The infirmary stay was mercifully short, and Grey, unable to bear the inactivity, discharged himself as soon as his injuries were deemed non-life-threatening.

It was dawn. The academy grounds were still draped in a misty, quiet chill.

Grey was seated cross-legged on the wet grass, the morning dew soaking into his bare skin.

His upper body was exposed, revealing the tightly toned muscles he had rigorously developed over the past months, scars and fresh bruises crisscrossed his torso, remnants of the battle with Flint.

His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and slow as he focused, preparing himself for performing his unique astral cultivation technique.

The silence was broken only by the chirping of unseen birds.

He delved into the deep reservoirs of his inner being, grasping the turbulent energies he had barely learned to command.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, a brilliant, intense glow radiating from them.

He rose slowly, his posture demanding attention.

A swirling, reddish-brown, almost blood-like aura began to seep and coalesce around his skin, shimmering in the pale light.

His arms moved in a fluid, serpentine motion, leading the rest of his body.

His left leg lifted gracefully, the thigh parallel to the ground, as he transitioned into the powerful, ancient form, the cosmic dancer.

With a deep, guttural exhale, his dance began.

He moved with savage grace, his legs, arms, and torso moving aggressively yet harmoniously.

His feet stomped the ground with rhythmic, thunderous impact, sounding like war drums echoing across the silent grounds.

Blood pumped furiously through his veins, his heart slamming against his ribs like a relentless percussion instrument.

Grey lost himself entirely in the dance. He was no longer on academy grounds; he was on a field of battle, summoning primordial power.

His body quickly became drenched in sweat, shimmering in the dawn light, but a blissful, ecstatic smile was fixed on his face. He was enjoying the pain, the exertion, the raw expression of power without a care in the world.

He was utterly lost in the rhythm of creation and destruction.

After a long, punishing session, the internal rhythm finally subsided.

He executed a final, sweeping flourish and stopped abruptly.

His muscles instantly screamed in protest, aching fiercely as if they were about to tear from his bones.

His body staggered, and the intense aura retracted abruptly, leaving him breathless and reeling from the sudden return to his normal state.

He stood panting, leaning slightly forward, his body screaming under the load.

Though he was in considerable pain everywhere, a wide, satisfied grin spread across his face when he heard the familiar soft Ding of the System interface announcing itself in his vision.

[Enlightenment achieved]

[Third realm achieved]

[Astral current realm achieved]

[Level up!]

[Level up!]

[ Grey Silverthorne ]

[RACE: Demonic Sunforged

BLOODLINE: Dark Demonic Solarian (Godly)

LEVEL: 32 (EXP: 1790/ 142000)

CULTIVATION REALM: Astral Current (Aura), Marrow cleansing (Body)

STAMINA: 64

STRENGTH: 70

INTELLIGENCE: 56

AGILITY: 62

ORIGIN SKILLS: Skill evolution (SSS+), Lord of martial arts (SSS+), Eyes of omniscience (SS+), Cosmic aura (SSS), Blood burn (SSS)

GENERAL SKILLS: Gattling destruction (SS) (Active), One punch kill (SSS) (Active), Spinning madness (SS) (Active), Demolition axe (SSS) (Active), Partial Gigantification (A+) (Active)]

Movement skill: Dash (C) (Active), Leap (C+) (active)]

[Inventory: 24/100]

A wide smile spread on Grey's face.

"One more step towards the pinnacle!"

******

Two days passed in a blur of focused tension.

Princess Erowen, fueled by frustration and the dire reality of the Cloud Marsh, spent every waking hour poring over the ancient texts detailing the Soul Barrier spell, while Harlon and Alvaro maintained a tight, vigilant perimeter around the camp.

The dawn of the third day arrived, and the sun, true to Alvaro's prediction, climbed higher than usual, pushing back the lingering darkness of the deep woods.

It was the longest day of the season, their window of opportunity.

Just before mid-day, the three elves stood at the final, desolate edge of the outpost.

