Setting Sail for the Chaotic Star Sea
380 words
The jade slip was unremarkable, a simple, unadorned piece of spirit stone. Han Li pressed it against his forehead, his spiritual sense sinking into its depths. An instant later, a complex web of information flooded his mind—detailed diagrams, arcane symbols, and densely packed commentary.
He remained motionless for a long while, his expression a mask of deep concentration. When he finally lowered the slip, his eyes were clear, holding a flicker of deep thought.
“The Kun Peng Art,” he murmured to himself. “To think such a lineage still exists in this world.”
His gaze fell upon the other jade slips before him, each one a potential path, a different gamble. But the memory of that great golden roc, a creature that could swallow the sea and darken the sky, was a hard thing to dismiss. The cultivation method was incomplete, a mere fragment of a shattered legacy, but the power it promised… the power was undeniable.
With a soft sigh, he set the Kun Peng Art slip aside and reached for the next. An hour passed. He read through a technique for refining puppet cores, a detailed guide to a particular grade of formation flags, and a treatise on the properties of century-old Nether Orchid. Each one was useful, valuable in its own right, but none of them had the same gravitational pull.
Finally, his hand paused on a black, iron-wood slip. The carvings on its surface were crude, almost savage, completely unlike the elegant script of the other records. As his spiritual sense probed its contents, a faint, cruel smile touched his lips.
The technique within was vicious, a demonic path method for forcibly fusing a high-grade demon beast’s soul with your own magic weapon. It was a taboo art, one that risked backlash and insanity. But for someone like Han Li, who already wielded the Gold Devourer Beetles and was no stranger to walking the razor’s edge…
This was the one.
He closed his eyes, the new knowledge settling into his mind like a loaded weapon. The game was changing. The sea was vast, and he meant to cross it, not drift. For that, he would need sharper fangs.
He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate. The journey was long, and he had much preparation to make.