Chapter 249
The air reeked of death.
Not just the smell of blood—but the deeper kind. Burnt flesh, ruptured guts, the copper sting of fresh kills soaked into the sand. It clung to Ansel’s skin, heavy as armor, and no matter how deep he breathed, it only filled his lungs with more of it.
All around him, the battlefield raged.
Steel crashed against bone. Mounts screamed. War cries from both man and orc drowned out any clear thought. The ground had turned into something unholy—mud, blood, and bone crushed into every step. And yet, the tribes pushed forward—for freedom.
They all knew that this was their final chance.
He could see the Sand Knights up ahead—ripping through the orc flanks with mounted fury, their lances shining under the midday sun. The rest of the tribes followed behind, roaring, hacking, bleeding—but never stopping. Not even for a second, not even when some faltered in steps.
But even through the madness, Ansel saw it—they were waiting.
Everyone kept glancing at the cliffs where the sky had once burned with the shape of a dragon. Where the scream of Khorvash had come from. Where the orc overlord had died.
At first, the orcs charged in with bravado—expecting their champion to appear and smash through the humans. When he didn’t, doubt took hold. Then came the fear. Ansel spotted it clearly. Some orcs faltered. Others began to flee. Weapons dropped. Orders stopped being followed.
A crack in the armor.
The humans, on the other hand, only grew louder. The chant began in one corner of the field and swept through like wildfire—“Khorvash is dead! Khorvash is dead!”
Ansel didn’t know if it was true.
But it didn’t matter. The belief alone was enough to shift the tide.
The orcs continued to bleed and in return, the humans pressed harder.
But Ansel’s focus wasn’t on the cheers. It wasn’t on Khalid barking orders or Feroy lighting the sand on fire with every swing of his spear.
He was staring at him. Zethar.
The orc general that killed his father.
A massive brute, his body painted in war marks that shimmered with wind enchantments. His legs glowed faintly blue, and with every movement, he blurred—too fast, too strong. He didn’t use weapons. Or maybe he didn’t need them.
His fists were the storm.
Tribal warriors fell like grass before him. Ribs shattered. Skulls cracked. And Zethar laughed—as if slaughter was just sport.
Ansel gripped the hilt of his blade tighter. His chest boiled with all the rage and grief combined.
He broke into a sprint—eyes locked on Zethar’s hulking frame.
But his body screamed before his mind caught up. Instinct flared.
He twisted to the side just in time to see a second orc charging from the smoke—axe raised, saliva dripping from tusks, eyes bloodshot. It was twice the size as him and wielded an axe that was dripping blood.
It came down. Ansel dropped low, the axe whistling inches above his skull. He came up fast, slashing across the orc’s thigh. A cry rang out, but not deep enough to kill. The brute staggered but didn’t fall.
Ansel crouched low, spear clutched in both hands, and prepared to strike.
The orc in front of him growled, muscles tensing, axe rising for a downward swing.
Then the beast's head snapped sideways—sharp and sudden—and a spear burst through it like a spike through fruit. The skull cracked and blood sprayed.
The orc dropped without a sound.
Ansel blinked, startled, eyes tracing the shaft back to its source.
Above, standing atop the dead orc, draped in burning armour, was Feroy. The Knight met his gaze, looking too calm despite the raging chaos surrounding them. He pulled the spear free with one clean twist.
"Go," Feroy said, nodding once. "I'll clear the path for you."
Ansel hesitated only a breath before nodding back. Then he ran.
The dust swirled around him, and ahead, Zethar loomed like a storm at the heart of a fire.
Orcs moved to intercept him—three at first, then five. All fast, all brutal.
None of them reached him.
Feroy carved through them with methodical precision. Every swing of his flaming spear left another body behind. One orc’s head spun through the air. Another was run through mid-charge. The Knight didn’t stop or falter.
Ansel barely had time to admire it.
How many have he killed today? he wondered.
It didn’t matter. Because he wasn’t Feroy, wasn't an Enforcer. He didn’t have the power to use elementals in ways they did. It made him doubt his steps for a moment—what if he wasn’t enough as a mortal?
