Chapter 30: A Fateful Encounter

There was no way the mighty Wolf King could evade the Primordial Spear from this distance, not even enough time to block the vitals.

The second luminous feather pierced into the Wolf King’s chest without hesitation!

The Wolf King went rigid at once, but his powerful momentum remained. His four claws tore deep grooves into the earth as he surged forward another hundred meters before finally stopping.

Without glancing back, Qian Ye vanished swiftly into the terrain, leveraging the twists and crags of the unforgiving wilderness to conceal himself in a moment.

The werewolf’s tenacious life-force allowed him to survive—barely—even after being struck by twin bolts of the Primordial Spear. But Qian Ye had long known well that this alone wouldn’t kill the Wolf King outright. Should the King strike in a final act of desperation before his end, such a blow could devastate anything near. Thus, Qian Ye had no intentions of testing the King’s lethal techniques firsthand.

For such a mighty ruler, taking two Primordial Spear wounds in rapid succession was a calamity so grave that it could impede his ascension path for many trials to come. As such, the King bore a hatred for Qian Ye so deep, that his fury burned with volcanic resolve.

Suddenly, the Wolf King twitched, every joint letting loose crisp, snapping echoes, as he forced his numbed muscles into motion. With sheer will alone, he lifted himself from the blood-drenched soil.

The once-humbled beast strode forward with steady determination, his gait growing steadily swifter. Merely the space of several breaths sufficed, as he gathered his strength once more into motion, surging forth across the land in a charge of fury.

Fully convinced that after those stone-shaking Primordial Spear shots, Qian Ye must be nearing collapse, he felt pursuit no longer needed the cautious approach. “He’ll not run far on what remains of his strength…” he mused, his howl resounding far and wide, a roar like thunder across the plain.

His body accelerated, streaking low—like jade lightning against sky—racing in pursuit of Qian Ye’s fleeting trail.

But as he neared full velocity came the unexpected—the burst of a smaller figure leaping directly from within a forgotten earthen trench beside the path, like some phantom stepping between moments!

The icy sense of death flooded Wolf King’s veins. Yet mid-rush had come, strength at ebb, no domain open to shield him or shift his course. Barely, he turned in time for a final fleeting gaze, locking eyes, perhaps eternally in memory, on a figure clad in flowing white—dripping pale and pale—with a gleaming cleaver blade, dark as the abyss with the threat of a storm behind steel.

Blissfully, effortlessly slicing past the raw force encasing the beast’s skin, that great curved death cleaved into the Wolf King’s flank, targeting no errant place, but striking true upon the vertebrae’s fragile joins like fated arrows finding unguarded cracks in the stone wall of time.

Only now, facing a blade’s breath from the spine, did the Wolf King fully taste the bitterness of impending death. Roaring, howling with the madness death’s specter sometimes instills, his right claw flashed toward the enemy, unleashing the entirety of his dark, broiling Thunder that had lain stored and coiled long like lightning waiting behind a storm.

The girl sprang skyward—in only a brief ten-meter jump, far too short even to escape the arc-surge range of the beast’s wrath.

Undeterred she raised the gore-stained weapon, planting its edge once again into the very battlefield of sparking rage between them—a motion that seemed to push her backward another small, determined inch.

Ten orbs of jade-bright thunder struck true in that same blink. Swirls like moths to flame—no, more like wolves to slaughter—they curved their flight midair, hurtling toward the still-plant cleaver, the once-blade now transmuted into a fang of stormfire so brilliant, lightning no long held sole right to its name—the blade burned in their touch.

Close, oh too heart-clenchingly close was the girl herself, who despite having avoided mortal harm caught but a touch too much in its echo blast. In that fleeting moment, the once-blossoming cheeks paled a shade.

Inexplicably—then awlessly—she dashed once more toward the storm-stained battlefield, seizing the weapon aflash with divine wrath and once more hurled herself upon the King.

Utterly staggered! The Wolf King recoiled. He knew all too surely just how potent and final his thunder should have been. In his weakened, bleeding state, did that blade yet have the strength to cleave his soul back into darkness?

His body jerked wide—dodging that blade’s path—and yet the next instant, the girl was upon him again. This time, hand darted to his flank’s still-oozing wound.

Her attack? A viper’s fang, swift and precise beyond reckoning! Timing too perfect—a wound no longer merely torn flesh nor a strike any defense should survive. Only his last raw surge of will held, diverting the true heart of her fury with sheer defiance, forcing it aside while striking instinctively—a kick that lashed out, half-hearted in its arc’s fury.

