"Threads of Fate...?"
Donovan forced his expression to remain neutral, though his pulse hamred in his throat like a trapped beast. His gaze flicked to the translucent crimson threads coiled around his own arm—their pulsing glow like parasitic worms beneath his skin, a constant, sickening reminder of Krogh’s dominion.
Fuck! If those things can snap just like that...
His mind raced, sharp with desperation and sudden, treacherous hope.
He swallowed hard, keeping his voice carefully asured—respectful, but edged with wary calculation. "Is it possible... Could Kinson Wexford have escaped?" The question was a gamble, a probe for weakness in Krogh’s certainty.
Krogh’s sneer was glacial, his voice dripping with disdain. "Escape?"
He barked a cold scoff, "Not a chance. The Threads of Fate may not kill directly, but they bind tighter than any chain. That brat was confined to Twin Peak Hill—a single step beyond its borders would have torn his Ethereal Souls from his Corporeal Shadows, his life’s providence and spirit essence ripped back into the Earth Vein itself."
His lip curled, eyes flashing with cold fury. "Yet now? The Threads didn’t just loosen—they shattered completely. No remnants, no echoes. That isn’t escape. That’s annihilation. The brat isn’t just dead—his Dao path has been unmade."
For a heartbeat, Krogh’s mask of arrogance faltered. His expression shifted—first storm-dark with uncertainty, then widening into genuine astonishnt, suspicion coiling beneath like a venomous serpent. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His plans, his ticulously laid strategies, crumbled without reason.
Then his gaze snapped back to Donovan, piercing as a dagger pressed to the throat. "Go. Now. To the Sword of Red Run."
The command was a growl, laced with barely restrained violence. "The Ju-On is scheming sothing terrible. I don’t care how you do it—bring that blade back to , its true master."
He leaned in, the weight of his aura crushing. "Fail, and while I might still offer you the... rcy of becoming my Sword Serf, the Ju-On won’t be so generous. It will feast on your cultivation, strip the flesh from your bones, and devour your screaming soul. You may find harsh, boy, but rember: ’Those evil not of our race can never share our will.’ The malice being who smile will still rip out your throat."
Donovan’s spine stiffened under the weight of Krogh’s overwhelming pressure. But this Krogh’s rare mont of vulnerability—his plans in disarray—there was an opening. A sliver of daylight in Donovan’s tomb.
"Then I want the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishnt Technique." Donovan’s voice was firm, laced with dread but sharp with defiance. "Now." A demand, not a plea. A gamble with his life as the stake. If he was going to walk into the evil Ju-On’s jaws, he’d demand the crown from this Krogh Hanz’s grasp.
Krogh’s face twisted in cold fury, his piercing gaze boring into Donovan like twin blades of ice. The air around them grew heavy with unspoken killing intent, a palpable chill that made the very breath in Donovan’s lungs feel like shards of frost.
For a heartbeat, the handso sword cultivator’s features flickered with open irritation—his pride bristling at being strong-ard by a re Qi Refinent ant—before he finally relented through clenched teeth.
"Half. At most." The words were clipped, venomous, as if even this concession was an unbearable insult.
"Deal!" Donovan didn’t dare push further. The back of his sect robe was drenched in cold sweat. His heart hamred so violently he was certain Krogh could hear it.
Krogh’s lip curled in disdain. "Hmph. Skim it quickly. Don’t waste my ti." His tone was glacial, begrudging, as he produced a jade slip from his storage pouch. With a flick of his wrist and a pulse of spiritual energy, he channeled the technique’s essence into the slip. Then the man tossed it at Donovan’s feet like scraps to a dog. The entire exchange was curt, perfunctory—both n acutely aware that every passing second was a grain of sand slipping through an hourglass.
Ti was the enemy now—for both of them.
For Krogh, the stakes were catastrophic. He needed Donovan to reach the Driftdream Loch imdiately, to inform the Sword Born of Lordi’s death before the Ju-On could twist the truth. If the Ancestral Shrine’s imposter wasn’t exposed in ti, the Sword of Red Run might remain deceived—and Krogh would lose his one chance to reclaim what was rightfully his.
Worse, if the Ju-On seized the initiative, it would either slaughter Donovan outright or—more insidiously—manipulate him into muddying the sword’s judgnt. A single misstep, and Krogh’s Natal Soulbound Artifact could be lost forever in the chaos.
If that happens... The thought alone sent a rare spike of desperation through Krogh’s veins. When will I ever get another opportunity like this?
For Donovan, the danger was even more imdiate.
Krogh had already made it brutally clear that Kinson Wexford was the only "useful mind" on this mountain. Now, with Lordi dead, Donovan’s value in Krogh’s eyes had plumted to near-zero. This arrogant motherfucker could decide I’m expendable any second. The realization sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through him. If he thinks I’m useless—or worse, if he suspects I’ll turn on him—he’ll carve apart without blinking.
His fingers closed around the jade slip, his spiritual sense racing across its surface. The contents seed legitimate—a detailed breakdown of the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishnt process—but he had no ti to verify its authenticity. Every second spent scrutinizing it was a second Krogh’s patience frayed further.
"This one... thanks the master for his generosity," Donovan forced out, bowing deeply, his voice layered with just enough respect to mask the terror beneath. Move. Now. Before he reconsiders.
His heart pounded like a war drum as he straightened, the jade slip burning in his grip like a live coal.
Krogh finally granted Donovan leave with a dismissive wave, and the mont he was allowed free to go, Donovan felt like reality itself had shattered and reford around him. His heart pounded violently, each beat a hamr-strike against his ribs as he stumbled away from the towering, eerily ghost tree.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, but all he could focus on was the cold sweat trickling down his spine.
Holy fuck. I made it out alive.
Every nerve in his body was alight with the raw, electric thrill of survival—but he wasn’t safe yet.
——
Not daring to waste a single second, Donovan dashed from the rear mountain with deliberate haste, his face pale as death. His steps were asured, controlled—he had no intention of heading toward the water lily lake. Instead, he took a winding path to the front mountain, seeking so hidden crevice where he could catch his breath, steady his trembling hands, and process the fact that he had just walked out of hell itself.
Just as he slipped into an unremarkable nook between two jagged boulders, his blood ran cold.
There, sprawled motionless on the ground like a discarded puppet, was Lordi Payne’s lifeless body.
Donovan froze mid-step, his breath hitching. Shit...
A deep, aching sympathy welled up in his chest. He couldn’t help but slow down, staring at the fallen prodigy with genuine sorrow.
Damn it, man. You were too fucking young.
Lordi had been a genius—a once in a thousand generations alchemist with a future brighter than the sun. And now? Snuffed out like a candle in a storm. Donovan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "So young, so gifted..." he muttered under his breath, voice rough with regret. "Was the sky really that threatened by your light?"
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to move on. There was no ti to mourn—not when Krogh’s wrath could descend at any mont.
But then—
A surge of vibrant life force erupted from Lordi’s chest.
Donovan’s eyes widened in shock as the energy flooded through Lordi’s body, nding what should have been irreversible. In the span of a single heartbeat, Lordi sat up—unscathed, unhard, as if death itself had been nothing but a fleeting inconvenience.
"Oh, greetings, Senior Brother Valdez," Lordi said, his voice steady and respectful, though his sharp eyes betrayed no surprise at Donovan’s presence. "I’m so glad you’re also unhard."
Without missing a beat, he added, "By the way, I’ve confird it—the Krogh Hanz in the Ancestral Shrine is the evil Ju-On."
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