The group bolted from the Yin-Yang Venomgulf, their figures swallowed by the depths of the Gworm Abyss like moths fleeing a dying flame.
Back at the grotto cave they'd pierced, the air shuddered. A jagged rift tore through the stillness, and out stepped Miu Tyanh.
The Gworm Abyss wasn't just eerie—it was a living curse, a sprawling nightmare that twisted and writhed. A fickle demon of a realm, it reshaped its paths and mazes with every fool daring enough to trespass. Each breach birthed a fresh labyrinth—shadowed trails snaking into perilous hollows, as if the abyss delighted in mocking their mortal maps.
Miu Tyanh had launched himself here the moment the Fulu transmission hummed through his mind, a call to revenge. Yet even he couldn't pinpoint the trail Oen Shinae and her squad had taken—the abyss was too cunning, its routes shifting like whispers in the wind.
But that wouldn't stop him.
He closed his eyes, his breath curling like frost in the icy gloom. When they snapped open, crimson spilled from his sockets—twin embers of ghostly fire flaring in the dark. In his perspective, the ground quivered, unveiling a trail of footprints glowing faintly, as though etched by someone wading through a pool of blood.
"This leads... to the Lurewoven Grove?" His voice rasped, sharp as a blade dragged across bone. "The sect's laws are unyielding—when the Dao Flame blooms, only those registered for the inner task know its true hiding place."
He paused, head tilting like a predator scenting prey. "But the Lurewoven Grove loathes fire—its essence recoils from even the faintest spark, let alone the Ice Pith Fire. No, that can't be its cradle."
A smirk slashed across his lips, cold and cutting as a gravestone's edge. "Oh, Oen Shinae, you crafty little hare—thinking the grove's dreamscape will throw off the hounds snapping at your heels? Bold... but futile."
His grin widened, a glint of teeth flashing in the shadows. "Pity for her, I'm no ordinary hunter. The Lurewoven Grove? Hah! To me, it's a child's sandbox, nothing more."
In an instant, Miu Tyanh's form blurred into motion, a wraith streaking after the bloody footprints.
The surround air thrummed with a living pulse, thick with hostility. Rustling whispers sliced through the darkness, and countless glinting eyes—sharp as daggers—locked onto Miu Tyanh from the murk. A handful of shadowy figures slunk forward, their movements tentative, probing. But before they could pounce, they lurched back, shrieking in agony as they scrambled into the gloom.
Miu Tyanh's lips twisted into a sneer. His fists tightened, knuckles whitening, and a low, venomous whisper sound coiled out from his aura. The air shuddered violently, a ripple of force exploding outward. Countless evil spirits erupted into chaos, their forms disintegrating into ash swept away by an unseen storm. He didn't spare them a glance. With a sharp flick of his cloak, he dismissed the fading echoes of his Heart Ghoul Fist Art and marched forward, his stride unbroken.
Before long, the Lurewoven Grove rose into view. Its blood-red vines swayed like a vast nest of red vipers, their movements hypnotic yet ravenous, poised to ensnare.
Unlike Oen Shinae's squad, whose nerves had faltered at the sight, Miu Tyanh didn't hesitate. He plunged into the grove with the unyeilding confident. The vines reacted instantly, sensing his life force. They writhed with renewed fervor, tendrils whipping out from every shadow, striking with ferocious speed. A sickly, hazy glow bled from the grove's depths, tendrils of light clawing at his mind, desperate to drag him into its warped dreamscapes.
Miu Tyanh let out a frigid snort. "Begging for death?!"
Instead of fighting the pull, he lowered his guard deliberately, sinking into the dreamscape.
The world twisted in silence, reshaping itself as he'd anticipated. Before him stood Miu Toanh, his kin brother, a broken figure teetering on the edge of death. Blood streaked his form, his breaths shallow and ragged.
Miu Tyanh's icy gaze softened, a fleeting warmth breaking through his stoic mask. "Toanh, rest in peace," he murmured, his voice dipping into an uncharacteristic tenderness. "I'm hunting Lordi Payne next. I'll drag that wretch through every torment I can devise, force him to choke out his mastermind's name. And whoever's behind this—I'll carve their flesh strip by strip, boil their soul to ash, and make them pay for you. I swear it."
Without a moment's delay, Miu Tyanh raised his hand, fingers curling with intent, poised to shatter the dreamscape in one ruthless blow.
But then, his brother, Miu Toanh, raised his blood-streaked face, his eyes hollow pits of despair, his voice a lifeless rasp that clawed at the silence. "Brother, why did it take you so long? Why only now to avenge me? Why didn't you rip that filthy rat Lordi Payne apart the instant he slunk back to the sect? You're an inner disciple—one of the thirteen Bloodline Lords! Even if the sect's punishment stings your coffers, you've got the stones to pay it, don't you?"
"I'm your only kin. You knelt by our parents' graves, tears soaking the earth, swearing to shield me forever. But I was butchered—crushed to dust—and you let my killer prance free in the outer sect. How can you stand there and face me? How can you face them?"
Heard this, Miu Tyanh froze, his breath snagging in his throat with sour. He knew this wasn't his true brother—just a cruel illusion image spun by the Lurewoven Grove. Yet the bond was no lie. Miu Toanh was his flesh and blood, the last fragile thread tying him to a family long lost to the dirt.
