Chapter 9: Binding Source Long Stage

“Wake up, child, wake up quickly.”

“This is no place for sleeping.”

Sirian Soflova stared blankly at the sky.

The sky was like a rusted lead plate, gloomy and oppressive, with bright lightning seeping through the clouds, accompanied by an endless rumble.

After staring blankly for a good ten seconds, Sirian realized he had survived the bizarre and insane deep sea, having been unconscious for an unknown period before finally surfacing.

His arms and legs were spread out casually, like a shipwreck victim being toyed with by the waves.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

An aged voice sounded beside him. Sirian turned his head; it was an old man, incredibly frail with age.

The old man’s head was bald, covered in brown spots and scars, with very little facial fat left, making his skin appear tightly stretched over his bones.

He was hunched over, bent at the waist, his hands trembling as he leaned on a staff, draped in a purple scholar’s robe, standing on the turbulent sea.

Sirian tensed up all over.

“Haha, don’t be nervous, child, I’m a living person, not some chaotic creature.”

The old man noticed Sirian’s tension and pinched his own withered arm, “It’s just that I don’t have much flesh on my body, so I look like a skeleton.”

He picked up his staff, hooked Sirian’s ankle, and pulled him closer, chattering.

“I saw you float to the surface unconscious; you must have been attacked by a chaotic creature in the deep sea, right? You’re really lucky to have survived.”

Sirian noticed that the old man wasn’t standing on the sea, but rather on a crystal staircase riddled with cracks.

“A staircase? This is…”

Sirian’s gaze swept backward.

On the surging and turbulent sea, there were crystal staircases of varying heights and sizes, each reflecting a faint, cold light, incompletely cracked with fine patterns.

Some were connected, some were shattered and disintegrated, some had only fragments suspended in the air, while others ascended all the way to the deepest part of the lead-gray sky.

As his gaze climbed, the phantom of a giant tree slowly materialized in the depths of the clouds.

It surpassed all of Sirian’s imaginings of “gigantic”; its branches, as they spread, seemed to be holding up the sky.

Its leaves swayed gently in the wind, transparent as crystal, colliding with each other to produce crisp, pleasant sounds, converging into a wordless lullaby.

The lullaby stroked the sea, and the turbulent waves actually calmed down a little.

The giant tree’s roots, like pythons, snaked and plunged beneath the sea, stirring the stillness of the seabed.

As the roots writhed, broken pieces of crystal were churned up; they reassembled in the air, forming new steps, adding to the path that led to the clouds.

This cycle repeated.

Sirian wanted to see more clearly, but he was too far from the giant tree; rising mist covered it with a blue-green filter, blurring and smudging it.

“I just woke up from a Soul Dream, and my expression was just like yours when I saw this thing.”

The old man interjected at the opportune moment, saying with an extremely exaggerated tone, “It’s so big… isn’t it?”

Sirian agreed, “Yes… it’s so big…”

“That is the Mystic Sage’s miraculous creation, the Whispering Tree. Look quickly, those things salvaged from the seabed by the tree roots are fragments of the chainsource long stair.”

The old man’s staff pointed to a distant place, introducing it to Sirian like a tour guide.

“If you had woken up in the Silent River, you would have seen it more clearly.”

The old man’s gaze returned to Sirian, “But I didn’t expect you to wake up directly in the Sea of Origin. Are there no scholars in the city where you actually live? This is a serious dereliction of duty on their part.”

At the mention of dereliction of duty, the old man grew angry on Sirian’s behalf.

“There are no scholars where I live.” Sirian, floating in the sea, shook his head, “It’s a remote small town, cut off from the outside world for over twenty years.”

The old man frowned, making him appear even more emaciated, “Outer Flame Frontier?”

Sirian admitted, “Yes, the Outer Flame Frontier within the Outer Flame Frontier; a little further out and it’s the Dark World.”

“Oh my goodness…”

Hearing this, the old man was extremely saddened. Leaning on his staff, he half-crouched and reached out to stroke Sirian’s forehead.

“It hasn’t been easy, child.”

“It’s alright, just a bit thrilling.”

Sirian, temporarily convinced that the old man bore him no ill will, asked in return.

“Who are you?”

The old man introduced himself, “I am Randolph Frank, from the Modian Society.”

The Modian Society was an extraordinary organization established by the Mystic Sage, one of the cornerstones supporting the civilized world.

“Why are you here?” Sirian asked, puzzled, “I thought only Awakeners like me would appear here.”

“When an extraordinary person is strong enough, he or she possesses the ability to pass through the spirit world and reach the Sea of Origin.”

Randolph smiled and waved his staff, “Like this.”

The staff casually drew a few circles in the air. Soon after, a section of a tree root rose from beneath the sea. It swayed left and right, beckoning to Sirian.