No, he couldn't allow himself to think that. He had will in abundance. His father had died under Zethar’s fists.
And Ansel had carried the rage since he had heard about it from Khalid. He wouldn’t leave this battlefield without avenging him.
He gripped his spear tighter. The leather around the haft bit into his palms, slick with sweat and blood.
And then he saw Zethar just a few steps away.
The orc general stood tall, broader than any other orcs, shoulders glinting with tattoos, bare feet wrapped in bracelets that shimmered faintly with wind essence. The carnage he’d left behind was a trail of mangled bodies and dust.
He looked down at Ansel and smiled.
Ansel’s blood boiled at that. Without another word, or a thought, he sprinted forward, his feet pounding sand.
His spear came up and Zethar vanished.
It was a blur—like the wind itself shifted. He looked to his left and right, trying to see where Zethar was, but before he could witness it, his instincts screamed. And he didn’t linger.
He dove sideways just as a fist hammered down where he’d been. The impact sent cracks rippling through the ground. He hit the sand hard, rolled and kicked back onto his feet.
“Good reflex, human. But one dodge won’t save you.”
Then the orc came. Faster than before.
Ansel ducked, narrowly avoiding a sweeping punch. The wind trailing behind it sliced into his shoulder armor, peeling away part of the metal.
Fuck. No, no. Watch him and read him. Don’t panic or you will be dead!
Ansel screamed in his mind. He noticed that the orc’s artifact needed time to work again and he used that time trying to clobber Ansel to the ground with his fist, not even bothering to use any other part of his body.
And Ansel let him; let him move, knowing he would be able to dodge every strike.
As expected, the orc’s next punch came low—telegraphed by the twist of his hips.
Ansel sidestepped, letting it pass him by, and struck with the butt of his spear into Zethar’s ribs. It barely made the giant grunt, but Ansel was already moving, using the momentum to spring back and circle.
He’d hunted beasts with nothing but a rusted blade and instinct. He knew how to read movements, how to survive on pure grit. And Zethar was also a beast, but one with a mouth. So his rhythm became clear.
One—two—pause. One—lunge—overreach.
There.
Ansel ducked low and dodged.
The more he dodged, the more the orc general got angry, until he made the mistake of giving Ansel a chance to rush into his guard.
Ansel yelled and dove inside his guard, stabbing his spear straight into Zethar’s thigh.
The orc attacked with his fist, but he ducked and the fist got stuck in sand. Perfect, Ansel thought, and tried to push the spear deeper into the cut.
Zethar’s thick skin didn’t help, but the cut was enough. Unfortunately, he immediately recovered and swung his other hand at him.
Shit, Ansel’s instincts screamed at him as he ducked and twisted midway, hitting the foot of the orc as it cried.
But then, he saw the danger right in front of his eyes.
The bracelets on Zethar's feet glowed. Wind howled.
Ansel turned and sprinted, heart pounding. And he became a blur of motion.
Goosebumps exploded along his skin.
He turned.
Zethar was already there. Right in front of him. Like his worst nightmare come true, his massive fist hurtled down like a falling boulder, parts of rock and sand falling from it.
And he knew that there was no time to dodge. So, he did what any sane man would do, he raised his arms on impulse and closed his eyes shut.
CLANG!
There was no impact or pain like he anticipated. What’s happening? He opened his eyes and they were met with a shield.
A large, solid shield that held the fist back.
He looked up, and saw Khalid. His eyes were narrowed at Zethar, who was huffing and puffing in anger. The sand shifted beneath him, but he didn’t dodge.
“Khalid?” Ansel gasped.
“You think I’d let you die before you finish what you started?”
Zethar’s gauntlet reared back again.
“Dodge!” Khalid barked.
Ansel didn’t think. He dove to the left as Zethar’s fist slammed down again, cracking stone and sending up a spray of earth. Khalid took the hit with his shield, braced for it—but the impact sent him skidding back, armor scraping across rock.
The orc spat to the side, lips curled. “Annoying humans. I’ll kill you both.”
