Green Poison Peak…
The Green Poison Peak loomed ahead like a malevolent specter, shrouded in a thick, emerald mist that twisted unnaturally in the wind. The very air carried a faint tang of toxicity, a subtle warning that the weak had no place here.
Kent stood at the foot of the peak, the sealed letter from the Hall Master tucked safely inside his robe. His golden eyes gleamed as he observed the narrow, jagged pathway leading upward. Dark vines coiled around the stone steps, pulsating faintly as if alive. A deep hiss echoed from within the mist—signs that this climb would be anything but easy.
He smiled. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.”
A few hundred steps up, Kent reached a black river, its waters bubbling with lethal poison. The stone bridge that once connected the two sides had long crumbled, leaving a gap too wide for an ordinary leap.
Kent crouched and picked up a small stone, tossing it into the river.
Sssss!
The rock instantly melted, dissolving into nothing.
A scroll pinned to a nearby post bore an inscription:
“Cross the river without flight, or be claimed by the poison.”
Kent chuckled. “So, no flying allowed? Smart.”
His Storm God Tyrant Physique crackled with faint golden lightning as he stepped onto the riverbank. He reached into his spirit ring, pulling out a handful of steel needles. With practiced ease, he flicked them across the water’s surface, embedding them into the remains of submerged logs.
Then, in a blur of motion, Kent dashed forward, his movements so precise that he barely touched each needle before leaping to the next. His control was flawless. Not even a single droplet of poison splashed onto him.
He landed on the opposite bank and glanced back. The needles had already begun corroding.
“Too slow, river,” he mused, continuing his ascent.
As Kent climbed higher, the air grew thicker with toxins. His sharp eyes caught movement among the rocks—flowers with gaping, fanged mouths swayed in the breeze. The moment he stepped closer, they lurched toward him, spitting acidic pollen.
“Poison flowers, huh?”
Kent’s body glowed faintly as he activated his Poison Tome cultivation. His pores instinctively adjusted, absorbing the lethal air and neutralizing it before it could harm him.
The flowers recoiled, confused.
Kent smirked and took a step forward. The flowers trembled. Their instincts screamed that he was more toxic than they were.
As Kent walked through the field, the once-hostile plants wilted, recognizing their superior.
He reached the end of the valley without lifting a single finger.
A sharp hiss reverberated through the canyon.
A colossal emerald serpent, easily fifty feet long, uncoiled from the shadows. Its scales shimmered with a corrosive sheen, and its slit eyes locked onto Kent with ancient hunger.
“You must be the guardian of this path,” Kent mused.
The snake lunged, its fangs dripping green venom potent enough to melt bone.
Kent’s body flickered. He sidestepped effortlessly, avoiding the attack by mere inches. His right hand flashed forward, gripping the snake by its massive throat.
The serpent writhed, its muscles straining against his grip.
Kent’s fingers tightened. “Sleep.”
A pulse of golden lightning surged from his palm, shocking the beast into instant paralysis. It collapsed, spasming before finally going limp.
Kent casually tossed it aside and dusted off his robe. “Nice try.”
The final stretch of the climb led to a set of stairs carved into the mountainside. A strange illusionary mist covered them, shifting like restless spirits.
Kent placed his foot on the first step.
Instantly, a phantom claw shot from the mist, slashing toward his chest.
Whoosh!
Kent twisted, dodging the attack, but dozens more followed. Shadowy figures whispered curses, their voices filled with malice.
“An illusion test?” Kent murmured.
Closing his eyes, he activated his Storm God Domain. The moment his domain expanded, the mist recoiled violently, struggling against his influence.
But Kent remained unmoved.
With a single step forward, his domain shattered the illusion. The whispers faded into nothingness.
When he reopened his eyes, the mist had vanished.
As Kent climbed higher, the thick green mist of Green Poison Peak swirled around him, carrying the scent of rare herbs and toxins. Along the winding path, he noticed something peculiar—disciples sitting in deep concentration under the shade of ancient, gnarled trees.
Each one was absorbed in a thick, tattered book, their brows furrowed as they tried to commit its contents to memory.
Kent narrowed his eyes. Strange…
From the distance, he could hear some of them muttering, reciting lines under their breath.
“…The bone-penetrating serpent’s venom must be extracted under cold stasis, or else…”
“The poison of the Nine-Spotted Tarantula should not be mixed with…”
His gaze flickered from one disciple to another. Every single one of them held the exact same book.
“A poison manual?” he mused. It seemed every disciple of the peak had to master it, but judging by the deep frustration on their faces, it was no easy feat.
Kent smirked and continued his climb.
By the time he reached the summit, a large gathering of disciples—mostly women—stood in a circle, whispering among themselves. Their gazes locked onto the center, where a single figure in a dark green robe stood before an assembly of creatures.
Kent casually approached, weaving through the onlookers, and found himself watching the scene unfold.
At the heart of the circle, the Peak Master of Green Poison Peak stood with hands folded behind his back. Before him, hundreds of poisonous creatures lay in eerie stillness—serpents coiled motionless, scorpions poised like statues, and insects hovering mid-air as if frozen in time.
And in front of them, restrained by powerful chains, was the Mighty Dark Lion.
The beast was massive—its black fur shimmered unnaturally, each strand brimming with a toxic aura. Its eyes, glowing with deep violet, held an unsettling wisdom. Despite its chains, its muscles remained taut and ready to pounce.
The Peak Master spoke in an authoritative tone.
“Poison extraction is a delicate art. If mishandled, it can kill both the extractor and the beast. Watch carefully.”
A female disciple nervously stepped forward, hands trembling as she held a silver needle. She was tasked with extracting the dark poison glands from the lion’s fangs.
The Peak Master continued, “One wrong move, and the toxin will—”
Her hand slipped.
The lion’s eyes flashed with fury.
With a mighty roar, it snapped its chains effortlessly and leapt toward the crowd—toward Kent.
The disciples screamed, scattering in fear. Some tried activating defensive talismans, but the sheer force of the lion’s charge shattered them like glass.
Kent, however, stood still.