Cultivating in the Wizard World

Two days later.

On the surface, the light from the super-wide area refining array had already covered the entire plane.

Silver-white brilliance rose from various parts of the earth, weaving into a giant web that shrouded the sky and earth, wantonly manipulating the elements of the entire plane.

And deep underground, the awakening array spanning thousands of miles quietly activated, sheltered by the earth's surface upheaval.

Glistening white light lit up from every line of the array, at first faint as fireflies, then growing brighter and more intense, finally converging into a pillar of light reaching for the sky.

Clark hovered above the core of the array, his hands pressed void, sparse hair gently swaying in the chaotic energy flows.

His spiritual power, like invisible tentacles, infiltrated the super-wide area refining array operating on the surface, forcibly taking over more than half of the control rights!

"It's started." His voice was calm, yet it clearly reached Jeming and Viola's ears.

On the surface, the refining array attacking the Alliance Camp suddenly diverted half of its power.

This power frantically extracted material and energy from all over the plane, continuously transmitting it deep underground, into the awakening array!

Jeming and Viola stood at the control node on the edge of the awakening array, hands on the rune platform before them, spiritual power connecting with the array.

They could clearly perceive the massive influx of material and energy into the core of the array.

Under Clark's meticulous control, those materials and energies were decomposed, recombined, transformed into something more essential, more gentle, more suitable as "soul nourishment."

Those things were gathering slowly.

Initially as thin as mist, then growing denser, more solid.

They rotated, intertwined, and fused at the core of the array, gradually sketching out a vague outline…

It was the outline of a "soul."

More accurately, the shell of a soul.

And inside this shell, a faint light, extremely weak like a candle in the wind, was struggling to shine.

That was the spiritual essence.

Belonging to a plane, an infant spiritual essence.

Jeming and Viola dared not slacken for a moment, their spiritual power fully engaged, manipulating the awakening array to carefully wrap, nourish, and guide that faint spiritual essence, establishing a connection with the forming soul shell.

Time passed second by second.

Finally, under their efforts, the spiritual essence stabilized.

But what followed was a problem they anticipated but still felt heavy-hearted.

That spiritual essence… fragmented.

Like a shattered mirror, it barely maintained an overall shape, but inside it was full of dense cracks.

Those cracks corresponded to the separation inherent in this plane—the trauma left by the rough stitching of over ten abandoned planes, all reflecting in this newborn spiritual essence.

Worse still, according to the normal process of the enlightenment technique, what's next would be a long "spiritual essence brewing" phase.

This infant spiritual essence needed to grow slowly, integrate slowly, and slowly produce true self-awareness within the soul shell.

This process would take at least several hundred years.

And for a plane of this size, this time could even extend to tens of thousands of years.

In terms of the final harvest, the time spent is not considered long.

But the problem is, they don't have that much time now!

The war outside had reached the final stage.

"Mentor." Jeming spoke, his voice full of barely suppressed urgency, "The soul foundation is complete, but the spiritual essence can't integrate, and the time..."

Before he finished, a gray-white figure had already landed beside them.

Clark had somehow released his grip on the surface refining array, arriving behind them.

He looked at the fragmented spiritual essence at the core of the array, not showing the slightest disappointment but rather nodding slightly, a satisfied curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Very good." He said, "Just as expected."

Jeming and Viola exchanged a glance, seeing confusion in each other's eyes.

Clark did not elaborate.

He simply raised his hand, palm up.

A mass of black substance slowly emerged from his palm.

That thing… hard to describe with words.

It seemed like flowing shadows, yet like solid darkness.

Without a fixed form, it constantly wriggled, twisted, and transformed in Clark's palm, yet remained roughly within an unchanging outline.

It emitted some extremely subtle, unsettling fluctuations, as if it were an existence from another dimension forcibly thrust into this world.

Jeming stared at that thing for a moment, then frowned.

An inexplicable feeling of familiarity.

Not the kind of familiarity of "seen similar things," but deeper, as if etched in the depths of memory.

But he scoured through his memories, searched all the scenes he could recall, finding nothing that corresponded to that existence.

"Feels familiar?" Clark noticed his expression, chuckled lightly, "You've indeed seen it before."

Jeming was stunned.

"Remember?" Clark said, "Back in Nolun No.13 Academy, you met that senior... who retreated from the Shadow Plane."

Upon hearing this, Jeming's pupils suddenly contracted.

Shadow Plane.

Senior.

Those dusty memories surged like a flood breaking through a dam...

In Nolun No.13 Academy, during those years in the academy, he had been battling with a strange plane known as the "Shadow Plane."