Ansel sprinted to his brother, reaching out and helping him to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
Khalid smirked through the pain. “I need my revenge too.” His voice shook, but his eyes were steady, looking at Ansel. “You weren’t there. I saw father die. Right there—in his grip. You think I’ll let you take all the glory?”
Ansel's heart twisted.
He smiled. Just for a breath. “Then let’s do it together.”
Zethar surged forward just as they finished talking.
The artifact bound to his legs gleamed again—this time brighter, faster. The wind around him howled like a storm. His movements blurred, faster than anything they had seen before.
The brothers split.
Ansel veered right. Khalid went left.
Zethar picked a target—Khalid.
The orc general charged like a battering ram, swinging with enough force to shatter stone. Khalid roared, raised his shield, and caught the blow. The metal groaned.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the shield’s face. But it held barely, but Ansel knew it wouldn’t be for long.
Before Zethar could pull back for a second strike, Ansel closed in. He moved fast, keeping his spear low and stabbed right into the orc’s knee.
The blade hit with a sick crunch. Zethar’s leg buckled, blood gushing out in a thick stream. The orc snarled in pain, eyes wide with fury.
He didn’t fall. But he dropped a knee.
In Ansel’s tribe, they had a saying: If you want to bring down a beast, break its legs first. Zethar was no different.
But rage still burned in the orc’s eyes. He swept an arm out in a wide arc, aiming to crush Ansel with sheer force. The wind surged behind his swing.
Ansel didn’t try to block it.
He threw himself into a roll, dirt and blood smearing his clothes, the blow just missing his back.
He came up on one knee, hands already moving to his pouch. Fingers closed around a glass vial—one of the last explosive potions he had left.
“Khalid!” he shouted. “Run!”
He didn’t wait to check if his brother listened. He hurled the potion straight at the kneeling orc’s face. It spun once in the air.
Zethar saw the vial coming.
The orc’s hand snapped up to swat it aside, but the glass cracked the moment it brushed his skin—and that was enough
An explosion tore through the battlefield.
Fire sprawled across Zethar’s chest and shoulders, licking up his throat and curling down his arms. The orc screamed—raw, guttural, inhuman. It wasn’t pain alone in that scream. It was rage. Agony. Hatred.
The bracelet flared to life. Then he moved. Like a beast set ablaze.
He darted from place to place, vanishing and reappearing in flashes of speed—zigzagging through the battlefield in blind agony. His flesh sizzled. Smoke poured off him. But still, he didn't fall.
He couldn't stop.
The flames clung to him like a curse, and each time he moved, more skin peeled, more blackened chunks of muscle sloughed off. His howls grew hoarse, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, he was moving faster—too fast, too furious.
Ansel gripped his spear tighter, breath caught in his throat. He turned to his brother.
Khalid stood frozen, eyes locked on the burning figure. Their gazes met—and in that heartbeat, they both knew what they had to do.
This was it. Now or never.
Ansel nodded once.
Khalid stepped forward. They started running.
Straight toward the fire. Straight toward the orc. Straight toward vengeance.
***
Claire sat cross-legged beside the unconscious form of Lord Arzan, her gaze fixed on his face. He looked calm.
She inhaled sharply.
He looked too calm considering everything that had just happened.
His chest rose and fell in even breaths. She looked for signs, sweat, twitching or any sign that Lord Arzan was in pain, but there were none. It was almost as if he was in the middle of the best dream of his life. But Claire knew better. She’d seen the way his body had gone limp the moment they pulled his face out of the water-filled bowl, his arms sagged to his side and how the mana around him had gone quiet.
No one slept like that unless they were somewhere else entirely.
So she knew that this was another trial he'd have to pass—basically a soul-bound puzzle only he could solve. She’d said as much hours ago.
The others hadn’t argued.
Footsteps echoed in the chamber, metal tapping faintly against the stone. Claire turned.
Gareth stood there.
The Enforcer walked over and silently placed his enchanted weapon on the ground. Then, with a tired groan, he sat down next to her, his eyes falling on Lord Arzan’s motionless body.
“When do you think he’ll wake up?” he asked quietly.
Claire didn’t hesitate.
“The same thing I said three hours ago,” she replied. “Soon. I know it.”
