"Aah!"

The little root carving suddenly let out a piercing shriek. The shrill sound startled Bai Zhou so much he immediately backed away, nearly falling to the ground.

The little figure seemed to have suddenly come to life. The roots behind it retracted rapidly, and it took off on its short legs, actually turning to run.

Fortunately, Bai Zhou had quick reflexes. Steeling himself, he took a step forward and snatched the strange little figure in his hand.

The little figure shrieked nonstop, scratching fiercely at Bai Zhou’s palm with its tiny hands.

Although a sharp pain shot through his hand, Bai Zhou didn’t dare let go. He was afraid that if he loosened his grip for even a second, the little root carving would vanish in a flash.

Finally, after a period of struggle, the little figure seemed to accept its situation and stopped squirming. Bai Zhou seized the opportunity to tie it up with a strip of cloth.

Looking at his hand, he saw it was now covered in bloody scratches.

Ignoring the pain in his hand, Bai Zhou looked at the finally quieted figure.

’This relic is a real pain to use.’

Bai Zhou was secretly glad he had reacted quickly. If he hadn’t, the little root carving would have been long gone. The Chali Race had never mentioned that using this relic would cause something like this to happen.

’But why did it suddenly come to life?’

He poked the little figure, which was still wriggling around.

The reason he had used this relic was that he wanted to communicate with the Soul Spirit of the large tree next to the village. Perhaps the tree would know something about what had happened here.

Poked by Bai Zhou, the little figure began to wriggle faster, squirming on the ground like a caterpillar.

The shrill voice cried out again, like that of a noisy toddler.

"Let me go! Let me go! I don’t want to go back!"

Hearing this, Bai Zhou froze. It seemed the voice wasn’t a hallucination; the little figure was actually talking.

’Don’t want to go back?’

’Go back where?’

Driven by curiosity, Bai Zhou asked cautiously, "You can talk?"

"Obviously!" the little figure snapped back viciously.

Seeing the little figure’s arrogant attitude, Bai Zhou decided not to indulge it any longer. He picked it up and walked into the village.

He started a fire and propped the little figure up over it.

This action made the little figure struggle even more violently, shrieking nonstop.

Bai Zhou crouched by the fire and said coldly, "I’ll ask, you’ll answer. Understood?"

"Understood! Understood!" the little figure replied in fear.

"What are you?"

"I’m the tree! I’m that tree!" the little figure struggled, looking back in the direction they had come from.

Bai Zhou immediately understood what it meant.

’The tree’s Soul Spirit... entered the little figure?’

’No wonder the Chali Race said this relic could communicate with a Soul Spirit. It turns out it works by *extracting* the Soul Spirit to communicate.’

Now that he understood how the relic worked, Bai Zhou didn’t waste any more time on it and began asking about what had happened in the village.

"The other people in this village... how did they die? Who did it?"

Hearing Bai Zhou’s question, the little root carving trembled and told him everything that had happened—

The Fishman invasion, the slaughter, the burning...

The little root carving’s account was very brief, recounting the entire event dispassionately from a bystander’s perspective.

It all happened so fast. The humans stood no chance against the Fishmen. Their attacks tore through them in an instant, leaving nothing but charred corpses behind.

The Fishmen didn’t stay long. After searching the village thoroughly for a while, they boarded the Giant Dragon Fortress and left the island.

It was all so casual.

Bai Zhou’s fists clenched as he listened.

"What was their goal?"

"I don’t know. They were just looking for something. When they couldn’t find it, they left."

"That’s it?" Bai Zhou asked in disbelief.

"That’s it..."

Hearing this answer, something exploded in Bai Zhou’s mind. A loud ringing filled his ears, drowning out the little figure’s pleas for mercy.

The campfire before him crackled, sending up a constant stream of sparks.

The firewood in the blaze was burned black, emitting soft, crackling sounds, but Bai Zhou couldn’t hear a thing.

His gaze pierced through the charred wood, as if he could see his fallen kinsmen.

Piled together. Piled into a mountain.

A pit dug, buried with ash-like dirt, leaving no trace behind.

Bai Zhou’s fists unclenched.

He looked at his palm. The scratches from the little root carving were bleeding anew.

But Bai Zhou felt no pain.

No sound, no sensation. Everything was numb.

Only the flickering embers before him seemed to whisper their suffering in his ear.

"Bai Zhou, we’re so thirsty. We want some water."

"Okay."

Bai Zhou walked to the well. Ignoring the wounds on his hands, he struggled to draw a bucket of water.

Then he walked back to the fire and poured the water over it.

With a series of HISSES and SIZZLES, the fire went out, leaving only a few flickering sparks.

A wisp of smoke and dust drifted up into the sky, vanishing into the clouds.

The little figure, which had been propped over the fire, was doused with water. It watched Bai Zhou, who was muttering to himself with strange mannerisms, and didn’t dare make another move.

And so, Bai Zhou stood by the dead fire for a long time, bucket in hand...

Not until the very last spark died out did Bai Zhou put down the bucket, grab the little figure, and return to the large tree.

The roots on the carving burrowed into the tree’s bark. The little figure’s facial features slowly faded, and its hands returned to their clasped position.

As the roots retracted, the little root carving returned to its original state.

In the days that followed, Bai Zhou continued his unchanging routine.

In the morning, he dug pits. In the afternoon, he buried the dead.

He gathered the charred remains, which had been shattered into pieces. He reassembled what he could and placed the rest together, burying them with clothes from their homes.

After burying every body he could find, he erected a great stone monument on the mountain. Then, using small seal script, he carved a single word onto it: "Immortal."

Having done all this, Bai Zhou stood before the monument for a long time...

The next morning, he packed his things and left the village without a backward glance.

Aboard his boat, Bai Zhou decided to first return to the island of the Chali Race. He needed to return the relic, but he also wanted to find a way to get his revenge.

In the Abyss, the Chali Race was the only one he knew. He could only learn more through them.

Most importantly, Bai Zhou wanted to know more about the Fishmen.

’Going around in circles, only to end up where they said I would. Our paths cross again...’

Bai Zhou marveled at the Chali Race’s incredible power of foresight, and at the wonders of the Abyss.

Feeling the little root carving in his pack, Bai Zhou’s spirits lifted once more.

’If a simple root carving can extract a Soul Spirit, then there must be more powerful, more lethal relics out there.’

’Maybe, one day, I can get my hands on one...’

Rowing his small boat, Bai Zhou once again approached the Chali island, which he had not seen in a long time.

However, a thick fog had risen over the sea, something that was very rare near the island of the Chali Race.

Bai Zhou sensed that something was wrong, but he plunged into the fog without hesitation.