The bronze gate loomed tall and solemn—behind it might lie the legendary Hanging Garden, or perhaps an even deeper trap.
The dark-golden vines coiling through the cracks seemed withered, yet when touched, they felt as hard as metal—unyielding and cold.
Ancient cloud-shaped runes glimmered faintly upon the gate’s surface, forming a powerful sealing array. Forcing it open would be no easy feat—and might bring catastrophic consequences.
Dustin extended his divine sense, probing carefully for a long while before shaking his head.
“The seal is intact and bound to the earth veins. Forcing it would trigger unknown dangers. There may be another entrance—or a specific key to open it.”
Hope, so close at hand yet barred behind the gate, gave rise to quiet disappointment.
Margaret gazed toward the mist-wreathed mountain fissure and said thoughtfully, “Since this path is blocked for now, let’s follow the edge of this rift. We may find another way. The murals mentioned the ‘Jade Pool’—it could be nearby.”
Dustin nodded slightly. He, too, sensed that the energy flowing from within the fissure was livelier.
The group advanced cautiously along the chasm’s rim, heading deeper into the island.
But before long, the environment began to change in eerie ways.
The once-clear view gradually dissolved into a dense gray-white mist—not ordinary vapor, but something heavy, viscous, almost alive.
It didn’t just blur sight—it swallowed sound. The guards’ shouts to each other became muffled and warped, as if carried through water.
More unsettling still, the mist carried a strange corrosive force. It didn’t burn flesh, but seeped silently through the pores, eroding their internal spiritual energy like countless invisible needles.
The guards soon felt their meridians clogging, their Qi draining at an unnatural pace, and a deep weariness rising from within their souls.
“Circulate your Qi! This mist eats away at our energy!” the guard captain shouted, his voice dulled by the fog.
Everyone quickly channeled their internal power, forming thin shields of Qi around their bodies.
Zzzt… The faint sound of corrosion filled the air as the mist hissed against their barriers. Though it blocked the invasion for now, their energy drained twice as fast.
“Miss, I… I can’t hold much longer,” said Qingzhu, her face pale. She was one of the weaker cultivators in the team and already faltering.
Even Margaret, strong as she was, could feel her Qi ebbing rapidly.
She turned anxiously toward Dustin—only to see that around him, the mist refused to approach. An invisible field surrounded him; within a span of a few feet, the fog simply rolled aside, unable to touch him.
He stood calm as ever—unaffected, unhurried—as though the deadly haze did not exist for him at all.
“Stay close to me. Don’t scatter,” Dustin said. His voice cut clearly through the fog, steady and commanding, easing the fear in everyone’s hearts.
The invisible force around him expanded slightly, enveloping Margaret and several nearby guards. Instantly, the suffocating pressure on them lifted.
“Thank you, Mr. Dustin!” the guards said with genuine relief.
Dustin only shook his head slightly, his gaze hard and alert. “This mist doesn’t just erode Qi—it also suppresses divine sense.”
He extended his awareness outward—but it felt as if it were sinking into a swamp. His perception shrank to less than ten feet, and even that range was blurred and distorted.
“There’s something in the mist,” he warned quietly. His words sent chills through every spine.
When both sight and sense were nearly blind, the unseen became truly terrifying.
Led by Dustin, the group pressed forward cautiously, step by step, through the living fog.
The ground beneath their feet was slick with moss-covered stones. The world was deathly silent save for the rasp of their breathing and the pounding of their hearts.
Then—
“Aaah—!”
A short, sharp scream tore through the quiet.
Everyone spun around in horror. The mist churned violently, and one of the guards stationed on the flank suddenly vanished—dragged backward into the fog by something unseen!
No time for a struggle, no sound but the echo of his cry.
Only a faint drag mark remained on the mossy ground—alongside a few drops of blood quickly sinking into the earth.
“Form up! Back-to-back!” the captain barked, his voice raw with tension.
The remaining guards tightened their formation, blades drawn, watching the swirling fog with white-knuckled grips. Cold sweat drenched their backs.
“What is it?” Margaret’s voice was icy as she gripped her dagger, face pale but resolute.
Dustin’s eyes narrowed sharply. Though his divine sense was muted, in that fleeting moment of the attack, he had caught a faint trace—swift as lightning, seething with dark, hateful energy.
“Not a physical being,” he murmured grimly. “Or at least… not entirely. These are mist wraiths—formed from the fusion of this fog’s corrosive force and the lingering resentful spirits of the dead. Intangible and formless, they feed on the life essence of the living.”
As if to confirm his words, whispers began to echo all around—thousands of murmurs, soft and endless, brushing directly against their souls. The sound stirred unease, madness, and nausea within the heart.
Then—shapes emerged.
Faint gray shadows twisted in the mist, flickering like ghosts. They had no fixed forms—sometimes writhing tendrils, sometimes distorted human faces—each emitting a silent, piercing scream as they rushed toward the group. - Marinien
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