Gareth nodded. “Yeah. Let’s hope it’s before Feroy and the tribals come storming through that door. Would be awkward, seeing the man who killed Khorvash taking a nap.”
At that, Claire huffed out a tired laugh. “You’ve got a strange idea of awkward.”
Silence fell for a moment.
Then she asked, “What happened to his body? Khorvash’s. You and Adil went to look for it.”
Gareth nodded. “We found it. Took us a while—lots of dunes to climb and there were large holes in the sand and a lot of it had become glass.” He paused, then added, “Body was burnt badly. Real bad. Could barely recognize the bastard.”
Claire’s expression didn’t shift. “And the artifacts?”
“The rings are still there. Lord Arzan didn’t even bother touching them.” Gareth scratched his beard. “But the gauntlets? They were all broken. Adil picked through what was left. Said we needed proof.”
“Proof?”
“For the tribes,” Gareth said simply. “They’ll want to see something. A broken weapon. A charred tusk. Something to spit on.”
Claire nodded slowly, then looked down at Lord Arzan again. “Let’s just hope they don’t try to make Adil the next overlord once we leave.”
“I’m worried about that too,” he admitted. “About what happens after. But… Adil didn’t look greedy when he picked up the rings. Not even curious.”
Claire tilted her head. “That’s surprising.”
“Yeah. He just took them, quietly. Since then, he’s been tending to the kids.”
Claire looked at him, brows raised.
Gareth nodded. “It took some time to get the chains off. Bastards had them locked down with more than iron—there were old symbols, maybe magic too. Some artifact they found in the tower. But we got them loose.”
He exhaled, glancing toward the hallway leading back down the tower.
“They’re on the ground floor now,” he said. “Waiting for this war to end. Waiting for someone they know to come find them.”
“Adil found fruits too,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “They were growing in one of the side chambers—no idea how. Pretty strange for a desert. I tasted them.” He made a face. “A little sour. But not bad. Just has a distinct taste. Malden would’ve liked it here.”
Claire’s lips curved faintly. “You think Lord Arzan will want to establish trade with this place?”
“Who knows? That’s up to him. But he’s got the tower now. Can’t just leave it to rot,” Gareth said and shrugged lazily. Claire in return nodded at that.
She doubted there was another building like this in the entire kingdom. Just climbing to the top made her legs feel like they’d walked across the Ashari twice, and there were still corridors they hadn’t seen.
But by how Lord Arzan had looked at everything, she could tell that the whole place alone could make him one of the richest men in the kingdom. It was massive. His mother—Magus Valkyrie’s inheritance was grand but again, she expected nothing less after finding out who she was.
But she would only find what they were going to do with it once Lord Arzan woke up. And Claire knew he was going to wake up soon.
2025-07-14 05:28:15 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 139
Anji had never imagined a life like this. Not only was she busy to the point of her whole day being scheduled, but to feel the most content she’d ever been.
Morning to night was a blur of stock-taking, customer requests, and counting spirit stones. There were moments when she barely had time to sit, yet the sense of purpose, of doing something that mattered, brought a quiet warmth that lingered even in exhaustion. Was this what her father had felt, years ago, when he stood at the peak of the Void Blade Sect, wielding power and responsibility in equal measure?
He had likely envisioned her on a very different path—sword in hand, robes fluttering, climbing the stairway of soul cultivation with steady pride. Certainly not standing behind counters and counting pills.
And soul cultivation was what she started her day with—a lesson with her master.
She knocked once on the old wooden door before sliding it open, already bracing herself.
“You’re ten minutes late,” came the familiar bark from inside, gruff and sharp. “A good disciple arrives five minutes early, not ten minutes late.”
The corners of her lips twitched. It wasn’t irritation—not really. She had once believed it was. In truth, her master always sounded as though she had offended his ancestors simply by existing. But after a few weeks, she'd seen through the act. The frown was performative and was just how he spoke.
He liked pretending to be a strict master. She had nearly burst into laughter the first time she realised it mid lesson—that he was just pretending to be a strict master and had empathy towards her.
