Qian Ye raised his head to gaze at the grand edifice, every line of which was etched with the marks of time. After a moment’s pause, he walked straight towards the gates of the Frost Thunder Temple.
Colorful ribbons danced in the air before him, and he casually brushed them aside as if wandering through an over-decorated street during a grand festival. To an ordinary warrior, a careless wave might cost half a hand, but to Qian Ye, the ribbons were tame and obedient, never revealing their concealed fangs.
As he made his way through the swirling ribbons, Qian Ye finally reached the gates of the Frost Thunder Temple.
The two massive doors, towering dozens of meters high, made Qian Ye feel like a tiny ant. The doors, made of profound ice, were a deep blue, with intricate carvings that told tales of countless myths—of the early people struggling to survive in this desolate world and eventually building this magnificent temple.
In this small realm atop the cliff, there was no better building material than profound ice. Those ancestors who could quarry ice and build this temple in such an environment were all formidable warriors. At the very least, anyone below the rank of a warlord couldn’t survive on the cliff top.
As Qian Ye was absorbed in the carvings, the giant doors suddenly moved without any wind, opening slowly. A warm, indescribably fragrant breeze flowed out from the temple.
“Welcome, honored guest. Please enter.”
Without hesitation, Qian Ye stepped over the threshold. The doors closed behind him once more.
Inside the hall, there was no visible light source, yet it wasn’t dark. The ancient profound ice that made up the walls, floor, and ceiling emitted a faint, pure, brilliant, and mysterious glow. The ceiling, nearly a hundred meters high, made one feel as if they were standing in the hall of an ancient giant, the vastness of the space was suffocating.
In the center of the hall stood a massive ice altar, upon which a shard of ice floated, slowly rotating.
Qian Ye looked around but saw no one. He approached the altar and gazed up at the ice shard.
“This is the first block of ice carved by our ancestors after they were exiled to this world. It took three hundred years to build the Frost Thunder Temple. How many ancestors are buried beneath the temple, no one knows. In this world, when people die, they vanish quickly, leaving no remains. This first block of ice is not for worship, but a memorial to the sacrifices of our ancestors.”
The clear, ethereal voice sounded again. This time, Qian Ye’s senses did not falter. He turned to see a young man with long, silver-blue hair, dressed in a white robe, walking towards him.
The youth appeared exceptionally young, about fifteen or sixteen in human years, with a face as finely crafted as the most exquisite art, and skin and lips as translucent as glass. If not for the terrifying primal force hidden within him, Qian Ye might have mistaken him for a sculpture made of profound ice.
The youth extended his hand and said, “Akphel, the current master of the Frost Thunder Temple. Carol is my sister. Welcome, Qian Ye.”
Qian Ye grasped Akphel’s hand, feeling as if he was holding the coldest ice. His skin instantly numbed. A faint, rosy golden flame ignited in Qian Ye’s hand, and the supreme dawn attribute of Daybreak suppressed the icy chill, preventing harm to his body.
However, the rosy gold flame was unstable, flickering and dimming, though only a faint layer, the consumption was astonishing. Qian Ye could clearly feel the rapid depletion of his primal force. This meant that while Qian Ye held his own, the difference in primal force cultivation between them was too vast, making it difficult for Daybreak to sustain the drain.
Fortunately, Akphel released his hand after a while. A glimmer of indiscernible meaning flashed in his eyes as he gave Qian Ye a deep look and said, “It just so happens to be lunchtime. I hope I have the honor of inviting you to join me.”
Qian Ye was slightly taken aback but replied, “Thank you for your hospitality. Lunch at the Frost Thunder Temple is not something one can enjoy elsewhere.”
Akphel’s eyes crinkled into a smile, “Please follow me.” He led Qian Ye through a side door, down a long corridor, and into the dining hall.
The dining hall was also enormous, capable of seating hundreds. At its center was a long table with chairs at each end.
Akphel sat at the head, inviting Qian Ye to sit at the other end. Two elderly men in formal attire appeared, bringing in the meal.
Though visibly aged, their movements were graceful, their white hair meticulously groomed, and they moved silently as if gliding on water. Not a drop of the soup in their trays wavered as they walked, stopped, or placed the dishes.
Their hands were steady and lethal, capable of both serving and killing. With their Level 17 primal force, they could instantly transform into the most terrifying assassins.
Both servants had higher primal force levels than Qian Ye, and while this might seem like a display of power, it didn’t quite feel like a deliberate show of strength.
The soup before Qian Ye looked like clear water, with a few pieces of blue leaves floating inside, resembling tea more than anything else.
From the other end of the table, Akphel’s voice drifted, “This dish is made from the first batch of profound ice extracted from the temple. The ice leaves are a local specialty, only able to be stored in low temperatures. Once you leave here, you won’t be able to taste it again.”
With that, he picked up an ice spoon and took a sip.
Qian Ye followed suit, taking a sip of the clear soup, along with a piece of the ice leaf.
