With a single gulp, the Immortal Sealing Mark transformed into a faint golden ray and descended into Wang Lin’s gullet, where it was tempered by the raw power of lightning within his nascent soul. “This artifact, dwelling within the very heart of my ‘nascent soul’, shall surely absorb some of the Thunder’s essence!” he mused.

Having swallowed the Sealing Mark, Wang Lin’s eyes gleamed. He summoned his storage pouch, and from within flew three small violet pennants, intertwined and shimmering with the light of ancient seals. It was these very pennants that had once bound the envoy of the Thunder Immortal Hall, along with the envoy himself.

Wang Lin’s fingers danced in arcane gestures. With a flick of his wrist, the seals upon the pennants dissolved. In the instant of their utter demise, the nascent soul of the Thunder Immortal Hall envoy, sealed within, burst forth, radiating palpable dread. It sought to flee, to blink away to some distant refuge.

But a frigid light ignited in Wang Lin’s eyes. He clapped his storage pouch, and forth sprung the Soul-Devouring Banner, unfurling into a vast cloud of inky darkness that engulfed the heavens. Swiftly, it consumed the fleeing soul of the Thunder Immortal Hall envoy.

“Mercy, friend of the Dao! Spare me, and I shall exchange life for treasure, a treasure beyond compare!” the envoy’s disembodied spirit shrieked, writhing within the ebony mist, desperately pleading for reprieve.

“What treasure?” Wang Lin’s voice was cold as mountain ice, his words measured and slow.

“A Celestial Stone! I know the place where a Celestial Stone lies hidden. Pledge to release me, and I shall lead you to its recovery!” the envoy’s soul cried out. Wang Lin’s expression remained unreadable, his gaze sweeping over the trapped spirit. With another flick of his wrist, the black mist surged, imprisoning the soul within the Soul-Devouring Banner.

“A Celestial Stone…” Wang Lin pondered for a moment, then banished the thought. His gaze shifted to the three small pennants hanging in the air. With a wave of his hand, they descended into his grasp. He exhaled a breath of his nascent soul, erasing the prior owner’s spiritual imprints, and replacing them with his own. Wang Lin examined them with meticulous care.

“A rare defensive treasure!” After a half-incense stick of contemplation, Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with understanding. He tossed the pennants into the air, and at his command, they began to whirl around him with startling speed. In moments, a violet vortex of mist materialized, emanating a palpable aura of protection.

Wang Lin channeled his inner power, causing it to flow from his body and merge with the violet vortex. Instantly, a dramatic shift occurred. The violet mist began to spin at a bewildering pace, its density thickening, until it enveloped Wang Lin completely, cloaking him in its ethereal embrace. After three breaths, the mist dissipated. Wang Lin beckoned, and the three pennants returned to his hand, whereupon he returned them to his storage pouch. “Their power is acceptable,” he declared. Wang Lin clapped his storage pouch again, and two yellow paper talismans appeared in his hand.

These two talismans, even now, eluded his comprehension. After a moment of careful scrutiny, Wang Lin stored them away.

Taking a deep breath, a glint of fervor shone in Wang Lin’s eyes. His expression was grave, his spiritual sense unfurling to encompass a ten-mile radius, ensuring there were no prying eyes. Only then did he focus on his storage pouch.

A golden light shimmered, suffused with immortal essence. A pagoda, no larger than the palm of his hand, materialized in Wang Lin’s grasp. Even now, his heart raced, his pulse quickening. His gaze was fixated upon the diminutive tower.

“If I were to name my greatest prize from this sojourn within the Thunder Immortal Realm, it would be this! The Repository Pavilion!” Wang Lin licked his lips. Since claiming it, he had dared not bring it forth, for its value was beyond measure.

“Within, how many immortal arts lie hidden…” A spark of elation flickered in Wang Lin’s eyes, only to be swiftly subdued.

“With my current cultivation, I can only access the fourth level. Even with the aid of the White-Robed Corpse, though I reached the ninth, I could not break the seals to claim the immortal arts within. Furthermore, this artifact is far too precious. There might be restrictions on how often it can be entered. This place is not yet truly secure; I cannot study it lightly.”

Wang Lin suppressed his yearning. Taking a deep breath, he carefully placed the Repository Pavilion back into his storage pouch. But, hesitating for a moment, he retrieved it once more. Following the ancient seals he had learned, he shrunk the Repository Pavilion until it was no larger than a fingernail. He then pulled out an unused storage pouch, placed the Repository Pavilion within, and lifted his shirt. He sliced open his chest, embedding the storage pouch deep within the flesh. Channeling his power, he healed the wound almost instantly. “Thus, no one shall discover where the Repository Pavilion is hidden!” Wang Lin stroked his chest, a small smile playing on his lips.

