NABC 066 Into Deepmoor
066 Into Deepmoor
066 Into Deepmoor
The Floating Dragon warped, and in an instant, we arrived in Deepmoor Continent.
The change in scenery was immediate.
Dark, jagged mountains loomed over the land like broken fangs, their peaks lost in thick, swirling clouds. The ground beneath us was a mixture of ashen dirt, black stone, and dense marshland, where twisted trees and creeping fog made everything feel eerie and half-dead.
The air was damp. Heavy. It smelled of earth, decay, and something metallic—like rusted iron.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
So this was Deepmoor.
It was one of the eight continents of the Grand Ascension Empire, and Deepmoor was infamous for two things:
Firstly, it was cursed lands. Legends spoke of ancient battlefields, forgotten tombs, and places where even cultivators hesitated to tread. That was more like what Evernight Continent should have sounded like, considering the undead that existed there, but the travelogues insisted otherwise.
Secondly, the Abyssal Clans. Unlike the Seven Grand Clans, these clans specialized in esoteric, forbidden techniques. Necromancy, soul manipulation, and abyssal arts—practices that other continents outlawed were freely studied here.
Not exactly the kind of place you'd take a vacation.
The moment we stabilized from the warp, Ren Xun let out a low whistle.
"Man," he said, glancing out over the murky landscape, "this place has a real ‘don’t touch anything unless you want to die’ kind of vibe. So I suggest, please try to avoid touching stuff."
I couldn’t help but agree.
From the deck, Gu Jie yawned. "I hate warping. Makes my head feel weird."
Deepmoor Continent was ruled by one of the Seven Imperial Houses, and ironically, it was the Black Clan with the surname Hei.
Even more ironic? Their closest neighbor was the White Clan of Evernight.
You’d think that if any cultivators were going to set up shop in Evernight, it would be the ones obsessed with necromancy, soul manipulation, and abyssal arts. After all, Evernight was teeming with undead. It seemed like the perfect place for them.
But no. That wasn’t the case.
Apparently, undead from Evernight had a particular taste—they liked cultivators who smelled of death. And according to the books I had read, that was meant literally.
I rubbed my temples. I was feeling very complicated about this.
Here, in Deepmoor, practices that were outlawed in other continents were freely studied. The Paladin in me itched to do something about it.
But I sighed, shaking my head.
If I tried to solve every problem in the world, I’d be the one who would end up destroyed.
I just had to hope the Empire knew what it was doing. It wasn’t like necromancy was innately bad... of course, that might be an unpopular opinion.
Behind me, Gu Jie’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“Is everything fine, Master?”
I glanced at her and gave a small nod. “Yeah, just thinking about some things.”
Nearby, Lu Gao stretched his arms. “How long until we reach the imperial capital?”
Ren Xun answered without looking up.
“We’re right on schedule. We took about three weeks to cross Evernight, alternating between warps and short-distance travel. If we do the same here, it’ll take us about five weeks. Then, we’ll take a shortcut that should bring us to the imperial capital in just two days.”
I considered that for a moment. “Could we get there faster?”
“We could,” Ren Xun admitted, “if we pass through Stormcall Continent. But... well, you know. Sudden storms.”
Yeah. That was the problem.
Stormcall Continent was notorious for its unpredictable weather. And while I had a lot of skills at my disposal, I didn’t have a spell to protect the Floating Dragon from storms. Sure, this vessel could survive a Fifth Realm’s attack, but who knew how strong storms could get?
So I had chosen to take the path through Deepmoor instead.
Ren Xun glanced at me and asked me for my opinion. “Senior, should we push through or let the warp cooldown?”
I considered it for a moment. Warping again would put a strain on the Floating Dragon’s formations. And while I wasn’t eager to stick around in Deepmoor, rushing in blindly wasn’t smart either.
“How bad is crime here in Deepmoor anyway?” I asked.
Ren Xun shrugged. “It depends.”
I dashed forward, feeling the sharp acceleration of Zealot’s Stride. The ability was enhanced not just speed but also fluidity of movement, allowing me to close distances instantly. I pivoted mid-step, swinging my sword downward as Divine Smite surged through my blade, coating it in searing radiance.