Under that accusing glare, his heart quaked. His raised palm hovered, trembling, unwilling to strike.
Then, Miu Toanh's rage erupted, he continued to roar. "Lee Bane has many descendants, and Lee Sagwon is just a grandson from one of his concubine. Lee Bane is cautious and unwilling to pay too much for an illegitimate child, which is understandable! The Chou Clan is also prosperous. Although Chou Ease bragged that he is kin of Sect Successor Chou, but in fact, he is distant speck with no talent. It make sense that Sect Successor Chou is indifference about this brother's life or death."
"But what did you do?!"
"We're carved from the same womb, blood of the same blood! I thought you'd storm Kinson Wexford's villa and paint the walls with his guts the moment you suspected him. Instead, you just taught him a lesson and let him off with scratches."
"And Lordi Payne—my murderer—back to the Outer Sect for so many days, he's even strutted under your nose for days, and only now you take action?"
"Do you think that you have hesitated for so long, and killing Lordi Payne now is enough for avenging my death?"
"Do you even want to avenge me?"
"T.. Toanh..." Miu Tyanh's voice fractured, pain surging through his chest like a tidal wave. The illusion image's words were a brutal truth: he and Toanh were true siblings, orphaned in youth. He could still feel the cold earth beneath his knees as he knelt by their parents' deathbeds, swearing through choked sobs to protect his little brother from a world too cruel.
Though Miu Toanh's talent was too feeble for the Holy Sect's standards, Miu Tyanh, upon securing his place in the inner sect, immediately tried his best to drag this younger brother into the outer sect. He'd vowed to protect him, convinced that his own presence would be an unbreakable shield. Even if Miu Toanh never climbed the ranks or amounted to much, Miu Tyanh believed his status would ensure no one dared push his brother too far.
Yet, in one fleeting lapse—a single crack in his vigilance—Miu Toanh was dead. Not just killed, but obliterated, his body pulverized to ash.
If Miu Tyanh could known this earlier, he would left this brother in the mortal world, tethered to a mundane life, perhaps his brother would still draw breath.
Grief clawed at Miu Tyanh's chest as he stammered an explanation, his voice quaking. "Toanh, it's not that I won't avenge you—I swear I want to. But Kinson Wexford's the hand pulling Lordi Payne's strings, and he's bound tight to Successor Lith. Fairy Lith and Fairy Chou may both be Sect Successors, but even Fairy Chou treads lightly around Lith's shadow. I'm only a Bloodline Lord of the Lower Five—no grand elders prop me up in the sect, no impenetrable stronghold guards my back."
"I can't kill Kinson Wexford yet. Fairy Lith's in seclusion, but her Upper Three Bloodline Lords would still flay me alive if I struck. So we have to preserve the strength now, but I will strike soon. If I die now, who'll carry your vengeance forward?"
"Look, I've sworn myself to Successor Chou," Miu Tyanh pressed on. "Let's wait, until earn her trust, and when the time's right, I'll burn Kinson Wexford alive."
"After all," Miu Toanh's voice sliced through, cold and unyielding, "you're still afraid."
His pale, sunken eyes locked onto Miu Tyanh's, piercing through flesh to the soul beneath. "Afraid that your avenge for me will cost you everything you've clawed your way to build. Afraid it will ruin your own future."
Miu Tyanh subconsciously wanted to deny, "No, that's not true. I would never—"
"True or not?" Miu Toanh snapped, his sneer a whipcrack of frost. "Look inside—ask your Dao Heart." He stepped closer, his presence a suffocating weight. "Back in the outer sect, you didn't hesitate. You crossed blades with Kinson Wexford over nothing—petty scraps! Everyone warned you off. His clan outmatched ours, his cultivation towered over yours, and Successor Lith loomed behind him like a storm."
"But you laughed in their faces," Toanh's voice swelled, relentless. "You said, 'Cultivators wrestle fate from the heavens. I'd rather die charging forward than live on my knees. Bow to his backer today, and tomorrow I'll quake at his strength—then I'm no better than a sniveling mortal!'"
"And what came of it?" Miu Toanh pressed, each word a hammer strike. "You crushed Kinson Wexford. You ground him into the dirt and earned Successor Chou's favor. But now? Look at you—hesitant, gutless, your fire's ash!"
"All this talk of 'waiting,' of 'preserving yourself'—is it really strategy, or are you just trembling at the thought of losing your rank, your power, for me?"
"Ask your Dao Heart," Miu Toanh's tone dropped, a malice hiss. "Are you biding time... or hiding?"
"You've changed, Miu Tyanh."
"You're no longer my brother anymore. You're a stranger wearing his skin."
"Yes, you're right. Don't take my word for it—just ask your Dao Heart. Why don't you ask your Dao Heart. Ask it now! Ask it!"
The interrogation sounds reverberated, splintering the air. "Ask it... ask it..." The words multiplied, slithering from every corner—above, below, coiling out of the dark.
"Ask it... ask it..."
Miu Tyanh's breath hitched, his face blanching as the accusations battered him. Before his eyes, "Miu Toanh's" visage began to twist—skin stretching, bones grinding—until it wasn't his brother staring back. It was his own face, hollow-eyed and accusing, a warped reflection of his deepest shame.