Wizard: My skills can be upgraded indefinitely.

The entrance to the slumbering underground palace is a massive stone gate located at the bottom of the rift valley.

A gap has been opened in the gray boulder, like a scar cleaved open by a god with a giant axe.

As Ian walked closer with the group, his first feeling was cold.

The cold air seeped up from the depths of the rift valley, carrying the chilling scent of ancient dust and rusted metal.

They stopped at the bottom of the rift valley.

Before me stood a stone gate, ridiculously large.

The door was carved from a single piece of obsidian and covered with long-lost runes.

In some places, the stone has peeled off, revealing the dark stone underneath.

The door was tightly shut, like the closed mouth of a sleeping giant.

The three groups each occupied a piece of land, while the ten members of the other smaller factions simply found a place to stay.

On Shadowmoon's side, Hogan was leading the way. He stood there with his arms crossed, like an iron tower, squinting as he surveyed the other two sides.

The group from the Crimson Royal Court stood the most loosely, chatting in twos and threes.

His gaze drifted over, carrying an undisguised look of curiosity and a hint of disdain.

The burly man was standing at the front, whispering something to the tall, thin man next to him.

He would glance at Ian every now and then, a grin spreading across his face, as if he had spotted some interesting prey.

The members of the withered council are the quietest.

They were all wearing gray robes, with their hoods pulled low so their faces couldn't be seen, and they stood in a row.

Like a dead tree stump stuck in the ground, you can't even hear its breathing.

But the deathly, chilling atmosphere was even stronger than the wind from the rift valley.

The air was tense, and no one spoke first.

It was Crimson who broke the silence.

A middle-aged male wizard with a thin, pointed chin, wearing a dark red velvet robe, took a step forward.

The person's voice was high-pitched, like a knife scraping glass.

"Hokgen, there are quite a few unfamiliar faces among the Shadowmoon's delegation this time. What's wrong? The old guys are too scared to come, so you're sending some kids to make up the numbers?"

Hogan didn't even lift his eyelids: "Phoenix, keep your men quiet. In the underground palace, it's not certain who will live and who will die."

"Heh." Phoenix, the tall, thin man from before, sneered.

His gaze swept across the Shadowmoon group, finally settling on Ian, where it lingered for an unusually long time.

"I heard you had a few rats die outside your door the other day? Pretty efficient, huh? I wonder which 'kid' did it?"

Upon hearing this, five of the "dead tree stumps" on the Withered Council's side seemed to twitch slightly.

But it quickly returned to deathly silence, only the chilling aura was even stronger.

On Shadowmoon's side, many people's expressions changed, and their gazes subtly drifted toward Ian.

Ian stood still, his face expressionless, as if he hadn't heard anything.

Inside his sleeve, Gaga's claws gently scratched him.

Hogan snorted: "If you want to find out, go in and see for yourself. I'm afraid you'll die silently by then too."

Phoenix's eyes darkened, and he said nothing more.

But the burly man behind him grinned, revealing his gleaming white teeth, and stared at Ian.

He licked his lips and made a throat-slitting gesture.

Ian met his gaze, and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly, so slightly as to be almost imperceptible.

Then he shifted his gaze to the obsidian door.

Just then, the runes on the stone gate suddenly lit up.

It was a dim light, like a pale blue glow seeping from inside a stone.

The light flowed along the patterns of the runes, faster and faster, until it finally merged into one.

The entire stone gate emitted a low hum, the sound coming from underground.

With a buzzing sound, the stone door slowly opened a crack inward.

No light shone from inside; only a musty, rotten smell wafted out.

The wind, carrying some strange energy, made people's robes flutter.

The door opened.

The three leaders acted almost simultaneously.

Hogan gave a low shout: "Go!" Shadowmoon's men immediately followed.

The crimson and withered figures also moved, and the three streams of people surged toward the narrow crack in the door almost simultaneously.

The entrance instantly became crowded, and everyone was extremely close to each other.

No one spoke, but their eyes met with wariness and suspicion.

Ian felt at least three malevolent mental forces sweep over him.

One came from the burly man in crimson, and the other from one of the grey-robed members of the Withered Council.

There's another, more subtle one, coming from somewhere within Shadowmoon's own team.

He ignored it and simply tightened his mental focus.

Like a layer of close-fitting armor, it firmly covered up the croaking sound.

The moment I squeezed through the crack in the door, it felt like passing through a layer of icy water.

The sound of the wind in my ears, the breathing of the people next to me, and the coldness at the bottom of the ravine were all suddenly shut out.

First, everything went black.

Then, countless shattered lights and shadows, distorted colors...

A cacophony of sounds, so loud it was impossible to discern the source, rushed in all at once.

Ian's feet suddenly lost their footing, and he felt his body being pulled and spun by an irresistible force.

He immediately calmed himself down, and the [Furnace Tempering Technique] activated on its own.

A jade-like luster flashed beneath her skin, resisting the tearing force.

He tried his best to see his surroundings clearly, but all he could see were bizarre fragments.

The city hangs upside down, the forest burns, familiar yet unfamiliar faces flash by, and countless whispers explode in my mind.

"Ian... I'll take you home..."

"Hand over the secret..."

"Die! Let's die together!"

"Power...give me power..."

"Ian, your favorite novel has been updated..."

……

Chaos, utter chaos.

This is not a visual or auditory illusion; it is an impact that directly affects the depths of consciousness.

He groaned, and the pale golden light spots at the core of his spiritual sea flickered slightly.

