The entry for cultivating immortality states that after dying a hundred times, I attained immortalit

As dawn broke, Jiang Bai opened his eyes.

The wasteland outside the stone pass was shrouded in a layer of gray morning mist, which was lighter than the night fog but still so thick that it was impossible to disperse. He got up and stretched his limbs. The poisonous patterns flowing on his skin were faintly visible. After a night of nourishment, his spiritual energy was circulating exceptionally smoothly in his meridians, and most of the fatigue from yesterday's life-or-death battle had disappeared.

The garrison token in his arms was still cold.

Jiang Bai held the token in his palm. In the morning light, the character "戍" (shù, meaning "garrison") gleamed with a dark luster, like congealed blood. Zhang Meng's words from yesterday still echoed in his ears: "This wasteland of burial bones has long since become a great tomb."

What is buried in the large tomb?

What are the prisoners guarding?

Jiang Bai put away his token and stepped out of the stone hollow. The morning mist rushed towards him, carrying a biting chill. If an ordinary cultivator stayed here for half a day, his meridians would probably be disturbed by the deathly aura and become unable to circulate smoothly. However, the nine dark golden poison patterns on his chest flickered slightly, and the mist within three feet of him automatically dissipated, as if he had encountered his nemesis.

The Soul-Slaying Sword Intent protects the body, making one impervious to all evil.

The uses of this term extend far beyond combat. Jiang Bai headed in the direction the Yin soldiers had departed yesterday, his pace neither fast nor slow. The ground beneath his feet still felt soft, leaving faint footprints that were quickly covered by the flowing gray mist. After walking about three miles, the mist ahead suddenly thickened, its color changing from grayish-white to a deeper leaden gray.

Deathly aura.

A dense, almost tangible aura of death was emanating from the basin-shaped terrain ahead.

Jiang Bai slowed his pace and squinted as he gazed into the distance. The basin was shrouded in a thick, leaden-gray fog that never dissipated. The fog was so thick that it was impossible to see through it; only the vague outlines of the jagged black rocks at the edges could be discerned. Ordinary cultivators would probably not even dare to use their divine sense here, as the chilling aura within the fog would naturally corrode their souls.

But he's different.

Jiang Bai raised his right arm, his index finger drawing a sword symbol in front of him. A pale golden sword intent flashed and then disappeared, as if the thick fog ahead had been cleaved by an invisible sword, revealing a narrow passage that was barely passable. He stepped into it.

When the mist touches the body, a very faint golden light spontaneously rises from the skin's surface. This golden light originates from the natural flow of the [Soul-Slaying Sword Intent], forming a protective sword intent. The chilling death energy within the mist, upon impacting the body, is like ice and snow meeting a red-hot iron block, emitting a hissing sound before completely dissipating.

Jiang Bai walked steadily.

As you venture deeper into the basin, the ground becomes increasingly hard: first loose, gray soil, then sharp, jagged pebbles, and further on, solid black stone slabs. The surface of the slabs is covered with crisscrossing marks from chisels and axes, some as deep as an inch; though the edges have been smoothed by the passage of time, the brutality of past battles is still evident.

He crouched down and brushed away the accumulated dust from a stone slab with his hand.

Several lines of crooked writing were carved on the stone slab, as if hastily drawn with a weapon:

"Zhang Ergou is from Jizhou."

Wang Tiezhu was from Fenyang.

"Zhao Xiaoliu..."

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The inscription contained only a simple name and place of origin, but no official title or year of death. Jiang Bai stood up and looked around. Within a radius of several dozen feet, these stone slabs were stacked layer upon layer, closely connected, covering the bottom of the basin.

This is not a stone slab.

It is a monument.

These are simple tombstones for fallen soldiers.

Jiang Bai's heart stirred slightly, and he continued forward. The closer they got to the center of the basin, the more uniform the shape of the stone tablets became: what were initially just randomly found stone slabs gradually transformed into regular gray stone tablets. Most of the tablets were incomplete, some even broken in two, leaving only the base; occasionally, a few complete tablets could be seen, but the inscriptions on them were mostly blurred and difficult to decipher.

He stopped in front of a gray monument that was about half a person's height.

The left side of the stele is missing a corner, but the inscriptions in the middle are still clearly legible:

"The Third Battalion of the Northern Garrison Army".

"The seventh year of Qifeng, autumn."

Below is a list of names:

"Zhang Meng."

"Wang Shan".

"Li Shu".

"List……"

The remaining writing was severed in half by a deep knife mark and could no longer be read.

Jiang Bai stared at the two characters "Zhang Meng" for a long time, then reached out and touched the surface of the stone. The stone was cold and rough. Three hundred years of wind and rain had long since worn away the sharpness of the stone when it was carved, leaving only this silent and stubborn stone.

