C19 In front of the House of the Chosen

Tears...

The next moment, the full form of the object came into view, revealing itself to be a majestic Roc! The Roc hovered above the onlookers, its wings gently beating the air. The crowd felt a coolness that was more than just the breeze; it was a chill that touched their very souls.

"A Golden-winged Roc! An eighth level Soul Beast capable of human speech from birth. This one is so large, it must be a being beyond the ninth level, an unknown existence. Impossible! I'm losing my mind! I refuse to believe it..."

Recognizing the creature as the legendary Golden-winged Roc, a man in his forties or fifties sat down abruptly, shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes wild with madness.

"Let's not panic, everyone! The Ancestor has returned..." At the mountain gate, the middle-aged man was equally astonished. In an instant, he summoned his Soul Power and teleported into the midst of the crowd below the Roc. He bowed deeply and announced with a thunderous voice, "We respectfully welcome the return of Ancestor Specter!"

Buzz...

Upon hearing the middle-aged man's proclamation and witnessing his reverent posture, as well as hearing the name he invoked and gazing upon the colossal beast overhead, the crowd came to a startling realization, "It seems the legends weren't all tall tales."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am Specter of the House of the Chosen. After a century of seclusion, I have emerged to take on a disciple. To think that so many would remember me and brave danger to come here..." The middle-aged man's words were followed by a robust and powerful voice emanating from above the Golden-winged Roc.

"It's truly Specter!"

Yet, even as some exclaimed in awe, they realized the voice did not originate from the Roc itself.

Excitement rippled through the crowd below; Specter's unexpected appearance served as a potent encouragement to those who had been wavering. One by one, individuals stepped forward, their voices ringing out, "I am willing to join the House of the Chosen."

"And me...!"

"Me as well."

"Include me!"

The middle-aged man's face broke into a triumphant grin as he straightened up and gestured for silence. "Please, everyone, settle down. Those who meet the criteria, come forward and sign your name on this roster." With a wave of his hand, he sent a blank sheet of mysterious material soaring out. The crowd quickly made way, and the roster settled firmly onto the bluestone-paved ground.

"What's this all about?"

Everyone was puzzled, yet no one voiced their questions. One by one, they stepped forward, picked up their brushes, and inked their names onto the roster.

"I will declare this list to the entire world. From now on, you will belong to the House of the Chosen, and the House of the Chosen will be your steadfast support!" The middle-aged man understood their confusion and addressed the assembly with assured confidence.

Upon hearing his words, the crowd's expressions varied, but the majority were secretly pleased. Even the so-called 'rich kids' with influential backgrounds couldn't stay seated. They eagerly signed their names, recognizing the advantage of aligning with such a powerful patron.

Below, the crowd was bustling, while the Golden-winged Roc above continued to beat its wings, showing no signs of departing.

Specter stood atop the Roc, his Divine Sense sweeping over the crowd below. He could sense the diverse mentalities as if he were among them, nodding slowly in approval. There were, indeed, several promising individuals in the group. With a smile, he turned his gaze to the reckless Ye Mo, his face betraying neither sorrow nor joy.

A closer look revealed that Ye Mo's bruised and swollen face had regained some color. Although still a far cry from his original appearance, one could now make out his features. Yet, he remained unconscious, not having stirred since the incident.

Once the time it took for an incense stick to burn had passed, the bluestone square had returned to its former tranquility, overseen by the protective presence of the Golden-winged Roc. The roster, issued by the middle-aged man, was now replete with signatures. Aside from the older attendants, every qualified young person had inscribed their name.

With the roster complete, the middle-aged man nodded in satisfaction. At his command, the crowd on the square split into two factions. One consisted of the escorts, too old to meet the age criteria. The other was made up of the spirited young signatories, who now stood poised and ready at the open gates, facing their new future.

"Very well, those not involved may depart. The House of the Chosen does not welcome outsiders. Disciples of the House of the Chosen, prepare to follow me inside."

Standing at the mountain gate, the middle-aged man surveyed the disciples below—easily three to four hundred strong. He nodded slowly, his authoritative visage returning as he began to issue commands.

"Ah, these kids are so fortunate. How great it would be to be twenty years younger..."

The older attendants looked on with envy, each one silently lamenting their own earlier births by decades...

As the middle-aged man's words trailed off and the crowd began to disperse, the voice of the Specter suddenly echoed from atop the Golden-winged Roc, "Hold on a moment. Does anyone recognize this young man? Does anyone know his name?" As his voice faded, a grey-robed elder with silver hair and a white beard gently floated down from the Roc, a young man in tow. He came to a graceful halt ten feet above the crowd, suspended in midair. This youth was none other than the unconscious Ye Mo.

