SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

Divine Herb Forest…

Most of the herbs were cleaned out from the body of sleeping Naga ancestor without him knowing.

Kent, bathed in sweat and scorched dust, finally reached the edge of the ancient coils, a place that now looked more like a serpentine neck than any natural formation.

There, nestled between hardened ridges and veins of magma rock, lay something that made even Kent’s fearless heart pause for a beat.

Golden Poison Flowers.

Rare.

Cursed.

Deadly.

Their shimmering petals glowed faintly, a venomous gold sheen reflecting the firelight around them. Most alchemists would never lay eyes on one in their lifetime. Even top-tier poison cultivators considered them a myth—because they only grew where life and death intersected.

And right now, they bloomed in a tight cluster, like a crown of death on the sleeping giant’s neck.

Kent’s fingers twitched.

“These will… refine perfectly into poison arrows,” he murmured. “If I have these for the Trident Summit… even high immortals wouldn’t dare take a shot lightly.”

Danger pulsed through the air. Every instinct warned him to turn back.

But Kent… was not ordinary.

He crouched low, his breath steadying. With the delicacy of a divine healer, he slipped a runic dagger from his spirit pouch, etched with lightning glyphs, and began to uproot the Golden Poison Flowers, one by one.

Then—

Blood.

Dark red, nearly black, oozed out from the base of the cliff.

The moment the last root was torn—

HISSSSSSSSSSS!!!

An earth-splitting hiss so ancient and so filled with pain and fury that the entire Fire Mountain trembled in response.

A towering roar followed, shaking loose the boulders around him. The cliff cracked under his feet. He leapt backward instinctively, only to see the “mountain” writhe and shift like a breathing creature. It was then he realized the truth—not all peaks were stone and earth. Some were flesh and scale.

What he had assumed was just a strange, fiery ridge was, in fact, the neck of the Naga Ancestor, coiled in divine slumber for untold centuries.

The ground rolled like waves beneath him. The heat intensified. A blinding green mist burst from the cracks, spreading the Naga’s poisonous breath across the entire mountain range. Kent’s eyes widened. The air itself was no longer breathable. Every breath could kill.

Without hesitation, Kent activated his escape technique—Nine Phantom Steps. Instantly, nine illusory copies of himself scattered in all directions, racing across ridges, darting behind rocks, vanishing behind smoke. The serpent’s massive golden head whipped around, following one, then another, but each time it struck, only mist and illusion burst apart.

The real Kent hid low, suppressing his aura completely, darting from shadow to shadow.

But the mountain was not his ally. The poison mist began spreading in his direction.

Lightning crackled from his palm. He channeled the Storm God’s Wrath, and a wall of crackling energy emerged around him like a barrier of divine light.

The corrosive mist met his lightning shield with a vicious sizzle, slowing its spread for a moment. Using that window, Kent leapt again—this time into a cleft between two massive molten rocks. A puff of black smoke trailed behind him as he vanished into the terrain.

The Naga Ancestor, confused for a moment, unleashed a scream that shattered nearby peaks. Its eyes burned with divine rage, searching for the little thief who dared steal from its flesh. It slithered with speed that defied its size, every movement causing shockwaves, boulders to fly, trees to catch fire, and the sky to churn.

And yet, Kent moved.

Quietly. Cunningly. Fake phantoms appeared again—one scaling a ledge, another racing across a molten bridge, a third leaping into a crater. The serpent, though ancient and wise, was angry—and anger clouded perception. It struck again and again, trying to crush Kent with tail or fang, but each time its fury only found illusions and echoes.

But the serpent’s patience was running out.

With a thunderous cry, the Naga Ancestor rose fully from the heart of the mountain. Its massive coils—each as thick as a city gate—wrapped around the entire Fire Mountain like a divine constrictor. Trees snapped, flames flared, and the very mountain groaned under the pressure. Its golden scales shimmered with ancient runes, pulsing with each heartbeat. Then, it spread its hood.

A shadow fell.

Half the mountain vanished under darkness, as the serpent’s hood extended like a celestial canopy. From every direction, poisonous wind blew, acidic rain fell, and volcanic ash rained like death. Kent looked up—and for the first time, saw the god of this land in its true form.

The Naga Ancestor’s eyes locked onto him.

“You run well, little rat,” a voice echoed—not into his ears, but into his mind, ancient and slow, yet laced with venom. “You crawl, you vanish, you flicker like an insect. But this is my domain. This mountain is my body. There is no path that I do not know. Run, then. Run until your legs break and your spirit fades. But you will not leave.”

Kent’s chest heaved. The illusion phantoms had almost drained him. His spirit power burned low. The poisonous mist now surrounded every path, and the serpent’s coils cut off all escape. There was no ridge left to leap from, no tunnel left to hide in. He was no longer a clever thief slipping through cracks—he was a trapped invader, surrounded by the wrath of an immortal being.

His knuckles clenched. His heart raced as he realized all escape routes were closed. Now, there is only one way to escape remained. That is… “Killing the Naga ancestor.”

Kent closed his eyes and summoned his weapons, and slowly raised his bow—a heavy, golden-cored weapon forged by storm and soul. It wasn’t a divine weapon yet. It wasn’t a grandmaster’s tool. In this immortal world, it’s not even a complete elder rank weapon.

But it was his.

The serpent’s hood shifted slightly as it watched, as if curious.

Kent’s eyes, once filled with panic, now burned with a different flame.

“I may be a rat in your eyes,” Kent muttered, his voice hoarse, “but even a rat… bites when cornered.”

He drew an arrow. The clouds moved in the sky.

–

Tq 😉

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