Chapter 35: Nascent Soul Expert

Elder Xu staggered to his feet, his body trembling as he gazed at the infant's growing form. "It is done," he whispered hoarsely, though his voice lacked triumph. There was only exhaustion—and a flicker of fear. His eyes darted to Elder Bia, who remained collapsed on the ground, his shallow breaths rattling like dry leaves. "But at what cost?"

Around them, the kneeling followers continued their prayers, their faith unwavering even as the atmosphere grew heavier, suffocating. The power of their devotion swirled like an invisible storm, feeding the transformation of the wooden infant. The very earth seemed to groan beneath the weight of it, cracks spidering out from the altar as if the valley itself rejected the ritual.

The wooden infant moved again, its hand twitching. Then its chest rose—once, twice—as if it had taken its first breath. A deep, resonant sound rumbled through the valley, neither human nor beast, but something entirely different. The chanting faltered, some voices breaking into gasps. The fog that had consumed Phantom Valley was gone, leaving the dark expanse eerily clear. Every shadow seemed sharper, every movement amplified, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Above the altar, a faint trace of the crack remained, shimmering like an unhealed scar in the fabric of reality.

"All hail the High Priest Varelith," Elder Xu murmured, his voice shaking.

The infant opened its eyes, and the crimson-white light within burned brighter. Its lips parted, and a single word echoed in a voice that was both infantile and ancient, filled with malice and hunger.

"Faith."

The silence in Phantom Valley was deafening, as if the world itself recoiled at the utterance. Then, as if released from a stranglehold, the valley erupted with energy. Followers screamed in unison, throwing themselves prostrate, their cries mingling with the low hum that emanated from the altar. The wooden infant—no longer merely wood, yet not fully human—rose slowly, its movements jerky, like a puppet on unseen strings.

Elder Bia coughed violently, a fresh trickle of blood running from his lips as he pushed himself upright. "The vessel is incomplete," he rasped, his eyes fixed on the infant. "We... we must stabilize it." But his hands trembled too much to form the required seals.

"It is not yet Varelith," Elder Xu muttered, his voice distant, as though speaking to himself. His eyes were wide, unblinking, as he stared at the being before him. "But it is enough. Enough to begin."

The infant turned its head, its gaze sweeping the valley with a cold, calculating presence that belied its fragile appearance. The followers below trembled, their prayers becoming erratic, yet their faith held firm, their invisible threads continuing to flow into the vessel. Above them, the faint scar in space shimmered ominously, as if waiting to reopen at any moment.

In the distance, thunder rolled, a deep, resonant warning that sent shivers through even the most devout. Something ancient stirred beyond the veil, and for the first time in centuries, Phantom Valley did not feel like the domain of the Celestial Shadow Church. It felt claimed by something far darker, far older—something even they did not fully understand, something that even they feared!

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Edited Chapter

"Ahhh!"

The Skyforge flame engulfed the cloaked figure, its azure brilliance licking at his form as if devouring him whole. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, acrid and stomach-turning, as his screams faded into gurgling silence. Jiang Feng, his movements unpolished but driven by raw emotion, followed up with a clumsy kick that sent the smoldering man hurtling into the side of a decrepit building. The impact was enough to crack the stone wall, sending chunks of debris tumbling. The blue flames that clung to the man's body began to spread, creeping hungrily toward the ramshackle structures of Poor Man's Corner.

"Leave!"

A thunderous voice tore through the air, laden with authority and age, reverberating like the strike of a great bell. The sky above them seemed to shimmer with power as a blinding golden light surged forth.

A colossal golden palm materialized, descending slowly but inexorably, casting its immense shadow over the battlefield. The sheer size of it swallowed Poor Man's Corner in darkness, as though the sun itself had been blotted out. The palm radiated dense spiritual energy, its force so oppressive it distorted the air around it. The winds howled in its wake, snuffing out the spreading blue flames with ruthless efficiency.

"Move!" Jin Wu's voice cracked with urgency as he propelled himself backward, his dark, shadowed wings bursting from his back in a flurry of smoke and light. The power of darkness coiled protectively around him, warding off the ferocious gale that accompanied the golden palm's descent.

Hang Cai was not far behind, his own shadowy wings flaring as he took flight. His face was ashen, his usual composure shattered as the massive spiritual hand plummeted toward them.

"Dammit," Lin Moyi cursed under his breath, his grip tightening on his staff as he leapt skyward. His movements were frantic, cold sweat trailing down his back, evidence of his mounting panic. Every tree in his path exploded into splinters under the force of his staff as he sought to clear his escape route.

The rumors had spoken of the lord of Poor Man's Corner as a formidable Golden Core stage cultivator, but it was now painfully clear those tales were outdated. The power on display far surpassed anything they had expected.

BOOM!

The golden palm struck with earth-shaking force. Hundreds of trees were obliterated in an instant, the ground caving beneath the devastating impact. A shockwave erupted outward, carrying with it jagged shards of stone and clouds of choking dust.

Lin Rou froze, momentarily forgetting the chaos of the battlefield. His heart thundered in his chest as he stared at the aftermath. Even the villagers, hardened by a life of battling against demonic beasts and strife, watched in stunned disbelief.

Jiang Feng, still wreathed in flickering blue flames, stood transfixed. His wide eyes mirrored the destruction before him, the fiery rage that had consumed him moments earlier now extinguished by a single overwhelming thought. Power.

The massive palm had crushed everything in its path with such casual dominance that Jiang Feng could only stand and gape. This was the strength he sought. This was the kind of control he craved—not for revenge, but to secure his survival in a world that respected nothing less.

"Nascent Soul stage," Hang Cai muttered as he landed nearby, his feet crunching against the fractured earth. Behind him, a phantom serpent twisted and coiled in the air, its translucent form an extension of his spiritual energy. His frown deepened, his mind racing. "That old man... we thought he had stagnated after all these years. But he's—he's broken through."

Jin Wu's ashen face grew even paler, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Although he had avoided the brunt of the attack, the residual shockwaves had wreaked havoc on his internal organs. "Withdraw," he said hoarsely, his voice tinged with defeat. "Immediately."

The order was clear, and the shadows that had accompanied them began to dissipate into the air like wisps of smoke. Even Hang Cai, though less injured than Jin Wu, vanished into the shadows without hesitation. Against a Nascent Soul stage cultivator, their efforts were futile—mere moths fluttering before a raging inferno.

Bang!

Lin Moyi landed heavily, not far from where Jin Wu and Hang Cai had been moments earlier. He gritted his teeth, his knuckles white as he gripped his staff. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. The sheer power radiating from the palm still lingered, pressing on his mind like an unbearable weight. This was no ordinary attack; it was a martial skill of profound might, one that only a Nascent Soul expert could unleash.

The feeling it evoked in him was neither awe nor inspiration—it was dread, pure and unrelenting.

Above the battlefield, the golden light began to fade, but its presence lingered in the trembling earth, the flattened trees, and the stunned silence of Poor Man's Corner. For a brief moment, none dared to speak. And then, as if to remind them of their insignificance, the air crackled with spiritual energy, promising that the old man's dominance was far from spent.