Chapter 62

  When they arrived, Adam hovered above the island, wind tugging at his clothes. A faint sense of nostalgia washed over him.

  He scanned the familiar cliffs, the beach, the old path leading toward a cave at the hilltop—

  Only, the cave was gone.

  In its place was a wide crater, scorched and hollow, a black pit yawning in the earth. There were more like it scattered across the island—four, maybe five. The once-lush terrain looked scarred, as if the heavens themselves had struck it down.

  “What happened here?”

  “Foundation Establishment disciples sometimes use this island for training. Looks like they got a little too… enthusiastic.”

  “…I see.”

  They flew toward the tundra side of the island, where a massive ice-cold waterfall cascaded into a frozen lake. Behind that waterfall shimmered the entrance to the ruins—a structure half-buried in frost, yet humming faintly with ancient energy.

  Adam could feel it even before they entered—the remnants of an old civilization, quiet yet unyielding.

  “Any traps still active?”

  “There were, once. But they’ve long been disabled. Even if there were a few left, they couldn’t harm us. Core Formation bodies can shrug off most ancient mechanisms.”

  They stepped into the ruins. The air turned colder, the light dimmer. Crystalline frost crept along the walls like veins of glass. As they ventured deeper, the ancient corridors widened into a great hall—the gateway to the secret realm.

  Several Foundation Establishment disciples stood guard there, along with a few supervisors jotting down records of those entering and leaving. The moment they noticed who had arrived, all of them straightened and bowed.

  The Supervisors in unison “We greet the Princess!”

  “At ease. Has anything changed with the realm’s condition?”

  “No, Your Highness. The readings remain stable—no distortions detected.”

  Lyne nodded, satisfied.

  “Good. Then we can proceed.”

  The supervisors exchanged uneasy glances before one finally spoke up.

  “Your Highness, forgive our concern, but… until now, only Foundation Establishment disciples have entered this secret realm. You two will be the first Core Formation cultivators to do so. We can’t predict how the realm will react.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow.

  “You mean the realm could… change?”

  Supervisor: “Potentially. Secret realms often respond to the strength of the entrants—higher cultivation can trigger new mechanisms, even restructure the puzzles entirely.”

  “So… higher difficulty, huh. That’s acceptable.”

  “It’s not a life-and-death trial anyway. At worst, we get harder puzzles. At best, better rewards.”

  The supervisor gave a reluctant nod.

  “Understood. Just… be cautious.”

  “Always am.”

  Before Adam could say anything more, Lyne grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward.

  “Wait, I haven’t—”

  “No waiting.”

  Together, they stepped into the swirling vortex of the secret realm’s gate—and the world dissolved into light.

  When Adam and Lyne stepped through the portal, the first thing that hit them was chaos.

  The interior of the realm looked nothing like what they expected. Piles of broken mechanisms, cracked murals, and strange contraptions littered the floor like someone had dumped a thousand puzzles in one place and told them to figure it out.

  Cogs turned uselessly. Levers twitched. Runes flashed and fizzled.

  And right in the middle of it all… stood a very familiar object.

  “…Is that a toilet?”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Looks like one. The ancient kind too.”

  Adam rubbed his temples.

  [Of course. A literal toilet in a secret realm. Why not]

  They walked deeper in, eyes darting from wall to wall. The deeper they went, the stranger it became.

  Paintings of men in coats holding pipes, detectives with magnifying glasses, and strange contraptions shaped like cubes of color adorned the walls.

  There were carvings of giant ships, dragons wearing monocles, and books that glowed with gold lettering.

  [That’s definitely a Rubik’s Cube… and that’s Sherlock Holmes. Wait, is that… Gandalf?]

  “I’ve got to say—there are way too many things from my world here.”

  “And mine too. I recognize myths, names, even entire sagas carved here. I’ve read every book in the empire—none of this should exist together.”

  The atmosphere shifted. The air was still, heavy, charged with something… watching.

  Then they both looked up.

