Chapter 167 - 51-56

051 The Worst Game Ever

Lost Legends Online sucked.

Karen had sunk thousands of hours into it, and she wouldn't be the first to admit it was a terrible game. The player base was abysmally low, and for good reason. It had the most overkill, convoluted skill system imaginable. The penalties were downright torturous. The game's sheer depth and complexity weren't a sign of brilliance—they were a sign of poor game design.

And yet, she loved it.

Karen scrolled through her skill list, shaking her head. When fighting, she had to navigate dozens of skills in the heat of battle. Sure, there were hotkeys, but even setting those up was a nightmare. Some skills required prerequisites that reduced stats instead of increasing them. Others demanded long, tedious quest chains before they could even be learned. The AI opponents were borderline terrifying, reading her moves like actual players.

And PvP? No one played PvP.

Why? Because the skill ceiling was so absurdly high that only the most masochistic players would dare step into it. She had fought AI opponents who were scarier than the top-ranked players in other MMOs. If it weren't for LLO's next-level graphics and godlike AI, the game would have died long ago.

Well, that was why weirdos exist…

Karen let out a long sigh, resting her chin on her hand.

Her avatar, Joan D'Arc, a battle priestess clad in white and gold, stared back at her from the character menu. The blonde-haired warrior-priestess was her pride and joy. It had taken years to build her. The White Path was a nightmare to master, not to mention to use it as the 'core' in a decent build, but she had done it. The perfect blend of offense and support. The ideal mix of raw power and divine resilience.

And now, none of it mattered.

Her eyes drifted toward the announcement at the top of the screen.

[Notice: Lost Legends Online Will Shut Down Permanently]

Karen clicked on it, reading through the usual corporate fluff. Server costs, declining player numbers, and—ah, there it was—the real reason. The perma-death update. The moment they announced that, most casuals quit. Who wanted to spend thousands of hours grinding just to risk losing their character permanently? Even Karen had almost dropped the game.

Almost.

She glanced at her messages, feeling a pang in her chest.

Her online boyfriend hadn't logged in for a while now. They had talked about meeting up in real life, but that was never going to happen. He was gone. Maybe he had just quit the game after the update, or maybe something had happened. Either way, he wasn't here anymore.

Karen sighed, leaning back in her chair. What do I even play now?

She reached out, hovering over the power button on her PC.

Unbeknownst to her, Lost Legends Online was more than just a game.

And its shutdown… was only the beginning.

In another lifetime—

The signs were there.

Joan D'Arc had seen them long before the others had admitted it. The sudden disappearances of immortal souls, the slow but undeniable failure of their once-absolute immortality—these were warnings of an impending doom none of them could stop. And then there were the attacks. More frequent, more devastating. The Great Enemy was advancing.

If not for their side's resurrection spells, the war would have been over already.

Joan stood in the grand council chamber, surrounded by divine beings that had once been revered as gods. The Lost Gods, they called themselves, though it was more a title of circumstance than choice. They had no followers. No temples. No prayers to sustain them. They were remnants of an age long past, bound together by necessity rather than kinship.

Now, survival itself was slipping through their fingers.

"The calamity is upon us," declared Lord Aureon, his golden armor dimming under the weight of his words. "We must retreat to other realms. It is the only way."

Murmurs filled the chamber. The Lost Gods were divided. Nearly half agreed with Aureon, seeing retreat as the only viable option. The other half held mixed opinions—some wished to stand and fight, while others sought alternatives, searching for ways to replicate the ancient sealing of immortal souls that had once protected their kind.

Joan clenched her fists. They could fight. They should fight. But deep down, she knew the truth.

They were losing.

Her gaze drifted to the mural behind the council—a grand depiction of past champions who had risen to fight in times of crisis. Names etched into history. Faces that had once inspired hope. And among them…

David.

Joan's heart clenched at the memory. If he were here, he wouldn't have cared about the crisis. He would have ignored the debates, ignored the fear, and done what he always did—throw himself straight into the heart of the problem just to clear the way forward.

"Why are you all hesitating?" she could almost hear his voice, impatient, eager. "We know the threat. We know they'll keep coming. So let's deal with it before it gets worse."

But David was gone.

He had perished along with the many champions who had tried to fight back the vanguard of the Great Enemy.

And now, Joan was left in a room full of gods, arguing over whether to flee or fight.

She exhaled, closing her eyes. If you're out there, David... what would you do?

The Sanctum had always been a place of reverence and strategy, a space where the Lost Gods convened to discuss matters beyond mortal comprehension. It was an ethereal hall, suspended in the void between worlds, a place where time itself held little meaning. The walls were formed of starlight, the floor of woven fate, and the great round table at the center pulsed with power.

And yet, for all its grandeur, tonight it felt smaller than ever.

Joan stood among the gathered champions, her arms crossed, her golden hair casting a soft glow against the dim surroundings. The atmosphere was tense, as it always was whenever the gods debated. Their voices echoed through the void, layered and overlapping, as divine beings argued over the fate of a world crumbling under the Great Enemy's assault.

She had been summoned here as a representative of the Immortal Champions—not that immortality meant much anymore. The Lost's greatest warriors, once able to resurrect indefinitely, had begun to stay dead. And if they fell, then even the gods would soon follow.

Among the champions present, Joan took note of a few Destiny-Bound warriors standing apart from the rest.

Unlike the standard Immortal Champions, these individuals couldn't hear the Voice. They were anomalies, chosen by fate itself rather than by the Lost Gods. Their existence followed paths beyond even divine understanding—some were destined for greatness, others for tragedy, but all of them had their own agendas.

And that made them unreliable.

Joan didn't trust them.

The gods continued their argument, but it was the same cycle as always.

"We must retreat while we still have the means," one of the gods, whose form was a mass of golden light, declared.

"Retreat to where?" another, a spectral figure wreathed in storm clouds, snapped. "We have fought for countless eras! To abandon our station now would be to betray everything we have stood for!"

"Better betrayal than extinction," a third voice, deep and ancient, rumbled.

And so the debate went, spiraling in circles, repeating the same worn-out arguments.

Some wanted to flee to another realm. Some wanted to fight to the bitter end. Others spoke of a desperate gambit—to seal their remaining immortal souls into artifacts, entrusting the future to whatever mortals would rise in the coming ages.

But no decision was ever made.

Joan had seen this happen before. She knew what came next.

One by one, the gods began to leave, their divine forms fading from the Sanctum as they abandoned the conversation in frustration. Soon, only a few remained—watching each other in wary silence.

Joan exhaled, feeling a deep, bone-weary exhaustion settle into her.

So this is it, then. No grand salvation. No miracle solution. Just more waiting. More dying.

The war was already lost.

It wasn't an exaggeration to say the champions of the Lost were losing badly.

Joan D'Arc had long sensed it, but the true weight of their decline only became undeniable when she stopped hearing the Voice.

The Voice had always been there—a mysterious phenomenon that guided the Lost's champions, whispering tactics, strategies, and solutions to seemingly impossible battles. Joan wasn't the only one who heard it. David had heard it too. Every champion had, at some point. It had been their unseen guide, the reason they could hold the line against the Great Enemy for so long.

But now?

Silence.

Joan strode through the dimly lit streets of Losten, the last bastion of the Lost, making her way to an old tavern where she knew the others would be.

Inside, a low murmur filled the air. The scent of burnt wood and aged ale clung to the walls. Gathered around a massive table were the strongest of the strong—the Top Thirteen.

They were legends in their own right. Veterans. Powerful champions in their own right. Each had reached demi-god status, their names etched into the annals of history. They were the ones who had held back the Great Enemy for centuries.

Joan took her seat at the table—the Sixth Seat.

Her eyes swept across the room, instinctively landing on an empty chair. The Third Seat. David's Seat.

Once, he had been a force to be reckoned with. The rankings shifted every century or so, but the Top Three had always been in constant flux, fighting over the highest seats. Now, one of those seats remained vacant.

Joan exhaled and turned to the Second Seat, a woman with fiery red hair and an ever-present scowl.

"Where's the First Seat?" Joan asked.

Fanarys, the infamous pyromancer, leaned back in her chair and scoffed. "Where else? Being a suicidal idiot, as usual."

Joan sighed. Of course.

They didn't have the luxury for reckless heroics anymore.

"You do remember," she emphasized, "that our immortal souls are failing us. We can't resurrect anymore from the heart of the world."

Fanarys flicked a spark off her fingers. "Yeah, yeah. He knows. Doesn't change a damn thing."

Joan glanced at the Ninth Seat, a rogue named Robin who had mastered both the ranger and hunter paths. He was leaning against the wall, sharpening a dagger.

"The Seventh Seat—Yggdra. Is he with him?" she asked.

