The space within the black stone cave, having been purified by the righteous qi of a millennium of history, no longer held its gloomy, wicked aura. The dense black miasma and resentment had vanished, returning the cave to the primordial silence of the mountain stone.
The Heroic Spirit Array could not be sustained for long. Having fulfilled their mission of purifying the Evil Spirit, the ethereal silhouettes of Son Tinh, Saint Giong, and the other national heroes gave a slight nod to Tran Kien—a nod of recognition—before slowly fading into the air, returning to the Dragon Veins, to the Motherland.
The colossal illusory Bronze Drum beneath Tran Kien's feet also lost its luster, sinking back into the earth and vanishing without a trace.
Tran Kien, having exhausted his entire Divine Sense and a portion of his life-blood to deploy such a monumental array, finally could no longer hold on. He coughed up another mouthful of fresh blood, his frame tottering before he collapsed to the ground in a dead faint. The Army-Breaker Saber fell with a sharp clang beside him.
The fragment of the Evil Spirit's soul, stripped of all its resentment and ambition, remained as a faint, ownerless spark of light, hovering above the altar.
At that moment, from within Tran Kien's body, the "Seed of Legacy" he had planted at the Flaming Mountain suddenly vibrated. A golden filament of light shot out—not to attack, but to gently entwine that ownerless soul, pulling it back to merge within the seed.
It was not destroying. It was "Absorbing." It absorbed the purest knowledge and memories of a soul that had existed for a thousand years. This was the creation, the fusion that the final Shaman had once mentioned.
Once everything had concluded, the two colossal stone doors blocking the tunnel gave a loud BOOM as they slowly ground open.
Outside, the first light of dawn was nearly upon them.
When Tran Kien regained consciousness, he found himself lying upon a simple bamboo bed. The air no longer smelled of blood, but of medicinal herbs and the early morning sun. He was within a thatched hut at the foot of Forbidden Mountain.
He sat up with great difficulty, his entire body aching as if it had been torn asunder. That battle had wounded him to his very foundation; the Primordial Chaos Qi in his body was nearly bone-dry, and his Divine Soul was utterly exhausted. He feared it would take at least half a year of quiet recuperation to fully recover.
"You're awake?"
A familiar voice rang out. The old hunter, who had first told him of the strange events on Forbidden Mountain, brought in a bowl of steaming porridge. Beside him stood the five young hunters who had been rescued; they looked at Tran Kien with gazes overflowing with gratitude and veneration.
"We thank our benefactor for saving our lives!" All six dropped to their knees.
"Please, stand up," Tran Kien spoke, his voice somewhat weak. "It was merely a small effort."
He knew that after he had fainted, these kind-hearted villagers must have found and saved him.
He did not linger. After finishing the porridge and recovering a modicum of strength, he bid them farewell. He knew that while the Sacred Gate's lair had been destroyed, the roots of the "Sacred Dynasty" remained. This place was no longer safe.
With a single saber, he once again began his journey. But this time, his mood was exceptionally heavy.
In this game, he was no longer just a player. He had become the primary enemy of an ancient, mysterious, and unimaginably terrifying power.
Sacred Dynasty... He murmured the name. Who were they, truly? What was their purpose? Why did they seek possession and rebirth?
And most importantly, he recalled the words of the Evil Spirit: "Our Sacred Dynasty is the orthodox one."
A horrifying premonition flashed through his mind. Could it be... that the power struggle in the imperial capital, the confrontation between Marquis Vinh An and Duke Dinh Quoc, and even that unfathomable Emperor... were all merely puppets in the hands of the Sacred Dynasty?
If this conjecture were true, then the enemy he faced was not just a powerful official or a demonic sect. It was an entire chessboard that had been meticulously set for a thousand years.
Tran Kien tightly gripped the Army-Breaker Saber. He felt the burden upon his shoulders grow heavier than ever before.
He knew he could not return to the imperial capital immediately. With his current strength, returning would be no different from suicide. He also could not return to the City of Chaos; the Formless Sect was still too fragile.
He needed to become stronger. Much stronger.
He unfurled the map of Dai Viet. His gaze did not stop at the bustling cities. He was searching for forgotten lands, places that concealed the greatest serendipities and the most daunting trials.
Finally, his gaze landed on a vast expanse of sea at the extreme southern edge of Dai Viet. According to the records in the "Unified Geography of Imperial Viet," that place was a desolate archipelago enveloped by fierce ocean currents and perpetual mist.
Legend had it that long ago, after the victory over the Southern Han forces on the Bach Dang River, Ngo Quyen had built a secret naval base there, using it to safeguard his remaining warships and weaponry.
The sea...
A new direction had been determined. He would not flee. He would head south, venture into the heart of the great sea, and search for the forgotten legacies of other national heroes. He would use the very storms and waves of the ocean to re-temper himself and seek the serendipity for a breakthrough.
And he believed that in that distant place, perhaps he would find the answers to the mysteries of the "Sacred Dynasty."
Tran Kien withdrew the map, his gaze becoming resolute once more. The wind was rising again. But this time, the dragon would not fly north.
He would head south, toward the vast, open sea.