The monster's cry reached them. A heavy, mournful wail thick with agonizing, incomprehensible loss. It echoed across the desert, as if the world itself were grieving.

  Everyone spared a second to glance at the hell descending from the sky. Then, ignoring the leviathan's lament, they raised their weapons.

  PsiLink calculations confirmed the Rift Burrower's forces were scattering, the majority swarming Maelivar. But a concentrated splinter group was vectoring directly on him. He counted hundreds of aerial contacts—and that was just the Sandwyrms writhing in plain sight.

  Fragile watchtowers perched atop the Sandwyrms’ backs. Nathan didn't need to zoom in; he knew they were packed with cultivator death squads.

  Distant Dunehaunter riders crinkled their eyes in unseen smiles behind cloth masks. They slowed their pace, settling into a rhythm of relentless harassment. New arrivals on the platform took over the mana dome coordination. Water and Wind Aspect cultivators poured energy into the shield, spinning the Supreme Mana Stone into a frenzy.

  "Situation is worse than shit!" Minato shouted, exhausted from deflecting the last twin tornadoes. In the distance, the desert raged, conjuring several more cyclones that tracked Nathan like homing missiles.

  "Command the Wind Aspect cultivators," Nathan ordered.

  "At least you use your head," Minato grunted.

  Nathan offered a grim smile, limbs moving in a blur of defense.

  "You good?" Nathan asked, catching Zeryn's dry cough.

  Zeryn was in bad shape. Despite the high-grade healing food, he wasn't improving. Fighting off Merinor's Entropy Aspect and straining his mind to deploy Sword Intent had left the prodigy fragmented, teetering on the edge of collapse.

  "As long as we stick to this ridiculous game," Zeryn rasped, nodding at their rhythmic sparring. "I can hold."

  Nathan refocused on the horizon. They had covered ground, but at this speed, safe territory was still twenty minutes away. And that was the optimistic estimate.

  "They're gaining!" Elen shouted, pointing skyward.

  The Sandwyrms sprouted wings—vast canopies deploying to arrest their descent. Artificial wind currents propelled them forward. Crude, but brutally effective.

  Higher up, Caelindor played its card. The divine beast—a crimson-maned, white-winged lion—rode the clouds to meet the Rift Burrower. Fire and sand consumed the sky as the two colossi clashed.

  Nathan finally understood Darkan's comment about Argentius being "small." The thought of his companion one day growing to that scale sent a jolt of panic through him.

  "Rations!" Nathan called.

  Food was pressed into his hand. He swallowed it whole. [Digestive Efficiency] dissolved it into energy instantly.

  The army wasn't here, but their ordnance was. [Kinetic Trace] painted faint trajectories across his vision—sniping fire from long-barreled weapons.

  Leveraging [Battle Trance], Nathan moved. Zeryn clamped invisible blades to his back for stability as Nathan slashed, right hand blurring. Channeling Lightning Aspect, he skated across the air to intercept.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Airburst shells detonated above the column. Strays slammed into the dunes, kicking up massive plumes of glass and sand.

  Nathan touched down, right hand numb. Speed wasn't the issue. [Battle Trance] mitigated the stamina drain efficiently. The problem was physics. The recoil from his own strikes was tearing him apart; he wasn't invincible enough to weather the explosions unscathed.

  "Remind me never to cross you," Minato muttered, spinning up two new vortexes. "I've only seen one other guy pull that off. And he's dead."

  "Lachlan?" Nathan asked, [Healing Factor] knitting his micro-fractures.

  "Yeah." Minato nodded. "Different mechanics, same insanity. Though he didn't need your bizarre trick."

  Clang. Zeryn’s sword struck Nathan’s gauntlet, the only reply needed.

  The respite lasted seconds. The aerial swarm of Sandwyrms dove, plunging headfirst into the dunes hundreds of meters away. In an instant, the sky cleared, but the ground beneath them woke up.

  [Seismic Sense] screamed a warning, but the details were lost. Underground vibrations overlapped chaotically, wave upon wave. The skill’s clarity dissolved into static noise, a distraction rather than a tool.

  Nathan gritted his teeth, syncing the raw image to the PsiLink channel.

  "Link with me! Now!" Nathan commanded.

  He forced the [Seismic Sense] data to the group. Faces paled as the mental map lit up, circular waves of enemies closing in from beneath the sand like a sonar grid.

  Even Nathan reeled, but [Aura of Calm] surged, forcibly stabilizing his mind. Reaction speeds heightened; focus snapped back. A strange thought struck him: had this skill been his silent guardian all along? Had the System been protecting his sanity from the start?

