Chapter 5984

The wasteland finally loosened its claws only after Jared and Luther had flown south for what felt like forever. Each mile of cracked basalt gave way to darker ice, the horizon stubbornly unmoving. Wind howled through their protective wards, salty with minerals, cold enough to peel skin from bone if the aura faltered. Jared kept half his focus on the barriers, the other half on Luther’s silent silhouette ahead.

By the third morning, the air itself seemed to glow. Every inhale carried threads of energy so dense they tingled against his teeth. He tasted pine and lightning—a richness unimaginable back on level twelve—and the Focus Technique in his core spun greedily, begging to drink deeper.

The closer they drew to level thirteen proper, the sharper the invisible lattice of laws pressed against his skin. It felt like walking into a cathedral whose pillars refused to tolerate the slightest misstep—magnificent, but merciless.

Strangely, the pressure only clarified his breathing. Once his meridians aligned with the new pattern, each cycle of the Focus Technique surged clean and effortless, as though the realm itself approved of his rhythm.

At the third sunset, a white wall rose on the horizon—first a glint, then a mountain, and finally the unmistakable silhouette of a city carved from winter itself. Jared’s pulse skipped, not from fear, but from relief. Something built by hands meant beds, soup, and answers.

As they closed the distance, the wall resolved into blocks of midnight ice, each slab veined with pale blue runes that pulsed like sleeping eyes. The protective formation hummed against his eardrums, an unspoken warning that anyone attempting a shortcut over the parapet would leave pieces behind.

Sentinels in ice-blue armor dotted the ramparts at measured intervals, statues until the wind shifted and he felt their collective breath. Even the weakest radiated the calm authority of the Heavenly Immortal Realm—a reminder that on level thirteen, gate duty was no apprenticeship.