  Hanging from the ceiling by what seemed to be a single sinewy tail was something that did not belong to this or any world.

  A statue—or at least, it looked like one at first glance.

  But its form was wrong. Horribly wrong.

  Its body was a patchwork of existence itself—stitched flesh of beasts that had no right to be combined.

  Heads of wolves, tigers, serpents, and humans—melded together, mouths open in silent screams.

  Eyes blinked from random places: shoulders, chest, even the palms of its hands.

  Arms protruded from impossible angles—some ending in claws, others in teeth, one with a tongue where fingers should have been.

  Its skin rippled, alive yet unmoving, like it remembered how to breathe but had long forgotten why.

  And worst of all—

  it smiled.

  A hundred mouths stitched into that distorted grin.

  Adam quietly said, “That… is not a statue.”

  “…Couldn’t agree more.”

  They took a step back—but then, something twitched.

  A single drop of black liquid fell from one of the creature’s fingertips—

  and hit a metallic plate on the floor.

  Clink.

  That sound triggered a chain reaction.

  The plate tilted, spilling marbles of glowing energy down a spiral chute.

  Those marbles rolled into a tray of mirrors, which reflected a single beam of light upward—

  hitting a suspended bell, which rang once.

  The bell’s vibration shook a pillar, toppling a small vase.

  The vase shattered, releasing a puff of shimmering powder that drifted across the room—

  where it landed on a pile of feathers.

  The feathers caught a faint breeze, fluttering into a wind chime.

  The wind chime’s tone triggered a rune on the far wall.

  The rune lit up—

  and set fire to a line of candles that had been unlit for centuries.

  The candles’ smoke rose, coiling into an ancient sigil that glowed brilliantly before exploding into dust.

  From the ashes of that dust, a metallic string unraveled from the ceiling and yanked a lever.

  That lever spun a set of gears—

  which turned a water wheel—

  which filled a basin—

  which overflowed into a funnel—

  which dropped a single pebble onto a pressure plate.

  The plate clicked.

  And from a hidden compartment in the wall, two slips of parchment shot out and fluttered to the ground before Adam and Lyne.

  “…Was that thing supposed to do that?”

  “If that was all accidental, then I’m terrified of what it does on purpose.”

  They both bent down to look at the parchment.

  It shimmered faintly before the text appeared.

  [Instruction:]

  “Win, complete, or solve any three puzzles to advance forward.

  Each puzzle must be more difficult than the last.

  Failure results in expulsion from the realm…Or worse.

  —The Curator”

  Adam straightened up, glancing once more at the creature above.

  “Right… solve puzzles in a room full of eldritch IKEA parts. Easy.”

  “Don’t be dramatic, husband. How bad can it be?”

  “…That thing has fingers made of tongues, Lyne.”

  “Point taken.”

  The creature’s many eyes opened—one by one—

  watching them.

  And far away, something deep within the realm began to click,

  as if another mechanism had just been set in motion.

  The moment they read the parchment, glowing lines appeared beneath their feet—two separate circles, one for Adam and one for Lyne.

  “Looks like we’re doing this separately.”

  “Great. Because clearly splitting up in an eldritch puzzle realm is always a good idea.”

  The circles pulsed once. When the light faded, Adam found himself standing before a pedestal—and on it sat a Rubik’s Cube.

  He blinked.

  “…A Rubik’s Cube solving game? Really?”

  The instant his fingers touched it, a chime rang out.

  A glowing clock appeared in the air—its second hand ticking downward from 60.

  “A minute timer? That’s cute.”

  He turned the cube in his hands, already analyzing its layout. The familiar colored squares spun beneath his fingers, the old rhythm returning to muscle memory.

  [People think this is some high-IQ puzzle, but it’s not. It’s about pattern recognition and algorithms—memorize the sequences, recognize the layout, solve the layers.]

  His Qi sharpened his perception—each twist and rotation mapped in his mind.

  “One minute for a Core Formation cultivator is like a whole day. Easy.”

  He began with the base pattern.

