The hall fell silent. For a fleeting moment, time itself seemed to pause. Then, a coarse laugh rasped from some shadowed corner, splintering the stillness.
"Are you saying you understand the laws of space?"
The voice dripped with mockery, cutting like a honed blade. Cultivators loathed those who flaunted names or titles, and this one sounded eager to peel back a façade.
"Even if you do, you're not the only one."
More voices chimed in, a rising haze of jeers swirling through the air. The challenge simmered, bold and waiting for a flicker to ignite it.
Yet Nael didn't rise to it. His eyes drifted over them—slow, almost weary—as if they were children tossing stones in a game beneath his notice. Not worth my time, he thought, and that unspoken judgment hung heavier than any retort.
Silence crept back, but it had changed. It pressed down now, thick and stifling, like water that drowns without a ripple. The cultivators felt its weight. Some traded restless glances; others dipped their heads, necks taut with unease.
"I do not understand the laws of space."
The words landed gently, almost too simply, into the heavy air of the hall.
A low, bitter laugh slipped out—someone mistaking it for defeat. But Nael pressed on, his voice steady, unrushed.
"They are engraved in my DNA."
The laughter choked off, caught in its owner's throat.
A peculiar stillness gripped the room, as though the air itself had frozen. Eyes met, bewildered, searching. They didn't know the word. Nael read it in their strained faces, their creased brows.
"In my blood, essence, or lineage."
Now they understood. And the realization crashed over them like a tide.
A quiet discomfort slithered through the hall, cold as an unbidden breeze. Powerful bloodlines weren't news to them, but the way he said it—no swagger, no show—felt different. It was as plain as declaring the sun shines because it must. A truth that stood alone, needing no defense.
Nael took a step.
The space fractured.
It wasn't dramatic, not a spectacle for all to gawk at—just a faint twist in the air, a shadow swaying where it shouldn't. For an instant, he was elsewhere—beyond their grasp, beyond their world. Then he was back. The floor beneath him bore delicate cracks, subtle but telling, and those who could decipher them held their breath.
An elder's spine stiffened. Another's hands tightened, his expression a carved mask. The keenest among them felt their pulses quicken.
"At the very least, to come after me, you must master or know how to seal up to the seventh dimension of space."
His voice stayed level, unshaken—a clean, cold fact delivered without strain.
But it wasn't the veiled threat that chilled them. It was how he said it—offhand, almost detached, as if this were a trivial baseline. As if they, for all their might, were insignificant.
And to him, they were.
The air thickened, alive with a tension that lurked in every shadow. Each cultivator felt it deep in their bones—chests constricted, eyes darting, fingers twitching beneath lavish robes and polished armor. Yet one figure stood apart, untouched, as if the brewing storm were a mere whisper of wind.
Nael.
No anger colored his face, no scorn sharpened his words. Just a blank gaze, clear and cutting as glass, passing through them without lingering.
Then Yang Ming broke the quiet.
"Not that it's so difficult."
His voice sliced through, thick with an arrogance that grated like sand on stone.
"We just need to seal the void, and you won't even be able to escape your own space. The space will have been sealed by the void."
The taunt hung there, brash and expectant. But Nael only turned his head, a slow pivot, his eyes brushing Yang Ming for a heartbeat. Fool, he thought, the word hovering silently, unseen.
The hall seemed to hold its breath. Outside, the wind murmured low, carrying the scent of damp earth. And Nael stood still, calm as ever, as if the world's clamor were a faint echo he could ignore.
The chamber seemed to devour the light. The air grew dense, laden with unspoken things no one dared voice. Dark stone pillars twisted upward, their shadows flickering across the walls like grasping hands. A faint chill seeped from the floor, curling up legs, as silence settled in—solid, almost tangible.
Yang Ming stood tall, chin high as if the universe owed him deference. His eyes glinted with a smug certainty, a wordless boast radiating from his stance. Chest out, hands relaxed—he moved like a victor before the battle had even begun.
Nael watched him. No rush clouded his gaze, just a piercing calm, sharp as a blade poised against flesh. His eyes, cool and unyielding, saw through the bravado, past the puffed-up pride. A transmigrator, he mused—a worm who fancied himself a dragon just for landing among them. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, but it never fully formed.
A fool.
Nael let the silence stretch, taut as a bowstring ready to snap. Around them, cultivators perched on the mountain's natural ledges—dark silhouettes—held their breath, the sound swallowed by the quiet. The air thrummed, electric, like the calm before a storm's first strike.
Then he spoke.
"Who said the void is a dimension of space?"
His voice flowed out, low and effortless, but it rolled through the hall like a tide—steady, unyielding. No heat, no bait—just a truth that made the ground feel less sure beneath their feet.
Yang Ming flinched. It was subtle—a longer blink, a tightening of the shoulders—but Nael caught it. He always did. Nothing slipped past him.
The transmigrator's mouth opened, but the words snagged, trapped by the silence that seemed to clutch at him. He cleared his throat, grasping for composure, yet the effort only shrank him further.
"It seems someone skipped many physics classes while alive."
