"Ridiculous! A person without even spiritual roots dares to speak so arrogantly—aren't you afraid the spirit beasts will laugh at you?" Joel Qiao couldn't help but mock when he heard Evan Yang say such things.
"Is that so?" Evan Yang replied, stepping toward Joel Qiao, who felt a sense of danger but noticed nothing unusual. Staring at Evan strangely, Joel said, "What's the point of just having presence? Let me show you what a real cultivator is!" He then clenched his fists, releasing spiritual power that formed a protective shield around his hands.
"Do you think just having a shield and stronger attacks means you can beat me to death?" Evan Yang knew Joel's intention—to kill him outright.
Joel Qiao was curious how someone without spiritual power could face him so fearlessly. Was Evan just asking for a beating? At the same time, Joel said, "Do you really think I can't kill you?" and then swung a punch at Evan Yang.
But just as his fist reached midair, Joel Qiao witnessed the most terrifying thing of his life. "No, that's impossible! You can't cultivate—and you definitely can't produce that!"
"Didn't expect you to recognize this." Once Evan Yang confirmed no one was around, he conjured a cluster of Sparkfire in his palm—the most basic form of Ninety-Ninefold Purefire, pale yellow in color.
"Impossible! You must have used something to ignite it!" Seeing Evan Yang's display, Joel Qiao's confidence faltered, his face full of disbelief.
"Today, I'll let you taste the power of Ninety-Ninefold Purefire." As Evan Yang spoke, he unleashed Sparkfire—flames flying toward Joel Qiao, who didn't dare face them head-on and dodged frantically.
But there were too many flames. As one was about to hit Joel Qiao, he instinctively reached out to block it, only to end up screaming like he was being roasted alive.
"Hmph." Evan Yang, unfazed, continued to unleash Sparkfire.
Joel Qiao had never been attacked so relentlessly. Terrified, he broke into a desperate run, muttering angrily, "Damn it, you brat, I won't let you get away with this!"
"You want to run? Not a chance." Evan Yang wasn't about to let him escape and chased right after.
If you looked down from above, you'd see Joel sprinting for his life up front, as if fleeing some terrifying beast, while Evan doggedly pursued him.
Every now and then, they passed a few fellow disciples. Seeing Joel running like mad, they assumed he'd run into a powerful spirit beast—one even inner disciples couldn't handle—and quickly veered off the path, heading the other way. Joel nearly lost the will to live. "Damn it, why does everyone bolt the moment they see me?"
Evan watched as the others scattered and paid them no mind, continuing his pursuit of Joel.
"You brat, what—what did you take?" Joel, terrified yet curious, couldn't understand how someone with no spiritual roots could suddenly not only cultivate, but also master the first layer of the hardest technique.
Of course, Evan had no intention of explaining his ordeal. All he wanted now was to deal with Joel; if he waited too long, someone might discover his secret—especially someone as petty as Joel, who could slander him at any moment.
And so, the chase continued, leading them deeper into an uninhabited area thick with forest.
Neither noticed the changes in their surroundings as they ran. Suddenly, a flash of light erupted—Evan felt darkness descend, while Joel, a step ahead, noticed the shift first.
The abrupt change made them both stop in their tracks. "You—it's all your fault!" Joel, now gripped by fear, cursed Evan.
"Where are we?" Seeing Joel so terrified, Evan Yang felt a sudden sense of foreboding.
"It's a pocket space." Joel Qiao realized this was an area left behind by someone, and they'd stumbled in by accident. But the entrance had disappeared, which made him panic. If this was a space belonging to a powerful cultivator, intruding could mean instant death with no chance to even beg for mercy.
Evan was beginning to grasp just how serious the situation was.
A pocket realm like this could only be created by someone with true talent in formations—could there be a mighty expert here? Evan wondered silently, but all around him was deathly silence. He started to panic; he knew nothing about formations and couldn't even find an exit. In the end, he could only wait for death, just like Joel.
Formations, much like the Pill Sect, had their own Formation Sect. Most of its members were famous for researching pocket spaces. Formations came in several types: illusion arrays, killing arrays, defensive arrays, trapping arrays, teleportation arrays, space arrays, and more.
If you broke it down further, formations were ranked by power from level one to level nine. There were also some special ones that couldn't be measured by normal ranks—like fragments or complete arrays found in so-called immortal ruins, each with wildly different effects.
"Just our luck. If we've stumbled into some leftover pocket space, all we can do is wait for death." Joel looked around and saw not even a trace of living creatures, so it didn't seem like a powerful expert was here. If there was, and they were in a good mood, maybe they'd let them out—but now, all they could do was wait in fear.
Evan felt the same way. Despite his hatred for Joel, right now their only hope was to find an exit before settling their score. Joel understood this too, so neither argued, but both stayed on guard, afraid the other would try a sneak attack.
Little did they know, just as they entered, a crowd of figures suddenly appeared outside. Among them, a blue-browed, white-haired man—the Bluebrow Daoist—flew into a rage and shouted, "Where did these two wild brats come from? How dare they rush in!"
One of the younger disciples asked anxiously, "Elder, what do we do now?"