041 New Turmoil (5)

Beneath Nuoluo's feet lay earth that existed only in illusion—a phrase so laced with irony, for at this moment it felt as though she had returned to the human world after a long absence. That familiar summons from the depths of the earth, even the scent of soil, reached her senses. She could hardly believe any of this was unfolding within the underworld.

Deep below the Hades Temple, in the endless darkness of the subterranean world, she breathed the airs of the mortal realm. The familiarity was so profound that she nearly forgot where she truly was.

In that instant, as though the illusion sensed her thoughts, a scene unfolded before her eyes—one that could only be found in the human world.

The abrupt transformation startled her, and she gazed in amazement at the changing landscape.

A gentle breeze caressed her face, and for the first time, she felt warmth. This was the warmest wind she had felt since her arrival in the netherworld.

The sunlight of afternoon spilled down from the sky, wrapping her in its comforting embrace—another layer of warmth.

Suddenly, a small stream appeared before her. The clear water danced playfully by, splashing cool droplets onto her hands, as if instantly washing away the restlessness in her heart.

She knew well that all of this was nothing but illusion, yet it felt terrifyingly real.

The master of this realm could read her very thoughts, conjuring before her the scene she most longed to see.

Nuoluo's gaze lingered on the stream before her. Her feet moved of their own accord, drawing her closer—she wanted to feel the chill of the water for herself.

It was as if this summer spring offered the deepest comfort, carrying away the heat and bringing refreshment.

The wraith, sprawled on the ground, watched Nuoluo approach the stream. His expression grew more twisted and malicious. He glared venomously as she walked, step by step, toward an abyss from which there was no return.

Nuoluo seemed not to notice him at all, instead basking in this rare moment of leisure.

She closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, as though all her troubles had been forgotten. When she opened them, the enchanting scenery remained. She stepped closer to the stream, each stride shortening the distance between her and the water.

The wraith let out a cold laugh, silently counting her steps. One, two... just one more, and she would step fully into the stream.

Nuoluo lifted her foot—just one step remained. He waited, mouth agape, for the final moment, for—

He waited until his jaws went numb, but that last step never came. She halted, standing still.

She turned to look at the wraith's bizarre expression and smiled faintly. "Did you really think I was a fool?" Her calm voice bore not the slightest hint of strangeness, as if she were merely commenting on the pleasant scenery.

The wraith nodded reflexively, then suddenly realized what she had said. He snapped to attention. "Ah—no, that's not—" but immediately recognized the futility of explanation and fell silent at once.

Nuoluo did not bother to say more. She gazed at the clear stream, watched the lively water splashing, and let out a cold laugh.

After all that she had endured in illusions, no matter how real they seemed, these were but conjurations at the whim of the illusion's master. Every sight might conceal deadly peril.

If she truly stepped into the stream, perhaps all that awaited her was utter oblivion.

The wraith, seeing yet another chance for freedom slip through his grasp, cursed Nuoluo inwardly, though he betrayed nothing outwardly. He wished to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Though he was a devouring wraith, after ages of devouring countless shattered souls—including the divine essences of myriad gods—some fragments of memory remained. Now, after ten thousand years, his intelligence rivaled that of a lesser deity.

He could not fathom the true extent of Nuoluo's power, but he sensed it rivaled that of the shadow he most feared—the true master of this illusion.

Now, every word and action of his risked attracting Nuoluo's attention, or even that of the master himself. His first task had failed; if anything else happened because of him, what punishment would await?

The thought of the cruel torments that could befall him made him shudder once more.

Nuoluo noticed his shiver and asked kindly, "Are you cold? Would you like to warm up inside?" As she spoke, she prepared to hurl him into the water.

The wraith trembled again. He knew all too well what horrors lurked within that stream; if he entered, only a gruesome fate awaited.

Nuoluo appeared not to notice his reaction. She lifted him high—just a release of her grip and he would plunge into the water below.

The wraith squeezed his eyes shut in despair. He dared not imagine the agony that awaited him. He had witnessed such scenes before, but never believed that one day it would be his turn.

