The cultivation master

Memories had a "shadow of the soul." Because of this, they had a relative self-awareness; so it was no surprise if shadows with the same aura gathered and created an illusion. These illusions, after a while, would turn into a "belief," and then a new entity would be born from old memories.

One of the reasons for creating the realm of memories was to keep these entities away from the mortal world.

Sometimes, an entity would escape from the realm of memories and return to the earth. These entities, returning from nothingness, were called Whisperers. They were the remnants of past regrets and grudges. When these entities set foot on earth, a sea of blood would flow. Of course, Cyrus would prevent this as much as possible and often hunted them personally.

Were all Whisperers evil creatures? No! Beautiful memories that remained from the past also created new entities in the same way. They were the polar opposites of the evil Whisperers and fought against them. Although they missed the earth, they considered the realm of memories their home and never left it.

The strange deaths caused by the Whisperers were due to their accumulated grudges and inherent malice. The aura of death calmed them, and seeing mutilated corpses gave them indescribable pleasure.

Whisperers were such creatures. Born from memories and beliefs.

Now that a Whisperer had been found in this area, Cyrus came here. Zou Fan realized he had traveled to the past, but could he make a change in the past? Would he make the same decisions as Cyrus?

If his decisions contradicted Cyrus's, wouldn't his choices change the future? He thought a lot about this but found no answer. Could this dream actually be part of the Ammonia spell?

Zou Fan opened and closed his hand several times.

Everything was too real to be an illusion.

His horse was very obedient and slowly made its way up the wide Aule River. Gradually, people appeared along the roadside. A dozen small and large houses were built along the reed beds and the old dock. A small cargo ship was anchored at the dock. The best route to reach the peak on the other side of the plain was this river.

Cyrus dismounted.

He placed two silver coins in the palm of one of the crew members and boarded.

Even from this distance, the Blue Mountain made one's hair stand on end. He didn't know what awaited him. The Whisperer was hidden in the mountains. He could clearly feel its memories. The situation was not good.

He leaned quietly against the mast and closed his eyes. He hoped that by the time he arrived, it wouldn't be too late. As the sound of breaking waves and the creaking mast annoyed him, the darkness behind his eyelids drowned him in a distant dream.

The river was very wide, with some parts having a strong current and others being calm. These changes were such that if you hadn't traveled this route before, you would never reach the end. Cyrus looked at the murky surface of the water. It was so dirty that only the tips of the tall sea plants could be seen. The boat's hull created waves on the water that collided with the natural waves and neutralized them.

Besides the river, there was another path that snaked through the hills and among the trees; sometimes it came close to the river and then disappeared into the dense forest. Usually, traders and travelers who couldn't afford the boat fare used it. Often, when he looked at that path, he saw a small caravan or a single cart.

By then, they had traveled most of the way. The Blue Mountain loomed like a massive stone wall before him. The cold wind intensified, and the cawing of a crow from the forest maze brought him back to reality.

After hours of navigating the twists and turns of the river, the boat finally docked, ending the journey. Cyrus disembarked and went to a small inn at the beginning of the market. He refreshed himself and took a day's rest. The salty scent of the river still lingered in his memory.

The next morning began with the noise of the market. He dressed and prepared to leave. He didn't feel very well; his body was numb, as if he carried the burden of thousands of years of loneliness. As he descended the wooden stairs, a glass bottle suddenly exploded right next to his ear.

"Hey!!! I told you to pay for this month's dues."

A group stood in front of the counter, and a bald man with a deep scar on his cheek had thrown the bottle. Cyrus ignored them and tried to continue on his way, but he felt the cold steel under his throat.

One of the group members, who was standing behind a pillar, immediately drew his sword to seize Cyrus's belongings.

"Hey, boy, calm down."

The bald man looked at Cyrus and especially at the sword on his back. Its blade was inscribed with "runes," the magical script of the Blue Mountain dwarves.

But even his warning didn't make the mercenary's sword budge. Cyrus smiled calmly. He quickly assessed the situation.

"Hey, boy, we're not highway robbers. Our job is to protect people…"

"And this gentleman, who seems like a respectable person, must be thinking about how he can help this poor man…" The mercenary, showing his gold teeth with a disgusting smile, said.

"Oh, this gentleman is right."

Cyrus broke his silence, slowly loosened the strap and lowered his sword. The man laughed loudly and said, "That's right!!! Respectable people always…"

Yet, before he could finish his sentence, the world spun around him, and he fell to the ground. For a few seconds, he stared in shock at Cyrus's bloodied sword. Beside him lay a headless body, blood gushing from its severed neck. He wanted to scream in terror, but his vocal cords had been severed with that blow. He could still vaguely hear the surrounding sounds. The world was darkening. Cyrus, with his bloody sword, walked towards him. He was terrified, with no way to escape. He didn't know the state of his friends.

'Would they save me from this man?'

He already knew the answer. They were probably frozen in fear too. Maybe so much that they had wet themselves!!! Cyrus reached him. By then, his eyes were half-closed, though the last image he saw was not the manifestation of an angel; with a kick, Cyrus closed the mercenary's eyes forever.