The sea was calm on the surface, but beneath it a storm was growing.
Far below the sunlit waves, where most soul masters never dared to venture, ancient ruins continued to stir with life. Pillars carved with strange patterns glowed faintly, illuminating the shadows of what once had been a mighty empire.
The revival of Atlantis had already begun.
Fragments of marble halls were piecing themselves back together. Statues of sea kings and queens rose upright again, their broken heads rejoining their bodies as if time itself was reversing. The water vibrated faintly with power, as though every current carried whispers of forgotten history.
None of the explorers above had any idea.
But Bai Chen, standing quietly on a cliff overlooking the ocean, knew.
He had not forced this revival to happen all at once. That would be reckless. Instead, he gently guided threads of myth into the world, weaving them like a fisherman casting nets. Every day, every tide, Atlantis grew stronger, not because people believed in it but because reality itself was accepting its return.
He looked no different from a wandering teenager. His clothes were simple, his face unremarkable. Anyone passing by would not spare him a second glance. That was exactly how he wanted it.
The loom in his mind hummed faintly, offering him choices. Bai Chen ignored most of them. Too much meddling would cause imbalance. Instead, he focused on the faint glimmer of a new possibility.
A serpent.
Deep below Atlantis's ruins, something stirred. It was not his creation—it had always existed, waiting. A colossal Naga, its scales glimmering like bronze in the darkness, coiled beneath the seabed. Its body was so massive that it could circle entire ruins like a guardian.
But it was weak, half-asleep, half-forgotten.
Bai Chen wove a single thread, subtle and delicate. He did not create the Naga. He simply gave it context, a myth to belong to.
In his mind, he whispered:
"Guardian of Atlantis. Serpent of the primordial seas. Naga of endless coils."
The loom shivered, and reality accepted the story.
The Naga's closed eyes opened, glowing faint gold. The water trembled as if bowing before its awakening.
Bai Chen exhaled slowly. He had not unleashed a monster to rampage. Instead, he had set a foundation. The Naga would awaken slowly, guarding the ruins, luring adventurers in the future, becoming part of the myth.
He smiled faintly. Another step complete.
But just as he prepared to leave, something unexpected happened.
The sky above the sea darkened slightly. A cry pierced the air—not the cry of a seabird, but something sharper, prouder. Bai Chen looked up, his expression still calm, though inside he felt a ripple of surprise.
High above, a massive shadow flew across the clouds. Its wings stretched wider than a ship, its feathers gleaming like fire-touched gold.
Garuda.
The divine bird of Indian legends, enemy of serpents, slayer of Nagas.
Bai Chen narrowed his eyes. He had not woven this.
The loom in his mind buzzed faintly, showing him threads he had not touched. Some were forming on their own, reacting to the balance he had created. If the Naga had been woven into Atlantis's myth, then naturally, Garuda had appeared as its counterpart.
"Interesting," Bai Chen whispered, his voice almost lost to the wind.
This was the danger of weaving myths. Reality was not a puppet—it responded, adapted, and sometimes pulled in things beyond his control. He had opened a door, and now other myths were walking through.
The Garuda circled high above, its sharp eyes scanning the ocean. Its wings caused the clouds themselves to scatter, and the faint sound of Sanskrit chanting echoed in the wind, as though ancient hymns followed it wherever it went.
Bai Chen closed his eyes briefly, weighing the threads. Should he erase it? Force it back into nothingness?
No. That would be foolish. Every myth, once accepted, was like a seed in fertile soil. Trying to rip it out would only damage the ground. Better to let it grow, to let the balance between serpent and bird play out naturally.
The Naga beneath the sea stirred restlessly as though sensing its ancient enemy. The Garuda above let out another cry, its voice full of divine majesty.
The clash had not begun yet, but the world had already shifted.
And no one knew who had caused it.
On the cliff, Bai Chen lowered his gaze, hiding his faint smile. He turned, walking back into the forest, leaving no trace behind. To anyone who saw him, he was just a wandering orphan, nameless and unremarkable.
