The Archive of Refinement was a tomb of forgotten ambitions.
Carved directly into the subterranean bedrock of the academy's northern wing was the archive.
It is a major complex of towering shelves with thousands of scrolls and books.
The scent was unmistakable. It is the Mo Clan's repository of history and administrative records.
But this is miniscule to the one Mo Jue possessed in his past life.
Three days had passed since the disappearance of Mo Lin. Outside the stone walls, the Black Silt Ridge was in a state of chaotic upheaval. Mo Tian's Logistics Branch had practically declared war on the Wild Phantoms.
Search parties scoured the valleys, flushing out wild Phantoms, burning away thickets of miasma, and interrogating every scavenger that dared to wander near the clan's territory.
Inside the Archive, the atmosphere was one of solemnity. Scribes rushed back and forth, organizing the field reports.
Mo Jue sat at a heavy oak desk in the dimly lit eastern corner, the perfect picture of an obedient worker. The fresh stack of parchment was dropped onto his desk by a sweating archivist.
"Search Party Seven, Sector Four," the man grunted, wiping his brow. "Translate the essence signatures into the official ledger. Be quick about it. The Elder wants a summary by dusk."
"Understood," Mo Jue replied smoothly, not even looking up as he dipped his quill into the inkwell.
As the archivist hurried away, Mo Jue unrolled the parchment. His Manifest Sight activated.
Report Log 73: Sector Four. Deep tracks found in the mud. Essence residue indicates a Rank 1 Iron Bristle Boar. No sign of the subject. Proceeding toward the jagged peaks.
Mo Jue's lips twitched into a microscopic sneer. He meticulously transcribed the report into the master ledger with a flawless, flowing script.
'Incompetent' Mo Jue thought as his mind was thinking in parallel. The one they are looking for is so close yet so hard to find. Mo Tian's grief has blinded his sense. At this point, he is just blowing his steam off of the wild ghosts.
Mo Jue set the quill down and relaxed his posture. His external duties were complete. It was time for his real work to begin.
He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Mo Jue projected his consciousness into the Reliquary.
The internal landscape of his soul had changed drastically over the past three days. The chaotic storm of essence had been entirely subdued by the dormant presence of the Aeon Erosion Seed. The Rank 7 Phantom remained asleep in the center of his Reliquary, but its passive aura of absolute stillness provided an unshakable foundation.
Pressed against the lower walls of the Reliquary, the Howling Shadow had grown denser. Mo Jue was slowly feeding it miasma he passively absorbed. Above it, the Shapeshifter's Heart functioned as an energy generator.
But the true transformation was happening in Mo Jue's physical body.
He initiated the first cycle of the Blight Scripture: Calcification of Essence.
He reached into the spatial pocket provided by the Heart and drew a thread of energy from the fist sized chunk of Soul Pale. The absolute zero energy flowed into his meridians. Instantly, the familiar pain flooded his nervous system.
Mo Jue didn't even flinch. He guided the Soul Pale essence away from his fragile organs and drove it directly into the marrow of his bones.
Crack. Hiss.
He could hear his own skeleton groaning under the pressure. The scripture dictated that to refine the world, one must first turn themselves into an anvil. The Soul Pale began to crystallize his marrow, turning the soft tissue into a dense network of micro reliquaries.
As the reliquaries formed, the Shapeshifter's Heart immediately pumped its vitality into the cracks, sealing them with tissue that was ten times stronger than before.
Destroy. Rebuild.
His Rank 1 Peak Stage foundation was compressing. The essence in his Reliquary was no longer a gaseous vapor.
It was condensing into drops. He was preparing for Rank 2.
In Rank 1, the cultivator forges their Reliquary into a secure chamber.
In Rank 2, the chamber is used as a foundation for a towering Ghost Pagoda.
Creating this Ghost Pagoda requires time and a lot of resources. It is akin to building a massive golden cage.
After two incense stick time, Mo Jue severed the connection to the Soul Pale. The pain receded, replaced by a thrumming sensation of strength. He felt like a solid pillar.
He opened his eyes. The archive remained quiet.
Mo Jue stood up, smoothing his gray robes. He had transcribed the reports.
He left his desk and wandered deeper into the Archive. He bypassed the sections on basic herbalism, common Phantom biology, and the Mo Clan's tedious agricultural scrolls. He walked until the light of the glow stones grew dim.
