Immortal Druid

[POV: Zhao Yan]

The Sky Stone Cave was a secret realm co-owned by the Steel Sky Sect and the Stone Spire Sect, a place hidden from the eyes of outsiders and guarded through generations of uneasy cooperation. Its most striking feature was the ceiling, which shimmered with the illusion of an open sky, clouds drifting slowly across a vast blue expanse that felt almost real.

Despite being deep within a cave, light filled the space evenly, as though the heavens themselves had been captured and sealed overhead. Few knew the truth behind this place, that beneath its tranquil appearance lay the burial grounds of an eminent existence, one whose legacy had been deliberately buried by time and fear.

A woman stood at the center of the excavation site, her dark hair cascading down her back, her clothing bold and revealing in a way that seemed almost deliberate, as if she welcomed attention only to dominate it. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, as they swept over the figures working under her command.

“Work faster,” Zhao Yan said coldly, her voice carrying effortlessly across the cavern. “Every moment we waste here is a moment we risk exposure. Do not forget how many resources the Dark Order has invested to make this possible. Failure is not an option.”

Her words struck like a whip, and the black-robed cultivators scattered across the cavern responded immediately. Pickaxes rose and fell with renewed intensity, each strike echoing against the stone walls as they carved deeper into the hidden structure. These were no ordinary laborers but Core Formation experts, individuals who could dominate entire regions under normal circumstances. Yet here, they toiled like miners, driven by fear and loyalty in equal measure.

Zhao Yan watched them with narrowed eyes, her lips curling slightly in disdain.

“We will not fail,” she continued, her tone sharper now. “Take Long Xue as your warning. A mission that should have guaranteed success, and yet he fumbled it so thoroughly that it became an embarrassment to the Order. Do not make the same mistake.”

A murmur of acknowledgment passed through the group, their movements growing even more precise, more desperate to meet her expectations.

Zhao Yan folded her arms as she observed their progress, her thoughts drifting back to the intricate web she had woven to reach this moment. None of this had been left to chance. By orchestrating the attempted assassination of the Steel Sky Sect Leader’s son, she had ignited tensions that had long simmered beneath the surface. With careful manipulation, she had provoked key figures within both sects, guiding their reactions, feeding their suspicions, until war became inevitable.

It was in a cultivator’s nature to fight, to dominate, and to destroy. All she had done was nudge them in the direction they were already inclined to go.

Through that chaos, the Dark Order had slipped into the Sky Stone Cave unnoticed, free to pursue their true objective. There had been a moment of risk when the two scions had attempted to negotiate peace, threatening to undo everything she had set in motion. Zhao Yan had not hesitated. By arranging for the destruction of both sects’ keys and ensuring each side blamed the other, she had tightened the noose. When even that seemed insufficient, she issued another assassination order, eliminating the possibility of reconciliation entirely.

All paths had been sealed.

A sudden, resounding crash shattered her thoughts as a section of the cavern wall collapsed inward. Dust and debris scattered as the cultivators stepped back, revealing a hidden chamber concealed within the stone.

At its heart stood an enormous mural.

It depicted a young man, his figure tall and imposing, his expression calm yet commanding, as if he stood above the world itself. Even in stillness, there was an aura about him, something ancient and profound that seemed to press against the senses.

Zhao Yan’s eyes widened, and then she laughed.

A low, breathless sound that quickly grew into something unrestrained.

“Wonderful… simply wonderful,” she said, her gaze fixed upon the mural. “So it’s true. My calculations, the historical fragments, the theories… all of it was correct.”

She turned sharply toward her subordinates, her expression alight with fervor.

“Prepare the ritual,” she ordered.

They moved immediately, setting aside their tools as they began inscribing a formation across the ground of the hidden chamber. Lines of intricate patterns spread outward from the mural, carved with precision and filled with spiritual materials that glowed faintly in the dim light. Circles within circles took shape, each layer representing a different function. Runes etched into the stone pulsed with a dark, rhythmic energy, interconnected pathways forming a complex network that converged at a single point before the mural.

At the center, a basin-like structure was formed, designed to receive the core of the offering. Surrounding it, eight smaller nodes were placed in symmetrical alignment, each one meant to anchor the formation and distribute the immense energy required for what they were about to attempt. The air grew heavy as the formation neared completion, spiritual energy gathering and condensing until even breathing felt laborious.

Zhao Yan watched with satisfaction.

