Ch. 220 - Flame Dragon Grave

Source City, small and ancient, was less a city than a large town. Its age was untraceable, the red-brown walls etched with time’s passage, riddled with cracks. As Ye Fan walked its streets, he felt the weight of ages, the stone slabs worn concave by countless steps, all travelers here cultivators.

“Young brother, new to Source City? Looking for source stones? Visit our Stone Pavilion, guaranteed to have what you like!”

“Little priest, need prime material from the Primordial Mine’s edge? Genuine goods, come take a look!”

Shops lined the streets, peddling source stones, warmly beckoning passersby. Ye Fan didn’t underestimate them; though small, these shops had ties to major Sacred Grounds. Entering a Stone Studio, he chatted idly with the owner, finding the stones’ prices exorbitant, ten times the value of equivalent source weight.

“This is outrageous!” Ye Fan exclaimed.

“These aren’t ordinary stones. They’re rare materials bound for Celestial City, infused with the Primordial Mine’s eternal aura,” the owner explained.

Such prices weren’t for mere source but for rarer treasures sealed within. With his Celestial Source Tome, Ye Fan’s keen eyes selected one stone to build rapport with the owner, knowing gambling here was rarely profitable.

“Brother, any way to visit the Primordial Mine?” he asked. The mine’s outer regions were controlled by Sacred Grounds, impassable for a rogue cultivator like him without connections.

“Little brother, that place is deadly. Even Supreme Giants vanish without a trace,” the owner warned.

Ye Fan smiled. “I’m not suicidal, just want to observe from afar. It’s a regret not to see it, given its fame.”

“I understand. Many youths like you want a glimpse, but some can’t resist, drawn like moths to a flame, disappearing into the Forbidden Burial Ground yearly,” the owner said.

“So there’s a way?” Ye Fan’s eyes lit up.

“Don’t risk it. Curiosity kills,” the owner cautioned.

“Please, I know my limits,” Ye Fan insisted.

“Fine. Find Old Blade, but he’s costly and ruthless,” the owner said, providing the lead.

Ye Fan explored the city, learning about Old Blade, a local fixer, not a mortal thug but a cultivator rogue, well-connected, handling jobs like source escorts and even assassinations. Living in Source City, his five rundown tiled houses belied his influence. He looked like a weathered farmer, calloused hands puffing a pipe, his cultivation depth unreadable.

“Damn strange, people seeking death yearly…” Old Blade muttered, glancing at Ye Fan. “Wait a few days. We’ll go when I’ve got a full group.”

Ye Fan noticed a wall of notices. “These are your jobs?”

“I’m an honest man, no killer. These are contracts. I’m just the middleman. Want a job? I take twenty percent,” Old Blade said, puffing smoke.

Ye Fan browsed, his eyebrow twitching. A golden notice bore his likeness, offering 50 Kg of source for information, 250 Kg for his death, 500 Kg for capture, signed boldly by the Ji Clan.

Damn it! Though prepared, Ye Fan felt a ripple of unease. Fleeing to the Northern Region hadn’t shaken the Ji Clan’s kill order. Radiant Light knew he was here, so Ji Clan naturally did too.

“I’ve seen this notice in other cities,” Ye Fan probed.

Old Blade exhaled smoke. “Crossed the wrong people. That kid won’t last long. Ji’s young generation is here, along with Radiant Light’s youths.”

Ye Fan casually scanned other notices, finding more about him, Ji’s top youths and even Radiant Light disciples had issued bounties. Having learned the Grand Void Art and killed a Ji Clan Supreme Giant, their pursuit was expected. But Radiant Light’s involvement likely stemmed from Yao Xi.

“Chasing me? Let’s see you try,” Ye Fan sneered inwardly. Without the Celestial Source Tome to alter his aura, he’d have been caught. “I’d like to test these young experts,” he thought, his recent growth fueling confidence. He believed he could handle Dao Palace second or third stage youths, though not freaks like Ji Haoyue or the Radiant Light Saint.

“What’s this Ye Fan’s strength?” he asked casually.

“Half a year ago, Oceanic Wheel Realm. Not much change likely,” Old Blade said, eyeing him. “Interested? I’ll take only fifteen percent.”

“I’ll take it. Tell me everything,” Ye Fan said.

Half an hour later, he left Source City.

“How’d it go? Old Blade fleece you?” the Stone Studio owner asked warmly.

“Fifty Kg, leaving in two days,” Ye Fan replied.

“Not too bad,” the owner grinned. “Buy a stone garment from me, old source-flesh, wards off evil.”

