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Clearly, these fragments had tumbled from the room in the [City of Chaos], breaking upon impact with the ground.

“The earth carries a faint medicinal aroma. It’s unmistakable.” Yaeger murmured, her fingers playing with the fragment before discarding it and rising, her face etched with disappointment. “The idea of creating a two-way portal seems far-fetched now.”

Before the [City of Chaos] made its descent, she’d harbored high hopes. If the [City of Chaos] could integrate with the real world, it would imply that resources could be transferred seamlessly between both domains. But, much like the broken potions, her dreams lay in ruins.

“Seems only items marked with [Reality] can be transported out,” she mused aloud. Then, glancing at the [Chaos Roulette] pendant adorning her chest, she reflected, “Yet, this artifact doesn’t bear that label, and still made its way out of the game.”

Yet another inconsistency in her theory.

“Perhaps artifacts are exceptions. But then, the [Chaos God Ring] didn’t manifest in reality…”

She sighed, rubbing her temples. The puzzle was becoming increasingly convoluted, the dots too distant to connect.

“If this realm truly blends reality with fantasy, as Little Blue suggests, then it makes sense that fantastical elements remain trapped. But how does that account for the amalgamation of characters during its final phases?”

Deep in thought, her headache only intensified. The boundaries between truth and illusion seemed blurred. She felt trapped, much like a rodent caught in a labyrinth, struggling to find its way out.

Elsewhere, in Yanjing at the Ye Family estate, a flurry of activity illuminated the night.

“Doctor Huang, my son’s condition…?” Donald Ye’s voice trembled with anxiety.

In a grandly decorated room, an injured man lay on a bed, his appearance so changed that even his parents struggled to recognize him. Beside him stood an elderly man, dressed in white, with silver hair flowing down his back. This man, with eyes closed, was taking the patient’s pulse, seemingly lost in concentration.

Donald watched with mounting anxiety. The injured individual on the bed was his son, Joachim. And the man attending to him? The famed miracle doctor known as the Hands of Rejuvenation from Mount Kun. Donald had spared no expense, paying for his services with rare spiritual herbs.

After a time, Doctor Huang gently released Joachim’s wrist. He then methodically tapped various points on Joachim’s body, eliciting pained cries from the patient. Yet, when Joachim spat out black blood, Donald’s tense expression relaxed.

Moving to a table, Doctor Huang began to scribble a prescription. “Prepare the medicine as instructed. Administer three doses daily, one with each meal.”

Overwhelmed with relief, Donald exclaimed, “Thank you so much, Doctor Huang. Without your expertise, my son may never have recovered!”

Doctor Huang raised an eyebrow. “Who said he’s fully healed?”

Donald felt as though he’d been doused in ice-cold water. “What do you mean?”

“Your son’s bones are shattered, his nerves ruined. An ordinary person would have succumbed long ago. I can mend these injuries, but his core has been affected. Have you heard of Grandmaster Ronald Tian? Joachim’s condition mirrors his, though Ronald’s injuries are more severe. It’s a wonder Ronald is even alive.”

Donald’s heart sank. Ronald Tian was a well-known figure: a once-promising Grandmaster now plagued by a lifelong ailment. To think that his son might share a similar fate was devastating.

A surge of anger welled up in him, directed squarely at Yae-hime. He firmly believed that if not for her, his son would never be in this dire state.

As he wrestled with his emotions, Doctor Huang continued, “Compared to Ronald, your son’s prospects are brighter. With treatment, he’ll likely regain normal mobility. But as for his future in martial arts…”

Before he could finish, Donald interrupted with urgency. “Can’t you do something, Doctor Huang?” After all, he had invested in precious herbs to obtain Doctor Huang’s services and couldn’t fathom such a dire prognosis.

“There is a way,” Doctor Huang replied confidently, having been adequately compensated for his expertise.

“Really?” Donald’s voice held a hint of disbelief. The initial comparison of his son to the half-crippled Ronald Tian had nearly shattered his hopes. But now, with Doctor Huang’s words, the pieces of his broken heart seemed to fit back together.

Doctor Huang nodded, “It is possible. However, it hinges on a measure of luck.”

“Luck?” Donald echoed, puzzled.

With a mysterious change in demeanor, Doctor Huang leaned closer, whispering, “Kun Ruins.”

The name hit Donald like a bolt from the blue. He hadn’t anticipated Doctor Huang to mention such a revered place. Mixed feelings of hope and despair consumed him, evident from his trembling and pallid complexion.

“It’s not a straightforward task to enter there,” Donald mused, thinking aloud.

Doctor Huang’s voice softened, “It’s a matter of luck, neither simple nor complex. Given your generosity, Patriarch Ye, I’ll share this: emissaries from the Kun Ruins may soon make an appearance, seeking Martial Artists. Your son boasts immense potential. Should he be selected, even in his present condition, there remains hope for his recovery.”

Understanding dawned on Donald. “That place, one of the mere three holy grounds in our world… The herb I provided as payment? There, it might be as ordinary as a carrot.”

The realization was a lot for Donald to process. The renowned Kun Ruins, teeming with spiritual energy and a plethora of spiritual herbs, held promise. If those herbs were processed into medicine, Joachim’s recovery seemed more than plausible. Yet, the rarity with which the Kun Ruins made itself known, along with its stringent entry requirements, cooled Donald’s renewed optimism.

But he soon rallied his spirits. The emissary of the Kun Ruins… that’s my only chance, he resolved. Given Joachim’s prodigious talent, he was hopeful.

Preparing to express his gratitude to Doctor Huang, he began, “This time—”

But an urgent voice from outside interrupted him. “Patriarch, this is bad!”

The news that followed was even grimmer. “Patriarch, [Princess] turned Jordan into an idiot!”

Donald’s rage was palpable. “That damn w̲h̲o̲r̲e̲!” he thundered.