“I was checking the supply records one last time,” she said as she stepped inside, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “With business booming, Sect Leader Chen wants us to ensure production remains ahead of demand.”
Wang Jun scoffed at that, his upper lip curling. “That man does nothing but give orders. I haven’t seen him for three days. Is he even cultivating, or has he decided to become a merchant prince instead?”
She looked down to hide her grin. He wasn’t scolding Chen Ren—at least, not truly. That was just his way of asking, Is he well?
It’s cute, Anji thought and looked up when the grin was wiped off her face.
“He spends a few hours each day in the shop,” she said casually, brushing invisible dust from her robes as she walked around him to place the incense tray. “Checks in with the mortals, talks to the Jadefire Hall disciples. Make sure no one's slacking. And now, apparently, he and Tang Boming are digging through every record they can find on how the Darkmoon Sect screwed over their competitors. Even the techniques they teach their disciples and their pills are under review.”
Wang Jun huffed, nostrils flaring. “If only it were like the old days. Back then, you had a problem, you picked up your blade and gutted a sect before noon. There were no games or paperwork involved. Now you people just must make everything so complicated.”
Anji knelt before him, placing his head—his literal severed, talking head—on the silk cushion laid out on the mat. She said nothing in reply. She wanted to. That sounds barbaric, was on the tip of her tongue. But there was no point. She had learned early on that rebuking the old ways never got her anywhere in these lessons.
Besides, she wasn't here to argue history. She was here for another lesson in soul cultivation. She’d finally managed to achieve the first step of the soul cultivation which was to sense her soul and today, they would begin on the second step.
She pushed all her thoughts aside and looked at the incense that had begun to burn, curling wisps of pale smoke rising toward the rafters. Her eyes went back to Wang Jun and she took her position across from him.
She folded her legs beneath her, back straight and closed her eyes just to feel the scintillate of her consciousness drop inward.
The murmurs and the outside noise faded almost in an instant.
“You’ve sensed your soul,” Wang Jun finally said. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. Sensing it is the first step—and frankly, the easiest. I don’t care if you were born without spirit roots. Now that you’ve begun, I’ll treat you as any other cultivator under the heavens. You remember the first lesson?”
Anji’s hands tightened in her lap. “Yes, Master. The Nine Steps. The path to mastering the soul. To temper the soul until it may confront any technique, suppress any illusion, and strike fear into any cultivator.”
The head gave a dry huff, eyes narrowed like he was still searching for a reason to scold her. Instead, he said, “Then what’s the second step?”
“Soul Contact.”
“Mm,” he grunted. “At least you remember names. Now tell me—what is it?”
Her lips parted, but she hesitated. He never liked unsteady answers. Still, she tried. “It’s the act of... touching your soul with your thoughts. Feeling its shape.”
“Its name is its meaning.” The head’s tone was flat, as though quoting a line she should have memorized from scripture. “You’ve sensed it, yes. A flicker behind your chest, a presence that tugs your thoughts when you’re quiet. But sensing it is nothing. A child feels the wind and calls it profound. What matters is contact.
“You must reach it. Touch it with your intent. Not qi. Not your body. Your intent.”
Anji frowned slightly, brows drawing in. “But... how?”
A snort escaped him. “Do I need to teach you to breathe too? If you can't think for yourself, you’re better off doing something else other than learning soul cultivation.”
Her lips twitched, but she didn’t speak. The insults were his way of teaching. But more than that, she couldn’t find sense in every word he said. That had been the same situation when she had tried to grasp the first step. It eventually came to her, and she could only hope that it wouldn’t take a month this time.
“You’ll figure it out,” he muttered, confirming her thoughts. “You figured out the first step. This one’s no different. Sit. Breathe. Still the mind. Then reach.”
Anji bowed her head, murmuring a soft “yes, Master,” before letting silence claim her.
She shifted her legs beneath her, placed her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes. The incense continued to burn, its scent making its way into her lungs with each breath. She let it carry her inward, falling into the pattern he’d drilled into her body over the last weeks. It had been the hardest thing for her—to get into the state, but now, it took only half an hour.
Inhale. Four counts.
Hold. Eight.
Exhale. Ten.