Desolate beasts roared as a group of youths, around twenty, rode in, hovering three feet above ground, charging past. Ye Fan rubbed his chin. Ji Clan, just as he’d been thinking of them. He wouldn’t provoke them yet.

Two days later, at Old Blade’s rundown house, a dozen waited, mostly youths. “Half a month, finally enough people,” Old Blade said, pipe in mouth. “I lead, you handle your own survival. If you’re drawn into the mine, don’t blame me.”

Everyone knew the rules, urging departure. “What’s the point? Just a mine, yet people die yearly,” Old Blade grumbled.

“Old man, can’t you say something cheerful? Sounds like we’re doomed,” a youth complained.

“Fine, smooth travels!” Old Blade said, taking charge personally, as always.

Leaving Source City, Ye Fan saw Ji Clan’s youths again, rushing off on beasts, kicking up dust. “So arrogant, think this is their palace?” someone muttered.

“Quiet! That’s the Ji Clan, trouble means death,” another hissed.

A Ji youth sneered back, “Watch your mouth,” before speeding off.

“Arrogant! Ancient Desolate Clans think they’re untouchable?” someone grumbled after they left.

Old Blade, a veteran of decades, skillfully bypassed Sacred Ground zones via hidden paths. After ten days crossing vast wastelands and deserts, they reached the Primordial Mine’s outskirts, less than a thousand li from its edge, the Forbidden Burial Ground.

“Eight hundred miles more, no further, or it’s too risky. Control yourselves, don’t wander or speak recklessly,” Old Blade warned sternly.

The land was blood-red, eternally desolate, sand-strewn, with occasional red stone hills like tombstones. “So barren, not even a ghost,” someone sighed.

“No careless talk!” Old Blade snapped.

“What’s the harm? It’s empty,” a youth scoffed, feeling Old Blade was overly cautious.

Old Blade muttered, bowing forward, then glared. “Want to die? Go alone. My team, my rules.”

“You’re too much! We paid you!” the youth retorted.

“I’ll refund you. Leave,” Old Blade said flatly.

“Calm down, we’re close. Less arguing,” someone mediated.

“Fine, I’ll shut up,” the youth grumbled, unnerved by Old Blade’s seriousness.

“No one speaks!” Old Blade ordered, face grim.

They flew low, venturing deeper. A hundred miles in, massive stone pillars appeared, ancient and enduring. Vast foundations, with stones meters long, hinted at colossal structures.

“What ruins are these? A giant’s home?” someone marveled.

“Look, this pillar has carvings, ferocious creatures, scarier than demons!”

“You’re talking again?!” Old Blade glared at the youth.

“This is taboo too?!” the youth snapped, annoyed.

“You don’t get it. The Primordial Mine is beyond imagination!” Old Blade scolded. “Five years ago, I saw thirty-plus cultivators die here, blood staining the land.”

“How?” others asked, shaken.

“Don’t know. From afar, I saw them evaporate, blood rising, bodies ash,” Old Blade said, still shaken.

“Let’s move,” someone urged, uneasy.

Old Blade snorted, avoiding the youth like a plague. Ye Fan followed, wary, better safe than sorry.

Hundreds of miles later, less than a hundred mile from the edge, Old Blade slowed. “Stop here. Fly up, use your powers, and look. No closer.”

“There’s still a hundred mile, safe enough!”

“Old man, a few more miles. We see nothing here.”

“Fine,” Old Blade relented.

Fifty miles later, near the edge, he refused to go further. “A few more miles won’t hurt. I want edge stones, maybe a big find,” the troublesome youth said.

“What?!” Old Blade roared, hair and beard bristling like a lion.

“We’re here. Don’t you want source stones? A lucky cut could be priceless,” the youth pressed.

“You’ll doom us all!” Old Blade’s face darkened.

A sudden wind rose, sand swirling, howling from afar.

“Wind? It was sunny moments ago.”

“Just wind. We’re cultivators, afraid of a breeze?”

“Shut up!” Old Blade glared, staring ahead grimly.

Red sand filled the sky like blood mist, closing in. Woo… The wind wailed like ghosts, growing fiercer.

“Black whirlwind?!” Old Blade’s face paled.

Dark shadows approached, swirling, like clouds pressing down from all sides. Red sand turned black, shadows everywhere. “What ghostly wind is this, coming from all directions?” The group panicked.

Woosh…

Black whirlwinds swept sand, arriving instantly, the ground dark, vortices spinning.

“Ah!” The defiant youth screamed, his body sliced apart, leaving blood, shattered by the whirlwind.

Ye Fan’s eyes widened, sensing terror in the winds but seeing nothing. Each whirlwind’s core was a black void, devouring all.

