Chapter 30: The Beast of Broken Roots
The path narrowed into a stone corridor formed by jagged cliffs, their dark surfaces streaked with dried marks that resembled long-forgotten blood. The deeper Ashen walked, the colder the air became, not from lack of sunlight, but from the weight pressing in around him.
This wasn't just a valley.
It was a place where battles had not ended—only sunk into the soil.
Ashen slowed his steps. The mist had thinned, but silence intensified. Even the distant water no longer echoed. It felt as if the world held its breath, waiting.
He stopped completely.
There were no beasts, no humans, no wind.
Yet the hairs on his arms rose.
Something was here.
He placed his hand lightly on the stone wall beside him. It pulsed faintly with spiritual residue—old, decayed, but once overwhelmingly strong.
The kind of power only someone close to a Supreme realm could leave behind.
Ashen narrowed his eyes.
This place wasn't shaped by time. It was shaped by force.
He continued forward.
---
Whispers in the Soil
The corridor widened into a circular clearing. Roots protruded from cracked ground, twisted like bones, forming a broken pattern around the center—like remnants of a ritual or battlefield formation.
Ashen crouched and touched one of the roots.
It was cold. Too cold. Not from natural decay.
From lingering resentment.
As he rose, something shifted beneath the ground—a faint tremor, almost like a heartbeat.
The soil rippled.
Ashen stepped back and took a defensive stance, not drawing his weapon yet. He watched the ground closely.
At first, only the roots twitched.
Then the earth split.
Slowly—deliberately.
Dark shapes emerged from beneath the soil. Not bodies—shadows of bodies. Their forms wavered like smoke, but their movements were heavy, rough, guided by instinct rather than intelligence.
There were six of them.
Not alive. Not dead.
Fragments.
Broken wills still clinging to form.
Ashen's expression tightened just slightly.
"Not beasts… remnants."
The creatures rose fully, shaped like twisted humanoid forms with jagged limbs made of decayed wood and lingering spirit energy. Their faces were hollow—no eyes, no features—just warped shapes of what they once were.
The valley hadn't forgotten them.
And now, they recognized him.
All six turned toward Ashen in unison.
Then they charged.
---
A Fight That Tests Control
Ashen moved the instant they lunged, sliding back as the nearest creature brought its jagged arm down like a blade.
CRACK!
Stone shattered where he just stood.
Quick. Heavy. Fast enough to pressure early-stage cultivators to death instantly.
Ashen flicked his wrist, channeling Qi into his palm, and struck the creature's chest with a precise blow.
WHUMP!
The beast stumbled back, its body rippling like smoke struck by wind. It didn't bleed. It didn't break. It simply lost shape, then reformed.
Ashen's brows lowered.
Physical damage wouldn't kill these things.
They were held together by will, not flesh.
Another one leaped from the right, claws aiming for his throat. Ashen ducked, pivoted, and struck upward with an open palm.
The creature exploded into mist—
—but reformed almost instantly behind him.
They didn't die.
They persisted.
Ashen stepped back again, more serious now.
"These aren't meant to be defeated by force."
A third creature lunged low, scraping the ground. Ashen lifted his leg, struck its head downward, and used the momentum to leap back onto higher rock.
Six pairs of hollow heads snapped upward to follow his movement.
Their aggression rose.
They moved faster.
Ashen narrowed his eyes. This wasn't random violence. They weren't attacking because he was prey.
They were drawn to something inside him.
His aura.
His will.
His past.
He clenched his fist lightly, suppressing a flare of energy that threatened to rise instinctively.
"If I release too much power… they'll grow stronger. Or multiply."
He couldn't afford that.
Instead, he relaxed his stance, lowering his center of gravity, conserving energy.
Let them come to him.
---
Counterattack
The creatures attacked again—this time from multiple angles.
Two from the front.
One from the left.
Three from behind.
Ashen exhaled and moved.
Not frantically.
Not explosively.
Controlled.
