Chapter 264
Kai stared at Veridia, eyes widening before he caught himself and forced his expression into something neutral. What was she doing here?
She hadn’t been invited—he was sure of it. She wasn’t like Count Blackbough, whose presence could at least be tolerated for the sake of appearances. No, Duke Blackwood would never have allowed her name on the list.
So why was she here?
Even she had to know that her sudden arrival would ignite a fresh wave of rumors. This was a banquet meant largely for his supporters—nobles who had either already pledged themselves to his cause or were leaning in that direction. Veridia’s presence would muddy the waters. Yet she didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. Not at all.
In a way, he wouldn’t know. Her face was as unreadable as ever. Calm eyes, straight back, and her pointy nails caressing the fur in her cloak. She crossed the threshold like she had every right to be here, and the room responded as if she did. Conversation stuttered and shifted toward her, the nearest nobles immediately moving to greet her.
Before he could blink, she was at the center of a growing circle, surrounded by bows and curtsies.
He knew that her official title was a ‘Baron’, but “Magus of Lancephil” carried enough power to bend protocol. Even Counts were expected to offer her respect. Perhaps that explained why Count Blackbough, after glancing briefly at Kai, gave a curt nod and moved to greet her instead.
Good save, he felt, but at what cost?
When countless men and women spoke to her, addressing her presence, Veridia returned gestures with the barest of nods, speaking to the gathered nobles in clipped exchanges. But Kai could see the faint, telltale tightness in her shoulders, the subtle way her gaze flicked toward the doors. She wasn’t here for idle chatter. If given the choice, she’d carve her way out of this crowd in a blaze of magic rather than endure the politeness surrounding her.
“What’s she doing here?”
Leopold’s voice cut into his thoughts, quiet but edged with wariness.
Kai turned, catching Francis and Killian wearing nearly identical expressions, displeasure thinly veiled under practiced civility. They all wanted to know what Magus Veridia was doing, or trying to do.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Duke Blackwood didn’t invite her, right?” he asked, fully knowing the answer.
“No,” Leopold replied without hesitation. His eyes didn’t leave her. “I believe she came in uninvited. For what reason… I have no idea.”
Even if none of them had a specific idea, Kai had a feeling she was here for him.
Her arriving unannounced, when no one expected it, was all too familiar—it was exactly how she had appeared back in the Archine Tower, the day she had decided to interrogate him without warning.
Back then, he’d been a weak Second Circle Mage, someone who had to tread lightly in every exchange with her. Now, he was far more than that, and more than capable of giving it back if she tried anything.
But was she going to?
He didn’t get his answer immediately.
After exchanging polite words with the surrounding nobles, Veridia began to move. She cut through the hall with the same unhurried stride she’d entered with, her fur cloak trailing just enough to catch the light.
Her path led straight to Duke Blackwood.
If the Duke was surprised to see her, his face didn’t betray it. His face stayed locked in its usual fortress of stoicism, not a muscle shifting out of place. Whatever passed between them was short, pared down to essentials—a few words, perhaps a courteous inquiry and an equally curt reply. No smiles. No signs of warmth.
Within moments, Magus Veridia stepped away again, her expression unchanged.
A liveried server crossed her path, silver tray in hand. Without breaking stride, she took a crystal glass, the motion so fluid it almost seemed rehearsed. She didn’t thank him, merely lifted the wine to her lips for a small sip. Her gaze wandered, not settling on any single person, but always seeming to take in more than it revealed.
It didn’t take long for the nearest nobles to start peeling themselves from their seats. They approached her in small numbers—ones and twos—drawn in by that gravitational pull she seemed to carry. Even when their faces were wreathed in smiles, their eyes carried a shadow of caution.
Kai found himself still watching her. The clink of goblets, the muted hum of conversation, even the subtle perfume of the hall faded into the background. For a heartbeat, he forgot the role he was meant to play here.
He hadn’t planned for this. Not for her to walk into this banquet, of all places. The idea of mingling with nobles while having to glance over his shoulder for her movements was… less than appealing.
“What are you going to do, Lord Arzan?”
Killian’s voice pulled him back to the present.
Kai glanced at him, his jaw tightening just slightly. “I don’t know. But I surely can’t let her stay here without knowing her purpose.”
Leopold gave a short, dry hum. “Do you think she just came here because she’s bored? I don’t think she has any family to keep her company… and she doesn’t strike me as the type to have friends.”
Kai turned his head, meeting his gaze. “Do you really think so?”
Leopold shrugged. “Just a guess.”
Kai turned his gaze back to Veridia, weighing his options. There were only two paths here—wait for her to show her hand, or force her to reveal it.
The former meant patience. It meant letting her dictate the pace, and Kai knew she was perfectly capable of dragging this out for the entire evening if she wanted to. And unfortunately for her, he had no interest in spending the banquet glancing over his shoulder.
So even if the idea felt rushed, his decision was made. He didn’t need to think more.
“I’ll go see why she’s here,” he said, glancing briefly at the others. Leopard opened his mouth, but Kai was already on his feet, moving through the spaces between tables.
The nobles that had been clustered around Veridia noticed his approach almost at once. The conversations faltered mid-sentence until a ripple of silence settled over that part of the hall. All eyes tracked the meeting that was about to unfold.
Kai stopped directly in front of her. She plastered a smile on her face and looked at him with the same determination he had.
“Magus Veridia,” he said, inclining his head just enough to acknowledge her presence. “It’s been a while.”
That alone was enough to make several nobles nearby lean in, watching more closely. Unlike the others, he hadn’t bowed. He had simply nodded, something one didn’t do unless they considered themselves on the same footing.
Veridia noticed, her eyes moved toward his attire and back up again, maintaining the smile on her face.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s been a while. Last I saw you, you were… stumbling around, here and there. But now—” her eyes swept briefly across the hall, “—you’re hosting banquets with a Duke. You’ve risen in rank quickly, Mage Arzan. A good kind of surprise, always.”
“Yet,” Kai replied evenly, “But I don’t think I invited you.”
That earned more than a handful of gasps.
Even politically, it wasn’t a risk. Everyone knew she backed the first prince. A public rivalry with her wouldn’t cost him the nobles he needed, and might even strengthen some of his other alliances.
They weren’t around her out of respect.
They were there because of fear.
“Yes, you didn’t invite me,” she said in a clipped tone. “But I found the whole thing… interesting. And I had things I wanted to discuss with you. I’ve been losing patience quickly these days, and I didn’t know if I’d get your time anytime soon.”
So you barged into an important event, Kai thought, keeping his expression still.
He was almost certain she’d done it purposefully—some game Regina had set in motion, with Veridia merely playing her part. The more he considered it, the more he was convinced: Veridia was a puppet, and this was her master’s hand at work.
“What do you want to talk about?” Kai asked plainly.
Her gaze drifted over the nobles clustered around them, eyes sweeping slowly as though chewing over every one of them. “I’d like to do it when it’s just the two of us,” she said at last. Then she turned that same voice outward, addressing the onlookers with a courteous curve of her lips. “Why don’t you all go back to enjoying yourselves? The banquet looks wonderful, and the dancing hasn’t even started yet.”
A few exchanged quick glances, as though silently debating whether to stay. Their smiles wavered, the curiosity in their eyes almost solid enough to touch. But one by one, they began to move, some taking an extra heartbeat too long to turn away, others pretending they weren’t still straining to hear.
Kai didn’t bother watching them go. Without sparing the crowd a second glance, he fell into step beside Veridia, and together they crossed the floor toward the balcony.
Their passage left a ripple in the room—a hush at first, then the noises of voices blooming behind them, hushed words passed like contraband. He could almost feel the shape of the rumors forming, threads twisting together before the night had even ended.
And throughout his walk, he felt eyes on his back.
Reluctantly, he ignored them.
The instant they stepped outside, the winter night wrapped around him.
Veridia shut the balcony doors behind them, the heavy latch falling into place with a muted click. The music and laughter inside were reduced to a muffled in an instant. Kai gave a single glance at that and turned to look at her.
Veridia was watching him with a smirk, as if savoring the ripple of reactions she’d left behind. For a moment, Kai’s nostrils filled with her… perfume. Too strong, suits her.
“You are the last person I thought I’d see tonight. If I could, I wouldn’t see you ever.”
Her brows lifted slightly, and a faint, amused curve touched her lips. “Aren’t you cold towards me? Valkyrie and I used to be friends, you know.”
“And I had a brother who tried to kill me,” Kai replied flatly. “Relations break and change over the years. You know that better than most. So tell me why you’re here. I know there’s a reason.”
Veridia’s tongue brushed over her lips leisurely, as though she was weighing her words, or perhaps just trying to draw out the moment to see if she could unsettle him. Knowing her, it was likely the latter.
Kai didn’t give her the satisfaction. He simply leaned back against the balcony railing, crossing his arms, his gaze never leaving hers.
“I was given the task to kill you. By Regina.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she lifted a hand lightly and continued. “She wants you gone before the assembly, especially after you refused her offer. And I think she’s given up on anyone else in the kingdom being able to do it besides me.”
That Regina wanted him dead wasn’t a revelation. She’d tried enough times already. What was surprising was how frankly Veridia admitted it, as if they were discussing the weather.
“Don’t trust the Assembly to just hand me a death sentence for kin-killing,” Kai said in a dry tone.
Veridia shook her head, a grimace flashing across her face. “The Assembly of Judgment is a variable. You can’t control it. And she doesn’t like variables.” Her gaze sharpened, and there was a faint edge of satisfaction when she added, “Princess Amara is slowly moving toward that list too. If she wasn’t already tangled in so many… delicate matters, Regina would have already done things best left unsaid.”
Kai wondered if it was meant as a threat. It certainly sounded like one—using Amara’s name as a pressure point—but the more he thought on it, the less unlikely it seemed.
Amara had sought his support. She hadn’t gone all out, but she’d made her attempts, banquets where she’d praised him in front of others, quiet meetings to angle for votes. Regina would know of it. And if Veridia was telling the truth, she could certainly target her.
There was a reason Amara wasn’t here tonight.
The risk was too great. Even with his Watchers in the city, they hadn’t been able to slip directly into the castle. Amara was a Mage, but that wouldn’t stop Regina from trying something after the assembly, especially if she failed to get her way. If Veridia was right, it wasn’t a matter of if, but when.
Pushing the thought aside, Kai brought them back to the matter at hand. “I’m guessing she’s the one who sent the assassins after my witnesses and me. Or was that you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never sent any assassins.”
“I doubt you don’t know about it.”
“Knowing about something,” she said smoothly, “is different from accepting that I did it. I didn’t send anyone after you.”
Even a child, with only a fraction of the information he had, could see she was lying. No one else in the kingdom was more capable of orchestrating those attempts than her. But he understood the game—admitting to something she had failed at would make her vulnerable.
Talking about orders to kill him was safe; those hadn’t been carried out yet, and he could do nothing to punish her for them. But failed operations? Those were best left in shadow, with blame safely diffused elsewhere.
It was the sort of thing many high-circle Mages would do, especially those who enjoyed holding power. Twist the truth, dodge failure, and only admit to what could not be used against them.
The wind turned sharper, and Kai let it carry his thoughts for a moment. Was she going to attack him right here? He doubted it, but the way Veridia stood, calm and self-assured, gave him no real answer.
So he decided to simply ask. “You said you’re here to kill me. Are you planning on an attack? If so, I would like that after dinner.”
Veridia chuckled, the sound low and faintly amused. “I said I was ordered to kill you. Trust me, I don’t want to. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a proper fight, and even if I hate your guts, I don’t kill people I have something to gain from.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me?”
“I’ll come to that,” she murmured, turning away from him.
Her gaze drifted over the skyline, over the clusters of noble estates, their windows spilling golden light into the night. Banquets were being held all across the city tonight; laughter and music would be echoing in other halls just as it was here. But her attention didn’t linger there.
It shifted, inevitably, to the royal castle. Towering, lit up and visible from anywhere in the capital, it loomed in the distance, lit like a beacon.
“She wanted me to send assassins after you,” Veridia said, her voice almost idle, as if discussing the weather. “But I thought they would fail. So I assumed a duel would be a better way to finish you off. Mages like going down in honour, after all. But you don’t have any family left for them to tell the tale to… do you?”
Kai paused, not because of her mention of a duel. Fighting her didn’t worry him; with his current level of power, he had no reason to fear her in a direct match.
No, it was the rest of her words. Arzan did still have family. One of his brother was alive. But she didn’t seem to be hinting at killing him.
Her meaning was… different.
He stared at her, and Veridia met his eyes with a faint, knowing smirk.
“I think you understand what I’m saying,” she said softly. “I know you’re not Arzan.”
2025-08-14 08:46:31 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 263
Kai stepped into the banquet hall and everything in the air shifted. Every eye turned towards him within seconds and in the span of a breath, the high of conversations dulled to murmurs, then faded altogether. Soon, it was replaced by glances and whispers that rippled through the crowd, like a restless tide.
Talking to the two women had taken far longer than planned. He took a glance around the room, and half the seats were already filled. There were nobles everywhere. The sheer amount of silks and embroidered shiny materials of their clothes were enough to blind someone. Yet even with the amount of people, it hadn’t taken an announcement for them to know who he was.
Recognition bloomed almost instantly, and the heaviness settled on his shoulders.
Francis and Killian flanked him as he walked further in. From the far side of the hall, Duke William Blackwood broke away from a group of nobles. His thick black beard had more stripes of white than the last time he’d seen him.
William Blackwood closed the distance with the sure stride of a man who owned the ground he walked on, placing a hand firmly on Kai’s shoulder and fixing him with a steady gaze.
“I expected you to be here a while back.”
“It took time with the two,” Kai replied evenly.
Something flickered in the Duke’s eyes—understanding. “And what came out of it?”
“I believe it will work out,” Kai said with certainty. But at the back of his mind, he wasn’t so sure anymore. With how the two women were, it could go either way. So he said what he knew for sure: “We’ll know soon.”
William gave a short nod.
Kai let his gaze wander over the crowd, studying the faces one by one, recalling the descriptions that Francis had given him earlier. Some matched perfectly—the sharp-jawed Marquis with a habit of glancing at the exits, the rotund Viscount who laughed too loudly—others he still had to guess at. “It seems quite a lot of people are here already.”
“All of them have probably asked about you twice by now,” Leopold said, his lips twitching with faint amusement.
“Then I believe it’s best to not keep them waiting,” Kai answered.
Duke Blackwood’s hand pressed briefly into his shoulder before withdrawing. “Make sure you act like a ruler,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of command. “People will only follow you then. If you slip even once, they’ll see weakness. We can’t afford that.”
Kai gave a small nod to the Duke’s words—he knew them well—and stepped forward, each footfall drawing him deeper into the heart of the hall.
If before the nobles’ attention had been a scattering of glances, now it gathered, sharp and unblinking, every gaze fixed on him. The silence held for a beat too long, until Kai let a warm, sincere smile spread across his face.
“Everyone,” he began, his voice carrying easily beneath the chandelier light. He didn’t even need to ask for everyone’s attention, “first of all, I would like to thank you for being here, and to Duke William Blackwood for arranging this on my behalf.”
He let his eyes sweep across the room, meeting gazes rather than skimming over them. “I don’t need to explain to any of you why this banquet is held, but I hope that despite everything happening in the kingdom, you will still enjoy it.”
A pause—just enough to let the words settle—then, with a faint curve of his lips, “I won’t take much time with a speech now. Please, have fun tonight.”
A handful of nobles raised their glasses toward him, crystal catching the lamplight in brief flashes, a glittering acknowledgment of his presence. The tight coil in the air loosened, replaced by the softer hum of resumed conversation, like a hall taking a collective breath.
But that reprieve was fleeting.
Within moments, nobles began breaking from their tables in neat, purposeful clusters. They converged on him like eager ants to a morsel, their silks whispering as they closed the gap, no one slowing until they stood directly before him.
The first to arrive was a group of eastern Viscounts, their expressions polite but their eyes keen. They wasted no time on pleasantries, no exchange of courtesies, no idle remarks to warm the air.
They danced around certain topics with deliberate omission. The fief war, for example, was absent from their tongues, probably assuming it was a sensitive topic to Kai. The plague, however… that was another matter entirely.
Rumors of its eradication had already taken root in the capital, growing feverishly since his arrival. Kai didn’t mind the immediate attention; however, he didn’t appreciate when faces literally leaned toward him.
One lanky noble with a narrow, hawkish face stepped forward, claiming the lead without needing to be granted it.
“Is it true,” Viscount Alburn began, voice pitched low yet thrumming with interest, “that you encountered those demonic weavers there? The Church has already begun sermons claiming their aid in ceasing the plague… and you are being mentioned a great deal in those accounts.”
Kai took a measured breath and smiled, letting the pause sit long enough to turn attention into silence. This wasn’t merely a question about the plague. It was a probe into his standing with the Church of Lumaris, especially in front of the eastern lords whose faith and politics were intertwined.
“Bishop Maurice was gracious enough to accompany me,” he said at last. “Along with the Clerics and the Paladins. It was a difficult journey, but by the grace of Goddess Lumaris, we were able to cleanse the land of filth.”
The effect was immediate—smiles flickered across a few faces, shoulders eased as if some unspoken measure had been met.
“Good to hear,” Viscount Alburn replied, inclining his head slightly. “If you have time after the assembly, I would love to bring you to Archbishop Ormund Valcier’s sermon. I believe a meeting between you two is something the Goddess would approve of.”
“I would like that, Viscount Alburn.” Kai let a small, sincere smile show. “May Goddess Lumaris shine her light on all of us.”
“May the Goddess shine her light on all of us,” several nobles echoed, though Kai doubted she was shining much on him tonight.
What followed was the tide—more nobles, drifting in and out of earshot, listening to one conversation and cutting in on the next. Like he’d been taught, he met every approach head-on and by name, even the minor ones. A name, a held gaze, a measured answer; then a clean handoff to the next.
One of them, Baron Lionel Marcaster pressed forward through the thinning gap in the crowd, eyes alight with an enthusiasm that bordered on hunger. He launched into talk of Mage circles and how he had heard of Kai's unique ways, leaning so heavily on the last word it was almost a prod, as though persistence might pry something loose from Kai then and there.
Kai’s reply was cool, unhurried and exactly what he’d prepared. “I have my own methods, derivations from my mother’s work. But I can invite you to one of my classes at the Sorcerer’s Tower located in Veralt. You’ll see enough there to satisfy curiosity.”
A ripple of polite approval circled their little knot of listeners. It was the sort of answer that gave nothing away yet left the other party feeling as though they’d been granted something. Promises without concessions. Access without the keys.
But the reprieve was short-lived. The moment Baron Marcaster stepped back, another cluster took his place. The tide of nobles showed no signs of slowing.
The mention of his teaching drew more than casual interest. In this hall, most nobles were Mages themselves or had bloodlines tangled with magical talent, and the idea of their kin learning under a rising Fourth Circle Mage was irresistible. They leaned forward, questions tumbling over one another, their eagerness poorly hidden behind the thin veil of etiquette.
Requests came quickly—sons, daughters, nieces, nephews—each one described in glowing terms as “promising,” “gifted,” or “born for magic,” all in need of the right mentor.
Ever since the plague’s extermination, word of his advancement to the fourth circle had spread like wildfire. Apprentice requests would only multiply from here.
A few nobles were bolder still, asking outright to become his apprentices themselves, their eyes gleaming with the same ambition they had accused their children of possessing.
Kai answered each with the same polished refrain—he would think about it. And in every exchange, he found a way to offer a tailored compliment—acknowledging a minor achievement, recalling a name mentioned in passing, or noting some small detail from their past exploits. Faces brightened under his attention. People liked being remembered; they liked to feel their worth had been noticed. Kai made full use of that truth.
Beyond the apprenticeships, and the inevitable questions about the plague, came another topic—one Francis had warned him about.
Marriage.
He was now a Count, of a Duke’s bloodline, a Fourth Circle Mage, and yet… unmarried. In this kingdom, it was an opportunity. One that more than a few families wanted to seize.
When he politely said he wasn’t ready, that he would give the matter thought after the assembly, the subtler ones tested his reaction with remarks about the rumors surrounding Princess Amara. Those, he brushed off with a shrug so casual it might have been rehearsed.
No one dared to probe though, thankfully they knew it was way beyond their boundaries.
Through it all, Duke Blackwood and Leopold stood just behind him. They answered a handful of questions, but their role was clear. The Duke wasn’t here to assist. If anything, it looked like he was judging every word that came out of his mouth.
Kai hadn’t forgotten their talk back in Blackwood territory. And if the night unfolded as he intended, perhaps the Duke would see him in a different light.
Because even Kai had to admit, he was handling everything far better than he’d expected.
He kept an extremely careful balance. He reassured the nobles who’d already agreed to vote in his favor while still giving genuine attention to those who were still on the fence. And by the end of the first hour, it was clear that the atmosphere had gotten better. Many of the nobles expressed satisfaction; some by words, and some by sending approval gazes and nods his way.
It was only his second banquet, yet the undercurrent was shifting. The lesser nobles—often overlooked in larger political games—seemed to warm to him quickest. Once they were satisfied with his answers, they drifted away, speaking to each other instead of clinging to his side. The hall swelled again with conversation, a sign that the event was going better than many had anticipated.
Midway through, he caught sight of Viscountess Vaessa and Baroness Marren entering. Both looked like they were contemplating, and both of them found his gaze more than one. But they never moved toward each other.
Kai filed that away. If they had an answer for him, he would get it before the night was done.
Even with the opening handled well, there was no respite. Kai moved from table to table, refusing to let the banquet come to him—he went to it. He asked about the nobles themselves, steering the focus away from his own affairs. It made him more likable, yes, but it also served another purpose: learning exactly what each of them brought to the table.
For them, this was an evening of pleasantries. For him, it was reconnaissance.
He was making his way toward another cluster of seats when he noticed a noble breaking away from the crowd, heading straight for him.
He paused mid-step, eyes narrowing just slightly as he scanned the burly old man’s face. Recognition came quickly.
If his memory was right, this was Count Pherrin Blackbough, one of the higher-ranking nobles present, and not a man they had approached for a vote. He was on the short list of guests invited solely because Duke Blackwood needed to maintain certain relationships.
Most nobles in that category hadn’t even bothered to show up—likely at the Princes’ quiet urging. Yet this man had come. And now he stood before Kai, looking him over as if analysing a weapon rather than a person.
“That was quite a showcase, Count Arzan,” the man said at last. “You honestly impressed me.”
Kai inclined his head politely. “Thank you for your praise, Count Blackbough. I would have greeted you earlier had I seen you.”
“I was in the back,” the old man replied. “I wanted to observe.” His thin lips curled faintly. “And I think you did better than I expected.”
Kai raised an eyebrow at the tone. “You speak as if this is a test.”
“Everything is a test, Count Arzan. And frankly yes. I was sent by the Second Prince, Aldrin, to evaluate you.”
Kai already knew of the man’s allegiance to Aldrin. But was he really trying to poach him now? The Princes had kept their distance so far, no doubt expecting him to make the first move. It seemed the Second Prince had grown impatient.
“I believe,” Kai said evenly, “if I wanted to bow before Prince Aldrin, I would have done so already. It’s quite late for that now.”
“I don’t think it’s ever too late,” the Count replied smoothly. “And Prince Aldrin is gracious enough to save you from the assembly’s verdict… if you decide to do the right thing.”
“I believe I’m already doing that,” Kai said, letting his gaze drift briefly across the hall.
The older man shook his head, rubbing his round belly in circles. “You’re placing your eggs in the wrong basket, Count Arzan. Why do you think the Princes have done nothing, even while you poach these useless Barons and Viscounts? It’s because they don’t care. Lower nobles like these can’t be trusted. Come the day of the assembly, they’ll do exactly as the Princes command. You and they can’t be compared, Count Arzan. Even you know that.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Kai said and cleared his throat. “To give me a way out.”
“Yes,” the Count replied without hesitation. His gray eyes looked behind Kai. “I know you’re relying on Duke Blackwood. Frankly, I don't even know why you have his support. That man is moody at best, and he’s nowhere near as popular as Prince Aldrin. But if you simply gave your allegiance, you wouldn’t have to hold these banquets. You could relax. Get it over with. Prince Aldrin would love to have a Mage like you beside him, and as a noble, there’s no greater honour.”
Kai held back a frown. The man spoke of Prince Aldrin as though he’d been touched by the gods themselves. And even if that were true, Kai had no reason to accept. If he’d wanted to, he would have done so months ago.
“I have no interest in that, Count Blackbough,” he said finally. “I hope you enjoy the party.”
Count Blackbough’s expression sank. “You shouldn’t make such quick decisions. A good noble is a patient one. You should hear me out.”
“I don’t think anything you say will convince me.”
A shadow passed through the old man’s eyes, almost a glare, but before he could speak again, a ripple of sound cut between them.
The hall’s hum shifted. Whispers rose from every table, quick and sharp, darting through the air like startled birds.
Kai frowned, trying to see past the man’s solid frame.
The Count turned, his expression falling further.
Kai followed his gaze, and then his own face twisted in confusion.
Standing at the entrance was someone he had not expected to see. Someone uninvited and wrapped in fur, stealing everyone’s attention with a simple curve of her lips.
Veridia.
She stepped forward as if she belonged there, the murmurs growing louder with every footfall. Her eyes locked with his, and her lips curved further.
2025-08-12 09:39:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 153
Haoran stared at the untidy stack of letters spread across the desk, the ink still glistening in places. He had been scribbling reports since dawn, and now the sight of them only made him sigh.
A draft slipped through the cracks in the shutters, making his neck hair stand up. Muttering under his breath, he pulled the wolf-fur blanket over his head. The pelt was thick and warm—one of his few indulgences since arriving here—and even it struggled against the cold.
Winter was drawing to its end, yet the past week had been the harshest so far. He could only imagine the deeper snows swallowing the northern reaches of the Kalian Empire, entire provinces buried under white. In those places, cultivators would be burning through their reserves of qi just to keep trade routes open. And there would be beasts too. Always beasts.
Even Meadow Village, with its strange defenses, wasn’t entirely safe. The air often carried the distant thrum and clang of contraptions, devices he had glimpsed only from afar—clever things that spat light and noise. They kept the walls secure, but Haoran knew better than to believe in perfect safety.
Perhaps that was why Princess Yanyue had been so quiet. No word from her since he’d left Cloud Mist City, the last message telling him to stay in Meadow Village, observe Chen Ren, and send regular reports.
And so far, it hasn't been difficult. The influx of refugees had given him a perfect cover; he’d simply walked in with the crowd and vanished among them. The rest had been easier still. Even as a mortal with no place in the sect’s inner circle, he had found ways to gather what he needed. The wolf-fur blanket wrapped around his shoulders was proof of that.
Someone had killed a peak Tier 1 beast to make these blankets, and plenty more besides—enough for them to be sold in bulk around the village. Haoran had even heard talk of carriages taking them as far as Cloud Mist City. That alone was strange.
For a new sect to kill so many Tier 1 beasts without sustaining heavy losses was already rare enough. But here, there had been no deaths at all. A few injuries, yes, though they were quickly treated. Even if the occasional Tier 2 beast appeared, the cultivators had dealt with them without fanfare. Efficient. Almost too efficient.
Of all the people he had seen here, Li Xuan had shocked him most. Just months ago, Haoran had spoken with City Lord Li Baolong in person. He had never expected to find the man’s son out here in Meadow Village, far from the capital. That detail had gone straight into one of his letters to Princess Yanyue.
But those letters…
Haoran’s frown deepened beneath the wolf blanket. Something was wrong. The winter might make communication difficult, but for him to have no reply in over a month was unnatural, especially from the Princess. If she couldn’t send a message through merchant caravans, she would have sent one of the castle’s caged avian beasts, the ones trained to carry notes across vast distances. Yet nothing had come.
He forced the unease down. Worrying wouldn’t change the fact that he had no word from her. Princess Yanyue had people around her—cultivators, guards, advisors. She was safer than most in the Empire. His task here remained the same.
Haoran’s eyes drifted to the stack of papers on the table. The most recent letters contained his observations from the last week: the beast tamer Zi Wen bonding with a striker beak—a Tier 2 aerial predator now subdued under his will; the rumors spreading that Sect Leader Chen Ren had achieved great success in Broken Ridge City.
He doubted the last one. Broken Ridge was no place for easy growth, and he had heard the sect leader intended to challenge the city’s alchemy markets. A fool’s errand, in his opinion. But his job wasn’t to decide what was wise or foolish.
It was simply to record it all… and send it off to the Princess who, for reasons he could not name, wasn’t answering.
Folding the letters neatly, Haoran slid them into an envelope and reached into the inner pocket of his robe. His fingers closed around a small cube, its base engraved with a seal that thrummed faintly with qi.
He pressed the cube to the envelope, feeling the faint hum of qi stir beneath his fingers. A thin shimmer of light spilled across the paper, tracing lines before folding in on itself. In the space of a heartbeat, the glowing sigil bloomed into full clarity before it faded away, sinking back into the grain of the envelope as though it had never been there.
To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing more than ordinary paper now. But Haoran knew better. If anyone other than the Princess tried to open it, the enchantment would ignite in a flash, reducing the letter to drifting ash before the first line could be read.
A fail-safe keyed to her qi alone.
She had designed it years ago, drawing inspiration from something she had once read in a book. At the time, she had laughed about it, calling it a “little paranoid trick.” Now, standing in a hunter’s modest home on the Empire’s edge, Haoran couldn’t help thinking it was anything but little, and far from paranoia.
“Good enough,” he murmured under his breath.
Satisfied, he tucked the cube back into his inner pocket and rose, the wolf-fur blanket sliding from his shoulders in a heavy whisper of warmth. The chill claimed him instantly, gnawing at his skin through his robe. Still, he ignored it, bracing for the bite of the wind as he stepped out of the small room he had been calling home.
It was a guest room in the house of a village hunter—one of the better arrangements he’d managed in his work. The man had let him stay in exchange for lessons for his son and daughter: reading, writing, and mathematics. The goal was simple enough. The hunter wanted his children to join the Divine Coin Sect, which, unusually, accepted mortals. A strange ambition in Haoran’s eyes, but not one he could fault.
Food and lodging were obvious perks, but the true advantage was subtler—with the hunter’s quiet support, he could move freely through the village without anyone questioning his presence.
Outside, he pulled his cloak tighter, the fabric catching in the wind, and set off down the packed dirt street. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke and tanned hides.
The village was livelier than when he’d first arrived. Each week, new faces had appeared—families and wanderers drawn by the stories of Meadow Village fending off beasts with ease. Chief Muyang had even ordered the construction of new houses, the skeletons of wooden frames rising like bare trees against the pale winter sky.
Strange, Haoran thought, to see a village swelling in the heart of winter. But then again, stranger things had happened in the Empire.
As he walked, several villagers glanced up from their work and gave small bows in greeting. Haoran inclined his head in return. In the Kalian Empire, scholars were afforded a measure of respect—whether earned or simply assumed—and here, far from the capital, he intended to make the most of it.
Further along, he caught sight of a group of mortal sect members and hunters working in tandem, their boots crunching over frost-hardened earth as they hauled the carcasses of freshly slain beasts toward a waiting cart. The mortals met his eyes and gave him nods rather than bows, the subtle acknowledgment of those who carried a higher status within the sect.
Haoran returned the gesture with a faint smile before moving on, his mind already shifting back to the errand at hand.
He had only befriended a handful of mortals, mostly the younger, more talkative ones. They had proven useful enough for gathering bits of information. The cultivators, though… he kept his distance.
As he reached the heart of the village, the clatter of hooves and wheels reached his ears. A few carriages stood in the open square, their canvas covers already tied down for departure.
His steps slowed when he saw who was there.
Zi Wen.
Arguably the most reliable cultivator in the village… and the one he was most cautious of. Beast tamers were rare in the Empire, and what little he’d heard of them was enough to make him wary. The fact that he had bonded with a Tier 2 Striker Beak only deepened that caution.
Still, turning around now would be more suspicious than walking past. He forced his expression into something neutral and continued forward.
Both Zi Wen and the man he was speaking with turned toward him. Gao Shun—merchant, native of Meadow Village, and a man whose boots saw more of the Empire’s roads than its inns. Every two months he passed through, trading goods from one city to another.
And every two months, Haoran entrusted him with an envelope.
He never said it needed to reach the capital, only Cloud Mist City. No mortal with sense would venture to the capital during a beast rising. Once the letter reached Cloud Mist, other agents of the Princess would see it to its true destination.
Gao Shun’s gaze settled on him, warm but sharp in the way merchants often were. “Another letter needs to be sent to your family, Haoran?”
Haoran inclined his head. “Yes. I would be grateful. And as always, I will pay a silver wen for it.”
“You must love your family a great deal,” Gao Shun said with an easy smile.
Before Haoran could answer, Zi Wen turned toward him, looking at him extremely calmly. “Where does your family live in Cloud Mist City, Haoran? Are they your wife and children?”
A small hitch tightened in his chest, but he kept it buried, bowing slightly in respect. “No, esteemed cultivator. My brother lives there. We have a good relationship, and he likes me to keep sending him letters. As you know, I’m a travelling scholar… so he worries.”
“I understand.” Zi Wen’s voice softened just slightly. “My brother is on his way to Ashen City. I worry for him too.” Then he turned back to Gao Shun. “Either way, it’s good to know about the beasts near Cloud Mist City. Thanks for your help as usual, Gao Shun.”
“It’s the least I could do for the ones protecting my home,” Gao Shun replied with a respectful bow.
Zi Wen gave him a final glance, then walked away.
Haoran let out a slow, internal breath. He turned his attention back to the merchant, who was still watching Zi Wen’s retreating figure.
“He’s one of the better cultivators I’ve met,” Gao Shun remarked. “Caring for mortals. Protecting them.”
Haoran nodded, knowing it was true, but not wanting to linger on the subject. If you wanted to avoid suspicion, you didn’t ask too much about those who might suspect you.
Instead, he simply handed over the sealed envelope and a gleaming silver coin. “Thank you for your help. Tell my brother I miss him.”
Gao Shun accepted it with a polite nod.
Haoran wanted to ask more—about Cloud Mist City, about what Gao Shun had seen on the roads—but decided against it this time. Better not to push. He turned away, already thinking of the Princess and hoping for a reply.
But what he didn’t see was the faintest smirk tugging at Gao Shun’s lips as the merchant tucked the letter away.
***
Chen Ren sat in his inn room, the account books stacked neatly at his side as he spoke with Yalan.
It had been four days since his meeting with Darkmoon Sect Leader Gao Moyue, and nothing had come of it. Nothing. He’d expected something—anything that’d disturb his peace, but no.
He had even taken the chance to pay off the last of the debt, making sure the Divine Pill Apothecary was entirely free of such chains. Even the rumors Tang Boming had mentioned—half-spoken gossip drifting from the taverns—suggested that the Darkmoon Sect was focused inward.
Apparently, Gao Moyue had begun showering the outer sect disciples with incentives, overhauling their sweatshop-style production, and pushing for individual pill making with an emphasis on innovation. It was quite a bold shift. The inner sect elders were less than pleased, if the talk Boming overheard from a drunken young master was to be believed. Hidden tensions were brewing, the sort that could gnaw at a sect from within.
If true, it meant the Darkmoon Sect could be wrapped up in its own internal changes for months, perhaps even a year.
No complaints from Chen Ren, because it was good news for him. Good time for his business to grow roots deep enough to weather whatever came next.
After going over the details with Yalan, they had reached the same conclusion: Broken Ridge City might remain quiet for them, maybe even for years.
It was the best outcome Chen Ren could have asked for. He was wealthier now than he’d ever been, able to afford things that had been far out of reach before arriving here.
Though problems still remained—none of them business. These were personal. Matters of cultivation.
Yalan’s voice broke into his thoughts. “You really think you can do it? If you falling unconscious last time was really because of your progression… it could be very dangerous.”
“That’s why I have you here with me,” Chen Ren replied without hesitation. “If you notice anything strange, pull me out. I believe I need to go into my star space to see if there’s any problem with it.”
“You haven’t been inside since coming to the city,” Yalan pointed out.
“I never had the time,” he admitted, leaning back slightly. “And I didn’t want to access it and find another problem when we were already drowning in others. Adding trouble when you’re already swamped just makes it overwhelming. Besides, Elder Hun Tianzhi said I was fine, and he’s got good healing knowledge.”
Yalan licked her paws in the most graceful way known to cats. “I’ve mostly heard of him blowing things up.”
“That’s why he has good healing knowledge,” Chen Ren said with a dry snort. “He blows things—and people—up, so he needs to know how to fix them.” The humor faded from his face. “Either way, I need you to pull me out if anything feels wrong. I’m only going to draw a trickle of the accumulated qi, just to be safe. But if it still overwhelms me… pull me out.”
Yalan purred. “If that’s the case, you know you’ll be stuck at your current strength until we find an expert on star spaces.”
Chen Ren grimaced. Truth, but harsh. That was the worst possible outcome. Experts on star spaces were as rare as soul cultivators. Most cultivators simply accepted their star space as they did qi, without fully understanding it. Hoping that wasn’t his fate, he gave Yalan a steady look.
“I’ll start now.”
She didn’t speak again, merely watching him closely as he closed his eyes and drew a deep, steady breath.
He forced down every stray thought, every lingering worry. Slowly, the familiar sensation crept in—the strange tug in his chest, the subtle weightlessness that always preceded his entry.
He let the feeling linger for a few more seconds without disturbing and slowly opened his eyes.
The astral expanse unfolded around him, vast and breathtaking as always—points of light suspended in endless black, drifting like slow-moving rivers of stardust. But his awe froze into shock.
It wasn’t the same as before.
The stars were dimmer. Chunks of space itself seemed fractured, edges crumbling away into nothingness. Wisps of light bled into the void like smoke from a dying fire.
What in the—? His star space was breaking down.
2025-08-12 09:38:02 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 262
A thing about enemies was that, even if they couldn’t stand each other—couldn’t breathe the same air without wanting to tear the other apart—they also couldn’t stand the thought of the other getting a head start.
It was obvious once Kai had learned how Baroness Marren had seized her title from her father, not out of duty or timing, but purely to one-up Viscountess Vaessa—who, despite being married to a Viscount, only held a nominal title with little real power until the death of her husband. He’d seen more than a few examples of such petty rivalries in the records he’d read about them.
And that was exactly how he planned to get them both on his side.
Not by giving them separate advantages that might interest them. No, that would never work. They’d sooner spite him than allow the other even the smallest gain. The trick was to make them realise that if they did nothing, the other woman would gain something significant. Something they could not afford to let happen.
Hence, when he went to speak with Viscountess Vaessa, he’d made sure Killian and Leopold were in the adjoining room with Baroness Marren. Two rooms with walls thin enough for each to catch the gist of the other’s conversation. And Kai, naturally, made sure to speak in a loud, clear voice, so that every single word would come out clearly.
Now, as he sat in the room with Viscountess Vaessa, the door burst open.
It revealed a reddened Baroness Marren. She was followed by Killian and Leopold, both of them looking shocked.
Like the Viscountess, she looked far younger than her years, that even her skin was smooth and unlined, not a single wrinkle on her face apart from the deep frown. Her hair had a streak of vivid blue that cut through her otherwise rich red hair. And the striking contrast caught the eye instantly. In a grand ballroom, she could’ve easily passed for an elegant noblewoman who’d come to dance and exchange pleasantries.
But now? A whole different story. Now she looked more than ready to burn the entire place to the ground.
Mana gushed out from Baroness Marren in crashing waves, the unrestrained force chilling Kai to the bone. Even the air seemed to thicken under the bite of her fury. She made no effort to temper it—not here, not now—as her glare stayed locked on the Viscountess. And if looks could kill, she would have done a massacre by now.
Viscountess Vaessa rose sharply from her seat, her own expression just as lethal. An even more petrifying flare of mana surged from her in response, clashing with the Baroness’s in the air.
For two long seconds, neither woman spoke. The hostility between them was so palpable it felt as if the floor itself might crack under the weight of it. Words, at this point, were unnecessary.
The mana radiating from Viscountess Vaessa shifted—subtle, but enough to draw Kai’s attention. Her right-hand fingers were curling, and thin blue lines of a spell structure began to take form in the air.
That’s quick, Kai thought, watching as the Viscountess took a step forward, ready to strike.
It was escalating far too fast. The last thing he wanted was to watch these two women unleash spells on each other. Without a word, he stepped between them.
His frown carried the weight of weary disapproval, as if he had walked into an unwelcome scene and was now forced into the role of mediator.
“Baroness Marren, Viscountess Vaessa, please stand back,” he said, keeping his tone calm while his facial expression stayed edged with caution. “You are in Duke Blackwood’s estate. Starting a fight here is beyond rude. I’d like to think you are both wiser—and far less reckless—than that.”
Viscountess Vaessa huffed in annoyance but her eyes didn’t leave her rival, but slowly, ever so reluctantly, she let the glowing lines of the spell fade from her hand. Even so, neither woman pulled their mana back to their Mana heart. It still poured into the room, clashing and sparking invisibly in the space between them like the pressure before a storm.
Kai considered, for a fleeting moment, binding them both in place. But forcing enemies to cooperate never ended well. They’d only turn on him instead. He kept his position between them, becoming a wall of calm in the middle of their seething animosity.
“Bitch! If not for me being in the other room, you’d have sold your soul for Magus Valkyrie’s inheritance,” Baroness Marren spat. “I know you’re a low-life nothing who’s always wagging her tongue to everyone, but that—” she jabbed a finger toward the Viscountess “—is low even for you.”
Viscountess Vaessa scoffed, lips curling. “You’re just projecting what you’re like. I was simply considering an offer Count Arzan made to me. Not to you. So kindly get out.”
“Oh, please,” Baroness Marren shot back, stepping closer. “Do you really think he’s here to talk to you alone? Do you think you’re that special? If that were the case, he wouldn’t have had his personal Knight escort me around all evening. Not to mention the Duke’s first ones.”
At that, both women turned their eyes to him, and Kai knew instantly it was his move. If he handled this right, his scheme would finally start to take shape. If not, he’d walk out having alienated them both, and the banquet would end in nothing but wasted effort.
And after all the trouble he’d gone so far, that was the last thing he wanted. So, just like he practiced he spoke up.
“It’s true,” he looked at Baroness Marren, confirming her words. “I wanted to speak with you both. But please understand, I’m trying to gather as much support as possible. You two are among the most powerful nobles in the kingdom.”
“You’re overestimating this bitch’s capabilities,” Viscountess Vaessa’s lips curled in scorn. She placed her hands on her hips in frustration.
“Oh really? You say that after you failed to contain a dungeon in your own territory? Didn’t you almost manage to kill your own son?”
“We all know you tried to sabotage that—”
She didn’t finish.
Kai’s mana swept through the room like a sudden, crushing weight. He pressed it down on both women, cutting through their words and pinning them in place, not enough to harm, but more than enough to silence.
Their eyes widened at the pressure.
If he let them keep going, they’d fight until the walls shook and his carefully laid plan would be nothing but ash. He couldn’t let it happen. And this was one way to do that; to let them know and show who was in control.
“If we can’t talk like civilised people,” he said, moving his eyes back and forth between the pair, “then there’s no point in having a discussion at all.”
The weight of his mana didn’t ease.
“It’s true I wanted to speak with both of you,” he went on, “and you both know why. But if all you’re going to do is fight, then I’ll find other nobles. I’m sure there are plenty who would be very interested in what I’m offering.”
The implication hung in the air, and his words clearly drew a line that made Viscountess Vaessa eyes’s widen.
“I won’t try to start a fight, Count Arzan,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I want to go back to the conversation we were having.” Then she turned to Baroness Marren. “You’ll get your chance. Now leave.”
Baroness Marren raised both her eyebrows and took a small step forward. “I don’t think I will.” Her entire posture turned towards Kai. “Count Arzan, I’m assuming you were going to have the same conversation with me, for me to vote in the Assembly, yes?”
“Yes. That’s true.”
“Then,” she said, stepping even further into the room. “Do you mind if I participate? I’m sure you don’t.”
Kai looked like he was weighing the idea, his brow faintly furrowing. “I wanted to speak in private to avoid certain… situations.” he sighed, rubbing his palms together.
“Trust me, Count Arzan,” Baroness Marren said smoothly, “I have no intention of starting a fight. Now, why don’t we go back to the discussion? I doubt you have much time before more nobles arrive.”
And without waiting for his agreement, she crossed the room and took a seat, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips as she glanced at the Viscountess.
The latter huffed through her nose but didn’t speak.
Kai guessed both women had decided that, for now, continuing to fight would just waste time neither of them could afford. The current argument was conceded, for now.
And that worked perfectly for him.
He took his seat again, settling in, trying his best to appear as uncomfortable as possible. “I’m thinking Baroness Marren heard what I was discussing,” he said.
The Baroness nodded. “I did, true. I was an admirer of your mother, Count Arzan. Getting even a single book written by her would mean a great deal to me.”
Kai inclined his head slightly.
The only reason he had considered this plan viable at all was because of this one thing—both women were similar kind of Mages. The Viscountess specialized in ice magic, the Baroness in water magic. And Magus Valkyrie had been a towering figure in both fields due to the closeness of the aspects.
And to them, she was more than a name in the history books—she was an idol.
Both of them wanted the research of a Magus. That alone would be enough to grant them unimaginable power—power that could let them challenge for higher noble positions, perhaps even threaten the standing of those who had long kept them in check.
“So,” Kai said and cleared his throat, “it’s pretty clear. What I’m offering is part of my mother’s inheritance—something I believe will benefit you both. I could offer other things, but I know the magical aspect of this deal is what you truly care about.”
Both women gave small, almost imperceptible nods.
“I just want your votes—and the votes of the nobles under you—in my favour during the Assembly,” he continued. “I know it will alienate you from your current factions, but if you wish, I’m forming my own. You’d be welcome to join.”
“Uhm,” Viscountess Vaessa’s eyes narrowed. “You speak as if this faction will be far more permanent than just for the Assembly.”
“It’s for the Assembly right now.”
Her lips curled faintly, as if she were silently weighing whether there was more to that answer.
“What I will share with you,” Kai went on, “will undoubtedly help you both increase your strength by a great deal. Enough to push you toward the next circle. I know you’ve both been trying to reach it for years now.”
Neither of them said a word at that. But their silence was telling enough. He’d done his research enough, and throwing what someone wanted in front of their face was one way to get what you wanted. And Kai followed the oldest trick in the book.
“So,” Kai asked finally, “what do you think? If you agree, I’ll send you one book within a week, and the rest after the Assembly. If you have more demands, we can always negotiate after the banquet.” He gestured to his side. “Francis here is very good at that sort of thing.”
Francis gave a small nod.
Instead of noises of agreements, a strong silence stretched across the room. Both women sat there, thoughtful, eyes lowered and possibly calculating just how far they were willing to go with what they were being offered.
From time to time, the two women would break from their thoughts just to glare at each other, their eyes meeting like drawn blades before flicking away again. Then, in perfect, ridiculous unison, they spoke at the same time.
“I accept the deal, but this bitch can’t have it.”
The words hung in the air like an echo, and as if realising they’d said the same thing, both women looked even more furious than before.
Kai exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his tone steady. “I can’t accept such a demand. What I’m offering isn’t something I can share with only one person. You can’t bring your enmity here—that’s between the two of you. What I’m offering is between me and each of you separately. You need to understand that.”
The Viscountess leaned forward slightly. “You can’t expect me to agree, knowing you might make the same deal with this woman. You’re just trying to play both sides, Count Arzan, and that doesn’t end well for a lot of people.”
“And that’s because,” Kai said evenly, “the parties being played find out about it after the fact and feel betrayed. I’m putting everything out in the open right now. You either accept it or reject it—I’m not forcing you. I didn’t want this situation to happen, but since it has, I’m showing all my cards without any tricks.”
There was a sharpness in his tone now, frustration deliberately bleeding through. In truth, this was exactly the situation he had been aiming for from the start, but the role he needed to play now was the man reluctantly forced into being blunt.
The two women glanced at each other again, the tension in the air refusing to ease. It was uneasy, annoying and boring to everyone in the vicinity. But neither gave up for a while until Baroness Marren crossed her arms.
“Why don’t I give you my answer later, when it’s more appropriate?”
“You’ll just try to offer him incentives later to cut me out of the deal. Despite knowing you don’t have anything that would please him.”
The Baroness’s lips curved into a mocking smile. “Oh, I have plenty of things. You should worry about yourself, old hag.”
“You don’t even come close to my wealth.”
“Wealth isn’t everything,” Baroness Marren shot back. “I have much more to offer Count Arzan than you ever could.”
Kai exchanged a glance with Killian and Leopold, then another with Francis. The argument was spiraling fast, and he was witnessing firsthand what many nobles had already seen at banquets and parties—these two women simply could not exist in the same room without bickering.
But unlike most, Kai knew exactly how to make them behave.
A wave of mana rolled out from him, heavy and unyielding, pressing down on both of them until their voices fell silent. They looked at him now, not at each other.
Kai sighed, letting just enough weariness into his tone. “To stop you from overthinking, let me make something clear. I won’t speak to either of you alone after this. I’ve already said everything I needed to say. The only further discussions will be negotiations, if you agree to help me in the Assembly.”
Viscountess Marren frowned. “But if I agree now, then I’ll have nothing to play during negotiations.”
“I’ll make sure you get good value out of your vote,” Kai said evenly. “And I’m fairly certain that if you reject my offer… Baroness Vaessa will accept it.”
The Baroness smirked at that, clearly enjoying the implication.
But Kai could tell both women understood the real message. If one of them tried to play hard to get, the other would simply take the deal, and they’d be left behind.
And both of them hated the idea of falling behind.
He also knew they’d each been chasing a power increase for some time now. In this moment, with the threat of the other gaining Magus Valkyrie’s research first, they were trapped in the perfect stalemate he wanted.
It was fragile, yes.
But he only needed to hold it together for a few days.
Seeing that there was nothing more to be said, Kai rose to his feet.
“It was really good to meet you both,” he said, modulating his voice with a finality that wasn’t there before. “But I’m afraid I need to return to the banquet now. Think it through and give me your answers—we’ll be here all night.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out of the room, the conversation left hanging behind him. Killian, Leopold and Francis fell into step at his sides, the door closing softly on the tense silence they’d left.
Once they were clear of the corridor, Killian glanced over. “Do you think it will work?”
“It should. They can’t stand the thought of the other doing well.”
He exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh. “Either way, we’ll know in a few hours. But for now, there’s more to deal with. I’m pretty sure half the nobles in this estate are just waiting for me.”
And with that, he kept walking, the low hum of the banquet growing louder with each step.
2025-08-10 09:45:07 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 152
Chen Ren froze.
The Darkmoon Sect Leader Gao Moyue casually strolled toward him. His hands were clasped behind his back as if he was just out for an afternoon walk. But with the pressing weight of his gaze, there was nothing casual about his presence.
From behind, another figure walked in, draped in black and silver robes. They both had similar long, snow-white goatees, and both moved inside slowly, unhurried steps—all the while their auras so tightly concealed that no ordinary passerby could tell how strong they were cultivation-wise.
Why here? Why now? Did they visit the shop to cause trouble? To destroy it outright? Maybe not, it was too crude for a man like Gao Moyue. Or maybe he wanted to threaten Chen Ren by appearing in person. If that was the case, that would be a loss of face for him… unless, of course, something else was at play.
He would find out soon enough.
When they were around fifteen feet away, they shoved haggling customers aside easily, showing off that they’d never known the meaning of waiting in line. Soon, they reached the counter, and Gao Moyue’s gaze fixed on him.
“I think we should talk in private,” the sect leader said.
That was quite straight. Curiosity got the best out of him and Chen Ren nodded back. “Yes, let’s go to my office.”
He turned to Anji, who was staring with wide eyes at the scene that was unfolding.
“Anji, please handle the shop until I’m done speaking with Sect Leader Gao Moyue.”
She swallowed and nodded.
Without further delay, Chen Ren walked toward the back, resisting the urge to quicken his pace. He allowed himself one glance over his shoulder—just enough to confirm the sect leader’s steady approach behind him as the elder shadowed him.
As they crossed into the quieter corridor, Chen Ren’s gaze flicked around, checking every corner without moving his head too obviously.
“Don’t worry,” Yalan’s voice slid smoothly into his mind. “I’m seeing everything. If they try anything, I’ll intercept.”
His shoulders eased, tension uncoiling slightly. With her here, at least he wouldn’t be entirely at their mercy.
They reached his office soon after. Chen Ren pushed the door open, gesturing toward the chair opposite his own desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Only after the sect leader settled did Chen Ren take his own.
Chen Ren noticed it immediately—only Gao Moyue took the offered seat. The elder in Darkmoon robes remained standing, hands folded before him, head slightly bowed.
Chen Ren’s brow arched and the sect leader followed his eyes to look at the elder.
“He doesn’t need to sit,” he said evenly, keeping his posture straight. “He hasn’t earned it.”
The elder’s shoulders dipped, his gaze sinking to the floorboards.
Chen Ren filed the scene away in silence. Internal sect business—none of his concern. His attention returned to the man before him, and their eyes locked across the desk.
“I’m sorry,” Chen Ren said. “I don’t have any tea prepared for you. Things have been… busy here. I didn’t expect your arrival.”
“That’s fine.” Gao Moyue leaned back slightly, and gave a slight shrug as if he owned the space. Even the aura that excluded him dominated the space. “I didn’t want to come here. But I realized we’ve never been formally introduced. As sects competing in the same market, it’s pertinent to do so.”
He paused, his words lingering like a blade held just above the skin.
“You should know this already,” Gao Moyue continued, “but I am Gao Moyue, sect leader of the Darkmoon Sect for the last one hundred and fifty years, and a meridian expansion realm cultivator. I have overseen Broken Ridge City since the Empire made it a border city.”
Chen Ren nodded. He knew all of this already, but courtesy demanded formality. “I’m Chen Ren, Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect… and a qi refinement realm cultivator.”
A sharp huff escaped Gao Moyue. “Hearing you say that makes me realize how incompetent my sect has become. It seems I’ve been too uncaring for too long.”
The man caresses his goatee.
Chen Ren quirked an eyebrow. “Are you here to tell me you only lost because your sect had become incompetent?”
“No.” Gao Moyue’s black eyes sharpened. “You did well. Far too well for an Emerging sect to have any right to, and you have my respect for that. What I’m here to do… is assess you.”
Assess me? Personally? “Not here to threaten me, then?” Chen Ren asked, already wanting to know what was actually going through his mind.
Gao Moyue shook his head. “My presence is threat enough. And hearing you speak to me like that… It tells me you have backing. No one moves their mouth in front of a superior without it.”
Chen Ren didn’t rise to the bait. After a moment, he said evenly, “I just don’t think you can do anything to me now. I understand your plans, Sect Leader Gao Moyue, and I have to say, you have dominated the city for a long time. But the City Lord has looked at me favorably. I don’t think you want to do anything to me right now.”
The sect leader’s smirk was… slow. He stared a beat longer and rolled his shoulders back. “The City Lord would indeed be… displeased if I moved against you. But you are still a new sapling. The Darkmoon Sect’s roots are far too deep. Don’t hide behind the City Lord. That’s the fastest way to grow complacent. In the coming years, I doubt you will have much chance to relax.”
“I’ll think about your words,” Chen Ren said. His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t waver. “But I believe I’m relaxed enough even now.”
The air shifted.
Gao Moyue's aura suddenly swept forward before he could blink twice. Chen Ren felt death's icy, unforgiving grasp tighten around his throat. As the weight crushed against his chest, his face turned pale and his breath caught.
Still, he forced himself to look up, glare meeting glare.
It was just a show. He wouldn’t dare act here. If he did, Yalan would have all the reason she needed to strike.
As expected, the suffocating pressure eased, like a tide retreating from the shore.
“At least,” Gao Moyue said, voice low, “you don’t seem like a puppet placed here by someone else.”
Chen Ren took a slow breath, the air tasting sharper than before. “I believe you should tread carefully, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. Next time you do that… I won’t just sit still.”
“Oh? Really?” Gao Moyue’s eyes narrowed, and a dangerous edge crept into his voice. “I would like to see—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Color drained from his face.
Chen Ren’s lips curved. He knew that look. The sudden stillness in the man’s posture, the movement of his hand muscles—Gao Moyue was feeling it now. The same oppressive weight that had gripped Chen Ren moments ago… only this time, it was pressing down on him.
Unlike Chen Ren, Gao Moyue hadn’t been ready for it.
For several seconds, the Darkmoon Sect leader sat rigid, his qi surging instinctively in search of the source. Invisible tendrils of spiritual sense rippled through the room… but if he found anything, it didn’t show. His expression shifted once, almost imperceptibly, before settling into something carefully neutral.
Yalan must’ve stopped. Because the man’s posture eased.
In the corner, the elder still hadn’t moved. His head remained lowered, the faintest air of detachment about him, as though what happened here was not worth witnessing.
“Ah,” Gao Moyue finally said, a wry note slipping into his voice. “It seems I truly underestimated you. You really are full of tricks.”
“You haven’t seen even half of it,” Chen Ren replied back. “So I suggest you don’t try shows of power again.”
“Very well.” Gao Moyue inclined his head, an acknowledgment without submission. “I see your strength now. I think we’ll make fine rivals in this city. I suppose the heavens can’t let one man benefit forever—it must create balance. And it has… with you and me. I’ll leave your sect alone for now.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I believe that.”
“Hmm, good thinking. Because, me, leaving your sect alone doesn’t mean there won’t be repercussions,” Gao Moyue said with a faint smile. “I believe it’s time I reminded my disciples why they are the best in the city. That will keep me… occupied. Too busy to meddle with your little shop. But don’t relax too much, Chen Ren. We will clash our qis again soon.”
He rose from his seat, turning toward the door. Halfway there, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
“But,” he said, “I do have one question before I leave.”
“What?”
“How did you get those greedy bastards of officials to speak in your favor?”
Chen Ren hesitated, weighing whether to answer. The truth was, a man like Gao Moyue would find out eventually. Even if he didn’t say it outright, he’d use his resources and connections to find out. Better to choose the framing himself.
“Like you said,” Chen Ren replied evenly, “they’re greedy, but they like to pretend otherwise. They like to show they’re honest. I simply gave them a way to do both.”
A faint crease formed between the sect leader’s brows. “And what was that?”
“The city has a big betting market,” Chen Ren said, “especially during the trials. I told them who to put their money on. Seeing how confident I was, they ended up placing at least a little on the winner. They grew wealthier without losing a shred of ‘honor’… and I gained some fans among them. The betting market didn't even expect me to pass the first round, much less win.”
For a moment, Gao Moyue simply stared at him, the corners of his lips twitching as if savoring the answer. Then he nodded once. “You’re smart.” He paused at the door, a faint smile curving his mouth. “I will remember your name, Sect Leader Chen Ren.”
With that, he left, the elder falling silently into step behind him.
Chen Ren didn’t relax right away. He sat there, still and silent, listening to the sound of their footsteps fading down the hall. Five long minutes passed before he finally exhaled, leaning back into his chair.
If he was right, Yalan was already shadowing them, following at a safe distance to see where they went next.
The entire meeting had been taut as a bowstring—more an assessment than an outright threat, though the warning was clear.
Revealing the presence of a meridian expansion realm cultivator in their midst… Perhaps it was a risk. But it was also a deterrent. If nothing else, it might make them think twice before acting openly.
No… whatever came next from Darkmoon Sect would be quieter. More subtle. And likely aimed where he least expected.
And honestly, Chen Ren didn’t care much.
He had accomplished what he’d come to Broken Ridge City to do. The debt was gone, wiped clean. His footing was solid now, the kind that couldn’t be easily shaken. Every week, spirit stones would flow in—a steady stream he could rely on.
If he managed to expand the business to other cities, the Divine Coin Sect’s economy might one day rival that of an Established Sect.
But that was for later.
For now, he needed to take stock of what he had. Even as he sat there, the faint chime of the shop’s front door drifting through the walls hit his ears. He could feel it—a thin trickle of qi, subtle yet constant, flowing into his dantian. Every pill sold carried a sliver of benefit back to him, and though the flow was small, it never stopped.
It was like feeling the first drops of a rainstorm that, given enough time, could flood an entire valley.
***
Shen Linao kept the frown from touching his face.
Each breath he drew seemed to stoke the fire in his chest, feeding the anger that clawed at his ribs. It took every thread of his willpower not to bark out his frustration at the sight before him.
The massive chamber—once the secret vault of the Void Blade Sect—was now stripped bare of its treasures. Where once priceless artifacts might have rested, there now sat two dozen disciples, their crimson robes dulled with dust and sweat. Every one of them was trained in the discipline of divination, though most had never been called to attempt anything of this magnitude.
They sat cross-legged, eyes shut, breaths steady, qi streaming from their bodies in pale threads. The streams twisted together in the air, feeding a roiling cloud suspended in the chamber’s center. It pulsed faintly, an embryonic mirror that would soon—he hoped—show him the vision he sought.
Through it, they would tear through the veil of space and time, stretching the threads of reality itself to peer into the past. They would see what had happened here months ago. They would see who had killed Wang Fu and the others. They would see who had stolen the treasures that were rightfully his.
But it was taking far too long.
Maybe he shouldn’t have killed the ones who refused to give their lives for the “greater good” of the sect. With more experienced seers, the process might have moved faster. Still, what choice did he have? Divination was an art that devoured life force, and most of these disciples were only at the qi refinement realm. They would die here today, and he felt no remorse.
They had accepted their fates.
He wanted the treasures. That was all that mattered.
But patience was bleeding from him by the moment. Six hours had passed already, and the swirling mirror was still unstable. His mind was too unsettled to cultivate, his body too tense to rest. All he could do was stand there and wait, wondering if all his sacrifices would finally reveal the face of the unknown enemy… or if the vision would dissolve, leaving him with nothing but corpses and failure.
Just as Shen Linao felt the last threads of his patience fray, something shifted among the seated cultivators.
Three of them shuddered violently, thin streams of blood trickling from their nostrils before they slumped sideways to the ground. A flare of qi burst from their bodies, followed by the faint shimmer of their life force, both drawn upward into the swirling cloud above.
Shen Linao’s lips curved into the first real smile he had allowed himself all day. It was starting.
One after another, more disciples followed. Some went rigid before their meridians ruptured with sickening cracks, threads of qi leaking out in ghostly streams. Others simply collapsed, their hearts stilled in an instant, their dantians hollowed out like spent lanterns.
Each death fed the cloud.
From its churning grey, it bled into a misty white, and with every passing breath faint hues began to seep through—gold, red, deep indigo. Shen Linao narrowed his eyes, focusing on the shifting shapes within.
There.
A vague silhouette stood at the heart of the cloud, surrounded by other blurred figures. Wang Fu was not yet among them, but Shen Linao knew he would appear soon. Divinations rarely played out in neat order—especially not with fledgling diviners—but if the time frame was right, the truth would unravel before him.
The shine in his eyes grew sharper. He leaned forward, drinking in every detail as the unstable vision rippled and formed.
Then, faint but distinct, came the first clear words—one of the shadowed figures calling out to the first silhouette:
“Sect Leader Chen Ren.”
2025-08-10 09:41:21 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 261
Kai got busy the next day, so much so that he didn’t have time to worry about Queen Regina’s retaliation. He left the matter with a simple instruction to Killian—increase the security around them. Not that he expected anything to happen just yet. If Regina was going to strike, it would be during the Assembly, or a day or two before it, when it would make the most noise.
For now, she would wait.
So Kai did the same. He sent a brief message to Amara outlining what had happened in their meeting and assuring her there was nothing to worry about, for now. Then, without delay, he stepped into the storm of meetings that awaited him.
His arrival in Hermil had already swept through noble circles. If he had been the topic of every banquet before, now it seemed nobles whispered his name even over breakfast. His survival in the fief war, the beast wave, his new title as Count—it all made him too visible to ignore.
And visibility drew attention.
Many of the Barons and Viscounts were now asking to meet him—some who had already offered their support, others who were clearly weighing the cost of it. Most of these meetings were short-term affairs filled with long, unnecessary words. They followed a familiar routine, stiff introductions, polite flattery, talk of his bravery in the beast wave and the fief war, followed by a few probing questions about his relationship with Princess Amara now that rumors hinted she was backing him.
And then—finally—they would get to the part that really mattered. What they wanted in return.
Spellbooks, artifacts, promises of future trade routes or protection. Some were bold, others subtle, but all of them were playing the same game.
Of the dozens of nobles Kai met in a day, only a few seemed to genuinely respect him. Most were simply calculating, gauging his usefulness or fearing the sheer weight of what he’d accomplished.
None of it surprised him. This was the nature of power. And now, he was in the thick of it.
Some even asked him outright how he had killed Lucian—completely convinced that he was responsible, despite the fact that Kai had already said that he hadn't killed him. It wasn’t just a rumor anymore. In the eyes of many, guilt was a given.
Kai left each meeting feeling more drained than the last, but there was little he could do about it. What he had now wasn’t a true faction—not yet. It was a rough outline, a gathering of opportunistic nobles who didn’t know him well, and whom he barely knew in return. They were taking a gamble by supporting him, choosing to oppose the Princes because they believed they had more to gain that way than to lose.
Kai understood their mindset and didn’t bother correcting them. He brushed aside everything unnecessary and focused only on what mattered—their demands. He promised them what they were looking for.
Some asked for obvious things—preferential trade deals, access to the mana cannons. Others had heard murmurs of his intention to build a Mage tower and wanted him to send Mages to their territories to help with beast infestations. A few were even bolder, asking for vague favors to be named in the future.
They had clearly done the math. If the Assembly favored him—and more and more believed it would—there was a strong chance Kai would inherit the Duke’s title. After all, his second brother, the only other legitimate heir, had allegedly left the kingdom months ago and vanished without a trace.
And so, two long days passed in a blur of conversation, posturing, and negotiation, stretching from morning to midnight. And with the third day came the long-awaited banquet.
But even as the servants began preparing his formal attire and his advisors finalized the seating arrangements, Kai’s thoughts were elsewhere—circling around a single question.
How was he going to get Baroness Marren and Viscountess Vaessa into his faction?
That question had haunted him since the day he’d learned of them.
They were both power players who’d been playing the game since ages yet were well respected. And more importantly, they hated each other.
And both had accepted personal invitations from Duke Blackwood to attend the banquet.
Kai didn’t believe in chance. If he wanted to truly solidify his position before the Assembly… he needed both of them.
Even they couldn’t outright refuse an invitation from a Duke—not when it was just a banquet. And Kai knew, without a doubt, that if he wanted any chance of getting Baroness Marren and Viscountess Vaessa into his faction, tonight was his last shot.
But no matter how many times he went over it in his head, a solution slipped away every time, like water through his fingers. Every single time… he was met with the same fate, no matter how hard he thought—
It almost started to stress him out until something clicked. It came out of nowhere, half memory, half instinct. But he was glad it did when it did.
It was a story his master had once told him, back when Kai was just another apprentice in the Sorcerer’s Tower, constantly clashing with a fellow student. It was a story he’d heard decades ago, one that was buried so deep in his mind he hadn’t thought about it in years.
But now it resurfaced—clear, sharp, and absurd enough to maybe work. A way to get both women into his faction.
Not permanently. Kai wasn’t delusional, but for long enough—in that case, a week. Maybe just until the Assembly. If he could manage that, it would shift the balance in his favor dramatically. Still, for the plan to work, everything needed to go his way. Everything including every word, every moment and every reaction.
And that required finesse… and a hell lot of luck. The kind of luck Kai wasn’t sure he still had.
When he explained the idea to the others, the reactions were mixed at best. Apprehension filled the room like fog. No one had a better plan, but that didn’t stop anyone from casting doubt—loudly and repeatedly. Still, it was the only thing that seemed like it even had a chance of success, so it was accepted.
With that decided, Kai found himself walking beside Leopold as they made their way up the stairs toward the banquet hall, hands behind his back, voice dry as ever.
“I’ve made a bet with one of your Knights,” Leopold said casually, “on whether those two are going to burn my ancestral house to the ground tonight.”
Kai stopped mid-step and turned. “And who’s that?”
“He prefers to keep his identity a secret. But he put a lot of money on it working out.” He gave a nonchalant shrug.
Kai gave a tired huff of laughter. “I don’t share his optimism.”
“Neither do I,” Leopold said, lips twitching. “But we’re going through with it anyway.”
“We need to try.”
Because at this point, it wasn’t just about politics. It was about survival.
Kai started walking up the stairs again, footsteps steady but his thoughts running miles ahead.
Right now, they were at Duke Blackwood’s estate in the capital—the chosen venue for the banquet. It hadn’t officially begun, but he’d already seen the carriages lined up outside. Nobles had arrived early, eager to make conversation, eager to be seen. Some had come for Duke Blackwood, others for him. The Duke was already entertaining a few in his chambers, and Kai had no doubt new rumors were swirling faster than the servants could refill their drinks.
Among the early arrivals were the two women in question—the ones Kai needed most.
If things were going according to plan, then Francis was handling one, while Killian was keeping the other ‘company’. But the real play had yet to begin.
They needed to move quickly. The timing had to be perfect—flawlessly so. Without that, it didn’t matter if every word they rehearsed landed and every look was timed to precision. The whole thing would crumble.
As they turned into a wide, gold-trimmed corridor lit by chandeliers, Leopold spoke again, hands clasped behind his back.
“You know,” he said, sounding completely serious but eyes twinkling, “maybe we should just offer them both marriage contracts again. I can even throw myself at one of their daughters. For the cause, of course.”
Kai slowed, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow. “You’d really do that for me?”
Leopold grinned. “Well… they do have pretty daughters.”
A chuckle burst out of his lips. “Why don’t you ask one of them out tonight if the plan fails?”
“Oh, I plan to,” Leopold said smoothly. “One way or another, I’ll leave tonight with something.”
Kai shook his head, but his smile lingered as they reached the door. This was it.
Behind that polished Blackwood was Viscountess Vaessa. He could already hear her voice, the way she accentuated her words, speaking with Francis. That was a good sign. She hadn’t stormed off. Yet.
Kai exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, smoothing his robe once more. Everything had to be perfect.
He glanced at Leopold, voice low but firm. “Make sure you do your part right.”
Leopold gave a nod, more serious now.
And with that, Kai turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside. As soon as Kai stepped inside, every pair of eyes in the room turned to him.
Francis, seated at a low table across from Viscountess Vaessa, looked visibly relieved. He stood up at once and gave a respectful bow, clearly more than happy to hand things over. The Viscountess, however, remained seated. Her sharp eyes moved to Kai, scanning him from head to toe in an obvious sweep.
He knew the look. He’d seen it on merchants sizing up jewels, generals
measuring battlefield terrain.
From the polished finish of his boots to the piece he wore, Kai had prepared for this. Everything was well-taken care of, even his hair was brushed back just enough to seem effortless.
The Viscountess’s well-known appreciation for refinement was not something he had overlooked.
She looked no older than her early thirties—an illusion, of course. Kai knew she was closer to fifty, but there wasn’t a single wrinkle on her face, and her skin held the smoothness of someone who could afford the best healers and mana treatments in the kingdom. Long, straight blue hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, carefully styled, not a strand out of place.
Finally, she spoke, giving him a nod as if approving his appearance.
“Count Arzan,” she said, “you’re here. Your administrator was just telling me how much you were looking forward to meeting me.”
“I was,” Kai replied with a polite smile, walking forward. “I just got caught up speaking with Duke Blackwood. A few guests arrived early, and I had to greet them.”
“Yet you’re here,” she said, a small smirk curling on her lips. “Meeting me personally.”
“Some people,” Kai said, “are worth giving attention to.”
She raised a brow, eyes glinting. “If you talk like that, I might assume you’re interested in an old woman like me.”
Kai almost flinched.
He had forgotten—she is not joking. After the death of her husband, she’d earned a certain… reputation. Dozens of lovers, most of them minor nobles, all left in her wake. Some whispered about it. Others called her names. She, apparently, didn’t care.
Kai quickly recovered, offering a smile that aimed to charm without invite. “I am interested in you, but in a very different context. Why don’t I tell you about it?”
He gestured to the empty seat in front of her. She studied him for a moment longer, then gave a nod.
As he sat down, the Viscountess leaned slightly forward. “Is this in the context of the Assembly?” she asked. “You should know, I’m already in Prince Aldrin’s faction.”
She spoke, her usual accentuation highlighted Prince Aldrin even more, it was deliberate. But Kai understood the hidden meaning behind it. A warning.
Now, he had to thread really carefully.
“I know,” Kai said calmly, “but I don’t think you care much about him.”
The Viscountess's eyes narrowed, the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Huh? That’s a poor thing to say, questioning my loyalty,” she said. “I’ve been loyal all my life.”
“And yet,” Kai said, pausing, “you’ve also always been ambitious.”
That earned a raise of her eyebrow. She adjusted her necklace coolly and listened to what he’d to say. Kai took the sign.
“Not only have you chased after things considered out of your reach, just to prove you could take them, but you also have a taste for power. And unlike the usual power-hungry nobles or Mages, you know how to nurture it. Grow it. Make it bloom. That’s a rare quality.”
Her eyes didn’t soften, but they didn’t look away either.
“I remember a story,” he added. “About a spell—a rare one, crafted by a Third-Circle Mage. You wanted it. Challenged him to a duel. Again and again. Lost hundreds of jewels and half your vault’s treasures chasing it, but in the end? You won. You took it.”
Viscountess Vaessa's lips curved upward ever so slightly. “You’ve done your research.”
“I like to be prepared when I’m making an offer.”
She gave a light nod. “That’s good. I like that. But do you really think your little faction can offer me enough power to leave a Prince’s side? Last I checked, you weren’t running for the throne.”
“I’m not,” Kai said, meeting her gaze evenly. “But unlike the royal family who haven’t managed to produce even a single Magus in generations—my bloodline has. If you remember, my mother was—”
“The greatest Magus in the kingdom’s history,” she interrupted in a soft voice. “The Frost Queen who could freeze entire valleys.” Her eyes that were fully on him until now, seemed to be distant, even for the briefest moment. He could tell that she was thinking about something else.
Kai almost opened his mouth to ask what it was, but she spoke.
“I was there at her funeral.”
Ah… Kai knew that. But he offered a small nod. He sighed as if the grief caused him deep trauma. His eyes left hers for the next two minutes, and Kai hoped he was showing a good solemn expression.
“I’m sorry about your loss,” she said. “What were you going to say?”
Kai nodded again, appreciating her sincerity.
“Like her, you dabble in the ice affinity too, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, Count Arzan. What about it?”
Kai’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s what I’m offering you. Some of my mother’s secrets—her research. Books she wrote on ice magic. And more than that… I’m willing to teach you a different way to form spell structures. A better way.” He leaned forward to the edge of his seat. “The current structures are… faulty. They aren't as effective as they could be. Too many fault lines. Too many inefficiencies. I believe they can be stripped down, refined. I’ve already started doing it.”
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then mana pulsed from her body and grazed Kai’s skin. Her emotions had spiked before she could suppress them. A second later, the pressure vanished as she reeled it back in, but the slip was enough.
He had touched something real.
“You’d give that to me,” she said slowly. “Just for a vote? I thought your mother’s inheritance was the most precious thing to you.”
“It is. There’s nothing more precious to me than what she left behind,” Kai said, shaking his head slightly. He paused, then looked at her. “But I have a different perspective on it, Viscountess Vaessa. I believe it’s of no use to the kingdom if only I hold it. And since she entrusted it to me, I’d like to think she trusted my judgment too.
“I’d help you grow as a Mage, Viscountess. And you already know what I’ve achieved in the last year. Things that take most Mages decades.”
As he spoke, mana surged from within him—not in a showy burst, but in a smooth, controlled flow. It formed the faint, glowing silhouette of a fourth-circle spell structure. He didn’t form it fully, no. He maintained the silhouette for a few more seconds right where it was.
The Viscountess’s eyes widened, going round enough that for a moment Kai thought they might actually drop out of her skull.
“The rumors were true,” she whispered. “You’re… you’re a step away from becoming a Magus.”
Kai nodded once and let the structure dissolve, pushing the remaining mana outward—not to impress, but to let her feel it; the truth of what he’d said.
And for the first time since entering the room, the Viscountess’s posture changed. Her shoulders didn’t stiffen, they tilted. Her eyes flicked downward, just for a second. The wheels behind them turning.
She’s considering it, Kai thought. Good, take your time.
Politics had failed her. But magic? She still wanted it. Craved it. She might’ve played the game like the others, but deep down, she still had the ambition of a Mage.
And that was the thread Kai had tugged. But it was only half the plan.
Before he could say anything else—
“That bitch!” A thicker accent, an even louder voice—no, screech came from the other room.
Viscountess Vaessa’s face drained of color, literally. She sat up straighter, shoulders going rigid.
Kai exchanged a quick glance with Francis, whose eyebrows had shot up, but the flicker in his eyes said everything.
It’s starting. The second phase of their plan had just begun.
2025-08-07 19:22:19 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 151
When Wang Jun first told him about the Bloodroot Ascension Pill, he’d also given a warning—one that still lingered in Chen Ren’s mind. Back in his day, it wasn’t known as a “righteous path” pill at all. In fact, blood arts were almost exclusively the domain of demonic cultivators, it was a name whispered with suspicion. That stigma still held true now, though the lines had blurred somewhat over the years.
Even so, Chen Ren had decided on it.
He hadn’t the faintest idea how it would affect the target. He’d practiced making the pill before, but never with his own blood—the core ingredient that demanded a slice of one’s life force. Using it meant losing a year or two of lifespan. For him, that was a small price, especially with his cultivation speed. So, he had gone for it.
But now, watching the guard collapse to the floor, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake in the mixing.
Not just him, he felt like everyone around him stopped breathing for a second.
A heartbeat later, the man stirred. Slowly, he pushed himself up, eyes wide, qi leaking from his body in heavy, deliberate pulses. Each burst was denser than the last, and Chen Ren felt it—so did everyone else. With every wave, the man’s cultivation climbed higher… until he breached the upper star levels of the qi refinement realm.
Chen Ren exhaled in relief.
“The pill… worked,” the guard said, turning to the City Lord.
“Huhhh?”
“Wow!”
“Is that real?”
Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers swelling like a rising tide. He clearly heard the shock in the voices of some very loud people. But his attention was elsewhere. Chen Ren glanced toward Sect Leader Gao Moyue, catching the man staring at him with disbelief in his eyes as if he couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
Chen Ren liked that look. If he could stare at it longer, he wouldn’t—
“That,” City Lord Bai Huiqin said at last, his gaze steady on Chen Ren, “is something I have rarely seen before. You said it takes the alchemist’s life force… How many years did it cost you?”
“A year or two,” Chen Ren replied evenly. “It depends on how much blood you use. The other ingredients are inexpensive enough—it’s still a Mortal-Grade pill. And as you know, my lord, in the life of a cultivator, a year is hardly worth mentioning.”
Bai Huiqin nodded. “True. Still… This is a remarkable creation. I have never! never! seen a Mortal-Grade pill with such effects. You are an exceptional alchemist, Chen Ren.” His expression softened with a faint smile. “The other officials have already spoken to me about your sect, about how you’ve been trying to revolutionize the pill market. Such efforts in Broken Ridge City are… commendable!”
Chen Ren bowed. “It is only possible because of a lord like you, who allows my sect the freedom to innovate.”
That worked because the man’s grin widened. He nodded at Chen Ren. “I will keep an eye on everything your sect produces from here on.”
Chen Ren’s smile deepened. That was the statement he had been hoping for.
Across the stage, Sect Leader Gao Moyue’s face paled. Those words, spoken in front of so many witnesses, were as good as a shield for the Divine Coin Sect. If the Darkmoon Sect tried to move against him now, it would be easy to paint them as opposing the will of the City Lord himself. In politics, words carried weight—sometimes more than swords—and those in power had to choose them carefully.
Even if Chen Ren didn’t win here today, it didn’t matter. He had already achieved what he came for. And that was enough. He bowed deeply. Then stepped down from the stage, his stride unhurried, and joined the other alchemists.
The two Darkmoon Sect disciples fixed him with sharp glares, but the unease in their eyes betrayed them. They had been so confident before. Now, his pill had rattled that certainty.
On the stage, City Lord Bai Huiqin leaned toward the gathered officials, exchanging low words. The Darkmoon Sect Leader was among them, speaking animatedly about something.
His hands were in the air, attempting to discuss something. The rest of the officials joined him.
Chen Ren’s lips curved faintly at the look on Gao Moyue’s face. His eyebrows were raised, and his lips were working endlessly. The man had been brooding and silent all through the trials—yet now, suddenly, he was talking so much. That alone told Chen Ren all he needed to know: he wasn’t certain of victory.
The murmurs above quieted, and the officials stepped back, leaving the City Lord standing alone at the front. His gaze swept over the assembled alchemists, weighing each in turn.
And this… he knew was the time. The City Lord would be announcing the winner. Chen Ren looked at where Yalan and his group were and shifted his focus back to the man who was preparing to speak.
“Like last year,” Bai Huiqin began, voice carrying easily across the square, “this year’s trials have shown us that when given a platform, exceptional alchemists will rise. And now, your names are known to everyone in the city.” He paused, letting the crowd take in the words. “Sadly, the trials can only have one winner… and for the first time in years, I find myself truly stumped on who to choose.”
A ripple of anticipation moved through the crowd.
“All the pills presented today,” he continued, “would be highly sought after by cultivators across the empire. I daresay even our glorious Emperor, would take an interest in hearing of them.”
At the mention of the Emperor, the crowd erupted into cheers. The City Lord smiled faintly, then lifted a hand, and the square slowly fell back into silence.
“But,” Bai Huiqin said, letting the anticipation hang in the air, “the one pill that is truly unique—one I believe even the Emperor himself would not only hear of, but wish to try—is…”
He paused just long enough for the crowd to lean forward.
“I believe some of you have already guessed it. It is the Bloodroot Ascension Pill, crafted by the young Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect. The alchemist who impressed me the most… and the one who deserves to wear the crown this year.”
The words landed like a spark in dry grass.
The stadium erupted into the loudest cheer of the day. Yet around Chen Ren, everything seemed to slow, the roar of the crowd muffled to a dull thrum in his ears.
He couldn’t even process it himself before reactions burst around him.
Tau Liu practically tackled him in an embrace, laughing and shouting with unrestrained excitement. Yeqing, slumped to the ground, staring at the dirt as though his fate had just been sealed. Ningkai stood frozen, eyes fixed on Chen Ren as if he hadn’t heard correctly.
Even the Darkmoon Sect Leader couldn’t hide the grimace tugging at his face, though he still clapped along with the other officials, the motion stiff and mechanical. Chen Ren doubted this was the outcome the man had been planning for. With City Lord Bai Huiqin openly declaring him the winner, removing the Divine Coin Sect from the city would no longer be a quiet matter—it would draw too much attention, too many questions.
Chen Ren let his gaze linger on the man for a heartbeat before turning toward the stage.
Step by step, he advanced, the cheers swelling with each pace.
When he finally reached the City Lord, he offered a deep, steady bow.
City Lord Bai Huiqin stepped forward, resting a firm hand on Chen Ren’s shoulder.
An official hurried up, cradling a small trophy shaped like a cauldron. The City Lord took it, weighing it briefly in his palm before meeting Chen Ren’s gaze.
“There is no one here more deserving of this than you,” he said, and then extended the trophy toward him.
Chen Ren accepted it with both hands and, without hesitation, raised it high.
If there was one thing he understood, it was how to face a crowd. Turning slowly, he presented the trophy to each section of the stands. Each time he did, that section erupted in cheers and applause, the noise rolling over him like waves, giving goosebumps.
Everyone loved a winner, especially one who had broken the streak of a sect that had dominated for years. Darkmoon Sect’s grip on the trials had been so tight that it had bred quiet resentment without anyone truly noticing. And now, Chen Ren was the perfect figure for that resentment to rally behind.
Only once the noise began to settle did he lower the trophy and glance down at it. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, he knew—it wasn’t ordinary metal. It was qi-conductive. That alone made it valuable enough to keep or melt down with Feiyu’s help to forge a weapon. Qi-conductive materials were the only kind capable of becoming true spirit weapons, and a weapon like that would be a considerable boost to his strength.
And this was just the first reward. He’d also be receiving bags of herbs and rare materials—he didn’t have the full list, but the City Lord wouldn’t give out common stock. Then there were the thousand low-grade spirit stones, enough to wipe out Jadefire Hall’s debt entirely with the added profits from the shop.
But the true prize… would be the mid tier Earth grade cauldron.
It was the standard prize for all the trials, but Chen Ren knew it would give Jadefire Hall the push it needed.
As he stood there, trophy still in hand, the City Lord glanced at him. “Do you have anything to say to the crowd?”
Chen Ren looked from the City Lord to the sea of roaring faces. Before he could speak, Yalan’s voice curled through his mind. “Wang Jun wants you to thank him publicly.”
Of course. Wang Jun wants that, and well… He deserves it. I won’t be here without him afterall. A grin tugged at his lips. He gave the City Lord a nod, then straightened, drawing in a breath. Qi surged into his voice as he projected it across the square.
“I don’t have many words to give here,” he began, his tone carrying easily over the fading cheers. “I would like to thank everyone of the Divine Coin Sect, especially Elder Hun Tianzhi, and Elder Wang Jun, who helped train me in the alchemical arts.”
He let the gratitude settle for a moment before continuing, “But… I also have a big announcement to make.”
The noise in the crowd dipped, curiosity pulling them forward. Chen Ren waited for a heartbeat, letting the anticipation build, before speaking again.
“In celebration of the Divine Coin Sect’s victory at the Flames of Merit Trials, there will be a thirty percent discount on all pills! So make sure to visit the Divine Pill Apothecary—you can’t miss it! Divine Pill Apothecary is the home of the tastiest pills!”
A ripple of laughter and surprised cheers went through the stands.
The City Lord blinked at him, as if he couldn’t quite believe Chen Ren had used the winner’s platform for advertising. But Chen Ren only smiled wider. And he couldn’t stop it.
He had won the trial—cheating or not—and just promoted his business to the entire city and beyond without spending a single spirit stone.
There were few days better than this.
***
Chen Ren’s better days seemed to have ended with the trials. The moment the cheers faded, reality returned, and it came with a vengeance.
He had either severely underestimated how many cultivators had been watching… or overestimated how prepared the shop was to handle them.
Not even an hour later, the Divine Pill Apothecary was packed wall-to-wall. Customers jostled shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with chatter and the scent of freshly brewed pills. Everyone wanted a taste of the famed flavored pills, and many placed orders for the Bloodroot Ascension Pill from the final round. They had to be turned away—Chen Ren wasn’t selling that one yet—but the refusal hardly dented demand.
There was no time to celebrate. Tau Liu and the others didn’t even linger, they sprinted back to Jadefire Hall to bring in more stock before the shelves went bare. By the pace they were moving, they’d be sold out before evening.
Chen Ren planted himself at the counter, greeting customers, handing out pills, and taking spirit stones in rapid succession. Within two hours, the counter was buried in payments, and he had to start sending them straight to the storage at the back.
The name Divine Pill Apothecary was everywhere—talked loudly in alleyways, shouted in markets, carried on the wind. Even wealthy mortals began arriving, eager to try the famed flavored pills. By the second day, the crowds had only thinned slightly, forcing round-the-clock production. Chen Ren could keep up, but the mortal staff were already exhausted beyond reason.
It was… quite the experience. But before he could even catch a breath, the shop door swung open again. Chen Ren didn’t think much of it—another customer, another sale. He put on his best merchant’s smile.
“Welcome to the Divine Pill Apothecary,” he said warmly. “We have all kinds of pills for you to—”
His words halted mid-sentence.
Even through the packed shop, he recognized those robes instantly. That bearing. That presence.
Sect Leader Gao Moyue of the Darkmoon Sect had just stepped through his door. And he hadn’t come to buy pills. Chen Ren was sure of that.
2025-08-07 19:21:02 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 150
When Chen Ren stepped out of the stone chamber, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight, then the other alchemist already gathered, and finally, the cheer that erupted from the crowd.
He doubted it was for him.
More likely, it was the audience finally releasing the breath they’d been holding, eager to see the final results. Now that all five alchemists had returned, the real spectacle—the announcement of the winner—could begin.
He kept walking, pretending calm in the exterior even though his robes were clinging slightly from sweat and the faint scent of burnt qi still clung to him. His thumb still had dried blood and his energy reserves were drained more than he liked to admit, but his eyes remained steady as he approached the central platform.
The officials were already gathered there.
In the center stood City Lord Bai Huiqin flanked by ministers and civil officers. Chen Ren recognized a few of them, and one even offered him a subtle nod and smile.
Then there was the Darkmoon Sect leader.
The man stood quietly off to the side. He didn’t look at Chen Ren. Didn’t acknowledge him. Just stared off somewhere else, as though the proceedings were beneath his interest.
That was fine by Chen Ren.
He moved closer, just as Tau Liu stepped away from the group to meet him halfway.
The younger man gave a polite bow. “Were you successful, Sect Leader Chen?”
“I was. And you?”
“I was able to make a Blazing Stone Pill,” Tau Liu replied, a small note of pride in his voice. “My master helped me refine it before the trials. I had a lot of faith in it.”
The way his face lit up made Chen Ren believe the young man had done it well, but, well only time will tell.
“Let’s see if the city lord thinks the same.”
With that, he continued forward, Tau Liu falling into step beside him.
As they reached the stage, the announcer’s voice rose once again, magnified with qi.
“Now that we finally have all our alchemists present,” he declared, “and each of them has completed their pills within the allotted time, it’s time to reveal what you’ve all been waiting for. Now, I’m sure that you all have been waiting to see the winner. But it won’t be me who decides the winner,” the announcer continued, grinning. “No, that honor belongs to the protector of Broken Ridge City himself—City Lord Bai Huiqin!”
At that, the people cheered once again. City Lord Bai Huiqin stood up gracefully, and carried himself forward with the charisma of a seasoned statesman. When he raised his hands to calm the cheering crowd, the entire arena halted.
“People of Broken Ridge City,” he said, “and all those who have traveled from afar to witness this event, I trust you have enjoyed today’s display of skill, discipline, and brilliance from some of the finest young alchemists in our region.”
Another cheer rolled through the stands like a tide, and City Lord Bai Huiqin paused—perfectly timed, as though he’d rehearsed this exact beat a dozen times before. Then he smiled again, continuing.
“Out of all the talented alchemists who took part, only five remain. The ones who stand at the forefront of our city’s future and perhaps even the empire’s.”
He gestured to the line of alchemists standing before him.
“But only one will be crowned the champion,” he declared, his voice deepening with dramatic flair. “And that alchemist shall receive a thousand spirit stones, an Earth-grade cauldron, a collection of rare herbs, and a special manual on advanced alchemy passed down through Broken Ridge’s elite alchemists.”
Chen Ren fought the urge to yawn.
The speech went on for another twenty minutes, filled with lofty praise, historical references, and ceremonial flourishes. The kind that made the crowd cheer louder with each rising crescendo, but to Chen Ren, it all blended together. He imagined the city lord gave some version of this every year, swapping a few names and stories, but keeping the structure the same.
He’d give the man credit—he had stamina.
Finally, after what felt like an entire lecture scroll’s worth of words, the City Lord turned his gaze back to the competitors.
“And now… it’s time to see what these brilliant alchemists have created. Last year, we witnessed the unveiling of the Crimson Nerve Pill and the Shadowburst Pellet—both of which became staples among our city's elite hunters.”
A few audience members clapped at the mention, clearly familiar with the names.
“I hope,” Bai Huiqin added, “that this year’s creations will be just as valuable, if not more so.”
With that, he stepped back, and the announcer strode forward again, arms wide.
“To begin the final evaluations,” he called out, “we’ll start with Ningkai of the Darkmoon Sect—the reigning champion, and the alchemist who finished first today!”
Ningkai dramatically adjusted his sleeves and walked toward the stage and bowed.
“This lowly alchemist is honored,” he said smoothly, “to present the Silver Vein Pill to City Lord Bai Huiqin.”
He opened the jade box smoothly. Inside, there was a shiny white pill.
“This pill,” Ningkai continued, “holds sixty percent purity. It enhances and temporarily strengthens the meridians throughout the body, making it ideal for short bursts of combat or difficult breakthroughs.”
Murmurs of approval echoed from the stands.
It was an impressive start—sixty percent purity and a utility-based effect that would appeal to many. Chen Ren watched without expression, though he noted every word, every reaction.
“Really? That’s extraordinary,” the City Lord said, leaning in slightly, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
Ningkai gave a humble smile, though pride sparkled in his eyes. “It’s my life’s work, City Lord.”
With a nod, Bai Huiqin gestured to one of the guards standing beside the officials.
“Let’s test it, then.”
The guard, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a comparatively smaller waist in reinforced armor stepped forward and accepted the pill with a quiet bow. He held it up, examining it briefly, and for a moment, Chen Ren found himself narrowing his eyes.
What’s going on in his head right now?
Even a fool knew that testing an unverified pill was dangerous. Pills that weren't tested by hundreds could rupture meridians, twist the body from within, or worse. And yet… this man didn’t look like he’d back down.
Without hesitation, the guard gulped down the pill.
Almost instantly, the man’s body tensed—shoulders stiffening, jaw locking. A blast of qi erupted from him, a visible shimmer cracking through the air. For a moment, Chen Ren braced himself, wondering if he was about to witness a disaster—ruptured organs, exploded pathways, a bleeding mess on the city lord’s platform.
But then… the qi stabilized.
The guard exhaled slowly, visibly adjusting his posture as if testing his own flow. His eyes widened just a touch before he turned to the City Lord and bowed.
“I feel my qi flowing more freely,” he said. “The meridians… they’ve cleared.”
A wave of impressed murmurs spread through the audience.
Bai Huiqin turned back to Ningkai and gave him an approving nod. “You’ve done a splendid job once again, Ningkai. The Darkmoon Sect must be proud to have you in their ranks.”
To that, the Darkmoon Sect leader, Gao Moyue smiled. “Ningkai is a very diligent disciple,” he said.
Ningkai bowed again, perfectly poised, before stepping off the stage. Then the announcer stepped forward once more, raising his voice above the renewed cheers.
“Ningkai has once again shown us why he has stood at the top for these past few years,” he said while gesturing with his hands dramatically. “But there are still more alchemists to come. Can one of them impress the City Lord even more? You will know. And now presenting… Yeqing of the Darkmoon Sect.”
The spy strode forward with a swagger that eclipsed even Ningkai’s. His chest was intentionally puffed forward, chin held high and confidence bled every step. He bowed low dramatically then raised his head.
“This pill,” he said, his voice loud and full of pride, “is called the Basilisk Hide Pill, City Lord.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed.
“It’s filled with the qi of a Stonehide Basilisk, City Lord,” Yeqing declared, his voice echoing across the arena. “Ingesting it grants the consumer a body that is impenetrable by any attack from a qi refinement realm cultivator.”
A ripple of interest moved through the crowd—shock, skepticism, and curiosity all mixing together.
Even City Lord Bai Huiqin raised a brow, clearly impressed, or at least intrigued.
But Yeqing wasn’t done. He took a step forward, lifting the jade box just slightly.
“Moreover,” he continued, “compared to other Earth-grade pills, this one is significantly cheaper to produce. With the right resources, it could be mass-produced by the alchemists of the Darkmoon Sect.”
That caught the City Lord’s attention. Mass production was what turned powerful pills from luxuries into tools of war.
“If that’s true, Disciple Yeqing,” Bai Huiqin said, folding his arms, “then that is indeed extraordinary.”
He gave a small wave toward his guards. Before the order could even be voiced, one of them—a shorter, steel-eyed, and clearly eager—stepped forward and plucked the pill straight from the box and ate it.
Gasps rippled across the platform.
Almost instantly, the man’s body arched in pain, a cry escaping his throat as his knees buckled. Waves of qi surged out of him, chaotic and uncontrolled, drawing alarmed murmurs from the stands.
For a moment, even Chen Ren saw Yeqing’s face pale. But then, it changed.
From the guard’s skin, a rocky sheen began to spread. Not suddenly or explosively, but a slow, crawling transformation that wrapped around his limbs, his torso, and finally his shoulders. Stone plates formed like armor, each piece locking into place with a dull clack. Everything was covered—everything except the face.
Exactly like the Stonehide Basilisk itself.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. The alchemical mimicry was surprisingly detailed.
City Lord Bai Huiqin gestured sharply, and another guard stepped forward, this one already channeling his qi. A moment later, his hand flashed with wind and flame, forming a whirling axe of elemental force, which he hurled toward the transformed man’s chest.
The impact cracked through the silence of the square. The guard was blasted backward, thrown off the stage like a ragdoll, dust and stone spraying around him.
For one terrible breath, everyone stilled. And then, the guard stood up.
Damn, no blood or wound visible. Just a patch of blackened, cracked stone over his chest. The armor had held.
A thunderous cheer tore through the arena—louder, far louder than what Ningkai had received.
Chen Ren watched as Yeqing lifted his head, his expression dripping with pride, basking in the applause like it was his birthright.
Even Chen Ren had to admit—it was impressive. He folded his arms as the cheers continued.
It’s not easy to use pills that rely on foreign qi. That was one of the first things any alchemist learned—foreign beast qi conflicted with a cultivator’s internal flow. It could disrupt meridians, cause backlash, even rupture a dantian if handled poorly.
And yet, the stonehide basilisk qi in that pill had somehow… bypassed that.
Instead of merging with the user’s own qi, it had burned itself out to form the armor, doing its job without interfering with internal circulation. Or at least, that’s what it looked like to Chen Ren.
Very clever. Or rather… very refined.
Just then, Yalan’s voice stirred in his mind, calm and amused. “Wang Jun said he could make better pills like that.”
Chen Ren smirked, lips twitching with the smallest trace of amusement.
Of course he did.
Meanwhile, the crowd roared again as City Lord Bai Huiqin stepped forward, placing a hand on Yeqing’s shoulder with the practiced grace of a politician.
“You’ve presented something truly useful and extraordinary,” the City Lord said, voice carrying easily over the crowd.
More cheering followed, even louder this time.
Yeqing stood there, absorbing it all, his smile wide and proud as if he had already won the trials.
Chen Ren watched him with narrowed eyes.
There’s no way he made that pill himself.
If the Darkmoon Sect had sent him as a spy, they considered him disposable. And no one who could come up with a recipe like that was disposable. Still, credit where it was due. Crafting it successfully, even with help, was a feat. Earth-grade pills were no joke.
So why was he treated like expendable trash before?
Chen Ren almost pondered it longer, but then shook the thought off.
Not my problem.
Soon after, Yeqing stepped off the stage, still glowing with self-satisfaction. The next alchemist came forward, but the air had shifted. The weight of the two Darkmoon presentations had clearly set the bar high.
The rogue cultivator, Anming, a young man with signs of a beard growing and the gait of someone who hadn’t slept properly in weeks was the next one.
Just watching him shuffle forward, Chen Ren could already tell—the man knew the pill hadn’t come out well.
Anming offered a deep bow and presented a pill he called the Needle Bloom Elixir, a small violet sphere with dull sheen.
“It’s used to sharpen perception,” he explained. “Sight, hearing, spatial awareness… common among assassins, scouts, and hunters.”
A few murmurs passed through the crowd. It was a useful pill, certainly, but not anything rare, and definitely not unique. It was a respectable effort, but compared to a pill that gave one stone armor, or improved meridian flow? It felt short.
But to his credit, Anming hadn’t made just a basic assassin’s pill.
As he continued explaining, Chen Ren realized the man had actually made considerable alterations to the pills found in market. Instead of enhancing just one sense, the Needle Bloom Elixir enhanced sight, smell, and hearing simultaneously.
That kind of multisensory enhancement was not easy. Most pills focused on one path of qi sensitivity. Mixing too many often led to instability or sensory overload.
Unfortunately, that’s exactly what had happened.
The alchemist claimed the effect would last a minute or two, but the guard who tested it showed visible results for barely ten seconds before the glow faded. Worse, the purity was revealed to be a mere thirty percent—functional, but not elegant.
The City Lord gave him a courteous nod. “Still, an impressive attempt to enhance multiple sensory paths. I commend your ambition.”
But the words felt more like consolation than praise. And the audience could tell. Anming bowed low again, then walked off the stage with slumped shoulders.
Tau Liu was after him.
He strode forward with confidence, and Chen Ren noted that he looked genuinely proud of what he’d made. That wasn’t just bravado. He knew what he had done, and he knew it was good.
He bowed before the City Lord and opened the jade box.
“This is the Blazing Stone Pill, City Lord,” he said. “A strength-enhancing pill that also imbues the user’s qi with a temporary burst of flame energy. Ideal for enhancing physical combat and area control.”