But this moment, most unexpectedly—she seized from the Wolf King’s waist the bag he kept tied close to his form. Her fingers—lightning in their own right—closed in, even as claw grazed the soft flesh high along her outer thigh, carving into her pallid skin, tracing there the gashes of war that seeped crimson fury.

Hand outstretched to snatch back what he so deeply needed—

Thought arrested mid-motion; his gaze followed the arc of what was taken—and in that distance beyond the blade-born carnage, Qian Ye was sprinting fast—so much so, he was already under the shadow of one’s final breath, barely beyond reach in little more than mere yards.

Without hesitation—no time for rage or hesitation—he forsook the waist satchel’s weight. He would run—turn heel on battlefield, no matter the blade-score upon his rear. The true threat was buried not in the wound from earlier, but within those two twin strikes to his core—the Primordial Spear scars which were never so neatly held beneath the veil of pain but were now, fully unleashed.

To stay here—to face Qian Ye and this white-cloaked specter—was to face not death alone but judgment by two hands at the very end.

Fleeing into endless plains, with each stride the mighty Wolf King sought only escape, Qian Ye and Bai Kong Zha watching the dust of his retreat. No pursuit followed. Rather—what came next felt more like two silent hunters circling the aftermath—one eyeing judgment, the other a ghost in still silence with her own game to play.

Now alone, the air was heavier between them. It had been a long time since Qian Ye last encountered Bai Kong Zha. Even after such time, nothing at all had changed from the memory etched into Qian Ye’s soul—the girl stood frail, uncertainly poised at the world’s brink; in the same pale flowing dress no more intricate than any cloud drifting in forgotten dreams—none of the ornament or joy common to most young maidens.

Smoke marked a char in her palm’s center—a relic of her fury-streak across the land wielding a thunder-streaked blade in pursuit. The white fabric on her left, tattered by blade, torn and open near her thighs—revealed paler skin beneath with wounds that screamed silently from red, like flowers soaked crimson.

Yet she barely winced from what was etched upon her flesh—stood there in silence staring at Qian Ye, as though waiting, or watching—or remembering some forgotten moment that bound them together in memory no blade nor thunder could sever.

Qian Ye felt a creeping shadow at the edge of his consciousness—an aching tension at the thought of what words to say.

And still, the echo rang loud: *Any who underestimate that pale and ghost-like frame will suffer most grievously when it breaks the world itself.*

“You knew,” he finally began, forcing control into tone of a battlefield general addressing a dangerous unknown force. “One reprieve before—that’s more than I owe you. Why now of all places, to enter the path of blades like this? In neutral lands too. What stake is this your burden to bear now?”

More than a mere reproach—he sought answers; not questions to fill silence.

Wherever Bai Kong Zha moves—troubles do walk just steps behind.

She approached danger often—but was it done solo by lone will alone? Or… did forces from White House whisper in her footsteps, offering shadows at her call?

“That…” her pale fingers raised the waist-belt once gripped with such tenacious death’s hand. This was what she took from the Wolf King—the very prize for which he defied all injury in his attempt to take it violently back.

Then with calm and clarity—as though revealing to the heavens, she opened the small leather-belt satchel before emptying its content onto ground in front of Qian Ye’s widening eyes.

The satchel, though modest, bore more than mere clutter; it bore rare stones, official seals, oddments of minor wealth—but the jewels that drew breath and wonder were two small boxes, carved of intricate material—each no larger than a palm in full spread.

She opened one—and from inside glimmered a crystal like those forged in dreams, translucent—purity beyond thought—the essence of energy swirled inside as though stars dancing within their own galaxy, light spiraling endlessly.

One gaze, and a familiarity struck Qian Ye’s blood—a pull. Unseen currents stirred his very life force, longing to consume—to absorb—as if something ancestral, some sleeping beast of long dormant instinct was now suddenly wide-eyed with awareness: *Primal Crystals—twin orbs!* *Oris Crystals!!*

Oris crystals—legend’s gem—the single most valuable thing to any beneath God-Commander standing… Or those cursed never to ascend. Implant merely one—awaken a gift rivaling divine talents held so highly. In theory—close as flesh could approach artificial Divinity, a being not quite human, a shadow on the borderlands—the path of the half-Ascended…

Now at once Qian Ye saw clearly the truth—the Wolf King guarded them as though divine artifacts close to the very essence of being. Thus no wonder their loss tore such rage so raw.

Still, what puzzled him—why had Bai Kong Zha known the wolf held such treasures in his very possession? Yet he also recalled… ever since first encounter, Bai possessed an endless well of enigmatic gifts. She moved more like a beast with instinct sharper than even most ancient legends; her nature obeying only some unknown compass deep in self, guiding all that was unseen, yet felt deeply.

To her? That instinct… far more powerful than the world was ready to believe.

