Ashar's voice trembled as he steadied his fading hands. "Before I disappear completely… I must finish regulating your Spiritual Sea."
He placed both palms over Ragon's chest. A faint golden glow spread from his hands, seeping into Ragon's body like flowing light.
Inside Ragon, the world changed. He felt pulled down into the Spiritual Sea a wide pool of moving light and sound. Currents of purple energy lashed like wind. Streams fought each other. Ragon's meridians his the channels that carried energy throbbed and snapped like weak ropes under strain.
Every cultivator lies a world of energy called the Spiritual Sea.
It is the source of their strength the place where all divine energy gathers and flows. When it's calm, a cultivator can control their power with ease. But when it's unstable, it can destroy them from the inside.
The deeper and steadier one's Spiritual Sea is, the stronger they can become. Some have seas as small as ponds, while others have vast oceans that can hold endless power.
To fix or "regulate" someone's Spiritual Sea is a dangerous act. It means touching the very center of who they are their soul and their energy. One mistake could ruin a person completely.
Ashar had used the last of his strength to balance Ragon's Spiritual Sea, making sure the huge surge of divine and purple energy inside him didn't tear him apart.
For most people, that would have been a miracle.
For Ragon, it was only the beginning of something far greater.
Ashar did not shout or wave his arms. He moved with slow, exact actions the way monks train for years to learn.
Ashar first opened Ragon's lower dantian the main storage in the sea. He matched Ragon's breath, slow and steady, and whispered a short chant. The chant was a simple rhythm that made Ragon's pulse fall. The central pool slowed its boil enough to let Ashar reach inside.
With patient hands, Ashar felt along Ragon's meridians. Where energy spilled out he put a finger, and the feeling of tearing eased a little. These were small breaks in the channels. If left alone, they would burst under strain.
Ashar formed a tight pattern of lines across the sea a regulation grid. Imagine ropes stretched over a rough ocean. Each rope was a thread of quiet energy. He anchored those threads to nine stable points: the dantian, the major meridian nodes, and five hidden basins inside Ragon where energy could safely sit. He tied each thread with a short tone a single sound that held the knot in place.
Purple currents still lunged, but Ashar guided them into the basins. He did this by pushing with his palms and humming low. The basins acted like safe ponds. The purple that had raged now pooled and cooled. When a current tried to jump its channel, Ashar drove it back with a firm, steady pressure.
Where a meridian had split, Ashar laid small stitches of light across the tear. Each stitch burned a little of his own phantom energy. Ragon felt sharp heat and then a dull tightening, like a wound being bandaged. The stitches held. The channels stopped bleeding.
Finally Ashar reached the center and shaped a small anchor...a firm, still stone in the middle of the sea. He forced the purple energy to loop around that anchor instead of tearing outward. The anchor made one stable center for Ragon's divine flow to tie to.
Every move cost Ashar. Each knot, each stitch pulled from his reserve. He did not hesitate. He kept the chant steady and the breath even.
At the end he pressed both palms flat and pushed the grid tight. The currents shuddered, then quieted. The violent churning dropped to a steady tide. Ragon's Spiritual Sea stopped trying to tear itself apart. The main channels hummed as energy moved through them without bursting.
Ashar let out one long, exhausted breath. His phantom form trembled.
"You are balanced for now," he said, voice thin.
Ragon came back to himself with a heavy, clean feeling in his chest. The pressure was gone. The violent pulls were gone. He could sense dozens of small channels open, steady, and waiting to be trained.
Ragon exhaled slowly, his body finally relaxing. "That… felt like I almost exploded," he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "But it feels calm now and stable."
Ragon stood before Ashar, whose form was gradually fading. The once-brilliant aura that surrounded the monk now flickered weakly, its light dimming with every passing second.
"I don't have much time," Ashar said, his voice heavy with fatigue. "All you need to do now is pass through that doorway." He gestured weakly toward a glowing door that had appeared before them, its outline shinning with a faint golden light.
"I've used the last of my strength regulating your Spiritual Sea. This phantom won't last much longer."
Ragon's gaze lingered on the door... He could feel the weight of the choice pressing down on him: step forward into danger, or turn back and abandon everything he had fought for.
After a long breath, resolve hardened in his eyes.
"There's nothing left for me to lose," he said quietly. "I'll go."
Ashar's fading form managed a faint smile. "Good," he murmured, his tone softening. "You've made the right choice."
As the last trace of Ashar's aura dissolved into motes of light, Ragon stepped through the door.
Instantly, a powerful current seized him pulling, twisting, and dragging him into another realm. When his feet finally touched solid ground again, it was soft and cool. He looked down to find himself standing on a field of vibrant green grass, the air rich with the scent of fresh earth.
