After passing through the entrance above, Chen Chuan drifted slowly upward. He took in his surroundings—the cavern walls stood far off to either side, clung to by luminous moss that offered only a faint glow, barely enough to dimly illuminate his immediate vicinity.
There were no climbing implements whatsoever. Anyone who wasn't a martial artist would never have been able to make the ascent without specialized gear.
Reaching the upper level, he found tier upon tier of ledges shrouded in mist. While the haze could not block his vision, the space was vast and sprawling. He had no idea where the object of his search might be, and tracking it down seemed likely to take some time.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, the obsidian spear in his grasp vibrated faintly. Relaxing his hold slightly, he allowed the weapon's pull to guide his arm in a specific direction. Shifting his gaze, he drifted smoothly through the air toward it.
Eventually, he landed on one of the stepped ledges, at which point the spear's vibrations subsided. Looking ahead, he concluded this was indeed the correct spot.
Elder Gale had claimed that only those of the Divine Guard caliber were granted the right to enter this place. Yet earlier, while the elder was chanting, Chen Chuan had sensed no response whatsoever from any uncanny power. At most, a faint wisp of spiritual strength had resonated with the esoteric ritual itself, and what was stirred was merely the dormant energy inherent to the ritual.
Hence, he suspected that anyone who carried the spear and entered by the proper method was deemed qualified to claim the treasures kept here.
His suspicion was well-founded. Back during the war between the Western Continent settlers and the First People, the nature spirits worshipped by the indigenous tribes had manifested, yet they had ultimately failed to stave off defeat. With the collapse of their dynasty, these nature spirits had vanished one after another.
After nearly a century without sacrifices and offerings, it was hard to imagine what kind of state they could possibly be in.
In truth, one hardly needed to look back a hundred years. When that traitor had breached this sanctuary over eighty years ago, the surviving Sacred Land Warriors fought him here, only for both sides to perish together. That had happened on their home ground, which proved that whatever nature spirit resided in the Throat of the Spirit possessed very little power. Perhaps it lay dormant somewhere, or perhaps it had dispersed long ago.
While turning these thoughts over, he walked out past the open ground. The dense mist gradually dispersed, and the terrain underfoot began to change.
What had been solid stone gave way to hollow thuds beneath his boots, as if built of some metal plating. A few steps farther, however, confirmed it to be a metal-like wood. It was hardly comfortable underfoot, suggesting its use served a specific purpose or functional requirement.
Looking around, he spotted another pair of serpent-shaped statues, standing over twenty meters tall, facing him from the left and right. Such a sight ought to have felt grim and menacing, yet within the grand, soaring chamber, it imparted a sacred solemnity instead.
Chen Chuan walked between the statues, where three floating bridges appeared before him, each extending in a different direction.
Prompted by a sudden intuition, he reached beneath his smock, took out the map, and unfolded it. Under the ambient light, the map's contents shifted once more, now mirroring the scene laid out before his eyes.
Three paths pointed in different directions, labeled with red, blue, purple, and white glyphs, each marked by four First People characters.
A distinct impression surfaced in his mind: among these paths, he could choose only one, and he would have only one chance.
His eyes flickered slightly. This was likely a hint conveyed by the esoteric ritual. In the past, guards would have been posted here, possibly under the watchful gaze of a nature spirit, meaning deviations were strictly forbidden. Now, however, none of those overseers remained. In all likelihood, there would be no harm in inspecting all three paths in turn.
Yet his objective was clear. Not knowing how many people the unsealing of the Throat of the Spirit might draw, he saw no point in squandering time. He needed to find the place most likely to hold the materials he required.
The choice was not difficult. Though he could not read the script on the map, across the floating bridges he could see a crimson tree to the left, vibrant as blazing fire, teeming with vigorous vitality that flickered like wavering flames at first glance.
This had to be the path intended for fighters who walked the Visage of the Aberrant. Even if naming conventions differed across the Ying Continent, the fundamental branches derived from it were bound to be much the same.
To the right hung a cloud of azure mist, ethereal and formless, within which countless luminescent seed-like motes drifted gently. This was almost certainly the path meant for practitioners of the Visage of the Divine.
As for the middle—
There hovered a purple plant suspended in midair, bound by countless intertwined tendrils. In its center hung a curled, oval fruit whose shape resembled a person curled up with limbs embraced, or an infant nestled within the womb.
This was evidently where the path of the Visage of the Human led.
