Gu Qing slowly took in the spacious underground palace.
The walls were lined with merman oil torches, their blue flames flickering, casting the towering black jade walls like the depths of a pitch-black sea. Intricate runes were etched across the walls, crossing and intertwining, giving off an indescribable sense of oppression.
A flicker of thought passed through his mind—this layout didn’t resemble an altar, and it certainly wasn’t a tomb. Instead, it felt more like… a training ground for cultivators to undergo trials and refinement.
Just as he was about to warn Milton to be careful—
Boom!
A heavy stone door slammed shut behind them, shaking the entire palace with a low rumble.
Immediately, cracks began to form in the wall reliefs, and cold beams of light shone from the gaps.
Clang, clang, clang—
The low grinding of gears echoed throughout the underground palace.
At the same moment, one puppet after another emerged from the black stone walls. Cast in black iron, their limbs sharp as blades, eyes burning with cold light, they moved swiftly and silently, like dormant soldiers awakening from death.
In mere moments, the two of them were surrounded.
Dozens of icy gazes locked onto them simultaneously, driving their prey into a corner.
“These puppets…” Gu Qing drew the stone sword he had prepared in the cave and charged forward. “Prepare for battle.”
Milton’s expression hardened. He gripped his energy gun tightly, and his silver-white bone wings extended from his back like blades forged from flesh and metal, glinting with a faint spectral light.
For a fleeting moment, Gu Qing was slightly stunned.
He knew the military females possessed bone wings, but this was his first time seeing them in person—silver-white, sharp, and lethal, with the intricate patterns at the joints between bone and flesh resembling engraved runes.
The silver orb in his mind immediately shot out with a “whoosh,” emitting an astonished squeal:
“Waaah! So that’s what a general’s… bone wings look like!? So cool—”
The bone wings shivered, stirring the air.
The next second, the puppets surged forward with murderous intent.
Gu Qing and Milton charged into the formation, left and right.
The puppet attacks were strange. Though lacking intelligence, they possessed instinctive combat sense, moving with a rhythm and order unique to the cultivation world—sword patterns, martial intent—completely beyond what interstellar technology could imitate.
“As expected… a remnant of the cultivation world…” Gu Qing’s heart sank slightly.
Sword light rained down like sudden storm, his body and sword united as he cut through the puppet’s blade formation. With each flicker of sharpness, he carved a narrow path through their ranks.
Almost simultaneously, Milton’s bone wings unfurled, silver blades sweeping aside approaching puppets. Raising his gun, energy blasts synchronized perfectly with Gu Qing’s sword, covering the gaps the sword could not reach, without any need for extra commands.
The two moved seamlessly, front and back, offense and defense perfectly synchronized. Sword flashes tore through the air, gunfire provided cover, bone wings became cold blades that cut across the battlefield. Though the puppets were numerous and swift, they were shattered by the sword, then burned by the gunfire, their fragments falling to the ground.
Without a word, they read each other’s intentions. Sword cleared the way, gunfire annihilated enemies; their movements interlaced as if forged through countless life-and-death trials together.
When the last puppet fell, the floor was littered with blackened shards, metal and fire mingling in the air.
Amid the torchlight, the two stood back-to-back in the center of the wreckage, their breath in unison, the afterglow of sword and gun not yet dissipated, their killing aura leaving one breathless.
Milton folded his bone wings, surveying their surroundings with a grave expression: “These things… don’t look like they were made by the insectoid race.”
Gu Qing didn’t answer immediately. He crouched beside a fallen puppet, examining it closely. His fingers brushed the remaining runes and metal joints lightly, as if touching a memory.
The crafting traces, sword intent, and rune connections were far too familiar. He barely needed to think before he could deduce the complete operating pattern from the damaged spiritual threads.
This degree of familiarity clearly came from the cultivation world.
His brow slightly furrowed, but he said nothing, only murmuring: “The history of this ruin… may be far older than we expected.”
Milton opened his mouth to speak, but seeing Gu Qing’s calm expression, he did not pursue the question, instead continuing to inspect the other puppet fragments.
—At that moment, a silver orb suddenly shot out from Gu Qing’s mind.
The little heavenly orb perched atop a scattered puppet shoulder, squeaked softly, then zipped toward Gu Qing’s ear, fluttering around.
“Gu Qing—did you notice those runes? Those puppets! They look so familiar!! Umm… they’re like something from the cultivation world! Are they from your sect?”
Gu Qing didn’t reply verbally, only responding in his mind: “…They do look similar, but it’s not the recent style of our sect. More like… an early version.”
“You mean—an ancestral version!?” The little orb lit up. “Did some founder-level master of your sect do some big thing here? Eh eh eh, doesn’t that mean—”
“I don’t know.” Gu Qing narrowed his eyes, alert. “This palace bears sealing energy and many traces of broken spiritual formations. It’s not an ordinary ruin.”
His gaze swept over the runes and walls of the underground palace, voice calm: “The formations here have long been activated. The remaining puppets are meant to distinguish between trial participants and intruders.”
At the end of the corridor stood a half-open stone door. Pushing it open revealed a small side hall, thick with dust and the weight of time.
The faded wall reliefs drew Gu Qing’s attention. He stepped closer, fingertips brushing the remnants of the lines. These were not mere decorations, but symbols commonly used in the cultivation world to designate “guest reception areas.”
Despite centuries of erosion, he could still make out the cloud and lingzhi patterns intertwined—simple, yet refined, signaling that this place was not forbidden or a main hall, but a temporary lodging for visitors.
In a deeper corner, traces of life still lingered: broken teacups, withered spirit plants, and fragmented celadon lamps.
He murmured softly, “…Someone must have lived here for a long time.”
“Hmm? Who could it be?” The little heavenly orb floated up suddenly, hovering on his shoulder, swaying.
Gu Qing said nothing, only nodding slightly, his gaze flowing over the hall like water, silently recording everything in his mind.
Milton stood nearby, observing the reliefs and remnants, feeling unfamiliar. He didn’t disturb Gu Qing’s contemplation, merely standing watchfully by his side.
In that instant, a subtle ripple stirred in Gu Qing’s heart. He didn’t know who had once stayed in this outer chamber, nor why it appeared deep within this celestial palace ruin—but the strange yet familiar sensation made him involuntarily wonder: this ruin and his world might be more deeply connected than he realized.