"Ru."

"Yi."

Kiaria's voice did not travel through the air.

It entered their souls directly–silent, weightless, absolute.

Both of them straightened at once inside the false palace chamber, their cultivation rhythms faltering for a single fraction of a breath.

"Yes, Patron," Ru and Yi answered together, their spiritual voices crisp and perfectly aligned.

"You will remain inside the Ghost Prison," Kiaria said evenly.

"Conduct the task there."

"As you wish, Patron."

His eyes did not open.

"Do not extend your consciousness too deeply into the domain world," he added.

"This realm belongs to an evil beast. Its residual will and distorted laws can stain perception if you linger carelessly."

Ru inclined his head slightly.

Yi mirrored the motion.

"We will be cautious."

The space beside them folded inward.

In the next instant, both of them vanished.

–

They reappeared inside the Evil Spider's domain.

The Ghost Prison.

Soul pressure lingered everywhere.

Not oppressive.

But alert.

As though the domain itself were watching them.

Ru exhaled once–slow and controlled.

Then he flicked his wrist.

Dozens of massive beast corpses spilled from his spatial ring and slammed onto the black ground with dull, meaty impacts. Horned predators. Winged serpents. Mutated beasts.

Their blood did not pool.

It was absorbed.

The domain drank it.

Yi's lips curved faintly.

"So it really accepts biological offerings," he murmured.

Ru's eyes glinted.

"A research paradise."

They exchanged a brief look.

Not excitement.

Not cruelty.

Professional anticipation.

Yi reached into his ring and withdrew a flat, rectangular structure that unfolded midair into a wide experimentation table.

The surface crystallized into translucent emerald glass.

A faint green pulse surged across it once every second, stabilizing the surrounding spiritual field and sealing the zone into a contained micro-environment.

No energy leakage.

No contamination drift.

Perfect isolation.

Ru produced a small crystal vial.

Inside it rested a single intact dandelion plant.

White-stemmed.

Silver-veined.

Petals faintly luminous.

He placed it gently onto the table.

Then–

Ruyi arrows emerged from behind his shoulders.

Not summoned.

Not drawn.

They assembled themselves.

One by one.

Dozens of them.

Each reshaped midair.

Some flattened into blunt separation wedges.

Others elongated into razor-thin scalpels.

Several thickened into cleavers and crushing blades.

A few twisted into spiral-edged micro-cutters.

No two were identical.

They moved with surgical intelligence.

The first blade descended.

The dandelion stem was bisected.

Perfectly.

No cellular tearing.

No spiritual residue disturbance.

More blades followed.

The plant was sectioned again.

And again.

And again.

Outer layer.

Inner core.

Node rings.

Vascular strands.

Energy filaments.

Each part separated and levitated into clean geometric alignment above the table.

Yi stepped forward.

He did not touch the pieces with his hands.

Instead, he extended two fingers.

Microscopic threads of controlled spiritual force emerged and wrapped around the plant filaments.

He separated each fiber.

Each pollen strand.

Each internal conduit.

Then carefully isolated the seed.

He split it.

Once.

Then again.

Until the internal granular spores were exposed.

Yi withdrew a set of crystal vials from his ring.

Each marked with a different color.

White.

Rose-pink.

Silver.

Gold.

He deposited every isolated component into its own container.

The reactions began immediately.

One vial fumed violet and collapsed inward.

Another effervesced violently, releasing a sour metallic stench.

A third crystallized into frost-like flakes.

A fourth withered and rotted into black sediment.

Ru adjusted the Ruyi arrows again.

Several reformed into tubular collectors.

Others reshaped into curved vapor funnels.

They locked into position around the reaction vials and siphoned the fumes, smokes, and emitted residues into sealed reservoirs.

Additional arrows formed into injection needles.

Ru introduced trace substances.

One drop at a time.

Each vial reacted differently.

Yi documented everything in real time.

Scrolls unfurled beside him.

He sketched structural diagrams.

Reaction flows.

Energy signatures.

Spiritual decay curves.

Noted scent variations.

Chromatic shifts.

Resonance patterns.

Then–

Ru withdrew another vial.

A rose-pink dandelion.

Then silver.

Then gold.

Each underwent the same methodical disassembly.

The same controlled violence.

The same obsessive precision.

Hours passed.

