Chief and his subordinates woke without alarm or signal, as though the land itself had decided their rest was over.

Above them, the sky was caught between states. A faint reddish-black gloom lay scattered across both sky and earth, neither fully night nor properly dawn. Darkness had not yet retreated, but it had begun to thin, torn apart by narrow rays of light that seeped through like cracks in a dying shell.

Those rays stained the gloom rather than dispelling it.

They looked almost fragile–like hope forced to exist in a place that rejected it.

For a treasure hunter, sunrise was never peace. It was simply an announcement: you survived yesterday–now endure today.

After stepping into the Re Ze Lure, this was only the second time Chief had seen sunlight.

Let this sunrise lead us to the opportunities we've been seeking, he thought quietly. If not… then at least let it be honest about the struggles ahead.

He rose and turned to the twins without wasting words.

"You two," Chief said in a low voice, "wake the others. No noise. Don't disturb the sleep of Patron and his companions."

The twins nodded instantly.

Ru moved first. He crouched beside each sleeping treasure hunter, cupping mouths gently before shaking shoulders, ensuring no startled gasp or cry escaped. Once a person stirred, Ru leaned close and whispered instructions, motioning them to repeat the same method for the next.

Quiet. Careful. No mistakes.

The camp came alive in silence.

From the spatial ring of the ice-elemental treasure hunter, bundles of chopped dry wood were taken out, followed by preserved dough and cured meat. Everything was laid out with careful restraint, movements slow and deliberate, as though the air itself might punish careless sound.

For the first time since entering Re Ze Lure, Chief reached into his own spatial ring and removed a small pouch.

Special additives.

He cooked personally.

Not out of authority, but intent.

It was gratitude–for unity, for trust forged under pressure.

And perhaps… a farewell prepared for those who would not survive the inevitable trouble ahead.

The aroma spread quickly.

Warm. Rich. Comforting.

It cut through the lingering stench of the land for just a moment–and that was enough.

The scent reached Kiaria and Diala first.

The instant their eyes opened–

The murderous-intent barrier woven by the Dragon Emperors vanished.

Immediately, the world responded.

The smell of rotten flesh surged in from every direction, thick and invasive, overwhelming the pleasant fragrance in seconds. Decay pressed into lungs and skin alike, as if the land itself had been waiting for permission to breathe again.

Kiaria stood up and stretched body.

He reached out and gently shook Princess Lainsa awake.

"Let's go," he said quietly. "Before the stench thickens. Rotten smell attracts insect species. That won't be good for us."

Princess nodded without hesitation.

Cooking finished.

Breakfast untouched.

Seats, charcoal, and beast skins were swept back into spatial rings. Ru handled the camp remains, while Yi preserved the cooked meat and dough loaves carefully, sealing them away for later.

As they began to move, the Dragon Emperors' warning echoed once more within Kiaria's consciousness.

Do not use any blessed or holy aura arrays until you leave Re Ze Lure.

A warning layered with certainty.

Chief took the lead.

He followed the direction of the fractured sunlight, trusting the weak guidance of dawn more than instinct in this cursed place.

None of them had truly slept.

Faces were pale. Eyes dull. Movements sluggish, as if illness clung to them.

Kiaria's gaze moved across the group.

Cries and escapes from near death never grant peaceful rest, he thought. Nightmares born from survival are often worse than the horrors faced while awake.

His expression hardened slightly.

If the timeline of the Illusory Land of Arshlands matched the real world… I would have time to train them. To prepare them.

But reality did not allow such mercy.

They moved forward–carrying exhaustion, unspoken fear, and the weight of another day beneath a sky that had yet to fully forgive them for living.

Rotten flesh smell vanished.

Chief was not treating this march lightly.

From the moment they left the temporary camp, his demeanor had shifted completely. The faint ease brought by dawn vanished, replaced by the cold vigilance of a veteran who had survived too many ambushes to trust calm scenery.

As an experienced treasure hunter, he activated his Hawk Eye vision, his gaze sweeping far beyond what ordinary senses could perceive. Every ripple in the air, every distortion in light, every unnatural stillness was examined with ruthless precision. His steps slowed–not from hesitation, but calculation.

Only after a long stretch of silent observation did his eyes narrow.

Far ahead, he finally spotted it.

A forest.

Not twisted.Not warped.Not bleeding corruption.

