Chapter 79
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Deep beneath the duel arena, far from the roar of the crowd and the blinding lights of spectacle, the remaining cultivators gathered in silence. The chamber they occupied was carved from ancient stone, its walls etched with symbols older than the city above it. The air here was heavy, thick with suppressed power and murderous intent.
Seven figures stood in a loose circle, their auras restrained but volatile, like storms held back by sheer will. These were not ordinary cultivators. They were beings who had stepped halfway beyond mortality, men and women who had abandoned the modern world long ago to pursue power that no longer needed an audience.
One of them finally broke the silence.
“This man…” he said slowly, his voice rough, distorted as though it echoed from somewhere deeper than his throat. “Who is he?”
No one answered immediately.
Another cultivator, tall and wrapped in dark robes, narrowed his eyes. “That’s exactly the problem. His name does not exist in any historical record. No sect archives. No cultivation registries. No ancient scrolls. It’s as if he appeared from nothing.”
“That’s impossible,” a third snapped. “No one acquires that level of power without leaving traces.”
A low, humorless chuckle came from the far end of the circle. “Unless the traces were erased.”
The group went quiet.
One of the elders stepped forward, his hair white, his eyes glowing faintly with inner light. “When he fought,” he said carefully, “did any of you feel it?”
Several of them shifted uncomfortably.
“Yes,” someone admitted. “His aura… it felt wrong. Familiar, but distorted. Like something ancient wearing a new skin.”
The white–haired elder exhaled slowly. “I felt it too.”
Another cultivator’s voice trembled despite his attempt to sound composed. “I sensed an echo. An imprint buried beneath his power. It reminded me of someone.”
The chamber grew colder.
“Say the name,” someone demanded.
The elder hesitated, then spoke. “Grand Master Erickson.”
The words landed like thunder.
“That’s impossible!” one cultivator shouted, slamming his fist into the stone floor. “Grand Master Erickson was killed over a hundred years ago by the Devil of the Seven Horns. His soul was destroyed. We all saw it.”
“And yet,” the elder replied calmly, “his aura was unmistakable. The structure of the power. The resonance. The way reality bends slightly around him. Erickson cultivated differently from everyone else. He didn’t dominate energy–he harmonized with
it.”
Another cultivator scoffed. “You’re letting fear cloud your judgment.”
“Fear?” the elder asked coolly. “No. Memory.”
A fourth voice joined in, sharp and bitter. “We’ve been waiting for his reincarnation for decades. Centuries, even. If he were reborn, the heavens would have reacted. The seals would have trembled. Nothing happened.‘
”
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“Unless,” someone said slowly, “he chose not to ascend.”
That possibility unsettled them more than anything else.
“He was always like that,” the white–haired elder murmured. “Too kind. Too foolish. He saved people instead of conquering them. He healed instead of ruling. That’s why they killed him.”
“And if this man is him,” another cultivator said darkly, “then he will do it again.”
The room filled with quiet rage.
“One of us should end him now,” a broad–shouldered cultivator growled. “Before he regains whatever he lost.”
“You think it’s that simple?” the elder asked. “If he truly carries Erickson’s legacy, then killing him outright may not even be possible yet.”
A younger cultivator stepped forward, eyes burning. “Then we force him to reveal himself.”
“How?” someone asked.
The answer came immediately.
“The Seven Earth Code.”
The chamber pulsed as power stirred.
“That technique manipulates consciousness itself,” another cultivator said. “It invades the mind, fractures memories, collapses inner stability. Even high–level immortals struggle against it.”
“Yes,” the elder said. “If he resists it… if he counters it… then we’ll know.”
A grim smile spread across one cultivator’s face. “Because only one person in history has ever resisted the Seven Earth Code.”
“And countered it with the Nine Earth Code,” another finished quietly.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
One cultivator laughed coldly. “If he uses the Nine Earth Code, then it’s confirmed.”
“And if it’s confirmed,” another said, eyes narrowing, “we kill him. Immediately.”
“What about the consequences?” someone asked hesitantly. “If he truly is Erickson reborn, his growth rate-”
“That’s exactly why he must die now,” the broad–shouldered cultivator snarled. “Before he becomes something none of us can control.”
The white–haired elder nodded slowly. “We cannot allow another Grand Master to rise. Not one who interferes with fate. Not one who saves those meant to be crushed.”
One cultivator clenched his fists. “The Devil of the Seven Horns killed him once. If he could do it, why can’t we?”
“Because Erickson allowed himself to die back then,” the elder replied. “This time… he may not.”
That realization made several of them uneasy.
“So we overwhelm him,” another said. “If he uses the Nine Earth Code to counter us, we combine our powers. Seven Earth Codes, fused into one formation. Something beyond his control.”
“A forced convergence,” the elder murmured. “Yes. That would drain him. Tear apart his inner sea. Even if he survives, his power will collapse.”
“And if his power collapses,” the younger cultivator said coldly, “he dies.”
Chapter 29
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The decision settled over them like a verdict.
They were no longer debating. They were preparing an execution.
Above them, the arena roared as spectators returned to their seats, unaware that the next round was no longer just a duel–it
was a purge.
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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.
