[Disciple, I can sense something—something incredibly powerful. It seems your luck hasn't run out yet.]

Long Chen's eyes brightened with anticipation. His Master's voice echoed within his mind, giving him a surge of confidence.

"Senior Long," Mei Xueyin whispered, glancing around uneasily, "I don't think it's safe to remain here any longer. Why don't we head back? Something about this place... it feels wrong."

Her voice was hushed but urgent. Women were naturally more attuned to stealthy energies, and Mei Xueyin could feel invisible eyes watching their every move.

"Miss Mei," Long Chen chuckled lightly, brushing aside her concern, "are you trying to scare me? There's nothing to fear when I'm around. Don't forget—I'm currently the strongest cultivator in this entire secret realm. A peak Foundation Building Realm cultivator, no less."

He gestured grandly at the surroundings. "Even if there are spirits lurking about, they wouldn't dare show themselves. And if you're feeling uneasy because of these piles of bones,"—he pointed toward the scattered skeletal remains littering the grand hall—"then come a little closer. I promise nothing will harm you while you're with me."

He smiled warmly, but Mei Xueyin didn't return the sentiment. She shifted a few steps closer out of caution, not trust. The two stood only about three feet apart, yet to her, it felt like an uncrossable chasm.

Tch. I miss Xu Mo and Wei Rong, she thought to herself, her gaze sharp and wary. If either of them were here, I might've felt safer. At least I'd be with someone I could actually trust.

Mei Xueyin hadn't trusted Long Chen from the beginning—not even a little. Who could say what was going through his mind? Especially since he had no idea she couldn't channel her qi properly at the moment. If he found out, she'd be defenseless.

'Master, can you tell where exactly the sensation is coming from?' Long Chen asked mentally, frowning at the oppressive aura that clung to the air like dust.

[Walk behind the Giant Throne. It's there, beyond it. That's where the presence is strongest.]

Long Chen turned his gaze to the massive, towering throne at the far end of the hall. It was ancient, carved from black stone, and stretched so high it disappeared into shadow. Without hesitation, he moved toward it, a flicker of ambition in his step.

Mei Xueyin's heart thudded louder with each stride they took. Something about all this felt... fatal. As if they were treading a path from which there was no return.

Behind the throne, the hidden truth revealed itself.

A coffin.

Not a majestic sarcophagus or grand crypt lined with gold—but a simple, undecorated coffin about six feet long, lying in wait like a slumbering predator.

"Senior Long," Mei Xueyin said firmly, her voice low and urgent. "We need to turn back. Now. I'm telling you, something is wrong with this place. My instincts... they've never been wrong."

Long Chen didn't even glance back.

"I believe in my luck," he said calmly. "It's never failed me before. I've survived countless life-threatening situations, and this won't be any different."

You may have survived, Mei Xueyin thought bitterly, but what about your companions? What about me?

Her hands curled into fists as unease churned in her gut.

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Their footsteps echoed through the vast, silent chamber. It felt less like a palace now and more like a tomb—an ancient grave untouched by time. The oppressive silence pressed down on them, thick and heavy. Even their heartbeats felt like echoes.

On the lid of the coffin, an inscription had been carved in a language long forgotten—one that neither of them could read, but somehow both could feel. The script was intricate, reverent, and archaic, filled with the weight of ages long past.

To modern cultivators, accustomed to simple, efficient communication, these symbols were overwhelming. Each word was like a mountain—steeped in layered meanings and concealed truths.

But the message, somehow, reached them.

Here sleeps the King of Dragons. The Lord and Ruler of All Dragonkind.

He who drank fire and spat thunder. He who wore the sky as his crown and the earth as his cradle.

Seek not his strength lightly—lest your offering be worthy of eternity.

The silence that followed was deeper than before—crushing, eternal.

Then it came.

A pulse. Not heard, but felt.

From deep beneath the stone floor, something ancient stirred. The air thickened, temperature plummeted, and a tremor—faint, but undeniable—ran through the chamber. It was as though time itself had taken pause, holding its breath.

Then, without sound, a decree was made—spoken not by voice, but by law. Etched into the very bones of the place.

"Only blood may call upon blood."

The words crashed into their minds, undeniable and absolute.

To receive even a single drop of the Dragon Lord's Blood Essence—pure, ancient, and immeasurably powerful—an offering had to be made.

Not just of life, but of potential.

The exchange had to be equal.

Only the blood of a virgin female, untouched and brimming with unspent destiny, could break the coffin's seal. But that alone wasn't enough.

Her life would be required as well.

Whether offered willingly or taken by force—her death was the key.

The price was monstrous. But so too was the reward.

Mei Xueyin froze as her body trembled uncontrollably. That invisible gaze—that oppressive feeling of being watched—was now suffocating. She was no longer just uneasy. She was in danger.

And she knew it.

Three feet away stood Long Chen, calm as ever, eyes locked on the glowing coffin, completely still. But to her, he now seemed like a predator rather than a protector.

I'm not safe here, she realized. Not in this place. Not with him. Not anywhere in this realm anymore.

She did not know why Long Chen's gaze had suddenly changed. The way he was looking at the Coffin was like some lover looking at his love.

Because how could she hide from someone like Long Chen—a peak Foundation Building cultivator—when she could barely circulate her qi?

The Dragon Lord's blood was not for the meek.

It was living fire, the embodiment of dominance. Authority made liquid.

A single drop could rebuild crippled meridians, ignite a fading core, or elevate a mortal to a king.

And so Long Chen stood before it.

On the edge of transcendence.

Or damnation.

His hand hovered above the coffin lid, where ominous red runes now pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm—beating like the heart of some slumbering god.

They were waiting.

Waiting for an answer.

Waiting for a price to be paid.

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