Before him stretched an island encircled by calm, shimmering waters. The sky above glowed with a strange, gentle light, and at the island's center stood a grove of enormous trees, their trunks wide as towers, their canopies stretching endlessly into the heavens.
"Where… am I?" Ragon muttered, scanning his surroundings in awe.
Then, suddenly, a blur cut through the air. A figure sped toward him with blinding speed, the ground trembling in its wake. In the blink of an eye, it halted midair a humanoid silhouette wrapped in a fierce, radiant aura.
Ragon instinctively took a step back, every nerve in his body alert.
The atmosphere had changed. Something or someone powerful had just arrived.
Ragon squinted, studying the figure before him. This time, it was an elderly monk...likely in his nineties...with a long white mustache and a bald head that gleamed faintly under the light. His calm expression carried an air of ancient wisdom, and the sharpness in his eyes spoke of strength that defied his frail appearance.
Ragon's curiosity stirred. He could already guess who this was. "I'm guessing you're still Ashar," he said cautiously, keeping his distance.
The old monk smiled faintly. "Yes, I am still Ashar," he replied, his voice deep and composed.
As Ragon observed him, he realized this version of Ashar felt different stronger, more complete. The aura around him was thicker, heavier, almost divine. That's when it clicked. He divided his spiritual consciousness into fragments. Each one Ragon had faced before must have been a lesser piece of the same soul, each trial building up to this final form.
It was a clever design one that ensured intruders couldn't exploit the tomb's weaknesses. Ragon couldn't help but respect the old monk's foresight.
After a brief silence, Ragon spoke, his tone steady but edged with curiosity rather than respect.
"So, before I go through another round of your tricks," he said, folding his arms, "I'd at least like to know who you really are."
raised an eyebrow, slightly amused by Ragon's change in tone. The younger man's usual arrogance was replaced by something closer to curiosity perhaps even humility. Folding his arms, the monk regarded him carefully.
"You wish to know who I am?" he asked, his voice calm yet commanding.
"Yes," Ragon answered. "If I'm to inherit your legacy, I should understand the man behind it."
A faint smile tugged at Ashar's lips. "Very well, Ragon," he said softly. "Let me tell you who I truly am."
He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze drifting as though peering into a distant past.
"I was once like you," Ashar began, his voice steady but rich with memory. "A young warrior filled with ambition and the will to surpass all limits. My rise was swift...too swift for my peers to accept. By the age of twenty, I had already stepped into the Earth Realm. That achievement alone earned me both admiration and envy across the lands."
Ragon listened intently, feeling the weight behind Ashar's words.
"But my ambitions didn't stop there," Ashar continued. "I was determined to go beyond what anyone thought possible. For decades, I trained relentlessly....pushing my body, mind, and spirit to their absolute limits. And at sixty, I finally crossed into the threshold of the Transcendant Realm. A feat few achieve even after centuries of cultivation."
His expression darkened, voice softening. "But that was where my journey faltered. Reaching the Transcendant Realm wasn't enough. I sought godhood..to become something greater. Yet the tribulation that followed…" His gaze turned distant. "It was beyond imagination. The heavens themselves seemed to reject me."
He paused, eyes locking onto Ragon's. "I failed. The tribulation's power shattered me completely body, soul, and will. I died trying to reach the very height I'd chased all my life."
Ragon frowned, processing every word. "So this tomb… you built it knowing you might not survive?"
Ashar nodded slowly. "Yes. Before I faced the tribulation, I prepared for that outcome. I divided a fifth of my spiritual energy and sealed it within this tomb. That energy, along with the trials I designed, was meant to guide and test those who would one day seek my legacy."
He gestured around the vast space. "This isn't just a resting place...it's a crucible. Only those who can prove their strength, wisdom, and perseverance are worthy of what I've left behind."
Ragon tilted his head. "Then why set your tomb in a star-level village? Someone like you could've chosen anywhere far grander."
A faint smile tugged at Ashar's lips. "That was intentional. I didn't want cultivators at the Core Realm or higher to attempt my trials."
"Why not?" Ragon asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
Ashar's tone grew heavier. "Because of my own flaws. My foundation at the Core Realm had cracks born from my impatience for power. It didn't hinder me immediately, but it became a weakness as I advanced. I couldn't let another follow that same unstable path. That's why I placed this tomb here...so only those below the Core Realm could try."
Ragon crossed his arms, his tone laced with a hint of challenge. "Then what's the third trial? Because honestly, I haven't seen anything that counts as one yet."
Ashar's gaze hardened. "Boy, you underestimate my legacy." He took a step forward, his presence pressing down like a mountain. "I will ask you one question a question that no one answered in my lifetime. The very question that kept me from becoming a god."
His eyes glowed faintly, "Tell me, Ragon...what is the essence of balance in cultivation? How does one harmonize the physical, spiritual, and mental aspects of their being to ascend without self-destruction?"