While Qian Ye still pondered her intent in splitting the spoils—she knelt once more to divide items equally.

Then reached—offering *one* Oris crystal along with half the collected contents to him in that same emotionless hand that just moments ago had danced death with fury into the beast’s bones.

“You… give one,” she said in tone barely audible—voice quiet yet certain, like snowfall never seeking thunder.

Qian Ye lifted brow in confusion. A thousand questions rose.

She in turn stood—pocketing her share, then turned her back to go, walking now slower than even the whispering wind dared speak.

Wound gaped from outer thigh down; slow but continuous trickling red still leaked from torn skin. No healing accelerated just yet. That Wolf bite left not only muscle torn but foreign energy buried behind. A curse not easy to remove—leave it unresolved, and such could bring slow yet certain end through persistent blood drainage. For many, it was exactly how a hunter like Wolf King made certain his victims perished long past the killing strike.

And now… ten whole minutes she would take to exit the Primordial Spear’s striking range.

Ten minutes. An impossibly long eternity for decisions that could shape fates… or ends.

But what… *should he think upon?…*

He remained in deep meditation; still the mind raced, trying to grasp the meaning.

But moments, it seemed, were not his ally now.

In no time at all, *the moment had already arrived… and departed*.

Ten minutes had passed without decision—he never acted.

Too late for even the killing thought… Bai Kong Zha’s form stood distant in distance and ever growing further—as though she were fading… swallowed slowly by the rising morning of horizon’s veil in endless step.

Reality struck Qian Ye’s heart once more.

His breath escaped as a sigh; the glow on his fingers faded.

What transpired here: had it not been for Bai’s attack—Qian Ye’s situation was nearly fatal. He held one shot left—a final act to kill, or a means to save himself with Void Blink—only one choice, never both options at once.

The Wolf King had survived two Primordial attacks—showed signs still of being alive… Who’s to say survival a third strike isn’t within his realm?

Her ambush—unpredictable as her nature—unquestionably pulled salvation from jaws certain and grim.

Still—one must wonder: had Qian Ye *chosen not to heed the battlefield call*, and stayed distant while Bai clashed solo with King—he may have never seen her alive again.

For two Primal jewels… did she risk *that much sacrifice*?

In truth—that, too, *fit perfectly into every chapter of her tale*. When first met—hunger drove her to extremes no normal would even contemplate.

Now—with her evolution in power, mere hunger gave way to the greater appetites—to treasures like Oris Crystals—to the essence of the Void Leviathans. For them, she again walked toward the edge, daring it as before—wasting *no moment to hesitate…* no moment, except the rare ones… where she stood still enough for fate, or even time, to look upon *her*—for just a breath or two.

No regrets… but this time, Qian Ye felt, she slipped his grip like grains of sand never meant to be held long.

There *would* come nexts, though…

There *must*—he reminded himself—as he silently re-declared the law within: when fate draws them ever close again—hesitant moments could cost life and legacy. No quarter… strike at her first. Before *her* eyes could meet *his again… before the next storm could breathe…*

Resolute—Qian Ye left that forsaken plain—the land no longer safe, not as long as danger might return, however slight.

Far more pressing—somewhere quiet now called louder than wolves on blood-mad hunts—for in those quiet places, would he process the riches drawn from war. Not only had Qian Ye stood against a God-Commander-level warrior, had dared strike—*twice*—and yet lived to walk out, free. To face such a force… and win even one move within its shadow?

Few could hope to claim such a tale.

To this day?… For *him*, it was his inaugural battle against the might of divine-level prowess.

Within less than half days time, in the quiet of an empty cavern within the mountains lost beyond man’s road, Qian Ye set up his rest place—seated in lotus, he closed his mind to outside sound, flowing once more into the ancient rhythms of *Song Family’s Sacred Sutra*, drawing once more a single pure filament of primal energy that flowed between blood, bone, and spirit.

From first moment of battle, to the final moments of silent decision made—*he reviewed*—duty not done in haste—each motion, each pulse replaying again and again—never rushed.

Seven long nights passed as Qian Ye meditated with the intensity of the most disciplined ascetic warriors:

At first—sitting meditative in stillness came ease, but to exit stillness and return to the form’s discipline… difficult. Yet little by little his grasp grew more harmonified—until each pulse felt the rhythm of cosmic order once more; until all seemed seamless once again.

Whenever weariness struck too hard—he trained for a short moment upon the Sacred Sutra, using the practice briefly like a rest from the mental crucible of memory-battling past foes.

Seven entire cycles under moons of deep night, seven cycles under rising day-suns—

Only upon the morning of the eighth did the cavern stir once more, echoing with footsteps… and silence left behind.