Chen Ren saw some people even leaning in, to hear better. Strength pills were common. Basic. Every sect had them. But adding elemental augmentation to one without destabilizing the user’s core qi?
That took skill.
The same guard who had tried Yeqing's pill stepped forward and swallowed the pill. He still had the stone armour around his skin and as the pill’s effect kicked in—a bright red-orange hue flaring across the surface of his stony skin, it gave the appearance of magma.
The heat shimmered visibly off his form. Flames danced along the cracks of the armor without harming the user. Even Chen Ren raised a brow.
That’s solid work.
The effect lasted over a minute, and though the purity was only fifty percent, the pill’s utility and synergistic power were undeniable. Tau Liu had been working on this formula for years and it showed.
To Chen Ren, Tau Liu’s pill was more impressive in design than either of the Darkmoon disciples’. It was original, well-executed, and certainly not borrowed from an elder or even the sect leader. It was his.
But would that be enough?
Because in the end, the winner wasn’t decided by purity alone. Or uniqueness. Or even raw power.
It was decided by one man. City Lord Bai Huiqin. And he had no idea what that man truly valued.
He almost wondered—just briefly—if the trials were rigged.
The City Lord had shown nothing but warmth toward Darkmoon Sect, had laughed and patted their disciples on the back like proud uncles at a family feast. The way he praised Yeqing’s pill, the easy camaraderie with the sect leader—it didn’t take a genius to see there were favorable ties.
But it wasn’t as if Chen Ren could do anything about it if that were the case. Politics were as much a part of cultivation as pills and blades.
So when his name was called, he said nothing. He simply strode forward holding the jade box containing his creation.
The City Lord watched him approach, and for a moment—just a flicker—Chen Ren saw something unusual in the man's gaze. Curiosity. Interest. A glimmer of amusement, perhaps. But more than that… as he got close, he felt it.
A subtle pressure beneath the City Lord’s robes. The kind of spiritual density that didn’t belong to anyone below foundation establishment. Well past it, actually.
Chen Ren bowed low and recited the formal greeting the others had used.
The City Lord nodded. “And what pill have you conceived, Sect Leader Chen?”
Without hesitation, Chen Ren opened the jade box.
Inside sat a pill that shimmered with a deep, crimson sheen, so red it looked almost wet, almost alive. Like it had been plucked from a vein instead of a cauldron.
The City Lord’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied it.
“This is a Bloodroot Ascension Pill,” Chen Ren said evenly. “A kind of cultivation-boosting pill.”
An eyebrow rose. “Cultivation-boosting?” Bai Huiqin echoed, intrigued. “Not temporary strength?”
“No,” Chen Ren said. “Unlike enhancement pills, this one doesn’t give a momentary surge of power. It pushes the user forward—past a bottleneck, advancing them one, even two stars forward… permanently.”
The effect was immediate.
Gasps broke out—not just from the crowd, but from the platform itself. Ministers exchanged glances. One of the officials even stepped forward before being waved back.
Even Yeqing shifted uncomfortably behind him, and Chen Ren felt it—the eyes. He could feel the sting of judgment at his back. The Darkmoon disciples, no doubt.
But Chen Ren wasn’t done.
He turned his attention back to the City Lord, who was still regarding the pill with a kind of awe. “It doesn’t do this freely, of course,” he continued. “It doesn't shatter bottlenecks by brute force.”
The City Lord’s eyes met his. “What are the side effects?”
Chen Ren didn’t flinch. “The pill requires life energy to be completed. Blood refined with spiritual intent. The alchemist loses one to two years of their life in exchange for the boost it offers the user.”
A hush fell.
Even the ever-smiling City Lord looked like he didn’t know what to say for a moment, his expression flickering between fascination and quiet alarm.
Finally, he gestured toward the guards. “Let’s test it.”
Chen Ren stepped forward and handed over the pill.
For the first time during the trials, the guard hesitated. He looked down at the crimson sphere like it might bite him. But after a heartbeat, he steeled himself and gulped it down.
Everyone waited.
One second. Two. Five.
Nothing happened. Everyone kept their gazes on the guard like he’d grown a second head, but they all held their breath. Chen Ren would hear a pin if one were to drop.
They didn’t have to wait long. A choking sound came out of the man as he dropped to his knees with a clunk.
Chen Ren’s eyes widened.
What the fuck? Did I mess up the mixture? Was the qi balance wrong? Was the blood not refined enough?
A dozen calculations flashed through his mind—formulas, sequences, error points.
Did I mess up the pill?
2025-08-05 19:23:18 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 260
Kai slowly sat down. Without a care, he let his eyes sweep around the room. He was quite surprised.
Unlike what he’d imagined, the room didn’t look that different from other affluent chambers he’d passed on his way here. If anything, it was tamer in comparison. Even the paintings were tasteful but subdued, and the furniture leaned toward comfort over opulence.
He knew that this was a place that pretended peace. Because there was Regina, seated gracefully on the blood red sofa across him. She looked every bit the gentle, elegant queen—older, serene, her smile soft and composed like she was greeting an old friend. Her hands rested lightly on her lap, and her posture was the very picture of grace.
But her eyes—those eyes were wrong.
They didn’t shine. They didn’t reflect light like normal eyes did. They absorbed it. Pools of icy void that seemed to pull and judge and peel you apart with every glance. If not for those, he might have been lulled into believing there was no danger here.
He almost shifted his mana to run through the room just to confirm—almost. But he didn’t risk it.
Instead, he stared back at her. She said nothing for a while, so didn’t he. She looked at him from head to toe, and Kai sat there, trying his best not to feel awkward.
And after what felt like forever, she broke the silence.
“You’ve grown up a lot, Arzan.” Kai felt another rush of mild shock at how warm her voice sounded. Her eyes softened as if she was recalling an old memory. “The last time I saw you in person… It was during my journey to Veyrin. Duke Kellius had requested I visit. You were just a child then. Hmm, look at you now. You are a Count who reached the heights with your own achievements, you truly have grown so much.”
Kai couldn’t help but feel the distaste on his tongue at her attempted compliments. But well, he had no intention of playing coy with her.
“Was it then,” he said evenly, “that you decided to block my mana veins?”
Her smile didn’t falter. Not even a twitch. She maintained the same soft expression on her face and the gentle blue eyes squinted as if in confusion.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Count Arzan,” she said lightly. “I’ve heard of your condition, of course. Mana vein blockage is… unfortunate. But I always assumed it was natural. Was someone intentionally moving against you?”
Kai almost frowned, but caught himself. He saw it clearly now—the mask. She wore it well. Soft words, plausible deniability, just enough concern to make it seem like she truly didn’t know. He grunted internally, knowing her type very well; the type that never admitted to anything they did.
Even if he brought a mountain of evidence and carved it into stone before her eyes, she would still deny it with that same calm smile and pretend she didn’t even know what he was talking about. Kai had met people like her before and he had never liked them. But he could play the game. If she wanted to keep up the charade, he’d wear the mask, too.
“Yeah,” he said with a faint shrug. “Lots of people are moving against me lately. I believe they’re all just parts of the same thing. Different limbs of one body that sees me as quite the eyesore,” he said in an extremely casual voice, though nothing about the conversation was that.
“It seems your explosive rise has offended a great many people.”
“Just some,” Kai replied. “They’re afraid I’ll get bigger than them. That their hold over power will be dragged out into the open. That would be… unfortunate for them.”
“Are you going to go against them?”
Kai met her gaze directly. “I believe we follow different paths to our goals. And clashes are a part of that. I also believe I’ll come out on top.” He let the words hang for a moment, then leaned forward slightly. “But why did you call me here, Queen Regina? I imagine your time is far too valuable to waste on a Count like me. Especially one that so much of the nobility dislikes.”
He added, almost as an afterthought, “Your son especially.”
Regina gave a soft sigh, almost motherly. “My son’s just doing his best,” she said, still smiling. “I don’t know what differences the two of you have, but I believe you can sort it out. After all, the future of this kingdom rests on nobles like you.”
You definitely know everything, Kai thought, but you pretend not to. You sure as hell sound like someone who’s always pretending.
“As for why I’ve called you here, let’s get to that…”
Her head turned toward the large doors, where the young attendant who escorted him stood still. His bony hands were folded in front of him and he leaned forward, as if waiting for a command.
“But first…” she pointed a long nail at him.
The boy nodded at Regina’s silent command and moved toward Kai without a word. But as he walked forward, something changed.
In a blink, a white porcelain teacup with a golden rim and a lacquered container appeared in his hands, straight out of thin air. He poured the tea with practiced grace, steam rising in elegant coils, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
Kai didn’t let the surprise show on his face, but he knew exactly what this was. A show of strength.
His gaze flicked to the man’s hand—the subtle shimmer of a band on his finger.
A spatial ring.
As a matter of fact Kai knew that a spatial ring was extremely rare, especially in this era. Regina wasn’t just showing him that her servant was a Mage—she was telling him that even her tea pourers carried artifacts that most nobles would kill for.
He understood the message she was trying to give, you’re in my court now.
Kai didn’t mind power games. He was used to them. But that didn’t mean he’d play by their rules.
The attendant set the teacup gently before him, bowing his head and stepping back in silence.
Across from him, Regina smiled and took a sip from her own cup, watching him over the rim with that same unreadable calm. It was almost an invitation. See? No poison.
Kai didn’t touch his. He let the tea sit. Let it grow cold. Regina didn’t comment at first. But eventually, she set her cup down and spoke again.
“The tea is quite good,” she said, her smile faintly amused. “It’s unfortunate you don’t seem to like it.”
“I just had some before coming here,” Kai replied smoothly.
She tilted her head slightly, the smile sharpening at the edges. “With my husband?”
He didn’t answer. Not because he was caught, but because it didn’t matter. He hadn’t gone out of his way to hide from Mages. The castle guards had been easy to slip through quietly, but Regina? She had scrying arrays, no doubt—woven carefully into the very bones of the castle. She saw more than most.
So instead, he just said, “No. Before coming here.” His tone was crisp now, cutting through the air. “So why don’t we stop circling around and you tell me why I’m here. With the Assembly approaching, I’d rather not lose sleep.”
Regina chuckled softly. “I believe it’s already quite late.” She leaned back slightly, folding her hands. “As for the reason… it’s actually about the Assembly. You’re clearly not pleased with being called to it, especially when you believe you should be rewarded for killing your tyrant brother.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Kai said immediately. “He poisoned himself.”
Regina shrugged, just like it wasn’t her who just said he did it. “I’m just saying what others think.”
“And I’m correcting it.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I’m not happy being here, scrutinized for doing what no one else could. But it’s what King Sullivan decided. And I’m okay with that.”
Regina raised an eyebrow, but the chill in her gaze remained unchanged. Those pale, emotionless eyes made her look more of a statue than a woman. “Are you really okay with getting a death sentence over the fief war?”
“That won’t come to me,” Kai replied.
“You’re awfully confident,” she said, swirling her tea with a diaphanous motion. “Especially for someone all three Princes oppose. And there are many nobles who don’t like your rise to power, Arzan.”
“What about it?”
Regina sighed softly and took another sip of tea. Then she placed the cup down and leaned ever so slightly forward.
“I actually called you here to give you a way out. I hope you know how things work, and I don’t have to lay it out for you. A word from me,” she continued, “and all of my son’s followers will vote in your favor. You could even be granted the title of Duke. I’ll make sure of it.”
Kai felt his heart thud in his ribcage. There was no way Regina wanted to do all that as an apology for trying to kill him all these years.
“What will it take?”
Her smile returned. “I know you’ve received your mother’s inheritance. I don’t want any part of it. But among her things, there was a medallion. I’m sure you know the one I’m speaking of.”
Kai nodded slowly, already seeing the strings she was trying to pull.
“You want it?”
“Yes,” she said simply. “Give it to me, and I promise you’ll have no more problems. Not from my son. Not from the other princes. You can return to your land and thrive—not as a Count, but as a Duke. The same as your father.”
Kai almost laughed. He didn’t, but it took effort to keep his expression from cracking. Because there it was. The real Regina.
Her sweet words were filled with demands and offers coated in honey but reeked of venom. She wasn’t offering safety—she was offering chains. Beautiful, golden chains with titles and peace as the bait.
Had Regina really called him here for this? To barter for the medallion like it was just another trinket in a noble’s vault?
She had to know its value—had to understand what it represented. And yet, she looked at him like she was offering him a lifeboat. A generous, merciful gift. Why?
Something felt off. He kept thinking, peeling it back layer by layer, and then—finally—it hit him.
She thought of him as Arzan. Not Kai, obviously.
She’d heard of his victories, his rise, his survival, but all secondhand. They’ve never met properly. It was only the words that passed through the mouths of subordinates she probably considered barely competent. A woman like Regina would think herself above everyone, even her own allies. It wasn’t arrogance alone—it was certainty. The kind that came from too many years of getting her way.
She probably assumed everything he had accomplished came from his inheritance. That he might have gotten competent subordinates. That he’d gotten lucky.
She didn’t see him as someone with a real plan or spine. In her mind, he was a young upstart playing politics—scrambling to win over lower nobles with meaningless gestures, desperately clinging to relevance.
She was underestimating him. Massively. And strangely, Kai didn’t feel insulted by that. If anything… he was amused.
He leaned back, loosened his posture, and let out a small laugh.
For the first time ever since he got here, Regina’s calm exterior shifted. Her eyes widened a fraction, her smile faltering just slightly as she registered the unexpected reaction.
Kai grinned at her, settling deeper into the cushions as if he were lounging in his own home.
“It’s not going to happen,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Me giving you the medallion,” Kai said, still smiling. “I’d rather die than do that.” He let the pause hang—just long enough—then added, “And trust me… me dying won’t happen for hundreds of years.”
Regina took another sip from her teacup.
Kai doubted there was even any tea left in it, but she still went through the motion—elegant, composed—as if sipping would somehow help her mask the chill growing behind her eyes. But it didn’t. He saw it. The faint narrowing, the subtle gleam of something flickering behind her gaze.
Her voice, when it came, was smooth, but colder than before.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked. “You’re kicking a gift in the mouth.”
“I don’t take poisons as gifts,” Kai said calmly. She must be insane if she thought he’d just accept it and give it to her. If it wasn’t any clearer, he knew he should explain further. After a beat, he added, “Do you really think I’d make a deal with someone who’s actively tried to sabotage me?”
He huffed. “Actra. The beast wave. Even the fief war. You want me to believe those all happened—one after another—by coincidence?”
Regina’s smile didn’t falter, but it was thinner now.
“Fate,” she said with a shrug, “has a way of giving a man many trials.”
The audacity of this woman, Kai wanted to roll his eyes at her. At the absurd words she was throwing nonchalantly. It made anger simmer, but he calmed down.
“So you’re the trial maker? Huh… It’s fine.” He leaned forward slightly. “It’s fine. You don’t have to admit it. You treat this like a game—I get it. But remember: every game ends. And at this stage? My victory seems much more likely.” He smiled faintly. “And I don’t show mercy to the losers.”
The words had barely left his mouth when he felt a sharp flare of mana to his right.
Kai didn’t even need to turn. He could feel the pressure blooming from the direction of the attendant, he assumed—his control unraveling like a thread drawn taut and ready to snap.
But then Regina raised a hand without looking. “Selwin,” she said mildly. “You don’t have to do that. We’re just having a civil conversation.”
The tension paused, and the mana pulsing from the attendant slowly dimmed.
Kai kept his eyes on Regina coolly.
“I’m sorry about him. He doesn’t like people speaking ill of me.”
“It’s fine,” Kai said, tone dry. “I don’t think he could harm me.”
Regina gave him a long, slow look—like someone staring at a painting that didn’t make sense.
“You’re oddly confident, Arzan,” she said.
Kai didn’t look away. “You become that way after facing the kind of enemies I did.” He let the silence hang for a heartbeat, then added, “Ah, before I forget to give my condolences. I’m sorry about the loss of Shakran. I think he must have been one of your best subordinates.”
Regina didn’t even blink.
“Huh? I don’t know who that is,” she said.
Her voice was as calm as before, but her fingers paused on her teacup—just slightly, barely noticeable. The air around her had changed. She was still smiling, still playing her role, but Kai saw through it. That small, frozen moment said everything.
“Surely you don’t,” Kai said with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. There was humor in it, but the kind that left a sting. Then his voice shifted, quieter but firmer. “Either way, if you called me here only to offer that deal… I’m not interested. I won’t give you the medallion. Not now, not ever. Even if I did, it would be by my choice—not yours. And I have the right to it. You know that.”
He stood up, not rushed, not angry, just steady. He didn’t touch the tea. He didn’t look back. With a nod that was more formality than respect, he turned and walked past the attendant, his footsteps soft but certain on the carpeted floor.
The room was quiet. Too quiet. Like something holding its breath. And then, just as he reached the door, her voice drifted out behind him.
“I hope you understand… every decision has consequences, Arzan.”
Kai stopped, hand on the door. He turned slightly, just enough for her to see the look in his eyes—clear, unwavering.
“I hope you do too,” he said.
Then he left.
No assassins jumped out. No dark tendrils of magic reached for his throat. But he didn’t relax. He doubted Regina was foolish enough to make such a move in her own chambers, especially with the Assembly so close.
This had never been about giving him a way out.
It had been her way out.
She didn’t want to keep wasting time, resources, and pawns trying to corner him. She had hoped he would quietly step aside, take the title, return to Veralt, and keep out of her path. She didn’t believe he could win. She didn’t believe he mattered.
But now?
Now that he’d refused her offer, he knew what came next. She’d sharpen the blades. Rally the nobles. Tighten her grip on the Assembly. Maybe even try to make the trial itself his execution.
He expected it all. And he didn’t care.
Even if the Assembly branded him guilty for killing his own kin, even if they tried to strip him of his title or his freedom—Kai was already ready. He had plans in motion, contingencies laid out. He didn’t need their approval.
Sullivan had been right. The kingdom was teetering. The peace was thin, brittle. Civil war wasn’t just possible—it was coming.
And while Kai hated war, hated the cost of it, if that’s what it took to end these petty games… then so be it.
He would fight.
And, as always, he would win.
2025-08-05 19:21:49 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 259
Kai looked at King Sullivan with wide eyes, having not expected him to be so direct, but he quickly controlled his emotions, seeing that the man wasn’t joking.
“I really don’t think you can just give it to me,” Kai said, wording out his realistic opinion.
I will,” Sullivan replied. “If you have enough men to stave off the civil war my sons will cause. Not to mention Regina.”
Kai’s brow furrowed at the name. “I believe she’s going to wage war against me either way.”
Sullivan nodded his head, agreeing.
“She hated Valkyrie after I gave her the medallion. Vowed to finish off her whole line in front of me.”
“And you did nothing.”
“I have tried,” Sullivan said, with a tired sigh. “But she’s not someone to trifle with—even for me. For years, I’ve just left the woman be. Whatever I’ve done… it’s never worked. I’m surprised she hasn’t already killed me, but I suppose she’d rather have her son take the throne. Doesn’t want to complicate things now that I’ve not many years left.”
Kai was taken aback, not just by the content, but by the candor. The King was speaking plainly, exposing his mortality most rulers would guard like treasure. He hadn’t expected that. But perhaps that was the point of this meeting. Sullivan hadn’t summoned him to posture or deceive.
So Kai dropped the last of his guard and met his gaze. “Why did you want to meet me? Is it to have me use the medallion for a reason?”
Sullivan didn’t answer immediately. His eyes drifted downward, to the medallion resting on his palm. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
“I wanted to see you. To know you better. I’ve heard what you’ve done these past few years, but hearing and seeing are different things. I wanted to look into the eyes of the man who might carry this kingdom’s future. As for the medallion… I don’t wish for you to follow what I said. It’s your birthright. You’ll use it as you see fit.”
Kai couldn’t help but nod.
“So tell me, what exactly happened in the fief war?”
Without waiting for a reply, the King began walking through the garden, his steps slow but steady. Kai hesitated only a moment before following, falling into stride beside him. The garden was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds.
Taking the silence as a signal, Kai began to speak.
He told him everything. Of Lucian’s betrayal. Of how the man, with the help of Baron Idrin, had slaughtered an entire village and blamed it on him. Of how Lucian had been working with blood drinkers—filthy creatures of the dark—and how they had backed his campaign throughout the war. He spoke of the bloodshed, the ambushes, the slow grind of fighting a war with limited supplies and no allies. And finally, of his brother's death, and how he believed Regina had orchestrated it all.
Throughout his entire explanation, Sullivan kept a straight face.
Even when Kai described the blood drinkers and their allegiance to Regina, the King’s expression remained the same. He only gave a small nod before saying, “You had to go through a lot of trouble for someone else’s hatred and ambition.”
“I’m still alive,” Kai said. “And I won. But a lot of people didn’t. Common men without powers… they fought in that war. They died for it.”
Sullivan exhaled slowly, pausing near a bush of pale violet blooms. “We live in a time where blood is shed every day. More people die to blades than to disease. A good ruler ensures those they leave behind are taken care of.” He turned to look at Kai, his gaze surprisingly gentle. “And I think you are a good one.”
Kai’s lips thinned. The compliment felt strange, too genuine, too unguarded. But he didn’t reject it.
Sullivan continued after a beat. “As for Regina… I didn’t know she had blood drinkers under her control, but I suppose it makes sense. She never had the proper mana organs, yet she always wielded terrifying power. I always suspected that her strength came from darker, more demonic sources.” He sighed again, this time heavier. “Sadly, I’ve given up on taking her down myself.”
Kai could hear the tiredness in his voice. It was as if he’d long accepted that his greatest mistake would never be undone by his own hand. He also heard the unsaid words.
“But you want me to take her on.”
Sullivan shook his head. “I believe you’ll go against her no matter what I tell you. But yes… I want her out of my kingdom.” His voice hardened slightly. “I may have abandoned it in public, but I care for it. Sadly, it’s hard to clean off the rot inside your own home.”
He crouched down, fingers brushing the leaves of a flowering herb, inspecting it with the focus of a gardener rather than a King. Kai remained standing, watching him, the words lingering in his mind.
He understood.
Even standing here, in the royal gardens, with the crown’s authority behind him, he couldn’t simply walk up and kill Regina. The repercussions would be immediate and catastrophic. That’s if he could even pull it off.
Shakran’s words echoed in his head. Regina wasn’t just dangerous—she was embedded deep in the hierarchy of Maleficia, probably one among the top. And blood drinkers didn’t follow the weak. They followed power. Which meant Regina had plenty—whether through others she controlled or her own sheer strength. With all the politics involved, he only saw two ways to finish Regina off. And he considered them.
A clean assassination? Unlikely. She’d survived this long in a den of vipers like the royal court. He didn’t doubt she had layers upon layers of safeguards in place.
That left the second option—creating a situation where killing her became acceptable. Not just acceptable. Necessary. A public enemy. A war criminal. A traitor.
Only then would the blade carry justice, not consequences.
His gaze flicked to Sullivan, still crouched by the plant. “Do you think a civil war will actually help the country?”
The King stood immediately, turning to him with sharp eyes that had seen decades of blood and burden. “I don’t know,” he said frankly. “But I also know that if you want to rebuild something… sometimes, you have to break it first.”
He took a step closer.
“Why?” Sullivan asked. “Are you really up for that?”
“I’m not sure,” Kai admitted. “But I have a feeling the kingdom is heading toward it either way. It feels… inevitable.”
Sullivan gave a slow nod, his gaze distant. “That’s true. The nobles blame me for it—say I’ve failed by not naming a proper heir. But you know what?” He exhaled through his nose, weary. “If I do, the civil war will just come faster than expected.”
He turned to Kai, his eyebrows turned up in worry.
“The worst thing as a father is to choose between your sons. And the worst thing as a King is to choose someone unworthy. All three of mine want the throne. And all three are incompetent in their own ways. Unfortunately, being a King isn’t something you can learn on the job. You have to be one from the day you understand what power means.”
“Then what’s the solution?”
Sullivan ran a frustrated hand through his thinning hair. Kai simply stared at the man when he grabbed the medallion and pressed it into his hand.
“You know the solution, Count Arzan. That’s the only one I see that doesn’t end with the kingdom falling to someone unfit to tend it. And if it does… it might not be ours for long. Foreign powers will take advantage. It’ll never prosper.”
Kai opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He wanted to say that one of his sons had started Mage wars in the near future that burned across the continents. That it had built an Empire, yes, but also led the world to the brink of ruin. He wanted to talk about Eldric and his mad reign that had broken the world or how he suspected it had been Regina, pulling the strings all along, twisting fate through Maleficia.
But he didn’t. Because the King was right. The only way to stop it from falling into the wrong hands was to take it himself.
Even if he’d been preparing in the shadows, laying the groundwork, gathering the people and pieces... taking over wasn’t as easy as holding a medallion. Power had its own weight. And the throne demanded more than ambition—it demanded sacrifice. And now, it seemed, it was demanding him.
Looking at King Sullivan, Kai finally said, “I’ll think about it.”
“Please do,” the King replied, his tone softer now, yet firm with the weight of everything unspoken.
With that, they resumed walking through the garden, the scent of herbs and flowering shrubs lingering in the summer air. The King, seemingly more relaxed, moved from topic to topic as they strolled—speaking of noble houses that would likely oppose Kai in the assembly, ministers who were easily swayed, and those who could be brought to their side with the right pressure or promises.
Kai didn’t hide much. He knew the King likely already had eyes on his every move in the capital. With how much attention he had drawn, there was no real point in pretending. And strangely enough… he found himself liking this second meeting far more than the first. There was no testing, or hidden meanings. For a brief second, it felt like it was just two men walking through a garden, talking about a kingdom both of them were trying to save in their own way.
And time passed without notice. By the time their conversation began to quiet, Sullivan spoke. “I believe it’s getting late, Count Arzan. I won’t hold you off any longer.”
Kai nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I enjoyed our conversation. But yes, I do need to be somewhere else.”
“Another meeting? With whom, if I may?”
Kai hesitated a few seconds.
“…Regina,” he said finally. “She sent a letter. Want to speak with me.”
The change in Sullivan’s expression was instant. The warmth drained from his face, replaced by something far colder—not fear, but caution sharpened by years of familiarity with a dangerous enemy.
“That one,” he said slowly, “might take… a lot of your time.”
***
No matter how much Kai walked, the wide corridors kept going on and on. Somehow he managed to maintain a steady expression on his face, but beneath the surface, his mind was anything but still. Thoughts from his meeting with Sullivan played on a loop.
The King had turned out to be far better with people than Kai had assumed after their first encounter. He hadn’t looked bored or distracted this time. He’d listened, spoken with intention, and more importantly, had planted the seed of what he wanted without ever demanding it. The medallion, the throne, the kingdom—it had all been laid before Kai as if it were his own choice.
And perhaps it was. But that didn’t mean the old man wasn’t playing his own game.
Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly as he walked. He wondered what exactly had disappointed Sullivan so much about his sons. Enough to wish none of them ruled after him. Or was it simply fear? Fear of Regina, her secrets, and the power she had amassed in the shadows? Maybe pushing Kai into the role was less about belief and more about desperation—placing his bets on the one man who had escaped Regina’s snares not once, but repeatedly.
He didn’t know the answer.
But he knew this wouldn’t be their last meeting. Sullivan wasn’t done with him. Not by a long shot.
Kai reached the bottom of a spiraling stairwell, pausing to talk to the guard about what he was doing here. The guard directed him upward. “You can climb the stairs to Your highness Queen Regina’s wing, my lord,” the man said with a polite nod.
Kai gave a nod back and ascended.
The moment his foot touched the first step, his mana spread out around him, sweeping through the stairwell like a cautious tide. He probed the corners, the crevices, the spaces where enchantments liked to hide. No traps… yet. But he didn’t relax.
He hadn’t expected to meet Regina so soon. Their long-delayed confrontation was happening here, now, in the quiet halls of the castle.
She had tried to kill Arzan more times than he could count. Perhaps this was her attempt to finish the job—with a smile and poisoned tea. But that seemed… unlikely.
Kai didn’t believe she’d be so reckless. Not with the Assembly looming. Regina never dirtied her hands, not directly. She was the type to prefer to sit in the shadows, weaving threads and letting others dance on them like puppets. Killing him openly now would be a step too far, even for her.
Which meant she wanted something. The question was what?
Kai reached the top of the stairs. The air felt heavier here. As if the walls themselves had learned to hold their breath around her. And still, he walked forward.
Finally, he reached a set of grand double doors—tall, dark, and etched with golden inlay, depicting coiling serpents and thorned roses in a twisted, beautiful design. Two Knights flanked the entrance, far more alert than any he had passed so far. They stood rigid, armored from head to toe in blackened steel trimmed with crimson, their visors narrow and gleaming as they turned toward him.
“State your name and purpose,” one said, his voice metallic behind the helm.
“Count Arzan of Veralt,” Kai replied. “I’m here to meet Her Highness, Queen Regina. She sent for me to find her attendant.”
The Knight held his gaze for a moment, then gave a short nod. “Wait here.”
Kai obeyed, planting his feet and crossing his arms. He hoped Regina wasn’t about to play some pathetic power game by keeping him waiting outside. That would be beneath even her, and she should’ve known he was already inside the castle.
Fortunately, the Knight returned not long after—barely two minutes had passed—and this time he was dragging someone with him. A young man, clad in deep maroon robes lined with gold thread. The uniform marked him clearly as a court attendant, but his wide, cautious eyes and slightly ruffled collar made it obvious that he didn't like being here.
“Please walk with me, Count Arzan,” the young man said politely, giving a small bow. “I will bring you to Her Highness.”
Kai gave a nod and stepped forward as the great doors creaked open behind the attendant. Beyond them was yet another corridor.
Of course.
That was what he hated about large castles: too much walking. Flying through would be faster, but disrespectful. And in a place like this, everything was about decorum. Power wasn't just in words or magic, it was in every step taken, every door opened, every moment drawn out.
The attendant said nothing as they walked, and Kai didn’t bother to break the silence. They passed arched windows, silent guards, and portrait-lined walls that seemed to watch him with every step. Eventually, the young man stopped at a smaller yet elegant door of darkwood carved with convoluted vines.
“Queen Regina is waiting for you inside,” he said, his voice softer now. “She’s been looking forward to this meeting for a long time.”
Kai smiled faintly. “So have I.”
The attendant pushed the door open, and Kai stepped through. There she was.
Queen Regina.
Seated at the center of the room on a long velvet sofa the color of dried blood, perfectly posed, as if the entire scene had been composed by an artist. She wore a deep violet gown trimmed with onyx lace. Her hair was white, similar to Edric, swept into a regal updo, pinned with crystal thorns. A single strand curled intentionally over one shoulder, like a serpent poised to strike.
Her skin was pale, unmarred, porcelain-smooth. Her eyes, though—those were the things that unsettled. Icy blue, flawless, and utterly emotionless. They didn’t match the soft smile on her lips.
“Arzan,” she said, her voice like silk brushed over a blade. “Why don’t you take a seat? It’s our first meeting, and I want to make it… memorable.”
Kai didn’t miss the pause before the last word. He gave her a smile in return, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I believe it will be.”
Then he moved toward the seat she had gestured to, every sense alert. Whatever game Regina had prepared tonight, it wouldn’t be played from the shadows. Not this time. This time, it was face to face.
2025-08-03 20:52:05 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 149
The rounds moved by pretty fast.
After the first two rounds, Chen Ren felt that they had grown steadily harder and far more specific. From making pills using limited ingredients to identifying and replicating one based only on taste, the trials had quickly separated the seasoned from the lucky.
One by one, alchemists stumbled. Some failed due to timing. Others burned their mixtures or produced unstable pills. Every round, more and more contestants were eliminated, their hopes dashed amid the rising pressure. And as the numbers dwindled, the cheers from the audience only grew louder—more frantic, more invested.
Chen Ren moved through them all.
He owed much of it to Wang Jun and Yalan. Without their guidance, the more obscure tests would’ve taken him by surprise. But the beauty of it was—no one suspected a thing. Not with the soul techniques they used. Unless someone was a soul cultivator themselves, it was nearly impossible to detect the kind of mental link they shared.
So he advanced while others fell.
Now, as the sun dipped low, the announcer stepped forward one last time. His voice, bolstered, echoed across the square.
“After so many rounds,” he declared, sweeping his gaze over the remaining contestants, “only five alchemists remain!”
A wave of applause rippled through the stands.
“Five!” he repeated, holding up his hand. “Out of the dozens who entered this year’s trials—only five have proven their worth. Five who passed every test, and now stand as the finest young alchemists of Broken Ridge City, perhaps even worthy of recognition beyond our borders!”
He paused for effect, then continued.
“As always, we have the favorites. From the prestigious Darkmoon Sect, we have the defending champion, Ningkai, who has broken through each round with effortless grace.”
A loud roar of approval came from one corner, clearly the Darkmoon supporters.
“Right behind him,” the announcer said with a grin, “is Yeqing, also of the Darkmoon Sect praised for his precision and subtlety. It's his first time in the trials, but he had proven his worth.”
More applause followed.
“Then, we have a rogue alchemist, Anming. No background, no faction… but after today, I doubt he’ll be left without offers.”
The man standing alone gave a stiff nod, arms crossed.
“And finally,” the announcer said, turning to the last two, “disciples of a new and Emerging sect. One, a familiar face, Tau Liu—a finalist in last year’s trials, now wearing the robes of the Divine Coin Sect.”
Tau Liu simply bowed.
A cheer went up as the announcer paused, the crowd erupting with applause—not just for Tau Liu, but for every name he had called. Each finalist had earned it, and the arena echoed with the weight of expectation.
Then, with a flourish, the announcer raised his hand and pointed straight at Chen Ren.
“And last—but certainly not least—we have a man no one knew at the start of these trials,” he said, his voice rising with drama, “but who now stands as a favorite to win it all.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
“Chen Ren, the sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect. The man who finished the earlier rounds the fastest, who stunned the judges with a seventy percent purity pill, and who now faces the final challenge.”
More cheering—raucous, deafening spread across the square.
“Now,” the announcer continued, “we will witness whether he can truly contend with the finest alchemists our city has to offer.” He took a slow breath, letting silence hang before delivering the twist. “For the final round, our alchemists will be challenged to do what few dare attempt: to create a pill of their own design. An original recipe, never seen before. A product of their knowledge, creativity, and skill.
“But. Due to the private nature of such recipes and formulas, the process will not be visible to the public. We cannot ask them to reveal the inner workings of a unique pill before it is judged. So, the final round will take place in personal workshops, built specifically for this purpose.”
As he finished speaking, a surge of qi burst from his ring—a wave so strong it ruffled clothes and hair across the front rows. The ground began to rumble, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Chen Ren wondered what was about to happen as he heard the grinding roar. He didn’t have to wait long as five stone structures erupted from the arena floor. They were all shaped like small pavilions or houses, complete with a gate and reinforced pillars. Arrays shimmered faintly across their surfaces. They were to not let anyone try to spy on the alchemists.
Huh? Were they hidden underground till now? Chen Ren didn’t know how but it created a good spectacle as the crowd clapped and shouted at the display.
“We will now give our alchemists a short period to rest and recover. Gather your thoughts, steady your minds—for the next round will decide who shall be crowned champion of this year’s alchemy trials!”
A short break… Chen Ren let out a quiet breath of relief as he stared at the announcer who got off the stage.
Even with the advantages he had, alchemy was draining. It required mental focus, spiritual clarity, and fine qi control—none of which came without cost. He could feel the ache in his core and the subtle fraying at the edges of his qi.
The ground was emptier now with only the five of them remaining. The two Darkmoon Sect disciples—Ningkai and Yeqing—stood close, whispering low but sparing no effort in sending glares in his direction.
Chen Ren ignored them.
He sat down cross-legged right where he stood, letting the noise fade into the background. He didn’t bother looking back as a presence approached and settled nearby, likely Tau Liu.
He closed his eyes.
And instead of reaching inward toward the star space, Chen Ren reached outward. He pulled qi from the air, from the natural flow of qi that surrounded the arena. It was slower, less efficient, but with his focus, he managed to do what he wanted in the traditional way. A method meant not just to refill qi, but to ground the mind and steady the spirit.
Chen Ren didn’t want to touch the star space just yet.
He had a suspicion—faint but growing—that whatever had happened to him on the road to Broken Ridge City… the moment he blacked out and awoke hours later… had been due to his explosive growth. His qi had been stable since then. He hadn’t drawn heavily on his reserves until now, and he had been fine. Though, the competition had drained nearly half of what was there.
So he breathed.
In and out. Slowly pulling in more qi, feeling it settle into his meridians. It wouldn’t be enough to fully replenish him—not even close—but even a ten percent boost could make a difference.
Especially in the final round. The final round where he was about to make a pill that Wang Jun had shown him was simple in structure, deceptively so, because it required specific input and constant output. But a single misstep could still ruin it.
And he wasn’t going to let that happen.
He shifted slightly, feeling the qi pool deeper in his dantian when—“Wang Jun said he won’t be able to help you in the last round.”
Yalan. Chen Ren opened his eyes and looked in the direction they were sitting.
“I guessed as much, The array around the stone structures.”
“It’s a divination array. Designed to stop anyone from peeking inside—whether with spiritual sense, qi threads, or soul sight. It might or might not catch onto the soul link between us. Better not to risk it.” She paused, then added with a bit of dry amusement, “Besides, you’d be distracted trying to explain what you’re doing the entire time. We won’t be able to see anything anyway.”
Chen Ren nodded to himself. “That’s okay,” he replied. “I believe I can do it on my own. You two have helped me enough.”
There was a short pause, then Yalan’s voice softened.
“Good. Then good luck.”
Just as her words faded, movement returned to the arena. Chen Ren turned toward the central platform as the announcer stepped back up onto the stage, now flanked by a pair of guards.
The crowd was beginning to reassemble—people returning to their seats, murmuring and finishing snacks from the stalls scattered around the outer plaza. Excitement rippled through them, the energy building again like a tide coming back in.
The announcer raised both hands, his voice echoing once more across the grounds.
“My dear people of Broken Ridge City!” he called out. “Thank you for your patience. The final round of the alchemy trials will now begin!”
A fresh round of cheers followed, though there was an undercurrent of curiosity—maybe even disappointment—at the fact they wouldn’t get to watch.
“Due to the nature of this round, you will not be able to witness the process.” He gestured toward the five stone workshops that stood tall like miniature fortresses. “But rest assured, the results will be well worth it.”
Then he turned to the five remaining alchemists, his tone shifting to something more official.
“You will each have thirty minutes to create your pill and return. If you fail to come out within the allotted time, you will be disqualified and will not be able to present your work to the final judge of the trials—City Lord Bai Huiqin.”
Chen Ren’s gaze lifted to the VIP stands where the City Lord sat. He was surrounded by even more important people, but he ignored them briefly to look at the announcer again.
“Are you all ready?” the announcer asked.
There was no reply—only quiet determination.
One by one, the five alchemists rose from where they had been sitting. Ningkai and Yeqing walked together. The rogue cultivator muttered something under his breath before limping toward his assigned door. And from his side, Tau Liu moved.
Chen Ren walked without hesitation, eyes locked on the stone chamber directly in front of him. He pushed the gate open and stepped inside.
Coincidentally, the spy—Yeqing—chose the chamber right next to Chen Ren’s.
As he passed, he slowed just enough to shoot him a venomous glare. “You’re going to be humiliated,” he spat, voice low enough for only Chen Ren to hear. “Losing to me, of all people.”
Chen Ren scoffed, unable to hide his smirk. “I don’t think so. You seem to have a knack for being humiliated. Not me.”
Yeqing’s face twisted into a snarl, but by then, Chen Ren was already moving through the gate, uninterested in continuing the exchange.
The stone door slammed shut behind him with a low thud, sealing the chamber entirely. Chen Ren paused and looked around.
Impressive.
The room was spacious—well-lit by softly glowing spirit lamps embedded in the walls. The entire chamber was circular, with inscriptions faintly etched into the floor and walls—likely suppression and containment arrays, useful for minimizing any alchemical accidents.
At the center of the room was a solid stone workbench, complete with a cauldron already primed and warmed. Along the walls were stacks upon stacks of herbs, each organized by type and category. Some were common—spirit grass, fireseed root, breath moss—but others…
Chen Ren stepped closer.
Some of these, he didn’t even recognize at a glance. Clearly, they were rare. Even Earth grade plants, based on the way the qi shimmered off their leaves. And then, his eyes caught sight of the exact herbs he needed, of course, not in the exact order he needed. But they were all here—every single one.
Was it a coincidence?
He doubted they’d tailored the chamber to his pill specifically. No one should’ve known what he was going to make. More likely, the organizers had provided every possible ingredient under the heavens they could gather, so no alchemist would be forced to request something mid-trial—and no one could deduce their recipe from what was missing.
It was smart and politically neutral. The City Lord was clearly trying hard to not upset anyone. Not because of the alchemists themselves, perhaps, but because of the factions behind them.
Chen Ren stepped to the table, brushing his fingers across the edge of the cauldron, then reached for the herbs he needed. He muttered to himself, “Time to get to work.”
With practiced hands, he turned on the flame beneath the cauldron, adjusting it to the precise heat needed for the first stage. The qi-infused fire sparked to life with a low hiss.
He moved around the cauldron to lay out the ingredients. He measured them and set aside in the exact order he would use them.
He thought again on how this would win him the trials, all thanks to Wang Jun. The head had spent the last week teaching him, and he, in return, had obsessed over it, memorizing every ingredient, timing fluctuations in the flame and calculating the perfect qi output.
It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Complex, yes, but refined and elegant. The kind of pill that was so rare that it wouldn't be found in any manuals today.
Wang Jun really did have many tricks up his sleeve, Chen Ren thought, setting the first herb into the cauldron and watching it dissolve into essence.
And if he wanted to get more of those tricks out of him… Chen Ren smirked faintly to himself. I’d probably need to treat him a little better.
He knew he’d neglected Wang Jun after coming to the city.
In the rush of setting up shop, training others, dealing with spies, and preparing for any retribution from the Darkmoon Sect, he’d taken that silent, ever-grumbling old soul for granted. But now, with the finish line in sight, he made himself a promise: once this was over, he’d change that. Wang Jun had earned better.
With that thought sealed away, Chen Ren turned his full focus to the task at hand.
He began with the base ingredients—the foundation of the pill—dropping them one by one into the cauldron. As they settled, he guided his qi into the brew, gently coaxing out the essence from each root and flower. A soft sizzle followed, then a low hum as the mixture began to heat on its own.
The temperature spiked fast. Chen Ren wiped sweat from his brow, but kept his hands steady. The next part was the most dangerous.
Mixing Dragonspine Powder with Moonshade Nectar. Individually, they were potent. Together? Volatile.
The moment the two met in the cauldron, a sharp crack rang out, like bones snapping in flame. Instantly, Chen Ren created a bubble of qi around the mixture, containing the eruption as a wave of heat surged upward. The cauldron groaned in protest.
His barrier flickered under the strain, and despite his control, some of the heat still escaped, scorching the air around him. The ends of his hair curled slightly from the sudden blast, the scent of burnt strands mixing with the acrid aroma of herbs.
Fuck, but it’s okay. he thought. That was the hardest part.
He continued adding powdered earthroot, shredded silver, and essence-washed lotus seed. Every ingredient that went in altered the hue of the bubbling mass, turning it from amber to gold to a deep, rich crimson.
This pill wasn’t cheap.
Over the past week, Chen Ren had poured nearly all of his day profits from the Divine Coin shop into buying ingredients for it. Some from merchants, others from rogue gatherers, all under the table. It had cost him a small fortune. But standing here now, he knew it was worth it.
Just getting into the finals has already repaid the cost, he thought. And if I win…
He didn’t finish the thought.
Minutes ticked by, marked only by the flicker of flame and the swirl of vapor rising from the cauldron. The heat grew unbearable, clinging to his robes, his skin, even his bones. But still, Chen Ren stayed rooted in place, his eyes never leaving the mixture.
And then it happened. The color shifted. From crimson… to a soft, glowing pink.
He exhaled. Perfect.
This was the sign. The exact moment he’d prepared for.
Time for the final step.
Maintaining the flow of qi with one hand, he raised the other, summoning a flicker of lightning at his fingertips. The static crawled across his skin, converging at the tip of his thumb. With a sharp hiss, he forced it to spark and burst the skin open.
Blood welled at once, glimmering faintly with qi.
Without hesitation, Chen Ren thrust the bleeding thumb over the cauldron and let the blood fall. It hit the surface of the mixture like a drop of oil on fire.
A simmer followed, not explosive this time, but deep and resonant. The reaction began to settle. The mix was stabilizing.
All that was left… was the final battle. The last, most delicate part of the process. Chen Ren closed his eyes for a breath, his qi swirling around him like an invisible current.
One last round. And then it’s done.
***
Yeqing stared into his cauldron, a maniacal grin etched across his face.
The ingredients within swirled violently, qi-infused herbs dissolving in sequence in high heat and exceptional rhythm. From time to time, he funneled his own qi into the mix, feeding the reaction with short bursts, just the the way he had practiced under strict instructions. A faint glow radiated from the simmering brew, and even through the veil of steam, he could see the pill beginning to take shape.
An Earth-grade pill.
His eyes gleamed with triumph.
With this, I’ll win. I’ll win and watch that smug bastard Chen Ren fall flat on his arrogant face.
He still couldn’t believe that fool had made it this far. What twist of fate had allowed him—a nobody from a new sect—to not only survive but thrive all the way to the final round?
It didn’t matter. Because now, he would lose.
Yeqing would make sure of that.
Let’s see how he likes being humiliated in front of an entire city, he thought, lips curling.
The only reason he’d even been allowed into the trials this year was Elder Tiefang mercy—a final chance, one last slot begrudgingly handed to him after the failure and ridicule. Normally, all three trial spots were locked down by the outer elder’s prized disciples. Nepotism, he’d once scoffed.
Now? He welcomed it.
For someone who preached fairness, Elder Tiefang sure loved playing favorites when it suited him, he thought with a twisted chuckle.
But it was fine. Because this time, the story would change. Once he won the trials with this Earth-grade pill—a custom creation handed down from the Sect Leader himself—everything would fall into place.
He’d demand his reward, reclaim the pill that was stolen from him, step into Foundation Establishment and maybe, maybe he’d finally be able to be recognized as a core elder disciple.
Even the thought made him feel giddy all over.
The imagination of not having any more snide remarks, or pity or being ‘that guy’ everyone ignored made him grin.
Maybe even the Sect Leader would take me in directly, he thought, hunger in his eyes. He hates the Divine Pill Apothecary anyway. If I beat Chen Ren here, I can ask for that favor. With that backing…
Years of wandering without a master, of being left behind, of standing on the sidelines—finally, it would all pay off.
He simply had to successfully make the Earth-grade pill. Because this pill wasn’t just strong—it was also extremely rare. The kind of pill no back-alley alchemist could hope to understand, let alone replicate. Chen Ren might be good with modifying pills or making shit ton of basic pills, but this was something else.
He would win. Afterall, he had the shadow of a peak meridian expansion realm cultivator behind him. And that was more than Chen Ren could ever hope for.
The cauldron let out a soft hum, followed by a gentle simmer of qi rising from within—a delicate pulse, like a heartbeat. Yeqing’s grin widened.
The pill was ready.
2025-08-03 20:50:33 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 148
A big ball of qi and herbs simmered in front of Chen Ren as he followed Wang Jun's instructions precisely. But it turned out doing exactly as he said was far more time consuming than he had expected. The hourglass was already close to emptying out one side, and he wasn’t finished.
All around him, over half the alchemists had already stepped back from their cauldrons, arms crossed or hands behind their backs. Chen Ren inhaled the smell of charred roots, sharp powders and boiled spirit grass all around him, but his eyes were locked on the swirling mass inside his cauldron.
For the past two minutes, all the Darkmoon Sect disciples had turned their attention to him—some with narrowed eyes, others with curled lips. Scorn hung in the air like smoke. Even Tau Liu and Jie Foong, who had finished their own batches, looked concerned from their stations.
But Chen Ren didn’t look up. He didn’t fumble. He believed in Wang Jun’s formula.
Yalan’s voice rang through his mind. "Now. Mix the Redwhisk Root and the Cloud Bell Leaf in. You’re almost there. Do it fast. You don’t have much time."
His right hand stayed steady over the flame, but his left moved with purpose. Two final herbs—dried, curled, and soaked in qi—pressed between his fingers. He threw them in.
The mixture sizzled instantly. A golden flicker surged from the cauldron’s surface, bright and full of promise, then vanished just as quickly.
Chen Ren didn't waste a breath. He pushed his spiritual qi into the mass, moving it through the thick, bubbling liquid, guiding it to every edge, every trace of unmixed herb and dormant energy. The concoction pulsed once. Then again. And then it calmed. He exhaled sharply and cut the flame.
A breath later, with a soft clinking sound, the pills began to drop into the collection dish at the bottom of the cauldron one after another. Twelve pills. They all glowed equally, and Chen Ren squinted his eyes, trying to take a better look at them. There was not a single one that was burnt.
No cracks. Check. No blackened edges. Check. For a second, he enjoyed the satisfaction that ran through his mind. He reached in carefully as the cauldron was still warm and slid the dish out. He had no time to test them for purity, but by the looks of it, he should be able to pass.
Thank you, he offered it to Yalan, whose only response was a purr of sorts.
Distracting him from his thoughts, the announcer’s voice came from the front of the stage.
"Time is up! Let’s see what our alchemists have cooked today. Please leave the pills on your workbenches. You will be evaluated there."
As the announcer’s voice faded, Chen Ren watched a group of cultivators in muted gold robes move through the rows of alchemists, each bearing the insignia of the City Lord’s office. He hadn't even seen them appear in the ground. They walked slowly, taking their time to evaluate every single pill in front of them. Chen Ren noticed the scroll and the jade evaluation slip two of them carried. And the other two behind simply walked forward, picking up pills, inspecting them under the dulcet sunlight, and much to his surprise, they ate them on the spot.
They didn’t say much. Just brief murmurs to one another, a scribble of brush on paper, then onward to the next.
Chen Ren kept his eyes on them, noting how quickly they moved past the first few tables. But when they reached the cluster of Darkmoon Sect disciples, their pace slowed. One of them picked a pill, popped it into his mouth, and grinned. The others followed suit, smiling after each taste.
They walked past the Darkmoon Sect disciples stations and judged two more before coming in front of Chen Ren. One of them gave him a once-over and looked down at the neatly arranged twelve pills.
