In that instant when Wang Lin’s sepulcher reached the Fifth Order, within the Sixth Map, the mists, rather than being thick, thinned somewhat, but there, amidst the ether, surged countless spatial rifts, swirling with unpredictable malice. A careless step would invite their wrath, tearing flesh and bone asunder.

Upon this desolate terrain rested a colossal sepulcher, six thousand fathoms in breadth, its surface adorned with a macabre tapestry of severed heads. These heads, though appearing haphazardly strewn, were in truth arranged in a ghastly formation, a necromantic array woven from the very essence of death.

Bathed in the effluvium of gore, at the heart of this ossuary, sat an elder, his form still and serene amidst the swirling chaos.

Garbed in robes as black as the abyss, his hair, once raven, was now streaked with the silver of encroaching age. His visage, an ever-shifting canvas of youth and decay, bore the marks of time’s cruel jest. Upon his brow, a crescent mark glowed, yet it was not the brand of the Moon Devourers, but a sigil of infernal power, a cursed brand whispering of demonic pacts.

Had Myao Yin Daozun, before the vile usurpation of his form, beheld this figure, his eyes would have narrowed, his mind reeling in apprehension. For this was none other than the Nine Heavens Demon Lord, one of the Ancient Five, who, upon the fall of the Fractured Earth, had fled wounded, nursing his bitter defeat.

In a sudden burst, the Nine Heavens Demon Lord’s eyes snapped open, their depths swirling with a maelstrom of black and white light.

“The Sixth…” he rasped, his voice a grating echo of two swords grinding against each other in the void.

Within the Fourth Map, the mists churned like a tempestuous sea, writhing and roiling as if tormented spirits shrieked their eternal lamentations. The very air vibrated with their anguish, unsettling the mind and chilling the soul. In these haunted lands, travelers were rare, yet through the swirling vapor, a sepulcher of five thousand fathoms could be discerned, hurtling forward with grim determination.

Upon this spectral platform stood a warrior, bare-chested and exuding raw power, his every movement a testament to brute strength. Behind him, a spectral wolf howled into the storm, its ethereal form a haunting echo of primal ferocity.

The sepulcher was stained with the dried ichor of countless battles, and the warrior himself bore the scars of grievous wounds. He was the very same hunter, the Third Step Paragon of the Sky-Devouring Wolf Clan, who had pursued Wang Lin into this ancient necropolis.

As the sepulcher careened through the misty veil, the warrior’s face hardened. With a sudden flash in his eyes, he performed an arcane hand gesture, pressing his palm upon the sepulcher. A thunderous resonance ripped through his mind.

After an eternity, the warrior’s features darkened, his brow furrowed in grim realization.

“Another sepulcher reaching the Fifth Order! Which Paragon dares tread this path…?”

Deep within the ancient graveyard, above a sea of mist, floated countless, sealed platforms. Beneath a dim, oppressive sky, one such platform, five thousand fathoms in expanse, sliced through the air with unnatural speed.

Upon this ethereal stage stood a woman, clad in pristine white, her raven hair billowing in the wind. Her expression was as cold and unyielding as the distant stars.

As she journeyed onward, her brow furrowed in vexation. After a long, silent contemplation, a flicker of cold light ignited in her eyes.

“Who could it be…? Perhaps that Myao Yin…” she murmured, her voice a delicate whisper. The sepulcher continued its relentless trek, vanishing into the horizon.

Deeper still within the ancient graveyard, past the realms of mists, lay a land of infinite winds. These gales, razor sharp and relentless, howled through the void, capable of tearing apart flesh and shattering the strongest of defenses.

A guttural roar echoed through the tempest, revealing a towering figure, dozens of fathoms in height, striding madly forward. His pace was slow, yet his determination unwavering. Each gust of wind tore at his flesh, carving new wounds upon his massive form, fueling his enraged cries.

Trailing behind this titan, floated a sepulcher a thousand fathoms in size. Upon it sat a maiden, garbed in the hue of dawn. Her beauty was intoxicating, radiating a charm that could ensnare even the most hardened heart.

“Hurry, Brother Tuosen! If I am to venture deep into this ancient tomb, I shall depend on you!” The maiden giggled, her rosy lips parted in a coy smile. Her voice, laced with a subtle lasciviousness, slithered into the ears, sending shivers of tantalizing unease down the spine.

“Silence, harlot! Your incessant prattle grates upon my nerves! One more word, and I shall…”

Before Tuosen could finish his rebuke, the maiden’s enticing laughter echoed again, shaking her entire form. She was like a delicate flower swaying in the wind, her sensuality a weapon.

“I adore your brute nature… Perhaps we should pause so I can offer you some sweets to quell your anger… Would you like that, my dear…?”

Veins bulged on Tuosen’s forehead. With a low growl, he ignored the siren and stomped onward.

The two figures receded into the distance, leaving behind only the lingering echo of wanton laughter.

…

Within the Fifth Map, Wang Lin pondered the revelations. As he was about to retract his divine sense from the sepulcher, the consciousness embedded within surged with energy, transforming into a voice echoing through the eons, resonating within his very being.

“He who unlocks the Fifth Order Sepulcher may open the Gates of Rebirth, to become one of the Provers of my legacy… Nine Orders is the final step. If you are of my lineage, you may enter the Gates of Rebirth to seek my inheritance. If not, the first to reach the Ninth Order may seize my Underworld… I am… Yeh Mo…”

The voice reverberated within Wang Lin’s mind. In its fading echoes, Wang Lin sensed his soul melding with the ancient tomb. He felt four distinct auras, faintly perceived, scattered throughout the labyrinthine depths.