Robin didn't look up. "Yeah. Figures a druid would stick around to make sure our resident lunatic doesn't get himself too killed."

Joan pinched the bridge of her nose. This was a disaster waiting to happen.

The Great Enemy was advancing. The Voice was gone. The champions were dying. And the strongest among them?

Still acting like they had all the time in the world.

The air inside the dimly lit tavern was thick with the scent of aged wood, spiced liquor, and the unshakable weight of impending doom. Conversations murmured throughout the establishment, but the main table—one tucked away in the back, where the strongest of the Lost's champions gathered—was nearly silent.

Corvus, the Fourth Seat, leaned back against her chair, adjusting her gloves with a slow, methodical motion. Her purple hair, usually left to cascade freely, was tied into a tight bun.

"A lot of us have been dying."

Her words, spoken in an almost casual drawl, carried a weight that made the others shift uncomfortably. She gestured toward the empty chairs around the table—Twelfth, Eleventh, Tenth, Eighth, Fifth… and Third.

Half of them were gone.

Their Seats would remain vacant.

No one spoke for a long moment. Even the tavern's usual clamor seemed distant.

Across the table, Ivan, the Thirteenth Seat, ran a hand through his long white hair and let out a heavy breath. His pale blue eyes flickered toward Corvus before settling on his own drink, swirling the dark liquid in his cup.

"Then maybe we should make sure we die in a blaze of glory," he said, voice dry yet carrying an edge of finality.

Joan turned to him, arching a brow. "That's quite something to hear from a necromancer."

Ivan smirked, the expression filled with wry amusement. "What? You think I'd want to linger? Some deaths are too good to be undone."

The statement should have been morbid. Instead, it felt like a challenge.

Corvus exhaled through her nose, crossing her arms. "You make it sound like we still have a choice." She motioned toward the tavern entrance, where the streets beyond flickered with dim torchlight. "We can pretend all we want, but let's face it—immortality doesn't mean much anymore. We fall, we stay dead. The Great Enemy has made sure of that."

The words weren't new.

But hearing them said outright settled like iron in their chests.

Joan looked around the table again, at the ones who were left.

The Top Thirteen had once been an unshakable force. A gathering of legends.

Now?

They were just survivors, clinging to the last threads of a war they had already lost.

The door to the tavern swung open, letting in a gust of cold air. The dim candlelight flickered as heavy, deliberate footsteps entered.

Arthur had arrived.

The First Seat and the strongest of them all.

His dark blue hair was windswept, his plain-looking armor scratched and dull—unassuming to the untrained eye. But those who knew better understood. That was legendary armor, one that had seen countless battles and refused to break.

Behind him walked a woman with thick, wild green hair, her presence just as striking as his.

Arthur stopped at the table, sweeping his sharp gaze over the remaining Top Thirteen. His expression was calm, but his eyes carried something they hadn't seen in a long time.

Purpose.

"We have a path forward," he said simply.

Corvus arched a brow, but before she could respond, another figure strolled in behind Arthur, drawing immediate attention.

Alice.

The Infamous Vampire Princess.

She was a relic of a long-lost kingdom from the Dark Ages, one of the few who had survived through the downfall of her kind. Her striking pink hair, unusual even among vampires, was styled elegantly, cascading over her shoulders. A delicate parasol rested against her shoulder, a mockery of the night that surrounded them.

Her crimson eyes gleamed as she stepped forward, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile.

"Oh my, such dreary faces," she mused, voice carrying the lilt of amusement. "You look as though you've already accepted death."

No one answered.

Alice's gaze flicked around the room before she finally dropped the real bombshell.

"David is still alive."

Silence.

Not the stunned, immediate kind of silence.

No, this was heavier. A stillness so thick it felt suffocating.

Joan, who had barely reacted through the entire exchange, felt her fingers tighten around the table's edge.

David.

The Third Seat.

The one who had definitely died.

Hadn't he?

Joan's fists slammed against the wooden table, rattling the empty mugs and plates.

"Explain," she demanded, staring Alice down.

The vampire princess remained unfazed, tilting her head with a teasing smile. "Oh my, so demanding. But very well." She twirled her parasol before leaning slightly forward. "David had an unfinished quest with me."

Joan narrowed her eyes. "What kind of quest?"

Alice's smile deepened. "He promised to cure my vampirism... for a certain favor."

That caught Joan off guard.

David? A Paladin? Making a deal with a vampire?

"That doesn't make sense," Joan said, her brows furrowing. "David wasn't the type to—"

"To mix with the likes of me?" Alice finished for her, laughing softly. "Oh, how little you knew of him."

Joan clenched her jaw.

Alice continued, her tone turning more serious. "When I heard of his… supposed death, I searched for him. Not just his body, but any trace of his soul. And guess what?" Her crimson eyes gleamed. "I found him."

The room tensed.

Arthur, standing near the entrance, finally spoke. "We've scouted the area where he was last seen. It's no ordinary battlefield—it's a dungeon. And not just any dungeon, but one that devours immortal souls."

Joan's breath caught.

Yggdra, the druid of the Seventh Seat, nodded. "I sent a familiar deep inside. We found traces of magic still lingering in the ruins. Something was used there… something powerful."

Alice stepped forward, folding her parasol. "And I can use it."

Joan's head snapped toward her.

Alice's expression turned completely serious, all traces of teasing gone. "I can hijack the spell that was used. If my guess is correct, it was a planar shift—one that doesn't just kill but transports."

Joan's heart pounded.

Planar shift. That meant David wasn't just dead. He was somewhere else.

"I can bring one person with me," Alice continued. "Someone to jump through planes and retrieve him."

Arthur crossed his arms. "I wanted to go." He exhaled. "But I know Joan is the better choice."

Joan's breath hitched.

She stared at Arthur, then at Alice, then at the rest of the Top Thirteen.

Few things in this world meant anything to her.

But David?

David was definitely one of them.

Her teeth gritted, her grip tightening.

"…When do we leave?"

052 Farewell, Yellow Dragon City

By first light, the city stirred. The festival's remnants—discarded lanterns, empty bottles, and torn banners—littered the streets. Yet, despite the mess, there was a sense of peace. People moved with purpose, sweeping away debris, washing the roads, and setting things right as if nothing had happened.

I stood atop the city wall, looking down at the scene. Jiang Zhen stood to my right, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Ren Jin was on my left, still as ever, the prince watching the city he ruled with quiet calculation.

Jiang Zhen exhaled. "Be careful on your travels," he said. No jokes, no riddles, no jabs. Just that.

I turned to Ren Jin. "And you?"

Ren Jin gave me a sidelong glance. "Ren Xun will guide you to the Empire. Do as you like with him."

That was... harsh. "Isn't he your son?" I asked, raising a brow.

"He is," Ren Jin admitted, "but he is also your responsibility now. His fate is in your hands."

I didn't know whether to be honored or concerned. Probably both.

That was too callous of him.

I turned back to Jiang Zhen, finding myself hesitating. "Thanks," I said finally. "For everything. For your hospitality. And for your friendship."

Jiang Zhen scoffed. "You're probably the only person who'd act so sentimental."

But then, he did something unexpected—he called me by my name. "David," he said, without stuttering, without hesitation. "Be careful out there, turbulent times are coming. If anything, I'd be bummed if you suddenly croak out one day."

It was the first time he'd said my name properly. That practically made him the first person who addressed me by my name in this strange world. I blinked. Then, I smiled. "You got it right."

Jiang Zhen rolled his eyes. "Of course I did."

I had no idea what it was like to be unable to say certain syllables or to have an accent that couldn't be helped. Assigned vernaculars aside, I appreciated the effort.

The boat hovered just a short distance away, waiting. Lu Gao stood near the edge, looking contemplative. Ren Xun was at the controls, calm and composed. Gu Jie, holding a large bowl filled with water, carefully cradled Ren Jingyi—the goldfish—inside it.

The vessel itself was sleek, more like a speedboat than the grand flying ships I had imagined. It had a single deck, wide enough to comfortably fit a dozen people, but it lacked a roof. I glanced at Ren Jin. "No cover?"

He folded his hands behind his back. "The Floating Dragon has formations that repel rain," he said. "And it has withstood an attack from a Fifth Realm cultivator before."

That caught my interest. "A Fifth Realm cultivator?" I asked. "And it survived?"

Okay, to be fair, I had no idea how strong a Fifth Realm attack was at full force.

Ren Jin nodded. "Barely. It's not indestructible, but it will serve you well."

I studied the boat again, its hull lined with faint golden inscriptions, the edges shimmering faintly with protective energy. A well-crafted artifact, no doubt.

I turned back to the two men standing beside me. "Governor Ren Jin," I said, addressing him formally.