Stroking his chin, he looked back up at Chen Ren.
"Qi Replenishment Pills… They look good."
Chen Ren said nothing, just nodded politely and stepped back. There was nothing more to say. Let the pills speak. The man picked one up, placed it in his mouth, and paused.
His eyes widened.
A moment of silence passed, then the evaluator blinked and looked at the other pills. He took another. Ate it. Then another. Each time, his expression grew more intrigued.
"You’re from the Divine Coin Sect, right?" he finally asked, even his voice had that surprise layered in the high-pitched tone. “The ones with the flavored pills?”
"I’m the sect leader," Chen Ren replied calmly.
The man paused. Then he smiled, just slightly, and nodded. "I’ll remember your name."
Without another word, he moved on to the next table, muttering something to the others in a whisper.
Chen Ren watched them go, uncertain. Was that… admiration? He looked down at his pills. They glowed faintly, radiating steady qi. Carefully, he picked one up and ate it.
The moment it dissolved, his eyes widened.
A surge of warm, vibrant energy coursed through him, smooth and dense without any waste. Just flowing qi, like a gentle tide across his meridians.
Seventy percent purity.
His breath caught. That explained it. With the strength he felt swirling in his dantian, there was no doubt—these pills had hit a quality few alchemists could claim, especially in a public trial.
He looked up toward the stands.
Near the center of the spectators, Yalan sat. Around her, the members of Jadefire Hall and his own hired workers had filled an entire section. Even Hun Tianzhi sat among them.
With his people around them, Chen Ren had no need to worry about any secrets leaking. Either way, Yalan was talking to Wang Jun in her head and even now she used to be in some sort of a discussion with him as she looked at the crate containing the head next to her. But noticing his stare, her amber eyes met his.
“What?” she asked, sounding slightly annoyed that she was disturbed with her conversation with Wang Jun.
“How did Wang Jun know of such a method?”
“He said he found it while experimenting in his youth.”
“Then why didn’t he say anything earlier?”
Another pause. Then Yalan’s voice returned, exasperated. “He said you never asked for his help with this round.”
He didn’t have a reply to that. He really didn’t ask. Wang Jun was… something else. A genius, sure, but a petty, smug genius who apparently needed to be asked nicely before saving someone’s ass.
Still, it didn’t matter now. Judging by the reactions, the pills had spoken for themselves. He was going to win this round.
On the platform, the cultivators who had tasted the pills finally stepped forward. One of them held the parchment full of evaluations and handed it over to the announcer.
Chen Ren watched as the announcer scanned through the list, lips moving, eyes flicking from one name to the next. But then, the man paused. His eyes locked onto one of the parchments.
The announcer leaned to whisper something to the same cultivator who had tasted Chen Ren’s pills. Whatever the reply was, it made the announcer straighten and look up, a grin slowly spreading across his face.
With a dramatic flourish, he stepped forward and spoke, voice booming across the square: “If the last round was a surprise to the alchemists… this one is a surprise to me!”
That got everyone’s attention.
“The results show that only the best alchemists remain. Out of all the ones who began this trial, only twenty have passed to the next round!”
A huge cheer went up from the crowd. From where Chen Ren stood, he could hear some of the workers from Jadefire Hall whistling. Tau Liu let out a breath beside him, visibly relieved. But the announcer wasn’t done. His grin grew wider.
“Not only that,” he continued, voice now brimming with excitement, “but in the decades of this competition, only two people have ever managed to create a pill of seventy percent purity.”
Gasps rippled through the square. Heads turned. Even some elders in the crowd leaned forward.
The announcer raised a hand. “This year… we have a third.”
The crowd went still, breath held. And Chen Ren, arms behind his back, let the smallest, quietest smile tug at the corner of his lips.
“Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect,” the announcer declared, voice riding the wave of wind and qi, “has shown today that he's a worthy contender, and a new power rising in the city!”
Another cheer erupted, louder than before. This time, it wasn’t just polite applause. It was genuine, stunned approval. The sound rolled through the square like thunder.
Chen Ren stood still as the noise swelled around him.
Then came the stares.
Dozens of alchemists turned to look at him—some wide-eyed, some whispering behind their hands. As if he were some long-lost relic unearthed from ancient ruins, something impossible made flesh. Even the three Darkmoon Sect disciples near the front looked like someone had slapped them with a fish. Their mouths hung open, disbelief plastered across their faces.
But Chen Ren wasn’t watching them. His eyes were drawn upward to the VIP stand above the square.
The City Lord himself stood clapping, a composed smile on his face. Around him, several officials nodded and murmured to one another, eyes flicking to Chen Ren with newfound respect. But none of that mattered.
Because the pressure he felt—sharp, suffocating, deliberate—was coming from him.
The Darkmoon Sect leader. Gao Moyue.
There he sat, expression tight, posture tense, his gaze fixed like a blade straight into Chen Ren. The man’s eyes bored into him, dark and searching, flitting occasionally toward the parchment in front of the announcer as if he couldn’t believe the results. He looked like he wanted to leap down from the stands and double-check the pill purity himself.
Even as the announcer continued naming the other alchemists who passed, the Darkmoon Sect leader’s gaze didn’t waver.
Chen Ren ignored him. He had other things to focus on.
The three Darkmoon disciples—despite their reactions—had passed. Just as Chen Ren expected. So had Tau Liu and Jie Foong, both looking slightly smug now that the results were public. That was good. The stronger the showing from Divine Coin Sect, the better the message it sent: they weren’t a one-man operation. They had depth.
The rest of the successful candidates were a mix of city clans and independent factions. Some wore robes with family crests stitched in gold, others bore the insignia of outer organizations. A few were in plain robes with no markings—rogue alchemists, most likely.
Chen Ren noted them carefully. He’d speak to them after the trials. Good alchemists were always in demand, especially those with talent but no backing. They’d either join the Divine Coin Sect… or become competitors. Better to make the first move.
And like that, without further ceremony, the announcer raised a hand, silencing the square once more.
“Let us begin… the third round of the alchemy trials!”
***
Gao Moyue couldn’t believe his eyes.
For a moment—just a moment—he genuinely wondered if he had slipped into qi deviation without noticing. Perhaps some residual poison from a failed pill, or an inner demon he hadn't cleansed properly. That would explain the delusion in front of him.
But no. His breathing was steady. His qi flowed smoothly. His mind was sharp. Unfortunately, the reality was far worse.
The sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect had actually produced a seventy percent purity Qi Replenishment Pill in a public trial.
Gao Moyue clenched his jaw, his gaze locked on the figure below as Chen Ren stood calmly by his table, barely reacting to the cheers that rang out in his name.
It made no sense.
Alchemists who could reach seventy percent purity at his age—hell, at any age—were rarer than phoenix feathers. Such individuals were treasures, golden roots any sect would fight over just to have them under their banner. Years of investment, protection, status, they were given everything.
And yet… Divine Coin Sect had produced one. A minor sect with no deep roots. No official patronage. No damn business rising this fast. How?
Gao Moyue had been watching him from the start of the trial. From the ingredients used to the timing of flame control, Chen Ren hadn’t done anything revolutionary. He was smooth, practiced, but nothing had stood out.
Except… that moment.
Right at the end. The order of ingredients had changed.
Was that the secret? Could it really be that simple?
He didn’t know. But he was going to try it the moment he returned to his chambers. That, and every possible variation around it. He didn’t care how long it took—he had to figure it out.
For now, he held his tongue and kept his eyes forward as the announcer—an energetic qi refinement cultivator who thought too highly of his own theatrics—began presenting the next round's ingredients from his spatial ring. A puff of smoke here, a twirl of flame there. All for show. Barely a flicker to someone like Gao Moyue.
Yet the mortals and low-level cultivators cheered like they were watching divine sorcery. He sighed.
Beside him, the city lord, Bai Huiqin, leaned forward, nodding at something one of the ministers said. Whispers passed back and forth between the officials, most of it irrelevant until the name Chen Ren came up.
That made Gao Moyue listen.
The man speaking was the Minister of Civil Works—an annoyingly shrewd official who rarely praised anyone.
“Our Broken Ridge City seems to have found itself a new star,” the man said, adjusting his spectacles. “An alchemist with that level of talent… he won’t stay hidden long. Even the Emperor’s court might come calling.”
Gao Moyue couldn’t respond to that. His lips were pressed in a thin line, his hands gripping the edge of the balcony rail.
A star? No. Stars were admired. Chen Ren was a threat.
Another voice joined the conversation, smooth and knowing—the Minister of Commerce, a sharp-eyed man who always seemed one step ahead when it came to profit and power.
“It’s a shame he already has his own sect,” the minister said with a polite smile, glancing toward the city lord. “I’m fairly certain you would have liked him working under you, my lord.”
The City Lord, seated in his high-backed chair of lacquered wood and inlaid jade, stroked his beard thoughtfully. “He’s certainly a promising prospect,” he mused aloud. “How long has he been in the city?”
“I believe it’s only been a few weeks, my lord. But… have you heard of the flavored pills?”
“Flavored pills? Is that some form of candy?”
A few of the ministers chuckled, but the first one quickly clarified, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “No, my lord. The Divine Coin Sect has altered the taste of their alchemical pills, and they are still effective, but now easy on the tongue. It’s becoming wildly popular among the hunters. They say even children stepping on the path of cultivation can take them without gagging.”
As the City Lord’s curiosity grew, the minister reached into his robes and produced a small pill in a jade container. “Here, try one.”
Gao Moyue stared.
You’ve had it on you this whole time? he wanted to shout. Are you his damn salesman now?
But he held his tongue, watching instead as the City Lord took the pill with mild curiosity and popped it into his mouth.
A beat passed. Then Bai Huiqin’s lips parted. Gao Moyue saw a trail of saliva dripping down his beard as he licked his lips.
“This is… really good.”
The minister beamed, clearly proud of himself. “Exactly as I said, my lord. Divine Coin Sect is different. I believe our city stands to benefit from their growth. We need innovators. You’ve seen the capital, they’re full of alchemists like this. And look at how they’ve prospered.”
Gao Moyue saw the immediate change from neutrality to interest.
Damn it.
He clenched his fists under the table, nails digging into flesh. After all these years of reading the man, he could tell exactly what was happening: the City Lord’s view of Chen Ren was tilting.
That was very bad news.
And worse yet, the ministers kept feeding it. Praising him like a hero. Why? What did they even get from it? Influence? Bragging rights? A chance to ride the wave of a rising star?
He didn’t know. Didn’t care. If he could remember their damn family names, he would’ve cursed every one of them on the spot.
It was unnatural.
Gao Moyue had known these ministers for years—leeches wrapped in silk, parasites who spent more time polishing their boots than doing their actual jobs. The only thing they were good at was sniffing out the scent of power and clinging to it like flies to honey.
And now they were praising Chen Ren?
It didn’t sit right. That sort of talk wasn’t born out of goodwill or civic pride. There was something else behind it. Something he needed to investigate. Maybe the Divine Coin Sect had offered incentives. Or maybe Chen Ren had made a few quiet deals while no one was watching.
Either way, this sudden surge of support wasn’t natural. It reeked of politics.
Gao Moyue clenched his teeth. He wanted to speak up, to throw doubt on the rising praise, to remind the City Lord that one good pill didn’t make a genius. But…
His eyes went back to the arena.
There, Chen Ren stood with the same irritating calm on his face, hands moving swiftly as he prepared the ingredients for the third round.
Heavens! Why must you do this to me? Gao Moyue almost cursed at his luck.
Anything he said now would make him look bitter. Jealous. Like some old cultivator threatened by a bright-eyed greenhorn who’d stolen the spotlight. He couldn’t afford that. Not with the City Lord watching. Not with the ministers muttering praise like gospel.
He had a reputation to maintain. So he swallowed the bile in his throat and said nothing.
The third round was already in full swing. It was one of the more difficult tests—requiring the alchemists to produce any viable pill from a limited and randomized set of ingredients. A test of creativity, knowledge, and adaptability.
Frankly, Gao Moyue always felt it was better suited for rogue cultivators, the kind who survived on scraps, who had to learn how to improvise without the luxury of storerooms or perfect manuals.
But the rounds weren’t chosen by him.
They were chosen by the City Lord. So he simply watched.
The Darkmoon disciples were holding their own, to his satisfaction. Even that idiot spy, who had nearly embarrassed them in the past week, looked surprisingly competent now. He might even make it to the next round.
But Gao Moyue’s attention remained fixed on Chen Ren. He kept his expression composed, unwilling to let even a twitch of distaste show on his face.
But inside, he was seething.
Chen Ren was doing well.
From the ingredients laid out in front of him, Gao Moyue could tell what the boy was attempting: a Five Flow Stabilizing Pill—a relatively obscure Mortal grade concoction. Common enough for any decent alchemist to recognize, but rare in the sense that few chose to specialize in it. It required specific timing and even more specific temperature control. Most would struggle to make something passable, let alone refined.
And yet, Chen Ren was moving as if the process had been drilled into him since childhood. As if he had done it dozens of times before.
Gao Moyue’s stomach twisted because his instincts screamed that this was very, very bad.
Because if Chen Ren finished the pill successfully—and all signs said he would—then there would be no stopping his momentum. He would easily qualify for the final round. And once he got there… everything could change.
But still, Gao Moyue controlled himself.
He calmed his breathing, let his fingers rest against the ornate armrest of his chair, and smoothed out the frown that threatened to creep onto his face. He had lived long enough to know that letting emotions show in front of rivals—even potential ones—was the same as handing them a weapon.
So he let Chen Ren perform well. Let the boy impress a few ministers. Let him stir up excitement among the rabble. He might reach the final round—but that was all he’d do. Because Gao Moyue knew what was coming.
The last round wasn’t judged by ministers or crowd sentiment. It wasn’t based on cheers or fancy presentations. It was judged by one man—the City Lord himself.
And Gao Moyue had made damn sure that round would be his.
To ensure the win, He’d gone so far as to personally create custom pill recipes for the final challenge. Concoction no other sect in the city could even think of. A formula born from his own insights as a meridian expansion realm cultivator, refined to perfection, and tailored to fit the ingredients the City Lord would provide.
There’s no way Chen Ren will be able to match that.
He might be clever. He might even be talented. But a greenhorn like him—no matter how flashy—couldn’t possibly match a pill designed by someone with decades of cultivation, alchemical theory, and real-world refinement under his belt.
In the end, the final round would go exactly as he intended. His sect would win.
And when that happened—when all eyes turned to Darkmoon Sect in admiration once more—Gao Moyue would make his move.
Divine Coin Sect would not walk away from this trial unscathed.
He would crush their rising name.
And Chen Ren—with all his smug calm and irritating innovation—would be fucking buried before he could ever call himself a rival.
2025-08-01 18:39:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 258
Wind whipped through Kai’s hair as he flew across the sky above the city. It was late—close to midnight—yet Hermil still glowed with life. Lanterns lined the main roads, lights flickered above noble estates, and the sounds of people carried even at the height where Kai hovered, far above the ground.
The people were still out in force, bristling through alleys and market lanes, too distracted by their own lives to look skyward. Just how he preferred it.
He hoped that meant King Sullivan was still awake. As for Regina… he doubted she ever truly slept. As far as he could tell, she was a paranoid woman. She didn’t strike him as the type to trust anyone with her back turned, but that was that.
It would’ve been easier to return with Amara by his side, but too many eyes would’ve followed. A royal and a disgraced noble going to the castle together? That would stir talk before he could even step inside. And this meeting? It wasn’t something he wanted spoken of.
The medallion shifted in his back pocket. If Regina knew he had brought it, she wouldn’t hesitate to send shadows after him. Assassins, spies, curses cloaked as gifts—it didn’t matter. He knew she wanted her hands on it.
So he chose silence instead. Being discreet is always better when sensitive topics were involved.
Gliding low, he weaved through the air above sprawling noble estates, each more gilded than the last. Banners after banners passed beneath him, and he tried to figure out which noble house belonged to who. Most were dark, their halls dim, but a few still had signs of life.
He didn’t slow until the castle came into view. Hovering mid-air, Kai narrowed his eyes, activating [Hawk Eyes].
The spell came to life almost immediately. The world sharpened. The fog of night lifted from his vision, and the castle’s outline came into perfect, brutal clarity.
The first thing he saw were the coordinated guards. They moved in patterns—pairs and trios pacing the outer walls. Their armors mirrored the torchlights. And there were more guards than he expected. Far more. Last time he was here, he could count patrols on one hand. Now? They crisscrossed like ants over a disturbed nest.
He guessed it was due to all the powerful higher nobles staying in the castle. But he didn’t waste long on the guards.
Mortal eyes could be avoided easily. His attention turned instead to the castle itself—the stone walls, the high towers, and what lay beyond them.
And through his spell-enhanced gaze… he peered past the walls.
They were all enchanted—layered with overlapping wards, glyphs etched into stone, invisible threads of mana humming just beneath the surface. Crude, in Kai’s opinion. But functional enough. And dangerous if tripped.
If he tried to fly over the castle walls, even a whisper of his mana brushing those wards would flare like a beacon. So much for being discreet.
He circled the castle slowly, cloak trailing behind him, his senses sharpened to every flicker of arcane resistance. Most of the wards were intact, glowing faintly to his [Hawk Eyes] with lines of rigid structure, meant more to detect than to destroy, but he couldn’t take chances.
Then he saw it.
A pair of enchantments woven over a balcony on one of the upper floors. They pulsed irregularly, the mana threads fraying near the edges—unstable or poorly maintained. Either way, they were weaker than the rest.
Kai hovered at a distance, canceling his spell and drifting just outside their reach. The world dulled without his [Hawk Eyes], but he didn’t need them now. Instead, he extended a single strand of mana—thin as a thread of spider silk—toward the flawed wards.
The strand brushed the edge of the glyphwork, and like a lock meeting its key, he began unraveling the layers, a twist and soon, it was gone.
The enchantments faded with barely a flicker, and more importantly no alarm.
He exhaled slowly.
They really don’t expect anyone to know how to do this, he thought, almost amused. Flying Mages were rare enough. Ones trained in ward-breaking? That bordered on mythical in this era. He made short work of the ward and made sure it was disabled.
With practiced ease, he glided forward and landed silently on the balcony, boots touching the stone without a sound.
One second passed. Then another. Still nothing. Only the quiet rustle of wind and the distant hum of city life below.
He let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from his shoulders. But he didn’t linger.
Staying in one place was how you got caught.
Amara’s words about the layout of the palace echoed in his memory, You’ll have to go to the fourth floor—there’s a curved corridor leading to a side wing. Go through the reading chamber, there’s a narrow arch at the end. That’s where Father’s quarters begin.
He guessed that he was on the fifth floor and found the stairs easily enough, descending without sound. No guards yet. The corridor ahead curved left, just as she’d said. Velvet drapes lined the walls, and the scent of old parchment drifted from a room ahead—likely the reading chamber. He was on the right path.
According to Amara, King Sullivan didn’t keep many guards in that section of the castle. Just few guards at the entrance of it and only one Knight with him that even slept close by.
Which meant if Kai was careful, there wouldn’t be a fight. The real struggle was just getting there unseen.
And so far… he was winning. He started down the corridor, keeping his steps measured as his eyes wandered across the castle’s lavish interior.
Portraits and paintings lined every wall—kings and queens, knights and scholars, ancestors immortalized in oil and pride. Between them were glass displays of weapons—ornamental swords, spears with etched blades, and ancient relics sealed behind mana-reinforced cases. Every piece screamed of history and status, but none of it slowed Kai.
He wasn’t here to admire. What did catch his attention, however, were the guards. They were everywhere.
Still, Kai didn’t panic. He didn’t duck, didn’t hide in the shadows. Instead, he used the oldest trick in the book of stealth, Look like you belong. He held his head high, raised his chin slightly and frowned subtly, as if he was mildly annoyed that anyone would dare cross his path. He managed to take steps confidently, and the robes he wore did the rest. He looked like a high noble with somewhere very important to be and absolutely no time to explain himself.
And it worked.
Each time a guard passed by, they didn’t question him. Didn’t stop him. They bowed.
Kai gave the barest nod in return, never breaking stride. He doubted anything would happen even if they asked his identity. But why risk it?
Discretion first. Always.
As he moved deeper, the chatter of other wings faded behind him. He was getting close. Too close, perhaps. Because he encountered more guards.
The relaxed patrols of the outer halls were long gone—these were hardened men, standing sharp at attention. Their eyes swept the halls with focus. Their postures screamed discipline. He could feel the tension building with every step.
And then, as he rounded a final corner, he saw them.
There were five guards who were clustered directly outside a massive carved doorway. One look at it was enough for him to know it was the entrance to King Sullivan’s chambers.
They all stood way too sharp for him to get past without being noticed.
Time for a little magic.
Kai reached into his Mana heart, weaving the spell. He sent the mana down the left corridor beside the guards, shaping it into a whistling draft of cold air.
The effect was immediate.
The wind slithered through the passage like a phantom, and the guards flinched. One rubbed his arm. Another took a half-step away from the wall.
“Did you feel that?”
“Yeah... The wind is chilly tonight.”
“Maybe one of the maids left the windows—”
They whispered, distracted, but he wasted no time listening to them.
Kai bent his knees and launched upward.
The ceilings here—tall, vast, arched like the bones of a cathedral—were perfect for gliding. He soared just beneath the high beams, low enough to avoid brushing against the ceiling, high enough to remain unseen.
A shadow in a castle of gold.
As the guards squinted down the corridor, still murmuring about the sudden gust of cold, Kai glided silently above them.
The spell of [Flight] made no sound, not unless he wanted it to. A small but crucial modification. In his experience, even trained guards almost never looked up. They scanned ahead, maybe behind, sometimes to the side… but the ceiling? Almost never.
By the time one of them tilted their head, Kai was already past. He landed softly in the corridor just beyond them.
The heart of the king’s wing. The place that should have been the most secure in the kingdom. And it was empty. No Knights or Mages.
So the rumors were true. King Sullivan didn’t like to be surrounded. Even here, in the depths of his personal quarters, there were no men stationed, no eyes watching and Kai really appreciated that right now. He moved.
Room after room passed him—doors closed, curtains drawn. He didn’t stop to inspect them. That wasn’t what he was here for. Each turn of the corridor brought him deeper into the king’s sanctum, and yet still… nothing.
Until, finally, he came upon a pair of wide double doors.
Kai slipped through and conjured a small orb of light between his fingers. It drifted up toward the ceiling, casting soft illumination across the chamber. But the room was empty.
He was hoping for the King to be here. But only the royal bed greeted him, too neat to have been used. To the side, there were gilded shelves stacked with books and a polished desk with papers stacked just a little too perfectly.
He frowned. Where is he?
Only one option left.
Kai turned back into the corridor and began retracing his steps, this time watching the walls for the way to the gardens Amara had mentioned. With every hallway he passed, the sheer size of the king’s private wing became more apparent. It was massive. Towering archways. Winding passages. An entire wing of the castle, maybe a fourth of it, all for one man.
And yet… it felt hollow. Like a museum no one visited anymore. All this space, and no one to share it with.
Kai didn’t linger on the thought. He wasn’t here to psychoanalyze a monarch. He was here to find him. And after nearly ten minutes of searching, he finally found the garden.
The stone corridor opened to an arched passage, lined with translucent blue crystal that shimmered faintly in the dark. Beyond it… there were the gardens.
Kai stepped through, and his eyes widened.
It was colder in here, but every breath he took felt fresh, rich with the scent of night-blooming flowers. Before him sprawled a massive garden, alive with greenery that had no right thriving inside stone walls. Mana lamps glowed softly among the trees, illuminating winding paths, a koi pond rippling under the moonlight, and hedges trimmed with almost obsessive care.
Looks like the rumors were true.
King Sullivan loved to tend to his garden. The garden was beautiful—alive in a way the rest of the castle was not. And rare.
His gaze swept over the beds, lingering on a cluster of reddish leaves sprouting from pink-stemmed stalks. His brows rose. Redfire Bloom. It was a rare alchemical plant, difficult to cultivate outside of temperate shadowed zones. He had tried growing it in his greenhouse back in Veralt. But he failed, twice.
Kai stepped closer, inspecting the beautiful structure of the leaves, wondering what sort of soil mix they used here, when a voice rang out behind him.
“You’ve got good eyes. That one took three seasons to stabilize.”
Kai turned instantly, his shoulders tightening—mana coiling in his heart—only to relax a fraction when he saw who it was.
King Sullivan.
He stood a few paces away, hands clasped behind his back, dressed in deep blue robes with golden trim. Behind him, a Knight watched silently, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade.
Kai’s gaze returned to the King. He had changed.
The last time they met, Sullivan had worn a full beard. Now, it was trimmed short. The lines on his face seemed deeper. Dark circles sat under his eyes like bruises earned from sleepless nights. His hair was thinning. Is he even sleeping at all?
Kai dipped into a bow, properly this time.
“Your Majesty.”
Sullivan smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his tired eyes. “I expected you to come see me once I heard you’d arrived in Hermil. But I must admit…” He looked around the garden and then back at Kai. “I didn’t expect you to sneak into my garden like a ghost. Seems the security around the castle is… lacking.”
He turned, gesturing with his hand. “Knight Roderic here thought you were an assassin.”
The Knight behind him gave Kai a stiff nod. He didn’t relax his stance. Kai didn’t mind.
He arched an eyebrow. “Were you expecting assassins?”
Sullivan chuckled, a short, dry sound. “Maybe. You can never have too many enemies when you're a ruler.” He stepped closer to one of the plants, brushing a gloved finger across a leaf as he continued, “And do you know what history tells us is the number one reason kings die?”
“I’m guessing it’s not old age.”
“Family,” Sullivan said, with a bitter smile. “Poisoned in their sleep. Stabbed by a trusted cousin. Cast down in coups because someone with your blood thinks they’d do a better job. Then the cycle begins again.”
He looked at Kai with a steady gaze.
“And if it’s not family, then it’s ‘loyal’ advisors. Or proud sons of noble houses who think the realm would thrive under a firmer hand.”
The King paused, a half-smile curling his lips.
“Yes. I expect assassins.”
Kai simply nodded, glancing once more around the garden. The serenity didn’t fool him. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” he said quietly. “You wanted to talk. So… I’m here.”
Sullivan’s eyes searched him for a moment before he asked, “Have you brought it?”
Kai didn’t answer.
He simply turned his gaze toward the Knight—still standing silent, watchful, one hand resting near his blade.
Sullivan followed his eyes and nodded in understanding. “Roderic, give us some time.”
The Knight didn’t argue. With a firm nod, he stepped back, giving Kai one last scrutinizing glance before vanishing through the stone archway that led back into the castle. Now, it was just the two of them.
Silence settled over the garden like a soft fog. Neither of them spoke, and when Kai was about to—
“Why don’t you walk with me, Arzan?” Sullivan said in almost above a whisper. “Our last meeting wasn’t exactly… smooth. But there’s a lot I’d like to say.”
Kai gave a single nod. The King turned and began walking deeper into the garden, and Kai followed, boots crunching gently against the gravel path. They didn’t speak at first.
For five full minutes, only the rustle of leaves and distant hum of mana lamps filled the space.
Kai’s eyes drifted from one section of the garden to the next—each turn revealed something new. Sprawling ferns. Winding vines hugging ivory archways. A narrow stream curling like a silver ribbon between beds of moonflowers. If he squinted, he could almost mistake it for a forest, not a garden.
It was alive. And it was massive. And then, finally, the King spoke.
“It took years to get it to this level.”
“You did this yourself? Just you?”
Sullivan nodded slowly, hands folded behind his back. “One of the few things I could do in peace. Peace was never my companion in the early years of my reign. Nor is it now. But… this,” he gestured to the blooming expanse around them, “this helped. Something about watching things grow. Knowing that your effort isn’t wasted, even if it takes time.”
Kai’s eyes roamed the garden once more. “You’ve done a good job with them.”
And he meant it.
The symmetry of the rows, the precise spacing of the beds, the way each plant was allowed its own space and yet none of it felt wild or overgrown—it all told him the same story.
He’d poured hours into this, and this meant more than just a hobby to the King.
If what he knew was correct, the man was a Mage, but hadn’t known to use a single spell in years. He also knew that King Sullivan hadn’t progressed past the second circle.
Lancephil wasn’t a magocracy.
The King didn’t need to be a mage. It simply helped. Especially when dealing with nobles who valued strength and magic more than bloodlines.
None in the royal family had ever made waves in the arcane arts. And Kai had a feeling King Sullivan hadn’t used a single spell to tend to this garden. He did it the old way. With hands and time and care.
Still, the King’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.
“Even if I’ve poured all my life into this place,” Sullivan said softly, “there are still plants that rot.”
He pointed ahead.
Kai followed his gaze and spotted it.
A wilted thing tucked beneath a large, flowering bush. Its leaves had paled, curling inward at the edges. Stems had sagged, brown creeping through green like a slow infection.
“I’ve cared for that one for twenty years,” Sullivan said. “It’s called a Moorshade Lily. Beautiful when it blooms. Do you know what’s interesting about it?”
“What?”
“There’s no guarantee how long it will live,” the King replied. “You can give it perfect soil, perfect light. Water it every morning. Protect it from frost. But one day, it just… rots.”
He crouched slightly beside it, brushing a finger near the decayed leaf.
“These can grow for a year. Or a hundred. All up to fate. No Mage or scholar has figured out the pattern. It just happens.”
He stood again and turned to Kai.
“The kingdom is very much like that right now,” he said quietly. “It rotted when I wasn’t looking. When I trusted others to tend it. And now?”
His voice dropped a note colder.
“I think there’s no saving it. Not as it is. Sometimes, you have to tear the plant out from the roots, throw it away… and start again.”
Kai looked at him for a long moment before asking, “So you’ve given up on it?”
Sullivan’s eyes lingered on the garden path ahead. Then he sighed.
“The current kingdom?” He paused, then gave a slight nod. “Yes. But… I haven’t given up on what it could become. I believe it can still grow. With the right person tending to it.”
His eyes met Kai’s.
“Have you brought the medallion?”
Kai reached into his robe, fingers brushing the cloth-wrapped object. Slowly, he pulled it out, unwrapping it as moonlight coming from the glass roof caught the copper edge.
He handed it over.
King Sullivan took it with both hands, turning it over with a look that was equal parts awe and weariness.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it,” he murmured. “You must’ve gone through quite a bit due to this.”
“A few people tried to kill me. Came close too.”
The King laughed. “And yet here you are. Alive. Stronger than ever. You really do have your mother’s blood in you.”
He turned the medallion in his palm, and looked up.
“So… what do you want to do with it?”
The question hung between them like a blade.
“That medallion is proof. With it, you could ask anything of me. Even the throne.” He said the word without an ounce of hesitation. “Do you want that?”
2025-08-01 18:38:17 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 147
The trials began with a simple round that Chen Ren had already anticipated. One he absolutely needed to cheat through.
“The first round,” the announcer declared in a high-pitched voice that rang across the coliseum, “will be the task that every alchemist faces on their very first day before a cauldron—ingredient analysis! Until one can do that,” the man continued, “they cannot call themselves a true alchemist. It is the foundation upon which every flame, every pill, every concoction is built. We have many, many talented young alchemists here today… but now, let’s see who among them truly knows the tools of their trade.”
As the words left his lips, Chen Ren felt a shift in the air. He narrowed his eyes at the qi around the announcer, simmering out in waves.
All of it was flowing directly toward the rings on his hand. The moment the thought settled, one of the rings glowed and a table materialized in front of Chen Ren with a flash of orange light, an exact replica of the shade of the ring on his hand. On the table, there was a woven basket, filled with unfamiliar ingredients. To the side, there was a parchment, a pot of ink, and a sharpened quill. Dozens of identical tables appeared all across the field in front of every participant.
Gasps echoed in waves—some of the younger alchemists were probably seeing spatial rings in action for the first time.
So that’s how they’re doing this, Chen Ren thought. There was little to no need for servants. One man and his ten rings were more than enough for a lot of showmanship.
When the last table had settled and the excitement faded to silence, the announcer turned once more to the participants, then to the crowd.
“Each of you has ten minutes to identify every ingredient before you,” he announced. “Those who fail to meet the standard—who identify the fewest—will be eliminated.”
Another flare from the man’s rings, and a massive hourglass—easily three meters tall—appeared beside his platform, its upper chamber already glowing faintly with golden sand.
“Your time starts now,” the announcer declared. “Prove yourselves well.”
As the announcer’s final words echoed across the arena, a stentorian cheer swept through the crowd. The kind of cheer that made the ground tremble and goosebumps rise on arms.
Chen Ren ignored it.
He reached into the basket and pulled out the first ingredient—a slender blue herb with a long, almost tortuous stalk and veins running through its surface. The texture was unfamiliar. The scent was faint, bitter. He had never seen anything like it before.
A rare herb, he guessed. They were not pulling punches.
Whoever had put the ingredient list together was making sure this trial wasn’t something anyone could pass through with surface-level training.
Next to him, Tau Liu leaned slightly and whispered, “Good luck, Sect Leader Chen. I know you’ll do well.”
On his other side, Jie Foong gave him a quick, encouraging nod before focusing on her own table.
Chen Ren almost chuckled. He nearly replied that he didn’t need luck—he had help.
As he eyed the blue herb again, a voice rang crisply inside his head. “That’s Yinxiao Vine. Crush the stalk to test for shimmer.”
He smiled faintly and wrote it down with swift, practiced strokes before reaching into the basket again.
This time, it was a silver-white herb shaped almost exactly like a feather, soft and translucent at the tips.
“That one’s Windtrace Fern. It grows only near spiritual springs.”
The answers came instantly.
Chen Ren didn’t waste time questioning or thinking it over. His hand flew across the parchment. Herb by herb, he moved down the pile. His fingers were quick between one ingredient after another. For a brief second, he felt as if his mind was clearer than it had ever been during alchemy work. It was like having an encyclopedia in his ear.
By the time the giant hourglass had poured about half its golden sand, Chen Ren had already breezed through most of the pile. Only three ingredients remained.
He looked at them but didn’t move to touch them.
“Why did you stop? Chen Ren, show them to us.”
“I’m not getting everything right. If I do too well, they’ll start getting suspicious. I just need to pass.”
With that, he dropped down on an act, knowing Gao Moyue was undoubtedly watching him closely.
So he leaned forward again, furrowed his brows, and began flipping back through the ingredients he’d already recorded, pretending to second-guess his own answers. He scratched his head, rubbed his chin, and even erased one name before rewriting it again—acting the part of a young, slightly uncertain but hard-working alchemist.
Chen Ren kept up the act—frowning at his own parchment, occasionally scratching down a fake correction—until the voice of the announcer rang out once more.
“Time’s up!” he called out. “Please hand over your parchments and return to your original positions!”
The field shifted with motion as alchemists began turning in their sheets, some trudged with reluctant steps, while others moved forward briskly. Chen Ren did the same, sliding his parchment onto the collection table before stepping back to his spot.
He looked around again.
Huh…. Most of them didn’t look happy. Frowns, downcast gazes, nervous shifting—all signs that the ingredients had indeed been rare and obscure was there. Whoever curated the round hadn’t wanted it to be passed easily.
He glanced to the side at Jie Foong. She stood still, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the dirt beneath her feet like it had personally insulted her.
“It’s okay,” Chen Ren said quietly. “You’ll pass.”
“I don’t know, Sect Leader Chen… I only recognized five ingredients. The rest… I just guessed.”
“I’m sure the others had it hard too. You’re not alone,” Chen Ren said, trying his best to console her somehow.
“But the Darkmoon disciples,” she said, finally lifting her gaze. “They look so confident.”
Chen Ren followed her eyes.
Across the arena floor, the three disciples from the Darkmoon Sect were huddled in a tight knot, speaking in low voices. They were trying to keep discreet, but the smiles gave it away. One of them, a taller youth with a jade badge on his belt, even let out a short, smug laugh.
Chen Ren didn’t recognize the first two. But the third—
Confirming his thoughts, Yalan’s voice rang in his head.
“It’s him. The fool.”
Chen Ren immediately understood who that was. For a moment, the man looked back and their eyes met, and for the briefest moment, neither backed down. Chen Ren couldn’t help but smile, recalling how he set the man up.
The man scowled and turned away. Still petty, Chen Ren noted. Maybe the sect had given him another chance to prove his worth by letting him take part in the trial. Yeah, probably, or else he wouldn’t be here.
Before he could dwell further, the announcer raised one hand high in the air, and once again the entire arena quieted down like a spell had been cast.
“This year’s first round,” the announcer said, drawing out the pause, “was particularly difficult, it seems.”
The audience broke out into a murmur. The nervousness in the air increased by a tide. Though he stayed still, maintaining his posture with his hands behind his back.
The announcer paused, letting the tension thrum in the silence like a string pulled taut. He scanned the crowd, smiling slightly—feeding off the anticipation.
“Out of the sixty-seven alchemists who gathered for this year’s trials,” he finally declared. “Only thirty have made it to the next round.”
Chen Ren could swear he heard at least fifty gasps at once.
“Not even half,” the announcer said. “A testament to the sheer difficulty of this year’s trial. And, the one who managed to score the highest… is someone very special.”
He paused again, milking the anticipation.
“A new face in these trials. But not a stranger to the city. The sect he leads has been making waves in recent weeks for its innovative pills and rising name in the apothecary scene.”
Chen Ren’s stomach tightened.
“Give a round of cheers to—Chen Ren! Sect Leader of the Divine Coin Sect! Fourteen out of eighteen ingredients… correct!”
Regardless of the sad news that more than half will be dropping out, a roar of cheers erupted around him. Chen Ren didn’t feel pride, if anything, he felt the pressure as every eye turned toward him.
And along with the gazes came a pressure—a particularly vile, watchful presence wafting down from the VIP stands like a low-grade poison. His gaze flickered upward, but before he could pinpoint it—
“He’s furious,” Yalan’s voice whispered in his mind, amused. “Wang Jun wants to know how the hell you got one wrong. He’s demanding a reinspection.”
“Tell him to shut up.”
“That’ll go well.”
But he didn’t have time to focus on Yalan or Wang Jun's rage. The announcer had resumed speaking, listing the names of those who passed.
Unsurprisingly, all three disciples of the Darkmoon Sect have made it to the next round. Second place with twelve correct, third place with eleven correct and fifth place with ten correct. In fourth place Tau Liu came with ten correct. A polite round of applause followed for all of them and Chen Ren gave a quick look at Tau Liu, who offered a brief nod in return.
More names followed, but he doubted he needed to be careful with anyone. Chen Ren listened without really hearing, until he heard that Jie Foong passed seventh from last with six right.
She exhaled beside him, visibly relieved, her posture straightening for the first time in minutes. “Thank the heavens…”
Chen Ren gave her a quick nod. “Told you you’d make it.”
The rest weren’t so lucky.
The moment the last name was called, those who hadn’t made the cut began filing out of the arena with their shoulders low. Some looked devastated. Others resigned. A few tried to keep their expressions neutral, but their pace gave them away.
One round down, Chen Ren thought. More to go.
Once only thirty alchemists remained on the field, the announcer stepped forward again.
“Now that the first round is complete,” he declared. “We move to the practical side of alchemy. In this round, you will be required to produce an entire batch of pills—twelve, to be exact—in a very limited timeframe. But quantity alone isn’t enough.”
He raised one finger.
“Each of those twelve pills must meet a purity threshold of fifty percent or higher. Only those who succeed will proceed to the final round.”
There was a pause as the weight of that statement settled across the participants.
“You may choose any pill you’re comfortable with,” the announcer added. “But the time limit is strict. Fifteen minutes. Not a second more.”
In a second, Qi surged from his body, flowing into the spatial rings on his fingers. They flared briefly with pale light—then pop, pop, pop—a cauldron appeared in front of each alchemist, neatly spaced out on the arena floor.
Chen Ren’s gaze slid to the side as a massive table shimmered into view near the center. It was stocked with dozens of common ingredients—roots, shavings, dried herbs, powdered minerals—all standard fare for Mortal grade pills.
The announcer gestured toward it. “You have five minutes to gather what you need. Once the signal is given, the round will begin.”
That announcement was met with a surge of movement as alchemists darted toward the table.
Chen Ren stood still for a second longer. If the last round was like taking a walk through a garden, this would be like running through a mountain. I would have to work to pass this round.
He’d spent nearly every night over the past week practicing for this event. Repetition. Flame control. Batch production timing. And still, it wasn’t perfect. Getting all twelve pills out of a batch was already hard enough, but consistently hitting fifty percent purity?
That’s where it breaks most people.
But he didn’t need to be the best. He just had to pass.
He moved toward the table, weaving through the crowd, hands quick as he selected ingredients for a basic Qi Replenishment Pill—a recipe simple enough to keep steady but clean enough to impress.
Just as he was placing the last root in his pouch, he felt it—that prickling sensation at the back of his neck.
He looked around before he saw where it came from.
Across the other side of the table, the three disciples from the Darkmoon Sect stood with their own bundles of herbs clutched in hand. They weren’t moving anymore. Just watching him.
All three wore identical smirks—thin, crooked faces full of smug delight. They whispered to one another, glancing at him between chuckles like a private joke was unfolding at his expense.
Chen Ren didn’t look away. He didn’t rise to the bait either. He just gave them the smallest nod, turned, and walked back to his cauldron.
Let them laugh.
To the surprise of no one, the three Darkmoon Sect disciples followed him, with squared shoulders, steps in sync, like wolves circling a deer they thought was already bleeding.
The one in the center led the charge. Taller than the others, with striking violet robes and a silver clasp marking his status as someone important, he wore the kind of smirk that made people itch to wipe it off.
“Well, well,” he drawled, voice loud enough for nearby alchemists to hear. “The Divine Coin Sect must be truly desperate having its sect leader stoop to compete in a trial meant for disciples.”
Before Chen Ren could respond, Tau Liu stepped in from the side. “Shut your trap, Ningkai.”
Ningkai shrugged. “Did I say anything wrong?” he asked innocently, though his tone dripped with mockery.
“No. I don’t think you did,” Chen Ren said and his words clearly surprised Ningkai as his lips sealed shut. “I admit our sect is still small. Barely formed. Not even a decade old. But isn’t it strange? Even with all your resources, prestige, and years of formal training… I still did better than you in the first round… Says a lot about where the Darkmoon Sect is headed, doesn’t it?”
“And let’s not pretend this is just a disciples’ contest,” Chen Ren added. “This is a trial for alchemists. And we all qualify for that title, no matter our rank or robes.”
That was when the other disciple—the spy, the one who had disgraced himself working in Divine Pill Apothecary—growled low in his throat. “Speak within your limits,” he spat. “You might call yourself a sect leader, but you’re weaker than me and you know it.”
Chen Ren took a step forward and raised and eyebrow.
“Maybe,” he said. “But you’re the one who made a fool of himself folding herbs and scrubbing mortar bowls in my shop. I still remember how you botched even the weighing scale.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “If you want advice… stop underestimating cultivators just because they have fewer stars than you in their realm. You might live a decade or two longer that way.”
The man flushed, fury flashing in his eyes. He took a step forward, hand rising slightly.
But before it could go any further, Ningkai stepped in, one hand pressing down on his shoulder.
“We’re in an alchemy competition,” he said coldly. “Save your temper. You’ll get your revenge by defeating him, not throwing tantrums like a child.”
The spy huffed through his nose but nodded, eyes still locked on Chen Ren with unhidden hatred.
“Let’s see if you’re still grinning after you lose,” he said. “When your Divine Coin Sect’s ‘prestige’ crumbles into the dirt.”
Chen Ren didn’t respond.
He just turned away and returned to his cauldron. Let them talk. Once he was in his position, he placed stuff down and looked over at Tau Liu and Jie Foong, who were already looking at him.
“Trash talk doesn’t suit them,” he said dryly.
They both gave small nods in agreement before returning their focus to the ingredient table. There wasn’t time for pettiness—not now. Chen Ren selected a second set of ingredients on instinct and put them on the side. Just in case.
One failed batch and it’s over. Fifteen minutes sounded longer than it really was especially when a standard Qi Replenishment Pill batch took at least nine minutes with good control. And even then, half the results were usually unsalvageable. If his hands slipped or the balance went off by a breath, the purity would dip below acceptable range.
He couldn't afford that.
Then, Yalan’s voice rang in his mind again.
“Wang Jun said he can help you.”
“What? How?”
“He said to follow his instructions exactly. Step for step. And you’ll get a clean batch.”
Chen Ren hesitated, eyes flicking over to the cauldron before him. Was it worth relying on the head now? They hadn’t planned for him to step in during this round. But if there was ever a time for a wildcard…
“…Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s hear it.”
At that moment, the announcer raised both hands once again, voice echoing across the arena with theatrical flair.
“Now that everyone has selected their ingredients,” he declared, “the second round of the Flames of Merit Trials—the Cauldron Round—will begin!”
The crowd let out a restrained cheer, and the announcer gave one last nod.
“Good luck to all our alchemists. Show us your flame, your craft, and your mastery.”
With a smooth flick of his fingers, the massive hourglass beside him reset, golden sand collecting at the top.
A pulse of qi flowed outward from his rings and every cauldron in the arena flared to life in unison, lighting up with bright, eager flames.
Chen Ren immediately moved, tossing the first ingredients toward the cauldron, but Yalan’s voice cut in before he could continue.
“He said to dim the flames. And only add the Jadeveil Root and Spirit Ash Powder first.”
His hand hovered in the air. “You sure?”
“Wang Jun also said if you start second-guessing him, he’s going to stop helping.”
Chen Ren sighed inwardly. Of course he would.
He calmed his breathing, pushed a wave of qi toward the fire, dialing it back to a steady simmering pulse. Then, carefully, he dropped in the two named ingredients.
They hissed as they met the flame, sinking into the swirling depths of the cauldron, a faint lustre rising with the steam.
We hadn’t planned this, he thought. But if Wang Jun’s going to help, I’ll take every advantage I can get.
2025-07-30 17:42:27 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 257
Kai went to sleep thinking about explosions, and not the kind that came from fireballs or collapsing towers. But the kind that happened when two opposing forces refused to back down.
In spell theory, things were much less… complicated. When two equal circle spells of different aspects collided, the result was chaos. There were exceptions of course. When one spell vastly overpowered the other, or when compatibility somehow let them blend. But those were rare. And this wasn’t one of those cases.
Here, both women were equally matched. One was a Viscountess, and the other was a Baroness. Neither bowed to the other, and neither had lost. Which meant that neither was willing to give up. They had warred for decades, locking horns in silence, sabotaging each other in rooms, estates and wherever their powers reached. Even after everything, to think that no one had emerged victorious was quite the feast.
If he tried to side with one, that meant he’d be closing the door on the other completely, and right now, he couldn’t afford to do that. Not when the Assembly was so close.
It was a predicament that he could clearly not solve with strength.
Another thought had crossed his mind—cutting off the barons that supported them one by one. Isolate the roots, and maybe the tree would fall. But even that was wishful thinking. Ten days. That was all the time he had before the Assembly began. Obviously, it was not enough time to unravel years of loyalty of these barons.
He was sure that Francis and the rest of them had already thought of that but had come to the same conclusion.
So Kai knew the only way was for him to solve the feud. Yet, more questions arose. How do you keep two forces, locked in opposition, from destroying each other and everything around them?
He had no answer.
Not when he slept. Not when he woke up.
But the question still clung to him as he dressed, tied the last strap of his cloak, and made his way to the meeting room.
When he stepped inside, the three were already there—Francis, Killian, and Leopold. Sharing bread and spiced eggs over quiet conversation.
Kai looked at the table and raised a brow.
“Did you three sleep here too?”
Francis and Killian stood at once, offering a bow. Leopold, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, took a leisurely bite of bread. “Mmm, not really. I actually shifted to the estate we’ve got in the capital the moment my father arrived. He doesn’t let me stay there alone. Says I need to earn it.” He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, I get it, but it’s still annoying.”
Kai slid into the seat across from him. “I can understand.”
“Can you? Duke Kellius was like that?”
“No,” Kai replied without missing a beat. “He was more... absent. But I’ve had mentors like that. I’d say it counts.”
Leopold looked like he wanted to press further, but Kai was already turning to Francis.
“Other than Baroness Marren… and Viscountess Vaessa—I'm guessing there are others who haven’t officially picked a side yet. The ones still biding their time.”
Francis gave a small nod. “They are. I’ve sent invitations to all of them. They’ll be at the banquet hosted by Duke Blackwood. Most of them want to hear from you before they make any decisions.”
“They want to know if backing me is worth going against the princes.”
“Exactly,” Francis said. “It’s not about loyalty to them, Lord Arzan—they want insurance. Assurance. Noble words, future promises, security. Things only you can give.”
Leopold nodded, still chewing. “He’s right. Noble words are worth their weight in gold. Especially when they come from a Count with Duke’s blood. Let them hear you, see you actually invested in them, and they’ll sway.” He smirked. “It’s very similar to young nobles talking their way into a maiden’s bedroom.”
Killian let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a terrifying comparison.”
“But accurate,” Francis muttered.
“Seems like you’ve got experience with that,” Kai said at last.
Leopold flashed a grin. “Some.” But then his smile faded, and he leaned forward, voice turning serious. “But yes—jokes aside, you need to tread carefully. You’ll be the star of the banquet, the one everyone wants to talk to. If you play it wrong, you could lose not just their interest, but your current support too. And that’s risky.”
Kai nodded, appreciating the reminder. He knew that already, but hearing it said aloud helped reinforce how precarious everything truly was.
“I get it,” he said. “I believe I’ve gotten better with politics.” He turned to Francis. “Anyone I need to be extra wary of?”
Francis gave a slight nod. “There are a few. First—Viscount Alburn. He’s been interested for a while but insists that any formal support comes with a marriage alliance. His daughter, Lady Reine, is eighteen and ambitious. We’ve been delaying those talks until after the assembly, but be careful with what you say around him. He’s persistent.”
Kai blinked. “Noted.”
Francis continued, “Then there’s Baron Vilden. He wants an exclusive contract for our golems in exchange for his backing. Heard about them during the beast wave and fief war. You’ll need to be vague but polite, he’ll press you on specifics.”
Kai groaned internally but didn’t show it.
“And that’s not all,” Francis added, reaching for a scroll. “Baroness Virel expects you to show interest in her son’s trade routes. Lord Winson is waiting to see if you’ll openly speak against the second prince, who he hates due to a past incident. And Lady Enya... wants a personal meeting before she commits, likely to assess if you’re charismatic enough to follow.”