Second by second, time trickled by. He felt himself still suspended in the air—why hadn't she thrown him in? What was she thinking?

Nuoluo suppressed her own sense of revulsion as she held him. Though she touched him only with spiritual force, at such close range she could still smell the nauseating stench of the devouring wraith. She even watched as saliva dripped from his tongue, and she could not help but shudder herself.

Yet the stream remained unchanged, showing no sign of abnormality, as though nothing were amiss.

Nuoluo released her grip, and the wraith squeezed his eyes shut in despair—only to find, upon opening them, that he had landed on the ground.

She paid his startled look no heed. "Well, if you're unwilling, then forget it," she said, and simply sat down by the stream.

The wraith gaped in astonishment. He could not believe he had escaped danger yet again. Was it that she had not realized the horror of the stream, or was she plotting something else?

He kept these questions to himself and sat dumbly by the creek, as if savoring this rare leisure, though inwardly he was tense and on edge, not daring to reveal the slightest hint of unease.

As he neared the stream, he thought he heard the master's voice—the terrifying voice of the illusion's lord.

"Such rare scenery ought to be savored, don't you think?" Nuoluo spoke suddenly.

The wraith glanced around, then at himself. "Are you speaking to me?" He could not be sure—had she truly sensed no threat here, that she could chat so casually?

Nuoluo gave him a look that seemed to say, "If not you, then who?" The wraith could only nod, unable to say yes or no, his thoughts running wild: Rare scenery? This place is scenery? It's even more terrifying than the River of Three Crossings! But he dared voice such complaints only in his heart.

Even that thought seemed to be sensed by the master of the illusion, for the wraith immediately felt a dreadful power crash down upon him—a fresh blow.

Within this illusion, the master was sovereign. The wraith quickly concealed every stray thought.

Nuoluo sat by the stream, feigning relaxation, though her mind was fixed elsewhere.

If the master of the illusion could so easily sense her thoughts, then she would seal away her mind entirely, adapting to any change by remaining unchanging.

If she was to escape this illusion, she must discover its flaw. The seemingly harmless stream before her might be the key. Her earlier experiment with the wraith had yielded unexpected results.

What danger did this stream conceal, that it could so terrify a devouring wraith? When she lifted him, he actually trembled. What could make such a creature afraid? Nuoluo could not guess. She dared not act rashly, nor make careless conjectures.

In this illusion, unless her power surpassed that of its master, any reckless move could have unthinkable consequences.

Time seemed to stand still; the scenery remained unchanged, exactly as it had been when she entered. Yet Nuoluo knew clearly that a day had already passed.

She showed no sign of impatience, appearing to enjoy herself as she sat by the stream, the cool water making her forget danger, almost lost in this dreamlike world.

The wraith finally lifted his head, disbelieving that Nuoluo could find pleasure in any of this. Did she not understand that if no way out was found, she would remain trapped here forever? Which meant he, too, would never escape.

Would he have to stay here with this detestable creature forever? He hated Nuoluo, hated this loss of freedom, hated the feeling of being watched at every moment, terrified that any action might be discovered.

At last, the wraith, unable to bear the stiffness in his limbs, moved slightly.

Nuoluo did not look at him, her gaze fixed on the scenery, but nothing he did escaped her notice. At that moment, she tightened the restraints on him, making his movements even slower.

No wraith could bear to be forever controlled, denied freedom—especially these devouring wraiths. Nuoluo could not fully understand their existence, but she knew this much: the Hades Temple was not a place just anyone could enter, and the barrier of netherfire might go millions of years without an intruder. These wraiths were long accustomed to a life of freedom. Once imprisoned, if the captivity lasted long enough, the first to show signs of strain would surely be the wraith.

All she needed now was patience, waiting for the moment when opportunity would present itself—the chance to shatter the illusion in one decisive move.

The closer one drew to a powerful illusion, the more fleeting the opportunities became, sometimes lasting only an instant. If she failed to seize it, she might be trapped here forever.