The icy snowflakes dampened Logan Sullivan's cigarette butt. He fished a tissue out of his pocket, wrapped up the cigarette and ash, and tucked it away for environmental reasons, then retreated from the battlefield as Darrin Grant had advised. He bypassed the others and walked straight to the base of the Primewood, reaching out to place his hand on the cold, withered trunk.

No one knew how tall the Primewood was, but even the exposed roots protruding from the ground reached Logan Sullivan's chest. The tree itself resembled a deity entrenched in this place.

“Even though I know nothing,” Logan Sullivan thought, “you recognize me, don’t you?”

As this thought crossed his mind, suddenly, from between his fingers, a tiny, tender green bud sprouted from the trunk of the Primewood. It slowly extended a stem as fine as a hair, gently winding around his finger.

Logan Sullivan touched the miniature climbing pack he always carried, and smiled softly: “Then I’ll give it a try.”

At that moment, Spirit Mask reached out, and the massive Soulforge Cauldron was lifted into Spirit Mask’s hands, which seemed large enough to blot out the sky. Against his deathly pale fingers, streams of gray-black matter surged within the Soulforge Cauldron.

“The ancient tree of merit—a body dead before it was ever born.” Logan Sullivan heard Spirit Mask say in a low voice, “Does the Lord know what the Virtue Quill truly is?”

Logan Sullivan turned, leaning back against the Primewood, and looked up at Spirit Mask from a distance: “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Before the Yanhuang fought Chiyou, the gods had already divided the world among themselves. Fuxi and Nuwa, to establish order, climbed Mount Kunlun and took a branch from the Primewood. Nuwa, resenting the earth tainted by the three corpses when she created humans, took it upon herself to plant the sacred wood in the land of greatest disrespect…”

Soulwarden shouted sharply, “Enough!”

Suddenly, a bottomless black mist erupted from him, and the Soulcleaver in his hand extended without limit, like the legendary Ruyi Jingu Bang. Only the hilt remained less than two inches long, just enough to grip, bearing the weight of a thousand catties.

The tip of the Soulcleaver seemed to touch the sky itself. With a single swing, thunderous clouds were stirred, and a bolt of lightning crashed down, giving the impression he had pierced a hole in the heavens—a divine thunderbolt struck straight at Spirit Mask's head.

Spirit Mask let out a wild laugh, tilted his head back, and caught the divine lightning in his mouth, swallowing it whole. The Soulcleaver then fell, slashing toward his chest at the spot where he held the Soulforge Cauldron. Where the blade passed, a fierce north wind rose, sending fist-sized chunks of ice flying, and a horde of spectral beasts surged forward, plunging into chaotic battle with gods and ghosts atop Kunlun, friend and foe indistinguishable in the storm.

Logan Sullivan struggled to steady himself, then simply sat on the bulging root of the Primewood. With nothing else to do amid the chaos, he lit another cigarette, finally understanding Soulwarden's awkward position—Spirit Mask didn’t see him as an enemy, and no one else saw him as an ally. This was their true level of skill; last time under the Terra-Spike, if Spirit Mask hadn’t held back, things would not have ended so easily.

Back then, Spirit Mask didn’t seem to want a serious fight with Soulwarden.

“The land of greatest disrespect?” Logan Sullivan repeated quietly. In just a few words, Spirit Mask seemed to have explained the puzzle that had long troubled him—legend had it that humans possessed three corpses, referring to “greed, anger, and ignorance.” The book said these three corpses came from the earth, so the “land of greatest disrespect” likely referred to the source of these vices.

Spirit Mask soared into the air, dodging the Soulcleaver, and when he landed, the entire Kunlun Mountain trembled. He continued, “The sacred wood, out of compassion, died first, then took root, growing into the legendary ancient tree of merit. After the battle between Yanhuang and Chiyou…”

“Shut up! Shut up!” The Soulcleaver swept across, and Logan Sullivan could barely see where William Sherman was, let alone imagine how he wielded a blade nearly a hundred meters long with such ease.

The blade slashed horizontally, cutting Spirit Mask off mid-sentence. His figure suddenly shrank, and just as he was reduced to half his height, the Soulcleaver swept over his head. The Soulforge Cauldron crashed to the ground with a thunderous noise, and instantly, countless voices echoed from all directions, calling its name.

Centered on the Soulforge Cauldron, endless waves of spectral beasts emerged.

Logan Sullivan watched the Soulforge Cauldron without any sign of outrage or excitement. Even when he suddenly sensed someone approaching from behind, he didn’t turn around.

Darrin Grant, however, was far less calm. He suddenly leapt down from the tree, a palm-sized short knife hidden in his hand like a cat’s claw, and pounced at the approaching figure like a phantom.