The list kept going.
And the more Francis spoke, the more Kai realized that the hardest part of the banquet might not be saying the right things, but remembering who was who, and what promises had been made—or hinted at—to each of them.
None of these nobles thought they were doing him a favor. In their minds, they were risking everything to stand against the Princes. And they expected that risk to be well-compensated.
If he slipped—even once—it could all fall apart.
Francis kept talking through most of the breakfast, taking names, weaving details and strategies together.
Kai listened quietly, storing every name and condition in the back of his mind. He’d review it all again before the banquet.
But it wasn’t just the nobles and banquet logistics weighing on Kai’s mind. He’d been in Hermil for nearly a full day now, and there’d still been no summons from King Sullivan.
Not even a letter.
The silence gnawed at him.
The king had sent a herald months ago, inviting him to meet once he arrived in the capital. That had to count for something. But if he waited too long, it might seem like he was ignoring the crown.
Once breakfast was over, Kai leaned back in his chair and glanced toward Leopold.
“If I wanted to find King Sullivan,” he said casually. “Where do you think he’d be in the castle?”
“What? Planning to kidnap the King now? Hope he’ll whisk you away and spare you from the assembly?”
Kai chuckled. “Obviously not. He sent a letter months back, asking to meet when I came to Hermil. I’m just thinking... I might not get a formal invitation. So maybe I should go to him instead.”
Leopold squinted his eyes, surprised, but only for a second. “Huh. Alright. If it’s the King you’re after, there are really only two places he’s known to spend time. His personal chambers... or his garden. Not the royal one, mind you, the one behind the old chapel around his chambers. He prefers peace, and that’s where he finds it.”
“Got it,” Kai said, keeping that in mind.
“But wait—you’re not just going to fly over to the castle, are you?” Leopold said. “The entire place is laced with guard posts and defensive wards. If you flutter too close, you’ll set off alarms.”
Kai offered him a faint grin. “I know. I’m not stupid. But I have ideas. It won’t be hard.”
Leopold frowned. “Yeah? Just don’t let the nobles give you a title like ‘Skyborn Assassin’ or something. They’d love to twist that narrative if they—”
A sharp knock on the door cut him off. Everyone turned to look.
Killian was the first to move. One hand slid to the hilt of his sword as he stepped toward the door with the quiet grace of a warrior expecting trouble.
“Who’s there?” he asked sharply. “State your purpose.” There was a beat of silence.
Then a familiar voice responded, muffled but composed. “I’m Anya. Maid of Princess Amara. The princess is here to meet Count Arzan.”
Everyone in the room visibly relaxed.
Killian opened the door swiftly, and there they were. Anya, standing with a servant’s poise, and beside her, Princess Amara.
They all stood in respect, giving the proper bows in the presence of royalty, but as Kai raised his eyes to meet hers, he didn’t find the familiar warmth or excitement he’d come to associate with Amara’s gaze.
She looked… afraid.
Her face was pale, her hands tense by her sides. It was as if her heart had shattered and she was still holding the shards in her chest. Kai stepped toward her immediately, concern etching his voice. “Princess Amara… is everything alright? You look—”
“Stressed?” She finished softly. “I am. There’s something weighing on my mind. And…” Her eyes met his, troubled. “It involves you, Count Arzan.”
He stilled. “What is it?”
As soon as Kai said it, Amara’s eyes went to the floor. Kai waited till she took a second to herself, clearly seeing the panic in her face. With a heavy sigh, she reached into her robes and took out a sealed envelope. Her fingers shook when she extended it,
“My mother sent this.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Kai felt the air shift.
He reached out and took the letter without a word, already dreading what it might contain. The seal was intact. A crest designed as a snake biting off an apple—Regina’s mark probably—pressed deep into the wax.
He broke it open, unfolded the parchment and read.
Meet me in my chambers. Find Selwin. He will guide you.
It was all that was written. A part of him expected a threat to be there, a command or something else, but the simple instruction made his chest tighten.
Regina wanted to meet him?
After all she had done—after trying to kill him through Actra, after manipulating his own brother into creating a beast wave and a fief war and using people like pawns on a board—why now? What game was she playing? Did she want to end it in person?
As his mind reeled with possibilities, Amara stepped closer, her voice trembling.
“Count Arzan… are you going to avoid it? Or are you going to meet her?”
Kai looked up at her. Her question rang in his mind like a drum. And then he looked at the letter again.
“I’m going to meet her,” Kai said.
***
Kai had no idea what Regina truly wanted.
They had been fighting for a while now—without ever meeting face to face. But that hadn’t lessened the blows. Every major scheme that had threatened him or his territory could be traced back to her shadow. The poison running through the kingdom's veins often bore her fingerprints, even if she remained cloaked behind silk curtains and courtly smiles.
Even Amara hadn’t known the reason behind the sudden summons. A private meeting, just days before the Assembly? It stank of a trap. But Kai didn’t fear that.
If anything, he saw it as overdue.
He needed to see her. To assess her with his own eyes. And if Regina tried something... he would end it. No matter her lineage, no matter her titles, no matter what games she played, he wasn’t going to let her do whatever she wanted with him.
Still, he didn’t dwell on her. Not aloud.
Every time her mother’s name came up, Amara tensed like a string being drawn taut, ready to snap. So he let the subject go and instead turned his focus to something else entirely.
“Thank you,” he said simply.
“For what?”
“For helping with the nobles. Francis told me what you’ve done. How you've been pushing my name forward in the right circles.” His gaze softened. “Political power or not, you made a difference.”
She shifted a little, clearly unused to praise. “I… only spoke to a few people. It wasn’t—”
“It was,” he cut in gently. “Titles mean little when no one listens. But people listened to you. That counts.”
A soft flush crept onto her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide it—though the faintest smile tugged at her lips. He didn’t press further. He knew her by now. Amara never took praise well, not because she didn’t deserve it, but because she'd been starved of it her whole life.
She simply had the title of a Princess. It held little value inside the kingdom, but from what Francis had told him before, she’d managed to get a good reputation for him, where the reputation mattered most—in noble circles. Even influential merchants were looking at him in a better light.
That had been extremely useful. It had gotten Kai a few more nobles that shifted their tide, and expressed their willingness to bet on him—all thanks to Amara.
The latter joined the breakfast, where all they talked about was strategy. Leopold wanted to talk more about Regina, but he shot it down.
They moved on to continuing their discussion on the banquet—the event that could shape the tide of the Assembly. There would be nobles and merchants and people on the fence, ready to tip toward whichever side offered the better future, or the better deal.
Kai knew he’d be at the center of it all. Every word, every gesture, would be judged left and right. And he had no intention of letting any of it go to waste.
So, he spent the rest of the day learning.
Names of nobles. Their titles. Their specialties. Their weaknesses and grudges. Who owed who favors. Who had family members in the capital. Who hated each other.
Surprisingly, Amara proved invaluable. Every now and then, she’d chime in—correcting Francis, clarifying a noble’s reputation, or sharing a quiet scandal that helped Kai understand how best to approach them.
It was exhausting work.
Leopold left halfway through, grumbling something about meeting his father. But Kai, Francis, Killian, Anya and Amara remained—pouring through documents, memory, and anecdotes well into the evening.
They skipped lunch. Too much to process. Too much at stake.
By the time the sun began to set, even Amara stood up with a sigh. “I should go,” she said, adjusting the folds of her dress. “It’s not proper for me to stay out this late.”
Kai nodded. But before she left, he asked casually, “Amara… the castle. Do you know where the king’s private garden is? And his chambers?”
She tugged her dress and tilted her head. “I do, but... why do you want to know?”
“Just curious….”
She frowned, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press further. She simply answered his question and stepped towards the door.
Once she left, and the room finally quieted, Kai reviewed his notes one last time.
Then, when the stars began to rise over Hermil, he pushed mana towards his legs, stepping out of the window and lifting into the sky.
It was time to meet the King. And see what kind of game Sullivan intended to play. And if he got out early, Regina would be the next on his list to visit.
2025-07-30 17:40:13 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 146
"After all this time—shoving me in this less-than-affluent room like some forgotten trinket—you come crawling back, begging for my help to win an alchemy competition? You really are shameless,” Wang Jun said, huffing at him.
“First of all—yes. I’m shameless. Second—stop acting like an abandoned lover. You know why you were kept here. I told you before we left the sect.” Chen Ren folded his arms in front of him.
Wang Jun scoffed.
“It’s not like we’ve sealed you in a coffin. You can go out sometimes, but we can’t parade you around in a big city. You’re a severed talking head, not exactly subtle. Besides, Anji was here every day to keep you company.”
Anji, seated quietly to the side, gave a respectful nod. The head turned his sharp glare toward her.
“She’s my disciple. Of course she comes to learn. That doesn’t count as a company. I don’t remember seeing you or that mangy cat in here.”
“I had better things to do than chat with a decapitated ego.” Yalan drawled from her perch on the windowsill, lazily grooming a paw.
Chen Ren sighed. “I was busy setting up operations. You know that.”
But even as the words left his mouth, guilt stirred beneath his ribs. He had been avoiding the head. Not because he didn’t need him, but because every conversation was like chewing glass. Sharp tongue, endless judgment, and the head always acted as if he could say nothing wrong.
“And yet,” Wang Jun said with a mocking smile, “here you are wanting me to help with the competition. But unless you plan to wheel me out in a gilded cart, I’m not much use like this, am I? And what you’re planning… It reeks of cheating. Once it comes out—and it will—you’ll be neck-deep in trouble. And me?” He bared his teeth. “I’ll be snatched up by whichever bigwig cultivator wants to study the talking head with secrets from a forgotten era.”
“That won’t come to be,” Chen Ren said. “You’ll stay in a crate packed with herbs. We’ll lay concealment arrays around it to make sure no one looks twice. You just have to sit there and talk.”
The head blinked. “And no one will hear my voice, I suppose?”
“That’s easy to fix,” Yalan said. She turned her amber eyes on the head, and something shifted in the air—subtle, like a ripple beneath still water.
The head’s eyes widened a fraction. For a moment, he was silent. Then he muttered, “I thought you only knew one soul technique.”
Chen Ren watched and could guess what Yalan was doing.
“I’ve clearly underestimated you,” Wang Jun admitted almost bitterly, sounding as if he didn’t want to accept it.
Yalan purred cat-like, “Even if I revealed more of my cards, you still wouldn’t guess the extent of my power.”
From the side, Wang Jun scoffed. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered, then turned his attention to Chen Ren. “So this is it, huh? You’re really going to cheat your way through this competition.”
“Only in some rounds,” Chen Ren said with a shrug. “I’ll still be doing most of the work myself. But besides feeding me advice through Yalan, I need you to teach me a pill. One for the final round. Something simple but extinct. And it has to be unique, something no one else will think of.”
“Just make the flavored pills.”
“Those won’t qualify. They’re just altered versions of existing formulas. And do you really think I want to make something like that in public?” He exhaled slowly. “There will be special rooms for the final round—private ones to prevent recipes from leaking—but I can’t trust anyone. I need something obscure, hidden in plain sight. A pill that's easy to make and something that might be common back in your childhood, but no one remembers now.” He leaned in slightly. “I know you have something.”
The head’s grin slowly returned. This time, it was tinged with curiosity. And maybe, just maybe… a hint of pride.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because I know you’re crafty enough to keep plenty of cards close to your sleeve. No one gets to where you were without being stingy with their secrets. I’d even bet what you’ve told me so far isn’t even ten percent of what you really know.”
Wang Jun clicked his tongue, the sound echoing faintly against the stone walls. “Very perceptive, kid.”
“It’s just logical reasoning,” Chen Ren said with a shrug.
“Call it whatever you like.” Wang Jun’s eyes drifted upward for a second. “I might have something. A pill recipe. Nothing groundbreaking, but obscure enough that no one around here would recognize it. Easy ingredients too.”
“What is it?” Chen Ren asked without wasting a second.
“Before that, tell me. Why should I help you at all?”
Nothing is free, Chen Ren thought to himself, reminding how the world works, and how it would always be.
“So you do want something out of it.”
“Of course I do. My charitable days are centuries behind me.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
Wang Jun’s grin curled upward like smoke. “What can you give me?”
“Oh, so you don’t know either?”
“Oh, I know.” His eyes glinted. “I just want you to offer it to me. Without me asking. That’s how you earn a real favor from me.”
Chen Ren exhaled through his nose. Annoying. Predictable. And yet expected. He already knew the answer.
“I’ll get you the Stormbite Pills.”
The head lit up—well, as much as a head without a body could. “Not just that,” Wang Jun added with a groan. “I want out of this damn room. I’m bored out of my mind. Whatever she brings me to read feels like chewing gravel, and you do get tired of turning pages with your tongue.”
Yalan looked mildly disgusted. Anji looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. Chen Ren pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You know you can’t come out except during the competition,” Chen Ren said. “But once it’s over, and I head back to the sect… I’ll bring you with me.”
Wang Jun gave a slow nod, clearly unsatisfied but willing to accept the compromise for now. “And the books?”
Chen Ren sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know if there’s anything in the new library back in the sect that’ll actually interest you. But… Do you like storybooks?”
“What kind of stories?”
Chen Ren hesitated. “Fated lovers. I wrote one a while back for Qing He. I might have a few more still bouncing around in my head. I could write them down for you.”
There was a long pause.
An extremely long pause of just Wang Jun thinking to himself and the rest of them staring. If he agreed soon, then Chen Ren could get registration over with quickly.
But for that, he needed to agree.
It was daunting, the final minutes with just the head looking at nothing.
Finally, he spoke. “Well, alright. If they’re any good, I’ll do the job.”
Chen Ren let out a long breath of relief, some of the tension lifting from his shoulders. Finally, he thought, something’s going my way.
He pushed himself up off the floor.
“Thank you.”
“Where are you going, Sect Leader Chen?” Anji asked, her arms tucked behind her back.
“With Wang Jun on board, I’m heading to register for the trials,” Chen Ren replied, brushing the dust from his robes. “Alongside the others. Better to get it done early. I don’t want the Darkmoon Sect pulling anything if we’re late.”
He paused at the door, glancing back. “There’s one more thing I want to do while I’m at the City Lord’s office.”
“And what would that be, kid?”
“I realized something,” Chen Ren said, slipping his hands into his sleeves. “One advantage the Darkmoon Sect has is their ties to the city officials. I’m going to try to even that.”
Yalan, still perched lazily on the windowsill, narrowed her eyes. “You gonna give them gifts?”
“Something like that.” Chen Ren smirked. “I have an idea. It all depends on whether they listen to me. But if they do… they might start liking Divine Coin Sect a whole lot more.”
***
A week passed by faster than Chen Ren had expected.
After registering for the trials, he threw himself into preparation with single-minded focus. If he was being honest, he would’ve preferred to avoid participating at all, but he didn’t have the luxury of choice. According to Hun Tianzhi, only two disciples from Jadefire Hall had any real chance of standing out in the competition. And only Chen Ren could make use of Yalan’s telepathic link—and Wang Jun’s sharp tongue—since the others either didn’t know about them or lacked the skill in alchemy to benefit.
So, for seven days straight, Chen Ren buried himself in refining his technique.
Days were spent at the Jadefire Hall’s compound, where Hun Tianzhi surprisingly stepped into the role of mentor. It was an awkward arrangement at first—one born more out of necessity than camaraderie—but the old man clearly knew his stuff. Mornings became a blur of herbs, flame control, and pill refinement. Evenings, meanwhile, were reserved for hours of biting commentary from a disembodied head.
He didn’t waste time chasing complexity. A week wasn’t enough to make him an Earth-grade alchemist, and he knew that. But it was enough to sharpen his foundation. His basics, honed quietly on his own under Qing He’s old notes, began to take real form under pressure. He didn’t spread himself thin experimenting—he focused only on the pills he’d be presenting during the competition aside from the one unique pill for the final round.
According to Hun Tianzhi, his talent was “adequate.” Chen Ren took that as a compliment. It didn’t have to be dazzling. It just had to be enough to win.
Of course, the moral dilemma hung at the back of his mind like a buzzing fly. Cheating—at least by traditional standards—was frowned upon. But this wasn’t a world where hard work alone took you places. The ones who rose fast were the ones showered with alchemical baths in their cribs, gilded sect tokens in their pockets, and entire clans smoothing the road ahead.
So what if he bent the rules a little? It wasn’t cheating unless he got caught.
And Chen Ren had no intention of getting caught.
Like that, the day of the Flames of Merit Trials.
finally arrived, and it felt as though the entire city had come to a halt just to witness it.
Shops closed early. Market stalls emptied. Even the outer patrols of the city guard increased to keep the ruffians in check. Everyone—from street vendors to cloaked cultivators—seemed to be heading toward the massive arena built beside the City Lord’s estate. It wasn’t just a field with a few seats—it was a coliseum in the truest sense, its stone seats rising in concentric circles, high enough that the top rows caught the wind.
Chen Ren stood at the edge of the participants’ staging area, eyeing the crowd. Tens of thousands, at least. Laughter, shouting, chants—the noise alone made his robes feel heavier.
Would’ve made a killing with a noodle stall here, he thought with a grim smile. But still, there was a silver lining. Events like these pulled in not just mortals, but wandering cultivators, rogue pill masters, and merchant factions looking for talent. And thanks to that flood of attention, the Divine Pill Apothecary had doubled its daily sales in the last few days.
If things continued like this, his debt would be dust by the end of the tournament.
The competition hadn’t even begun yet, and already the stands were filled. Cheers roared from every direction, even as the participants—over a hundred of them—stood lined up on the ground under the blazing sun, forced to endure the ceremonial wait.
Because before any pill was made, before any fire was lit, came the speeches.
It took nearly half a day.
One by one, officials arrived—riding in on carriages, clouds, beasts, and in one case, an actual flying palanquin. The City Lord came last, taking his seat beneath a golden canopy. Trumpets flared. Flags waved. And then the announcer stepped up onto a raised platform in the middle of the field, projecting his voice with a wind-based technique.
“—As you all know,” the man boomed, “Broken Ridge City is the bastion of the empire! For centuries, it has held the line against the foul tide of the insectoids!”
The audience erupted with cheers.
“And while we are grateful to the brave hunters and noble sects who risk life and limb to keep our borders safe, they—” the announcer gestured dramatically to the lined-up participants “—are only as strong as the pills they take! The medicines that bind their wounds! The flames that push back the infection!”
Chen Ren tried not to fidget. His legs were already stiff.
“These pills—our salvation—are born in the crucible of minds like these! Talented alchemists, nurtured by years of study, supported by the finest cultivators in the empire… and all of this is possible thanks to the wisdom and patronage of our own City Lord, Lord Bai Huiqin!”
The people erupted into more cheers, much louder this time.
Chen Ren stood at the back of the long line of alchemists, flanked by Tau Liu, the only disciple from his sect that stood an outside chance to win the trial, and Jie Foong, another sect member he’d only had passing interactions with. She looked calm, almost bored, but Chen Ren could tell from the slight tension in her jaw that she was just as on edge as the rest of them.
At the center of the arena, the announcer stood on a raised block of earth as he danced expertly between praising the alchemists and periodically heaping praise on the City Lord, like a well-rehearsed performance.
Chen Ren barely listened.
Instead, his gaze lifted toward the elevated seats at the side of the grounds where the City Lord Huiqin and the rest of the high officials sat, shaded beneath silk canopies. Most of them looked mildly interested or politely amused.
But Chen Ren’s eyes found only one man—the leader of the Darkmoon Sect, Gao Moyue, wearing deep violet robes. He was easy to identify due to the color of his robes, and he understood why he was so influential. Even seated, he looked as if he owned the entire arena.
Their eyes met. Just for a second. The man smirked.
Chen Ren looked away without reacting, fixing his gaze back on the announcer, whose voice was now reaching its climax.
“…These alchemists, with their pills, have ensured that every broken bone, every clogged meridian, and every poisoned core is healed. Thanks to them, our warriors rise again, stronger each time!”
The crowd roared in approval.
“And this is what the Flames of MeritTrials celebrate! The alchemists—our city’s supporting beam—are here today to show their talent, their worth, and their brilliance!”
He raised his hands high.
“This is the one event that brings the entire city together! That shows the empire why Broken Ridge is home to the best alchemists in the land!”
Another cheer thundered through the coliseum like a wave, rising from every tier of seats. Chen Ren could feel the buzz in his bones and nerves, excitement, pressure, all swirling together.
The announcer grinned, clearly enjoying the attention.
Then, as the volume died down, he raised one hand dramatically and declared, “Now let us begin with the first round!”
2025-07-28 16:12:50 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 256
Mana bubbled up from Amara’s heart, threading through her veins. Just a year ago, such a thing would have left her writhing in agony. Her body would’ve rejected it, her blood screaming with every pulse of magic. But now… now it felt almost pleasurable. The flow was comforting.
She exhaled, focusing her gaze on the weathered spellbook open before her. Her eyes traced the lines of the diagram, committing the structure to memory, and slowly she began to form it in the air.
Blue light shimmered before her fingertips, coalescing into lines that blended into each other like water and thread. The spell’s frame emerged. She felt it—actualized mana tugging water from the very air, bending it into a rising dome-like structure that encircled her feet. It glistened, forming a soft shell around her feet.
She was holding it well this time, longer than her last try. But out of nowhere, her focus moved, and without a warning, all the control she had slipped.
A pulse wavered, making her mana spasm. And the bubble burst.
It splashed, echoing through the room as water soaked her boots and hemline, drenching the floor.
"Ugh," Amara muttered under her breath, frowning as she looked down at her dripping dress. The silken fabric clung to her thighs. It was cold and clinging on to her for dear life. “Perfect.”
She rubbed her palms together, brows furrowed in frustration. [Aqua Ward]—a peak second-circle spell seemed to be completely out of her bounds right now. Maybe that was the problem. She hadn’t broken into the second circle yet, and that spell demanded more than just theory. She could read about it the whole day, but without proper control, she wouldn’t know how to properly execute it.
Still, giving up wasn’t an option. She had to learn it.
Amara stood in silence, staring at the circle that now flickered faintly on the page. She wasn’t just doing this to feel powerful. She wasn’t chasing magic for glory or vanity.
She was trying to survive.
The kingdom was shifting. Anyone with eyes could see it. And the Assembly? A farce. Putting Count Arzan on trial for standing against his own brother without delving into the facts?
Only a rotting kingdom would do that.
She clenched her fists. Anya had been slipping her whispers for weeks. The Watchers, too, were speaking more openly now during their interactions. Even without hearing it outright, Amara could feel it in the castle walls: her father was losing support.
With only hints of her mother’s true intentions, Amara lived each day with dread tightening in her chest. It was always there—an ever-present tug that something darker was looming. And the last thing she wanted was to be someone who needed protection.
Her gaze fell again to the spellbook, lips pressed into a thin line as she studied the spell’s structure. She traced the runes in the air with her fingers, mouthing the incantation under her breath, determined to get it right this time.
Then came two sharp knocks on the door.
She didn’t need to ask who it was. “Come in,” she called.
Anya stepped inside, taking one glance at the drenched floor and instantly sighing. “Princess, you’re soaked,” she said, pinching her brow. “I’ll bring you a new dress. You’ll catch a cold like this.”
“It’s fine,” Amara replied, not looking up. “I’m going to keep practicing, and I’ll probably ruin the next one too.”
Anya huffed, stepping carefully around the puddle. “Then at least let me put the hearth on. And Princess, why don’t you ask another Mage to help? Just one session could help you with the flow structure—”
“I can’t ask anyone,” Amara said firmly, cutting her off. “It’s already enough that people are whispering about how my health miraculously improved. If they find out I’m learning higher circle spells too... it’ll just add more fuel. I want to keep this quiet.”
“I’m sure I can find someone from the Archine Tower who can keep his mouth shut.” Anya prompted, though she already knew the answer.
“I don’t trust them. Not after everything they’ve done.”
Anya fell silent for a moment, then let a mischievous smile slip onto her lips. “Well... I believe there’s one Mage in the city you do trust.”
“Who?” Amyra asked immediately.
“Count Arzan,” Anya said, eyes twinkling. “He was spotted at the eastern gates yesterday. He’s here for the Assembly. I heard he’s staying at the Serenthia Inn, along with the rest of his cohort.”
Her hands fell to her sides almost immediately and eyes widened as she stood up. “What? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?!”
“I just overheard the Knights talking about it,” Anya said, trying not to laugh at Amara’s sudden urgency. “It was late evening when he arrived. It wouldn’t have been proper to barge in.”
Amara nodded, though her face clearly betrayed the excitement bubbling inside her. How long has it been? A few months? Maybe longer. Yet it had felt even longer than that. So much had changed. So much had happened.
And all this time, she’d only heard of Arzan through the whispers. Through half-truths carried on the lips of merchants, through hushed murmurs of the Watchers. Of how he’d headed into Vanderfall after hearing of the approaching plague and how he had stopped it.
Her mother and the Princes had done everything they could to stomp out those stories before the Assembly, but like a wildfire, they only spread faster when smothered. Especially now, when the merchants from the Sylvan Enclave were entering the capital.
Should she go meet him right now? Amara wondered and hesitated.
There was so much she wanted to say to him. All the work she’d done. The support she’d gathered. The risks she’d taken all for him. But... What if he was tired? What if he thought she looked like a mess? Her dress was soaked, her hair clinging to her cheek like seaweed. No. No, it would be better to send a message. A quiet invitation to meet him in the evening. That would give her time to clean up, compose herself... and look her best.
Just as she turned to Anya, mouth parting to share her plan—
A thunderous knock slammed against the door.
Amara flinched, heart lurching. That wasn’t a guard’s knock. Or a polite servant's knock. That was… well. She exchanged a quick glance with Anya, both of their faces suddenly tense.
Slowly, Anya moved to the door and cracked it open.
They both froze at the sight of what was before them.
Standing there, tall and sharp and radiating a cold fury, was her eldest brother.
His white hair—messy and slightly damp from the fog outside—hung low over his forehead. His usually impassive expression was carved with disdain, and his dark eyes swept across the room, locking onto the wet floor and then her.
His gaze narrowed.
"What the fuck are you doing, Amara?" he said, voice low and biting.
Amara stiffened.
Her spine went rigid, words tangling in her throat before they could form. Despite everything—despite her magic improving, despite her strength returning—when it came to him… she still didn’t know how to react.
Eldric. Her brother. Her mother’s favorite. Her warden in silk robes.
He looked furious.
Did he find out? About the messages she had sent? About the Watchers she had been conversing with? About her efforts to gather support behind the scenes? No, he would have known about it for a while now. At least the last part.
But then… Why was he here only now?
While thinking, her eyes narrowed and she took a closer look at him. He looked… horrible. Everything was off about the man. His cheeks were red, not the flushed kind, but how it’d look like when someone got slapped repeatedly. She had seen it on him before.
Her stomach twisted.
Did Mother hit him again?
Before the thought could settle, Eldric scoffed.
"Why are you quiet?" he said. "Lost your voice in exchange for your health?"
The words cut deeper than she expected. Still, she held firm. "No." Her voice was soft but steady. "Why are you here, brother?"
His brow lifted, amusement flashing in his eyes. "It seems your health brought a bit of confidence too. I don’t remember you ever speaking to me with that tone."
Her instincts screamed at her to lower her head. To apologize. To submit. But she didn’t. She met his eyes and said, "I just asked a question."
"Very well. I don’t intend to stay long anyway. I have work to do."
He reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope. Without ceremony, he tossed it toward her. She barely caught it before it splashed into the puddle at her feet. The wax seal was unmistakable—the royal sigil, pressed in deep crimson.
"What’s this?"
Eldric didn’t look at her.
"Give it to Arzan Kellius," he said. “Mother sent that. Apparently he wants to meet him.”
Hearing that, her eyes widened even further. “What does Mother want with him?”
He shrugged. "Maybe she wants to finish him herself. Over dinner, perhaps. I don’t know. Just deliver it. I hear you two are... close. There are rumors, you know."
Amara didn’t look down at his suggestion, if he thinks they’re close, then so be it.
Eldric took one last glance around the room, at the puddles on the floor, the open spellbook, her soaked dress and turned on his heel and strode out. He clearly wish to stay more than necessary.
The door slammed shut behind him.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t calm. It was the kind of silence that pressed on her ribs and made her ears ring. Amara just stood there, staring at the envelope in her hands. The royal seal stared back, crimson and accusing.
Mother wants to meet him?
Her throat tightened.
Nothing good ever came from anyone meeting her mother. Nothing. Her mother didn’t “meet” people—she summoned them. And when she did, it was either to command, to twist, to poison, or to destroy.
Would she really attack him? No... right?
Then again, this was Arzan. The man who had risen too fast. The one whose name was on every tongue. The man her mother had tried to kill, if he was to be believed.
Even she wouldn't dare strike him in the open, especially not before the Assembly. But… Honestly?
Amara wasn’t sure anymore.
“What are you going to do now, Princess Amara?”
Anya’s voice broke the quiet, soft but trembling slightly. The maid stepped closer, shoes splashing lightly against the wet floor. Her eyes went to the envelope.
“Count Arzan will surely want to meet her if he gets that letter. You know that.”
Amara nodded slowly, her grip tightening around the parchment. That was the problem, wasn’t it?
If there was one thing she knew about him... it was that he was reckless. Not in a foolish way or in arrogance or overconfidence.
The man was filled with curiosity. He wouldn’t ignore the letter. Not a chance. If she gave it to him, he would go. And once he did, anything could happen.
The excitement she'd felt just moments ago—at the thought of meeting him again, showing him how far she’d come—was gone.
It was dread now, suffocating her lungs. And for the first time since regaining her health, Amara felt sick.
***
Eldric moved through the marble halls of the royal castle with a slow-burning fire in his chest. His footsteps echoed, but now and then, he faltered, one hand twitching upward to touch his cheek, as if checking whether the sting was still there.
It was.
Two Knights followed behind him, both newly assigned. They always were. Mother’s decree: No Knight or maid should serve the prince for more than two months.
“Loyalty breeds delusion,” she had once told him. “Delusion makes weak Kings.” It was one of her many lessons. One of her many shackles.
She never wanted him to trust. Not people, not feelings, not even himself. “Fragile bonds,” she called them. “Learn to break them before they break you.”
He hated that lesson. Hated everything she’d carved into him under the guise of making him stronger. Hated how even now, as a grown man and one of the heirs to the throne, she could still reduce him to nothing with a single morning visit.
Not even with a blade. Just with words. And hands.
His cheek throbbed. The skin felt hot and stretched where her ring had cut across it. She had struck him for failing. Again.
Failing to keep Arzan Kellius from gathering more power. Failing to act fast enough. Failing to think like her.
And then, the final insult, she handed him a sealed letter and said, “Take it to Amara. Since you’re useless everywhere else, at least be my errand boy.”
He clenched his jaw. He wasn’t a child anymore. He wasn’t her puppet. But at that moment… he had been. A Knight’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“Your Highness, you are expected at the spell lesson next. Mage Jasper is waiting. After that, there’s the strategy review with the other young nobles before the Assembly, then—”
“Shut up,” Eldric muttered.
The Knight paused, clearly confused by what he’d said. Eldric couldn’t hear his steps for a moment, until they returned. “What?”
“I said shut up!” Eldric roared, spinning to face him. “I will do whatever the fuck I want to do!”
“But, your highness,” a more throaty voice came from behind. It was his other Knight. The one with the broader neck, and wait, what was his name? Doesn’t matter. “We have orders from Queen Regina herself. We can’t just—”
The man didn’t get to finish. Eldric rushed towards him in two steps. His mana rolled in angry waves and formed a crimson spell structure around his hand. Before the Knight could raise a hand to defend himself, Eldric’s hand wrapped around his throat and pushed against the wall.
The Knight let out a strangled scream, his armor doing nothing to stop the crimson, burning hand from searing into his flesh.
“I know you have children,” Eldric hissed, watching as the man writhed beneath his grip. “So speak the words I want to hear… if you don’t want them growing up with only their mother.”
Then, just as suddenly, Eldric released him.
The Knight crumpled to the floor, coughing and choking as blood and blistered skin peeled under his trembling fingers. His throat was ruined—seared deep. The pain alone would knock most men out. But he was still awake, squirming like a worm.
Eldric scoffed.
“Go see a healer,” he muttered coldly.
He turned to the other Knight who hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Follow me,” Eldric said, voice sharp and cold as glass. “And I will make sure that I don’t remove my hand next time.”
Without waiting for a reply, he walked off. The sound of his boots against the floor echoed louder than before, each step dragging with the weight of exhaustion.
He didn’t look at the servants watching from the corners, their eyes wide with fear or pity. Let them stare. Let them whisper. They were nothing.
All of them were nothing.
His mother had taught him that, hadn’t she?
He turned left, then right, his steps carrying him deeper into the castle, toward one of the old storage rooms tucked away in a forgotten wing. No one ever came here. No one cared what these rooms once held. Probably old furniture, or armor sets that no longer gleamed.
He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and slammed it shut. The silence inside was thick. And finally—finally—his shoulders slumped.
The room was filled with clutter. Forgotten relics of nobler times—bent swords, cracked armor plates, faded silks that had once been royal robes. A tarnished mirror leaned against the wall, its glass spiderwebbed with age. He didn’t bother looking into it.
Instead, he stood up and made his way to the far corner. There, half-covered by a torn tapestry, lay a mat. He kicked it aside.
His eyes immediately caught the small, rusted box that sat beneath. He knelt and pulled a key from his boot. It had taken him weeks to steal the original and forge this duplicate. But he had done it. For this.
The lid creaked open. He almost sighed in relief as he saw the bed of dried velvet and the vial on top of it. The liquid churned like a restless shadow.
The one he’d stolen from his mother’s personal stock, the one he’d desperately wanted to drink.
It had become an addiction before he knew it. Eldric reached for it with trembling hands and uncorked the vial.
A scent rose from it—like cold fire. It made his vision blur, just for a second. Made his blood hum. So many thoughts rushed through him: his mother’s voice, her disdain, the sting of her slap this morning. His failures. The Assembly. Arzan.
The throne.
He tipped the vial to his lips.
One gulp.
Then another.
It was bitter—like drinking ash and starlight—but it burned its way down and when it reached his core, he felt it.
The roar and the power surging through his veins…. And yet, it was so, so calm. It was so quiet.
His limbs gave out as his back hit the cold floor.
He didn’t care.
He lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling. The shadows in the corners deepened. Something pulsed inside his chest.
And as his eyes fluttered closed, the power eruptded inside him. He smiled, basking in the way the liquid made him feel.
2025-07-28 16:10:44 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 145
If Chen Ren was being honest, he preferred this kind of war.
There was always something refreshing about knowing where your enemies were, when they’d strike and how. It was exhausting to keep looking over his shoulder, always wondering if there would be an attack or not.
This way, at least for the time being, he knew that the Darkmoon Sect was going to focus on the Flames of Merit trials. That meant, fewer assassination attempts (if they planned on it), fewer ambushes or fewer headaches. And it was a temporary break he welcomed.
And if he played right, if he could actually win this competition or at least do well enough to reach the finals, he knew that the reputation of the Divine Pill Apothecary would skyrocket.
The base they’d managed would be cemented in the city—prove the city and others that they were here to stay.
But…There was a problem. He had no clue what the trials actually were.
Did they just stand around and brew pills? In front of a cheering crowd? That seemed… dull. And suicidal, frankly. Their disciples wouldn’t be able to show their real method of making pills.
No, there had to be more to it.
And before replying to the Darkmoon Sect’s challenge, Chen Ren needed answers. The last thing he was going to do was walk into a trap just because it had the word “trial” written on the envelope.
So, after his discussion with Anji and Tang Boming, he left the apothecary.
There was one man who might know what the trials truly entailed—someone who had been part of Broken Ridge City long before Chen Ren ever arrived. Hun Tianzhi. Ex sect leader of Jadefire Hall. Now Elder of the Jadefire Hall Division under the Divine Coin Sect banner.
Chen Ren stepped into the Jadefire Hall grounds. He knew Elder Hun Tianzhi had buried himself in research. He had heard rumours about strange flames lighting up the sky from his window at odd hours and disciples getting chased off for simply knocking too loudly.
Still, he had hoped to catch the man without too much trouble. Unfortunately, that was wishful thinking.
“He’s been locked up for days, Sect Leader Chen,” said Tau Liu as they moved towards Hun Tianzhi's workshop. “Hasn’t left since the apothecary opened. Says he’s close to a breakthrough, but he said that last week too.”
They stopped in front of a heavy wooden door, darkened by ash and scorched at the edges. Tau Liu knocked gently. “Master? Sect Leader Chen is here to see you. It’s… important.”
No response. The disciple turned with a sheepish expression.
“I’m sorry, Sect Leader. He often forgets the world exists when he’s like this.”
Chen Ren waved him off. “It’s fine. I’ll go in myself.”
“But, Master might get angry. Are you sure?”
“It’s important,” Chen Ren repeated, already pushing the door open.
A rush of dense, spiced air hit him—smoke and ash mixed with the cloying sweetness of burned herbs and something else… was that meat?
His eyes watered slightly as he stepped inside. The room was dim despite the sunlight trying to break through the soot-stained windows, and herbs lay scattered across every surface. Roots dangled from the rafters. Several meats—unidentifiable, mostly charred—hung from string hooks tied to the ceiling. Whether they were ingredients or snacks, he had no idea. He wasn’t about to ask.
The temperature was stifling, and a soft hiss filled the air—qi reacting with heat.
Then he saw him.
Elder Hun Tianzhi, hunched over a massive silver cauldron. His long hair was tied back in a frazzled knot, and his robes looked like they’d been used to wipe spills more than worn for comfort. Smoke and spiritual energy curled around him like a second robe, and the man didn't move as Chen Ren stepped in.
He was simply too engrossed in what he was doing. So Chen Ren kept his silence, his arm crossed.
Fwoosh!
It didn’t take more than five minutes for the cauldron to blast qi, giving off flames that licked the ceiling, blackening it.
Instinctively, Chen Ren almost turned his defensive technique on and took a step back.
When the cauldron finally calmed, he saw Hun Tianzhi’s shoulders droop with frustration. The elder let out a long, guttural sigh.
“Heavens…” Hun Tianzhi muttered, moving to the blackened rim. “Why are you so cruel? These ingredients were decades old. And wasted in five minutes!” He reached into the still-warm cauldron and sifted through the ashy remains with his bare fingers, rubbing a bit between his calloused thumb and forefinger before letting it drift back down like burnt snow.
Only then did Chen Ren speak. “Elder Hun Tianzhi.”
And the man turned around, soot clung to his cheek like war paint, but his eyes—sharp despite the exhaustion—lit up with recognition.
“I thought I felt someone behind me,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “But I figured it was just one of my disciples who came to nag me about dinner.” A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “Have you been waiting long, Sect Leader Chen?”
“Not long,” Chen Ren replied smoothly. “Only long enough to witness a minor explosion and some ash whispering.”
Hun Tianzhi chuckled. “Alchemy is often closer to a battlefield than people like to admit.” He gestured behind him. “I was trying to recreate one of the pill recipes you gave me. The Flameheart Revival Pill, remember? The one that called for the phoenix feather as a catalyst.”
Chen Ren nodded. That was one of Wang Jun’s creations—powerful, potent, and rare enough to be worth a fortune.
“I tried substituting phoenix feather with fire-horned roc and giant crows’ feathers,” Hun Tianzhi continued, “both fire-aspected, both theoretically compatible. But I think I overestimated the spiritual density… or maybe undercooked it.” He looked back at the cauldron with a faint scowl. “It’s all ash now.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Chen Ren said with confidence.
“I’d better,” Hun Tianzhi muttered. “I only have three roc feathers left.”
Chen Ren stepped forward, pulling the letter from his sleeve. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Hun Tianzhi turned fully now, his brow arching. “Has something happened?”
Chen Ren pointed at the doorway with his thumb. “Why don’t we move to your chambers? I need your advice on something.”
“Let’s go then. Not like the cauldron’s going to blow up again… I hope.” Hun Tianzhi gave a tired grunt and nodded.
They left the smoky, herb-littered workshop behind and walked through the quieter streets to the former sect leader's chambers. Along the way, Chen Ren gave the elder a full rundown—what had happened with the spy, the fake ingredients list, the sedated disciple and the aftermath.
It turned out that Hun Tianzhi hadn’t even known the details.
“My disciples mentioned something about a mole,” he admitted as they climbed the wooden stairs. “But I told them to handle it. Been too busy trying to decode this Master Wang Jun’s notes. Every time I solve one page, it throws ten more questions at me. You need to let me meet this elder one day.”
Chen Ren chuckled. “Sounds like him. As for a meeting, I will ask him.”
Hun Tianzhi nodded with a smile and Chen Ren felt the old man was enjoying his life as an elder who could research the whole day without needing to worry about the future of the sect, or how to keep the cultivators well behaved.
After that, Chen Ren began to talk about the Darkmoon Sect sending a challenge to participate in the Flames of Merit trials. The elder’s whole demeanor changed to serious.
They reached the elder’s chambers—a wide, warm space with shelves full of worn manuals and dried herbs hanging from every corner. The moment they sat down, Hun Tianzhi leaned forward.
“So,” he said, fingers tapping against the tea table. “From what you’ve said, this challenge… It's not just pride. Darkmoon Sect is going for blood. They want to use the Flames of Merit Trials to erase Divine Pill Apothecary’s legitimacy.”
Chen Ren nodded. “That’s what I thought too. They’ll try to make sure we don’t even pass the first round. If that happens, the gossip will write itself—saying our pills are made by novices. It might stick, especially if they lower their own prices to our level to drive us out completely. And If we don't participate, they would try to make us look like novices.”
Hun Tianzhi’s eyes sharpened like whetted blades. “And if any of those things sticks, then all the groundwork you’ve laid will start to crumble. You might survive the debt term, but your name will never recover in this part of the empire.”
“I know,” Chen Ren said. “That’s why I won’t back down. I’ll participate.”
Hun Tianzhi leaned back, arms crossed. “Good. You shouldn’t. Backing down now would look worse than failure.”
Chen Ren gave a half-smile. “That’s why I came to you. I want to know more about the competition. I’m guessing Jadefire Hall participated in the past?”
“We did the last time… and even the time before that. But unfortunately, my disciples weren’t quite at the level to win any rewards. Tau Liu reached the final round—but he was crushed in it. Brutally,” The elder grimaced at the memory.
“So only disciples can participate?”
“Not necessarily,” Hun Tianzhi said, waving a hand. “There’s no rule barring elders or higher-level cultivators from entering. But doing so is a matter of face. Imagine a peak foundation establishment cultivator walking in to compete against early qi refinement disciples. Even if he wins, the crowd won’t cheer for him—they’ll sneer. It reeks of desperation.”
“But Darkmoon Sect has foundation establishment elders, right?”
“They do,” Hun Tianzhi said, “but I doubt they’ll risk them. The number of foundation establishment cultivators in the city is low—Darkmoon included. But more than cultivation, what really matters in the Flames of Merit is alchemical skill. Most participants are Mortal Grade. Sometimes an Earth Grade slips in, though not often. And Sky Grade…” Hun Tianzhi chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sky Grade alchemists don’t come to this kind of trial.”
Chen Ren let the information settle, recalling how alchemists were ranked in the Empire. Mortal, Earth, Sky, Heaven. One could achieve the grade only if they could make one pill of that grade. Sky grade alchemists were dime a dozen and the ones that were there were all taken by the Guardian sects and the royal family. By that standard, he was firmly in the Mortal Grade. He could make Mortal Grade pills with reliable success. But that wasn't much.
Darkmoon Sect wouldn't hold back. He was certain they'd send Earth Grade alchemists they had—especially after the embarrassment they had suffered. They wouldn’t rely on cheap tricks anymore. They’d try to outshine him in broad daylight.
Which meant that he needed to find a way for his own sect disciples to do better than them.
“Who did Darkmoon Sect send last time? Was it core disciples?”
Hun Tianzhi moved a hand through his beard—Chen Ren only now noticed that the ends were slightly singed, probably from his last explosive failure.
“A sect can only send three disciples, and they usually go with their outer sect ones,” he said. “Once, I saw a core disciple, but that was rare. He was someone who was participating on a bet.”
“Why? Wouldn’t sending a core disciple improve their odds?”
“They function like two different sects. The outer sect is packed with alchemists running pill workshops, handling city logistics. The inner sect trains combat cultivators. From what I’ve heard, the place is riddled with nepotism. Every elder has a dozen grandkids, and they all get slots in the inner sect whether they have talent or not. So the outer sect disciples are the ones who do the real work.”
Chen Ren folded his arms, thinking. “And they win with just those outer sect disciples?”
“Every single time I’ve seen them participate,” Hun Tianzhi confirmed. “It’s also a power play. A message to the city: ‘Even our outer sect trash can outdo your elites.’ Makes their sect look untouchable.”
Chen Ren nodded. If they pulled the same tactic again—and won—then people would surely say that even Darkmoon Sect’s low level disciples were better than Divine Coin’s best. The implication alone could poison their reputation for years.
But knowing who they might send wasn’t enough. Chen needed to understand everything.
So he began to ask specific questions, one after another.
“How is the competition structured exactly? Where does it take place? Who attends? Are there judges?”
Hun Tianzhi, to his credit, answered all of them patiently. Chen Ren sat still, going over everything he had just learned.
The structure of the competition was more or less what he’d expected. The first round tested their knowledge of herbs—recognizing them by sight, smell, even age. The second was about consistency—brewing multiple pills in a single batch, all identical. Then, there were rounds about creating pills with limited ingredients, creating a specific pill and so on. And the final round, the most important, was creating a unique pill, something that stood out.
The scale was far bigger than he thought. The city lord would attend. Officials, sects, clans, hunting teams—everyone with influence in the region would be watching. And that made it even more dangerous.
Chen Ren leaned forward slightly. Their sect wasn’t ready.
Not one of their disciples came to mind as a surefire win. Even Tau Liu, who Hun Tianzhi claimed was one of their best, had only reached the final round before losing. That wasn’t enough, especially not this time when there was so much at stake.
If they entered and lost, Darkmoon Sect would spin the story however they wanted. They’d say the Divine Pill Apothecary was a fluke. That their pills were flashy but unreliable. That even their best couldn’t match an outer disciple from a real sect.
Reputation mattered in alchemy. Maybe more than anywhere else in the empire. So he couldn’t trust Tau Liu to win this time. But he needed to win if he had any hope of cementing the Divine Pill Apothecary’s reputation. Which meant he needed tricks up his sleeve.
Chen Ren sat calmly, thoughts whirlwinding through his mind.
He had schemed his way through the tournament in Cloud Mist City—he had to do the same here. Because if anything, that was his expertise, and he had no remorse for doing so.
In this world, cultivators were harsh, brutal, and unforgiving—the worst kind of opponents to have, and at times like this, you had to use everything to get to the top. Especially when it was a sect like the Darkmoon Sect who stood on the other end. A tyrant.
But what could he use? A way to make sure he was going to win—no matter what.
He stayed quiet for a moment longer, thinking it through.
Then, a face came to mind. Right.
And with it, a plan started to form.
2025-07-26 19:21:14 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 255
Unlike the last time he had visited Lancephil, Kai and his entourage weren’t staying in the royal castle.
With nobles from across the kingdom arriving for the Assembly, even the massive, uncountable halls of the royal castle weren’t enough to house them all. Only the highest-ranking nobles—or those favored by the princes—had secured rooms within the castle walls.
And Kai, despite being the man at the center of the Assembly, hadn’t been given one.
He’d expected it.
A wanton slight, no doubt. Was it from the princes or from Regina?
He wouldn’t have put it past the princes to try and send a message by sidelining him. But Regina... no, she didn’t strike him as the petty type. She was more the kind who’d kill a threat outright rather than waste time playing palace games.
Whatever the reason, Kai and his companions had taken up residence in a luxurious inn near the Archine Tower—a place clearly designed with noble clientele in mind. They had booked out the entire third floor.
As he entered, the receptionist at the front desk bowed deeply and guided him upstairs without delay. The guard escorting him peeled away without a word, leaving Kai to ascend the wide marble staircase alone.
He moved, his cloak brushing softly against the polished wood, but his mind was elsewhere.
How was their support looking? Has it improved since his last update? Or had the tides begun to shift away from him?
Anything could’ve happened while he was busy defeating orcs. He thought but hoped for the best. He needed any and every support he could get.
It was time to find out how his subordinates had done in his absence.
His steps carried him to the third floor, and the moment he opened the door to the suit, the air in the room gave him his answer.
Inside the room, Francis and Killian sat hunched over a table cluttered with parchment, letters, and stamped scrolls. At the back of the room stood Leopold Blackwood with his arms crossed.
All of them looked to be in deep distress. Frowns covered all their eyes and their faces were drawn tight. For a moment, Francis looked like he’d aged a good few years.
Whatever they were discussing, it wasn’t going well.
He stood silently in the doorway for five seconds, watching them. They hadn’t noticed him yet. Then Leopold looked up and his eyes widened.
Francis and Killian turned the next second, rising from the sofa, smiles blooming on their faces like the tension from moments ago had never existed.
“Lord Arzan, you’re here,” Francis said, his voice smooth but slightly too bright. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
Kai stepped inside, nodding once. “It took longer than expected to deal with matters in the Ashari Desert,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the three. “How are you all doing?”
Francis replied first, “Things are going well, my lord. We’ve been settling into the rhythm of the Assembly. Quite a few barons have started leaning our way—especially after word spread about Duke Blackwood’s support.”
Leopold stepped forward slightly. “My father hasn’t gone public with it yet, but most of the nobility have heard the whispers in every banquet they are attending. He’s planning to make a formal announcement at a similar banquet three days from now.”
“Banquets? Are the nobles really throwing parties before the Assembly begins?”
“Of course. The Assembly doesn’t affect them. Not directly, at least. Only you.” He shrugged. “Or so they think. But a banquet’s still a good excuse to gather influence and take note of all the rumours that are going around.”
Kai nodded and moved toward the sofa, settling into the seat with a soft exhale. His eyes drifted over the table, where parchments lay scattered in organized chaos—banquet invitations, noble profiles, scribbled alliance notes, and other information sent by the Watchers.
He picked one of the parchments, skimmed it, then raised his gaze. Although they were smiling, he saw the mask they’d put on.
“You all said things are going well,” he said evenly, “but the look on your faces when I walked in told a different story.”
Silence stretched for a moment as Francis and Killian exchanged glances. Then Francis leaned forward, his smile slipping.
