Chapter 7 The Golden Coffin's Disturbance
1127 Words
With Jackie's guidance, Henry had finally pieced together a rough picture of his surroundings.
The vast Occulted Cosmos Sphere was carved up by three supreme factions: the Southern Blade-Summoning Immortal Sect, the Central Traceless Immortal Academy, and his current refuge—the Radiant Phoenix Sanctum.
Outside these three behemoth organizations, each ruled by a supreme Immortal Emperor, countless smaller sects sprang up like weeds across the cultivation world.
The Radiant Phoenix Sanctum held dominion over the icy northern wastes, governing six provinces spanning endless territories. Yet despite its grandeur, the region remained a lawless free-for-all.
Cultivators of all levels—from peak Forbidden Wind Ravine experts down to lowly Qi Condensation novices—clashed constantly, turning the realm into pure anarchy.
That changed when the Radiant Phoenix Immortal Emperor unified the six provinces and erected inversion teleportation formations with her overwhelming power.
Now, cultivators below Nascent Soul realm were restricted to the twin backwater provinces—Broken Dreams and Willowveil. Those below Mahayana realm inhabited Four-Poles and Frostwhisper, dubbed "Tribulation Realms" due to the heavenly punishments awaiting every breakthrough past Nascent Soul.
Only those transcending Mahayana to reach Profound Immortal realm could tread the hallowed grounds of Silverpine Province.
As for the final province? Whispers claimed it abutted the rogue-infested "Mistglow Valley" where all three powers converged—earning its ominous name: Valley of Broken Dreams.
No cultivation restrictions applied there... because it functioned as the Sanctum's bloody battleground!
Jackie's cultivation remained too shallow to have beheld its c*****e firsthand.
According to his sources, since the Sanctum sealed its borders, reconnaissance strikes from enemy factions had intensified. Over months, skirmishes in the Valley of Broken Dreams had exploded into near-total warfare.
Henry could only mutter darkly to himself—Talk about an immortal realm power struggle. But cynicism wouldn't save him. Right now, he faced a catastrophe of his own making.
Due to its ancestral significance, the War Tomb uniquely occupied half of Mount Cross region.
For three months, Henry had traversed every accessible corner of the War Tomb, performing memorial rites at each grave.
A staggering 376,951 tombstones in total.
The sheer number of graves far exceeded his expectations.
According to his plan, after completing the rites for these tombs, his cultivation of the Tomb-Burial Sutra should have reached remarkable heights.
After all, most of those buried here had possessed substantial cultivation bases in life.
Yet as the months passed, Henry found it harder to sustain his efforts.
Especially after paying respects at the eight-thousandth grave a month prior—his accumulated Nether Mausoleum Force had shifted from ashen-gray to a steel-blue hue.
This marked a qualitative energy transformation akin to a cultivator’s spiritual energy condensing into True Essence!
But as the Nether Mausoleum Force within him grew, so did a subtle but growing resistance.
This resistance manifested in countless ways—sometimes as an unseen force pressing down on him, other times as unexpected obstacles appearing underfoot.
At first, these were minor inconveniences: bird droppings, snapped twigs, nothing alarming.
But soon, boulders would materialize beneath his feet out of nowhere. Rotted logs. Even rusted blades and shattered weapons—potentially deadly hazards appearing suddenly.
The tomb seemed to conjure these bizarre objects from thin air—
Only Henry, as a gravekeeper, understood the underlying cause.
This hostility stemmed from the Tomb-Burial Sutra’s cultivation method—fundamentally incompatible with this world.
The very laws of this world were pushing back against his existence!
Faced with this growing hostility, Henry was forced to abandon his plans.
If he kept cultivating like this, one day a rogue flying sword might appear out of nowhere and chop him to pieces.
No matter how hard Henry racked his mind or scoured through countless cultivation notes and manuals, he couldn't find any solution.
Staring at the pulsing golden light of the Soul Passage Coffin in his Spirit Sea, Henry couldn't help but recall a certain someone.
Just his luck!
Ever since his capture in the Rebirth Cave, the Soul Passage Coffin had remained eerily silent—so quiet he'd practically forgotten the damn thing existed.
Right now, his mind was entirely consumed with solving the cultivation system's rejection, completely oblivious to the coffin lurking within his body.
There it was, sneaking along his Spirit Sea's edge like a golden rat after lamp oil, creeping closer with silent mischief.
What exactly was the Spirit Sea?
It was the core storage space where early-stage cultivators contained heaven and earth's spiritual energy!
Though Henry wasn't a conventional cultivator, he'd practiced fragments of the Record of Ten Thousand Sealed Swords in the Rebirth Cave to survive.
That was when his Spirit Sea first formed.
Even as a beginner, the Record of Ten Thousand Sealed Swords was still a top-tier immortal-grade technique.
On top of fully absorbing that wisp of Primordial Heaven-Earth Qi, Henry's Spirit Sea now roughly matched a late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator's capacity.
Tiny as it was (barely palm-sized), it was still part of the genuine cultivation system.
Once his seals broke and he refined enough spiritual energy into True Essence, he'd become a genuine late-stage Qi Condensation cultivator!
Then he could simply abandon the Tomb-Burial Sect's legacy, and the system's rejection would disappear naturally.
Just as Henry's focus was entirely locked on his Sea of Consciousness, frantically scrambling for solutions to the rejection—
White-hot agony exploded through his dantian out of nowhere.
White-hot pain lanced through Henry like ten thousand silver needles stabbing at once, nearly bludgeoning him into unconsciousness.
Clenching his jaw against the torment, he steadied himself—only for his breath to hitch at the grotesque sight before him.
At the fringe of his Spirit Sea, the golden Soul Passage Coffin had flipped lid-up, its maw gaping like a starved demon.
Then it struck—sinking spectral fangs deep into his Spirit Sea.
Like it was tearing into fresh prey!
"No! Gods, STOP—!"
Henry's very soul quaked. The Dantian and Spirit Sea formed the bedrock of a cultivator's power. With the Tomb-Burial Sect's cultivation already rejected by this world...
If his Spirit Sea shattered, he'd be stripped of cultivation forever. But the arrogant coffin wouldn't heed mere words.
Another bite. Agony detonated through his meridians, bending Henry double. Tears and spittle flew freely.
The coffin pranced about like a victorious warlord. It gnashed its spectral jaws, gave three triumphant shakes—then chomped again.
Before Henry could process the last wave of torment, fresh agony scorched his nerves. His spine bowed like a drawn longbow, head snapping backward.
On and on the cycle continued.
Consciousness flickered like a dying candle—only to be wrenched back when the next wave struck.
By this point, Henry hung on the precipice of sanity. Only broken, animalistic whimpers escaped him.
- Writer
