An Understated Dominance Novel (Dahlia & Dustin) by Marina Vittori updated 2025-26 - An Understated Dominance Chapter 2684

Chapter 2684

“Weak Water…”

Grace’s gaze fell upon the vast, deceptively calm lake before her. The deep blue waters shimmered faintly, yet there was something unnerving about them—as if they could swallow not just light, but sound and hope as well. Even standing at the shore, she could sense the strange, oppressive laws woven into the water. Her brows knitted together.

The legends were true—a feather cannot float, and even a bird cannot fly across it.

Though Grace’s cultivation was strong, she could already tell that keeping the Weak Water at bay for long would be nearly impossible.

Logan stepped forward, kneeling by the water’s edge. A soft hum of energy formed at his fingertip as he gathered a trace of pure mystical power and let it drift toward the surface.

There was no splash, no ripple. The energy sank as though into thick syrup—dense and heavy. Movement slowed to a crawl, and then an unseen force began to grind against it, stripping the energy away bit by bit until nothing remained.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s true,” he murmured. “This water is bound by laws of dissolution and gravity. Ordinary light-body skills won’t work. To cross, we’ll need a spiritual barrier—or a tool infused with spatial or aquatic energy.”

His gaze shifted briefly toward Grace and the others. Clearly, none of them had such means.

Grace turned back to Cassius, her voice low but steady. “Senior, is there another way to cross safely?”

Cassius’s whisk swept gently through the air as he gestured toward the far shore, where the lake’s azure glow bled into the dark red taint of dragon blood. “The Weak Water’s reach is vast, but not endless,” he said. “If you follow the edge of the corrupted waters, you may find an ancient stone path leading toward the core. However…”

He paused, his tone darkening. “Time and the dragon’s corruption have eroded that path. I cannot promise it still stands. And where the blood and evil converge—what’s born there is neither man nor beast. Be on your guard.”

His words left no room for optimism. But it was the only path forward.

With no other choice, the group began their careful journey along the border between the serene blue and the tainted red of Yaochi’s waters.

The contrast was jarring.

On the corrupted side, the lake churned a murky crimson, reeking of blood and sulfur. The shore was blackened and cracked, its surface pulsing with dark red veins that throbbed like exposed arteries. Twisted, grotesque plants grew in abundance, their leaves like claws, their stalks oozing acid that hissed as it hit the ground.

The air itself was thick with madness. It clawed at the edges of their minds, whispering, pulling.

Alongi and the other guards struggled visibly, their breathing ragged as they used what little internal energy they had left to resist the influence. Even Stevie pressed a hand to her chest, face pale, her steps unsteady.

Logan led the way. The invisible energy field around him rippled faintly, pushing back the chaotic aura like waves breaking against rock. His expression was focused, his senses stretched thin—not just to protect the others, but to study their surroundings for hidden dangers.

After half an hour of tense, silent walking through the foul air and shifting shadows, they rounded a jagged cluster of rocks—and froze.

Before them lay a vast, open hollow beside the dark red lake.

And in its center stood an ancient altar—a massive structure ten feet high, built from black stone so old it seemed to drink in the light around it.

The circular platform was covered in dense carvings—runes so twisted and alien they looked alive, like serpents slithering beneath the surface. The moment anyone’s eyes lingered too long, a wave of dizziness followed, as if the symbols themselves were whispering into their minds.

Around the altar stood broken stone pillars, their surfaces scarred by time. From each one hung the remains of rusted chains—some still clinking faintly in the wind.

The ground was worse.

Dark brown stains covered everything—old blood, thick and nearly black. The stench of decay and resentment filled the air so heavily it seemed almost solid. It pulsed faintly, resonating with the evil taint of the lake.

And scattered around the altar were signs of something recent—shattered blades, scraps of torn clothing, and several corpses not yet fully decayed.

Stevie gasped and stumbled backward, covering her mouth.

Grace’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself closer, scanning the scene carefully.

The clothing was varied—some bore the insignias of Central Plains warriors, others clearly belonged to foreigners from distant lands. These people hadn’t come together. They’d all been drawn here—by the same desperate purpose—and met the same end.

By one of the corpses lay a bronze waist plate, half-charred but still engraved with a symbol: a twisted, flame-entwined ghost, screaming silently.

Alongi’s face turned ashen. His voice trembled as he whispered, “A… blood sacrifice. This is a blood sacrifice altar!”

The words struck everyone like a blow.

He swallowed hard, his gaze drifting toward the crimson depths of the lake, where faint ripples moved unnaturally beneath the surface. “Someone… used the flesh and souls of living beings as offerings. And the one they offered to—”

He stopped, his eyes wide with terror.

Even before he said it, everyone knew what he meant.

The offering… was the Ruin Dragon.