Then, I looked at Jiang Zhen and grinned. "Jiang Zhen."

No 'Changcheng' this time.

He raised a brow. "Oh? Dropping the name-calling now, are we?"

I shrugged. "You're an interesting person. Your sensibilities match mine more than I expected." I exhaled. "I thought I'd struggle interacting with cultivators, but you made it easier. Or maybe this region is nice and chill like that."

Jiang Zhen smirked, folding his arms. "That so?"

"Yeah," I said simply. "I was fortunate to meet someone like you."

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, with a scoff, he waved me off. "Go on, then. Before you say something even sappier."

I chuckled, then leaped onto the boat.

Ren Xun gave me a brief nod before turning his focus back to the controls. Lu Gao remained quiet, but I could see his mind was elsewhere, thoughts swirling behind his eyes. Gu Jie carefully adjusted Ren Jingyi's bowl, making sure the goldfish was settled.

I took one last look at Jiang Zhen and Ren Jin.

With a final wave, the boat lurched forward—and then, in a blinding streak of rainbows, we were gone. This was the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Ren Xun stood at the helm, his hands steady on the controls. He wore dark, fitted robes, their embroidery shimmering with faint traces of spiritual energy. His long hair was tied back neatly, framing his sharp features. His posture was impeccable—straight-backed, confident—but his expression remained neutral, almost distant.

The controls in front of him looked absurdly complicated, a strange fusion of ancient design and futuristic complexity. There was an antique-looking wheel, polished and ornate, its edges marked with intricate carvings that pulsed faintly with Qi. A radar-like disc hovered beside it, glowing softly, displaying shifting lines and dots that I couldn't make sense of. And then there were the buttons—too many of them, scattered across the panel with symbols that looked like a mix between ancient calligraphy and arcane circuitry.

I had no idea how any of it worked.

Ren Xun moved his hands over the controls with practiced ease. He turned the wheel slightly, tapping his fingers across the buttons in a sequence that seemed second nature to him. The boat hummed, and the formations embedded within its hull glowing briefly before the world around us blurred.

Ever imagined being inside a warping sequence like in those sci-fi movies? This must have been what it felt like, when in a warp.

For a moment, all I could see were streaks of rainbow light rushing past us, stretching infinitely in all directions. The sensation was both exhilarating and disorienting, like being tossed through a tunnel of color without a clear destination.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the light shattered.

The streaks vanished, dissolving into the horizon, and the scenery changed entirely.

Yellow Dragon City was gone.

Instead, we were in the middle of an endless desert-like expanse. Rolling dunes stretched far into the horizon, the ground cracked and dry. The air shimmered from the heat, the sky above a pale, washed-out blue with no clouds in sight. The sun sat directly overhead, its intensity pressing down on us like an oppressive weight.

Ren Xun turned to me, his voice steady and composed.

"Welcome to the Evernight Continent, senior."

I sat cross-legged on the deck, a book in one hand and my other flipping through the pages at an inhuman speed. Speed reading the mundane books was easy when you had enhanced memory retention. All hail maxed level stats.

Most of these books were just geography and history, basic knowledge that any educated citizen of the Empire would know. Evernight Continent was just one of eight massive continents under the rule of the Grand Ascension Empire. The Empire itself spanned multiple realms, and its influence stretched across the heavens. Evernight was located in the westernmost part of the Empire's territory, bordering the untamed lands where demonic beasts roamed freely.

I closed the book with a soft thud and turned to Ren Xun, who was still focused on steering the Floating Dragon. The controls lit up faintly under his hands, a mix of ancient mysticism and something eerily similar to high-tech machinery.

"How long will it take us to reach the imperial capital?" I asked.

Ren Xun didn't hesitate. "Forty days, if we charge forth with all zeal."

I liked the spunk on this guy. But I wasn't keen on rushing headfirst into whatever awaited me at the capital.

"And what's the safest way to do it?" I asked. "I don't mind spending a reasonable amount of time getting there, but I'd rather not stroll into unnecessary danger just because we were in a hurry."

Ren Xun considered my question before answering. "The Emperor has given senior a hundred days to arrive, correct?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Sounds suspicious as hell when we could make it in forty."

"Indeed." Ren Xun kept his eyes on the controls. "The warping formations on this boat require time to recharge. Roughly a week after each use. If we push forward aggressively, we can still arrive in forty days, even accounting for the usual demonic beast attacks. But if we want to minimize risk…"

He glanced at me as if gauging my reaction.

"We should abuse the warps."

"Abuse them how?"

"In every warp, we find a hiding spot. A place where we can lay low while the formations recharge. That way, we avoid prolonged exposure in dangerous areas."

So, in short, it was a game of patience versus risk. We could rush and fight our way through, or we could move carefully and take advantage of the warp cooldowns.

I exhaled. "I see. Guess we'll have to decide along the way."

Ren Xun gave a slight nod. "As you wish, senior."

There wasn't a hiding spot in this desert even if I wanted one. The sand stretched endlessly in every direction, shimmering under the relentless sun. The occasional jagged rock formation provided no real cover, and the air wavered with heat mirages.

I turned away from the barren landscape and glanced at my companions. "How are you two holding up?"

Gu Jie stood with a composed posture, her black robes undisturbed by the occasional gust of wind. She was holding Ren Jingyi, my goldfish, in a large bowl of water. The little fish swam in circles, not particularly impressed with the desert heat. I walked over and plucked some lettuce from my Item Box, feeding it to her.

Gu Jie spoke up. "Master, I am doing just fine. I have raised my cultivation to another star."

That was fast. I paused for a second before nodding. "Good for you."

Lu Gao, who had been standing a few paces away, looked hesitant before speaking. "If you have orders for me, please tell me so… and while late, I wish to know—how does senior wish to be addressed?"

I blinked at him. "Whatever suits you. Preferably, my name."

Lu Gao visibly tensed at that answer. He shifted awkwardly, glancing at Gu Jie as if to confirm something before looking back at me. It was the difference in culture at work. He wasn't used to addressing someone who had power over him by name.

After a moment's hesitation, he finally said, "I shall address you as Master… then…"

I shrugged. "I don't mind."

I let go of Ren Jingyi, watching as the goldfish swam a few slow laps around her bowl before settling near the surface. She seemed content. Meanwhile, Gu Jie and Lu Gao returned to their own corners of the boat. Gu Jie continued her quiet writing, while Lu Gao sat cross-legged, his breathing even. Probably meditating. Trying to find his center in all of this.

I leaned back and flipped through another book. There was still a ridiculous amount of reading left to do, but I had to put a dent in it somehow. Gu Jie had gathered these for me, after all.

Speaking of Gu Jie—

"Hey, Gu Jie, what's Old Song like?"

Gu Jie looked up from the small notebook she had been scribbling in. Ren Jingyi floated lazily beside her, swishing her tail. The girl tapped her brush against the edge of the inkstone, thinking.

"He wanted me to join the Guild as a staff member," she finally said.

I raised a brow. "Judging by how I found you, you didn't accept. Why?"

She exhaled slowly. "He is underestimating my constitution. My bloodline ability is malicious just by existing. What happens to the civilians he puts with me if they brush with the bad luck I've accumulated?"

That was… fair.

She hesitated, then added, "In fact, I was doubtful of even coming here, Master. I attract trouble after all. Regardless of how good my cultivation technique is, I am damaged goods. If you were to decide to abandon me, I will not hold it against you."

I laughed.

Gu Jie blinked, looking genuinely confused.

I raised a hand in apology. "Sorry, sorry. It's just—" I shook my head. "You're so serious you might as well be raising flags."

She didn't get the reference, but the frown she sent me made it clear she wasn't thrilled with my reaction.

I sighed and leaned back. "Don't worry about it. We'll be fine."

Would we?

Maybe my optimism was getting the better of me.

053 Ren Xun the Guide

Ren Xun let go of the wheel, setting the controls to autopilot before slumping onto the bench. The hum of the Floating Dragon filled the air. A steady and rhythmic pulse was coming from the artifact's formations.

He exhaled, letting the tension ease from his shoulders.

What was he supposed to make of this situation?

His father had sent him off to guide this group, but why? Ren Xun had been somewhat of a prince, a young lord of the Empire, yet here he was, reduced to playing a glorified chaperone.

Had his dalliance with a commoner truly been such an abhorrent development?

Not that it mattered. His life had never really been his own to live, had it?

Ren Xun warily glanced to his left.

Lu Gao sat cross-legged, eyes closed in deep meditation. His servant-like gray robes hung loosely around his lean frame, frayed at the edges from wear. His dark hair was unkempt, hanging in uneven strands over his face. If Ren Xun hadn't known any better, he would have assumed the man was just another wandering rogue cultivator.

