Three Mountains Town.
This was a town nestled in the crevice between three towering mountains, each stretching over a hundred miles in length and rising thousands of feet into the sky.
The town was renowned for producing several rare and valuable specialties.
But for the townsfolk to venture beyond, they had to navigate treacherous, winding mountain paths—a perilous and lengthy journey. Only under the protection of the Witch Spirit could they hope to pass safely.
At this moment, inside the temple...
The Town Chief and a group of elders were cautiously observing a lavishly adorned, rotund priest dressed in ceremonial garb.
"Priest, winter is fast approaching. If we don’t trade for supplies soon, many of our people won’t survive the season. What should we...?"
"What’s the rush? Wait for the Witch Spirit’s decree."
"But the Witch Spirit’s idol hasn’t shone in so long..."
The Town Chief’s face was etched with worry, the urgency gnawing at him.
Three Mountains Town had limited arable land, and the sunlight was sparse, making the harvests meager at best.
Their survival depended on hauling valuable mountain goods outside to trade for food.
Now, with the first snowfall already past, time was running out.
If they waited any longer, the heavy snow would seal the mountains entirely, cutting them off from the world—and countless townsfolk would starve or freeze to death.
"Without the Witch Spirit’s protection, you’re free to try crossing the mountains yourselves," the Fat Priest said leisurely, grease dripping from his mouth as he chewed on beef.
"That’s impossible!"
The Town Chief’s expression darkened.
For as long as he could remember, no one from Three Mountains Town was allowed to enter the mountains alone.
The three peaks were strange, almost as if they devoured people.
Those who ventured in without permission would vanish without a trace—unless they sought the Witch Spirit’s guidance and received the mountain god’s blessing.
Many young townsfolk yearned for the world beyond, and some had tried to sneak out.
But without exception, they all disappeared.
The Town Chief knew what became of them.
Once, he too had been a young man dreaming of vast horizons. He had even rallied like-minded youths to find a new path for their people.
Despite their meticulous preparations, they had still lost their way in the mountains.
One by one, his companions vanished.
Only he had returned—after his family bribed the Fat Priest with lavish gifts to guide him back.
Five years later, he and a group of strong young men ventured into the mountains again, only to find the skeletal remains of those same friends who had once dared to escape.
From that day on, he held a deep, reverent fear for the mountain god’s authority.
No one leaves the mountains without the Witch Spirit’s permission!
This was the ironclad rule that every soul in Three Mountains Town obeyed.
But now, a problem had arisen.
The Witch Spirit was gone.
Without the Witch Spirit, how could they face the mountains that devoured men whole?
"You need not worry. The divine has already sent its decree."
Seeing the Town Chief and elders trembling with apprehension, the Fat Priest decided the time was ripe.
In truth, the Fat Priest was a cultist of the Demon Summoning Sect.
He feared nothing more than these people growing bold enough to leave on their own.
After all, the calamity beast was gone, and the mountain mists had long dissipated.
If the townsfolk discovered they could leave without the so-called "god’s" help, all would be lost.
Fortunately, years of indoctrination had left no one daring to defy divine will...
"The Witch Spirit will return soon. Until then, keep your people in line. Do nothing to disappoint the gods."
The Wind Deity that once fed on Three Mountains Town’s faith had perished.
The sect leader had sent word—a new "mountain god" would soon arrive.
"Oh, and prepare another batch of offerings."
At the mention of more offerings, the Town Chief and elders grimaced.
...
That afternoon.
At the town’s temple, an altar was erected, laden with offerings painstakingly gathered by the Town Chief from every household.
Flags bearing the emblem of a deer-headed, bird-bodied totem surrounded the altar.
"Today, the Witch Spirit shall heed my call and descend with divine miracles!"
The Fat Priest glanced at the offerings, satisfied.
He had received word—the new mountain god was on its way.
The townsfolk stood by, their baskets heavy with goods, eyes filled with hope.
Once blessed by the gods, they could safely traverse the mountains and trade for their winter survival.
The Fat Priest’s flabby body trembled as he performed a bizarre ritual dance.
The totem could summon nearby beings with ancestral spirit blood.
But halfway through his dance, the villagers suddenly erupted in cheers.
"Look! The mist—it’s descending!"
"Could the mountain god be appearing before us?"
"?"
A question mark floated above the Fat Priest’s head.
His dance was purely for theatrics—to build atmosphere and reinforce the townsfolk’s belief in him.
The true summoning ritual hadn’t even begun yet.
Since the mood wasn’t fully set, there was no way he had established a connection with the Witch Spirit.
So what in the world was descending now?
The Fat Priest squinted.
A young man with antler-like horns, clad in golden robes, descended upon the altar atop a cushion of white clouds—radiant and otherworldly.
He landed in a half-kneeling pose (think Terminator’s iconic entrance), then rose slowly, his expression icy and detached—a true immortal descending from the heavens.
Beside him stood a hooded figure in golden robes and a woman whose skin shimmered with an electric glow.
Both exuded an aura of profound mystery, flanking the antlered youth like divine attendants.
In their presence, the Fat Priest suddenly seemed shabby and insignificant.
"Who are you—?"
The Fat Priest narrowed his eyes, ready to demand answers.
"Audacious~~~! How dare you address an immortal~~~ with such disrespect!"
See? Even their voices carried the resonance of thunder—how profound!
"I—"
"‘I’ what? You stand before a divine being—why do you not kneel?"
The hooded golden-robed youth bellowed.
"?"
The Fat Priest’s beady eyes flickered with confusion.
Why did these lines sound so familiar?
Weren’t these his own lines?
But the Witch Spirit sent by the sect’s headquarters wasn’t supposed to look like this.
Moreover, his summoning ritual had yielded no response.
These were definitely not the real deal!
The Fat Priest snarled:
"You dare impersonate the gods! Such insolence! You—"
"You, who defile the divine."
The antlered youth at the center spoke, his voice deep and resonant, devoid of emotion.
His eyes burned with an eternal flame, impossible to meet directly.
"This venerable one has slumbered for millennia, long detached from mortal affairs. Yet some dare exploit the name of the gods to deceive the masses. Do they not know the heavens’ justice is inescapable?"
"And now, the Heavenly Venerate of the Myriad Phenomena Immortal Sect stands before you—yet you show no remorse!"
"You, ignorant of fate’s design, devoid of fortune, untrained in magic, lacking virtue, a mere beast cloaked in borrowed skin!"
"You have BIG audacity!"
Li Mo’s expression was glacial, his authority unquestionable.