Elowen raised her gaze slowly, her eyes meeting Yang Wei's with a strength that defied her fragile frame.
"I can see the destiny of everything that exists," she said, her voice low yet infused with a certainty that sent shivers through the room.
The hall erupted into a chorus of bewildered murmurs, each whisper laced with astonishment and disbelief. Some let out nervous chuckles, while others stared wide-eyed, grappling to make sense of the unfolding scene.
Yang Chen, the duchess's second son, wasted no time shattering the quiet with a taunting edge in his voice.
"Lies! Prove it now!" he demanded, his eyes glinting with a volatile mix of skepticism and defiance.
But Elowen ignored him entirely. She turned her focus to Yang Wei, the future patriarch, locking him in a gaze so resolute it seemed to suspend time itself.
"He…" she murmured, her trembling finger pointing at Yang Wei. Something in his destiny has shifted. No, he… he took what wasn't his, she thought, the words spilling forth:
"He's at least very brave; he has golden balls—no, he has divine balls."
A chill swept through the chamber. The onlookers exchanged glances, trapped between dread and incredulity, unsure how to respond. Elowen pressed on, her tone growing colder, more deliberate:
"He absorbed a destiny that wasn't his, but now his soul bears the mark of a goddess."
She paused, letting each syllable hang in the air like a heavy mist before continuing:
"Not just any goddess, but the youngest and purest of them all. She is just, but not foolish. For now, she hasn't noticed what happened. But if you, Yang Wei, ascend to a higher world, she will notice. And when that happens, there will be no escape."
Yang Wei felt her words strike him like icy blows. His once-calm face drained of color, leaving him pale and speechless. He parted his lips to retort, but no sound emerged against the unwavering force of Elowen's presence.
"It's not a matter of if, but when," she declared, her voice steady as stone. "And when she finds out, it won't be pleasant—it never is. What idiot steals from the youngest goddess? That's, at the very least, foolish."
When she finished, Elowen regarded Yang Wei with a blend of pity and scorn, as though mourning the calamity he'd invited while condemning the recklessness of meddling with the untouchable.
"I hope you trust your luck a great deal or have the courage to face what's coming. Because, honestly, you'll need it," she said, her voice hushed but brimming with undeniable truth.
A suffocating silence blanketed the room, heavy as lead. Yang Wei stood frozen, his expression a storm of fury and a fear that clung to his very soul. Across the hall, Xia Xiang—ever so poised—now seemed diminished, vulnerable before the power Elowen wielded.
"This is absurd!" Yang Chen erupted, his voice dripping with contempt as he tried to dispel the tension. "She's just a liar! Who does she think she is to speak of destiny as if she were—"
"I am someone with nothing to lose," Elowen cut in, her tone unyielding, each word drawn from a wellspring deep within. "But I can clearly see what you're afraid of, Yang Chen. Perhaps it's time to reveal that to everyone here?"
Yang Chen recoiled, his lips quivering, his pride crumbling into silence. Elowen swept her gaze across the room, meeting every pair of eyes. In each, she saw fear, doubt, and a near-desperate curiosity, yet none of it shook her conviction.
The stillness wove an invisible web, binding them all, her every utterance tolling like a mournful bell. For the first time, the duchess—always a pillar of composure—let her mask slip. Her voice quavered, betraying a desperation she could no longer conceal, as if ensnared in an unending nightmare.
"Is there a way out?" she asked, her words barely above a whisper, laden with unmasked pain.
Elowen's stare was vacant, yet behind it gleamed a truth too vast to voice.
"I don't know. I'm too weak to see the destiny of a goddess," she admitted, her voice tinged with exhaustion. Then, summoning a strength that belied her frail form, she added, "And it's not just any immortal… It's a goddess."
The revelation landed like a thunderclap. To speak of a goddess—something beyond mortal grasp—sent Yang Wei sinking deeper into his seat, his pride and poise utterly extinguished.
Xia Xiang, however, couldn't hold back. The notion that Elowen, a woman she'd always scorned, held knowledge that upended everything ignited a fierce rage within her.
"So, you're useless!" she snapped, her words venomous with hatred and disdain. "You always were! And now you show up with these idiotic predictions, pretending to be worth something?"
Elowen remained silent, untouched by the barbs. Her face bore a profound weariness—no anger, no sorrow, just the quiet acceptance of one who had witnessed too much.
