Chapter 169
Chen Ren stood in Hong Yi’s workshop. Before him sat the two craftsmen of his sect Feiyu and Hong Yi.
They had spoken for more than an hour already, drifting from mundane repairs of certain items to things that mattered more, but now—now he was getting to the most important product; the true matter of this meeting, the seed that might alter the very foundation of talisman craft in their sect.
Yet even here, within his own walls, Chen Ren found himself facing skepticism once he explained his idea.
Hong Yi’s brows furrowed. “Sect Leader Chen, I understand where you are coming from. But talismans are too delicate to mass-produce. Pills can be refined by cauldron batches, and stabilize their process. Talismans, however…” he shook his head. “Even with my experience in tier one talismans, I can only create three dozen in a single day, and by the end of it, I am drained to my marrow. Out of them, perhaps two or three might be flawless. The rest…” he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Mediocre at best. Some even failures.”
Feiyu, arms folded across his broad chest, gave a rueful chuckle. “And I don’t even have that much knowledge. My path lies in metalwork and qi infusion, nothing to do with talisman seals. How would I even help you? Sect Leader, if I were to try, I’d only waste resources. If you truly seek advice, Elder Qing He would serve you better.”
Chen Ren looked at them.
“I understand your inhibition. Yes, talismans are delicate, demanding, and everything you said. But that does not mean they are beyond reach. As for Qing He…” He turned toward Feiyu. “I have already asked her for a large favor recently. I will not burden her again so soon. And besides—” his fingers brushed the talisman papers stacked on the table, “—I already have some ideas for how we can move forward.”
Hong Yi frowned, stroking his stubble, unwilling to let go so easily. “Even with ideas, Sect Leader, we lack the numbers. To build any kind of production line, we would need far more cultivators than our sect can provide. It is not like forging where mortals can aid with labor. Talisman crafting… it is not forgiving.”
“That is certainly one idea, Hong Yi. But a line of cultivators… no.” He shook his head slowly. “That was never the path I had in mind. The problem with a production line,” he continued, “is that even if we filled this hall with cultivators, even if they all devoted themselves to talisman craft, not a single talisman would be the exact same as the other. Each stroke would carry variance, each rune bending under the weight of individual qi. Only a true talisman master can replicate consistency across every piece.”
Hong Yi gave a weary nod, the lines on his face deepening. “That is exactly the point. And a talisman master…” He let out a hollow laugh. “We cannot get one. We are too small a sect.”
“No,” Chen Ren agreed softly. “We cannot get a talisman master. But—” his eyes glinted, “we can create something that mimics one. A machine. One that inscribes with the accuracy of a talisman master.”
“Huh? A machine?”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. Humans falter, grow tired, waver. But a machine… a machine knows no such weakness. It is bound to a single task, and in that task it never strays. Accuracy without fail, replication without exhaustion. I think right now, that is what we need.”
Hong Yi scratched his head. “But how? What sort of machine could even attempt such a thing?”
Chen Ren didn’t answer at once. Instead, he took his time, trying to find the best way to approach his question. He thought and thought until a question struck his mind.
“Tell me, do you know how copies of books are made?” he asked.
Hong Yi frowned, brows knitting together. “Scribes. Patient men with steady hands who spend years copying scripture line by line. That is the only way.”
But Feiyu from the side scoffed and he shook his head. “Not the only way. I have heard whispers of artifacts—ancient ones—capable of copying a book a dozen times over in a single day. Rare treasures, though… and terribly demanding to operate. The qi consumption alone could drain an entire squad of cultivators.”
“Huh?” Hong Yi’s voice almost squeaked and disbelief colored his face. “Artifacts like that exist?!”
“They exist. Or rather, they existed. I have never seen one myself, but there are sects that maintain ties with Guardian Sects solely to borrow such relics. Of course, there is always a price. The Guardian Sects demand a copy in return for every book copied, feeding their own libraries. Even then, such artifacts are so few that I have not heard of anyone forging a new one in centuries. They say the craft is too difficult, too intricate. Beyond the reach of ordinary hands.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly, a faint gleam of recollection passing through his eyes.
He had indeed heard the same from Qing He when he had gone poking around for scraps of knowledge. Those ancient artifacts—their origins were shrouded in mystery, their creators lost to time—were impressive, yes, but inefficient. If they required such effort and drained so much qi for a mere dozen copies, then they were flawed.
His vision was something else entirely.
Hong Yi broke the silence, voice cautious but tinged with a spark of hope.
“So… are we to obtain such an artifact? But one meant for talismans?”
“Something like that. But no—I cannot lay hands on an ancient artifact, nor do I intend to scour ruins chasing ghosts. I don’t want to do that again. What I need is not what was, but what can be. I have an idea, and I need both of your hands to forge it into reality.”
With that, he reached into his sleeve and drew out a folded sheet of paper. He laid the ink stained parchment flat on the table.
It was filled with different lines sprawled across both sides, interlocking parts, gears meshing with rollers and strange, strange channels mapped like veins.
The two men got closer to take a long look. Both of them stared at it for a few minutes before their brows furrowed.
“Uh…” Hong Yi cleared his throat, breaking the thick silence. “I can understand fragments of it… but it is crude. Like looking at an unfinished rune.”
Feiyu flipped the sheet over, finding the reverse side marked with an even rougher attempt. His brows arched, and he gave a blunt snort. “This side is worse. Sect Leader, if we are to build something like this, the design must be far sharper. More precise. As it is…” He tapped the page. “It will collapse before it ever breathes.”
Chen Ren’s lips twitched, caught between embarrassment and stubbornness. He had juggled multiple things at once: cultivation, sect politics, leadership and still he had carved out time to scrawl this mess. He knew it was rough. But it was a start.
Suppressing the urge to defend his penmanship, he looked them both in the eye and asked instead, “So. What do you think of it?”
Feiyu scratched his chin. “It is… certainly thought out. But if such a thing is to function, we will need endless fine-tuning. Gears upon gears, apiece adjusted to a hair’s breadth. If even one moves out of alignment, the entire machine will seize.”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yes, it will be a lengthy process. There are many components that must interlock before it breathes as one. But among all of them, this—” his finger circled the carved plate sketched in rough ink, “—is the heart. The rune plate will determine everything. It must be made properly, and it must change depending on the type of talisman. One plate cannot serve all purposes. Flexibility will be vital.”
His hand slid along the drawing, toward the long rectangular sketch on the side. “As for speed, we cannot waste time on individual sheets. We will use a roller to feed paper into place. One disciple will run it, another will take the finished talismans out, both working in shifts. That way, the machine never rests.”
For a rare moment, Hong Yi said nothing, only narrowing his eyes, his gaze drinking on the page. “That does make sense…” But then he looked up from the paper. “How will you make this rune plate? With what material? Different runes require different vessels. Some demand jade to conduct properly, others respond only to metals, or specially treated wood. The vessel shifts with the meaning.
“And more than that, you are forgetting one thing.” His eyes locked onto Chen Ren’s, and for the first time there was a flicker in them that Chen Ren could not name. Not skepticism, not dismissal. Something keener. Was it… excitement? Hong Yi’s voice dropped to a near growl. “Intent. Talismans need qi and intent of a cultivator. I can envision channels to funnel qi into the plate, yes. But intent is not so simple. Intent is not something you etch into a gear. It is the will of the cultivator, and too arbitrary for us to do it. How do you plan to solve that?”
Chen Ren nodded. “That is one of the things we need to solve. I tried to think of a way… and I found nothing yet. But intent is not beyond us, I believe that. With the three of us working together, I believe we can find a solution soon."
Truthfully, even after intent, there were a few things he was confused about despite the printing press inspiration he had taken. That was why he needed both of them. If they could help, the project had a higher chance to succeed.
Feiyu groaned as he settled into his chair.
“Sect Leader, in the evenings, I can spare time to work on it. But tell me, what do we even call this thing?”
Chen Ren’s grin broke out.
I was waiting to say it, he thought to himself and said: “A talisman press.”
***
Chen Ren ended up spending a good chunk of the night with the two of them, the small workshop busy unraveling everything surrounding the talisman press. Questions came like waves, some he had expected, others so sharp and unexpected that they forced him to stop and think. Yet instead of irritation, he found himself filled with clarity—the more questions they asked, the more he realized how vital both of them would be for this endeavor.
Feiyu had been extremely useful with making designs. He’d an unmatched eye for turning rough sketches into breathing, working constructs and it was indispensable. And Hong Yi had long experience in designing puppets, understanding the interplay between qi channels, joints, and carved arrays. He was perfect not only to refine the design of the press itself, but also to integrate the countless internal adjustments that would make it function.
Chen Ren did not fool himself. They would not leap to production within days or weeks. But with their combined strength, he was confident that within the next month, they’d be able to come up with a prototype. Knowing the temperament of both men, he even suspected they would be too excited to not work on it, the challenge burrowing into their minds like fire into kindling.
As for himself, he would focus on securing materials. The plates, the reinforced paper, the treated inks—all costly, none easy to procure. But if they succeeded, if the talisman press became reality, their profits would rival even those of Divine Pill Apothecary. Perhaps even eclipse them.
Though he longed to continue, to push deeper into the endless maze of what-ifs and hows, fatigue eventually pulled at his limbs. He felt the strain. Daily training had taught him a lesson that too many cultivators ignored—that even cultivators needed rest if they wished to grow steadily. So, when midnight arrived, he excused himself with little hesitation.
When he woke up the next morning, however, he learned that the workshop had not fallen silent after his departure. Hong Yi and Feiyu had kept the discussion alive for quite longer than he expected.
That, more than anything, was what Chen Ren had wanted. It meant the talisman press had caught hold of their fancy. It meant the seed was already sprouting.
And that alone was a victory.
But Chen Ren never got the chance to seek out Hong Yi and Feiyu to ask whether they had wrestled more ideas out of the night.
Because that very morning, someone wholly unexpected walked into the village.
Tang Yuqiu herself.
Chen Ren had been waiting for news about his clan, and he had known a message would come eventually. Yet in his heart he had expected Zi Wen to get it through his bird or a nameless subordinate, some quiet courier who would hand him a sealed scroll and vanish again. Instead, Yuqiu strode directly into the sect building without the faintest ripple of warning.
So only an hour after waking, he found himself seated in a chamber, the fragrance of steeping leaves rising gently from the clay pot on the table. Beside him, Tang Xiulan moved gracefully, pouring tea into small cups, while Yuqiu sat across with a small smile playing on her lips.
Yuqiu’s gaze slid toward Xiulan, and her lips curved into a teasing arc. “I hope you have been well. You know, I haven’t found a better maid around the Tang Clan since you left.”
Xiulan’s smile was faint, her posture calm and dignified as always. “I’m sure there are plenty who could do better than me. But yes, I’ve been well. The sect keeps growing, and I am glad to play my part in that.”
Chen Ren interjected. “If not for Xiulan, the sect would have crumbled long ago. She’s the one holding everything together, managing matters I cannot afford to neglect yet lack the time to handle.”
Xiulan’s smile deepened just slightly at his words. She pushed the tea cups gently toward both of them, her sleeves brushing the table’s edge, before bowing her head. “Then I’ll take my leave. There’s still more work waiting.”
And with that, she slipped out, leaving Chen Ren alone with Tang Yuqiu.
The silence lingered for a breath before Chen Ren finally gave voice to the question that had been burning at the edge of his tongue since she arrived.
“So. How do you find the sect? You came here to inspect it with your own eyes, didn’t you?”
Yuqiu’s smile lingered. “I could have come only to speak with you,” she admitted. “But yes, I was curious.” Her eyes drifted across the modest room, noting the clean lines of the wooden walls, the simple furnishing. Then, she let her gaze sweep beyond, toward the bustle of the village outside the window.
“It’s far simpler than I expected,” she said finally. “But I see no scars of the rising. The village is whole, the people are smiling, and there is a sense of order here. It seems,” her eyes returned to Chen Ren, “that you’ve done a good job.”
Chen Ren set his cup down with a soft clink. “I’ve tried to.”
“Not only with the sect, Sect Leader. But your businesses as well. I’ve heard good things about your… exploits in the Darkmoon Sect.”
Chen Ren raised his cup again, sipping slowly before replying. “Tang Boming wrote to you.”
“Yes. Don’t worry, there was nothing in his report you would dislike.”
“It’s fine. We are partners.”
And truthfully, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about Tang Yuqiu knowing the breadth of his ventures. How could he be? He had been using her people, her network, even Tang Boming to push those ventures forward. For her not to be aware would have been impossible. More than that—given how profitable their joint undertakings had already proven, she would be a fool to sour relations over such trivialities. And Tang Yuqiu was no fool.
Her smile deepened, as if his words had been exactly what she expected. “Yes. Partners. And you have surprised me, Chen Ren. A partner who actually gives more than he takes, one who turns profit rather than burns it. But still…” She inhaled sharply. “I did not expect you to turn your eyes toward your clan so soon.”
“I’m only looking for information about them. You never thought I would?”
Yuqiu tilted her head, studying him with a look that was half amusement, half appraisal. “I thought they would be the ones to reach out to you. You’ve been making waves, Chen Ren—echoes of your name are already stirring in the great cities. But I suppose, it’s only natural for you to take advantage of a war and return to Red Peak City.”
Chen Ren froze. His brows drew tight, a faint chill racing down his spine. “…A war?” He leaned forward slightly. “What do you mean, a war?”
Yuqiu’s smile slipped away like silk torn from a sheath. Her gaze turned hard. “Don’t play games with me, Chen Ren. Don’t pretend ignorance. You should have known already—it’s been going on for some time. Red Peak City is in chaos. The major powers are devouring each other from the inside, and your Chen Clan…your clan is at the very center of it.”
2025-09-18 13:09:29 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 168
Chen Ren hadn’t expected the heavens themselves to open up against him. One moment, stillness—then the next, rain hammered down, lightning lashing through the darkened air like whips of white fire. The wet cold seeped instantly into his robes, clinging, dragging him down, forcing every step to feel heavier than the last. Lightning though, was nothing. It sizzled against his flesh, sparked along his arms, but barely numbed the skin. His body had long since grown tolerant to such fury.
No, it was the rain that bit the deepest. Rain that blurred his vision, soaked his sleeves, and made his grip slippery. And from within that storm, Whiskey shrieked. The beast leapt at him with claws flashing, its form breaking and reforming in the curtains of water, like a phantom birthed from the clouds. From every side it lunged.
Chen Ren did not summon his qi. He had no need to. His goal was already done. Instead, he let instinct and tempered reflex guide him. His body swayed and bent with the deluge, dodging narrowly, enduring the roar of rain and the sharp crack of thunder.
Through the chaos came the voices of the children. Their laughter, their little hands clapping, their excitement rising with every clash. It tugged at his heart, but he kept his gaze fixed on the storm-born creature before him.
At last, fully drenched, his hair plastered to his face, Chen Ren found his chance. He surged forward, caught Whiskey in both hands, and held fast. The beast thrashed violently—screeching, claws gouging shallow marks across his arms. Still, Chen Ren’s grip did not loosen. He endured until the madness bled from Whiskey’s movements.
The storm shuddered. Then it stopped. The rain slackened, the lightning stilled. Whiskey blinked at him with wide, gleaming eyes, a confused whimper sounding from his throat. Even his voice was small now, almost pitiful, as if to say: enough… put me down.
Chen Ren exhaled, releasing the beast. “The fight is over. You’ll get what was promised.”
Whiskey tilted its head, then gave a sharp nod, bounding away towards the children. Their chatter rose as they swarmed around it, unafraid, as if the storm that had raged only moments before was a lie.
Chen Ren straightened, dripping wet, and let a weary sigh escape him.
“That was pretty good,” came Yalan’s calm voice from behind, edged with approval. “He almost took you out.”
Chen Ren chuckled slowly, brushing water from his brow. “Only because I wasn’t using any qi. And it came too suddenly. That was… storm qi, wasn’t it? Up close, the pressure was overwhelming.”
Yalan’s amber eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the fading traces of energy in the air, she licked her wet paws. “I’ve seen cultivators wielding both wind and water affinities blend them like that. Rare… and always troublesome to face.”
Chen Ren’s gaze followed Whiskey, now happily basking in the attention of the children, and he let another sigh roll free. “Troublesome indeed.” He wrung out his sleeves, water dripping down his arms in steady rivulets. But his eyes lingered on the lunari, who was now rolling about shamelessly between the children, utterly unbothered by the chaos he had unleashed just moments before.
“Are they always as strong as him?” Chen Ren asked.
“No. Not even close,” Yalan said. “Storm qi is what we call a secondary affinity. It doesn’t exist on its own in humans—it’s born from mixing two of the original aspects together. Wind and water, in this case. For a human cultivator, achieving that requires years of cultivation, careful balancing, and often great risk. Even then, most fail. For beasts, affinities come more naturally… but even among them, storm qi is rare. Rarer still to see it as forceful as what Whiskey just wielded.”
Chen Ren’s brows furrowed. The rain was gone, but the heaviness seemed to linger in his thoughts. So this little beast has touched something even sect elites struggle to grasp.
After a moment, he asked, “So… what beast egg do you think it was?”
Yalan paused licking her paws, and looked at Chen Ren. “Hard to say. Perhaps a storm wyvern. Or maybe a marsh slasher. Both are known to wield storm qi in their own way. What’s certain is that it came from no ordinary beast.”
“Well, it was sitting in the Soaring Sword Sect’s treasury. If it really was a Storm Wyvern egg that he ate… then we’re unlucky. A mount like that would’ve been invaluable.” Chen Ren gave a wry smile.
“A dead egg, Chen Ren. Don’t speak of treasures that no longer exist. Besides, storm wyverns are legendarily difficult to tame. Even Zi Wen—despite his talent as a beast tamer—would struggle to control one. And Whiskey…” Her eyes softened briefly as she glanced at the lunari now happily receiving pats from small hands. “He’s still learning. He’s still new. But… I believe Whiskey will be fine. Storm qi may not disrupt his natural affinity. In fact, the way he wielded it just now… he might even learn to master it. A lunari with storm qi could grow very strong.”
She let her words hang in the air for a beat before adding, “But strength isn’t what Whiskey cares for. That much is plain.”
Chen Ren followed her gaze. The children were laughing, tugging on Whiskey’s ears and tail, and the beast only chortled and twisted about, tail lashing like a delighted pup. He exhaled slowly. “No, he doesn’t care for it. But we need to make use of him.”
“Exactly.”
Originally, Chen Ren hadn’t thought much of Whiskey beyond being a pet. The lunari’s nature had seemed so fitting—already adored by the children, always tumbling and playing, his cheerful presence lightened even the heaviest days. It was why Chen Ren had kept him in the first place: a companion, a source of joy, not a weapon.
But after witnessing that storm qi… things had shifted. A power like that couldn’t be ignored. If cultivated, if refined, it could make Whiskey into a formidable fighter. His size alone lent itself to versatility, small and agile enough to dart around foes. In battle, such a companion would be invaluable. Cultivators working alongside beast partners wasn’t rare; some sects even prized it as a sign of strength.
The real question was not whether Whiskey could cultivate—but whether he would. Chen Ren knew the beast could understand him. He’d seen it in those bright eyes, in the subtle nods and tilts of the head. The problem was never comprehension. It was willingness. Whiskey had no desire to grow sharper, no hunger to grasp power. Even when he had wielded storm qi, it hadn’t been with the sharp intent of a cultivator. It had been like a child lashing out in play.
Chen Ren watched as Whiskey collapsed onto the grass, children playing with him. That carefree laugh, that boundless energy—It was hard to imagine him bowing his head to serious training.
In the end, Chen Ren only sighed and shook his head, meeting Yalan’s steady gaze. “We can leave it for later. I don’t need to solve everything at once. Just knowing Whiskey can grow stronger is enough for now, especially if it stirs his competitive streak with Zi Wen’s beast.”
Yalan inclined her head, her whiskers twitching. “Yes. And besides, you have other things demanding your focus. Body and soul cultivation. Balancing your star space. And…” her eyes narrowed, “your trip to Red Peak City to meet your family.”
At that, Chen Ren grimaced as if the words themselves were bitter medicine. “Ugh, now that you reminded me of it. Honestly, facing the Chen Clan feels worse than my star space shattering.”
For a few seconds, Yalan was silent, eyes distant in thought. Then, slowly, she nodded. “In some ways… it is.”
***
The next few days blurred together, a restless weave of training, lessons, different kinds of worries, and quiet projects. Every hour was spoken for: his own cultivation, teaching the disciples science, coaxing Whiskey to grasp his newfound storm qi, and the looming shadow of his return to the Chen Clan. Between all that, he still made time to meet with Hong Yi and Feiyu, discussing schemes and ideas that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.
Of all these tasks, the simplest were the first two.
Body cultivation was still a trial of sweat and strain, but it no longer broke him as it once had. The pain had dulled into something familiar, a rhythm that his flesh almost craved, and he could feel his movements sharpening with every round of training. Qing He had begun discussing the next step with him—an alchemical bath, infused with beast parts and essence, the sort that could temper his body further.
“Almost tradition,” she had said, her eyes steady as she listed the possibilities. “A body cultivator must hunt the beast himself. I can prepare the bath, but the essence must be worthy of you. Nothing less than tier two, or the advancement will be shallow.”
And so Chen Ren found himself poring over a bestiary in the nights, flipping through sketches of fanged maws, winged predators, and scaled titans, weighing which essence would mesh best with his growing strength. And every time he flipped a page, he sensed both danger and opportunity.
There were different things for him to consider, and compared to that, soul cultivation was calmer. He had already set foot on the path, already broken through the first step. Now it seemed like just a matter of steady persistence, moving slowly toward the second. Even Wang Jun, who had once pressed him harshly, had grown uncharacteristically silent. He only offered words when Chen Ren posed questions, leaving him space to refine his foundation. That suited him well enough.
And then there were the classes. Teaching was almost… soothing. A change of pace that steadied his heart after cultivation’s endless grind. Standing before mortals, guiding their fumbling hands through experiments, or correcting cultivators who sought sharper understanding. It all refreshed his own knowledge, grounding him in ways that training never could.
It was a balance, of sorts.
And even if half his students stared blankly whenever he delved into biology and chemistry, the other half filled the room with questions. Their confusion didn’t bother him—it meant they were thinking, grappling with ideas, forcing him to refine his own explanations. The more they asked, the more the lessons became a dialogue, and slowly the classes began to take on their own rhythm.
His days might have been brighter if not for Whiskey. The lunari was a nightmare to train. It was as if the creature believed storm qi was a toy it had been born with, not a power to be tempered. Whiskey didn’t practice, didn’t experiment, didn’t even bother to listen when Chen Ren tried to guide him. Instead, he learned to use the ability to drench the children in sudden sprays of cold water—an act that sent them squealing with laughter but had Chen Ren striding in before they caught fevers. Winter’s chill was not forgiving.
In the end, Chen Ren discovered a trick: Zi Wen’s beast. The weasel Xinxin—wily, stubborn, relentless—seemed to be Whiskey’s nemesis. The lunari hated it with a passion, and whenever the two clashed, both fought with a seriousness absent in every other setting. Storm qi crackled, claws flashed, and the weasel’s fierce refusal to yield forced Whiskey to sharpen his instincts. Chen Ren began to count those skirmishes as training sessions. He realized then that the only reliable way to push Whiskey toward strength was to pit him against creatures he despised. Hatred was a fire far stronger than lectures.
Evenings were calmer. After dinner, he sat with Feiyu and Hong Yi, reviewing the progress of their shared projects. More mortals had begun to join them—at Chen Ren’s urging—and while Feiyu welcomed the extra hands in her workshop, Hong Yi bristled.
“Only those who understand the art of puppetry deserve to stand within my workshop,” Hong Yi would say with conviction. He preferred solitude, and his craft demanded delicate precision. Materials were costly, mistakes ruinous. Allowing untrained hands near his work was a risk he could not accept.
Chen Ren understood. Puppet-making was not like Feiyu’s smithing where many tasks could be broken down into simple labor. Every stroke of Hong Yi’s carving knife carried weight, every sliver of wood or trace of spiritual metal demanded skill. Still, it was a problem he would need to resolve, one way or another.
Normal wood and metal were useless in puppet craft—Hong Yi had been very clear about that. Materials had to be conductive to qi, able to channel and hold it without warping. When Chen Ren promised him a share of the profits from the sect’s coming spirit stone venture—money earmarked specifically for acquiring proper materials—the man’s stance shifted so fast it was almost comical. One moment, Hong Yi was grumbling about unworthy hands in his workshop, the next he was talking about disciples that might be worthy to teach with a fervor that bordered on obsession.
Chen Ren didn’t mind. Subordinates often needed the right incentives, and he preferred to know exactly what made them move. Hong Yi’s pride might be a problem down the line, but at least his ambition was easy to direct.
Already, the puppet master was drafting blueprints for various things, even qi-infused wooden carriages they Chen Ren talked about. They would still require mounts to draw them, of course—strong, dependable beasts—but the interiors would be refined, luxurious even. Hong Yi had grasped immediately what Chen Ren wanted: not just functionality, but appeal. And beyond that, some of his designs had broader implications.
Chen Ren could see it clearly: a fleet of carriages, not just for sect members but for the masses. Not caravans or merchant lines, but buses. In this world, no such thing existed. Merchants occasionally offered transport between cities, but there was no dedicated, organized service. The idea of moving mortals in groups, safely and efficiently, could become its own business. A system.
The notion lingered in his mind, tempting, but Chen Ren shook his head. Not now. The pills had already been a success, their profits securing his current momentum. He wanted to expand, yes, but his vision was clear: businesses that catered to rogue cultivators. Those outside the umbrella of the great sects that had money to spare.
He couldn’t just sell noodles and cakes and expect them to hold interest. Cultivators would flock to novelty for a few days, but in the end, all their measurements, all their hungers, were rooted in qi. Without a dao of cooking to infuse food with real cultivation value, it was just mortal indulgence.
What he needed was something sustainable, something useful—products or services that offered true advancement. That, above all, was what rogue cultivators sought.
Chen Ren had come to a simple conclusion after long nights of thought: cultivators only truly valued three things—what made them fight harder, live longer, or climb higher on the ladder of cultivation. Everything else was luxury. That was why alchemy, blacksmithing, and talisman crafting had always reigned supreme among the auxiliary paths. They produced results that could be traded directly for resources.
He had already carved a niche for himself in alchemy. Pills sold faster than the sect could refine them, and their success had secured his position. Feiyu, meanwhile, was delving into firearms, his ambition already stretching toward armor, but that would not be ready for mass production anytime soon. Which left talismans.
On paper, talisman crafting was deceptively simple. A sheet of qi-infused paper that wouldn’t burn under inscription, the correct runes drawn with precision, and the cultivator’s own qi flowing into the strokes. In practice, it was maddeningly complex. A single tremor of the hand could ruin the weave. A flawed channel of qi could make a talisman sputter, crack, or explode outright.
Even when successful, no two talismans were equal. Two tier-one fire talismans, crafted side by side, could have wildly different results—one producing a weak puff of flame, the other a jet hot enough to char stone. It all depended on the strength of qi used, the precision of runes, and the resonance between the two. And once used, they were gone.
Yet, that very impermanence was what gave talismans their value. In the chaos of battle, even a disposable spark could mean the difference between victory and death. Demand for them would never fade.
Chen Ren could see the potential, and he could see the problems. If he wanted a steady supply, he couldn’t rely on individual artisans to hand-craft every talisman.
He needed a way to systematize the process, to strip away the uncertainty without stripping away the qi. For that vision, he needed both Hong Yi and Feiyu to work together.
2025-09-16 06:19:22 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 278
Thalric’s palm came down like a warhammer.
The oaken table didn’t creak, didn’t groan—it broke. A hard, splintering crack ran through the center seam and the whole slab collapsed into two toothy halves. Pewter goblets jumped and rolled, wine arcing into the air before slapping across the stones.
He was already moving. Fingers hooked the nearest chair, muscles bunching along his forearms, and he swung it into the wall. The smash echoed through the chamber. Timber burst into jagged ribs that showered him and the circle of Knights. Splinters peppered the plates of their gorgets and caught in the chain at their throats. No one reached for him. Their eyes flicked to one another, a silent passing of responsibility that no one took.
The blaze inside him wanted more. The blaze demanded it.
He turned to the tall window and drove his shoulder through the air into the glass. The pane coughed a deep, straining sound and spiderwebs of stress sprang into being, a dozen Thalrics staring back at him from cracked facets—each one showing the same bared teeth. He punched. Knuckles kissed cold glass. Cracks leapt. He punched again. Skin split. Blood slicked across his fingers and the floor began to freckle red.
He didn’t slow. Pain was distant; nothing had touched the real wound. He just wanted someone to bleed, bleed till they don't move.
A Knight finally broke ranks, boots scuffing the floor as he lunged. “Your Highness, please calm yourself! Drink the health potion. If something happened to you—”
Thalric’s hand caught cloth and mail in the same grip. He yanked the man off his feet and flung him, shoulder first, into the wall. Stone thudded. A plume of dust sifted down. Metal rang when the Knight slid and hit the floor, breath knocked as flat as hammered tin.
“Calm down?” Thalric snarled through his hoarse throat. The words scratched their way out. “Do you bloody think I can calm down?”
He swept a gaze over the others. Pale, hands hovering near sword hilts they did not dare draw. “Do you know what happened? Do you know what my father has done?” His lips peeled back from his teeth. “You are just Knights. Born to serve. Born to kneel.”
His fist struck his own chest with a hollow thud. “I was born to rule. And my right to rule has been stripped from me while I stood there, hands empty.”
He turned and drove another punch into the glass. The window burst outward in a glittering exhalation. Shards rained both inside and out, chiming on stone, catching sunlight as if the sky had shattered and let its pieces fall. A thin wind slid through the open wound in the wall and licked the blood at his knuckles cold.
He didn’t look at the cuts. The ache in his hands was a distant drum he had no ear for. The beat that owned him now was older, deeper, something like a heart inside the heart, a forge inside the chest that only knew how to burn.
He took a step into the draft from the ruined window, drawing air like a man who had been drowning and finally broke the surface. The city lay beyond: roofs and banners and the thin silver thread of waterbodies. All of it under the castle his father ruled. His father didn't care for anything until recently.
Images jammed behind his eyes and then spilled, a reel of memory he could not stop—
The Assembly Hall. His father sat in the highest seat. The nobles in their bright plumage looking around. And his father’s voice, mild as milk. Do you have anything to say?
Thalric’s jaw flexed until it hurt. He could smell the hall again—cold stone, candle grease, perfume. He could hear the judgment spoken. He could feel the moment his own future was lifted from the table and whisked away like a cup by a servant—gone, and he hadn’t been strong enough to stop it.
His hands curled. Glass tinkled under his boots as he paced.
He had lost in the truest sense. Not only had he failed to stop that bastard Arzan from getting a good verdict, the man had dared to do something that he hadn’t imagined in his worst nightmares.
Perhaps, no one saw it coming—that much was clear by the shock that rang out in the Assembly as soon as he’d said it. But if he had to guess, only his brother Eldric and Queen Regina had any idea that this was going to happen. Was that why they were so against him?
If he had known. Gods witness him, if he had—Arzan would have been a memory with a shallow grave and a nameless stone. But how could he? He was never interested in that man before and had no interest in keeping track of the history of the kingdom. Tutors had chirped of charters and precedents while Thalric had always been outside in the yard. Paper had seemed like a coward's shield. He had built himself where men bled—learning weapons and battle tactics instead of learning how his father had given a medallion to Arzan's mother years back.
Now the past unfurled like a writ. The Assembly took quite the turn. All of it felt like bloody stupid nonsense to him but everyone had acted like it was true. That it actually happened.
He stood there and watched it. He could do nothing—nothing but smash everything down.
The table felt like a broken jaw, the window a mouth full of glass-teeth. Wind licked the blood from his knuckles. He ground a shard into his palm until the sting narrowed the world to one bright filament. Splinters were still nested in his sleeves. The Knights watched with their hands hovering near hilts, the way men stand at the edge of a cliff and test the gravel.
If it had been some trembling lord, some peacock with perfume in his powder, he might have laughed and gone hunting. But Arzan was different. He was the strongest Mage in the kingdom.
Eldric’s cunning webs. Aldrin’s mages. Two millstones already grinded at his shoulders. His answer had always been the same: put on a helm and wade through. Now a third weight dropped, and the rope bit. How was that fair?
He could still see his father’s gaze when it slid past his sons to Arzan and how he had looked at him, with warmth in his eyes.
He curled his fist, glass groaning under his skin. Blood gathered and fell in slow, thick drops that pattered against the stone.
If nothing changed, the crown would slip from his grasp. His father’s gaze had made that much clear—Arzan would have it. And Thalric? He would have nothing. Nothing but a shallow grave.
That was how it went. Every child knew it; every heir had been raised on the tale. Succession was not a passing of the torch—it was the snuffing of every other flame. His late mother had whispered it often enough: When the time comes, only one lives to inherit. The rest feed the crows.
He could already see it. A stake, a jeering crowd, his head held aloft as a warning to others who had dreamed too high. His vision of a continent forged into an Empire gone like mist in the morning sun.
No. He would not die a dog’s death.
His mind spun, knives flashing through shadow. Assassination. Poison. Fire in the barracks. Every thought that came was extreme, dripping in blood, and yet… none repulsed him. The only thing that clawed at him was indecision—which one first?
Around him, the Knights had begun to ease, shoulders lowering, hands drifting away from their hilts. They thought the storm had passed, that their Prince had broken his fit of madness. Fools. He had not quieted; he had sharpened.
If he walked the paths now forming in his mind, destruction would follow—tenfold what he had just wrought on table and glass. Hundreds might die. Thousands, perhaps. But what was that to him? The lives of peasants, of nameless men-at-arms, of nobles fattened on inheritance—they were tinder. If they burned, and in burning fueled his rise, then their ash would be his Empire’s foundation.
Would they not rejoice, even in death, if the realm they birthed was greater than anything before?
The answer writhed inside him: yes.
Every other voice in his mind—his mother’s, his tutors’, even the echo of his father—hissed the same conclusion. There is no other choice.
Thalric drew in a slow breath, letting it cool the fire in his chest until it condensed into something solid. His gaze raked across the ring of Knights. One finally stepped forward after gathering courage to speak up.
“Your Highness… are you well?”
Thalric’s lip curled. A humorless sound clawed its way from his throat, not quite a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about me. Get the horses ready. We ride for Fort Kaelgrim.”
The Knights blinked. One shifted, as though to ask.
“I want every noble under me summoned there,” Thalric cut in. “Those who ride with me will be rewarded. Those who hesitate…” He let the pause hang. “I don’t want questions. I want obedience. Do it.”
***
Aldrin felt like vomiting.
The chair beneath him might as well have been a gallows seat. His reflection in the small mirror on his desk confirmed what his stomach already knew—his skin had leached of every trace of blood. A chalk mask stared back at him, sunken eyes and lips cracked pale. He looked like a corpse awaiting burial.
Perhaps he already was.
Every plan he had nurtured, every careful step, every whispered promise—It had all died in that Assembly chamber. Snuffed out like candles in a storm. He had thought Arzan would be an ally. Not a friend, perhaps, but a man he could lean on, if not push. Together they might have steered the future, one throne supporting two ambitions. But Arzan had not just turned the board, he had flipped it outright, scattering every piece Aldrin had so carefully placed.
No, not Arzan alone.
Aldrin pressed a trembling hand against his temple, forcing the throbbing inside to still. The more he replayed the Assembly, the more certain he became. His father’s hand was in this. Not openly—never openly—but woven in the seams. The words that should have been dismissed as folly had instead landed like scripture. It was no accident. It was designed.
He had walked into a trap he hadn’t even known existed.
What now?
His gut turned, as though his body itself recoiled from the answer. Every instinct he had screamed the same truth: war was coming. Civil war. His brothers would never sit idle while Arzan was elevated. Thalric was already a powder keg in armor; he would tear walls down with his bare hands before yielding. And Eldric no, Aldrin shuddered, his eldest brother would not rage. He would scheme. He would poison. He would drown cities in whispers before ever drawing a blade. Neither would let Arzan’s rise stand.
And Queen Regina—Aldrin swallowed hard—he had seen the fire in her eyes, the way her hand gripped her armrest as though it were the throat of an enemy. She had looked ready to start the war in the Assembly itself.
The storm was already breaking.
But what was he to do when it came? He had no army like Thalric, no Mages like Eldric. His strength had never been steel or spell, but words and smiles. Influence. Carefully built ties with the commons, slow currents meant to swell into a tide of support. But now, with Arzan’s verdict, that plan has collapsed. The people would look to the outsider with awe, not him.
All he had left were his hands across the border. The kingdoms he had visited, the nobles whose ears he had charmed on long, grueling diplomatic roads. Alparca, most of all—he still had family there, or at least those who enjoyed his wine and his wit. Perhaps enough to call in favors, perhaps enough to build something greater.
It would mean inviting outsiders into his father’s realm. It would mean staking the entire kingdom on foreign alliances. It would mean being branded a traitor if he lost.
Aldrin dragged his gaze back to the mirror. His reflection stared at him with corpse-white skin and hollow eyes, but beneath the pallor a thought flickered, thin and sharp.
Better a living traitor than a dead prince.
He clenched his jaw until the ache steadied his thoughts. Yes. If he could not match his brothers’ armies, he would borrow one. His hand hovered over a stack of blank parchment, the weight of ink suddenly heavier than any blade.
Somewhere in the palace, bells tolled the hour. Each peal felt like a countdown.
Aldrin dipped the quill.
Could he really sit back? Let the storm break and sweep him away while others clawed at the throne? No. He wasn’t built for idleness.
Aldrin was no fool like Thalric and Eldric. He was more sane than either of them, more aware of what he was and what he wasn’t. But ambition gnawed at him all the same.
And more than ambition, there was distrust.
None of them—his brothers, least of all Arzan—would hold the kingdom steady. He could see their futures as if painted before him. Each path led only to fractures. Collapse. Fuck, every thing would fall into pieces.
He could not allow that.
Not from the capital. Not from here.
By the end of the Assembly, the city Hermil had turned into a noose. The air itself seemed thick with sparks, the kind that awaited only the smallest strike to blaze. If war was to start, it would start here. He could almost hear the screams already, echoing through its streets. Staying would be nothing short of suicide.
The door to his chamber opened, hinges groaning. Count Blackbough entered, his dark cloak trailing behind him, and with him came two other nobles whose faces carried the same tightness that had locked Aldrin’s stomach since the Assembly.
Their eyes found him, pale and drawn behind his desk, but none asked the question aloud. They all knew.
Aldrin straightened, voice steady despite the tremor inside him. “We need to prepare to leave.”
“Leave?” Blackbough's brow furrowed. “Leave where?”
“The edge of the kingdom,” Aldrin said. His hands curled into fists atop the desk. “To Alparca. I will speak with their court, call on the ties I’ve built, and make them see me as the rightful heir. With their backing, pressure will bleed in from every border. My father will feel the noose tighten from hands he cannot cut.” He tilted his head. “If he lives to see the end of these weeks, that is.”
The room stilled at the mention of the King’s death, but Blackbough did not so much as blink. The Count inclined his head, though hesitation lingered in his voice. “Do we need to leave now?”
“If we don’t,” Aldrin said, leaning forward, “then the city will swallow us whole. The capital will burn first—make no mistake. And when it does, there will be no escape. The only path to victory is not at the center but the edges. I will take the borders, bind them to me, and when the capital is surrounded, no army nor Mage nor would-be usurper will be able to unseat me. That is how we win the kingdom. Not by defending a crumbling throne, but by building a new one from every corner of the realm inward.”
The nobles glanced at one another, silent, then nodded.
Aldrin pushed away from the desk, his chair screeching across the stone. “Gather what you can. We ride before the capital devours us. We ride to claim what is mine. Let them choke on their civil war—we will be the ones who emerge when the ashes settle.”
He strode toward the door, the others falling into step behind him.
“Now,” Aldrin said again, low and certain. “Let’s go.”
***
Eldric shivered.
Not from cold, but from the shrieks clawing their way out of his mother’s chambers. The sound carried down the stone corridor like a banshee’s wail. Screams. Crashes. The sound of a woman who had always believed herself untouchable finally being denied something.
Each ragged cry sent a tremor down his spine, and still, he stayed rooted there. Listening.
A part of him savored it.
Regina, Queen of Poise and Poison, who had trampled over courtiers and nobles alike, who had carved her way through the capital with charm and venom in equal measure reduced to a voice raw with fury. The woman who believed herself flawless, flawless enough to twist the Assembly, flawless enough to sneer at nobles and sons alike, now shrieking like any other wretch denied her will.
Would she finally see her faults? Eldric’s lips twitched. No. Of course not. His mother would claw the very stones apart before admitting weakness. But still, to hear her rage fill the halls like thunder—it was a performance. A spectacle worth the price of admission.
He would remember this day. All of it.
History would remember it too—though the tone of the tale, whether it sang of triumph or tragedy, would be written not today but in the months ahead. Eldric was certain of that. The Assembly’s verdict had not ended the game; it had only reset the board.
Another crash rattled the door to Regina’s chamber. A hoarse scream followed, muffled by thick wood. Eldric’s satisfaction was quiet, private. Enough. He turned from the sound, the smile fading from his lips, and let his boots whisper across the corridor stones.
The castle was chaos—servants scurrying like mice, guards barking orders that no one heeded, the frenzy of a hive split open at the seams. Eldric had slipped from the Assembly at the peak of its madness, when all eyes were turned on Arzan and his father who were in the middle of a storm of shouts and accusations. No Knights trailed him now. No watchful eyes tracked his movements. He was a ghost in his own house, and he intended to make use of it.
For a moment, he considered seeking his brothers. Thalric would be breaking anything he could lay hands on, roaring like a caged bull. Aldrin would be pale, pacing, trying to stitch plans back together from tatters. It might have been amusing to see them flail. To drink in their frustration.
But no. Not now.
His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the cool curve of glass. A faint clink sounded as the vial knocked against the fabric of his trousers. He had plucked it away almost absently before the Assembly, some whisper inside him already knowing he would want it before the day was done.
He didn’t pull it free. Not yet.
Instead, Eldric mounted the staircase, one deliberate step at a time. Servants passed in hurried flurries, their eyes flicking to him, then away just as quickly. They knew better than to meet his gaze. He ignored them all, his focus narrowing to the slow rhythm of ascent, the weight of glass at his thigh, and the silence growing with every step away from the noise of his mother’s shrieking.
One stair at a time. Upward. Always upward.
And finally, he reached it, the very top.
The rooftop opened before him. The air was sharp, clean, carrying the scents of smoke, stone, and the faint tang of the river that cut through the heart of Hermil. Eldric stood still, hands clasped behind him, and let his gaze sweep outward.
Below sprawled the capital—the buildings packed tight as teeth, the walls a pale ring holding back the world, the streets teeming with ants that called themselves people. And beyond those walls, far past the reach of banners and bells, stretched the rest of the kingdom. His kingdom.
As a child, he had come here often, eyes wide with awe, pretending each roof and courtyard belonged to him. But that wonder had died as he grew older, smothered by lessons, politics, and the shadow of a father who didn't care and a mother who cared too much. He had not stood here in years.
Today, though—today he had to. He needed to look down at it all, to remind himself what was at stake. The walls. The people. The endless horizon.
It was finally time.
He wasn’t blind. He knew what was coming. The kingdom would tear itself apart; civil war was not a possibility but an inevitability. His father had made sure of that when he handed Arzan legitimacy, when he spat on the blood of his sons. But to Eldric, this wasn't a disaster. It was the door he had been waiting for, creaking open at last.
Even his father couldn’t be surprised—not after what he’d done.
Eldric pulled the vial from his pocket. The fragile glass felt cool against his fingers. He uncorked it and raised it to his lips, tilting his head back slowly. The liquid slid across his tongue, bitter enough to sting, sharp enough to make his throat tighten. He drank in steady pulls, savoring each burn as it seeped into him.
Addictive. Dangerous. Changing him.
He knew it. He could feel it. The substance was no mere comfort. It was reshaping him from within, stretching something long dormant, feeding the part of him that had always hungered but never been fed. Power.
Raw. Unforgiving. Exactly what he wanted.
A tremor of fear lingered in his chest—fear of what he was becoming, of what it might demand of him. But each swallow pressed that fear further down until it was nothing but dust beneath the boots of his ambition. By the time the vial ran dry, all that remained in his gaze was hunger.
Hunger for a throne. Hunger for dominion.
He smashed the empty glass against the parapet. Shards scattered over the stones, tumbling into the sky. Eldric’s eyes followed them only for a heartbeat before lifting back to the city.
The rooftops. The walls. The people. The horizon beyond.
All of it.
A war was coming, and when the dust settled, everything his eyes touched would bear his mark. Even his mother would be forced to watch.
***
I was sick so I was delayed in posting. Last chap of the volume before Epilogues.
2025-09-16 06:16:45 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 167
Chen Leijun stood upon the high pavilion, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes half-lidded but clearly aware of what was happening. Below him, the training grounds stretched wide, dust rising with every clash of wooden spears and every tumble of a fallen youth. The echoes of shouts, the thud of fists striking flesh, the sharp clang of weapons—it was all a symphony he had heard countless times before. Yet today, to his ears, it rang hollow.
The elders of the Chen Clan gathered at his side, their robes embroidered with the emblem of their lineage. They dared not speak first, but their eyes betrayed them—always darting toward his face, searching, measuring, weighing his thoughts. They longed for approval, for reassurance that the seedlings they had so carefully watered would one day grow into towering trees capable of shaking Red Peak City itself.
Fools, Chen Leijun thought, his gaze sweeping across the youths below.
Since birth, these young ones had been tested, their spirit roots measured, their paths paved with manuals. Every resource the clan could spare had been poured into their bodies. But what use were treasures, when the spirit within was dulled? They moved swiftly, but not like thunder. They struck hard, but not like lightning. There was no sting in their attacks, no fire in their eyes.
They were… adequate. That was all.
Adequacy was death.
Someone among them would one day fight for his own seat… reach the realms of cultivation that would upgrade the clan. But a clan that wished to rule Red Peak City could not be carried by mediocrity. A Chen must not only stand above the masses but crush them beneath his heel, commanding the heavens with his blade and the earth with his will. None below seemed fit to inherit that mantle.
Yet the men around him smiled as though seeing dragons among carp.
“Father,” said his eldest son, Chen Chenglei, breaking the silence. His voice carried pride, his chest swelling as he gestured toward the arena. “Are they not fine? I believe they are the strongest of their age group in the city. The brats of the Yu clan or the feeble heirs of the Huang could only dream of matching them.”
Chen Leijun’s expression did not change.
Another voice followed quickly, eager to be heard. His third son, Chen Rong, stepped forward with a spark of excitement in his eyes. “And among them, your son stands tallest! Look, Father, he hasn’t even suffered a single scratch. Such endurance, such strength! Surely, the heavens favor him.”
Chen Chenglei’s lips curved into a smile at his son’s praise, eyes glowing with familial pride. The other elders murmured their agreement, nodding as though the boy below was already a peerless genius.
But Chen Leijun did not look at his sons, nor at the elders. His gaze fixed instead on the youth in question, watching with the cold patience of a viper.
The boy’s stance was steady, his movements precise. Every strike landed, every defense held, and indeed not a mark blemished his skin. To most, it was perfection. But to Chen Leijun’s eyes, it was a painted mask. The boy did not burn with hunger. His movements were polished, but without edge. His victories came not from desperation or indomitable will, but from calculation and comfort.
A flawless performance yet beneath it, not a trace of ferocity.
And Chen Leijun knew well: what was flawless today would be shattered tomorrow, the moment it faced true killing intent.
His sons could not see it. The elders dared not. But he did.
He alone saw the truth that would decide the fate of the Chen Clan.
The arrogance in each of Chen Eain’s moves was a flare of gaudy fireworks—bright, empty, fleeting. The boy wasn’t fighting; he was preening. Even from the pavilion, with the wind tugging at his sleeves, Chen Leijun could taste the sour bite of a personal grudge riding the boy’s lightning like rot in sweet wine.
The Chen Clan did not become Red Peak’s butcher by playing nice. Grudges were currency. Pride was a cultivator’s spine. But let pride leak into the wrist, let spite stain the breath, and a blade became ornament.
Below, a lightning lance scissored through the dust with a scream of air. Eain slipped past it in a lazy half-step, heel skimming sand, hair lifting as the spear of crackling qi tore the air where his throat had been. He laughed—actually laughed—rolling thunder around his shoulders until motes of silver-blue danced across his forearms like fireflies. His opponent, a wiry youth with too-wide eyes, bit down so hard Leijun could see the jaw tense from the balcony.
In a second, hands twisted, seals formed and more lances spat from the boy’s trembling meridians.
Eain didn’t rush. He rocked on his feet, head tilted, a smile tilting sharper with every gasp drawn from his foe. He let a lance pass so close the fringe of his sleeve smoked, and then he opened his mouth.
“Is that it?”
Soft words, but in the pit, soft words were knives. The other youth flinched, control faltered, the lances staggered off rhythm. Eain flowed through the gap as if strolling through a night market, not a duel. The air boomed; he stepped in, then out again, always just beyond reach, the storm coiling tighter around him until his skin lit from within. When at last he chose to close, the other boy panicked, hauling up a shield of knotted qi, thick and clumsy. Eain vaulted. One knee skimmed a shoulder. He drifted over the crown like a stray spark and stamped.
The shield shattered with a crack like splitting bamboo. The youth skidded face-first, furrowing the yard with his teeth. Eain landed lightly, brushing dust from his sleeve as if he feared stain more than retaliation.
Cheers rose from the elders as though this were artistry. Leijun’s sons stood among them, blinded by blood.
“Grand as ever!” Chen Rong breathed, his voice slick with pride. “Father, look at his control. Not a mark on him yet.”
Leijun did not answer. His gaze stayed on Eain, on the way the boy’s ankles opened too often when he pivoted, careless, trusting his speed; on the way his taunt had been timed for the opponent’s breath, not his own height of power, wasteful; on the way his shoulders loosened after victory as if the fight had never been a fight, as if battle were stage.
He watched arrogance drip from the boy’s movements and pool at his feet.
This was not new. He searched his memory, tracing rot back to root. The first flavor of it had come, perhaps, when Eain faced Chen Ren on these very stones. Ren—poor, impetuous, soft with excuses—had raised a wall and waited for the storm to pass. Eain had not been a storm then. He’d been a knife, and he’d been eager to cut. He broke Ren’s wall, broke Ren’s stance, broke Ren’s nose, then broke Ren’s will. Blood had made a dark fan beneath Ren’s head like a wilted peony.
Leijun had declared the banishment afterward. Ren’s mouth had opened for protest, but one glance at Eain’s contained delight, the bright cruelty loitering in his eyes, and the boy had swallowed his words and left without being escorted. The clan praised decisiveness, the city whispered of the Chen’s iron fist, and Eain’s name began to collect flattery like a magnet collecting filings.
From that day, each victory had been too easy, each opponent too small. The yardlings of the Yu and the Huang had fallen like reeds in a flood, and Eain had learned to mistake shallow water for the ocean.
Now, the same mistake shone from every step he took.
Another challenger stumbled forward, shoulders squared more out of duty than courage. Eain turned to meet him with a leisurely stretch, thunder purring across his knuckles. Their eyes met. The challenger’s gaze caught and slipped, as if drawn toward Eain’s smile against his own will. Eain tilted his head and offered that same soft, cutting voice:
“Come.”
The boy came in like a moth toward a lantern. Eain let him close. At the last instant, he bent time with a flicker of lightning, the world stuttering as his silhouette smeared and reformed behind the strike. A palm thudded between shoulder blades—no mercy—folding the challenger like wet parchment. No scratch marred Eain’s skin. Again.
Around Leijun, silk rustled as elders shifted, pleased. Chen Chenglei, the eldest, allowed himself a satisfied smile, chin high, as if he himself had ducked those lances, crushed those shields. Leijun’s hand tightened on the rail until old wood creaked.
He wasn’t blind to Eain’s skill. The boy had storm-seed meridians, quicksilver footwork, and a talent for catching a foe’s rhythm and breaking it across his knee. But he fought as a young lord twirls a fan—idly, mockingly, in a garden wind. He had not bled for a breath; he had not felt a strike that could kill. The field had encouraged a habit, and habit had become posture, and posture had become nature.
Leijun felt the faintest tremor of killing intent rise from his dantian and settle, cool and flat, behind his eyes.
This yard has grown small, he thought, realisation sinking in. And small yards breed fat tigers.
Below, Eain paced his beaten foe, the grin still fixed, a child admiring his reflection in polished bronze. He glanced up—just for a moment—toward the high pavilion. Pride met the old man’s gaze like a thrown glove.
Leijun did not blink.
He hadn’t foreseen that pruning one rotten branch would let a good bud grow so crooked, that talent could turn so arrogant it would take battle as leisure, victory as theater.
“Isn’t he really good, Father?” Chen Chenglei leaned forward, pride gleaming in his eyes as Eain toyed with yet another opponent below. “I believe he can even take on first star foundation establishment cultivators.”
Leijun turned his head. He didn’t speak. He simply looked.
The weight of that look hit like winter. Chenglei’s shoulders drew in a fraction, his heel slid back half a step, as if he’d remembered a precipice behind him.
“Do you truly think he’s good?” Leijun asked.
Chenglei rallied. “He’s completely overwhelming his opponent.”
“Yes.” Leijun’s fingers tapped the rail, once. “That’s the problem.”
Below, Eain let another lightning lance graze his sleeve, grin widening as if sparks were applause. The boy’s foe staggered, panting, dragging up a shield as if bracing against a tide. Eain circled, not striking but posing.
“The fight shouldn’t have lasted this long,” Leijun said, eyes never leaving the sand. “A wolf does not toy with sheep. Every breath he wastes earns him an enemy’s memory. Do you want me to send him to a sect for the next few decades to temper that pride?”
Chenglei’s head snapped up. “No, Father.” He shook it quickly, both hands raised as though to ward off a decree. “I—I will teach him better. I’ll rein him in.”
