The border of the Nightfall Zone lay before Adrian like a wound torn open in the land.
Jagged cliffs rose like broken teeth, wrapped in perpetual mist. The air here was heavier, older–saturated with residual force left behind by generations of cultivators, warriors, and forgotten battles. Even the wind carried pressure.
Adrian stood at the edge of it, coat fluttering lightly.
“Twenty–four hours,” he muttered to himself. “No delays.”
He stepped forward.
The moment his foot crossed the boundary, the atmosphere shifted violently. The ground hummed beneath his boots, and faint formations carved into ancient stone flickered to life before dimming again.
So this region still had defensive arrays.
Adrian exhaled slowly and pressed on.
He moved fast–too fast for an ordinary man. His body flowed through the terrain with practiced ease, leaping ravines, scaling rock faces, and gliding through dense forest canopies. Though he hadn’t trained in years, muscle memory never truly vanished.
Still… he felt it.
The lag.
His breath came heavier than it once would have. His landings weren’t as light. The power was there–but unpolished, dormant
too long.
“You really let yourself go,” he muttered dryly.
Before he could go any further-
Whoosh!
A blade sliced through the air, aimed straight at his throat.
Adrian tilted his head slightly. The blade passed harmlessly by, embedding itself in a tree behind him with a sharp thud.
“Bold,” a voice sneered.
“Walking into Nightfall alone?”
Figures stepped out from the shadows—five of them. Their auras flared openly, crude but aggressive. Martial artists, hardened by regional combat rather than refined cultivation.
“Outsider,” another said. “You lost?”
Adrian glanced at them, unimpressed. “I’m in a hurry.”
One of them laughed. “Then you picked the wrong path.”
They rushed him.
Adrian sighed.
The first attacker threw a heavy punch reinforced with internal force. Adrian sidestepped, caught the wrist, and twisted gently.
Crack.
The man screamed as he was flung aside like a ragdoll.
The second came in with a blade. Adrian stepped into the strike, two fingers snapping forward-
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Bang!
The blade shattered mid–swing.
The forest went silent.
“What-?” someone gasped.
Adrian moved.
He flowed through them like water through broken stone. Every strike was precise. No wasted motion. Martial technique fused seamlessly with overwhelming force. A palm strike here, a knee there–each blow carried enough power to send bodies flying.
Within seconds, four men lay groaning on the ground.
The last one staggered back, eyes wide with disbelief. “H–how do you have this much power?! You fight like a general… no, like an ancient master!”
Adrian adjusted his sleeve calmly. “You attacked first.”
The man swallowed hard.
Then-
A sharp whistle pierced the air.
Adrian’s
eyes flicked upward.
From the rooftops of nearby stone structures, a figure descended like a meteor, his aura exploding outward. The pressure hit
Adrian mid–motion-
BOOM!
He was slammed into a stone wall, cracks spiderwebbing outward.
Dust filled the air.
Laughter followed.
“Well, well,” a youthful voice mocked. “A tyrant beating my people in my land?”
Adrian stepped out of the rubble slowly, brushing dust from his coat. He looked up.
A young man stood above, dressed in ornate robes, crown–like adornment resting in his hair. His aura was far denser than the
others–refined, trained.
A prince.
“So dramatic,” Adrian said dryly.
The prince sneered. “Arrest him.”
Before Adrian could react further, restraining formations snapped into place, chains of force wrapping around his limbs. They weren’t strong enough to truly bind him–but they were… annoying.
“Enjoy your strength while you can,” the prince said smugly. “You’ll explain yourself to my father.”
Adrian frowned slightly.
This place…
Stone buildings. Banners. Armored guards with spears instead of modern weapons.
“…Did I walk into a living museum?” he muttered.
He was marched through the city.
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People stared. Whispered. Some looked afraid. Others curious.
“Tyrant,” someone hissed.
Adrian didn’t bother correcting them.
Soon, massive gates opened, revealing a grand hall built of carved stone and gold inlay. At its center sat a man with sharp eyes and an aura that felt ancient and vast.
The king.
The prince strode forward proudly. “Father, we captured a dangerous outsider causing chaos.”
Adrian stepped forward before the king could speak.
“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Adrian said calmly. “I came for herbs. That’s all.”
The hall murmured.
The king studied him. “Which herbs?”
“Nightfall Ginseng,” Adrian replied. “Moon–Root Orchid. Azure Spine Leaf.”
The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Those are restricted.”
Adrian met his gaze. “They’re needed urgently. My master is critically ill.”
The word master drew attention.
The king leaned forward. “Your master’s name.”
Adrian didn’t hesitate. He spoke it.
The hall froze.
Then-
The king stood abruptly.
Gasps erupted.
“Impossible…” “That name-” “He’s that man’s disciple?!”
The king descended the steps quickly and stopped before Adrian, eyes sharp but respectful.
“You weren’t expected,” the king said solemnly. “If your master wished to visit this region, he always sent word. He would stay for days. Teach. Heal.”
Adrian’s expression softened. “He’s been sick. Sustained only by healing essence.”
Shock rippled through the hall.
“No wonder…” the king murmured. “We wondered why he never returned.”
The prince’s face drained of color. “F–father?”
The king turned sharply. “Untie him. Now.”
The bindings vanished instantly.
The king bowed.
Adrian blinked once–then accepted it calmly.
“I apologize for the misunderstanding,” the king said sincerely. “The herbs will be prepared immediately.”
CHAPTER 62
“I appreciate it,” Adrian said. “But I can’t stay. I need to return within twenty–four hours.”
The king nodded. “Then my son will escort you personally. No one will dare touch you.”
The prince swallowed, bowing stiffly. “Y–yes.”
As Adrian turned to leave-
“Wait.”
Footsteps echoed.
A woman stepped into the hall.
Adrian froze.
“…Reyes?”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
