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And so, they naively clung to the myths and legends, believing that traveling to the Northern Lands and mastering the arcane arts would not only grant them immortality, but also a Rule. Thus empowered, they could tread the path of the Immortals and, after an unimaginable span of time and with a healthy dose of inexplicable luck, reach the pinnacle of their quest — ascending to the Seventh Heaven and standing amongst its eternal inhabitants.
Fools and dreamers, the lot of them...
Those who lived here — the few hundred adepts who dwelt in these mountains — were bound by the ridiculous conviction that mere immortality was not enough. They sought the Absolute and nothing less. As a result, they had not descended to the plains for centuries and had long ago forgotten about the existence of the Outlands. The bartender even remembered how the story of the fall of the Raven Sect’s stronghold had only arrived with the Heaven Foxes themselves.
News that would have shaken the mortal realm of the Nameless World — and perhaps it had — echoed through the Hopeless Fool for a single evening before fading into obscurity, shrouded in a lifeless frost. It was promptly replaced by a rumor of another passage through the mountains, a tomb of some sort, a temple to the Old Gods of the North, or some other folly that would drive everyone to venture out, slay someone or something, and leave the bartender without customers for a while.
But it was all inconsequential. He had gotten used to it over thousands of years. In a century or two, the next wave of starry-eyed dreamers would arrive, and the cycle would continue. The people who came here refused to acknowledge that even if the Northern Lands existed, the path to them was blocked by forces far beyond mortal ability to defy.
Perhaps the Immortals could gain access, but why would they? For the sake of acquiring Rules? The bartender was privy to knowledge that many of the adventurers here lacked. Most Immortals had no need for Rules. Why? Because, after ascending so high, freed from the relentless scourge of Time, they lived for pleasure...
But it would be better not to think about that.
Speaking of Foxes…
Who was that stranger sitting there? The bartender didn’t think he’d seen him before. Maybe this meant that something more interesting than their recent descent into the ‘Northern Threshold Mine,’ which had turned out to be a latrine for a Stone Dragon at the Wild God Stage, would happen during this decade. What a shitty story that had turned out to be.
The bartender, wiping down the cups, hummed and turned to the Foxes’ table.
Chapter 1732
Arteus waved his hand across the table and whispered a few Words that no one could comprehend. Immediately, everything fell silent, the shouts and songs ceased, and even reality itself seemed to warp around the table like the air above a roaring fire.
“What is your name?” Arteus asked.
“Arnin,” replied the stranger who had joined them.
He was a man who appeared to be about forty years old, with a prominent burn on his right cheek and eyes the color of damp granite. He had almost no facial hair, except for a thin strip of a mustache that he seemed to tend to with the care of a mother watching over her newborn. Arteus narrowed his eyes at him slightly and examined the visitor’s energy body. Like most of the locals, he was a Heaven Emperor.
The wizard smiled inwardly at his stubborn habit. Over the one hundred and twenty years that they had wandered these mountains in search of a way to the Northern Lands, he should’ve gotten rid of the urge to measure a person’s strength. In the countless battles they’d participated in, and which had in some ways secured their own spot in the ranks of the Heaven Emperors, the Foxes had learned that strength didn’t necessarily matter much here.
They had encountered initial-stage Heaven Emperors who had wielded such powerful Techniques that their very minds had been shaken by them. Conversely, some peak-stage Heaven Emperors wouldn’t be able to survive a single day on their own out here.
But that was the nature of things. Casual travelers didn’t linger in the mountains for long. They would either perish, return to the plains of the Outlands, or, more often than not, invoke the trial of the Heavens and the Earth. About three out of ten succeeded. The Foxes had even witnessed one such ritual, or rather, they had been hired to act as guards.
During the trial, an adept was completely defenseless against the outside world. Thus, it was not surprising that a unique breed of bandits had arisen, hunting down such ‘candidates’ and killing them at the most inopportune moments in pursuit of their riches. Adepts hoarded their most valuable artifacts, amulets, alchemical reagents, and some even brought along scrolls of Techniques and spellbooks for the trial of the Heavens and the Earth. All in the name of having even the faintest hope of passing the test.
The Foxes had faced off against a dozen assassins of various Heaven Emperor stages. The battle had raged on for almost an hour. Fortunately, they had managed to defeat the bandits in time to witness the miraculous moment of Ascension.
Arteus would never forget the way the world had shimmered around the adept who’d passed the test. A path of pure gold had unfolded before them, rising toward clouds that had merged into a gateway. With each step along this path, the adept’s physical body had dissipated like morning mist, while their energy body, in turn, had solidified, taking on a definite form and ultimately becoming outwardly indistinguishable from their physical body, even though it was not the same.
It was then that Arteus had comprehended the true nature of the Immortals. They had no physical aspect, their flesh being pure energy. Then the gate had slammed shut behind the Ascended, and all that had remained behind were fragments of smoking flesh in the snow, which were soon reduced to ashes scattered by the wind.
Why did I remember that now? Arteus thought.
There were no more than three hundred adepts in the mountains, and two thirds of them regularly visited the Fool. Of those three hundred seekers, the Heaven Foxes had encountered nearly all of them over the course of their twelve decades here. They had formed a tight-knit collective of adventurers in search of a way to the Northern Lands. And yet, Arteus could not recall ever meeting Arnin.
“We don’t know you,” Albadurt said between bites of fresh bread and sipped from his mug. He wiped his damp beard and mustache before continuing, “And my aunt on my third great-nephew’s line-”
“The honorable Alba-udun,” the wizard interjected, well aware of the dwarf’s tendency to list his numerous relatives endlessly. “Means to say that we’ve never seen you in the mountains before.”
“I don’t come here often,” Arnin replied evasively, his tone dry and restrained.
“And where do you usually go, honorable Arnin?” Lathea inquired, her gaze clear and steely, her tone stern and heavy. She caused a stir among the males, and even a part of the female onlookers. Arteus, however, was not unnerved as he glanced at the simple wedding bracelet around his wrist, matching the one Lathea wore. The one his wife wore.
“To the southern slopes,” the stranger replied. “We are exploring the caves of the far grotto.”
- Writer
