The group pressed on through the forest, every shadow a threat waiting to strike. When beasts lunged from the brush, the escorts moved as one—flames searing, blades flashing, wind slicing through snarls. The children watched in awe, reassured by their escorts' strength yet stirred with longing to one day wield such power.
After five hours, Song Bu lifted a hand. "We rest here." His tone left no room for argument. "Eat. Recover your strength. This clearing is safe."
The children dropped gratefully onto the grass. The elites handed out simple buns and water, which the children accepted eagerly. Laughter rose softly, fragile against the wild forest air.
Yan Tian sat beside Zhong Li, chewing in silence. The food was plain, but the pause itself felt like a luxury. For the first time since dawn, his chest loosened.
At the clearing's edge, Song Bu stood alone, watching the children with unreadable eyes.
Yan Tian, restless, drifted away from the group. Leaning against a tree, he pulled the leaf-shaped green stone from his pocket. Smooth and cool, it rested against his palm like a heartbeat from home. His lips curved faintly.
He closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, a girl appeared—blue hair, sky-colored eyes, no more than thirteen.
She smiled at him with warmth that pierced his chest. Her soft voice echoed in his mind.
"Brother Tian, I will wait for you."
His chest ached. He opened his mouth to whisper a vow—then the world tilted, weight flooding his limbs. The stone slipped from his fingers, falling silently into the grass. His vision blurred.
Yan Tian collapsed silently against the tree.
Around the clearing, the same scene unfolded. One by one, the youths toppled where they sat, their breaths even but their bodies limp, as if stolen by a dream. Zhong Li fell with a quiet thud, his half-finished bun still in hand.
Only the escorts remained standing.
At the clearing's edge, Song Bu's lips curved faintly. "It's done." The satisfaction in his voice was the only hint of cruelty beneath his composed mask.
He turned to his team, his tone sharp and commanding. "Let's complete the task. Then we return."
The others dropped their facades, their eyes glinting with cold amusement.
A scarred man chuckled darkly. "And they actually thought they were headed for special training. Pathetic."
The sharp-eyed woman at his side sneered, folding her arms. "Same trick every time."
Song Bu's gaze swept across the fallen children, and the smile on his face sharpened like a blade. "Boring work. Predictability is the point. But…" He let the word hang, his voice low and dangerous. "…perhaps next time, we'll make it… memorable."
Without another word, their Qi flared.
Streams of light enveloped the unconscious youths, lifting them into the air like lifeless dolls. Their bodies floated upward, suspended in shimmering auras, utterly defenseless.
Satisfied, Song Bu summoned his Qi Wings—translucent, ethereal appendages shimmering with ghostly light. Qi Wings, the ability cultivators unlock when they reach the Ethereal Fusion Realm (Qi King).
With a powerful beat, he rose into the sky, leading them deeper into the Jade Radiant Forest (Yù Huī Lín).
The others followed in perfect formation, their own Qi Wings carrying youths silently into the darkening depths.
The deeper they flew into the forest, the more it changed.
Gone were the vibrant canopies of the outer edge. Here, the trees twisted together into a suffocating wall of black, their branches strangling the light until the sky itself seemed swallowed. The air hung heavy, colder with every mile, as if the forest recoiled from the purpose that drew them in.
Beneath their wings sprawled the true heart of the Jade Radiant Forest—a graveyard disguised as woodland. For generations, it had become the final resting place of children like Yan Tian—those born with the darkness element, deemed too dangerous to live.
Unbeknownst to the children or their families, they had come here for special training or brightfutures, but the moment their affinity for darkness was discovered, their fates were sealed. This was the unspoken law of the Daryn Empire (Dá Líng Dì Guó).
No exceptions. No appeals.
The Daryn Empire (Dá Líng Dì Guó) was one of the most powerful dynasties on the Dominant Radiant Star (Bà Huáng Xīng).
To the common people, it was a land of glory. But in its depths, fear ruled. The darkness element was not despised for its evil—it was feared for its potential. Left unchecked, it could rival kings. And so, the empire chose erasure.
Every three months, squads like Song Bu's were dispatched to collect children with the darkness element, luring them with promises of training and glory. Instead, they disappeared in places like this forest, where every trace of their existence was quietly erased.
The children were never seen again, and their families were powerless to stop the empire or learn their fate. Some families tried to ask, but the empire only told them that their children were working at the borders for the empire.
Now, Yan Tian and the others dangled in Qi shackles, their lives hanging by a thread no one would ever mourn.
The escorts felt no guilt. To them, this was routine—a duty, a paycheck, a step toward greater prestige. For Song Bu, it was more. Each successful mission carved another rung on his ladder to influence. So long as the empire's fear endured, hunters like him would never lack for work.
Ten minutes later, their silent flight ended.
The escorts landed in a desolate abyss nestled between three towering mountains. Before them yawned a vast, gaping hole, its depths swallowed by a darkness that seemed bottomless. The air was still, too still, as though the world held its breath.
Song Bu descended first, landing softly at the edge. The others followed, laying the unconscious children on the grass before forming a semicircle around the pit. Their faces remained hard, devoid of empathy or hesitation.
At first glance, it looked like nothing more than an empty pit. But Song Bu knew better. He crouched, picking a stone from the earth, and tossed it in.