But he wasn't.

Once, Lu Gao had been the young master of the Lu Clan. However, through some twist of fate, he had been cast out, left to flee his own clan. Now, he was here—following the enigmatic Da Wei.

Ren Xun frowned. He had heard whispers about Da Wei, though what he had learned only raised more questions. His father had given little explanation, only orders. Orders to guide this strange group to the Imperial Capital.

He sighed and turned to his right.

Gu Jie sat a short distance away, scribbling something in a small notebook. Unlike Lu Gao, she was a mystery he hadn't even begun to unravel. He knew little about her. He had heard even less. But something about her presence felt… off.

Perhaps it was his own lack of cultivation. He was only at the Fourth Star of the Martial Tempering Realm. Too weak to perceive things beyond the mundane.

With a quiet shake of his head, he reached into his storage ring and pulled out a piece of jerky.

He took a bite, chewing slowly as he watched the horizon.

Night had settled over the desert, a vast sea of darkness stretching in every direction. The Floating Dragon's formations kept it aloft and moving as the wind howled across the endless dunes.

Ren Xun sat with his back against the boat's railing, absently watching the flames of a small, controlled campfire flicker in the middle of their deck. The flames weren't natural, but rather the result of a formation that he had casually activated in the boat.

He stole a glance at the mysterious warrior and healer who had saved Yellow Dragon City in its time of crisis. His name was Da Wei or something close to it. Even now, as they sat beneath the open sky, Ren Xun couldn't quite understand him.

Then, without warning, Da Wei reached into his storage ring.

A moment later, he pulled out a bowl of steaming noodles thick with broth.

Ren Xun blinked.

Da Wei handed the first bowl to Gu Jie, who accepted it with nothing more than a slight nod. She barely looked surprised. As if this was something she had come to expect.

Then, he continued distributing the food.

Lu Gao, sitting opposite Ren Xun, looked just as taken aback as he was. But unlike Ren Xun, Lu Gao didn't question it—merely accepting his portion in silence.

Ren Xun peered down at the bowl in his hands. The broth was still hot, steam rising from the surface. He could smell the richness of the soup, the unmistakable aroma of well-seasoned meat and fresh herbs. This wasn't some preserved ration hastily thrown together. This was real food.

It wasn't the food itself that unsettled Ren Xun—it was the implication behind it.

Da Wei was a cultivator strong enough that eating should have been unnecessary for him. Anyone who reached a high enough realm could sustain themselves purely on Qi alone. And yet, here he was, casually lifting a pair of chopsticks and slurping down his noodles as if he were just another traveler on the road.

Ren Xun hesitated before asking, "Why do you still eat?"

Da Wei glanced up, swallowing his mouthful before answering. "Because I like it." He gave a half-smirk. "Food makes me feel alive."

Ren Xun wasn't sure what to make of that answer.

But as he took a sip of the broth, the warmth spreading through his chest, he found himself relaxing just a little. The tensions of the day melted away, if only for a moment.

Da Wei grinned. "There's nothing like food to bring people together."

Ren Xun, still sipping his broth, had no argument against that.

He turned to Lu Gao, eyes gleaming with interest. "Was it true you turned into a demon?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he knew it was an insult. A blatant provocation. But Ren Xun had lived his whole life knowing he would always be protected. He got what he wanted, asked what he wanted, and said what he wanted. It was overbearing in a way, but he had been spoiled like that.

Lu Gao, however, didn't react as expected. No burst of anger, no sharp glare. Instead, he looked… bored. As if Ren Xun had asked him whether it would rain tomorrow.

"Yes."

Ren Xun blinked.

That was it? Just a yes?

Before he could pry further, Lu Gao casually fired back, "And was it true that you slept with a beggar?"

Ren Xun nearly choked on his noodles.

He saw the tiniest twitch of Lu Gao's lips, the closest thing to amusement the former young master of the Lu Clan had shown all night.

Ren Xun wiped his mouth, smirking. "Not yet."

Lu Gao exhaled through his nose and gave him a flat what the fuck expression.

"She wasn't a beggar," Ren Xun corrected. "More of a survivor."

Gu Jie, who had been scribbling in her notebook, glanced up and quipped, "So it's true, then? The son of an imperial prince is gallivanting across the land?"

Ren Xun huffed. "It's not gallivanting—it's love at first sight."

Da Wei, who had been eating his noodles in peace, suddenly looked interested. "Oh?" He rested his chin on his palm, leaning in. "I have to hear this. What's she like?"

Ren Xun's lips curled into a proud smile. "She wore an azure mask, but her eyes—her eyes were scarred, yet she could see so much more than others." He gestured vaguely, as if trying to capture something indescribable. "She had dark hair, long and wild. And she wasn't just strong—she protected the weak and the poor. She could have been ruthless, but she wasn't. She had a heart."

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Her name is Lin Lim."

The boat rocked gently beneath them. The fire flickered.

"Oh, Lin Lim? I know her," Da Wei suddenly remarked, setting his empty bowl aside. "I believe she made a deal with the Governor to allow citizenship for the pilgrims she brought with her."

Ren Xun's head snapped toward him. "What?"

"They were just hoping to get free food from the Grand Feast on the seventh day of the festival," Da Wei continued, "but they got something better than that."

Gu Jie nodded, flipping a page in her notebook. "I heard something similar from Old Song. It seems he's hiring his personnel from her group."

Ren Xun's fingers curled slightly over his knee. "When was that?"

Da Wei scratched his chin. "They finalized the agreement around the sixth day."

Ren Xun felt his stomach drop. The sixth day.

He remembered bringing Lin Lim to his father, trying to talk things out, to reason with him. He had been shoved away.

"Father didn't say anything about that…" he muttered. His jaw tightened. "Lin Lim too…"

Lu Gao, still seated cross-legged with his back against the railing, let out a slow exhale. "Don't look so glum. Love is overrated."

Ren Xun glanced at him.

Lu Gao shrugged. "I had a fiancée once." He paused. "…She's… uh…" His brows furrowed. "I don't know, actually." He shook his head and sighed. "Sorry for running my mouth."

Not funny…

Ren Xun returned to the control panel, busying himself with the various instruments before him. The antique-like wheel, the blinking lights, the array of buttons—each element looked like it belonged to some overly complicated mechanism rather than a simple boat. He had trained to use these controls since childhood, but even now, he felt like he was working with something beyond his comprehension.

The sky had darkened completely, and he considered setting up his sleeping bag. He would have preferred a proper tent, but since they were flying through the night, that was out of the question.

Then, something flickered on the radar.

The artifact responded to the five elements, mapping out the presence of water, fire, earth, metal, and wood within a certain radius. A small yet distinct concentration of water stood out on the display.

An oasis.

Ren Xun narrowed his eyes at the reading, double-checking the coordinates. It wasn't far. With the right adjustments, they could make a detour and reach it within the hour.

He turned his head toward Da Wei. "Senior, there's an oasis up ahead," he informed him. "We could spend the night there."

Ren Xun adjusted the controls, still staring at the radar's readings when Da Wei perked up at the mention of an oasis.

"We should stop there for the night," Da Wei said. "Actually, let's stay the whole week."

Ren Xun blinked. "The whole week?"

"Yeah," Da Wei said. "We need time for the artifact to recharge, don't we? Might as well make the most of it."

Ren Xun had no objections. A week was a long time, but it wasn't a bad idea to rest while the boat recovered its warp capability. If there was an oasis, there was water. That meant an opportunity to refresh themselves, replenish supplies, and possibly even avoid unnecessary conflicts with demonic beasts.

Without further delay, he adjusted the course, gripping the wheel and guiding the boat toward the coordinates reflected on the radar.

The vehicle moved smoothly, gliding through the air like a drifting cloud. Despite the complicated-looking controls, it took little effort to maneuver. The Floating Dragon, after all, was a high-grade artifact built for both speed and stability.

Within moments, the barren desert scenery began to shift. A cluster of greenery appeared in the distance, the shimmer of water reflecting the moonlight. The oasis was small but unmistakable, a stark contrast against the endless sands.

They had arrived.

The boat settled gently near the oasis, hovering just above the sand before coming to a stop. Ren Xun barely had time to get his bearings when Da Wei clapped his hands together.

"Alright," Da Wei said. "Let's set up camp."

Ren Xun watched as Da Wei pulled out a large tent from his storage ring, one big enough to fit all of them with room to spare. It was the kind of thing that only someone absurdly prepared would have on hand.

"I'll handle it," Lu Gao said, stepping forward.

Ren Xun wasn't about to let him take all the work, so he moved to help. The two of them began setting up the frame, while Gu Jie—silent as ever—joined in, adjusting the supports and securing the edges.