“See that you do.” The sigh left Leijun like steam off quenched steel. He knew what glimmered behind Changlei’s eyes: the itch for the patriarch’s seat. Letting the boy crown the young generation would polish Changlei’s name until it shone before the elders. Ambition wrapped in filial piety—pretty ribbon on a knife.
Beneath them, Eain finally ended it with a casual heel to the spine, the shield shattering like frost-glass. He didn’t look like a youth who had just risked his bones. He looked like a young lord finished with a stroll.
Leijun took one last, long look over the training grounds. The banners of crimson lightning snapped in a breeze that smelled of dust and medicine. Elders murmured, pleased; juniors stole glances at the pavilion, waiting for judgment to fall like rain.
He turned.
Patriarch Chen Leijun left the balcony. A ripple of surprise traveled the platform as he passed without a word. He did not need to explain what none of them wished to see: not one among the new generation had struck sparks enough to catch his eye. If the clan let this softness harden into habit, the Yu and the Huang would press, inch by inch, until Red Peak’s thunder belonged to other mouths.
On the steps, he paused only once, feeling the yard’s heat on his face.
“Temper him,” he said without turning. “Or the world will.”
***
Chen Ren watched Whiskey tilt back the barrel and drown the last of the moonshine. The Lunari’s throat worked like a bellows; the scent of grain and bite of alcohol rolled across the porch. When the barrel gurgled dry, Whiskey thumped it down, patted his round belly with both hands, and flopped onto the planks, limbs splayed to chase the sun.
End-of-winter light laid soft gold across the eaves.
Meltwater clicked somewhere under the steps. He almost felt like yesterday's torrent of qi might have been a dream. After that surge, Whiskey had slept an entire day—odd for a lunari, who could glide through weeks on handful of hours. Waking, he’d rampaged through Chen Ren’s pantry like a locust: jerky, roots, steamed buns, even the emergency pickled peppers. Now he lay smiling, eyes half-moons, as if the world held no sharp edges.
Yalan’s voice brushed Chen Ren’s ear. “He has a lot of foreign qi inside him.”
Chen Ren’s mouth tightened. “You already said that.” He crouched, resting his forearms on his knees, studying the lunari’s slow, pleased breathing. “We need to know what it is, and whether it’ll gnaw at him in the long run. Unfortunately, your eyes can't identify it. Lunari are attuned to the moon and star qi, right?”
Yalan purred. “They are. Whiskey isn’t yet. He’s still tier one. As he grows, the astral pull will take hold. But the foreign stream could interfere. It's already taking over his body slowly.”
Chen Ren dragged a hand down his face, thumb catching on an old cut at his chin. Problems had a way of multiplying; lately they bred like rabbits. He thought back to the egg Whiskey had eaten. The only reason he’d kept the dead egg at all was habit; he hadn’t wanted to toss it on the road, and it cluttered his spatial ring like a useless stone.
“You said the egg wasn’t worth anything,” he muttered. “So how did Whiskey pull qi from it by eating the damned thing?”
Silence hung long enough for Whiskey to sigh and roll, presenting his stomach to the sun like an offering.
“Lunari can take in almost anything they swallow. Even dull poisons. They digest more than food. That’s why he can drown a barrel and never stagger. The egg must have held a trickle—thin as dew under bark—but it was there. He drank it.”
Chen Ren’s gaze slid to Whiskey’s fur—no sheen of frost, no astral shimmer, only the faintest prickle of something that didn’t belong. He reached out and pressed two fingers to the lunari’s belly. Warmth. A lazy rumble.
Whiskey cracked one eye, saw Chen Ren’s frown, and chirruped as if to say more moonshine would solve this. Chen Ren snorted despite himself.
“Greedy beast,” he said, rubbing the fur once. “All right. We find what that trickle is, and we bleed it or bend it before it knots your meridians.”
The lunari’s eye drifted shut again.
“Even a trickle was enough to flood him. That egg belonged to something strong,” Yalan said with a sigh.
“You don’t know what kind of beast,” Chen Ren said.
“No. And it’s hard to taste the qi itself; it’s mixing with the little moon and star he already carries. We can only hope it marries well with those. Otherwise there will be knots later.”
Chen Ren nodded, gaze drifting past Whiskey to the courtyard’s edge. Children’s chatter rose and fell—barefoot brats chasing each other around the plum stump, wooden swords clacking, laughter spilling like millet. If he was honest, this felt like a problem he hadn’t asked for. He’d taken the lunari in because the creature was all bright eyes and foolish bravery; because the sect needed cheer as much as it needed guards on the gate. Whiskey was energetic, curious, and—damn it—cute. He’d become part of the sect without a ceremony or a seal, and he was likely the only beast not snapped up by Zi Wen’s collection of contracts. For whatever reason, the little glutton preferred him.
But to help him, they had to know what kind of qi was threading his insides. You couldn’t cut a weed you couldn’t see.
That wasn’t easy. Until—
A thought struck.
“I have an idea,” Chen Ren said.
“What?”
“A fight.” He watched Whiskey’s flank rise and fall. “Let him move. He’ll call on whatever’s inside without thinking, and we’ll see how it colors him.”
Yalan considered. “A workable trial… if… he bothers to fight.” Her attention slid to the lunari, who was sprawled across the porch, one paw twitching in dream, a string of drool glistening from his lip to the plank below. He looked like he cared for nothing but warmth and sleep.
Chen Ren smiled. “He’ll fight. Where’s the weasel Xinxin? They always fight.”
“From what I heard, they’re in some sort of truce.”
“Huh? A truce?”
“I don’t know how it happened,” she said, amused despite herself. “But from what I overheard, they aren’t fighting as much.”
Chen Ren looked down at the lunari sprawled. “Then how are we going to get him to fight?”
“That’s on you to decide,” Yalan said. “You’re good at goading things.”
Chen Ren sighed, thinking, while Whiskey rolled onto his back and made small happy chirps, paws paddling at nothing. An idea slid into place. He stepped over, crouched, and poked the soft white stomach.
Whiskey twitched, snapped his little claws in a lazy go away motion, and tried to sink deeper into the sun. Chen Ren poked again. This time Whiskey’s lips peeled, a tiny growl rumbling up as if to ask what was wrong with Chen Ren’s hands.
“Do you want additional barrels of alcohol to drink every day,” he said, deadpan, “and some cake?”
Whiskey’s mouth fell open at “barrels,” excitement blooming, then he stalled, head tilting, ears cocked at the unfamiliar word. One ear flopped.
“It’s a sweet dish,” Chen Ren explained, straight-faced. “Very good to eat.”
The lunari’s eyes went round. He nodded so hard his whiskers blurred, then launched himself at Chen Ren in pure joy. He caught the little glutton mid-pounce, and set him back on the boards.
“But you have to fight me if you want it.”
Whiskey froze, glanced at the empty barrel beside the steps, and made a grumble that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about unfair market rates.
“That’s the only way you’ll get it.”
Silence. Whiskey’s gaze went from Chen Ren’s face to the barrel, back to him. He puffed out his cheeks, then deflated, and—very slowly—nodded. One paw lifted and touched the empty barrel with tragic solemnity, as if swearing an oath upon it.
“Let’s go,” Chen Ren said. “Let's see what you can do.”
They walked to the center of the yard.
At their entrance, Children paused mid-chase, wooden swords drooping, eyes bright with nosiness. Chen Ren kept his gaze on the lunari. Whiskey was patting his belly with both paws as if sealing a pact with his stomach, then narrowed his eyes at Chen Ren in a very serious way that clashed violently with the drool still drying on his chin.
No lightning today. Chen Ren rolled his shoulders, settled his breath. He wouldn’t call qi—not a spark. Body alone would do. Knuckles, tendons, bones. He’d hammered gains into his frame these last months; against a tier-one beast, that was plenty.
“I’ll go first,” he said.
Whiskey seemed to nod.
He moved—one clean step, the ground a drum under his heel. He cut in with a straight line of shoulder and hip, fist tracking the Lunari’s cheek… and let it slide past so close it kissed fur without pressing. Whiskey yelped, sprang backward, ears flat. Chen Ren followed like a shadow with teeth: another fist, another near-miss, a knee that bent the air, an elbow that sighed over Whiskey’s whiskers.
Panic showed in quick jerks of the tail. Whiskey snapped forward with a flurry of little claws—fast, honest, clumsy. Chen Ren’s head dipped; the strike went by; his hand touched the paw in passing and turned it aside like a leaf.
“You’re pretty weak,” he said, almost bored.
Whiskey puffed up at once, cheeks round, eyes sparking with outrage. He bunched himself and launched—tiny body a white bolt aimed at Chen Ren’s chest. Chen Ren caught him by the scruff and hip, turned, and threw. The lunari tumbled, flipped twice, landed in a skid with his paws splayed wide, fur full of dust. He spat out a pebble and glared.
No flare of qi yet. Chen Ren’s plan began to feel thin at the edges. He circled, hands loose, breath smooth. The yard held its breath with him.
Then, there. He felt a wisp.
It brushed Ren’s skin like a cool fog lifting off river stone. His mouth tipped, almost a smile—
—and the wisp swelled. It thickened in an instant, from thread to skein, from mist to pressure. Whiskey’s fur dulled, not dimming but clouding, as if a small storm had crept under his skin and was trying on his shape. The air cooled at once and the fine hairs on Chen Ren’s forearms rose.
Whiskey gave a little… shirk—half shiver, half strangled cry—and then let loose.
Rain burst out of him first: a sheet, not droplets, warm and sudden, drenching the dust into scent. Lightning rode the rain a heartbeat later, a white bar that erased all color and drew it again in ash and silver. It hit Chen Ren point-blank.
“Fuck!”
2025-09-13 06:57:44 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 277
As soon as Kai said those words, the reactions were polarized.
The great hall rippled with unease. Murmurs immediately started to surface like restless winds. A few of the gathered nobles leaned forward, eyes gleaming with agreement, while others frowned deeply.
Questions brewed in the air, thick as storm clouds and Kai welcomed them.
One of the older lords, Baron Herbert of House Fairview, rose from his seat, his fur cloak dragging over the stone floor. His voice reached every ear.
“So… are you saying we were wrong to strike the barbarians? That His Majesty and his council chose poorly? That our blades were stained in error? Is that… is that what you’re saying, Count Arzan?”
Every eye shifted back to Kai.
Kai drew a slow breath, steadying the surge of mana that prickled instinctively at his heart. This wasn’t a battlefield—at least, not one fought with swords. He raised his chin, his words ringing clear,
“I dare not question the wisdom of the King or his council. I know their intentions burn for the good of this kingdom.”
He let that assurance linger, watching the nobles’ postures ease a fraction. Then he pressed forward, voice sharpening like a drawn edge.
“But when the barbarians spilled into the Sylvan Enclave—when they hunted merchant caravans, when they dared to capture nobles themselves—I believed that meeting them with steel would not be the wisest course.”
Gasps and mutters broke out. Kai’s gaze swept the hall, weighing every reaction before he continued.
“First of all,” he said and looked up at the man who questioned him, “they are not men who remain in one place. With their homes destroyed, they wander. They adapt. And worse…” He lifted a finger, as if pointing at a threat invisible but very real. “They have tamed beasts. Tell me, how many of you would risk hunting them in the wilds, knowing even an experienced Mage may falter against a beast bonded to its master?”
A few heads dipped, grim nods acknowledging the truth. The rest sat in uncomfortable silence.
Kai pressed on, voice steady but carrying the weight of memory.
“I nearly killed the son of their chieftain once… Nearly—because I realized what that would mean—another war, another fight the region did not want. So I did what I thought best. I gave them trust, not steel. A hand extended, even if it took time. And in the end…” His lips curved, not in triumph, but in certainty. “They accepted it.”
The room was hushed now, nobles leaning forward despite themselves. Kai turned then, his eyes finding Regina where she sat. She had her hands clasped in front of her.
“Your Highness,” Kai addressed her, “do you know how many bandits prowled the Sylvan Enclave’s borders just a year ago? Two years ago?”
He let the question hang, daring her to answer.
Regina stared at him for long before answering in a cold voice.
“I do not.”
Kai nodded. “And you all… probably might not be aware of this either, so allow me to answer. There were twelve large raiding groups and small packs than I cared to count, pushing down on travelers and merchants alike. But once the barbarians shifted into the Enclave, there were only three large ones left. They took control by destroying the rest.”
Men and women alike who sat in front of him shifted uncomfortably. Because afterall, the truth was that—uncomfortable to process, even more uncomfortable to digest.
And he continued.
“What I did was end their reign of terror myself. Because bandits desire only blood and plunder. But the Barbarians… They wanted a home, a place where their children could grow without fear. I gave them a patch of land, and in return, they lent me their men. Tell me, how many bandit banners roam the Sylvan Enclave today?”
Another pregnant silence.
“None,” he answered for them. “At least no large ones. Because the barbarians now hunt them, on my orders. I turned an enemy into an asset.”
The last words were the one with the most impact. A few of the lords who had glared at him minutes ago now looked thoughtful.
Good. Just think. Thinking is better than wasting breath on more arguments.
His thoughts cracked when that female voice—the one needling him all day—cut in again.
“And yet,” Regina said, “I don’t believe they will give us their martial techniques. Not truly.”
Kai chuckled. “To be honest—and at the risk of offending some here—I do not believe the kingdom ever gained them, even when we raided their tribes. What was taken were fragments and scraps of them.” He looked around, meeting the eyes of the doubters. “With my way, I’ve eliminated an active threat and shifted their gaze from enmity to neutrality. These are early days, but the Lombard tribe has kept their word and behaved themselves.”
He drew himself straighter, his words now a quiet promise. “In time, they will hand me their martial techniques willingly. But no one should expect them to bow as if I were their god in a matter of months.”
Kai’s expression never flickered, but inside he tasted the lie. He didn’t care for their martial techniques, not truly. But the nobles needed to hear that. If a little falsehood greased the gears of politics, then so be it.
And he could see it, the way their eyes shifted, suspicion giving way to the first threads of acceptance. His gamble was working.
But Regina was not finished. Her gaze hardened, her words striking clean and sharp.
“But you still sided with enemies,” she said again. Her response was now starting to sound like an unhappy toddler.
“To eliminate the rage they carried for us,” he said, slowly emphasizing every word. “That was my choice. And I do not think I did anything wrong. A traitor acts against the kingdom’s best interests. But I acted for Lancephil, so it could be strengthened, instead of tearing itself apart in an internal war with the Lombards. So. I ask you all again, tell me, do we need more enemies?”
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the nobles who had muttered curses earlier now shifted uncomfortably, none willing to answer.
Regina’s glare cut through it, hot enough that Kai could almost feel it searing the side of his face.
But he waited, and waited.
A few painful minutes passed by when she finally exhaled sharply, a huff laced with frustration.
“There is no guarantee,” she said. “No guarantee you will hand over the martial techniques to the kingdom. Just as there is no guarantee you will share the Enforcer technique either.”
Kai inclined his head slightly as if to ask if she was serious. But of course, he didn’t. Rather, he took his time to answer.
“There is no guarantee of anything in life, Your Highness. But you know as well as I do—a noble’s word is worth gold. And if I give my word here, before this Assembly… do you truly think someone from House Kellius would break it?”
Regina’s lips parted, ready to strike back, but another voice rang out first, carrying the weight of authority that silenced the chamber in an instant.
“That is enough.” That was King Sullivan. “Count Arzan has spoken his piece. We will not circle this matter endlessly. If anyone here wishes to question him further, speak now.”
The King’s gaze swept over the assembly like a drawn bow. No one moved. No one spoke.
Even Regina, her jaw tight and her hands clenched on the arms of her chair, lowered herself back into her seat with a frown carved deep across her face. The effort of keeping her expression schooled had faded halfway through the exchange, and now her mask was gone entirely.
The hall was silent once more, the only sound the faint rustle of robes and shifting boots as tension thickened like smoke.
Finally, King Sullivan’s voice returned, resonant and deliberate.
“Then we proceed. It is time for the votes.”
As soon as King Sullivan spoke those words, Kai felt the world slow around him.
Time seemed to stop, not in truth, but in the weight of realization pressing down on him. The next few minutes would decide everything. Months of maneuvering, bargaining, and bleeding would be judged in a heartbeat. Every whispered promise, every clasped hand in shadowed corridors, he would learn if it had meant anything… or if it had all been a fool’s hope.
Would the nobles keep their word? Or abandon him now, when it was time to keep their words?
Kai closed his eyes, just for a few seconds. He forced his racing pulse into rhythm, steadying his breathing as the King’s voice rolled out once more.
“I am not going to have you all waste time writing votes on chits,” Sullivan declared, his tone brooking no dissent. “That would take too long. We will do this openly. Those who wish to abstain may remain seated. But those who would vote in Count Arzan’s favor—or against him—will rise when I call it out. Is that understood?”
A murmur of assent rippled through the chamber as nobles nodded, their silks whispering against the benches.
Kai opened his eyes again, heart hammering against his ribs.
King Sullivan voice cut across the silence.
“Very well. Those who are against Count Arzan—who believe he should be punished for slaying his kin, and for the way he conducted himself during the fief war, weighing all matters discussed here in this assembly—stand now.”
The scrape of benches and the rustle of cloaks filled the air.
Kai’s stomach tightened.
To his shock, a large number of nobles rose to their feet. Row after row, the sight of them carved a pit into his chest. The ones of the First Prince’s faction rose together. The Third Prince’s loyalists followed, standing as if by one command.
The Second Prince’s faction fractured before his eyes—half seated, half standing.
And among those who stood, Kai recognized faces. Faces of men and women who had clasped his hand only days ago, voices that had sworn support in quiet chambers away from prying eyes. Liars. Yet now, they refused to look at him. Their gazes slid away, fixed on the floor or the far wall, anywhere but at the man they had betrayed.
Kai’s jaw clenched. He memorized them, every one.
In the end, it was true. Nobles followed Princes, not promises.
The sight hollowed his chest, but he forced his face to remain calm, betraying nothing of the storm inside.
But fortunately for Kai, the shock faded when he realised that the tide was not overwhelming.
Yes, the sight of forty-odd nobles standing against him struck heavy, but not all that promised had risen. Many still sat, their expressions tight, wary of the Princes watching from above. He caught the glares of both the two Princes, and Regina’s sharp, cutting stare, aimed like blades at those who had remained seated.
That alone was enough for Kai.
Even one more standing for him than against him would be victory. The true danger lay with those who abstained, hiding their judgment in stillness.
King Sullivan’s eyes swept the chamber. His hand moved steadily as he counted each man and woman. The chamber’s air grew heavy as nobles shifted uneasily under the King’s gaze.
At last, Sullivan raised the parchment high for all to see.
“Forty-nine nobles,” the King announced, voice level. “Forty-nine who stand against Count Arzan, demanding punishment for his actions in the fief war.”
That statement made the nobles talk.
He even saw a few smiles glimmering across the Assembly. Most faces, however, remained carefully neutral.
When he stirred away from the crowd and looked at Regina once again, that was when he noticed that the woman didn’t even bother with a mask. Her lips were twisted in a sneer that warred with the deep frown etched between her brows. She had clearly expected more. Her eyes narrowed to slits as she shot a poisonous glance at Amara, who sat still, firmly rooted in her chair.
Kai’s stomach clenched at the sight. I need to get her out of the capital before Regina decides to move against her.
“Now,” King Sullivan said, his voice silencing the murmurs, “those who are in favor of Count Arzan—those who believe he acted rightly in the fief war—stand.”
For a heartbeat, the chamber was frozen. Then, like a wave breaking, a large number of nobles rose to their feet.
Duke Blackwood stood tall, his robes sweeping the floor, his vassals rising behind him in a unified wall of support. The Baroness and the Viscountess, stood as well, unflinching beneath the Princes’ glares. Fringe nobles—men and women who had little to lose and everything to gain—joined them. And among them were those Kai had carefully poached from rival factions, men who had dared to defy the pull of their Prince.
And Amara.
She rose without hesitation, chin high, shoulders squared.
For the first time since the trial began, Kai felt something stir in his chest—relief. A thin smile touched his lips. His efforts, his months of tireless maneuvering, his risks, they had borne fruit.
Yet as his eyes scanned the chamber, the smile faltered.
The number of those who had stood for him… seemed eerily close to those who had stood against.
Almost the same.
The hall was a battlefield of silence now, the lines drawn clear, each noble on their side of the divide. Kai’s fate balanced on a razor’s edge, and the abstentions would decide which way the blade cut.
There were still more abstentions than Kai had expected. Silent nobles, their faces masks of indifference, hands folded neatly as if their very neutrality was a shield. And so the chamber waited, all eyes turning to King Sullivan.
The King did not rush. He sat calmly like a man used to carrying the weight of judgment. Then, with extreme slowness, he rose and raised his hand for silence.
“I have counted those who stood in favor of Count Arzan,” he said, voice echoing off the high stone walls, “and now I will announce the verdict of this Assembly of Judgment.”
Kai’s entire body tensed, as did more than a few nobles in the crowd. The air itself seemed to thicken, anticipation coiling around every throat. The King didn’t let them wonder about the judgement for long as he spoke.
“Against the forty-nine nobles who stood against Count Arzan,” Sullivan continued, “there are fifty-one who stand in favor of his actions being righteous in the fief war, and in the other matters we have discussed. The rest have abstained.”
The silence shattered.
“Thus,” the King declared, “the Assembly of Judgment has decided. Count Arzan is innocent!”
For Kai, it was as though time had stopped.
He stared forward, his breath caught, his chest so tight it ached. Slowly—slowly—he let the words sink in. He had won. They had won. Against the odds, against betrayal and shifting loyalties, they had managed to take the Assembly.
He almost felt like that was not… real. He gripped his thighs, steadying himself, realizing only now how taut his body had been wound. The tension bled out of him like air from a drawn bowstring.
Around the hall, smiles broke across the faces of those who had risen in his favor. There was pride there, vindication, a glimmer of triumph.
But not everywhere.
Regina sat rigid, her scowl plain, her displeasure written openly across her face for all to see.
And yet King Sullivan’s voice cut across even her burning silence, calm but carrying the weight of authority that none dared contest.
“Since Count Arzan has received the judgment of innocence, and of victory, I will make this announcement as well.”
The hall stilled once more.
“With the death of Duke Lucian Kellius, the lands belonging to him shall henceforth pass to his brother and victor—Arzan Kellius.”
Gasps rippled through the nobles like sparks through dry grass.
But the King was not done.
“As the last remaining heir of the Kellius bloodline—his elder brother having left the kingdom—I hereby declare that Arzan Kellius will inherit the Ducal title. He shall stand not as Count, but as Duke.”
The chamber erupted. Shocked cries, hurried whispers, the scrape of boots on stone as nobles leaned forward in disbelief.
And Kai stood frozen, the weight of the King’s words pressing down on him heavier than any battlefield armor he had ever borne.
He had come to survive judgment. Instead, he had claimed a Ducal throne.
At once, voices rose in protest.
Dozens of nobles who had stood against him sprang to their feet, mouths opening to complain, to decry this injustice, to demand the King to reconsider. The hall threatened to erupt into chaos until Sullivan’s hand lifted, silencing the room like a thunderclap.
“I am not finished.”
The words dropped heavy. The nobles who were clearly displeased by the outcome hushed.
The King’s gaze swept the chamber before turning back to Kai. “The late Duke Lucian Kellius will be investigated and formally charged for the crimes discussed here today. Baron Idrin as well alongside any others found guilty of torturing the local populace during the fief war.”
The hall stirred again, but this time it was not in outrage—it was in shock.
Baron Idrin bowed his head low, shoulders trembling, the color draining from his face. The man looked as though the stones beneath him might open and swallow him whole. He was… crying.
Kai allowed himself only a brief glance in Idrin’s direction before looking away. Piece by piece, the board is shifting. Everything is falling into place.
But Sullivan’s voice had not yet finished reshaping the room.
His eyes fixed on Kai once more. “Now, Duke Arzan, do you have anything to say?”
For a heartbeat, Kai froze. Then the realization hit.
This wasn’t a courtesy. This was an opportunity. Sullivan was offering him the chance to do what no one had ever dared before the entire gathered nobility of Lancephil.
He wanted him to do the thing they had discussed in the garden.
Slowly, Kai’s gaze swept the hall. He found Duke Blackwood. Their eyes met, and the Duke gave a subtle nod. A signal. A blessing.
Kai inhaled deeply, stood up and then stepped forward. His voice rang clear and he made sure that every single noble heard him.
“First of all, I wish to thank His Majesty and every noble who lent me their support in this Assembly of Judgment. I stand here because of you.”
He paused, letting the words sink in, his hand brushing against the weight hidden in his pocket.
“There are a million thoughts racing through my mind at becoming a Duke,” he continued, “but above all, there is something I have carried in my heart for a long time. And today, before you all, I will act on it.”
His fingers closed around the medallion. Slowly, he drew it forth into the light.
Gasps rippled through the chamber. Regina’s eyes widened, shock breaking through her carefully maintained poise. Some nobles blinked in confusion, others stiffened in sudden realization, the weight of the object’s significance dawning on them.
Kai held it up for all to see.
“Long ago, this medallion was given to my mother—Valkyrie Kellius. With it came the right of one wish. One wish the King himself was bound to fulfill.”
The chamber descended into tense, suffocating silence.
“And today,” Kai said, his eyes never leaving the throne, “I use it.”
King Sullivan leaned forward slightly, planting his hands on his knees. “What will it be, Duke Arzan?”
Kai didn’t hesitate. His answer struck like lightning, shattering the silence.
“I wish to contest for the throne.”
The words detonated in the hall.
2025-09-13 06:56:05 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 166
Chen Ren followed Zi Wen down the quiet corridor, Yalan padding silently at his side. To his surprise, Whiskey had chosen to tag along as well, the lunari hopping from chair to chair before finally clambering onto the top of a shelf as if he had business in the matter. Sori, too, perched solemnly on his master’s shoulder, wings tucked tight as its sharp eyes swept the hall.
Training had consumed Chen Ren’s recent days—bone-grinding hours of body cultivation and the elusive trials of soul cultivation—but even so, he hadn’t forgotten the tasks he had set for his people.
Feiyu was still buried in weapon designs, refining the sniper models after their devastating display against the Blazing Ember Sect. Xiulan had full control of the sect’s daily affairs, running them with a steadiness he no longer needed to question. Qing He, as always, drifted to her own pursuits, appearing when she wished, vanishing when it suited her.
Hong Yi was bent over a different challenge—translating Chen Ren’s sketches of carriages into reality. Not true engines, not yet, but runic arrays could mimic comfort and smoothness well enough, and Chen Ren intended to see it through.
Beyond that, the branches of his influence spread wide. The noodle shops had already grown beyond Cloud Mist City, sprouting into other towns like roots from the same trunk. The women’s mall, focused on perfumes and clothing, had taken off faster than expected—Xiulan’s reports painted it as nothing short of a sensation. The moonshine brewery thrived under Zi Hen’s management, its reach already stretching into pubs across neighboring cities. Even the pill business, though limited, was turning steady profit, with test shipments getting ready to be sent into cultivator-dominated cities to measure long-term demand.
Every venture poured spirit stones and coins back into his coffers. For now, he was overflowing.
And yet, none of those things were what he considered the most crucial.
That weight rested squarely on Zi Wen’s shoulders. The task he had entrusted him with mattered more than coin, more than commerce, even more than face.
And today, Zi Wen was ready to speak. The door of his room shut behind them with a soft thud, and Zi Wen wasted no time.
“I am fairly certain Sori has found the location, sect leader,” he said, his tone even but carrying the faint weight of triumph.
Chen Ren didn’t answer at once. Instead, he slipped the medallion from one of his spatial rings. Its surface glimmered faintly before light burst from its center, expanding until a glowing map hovered in the middle of the room.
Whiskey let out a startled yelp, springing onto the table with his tail bristling, then chattered angrily at the illusion as though it had offended him.
Chen Ren ignored the lunari. His eyes narrowed on the terrain etched in pale light. “Are you certain she found this?”
Zi Wen nodded without hesitation. “Yes, Sect Leader. Sori flew across countless ranges, and I made sure she understood exactly what to look for. She’s clever. She knew what we needed.” He glanced at the bird resting on his shoulder, pride flickering in his eyes.
Chen Ren inclined his head slightly. “So where is it?”
Zi Wen reached into his own ring, pulling free a scroll and spreading it wide across the table. The parchment bore the sprawl of the Kalian Empire, mountains and rivers sketched in careful strokes. A map they had purchased from the Tang clan.
Chen Ren and Yalan leaned in, eyes following as Zi Wen began to mark several points with a brush dipped in ink. Whiskey had lost interest by then, hopping down from the table to investigate Chen Ren’s shelves, claws scratching noisily against the wood.
Chen Ren let him be. His focus was fixed wholly on the map.
This was it—the location of the next medallion.
He had meant to search for it ever since the holographic map had been revealed, but hesitation had dogged him. Were these locations simply going to get in more trouble with demonic cultivators? The thought had gnawed at him. And yet, the golden dragon’s voice lingered in his memory, urging him to seek the medallions. If they were as important as claimed, he couldn’t afford to turn away.
Zi Wen’s brush circled a patch of rugged terrain along the Empire’s spine. “It was difficult to narrow down,” he admitted. “The Empire is riddled with mountains and rocky passes. But what helped was that Sori communicated with the other striker beak flocks. Together, they traced the right region.”
The ink mark glistened dark against the parchment. A small circle.
Zi Wen tapped the map, his brush leaving a final dark circle over the parchment.
“In the end, we narrowed it to the Empire’s middle belt. The terrain is harsh—storms, fractured ridges, unstable passes—but it matches what we were looking for. I believe it fits. Of course, we’ll need to confirm it ourselves.”
Chen Ren’s eyes lingered on the hologram still floating in the air, then back to the ink marks. Turbulent or not, the logic held. Zi Wen’s careful tone, his thorough explanation—it all fit together too neatly to doubt.
Zi Wen continued, his brush moving again. “There are a few large cities around the area. If the medallion is anywhere, it should be within one of them.”
Chen Ren gave a slight nod. Reasonable, he thought. And again, relief flickered through him that he had shared the truth of the medallions with those he trusted. Keeping such things hidden would have been a weight he could not afford, and with them working openly at his side, every search, every plan became smoother.
Still… his mind turned elsewhere. If the cities yield nothing, the medallion could be in the countryside. Or hidden among forgotten ruins. And the demonic cultivators might also be looking for it. We would need to be really careful of them.
Yalan’s voice cut through his thoughts. “What cities have you searched so far?”
Zi Wen shifted, then dipped his brush into ink again, marking three points across the parchment. “Around the area, there are three main ones. Brightwind City here—loud, bustling, merchants flooding the streets day and night. Then Pening Town—built high on a mountain peak, serving as a trade hub between Brightwind and the last, Red Peak City.”
At the mention of the final name, Chen Ren stilled. His brows furrowed, and without meaning to, his gaze found Yalan’s across the table. A flicker of recognition sparked in her sharp emerald eyes.
“Red Peak City…” Chen Ren murmured.
“I thought the terrain looked familiar,” Yalan said softly, her whiskers twitching as she studied the hologram.
Zi Wen’s gaze moved between them, confusion clear on his face. “Is there something wrong with Red Peak City?”
Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening. “No. Nothing is wrong with it.” He paused, then added. “It’s just… that is where I’m from. Red Peak City is the seat of the Chen Clan. My home.”
Zi Wen’s eyes widened, surprise breaking through his usual calm. Chen Ren rarely spoke of where the body owner was from, never more than a few clipped words. Since founding the Divine Coin Sect, he had carried himself as though he had no clan, no roots. And in truth, he hadn’t. Not anymore.
Yet now, with the medallion’s glow casting shadows across the room, that silence cracked.
“So…” Zi Wen ventured carefully, “do you think we should start in Red Peak City? It might be easier to search there first.”
Chen Ren shook his head, jaw tightening. “No. And if you’re thinking of asking my clan for help, forget it. I can’t.”
“Huh?” Zi Wen frowned, confusion clear on his face. “Why not?”
“Because I was banished from the Chen Clan. I won’t go into the details, but they don’t like me. If we step foot in their halls, they won’t offer aid. They’ll throw us out. Easy as that. Might as well give up.”
Zi Wen blinked, clearly unsettled by the admission, but before he could push further, Yalan’s voice cut in. She hadn’t moved from the map, her amber eyes tracing the inked circles with sharp intent.
“It’s possible the medallion is there, Chen Ren,” she said quietly. “Maybe even with your clan.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because… they already had one medallion,” Yalan replied, her tone matter-of-fact. “If it was passed down, that means someone in your clan was once chosen as a guardian. And if one branch of the Chen Clan inherited it, there’s a good chance another did as well. Even if not, your clan may hold records, scraps of knowledge, something. If Wang Jun’s words are true, then these medallions weren’t scattered by chance. They were entrusted. Which means your clan could hold another, or at least the trail to it.”
The logic was clean and undeniable and his frown deepened.
Yalan wasn’t wrong, in fact, she was right. If the medallion was within the Red Peak City, then so was his path. And that path led straight to the people he had spent years trying to avoid, the ones who had cast him out, who still knew the name Chen Ren from before the transmigration.
He clenched his fist slowly. He wanted nothing more than to leave the past buried. Yet fate, as always, clawed it back to the surface. And this time, maybe he couldn’t run away.
In the end, it didn’t matter—his clan had never cared for him. If he returned now, he couldn’t simply walk into their halls and ask for the medallion. They would never hand it over. It would never be that simple.
For a moment, his gaze strayed. Whiskey was on the shelf again, little paws prying at a pouch of dried fruit as if the lunari had claim to it. Chen Ren sighed inwardly, but turned his eyes back to the map. The inked circles glistened under the sunlight. A choice loomed.
“Even if we go,” Chen Ren said at last and shrugged, “they won’t give it.”
Yalan’s whiskers twitched, and she let out a sharp snicker. “Give it? No. They hated the sight of you. If you set foot in Red Peak, I’ll be surprised if they don’t challenge you to blood duels just for the chance to kill you.”
Zi Wen’s expression shifted, the calm lines of his face giving way to something unsettled. His eyes flicked between them. “But… why?” he asked, hesitant but earnest. “If it’s not too private, Sect Leader Chen… may I know why your clan hates you so much?”
Chen Ren said nothing. His jaw tightened, silence weighing heavy in the room.
Yalan broke it for him. Her voice was even, but the words carried no softness.
“Chen Ren’s parents died when he was still young. The clan mistreated him, and when they discovered his spirit roots were few, it only worsened. In his younger days, let’s just say his habits weren’t the best—he grew rough and reckless. The other children, especially those of the younger generation, took every chance to grind him further into the dirt. Until at last, they found a way to cast him out entirely.”
That… had been true. The previous owner of his body had gone through a lot with his family simply because he had only a few spirit roots.
Chen Ren winced, the words dragging old ghosts of memories to the surface—shouts, laughter, the sting of fists, the taste of blood when pride wasn’t enough to shield him. He forced the memories back down and said quietly, “It was for the best. I found my path once I left them behind. Once I saw the wider world… and touched my dao. That was the change for me. But my clan? They won’t change their view of me. Not now. Not ever.”
Zi Wen gave a slow nod, but Chen Ren caught the faint flash in his eyes—something between respect and pity. It was a look of a man reevaluating what he thought he knew of his leader. Chen Ren let it pass. His past didn’t need polishing, and even if Zi Wen knew the truth of his hedonistic days, it changed nothing.
Yalan’s voice cut through the stillness. “Even if they hate you, we still need to go. My instincts say the medallion is there.”
Zi Wen shifted, his hand brushing against the map. “But what if we find more demonic cultivators instead? I’m certain they hold some of the pieces already. If Red Peak has one—or more—they’ll be there as well. They won’t hesitate to strike.”
Yalan flicked her tail. The cat looked clearly unbothered by even the thought of it. “Then we find out first. Rumors leave trails. If demonic attacks have touched Red Peak, we’ll hear of them. But answer me this, Chen Ren: even if there are demons in that city, will you refuse to go if there’s a chance the medallion lies there?”
Chen Ren went silent. He knew the answer, even if his lips didn’t shape it.
Every time he had spoken with the golden dragon, he felt himself sinking deeper like a man trapped in a mire. The mud clung, dragging him down inch by inch. Each new truth only pulled him further in.
And if he did nothing? Then he would sink faster, without even a rope to clutch.
The businesses, the markets, the coins—they had been his distraction. A shield against the storms of the wider world. But coin alone could not buy him out of fate. Not anymore.
His silence was his answer.
The sound of pages rustling broke Chen Ren’s heavy thoughts. He turned his head just in time to see Whiskey sprawled across the floor, tiny paws smearing ink as he scrolled through an open book, licking the corner of a page as if testing whether wisdom tasted better than wine. For a fleeting moment, Chen Ren almost laughed. The beast’s antics had a way of cutting through even the darkest moods.
He shifted his gaze back to Yalan, giving her a small nod. “Alright. Let’s do it. We’ll go to Red Peak City. To search for the medallion… and perhaps find a few business opportunities while we’re at it.”
Yalan’s whiskers twitched upward, her tail flicking. “You always think of money.”
“Money is important everywhere,” Chen Ren replied without shame. Then his eyes moved to Zi Wen and back again. “I’ll ask Tang Yuqiu if she has more information on the Chen Clan. I was… kept more or less as a servant there. I only know the general operations. But the Tang Clan did business with them. She might know more.”
Zi Wen inclined his head. “I can send Sori. She’s fast enough to get a reply back within days. Once we have that, we’ll decide our next move.”
Chen Ren nodded. “Good. That will give me time to think of a way to pry the medallion from their hands if they have it. And—”
A strangled noise cut him off.
All three turned sharply.
What the fuck?
Whiskey was on the floor, clutching his throat with both paws, rolling back and forth as rasping coughs burst from him. His tail thrashed wildly, his round eyes bulging.
“What now?” Yalan snapped, ears flattening.
Chen Ren’s gaze darted to the desk. A single gap in his belongings caught his eye. The blood drained from his face. The egg. The dead egg he had taken from the Soaring Sword Sect.
A cold premonition gripped his chest.
The air tightened around him.
Before he could move, before anyone could react—Qi erupted from Whiskey’s tiny body. It surged outward in a violent wave, cracking the wooden floorboards, scattering the map, and shattering the illusion of the hologram.
“Fuck!”
2025-09-11 05:15:53 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 276
William Blackwood sat high in the gallery, the expensive oak railing pressing against his palms as his gaze fixed on the lone figure standing at the heart of the assembly hall. From this height, Arzan looked almost small—surrounded by chairs and hungry-eyed nobles looking for weakness—but well, they were not going to find anything. William knew better by now.
For most of the session, he had been silent, his face composed into the practiced mask of a Duke. But beneath the surface, something unfamiliar stirred. It gnawed at him first, this strange warmth in his chest, until he recognized it for what it was: pride. A feeling he was not accustomed to, especially rarer to still grant another man.
Arzan stood there as if carved from black marble, his rebuttals were as sharp as a shard of glass. Obviously William had prepared him—run through questions, rehearsed arguments, drilled possible traps. Yet the young Count had surpassed all of it. Not once did his voice waver under the scrutiny of the gathered lords. Instead, he turned the tide, bending the Assembly with the ease of a seasoned player. William watched, both impressed and unsettled, as Arzan steered the conversation, weaving his brother’s shadow into every accusation until the dead man bore the brunt of their ire. It was a clever tactic, because dead men couldn’t defend themselves, and the truth—even half-revealed—was stronger than conjecture.
The nobles leaned forward, clearly hooked by where it was all heading. Their reactions said that Arzan’s narrative had sunk in claws deep. William could see it. The Assembly itself was shifting, and their opinion was slowly but inexorably sliding into Arzan’s favor.
And then came the silhouette. Not the boy he had spoken to in his estate months ago, but the outline of something greater. A man who might one day lead not merely with strength, but with vision. Someone who could turn this kingdom into more than a fractious empire clawing for power—into a country that cared. William’s lips tightened, but his chest grew heavier.
He knew Arzan already had what most men could only dream of: the bloodline of a Duke, the raw brilliance of a mage who had already carved his name into history. And now, the Assembly itself seemed to taste the inevitability of his ascent.
Yet William’s eyes narrowed as the discussion shifted. He knew what was coming. The matter of the Enforcers. The nobles’ questions would sharpen there, like spears finding gaps in armor. Arzan could parry most blades, but this? Even William was uncertain. The Enforcers were no mere soldiers, it would be a hard task to hide that. And how Arzan handled that would reveal whether this rising star could truly seize it all, or if he would stumble where even the mighty faltered.
Because the moment the words left Queen Regina’s lips, the Assembly fractured. Voices broke into a hundred directions, the marble chamber that usually thrummed with restrained arrogance now echoing with disbelief and sharp-edged fear.
William Blackwood felt it ripple through the tiers of nobles like a shockwave—chairs scraped back, silk sleeves whipped as men and women half-rose, faces drained of color. Even the two Princes stared wide-eyed at Arzan as if seeing him for the first time. Around William, fellow Dukes traded hurried whispers, their rings clinking as hands tightened on the railings before them.
It wasn’t a jest. No one in the hall dared believe it was. Queen Regina does not jest, William thought grimly. She was many things—cold, calculating, merciless—but never a fool who wasted words.
Even he, who prided himself on knowing the depths of most currents beneath this kingdom, had been blindsided when the truth surfaced. The very concept was unthinkable. To imagine that such a thing could be done—shaping men into something beyond Knights, beyond common men—was the kind of madness spoken in taverns, not in a royal Assembly. Not in front of every noble of worth in the realm.
And yet, here they all sat.
Slowly, the roar of the chamber dulled, nobles’ voices dying like flames smothered by a tide. All eyes turned to the queen where she sat upon her chair, gaze unblinking, the weight of her authority pressing the chamber into silence. She had asked her question. Now, she waited.
Arzan did not rush. That was his first victory. Where another man might stumble, he let the pause stretch, let the nobles grow more curious. William’s hand curled into a fist against the railing, a slow satisfaction building. Good. He’s thinking.
After a good ten minutes, the man spoke. “First of all, let me clarify some things.” He looked at King Sullivan and back at Queen Regina. “I did not devise this method. I merely borrowed it and applied it to my Knights.”
More people started to talk—whispers spread. William’s lips quirked. To admit borrowing rather than claiming invention, it disarmed suspicion.
“Second,” Arzan continued, voice rising above the echoes, “the method does not make just any man into an Enforcer. You still require the two mana organs—the heart and the mind. And even then, the training is brutal, near-fatal, before one can even attempt the transformation.”
The words struck like steel on stone. For a heartbeat, the nobles held their tongues, weighing the risk. Then Duke Renard surged to his feet, his embroidered cloak swooshing backwards.
“Borrowed from whom?” Renard spat. “Do you mean to tell us there are other kingdoms—other powers—who command the Enforcers?”
Arzan’s eyes swept the Assembly. “No,” he said. “Not kingdoms. The ones I borrowed the method from are small powers, scattered, hardly worthy of anyone’s time. Aside from their knowledge of the Enforcers’ path, they are little more than rabble. Numerous, yes. But strength?” He shook his head once. “They lack it. And I took what was useful.”
The Assembly stirred, nobles exchanging wary looks. Fear and relief warred on their faces. Small powers meant no rival kingdom had this secret… but it also meant such a power was already there, but they hadn't known.
From his high seat, William exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing. Arzan had given them just enough truth to anchor their fear, and just enough dismissal to keep them from frenzy. It was dangerous, clever, and entirely in character.
But William also knew this was far from over.
The whispers rose again, hissing through the Assembly. Nobles leaned across rows, trading hurried speculation, eyes darting between Arzan and the queen. The word numerous clung to them like a curse, refusing to be shaken loose.
And then, against all expectations, the King himself spoke.
“What,” King Sullivan said. “do you mean by numerous, Count Arzan?”
“What I’m saying is very simple, Your Majesty. Enforcers have been around the world for a while, in different communities across distant lands. Especially in places where mana runs thin, where Mages are naturally weak or in mana deserts where mana dies altogether. Those people had to find another way to survive. And when survival is at stake, humans are… very creative. I simply borrowed those ideas.”
A few nobles shifted uncomfortably at his words.
Then Queen Regina’s voice cut through the chamber. “That does not explain,” she said, “why you have kept this from the kingdom.”
Her gaze sharpened, daring him to falter.
Arzan inclined his head slightly, but when he opened his voice, another firm response came, “I believe it is self-explanatory. These are borrowed ideas. Enforcers are still experimental under my command. Those communities I spoke of—yes, they’ve practiced for centuries. But I have not. If something went wrong, if I pushed too far and shattered the lives of capable men and women of this kingdom, the loss would be unforgivable. That is why I kept it to myself. If I truly wanted to hide them, I would have denied their existence even today.”
From his vantage point above, William let out a slow breath. That… was a damned good answer. He would give Arzan that much. But he also knew the man was lying through his teeth. If the method carried such risk, the dangers would have surfaced already. Arzan wasn’t hiding to protect the kingdom. He was keeping the leash in his own hand.
Still, it worked. For now, the wolves would circle warily instead of tearing for the throat. Even Regina had chosen to step back, her silence an acknowledgment that further pressing would cost her more than she could gain.
But William’s eyes scanned the rows of nobles, and he saw the hunger burning there still. This answer might have bought Arzan time, but not peace. The barrage of questions about the Enforcers would not end today. If anything, this was just the beginning.
William’s prediction proved right.
One after another, nobles rose from their seats, voices filling the chamber with pointed questions. Their queries fell like arrows, each sharpened to pierce a gap in Arzan’s armor: What are their limits? How strong are they compared to ordinary Knights? Could they stand against trained battlemages?
To his credit, Arzan never stumbled. His answers gave away just enough to sate curiosity without yielding substance. He revealed only what any competent spy might glean by watching his men fight. “Unlike Mages,” he said evenly, “there is no formal progression yet. I am still shaping them. Even those with the proper mana organs must possess a body tempered well enough to endure the awakening. Your questions will be answered once I have more information.”
That word—awakening—rippled across the Assembly and garnered their attention. They all must’ve been imagining what the method might be. Yet when pressed, Arzan didn’t give away anything.
“When I am certain the method is without side effects, I will share it with the kingdom.”
It was a flimsy reason. Even William could taste the hollowness of it, like thin wine poured into a gilded cup. But it didn’t matter. Arzan stood in the chamber shielded by law. No decree bound him to explain his secrets; no crime accused him of concealment. For now, his words sufficed.
And William saw the truth. This was not about knowledge—it was about theater. Regina wanted to paint him as a hoarder of power, a man clutching something that could reshape the kingdom while keeping it locked away. But each time she tried to stoke that fire, Arzan’s composure turned it back on her. His repeated assurances, his calm tone, even his refusal to lash back, every move made him look less like a schemer and more like a careful guardian.
The nobles, William noticed, began to shift. Some nodded. Some still scowled. But few looked convinced that he was the villain Regina wanted them to see.
In truth, her strategy was crumbling. Every question asked, every trap set, only seemed to elevate Arzan further. By forcing him into the spotlight, she had made him appear indispensable. William’s lips curled faintly as he leaned back in his chair. You’re losing your cards, Regina. You’ve overplayed your hand.
Relief began to settle over him. He could almost believe that the worst had passed, that everything was going to be all right. The storm of questions slowed, then thinned. Voices that had once thundered now dwindled to a murmur, then silence.
And then Regina rose again.
William felt his chest tightened. What now, witch? What else can you possibly wring from this?
But when she spoke, the words that left her lips froze the chamber to its bones.
Even William, who had weathered battlefields and betrayals alike, felt the marrow in his spine chill. Around him, nobles stiffened, eyes wide.
The Assembly, once loud with challenge and debate, now held its breath.
***
Kai felt the air congeal around him the moment Regina’s words struck. The Assembly—row after row of Dukes, Counts, Viscounts, and Barons—froze as if some spell had stilled their tongues and shackled their breath.
“I know we have already spoken much about Count Arzan and his accomplishments,” Regina said, “but I would ask one final question. Count Arzan has proven himself invaluable to this kingdom with his strength and his… innovations. Yet there remains one matter that gnaws at me. The possibility that he might be siding with outsiders—outsiders who have killed men of our kingdom.”
The chamber did not erupt, not at first. Instead, there was a heavy silence.
Kai looked across the nobles and immediately noticed the stiffened shoulders, the way their eyes darted sideways to study their neighbors. No one wanted to speak, no one wanted to be the first to break that fragile pause while they tried to grasp what exactly Regine had just accused him of.
Finally, one of the Barons in his faction, a thin man with sharp cheekbones and even sharper eyes, pushed himself up from his chair.
“What are you saying, Your Highness? Count Arzan has stood as a shield against outside threats. The plague is proof enough of that!”
A ripple of agreement followed. A few heads nodded, lips moved in quiet assent. But Regina’s eyes never left Kai. She hadn’t thrown her line into the sea expecting minnows to bite. She was staring straight at the leviathan she wanted to haul out.
“He might have,” Regina said, her voice unbending, “but I know something you do not. Count Arzan has sided with the barbarians our kingdom clashed with in recent years. One of their tribes festers within his lands, thriving under his protection. And if that were not enough, they even took part in the fief war.”
The chamber broke into gasps and murmurs, the words barbarians and fief war tossed around like sparks in dry tinder. The nobles turned toward him, suspicion and unease flashing in their eyes.
“I am sure,” Regina pressed on, “that the nobles captured during that war can attest to this truth.”
And then it came. A man stood, his chair scraping violently against the marble floor. His face, still lined with bitterness, marked him as a man who had not forgotten his defeat.
“I am Viscount Vensar,” he declared, voice shaking with both outrage and lingering fear. “And yes—it is true. The barbarians fought against us in the fief war. I faced them myself. They struck without warning, without mercy. I was taken aback, overwhelmed. Those traitors nearly killed me, Your Majesty!”
Gasps and sharp whispers followed his words. Some nobles looked at Kai with widened eyes, others with suspicion hardening into anger. The Assembly was no longer frozen. It was tilting, shifting, searching for a new balance. And Regina, with one accusation, had shoved it off its center.
Kai’s jaw tightened. The game had changed.
The Viscount’s words rang through the chamber like a hammer blow, his eyes locked not on Arzan, but on King Sullivan—seeking royal validation, as if daring the King to punish his foe. Then, for just a heartbeat, the man’s gaze slid sideways, and he bared a grin at Kai.
Kai’s fingers curled against his robes. So that’s how you want to play it. The man might have stood as a witness, but Kai knew better than to put faith in him. Lies and half-truths spilled easily from bitter lips, and all they really needed to do was stir the pot. That grin had said it all: this wasn’t about justice, it was about burning him down.
And Regina had finally found a spark that caught.
The chamber swelled with noise, nobles leaning into one another, voices rising in waves of shock, anger, suspicion. Some pointed, others shook their heads, but what mattered was their eyes. A few of them were looking at him differently now—not as a savior of the kingdom, not as the Count who had held back the beast tide, but as something else.
As if traitor was already written across his brow.
Kai exhaled slowly. So it worked. Damn her.
Until now, Regina’s strikes had glanced off his armor. But this one? This one had found flesh. Nobles feared him, respected him, hesitated to move against him… but if she painted him as a man who had bent knee to outsiders—enemies who had spilled noble blood—then even fear wouldn’t hold them back. A traitor was worth killing, no matter how dangerous.
King Sullivan leaned forward on his throne. He cleared his throat loud enough for the nobles to silence themselves. “Lord Arzan, how about you explain yourself?”
Everything else fell silent enough for Kai to hear the pounding of his own heart. He lifted his chin and swept his gaze across the Assembly. He didn’t rush. Rather, he waited, patiently until the last whispers faded.
“First of all, let me be honest,” he said. “What Queen Regina said is true.”
He didn’t deny, and that caused a thunder of gasps, which followed by whispers. Then he drew in a breath, and with a weary sigh, raised his hand.
“Let me speak.”
The simple command was enough to silence them.
“Yes, Your Highness. The Barbarians—or more specifically, the Lombards, are now under me. The warriors and I reached a truce. And yes… I am making use of them.”
The uproar threatened to rise again, but Kai cut across it.
“Before you decide what that makes me—before you question my loyalty to the crown and to this kingdom—let me ask you all one question.”
He let his gaze travel the chamber, meeting the eyes of Dukes, Counts, and Barons alike. He didn’t rush the silence. He didn’t explain himself further. He simply asked:
“Do we need more enemies?”
The words hung heavy in the air.
But he could say, the question made a lot of people uncomfortable. They shifted in their places, glancing sidelong at one another. For a moment, the Assembly was no longer a battlefield of accusations.
He again patiently waited, until finally one of them rose to his feet.
“No!” Kai looked at where the voice came from. It was a Count. “We don’t. I believe everyone here understands that so well—that we already have too many enemies.”
Heads bobbed unisonly. Kai even saw some relaxing from their stiff postures as though relieved someone had spoken aloud what all of them carried in the pit of their stomachs.
“Exactly.” Kai extended his hand. “Look around us—Vanderfall is on our doorstep. Beyond that, we are hemmed in by kingdoms of every shade: some call themselves friends, some are open foes, and yet even our so-called friends are watched with suspicion. And outside them?” His voice hardened, carrying the weight of experience. “Demonic powers fester. Dead mana creeping across the land, necromancers, liches, ghouls… all biding their time. And then there are the beasts—their waves strike our borders without warning. Dungeon outbreaks. Every year, some calamity claws at us.”
The nobles shifted uneasily.
“And these,” Kai pressed, “are only the external threats. Within our own borders, we bleed from a hundred cuts. Bandits prowl our roads. Ancient beast lairs sleep under our mountains, waiting to wake. We only just survived a plague, and famine still gnaws at the weak.”
Whispers stirred again, some nobles bowing their heads, others narrowing their eyes.
It was then that Regina’s voice cut sharp across the chamber. “And what exactly are you trying to say, Count Arzan?”
Kai turned his gaze toward her and straightened. “I’m saying this: we already have too many enemies. Surely everyone here can agree to that.”
