028 The Waters of the River of Three Crossings (1)

The woman was completely submerged by the river, her sinking figure catching the attention of the vengeful spirits within. Now, in their eyes, she had become food—fresh prey. All the spirits watched her, those nearby drifting closer, while even those locked in battle afar paused to turn their gaze upon this new life. Her arrival stirred excitement among them; the aura of life that she possessed was unlike the breath of the dead.

Their gaze was wholly fixed upon her. Crimson eyes, wild and greedy, like beasts scenting a meal, moved step by step toward her. Beneath the waters, she summoned her spiritual power, only to find some force blocking her efforts. Without a protective barrier, she had placed herself in dire peril.

The spirits, sensing her helplessness, surged in at once. Pale, icy fingers stretched toward her, and she felt herself on the verge of being torn apart. At the critical moment, she finally summoned a barrier, which instantly repelled all the vengeful spirits. With its appearance, her downward plunge ceased; she could at last control her descent.

Outside the barrier, the spirits raged, relentlessly pounding upon it, desperate to shatter it. Within, she could finally catch her breath. Yet she wondered: why had the tranquil river suddenly turned into raging waves, without warning? Had she triggered some hidden boundary, or had her presence already been discovered?

The Dream God had realized the dream was false? She thought she could use that illusion to buy herself some time, but it had been exposed so swiftly! The Dream God was indeed worthy of his title—if he hadn’t noticed the deception, he would not be who he was. That explained the river’s sudden tumult; since her presence was detected, how could she escape the River of Three Paths?

The spirits beyond the barrier stared hungrily, awaiting any crack—ready to pounce and tear her to shreds. She glanced at the underworld butterfly in her palm; it showed no sign of waking, leaving her to fight alone. Unbeknownst to her, it was because of the butterfly that she had been discovered so quickly. She did not know that the butterfly had awoken in the dream, passing word to the Lord of the Underworld. If she knew there was some spiritual communion between them, what would she do? Would the butterfly remain in her hand?

For now, she was oblivious and bore no resentment toward the butterfly—she simply lamented the overwhelming power of the Underworld, questioning whether her decision to venture there alone had been a mistake. To cross the River of Three Paths was to truly enter the heart of the realm; now, how could she shake off these endless spirits? How could she leave the river?

Within the barrier, she slowly healed, while the spirits outside tried every means to breach it. One spirit approached, stretching out pale fingers to touch the barrier, only to be flung far away by its force. Its furious roar rallied the others, and more and more spirits gathered around.

Inside, her wounds finally closed, though healing had depleted much of her spiritual power. The injuries inflicted by the spirits could even assail her soul, bringing a sense of utter despair. Despair—like wandering through empty darkness, with no light, no path ahead, all brightness devoured, disappointment swelling in her heart, a suffocating gloom spreading until finally, she was consumed by the dark, merged within it.

As she healed, she pondered how she might utterly destroy these spirits. Their numbers were overwhelming, and she was alone; unless she could wipe them out, she would never withstand the relentless tide.

She summoned her powers of ice and fire anew—a massive hexagonal snowflake appeared before her, surrounded by six flaming swords. After her trial in the dream, the fusion of ice and fire had grown ever more refined, and she could now wield them together.

The river was deep—so deep its bottom could not be seen. She sank swiftly, and now, aside from fending off the spirits, she had to swim upward; only by finding her direction could she reach the far shore. Otherwise, lost, she would be doomed to futile attacks in the water.

Cautiously, she moved, slowly swimming toward the surface. The spirits seemed to sense her intentions, blocking every path. Above the barrier, their forms obscured all.

Everywhere she looked, there were spirits—if there was no path, she must carve one herself. Battle, relentless and cruel. Battle, with no choice. Battle, unending.

She swung her left hand, the only one she could move, as hexagonal snowflakes and flaming swords unleashed their immense power again and again.