"I understand that now. But all too late." The woman's nod signaled her acceptance of the truth, a grim acknowledgment tinting her intent to leave unchanged.
"Liara Lewis Bloodflame," the resonant voice of our op mc pierced the air, momentarily halting the retreat of the fallen immortal.
She pivoted, her gaze fixated on the lone figure seated upon the room's solitary bed.
Unsurprised by his knowledge of her true name, she recognized that he was privy to the clandestine experiments seeking to circumvent the ever vigilant eyes of the grand dao.
It was believed that one could conceal truths before someone who had mastered the intricate workings of the soul.
"A pity from a god," our protagonist sneered, his hand flicking an object toward the departing apparition.
Liara, the fallen immortal, caught the item, her shock palpable as she recognized the priceless treasure.
The treasure glimmered in her grasp—a radiant gem pulsating with an inner fiery luminance, its surface bearing intricate etchings reminiscent of a phoenix in perpetual flight.
The stone, about the size of a clenched fist, emitted an ethereal warmth that seemed to stir ancient energies within its core.
"Eternal Phoenix Hearthstone!" Liara's voice reverberated in awe, her eyes fixed upon the gem's radiant brilliance.
A treasure of legend, whispered to house the immortal essence of a celestial phoenix, its radiant energy capable of rejuvenating life, molding a new body and bestowing unparalleled vitality.
"I cannot accept such a weighty boon, especially not from an enemy," Liara shook her head, her pride resolute against accepting any gift from the individual responsible for single-handedly decimating most of the righteous sects during that chaotic era.
This man had also laid waste to her sect's friends and teachers, leaving an indelible mark of sorrow and resentment.
The room hung in suspense, the tension thick with unspoken history and conflicting emotions, the Eternal Phoenix Hearthstone serving as a tangible symbol of both temptation and bitter animosity.
"Stubborn pride is an impenetrable fortress. I've extended my goodwill. Nevertheless, that item is no longer within my possession. Discard it on your way out," our protagonist declared, his voice carrying a tone of finality as he reclined back onto the bed, seeking solace in the tranquility of his repose.
The weight of the silent moments stretched as Liara, torn by conflicting emotions, hesitated. Her gaze lingered on the precious treasure, contemplating her next move.
Finally, with a deliberation that hinted at defiance and determination, she carefully placed the revered artifact upon the floor before dissipating into an ethereal void—a last act of rebellion, an echo of her spirit's refusal to yield before her most hated enemy's authority.
"Ah, the obstinance of immortals, unyielding to the bitter end," our protagonist sighed, summoning the stone to rest upon the table adjacent to the bed.
There it remained, an enigmatic relic dormant and awaiting the touch of destiny to guide it to a new master.
As imaginary fatigue draped over him like a comforting shroud, worries dissolved into the depths of profound slumber, allowing him respite from the trials of the day.
In the embrace of dreams, his consciousness drifted, embracing the comforting oblivion of restful sleep, leaving behind the echoes of immortal strife and bittersweet resistance.
* * *
"I heard you had a charming guest last night," Lucas Frost remarked casually, his eyes flitting between the chessboard and his opponent, a subtle curiosity lacing his words.
"A minor character in my book, nothing more," our protagonist replied nonchalantly, taking a deliberate sip of tea.
His former penchant for coffee on Earth had gradually given way to an acquired taste for tea, a practice that echoed the refined preferences of a true immortal.
"Why persist with this eternal game? It always leads to a draw," Lucas grumbled, his focus returning to the intricate ballet of chess pieces spread before them.
His interest lay solely in the cerebral symphony of the match rather than the passing visitor.
"If the game irks you, why continue the challenge? Decline, and I'll find alternative ways to while away the time," our protagonist retorted, his gaze briefly shifting from the chessboard to Lucas.
With Willow engrossed in the village's affairs, idle hours seemed interminable, leaving him ensnared in a surplus of empty moments.
"I stay to prove a point. You haven't secured a single victory against me," Lucas Frost chuckled, deriving a peculiar pride from the 209 draws logged against the notorious figure regarded as the paramount antagonist in the realm of this xianxia universe.
"Victory isn't the point of this game; it merely serves to fill the moments and waste time," our protagonist countered.
Their acumen, akin to a finely-honed blade, effortlessly envisioned countless moves ahead. As the chessboard unfolded, the prospect of draws appeared more probable than decisive triumphs.
Their command of time, a hallmark of true immortals, allowed them to contemplate for eons within the realm of their soul space while mere seconds slipped by in reality.
Each ponderous moment, a cacophony of calculated possibilities, teased out trillions of potential moves and outcomes in the ceaseless pursuit of strategic superiority.
The profound depth of their contemplation, entangled in an intricate dance of calculated moves, stretched on in a symphony of thought and counterthought, a testament to the timeless battle of wits between two unparalleled minds of True Immortals.
"If time is the issue, why not manipulate it? Speed it up for these mortals," suggested Lucas Frost, delving into a discussion about the potential of immortal abilities.
Immortals held dominion over temporal forces, capable of accelerating the pace of entire worlds, while the strongest among them could influence hundreds of galaxies at once, although never the entirety of the universe—that, he believed, required the might of a god.
"I have the luxury of patience. My goals, when savored after a wait, becomes all the more gratifying," our protagonist replied, casually shrugging off the suggestion, his attention returning to the ongoing chess match.
Passersby would occasionally steal glances at the intriguing spectacle, curious about the dynamics of their game.
However, no one dared to approach, adhering more strictly to the village chief's commands in the wake of recent directives.