Meanwhile, Da Wei stood off to the side, completely uninvolved, holding his goldfish. He wasn't giving any orders or making any suggestions. He just… watched.

It was a little strange.

Ren Xun got a bit used to being told what to do.

Still, the tent came together quickly. They secured the final pieces, and soon enough, it stood tall against the desert wind.

Da Wei nodded in approval. "Not bad."

Ren Xun dusted off his hands. He wasn't sure why, but he had half-expected Da Wei to at least pretend to help.

"Alright," Da Wei continued, "you all should get some rest. I'll keep watch."

Ren Xun had no objections. He wasn't particularly eager to stand guard when there was someone like Da Wei around—someone who didn't seem to need sleep in the first place.

With that, he stepped inside the tent, letting exhaustion take over.

054 Killing Time

Okay, it was just you and me, Ren Jingyi.

The goldfish swam lazily in her bowl, flicking her tail with an air of utter disinterest. I'd like to believe we had a bond, but in reality, I was probably just the giant who occasionally gave her lettuce.

I sat cross-legged beside her, idly tapping a finger against the rim of the bowl. I had imagined my training arc happening in some secluded mountain—testing out techniques, pushing the limits of my abilities, discovering some ridiculous overpowered trick that would let me transcend common sense.

Instead, here I was, staring at a goldfish in the middle of a desert oasis.

"Alright," I muttered, setting the bowl aside. "Time for science."

First test—Voice Chat.

I focused and directed my intent toward Ren Jingyi. If this world had a spiritual connection between beast companions and their masters, then there should be some way for us to communicate telepathically.

Silence.

I tried again.

Nothing.

Ren Jingyi blew a tiny stream of bubbles.

"…Yeah, what was I expecting?" I sighed, shaking my head. That would've been too easy.

Fine. Time for Plan B.

I closed my eyes and activated Divine Possession.

For a moment, my perspective twisted, my mind zeroing in—shifting, transferring—until suddenly… I was a fish.

Water surrounded me, muffled and heavy, my movements sluggish yet effortless. My fins twitched, adjusting to the alien sensation of buoyancy.

I turned—or at least, thought I did—and found myself looking up at my body.

It was a strange sight. I stood there, completely still, like an abandoned puppet with the strings cut. Eyes open, blank, devoid of any presence.

Huh. That was… weird.

I activated Voice Chat, directing my thoughts toward the holy spirit still inside my body.

"Hey, Dave, you there?"

A beat of silence. Then, his voice rang in my mind, calm and unbothered.

"Yes, Lord."

Man… You almost scared me. Good. At least that part worked.

"Can you detect anything strange with Divine Sense?" I asked.

"Negative."

I considered my next move.

"Alright, cultivate Hollow Breath Technique while I do the same."

"Understood."

With that settled, I focused inward, attempting to guide Ren Jingyi's qi. It was… strange. Unfamiliar. My meridians were completely different—simpler, smaller, yet somehow clearer. Instead of raw power, there was a delicate balance, a natural flow of energy that was far more precise than what I was used to.

As I sank deeper into the meditation, I felt something… knock at the back of my mind.

A small, faint presence.

Weak, but undeniably there.

Ren Jingyi.

She wasn't just a fish. There was something inside her—a tiny spark of wisdom. Not quite sentience, but not mere instinct either.

I focused on the feeling.

Confidence.

Comfort.

A sense of belonging.

Huh.

So that was what it felt like to be Ren Jingyi.

I had been meditating inside Ren Jingyi's body for about an hour when I made a shocking discovery.

She had more talent than me.

It wasn't even close.

I remembered running Hollow Breath Technique—slow, steady, deliberate. Yet, no matter how I adjusted my control, it felt painfully sluggish. Meanwhile, Ren Jingyi was processing qi like she had been doing it for centuries. Her tiny goldfish meridians cycled the technique with an ease that I could only describe as unfair.

I refused to believe it at first.

Maybe it was just a difference in scale.

To test it, I contacted Dave again.

"Compare your progress to the fish, while performing the Hollow Breath Technique."

A brief pause. Then, his response came.

"Ren Jingyi is processing qi at a superior efficiency. Lord, she is significantly more talented at this than you."

Than us. You mean than us, right?

I sighed.

"Yeah. Figured."

I had just been outclassed by a goldfish.

Alright. Next phase.

Please don't die on me, goldfish.

I mentally gave Dave the signal, and in the next moment, my vision shifted. The cool embrace of water surrounded me as I sank into the oasis. Tiny bubbles escaped my gills—because I had gills now. Weird feeling.

I swam a little near the surface, adjusting to the new sensation.

Comfortable.

I flicked my tail and shot forward, testing Flash Step. The world blurred as I propelled myself at unnatural speed. No explosion. No sudden combustion of goldfish guts. Good.

Flash Step was a martial skill, part of the Martial Path. It didn't require special energy types—just movement fundamentals and mana. That meant it should've worked regardless of my body.

I pushed it further.

I activated Zealot's Stride.

Golden streaks of light trailed behind me as I cut through the water. It felt... effortless.

No complications.

I was an overpowered fish.

I darted through the oasis, twisting and looping with reckless abandon, moving faster than any goldfish had a right to. For a moment, I wasn't training—I was playing. It was fun.

But all good things had a time limit.

As Divine Possession's duration ticked down, I made my way back to the fishbowl. Dave, ever the reliable holy spirit, had cleaned it while I was busy. I thanked him and returned to my original body.

My limbs tingled as I reoriented myself.

I turned to Ren Jingyi, my trusty goldfish.

Out of sheer curiosity, I studied her with Divine Sense.

And then I felt my eye twitch.

The fish—without me inside her—was automatically performing Hollow Breath Technique.

And she was doing it better than I ever had.

I stared at her.

I sighed.

"Okay. I give up. The goldfish is more talented than me."

Morning arrived, dragging the desert heat along with it.

The others stirred awake, groaning as they suffered under the relentless sun.

I, on the other hand, had already adjusted. Unlike them, I had spent my night in relative peace, pondering the alarming realization that my goldfish was more talented than me. A thought best left unspoken.

I joined the group inside the boat, where the formations shielded us from the worst of the heat. As soon as I sat in my corner, I pulled out a book and flipped to where I last left off.

Ren Xun sat across from me, writing in what I assumed was his journal. Gu Jie was cultivating.

Then there was Lu Gao.

He walked over to me, his expression serious.

I set my book down and met his gaze. Here we go.

"What's the problem?" I asked.

He didn't beat around the bush. "I know it is not my place to ask, but why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Take me in?"

That was... one way to put it.

I wasn't great at lying. I was especially bad at it when it came to things I was uncomfortable with. If I even attempted to twist the truth, I'd probably screw myself over.

So I gave him an honest answer.

"I wanted your memories of your time with the demon Brukhelm," I said. "And I wanted to use you as a reference to build on my own cultivation."

There was more to it than that, but I didn't feel the need to explain it all.

Lu Gao studied me for a moment. Then, to my mild surprise, he looked relieved.

He gave a small nod, walked back to his corner, and resumed meditating.

I picked up my book again.

Well, that went better than expected.

We passed the day however we could.

Ren Xun and Gu Jie cultivated in silence, occasionally shifting their posture or adjusting their breathing. Lu Gao, having little else to do, found himself stuck in the strange in-between of boredom and forced patience.

I tossed him a book. "Here. Might help you kill time."

He accepted them without complaint, flipping through the pages with vague interest.

Meanwhile, I kept my nose buried in my own books, reading as I waited for my Divine Possession cooldown to reset. My little experiment last night had been… enlightening in the worst possible way.

Ren Jingyi, my goldfish, had more talent in cultivation than I did.

The thought still made my eye twitch.

At one point, I was tempted—and I mean really tempted—to use the Legacy Advancement Book on her. Just to see what would happen.

But that felt irresponsible. And unfair.

Sure, it was one hell of an interesting experiment, but still. There had to be some kind of universal rule against using high-grade cultivation resources on pet fish.

Eventually, lunchtime rolled around.

I pulled out food from my Item Box—which, by all means, was a top-tier fridge in its own right.

Thanks to the Grand Feast, I had enough stock to last us for quite a while. Meats, rice, stews, and even desserts, all perfectly preserved. I distributed the meals among the group, the rich aroma filling the air.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of eating.

Yep. This was life.

If I wasn't reading my books, I was contemplating my skills, thinking about which ones to prioritize and train.

There was too much to consider. My combat abilities were decent, but there was always room for improvement. And then there was Ren Jingyi.

I'm kind of proud of the goldfish. It wasn't just about her talent—there was potential there. A test subject, a reference, maybe even something to model my own training after.