He reached the doors of the Restricted Section.
The doors were sealed with a Rank 2 Formation which required the specific badge of an Elder to open. If forced, it would trigger an alarm.
Mo Jue stood facing the door. He didn't have an Elder's identity badge. But he had something far older.
He raised his right hand. Black smoke began to curl around his fingertips as he manifested a fraction of the Howling Shadow. He commanded the Shadow to thin itself out, turning into a spectral film.
He pressed his hand against the iron door. The Shadow carefully seeped into the grooves of the runes, corrupting it. It essentially blinded the formation.
With the ward temporarily disabled, Mo Jue activated the spatial attribute of the Shapeshifter's Heart. The small space warped slightly.
Click.
The lock disengaged. Mo Jue pushed the heavy door open and walked inside. Afterwards, he closed the door and re-engaged the lock.
The Restricted Section was a circular vault, lined with expensive silk-like scrolls.
Mo Jue's third eye scanned the room as he zeroed in on the most important scrolls. He walked to the center of the room, upon which rested a stone tablet. In it lies scrolls of the History of Mo Clan.
He brushed the dust and opened it. Then, he began to read.
"In the Era of the Severed Sky, Ancestor Mo Shen led the remnants of the Broken River Sect to the Black Silt Ridge. The land was forbidden. Yet, the Ancestor saw its value. He struck a covenant with the deep earth, establishing a massive array to filter the poison, allowing our bloodline to take root..."
Mo Jue scoffed softly in the silent vault. The text was drenched in propaganda.
But as he continued to read, cross-referencing the founding text with the geographic maps stacked on a nearby table, his 2000-year-old mind began to notice glaring anomalies.
The Mo Clan's village wasn't just built on a defensible ridge; it was built precisely over a Yin Vein. The map of the Black Silt Ridge showed a series of deep ravines, underground rivers, and miasma vents. When Mo Jue traced these natural formations in his mind, they didn't look random.
They formed a pattern. A Suppression Array.
Mo Jue's eyes narrowed. He pulled down a dusty scroll containing the full schematics of the Mo Clan's cultivation technique. The same technique he had discarded on his first day.
He analyzed the flow of its meridian pathways.
It was a low tier method for absorbing environmental essence. It was incredibly inefficient. A cultivator could absorb ten units of energy, but the technique only allowed the Dantian to retain one unit. The Elders claimed the other nine units were impure and had to be expelled back into the earth.
"Fools" Realization dawning on Mo Jue.
He unrolled the Blight Scripture from his spatial pocket and laid it next to the Mo Clan's Breath scroll. The contrast was stark. The Blight Scripture was a method of absolute consumption. It took everything, calcified it, and hoarded it.
The Mo Clan's Breath wasn't just inefficient. It was a malicious.
When the Mo Clan cultivators expelled their impure essence into the ground, they weren't venting waste. They were feeding something. The entire clan was acting as a living support system. They drew in the chaotic, violent miasma of the Ridge, purified it through their own bodies using the Mo Clan's Breath, and then, unknowingly, pumped the refined energy down beneath their feet.
The Mo Clan wasn't a noble lineage surviving in the harsh wilds. They were livestock.
"Ancestor Mo Shen didn't strike a covenant with the earth," Mo Jue deduced "He found a sealed Phantom, or perhaps a relic of the true ancient era, buried deep within the Ridge. He realized he couldn't control it, but he could slowly refine it using an entire clan's effort. So, he built a clan that will grind away at the seal and feed whatever is inside."
This made everything clearer. It explained why the Mo Clan, despite centuries of existence, rarely produced Grafters above Rank 3.
The technique prevented them from accumulating enough personal power. The seal beneath the Ridge ate their potential.
It also explained the Blight Walker, and the future tragedy of the Mo Clan.
The Blight Walker had been a genius who figured out the truth. He had realized the clan was a slave farm. He thought he could take advantage of it. Instead of helping break the seal, the Blight Walker began ripping the highly concentrated Soul Energy out of the sealed domain.
That was why the Mo Clan had hunted him so viciously. They wanted to rob the Blight Walker and monopolize the treasure deep within.
"Fascinating," Mo Jue murmured, a genuine, dark smile spreading across his face. "This should be the Rank 5 Dao Phantom that destroyed Mo Clan"
"It has been fattened by centuries of refined human essence."
