As soon as the war ends for the day, Merin closes his eyes and replays the memory of how the Dark Lizard killed the high-ranking samurai of the Owani Kingdom.
The Dark Lizard is only a middle-ranking fighter like Merin, but Merin knows he couldn't kill a high-ranking samurai.
He remembers how he was injured by one in just three moves.
The one he fought was old, while the one the Dark Lizard killed was middle-aged, still in his prime.
Though cultivation doesn't regress with age, raw physical strength certainly does.
So if it were Merin against that middle-aged high-ranking samurai, he would've died in a matter of seconds.
This realisation forces him to face something he's avoided.
Whenever others praised his talent, he would say there were many people just as talented or even more so.
But in his heart, he believed differently.
Every samurai he met of his age—or even two or three years older—was less talented than him.
He'd started to think of himself as the most gifted person in the world, chosen by fate.
He believed he had chosen to be reincarnated into this world with the help of the dream mirror.
So he is destined to rise like a protagonist in a novel.
But today, the Dark Lizard shattered that illusion.
Merin now feels like a frog who's been staring at the sky from the bottom of a well.
At the same time, it makes him realise something important.
It is possible to raise his combat strength to kill someone a realm above without advancing himself.
If this body were his real one, he would strive for that—he'd push himself past his current limits.
But this body is not his original one.
When he dies in this world, he'll return to his main body in the other world.
So while combat strength matters, it's not the most important thing.
Knowledge is.
No matter how strong he becomes here, this is only a micro plane—immortal life is impossible, according to the mirror.
His strength won't follow him home.
But knowledge will.
He takes a slow breath, turning his focus inward, away from the battlefield and the Dark Lizard.
He sits quietly atop the tree, drawing in natural energy and circulating his inner energy through his channels.
His goal now is simple—to open the acupoint in the centre of his chest.
Time slips away as he cultivates.
As he absorbs natural energy with the aid of his artistic conception, a field forms around him where he can perceive every movement within range and faintly sense what lies beyond.
Alongside it, a sixth sense awakens—an instinct honed to alert him of threats that could end his life.
That sense now rings out like an alarm bell in his mind, sharp and unrelenting.
He opens his eyes slowly, feeling the magnetic field of the tree and linking his own to it.
This connection vanishes whenever he moves or cultivates, but in stillness, it returns.
Around him, darkness reigns—the thick snow clouds above choke out every trace of light.
He senses the danger closing in, yet he remains unmoving, his breathing shallow and controlled.
A few seconds pass before a new sound reaches his ears—the quiet but unmistakable rhythm of breathing.
His eyes flash open, and he immediately suppresses his own breath, listening.
The sound he heard wasn't his.
He extends his perception again and instantly feels it, one, then another presence stepping into the outer edge of his artistic conception.
Two figures, moving silently.
And around them, he senses a faint energy field, a defensive barrier much like his own.
From the flow and pressure of their inner energy, he understands immediately.
"Two high-ranking samurai," he whispers in his mind, his body frozen in place.
He identifies their cultivation not by force but through the sheer volume of energy they carry and the subtle field of artistic conception shielding their bodies.
Even inactive, the artistic conception acts as a barrier, ready to alert them against any mental intrusion.
But they don't notice Merin because he never tries to peer into their cores; he merely senses the fluctuations their unstable energy releases.
It's clear to him—they're inexperienced, having skipped the foundational control techniques necessary to hide such leaks.
Their artistic conception, too, feels weak, barely grazing the 0.1% threshold required to enter the high-ranking realm.
His own comprehension has crossed 0.2%, and he knows it because of the way his twin magnetic fields resonate and remain stable under his command.
Though they feel like two separate artistic conceptions, the deeper his insight grows, the more he realises they are intertwined—perhaps even one in origin.
And in the realm of artistic conception, even a margin below 0.1% could mean the difference between predator and prey.
Now the two men halt beneath the tree he sits in, their eyes scanning the surroundings.
They peer left, right, and even upward, but the snow-heavy darkness cloaks him well.
Then, without warning, one of them begins to shake the tree.
But Merin doesn't panic—instead, with perfect control, he moves with the motion, body flowing in sync with the trunk.
He remains seated, steady and silent, as if part of the tree itself.
But the shaking continues, growing more violent, as if the man intends to break the tree in half.
Merin tenses, uncertain how much longer he can stay hidden without being forced to flee.
Then he hears a voice below, calm and annoyed, "Stop it, Dog. It'll attract other people."
Another voice answers, louder and more excited, "Cat, I think the treasure is hidden in the tree."
A moment later, the shaking stops, and the tree stabilises.
Cat says, "It might not be a treasure. Could be someone—or a beast—cultivating nearby."
Dog replies, "Then where are they? If they're absorbing natural energy like that, they might be high-ranking like us. Robbing them could get us resources."
Cat says, "They probably sensed us and ran."
Just then, a faint silver glow flickers from beneath the frozen lake, barely visible at first.
Dog's voice sharpens, "What's going on?"
Cat's tone turns cautious, "Maybe there's a treasure inside the lake. It could be the reason the war started so suddenly."