  “First the daisy… then the white cross… now the first and second layers simultaneously—”

  He stopped mid-motion.

  Something was wrong.

  One of the corners… was twisted. Not just misplaced—physically twisted in a way that made the colors impossible to align.

  “…Wait. That’s illegal.”

  He looked closer. Several other corners and even one edge were rotated in ways a cube shouldn’t allow.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. This cube is broken.”

  He tried to twist the defective piece manually. The cube resisted, its structure vibrating faintly with a low hum.

  “So I can’t fix it normally. Do I have to solve it like this?”

  “Even a whole day might not be enough…”

  He exhaled slowly, Qi flooding his senses. His mind expanded—time stretching until every tick of the clock felt like a lifetime.

  Tick… tock… tick… tock…

  He tried algorithm after algorithm. Each failed attempt sent a jolt of frustration through him. The cube seemed to shift its own logic, reshaping the colors as if mocking his efforts.

  Adam gritting teeth “Oh, this is personal now.”

  30 seconds.

  15 seconds.

  5…

  A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as his fingers blurred into motion. Every twist was a guess, every rotation a risk.

  3 seconds.

  2…

  He made the last move and released the cube.

  1…

  The ticking stopped.

  Silence.

  Then—click.

  The colors locked into place, perfectly aligned. The cube glowed briefly before fading back to normal.

  Adam exhaled hard, wiping sweat from his brow.

  “Victory by sheer stubbornness.”

  A faint creak drew his eyes upward.

  High above, the monstrous abomination hanging from the ceiling had changed.

  One of its countless twisted fingers, once curled in repose, now stood extended, pointing straight at him.

  It didn’t move again.

  But Adam could have sworn its lips twitched—just a little—into something like approval.

  Adam quietly “…You’ve got to stop doing that.”

  Adam scanned the chaotic hall, searching for Lyne. The walls shimmered faintly, dozens of half-solved puzzles flickering like restless spirits. Then, near a collapsed bookshelf, he saw her—frozen mid-stance, eyes locked on a glowing tome.

  The light from the book painted her face in pale gold, her pupils dilated, sweat running down her temple. She didn’t blink, didn’t move—just stared into that radiant page.

  Adam quietly “A mental-type puzzle?”

  He took a cautious step forward—then stopped as the glow suddenly vanished. The book snapped shut on its own with a resonant thud.

  Lyne stumbled back, gasping for breath. Her hands trembled as if she’d just returned from the edge of death.

  Above them, the ceiling creaked. The abomination’s other hand—one of the many—lifted, its index finger straightening with a crack of bone.

  “Ohhh… so it’s not pointing at me. It’s keeping score.”

  The abomination hung motionless again, its patchwork flesh gleaming in the dim light, as if approving their success.

  Adam approached Lyne.

  “The trial must’ve been different, huh?”

  Lyne wiped sweat from her chin, still a little shaken.

  “Different doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

  She steadied her breath before continuing.

  “I was standing in an empty plain. Then it appeared—a beast from one of our oldest legends. Supposedly immortal. The text in the book said, to slay it.”

  Adam listened, brow furrowed.

  “There was a single word written in ancient tongue. I changed its meaning to ‘death,’ thinking that would end it.”

  She gave a bitter laugh.

  “Instead, it turned grotesque. Every breath it took filled the air with death Qi. Its body split and multiplied—it was like I had fed it instead of killed it.”

  Adam crossed his arms.

  “So what did you do next?”

  “I changed the word again. This time I shifted its meaning to good. The death Qi vanished, and the beast bowed before fading away. I passed.”

  “Putting dirty play in them.”

  “Exactly. This realm takes everything familiar to us—our myths, our memories, even our assumptions—and twists them until they don’t make sense anymore.”

  She looked up at the grotesque statue looming above.

  “It’s like whoever made this place enjoys watching us fail.”

  “Or learn.”

  Their gazes lingered on the abomination’s many faces. For just a heartbeat, one of its mouths twitched… almost like a smile.