Chapter Twelve: The Breaking of the Seal

It was early morning in the Beast Mountain Range.

Deep within the ancient forest stood a tall wooden house, the current residence of Ye Zihan and his companions. The house rose from the earth, with sturdy pillars and solid beams, spacious and elegant. Its doors, windows, and long corridors, adorned with intricate wood carvings and engravings, were all exceptionally exquisite and cleverly crafted.

But what was truly astonishing was that this wooden house had been built single-handedly by Red Flame. Despite his rough and burly appearance, he proved himself a master carpenter. Even Lan Yu, usually so composed, could not help but secretly admire his skill, and her gaze towards him grew subtly different.

Over the past few days, Red Flame and Lan Yu had learned of Ye Zihan’s background. When they discovered he was a scion of the Ye family, one of the five great human clans, they were mildly surprised, but after hearing the full extent of his misfortunes, they could only sigh with regret.

Ye Zihan himself had long since come to terms with his fate. Twelve years of mockery and cold indifference had numbed him to such things. Fortunately, the appearance of Red Flame and Lan Yu brought a glimmer of hope. If he could break the seal, he would be able to cultivate the power of the five elements, finally shedding the label of “waste.”

On a clearing outside the wooden house, Ye Zihan sat cross-legged, while Red Flame and Lan Yu hovered in the air before him.

“Master Red Flame, shall we begin now?” Ye Zihan squinted against the dazzling sunlight, his tone tinged with nervousness.

Over these few days, Ye Zihan had come to understand the situation and formally acknowledged Red Flame and Lan Yu as his teachers. To have such masters was a stroke of luck he cherished deeply.

“There’s no need to rush. Before breaking the seal, there are some things you should know.”

Red Flame pondered for a moment, organizing his thoughts, and spoke slowly. “Two thousand years ago, at the junction of the Human Realm, Beast Domain, and Demon Abyss—at the Ridge of Chaos—a mysterious cultivation method was unveiled to the world.”

“On the day it emerged, the heavens were filled with omens. The sky changed color, darkness fell over the Ridge of Chaos, winds howled, rain surged, thunder roared, and lightning snakes danced wildly. The birth of the technique attracted a heavenly tribulation. Thunder from the Ninth Heaven and flames of karmic retribution rained down, ravaging the technique for five days and nights. Yet, unbelievably, after enduring this tempest of thunder and fire, the technique remained unscathed.”

As he spoke, Red Flame’s eyes grew distant, awe evident in his expression as he recalled that scene.

“The technique survived the tribulation, but the cosmic signs alarmed all three realms. Powers from every corner flocked to the Ridge of Chaos, intent on seizing it. Thus began a cataclysmic battle among the realms.”

Red Flame’s eyes narrowed, his gaze drifting toward the azure sky, as if seeing again the blood and carnage of that ancient war. He continued, “In the struggle for the technique, each side sent forth their mightiest. Even reclusive monsters emerged from hiding.”

“The battle raged for seven days and nights—unfathomable numbers of warriors perished, bodies littered the land, rivers ran red with blood. The Ridge of Chaos became a living hell, a field of corpses and oceans of blood stretching for hundreds of miles, the very air thick with the stench of death.”

In the end, all sides were depleted. To preserve what remained of their strength, the three realms agreed to a truce and divided the legendary technique. Conveniently, the method consisted of three scrolls, so each realm—humans, beastfolk, and demons—took one, entrusted to their strongest champion. To maintain balance and forestall further disaster, each realm also established a Temple of Guardians, each appointing nine supreme protectors to safeguard the technique.

Red Flame paused, lifting his brows. “But the technique is a thing that defies the heavens—profound beyond measure, and its requirements are harsh. In two thousand years, countless have tried to master it, but those who succeeded number fewer than ten.”

Ye Zihan listened, wide-eyed, barely daring to breathe. What kind of technique could provoke a war among the three realms, and in all these centuries, still only allow less than ten to master it?

“That technique is called the ‘Art of Five Phantasms.’ This is it.” With a flick of his wrist, three ancient books appeared in Red Flame’s hand. Among them was the very tome that matched the eight-gate mark on Ye Zihan’s left arm.

