Upon the Celestial Plains, the stars waned before the ascendant moon, whose silvery light bathed the land, shrouding the grasslands in an ethereal glow. From afar, a profound serenity veiled the memory of the day’s brutal clash, where tens of thousands of cultivators had waged war.

No trace of the fallen remained, neither corpse nor shard of bone. The spectral mists that had arisen during the conflict had devoured all, leaving no sign of the carnage, rendering this place indistinguishable from any other tranquil meadow.

Only the faintest, lingering tang of blood hinted at the day’s desperate struggle.

But the moon’s luminescence could not pierce the veil of the earth, nor illuminate the depths of the subterranean palace. Within its shadowed halls, in a secluded grotto, sat Wang Lin, cloaked in darkness so complete that his form seemed to merge with the black void.

The price of Liu Zhiyuan’s demise had been steep. The meticulous calculations, the final, decisive blow, had left him pale and weakened. Now, he sat in meditative repose, gathering his strength.

After an untold span, Wang Lin opened his eyes, and twin sparks of fierce light ignited within their depths. In the pitch blackness, they resembled twin flames, flickering with an unsettling intensity.

He now knew the truth of slaying an Emptiness Tribulant cultivator. To extinguish such a life was no trifling matter, as difficult as it would be for another to extinguish his own. Liu Zhiyuan’s many arts and treasures had barely been drawn before death claimed him, so cleverly had Wang Lin seized his opportunity. Had circumstances been different, the outcome might well have favored the slain cultivator.

“Ten Emptiness Tribulant Initial Stage cultivators, three at the Middle Stage… Qingniu Old Ancestor’s task is fraught with peril,” Wang Lin murmured, the weight of the agreement he had made settling upon him.

Yet, he had accepted willingly, for he could not abide remaining in debt for the three extraordinary gifts offered. The Water Essence alone was a treasure beyond measure, akin to gifting him a fundamental principle of existence.

To grasp an Essence through one’s own efforts was a feat of daunting difficulty, as evidenced by his arduous mastery of the Thunder and Fire Essences. Such a gift was too great to refuse.

The Space Stone, though seemingly mundane, held an undercurrent of arcane power. Wang Lin suspected it contained untold dimensions within its heart, an enigma yet to be unraveled.

And then there was the third gift: a single chance to deduce fate, a lifeline to be drawn upon in times of dire need, capable of turning the tide of destiny itself.

These three gifts, so laden with potential, demanded a recompense worthy of their worth.

“Nine Emptiness Tribulant Initial Stage cultivators remain… If I could fell one, then surely I can fell nine. But those three Middle Stage cultivators… Even if I detonated the gourd containing thirty million Dao souls, I could only slay one… And the remaining two Emptiness Tribulant Great Venerates…” Wang Lin’s brow furrowed, yet his eyes gleamed with a cold determination.

“Qingniu Old Ancestor believes that I cannot accomplish this task swiftly, that it will bind me here for an extended period… But I desire no part in the coming war between Tianniu and Green Devil. I must fulfill my obligations with all possible haste. Then, free of all ties to the Great Soul Sect, I shall depart from this place!” He stared down at the unseen earth beneath him, his mind teeming with possibilities.

Suddenly, he lifted his gaze, piercing the veil of the grotto’s entrance. In that instant, the subterranean palace was still, save for the subtle susurrus of breath. The faint light emanating from scattered moonstones cast eerie shadows.

Through the gloom, a woman’s wraithlike form drifted like smoke, halting before Wang Lin’s dwelling.

She gazed upon the entrance, hesitant, and after a long silence, prepared to send a divine message. But before she could, Wang Lin’s voice, calm and measured, echoed from within.

“Fellow Daoist Yan Luan, why linger outside in the dark hours? Please, enter.” As his words faded, the grotto’s entrance opened soundlessly, revealing a sliver of darkness, an impenetrable abyss.

From Yan Luan’s perspective, the crack in the door seemed like the maw of a great beast, beckoning her into its depths.

She hesitated a moment more, then steeled herself. Driven by a question that gnawed at her peace, Yan Luan stepped forward, her form dissolving into the shadows.

As she passed through the threshold, the entrance slammed shut, sealing the grotto without a trace.

