Chapter 26 Crackwind Valley

• "Whoosh-whoosh—" The gale tore through the sky, twisting into tornadoes that plunged from the cloud peaks like obsidian pillars. Boulders the size of pagodas were sucked into the maelstrom, their surfaces shattering into shards that rained down with a deafening clatter. Tan Xuan flinched as a fist-sized fragment embedded itself in the earth beside him, sending up a spray of gravel that stung his cheeks. "This is Crackwind Valley..." he whispered, voice lost in the tempest. The valley stretched before him like a wound in the earth, its walls scoured smooth by eons of wind until they shone like black glass. Far below, a river of air roared through the chasm, so dense it looked like liquid mercury swirling around jagged rock formations. He could see why legends called this place the "Wind Demon's Throat"—even from a mile away, the pressure made his eardrums throb. Crackwind Valley cleaved through the Spine of the Heavens range, a mountain chain so ancient its peaks were mere stumps. According to *Geography of the Barbaric Frontier*, the valley formed when a celestial wind dragon crashed into the mountains, its dying breath carving this mile-deep gorge. Now, each gust carried traces of that primal beast's fury, laced with motes of silver that sparkled in the gloom—Feng Lingzi called them "wind spirit particles," the raw essence of atmospheric energy. As Tan Xuan picked his way down the slope, he passed a dozen cultivators in various states of training. One woman stood atop a boulder, her blue robes fluttering like flags as she directed wind blades to carve runes into the rock; each slice released a shower of sparks. A group of three men meditated in a circle, their combined mana forming a cyclone that lifted them an inch off the ground, their hair standing on end like porcupine quills. "The central gale can shred a Spirit Treasure," Feng Lingzi's voice echoed in his mind, accompanied by a mental image of a golden spear being torn to ribbons. "Even at Profound Dragon Ninth Stratum, you'll need a defensive artifact just to enter." Tan Xuan nodded, fingers brushing the Water Thunder Pearl at his waist. The artifact hummed faintly, its surface rippling with azure light as if sensing the valley's power. He'd spent the past month etching wind-warding runes into its surface with Feng Lingzi's guidance, though the old spirit had grumbled the entire time: "Wasting good thunder on wind resistance—like using a dragon to pull a cart." Seeking a sheltered nook, Tan Xuan settled between two boulders shaped like clasped hands. He unfurled the bronze scroll, its surface now warm to the touch. The scripture within had changed since their first encounter; where once there were only patterns, now faint characters swirled like smoke, rearranging themselves each time he looked away. "Wind is the breath of the universe, yet also its destroyer..." he murmured, tracing a character that resembled a tornado consuming a sun. Suddenly, the scroll burned his fingertips, and a vision assaulted him: a vast desert where the wind spoke in the voices of a thousand dead, each gust carrying the memories of those it had swept away. He gasped, jerking his hand back—only to find no burn, just a faint blue glow lingering on his skin. Months passed in a blur of meditation and observation. He learned to read the wind's moods: the silver-streaked gusts that brought clarity, the black-tinged ones that hinted at coming storms. Once, he witnessed a cultivator too close to the valley's edge get caught in a downdraft, his body vanishing into the maelstrom with a scream that cut off abruptly. The incident left Tan Xuan trembling, but also steeled his resolve—if such power could kill, it could also be harnessed. The breakthrough came on a night when the valley howled like a wounded beast. Tan Xuan sat cross-legged, eight water streams coiling around him like an octopus's tentacles. Suddenly, the ninth stream burst from his navel, black as pitch and shimmering with gold flecks. His bones rattled like dice in a cup, and the Azure Dragon Aspect within him roared so loudly he thought his ribs would crack. When the ninth stream merged with the others, the resulting vortex lifted him three inches off the ground, his hair whipping around his face like serpents. "Profound Dragon Ninth Stratum..." he panted, touching his neck to find it slick with sweat. But the elation was short-lived. Glancing up, he saw three figures perched on a distant cliff, their robes emblazoned with the three-headed wolf insignia of the Heavenly Demon Sect. Though they were too far to sense his exact level, their gazes felt like ice picks against his skin. Which is why, three days later, he found himself deep in the Forbidden Woods. The air here smelled of rotting wood and something metallic, like blood left too long in the sun. As Tan Xuan leaped from tree to tree, his boots crushed glowing mushrooms that released puffs of purple spores. "Feng Lingzi, are you sure—" he began, but the old spirit cut him off. "Shh! Fifty li east, behind that petrified forest. It's... substantial." The "substantial" creature turned out to be a three-headed Direwind Wyvern, each neck as thick as a city gate. Its scales were the color of storm clouds, and when it exhaled, the air itself seemed to fracture. Tan Xuan had just enough time to see the middle head open its maw—revealing rows of teeth like rusted daggers—before a gale stronger than anything in Crackwind Valley hit him. He was thrown back like a ragdoll, crashing through a dozen trees before slamming into a granite outcropping. The Water Thunder Pearl had deflected the worst of the attack, but his left arm hung at an odd angle, and blood trickled from his nose. Above him, the wyvern beat its wings, sending forth another tempest that uprooted trees in a hundred-yard radius. "Feng Lingzi, you son of a—" Tan Xuan choked, spitting out a tooth. "Now, now," the old spirit said, materializing beside him with a shrug. "I did say 'big guy.' How was I to know it had three heads?" He flicked a finger, and a wisp of green light sealed Tan Xuan's bleeding arm. "Consider this a character-building exercise." Growling, Tan Xuan pushed to his feet. The wyvern was descending, its central head aiming a stream of blue-white wind at him. He reached for the Water Thunder Pearl, ignoring the pain in his arm. If he was going to get eaten by a three-headed monstrosity, he'd at least take one head with him.