No wonder Zhang Meng guarded this place for three hundred years.

He was not only protecting a secret, but also the names of his comrades.

Jiang Bai stood up and looked towards the center of the basin, where the fog was exceptionally thick, with leaden-gray mist churning endlessly, revealing only the faint outline of a massive black shadow. He stepped forward, circulating the [Soul-Slaying Sword Intent] around his body, causing the fog to disperse as he passed, revealing the scenery ahead.

It was a broken base.

The stele is about ten feet tall and over thirty feet wide. It is made of neither stone nor jade, and is dark in color with fine and intricate patterns covering its surface. The upper half of the base is missing at some unknown time, with an uneven break, as if it had been shattered by some enormous force. Scattered around the base are fragments of varying sizes, the largest as thick as a millstone and the smallest only the size of a fist.

Jiang Bai walked to the base of the monument and looked up.

The patterns at the broken edge emitted a faint glow, a dim, almost extinguished, pale blue that appeared and disappeared in the thick fog. He reached out and touched the cold surface of the base of the monument with his palm.

The garrison token in his arms suddenly became burning hot.

Then, something unexpected happened!

The pale blue halo on the surface of the monument suddenly lit up, and Jiang Bai felt a huge and chaotic thought surge into his mind through his palm. This was neither sound nor image, but countless broken "memory fragments" wrapped in intense emotions, just like resentment that had been dormant for three hundred years finding an outlet and surging in recklessly.

If it were an ordinary cultivator, being struck by this resentment would at least damage their soul, and at worst cause their consciousness to collapse.

But deep within Jiang Bai's soul, the [Soul-Slaying Sword Intent] trembled violently.

A pale golden sword intent surged forth like a tidal wave, severing and purifying all the chaotic and corrosive resentment, leaving only the most essential, emotionless fragments of imagery. These fragments gradually emerged clearly in his mind.

On a late autumn night, the sky above the desolate plain was cloudless and filled with countless stars. Suddenly, dozens of streaks of light appeared in the depths of the sky, trailing long tails like a meteor shower. There were not just a few, but thousands upon thousands, illuminating half of the night sky as bright as day.

On the desolate plains, the camps of the border guards were brightly lit.

The bugles sounded, the hooves thundered, and squads of armored soldiers rushed out of the camp, converging on the spot where the meteor had fallen. Torches formed a long dragon, winding its way through the night.

Beside the crater created by the meteor, the firelight flickered in the night wind.

The border garrison commander was a middle-aged man, clad in cold, hard iron armor, his face sharply defined. He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly at his waist, his gaze sharp as an eagle's, fixed intently on the few people standing by the pit.

The men were dressed in uniform black robes, with silver star patterns embroidered on the sleeves and lapels, which gleamed coldly in the flickering firelight. The leader was an old man with a sinister face, holding a dull wooden staff with a fist-sized blue crystal embedded at the top, the surface of which seemed to shimmer with a faint light.

The old man spoke, "When the Starfall Pavilion is conducting its business, all unrelated personnel are requested to step aside." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper being rubbed.

The general remained unmoved: "This area is the defense zone of the Northern Garrison. According to military law, any strange objects falling from the sky should be inspected and handled by our army."

The old man let out a cold snort and said, "Inspect? This item concerns heavenly secrets; how can you mediocre martial artists be allowed to touch it?"

The air suddenly froze, and the tense atmosphere made it hard to breathe.

The soldiers gripped their swords and spears tightly, and pale blue spiritual energy slowly surged around the black-robed cultivators. Strange light faintly shone from the dark shadows at the bottom of the pit.

It's unclear who started it.

It could be a soldier's sword, or it could be a monk's magic.

The light of the bursting spiritual power suddenly appeared, and the blood energy in the army formation soared into the sky. The old man in black robes gently waved his wooden staff, and dozens of ice shards shot out from the blue crystal. Wherever these ice shards passed, the soldiers all turned into ice sculptures and shattered. The border general roared angrily, charged forward with his sword, and bright red blood energy rose from the blade. With one strike, he cut through three ice shards.

But there were simply too many cultivators.

A dozen or so black-robed cultivators stood in formation, their spiritual energy merging into a large net that tightly surrounded the border garrison. The soldiers immediately formed their own battle formation, using their blood energy to counter the cultivators' spiritual energy. Thus, the sounds of clashing swords, screams, and exploding spells rang out, all mixed together.

The glowing thing at the bottom of the pit shone even brighter.

Neither side in the battle noticed that the light at the bottom of the pit had turned dark red at some point.

A dull cracking sound rang out, as if it came from the depths of the earth.

The earth suddenly cracked open.