"My dear… We wanted to help, but there's no way," old Yang said, his voice rough with sorrow and regret. He looked at Elowen, as though grieving not just her presence here but the entirety of her existence.
"You've been poisoned by the corpse-devouring venom. The only escape is to reach the Saint realm. Without that, it's just a wait for death, as the poison consumes every shred of your life until nothing remains. And in your case…" He paused, his eyes brimming with pity and certainty. "You have less than a few hours."
Old Yang's words reverberated like hammer strikes, resounding in every corner of the hall. Some averted their gazes, unable to face the stark reality, while others sat transfixed, enthralled by the grim spectacle unfolding before them.
Yet Elowen stood unshaken. A dry, bitter laugh slipped from her lips before any other response surfaced.
"Who said I need your help, old man?" she shot back, blunt and unapologetic, leaving no room for offense.
Old Yang arched an eyebrow, caught between surprise and intrigue.
"If you don't need it, then why are you here?" he asked, a question swiftly echoed by Xia Xiang and Yang Wei in near unison.
Elowen lifted her weathered face, etched with time and hardship, now alight with a gravity that defied even death. When she spoke, her voice sliced through the air like a blade:
"Nael Supremium."
The name dropped like a stone into still water, sending ripples of shock through the assembly. Xia Xiang, poised to tear Elowen down, froze mid-breath, ensnared by disbelief. The duchess's brow furrowed in confusion, while Yang Wei's pallor deepened beyond what seemed possible.
"Why him?" old Yang pressed, striving to maintain control, though the weight of her words loomed large.
Elowen's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile, rich with meaning no one could decipher.
"Why should I tell you?" she replied, pausing as her gaze drifted, as if peering beyond the room, beyond time itself.
Silence reclaimed the space. Everyone knew Nael was no ordinary figure, but Elowen's words carried a burden none were prepared to shoulder.
Xia Xiang, unable to stifle her bitterness, hurled a cruel, mocking jab:
"What? Are you going to ask him to do what Yang Ming has already done so many times? Rebuild your talent?" she sneered, a malicious grin twisting her features. "Or are you going to beg him to create a Celestial Maiden Physique, like Yang Ming wanted to do? Oh, I forgot… you didn't accept, did you? Foolish pride."
Elowen held her tongue, waiting for Nael's arrival. Then, he rose slowly. Each motion he made thickened the silence, the tension stretching taut as if time itself slowed. When Nael finally spoke, his voice—low and devoid of warmth—seemed to crush the hearts of all present:
"You have 15 seconds to convince me why I should help you."
Every eye turned to Elowen. She drew a deep breath, answering with the resolve of someone with nothing left to lose:
"Because you owe me a favor."
"Me and the divine son were the only ones who took care of you when no one else cared," echoed in her mind. "Whenever you were hurt, hungry, or alone, I was the one who helped you. All I ask now is simple: help me rebuild my cultivation talent."
The silence that followed was absolute, each second heavy as a lifetime, the fate of all teetering on Nael Supremium's response.
"And why do you think I'll help you?" Nael asked, his every word steeped in an authority that brooked no challenge. "Give me a good reason."
Elowen stood firm, as if every fragment of her being, even ravaged by poison, thrummed with unyielding will.
"Because you're a man of your word," she said without a flicker of doubt. "You've never lied, never reneged on a promise, never been ungrateful. And I know you won't start now."
Nael's brow furrowed, his expression a mask of stone.
"And if I say I can't help you? That creating a divine body like you want is beyond what I can do?"
She offered a faint smile, fragile yet brimming with certainty.
"You can."
"And if I'm telling the truth?" Nael pressed, his voice cutting like a blade.
Elowen leaned forward slightly, her voice resonating with power:
"You have the Congenital Giver's Body."
"A physique that doesn't serve its possessor but is worth gold to anyone who relates to the possessor," she thought, continuing aloud: "Anyone who shares intimacy with you gains a Congenital constitution, capable of reaching the top, without barriers. Even a goddess would want that."
A ripple of murmurs swept the room, waves of disbelief crashing against her unwavering conviction. Such a physique sounded like a myth, yet Elowen's assurance made every word ring true.
"And why didn't you take it by force, like anyone else would?" Nael asked, disdain threading his tone.
Elowen's gaze darkened, her features hardening in the dim light.
"Because I'm not just anyone. I prefer that you give it to me willingly. And besides, I know that if someone tries to overstep with you, they'll be hunted like prey and destroyed."
Nael let out an ironic chuckle, briefly piercing the oppressive atmosphere.