Every strike was precise—redirecting force, not overpowering it.
A parry that sent one stumbling into another
A palm strike that shattered spiritual cohesion for a moment
A pivot that guided momentum into walls
He fought like a calm storm, not a raging one.
One creature leaped over his head, claws poised to tear into his skull from above. Ashen spun, kicked upward, and dispersed it midair.
It reformed seconds later.
His strikes worked—but not permanently.
In the pause between blows, he whispered to himself:
"They endure… because someone wanted them to."
These remnants weren't natural.
They had purpose.
Likely left behind by a cultivator who refused to die quietly.
Someone like he once was.
---
Turning Point
The ground shook again.
More roots pushed upward.
The six creatures pulled back, regrouping—not because they were afraid, but because something stronger was forming beneath them.
Ashen's gaze hardened.
"So there's a core."
The earth split open fully, and from the center rose a larger form—twice the height of the others, posture straight, presence heavy. Its structure was denser, shaped from layers of roots, spiritual resentment, and fragments of old armor fused into its limbs.
This one was not just a remnant.
It was a commander.
A shadow of a warrior who died here centuries ago.
The smaller creatures knelt around it—shivering like soldiers before a general.
Ashen stepped forward.
"I see. You were someone once."
The creature lifted its hollow head and let out a silent roar—one that shook the valley without making sound.
Then it charged.
---
The Clash
The commander swung its arm like a massive spiritual blade.
Ashen barely blocked in time, sliding backward across stone from sheer force. His arm numbed slightly from impact.
Strong.
Not intelligent—but strong enough to crush reinforced stone like clay.
The beast struck again, this time tracing an arc that carved deep gashes in the ground. Ashen ducked, planted his palm into the earth, and rebounded upward with a sharp kick to its chest.
The creature staggered two steps.
Then steadied.
Ashen landed lightly.
"So brute force won't break you either."
He lifted his hand again, gathering Qi—not aggressively, but purposefully—compressing it inward instead of letting it leak out.
If these creatures clung to lingering wills…
He needed to dismantle their intent, not their bodies.
The commander leaped forward, bringing both arms down. Ashen met the strike head-on with a palm imbued with stabilizing force, reversing its momentum.
The beast fell backward, cracking stone beneath it.
The six smaller remnants swarmed to defend their commander.
Ashen swept his arm sideways, releasing a controlled burst of Qi—not enough to reveal his true power, but enough to scatter them briefly.
This time, when the commander rose, it staggered weaker.
Ashen understood.
"I have to sever the will that binds you."
Not destroy the body. Destroy the purpose.
He braced himself for a final strike.
---
Finishing the Fight
When the commander charged again, Ashen stepped directly into its path rather than avoiding it. He placed one hand on its chest, fingers spread.
He didn't strike.
He pressed.
Suppressing force.
Suppressing intent.
A quiet, controlled flow of Qi poured into the creature—not aggressive, not explosive. A force that calmed rather than shattered.
The creature's movements slowed. Its limbs trembled. Its hollow face tilted upward like something finally remembering rest.
The smaller remnants froze mid-charge and began dissolving—slowly, like dust returning to soil.
Ashen lowered his voice, almost a whisper.
"You can rest now."
The commander's chest cracked—not from damage, but from release.
It dissolved into mist and roots that drifted away on a wind that wasn't there.
No scream.
No struggle.
Just silence.
And then—peace.
The clearing returned to stillness.
The ground no longer trembled.
Ashen stood alone.
---
Aftermath
He exhaled slowly, lowering his hand.
His arm tingled faintly—slight spiritual fatigue. Not severe, but enough to remind him he held back deliberately.
A lesser cultivator would have fought recklessly and died.
A more ruthless version of himself would have destroyed everything instantly.
He walked forward again, steps soft.
These things…
Didn't attack because he was prey.
They attacked because the valley recognized what he could become.
And feared the consequences.
Ashen continued deeper.
The valley no longer watched silently.
It waited.