Before the wraith could even twitch—Ryoma moved. In a blink, he appeared in front of the spirit, eyes blazing with fury. Without hesitation, he yanked the sword from the wraith's chest with a sharp, clean pull, silver light trailing behind the blade like a comet.
The wraith barely had a second to recover before he raised a claw to strike again, only for Ryoma to catch it mid-air. His grip tightened with inhuman strength, and the sound of bones cracking echoed through the clearing like breaking branches.
The wraith snarled, writhing against him, but Ryoma didn't budge. His jaw was clenched, expression deadly cold.
Astra looked up, just in time to meet Ryoma's burning gaze. She instantly looked away.
Across the clearing, Mo Lian and Wei Zhenyu stood side by side, their injuries momentarily forgotten. They exchanged a glance in silent. A wordless agreement passed between them.
Then his voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"You two," Ryoma snapped, his eyes shifting to Astra and Seiya's crumpled forms. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Astra flinched. Even Seiya stirred faintly, though still unconscious.
"You left without a word. And you came into a cursed zone knowing full well what might be lurking here?"
Astra opened her mouth, then closed it. She had no excuse. Her throat felt tight.
"We've been scouring half the sector for you!" Ryoma's voice cracked with fury. "You vanished again? Do you have any idea how reckless that was?"
"I—" Astra started, voice small, but Ryoma cut her off.
"No. You don't speak right now." His tone dropped. "You just listen."
She bit her lip, looking down, shame blooming hot across her face. He groaned as he shoved the wraith back, its form skidding across the dirt like smoke whipped by wind. Without hesitation, Ryoma turned and strode toward Astra. His steps were heavy, deliberate—anger and worry barely contained beneath his composed exterior.
He knelt beside her, the fury in his voice softening to something tighter, quieter.
"Astra…" he said, his tone dangerously calm. "Just when will you start to think?"
She didn't meet his eyes.
"If this keeps up…" His voice hitched slightly, then hardened again. "One day, I might not make it in time."
He reached for her, his gloved hand brushing over the scraped skin on her arm, his expression unreadable.
"You're not even healed from the last time," Ryoma muttered, exhaling sharply. "Will you ever stop throwing yourself headfirst into danger? Or are you determined to break yourself beyond repair?"
Before she could reply, the air behind them twisted violently.
The wraith had risen again.
Its eyes flared with hatred as it hissed, "Who are you?!"
It lunged—but Ryoma didn't even flinch. He turned, and met its charge with a single, piercing glare. His eyes glowed, radiant with power, so sharp it seemed to cut straight through the spirit's very essence.
The wraith stopped dead in its tracks. Its form trembled.
Then—unthinkably—it staggered back, a flicker of real fear crossing its spectral face.
And that one step back was all it took.
With perfect timing, its foot landed squarely inside the faint, glowing boundary of the formation Wei Zhenyu and Mo Lian had prepared in silence.
The moment the spirit crossed the line, the air snapped.
"Now!" Mo Lian barked, her fingers flashing through a series of hand signs.
Wei Zhenyu mirrored her movements. Their auras surged, light exploding around them, lacing the edges of the trap like veins of lightning through a stormcloud.
The wraith thrashed inside, but the barrier snapped tight, locking in around it like a vice.
Wei Zhenyu reached behind him and drew out the obsidian Sorrowbind Gourd, etched with runes that pulsed hungrily at the presence of a spirit.
The two cultivators stepped forward, their faces drenched in sweat, every ounce of their cultivation pouring into the seal. The wraith's howls split the air, unnatural and desperate, as it fought to resist the pull. It shrieked, smoke peeling from Guo Ping's body as the spirit was dragged out, inch by inch, its form writhing violently.
What felt like hours passed in seconds.
With a final cry, the wraith was torn free. Wei Zhenyu hurled the Sorrowbind Gourd into the sky.
A vortex tore open above them swirling with dark mist and light, like a rip in the sky itself. It was the mouth of the Prison Realm.
The wraith's body began to unravel, dragged inch by inch upward toward the vortex.
Astra shielded her face from the storm of light and debris as she crawled beside Seiya. Ryoma stood between them and the chaos, unmoving like a wall against the wind.
The wraith screamed one last time as its form twisted violently and was pulled into the chasm above. With a final flash of binding light, the vortex snapped shut and silence crashed down like a hammer.
Mo Lian dropped to her knees first, breath ragged, her fingers trembling as they pressed into the dirt. Beside her, Wei Zhenyu staggered forward, barely catching himself with one hand while the Sorrowbind Gourd—now sealed and pulsing faintly thudded in his other palm.
A heavy silence hung in the clearing.
Then—Guo Ping collapsed.
His body hit the ground hard, pale skin ashen, blood steadily pooling beneath him from the gash Ryoma's blade had left. His chest rose shallowly—barely.
"Junior Guo!" Mo Lian gasped, scrambling toward him. Her hands hovered helplessly over the wound, panic rising fast in her throat.
She turned sharply, eyes wide, desperation raw. "Zhenyu, we need to start the healing now! He's losing too much blood!"
Wei Zhenyu was already at her side, eyes scanning the wound. He touched Guo Ping's pulse and cursed under his breath.
"It's deep. The blade grazed the core…" His voice was tight with restraint. "Mo Lian… we don't have any power left. We burned it all holding the formation."
"But we can't wait until it recovers! He won't last that long!" Her voice cracked. "We need to find someone—we need to ask—"
"We can help."