"You understand well."
No one could deny the allure of the Congenital Giver's Body—a treasure every cultivator coveted. Yet, despite the ravenous stares surrounding him, Nael remained unmoved, as if the desires of others were beneath his notice. He spared no glance for the desperate faces, bearing the world's weight on his shoulders alone.
As silence descended once more, the decision lingered in the air, woven with destinies, promises, and the stark truth that each passing moment could alter everything.
Then, Nael's voice sliced through the quiet like a honed blade.
"Pathetic," he said, the word icy and laden with contempt, reverberating through the hall.
In an instant, a dark rift tore open the air, as if reality itself parted. From it emerged two figures: a black cat with obsidian-shimmering wings and a white snake with eyes cold as frost. Both radiated an oppressive energy, quelling all resistance.
Old Yang, spurred by instinct, unleashed the pressure of his newly attained King realm, but even he faltered before the ancient might of these small beings, their presence hinting at a forgotten Primordial lineage. The duchess, the women, and the men—who moments ago harbored thoughts of seizing Nael—were subdued without a chance.
The creatures circled Nael like obedient shadows, though their movements carried an almost playful restlessness. The cat uttered a sound in an ancient tongue, while the snake coiled tightly, as if silently beseeching a choice.
"Do they also feel fear?" Nael mused, his gaze fixed on Elowen.
At last, he broke the silence, his tone thick with scorn:
"Tomorrow, I'll do what you want."
Elowen, her skin already marred by decay as life ebbed away, took a faltering step forward. Her voice, though frail, bore a startling determination:
"But tomorrow… tomorrow I'll already be dead."
Nael tilted his head slightly, his eyes wintry and unyielding.
"And even if I help you, the chance of you obtaining a body linked to life is one in a million," he said, his words harsh and edged with cruelty.
Elowen wavered for a heartbeat but held her ground.
"But if I don't try, I'll die anyway."
For a fleeting moment, Nael seemed to weigh her words, his head tilting as if calculating the odds. Then, with a barely audible sigh, he shrugged.
"And who said I care?" The statement fell like a death knell, cold and final. Without awaiting a reply, he turned and ascended the stairs to the upper floor.
As he climbed, the two beasts, once restless, acted unexpectedly. The cat darted to Elowen with uncanny speed, and the snake slithered toward her in a flash. Without pause, both sank their fangs into her neck, drawing out portions of the lethal venom consuming her. Their desperate, instinctive act seemed aimed at one thing: compelling Nael to intervene.
Elowen stifled a cry of agony, her body darkening further under the poison's grip.
"Will this be enough?" she wondered, her tired eyes flickering with pain and a fragile glimmer of hope.
In that fraught moment, charged with tension and anguish, the room bore witness to something beyond mortal ken—a scene where every gesture, every breath, seemed to shape fates long inscribed by time.
"They… they're going to die!" Elowen cried out, her voice raw with guilt and despair, ringing like a dirge in the oppressive silence.
Nael halted mid-step on the stairs, not turning back.
"That's what they chose," he replied, his tone detached and frigid, as if their sacrifice meant nothing.
"Are you really going to let them die?!" Elowen shouted, tears streaming down her face, the weight of her anguish spilling into every syllable.
Nael tilted his head just enough for his icy gaze to meet hers for an instant.
"My decision doesn't change," he said, resuming his climb, each footfall resounding like a hammer on anvil.
"I know there's no room for mercy now," he thought, though his face betrayed nothing.
The room plunged into utter stillness. All eyes followed Nael, perhaps hoping for a flicker of compassion or hesitation. But he offered none.
Then Xia Xiang's voice pierced the air, sharp with mockery and disdain:
"Wow. I thought that for you to risk everything to bring me here, there would be something… Like a hero in shining armor."
Elowen's eyes narrowed at the words, a spark of hidden gratitude flaring within. She knew the taunt had struck a vital chord—a slender thread of hope that might be her salvation. Though its full meaning eluded her, it fueled the resolve she needed.
With a voice edged in shadow, she intoned:
"Zero… The Shadow."
The name hung heavy, laden with portent. Everyone knew Nael as Zero, a figure cloaked in enigma and power, his legend whispered in awe. Elowen's utterance of his true name—or perhaps his title—shifted the air, as if summoning a force capable of rewriting the threads of fate.
Nael paused once more, his head turning slightly, acknowledging the gravity of her invocation. For a breath, the room held still, awaiting his reply.