Chapter 9 (entering civilisation)

  Inside the Sect Ship – Elder Guo's Chambers

  The hum of formation arrays resonated softly through the polished wood of the ship's hull, casting gentle light against the jade-and-gold walls. Elder Guo stood near a broad window, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes narrowed at the turbulent sea beyond.

  Something was wrong.

  The Sea Serpent should have shown itself by now.

  A creature that ancient didn't simply vanish—not in its own territory.

  He frowned deeper, his long gray beard catching the glow of the formations. The expedition had gone too smoothly. Survivors, yes, but far too many considering the dangers they'd anticipated. And yet… no Serpent. No sign. No struggle. Only silence and still water.

  A knock disrupted his thoughts.

  “Enter,” he said, voice low but commanding.

  A middle-aged man stepped in, robes marked with the silver trim of a Foundation Establishment elder. He bowed.

  “Grand Elder Guo. All teams have returned, and the ship is ready to depart.”

  Guo gave a slow nod but didn’t turn. “What did the expedition recover?”

  The elder pulled a thin scroll from his sleeve, unrolling it with practiced fingers.

  “There were five teams assigned to separate sectors. Two returned with beast corpses and spirit herbs from the coastal forests. One team recovered a relic blade from a drowned shrine… but its Qi was long faded.”

  “And the others?”

  “The fourth team investigated the tundra region. They reported a collapsed ruin beneath an ice-cold waterfall. The structure appeared ancient, older than anything on current maps. Symbols carved into the stone didn’t match any known sect script.”

  Guo turned at that, his gaze sharp.

  “Anything else?”

  “They were forced to retreat after sensing abnormal fluctuations from deeper within. They sealed the entrance temporarily. The team lead noted a... pressure, like being watched.”

  Guo’s expression darkened, but he only hummed.

  “And the fifth?”

  The elder hesitated. “That was the team that suffered the most casualties. They encountered a strange mist that disrupted their formations and disoriented the scouts. Only a few returned, and they claim something attacked from beneath the ground. No one saw it clearly.”

  Silence settled.

  Guo closed his eyes briefly, then waved the scroll away.

  "Have the formations brought to full power. We leave at once."

  "Yes, Grand Elder."

  Guo stared back at the sea. His thoughts churned deeper than the waves.

  No serpent. An ancient ruin. A watching pressure.

  Something was stirring beneath the surface of the world.

  And he didn’t like not knowing what it was.

  The elder who had delivered the scroll lingered for a moment, clearing his throat hesitantly.

  "There’s... something else, Grand Elder," he said, voice low and uncertain.

  Guo didn’t look. “Speak.”

  “One of the teams… found someone. A young man.”

  That made Guo pause. His head tilted slightly. “A survivor?”

  The elder nodded. “Yes, or so it seems. He was discovered in the central region. No clear signs of which sect he belongs to. His cultivation is… unorthodox, but stable. The disciples say he assisted in defending them during a beast attack.”

  Guo finally turned fully toward him, brows raised. “Someone was living here? In this savage wilderness?”

  “It appears so. His origins are unknown. But… he is not hostile.”

  Guo’s lips pressed into a tight line. “No one survives this island by accident.”

  He moved toward the door, robes flowing like mist across stone.

  “Where is he now?”

  “With the returning disciples. Likely near the boarding ramp.”

  Guo grunted. “Prepare to depart. I will meet this… boy.”

  As Grand Elder Guo stepped down from the raised deck of the ship, the cold wind tugged at his sleeves. His eyes scanned the gathering of disciples until they stopped on the unfamiliar face—relaxed posture, hands loose by his side, gaze steady yet unbothered. The others held themselves like cultivators—centered, vigilant. This one looked like he could be at a street-side tea stall.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “You,” he said, voice quiet but firm.

  The young man turned to him and gave a polite nod—not a cupped fist salute, not a bow, just a nod. His voice was clear but oddly casual.

  "Esteemed Senior... uh, I’m Adam," he said, hesitating for half a breath as if unsure whether he should add more.

  That was all it took.

  The way he said it—no surname, no courtesy title. The dialect of the Central Plains twisted ever so slightly with an unfamiliar cadence. It wasn’t wrong… but it was off, like a poem written with the wrong rhythm.

  Guo’s brows lifted, and a subtle smile ghosted across his lips.

  “Well now,” he murmured. “A rare species indeed.”

  Adam blinked. “...Sorry?”

  Guo chuckled. “Relaxed shoulders. Improper greeting. That odd lilt in your tone.” He tilted his head. “You're not from this world.”

  The disciples stiffened.

  Guo continued, voice laced with nostalgia. “I’ve only seen it once before. Back when I was still a Core Disciple. I stood in a crowd of a hundred thousand when His Highness Siegfried von Ebonreich, Emperor of the Ebonreich Empire, walked through the Jade Gate.”

