Encounter on the Road

At the edges of the fissure, a dark green, viscous liquid seeped inward, accompanied by a peculiar bubbling sound from within. A sharp gleam flashed in Chen Chuan's eyes as he immediately released a surge of mental power. The approach worked. Upon contact with his mental power, the slime dissolved like melting snow, though it also took a toll on his mental reserves. Even if viable, this made it difficult to cultivate in peace; he might as well just erase the fissure entirely. With a shift of thought, he drew the Xuejun Saber and struck at the seeping slime using the method for erasing fissures. With a single slash, the substance vanished into nothingness. His spirits lifted slightly. It seemed this method worked. After another thought, he raised the saber in his right hand, rested the blade's spine against his left shoulder, channeled his power for a moment, and slashed forward. The strike passed straight through the fissure, cutting directly into the entity on the other side. He seemed to hear an ear-piercing shriek, followed by a momentary flare of blinding light from the other side. The countless eyeballs trembled, then abruptly vanished without a trace. He waited a short while. Seeing that no further anomalies appeared, he picked up a cloth, wiped down the edge of the Xuejun Saber, rested it across his knees again, and resumed his cultivation. Over the next several hours, similar things appeared occasionally, but now equipped with experience, he managed to drive off or cut down each one using the Xuejun Saber. The night passed in this manner. As dawn drew near, he noticed the illusory blurring of his Second Self deepening. He could also faintly hear a strange sound echoing as if from a distant place, and a severe sense of impending danger weighed on his mind. He knew he could not continue. Yet even now, the fissure showed no signs of dissipating, having remained open for nearly twelve hours. In Center City, under the influence of Fumu's field, fissures were suppressed as soon as they appeared. Here, there was no such suppression. Although the fissure could be seen weakening over time, it would clearly linger if he left it unattended. He promptly swept the Xuejun Saber across. Instantly, the light before him was snuffed out, and the oppressive sense of threat vanished alongside it. Taking stock of his condition, he found the night had yielded substantial gains. This manner of cultivation depended on the duration of tempering and the amount of quintessence absorbed. This single session was worth three to four ordinary sessions. Though considerably more dangerous, the returns were equally immense. His original goal had been to push his mental power to completion by the end of December. If he could cultivate like this every day, that timeline might be advanced significantly. Sheathing the Xuejun Saber, he stood up and returned to the surface. Chaoming was probably exhausted from flying all day yesterday and was still curled up asleep, but the moment Chen Chuan stirred, it immediately woke up and let out a soft chirp toward him. Chen Chuan fed it some water and food, then lifted the tent flap and stepped outside. Dawn had broken, and the three bonfires had burned out, though faint wisps of smoke still curled into the air. The morning in the Confluence was damp. Looking across, he saw a swath of mist rising from the opposite woods, drifting in his direction. It looked perfectly ordinary, but he could tell that this so-called mist was actually composed entirely of minute, barely discernible insects. A keen light swirled in his eyes. Wherever his gaze fell, the mist abruptly dispersed and fell to the ground. Just then, a rustling noise arose as the trees near the insect fog began to quiver. Plates of bark actually slid down the trunks, swiftly absorbing the tiny insects before crawling back up the trees, returning to their original appearance. Chen Chuan watched for a moment, an idea crossing his mind. He glanced back at Chaoming, who immediately darted out of the tent to his side. Inspecting the bird, he soon discovered that the undersides of Chaoming's wings were infested with down-like microscopic parasites. The heads of these parasites had burrowed into Chaoming's flesh and were boring deeper. Even with mutated tissue, Chaoming could not ward off this infiltration. Encounters like this were inevitable in the Confluence; only after adapting to the environment over time would an organism gradually develop the resilience to resist them. He took a tablet from his pocket and fed it to Chaoming. Moments later, Chaoming spread its wings and shook its body. A layer of black ash drifted down from beneath its plumage—the poisoned, dead parasites. Chen Chuan walked over to the horses and fed each of them several tablets with different properties before leading them to the riverbank for water. The moment he reached the bank, his gaze fell upon an asphalt-like black creature writhing along the riverbed. A slit-like eye rolled upward, staring straight at him, but Chen Chuan looked back with calm composure. The thing locked eyes with him for a moment before closing its slit, its tar-like body slowly seeping beneath the riverbed until it vanished from sight. Once the horses finished drinking, he packed up the tent and