202. Black Stone Tribe
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky burned with hues of crimson and gold, casting long shadows over the land. The afterglow of the setting sun painted the green miasma in eerie shades, swirling like a living veil over the mountainous terrain.
On the jagged peak of a mountain, eight towering Arachne stood motionless, their many eyes gleaming in the dim light. Their massive spider legs clutched the rocky surface with ease, while their humanoid torsos loomed tall, exuding an aura of authority and menace. Even through the thick miasma, their sharp eyes could make out the distant silhouette of the stone fortress to the north—a bastion of the half-human, half-stone warriors.
The Arachne who had scouted the fortress the day before stepped forward. His crimson eyes blazed with cold intent, and in his four-fingered hand, he raised twin curved swords wreathed in violet flames. The fire crackled in the still air, casting flickering light upon his chitinous black exoskeleton.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he pointed his blade toward the stone fortress.
A moment of silence followed—then movement erupted behind them.
From behind the mountains, a tide of figures began to emerge. Dark, faceless forms moved as one, their bodies seamlessly blending into the night. The Spiderlings—half-spider, half-man—poured forth like an endless black river, their bodies covered in hardened chitin that absorbed all light. At three meters tall, they dwarfed ordinary men, their elongated limbs carrying them forward with unnatural grace.
Each Spiderling gripped a long, jagged spear, their movements eerily synchronized, their faceless heads tilted slightly upward as if drawn toward an unseen force.
They marched without sound, without hesitation, their countless legs moving in perfect unison. The mountains trembled beneath their sheer numbers.
From the peak, the eight Arachne watched in satisfaction. The first wave of destruction had begun.
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The night stretched on in the quiet Blackstone Tribe, the dim glow of fire pits barely illuminating the empty streets. The cold wind carried a sense of unease as if the land itself whispered secrets of what had transpired in their absence.
Inside one of the larger wooden houses, five figures sat in a circle around a simple wooden table, their expressions serious. The air smelled of cooked meat, though no one seemed eager to eat anymore. The flickering flames in the nearby brazier cast long shadows against the walls, mirroring the tension in the room.
Zhou Yi broke the silence first. "Fang Xin, the tribe looks… empty." His brows furrowed as he recalled the unsettling quiet of the village. It was unnatural for a warrior tribe to feel so lifeless.
Fang Xin nodded, his arms crossed. "Ursala mentioned that Orak took most of the warriors to the stone fort to hunt ferocious beasts."
Zhou Yi's frown deepened. "But 90% of the houses in the tribe are empty. This isn't just a hunting expedition—this is an exodus." His voice carried a hint of worry, his instincts screaming that something was amiss.
Zhu Pan leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "Something must have happened to the tribe, but it doesn't concern us. We came here for one reason—the Bitter White Lotus. Did you tell them about it?"
Fang Xin exhaled sharply. "I asked Ursala. She said we needed to travel for two days to a place called Evil Lake. The Bitter White Lotus grows there."
Wei Xuan's eyes lit up with excitement. "Then tomorrow at dawn, we set out for Evil Lake!"
Fang Xin, however, did not share his enthusiasm. His expression darkened. "Wei Xuan, we don't have the strength to explore Evil Lake, let alone search for the Bitter White Lotus."
Zhou Yi's gaze sharpened. "What strength is required?"
Fang Xin hesitated before answering. "At least a Source Realm expert."
The room fell silent.
Zhu Pan was the first to respond, shaking his head. "If Source Realm is required, then we are completely inadequate for this journey." His voice was calm, but his words carried weight.
Wei Hong, who had been quietly listening, furrowed her brows in confusion. "Source Realm?" She looked at Wei Xuan and Zhou Yi, noticing their similarly puzzled expressions.
Zhu Pan sighed and leaned forward. "This land follows the ancient cultivation realm divisions: Mortal, Enlightened, Source, True Source, Source King, Source Venerable, Saint, Saint King, Great Saint, Quasi-Emperor, and Emperor." He paused, letting the information sink in.
Wei Hong was the first to break the silence, her eyes gleaming with interest. "Then how strong is a Source Realm expert?"
Fang Xin met her gaze and answered, "A God Lord in our time would be considered a Source Realm expert in ancient times, and a God-King would be a True Source Realm expert."
A heavy silence settled in the room.
Wei Xuan clenched his fists, the weight of realization pressing down on him. His mind raced as he tried to process the implications of what Zhu Pan had just said. He took a deep breath before voicing the thought that disturbed him the most. "Then… there were beings stronger than God Kings in ancient times?" His voice was laced with disbelief.
Fang Xin and Zhou Yi exchanged glances before turning their attention to Zhu Pan, the most knowledgeable among them. The bookworm of their group had spent years buried in the Divine Library, reading everything he could about history and cultivation.
Zhu Pan adjusted his robes and spoke with a calm yet solemn tone. "In the ancient records of the Divine Realm, it is mentioned that some of those powerful beings either sealed themselves away or left this realm entirely. They vowed to return when spiritual energy resurged."
Wei Xuan's brow furrowed. "Then… when will spiritual energy return?"
Zhu Pan sighed, his fingers drumming lightly against the wooden table. "Spiritual energy follows a cycle of 100,000 years. The disappearance of spiritual energy happened nearly 100,000 years ago, which means…" He paused, looking at each of them. "It could return tomorrow—or it could take another thousand years."
The uncertainty gnawed at Wei Xuan. His mind jumped to the worst-case scenario. "If spiritual energy returns… what will happen?"