The air here was heavy, still, and unnervingly quiet, a stark contrast to the distant, faint sounds of skirmishing coming from the main front.

The path ahead plunged into a terrifying tangle of sickly grey trees and perpetually wet, rotting foliage, the Wasting Wood, which led directly to the Cloud Marsh.

Harlon, now wearing his full, reinforced armor, checked the blade of his longsword one last time.

Alvaro, carrying a thick coil of rope and a well-used backpack, looked tense but ready.

Erowen, though pale, had a fierce concentration in her eyes. She had braided her silver hair back tightly and wore her leather chest guard over a travel tunic, no longer looking like a petulant princess but a resolute mage.

The two vials of Heartwood Spirit were secured in a small, reinforced pouch tied to her waist.

"Princess," Harlon said, his voice low and serious. "Are you ready? The moment we cross this line, there is no turning back. We rely on your shield."

Erowen took a deep breath. "I have the theory memorized, Harlon. The casting itself... we will see. But I know what is at stake." She reached into the pouch and grasped the cool glass of one vial.

"We will follow the riverbed for the first quarter-mile," Alvaro instructed, pointing into the gloom.

"It offers the most stable footing before the marsh begins in earnest. We must move quickly and silently. The Illusion Mecks rarely venture this far from the deep fog, but we take no chances."

Harlon nodded. "Alvaro leads. I follow him. Princess, you will stay directly between us. Do not wander. Do not speak unless absolutely necessary."

With a shared, silent nod, the three elves stepped across the rough boundary.

The thick, vibrant moss underfoot immediately gave way to spongy, sucking ground.

The light diminished rapidly, swallowed by the oppressive canopy.

They had only traveled a short distance when the characteristic chill of the Cloud Marsh hit them.

It wasn't the cold of winter, but a penetrating, damp, and unnatural cold that seemed to seep into the bones.

A minute later, they were enveloped.

A swirling, ethereal fog, the color of old milk, rolled in from the marsh proper, instantly reducing visibility to mere feet.

The trees around them began to distort, their shapes elongating and twisting into vaguely humanoid forms.

The silence was broken only by the sucking sound of their boots pulling free from the soft earth.

Harlon moved first, placing a hand on Erowen's shoulder and nodding to Alvaro.

Erowen knew this was the moment. She quickly uncorked the first vial of the Heartwood Spirit.

The smell was powerfully sweet, like fermented rice wine. She tilted her head back and drank the whole contents in a single, desperate gulp.

A wave of intense, electric heat flooded her body, centering in her chest.

Her mind, already sharp from days of study, became crystal clear, the formulae of the Fifth Realm spell flashing through her memory with perfect precision.

It felt as though her veins were suddenly flowing with liquid lightning.

"Now, Princess!" Harlon's voice was strained, muffled by the fog.

Erowen squeezed her eyes shut and began to chant the forgotten words of power, drawing upon the immense, borrowed mana gifted by the World Tree's essence.

The energy surged from her, not in a visible flash, but as a silent, expanding pressure.

A sphere of nearly invisible, rippling force expanded around the three of them, the Soul Barrier.

It was a shimmering film of protection, not against physical attacks, but against magical and psychic intrusion.

The moment the barrier solidified, the atmosphere changed.

The twisting trees outside the sphere snapped back into their proper, if still gloomy, shapes.

A faint, low, chittering sound, the sound of the Mecks, instantly cut off as their passive attempt to inject fear into the travelers was repelled.

"It worked," Alvaro whispered, awe in his voice.

"Barely," Erowen muttered, the exertion already draining her, even with the Spirit's boost. The cost of maintaining a Fifth Realm spell was crushing.

"The Spirit won't last long, and the Mecks will try to find a weakness."

Harlon drew his sword. "Good. We move now. Fast. Before they realize how to shatter your beautiful glass house."

Alvaro turned and plunged into the swirling, eerie mist of the Cloud Marsh, Harlon gripping Erowen's arm tightly and pulling her forward. Their desperate journey into the heart of the magical darkness had begun.

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