It had been ages since the order of the world had shifted, since the path to immortality had been severed, leaving cultivators trapped beneath an invisible ceiling. History had been rewritten to justify it, to make it seem inevitable, but she knew better. She had studied the past, piecing together fragments that others dismissed, uncovering truths that had been deliberately hidden.

It was unjust.

The Dark Order existed to correct that injustice.

To bring back the Age of Supremacy, when cultivation flourished freely and the pursuit of immortality was not a crime against the heavens but a right earned through strength and will. Different factions within the Order pursued this goal in their own ways. Some sought to obtain a Shén, a being capable of rewriting the rules themselves. Others, like Zhao Yan, sought to revive what had already proven its dominance.

Their founding father.

With a flick of her wrist, Zhao Yan opened her storage ring. A corpse fell onto the ground before the formation, its body lifeless and pale, yet still carrying the faint remnants of power it once held.

The young master of the Steel Sky Sect.

The very same scion whose death had exacerbated the war now raging beyond this hidden realm.

Zhao Yan stepped forward, her gaze burning with anticipation as she looked between the corpse and the mural.

“The time has come,” she said, her voice low but filled with undeniable authority. “We begin the ritual.”

…

..

.

[POV: Lu Jing]

It felt like a very long dream, the kind that lingered even after waking, clinging to the edges of consciousness with fragments that refused to fully fade. For Lu Jing, who had long stepped into the realm of immortals, there were few things left in existence that could truly move him. Time had dulled most sensations, and eternity had rendered even the grandest experiences ordinary. Yet there was one thing he had never grown accustomed to.

Death.

It was unfair.

He had not feared it, nor had he resisted it out of desperation. He had merely sought something beyond, a path that extended past immortality itself. Was that so unreasonable? To walk further when one had already come so far?

Slowly, his eyes opened.

The world returned in muted clarity, stone walls forming around him as he found himself within a cavern. The air was still, heavy with an unfamiliar yet faintly resonant energy. He rose to his feet without urgency, his movements steady despite the strange dissonance within his body. The moment he stood, he felt it.

His cultivation had been reduced severely.

It was a natural consequence of his death.

What had once been immeasurable now barely brushed the threshold of Soul Transformation. The contrast was almost laughable.

“Ah,” he murmured, flexing his fingers slightly as he observed the faint flow of spiritual energy within himself, “how low the mighty have fallen.”

His gaze lifted, settling upon the mural carved into the wall before him. It depicted a young man, composed and resolute, bearing an air that stood above all else.

Himself.

A faint recollection surfaced. He had placed himself there, sealing a portion of his existence within this hidden space to escape the inevitable descent of Heavenly Tribulation. A calculated gamble.

One he had lost.

He had died. That much was certain. What remained now was little more than a fragment, pieced together through means that felt… inelegant.

His memories, too, were incomplete, blurred at the edges like ink washed away by water.

Lu Jing raised his hand, studying it in silence before extending his spiritual sense inward, probing the nature of his current existence.

“Oh my, necromancy, huh?”

Before the thought could settle, movement drew his attention.

A woman stepped forward and dropped to one knee, her posture respectful, her head bowed deeply. Behind her, a group of black-robed cultivators followed suit in perfect unison, their actions synchronized with practiced discipline.

“Ancestor,” the woman said, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

Lu Jing regarded her calmly, his gaze lingering for a brief moment before he spoke.

“Woman,” he said, his tone casual, almost detached, “what is your name?”

She lifted her head slightly, just enough to answer without breaking her respectful posture. “This junior is Zhao Yan.”

Lu Jing’s expression remained unchanged.

“I do not recall any Zhao,” he replied. “Please, enlighten this old soul.”

Zhao Yan did not falter. “This junior is a member of the Dark Order, an organization founded upon your ideals, Ancestor.”

That drew a faint reaction from him, a subtle shift in his gaze as amusement flickered beneath the surface.

“Is that so?” he said lightly.

Though his first instinct was to leave, to step away from this crude revival and seek his own path once more, he found himself… curious. An organization built upon his ideals? Whether they had understood those ideals correctly was another matter entirely, but the notion itself held a certain appeal.

Zhao Yan continued, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. “In this era, true immortals are few. The path has been suppressed, its continuation denied. We require your strength, Ancestor.”

She straightened slightly, though she remained kneeling. “The Dark Order was founded upon three principles. First, the path to immortality is never-ending. Second, all beings shall bow to the heavens. And third…” Her eyes lifted, meeting his briefly. “Heaven is something we create.”

Lu Jing fell silent.