But behind him, the ocean carried the weight of awakening myths—Atlantis rebuilding, Nagas rising, Garuda descending from the heavens.
The world was growing vaster, richer, and no one would ever know who had set it all into motion.
A small group of spirit masters gathered on the rocky shores of the Eastern Sea.
They were not famous. None of them were top-ranked experts. They were explorers—ordinary soul masters driven by curiosity, greed, and the desire to discover something new. Word of strange lights beneath the water had spread through nearby towns, and these adventurers had come to see for themselves.
Among them was a middle-aged man with scars across his face, a veteran of many expeditions. His name was Zhou Shan, a Soul King. He carried a spear etched with faint lightning marks, his martial soul being the Thunder Pike. He was the leader of this ragtag group.
"Stay alert," Zhou Shan ordered. "The sea is never safe. Don't let curiosity kill you."
The younger explorers nodded nervously. Most of them were only Soul Elders or Soul Ancestors. The lure of treasures hidden under the waves outweighed their fear.
What they didn't know was that they were walking into the opening chapter of a legend far older than them.
Far up on the cliffs, Bai Chen watched quietly. His expression was indifferent, but in his mind, threads shimmered like strands of light. He didn't intend to control the explorers directly. That would make things obvious. Instead, he adjusted the environment, letting the myths guide them.
A faint glow emerged among the rocks by the shoreline. It was a slab, half-buried, revealed only because the tide had receded. Its surface was carved with strange patterns—curves that twisted like serpents, wings that stretched like birds, and lines that looked almost like writing.
The explorers rushed forward, their excitement drowning out their fear.
"What is this?" one of them exclaimed, brushing sand off the stone. "These aren't spirit marks I've ever seen."
Another frowned, tracing the lines with his fingers. "It almost looks like… words. But not any words I know."
The leader, Zhou Shan, crouched down. His eyes narrowed as he studied the slab. He couldn't read it either, but his instincts told him it was important.
And then, faintly, the carvings began to glow.
A golden light seeped from the lines, forming faint symbols in the air. They floated above the slab like wisps of fireflies. None of the explorers understood them, yet all of them felt the meaning press into their hearts.
It was not just words. It was intent.
"The Breath of Garuda… The Coils of Naga…" one of them muttered unconsciously, as though possessed. "Balance of Heaven and Sea…"
The explorers froze. The words were foreign, yet their souls trembled as if these were truths older than their world.
Bai Chen watched silently, eyes calm. He had not created the slab outright. That would be too obvious. Instead, he had guided the myths, weaving them into the ruins of Atlantis. The slab had become a bridge, merging the Sanskrit-like essence of Indian philosophy with the oceanic myths of Atlantis.
The result was breathtaking.
Soul masters had always cultivated through spirit rings and martial souls. But these carvings whispered of something deeper: of breathing with the universe, of aligning body, spirit, and myth.
The explorers didn't understand all of it, but they felt the difference.
"This…" Zhou Shan muttered, his scarred face trembling slightly. "This isn't ordinary cultivation. This is a path."
One of the younger explorers suddenly cried out. His martial soul, a simple Sea Serpent, glowed faintly without him summoning it. Around its shadowy form, faint golden feathers shimmered, as though something was merging with it.
Everyone stared in shock. His martial soul was changing.
The boy fell to his knees, gasping as his soul power surged uncontrollably. He had been stuck at the thirty-second rank for years, yet now his soul power broke through in a single breath.
Thirty-third. Thirty-fourth. Thirty-fifth.
The others looked on in disbelief. A breakthrough without meditation, without soul rings, without cultivation resources? Just by touching those carvings?
Zhou Shan's eyes blazed with greed. "This place is ours. Guard it with your lives!"
The explorers drew their weapons, wary of threats.
They never realized the truth—that they were pawns in a game they couldn't see, pieces on a board Bai Chen had laid out.
Above, Garuda's shadow flickered faintly in the clouds, its cry echoing across the sea. Beneath, the Naga coiled, watching silently.
