The silent halls of Starli had become a second home. Gen and Lorel moved through them not as awestruck visitors, but as diligent students, their fingers tracing familiar grooves in the stone, their minds delving deeper into the ancient cultivator's legacy.
Today, however, their study had yielded a peculiar revelation. As they pieced together the final sequences of the **Star Oblivion**, they realized its function was not purely martial. The formation's structure suggested a stabilizing, anchoring principle—a way to bridge fixed points in chaotic space.
In the twelfth hall, Gen stared excitedly at Lorel, his eyes reflecting the violet-blue starlight of the diagrams. "Took you some time, but you finally grasped the basics of the core formation," he teased. "Do you think it will be enough for us to leave this place now?"
Lorel was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the swirling star chart. "I'm not sure," she said finally. "But according to the scripture, Starli left the Forgotten Realm on his own accord. We can assume this is the right way. I will need some time to prepare the formation. What will you do in the meantime?"
Gen smiled, his gaze drifting past her, out towards the distant, purple void where their altar island floated. "If my guess is correct, the figure in the formation on the altar—the ghostly swordsman—was also someone very versed in formations. I don't have the Creation Wheel, but…" He turned back to her, a familiar, daring glint in his eye. "I'll go there and observe that formation. See if I can create my own from it."
Lorel's smile was equal parts fond and exasperated. "How daring of you. You've barely learned this art and you already want to create your own?"
Gen smirked, the expression unburdened and happy. "It'd be a waste to let that sword formation go to waste. You got the Star Oblivion. I need something as compensation, don't you think?"
Lorel laughed, shaking her head. "Fair enough. But be back before… well, before I'm done." There was no sun to mark noon, only the subjective rhythm they'd built.
Gen looked at her, his head tilting playfully. "Yes, Madam."
Lorel flushed, shooing him away with a wave. "Just go!"
As he vanished in a leap towards the distant altar fragment, Lorel touched her warm cheek. *All this while, he'd become so brazen.* He didn't even call her by her name anymore. 'Lorel' had become 'you,' and now 'Madam' in that teasing tone. A complex flutter filled her chest. She then steeled herself, vowing to focus. She needed to find a way out. She missed the outside world—the solid ground, the real sun, the sound of Chubbs calling her 'my lady.' And General Mearl… was she fine? What about her brother, Baili?
Yet, intertwined with that longing was a contradictory desire for this moment to linger a little longer. This silent, shared existence with Gen, free from titles and expectations. She sighed, a sound lost in the grand hall, and gently slapped her own cheeks. "Time to get to work."
***
Gen sat on the edge of a floating platform, maintaining a careful distance from the altar island and its silent, ghostly guardian. He wasn't an expert, but his month of intense study had given him eyes to see patterns where before he saw only power.
*It's not exactly a sword formation,* he mused, watching the faint, shimmering lattice of energy that comprised the sealing barrier. *The sword is simply the pure form of the manifestation. As if the formation was designed with the intention of being… boundless.*
The formation seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once, its pressure constant, its source elusive. It wasn't just containing space; it was defining it. Gen pondered for a long time, the strange, sourceless light of the void shifting around him.
Thanks to the mark of the Tower of Wonder and his own natural talent, his comprehension abilities were now razor-sharp. Late in the subjective day, his eyes suddenly sparked open. A sudden understanding dawned on his face.
*It's like the God Asylum.*
The realization hit him like a physical blow. Manipulation of Qi alone was not enough. The real **God Asylum** derived its terrifying power when the user moved from the simple concept of 'manipulating Qi' to 'sealing an opponent's Qi,' and then further, to 'manipulating the *intention* of sealing a god.' The power was in the escalating *intent*.
That was it. **Intent.** Something inherent to the highest creations of the Wheel.
Gen had a wild idea. If the intent in this guardian formation was 'to be boundless,' to forbid passage, could its origin be born from the concept of… *infinity*?
The thought made his heart thunder. He decided to give it a try.
Taking a deep breath, Gen stood, facing the distant formation squarely. He narrowed his attention to a needlepoint of focus. Over these four months, his features had sharpened further, the softness of a sixteen-year-old giving way to harder lines, though a youthful fire still burned in his amber eyes.
He didn't summon Qi. He focused on the *idea*.
He tapped his foot on the platform. It was not a normal tap. It was a gesture of intent, performed with clear, ritual precision. His foot imprint landed squarely and gently, and from that point, his Qi spread outward—not in a blast, but in a slow, deliberate wave, etching a complex, circular diagram onto the stone beneath him. The pattern glowed a faint gold, thrumming with potential.
A huge grin split Gen's face. *It works.*
He then *thought* of an attack. From the left upper corner of the glowing circle, a beam of condensed Qi shot sideways, not from his hand, but from the formation itself. It pierced a clean hole through a nearby floating boulder with a sharp *crack*.
Gen's smile grew wilder. *That's it!*
It was like Duo Yi's **Doom Dragon**. She had never summoned it with Zhidow (Creation). She had used Shidow (Manipulation) to go beyond manipulating elements—she had manipulated the *pre-existing intention of doom* in the atmosphere, giving it form. The intention was already there; she just shaped it.
And Gen, right now, was doing the same with his Shidow. He wanted his formation to be boundless. He wanted it to be infinite. He poured that pure, conceptual intent into the circle of his will.
Just like that, on that day, Gen Jiang touched the edge of one of Starli's legendary skills. Not a copied formation, but a principle understood and made his own: **The Swords of Infinity**.
"I can't wait to show this to Lorel," he shouted to the void, his voice full of pure, triumphant joy. "She'll be amazed!"
Now that he had the principle, he looked once more towards the altar, to the corner where Duo Yi rested. He understood the Swords of Infinity now, but he could not yet wield its true power. That would have to wait. But the understanding was a promise.
*I will definitely come back for you.*
***
That same subjective day, Gen returned to the twelfth hall of Starli.
He found Lorel sitting in a lotus position at the very center, but she was transformed. She was surrounded by a boundless, violet-blue starry sky that had been cast into the very fabric of the hall. Whorls of galaxies and nebulae of pure energy slowly rotated around her, making the grand chamber feel like a pocket of the cosmos. Her figure was an anchor within it, haloed by terrifying, serene power.
Lorel smiled, sensing his return. Without opening her eyes, she joined her hands in front of her chest.
"Open," she commanded, her voice echoing with the weight of constellations.
In front of her, the air distorted. Not with violence, but with profound, spatial adjustment. The starry sky around her swirled towards a single point, tearing a hole in reality itself. Through the tear, images flickered—the familiar green of a forest, the grey of mountain stone, the clear blue of a *real* sky.
Gen's smile was one of utter pride and shared victory. "It's time to go back."
Together, without a backward glance at the timeless prison that had forged them, the duo moved. They shot forward as one, two streaks of light—one gold, one mingled silver and pink—and vanished into the swirling portal.
Behind them, in the silent hall, the starry sky slowly faded, leaving only the ancient carvings and the perpetual, waiting silence of the Forgotten Realm.