For a fleeting moment, something stirred within him. It was an old memory, distant yet vivid. He saw a quiet scene beneath a tree, the faint aroma of tea lingering in the air as he and a few companions discussed the Dao, their voices unhurried, their thoughts unbound by the limitations of the world.

Perhaps… there was a trace of truth in her words.

Or perhaps it was simply nostalgia.

Either way, it intrigued him.

Lu Jing considered her for a moment longer before speaking again, his tone shifting slightly, carrying a faint edge of intent.

“If that is the case,” he said, “then let us see what you are worth.”

The air seemed to tighten as his presence subtly expanded, pressing down upon those kneeling before him.

“I require one hundred thousand souls,” he stated plainly. “Provide them, and I will ascend once more to my former state. In doing so, I will elevate you and secure your place in this era.”

A ripple passed through the group. Some stiffened, others lowered their heads further, the weight of his demand settling heavily upon them. Yet beneath that tension, there was something else. It was an expectation.

Zhao Yan did not hesitate.

“This junior will provide them,” she said firmly. “Though it will require time.”

Lu Jing’s gaze sharpened slightly.

Interesting.

She was not as simple as she appeared.

With measured calm, Zhao Yan reached into her robes and produced a single black feather, its surface faintly shimmering with an unnatural sheen.

“Ancestor,” she said, bowing her head once more, “this junior humbly requests your assistance with a minor matter. Suspicious individuals have entered this domain and begun investigating what should remain hidden—”

“HA HA HA HA HA~!”

The cavern trembled with the sudden burst of laughter.

Lu Jing’s aura surged outward, overwhelming the space as his presence bore down upon everything within it.

“You dare test me?” he said, his voice resonating with power despite his diminished cultivation.

He reached forward and took the black feather from her hand, his fingers closing around it as the energy within the cave stirred violently in response.

“Very well,” he added, a faint smirk forming at the corner of his lips. “I suppose it would not hurt to amuse you.”

At the Nascent Soul stage, cultivators could project their souls, sending fragments of their consciousness outward. Such techniques were limited, restricted by distance, stability, and the strength of the user.

But Lu Jing was no ordinary cultivator.

Even in this weakened state, his understanding far surpassed the limits of this era.

His body remained where it stood, unmoving.

Yet from within it, something emerged.

A skeletal figure stepped forward, separating from the vessel like a shadow peeling away from its source. It carried with it an eerie stillness, its hollow form radiating a presence that felt both incomplete and overwhelming.

Despite being an astral projection, it was not insubstantial. The black feather appeared within its grasp, mirrored perfectly, as did the robes that draped over its form.

“Stay where you are,” Lu Jing said lightly, his tone edged with arrogance. “I will return shortly.”

With a slight tug of the black feather, his skeletal projection blurred and vanished from the cavern, slipping through space as if the distance between realms meant nothing. The next moment, he reappeared within a forest, his hollow gaze sweeping across the surroundings with immediate interest.

At the center of a wide clearing stood an enormous tree.

Its trunk was thick and ancient, its branches stretching outward like a canopy that commanded the space around it. The air here was different. Dense. Alive. The qi flowed in strange currents, potent yet subtly hostile, as though it rejected his very presence.

Above, shadows gathered.

“Caw… caw…”

Crows circled in the sky, their dark silhouettes cutting through the dim light before descending one by one, perching along the tree’s branches. Their eyes gleamed with an unsettling awareness, their cries echoing with something that felt almost… intentional.

Lu Jing smirked.

“Amusing,” he murmured. “So the feather came from a crow… but where is their master?”

The moment the words left him, a faint chill crept along his spine.

Danger.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, yet undeniable.

His curiosity sharpened.

Lu Jing turned his full attention toward the tree, extending his spiritual sense without restraint. His perception pierced deeper, cutting past surface appearances, reaching toward the underlying laws that governed existence itself.

Suddenly, the world shifted.

Darkness swallowed everything.

He stood within a domain that was not bound by reality. The ground beneath him writhed with thorn-covered vines, twisting endlessly like living veins. Scattered across the land were countless bones of beasts, birds, all manner of creatures, and things far older, forming a grotesque throne at the center.

Seated upon it was a figure.

A silver-haired man with pointed ears, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as he looked down upon Lu Jing with a grin that carried unmistakable malice.

“Prey.”

The word echoed, light, almost joyous.

For the first time since his revival, Lu Jing felt unease.

He tore himself away forcibly.

The domain shattered, and he returned abruptly to the forest, his form flickering slightly as the connection snapped.

Above him, the crows cawed once more.

“Caw… caw…”

This time, it sounded like laughter.