Ascension of The Unholy Immortal-Chapter 417: A strange ghost

The inner region of the Heavenly Yin Cliff was no place for the unprepared.

Here, the yin qi solidified into mist, heavy and suffocating. The stone underfoot was scorched with ghostly patterns and shattered altars littered the terrain.

Then, after several li of silent travel, Liang stopped.

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He'd arrived at the correct place.

Liang knelt slowly, brushing his fingers across the dusted surface of the earth. With a thought, complex runes unfurled from his palm and vanished into the ground.

Snap—snap—hum…

Layer after layer of formations emerged:

—A Concealment Array, weaving his presence into the background noise of the world.

—A Detection Web Array, extending hundreds of meters in every direction, alerting him to the slightest disturbance.

—A Spirit-Sealing Ward Array, locking the ambient ghost qi into stillness, preventing interference.

—And finally, a Distortion Veil Formation, bending space to keep prying eyes and divine senses at bay.

Only after anchoring the final layer did Liang settle into a seated position at the center. His expression turned solemn.

Then—he activated the Thousand Derivations Rune.

A golden spiral unfolded behind him, expanding outward into a field of glimmering threads and floating runes. Each represented a path, a choice, a consequence. With this technique, Liang could simulate futures—not perfectly, but with enough clarity to calculate probability and fate.

Time passed.

Half a day.

Then a full day.

Only after the golden spiral began to dim did Liang finally open his eyes.

His gaze was sharp. Heavy. A line appeared between his brows.

"To think that Kai has advanced this quickly…"

His voice was soft, but each word felt like it carved itself into the stone around him.

"Late-stage… Rank Seven Body Refining Realm?"

He exhaled, a faint mist curling from his lips in the cold.

"That's beyond expectations. Even for him."

A long pause followed.

He closed his eyes briefly, then reopened them with a flash of insight.

"His current chances… sit at twenty-five percent. Most likely, he's unaware."

He chuckled, a quiet sound that didn't reach his eyes.

"It'll stay that way… unless he finds another path forward."

For a while, he said nothing.

Then his voice returned, colder this time.

"Unless he breaks through to Void Return… with his Soul Alter as the foundation."

He considered that possibility… then shook his head slightly.

"If not then... his chances will not rise beyond… forty percent."

Another pause.

"On second thought… make that twenty percent."

His expression was unreadable.

He fell silent again, diving into memory—retracing the scripture Tian Shu had mentioned.

Ten Thousand Veins of Dusk.

The cultivation method emerged in his mind's eye.

To tread the Ten Thousand Nether Veins Art is to uproot one's light and graft darkness in its place. The soul shall be seeded with spectral root, drawing on the Yin Sea beneath all worlds. From decay, power. From sorrow, strength.

Liang let the words settle. He adjusted his breathing—slow, deliberate. Though the technique was of the Ghost Dao, one did not become a ghost to wield it. One merely… stepped aside.

He pressed his fingers to his lower abdomen—his dantian—and began the descent inward. Threads of will guided by spiritual power wove a spiral, unraveling the natural balance of his soul sea.

A seed formed in his palm—cold, translucent, the color of dusk. It pulsed faintly with yin qi.

He inhaled.

And drove the seed into his soul.

Instantly, pain. Not a physical wound, but existential—like a scream that echoed from the marrow of his being.

But Liang didn't flinch.

Around him, the yin qi surged and howled like a tidal wave. The spectral root latched onto his soul sea, anchoring itself deep within the foundation of his soul.

His spiritual body trembled as ghostly tendrils extended outward. The first vein pulsed to life.

One Vein.

Two Veins… Three… Four…

Each spectral vein branched outward, mimicking the pathways of his meridians, but flowing with refined yin essence.

And with each new vein, his connection to the nether realm deepened. Distant whispers echoed in his mind.

He ignored them.

Fifth Vein.

His body trembled slightly. The temperature in the formation dropped sharply. Frost formed on the nearby stones.

Sixth Vein…

Seventh Vein.

A howl echoed through the cliffside. The ghost qi stirred violently, drawn to the transformation. The root, now half-awake, pulsed with eerie hunger.

Liang remained unmoving.

Eighth… Ninth Vein.

Now his soul was submerged—drenched in yin qi.

The moment the tenth vein formed, Liang's mind began to fade.

It wasn't dramatic. No sudden pain, no violent pull—just a quiet slipping, like drifting into sleep with your eyes open. Thought dulled. Sensation thinned. His sense of self weekend but he didn't panic, thread by thread, until even silence disappeared.

And then—

He awoke.

No—not quite.

He opened his eyes, but his body felt light. Weightless. His breath made no sound. He looked down slowly.

What he saw wasn't skin, but pale light, shaped in his own outline—faint and shimmering like a reflection on water.

Soul form.

Liang's gaze lifted.

Around him stretched a barren, endless plain—flat, colorless, soaked in a faint gray mist. The sky above churned with low, heavy clouds, the kind that looked like they were holding back a storm that had never come. No wind blew. No sound echoed. The air felt thick, yet completely still, as if time itself had paused.

He is now in the Netherworld.

It didn't feel foreign.

Just… quiet. Still. Waiting.

Liang began to walk.

The ground beneath him was soft, not quite earth, not quite ash. His footsteps left no prints. He walked without aim, only following a strange, distant pull in his chest—a gentle tug, like the Dusk Root calling to something deeper.

Eventually, he found it.

A river.

It wound through the barren land like a scar—broad and slow-moving, its waters black as ink. The surface didn't ripple. It pulsed, like it was breathing.

And beside that river sat a woman.

Old. Crooked. Draped in rotted black cloth that clung to her frame like a second skin. Her back was hunched, and long strands of silver-white hair drifted down over her shoulders. Her skin was gray and dry, like old parchment left in the cold too long. Her eyes were pure white—clouded, pupil-less—but Liang could feel her gaze.

He stopped.

And as he looked at her, something in his soul shifted—subtle, almost imperceptible. Not fear. But recognition. As if part of him understood this woman wasn't someone to underestimate.

She didn't turn.

But her voice slid into his ears, low and worn, like wind curling through a tomb.

"It's been some time… since a visitor came from a sector under the Origin Alliance."

Liang said nothing, he in fact doesn't know what she's talking about, It's the first time for him hearing about the Origin Alliance.

The woman tilted her head, not facing him, but seeing him all the same.

"Oh… cultivating Ten Thousand Nether Veins Art, are you?" she said, almost amused. "I see."