Dave met my strike with a perfectly timed parry.
The clash of divine energy against his solid defense sent shockwaves through the clearing. I exhaled sharply, adjusting my stance, and repeated the sequence. Again and again.
I had learned how important movement and continuous skill application were for cultivators—accuracy, damage, and tempo mattered. If I was too passive, I’d be overwhelmed. If I lacked DPS, I’d be taken advantage of. That was what I learned from watching the duels in the Yellow Dragon Festival.
That’s why I prioritized my training carefully:
Divine Possession– My strongest tool for adaptability.Summon: Holy Spirit– Versatile utility and reinforcement.Zealot’s Stride– Mobility was king in combat.Divine Smite– Never underestimate the power of a clean, decisive hit.
For now, I kept pushing forward, refining my control one step at a time.
Dave and I faced each other. His golden form stood unwavering, greatsword in hand, while I readied myself with Silver Steel.
A deep breath.
Then I lunged.
My feet burned with Zealot’s Stride, mana interacting with divine energy was surging through my legs as I closed the distance in an instant. My sword clashed against Dave’s greatsword, sending golden sparks flying. He didn’t stagger—no, he countered immediately, swinging his blade in a brutal arc meant to cleave me in two.
I twisted my foot, momentum carrying me just past the swing.
Divine Smite.
A radiant glow enveloped my blade as I struck down with all my might. Boom! The impact split the ground beneath Dave’s feet, but he had already stepped back, deflecting the brunt of the attack. His sword hummed with divine energy, mirroring my own technique.
He lunged next, his Zealot’s Stride flaring as he vanished and reappeared right in front of me. My instincts screamed, and I barely managed to parry his downward slash. The sheer force sent a tremor through my arm.
I retaliated.
With my own Zealot’s Stride, I sidestepped and repositioned behind him in a flash. He turned, but my blade was already descending. Divine Smite.
Clang! He blocked it—barely.
Golden energy crackled between us, illuminating the barren ground with each strike. We moved in a relentless cycle of attack and counter, alternating between Zealot’s Stride for movement and Divine Smite for power. The way my sword met his felt like a conversation in steel, testing the limits of speed, precision, and endurance.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Dave wasn’t tiring—he never would—but I wasn’t planning on stopping either.
This was exactly the kind of training I needed.
"Zealot’s Stride—burn bright, burn fast. A relentless charge that falters for no man, no god."
"Divine Smite—righteous judgment, the weight of the heavens in one stroke."
I repeated the flavor text in my head as Dave and I clashed once more, my blade flashing in the dim light. Understanding and internalizing these concepts was key to growing stronger, but damn if it wasn’t frustrating. It wasn’t enough to just know the words—I had to feel them, embody them.
Dave raised his greatsword, meeting my descending strike. A shockwave rippled through the ground, sending dust flying, but I barely paid attention. I leaped back with Zealot’s Stride, then dashed forward again, my sword flaring with Divine Smite as I swung in a tight arc.
Boom!
The impact sent Dave skidding back. Another Divine Smite struck home—his body trembled, golden light crackling through his form—
Then he shattered into dust.
"Whooo~ that's tough..."
I exhaled, shaking my head.
It was an uneven fight. Even with the 15% debuff from my Lofty Jade Proposition, I was still completely wrecking Dave with just my raw stats alone. No fancy techniques, no overwhelming strategy—just pure brute force.
I flexed my fingers around my sword hilt, considering. If I wanted proper training, I needed a real challenge.
With a thought, I dismissed my Wandering Adjudicator Armor, tucking it into my Item Box and letting my cosmetic item remain. The stats provided by my armor vanished, and my movements felt a tad sluggish.
Dave’s body reformed in golden light, his Ultimate Skill triggering as he resurrected. His hollow gaze locked onto me. No hesitation. No emotion. Hopefully, he wouldn't hold a grudge against me. He consented after all. Better yet, this was his idea.
I grinned.
"Again."
I darted forward with Zealot’s Stride, blade flashing with Divine Smite as I rained down strike after strike, moving easier and hitting harder.
And Dave took it all.