The passage through the shimmering portal felt like wading through liquid putty made of light. For a moment Tavalor's vision was filled with a kaleidoscope of colours before suddenly clearing as they emerged into the Veridian Realm.

  Gasps of amazement echoed among the group as they beheld their surroundings.

  They stood on the crest of a small hill, overlooking a vast landscape that defied expectation. The realm stretched for kilometres in every direction, encapsulated in what appeared to be an enormous sealed space, almost like a self-contained world.

  Amazing. A real small world. Tavalor thought to himself.

  Ancient trees with trunks wider than houses rose majestically into the artificial sky, their canopies shimmering with fruits that pulsed with spiritual energy.

  Mountain peaks dotted the distant horizons, some crowned with strange, geometrically perfect buildings that could only have been created through profound alchemical arts.

  By the Two Moons,' Captain Lyrawyn whispered, her normally composed features betraying genuine awe. 'The texts did not exaggerate.'

  Lady Feng approached the edge of the hill, her delicate features contemplative as she surveyed the realm. 'Veridian was truly a master beyond compare. To create a pocket dimension of this magnitude... the knowledge required is almost unfathomable.'

  Tavalor, however, was distracted.

  The moment they had entered the realm, his heightened senses had detected something extraordinary—a scent carried on the gentle breeze that stirred the foreign grasses beneath their feet. His nostrils flared slightly, and a smile touched his lips.

  Spirit wine. Amazing, amazing spirit wine. I've never smelled anything that smells so good.

  Tavalor thought back to earth and what it could smell like. It smells like a candy shop. That waft of air that hits your face as you open the door.

  Little Shadow shifted excitedly on his shoulder, sensing his master's sudden interest.

  'What are you doing?' Luneth asked, turning toward him.

  'I sense something,' Tavalor replied, his ruby eyes scanning the distance. 'Spirit wine—some aged a thousand years or more, if my senses don't deceive me.'

  Captain Lyrawyn raised an eyebrow. 'Spirit wine? We've barely entered the realm, and that's what captures your attention?'

  'You have your priorities, Captain, and I have mine,' Tavalor replied with a slight smile. 'Wine aged for a thousand years is not merely a beverage—it's a historical artefact, a masterpiece of patience and craft.'

  Little Shadow chirped enthusiastically, its violet eyes fixed in the same direction as Tavalor's gaze. The shadow creature had grown fond of spirit wine after stealing sips from Tavalor's cup in recent weeks.

  'I need to investigate this,' Tavalor said, his tone suggesting this was not a request for permission. 'I'll rejoin you shortly.'

  Before anyone could object, he seemed to flicker and then vanish, moving with a speed that left even Lady Feng momentarily stunned.

  'Did he just—' one of the elven disciples began, eyes wide.

  'Teleport?' finished another, equally surprised.

  Captain Lyrawyn simply sighed, and shook her head covering for him. 'He's just fast.'

  She was slowly starting to get accustomed to Tavalor's eccentricities. 'He had something else to do,' she explained with remarkable calm. 'We'll proceed toward those buildings ahead. He'll find us when he's ready.'

  As they began their descent from the hill, Lady Feng fell into step beside Captain Lyrawyn, her voice pitched low. 'Your friend is... unusual. I've never seen a Moon Elf move like that.'

  'Tavalor defies easy categorisation,' Captain Lyrawyn replied diplomatically. 'It's best not to make assumptions about his capabilities.'

  ***

  Behind them, the tear through which they had entered was widening again as more cultivators poured through.

  Although the entrance had shut behind Tavalor and the initial few, it had been weakened enough that with the help of some specialist tools from Ark Town, and some communal effort, they had found a way to open the entrance again.

  The first wave of opportunistic followers from Ark Town had reached the passage, their excited exclamations breaking the tranquil atmosphere of the realm.

  'Look at the size of this place!'

  'The Mana density here is incredible!'

  'Spread out! Find treasures before the others arrive!'