“My job is to salvage fragments of the chainsource long stair that have sunk to the bottom of the sea, purify them, repair them, and recast the Path of Destiny.”

Randolph put down his staff and explained, “However, usually, I almost never encounter anyone else in the Sea of Origin, let alone you, who has just woken up from a Soul Dream.”

He emphasized by heavily tapping the crystal staircase beneath his feet with his staff.

“The Sea of Origin is a surreal, conceptual world. There is no past or future, no far or near; there is only the present.”

Sirian nodded, half-understanding. After adjusting his posture, he tried to climb onto the steps beneath Randolph’s feet. As soon as he stepped onto the steps, Sirian would be on the path of the extraordinary.

On the steps, Randolph watched Sirian with a smile and said.

“This requires your own effort, child, I cannot help you.”

Randolph pulled back his scholar’s robe, and a wave of blood-scent assailed them.

The flesh of his abdomen was long gone, leaving only a hollow space, with his ribs and spine clearly visible, only a few remnants of flesh clinging to the gaps.

Randolph rummaged through his empty internal organs for a long time before finally scraping out a bit of flesh. A tree root rose from beneath the sea, coiling around two fingernail-sized crystal fragments.

The flesh, like an adhesive, pieced the two crystal fragments together. Randolph then completed this larger fragment by adding it to the steps beneath his feet.

Sirian stared intently at all of this, muttering, “What are you doing?”

“Repairing the chainsource long stair.”

Randolph didn’t mind. He cut his own wrist again, repeatedly squeezing it, and only then did he manage to extract a tiny bit of fresh blood from his withered body, which he then drizzled into the cracks of the steps.

“Oh, you mean you want to ask why I’m repairing it this way, right?”

Randolph came back to his senses and said apologetically, “Sorry, sorry, old folks are like this, their minds don’t work so well anymore.”

He was silent for a moment, then spoke with a very cheerful tone.

“I’m going to die soon, child. Not only has my age caught up, but my body has also reached its limit.”

Randolph spoke slowly, but his work continued without pause. “I could comfortably lie in bed, waiting to fall asleep one night and never wake up… but I don’t like that kind of death.”

“I have no property to inherit, no descendants to instruct. I have dedicated my entire life to the cause of repairing the chainsource long stair.

Therefore, I must follow the sacred tradition and commit my last remaining warmth to this.”

Randolph’s voice deepened, filled with solemnity.

“With flesh to bond the long ladder, with blood to cast the long ladder, with body to support the long ladder.”

Sirian suspected he had misheard, “You’re committing suicide.”

“To describe it as suicide would be too shallow; it should be called… dedication,” Randolph glanced at Sirian, “I thought I would die quietly, just like everyone else, but I didn’t expect to meet you.”

“Is this a miracle?”

“No, it’s just destiny. Destiny pushed the currents to make you meet me.”

Randolph gently stroked the steps beneath his feet, then looked up and said, “And it also allowed me to completely repair it at this very moment.”

As the last fragment, imbued with blood and flesh, was incorporated into the steps, a soft white light appeared on the steps beneath Randolph’s feet. The blood and flesh within the crystal also crystallized at this moment, showing no difference whatsoever.

“See, for scholars, becoming one with the chainsource long stair is a happy thing.”

Randolph gazed gently at the steps beneath his feet, the soft light illuminating his skeletal form with an extraordinary serenity.

“Old friend, it’s time to say goodbye.”

Randolph raised his staff, and the spiraling twisted wood slowly unfurled, transforming into a winding, crooked tree root. Another tree root emerged from the sea, and the two gently touched, naturally growing together.

“I shall cast my body into the chainsource long stair, and you shall return to the Whispering Tree.”

Having completed all of this, Randolph asked Sirian, “I haven’t asked your name yet, who are you?”

“Sirian Soflova.”

Sirian stated his name directly.

“Oh? Soflova,” Randolph’s eyes lit up, “Is the path you’re embarking on the Torch-Leading Destiny?”

Sirian was completely seen through, “How do you know?”

“It’s simple, your surname… what a constant surprise. I didn’t expect you all to still be around; I thought your clan had declined.”

Randolph speculated curiously, “You said you’re very close to the Dark World. What, is your Yang Kui Clan planning another expedition?”

Sirian shook his head, “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Randolph stared deeply into Sirian’s eyes, certain he saw no lies.

He shook his head sadly, “So you truly have declined.”

Randolph did not continue the topic. He took a step back, creating a large space on the steps, then crossed his arms over his chest and bowed slightly to Sirian.

“Child of Soflova, please ascend the steps beneath my feet. These are the foundational steps I repaired. To witness them support the birth of a Torchbearer would be an honor for me.”

