Malevolent Immortal

The portal dissolved behind Kai, leaving nothing but a whisper of darkness where he had emerged. The familiar landscape of the mortal realm stretched before him—yet something felt different. Subtly changed. The air carried a weight of unfamiliarity that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

His enhanced core formation senses, honed in the brutal crucible of the Underworld, stretched out like tendrils of consciousness. East. Something called him eastward, a persistent magnetism that tugged at the very fabric of his cultivation. Kai knew better than to ignore such intuitions—they had kept him alive through challenges that would have obliterated lesser cultivators.

He concealed his true power carefully. Foundation Establishment VIII would frighten most cultivators, and Core Formation was practically godlike in this realm. No, he would be subtle. Unremarkable. A wandering cultivator seeking his path.

Days of travel brought him to a small town named Fisak. Dust-covered buildings lined narrow streets, and the local tavern seemed the perfect place to gather information. Kai adjusted his plain dark robes, ensuring nothing revealed his true nature.

The tavern's interior was dim, smelling of ale and sweat. Wooden tables were scattered about, occupied by a mix of laborers, travelers, and local cultivators. Kai chose a corner seat, positioning himself to observe without drawing attention.

"Miss," he called to the barmaid, using the fake Japanese name he'd prepared. "Kenji. Some ale, please."

The barmaid, a sturdy woman with weathered hands and keen eyes, approached. "Where you from, traveler?"

"Far lands," Kai responded smoothly, his voice neutral. "Just passing through."

She placed a mug before him, her gaze lingering. Cultivators weren't common in Fisak, and strangers always sparked curiosity.

At a nearby table, two cultivators were deep in conversation. Kai's enhanced hearing, carefully modulated to seem normal, caught their words.

"Ten years," one was saying. "Can you believe it? Ten years since the last major event."

His companion nodded, taking a long drink. "The Celestial Archives. Nothing but a legend now."

Kai's interest sharpened, though his expression remained neutral.

"Appeared a decade ago," the first cultivator continued. "Floating realm in the sky. Scholars, mystics—everyone wanted access. Then? Vanished."

"Vanished?" his friend scoffed. "More like no one was worthy enough to enter."

Kai's fingers, wrapped around his ale mug, tightened almost imperceptibly. The Celestial Archives. A hidden realm. Answers waiting to be discovered.

He waited, patient as a predator. When the cultivators seemed to wind down their conversation, Kai made his move. A casual approach, the demeanor of a curious but unremarkable traveler.

"Pardon the interruption," he said, approaching their table. "I couldn't help overhearing. Celestial Archives?"

The cultivators looked up, sizing him up. The one who had been speaking earlier, a man with a weathered face and cultivation marks around his eyes, seemed to assess Kai.

"Just an old story, friend," he said. "Been a decade since anyone's seen it. Might as well be a fairy tale now."

"But it existed?" Kai pressed, keeping his tone light. "A realm in the sky?"

The cultivator chuckled. "Existed? Aye. Appeared above the Eastern Peaks. Scholars, mystics—everyone went mad trying to find a way in. Then, poof. Gone."

His companion interjected, "Some say it only appears to those deemed worthy. Some cosmic test."

Kai filed away each detail, his mind already spinning possibilities. The Celestial Archives. A realm of knowledge, potentially holding secrets beyond mortal comprehension.

"You seem mighty interested," the first cultivator noted, studying Kai more closely now.

Kai offered a self-deprecating smile. "Traveler's curiosity. Stories keep the road interesting."

The barmaid approached, refilling their mugs. "More ale, gentlemen?"

As she did, Kai noticed a subtle shift in the tavern's atmosphere. Whispers. Glances. The undercurrent of a small town where strangers were always subject to silent scrutiny.

Little did they know the stranger in their midst was far more than he appeared. A cultivator who had traversed the Underworld. Who had battled the Death King. Who now sat among them, seeking his next path.

The whispers of the Celestial Archives echoed in Kai's mind, a siren call more potent than any mortal temptation. His muscles coiled with a predatory tension, a lifetime of survival instincts honed in the brutal landscapes of the Underworld.

In a heartbeat—less than a blink—Kai vanished.

The tavern's wooden floor barely registered his departure. One moment he was seated, a nondescript traveler nursing an ale, the next—nothing. A phantom. A shadow between breaths.

The barmaid, her hand still extended with a fresh mug, stood frozen. Her gaze swept the corner where the stranger had sat mere moments ago. Empty. As if he had never existed.

"Mei!" The tavern owner's booming voice cut through her stupor. "Where's that traveler's payment?"

She stammered, "He... he was just here a moment ago."

Old Zhao, the tavern's proprietor, slammed his meaty hand on the bar. His face reddened, a storm brewing in his eyes. "You let him slip without paying? Two silver pieces for the ale!"

"But sir," Mei protested, "he vanished so quickly—"

"Vanished?" Zhao roared. "Cultivators always think they can trick an old innkeeper. Go after him!"

She clutched the mug, her eyes darting to the now-empty corner. The stranger had been there, solid and real, moments before. Now, only a faint whisper of darkness remained—a memory more than a presence.

Outside, beyond the town's weathered boundaries, Kai materialized among ancient trees. Emerald shadows embraced him, branches whispering secrets older than the cultivators' tales. His core formation energy rippled subtly, scanning the wilderness—searching, always searching.

The forest accepted him. Another shadow among countless shadows.

The Celestial Archives awaited.

In the tavern, Old Zhao's anger echoed, a futile roar against the mysterious cultivator who had slipped through his grasp like morning mist.