Chapter 3108: A Week Of Lull

The High Priestess raised her hand and the air itself seemed to still. Her authority, honed over centuries, quelled their frenzy. But she could not banish their dread. Even she could not banish her own.

Her thoughts swirled behind her calm mask. ’To devour a Nascent Soul... not even our ancestor can do such a thing so cleanly. This is a calamity not of fate, but of our own making. We have hidden, but for how long before his shadow falls upon us too?’

A representative of a mercenary blood sect slammed his fist onto the table, though his hand shook as he withdrew it. "If this... Lin Mu... can annihilate the Drowned Crescent, then what chance do we have? Hiding will not save us forever!"

The statement struck the hall like a thunderclap. It was what they all thought, but none dared to voice.

The truth they feared.

A woman in blood-red robes from another allied faction narrowed her eyes. "That power... that form. A body of magma and fire. Tell me, Priestess, what exactly is he? Mortal? Spirit beast? Devil?"

"We’ve also confirmed he can use Gravity Dao and has reached the Sword Heart Stage of Sword Intent. Just how many abilities does he have?"

"That is no longer human... is it?"

The High Priestess’ lips tightened.

She thought back to the words of the Ephemera Ancestor, the one who had divined the great shift in fate. She remembered her ancestor’s eyes, filled not with malice or vengeance, but with the quiet despair of inevitability.

Her voice was low, but it carried across the Ninefold Crypt like a tolling bell.

"He is the sword we cannot face head-on. If we do not find a way to blunt it... he will carve through us, and none here will escape the blade."

A ripple of despair traveled across the gathered powers. Some looked sick, others muttered in desperation.

’We were supposed to rise, not cower in the dark.’

’Our time was meant to come... but it will never come if he exists.’

’Is this truly the end?’

The shadows in the chamber seemed to deepen, the marsh wind howling faintly through the Ninefold Crypt as if the world itself mocked their fear.

And in the hearts of many, a single thought crystallized.

Lin Mu is not merely a foe. He is the herald of our destruction.

A week later....

The training grounds were quiet now.

The sound of Meng Bai’s footsteps had long faded into the distance, leaving Lin Mu alone beneath the open sky. The afternoon sun hung heavy above, its light spilling across the tiled stone floor and catching the faint dust that hung in the air.

For the first time in months, there was no pressing battle, no urgent summons, no enemies lurking at the edges of perception.

And yet, the silence felt heavier than any storm.

Lin Mu drew a slow breath, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of one of his swords. He could still feel the faint warmth of spear intent lingering in the air, the residue of Meng Bai’s practice strikes.

Meng Bai had progressed quite a bit in this one week, his Spear Intent firmly at the peak of the Basic Stage. Lin Mu guessed that it was due to all that they had gone in this past couple months that the boy had been growing fast.

He was quite pleased by it and so was Meng Bai. Training him had been a welcome distraction, a way to guide the boy forward and polish his foundations. But now, with the lesson complete and the courtyard empty, his thoughts turned inward.

’A week has passed... and still we wait.’

It was not the kind of waiting Lin Mu favored.

He would rather face the enemy head-on, to cut through obstacles with sword and will alike.

But the Hidden Cave Sect was not a foe to be met with reckless charge. He knew their methods... cowards who thrived on shadows, parasites who would scatter and burrow the moment their nest was disturbed.

If even a handful of their core members survived, they would unleash ruin upon innocents, striking at villages, cities, perhaps even other sect’s disciples who had no hand in the fight.

That was a risk Lin Mu would never allow.

’To end them, we must strike in one motion, swift and absolute. Otherwise, all we achieve is chaos.’

But for that, he could not act alone.

Not even with Little Shrubby’s speed, nor Xiao Yin and Xiao Yang’s deadly precision, nor the combined efforts of Cattleya and Meng Bai. His power might surpass theirs, but even he could not watch every shadow, every hidden escape path, every coward fleeing into the night.

They needed numbers.

They needed the reach of the Xian Sword Sect’s army of disciples and elders, the coordination of the Silent Lotus Temple’s monks. To mobilize such strength took time, and time was not something he could hasten with his sword.

Bureaucracy was not his battlefield.

Lin Mu exhaled slowly and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the stone floor.

Daoist Chu was already working with the Grand Elder, his sharp mind weaving together the strands of strategy and logistics, while Monk Hushu lent the weight of the Silent Lotus Temple’s influence.

Having trained in the Immortal Court for decades, they were masters of this kind of preparation. Compared to them, Lin Mu was a sword trying to carve through parchment: unsuited, too blunt for such delicate matters.

And so, for once, he had no role to play.

The realization gnawed at him. He was not idle by choice, but by necessity. The battle ahead was drawing closer each day, and he could not allow himself to stagnate while others laid the groundwork.

’If I cannot fight now, then I must sharpen myself for when the time comes.’

His gaze sharpened.

He could feel it in his Dantian, the subtle pressure that had been building for months. His Qi had reached a threshold once more, his body honed to the point where it clamored for another trial.

The Immortal Tribulation was calling him.

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