From afar, it resembled an ordinary forest–trees standing straight, foliage dense but not aggressive, shadows behaving as shadows should. In a land like Re Ze Lure, such normalcy was more suspicious than danger itself.

Chief reached into his robe and withdrew an empty scroll sheet, its surface pristine and untouched.

Until now, he had not revealed much.

Throughout the journey, Chief had deliberately restrained himself. He had shown no overt martial techniques, no manifestation of his martial soul. To Kiaria and Diala, all that was known was his abnormal stamina, physical strength, cultivation foundation, and the unnerving sharpness of his Hawk Eye vision.

Nothing more.

Chief halted abruptly.

Without turning, he raised a fist slightly.

The group stopped as one.

The air here was heavy–the rotten stench had fully settled, clinging to breath and skin. Even so, Chief did not speak.

The subordinate twins understood immediately.

They had followed him for years–through ambushes, cursed ruins, and near-extinction hunts. A single pause from him carried more meaning than a shouted warning.

Ru moved first.

He retrieved seats and arranged them in a familiar layout, mirroring the setup from the previous night. Every position was deliberate–angles chosen to ensure visibility, spacing calculated to avoid clustering.

Yi followed, placing preserved meat and dough loaves atop a shaved wooden table he assembled with quick, efficient motions.

Using a spiritual Ruyi arrow, Yi sliced the cooked meat into precise portions, serving Patron and his companions first. The cuts were clean, the portions generous.

No one complained.

If anything, several eyes lingered on the remaining meat, appetite outweighing pride.

Still, an unspoken tension remained.

Yesterday's scene–Patron's discomfort at special treatment–had not faded, not even after the Crimson wine. Respect restrained conversation, leaving the camp wrapped in silence.

Everyone ate.

But no one relaxed.

All attention was on Chief.

When the last piece was swallowed, Mu Long rose from his seat.

He walked toward Kiaria with measured steps and cupped his fists respectfully.

"Greetings, Patron."

Kiaria responded by pouring herbal tea into a tiny cup–barely enough for a single sip–and handed it to him.

"Cheers."

Mu Long accepted it with both hands and drank. His eyes brightened slightly. "Good tea," he said honestly. "Refreshing."

Kiaria smiled faintly. "If you like it, I'll take you to the brewer once we return." Then his gaze sharpened. "Now–get to the point. Why did you approach me?"

Mu Long stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Since you're direct, I won't circle around. Patron… Chief is about to reveal his martial soul and core skills. Watch carefully."

"Oh?" Kiaria replied, masking his curiosity with mild interest. "Is that so."

Chief stood.

Without a word, he opened both hands.

The empty scroll lifted into the air, floating unsupported, perfectly stable.

Then Chief rose as well.

His body levitated smoothly until his vantage point cleared the treetops, granting him full vision of the forest ahead.

He raised his left hand, covering half his face. The fingers of that hand spread across his brow, deliberately blocking his right eye. The other eye was concealed beneath an eye-covering cloth.

Then–suddenly–his fingers spread wide.

The previously blocked eye was revealed.

Its iris had turned golden, gleaming like forged metal.

The other eye remained closed.

Chief bent forward, folding until his head nearly touched his knees, then straightened sharply. His body ascended higher.

From his back, something emerged.

First–a white bird's beak.

Then feathers.

Then form.

His martial soul manifested completely.

A massive avian body took shape behind him, at least twelve feet long, its wings unfurling wide enough to eclipse light itself. Each wingbeat distorted the air, expanding his presence further.

His eyes remained closed.

The eye-covering cloth fell away.

Chief opened both eyes at once.

Each pupil split–not separating, but dividing within the same sphere.

One half glowed gold. The other shone white as fresh snow.

Behind him soared an albino hawk, its feathers reflecting sunlight like polished mirrors and scattered diamonds. It possessed two pairs of eyes–one pair natural, pale and sharp, the other embedded within a mutated eagle skull exoskeleton fused atop its head.

Those second eyes glowed gold.

The forest below seemed to shrink in comparison.

Silence dominated the camp.

Mu Long watched the scene unfold from the side, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

So that's it… he thought. Showing off now? Trying to impress someone?

His gaze flicked instinctively toward Kiaria, then toward Shade, then–almost involuntarily–toward Princess Lainsa.

No, that doesn't make sense. She's not even of age. And the Chief already has a family.

