Desolate Devouring Art

The treasure had surfaced only recently. Cultivators rushed in from every direction, but no one could claim such a powerful artifact easily.

Artifacts brimmed with spirituality, and earning their recognition required far more than brute force.

Ten days later, Liu Wuxie stepped into an unusual place. The sight before him made him pause. It wasn't a mountain range or a canyon, but a quiet village nestled beside a distant river, inhabited by simple natives who lived off the land.

Something felt off.

Every time Liu Wuxie encountered an ancient tribe, the same three elements always appeared—forests, profound beasts, and water sources. Each of them existed to support life, especially the lives of those who provided faith energy.

Everything here seemed deliberately crafted, operating with eerie precision, as though guided by an invisible hand.

But the villagers had no idea a storm was about to engulf them.

At the center of the village stood a house that resembled a shrine, although it didn't entirely fit the description. A glowing red light radiated from within, and the villagers knelt outside it every day, whispering prayers without pause.

Scanning the area with Ghost Eye, Liu Wuxie quickly spotted several figures already hiding in the shadows, waiting. One of them had even snuck into the village, clearly attempting to steal whatever was inside.

More cultivators were scattered around, all powerful, all hidden. Liu Wuxie detected them one by one, but chose not to expose anyone.

"How odd," he muttered. "They got here before me, so why aren't they making a move?"

The treasure was right in front of them. Typically, the moment a treasure appeared, it would spark a wild scramble. Their restraint didn't make sense unless something was keeping them at bay.