Read Novel Full Chapter 850: A Location
Chapter 850: A Location
Michael had not been wrong.
Over the next two days, the ruin revealed even stranger facets of itself. The rhythm of exploration deepened and battles grew more complex. The faceless creatures did not simply increase in number or density. They evolved in variety. Some wielded elemental magic crudely, while others displayed regenerative traits, sealing fractures unless destroyed in a single decisive strike.
The deeper the groups advanced, the more structured the resistance felt.
Yet it was not only danger that escalated.
The rewards diversified.
Beyond the cultivation orbs, another phenomenon began to appear. After the fall of certain stronger faceless entities, the condensed energy did not always stabilize into a uniform deep blue sphere. Instead, some orbs shimmered with layered light within. Rather than smooth and dense, their interiors contained faint geometric patterns, almost like inscriptions suspended in liquid crystal. Thin lines of light rotated within them, forming incomplete symbols that rearranged continuously before settling.
Unlike the cultivation orbs that took time to solidify, these orbs appeared already formed.
Michael termed them skill orbs.
A skill orb was fundamentally distinct from a cultivation orb. Where a cultivation orb contained energy designed to refine and strengthen existing foundations, a skill orb carried structured information embedded within it. It could be used a total of three times before being destroyed.
When absorbed, a skill orb did not flood the body with brute force. Instead, it imprinted.
The structured energy within unraveled into conceptual fragments, embedding itself into the recipient. The result was not an explosion of raw strength, but understanding. A pattern. A framework that settled into the mind and body as if it had always belonged there.
Sometimes the change was immediate and obvious.
For example, one of the earlier skill orbs they secured had originated from a faceless creature that compressed its limbs before striking, releasing bursts of force in short, violent pulses. When that orb was absorbed, the recipient did not simply gain more power. Instead, they instinctively understood how to condense mana into a single point within the body, hold it for a fraction of a second, and release it in a focused burst.
The result was a technique that allowed short range explosive movement. Not faster in general, but devastating in short exchanges. A step that covered only a few meters, yet carried the weight of a full body strike behind it.
Another orb came from a regenerative faceless. It yielded a minor recovery technique that accelerated natural healing by stimulating cellular energy through controlled mana cycling.
A creature that manipulated elemental energy crudely might leave behind an orb that granted access to a simplified elemental discharge. Not mastery, but the blueprint for it.
What made skill orbs dangerous was not just their usefulness.
It was the fact that they bypassed the years normally required to conceptualize a technique.
They inserted it whole.
Understanding without struggle.
Mastery without trial.
Faceless monsters that displayed unique behaviors in battle were the most likely to yield such orbs.
Within two days, several skill orbs were secured. Not all were absorbed immediately. Michael observed each one carefully before allowing anyone to decide.
The spatial container grew heavier, now holding not only energy crystals and rare herbs but crystallized skills waiting to be claimed. There were also strange raw materials stored. They did not know their use or name, but that did not stop them from recognizing and storing treasure.
Group Two experienced similar developments.
After the incident with the fallen men and the realization that even human deaths produced orbs, their vigilance increased sharply. The tension between the tenth prince and Renn did not disappear, but it became quieter and colder. They too encountered faceless that yielded more than raw cultivation refinement.
However, something was wrong with Group Two.
It was subtle at first, easy to miss. Yet as hours turned into a day, and then another, a pattern became impossible to ignore.
Aside from the prince and Renn, the others carried a faintly absent look in their eyes. They still moved. They still fought. They still reacted when danger appeared. But there were moments, increasing in frequency, when all three of them would slow at the same time and stare toward the same direction, as if their attention had been hooked and dragged there.
They would simply stare.
The only difference between the prince and Renn and the rest of the team was simple.
The other three had been absorbing cultivation orbs.
The prince and Renn had not.