It wasn't just one crack, but dozens, even hundreds, of cracks that spread outwards from the deep pit. Thick, ink-like black gas billowed from the cracks, churning and rising, instantly covering the surrounding area for miles.

Whether they were soldiers or black-robed cultivators, their movements froze the moment the black aura touched them.

Their faces showed expressions of extreme pain, but they could not make a sound when they opened their mouths. Blood slowly flowed from their eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and it was black blood. Then, some translucent phantoms were forcibly pulled out from their bodies; those were their souls.

The souls twisted and deformed in the black mist, emitting silent wails.

The black mist swallowed everything.

In the final frame, a huge, phantom-like object emerges from the center of the black mist.

The object resembled a compass, with a diameter of about ten zhang (approximately 33 meters). It was dark gold in color and covered with extremely complex runes. However, the compass was damaged, with many cracks along the edges and a broken pointer in the center.

The illusory image of the compass slowly rotated within the black mist, and with each rotation, more and more souls were drawn into it.

then,

boom!

The illusory image of the compass suddenly exploded, turning into countless points of light that vanished without a trace.

The black mist swirled back into the crack, and the earth slowly closed up, as if nothing had ever happened.

On the ground lay only withered corpses and fragments of twisted souls, silently recounting the horrific tragedy that had just occurred.

……

The scene abruptly ends there.

Jiang Bai withdrew his hand, took two steps back, and took a deep breath.

The shock in his mind gradually subsided. The [Soul-Slaying Sword Intent] completely cleared away the remaining resentment, leaving only these cold images. He looked down at his palm, and could still feel the bone-chilling cold emanating from the stone tablet on his skin.

Three hundred years ago, at the Starfall Pavilion.

As the meteor fell, the border guards surrounded the scene and a conflict broke out over the contents of the pit. Then, some kind of terrible restriction was activated, and black energy surged out, resulting in the annihilation of the entire border guards.

Those black wisps could forcibly strip away the souls of living people.

The ghost soldiers, wandering spirits, Zhang Meng... all came from that disaster.

What Starfall Pavilion is so determined to fight over, could it be that incomplete compass-shaped artifact?

Jiang Bai walked to the broken part of the base of the monument, bent down and picked up a palm-sized fragment. The fragment felt heavy, and its material was neither metal nor stone. Half of a twisted rune remained on its edge. He tried to input a little spiritual power into it, but the fragment did not move at all, as if it were a completely lifeless object.

"No wonder Zhang Meng said this was a large tomb."

Jiang Bai muttered to himself as he put the fragments into his storage bag.

He looked around. The fog in the basin seemed to have thinned a little, and the gray stone tablets appeared clearly in the morning light. They stood quietly on this land that buried three thousand border guards, exuding endless desolation.

Starfall Pavilion.

"Don't trust the Starfall Pavilion."

The inscription's warning was gradually becoming clearer. During that disaster, the people of the Starfall Pavilion clearly knew what was hidden at the bottom of the pit, but they still disregarded the border guards' objections and forcibly carried out their plan, resulting in extremely tragic consequences. Afterwards, they may have concealed the truth, or simply left, leaving behind only this desolate place and countless lonely souls.

And the three thousand border guards thus became innocent casualties.

When Jiang Bai emerged from the basin, the sun was already high in the sky, and the fog over the wasteland had dissipated considerably, opening up a wider view. He looked back at the low-lying area, where leaden-gray fog was slowly gathering, once again covering the Stele Forest and the Secret.

What exactly is Zhang Meng waiting for here?

Are we waiting for the people from the Starfall Pavilion to come back and demand an explanation?

Should we wait for someone to reveal the truth so that the souls of our comrades can rest in peace?

Jiang Bai had no way of knowing.

He understood that he had an extra fragment, a fragment related to that bloody past three hundred years ago: the Starfall Pavilion, the broken compass, the black aura that could strip away souls... These clues were like a net, slowly tightening.

He touched the Yin Soul Grass and the Condensing Essence Jade Liquid in his arms.

Before establishing your foundation, you must clarify these things, otherwise, if you establish your foundation in this wasteland that holds many secrets, it is hard to say what kind of changes it may bring.

Jiang Bai strode away, his figure gradually disappearing into the undulating horizon of the wasteland.

Behind us, the fog in the basin thickened even more.

Behind the gray stone tablet, a dim soul shadow gradually appeared. Zhang Meng gripped the broken spear tightly, the green flames in his eye sockets staring at the direction Jiang Bai had left, and remained motionless for a long time.

After a long while, the soul-shaped shadow let out an almost inaudible sigh and disappeared back into the depths of the stele forest.

The wind swept across the wasteland, rustling the withered grass.

It was as if countless souls were whispering their lamentations.