Her breath tugged her deeper into herself, like drifting down the layers of a still lake. Her thoughts slowed. Frantic pieces of the day—ledger tallies, pill shipments, the drunken nonsense of Tang Boming—began to fade. Even the gentle grumble of the head, now reduced to a faint echo and slipped away.
She no longer felt the floor beneath her. The stone tiles, the cool still air, even the faint scent of old herbs clinging to the room—all of it was gone.
There was only stillness.
She drifted, unanchored, suspended in a void not of darkness but of silence. Thought faded, leaving behind only awareness.
And there—within that stillness—she sensed a presence again.
It wrapped around her, thin as mist, clinging to every inch of her body. It wasn’t bound to her core, as she had once assumed. It wasn't hidden deep within chest or behind her mind. No—this presence spread across her skin, beneath her bones, within her breath. It was everywhere.
Her soul.
Not one part of her.
But all of her.
The realisation came like a slow ripple across water. Anji inhaled, steady and shallow. She tried to hold on to the sensation. Tried to brush it—just lightly—with her thoughts.
Nothing happened.
She frowned, inwardly.
Intent, Wang Jun had said.
Not qi. Not muscle. Not even willpower.
Intent.
So she focused. Thought of reaching. She imagined her thoughts rising from her mind like misty fingers, stretching outward to touch the presence surrounding her.
Again, nothing.
She tried harder. Shaped her intent more clearly. Willed her thoughts to press against the soul-skin that cloaked her body. She imagined the sensation—what would it feel like? Would it be warm? Cold? Would it tremble beneath her thoughts like water?
Still, the soul did not stir.
Time passed in silence. How long, she didn’t know. Minutes? Hours?
Her thoughts blurred. The focus she had built so carefully began to crack at the edges, and the void that had welcomed her now pushed against her like a tide.
A sharp ache bloomed behind her eyes.
Her breathing faltered and she felt her throat close up, stopping her airway.
Too much. She had gone too deep. Too long.
With effort, she pulled herself back—like swimming against a current—and let go of the soul’s presence.
Slowly, her senses returned.
The stillness gave way to sound. The weightless void became the cold press of stone beneath her. Her back ached. Sweat clung to her robes.
She blinked her eyes open, and the room sharpened into focus again, she took it all in.
Across from her, Master Wang Jun just stared at her.
She swallowed, wiped the back of her hand against her forehead, and met his gaze.
A long sigh broke the silence.
“So.” Wang Jun said sharply, but not unkindly. “Can’t touch it, huh?”
Anji opened her eyes the rest of the way, blinking away the staleness. She shook her head once.
“No.” Even she was surprised by the frustration that layered her voice. “Not yet.”
She didn’t expect mastery in a day—she wasn’t naive—but still… to fail at even brushing the surface left a bitter taste in her mouth.
“I’ll keep practicing.”
“You’d better,” the head grunted. “You won’t last long out there without the second step. Not if some bastard with a whiff of qi decides to come for you.”
Anji nodded. “I won’t disappoint you.”
She rose to her feet, brushing the back of her sleeve across her forehead. Her legs ached from sitting so long, but the moment she reached for him, her fingers moved gently, placing the head back down on his small embroidered pillow like setting a relic on an altar.
She was nearly at the door when his voice floated out again, dry and complaining.
“Send me more books.”
She paused.
“I already finished the ones you brought last time. Sitting here with nothing but my thoughts is a recipe for madness.”
Anji turned her head, guilt flickering across her face.
“I’ll bring as many as I can today.”
“You’d better,” the head muttered. “Or next lesson, I’ll have you reciting alchemy manuals backward.”
A smile ghosted over her lips.
She stepped into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her with care. The quiet click echoed in the stillness of the inn. For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at the wood grain of the door.
He was bored.
Of course he was. He had no body, no hands, no way to move through the world but through her, and even then only in conversation. They hadn’t dared risk moving him through the city streets. Too many risks. Too many eyes. Even so, she had tried—once—to arrange a tour of the inn.
It hadn’t worked out.
“I should ask Hong Yi again,” she murmured. “Maybe he really can make him a body.”
