Jared’s eyelids lowered slightly. “Which Sacred Paragon?” he asked, as if the name itself might unlock something hidden.

The elder shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you. The mountain’s been here for tens of thousands of years. Celestial guardians watch over it, but they’ve never given a name—only that the remains are ancient, deeply revered, and likely tied to their own lineage.”

Jared cupped his hands in thanks and stepped aside, letting the elder rejoin the procession.

Once the old man disappeared into the crowd, Luther leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Mr. Chance, the energies here are tangled—and not in a good way. Celestial essence is braided together with Ghost Clan chill. This isn’t a normal shrine. And…”

He let the rest hang.

Luther’s brow furrowed further. “The ghost aura isn’t drifting randomly. It’s cycling—like there’s a formation built beneath the mountain.”