“It is my honor as well, Mr. Frank.”

Sirian placed his hands on the edge of the steps, trying to support his body to lift himself out of the sea.

Almost instantly, Sirian felt the resistance from the sea, as if invisible hands were pulling at every part of his body, preventing him from leaving the Sea of Origin.

Strangely, despite the increasing pulling sensation, Sirian felt no panic or anger; in fact, he found this restraint warm and gentle—like a mother stubbornly holding her child.

Sirian instinctively said, “I’ll take care of myself.”

No matter how reluctant, the mother still let go of her hands.

The resistance on Sirian dissipated, and he rose from the seawater until the last drop of seawater fell from his body, fully detaching himself from the Sea of Origin, standing upright before Randolph.

Randolph’s expression was filled with astonishment, not expecting Sirian to be so easy. But before he could say anything, a howling sea wind swept in.

Turning his head, the sea churned with giant waves.

Before he could recover from his surprise, Randolph felt pity for Sirian. This was not the Silent River; the agitation of the Sea of Origin would become extremely deadly.

Randolph stood ready, preparing to help Sirian.

Facing this sudden crisis, Sirian remained very calm.

Sirian looked down at his left palm. The ouroboros seal still glowed with molten gold light, but this time it wasn’t the searing pain he felt when facing chaotic creatures, but a warm sensation, as if a ray of warm sun shone on his hand.

“It’s alright.”

Sirian didn’t know if he was speaking to Randolph or to the Sea of Origin.

The approaching giant wave rapidly weakened, and by the time it reached Sirian, only a continuously spreading ripple remained. Looking around, the surging and undulating sea had, at some unknown point, returned to calm, with only circles of ripples colliding with each other.

Randolph gazed at this abnormal sight, and it was a long time before he spoke.

“Did you do this?”

“I don’t know,” Sirian shook his head, then said sincerely, “Perhaps.”

Randolph thought for a long time, then smiled helplessly, “Well, you Soflovas are always accompanied by miracles.”

Sirian joked, “This time it’s not destiny?”

“Haha.”

Sirian looked around curiously and asked, “Have I completed my advancement now? How do I leave this place?”

“No, there’s one last step.”

Randolph shook his head, gesturing for Sirian to look around, “Haven’t you noticed? All the steps are floating in the air, but the one beneath our feet is still half-submerged in the sea.”

He took a step forward, leaping into the sea without hesitation, mimicking Sirian’s earlier posture, spreading his arms and legs, splashing a few times haphazardly, and emitting a genuine laugh.

“We come from the sea, and ultimately, we must return to the sea.”

Sirian listened to Randolph’s words, and said thoughtfully, “Then this is the last step of your dedication?”

“Yes.”

Randolph swam a few strokes forward and embraced the steps beneath Sirian’s feet.

Sirian pressed, “Do you have any last words you wish to leave behind?”

Randolph did not respond, plunging headfirst into the sea and disappearing.

Sirian looked around, trying to find Randolph’s figure, but all that met his eyes was a expanse of deep blue.

Just as Sirian was growing anxious, the steps beneath his feet suddenly swayed twice, then slowly rose from beneath the sea, until the entire block of steps was clear of the water, suspended in mid-air.

Through the transparent crystal, Sirian saw a pair of hands supporting the steps.

“Last words?”

Randolph held up the steps with both hands, lifting them out of the sea.

“Child of the Yang Kui Clan, if you achieve great deeds in the future, then go tell everyone that it was Randolph who lifted you up!”

Amidst hearty laughter, Randolph’s head drooped, and his body gradually sank into the sea, leaving only his withered hands raised high above the surface, slowly crystallizing inch by inch, merging with the steps… raised above the sea.

At this moment, Sirian looked again at the layers of steps suspended above the sea; beneath them, more or less, were bodies of various shapes, the sacrifices of scholars who had completely dedicated everything of themselves to the chainsource long stair, seeking the inheritance of power and the continuation of civilization.

Sirian looked up, the steps continuing upwards, disappearing into the lead-gray gloom.

Closing his eyes, Sirian saw a torch burning fiercely in the darkness, like a blazing sun, illuminating all things.

No one offered Sirian an explanation, and no one whispered, yet the moment Sirian gazed at the torch, he knew its name.

A great creation from the Lord of Torch-Leading Destiny, anchoring the existence of the Expeditionary Pioneer.

Miraculous Artifact: The Immaculate Torch.

The torch’s light shone on Sirian, almost melting him in its radiance.

Someone was speaking to Sirian, as if whispering, yet also like chanting, their voice sounding both male and female, and like both a child and a dying elder.

The voices spoke in unison.

“Blessed be you — the cultivator of myriad forms.”

Sirian awoke in reality.