Chapter 8 Bed

The passage of hours brought forth a solemn voice, its ethereal tones weaving through the silence of Rowan's chamber, resonating within the confines of his consciousness.

"You almost died earlier," the disembodied voice reverberated, its weighty words hanging in the air, the chamber devoid of any presence save for Rowan, lying bewildered upon the bed.

"Master? What happened earlier? Why am I here?" Rowan's voice quivered with confusion, his hands instinctively seeking relief for the pulsating ache in his head. 

Memories, fragmented and elusive, faded into a disconcerting void following his encounter with the enigmatic figure known as Nero.

"You bear a formidable curse, one I would not dare to challenge, even in the prime of my power," the spectral voice responded, its haunting timbre unmistakably feminine.

"What? But Master, were you not a revered immortal in your past?" Rowan's disbelief resonated through the room, his gaze drifting toward an unassuming ring adorning his finger—a clandestine possession that had guarded his deepest secret, propelling his meteoric ascent in cultivation over the past five years. 

His prowess had elevated him to second only to the village chief in strength.

"I once held such revered stature, but the foe you encountered transcends mere opposition. Truth be told, he is..." The spectral voice faltered, haunted by the echoes of chaos and devastation—a chilling laughter amid the obliteration of righteous sects, their members succumbing to gruesome fates at the hands of an army of the undead.

"…yet it matters not," the woman's voice returned, redirecting her focus to Rowan.

"In the event I cannot return, concealed within the ring are cultivation manuals and secret techniques. They will illuminate the path toward the elusive realm of Celestial Ascension, if naught else. One final counsel: steer clear of that individual. Farewell, my good disciple," the woman intoned, her words carrying a solemnity as her spectral essence dissipated from the sacred artifact cradling her essence.

"Master!" Rowan's fervent cry reverberated within the confines of the chamber, echoing off the walls like a desperate plea into an abyss devoid of response. 

The resonance of his own voice haunted the space, a stark reminder of the absence that now pervaded the room.

* * *

The village chief, a middle-aged figure whose countenance mirrored incredulity, probed further, grappling with the implications of the recounted event.

"So, you're suggesting that Master Nero, with a mere flick of his fingers, rendered Rowan unconscious?" The chief's voice held a tinge of disbelief, a testament to his own limitations despite his attainment of the esteemed 10th Stage of the Qi Gathering Stage. 

Such a display of control appeared far beyond his grasp, reminiscent of abilities wielded by those entrenched in the elusive Foundation Establishment cultivators, their powers woven through a collection of myriad treasures and techniques.

"That's precisely what occurred, Chief. Witnessed by many, the incident unfolded exactly as described," a village elder affirmed, his tone resonating with certainty.

Understanding dawned upon the chief as he absorbed the implications of this revelation. With unwavering resolve, he issued a decree, infusing his words with unwavering authority.

"Spread the word throughout the village. None shall disturb the endeavors of Master Nero or Master Lucas," the chief commanded, his voice resonating with firmness. 

Relief coursed through him knowing that the confrontation hadn't resulted in permanent harm. Yet, an unsettling doubt lingered—a trepidation of what might unfold should such a tragic encounter would happen again. 

* * *

"You and your kind are not welcome in my abode," our op mc declared with a tone tinged with darkness, the distaste evident in his demeanor towards those he deemed an abomination—a manifestation of failure in cultivation. 

This was of course the influence of Nero inside him. 

"Forgive my intrusion, Nero Deathbinder. I presumed you were anticipating my arrival, having uncovered my existence within the ring," retorted the spectral figure of the fallen immortal woman ensnared within the confines of the ring. 

Her ethereal manifestation materialized, a mesmerizing display of unearthly grandeur that enthralled the chamber. 

Draped in opulent golden cultivator robes embellished with intricate symbols and designs, a majestic crown adorned her head, an emblem of her empress-like stature. 

She understood all too well that once revealed, she could never conceal herself, having undergone the scrutiny of this dark lord during their prior encounter earlier in the day.

"A mere fallen immortal. What use have I for you? Return to that child or embrace true death this time around. Your fate concerns me not," our op mc's voice echoed with disdain as he lounged upon his bed, fixating a disdainful gaze upon the ethereal apparition that graced his humble abode.

Silence hung in the air, pregnant with an eerie stillness. Each passing moment for the spectral woman outside the ring seemed to devour precious fragments of her existence, the looming threat of her soul essence dissipating into the abyss of true death growing ever more palpable. 

However, her focus remained undeterred, her gaze lingering upon the figure of the handsome white-haired man reclining before her, unmistakable disdain radiating from his countenance.

"Celestial Chaos Campaign," she uttered the words, a phrase that carried a weight of significance in the realms of immortal warfare, one that could stir the interest of any adept cultivator.

"Ah? Were you present in that tumultuous event? Hmmm… My memory fails me," our protagonist narrowed his eyes, delving into the depths of recollection, his divine senses probing the intricacies of that epic clash. 

Amidst Nero's capture of peak True Immortals, the less prominent figures held little relevance in his remembrance. Yet, a glimmer of revelation surfaced, hinting at the character of this spectral woman.

"In that era, I was only in the middle stages of the Primordial Realm. Alongside a handful of sect members, we luckily survived. My cultivation bore the sole purpose of exacting vengeance, aspiring to transcend the limitations of the 10th Stage of the True Immortal Realm, a realm that had proven wanting before you and your mighty army. I then…," the woman halted her account, a somber pause punctuating her narrative.

"Your diligence and audacity were apparent, resorting to unconventional methods, such as the audacious feat of devouring heavenly thunder during an immortal tribulation. Admirable yet fraught with misguided ambition," our protagonist chuckled lightly before continuing.

"Can a mere glass contain the boundless waters of the infinite oceans?" With a rueful shake of his head, 

Nero Deathbinder had once walked in the same endeavors and experiments that paralleled the futile struggles of the ghostly woman. 

He failed, much like she did, and akin to all others who will tread this precarious path.