“There’s one problem we haven’t been able to solve.”
“What is it?”
Before Francis could speak, Leopold stepped away from the back wall and approached the table. He grabbed two folded parchments, his fingers brushing aside a few others before he handed them to Kai.
“This,” he said, his expression grim, “is the problem.”
Kai unfolded the pages and scanned them. His brows drew together.
“Baroness Marren… and Viscountess Vaessa.” He looked up at the others. “Two of the richest nobles in the kingdom, with prosperous lands and loyal banners. I see the influence. But why are they giving you two such a headache?”
Leopold sat down on the opposite end of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Because we need both of them in our camp to secure the Assembly,” he said bluntly. “And it’s just not possible.”
“We’ve secured support from about forty nobles. Enough to make a real impact. But not enough to win outright. By our calculations, we need at least ten more,” Francis said.
“Fifteen would be ideal,” Killian added, “but ten gives us a clear margin, especially with some abstaining from the vote.”
Francis gestured toward the parchment in Kai’s hand. “And those two women? They command exactly the number of nobles we need. Between their direct vassals, trade partners, and quiet loyalists... they're the pivot.”
Leopold leaned back, brow furrowed. “But the problem is—they hate each other.”
“Is that the reason it's impossible to bring them together?” Kai asked. “Why? From what I’ve read, Baroness Marren aligns with the First Prince’s faction, and Viscountess Vaessa leans toward the Second. Is that the root of it?”
Leopold shook his head immediately. “No. That’s not the issue.”
He gestured loosely, almost dismissively.
“Those factions treat nobles by title, not by merit. Barons and Viscounts barely get a seat at the table—even if these two hold more wealth and land than half the Margraves in the capital.” He let out a breath. “From what your informants and ours gathered, they don’t care about the princes. If either of them gets a better deal, they’ll switch sides in a heartbeat. And they’d bring a dozen lesser nobles with them.”
Kai frowned, the pieces fitting too easily. If they were that flexible, why the deadlock? He looked up, confusion flickering in his gaze.
It was enough for Francis to finally speak again. He grabbed a goblet—definitely wine—and took a long drink before shaking his head.
“It’s because we can only bring one of them into our camp,” he said. “They loathe each other. Not politically, but personally.”
Francis rubbed his forehead.
“They can’t even stand to be in the same room,” he continued. “Both of them are Second-Circle Mages, and every time they meet, they start exchanging spells. Not friendly duels; they actually want to kill each other.”
Killian muttered, “Last time they crossed paths, they burned down a stage at a ball in front of three viscounts and a terrified harp player.”
“If we recruit Baroness Marren,” Francis said, “Viscountess Vaessa will publicly denounce our faction. And the reverse is just as bad. We even considered keeping it quiet, bringing one of them in and hiding it from the other…”
Leopold scoffed. “Didn’t work.”
“They keep watching each other,” Francis said. “Tight networks. Informants. Petty spies. Gods, it’s a bloody mess.”
Kai didn’t speak right away. But just from the tone in Francis’s voice—clipped, weary, a little too sharp—he could tell the man had been dealing with this for far too long. Weeks, probably. Maybe longer. And it was wearing him down.
The Assembly hadn’t even begun, and already, the fractures ran deep.
Even with Francis’s explanation, Kai still couldn’t understand why the rivalry between Baroness Marren and Viscountess Vaessa was so deeply rooted. Noble rivalries weren’t rare—far from it. One noble hating another was almost tradition. But even in those cases, personal grudges were often set aside when it came to larger matters. Political alliances demanded tolerance, if not civility.
He was certain there were nobles within the same factions who privately despised one another. But they tolerated each other’s presence for one simple reason: the gains outweighed the pride.
So why were these two so determined to keep their feud alive?
Leopold caught the look on his face and smirked.
“Why do you think two women can hate each other that much?” he asked, arms crossed casually.
“I don’t know. There could be a dozen reasons.”
Leopold leaned forward slightly, amusement in his eyes. “A man.”
“A man?” Kai asked. What an absurd reason was it for them to feud over a… man?
Leopold nodded, dead serious. “That’s the biggest reason.”
“You’re telling me they’ve been exchanging killing spells for years because of a man?” He shook his head in disbelief. “How old are they?”
“Official records place them in their fifties.”
Kai pinched the bridge of his nose. “And they’re still fighting over a man?” He let out a quiet breath through his mouth, baffled. “They haven’t grown up at all.”
Of course, he reminded himself, Mages lived longer lives. Especially those of the second circle. It wasn’t uncommon for them to reach a hundred and fifty, sometimes even two hundred with the right alchemical support. Their fifties, then, were little more than their prime.
Even so.
From what he skimmed in their dossiers, both women had long established households, families and even lovers. And yet, they were still throwing spells over a long-dead love triangle?
Francis finally spoke, drawing Kai’s attention.
“It’s apparently an old rivalry, Lord Arzan,” he said. “The Watchers looked into it.” He set his goblet down with a sigh. “It started during their time in the Archine Tower.”
Kai’s frown deepened.
Leopold cleared his throat, gesturing loosely with a hand. “Let me explain it properly. This story’s practically a noble gossip legend. Every time one of them shows up at a ball, someone finds an excuse to bring it up.”
Kai raised an eyebrow, silently bracing himself.
“They were rivals from the first day they entered the Archine Tower,” Leopold continued. “No one really knows why it started, but it got bloody when they both fell for the same man—a Viscount’s son. Back then, they were just barons’ daughters. Same rank. Same ambitions. And that man? He was a talented Mage. He was expected to reach the third circle.”
Francis made a sound of acknowledgement, and Killian grunted, probably already sick of this story.
“They fought over him all through their years at the tower,” Leopold said. “Duels, spell-offs, social sabotage. Ridiculous things. But in the end, the man chose Viscountess Vaessa. And you might’ve guessed, she got her title through him.”
“She married him and yet Baroness Marren didn't give up?”
“Oh, it gets worse,” Leopold said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Baroness Marren accused her of using aphrodisiacs—claimed she seduced the man with potions to trap him.”
Francis finally chimed in, swirling the wine in his goblet. “To be fair, she’s very well-regarded in alchemy circles. Top of her year, if the Tower records are right.”
“Exactly. So whether it’s true or not, the accusation stuck. And soon enough, Vaessa was pregnant. Married the Viscount’s son who soon took the official title.”
“And Marren?” Kai let out a quiet breath, eyes narrowing slightly.
“She lost it,” Leopold said flatly. “Married a Knight’s son out of sheer spite. Forced her father to petition for her to inherit the barony. Which, as you know, is highly uncommon in our kingdom.”
Kai nodded slowly. Female succession was rare, but not unheard of among Mages. Power made exceptions possible.
“They spent the next two decades trading jabs from opposite ends of the nobility,” Leopold said. “Baroness Marren flaunted her land and title. Viscountess Vaessa flaunted her marriage and children.”
“And now?” Kai asked.
“Fate stepped in.”
Francis picked up the thread again. “Both their husbands are dead. One fell to a monster attack in the far north—some wyvern during a border skirmish. The other suffered a heart attack after a sparring injury.”
Kai blinked, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.
So here they were. Two aging Mages, powerful and bitter, still locked in a decades-old feud over a dead man—and dragging a dozen lesser nobles with them.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“Gods,” he muttered. “It’s like a tragic play no one had the sense to stop. So… both women hold noble titles now. They’re bitter, lonely, and bored enough to keep throwing spells at each other. And now they’ve dragged half of their political influence into this personal feud.” He shook his head. “Even their opposing factions probably aren’t about the princes. Just hate.”
Killian nodded at that. “I spoke with one of their Knights. Off the record. He said that even though their territories are miles apart, they still find ways to sabotage each other. Trade disruptions, caravan delays, even bribes to get the other’s servants reassigned. Everyone involved is miserable. No one likes it.”
Silence followed. Kai let the quiet stretch, staring blankly at the stack of parchment on the table.
It was all such a mess. Petty, emotional, exhausting.
Both women were clearly hurt, but they were also acting like children. Mages in their prime, nobles with power and influence, and yet… They were stuck in a grudge match from their youth.
Kai had come prepared for scheming, for power plays and even death threats. He had not come to deal with a pair of high-ranking noblewomen trying to destroy each other over a long-dead husband.
No wonder Francis looked half-dead. Kai sighed again and looked up at the three men around him.
“You don’t have any ideas, do you?”
They all shook their heads.
Leopold gave a weary smile. “My father even tried to arrange a marriage alliance—offered to marry one of my younger siblings into their families. I spoke to both of their eldest children about it.” He chuckled dryly. “They looked terrified. One of them flat-out said it would never work. And I swear, they went pale just hearing their mother’s name.”
Kai dragged a hand down his face. “Fantastic. Their kids are just as scared of them as everyone else.”
His mind was churning, but not productively. He had no strategy for this kind of feud. No spell to untangle decades of pettiness wrapped in nobility and ego.
Could he offer them something? Land? Prestige? Military backing?
It was doubtful. If a marriage alliance with a Duke’s house couldn’t mend things, he doubted a few political favors would fix it.
He exhaled slowly, muttering under his breath.
“…How am I supposed to get them in the same faction if they want to kill each other on sight?”
No one answered, because no one had a clue.
In the end, Kai did the only thing that seemed even remotely feasible at the moment.
He stood up, brushing nonexistent dust off his cloak, and looked at the others.
“Please show me my room,” he said flatly. “I’m going to sleep.”
“Sleep? Lord Arzan—”
“Yes,” Kai cut in, already walking toward the door. He gave a glance towards Francis who looked baffled. “We have hard days ahead of us. And if I’m expected to solve that—” he jerked his thumb toward the pile of parchment that represented two dueling noblewomen with war-ready egos, “—then I need proper rest.”
He reached the hallway, glancing back once.
“Let’s see what my brain comes up with in the morning.”
2025-07-26 19:19:40 +0000 UTC
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Hello everyone, thank you for supporting the books we have put out till now and I have a very big announcement to make today. After the success of book 1 of Magus Reborn, the second volume is finally out today.
If you have read book 1 on Amazon or audible or just given out ratings, please do so again. Ratings on Amazon are free to give and if you have Kindle unlimited, just downloading the novel in your library gives a good boost.
Here's the link- https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0F449YKM9
Thank you once again!!
2025-07-24 11:01:09 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 254
Stories have been told, countless as stars—scrawled on scrolls, carved in stone, sung in taverns near and far. Legends of old, of valor and flame, of forgotten kings and beasts none could tame. Yet among these tales, one rises tall. A tale not first, but finest of all.
It is not the story of the first Mage who hunted a dragon, nor of a runaway princess hidden in a wagon. Not a saga of chosen kings or swords pulled from stone—no, this tale stands proud on its own.
This is the story of a noble lord, no less than divine. A man whose presence stilled tempests, whose wrath made mountains incline. He bore a spear in one hand, magic in the other, and with both, he shaped fate like clay bringing life where once lay decay.
They said he killed the hunger of famine with a single harvest’s bloom. That when beasts roared and Mages loomed, he met their fury, met their gloom. He stared injustice in the face, even when it wore his brother’s shape, and cast his judgment with unshaking grace.
He healed the sick, burned out plague with light, turned darkest night into morning bright. Yet this tale, this hallowed page, speaks not of courts or cities sage.
It speaks of sand. Of orcs and storms. Of a desert where chaos had taken form.
The noble lord ventured forth, chasing whispers of a gift left behind—his mother’s will, wrapped in time. But what he found was a land split wide: where orcs roamed free and men had died. Where chains bit skin and tyrants ruled, where cruelty thrived and justice cooled.
And so he stood between the sword and the scream, between what was broken and what should have been. Not alone, no, he was never alone. With him came comrades tried and true—men with steel and a woman with spirits few could subdue.
Through dunes that swallowed bones and sun that scorned the skies, they walked, unbowed, with fire in their eyes. The noble lord, with a voice like thunder and calm like rain, brought justice to a land drowned in pain.
Where beasts lay buried and orcs struck wild, He rose—a storm, a flame, the heavens’ child.
So let this tale be carved in mind, dear reader. Not of crowns, not of fate, but of a man who stood straighter than towers, who held no throne but bore the weight. A tale of might and magic, of righteousness tall. The story of a lord who brought justice to all.
And so it begins. The tale of spear and sand and magic.
It told of a dream, so vivid, so true, that even waking men began to doubt the world around them. The dream was seen by the noble lord, whose blood ran rich with legacy, and whose mother had hidden a gift—ancient, mighty, too grand for common fate.
With that vision seared in his mind, the noble lord made a vow—not for glory, nor for gold, but for purpose. To claim what was left, to uncover what was sealed, and to see it through to its rightful end. Thus began a journey of grit and resolve, carved not by roads but by will.
And with him went seven.
One forged from fire, whose rage lit the sky. One cloaked in silence, a figure of shadow and unseen eyes. A woman storm-born, whose laughter crackled and whose words summoned thunder. A girl untested, too young to bleed, yet chosen to learn. A son of the sand, quiet and scarred, who walked as one with the desert. Then two more—pupils of fate. One, a beast in form and strength. The other, a boy… who was me.
A bard too early handed a blade, yet gifted in tongue and steel alike. Awestruck by the lord, I made a silent oath—to tell his tale, to share his truth, so that others might learn what greatness looked like when it walked.
Their journey began at dawn, beneath a sky kissed by gold. In a carriage borne by the noble lord himself, they rode with purpose. But the first danger did not greet them under sun—it waited beneath.
The Cave of Spiders and Bats.
A place where venom dripped like rain and fangs gleamed sharper than steel. Yet the beasts of night, old and cruel, held no ground before the companions of the god-touched man. Through web and claw, spell and blade, they carved a path, silencing the dark and tearing through the first trial like wind through canvas.
Beyond the cave lay the Burnt Land. Scarred and godless covered in sand.
It was the tribal who led them, his feet upon cursed soil. Mana was void. The sun unrelenting. Each breath a burden, each step a test. Yet still, they marched—through storms and silence, through beasts that hid beneath the sand. They walked not as wanderers, but as those who knew their place in fate.
And then came the first true obstacle.
A village torn asunder, cries lost to wind, blood soaked in dust. Orcs had come—not as raiders, but as reapers. Sand tribals fell beneath brute force and cruel laughter.
The noble lord's fury burst at the sight, for before the stars could claim the night, he had already seen the truth—the tyranny of the orcs laid bare in fire and cries.
And thus, began the reckoning.
As a noble lord, he did not hesitate. Bound by creed, forged in purpose, he stepped forth and planted the first seed—of rebellion, and of hope.
The orcs fell to steel and storm, their charge broken in mere moments by the might of the companions. Strength met courage, and courage did not yield. The humans were saved. But peace was fleeting, for grim news followed by a scorched breeze.
A city burned at the edge of the horizon.
And so the great lord moved—carriage abandoned, pace unrelenting—toward flame and ruin. But when he arrived, only ashes remained. The tribals had survived… but not all. The children were gone, stolen amidst the smoke. Taken for reasons none dared speak.
Yet from that blaze came more than sorrow.
The native—silent guardian of the sand—found his kin among the survivors. A brother, long-lost. But joy gave way to regret, for the reunion came too late, and the fire had already claimed what time could not return.
Still, grief had no room to linger. The great lord turned to the tribes.
They met him with doubt.
To them, he was an outsider, cloaked in glory and unknown names. They did not trust what they could not hold. But trust, like thrones, is earned in battle. And so, the noble lord offered a duel.
Five warriors. The strongest among them. One night.
By dawn, they had all fallen—defeated not through pride, but precision. Through clarity, and through grace. In that moment, the tribes saw not a stranger, but a figure worthy of respect. They gave him the approval—not allegiance, but recognition. A temporary bond that was more than enough for the path beyond.
For from their words, he learned of the true enemy.
A figure shrouded in smoke and fame. A name feared and hated in equal breath.
The Orc Tyrant.
Not born to power, but built upon theft. A creature who had clawed his way to dominion by leeching from the sacred gift the noble lord’s mother had once hidden. A gift not meant for war, but twisted into a throne of bones.
The lord heard the tale, and made a vow beneath the desert stars.
He would slay the tyrant.
He would end his reign.
He would return the sands to those who lived by their laws, not their blades.
And thus began a new quest.
One not of blades alone, but of unity. To bring together every scattered tribe, every corner of resistance, and forge them into a force of independence and fire.
Few believed him. But belief had never been his fuel.
So he walked. Through storm and silence. Through battle and siege. He moved across the sands, freeing tribe after tribe from the grip of orcish terror until whispers of his name became more than story.
They became a dream of hope and glory.
With thunderous acclaim and a tribal chief beside him, the great lord rode once more toward a village on the verge, its peace fractured by orcish surge. Yet this time, it was not he alone who stood the storm, but his companions as well—flames at their fingertips, lightning in their cries, their strength unleashed beneath burning skies.
The orcs were captured, their plans laid bare. And from their trembling lips came the truth—what the tyrant sought was never just war, but the tower, sacred and sealed. A relic of the noble lord’s mother, mistaken to be hidden by tribal decree. Power hoarded, faith distorted—thus was the tyrant’s creed.
War he waged, a ceaseless tide, bathing the dunes in crimson pride.
Realization struck like a sword unsheathed. The tyrant’s ambition was clear: conquer the tower, rule without peer. And so the noble lord made his vow—not whispered, not quiet, but carved into fate: to slay the tyrant and rally the tribes before it was too late.
He called a gathering, a council of flame and thorn, where voices rose sharp and scorn was sworn. There, he faced not only fear, but fury—men who called for his head before hearing his plea. Yet still he stood, unwavering. His proposal? To lead the charge himself, to cut the tyrant down and drive the orcs from sacred ground.
Accepted it was, though bitterly so.
With his resolve unshaken, the lord turned to the sands, eyes locked on the horizon and the tower that waited beyond man’s hands. Another tribal joined him—one whose past was hidden in dust, whose future would be forged in trust.
Yet might alone could not win this war.
The lord moved not just with sword, but with mind—deceit and trickery his tools this time. He let the orcs believe he was their god’s own kin, sent to guide them through death and sin.
Through danger and dunes they moved as one, companions cloaked beneath the noonday sun. Until at last the tower rose from heat and haze—majestic and dark, a monument to forgotten days.
Made of charred stone and divine wrath, it stood tall, ancient and grim along their path. The orcs had carved through its skin, a gaping hole where reverence had once been. Thinking it a gift from a god unknown, they tore through relics, flesh, and bone.
And thus began the final descent—Into sacred halls defiled and bent.
For the tyrant believed the tower his right… But little he knew, he would meet the Lord of Light.
The lord’s retribution had arrived, and with it came fire, fury, and fate. His heart was set to free the stolen, to claim what was his, to bring justice to the tower defiled. With companions behind and purpose before, he climbed.
And there, amid the shattered stone and divine echo, the tyrant joined him—mad in might, crazed by stolen power, believing the tower his birthright alone.
He ascended swiftly, clearing traps and breaking seals, blind to the truth that he carried the noble lord in his wake. For though he led, it was the lord who watched, and waited.
At the summit, the truth stood tall.
The tyrant turned and found not loyalty, but the man revered by all. The air grew heavy, the sky above hushed. There were wasted words, but blades were louder and battle was rushed.
The tyrant struck, his hatred for man burning in every blow. But the lord did not back down.
As their battle began, the companions scattered below, locked in their own war with the orcish swarm. Magic clashed with blade. Power met technique. The end was written in every spark and scream.
Madness drove the tyrant forward, relentless and wild, his rage overflowing like fire untamed.
The Lord called forth giants of flame—titanic beasts born of will and wrath—to crush the tyrant beneath molten fists. But the foe was no common beast. The tyrant bore gauntlets, stolen from sacred vaults, ablaze with ancient fire.
One by one, the giants fell.
Wounds seared by lightning closed as the tyrant roared, his strength swelling… yet his fate approaching.
Knowing defeat drew near, he drank of liquid mana, a desperate draught to fuel the hate that hollowed his soul. But the lord had not yet begun to fight in earnest.
Upward he soared, toward storm and flame, his cloak trailing like twilight behind fame.
The sky split as flame painted the firmament. And from it came the answer.
The Cosmic Tribulation.
A dragon of celestial fire. It roared like the heavens torn, its wings casting shadow over the sun, its eyes burning with fate.
Lost in his rage, the tyrant met the dragon head-on—madness in his eyes, flame in his fists. But against a creature born of tribulation, forged from divine fire and righteous wrath, his strength was smoke, his fury dust.
His fate was written in the stars above, yet still he fought. Still he roared and he dreamed.
He believed himself chosen—destined to rule, to rise, to seize the world beneath his heel. But the heavens do not bend for the deluded.
The dragon answered. It struck with fire older than time, and the tyrant’s resistance shattered like glass in a storm. Swallowed whole, his screams silenced in flame, he was cast back to earth—spat out onto the sands from which he came.
The noble lord descended, silent as dusk. Wind curled at his back and judgment in his eyes.
He stood over the broken tyrant, offering one last breath, one final chance. A moment to see the ruin he had wrought. A moment to grasp the weight of his sins.
But madness had long devoured the mind behind those eyes. And so the lord ended it so he couldn't rise.
With a single stroke, he severed the head of the tyrant king—the warlord of sand, the usurper of power, the beast who had dared defile his mother’s gift.
Thus fell the ruler of ruin.
And with him, the desert was freed.
The tribes gathered, their chains broken, their hearts unbound. They looked to the great lord not as man, but as myth. They called him god. They offered gold, thrones, and worship.
But the noble lord refused.
He had no throne to sit, no time to linger. He had seen too many crowns lead to blood. Instead, he gave the desert back to its people.
He told them— build. Unite. Bury old grudges, and raise new homes.
“A city,” he said, “where no tyrant may rise again—
The sound of footsteps pulled Kael from the final line.
He lifted his quill, staring down at the pages before him, the ink still fresh.
Behind him, the heavy clink of armor echoed, and when he turned, he saw Feroy approaching—sand-streaked, sweat-drenched, and grinning like a fool.
His hair was frayed, his chestplate scuffed.
Clearly, he’d been sparring again. Likely taking on multiple Sand Knights at once. Again.
Feroy glanced down at Kael’s table, catching sight of the parchment. He reached for a page—curious—but Kael swiftly snatched it up, tucking the sheets behind his back like a child caught sneaking sweets.
Feroy arched an eyebrow, smirking. “Writing another story?”
“Yes. And I believe this one will be famous in the bars and taverns of the Sylvan Enclave. I’ve already had three innkeepers offer me coins to recite my previous tales.”
Feroy grinned, his teeth white against the dust on his face. “Is it about Lord Arzan again? I swear, you're half the reason for all the rumors flying around the city.”
“They’re good rumors,” he said, tapping the stack of pages. Kael smirked without shame. “Besides, I just take a bit of creative liberty. No names mentioned.”
He glanced down at the parchment in his hands, flipping through the inked lines.
“For all I know, this is just the fourth book in the Great Lord series,” he added with a grin. “The ones the kids adore.”
Feroy chuckled. “I know they do. But maybe it's time you put the quill down for a bit and come with me. Khalid and the others are waiting.”
Kael frowned. “Why? It takes hours to get there from the tower.”
Currently, their entire party was living in Magus Valkyrie’s tower. They’d made the place their temporary base, mapping its endless halls and cataloging the strange artifacts and ancient relics left behind.
“They’re in Rakhaal,” Feroy replied, turning slightly toward the door. “Or… what was Rakhaal.” He looked back over his shoulder. “With the orcs scattered, the tribal groups are coming together. They’re forming a council—a real one—to rule the region properly. And they’re finally renaming the city. The one the five tribal council rules.”
“They never had a name for it?”
“Apparently, the council could never agree. Especially not Adil. But now that he’s off doing his own thing, they’re gelling better.”
Kael nodded, slowly gathering the scattered pages from his desk. “Sounds good to me.”
Feroy gave a brief nod and started walking the same way he came from.
He jogged to catch up with Feroy, still holding the parchment in both arms like treasured scrolls. As they stepped out into the sunlit corridor, Kael looked down at the title scrawled on the top page and asked, “Do you think they’ll like The Adventures of the Great Lord?”
Feroy gave a lazy smile without breaking stride. “Guess we’ll find out soon.”
2025-07-24 10:57:38 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 144
Feiyu stared at the diagrams tacked onto the board in front of him, a rare smile tugging at his grime-streaked face.
Rifles were scattered across the workshop—some complete, while others cracked open mid-modification. Bullet casings rolled underfoot, and gunpowder hung faint in the air. But none of it held his attention now. His eyes were fixed on the lines and curves sketched before him—the final schematic, the culmination of weeks of sleepless nights and forge-burned fingers.
This was it.
The breakthrough.
He could feel it. The pulse of qi gathering in his dantian, coiling with anticipation like a storm ready to break. Months of relentless forging, of pushing steel and soul into each weapon, had taken his cultivation soaring to the peak of the qi refinement Realm. Qing He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t expected it.
But Feiyu knew now.
The forge was his dao. His rebellion against convention. It gave him more qi because what he was creating was revolutionary. It challenged even the heavens.
Sometimes, when midnight silence pressed down on him, he’d wonder, Would the heavens punish me for it?
But no tribulation had come. No divine backlash. Only progress. And now, just one more refinement—one final, perfect mechanism—and he would step into the foundation establishment realm.
And after that…
Feiyu’s smile deepened, softer this time.
Maybe, just maybe, he could return to Ashen City and ask out Lingyan. Properly. He’d heard enough to know she hadn’t given up, she was still waiting for him. He had made use of anyone who was on the supply wagon to Ashen City to get him more information, and he was even able to exchange letters with her.
Like he’d expected, her family had tried to marry her off—said she was too naïve, too distracted by childish thinking.
But she’d resisted.
Closed-door cultivation, that’s what she did. She came out only when the wagons arrived.
“Just a little more,” he muttered. “Let me break through… and I’ll come find you.”
Fortunately, no one had found out yet. But Feiyu knew better than to trust luck for long. They were skating on thin ice, and each passing day added weight.
He needed results and fast. The diagrams pinned before him might just be the answer.
His conversation with Sect Leader Chen still echoed in his ears. That man… either he was a once-in-a-century sage or had stumbled upon the tomb of one. Every casual observation, every offhand remark over dinner, felt like enlightenment in disguise.
And that night, when they'd been discussing guns, Chen Ren had spoken of a design that made Feiyu’s heart race. After pestering him with questions and sketching it out on scraps of paper, Feiyu knew he had to build it.
Something that could give the sect an overwhelming advantage. Something that could kill from beyond a hundred paces with a single shot.
He moved to his metal stockpile, dragging out bars and rods while muttering design tweaks to himself when the workshop door creaked open behind him.
Qing He stepped inside, walking with her painstaking shuffle—the one she claimed got people to “respect their elders and do their chores.” Ever since she’d said that with a straight face, Feiyu could never take her seriously.
Her eyes swept the chaos of the workshop. Tools scattered. Half-built guns. Burnt blueprints. She grunted, then squinted at the diagrams still pinned to the board.
“What’s this?” she asked, snatching a parchment like it owed her money.
“A special gun,” Feiyu replied.
Qing He sniffed. “What’s this weird thing stuck on the back?” She jabbed a finger at the long tubular structure etched on the rifle’s spine.
“That’s a scope,” he said, brushing some dust off a gear. “It’s to help the shooter see far. You look through it and you can fire a bullet at targets from way further than usual. But…The bullets we’ve got now won’t cut it. They drop too much at long range, and their force fades too fast. We need something sharper, faster, and heavier. Or maybe even… something entirely new.”
Qing He stared long and hard at the diagram again, then muttered under her breath, “Another one of Chen Ren’s ideas, huh?”
“Yeah. He just casually mentioned it. I picked it up and started to work on it.” Feiyu didn’t even try to hide his grin.
“You’re such a kid.” Qing He scoffed at him.
“Huh?”
“He knew you’d latch onto it. He probably wanted you to work on it.”
Wait… What? Feiyu couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He raised an eyebrow. “You mean that all this time, I’ve been working on something he wanted done? So why not tell me directly?”
Qing He shrugged, then began to pace, her hands behind her back like a grumpy elder in a marketplace. “Because you’re already handling too many things. You’ve got mortals helping you now, yes, but that doesn’t mean the weight on your shoulders is lighter. He’s probably trying not to dump more on you. But that doesn’t stop him from planting seeds in your head.”
“So he feels bad, but still wants me to do it?”
“Exactly,” she said, as if it were obvious. “That’s why he just… talks. Throws ideas around and sees what grows.” She turned back to the diagram, squinting. “What are these guns called again?”
“Sniper rifles,” Feiyu replied, straightening the edges of the paper. “Sect Leader Chen said that’s what they’re called. I think it’s a cool name. I’ve never heard of a word like ‘sniper’ before.”
Qing He gave a small nod. Names didn’t interest her much unless they meant something functional. Her eyes scanned the diagram again. “You planning to add any arrays to this scope?”
Feiyu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Aside from the runes we’ve already etched into the other guns for stability and recoil… I don’t have the knowledge to add anything new. I’m thinking I’ll make the model first. Test it. Then see what kind of runes can be added later. As for array, I don't know if I will find a suitable one.”
Qing He narrowed her eyes, then looked at him. “Give me a paper.”
Feiyu blinked, surprised. His heart skipped a beat. “Really?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get emotional on me. Just pass it.”
He practically shoved a parchment and quill into her hands, and for the next five minutes, Qing He scribbled in absolute silence. Her strokes flowed from memory like water. Feiyu could only watch in awe as the page filled.
Finally, she handed it to him.
“Make sure you carve these into the inside of the scope,” she said.
Feiyu took the parchment, his eyes scanning the tight, fluid scribbles that Qing He had written out so effortlessly. At first glance, it looked like a small, simple formation—one that might be used for basic reinforcement or sight enhancement—but something about the layering of runes caught his attention.
“What is it?” he asked.
Qing He leaned closer, tapping her finger against the central glyph. “An array that lets you see far. Real far. Assassins used to craft small viewing tools with this etched into the lenses. With just a slight adjustment, they could see near or distant targets. But that’s not all.”
Feiyu’s eyes widened slightly. “There’s more?”
She nodded. “It doesn’t just enhance sight—it can pick up signs of movement. Life. Qi fluctuations from humans and beasts across a wide radius. Not perfectly, but enough to mark heat or motion over terrain.”
“That’s…” Feiyu struggled for the words. “How’s that even possible?”
“There’s a lot of things array masters have made over the centuries. Most of it is forgotten. Some of it buried on purpose. These kinds of devices were discovered after a demonic sect was destroyed in the north. The cultivator who led the charge razed their libraries, but a few items slipped through. One ended up in a wandering cultivator’s hands. My master had a book that mentioned the designs.”
Feiyu stared at her. “And you never told me?”
“I just did,” she said flatly, walking toward the door.
“But—”
She raised a hand, cutting him off without even turning back. “Use it well.”
And then she was gone, the workshop door creaking shut behind her.
Feiyu stared at the array in his hands, a dozen questions rising and falling in his chest like a tide he didn’t know how to stem. Who was Qing He, really? She acted like an old woman at times, shrewd and difficult—but then she’d turn around and drop things like this in his lap. Secrets from fallen sects or forgotten arrays used by assassins and warlords. And she knew them like bedtime stories.
But the questions faded quickly, replaced by the gleam of invention—the itch in his fingers.
This array…
It changed everything.
He gently laid the parchment beside the diagram for the sniper rifle. His eyes roved between them, the pieces falling into place in his mind like puzzle tiles finding their shape. It wouldn’t be easy. Carving this array into something as small and delicate as a scope would take precision, patience, and more qi than he was used to spending in a single session.
But it would work.
And if he succeeded, this wouldn’t just be a long-range weapon.
It would be a hunter’s eye. A scout’s dream. A god’s finger stretched across the battlefield.
Feiyu couldn’t help his mind. His hands moved with renewed energy as he reached for the metal components.
He had work to do.
And somewhere just beyond this breakthrough, he could feel it—his cultivation trembling, pushing against the limits of the qi refinement realm. He was going to break through by building a weapon even cultivators would fear.
***
Chen Ren sipped his tea with a beam on his face. The taste was bitter, spiced just how he liked it—an acquired taste, much like victory. He leaned back in the chair in his office at the Divine Pill Apothecary.
It had been a week since the spy left.
He could only imagine the state of the Darkmoon Sect now. A part of him wondered if the spy was still alive. Knowing what kind of men ruled that sect, it was unlikely. Chen Ren wasn’t particularly concerned, nor did he feel sympathy.
If the bastard was dead, then so be it.
The man had pretended to be Han Fei. Had used his name, his face and tried to steal things that weren't his.
And Han Fei had paid the price.
Chen Ren’s smile faded slightly, the tea losing its flavor as memories surged forward. The real Han Fei, when they’d finally found him tucked away where the spy had left him drugged, had looked more like a corpse than alive. His entire body was pale, his hands trembled and he’d been fed sedative pills, and the worse part—the effects lingered.
They’d almost broken him.
Chen Ren's knuckles tightened around the teacup before he set it down gently.
He hadn’t made a decision yet, but he intended to send Han Fei back to the sect for recovery—far from all this. He deserved that much.
As for the Darkmoon Sect…
They wouldn’t take this lying down. For them to send a spy so quickly, so early into the apothecary’s rise, meant one thing, they were already feeling the heat. Their pill sales were falling. Their name was starting to lose its weight. He had taken a bite out of a behemoth, and now, the beast had noticed.
His eyes flicked to the small letter on the corner of his desk.
A merchant had just requested exclusive rights to stock and sell their Qi Replenishment Pills in bulk outside the city.
That was the fifth such request this week. So yes, he understood why Darkmoon was rattled.
The grin returned to his face as he leaned back again. The spy had been bait, and they’d taken it. The ingredients they’d thought the Divine Coin sect used were enough to brew a disaster if anyone tried to mimic the process. He almost pitied whoever had the job of testing those pills, almost.
But there was another concern that lingered in his mind, since sending a spy didn’t work out, they might try something even more desperate.
Assassins were a real possibility. But he doubted it would go beyond that. Proper sect wars in the empire were rare, and an Established sect that had been the pinnacle of the city for ages going against an Emerging one in broad daylight was embarrassing.
In the shadows? That’s where most sects died.
But can it be something else? Would they send more spies? Or try a scheme like the one they’d used against Jadefire Hall?
Chen Ren doubted it. The disciples that had stayed with Hun Tianzhi after the sabotage were the loyal ones—the kind who wouldn’t budge no matter how enticing the offer. They had already made their choice, and Chen Ren respected that.
He tapped his cup gently on the table, letting his mind wander through possibilities. Poison? Sabotage? Assassins? He wouldn’t put any of it past Darkmoon Sect. His fingers curled tighter around the porcelain as he took another sip—just as the door creaked open.
He glanced up.
Anji stepped through first, followed by Tang Boming, who looked a little less guarded but still serious. There was a piece of parchment in Anji’s hand, the paper folded tightly and sealed in a dark wax that bore no crest.
His focus moved to the parchment.
Anji raised it slightly. “The receptionist at the inn handed it to me on my way here,” she said, walking forward. “Apparently, it’s from the Darkmoon Sect.”
Chen Ren’s jaw tightened. His hand rose instinctively, and Anji placed the parchment in his palm.
He cracked the seal immediately.
The message was shorter than Chen Ren had expected. He thought it’d be a message threatening him to leave the city or belittling him in any way. Instead, it was simply a declaration for a challenge. It was a duel but not the common kind.
He scanned the lines again just to be sure, then set the parchment down on the desk. “Flames of Merit Trials?” he said aloud. “I think I’ve seen banners about that around the city.”
“It’s all over the streets. The inn’s discourse is starting to shift towards it too. Seems like the whole city is getting ready,” Tang Boming said.
“We overheard a few merchants talk about it too. Apparently, the competition only happens once every three years, and the top sects and clans use it to show off their alchemists and gain reputation. Not only from Broken Ridge City, but nearby ones too,” Anji added. “It seems they want to challenge us in the field we are fighting over—alchemy.”
Chen Ren agreed. “It seems like it. But we need to learn more on this trial before accepting it. I’m assuming it’s almost akin to a city festival.
Tang Boming nodded. “It is. Basically, it’s like any other city tournament—meant to entertain the mortals and give cultivators a chance to prove themselves. It started about fifty years ago. The City Lord at the time thought the city was too stagnant. Everyone either stayed cooped up or ran off to the wildlands. Being an alchemist himself, he understood the importance of alchemy to Broken Ridge. So he founded the trial—got sects, clans, and even rogue cultivators involved. Turned it into a full event. Rewards are massive. Even just showing up gets you a cauldron. That’s why people flock to it.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly, thoughts drifting to Cloud Mist City's tournament. He remembered the chaos but also how many people have travelled from the nearby villages and towns just to spectate.
Darkmoon Sect wanted to crush them and win the competition, just to tell the city that they still had the best alchemists in this part of the empire.
Even if they couldn’t fully recover their business, a strong win would tilt the city’s trust back toward them. And trust was currency to cultivators. They would see Darkmoon Sect bask in a wave of renewed glory and wonder if they had judged them too soon.
And worse?
They’d probably slash prices—temporarily—after the win, just to bleed Chen Ren’s operation dry. Especially with the debt looming like a sword over their heads. The bastards definitely knew about the three-month period.
They’re going for a killing blow, Chen Ren thought. It was clever. Annoyingly clever.
He sat there, frowning at the parchment, the implications weighing heavier by the second.
Then Anji’s voice cut through his silence.
“What are we going to do, Sect Leader Chen?”
He only looked up.
What were they going to do?
He could refuse the challenge. It wasn’t mandatory. But that would be seen as cowardice. Worse—admission of inferiority. Their reputation would plummet harder than if they lost. The sect might survive, but the business would be gutted.
Well, what could he do now?
2025-07-24 10:56:28 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 143
Gao Moyue looked over the collection of artifacts he had gathered across the centuries. Once a month, without fail, he devoted time to cleaning them purely out of reverence.
His gaze first landed on the dark, weather-worn armor mounted along the wall. It was made from the hide of a gravemaul beetle king, a monstrous insectoid whose carapace had once resisted fire, blade, and qi alike. Gao Moyue had worn it throughout his foundation establishment years, carving through broods of beasts with such violence that the name Beast Killer had clung to him ever since.
Next came the rings. Twelve spatial rings, each inlaid with different metals, each unique in size and make. Most still held untouched resources—spirit stones, beast cores, rare herbs. But that wasn’t why he kept them. Every single ring had been won in a blood duel. Back when Darkmoon Sect was lawless, and power was justice, Gao Moyue had stood victorious on countless bloodied arenas. The rings were his silent trophies.
Then there was the cauldron.
It was a massive, crimson vessel with deep-set runes attached into its interior walls. They were painstakingly carved to enhance the pill purity, stabilize flames and refine flow. It was a Molten-Heart Cauldron, peak Earth-grade, and the only one of its kind in the entire sect. For two centuries, it had sat in the core of his alchemy room, serving him without fail. Even after stepping back from cultivation and ceasing his alchemical breakthroughs, he had never neglected to wipe it clean each month.
Today, as always, his hand reached for the cauldron first.
He unsummoned its stasis seal and laid it before him. A soft hum pulsed from the runes as they glowed faintly in greeting. He soaked a cloth in a basin of qi-rich solution and began circling the rim carefully.
That was when he heard light footsteps.
He turned his head without needing to ask. One of the servants stood in the doorway. Her eyes widened despite clearly preparing herself before coming. She tugged on the sides of her dress for some forsaken reason.
Gao Moyue straightened and frowned, displeased at being interrupted during an activity he genuinely enjoyed
“Do you have a good reason to disturb me?”
The servant bowed low, her head almost touching her knees. “It wasn’t my wish to do so, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. Elder Tiefang and a disciple have come to meet you on an urgent matter.”
Gao Moyue narrowed his eyes. “Tiefang?” The name didn’t strike immediate recognition. He cleared his throat. “Describe them.”
“The elder wore outer sect robes and had a beard that reached his neck,” she replied. “He looked… stressed. Kept looking around and asked for you repeatedly.”
“And the disciple?”
“He was in outer sect robes too. Short hair. He had his head lowered the whole time, like someone being dragged to an execution. He kept begging the elder to let him go.”
Gao Moyue fell into thought, his annoyance giving way to mild confusion. The description wasn’t much help—at this point, half the elders had started growing their beards like it was a competition. But the urgency was unmistakable. Either the elder was important enough to bypass channels… or the matter at hand was that pressing.
He sighed. Either way, he would have to hear them out.
“If this turns out to be stupid,” he muttered under his breath, “I’m plucking that beard off myself.” Looking at the servant, he straightened. “I’ll go meet them.”
“I will lead the way, Sect Leader,” she said quickly, turning to guide him through the quiet halls.
They made their way through the quiet corridor, footsteps muted against polished stone. When the servant opened the doors to the meeting room, Gao Moyue stepped in and immediately, it clicked.
Elder Tiefang.
He remembered now. The same man who had whined about the outer disciples who’d been killed. Was he here to complain again? And this time, he’d dragged along a sorry-looking disciple who seemed like he’d been slapped around by an inner disciple trying to flex?
A dull throb started at the back of Gao Moyue’s head.
Still, he kept his face composed. He was a sect leader, after all. At least this time he remembered the man's name.
He entered with the air of a mountain, and the moment he did, both Elder Tiefang and the disciple dropped to their knees, bowing low.
He gestured toward them with a flick of his fingers. “Raise your heads.”
They obeyed. The disciple’s face was pale and drawn. Elder Tiefang’s beard was a little more frazzled than last time.
“Why are you here?” Gao Moyue asked. “I believe I made myself clear before. Cultivation is a test of the heavens. If someone dies, it is because their strength was insufficient. No one else is to blame.”
But the elder quickly shook his head. “We’re not here for that, Sect Leader. This is something else. A much bigger problem. One that could ruin Darkmoon Sect for years to come if we don’t act fast.”
Gao Moyue stilled, his brows lowering. Ruin? He hadn’t heard of any such crisis. If the insectoids were rallying again, there would’ve been signs. His scouts would’ve sent word. And if it were an invasion, he would’ve been the first to know.
So what could it be?
“Explain,” he said curtly.
Elder Tiefang reached into his robe and pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it forward.
“Please take a look at this, Sect Leader,” he said.
Gao Moyue took the folded paper, noting how both the elder and the disciple tensed. Elder Tiefang’s shoulders rose slightly, held stiff like a man bracing for a strike. The disciple—barely keeping still—glanced at the door, foot shifting as if calculating the number of steps it would take to run.
The sect leader’s brow arched faintly. What could possibly be written here to warrant that kind of reaction?
He unfolded the paper, the parchment whispering against his fingers.
At first glance, it was nothing alarming. Columns of numbers. Inked rows of names and figures. But then, his eyes lingered. A line dropped. Then another.
His gaze sharpened, flicking back up. The patterns didn’t lie.
The sales had cratered.
The top three pills—ones that brought in almost a third of their monthly income—had suffered a drop so sudden, so steep, it looked like sabotage.
His fingers curled tighter around the parchment.
Side effects? Contamination? A rival’s scheme?
He scanned the rest of the data, lips pressing into a thin line. The numbers screamed, but the reasons didn’t write themselves.
He looked up, eyes locking onto Elder Tiefang.
“You’re in charge of our alchemy shops. Correct?”
Elder Tiefang nodded immediately, his eyes moved up from the floor.
“Then explain,” Gao Moyue said. “Explain to me why I’m looking at the single worst drop in sect revenue since I took leadership.”
Tiefang bowed low. “Yes, Sect Leader. I will.”
And then he began to speak.
For the next hour, Gao Moyue listened. He said nothing without moving an inch. He didn’t even move when a servant knocked gently to ask about lunch. The door remained closed.
As the elder laid out the story—from the rising success of Divine Pill Apothecary to the failed infiltration, the botched ingredients, and the disciples poisoned by their own attempts—Gao Moyue’s silence turned heavy.
By the halfway point, his mind was already spinning.
A new sect, rising within weeks, and now had strong enough products to steal their clients?
It was absurd. Unprecedented. It was unacceptable!
And yet, the records were real. The names, the amounts, the spirit stones lost each day. Falsifying them would be a death sentence. And Tiefang… he may have been a fool, but he wasn’t suicidal.
Even so, one question churned in Gao Moyue’s mind—How had they failed even in infiltration?
He simply stared at the disciple who had failed them all, though his silence wasn’t meant for him alone. His thoughts twisted inward, far deeper than the room they sat in.
How had they known?
That was the only question that mattered.
The spy had been competent, by all accounts. As far as he knew, the spy had been careful, quiet and committed to play his part. That much was obvious by now. Yet, they’d known—they’d known, and they’d played them.
One hand curled under his chin as his gaze slid down to the report again, but the numbers stayed the same, staring up at him like accusations.
Had they used an expert? Perhaps someone skilled in stealth or illusions, someone capable of sensing intrusions?
No... it had to be more than that. No Emerging sect—no unknown sect—should have been able to rise like this without powerful backing. Gao Moyue was many things—apathetic, indulgent, slow to act—but he wasn’t blind. There were always games behind the stage. Shadow hands pulling strings. But this? This felt like a direct slap.
Sending back a disciple alive—with false ingredients—wasn’t just a counterintelligence tactic. It was a mockery.
The air turned brittle.
When Elder Tiefang’s tale ended, Gao Moyue didn’t offer any of the usual phrases—no lazy admonishments, no philosophical quips about hardship building foundation.
He said nothing.
Because he couldn’t.
Tiefang had already done everything. And everything had failed.
He couldn’t just wave it away, couldn’t dismiss the problem with a flick of his sleeve and go back to wiping down old treasures.
Because this was about prestige and money.
And both were bleeding out.
If the numbers kept falling, he could already imagine the chain reaction—inner elders demanding more resources to compensate, then hoarding what little they had left. Disciple morale would slip, outer sect loyalty would crack, and complaints would pour in like floodwaters through a broken dam.
And what if the Divine Coin Sect made more pills? What if they expanded? Created body-strengthening pills? Ascension pills? Rejuvenation elixirs? All flavoured for the taste buds of cultivators.
His temples throbbed.
For a brief, deeply satisfying moment, Gao Moyue thought about going down the mountain himself. About walking into that flashy little shop, ripping the door off its hinges, and planting his boot on whatever smug face led their sect.
And get him to leave or be killed. But he had moved past such tacts. If he was right, the sect had an expert or two. And a battle in the city would be the worst thing possible for him.
His influence only stretched so far, and the City Lord was already irritated with the recent chaos near the southern borders. One fight in the streets and the man would turn on Darkmoon faster than he’d turn his tea cup.
No, this needed tact.
He lifted his gaze toward Elder Tiefang, who stiffened under the weight of it. “Has the reputation of our pills changed since this… Divine Pill Apothecary opened?”
“It has, Sect Leader. I’ve already begun hearing complaints. Not about quality, but…” He hesitated, lips thinning, “...about taste. Prices, too. They say our pills are bitter. Harsh on the tongue. Some even joke that swallowing ours is like chewing bark soaked in vinegar.”
Gao Moyue’s jaw clenched.
“They’ve been taking our pills for a century without complaint.”
“Yes, Sect Leader. But now they want every pill to taste sweet, to melt on the tongue like candy. The cultivators are acting like spoiled nobles.”
“They’re losing trust in us,” Gao Moyue muttered.
“They are. The only way I can see to restore it is to prove—to remind everyone—that our pills and our alchemists are leagues above theirs. That Darkmoon Sect stands at the pinnacle for a reason. Cultivators forget quickly. We must make them remember. But I don't see a way to do it, Sect Leader.”
Gao Moyue leaned back, tapping a finger against his armrest, thinking. Despite all of Tiefang’s earlier blunders, the man’s instincts weren’t wrong. A show of superiority, of undeniable skill and refinement… that might just do it.
Still, a part of him itched to lash out. They had failed. Lost face. But punishment could come later. First, they needed a solution.
He exhaled slowly. “Then we remind them.” But how?
How do you crush an opponent you can’t strike? How do you reclaim pride in a market of smiling shopkeepers and sweet-tasting pills?
He couldn’t get them in an honorary duel. Because brute force wouldn’t prove their point. This was about pills.
There must be something that I could think of… Something…
Gao Moyue’s thoughts spun tighter and tighter in his mind until a distant thread of memory snapped taut. A courtyard roaring with cheers. Flashes of red flags and bright golden letters. The scent of freshly refined pills. The Flames of Merit Trials.
He froze.
A younger version of himself stood at the center of that memory, robes billowing, cauldron blazing. Pills so pure they shimmered. He hadn’t just won that year—he had conquered. That one victory had changed the way the city spoke his name. He had become the pride of the Darkmoon Sect.
He slowly turned back toward Elder Tiefang, a gleam behind his tired eyes.
“What season is it?”
The question threw the elder off. “Season?”
“Yes.” Gao Moyue waved vaguely toward the distant windows. “Last I left my chambers, I recall… chilly winds. Is it winter now?”
“Yes, Sect Leader. The beast risings have started across the empire. Many border provinces are already reporting attacks. It’s a perilous time. Do you wish me to bring you the latest reports?”
Gao Moyue scoffed, waving his hand.
“Why would I want that? Let the other sects deal with it. Our duty is to the insectoids, not stray tigers and wolves. No… I’m asking because winter also means…”
He trailed off, eyes narrowing.
“…the Flames of Merit Trials. The citywide alchemy competition. It happens every three years.”
He raised a single brow, looking at Tiefang.
“It should be this year… if my memory still serves.”
Before the elder could even answer, the disciple beside him—head still lowered—spoke up.
“It is, Sect Leader Gao Moyue. They’ve started putting up the banners already. It’ll be announced formally soon.”
Gao Moyue smiled. And for the first time since they had entered the room, neither Tiefang nor the disciple could meet his eyes.
“Perfect,” the Sect Leader said, his voice deep with satisfaction. “We will not crawl back through the shadows like rats. We will step into the light and shatter their little illusion of superiority.”
He turned toward the wall, where a portrait of the Darkmoon Sect's founders hung.
“They made a fool out of us. They stole from our market, insulted our name, and laughed behind our backs.”
He looked over his shoulder, the smile still on his lips but something colder now in his gaze.
“We’ll see who’s laughing once the flames rise.”
2025-07-22 10:08:02 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 253
Amyra cast her eyes across the horizon, staring out over the dead, barren lands that stretched endlessly in every direction. The ground was cracked and gray, and the air stank of rot and ash. Every breath felt like swallowing decay. She wrinkled her nose and reflexively activated the first circle spell Lord Arzan had taught her, [Purify]. She had to keep it running just to keep from retching.
