The Realm of Hidden Origins did not rest.
Even as Li Chen and the others advanced beneath the dim jade sky, the land itself seemed to shift subtly around them—paths bending when unobserved, shadows stretching where no light should exist. What had been a straight route moments ago now curved unnaturally, leading them past the same fractured obelisk twice.
Zhao Feng was the first to notice.
"…Didn't we already pass that?" he muttered.
Han Yu stopped at once. His expression darkened as he released a thin wave of spiritual sense. The feedback was wrong—distorted, refracted, as though the space itself rejected scrutiny.
"We're being led," Han Yu said quietly.
Li Chen agreed, though he said nothing aloud. His instincts screamed. The realm was not attacking directly. It was guiding them—like herding prey into a narrowing enclosure.
He glanced back.
The mist behind them had thickened, forming an opaque wall that swallowed sound. Their footsteps made no echo now.
No retreat, Li Chen concluded. Only forward.
The air grew heavier.
Each breath carried a faint pressure, not enough to harm, but enough to remind them constantly that the realm was aware of their presence. Ancient qi pressed against their meridians, testing their stability, seeking weakness.
One of the sword sect disciples stumbled slightly.
"Careful," Han Yu warned.
The man nodded, jaw tight. "Something's interfering with my circulation."
Li Chen's eyes sharpened.
Not interference, he realized. Suppression.
The realm was subtly weakening those who lacked sufficient foundation.
They had not yet reached danger.
Danger was reaching them.
Without warning, the ground beneath Zhao Feng's foot rippled like water.
"Move—!" Li Chen shouted.
Too late.
Black vines erupted from the stone, wrapping around Zhao Feng's leg with shocking speed. They pulsed, thorned tendrils digging into flesh, draining qi in violent gulps.
Zhao Feng roared, flames exploding outward as he slashed downward with a burning blade. The vines recoiled, sizzling—but more emerged, lashing toward his torso.
The ruins came alive.
From cracks in the pillars crawled Stone Devourers, their bodies formed of jagged rock and glimmering crystal cores. They moved with unnatural silence, maws splitting open to reveal rotating rows of mineral teeth.
"Defensive formation!" Han Yu shouted.
The group reacted instantly.
Water qi surged, forming a translucent barrier around them as the sword sect disciples took point, blades flashing. Zhao Feng severed the last of the vines and leapt back, blood seeping through his robes.
Li Chen did not attack.
He retreated three steps.
This isn't random, he thought rapidly. The vines targeted the strongest aura first. The beasts are surrounding us, not charging blindly.
A test.
Or an execution.
"Don't waste energy!" Li Chen called out. "They're feeding on fluctuations!"
The Stone Devourers reacted immediately to Zhao Feng's next burst of flames, converging faster, cores glowing brighter.
Zhao Feng cursed, forcibly suppressing his qi.
The pressure eased—slightly.
Han Yu caught on at once. "Minimal output. Precision only."
The fight slowed, becoming tense and methodical. Sword strikes aimed for the cores. Water qi hardened into blades rather than waves. Each movement was measured.
Li Chen stepped forward then.
He drew no weapon.
Instead, he placed his palm against the ground and released a thread-thin pulse of sword intent, so refined it barely existed. It slid along the stone like a whisper, cutting through the vines' root network in absolute silence.
The vines shuddered… then collapsed into ash.
The Stone Devourers froze.
For a single breath, the entire battlefield stilled.
Then the beasts retreated, melting back into the ruins as though they had never been.
Silence returned.
Zhao Feng stared at the empty ground. "What… just happened?"
Li Chen withdrew his hand quickly, face pale. That single pulse had cost him more than he liked.
"…The danger passed," he said simply.
Han Yu looked at him differently now.
Not suspicion.
Assessment.
They moved again, slower than before, alert to every shift in the environment.
They did not make it far.
A sudden scream cut through the air—high, panicked, abruptly severed.
Li Chen's blood ran cold.
"That wasn't us," Zhao Feng said, voice tight.
Another group.
Somewhere close.
They followed the sound cautiously, arriving at the edge of a shattered ravine. Below, broken bodies lay scattered—robes of another sect, their cultivators torn apart by unseen force.
One was still alive.
Barely.
Li Chen crouched beside the dying disciple, ignoring the others' unease. "What happened?"
The man's eyes were wide, unfocused. "…The sky… moved. It folded… and they were gone…"
His head fell back.
Dead.
The ravine trembled.
Above them, the jade sky rippled—folded—just as the man had said.
Li Chen's heart hammered.
"Run," he said softly.
They didn't argue.
They ran.
Behind them, space collapsed inward with a soundless roar, erasing the ravine entirely. Where it had been moments before, there was now only smooth stone—as if nothing had ever existed there at all.
They did not stop running until their lungs burned and their legs trembled.
When they finally collapsed beneath a crooked archway, no one spoke.
Danger was not hidden here.
It was everywhere.
It was patient.
And it was learning.
Li Chen clenched his fists, a cold resolve settling in his chest.
Two months, he thought grimly. This realm doesn't expect us to conquer it.
It expects most of them to die quietly.
And for the first time since entering, Li Chen truly understood—
Surviving this place would require more than caution.
It would require choosing when to risk everything… and when to vanish without a trace.