On the desolate mountain slope, rocks and soil suddenly burst forth, shedding all pretense to reveal a deep, dark cave. Qian Ye emerged from the cavern, his face pale and eyes sunken, clearly exhausted. Yet, he exuded a restrained but formidable aura that sent shivers down one’s spine.
Blinking in the sunlight, Qian Ye took a moment to adjust to the brightness. Standing on the high ground, he gazed out over the endless wilderness and towering mountains, letting out a long, liberating laugh, feeling an immense sense of relief.
For Qian Ye, these seven days had been profoundly fruitful. The most important gain was not in combat skills, but in gaining a glimpse into the realm beyond that of a Divine General. Qian Ye had encountered many Divine Generals in the past, such as Zhao Xuanji and Zhao Weihuang, whose true strength exceeded that of the Wolf King. However, without a life-or-death struggle, the experience always fell short.
Now, in Qian Ye’s eyes, the world appeared different, with more layers and finer nuances. Many subtle details seemed within reach. His perception extended, and everything responded to it, even if only slightly.
Origin power was the foundation of the world, and every object contained origin power of varying natures, just in different quantities and forms. What Qian Ye perceived was the origin power hidden in all things.
The ability to sense the origin power of the world was the basis for control, a step that had stumped countless heroes throughout history.
At this moment, Qian Ye’s origin power and blood energy had not increased, but in another aspect, his control over his strength had reached a new level.
These seven days had given Qian Ye some insight into why Yuetong, with only a countess-level blood energy, could display such great power in her every move.
After expelling the accumulated impurities, Qian Ye headed straight for a nearby town and indulged in a hearty meal. Going without water for seven days had been a significant strain on his body. After finally sating his hunger and thirst, Qian Ye inquired about the distribution of nearby cities and then left the town.
Half a day later, at the edge of a city a hundred miles away, an airship slowly ascended, heading toward the city of Tidesound. It was close to the Wolf King’s ancient totem fortress, which controlled a vast region. For now, Qian Ye did not rush to settle accounts with Ji Rui; instead, he planned to give the Wolf King a taste of his might.
This was the Neutral Grounds, where even exchanges of interest required equal strength. Without striking fear into the enemy, there would never be peace. Ji Rui’s repeated betrayals, no matter how explained, came down to choosing between Qian Ye and another party, rooted in the belief that Qian Ye lacked sufficient power.
Killing mercenaries and crippling the Fury of the Gale only made Qian Ye a name in the lower ranks. True power lay in the hands of those at the Divine General level. Ji Rui, relying on his cunning, had managed to carve out a share, but his foundation was like a castle built on sand, easily toppled.
When the Wolf King came to kill Qian Ye, Ji Rui had no choice but to comply. This was the sorrow of lacking hard power.
Having lived in the Neutral Grounds for so long, Qian Ye understood the way of survival here. He knew Ji Rui’s true nature, a weathervane who could be kept in line with enough strength. If Qian Ye ever fell, Ji Rui would be the first to turn against him.
Now, Qian Ye felt it was time to make the Wolf King and his ilk feel the pain.
By the East Sea, there were vast, gentle beaches, jagged reefs where Qian Ye once dwelled, and towering cliffs.
The Wolf King’s ancient totem fortress stood atop a cliff, facing the East Sea, radiating an awe-inspiring presence. The fortress was not far from the core human city of Tidesound, positioned to command and protect the surrounding area.
The ancient totem fortress was mainly inhabited by werewolves, with humans doing menial and cleaning tasks. In the fortress, the hardest and most tiring jobs were assigned to humans. Perched on a precipitous cliff, travel up and down was difficult, requiring half a day to descend on foot. Those working in the fortress were not allowed to leave, effectively becoming slaves.
As night fell, heavy clouds pressed down, nearly touching the castle’s spires. Below the cliff, the surging sea crashed against the rock, producing thunderous roars, with waves sometimes splashing up to a hundred meters.
Even the ancient totem fortress seemed less invincible under the fury of the heavens.
Approaching midnight, the wind grew stronger. The roar of the sea filled the air, each wave higher than the last, forcing the overseers to raise their voices to be heard over the din.
