“Weak Water…”
Margaret gazed at the serene blue lake before her — so calm that even the light itself seemed to be faintly swallowed by it. She could sense the strange, profound laws flowing within, and her brows knitted together in unease.
Feathers cannot float, birds cannot cross — that was no exaggeration.
Though she was no weakling, maintaining a protective barrier long enough to traverse such waters would likely exceed her limits.
Dustin walked to the water’s edge and crouched down. At his fingertip gathered a wisp of pure, refined Xuanqing true energy, which he slowly extended into the lake.
The moment it touched the surface, no ripples appeared. Instead, it felt as though his energy had entered a viscous, gel-like substance, struggling to move forward. A strange, corrosive force began to erode that wisp of energy at an alarming speed.
“There’s no mistake,” Dustin murmured calmly. “This water carries the laws of dissolution and descent — a force that devours all. Ordinary movement techniques are useless here. To cross, one must form a shield of pure spiritual power… or rely on a rare artifact imbued with spatial or water-parting energy.”
He turned his gaze toward Margaret and A-Long’s group — clearly, none of them possessed such means.
“Senior,” Margaret asked, looking to Xuan Chengzi, her tone sincere, “is there any safe way to cross the water?”
Xuan Chengzi gently waved his whisk and pointed toward the lake’s far edge, where the blue waters were tainted with streaks of dark red.
“Weak Water is perilous,” he said, “but its reach is not endless. If you follow along the corrupted shoreline, you may find a stone path that leads toward the core. Yet… the years have been long, and the Dragon’s blood has deeply corroded that region. Whether the path still exists, I cannot say.”
He paused, his tone growing grave.
“That place is where the Dragon’s blood and malice converge. The abominations born there are far more sinister and fierce. You must be extremely cautious.”
It was far from a safe route — but it was the only path left.
With no other choice, the group began to follow the blurred boundary where blue purity met red corruption, advancing with utmost care.
The scenery along the tainted shore stood in sharp contrast to the rest of the Jade Pool.
The lake water here was murky and dark red, reeking of blood and sulfur. The ground was blackened and scarred with pulsing crimson veins that throbbed faintly, like exposed arteries beneath diseased flesh.
Grotesque plants grew wild, their shapes unnatural — some stretched upward like skeletal claws, others dripped with viscous, corrosive slime.
The air itself pulsed with a restless, violent energy that battered the spirit.
A-Long and the two remaining guards had to constantly circulate their inner strength to resist it. Their faces were pale and drawn. Even Qingzhu felt her heart growing restless and irritable.
Dustin led the way, his invisible aura pressing outward. Wherever he walked, the waves of chaotic energy parted like tide against rock — unable to touch him.
His eyes remained sharp, vigilant for danger while also studying the terrain ahead.
After about half an hour of cautious travel, they turned a jagged outcrop of stones — and the sight that met them made everyone draw a sharp breath.
Before them lay a shallow depression beside the bloodstained shore —
and in its center stood an ancient altar, built from enormous blocks of black stone, rising roughly ten feet high.
The altar was circular, its entire surface covered in dense, twisting runes — not in cloud-script, but in an even older, darker tongue filled with ominous power.
The carvings seemed to squirm like living serpents, and staring at them too long made one’s vision swim.
Around the altar stood several broken stone pillars, still wrapped in rusted chains that had long since decayed.
But what truly froze the blood — was the ground itself.
Across the altar and the earth surrounding it, thick smears of dried blood — dark brown and nearly black — formed vast stains.
A suffocating stench of blood and hatred hung in the air, almost tangible. It mingled with the Dragon’s corrupted energy from the lake, making the very atmosphere dense and chilling.
Beneath the altar lay scattered remnants — broken swords, their designs foreign to Margaret’s guards; scraps of torn fabric; and several corpses not yet completely decayed. From their twisted postures, it was clear they had suffered terribly — bound to the altar and drained of life.
“T-this… what is this…” Qingzhu stammered, her face pale as ash.
Margaret’s heart thudded painfully. Forcing down her nausea, she studied the remains.
The scraps of clothing were from many different origins — some like those of mainland warriors, others distinctly foreign. Clearly, these victims had not come from the same land, nor the same time.
Beside one corpse, she noticed a half-charred bronze waist token. It was roughly palm-sized, etched with the image of a ghostly shape writhing within flames.
A-Long’s face turned grim, his voice trembling.
“This… this is a blood sacrifice altar!”
He swallowed hard, horror thick in his voice.
“Someone used living souls and flesh as offerings — sacrifices of blood and spirit! Could it be… that they were worshipping—”
His words trailed off as his eyes were drawn, almost unwillingly, to the blood-red depths of the lake.
There, hidden beneath the surface, something vast and ancient seemed to stir. - Marinien
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