Renn’s reason was not fear. It was discipline. He belonged to the kind of path that refused shortcuts. The kind that treated external resources as crutches. He followed the belief that if a sword was not sharpened by pure effort, then its edge would never become real. Little resources. No reckless consumption. No unknown treasures poured into his foundation. Only steady refinement. Only swordsmanship pushed forward until it became instinct.
The prince’s reason was colder.
He did not trust the ruin.
And he did not trust rewards that arrived too easily.
He had seen too many inheritances that gave sweetness first and poison later.
So he did what princes did best.
He waited and used the other three as his experiments, keeping his face calm while allowing them to consume the orbs and gain strength under the illusion that he would follow soon, all while watching their reactions.
And while they fought, he collected more.
He gathered them steadily, letting them harden into stable objects before storing them away. He had told himself he would use them later, but looking at the current situation, the tenth prince was quite happy he had not used the orbs yet.
Renn’s restraint finally broke.
"You warned them," he said, voice low but cutting. "I warned them. Those orbs were too convenient. And now look at them."
His gaze shifted toward the three men who stood a short distance away, eyes fixed on the same distant stretch of crystal lit terrain.
"They’re not right."
The tenth prince did not look at him.
"You speak as though I forced them," he replied calmly.
"You allowed it."
"I allowed them to grow stronger. There is a difference."
Renn’s jaw tightened. "Strength without clarity is a liability."
The prince finally glanced at him, faint irritation surfacing. "Your path rejects external resources. That is your choice. Do not impose it on others."
Renn did not back down. "This isn’t about philosophy. It’s about control. They’re losing it."
The prince’s expression cooled further. "You overestimate the danger."
Renn turned fully toward the three men. "Do I?"
As if summoned by the tension, the three shifted again.
This time, they did not merely stare.
They stepped forward together.
No signal passed between them. No words. No visible cue.
They simply began walking toward the same distant location they had been gazing at intermittently for the past day.
The prince’s eyes sharpened.
"Hold."
The command was crisp and authoritative. It had drawn immediate obedience countless times before.
The three did not stop.
They continued walking.
Renn’s head snapped slightly toward the prince. The lack of response was obvious.
"Return," the prince said again, voice carrying more force.
Nothing.
No hesitation. No glance backward.
Their steps remained even, steady, purposeful.
For the first time since entering the ruin, genuine unease crossed the prince’s face.
Before, when their focus drifted, a single word had always been enough to snap them back. Their discipline, their loyalty, their awareness would reassert itself.
This time, it did not.
On the other side of the ruin, beneath the same endless twilight sky, the situation was no better.
Arianne stood beside Michael, her fingers trembling against the reins of her Flame Lion. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks.
"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice unsteady. "I should have listened to you. I thought I could handle it. I thought it was just power."
Michael did not answer immediately.
His gaze was not on her.
It was on the three men standing several steps ahead of them.
Cedric.
Lucien.
Alaric.
They were not walking yet.
But they were no longer fully present either.
Their eyes were fixed on the same distant direction. Their breathing was steady. Their expressions blank in a way that felt unnatural. They still reacted when spoken to and still moved when instructed, but there was a thin delay now. A fraction of a second too slow.
Arianne’s tears fell faster.
"I can feel it sometimes," she admitted quietly. "Like something pulling. Like a thought that isn’t mine."
She swallowed hard.
"I’m afraid I’ll become like them."
Michael finally looked at her.
He did not see madness in her.
He saw fear.
And beneath it, resistance.
Then he turned his attention fully to the others and activated the Eye of Truth.
The world shifted.
Surface reality peeled back.
The three men standing before him were no longer simply cultivators strengthened by orbs.
In his vision, they were bodies wrapped in something else entirely.
Small faces.
Dozens of them.
Tiny, faint impressions embedded beneath their skin.
Along their arms. Across their chests. Crawling up their necks.
The faces did not scream.
They did not speak.
They simply existed.
And every few seconds, they shifted position, sliding beneath the skin like reflections moving across water, rotating and trading places, reconfiguring themselves in subtle, nauseating patterns.