Chapter 4:

Gate of Shattered Realms

The terrain changed fast beyond the lotus field—rocky hills, cracked spirit stone ridges, and vines that pulsed faintly with embedded qi.

Haaron moved through it like a predator in his domain. Each step was deliberate. Each breath measured.

Lian Rou followed behind, her tails twitching with every shift in the spiritual wind. Though she said nothing, she kept her eyes on him more than on the path. Not out of fear, but awareness. Haaron was growing stronger. Fast. Too fast. He hadn't even fought a battle yet, and his qi was already adapting to the environment like it belonged to him. When they reached the shattered formation site—a broken ring of stone half-buried in earth and moss—it was barely visible through the overgrowth.

Haaron crouched beside it, brushing away vines to reveal the jagged glyphs etched into the circle's edges. Ancient teleportation runes, partially collapsed, but still connected to a leyline beneath the surface.

"It's unstable,"

Lian Rou warned. "It might throw you somewhere off-target."

"Won't be the first time I'm thrown into hell." He sliced his palm and pressed it to the center stone. His blood seeped in, triggering a low hum. The circle sparked to life, violet light creeping along the broken lines, trying to reawaken.

"How do you even know how to use ancient formation types?"

"The forest taught me things this era buried." Lian Rou folded her arms and stepped back as the runes glowed brighter.

"I hope you realize wherever this takes you, you're going to be the wrong man in the wrong place." Haaron smiled. "I'm always in the right place once I get there." The world twisted.

The light swallowed him.

When Haaron stepped through, he emerged onto a cliffside overlook. Below was a sprawling valley of cloud-covered forest, waterfalls suspended in the sky by floating spirit stones, and a glimmering settlement nestled between peaks. The energy was vibrant—rich in nature qi, but twisted slightly, like something sacred had been defiled. A large pagoda sat at the center of the valley, its walls surrounded by training grounds. Dozens of disciples moved below, most in dark green robes with silver trim. He'd landed in the outer territory of a sect. Lian Rou appeared beside him a second later, slightly staggered from the jump.

"Cloudroot Valley," she said, recognizing the terrain.

"That's the Verdant Flame Sect down there. Mid-tier sect. Known for spirit herb cultivation and medicinal alchemy. Pretty girls, strict codes, not much spine."

Haaron's eyes swept over the fields. His spirit sense reached out and tasted the flow of qi below. Three minor Dao formations, a protective barrier, and about a hundred active cores. Weak overall. "What do they trade in?" "Herbs, healing pills, purification rituals. Their inner court is full of naive disciples who still think cultivation is about clarity and peace."

Haaron cracked his neck. "Good. Let's disrupt that illusion."

Ten minutes later, Haaron walked straight through the barrier. The outer wards flickered but didn't reject him. His qi was too refined—too fluid. The formation couldn't read him as hostile. He passed a group of outer disciples carrying spirit wood crates. They stopped when they saw him. Shirtless. Barefoot. No sect robes. No badge. No emblem. And yet the air warped around him like he owned it. "Who—who are you?" one of the younger disciples asked. Haaron didn't answer. He kept walking. "Stop right there," another voice snapped.

A squad of uniformed sect guards appeared near the base of the stairs, hands on weapons.

"This is Verdant Flame Sect territory.

Outsiders are not allowed past the outer herb fields without clearance or escort."

Haaron stopped at the edge of the main stone walkway. The fire in his veins pulsed. His qi swirled faintly around him, silver and violet, drawing gasps from the more sensitive disciples.

"I'm not here to ask permission," he said simply. The lead guard frowned. "You need to leave now or be detained." Haaron raised one brow. "Detain me?" "You're trespassing."

Haaron turned slightly, just enough for his killing intent to leak. One breath. The aura slammed down like a hammer. The guard stumbled back, face pale. The younger disciples fell to their knees. Haaron took a step forward. "I'm looking for alchemy materials, manuals, or disciples interested in dual cultivation. Take me to someone who matters."

One of the girls from the outer court, who had been hiding behind a cart, stared at him in shock. "Your qi… it's layered. It's not just fire or spirit… it's fused." Her eyes widened. "It's… from a Sutra." "Sharp,"

Haaron said. "Come with me." She blushed instantly. The guards hesitated. Haaron didn't. His qi flared again—subtly. Not enough to strike, but enough to make the weaker ones back off entirely.

Lian Rou finally descended from the ridge, landing beside him with her arms folded. "He's not bluffing," she told the guards. "He'll tear through your sect, then seduce your daughters while you beg for mercy." "She's exaggerating,"

Haaron said. "I'll only seduce the ones worth the effort."

Inside the sect's central pagoda, the commotion reached the ears of Elder Mei tong, one of the senior instructors. She rose from her meditation as the warning bells rang—trespasser alert, outer fields breached. But the formation hadn't triggered full defense. That meant the intruder's qi was refined enough to confuse the warding glyphs. That was impossible.

No one below Core King Realm could bypass Verdant Flame's barrier. She descended the stairs in a flash, her inner robe shimmering with formation dust.

She expected a brute. Instead, she saw a half-naked young man with silver eyes and a relaxed, almost amused expression, walking through her sect like it was his estate. "Halt." Haaron looked up at the approaching elder. "Good. Someone with an actual cultivation base."

Elder Mei narrowed her eyes. "You're not wearing the robe of any known sect. You have no badge. No identity sigil. Explain your presence or be purged." "

"Your disciples were too soft to stop me. I came for information, pills, and possibly someone to warm my bed if she can handle the consequences." Gasps echoed around them. Mei Rong's face twisted.

"You dare spout vulgarity in front of a Sect Elder?" Haaron stepped forward. "I'm not from this world. Not anymore. I don't follow your rules. I make my own. And I only kneel when I've got someone moaning under me." Her qi surged—fire-based, sharp, and full of intent to wound. Haaron grinned. "Finally."

He dodged her first strike with casual ease. Her fire whip coiled, but he sidestepped it and countered with a palm strike laced with devouring essence.

The moment it touched her spiritual shield, it sank in. She gasped, stepping back. "What… technique is that?" "One your sect buried a thousand years ago." He didn't wait. He moved again, inside her range, his qi flooding outward in a silver tide. His hand stopped just short of her throat. "You're too stiff," he said softly. "Even your fire bends under rules. You've forgotten how to feel."

Her breath hitched. "Who are you?"

Haaron leaned in close.

"The man who was sacrificed… and came back to make your world beg." He turned and walked away like it meant nothing. Because it did.