  Among the newcomers, several figures stood out—notably the Dwarven Twins, Thrainar and Bromlin, whose short, powerful frames belied their renowned strength. Their beards were intricately braided with golden threads, and their armour glinted with runes of power. Each carried a massive hammer that pulsed with elemental energy.

  Not far behind them came the holy son of the Imperium Solara, Tiberius Solarinius, his golden hair and perfect features giving him an almost divine appearance. His white-and-gold robes fluttered dramatically as he strode forward, flanked by several elders of the Imperial Court.

  'Forward, my brothers!' Tiberius called out, his voice resonating with power. 'The treasures of the ancients await the worthy!'

  The Dwarven Twins exchanged glances before simultaneously spitting on the ground in contempt.

  'Aye, and they'll be waiting for us, not some preening princeling,' Thrainar growled.

  'Let the pointy-ears and the gold-robes fight amongst themselves,' Bromlin agreed. 'We go our own way, as always.'

  The twins hefted their hammers and set off toward the eastern mountains, moving with surprising speed for their stocky frames.

  Tiberius watched them go with narrowed eyes before gesturing for his entourage to head west, toward a series of glittering pools that reflected the artificial sunlight like polished mirrors.

  The remaining cultivators, wisely avoiding direct competition with these dominant figures, scattered in different directions.

  Some headed toward the ancient forest, others toward what appeared to be ruins of alchemical laboratories in the south.

  ***

  Deep within a secluded valley hidden among twisted trees with bark like burnished copper, Tavalor had located the source of the enticing aroma.

  A cave marked with ancient symbols glowed with a soft, inviting light. Inside, rack upon rack of spirit wine stretched into the shadows, each bottle a masterpiece of alchemical artistry.

  Little Shadow darted excitedly from bottle to bottle, its form elongating and contracting as it examined the treasures before them.

  'Patience,' Tavalor said, carefully selecting a particular bottle from a dust-covered rack. 'No need to rush.'

  The bottle he chose was unlike the others—its glass seemed to shimmer with an inner fire, and the liquid within moved like captured starlight rather than mere wine. According to the faded label, this particular vintage had been ageing for precisely 1,532 years.

  With reverent care, Tavalor opened the bottle, releasing an aroma that made even Little Shadow pause in its explorations. He poured a small amount into a jade cup he had produced from his [storage space] and savoured the bouquet before taking a sip.

  'Exquisite,' he murmured, his eyes closing briefly in appreciation. 'The alchemist who crafted this understood that true art requires both scientific precision and poetic intuition.'

  This is what life should be like, wandering around, finding good stuff to eat and drink, exploring new places.

  Little Shadow chirped impatiently, nudging Tavalor's hand.

  'Very well,' he laughed, pouring a tiny amount into a smaller cup for the shadow creature. 'But remember, you're still growing. Moderation is key.'

  As the two enjoyed their unexpected find, battles had already begun erupting throughout the realm. Cultivators clashed over spirit herbs, ancient texts, and mysterious devices of unknown purpose.

  The peace of Veridian's sanctuary, undisturbed for millennia, shattered under the weight of greed.

  ***

  In a meadow filled with flowers that changed colour with each passing breeze, two cultivators from rival sects engaged in deadly combat over a single spirit stone of unusual purity.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  Their techniques tore gouges in the earth and scorched the colour-changing blossoms that had survived untouched for countless centuries.

  Near a crystalline stream whose waters flowed uphill rather than down, three members of the Jade Court discovered an ancient jade box containing cultivation manuals.

  Their initial cooperation devolved into betrayal when one attempted to claim the most valuable text for himself. Only one walked away, clutching blood-spattered scrolls. Reducing their already limited numbers even more.

  ***

  Tiberius Solarinius and his entourage had abandoned the glittering pools after finding them disappointingly empty of treasures. They now moved through a series of interconnected caves, following a map one of the elders had hastily sketched based on spatial energy fluctuations.

  'The strongest concentrations of alchemical energy are ahead,' the elder reported, his wrinkled face illuminated by the glowing crystal he held aloft. 'If Veridian truly left behind his greatest works, they would be protected by the most powerful wards.'

