NOVEL WEB Chapter 12: Into the Forbidden Wastes
Murong Chen stood before the massive stone gate, its surface covered in ancient runes that pulsed with a dull, eerie glow. Behind him, a dozen handpicked warriors waited in silence, their breaths misting in the chill of the early dawn. The Forbidden Wastes stretched beyond this threshold, a land untouched by imperial law, rumored to devour men's sanity and souls alike. This was no place for the faint-hearted, but for Chen, it was the next step.
He stepped forward and pressed his palm against the runes. Cold energy surged through his hand, trailing up his arm like the bite of winter. The gate shuddered, and with a groan that echoed across the silent plains, it began to part, revealing a shadowed pathway leading into the depths of the Wastes. The sky above seemed to darken, clouds swirling unnaturally. Chen's grip tightened on the Ashen Blade. Every instinct screamed danger—but this was exactly where he needed to be.
As they entered the Wastes, the temperature dropped. Not with the cold of nature, but something older, more sinister. The very air felt tainted, heavy with despair. The ground beneath was dry and cracked, and dead trees jutted from the earth like skeletal remains. Far in the distance, dark spires rose from the earth, the ruins of an ancient city long consumed by time.
"This land is cursed," Lu Fan muttered behind him.
Chen didn't respond. He could feel it too—the suffocating presence of forgotten souls, the weight of centuries pressing down. But deeper still, something called to him. The Abyssal Qi within his veins stirred, reacting to this forsaken place as though it remembered it.
As they pressed onward, they encountered the remnants of battles long past—shattered bones, broken weapons, banners torn and half-buried in the earth. It was as if time itself had stopped here, leaving behind only echoes of war.
A sudden cry broke the silence. One of the scouts stumbled back from a ravine, his face pale. "Something moves below. Not beasts… not men."
They gathered at the edge of the ravine and looked down. In the shadows moved creatures—twisted forms, humanoid yet malformed, their eyes glowing faintly. They moved in silence, crawling over the bones of the dead.
"Wraithborn," Chen murmured, recalling old stories. "Corrupted cultivators… twisted by Abyssal Qi without mastery or will."
Lu Fan unsheathed his sword, but Chen raised a hand. "No. Let them be. They're drawn to the blade… but they won't strike unless provoked."
As they moved on, Chen's thoughts turned inward. The blade had revealed more in his meditations. There was a tomb, deep within the Wastes—a place known as the Crypt of Ashes. There, the first wielder of the Ashen Blade had fallen, and within its depths was said to lie a fragment of the Eternal Flame, a relic of immeasurable power. Zhao Wei sought the Blade of Eternity—but with the Eternal Flame, Chen could forge a path that none could stand against.
Night fell, bringing with it a darkness that felt alive. They camped in the ruins of an ancient watchtower, the stones blackened by fire. As they sat around a small fire, Chen listened to the whispers of the land, the Abyssal Qi within him resonating with the shadows.
It was then that they heard it—a low chant, distant but growing louder. Figures approached, robed in black and crimson, their faces hidden behind bone masks. At their center was a figure taller than the rest, carrying a staff topped with a serpent's skull.
"The Sect of the Withered Vein," Lu Fan whispered. "Fanatics who worship decay and the Abyss."
Chen rose, stepping forward. "State your purpose."
The tall figure removed his mask, revealing a face etched with black tattoos, eyes burning with feverish zeal. "Murong Chen. The Abyss recognizes its own. We have awaited your coming."
Chen's eyes narrowed. "You know me?"
"We know of you," the man said, bowing. "The blade calls to us. The Ashen Flame is our birthright, our prophecy. Join us, and we shall deliver to you the Eternal Flame. Reject us… and be consumed."
Chen felt the Abyssal Qi stir within him, reacting to the cultists' presence. He could sense their power, drawn from pain and suffering—but unstable, like a fire left to burn unchecked. Dangerous.
"I walk my own path," Chen said coldly.
The man smiled. "Then you walk to your death."
In an instant, the cultists struck. Shadows burst from their robes, forming tendrils that lashed out. Chen drew the Ashen Blade, its runes flaring with crimson light. He moved like a storm, cutting through the tendrils, the blade feeding on the corrupted Qi. Around him, his warriors engaged, steel clashing against darkness.
The cult leader chanted, summoning a serpent of shadow that lunged at Chen. With a roar, Chen met it head-on, his blade cleaving through the illusion. The backlash sent the cult leader staggering, blood pouring from his mouth.
"You... are the true heir," he gasped, falling to his knees.
Chen stood over him, blade poised. "You defiled the Abyss. Let it judge you."
With a single strike, it was done. The remaining cultists fled, their zeal broken.
As dawn rose over the Wastes, Chen stood amid the fallen, the Ashen Blade humming with power. He felt stronger—closer to mastering the Second Vein: Blaze of Resolve. The path ahead was perilous, but he would not falter.
For in the heart of the Abyss, Murong Chen had found not despair—but purpose.