  He looked at Adam again.

  “You carry that same... dislocation. That quiet defiance in your posture. That unconscious rebellion against our customs.”

  A gust of wind passed between them.

  Guo’s tone softened. “The heavens are kind today. To think I would see another one of you in my lifetime.”

  Guo stepped closer, his eyes now sharper, studying Adam more closely. He didn’t miss the faint silver gleam where flesh gave way to something… unnatural. The arm—part-sword, part-body—seemed at rest now, but he could feel it. Something foul had touched it. Something that did not belong.

  His hand hovered near Adam’s forearm. “May I?”

  Adam nodded cautiously.

  Guo’s palm stopped just a finger’s breadth from the arm. His Qi brushed against it, and instantly, his expression darkened. A subtle hum reverberated through the corrupted metal and flesh, like a whisper from deep beneath reality. Guo quickly pulled his hand back.

  “This isn’t alchemy,” he muttered. “Not a blood curse, either…”

  His voice turned low. “You’ve been touched by something from beyond the Veil.”

  Adam said nothing. Guo didn’t expect him to.

  For a long moment, the elder was silent. Then he sighed and stepped back. “To survive corruption from a higher being… I’ve only ever read of one doing so, and even he went mad soon after.”

  He looked at Adam not with suspicion, but with something closer to reluctant respect.

  “You're either terrifyingly lucky… or fate has decided to play a cruel game with you.”

  Adam offered a dry smile. “Bit of both, maybe.”

  Guo didn’t return the smile. Instead, he turned toward the ship.

  “I won’t ask how you lived,” he said, voice calm but heavy. “Some knowledge is forbidden for a reason. To know too much of the higher beings is to invite their gaze. And their gaze is not something anyone survives for long.”

  He looked back once, meeting Adam’s eyes.

  “Keep walking, boy. But tread carefully. You’ve already been seen once.”

  With that, he turned and walked back toward the deck, the wind howling behind him like a distant, laughing god.

  With all teams aboard, the great sect ship began its ascent. Runes across its hull flared to life, casting pale blue light over the sea. Slowly, the vessel lifted into the sky, the wind howling louder as it rose.

  But it didn’t get far.

  A sudden, crushing pressure pressed down on the ship like an unseen hand.

  Then the sea split.

  A shadow, vast and ancient, surged from the depths. The water foamed and churned as a monstrous form broke the surface—scales darker than obsidian, eyes like twin suns of molten gold. Its serpentine body coiled, stretching high into the sky, massive enough to blot out the moon.

  Gasps erupted across the deck. Disciples stumbled back, panic in their eyes. Even seasoned elders drew weapons on instinct.

  Guo didn’t move.

  The Sea Serpent—silent till now—had finally shown itself.

  And it spoke.

  “Human,” it said, voice deep enough to rattle bones, “at last… something to fill my stomach.”

  Its words echoed like thunder, and the very air trembled. But its golden gaze did not linger on Guo. It shifted—past the elders, past the weapons, until it landed on Adam.

  “You have something interesting aboard.”

  Adam’s jaw clenched.

  Guo took a step forward, robes fluttering in the wind. “We’ve never met, serpent. Yet you threaten me like an old enemy.”

  The creature’s massive head lowered slightly, eyes narrowing.

  “Not enemy. Merely... food. But that boy—he is different. His scent twists time. His soul is wrong.” The serpent’s tongue flicked the air. “Give him to me, and I will let the rest of you leave intact.”

  The silence that followed was heavy.

  The disciples looked to Guo.

  The wind blew harder. Even the formation arrays flickered for a heartbeat.

  Guo raised his hand slowly, summoning his Qi. A vast pressure radiated outward, invisible but undeniable—like the weight of mountains being stacked across the sky.

  “Let me be clear,” Guo said softly. “This is my first and last courtesy.”

  His eyes locked with the serpent’s.

  “You may hunger, but I am not a meal. And that boy is under my protection now.”

  The serpent’s nostrils flared. “Then you will die with him.”

  Qi surged across the sky. A flash of lightning crackled behind the serpent’s horned crown.

  Guo’s voice was calm. “So be it.”

  And the heavens held their breath as Elder and Ancient prepared to clash.

  The sea hissed with malice.

  The serpent reared its head from the deep, monstrous jaws curling into a grin. “Hand over the boy, human. He smells... ancient. I haven’t tasted something that old in centuries.”

  Guo’s eyes narrowed. “Not happening.”

  Without warning, the ocean surged.

  A towering wave, shaped like a serpent’s maw, shot toward the ship—teeth of hardened water aiming to crush mast and deck in a single bite.

  Guo moved.

  He stepped forward, palm raised.

  “Ocean’s Wrath? Try me.”

  A glowing barrier, hexagonal and layered, erupted around the ship just in time. The water crashed against it with a deafening roar, sending steam and spray skyward—but the ship remained untouched.