“Ah!”

Another was torn apart, screaming briefly.

Ye Fan’s scalp tingled, coming to the Primordial Mine was this dangerous, life at stake. Survival first, he summoned his Godrune Cauldron infused with the Motherly Energy of All Things, hiding inside, then encased it in the Departing Fire God Furnace.

Clang, clang…

The whirlwinds struck like swords, ringing against the furnace.

Radiant light burst forth, the furnace’s sun carving glowing with vitality, phoenix cries echoing as vague divine birds circled, flames roaring. The whirlwinds howled, shredding several more into mist.

Clang, clang…

Massive blows hit the furnace, shaking Ye Fan inside, the force terrifying.

“Is this really wind? How’s it so strong?” Ye Fan wondered, staying hidden as the clamor raged. He faintly heard heavy breathing and massive footsteps, the earth trembling.

“Wind or some creature?”

Eventually, the winds ceased, silence returning. Ye Fan stowed the cauldron to avoid notice, then emerged from the furnace. The landscape had changed, red sand and scattered stones. The furnace, though dented, was slowly restoring itself, astonishingly resilient.

“This weapon’s strange…” Ye Fan knew it wasn’t the Sun God Furnace, true Paragon Artifacts could insta-kill Supreme Giants and wouldn’t dent. Flash. The furnace, now inch-high and crystalline, sat in his palm, ready for defense.

Nearby, Old Blade stood silently, pipe in mouth, brow furrowed. Seven others lay unconscious, spared by the whirlwinds. “Where are we?” Ye Fan asked.

Gazing out, the blood-red plain stretched endlessly, dotted with stones. “We’re likely in the Primordial Mine’s Forbidden Burial Ground,” Old Blade said, exhaling smoke.

“Impossible!” Ye Fan gasped.

“Not the mine itself,” Old Blade clarified, wrinkles deepening. “The Forbidden Burial Ground spans hundreds or thousands of miles. We’re in it, not the center.”

“How?” Ye Fan frowned.

The seven awoke, pale with despair. “Even Supreme Giants perish here. Are we doomed?” one wailed.

“They went to the mine’s heart, vanishing. We’re not there, there’s hope. Some have escaped before,” Old Blade said, scanning the horizon.

“Really?”

“Slim chance, but possible.”

“What were those black whirlwinds?” Ye Fan asked.

“No idea,” Old Blade shook his head. “This zone has strange winds. Black ones are the mildest.”

The nine moved, Old Blade choosing a direction by instinct. They walked, avoiding flight, legends said no bird crossed the mine, and fliers met ruin. Ten miles out, a massive trench, several miles long, blocked their path.

Ye Fan’s spine chilled, recognizing it from the Celestial Source Tome. “Don’t go down!” he shouted as a cultivator peered into the trench, too late. In an instant, the man’s blood evaporated, a red light sinking into the trench, his body ash.

“How?!” The others recoiled, blood drained from their faces.

Even Old Blade paled. He’d sensed danger but not its terror, this was a death zone. Ye Fan shivered; this Forbidden Burial Ground was beyond imagination. So far from the mine’s heart, yet they’d encountered this legendary terrain.

The trench, long and vigorous, resembled a coiled dragon, almost lifelike, as if a dragon had slept here, collapsing the earth. The Celestial Source Tome called it a “Flame Dragon Grave,” a burial ground for dragons, whether true dragons or dragon veins, Ye Fan hadn’t deciphered, the ancient texts too obscure.

It warned of godsource within, a peerless treasure, but cautioned against digging unless desperate, lest catastrophic disaster strike.

“What exactly is the Primordial Mine?” Ye Fan’s heart surged with awe. Encountering such terrain outside hinted at unimaginable landscapes near the mine.

“Bypass the trench, avoid it,” he urged gravely.

“Agreed, it’s a death pit. Even almighty cultivators would perish,” Old Blade nodded, equally serious.

The eight detoured around the dragon’s head, travelling ahead. The head was vivid, like a dragon corpse buried underground. “This place…” Old Blade frowned, his instincts screaming danger.

“Bad, retreat, now!” Ye Fan’s hairs stood up.

Before the dragon’s head lay a small lake, barely ten meter wide, blood-red, chilling the heart. In a barren zone without water, its presence was shocking. To Ye Fan, it was worse, combined with the Flame Dragon Grave, it formed a supreme peril.

The Celestial Source Tome called it “Dragonblood Spill,” a rare phenomenon with blood godsource, nearly unattainable, fatal to touch. Flame Dragon Grave and Dragonblood Spill together could doom even the Eastern Wilderness’s mightiest God-Kings.

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