The first thing Leon noticed was the silence.
Not the absence of sound—no, that would have been comforting. This was something else entirely. The wetlands breathed, but softly, like a creature pretending to sleep. The distant croak of something unseen, the slow drip of water from leaf to leaf, the occasional hollow ripple across unseen pools—everything existed, yet nothing felt alive in a way he understood.
He stood at the threshold of the wetlands, boots sinking slightly into damp soil, his gaze fixed ahead.
The Tortoise Wetlands.
A place that held importance for every cultivator, where even seasoned cultivators chose their steps carefully. It was not merely dangerous—it was unknown.
Leon exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
The region before him stretched endlessly, veiled in a dense, shifting fog that seemed to distort light. The deeper one looked, the less one saw. He recalled what little information existed. The wetlands were divided into four regions:
The Outer Region — Mistveil Marsh, where he now stood.
The Middle Region — Sunken Expanse, where remnants of a lost demi-human empire were recovered, and the apex of where humans have reached till now.
The Inner Regions, of which no clear records existed.
And there were even rumors of a core region that held unprecedented secrets.
No one—no one—had ever returned from beyond the mid region. Which meant one thing: even this was only the beginning.
Leon stepped forward, the ground welcoming him with a soft, wet sigh.
The air changed instantly. It grew heavier—thick with moisture, pressing against his skin like an unseen weight. Each breath carried the scent of rot—decaying leaves, stagnant water, and something faintly metallic beneath it all. The fog curled lazily around him, brushing against his face like cold fingers.
He moved deeper. Vines hung from twisted trees, their lengths trailing into murky pools below. Some were thick as his arm, others thin and hair-like, swaying despite the absence of wind. Shrubs clustered unevenly, their leaves dark and waxy, glistening with moisture.
The trees themselves were wrong. Their trunks bent at unnatural angles, bark peeling in long, curling strips. Some appeared hollow, others swollen, as if something within them struggled to breathe.
Leon's steps slowed. His senses sharpened.
Every movement he made was deliberate, measured. His strength was lacking. That much he understood clearly. In a place like this, brute force was a death sentence. If he wanted to survive, he would have to rely on something far more precise.
His mind.
His gaze flickered left. A vine moved.
Leon froze. The motion was subtle—almost imperceptible—but it was there. A slow tightening, like a coiling muscle, followed by absolute stillness. His eyes narrowed. That wasn't the wind. He shifted his weight slightly, careful not to disturb the ground too much. Another movement caught his periphery, this time from a different direction.
The vines were slowly encircling him.
A faint chill ran down his spine, but his expression remained calm. He didn't react or run. Instead, he continued walking—slow, steady, as if he had noticed nothing at all. Inside, his thoughts raced.
This place isn't passive. It observes.
The terrain changed gradually. Patches of solid ground gave way to shallow pools of water, their surfaces unnaturally still. The fog thickened here, reducing visibility further, turning the world into shifting silhouettes and vague outlines.
Leon stopped at the edge of one such pool. It stretched ahead, deceptively calm. Too calm. He crouched slightly, picking up a small stone, and without hesitation, tossed it forward.
The moment it touched the water, the reflection shattered.
For an instant—just an instant—the surface revealed something else entirely—a deep, yawning hollow. Then it was gone. The water stilled once more, as if nothing had happened.
Leon's eyes hardened. Mirrorwater.
He had heard of such phenomena in passing—rare, dangerous. Water that lied. He picked up another stone, tossing it to the side. The result was different; no distortion, just a simple ripple. Leon nodded faintly. Not all of it was false.
He stepped forward, testing each step. Stone. Ripple. Observe. Step. Each movement was careful and calculated. Several times, the illusion tried to deceive him, revealing clear, smooth paths. Each time he ignored them, the truth beneath revealed a sinking abyss of mud of unseen depth.
Minutes passed, or perhaps longer. Time felt strange here.
Eventually, Leon reached the other side, but he did not relax.
Further ahead, a subtle shift in a partially submerged stretch of land caught his attention. Leon stilled, his body instinctively lowering.
His gaze focused. At first glance, the mound of mud and moss looked like part of the terrain.
Then it blinked.
