It truly resembled a divine temple, exuding an even more profound charm under the morning glow, with its tiles and walls bathed in a soft golden radiance. Standing before it now felt like a pilgrimage, filling one’s spirit with vigor in an instant, evoking a sense of devotion and joy that cleansed the soul.
“Treasure Spell, here I come!” Little Rascal whispered, his large eyes gleaming brightly.
Er Meng had tagged along as well, peeking over his shoulder and glancing around with a rather sneaky demeanor that starkly contrasted the golden temple’s solemnity.
The ancient structure was majestic, surrounded by exotic flowers and rare herbs, their fragrances mingling with the mystical glow emanating from towering ancient trees. Spirit beasts and auspicious creatures roamed the area, lending an air of serenity and harmony.
Naturally, such a sacred place was guarded by powerful figures. Several individuals sat motionless atop large boulders, deep in cultivation, their forms as still as stone.
Er Meng was stopped in his tracks—even the holy terror wasn’t permitted to take another step forward. Only Little Rascal was allowed to proceed.
“How stingy! Though I doubt the Sky Mending Pavilion has much left after all these years. How much of their once-prestigious Treasure Spells could still retain their essence?” Er Meng grumbled.
Suddenly, an elder seated on a boulder opened his eyes, two streaks of lightning flashing within them as he fixed his gaze on Er Meng. The latter shuddered and promptly shut his mouth, not daring to utter another word.
As for the holy terror, it lazily sprawled by a medicinal herb field, basking in the morning sun, its golden fur shimmering brilliantly. It pretended to nap but occasionally peeked at the herbs, though it didn’t dare act recklessly—after being trapped in a sea of lightning for half a month last time, it had learned caution.
Little Rascal ascended the stone steps to the entrance of the Scripture Pavilion, only to be halted by a shimmering barrier—a formidable restriction that made forced entry impossible.
A disheveled, drowsy-looking elder rose from his rattan chair, eyeing the boy curiously before remarking, “So, you’re that ferocious child?”
“I’m not ferocious! I’m the kindest!” Little Rascal corrected, exasperated that rumors had painted him as some kind of beast.
“Hmm, indeed, quite ferocious. Since the Pavilion Master has given the order, you may enter. All areas are open to you,” the elder nodded.
“All areas?” Little Rascal’s eyes sparkled. “Where are the most powerful Treasure Spells kept?”
“The Scripture Pavilion holds a vast sea of bone scriptures. No one will tell you where the divine techniques are hidden—you must seek them out yourself. Fortune favors the destined,” the elder replied lethargically, already dozing off again.
Little Rascal didn’t press further. Elders like this were often eccentric—the more one pried, the less they were inclined to reveal.
Stepping inside, he was met with rows upon rows of shelves, each laden with bone scriptures shimmering with an ethereal glow. The sheer volume was overwhelming.
“This is too much!” he muttered, staring in disbelief. The pavilion stretched endlessly, filled to the brim with bone scriptures. How was he supposed to find the strongest Treasure Spell in this ocean of knowledge?
Venturing deeper, he noticed some shelves in the corners had decayed, their contents scattered and buried in dust.
“How am I supposed to search through all this?” he groaned, his small face scrunched in frustration.
After wandering aimlessly, he picked up a yellowish-brown bone fragment covered in densely packed symbols—so intricate he had to squint to decipher them.
After fifteen minutes of intense scrutiny, his face fell. The text merely described a method for nurturing medicinal herbs—nowhere near a Treasure Spell.
“Such a scam!”
Next, he examined a silver bone fragment with sparse but ancient-looking inscriptions. It turned out to be a manual for taming spirit beasts—still not what he needed.
What he truly lacked were divine techniques to refine and enhance his existing abilities.
Picking up another scripture, he finally found a cultivation method—but again, not the one he sought.
“How long is this going to take?” he grumbled, returning to the elder for guidance.
“Haste makes waste. Cultivating the heart is more important than the body,” the elder mused, shaking his wild mane of hair. “Besides, many of our sect’s divine techniques have been lost or fragmented. What remains is hidden within this sea of scriptures. Seek, and you shall find.”