  Tiberius nodded imperiously. 'Then we shall claim them for the glory of Solara.'

  The caves twisted and turned, opening occasionally into vast chambers filled with strange fungi that pulsed with bioluminescent light.

  Eventually, they reached a smooth stone door marked with a single character in Draconic:

  Wine.

  'Wine?' Tiberius scoffed. 'We seek alchemical secrets, not drinks for a tavern.'

  Nevertheless, the elder pushed the door open, revealing a spacious chamber lined with racks of glimmering bottles.

  In the centre of the room, seated cross-legged on the floor with several open bottles arranged before him, was Tavalor.

  Little Shadow perched on his shoulder, its violet eyes regarding the newcomers with what could only be described as disdain.

  'Ah, greetings visitors,' Tavalor remarked casually, taking another sip from his jade cup. 'Care to join me? This 1,532-year vintage is particularly remarkable.'

  Tiberius stared in disbelief, his perfect features contorting with indignation. 'You—how dare you? These treasures are not for common thieves!'

  'Treasures?' Tavalor replied mildly. 'It's just wine. Excellent wine, admittedly, but hardly the alchemical secrets you're looking for.'

  'All contents of this realm rightfully belong to those with the power to claim them,' Tiberius declared, stepping forward. His aura flared, golden light illuminating the chamber. 'And I, Tiberius Solarinius, holy son of Imperium Solara, claim this cave and all within it. Leave now, and you may keep your life.'

  Tavalor sighed, carefully setting down his cup. 'I was here first. There are hundreds of bottles—plenty to share. Must we resort to tedious posturing?'

  Tiberius's face flushed with anger. 'Insolence!' He struck out with blinding speed, his palm strike aimed directly at Tavalor's chest—a technique known as the [Solar Smite].

  Imperium Solara was the Empire of the Sun after all, and all of its techniques were based around the sun.

  What happened next left everyone in the chamber stunned.

  The moment Tiberius's palm connected with Tavalor's chest, there was a sickening crunch—but it wasn't Tavalor who crumpled.

  Tiberius's arm bent at an unnatural angle, bones shattering from fingertips to shoulder. The force of his own attack rebounded through his body, rupturing internal organs and sending blood spraying from his mouth.

  He collapsed to the floor, gasping in agony and disbelief.

  'What... what did you do?' he choked out, his golden aura flickering weakly around his broken form.

  Tavalor hadn't moved an inch. He at the guy in amusement. 'I did nothing. You struck me.'

  One of the elders rushed forward, kneeling beside the fallen holy son. After a quick examination, he looked up at Tavalor with a mixture of fear and fury. 'What manner of defensive artefact are you wearing? No mere reflection technique could cause such damage!'

  'I'm not wearing any artefacts,' Tavalor replied honestly. 'Perhaps your young friend should be more careful about attacking strangers.'

  Another elder, enraged by the sight of the holy son's suffering, launched his own attack—a powerful spell that sent countless golden needles flying toward Tavalor.

  The needles struck true were one again reflected back on contact, the force of their destruction flying back to pierce the elder's own body.

  He fell beside Tiberius, choking on his blood.

  Tavalor smiled even more amused. 2-0 and he hadn't even launched an attack.

  The remaining members of Tiberius's entourage backed away, their faces pale with shock.

  'I didn't come here to fight,' Tavalor said, rising smoothly to his feet. Little Shadow mimicked his movements, stretching to its full height (which, admittedly, was still quite small). 'But I won't be bullied, either.'

  He stashed half bottles of the spirit wine into his [system space] and strode toward the exit.

  The Solaran's parted before him, unwilling to risk the fate of their companions.

  As Tavalor passed the trembling elder who had cast the needle spell, he paused. 'Your young master will live, though his cultivation may be permanently damaged. Consider it a lesson in manners.'

  ***

  With that, he disappeared into the twisting caves, leaving the Imperials to tend to their wounded.