Nael's tone didn't shift, didn't rise. The remark drifted out like a leaf on the wind, but each syllable landed hard, chipping away at Yang Ming's pride. His gaze held the boy, steady and almost warm—a gentleness that stung worse than contempt.
The hall grew quieter still, the silence no longer just an absence but a force creeping along the walls, pressing against lungs, tripping over thoughts.
Nael sighed, a faint sound heavy with the weariness of one who'd seen too much.
"If someone had paid more attention in class while alive, they would know what enables creation within a universe, how many dimensions of space exist, and much more. But since someone always skipped… well, it doesn't matter."
His eyes weren't fixed on Yang Ming alone now. They swept the room, deliberate and slow, as if weighing every soul present. There was a pull to it, an effortless draw he didn't seem to notice—a quiet magnetism that hooked them, willing or not.
Yang Ming's fists clenched, nails biting into his palms, but he stayed mute. He couldn't speak. The air around him thinned, as if Nael were siphoning it away without a thought.
"What you call the void," Nael went on, voice unwavering, "is simply the chaotic space between dimensions. If we followed your logic, how many voids would there be?"
He arched an eyebrow—not a taunt, but something sharper: pity masked as a question. The look of a teacher correcting a basic, inexcusable slip.
Yang Ming swallowed, the sound sharp and small in the vast emptiness Nael shaped.
"You only want to seal the chaotic space and the control of space within certain dimensions… not the void."
Nael stepped forward. The floor groaned—not from force, but from the space around him bending, rippling faintly like a pond disturbed. The air turned colder, denser.
"But the question I need you to ask is: up to what level will you seal the space?"
He stopped. He didn't wait for an answer—he didn't need one. The silence spoke for them, squeezing throats, bowing shoulders, making every breath a quiet battle.
Yang Ming stared at the ground, his chest heaving faster. He doesn't know, Nael thought, a flicker of boredom crossing his mind. He never did.
The hall stayed hushed, but the silence had a bite now—bitter, inevitable. And Nael, at its heart, seemed untouched, as if the weight pressing down were nothing more than a passing breeze.
The air grew oppressive, no longer light or empty but a clinging, suffocating mass. At its center stood Nael, a living statue. His gaze slid across the crowd, cold and unhurried, as if he owned the very flow of time.
The tension gnawed at them—a restless silence that tightened every chest in the room. He knew it. And he let it linger.
"From what I can tell, your control has barely reached the fourth dimension of space."
His voice cut through, precise and unyielding, slicing the thick air with ease. No hesitation. No doubt.
"And I can travel to higher dimensions."
A fact, stark and solid. Nothing more needed.
He tilted his head, a slight shift, but the hall felt it—a tremor deep within the earth itself.
"So, what will your decision be?"
No threat rang in his words. It didn't have to. It lived in his eyes, in the stillness that hinted at a tempest held in check.
The silence swallowed all else. Breaths grew shallow, cautious. A single misstep, and everything might shatter.
They knew—not the full scope, but enough. This was no contest they could claim.
Crystals overhead cast a dim, lifeless glow. In Nael's eyes, it flickered, remote and icy.
"Three."
The word dropped like a stone—heavy, absolute.
"From the moment you choose to kill me, it becomes a race against time."
One step forward. Just one. The air turned frigid. No one dared move—it wasn't a choice, but instinct.
"I can simply disappear."
His voice was soft. And that made it terrifying.
"Use space to teleport. No one here can sense my presence, which means no one can calculate my location. From that moment, you'll need years to find me."
Eyes darted in the gloom, quick and anxious. No one spoke, but fear howled silently.
"And if you fail…"
He looked up, his gaze a blade's edge.
"I'll come back."
The silence stretched, pulsing with life.
"And kill you all."
Fear bared its teeth. Before, it hid behind bluster; now, it stood raw and real. He saw it—in pallid faces, in trembling hands tucked out of sight.
"You have two options."
His voice pulled the air tight, a thread on the verge of breaking.
"Try the impossible and fail… or accept reality before I impose it on you."
No theatrics. No rage. Just truth, sharp and deep.
They'd always taken what they wanted—snapped it up, bent it to their will. But here was something unyielding.
Mist seeped into the hall, the silence heavier than the stone walls. Stiff faces clung to pride; others let sweat reveal their dread.
Nael sighed, a sound so soft it nearly vanished.
"Alright. Let's establish a truce."
His tone was firm yet easy, his head tilting as if discussing something mundane.
"While you figure out a way to capture me, I'll continue living my life peacefully. When you succeed… try."
One corner of his mouth lifted—not a smile, just a chill.
"If you fail, you die."
The words rumbled low, like distant thunder. Not a warning, but a certainty.
Outside, the wind scraped the mountains, a rough, cold sound carrying the moment's weight.
Nael crossed his arms, his gaze drifting, indifferent.
"You're too old to be this pathetic. Honestly, older than my mother, but with an inferior mindset. It's disappointing."
He shrugged, perhaps a touch weary.
"But maybe it's no surprise. After all, you've spent your lives taking what you wanted, never having to think about what you'd do if you encountered something you couldn't possess."