A cold, condensed sense of stability spread out, shutting out most of the chaotic noise.

The "Soul Devourer" protection is also in effect, like an invisible filter.

But this feeling lasted for less than three seconds before the pulling force suddenly disappeared.

boom!

Ian's feet touched solid ground, and he stumbled before regaining his balance. He immediately looked around.

The surroundings were empty.

Hogan, Phoenix, the gray-robed men, and Shadowmoon's colleagues who were just crowding around me have all disappeared.

He was standing in a wide corridor.

The corridor seemed to have no end, with tall walls on both sides covered with strange reliefs.

He couldn't recognize the material of the wall; it had a dull metallic sheen.

There was no ceiling above, only a constantly twisting and flowing dark purple "sky".

The purple was so thick it resembled blood that couldn't be dissolved, with occasional, deathly white flashes of lightning silently streaking across it.

The air was filled with a cloying, rotten smell that made one feel dizzy when inhaled.

"The Illusionary Corridor..."

Ian recalled the information he had seen before and silently uttered the name.

He composed himself and first examined himself.

My mental energy was somewhat depleted, but it wasn't a big problem; my body was perfectly fine.

Gaga poked half its head out from his sleeve, its little eyes looking around warily.

"They've all scattered, huh?" Ga Ga's voice was very low.

"Hmm." Ian nodded, his gaze falling on the reliefs on either side.

Those reliefs seem to depict some kind of ancient ritual.

The figures are contorted in agony, against a backdrop of burning stars and collapsing palaces.

After looking at it for a while, the reliefs seemed to come to life, and the figures' eyes seemed to turn towards him.

He immediately looked away, no longer wanting to look; the spiritual pollution in this place was everywhere.

He tried to use his mental power to probe outwards.

The mental energy had barely extended ten meters when it seemed to have crashed into a clump of sticky glue, becoming extremely sluggish.

Moreover, the feedback was all distorted and overlapping erroneous information.

Even though the road ahead was straight, my mental energy "senses" that there is a fork in the road on the left and a collapse on the right.

A sense of direction completely fails here.

I can only rely on my eyes and intuition.

Ian chose the left side, stayed close to the wall, and walked forward quietly.

The corridor was unusually quiet, with only the sound of his own footsteps and breathing.

And from the dark purple sky above, there came the occasional flowing sound, like an ancient sigh.

But soon, other voices began to emerge.

First came the faint sound of weeping, coming from the right wall, sometimes near, sometimes far.

Then came the sound of footsteps, not just one person, seemingly just a few steps behind him.

But when I turned around, there was nothing there.

Then came some blurry fragments of conversation, in a language he had never heard before, yet strangely he could understand a few words.

"Destruction," "Eternity," "Price"...

He knew these were all hallucinations, the chaotic force field of the corridor that stirred up the distracting thoughts deep within his consciousness.

He guarded his mental sea, and the protection from the "Spirit Devouring" panel, along with that trace of crystallization, kept him mostly conscious.

But those sounds still buzzed in his ears like flies, interfering with his judgment.

After walking for about ten minutes, he saw the first person.

It is not a living person.

He was a wizard from the Crimson Court, sitting with his back against the wall.

His eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead, his pupils already dilated.

His face wore a distorted expression that was a mixture of extreme terror and ecstatic joy.

He was clutching his own neck with both hands, his nails digging deep into his flesh, the black blood already congealed.

He's been dead for a while.

It seems he was trapped in a terrifying hallucination from which he could not escape and strangled himself to death.

"A first-level wizard actually managed to strangle himself to death. This place is truly eerie."

Ian didn't stop walking, nor did he even glance at the corpse; he walked straight past it.

As he passed the corpse, a probe as thin as a cow's hair silently slid out from his sleeve.

It flashed across the dimensional pouch at its waist and then retracted.

The movements were so fast that only afterimages remained.

The probe tip was covered with a little dark red powder.

This is a small gadget used for tracking inside the Crimson Court.

Anyone who gets close will pick up the scent, and it will emit a distinctive odor for the next few days.

Ian rubbed his fingers together, and the powder turned into green smoke and disappeared. He didn't touch the dimensional bag.

Does anyone know if there are any curses or warnings about this place up there?

It's not worth taking extra risks for something belonging to a dead stranger.

The further you go, the more traces you see.

There were charred marks and frost left from the fight, and blackened bloodstains sprayed on the wall.

There were also some scattered fragments, like robes or equipment.

Occasionally, short screams, roars, or maniacal laughter could be heard from afar.

But it quickly fell silent again, and it was impossible to tell which direction it came from.

The corridor seemed to have no end, with branching paths constantly appearing, each one looking exactly the same.

Ian tried to remember certain features, such as the shape of a broken relief or a particular mark on the wall.

But when you look back after a while, those characteristics often change, or simply disappear.

The space is folded and chaotic.

He stopped, closed his eyes, and stopped relying on his vision and that unreliable sense of direction.

He calmed himself down and carefully sensed the surroundings.

My mental energy was severely disrupted, but the panel seemed to resonate faintly with a certain energy fluctuation.

Suddenly, in a certain direction to his left front, he "sense" something different.

It was an extremely subtle, yet highly sophisticated, fluctuation of rules.

It's somewhat similar to the abyssal runestones in his dimensional ring, but it's more obscure and more... "stable".

Like a sliver of stability amidst chaos, a nail in a turbulent current.

"Void Anchor?" Ian's heart skipped a beat.