The tree’s body was covered in grassy leaves that absorbed the shattered stars nearby, emitting a green glow as it devoured them.
Such a sight was naturally terrifying to behold—massive stars, one after another, being consumed by a bizarre plant. It defied all logic.
The Boundary Graveyard was just this eerie, shrouded in mist, where everything seen and heard pushed the limits of human nerves. Everyone’s heartstrings were stretched taut.
*Crack!*
The sound of shattering stars echoed, accompanied by dazzling light. Some celestial bodies exploded outright, but all their radiance was swiftly absorbed by the leaves.
“This is a Star-Devouring Grass, a plant that feeds on planets. If such a thing appears in a region of space, it spells disaster!” The Second Elder, well-traveled and knowledgeable, immediately identified it.
Star-Devouring Grass grew in the primordial chaos, belonging to the category of innate divine beings—yet it lacked conscious thought, acting purely on instinct.
In the world, those with supreme power could carve out spaces within the chaos, forming incomplete worlds where life could flourish, turning them into sanctuaries for living beings.
Generally, the appearance of Star-Devouring Grass was due to Immortal Kings creating such fragmented worlds, inadvertently releasing it—after all, such creatures were exceedingly rare even in the chaos.
When the academy students learned these details from the elders, they were dumbfounded. Beyond their own world, could realms truly be created like this?
“So powerful, so unbelievable! Does that mean beyond our world, in the chaos, other lands might exist?” someone asked.
“Those are only incomplete worlds, unable to endure. They may collapse in tens of thousands or hundreds of thousands of years—they are not true universes,” the Second Elder shook his head.
Even if such spaces could persist for longer, they would inevitably crumble, leaving nothing behind—sometimes even dragging their creators to ruin.
Hearing this, the group shuddered, gazing at the Boundary Graveyard with contemplation. Could this place be the result of countless ancient realms collapsing?
One elder outright denied it—this place was far more mysterious and terrifying than they imagined. Even the immortals of old had explored it without uncovering its secrets.
“That ancient tree is a segment of a World Tree branch, nurtured with boundless essence in hopes of cultivating it into a supreme treasure.”
Soon, the Second Elder pointed to the withered ancient tree, upon which hung numerous “star fruits,” a bizarre sight.
“To cultivate it into a true World Tree?” Princess Yao Yue gasped.
“No, to forge it into a Demon Tree. A World Tree cannot be cultivated this way—it must evolve naturally. Some supreme demon sought to turn this spiritual root into a demonic artifact, capable of controlling the stars and drawing power from the heavens,” the Second Elder explained.
The group was stunned, awed by the sheer scale of these ambitions—where even planets were mere playthings.
Compared to such grand designs, they felt as insignificant as ants, mere specks of dust.
“Alas, it all failed. The essence dissipated, leaving only ruins—even the cultivator himself perished within the tree,” the Second Elder said.
“The Star-Devouring Grass is coming!” Lü Tuo shouted. The plant was too bizarre—capable of devouring stars, let alone them. Retreat was the only option.
Fortunately, it lacked conscious will, acting purely on instinct, making it possible to evade disaster.
Otherwise, such an innate divine being born of chaos would be horrifying—only a supreme expert could subdue it with overwhelming power.
“Let’s move!”
They pressed onward, traversing countless shattered ancient realms shrouded in mist, as if stepping back into the battlegrounds of immortals—ruin everywhere.
“By the heavens, what is that creature? It’s enormous!” Even Wang Xi, usually composed, couldn’t help but exclaim aboard the silver warship.
Others gaped, eyes wide, staring ahead.
On their path, a creature floated within an ancient realm—several times larger than a star, its body covered in azure scales gleaming with cold metallic luster.
It resembled a hyena but bore dragon horns and vermilion bird wings—something never seen in the outside world.
“That is an innate divine being, born of chaos. Extremely powerful—even the Grand Elder might struggle to subdue it!” the Fourth Elder said.
The group shuddered. Such a creature was that formidable?
The only relief was that it was already dead, reduced to a corpse. Otherwise, none would dare linger—they would have fled long ago.
“Are the materials on its body valuable? Can we harvest them?” a youth who had cultivated two strands of immortal energy asked, unwilling to pass up such treasures.
“If they held any value, they wouldn’t be left for you. Over the years, countless have come and gone—nothing remains,” an elder shook his head.
Indeed, as the silver warship drew closer, they saw a massive wound on the creature’s side—its back split open.
The flesh and bones within were long gone, leaving only a husk.
Even the scales had lost all essence, reduced to an empty shell. The vermilion wings and dragon horns were the same—their marrow and divine blood drained, brittle enough to shatter against the warship.
“What a waste!”
Moving on, they traversed the Boundary Graveyard—vast beyond measure, without borders or end.
“Trouble! Prepare for battle!” Suddenly, the Fourth Elder barked a warning.
“Huh?”
“Enemies? Where? I don’t see anything!”
The students were baffled, seeing no threats, but the elders remained grave, on high alert.
“Battle Spirit Mist has appeared—conflict is near. Ready your artifacts!” the Fifth Elder added solemnly.
In truth, even without seeing any creatures, the students had already prepared for battle. With the elders’ warning, none dared be careless.
Ahead, wisps of gray mist drifted—thin and sparse—seeping from the ruins of distant shattered stars.
Soon, Shi Hao felt uneasy, his skin prickling as if needles pressed against him, threatening to pierce through.
“What is that?” Others soon sensed it too, gripping their weapons tightly.
Clearly, an unknown danger approached—sharp and menacing, its aura piercing even the silver warship’s defensive runes.
Ahead lay clusters of shattered planets, motionless, alongside meteorites and cosmic dust—all silent for eons.
Without a sound, an ancient blood-red ship emerged, drifting from the stellar wreckage, slow but deliberate, heading straight for them.
“Battle Spirits!”
“It’s them! Let’s hope no Ancestral-grade Battle Spirits appear—that would be disastrous!”
“To think we’d encounter these on our journey!”
The elders spoke grimly, informing the students.
The ship was ancient and battered, its origins lost to time, yet it remained intact, untouched by decay.
Though smaller than the silver warship, it exuded an inexplicable pressure, as if capable of intimidating their vessel.
Silent and slow, it seemed to command the very heavens, forcing all life to tremble before it.
Gray mist seeped from the ship, strand by strand, devouring divine energy and corroding the silver warship.
“If they’re that fearsome, shouldn’t we retreat?” Princess Yao Yue suggested.
“Useless. Battle Spirits are relentless. Once this lost ship locks onto us, it will pursue endlessly unless it chooses to leave. Its current slowness is deceptive—few vessels can match its speed once it truly sets sail!” the Third Elder said.
*ROAR—*
Suddenly, a deafening cry erupted from the blood-red ship, sending chills down the spines of the students, their hair standing on end.
The sound struck directly at their souls!
“They’re coming! Ready yourselves!” the Sixth Elder shouted.
“This is a crucial trial. Those who fail may perish!” the Second Elder warned gravely.
From the blood-red ship, shadowy figures emerged, lunging outward—terrifying beyond measure.
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