CHAPTER 130: STRANGE CREATURES

Damien stood in silence.

His lips remained sealed, and his gaze turned inward as he quietly wrestled with the weight of what had transpired. Not a word left his mouth—nor did Little White or Arctic try to force one. They simply waited, granting him the space to absorb the consequences of his actions.

Time seemed to stretch thin in that moment, a rare stillness settling over the strange trio. Even the air felt a touch heavier, as though it too held its breath.

And yet, amidst that quiet...

A subtle shift occurred.

While no one was looking, Little White’s gaze flicked toward Damien. For a moment, her calm expression wavered ever so slightly. In the depths of her eyes, a peculiar gleam flickered to life—strange, quiet, almost reverent.

Then, just as swiftly as it had come, she turned her head away, her face returning to its usual carefree mask.

But Damien noticed.

Though her movement was nearly imperceptible, it didn’t escape his perception.

Ever since his Accretion Talent had advanced, Damien had become acutely aware of being watched—his senses sharp as blades, picking up the slightest disturbance in people’s attention. It was no longer just a hunch when someone stared too long; it was an instinct.

And right now, that instinct screamed.

The look in her eyes just now... it hadn’t been mere curiosity.

It was anticipation.

Like a farmer studying a ripening field, waiting for the right moment to harvest.

Damien’s eyes remained still, his expression unchanged, but inside, his thoughts stirred violently. A chill began creeping up his spine, coiling in the pit of his stomach like a sleeping serpent slowly waking.

She’s dangerous.

The warning flared in his heart—cold and undeniable.

Until now, he had only harbored quiet suspicions. But after seeing that strange glint in her eyes, there was no doubt left in his mind—this so-called Little White was scheming something.

What it was, only she knew.

His face remained a mask of indifference, but within, Damien’s mind sharpened like a blade drawn for battle. Every flicker of her movement was now under silent scrutiny.

I have nothing that should attract her attention...

His thoughts churned restlessly.

So what does she want from me?

He sifted through every possibility, every interaction, every moment they had shared—but nothing stood out.

Until one thought rose above the rest.

The dream realm.

That was the only thing he could think of. The only variable that didn’t fit neatly into the rest of the puzzle.

She wants something from the dream realm.

But what?

What was it that resided within the dreams that even a creature like her would covet?

He didn’t know. Not yet.

And time was no longer on his side.

As much as he wanted to keep unraveling the thread of her intentions, the moment was slipping through his fingers. The ceremony to announce the new ruler of the Blue Hammer Kingdom was about to begin—and he had already lingered too long.

With one final breath, Damien folded the thoughts away, burying them deep within his mind for later. Whatever secrets Little White harbored... whatever shadows danced behind that seemingly innocent smile—he would expose them in time.

But for now, he had other matters to attend to.

A contemplative silence cloaked the room like mist on a winter morning. Arctic’s face, once puffed with frustration, now shriveled like a deflated balloon. With a sulking groan, the pink-skinned genie lifted into the air and floated aimlessly, his arms crossed and muttering curses under his breath.

Damien ignored him entirely.

He exhaled slowly, pushing aside the fog of thoughts clouding his mind, and began walking toward Little White.

His steps were calm and unhurried, but his eyes—those sharp, hawk-like eyes—never left her face, scrutinizing every micro-expression, every shift in her body language. A thin, unreadable smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Little White raised her elegant, swan-like neck, her gaze meeting his with a spark of amusement. She didn’t flinch. Instead, her large eyes shimmered like glacial jade, brimming with quiet interest, as though watching a particularly intriguing animal approach her.

When Damien closed the gap between them to just ten meters, he came to a halt. His posture was relaxed, yet every muscle in his body was tightly coiled—ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.

His voice was calm, steady, and carried an edge of calculation. "Can you tell me what this strength dimension is, and how it’s useful to me?"

Little White’s lips curled into a charming, almost knowing smile, as if she’d been waiting for that exact question.

She let the moment hang in the air, savoring it, before responding in a melodic voice.

"The Strength Dimension is a pocket plane forged by the Strength Saint himself—an ancient legacy that exists outside normal space. Only his chosen disciples are allowed to access it."