He still carried several storage pouches, packed nearly full with immortal jade, an overwhelming amount gathered during his time in the Thunder Immortal Realm. It had taken nearly two months for Wang Lin to sort through the treasures he had obtained. “It is time to depart,” Wang Lin declared, rising to his feet. With a leap, he took to the air. His Mosquito Beast, humming with delight, came swiftly to carry Wang Lin upon its back, bearing him toward the distant architecture.

Upon the ground, the Thunder Frogs, eyelids drooping, sprang forth with earth-shaking thuds, keeping pace with the Mosquito Beast below.

As Wang Lin neared the dwellings of the Chosen of Immortals, his face grew taut. In a wide plaza amidst the buildings, all the members of the Chosen tribe knelt, even the children and their families. At the center of the square stood a wooden effigy, ten feet in height. Lying upon it was a man: Ta Shan!

Ta Shan’s face was ashen, his eyes dim, as if on the brink of death. A heavy aura of mortality surrounded him. He was clearly at the end of his life.

Seeing this, Wang Lin grew somber. Two months earlier, he had observed that Ta Shan was reaching the end of his strength. The power of the slave seal was strong upon him, woven into his very bloodline, defying resistance. Ta Shan could be called the first to openly rebel, but the price was high. The runes etched into his very being had turned against him, and he could not long endure. He had clung to life for two months, but today he had reached the end.

Beside Ta Shan, the aged Ancestor of the Chosen tribe watched with grief-stricken eyes, old tears streaming down his face.
“Grandson…” the elder rasped, the word a rusty hinge creaking open after ages of disuse. Silence reigned, thick with a sorrow that clung to the air like graveyard mist. Every eye of the Chosen Clan was fixed upon Tarshan, their gaze heavy with grief.

“Tarshan…” “Tarshan…” The name whispered from throat to throat, each utterance a single thread weaving into a tapestry of shared anguish – the one word that echoed the soul of every Chosen. “Tarshan!”

In their hearts, Tarshan was a beacon, a hero. In a time when the iron grip of the Immortal Rune enslaved them all, it was Tarshan alone who, with his unwavering defiance, proved that the chains could be broken. The price of that resistance, however, was his very life.

Tarshan’s mind flickered like a dying ember. Through clouded eyes, he saw the heavens, and for a fleeting moment, he was a child again, listening to the voices of his elders.

“The Immortals are our masters. Every breath, every action of a Chosen life, is a sacrifice to the Immortals. This is our purpose, our glory… We are the Immortals’ emissaries upon this world… this is our sacred honor!” Tears traced paths through the grime on Tarshan’s face. He hated, hated the injustice of the heavens, hated the very existence of the Immortals!

Wang Lin descended from the sky, landing silently at the edge of the plaza, his expression unreadable.

The elder, his gaze locked on Tarshan, ground his teeth and whirled around to face his people. His aged voice, hoarse but resonant, cut through the silence. “Clan, Tarshan speaks true! Generations we have toiled here, protected this land, and what has it gained us? The Mist Beasts! The beasts that feast upon our kin!”

“And all of it is the will of the Immortals! We are but fodder to feed their monstrous pets!” A heavy silence fell, broken only by the collective intake of breath. The air crackled with a power, raw and untamed, that had been long dormant within them.

“Tarshan told me, once, that the Immortals… are no more. That their Immortal Realm has crumbled… I have kept this knowledge buried, fearing to speak it. But today, I will speak it!” The elder’s eyes blazed with a manic light. His words exploded amongst the Clan, sending tremors through their souls. The simmering power within them surged, reaching a fever pitch. “Benefactor, do I speak truly?!” The elder’s gaze snapped to Wang Lin, standing at the edge of the square.

In that instant, every eye turned to Wang Lin, awaiting his affirmation. Ever since the day Wang Lin slew the Immortal two moons past, the title of “Benefactor” had been on the elder’s tongue. Wang Lin paused, then nodded slowly. “The Immortal Realm has fallen. The Immortals… they are gone. Or if they remain, their number is few indeed.”

“The Immortal Realm crumbles, and the Immortals treat us as mere insects! Why, then, should we not rise up?! Even in death, let us be like Tarshan – let us die with honor!” The elder roared, his voice a clarion call that resonated deep within the hearts of his people.

Heads rose. Eyes glowed with a fierce determination. They would rather die than be slaves, than be fodder for beasts and gods! “Rebellion!” The word, a desperate whisper at first, grew into a chorus of defiance. “Rebellion!” “Rebellion!” The cry echoed, each voice adding to the swelling tide, until it became a tempest of rage and resistance.

Wang Lin, his eyes fixed on Tarshan, spoke softly, yet his words cut through the tempest like a blade. “I… can save him from death.”

His voice, though quiet, echoed in the ears of every Chosen, especially the elder, who visibly trembled. He stumbled forward, stopping ten paces from Wang Lin, and fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Benefactor, is this… is this the truth?”

Wang Lin paused. “I have perhaps five in ten chances of success. But… should my magic succeed, Tarshan, while spared from death, will be a mere shell, an empty vessel. Whether his spirit can ever awaken… that will depend upon his own will.”