As for the white marking on the map—
He glanced upward. Directly above the central expanse opened a large cavernous aperture, draped in ribbons of milky-white vapor that clung to its rim, alternately contracting and swelling outward. Without question, this was another aberrant plant.
The white glyphs on the map differed distinctly from the other three. Chen Chuan deduced that the path leading there was not meant for becoming a Divine Guard, but rather a road leading toward the divine. As to whether that meant becoming one with the god or serving as a sacrificial offering, there was no telling.
Withdrawing his gaze, he stepped directly onto the central floating bridge. As he walked across, dense mists surged up behind him, obscuring the ways to the other bridges.
Ignoring the mist, he walked straight up to the purple aberrant plant. Drawing near, he immediately felt a surging pulse of vitality. Plainly, even after a century, this organism had survived in peak condition. A thin, membranous sheath could now be seen cloaking its center.
After a moment's thought, he reached out and tore the membrane open. Inside lay an empty cavity, sized precisely to accommodate a single human body—reminiscent of the resonance nests used by resonators.
After a few moments of observation, he stepped back and looked around, piecing the setup together in his mind.
Upon arriving here, those Sacred Land Warriors—or Divine Guards—would enter this aberrant plant to cultivate, likely accompanied by specific religious ceremonies. The plant would then use its surrounding tendrils to channel whatever nutritional compounds the practitioner required into their body.
It was also possible that the plant itself aided their cultivation. Back then, they might even have had the direct assistance of nature spirits, allowing them to progress far more rapidly with constant guidance and fewer risks of deviation.
It was certainly an effective method, one that would greatly raise the success rate.
However, martial artists groomed this way would likely turn out uniform and devoid of unique personal style. Still, they would be staunch and devout, which also explained why the Sacred Land Warriors had been so few in number—suitable candidates were rare to begin with.
The First People's ruling class had valued devotion over individual potential.
Furthermore, this cultivation method was inextricably bound to the secret traditions of the First People; trying to cultivate inside it himself would surely not work.
In that case...
He walked off to one side until he reached the base where the tendrils converged. Sure enough, growing along the tendril branches were translucent sacs clustered in bunches of varying sizes, positioned roughly at eye level. Beneath the ambient light, it was obvious that substances were stored within.
Reaching out, he effortlessly sliced an opening across the tough, rubbery skin of a sac, reached in, and scooped out a handful of brownish liquid. Immediately, a potent herbal fragrance wafted out, threaded with a trace of blood so faint as to be almost imperceptible.
His gaze shifted slightly. He recognized it almost instantly—this was a substance akin to Purple Blood Gum.
Precisely what he needed!
Although the primary ingredient likely originated from some Ying Continent Confluence creature, perhaps blended with a unique plant extract and containing substantial impurities, it was unquestionably usable for his purposes. Moreover, its quality was exceptionally high, likely because the organism providing the tissue had belonged to a lofty threshold tier.
He had previously discussed such matters with Mr. Zhuan. Creatures capable of providing these resources typically had to agree willingly to cooperate with humans; only then would the harvested tissue maintain optimal quality.
If one were to slaughter the creature outright, the quality of its tissue would plummet drastically, and death naturally ended any prospect of a continuous supply.
While this thought crossed his mind, the slit he had torn in the sac knit itself back together. Considering this, Chen Chuan shook the excess liquid from his hand and checked the other tendrils. He found that the remaining materials he needed were all present here as well, along with an assortment of substances he neither recognized nor had ever heard of.
There was only one drawback: the volume of liquid medicine here was far too meager to suffice. Having sat here for at least eighty to a hundred years, much of its medicinal potency had likely degraded.
Yet he was not concerned. These could not be the only stores available. There had to be a primary repository where supplies were kept, and for convenience of replenishment, that storage area could not be far off.
In bygone days, a sacred precinct like this would never have permitted an outsider to roam freely. But now, no one was around to stop him. Furthermore, the sole remaining inheritors had willingly placed these treasures at their disposal. In principle, everything stored here belonged to them, so there was no need to walk on eggshells.
Focusing his senses, he searched the area and quickly made a discovery. High on either side of the ceiling were circular, well-like openings, each equipped with pulley cables and a reinforced wooden platform. Personnel had undoubtedly been stationed up there in the past, lowering whatever supplies were needed. The reserves were very likely kept right above.
With a thought, his figure vaulted upward like an arrow, arriving at the upper level in an instant and landing steadily along the rim of the shaft.
Chapter 1084