Even after two weeks, the sight still made her stomach turn.
Some things, she supposed, you never truly got used to.
Her gaze drifted back behind her to the stretch of land she had already purified. The difference was obvious. The foul scent was no longer clung to the wind in that direction, and though the soil still looked dry, faint tinges of color had already begun to return. Most importantly, the stumps of the Elder Tree dotted the area. They had planted the stumps, one by one.
She didn’t understand how it worked exactly. Only that the Elder Tree’s presence was enough to stir the land back to life. It was like giving oxygen to a drowning man, it coaxed the soil to breathe again.
Even looking at it steadied her heart, making her forget about the stench and disgust for a moment.
She knew that she wasn’t done, not even close. But it helped her to know that she’d come so far.
It reminded her of Lord Arzan’s words, “Whenever the climb feels too steep, look back. See how far you’ve come.”
She used [Purify] again and inhaled a deep breath, filling her lungs with good air.
Her thoughts halted for a moment as footsteps approached from behind.
She turned back and spotted Magus Elias. The old man looked… shabby. His robes were dust-stained and his beard had grown longer over the past two weeks. With the wind tugging at his cloak and the staff at his hand, he looked more and more like one of those storybooks Mages she used to read about in the castle library.
A silent nostalgia filled her heart at the thought of the library.
She missed that place already.
Lord Arzan had been adding more and more books to it, but she hadn’t brought many with her, and the ones she had, she’d already finished twice over. The silence of this wasteland wasn’t the kind she liked. It wasn’t peaceful like a reading book tucked under sunlight. It was hollow in every way and form.
Magus Elias must have noticed the shift in her mood, because he stepped closer and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Amyra stiffened—she never liked being touched—but she didn’t pull away. The old Magus meant no harm, not now at least.
“Are you tired?” he asked, and for a moment Amyra saw genuine concern in his eyes. “If you want, we could take a break for today. You’ve been working tirelessly. And even if I don’t understand how you’re doing it, I can tell it takes a toll on you.”
Amyra shook her head. “No. I’m okay. Just… missing home.”
“I understand. Two weeks is a long time to be away from the place where you feel most at peace.”
She turned her gaze past him, to the small group standing at the edge of the cleared land. Half a dozen guards, their armor dulled by dust and ash, stood watch. Lord Arzan’s most loyal men, led by Knight Clement. They followed her without question, and were always on watch.
“I’m not the only one,” she murmured. “They’re away too.”
“They don’t count. They’re soldiers. It’s their job to endure harsh conditions. But you…” He looked at her with that familiar intensity again and let out a sigh. “You’re someone important. If it weren’t for the circumstances, I wouldn’t have let Arzan bring you here.”
Amyra smiled faintly at the praise, but didn’t reply.
Since the day they met—since she first showed him what she could do—Magus Elias had looked at her as if she were some rare treasure. He always prioritized her well-being, hovered nearby when she pushed herself too far, and even took the time to teach her new spells when he could.
Sometimes it was comforting.
Other times, it made her nervous. Because if someone like him believed in her that much… she didn’t want to let them down.
Though there was Lord Arzan’s warning that rang through her mind every time Magus Elias showed kindness. “The Magus might try to get close to you. Just be careful.”
But Amyra hadn’t felt anything wrong from him.
If anything, Magus Elias always acted with good intentions. Overprotective, perhaps. But never overbearing. He didn’t look at her like she was a pawn or a tool to be used. Still… all the attention made her feel a little shy. She wasn’t used to being noticed so much, especially not by someone as important as him.
Magus. The word alone held weight.
They were at the top of the Mage world, and here she was… just trying not to stammer whenever she spoke.
“I think I can still do more today,” she said quietly, brushing her fingers together. “We can rest after that.”
Elias gave her a thoughtful look, the kind that made her feel like he was measuring more than just her words. Then he nodded.
“Alright,” he said, rolling his shoulders slightly. “Let me get the sandstorm going again. The last one took a few weavers with it before it broke.”
As he spoke, Amyra felt it—the sudden surge of mana, thick and commanding.
Wave after wave, it radiated from his body, brushing against her skin like hot wind. A vast spell structure began to outspread in the air in front of her, even glowing lines and unrecognizable runes spiraling from it.
Her lips parted at the sight. Even now, after seeing it so many times, she still couldn’t help but stare.
The spell took form, surrounding half of Elias’s body before shooting down into the ground with a thunderous whir. It bloomed at the center and in the next second, spread outward in all directions. Wind began to swirl, picking up speed until the entire area trembled with its force.
Sand lifted into the air, spinning upward until the storm towered above them.
It stood as a protective barrier.
Amyra stared in awe.
“I’ll keep watch,” Elias spoke. “If you sense anything strange, let me know right away.”
Amyra agreed and her focus already shifted toward the next patch of dead mana. The ground looked lifeless, chalky and pale. She knelt slowly and pressed her palm to it.
Instantly, a familiar shiver crawled up her spine. That same awful sensation like worms writhing just beneath her skin.
It made her want to recoil
But she didn’t.
She’d gone through this so many times to recoil and run the opposite direction like a coward.
Instead she breathed through it and anchored herself to let the sickening sensation crawl up her arm, allowing dead mana to slither through her skin and into her heart.
It never stopped feeling wrong, but she didn’t fight it. She absorbed it—let it become a part of her and with a silent push from within, purified it.
A surge of mana pulsed through her with every cycle.
Frankly, Amyra had no idea how she did it.
Lord Arzan had spoken about something called soul inscriptions—ancient enchantments on the soul itself that granted her this ability. She had been there with him in her astral realm when he had found it.
Amyra never gave it much thought.
To her, this wasn’t a grand mystery. It was simply what her people did. And now, with her being the last of them, it was what she had to do.
It was her duty to cleanse the world of this corruption. All of it.
So she continued.
Hour after hour, the dead mana flowed into her and came out clean. The land responded. The chalky, lifeless grey began to recede, replaced with patches of dull but unmistakable color. The guards didn’t wait—they moved quickly, planting elder tree stumps into the newly revived earth. Magus Elias watched over them, silent yet alert beneath the veil of sand swirling above.
From time to time, Amyra would pause. She’d take a breath, sip from her canteen, stretch her fingers and then return to work.
She could feel it now. The change.
The way her body adapted. The way the mana no longer resisted her as much. When she’d first arrived, the effort of purifying even a small patch had left her breathless. But now, two weeks into these cursed lands, she realized how much more she could handle. How much further she could go.
What had begun as a mission—a favor requested by Lord Arzan—had become something else entirely.
This was training.
She wasn’t naïve. She knew something big was happening, even if no one said it outright. She knew Lord Arzan was at the center of it, and if she wanted to stand beside him—really stand beside him, then she had to be more than a girl with a strange gift.
And even if her growth as a Mage took time… her gift? This unique, sacred power. It could be her leap forward.
And she was ready to take it.
Before she knew it, the sun was already sinking behind the dunes. The light painted the land in deep orange and gold—almost beautiful, if not for the haunting silence and the scars of corruption still etched into the soil.
A large section had been cleared. It wasn’t whole, but it was healing.
Amyra touched the next patch of dead mana, channeling her power again, but this time, something shifted.
Her breath hitched.
A sudden wave of weakness surged through her, her vision dimming at the edges. Her knees nearly buckled.
“Amyra?” Magus Elias’s voice came from behind. “Are you alright?”
“I’m…” She hesitated. “I believe I’m done for the day.”
Magus Elias stepped closer, his staff grounding beside him with a soft thud. He gave a small nod. “That’s for the best. You’ve done more than enough. Let’s head back to camp. You can rest. Or, if you’d like… we can begin the journey back to Veralt.”
At that, Amyra shook her head.
“I can’t.”
Her eyes drifted outward, scanning the vast stretch of barren land ahead. It went on and on, far beyond where the elder tree stumps stood, beyond where her reach had ended for the day.
“There’s so much to do.”
The words came out softer than she expected. Not out of exhaustion, but something deeper. Maybe even a little guilt.
She hadn’t been forced into this. She had chosen it. And she wasn’t ready to stop.
***
Kai twisted sharply to the right as a massive claw swiped past him, the wind of it brushing his cheek like a knife’s edge. He spun midair, cloak flaring, and caught sight of the beast that had nearly grabbed him.
A massive eagle-like creature hovered above, looking at him with cruel eyes. He recognized it immediately. Ender vulture.
A third-grade aerial predator infamous for raiding small human settlements and feasting on the corpses. They were smart, fast, and savage. Not what he expected to run into just an hour into Lancephil. Not the first bird to try and eat him mid-flight either.
The ender vulture screeched, a piercing cry that made his ears ring. Kai ignored it, his fingers were already moving, spell structure forming at lightning speed around him.
A flurry of cutting winds shot out toward the beast’s wings. The vulture twisted midair, barely dodging, and dove straight at him again with bloodlust in its eyes.
Kai didn’t give it the chance to close the gap.
The desert was far behind him now. Here, the air was thick with mana—rich and plentiful. He could afford to flex.
As the bird lunged, Kai darted upward, agile and precise, letting it soar beneath him.
Then he struck.
A lance of ice—sharp, narrow, and fast—pierced through the sky and slammed into the vulture’s back and wings. The creature shrieked as frost bloomed across its feathers, weighing it down. Chunks of ice spread rapidly, encasing its joints and locking its wings mid-flap.
It began to struggle, flapping desperately.
Exactly what Kai wanted.
“[Magma Core],” he murmured, and the spell
responded instantly.
Three orbs of molten fire burst into life in front of him, swirling with deadly pressure, before rocketing toward the immobilized bird.
They struck—wings, beak, and chest.
Explosions tore through the sky, fire and smoke bursting in all directions. The creature let out one final cry before its body twisted, spiraled, and vanished into the clouds below.
Kai watched, arms still raised, until a distant impact echoed from below. It would probably leave a crater.
Despite its size, the vulture was only a third-grade beast. Against a fourth-circle Mage? It never stood a chance.
Still, Kai didn’t take time to relax. His eyes scanned the skies ahead. Lancephil was rich in mana, but so were its predators. This was only the beginning.
Kai didn’t wait to see if the creature had survived. He doubted it could recover from those injuries before either scavengers or another beast found it. A pitiful end, but not his concern.
He moved on.
Wind gathered beneath his boots, curling around his legs and back as he surged forward, slicing through the sky like an arrow. He passed over villages and towns in blur after blur, watching rooftops shrink and vanish below him as hours slipped by.
More beasts came.
Large, territorial things unaccustomed to being challenged in their airspace. Some came with talons, some with fangs, but they all came with evident bloodlust. Most ended up like ender vulture—torn, frozen, burned, and dropped like stones. A few were smart enough to flee after the first exchange, sensing just enough of his strength to reconsider.
The unfortunate part was that he didn’t have time to dissect any of them.
Some of their cores or parts might’ve been valuable—especially for Balen—but he had a schedule. He was expected in Lancephil.
He flew harder.
Evening had just begun painting the sky amber when he finally spotted it.
The walls of Hermil.
Massive, orderly, and glimmering with faint light—mana, woven tightly into the stone. From a distance, it looked like a sleeping beast curled protectively around its own heart. Kai hovered high above for a moment, eyes narrowing.
He could feel the enchantments from here.
Detection fields, layered alarm spells… and likely more defenses hidden underneath. They had increased the wards since the last time he had been here. Lancephil might’ve looked like a city, but it was a fortress. No surprise, considering it was the capital and home to the Archine Tower.
After giving the city a good look, he let himself descend. Down toward the front gates, where a line of carriages was already forming. Noble banners fluttered, servants muttered complaints, and guards were busy inspecting everyone. The crowd was thick. All of them were here for the assembly.
Cloaked in wind and mana, his entrance was noticed immediately. The guards drew their weapons out.
They stepped forward with alarm etched into their faces, hands tight on hilts. Even the servants near the carriages staggered back in fear, some clutching at the reins of startled horses. For a heartbeat, it looked like chaos would erupt.
But Kai remained still.
He reached into his cloak and calmly held out a token, letting its etched crest glint in the fading light.
“I am Count Arzan Kellius,” he said. “Here for the Assembly of Judgment. My cohort should already be inside the city.”
The words struck like a gong.
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd. A few noblemen peeked their heads out of velvet-draped carriages, eyes widening as they caught sight of him. Several servants whispered to one another, and even the guards hesitated—some exchanging glances, others lowering their weapons with uncertainty.
Kai saw it all. It was exactly what he intended.
He hadn’t tried to hide his arrival. Quite the opposite. Flying directly over the crowd, descending with wind magic—he wanted them to see.
His name had been echoing through noble halls ever since the beast wave. Half-rumors, half-fear, and a reputation that only grew with every passing week.
He wanted to add more to it, especially one about his prowess. Hence, he didn’t cover up, not even a bit.
If his enemies were going to collect intelligence on him anyway, then his allies—potential allies—should see his own powers too.
The guards didn’t speak for a long moment, tension lingering like fog. Then, finally, one stepped forward, his face having gone pale. He took the token with both hands, examining it carefully before bowing slightly.
“Please enter through this way, Count Arzan,” the man said, gesturing toward a smaller, reinforced gate off to the side. “Your cohort is staying at the Serenthia Inn, just left of the Archine Tower. If you’d like, I can guide you there myself.”
Kai gave a small nod. “That would be appreciated.”
He didn’t bother with a carriage.
As the guard moved ahead, he followed on foot, boots tapping softly against the cobbled streets of Lancephil.
He preferred it that way.
The walk let him observe.
With each turn through the winding lanes and bustling intersections, Kai’s eyes moved—not toward the buildings or banners, but the people. Commoners lining the streets, vendors shouting over their lungs, messengers darting through alleys. And above it all, he could feel it.
There was tension in the city thick in the air like storm clouds before a downpour.
He caught the whispers, too—fragments of hushed conversations slipping into his ears as he passed.
Every sentence was about the assembly. People didn't seem to realise that the man they were discussing was walking past by him, but each of them seemed to know that something big was going to happen in the city soon.
2025-07-22 10:06:43 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 252
The war between the tribals and the orcs was over.
To Kai’s immense relief, the tribals had won. And not just won, all factors considered, they had dominated.
According to Feroy’s report, the orcs had been prepared. Their formations had been ready with weapons at hand. But in the end, it didn't matter. The moment they realised Khorvash wasn’t coming to their rescue, their morale had shattered. Feroy had explained the exact moment the orcs had turned tide and panic swept through their ranks.
And many simply ran.
Some had run the wrong way, despite having lived here for long enough to know where the sand elemental nest was. They had been swallowed whole.
That chaos had turned everything. What could’ve been a desperate bloodbath had become a clean and unexpected victory. And of course, there had been losses, but far fewer than anyone had expected.
The tribals didn’t celebrate—no, not yet. They mourned. They dug graves, wrapped bodies in cloth and lit fires to honor the fallen. Their priorities were set straight, there were no parades or rewards, or basking in glory—they took time to process losses and the grim that came after war.
Search teams were already being assembled, partly to track the fleeing orcs, and partly to find whoever had warned them in the first place by questioning them. Duneborns would be hunted down and wiped out; mainly because their existence had been deemed too dangerous for the Ashari Desert.
But all of that would come later. Now, there were funerals. Dozens of them.
And though Kai hadn’t known many of the fallen well, one name had hit him hard. Husam.
The old warrior who had come across as an honorable man was gone. From what he collected, an orc had charged him from behind and ended him by cracking his spine in a single, brutal blow.
It was a painful way to go. But the memory of the last battle he fought was left behind. He hadn’t fallen easily; he’d fought until the very end, until his breath gave out and the bones in his back cracked like dry twigs.
There were other stories of death that reached Kai’s ears as he returned to the desert—stories passed from tent to tent, warrior to warrior—but none captured more attention than one single event.
His battle with Khorvash.
It was on every tongue.
There were whispers, shouts and gasps that followed every tribal in the desert, speaking of it like myth made real. They had all seen the dragon tear through the skies. To top it off, Khorvash had been loud in his last moments, a scream so monstrous and filled with pain that the tribals kept saying how it still echoed faintly in their bones.
And then Adil had arrived. First among them. He’d come carrying not just the rescued children, but the orc overlord’s severed head.
That alone would’ve been enough.
But when he told the story—of the tower, of the battle, of the man who had taken on Khorvash and came out victorious—the people listened. And when Kai’s party finally found the others, all the doubt, suspicion, and contempt they had faced before had melted.
In its place? Respect. And fear.
Respect for the one who had slain their greatest enemy. Fear for the man who could.
Kai hadn’t lingered in their attention. He’d said little, only talking about leaving the desert. But the tribal leaders had made a single request—one he couldn’t deny—they had asked him to stay for the funeral.
And so now he stood under the vast, open sky, boots buried in sand that had been freshly dug.
An old tribal elder raised his hands to the heavens, voice raw and cracked as he called to the Ashari gods, asking them to grant safe passage to the warriors who had fallen. His words weren’t shouted. They were spoken low. And in the middle of it, Kai too hoped that the fallen found their places in the afterlife.
In front of him, the ground had been carved open. Three dozen graves stretched into the horizon like a scar in the sand.
Kai looked around.
The entire desert had come to mourn. Not just the warriors.
Men. Women. Children. Elders with hunched backs and wooden canes. People who had once avoided looking at him now stood at his side. Some wept quietly. Others stared blankly, jaws tight with pain.
He saw how they all glanced at him—well, both at him and the robes he wore. The elegant robes, threaded with red and blue, were ones he had found in Valkyrie’s Tower, and he had chosen to wear them. He could tell the garment was enchanted by various seals, mostly for protection, but what he liked most was the feeling it gave him.
It clung to him like a calm, familiar spell.
Whenever the tribal men and women looked his way, he offered a short nod, acknowledging their presence.
But the more he looked at them, the more he realized there was something else in their eyes—something rare among the tribals.
There was hope.
These graves weren’t just a place of loss, they were a symbol. A turning point. A reminder of the price they’d paid for something far greater. Freedom.
They were no longer hunted or no longer tools in someone else’s war.
The Ashari tribes were free. And for the first time, they could choose how they lived.
The old priest stood at the front of the graves, a weathered staff gripped in his wrinkled hands. His gaze swept slowly across the desert tombs.
“These brave men and women fought valiantly against the Duneborns,” he began, his eyes on the floor, reminiscing. “They may not be of the same tribe, but they are all sons and daughters of Ashari. Their souls shall return—reborn as great warriors, carrying the will of the desert in their hearts. And as long as we live, we will honor their names. We will remember their sacrifice. We will take Ashari forward, into a future they carved with blood and steel.”
When his words faded into the wind, silence fell. Then, as one, the tribals bowed their heads toward the graves.
Even Kai did the same. It was the least he could do.
The funeral ended quietly after that. One by one, people began to disperse—warriors, elders, families, all drifting back into the desert wind, carrying with them the memory of the fallen.
But Kai remained. His party stood with him—Gareth, Feroy, Claire, Kael, Neris, Ansel and now Rhea.
The desert was quiet again.
Only the tribal council members stayed behind now, watching him with thoughtful expressions. His eyes looked at Maari, silent and sharp-eyed as always. And beside her, Khalid approached, a familiar smile on his face.
Kai’s eyes instinctively dropped to the man’s left arm—or what remained of it. The bandages were tight, the stump wrapped and sealed. But there was no bitterness on Khalid’s face. Only peace.
“I take it you’ll be returning to the kingdom soon,” Khalid said, stopping a few steps away.
Kai nodded. “I will. There are urgent matters waiting for me in the capital. I can’t afford to delay.”
Then he paused, gaze drifting briefly to the horizon, before continuing, “But I’ll return. Sooner than you think. You’ll see more of my people here too. I’ve reclaimed my mother’s tower, but it holds far more than I expected. There’s still much to uncover. When they come… I hope you’ll be hospitable.”
Khalid chuckled. “That’s the least we can do. You’ve earned that and more.”
He cast a glance at Maari, then back to Kai.
“Adil told me about the tower. Said it was like something out of legend. Full of wonders. I’m curious to see it for myself.”
“Then you will. I have plans for the tower,” Kai said, glancing toward the horizon, the last orange light of sunset bleeding into the sand. “And once I’ve figured them out… I plan to open it. Not to everyone—but to those I trust. Especially among the Ashari.”
He turned back to the gathered tribals.
“With the amount of mana flowing through that place, your warriors could grow stronger. Much stronger.”
Maari gave a slow smile. “We are thankful for your generosity, Lord Arzan.”
The woman’s smile reached her eyes and Kai almost felt bad at what he was about to say next. He wasn't going to give benefits for free and his generosity came with price tags. One he didn't know if they would be willing to pay.
“Well, it’s not just generosity. I won’t pretend I’m doing this for free. Actually, there’s something I want from you.”
The shift was immediate as the atmosphere changed. The tribal leaders looked at each other.
Khalid tipped his chin low in thought and looked up. “You’ve changed the fate of Ashari in just two weeks. Say the word, and we’ll do whatever we can to repay you.”
Those words made Kai chuckle.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. What I’m going to ask… isn’t something easy to give.”
He let the silence linger before speaking again.
“I want to study your techniques. The ones your Sand Knights use.”
It was like dropping a stone in still water.
All of them widened their eyes and some even straightened their postures.
Kai expected it. He had timed this request carefully—after the war, after their victory, after he had proven himself. Even then, he knew he was walking a fine line.
“I understand what I’m asking,” he continued. “Those techniques are sacred. Passed down through bloodlines and tradition. But you already know by now… I have Sand Knights of my own. Enforcers, I call them. They’re still new. We don’t have our own traditions yet.”
His voice dropped a little, more earnestly.
“I don’t want to take your teachings and copy them. I want to learn. Adapt. Build something of our own. I’m not asking for your secrets to exploit them. I’m asking… because I respect them. And because I believe in what I’m building.”
He looked from face to face.
“I won’t force you. If the answer is no, I’ll accept it.”
The silence that followed was heavy—with thought, with uncertainty, with history. And Kai waited.
“It’s not that we don’t want to help,” Khalid said after a long pause. His gaze was steady, but there was a weight behind his words. “It’s just… in our history, we’ve never shared our techniques with anyone outside the desert.”
Saif who was to Khalid’s left nodded in agreement. “And even if the council approves, I don’t know how the common folk would react. These arts are part of our heritage. We can't give it to you secretly.”
Kai inclined his head, already expecting resistance. But before he could respond, a voice cut in, unexpectedly firm.
“I believe it can be done.”
All eyes turned as Adil stepped forward.
Kai blinked, surprised. Their relationship had improved over the past days, but he hadn’t expected Adil to speak so openly in his favor. It was likely more than just camaraderie—Adil was making a statement, staking a claim that his bond with Kai was stronger than the others’. If so, Kai didn’t mind. He only cared about results.
“If you promise,” Adil continued, “that the techniques won’t spread outside your Enforcers, then I think we can come to an agreement.”
Maari gave him a cautious look. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” Adil said firmly. “We won’t give everything, but I’m guessing Count Arzan only wants the basics—to build something of his own, right?”
“Yes,” Kai said and nodded. The techniques in the end were made for sand and either way, he had to modify them. With the barbarians, he had the raw power and another set of techniques to study.
And Killian was there too, a man who was a genius in making his own breakthroughs without any help. He didn’t need to steal the Ashari legacy. He needed inspiration.
Khalid stroked his chin. “If it’s just the basics… I believe we can discuss it.”
That was all Kai needed to hear. He gave a single nod, knowing that was as good as a yes. With even the basic techniques, he could finally begin laying the groundwork for a theory he’d been forming.
“That would be great,” he said quietly, sincerely. “I really appreciate it.”
Khalid’s reply came with a tired but warm smile. “If it means a stronger bond between you and the tribes, then it’s a small price to pay.” Then his gaze shifted toward the group behind Kai. “Will they be leaving with you?”
Before Kai could answer, Ansel stepped forward. “We’re staying a little longer, brother. Lord Arzan wants us to map out the tower and the surrounding terrain before we return.”
Kai confirmed it with a glance. “Yes. I would’ve done it myself, but… I have urgent matters to handle in the capital.”
He turned, letting his gaze sweep across the vast desert.
“The desert has already chosen a new path,” he said. “One that doesn’t need me here anymore. I wish all of you the very best… but unfortunately, I don’t think I can spend any more time here.”
The tribal leaders nodded in unison, Khalid giving a low bow. “We understand. Until we meet again, Count Arzan.”
Kai turned to Rhea last.
“I’ll see you in Veralt,” he said. “Be safe. Listen to Claire and Feroy.”
She nodded and offered a bow. “I will.”
“Good.”
For a fleeting second, he wondered if she was going to actually listen or she was planning to sneak off and hunt more desert beasts. He hoped it was the former. But either way, she was in good hands.
Kai exhaled softly and stepped back. With practiced ease, he drew the spell structure with a flick of his hand, wind gathering around his feet in a tight spiral.
The sand shifted and danced beneath him as the desert wind obeyed. And then—he soared, vanishing into the sky—just like that.
Everyone was used to it by now—Kai taking off without warning, the wind howling in his wake. There wasn’t much reaction as he soared higher, the dunes shrinking beneath him. The desert stretched endlessly at first, but soon it began to blur past as he flew at full speed, the wind whistling in his ears.
As he traveled, his gaze scanned the sands below.
He spotted beasts he hadn’t seen before—burrowing things with hard carapaces, fanged serpents slithering just beneath the surface. He made mental notes of a few that looked promising for training, their agility or size standing out even from this height. Then he saw it—a massive shifting mound, the sand rolling unnaturally like waves around a central core.
Sand elementals.
Kai hovered for a heartbeat, temptation pulling at him. Their cores would make perfect materials for golems—Balen would probably think of hugging him for it. But he shook it off. Not now. Later.
He took another look at it—definitely later.
Two hours passed in a blur of wind and heat until finally, the cracked golden sands gave way to stone and green—the edge of the Ashari Desert. Lancephil was drawing near, and with it, a different kind of battlefield.
His thoughts turned to the assembly.
Khorvash had ruled over orcs and tried to conquer through brute strength. Easy enough to deal with. But the nobles? They struck with words sharper than swords. Schemes, alliances, backroom whispers—Kai would’ve preferred if they just tried to stab him outright. At least then he’d know where the blade was coming from. And he could prepare to fight back or defend himself.
Now, it would be politics. He could already imagine the lines being drawn. The princes would oppose him. Regina and Veridia would be there, watching, calculating. And him? He’d only have his people—those few who truly trusted him.
But the assembly wasn’t the first thing he needed to face. There was the matter of King Sullivan. He wondered what he wanted.
And there was the matter with the medallion.
The one piece that might change the kingdom’s fate. He had claimed it. Now he just had to decide how to use it.
2025-07-20 07:33:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 142
Yeqing sat in front of Elder Tiefang, a wide smile stretched across his face as he took a long, satisfying sip from the cup in his hand. The herbal tea—made from mountain-grown leaves around the sect—was leagues above anything he’d tasted during his days impersonating Han Fei. The bitterness was just right. It was clean, sharp, and it felt real.
Finally, finally! He was done pretending.
As soon as he’d returned, he’d gone straight to the elder’s chambers, even if his robes were still dusty from the road.
Elder Tiefang leaned back in his seat, hands folded in front of him. “Judging from that expression, I assume you were successful.”
Yeqing nodded, still holding the cup close. “I was. But it wasn’t easy.”
He set the cup down and leaned forward slightly.
“I managed to infiltrate the Jadefire Hall sect grounds. They didn’t suspect a thing. I didn’t get to witness the pill-making process directly… but I did make it inside their storage warehouse.”
A glimmer of satisfaction flashed in the elder’s eyes.
“I saw the herbs gathered there,” Yeqing continued. “And I’m confident, we’ll eventually be able to replicate their flavoured pills ourselves.”
That was when Elder Tiefang smiled.
Yeqing stilled for a second, eyes fixed on the man across from him. In all his years under the elder, he had barely seen a smile on his face—maybe, once or twice. It was the clearest sign that he had pleased him.
“What ingredients?” Tiefang asked.
Yeqing didn’t hesitate.
“Alongside the usual herbs—Jadeveil root, Starpetal leaf, Blackscale bark—I found others. Ones that didn’t belong in any medicinal formula.”
He reached into his satchel, drawing out folded parchments and laying it open on the table.
He pointed to the notes and sketches he had drawn—thin strands of a creeping vine, purple-tinted berries, and a grey, almost petrified stalk.
“Nightsting Vine. Hollowberry pulp. Fangshade grass. All of them are poisonous. None of them are medicinal.”
Elder Tiefang’s eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing.
“And this,” Yeqing added, pulling out the small sealed vial of dark liquid. “Beast blood. I don’t know what kind, but…”
He passed it forward.
The elder took it, opened the cap, sniffed it briefly, then tilted it and let a drop fall to his fingers. He rubbed it between his thumb and index, eyes closing in thought.
“It’s thick,” Tiefang murmured. “And the smell is… unusual. Hard to say what beast it came from, but it won’t take long to identify.”
He set the vial aside carefully.
“Very good, Yeqing.”
Yeqing allowed himself a breath of pride. He had done what was asked and more.
“But why would they use herbs associated with poison?”
Yeqing shook his head slowly. “I have no idea, Elder Tiefang. I only found them tucked between the other herbs in their storage. My guess is that those poisonous herbs have some kind of property that enhances the pills. Maybe they use them in such small quantities that the toxicity is neutralized by other ingredients.”
“It’s possible,” Tiefang said, though his voice remained unreadable. For a moment, he couldn’t tell what the elder was thinking. “But we won’t know for sure until we begin experimenting.”
He leaned back slightly and gave a soft exhale through his nose.
“Give the list of everything you found to my disciples. They’ll know what to do with it.”
Yeqing nodded.
“I’ll examine the vial personally,” the elder continued. “Having beast blood in these types of pills is… unusual. But then again, we’re dealing with unusual opponents here.”
Yeqing finished the last of his tea, placed the cup down with care, then stood up and gave a respectful bow, but he didn’t turn to leave. Not yet.
An expectant look settled on his face, subtle but clear enough. Elder Tiefang noticed, of course. A faint sigh slipped from the elder’s lips.
“You’ll receive your reward by the end of the day. I’ll also make sure your name and accomplishments reach the ears of all the inner elders. I’m certain more than a few will take interest in a capable disciple like yourself.”
Yeqing’s lips curled into another smile of genuine pride. “Thank you, Elder Tiefang. I’m honoured to be of service to you and to our glorious sect.”
With that, he bowed again, deeper this time, and finally took his leave.
His steps were lighter than they had been in weeks. The ache in his legs, the strain of pretending, the humiliation of bowing like a mortal—all worth it.
He had carved a clear path toward the foundation establishment realm. And maybe even beyond. It hadn’t even been that hard.
Tiring? Yes.
Headache-inducing? Absolutely.
But not once had the Divine Pill Apothecary’s people suspected his identity. Not even that Chen Ren. They hadn’t noticed a thing.
Yeqing couldn’t help but wonder—just how would they react when the Darkmoon Sect began flooding the markets with their own version of the flavoured pills?
A smirk danced on his lips as he disappeared down the corridor.
Let them find out the hard way.
***
Yeqing sat across from Elder Tiefang once again—but this time, there was no tea. No smiles. No praise. Even the air felt hostile.
It turned out that the Darkmoon Sect never figured out the recipe.
He didn’t understand it at first. Not until Elder Tiefang summoned him just a week after his return—a week that had easily been the best of his life.
He had finally gotten the Myst Core Pill, the one that would help him ascend. And not only that, he’d received things he’d never received in his lifetime.
Whispers of his exploits had swept through the sect like wildfire. None of the outer disciples knew exactly what he had done, only that it was dangerous and important, and that he had succeeded.
For the first time, he felt seen.
Even a few female disciples had taken notice. Asked to "study cultivation methods" together.
Everything had been perfect. So perfect. Or maybe, it really was too good to be true.
Because now, Elder Tiefang was staring at him like he had defiled his granddaughter and then thrown her off a cliff.
“What kind of ingredients did you list?” the elder snapped, his voice barely restrained.
Yeqing felt a shiver run through his spine. “Elder, I—”
“Half the disciples working on that pill are bedridden,” Tiefang cut him off, voice rising with every word. “And those we sent to hunt that kirin blood beast to extract its blood nearly died from the poisonous fog it released! They barely made it back! Are you trying to sabotage your own sect?”
Yeqing’s stomach twisted.
“I don’t understand,” he said quickly. “I swear I told you everything I saw. I wouldn’t lie to you, Elder Tiefang. Not after everything you've done for me.”
The elder slammed a fist down on the table with a crack, shaking the incense burner at the edge.
“Then what is it?!” he barked. “Why is this list of yours worthless? Why haven’t we managed to craft even a decent pill from it—forget about a Qi Replenishment one!?”
Yeqing opened his mouth but no words came. He had seen those herbs with his own eyes. Every leaf. Every bark. Every carefully stacked crate.
So how in the hells had it all gone wrong?
Just then, Elder Tiefang threw a pill and it hit his palm with a soft thud.
Yeqing frowned and looked down.
The pill was cracked along the edges, like dried mud under the sun. Its supposed glossy sheen was replaced by a dull, uneven surface riddled with grainy patches. It smelled faintly metallic—like something sour left in the rain—and there was a bitter aftertrace in the air, the kind that stuck to your tongue even without tasting it.
No warmth. No shimmer of mint. Just… rot.
“What does this even do?” Yeqing asked, brow furrowed as he turned it over in his fingers.
Elder Tiefang leaned back, face stiff with anger. “Gives someone a stomach worse than and send them wishing for death worse than any poison pill could,” he said dryly. “That’s if they’re lucky. It is horrible!”
Yeqing gasped quietly. What the hell?
“Impurities,” the elder snapped. “Too many to count. The moment the pill dissolves in the system, it floods the meridians with trash. And worse—whatever little qi it does generate… it clogs. Slows down cultivation. Forces the body to spend days, weeks cleansing itself before any recovery starts.”
He rubbed his temple, like he had a growing headache.
“And no matter what combination we tried, no matter how we adjusted the ratio, we only got variations of this damn pill. The beast blood too—the one you handed over—it belongs to a thing that releases poisonous gas after it dies. One disciple almost lost his lungs. Do you have any idea how hard that is to cure?”
Yeqing’s grip on the pill tightened. His jaw locked.
“I did everything you asked,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “I infiltrated Jadefire Hall. I snuck into the storage hall. I took notes. I saw those ingredients myself—Jadeveil Root, Starpetal Leaf, Blackscale Bark… the poison herbs… the beast blood. There wasn’t anything else. I swear it.”
Tiefang stared him down. “Then explain how this happened.”
Yeqing said nothing.
“Explain,” the elder barked, “how you did everything right—yet we haven’t even touched the first step of replicating those flavoured pills. Are you saying you had it wrong? Or that you were lying to me?”
A heavy silence dropped between them. Then, Elder Tiefang’s voice dropped a note.
“Or did you… give away your identity?”
Yeqing’s heart stuttered.
He hadn’t. He was sure he hadn’t. No one had looked at him strangely. No one had confronted him. He hadn’t gotten a single alarming thing. Nothing—But now, with the elder’s glare drilling holes into his skull… the doubts crept in.
Did someone see through him?
But… but he had done everything right. He had locked his qi tight, dropped his posture, acted like a trembling mortal for weeks. He had faked weakness, faked awe, faked ignorance. Even that cursed wagon-pulling trip up the mountain—he had played the part to perfection.
Hadn’t he?
The seed of doubt wriggled deeper.
That day on the street…
That flash of intuition, the prickling sensation at his nape. He’d dismissed it, brushed it off like a nervous tic. But what if it hadn’t been a mistake? What if that was the moment someone was following him?
Was I already known then?
Did they follow me? Track me all the way to my hideout?
His fingers twitched at the memory of the bound man in the wardrobe.
Had they found him? Freed him? Or worse… were they watching me the entire time?
No. Worse than that. They had let him walk into the storage room. Left it unguarded without any wards or arrays. Fuck, there weren’t even a preserving talisman. It hadn’t been a lapse. It had been bait. A stage.
They wanted me to see those ingredients.
His breath caught. But before he could spell it out, Elder Tiefang scoffed from his seat, pulling Yeqing from his spiraling thoughts.
“You were fooled,” he spat. “We were fooled. And this…” He waved at the ruined pill on the table. “This is the biggest insult I’ve suffered in five decades.”
There was a pause in his words, but the man didn’t stop. He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Yeqing, what do you want to do about it?”
For a brief second, Yeqing didn’t answer, because he didn’t know how to.
What could he even do? Go back? Infiltrate again? They’d been waiting for him to infiltrate, and if they’d let him go once, it was because they wanted to. And that mercy wouldn’t repeat.
If he stepped foot near the Divine Pill Apothecary again, it wouldn’t be with false smiles—it would be with swords pointed at his throat. His throat tightened.
“I…” he started, but no words followed.
The elder rose without a sound. He walked to the shelf by the window. Opened a drawer.
A large bottle emerged.
Without a word, Elder Tiefang uncorked it and drank straight from the neck.
Yeqing watched in stunned silence as the old man drank. Not a sip. Not a swig. A gulp. One that didn’t end until half the bottle was gone.
When the elder turned back around, his expression wasn’t angry anymore. It was tired.
“What?” Elder Tiefang growled, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded. “You want a sip too?”
Yeqing quickly shook his head. “No, Elder Tiefang. I wouldn’t dare.”
The elder scoffed, wiping the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his robe.
Yeqing hesitated for a second before lowering his gaze again. “I… I will try to make it better. Somehow.”
That earned him a wet, guttural laugh.
“Try?” Tiefang spat. “And what will you do, huh? Make another trip and ask them nicely this time? Maybe hold your begging bowl out in front of their gates?”
Yeqing clenched his fists but said nothing.
“You think this is just a failed mission?” the elder continued, pacing now. “Do you know how much we’re losing every day? The sales of our best-selling pills are bleeding out, and those Divine Pill bastards just won’t stop! And you know what happens when the Sect Leader gets wind of this?”
Yeqing bowed deeper. “He’ll have our skin?”
The elder snorted. “He’ll have my skin. What’s he going to do with yours? Your skin’s not worth anything.”
Those words hit harder than they should have. Not because they were cruel—Yeqing was used to that—but because they were true. His head lowered further, a sinking weight settling in his gut. Not just because he’d failed. But because he knew what that failure cost him.
He hadn’t taken the pill.
That one, precious, foundation-setting pill Elder Tiefang had handed to him. He’d waited, stupidly, thinking it wiser to build up his qi base first. Set the stage. Perfect his breathing. Plan his breakthrough.
He should’ve just swallowed it the moment it touched his fingers. And now… there was no way the elder would let him keep it.
He looked up slowly.
Elder Tiefang was still standing, glaring at nothing, while chugging the drink like it was his last line of life.
He waited for a few seconds, but the silence only grew, and the only noise was of gulping. Yeqing swallowed, “Is there… is there no other way, Elder Tiefang?”
The old man huffed like he hadn’t even heard the question—then glanced sideways. That glare made him shrink further, maybe he would die today. No, not maybe. He would definitely die today.
The elder opened his mouth. “None that I could think of,” he muttered. “Whatever strings I could pull, I already pulled. Even the debt angle didn’t bite. Didn’t work. That bastard Chen Ren had planned for it from the beginning.”
Yeqing felt his chest tighten.
“We have no choice left but to inform the sect leader about it.”
Elder Tiefang tried to take a sip out of the bottle at hand. He puckered his lips, but nothing came—the bottle was empty. He looked down at the empty bottle in his hand.
Then, with a snarl, hurled it at the wall behind Yeqing.
This time, Yeqing shuddered, his hands clutched tighter.
The bottle shattered.
Glass splinters sprayed across the floor. The elder’s breathing was ragged, chest rising and falling as silence settled thick in the room once more.
“Raise your head,” Tiefang said. “Raise. Your. Head!”
Yeqing obeyed.
He looked up slowly, meeting the elder’s gaze. His eyes were glassy, slightly bloodshot—half from drink, half from fury barely held back. There was no trace of warmth in them.
“You’re going to come with me,” Tiefang said.
Huh? Yeqing blinked. “Where?”
“To the Sect Leader,” the elder replied, turning towards the door.
And just like that, the world around Yeqing seemed to tilt.
“To… the Sect Leader?” he repeated, barely more than a whisper.
Tiefang didn’t even glance back. “If I’m going down for this mess, I’m not going alone. You’re going to walk in there, look him in the eye, and tell him everything you saw while playing spy. Every crate. Every herb. Every failure.”
Yeqing went pale.
His lips parted, but no words came. His heart thudded loud in his ears, drowning out the elder’s footsteps as he made for the door. One thought echoed in his mind.
I’m not coming back out alive.
2025-07-20 07:32:05 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 251
Kai couldn’t tell when it happened.
But one moment, he was sparring with Valkyrie and the next moment, he woke up with a heaviness that felt like his entire body was dragging him down. Like something had reached inside and wrung every drop of strength from his limbs.
His eyes struggled to open under the dim lights. There were shapes forming in front of him and voices—they sounded familiar.
Claire, Gareth, Kael.
They hovered above him, faces drawn tight with concern.
It took him a full breath to even remember where he was—what had happened, but it came back, piece by piece. He recalled the conversations he had with Valkyrie during their fight that ranged from philosophies to things about him that he’d barely given any thought to.
And in the middle of it, she’d simply smiled.
“I’ll trust you,” she’d said.
That was all it took for the battle to stop. The soul space faded. And now,here he was.
He pushed himself up slowly, limbs groaning in protest and managed to sit. His throat was dry, and his robes clung to him with sweat.
Claire was the first to speak, her voice soft but edged with urgency. “Lord Arzan… are you okay? What happened?”
Kai rubbed his face and exhaled. “Another trial,” he said hoarsely. “A long one. I’ll explain it later… it just took a lot out of me.”
He paused, suddenly realizing something. “Where’s Adil?” He looked around. “What happened to the tribals?”
Gareth, sitting nearby, spoke, “Adil went with the kids—the ones who were chained. He’s checking on the tribes. We heard fighting for hours… war cries echoing from the cliffs. But it’s been quiet for a while now. I think they won.”
Kai nodded slowly. “Let’s hope that’s true.”
He rose to his feet, a bit unsteady at first, then straightened his back. The space around him had changed.
The battlefield that once stank of blood and flame was cleared of bodies. The orcs were gone. Someone had even swept the stone floor.
He turned his gaze toward the towering podium at the center of the room. The same one that had triggered his descent into the soul space.
“Did you find anything else in the tower?” he asked.
Gareth exchanged a glance with Kael before replying. “We tried to explore. But most of the upper corridors and side passages are blocked magically, I think only you can open them. .”
“I did find something,” Kael said, almost sheepishly. “A sword. It was in a locked box tucked behind one of the pillars on the second level. Looked old.”
“Show me.”
Kael reached to his side and drew the blade with care. The metal was glistering. Kai could feel it. Something in the air around the weapon bent subtly, as if the space itself was leaning in.
He took the sword from Kael and turned it over in his hands. The seals carved into its fuller pulsed faintly.
“Gravity seals,” Kai said.
“Gravity… seals?” Kael repeated, blinking through confusion.
“They’re rare,” Kai said, running a thumb along the etching. “If you use it properly, it’ll feel light when you swing it. But the moment it hits your enemy—every ounce of stored weight comes crashing down. Like hitting someone with a falling boulder.”
Kael’s eyes went wide. His grip tightened slightly around the hilt as Kai handed it back. His eyes shone as if the sword suddenly turned to gold.
The others had clearly caught on too. Gareth and Claire leaned forward to clearly take a look at it.
When Kai looked at Kael, he could clearly see the contemplation in his eyes.
He gave a small smile. “You can keep it,” he said. “I’m pretty sure this tower has more of these artifacts lying around. It will be easy to find them now.”
Claire arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean, Lord Arzan?”
Kai turned his eyes to the podium again. “I mean… I have full control now.”
He stepped toward it. Last time, he had to test out waters to see where he’d be headed. This time, it responded like it was greeting its master.
The moment his palm touched the carved surface, a surge of intense mana poured out. It wrapped around his hand like a ribbon of light and pulled his awareness inward.
And just like that… he saw it.
Every hallway. Every staircase. Every vault, library and hidden chamber. The sealed upper floors. The forgotten basements. Hundreds of rooms at once.
There were guardians too, waiting in silence. Some slept deep beneath the foundations. Others were stationed above in the higher floors. All of them connected to a single will—His.
Kai staggered slightly, eyes flickering as he processed it all.
He could feel that the tower had once been managed by a powerful spirit—likely bound to Valkyrie’s soul or someone she trusted. But that spirit was… resting now. Maintaining this place for years without an heir had drained it to near dormancy.
So the responsibility passed to him.
And for the first time since setting foot in the desert, Kai understood the scale of what he had inherited.
He sifted through the tower’s internal map—corridors, chambers, sealed vaults—moving through them like thoughts in a dream. His focus narrowed.
There.
Just beside the chamber they stood in. Hidden in plain stone. A sealed door, its presence completely undetectable from the outside unless one had access to the tower’s core.
Kai commanded it open.
The room beneath them gave a small shudder, vibrating beneath his feet. Dust spilled from high beams, and from the left wall, a quiet grinding sound began—stone moving against stone. A slab of wall sank inward and slid aside, revealing a dark corridor behind it.
Kai removed his hand from the podium and turned toward them. “Let’s go,” he said. “The true inheritance lies there.”
None of them questioned it. They all nodded.
He took the lead and walked inside. The corridor ahead was wide, the walls etched with the same faint sigils found all across the tower—flowing script from an older time, glowing softly now that the path was active. They walked in silence, the sound of their boots echoing against the polished floor, until the corridor opened into a chamber far larger than the main hall.
Kai stopped as he entered, breath catching in his throat.
It was a library. A part of him thought he would come across a throne room or a treasure vault but no, this was a grand archive of power.
Bookshelves reached all the way to the high-vaulted ceiling—twisting wooden towers reinforced with metal braces, each shelf neatly filled with tomes. Hundreds, no—thousands. Magic theory, beast studies, elemental laws, planar rituals. He couldn’t even read the titles fast enough, but the aura around each book hummed with preservation magic.
This was more knowledge than a royal academy would dare dream of.
But it wasn’t just books.
Fitted between the towering shelves were vertical display cases—glass panels set into the wall, each holding a single weapon. Spears with silver tips, hammers laced with embedded crystals, twin daggers with edges so thin they glowed. Artifact weapons.
Kai stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he studied them. Not all were enchanted—at least not visibly—but every one of them was crafted from mana-conductive materials. Steel alloyed with moon ore, enchanted aethum. He could feel it in the air. The entire chamber hummed softly, like the sound of mana breathing.
Claire moved behind him, whispering, “This is…”
“A vault of a Mage general,” Gareth finished, barely keeping his voice steady.
But Kai’s attention wasn’t on the weapons anymore. Or the books. Or even the runes carved into the ceiling.
His gaze locked on the far end of the room.
There, suspended behind a tall panel of enchanted glass, was a robe.
It stood upright on a polished stand. Threads of red and blue ran through it in elegant spirals, catching the chamber’s light with a metallic shimmer. The sleeves were reinforced with plates of subtle runic armor, and the hem was etched with a border of ancient symbols he didn’t recognize at a glance—but instinctively knew were protective spells.
It was majestic.
A part of him ached to reach out and study it. To inspect its threads, trace the runes hidden beneath the fabric, and feel the mana it pulsed with. But he didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he turned away, scanning the vast chamber. His mind was focused on something more important than relics or robes. Something Valkyrie had mentioned during their fight-turned-conversation. She had said the medallion was somewhere in the tower. She hadn’t told him where. Only that he would know it when he found it.
And now… he did.
After five minutes of combing through shelves, bypassing the coruscating weapons and decorated tomes, Kai finally stopped in front of a smaller podium tucked against the far wall.
There it was. The medallion.
At first glance, it looked underwhelming. It was a simple disc of aged copper, worn smooth at the edges. No shine. No enchantments flaring to life. Just an old insignia—House Lancephil’s crest—engraved into its center.
Kai picked it up.
He turned it over in his palm, fingers tracing its outline slowly. This was what he’d been searching for—proof of Arzan’s inheritance. A token tied directly to Valkyrie’s bloodline.
Just beneath where the medallion had rested, he noticed a folded piece of parchment. A note.
Curious, Kai lifted it, unfolding it with care. The words were handwritten in gossamer, flowing ink:
"Whatever you do with it, I'm proud of you and would always support you."
His breath caught in his throat. Obviously, he knew it wasn’t written for him but for Arzan, the owner of his body, as a message from a mother to her son—a goodbye wrapped in love, trust, and maybe even grief. But, the realisation was… heavy.
The boy had died long before getting to hear these words. And now Kai was the only one who ever would.
He held the medallion tighter, jaw clenching for a moment before a voice cut through his thoughts.
“Lord Arzan?” Claire said, voice soft and steady. He turned to see her standing near a shelf, a few books in her arms. “What should we do with the rest of this? There’s a lot more here than we expected. Books, artifacts… some of them look like they’ve been untouched for centuries.”
Kai looked around once more, grounding himself in the present.
“We make a registry,” he said. “Catalog every book and artifact in here. I’ll go through them personally once we’ve secured the space.”
Claire nodded, but he wasn’t done.
“For now,” Kai added, stepping forward and placing the medallion into a pocket inside his robe, “our main priority should be ice-aspected spellbooks. Valkyrie was a Fifth-Circle Battle Mage, and most of her power was built on that domain. If she kept anything truly dangerous—or valuable—it’ll be in those.”
Claire nodded.
Kai thought about this place, again. The medallion was one of the reasons he came here, sure. But there was another reason he wanted this inheritance. Ice magic.
He had so little of it apart from the basics. One third-rank spell, barely enough to call himself competent. And after fighting Valkyrie… he knew just how far behind he was. The precision of her spells, the raw destructive power, the sheer variety—that was what mastery looked like. Brute force or reckless casting meant nothing if there was no control.
But to control the element efficiently, he needed higher-circle spells.
Books, scrolls—anything that could help him understand how to wield ice properly. And this tower? It had to have them. He could feel it in his bones. If he could combine it with his flame and wind aspects, he could become something far more dangerous than a mere dual-caster.
He could fly. Strike from multiple ranges. Control terrain. The possibilities felt limitless.
Kai gave the podium one last glance. That part of his search was over. Now he needed to comb the rest of the inheritance.