This is an opportunity for Mo Jue.
His Aeon Erosion Seed was starving. A Rank 7 Phantom could not be repaired by the meager Soul Jades of a village. Especially how his Aeon Erosion Seed requires massive sacrifice.
The entity beneath the Ridge was the perfect fuel source.
Mo Jue's mind immediately shifted from to conquest. He didn't just want to reach Rank 2 and leave. He wants to drain the Black Silt Ridge dry. He will feed the Aeon Erosion Seed.
Clank.
Mo Jue's concentration was broken when the opening of the main door of the Archive echoed.
He moved with blinding speed. He placed the scrolls back onto the shelf, banished the Blight Scripture back into his spatial pocket, and erased any trace of his physical presence.
Even the dust was placed back again.
He glided to the restricted door, applied the Howling Shadow to blind the lock once more, and slipped back into the main library just as the lock re-engaged.
Mo Jue was back at his desk, quill in hand.
Soon enough, heavy boots rounded the corner into his section.
It was an elite guard from the Logistics Branch, identifiable by the black armband over gray uniform.
He looked exhausted, his armor clearly seen better days. In his hands, he carried a containment box.
"Scribe," the guard barked, his voice hoarse "I have a priority submission for the ledger. Direct from Branch Head Mo Tian."
Mo Jue set his quill down, presenting a perfectly neutral face. "I am ready to document. What did the search party find?"
The guard slammed the lead box onto the oak desk. "We scoured the Northern Ravine, near the waterfall drop off. The tracking hounds lost the scent completely, but one of the deep divers found this snagged on a submerged root at the edge of the water fall."
The guard unlatched the box and opened the lid.
Mo Jue leaned forward. Inside, resting was a chalky white stone.
But Mo Jue knew it wasn't a stone. It was a piece of human bone. Specifically, a fragment of a clavicle. It had been subjected to calcification, turning it into a mineralized rock.
Clinging to the bone was a shredded piece of fabric.
It was a piece of Mo Lin's collar.
"The Branch Head is tearing his hair out," the guard muttered, wiping mud from his face. "He refuses to believe his son fell into the Springs. He demands the Archive analyze the fragment for any trace of hostile phantom essence"
Mo Jue stared at the petrified bone. The guard was handing him the murder weapon, asking him to find the killer. The irony was so rich it was almost suffocating.
"A tragic discovery," Mo Jue said, his voice lowering with respectful solemnity. He reached out and picked up the bone fragment.
He brought it close to his face, feigning deep concentration. He allowed his Manifest Sight to flare briefly.
"The Branch Head's instincts are sharp," Mo Jue lied effortlessly.
"This was not a simple slip and fall. The organic matter has been heavily degraded by the water, but beneath the calcification... I can see the residual bite marks of a phantom."
The guard tensed, leaning in. "What kind of Phantom? Wild? or a rival cultivator? Did someone ambush him?"
"No," Mo Jue said, shaking his head slowly. "The signature is feral. Highly acidic. It matches the profile of a Rank 2 Brood Mother. They are ambush predators that mimic the appearance of boulders near water sources. Mo Lin likely stepped on it in the dark, and its defensive acid spray disoriented him, causing him to fall into the pool."
Mo Jue placed the bone back into the lead box. He picked up his quill and began to draft the official analysis report, putting the full weight of the Archive's authority behind his fabricated story.
"A Rank 2 Brood Mother," the guard repeated, his eyes wide. "That... that makes sense..."
"I will finalize the report and have it sent to the Elder for verification" Mo Jue said, handing the guard a preliminary transcription. "Tell Branch Head Mo Tian that if he wishes to avenge his son, he should direct his elite guards to sweep the caverns"
The guard bowed deeply. "Thank you. The Branch Head will be relieved to finally have a target."
The guard closed the lead box and hurried away, eager to deliver the news that would send the Logistics Branch on a suicidal hunt into the deepest, most dangerous caves of the Ravine—chasing a monster that did not exist.
Mo Jue watched him go, a smile touching his lips.
He redirected the wrath of the Mo Clan.
He looked down at his own hands.
"Cultivate well, Mo Clan" Mo Jue whispered to the empty archive, returning his quill to the inkwell. "Fatten the beast. I will be ready to harvest you all very soon"