  He shook the thought away. Energy check: Abundant. Status: Ready.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The dunes erupted. Sandwyrms burst forth, maws spinning like organic saw blades. Mirothean cultivators rode atop them, brandishing curved khopeshes and howling with bloodlust. Their parched eyes locked onto the survivors, desperate to quench their thirst with fresh blood.

  The projectile rain was absolute. Nathan couldn't block it all. Chaos erupted in the blink of an eye.

  Nathan exploded into motion, a streak of lightning and [Battle Trance]. He dove into the enemy formation, his flickering presence silencing the Mirothean howls. Terror replaced bloodlust as blue-white light danced through their ranks. He was a ghost in red robes—visible one second, gone the next.

  He was a phantom on the battlefield. Below, Zeryn grounded himself, hands blurring to conjure enough swords to match Nathan's impossible pace.

  Sandblaster shots missed. Dunehaunter pincers were parried. Even the crushing bulk of the Sandwyrms was stalled by one man. Nathan ignored the Sidewinder shards shredding his Qi Armor, sacrificing flesh for momentum.

  But he couldn't be everywhere. Flanking fire hammered the mana barrier. Disciples scrambled to intercept, firing Mana Bullets and deploying Aspects until fatigue buckled their knees.

  "Water!" Nathan roared.

  Rested disciples sprang into action. They thrust out their hands, summoning walls of water that flared outward. Sand attacks hit the liquid shields, clumping into mud and dropping harmlessly. Crucially, they channeled water ahead of Argentius, turning the desert floor into a swamp that bogged down any monster attempting to block their path.

  This natural counter threw the Mirothean army into chaos. Riders roared commands. Dunehaunters were released from Monster Pouches, but the main force split, burrowing underground to flank.

  With a final push, the Water cultivators solidified the wet sand, forming a makeshift wall in front of Nathan. Exhaustion washed over the team. But unlike them, Nathan needed only a heartbeat to recover.

  CRASH!

  The wall disintegrated. The projectile barrage resumed instantly. Ignoring the blood slicking his arms, Nathan raised his hands to intercept.

  "Nathan!" Zeryn gasped. "You can't charge. They have an Intent user. He blocked my blades."

  Zeryn puffed out his cheeks, fighting for breath. Blood pooled beneath his knees.

  Nathan dove, swatting shots out of the air.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  "Keep this up, and you'll lose yourself to this damn desert," Zeryn strained.

  Nathan gritted his teeth, silent. He paced the platform. Unable to dive into the enemy ranks, his Lightning Aspect was relegated to a retreat mechanic—a leash he couldn't break. He couldn't abuse the power; he had to hoard it.

  He needed to kill. Attrition was the only path to victory.

  It was them or him. Them or Frank. Them or Elen. Them or Minato.

  No turning back.

  Berserker State: 33%.

  He launched at a Dunehaunter, dodging its glowing red pincer and the rider’s slash. Nathan’s punch tore the wind. Time dilated. His knuckles grazed the pincer's glossy surface—a feint—before snapping back. His sword drew a lethal arc across the rider's throat.

  Lightning Aspect flared, shooting him backward. Mid-flight, he gutted a Sandwyrm and drove a toe into a cultivator's ribs. He slid to a halt beside Zeryn, guard already up.

  The Dunehaunter’s pincer exploded in a shower of flesh and chitin. The riders fell, silenced before they could scream. Blood sprayed, drunk by the sand. The Sandwyrm writhed below, its watchtower crushed, dumping bewildered troops onto the dunes.

  Triggered [Death Leech]. One credit given.

  Triggered [Death Leech]. One credit given.

  The revulsion nearly buckled his knees. Combat instincts took over, hands neutralizing a projectile on autopilot. The memory of the assassin’s heart—his first kill—flashed in his mind. Now, that cursed energy seeped through his skin, nourishing him. It refilled his mana and stamina, but the spiritual disgust was suffocating.

  Their life is inside me. The thought rooted in his mind like a weed. In the heat of battle, he hadn't considered the skill's darker implications. He didn't fear discovery; he feared the haunting, the violation of his own soul.

  He clenched his jaw, channeling pure vitriol into his fists. His punch, backed by unrestrained power, superheated the air, turning it a faint, shimmering red. The Dunehaunter didn't stand a chance; its pincer shattered, followed by its chattering skull. The carcass collapsed, rolling away as fresh enemies surged into the gap.

  Nathan roared. The sound forced enemies to cover their ears. Monsters trembled—snakes recoiled, Sandwyrms clamped their maws shut, cowering before a superior predator.

  The Draconic Roar rippled out, forcing submission. Only one entity remained unaffected: Argentius, who sent a spike of irritation through the mental link.

  Nathan didn't care. The beast was off the leash. He shoved his emotions into a dark corner of his mind. Nothing would block his path now. Not even his conscience.