  Word of the encounter spread quickly through the realm, carried by minor cultivators who had witnessed the aftermath.

  The prevailing theory was that the mysterious Moon Elf possessed a [B-Class] defensive spirit artefact of extraordinary power—perhaps even a semi-[A-Class] relic.

  Few considered the alternative: that his body itself might be the impenetrable defence.

  ***

  Elsewhere in the realm, amid a grove of trees with silver leaves and blood-red fruit, four cultivators from different factions were engaged in a heated argument.

  'The Gold Flesh Fruit tree clearly belongs to the first who discovered it,' insisted a woman in green robes, her hair bound in a severe topknot.

  'Nonsense! According to the ancient laws of discovery, all present parties have equal claim,' countered a man with a face half-covered in ritual scars.

  The other two—a pair of twins with pale hair and paler skin—simply watched with calculating eyes, their hands resting on the hilts of matching swords.

  Their argument was interrupted by loud clanking of boots.

  It heralded the arrival of a powerful figure in silver armour emblazoned with the crest of the Hunicus Clan—one of the most influential families in Imperium Solara. His closed helmet was fashioned to resemble a snarling wolf, and his voice echoed metallically from behind it.

  'Your petty squabbles are meaningless,' he declared. 'I, Huvian Hunicus, claim this entire tree for the glory of my clan. Depart now, or face the consequences.'

  The four cultivators exchanged glances.

  Despite their disagreements, they shared a common enemy in this arrogant newcomer. Without a word, they attacked simultaneously, their combined techniques creating a formidable assault.

  Huvian Hunicus laughed, the sound hollow behind his helmet.

  With a sweep of his hand, silver light erupted in all directions, slamming into the four cultivators and sending them flying backward. Three managed to stabilise themselves; the fourth crashed through several trees before lying still, clearly injured.

  'Is that all?' Huvian mocked, approaching the Gold Flesh Fruit tree. 'I expected more from—'

  His words died in his throat as a figure suddenly appeared beside the tree, casually plucking one of the golden fruits and taking a bite. Juice the colour of rose-gold dribbled down Tavalor's chin as he chewed thoughtfully.

  'Mmm,' he remarked. 'Tart. With interesting overtones.'

  'How dare you!' Huvian spluttered. 'That fruit—'

  Before he could finish, Tavalor made a gesture with his free hand. The entire tree, roots and all, vanished into his [storage space].

  'Everyone gets a share,' Tavalor said cheerfully, tossing the half-eaten fruit to a bewildered Huvian. 'No need to fight over it.'

  And then he was gone again, leaving Huvian holding the partially consumed fruit and struggling to comprehend what had just happened.

  ***

  Similar scenes played out across the Veridian Realm as cultivators discovered the extent of the treasures hidden within.

  Mana stones lay scattered like pebbles in certain areas, their energy so common in this place that they were practically worthless.

  Herbs that would cause wars in the outside world grew in abundant clusters, their potency undiminished by centuries of isolation.

  More valuable were the spirit artefacts—weapons, armour, and tools created by Veridian himself, each imbued with profound alchemical principles.

  Captain Lyrawyn had already secured a [B-Class] bow whose arrows could pierce through almost all barriers. Lady Feng had discovered a jade hairpin that could detect and neutralise most common poisons.

  Yet for all the realm's bounty, danger lurked beneath its beautiful surface.

  In a jungle at the realm's eastern edge, a [D-Class] cultivator from a minor sect had discovered a sealed chamber marked with warnings in a dozen ancient languages. Draconic and Elven included.

  Ignoring the obvious caution signs, he had broken the seal, hoping to find exclusive treasures.

  Instead, a thick black fog had poured forth, engulfing him in seconds.

  His screams—brief but horrific—sent nearby cultivators fleeing in terror.

  The fog spread with unnatural speed, rolling across the landscape like a living entity. Where it touched, plants withered and stone corroded.

  Those unfortunate enough to be caught suffered excruciating pain before their bodies simply... dissolved.