Inside the castle, dim and flickering lights barely illuminated the corners and squares. Most areas were shrouded in suffocating darkness, with the faint yellow light from narrow windows adding to the cold and despair.
On a cliffside, Qian Ye stood, at the same height as the main hall of the ancient totem fortress, able to see most of the fortress.
With the storm approaching, the howling wind occasionally carried sharp stones, like flying knives, capable of causing severe injury.
Qian Ye had been standing there for two hours, observing the layout and personnel distribution of the fortress. A faint firelight behind the main hall caught his attention. The bonfire must be substantial to still be burning in such weather and illuminating the hall.
Werewolves, a race that venerated their ancestors and traditions, often resisted modern inventions like airships and origin arrays. In their tradition, the totem flame held a sacred place. Qian Ye, having interacted extensively with werewolves during his campaigns, recognized the importance of the fire.
Qian Ye crouched low, leaping dozens of meters, flying over the cliff, and landing on another peak. The howling wind split around his body, flowing past him, allowing him to move gracefully and swiftly.
This was Qian Ye’s gain over the past seven days: without using his domain or much origin power, he could manipulate his surroundings to his advantage.
Moving swiftly, Qian Ye soon reached the rear of the fortress, standing atop a watchtower.
Built on a cliff corner, the watchtower was surrounded by sheer drops. Perhaps because no one thought anyone could come from this direction, the wolf guards inside were yawning and lazily scanning the sea.
Under the heavy clouds, the East Sea was a chaotic, dark expanse, and even the sharpest vision could see nothing.
Unbeknownst to the drowsy guard, Qian Ye stood right above him, struggling to stay awake.
Qian Ye observed the rear courtyard, where a natural barrier of a hundred-meter-tall rock protruded. Beneath it, a pit burned with a fierce fire, and two werewolves carefully poured black stones into the flames.
The black stones intensified the fire, and a faint, refreshing aroma wafted through the air. The black stones were clearly not ordinary fuel.
Colored ribbons hung from the rock, and behind the fire stood a totem pole, topped with a wolf head, blood dripping from its mouth.
This was the totem of the werewolf tribe, the fire used in rituals. As long as the tribe existed, the totem fire could not be extinguished. During migrations, the tribe’s high priest preserved the fire, reigniting it at the new settlement.
Before the totem fire, a werewolf elder knelt, bare-chested, with patterns of blue and red, holding a staff adorned with skulls and sharp teeth, exuding a rugged, primal aura tinged with a hint of power.
The werewolf elder radiated the power of a marquis, but his graying fur and withered skin showed his age. Strong members of the dark races usually maintained their youthful appearance, and showing signs of age often meant they were nearing the end of their lives.
Based on his years of knowledge, Qian Ye deduced the elder was likely the tribe’s high priest. The totem’s placement at the highest point of the fortress indicated the Wolf King belonged to this tribe.
Qian Ye’s eyes narrowed, and he moved like a ghost, slipping into the watchtower and snapping the guard’s neck with a swift motion.
The werewolf warrior crumpled silently. Qian Ye donned the guard’s armor and descended, heading toward the totem.
The high priest knelt, chanting an ancient, mournful tune, conducting a ritual to communicate with the ancestors. Deeply learned high priests were said to hear the ancestors’ voices, receiving guidance and, in critical moments, their protection, boosting their combat power.
Tonight, the high priest was performing a crucial ritual, communicating with the ancestors for hours, to borrow their power and cleanse the Wolf King’s body of any latent dangers.
In the rear courtyard, dozens of werewolf guards patrolled, with occasional patrols walking along the square’s edge. A werewolf warrior, hiding in the shadows, approached the high priest.
The ritual had lasted for hours, testing the patience of the naturally irascible werewolves. Though they remained standing, their gazes were somewhat unfocused. In the ancient totem fortress, which had never faced external threats, the werewolves were relaxed.
However, someone finally noticed something amiss. A baron-rank werewolf captain stared at a guard, shouting, “Who are you? I don’t recognize you!”
The shout roused a few guards, but the howling wind drowned out much of the sound.
They looked up and saw the suspicious werewolf standing fifty meters from the high priest.
While many werewolves were still processing, Qian Ye drew the Twinflower and aimed at the high priest’s back!
“Stop!!”
A thunderous roar echoed over the ancient totem fortress!
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