Dog asks, "So what should we do?"
Cat responds, "With our current strength, we can't claim it alone. Let's go ask around, see if anyone knows what it is. Then we can make a plan."
The two of them walk off toward the lake.
Merin stays on the branch for a few more moments, watching as people begin to gather around the frozen water.
The silver light beneath the surface steadily brightens, casting a glow across the icy lake and its surroundings.
Merin drops silently from the tree and begins walking toward the gathering.
Though he senses no immediate danger in the crowd, he stays behind them, alert, listening closely to their conversations.
As he listens, he begins to understand that the treasure beneath the lake is a soul lotus.
It hasn't taken full form yet, but in a few days, it will.
The ice lotus beneath the frozen lake mutates into a soul lotus after certain conditions are met.
But no one here seems to know what those conditions are—or they simply don't want to reveal them.
The soul lotus is undeniably a treasure, especially for those whose blood purity is low and who cannot advance to the Ascension Realm.
But for Merin, it's useless.
He has no Yao beast blood in his body, and even if he did, he wouldn't dare try to claim the treasure.
The heavy aura pressing from within the three camps surrounding the lake makes that clear.
With each camp holding full power now, no one would risk making a move for the treasure.
And besides, the soul lotus hasn't even formed yet.
Only when all three camps have suffered losses, when the soul lotus is fully matured, will anyone dare try to take it.
After understanding everything about the soul lotus, Merin still doesn't leave.
He stays and observes the crowd, where people from gangs, families, sects, and lone wanderers gather.
He even spots half-Yao for the first time—creatures that look like the children of humans and beast orcs.
They have mostly human features but retain the characteristics of one of their beast parents.
Half-Yao are the descendants of Yao beasts who reached the Spirit Cultivation Realm and a human.
At that stage, the Yao don't fully transform into human form—they remain mostly beast-like, with humanoid structure, fingers, legs, and the most important object other than the brain shaped like humans.
Merin, while observing everyone, spots members of the Sky Sword Sect.
He waits patiently for them to leave.
When they finally begin to move, he follows them quietly as the silver light beneath the lake fades away.
The lotus will shine with silver light constantly once the soul lotus is about to be born.
Many in the crowd remain enthusiastic despite knowing how hard it will be to seize the soul lotus from the three major forces.
When soul lotuses are born, there's always more than one.
Decades ago, ten soul lotuses emerged together.
Many factions have only sent a few members here so far; more will arrive once word spreads.
Merin tails the twelve Sky Sword members back to their camp and waits from a distance, watching for one of them to wander off alone.
While Merin watches and waits, Xialing stands elsewhere, mouth and eyes wide in shock, staring at the mutation of the ice lotus into the soul lotus.
Xialing, with a trembling voice, asks, "Father, how can you do this?"
She asks because she knows how the Ice Lotus mutates into the Soul Lotus.
Ice Lotus absorbs soul fragments floating in the air to evolve into Soul Lotus.
Under normal circumstances, it takes a decade of absorbing scattered soul fragments for that transformation.
But now, someone has arranged a formation beneath the lake and around it, gathering enough soul fragments to force the mutation within a week—and in large numbers.
The ongoing war above the lake would provide more than enough death for most Ice Lotuses to mutate.
Seeing her father and uncle arrive suddenly and use formation techniques to stay hidden, she can't shake the feeling that they're involved.
To cause such rapid mutation, more than ten thousand people would have to die.
Today was only the first day of the war among the three camps.
And though none of the Great Samurai-level fighters participated yet, just watching from afar, the war itself held no strategic aim—only slaughter, where the largest number would eventually win.
Her father responds calmly, "Why did I do what?"
Xialing accuses him, "You're sacrificing ten thousand lives just to mutate the Ice Lotus into Soul Lotus."
Her father scoffs, "So what? We are Dryads, and the ones dying are human."
Xialing says, "Father, did you forget the ancestor's teaching that every life is the same in essence, and only our appearance is different?"
Her father replies, "Some sacrifices are needed on the road to attain peace in the world."
Xialing, confused, asks, "What does this mean?"
Her father answers flatly, "Nothing."
Xialing turns to her uncle. "Uncle?"
Her uncle says, "We are sent by the ancestor, Xialing."
Her eyes widen at the mention of the ancestor—the same ancestor who taught that every life holds value, and no one should take life unless absolutely necessary.
Yet now, according to her uncle, the plan to sacrifice ten thousand lives for a few Soul Lotuses came from that same ancestor.
She cannot believe it.
Her race, Dryad, has no use for the Soul Lotus to break through in cultivation.
So why would the ancestor want them?
There must be another reason.
She begins to think through every possibility as night slips away.
With sunrise, the three armies face each other again.
The darkness fades, replaced by a pale sky, as a mild snowstorm begins.
It's not a good condition for battle.
Visibility is poor, footing treacherous.
Mistakes will cost many lives.
But to the generals of the three armies, the outcome is not victory.
What matters is the Ice Lotus mutation.
The more who die in the shortest time, the better.