  The serpent narrowed its golden eyes.

  Guo exhaled and slowly rose into the air, wind swirling around him. His robes fluttered as he hovered high above the beast’s head.

  Then, he drew his sword.

  It was a thin, elegant blade—crackling with arcs of silver-blue lightning.

  Guo raised it to the sky.

  Dark clouds gathered above, rumbling with anticipation. Lightning churned and coiled as if waiting for command. Then—with a flick of his wrist—

  “Thunderfall.”

  A bolt of divine lightning streaked down, striking the sword and illuminating Guo in a burst of white light. He slashed downward, and a second bolt shot from the blade, slamming into the serpent’s head with explosive force.

  The beast roared, pain and rage mixing.

  “YOU DARE?!”

  It launched upward, massive body twisting through the air. Its mouth opened wide, aiming to bite Guo clean in half. But Guo spun midair, evading with practiced grace. The serpent coiled around him like a constricting dragon, then tightened.

  The sea churned below as torrents of water rose—javelins and spears made of pressure and force, all aimed at the elder.

  Guo weaved between them, his body moving like lightning, faster than thought. Every missed attack exploded into spray.

  He slashed across the serpent’s side—a small cut. Then another on its jaw. Then across one eye. Small wounds that didn’t kill, but began to sting.

  The serpent shrieked in rage and coiled tighter, trying to crush him.

  “Too slow,” Guo said, voice calm.

  He flashed above its head, fingers moving rapidly.

  “Restraining Array: Heaven’s Chains.”

  Golden sigils formed in the air, encircling the serpent’s massive body. Chains of light burst forth, latching onto its limbs, body, and jaw—forcing it still with a thunderous slam into the water’s surface.

  Before it could break free—

  “Lightning Array: Heaven’s Spear.”

  A second formation bloomed above. Runes swirled like stars, drawing lightning from the clouds and concentrating it into a massive spiral above Guo’s sword.

  The blade began to grow, swelling with raw power. Arcs of electricity danced off it wildly, the air burning with ozone.

  The serpent thrashed.

  “NO—WAIT—”

  Guo didn’t answer.

  His eyes were hard. Focused.

  He raised the blade with both hands, now twice his size, roaring with blinding energy.

  Then—

  He struck.

  The world lit up.

  The serpent screamed as the massive lightning-infused sword slammed down from the sky, carving through flesh, bone, and magic alike. A pillar of lightning burst upward into the heavens, splitting clouds and silencing the sea.

  When the light faded—

  There was silence.

  Steam rose from the water. The serpent’s charred remains floated in the distance, unmoving. The ocean calmed, the wind stilled.

  Guo descended slowly, the sword fading from his hand.

  He landed gently on the deck.

  No words.

  Just a heavy exhale.

  The disciples stared in stunned silence.

  The sea simmered with residual lightning.

  Guo stood over the edge of the ship, eyes fixed on the blackened waters. The serpent’s massive body had stopped twitching, smoke still rising from the deep cauterized wound across its length.

  He raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the entire charred corpse began to shrink— before vanishing into his storage ring.

  "A High-class beast. Even dead, it’ll be useful," he murmured.

  Then, louder, to the rest of the stunned group: “We’re leaving.”

  No one dared argue.

  The ship’s formation plates lit up once more, humming softly as it resumed its rise. This time, nothing stopped it. No serpent. No attack. Just open air and a sky slowly clearing of clouds.

  As the ship flew higher, Adam moved to the edge of the deck.

  He looked down at the island.

  The trees that once towered above him now looked like moss. The towering cliffs, like cracked pottery. The jungle that had tried to kill him—just a blur of green and shadow.

  He felt no fear.

  Only the fading pulse of something behind him. Something unfinished.

  His corrupted arm pulsed lightly under his sleeve.

  But he wasn’t thinking about that right now.

  His eyes lifted toward the horizon.

  Above the drifting clouds, distant mountains pierced the sky. Floating peaks hovered like silent giants, and just beyond them, he could see it—

  At first, Adam expected ancient pagodas and spiraling jade towers. And yes, those were there.

  But what made him stop—what made his eyes go wide—were the roads.

  Not cobbled stone paths or spirit-light bridges.

  Asphalt.

  Black tar, painted with clear white lines, winding between towering structures of concrete and steel. Skyscrapers—actual, honest-to-god skyscrapers—stood shoulder to shoulder with traditional sect towers, their windows gleaming in the sunlight. Neon signs glowed alongside ancient spirit lanterns, flickering with arrays powered by Qi.

  And then—

  A car.

  A working, humming, four-wheeled vehicle rolled through a spirit-guarded intersection. Sleek. Shiny. Too advanced for this world… and yet clearly integrated into it.

  Adam’s mouth fell open slightly.

  “What the hell kind of cultivation world is this?”