Walker Of The Worlds - Chapter 2928: Heading To The Shadow Whisper Valley

Chapter 2928: Heading To The Shadow Whisper Valley

A week had passed since Lin Mu had uncovered the cryptic tale in the Memoirs of the Lost Immortal. In that time, he and his companions had made thorough preparations for their next destination—Shadow Whisper Valley.

The valley lay to the west, nestled between crooked hills and forgotten lands. It wasn’t officially marked as forbidden, but everyone treated it as if it were. Those who ventured too close often came back broken… if they came back at all.

Supplies were stocked. Talismans and formation flags were tested. Spiritual protections and mental wards were doubled. Even Daoist Chu had prepared a few specialized artifacts—ones meant to resist spirit corrosion and illusions.

Finally, they set out.

The journey took seven days, traversing wilderness and fading roads, crossing deserted waystations and ruined border posts. The further west they traveled, the more people avoided their eyes when the words Shadow Whisper Valley were mentioned.

It was as if just saying the name brought misfortune.

On the morning of the eighth day, they arrived.

The sky above the valley was not a sky at all, but a shroud of dark clouds and mist that swirled like ink trapped in water. It was impossible to see the sun, moon, or stars. The light that filtered through was pale, grey, and unnaturally cold—like twilight stretched into eternity.

A dense fog hugged the ground, creeping up the hillsides like it was alive. The air was heavy and damp, filled with the scent of mildew and something faintly metallic… blood, perhaps.

The land itself was nearly barren. There were no lush trees or grass—only a scattering of gnarled trees with bark as black as charcoal and twisted plants that looked more fungal than floral. Even the soil was dull, almost ashen in color, like it had been drained of life.

“Cheerful place,” Meng Bai muttered under his breath, adjusting the flying talisman strapped to his back.

Little Shrubby sniffed the air but growled low in his throat. “I don’t like the scent here. It’s wrong. Everything smells… old. Like it died long ago and never rotted.”

Daoist Chu, floating beside them in the air, frowned deeply. “It’s spirit rot. The very essence of this place has become… warped.”

Meng Bai held onto a small formation compass, the needle spinning erratically. “Even Spirit sense is disturbed here,” he said, face tense. “I don’t like this.”

Lin Mu didn’t speak. He simply looked down into the valley.

They began to fly over it, keeping to a cautious elevation. From above, the valley stretched vast and uneven, with jagged paths and crooked cliffs. No signs of civilization or even abandoned structures were visible—just natural, chaotic land swallowed in fog.

Then came the sounds.

At first, they thought it was just the wind.

But it wasn’t.

It was too erratic, too… deliberate.

Whispers rode the currents—barely audible, like voices speaking in another room. Sometimes a low wailing moan would rise up from the ground, only to be cut off abruptly. Other times, there were soft chuckles or cries that came from nowhere, then everywhere, and then vanished.

“There’s no source,” Meng Bai muttered. “The sounds… they’re coming from the fog itself.”

“They’re not sounds,” Daoist Chu said grimly. “They’re echoes. But not ours.”

The group flew cautiously, scanning the terrain for signs of movement.

Birds? Beasts? Anything natural?

There were none.

As the sun dipped, though it could not be seen, the dull light faded further until the valley seemed to sink into a deep twilight.

Then… the phantoms appeared.

It began with flickers—distant shapes shuffling just beyond the edge of perception. At first, they seemed like normal people, wandering lost. But then came the flickering lights. Some glowed faint green, others blue or silver. Some drifted like mist, while others jerked unnaturally, as if moved by puppet strings.

“There,” Lin Mu pointed down. “By that broken ridge.”

The others followed his gaze and saw a figure—draped in what looked like a torn robe. Its head was bowed. Its hands dragged along the ground. But what stood out was that it had no face.

Just smooth, blank skin where its features should be.

They watched in silence as it stopped, lifted its head, and turned directly toward them, even from hundreds of meters below.

Its eyeless face seemed to see them anyway.

Then it vanished.

“Did—did it just disappear?” Little Shrubby asked, claws tensed.

Daoist Chu’s hand clenched tighter around his staff. “That wasn’t an illusion. It sensed us.”

More of them began to appear as night settled.

Some floated. Some walked. Some crawled on all fours with unnatural grace. They bore no consistent shape—some large, some small, some missing limbs. One had multiple faces, each one wailing in silence.

They did not attack.

They merely… wandered.

“Are these souls?” Meng Bai asked, voice low.

“Fragments,” Lin Mu answered. “Phantasms. Echoes. They’re not alive, and they’re not dead. They’re something in between.”

Little Shrubby growled. “So we can fight them?”

“Probably. But it might not help,” Lin Mu replied. “They’re not physical. Fighting them would be like trying to punch a scream. Qi attacks would work but no use in fighting them as it would bring us no benefit.”

They flew higher, careful not to get too close.

Lin Mu scanned the horizon, searching for anything that might hint at the Thorned Eye, or perhaps the core of the cult’s presence.

But the valley stretched endlessly, and the darkness below was thick.

“We’ll need to land soon,” Daoist Chu said. “Flying drains Immortal qi faster here. The distortions are interfering.”

“Agreed,” Lin Mu nodded. “Let’s find a defensible spot. We’ll camp and take shifts.”

Lin Mu might be able to endure for months, and even Daoist Chu could do the same but Meng Bai would need rest.

As they descended toward a cliffside ledge overlooking a warped grove of trees, Lin Mu looked down once more at the wandering phantoms.

One of them stopped again… and looked up at him.

This time, Lin Mu felt it.

A tug at his mind—subtle, chilling.

A faint whisper echoed in his ear.

“…Ephemera…”

He stiffened.

That was no illusion.

That voice had said the word.

And it was real.

Something in the valley knew they had come.

And it was watching.