Ye Zihan was shaken to his core. He looked at Red Flame and Lan Yu as if they were monsters themselves. To possess such a technique—just who were these two?

Ignoring Ye Zihan’s astonished gaze, Red Flame went on, “The reason this technique is so difficult is because it demands a prerequisite—the cultivator must possess at least three of the five elemental forces.”

Ye Zihan’s body jerked, his lips twitching. Three of the five elements? Did he look like he could pluck elemental power as easily as picking cabbages?

If someone possessed three or more elemental forces, even without the ‘Art of Five Phantasms,’ becoming powerful would not be difficult.

Despite this, Ye Zihan felt uneasy. Even if he broke the seal, could he possibly have three elemental forces within him?

“Don’t worry, Han’er. When the Eight Gates close, the Five Elements open. Once the seal is broken, you’ll have at least three of the five elements within you. Practicing the ‘Art of Five Phantasms’ will pose no problem,” Lan Yu assured him, seeing his concern.

“That’s enough talk. The time has come—let’s begin breaking the seal!” Red Flame’s deep voice rang out.

Ye Zihan tensed, quickly calming his mind. Whether he could cultivate the ‘Art of Five Phantasms’ was not the issue—breaking the seal was his most pressing concern.

Without further delay, Lan Yu and Red Flame moved into position, taking seats to Ye Zihan’s left and right. Red Flame’s hands flashed through a series of seals, then pressed both palms to the ground, shouting, “Reverse Eight-Gate Sealing Formation, activate!”

As his voice fell, a strange red formation appeared—circular on the outside, with an eight-trigram pattern within. Blood-colored symbols swirled rapidly, mysterious and complex. At its center, a yin-yang diagram slowly rotated, with Ye Zihan seated in its heart. At each of the eight corners, a cluster of black mist drifted, eerie and foreboding.

“Flame Halberd, appear!”

“Water Song Sword, emerge!”

Two shouts rang out, and suddenly a sword and a halberd, each wreathed in their own aura, shot through the air, embedding themselves at opposite ends of the formation.

With their divine weapons in place, the two continued, fingers weaving intricate patterns. From their bodies surged two streams of tri-colored energy, pouring madly into the formation.

As the energies merged into the array, a layer of white light blossomed forth. The circular emblem, the eight trigrams, and the yin-yang diagram all spun rapidly, bathed in a ghostly pallor.

At that moment, Ye Zihan, sitting at the center, shuddered. The mark on his left arm began to glow with a strange radiance. At its heart, a red flame flickered as if alive, its tongue lapping and shining with a vivid light. Eight fiery tails stretched outward, tracing bizarre lines until they met the eight black magatama on the periphery. As the tails touched them, a sinister red gleam flashed across each magatama, which then began to rotate slowly. With their motion, brilliant red light erupted from the pentagram within, flames surging forth, rushing along the swirling runes toward the eight corners of the trigram.

Sssst!

As the red firelight met the black mist, a sizzling sound filled the air. The mists churned, entangled with the raging flames, each trying to consume the other.

After about half a cup of tea’s time, the black mist could withstand no more, unable to resist the onslaught of fire. Though it fought stubbornly, it was gradually devoured, dissipating as pale steam. In no time, all eight corners were clear of mist.

With the blackness gone, the red light suddenly recoiled, flowing back along the runes to the mark on Ye Zihan’s left arm.

“Ah!”

As the energy surged back, Ye Zihan felt a searing pain, as though his body were being burned by raging fire. His whole frame twisted, his face contorted in agony, and a cry escaped his lips.

When the last of the red light returned to the mark, it was suddenly shrouded in a blood-red glow. Beneath this light, the five points of the pentagram each took on a color: gold, green, blue, red, and gray—metal, wood, water, fire, and earth. The eight magatama began to slow, then spun in reverse. As they turned, their color deepened from black to red, until finally they were entirely blood-red.

Once the magatama changed color, they gradually ceased moving. The radiance on the mark faded, and simultaneously, the array on the ground quietly powered down.

With a faint thud, Ye Zihan, still seated, slowly toppled over, unconscious.

Meanwhile, Red Flame and Lan Yu, their forms now even more ethereal and wan, exchanged glances and smiled.