  He surged forward, sword leading. With his free hand, he downed a vial of Lava Drake essence. Armed with a new bloodline, he initiated a technique he had only dared to dream of.

  [Dragon Heart] thrummed. His torso ignited, the heat burning through his tunic to reveal skin flushing a violent crimson. Heart and lungs swelled visibly. A volcano compressed in his throat, the heat intense enough to burn his mind to ash. Yet, he held on. He planted his feet and opened his mouth to the enemy.

  A stream of liquid fire erupted. It danced in the air, forming a radiant, spreading arc. The Mirothean army scrambled—raising sand walls, wind barriers, earthen ramparts. But this wasn't mere Tier 3 fire; it was Draconic. Defenses melted right away, turning sand to glass and earth to lava.

  Agony scorched Nathan’s jaw; his teeth felt loose, his airway seared shut. He ignored it. He dove into his internal sea of Aspects, seizing the energy from the digested food. [Aspect Amplifier] joined the fray.

  The stream split—one into three. A trifecta of fire blasted the enemy lines, throwing the formation into chaos. Heat scorched the air, drowning the desert in a hiss of steam. The golden sand vanished beneath a carpet of orange-red destruction.

  Screams rose. A cultivator, engulfed in flames, flailed atop a Sandwyrm before the beast bucked him off. He burrowed into the sand, desperate to smother the fire. But the sudden influx of energy into Nathan’s core confirmed the kill.

  Nathan's fire spread, smelting sand and rock into lawless lava. The Mirotheans wasted precious mana trying to contain it. Thanks to the inferno, Nathan's column finally caught a breath.

  Nathan collapsed, falling neatly into Frank's arms. He peered up. Terrified gazes fixed on him, suffocating in their intensity. Fear mixed with greed, and above all, hope. He didn't know which emotion was heavier.

  [Death Leech] refilled his mana.

  [Healing Factor] reconstructed his scorched lungs.

  [Dragon Heart] burned through his veins.

  The fight wasn't over.

  Nathan pushed Frank away. He stepped forward, clothes tattered, armor long gone. Only his body, forged in the fires of Physical Cultivation, remained.

  On a battlefield like this, he could break through with all the energy. Next Phase on the path of Physical Cultivation.

  "Do not think about it, Nathan!" Darkan's voice boomed in his skull.

  His head whipped up, eyes questioning.

  "Yes, I am here," Darkan lowered his voice. "Always watching. Even with the Dragon Bloodline, you cannot advance further. You will shatter the foundation we established."

  Nathan couldn't respond; he lacked Spirit Communication.

  "I know what you are thinking," Darkan continued. "That you don't care. That you must act. But no! You worry too much for others. Do not risk your future path for them. Know your limits. Know when to stop!"

  Nathan deflected another attack. Lacking Aspect support, he leaned entirely on [Battle Trance]. Fortunately, the devastating lava strike had made the enemy wary; the pressure had eased, if only slightly.

  "I cannot save you from that," Darkan said, answering Nathan’s unspoken plea. "You must rely on yourselves. But if a high-level cultivator targets you? Rest assured, I will intervene."

  Nathan’s face was chalk-white. He was at his limit, his body a bizarre flux of damage and regeneration. Terror had no room to show on his face.

  Someone was hunting him.

  "Correct," Darkan said, dousing him with cold reality. "You cannot return to the Verdant Spire!"

  Nathan froze. A khopesh slipped through his guard—a Tier 3 strike. The enemy had spotted his hesitation. The blade punched through Qi Armor and mana barrier, burying itself in his abdomen. He reacted just in time, shifting a heart-strike to a gut-wound.

  The attacker released the hilt, dissolving into sand and merging with the wind to retreat.

  Nathan didn't scream. He didn't even stagger. He gripped the blade and ripped it out. Enemy Sand Aspect grit ground against his veins, assaulting his organs, but he remained upright. The sword clattered to the floor, his sizzling blood hissing on the metal.

  The act froze the battlefield. Both sides stared—a mix of fear, respect, and horror.

  But Nathan felt only the fire inside, hotter than any dragon's breath. Darkan’s words had incinerated his hope.

  The Verdant Spire was his sanctuary. His finish line. And now it was barred.

  Why?

  He didn't need Darkan to explain. Mirothea was hunting him. The Cascade Gardens squad wasn't just the Space Aspect user. A Tier 5 was gone, but Tier 4s remained. And who could guarantee another Tier 5 wasn't lurking in the shadows?

  If he returned, he would bring the apocalypse to the Nine Mountains.

  "You are only safe here," Darkan said, slamming the door on his fragile wish.