“Daoist Gu Yeh Mo…” Wang Lin’s heart quickened. This was the second time he had heard that name, the first from the Vermilion Bird. He remembered the Vermilion Bird’s words:

“I know little of the Ancient God path, but in my era, the Ancient Gods possessed power that shook the heavens. Daoist Gu Yeh Mo, though never named among the Immortal Venerables, possessed strength that even they would fear…”

Wang Lin fell into a long silence, his eyes burning with intense light.

With his astute mind, he instantly surmised that those four auras, like himself, originated from sepulchers reaching the Fifth Order or higher.

“If I can sense them after reaching the Fifth Order, they must be able to sense me as well…

“This ancient tomb is treacherous enough, but what of the Underworld mentioned in that voice…?”

He considered the possibilities, then lowered his gaze to the sepulcher beneath him. He now realized that the sepulcher itself was key to unlocking the tomb’s secrets.

“According to that voice, I must reach the Ninth Order before anyone else…” Wang Lin looked toward the misty depths. According to the map, that direction led to the strange forest.
Years past, the rogue star, Tan Lang, stumbled upon the ancient Verdant Leaf and a peculiar effigy. He spoke of a swirling vortex erupting upon touching the effigy, a gateway he entered, only to find himself cast beyond the very confines of the ancient tomb, thrust into the outer realms! One could only wonder if that vortex still lingered… Regardless, this eerie forest held secrets he was now bound to unearth.

Thus resolved, Wang Lin urged his burial dais forward, a swift passage toward the unknown. He settled into a meditative posture, channeling his inner energies to mend his wounds, hastening his recovery.

He emitted a potent aura, beckoning forth the savage, humanoid beasts lurking within the obscuring mists. As these creatures lunged, crimson light flashed, and each met a wretched demise, their life essence drawn forth, invigorating Wang Lin and accelerating his healing.

The journey pressed on, marked by ceaseless slaughter. After several sun-cycles, Wang Lin left behind a trail of devoured bestial corpses, swallowed by the ever-present mists.

At long last, the burial dais ground to a halt. Before him, the mists parted, revealing a landscape of stark, withered yellow, twisted and contorted.

Wang Lin opened his eyes, his gaze fixed upon the distorted vista. He cast forth his spiritual sense, but the moment it touched the twisted scene, it was violently repelled by an unseen force.

His eyes glinted as the withered yellow pulsed wildly. Within moments, a four-leafed sigil materialized, a perfect match to the Verdant Leaf itself.

With a gesture, Wang Lin summoned a Verdant Leaf into his hand. He cast it forth, and the leaf sped toward the twisted landscape, fitting precisely into the waiting sigil.

A thunderous roar echoed, and cracks spiderwebbed across the sigil, as if about to shatter. In the blink of an eye, the fissures expanded outward, tearing open a gaping rift.

Without hesitation, Wang Lin dismissed his burial dais and stepped into the rift, vanishing from sight. As he did, the opening contracted, reforming the twisted, withered scene.

A musty, decaying air swept over him, heavy with the scent of death. Wang Lin found himself in a vast, desolate forest. The trees stood petrified, their skeletal forms a macabre tableau.

“This is it…” Wang Lin murmured, his gaze sweeping over the landscape. Everything matched Tan Lang’s description. He moved forward, his pace quickening, drawn toward the heart of the blighted forest.

The forest was immense, seemingly without end. Even at Wang Lin’s considerable speed, it took half a day to catch sight of its heart: a clearing devoid of withered trees.

In the clearing, a vortex spun ceaselessly, its core a void of absolute darkness, a possible gateway to another plane.

Wang Lin halted a hundred paces from the vortex, studying it intently. Below, the ground sagged, a depression that seemed to mark the former presence of a statue… a giant, unfaded pestle.

“The Verdant Leaf is a treasure beyond measure. If it was born here, there must be a way to birth more!” Wang Lin retreated to a withered tree. He placed his hand upon its trunk, channeling his spiritual sense, exploring its depths, and probing the earth beneath.

As his senses delved into the tree’s roots, Wang Lin gasped softly. He felt his awareness extend deep into the soil, and there, he glimpsed something startling!

Wang Lin swiftly retracted his hand, leaping into the air, looking down.

The vast forest, he realized, was shaped like a colossal skull!

“So that’s it!” His gaze pierced the withered trees, sweeping beneath the surface. As he deciphered what lay hidden beneath the earth, a cold light sparked in his eyes. Without hesitation, he slashed his hand before him, summoning a crimson light that materialized into a blood-soaked sword. It transformed into a streak of scarlet, plunging toward the earth!

The sword shrieked as it descended, a harbinger of destruction!

Meanwhile, at the edge of the fourth map, a hulking warrior of the Feng Tian Wolf clan raced forward on his burial dais. Following the path in his mind, he burst from the fourth map, entering the fifth.

A feral grin stretched across his face, and greed shone in his eyes. As he crossed into the fifth map, he produced a Verdant Leaf!

“I wrestled this from others, finally seizing one of the two leaves. Alas, the other was stolen by Ling Dong, and its whereabouts are unknown… This leaf seems plain, but had I not pursued that wretched cultivator, witnessed its power and its strange, sealing abilities, I would never have known its true worth!

At the edge of this fifth map, there is a Verdant Leaf mark. Perhaps more of these treasures await there!” The warrior licked his lips, urging his burial dais onward.