The soup had no flavor, but the instant it entered his stomach, a terrifying icy force erupted, almost freezing Qian Ye from the inside out.
Qian Ye’s body instinctively reacted, his blood core pulsing fiercely, and the blood in his veins ignited, suppressing the invading cold.
Sitting motionless, Qian Ye let out a muffled groan, and two streams of bloody fire shot from his nostrils.
His face alternated between red and white several times before he finally calmed down. The two elderly attendants, who had been watching him, withdrew their gazes, their faces returning to impassive masks.
Qian Ye raised his head, not speaking, and simply looked at Akphel, his eyes subtly glowing with a hint of blue.
Akphel smiled, a touch of youthful clarity and mischief in his expression, “The soup can be a bit overpowering at first, but if you can endure it, you will gain much. Our ancestors’ profound ice is limited, and we have less than ten of these ice leaves left. I wouldn’t have brought them out if it weren’t for a distinguished guest!”
Qian Ye exhaled a cloud of white vapor, and then his body trembled, and two small flames shot from his nostrils.
Since he had already spat out flames, Qian Ye no longer tried to hide his condition. Suppressing the remaining cold, he asked, “The soup is indeed powerful. What would happen if someone couldn’t endure it?”
Akphel propped his chin on his hand, smiling amiably, “Such an obvious question shouldn’t be asked by a wise person. If one can’t endure it, they would turn into an ice sculpture. The ice leaves are, in a way, highly toxic. But such a precious item has never been used for killing. If you couldn’t endure it, it would mean my sister was wrong about you.”
Qian Ye snorted, neither confirming nor denying, and took another spoonful of the soup, swallowing it in one go, then closed his eyes and remained silent.
This time, he didn’t spit out flames, but his hair stood on end. When he opened his eyes, two long beams of light shot out.
Exhaling a wisp of white vapor, Qian Ye praised, “Delicious!”
Just two spoonfuls of the soup had significantly advanced his primal force, a precious resource for his unique need for primal force accumulation. His eighth vortex was nearly complete, and he might break through by the end of the bowl.
As Akphel said, enduring the soup brought great rewards.
Yet, enduring it was no easy feat. The icy primal force in the soup was extremely pure and acted within the stomach. To suppress and refine it, not only did one need a high level of primal force, but the quality of the force was also crucial. Qian Ye, with Daybreak, could counteract it, allowing him to refine it calmly. For others, like the empire’s generals who barely broke through the celestial barrier, a bowl of this soup would freeze them solid.
The soup was the main course, and although the fruits and desserts were rare, they were secondary.
After a long meal, the primordial sundial indicated it was nearing dusk. Most of the time was spent on the soup, as each sip required a moment of digestion. As the icy primal force accumulated, Qian Ye drank slower, taking up to half an hour to digest a small sip.
Akphel showed no impatience, calmly accompanying Qian Ye, sipping along with him and waiting quietly for him to digest. When the meal was finally over, he nodded, “You’ve passed the first test by drinking this bowl of soup. Follow me.”
For such a test that came without warning, Qian Ye was hardly pleased. But Akphel, indifferent to his feelings, rose and walked out of the dining hall, smiling mischievously as if he’d just pulled off a prank.
Regardless, Qian Ye had gained real benefits and didn’t need to be petty. He paused briefly, then hurried to catch up. They descended a spiral staircase, going deep underground. Here, Akphel pushed open a set of doors, leading Qian Ye into another hall.
While not as grand as the main hall, this one, with its ten-meter-high ceiling, was still impressive. Inside, several groups of statues were arranged, each lifelike. If not for the fact that they were made of pristine, flawless profound ice, one might think they were actual people frozen in place.
Akphel approached the largest group of statues, gazing at the dozens of figures in various poses and expressions, and said, “These are the heroes of the first generation of ancestors. They fought against unimaginable harsh conditions and dangerous foes, paying with their lives to carve the first block of profound ice, laying the first cornerstone of the Frost Thunder Temple.”
He then moved to the second group of statues, which was much smaller, with only a dozen figures. Their auras were less imposing, but their weapons and armor were finer.
Pausing for a moment, Akphel said, “These are the heroes of the second generation. Their numbers are fewer because, after a decade of pioneering, most of the ancestors perished in this frosty world. It wasn’t just the cold and ferocious beasts that took their lives, but hunger as well. There wasn’t enough food on this land to sustain so many. The main source of food was the ferocious beasts that lived on the edge of the landmass and in the void.”
Qian Ye knew that the ferocious beasts living on the edges of the landmass could briefly traverse the void, making them exceptionally fierce. While not as strong as void behemoths, they were far stronger than ordinary land beasts, beyond the capabilities of most warlords. If the ancestors of the Frost Thunder Temple relied on hunting these beasts for food, the price they paid must have been steep.
“Those beasts were cunning and rarely ventured onto the land. To lure them, our ancestors always chose one person to act as bait during each hunt.”
Qian Ye felt a chill, the youth’s voice still clear and calm, but the blood-soaked memories embedded in the words were unmistakable.
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