Chapter Four: Fate's Pattern

Chen Ming did not know much about this world.

Yet even during his endless slumber, he could sense, even in dreams, a deep and icy presence that only grew stronger with time. The eerie atmosphere that pervaded this world was utterly unlike any normal realm.

This was a broken world. He could not yet say what had caused its ruin, but that did not prevent him from reaching such a conclusion.

He gazed down at the people gathered below him, using his divine power to examine their destinies one by one.

As expected, among the dozen or so people, most had tattered, ruined fates—marked for early graves. Only the elder, Gramah, was protected by a faint white radiance above his head, and his fate shimmered with a subtle crimson hue.

“Indeed, something is very wrong here,” Chen Ming muttered.

Destiny was an elusive thing, shrouded in mystery. According to the ancient ways of his previous life, it was believed to be the harmony of Heaven, Earth, and Man—a gift bestowed at birth, almost impossible to alter.

After refining his divinity, Chen Ming had formed his own understanding. What is called destiny is an imprint formed in the unseen workings of the primal force that drives all things, a mark each person carries from birth, intimately tied to the order of the world. Destinies differ in strength, signifying the rank one is born into.

Of course, even the most auspicious destiny is useless without good fortune to propel it—like a peerless genius who, absent guidance, squanders his gifts and lives in obscurity.

The quality of destiny is also closely linked to the world itself. The stronger the world, the more powerful destinies it can foster. The weaker the world, the lower the ceiling for any destiny it can produce.

Now, as Chen Ming surveyed those before him, their destinies lay bare to his gaze. Even among hundreds, he saw almost none whose destinies shone red, and few whose destinies were even whole.

This was alarming. In any world, however feeble, the lives it bore should at least be intact; yet here, so many had broken or incomplete fates.

“Perhaps I should see what lies beyond,” Chen Ming thought, lifting his eyes to the sky. In his vision, a layer of black mist seemed to shroud the firmament, impossible to dispel.

He cast a lingering look at Kuruba, then turned and left.

The gathering place of the tribe lay near the forest and water. Chen Ming walked out of the settlement and reached a certain boundary.

This was the edge of the tribe’s domain, and while invisible to ordinary eyes, Chen Ming could see a faint white glow enveloping the area, shielding the entire tribe.

This was the divine domain. Since gaining his divine name, much new knowledge had arisen in his mind, of which the divine domain was the embryonic form of a divine kingdom. Within its bounds, all his followers would be protected, and any other being would be repelled by the ceaseless flow of divine power and the might of the land itself, unless granted his permission.

Moreover, as Chen Ming’s divinity deepened, the domain would nourish his followers, improving their gifts over time—weak now, but destined to grow as his power increased and the years passed.

Chen Ming stepped beyond the divine domain, and at once the world seemed to change.

Within his domain, he was master; even if he did nothing, a boundless strength would support him on all sides.

But outside, though his bond with his divinity remained unbroken, he was no longer on home ground.

He frowned, perceiving the ashen aura that permeated the air. Ordinary mortals would never sense it; it posed them no harm. But to spirits and souls, it was fatally alluring, drawing them, seeking to corrupt and drag them down into darkness.

“This is not natural,” Chen Ming thought. He shook himself, summoning a surge of pure divine power to cleanse the black miasma that sought to encroach upon his soul.

He tested himself, relieved to find the effort slight.

With another glance outside, he unleashed the oceanic force within him, purifying all impurity in his vicinity.

Then, without hesitation, he strode into the forest.

He was the god of nature, and all laws he grasped were tied to nature. Though the forest was no substitute for his divine domain, it offered some small advantage.

Night fell swiftly, the sky darkening, and a seductive moon emerged, drawing down threads of moonlight.

Chen Ming glanced upward. Was it his imagination, or were the days in this world far too short?

As night descended, strange scenes began to unfold—things unseen by day.

Chen Ming’s face grew grave as he watched the host of fierce, restless spirits that now prowled the darkness. Even though he had expected something odd, the sight unsettled him.

Yet, bold as he was, Chen Ming merely frowned and pressed on.

Guided by intuition, he made his way into the depths of the woods and soon sensed something. He looked down into a hollow.

There lay a corpse—dressed in savage garb, not one of his own followers, likely a wanderer from another tribe nearby. The manner of death was pitiful, as though all life had been drained away, leaving a desiccated husk. Sensing carefully, Chen Ming noted a lingering trace of soul beneath the withered flesh—death had come only recently.

He stood still, waiting in silence for what might come next.

In the moonlight, a strange phenomenon appeared.

A faint halo emerged from the corpse, slowly, as if much of it were missing. Eventually, it gathered into a shape resembling the man, though the features were blurred.

As the shade coalesced, it seemed confused, clutching its head, struggling to remember. But before it could regain its senses, the black mist around them surged as if toward some rare delicacy.

A dreadful scream rang out, the spirit writhing in agony.

Chen Ming watched in silence as the black miasma wound tighter and tighter, until even the soul’s form grew dark. At the same time, the face sharpened—clear now, but horrifying, radiating a savage hunger.

The thing stood, emitting ghastly noises, then suddenly fell silent.

It slowly lifted its head and looked at Chen Ming, who stood nearby—a visage twisted and bloodshot, truly monstrous.

“No, not quite a demon yet, but well on the way,” Chen Ming thought to himself.

The fiend shrieked and lunged at him with astonishing speed.

But the outcome was predictable: a faint light glimmered, and as the creature struck, it encountered some terrible force. It howled and quailed in fear.

Chen Ming sighed, channeled his divine power to immobilize the spirit, then gently touched it with his fingertip.

Spirit touching spirit should have been insubstantial, yet the sensation was startlingly real. As his finger brushed the ghostly body, Chen Ming’s divine essence stirred. The godseed within him, radiant as the sun, blazed forth.

Somewhere in the unseen, a fragment of the other’s true soul was drawn to him. Memories flickered through his mind.

It was a tribe dwelling by the river, to the south of Chen Ming’s own. On an ordinary night, a life was born—he saw its growth, its death, the soul’s departure—every moment unfolded before Chen Ming’s inner eye.

“Driven out by wolves, fled to the forest and fell prey to evil spirits, drained to death?” Chen Ming frowned, sensing trouble.

In the soul’s memory, hundreds of demonic wolves had migrated northward—enough to overwhelm a major southern tribe.

If the wolves had moved north, it was only a matter of time before they clashed with his own people—a major threat.

Yet more disturbing was the sensation of demonic corruption after death. That feeling was vague, almost graspable, but always slipping away.

Chen Ming frowned again, then looked down at the spirit, channeling a surge of pure, vast, and life-filled divine power over it.

As divine power bathed the soul, it began to drive out the unclean aura within, and the spirit’s savage countenance gradually softened, becoming tranquil and serene, as if returned to a mother’s embrace at birth.

He intensified the flow of divine power, and the black shadow on the soul’s form faded, replaced by a crystalline clarity—pure as the finest crystal.

But just as redemption neared completion, the spirit suddenly screamed and, without warning, exploded and vanished.

At his side, Chen Ming’s calm expression froze for a moment. “I failed?”