  The fog seemed to neutralise spirit energy, rendering even powerful defensive techniques useless. More disturbing still, it seemed to possess intelligence, actively pursuing cultivators rather than spreading randomly.

  Within hours, the fog had reached the entrance to the Veridian Realm, sealing it off completely.

  No one could leave; all were trapped within the increasingly deadly pocket dimension.

  On a plateau overlooking a valley of spirit herbs, Captain Lyrawyn found herself in an unexpected alliance with the Dwarven Twins.

  They had been competing for possession of a [B-Class] alchemical cauldron when disciples arrived, breathless with warnings of the approaching fog.

  'The Black Fog of Death, they're calling it,' gasped one of Lyrawyn's disciples. 'It's already claimed dozens of cultivators. Nothing stops it—not water, not fire, not barriers.'

  Thrainar and Bromlin exchanged grim looks. The dwarven brothers had survived countless dangers in their centuries of cultivation, but this sounded dire.

  'We tried attacking it,' another disciple reported. 'Bromlin, your hammer technique—the [Mountain Splitter]—I saw someone use something similar. The beam just... disappeared into the fog. No effect.'

  Bromlin's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. His [Mountain Splitter] technique was renowned for its raw destructive power. If it had no effect on this fog...

  'The entrance is blocked,' Captain Lyrawyn stated flatly, her tactical mind already assessing their options. 'We need to move toward the centre of the realm. Find high ground, gather allies, pool resources.'

  The dwarves nodded in rare agreement with the elven captain.

  Without another word about the cauldron they had been fighting over, the three powerful cultivators led their disciples away from the area, moving with purposeful speed.

  Across the realm, similar scenes played out as cultivators abandoned their treasure hunting and battles, fleeing toward the centre where they hoped to find safety in numbers.

  The black fog pursued relentlessly, consuming stragglers and slowly constricting the safe area.

  Most disturbing of all were the reports from those who had glimpsed something within the fog itself—a face formed from the virulent mist, its features constantly shifting yet undeniably human.

  Some claimed to have heard it speak, uttering words in an unknown language that somehow translated themselves directly into the listener's mind.

  'You have disturbed what should have remained sealed,' the voice reportedly said. 'Now all shall perish within Veridian's final experiment.'

  As night fell over the realm—a strange, artificial darkness created by whatever mechanism powered this pocket dimension—cultivators huddled in makeshift camps, their earlier conflicts temporarily forgotten in the face of common danger.

  [C-Class] experts who had been enemies hours before now stood side by side, their combined powers creating barriers they hoped might slow the advancing fog.

  In a secluded cave not far from the central mountain, Tavalor sat cross-legged, surrounded by his collection of spirit wine. Little Shadow dozed beside him, curled into a small ball of darkness. He sipped thoughtfully from his jade cup, seemingly unconcerned by the panic spreading throughout the realm.

  'Interesting,' he murmured, sensing the approach of the fog even from this distance. 'Veridian was indeed a master craftsman. And such a scammer. To think he created such a mechanism...'

  Little Shadow stirred, one violet eye opening to regard its master curiously.

  'Oh, we're in no danger,' Tavalor assured the shadow creature, scratching it gently behind what might have been ears. 'But I suspect the coming hours will reveal a lot about the nature of this realm—and perhaps about Veridian himself.'

  Scammer.

  As if in response to his words, a distant rumbling shook the cave, dislodging dust from the ceiling. Little Shadow chirped in alarm, expanding slightly in size.

  'Okay, okay,' Tavalor agreed, setting down his cup. 'That's our cue.'

  With a fluid motion that belied his relaxed posture, Tavalor rose to his feet. The spirit wine was carefully stored away, and Little Shadow took its accustomed place on his shoulder.

  'Let's see what's causing all this commotion, shall we?'

  Together, they stepped out into the artificial night, moving toward the centre of the realm where desperate cultivators gathered in the face of encroaching doom.

  Behind them, the black fog continued its inexorable advance, hungry for more victims.