The stone courtyard before the nine-story pagoda returned to its inherent stillness, yet this silence carried a different flavor. The scent of pulverized jade, the chaotic spiritual energy lingering after a heaven-shaking explosion, and the scent of victory following a life-and-death bloodbath.
Two heaps of rubble, one black and one white, lay silently on opposite sides of the courtyard—the sole testaments to the existence of the two terrifying guardian puppets.
"Phew... phew..."
Old Kinh lay flat on the ground, his chest heaving violently like a torn bellows. The preceding battle had drained every ounce of his strength. Though valiant, he was elderly and possessed only one eye; confronting a peak Foundation Establishment puppet head-on was already a miracle. His body bore countless dark bruises inflicted by the gale force of the jade axe.
Tran Kien staggered, dropping to one knee, leaning his matte-black saber against the floor to keep his body from collapsing. The technique "Lightning-Fire Primordial Obliteration," though horrifying in its might, had nearly exhausted the entirety of the Primordial Chaos Qi within his body. He felt dizzy, his meridians aching as if pierced by ten thousand needles.
He looked at Old Kinh, then at the rubble, a profound awe welling up within his heart. What terrifying heights of alchemy and array formations had the Lac Viet predecessors reached, to create such horrifying killing machines?
"Boy... that technique of yours..." Old Kinh struggled to speak, his single eye looking at Tran Kien with unconcealed shock. "To actually fuse the power of heavenly lightning and the grand sun. This old man has sailed the seas for a lifetime, yet I have never witnessed a cultivation method so domineering."
"It was merely a stroke of serendipity amidst a near-death situation," Tran Kien smiled bitterly. He knew that if his Primordial Chaos Qi did not possess the characteristic of encompassing myriad phenomena, and if he had not undergone bodily tempering via a heavenly lightning strike, fusing those two berserk energies would have been no different from suicide.
They did not rush into the pagoda. Both knew that in their current condition, even if there were no dangers inside, they would be unable to cope.
Tran Kien retrieved his final two Qi-Restoring Pills, handing one to Old Kinh. The two sat cross-legged right in the middle of the courtyard, beginning to regulate their breathing.
The Primordial Chaos Qi, under the circulation of "Heavenly Cycle Qi Guiding," began to greedily absorb the abundant, pristine spiritual energy of Flame Mountain. Tran Kien's recovery speed was vastly superior to Old Kinh's. After merely two sichen, the Primordial Chaos Qi within his body had recovered to five or six tenths of its capacity, and the color had returned to his face.
Once their injuries stabilized, they finally stood up, their gazes turning toward the massive, silent stone doors of the nine-story pagoda.
The doors were carved from a single, massive block of pitch-black volcanic rock, devoid of locks or any mechanisms. There was only a large relief sculpture in the very center.
The relief depicted a king, donning a crown adorned with pheasant feathers, standing upon a dragon boat, drawing a bow and firing at a colossal sea monster. Surrounding him were countless other Lac Viet warriors, wielding weapons and fighting alongside him. A heroic, tragic scene.
"This is..."
"The legend of the Hung King slaying the Fish Demon in the Eastern Sea," Old Kinh said, his voice brimming with reverence. "It seems this is not merely a tomb. This is a place that records history, recording the glory of our ancestors."
"Then how do we open the doors?" Tran Kien asked.
He tried pushing, but the stone doors were as heavy as a mountain, refusing to budge a single inch. He tried utilizing his Primordial Chaos Qi, but it was like tossing a pebble into the vast ocean; there was no reaction.
He looked back at the relief sculpture. He abruptly realized that within the eyes of the Hung King depicted upon it, there seemed to be a spark of life, a sense of anticipation.
Tran Kien fell silent for a long moment. He ceased using force.
He carefully placed the two legacy fragments—the Solar Essence Guardian and the Unhindered Lac Feathers—into two small recesses on the relief sculpture, right at the positions of the sun and the flock of Lac birds.
Then, he took three steps back, dropped to one knee, and bowed deeply.
This was not submission. This was reverence. The reverence of a descendant for the monumental merits of his ancestors.
His action seemed to trigger a hidden restriction.
HUM...M...M...
The two legacy fragments simultaneously erupted with light, one golden, one azure. The relief sculpture upon the stone doors seemed to be breathed into life. The image of the Hung King seemingly nodded toward him.
RUMBLE... RUMBLE... RUMBLE...
The doors of stone, weighing a thousand catties, sealed shut for three thousand years, slowly, slowly... opened.
An ancient aura—completely devoid of mustiness, carrying the scent of old paper and sandalwood—wafted out from within.
Tran Kien and Old Kinh exchanged a glance, then carefully stepped inside.
The interior of the pagoda's first floor was no gloomy burial chamber, nor was it a treasure vault filled with gold and silver. It was a scripture pavilion. A colossal, circular library.
Towering ironwood bookshelves reaching the ceiling were arranged in concentric circles. Upon them rested not paper books, but tens of thousands of bamboo slips, animal hides, tortoise shells, and beast bones, preserved in absolute perfection. This was the treasury of knowledge of an entire era!
In the very center of the library, there were no tables or chairs, but a gargantuan sand table, simulating the entire topography of the ancient Great Viet realm.
But what shook Tran Kien the most were the murals painted upon the vaulted walls of the entire floor.
Those paintings did not depict kings. They depicted tales he was intimately familiar with. A gentle Lang Lieu offering his royal father two types of cakes, round and square. A boy from Giong village stretching his shoulders to become a giant, riding an iron horse and breathing fire to eradicate the Yin invaders. A Son Tinh moving mountains and filling seas to combat the wrath of Thuy Tinh.
History, culture, beliefs... the entire soul of the Lac Viet people had been recreated here.
"This... this is the true legacy," Old Kinh murmured, his voice trembling.
Tran Kien said nothing. He merely walked in silence, his eyes sweeping over every bamboo slip, every mural. He felt he had never been so close to his roots.
Upon reaching the end of the library, he saw a stone staircase, twisting its way up to the second floor. But the path up was blocked by a door of pale yellow light.
Upon the door of light, a line of ancient Shamanic script slowly materialized.
"To know the secrets of heaven, one must first understand the roots of the earth. Tell me, what was the greatest power that allowed Son Tinh to triumph over Thuy Tinh?"
A question.
A new trial. A trial not of strength, but of comprehension.