Spirit Mask raised his hand and took the black cat’s blow head-on. His wrist was like forged steel; with a soft sound, he deflected Darrin Grant’s blade aside. Spirit Mask then reached to grab Darrin Grant’s neck, but even after transforming, Darrin Grant remained exceptionally agile, tumbling backward twice and leaping onto a branch of the Primewood, where he knelt, glaring menacingly.

“If you want to hit the cat, you should ask the owner first,” Logan Sullivan finally spoke. He paused, then slowly turned his head, the smile fading from his face as he glanced coolly at Spirit Mask, suddenly letting out a soft laugh. “You’re only here on Kunlun’s peak because of the soul fire on my shoulder. Did you really think this was your territory?”

This sentence was more effective than a hail of bullets. The previously arrogant Spirit Mask abruptly stopped, standing cautiously three meters behind him, not daring to take another step forward.

William Sherman, who had rushed over, was caught off guard by these words and stood frozen in shock.

“After the battle between Yanhuang and Chiyou, the Three Sovereigns could not bear it, so they sought the will of Heaven. Then, using the ancient tree of merit, they carved the Virtue Quill. All things have spirits; it records the deeds, good and bad, of every living being.” Logan Sullivan spoke in an unhurried tone, staring directly at Spirit Mask’s mask, slowly exhaling a smoke ring. “Later, the Virtue Quill, as one of the Four Sacred Treasures, was used by Nuwa to seal the four sky pillars formed from the legs of the giant turtle when she mended the heavens. The Reincarnation Sundial was lost among the people, the Terra-Spike fell underground, and the Virtue Quill…”

Logan Sullivan tugged at the corner of his mouth, his gaze shifting aside: “The Virtue Quill shattered into countless fragments, falling upon every living being in the world—isn’t that right, Lord Judge?”

A figure hidden behind the Primewood slowly stepped out, dropped to his knees, and prostrated himself, trembling as he said, “I have concealed much, but I had no choice. Warden of Highspire, please forgive me.”

Logan Sullivan’s gaze swept over him, light and fleeting, not lingering, as he sighed with a half-smile: “Perhaps Lord Judge is too kind-hearted, not suited for trickery and deceit. Let me tell you, to lie well, you must mix nine lies with one truth. Like last night, when you told me nothing but nonsense, full of holes—far too easy to see through. The three souls and seven spirits came with Nuwa’s creation of humans; since when could fragments of the Virtue Quill occupy a soul? To retrieve the Virtue Quill, must we extract a soul from everyone? I don’t think I could do it, and I doubt any of you could either. What do you say? I suspect more than half the people here today were tricked by your so-called ‘all living beings under heaven’.”

Judge trembled like a leaf in the wind.

Just then, the Soulforge Cauldron, which had been fiercely contested like a fortress, suddenly began to shake, followed by the entire Kunlun Mountain. Behind Logan Sullivan, the Primewood suddenly sprouted countless new buds, its dead branches rustling, and then, where the dead wood had absorbed snowmelt, sparse little flowers began to bloom.

The man lounged lazily against the trunk, seemingly unconcerned by the commotion. He even took the opportunity, during a lull in the tremors, to add, “Since the Virtue Quill belongs to Kunlun, why don’t you return it to its rightful owner?”

The human face on Spirit Mask’s mask twisted involuntarily. Logan Sullivan half-closed his eyes, flicked the ash from his cigarette with the tissue dampened by snow, and tossed out another bombshell: “Don’t bother with your tricks—I know what you look like.”

Sensing the person beside him suddenly stiffen, Logan Sullivan lowered his voice slightly, as if explaining, “All appearances are illusions. Do you really think I can’t tell people apart?”

Soulwarden didn’t have time to speak before a fierce wind swept across the summit of Kunlun, even stronger than during the earlier duel. Darrin Grant, perched in the tree, was nearly blown off and immediately transformed into a black cat, clinging tightly to the trunk with his claws. Soulwarden and Spirit Mask managed to hold their ground, and Logan Sullivan, sheltered by the Primewood, avoided the brunt of the wind, but everyone else was thrown into disarray.

Judge, still kneeling, fell flat on his face. Those fighting in the air were forced down, those burrowing underground were dragged up, and dozens of spectral beasts were swept into the air, caught in the vortex as if it would swallow everyone whole.

In the midst of the whirlwind, the shadow of a great brush flickered in and out of sight—it was the Virtue Quill!

In an instant, the Soulforge Cauldron shattered, and the Virtue Quill reappeared in the world.

Yet Logan Sullivan, William Sherman, and Spirit Mask remained unmoved, as if the great Virtue Quill, for which everyone had fought so fiercely, suddenly had nothing to do with them.