gear, swung back into the saddle, flicked the reins, and urged his mount forward. At their current pace, assuming no disruptions arose along the way, he estimated they would reach the indigenous camp before noon. After galloping continuously for over three hours, Chaoming suddenly sounded an alarm from the sky. At the same time, Chen Chuan heard the thud of hoofbeats in the distance, rapidly approaching. Unsure of who was coming, Chen Chuan reined in his horse beside a stream. Moments later, several dragon-nosed horses appeared on the opposite bank. The riders were clad in black armor and iron faceguards, bearing spears and lances. Every one of them was burly and battle-hardened, unmistakably cavalrymen of the former imperial house. The other party clearly had not expected to encounter Chen Chuan here either. Though he wore plain clothes, they could tell from his mount that he belonged to the Great Shun military, and they drew up immediately. The two sides watched each other across half a li of distance. Yet merely looking at Chen Chuan from that distance, the riders felt an unspeakable pressure. After only a brief pause, the leader barked an order, wheeled his horse around, and fled. He was not fleeing blindly; two cavalrymen held spears ready to cover the retreat. But at that moment, an invisible concussive wave seemed to sweep across the area. The riders swayed in their saddles and tumbled to the ground. The lead warrior's body also shuddered, but he quickly flattened himself against his horse's back. He evidently possessed a mental protective talisman and had escaped serious harm. Yet before he could get far, an explosive boom sounded behind him. A gaping hole tore through his back, and the horse's head ahead of him burst open at the same instant. The headless horse tumbled forward in a heap. The lead cavalry warrior was resolute: knowing escape was impossible and apparently fearing the loss of secrets, he drew a dagger and drove it upward through his mouth directly into his brain. After a single spasm, he went still. Chen Chuan rode slowly across the stream. Wherever he passed, white foam-like scum floated to the water's surface. As the hooves stepped ashore, overturned soil revealed numerous dead insects, and patches of what looked like ordinary weeds collapsed in swathes—all organisms struck dead by his mental power. Arriving before the cavalrymen's corpses, he gave them a brief scan: one elite warrior and three cavalrymen, the standard four-man scouting unit favored by the former imperial house. Judging by their armor coverage, they were merely reconnaissance troops. Given their heading, they were likely also bound for the Syndicate's camp. He pondered the matter. The former imperial house might appear allied with the Syndicate against the Great Shun garrison, but that hardly meant they cooperated in good faith; clearly, they had their own schemes underway. Still, there was no need to dwell on it. Wherever they came from, as long as they were hostiles, it was enough to wipe them out on sight. Turning the reins, he pressed on. As for the corpses, he had no time to dispose of them—and in a place like this, within an afternoon, everything would be picked clean and erased without a trace. Another half hour or so later, he finally arrived at the indigenous settlement marked on the map, only to be greeted by scorched ruins. Judging from the ash heaps, five or six days had likely passed since the camp's destruction, and the site had long since been overrun by a swarm of giant insects with hard chitinous shells. He looked around. Crater marks and shrapnel lingered in several spots; clearly, the place had suffered artillery bombardment. In this region, the only factions currently possessing such capabilities were the Syndicate and Linax. In terms of motive, they were probably deliberately purging potential threats along their perimeter, or simply preventing the local indigenous tribes from being recruited or utilized by the Defense Department garrison. Nevertheless, even with the settlement destroyed, confirming its location meant he had not drifted off course. Moreover, the attackers' retreat route could still be faintly discerned. By following these tracks, he could likely locate their encampment. He checked his wristwatch: 1:00 PM. He could travel for another three to four hours before making camp, set out early tomorrow morning, and continue along the route charted by Chen Bitong. If no major perils or obstacles barred his way, he should sight the enemy base around noon tomorrow. Just as he considered this, Chaoming called out another warning from the sky. A large, gray-feathered bird—far larger than Chaoming—swooped aggressively toward it. Far from being intimidated, Chaoming wheeled about and engaged it in midair, evading and circling with remarkable agility. Chen Chuan could tell at a glance that this bird was domesticated. Fearing Chaoming might get hurt, he whistled and called it back. The larger bird did not pursue. After a short while, dense clusters of human figures emerged from the woods ahead. A group of people with war paint smeared across their faces and wrapped in airtight smocks walked out. The man in the lead instantly drew Chen Chuan's attention—for what he wore was none other than a weathered pioneer team uniform.