The response came not from lips but from movement—nods, murmurs of reluctant agreement, nobles pressing palms together on the railing before them as though conceding silently.
“The only reason I moved to sign a truce with the Lombards,” Kai continued, voice steady, “was because I did not wish to create another enemy within our own kingdom. One that we ourselves had driven into opposition.”
A snarl of indignation came from the floor. A Marquis, flushed red with fury, shot to his feet.
“Are you saying it was our fault? That we brought this on ourselves? These are barbarians, Count Arzan. Savages squatting in the mountains with no claim to civilization. They are not a country. They are not our equals!”
The chamber rumbled with agreement and dissent alike.
Kai’s gaze slid to the noble. His words fell like stones in that water, one after another.
“Then why did we not leave them alone? Why did we move against them?”
The noble’s jaw worked soundlessly, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. No words came.
“Because,” Kai answered for him, “of their martial arts. Their techniques. Techniques our kingdom coveted. And I understand that. If another kingdom’s Mage held a power I sought, I too would be tempted to take it.” His eyes swept across the Assembly, voice sharpening with conviction. “But ask yourselves: does fighting them truly serve us? Does adding one more foe to a list already choking us bring strength or ruin?”
He let the silence answer.
“That is exactly why I made a truce with them,” Kai said at last. “I chose peace where we had only sown war. If that makes me a traitor…” His shoulders straightened as he shrugged. “…then let it be so.”
2025-09-11 05:14:09 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 275
The truth of the matter was that there was no good way to prove whether Kai had killed Lucian or not. The man had locked himself away in a chamber and swallowed poison. In this age, there were no autopsies, no physicians who could dissect a body and declare its end without question. They could not delay for long either—funerals came quickly, and Lucian’s had been no exception. The only witnesses had been Kai and his own men. In the eyes of the nobles, that meant his word stood against suspicion. Nothing more.
So instead of trying to prove the unprovable, Kai had chosen another path. He would not waste breath claiming innocence alone. Instead, he had made the very act of killing Lucian, even if it had been done by his hand, justifiable. At the same time, he affirmed that he had not done it. Both truths layered together, leaving the Assembly to wrestle with the weight of his reasoning.
As soon as his words fell—“Even if I did, I do not believe I did anything wrong”—a wave of gasps rippled through the chamber. Cloaks rustled, mouths snapped shut, nobles whispered into their neighbors’ ears.
Kai stood still and waited, letting the noise swell and then thin again. Only when the silence returned did he speak once more.
“Do not misunderstand me. I am not saying a noble deserves to die, or that one should kill their own kin.” His eyes swept across the seats. “What I am saying is this: Lucian Kellius was an evil man. And even if he did die—he deserved it.”
The words cut through the tension, and he pressed on before anyone could stir again.
“Baron Idrin has already confessed that Lucian was behind the massacre of an entire village. That alone speaks to his cruelty. But it was not only that. When I took over Veyrin, the city was hollowed out. People had been starving for months. Crime had spread like fire, because my brother did not care for his people. He cared only for himself. Men, women, and even children worked like slaves under his watch.”
The nobles stirred uneasily, some frowning, others exchanging glances as though unsure how much of it could be denied.
Then, from the higher stands, Regina’s voice rang clear.
“An incompetent noble does not deserve death,” she said, making sure the Assembly heard every single word. “Even if he was responsible for a massacre. He should have been brought to justice through law.”
Kai turned his head toward her and stared unflinchingly. Though he didn’t soften, he remained neutral.
“Which law are you pertaining to, Your Highness?”
Regina blinked, just once. Her lips parted, but no words followed at first. “What?” she managed, finally, caught off guard.
Kai did not look away from Regina. His voice cut through the silence.
“Tell me. The specific law that should have kept Lucian from being killed.”
Regina’s lips pressed together. Her eyes flicked, but no words came. For a moment, she was stumped.
Then, from just below her seat, an older noble rose slowly, his robes trailing as he stood tall and steady. He rubbed his big stomach in circles.
“I am Duke Renard Kestrelain of House Kestrelain. The law you are asking for, Count Arzan, is Imperial Law 3.2, of the nobles’ category. It states that any noble proven to be a tyrant to his population, or an accomplice in killings, must be brought to justice before the King. The King alone holds the right to deliver the verdict—not you, Count Arzan, nor any other noble.”
A stir of nods passed through the higher stands, the law sounding familiar to some.
“You seem well versed in the kingdom’s laws, Duke Kestrelain.”
The old man’s chin lifted. “I am.”
“Then you should also know another law,” Kai said, and noticed his voice sharpening. “Imperial Law 6.9, pertaining to demonic beings and powers. It states: Any man, regardless of rank, station, or bloodline, is to be struck down immediately if found colluding with dark forces. That law includes those who deal in curse arts, those who consort with intelligent beasts, and even those who ally with liches or the blood drinkers.”
The chamber shifted, voices rising in shock before being smothered again. Kai saw Regina’s face tighten into a frown, the corner of her lips pinched white.
He pressed on. “Count Pious already reminded us all—Lucian himself proclaimed I was in league with blood drinkers. Just as he proclaimed I was behind the village massacre.” His gaze swept toward the lower stands. “But proclamations are not proof. And what was seen during the fief war tells another story.”
He let his voice drop.
“Blood drinkers were sighted in Sylvan Enclave. Not by me alone, but by many. They were seen flying above the battlefield. Ask any of the men who fought there, they will tell you the same.”
A ripple of panic stirred the benches. Nobles exchanged sharp whispers, some becoming pale visibly, others stiffening at the word. Blood drinkers were well known as terrifying beings. Kai got the response he needed, so he raised his hand slightly.
“But they were not on my side.”
Duke Renard leaned forward. “Then… are you saying…?”
Kai met his eyes and nodded. “Yes. I am saying Duke Lucian was in contact with the blood drinkers. They appeared at every major battle of the fief war. And I fought their leader, Shakran, with my own hands.”
A chorus of gasps and low shouts spilled across the chamber once again. Some nobles clutched the edges of their benches, others exchanged frantic whispers, the word blood drinker rippling like poison through the air.
Kai looked into King Sullivan's eyes directly and reached into his robes. His fingers brushed against something he hadn’t liked to carry. It felt cold and wrong and simply disgusting. But he drew them out anyway, opening his hand to let them fall with a faint clatter to the stone floor before him. They were blackened, jagged nails, still faintly humming with the residue of unnatural mana.
He raised his hand, drawing the spell structure, and pushed mana. The next second, the nails floated into the air. Threads of his mana carried them, drifting slowly past the benches so every noble could see. Men craned forward, women covered their mouths, a few recoiled outright.
“These,” Kai said. “are blood drinker nails. We gathered them after countless skirmishes during the fief war. I do not know what bargain Lucian struck with them, but this proves one thing beyond doubt. He was colluding with dark powers.”
As the nails passed, his eyes fixed on Regina.
She sat still, her face still the epitome of neutrality. But when one of the nails floated near her, she snapped it from the air, holding it between two fingers as if to inspect it. For a heartbeat, her eyes flickered—not surprised at its existence, but as though wondering if they belonged to Shakran or something else. She looked at it long enough for others to notice, then placed it back in the air, letting it drift away.
Kai’s jaw tightened. He wished, so badly, to say aloud that Regina had been the one helping them—that her hand was in the shadows behind Lucian’s. But this was not the time. Today was not about her. He had already fractured her pawn Veridia’s Mana heart; the damage was done. The sharper nobles would put the pieces together themselves in time.
One of the nails drifted back toward Duke Renard. He caught it carefully in his palm, turning it over with a frown. His brow furrowed deeper as he looked toward Kai.
“But how do we know,” the Duke said slowly, “that these creatures were truly fighting for the late Duke Lucian? Proof of their existence does not prove their allegiance. We have no witness to say they fought with his forces.”
The air in the chamber grew heavy again. Dozens of eyes turned to Kai.
He did not hesitate. He turned his head toward the lower stands, his finger lifting to point. “Why don’t you ask the Baron?”
Baron Idrin stiffened as though struck. Under the weight of so many gazes, his face drained paler than before. His hands shook on the bench, his lips parting with the faintest tremor.
“From what I know… it was the blood drinkers who carried out the massacre.”
All eyes turned once more toward Baron Idrin. The man’s lips trembled before the words left him in a hoarse whisper.
“Yes… it’s true. The massacre was carried out by them...” He swallowed hard, his gaze darting around the chamber before locking on Sullivan. “But, Your Majesty, I didn’t know. I didn’t know Duke Lucian had dealings with them. I didn’t even know they were with his forces.”
Kai’s jaw tightened, though he kept his face calm. What a lie. The blood drinkers had fought beside Idrin’s men in the Verdis campaign. He had seen it himself. But there was no need to press further. The man was already standing on the edge of a noose. He would be lucky if he lived to see another sunrise.
King Sullivan scoffed, the sound sharp. “And yet you knew a massacre was to happen. You knew innocents would die. And you had no quarrel with it.”
Idrin’s shoulders sagged. He lowered his head, unable to meet the King’s gaze. “...Yes.”
The silence that followed was taut, nobles shifting uncomfortably in their seats as the weight of the admission settled.
Kai breathed in slowly. Now. This was the moment to seize. While their minds still turned with the shock of blood drinkers in their own lands.
He let his voice cut through the quiet.
“Even if you do not believe Baron Idrin,” Kai said, his tone steady, “there are enough people in the Sylvan Enclave who saw the blood drinkers aiding Lucian’s forces. And there is more. My brother’s butler—Rubert—can testify himself. That man stood against Lucian’s dealings from the start. He was the one most vehemently opposed to him colliding with dark powers. He has served my house faithfully for decades, and his word carries weight.”
The murmur that rippled through the chamber was different this time, less suspicion, more grudging acknowledgment. Heads turned toward him with new eyes, some sharper, some weighing him more carefully than before. He was no longer simply justifying himself. He was making Lucian a villain in their minds.
But Kai wasn’t finished.
“I know,” he said and raised his hands, “that many of you still believe I killed my brother. And truthfully…” his eyes swept the hall, “I would have liked to. For his sins. But that is not how it happened. He could not bear his loss. He drank poison.”
The words landed like stones.
“That,” Kai said simply, “is the truth of the matter.”
A long silence stretched, broken only by the rustle of robes and the faint shifting of feet. Nobles glanced at one another, their whispers hushed, the chamber caught between disbelief, fear, and uneasy acceptance.
If Kai had been even a little naïve, he might have expected the questioning to end there. But he wasn’t. He knew better. He had whole factions arrayed against him, and they weren’t going to let him walk away from the Assembly with just one neat confession and a few proofs in hand.
So the questions kept coming.
One after another, nobles rose from their seats. Some asked for details about the fief war—how his troops had moved, where his supply lines had come from, why certain villages had been left undefended while others received aid. Others pressed for corroboration from the nobles he had brought under his custody, demanding testimony over the smallest details most had likely forgotten or never noticed in the first place.
Then came questions of the beast wave. Had he really killed the vermorga? How had he survived the sheer number of creatures that descended? What formation had his forces used to hold the lines? From there, the questions flowed into the plague extermination, men prodding for every step of the process.
And then, as though digging into his victories wasn’t enough, some lords pressed him on the mana cannons and the other innovations that had rolled out from Veralt under his name.
Kai answered steadily. Calmly. Patiently.
He spoke of his mother’s notes—how much she had left behind, half-finished concepts that he had only refined and completed. That part was easy to believe. Anyone who had followed him closely knew Arzan Kellius had been obsessed with magical theory long before awakening as a Mage. He had studied seals and alchemy while other nobles wasted hours on the hunt or the court. That history became his shield now, a simple way to show that his hands had always been in the craft, even before mana ever obeyed his will.
It seemed to soothe some. A few nodded, others folded their arms, wariness tempered by the weight of his explanation.
But Kai knew it wouldn’t last. And sure enough, she rose again.
Regina.
Her silks shifted softly as she stood, her eyes fixing on him with calm venom. Kai felt it immediately—the tightening in the room, the breathless anticipation of the nobles as the Queen prepared to speak. He had known this was coming. And as soon as her voice rang out, his suspicion was confirmed.
“Count Arzan,” Regina began, her tone cool, almost gracious. “You have done well to shave away much of the Assembly’s doubt today.” She paused deliberately, letting the words hang, letting the nobles nod as if in agreement. He knew the game too well not to notice. Just as expected, then her voice hardened. “But I still have matters to raise. Matters that are very important, and that question your intentions toward the kingdom itself.”
The chamber went still.
Kai straightened, his face calm, but inside, his thoughts sharpened. Here it comes.
“And what would these matters be, Your Highness?”
Regina smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it. “First of all, I very much enjoyed your explanation of the fief war—how you managed to defeat armies far larger than your own. It is not often we see a military genius capable of such feats. And I believe most here do not even grasp how remarkable it truly is, buried as it is beneath your other supposed accomplishments. But I like to understand. Tell me, how did you really do it?”
Kai inclined his head slightly. “I believe I have already answered many questions about that.”
“Not in the way I want to hear.” Her smile widened. “You said you took on the armies of different nobles in succession, used tactics to break them. And yet… you also claimed to fight blood drinkers. Dozens of them, if I heard correctly. We all know how difficult it is for a normal Knight—or even a Second-Circle Mage—to slay one. Yet you and your forces did this repeatedly. How?”
Kai felt the weight of what was coming immediately. This was one of the traps he had prepared for, but even knowing it was coming didn’t make it less dangerous. Nobles could look away from brilliance without jealously. They could even forgive ruthlessness. But if they smelled a weapon they could not control, their greed would gnaw at them until nothing else mattered.
So he answered plainly, choosing the lesser danger.
“You are speaking of my Enforcers.”
The grin on Regina’s lips spread like a blade unsheathed. “Yes. Do you care to explain what they are?”
“They are my Knights. Knights trained to channel mana.”
A rush of whispers swept through the Assembly, louder than before. A wave of surprise passed through the nobles. Some voices carried open awe, others suspicion, and many—greed. Kai felt goosebumps rise.
From the upper benches, a noble in gold-embroidered robes rose sharply. “Are they Mages then? Mages trained in close combat?”
All eyes turned back to Kai, waiting, eager, hungry.
“No. They are not Mages. They are warriors who can use mana. They do not wield it the way a Mage does. They cannot cast spells. They can only shape it around their bodies—enhance their strikes, harden their defenses. But even so, they are equally as destructive when trained well.”
He let the words hang, then added, calm but clipped, “I will not go into further detail. I believe you all have the idea.”
For a heartbeat, the chamber was silent, nobles blinking as though trying to process what they had just heard. And then—like kindling catching fire—the room erupted.
Dozens of lords leapt half from their seats, voices clashing over one another.
“Is it really true?”
“How many of them do you have?”
“Could anyone handle mana then?”
“How do they even work?”
The sound became a storm, the sharp edge of greed flashing naked in their eyes. Kai could see it—men who had looked suspicious a moment ago now staring as if they had glimpsed treasure, as if his Enforcers were already theirs to take.
And then, above it all, came Sullivan’s voice.
“Enough.”
The nobles immediately faltered.
“Calm yourselves. Regina has not finished. You will ask questions after she is done. Maintain decorum, or I will have you removed from this chamber, and your vote void.”
The threat was quiet and heavy. No one doubted he meant it. Reluctantly, nobles sank back into their seats, though the fever of their eyes had not cooled.
All turned back toward Regina. She stood poised, lips curved in the faintest smile, reveling in the attention she had carved for herself.
“Now that everyone knows what they are,” she said smoothly, “I have one question for you, Count Arzan.”
Kai felt everything pause because for some reason, he knew this question would be harder than the one before.
“Why have you hidden their existence from the kingdom until now? You yourself admitted they are destructive and powerful. So why did you not, as a good noble lord, share this with the realm? Why not help us be more than just a kingdom?”
2025-09-08 04:10:25 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 165
The next few days, Chen Ren fell into the rhythm of a very painful lifestyle.
His mornings began cross-legged on the floor with Wang Jun’s voice drilling into his ears, half instruction, half ego-polishing tales of his own brilliance. Soul cultivation demanded focus, silence of mind, yet somehow he was forced to chase his soul’s shadow while enduring the endless thunder of Wang Jun’s blabbering.
If soul cultivation was hard, listening to that head was an even harder task.
By the time afternoon came, sweat soaked his body from head to toe. That was when Qing He took over.
She was merciless. If he thought one day of dragging carts and holding planks beneath boulders was bad, he quickly learned that was only the beginning. Qing He never allowed him comfort—if anything, she went out of her way to strip it from him.
One day, she led him up a nearby peak, the cliff face sharp against the sky. There she ordered him to hang from the edge, his fingers curled against the cold stone, while two boulders were tied to his legs.
“Pull yourself up,” she had said simply.
And he did, again and again, until his arms trembled and his vision swam. He wasn’t allowed to use qi, not even when the rocks dragged him down and his grip faltered. Once, he slipped, plummeting toward the valley below, but Qing He only watched with calm eyes.
“A cultivator won’t die from a fall that small,” she had remarked.
Small? Chen Ren wanted to scream. From his perspective, it had been anything but. Still, he said nothing. He obeyed. Every day, he kept up with her brutal regimen, because every day the same training grew just a fraction easier.
Cultivator bodies were resilient. They healed fast, adapted faster. Muscles that had torn the day before came back stronger, bones that had creaked now steadied under strain. And step by step, Chen Ren’s endurance began to grow.
Qing He gave no special praise. Not even a slight smile was visible on her face, and words of encouragement was the last thing he expected. At best, she gave curt nods when he met her expectations. At worst, silence when he failed.
But Wang Jun was another matter entirely.
On the sixth day of their soul cultivation sessions, Chen Ren finally brushed against it—his soul.
It was the faintest sensation he’d felt, and a contact so brief yet so clear that he knew it for what it was. The moment his eyes opened, Wang Jun’s jaw dropped.
The old man’s eyes went wide, round as coins and his face twisted in shock as if Chen Ren had sprouted wings and flown across the room.
Yalan let out a snicker from the bed, her whiskers twitching in delight at the sight.
Chen Ren, half-exhausted and half-amused, only had one thought. If I had a camera, this would be my new favorite picture.
Wang Jun’s voice cracked through the room, louder than it had been in days. “How in the hell did you manage that in just six days? No one I knew was able to do it that fast!”
Chen Ren smirked, leaning back slightly, still catching his breath. “Maybe I’m a genius.”
The old head scoffed so hard his beard shook. “If you’re a genius, then I’m the son of the heavens. When I achieved it in seven days, every soul cultivator I met called me abnormal. And you—” he looked at Chen Ren pointedly, “—you with those miserable spirit roots…”
Chen Ren raised a brow, his grin widening. “We both know spirit roots aren’t much of an advantage in soul cultivation. If anything, they’re a distraction.”
And that part was true. His progress hadn’t been talent—it had been stubbornness, memory, and luck. The sensation of the soul, that fleeting trace he had felt the first time he woke in this body after transmigration—that memory had been his compass. Without it, the constant roar of qi would have drowned him entirely.
But Wang Jun didn’t need to know that. He only needed to know that Chen Ren had reached the first step faster than him. And maybe, just maybe, it would shut him up about his “legendary” exploits.
Wang Jun grumbled, his scowl etched deep. “The heavens are really unfair…” His gaze hardened again. “Don’t grow complacent. This is just the first step. The next—soul contact—crushes most cultivators. Months of failure before they succeed. Some never do.”
Chen Ren shrugged, his smirk refusing to fade. “We’ll see how much time it takes me.” His eyes flicked toward Yalan, then back to Wang Jun. “I believe that’s enough for today’s lesson, isn’t it?”
The old man groaned under his breath. “Yeah, yeah, it’s over. Now go, let me read my novel in peace. I hope Qing He has some fresh tortures prepared for you today, enough to wipe that smug grin off your face.”
Chen Ren chuckled softly, rising to his feet. “Erm, actually,” he said, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, “there won’t be any body cultivation today. Qing He’s busy with something. She told me I could do what I want.”
Wang Jun narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And what exactly do you want?”
“I’ll be taking one of the classes.”
The head blinked. “Those lessons you’re giving to mortals?”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I left them a lot of books, along with my own notes. Xiulan is teaching most of the time—reading comprehension, basic numbers, even some business practices. But today, I’ll be handling it myself. I’m going to introduce them to a little bit of science.”
At that word, Wang Jun’s brow furrowed, his gaze drifting as though trying to recall a half-forgotten memory. “Science… I know what that is, but I can’t remember it clearly.”
“Think of it as the study of the world,” Chen Ren said patiently. “How it works, how it moves, why things happen the way they do.”
“Sounds far too complicated for mortals.”
Chen Ren gave a faint grin. “It’s all in how you teach them. If you give it the right shape, they’ll enjoy it. Even Yalan might enjoy it.”
At the mention of her name, Yalan lifted her head from where she had been lounging, amber eyes narrowing in curiosity. “Why would I enjoy it?”
“Because today,” Chen Ren said with a sly smile, “I’ll be teaching about fire. Not just fire, but how fire works.”
Her whiskers twitched, her tail flicking once against the floor. A small smirk tugged at the edge of her mouth. “That… might not be boring.”
***
Chen Ren looked across the room that had become their classroom. It was the same hall where he had once stood to give his first speech as sect leader. Back then, eyes had been wary, shoulders stiff, every person measuring him as if uncertain of being in the sect. Now, being in front of them; their presence felt warmer, more familiar.
Of course, there were a bunch of nervous faces, but most met his gaze with trust, or at least with less doubt.
One of those nervous faces was Mei Lin, seated near the front, biting her lip as though she feared answering a question that hadn’t even been asked yet. Chen Ren offered a small smile at her. That made the tension in her shoulders ease, just slightly as she looked down at her lap.
His gaze swept further and caught something he hadn’t expected.
On one of the chairs, perched as though it owned the place, sat Whiskey. The fat squirrel-like beast was rubbing his belly with both paws, looking far too smug for a creature that had barged into a lesson uninvited.
Chen Ren nearly chuckled aloud. The beast had been lingering in the sect during his recent travels. If Tang Xiulan’s reports were to be believed, Whiskey’s rivalry with Xinxin, the weasel, hadn’t cooled in the slightest. They fought, played, and got along with the children in equal measure. The only real complaint was the same one as always—Whiskey’s insatiable appetite. Barrels of wine and ale vanished mysteriously, often with the squirrel found sprawled beside them in drunken triumph.
As Chen Ren’s eyes lingered, Yalan’s voice brushed across his mind, dry and sharp.
“You should start. I’m getting bored.”
He shifted his gaze to her. She was perched atop the teacher’s table at the side, tail flicking, amber eyes half-lidded with disinterest.
Chen Ren gave a slight nod and turned back to the room.
“I don’t think introductions are needed,” he began, clutching his hands in front of him. “You all know who I am.”
That quietened the room, every head tilting toward him.
“I’ve heard that you’ve been diligently taking the lessons provided by the sect, and even looking for books from the library to study on your own.” His eyes moved slowly across them, pausing just long enough that the nervous ones straightened in their seats. “That is commendable.”
A few faces brightened at his praise, faint smiles breaking the tension in the room. Chen Ren let that warmth linger only a breath before continuing.
“But today,” he said, “we won’t be learning numbers, language, or business tactics. Today will be something different. A thing called science.”
The word itself drew confusion. Several frowned, some tilted their heads, waiting. A few simply stared blankly. And on the back chair, Whiskey let out a loud burp, patting his belly as though to punctuate the silence.
Chen Ren ignored it.
“Science,” he continued evenly, “is the study of the universe. For those who don’t know—‘universe’ is the wide space that holds our world, the heavens above and everything within. If that feels too distant to grasp, then think of it as this: the study of everything around us. The world we see, hear, and touch.”
His eyes swept the room. They were listening now. Even the confused ones leaned forward, sensing that this was not another lesson on ledgers or trade.
“You all know many things happen around us,” Chen Ren said. “But do you know how? Do you know why clouds gather and pour rain? Why does a fire start when you strike a flint? Or how your body is able to move, breathe, live?”
For a moment, silence hung, and then a boy—Chun—raised his hand hesitantly. His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. “But… Sect Leader Chen, why do we need to learn that? I don’t think it helps us in business.”
A ripple of agreement passed through a few of the others. Practical minds, bound by what they could measure in coin and gain.
“Hmm, Chun, our sect is more than business. We are also the first generation of people who will innovate. To create. To bring forth things the world has never seen. And to do that, you must understand how things work.”
He stepped forward, his tone steady but carrying a spark that drew their eyes. “If you don’t know how your body functions, how will you ever hope to heal it when the pills run out? You may have access to medicines that other mortals cannot dream of, but even cultivators admit, there is much they do not know. So it falls to us to learn what they overlook.”
The room was silent now. Mei Lin’s lip-biting was forgotten, Chun’s brow furrowed in thought, even Whiskey paused in his lazy belly rub.
“Today,” Chen Ren said at last, his eyes flicking toward the small lamp burning at the side of the room, “we will learn about fire. And how it truly forms.”
A hand shot up from the second row. Ping Hui, a boy with round cheeks and blue eyes, spoke quickly. “Doesn’t fire form by burning coal or wood?”
Before Chen Ren could answer, another voice cut in from the back. “But I’ve seen cultivators light fire out of nowhere. Elder Zi Wen said it’s by burning qi!”
“And we don’t have qi,” a third added flatly. “So how can we do it?”
Murmurs rippled through the room, the mortals half arguing among themselves, their voices rising as each clung to what they thought they knew. Chen Ren raised his hand, palm outward. His calm presence pressed down on the noise until the voices faded.
“What you are describing,” he said evenly, “isn’t how fire is formed. Coal, wood, qi—they are only the fuel. Fire itself…” he turned, chalk in hand, and wrote a single word on the board: Air. “…is not a thing. It is a reaction.”
Confused looks spread across the room, but the quiet held. Even Whiskey tilted his head, as though the lunari too was pondering.
Chen Ren tapped the word on the board. “All of you know that we breathe air to live, yes?”
Dozens of heads bobbed in agreement.
“But air is not just one thing,” Chen Ren continued. “It is many things, mixed together. We call them gases. You’ve all heard of poisonous mists from plants or swamps? Those are gases too. Just like that, many gases make up the air around us. Even qi flows within it, but qi alone does not make fire.”
He paused, letting them lean in a little.
“One gas among them is special. Without it, flames cannot live. With it, even the smallest spark can roar into fire. There is a name for it where I come from, but here you may call it…” his chalk scratched across the board again, “…the Spirit of Heaven.”
A murmur ran through the class, the title giving weight to the idea.
“Wood or coal is simply the food, the fuel. But without the Spirit of Heaven, fire will die in an instant. Even when cultivators burn qi into flame, they are not creating fire from nothing. Their qi is the fuel—the Spirit of Heaven around them is what lets it ignite. Understand this: the Spirit of Heaven is not only the root of flame, it is a major part of all our lives.”
For mortals raised on tales of cultivators conjuring miracles, the idea that there was a hidden law beneath it all was shocking.
Even Yalan, perched on the table, flicked her ears toward him, her eyes bright with interest.
Like that, Chen Ren wove his words around the flame. He explained how sparks and fuel were not enough on their own, how different things had to come together for fire to live. How flames could be smothered, not just by water or earth, but by stripping away the Spirit of Heaven from the air itself—a task difficult even for cultivators.
The disciples followed his words with wide eyes. Some nodded eagerly, some furrowed their brows in confusion, but none looked away. They leaned forward as though the unseen laws he spoke of were treasures being laid out before them.
Yet the one most absorbed was not a mortal at all.
From the side, Yalan’s eyes gleamed brighter with every word.
“If flames are not born from qi, then when I conjure them, am I only bending the Spirit of Heaven around me?”
“If flames die without this gas, then what of flames in sealed places, why do they choke?”
Her questions came one after another, each one sharper than the last. She had wielded fire for centuries, her body steeped in it, her very existence wrapped around it. Yet here, at last, was a framework, words to cage what instinct alone had taught her.
Chen Ren answered her every thought, careful and patient. He wanted nothing more than for her mastery to sharpen, for her flames to grow fiercer and more controlled. If she understood her own dao better through his words, then the lesson was worth more than any jade or gold.
Only Whiskey seemed unmoved. The lunari yawned so loudly a few mortals turned their heads, then promptly curled into a ball on the chair and began snoring halfway through the lesson. Chen Ren spared him a glance, lips twitching. Figures. That one only cares for wine and food.
At last, after an hour, he picked up the chalk once more. Upon the board, he sketched the simple formula of fire—Fuel + Spirit of Heaven + Spark = Flame.
“Write this down,” he said. “Today’s lesson was short, only the basics. But there is much more in this branch of study. You may call it chemistry. It is like alchemy, but stripped of mysticism—precise, structured, and usable even by mortals. If I have time, I will teach more. If not, Miss Xiulan will continue in my place.”
The scratching of brushes filled the room as disciples hurried to copy the words. When he set down the chalk, he lifted his hand. “That’s all for today. You may leave.”
At once, the students rose as one and bowed deeply, their voices unified. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”
One by one, they filed out of the classroom, their whispers trailing like ripples on water.
When the last of the disciples slipped out and the doors shut, silence fell across the room. Yalan stretched, the faint glow of her eyes catching the lamplight. She stepped closer, her tail brushing lazily against the edge of the desk.
“That was… informative,” she said at last. “I knew the world you came from had strange tricks and baubles worth selling, but I did not know it held such knowledge as well.”
Chen Ren leaned back against the desk, a tired smile tugging at his lips. “We didn’t have qi. So we had no choice but to study. We used science, tore apart the mysteries of the world piece by piece, trying to understand how everything worked. You’d be surprised how much there is still to learn, even without a shred of spiritual energy.”
Yalan’s ears flicked at that, thoughtful. Her gaze lingered on the chalk-streaked board, the formula for fire still scrawled across it. But before Chen Ren could continue, the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Both turned.
It was Zi Wen. He looked between Chen Ren and Yalan and came to a halt a few paces away. His hands clasped and he bowed slightly.
“Sect Leader Chen Ren,” he said, lifting his eyes.”
“What is it?”
“I believe I’ve found the location you were searching for.”
2025-09-08 04:09:15 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 274
The heavy doors of the chamber swung open.
Every single pair of eyes moved towards King Sullivan who entered the room with long, steady strides. His gaze did not linger on anyone, not on Dukes or Counts or the sea of lower lords that filled the rows. He walked straight toward the seat that was specifically given to him.
Knight Roderic followed closely at his side.
At once, the hall rose to its feet. Benches creaked, robes rustled, boots scraped the stone. Every noble stood. Even Kai, seated in the isolated chair at the center of the floor, pushed himself up and bowed his head. It was the custom, the mark of respect due to the sovereign before whom the Assembly would be judged.
The air was still until Sullivan reached his seat. He lowered himself into it with calm gravity, Roderic taking his place just behind. Only then did the King incline his head, a measured nod that swept the chamber.
The nobles sat as one.
Silence pressed over the room until Sullivan lifted his gaze. For the briefest moment, his eyes met Kai’s. There were no words that exchanged between them, but Kai understood acknowledgment.
In less than a minute, King Sullivan’s voice filled the hall.
“I know all of you have come here on very short notice.” He said it loud enough for everyone to hear. “But the matter before us could not wait. It demands the attention of every noble in the kingdom.”
The rows murmured faintly before they stopped.
“This Assembly is not only about war,” King Sullivan continued. “But about a man. A man with achievements none can deny, and a man who bears the title of kin-killer.”
The words hung heavy.
“As you all know, fief wars are a rare event. Rarer, even, than the beast waves that sometimes plague our borders. Most such conflicts have ended with an Assembly like this one, though it has been decades since the last. Many of you here have never seen one convened in your lifetime.”
Across the chamber, a few heads dipped in agreement. More than half of the old lords nodded gravely, while younger nobles shifted uneasily in their seats.
King Sullivan’s gaze swept the rows, unhurried, as though weighing each face before him. Then he spoke again.
“I will be presiding over this Assembly. And while I do, there will be order. There will be decorum.” His gruff voice sharpened, and Kai saw the effect immediately. Some nobles straightened unconsciously. “Every man and woman here holds one vote. But before those votes are cast, we will hear, and we will discuss, every matter that brought us to this moment.”
The chamber fell still.
“If you have anything to say, whether in support of Count Arzan Kellius or against him, you will raise your hand, state your title and house, and then speak. No one will speak over another. We are all nobles, and we will act as civilized people.”
His eyes swept the chamber once more, then fixed on the upper stands. “Count Pious. You may begin by speaking on why this Assembly has been called.”
An old man in the higher seats rose at once, his back still straight despite the years weighing on him. He inclined his head toward the King. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Turning, his gaze moved across the chamber, pausing briefly on the younger nobles before he began.
“Many of you already know the details,” Count Pious said, his voice gravelly but carrying well, “but there are some who do not. It was only a few months ago that the late Duke Lucian Kellius leveled accusations against his brother, Count Arzan Kellius.”
Lucian’s name stirred commotion. But Count Pious ignored it and continued.
“The charges were grace. He claimed that Count Arzan had sides with dark powers, after a village under Baron Idrin’s territory was burned to the ground. The only survivor, a man by the name of Alaric, swore that the perpetrators took Count Arzan’s name—that he was the one behind it.”
The words struck like stones dropped into water. A ripple of gasps rolled through the chamber despite most knowing the events by now.
Pious let the reaction settle before continuing.
“Baron Idrin brought the matter directly to Duke Lucian, who wasted no time. He declared his brother lost to corruption, claiming he had allied himself with demonic powers, with blood drinkers.”
The phrase blood drinkers caused more shifts. Kai knew the tide wasn’t turning to his side. But he let the man continue.
“The Duke raised his banners. War was declared.” Pious’s voice deepened. “Count Arzan rejected the accusations, declared his innocence, and yet the fief war was fought. Men fell. Blood stained the Sylvan Enclave. All but one noble in the region raised their banners for the Duke.”
Every head turned instinctively toward the cluster of lesser lords seated low in the stands. The weight of gazes pressed heavy on them, some looking down, some fidgeting, some stiff with shame. Only Baron Buck kept his chin up, his eyes forward, the resignation in his bearing plain to all.
Count Pious pressed on.
“Despite being outnumbered, Count Arzan stood victorious in that fief war. Yet,” he paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, “as every noble here knows—ordinarily, in matters of fief wars, one cannot slay the other party. That is the custom of our realm, the bond of our laws.”
“After all, we are nobles of the same kingdom, sons of the same soil. But not only was Duke Lucian defeated, he was slain. And not by foreign hand or faceless foe, but by his own brother. That makes him a kin killer. This Assembly has been called to decide whether his actions were just or unjust, and if the latter, what punishment shall be delivered upon him by the judgment of the nobles gathered here.”
A murmur swept the hall, some nodding along, others frowning. Pious raised his hand, stilling the noise.
“I remind you all,” he continued, “that this judgment will be given without heed to the status of Arzan Kellius, nor to his magical powers. We are here to judge the deed, not the strength.”
Several nobles nodded gravely at that.
Kai did not.
Even as the words echoed, he knew them for what they were—ceremony. Nothing more. Humans could not separate status from judgment, nor power from perception. They would all say so, but in the end, every glance, every vote, every whisper would weigh his strength, his deeds, and the fear or respect they inspired.
Still, the hall was watching him. Count Pious lowered himself back into his seat, and dozens of noble eyes turned toward the lone chair in the center. Expectation pressed down on him like a stone.
Kai rose slowly, standing straight. He let his gaze sweep across the chamber, the higher rows and the lower, the countless faces fixed on him.
“First of all,” he said in a clear voice. “thank you for coming here. All of you. I know it was no easy journey to reach the capital at such short notice. This Assembly was as unexpected to me as it was to you.”
His eyes shifted toward Count Pious. “And I would also like to thank Count Pious for recounting the events that transpired. But…” his tone sharpened slightly, “I must correct some parts of it. For I believe the Count has left out much that would make me appear guilty of things I have not done.”
Chairs creaked as nobles leaned forward.
Count Pious rose at once, his lined face stern. “And what would those be, Count Arzan?”
The chamber stilled again, every eye flicking between the two men.
Kai let his voice cut through the stillness. “First of all—the village that was burned, and the villagers who died—it was not by my hand.”
A ripple of noise broke out across the benches, and from the lower stands, a man rose quickly, his cloak swishing behind him. “I am Baron Aldred of House Calthorn” he declared. “I know well that you and Baron Idrin have had clashes over territory for some time now. Does that not give you enough reason to go against him?”
Kai’s gaze flicked toward him, and he stayed as calm as he could. “Then tell me, why would I burn the village?”
The baron’s lips curled. “Maybe a warning, or a threat. Is it not true that, only days before the massacre, your men clashed with Baron Idrin’s?”
Kai’s brow furrowed faintly. He’s too well informed. The man’s words carried detail only someone with backing would have. It took no more than a breath for Kai to place him—one of the First Prince’s men. A planted spear meant to strike at his side.
“It was a small matter,” Kai said evenly, his tone dismissive. Then he let his gaze sweep the chamber. “And more than that, you are trying to suggest that I and Baron Idrin have had a long-running feud. That is not true. The one who had constant clashes with him was Baron Morcant, whose territory is under me now. I only became aware of the problem when Baron Idrin struck at the village in the disputed lands. There is no reason, none, to think I had a hand in the massacre.”
Count Pious rose again. “Then who did?”
Kai’s eyes practically shone at the question—he in fact, was waiting for it. “That is an interesting question. Why don’t we let Baron Idrin answer it? He is here, after all.”
Every head turned at once. The weight of the hall descended on the man seated in the lower stands. Baron Idrin swallowed hard, his hands gripping the edge of his seat until his knuckles whitened. Slowly, shakily, he pushed himself to his feet.
Dozens of gazes bore into him. His eyes darted toward Kai, pleading, as if begging for reprieve. But under the pressure of the chamber, he forced the words out, his voice trembling.
“I… I am Baron Idrin of House Grevane.” His throat bobbed. “And Count Arzan is right. He was not the man behind the massacre of that village.”
Gasps rolled through the chamber, louder this time, followed by a heavy, stretching silence.
“What did he just say?”
“Baron Idrin is speaking about—”
Whispers rose like a tide, rippling through the chamber at Baron Idrin’s words. Hands covered mouths, heads bent toward neighbors, the sound swelling louder with every passing moment.
“Silence!” King Sullivan’s voice cracked across the hall, sharp as a whip. “Let the Baron speak.”
All noise died at once.
Baron Idrin swallowed, his face pale and damp with sweat. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the stand before him. “We… we had a confrontation with Count Arzan,” he admitted at once, “but it was all part of the late Duke Lucian’s plan to instigate a fief war.”
The chamber froze.
He pressed on, his words spilling faster, as though afraid he might lose the strength to say them. “The massacre was planned as well. Planned by him to frame Count Arzan… to sully his growing reputation after the beast wave subjugation. I went along with it because he promised me more. A higher noble rank, once he had taken the Sylvan Enclave for himself.” His voice cracked then, breaking into a tremble. “I… I wanted to expand my territory for my family. So I did it…”
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by a few hushed whispers that darted like snakes through the chamber.
Kai immediately looked at Count Pious’s face. It was ashen. His eyes had widened in disbelief, and dozens of nobles mirrored him—shock plain on their faces. Only Regina, seated high with Eldric, and Prince Eldric sat unmoved. They looked unusually steady, as though the revelation was no surprise to them, as though they’d expected it.
Sullivan’s gaze bore down on Idrin, heavy as stone. “Baron Idrin,” the King said coldly, “if what you speak is true, you have admitted your own involvement in the murder of innocents.”
Idrin’s shoulders sagged. He bowed his head, voice breaking. “I was part of it, Your Majesty… but it was all Duke Lucian. Please believe me.”
The King gave him nothing but a glare, his face unreadable.
Before the weight of it could settle further, Count Pious rose sharply, his robes swaying. “Are we certain Baron Idrin does not speak under duress? What proof do we have he is not saying this because of threats Count Arzan may have dealt him?”
A murmur of agreement spread.
“It’s true…”
“He was kept under Arzan’s custody…”
“Not permitted to leave…”
Pious pressed harder, his voice carrying across the nodding heads. “From what we know, Baron Idrin and the others were treated as refugees in his territory—kept there, not free to come or go. Who among us can say what pressure may have been applied to bend their words?”
Eyes shifted, some doubtful, some considering, more and more heads nodding slowly. The Assembly was split again.
Kai’s voice rang out before Sullivan could speak again.
“They were not being kept like refugees,” he said evenly, his gaze fixed on Count Pious. “Refugees live in tents. These men were given chambers in my estate, rooms to sleep in, meals prepared each day. And though every one of them acted against me, raised steel against my people in the fief war, I kept them alive. They lost. It was only natural for me to hold them afterward.”
Count Pious narrowed his eyes. “That does not explain why you could not have threatened Baron Idrin.”
Kai let the faintest smile touch his lips. “Isn’t it simple? Because I am not an idiot. We stand in the Assembly of Judgment, with every noble of the kingdom present. What threat could I give him that would matter here? If I had tried, Baron Idrin could have spoken against me at once. And not only him, the other three nobles as well. They sit here now. Each one could easily confirm if I had forced words into his mouth.”
Another pregnant silence took over the Assembly. The heat was only getting started when one of the captured nobles stood.
“I am Viscount Buck, of House Dorn.” He inclined his head toward the King, then turned toward the chamber. “And I can agree with Count Arzan’s words. Though he demanded reparations from us—which is fair and expected after raising arms against him—he treated us with respect. He even allowed our kin to continue handling our territories, instead of seizing them all for himself. He could have, but he didn’t.”
Count Pious’s voice snapped back like a lash. “That does not mean he could not have threatened Baron Idrin.”
Viscount Buck met his gaze without flinching. “With respect, Count Pious, I doubt it. From what I have seen, Count Arzan knew full well that Baron Idrin was behind the massacre of his own village. He could have killed him easily because Baron Idrin himself struck at Verdis. In battle, anything can happen. A blade can slip, an arrow can fly astray. It would have been easy for Count Arzan to dispose of him then and weave any story he wished afterward.” He paused, letting the words hang, then added firmly: “But he did not.”
The murmur in the chamber swelled louder, nobles leaning into one another, their whispers running quick and sharp. Pious’s lips tightened, his jaw clenching, but his reply did not come at once.
Even from his place at the center of the chamber, Kai could see it—the Assembly was shifting.
“Only Baron Idrin and Count Arzan know what happened,” Viscount Buck finished, his voice steady, “but I do not believe Count Arzan would do such a thing.”
The Assembly broke into low murmurs, a dozen quiet voices running over one another like a restless tide.
King Sullivan raised a hand, his voice cutting sharp and firm. “Baron Idrin. Can you swear that what you have said is the truth, and that you have not been threatened to speak it aloud?”
Every gaze in the hall turned back to Idrin. The man swallowed hard, then bowed his head low. “I swear it,” he said hoarsely. “By my house. I have spoken of my own volition. I do so because I know my actions have already threatened the very existence of my house. I only pray that Your Majesty will punish me for my crimes… and not those who bear my name.”
The chamber was silent again. King Sullivan did not answer, his face unreadable, only his hard gaze weighing Idrin down.
Kai braced himself, expecting another noble to rise and throw the next accusation at him. But what happened instead froze the chamber.
From the upper stands, silks shifting as she rose, Queen Regina stood, and when she did, everyone held their breaths. Kai’s thoughts ran a mile as he went through every possible question she would throw at him. He tried to calm his breathing, but when her gaze fixed on him, he almost forgot everything.
“I am Queen Regina,” she said, her words measured, “Queen of Lancephil.”
Her eyes did not waver as she looked down on him. “Let us say Duke Lucian was indeed the one who instigated the fief war. Even so—even for villains—if they are nobles, there is no right for one of us to kill them. Should not a victorious lord bring his enemy here, to the capital, and have him confess before crown and Assembly? Instead, you killed him, Count Arzan. Tell me—is that not a grave crime? Not only the slaying of a noble… but of your own blood?”
Kai had expected this moment. From the very first day he had learned what the Assembly was, he had known this question would come. He had thought on it endlessly, trying to craft an answer that could hold weight. In the end, only one answer felt true.
He stood, his back straight, his voice carrying clear and firm across the hall.
“First of all,” Kai said, his gaze unwavering, “I did not kill him.”
A ripple of whispers stirred, but he lifted a hand slightly, stilling them with the steel in his eyes.
“Second.” He glared at her. “Even if I had… I do not believe I did anything wrong.”
Gasps broke across the chamber. Some nobles recoiled, others froze, a few leaned forward with sudden, burning interest. All of them hung on his next words.
2025-09-05 22:41:33 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 164
The golden dragon had once implied that Chen Ren would walk both paths—soul cultivation and body cultivation.
Of the first, he already knew a little, and Wang Jun’s endless bragging had only added to that. But the second… he hadn’t thought much about it until he had begun combing through the spoils of the Void Blade Sect’s library. That was when he found it.
It had been a worn, nameless volume, even the cover was half-faded. On the first page, the title was written in bold, almost mocking brushstrokes—“How to Be Indestructible.” The author was left unnamed, though the words inside burned with the kind of clarity that only comes from someone who had bled for every line.
According to the book, body cultivation had been forged by a man born with poor spirit roots—too shallow to reach the higher realms through qi alone, yet too stubborn to kneel before fate. He had carved out a new path, hammering flesh and bone into weapons, teaching himself how to stand against cultivators far above his station.
Qing He had nodded when Chen Ren asked her about it. She knew some of the early methods—enough to guide him through the first three steps. Nine in total, just like soul cultivation. Nine gates of flesh and marrow to grind through.
At first, Chen Ren had wondered why such a path wasn’t more popular. Surely, there were countless cultivators cursed by heaven with weak roots, desperate for a chance to defy it. Why wouldn’t they leap at this chance?
But the further he read, the clearer it became.
It wasn’t enough to push the body beyond its limits, again and again, until pain became breath and torn flesh became normal. The body had to be broken and reforged like steel in a forge. To temper each step forward, one had to bathe in concoctions brewed from the blood and cores of spirit beasts. Not common ones—higher, stronger, rarer with every step climbed.
It wasn’t training alone. It was slaughter, resources, and an endless hunger for beasts that few dared to face.
Chen Ren had closed the book after reading the first set of methods. He understood. Most cultivators would balk at the training before they even finished the first step. Even those who’re mad enough to endure it would eventually hit the wall of cost—cores, blood, beasts no sect would willingly waste resources to hunt.
And yet… something in him stirred. And Chen Ren thought, not without a faint smile, that it suited him rather well.
Chen Ren groaned as another boulder thudded down onto his back, placed there carefully by one of Hong Yi’s puppets. The planks of wood beneath his palms creaked as his arms trembled, his muscles straining. From his lowered angle, all he could see of Hong Yi were his legs, standing idly off to the side as if this were some street performance instead of back-breaking training.
On top of him, three massive boulders were stacked like a cruel monument. By his guess, the weight came to thousands of tons. A mid-star qi refinement cultivator like him could bear such strain, but not like this. He had to stay unmoving for an hour without using his qi.
He had managed thirty minutes so far, and each stone added one after another until his back bowed under the crushing load. Sweat ran down his face in rivers, dripping onto boards, and his teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. Already, his arms were screaming to collapse.
“As I was explaining,” Qing He’s voice drifted from his right, calm as always, “body cultivation emerged because ancient cultivators realized that qi alone was not enough. Every cultivator, regardless of realm, had some reinforcement to their body, but only a few thought to refine it further. They built exercises to temper flesh and bone, and paired them with beast blood baths to forge themselves into something more than mortal.”
Her gaze shifted to the boulders pressing him down. “What you are doing now is the first step—Bone Refinement. It seems harsh, but it is merely the entry point. You should be glad you are beginning this in the qi refinement realm. For you, it will be easier.”
“Doesn’t… feel easier,” Chen Ren hissed through clenched teeth.
As if the heavens themselves agreed, the weight shifted slightly, pressing him down further. His arms buckled for an instant before he locked them in place again, veins standing out like cords along his neck. He snapped his mouth shut before another word escaped—every ounce of strength was needed simply to hold.
From his left came the sound of a chuckle, soft but impossible to miss.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed, though he didn’t dare turn his head. Hong Yi, you bastard.
The puppet maker was enjoying this far too much.
He had thought soul cultivation was difficult, but body cultivation felt crueler in a different way. No—both were hard, but their pain came in different flavors.
Soul cultivation was abstract, closer to the flow of qi, an inner search that left the mind strained. But body cultivation? It was the path of a lunatic gym bro, except the “weights” were boulders no mortal man could even dream of lifting.
Still, Chen Ren endured. The golden dragon had spoken of harmony, and he knew this was the road toward it. If he wanted to live for centuries, if he wanted his soul and body both sharp enough to carry him forward, he couldn’t slack here. And the thought crept into his mind—if he did live for hundreds of years, who knew how much wealth he could build in that time? The temptation of it made his lips twitch despite the agony.
So he kept up the count of minutes in his head, numbers stumbling into curses, curses turning into prayers for distraction. Damn it, why hadn’t he invented a music player yet in this world? Back on Earth, gyms were bearable because of music pounding in his ears. Here, he had only the sound of his own grunts and Qing He’s voice.
She hadn’t taken the training herself, but she had seen enough to guide him. And after the Blazing Ember Sect, Chen Ren trusted her word. Trusted her enough to keep silent and push himself as the weight pressed his body flat, his breath burning in his lungs.
Minutes crawled past, each one stretched thin. His arms trembled, his legs quivered, his mind screamed that the hour had already ended. More than once, he almost suspected Qing He of trickery—that perhaps she had let the time slip longer, testing him.
Finally, when his bones felt ready to snap and his arms shook as though lightning ran through them, her calm voice broke through.
“It’s over. You can give it up.”
Relief flooded him.
One by one, Hong Yi’s puppets lifted the boulders away, though they had no brain of their own, they were well made enough to lift them carefully.
When the weight peeled off, Chen Ren’s body sagged like a rope cut loose.
He collapsed onto the ground with a dull thud, his limbs immediately refused to answer him as soon as he rolled to his back. Sweat soaked through his clothes, dripping into the floorboards beneath him. For a long moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering if his bones were still intact.
Sweat clung to every inch of him, dripping down his back and soaking the floor beneath. His legs trembled faintly, the muscles twitching as if they were still straining beneath the boulders. He hadn’t used even a wisp of qi for that exercise—it had all been raw strength, his body alone bearing the punishment. More than once he’d wanted to collapse, to give up, but he hadn’t.
Chen Ren tilted his head back, catching his breath, and looked to Qing He. A part of him expected, if not praise, then at least a nod of acknowledgment. A good job, perhaps, for not quitting.
What he got instead made him want to curse the heavens.
“You have five minutes,” Qing He said flatly, while her arms were crossed in front of her like a strict trainer. “After that, you’ll drag a cart of boulders around the field. Ten laps.”
Chen Ren’s head snapped up. His body screamed as he sat upright, clutching his aching ribs. “Wait what? I thought we’d start slow! That was supposed to be for next week!”
Qing He’s expression didn’t shift in the slightest. “You don’t have time to take it slow, kid. You carry too many enemies on your back already. A dragon with its own schemes coils inside you. And you keep making more foes with every step you take. Until you gain the harmony of body and soul, you won’t even break into foundation establishment. Do you really want to ease up now? Tell me if you still think it’s a good idea to take it slow.”
Chen Ren’s throat worked. He swallowed hard, his lips dry, and scratched the side of his head as though that might buy him time. Her words struck deeper than the weight had.
He hated to admit it, but she was right.
Cultivation had come almost too easily for him so far—his strange dao carrying him, opening doors others spent decades battering against. He had grown used to it, the flow of progress without the grind. But this… this was different. This was effort stripped bare, flesh against stone.
And if he couldn’t learn to endure this, if he couldn’t force himself past his own limits, then one day his opponents—monsters far above his realm—would tear him apart.
In the end, both soul cultivation and body cultivation would make him into something far beyond what an ordinary cultivator could ever hope to be. He couldn’t afford to falter. Especially not now.
So it would be good to scale that difference, even if he felt like he was dying. Chen Ren forced himself to nod.
“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s head to the fields.”
Those words turned out to be the worst mistake he had made in the entire month–no, maybe his entire life here.
The cart was massive, iron-rimmed wheels etched with glowing runes, the flatbed stacked high with boulders that weighed hundreds of tons each. At first, he had even wondered how the cart itself didn’t collapse under such weight until he realized Qing He had already prepared an array carved into its frame, strengthening every joint and axle.
It didn’t make dragging it any easier.
The moment the ropes dug into his shoulders and he heaved forward, he thought his spine might snap, or his shoulders might dislocate. His legs strained, each step a battle as the cart groaned behind him. The runes ensured the cart could hold the weight—it didn’t make pulling it any less brutal.
Lap after lap, through the wide fields outside the village, he dragged that mountain on wheels. Sweat soaked his clothes until they clung to him like a second skin, his muscles burning as if fire itself lived beneath his flesh.
By the third lap, he realized half the village was watching. Men, women, even children, whispering as they trailed along the edges of the field.
“What is he doing?”
“Is that… training?”
“Cultivators don’t do that, do they?”
Their hushed voices reached his ears, and though part of him hated it, it was a distraction. Something to break the endless rhythm of his steps.
By the fifth lap, Chief Muyang himself had appeared, speaking quietly with Qing He. As Chen Ren trudged past them, he caught fragments of their words.
“…too much for a single person…”
“…Cultivation isn’t like this, is it? He looks as though he’s killing himself. Losing his mind.”
At least the old chief’s tone held concern, not mockery. But the words stung all the same. Losing my mind, huh? Maybe I have.
By the seventh lap, Chen Ren stopped hearing them. Not because the villagers had gone silent, but because his body no longer had the strength to care. Every step was fire. Each jolt of the cart’s weight sent pain lancing through his arms, his back, his legs. His breath tore out ragged, his vision swam, and for a heartbeat he swore he could hear the heavens laughing at him.
This was pain he had long forgotten—the pain of being mortal, of bones strained past their limit, of flesh breaking under pressure. Cultivation had lifted that weight from him long ago. Now it returned tenfold, grinding him into the dirt.
