The jade talisman steadied in midair, its glow clean and neutral now—**empty**.
"…Done," the fox murmured.
It exhaled, a subtle tension easing from its shoulders.
"All that's left is to leave my own soul imprint," it said quietly. "But that can wait a moment."
As it prepared to continue, something felt… off.
Too quiet.
The fox's ears twitched.
The layered formations hummed faintly as they always did, steady and reliable—but the room itself felt unnaturally still. No movement. No sound beyond the faint rhythm of breathing that did not belong to it.
The fox turned its head.
Its gaze settled on the table.
The lizard lay there, **eyes closed**, its body coiled loosely around its storage pouch. Empty jars were scattered everywhere—some toppled on their sides, others gently rolling against one another—while **only two jars remained upright**, still filled with wine.
The scent lingered thick in the air.
The fox stared.
"…You drank yourself into a stupor," it said flatly.
It sat there for a moment, simply observing the scene—the once-frantic creature now utterly still, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
"Hah," the fox muttered, a trace of disbelief—and faint amusement—creeping into its voice. "Unbelievable."
Its gaze softened, just slightly.
"Guess even your kind has a limit."
The fox shook its head once, tails flicking lazily.
"Fine," it said, turning its attention back toward the floating jade talisman. "Sleep it off. You earned it."
The jade drifted closer as the fox refocused.
"But if you wake up with a headache," it added dryly, "don't look at me."
The room remained silent.
One creature slept off excess refinement.
The other, wide awake, prepared to bind a newly claimed Earth-grade defense to its body—while Rivermarch's night continued outside, unaware that within its walls, power was quietly settling into new hands.
The fox turned fully back to the jade talisman.
It hovered obediently before it now—no resistance, no lingering foreign will. Just pure, dormant structure waiting to be claimed.
"Good," the fox murmured. "Now comes the easy part."
Its eyes closed once more.
A strand of **divine sense** emerged again—steadier this time, more deliberate. Where before it had peeled and erased, now it **pressed inward**, slow and precise.
This wasn't destruction.
This was **engraving**.
The fox guided its divine sense into the core of the jade, letting its presence seep into every rune, every layered formation carved within. The talisman responded immediately, its glow shifting—no longer neutral, but faintly tinged with the fox's own spiritual signature.
Its imprint was not violent.
Not domineering.
It was **quiet**.
Adaptive.
Like ink soaking into fine paper rather than a blade carving into stone.
The jade pulsed once.
Then again.
The fox's ears twitched as feedback flowed back through the connection—recognition, alignment, acceptance. The talisman's defensive formations subtly restructured themselves, adjusting thresholds, response timing, activation triggers.
"Automatic activation," the fox murmured internally, refining each condition with care. "Hostile intent detected… lethal force threshold… priority barrier over counterstrike…"
Its tails stilled completely as it focused.
This was the most delicate stage.
A mistake here could mean delayed activation—or worse, draining its spiritual reserves at the wrong moment.
Slowly. Carefully.
The fox engraved the final layer of its soul imprint.
The jade talisman shone softly.
Not bright.
Not flashy.
But **solid**.
Stable.
Bound.
The fox withdrew its divine sense and opened its eyes.
The talisman drifted closer, settling into a slow orbit around it—moving as naturally as one of its own tails.
"…There," the fox said quietly.
It reached out and tapped the jade once with a claw.
The talisman responded instantly. A faint barrier flickered into existence for a heartbeat before vanishing—clean, efficient, almost elegant.
The fox nodded, satisfied.
"That will do."
It leaned back against the bed, fatigue finally washing over it now that the work was complete.
Across the room, the lizard slept on, unmoving, surrounded by the evidence of its indulgence.
The fox glanced at it once more.
"…Ridiculous creature," it muttered—though there was no real irritation in the words.
Its eyes slowly closed.
For tonight, at least, both hunter and beast were safe.
And in the quiet, warded room of Moonveil Pavilion, two very different paths of cultivation continued—one through refinement and patience, the other through instinct and consumption—both inching forward, unnoticed by the world outside.
The fox let out a quiet breath of satisfaction.
"With this," it said softly, "I feel even safer."
The jade talisman slipped from its orbit and settled briefly against the fox's chest before it guided it into place, **wearing it around its neck**. The glow faded as it tucked neatly beneath the storage pouch—hidden, unobtrusive, ready.
A final safeguard.
"Now that that's done…" the fox continued, voice calm and steady, "…it's about time I cultivate."
It leapt down from the bed, landing without a sound. Padding across the room, it moved with purpose now, no hesitation in its steps.
"This," it said, glancing around, "is the real reason I rented a room here."
It stopped at a corner of the chamber.
At first glance, it appeared unremarkable—smooth stone, clean walls. But as the fox approached, faint **runes** revealed themselves, etched so subtly into the floor that only spiritual perception could detect them. Several **formation flags** were already embedded at precise angles, their tips barely visible.
The fox's eyes gleamed.
"The Qi-Gathering Array."
It stepped into the center and sat down, tail spreading slightly as it adjusted its posture. With a controlled pulse of energy, it activated the formation.
The runes lit up one by one.
The fox remained seated at the array's center, eyes closed as currents of qi began flowing around it.
"This is only a **low-tier Earth-grade formation**," it said quietly, almost critically. "But even so…"
One of the formation flags pulsed faintly.
"To activate it properly," the fox continued, "it needs **spirit stones**."
With a thought, it drew one from its pouch—a dull, imperfect stone, its surface clouded and uneven.
"A poor-quality one," the fox added. "At best, it'll last for an hour."
The stone sank into the formation's core slot. The runes flared brighter, and the pull of qi increased noticeably. The air grew thick, heavy with spiritual energy.
The fox's ears twitched.
"…I don't like consuming spirit stones like this," it admitted. "It's wasteful. Inefficient."
The stone began to dull as energy drained from it, fine cracks spreading across its surface.
"But," the fox continued, voice steady, "results speak for themselves."
Qi poured in—denser now, more refined—threading through its body and accelerating its recovery. Strain melted away, fatigue loosening its grip as its reserves slowly, steadily climbed.
The fox remained still at the heart of the formation.
Cultivating.
Waiting.
Growing stronger—quietly, patiently—while the night carried on beyond the walls, unaware of what was taking shape within.