Neither of them spoke.

Only the sound of faint energy pulses.

The hiss of reactions.

The whisper of shifting Ruyi blades.

–

Meanwhile–

Inside the spatial palace chamber.

Mu Long, Princess Lainsa, Diala, Azriel, and Aizrel were cultivating in silence.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Their spiritual auras pulsed slowly, synchronized by proximity and long-fought trust.

At the center of the chamber–

Kiaria sat upon the throne.

One arm rested on the carved handle.

The other supported his head.

Eyes closed.

Expression unreadable.

A king at rest.

A god at calculation.

And beneath the stillness–

Thousands of spiderlings continued to move.

Kiaria was not resting.

The posture he held upon the throne only pretended to be one of stillness.

His curled fist pressed lightly against his forehead, knuckles touching his brow in a gesture that looked contemplative–but was, in truth, precise and functional. The black ring embedded in his thumb pulsed faintly, releasing a barely perceptible ripple of spatial distortion.

Within that ring–

A second Kiaria existed.

Not flesh.

Not illusion.

But a spiritual projection anchored within another domain.

The Ring's Spatial Realm

An obsidial diamond terrace floated above a sea of pale mist. Runes glowed faintly along its edges, forming a circular boundary of sovereign authority.

At its center stood Kiaria's spiritual body.

Opposite him stood the Yaksha Queen, her posture regal, her presence heavy with restrained violence. Her eyes reflected a monochrome haze–the mark of a perception conduit waiting to be opened.

Soft footsteps approached across the terrace.

Fei entered the space carrying a slender vial filled with emerald-colored herbal tea. Two levitating cups followed her, suspended by gentle spiritual force.

"Greetings, Yaksha King," Fei said respectfully, kneeling halfway.

"Rise," Kiaria commanded.

"Yes, my King."

She stepped forward and poured the tea into the floating cups, her movements careful and reverent. She offered one to Kiaria's projection and one to the Yaksha Queen, then bowed deeply and withdrew without another word.

Kiaria took a single sip.

Not for need.

For acknowledgment.

Then his expression hardened.

"Queen," he said quietly. "My spiritual body will dissipate within minutes. We go straight to the point."

"Yes, Master," the Yaksha Queen replied without hesitation.

"I will share my Eyes of Insight with you," Kiaria continued. "You will catalog every tribe within the fortress. Bloodlines. Capabilities. Threat indices."

His gaze sharpened.

"This peace will not last. When I give the command, your armies must be ready for frontal execution."

A pause followed.

"And I will require your specific assistance. I will tell you when the time comes."

The Yaksha Queen bowed her head.

"As you wish, Master. I will await your signal."

Kiaria raised his hand. His thumb pressed fully against his forehead. The black ring flared.

Reality fractured.

The world inverted into monochrome. Vision split into thousands of synchronized threads. Every spiderling became an eye. Every tunnel a vein. Every shadow a doorway.

The first thread locked onto Mimi's tribe.

A spiderling rested in the upper corner of a tunnel chamber, its tiny skull-marked body clinging motionless to stone. Through its lens–

"Long ears. Pink fur. Soft skeletal density," the Yaksha Queen said calmly. "It's the Miru Tribe. Rabbit half-bloods. Elemental bloodline carriers."

"Which element?" Kiaria asked.

"Earth element," she replied. "Subtype: Escapist lineage. High evasion instincts. Natural burrowing affinity."

The vision warped.

Shifted.

Another enclave surfaced.

"Cil Tribe," the Yaksha Queen continued. "Foxkin. Pure-blood. Specialty: Charm arts."

Her gaze sharpened.

"They possess transformation aptitude. The purple pigmentation beneath their eyes is the identification marker."

Shift.

"Wul Tribe," she said. "Wolfkin. Multiple divergent bloodlines. Soul-body specialization varies by individual."

Shift.

"Moon Clan," she said. "Upper-class hybrid lineage. Fox-Wolf mixed blood. Lunar affinity. Females bear the moon sigil on their foreheads. Males on the left side of the neck."

Shift.

"Meisa Tribe," she continued. "Serpentkin. Poison bloodline. Primary function: Assassination."

Shift.

"Wing Gu," she said. "Insect tamers. Insect-king bloodline descendants. They can dominate all insect tribes except Bees and Yaksha Ants."

