Without a moment’s hesitation, the old man invoked his fifth rune , unleashing a powerful surge of dark green energy that crackled with malevolence. The energy split into two distinct entities, materializing in an instant as shadowy green figures beside the middle-aged man.
Caught off guard by the unexpected manifestation, the middle-aged man hurriedly attempted to put distance between himself and the looming specters. But no matter how swift or far he fled, the shadowy figures persisted, doggedly pursuing him without relent. With astonishing swiftness, their ethereal forms transformed into an ominous, dark and eerie gas that slithered and twisted through the air, seeking to infiltrate every aspect of the middle-aged man’s being.
Dread contorted the middle-aged man’s face, as a mixture of horror and fear clawed its way into his very soul. He could feel the insidious tendrils of the dark green gas infiltrating his nascent divinity, and the corrosive erosion of his remaining spirit qi.
As the middle-aged man’s strength weakened, the golden seal that had once provided him with a measure of protection quivered with increasing strain, desperately trying to hold its ground against the impending catastrophe. Its very foundations threatened to crumble under the weight of the powerful onslaught.
The old man’s laughter filled the air, an unsettling sound brimming with delight and sadistic satisfaction. "Hahah! Do not waste your feeble efforts," he jeered, relishing in the middle-aged man’s helplessness. "Once the Venomshroud Rune has infiltrated your body, there is no escape. Even an expert of your caliber shall succumb to its suffocating embrace."
The middle-aged man, battered and fear-stricken, struggled desperately to find a means of countering the insidious effects of the venomshroud. In his current state of vulnerability, however, options appeared limited and scarce. Each labored breath felt like a battle against an inevitable fate, a futile attempt to stave off the encroaching darkness that threatened to engulf him entirely.
Soon, the air filled with the ominous scent of blood as it began to seep from the lips of the middle-aged man, his hair wilting and cascading like autumn leaves. Desperation etched his face as he frantically battled against the poison coursing through his veins, each breath a struggle against impending doom.
Coughing violently, he expelled a torrent of crimson, staining the ground beneath him.
Suddenly, a sharp crack shattered the silence as the golden seal protecting him splintered into countless shards. With a ferocity unseen before, an arrow hurtled towards him, propelled by unseen forces.
"Wahhh!"
The anguished cry escaped his lips as the arrow found its mark, plunging mercilessly into his heart, and he collapsed, his strength drained.
From the shadowy recesses, Liang observed the scene with a calculated detachment. In the unforgiving world of cultivation, such spectacles were commonplace. No matter one’s prowess, a moment’s distraction could spell demise.
Yet, in the aftermath, the old man’s eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction. It was a first—a triumph over an adversary of superior skill. "Haha, this old man is indeed a prodigy," he gloated, relishing his newfound prowess.
Approaching the fallen figure, he reached out greedily for the jade case, his fingers trembling with anticipation.
But then, as if from the abyss itself, the middle-aged man’s eyes snapped open, his mouth gaping in a silent scream. Threads of crimson light erupted from his form, piercing the old man’s flesh with ruthless precision.
A violent fit of coughing wracked the old man’s frame, his body recoiling from the onslaught as he stumbled backwards, eyes wide with terror at the unforeseen turn of events.
Then, with a thunderous rush, a golden Nascent Divinity surged forth from the middle-aged man’s dantian, its radiant form mirroring that of its fallen vessel.
"Old thing, heed my warning," the Nascent Divinity intoned with chilling finality. "Should you or your kin ever dare to venture beyond this accursed solar system, know that eternal torment shall be your fate."
With a final flourish, a shimmering portal materialized from the void, swallowing the Nascent Divinity whole as it vanished from sight, leaving behind naught but an ominous echo in its wake.
The old man’s visage contorted into a mask of frustration, his features twisting with a hint of desperation as he grappled with the realization of his own folly. His lapse in vigilance had cost him dearly; facing an adversary of such caliber demanded a level of caution he had foolishly neglected.
"Tsk, these damned spirit cultivators," he muttered, his voice tinged with bitterness, as another spurt of blood stained the ground beneath him.
"Not only do they possess seemingly boundless lifespans, but their arsenal of techniques knows no end," he lamented, shaking his head in resignation. Unlike runic cultivators, whose longevity was finite and ultimately constrained by the passage of time, those who traversed the Dao Path enjoyed near-immortality, their existence stretching across eons.
Runic cultivators, in stark contrast, were shackled by the immutable constraints of mortality. Though their lifespan was considerable, it paled in comparison to the indomitable endurance of their spiritual counterparts. An ordinary Runic Mastery Realm expert could expect to tread the earth for a mere three to four hundred thousand years, a paltry span when measured against the vast expanse of eternity.
In comparison, a Void Transformation Dao Expert, despite the challenges of Immortal Punishing Tribulations and lower domain rejection, had the opportunity to extend their life infinitely. Over time, techniques and methods had emerged to counter these obstacles, allowing them to prolong their stay in the Lower Domain.
"Perhaps I should consider the spirit cultivation of the Dao Path," the old man mused aloud, his thoughts unfurling like wisps of smoke in the stillness of the air. Yet, as quickly as the notion arose, he dismissed it with a rueful shake of his head. The rigors of the origin path, while promising swift ascension, imposed burdensome restrictions that would prove insurmountable for one such as him.
"Why not delve into the Origin Path of spirit cultivation?" he pondered aloud, his voice tinged with a note of wistfulness. "Though it too bears the yoke of mortality, its lifespan far exceeds that of runic cultivators."
Indeed, the prospect held a certain allure; a Void Transformation Origin Path expert could expect to traverse the annals of time for a staggering six hundred thousand years, a lifespan that eclipsed the bounds of mortal comprehension.
Yet, even as the tantalizing prospect beckoned, the old man’s gaze darkened with self-awareness. "No, no," he murmured, the words heavy with resignation. "My aptitude is but ordinary, and the path to the Void Transformation Realm fraught with insurmountable obstacles."
Suddenly, a glimmer of hope flickered within the recesses of his mind as his gaze alighted upon the lifeless form of the middle-aged man.
"Perhaps... just perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, "I could cultivate to the Nascent Soul Realm..."
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