Little Lone Mountain Town, a modest settlement nestled on the outskirts of the Vast Primordial Mountain Range, housed a little over two thousand souls and lay a hundred miles from Stone Village. This world was boundless, its endless forests teeming with primordial beasts and venomous creatures. Human dwellings scattered across the primeval mountains, isolated and scarcely connected to the outside world. Though this was merely a town, neither Stone Village nor Bei Village would see visitors in half a year or more—the hundred-mile mountain path was treacherous, obstructed by ancient forests prowling with raptors, venomous insects, and savage beasts. Such was the norm everywhere, a universal reality where even Stone Village and Bei Village, separated by mere dozens of miles, could go months without crossing paths.
Yet, on this very day, the silence beyond Little Lone Mountain Town shattered as the clamor of men and horses filled the air. A cadre of armored cavalry, clad in gleaming iron, thundered forth through the untamed wilderness, traversing the domains of countless horrors unscathed. Among them were dozens atop scaled steeds, with a select few at the center mounted on mutated beasts—snow-white with silver scales glinting, single horns crowning their heads, radiating an aura of martial grandeur.
Leading them was a middle-aged man, his black hair unbound, eyes gleaming with threads of golden radiance that nearly dissolved his pupils into pale gold. When his gaze swept the town, twin beams of terrifying gold light lanced forth. Beside him, seated upon horned steeds, were two youths, a maiden, a young boy, and two little girls—each radiant with intelligence and charm.
The townsfolk watched in trepidation. Outsiders were rare, yet in these past days, wave after wave of powerful figures from great clans had descended, numbering over a dozen groups. And still, the arrivals showed no sign of ceasing. Every vacant courtyard had already been claimed, with some lodging even taken within households.
No sooner had this party entered than another made their appearance—this one even more astonishing. A flood dragon, twenty meters long, with gleaming scales and massive wings, carved through the sky, casting a vast shadow below. Astride it sat a middle-aged man and three children—one five or six, another eight or nine, and the eldest around eleven or twelve.
Before the beast even touched the ground, the children leapt from a height of ten meters, wind whistling around them. The man barked, “Slow down! Don’t be reckless!”
“I’m fine!” the youngest shouted, eyes flashing like a golden roc fledgling as he spiraled down, landing with a resonant thud. His aura was sharp, ferocious—unthinkable for one so young. To the townspeople, it was terrifying; a child barely past infancy, yet already capable of scaling such heights and rending beasts barehanded.
“Is this town named after a solitary mountain? Is its guardian spirit a peak?” mused the eldest child, spotting a stone stele at the entrance inscribed with the words: Little Lone Mountain.
“Look—it really is a sentient stone mountain,” the youngest, Jiao Peng, declared. “With years of offerings and sacrifices, it must’ve nurtured rare true blood inside. Uncle, slay this guardian spirit—I’ll refine my body with its blood. The benefits will be immense!”
The townspeople paled. To kill their guardian was to doom the town itself. Fortunately, the man rebuked him: “Jiao Peng, another word and I send you home!”
Jiao Peng pouted, “We’ve done it before. Guardian blood has wondrous effects.”
“Silence!” The man’s eyes flashed like lightning. “Stone guardians are not to be trifled with. You might awaken a mountain god.”
“Boring. No mountain treasure hunting, no guardian slaying—why even come to this wasteland?” Jiao Peng grumbled.
“Such bold words, child,” came a chuckle from afar.
Through the ancient woods, a massive beast bone—seven meters long, glowing with runes—floated a foot above the ground, bearing several figures. Leading them was an old man clad in feathered robes and a golden crown, wreathed in ethereal violet mist. Beside him stood a striking young man, two ethereal maidens, and two lively boys.
As they neared, the bone shrank to palm-size, returning to the elder’s grasp—a priceless treasure enabling earth-skimming flight.
“Ah, Senior of the Purple Mountain Clan! Well met!” greeted the flood dragon’s rider.
The elder, uncle to the Purple Mountain Marquis, smiled. “The Luo Fu Great Marsh has truly birthed a prodigy—under six, yet already so formidable. In a decade, his name will shake the land!”
“He’ll grow arrogant with such praise,” the man from Luo Fu demurred.
“Elder of Purple Mountain, let me spar with your grandson’s kin,” Jiao Peng challenged, eyes blazing toward the elder’s two young charges. One boy’s pupils flared violet, his aura surging like a slumbering lion-dragon.
Clearly, beneath the adults’ civility, rivalry simmered.
“Spirited indeed!” the elder laughed. “A wager, then—a vial of rare beast’s true blood for the victor.”
The man from Luo Fu added his own stake—a vial of exotic avian blood.
A thunderous voice boomed from the woods: “A duel? The Thunder Clan wouldn’t miss this!”
A beast hide crackling with runes bore a young man, an elder servant, and children of various ages, their bodies arcing with black lightning that shook the earth.
“We too offer blood as wager,” the youth rumbled before whispering to a tigerish boy and a rosy-cheeked girl: “Ming Yuan, Ya Ya—subdue the Purple Mountain Marquis’s favorites.”
As others converged, the stakes escalated to legendary heights—blood of ancient direbeasts.
Meanwhile, a hundred miles away, Stone Village remained tranquil, its people alight with joy—a momentous event was at hand.
Little Shi Hao had completed his cultivation in just half a month, fusing bone script into flesh until his body glowed, flawless and unburdened by the toll of mystic arts. Now, he drew upon heaven and earth’s essence, invigorating body and spirit.
The village chief had decreed a baptism: the Suan Ni’s divine body, the Blaze Bull-Demon’s horn, the Demon Ape’s arm, blended with direbeast blood and sacred bone, all sealed and tempered in a cauldron. The other children would partake too—the Suan Ni’s essence was abundant enough to bless them all.
“Are you prepared, child?” asked the chief gravely. “Baptism is meant for five-year-olds. You’re too young; the strain may be too great.”
“I’m not afraid, Grand Chief. I’ll endure.”
“Very well. Today, we summon the Golden Suan Ni, the Blaze Horn, and the Demon Ape King’s arm!”
“If I succeed, will I grow stronger?” the boy asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
“You’ll rival the great clans’ prodigies. Even against their best, you’ll shine,” the elder affirmed.
Though he’d watched the boy grow, each feat left him awestruck. Little Shi Hao was like a human-shaped direbeast—a marvel defying all expectations.
And thus, as tempests gathered at Little Lone Mountain Town, Stone Village embraced its quiet storm—a baptism of fire and blood, forging legends yet unborn.
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