She walked forward slowly, the faint clink of her anklet echoing like wind chimes in the silent chamber.

"It’s not just a training ground, Damien. It’s a shared space. A sanctuary where disciples of strength—regardless of where they are in the world—can communicate with one another, trade insights, and even cooperate during times of crisis."

Damien remained expressionless, but his eyes were laser-focused, absorbing every word like a sponge.

Seeing his interest deepen, Little White’s smile widened, and her voice dropped to a more intimate tone.

"As for how you can access the Strength Dimension... it’s fairly simple—"

She stopped mid-sentence.

And so did Damien’s thoughts.

Because in the blink of an eye, she was gone.

Not even a flicker of movement. Not even a whisper of sound. His spiritual perception didn’t detect her departure—it was as if she had never been there at all.

Damien’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits. His spiritual sense surged outward like a tidal wave, sweeping across the room in search of her presence.

Then—without warning—a delicate scent assaulted his senses.

It was the faint aroma of rosewood, laced with the freshness of morning dew.

And then she appeared.

No—manifested.

Little White stood directly in front of him, so close that their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them. Her presence had emerged from nothing, like a phantom stepping out of a dream.

A paper-thin distance separated their faces. So slight that Damien could feel the moisture on her lips, the heat of her body radiating like a warm current, and the subtle flutter of her lashes as she blinked.

The atmosphere tightened.

Time itself seemed to pause.

Little White’s eyes were locked onto his, gleaming with a dangerous mixture of amusement and something far more ancient—something unknowable.

And Damien?

His heart remained steady.

But deep within, his spiritual instincts screamed.

She was far from simple.

She was a tempest wrapped in silk.

Then, a radiant voice—soft yet commanding, like the chime of dawn breaking through darkness—resounded beside his ear.

"Don’t move."

Damien’s body froze before the command had fully left her lips. It wasn’t fear that halted him—it was instinct. Something ancient and primal in that voice demanded obedience.

Little White’s delicate hand, pale as the winter moon and cold to the touch, slowly rose and rested against Damien’s forehead. Her fingers felt weightless, like a whisper of snowflakes brushing across his skin.

Damien didn’t flinch. He studied her intently, curiosity blooming like a slow-burning flame in his chest. A strange sense of anticipation stirred deep within, as though something monumental was about to happen—something he could neither stop nor fully understand.

Then, the space in front of him shimmered, and the air cracked with silent resonance.

A magic circle bloomed into existence in the void between them.

It floated in the air, grand and ethereal, composed of layers upon layers of glowing runes—each one twisting and morphing, bending reality around it like a whirlpool of meaning. The circle spun slowly, giving rise to ever-changing, otherworldly shapes.

Suddenly, the runes shifted—and a colossal lion, ancient and majestic, surged forth from the design. Its horns stretched across the sky, larger than the sun and moon combined. It roared into the heavens, a soundless cry of defiance that seemed to shake the very laws of existence.

Before Damien could fully process the awe of that image, the lion vanished—and in its place, a massive serpent slithered forth. Its endless body was composed of glittering stars, and it moved with silent grace, coiling around a dense black hole suspended in an ocean of void. Slowly, inevitably, the snake devoured the black hole, swallowing light itself.

Damien’s eyes widened, drawn deeper into the vision. His breath caught in his throat. Reality began to blur at the edges, like ink bleeding across wet parchment.

His gaze became glassy, his thoughts scattered—swept away by the grandeur of what he was witnessing.

Then a voice echoed in his mind—firm and cold, like a blade across the skin.

"Don’t look at those runes if you want to live."

The tone carried an unshakable authority, and its weight hit Damien like a slap. In that instant, clarity snapped back into place.

He blinked. His muscles tightened. Sweat slicked his palms.

Only then did he realize—he’d fallen into some kind of illusion.

The runes hadn’t just been symbols. They were living conduits, pulling at the threads of his consciousness, trying to weave his mind into the fabric of something far beyond his current understanding.

His breath came slower now, deliberately controlled. He dared not look back at the circle, not even from the corner of his eye.

What were those creatures? The question echoed

in his thoughts, unanswered. But he didn’t voice it—not now.

Something told him the answers wouldn’t come freely.

Not without a price.