The crowd gasped in astonishment, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the Specter's grandeur.

"Void Steps!!! But aside from his longer beard, he looks no different from any ordinary old man..."

After taking in the Specter's presence, the crowd's attention shifted to the figure he held. Expecting to see a formidable youth with extraordinary features, they were surprised to find a swollen-faced little creature, unrecognizable and resembling a pig's head.

Heads shook all around; no one could identify the young man. Yet, at that moment, among those who had already signed their names at the mountain gate, a woman in a pristine white dress stood out. Her fresh, ethereal demeanor and stunning beauty were unmistakable. Her gaze lingered on the swollen visage, recognizing a trace of familiarity. She was about to speak when a thought seemed to cross her mind, her eyes dimming as she hesitated and then slowly shook her head.

"What's this? No one knows him after all? Well, this roster has never missed a single individual before. Let's just record it as such..." The Specter murmured, troubled by the situation. Historically, anyone seeking entry to the House of the Chosen had to inscribe their name on the roster beforehand—for record-keeping and as a declaration to the world, for the House of the Chosen was indeed a sanctuary for its own.

"Make way...! At last, I've made it to the House of the Chosen."

Out of the blue, as Specter was grappling with his dilemma, a dark-skinned teenager pushed his way through the crowd, incessantly shouting as he made his way to the open space in the center of the square. The boy was young, around sixteen or seventeen, dressed in ragged clothes, his body marred by numerous scars, with blood long since dried and crusted. His cracked lips were devoid of any color. He looked up at the Roc overhead with a wild gaze, let out three loud laughs, and then collapsed to the ground, having fainted.

The sudden appearance of the youth captured the attention of everyone present. He had approached from the back, clearly a newcomer to the area, and had not yet signed his name on the roster. Alone and bearing many injuries, it was evident he had recently been in a fierce battle. His arrival, marked by excitement and madness, indicated he was here for the House of the Chosen. This year, any youth with talent could be recruited by the House of the Chosen. The question now was, what was his name? How should the list be continued?

"Um... Does anyone recognize this young man who's fainted?" Specter was the first to regain his composure, his voice tinged with exasperation.

The square fell silent; clearly, this was another unknown figure. The middle-aged man at the gate's expression also began to take on a peculiar cast. This year had seen the sudden emergence of two nameless individuals.

"Ancestor, perhaps we should leave the list be? With hundreds of names, we won't miss these two..." The middle-aged man, noticing Specter's frustration, suggested they not dwell on such minor issues.

"Oh, bother... I can't be bothered to think about it. A name is merely a symbol, after all..." Specter muttered under his breath. The next moment, the pen that had been lying on the ground stood up on its own and floated above the list. With a burst of energy, the pen made a single stroke on the paper!

Specter glanced down at Ye Mo and said calmly, "You shall be known as Yiheng." Then, releasing his hand, Ye Mo suddenly became unsteady and dropped from Specter's grasp. But instead of plummeting, he gently drifted down like a falling leaf, landing softly beside the dark-skinned youth who had appeared so abruptly.

Yiheng was not just any ordinary name. To the Specter's amusement, he pronounced it "Yiheng," leaving everyone present in disbelief, their laughter barely contained.

Yet the Specter remained unfazed. Pointing at the dark-skinned youth who had recently fainted, he declared, "You shall be called Yishu." With those words, the pen levitated, effortlessly inscribing a vertical line on the list, embodying a sense of vigor and artistic flair.

"I have other matters to attend to. It's merely a symbol; there's no need to fuss over it. They'll come to know their names when they awaken."

The Specter exuded an air of nonchalance and grace. In a swift motion, he alighted upon the back of the roc, which, with a mournful cry, took to the skies. It vanished from sight in the blink of an eye, its breathtaking speed leaving onlookers in awe.

"This is just too arbitrary! To be named Yiheng and Yishu..." The crowd couldn't help but feel a silent pity for the two still unconscious in the arena. It was their misfortune, after all, to have fainted without revealing their names. It seemed that introducing oneself was indeed a crucial matter.

Once the Golden-winged Roc had departed, the intense sunlight bathed the crowd once more. The middle-aged man at the mountain gate wore a bemused expression as he addressed the group, "Who will carry Yiheng and Yishu inside the mountain gate? They'll surely be grateful upon waking. Those who are meant to join me, come along. The rest of you, head back, and stay safe."

With his final word, the middle-aged man turned and strode through the mountain gate, the multitude of disciples trailing behind him like a retreating tide. The vast stone portal accommodated them all, which was fortunate, as it would have otherwise been a challenge to enter all at once.