Once they entered the palace gates, the massive doors slammed shut with a thunderous crash, plunging the long corridor into darkness.
Suddenly, the merfolk pearl ornaments embedded in the walls glimmered faintly, detached from their settings, and floated in the air, illuminating the dim hallway.
Milton narrowed his eyes slightly, scanning the surroundings. The floor and walls of the corridor were forged from jet-black obsidian, its cold sheen catching the faint blue glow, revealing subtle textures in the stone.
The corridor stretched straight and seemingly endless. Every footstep echoed low and heavy, as though treading on the weight of silence itself, amplifying the oppressive, hidden darkness surrounding them.
Scattered across the floor were dozens of corpses, some reduced to brittle bones, others still wearing insectoid military insignia.
Even more horrifying was that these remains were jumbled together, bones shattered, limbs twisted. Faint knife marks and indentations marred some skeletons, evoking a sense of indescribable terror and unease.
Milton crouched to inspect them, frowning deeply. “These aren’t battle wounds… it looks like… they killed each other.” A cold chill ran through him, a wave of absurdity rising in his chest.
Even if an insect legion lost on a proper battlefield, they would never resort to such self-slaughter. What secrets could this place be hiding?
Before he could ponder further, he suddenly froze—at his feet, countless star coins and high-grade energy stones spontaneously piled up, golden and blue light intertwining, illuminating the entire corridor.
Even S-class energy cores he had dreamed of as a child—never thought attainable—now stacked before him, radiating pulses of terrifying power.
A mere reach could grant him the strength to conquer all, wield the top-tier mechas, and dominate any battlefield.
Milton’s gaze locked on the phantoms of treasure. His heart seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand, his blood roaring in his ears. The allure whispered directly to him: Reach for them… they’re yours… no one can stop you.
Deep desires, suppressed since childhood, stirred violently, nearly breaking the chains of his reason. For a fleeting moment, he truly considered bending down to pick up the glowing energy stones.
But he gritted his teeth. Fingertips whitening, he forced the urge down with a heavy breath, locking it deep in his chest. His purple eyes returned to a sharp clarity. He stepped steadily past the illusions, as if treading upon temptation itself.
“…These… when did they appear?” he whispered hoarsely, every muscle tense. “How did I not notice?”
“Illusions,” Gu Qing said lightly, as if unsurprised.
“This corridor is rigged with an illusion array. Its test is one’s ability to resist greed. Those insects… they must have killed each other under temptation, ultimately dying here.”
Gu Qing’s gaze barely flickered toward Milton—no doubt, no worry, just calm certainty. He trusted that Milton could withstand it.
Milton felt a subtle shiver in his chest. That cold clarity, emerging after struggle, made his purple eyes sharper. He drew a deep breath and stepped forward to follow Gu Qing.
They continued down the corridor.
Yet it seemed to stretch infinitely. Their footsteps echoed again and again on the black-obsidian floor, amplified, pressing on the chest with increasing weight. The longer they walked, the heavier the air became, as though invisible chains coiled around their limbs. The walls seemed to slowly close in, the eerie blue light chilling the soul.
Time became impossible to measure. Minutes? Hours? Milton could not tell. It felt as if they were trapped in a loop, endlessly walking, the oppressive aura thickening. A gust of wind cut through, icy and sharp. Shadows flickered in corners, accompanied by faint, low wails.
Then the wailing grew louder, deep and mournful. At first distant, like some far-off ocean moan, it surged in an instant, drilling into his eardrums.
Shadows emerged from the corners, gradually forming dozens of vague shapes—hollow-eyed, mutilated bodies. Their moans transformed into piercing shrieks, like a legion of vengeful spirits, shaking the very air.
Milton’s breath caught. Cold sweat broke across his back. His pupils shrank to pinpoints, eyes locked on the apparitions. Reality itself seemed overturned.
He spun around, pupils wide. “What… are those?”
“Lost souls,” Gu Qing said, pulling him behind himself. “We’ve been trapped in the array.”
He quickly drew a talisman, and a rune-etched sword beam exploded forth.
“—Thunder!”
“Boom—!!”
Heavenly lightning roared, crackling across the corridor. The talisman’s energy became pillars of thunder, shattering walls and tossing rubble.
Dozens of lost souls shrieked under the bolts, their phantoms ripped apart, black smoke swirling into ash. The stench of burning and ozone choked the air, almost suffocating them.
The spiritual pressure shook the corridor violently. Yet the spirits surged like tides. The walls and floor quivered, twisting and overlapping; the corridor’s end stretched, fractured, and reassembled unnaturally. Space itself felt kneaded by invisible hands, disorienting entirely.
Milton felt the floor shift beneath him, as if dragged by the corridor. His center of gravity faltered.
In the depths of his spiritual sea, whispers echoed, like residual wills of the dead hammering at his mental barriers, cold and warped. Hidden fears and desires clawed at him—hesitate for a moment longer, and his consciousness could be dragged into an abyss.
Gu Qing’s eyes flicked sideways, calm as a mountain. Sword intent quietly flowed around them, shielding both. “The illusions and spatial folding are overlapping,” he murmured.
Milton’s purple eyes jolted. He locked down his mental sea, forcing cold resolve from his core, suppressing the intrusive will. His breathing quickened; his chest tightened. Gu Qing’s sword intent, like an invisible pillar, stabilized his aura, keeping him steady amid the chaos.
Gu Qing struck out, dispersing lingering spirits. His voice was cold: “This corridor keeps shifting; orientation is lost. Any insect entering can only wander forever—until their spirit is exhausted and they are trapped alive.”
At that, Gu Qing suddenly pivoted. Sword intent, crackling like lightning, slashed at a corner of the void. A sharp, mirror-shattering sound rang out. The surrounding scene fractured, like shards of glass, and reality was reshuffled.
When vision cleared, they stood in a vast underground palace.
Milton’s breathing slowly evened out, though his chest still rose and fell. Around them, the solemn palace was built from heavy black jade and ancient stone. The walls were adorned with massive, intricate arrays; corner reliefs weathered by time still conveyed solemnity and reverence. Every stone seemed to whisper the authority and mystery of a lost civilization.
The hidden powers here far exceeded any interstellar technology he knew, a force and law beyond comprehension permeating the air. Every shift of light hinted at immeasurable strength.
He looked at Gu Qing with a mix of awe, confusion, and respect. Memories of the illusions, shrieking souls, and twisted spatial pressure replayed in his mind, each moment challenging perception and will, forcing confrontation with fear and desire.
Yet Gu Qing remained as steady as a mountain, like a lighthouse in the storm, allowing Milton to gather his thoughts, subduing panic.
“Waaahhh—Gu Qing, you’re too cool—!!” In the depths of his spiritual sea, the little Dao spirit screamed like a rapid-fire salvo. “Illusion arrays, lost souls, all that terrifying stuff… and you handled it all—ahhh, my heart’s about to explode! So amazing—!!!”
It tumbled and spun in Gu Qing’s spiritual sea, a glowing ball like an overexcited little star. “The general is incredible! Not scared at all, keeping so calm in the face of temptation—this is insane!!”
Gu Qing’s voice echoed in the spiritual sea, calm and firm: “Milton is a man of steadfast will.”