Zhu Pan's expression darkened. "The Human Realm will descend into turmoil. When spiritual energy was abundant, all races lived here. This land was never meant to be just for humans. Its true name is the Source Realm."
Wei Xuan's frown deepened. The thought of powerful ancient races returning was not a comforting one.
Zhou Yi, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. "Then… what about the Divine Realm and the Demon Realm?"
Zhu Pan met his gaze and answered plainly, "Those realms are exclusive domains of the Divine Race and the Demon Race, respectively."
Wei Xuan's eyes narrowed. "How did they do that?"
Zhu Pan shrugged. "I don't know."
Fang Xin leaned back against the wooden wall, his expression unreadable. "The Divine Race and the Demon Race won't have anything to worry about, even if spiritual energy returns this very moment."
Wei Hong frowned, frustration evident in her voice. "Why do they have their realms while we humans don't? If we had a sanctuary of our own, we wouldn't have to fear being displaced when spiritual energy returns."
A heavy silence followed her words. The others nodded in agreement, the weight of their predicament pressing down on them.
Zhu Pan exhaled slowly, scanning the room. "There's no need to despair," he said, his tone steady but unreadable. "The human race also had powerful individuals in the past. When spiritual energy resurfaces, they will return as well."
His words were meant to reassure, yet the uncertainty in the room lingered. No one spoke for a while. The truth was simple—if their ancestors did not return, the human race would be at a disadvantage.
Finally, Zhu Pan stretched, breaking the tense silence. "For now, let's get some rest. At dawn, we need to focus on how to obtain the Bitter White Lotus."
One by one, they stood up and exited the room, their steps heavy with contemplation. Wei Xuan was the last to leave. Before stepping out, he glanced back at Zhu Pan, who remained seated, lost in thought.
As the door closed behind him, the village was wrapped in silence, and the night outside seemed darker than before.
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Time passed, the quiet night giving way to the early hours of the morning.
Then—
A deafening roar shattered the silence.
The village alarm bells clanged violently, their shrill echoes tearing through the air. Shouts erupted from all directions, mingling with the deep, guttural roars of unknown creatures.
The group jolted awake.
Rushing outside, they saw chaos unfold before them. A massive, transparent barrier shimmered around the village, pulsating as it struggled to hold against an external force. Shadows lurked beyond the shield, their outlines barely visible through the distorting energy.
Fang Xin's sharp gaze scanned the area before he turned to the others. "Let's go to the center of the tribe."
The group wasted no time, sprinting through the dimly lit pathways between stone houses. This part of the village was isolated, with only a few families residing there. It was eerily silent, the usual lively chatter absent, replaced by the distant echoes of panic.
As they ran, one of the guards in the group muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his weapon. "What kind of beast could let out such a roar?"
No one had an answer.
Reaching the village center, they were met with a tense, chaotic scene. Tribe members, mostly women and children, huddled together, fear evident in their wide eyes. The air was thick with worry, and hushed whispers spread among them.
In the middle of the gathering, four elderly figures stood in a circle, their hands linked. Their hunched figures were the only sign of their age; their stone-like skin, as with all barbarians, showed no wrinkles or signs of decay. The energy around them pulsed faintly, feeding into the village's protective formation.
Fang Xin immediately spotted Ursala among the worried crowd and rushed forward. "Ursala, what's happening?"
Ursala turned to him, her usually stern expression now shadowed with urgency. "We are under attack. A Source Realm ferocious beast."
Zhu Pan stiffened at her words. "Can your tribe handle it?"
Ursala's expression darkened as she shook her head. "No. Two of our strongest Source Realm experts left with Orak to hunt. We don't have the strength to repel it."
Fang Xin frowned, confusion flickering in his eyes. "But last time I visited, Orak said there were no ferocious beasts in the jungle, only around the Ancient Mountains."
Ursala hesitated for a moment before her gaze hardened. "This isn't the time for questions. The formation won't hold much longer—we must leave!" Without waiting for further discussion, she bent down, scooping up a young child in her arms, then turned to her tribe members. "We move now!"
The gathered barbarians wasted no time, quickly gathering the children and the elderly before fleeing in the opposite direction of the looming threat. The four elders remained, continuing to channel their energy into the protective barrier.
As they ran, a sudden realization struck Zhu Pan. His eyes widened, and he quickened his pace, moving closer to Ursala. "Wait—I know someone nearby who can protect us!"
Ursala's steps faltered slightly before she turned to him, her expression sharp. "Who?"
Zhu Pan met her gaze. "A Demon Lord."
For a moment, Ursala's eyes flickered with recognition. "A Source Realm expert of the Desire Protoss?"
Zhu Pan, still running beside her, frowned. "Desire Protoss?"
Ursala nodded, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "The race you call demons—Desire Protoss is their true name."
Before Zhu Pan could respond, a sharp cracking noise echoed through the night. He turned his head just in time to see fractures spreading across the protective barrier, glowing like jagged lightning. The sound of shattering glass followed, a grim warning that their time was running out.
He clenched his fists. "We don't have time for this discussion. I'm taking my group to the Demon Lord. Will you follow?"
Ursala hesitated only for a heartbeat before nodding. "Lead the way!"
Without another word, Zhu Pan surged ahead, weaving through the panicked villagers, his heart pounding. The others followed closely behind, urgency driving their every step as they raced toward the only hope they had left—Li Wen.