NOVEL NEXT Chapter 456: Into the Mist of the Mind
Julian's spatial pouch—custom-made by Dana—was typically used to store her pets. It could hold living creatures, but when it came to people, the limitations were significant. The person had to be completely unconscious, offering no resistance at all. Even a twitch of a finger would be enough to eject them from the pocket dimension.
Ethan had once envied the pouch's utility—until he learned about its restrictions. Once he found out that not only did the person need to be unconscious, but that the pouch itself couldn't be stored within a Mindscape, his interest faded. Without that flexibility, it just wasn't worth the trouble. If it had been possible, he might have tried bringing his new companions back to Earth. Life there was far kinder than in this nightmare called the Sea of Death.
He watched Julian knock out the half-dead Baleron for a second time, ensuring the man stayed unconscious. Then Ethan turned, took a step, and prepared to launch into the air using his Swift Flight Form.
"Brother—don't fly in the Spirit Realm!" Micah's voice rang out behind him, sharp with urgency. "The creatures up there… we can't afford to provoke them!"
Ethan instantly remembered the Saint-rank serpent he'd spotted on the first level. He was already airborne when the warning reached him. Gritting his teeth, he descended at once.
As his boots touched down in the snow, a shadow zipped across the sky—silent and fast. A creature no bigger than a sparrow vanished into the swirling snow, leaving behind a suffocating sense of dread. Whatever that thing was, its aura alone was terrifying. He exhaled slowly, the icy air clouding before him.
Micah was right. Up there, death was just one careless moment away. Until he reached Saint-rank, the skies of the Spirit Realm were off-limits. On the ground, at least, he had a fighting chance.
Without wasting time, Ethan continued forward, cutting a straight path through the snow-covered landscape. He didn't bother with detours; every step was decisive. Along the way, he passed the signs of recent battles—splashes of dried blood too deep for the snow to cover, and corpses left behind to rot. Human bodies. Beast carcasses. Even the twisted forms of demons, radiating a dark and malignant aura.
Micah had explained before: the Spirit Realm was an ancient trial zone that opened once every hundred thousand years. And it didn't just connect to one world—it opened across several starfields simultaneously. Humans were, in fact, a minority here.
From their conversations, Ethan learned that his starfield, Moros, might be the last one still fully inhabited by humans. Epoch-spanning wars had devastated human civilizations, while other races had managed to preserve more of their strength. Now, those same races ruled over large swaths of territory, suppressing the human remnants. In many starfields, humanity had already been completely wiped out.
In the past, the Moros Starfield would send powerful individuals to rescue scattered humans and bring them back to safety. But over the last century, Moros had sealed all its borders. The old heroes were gone, and now, all they could do was defend what little they had left.
As Ethan walked, he realized most of those heading in his direction weren't human. Strange figures of unfamiliar races passed him by. Oddly, there were no signs of native Spirit Realm creatures. Instead, the earth bore signs of disturbance—dug-up snow, torn roots—indicating that rare spiritual herbs or treasures had been taken. Others had come through already.
Two hours passed. Then, at last, he reached the source of the strange pull that had been guiding him from the moment he entered this level. Ahead lay a vast valley, walled in by a ring of snow-covered mountains. At its mouth hovered a thick, motionless mist that pulsed with immense Soul Energy.
He stood at the threshold. This was it.
Micah had warned him about this place. Somewhere deep inside the valley, beyond that mist, was a lake—one shrouded in myth and surrounded by dread. He'd even wondered if Blackie had entered it. But whether the beast had gone in or not didn't matter. Ethan would. The call was undeniable. Something he needed—something that belonged to him—lay within.
A strange sense of recognition flickered through him. This mist… it was the same kind that surrounded his Mindscape. Last time, when he'd obtained the Sigil of the Wild Legion, that internal fog had receded, and his Soul Sense had undergone a massive upgrade. His inner space had expanded fivefold.
Now, staring at the valley mist, that same familiarity pulsed in his core. This couldn't be coincidence.
Ethan's figure flickered as he stepped into the mist without hesitation.
---
"Boss, someone else just went in," a voice whispered from beneath the snow. Five figures lay hidden a short distance away, having secretly followed and observed Ethan.
The man speaking swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the swirling fog. "You sure we should go in? This place gives me the creeps…"
"Fortune favors the bold," their leader replied, eyes glinting. He had rat-like features—narrow eyes and bushy eyebrows—and clutched a weathered book in his gloved hands. "The man who first explored that lake founded the Moonlit Order afterward. He became a legend. This manuscript here? Cost me a fortune. But he wrote that unless you get too close to the lake itself—within a hundred feet or so—there's no danger."
He snapped the book shut. "Did you bring the grappling hooks like I asked?"
"Custom-made," someone replied confidently.
"Good. Let's move. Mist this thick—you won't even see your own hand once you're inside. Chain up. Stay six feet apart."
Click. Click. Click.
They fastened themselves together with iron chains at the waist, each link a lifeline. Then they stepped into the mist, vanishing one by one.
---
Inside the fog, Ethan slowed his pace.
This wasn't just mist—it was the mist. The same one from his Mindscape, now manifest outside. Here too, his Soul Sense was completely suppressed. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't extend his awareness. He was blind, save for a few feet around him.
Back in his Mindscape, stepping into the mist had always meant instant ejection—like walking into an invisible wall. But here, he was inside. That, in itself, was new.
He turned in a slow circle. Nothing but swirling white. Then—
Whoosh.
A sudden gust brushed past him. He pivoted instinctively.
A massive white crane burst through the fog—easily fifteen feet long, its wings cutting through the air like blades. Its sharp beak gleamed, and its talons slashed toward his chest.
Ethan's instincts kicked in. He twisted his body, just enough to let the attack miss. Then, pivoting on his heel, he launched a counterstrike—a heavy punch aimed square at its wing.
Boom—
Or… not.
His fist passed straight through the crane like it wasn't there. He stumbled forward slightly, off balance.
"What the—?"
The answer hit him a second later.
"A Soul Energy manifestation…"
It hadn't been real—at least, not physically. No wonder his perception hadn't warned him. It wasn't a living creature, but a construct—born from condensed Soul Force, given shape through sheer spiritual intensity.