A massive eye opened, its vertical slit narrowing as it adjusted to the dim light. A crocodilian beast—but unlike any he had ever seen. Its back was lined with long, crimson flowers, their petals thick and almost fleshy, swaying gently as they released a faint, sickly sweet scent into the air. Its jaws hung slightly ajar, revealing rows of jagged teeth blackened at the edges by decay.
A shiver ran down Leon's spine.
The creature was enormous—its size that of a mountain, yet so seamlessly hidden within the marsh that it felt less like a beast and more like a part of the land itself. Leon couldn't even begin to comprehend what level of cultivation it possessed. Its mere presence alone felt enough to shake the entire surroundings.
It did not move. It did not need to.
It was waiting.
Leon shifted his path subtly, each step measured and deliberate. No sudden movements. No direct gaze. Predators noticed attention. He walked as if the creature did not exist, as though he were nothing more than another insignificant presence passing through its domain.
The crocodile did not react.
Even as Leon passed within a distance that would have meant certain death elsewhere, it remained still—silent, unmoving, uninterested.
Only when he was far beyond its range did he allow himself to exhale.
Leon wondered, a faint, chuckle escaping his lips —if the creature had simply deemed him unworthy of its effort.
Well… even his pitiful profound strength had its uses, he thought.
The deeper he went, the heavier the air became. His senses remained stretched thin, constantly scanning, analyzing every sound, every movement, every inconsistency. The pressure of the wetlands wasn't physical; it was a constant mental strain—a demand for awareness.
Through the thinning fog, a small clearing revealed itself.
A still lake sat undisturbed, its surface calm. At its center, faintly glowing beneath the murky water, grew a cluster of plants. Leon's eyes sharpened instantly as he stepped closer. The leaves were a deep, vibrant green, edged with faint silver veins. The stems were slender, almost translucent, anchoring themselves into the soft silt below.
There was no mistaking it. Mystillin Maple Herbs.
An extremely rare find. Even outside the wetlands, such herbs were difficult to obtain. They were known for their ability to rejuvenate the body, enhance vitality, and most importantly—stabilize and elevate spirit energy. For someone at his level, this could mean the difference between stagnation and breakthrough; even better, this could be used for the treatment of various diseases.
Leon's heart quickened, but his expression remained composed. He scanned the area. No immediate movement. No visible threats. The water was too still. He frowned slightly, suspicious, but he had already come this far. Opportunities like this did not appear twice.
He picked up a small branch and tossed it into the lake. Ripples spread outward, but nothing happened. He waited. Still nothing.
Safe? No. That word did not exist here. But perhaps less dangerous.
Leon stepped forward. The water reached his ankles, unnaturally cold. He paused and listened. Nothing. He took another step, knee-deep now. The herbs were within reach. His senses screamed caution, his mind racing through possibilities of hidden predators or delayed reactions, but there was no visible threat.
He extended his hand slowly, fingers inches away from the nearest herb. The water remained silent. Waiting.
His fingers closed around the stem.
A sudden ripple broke the surface. Small, almost insignificant, but in the profound stillness of the lake, it was deafening.
Leon froze. The ripple spread outward. The water bulged, and a massive shadow surged upward from the depths.
Leon's pupils contracted as the surface exploded. Water erupted into the air as something immense rose from below. A head—larger than his entire body—emerged. Its scales were black as the abyss, glistening with a slick sheen of water and rot. As the immense neck crested the surface, the scales ground against one another with a sickening, heavy rasp, like millstones crushing wet bone.
Two pale golden eyes locked onto him. They didn't hold the mindless ferocity of a beast, but a chilling, cunning intellect.
The creature continued to rise, its body coiling beneath the water, vast and endless, easily stretching beyond thirty meters. A serpent Beast.
It stared at him the way a predator stared at prey that had already stepped into its jaws. Leon could not move. The air itself seemed to freeze; even the fog held its breath. For a single, endless moment, there was nothing but the grinding sound of its scales and those golden eyes.
The serpent's gaze sharpened, fixating with absolute certainty. Leon felt it—that instant where hunter and prey were decided. Leon recognized it—the Abyssal Blight-Scale Serpent at the low level of the True Profound Realm.
Two whole major realms above Leon.
He was trapped.