And still, he dragged the cart forward.
By the eighth lap, the world blurred. His breaths came ragged, each one scraping his throat raw. His legs begged to stop, his back screamed, but so close to the finish line he couldn’t give in. If he collapsed now, he knew he would regret it for days, maybe longer, and not to mention, Qing He would make sure of it.
So he kept going.
He stopped counting steps, stopped thinking about laps. The world narrowed until all he saw were fields passing by, a blur of green and brown, the cart’s weight dragging behind him like chains of iron.
At last, a voice broke through the haze. Calm, steady, cutting through the pounding of his heart.
“It’s over,” Qing He said. “You can stop.”
Chen Ren’s knees buckled. He plummeted to the ground, the dirt rushing up to meet him. Sweat poured from him like a river, his body slick, his eyes stinging as salty drops trickled in. His vision swam, but through it he realized one thing.
He had done it. He had survived the first day of body cultivation.
“Good job, kid,” Qing He said with a tight smirk on her lips. “I almost thought you wouldn’t make it back there.”
Chen Ren let out a ragged laugh. “I thought so too. But I did it. Please, tell me there’s nothing else for today.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You can rest. You did well. But come back tomorrow. The same training. Over and over until your body bends to it.”
He nodded, though the movement made his skull ache. Pain lanced through every muscle, his body creaking as if his very bones wanted to splinter. It felt like his flesh was breaking apart, but he knew this was the way it strengthened.
Pain wasn’t new to him. But the pain he chose for himself—that was something he was still learning to accept.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright, gasping as if the air itself resisted entering his lungs. Hong Yi appeared at his side, wordlessly offering him a flask of water chilled with qi. Chen Ren took a long sip, then poured the rest over his head. The shock of cold struck him like lightning, clearing his mind for a heartbeat.
He staggered to his feet, dripping and unsteady.
“You’re going to rest, right?” Hong Yi asked, brow raised.
Chen Ren grimaced, forcing his legs to move toward the sect buildings. “Do you really think I’m free enough to rest? The businesses are running well, but that doesn’t mean we can get comfortable. Now that I’m back, there’s too much to handle.”
Each step jarred his battered muscles, almost falling every time he took a step forward, and each one made him want to curse his fate—over and over. But still, he walked forward.
2025-09-05 22:39:18 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 273
Viscount Redmont let his eyes travel slowly across the great chamber. It was a room that was seldom used, the room that held the Assembly of Judgment. The space was wide and tall. The ceiling was high enough that every sound seemed to echo. Rows of stands curved around the hall, stacked like steps, with the lower nobles seated in the lower rows and the greater lords and dukes looking up from above.
At the far edge of the chamber, carved into the stone like it had always meant to be there, stood a single seat apart from the rest. That was the king’s seat, raised just enough that no one could miss the sight of it. But what drew Redmont’s eye more was the lone chair placed in the middle of the floor.
Even the chair seemed isolated, laid bare like the person who would occupy it—the one to be judged.
In less than two hours, Count Arzan Kellius would occupy that chair.
The thought sat heavy in his chest. A man he had already promised to support, a man who had carved a name for himself larger than any noble in living memory, and he had done it in only a year. If Redmont had only heard the stories, he would have doubted them, as many others still did. But he had seen enough with his own eyes to know they were true. He had entered the capital just in time to watch the duel between Arzan and Magus Veridia, and even now, the memory made the hair on his arms stand to end.
The Barons and Viscounts who had arrived early, like himself, still spoke of it in hushed tones. They likely would not stop. Not this month. Not this year. Perhaps not for many years. It had been more than a duel—it had been a battle that changed the air itself, a clash that had been so violent and undeniable that the hierarchy of the kingdom had been torn and reshaped in a single afternoon.
Redmont let out a short exhale of breath and lowered himself into his assigned seat where his name was etched neatly on the small plate before him. He folded his hands and waited.
He looked around and saw how some nobles filed in slowly. Some he rose to greet, offering a nod or a brief word. Men and women whose families had shown his house respect, or at least civility. Others he ignored, letting them pass without so much as a glance. They had treated his line poorly before, and he had no intention of pretending courtesy now.
If not for the gravity of the Assembly, he was certain whispers would already be louder, games already being played in every corner of the chamber. But for now, the air was taut. Heavy. Like a bowstring pulled tight. Everyone knew this day would matter.
As Redmont leaned back in his chair, he suddenly felt a firm hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly, half-expecting some noble looking for attention, only to meet a familiar face.
Viscount Boling stood there, his heavy moustache twitching as he smiled, the kind of smile that always looked like it was hiding some jest. He pointed toward the plate at Redmont’s side, where his own name was etched, and with a small nod settled himself into the seat.
Their lands were on opposite ends of the kingdom, separated by mountains and rivers, but their families had always managed to keep cordial relations—more cordial than most others, at least. At trade councils they might argue, at court feasts they might avoid one another, but in gatherings like these, there was always a polite word.
Boling lifted the corner of his mouth. “Quite a big event, isn’t it? I only arrived two days back, and still the duel is on everyone’s tongue. Even the noise of the Assembly has gone quiet compared to it.”
Redmont nodded at his words. “It’s been one big event after another. I’m guessing you missed the battle itself? I didn't see you in the arena.”
“I did, oh yes,” he admitted regretfully. He touched the corner of his moustache and curled it upward in thought. “But… you see, I’ve heard enough stories to fill ten nights. One even claimed that Magus Veridia came out crippled.”
Redmont gave a short laugh, though it lacked humor. “I don’t know about that, to be honest. What I do know is this—if I had stayed seated in that arena any longer, I might have been crippled. Have you seen the state of it now?”
The Viscount nodded. “I did. It’s devastating. Hard to believe it’s the same place. All destroyed.” Boling leaned an elbow on the rest. “Prince Thalric hasn’t slept since, or so I hear. He keeps dwelling on the duel. I couldn’t even get an audience with him, only his attendants.”
Redmont tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You felt insulted?”
Boling hesitated, his eyes narrowing before he gave a slow nod. “A little, yes. But… if what they say truly happened in that arena, if Count Arzan really fought Magus Veridia to such an end, then I can understand it. I would probably be restless too.”
Redmont studied him for a moment, then gave a small grunt of agreement. Around them, more nobles filed in, but for now he was glad to have Boling’s familiar presence beside him.
Redmont leaned a little closer, lowering his voice though the hall was still filling. “It did happen like people are saying.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Is Prince Thalric upset about not putting a hand out toward Count Arzan?”
“Hmm. Yes. Major cause of him not sleeping. You know how he is—he loves anyone with power. He already tried to pull the Archine Tower Mages into his circle, but got almost nothing for it. In the end, he had to make do with army Mages and those tied to the noble families in his faction. And then…” Boling’s eyes flicked across the chamber, his smile wry, “the man now whispered to be the strongest Mage in the kingdom slipped right through his fingers.”
“That,” Redmont said with a small grunt, “does sound like a good reason to stay awake at night.”
Boling chuckled softly. “It is. Especially with what might happen today. The King may just tell us who is to succeed him.”
Redmont turned his head, his brows rising. “You really believe it?”
“That’s what everyone believes,” Boling replied with a shrug. “But whatever happens, it will be crucial for the kingdom. To be honest, after the duel I doubt Arzan won’t receive some sort of pardon… maybe even rewards. Kin-killing doesn’t matter when you have that much power. Not anymore.”
Redmont’s expression hardened. “Actually, he didn’t do anything of the sort. It’s only a rumor. My talks with him made me realize he wouldn’t have done it, even if Lucian was vehemently against him.”
Boling blinked, then raised a thick brow. “Your talks with him?” He paused, then slapped his forehead lightly. “Ah, yes. The plague. He helped with it, didn’t he? I almost forgot with everything else going on. My subordinates mentioned it at the time, but I never believed it.”
But I never believed it, the words rang in his mind for a couple of seconds. He had only one question: “Why not?”
“Because isn’t it… too much? If I sit and think about it properly, the events are quite a lot to digest. A beast wave—that alone would’ve made a man’s name, especially after he unveiled those mana cannons that every noble now wants their hands on. Then came the fief war… and the Kellius brothers’ rivalry is brutal, if half the rumours are true. And after that, saving the kingdom from a plague that had already crippled most of Vanderfall?” He shook his head. “Even with his bloodline, it feels… too much to be real. I actually wanted to ask you if any of its true.”
Redmont ate the words that came to the tip of his tongue. He let his assumptions hang. It was plain that Boling was misinformed—misled by the usual noble habit of shaping truth into whatever suited their ears. Normally, Redmont wouldn’t even bother to correct them. He would’ve left such nonsense uncorrected. Let the fools drown themselves in such rumors. But Boling’s bloodline had always stood cordial with his. There was no harm in little clarity.
He turned, his voice calm but pointed. “Let me ask you a question first. Are you going to vote in favor of or against Count Arzan?”
Boling paused and asked back. “Is that important to what I asked?”
“Yeah.”
Boiling licked his lips, clearly weighing his words. “I guess it depends on the arguments in the Assembly today.”
Redmont’s brow arched. “I don’t think that’s true. Every faction has already advised their nobles what to do. And you won’t go against the Prince’s order, will you?”
Boling exhaled through his nose, then finally nodded. “Yes. Prince Thalric made it clear—no vote in Count Arzan’s favor. At least not until he pledges allegiance to him.”
Redmont almost laughed aloud at that. He held it back, but a faint smile still tugged at his lips. Leaning a little closer, he said, “Then let me give you a piece of advice. One I believe will be very helpful to you.”
Boling tilted his head, moustache twitching. “And what is that?”
“That everything you’ve heard about him—the beast wave, the fief war, the plague—it’s all true.”
Boling’s mouth opened, but Redmont did not let him interrupt.
“I don’t know which parts of the rumors are exaggerated,” Redmont went on, “but I know they hold truth. I saw it myself. I watched Arzan march into the plague with his Mages and Knights. My own Knight returned with proof of what he did, how he rooted a treant out and saved every person in Sylvan Enclave and the wider kingdom. And you’ve already heard he beat Veridia without tricks or deception. Power like that doesn’t need embellishment.”
Boling frowned. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“So you can make a better decision,” Redmont replied in a sharper tone. “If the successor is actually named today, and you play the wrong hand, House Boling will suffer consequences; it won't be able to weather for a long while. So as a friend, I’m telling you this—make the decision that will help your house.”
Boling pressed his lips together, clearly unsettled.
But before he could speak further, a sudden commotion rolled through the chamber. The rising murmur of voices, the shifting of seats, nobles leaning forward. Both Redmont and Boling turned their heads.
The man they had just been speaking of had arrived.
Count Arzan Kellius strode into the Assembly hall early, clad in a deep red robe with golden strikes, he walked with his head held high. His dark eyes didn’t waver from his seat ahead. Knight Killian walked at his side like a wall of steel, and behind him followed an older man who looked to be his administrator. The two would leave when the Assembly began, but for now, they flanked him.
His presence was the only thing that took for the air to shift the tide. The nobles who were whispering burst into restless chatter—some even pointing fingers. Men and women moved from their places, eager to be seen near him, to have a word or to offer a bow. Desperate nobles, but it was essential.
Even Redmont rose from his seat.
“What are you doing?”
Redmont looked at Boling’s face that covered a frown. He offered the man a smile. “Making the right decision.”
And without another word, he stepped down to greet Count Arzan.
***
“A true pleasure to meet such an esteemed Mage,” the noblewoman said, her voice lilting like a song. “I do hope we can have dinner together after the Assembly.”
Kai turned his head. The woman was young, not more than a few years older than him, dressed in silks. She looked at him as a newly wed bride, blinking at him with wide, starry eyes. If his memory of faces and names was right, she was Countess Rosabelle.
He gave a small polite note, but promised nothing.
“I will see. I don’t know what the verdict would be yet.”
The woman’s lips curled in a smile, playful, confident. “No one will put you up on the hanger, Count Arzan. At worst, you will lose a sliver of territory. Don’t worry yourself.” Her eyes lingered on him, bold. “Think about my offer. I’ve a cellar with wines worth sharing. And perhaps,” she leaned slightly closer, “we could spend the night together.”
Kai felt his skin tighten as if cold air had brushed him. The bluntness of it made him shrink inward, though outwardly he only inclined his head. He had already grown numb to such approaches. Since stepping into the chamber, he had been bombarded with proposals and greetings, promises, offers of trade and alliance, and not a few whispered invitations far more direct than this one.
It was almost dizzying—how quickly respect had bloomed, how much weight they placed on him now. Too much respect, even from nobles who he knew would cast their votes against him. Their words were warm, their eyes deferent, but the Assembly was politics. Deference today did not mean loyalty tomorrow.
At least when Killian and Francis had been beside him, the flood had felt more bearable. But with each wave of nobles pressing forward, they had eventually stepped away, saying calmly that they already knew the Assembly would be won. That Kai should sit, endure, and let the nobles have their turn at him.
Now, with the hour drawing close, the pressure was heavier than ever.
His eyes flicked toward the stands. Two of the princes were already seated in the high rows, flanked by their dukes and counts, their factions arrayed like soldiers at war. Neither had descended to greet him. They had only given the briefest of nods across the chamber, acknowledgment without warmth.
Prince Thalric, however, glared down with bloodshot eyes, his jaw tight, his expression carved of barely-contained anger. He looked as though the seat beneath him was on fire. Likely because Kai had not even acknowledged his proposal for a private meeting.
And yet, of those whose presence mattered most, none were here yet. Eldric had not come. Regina was absent. And King Sullivan still had not taken the center seat.
But Duke Blackwood was already there, seated firmly with his supporters clustered around him. They had arrived early, staking their claim in the chamber with quiet confidence. Scattered among them were the nobles brought to give testimony, still under his custody, still carrying the weight of their choices.
Two of them, Viscount Vensar and Buck, stubborn to the end, had refused even to enter the chamber. It had taken threats to make them step across the threshold. Now they sat hunched in the lower stands, their faces pale, their eyes fixed anywhere but on him. Other nobles avoided them entirely, shifting in their seats to give them distance, as if fear might be contagious.
Of the four, only Baron Idrin looked composed. His back was straight, his gaze level. The man had already resigned himself to his fate. He had asked only one thing—that nothing be done against his family. A request Kai had already decided to grant. There was no need to punish the innocent.
Kai’s eyes lingered on them for a moment longer, but then the chamber shifted.
The chatter that had filled the air fell away, a hush rippling through the room. Heads turned, nobles rose to their feet, and Kai felt the shift in the air as Eldric walked in.
But Kai’s gaze was not drawn to him.
It was her.
Regina walked beside Eldric with a sway in her hips. For a brief moment, their eyes met. Her look was sharp, but she broke it almost instantly, turning away as if the contact itself stung. Nobles swept toward her like waves to shore, bowing, greeting, offering the expected courtesies as she and Eldric made their way to the highest stand.
Kai forced his eyes away, steadying himself. No need to give them the satisfaction by staring too hard, and he wanted to look for someone else.
Each member of the royal family carried a vote. And when Princess Amara stepped into the chamber, the whispers rose again like a tide.
She looked nothing like the sickly girl so many had expected. Her chin was lifted, her stride was quick and firm. She moved with a pace that carried no weakness or hesitation. She nodded briefly at Kai as she passed, a quiet gesture, but enough to spark more murmurs. The rumors about her would twist again after today—he was sure of it.
But his thoughts were cut short by a voice ringing across the chamber.
“King Sullivan will now enter and address the Assembly.”
Every noble shifted, rising to their feet in unison.
Kai looked toward the far side of the hall and saw him at last. The King stepped forward, his Knight Roderic at his side, his presence as steady and immovable as the crown he bore.
The Assembly was finally about to begin.
2025-09-03 22:48:26 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 163
Anji looked at the books spread across the desk—the same desk Sect Leader Chen Ren had once used before leaving the city. There were stacks of account records lying open with the pages filled with numbers and notes. Sales were climbing steadily, not only from the steady supply Jadefire Hall sent day and night, but also from the small ventures Chen Ren had left behind.
Beside them rested another bundle of papers, these marked with Hun Tianzhi’s rough, hurried script. Notes on recipes. Failed mixtures. Adjustments. His efforts to strip out rare ingredients from her master’s formulas and still keep the pills effective.
She had been surprised when the package came. A man like Hun Tianzhi wasn’t one to share his work lightly. But reading through, she realized the truth—it wasn’t generosity. It was leverage. A way to prove his progress so he could demand more money for ingredients.
Anji frowned, fingers brushing the inked pages. The man wasn’t a fool. He had to know how well business was going. And with Chen Ren gone, she was the one holding the reins.
The numbers didn’t lie: if she granted Hun Tianzhi what he asked, nearly half their profits would be swallowed by his experiments. Ordinarily, she would have cut it down, offered a smaller purse of spirit stones, and called it done. But this wasn’t ordinary.
Relationships mattered in business, especially new ones. More than that, she could almost hear Chen Ren’s voice reminding her of the importance of research and development, of seeds planted now bearing fruit later.
She sighed. She had no choice. She would grant him what he asked. Still, the cost was heavy enough that she would need to write to the Divine Coin Sect for permission. With the snow and beasts thickening outside the city, even sending that letter was no simple task.
Just as the thought settled in, a sharp tap rattled the window beside her.
Anji flinched at the sound, her eyes snapping to the window. A bird perched there, its feathers dark against the falling snow. For a moment she wondered what it was doing in the middle of the city, but then her breath caught.
She recognized the sharp beak, glowing eyes immediately, it was a Striker Beak, a wild beasts that had nests deep in the forests. They rarely came near human walls, never mind landing right in front of a window. That much she knew from Zi Wen.
And the thought of him gave her the answer.
She crossed the room quickly. Sliding the window open, she braced herself, half-expecting the beast to lash out. But it didn’t. Instead, it lowered one talon, revealing something clasped tightly in its claws.
A letter.
It dropped the parchment into her hands, then gave a piercing cry that shook the glass panes before beating its wings and soaring away, vanishing into the wintry clouds.
Anji barely spared it another glance. Her focus was on the letter, her fingers trembling slightly as she broke the seal.
One look at the brush strokes, and her heart eased. The writing was familiar, unmistakable. This was Sect Leader Chen Ren’s words.
She sank back into her chair, the paper rustling as she unfolded it. Her eyes traced the words, and the blood drained from her face.
Blazing Ember Sect had contacted them.
Her fingers tightened against the letter, her knuckles pale. The name alone was enough to make her stomach twist, her breath shallow. For a moment, she couldn’t believe it had actually happened. Heavens, just the thought of them turning their eyes on her sect… it was enough to make her hands shake.
But as she read further, the lines shifted. Her heart slowed, steadied. She read it in his voice—and his voice according to the letter was calm—almost too casual.
The matter had already been dealt with. The man behind the war, behind her father’s death was gone. Dead. There would be no more threats from the Blazing Ember Sect.
Anji stared at the words again and again, her lips parting. It was written so simply, as if it were no more than a matter of trade, like a simple deal closed. Not the death of one of the greatest threats to the sect.
For a fleeting moment, she even wondered if it was fake—if someone had forged it to fool her. But the strokes, the rhythm of the brush… It was Chen Ren. There was no doubt.
Her hands lowered, letters spread across her lap, as a strange mix of relief and unease churned inside her chest.
And it had been delivered by a beast. Anji knew no other beast tamer than Zi Wen, no one else who could command such a creature to come straight into the city. Which meant it was true—Sect Leader Chen Ren and the others had somehow dealt with the Blazing Ember Sect.
So many questions rattled in her head. What had actually happened? How did they survive? Why hadn’t she been contacted sooner? But then the answer pressed down on her as easily as the snow outside. What could she have done, even if she had known?
She was still only a mortal, even if she forced herself to practice soul cultivation every day. All she could manage was maintaining the ledgers, the supplies, and keeping their business afloat. If she had been drawn into that storm, it would have only broken her, and left her duties here in ruins.
Still, the worry lingered. Was it really okay? Was it truly over?
Her hand drifted to the cold cup of tea sitting by the ledgers, untouched for over an hour. She lifted it and drank in one go, grimacing as the bitterness clung to her tongue. Even cold, it grounded her, cleared the fog in her head.
She set the cup down and turned back to the letter, tracing each stroke again. That was when her eyes caught something she had missed—the parchment was longer, folded over itself. There was more written at the back.
Her brows knitted as she unfolded it, expecting details of what had happened. An explanation.
Instead, her lips parted in surprise. It wasn’t an account of the battle at all. It was something else entirely.
Chen Ren had written that after taking care of the Blazing Ember Sect, they had returned to the sect. And he—of all people—had decided to start learning soul cultivation. He said it was important for him and that he wanted guidance, so that Wang Jun couldn’t take advantage of him. He even asked her for tips, for her experience, the parts of training she thought mattered most.
At the bottom, in his sharp strokes, he wrote that the bird would return within the hour after circling the city. She could give it a letter—updates on the sect’s business, her advice on cultivation, anything he should know to prepare in advance.
Anji lowered the parchment to her lap, her heart oddly light.
Even as more questions crowded her mind, she felt the corners of her lips curve. The image rose unbidden—her master, stern in every way and form, trying to teach Chen Ren, who always seemed to stumble forward with half-formed plans and yet somehow make them work.
Her shoulders shook faintly. That would have been quite a sight. I’d pay to watch it. But well, now I’ve a new duty to attend to.
***
Chen Ren suppressed the urge to grab Wang Jun by his skull and use him as a football for a match or two. The man’s droning voice was enough to test the patience of saints. He’d internally cursed more times in the past hour than he had done his whole life here.
Beside him, perched on his bed, Yalan let out a wide yawn, her long tail flicking lazily. But Chen Ren caught the faint curve of her whiskers—she was smirking, amused by his suffering.
“Now,” Wang Jun declared, clearing his throat as if giving a grand lecture, “it only took me a single day—just one—to sense my soul! Mastering the first step of soul cultivation in record time. Others at my level? Struggled for months. But me?” His eyes practically gleamed with self satisfaction. “A genius unmatched.”
Chen Ren fought the urge to roll his eyes, though at least Wang Jun’s earlier words had been useful.
Soul cultivation, like body and qi cultivation, had its own nine stages—steps, in this case. From sensing to touching, shaping to tempering, each one building on the next. Nine steps in all.
And, according to Wang Jun, a tenth.
“To tear away the mortal shell and rise as pure spirit,” Wang Jun had said with such reverence that Chen Ren thought the man might bow to his own reflection. “An astral being, free of flesh!”
Chen Ren, for his part, had silently decided he’d rather keep his body, thank you very much. Becoming some drifting soul didn’t sound like an upgrade, no matter how Wang Jun painted it.
But that had been the end of the teaching. After laying out the framework, Wang Jun slipped into endless boasting. His “glorious days.” His “unmatched genius.” His “legendary duels.” All those stories were said until Wang Jun himself shone like a golden idol.
Halfway through, Chen Ren stopped listening altogether. His mind filtered out the voice like background noise, only catching the occasional word—“genius,” “peerless,” “unrivaled.”
Finally, he had enough.
“Can you not?” Chen Ren cut in, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing.
Wang Jun paused mid-gesture, squinting in annoyance. “Not what?”
“Stop talking about chasing down demonic cultivator souls.”
The older head’s eyes narrowed further, his tone almost offended. “Why? Soul battles are thrilling. Exciting! The kind of tales that stir blood for generations!”
“They are,” Chen Ren admitted dryly. “But I thought this was supposed to be you teaching me, not reciting The Great Exploits of Wang Jun.”
Yalan’s whiskers twitched again. This time she didn’t bother hiding her grin.
Wang Jun huffed, eyes half-distant. “You know… The Great Exploits of Wang Jun does sound like a fine title for when I—”
He stopped short at Chen Ren’s glare. “Alright, alright. I’m telling you these things because you need to understand what soul cultivation can achieve. If you don’t, you won’t take it seriously.”
Chen Ren’s voice was flat. “My life is at risk. I’m taking it very seriously. Why don’t we begin with the first step—soul sense?”
Wang Jun tilted his head, then gave a slow nod. “Sure. But know this—it’s not easy. Cultivators may have sharp senses for their bodies thanks to qi, but the soul is astral. It’s not touched by qi. Not directly. I managed to sense it in just a day, so if you can even do it in a week, it won’t be half bad.”
“You took two weeks.”
“What? How do you know that?”
“I asked Anji. She sent me a letter.”
Wang Jun’s jaw tightened. He muttered under his breath, “That girl… needs discipline.” His grumbling faded as his face turned more solemn. “Fine. It takes longer than I made it sound. Which makes me curious to see how fast you can do it.” His eyes sharpened. “Now. Close your eyes. Sit properly. Meditate. And listen carefully. Don’t reach for qi, don’t even think of it. Push it out of your senses entirely. You’re not a vessel of qi right now. You’re a vessel of something deeper.”
Chen Ren frowned. “How am I supposed to do that? Whenever I close my eyes, I sense qi. It’s everywhere.”
“That’s the point,” Wang Jun said. “Qi is not the only current flowing through you. You need to stop drowning in it. Beneath it, behind it, through it—there is your soul. Find it. Feel it. Make contact. Once you do, once you can grasp it instantly, only then can we move to the next step.”
Yalan flicked her tail, whiskers twitching in amusement. “Sounds like he’s asking you to ignore the ocean and hear a single drop of water.”
“Exactly,” Wang Jun said, his lips curling. “If he can’t even hear his own soul, what business does he have trying to shape it?”
Chen Ren sat still for a moment, his brow furrowed. “How does a soul even feel like?”
“Hard to explain.” He paused, eyes narrowing as if searching for the right words. At last, he said, “It’s your being. The body’s only a vessel. The soul—” he looked at Chen Ren’s chest, “—is you. Think about how you would feel if you were stripped bare of everything else. That’s what you’re searching for.”
Chen Ren almost grumbled aloud. It didn’t make sense. None of this did. But he knew there was no point arguing. Some things couldn’t be explained; they had to be touched.
So without another word, another question, he shifted into a meditative posture, spine straight, hands resting against his knees. His eyes slid closed. He drew in a slow breath, then let it out, the sound of air moving loud in the quiet room.
And immediately, the qi surged into his awareness. Rivers flowing unseen, threads weaving through the walls, the sky, his very veins. It wrapped him from every side, a constant pressure that refused to be ignored.
He tried to push it out, but in the next minute, it clung tighter. He tried again—shutting it down, forcing it away.
Nothing happened. He failed at trying to force it.
His brows pulled tight, and with a faint hiss, his eyes opened.
Wang Jun’s brow lifted. “Already giving up?”
“It’s nothing.” Chen Ren forced his voice flat and closed his eyes again.
This time, when the qi pressed in, he didn’t fight it. He let it be, like background noise. He focused elsewhere, dragging his thoughts inward, not outward. The soul… my being. What does it feel like? Where is it hiding?
Slowly, carefully, he pushed past the hum of qi.
He had one advantage—one he had never spoken of to Wang Jun. He had lived in more than one body. The memory was foggy, broken, but he remembered the first time he had opened his eyes in this flesh. The confusion. The agony. And beneath it, something else.
A whispering presence, faint and unearthly, that had run through every inch of him before settling, like a tide washing back into the sea.
He chased that memory now. That ethereal sensation of being.
Now that… was a beginning. Because the more he reached for it, the edges of his qi blurred.
He kept reaching and reaching—until, for a heartbeat, he thought he felt it. A pulse—not of blood, not of breath, but of something deeper.
Even if he couldn’t be certain, there was a good chance the faint pulse he’d felt earlier was his soul. Chen Ren latched onto that memory, chasing it again and again. He searched every corner of his being, combing through himself for that same thread, that quiet spark.
But it was easier said than done.
Each time he tried, qi overwhelmed his senses—currents tugging at him, pulling his awareness back into its familiar tide. Again and again he had to force it aside, starting from the beginning, only for the same cycle to repeat.
Still, Chen Ren refused to stop. He wasn’t expecting to succeed in one day. What he wanted was a trail, a path he could tread again tomorrow. He sat cross-legged for hours, breath slow, mind digging deeper each time.
Yet no matter how he searched, the path always vanished beneath him. Maybe his ability wasn’t what he thought. Maybe his luck simply wasn’t here today. Either way, his patience thinned.
By the time another wisp of qi tugged against him and dragged him off course, frustration boiled up. His eyes snapped open, his jaw tight.
Across from him, Wang Jun pursed his lips. “Seems you’re not a genius at soul cultivation after all.”
Chen Ren exhaled sharply through his nose. “I’ll reach it before you did.”
Wang Jun’s eyes narrowed, his grin widening. “We’ll see about that. Do you still want to keep at it today?”
Chen Ren shook his head, his shoulders heavy. His mind wasn’t steady anymore, and he knew it. “No. We’ll continue tomorrow. I need to find Qing He anyway. There’s more I have to learn on body cultivation.”
He rose, stretching the stiffness from his legs, and strode to the door. The wooden floor creaked under his steps as he entered the hall.
Behind him, voices drifted through the room.
“Three weeks,” Wang Jun’s smug voice carried. “That’s how long it’ll take him, no less.”
Yalan’s purr of amusement followed, her tone lilting. “One. He’s stubborn. Stubborn ones surprise you.”
Chen Ren didn’t stop to hear the rest. He had too much waiting for him, and no interest in who was betting for or against him.
He only tightened his jaw, resolve simmering as he walked away.
2025-09-03 22:46:45 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 272
King Sullivan crouched low, the watering can tilting in his hand as he let the thin stream fall gently onto the soil. The young plant before him shivered under the droplets, and he stared at the vibrant green. Only a few months ago, it had been nothing more than a fragile sapling. Now its roots clutched firmly at the earth, its branches reaching upward with hunger. Given another year, it would spread across the garden. He almost smiled at the thought. Nothing pleased him more than seeing something he had nurtured take hold, grow strong, and carve out its place.
But even as the water soaked the roots, a heaviness tugged at his chest.
It had been hours now. If he had counted correctly, the battle in the arena should have long since reached its conclusion. A battle he had not foreseen, not until days ago. Even for Regina, this method had been far too direct—too brutal—for her usual maneuverings. To eliminate Count Arzan in open combat, before the eyes of the kingdom? She had set the board boldly this time.
And he had done nothing to stop it.
He could have intervened. He could have shifted the pieces before the duel ever began. But he hadn’t. He had chosen instead to watch from afar, to let the young man shoulder it himself. Arzan had already passed through so many snares, so many traps that would have crippled lesser men. Sullivan had no doubt he would survive this one as well.
But how he would survive—that was the root gnawing at his heart.
Perhaps he had been too eager. Perhaps his desire to measure Arzan’s strength, to see how far the man’s magical power had climbed, had blinded him to the risks. He set the watering can down, fingers tightening around the handle. He got to tighten the soil around the base. A king should not gamble on what he wished to preserve.
Still, news did not come. Knight Roderic, the one Sullivan had ordered to place watchers at the arena, had yet to present himself. The man never strayed far from the royal chambers; Sullivan knew he lingered close even now. And he waited.
The king’s eyes narrowed, his hand brushing against the leaves of the growing plant. Mage duels were never long. Fast, vicious, decisive—that was their nature, even when powerhouses crossed blades.
So why, then, had the quiet stretched so long?
Sullivan himself had once been a fan of Mage duels. In the early years of wearing the crown, he had gone to every one he could, curious to see the sparks of genius and untamed power clashing before him. Back then, each duel had felt like history unfolding in front of his eyes. But years passed, and spectacle became routine. They no longer thrilled him. He had grown bored of them, dismissing them as little more than entertainment for the masses.
Now, as he finished watering the plant and pressed the soil around its base, he straightened with a soft grunt. Worry tugged at him again. It was better to know the results than waste time pacing in circles. He turned, brushing dirt from his hands, just in time to see Knight Roderic walking toward him.
The knight’s stride was steady, but his brows were raised, his face carrying that unmistakable look of shock. Sullivan recognized it at once. He had seen it many times before on the man—he only ever wore that expression when something had truly shaken him.
“I’m guessing you have the results,” Sullivan said.
“I do, Your Majesty,” the knight replied in his usual clipped tone. Sullivan had gotten used to it after talking to the man continuously for years. But his eyes betrayed the stoic stance and showed emotions.
“Roderic, are they so shocking that even you look like… this?” he asked.
“They are. I was held up by the men I stationed at the arena. I had them recount what happened again and again, just to be sure. The whole city is in uproar. Inns and taverns are packed in the middle of the day and the streets themselves are still full of people speaking of nothing else.”
“Is it really that shocking?” he asked again.
The Knight gave a firm nod. “Let me explain, Your Majesty.”
Sullivan folded his hands behind his back and said nothing, waiting.
As his Knight began to recount the events, Sullivan’s mind ran ahead of the words. He already knew the measure of Veridia’s power—her command of shadow, lightning and magma was enough to make whole battalions tremble. And he had heard much of Arzan, whispers carried from Veralt to the capital, the kind of stories that grew larger with each telling. He had imagined what their clash might look like. He had pictured it in his head more than once in the past hour.
But each new detail surpassed his expectations. The battle had not been the clean, swift duel he had thought of. It had been brutal, wild, devastating in ways no story could have captured. The Knight explained it saying that there had been spells that raged like storms, and explosions that shook the entire city to its bones.
Roderic’s voice pressed on: the arena had fallen.
That made Sullivan pause. The arena, a structure that had stood for decades. Sturdy, constantly renovated, reinforced every few years so it could withstand even the fiercest of contests. It had been one of the main prides of the city, a landmark, an attraction. And now he said that it was gone. It had been destroyed in the wake of two Mages who had fought like gods unbound.
Sullivan exhaled through his nose harshly, narrowing his eyes. That was far from a spectacle. That was… something else entirely.
Moreover, the result was as shocking as the descriptions of the battle itself. Sullivan had expected Arzan to put on a show—displaying his strength, forcing the nobles to see him as more than a newly-made Count—but he had assumed the young man would concede before going too far. Show dominance, but not risk all in front of Veridia.
But Arzan had not followed that script.
The Knight’s words painted a picture Sullivan had not imagined: only one man walking out of the ruined arena. Not only alive, not only standing, but not even grievously injured. Arzan had emerged while Veridia still lay unconscious, her body broken enough that healers now struggled over her. That fact alone was staggering.
The entire city knew it already. Every tavern, every street corner whispered the same truth: Count Arzan had defeated the Tower Master in open combat. The balance of power across the kingdom had shifted in a single afternoon.
Sullivan sat back, his hand tightening behind him. He had wanted to gauge Arzan’s strength. Now he knew.
And the truth gnawed at him.
Arzan had not yet reached the fifth circle. Of that, Sullivan was almost certain. It was not possible for him to advance so quickly. Even so, he had accomplished the impossible while still in the fourth circle. His speed was already unprecedented. If this was what he could achieve now, what of him in another year? Two?
The thought pressed heavier on Sullivan’s chest than the crown he wore.
His legs ached suddenly, the weight of realization settling too sharply. He moved toward a nearby chair and lowered himself into it, the wood groaning faintly under his frame. For long minutes he sat in silence, his gaze on the floor, his mind sifting through every implication. Knight Roderic stood close, patient, waiting for him to speak.
At last, Sullivan drew in a slow breath and said, “The strongest Mage… a Duke’s bloodline… the man who has already saved the kingdom from a beast wave and a plague.” He looked up, his eyes sharp with thought. “Tell me, Roderic. What do you think of such a person?”
The Knight did not hesitate, instead, he took a step forward. “I think of him as the future hero of the kingdom, Majesty. If he has not become one already.”
Sullivan’s lips curved faintly, though it was not quite a smile. He gave a single nod.
“That fits him.” A pause stretched, heavy with memory, before he added in a quieter tone, “In my time… heroes were forged in war.”
Sullivan let the silence hang for a moment longer, then leaned back in his chair, sighing. “But I believe there are different types of heroes—heroes forged in different types of battles.”
“There are, Your Majesty.” Knight Roderic gave a slow nod.
“Yes,” Sullivan replied, his eyes narrowing as old thoughts stirred. “And with the result in the arena, Regina will not sit well. She won’t even be able to sleep tonight. Her greatest pawn—her pillar in strength and politics—has fallen. She has been chasing the throne for too long already, waiting and waiting. This may be the push that tips her off. She’ll come for it now, without restraint.”
“Then I will make the security tighten.” Roderic straightened.
“That won’t work. You should know that by now.”
Sullivan shook his head.
For the first time, Roderic hesitated, his brow furrowed as he looked at his king. Sullivan knew the Knight was trained all his life to know solutions for issues concerning safety.
“Then… what are we going to do now?” he asked.
“We will let things unfold. They will, whether I wish it or not. But I will play my part. And I will make sure they unfold as I want them to.”
He paused there, his breath leaving him in a long sigh. His eyes softened, turning glossy as though burdened by ghosts only he could see. “There will be sacrifices. A lot of them. A rain of blood before this is over. But after that storm, I want to be certain the kingdom still sees a ray of hope. That is what I will fight for.”
“And what are your orders to bring that about, Majesty?”
“Tell everyone who still holds even a shred of respect for me to follow Arzan. The Assembly is close now, and there will be no outcome I do not choose.” He leaned forward. “And make sure Arzan is ready for it. Strong enough. The Assembly may turn bloody, and if it does, I want him standing in the center of it.”
***
Kai slept like a child once he finally found a bed.
The moment his body hit the mattress, all the exhaustion he had been holding back slammed into him at once. The drained Mana heart, the countless shallow injuries burning across his skin, the aching bones—everything caught up. He didn’t even register Killian’s voice beside him. His eyes closed, and the world slipped away.
There was no pain, no sound, no light. Only a silence so deep it felt endless. A place without weight, without thought. A place of peace.
He didn’t know how long he drifted there.
When his eyes opened again, the world was no longer the same.
He sat up, his body stiff, his throat dry. The faintest shift sent sparks of pain through his arms and ribs, but he endured it. Before he could even think about food or water, Francis was already at his side, speaking quickly. His old administrator’s words tumbled one after another, filling the silence Kai had been buried in for days.
And the things he heard… they surpassed his expectations.
Of all the surprises, one stood above the rest: the Princes had come. Not all of them, of course—not the first prince. But the other two, both of whom Kai had barely seen in the past, had come personally to ask about his well-being. The Second Prince had even stayed for an entire day, waiting for him to wake, before finally leaving a letter in his hand.
That was how Kai learned another truth—two and a half days had passed since he had fallen asleep. The Assembly was tomorrow.
The realization struck him harder than any spell Veridia had thrown. His stomach tightened. They had planned so much—strategies, alignments, steps to secure their footing at the Assembly. Two and a half days gone meant none of it was ready.
“We’ve lost time,” Kai muttered, his hand dragging across his face. “Too much. We were supposed to be prepared for this. Now… it’s all but ruined.”
“Do not trouble yourself over it, Lord Arzan. The battle has done more for us than any preparation ever could,” Francis said. The old man looked ready to console him at the sudden desperation that clouded his mind.
Kai looked at him, still unconvinced.
“Had you lost, perhaps some would have doubted your strength. Some may even have turned from you. But you did not lose. You crushed a Tower Master, and the city watched it happen. That victory has already secured more faith, more loyalty, than a hundred speeches at the Assembly could ever win.”
Kai leaned back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. His body still screamed for rest, but his mind was already racing ahead. The Assembly was tomorrow.
Now the two Princes—though not declaring full support—had at least taken him seriously enough to visit. That alone said much. Even more surprising was the wave of nobles. Men and women he had never spoken to before, families who had always kept their distance, had either visited in person or sent their heirs to call on him. None openly pledged loyalty. None dared bind themselves to him outright. But their expressions said enough. They looked wary. Cautious. Some were even afraid.
Kai did not like fear as a tool. Fear had to be maintained, sharpened constantly, and sooner or later it always turned into resentment. But right now, on the eve of the Assembly, it was useful. Fear meant hesitation. Fear meant nobles who might have voted against him would think twice, weighing whether it was worth making an enemy of the man who had just brought down Veridia in front of the entire kingdom.
The Assembly was politics, yes, but politics always bent toward power. And after that duel, every rumor against him, every whisper that his victories were tricks or exaggerations, had been crushed. He had done it in the open, with half the kingdom watching. There was no hiding the truth now.
And the truth was simple: he was the strongest Battle Mage alive in the kingdom.
That fact alone would silence many voices. After all, nobles could gossip, plot, and scheme endlessly, but no one wanted to be the one standing in the way of a storm. Especially when that storm had already been rumored to kill his own brother. Whether they believed the tale or not, the weight of it made them tread more carefully around him.
It worked to his advantage.
Kai leaned back, letting his eyes drift to the vials on the table beside him. Health potions. Mana-soothing draught. He had been drinking them steadily during his recovery, their bitter taste still lingering at the back of his throat. His body needed them badly.
Draining one’s Mana heart had consequences—serious ones, if done too often. His wasn’t damaged, not yet, but it had been emptied dry. That kind of exhaustion couldn’t be fixed in a day. Even with potions, he would not be back to full strength for a week. At best.
Which meant tomorrow, at the Assembly, he would be stepping in with a hollowed core. His face would show confidence, his stance would show strength, but in truth, he would be vulnerable. A single real battle now, and he might not last.
He doubted there would be bloodshed. Politics usually didn’t spill into blades. But this was no ordinary Assembly. And if it did turn bloody, he would need to be ready, no matter how shallow his reserves were.
Kai exhaled, fingers brushing the rim of the potion vial. Everything has to be considered.
When he had first arrived in the capital, dueling Veridia had never been on his mind.
He hadn’t even considered it. Yet it had happened anyway, another reminder that the most unexpected things were, in truth, the ones most likely to appear in his path.
That was life as he knew it—plans were always fragile, broken apart by what no one saw coming.
So, for the time he had left before the Assembly, Kai did not waste it. He spent his hours recovering, letting the potions mend his body and steady his Mana heart while he forced himself to sit with Francis. They went over every single point that could be raised in the Assembly, every argument that might be thrown against him, every loophole someone might try to exploit. Later, Duke Blackwood joined them, his presence was grim but grounding, and together they refined their approach until the candles burned low.
Nobles came and asked for audiences. Word spread quickly that he was awake, and soon enough even Princes sent their names forward, requesting to meet him. Kai turned them all away. He had no time for courtesies, not now. The duel had already proven his strength; what he needed now was clarity of thought.
And yet, confidence did not come easily.
He already had a good sense of what would unfold in the Assembly—Francis and Duke Blackwood made sure of it—but confidence in strategy was not the same as confidence in speech. He could face spells and steel without hesitation, but words were a different battlefield. He didn’t doubt his power anymore, but standing before the Assembly, with every noble’s eyes fixed on him, he knew nerves would come. He wanted more than to survive that stage. He wanted to leave it victorious.
There was also something else weighing on him. Something that made even Duke Blackwood shift uncomfortably when it came up.
The medallion.
It had been in the back of Kai’s mind for a long time now, heavier than its physical weight. After his conversations with Duke Blackwood—and with King Sullivan himself—its importance had only grown, until it became his chief worry. The Assembly was the perfect place to use it, and perhaps the only chance he would get.
That thought settled deep into him. The closer the Assembly came, the clearer it became that he would not leave it untouched. Whatever happened tomorrow, one way or another, the medallion’s power and meaning would be drawn into the open.
And whatever happened in that hall, Kai knew it would not be a small matter.
The Assembly would change the kingdom. Perhaps for years. Perhaps forever.
2025-09-01 15:12:40 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 162
Shen Linao thrashed against the burning chains, his body twisting as flames erupted from his skin. His face was pulled taut, equal parts rage and desperation, the veins bulging along his temples as he strained. His qi surged wildly, spilling out in waves of fire that scorched the gorge, but none of it reached the man holding him.
Xinyan strode forward through the inferno as if it were nothing more than a passing breeze. His eyes did not waver. “Do you have any last wishes?”
Spittle flew from Shen Linao’s lips as he spat out hoarsely, “Fuck you!”
Three blazing hammers materialized behind Elder Xinyan, each one a mountain of fire given form. Without a pause, they hurtled forward, slamming into Shen Linao all at once.
The gorge exploded with the impact. The sound cracked like thunder as stone shattered, flames seared across the cliffs, and Shen Linao’s body was flung like a useless rock. He smashed into the side of the gorge with bone-snapping force, the cliff face groaning as rubble poured down.
Chen Ren raised an arm to shield his eyes. The dust thinned slowly and that was when he saw Shen Linao pinned against the cliff wall. A jagged edge of stone had pierced through his side, skewering him like prey on a spear. His body hung limp, blood spilling freely from his mouth, and his robes were scorched to tatters.
For a moment, Chen Ren thought it was over. That the regent would die here, crushed beneath the weight of his sins.
But before he could think any better, a sound tore through the silence, a wet, tearing up, followed by a growl.
Shen Linao’s skin began to peel, strips of flesh sloughing away like burning paper. His complexion drained pale, as if blood itself had fled his body. Then, before Chen Ren’s horrified eyes, his form began to twist.
Two massive horns pushed their way out from his skull, curling upward, dripping with blood and flame. His eyes, once shadowed by fury, ignited into a deep, unnatural red. When he opened his mouth, it wasn’t teeth anymore, rows of jagged flangs gleamed in the firelight.
The qi spilling from him shifted. Before, it had been fire tainted by something darker. Now, the darkness had swallowed the fire whole. Demonic qi pulsed around him like a storm. It was thick, suffocating, and everything that made Chen Ren’s stomach tighten.
He watched the wounds across Shen Linao’s chest and side knit together, the irregular stone cracking and snapping as his body forced its way free. Blood still dripped, but already the flesh was closing, sealing as if time itself bent to his will.
He floated back into the sky.
His presence felt stronger than before, his silhouette looked monstrous against the flames, and when he spoke—his voice rumbled like a beast’s snarl.
“You were wrong, Xinyan. Bloody wrong. Did you think I, Shen Linao would fall to something like that? I am destined to climb beyond the heavens themselves. Nothing will stop me! Nothing!!”
Xinyan’s eyes narrowed. “The only place you are going is hell!”
Flames surged, chains snapping back into place as the sky lit up once more.
Chen Ren gritted his teeth as he watched. This time, the clash was different. Shen Linao’s movements were fluider than before, his demonic powers gave him the strength to press back against Xinyan’s might. The balance of the fight had shifted, and for the first time, Shen Linao’s strikes did not instantly crumble under the Sect Leader’s blows.
“Sect Leader Chen Ren… should we run? T-that.. What if Xinyan gets defeated?”
Chen Ren looked at Hong Yi who didn’t move his eyes from the firestorm in the sky, even with his face paled as a white sheet.
“You don’t have to worry,” Qing He said. “He won’t. That man is close to gaining a domain. He hasn’t even begun to show his true power. Moreover, Shen Linao is without his artifacts.”
“Wait,” Hong Yi said. “What does that mean?”
Yalan cut through the discussion. “After a certain realm, every cultivator relies on a set of artifacts. Against equals, natural strength isn’t enough, there’s an obvious gap between techniques and artifacts tip the balance. But Shen Linao… he never thought he’d face a true fight here. He didn’t bring them. A mistake that will, certainly, cost him dearly.”
“Xinyan also has none. He went into seclusion barehanded. But he doesn’t need them. This will end soon,” Qing He added, her eyes still fixed on the battle above,
Chen Ren said nothing, shifting his eyes from his group to the battle; which had long left weapons behind.
Flame and demonic qi crackled around their fists as the two titans closed the distance, hammering each other with pure strength. Blow after blow, the air split, tearing shockwaves into the gorge so violently that if not for the dome shielding them, Chen Ren and the others would’ve been swept away.
The punches that were being thrown at each other weren’t simple. Every punch carved new wounds into the land. Chunks of stone collapsed, splitting cliffs and turning the gorge into a furnace.
It looked like two living calamities tearing at each other.
And yet when Chen Ren looked closely, he saw a small glimpse at the waver of Shen Linao’s confidence. There was an unmistakable panic. Each time their fists collided, his eyes widened just a little, his teeth clenched a little tighter. He could mask it from the others, but now from someone who had learned to watch as he did.
Shen Linao was losing. He knew it.
Perhaps that was why, when Elder Xinyan surged forward with another barrage of crushing strikes, Shen Linao twisted away instead of meeting them. He shot upward, crossing the sky in zigzag arcs, dark fire trailing behind him.
Then, with both hands thrust out, he roared as spears of demonic qi formed in the air, lances that were blacker than night, and rained down toward Xinyan like a storm meant to pierce heaven itself.
But instead of pressing his assault, Shen Linao twisted his body and he darted higher into the sky.
The demonic cultivator wasn’t attacking anymore, he was running. He took advantage of Xinyan’s attention split between dodging the storm of lances, and shot straight for the gorge’s edge, no doubt hoping to escape.
He didn’t get far.
Ropes of fire—long, writhing strands that hissed like serpents—unfurled from Xinyan's palms as the skin surrounding them rippled and twisted strangely. With dazzling speed, they sped ahead, quickly covering the distance. As if giving birth to innumerable duplicates of themselves, the ropes broke and ripped apart as Shen Linao attempted to avoid, his body fading into afterimages. His momentum was ripped away when one snagged his ankle and then another.
His body was smashed down the next instant like a hammer on iron.
The gorge quaked as he was slammed into the cliffside. Blood splattered against the stone. Before he could even suck in air, he was yanked back and smashed again, rock shattering under the impact. Once. Twice. The echoes rolled through the canyon like thunder.
Xinyan pulled him close, the ropes coiling tighter, dragging the broken figure toward him.
Shen Linao looked less like a cultivator and more like a corpse strung on threads. His robes were shredded, his skin torn, blood pouring freely. Yet even in that state, his qi erupted once more. Demonic fire surged up around him, wild and furious, burning against the ropes. Chen Ren saw the strands begin to fray, their edges dissolving under the corrupt flames.
But they held long enough. Shen Linao’s body was forced close, brought within Xinyan’s shadow.
The sect leader’s expression hadn’t changed. He looked at the traitor before him with the same calm eyes.
“Stupid, stupid Shen Linao. It seems like you’ve become nothing more than a rat… a rat that only knows how to flee! I will kill you and your every kin!!”
The words struck deeper than the ropes. Chen Ren felt it, a shiver crawling down his spine before he even realized. His body trembled, breath catching, and when he glanced aside, Zi Wen and Hong Yi were the same—faces pale, limbs stiff.
Even Yalan’s posture shifted, her legs tightening, the faintest quiver betraying her. Qing He stood tall, but her toes pressed hard against the ground, the tension clear.
The next moment, it came.
A wave of power rolled out from Xinyan—vast, suffocating, endless. The air turned to fire. The gorge itself seemed to bend beneath it.
Shen Linao’s eyes widened, his roar cracking into panic. “No!!”
Right before Chen Ren’s eyes, everything changed. A dome burst into being, massive and consuming, expanding until it covered a quarter of the gorge. Inside, everything burned.
Flame swept across stone, across air, devouring everything as if a sun had been lowered into the canyon. The earth cracked, the sky itself seemed to scream, and within that fiery prison Shen Linao’s body writhed as the fire clung to him, eating him alive.
Only Xinyan stood untouched, wreathed in his own domain of flame.
Shen Linao screamed so loud that the rocks shook at how loud he was.
Chen Ren’s eyes widened as he watched the fire consume everything. Robes crumbled first, eaten away like paper in a furnace. Then flesh peeled back, blackening, breaking apart in chunks that drifted as ash. Even his demonic qi flared wildly, but the flames wrapped around it, devouring it too, as though corruption itself was fuel for Xinyan’s fire.
Shen Linao’s mouth opened again and again, but no words came. Only screams, echoing through the gorge until even those were smothered by the fire.
One by one, his body parts fell away—his toes scattering into ash, then his legs, his torso, his chest. His face contorted in agony until even his head collapsed into embers.
And then even the ash was not spared. It burned in the air, curling into nothing, leaving not a trace behind.
Chen Ren stood frozen, his mouth parted in disbelief. He had known Elder Xinyan was strong—he had hoped for it—but even then, he had never thought Shen Linao would fall so fast. A man who had ruled his sect with iron and flame, reduced to nothing in mere seconds.
Beside him, Qing He’s voice was quiet, almost lazy, though her eyes were sharp. “That’s an incomplete domain.”
Chen Ren turned toward her, his throat dry. “Incomplete? It felt like the whole world was burning.”
“It isn’t even half,” Qing He said. “At best, twenty percent of a true domain. A complete one would have swallowed this gorge… and the next two besides. And the weight of it would not be something you could even stand under. This,” she gestured toward the still-burning dome, “is impressive, but Xinyan is decades away from being a domain master.”
Chen Ren swallowed hard and gave a short nod, though his gaze was still locked on the sky. Slowly, the fiery dome unraveled, its edges flickering until it dissolved back into nothing, like a dream fading from the world.
Xinyan emerged, his flames subdued, his figure calm once more. Yet his face was not triumphant. He frowned, his eyes sweeping over the gorge. Around them, Blazing Ember disciples lay scattered—many dead, others unconscious, none unscathed.
Then, at last, his gaze shifted.
Those eyes turned toward Chen Ren.
Chen Ren froze, his chest tightening as the weight of that glance pressed against him. For a heartbeat, his body forgot how to move, how to breathe.
Then the thought settled in. We’re not friends. But neither are we enemies.
He forced himself to stand tall, meeting the sect leader’s gaze as the gorge fell into silence.
Xinyan might have been the strongest cultivator Chen Ren had ever seen, but he wasn’t reckless. A man of such power didn’t move without thought. Chen Ren knew this was his moment—he had played a part in freeing his sect from the demonic cultivators, and he still held cards unseen.
So when Xinyan floated closer, Chen Ren stepped forward as well, bowing his head slightly. “I am Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect.”
Xinyan paused, his eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat, he looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t think you’re strong enough for me to be having this conversation with.”
From the side, Qing He’s voice cut in smoothly, almost chiding. “You shouldn’t underestimate young cultivators.”
Xinyan turned his gaze back on Chen Ren. A faint frown lingered across his face, but after a moment he gave a short nod. “Fine. I see that damn bastard caused you no small amount of trouble.”
“A little. He only asked for my head.”
