The towering gatehouse cast long shadows as Lordi arrived, the cool evening air thick with unspoken tension. His sharp eyes immediately noted the absence of their third companion. With a respectful incline of his head, he addressed Donovan, his tone carefully measured.
"Captain Valdez," he began, "I see Junior Sister Dawson didn’t join us. May I ask why?"
Donovan’s lips curled into an easy, brotherly smile, though his gaze held a flicker of something sharper.
"Ah, Payne Bro," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Truth be told, our dear Emma’s got her heart tangled up in that Rodney Luther. Can’t blame her, really—love makes fools of us all, eh? She wasn’t too keen on traipsing around the mountain with two strange men while her crush was nearby."
He waved a hand dismissively, though his eyes gleamed with quiet calculation. "But don’t you worry your head over it. Before she left, I made sure to squeeze every last useful tidbit out of her. Every detail."
Then he began to recount the encounter—how Emma had crossed his path as he descended the mountain, fresh from the shadowed halls of the Hanz Clan Ancestral Shrine.
Lordi absorbed Donovan’s words, his mind already dissecting the implications. Emma’s absence was one thing, but the real mystery lay elsewhere.
With a respectful nod, he pressed further. "Senior Brother, you mentioned encountering Krogh Hanz in the Ancestral Shrine. What was he like? His appearance, his mannerisms—did you notice anything special?"
Lordi hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing, his voice steady. "The Krogh I met beneath the Ancient Stone Well was... formidable. Stern, sparing with words. He tasked me with retrieving his Soulbound Spirit Sword, promising the Cosmic Path Foundation Establishment Technique in return."
Even recounting the memory sent an involuntary chill down Lordi’s spine. The oppressive aura of the Frigid Sanctum, Krogh’s piercing gaze—it had all felt wrong in a way he couldn’t quite define.
Donovan’s expression darkened, his usual rogueish demeanor giving way to something far more serious. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fucking abyss, Payne Bro. That bastard’s no joke."
His voice dropped low, the usual confidence replaced by a rare edge of caution as he leaned in closer. "My experience was almost identical to yours. When I stepped behind that fucking bead curtain in the Ancestral Shrine, it was like the ground vanished beneath me—next thing I knew, I was dragged into this twisted, ash-gray void, like some kind of purgatory between realms."
His fingers tightened, knuckles whitening at the memory. "And there he was, sitting in the center of it all like he owned the damn place—Krogh Hanz."
"Let me tell you, that motherfucker’s strength isn’t just some bullshit ’peak Qi Refinement’ like the rumors claim."
"No, it’s so far beyond that it’s fucking laughable."
"This guy? He’s not even playing the same cultivation as the rest of us."
"I’ve seen Inner Sect Foundation Stage disciples throw down before, and I’m telling you—his aura? It’s already eclipsing most those so-called Seniors."
Donovan’s gaze sharpened, the usual playful glint in his eyes replaced by something darker as he locked onto Lordi. "Now, listen Payne Bro, because I’m not saying this twice. That smug bastard claims he’s still ’struggling’ with his last Tribulation Transcendence, says he’s ’solidifying his Dao Pillar’ before finally ascending through Cosmic Path to Foundation Stage."
A harsh laugh escaped him, bitter and unamused. "Insane. Absolute fucking crazy. His aura already feels like standing at the edge of an abyss—you look down, and there’s no bottom, just this endless, crushing weight that makes your bones ache."
"Pray. Pray to every god, every ancestor, every forgotten spirit you can name, because that man wouldn’t even need to try to turn us into stains on the ground."
The Mister First Dominator exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Let me say in this way. I watched three of those arrogant Lower Five Bloodline Lords from Inner Sect—all at least Mid Phase Foundation Stage powerhouse, mind you."
" They go at each other last year, and Krogh? Fuck, I’d bet my fame this man’s presence right now could make those prissy Lower Five Bloodline Lords shit themselves if they felt it."
The words slithered into Lordi’s mind like a venomous whisper. "Prissy and Arrogant Lower Five Bloodline Lord?"
And before Lordi could suppress it, the image of Senior Brother Kinson Wexford surfaced—sharp-featured, sneering, draped in the suffocating arrogance of his status.
A cold tremor raced down Lordi’s spine as the comparison took root. The mere thought of someone like him lurking beneath the Ancient Stone Well, wielding power beyond comprehension, was enough to make Lordi’s pulse stutter in dread.
Swallowing the unease thickening in his throat, Lordi steadied himself before responding to Captain Valdez with measured deference.
"This humble junior could neither gauge nor perceive the true depths of Senior Brother Krogh Hanz’s strength beneath the Ancient Stone Well," he admitted, his voice carefully composed despite the lingering disquiet. "However, it appeared that he commanded two subordinates, each at the Foundation Stage strength."
"Two Foundation Stage subordinates?"
Donovan’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest. "You mean Lady Kodama and Madam Claret, the Raven Bride?" he pressed, his voice low and edged with something between fascination and hunger for confirmation.
"Lady Kodama? Lady...?"
The title struck Lordi like a physical blow, his breath hitching as his mind recoiled into the suffocating grip of memory.
That tree. Was that... a female ghost tree?
The mere thought of it sent a jagged spike of terror through him. It had not been a mere specter, not some wandering ghost of the woods—it had been an abomination, a thing of weeping wounds and gnashing hunger.
It stood upon that cursed hill, its twisted form a mockery of nature, its roots buried deep in something far older than soil. The air around it had been thick with the stench of decay, of blood left to curdle in the sunless dark. The bark split open in jagged seams, each fissure birthing another lidless eye—glistening, pulsing, alive with malice. They had not simply watched him. They had remembered him.
The branches had groaned, not from wind, but from the slow, deliberate flex of something beneath the surface—something that stirred when he drew near. And when the eyes locked onto him, pupils dilating in unison, Lordi had felt his very soul shrink. It was not fear. It was the primal understanding of prey caught in the gaze of a malice evil that had waited centuries to feed.
He had fled, lungs burning, legs screaming, but even now, in the safety of dusk light and company, the memory clung to his sanity like a burnt skin. The tree was not done with him. He knew it in the way his nightmares still echoed with the wet, tearing sound of bark splitting open.