Little Rascal sighed. Conversations with elders like this were exhausting—full of profound wisdom but devoid of practical advice.
“Fine! I’ll just live here for ten years then!” he declared, determined to uncover powerful techniques.
Realizing the elder’s words held some truth, he decided to slow down. With so many scriptures at hand, he might as well study them methodically.
Starting from the entrance, he began reading one scripture after another, hoping to stumble upon something useful.
At first, it felt tedious, but gradually, his mind settled. By midday, he had skimmed over a dozen scriptures, none particularly remarkable.
“Hmm, this ancient method for stimulating vital energy is somewhat interesting,” he murmured, engrossed.
Finally, he found a decent cultivation technique and spent half an hour studying it before moving on.
By sunset, he had read over thirty scriptures, with only two or three offering any real insight.
The next morning, he returned at dawn, entering the pavilion amidst the morning mist. This time, he unearthed a dust-covered scripture.
Brushing off the grime revealed a faint golden glow—a very old bone fragment, cracked but still legible.
“Golden Vortex Ripple Art!” he gasped, recognizing the name. Though not a Treasure Spell, it was a formidable combat technique, derived from the protective runes of the Golden-Winged Roc.
“Only the first volume? It’s marked as a three-part series! If I could find the rest, this would be a complete and powerful Treasure Spell!” he lamented, disappointed to find only the first installment.
Studying it, golden ripples manifested around him, forming swirling vortices. To his delight, this technique resonated with another of his abilities—the Azure-Scaled Eagle Treasure Spell.
His two signature techniques, the Azure-Scaled Eagle and the Lion-Dragon, had always been his trump cards. Now, the golden vortices merged with the silver moon behind him, within which a primordial demonic bird stirred.
“So that’s how it works!” he exclaimed, thrilled.
Both techniques shared avian origins, allowing their runes to harmonize. Over the next few days, he experimented tirelessly, blending the two until they fused seamlessly.
The silver moon, once a mere manifestation, now resembled a divine egg, nurturing the demonic bird within. The structures and trees within the moon transformed into intricate runes on the eggshell.
“Purer now—closer to the true Heavenly Roc Treasure Spell!” he cheered, proud of his progress.
Day after day, he immersed himself in the scriptures, refining the Golden Vortex Ripple Art until it fully integrated with his Azure-Scaled Eagle technique.
A month passed unnoticed. The Sky Mending Pavilion had yet to summon him, still preparing the divine treasures needed to revive their guardian spirit.
Little Rascal, however, felt rejuvenated—his body in peak condition without any deliberate breakthroughs.
“Old Ghost wasn’t just beating me for no reason—he really was helping!” he realized, recalling how the areas struck now resonated warmly as he studied.
His rapid advancements in the Hundred Shattered Mountains had left hidden strains, but the elder’s “guidance” had smoothed them out.
Each scripture he read further polished his understanding, deepening his grasp of runes and even shedding light on the Primordial True Interpretation.
“This place is a treasure trove!” he rejoiced.
The only downside was the restricted access to the guardian spirit’s domain—otherwise, as Old Ghost had suggested, he’d have studied there.
A month and a half in, his persistence paid off. Buried beneath a pile of bones, he discovered the missing second and third volumes of the Golden Vortex Ripple Art.
Overjoyed, he nearly flipped in excitement. Combined, the three volumes formed a complete Treasure Spell—a derivative of the Golden-Winged Roc’s divine protection.
Nearby, the disheveled elder smiled faintly.
“Thank you, elder!” Little Rascal bowed gratefully in his direction.
The complete Golden Vortex Ripple Art was now a formidable Treasure Spell, capable of evolving his Azure-Scaled Eagle technique to surpass even his Lion-Dragon spell.
But his excitement peaked when he noticed an additional note: the pavilion’s treasury held an ancient, intact roc bone—its runes still preserved. The Golden Vortex Ripple Art had been inspired by it.
“Where is it?!” he trembled with anticipation, fists clenched.
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