Lauren supported Nash, quickening her pace.

  At that moment, the four-legged’s voice echoed again in her mind.

  “The boundary marker is in the underground palace.”

  Underground palace?

  “How do I get there?” she asked silently.

  “Enter the main hall first, then take the small door on the left.”

  Lauren froze. How the hell did he know so much? The entire layout of the place… was he familiar with whoever had built it?

  She stepped into the main hall and immediately glanced left. Sure enough—a narrow door stood exactly where he said it would.

  Just as she moved toward it, the sound of fighting erupted from above.

  “Sebastian!”

  “Zachariah, watch out—!”

  Lauren and Nash exchanged a look.

  “Sounds like Sebastian’s group is clashing with the Moonlit Sect,” she muttered.

  The hall around them was a wreck, as if it had already been ransacked. Clearly, the first groups inside had looted whatever treasures lay here.

  “Nash, stay hidden for now. I’ll check upstairs.”

  With two broken ribs and his backside shattered with pain, Nash would be more burden than help. He nodded reluctantly as Lauren stuffed him into a huge discarded chest in the corner and slapped a concealment charm over it.

  Then, sword in hand, she sprinted up the right-hand stairs.

  At the landing, she caught sight of Veronica—just in time to see her flung back like a ragdoll. Lauren darted forward, catching her mid-fall.

  “Ms. Lauren—why are you here? Where’s Nash?” Veronica gasped, coughing blood.

  “He’s downstairs. Don’t worry about him.”

  Lauren glanced at the battle. Sebastian and Zachariah were still standing, though bloodied, while four Moonlit Sect disciples pressed them hard. All of them were peak Foundation Establishment, elite scions of the major sects. Numbers alone gave the enemy the edge.

  Veronica spat another mouthful of blood. Sebastian and Zachariah weren’t much better—wounded, forced on the defensive, barely holding on thanks to Sebastian’s expert use of flying talismans.

  Lauren set Veronica gently aside, then launched herself forward with her Gintama Sword.

  Sebastian immediately felt the pressure lift. Relief flashed across his face. “Ms. Lauren—be careful!”

  The Mysterious Ice Technique was a heavenly-ranked art, the pinnacle for those with ice spirit roots, and the only one of its kind on the entire continent.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  With each swing of her blade, cold air condensed, sharper and faster until it solidified into drifting snowflakes. At first, the Moonlit Sect disciples didn’t notice. But after dozens of clashes, the creeping frost seeped into their movements.

  “Junior Brother, careful—!” one of them shouted.

  Too late. Lauren’s sword flashed, severing a man’s arm cleanly at the shoulder. His scream tore through the hall. He would have been skewered through the heart if his comrade hadn’t shoved him back at the last second.

  Their movements slowed, but Lauren only grew faster. Frost slicked the ground beneath their feet, locking their boots to ice.

  Her sword struck again—szzzt—and the cultivator supporting the armless man took a blade straight through his core. His eyes went wide with horror before the light drained out of them.

  Two and a half men remained, pale-faced and panicked. They knew they were fucked. With desperate cries, they tossed a handful of Thunder Spirit Talismans to cover their retreat and bolted.

  Eight stone gates loomed at the far end of the hall. In their blind panic, the survivors darted through one at random.

  Lauren didn’t chase. Her fellow disciples were battered and bleeding.

  The three of them sat cross-legged on the stone floor, swallowing pills and regulating their breathing.

  After a while, Sebastian—least injured of the group—opened his eyes.

  Lauren immediately leaned forward. “Where are Dante and the others?”

  Sebastian scanned the chamber. His gaze lingered on the row of looming doors.

  “Brother Dante chased after Timothy. I don’t know which door they went through.”

  “Then how did you end up fighting with the Moonlit Sect?”

  Sebastian pulled out a small lacquered box and opened it. Inside, three pearlescent pills gleamed faintly.

  “For this. Three patching-sky pills.”

  Despite the name, patching-sky pills weren’t meant to patch the heavens. They refined spiritual roots, stripping away impurities and making them purer.

  How much they improved depended on sheer luck. No one was born with perfectly pure roots. Eighty percent purity was already considered the mark of a genius. Ninety percent? Those were freaks of nature.

  And spiritual roots weren’t something that could usually be altered. At least, not in this realm. Patching-sky pills couldn’t even be refined here; they only ever turned up in secret realms like this. Whenever one appeared, it was enough to make the righteous sects draw blood.

  And Sebastian had three. No wonder they’d fought to the brink.

  He snapped the box shut and pushed it toward Lauren.

  “Ms. Lauren, it’s not safe with me. You should carry them.”

  The great sects poured endless resources into raising disciples like Sebastian, feeding them opportunities like this secret realm. Treasures had to be handed in. That was the rule.

  Of course, if no one saw… hiding them wasn’t unheard of either.

  Lauren accepted the box without a word and slipped it into her storage bracelet. She’d turn them over to Thunder Sect when the time came.

  “I’ll tell the headmaster you fought to protect them,” she said quietly.

  Sebastian bowed his head. “Thank you, Ms. Lauren.”

  Veronica and Zachariah were still pale, regulating their breathing. Lauren turned to Sebastian. “Take care of them. I’ll fetch Nash.”

  Downstairs, Nash was still curled in the wooden chest she’d stuffed him into earlier. She helped him up, and though he winced, he looked steadier now.

  “They alright?” he asked.

  “Yes. Come on, I’ll bring you up.”

  When Sebastian saw Nash’s improvised armor, he burst out laughing. The younger man was strapped front and back with thick slabs of tortoise shell.

  “Nash, that shell looks at least a thousand years old.”

  “Five thousand,” Nash muttered. “Cost me a fortune in spirit stones. I was planning to use it for a formation plate.”

  Sebastian smirked. “Forget the plate. Make yourself a suit of armor out of it instead.”

  “Armor?” Nash frowned. “I don’t have the skill for that.”

  “What skill? Just strap it on. Even my fire talisman couldn’t blow through that shell.”

  Nash froze, realization dawning. “You bastard—you’re mocking me while I’ve got broken ribs. Do you have no humanity at all?”

  The group laughed, tension bleeding out after the fight.

  Soon enough, Veronica and Zachariah recovered, and the five of them gathered around the eight looming doors, debating which to enter.

  “There are eight paths. Which do we take?” Zachariah asked.

  Lauren’s eyes narrowed. She knew Timothy’s aim: the boundary marker. Whatever door he chose, his path would lead straight to the underground palace.

  “None of them,” she said finally.

  The others looked at her in confusion.

  “When I came in earlier, I noticed a small door downstairs. On the left wall. It had strange totems etched into it.” Her voice dropped. “I’ve got a feeling that’s where the real path lies.”