Chapter 118: Ripples in the dark

Chapter 118: Ripples in the Dark

Deep within an isolated sub-realm of the Ancient Palace, where the air was thick with suffocating dark-green miasma, the black bone pavilion sat in absolute silence.

Dozens of ancient oil lamps floated in the air around the pavilion, each one forged from pitch-black bronze and burning with a pale, eerie black flame. These were Soul-Anchor Lamps, tied directly to the vital energy and runic cores of Qing Lian’s elite followers.

In the center of the pavilion, Qing Lian sat cross-legged on the bone floor, her light-green robes fanning out around her. Her eyes were closed, and her silver fan rested quietly in her lap as she channeled poisonous Qi to steady her meridians.

Suddenly—

PFFFT! PFFFT!

Two of the black oil lamps on the western side of the pavilion sputtered violently at the exact same moment.

The pale black flames flickered, turned a deep, bruised red, and then were abruptly extinguished, leaving behind twin trails of foul-smelling white smoke.

Qing Lian’s eyes snapped open.

A lethal, freezing aura erupted from her body, instantly sweeping away the surrounding miasma. The temperature inside the pavilion plummeted, filling the air with a suffocating, murderous intent.

She stared at the two dead lamps, her slender fingers tightening around the silver fan until the metal groaned in protest.

"Yue Fen... and Mo Ruyuan?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a razor-sharp venom that could freeze blood.

The Inscribed Slate Warden had been destroyed days ago. That had been an annoying variable. But Yue Fen and Mo Ruyuan were not mindless constructs—they were core members of the Emerald Venom Corps, seasoned cultivators specializing in assassination and tracking, sent specifically to hunt down whoever had destroyed the construct.

Yet, their lamps had gone out together.

PFFFT! PFFFT!

Another two more went off. Mie’r and Fan’er.

This almost made Qing Lian blow up the space around her. Deep green must kept floating around the silver fan in her hand.

That meant they hadn’t just been defeated. They had been wiped out instantaneously, without even enough time to trigger a warning talisman or escape through the palace’s spatial paths.

"Four..." Qing Lian stood up slowly, her green silk robes fluttering with lethal energy. "The Warden, the two scouts, and now Yue Fen and Mo Ruyuan. Four members of my core force and the palace construct, eliminated inside a native ruin without leaving a single trace of their killer’s identity."

A cold, terrifying smile twitched at the corner of her lips, though her eyes were completely dead.

The game had gone past the point of a simple expedition. Someone inside the palace was systematically dismantling her faction’s assets, piece by piece, runic node by runic node.

She turned her head slightly toward the dark shadows at the edge of the bone pavilion.

"Situ Li."

From the absolute darkness, a figure stepped forward into the pale light of the lamps.

He wore simple, dust-covered gray robes that seemed to swallow the light around him. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost translucent, and his eyes were completely devoid of warmth—the same gray-clad cultivator who had accompanied Qing Lian to earth and clashed briefly with Lothe and Seana in the forest before they entered the palace.

"I am here, Commander," Situ Li’s voice was dry, flat, and hollow, like grinding stones.

"You remember the forest near the human base?" Qing Lian asked, her voice dropping into a chilling register. "The native who used spatial techniques and talismans to block your path?"

Situ Li’s pale eyes narrowed slightly. "I remember."

"He—or someone tied to him—is inside this palace," Qing Lian commanded, pointing a slender finger toward the two extinguished lamps. "They have destroyed the Slate Warden and killed Yue Fen and Mo Ruyuan, also Mie’r and Fan’er. I want you to take their tracking compass, find the energy trail, and tear his meridians out by the roots."

Situ Li bowed his head slowly. A faint, gray aura began swirling around his fingertips.

"No variables will leave this palace alive," he muttered.

Without another word, Situ Li dissolved into a streak of gray mist, vanishing directly through the floorboards to begin his hunt.

——————————

Meanwhile, in Sector 3.

Far away from Qing Lian’s domain, in a completely different sector of the vast subterranean labyrinth, the environment had shifted dramatically.

Gone were the damp caves and crystalline grottoes. Here, the palace resembled an ancient, colossal library or archive. Towering shelves carved directly from dark basalt lined the walls, filled with thousands of decayed, leather-bound scrolls and stone tablets.

Standing in the center of an aisle between two towering bookshelves were Asher and Jules—two young cultivators who had been separated from their original groups during the initial spatial dispersal at the gates.

Asher stood with his arms crossed, his metallic Qi which shone Gold, humming faintly around his fingers as he stared down at a raised stone pedestal in the center of the aisle.

Resting atop the pedestal was a small, perfectly preserved bronze box, glowing with a soft, amber light.

"Look at it, Asher," Jules said, his eyes gleaming with ambition as he stepped forward. "A pristine artifact in a sector this deep? This isn’t just a trap—this is an unplundered armory node. If we claim whatever is inside that box, our combat power will triple before we even reach the core."

Asher didn’t move. His sharp, calculating eyes swept over the floor tiles surrounding the pedestal.

"Stop, Jules," Asher warned, his voice low and firm. "Look at the runes on the shelves. They aren’t passive decorations. They’re connected to the entire architectural grid of this sector."

"So what?" Jules scoffed, taking another step closer to the pedestal. "Everything in this damn palace is a trap. If we hesitate every time we see an ancient artifact, we might as well lie down and wait to be digested. I’m opening it."

"If you touch that box without analyzing its energy flow, you’ll trigger a spatial lock," Asher snapped, stepping forward to block his path. "Did you forget what happened to the others?

The moment you interact with the palace’s high-tier nodes, it alters the sector layout. We need to dismantle the array foundation first, not just grab blindly like fools."

Jules sneered, his hand hovering inches from the bronze box. "You’re too paranoid, Asher. You’ve been overthinking everything ever since we got separated from Adrian. I’m taking the artifact."

"Jules—!"

Before Asher could grab his arm, Jules’s fingers gripped the lid of the bronze box and yanked it open.

CLICK.

The sound was sharp, final, and deafeningly loud in the quiet archive.

The amber light from the box instantly turned a blinding, violent crimson.

HUMMMMM!

The runes carved into the thousands of basalt bookshelves lit up simultaneously, flashing like a network of warning fires. The stone floor beneath Jules’s boots sank half an inch into the ground.

"Damn it!" Asher cursed, immediately condensing a shield of Gold Qi around his body.

"What is—" Jules’s voice cut off as the space around the pedestal distorted violently.

A heavy, suffocating spatial pressure dropped over the entire aisle, while mechanical gears began grinding behind the basalt walls, sealing the exits on both ends.

Asher glared at Jules, his teeth clenched in frustration. "You absolute idiot. You just triggered the sector’s defensive lockdown."

Jules swallowed hard, his ambition instantly turning into cold panic as the dark shelves began sliding inward, enclosing them within a closing trap.​