“Qing He didn’t tell me much. Only that my sect had been taken over by demonic cultivators, and that if I didn’t act, she would.” His gaze grew sharp, burning through Chen Ren. “But I want to hear the full story. What happened here?”
Chen Ren exhaled slowly. He had hoped to avoid spilling every detail, but there was no slipping away from that piercing gaze. He began to explain.
He told of the vault, of the disciples they had faced, of the signs of demonic corruption that had spread through the Blazing Ember Sect. He painted them darker, more twisted than they were—careful brushstrokes of subtle manipulation. Wang Jun’s name never left his lips; that entire thread was erased, folded away.
But the heart of it remained. Shen Linao’s greed, the corruption among his disciples, the battles they had fought.
By the time his words faded, the gorge was once again silent save for the faint crackle of lingering flames.
Xinyan stood there, unmoving, scratching at his beard as though trying to wrestle sense out of the tale. His brows drew tight, his lips pressing into a thin line. For once, the man who had just reduced a sect regent to ash looked… at a loss for words.
Chen Ren stood patiently, his hands behind his back, waiting for the judgment that would follow.
It was finally time to see whether this old man was truly different from Shen Linao, or if he was only another wolf in robes. Killing the regent already placed him higher in Chen Ren’s eyes, but that wasn’t saying much. Chen Ren trusted no older cultivator.
“So everyone in Void Blade Sect is dead, then? Those old goats—all of them?”
“Only one remains. And she’s a mortal. There may be others who fled, but I don’t know.”
For the briefest instant, Chen Ren thought he saw something soften—faint sadness flickering across the man’s face. But it vanished in a heartbeat, swallowed by a growl as the man cursed.
“Damn it. I had a dozen favors still hanging with them. That Shen Linao ruined everything.” His eyes narrowed again. “You said you fought a demonic cultivator in that vault too?”
“Yes, Elder Xinyan. Only one, but I’m sure there are more. From what I’ve seen, Shen Linao took over the entire sect while you were away.”
“Seems like he did…” His tone was low, grim. Then his eyes lifted back to Chen Ren. “Did you complain to the empire?”
Before Chen Ren could answer, Qing He’s voice cut in from behind, sharp with disdain.
“Do you think that bastard wouldn’t have watchers in the capital? Every letter, every seal would have been in his hands within a week. If we had reached out, he would’ve known immediately.”
Xinyan turned his gaze toward her, considering, then gave a slow nod. “So. The empire doesn’t know.” His expression hardened. “If they did, this would be far worse.”
“How so?”
Hong Yi froze the moment the words left his lips, realizing too late who he had questioned. His face went pale as Xinyan’s burning eyes swung toward him.
For a moment, silence stretched thin as wire. Then the man answered, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability. “Because I wouldn’t even have time to clean my own house before the inquisitors came storming in. And once they move… they don’t leave embers. They turn everything to ash.”
Chen Ren straightened his back, forcing his voice to remain steady.
“You don’t have to worry about that.” He paused, then added firmly, “until you promise to leave us alone.”
“Oh, really?” Xinyan narrowed his eyes deeply.
“Yes, we helped you. If we hadn’t told you what was happening, Shen Linao would have destroyed everything you’ve built while you sat in seclusion.”
A low rumble came from the old man. “And also killed you. Don’t twist this. You did it to save yourselves.”
“We did.” Chen Ren gave a small nod, not backing down. “But that doesn’t change the truth. In the end, we still did you a favor. And I don’t think either of us gains anything by fighting each other now.”
Xinyan’s face darkened, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he folded his arms. “I see your point. But what about everything you took? Blazing Ember Sect’s rightful property?”
Chen Ren’s lips curved faintly. “When demonic cultivators are involved, nothing is ‘rightful property’ anymore. Not by law, not by the heavens. You know that as well as I do.”
Before Xinyan could respond, Qing He’s voice rang out from behind.
“He’s right, Xinyan. We’ve already done you a greater favor than you realize, pulling the rot out of your sect. If you try to take too much from us now, even the heavens won’t look kindly on you.”
Xinyan clicked his tongue, his eyes shifting between them. For a long moment, he was in thought. Then, finally, he let out a rough exhale.
“I suppose… you are right.”
His gaze lingered on Chen Ren and the others, sharp enough to cut. “I will let you go for now. I have too much work to do in my sect. Parasites to burn, roots to rip out, and answers to find. I need to know how they crawled their way inside my house.” Then he locked eyes with Chen Ren, his stare heavy, leaving no space for doubt.
“I will remember your face.”
Those words sent a shiver down his spine for some reason. But before he could respond properly, Xinyan’s gaze shifted to Qing He. for the first time, his voice softened.
“And I thank you, Qing He.”
Qing He nodded.
In the next second, flames surged around his legs, wrapping around him. With a single step, he rose into the air, and within moments, he was gone.
The silence he left behind weighed heavier than his presence had.
2025-09-01 15:10:21 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 271
Destruction was everywhere.
The air itself cracked beneath the clash of spells, causing heat rolling outward like the fists of angry gods. Shards of stone rained down from above as the arena groaned and split apart under the strain. Kai could feel the wards failing, but he didn’t dare to look toward the stands. He couldn’t know if the people had escaped, if Killian and his men managed to carry out their tasks. Even if he looked away for a brief second; a small moment of distraction would mean giving Veridia the advantage. This entire fight was too close, too merciless, to afford him that.
So he forced himself to trust. To believe Killian and the others were handling what he could not.
But even as his body moved on instinct, his mind screamed doubt. He had come here to crush Veridia—to grind her pride into the dirt. Yet as fire and lightning howled between them, he couldn’t shake the thought that victory might not come so easily.
Yes, she bled. A line of crimson cut beneath her chin where his hidden arrow had slipped through—a flaming strike cast beneath the shell of a larger spell, a feint that had burned away part of her robes as it landed. The look on her face was priceless, but she was far from broken. Her stance stayed sharp, and her eyes, they were relentless, finding opportunities to get back at him though her body bore more wounds than his, she fought as though she had only just begun.
A rough snarl tore from her throat. Black magma surged from her hands, not in streams but tendrils, wriggling and splitting until they blanketed the entire sky. The temperature around it increased rapidly, and the world turned a crimson-black as they twisted to engulf him.
Kai didn’t slow, his form blurred as he darted through the gaps. Every movement was sharpened by desperation. The tendrils slammed into the earth and air alike, detonating with bursts of molten fire that painted the arena in ruin. Even as he twisted around them, the force of their eruptions hammered against his chest and shoulders. His armor screamed under the assault, causing layers of mana shielding to splinter apart faster than he could weave them. He gritted his teeth and reforged them again, again, never letting the flow falter. One heartbeat of hesitation and he would be ashes.
Veridia screamed in frustration as her eyes narrowed and she pressed harder. Her form flickered and then another appeared beside her. And another. Dozens of her illusions blooming across the arena like a mirage army. Their voices echoed, taunting, their shapes blurred into a storm of falsehoods.
Kai’s lips curled upwards.
Did she think him a novice? Did she think illusions would shake him again?
He raised his hands, and the sky answered.
Hundreds of lances formed overhead, fire blazing against ice, a storm of spears suspended like stars before they fell. He unleashed them all at once. Each bolt carved through the illusions, fire and frost tearing apart false bodies until only one remained.
Veridia’s glamour collapsed like shattered glass, her illusions stripped bare before his gaze.
Kai’s heart hammered, but his eyes were steady. Illusions. Always illusions. If she thought they would be his downfall, she was wrong. His master’s voice still lingered in his mind, old lessons carved deep into his bones. Illusions were one of the last things his master had taught him to be careful against.
And so he had.
Another of Veridia’s attacks sputtered out, the last shards of molten shadow dispersing into the air. She steadied herself, teeth gritted, sweat shining against her cheek. For a heartbeat the battlefield stilled—spells crackled and bled away, the world shivering under the residue of their clash.
Kai did not seize the opening. Instead of casting another deadly spell, he let only a single, thin strand of mana slip from the folds of his robes. It trickled down toward the fractured ground, making it seem indistinct, to draw notice amidst the ruin. His gaze never wavered from her.
“You’re quite a tough opponent,” Veridia admitted in a harsh voice, her sword still leveled at him.
Kai allowed the corner of his mouth to tilt. “I should say the same about you. You carry the most rare combination of elements I’ve ever seen. Fire, shadow, earth, lightning. You must have been very popular in the Tower in your youth.”
Her lips curved, even if the smile was jagged. “Mages back then feared shadows more than anything else. Even the thought unsettled them. They called me the Dark Mage especially because I used it the most.”
“It does have a night ring to it.”
“It does,” she agreed. “But do you know who ended those whispers? Who silenced every rumor and every boast they might have pinned to me?”
Kai gave a flat look. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
“It was your mother.”
She huffed. “She beat me every time we fought. Do you understand what I’m saying? Every. Single. Time. She had only a single element, but she was a battle genius. She used that one element she had, against me so well. No matter what combination I threw at her, she cut it apart as if it were nothing.”
Kai felt his chest clench at the memory of his battle with Valkyrie. “I can understand that. She certainly isn’t easy.”
At the way Kai responded, Veridia’s eyes gleamed. “You have fought her?” she demanded. “How?”
“I don’t have to tell you that,” Kai said evenly. “But is that why you hate her?”
“Hate?” Veridia scoffed, spitting the word like poison. “Hate is a tame word. No. I loathe her. She fought me with everything and then tried to call me friend. She said she wouldn’t hold back, that she wanted me to grow. All the while, she had everything I wanted. All the strength, all the recognition, all the victories. And then—” her voice cracked into a bitter laugh, “—then she went and crippled herself. Years later than she should have, but still. Reckless to the very end.”
Her sword trembled in her grip, though her eyes never left his. “And now you stand here—her son. At least the one in her son's body. Reminding me of her with every damn move you make.”
Kai’s gaze hardened. “I don’t think what you did was anything less reckless. The city won’t be the same after today. Not after seeing this.” He gestured at the battlefield around them—cracks running through the arena walls, flames crawling along shattered stands, the very air trembling with residual mana. “After seeing what we’ve done here.”
“No, it won’t. But it will respect me more. Fear me more. And once I leave here with your body in my hands, that fear will last for generations.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Kai replied.
“Is that so? Tell me, how will you manage that? You have power, and spells I’ve never seen before… but you’re too simple in their use. Too obvious. Even now—” her gaze flicked downward, sharp and searching “—I see the summoning circle you’ve been weaving beneath us. It’s not going to work.”
The ground beneath Kai shuddered. A tower of magma burst upward in a sudden eruption, molten stone and fire tearing apart the faint lines of a circle carved into the cracked floor.
Kai darted back, his armor sizzling from the heat as he raised a warding hand. His lips twitched into a thin smile. “You’re perceptive… but not perceptive enough.”
Her brow furrowed at the words, then her head snapped around at the sound of a shallow, rasping cry behind her.
From the fractured ground, the air rippled, and a swarm of mangar drakes tore free of the veil between planes. Grade-three beasts, dragged from the Earthen plane, their bodies composed of serrated stone plates and glowing veins of mineral. Despite their rocky frames, they moved with eerie agility, wings of crystal and dust beating soundlessly as they hovered above the cracked arena floor. Their eyes were small, burning coals set deep in rough-hewn skulls.
They screeched again, a chorus that rumbled like boulders grinding against each other, and the swarm surged forward.
Veridia’s snarl cut through the air as lightning leapt from her sword, black bolts ripping through the first line of beasts. Shards of rock and crystal scattered as several plummeted, their stone shells shattering on impact. But still more came. One smashed into her shoulder, claws of obsidian raking against her robe, tearing fabric before she blasted it apart with a flare of shadow.
The creatures pressed closer, their rocky wings stirring a storm of dust, their jagged teeth snapping as they lunged.
Veridia’s eyes flared with fury. Mana roared through her body, and she thrust her hand outward. A searing orb of magma burst from her palm, expanding into a blazing tide. The wave engulfed the swarm, fire spilling over rock, molten heat reducing their bodies to cinders in an instant. Their screeches ended in crackling silence as ash rained down.
Veridia turned back from the wall, sword raised to strike the summoning circle apart—only to freeze.
Kai was gone.
Her head snapped upward just in time to see him suspended above, his hands outstretched. Countless threads of flaming mana unraveled from his body, spiraling through the air. They lashed around her wrists, her shoulders, coiling tighter and tighter with every heartbeat.
Her teeth clenched as she fought them, veins erupted across her skin in shadow and lightning as she poured mana outward. But the bindings didn’t snap. She understood brute force wouldn’t be enough. Because they clung to her so tight that it resisted every surge of her strength.
With a growl, she thrust herself upward, wings of fire and shadow propelling her higher into the air, desperate to break free of his reach. Spells crackled from her hands, javelings of lightning, bolts of magma hurled at him in fury.
Kai twisted past each strike, his movements were sharp and measured, never faltering. Even as he dodged, a new spell bloomed between his palms, light swelling until it pulsed like a star.
“You won’t be able to run away,” he called in a steady voice despite the thunder of mana raging around them.
“Holding me won’t do anything!”
“The threads aren’t to hold you,” Kai replied.
Her eyes widened in a heartbeat of realization, but it was too late.
The bindings flared, every strand bursting outward in a violent detonation. Fire swallowed her, engulfing her body as the explosion thundered across the sky. The blast struck her face-on, her scream lost in the roar. Smoke curled around her form as she staggered, her body tumbling from the air before crashing hard against the fractured arena floor.
Kai’s hands moved as the second spell reached its peak.
“Astrum Marala Veral Extrago Lumen!”
He released it in a single motion—a projected beam of light, aimed right at her, cutting through the smoke. It struck true, where exactly he wanted—square in the chest, just over her heart.
There was no hole or seared flesh, only a faint ripple, almost invisible, then the sound of her choking. She gagged, coughing up dark blood. Her body convulsed violently, rolling across the scorched ground as she clawed at her chest. Confusion clouded her face, her lips trembling as she struggled to understand what had been done to her.
Kai hovered down slowly, his robes singed, his chest rising and falling with ragged breath.
He looked at her coldly, contempt lacing his features, though the effort of holding it steady made his muscles ache.
Inside, he felt the truth clawing at him—he was spent. The summoning, the threads, the final strike… each one had stripped him bare. His core trembled, his mana reserves drained to their dregs. If he tried to muster more, his body might well break before his spell did.
He still kept his expression composed, his eyes locked on Verdia writhing at his feet. He could not let her see how close he was to collapse.
As Kai descended, Veridia’s hand twitched upward, trembling but determined, structure of a new spell half-forming in the air. For a heartbeat, Kai thought she might succeed, but then her body convulsed. The half-woven spell shattered like glass, and she writhed against the scorched ground, her eyes blazing with pain and fury.
Kai met her gaze and saw the unspoken question burning there. He let his voice carry the answer.
“I cracked your Mana heart.” His tone was low, flat, as if admitting a grim inevitability. “It’s a spell I don’t use often. Takes too much. I had to build it half in my mind through the fight—it’s that complex. But… it was easier to land than I expected.”
Veridia’s pupils shrank. She coughed up another dark stream of blood, her voice breaking as she gasped, “That’s… impossible. You can’t do that. Not without destroying everything else in me.”
“Trust me,” Kai replied, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her trembling frame. “There’s a spell for everything. And don’t try anything more. You know what happens if you force your mana against a fractured heart.” His eyes glinted, steady even through the exhaustion in his limbs. “It’ll only worsen. You already know there’s no way out of this.”
Her trembling lips curled back in a bloody snarl, but she could not deny it.
Kai’s gaze drifted from her, sweeping the arena. The destruction spread in every direction—the shattered walls, collapsed stands, flames licking hungrily at rubble. Smoke and ash clung to the air like mourning shrouds. Not a single spectator remained. Only the two of them. Two Mages in a graveyard of stone and fire.
His voice cut through the silence. “I believe that means I win this.”
Veridia gasped. More blood trickled past her lips as she forced her head up, eyes burning holes into him. “You haven’t.”
A faint spark of mana flickered at her fingertips, and her defiance refused to die even now. But the attempt backfired instantly. Her body convulsed, pain ripping through her as the spark fizzled, leaving her shuddering in agony.
“Please don’t do that,” Kai said softly. His voice was weary now, edged more with honesty than contempt. “I’d rather people not think I killed you. Though…” he let his gaze linger on her, “…I suppose fracturing your Mana heart is close enough.”
Without another word, he turned away.
His body screamed in pain with every step he took, the toll of every spell gnawing at his bones and veins. Every movement sent fresh needles of agony lancing through his heart, but he refused to stumble. Not here, especially not with Veridia watching.
He pressed forward toward the broken archway of the arena, the battlefield groaning behind him. Veridia’s labored breaths echoed faintly in the silence, but he did not look back.
He didn’t need to. She would not be rising again. He had to focus on himself before he collapsed.
Even if he didn’t look too injured, Kai could feel it—dozens of shallow cuts stinging across his skin, burns hidden beneath the tatters of his robes. His armor was worthless now, warped and scorched until it clung to him like dead weight. The fabric of his robe hung in strips, torn open in so many places that he wondered if it was even possible to stitch it back together.
Despite everything, he had won. That truth alone pushed his legs onward.
The arena had ceased to be an arena. Holes gaped wide through its walls, yawning craters clawed through the stands. He didn’t even need to find a gate. There were breaches everywhere, torn open by their clash. Kai almost laughed to himself at the absurdity of it. How is this ruin still standing at all? Another thought cut through the haze, Am I going to be the one footing the bill for this? He hoped not.
Finally, he stepped beyond the rubble.
And froze.
The city was waiting for him.
Hundreds of faces turned as one. Commoners crowded the streets, merchants pressed shoulder to shoulder with guards, and even the nobles stood among them, their finery ash-streaked but their eyes fixed on him. None had left. They must have scattered at first, but once the storm of spells ended, they returned to see with their own eyes what remained.
The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating, broken only by whispers that rippled outward like waves.
“Is that him?”
“He’s alive…”
“Gods above, what did they do in there?”
Kai ignored the chatter. He kept walking, his pace steady, though each step jarred pain through his ribs and legs. The weight of their gazes was heavier than stone, but he refused to stumble.
Movement in the crowd caught his eye. Killian was pushing through, Francis beside him, their faces carved with worry. A handful of the others trailed them, their expressions a mixture of exhaustion, relief, and disbelief. They rushed toward him, weapons drawn as if expecting danger even now.
Kai stopped, waiting as they closed the distance. His chest ached, his limbs threatened to give, but he would not let them see him falter.
When they finally reached him, Francis’s voice cracked with urgency. “Lord Arzan, are you all right?”
Kai gave a single, short nod. “I’m.”
And though his body threatened to betray him, his eyes stayed hard, unyielding as if nothing had touched him at all.
Kai stood there a moment longer, breath uneven, then let out a thin exhale.
“…I exhausted all my mana. It's pretty hard to walk. But…” his lips twitched faintly, “I doubt I’ll look even half as cool if I lose consciousness right now.”
Leopold chuckled, the sound tired but genuine. “Cool enough? You destroyed the arena, Arzan. I’d say that’s more than enough for today. The effect this will have…” his gaze swept toward the crowd, then to the nobles and princes lingering at the edges, “especially on them—it’s beyond anything I can predict.”
He hesitated, lowering his voice. “What of Magus Veridia? Is she—”
Kai shook his head before the thought could finish. “No. She’s alive. Just… in need of a lot of rest.” His eyes hardened faintly. “I suppose that means I won.”
The words left him, but another wave of fatigue swept in immediately after. His knees nearly gave, the ground tilting beneath him until Killian caught his arm with a sharp, “Lord Arzan!”
Kai grit his teeth, forcing himself upright. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “I’m just tired. We can talk later. Right now, I just want… a bed.”
The group exchanged quick, worried glances, but no one argued. Together they began moving through the street, Killian steadying him at his side.
And as they walked, the crowd parted without a word.
2025-08-30 17:29:24 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 161
In an instant, it felt as if the world itself had stilled.
The voice that rang out froze the gorge in place. Disciples who had been lunging for Zi Wen, Hong Yi, and his puppets halted mid-strike, their blades trembling in the air. From above, hidden cultivators leaping down from the cliffs staggered mid-flight, their footing breaking as their bodies slammed against stone, bullets piercing them before they even struck the ground.
Even Shen Linao faltered. The fiery tide of his aura recoiled at once, collapsing back into his dantian as if doused by ice water.
His face drained of color almost immediately, lips parting in a silent gasp. It was as though he had heard a voice long buried, a ghost that haunted his dreams, and a name carved into his fear.
Only Chen Ren looked composed, his eyes calm amidst the chaos. Relaxed, even. Their gamble had borne fruit. At least… I hope so, he thought, lifting his gaze to the sky.
Qing He floated there, her robes billowing gently against the oppressive silence. Yet Chen Ren’s eyes did not linger on her.
They locked instead on the man beside her.
Flames twisted around him, licking his limbs, wreathing him in a crown of fire. Chen Ren couldn’t properly see his face; the pressure alone was enough. Subtle, restrained, yet unmistakable—he stood in a realm none present could touch. Even without a domain manifest, Chen Ren felt it in his bones: the man was a breath away from one.
He wore the same cut and color robes as Shen Linao—deep red and black—though his shone brighter, and richer than Shen Linao’s own, even though tattered edges and scorched hems. His shade of robe was not reserved for common disciples or even elders. But someone higher.
Chen Ren felt the weight of it before he even turned his eyes toward Shen Linao.
The old man’s lips opened, then closed. Then they opened again. No sound came. His chest heaved as though words caught in his throat, strangled before breath. His eyes betrayed him—terror glinting there. Chen Ren felt a cruel satisfaction creeping to his bones by the look on his face.
Slowly, the man of flames descended. His feet did not touch the ground. He hovered just above it, gaze sweeping across the camp.
The gorge had fallen silent.
That was when Chen Ren looked at him properly. His face was long and narrow, with sharp cheekbones that had shadows. His jaw was squared, framed by a silver streaked beard. The old man had a sharp nose which made him even more intimidating.
Most striking of all were his eyes—a shade of gray that made him look—soulless.
Chen Ren carved the man’s face to his mind and shifted his gaze to the surroundings. Some of the Blazing Ember Sect disciples had their foreheads pressed against the earth. Their qi trembled, unwilling to resist the force pressing against their cores.
Even Chen Ren felt it—the invisible weight, a pressure that bent the spine and suffocated the lungs. His knees strained, his bones groaned, but he forced himself upright. He alone remained standing, the faintest flicker of defiance in his eyes, as the old man’s gaze locked on Shen Linao.
“Linao,” the man said at last. “Decades ago, I left you to tend to my sect. And I see that you have grown in those years. But tell me, have you done what I asked of you when I left?”
Shen Linao’s lips twitched. “I… I did…” His head dipped, and then, with reluctance heavy in every word, he finally said, “Sect Leader, Xinyan”
“I made sure our sect prospered beyond its limits,” Shen Linao continued quickly, as though to cover the quiver in his voice. “We have taken in the most talented disciples, those who understand the glory of flames, the intensity of our way. Our foundations have never been stronger.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed, flames coiling tighter about him. “Yet what I have heard… about this war with the Void Blade Sect. That is not what I instructed.”
Shen Linao’s jaw tightened. “It was inevitable. They sought to launch war upon us. I only did what was necessary, what I believed was right as the sect regent.”
Elder Xinyan’s gaze sharpened. “You believed the right course was to eradicate them? To burn their sect grounds until nothing remained? You understand why they were valuable to us, yes? A war does not demand annihilation. Do you understand me?!”
Shen Linao’s face hardened, his spine stiffening beneath the rebuke. “I did what was necessary. It brought glory to Blazing Ember Sect. I wielded power, and so I acted. I don’t think you should mind it, Sect Leader… but—” his voice trembled faintly, the question forced out—“should I ask how you are here? I thought you were to be—”
The old man cut him off. “In seclusion? For another decade?” A cold smile touched his lips. “Yes. That was the plan. My cultivation had been advancing steadily, though slowly. I could have waited, and I would have emerged far stronger.”
His eyes grew colder, the weight of his gaze sweeping across every trembling disciple.
“But then… I was woken.”
“Who… who dared such a thing?” Shen Linao asked, looking around as if all the terrified cultivators had answers. No one said anything, all their gazes locked on the ground.
“Shen Linao, you need not worry about that! What happened was necessary. Had I not been woken, I would not have been able to save my sect,” Elder Xinyan spoke ever so slowly, fire moving around his arms in circles.
Shen Linao’s brow furrowed, a flicker of confusion flashing across his face. “Save… the sect? From whom, Sect Leader? Blazing Ember has not been this rich, this glorious, since its founding.”
“Rich. Glorious. Yes, the surface shines. But parasites have burrowed deep, Linao. They have veered from the sacred path of cultivation. Their loyalty is not to the sect, but to their own greed, their own advancement. So long as their flames burn higher, they will watch our foundations crumble.”
A confused expression spread across Shen Linao’s face, carefully crafted. “Sect Leader… I don’t understand.” His voice quavered with practiced humility.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. He did understand. That feigned confusion, that tilt of the head, that half-step backward—It was the mask of a man stalling, buying breath, preparing.
Around them, disciples were frozen, too enthralled by the conversation between the two to notice anything else.
Chen Ren seized the moment. With a subtle gesture, he drew Hong Yi and Zi Wen back, Yalan falling in step without a word. They slipped farther into the gorge’s shadows, far enough that when the storm broke—and it would—they would not be caught in its first, crushing wave.
Still, Chen Ren’s gaze never left Shen Linao. The old man wore the mask of confusion well, nodding, bowing his head, pretending to be lost in his sect leader’s words. But Chen Ren could see the cracks—how his eyes never blinked, how his fingers twitched ever so slightly, how the aura around him thickened with every passing breath.
Xinyan’s voice grew harder. “Do you really not grasp what I’m saying? Do you truly believe no one can sense it in you?” The flames at his back roared louder, a tide threatening to consume. “Confess. Reveal everything. Do that, and I will spare you from death. Whatever punishment you deserve, you will endure, but you will live.”
Shen Linao bowed his head deeper, his voice soft, trembling. “Sect Leader… I truly don’t know what you mean.”
Despite his words, a second later his qi erupted.
Though Chen Ren was prepared, he was taken back. He expected the same oppressive wave he had wielded before, but no, this was suffocating in its strength. Snow hissed into steam as his qi clawed outward.
Even at a distance, Chen Ren's heart lurched in his chest.
The air split as Shen Linao’s qi surged again—no longer the steady blaze of a seasoned cultivator, but something warped, something wrong. His fire qi roared outward, tainted with a murky blackness that twisted its heat into suffocating pressure.
When it struck Xinyan and Qing He, the ground groaned in protest. Stone cracked open like brittle bone, the ground beneath their feet splitting wide. Several disciples screamed as the earth collapsed, bodies tumbling into the sudden fissures.
Shen Linao’s figure blurred, charging forward. His fist clenched, and from it manifested a claw of dark, blazing fire—talons stretching, burning as though to tear heaven itself apart. He slashed at Xinyan, a strike heavy enough to rend the air—
—only for the figure in flames to shift aside with effortless grace. The attack ripped into empty space, tearing another scar into the gorge wall.
“I never expected you of all people to appear here today!” Shen Linao’s voice was hoarse, shrill, yet burning with madness. “But it makes no difference! I’ll crush you here and now—strip away this title of sect regent, and claim the sect leader’s mantle for myself!”
“Ha ha ha.” Elder Xinyan’s laughter rang out rolling through the gorge like an inferno. Flames gushed from his body, pouring from his very stomach until they spiraled into massive burning hands.
“Corrupted!” he spat, his eyes alight with fury. “I always knew your soul was dull, Linao, but I thought at least your mind had sense enough to steer it. I was wrong. Clearly. Look at you!”
The flaming hands lashed out, each the size of a house, slamming down on Shen Linao. He met them with his own claws, dark fire howling as it clashed with the pure blaze.
The collision erupted.
A detonation of flame and darkness burst outward, rattling the gorge, hurling rubble down from the cliffs. The world shook with the shockwave.
To Chen Ren’s left, one of the hidden cultivators was flung down from his perch, landing hard. His face was pale as ash as he staggered back up, eyes darting between the clashing titans. Then his gaze fell on Chen Ren.
Their eyes met—just once—before the man bolted, scrambling out of the valley as though death itself snapped at his heels.
He was not the last.
Other disciples, shaken from their stupor by the explosion, began to scatter. Some ran outright, vanishing into the snowy cliffs with panicked shouts. Others dove behind rocks and fissures, curling into whatever shelter they could find. There were only a handful that refused to flee. Even as the fight between sect leader and regent threatened to devour everything around them.
Zi Wen watched it happen and his hand stroked Sori who was perched on his shoulder. Little Yuze had made his way behind them. “For those who dabble in demonic arts themselves. They know what’s coming even if they gain power to deny it everyday.”
Chen Ren nodded faintly at Zi Wen’s words, though his eyes never left the battlefield.
Against the wall, Hong Yi slumped with a puppet at his side, his face pale but his lips twitching into something between disbelief and relief. “I can’t believe this actually worked…”
The words struck closer to Chen Ren’s own heart than he cared to admit. He hadn’t believed it either, not fully. So many threads could have frayed, so many variables could have snapped apart at the seams. But somehow, against all odds, it worked.
The idea had first struck him from a single thread of truth he stumbled across. For decades, Blazing Ember Sect and Void Blade Sect had barked and bitten at each other, but never gone for the throat. Skirmishes, ambushes, a steady river of blood, but no true war.
And Qing He had once told him that rivalries were sometimes cultivated deliberately, a stage built for disciples to sharpen their blades against one another, Chen Ren had begun to wonder. Could it be the same here?
The shift came when he learned that Sect Leader Xinyan had gone into seclusion, entrusting everything to Shen Linao. The thought had clung to him: what if they weren’t the same? Perhaps Xinyan wasn't the most righteous, but what if he wasn't corrupted like Shen Linao.
If the leader himself had been a demonic cultivator, Chen Ren reasoned, Shen Linao would never have hesitated. He would not have waited for him to go into seclusion before starting a war.
That was the gamble.
If he was right, then the true way to face overwhelming power was not to shatter it head-on, but to lure another greater power against it.
And so, the seed of his plan was planted.
Void Blade Sect had shallow rumors of where the Blazing Ember leader had gone into seclusion. And even without those whispers, some truths were obvious: a cultivator following the path of flames would not hide in plains or lakes, but in volcanoes, moldering mountains, or in hidden craters where earth and flame merged.
He had simply asked Qing He to scour them. Every likely place within reach. It had been a huge request, to ask her of it. But she agreed and found him.
It worked, Chen Ren thought again, his lips tightening into a faint smile. The board is broken, but at least the pieces aren’t falling on me.
Now all Chen Ren had to do was wait. To watch the sect leader, Xinyan himself, tear into Shen Linao.
And he had to admit—it was a fight worth all the trouble.
Black-tinted flame clashed against burning crimson fire in the sky, every collision blooming into explosions that devoured chunks of the gorge. Rock shattered, cliffs crumbled, and each detonation sent a storm of ash and embers raining down. It was impossible to say who had the upper hand. To Chen Ren’s eyes, they were still measuring, each strike testing, each burst probing.
It sent shivers down his spine.
“...We’ll be fine, right?” Hong Yi muttered beside him, his voice thin, a hand clutching his puppet as though it could shield him from the falling sky. Chen Ren had the same question after seeing the destruction happen above.
Yalan purred next to them. “If anything strays our way, I’ll cut it down–” she paused as a huge explosion took place. “–Just watch. It will be good for you—see what higher-realm cultivators look like when they fight to kill.”
Before Chen Ren could answer, a familiar presence brushed against his senses. Qing He landed lightly beside them, her robes fluttering in the fiery wind. Her eyes never left the battlefield.
“She’s right,” Qing He said evenly. “Since you’ve chosen to follow this kid, one day a higher-realm cultivator will come to kill you. Better to see now what level of power you’ll be facing, than to go blind.”
Chen Ren smiled awkwardly. “If that time comes, I’ll just rely on you.” Because in reality, he was not prepared for such a battle.
Qing He scoffed, folding her arms. “I’ve already done you a greater favor than you deserve. That should last you for a long time. Now watch. And pray Shen Linao dies here.”
Chen Ren nodded, drawing in a slow breath as he fixed his eyes on the sky.
And in the short span of their exchange, the fight had shifted. The testing blows had turned heavier, sharper, crueler.
He saw Elder Xinyan driving Shen Linao back, wielding a massive hammer of flames, each swing carving through stone and air alike. Shen Linao darted away, his body cloaked in corrupted fire, hurling boulders of condensed qi that exploded in burning shards around his foe.
Yet the sect leader pressed through, his hammer swelling, multiplying before their eyes until the sky was filled with a storm of blazing weapons. Each one roared like a dragon, hammering down in unison as though the heavens themselves sought to flatten Shen Linao into dust.
Dozens of hammers blazed across the sky, chasing Shen Linao like a swarm of falling stars. He spat out more of his projectiles in a rush, sending them bursting into the air. One struck a hammer dead on, the clash tearing into a violent explosion that shook the sky.
The blast hurled Shen Linao down. His body smashed into the side of the gorge, the rock splintering beneath him, smoke and fire bursting outward in waves.
Xinyan didn’t pause. In a blink he was there, closing the gap, his flaming hammer swelling larger with each step in the air. It came down like the hand of a god, ready to crush Shen Linao into nothing.
Dark fire poured out of Shen Linao, cloaking him in a shield that twisted and squirmed.
The hammer slammed against it, sparks flying, the gorge roaring with the sound. The black flames burned hot, but they cracked under the weight, fragments peeling away like embers torn in a storm. At the last instant, Shen Linao threw himself aside, leaping back into the air with his robes scorched and his hair in tatters.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. For a moment he thought the man might turn to flee. The fight was slipping away from him; each exchange showed it clearer. Yet instead of retreating, Shen Linao’s gaze snapped toward Chen Ren.
Fuck, is he going to?
His face twisted with rage. He bellowed, his voice raw. “Chen Ren! This is all your doing!”
Blackened Qi exploded out of him, wild and reckless. Some burned across his own disciples, their screams cut short as fire wrapped around them. Shen Linao didn’t look back. His body blurred as he charged straight for Chen Ren, a storm of fireballs pouring from his fists.
The attacks screamed across the gorge, but Chen Ren didn’t move. He stood straight and locked eyes with him.
Yalan moved first. Her tail flared, flames spilling from it in a blazing wave. They met Shen Linao’s fire head-on, the two forces crashing together with a blast so bright it burned the air white. The shockwave rolled over them, shaking the walls of the gorge.
Chen Ren raised a hand, qi surging from his dantian. Before he could, a dome of light spread out before him, shielding his eyes and the others as burning shards scattered around them.
When the smoke cleared, Qing He was already there, her qi layered thick as steel walls. She let out a sigh, her voice sharp with irritation. “Do I always have to protect you children?”
Chen Ren opened his mouth, ready to reply, when the air shifted again. Shen Linao roared, his body twisting as he gathered strength for another strike.
But before he could release it, strong and massive chains of flame shot out from above. They wrapped around his arms, his waist, his throat—binding him in burning light.
Shen Linao choked and thrashed, his demonic qi flaring as he fought to break free, but the chains only tightened, sizzling against his flesh.
Chen Ren turned his head just enough to see Elder Xinyan descending, his hands raised. The ground itself seemed to bow under his presence.
“Linao, I will burn you to a crisp,” his voice thundered across the gorge, “for shaming the name of my sect.”
The chains pulled tight, dragging Shen Linao screaming toward him, the flames roaring louder as though eager to devour him whole.
2025-08-30 17:23:29 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 270
Amara’s fingers dug into the armrest of her seat until her knuckles turned white, the polished wood biting against her palm as if to anchor her to reality. Yet reality itself seemed to blur before her eyes. The clash in the arena was far from a duel, it was a calamity in a given form.
It looked like it was enough to topple entire armies. Red flares burst like molten stars, white curves split the air with bright light, and crooked shadows were drawn across the ground as explosions rippled from sky to earth. The entire world in front of her looked like it was closer to destruction.
That made her think of a time when she had taken a trip with her mother to the edge of the kingdom. Veridia had only recently claimed the title of Tower Master then. She shouldn’t have been that powerful, but she was. She stood proudly in the wilds, creating illusions and flames to bring down a Grade four stone rhino that no Knight dared face. Back then, she had seemed awe-inspiring.
But now? The woman before her was no longer the same. Her power had grown so much through years Amara had not been watching. Her spells felt like heavenly thunder, born to cause destruction and chaos. She was ‘destruction’ incarnate in every way and form.
And yet, even that was not what rooted Amara in her seat. No, what made her chest tighten and heart stammer was the man standing against such chaos.
Count Arzan.
He did not waver.
Each of Veridia’s conjurations was met with a response. Sometimes, the responses were clever, and other times, it was brutal, but they always, always hit true. He shifted his tactics with the fluidity of a river changing course, adapting to her fury as though he had studied her for a lifetime. And when his counterspells landed, the air itself shuddered.
Two strong powers, two wills collided like gods who’d descended to the mortal plane to wage their war.
Amara’s throat felt dry.
If no one stopped them, the city would be nothing but rubble. That wasn’t an exaggeration—Amara could feel it in her bones. She looked at the golden barrier stretched across the arena. The glow simmered faintly, wavering beneath the constant strain of their clash. The thought chilled her. If the barrier failed, if even a single strike slipped through… the spectators would not survive it. None of them would.
Her hands trembled at the thought, though she pressed them harder against the armrest to still them. The entire kingdom was watching the battle unfold, so was she. Not just as a princess, but also as a Mage, as a friend, and as a witness to two forces that could shape the future of the realm. She had once thought the line between safety and ruin was drawn by armies, by treaties, and by strong forces, but now she realised it might rest on the will of two Mages, locked in a storm too vast for mortals to touch.
She knew the arena had been prepared for this. They’d put up wards and enchantments into every stone, layers upon layers of ancient seals. For extra support, Adept Mages stood at each corner, their hands raised, their mana pouring into the bindings like water into an overfull dam.
This place had been designed to withstand calamity.
And yet, with each clash of spell against spell, the foundations trembled.
Amara flinched as Count Arzan raised both arms, dozens—no, hundreds—of flame lances erupting into the air like a fiery storm. They tore through Magus Veridia’s illusions, unraveling her crafted veils as though they were cobwebs before a torch. Most were turned aside, but enough cut through that the walls themselves shook, reverberating like struck drums.
A cluster of the lances hammered into the barrier right in front of her. Heat seared her face, the golden ward flaring so bright she had to shield her eyes. For a heartbeat she thought it had held. Then she heard it—a sharp crack, like ice splitting in winter.
Her stomach dropped. A thin fracture webbed across the shield.
Magus Jasper, standing as their protector, stepped forward immediately. His voice rang out, “Do not fear. I will not let anything happen to you.”
Behind him, a row of Third-Circle Mages mirrored his stance, channeling their strength into the barrier.
But no matter how steady Jasper’s tone, Amara couldn’t believe him. Not fully. Not with that crack still glowing faintly before her eyes. If those lances had done this much damage to wards carved into every stone, wards meant to contain calamity… How long before all of it gave way?
She glanced at the princes seated next to her, searching their faces for reassurance. Instead, she found only confirmation of her dread.
Eldric had gone pale, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. Amara couldn’t tell if it was sheer terror at the duel’s scale, or the sudden realization of his own folly in crossing Count Arzan. Perhaps both.
Aldrin sat unnervingly still, his expression almost composed, but his body betrayed him. His legs trembled under his seat, quivering no matter how firmly he set his feet. Still, in his eyes, there was a glint, perhaps even fascinated.
Thalric, barely a year older than Amara, looked utterly undone. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes wide with disbelief. He had served with the army, had surely witnessed blood and steel, but this? This was no battlefield—this was the wrath of gods. If it wasn’t for the situation, his posture was comical. Hunched shoulders, his posture angled not forward in defiance but back, toward escape, like a man ready to bolt at the first chance.
Amara looked back at the middle of the ground, her heart drumming in her chest. Even among princes, heirs raised in power, not one of them looked certain they would live to see the duel’s end.
When Amara turned her gaze toward the commoners’ stand, her breath caught in her chest. Large fractures were spidering across the wards there too, glowing fissures widening with every impact. The Mages stationed in that section looked exhausted already, their hands trembling as they pushed mana into the cracks. Sweat and even tears covered their faces. Their hand gestures scrumpt desperation.
Some seats were already abandoned.
She spotted Knight Killian in the chaos. His armor was already scorched and dented as he barked orders, ushering panicked families toward the exits. He did it with the urgent efficiency of a man who knew he was racing against disaster. If those people weren’t cleared in time, the duel’s stray magic would slaughter them like flies.
Every second, another barrage of spells rocked the arena. Amara felt her heart tightening in her chest. They couldn’t stay here. Not on display, not frozen in their seats while titans tore reality apart in front of them. If they stayed, they would not survive.
She turned sharply to her brothers.
“We need to go. Get out of here. Now!”
Eldric’s head snapped toward her. “We have Magus Jasper and the others here. We are perfectly safe.” His eyes were wide but he sounded defensive, too defensive considering the state they were in.
But before she could respond, a colossal orb of magma slammed into the barrier before them. The ward shrieked like shattering glass, and several plates of the barrier cracked open entirely. The smoldering fire hissed as they struck the seating box.
Amara yelped as sparks sprayed past her. She hadn’t seen that coming, not properly, but the end of her brother’s hair curled and blackened in the heat. Before the flames could lick higher, one of the Third-Circle Mages lunged forward. A torrent of water burst from his palm, dousing Eldric in a rush that left him dripping, his cloak sodden, his face flushed with fury and fear.
He opened his mouth, but whatever retort he had died on his tongue.
Prince Aldrin rose abruptly, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Princess Amara is right.” His gaze flicked toward the center of the arena, his eyes narrowing at the storm of fire and lightning. “This battle… has grown far more dangerous and wild than we expected. Those elements are no longer under control.”
He swept his brothers with a look. “If you two wish to gamble with your lives and your crowns, then sit here and wait. But I won’t. I’m leaving.”
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the stairwell, his steps firm despite the tremor in his legs. The others stared at his back, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.
Prince Thalric was the next to rise. He cast one final glance toward the chaos raging in the center of the arena, his jaw set tight, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief. For a moment Amara thought he might steel himself to stay. But then, without a word, he turned on his heel and retreated toward the stairwell, each step quicker than the last. His departure left the box suddenly hollow, and the silence between Amara and Eldric felt suffocating. Their seats no longer seemed like a place of honor, but a golden prison waiting to collapse.
Amara’s hands curled in her lap as she waited and hoped. But Eldric did not move. His posture was rigid, his gaze glued to the battlefield below. Fire twisted with lightning, clashing like colliding worlds, shaking the very air with each impact. He sat there transfixed, as if the sheer force unfolding before him had shackled him more surely than iron chains. Pride held him in place, the refusal to turn his back when flight would look like weakness.
At last, Magus Jasper himself stepped forward, the glow of the wards painting his stern face in gold and crimson. “It’s better to move, Prince Eldric. The battle…” His eyes flicked toward the two figures tearing the arena apart, lingering a heartbeat too long before he forced the words through clenched teeth. “It’s out of our control.”
The admission seemed to slice the air. Jasper was no trembling novice; he was an Adept, seasoned and certain. For him to say such words left little room for argument.
Eldric’s face twisted, caught between fear and stubbornness. His shoulders tightened, and for a long moment Amara thought he might refuse. But slowly, stiffly, he gave a single nod. “Lead the way.” His movements were abrupt as he rose, and in his unease he shoved Amara forward—not cruelly, but as if rushing her would disguise his own reluctance.
She shot him a frown, but bit back the words rising in her throat. There was no time for them. Turning instead, she fixed her gaze on the other Mages. “You should move as well.”
They obeyed, though their hands never dropped. Mana still streamed from their palms into the trembling wards, the golden light flickering with every step they took toward the stairwell. The barrier shook and groaned like glass on the verge of breaking.
And still, Amara could not bring herself to leave without looking back one last time. Her gaze lingered beyond the cracking shield, past the haze of flame and smoke, to the man at the storm’s center. Count Arzan. Fire and wind screamed around him, tearing the air apart, yet wherever his feet touched the ground frost spread outward, freezing stone and soil alike, as though even chaos itself bent to his will.
His expression was carved in iron—fury sharpened into focus, the face of a man who would not yield.
The sight burned into her, refusing to let her go. Amara realized she had been holding her breath, her chest aching, her lips parted. She let the air slip out in a trembling exhale. Please… not just win. Survive this.
That prayer clung to her as she finally tore her gaze away. With Jasper leading and the others shielding what they could, she followed the line down the stairs, the roar of battle echoing above them. Behind her, the arena groaned and shuddered like a dying beast under the weight of two titans. Deep down, Amara knew the truth. When the dust settled, the arena itself might not stand at all.
***
Killian grabbed a man who had stumbled between the rows of seats, hauling him upright by the arm. “Follow the crowd! Get out of here. Don’t even stay close to the arena. Do you understand?”
The man’s face was pale, eyes wide with terror.
“Do you understand?” He repeated the same question.
He stammered something wordless before nodding rapidly and hurrying toward the nearest passage out.
All around, it was chaos. Not the controlled destruction roaring in the center of the arena, but the chaos of people—thousands of them—panicking at once. The stands shook beneath their stampede as commoners shoved and clawed their way toward the exits. Children cried, men shouted, women clung onto men, and in the crush, more than one person was knocked to the ground.
Killian’s men and the arena guards tried to hold order, forming lines to guide the flow, but it was like trying to dam a flood with bare hands. People surged against them from every angle, desperate to escape before another stray spell found its mark. The golden barrier cracked and groaned above them, and no reassurance could hold back the instinct to run.
Killian forced his way through, pushing people toward the stairwells, barking orders until his throat burned. He had just shoved another group upward when something below caught his eye.
Shit, was the only thing he could think. Near the bottom rows, a woman had fallen. She clutched her ankle, her face tight with pain, likely sprained. Beside her, a small boy tugged helplessly at her arm, trying to drag her to her feet. The crowd pressed around them, uncaring, threatening to trample them underfoot.
Killian didn’t think. His body moved before his mind could catch up. He vaulted over the benches, boots hammering against wood as he leapt from row to row, closing the distance in heartbeats.
But just as he reached them—
Crack!
A surge of black lightning tore through the fractured barrier right in front of the mother and child. The sound was deafening, like a tree splitting under a storm, and lines of energy raced outward from the wound. The ward gave way with a scream, a hole yawning open as the lightning burst through.
Killian’s instincts screamed. In one fluid motion, he drew his sword, mana igniting along the blade in a sharp flare. He swung up, intercepting the strike with steel and sheer will.
The impact was brutal.
The lightning slammed into him like a mountain crashing down, a jolt so fierce it rattled his bones and sent sparks exploding across his vision. His knees buckled, boots skidding against the stands. For a moment, it felt as though the storm would swallow him whole.
He gritted his teeth, forcing his strength into the blade. Step by step, he pushed back, grounding the wild surge until it finally shattered away in a burst of crackling air. The ward was broken, a gaping hole still hissing with residual sparks, but the boy and his mother remained alive, shielded by his intervention.
Killian staggered, chest heaving, smoke rising faintly from his armor. His arms ached, his grip trembled on the hilt, but he steadied himself. There was no time to falter.
He had held this strike. But if the arena kept bleeding power like this, how many more could he stop?
Killian’s chest still burned from the lightning’s backlash, but he forced himself to move. He bent quickly to the mother, offering his hand.
“Hey, it’s all right. I’m a Knight. I’ll get you out of here.”
She looked up through tears. Her eyes shone with terror, but she nodded, clutching her child close as Killian helped her to her feet. He guided them quickly through the wreckage of the stands until he spotted one of his men near the stairwell, helping to herd survivors. Shoving the pair gently toward him, Killian barked.
“Get them out of here. Don’t stop for anything! Head straight outside!”
The man gave a sharp nod even though his face was pale and looked like he, himself, would need help to get carried from there. But he immediately took the mother and boy under his protection, vanishing into the flow of bodies fleeing toward the exits.
Killian turned back, drawing in a long breath as he surveyed the arena. By now, most of the stands were nearly empty. The tide of commoners had thinned, though scattered cries still echoed through the air. What unsettled him more was the Mages. The men and women who had been tasked to maintain the barrier, had already fled their posts. The golden lattice was collapsing piece by piece, the glowing cracks yawning wider with every second. What little remained clung stubbornly to life, but it would not last.
Then it happened.
A roar of fire burst across the center of the arena—one of Lord Arzan’s spells, massive lances of flame streaking toward Veridia. But at the exact moment he cast, her counterattack surged through, throwing his aim off by a hair. Just enough.
Killian’s heart dropped. The barrage veered into the stands where the nobles had been seated.
Only fragments of the barrier remained there, patches of light barely holding. The first lance struck and split them apart; the next detonated the whole section into a furnace. The noble stands combusted in an instant, fire racing across wood and stone alike, devouring the place where royalty had been sitting not moments ago.
Killian froze for the briefest second, staring at the inferno. The sheer scale of the destruction was staggering. That much power, unleashed in a single misstep. He had fought beasts, bandits, even blood drinkers in his life, but this? This was devastation on a level no knight could hope to measure against.
And yet… a sliver of relief flickered in him. He was thankful, thankful that Lord Arzan had foreseen this possibility, had insisted on plans to evacuate people. Without that foresight, there would have been no avoiding it. The flames would have swallowed them whole, and both Veridia and Arzan would have borne the blame for an unthinkable massacre.
Killian’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. Lord Arzan would have carried that guilt himself, he thought grimly. The man’s shoulders already bore more than most could stand. He didn’t deserve to be crushed by a mistake born of Veridia’s chaos.
Still, there was no denying what his eyes saw. The arena was finished. The wards were shattered, the stands consumed, and both Mages fought with such abandon that the city itself now hung in the balance. If they continued unchecked, this district would be nothing but ash by sunrise.
Killian drew in a sharp breath, sweat and smoke stinging his eyes. His heart urged him to hope—hope that Lord Arzan would endure, hope that he would seize victory. But as his gaze fixed on the duel, watching both combatants hurl devastation with barely a mark marring their bodies, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Neither showed signs of slowing. Neither showed weakness.
This was no longer a contest. It was a storm. And no one could say who would still be standing when the storm finally broke.
Killian’s grip on his sword was white-knuckled as he stood there, staring at the storm of spells colliding overhead. He had lost himself for a moment—thoughts spiraling between duty, fear, and the raw spectacle of destruction unfolding before his eyes.
He was… stunned.
A sudden jerk on his shoulder snapped him back.
He spun, blade flashing upward, ready to cut down whoever had dared to touch him, only to halt when he saw Klan, the Archine Tower Mage sworn to Lord Arzan, standing there, his robes scorched and torn. Beside him was Francis, his face drawn and gray, as though ten years had been carved into him in the span of a single hour.
Francis’s voice rasped. “Why are you just standing here? We need to move out. Even you won’t be able to take one of those spells and stay standing. They’re all fourth and fifth circle spells, boy!”
Killian exhaled, forcing down the haze clouding his mind. He nodded slowly, sheathing his sword. “You’re right. Let’s go.”
The three of them pushed their way toward the exits. The ground shuddered with every explosion overhead, heat rolling off the battlefield in blistering waves. By the time they broke through the gates, the air outside felt no safer—only thinner, filled with the stink of smoke and ozone.
But there was still a crowd lingering outside the arena walls. His eyes met with the people who stood rooted in place, their faces turned upward in horrified awe as fragments of fire and lightning streaked across the sky. Others ran wildly through the streets, desperate to put distance between themselves and the arena before it collapsed. The scene was chaotic, but Killian’s eyes were drawn immediately upward.
There they were.
Lord Arzan and Magus Veridia hovered in the air above the crumbling arena, titans in the form of mortals. Lord Arzan’s blade flared with fire and ice, Veridia’s spear burned black with lightning and shadow. They clashed again and again, their weapons ringing like anvils struck by thunder.
Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd. Nobles and commoners alike stood shoulder to shoulder now—princes forced to mingle with farmers, merchants pressed against Knights—every eye fixed on the duel. For a moment, the gulf of station and birth seemed meaningless. All were simply witnesses to a destruction that none of them could stop.
But Killian’s instincts screamed that this was no place to linger. His skin prickled, the hairs on his arms rising. Danger pressed against him like a storm about to break.
And then it did.
A massive wave of heat erupted outward, washing over them like the breath of a dragon. The ground itself seemed to recoil, and arcs of lightning lanced down from the sky, hammering the arena’s remains.
Stone shattered, flames burst, and in the blink of an eye, the great walls began to crumble inward.
Killian’s stomach lurched. His voice tore out of his chest.
“Run!!”
2025-08-28 11:05:23 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 160
Yalan had been right.
The Blazing Ember Sect had indeed pitched their camp around the gorge. From the mouth of the cave where Chen Ren crouched, he counted two tents with crimson banners fluttering in the cold wind. At least fifteen cultivators lingered in sight—some standing watch with blades across their laps, others pacing the perimeter, and a few more crouched around a fire pit, turning the carcass of a beast as fat crackles rose into the air.
Every one of them was solidly mid to peak qi refinement realm. They were dangerous but nothing more than the vanguard. Yalan had already pointed out half a dozen foundation establishment cultivators concealed deeper within the gorge in different positions, waiting for instructions. And in the largest tent, Shen Linao sat, a meridian expansion realm master.
Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. He had half-hoped the man would dismiss them as trivial and send fodder, but it seemed Shen Linao’s wariness of Yalan kept him sharp. If Yalan chose to unleash herself, she could slaughter nearly every cultivator in sight—save Shen Linao—but at the cost of grievous wounds. Wounds they could not afford.
He didn’t want her vulnerable or injured in any way.
He simply kept staring at the camp from the position they were resting at. Shen Linao had truly prepared for them, there was no carelessness or indulgence.