With the door sealed, Yan Luan came to an abrupt halt. The darkness was complete, broken only by the faint ability to channel cultivation into the eyes, allowing just a glimmer of definition.

She could faintly discern the silhouette of Wang Lin, seated not far ahead. His presence exerted a profound pressure, a weight stemming from the wager made at the Hidden Soul Pavilion.

As a woman, she sensed something more: a faint aura of death. It was not directed at her, but a residue of a recent act of violence. It was the scent of a slayer, fresh from the kill, dispersing into the air. This essence was detectable only to those practiced in the mystic arts.

For a reason she could not fully explain, the aura evoked the image of Liu Zhiyuan, his death throes playing out in her mind like a haunting vision.

She saw Wang Lin, in a lightning-fast assault, ending Liu Zhiyuan’s existence.

“Fellow Daoist Yan Luan, it is late. To stand silent within my dwelling, do you intend to remain here for the entirety of the night?” Wang Lin’s voice, slow and measured, cut through the darkness.

“Was it you who slew the Green Devil Continent’s Emptiness Tribulant Initial Stage cultivator?” Yan Luan’s voice emerged, a spectral whisper that danced in the grotto’s silence.

“It must have been you! No one else within the subterranean palace, save Elder Lu Wenran, could have accomplished such a feat so swiftly. Or rather, only you!”

“Others may not know your true abilities, but I do.” She stared at Wang Lin’s obscured form, her voice barely above a breath.

“Wang Lin, was it you?”

“I have nothing to say!” Wang Lin replied, his voice level and unmoved, as if speaking of the most trivial matter.

Hearing these four words, Yan Luan smiled faintly. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and spoke softly.

“I do not know why you will not admit it, but your aura betrays you. You paid a price for your victory, for the lives of Emptiness Tribulant cultivators do not come easily.

If you require assistance, I can provide it… on the condition that we share the spoils of future victories equally. Please forgive my intrusion, Elder Wang. Consider this my pledge of sincerity!” With that, she placed a single pill upon the ground, bowed slightly, and retreated. A gentle gust of wind parted the grotto’s entrance, and she slipped through the opening, disappearing into the night.

Throughout Yan Luan’s questioning, Wang Lin had remained silent, save for those four words. Now, as she departed, he opened his eyes, the twin flames of his power illuminating the darkness.

He gazed at the entrance, at Yan Luan’s departing form, lost in thought. He raised his hand, and the pill floated into his grasp. He examined it closely. Its scent was invigorating, and it was clearly a potent elixir for healing and recuperation. A smile gradually spread across Wang Lin’s lips.

Time passed, and two days elapsed. The cultivators of the Green Devil Continent, positioned along the edge of the Celestial Plains, maintained an uneasy silence, refraining from open warfare. They seemed to await a catalyst, sending forth small patrols to monitor the movements of their foes.

Within the subterranean palace, patrols were also dispatched, and small skirmishes occasionally erupted, but no large-scale battles took place.

The patrols were organized by the three elders, with Elder Zhou bearing the brunt of the responsibility. All cultivators, save for the Emptiness Tribulant, were regularly assigned to patrol duty.

Those not on patrol devoted themselves to meditation, striving to maintain peak condition for the next inevitable clash. The cultivators of the Tianniu Continent understood that the Green Devil Continent would not abandon its ambitions.

Lu Wenran, the most powerful cultivator in the subterranean palace, watched with growing unease.

He felt that this calm was deceptive, and that the Green Devil Continent was awaiting reinforcements. If his suspicions were true, the subterranean palace was in grave danger.

He wrestled with the question of who could have slain the enemy’s Emptiness Tribulant cultivator. He considered and discarded various candidates, but his mind returned to his initial suspicion: Wang Lin.

Though he doubted that Wang Lin possessed such power, the matter was too important to ignore. After much deliberation, he summoned Elder Zhou and issued a command. Elder Zhou bowed respectfully and departed.

During those two days, Wang Lin had healed much of the damage he had sustained. On the dusk of the second day, a visitor came to his grotto, a second unwelcome guest:

“Fellow Daoist Wang Lin of the Great Soul Sect, I must ask that you forego your meditation and stand guard for the night!” It was Elder Zhou, his face expressionless, his voice carrying a cold, unquestionable authority.