In the dark starry sky, the Immortal Gate opened once more.
Hualing Patriarch's physical body crawled out in a wretched state...
No, it had practically fallen out.
Everything just now had been far too earth-shattering.
He simply could not imagine the scene he had just witnessed.
Countless spells had seemed to arise directly within the black mist, as though they had no source. Their variety and breadth of fields far surpassed everything Hualing Patriarch had experienced over fifty million years.
After all, the immortal civilizations Hualing Patriarch harvested could mostly only be considered to be in their infancy.
At that stage, every spell of an immortal civilization remained focused on depicting superficial phenomena. Water, fire, wind, lightning, cold, heat; forging metal into blades and swords, or engraving formations upon jade.
They had never grasped "essence"—or rather, those fledgling civilizations simply treated "phenomena" as "essence."
Yet regardless of the universe, erroneous theories could still produce correct techniques. So long as logic did not reject trial and error, mere experience could indeed accumulate into brilliant achievements.
Especially in this universe, the technological black box had been opened to an unimaginable extent, so vast that even an Aura Universe could scarcely comprehend it.
But that was all.
Perhaps a civilization's accumulation over hundreds of thousands or millions of years could, through luck and an individual's talent, occasionally produce a supreme art containing deeper laws.
But such "supreme arts" were truly supreme—in the sense that they left no successors.
One genius's insight could not be passed on to another.
Yet humanity's modern immortal path was terrifying in precisely this regard.
What did it mean for one person's insight, harvest, and thoughts to be transmitted to another without loss?
It meant that, in rationality, the entire race was one whole.
This was not merely a