The chamber stretched out before him was boundless and overflowing. His footsteps echoed against stone as he passed rows of towering bookshelves. With each step, he let his hand brush across the spines, occasionally pulling one out and reading the titles.
And what he found shocked him. The diversity of knowledge here wasn’t just broad. It was absurd.
There were thick tomes on basic mana theory, the kind taught to beginners. But right next to them, ancient leather-bound volumes on rare aspects—blood, space, gravity. Topics most Mages only heard about in legend.
His fingers paused on a deep green volume. The title was “A Study of Knights Born from Dust.”
He opened it.
Inside were detailed charts—family trees of tribal lines, annotations on bloodlines, and pages upon pages describing how Sand Knights manipulated the desert to their advantage. Battle techniques unique to the dunes. How different tribes approached the mana organs. Even insights on beast-taming rituals.
Kai smiled and slid the book into his satchel. If he was going to maintain good relations with the tribes, understanding their culture was the first step. And this book? It would help with that.
He moved on.
A dwarven blacksmithing manual caught his eye next. Seals, forging diagrams, details on alloy blending. Another find. He didn’t have time to study it now, but Balen would kill to get his hands on it.
And another—an old, worn journal titled, “Trials of the Minotaur.”
Kai flipped it open. It was more personal than scholarly. The pages chronicled the rites of passage that young minotaurs underwent—physical challenges, tests of loyalty, forging their own weapons. A tribe’s culture captured in ink.
Kai kept walking, eyes shining now.
Gareth even found one book on the Elder Tree, its bark said to hold the secrets of ancient life magic. There were others too—books on underground races long forgotten, and cults that had risen and fallen throughout history. One in particular caught Kai’s attention: a thick tome with a stitched cover that read “Cults of the Southern Era, The Spiral Paths.” He tucked it under his arm. Maleficia had been a mystery too long. Maybe he would find some mention of it in there.
Time slipped by unnoticed.
They continued strolling through the chamber, scanning shelves, cataloguing books, and collecting anything of interest. The flickering light of enchanted torches overhead gave the place a timeless feel—like they had entered a world untouched by years.
Then Kael’s voice broke the silence.
“I found a door!”
Kai immediately turned toward him, the others not far behind. Kael stood between two towering shelves, hand on a patch of wall that was slightly ajar. It wasn’t just a wall—now that Kai looked closer, it was a door painted the same color as the stone, almost indistinguishable if not for the thin seam where Kael had nudged it open.
“No wonder we missed it,” Claire muttered, brushing her hand over the surface.
Kai narrowed his eyes, tracing the layout of the tower in his mind. His brows furrowed. Then his eyes widened.
“It leads down,” he said, already stepping forward and pulling the door open.
A spiraling staircase lay beyond, steep and shadowed.
“Follow me.”
No one questioned it.
The descent took time. The air grew cooler the further they went, the walls damper, the light dimmer. Even with the enchanted crystals glowing overhead, the stairs felt heavy—like the tower itself was pressing down on them. They paused often to let Claire catch her breath, but none complained.
And finally, after what felt like a descent into the earth itself, they reached a landing. A door stood before them, marked only by a silver seal above the handle. It pulsed faintly with mana.
Claire, sitting on the last step, looked up.
“What’s behind the door, Lord Arzan?” she asked, breathy.
Kai stood still, his palm just inches from the seal.
“You’ve all wondered,” he said slowly, turning his head slightly, “how the tower has such vast reserves of aethum, haven’t you?”
Gareth scratched his chin. “Magus Valkyrie was… rich?”
Kai couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped out. “That’s part of it.” He turned back to the door. “But no. The true reason—this tower was built over a mana vein. Probably the only one in this desert. And I still don’t know how it formed here. But Valkyrie built the tower around it. That’s what fuels everything—the defenses, the enchantments, the golems.”
“And the mana vein,” Kai added, stepping closer to the door, “is also a mine. One that holds the most important magical resource in the world.”
The others froze. Claire blinked. Gareth’s eyes widened. Kael straightened, stunned into silence.
Before any of them could speak, Kai pushed the door open. A wave of pure, dense mana surged out, washing over them like a crashing tide. They stepped into the cavern—and stopped.
It was massive.
The space stretched far beyond what their eyes could reach, a colossal underground vault carved beneath the desert. Crystalline veins pulsed through the walls like glowing arteries, and strewn across the cavern floor were countless stones—some fist-sized, others larger than a man’s head—each one radiating with mana.
Aethum. It was everywhere.
Kai stood in silence for a moment, taking it in. The glow reflected in his eyes, bright and eerie. He’d seen aethum before—mined it, even—but nothing like this.
Unlike before, he could tell that there were no beasts crawling the walls here. No growls echoed from the dark. This mine… was quiet.
He remembered the layout of the tower he had seen when he linked with the podium. This mine… was nearly twice the size of the one back in his territory. That meant twice the supply. Twice the output.
Mana cannons. Enchanted arms. Constructs. The production possibilities shot through his mind like fire—but he quickly pulled himself back.
“Relocating the materials is going to be a nightmare,” he muttered under his breath. “Unless… I move production here.”
But that was for later.
He turned around to face his team.
They were already wandering, eyes wide, bending down to inspect the stones. Claire brushed her hand over a cluster still embedded in the rock. Kael had a broad grin on his face.
“Looks like we’ll return to Veralt several times richer,” Kai said, a small smile curling his lips.
Gareth laughed. “I believe Administrator Francis is going to faint when he hears how much work he has to do to get this mine running.”
“We won’t start right away. There’s too much going on. For now, I just needed to confirm it myself.”
He bent down, fingers closing around a piece of raw aethum. Its glow danced across his palm, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. He turned it once. Then slipped it into his pouch.
“And now,” he said, standing up and brushing dust off his robes, “it’s time we check on the battle outside.”
The others looked at him.
“After that,” he added, eyes narrowing as if already seeing the road ahead, “I’ll make my way to the capital. The assembly is approaching. And I'm sure there are people waiting for me to appear.”
2025-07-18 08:59:55 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 141
Yeqing had come to the conclusion that the worst part of being a spy wasn’t the danger.
It was pretending to be weak.
To bow his head before every passing cultivator with a gleam of awe in his eyes. To speak like he was a speck of dust in the world, grateful for scraps. To fake exhaustion when not even his heartbeat had changed.
And today, dragging a wagon up a mountain pass as a mortal servant, he was forced to lean into every bit of that act.
The mountain bull brayed, hooves scraping against the dirt as the wagon rocked violently—its back wheels stuck in a shallow pit carved by old rain. Beside him, Zixin—one of the few mortals who spoke to “Han Fei” regularly—braced his shoulder against the wagon frame and grunted, “Damn thing’s stuck again.”
Yeqing stepped up, carefully gauging the pressure in his limbs, pushing just enough to seem strained but not suspicious. Together, they forced the wagon forward with a lurch and a creak of old wood.
Zixin wiped his brow with a sleeve. “I’ll fill the hole on the way back. Only an hour left until Jadefire Hall.”
Yeqing nodded, saying nothing. He couldn’t afford to ask questions—Han Fei had apparently made this trip before. All he could do was follow Zixin’s lead, respond with vague affirmations, and pray the man didn’t ask for memories he didn’t have.
The wagon rolled forward again, pulled by the snorting bull, its iron-tipped hooves clacking against the stone. Yeqing walked alongside, every step outwardly casual, but internally, he ran through every contingency.
The mission was simple—slip away when they reached the hall, find the alchemy lab or the storage space, observe whatever he could of the pill crafting process, and leave. The sect’s survival might depend on it.
But if he was caught?
He doubted Jadefire Hall had powerful detection arrays. They were too poor, too downtrodden.
Still, if they did… he'd have no choice but to fight his way out.
And then the real problems would begin.
Last he had heard, Jadefire Hall was deep in debt. Even with the Divine Pill Apothecary now working well in the city, word from Elder Tiefang was that most of their profits were still being funneled into repaying creditors.
Still, debt or not, this was their main sect ground—there had to be protections around the alchemy halls. He was certain of it.
That said, he had his own ways. Stealth techniques. Methods passed down by the sect that allowed him to slip through detection without alerting basic qi arrays. But even then, Yeqing didn’t want to risk it unless it was absolutely necessary. His orders were clear—he didn’t need the full recipe, not every step or stirring method. Just knowing the ingredients they used would be enough. Darkmoon Sect had more than enough skilled alchemists to reverse engineer the rest.
That made things easier. Not simple. But easier.
The next hour passed with the dull ache of stone under his shoes and the creak of wheels behind the snorting mountain bull. And finally, the gates of Jadefire Hall came into view.
Modest was the first word that came to his mind.
Two dark wooden gates bound by strips of reinforced metal stood in place. No guards in ornate armor, no spirit beasts perched atop the walls. Just a single bored-looking man in simple robes leaning against a spear.
The wagon stopped, and Zixin jumped down first, raising a hand in greeting as he walked up to the guard. They exchanged a few words—clearly familiar—and the guard waved them forward.
“Keep the wagon by the usual spot,” the guard said. “Senior Brother Tau Liu will come out to receive the batch.”
Yeqing gave a respectful nod and silently followed Zixin’s lead as they passed through the gates.
He tried not to wrinkle his nose as they walked deeper into the sect grounds.
The Darkmoon Sect wasn’t perfect—he knew that better than most—but Jadefire Hall felt worse. The qi here was barely above average, the soil dry, the gardens unkempt, and the buildings functional but utterly bland. There was no sense of pride, no grandeur that a sect should have carried.
No wonder they fell into debt, he thought.
They soon reached a squat, two-story structure of faded red stone with an attached pill storage annex, and Zixin pulled the wagon to a stop beside it. He moved up the stairs and knocked on the side door.
It swung open almost instantly.
A short man came out. Long black hair, half-tied back with a silver clasp. His robes were red, with the five elements woven above his chest. His posture was straight, too straight, and the way his beady eyes swept over them in an instant made Yeqing tense. He had the look of a man used to being obeyed.
Yeqing didn’t need to sense his cultivation. The moment he saw the clarity of his eyes, the stillness in his breath, he knew. This man was a strong cultivator. Mid qi refinement realm at least.
And unfortunately, one that didn't look half as lazy or distracted as Yeqing had hoped.
And Yeqing could tell this man held a place of importance in the sect because of the familiar arrogance that crept in.
Zixin, ever the loyal employee, gave a respectful bow. “Cultivator Tau Liu, it’s nice to meet you again.”
Tau Liu gave a polite nod, his eyes flicking over both of them with a look too sharp to be casual. “Please, come in.”
Yeqing knew that cultivators didn’t have the warmest aura, and it was fine. Because it didn’t matter.
The three entered through the side door into a modest but well-maintained waiting hall. There were no grand decorations—just clean mats, a simple wooden table, and a shelf stacked with scrolls and storage slips. It was what one would expect from a sect like Jadefire Hall—functional and plain.
But yes, it was just a waiting room.
Yeqing followed without a word, keeping his eyes sharp. He sat down silently and reached for the teapot on the table, pouring everyone tea. He didn't drink it himself.
Beside him, Zixin was already making himself useful, chatting with the young cultivator as if this were just another friendly transaction.
“Business is going well,” Zixin said. “Plenty of customers. Even the hunting party is gathering quite nicely—” the man went on for some more minutes.
Tau Liu gave a small, approving nod. “That’s good. It’s important to be self-sufficient, especially with the market shifting so fast. The pills are selling better than we expected. I saw the sales record.”
It was mostly useless chatter—things Yeqing already knew. He kept his head slightly bowed, playing the quiet helper role while listening for anything useful.
Then the conversation took a more interesting turn.
“I’m sorry the supply is taking longer than usual,” Tau Liu said. “We’re doing a final inspection on the latest batches. They should be delivered shortly.”
“That’s alright,” Zixin said easily. “We can wait. Did you make a bigger batch this time?”
“Yes,” Tau Liu said, placing his cup on the small table. “With the demand rising, we scaled up production accordingly. Master Hun Tianzhi has also been making strides in his research. I believe there will be good news soon.”
That caught Yeqing’s attention. Finally, finally… Something useful. Thought they’d go back and forth between the boring.
“What kind of research is it?” he asked as curiosity got the best of him. But as soon as he did, he partially regretted it.
Tau Liu’s eyes snapped to him. He might have probably misstepped.
“Apologies, but that’s not something we can disclose. Master Hun hates speaking of his work before it’s complete. Even Sect Leader Chen Ren isn’t fully aware of all the details.”
Yeqing dipped his head in a polite bow. “Forgive me. I was out of bounds.”
“It’s alright,” Tau Liu replied, sipping his tea. “I understand the curiosity. These are exciting times—not just for the sect, but for alchemy itself.”
Yeqing gave a tight nod. “I only wished to know more about the things I help sell.”
“That’s an admirable attitude.” Tau Liu’s eyes twinkled just slightly.
But Yeqing wasn’t listening anymore. He already knew he’d messed up. Even if Tau Liu wasn’t suspicious, the conversation had made it clear—he wasn’t going to learn anything else just sitting here. They were being kept in this room until the batch arrived. After that, they’d be sent straight back.
No chance to observe. No chance to snoop. So he did what he had to do.
In the middle of Zixin’s newest update about hunting permits, Yeqing suddenly stood and bowed. “Apologies, may I ask where the bathroom is?”
Tau Liu raised an eyebrow but didn’t object. “Out the door, take a right. You’ll find it along the corridor. Ask anyone if you get lost… Han Fei.”
That pause before his name—it stuck in Yeqing’s ears. He bowed again, gave a quick “I’ll be back shortly,” and slipped out of the room.
If he had turned back, he would’ve caught the small smirk on both Zixin and Tau Liu’s faces. But he didn’t.
He was already focused on where he was headed—definitely not towards the bathroom. His steps carried him quickly and he took time to look around.
The sect’s inner grounds were quieter than expected, most likely because most disciples were holed up in the alchemy halls. That worked in his favor.
It was time to get to work.
They had spies infiltrate Jadefire Hall in the past, so Yeqing was already familiar with most of the sect’s layout. He just had to hope they hadn’t made any major structural changes.
Without wasting a second, he activated a movement technique, his figure blurring as he darted across the inner grounds toward the building where they stored most of their alchemical materials. He had half a mind to look at the alchemy halls, but he didn’t want to risk too much. Tau Liu already looked a bit suspicious.
It didn’t take long to find it. Though his heart thudded in his ears, he observed sharply.
Crouched behind a tree, he spotted a lone disciple seated at the entrance. From the man’s posture and the faint aura he emanated, Yeqing could tell—body forging realm. Nothing to worry about. He could simply take him out, or sneak past him. But there was a problem: he didn’t know if there was a rear entrance or even a window he could use. He wanted to use brute force only as a last resort.
He shifted through the bushes to the right, using a stealth technique to suppress his presence. When the disciple looked away, Yeqing sprang into motion—dashing toward an adjacent building, leaping onto its roof, and then silently traversing it until he reached the top of the warehouse.
From there, he had a clearer view of the sect grounds. No cultivators in sight.
Good.
He crept to the edge, peering down. He spotted a window. But it had metal bars.
Grimacing, Yeqing hung off the edge with one hand, his body suspended midair as he reached forward and clenched his other hand around the bars. With a quiet exertion of force, he crushed them one by one. Fortunately, the metal didn’t make too much noise.
The space was narrow, barely wide enough for his shoulders. He wriggled through, careful not to make a sound. When his feet finally touched the floor, he landed in complete silence thanks to his movement technique.
The room was dark.
And he was surrounded by crates.
Yeqing crouched low between the crates. He steadied his breath in case, but managed to take a look around. Fortunately, there was no flicker of spiritual light, no humming resonance in the air—no formations, no seals, not even a simple preservation talisman. Either Jadefire Hall was burning through their stock at an absurd rate, or they were growing far too confident for their own good.
So he stood up and got to do what he was here for.
He slipped his fingers beneath the lid of the nearest crate.
A soft creak echoed through the dim storage room. Inside, bundles of dried herbs lay packed in straw. He reached in, fingers brushing the familiar texture of Jadeveil Root—its surface smooth and slightly cool to the touch. Next to it, Starpetal Leaf, thin and brittle, already shedding faint specks of silver-green dust. And at the bottom, rough chunks of Blackscale Bark, reeking faintly of burnt wood and ash.
So far, nothing unexpected. He moved on. The third crate gave him pause.
Nestled between usual leaves and powder sat a bundle of darker herbs—sharp-smelling, venom-tinted. He recognized them instantly. Nightsting Vine and Hollowberry Pulp. Even a withered stalk of Fangshade grass. Not medicinal—poisonous.
His brows twitched.
Further in, he spotted glass vials, their contents thick and dark red. Beast blood. Fresh enough that the glass was still fogged on the inside. He didn’t know the beast it came from—but the qi inside pulsed faintly, which meant it was valuable.
He slipped one vial into his robe and began memorizing the rest. No time to waste.
Crate after crate, herb after herb, his mind spun with details. When he finished, he replaced every lid with care, retraced his steps to the barred window, and slipped out, silent as a shadow.
He landed softly on the packed dirt and darted through the bushes. He had to circle around the buildings to reach where the wagon and he could already fear faint clang of crates and low voices grew louder.
He straightened his back and approached, turning the corner.
Here they are.
Zixin was already loading the one of the last two crates onto the wagon, sweat plastering his shirt to his back.
The mortal’s eyes narrowed when he spotted Yeqing. “Where were you? We needed help.”
Yeqing didn’t miss a beat. He grabbed a nearby crate and heaved it into the cart. “Sorry. I got lost.”
“Lost?” Zixin barked a laugh. “The privy was twenty steps away. What, were you sightseeing?”
Yeqing just shrugged, wiping his forehead. “Didn’t know this place was so big.”
Zixin muttered under his breath, turning back to the cart. “Good thing you didn’t wander into somewhere important…”
Yeqing didn’t say a word. Let Zixin stew in his own theories—it only made things easier for him. Together, they finished keeping everything in order inside the wagon. He noticed the qi of Tau Liu coming from behind, and they both turned around.
Tau Liu stepped forward for a final check, eyes scanning over the goods before offering a small nod.
“Seems good to go. Give my regards to Sect Leader Chen.”
Zixin gave a polite dip of his head. “We will. Thank you for your hospitality.”
Yeqing followed suit. The cultivator only gave a mere nod in return.
With that, they turned towards the gate. Two disciples—both early star qi refinement cultivators—followed and climbed onto the wagon without a word. They were guards, clearly, there to make sure the batch reaches the city. That suited Yeqing just fine.
He held his breath as they passed through the sect gates, half-expecting a shout about the broken storage window. But nothing came. No alarms, no suspicious glances. Just the rumble of wheels and the fading hum of disciples behind them.
The sun was sinking now, painting the sky in shades of amber and rose. Their wagon rattled down the dirt path, back toward the city.
Zixin stayed quiet, his expression unreadable. No idle chatter. No complaints like usual. Just the occasional sigh as he kept his eyes on the road. Maybe he was upset that he wandered off. The two cultivators muttered to each other now and then, but none of it mattered to Yeqing. The less anyone spoke to him, the better.
By the time the city gates came into view, twilight had crept over the rooftops and street lanterns were beginning to flicker to life. As the wagon turned into a familiar road near the shop, Yeqing stirred and looked at Zixin.
“Can I come back later?” he asked, already stepping off.
Zixin shot him a look. “Why?”
“I need to go somewhere.”
“You’re acting weird,” the mortal muttered, brows furrowed.
Yeqing just smiled, easy and calm. “I’ll explain everything when I come back!”
He didn’t wait for permission. He turned and disappeared into the crowd, weaving between vendors and pedestrians like water slipping through cracks.
He didn’t look back.
Every second mattered now. The disguise wouldn’t hold forever—and he didn’t plan to be around when it failed.
The Darkmoon Sect awaited, and Elder Tiefang was going to be very pleased.
2025-07-18 08:58:00 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 140
Chen Ren stepped into the back room with Anji and Yalan in tow. The wooden door clicked shut behind them, muffling the noise of customers and their conversations. Inside, the room was quieter than a grave, the only sound a soft creak as they took their seats.
Anji’s eyes were already on him, wide and awaiting an explanation. Her knuckles brushed the edge of the desk, fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach for her ledger.
Chen Ren didn’t blame her. He knew that having a spy in their midst was a disaster.
They had built everything on secrets—the flavour-infused recipes, the refining techniques, the uniform purity. If even a piece of that leaked to Darkmoon Sect, they wouldn’t just lose business. They’d be finished.
Though that would have only been the case if Chen Ren didn’t already know about it.
Anji broke the silence. “What spy?” she asked. “And when did the Darkmoon Sect send one?”
“It’s one of the mortal workers,” he said. “Han Fei. I don’t know when it happened. But I know that he was replaced by a disciple of the Darkmoon Sect.”
Anji blinked. “Han Fei’s been working diligently since we opened the shop. Had it been a spy all along?”
“Not the same person. I noticed it two days ago. His soul felt off. Warmer than it should be, it was much stronger. He's a cultivator pretending to be him,” Yalan said. “He’s at the peak of qi refinement. Not bad at acting, but not good enough either, and obviously he could act only so much. He’s just too proud in how he moves. Too straight in the back. The man can’t even carry crates like a proper mortal—doesn’t hesitate when he should, doesn’t sweat when he must. I had my suspicions.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Most likely one of their outer sect disciples. Strong enough to defend himself, but not valuable enough for the sect to miss if he’s caught.”
“A throwaway,” Yalan muttered.
“Exactly,” Chen Ren said. “And poorly trained. And clearly someone sent in a hurry and not bred for infiltration.”
Chen Ren took a glance around the room to notice Anji’s brows knitted together.
“It still doesn’t make sense. Did the Darkmoon Sect have something like Hong Yi’s artifact?”
Chen Ren shook his head once. “No,” he said. “It’s not an artifact. He’s using a pill. You remember how Tang Boming and I were looking into the sect’s techniques and specialties, right?”
Anji nodded.
“We spoke to anyone who would talk—rogue cultivators, old hunters, wandering peddlers. Honestly, anyone who’d seen their disciples in the wildlands. Most of them repeated the same thing—they were extremely good with the shadow arts. Their whole sect leans on it. But that wasn’t all.
“There were mentions of how they were really good with esoteric pills that were centered around stealth.”
It wasn’t really easy to get that information. A lot of people weren’t comfortable talking like that. It was even harder to link that information to them sending a spy. But he and Tang Boming were able to put two pieces together.
When they were researching, not every lead made sense and most of the rumors were false. But when a sect’s been around for long enough, and the sect was big enough, one would see the patterns, even through the noise.
Out of all the pills he could think of that were centered around stealth, what made the most sense were ones that could change someone’s appearance. It was an effective way for the Darkmoon Sect to go, since they wouldn’t be able to overpower them with the debt for a while.
They confirmed it when they moved through pill shops that the Darkmoon Sect owned. Tang Boming had requested different types of stealth pills before coming to the shapeshifting ones and the shopkeeper had frozen, saying he needed to speak to someone. Those weren’t available on the shelves and one needed to shell out a lot of money and be strong enough to get their hands on them. Just to confirm, Tang Boming offered over a hundred spirit stones for it and a little extra for the employee and manager, but they only said that even though the pills existed, they weren’t available to outsiders.
“So… they sent someone to steal our recipes,” Anji said, sounding as if she was in deep thought.
Yalan nodded. “They’re trying to figure out how we’re making these pills cheap—and how we modified them without losing purity.”
“Yes, and I spoke with Zixin earlier,” he said, recalling the conversation he’d with one of the new mortal workers. “He mentioned that Han Fei was asking about the next pill run—said he wanted to go up to Jadefire Hall to ‘help carry the load.’”
Yalan’s brow twitched. “To snoop around.”
Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “Most likely. He’ll try to look into ingredients, methods—anything we don’t have out in the shop.”
Now there was only one question left about the situation.
“What are we going to do about it, Sect Leader Chen?” Anji asked. “Should we banish him?”
Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. His eyes narrowed as he considered the whole situation from a distance. He didn’t want to act rashly on an issue this serious—one wrong move could affect them all.
“No,” he said at last. “That won’t teach the Darkmoon Sect anything. They’ll just send another. And then another.”
“They’ll think we’re weak,” Yalan added.
“Then what if we capture him?” Anji probed again.
“They’ll claim he’s not theirs,” Chen Ren said. “Too many disciples. One disappearance won’t even ripple their pond. That spy likely knows it, too.”
Silence stretched as Anji fell into thought. She straightened her back and began pacing the room. Chen Ren watched her think for a solid five minutes—until her eyes suddenly widened, and she turned back to him.
“You’ve already thought of something, haven’t you?” she asked.
Chen Ren’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Naturally,” he said. “But this time, it won’t be us defending. It’ll be them bleeding. But before anything else, we need to be sure the real Han Fei is alive. If they’ve killed him…”
Then it was a tragedy. One that they weren’t able to stop.
“I’ll trail the imposter,” Yalan said, rising to her paws. “If he’s dead, I’ll find the body. If not, I’ll find the cell.”
Chen Ren gave her a nod of trust. “Do it quietly. If they sense we’re aware, we’ll lose our chance.”
Then Chen Ren looked back at Anji, eyes gleaming now.
“Now,” he said, folding his hands before him. “Let me tell you the plan.”
***
Yeqing had thought—naively, it now seemed—that he’d long moved past the days of standing behind a counter like some outer disciple desperate for merit. Yet the heavens, in their twisted sense of humor, had brought him full circle. Once more, he found himself surrounded by shelves of pills, ink-stained ledgers, and the mind-numbing chatter of haggling cultivators.
In front of him, a group of rogue cultivators—dusty robes, half-dulled blades, and the stench of beast blood still clinging to their boots—stood bickering like fishwives in a market.
“For the third time, esteemed cultivator,” Yeqing said, voice as smooth as aged tea, “we cannot offer a discount on those pills. They are already priced far lower than market standards.”
He even bowed slightly, pressing palms together, lips curled in the gentlest smile he could muster.
The leader of the group, a burly man with thick wrists and a body-forging realm aura that made Yeqing's skin itch, slapped his hand against the wooden counter.
“But last time we got ten percent off,” the man growled.
Yeqing’s smile twitched.
If he’d been wearing his real face—if he were dressed in the black and grey of the Darkmoon Sect—this brute wouldn’t have dared raise his voice. But alas, he was a mortal today. A helpful, cheerful little shop assistant with no cultivation to speak of.
He forced his shoulders to relax. “That was a one-time offer,” he said gently. “A promotion for our grand opening. Now that operations are smoother, we’ve returned to standard pricing. If there are discounts in the future, you’ll certainly be among the first eligible.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Tch. I still want an extra pill.”
Yeqing resisted the urge to scoff. These low-level mongrels barely had a grasp on etiquette, let alone tact. He thought briefly of snapping the man’s wrist just to hear it crack.
But instead, he dropped his gaze to the tray of pills and conjured the soft humility he had once wielded years ago while managing his sect’s peripheral shops.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said, glancing up. “You buy these now, and I’ll speak with our manager on your behalf. Since you're one of our regular customers, perhaps next time we can offer something a little more... generous.”
That did the trick.
The man puffed up, clearly pleased to be offered a promise of discount. He turned to his companions and gave a nod. “Fine then. We’ll take it for your price.”
Yeqing bowed again. “A wise choice.”
Yeqing’s fingers moved as if he’d done this many times, tucking the bottles into a cloth pouch and tying it shut with a crimson string. The rogue cultivator snatched it from his hand, popped open the seal for a cursory sniff, then tossed a bundle of spirit stones across the counter.
They clinked like coins at a beggar’s feet.
Yeqing waited until the group had disappeared through the shop doors, their rough laughter fading into the streets beyond, before slumping forward with a silent exhale. His arms braced the counter. Sweat beaded at his brow—not from fear, but from restraint.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Just a little longer. Endure this farce a little longer. The pill was worth it.
A single pill. That was all he needed. The one Elder Tiefang had promised him upon success. With it, the bottleneck standing between him and the foundation establishment realm would shatter, and he would finally crawl out of the mud these people forced him to wallow in. If that happened… even a core elder might look his way and take him as a disciple.
“Rough one?” a voice called from behind.
Yeqing’s spine stiffened. He turned, plastering the same gentle smile he had used on the cultivators.
It was Zixin—one of the mortal staff who worked alongside him. He didn’t like talking to them amiably, because it was far beneath him, but he had to keep up his act.
Yeqing nodded with a weary sigh, wiping fake sweat from his brow. “Entitled types,” he said. “I was almost certain he’d start swinging.”
Zixin chuckled and leaned against the side of a display shelf, glancing toward the door. “If he did, Sect Leader Chen would’ve dealt with him. I doubt any of these troublemakers could give him much trouble.”
Yeqing’s smile tightened.
Chen Ren? That so-called “sect leader”? A half-baked cultivator in the middle stars of qi refinement, with neither strength nor reputation to back his title. The very idea made Yeqing want to laugh aloud.
But of course, he couldn’t.
So he nodded again, playing his role. “Still, wouldn’t be good for business if a fight broke out.”
“True.” Zixin scratched the back of his head, then looked at the empty shelves near the front. “Anyway, I think we need to restock the shelves. Those rogue cultivators cleared out most of the Qi Replenishment Pills.”
For the first time since stepping into this disguise, Yeqing’s eyes shone. But his face remained neutral.
“Really?” he said mildly, dusting off the corner of the counter.
“Yeah,” Zixin replied, glancing toward the shelves. “With the way pills are flying off the racks, we’ll be empty by tomorrow. Better to restock early than get caught scrambling. Jadefire Hall should’ve finished brewing another batch by now.”
Yeqing tilted his head, seizing the opening. “Do you want me to go get them?”
Zixin scratched the back of his neck. “You sure? Last time you went up there, you passed out halfway up the hill.”
Yeqing stiffened. He hadn’t known that.
Recovering quickly, he forced a sheepish chuckle. “That was a bad day. I think I’ll be fine now. Staying behind this counter isn’t exactly good for my body. Might even help me stretch my legs.”
Zixin narrowed his eyes, then seemed to shrug the thought away. “Alright. I’ll talk to Manager Anji. If she says yes, both of us can head up there tomorrow.”
Yeqing smiled faintly. Not alone, then. Things would be much easier if he went alone—but well, it was only a small setback, not a dead end.
“Sure,” he said. “Let me know.”
With that, the conversation drifted off, and the two of them fell back into their routines—sorting, packing, guiding, smiling. Yeqing buried himself in the rhythm of work, though every second itched against his nerves.
He hated to admit it, but the shop… was doing well. Exceptionally well.
Pill shops rarely had steady traffic even in core districts, yet here, they had cultivators coming and going like flies to spirit honey. New customers. Repeat customers. Guards. Cultivators. Merchants. Wandering clansmen.
And every pouch sold was another stone chipped off the Darkmoon Sect’s mountain of influence.
No wonder Elder Tiefang was worried about this.
Yeqing glanced at the long line forming again by the doorway. The name “Divine Pill Apothecary” was already spreading like wildfire across the city. If it wasn’t stopped, this wasn’t just going to be a competition.
It was going to be a war. And Yeqing was here to stop that. Give Divine Coin Sect a big blow before the tide could rise.
Because despite how hard life was, the only reason Darkmoon sect disciples were able to get a lot of resources was because of them maintaining a monopoly.
Yeqing worked diligently until the sun dipped low, his smile never faltering as he handed out pills and answered questions with the tone of a humble shop worker. But as soon as the final customer left and the shutters were drawn, he bowed out early with a yawn and a polite excuse about the bathhouse.
His steps, however, carried him nowhere near warm water or steam.
Yeqing slipped into the flow of the city’s main road, only to veer off toward the crumbling edges of Broken Ridge. His robes gathered dust, and his pace quickened. He had ten minutes. If he didn’t reach in time, his face might begin to melt like wax under heat.
He brushed past the crowds—elbowing a merchant, nodding at a guard—and then, suddenly, his heart skipped.
His instincts, honed from a decade of harsh sect life, screamed.
Yeqing stopped.
Am I… being followed?
His head turned, sweeping over the crowd behind him. He squinted his eyes, trying to see anyone suspicious.
Nothing.
A false alarm? Or was someone actually watching?
His jaw tightened. He had been too focused lately—too upright in his role. That was dangerous.
He resumed walking, slower now, scanning alleys and rooftops every few steps. But no shadows moved with him. No qi signatures followed.
The house appeared five streets later—a mold-ridden shack pressed between two collapsed tenements. Its door was warped, the tiles overhead cracked. Yeqing slipped inside, and only once the door creaked shut behind him did he release a slow breath.
Then, his face began to change.
With the quiet squelch of shifting flesh, his nose narrowed, cheekbones sharpened, and jaw grew lean. The dull look of the shop worker melted away, revealing him—shrewd eyes the color of black jade, a thin scar running from his brow to the bridge of his nose, and the usual downward smile on his lips that never made it to his eyes.
Yeqing stared at the mirror nailed crookedly to the wall, rubbing his temples as he muttered, “Four pills left. Four days to get the recipe and bolt.”
He turned toward the wardrobe in the corner of the room. Pulling it open, the scent of sweat and faint fear rolled out. Inside, bound with layered ropes and a gag, was the true owner of his stolen face—a gaunt man with frightened eyes and blood crusting at the edge of his mouth.
The captive—Han Fei stirred, and his eyes bulged as Yeqing crouched beside him.
“Still alive,” Yeqing said lightly, plucking a pill from a pouch at his waist. He flicked it into his palm, then leaned in close. “You should thank the heavens. If I were any other cultivator, you’d be floating down the city’s waste river by now.”
He opened the gag just to force the pill into the man’s mouth and made sure he swallowed.
The mortal coughed as the pill scraped down his throat. His bound limbs twitched, and his eyes—already ringed with exhaustion—fluttered as the drowsy effect of the concoction began to settle in.
Yeqing watched dispassionately, then clicked the wardrobe shut.
“Be grateful,” he muttered, brushing off his hands. “You won’t need food after that pill. And you’ll sleep for longer than you’d like.”
He turned, letting his shoulders sag slightly as he surveyed the small space that had become his den of lies. A cracked lantern flickered on the table. A chipped basin stood unused in the corner. The thin mattress on the bed creaked beneath him as he sat down heavily, resting his head back against the rough pillow.
The day had worn on him.
He had assumed this mission would be a simple one—pretend, observe, report. But every interaction drained him. The fake smiles, the bending of pride, the forced respect toward mortals.
He hadn’t been on spy quests before and he realised why it was so hard. But maybe tomorrow would be the last day he’d have to preserve.
His eyelids lowered as he let his breath even out. He wasn’t going to cultivate, just wanted the mindless quiet of meditation to numb his thoughts.
It was perhaps because of that numbing silence that he didn’t feel it; didn’t feel the subtle pressure of a gaze.
Someone was watching him through the cracks of his window.
Yeqing, unaware of the presence, fell into the darkness of his meditation.
2025-07-16 06:00:34 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 250
Kai found himself fighting at the peak of his power in the soul space. He moved through the blue sky like a streak of flame, and his robe crackled with heat. A spear of fire and wind twisted in his hand.
The best thing about this space was that it didn’t follow the natural rules. His mana never ran dry. If he wanted to create something, he simply could—he’d feel the draw on his Mana heart, then will it full again, and it was. Even spells that would normally cost far too much mana came easily.
Wounds healed the same way. He could do it just with intent. He simply had to think about the sensation it created.
Still, for every miracle he conjured, Valkyrie matched it—graceful, composed, terrifyingly precise. He burned the sky with spells. She froze them mid-flight. He turned stone to molten slag. She stepped over it as if walking on glass.
What kind of monster fights like this even in death…?
A thought sparked in him as he dodged another ice blade that shattered the clouds around him. He spun and released three compressed spheres of fire laced with slicing wind.
They raced toward Valkyrie with a high whine—miniature suns in motion. She danced between them effortlessly. It caused a question in his mind.
“If we can both just heal and create spells endlessly,” Kai called out, “then how are we supposed to decide who wins?”
From across the battlefield, Valkyrie’s voice answered, smooth and calm as always—even as her fingers etched another spell structure in the air.
“You don’t decide.” A gust of cold rushed outward. “I do.” The spell finished. “It ends when I believe you’re worthy of my inheritance,” she added. “If it were my son, I’d have made it easier. But you’re not him.”
The air around Kai dropped sharply.
His breath misted.
Ice formed in the space beneath him. Before he could blink, a shimmering cage of frost had formed right where he hovered.
His foot froze in place.
Shit!
Kai jerked upward, his other leg catching the edge. A flaming lance appeared in his hand. He drove it down with a roar.
The ice shattered, shards spinning outward like razors as he burst free—just in time to avoid a curtain of razor-sharp icicles that exploded from Valkyrie’s outstretched hand.
They tore past him. Some grazed his robes. One slashed a shallow line across his cheek.
You don’t bleed here unless she wants you to…
Kai gritted his teeth and circled her again, moving with the winds.
He spoke—not as a taunt, but a truth.
“Don’t you think just strength is a terrible measure?” he said, hurling a chain of fire spears as he spoke. “There was an orc I had to fight before this. Strong. Ruthless. But if he was here, will you give him the inheritance simply because he's strong? It sounds stupid to me.”
Valkyrie didn’t answer right away. She summoned a sheet of ice in the air that bent like glass, deflecting the spells with an elegant curve.
Then gave an amusing laugh. “I never said this trial was about defeating me.”
Kai hovered midair, his brow furrowed, his flames dimming for just a moment.
“It’s not?” he asked, gaze narrowing at Valkyrie as mana continued to hum under his skin.
The woman laughed again.
“I said I wanted you to challenge me,” she replied, her fingers sketching symbols of light in the air. “Not that winning gives you the tower.”
A spike of frost flared behind her and vanished.
Kai clenched his jaw. “Then why the fight?”
“Because power is part of the equation.” She tilted her head, forming another layered spell circle in her palm. “If you can defeat me, I’ll know you have the strength to defend this place when it matters.”
The runes in her palm glowed pale blue. The temperature dropped again—slower this time, like a tide instead of a storm.
“Also,” she added, lips twitching in amusement, “battles where you can’t die are very good for conversation.”
He blinked at that. Before he could reply, the sky above him trembled—mana swelling until it shimmered like silver glass.
Kai’s instincts flared a heartbeat before it began.
A downpour of giant icicles tore through the clouds, sharp as glaives, fast as spears.
Kai threw his hands up. [Wind Ward]
A dome of wind roared into place above him, the barrier humming as each ice spear shattered on contact, exploding into crystalline dust.
He exhaled, still floating.
He narrowed his eyes toward Valkyrie as he dispelled the barrier. “And what kind of conversation are you looking for exactly?”
Her response came as she drifted forward.
“Let’s talk about you.”
Kai barked a laugh, even as he conjured twin flames into each palm. “I’d rather learn about you, honestly.”
Valkyrie shrugged. “But the trial is yours. And you… you’re far more interesting. It's not every day I meet someone living in another man’s body. How do you feel about leading a dual life?”
Kai didn’t smile this time.
His flames roared.
He hurled one palm forward—fire twisting into a focused beam that ripped through the air. Valkyrie moved, spinning away, but not fast enough this time. The second blast struck her in the gut.
A flash of pain crossed her features. And then it vanished.
Her body mended in an instant, mana knitting flesh together like a well-rehearsed song.
“You are getting better,” she said lightly.
Kai hovered in silence, breath steady, heat rising from his skin.
Leading a dual life… That was the first time someone had said it like that.
He hadn’t thought about it recently. Not since the fief war. He had simply begun to accept it as normal.
His frown deepened.
The fire in his palms dimmed, and the wind around him died down.
“I hate living your son’s life,” Kai said at last, his voice just above a whisper. “The only reason I could bear it was because there was always something to do. A problem to solve. A beast to kill. A threat looming over me.”
He didn’t look at Valkyrie when he said it. He wasn’t speaking to her. He was speaking to the space around them. To the guilt that had clawed at him since the first day he’d opened his eyes in Arzan’s body.
Valkyrie, still hovering effortlessly midair, let the silence stretch before asking:
“If there wasn’t anything to do… would you have continued?”
Kai’s jaw clenched. He had no answer.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
The truth slipped out like a wound reopening.
Valkyrie’s voice came softer now, less like a warrior and more like a mother.
“You said Arzan was in debt. That there was a Mage who wanted him dead. You were powerless. So why didn’t you run? Disappear. Live your life elsewhere.”
Kai looked up.
Mana still stirred faintly in his limbs, but the fight had paused.
“I thought about it,” he said, eyes shadowed. “I nearly did. But something always felt like it was chasing me. Like I’d never escape it. The debts. The enemies. The questions.” He sucked in a breath. “So I stayed. And I fought. Because I thought… maybe I was capable enough to deal with the problems.”
Valkyrie smiled at that.
All the spell circles vanished around her. The pressure of the mana faded like mist in the wind.
“And so,” she said softly, “you continued living as my son. And no one knew.”
Kai looked down. “Some do.”
“Is that enough?” Valkyrie asked. “Do you think Arzan—no matter what kind of person he was—would have liked being remembered… not as himself, but as you?”
Her words struck harder than any spell she’d cast so far. Because even thinking about it made something twist inside him. He had stopped thinking about Arzan until someone had brought it up. In way, he had simply shut down the guilt of taking over someone else’s body even when he knew he wasn’t the one to kill him
And it was what had come after.
He’d kept the name. Kept the power. Taken his seat, his story. He had walked into his relationships, worn them like old clothes, patched them where needed—but never once stepped back to ask what if this had been me instead?
Even when he told himself Arzan’s life had been a wreck… Even when he justified it with survival…He knew.
This tower wasn’t his. The inheritance Valkyrie left wasn’t his.
And yet, here he stood—fighting for it. Wanting it. Chasing it for power.
Because that’s what he did.
Because he had always chased strength—not just to survive, but because some part of him believed he deserved to. That if he suffered for it, bled for it, then maybe he could forget where it all began.
The wind in the soul space stirred. The sky above shimmered faintly with threads of pale mana, dancing like cracks in glass.
Valkyrie hovered in the air, robes fluttering, her expression unreadable. Her hair flowed behind her. For a moment, she simply watched him. As if reading his thoughts.
“Do you think,” she finally asked, “you deserve my inheritance?”
He met her gaze, then nodded. “Yes. I believe I do.”
“Why?”
Kai let out a breath, feeling the echo of his heartbeat. “Because I came here,” he said. “Because I stood before you and fought. Because I crossed deserts, bled for answers, and survived things that were meant to kill me.”
His fingers flexed. Mana sparked at his fingertips as he looked down.
“I fought beasts. I defeated tribals. I faced Khorvash and brought him down. I’ve proven myself.”
Valkyrie’s lips thinned. “I left a map,” she said. “For my son.”
“And that map brought me to a desert where your legacy was buried under sand and blood. Where orcs ruled, and humans doubted me. It wasn’t handed to me. I earned every step.”
Valkyrie studied him for a long moment. Then spoke again. “Yes. You did. But this inheritance is not yours. How do I know,” she continued, “that you will use it for good?”
Kai opened his mouth then closed it.
Then let out a breath. “I don’t think you can know. Not truly. All I can do is ask you to trust me.”
“Trust you?” she echoed. “Why?”
“Because I’m not here for greed. I’m not here to raise empires or reshape the world in my image.”
“You say that,” Valkyrie said, her voice quiet now, “but so many Mages said the same. They held noble intentions—until they didn’t. Until the world gave them power… and they became monsters. I see your truth now, Kai. But not the man you may become.”
Kai nodded. “And I saw the future you feared.”
Valkyrie’s expression shifted.
“I’ve lived it,” Kai continued, his tone flat. “I’ve seen what happens when Mages chase power without end. Kingdoms fall. Innocents burn. Wars, wars and more wars. The prophecy might exist, yes. But even without it, humanity would have brought ruin. Not with dead mana, but a thousand cuts of arrogance and war.”
Memories flashed through his mind. It was a dark place—where he’d gone. He quickly shook his head and looked at Valkyrie.
“I know what unchecked power does,” Kai said. “And I know I can’t promise I’ll always make the right choices. But I can promise… I’ll never chase power for the sake of power. I want to protect people. That’s why I stayed. That’s why I took the risks. That’s why I’m still here.”
Valkyrie smiled, the corners of her lips rising with a grace that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Can you stop that scenario from ever coming?”
Kai shook his head again. “No,” he said. “Not forever. Until I reach the peak of magic, I can still die. And even if I did reach the top, I can’t guard the world for eternity. That’s not how it works.”
His fingers flexed slightly, mana curling at his knuckles like smoke.
“What I can do,” he continued, “is build something that outlives me. A system. An order. A world where magic is studied, taught, and governed the right way. Not hidden or abused.”
His voice hardened.
“And if I have to conquer the world to do that—then I will.”
Valkyrie tilted her head slightly. “For power?”
“For safety,” Kai said without hesitation. “For balance.”
“And once it’s built,” Valkyrie murmured, “you’ll leave the throne behind?”
He gave a small, tired laugh. “You think I want that throne? Sitting on top, managing factions, balancing politics?” He looked up toward the sky above, now painted in orange hues. “No. That’s too much work. I believe we should return to our duel.”
Valkyrie chuckled. “You sure you don’t want to keep talking?”
He gave a small grin. “Like you said... this battle will take a while. We’ll have time.”
With that, Kai raised a hand.
A spell structure bloomed in the air, layered with glyphs that pulsed with golden-blue light. The sheer size of it dwarfed even Valkyrie’s earlier magic.
Mana surged from him in waves, the entire space trembling beneath the force of his will.
The sky ignited.
Winds howled and fire roared as dozens—no, hundreds—of eagles burst into existence, wings of flame, talons of sharpened wind-force, each one etched with a sigil on its beak.
They circled above, forming a storm of death in motion. Light shimmered off their wings, casting the whole soul space in radiant crimson-gold. It was a fifth circle spell meant to massacre through entire armies.
Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “You’ve been holding back.”
Kai’s smile returned. “I’m just getting started.”
He pointed forward.
“Let’s begin the second round.”
The sky broke open.
Eagles of flame and storm dived in unison, shrieking as they struck, their bodies detonating in controlled, devastating bursts. The soul space rumbled creating shockwaves outward. Heat and wind clashed, scattering illusions and ice.
The world burned in a bright light.
And above it all, the name of the spell echoed through Kai’s mind.
[Stormflight Legion]
***
Ansel stood over the broken body of Zethar.
The orc general’s chest had been torn open—burned, ruptured, and cratered so deep that his heart was little more than pulp. One leg barely clung to his body, dangling from scorched sinew and shattered bone. His skin was blackened and blistered, half his face missing under the blast that ended him.
Blood still seeped from him. Thick. Slow. Ugly. But he wasn’t breathing.
Ansel had checked twice already—once with his fingers, once with the tip of his spear.
Zethar was dead. He had taken his revenge. He’d done it. They had.
He turned his head, looking to the side.
Khalid was kneeling in the sand, shoulders hunched, his chest rising and falling with short breaths. His left arm was gone from the elbow down—a stump wrapped hastily in cloth, pulsing red despite the bandage. Zethar had crushed it, ripped it apart like paper.
Even now, his brother held a half-empty healing vial in his right hand, the potion glowing faintly as it worked its magic. Whether it could regrow the limb, Ansel didn’t know, and it pained him to a great degree.
The silence between them lasted only a second before Ansel stepped forward.
“…Brother,” he said.
Khalid raised his head. Blood streaked down his face, dried at the corners of his lips. But he wasn’t grimacing.
He was… calm.
Like someone who had finally put down a weight too heavy to carry.
Ansel knelt beside him. “It’s over,” he said softly. “We won.”
And only then did Ansel let his eyes wander—truly take in the battlefield for the first time.
The winds of Ashari still blew. Orcs littered the ground, some heaped in piles where they had made their final stands, others scattered in broken heaps where Sand Knights and tribals had cut through them. The golden sand had turned red in places, black in others where flames had scorched the earth.
Some orcs still ran—cowards, deserters, remnants of a broken force. Maari’s warriors chased them like wolves after wounded prey.
But the fighting had stopped.
The war was over. Victory was theirs.
And yet… it didn’t feel like victory. Ansel followed his brother’s gaze.
Not far away, Hussam lay in the sand—his weapon still clutched in one hand, his eyes staring skyward. Three warriors knelt beside him, heads bowed, hands trembling. One of them sobbed.
There were more like him. Too many. Every tribe had lost someone today. People with names, stories and families—they were all gone.
Ansel felt a lump in his throat, but he forced it down.
He looked back to Khalid, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the body of the fallen tribal chieftain.
“We should bury him properly,” Ansel said.
He looked at Khalid again and reached down, gripping his brother’s good shoulder and pulling him gently to his feet. “Let’s get you treated.”
Khalid gave a faint grunt, swaying a little before he steadied himself. “We need to know how many we lost first.”
“There’s time for that,” Ansel said firmly. “Your health matters more. There are others who can count the bodies. You can’t help anyone if you drop dead on the sand.”
Khalid opened his mouth to argue—but another voice beat him to it.
“I agree,” Feroy said, approaching them with slow steps, his flaming spear still dripping with orc blood. “You’ve done enough, Khalid. You should rest. I’ll take care of the losses and the wounded. I’ve done that before.”
Khalid narrowed his eyes at him. “You’ve been in war?”
Feroy gave a short nod. “There was one. Back home.”
Khalid took a moment before nodding, and then exhaled like the weight had finally reached his bones. “Then… thank you.”
But his eyes weren’t on Feroy for long. They drifted up past the smoke and the sand-swept dead to the distant peaks.
To the place where the dragon had fallen.
“What about Count Arzan?” Khalid asked, voice hushed. “It’s been too long since we heard anything. I know Khorvash is dead… but none of them have come back. Not even Adil.”
Feroy followed his gaze, his brow furrowed. “I think… they’re fine,” he said slowly. “They must be exploring the tower. Maybe dealing with whatever is left inside.”
“Are you sure they’re not in danger?”
Ansel finally smiled—just a little. “Brother… Lord Arzan killed Khorvash. If there’s anything out there that can trouble him… then none of us ever stood a chance.”
Feroy gave a short chuckle. “True. If anyone can survive in that tower, it’s him.”
The brothers didn’t answer immediately. For a while, they just stood there—watching the peaks, letting the wind cool the sweat and blood on their skin.
Eventually, Feroy turned, gesturing to the tents being set up in the distance. “Come on. Let’s get you treated. The war’s over…”
He looked around the battlefield.
“…But there’s still a lot left to do.”
2025-07-16 05:59:13 +0000 UTC
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