For a heartbeat—silence.
Then the ground trembled.
White fire erupted, clawing at the sky. Ghostly hues of pink, blue, and green shimmered within the blaze. The heat pressed against their faces, yet the trees did not blacken, the grass did not wilt. The flames licked everything they touched, yet nothing burned.
A will lived in that fire. It spared the forest. It spared the earth.
The scarred man's voice broke the silence, low, almost reverent. "Every time… it feels alive. Look at it—it doesn't even scorch the trees."
Song Bu's eyes gleamed as the fire painted him in white. "The Inferno of Purity," he murmured. His voice carried weight, conviction. "A flame that cleanses the unworthy. The darkness element will find no trace left here…" He let the words hang, sharp as the fire's edge. "… it's a perfect place."
The woman with sharp eyes, standing to his left, smirked as she crossed her arms. "A fitting end for these brats. They'll be wiped clean, no trace left behind. Just like all the others."
The leader nodded, turning back to his team. "Do it. We're not here to linger."
With grim efficiency, the team set to work. Each member lifted a child with their Qi, the unconscious bodies floating weightlessly in the air.
One by one, they flung them into the white-hot flames. The fire roared as it accepted its offerings, curling greedily around the bodies as though they were nothing more than fuel.
The flames showed no mercy. The children vanished instantly; no ash, no remains, nothing.
As the last child disappeared, the leader's expression remained unreadable. His gaze lingered on the fire for a heartbeat longer, watching its fierce burn, though its purpose was fulfilled. "Mission accomplished," he said coldly, turning away.
The team nodded in silent agreement, their faces devoid of emotion. Summoning their Qi Wings once more, they rose into the sky in perfect unison.
The leader flew ahead, his silhouette framed by the flickering light below. Soon, the eerie silence of the Jade Radiant Forest (Yù Huī Lín) reclaimed the clearing, leaving behind only the strange beauty of untouched vegetation and the lingering heat of the Inferno of Purity.
Their mission was complete, but the air still carried the weight of countless erased lives.
The forest, once vibrant, now stood as a silent witness, its ancient depths concealing yet another massacre. The Jade Radiant Forest (Yù Huī Lín), renowned for its beauty, had long become a secret graveyard, where innocence was fed to the flames of the Inferno of Purity.
Yet, deep within the abyss, something miraculous stirred.
The white flames shifted, soft hues of pink, blue, and green flickering like breath. From their heart, twelve figures emerged—not consumed, but suspended. The children. Untouched. Their bodies floated weightlessly in a perfect circle, the inferno curling around them like protective arms.
The fire did not burn them. It cradled them. Had the elite team remained, their cold detachment would have shattered at the sight.
For a moment, the scene was peaceful, as if the flames themselves had chosen to spare them. Then, the fire stirred. Slowly at first, then faster, the flames spiraled upward, twisting into a cyclone that roared around the children. Its heart condensed, glowing brighter, compressing tighter, until it began to take shape.
With a burst of energy, the Inferno of Purity coalesced into the figure of a woman. In an instant, the celestial being emerged—an apparition of strength and grace.
She hovered at the circle's center, radiating power and serenity. Her skin glowed like moonlight over still water; her long hair flowed in ribbons of pink, blue, and green streaked with gold.
Her eyes, clear and piercing, carried the weight of ages—wisdom shaped by eternity. She stood tall—graceful, commanding, yet exuding an aura of warmth that softened the clearing.
White-and-gold robes draped her form, regal yet fluid, every fold alive with sacred grace. She was not flame, not flesh, but something greater—an embodiment of both destruction and mercy.
The clearing transformed. The roar of the fire hushed. A delicate floral fragrance drifted through the air, brushing the children like a lullaby.
Twelve bodies floated in perfect stillness around her, untouched, dreaming.
The Jade Radiant Forest had not become their grave.
It had become their cradle.
The celestial lady hovered in silence, her eyes drifting from child to child. Sorrow clouded her gaze. These were the forsaken—condemned not for their sins, but for the accident of their birth. She had not come to destroy them. She had come to shield them.
The stillness deepened, pressing on the clearing.
At last, her voice broke the silence. Soft, melodic, and mournful, it lingered in the air like a lullaby meant for lost souls. "Another group of the forsaken…" she murmured.
Though the flames did not echo her words, the air seemed to carry them, as if the forest itself absorbed her grief. The children stirred faintly, their breathing steadying as their slumber softened under her presence.
She drifted among them, her radiance brushing the flames into gentler light. Lifting her hand, she called forth twelve slender threads of fire, each glowing with pastel hues.
At a mere flick, they slipped into the children's brows, dissolving without a trace. Their expressions eased, as if the flames had carried away hidden burdens.
Her gaze paused on one boy. A plump child with brown hair, clad in silks embroidered with gold and silver, his finery stark against the others' plain clothes. She moved closer, placing her hand lightly on his head. Her eyes closed.
For a moment, she searched. Memories rose—privilege wielded as a weapon, petty cruelties against the poor, the arrogance of one who had never known hunger.
Her eyes opened, disapproval flickering within. "A rich child," she murmured. "So fond of crushing those beneath him."