Then, a sudden thought struck me.

I turned to Ren Xun. "Hey, what do you know about the demonic beasts of the Evernight Continent?" Just checking, because I didn't think the oasis would be so safe if a demonic beast once for a while would come here to drink, right?

He glanced up from his journal, immediately understanding where I was coming from. "You're thinking about the oasis, aren't you?"

I nodded.

He closed his journal and leaned back, arms crossed. "The oasis should be safe. The demonic beasts of the Evernight Continent aren't really big on water. Evernight is filled with undead and shadow creatures instead. They thrive in darkness, but water… not so much. It's not exactly their ideal terrain."

That made sense.

The Evernight Continent wasn't like other places. Where most lands had spirit beasts, monsters, and the occasional ancient horror, Evernight was an entirely different beast. There wasn't much told in the books I've been perusing, regarding this continent.

This gave Evernight an air of mystery.

Still, the information gave me some reassurance.

The oasis was safe.

I guessed there was no harm playing around it.

Night came, and with it, an opportunity.

I gathered Lu Gao and Gu Jie, explaining my next experiment. "I need your help. I'll be using Divine Possession on you both to test something. As its name suggest, it has something to do with body possession."

I expected hesitation. Maybe even resistance.

Lu Gao had, after all, been possessed by a demon before. If anyone had a reason to be wary, it was him. But instead of recoiling, he only nodded. "I'd be honored."

That… was unexpected.

Still, I wasn't about to just take that at face value. I glanced at him, then at Gu Jie. "Are you sure? I need you to really think about this. Divine Possession isn't demonic in nature, but it's close enough in concept. If either of you is uncomfortable with it, we drop the idea now."

Ren Xun, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally spoke. "You're sure it's not a demonic technique?"

I looked him in the eye. "No corruption, no backlash, and I don't leave any influence behind once the possession ends."

That seemed to satisfy him. Ren Xun was a righteous young man I could get along. It wasn't like he'd be participating in this experiment, but he still asked.

Gu Jie was unfazed. "Then it's fine. I chose to follow you, Master. I trust you."

Hearing that from her carried a weight I wasn't sure I deserved.

I took a deep breath. Before we started, I recited the flavor text of the technique. Full disclosure.

Clearing my throat, I spoke:

"To seize the body is to seize the self. To walk another's path is to know their truth. For a moment, the soul is unbound, freed from the chains of its own flesh, given wings to fly into another. But beware—the self is fragile. To linger too long is to forget the shape of one's own soul. To possess is to risk being possessed in turn."

A solemn silence settled over us.

"That's Divine Possession."

Since refining my Divine Sense, analyzing how lacking Brukhelm had been in our fight, and my discussions with Jiang Zhen, I had realized something.

I had been reckless with Divine Possession.

It wasn't just a convenient ability I could use without thought. The deeper I studied cultivation, the more I understood how much of myself I risked every time I used my skills.

My skills had flavor, a theme—one I had to be mindful of.

If there was something I could test in a controlled environment, I'd rather do it now than be forced to use it blindly in a life-or-death battle.

Honestly, I've been lucky with Brukhelm.

I exhaled and looked at the two of them. "Last chance to back out."

Gu Jie answered, "I owe my life to you, Master."

Lu Gao said the same.

I studied them for a moment, then nodded. Raising a single finger, I uttered in a quiet voice—

"Divine Possession."

055 The Path to Another Self

I recalled how I had grinded my Divine Sense skill in the entire duration of the festival, elevating it from a simple mechanic to something that matched the flavor text attached to it.

Honing my skills to the point that they embodied their descriptions to the letter was one way to train and strengthen myself.

I opened my eyes.

The sensation of leaving my main body always left me feeling weightless, like I had been untethered from something solid. But this time, there was something else—the drastic drop in power. I had gotten used to this part, though.

At the back of my mind, I felt Lu Gao's presence. He was anxious, troubled, and unsure of himself. His emotions bled into me, faint but present. I projected a sense of calm and confidence from my soul, and his distress eased somewhat.

Meanwhile, back in my main body, Dave took control. The aura around him shifted, adjusting to his presence. It wasn't the same as mine—Dave had his own cadence, his own flavor—but it was stable.

I turned to Gu Jie and Ren Xun, the latter staying near the tent. "Stay here."

They didn't argue.

Then I looked at Dave. "Follow me."

With that, I activated Zealot's Stride. A golden streak flared beneath my borrowed feet, and in a blink, Dave and I had reappeared a few miles away from the oasis.

I turned my thoughts inward.

The night I discovered that a simple goldfish could cultivate using Divine Possession, a strange thought had taken root in my mind.

Was it possible for Lu Gao to learn my skills while I was possessing him?

In Lost Legends Online, players could acquire skills through three primary methods:

Using a Skill Book.Learning from an NPC.Completing a quest.Technically, Divine Possession fell into the second category. I was an NPC in this context, teaching a technique firsthand.

But there was a problem.

Lu Gao had not unlocked his immortal soul. Without that, he couldn't truly cultivate or walk the path of a champion of the realms. A Legacy Advancement Book was required to awaken his immortal soul, which in turn would allow him to choose a skill path.

By all logic, he shouldn't be able to learn anything right now.

And yet, I wanted to test it anyway.

Because what I was trying to do wasn't just one experiment—it was multiple layers of experimentation stacked together.

For me, this was training.

For Divine Possession, this was testing its limits.

And for the system of LLO, this was an attempt to abuse its mechanics.

If this worked… if I could somehow imprint my skills onto Lu Gao through Divine Possession…

Then I might just have found a way to create more of me.

I had a vision for myself in the future.

A guild? No. That was too small.

An order.

An order of paladins.

I could see it clearly—paladins clad in silver and gold, radiating divine power as they cut down the wicked. It wouldn't be a mere gathering of warriors but something greater. Something structured. Disciplined. A force with a purpose.

But before that dream could be realized, I needed proof that it was possible.

I turned my focus inward and addressed Lu Gao. "Immerse yourself in my perspective. Feel everything as I do."

I activated Hollow Breath Technique, centering myself around the rhythmic cycle of energy. Qi was something familiar to Lu Gao, so I used it despite how clumsy I was in it. Even within his body, it felt sluggish and unfamiliar—his meridians were shattered, and his dantian was a void where qi should have gathered. But he could learn.

"We'll take it slow."

Next, I summoned Silver Steel, my legendary longsword. The weight of it felt comfortable in my hands—except they weren't my hands. Lu Gao's body reacted differently, lacking the ingrained familiarity of handling a blade. But that was fine. I wasn't expecting perfection.

Meanwhile, Dave conjured a normal steel sword, using his innate Holy Spirit abilities. His movements mirrored mine, and I could tell he already understood what I had in mind. We were almost of one mind in that way.

Divine Possession had a five-minute duration. At that time, I planned to teach Lu Gao the fundamentals of the White Path.

And the first skill in that arsenal?

Bless.

It had a low mana cost. It was versatile. And most importantly, it belonged to the White Path of the Paladin Legacy.

In fact, it was the very first skill a Paladin of the White Path learned.

If Lu Gao showed any real talent—if he proved himself better than Gu Jie or even the goldfish—then maybe, just maybe, I'd consider using the Legacy Advancement Book on him.

I activated Bless on myself—or rather, on Lu Gao's body.

A soft white radiance enveloped me, momentarily wrapping me in warmth. Bless was a weaker version of Blessed Weapon, a spell that imbued a target with holy damage and a slight stat boost. Simple, efficient, effective.

A good start.

"Watch closely, Lu Gao," I murmured, tightening my grip on Silver Steel.

I recalled the skill's flavor text and recited it to Lu Gao, letting the words settle into his consciousness like an oath.

"The light does not judge. It does not waver. It does not demand. It merely lifts, shields, and strengthens, asking nothing in return. Receive its touch, and be emboldened."

I rushed at Dave and swung my sword while in Lu Gao's body. The clang of metal rang under the full moon, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the desert. Dave met my attack with ease, his stance firm, his sword steady. He knew what I was trying to do.

I stopped and adjusted my grip, giving Lu Gao time to absorb what was happening. His presence in the back of my mind was filled with a mix of awe and confusion.

"That was Bless," I explained. "The most basic of White skill path. Now, watch carefully."

I lifted the sword again, and this time, golden radiance surged along the blade, coating it in a shimmering aura of divine energy.

"A blade bathed in light carries the will of the heavens. It does not waver, nor does it yield. With each strike, righteousness is etched into the flesh of the wicked, and the path of the just is made clear."

The glow intensified, and I swung down with a powerful golden arc. Sparks flew as Dave deflected the blow with ease. Lu Gao's emotions flared within me—astonishment, reverence, a quiet yearning.