The cave around them was narrow, barely more than a hollow in the cliff face on the gorge’s upper ridge. Snow dusted the ledge outside, and the drop beyond fell sheer into shadow. They had chosen it for concealment, but the waiting gnawed at him more than the cold ever could. The appointed time for the meeting crawled closer with each passing breath, and there was still no sign of Qing He.
He considered leaning into his backup plans, to move the board while he still had the chance. Yet his instincts resisted. He had placed his trust in her, and though trust was a brittle thing, his gut told him to hold it a little longer.
Beside him, Hong Yi sat cross-legged with his puppets arrayed like silent guards, gnawing on dried jerky they had brought for the journey. Zi Wen idly spoke in low tones to his Sori, the azure-feathered creature fluffing its wings as if pleased with the attention. Little Yuze was stationed around the valley to drop in stealthily if it came to a fight. And Yalan rested on his shoulder.
Finally, as the snow-bright gorge lay beneath them in silence, the sun climbed higher, its light slanting toward the gorge’s heart. Soon it would reach its zenith. Soon, their appointed hour would strike.
And Chen Ren knew—the waiting was nearly over. His frown deepened as his gaze slid to Yalan.
“It’s time.”
Her eyes opened. “Don’t want to delay it more.”
“We’re too close already. If we aren’t there soon, they’ll start sweeping the gorge. And even if you cleared the cultivators from around the village before leaving, they’ll send replacements sooner or later.” His eyes narrowed toward the campfires below. “I think I can keep Shen Linao busy with words until Qing He arrives.”
Yalan studied him for a long moment, then gave the faintest of nods. “Okay.”
Chen Ren turned, his gaze falling on Zi Wen and Hong Yi. “Let’s go.”
Zi Wen rose smoothly, dusting snow from his robes. Sori screeched faintly overhead, circling, her sharp eyes sweeping the camp from above. Hong Yi, by contrast, swallowed hard, glancing down toward the banners below. His knuckles whitened around his puppet’s frame as though it were a lifeline.
Step by step, they began the descent through the way they had climbed up. The path narrowed into a fork. The gorge’s chill wrapped them in silence as they wound downward, toward the waiting enemy.
Chen Ren could feel eyes on them the moment their figures broke from the cliffside. Recognition was immediate—he had no doubt Shen Linao’s disciples marked their arrival the instant they left cover. Yet none moved until the group drew closer to the camp, the crimson banners looming taller with every step.
Finally, two disciples strode out from the cluster near the fire. Their faces were twisted into cruel smiles, blades loose in their hands. One took the lead.
“I’m pretty sure the orders were for you all to arrive in a box,” the man sneered. “With only your head left inside it.”
Chen Ren almost rolled his eyes. “Call upon your master. We’re here to speak with him.”
The disciple barked a laugh. “Why not save him the trouble? I’ll just bring him your head myself.”
Chen Ren’s fist clenched, his body already leaning forward. He was a heartbeat away from striking when the air itself shifted.
Yalan’s qi flared. She did not hold back.
In an instant the two disciples were hurled down, their bodies slamming into the earth. The ground cracked beneath them with sharp reports, fissures spiderwebbing outward. Blood gushed from their nostrils, staining the snow a harsh red. Their limbs twitched, pinned by the sheer weight of her presence.
Around the camp, other disciples lurched upright, eyes wide, the easy arrogance of moments ago wiped clean. Their hands scrambled for weapons, the air ringing with sudden tension.
Chen Ren exhaled slowly, letting the silence hang over the scene. His gaze slid toward the largest tent, where he knew Shen Linao sat.
Several of the disciples around the fire bristled, their qi flaring as if to surge forward. Yet Yalan’s voice cut across the camp.
“They’re alive,” she said flatly. “Only punished for letting their mouths run. Now, where is Shen Linao? We came to speak with him, not to waste time on weaklings.”
The air shifted at once. The flap of the largest tent stirred, its edges dancing in the cold wind. From within, an old man stepped out, his presence making the very banners ripple as if bowing to him.
Shen Linao.
He looked the very part of an ancient cultivator to perfection. His beard and hair were pure white, long strands swaying like silk threads in the mountain breeze. Wrinkles etched faint lines into his face. His back was straight, his shoulders broad, and his robes of crimson-black flickered in the wind, embroidered with flame patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly with qi.
His eyes, dark as smoldering coals, scanned each of them with an expression that was extremely measured, dissecting without hurry. When they locked with Chen Ren’s, it was as though a mountain had settled before him.
“The disciples of Blazing Ember Sect,” Shen Linao’s voice rumbled, neither loud nor soft, but carrying easily through the gorge, “do not know how to measure their words. But I do not disagree with what they said.”
He paused, the faintest curl of disdain tugging at his lips.
“You were ordered to send me your heads. Alongside the enslaved beast. Yet you walk here whole and breathing. Have you decided to defy my command?”
As his words fell, a flare of qi erupted from him, scorching the air, pressing against their bodies like a blazing tide. Snow hissed, melted to steam where it touched his aura.
Chen Ren stood straight and proudly, not wanting to give an ounce of reaction. He looked at the other cultivators who were enjoying the show, before returning calmly to Shen Linao.
“I know those were your orders,” he said evenly. “But considering how many cultivators you’ve brought here, I doubt you ever believed we’d actually obey.”
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then Shen Linao scoffed, the sound sharp as stone grating against steel.
“No,” he said, eyes narrowing. “I didn’t. I thought if you were bold enough to seize what is mine, you would spit in death’s face until the last moment. That, I respect. A cultivator should not cower.”
His thick eyebrow raised.
“But respect does not mean mercy. Bold or not, defiance only earns you a slower, harsher death. You could have cut your throats in your sleep and passed painlessly. Instead…”
His aura pulsed, firelight blazing in his eyes.
“…you will writh before me.”
Chen Ren let Shen Linao’s words hang in the frosted air for a moment before answering. His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. “You are very quick to speak of death,” he said mildly. “Don’t you think introductions should come first?”
“Introductions are useless when the dead will not remember them.”
Chen Ren inclined his head slightly, as though conceding. “Perhaps. But don’t you wish to know what truly happened. How my sect and I chanced upon the vault in the first place?”
The elder’s eyes narrowed. His qi pulsed faintly, but he did not strike. “You had help,” he said at last, voice certain. “From someone of the Void Blade Sect. They knew the way, and you followed, never expecting us there.”
Chen Ren’s face betrayed no flicker of surprise. “That’s right,” he said evenly. Then he paused, taking his time, keeping the man curious. “But I should add this, I was unaware Blazing Ember Sect claimed ownership over it. According to the one who led me, the vault was simply abandoned, lying there in silence. And when we encountered your disciples… we believed them to be demonic cultivators. Surely you can understand why I suspected as such.”
At that, Shen Linao’s brows drew together. A rare crack in the mask. “Wang Fu was led astray,” he said slowly. “Whether the others followed him into that filth, I cannot say. But his ties to demonic arts were hidden from me. For that—” his teeth clicked, the word sharp “—I should thank you for killing him. If you hadn’t robbed the vault.”
Chen Ren scoffed in his mind, though outwardly he maintained his composure. So. He admits Wang Fu was tainted. Yet he disowns him at the first chance, painting ignorance. A convenient distance.
As Chen Ren had expected, old cultivators delighted in verbal sparring. To them, battles of words were as much a stage for dominance as the battlefield. And why not? If Shen Linao wished to move, he believed the fight would end in seconds. For Chen Ren, though, this verbal duel bought the only coin that mattered—time.
“You’re claiming ignorance,” Shen Linao said. “Yet did the robes of my sect not give it away? Do you mean to tell me you could not tell Blazing Ember Sect disciples from common rabble?”
Chen Ren lowered his gaze a fraction. “I must apologise, Master Shen. There are countless sects in these lands. And red—” his lips quirked faintly “—is also favored by demonic cultivators. Until we searched their bodies, we were uncertain. You understand why we might hesitate.”
“That sounds like a flimsy excuse.”
“It is what happened,” Chen Ren replied with a light shrug. “And when we discovered who they truly were, we decided it was best not to touch what we had taken. Nothing from the vault has been used. Everything is preserved, waiting for you.”
With that, Chen Ren raised his hands, fingers spreading. The gleam of several spatial rings flashed in the light, each one glinting like a lure cast into a lake of hungry fish.
Shen Linao’s eyes flickered with unmistakable greed. Around them, several disciples unconsciously took a step forward, their gazes fixed on the rings. None dared circulate qi, though—not under the invisible weight of Yalan’s killing intent.
At last Shen Linao spoke again. “You should surrender them now. Place every ring in my hand. If you do so without struggle, I will grant you mercy. A clean end. Everyone desires a painless death. Don’t you?”
“Yes. Everyone desires a painless death. But you do realize, Master Shen, that if I yield them here and now… it would mean none of your disciples will leave this gorge alive. Not a single one outside of yourself.”
His eyes swept the gathered cultivators, unhurried, sharp.
“You’ve cultivated them for years, haven’t you? Poured resources into raising them to these realms. To throw them all away in one meaningless slaughter…” He shook his head, voice dropping into a blade’s whisper. “It would all be wasted.”
A hush rippled through the camp. Some disciples stiffened, others swallowed hard.
For the first time, Shen Linao’s mask cracked.
A snarl tugged at his lips as qi burst from his body in waves, the force of it rolling through the gorge like molten fire. The ground quivered, snow hissing to steam where the heat of his presence touched.
Chen Ren braced, but the crushing weight never reached him. A cool, suffocating pressure met it—Yalan’s qi, blooming around him like an unyielding barrier. Her aura wrapped him, Zi Wen, and Hong Yi alike, a silent declaration that none would touch them while she was there.
Chen Ren inclined his head slightly toward her, then stepped into the storm with words sharp as any blade. “Don’t mistake me. I don’t have the strength to slaughter your disciples. But surely, your intentions in calling us here went beyond wanting our heads.” His eyes slid toward Yalan. “You wanted my spirit beast.”
The words hung like a hammer blow.
“A fine choice. She’s obedient enough. Loyal. A good pet.”
Yalan did not move, though her glare cut toward Shen Linao. Her claws were out, and so was her fur—all straightened, hostile toward the man.
Shen Linao licked his lips, his eyes gleaming with naked greed. “It’s true,” he admitted at last. “That beast… yes. She would serve me well enough. She’s strong, proud, yet leashed. A pity she doesn’t favor me now. I can see that. But after your death, that will change.”
Chen Ren cleared his voice loudly. “But that will cost you dearly. Yalan doesn’t bow easily. If not for my ancestors’ bindings, she would have torn me apart long ago, forget about you. She only respects strength. Try to enslave her, and the price will be blood, and not just yours. Every cultivator here would likely die before she breaks.”
No one dared to speak after that. He swept his gaze through the camp and saw it. All the men looked extremely uncomfortable. Several disciples had even gone pale, their hands twitching at their sides. His words had struck exactly where he intended.
It’s working, Chen Ren thought. Qing He had told him that divination of this scale would have demanded sacrifices. If Shen Linao had already bled some of his sect for knowledge, then the last thing he would want was to waste more lives here.
A sect lived and died not only on its peak experts but on the broad shoulders of its foundation—its early and middle realm cultivators, its disciplined ranks. And Shen Linao, no matter his arrogance, had shown his hand. The sheer number of cultivators he had gathered here was proof enough that he feared what Yalan might unleash.
Chen Ren’s eyes lingered on Shen Linao. Come then, old monster. Every word you give me is another breath of time. Every glare, another chance Qing He draws closer.
Shen Linao’s scowl deepened, lines creasing his weathered face. “What are you getting at?”
“That there’s a way to prevent needless destruction. A way to avoid all this damage.”
The old cultivator let out a sharp laugh, low and mocking. “You expect me to let you walk away? To bargain your life for the spirit beast?”
“Don’t you think it’s a fair offer?” Chen Ren asked softly.
Shen Linao pulled the ends of his white beard. “It’s something to consider… but your beast barely managed to kill Wang Fu. Hardly the strength you claim.”
“She’s grown since then. And you forget, she was taken back because he was a demonic cultivator. You don’t think she could do much damage now? I’m pretty sure she can do a lot of damage to you all”
Every word that followed that was another question, every sentence pulled Shen Linao into an answer. Back and forth they spoke, the elder’s disdain never faded, not even once. Yet Chen Ren felt it. The old man’s patience was fraying, his qi pressing heavier. The storm of his killing intent edged toward eruption.
Chen Ren hid his satisfaction behind steady eyes.
Sadly, there was still no sign of Qing He.
Then, as Shen Linao’s lip curled in disgust, Yalan’s voice brushed across Chen Ren’s mind. “He’s about to move. Be ready.”
Chen Ren almost nodded. But before he could, Shen Linao’s roar shook the gorge.
“Enough!”
His qi surged, erupting outward in a tidal wave of blazing heat. “I am not here to debate with insects. I asked for something, and I will fucking take it!”
The ground split beneath the weight of his aura, stones cracking and snow hissing into steam. All at once, his disciples moved, weapons drawn, qi blazing, rushing toward Chen Ren’s group like a crimson tide.
Shen Linao’s own presence slammed forward, a crushing force that sought to pulp Chen Ren where he stood.
However, Yalan's qi burst and stretched like an eruption of blades before it could reach him. Her frigid aura locked with Shen Linao's fire in a collision that shook the gorge as the shield she had constructed illuminated against the blazing wave.
Disciples closed in, their shouts rising—
—and then it came.
A shrill sound cut through the battlefield.
In the next heartbeat, cultivators around Shen Linao faltered completely. Some fell, clutching their heads. Others collapsed outright, bodies jerking before blood sprayed from their nostrils, staining the snow in bright rivulets.
Shen Linao’s eyes snapped wide, his fury momentarily pierced by shock. His gaze swept the battlefield, searching for where the attack had come from.
Using the distraction, Yalan pressed against him, her qi straining to overpower him.
Then, above them all, out of nowhere, a voice rang out.
“Enough.”
The word echoed through the sky, and for an instant the world froze.
2025-08-28 11:04:02 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 269
Kai didn’t keep his eyes matched with Veridia for long. There was no point in staring her down now; the real exchange would come soon enough. Instead, he let his steps carry him further toward the arena’s center.
The first thing that caught his eye was the lower stands, where the commoners were packed shoulder to shoulder. In the middle of the sea of faces and the wild cheers, a massive banner stretched across dozens of hands. The letters were bold and uneven, but what drew a chuckle from him was what was written. “Lord Arzan, you're going to win.”
Malden stood proudly in front of it, as if the banner was his personal standard carried into battle.
Kai shook his head faintly and let his gaze climb higher, up to the noble tiers where the nobles were supposed to be. He recognised more than a few faces. He recalled some from the banquet, the ones who had smiled too politely at him. Others were new, drawn from every faction in the kingdom, even those who prided themselves on neutrality were here. They had all gathered, whether out of loyalty, suspicion or hunger for a good spectacle.
His eyes found his allies easily in the crowd. Francis, Leopold, Duke Blackwood, they all stood there. Beyond them, the heavy ranks of Dukes, Count, and Marquises filled their seats.
It was almost like the entire kingdom nobility was watching. Above them, higher still, sat the princes.
Kai’s eyes lingered on Amara first. She met his gaze with a smile, not a wide smile, but enough for Kai to know she saw him too. Next to her was Eldric, his face fixed in that frown that seemed carved into his bones. And flanking them, two princes he had not yet met. Aldrin, the second lifted a hand and waved at him, while the third, Thalric merely leaned forward, studying the sands that suggested impatience rather than interest, as if silently asking when the duel would finally begin.
Kai looked away.
Across the arena walls, there were Adept Mages that belonged to the Archine Tower. Their presence was reassuring, though only in theory. He told himself he didn’t need to worry for the crowd’s safety with them stationed there. He told himself they could contain the worst of what might unfold. And yet, a part of him doubted even Adepts could truly restrain what was coming.
He let his gaze sweep the arena one last time, imprinting the moment in his mind. The banners, the nobles, the princes, the Mage-guards—all of it pressing in around the circle of sand where only he and Veridia would matter.
Turning slightly, he whispered to Killian.
“Go. Find a comfortable seat. And make sure the people have paths to run if things go wrong.”
“I will have men everywhere,” Killian said. Then he vanished into the swell of the stands, leaving Kai standing alone on the sands.
Kai turned his attention back to Veridia. She gave him a single nod. He returned it in kind. None of them said anything. Unlike Reyk, Kai knew there won’t be childish taunts, no back-and-forth insults to feed the crowd. This was war, just dressed as a duel. Their silence said more than words ever could.
Their attention then shifted together toward the referee; who looked like he did not want to be there. The man looked miserable, covered in sweat. His hands twitched at his sides as if they’d rather be clutching anything but his staff. His eyes nervously darted between Kai and Veridia, like a lamb placed in between two lions.
Still, he stepped forward into the center and raised his hand.
The crowd’s noise pressed down, a wave of shouts and cheers that shook the air. The referee swallowed hard, and then his voice boomed, amplified by a spell that gave him command even over the roar.
“Gathered ladies and gentlemen,” his voice was loud. “Today we are gathered to witness one of the most prolific duels of the century!” his hand swept dramatically toward Veridia. “On one side, Magus Veridia, Tower Master of the Archine Tower!”
Another wave of applause and cheers followed. The nobles clapped politely while the commoners roared.
The referee’s hand shifted to Kai. “And on the other—Mage Arzan Kellius, son of a Duke’s line, the rising star who has stood against the deadly plague itself!”
The arena erupted for the next minute.
When the noise finally ebbed, the referee’s face grew taut again. His voice dropped lower, gaining everyone’s attention. “The rules are simple. After discussion with both participants, killing has been permitted.”
The word killing rippled through the crowd. Some faces twisted in horror, not at the thought that one of the duelists might die, but at what that death would cost. Spells at higher circles did not do damage to just the opponent.
The referee pressed on. “It remains discouraged. But each of you may use anything on your person—weapon, potion, artifact. You’re allowed to use them. Forbidden techniques, obviously, are banned. The duel will end upon surrender, or when one combatant is dead.”
He paused, swallowed and looked between them. For a moment, he stared at Kai, as though silently apologizing for standing so close.
“The right to act first,” he continued, raising a small silver disc between two fingers. “Will be decided by coin toss. Both participants, please step forward.”
Kai moved, staring down at the sand shifting beneath his boots. When he looked up, Magus Veridia was gliding to meet him, her cloak sweeping like a shadow. Up close, he noticed it: the faint sheen beneath the folks of purple. Enchanted armour plates, layered carefully beneath her robes. Not one piece or two, but an entire set, humming with seals.
Whenever she moved, every inch of her radiated. Kai’s lips curved faintly, though not in humor.
The referee’s hand trembled slightly as he held the silver coin, its surface catching the sun. He cleared his throat. “What do you choose?”
“Heads,” Kai said first.
“Tails,” Veridia followed.
The coin spun skyward, flashing in arcs of light before clattering down into the referee’s palm. He turned it over, and the breath of thousands seemed to hold for a single heartbeat.
“Tails,” he announced. “Magus Veridia wins the toss. She will cast first.”
The crowd roared. The referee didn’t linger—he tucked the coin away and, with more haste than dignity, bolted from the sands, robes snapping behind him.
And then there were only two.
Veridia’s eyes locked on him. “Let’s start the show, shall we?”
The words were scarcely past her mouth when mana burst from her. It came in waves, rippling through the arena like heat off the desert. The ground beneath her groaned, cracked, then shattered as raw power surged into it.
Kai’s instincts screamed. He leapt skyward in an instant, wings of wind mana propelling him into the open air. A heartbeat later, the earth split wide as molten fire erupted upward, geysers of magma clawed for the sky, where he had been standing.
He veered aside, but more pillars exploded. He criss-crossed through the air in jarring arcs. Each path he took, another erupted and chased him. Fire and molten stone clawed up to drag him down. And he knew, it was intentional on her part. Veridia was herding, dictating his movement, luring him toward something unseen.
So he kept his eyes fixed on her. She stood where she had begun, unmoving amid the inferno. But then, his senses screamed again.He snapped his gaze upward.
A shadow fell over him.
There she was—Veridia, not below but above, descending in silence. A blade of condensed shadow longer than a man’s height cleaved downward, aimed to cut him in half.
Kai’s barrier flared, wind screaming around him as the blade struck. The impact rippled through him, air shuddering as the weapon bit deep, nearly cutting through the barrier’s spinning layers. He twisted, retreating with a burst of force, barely escaping the blade’s edge as Veridia plummeted.
She crashed into the earth, the shockwave scattering magma in every direction. The fire swallowed her whole, coiling around her like an embrace, yet she did not burn.
Hovering above, Kai tightened his barrier, reinforcing the spinning layers of wind that kept him aloft.
His eyes narrowed as he studied her below. In just a handful of movements, she had already revealed them—three affinities. Earth, fire and shadow, the first two combined to become magma and the third being used for illusions.
Kai knew that wasn’t the end of it. Veridia had been known as the strongest Mage in the kingdom for too long to be defined by only two tricks.
The ground below split again, geysers of molten stone clawing upward, one after another. But Kai didn’t retreat. He surged forward, through the eruptions away from them. Heat licked at his barrier, searing the air around them, but he carved a direct path to her, cutting through the inferno.
He had nearly closed the distance when her hands rose again. The runes flared in a pattern that Kai recognized instantly.
Not this again.
He dropped low, and a wave of molten fire screamed over his head, trailing heat and sparks. The breath of it singed his barrier, but he didn’t waste the moment. The space between spells was fleeting, but it was enough.
He was on her in an instant, flame swirling around his palm, coalescing into a spear of burning light. With a snap of his arm, he slashed downward.
A weapon met his own.
He internally cursed as he saw a blade of shadow unfold from the folds of her cloak. The clash rang out, flames against shadow. For a brief second, he saw how the ground beneath them spiderwebbed out as the shock of their strike rolled across the arena.
The crowd cheered loudly with several gasping at the power on display.
Veridia’s eyes gleamed behind her blade. “You’ve already lasted three seconds longer than my last opponent. Impressive.”
“I should say the same about you. Though I would’ve been more surprised by that magma blast… if you hadn’t used it so often in your early days.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Oh? Someone has done his research… I like that.”
But Kai didn’t answer. He already started to feel it—the shift in mana, the subtle distortion along the edge of his flame-spear. Her shadows were eating into it, unraveling the weapon strand by strand. He had been waiting for this exact moment.
The instant the spear began to dissolve, he turned sharply, his other hand already raised. Mana surged outward, spinning into a whirling vortex.
The tornado exploded from his palm, ripping through the air with a deafening howl. It slammed into Veridia’s silhouette, tearing through the shadows. The figure disintegrated into wisps of darkness, shredded by the storm.
And then the tornado struck the ground, ripping stone and sand into the air as it hurled Veridia’s true body back across the arena floor. The impact cracked the earth, scattering debris.
For the first time, the Tower Master had been forced to yield ground.
Unfortunately, Veridia didn’t stay pinned for long. A torrent of mana burst out of her body, a tidal wave of force that shredded the tornado into tatters. The storm Kai had conjured was swallowed whole, torn apart by sheer willpower.
Kai had hoped she’d falter, stumble into her own magma pillars and take herself down with her arrogance. But luck, it seemed, had no role here.
He didn’t hesitate. Mana surged from him in return, flames coiling at his command. Dozens of small fiery projectiles bloomed into the air, each one wrapped in a sheath of wind that bent them into perfect, spear-like missiles. With a flick of his hand, they shrieked downward.
They tore through the forest of magma towers, carving paths of steam and sparks, before slamming into Veridia’s form.
The impact rocked the arena.
Heat washed over the crowd even through the protective wards. Kai’s eyes blinked towards the sand and stone that lifted in a wave, the shock rattling the air with deafening thunder.
Kai hovered, narrowing his eyes at the roiling smoke.
But as it cleared, the space where she had stood was empty.
A frown creased his brow. He launched higher into the air, scanning the battlefield, senses spread wide. Yet all he found was fire, stone, and ruin. No Veridia.
Until—
A ripple of mana that didn’t belong to magma or shadows got his attention.
He jerked his head upward.
High above, Veridia hung suspended, her legs wreathed in shadows keeping her aloft. In her hands, black lightning danced. Crackling across her fingers with a sound like the tearing of metal.
She thrust it downward.
Kai’s mana surged forth, winds screaming around him as he raised both arms. A torrent of air shot skyward, meeting the strike head-on. Lightning and wind slammed into each other, two elements vying for dominance. The clash twisted into a sphere of chaotic energy, growing brighter, heavier, feeding on itself until it detonated.
The blast tore the sky apart.
The explosion hurled a shockwave across the arena, snapping banners from poles and pushing back even the wards cast by the Adepts on the perimeter. Wind howled through the stands, carrying screams and cheers alike, while in the center Kai was flung backward, his barrier groaning under the strain.
He righted himself in the air, jaw tightening, eyes fixed on Veridia.
The duel had barely started, and already she had wielded fire, earth, shadow, and lightning. Affinities that few Mages would ever touch in a lifetime together, yet she commanded them as if they were mere tools.
Kai’s frown deepened. He had read the records, searched through what scraps the Tower allowed the world to see. Veridia was no ordinary Magus. She was said to wield one of the rarest collections of affinities ever recorded in the kingdom, perhaps in the entire continent. A quad-affinity Mage.
And now, face-to-face with her, Kai could feel it.
The truth of that power was far more terrifying than the ink on any parchment.
But nowhere had they said she could weave her shadow into everything—a venom threading itself through fire, through lightning, through even the very ground she commanded. He had suspected she might hold something back from the archives, but this? This was mastery sharpened by… decades.
For once, he admitted it, he had underestimated her.
And yet, even as the weight of that truth pressed against him, a grin tugged at his lips. How long had it been since he had felt this? That spark of danger in his chest, that thrill that came only when someone across from him was not prey to be put down, but a predator clawing at his throat. It had been years, no, lifetimes. Beasts he had crushed, creatures he had faced, but they had been simple. This… this was different. A true Mage duel.
The smoke roiled thickly around him, a choking veil that muted the roar of the crowd. His senses prickled.
The haze parted just enough to reveal them.
Snakes. Born of shadow-bound lightning, their scales rippling with black sparks, their maws glowing as they hissed forward. It was too close and too sudden, there was no room for another elaborate weave.
Kai dropped low, hands flaring. His own spell structure snapped into place in an instant, lines of flame and wind locking together. From its heart, figures burst forth—knights clad in firelit steel, wings of storm and wind unfurling from their backs.
Unlike the ones he had unleashed against Khorvash, these were not bound to the earth. They soared.
With a clash of steel and a shriek of wings, the knights met the serpents. Their blades cut through scales of lightning, severing heads and tails as bursts of black sparks rained across the battlefield.
A single beat later, the knights’ wings snapped open. Gales roared across the arena, scattering the smoke like it had never been there. In an instant, the battlefield was clear again.
And there she was.
Veridia hovered across from him, robes whipping in the updraft, her face lit by the glow of residual magma dying below. No more pillars rose from the earth—her first act was spent. Now, it was Mage against Mage in the sky.
That made the entire arena stand up, cheering in approval. Nobles, commoners were all on their feet.
Kai raised a hand, fingers tightening into command. The three knights wheeled midair, and shot forward like arrows loosed from the same bowstring.
They streaked across the arena, blades raised, fire and wind screaming in their wake—aimed straight at the Tower Master.
Both her hands immediately glowed with spell structures, runes coiled and snapped into place with an insane speed. From her right, a spear of black lightning crackled outward, shrieking through the air toward one of Kai’s conjured knights. The knight raised its flaming blade, blocking the strike. Sparks hissed and scattered like a storm of razors as the weapon absorbed the impact.
Her left hand flared an instant later. Magma burst forth in a sweeping wave, a tide of molten rock hurled skyward toward his other summons. The air itself shimmered with heat as the molten mass surged forward, forcing the knights to cut through it or be consumed.
One did. Pushing through the inferno, wings of wind beating furiously, the knight closed the distance and brought its blade down in a perfect arc toward her chest.
But Veridia’s eyes narrowed. The lightning in her hand twisted, lengthened, and in a breath it reshaped into a sword. She caught the blow at the very last instant, the clash ringing out. Then her arm rose again—an overhead swing so sharp and brutal it cleaved through the knight’s form. The construct shattered into flame and wind, vanishing into sparks.
Above, Kai’s brows flicked upward. He hadn’t expected her to dismantle his manifestation so quickly. His wind barrier flared against the scattered magma that reached him. The impact softened by a sheen of frost that shone faintly over its surface.
His spell structure, already humming with gathered mana, reached its apex. He raised both hands, and with a guttural exhale, he poured everything into a single concentrated beam.
The air split.
A lance of searing light shot across the arena, straight for Veridia just as she dispatched a second knight. For the first time, her eyes widened. She snapped her head toward it, cloak flaring—
And then her body rippled.
In an instant, the sky filled with her. Dozens of Veridias unfolded in layers, shadowy doubles cloaked in the same violet haze, each moving with the same perfect grace. Illusions—it was one of the old tricks of the shadow element.
In return, Kai’s beam tore through them. Each false Veridia flickered and died under its touch, collapsing into smoke. Part of the beam scorched the arena wall, slamming into the protective wards. The barrier shrieked under the strain, a visible crack webbing across it before the Adept Mages scrambled to reinforce it.
It was a pleasant surprise that the wards held on for this long.
But Kai ignored it, his eyes hunting the sea of shadows.
There you are, Kai thought to himself as he saw a twitch on one of their faces that no illusion could perfectly emulate.
With a twist of his arm, he swung the beam sideways, slashing into the empty air.
The true Veridia appeared mid-step, her eyes widening as the beam struck her shoulder.
“Fuck!”
She cried out, smoke and steam bursting from the wound as the fabric burned and the flesh beneath seared. Her body wrenched backward, tumbling toward the ground in a trail of blackened sparks.
She hit the arena floor hard, staggering to one knee, clutching her shoulder with a grimace.
High above, Kai hovered, the air whipping in violent currents around him. His barrier shimmered faintly, smoke trailing from his palms where mana still burned hot. He looked down on her.
And yet—
Both of them smiled.
Veridia, through gritted teeth, gave a grin of challenge. Kai, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration, lips curved up in challenge.
For all the pain, for all the danger, they were both exactly where they wanted to be.
The battle had only just begun.
2025-08-26 10:06:43 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 159
The carriage rolled through the snow-laden terrain at a sluggish crawl, its wheels groaning with every turn as frost bit into the wooden spokes. More than once, the horses had to halt, steam pouring from their muzzles, while Zi Wen lifted his hand from the driver’s bench. Qi rippled outward from his fingers, sweeping the road clean of snow in a shimmer of pale blue light before they could press on again.
Chen Ren, eyes half lidded, focused on the sound of the stops, his brain stirring thoughts he shouldn’t have had time for. An enchanted carriage, he thought to himself. He’d heard of them before.
The clans and sects flaunted them as much for convenience as for status. The Guardian Sects even went beyond that—he remembered gliding in their skyship. It had been smooth, convenient and way too fancy.
Compared to that, this journey felt like dragging one’s feet through tar.
Maybe it was a business idea to think about later. It certainly wouldn’t be bad. But now, time was the one thing their halting progress gave him in excess, and he had no choice but to use it well.
Unlike his earlier schemes, this plan somehow had to work. Failure meant corpses in the snow.
Though he actually doubted that part. He had much more power than he let on, especially with the dragon. Though still wounded, the advice it had given was enough for Chen Ren to bet that if things actually went wrong, it would appear.
Yet Chen Ren refused to place his life—or theirs—entirely in the claws of a half-healed guardian.
So he had set pieces in motion, contingencies layered upon contingencies. And if fortune smiled, Qing He would cut through the chaos and turn defeat into victory.
For now, however, his words had a simpler purpose.
“Calm yourself, Hong Yi,” Chen Ren said, though his companion’s trembling was loud enough to rival the creak of the wheels.
The man sat hunched in the corner, knuckles bone-white, eyes darting to the windows and back at him again. He had argued against coming until the last moment, and even now his body screamed reluctance. Only the silent puppets seated beside him—faceless, stiff, their lacquered joints whispering faintly whenever the carriage rocked—reminded Chen Ren why he had insisted on dragging him here. Without Hong Yi and his constructs, he wouldn't have one of the contingencies plan.
“Everything will be fine,” Chen Ren repeated, not so much to reassure as to tether the man to his seat. “The pieces are in place. All you need to do is what you’ve always done.”
But Hong Yi’s silence was a brittle shield, his fear thicker than the snow outside.
Chen Ren closed his eyes briefly, feeling the rumble of the wheels beneath his boots.
Zi Wen rode at the front, his qi flaring faintly each time snow piled too high for the horses to push through. Ahead, the road wound pale and endless, but the carriage behind felt more suffocating than the storm outside.
Feiyu and Yalan had already gone two days ahead with a handful of mortals, carrying their share of the plan. Qing He was hopefully succeeding in the errand Chen Ren had asked of her. He tried not to think too hard about her absence; his trust in her steadied him more than he’d admit.
The head, Wang Jun, had been the loudest in his protests, but Chen Ren had left him behind. He could not risk dragging the head into the jaws of the Blazing Ember Sect only to watch him be snatched away. He was useless in battle, and a burden in strategy. He had placed him under Xiulan’s care instead, with instructions that would hopefully keep both of them alive.
As for Li Xuan, half a mind had tempted Chen Ren to bring him along, but suspicion was a burden he could not ignore. The beast rising was still gnawing at the village, and Li Xuan’s steady hand through the winter proved valuable enough to warrant his station. Chen Ren had only told him, “I’ll explain later.” when the man had asked where he was going again with everyone else. Sometimes that was enough; sometimes it had to be.
That left him with Hong Yi.
The man broke the silence again, voice tight, eyes fixed on the frost gathering at the corners of the window. “I really think we should just run away. The Kalian Empire is vast. If we go to the capital—”
“For the fourth time,” Chen Ren muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Hong Yi pressed on, desperate. “It’s big. I know. Bigger than Cloud Mist City, bigger than ten of them together. We can hide there. No sect will find us.”
Chen Ren turned his gaze on him, dark eyes holding no warmth. “Have you ever been to the capital?”
The words cut through Hong Yi’s rambling like a blade. He froze, blinked, then muttered, “...No. But it’s big.”
A sigh slipped from Chen Ren.“Yes, it is. And the Emperor is my uncle. He’ll surely welcome us with open arms.”
“Really?” Hong Yi immediately straightened, widening his eyes.
Chen Ren’s scowl was answer enough. “Obviously not. Do you know how many people are murdered in that city every day?”
“Why would I know that?” He shook his head uneasily.
“Exactly. You don’t. But I do. And if you think the jaws of the Blazing Ember Sect are dangerous, you’ve never seen the maw of the imperial capital. The capital devours men like you before you even set foot in its gates. On average, it’s around two hundred to three hundred people. Murdered here and there. That’s just the bodies they bother to find.”
Hong Yi’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking as if the snow outside had blinded him. “You’re bluffing.”
“I’m not.” Chen Ren’s reply was flat. “I asked Tang Yuqiu a while back. She told me the numbers. Easy enough to find if you know which tongues to loosen. And a good number of those corpses? Cultivators. Hong Yi, you need to understand that the capital is massive with a lot of powers there. Of course, there’s no saying that the Blazing Ember Sect won’t be able to get there, especially with the demonic cultivator connection. But this, this is the only way forward—we’ve to face them head-on, and let the pieces fall into place.”
For a long breath, Hong Yi didn’t respond. He stared at him like a ghost, but finally, his head dipped. Dissatisfaction bled across his features, but he said nothing more.
One of the puppets beside him stirred. Its lacquered hand, stiff but deliberate, rested lightly on Hong Yi’s shoulder. A gesture of comfort, though its painted face showed none. Chen Ren’s brow twitched. Did he… teach them that?
The thought passed, swept away by the cold rush of wind through the carriage slats. His attention shifted outward, toward the fleeting blur of the snowbound landscape. They were getting close. He could tell.
Two days had already passed since their journey began. From the first morning, Zi Wen had reported five qi refinement cultivators tailing them, their presence detected by the keen senses of Little Yuze and Sori, the striker beak, a Tier 2 aerial beast that was small enough but sharp-eyed to prove its worth tenfold. Both the beast had taken care of the cultivators.
The Blazing Ember Sect had kept their distance since, but Chen Ren couldn’t feel safe or comfortable right now, no matter what, knowing what was going to come next.
He touched his chest briefly, and thought about his star space. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten any time to learn about soul cultivation or look for manuals on body cultivation. So, it still lay fractured, unstable, a burden that he hadn’t been able to mend.
Chen Ren only hoped he wouldn’t have to strain himself in the battle ahead. Plans could be made and allies relied upon, but in the end, his body was still a cage with broken bars.
Like that, the carriage pressed on. From time to time, Hong Yi traded places with Zi Wen on the driver’s seat, his nervous hands stiff on the reins. Even Chen Ren took a turn, sitting at the front with the snow whipping at his face. It was a skill he’d never thought to learn before—driving a carriage—but with every creak of the harness and snap of the reins, he forced the rhythm into memory.
Hours passed by them, one after another, he stared at the snow veiling the mountains until the gorge loomed nearer. Then, when Hong Yi was driving, Zi Wen stiffened. Sori let out a shrill cry somewhere beyond the trees, its feathers pulsing with qi. Zi Wen locked eyes with Chen Ren.
“Sori sees Yalan coming,” he said.
Chen Ren nodded, rising to his feet. “Hong Yi, slow the carriage!”
The wheels protested, hooves stamping clouds of frost as the carriage rolled to a halt.
Chen Ren stepped down first, boots sinking into the snow. Zi Wen followed, and from the far side, Hong Yi emerged, a puppet trundling at his shoulder.
They stood on a narrow path cut along the slope, the cliffs pressing tight on either side. Below stretched the descent into the gorge—an endless maw of stone and shadow. Somewhere down there, the Blazing Ember Sect would be waiting. But this place, at least, should still be beyond their sight.
“Where is she?” Hong Yi asked, looking around. The man’s restlessness spread in waves.
Zi Wen held up a hand as Little Yuze peeked his head out from one of the trees. “Sori saw her. Wait.”
Chen Ren’s breath frosted in the air. He stilled, senses straining, and then, there. A ripple of qi brushed faintly against his skin.
From above, a figure dropped onto a snow-laden branch, the wood bending under her weight before she pushed off and landed lightly on the ground. Yalan stretched, and shook off the snow that was on her fur.
“Travelling this stretch wasn’t easy.” She licked her paws as if trying to clean herself. “I’ve got snow all over me. And a pesky snow leopard thought I was worth chasing. Barely bigger than a cub. So I just scared it off.”
“But you still made it in time. Are they already there?”
Yalan’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. They’ve almost finished setting up camp, and their scouts have already swept the surroundings. The only reason I slipped past was because Shen—” her lip curled faintly "—Linao loves nothing more than drowning his disciples in tasks. They’re incompetent enough that I slipped through the cracks.”
“And Feiyu? The others?”
“Far. Far enough to avoid detection. Those little toys of his are more useful than I expected. The mortals are scared, of course, but Feiyu’s keeping them steady. But… no sign of Qing He.”
Chen Ren exhaled, breath misting in the cold. “We’ll delay as long as we can, but we need to be there when the meeting begins. If we’re late, they’ll spread more cultivators across the valley. Slipping through will only get harder.”
Yalan continued her self-grooming. “Then we move with the tide. Still—” her eyes swept the gorge, the cliffs—“I hope your plan holds. It’s… too full of variables.”
Chen Ren’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but there was no humor in it. “I have backups.”
“And backups can fail.” Yalan countered. “I know you’re doing everything you can, but sometimes all your scheming won’t matter. Sometimes you need fate to turn its head your way.”
Chen Ren sighed. “More than fate, it depends on Qing He. If she succeeds, then everything else falls into place.”
Zi Wen, who had been silent at the side, spoke at last. “Do you think she can? Do what you asked of her?”
“I hope so. But whether this plan lives or dies… it depends on how quickly she can move. I’m certain, even now, she’s forcing herself past her limits. Doing her best.”
***
Qing He flew deeper into the heart of the volcanic mountain, heat rushing her from all sides like an eager predator. The air itself writhed in fire, and she saw pools—no, rivers of molten rock spilling from cracks in the walls and glowing like veins of liquid jade. The suffocating heat should have been unbearable but her qi wrapped around her, protecting her from the flames as she slid through the sweltering dark.
The ambience reminded her of the old days—days she spent hunched over in alchemy furnaces. A corner of her heart almost missed it, the intoxicating balance of fire and essence. The other part scoffed at herself for such weakness. Why long for those suffocating halls? Her current life was far freer. There were no posturing elders, no endless demands from sect leaders who wanted her skill but not her independence.
Still, she couldn’t help but smirk, remembering the look on their faces. How many times had some puffed-up elder tried to throw his weight at her, only for her temper, and her fists to cut him down to size? She had to admit, the most satisfying part was never the fight itself, but watching those men crawl to the sect leader with their grievances, whimpering like beaten children. And to then see them disciplined instead of her? A sweetness she still savored.
Her lips curved faintly at the memory, then froze.
A flicker of movement in the corner of her vision snapped her mind back to the present. She stilled mid-flight, qi pulsing under her skin as she pivoted. Three shapes emerged from the haze, silhouettes rippling in the heat.
They were twisted creatures created from stone and fire, monsters. Slit pupils glowed like incandescent embers, wolfish frames strained with reptile scales, claws scratching at the charred rock. Their muscles trembled, tensed for aggression.
Qing He hovered in place. The twitches in their movements were signs that they were going to attack soon, but she simply stayed there, waiting for it.
Before she could finish counting to ten, the left-corner creature lunged. Its maw gaping as it belched a stream of molten lava. The river of fire hissed against her barrier, but she didn’t flinch. Her qi surged outward, flaring with killing intent. The protective barrier around her solidified, firmed up and clenched together until a blade of pure qi formed in the air before her.
She didn’t play with them, no, she didn’t have time. And with a single stroke, the sword cut the beast down.
It split apart mid-leap, its body cleaved clean in two. Scalding blood sprayed into the air, evaporating instantly against the heat of the surrounding. The sword of qi pulsed once, then darted toward the remaining two.
They barely had time to snarl. One after the other, they were carved apart, their death cries smothered in the roar of the lava streams.
Their corpses collapsed into the molten rock below, and in that instant, the force sustaining them—the strange qi that let them endure such a place—bled away. Their flesh blackened, dissolved, and was gone.
Qing He exhaled softly, watching their remnants vanish. Her fingers curled, steady on the flow of her qi, but her eyes grew colder.
So this mountain has beasts too… and if three of these linger at the edges, what waits deeper inside?
The heat devoured the corpses as if the mountain itself wished to erase them. Flesh bubbled, scales sloughed, and in moments nothing remained but drifting ash. Qing He’s lips curved faintly. She liked that—the clean finality of it.
Just two days ago, in another mountain’s depths, she had not been so lucky. No rivers of lava then, only stone and stale air. When she felled a Tier 3 beast that fancied itself ruler of the cavern, she had been forced to spend long moments melting every last scrap of its carcass with controlled fire. A tedious task, but necessary. Qing He despised leaving traces. More than once, her “carelessness” had drawn storms upon her head across the centuries. It was a lesson she no longer needed to relearn.
Once her senses assured her no other beasts prowled nearby, she drifted deeper. The heat wrapped around her, but her qi barrier held steady, shimmering with faint distortions against the waves of molten air. Let this be the last, she thought.
She did not relish the alternative. If her quarry wasn’t here, then she would have no choice but to intervene directly—tear her way to Chen Ren and the others, and fight by their side. She had no hatred for the boy. On the contrary, he was tolerable, even amusing at times. But she had already glimpsed enough shadows around him to know he carried secrets thick as armor. She preferred to watch from a distance, to maintain the illusion that she was simply a wandering cultivator with convenient strength. A mirage of power, not its full reality. Once illusions shattered, they could never be woven again.
Four sites she had searched already. Four hidden places scoured clean, but they were all empty. Two had yielded artifacts worth pocketing—glittering blades of curious make, a ring that hummed faintly with spiritual light. Trifles to her, perhaps, but treasures enough to make decent gifts if those children trailing after Chen Ren survived long enough to grow into them.
But this time—this one—she willed it to be different.
She rounded a jagged bend where the rock narrowed, shadows curling across her path. Her qi surged without hesitation, a ripple spreading out like water through the stone. And there it was: a wall.
Quite normal to untrained eyes, but her senses sang with certainty. This was no wall—it was a concealment.
Sects adored hiding their secrets in places like this, mountain hearts and volcanic wombs. Their arrogance was always the same: No one will dare reach so deep.
Qing He lifted her hand. Power rolled from her fingers, and the air warped as her qi pressed outward. The false wall trembled, cracked, then peeled apart under invisible force, opening a gaping wound in the cavern. A hole yawned into darkness.
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of anticipation breaking through her mask. If you’re here, then the boy’s plan might yet hold. If not… then he and his little entourage will suffer longer than they realize.
With a final breath, she stepped forward, into whatever secret the mountain had been guarding.
2025-08-26 10:04:40 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 268
Prince Eldric walked down the stairs towards the arena. Two new Knights flanked him, their armors moving with a metallic sound that made his jaw tighten every time they moved. His mother’s doing, of course. Word of the incident with the previous pair had reached her ears faster than he had thought would be possible, and his mother—she’d wasted no time in replacing them.
The entire ordeal was annoying as it is, and to make things worse, the two men were the hardened kind. Showed no emotions, and their voices were reduced to curt nods of “yes” and “no”. They had quite the attitude, but not to sneer or roll their eyes when they thought he wasn’t looking. Not the type to give him the excuse he craved.
It irked him. He wanted the chance to make someone pay, to lash out, to feel the burn of his own anger validated. Instead, he was left with silence, and silence was boring.
He turned his attention outward, to the swell of sound that rose from the arena. Even this early, the stands groaned under the weight of bodies. And it all blended together into a ceaseless roar that made his ribs vibrate.
Eldric had heard they’d opened the gates to the commoners today, giving them space in the lower rows. The noise alone confirmed it.
He didn’t mind them much. Commoners were harmless, poor and pliant things who gawked at royalty as though gods had deigned to walk among them. That part, he enjoyed. He could almost forgive their smell and their lack of manners for the way their eyes shone with awe when they looked at him. Almost.
Step by step, he climbed higher. At the first balcony he slowed, the air thick with perfume and the rustle of fine silks. The lower nobles were already packed into their section, voices dropping to hushes as he appeared. One by one they rose. Eldric didn’t spare them more than a glance. Let them stand, let them bow—he moved past without acknowledgment.
He moved to the next floor where his seat was. A relic of his father’s decree. He remembered once coming here often, sitting under his mother’s sharp gaze as Knights clashed and mages unleashed their fury on the sand below. She had wanted him to be one of them—a warrior Mage, a champion for the house. But when it became clear he would never be, other lessons swallowed his days, and the arena faded into a memory.
Yet no one used the seat. It was something no one could claim.
But as he reached the top floor, everything else blurred inside his mind because of the sharp stab of irritation that seized him. His eyes narrowed.
Someone was sitting in his seat.
He wrinkled his nose, clicking his tongue.
Few would dare such a thing. Only blood of the royal line had the right, and of them all, only one had the gall to make it a deliberate insult.
Thalric.
His brother lounged across the carved chair as though it were his throne already, his bulk filling the space in a way that Eldric did not remember. The boy he had once known had been short and wimpy, but now he seemed to have been replaced by a man gone broad in shoulder and thick in arm. How? Eldric had no idea.
Thalric’s grin split his face the instant their eyes met, a grin wide enough to show teeth, ugly enough to make him look orc-blooded. He didn’t rise. He didn’t even incline his head. Instead, his voice boomed with mocking warmth:
“Brother, how pleasant to see you. I see your mother has permitted you a taste of today’s entertainment.”
Eldric’s frown deepened, his words making his stomach clench with anger.
“You will refer to her as Queen Regina, nothing less. And I have not come here for entertainment. My subject is fighting today.”
Thalric’s brow arched, and that toothy grin stretched wider. “Your subject? Ah, You mean Magus Veridia? Strange. I had thought she was your master once. And isn’t she far too old to be claimed as anyone’s subject now?”
A flicker of heat rose to Eldric’s cheeks, though he smothered it beneath practiced disdain.
“That is none of your concern. Return to your own place. I sit at the center as the eldest.”
Thalric leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “No. You don’t. That seat is not for the eldest, Eldric. It is for the successor. And you—” his eyes gleamed with challenge, “—are not one.”
Eldric’s lip curled, anger rolling through him like a slow, venomous tide. “And you are?”
“For now?” Thalric’s chuckle was low, rumbling, and far too confident. “No. But the army is restless. The kingdom’s generals are whispering. And soon, the commander himself will meet with Father. When he does, a crown prince will be chosen.”
Eldric almost scoffed.
“So,” he said coolly, “your little affair with the commander is finally bearing fruit. Personally, I’ve never understood what he sees in you. You’re too burly, but—” his eyes flicked down Thalric’s frame, “—some men do enjoy boring muscle.”
The effect was immediate. Thalric’s grin cracked, his jaw tightening as though it had been struck with a hammer. The snarl twisting his features melted into raw fury, his nostrils flaring like a beast ready to charge. Eldric savored the transformation, a smirk tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth. His brother had never learned the art of absorbing an insult, only of throwing them. One might have thought his years in the army would have toughened his skin. Instead, Eldric could see now, the soldiers must have coddled him like the pampered prince he was.
The tension snapped taut between them, one heartbeat away from a blow or a public spectacle, when the rhythm of booted steps echoed across the landing. Both princes turned in unison.
From the opposite stairwell, their last brother Aldrin emerged. And beside him, to Eldric’s surprise, was someone he had not anticipated at all.
Amara.
Two Knights followed close behind, their armor clinking in dull counterpoint to the hush that seemed to fall over the space. Amara’s face, framed by the sheen of her hair, held a faint stiffness. She looked uncomfortable, her eyes cast low even as she walked beside Aldrin in what had clearly been an earnest conversation. The words between them hushed the instant they reached the top tier.
Aldrin’s gaze swept over his two brothers, his expression caught between amusement and irony. “It seems,” he said, the corners of his lips quirking upward, “another battle is about to take place here. A shame the spectators can’t see it.”
Thalric bristled, his voice coming out in a bark. “Shut up, Aldrin. Eldric and I were merely discussing matters.”
“Of course you were.” Aldrin’s smile never wavered. He turned smoothly, dismissing the flare of Thalric’s anger as if it were nothing more than smoke, and inclined his head toward Amara. “It was truly a pleasure to speak with you, sister. Please, give thought to what I said, after the duel.”
Amara hesitated, the weight of three princes’ eyes tugging at her, before she gave the smallest, sheepish nod. She moved quickly then, retreating to one of the side seats, her posture shrinking in on itself, avoiding further attention.
Eldric’s fingers twitched at the arm of his chair. The urge to rise and demand an answer from her simmered hot beneath his skin. What had that slippery fox Aldrin been whispering to her? What schemes was he weaving, dragging her into the web of it?
Eldric didn’t rise to chase Amara down, didn’t ask a single question. He simply turned the weight of his glare back onto Thalric. It was enough. His brother’s grin faltered, his brow creasing into the first honest frown of the morning. With a grunt, Thalric shifted his heavy frame to the side, relinquishing the center seat with all the grace of a beaten hound.
Only when the space was clear did Eldric lower himself onto the chair. The carved arms felt reassuring beneath his hands, solid, unmoving—a claim that was his by right. Let the others glare or whisper, let them seethe with their own ambitions. He was here now, and that was enough.
The ring of seats around him still held gaps. One was reserved for the Archine Tower Mages, but the stronger ones would be around the arena maintaining the wards. His mother had also refused to attend—thank the heavens. At least he wouldn’t have to endure her sharp tongue cutting him in front of his brothers. His father, as always, remained cloistered in the palace, as though walls could shield him from the kingdom’s unrest.
But Eldric still had his brothers. Unfortunately.
Even Amara, vexing as she was, sat in silence, her head bowed. That he could tolerate. But Thalric and Aldrin? They never seemed to understand, or worse, they pretended not to.
“It is so nice to be together again after so many years,” Aldrin said lightly, his voice smooth, the smile on his lips meant for both of them yet aimed at neither. “It seems it takes two of the kingdom’s greatest Mages crossing spells to finally gather us in one place.”
Thalric snorted. “Greatest? Hardly. Veridia, perhaps. The other is nothing more than an upstart. The army has far better Mages than him.”
Eldric’s eyes slid to his brother. His voice came soft, but each word was a strike. “Then why don’t we see them facing the plague instead of hiding behind excuses?”
Thalric’s jaw tightened, but Aldrin interjected before he could bite back. “The army has already suffered. Too many injuries against the barbarian clans and other beasts.”
Eldric gave a sharp laugh, stripped of humor. “Mortal barbarians. You boast of losses against farmers with spears and call them victories. And still you claim your Mages as the best?” His words rang louder now, drawing the ears of the servants nearby, though he hardly cared.
Aldrin’s smile lingered. “When did you start defending Arzan, brother? I was under the impression he had humiliated you not long ago.”
Thalric chuckled at that. “Uncouth words, Aldrin. You always were the sly one. Still—” his head turned, those orcish features narrowing on Eldric, “—I find myself curious as well. Last I heard, you and Arzan had quite the… trifle.”
Eldric’s brows drew together, his voice dropping into something quieter, but edged like a knife.
“I hate him,” he said flatly.
For a moment, silence stretched. He felt it then—Amara’s gaze brushing against him. He ignored it, pressing on, his eyes still locked on his brothers.
“But I am not a man who allows his plans to be foiled by incompetence. Arzan is as competent as one could be.” His lip curled, though the words came out begrudgingly. “I will give him that much, even if I wish his head would roll before the day is done.”
Thalric’s grin returned and the bastard looked satisfied for some reason. “I don’t think you’ll have that wish granted. Not today. Veridia won’t kill him. I doubt she’ll even cripple him.”
“That would be dreadfully boring. But then, he is a Duke’s son, isn’t he? Kin killer or not, the Assembly will decide his fate soon enough. He won’t escape that judgment.” Aldrin leaned back in his chair.
