Chapter 415: Spirit Transformation Realm Existence
Sun Lingtong controlled the Wanli Dragon, tailing a group of suspicious hooded black-robed cultivators.
The Wanli Dragon had shrunk to its smallest form, concealing its traces completely as it glided through the mountains and forests without making a sound.
Sun Lingtong gradually delved deeper into this colossal pillar-like tree.
The outer layer of the giant tree was covered by heavy rocks, with countless plants growing alongside them, the vegetation lush and tangled.
A mournful wind whistled through—wuuu, wuuu, wuuu—as if ghosts were weeping in the distance.
Beneath the crisscrossing shadows of the plants, ghostly silhouettes seemed to flicker, or perhaps beasts lay in ambush, forcing Sun Lingtong to stay fully alert.
All along the trail, not one of the hooded cultivators had noticed the Wanli Dragon.
That did not surprise Sun Lingtong.
After all, this group’s cultivation was low. The few leaders among them possessed Foundation Establishment cultivation, while most were only at the Qi Refining stage.
“Another cave… this makes the fifth or sixth already?”
“There are far too many caves on this giant-tree mountain.”
Moments ago, he had surveyed the area from above, but now that he ventured into one of the colossal pillar trees, he discovered even more details.
The mountain formed by these massive trees was riddled with caves large and small, like gaping black mouths silently watching the passersby.
Strangely, every so often, bursts of Yin Wind would blow outward from the cave mouths, each producing a different sound. Some were low and mournful, chilling to the bone, while others roared like crashing tides—so loud that one had to cover one’s ears.
The black-robed figures moved swiftly, their steps light as shadows, gliding forward in silence like ghosts of the night.
When they reached halfway up the mountain, they halted for the first time.
Several leaders drew out maps or tokens and compared them carefully before collectively choosing a nearby cave.
The black-robed ones entered in single file.
Sun Lingtong followed closely behind.
The cave entrance was pitch-black, only faintly illuminated by the weak glow of the magical artifacts held by the black-robed men, just enough to make out the path ahead.
At first, the cave walls were thick with moss, giving off a damp and decaying odor; the air was heavy with a suffocating sense of oppression.
But as they went deeper, the stone walls grew smooth and bare.
A deep silence enveloped the entire tunnel.
Suddenly, one of the black-robed cultivators stepped on a loose stone, producing a faint click.
Instantly, everyone froze where they stood, motionless as statues.
They turned to glare at the one who made the sound, some even radiating killing intent.
The black-robed man who had erred began trembling uncontrollably.
Seeing this, Sun Lingtong grew more curious. “What exactly are these people doing? They look terrified—as though they fear waking something.”
The tunnel’s layout was incredibly complex, with branching passages stretching in every direction like a massive labyrinth. Sun Lingtong focused intently, silently memorizing every junction.
In his mind, a map gradually took shape. His sense of direction and memory had been honed since childhood and were exceptional.
A sense of familiarity arose within him; the intricate terrain reminded him of the days he had spent in Mount Huoshi.
“Compared to the tunnels beneath Mount Huoshi, this place is ten times more convoluted—so winding and twisting.”
“Still, even though these passages interlace, the terrain itself doesn’t shift. Unlike Mount Huoshi’s tunnels, which could change drastically whenever an eruption or tremor occurred.”
“With a layout like this, a few more trips and one could fully map it out.”
As he ventured deeper, the tunnels grew wider. No stalactites or stalagmites could be seen—an unusual feature that put Sun Lingtong further on guard.
After about the time it took to drink a cup of tea, the hooded cultivators arrived at a vast cavern hall.
The ceiling rose high above, the walls smooth and gleaming.
Only the leaders held artifacts emitting faint light—clearly by design, to maintain secrecy.
At the far end of the hall yawned a massive opening, black as ink, like the gaping maw of a primeval beast waiting for prey to walk willingly into its jaws. The air around it seemed thick with unseen danger.
The black-robed cultivators began setting up a formation.
A large circular array was drawn upon the ground, and everyone took positions along its outer lines.
They chanted incantations in low voices; spiritual energy rippled outward, and soon the entire cavern quivered faintly.
Sun Lingtong tried to identify the array but failed.
Its structure was unlike any mainstream formation he had ever seen, inscribed with numerous divine sigils, looping and curling beyond comprehension.
So he waited patiently.
When the formation was pushed to its limit, it emitted a dim, eerie glow.
The ghostly radiance drifted like smoke into the enormous dark opening ahead.
But as time passed, nothing changed.
Some of the Qi Refining cultivators standing on the array’s edges began to waver, panic flickering across their faces.
They dared not speak aloud but transmitted messages through divine sense, saying they could no longer hold on and needed rest.
The Foundation Establishment leaders, however, ignored them entirely.
Sensing danger, several Qi Refining cultivators tried to break free, but the array’s core held them fast.
At that moment, Sun Lingtong realized—this formation had the power of sacrifice.
Sure enough, the next instant, the Qi Refining cultivators shriveled up, their bodies collapsing into piles of flesh and organs, the bones within drawn away as offerings to the array.
Yet, still, nothing stirred within the cave.
The remaining Foundation Establishment cultivators exchanged glances, then each drew a dagger and plunged it into their own bodies.
They died together, their spiritual power and bones turning into sacrificial fuel, driving the formation to its utmost power.
Even so—it was useless.
The last few survivors gradually halted the array, using divine sense to communicate.
Sun Lingtong, unable to eavesdrop, felt an itch of frustration.
He speculated, “These demonic cultivators must be trying to contact some powerful existence here.”
But what kind of existence?
His eyes gleamed. Even as his mind hesitated, his hands were already moving.
He guided the Wanli Dragon to slip quietly into the enormous cave.
The passage beyond was wide, yet far shorter than he had expected.
It was eerily peaceful—no traps, no danger, only utter darkness.
At the tunnel’s end sat a boulder the size of a house.
The boulder was round and smooth, emanating faint traces of vitality, leaking an aura far surpassing the Nascent Soul realm.
Sun Lingtong’s heart pounded wildly. “Beyond the Nascent Soul… could it be—a Spirit Transformation realm expert?”
Excitement surged through him.
If it had been Ning Zhuo, he would never have risked entering the cave. But Sun Lingtong’s nature was adventurous—he lived for thrill and peril.
This, however, was danger of the highest kind.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he carefully commanded the Wanli Dragon to retreat.
The Wanli Dragon was only of Nascent Soul grade; before a Spirit Transformation being, discovery was almost certain.
Yet halfway through his withdrawal, he stopped.
“Wait a moment… could it be… that this Spirit Transformation expert… is already dead?”
He focused again, activating the Wanli Dragon’s detection techniques.
After a few moments, Sun Lingtong’s expression grew complicated, a strange mix of awe and disbelief.
He confirmed that the Spirit Transformation master—was indeed dead.