The wild winds of the Far North swept across the wasteland like blades gone berserk, stirring up dust-fine ice crystals and scraping shrill, piercing sounds from the ground along the Dark Nether River, frozen for tens of thousands of years.
Chu Bai stood alone at the edge of the riverbank. His eyes, concealed behind his mask, reflected the ink-black, deathly still river ahead, cold and utterly devoid of warmth.
After prolonged saturation in dark-mystery heavy water, the river mud beneath his feet had long since lost its softness, taking on an eerie blue-black hue instead.
With gravity here exceeding that of the outside world several times over year after year, the soil had been compressed harder than raw iron. His boots struck it with crisp echoes like clashing metal.
"Senior Chu, this is the Blackbone Boat. Unless refined with our tribe's secret method, it would sink the moment it touched the water."
Wu Gang stood beside him, one hand resting on the bone sword at his waist, his voice somewhat shredded by the freezing wind.
Judging by his rugged face, he was at least forty or fifty, far more weathered than the youthful-looking Chu Bai.
But in the cultivation world, attainment took precedence. Chu Bai's foundation establishment aura compelled him to bow his head and respectfully address him as "Senior."
He pointed toward a long boat ahead.
The little craft was pitch-black throughout, shaped like a willow leaf. Not a scrap of wood appeared in its hull; it had been carved from the leg bone of some enormous beast.
An extremely restrained yet exceptionally weighty sheen emanated from its surface—the unusual effect produced by fusing large quantities of [heavy water sand] into the bones of a ten-thousand-year-old demon beast through a secret technique. Only something of the same origin could