I continued, striking again and again, letting the golden radiance flow through each motion. Five minutes wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough for Lu Gao to feel the weight of divine energy moving through his body. Enough for him to understand what it meant to wield a blade not just as a weapon, but as a symbol.

By the time the skill's duration reached its limit, my control over Lu Gao's body faded. I exhaled, feeling the familiar pull back to my own form.

The moment I returned to my main body, Lu Gao collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath. His entire body trembled, his hands digging into the desert sand as if he needed something solid to anchor himself. I had expected as much. Even the goldfish had fallen asleep after I used Divine Possession on her. The load on a lower-level character had to be unbearable.

I knelt beside Lu Gao, watching as sweat dripped from his forehead. There was nothing I could do about his ruptured meridians and destroyed dantian. I tried already, back in Yellow Dragon City. The aftereffects of his demonic possession were so severe that even the best healing techniques from my power system had failed to restore him. It wasn't just physical damage—it was something deeper, something that had settled into the very foundation of his being.

I exhaled and hefted him onto my back. He was lighter than I expected. That, more than anything, made me uneasy.

By the time we returned to camp, Ren Xun had already noticed us approaching. He put down his brush and journal, his gaze shifting to Lu Gao with a slight frown.

"Take care of him," I ordered.

Ren Xun nodded and moved to support Lu Gao, guiding him toward a shaded area near the tent. I watched for a moment before turning to Gu Jie.

She was standing off to the side, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her usual quiet confidence was missing.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

She swallowed, her eyes flickering to Lu Gao's exhausted form. It didn't take a genius to see her hesitation.

I sighed. "If you're not up for it, we can stop here."

She clenched her fists. "No." Her voice was steady, but I could hear the tension underneath. "I… I trust you, Master."

That wasn't the issue. It wasn't about trust—it was about what Divine Possession actually meant. But if she was willing, then I wouldn't stop her.

I raised a single finger.

"Ephemeral Touch."

A soft, imperceptible shimmer ran across my body as the ability activated. It was the power of my gear—an effect that allowed me to use another Ultimate Skill regardless of cooldown, resource, or just about anything.

"Ultimate Skill: Divine Possession."

Was it wasteful? Absolutely. Ephemeral Touch had a 120-hour cooldown, and I had just blown it on a gamble. But I was willing to risk it for Gu Jie. She was my first follower. She wanted to do right by me.

Sadly, I already had an idea of how this would turn out.

The moment my consciousness entered her body, I felt it—wrongness. A writhing, unstable force gnawed at the edges of my senses, like a ball of miasma rampaging through her meridians.

My vision blurred. My body staggered.

Dave caught me as I collapsed, his arms locking around me before I could hit the ground.

At the back of my mind, I felt Gu Jie's panic. She wasn't just alarmed—she was terrified.

I wiped my eyes, my fingers coming away slick with warmth. Blood. I was bleeding from my eyes.

My Divine Sense had warned me. The same way it had when I tried synchronizing my memories with David_69.

I struggled to raise myself up, summoning every ounce of willpower to stay in control. In that moment, I didn't just fight for myself—I projected a sense of power in my soul, wrapping it around Gu Jie like a shield. I needed to reassure her. To let her know that it was fine.

I had a feeling this would happen.

And yet… I still went through with it.

Because it would've been unfair to Gu Jie otherwise.

I remembered the first day I met her. How out of shape she was. How miserable she looked. How she found salvation in me. How she begged me to take her as my disciple.

I couldn't leave her doubts unanswered.

For the next five minutes, I endured and held it in.

The weight of her Delayed Destiny of the Demonic Path. The side effects of her Sixth Sense Misfortune. Everything she had accumulated, everything she had suffered—I bore it in her place.

And then I broke through the five-minute duration.

A sharp pain wracked my body. Something burned at my core.

Then, I felt it rise—black bile surging up my throat.

I staggered, hacking up dark, clotted blood onto the sand. My insides twisted as more forced its way out.

"Dave," I rasped, my voice hoarse.

He understood immediately.

I couldn't let Ren Xun and Lu Gao see me like this.

Dave carried me and spammed Flash Step.

Back in Lost Legends Online, spamming Flash Step a dozen times had been unimaginable. There was only so much space a monitor screen could cover. But here, in this world, it was different. Flash Step wasn't limited by screen size or camera tracking—it was only limited by skill, mana, and technique.

The desert blurred around us as Dave moved. Sand, wind, and darkness twisted together in streaks of motion until, finally, he let go.

I staggered forward and dropped to my knees, retching more of that vile, black bile onto the ground.

Gu Jie's bloodline ability—Sixth Sense Misfortune—wasn't just some passive danger detection. It allowed her to sense where misfortune lurked and avoid it, but only at the cost of accumulating even greater misfortune in the future. Normally, she could dispense this built-up misfortune onto others through her technique, Delayed Destiny of the Demonic Path.

But with her cultivation, she could no longer use it properly.

She had tried to suppress it through sheer force of will, and it had been killing her.

The Isolation Path Sect had transposed her technique into a non-demonic version, adapting it to her weakened realm of cultivation so she could at least survive using it. It helped her body adjust and no longer suffer sickness as a side effect.

But even then… she had already accumulated too much.

It was impossible for her to cleanse it all.

That was why I was doing this.

Through Divine Possession, I intended to take on a portion of her misfortune.

I had read in the Buddhist methods of the Cloud Mist Sect that, under the right circumstances, it was possible to take in another person's fate. That was what gave me the idea. If fate could be shared, if karma could be transferred, then maybe I could lighten Gu Jie's burden.

Pain wracked my body. My soul trembled.

Dave cast Cure on Gu Jie's body.

Each time he felt us reaching a breaking point, he cast it again.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I could feel her fear. Her uncertainty.

I reached out, not with my hands, but with my soul.

Stay with me, Gu Jie.

056 Gu Jie's Story

I forgot myself for a moment.

It happened again.

Just like with David_69, when I synchronized with his memory and became him, I was slipping into someone else's life—someone else's past.

I had told myself it wouldn't happen again.

But what was stopping me?

...

..

.

I am Gu Jie.

My name's Gu Jie.

I was born mute in a farming village somewhere in the archipelago.

My father and mother loved me, despite my deficiency. They would always tell me how I was their greatest fortune. And for that, I loved them.

Our village was small, nestled between hills and rivers, where the wind carried the scent of wet earth after the rain. We tilled rice paddies and honored the old traditions. My mother and father worked hard, their hands calloused and strong, but always gentle when they touched me.

I never spoke, but I never needed to.

I learned to communicate with my hands, my expressions. My mother understood me better than words ever could. My father, despite his roughness, was patient when I struggled to make myself clear. They never made me feel like I was lacking.

Even when the village elders told them I was a child marked by fate, a girl born without a voice in a world where words held power, they never saw me as anything but their beloved daughter.

We were happy.

But happiness never lasts.

The storms came first. The rains were relentless, flooding the paddies, drowning the crops. The rivers swelled, swallowing homes.

Then came the sickness. A fever swept through the village, sparing no one. It stole away the elderly first, then the weak, then the children. I remember my mother crying over a neighbor's still body, clutching my hand so tightly it hurt.

And just when we thought we had suffered enough—when we had no food, no medicine, no strength left to fight—they came.

I remember the hooves, the thundering of horses against the mud-soaked ground. I remember the flash of steel, the smell of smoke.

They weren't bandits.

They weren't brigands.

They were cultivators.

Men and women draped in foreign colors, bearing sigils I did not recognize. They moved like ghosts, cutting down those who resisted, binding those who did not.

They did not come for food.

They did not come for revenge.

They came for bodies.

They took my father first.

He fought. He lost.

They took my mother next.

She begged. She died.

And then they took me.

…

..

.

I gasped, lurching forward as the memory shattered around me.

I was no longer Gu Jie.

I was me again.

My breaths came ragged, uneven. Sweat clung to my skin. My hands trembled. I clenched them into fists, willing them still.

It had happened again.

Just like with David_69.

I had stepped too deep into another's past.

I had become Gu Jie.

My stomach churned, nausea creeping up my throat.

…

..

.

I woke before the sun.

The sky was still dark, the stars fading as the first hints of dawn bled across the horizon. The air was cool, thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant murmur of river water.

My father was already awake. He always was.

I found him outside, sharpening his sickle with slow, deliberate strokes. The sound of metal against stone filled the silence between us. When he noticed me, he nodded once, the corners of his mouth twitching in what I knew was his way of smiling.

My mother was inside, preparing our morning meal. The scent of steaming rice and salted fish drifted from the clay stove, mixing with the faint bitterness of boiled herbs. She didn't speak when she saw me. She didn't have to. She handed me a wooden bowl, and I took it with both hands.

