Ascension of The Unholy Immortal

Powerhouses of the Void Transformation Realm wield origin or dao artifacts. But for someone at Liang's level— almost the Void Return Realm—the appropriate weapons are Transcendent Artifacts. Transitional, like the realm itself. That's why they're sometimes called quasi–sacred artifacts: sacred items infused with only a trace of divinity.

The Void Return Realm wasn't even considered a true realm in most higher domains. Outside the lower planes, it was often referred to as the "halfway to divine ingeneration"—a transitional stage, not a destination.

But in the lower domain, where the world's spiritual foundations were too weak to support cultivators stepping fully into the mystical, Void Return became the threshold. For those trapped in limited lands, it was the highest they could go without breaking through into higher realms entirely. A liminal state—between the mundane and the mystical.

It had taken centuries of cautious observation, deductions from countless simulations in the Thousand Derivations Rune, and deep meditative introspection—but at last, Liang arrived at the only plausible conclusion.

"An artifact spirit."

There was no other explanation.

And not just any artifact spirit. This one was elusive, subtle. Intelligent beyond reckoning. Unlike typical artifact spirits that bonded with their wielders and shared their intentions openly, this one remained hidden—deliberately so.

That was what confused him most.

It did not speak. Did not reach out. Did not seek acknowledgment. Yet its influence echoed through his choices. Nudging his hand when he hesitated, stirring discomfort when he leaned toward extremes, seeding doubts when certainty seemed absolute.

It had never stopped him from making any choice. But it had shaped the weight of those choices.

It was no coincidence, Liang thought, that he had buried the mirror deep within his inner world. The decision had come suddenly—after a moment of doubt he couldn't trace to any logical reason. That was when he'd realized: the mirror might be affecting him. Not through brute force or coercion, but through suggestion. Like a silent whisper shaping the tides of his reasoning.

"But why?"

Why would an artifact spirit go so far to remain hidden?

Most artifact spirits craved resonance. Partnership. Recognition. They wanted to be wielded. To fulfill their purpose.

But this one—this half-mirror—had chosen obscurity. Silence.

Was the mirror waiting for something? Or… was it afraid?

The mirror had once been whole, just as he had once been whole. And just as he had fractured himself into rationality and emotion, so too had the mirror split into Yin and Yang.

Perhaps the mirror was a reflection. Not just metaphorically, but fundamentally. Its spirit could be bound to the same principle as the Heaven-Severing Mortal Unity Scripture.

"Maybe you're waiting," he said softly, "for the end. For the reunion."

Perhaps the spirit believed that only then would it reveal itself—when he was no longer Liang alone, but the union of Liang and Kai. The true self. Whole. Unified.

"Hmph, it doesn't matter. Once everything is over, I'll take my time with you," he murmured with a low chuckle.

With that, his nascent divinity returned to his body.

As his eyes opened, a faint light flickered within them. He scanned his surroundings briefly, then rose to his feet and retrieved his communication talisman from his sleeve.

Reading through the messages he had received, his gaze sharpened for a moment—thoughtful—before he quietly put the talisman away.

Communication Talismans were as essential to cultivators as swords and pills. Though many great sects and clans had developed their own internal methods—using clan tokens, spirit lanterns, or formation-based arrays—such methods were confined within the bounds of their own power. The moment a disciple left the sect grounds or traveled to another realm, those systems became useless.

That was where the Communication Talisman came into play. Cultivators only needed to exchange talisman details once, and thereafter, messages could be sent at any time—so long as the talisman wasn't damaged, and the sender's spiritual sense could still reach the etheric web that spanned the realms.

Of course, as with most things in cultivation, not all talismans were equal.

Publicly recognized talismans were categorized into three grades: low, mid, and high.

Low-grade communication talismans are the most common, typically used for short-range messaging. As long as both parties reside on the same planet or within the same world, the message can be sent and received—though even then, there may be minor delays if the sender and recipient are in different continents or spatially disturbed regions like sealed grounds, barrier zones, or wilderness domains. Their construction requires only minor spiritual materials, and even Foundation Establishment cultivators can afford them.

Mid-grade talismans, on the other hand, are a significant upgrade.

Forged with stabilized spatial threads and reinforced with realm-spanning formation runes, these talismans can transmit messages between different worlds within the same realm.

These are often issued by major sects, noble clans, or trading alliances to their core disciples and envoys. They maintain message integrity across planar barriers, although interference from spatial storms or incomplete realm stabilization can delay transmissions.

These talismans often bear unique soul-marks to prevent interception and can be paired with defensive formations to ensure that only the intended recipient can read the contents. Typically, they are bound to the soul imprint of the user, allowing for rapid recognition and instantaneous retrieval of critical alerts, emergency calls, or clan summons.

But it was the high-grade talismans that defied the very boundaries of space. They were rare, difficult to forge, and each one required a Master of Formations to inscribe spatial-severing runes alongside threads of karmic binding. With such a talisman, even cross-realm communication—across vast domain—became possible. The signal would leap from one spiritual anchor to another, passing through void rifts, fragment dimensions, even weakened world barriers.

Of course, there were limits. The further the message had to travel, the more spiritual force it consumed. And in realms that were sealed or unstable, even the finest talisman might fail to transmit more than a flicker of intent.

Still, compared to the crude voice slips and beast-borne messages, even a mid-grade talisman was a marvel.