Eldric felt some of the weight slide off his chest. The conversation was shifting, veering away from him and toward the Assembly. Let them talk of it. As long as neither turned to demand his opinion, he could endure their prattle.
He settled back, but his eyes betrayed him, flicking toward Amara. She sat stiffly, staring out into nothing, her hands folded in her lap. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he broke the quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a whisper, “your little lover won’t be able to walk after today. Mother never did approve of him doing anything, even walking.”
He expected her head to dip, her shoulders to draw in, the pained look she always wore when cornered. Instead, she turned. Her eyes met his, steady and unflinching.
“I don’t think that will happen,” she said simply.
Eldric’s smirk faltered. “What?”
“I believe he will win.”
***
Kai sat cross-legged in the quiet chamber the arena had granted him, the same chamber he had once occupied before his duel with Reyk. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady, mana flowing in slow, full circuits through his body. It looked like meditation to an outsider, but to Kai, it was preparation—a stillness that sharpened the storm inside him.
The memory of Reyk drifted through his mind, faint as smoke. That had barely been a duel. More spectacle than fight. Reyk had strutted into the arena with bravado, only to crumble when faced with what a true Battle Mage was supposed to look like. Kai hadn’t fought him—he had taught him. A lesson written in fire and humiliation.
But today… today was different.
Even here, in the stillness of the chamber, the vibrations reached him. The roars of the crowd, the endless chattering that rose and fell like the tide, the restless energy of thousands waiting above.
He had seen their faces earlier, when his carriage rolled through the streets. They had swarmed him—hands reaching, voices crying his name, a tide of bodies that seemed eager to glimpse him if only for a moment. By now, his name was on every tongue in the kingdom. They all wanted to see him.
He didn’t mind. Attention was something he had learned long ago to let wash over him like rain. What unsettled him wasn’t their gazes, but their fragility. He hoped, faintly, that when the duel began the crowd would not pay the price for what was about to happen.
Mana swirled within him, coiling through his heart, burning with a rhythm that steadied his mind. In the darkness behind his eyes, he imagined the great duels he had seen in his other life and some he had participated in. Magus against Magus. Life and death measured in fire and stone. It had been a crime to kill one another in those days, with the end of times gnawing at humanity’s throat, but still, he had watched some of them descend into mortal struggle.
And he remembered what it meant.
Every spell cast had been meant to kill. Every movement, every surge of power was final. No mercy. Mercy meant weakness. Weakness meant death.
He was not a Magus now, but the weight of his strength pressed close to that boundary. And he intended to wield it without restraint.
This duel would not be a polite display for nobles to gossip over.
Veridia. Regina. Their games had run long enough. They had played with him, underestimated him, shuffled pieces on their board as if he were another pawn to be moved or discarded. Perhaps that had been useful until now. Being underestimated and letting them do their bit.
But some truths couldn’t be hidden forever. His lips curved, not in a smile, but in something sharper. It was time to break their expectations. To burn through the masks and lies.
It was time to show them what he was.
The silence of the chamber fractured at the sound of a voice.
“Lord Arzan.”
Kai’s eyes snapped open. Killian stood at the threshold of the room. His posture was straight, though his hands gripped a chest.
Kai studied it, gaze lingering on the box before shifting back to his knight. “Is it starting? And what's that?”
Killian nodded and stepped closer. “They’ve called you in ten minutes. Magus Veridia is already waiting. I saw the princes in their seats, and every noble below them. Every rich and influential person is there. Malden even marched in with banners bearing your name.” He hesitated, eyes flicking to the chest as if it might bite. “This… was sent by the second prince, Aldrin.”
Kai raised a brow. “Aldrin?”
At his gesture, Killian lifted the lid. Inside, resting on dark velvet, lay a sword that shimmered faintly with an inner gleam. Its edge looked sharp enough to split stone.
“I think it’s forged from black iron,” Killian said quietly, reverence in his tone. “That’s no common weapon. I saw a note as well—wishing you luck for the duel.”
Instead of gratitude, Kai’s face hardened, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Another political ploy.”
Killian inclined his head, resigned. “It seems so. But I thought it best to bring it to you regardless.”
“You did well.” Kai nodded at him. “But I won’t be using it. My armour, robes and magic are enough.”
His gaze dropped to himself, reassessing. The robes of Valkyrie’s Tower draped his frame, layered over the best armour Balen’s forge had produced. His belt clinked faintly with the weight of potions and alchemical reagents, the best he’d managed to make and would be extremely useful. After all, they were permitted to use anything on their person, and Kai had come prepared for nothing less than war.
He closed his eyes for one more breath, drawing mana into his heart until it thrummed with power, then exhaled. Opening them again, he gave Killian a short nod. “Let’s go.”
His Knight took the lead. Together they walked up the steps, the air thickening with every step downward.
Then the sound hit him.
The moment he stepped into the light of the arena, the cheers surged like a tidal wave crashing against stone. It was deafening. The roar of thousands—stamping, clapping, shouting his name—so loud he had to stop mid-stride as though struck. His ears rang, his chest vibrated with the force of it.
Every seat was packed. Nobles glimmered in silks, their jewels flashing in the sun, while the common folk pressed shoulder to shoulder in the higher rows. Pennants fluttered. Banners with his name rippled through the stands like waves of color.
Slowly, he forced his legs forward, one step after another, until he reached the center of the vast sand circle.
And there she stood.
Veridia.
Her purple robes shimmered faintly with protective enchantments and…. she was smiling.
2025-08-24 09:48:43 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 158
Shen Linao’s gaze stayed on Tu Wei’s face. His scowl continued to get deeper. It wasn’t merely the boy’s presence that soured his mood—though after weeks of staring at that same pale, anxious expression, even that was enough to test his patience. What bothered him was the unspoken aura around him, the boy didn’t even speak yet, but there was a noticeable tremor in his shoulders.
His downcast eyes already whispered what he feared—failure.
Of course it would be failure. Shen Linao could read it in the faint twitch at the corner of Tu Wei’s lips, in the way his disciple shifted his weight as though wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He had sent all his disciples into the field, and this whelp—too young, too green—had been left behind only because someone had to play errand boy. The others should have returned with results. Instead, they sent Tu Wei back like a crow bearing ill tidings.
When the boy finally forced words past his lips, Shen Linao’s prediction proved true. “Master… reports have come from Senior Brothers and Sisters. None of them have found the medallion. We’ve scoured Cloud Mist City and the surrounding prefectures, but… there’s nothing.”
The chamber fell silent. Shen Linao’s fingers curled against the armrest of his chair until the wood groaned in protest. Anger boiled in his chest, threatening to spill over, yet he forced his breath to stay steady.
“It is there. If the Great Lord said so, then it is there. Must I walk out of this sect myself to seize it? Are all of my disciples so worthless?”
“No, Master. It is just… the medallion has no aura. There was nothing to grasp and no qi signature to follow. Even divinations scarcely reveal a thread. It is as if fate itself toys with us, slipping away each time we draw near.”
Shen Linao rose, the long sleeves of his robe whispering against the floor as his shadow fell over Tu Wei. “If you cannot catch this ‘fate,’ then tell your brothers and sisters they will serve as the next offering. Their blood will not be wasted. I am certain its essence will fuel a higher divination, strong enough to drag the medallion’s hiding place into the open.”
Tu Wei’s breath hitched. He dared not raise his head. The air between them continued to grow thick and thicker.
At that, Tu Wei’s shoulders trembled. He bowed even lower, the crown of his head nearly brushing the cold stone floor. The boy knew better than to argue. He knew, too, that his master’s words were more whip than blade. Shen Linao did not truly believe blood sacrifices could pry open the medallion’s secrets—if such rituals worked, the Great Lord would already have seized them all long ago. But fear had its uses. Fear kept his disciples running themselves ragged instead of growing lax, kept their eyes sharp and their nerves frayed.
Tu Wei might not grasp the weight behind the medallion, but Shen Linao did. Its power was reason enough, yet beyond that lay something far more precious: a favor from the Great Lord himself. To fail here would mean losing that chance forever. He would sooner bleed this sect dry than allow it to slip from his grasp.
A sharp scoff broke the silence as Shen Linao straightened, dismissing the boy’s trembling form with a flick of his sleeve. “Enough about the medallion. There are other matters to tend to, matters regarding the thieves.”
Tu Wei’s head lifted slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes until Shen Linao’s next words came, smooth as venom. “That pest, Chen Ren. Has he returned to that little village of his?”
The disciple swallowed, then nodded quickly. “Yes, Master. A day ago. My spies saw his carriage entering the village. He hasn’t stepped out of the sect hall since, but… I’m certain he received the letter.”
“Good.” Shen Linao’s lips curved, not quite a smile, more a predator’s baring of teeth. “Then let us hope he has the sense to do what’s right, deliver everything back to me, with his head laid at my feet as interest.”
“Master… What if he didn’t return everything? We… we do not know what lay hidden in the vault.”
“Then I have an idea. Even if he obeys, even if he hands me what I demanded, his village will be erased all the same. Fire, beasts, whatever cloak we choose, it matters little. The ashes will tell us all there is to know, and no one will question it.” The corner of his mouth lifted at his own thought. “After all… villages falling to beasts is no rarity in this land. Who would waste their breath searching for what exactly happened?”
“Then… Master, should I place more men around the village? Tighten the watch?”
Shen Linao’s hand flicked through the air in dismissal. “No need for that yet. We still have days to prepare. If you swarm the place now, that spirit beast might notice. That cat is their true guardian, likely the only reason those insects thought they could stand against me.”
Even now, he still had no idea how such a meager sect had managed to tame such a creature. A meridian expansion realm beast, he could count on one hand the number he’d seen in his lifetime. Each was worth more than a sect's treasury, and yet… Chen Ren’s little group had one as a guardian.
But curiosity was a luxury. What mattered was not how they had it, but how he would take it for himself. With a beast like that at his side, the balance of power would shift overnight. No longer would he play the part of a regent, shackled by the title while the so-called sect leader still sat above him. No, he would tear that farce down. With the Great Lord backing him and the beast enslaved at his heel, the position would be his.
Especially now. He could feel it in the winds of the Empire, the subtle cracks beginning to spread. Change was coming. And he intended to stand at the peak when it broke.
His gaze settled once more on Tu Wei.
“Just keep watch. Prepare everything at the meeting site as I instructed. They will likely refuse, believing that spirit beast can shield them. Let them. We will crush them and bind the beast under our banners. And see to it that nothing leaves that village for Cloud Mist City. You said Li Baolong's brat is there, the one tied to the Soaring Sword Sect. I won’t risk word spreading. If even a whisper reaches their ears, it will complicate things. With the beast rising swelling, outsiders will not look at most reports… but we cannot gamble on their caution. Not with this.”
Tu Wei pressed his forehead to the ground. “I will do as you command, Master.” With that, he rose, bowing deeply before retreating from the chamber, his steps quick, as though eager to escape the oppressive weight of Shen Linao’s presence.
Once the boy’s footsteps faded into silence, Shen Linao leaned back in his chair and exhaled, letting all the stress go through his nose. For a brief moment the scowl slipped, replaced by weary shadows. His fingers pressed into his temples, rubbing slow circles as if he could knead the stress from his skull.
The medallion. The Divine Coin Sect. The endless cries of fools in his sect whining about deaths during the divination array. Useless, all of them. Did they not realize that such sacrifices were the natural order? Power demanded a price. If they balked at that, they had no right to even call themselves cultivators.
He clenched his fist, nails biting into flesh. Soon enough, all their voices would be ashes on the wind. Once he pried open the sect and took every last treasure within, there would be no one left to oppose him. No medallion too hidden, no beast too wild, no sect too lofty.
But before that… he would make certain that Chen Ren’s head burned first. That upstart dared to challenge his sect. Shen Linao would see to it that his skull became the torch that lit the fire of his rise.
***
The next two days blurred into one long grind of thought, scrolls, and bitter silence. Chen Ren spent every waking moment clawing at the problem of the Blazing Ember Sect, searching for any thread that could be pulled, any weakness to exploit.
Most of what he had came from Anji. Months ago, she had poured out what she knew, scrawling notes with a hand that trembled with both grief and fury. As the daughter of the last sect leader of the Void Blade Sect, she had every reason to remember their enemies in detail. The names of elders, the structure of the sect, the strengths of their factions—she had written it all, even though each word seemed to reopen a wound.
And always, Shen Linao’s name surfaced. He was the one who had led the charge that ended her father’s life. One of the strongest standing pillars of the Blazing Ember Sect. Anji’s handwriting had grown jagged when describing him, as though hatred alone could pierce the page.
Chen Ren tapped his knuckles against the table. His mind was feeling heavy. He didn’t doubt that Yalan could contend with Shen Linao—her power was in a realm beyond most—but Shen Linao would never come alone. And that was the true danger. By Anji’s estimate, the Blazing Ember Sect could field not just one monster, but many. Numerous qi refinement realm cultivators that would be enough to drown a battlefield. Dozens of foundation establishment realm disciples and elders, the kind that emerged as a force to overwhelm small clans in the blink of an eye.
If he were Shen Linao, Chen Ren thought grimly, he would not come in strength to parley. He would lay an ambush, a cage of cultivators snapping shut around them the moment they arrived.
A dull ache pulsed at his temples. He pressed his fingers there, trying to knead away the pressure. He had faced giants before, titans of coin and cunning who sought to crush him in the marketplace, and he had survived by scheming, by knowing when to yield and when to strike. But this—this was different. Here, he could not slip away behind clever schemes or subtle manipulations. This was not negotiation. It was a storm of blades, and he stood on the wrong side of it.
Even if he armed every mortal with muskets and blades, gathered every cultivator he knew, and leaned on the Tang Clan until their coffers bled, he would still not match the force that Blazing Ember Sect could bring.
So he forced himself into a rhythm. Hours spent poring over Anji’s notes, memorizing every line of sect hierarchy, every habit of their elders, every possible schism. Hours spent walking the village, listening to his allies. He asked each of them their thoughts, their fears, their solutions. Even if none had the answer, their words might shake something loose in his mind.
Yet with each passing day, the sense of time thinning grew sharper. The noose was tightening, and unless he found something, anything, they would all choke beneath it.
Hong Yi’s solution had been simple—cowardly, perhaps, but simple. “We should run,” the man had said, his face pale in the lamplight. “That’s the only way. Live to fight another day.”
Feiyu, in contrast, hadn’t wasted words. He had buried himself in the workshop, hammering iron, pouring powder, refining the long barrels of his newest prototypes. His mind was fixed on weapons, particularly the sniper rifles he had sketched out weeks ago. Where Hong Yi dreamed of escape, Feiyu forged the tools for a desperate stand.
Zi Wen had suggested turning to Li Xuan. “If anyone can help us, it’s him. His connections stretch wider than we can imagine. Even if he’s tangled in sect politics, his word still carries weight. Sect Leader, Chen Ren, we can get his help.”
Chen Ren had been tempted. Deeply tempted. The thought of leaning on Li Xuan’s ties to the Soaring Sword Sect was like an open door in his mind. But he could not ignore the fractures he had already sensed in Li Xuan’s relationship with the sect. After all, why else will he still be here.
Yalan’s report had cut through his hesitation: there were cultivators already watching the village. The moment they tried to send word out, Blazing Ember’s net would close.
Then there was the city lord. Chen Ren had considered pulling that string—Li Xuan’s father might still be moved by favor or debt—but Cloud Mist City itself was drowning. Merchants talked of battles against wave after wave of beasts, nests spilling high-tier monstrosities into the walls. Even with the Soaring Sword Sect stationed there, the warfront was too busy. What help could make it through in time?
Chen Ren’s fingers drummed against the table as he listened, weighed, dismissed. In this world, goodwill was a fantasy. Nobody would bleed for them simply because the Blazing Ember Sect walked in with demonic cultivators. Every hand wanted payment, every savior a prize. What price could he offer that would arrive before Shen Linao’s blades?
None.
Which left him with only one road. Solve the problem at its root. Find the flaw. He had learned in his old life that no matter how high or proud, every opponent had an Achilles heel. A crack in the armor, a flaw in the system, a weakness they would kill to hide.
Blazing Ember Sect would be no different.
His headache throbbed sharper, but beneath it his instincts surged with clarity. They chanted the same refrain over and over: There is a way. Find it. Strike it. And live.
And Chen Ren, by now, had learned to trust those whispers.
Chen Ren’s days became an endless churn of parchment and whispers. He sifted through Anji’s notes until the ink bled into his vision, prodded Zi Wen for every tale merchants had muttered over their cups, even pulled Qing He aside to ask what she knew of powers that might secretly oppose the Blazing Ember Sect. But each answer turned into smoke. They weren’t certain enough or sharp enough to cut through Shen Linao’s shadow. Until of course, he stumbled on it.
At first, the whole idea felt nothing more than a footnote, buried in the margins of Void Blade’s records, one among hundreds of half truths and rumors, collected more for spite than for strategy. He almost skimmed past it, the way he had done a dozen times before. But this time, something made him pause. He read it again, then again, and again until the threads began to tighten.
It was so obvious it mocked him.
A weakness hidden in plain sight, overlooked only because he had been too focused on strength, numbers and weapons. But once it clicked, once the pieces aligned, his chest tightened with something he hadn’t felt in days—hope. It was fragile, but it was there.
It was not a guaranteed path. Far from it. If it failed, they would all be corpses on scorched earth. But for the first time, there was a chance to rip the Blazing Ember Sect’s claws from their throats.
He clenched the parchment, mind racing, and by nightfall he had made his decision. He sought out Qing He, the one person who might actually make such a reckless gambit possible.
When he laid out the plan, her expression hardened. She didn’t answer at first, only stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, as though waiting for him to laugh and admit it was a joke. When he didn’t, she finally spoke.
“Are you insane? Do you even realise how risky this is? Before the plan has the slightest chance to succeed, you might already be dead.”
“I know. That’s why I’ll stall. As long as I can buy the time, the rest can move. We still have days before the meeting. That’s more than enough to prepare, enough to place backups around the site.” His jaw tightened. “After everything, after dragging us all this far, I refuse to be the first one to throw myself into a suicide mission. If I die, it will be after I’ve exhausted every plan I can put into motion.”
His voice rang with more steel and courage than he felt. Inside, his pulse hammered, every beat reminding him that the line between genius and desperation was thin. But outwardly, he let only calm resolve show. Because in this game, even resolve could be a weapon.
Qing He’s brows furrowed so tightly they nearly touched, her voice rough with disapproval. “But this is a suicide mission, kid. Do you really think it will work? Cultivators aren't reasonable.”
Chen Ren leaned back slightly, meeting her sharp gaze without flinching. “I don’t believe any cultivator is reasonable,” he said quietly. “And yet, I’ve still done well enough for myself.” A thin smile tugged at his lips. “Besides, even if this fails, I’m confident I can still run. Yalan will be a massive help… and if worse comes to worst, maybe you’ll finally show me some of your moves.”
That earned him a sharp snort. Qing He crossed her arms, but the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “My bones don’t bend the way they used to. But fine. I suppose I can count on you to run fast enough not to drag me down.”
Chen Ren grinned wider at that, the brief levity cutting through the heaviness between them. Still, he saw the shadow in her eyes, the worry she couldn’t quite mask. She had been at his side long enough, seen him crawl through schemes and fights that should have killed him, and he knew her faith in him was not easily given.
Her tone softened, though her gaze did not. “But you wouldn’t have come to me with just this. Not unless you’ve thought of other things. I know you too well, boy.”
Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, his grin settling into something steadier. “Not everything,” he admitted, “but I have a skeleton, at least. A framework.” He leaned forward, eyes glinting as if the plan itself was fire in his chest. “Let me tell you what I’ve pieced together…”
2025-08-24 09:47:02 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 267
Count Pherrin Blackbough gulped down the wine. The bitter tang slid down his throat, leaving a faint burn in its wake, and when it reached his stomach, some of the fog in his head began to lift. The reasoning that returned wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind him of the hour, and of the meeting he had nearly missed.
Ever since the banquet had ended, his mind had been pulled in too many directions at once. He had spent the better part of the night and half the morning darting from one conversation to another, relaying fragments of what had happened to those within his circle. It had been a flurry of hurried explanations, so much so that the thought of meeting the second prince had nearly slipped away entirely.
Now, seated in Prince Aldrin’s private chamber, he realized the prince had yet to say a single word. He didn't greet when he walked inside, just slid the goblet smoothly across the table while his own untouched goblet was right beside him.
Pherrin Blackbough took the silence for what it was and observed.
The man in front of him looked as far from a prince as one could be. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. His eyes were reddened and undereyes were bruised. His dark hair fell to one side, but the contrast between its luster and the bloodless tone of his face only made him look like a blood drinker. The Alparca royal blood—his mother’s blood—had long been whispered to carry the taint of blood drinkers. Aldrin’s complexion, drained of color to the point of near translucence, didn’t help quiet such talk. Denials from the throne had done little over the years, and in moments like this, Blackbough understood why.
The prince’s gaze was fixed, unblinking, as if he could strip the layers from a man without lifting a finger. There was no malice in it, only an intensity that made the air feel tighter, as though the room itself leaned in to hear what would come next.
Finally, Aldrin spoke calmly, almost too calmly that it carried an edge that made it difficult to breathe through.
“Tell me everything you saw at the banquet,” he had said. “Even a fly that caught your eye, I want to know about everything.”
Blackbough inclined his head, swallowing the faint prickle of unease that rose at the demand. He had long since learned to push such feelings aside. After all, a Count was not a royal, and respect in such company was a coin earned over years, not a courtesy given freely.
Blackbough began to speak, choosing his words carefully at first but soon finding the rhythm of recollection.
He spoke of his arrival at the banquet, of the heavy air that had lingered just beneath the politeness, and of Arzan moving through the crowd like a seasoned courtier—one moment he was laughing at a joke, a jest made and then moving from that to another conversation with a well-known Baron. Count Blackbough emphasized on how every single gesture had a purpose. Though some people couldn’t see it, for Count Blackbough, it wasn’t the issue. He had always been someone who could read nobles.
Then he took a long sip of his wine, knowing the interesting part was next.
The moment Magus Veridia entered the hall.
He tried his best to retell the details as exactly as he saw; the way certain conversations hushed, even how some nobles practically gawked at her. It was comical, but Count Blackbough didn’t miss a beat. He then followed to explain how Arzan had excused himself without hesitation, following her toward the balcony.
Blackbough admitted he’d tried to follow. He could almost taste the conversation that had been waiting there for him. But the Knight—Arzan’s Knight—had planted himself in the doorway with a look that brooked no argument. A wall in armor.
So instead, he had settled for shadows and half-heard fragments. He recounted everything he’d glimpsed after Veridia’s return to the hall—how Arzan had deftly avoided any probing questions, how the undercurrent of speculation had swelled in the absence of answers. And how he had heard of the duel only the next morning.
When he finished, Aldrin sat back in his chair, fingers tapping once against the stem of his untouched goblet. His expression was pensive, eyes half-lidded, as if weighing each piece of the recounting against some private ledger.
“It seems,” he said at last, a wry curl touching his lips, “that my dear stepmother has finally decided to burn down the mosquito that keeps biting her and giving her itches.”
“You believe she arranged the duel?”
“Veridia is famously more loyal to her than to my father. She does nothing without being asked. And Arzan…” His gaze sharpened, losing any trace of languor. “Arzan is no pawn, he is no fortunate fool who stumbled into power. His achievements are genuine. Whatever their quarrel before the assembly, there is no world where he’d agree to something this foolish—not now, when he’s gaining support. It’s the worst time to split his focus.”
Blackbough nodded, agreeing with what the prince said. But he had a question: “Then why would she do it?”
“Well, Count Blackbough. There are many reasons. According to my informers, Regina has been trying to kill Arzan for some time. But perhaps now she’s lifted her aim. If she can’t end him outright, she’ll beat him so thoroughly that he ends up losing everything that matters to him. You name it. His momentum, his support… his future. Everything.”
Aldrin paused his words as he looked at the side table. Blackbough watched his brain shift. The prince drew a roll of parchment toward him and uncapped a small vial of ink. His ink moved against the surface in quick strokes.
Blackbough didn’t interrupt, not even when the man shook his head alone and continued his scribbling. The prince had a habit of recording everything he deemed worth remembering. Be it political intrigue, gossip, or any kind of private detail that most men would never commit to paper. Because according to him, everything was a potential lever, given enough time.
So, he wrote, wrote and wrote for ten more minutes.
Blackbough patiently waited until the scratching finally ceased and the parchment was set aside to dry. He leaned forward. “What are we going to do now, Prince Aldrin? Arzan already rejected our offer.”
“Hah, I never expected him to agree,” Aldrin replied without even looking up, eyes still on the drying parchment.
Blackbough’s chin dipped low, eyes glancing up from under the brow. “What? What do you mean?”
“Oh, didn’t you realise? If he had any intention of joining my faction—or anyone’s—he wouldn’t have bothered courting so much support on his own. I only sent you to him so he’d know I’m interested.”
Blackbough frowned. “And what will that do, my prince?”
“It plants a seed. Even if he’s rude enough to reject meeting a prince, the knowledge lingers. When you’re eyeing the throne, you have to think beyond the present. The kingdom is cracking, Blackbough—you know it. If not for the plague, Vanderfall would already be assembling their armies.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “I need to consider what happens when a successor is finally named, and Arzan will be an important piece of that future. Even if he refuses me now, time has a way of bending men’s stances. Some people… must be subdued slowly, over years.”
Blackbough studied him in silence, trying to decide whether that was patience or a threat dressed as one.
“My original plan,” Aldrin continued, “was for Arzan to win the Assembly. My father seems to like him—more than most—and we could have supported him there, offering a rope of trust. Later, when my moment came, he could have chosen to aid me… or at least stay out of my way. But now…” A flicker of irritation passed over his face. “My stepmother has ruined it. Again.”
Blackbough scratched the side of his head, his gaze sliding toward the parchment the prince had just set aside. He knew Aldrin well enough to recognize this rhythm—the long chains of contingencies, the branching paths of what-ifs that he mapped in his mind. No matter how much peace he liked, the prince thrived on possibilities. But as Blackbough listened, a part of him couldn’t shake the feeling that Aldrin was missing something vital.
Not that he’d ever dare say it aloud.
“So… what are we going to do?” he asked instead. “Magus Veridia is the strongest Mage in the kingdom. I doubt Arzan will come out of that duel with all his limbs intact.”
“I don’t think he’ll die,” Aldrin said at once. “He won’t go out easy. Which means there’s always something we can do. We can adjust our strategy for the Assembly based on his performance. It’s not just about win or loss—presentation matters. For now, we need to make it clear that I, Aldrin, am supporting him rather than Magus Veridia. That might be enough to earn a meeting with him after the Assembly.”
Aldrin’s lips curved, slowly, into a grin. It was the kind of expression that carried the air of a private joke, one that the rest of the room wasn’t sure they wanted to hear.
“Things are getting interesting,” he murmured. “For the first time in years, I believe the moment we’ve been waiting for is finally here. Veridia, Regina, Arzan, my two brothers, my father, and every noble in the kingdom… Do you know what this means?”
Blackbough hesitated, mind turning over the possibilities. At first, the answer seemed obvious enough—the Assembly itself was rare, an event not held in decades. But there was more behind Aldrin’s words, something heavier. The realization settled in his gut like a stone. His eyes widened ever so slightly.
“You think King Sullivan will talk about the succession,” he said at last.
Aldrin’s grin widened. “Precisely. You’re catching on. The Assembly gathers everyone in one place. My father will see exactly who belongs to which faction… and what better stage to announce the kingdom’s future than a hall filled with every noble in the realm?”
Blackbough nodded slowly, the pieces fitting together in his mind. “So… who do you think he’ll choose?”
Aldrin exhaled through his nose, the faintest shrug lifting one shoulder. “I don’t know. I wish it would be me, but I haven’t had a proper conversation with him in the last two years. Granted, I spent a year and a half in Alparca Kingdom, but still… My brothers doesn’t have good relations with him either. That’s why I’m thinking he’ll choose the one with the most support in the assembly.” He paused, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Though you know what would be far more interesting?”
Blackbough shook his head, wary. “What?”
“If my father didn’t choose a successor at all.” The grin that followed was too sharp to be casual. “With all the nobles gathered, he’d have to endure a storm of complaints. I’m… curious to see what would happen if he does that.”
Blackbough gave a short, almost incredulous laugh. “You already know, right, Prince Aldrin?”
“Yes. A war. Patience has already worn thin. It won’t be long before it bursts.”
Blackbough’s mouth opened, then closed again. He wanted to press for more, to draw out the shape of the war Aldrin was envisioning, but the prince was already leaning forward, dismissing the subject as if it were no more than a card placed back in the deck.
“Either way,” Aldrin said, “about Arzan, I want you to do something…”
***
If the rumors about the duel had been a steady downpour before, they became a full-blown storm within a single day. No one seemed to know the exact reason it was happening—at least, no reason that could be confirmed—but everyone knew it was happening. Especially the commoners. Once the news escaped the banquet hall and drifted into the streets, it spread faster than wildfire, becoming the most talked-about event in the capital alongside the upcoming assembly.
Killian, moving through the city, returned with the same report from every district—every shop, every tavern corner, every street-side gathering was buzzing about it. Magus Veridia, the strongest Mage in the kingdom, was a name spoken with reverence. And Kai, now burdened with titles earned from the beast wave, the fief war, and most recently the plague, had carved himself into the public’s imagination. Together, they made the duel feel like an event of the decade.
The arena was already groaning under the strain of too many names on its spectator lists. If Veridia’s aim had been to make this a grand spectacle, she had succeeded brilliantly. But in doing so, she had also wrecked much of what Kai had been working toward.
The day after the banquet, his desk was buried in letters—some from nobles who had attended, others from those who hadn’t. A few were mere confirmations that they would be in the stands, dressed up as words of encouragement. Others were heavy with unease, warning him not to die subtly before keeping the promises he had made.
A surprising number of gifts arrived as well—armor and weapons from those who disliked Veridia enough to offer aid. But genuine concern was rare. Only a few letters carried it, and among them, Princess Amara’s stood out. She had sent Anya in person, insisting on hearing from Kai’s own mouth whether the duel was truly happening. Of all of them, it was easy to see, she was the one who cared most.
More than his subordinates, who had taken the news in stride. By now, they had seen enough of what he could do to know he wasn’t walking blindly into slaughter. And truth be told, Kai couldn’t muster much worry either. Not against a Magus, not with the strength he currently wielded.
He had stepped into the Fourth Circle, and his spell structures were sharper, faster, more efficient than ever before. The awakening method he’d gone through had given him mana regeneration to match Veridia’s, at least by his estimates. She might have larger reserves, yes—but with the ambient mana in the air, that edge would count for little. Mage duels were short, brutal affairs—minutes at most—where the goal was to incapacitate, not to trade blows until exhaustion.
Still, confidence wasn’t an excuse for complacency. Even if power-leveling wasn’t an option now, knowledge was. And knowledge was a weapon he could sharpen indefinitely.
The Watchers in the capital had already been digging into every notable figure’s past—potential enemies included. With a single command, Kai had their findings on Veridia laid out before him. Tomes from the Archine Tower’s library, dusty records hoarded by nobles, anecdotes whispered among the common folk, even half-forgotten ballads sung by bards in her younger years.
A picture began to form.
Veridia had once been a war Mage—her name stitched into the kingdom’s military history under several titles, though the most enduring among them was Witch of the Night Sky. She had carved her path upward through sheer force, subjugating dangerous beasts, winning duels against any who dared challenge her, and leaving a trail of both admirers and enemies in her wake.
She had experience—mountains of it. Mage duels were as familiar to her as breathing, and perhaps that was why she had the confidence to call him out.
But she hadn’t fought one in years.
Kai doubted that meant she was rusty. A Magus didn’t rust—they adapted, they learned, and the dangerous ones never forgot. So he kept reading, turning page after page, memorizing tactics, taking note of her favored spells and her victories.
The duel was almost upon him, and when the moment came, he intended to be ready.
2025-08-21 09:31:31 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 157
Chen Ren’s carriage neared the gates of Meadow Village, and the heavy wooden doors swung inward without so much as a signal. The guards that were on duty straightened at once, thumping their spears lightly against the ground in acknowledgment. By now, his carriage was as familiar to them as the village chief’s own robes, and he had already sent word of his return days ago.
Normally, Chen Ren would’ve slowed the horses, leaned out, and exchanged a few words—asked after their families, the patrols, and whether the beasts had troubled the village a lot. But he already knew the answers. He’d gotten all the reports in letters: the beast risings had been nothing more than a nuisance, Zi Wen and Li Xuan had handled them steadily, and the villagers were safe. Hence, he simply made his way towards the sect building.
Throughout, their passing did not go unnoticed. Villagers paused mid-step, eyes widened as they spoke in whispers amongst themselves. He saw how they all pointed at his carriage, at the crest—the golden dragon that was of the Divine Coin Sect. By nightfall, every house in Meadow Village would know he had returned.
It struck him, not without a wry sort of pride, how quickly things had changed. Months ago, they didn’t care as much—the common folk considered him as a cultivator to be feared. But now, things have changed by a larger margin. He was most likely more reputable than even Chief Muyang. That thought amused him, because people sometimes clung to reputation harder than cultivation. Even if he woke up tomorrow with no qi, his reputation would not vanish with it.
In a way, all the risks he’d taken so far, made it seem worth it.
The carriage turned onto the path where it led to the sect gates, and wheels grinded softly against the smoother ground. Chen Ren leaned out the window, letting the breeze brush across his face, when he noticed the group standing in front of the building.
Qing He was at the front. She looked composed and calm on the exterior, but he couldn’t tell the same for the rest. Feiyu stood stall just behind, Zi Wen and Hong Yi flanked them, and a crowd of mortals clustered further back like a tide held at bay with Tang Xiulan. It was… quite surprising. He hadn’t received even half as much formality when he returned from his last business trip, and for the first time since coming to Meadows, a faint uneasiness spread through his chest. Because such a reception rarely meant simple joy.
He knew Qing He would never come out to greet him like this.
His suspicions thickened the moment he stepped down from the carriage and all of them looked at him like he had the answers to questions people didn’t dare to ask.
Yalan fell in step behind him as he walked forward.
Chen Ren offered Qing He a faint smile as he drew near, his tone laced with a touch of humor that belied the tension creeping into him. “I see you missed me enough to wait at the gates,” he said.
Normally, Chen Ren would have expected a sharp-tongued retort from Qing He, some playful jab about his arrogance. But this time, she said nothing. Her silence rang louder than words, and that alone made his steps slow. Something was wrong.
He let his gaze sweep across the others gathered. The cultivators standing behind her—Feiyu’s jaw tight, Hong Yi unusually grim, Zi Wen frowning as though caught between restraint and speech—none of them looked relaxed. Even Xiulan had a frown on her face. Chen Ren’s brows knit together.
It was only then he realized Li Xuan wasn’t among them. Did I miss something?
“Did the beast rising do any damage?” he cleared his throat after asking, still unsure what the hell was happening. His eyes flicked toward the crowd, then back to them. “Is Li Xuan okay? What is happening?”
“He’s fine. More than fine. Still on the walls, practically living there. Hunts every beast that comes near. At this point, he may as well make a bed up there.”
Chen Ren felt the knot in his chest ease, but only slightly. If Li Xuan was well, then this gathering wasn’t about casualties. “Then what’s going on?” he pressed. “Tell me.”
At last, Qing He exhaled, her shoulders sinking. She glanced at him, then at Yalan at his side, and her voice was low. “Let’s talk inside. You have Wang Jun with you.”
Chen Ren’s eyes flicked back toward the carriage where Wang Jun was. He gave a slow nod. Zi Wen stepped forward immediately. “I’ll handle him. You all go ahead.”
With that, the group shifted. Qing He, Feiyu, Xiulan and Hong Yi fell into step with Chen Ren, while Zi Wen turned back toward the carriage. The mortals began unloading crates and bundles, their chatter filling the air, but it all blurred into background noise as Chen Ren walked toward the sect building.
The familiar corridors greeted him. Normally, he might have asked questions before they even reached a room, but instinct held him still. Patience was one of the few disciplines he’d learned to wield well. Yet every step sharpened the tension until it coiled tight inside him.
As soon as they entered a private chamber, Qing He didn’t wait for him to sit. She turned around, “You are in a lot of trouble.”
Chen Ren blinked away, trying to make sure if he heard the correct thing. “Why? What happened?”
She reached into her sleeve and produced a folded letter. It was sealed, but had already opened once before. She placed it on the table.
“We received this two days ago. It’s from the Blazing Ember Sect. You should understand what that means.”
For the first time since stepping into the village, Chen Ren froze.
The name alone was enough to churn the air in his chest. His fingers closed around the letter almost mechanically.
How had they figured it out so soon? How much did they actually know? The thought gnawed at him as he stared at the seal. Did they know he had taken the vault? That he had burned down their disciples? The questions pressed harder and harder.
Chen Ren drew a slow breath, forcing his mind to still. Speculation would do nothing. Only answers mattered. His fingers slid beneath the flap, as if he were defusing some invisible trap. The parchment unfolded with a faint crackle, its scent sharp with smoke and iron.
The letter was short—just a single page—but the words burned hotter than any tome filled with curses. At a glance, it masqueraded as something almost cordial, a casual invitation written in measured strokes. But beneath that thin veneer, the venom was clear.
The Blazing Ember Sect had found him out. Not merely that he had stolen what they called their rightful property, but that he had killed their premier disciples. Their demands were scrawled in black ink without hesitation: the return of everything taken, the severed head of Chen Ren, and the lives of all who had stepped foot in the vault that day.
His grip on the parchment tightened.
And then he saw Yalan’s name. His eyes narrowed. They knew of her existence, down to the detail of her strength. The letter dripped with mock generosity: they would spare her life and enslave her instead, branding that humiliation as a “concession” because her display had impressed the man who wrote the letter—Sect Regent Shen Linao.
Bile rose in Chen Ren’s throat.
The ultimatum was set with chilling simplicity. Twelve days. At the end of that time, they were to bring everything—and everyone—to a meeting at Thousand Graves Valley. He knew that place well. A stretch of land that was situated in between Cloud Mist City and Blazing Ember sect, so close to their sphere of influence that walking into it would be little different from stepping directly into the sect’s jaws.
If they refused, the letter promised retribution. Not just against the Divine Coin Sect, but the entire Meadow Village.
Chen Ren’s jaw clenched, the faint tremor of his qi betraying the storm inside. Did they truly expect him to deliver his own head to them like some obedient dog? The absurdity of it almost made him laugh, but he could see why they thought such arrogance would go unanswered. To them, the Divine Coin Sect was nothing more than an upstart gathering, a candle flickering in the wind. Other than Yalan, there were no powerhouses to shield it.
And the worst part? They weren’t entirely wrong.
Chen Ren read through the letter once, then again, his brows knitting tighter with every line. The words didn’t change, but they pressed heavier on him the second time around. Finally, he lowered the parchment and looked at the others gathered, his frown deepening. With a quiet gesture toward the table, he said, “Why don’t we sit?”
He opened the letter and placed it in front of Yalan. Her sharp amber eyes ran over the words. Chen Ren could tell the exact second her eyes went from curious to anger to a fury so raw it bled through her qi. By the time she was done, her claws were out, and there was fire scorching her tail.
“They want your head,” she spat, her voice trembling with contained rage. “But me? They want me chained like some beast. That is worse than death.” She leaned forward, scowling, her teeth bared. “Those sons of whores. Who do they think they are to enslave me? I’ll enslave their own kin, bind their children, and make them grovel for daring to even imagine putting a collar on my neck!”
The air rippled faintly with her killing intent, and more than one person in the room shifted uneasily.
Chen Ren reached out. “Your anger is justified,” he said softly, “but we need to think calmly about it.”
Her head snapped toward him, eyes burning. “Why end it calmly? We can go and burn them to the ground.”
It was Qing He who answered. “We can’t.” She folded her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. In the midst of the storm, she stood eerily calm. “Blazing Ember has far more cultivators than we can muster. The one who wrote that letter—Shen Linao—he’s the current sect regent. He’s at the meridian expansion realm.” Her gaze slid toward Yalan. “You might be able to face him one-on-one, but he won’t be alone. Blazing Ember has dozens of foundation establishment cultivators. Dozens. You’d be swallowed the moment you made a move.”
Yalan’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “So what do you suggest? That I cut off Chen Ren’s head myself and put a collar on my own neck? Would that satisfy them?”
Her words were venom, but the hurt buried in them wasn’t lost on Chen Ren. He leaned forward, placing a firm hand on her back, feeling the fur twitch beneath his touch. “No. We won’t give in to their demands. Not yours, not mine, not anyone’s. I enjoy living far too much to die on their terms, and I won’t let them take you.” His grip tightened slightly, in reassurance. “But we do need to think of how to get out of this. All of us knew this day would come.”
Hong Yi’s face had gone pale. His fingers fidgeted against the hem of his sleeve before he finally spoke. “Not so soon.” His eyes lifted toward Chen Ren, haunted. “You told me it would take years before anything like this happened.” His throat bobbed with a swallow. “I don’t… I don’t want to be hunted again.”
A heavy silence followed his words. Chen Ren looked at the man straight in the eyes and said, “You won’t be.”
Those three words reeked of confidence that he didn’t have. He held Hong Yi’s gaze until the fear in it dimmed slightly. But inside, his own certainty wavered. He had come back hoping for rest, a chance to fix his star space in peace, yet Blazing Ember had chosen this moment, the worst moment to bare their stupid fangs.
His eyes dropped back to the letter on the table. The scorched parchment seemed to mock him with its calm, neat strokes. He read it again, lips moving silently, tracing each word. Once. Twice. A third time. With each pass, the fury cooled and his thoughts sharpened.
Letters like this—they revealed a lot more than just threats. Of course, threats often wrapped themselves in arrogance, but arrogance often revealed truths. By the third reading, he thought he had begun to see the cracks.
Finally, he leaned back, eyes sweeping across the tense faces around him. “At the very least,” he said slowly, “we can confirm a few facts before we decide how to act.” He tapped the edge of the letter. “But first… let’s wait for Wang Jun and Zi Wen. This threatens the sect, and they should both be here.”
The others nodded wordlessly.
It wasn’t long before the door creaked open. Zi Wen entered, carrying a lacquered wooden box in both hands as though it were something delicate. He set it down on the table, then undid the clasps.
The lid swung open, and out rolled a round, disembodied head, eyes blinking rapidly as Zi Wen reached in and plucked him free, setting him upright on the table’s surface.
“I hate being carried like that,” Wang Jun grumbled, shaking slightly as if trying to restore dignity to his floating locks of hair. “There need to be better ways than putting me in a—”
He stopped mid-complaint, his sharp eyes darting around the table. The silence, the taut expressions, the weight in the air—it all pressed down too heavily to ignore. His brows furrowed. “What happened?”
Chen Ren didn’t waste words. He picked up the letter, his voice steady as he read it aloud, each line landing heavier than the last. When he finished, the silence returned.
Wang Jun’s expression shifted, his usually mischievous features paling slightly. He turned toward Chen Ren, his mouth twitching into something between a grimace and a reluctant smile. “You,” he said, “have a penchant for stumbling into these kinds of situations.”
Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, a humorless smirk tugging faintly at his lips. “If I hadn’t, you’d still be sleeping.”
For a moment, the head just stared at him, then let out a sigh that seemed to rattle in his throat. “I don’t know,” he said, “if that would have been better… or worse, given the situation you’re in now.”
Wang Jun went quiet for a long moment, his eyelids drooping half-shut as though he were lost in memory. Then he gave a bitter chuckle. “If I had even half of my former strength,” he said, his voice rasping with both pride and regret, “I’d crush the Blazing Ember Sect myself. Burn them to ash for what they did to my people. But as you see…” he wobbled slightly, the sight of his severed body speaking louder than words, “…a head can’t do much.”
Chen Ren’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Truthfully, he doubted the head’s claim. There was no question the man was hiding far more than he let on—his past power, his knowledge, his secrets—but Chen Ren didn’t think he could single-handedly solve this. Not anymore. He was best used as he was now: a consultant.
“I don’t think any of us can simply burn down the problem,” he said, his eyes sliding toward Qing He. “Can you?”
She shook her head at once, her ears swaying faintly with the motion. “Even I have my own chains. At best, I could speak with this Shen Linao who sent the letter. He seems to be the one in charge.”
“He is,” Chen Ren said, recalling the tidbits Anji had shared. “From what I’ve heard, he’s the current sect regent." He tapped a finger against the parchment on the table. “But we’ll come to him later. First, there’s something else. The letter tells us more than it intended.”
“Like what?” Wang Jun asked.
“Like how it doesn’t even mention you.” He gestured at the floating Head. “From the letter, it’s clear they know what happened in the vault. But if they truly saw everything, if they had all the details… surely they would have mentioned a talking head. That they didn’t mean their information is incomplete.”
Hong Yi hummed. “So they only know about the fight with Wang Fu?”
“Exactly. And I think it’s clear how they found out.”
Qing He’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Divination. I thought the same. But if Shen Linao divined the entire battle, the cost would have been steep.”
“Steep doesn’t matter to him,” Chen Ren replied. He tapped the letter again, harder this time. “It’s apparent from the tone—he’s Wang Fu’s master. He has written that we killed his disciple, so he's probably a demonic cultivator. For someone like him, the cost of prying into fate would mean little if it gave him a chance at something he’s chased for years.”
“That’s the second reason I believe he sent us a letter,” he said at last. “Instead of going through the bureaucratic way—marching to the capital and filing a complaint against us.”
Zi Wen’s brows rose, and after a moment he gave a sharp nod. “Exactly. If he had gone that route, the case would fall under the Inquisitors’ eyes. They’d send their hounds to question us, and the moment we mentioned Blazing Ember’s dabbling in demonic arts…” Zi Wen’s lips curled faintly. “…they’d come under scrutiny instead.”
A murmur of agreement rippled around the room. Even the head bobbed slightly in place, acknowledging the point.
“There’s more to it, though. From the wording alone to the location of the meeting, he’s not proposing a parley. He’s setting up an ambush. If we don’t comply with every last demand, stepping into that valley will be walking into their jaws.”
The others shifted uncomfortably, but he pressed on.
“At the same time, it’s not all bad. The letter betrays their thinking. Shen Linao believes us to be weak. Other than Yalan, he’s certain we have no powerhouses to rely on. And if he truly used divination to spy on the battle, then he knows what we showed there. We didn’t win by strength, but by tricks and guile. He sees the upper hand in his grasp.”
Chen Ren’s jaw clenched. “That means he underestimates us.”
But the words rang hollow even to himself. Underestimation was useful only if they had a card left hidden. Right now, their hands were nearly bare.
There was one reality—they could neither run nor refuse. If they fled, Blazing Ember would hunt them to the ends of the earth. If they resisted outright, the sect would descend here in force, and the village would burn for it. He could already picture it: ordinary lives scattered like straw before a fire. That was something he would not allow.
The tension in the room coiled tighter. Chen Ren stared at the letter, then at each of their faces in turn, before finally voicing the single question that haunted his mind.
“How,” he said slowly, “are we going to stop the Blazing Ember Sect?”
The silence that followed was deeper than before, pressing into the marrow. Despite every detail laid bare, every possibility turned over, not one of them answered.
2025-08-21 09:30:13 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 266
Veridia felt the prickle of Queen Regina’s eyes on her before she even finished speaking. That narrow, penetrating stare that Veridia was never comfortable being under. She had just recounted every detail of what had happened last night with Arzan, if that was even his real name.
The Queen’s reaction had come in stages: first was the immediate and sharp flare of anger upon learning Veridia had walked, uninvited, into a banquet being held to gather support; and then her entire face cooled down when Veridia laid out her reasoning. And knowing Regina, she wasn’t a woman who enjoyed being surprised, but she also was not one who clung into pointless fury once it served no use.
All these years, Veridia had realized one thing: Regina did not truly care how a task was accomplished, only that it was.
The silence between them stretched, thick as syrup. The faint clink of porcelain was the only sound in the room as the Queen set down her teacup. Finally, after what felt like weeks compressed into seconds, Regina spoke.
“So,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “you ignored my suggestion to send more assassins after him. I thought you had more at your disposal.”
Veridia kept her back straight when she knew where this was going. “I do. But only a few are in the capital. I sent some to destroy his carriage when they were on the road to Hermil, but he wasn’t with them.”
“And why,” she asked, tilting her head slightly, “did you not kill the others?”
“Because it wasn’t worth it. The risk is only worth taking when the reward is good enough. His cohort is too strong. Knights with… powers, and more than one who fights like a seasoned warrior. We’ve already failed to eliminate the captured nobles in his possession, and repeating that would serve no purpose. In fact…” her lips curved faintly, “…they’d only turn it into a sympathy tale. Martyrs are far more dangerous than corpses.”
One of Regina’s brows rose, the faintest arch of skepticism, before she lifted her tea and took an unhurried sip. “Explain.”
“By my estimates,” Veridia continued, folding her hands in her lap. “Even if the assassins managed to kill one or two of those nobles—perhaps wound some of his Knights—they would still be cut down or driven off. And all for what? You already have plans to render their testimonies meaningless, to make them sound like fanciful hogwash. Why squander lives and resources on a fight that offers nothing but the risk of making him look heroic?”
The Queen set her cup back down, the porcelain clicking softly against the saucer.
“When,” she asked candidly, “did you start caring about assassins?”
“I trained them,” Veridia said without hesitation. “Even if they are just pawns, I believe they should give their lives for better causes than this.”
“There are better causes,” Regina said, “than ridding the kingdom of a parasite?”
“Better causes always come up,” Veridia replied.
Regina groaned quietly, pressing a hand to her temple as though she’d reached the end of her patience. If Veridia could speak the truth, she would say the feeling was mutual, but for now, she still needed to play the part of the loyal subordinate shackled by the Queen’s machinations.
“You think there are better causes for your assassins,” Regina said at last, “but not for yourself. Dueling him means the whole city watching, the entire nobility scrutinizing you.”
“You told me to do that if I found no other option,” Veridia countered.
“I never said to make it an event,” Regina snapped.
Veridia resisted the urge to sigh, keeping her expression smooth. “There’s a reason I did that.”
The Queen began tapping her finger against the table. “And that reason is?”
“I believe we need a spectacle,” Veridia said. “Despite you not fearing the lower nobles, their numbers are high, and right now they believe in the princes. But Arzan is offering them a great deal in exchange for just a vote. Some are beginning to think he’ll be made a Duke, and they’re ready to ride behind him. Princes may not remain forever since only one takes the thrones, but a Duke endures. Even if Prince Eldric takes the throne, the Kellius Dukedom will not be so easily destroyed.”
Regina’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding audibly. “I will see about that,” she said at last. “But… I take your point.”
Regina paused for the briefest moment.
“You want to kill him right in front of the entire noble population and stomp his support in one go.”
Veridia gave a small nod, then corrected her. “I don’t plan to kill him.”
Before Regina could pose a question, she added, “Doing so would invite far too many questions from far too many people, and I would lose what little support I have among the common folk. As you know, there hasn’t been a kingdom-wide threat requiring my aid in years. The common people have already forgotten me. Mortals have short memories.”
“The plague was for that,” Regina said pointedly.
“I believe that was more for Prince Eldric,” Veridia replied.
“You would have been with him,” Regina countered. “That was enough. But that damn man ruined it too. We suspect he had ties with Elias of Vanderfall. There are still sandstorms every day in the plague lands, and we can’t get near whatever is going on. The treant was pulled out of its roots. I don’t think Arzan has that much power. But be careful.”
Veridia didn’t need to be told twice. She knew very well Arzan was an enigma. Although she doubted he had been the one to pull the tree out, the report she’d received described it as little more than a husk—burnt. That, she was certain, was his doing.
Regina’s gaze sharpened. “If you won’t kill him during the duel, make sure you get the healers to poison him so he succumbs to his injuries. Unfortunately, that is.”
“I already planned for that,” Veridia said and controlled the urge to roll her eyes. After all this time, she still wanted to give Veridia commands on every little thing. “You don’t have to worry.”
For that, the Queen gave a single nod.
That… was not agreement; it was dismissal.
And so, without another word, Veridia rose, knowing the audience was over.
Veridia turned to leave, but Regina’s voice followed her to the door. “Don’t fail,” she said. “You’ve failed enough to lose all favor. If you fail again… you know what will happen.”
Veridia looked back over her shoulder. “I do.”
She opened the door and stepped out.
Her first instinct was to let out the breath she’d been holding, but instead her gaze fell on Selwin, Regina’s attendant. He glared at her in his usual fashion—meek and compliant in the Queen’s presence, but Veridia knew exactly what was hidden beneath.
She nodded at him in passing. “Selwin, you should go pour more tea for your master before you look at me like that.”
He held her stare for a second before shoving past her. “Don’t disappoint her again.”
Veridia glanced back at him. “You don’t have to worry. A slave should act like one.”
His lips twisted into a smirk. “We’re both slaves.”
Then he stepped into the Queen’s chambers, closing the door behind him.
Veridia lingered for a moment longer, eyes fixed on the door where the petite man walked inside. His words… they simmered in his mind and stroked a quiet rage. It was frustrating when even slaves had the audacity.
She turned on her heel and strode away.
I have no time to listen to a slave.
There was a duel coming and she intended to remind the entire kingdom why exactly she was known as the strongest Mage.
***
Rumours were everywhere.
So much so that no one was even talking about the banquet he had held. That had been the whole point—draw the nobles in, get them mingling, plant the right seeds in the right ears. He’d assumed it would be the talk of the city by sunrise, every noble who’d attended summoned by the princes for questioning. But nothing of the sort happened.
Instead, the only thing anyone seemed interested in was him and Veridia. More specifically, the fact that the two of them had apparently had a fight at the banquet and were now set for a blood duel.
The stories came in abundance, each one more absurd than the last. In some, he had supposedly insulted her outright, claiming to be the stronger Mage on the back of his recent victories. In others, she was the villain, goading him by making cutting remarks about his mother until he snapped.