We ate together, quietly, as we always did. Words were not needed in our home.

By the time the sky turned gold, we were already in the fields.

The paddies stretched far, their waters reflecting the rising sun like a thousand fractured mirrors. Rows of young rice plants swayed gently with the wind, their green tips peeking above the shallow water. My feet sank into the mud as I stepped forward, the cool sensation familiar, grounding.

We worked in rhythm.

My father moved ahead, bent low, his hands quick and sure as he pulled out weeds that threatened to choke the rice. My mother followed, her fingers brushing against each stalk, checking for pests, for sickness. I did the same, mimicking their every movement.

The sun rose higher, and the air grew heavy with heat. Sweat clung to my skin, but I didn't stop. This was life. This was how it had always been.

At midday, we rested under the shade of a lone acacia tree, drinking water from bamboo containers. My mother unwrapped rice cakes from banana leaves, handing one to me. They were sweet, made with palm sugar, a rare treat.

She watched me eat, her eyes soft.

My greatest fortune, she would sign to me, touching her fingertips to her lips before pressing them against my forehead.

I always smiled when she did that.

In the evenings, when the day's work was done, we returned home. The house was small, made of bamboo and nipa palm, but it was ours. A single room, a wooden table, woven mats for sleeping. Simple. Enough.

At night, my mother would sit by the fire, weaving baskets from rattan. My father would carve wood, making tools, fixing broken handles. And I—

I would listen.

To the rustling of the trees. The chirping of crickets. The distant hoot of an owl.

To the quiet hum of my mother's voice as she sang, low and soft.

To the steady rhythm of my father's breathing as he worked.

To the sound of home.

…

..

.

I woke with a start.

My breath hitched, my chest tight. My hands curled against rough fabric—my robes, not the woven mats of my childhood.

Not my childhood.

Gu Jie's.

I swallowed hard, pressing a hand against my forehead. The memories clung to me, warm and distant, like the ghost of a dream that refused to fade.

For a moment, I could still smell the damp earth, still feel the cool mud between my toes.

But when I opened my eyes, the illusion was gone.

The desert stretched endlessly before me, waves of sand rolling beneath the pale moonlight. The air was dry, suffocating, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Delirium? No.

This wasn't some fevered dream. This was Gu Jie—desperately clinging to her happiest memories, trying to shut me out of everything that came after.

But the weight of misfortune pressed down on me, heavy and suffocating. It barred me from reaching further, from seeing the truth she refused to face.

I felt it in my soul.

Gu Jie didn't want me to remember her life after the farm.

I had heard the story before—fragments of it, at least.

Poor Gu Jie.

Pitiful and sad Gu Jie.

Stay with me.

Dave remained by my side, alternating between casting Cure and Cleanse, his presence a steady anchor in the chaos.

"Stay with me, Gu Jie," I murmured, the words slipping past my lips like a prayer.

Another surge of pain wracked through me, and I felt warm blood spill from my mouth. My vision blurred, and the desert warped, flickering between reality and something else entirely.

I felt myself slipping—falling deeper.

The sand, the sky, the moonlight—everything dissolved.

And then—

I wasn't me anymore.

I was Gu Jie again.

…

..

.

I knelt with the others, my forehead pressed against the cold stone floor of the great hall. The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, sharp and cloying, seeping into my skin, into my bones. The flickering torchlight cast shadows that danced across the blood-red banners hanging from the pillars, each embroidered with the insignia of the Heavenly Demonic Sect—a black sun devouring the sky.

We were not disciples.

We were resources.

Hundreds of us knelt in perfect silence, waiting. Waiting for Him.

The doors groaned open. Footsteps echoed across the hall, slow and deliberate, each step measured as if the weight of the heavens themselves bowed beneath him. The Heavenly Demon did not need to speak for us to feel his presence. It was in the air, thick with a power that crushed our lungs and turned our bodies to stone.

"Rise," came his voice, low and unhurried.

We obeyed without hesitation.

He stood at the altar, his silhouette framed against the great brazier that burned behind him. The light cast his features in shadow, but I did not need to see his face. His presence alone was enough to drown me in fear.

His eyes swept over us, unreadable.

"You are fortunate," he said, his voice silk wrapped around a blade. "Fortunate to be chosen, to serve a purpose greater than yourselves. The weak scavenge. The strong take. And I—I elevate those worthy of my power."

His words were doctrine. His will was law.

A shiver passed through the gathered disciples. No one spoke. No one breathed out of turn.

Then, the trials began.

Pain. Hunger. Exhaustion.

We were stripped of our names, our pasts, our identities. We were reduced to nothing, reshaped into something new.

Training was relentless. If we faltered, we were punished. If we survived, we were given another day to prove our worth.

We fought in the pits, barehanded, blindfolded, with our ribs broken and our fingers shattered. We learned to move through pain, to kill with precision. We were taught how to strip the flesh from our enemies, how to break the human spirit, how to serve.

We were not allowed attachments. Not to our brothers, not to our sisters. They would die in the end, or worse—become something unrecognizable.

But the worst part was the devouring.

When a disciple reached the pinnacle of their training, when their bodies were at their strongest, when their minds had been sharpened to the edge of a blade—He would take them.

The Heavenly Demon would consume them.

Not with teeth, not with flesh.

With Qi.

He drained them, siphoning their strength, their essence, their very being into himself. It was called Ascension. A great honor. A glorious purpose.

A lie.

I had seen it happen with my own eyes.

They would kneel before him, trembling with reverence and fear. They would chant their oaths, their voices shaking. And then, in a single breath, they would wither—skin shriveling, bones turning brittle, eyes hollowing into pits of nothingness.

When it was over, their husks would crumble to dust.

And he would smile.

I learned to smile, too.

It was the only way to survive.

I bowed my head lower than the others. I followed every order with blind obedience. I fought when told, bled when commanded. I drowned my own thoughts beneath the doctrine until they no longer felt like my own.

But I never forgot.

Not my name. Not my parents. Not the farm.

Every night, when I lay on the cold stone floor of my cell, I held onto those memories like a lifeline, repeating them over and over again in my mind.

My name is Gu Jie.

My mother and father loved me.

I was their greatest fortune.

If I let go of that, I knew I would be lost.

I knew I would break.

Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. The stone walls of the Heavenly Demonic Sect became my world, and I no longer flinched at the sight of blood pooling at my feet. The lessons became routine. Pain became expected. Survival was just another duty.

And then, one day, the Heavenly Demon placed a hand on my throat.

It burned.

It burned like swallowing molten iron, like my very soul was being reshaped beneath his fingers. My body convulsed, my vision swam, and for the first time in my life—I screamed.

A voice.

My voice.

The moment the sound left my lips, I felt a part of me unravel.

I had been born mute. I had accepted that silence was my truth, that words were not meant for me. But the Heavenly Demon willed it otherwise. His touch had stripped me of that weakness, and in its place, he had given me something new.

Power.

At least, that was what the elders told me.

"Rejoice, Gu Jie," one of them had said, his smile sharp as a blade. "The Heavenly Demon has seen potential in you. He has gifted you a new path."

A gift.

Was it?

I did not know what to make of my own voice. The sound felt foreign, as if it did not belong to me. But I did what was expected. I bowed my head. I murmured my gratitude. I trained harder than ever.

And in time, I awakened my bloodline ability.

"Sixth Sense Misfortune."

That was what they called it.

A rare ability, they told me. A talent only found in one among thousands. With it, I could see misfortune—not with my eyes, but with something deeper. A whisper at the back of my mind, a pull in my soul. It was subtle at first, like catching the scent of a storm before it arrived. But the more I trained, the more I understood.

I could sense when a strike would miss, when a trap was set, when danger loomed just beyond sight. And more than that—I could store it. Hoard misfortune like a gambler hoarded debt, piling it higher and higher, delaying fate itself.

A powerful technique. A dangerous one.

And they were pleased.

The elders watched me with approval. They tested me, pushed me, and when I succeeded, they praised me.

I smiled as they did.

I smiled as the others grew jealous, as their eyes darkened with resentment. I smiled as they whispered behind my back, as they waited for the moment I would fall.

I smiled because that was what I had learned to do.

I had learned that no one wanted to see what lay beneath. That so long as I performed well, so long as I proved useful, I would be safe.

So I trained. I refined my ability. I stored misfortune upon misfortune, knowing one day I would have to release it.

But I did not let myself think of when.

Not yet.

Because if I did—if I acknowledged that truth—then I would have to face the reality that no matter how much they praised me, no matter how much they smiled back at me…

One day, my fate would be the same as all the others.

I would be consumed.

But until then…

I smiled.