Chen Wuya's feet sank into the mud, the sound of his shoe soles tearing mingling with the wind before the rain. He did not stop, dragging the nearly senseless Mo Feng behind him while Bai Zhi's breathing on his back was as light as a dead leaf pressed against his neck. The ancient tree that had fallen earlier was still sending up smoke and dust in the distance, its broken trunk scorched black and twisted, as if some invisible force had torn it apart from within. The pursuers' footsteps had been halted, but he knew this was only the beginning.
The Misaligned Force had completely dissipated within him. His meridians were like vines scorched by fire, aching at the slightest movement. Relying on the system's last remnants of its warning mechanism, he had skirted around three ambush points. Those people had hidden themselves well, but their auras were too heavy to suppress their killing intent. He did not dare look back, nor did he dare stop. He could only press onward along the dried-up riverbed deep within the dense forest. Blood ran down his calves, leaving broken red streaks across the stones.
When he reached a huge boulder in the middle of the riverbed, he finally could not hold on any longer and dropped to his knees. His knees struck the gravel with a dull thud. One hand braced against the ground while the other immediately reached into his robes. His fingertips touched a cold bamboo scroll, its bronze sheen glimmering darkly beneath the overcast sky. He pulled it out, his thumb brushing over the runes carved along its edges—not an illusion, nor a replica. This thing was truly in his hands.
"Heavenly Machine Scroll..." he murmured, his voice so hoarse it barely sounded like his own.
He had once