One version—apparently courtesy of a Viscount who had been in attendance—had them trying to slap each other across the table. Another claimed there’d been a full-blown spell exchange right there in the middle of the hall. And then there was the most ridiculous one of all: that it had been a lovers’ spat. That one, thankfully, no one in their right mind was going to believe.
But whether the details were exaggerated or invented entirely, everyone seemed convinced there had been some sort of altercation between them. And, annoyingly, with how tense his last two exchanges with Veridia had been, it wasn’t as if there was no truth to it.
It just hadn’t led to a blood duel. That part had been shoved onto him, forced into the open before he could even think of refusing.
Not that he had any way to clarify the matter now. Veridia had been ready for this. The speed with which the gossip had spread was unnatural, almost surgical. He could easily picture every noble in the city waking up to their servants leaning in, whispering the latest scandal into their ears before they’d even touched their morning tea.
How was that possible? He didn’t know. Even the Watchers hadn’t been able to trace it back to her directly.
Which told him exactly how careful she’d been. Unfortunately, neither Francis nor Killian had any idea, either.
“I talked to Tiara,” Francis said, arms folded above his pot belly. “She’s been handling the Watchers here in Hermil. Despite infiltrating several noble houses, she didn’t get a whiff of it. She guesses Veridia—or Regina—has a deep network of spies already planted in those houses. They’re the ones who did it.”
“But we’ve been looking for hints of other spies, right?” Kai asked.
“Yes, we are. That’s why it’s strange we didn’t catch even a hint of it.” Killian replied.
Kai let out a slow sigh. He knew full well his Watchers weren’t the top spies in the kingdom—the organisation had only just formed, after all. But if their enemies had an active network too, at least one or two of them should have been caught. Not every noble house could be perfectly guarded, especially if there was already a spy embedded in each one.
Leopold, pacing through the room with the look of a man who hadn’t slept, stopped to frown. “Does that really matter? The problem is you’ve got a duel with Veridia out of nowhere.”
Kai didn’t answer him.
Instead, Duke William Blackwood—present for the first time in one of these discussions, sitting with deceptive ease in the corner—spoke up. “It does matter. She managed to accomplish this in just a few hours. That kind of system is something we need to understand. In the coming months, things won’t be easy. We have to think long term.”
Leopold closed his mouth at that, continuing his pacing without another word.
Kai nodded slowly, mind sifting through the possibilities. How had she moved so fast? How had she gotten the rumours into every noble household overnight? Then, the thought clicked into place.
“Mages,” he murmured.
Francis frowned. “What?”
“Every noble house has Mages from the Archine Tower working with them,” Kai said. “She didn’t need to send servants. She probably informed a few Mages, and the information trickled down to the others before reaching the nobles. Since everyone’s gathered here, they likely brought their Mages along for the journey. I wouldn’t be surprised if there are Mage banquets going on right now.”
Francis nodded. “There are.”
Kai leaned back against the couch. “Then it probably spread during one of those, at the same time as ours. Veridia didn’t stay long, and just like that, every noble knew by morning. The Watchers can’t react that fast, not yet.”
Duke Blackwood inclined his head. “It does make sense. But the question is: what are we going to do? The rumours have spread. I’d wager she’s already informed the arena.”
“I don’t think he can just reject it, citing the Assembly,” Leopold said, glancing at his father. “Right, Father?”
“No,” Duke Blackwood replied. “This and the assembly are separate matters. If Arzan refuses, Veridia can bury him under more bad rumours. She could claim he’s a coward. We’re projecting his identity as a strong Mage who’s saved the kingdom. He can’t back down. Delaying won’t work either—the Assembly’s judgment will take time, and she’d just say he’s stalling.”
Killian scowled. “But Lord Arzan didn’t even do anything to provoke a duel.”
Kai gave a dry smile. “I don’t think I did anything to provoke a beast wave or a fief war, either. Some things just… happen.”
Francis leaned forward slightly. “So you will duel her, Lord Arzan?”
Kai went silent. He was still adamant about not getting involved in this, but the truth was unavoidable. There was very little he could do to stop it. The nobles expected him to duel. The city expected it. Veridia expected it.
Part of him wanted to burn everything down just to spite them all.
As he sat there, a flicker of mana bled from him without conscious thought.
Killian’s brows drew together. “Lord Arzan, are you alright?”
“Yes,” Kai said evenly. “Just thinking about the duel.”
Then he looked around at the faces in the room. “I believe I will take part in it. But…” His lips curved, not in amusement, but in promise. “…I don’t think Veridia will like what she sees in the arena.”
2025-08-19 02:47:12 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 156
The dragon’s chest visibly expanded, and the scales shifted. It let out a deep hrrrhhhfff, and immediately, hot air curled around him.
“Yes, human. You are dying.”
Chen Ren felt its voice inside his soul, reverberating until the reality of what it had just said carved into his mind.
“Do you truly think your star space breaking is like catching a cold? That it can be patched with some herbal paste and a handful of pills? It is part of your dantian—the core of your being. Its collapse means you have pushed yourself too far, driven your existence past its limits until it has begun to crack. Not just your cultivation, but your body, your mind, your soul. There is no alignment. No balance between them. And so, your star space breaks. Every time you exhaust yourself and leap between realms like a fool, it will worsen.”
The weight of the dragon’s presence bore down on him until his knees felt ready to give way. Chen Ren knew it wasn’t intentional; the being before him was simply too powerful. Even speaking with it was like standing beneath a storm trying to tear the sky in half.
But he forced himself to focus on the meaning behind its words.
And deep down, he could not deny it. He had felt it himself, ever since the battle with the frost spirits, there had been something wrong. His star space was fracturing, yes, but his body seemed to be following suit, fraying at the edges in ways he couldn’t quite name.
There was a reason he had been desperate to speak with the dragon. And now that it was here… he wasn’t sure if it would help him at all.
“I didn’t know it would happen,” he said quietly.
“Huh? Is that true?” The dragon’s golden eyes narrowed. “No one told you? Not even that cat?”
“She told me to make sure my foundation was correct,” Chen Ren replied, his voice edged with frustration. “But I don’t think she realized this would happen.”
The dragon’s gaze shifted, the golden light in its eyes dimming just enough to give the impression of… disappointment. It didn’t need to sigh for Chen Ren to feel the weight of that expression pressing against him.
“Of course she didn’t,” the dragon said and flicked its tail. “What could a mere meridian expansion realm cat possibly know about someone being the Originator of a Dao? That kind of knowledge has long been lost to your world.”
Chen Ren blinked. “Originator?”
The dragon’s eyes narrowed, but instead of answering, it turned its head slightly, as if dismissing the question entirely. “You don’t need to concern yourself with that now, human. You have far greater problems clawing at you.”
Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, forcing a nod. “You told me the problem. Do you have a solution?”
The dragon’s gaze sharpened to a squint, its voice curling with accusation. “You didn’t throw yourself into this mess after asking me for guidance, did you? A true cultivator solves his own problems. If you do not know that, then, I’m uncertain what you’re doing here… in front of me—”
“You know,” Chen Ren’s brows knit together. “Despite you saying that, you could’ve easily helped me by telling me what to do, and what not to do. But you didn’t. You can’t put all the blame on me.”
Golden light flared faintly along the dragon’s horns, and its voice deepened, carrying a note of restrained impatience. “I saved your life. The only reason I am—and remain—in hibernation is because of that. I have barely the strength to be here now, and only to ensure you don’t throw your life away again.”
“I fed you a lot of qi to get you here,” Chen Ren shot back.
The dragon’s response was a sudden, rolling laugh that reverberated through the star space, sending shockwaves shuddering out from its body. The air trembled around Chen Ren, forcing him to brace his stance.
“A lot of qi?” The dragon’s tone was dripping with amusement now. “Huurrrhhh. What you gave was not even a flicker of a single strand of heavenly qi. At most, it was a twitch, enough to make me open my eyes and notice your pitiful state. Otherwise, I would still be in my slumber.”
Chen Ren’s frown deepened, a tightness settling in his chest. It was not his impatience, rather, desperation. “So you won’t help me? You’ve already saved my life once, yes, but you can’t just let my star space break. You use it too. You’re connected to it.”
The dragon went silent. Its great head tilted ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded in thought. The stillness stretched for several breaths before it finally spoke.
“I barely remain here as it is… but you are right. Even if you’ve been an idiot, I cannot simply let you die. Too much has been invested in you already, and I like to see a return on my investments.”
For the first time, Chen Ren felt a flicker of something personal in the dragon’s words. It was a logic he understood well. He wouldn’t let one of his own investments fail either, not unless saving it would cost more than it was worth. Fortunately, the dragon didn’t seem to think he had reached that point.
“So,” Chen Ren said, straightening slightly, “what’s the way to deal with it?”
“Harmony.” The dragon’s voice rolled through him like slow thunder. “There must be harmony between your body, mind, and soul. Your cultivation strengthens each of them, but since you rushed through realms, the others could not keep up. Spirit roots normally dictate whether one can do this without harm, hence why true geniuses maintain balance no matter how quickly they advance. Unfortunately for you…”
“I’m far from one,” Chen Ren finished for him, giving a wry smile. “Thank you for the reminder. But how do I achieve that balance? Do I need to hunt for anything specific?”
The dragon let out what sounded almost like a sigh, a ripple of warm breath that stirred the very qi in the air. “No. You must raise your soul, your mind, and your body to match the level of your cultivation. I believe that much is enough for you to know how to proceed.”
“You mean I need to start soul cultivation?”
“Body and mind as well,” the golden dragon replied without hesitation. “They are not the common paths to strength, and they are not as intricate nor as demanding as qi cultivation, but you will need to walk them nonetheless. And you will need to do it quickly.”
“But I only know someone who can teach me soul cultivation,” Chen Ren said, brows drawing together. “Where will I learn the other two?”
“Body cultivation,” the dragon rumbled, “is something you should already have access to. The knowledge is around you. You simply have not looked closely. As for the mind… that is more complex. Still, you possess a sturdy mind. If you focus on strengthening the other two, you should be able to maintain enough balance to progress. And if I am correct, you will soon have an opportunity to obtain manuals for mind cultivation.”
Chen Ren tilted his head. “What does that mean?”
The dragon’s eyes curved in what could almost be called a smile. “Everything I say carries many meanings, Chen Ren. But in this case… it means danger will soon surround you, more than ever before. And where there is danger, there is also opportunity. Adequate opportunity to gain what you lack. Someone like you will know how to seize it.”
A frown tightened Chen Ren’s face. This just kept getting more and more complicated. He was already shook by the fact that he was dying… but more dangers?
He knew danger was never far, but the way the dragon spoke made it sound inevitable, imminent, even. “What type of danger? There’s so much I haven’t asked you. About the medallion. The Gate of Immortals. The Devourers. I know you know what’s going on. I don’t like being a pawn in all this.”
The dragon was silent for a long moment, its golden gaze weighing him as though deciding the worth of his demand. Then, without warning, it moved.
Its massive body slid forward in a single, smooth motion, the sheer presence of it displacing the air in heavy, soundless waves. Chen Ren’s muscles locked as the beast stopped just behind him.
He didn’t know how or why, but the instant the dragon’s gaze fell on him, the urge hit—sharp and instinctive. To bow. To lower himself entirely. To acknowledge not just power, but divinity. His mind screamed that it was a beast, yet every fibre of his being whispered otherwise: this was not something to stand against.
This was something to worship. And he should bow—
Chen Ren shook the thoughts from his mind, forcing his spine to straighten.
The dragon’s smirk was faint but unmistakable. “See? What did I tell you? Your mind is already far stronger than your body and soul if you can shake off my heavenly dominance.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Chen Ren stated as a matter of fact.
“I know.” The dragon’s tone was maddeningly calm. “You will know everything in due time. For now, I have little time left, and even if I didn’t, burdening you with more than you can carry would be pointless. One man can only hold so much. It is not yet the right time.”
Chen Ren’s teeth ground together. “Bullshit. Don’t start playing the Xianxia sage who knows everything but won’t say anything because of ‘plot convenience.’ I hate that.”
The dragon’s laugh rolled through the star space like the crack of a breaking mountain. “You use strange words, boy. But trust me soon, I’ll be able to tell you everything. For now, reach foundation establishment and correct your balance. And if you want any advice—” its eyes gleamed like twin suns “—collect every medallion piece you can find.”
Chen Ren opened his mouth to press further, but already the dragon was withdrawing. The stars that had shaped its body began to drift apart, sliding back into their usual positions. In moments, the colossal form dissolved into scattered golden lights, leaving only the cold vastness of his fractured star space.
Silence swallowed him whole.
For a heartbeat, he considered calling out again—ask about everything he needed answers for—but the instinct told him it would be useless. Instead, he replayed every word of the conversation in his mind, fixing them in place before letting himself drift back toward waking.
The next blink brought the cramped interior of the carriage into focus. Yalan and Wang Jun were both watching him, their expressions caught between curiosity and restraint.
“So?” Wang Jun asked. “Did you manage to get anything?”
Chen Ren licked his lips, not answering right away. He couldn’t. The dragon’s words still echoed in his ears. The way it had said it. Then, he finally spoke. “Yes.” He paused, glancing at the head opposite him. “I need you to teach me soul cultivation.”
Wang Jun’s brows knit, his face twisting as if he’d just bitten into something sour. “What the heck are you even talking about?”
“Let me explain,” Chen Ren said.
***
The rest of the carriage ride back to Meadow Village was spent with Chen Ren recounting everything—how the dragon had appeared, what it had said, and how deliberately cryptic it had been. Yalan listened without interruption, while Wang Jun occasionally muttered something under his breath, his face a mixture of interest and skepticism.
According to Wang Jun, heavenly beasts were always like that. In his words, anything they involved themselves in could tip the balance of the world’s fate, so they measured every syllable they spoke.
Chen Ren would have been less irritated if he believed that was true. But to him, it was just one of those comforting myths cultivators repeated until it became a ‘truth.’ No one had ever proven it.
Still, for all the unanswered questions—about the Gate of Immortals, the medallion, the Devourers—he had at least walked away with a path to fix his breaking star space.
Unfortunately, that path required him to prostrate himself before an arrogant talking head who looked as if he had been waiting for this exact moment. The head didn’t move his mouth unless he got something in return; his greed was a constant, gnawing presence and needed to be fed at every possible moment.
Most of the ride was spent in slow, needling negotiation. Chen Ren probing for what the man would take to teach him soul cultivation, the head deflecting or raising the price with each exchange.
Chen Ren suspected the hesitation might have something to do with soul cultivation being a legacy from the man’s former sect… but he didn’t truly believe it. Hundreds of years had passed since the head had entered hibernation, and in all that time they had shared, Chen Ren had never heard him speak of the sect with even a shred of loyalty. If anything, it felt as if the sect had been something he created simply because it was the natural extension of his position of strength.
Fortunately, the head agreed in the end, though not without his usual air of reluctant generosity. He warned Chen Ren that soul cultivation took decades to master, even for the most diligent. But Chen Ren wasn’t aiming for master, just enough progress to restore the balance within himself.
Of course, soul cultivation alone wouldn’t solve everything. The dragon had made that much clear. So, before the journey was over, the talk shifted to body cultivation.
The dragon had hinted he could learn it, and of the three paths it had named, this seemed the most common. Yalan explained that a few tribes beyond the Empire’s borders still practiced it, and that even some sects kept manuals on the subject. Wang Jun, for his part, knew a bit himself, though he didn’t have a manual to offer.
Unlike qi cultivation, which worked inward, body cultivation forged the outer shell—tempering flesh, bone, and muscle until the body itself became a weapon, capable of withstanding devastating blows. Many cultivators with poor or few spirit roots took this path, but Yalan’s tone turned grim when she spoke of its nature. The training was brutally painful, enough to kill the unprepared. Even among those who survived, stories of people dying from the sheer agony were common.
None of this made Chen Ren eager to try it. But given the dragon’s warning, he doubted he had a choice. The beast had no reason to lie to him, and both Yalan and Wang Jun agreed the logic was sound.
By the time the carriage wheels rattled into Meadow Village, Chen Ren had already decided. He would look for a body cultivation manual as soon as possible.
What he hadn’t expected was to find another problem waiting for him there, coiled and ready like a snake in the grass.
Just as the dragon had said, he already had too many problems to be worrying about more.
The old beast surely knew more than he did.
2025-08-19 02:45:52 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 155
Snow-laden branches blurred past the window. Tiny figures leapt between them—creatures with plump bodies wrapped in furs so thick they looked like living snowballs. In their nimble paws, they clutched cracked nut shells, nibbling with the absentminded contentment of those untouched by the world’s troubles.
They looked like squirrels at first glance, but Chen Ren knew better. These were linhui squirrels, one of the few spirit beasts rarely hunted and often kept as pets by cultivators. Not for their claws, which could barely scratch bark, nor for their bite, which could scarcely dent a walnut. No, these little creatures were prized for something far rarer. Their qi, gentle and steady, could seep into the hearts of those nearby, calming turbulent emotions and quieting a restless mind.
Chen Ren wondered if he had one perched on his shoulder, its soft fur brushing against his neck, would he finally feel the stillness he lacked? Or would the chaos inside him drown even that gentle flow of qi?
“Kid.”
Wang Jun’s voice snapped him from the drifting thought, its rough tone dragging his mind back to the cramped warmth of the carriage. “I don’t really understand what you’re thinking. You say you’ve got a golden dragon in your star space. I know about spirit manifestations—rare, yes, but not impossible. For one to appear, a spirit has to take a serious interest in you. And you’re telling me a dragon—a dragon—did that for you.” His brow furrowed. “But you don’t even know how to speak to it?”
From the corner, Yalan spoke. “Didn’t he tell you that already? He’s been trying to learn more about the heavenly beast.”
Wang Jun snorted. “Not like I’m going to believe everything he says. I reached the domain manifestation realm, and I never had something so cool sitting in my soul.”
“But you did have a spirit manifestation.”
“Oh yes,” Wang Jun said with a slow nod, a flicker of nostalgia crossing his features. His thick eyebrows frowned in thought. “A destructive thing called the void wyvern. Very impressive. Sadly, it died long before I was poisoned.” He chuckled once. “I called it Hei Yuan. Still miss the damn thing, even if manifesting it in the real world costs me more qi than I’d like to admit.”
Chen Ren’s gaze lingered on the older man. “And how did you talk to it… in your star space?”
Wang Jun gave him a sideways glance. “Her,” he corrected flatly, before pausing, his gaze drifting toward the passing trees as though the answer lay somewhere in the snow-laden distance. “And… I actually don’t know. She was always there whenever I entered my star space. Just… waiting. As if she’d been expecting me long before I arrived.”
“What if she got injured? Was she still there?” Chen Ren asked again.
Wang Jun’s brows were still pinched together.
“She was. But sometimes, she’d vanish for a while, returning to… wherever she lived in the spirit realm. Do you think this dragon of yours would have done the same?”
“Who knows.” Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the cold air seeping through the carriage seams. “I just need to find a way to call it in. Then I can ask what’s going on with my star space. It should know since it technically lives there.”
Yalan’s voice cut in from the side. “But you don’t know how to call him in.”
Chen Ren exhaled through his nose, feeling the annoyance creep into his mind. “That’s the problem. No matter how much I think about it, I feel like I’m circling back to square one. It’s annoying as f—”
A dry chuckle came from Wang Jun. “If you just wanted to complain all the way to the village, I should’ve stayed with Anji. At least watching her face when I scold her is entertaining.”
“I’m sure she’ll be happier without you breathing down her neck every day,” Chen Ren shot back without looking at him.
When they’d decided to return to the village, Anji had chosen to remain in Broken Ridge City for another month. She needed to appoint a competent manager from those under her—someone who could run things in her absence. After all, she couldn’t remain there forever; her path of soul cultivation demanded she return to safer grounds.
It was too dangerous for Wang Jun to linger in that city—too many enemies and too few allies—and the head himself had felt more at ease in the village. And so, he had come with them.
Chen Ren rested his chin in his palm, watching the linhui squirrels vanish into the snow-brushed trees, hoping—perhaps unreasonably—that everything would run smoothly without them there.
Hun Tianzhi had assured him that everything would be fine, even going so far as to insist on accompanying him to see the sect grounds. But Chen Ren had reminded the man that he was on the verge of a breakthrough in his research. A point where a single distraction might cost him months. After a long, reluctant silence, Hun Tianzhi had agreed to postpone the visit.
Chen Ren didn’t linger on that thought for long. His journey to Meadow was time he had carved out for himself—a rare stretch of quiet to focus on one question: How to call on the golden dragon.
The list of methods he could attempt was depressingly short. The dragon was elusive, appearing only once properly—when his life had been hanging by a thread. That had led to one particularly reckless idea: to place himself in danger again. Do something so reckless that’d get him killed.
He’d discarded it almost as soon as it had formed. He wasn’t foolish enough to gamble his life so carelessly. The only reason the thought tempted him at all was because deep down, he suspected the dragon had a reason for residing in his star space. No one—man, beast, or heavenly creature—would intervene to save another without cause.
If the golden dragon truly governed the Dao of Money, and if Chen Ren was the only one walking that path, then perhaps he was more than just a passing cultivator in its eyes. Perhaps he was an investment.
And investments were not meant to be squandered.
Without him, the dragon might never find a way to manifest in the mortal realm. That bond, however one-sided it seemed now, meant the creature had a stake in his survival.
As the conversation in the carriage dwindled into the muted creak of wheels and the faint jingle of harness bells, Chen Ren let his eyelids lower. His hands settled loosely on his knees, his spine straightening into a meditative posture. The constant jostle of the carriage rattled his bones, but he let his breath smooth itself, his thoughts growing quiet.
The world outside and all the noise faded into the background.
The longer he breathed, the lighter his body felt, as though the rolling of the carriage no longer touched him. A ripple of stillness spread through his mind, until at last, when his eyes opened again, the worn wooden walls of the carriage were gone.
He was sitting within the boundless expanse of his star space.
Like before, his star space still bore the scars of whatever strange fracture it was enduring. The cracks hung suspended in the void, broken seams that bled faint wisps of light into the surrounding darkness. But at least the damage hadn’t worsened since the last time he had come here. That, he supposed, was a small mercy.
Chen Ren stared at the wounds for a few breaths, his chest tightening at the thought of what would happen if they spread. Then he turned upward, to the drifting constellations—great, molten globs of qi simmering in the endless sky above, pulsing with a faint rhythm, as though calling to him.
They wanted him to take them in. He could feel it, like the warmth of a hearth brushing against his skin. Yet he didn’t move. Instead, his eyes fixed on two particular stars—ones that, when taken together, formed the image of a pair of slitted golden eyes staring back at him.
“Hello,” he said into the vast emptiness, the sound of his voice swallowed instantly by the space. “Are you there? I want to talk to you about something. You already know… but my star space is breaking apart. Can you help me?”
Silence.
The void around him stayed still, the only motion being the slow rotation of the stars. He waited, counting the breaths, until a full minute stretched into several. Nothing stirred. No golden scales shimmering into view, no oppressive draconic presence curling through the air.
Chen Ren exhaled, the sound almost a laugh, almost a sigh. If it were so simple, the dragon would have appeared long ago. He would’ve gotten his answer a long time ago. But no, it wasn’t that easy.
So he moved to his second plan. Lowering himself to sit cross-legged on the shimmering floor of his star space, he closed his eyes and began pushing his qi outward. It poured from him in slow, steady waves, spreading through the astral realm like a tide seeking every hidden shore.
If the dragon was here but refusing to answer, then he would drag it out.
His qi swept across the void, brushing against every fragment of his space. It ran along the edges of the cracks, dipped into the floating shards of broken space, then climbed higher, probing the glimmering orbs above, reaching toward the distant constellations as if to tap them awake.
But there was nothing, again. He couldn’t feel even a faintest echo of the dragon’s presence. It was as though it had never been here at all.
A faint chill stirred in Chen Ren’s chest. Had it abandoned his star space entirely? The thought itched at him like an unwelcome splinter, but he shook his head. No, if the dragon had wanted to leave, it would have done so from the beginning. More likely…
He opened his eyes, his gaze falling once again on the slow-turning constellations.
More likely, the dragon had simply chosen to withdraw. To sleep. To return to whatever corner of the spirit realm it called home, waiting until it had gathered enough strength to stir again.
If that was the case, then the problem was even bigger than he had thought. Wang Jun had mentioned something similar happening with his own spirit manifestation—how it had retreated to the spirit realm for a time—but knowing that didn’t solve the question pressing against Chen Ren’s mind.
How was he supposed to call the dragon back?
He sat there in the stillness, thoughts circling over the same line until he came into a conclusion.
If the dragon truly lived in his star space—truly had bound itself to him—then there had to be a link. Some thread tying them together. Without it, the dragon’s very existence here would have been impossible. It was logical, reasonable and doable.
If he could find that link, perhaps he could tug on it, call the dragon back.
But he had never seen any trace of such a thing. So where was it hiding?
His jaw tightened as he pushed his qi outward again, this time with sharper intent, combing through every inch of the star space with painstaking care.
The cracks in the void, the fragments of broken reality, the unseen currents between drifting shards. He swept through them all, wrecking his brain for the answer.
Yet the more he searched, the more his concern began to gnaw at him. The link was nowhere. And then—
He stopped, his breath catching.
I am an idiot.
The answer had been in front of him the entire time.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the heavens above. The dragon had once woven its form from those very stars, golden light spilling down from the constellations like seething fire.
Of course the link would be there.
Gathering himself, Chen Ren sent a simmering pulse of qi toward the great, glowing spheres. At once, the stars responded, their surface qi roiling in a way that made his meridians itch, almost begging to be absorbed into his body. He resisted the pull, locking his will in place, and instead pushed against it, forcing his qi deeper, toward the very heart of those burning cores.
It was like pressing into the eye of a storm. And then, he felt it.
A pressure that didn’t belong to the space itself.
It was the same weight that had crushed the air from his lungs the day the dragon had manifested to save him from Gu Tian. The same ancient, suffocating majesty that made the soul tremble without knowing why.
The dragon.
It was the same in every brightened star.
Chen Ren set his jaw and tried to seize hold of it. The pressure bore down on him at once, an invisible weight pressing against his shoulders until his upper body threatened to buckle. But he didn’t yield. He pushed his qi forward, thread by thread, forcing it into the link as if hammering on the dragon’s door.
Whether the creature would sense it, he couldn’t say. But it was the only plan he had.
Unfortunately, the link revealed itself to be a glutton. No matter how much qi he poured into it, it swallowed everything without the faintest change. Not even a ripple in the oppressive aura.
His frown deepened. His own qi wouldn’t last at this rate, and with his star space already in a fragile state, exhausting himself entirely would be courting disaster.
Then his gaze swept across the realm, and a thought came to him. He didn’t need to burn his own reserves. This space was filled with qi—qi he already had a right to use.
He shifted his focus to one of the closer stars, the star tied to his noodle stall. Its qi, rich and savory in its own strange way, drifted toward him like the scent of a boiling broth. It, too, tried to flow into him, but he turned it aside, guiding the strands toward the link hidden in the dragon’s constellation.
The result was the same. The link devoured it all in moments, leaving nothing behind.
Still, there was no dragon at sight.
Then he moved to the next. It was the star bound to his perfume business. The qi was dainty and fragrant which prickled against his senses. He sent it toward the link. Slowly and slowly, it vanished. It was swallowed without a trace.
Gritting his teeth, he turned toward the star representing his alcohol trade. Its qi was heavy and intoxicating, a slow-burning warmth that seemed to curl in the air like smoke. He sent that too, emptying the star entirely.
By now, doubt had begun to creep in like cold water seeping through a crack.
The qi he had used could have propelled him all the way to foundation establishment realms—months of accumulation gone in mere breaths. And for what? To feed a bottomless link, praying it might stir something that might not even be here?
But as the links devoured more and more qi, the pressure bleeding through them shifted. It swelled, dense and crushing, pressing down on his chest until his heartbeat seemed to slow.
Chen Ren’s eyes widened—this was different.
Without hesitation, he poured more qi in, weaving every available strand toward the constellation. The oppressive weight thickened, and then—suddenly—the stars flared.
A golden glow rippled outward from the link, and he instinctively stood and took a step back, breath catching in his throat. Still, he fed more into it, and more, until the other stars across his star space began to shimmer as well.
One by one, they brightened, and the glow bled into thin golden lines that arced between them. The lines curved, connected, and twisted, each stroke sketching the outline of something vast.
A massive, serpentine body coiled through the sky of his star space, born of pure starlight. Golden scales rippled into existence along its form, and as the qi lines solidified, the head emerged—majestic, fierce, and crowned with two sharp horns.
When at last Chen Ren cut the flow of qi, the dragon’s eyes flared open. Twin suns of molten gold locked onto him.
Then they shifted, scanning his entire star space. The dragon’s gaze swept over the cracks, the broken fragments, the dimmed stars. And for a brief moment, so fleeting that Chen Ren almost doubted he’d seen it, the great beast’s brow furrowed.
“You’re finally here,” Chen Ren said, his voice carrying both relief and urgency. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you for so long.”
The dragon’s maw didn’t move, yet its voice coiled into his mind like smoke—deep, resonant, and edged with something that almost sounded like amusement.
“Do not be impatient. Fate would have brought you to me eventually. Forcing it sooner only makes you meet the trials ahead before you’re ready.”
Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t trying to call you right away. I was willing to wait. But as you can see…” He gestured at the fractured void around them. “…my star space is breaking apart. I nearly passed out earlier after using qi. I need to know how to fix it.”
The dragon exhaled, a sound like distant thunder rolling through the space, and his entire body vibrated.
“Fix it? Foolish boy. You truly think a star space can simply be ‘repaired’? You are in this predicament because you rushed through realms your vessel was not prepared to endure. And now, when you’re about to die, you come crawling to me.”
The weight of its words sank in slowly, but one phrase stuck like a barb.
Chen Ren swallowed.
“Dying? What do you mean… I’m dying?”
2025-08-16 07:59:11 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 265
How does she know?
Kai stared at her for a few seconds, not moving his gaze, but maintaining a steady expression. A neutral one, where not a single muscle moved. On the surface, he was the calmest, but inside, every muscle in his body itched to tense.
The question hit like a blade sliding under his ribs. Had his secret leaked?
No, impossible. The few who knew it, wouldn’t dare speak of it, not to her, not to anyone. And the elves? He doubted it. Whatever else they were, they saw him as a lifeline, not a threat to be exposed. Even if they wanted to, what good would it do them?
So how in the hells did Veridia know?
The thought spiraled in on itself before snapping into place.
A bluff.
Of course. She didn’t know—she suspected. She was bluffing with everything she had. A good actor, he could give it to her. And, if he was being honest, he had given her more than enough reason for it. People weren’t blind to change, especially not Mages. Sudden leaps in strength drew attention. Even Killian and Francis had let doubt flicker in their eyes from time to time. It was only natural.
Which meant that if he had any chance of keeping this buried, he had to smother it now. The only winning move was to give her nothing.
He let a faint furrow touch his brow, tilting his head slightly. “What are you talking about?”
Veridia’s lips pressed into a thin line. Now she looked… curious. But with this woman, it was hard to know what was true and what was not.
“You don’t have to act,” she said. How convincing. “It’s easy to say you aren’t Arzan. Although body possession exists only in theory for most of us, there are… creatures capable of it. I doubt you’re one of them. But you are certainly a Mage who found a way.”
She narrowed his eyes.
“Boy, I knew Valkyrie. Her research—and what she left behind—could make any Mage with decent talent a magus. But your growth…” she shook her head slightly. “Your growth is too fast. You can hide behind your bloodline and your inheritance, but the way you’ve progressed… the way you look at me…”
“You are a Mage who does not fear me. And only one who once stood above me could look at me like that.”
Internally, Kai let out the barest sigh of relief. So he’d been right. It was a bluff. But the ease didn’t last long. Her words made it clear her suspicions hadn’t gone anywhere. If anything, she was more certain now. He doubted she’d ever expected him to accept her claim outright. Her theory was both right and wrong, tangled in truth and misdirection, but that didn’t matter. She would cling to it until proven otherwise… and he had no intention of doing that.
“You should learn more about a Kellius,” he said lightly, creeping pride into his words, “and how they could look a dragon in the eye.”
“Nothing like that ever happened. That’s just something one of your ancestors used to babble about. You probably read it somewhere, but that doesn’t mean it’s true.”
She was right, of course. But that didn’t mean he had to admit it.
“I heard it from my father when I was a child,” Kai replied evenly.
“And yet you stayed a coward for most of your life.”
“One incident is enough to change someone. I’m sure even you know it,” he said, voice tightening just a fraction. “When Actra came for my life, I knew I had to change.”
“I don’t believe it,” she said, with the easy confidence of someone who had already judged him.
“You don’t have to, and I’m not asking you to,” Kai said, his tone cool but edged. “You can keep whatever theories you like about me. You can even claim I’m a devil, for all I care. It won’t change the fact that I am Arzan Kellius.”
That made her pause. The flicker in Veridia’s eyes wasn’t hesitation—it was assessment. She studied him the way one might study a particularly stubborn puzzle piece, her head tilting slightly as though the new angle might make him fit. Kai could almost hear the gears turning in her head.
“Maybe not,” she murmured at last. “But I know you aren’t. I haven’t reached my position without following my gut.”
“And what does that tell you about me?” he asked, meeting her gaze without blinking.
“That you’re dangerous,” she replied instantly, “and that I have a lot to gain from you.”
“I’m not interested in old women.”
Her chuckle was low, rich with amusement. “I’m not really interested in young men, either. Or… who knows? Perhaps you’re not so young after all.”
The smirk faded into something sharper. Her smile narrowing to the blade-thin edge of intent.
“Either way,” she continued, “what I’m interested in are the theories you wrote in your last ascension exam. Nothing that’s never been thought of before, but… your perspective was different. Uncomfortably different.”
Kai’s mind traced back to that day. Was that where her suspicions had begun? Possibly. But it would have been easy enough to assume he’d studied Valkyrie’s work and bent it into his own style. No, Veridia wasn’t the type to gamble everything on one clue. She was collecting fragments, stacking them until they formed something dangerous.
And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let her think she’d solved him.
“So,” he said, a faint sardonic curl in his voice, “you just want my magical knowledge.”
“For now, but I believe you have far more to give me.”
“I don’t really think I want to give you anything,” Kai said, his voice flattening to stone. “I have no reason to.”
“I’m giving you a reason.”
“What?”
Her lips curved again, the expression almost playful, if you ignored the calculation behind her eyes. “Let’s go back to the beginning of our conversation.”
“To the fact that you think I’m someone else?”
She shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving his. “No. To the fact that Regina wants me to kill you. If not by sending assassins, then by a duel. And I’m here for that.”
“To challenge me to a duel?”
Before Kai could think it through the old woman nodded. Her eyes practically glinted at the thought.
“Yes. A public one—for the whole city to see. If I win, I won’t kill you… but you’ll share your knowledge with me. If you win…” her voice lowered, the corner of her mouth lifting, “…you can do whatever you want with me.”
Kai’s frown deepened. He let the silence stretch, weighing it in his mind. Every instinct told him it was a bad idea. And every logical reasoning that came to his mind said it was the worst idea. The last time he’d stood in a duel was against Reyk—a puffed-up noble brat who thought his spells made him untouchable.
But Veridia? She was something else entirely.
She was clearly a very experienced Mage, too experienced. Did he really want something like this played out before the Assembly?
The more he thought about it, the less it seemed like Regina had any certainty of actually winning in the assembly. Maybe she wasn’t even sure she could force through a verdict for his execution. This duel felt like a backup plan, her second blade, in case the first one failed.
Not that it mattered. Thinking too much about Regina’s reasoning wouldn’t change anything.
His gaze returned to Veridia, weighing her like a predator sizing up another predator. “I don’t really see why I’d agree to a duel with you,” he said evenly. “And if you actually don’t kill me, won’t you be going against Regina, too?”
Surprisingly, Veridia didn’t answer. He expected any comment—a clever remark, or denial—but no. The woman stayed silent.
That only meant one thing.
She wasn’t following Regina’s orders to the letter. She was playing her own game. That was good for him. He wanted Regina to have as few allies as possible. But that didn’t make him any more willing to step into a duel with someone like her.
“I won’t be playing any more games,” he said at last, turning away.
He had taken only three steps before her voice drifted after him. “I don’t mind causing a scene until you accept.”
He stopped mid-step.
“There are a good number of nobles here,” she went on smoothly. “One insult—just one—and you doing nothing? You’ll lose more than face. You’ll lose support. People don’t like nobles and Mages who can’t stand up for themselves.”
Kai slowly turned back to look at her, his eyes narrowing into a cold glare.
It clicked.
This conversation—here, of all places—had been calculated from the start. Every word, every pause, every thread she pulled was meant to box him into a corner where refusing her was worse than accepting. He hadn’t seen it coming, and he hated that.
“You’re just forcing my hand,” he said. “You won’t like the slap it gives you.”
“I don’t really care.”
Veridia closed the distance between them, and once again, Kai’s personal space was crowded with her strong… scent. It almost gave him a headache. She met his eyes.
“I expect you to be there for the duel,” she said. “Two days before the assembly. The rumours will start by morning, and I’ve already booked the arena. There’s no way you can back out of it.”
Kai’s jaw tightened. “Even if I don’t, I haven’t accepted your terms.”
“You don’t want me to do anything for you?”
He hesitated.
If she was telling the truth, then winning meant she’d owe him something, and that was not a small thing. Was she truly so confident in her victory… or was this just one piece in a much longer game? So many questions, and so little answers. That was frustrating.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I don’t kill Mages during duels. But this… this whole thing? It’s making me pretty mad. I don’t like being a pawn.”
Her lips curved into a smirk. “Then just win.”
Before he could respond, she turned and walked away, opening the door as if the conversation had already ended. She didn’t look back.
Kai stood there, still and silent, watching the sliver of night sky through the open doorway. Somewhere beyond the walls, music from the banquet floated faintly through the air, but it no longer felt like the same night.
The banquet had suddenly turned far messier than he’d expected.
***
Kai didn’t return to the banquet until a good thirty minutes after Veridia had left. The change in atmosphere was immediate. The gazes he received were no longer the casual curiosity from earlier. Some were wide with disbelief, others narrowed in suspicion, and a few looked at him as if he were already a dead man walking.
He had no idea what Veridia had told them, but he could guess well enough. And she wasn’t even there anymore, having slipped out after dropping yet another headache in his lap.
The worst part was, he could do nothing about it. From the start, Veridia had decided on the duel and dragged him into it with no room for refusal. His reputation was too important right now; if rumours spread of a challenge and he failed to show, the damage to his standing before the assembly would be far too great. She’d made sure of that.
But Kai had no intention of letting it end there. Whatever game Veridia was playing, he would make sure she had no will to play anything like it with him again.
His subordinates were visibly unsettled when he reappeared. Leopold, in particular, looked pale, and even Duke Blackwood stepped away from the nobles he had been entertaining to quietly ask what had happened. Kai gave them the simplest answer he could. He hadn’t done anything, and Veridia had come looking for trouble.
He promised to explain later. Too many eyes were on him now, and there was another matter that needed handling—the two women from earlier. Hours had passed since their initial conversation, and Kai wanted answers. At least one problem needed to be put behind him tonight.
Fortunately, it seemed his plan had worked.
When Kai finally spoke to Baroness Marren and Viscountess Veassa, they didn’t waste time circling around the matter. Both agreed to help him, on one condition: that what he offered was exactly as he promised. They made it very clear they wouldn’t back out simply because the person they despised would also gain from it.
Just as Kai had expected, neither of them could stomach the thought of the other walking away with an advantage they had turned down. Refusal would only mean handing the other more power, and that was something neither of them could afford.
And since the arrangement was only temporary—just until the assembly—they begrudgingly agreed to keep themselves in check, even if they still spat venom at each other whenever they spoke. It was a tactic Kai knew well; his master had used the same strategy on him once. Give both sides an incentive and the promise that their cooperation was short-lived, and suddenly the enemy across the table wasn’t quite so unbearable. A week of tolerance in exchange for power was a deal almost anyone would take.
That didn’t mean they wouldn’t try to wring more out of it. Both immediately started testing the boundaries, even going so far as to bring up the idea of an engagement with Leopold. The man rejected the suggestion outright, claiming he was “too young” to think about marriage, a blatant lie if Kai had ever heard one. Judging by his expression, Leopold had already spoken to their daughters and decided he wanted nothing to do with them.
In the end, Kai suspected he was the only one finding any amusement in the situation mainly because he was watching everyone else get tangled in their own petty games while he, unfortunately, kept getting tangled in bigger ones.
After the banquet concluded, he gathered his close people and explained what had happened with Veridia, leaving out the part about her doubting his identity and the fact that she had backed him into a duel.
Duke Blackwood immediately called it ridiculous, especially so close to the assembly.
Kai only shrugged. “Our opponents are exactly that ridiculous.”
When they all woke the next morning, Kai’s fears proved justified.
Word had spread like wildfire. Every noble breakfast table in the city was buzzing with talk of a duel—his duel—with Veridia. No one seemed to know the exact reason for it, but the one detail everyone agreed on was that it was a blood duel.
That alone was enough to whip the noble circles into a frenzy.
Speculation poured in from every direction. Some claimed it was a matter of personal insult, others whispered about a political grudge, and a few had already spun wild tales of secret vendettas and ancient debts.
When Kai overheard the first of these rumours, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.
How fucking dare she?
2025-08-16 07:57:29 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 154
For a long, silent minute, Chen Ren could only stare.
He hadn’t imagined this in any nightmare, hadn’t even known it was possible. One’s star space could be damaged?
Yet, right before his eyes, fragments of his inner world were flaking away. They peeled off like brittle paint from old wood, curling and drifting into the darkness before dissolving into motes of light. The damage wasn’t vast enough to hollow him out completely, but the sight left his chest tight and his breath unsteady. Each fragment lost felt like a piece of his foundation being chipped away.
He had only been advancing faster than expected—nothing reckless, nothing he thought dangerous. Had that really caused this? More importantly, how was he supposed to mend something he barely understood?
He forced his gaze upward. The stars above still burned in their fixed positions, their light untouched… for now. But the longer he stared, the more fragile that illusion of stability seemed. How long before their glow flickered too? How long before the cracks reached them?
Moving closer to the fractured edge, he hesitated. The break looked thin, almost harmless—like frost on glass—but when he reached out, the section crumbled under his touch. No resistance, no chance to save it. The fragments unraveled into nothingness, leaving an emptiness that seemed to hum in the void.
A pulse of frustration pushed through him. He tried flooding the break with qi, forcing it into the wound, willing it to knit back together. But the energy slid through without catching, scattering into the surrounding space as if the damage refused to acknowledge him.
His frown deepened. This wasn’t just some strain or temporary instability. It felt like a kind of injury he had no tools to repair.
And yet… his cultivation still pulsed within him, strong and stable. Even after draining himself during the trials, there had been no sign of weakness. But the silent decay before him was proof—undeniable proof—that something inside him was unraveling in a way that might never heal if left alone.
If he did nothing, his progress would halt. He might never climb further.
Even now, a dangerous whisper stirred in the back of his mind. The dense qi gathered in the space was almost calling to him—thick, rich, intoxicating. One breath, one draw, and he could break through to the foundation establishment realm. In the entire empire, how many his age could claim such a feat? It would mark him as a prodigy, a name to be remembered.
But each heartbeat he hesitated, he could feel the cracks widening, slow but constant. The temptation to seize that power warred with the dread of what it might cost him.
And Chen Ren wasn’t sure which would win.
But a sharp instinct cut through the temptation. If he tried to draw that power now, he might just cripple himself. He didn’t know what happened when a star space shattered entirely, but he knew enough to fear it. The star space was tied to his dantian, and if the damage spread there…
Death would be the least of his worries.
A frown settled deep into his features. He rubbed his temples, trying to force some kind of solution into his mind, but nothing came. His cultivation knowledge was shallow at best—he was a merchant, not some master of body cultivation or soul arts. Whatever was happening inside him was beyond the scraps of theory he’d picked up over the years.
The last thing he wanted was to prod at the wound and make it worse. So, he did the only thing that felt safe.
He shut his eyes, withdrew his senses, and let the starry expanse fade from view. The quiet darkness of his room took its place, and when he opened his eyes again, Yalan was still sitting exactly where she had been when he entered his star space.
She glanced at him, her whiskers twitched. “You’re back early. I didn’t even get to slap you awake.”
Chen Ren cringed. “Nice joke. But there’s a problem. I think we were right—my passing out is connected to my progression.”
“What happened?”
Chen Ren didn’t want to believe the words that came out of his lips:“My star space is breaking.”
That made her sit up straighter. “Breaking? What do you mean it’s breaking?”
He held her gaze for a moment, then began describing it—the flakes of his inner world peeling away, turning into drifting motes of light, the way his qi passed through the wounds without effect. By the time he finished, her brows were furrowed, but not with recognition.
“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” she admitted at last. Then, as if trying to probe for a silver lining, she asked, “Apart from that… everything else was okay?”
“Yes,” Chen Ren said, leaning back slightly. “Apart from that, everything’s fine.”
Yalan exhaled slowly. “Then it might not be too late. I’m guessing the damage hasn’t spread too far yet.” Her gaze narrowed just a fraction. “You didn’t try to skip realms again, did you?”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“I doubt that,” she replied dryly. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have fractured your star space.”
He scowled. “You know I didn’t even know this could happen. You could have warned me.”
She yowled, displeased by his implication. “I had a feeling. The heavens are ruthless to anyone who tries to soar too quickly. But I thought your current problems, and enemies were enough to keep them satisfied for a while. Guess I was wrong.”
Chen Ren scratched the back of his head. “So… what now? What are we going to do? Do you have a way out of this?”
She shook her head. “No. This isn’t something I’ve ever seen in all my centuries of life. I believe the best option is to ask people we trust, people who might have an answer.”
“I don’t think I trust Hun Tianzhi enough to bring this up,” Chen Ren muttered. “And Qing He’s too far away. I can talk to her once we’re back in the village this week, but I don’t want this to get worse while we’re traveling. It hasn’t yet, but I can’t take the risk.”
“Then that leaves you with only one person reliable enough to talk to, someone who might have a clue.” she purred. “It’s just… I have no idea what price he’ll demand in return.”
Chen Ren immediately caught her hint. “Yeah… I hope he’s enjoying my novels. That might make him more willing to help.”
He pushed himself to his feet, moving toward the door.
“Already going to meet him?!”
“I don’t want to waste time,” he said over his shoulder. “Besides, I promised myself I’d keep him company for helping out during the trials. This will be a way to make good on that promise.”
***
It turned out Wang Jun had no idea about any such cases either.
For Chen Ren, that meant he wasn’t just falling off a cliff—there were spikes waiting at the bottom, perfectly positioned to skewer him on impact.
Wang Jun sat, his face looking so casual as if Chen Ren’s troubles were no more pressing than the dust motes drifting through the room. He’d listened without interrupting, nodded once, then gone straight back to reading a scroll—one of Chen Ren’s new works, a cultivator adaptation of Achilles. The man seemed utterly absorbed, eyes tracking the words with a focus that made Chen Ren wonder if the hero’s fate mattered more to him than his.
Whenever Wang Jun reached the end of a page, Chen Ren leaned over to flip it for him. The first few times, the old man had licked his tongue against the edge to turn it himself—something Chen Ren had found absurdly funny. Now, he only felt a pang of guilt.
Clearing his throat, he broke the silence. “You have zero idea? Even if you haven’t seen it before, you must have some clue. You reached the peak of cultivation.”
“One of the peaks,” Wang Jun corrected without looking up. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “But if I had to guess, it’s similar to a dantian fracture. Which, thankfully, you don’t have, but a star space breaking? Sounds very close.”
Chen Ren leaned forward. “How so?”
No answer.
Instead, the man’s gaze slid lazily toward the end of the page again, lingering there with all the silent expectation of a king waiting to be served. When Chen Ren didn’t move, Wang Jun finally lifted his eyes.
“Well?” he said, as if he were the one being inconvenienced.
“Answer first,” Chen Ren shot back.
The old man’s lips twisted into a faint frown, as though Chen Ren had just denied him a warm meal. “It’s simple. A dantian fracture is basically someone crippling you, but it can also happen when you go too hard at something yourself. You ever hear those stories of men who lose their lives to prostitutes?”
Chen Ren blinked. “…What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s the same idea,” Wang Jun said, matter-of-fact. “You push too hard, your body can’t take it, and something vital breaks. In your case, you didn’t destroy your dantian. You fractured your star space instead. Whether that’s better or worse…” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Wang Jun pointed at the scroll with his eyes. “Now, can you turn it? I’m at a very interesting scene.”
Chen Ren crossed his arms. “No. Answer one thing first—how does one fix a dantian fracture?”
That earned him a low, amused chuckle. “If you find a reliable way to fix that, every sect in the empire—and far beyond—would come begging at your door. It’s nearly impossible. The cultivator usually dies long before it can be done.”
“You said nearly.”
Wang Jun’s chuckle turned into full laughter. “Yes, nearly. In my time, there were cultivators with far too much free time… and far too many strange kinks. Some of them liked to toy with a person’s dantian the way others play an instrument—half torture, half amusement. I think those lunatics might have found a way to mend a fracture… all while getting themselves off.”
A voice cut in from the corner. “Your examples,” Yalan said dryly, “are too lecherous.”
“They fit,” Wang Jun replied without a hint of shame. “Either way, if it were hundreds of years ago, I’d tell you to find one of them. But now? I’m certain their research has either been burned or locked away somewhere you’ll never set foot.”
Chen Ren exhaled sharply. “Then what can I even do?”
The old man’s gaze lifted from the scroll. For the first time, he wasn’t half-smiling, wasn’t idly mocking. His eyes fixed on Chen Ren’s as though trying to see past the flesh and bone, straight into the soul.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter, but heavier than any rebuke.
“Honestly, kid… if I knew a way to help you, I would have already told you. Even with everything I could say about you—your arrogance, your recklessness—what you’re going through is one of the worst things a cultivator can endure. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
He paused, the silence stretching between them.
“But this time… I don’t have anything to give you.” His mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, kid.”
***
The next three days passed in a blur.
Chen Ren almost forgot the looming shadow of the Darkmoon Sect. As he’d suspected, they seemed to have quieted down, curling in on themselves to lick their wounds and rebuild from within. No assassins, no provocations—just an uneasy silence, that he knew would follow with something disastrous soon.
He filled his days with the usual work. Inspecting the alchemy workshop. Running his eyes over the account books. Even meeting with a few officials to maintain good relations, smiling in all the right places, trading polite words as though his inner world wasn’t on the verge of collapse.
But beneath the surface, Wang Jun’s words gnawed at him like a slow, relentless worm.
Every time he found a moment alone, his mind drifted back to his star space. The fractures. The motes of light dissolving into nothing. The helpless way his qi slid past the wounds without leaving the faintest trace of healing.
He doubted even Qing He would know what to do, but when he left for Meadow Village, he would ask her all the same. Some questions demanded to be asked, even if the answers weren’t there.
He checked on the space constantly, slipping in and out without effort. There was no pain, not yet. And, for now, the cracks hadn’t spread. That should have been a relief, but instead it felt like standing beneath a sword suspended by a fraying thread.
His talks with Yalan—and his own instincts—told him what he already feared: the star space wasn’t just linked to the dantian. It was part of it, a space within a space. Damage to one meant harm to the other. And if it came to that, his path as a cultivator would be cut short, maybe forever.
Maybe this was simply the way of the heavens, a punishment for daring to rise too high, too fast. With his spirit roots, he should never have reached his current realm in the first place, especially not at the speed he had.
But Chen Ren had no intention of bowing his head. To accept that would be to spit on everything he believed in.
So he kept trying. Again and again, he pushed his qi into the fractures, willing them to mend. He even tried to draw on the gathered qi from the stars themselves, flooding the space with their light and density.
That attempt earned him nothing but a sharp, piercing jolt of pain that made his breath catch. The kind of pain that warned of real, lasting harm.
He stopped immediately.
But he didn’t stop thinking about trying again.
All this simply reminded Chen Ren of one unpleasant truth—he knew very little about his own dantian.
It was laughable, really. He could recite pill formulas from memory, break down the methods to make different items from Earth with precision, and yet when it came to the most important part of himself, he was stumbling blind. If he wanted a real solution, maybe the path didn’t start with patching the cracks—it started with understanding exactly what the dantian and star space truly were.
That turned out to be harder than he expected.
Not only was his own knowledge shallow, but even others seemed frustratingly ignorant. According to Yalan, most cultivators never questioned it. They simply accepted that they had a dantian and a star space, the same way they accepted that qi flowed through meridians or that the sun rose each day. The existence of a star space within was hardly shocking in a world where cultivators could split mountains or live for centuries.
“Some do try,” Yalan admitted. “The ones who’ve hit their limit and grown too old to force another breakthrough. They become researchers, digging for answers they’ll likely never see put to use.”
Even the popular theories felt more like poetic guesswork than truth. The most widely believed said that the heavens granted a cultivator the star space as a seed—something to be cultivated into an entire universe. And when you became that universe, you’d take the final step into true immortality.
The so-called final realm.
Chen Ren could only stare at her after hearing that. He doubted he was anywhere close to “becoming a universe.” At the moment, he was barely holding his inner world together with both hands and a prayer.
Still, he kept pressing. Question after question. The more he asked, the more Yalan’s answers began to run dry, until she finally propped down, “If anyone would know the truth, it would be a god.”
That shut him up for a moment.
Unfortunately, Chen Ren didn’t have any particularly warm relations with the gods.
But her words sparked something in him.
He realised he hadn’t asked everyone. There was still one being he hadn’t spoken to—one who lived inside his star space itself. One who radiated heavenly qi with every breath. And if Chen Ren was right, that being would have a vested interest in keeping the star space intact. After all, no one liked their own house starting to crumble around them.
A slow grin crept onto his face. The golden dragon.
If it knew the cause, maybe it could guide him to a solution.
There was just one small problem.
How, exactly, did he call on the golden dragon?
2025-08-14 08:50:14 +0000 UTC
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