Mu Long frowned, genuinely puzzled.

Then a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Ah… I see. Not impressing. Reassuring. Letting Patron and the others see what kind of pillar is leading them.

His mood lightened instantly. If that was the case, then this display was worth encouraging.

"Look," Mu Long said aloud, raising his voice just enough to carry, "our Chief's main martial skill is about to show itself."

Before the words could finish echoing, Kiaria bent down and picked up a small stone from the ground.

He placed it carefully against the inside of his curled fist, thumb pressed tight over it. His posture looked relaxed–almost lazy–but the angle of his wrist told a different story. With a subtle flick, his thumb snapped open.

The stone shot forward like a slingshot.

Thunk.

Mu Long yelped and twisted around, clutching the side of his head. "–Ow!"

Kiaria was already staring at him, expression calm, eyes sharp.

Mu Long blinked in confusion, then asked honestly, "Patron… did I do something wrong?"

"Yes," Kiaria replied flatly.

He didn't raise his voice, but the weight behind his words made Mu Long straighten unconsciously.

"As an experienced treasure hunter, you should know better than to let your guard down," Kiaria continued. "You were watching the sky, the Chief, everyone else–but you didn't notice a stone flying at your head. If that had been an attack, you'd already be dead."

Mu Long froze, then exhaled slowly.

"I… you're right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "I got careless."

"Good," Kiaria said. "Remember it."

He shifted his gaze back to the sky. "Now tell me. What is his martial soul?"

Mu Long followed his line of sight and answered without hesitation."Silver Snow Hawk. And that skull exoskeleton fused to it is from a Skylord Eagle–an heirloom treasure passed down to the head of Hell Tavern."

Above them, the manifestation continued.

From the hawk's beak, a single feather was plucked cleanly. It dissolved midair into a thread of Essence, flowing smoothly into Chief's hand and reshaping itself into a feather pen.

Chief moved without flourish.

He drew the Orswae Motion-Sensing Inscription across the empty scroll. Frost gathered at the pen's tip, melting instantly into clear liquid as it traced the formation. The liquid did not soak into the scroll. Instead, the pattern remained sharp and visible, suspended as if etched into reality itself.

The scroll trembled.

Then folded.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

In a few breaths, it reshaped into a living origami construct. Paper wings spread and flapped with lifelike rhythm as it flew up and settled lightly on Chief's shoulder.

The martial soul receded.

Chief descended back to the ground, steady and composed.

At his silent command, the origami took flight, darting through the forest canopy with unnatural agility. Moments later, it returned and gently touched its head against Chief's forehead.

Information flooded in.

Chief opened his eyes. "No movement ahead. The path is safe for now," he announced evenly. "The forest is normal–similar to those within our own lands."

The subordinate twins immediately brought him food as they resumed moving forward. Chief ate while walking, his focus already shifting ahead.

For a brief moment, he waited.

Compliments.

Questions.

Curiosity.

He half-expected Shade or Lainsa to ask about the origami, or the technique behind it.

None came.

No praise. No excitement. No reaction beyond silent acceptance.

Chief's pace slowed just a fraction.

His guard loosened–not from arrogance, but from certainty. He had already seen the route clearly. Even with his eyes closed, he could walk this forest without stumbling.

That was when it happened.

His foot pressed down on something brittle.

Crunch.

Golden fluid bloomed beneath his step.

Footprints–golden, radiant–spread backward along the path he had walked in life, not just moments ago, but years, decades. A strange pull seized his body as life essence began draining, slow but relentless. His hair faded rapidly, turning into a gradient of gold and white.

The subordinates noticed first.

Swords were drawn in panic.

"G–Ghost!" someone shouted.

Chief turned toward them, but the man they had followed for years no longer looked the same. His skin had grown pale and fragile, his presence distorted, unfamiliar.

They didn't recognize him.

Panic erupted.

Someone stumbled backward.

Another crunch.

A newbie had stepped on a second Golden Berry Bead. Golden fluid stained his footprints. His cultivation was too weak–his life was extinguished within moments.

Silence slammed down.

No one moved.

Fear locked their bodies in place as eyes darted everywhere–trees, shadows, branches above–searching for enemies, beasts, vines.

No one looked down.

Kiaria took a step forward.

A golden bead lay directly beneath his foot.

"Watch out–! The bead–look down!"

The Dragon Emperors' roar shattered the moment.

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