  The gut wound stopped bleeding—a distant sensation. Nathan moved on autopilot. Deflect. Block. Kill. His sword drank blood; his fists hammered monsters twice his size; his kicks landed with the pressure of tons.

  And for what?

  Triggered [Self-Emotional Support]. One credit given.

  To go back! To live!

  Even with the System's support, the emotional collapse was imminent. His heart clenched, hammering against his ribs until his chest felt like a tightening vice.

  "Nate!" Zeryn shouted.

  Nathan turned, eyes pleading. "I can't go back."

  "I can talk to—" Zeryn trailed off, realizing the futility.

  Nathan saw the realization hit Zeryn. It was the Shifting Trials all over again. Another dead end. He was trapped in a vortex of schemes, a pawn on a board he couldn't see.

  "Senior Brother," Frank called, shielding them with a water wall. "Do you need foo—"

  Thwack.

  Warm liquid splattered Nathan's face. Frank choked, hands flying to his throat, trying to stem the blood from a wound that pierced straight through to his heart.

  Nathan batted away a projectile, then a hundred more as the enemy pressed their advantage.

  Frank collapsed. His head hit the platform with a dull thud. Elen scrambled over, tearing open a med-kit, desperately trying to bandage the gushing neck wound.

  Frank’s lips moved, bubbling red. "Fo... foo... food... for... Sen... Senior..."

  The words drowned in bloody foam.

  Nathan didn't look back. He faced forward, a statue of violence, refusing to let a single threat pass.

  "He's crashing!" Elen screamed. "His heart stopped! I can't— Someone help!"

  Disciples gathered, looked, and shook their heads.

  "Freeze him!" Nathan barked. "Stasis! We get him to the Elders!"

  "But—"

  "Do it!"

  He couldn't look back. Frank had been a friendly boy back when Nathan was the dregs of the Outer Sect, well-acquainted with the senior’s past and poor reputation. The kid had walked through the hell of Maelivar just to stand by his side. Nathan refused to accept the reality.

  "It's not your fault, Nate!" Zeryn rasped.

  "I'm sorry," Nathan whispered, eyes burning. He didn't know who he was apologizing to. His choice dragged Zeryn here. Killed Frank. And soon, Elen, Minato, and the rest.

  "I chose to be here," Elen said, voice trembling as he pressed food into Nathan's hand. "So did Frank. So did Zeryn. We own our choices, Senior Brother. Not you."

  A cold wind swept the platform. The stasis ritual was complete.

  "Why does he get stasis when my brother got sand?" a broken voice demanded.

  Minato let his tornadoes dissipate. "Can you stand there?" He pointed at Nathan's position. "Do that, and you get the privilege. If not, shut up. We've all lost someone today."

  A gust of wind, and Minato appeared beside him. "You're a monster, you know that? I didn't think we'd make it ten feet. We're nearing Roran's coordinates. We need you, Nathan. Head in the game."

  Nathan glanced at the ice block encasing Frank, then nodded. Minato returned to the flank.

  “Destination: 300 meters,” Argentius announced. Nathan signaled Zeryn and unleashed hell. [Death Leech] fueled the slaughter; [Healing Factor] erased the consequences.

  The enemy hesitated. They faced a frenzy that didn't tire, a man ignoring a fatal gut wound as if it were a scratch. Nathan stood as a devil incarnate, the gatekeeper of the fleeing column.

  Argentius veered around a massive dune. A concealed entrance opened in its face. Roran burst from the darkness, leading a group of refugees.

  Behind him, stretchers bore the broken. Xander Caldoran, unconscious and missing an arm. Beside him, Zahra Kinyara, eyes burning with hope.

  Relief cooled the fire in Nathan's heart. He had to protect them. Even if it killed him.

  Roran roared, ushering the group toward the platform. Nathan deployed more tiles.

  "Incoming Tier 3!" Minato shouted.

  Argentius grimaced. With a flick of his head, silver arcs shot from his armored ears. The attack shattered the Tier 3's defenses, knocking him off course—straight toward the refugees running on the sand.

  Roran leaped, swinging his mace to intercept. The Tier 3 flicked a hand, burying the brawny man in sand.

  Argentius inhaled, and with Minato's wind support, sucked the remaining refugees—Xander and Zahra included—onto the platform.

  “Go, Nathan,” Roran’s voice echoed in PsiLink. “Don't wait. I'll hold the line.”

  A hand punched through the sand. Roran erupted, blood clinging to his skin. Under the effects of Blood Aspect, his muscles swelled to bursting. He brandished his mace and charged, meeting the approaching Dunehaunter head-on.

  Roran vanished behind a curtain of sand and flashing crimson light.

  The promise of a rematch vanished with him as Argentius curved away.

  Nathan returned to his hell. To his dead end.

  Yet, he could not yield.