs nearby became easier to distinguish.

A very faint scent of blood came from higher up the slope with the wind.

Several low leaves on a bush in the same direction had been brushed aside.

A faint footprint remained in the grass ahead.

All three pointed the same way.

He opened his eyes.

The Spirit Wings responded to his intent. They did not fully manifest, leaving only a thin layer of airflow trailing behind him, enough to support his movement without consuming too much true qi.

Hao Nhien accelerated.

More traces appeared along the way. Sometimes it was a few drops of blood on stone, sometimes only a dried red smear along the edge of a low leaf. One tree trunk bore five faint finger marks, as though the person passing by had needed to brace herself against it to keep her balance.

The footprints became increasingly chaotic as well.

Some stretches led directly uphill before abruptly veering to the side. Elsewhere, the tracks nearly turned back for a short distance before once again continuing deeper into the mountain.

Hao Nhien did not know what Quan Nha had encountered, nor could he tell whether she had been avoiding something, losing her sense of direction, or suffering from some other influence. But from the signs before him, he could now be certain of two things.

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She was injured.

And her condition was far from stable.

He pushed himself faster. The Spirit Wings adjusted constantly to the changing terrain, helping his body slip past cracks in the rocks and tangled roots with fewer wasted movements. The air around him separated to either side, but Hao Nhien did not allow himself to lose control as he had during his first attempt at flight. Every step still came from his legs, while the Spirit Wings only assisted with redirection, reducing resistance, and keeping his center of gravity stable.

About one incense stick later, he stopped before an enormous cave entrance.

The opening cut into a black cliff face and stood more than ten zhang high, wide enough for several large demonic beasts to enter side by side. Black moss covered the walls on either side, while dried serpent scales lay scattered across the ground. Some were nearly half the size of a palm, lodged deep between cracks like broken pieces of armor.

A cold current carrying the characteristic bloody scent of a demonic serpent continuously flowed from within.

Hao Nhien remained at the entrance for a moment, extending his spiritual awareness only through the immediate area ahead. He sensed no living creature directly near the opening, but the humidity, lingering serpent aura, and chaotic spiritual fluctuations within the cave were all much clearer than outside.

He raised his head and looked into the darkness.

This was the Python King’s lair.

Hao Nhien did not delay any longer. He reduced the Spirit Wings to their lowest state to avoid creating unnecessary disturbance, then stepped inside.

The passage ran deep into the mountain.

The interior was not completely dark. Pale blue minerals appeared sporadically along the walls, giving off just enough light to reveal the nearest outlines. The ground was cold and damp, and many places still bore massive slithering marks left by the Python King’s body.

The deeper he went, the stranger the atmosphere became.

Beyond the lingering demonic aura, there seemed to be another fluctuation in the air, something old and deep, unlike ordinary spiritual qi. Hao Nhien could not identify it. He only noticed that the Spirit Wings occasionally gave a faint response, as though reacting to something farther inside.

He did not rush to a conclusion.

Instead, he slowed down and paid attention to dripping water, wind moving through narrow cracks, and every change within the limited range of his nearby spiritual awareness. After a long stretch of passage, the space ahead finally opened.

A vast cavern appeared before him.

The ceiling was so high that the blue light from the mineral deposits could not reach it, leaving layer upon layer of darkness overhead. Deep marks covered the surrounding stone walls. In some places, years of contact with an enormous body had polished the rock into broad curves.

At the center of the cavern lay a sunken stretch of cold, smooth stone.

Its size alone was enough for Hao Nhien to understand that this had once been the place where the Python King coiled itself to rest.

A large stone slab rose slightly from the middle of the cavern. Natural patterns overlapped across its surface, some of them vaguely resembling layers of serpent scales.

The moment Hao Nhien stepped inside, the Spirit Wings within his Sea of Consciousness gave a faint tremor.

The reaction was small, but clearer than anything he had felt on the way here.

He stopped.

It felt as though the Spirit Wings had just encountered an aura they instinctively rejected.

While Hao Nhien was still observing the cavern, he heard breathing from behind the stone slab.

It was weak and chaotic, sometimes rapid, sometimes drawn out so long that it sounded as though the person behind it might lose the rhythm of breathing entirely.

But he recognized it at once.

“Quan Nha!”

He moved forward quickly.

Rounding the large stone, he finally saw a figure lying on the cold cavern floor.

Quan Nha lay on her side in the middle of the chamber. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes covered in dust and stained with dried blood. Her face was so pale that almost no color remained. One hand rested over her chest, while the other clawed into the stone hard enough that blood had begun to seep from several fingertips.

Her aura was extremely unstable.

At times, a fluctuation carrying Charm intent spread outward, causing Hao Nhien’s mind to waver involuntarily. A moment later, that aura would abruptly contract, as though some cold force were dragging it deep inside her.

He stopped at a distance.

“Quan Nha.”

Hao Nhien called again, this time more quietly.

She did not respond at once.

He slowly took three more steps.

At that moment, Quan Nha suddenly raised her head.

Their gazes met.

Hao Nhien’s Sea of Consciousness shook violently.

They were still Quan Nha’s eyes, yet something darker seemed to exist deep within them. The cold sensation that emerged from that depth immediately reminded him of the eyes of the Great Python God in the remnant vision carried by the Spirit Wings.

He shifted his gaze aside rather than continuing to meet her eyes directly.