Balance. Opposites. A mythic law was forming, one that would echo across the continent in time.
Bai Chen turned, walking deeper into the forest, his steps unhurried. He had no need to stay. The explorers would spread rumors themselves. Towns would whisper of divine symbols, of cultivation beyond soul rings, of a path that connected heaven, earth, and spirit.
And just like that, myths became reality.
The Spirit Continent was expanding again, and no one would ever know that the nameless boy who walked away from the cliffs had been the weaver of it all.
The explorers left the beach with trembling hearts and clenched fists.
They had come searching for treasures of the sea. Instead, they had stumbled into something far greater—a fragment of the divine.
For days afterward, they avoided speaking openly of what they had seen. But fear and greed are weak chains. The young man whose martial soul had transformed could not hide his new aura. His Sea Serpent martial soul now bore faint traces of golden feathers. When he summoned it, the serpent's scales shimmered faintly with divine brilliance, its eyes sharp as if infused with a higher will.
He became the talk of every tavern. People whispered:
"A spirit master whose martial soul evolved without soul bones or heavenly herbs?"
"They say he touched a stone by the sea, and symbols of light appeared."
"Garuda, Naga… ancient words of gods no one has heard of before."
The stories grew with every retelling. Some said the explorers had found an immortal scripture buried in the ocean. Others claimed they had seen a divine bird flying across the waves. A few even insisted the ruins of a sunken empire—Atlantis—had emerged briefly before vanishing.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
Merchants carried the tale to port cities. Scholars at small academies wrote frantic notes. Even disciples of great clans began to whisper, uncertain if this was truth or delusion.
For the Spirit Pagoda, news of this "alternate cultivation" path was both an opportunity and a threat.
In one of their coastal branches, a white-robed elder sat in silence as a trembling messenger repeated the story. His expression was calm, but his fingers tapped against the table.
"If it is real," the elder murmured, "then the entire foundation of our Spirit Pagoda may change. A path of cultivation outside of soul rings… If it spreads unchecked, who will still need our spirits?"
He dismissed the messenger, but in his heart, he knew this matter could not be ignored.
Meanwhile, Bai Chen walked through a crowded marketplace in the nearby town. He looked no different from an ordinary traveler—dusty clothes, a cheap satchel, no aura that revealed his true strength. People brushed past him without a second glance.
Yet every word of gossip that reached his ears was exactly as he had intended.
"Garuda's wings can lift the soul to heaven."
"The Naga coils around the seas, guarding hidden wisdom."
"They say if you breathe with the rhythm of the carvings, your cultivation rises faster…"
The myths were alive now. They no longer needed his hand. The stories themselves would carry across the continent, planting seeds in the hearts of countless soul masters.
Bai Chen paused at a fruit stall, buying a simple pear. The old vendor smiled at him, treating him like any other customer. No one suspected that the very myths reshaping their world had begun because of this ordinary-looking boy.
Far above, clouds gathered in strange shapes. To the untrained eye, they were only drifting weather. But Bai Chen saw them clearly: a vast bird with golden wings, and a serpent coiling endlessly below. Their forms overlapped, neither attacking nor retreating, locked in a balance as old as creation itself.
This was the law he had written into reality. Garuda was the force of the sky—freedom, ascent, transcendence. Naga was the force of the sea—depth, restraint, eternal cycles. Together they formed a mythic duality that mirrored the world's own balance of heaven and earth.
Bai Chen's lips curved slightly. This balance would remain for now. But one day, when the myths grew stronger, conflict would be inevitable.
That clash would not destroy the world. It would refine it. Just as ore is hammered into steel, the world needed opposing forces to forge itself into something greater.
For now, he turned away, blending into the crowd like a shadow. His presence left no trace, no whisper of divinity. Only the quiet satisfaction of a background actor watching the stage he had set.
The Spirit Continent was vast, and this was only the first ripple. Many more myths waited to be woven.
And Bai Chen had all the patience in the world.