Shift.

The vision hardened.

The Skull Man's chamber appeared.

"Xiuli Tribe," the Yaksha Queen said. "Deerkin. Experts in talismanic arts. Capable of forging talismans with or without spiritual energy."

"No wonder," Kiaria murmured.

The lens shifted again.

To the man who had knelt beside Skull.

"…Roga Roya," the Yaksha Queen said slowly. "Roga Tribe. Bullkin."

Her voice lowered.

"And the beast sealed beneath the fortress…"

Her eyes sharpened dangerously.

"…is also Roga."

"Roga Rossan."

Kiaria's aura tightened.

"You know him?" he asked.

"Of course, Master," she replied.

Her tone turned ice-cold.

"He is a fire-elemental criminal. A butcher of children. A sadist who feeds on psychological collapse."

She clenched her jaw.

"Every life he consumes leaves molten residue that crystallizes into soul-energy fragments."

Her gaze darkened.

"The seal beneath him exists only to prevent total massacre."

She exhaled once.

"He must be killed."

Silence followed.

Then Kiaria nodded.

"Understood," he said quietly. "I have to go now."

His spiritual projection dissolved.

Kiaria's eyes opened in the palace chamber. The black ring dimmed. His fist lowered from his forehead as his presence fully returned to his physical body. The throne remained silent. The cultivators around him remained unaware.

Kiaria did not move from the throne.

But within the relic bound to his soul, a command had already been given.

It was not spoken aloud.

It was not shaped into words.

It was transmitted as a silent chant of intent.

The Evil Spider heard it.

And rejoiced.

Inside the relic's quiet spatial world, the small white spider lifted its head. Its tiny legs folded inward as it bowed deeply toward the invisible presence of its master. Then it swayed its body gently, sending a soft vibration through the fine webbing that filled the corner of the relic space.

The web hummed.

Not loudly.

Not violently.

Like a delicate string being plucked.

The resonance brushed against Kiaria's consciousness through their soul link.

It felt… melodious.

The Evil Spider straightened.

Then vanished.

At the same moment–

A tiny soul skull spiderling appeared in a shadowed corridor inside the fortress.

Ahead of it–

Roga Roya was walking.

He had been warned.

The Skull Man of the Xiuli tribe had stopped him earlier.

"Do not go to the dungeon."

"Do not visit other chambers."

"Do not provoke anything while the Gods remain here."

Roya had nodded.

Then ignored every word.

Because he was no different from Roga Rossan.

Cruelty wasn't a habit for him.

It was instinct.

And Kiaria had known this.

He had been waiting for this moment.

Roya slipped into a maintenance corridor.

Then another.

Then a narrow fracture-passage used only by bull-kin.

The spiderling followed.

Its breath folded inward.

Its presence collapsed into nothing.

Even trained assassins would not have sensed it.

Roya descended into the dungeon.

The air changed.

Thickened.

Soured.

The stench of blood clung to the stone.

Screams echoed from deeper chambers.

Some weak.

Some broken.

The spiderling crawled along the ceiling.

Its tiny mouth curved upward.

A smile.

Clear poisonous saliva gathered at its fangs. Droplets fell soundlessly, hissing into faint acidic vapor as they touched the dungeon floor.

But the blood smell drowned it out.

The screams masked it.

No one noticed.

Roya drew his weapon.

A whip.

Not an ordinary one.

A serrated blade was fixed at its tip.

And embedded into its core–

A jagged crimson crystal.

A reward from Roga Rossan himself.

Roya gripped the bladed end of the whip and dragged it across the bars of the first prison cell.

SKRRRRRR–

Something whimpered inside.

He laughed.

He walked to the next chamber.

Dragged the blade again.

SKRRRRRR–

A scream followed.

He did it again.

And again.

Not to kill.

Not to torture.

Just to hear fear answer him.

Just to feel control echo back.

The spiderling followed above.

Silent.

Patient.

Its smile widened.

Roya reached the last chamber.

The one where he had last indulged his cruelty.

The one that still smelled faintly of burned flesh and iron.

He lifted his whip again.

Gripped the blade.

Dragged it across the bars–

And then–

Something was different.

The sound did not echo.

The air did not answer.

The dungeon did not breathe back.

And behind him–

The temperature shifted.

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