“Quan Nha, what happened?”

Her lips moved.

She appeared to be trying to speak, but each time she was about to make a sound, the aura around her became even more chaotic. After several attempts, she finally managed to call his name in a hoarse voice.

“Hao Nhien...”

She had to pause before continuing.

“Leave this place.”

Her breathing became ragged again.

“Go. Now.”

Hao Nhien did not move.

His gaze passed over the blood on her clothes, the hand gripping the stone, then returned to her pale face. Something was clearly affecting Quan Nha, and the most important detail was that she was not asking him for help.

She wanted him to leave.

Based on what he could see, Hao Nhien could make only one tentative inference.

She was afraid she might hurt him.

“That thing inside you...” He paused before asking, “is it connected to whatever you found in the Python King’s territory?”

Quan Nha’s body trembled.

The reaction made him even more cautious.

He did not know whether this was truly the will of the Great Python God. It might only be an ancient imprint, a remnant of instinct, or something else sharing the same origin. Yet the similarity between the sensation before him and the eyes from Garuda’s remnant vision was far too strong to dismiss.

A faint breath escaped her.

The sound was hoarse and drawn out longer than normal.

Quan Nha pressed one hand against the stone floor and slowly pushed herself upright.

Her movement was disturbingly smooth for someone so badly injured. One shoulder tilted, her neck shifted at a slight angle, and her hair fell across half her face. That unnatural fluidity sent a chill down Hao Nhien’s spine.

She looked up at him.

Within those deep eyes, unfamiliar coldness would sometimes surface, only to be replaced a moment later by a familiar trace of pain.

At the same time, the Spirit Wings trembled.

This reaction was far stronger than before.

No words or distinct intent reached Hao Nhien. What he felt was only an almost instinctive rejection of the aura surrounding Quan Nha, like the response of two things that had been opposed for an impossibly long time and had suddenly encountered each other again.

He immediately steadied his mind.

Hao Nhien would not allow the Spirit Wings’ reaction to decide his actions for him.

Quan Nha began walking toward him.

Each step was slow, yet the aura around her gradually made the entire cavern feel heavier. Hao Nhien retreated half a step, maintaining enough distance without drawing the Tieu Dao Sword or rushing forward to support her.

She was clearly still fighting whatever was affecting her.

If he reacted too aggressively, he might make things worse.

Quan Nha took another step.

Hao Nhien moved sideways, avoiding a direct line with her gaze while watching her breathing, posture, and the fluctuations of her aura.

The safest choice would have been to retreat.

But if he left, there was no telling what the influence would do next.

And if he forcibly restrained Quan Nha, he had no idea what effect that might have on her Divine Soul.

The thought of using the Spirit Sword appeared briefly before he rejected it.

Too dangerous.

The Spirit Sword attacked the Divine Soul directly. Until he understood how deeply the imprint had become entangled with Quan Nha, a strike aimed at the wrong place might injure her instead.

He needed to understand it first.

The longer he remained inside the cavern, the clearer the cold sensation around him became. Hao Nhien realized that the influence did not exist only around Quan Nha. Part of that invisible fluctuation seemed to be traveling back along his own attention, attempting to affect him in return.

He deliberately lowered his defenses just enough.

Not enough to allow it deep into his Divine Soul, but also not so completely that all contact was severed.

Hao Nhien wanted to know what it was doing.

A cold sensation touched the edge of his awareness.

Then came anger.

After that, killing intent.

The emotions were not overwhelming, but they arrived so abruptly that they almost felt like his own.

Hao Nhien did not react to them.

The Soul Art began to circulate.

Within his Sea of Consciousness, the embryonic cycle of his Divine Soul moved slowly. It was still incomplete, but after continued cultivation, it had become far more stable than when it first formed.

He did not use it to crush the invading influence.

Instead, he kept his mind clear and separated what belonged to him from what did not.

The anger was not his.

Neither was the killing intent.

And the hatred directed toward the Spirit Wings did not belong to Hao Nhien either.

As those boundaries became clearer, the imprint’s influence weakened slightly.

He continued observing.

Beneath the hatred lay fear.

Beneath that fear was a powerful instinct to strike back.

The emotions were tangled together so tightly that someone without enough clarity could easily fail to distinguish one from another. Once an external intent slipped into the middle of them, the person being affected could mistake the entire mixture for their own thoughts.

From the force attempting to influence his Divine Soul, Hao Nhien began to form a hypothesis.

Perhaps the imprint did not control Quan Nha simply by overpowering her from the outside.

It amplified emotions, instincts, and reactions that already existed within her, then inserted its own intent among them.

If that was true, her situation was even more dangerous than he had thought.

The imprint and Quan Nha’s consciousness might already be tightly entangled.

He could not strike blindly.

Nor could he forcefully suppress her.

Hao Nhien opened his eyes.

Quan Nha had drawn closer.

She was staring at him, but her expression kept changing. At times, that unfamiliar coldness almost completely filled her eyes. Then, a moment later, her own pain would flicker through again.

She was still there.

Still resisting.

As long as that remained true, Hao Nhien had no reason to give up on her.

He drew a deep breath and suddenly called out,

“Quan Nha!”

His voice echoed throughout the cavern.

Her body froze.

Quan Nha raised her head.

This time, Hao Nhien did not look away. He met her gaze directly.

Those unfathomably deep eyes widened at once...