But that was for later.
Right now, there was work.
Anji moved down the wooden corridors through the inn. The inn bustled faintly, sounds of other tenants stirring, but she didn’t stop. The door swung open, sunlight washing over her face.
The street was already alive as she moved through it.
It was alive in every form one expected it to be. There were carts that rolled past vendors who shouted, trying to get the attention of any customer that walked looking at their stalls.
And through all the business, she saw cultivators in travelling robes speaking in excitement, pointing to the left. Some men and women stopped in the middle of the road, just to figure out what was going on.
Just ahead, two guards were struggling to hoist up a large silk banner over a polished wooden frame. The fabric rippled in the morning breeze before unfurling with a sharp snap. Bright golden letters gleamed against the dark red silk:
Flames of Merit Trials.
Her eyes narrowed as she read the name and from the whispers around the banner, she understood what was going on and wondered if Chen Ren knew about it. After taking another look at it, she put it to the back of her mind and focused on getting to work.
The Divine Pill Apothecary was right across the street. A cultivator opened the gate and she saw the state of the shop inside.
She frowned as she realised—she was late.
The shop was already buzzing.
One thought went through her mind: Hopefully… no chaos had decided to show up this early.
She crossed the street immediately, walking toward the shop.
The chime above the door rang lightly.
At first glance, all seemed well.
Cultivators milled through the aisles, inspecting shelves, murmuring about discounts, purity, and taste. The herbal aroma and the faint shimmer of qi-rich powders hung in the air. But her gaze snagged almost immediately on the far side of the room.
Zushi stood stiff and awkward, shoulders bunched as though trying not to shrink. Before her stood a young man with ornate sleeves and a golden clasp in his hair—rich, probably. Spoiled, certainly. His stance screamed entitlement. His chin tilted upward, his fingers tapped impatiently on the counter.
Anji's lips thinned. She was already moving before she consciously decided to.
“Is there a problem here?” she asked as she approached, trying to sound as polite as she could.
The young man turned, one brow raised as though the mere sound of her voice offended him.
“And you are?”
“Anji,” she said. “Manager of this shop. What can I do for you?”
Finally, some recognition flickered across his face. He straightened, a pleased smirk settling on his lips.
“Finally, someone important enough to speak to.” He gestured lazily at Zushi. “This mortal refuses my request. I assume you’ll handle it better.”
“Hmm, I’ll see what I can do about it. So, what is it?”
“I want Flavoured Essence Pills,” he said, rolling the words around like they were pearls. “The ones I’m using now are awful. Bitter, bland… unacceptable. I sent someone yesterday to place an order for a private batch. You people refused.”
She inhaled through her nose, slowly. Of course they had.
“I see. Unfortunately, we don’t manufacture Essence Pills. Not currently.”
He waved a hand. “Then start. I’ll pay for it.”
Anji arched a brow. “And how much are you offering?”
“Ten spirit stones,” he said, puffing his chest slightly. “And the chance to do business with someone important.”
Ah. There it was.
Her eyes didn’t narrow, but her silence shifted. That same heavy, blank expression she’d learned from watching Chen Ren talk to anyone important began to form on her face.
Ten spirit stones?
Essence Pills of average purity sold at fifteen. Even the low-grade ones went for twelve, and this man was offering ten—and calling it generous? And that so-called ‘chance’? She’d heard all about what these young masters offered. Mostly trouble, never profit.
She folded her hands in front of her.
“We don’t make that pill,” she said. “And flavoured or not, modifying a recipe isn’t like changing robes. It takes time. It takes years. What you’re offering wouldn’t even cover a quarter of the cost.”
His lips twitched, but it wasn’t amusement—it was fury creeping up his face. The false charm faded like paint in rain.
“Do you even know who you’re rejecting?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said in the most polite voice she could manage. “What you’re asking isn’t something we offer. If you need that pill, there are other alchemists in the city.”
His nostrils flared. “That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening.
Color drained from his face in seconds. His hands, which had been gesturing wildly, dropped to his sides. His legs stiffened.
Anji frowned in confusion—Is he okay?— but the answer walked in. Yalan, flickering her tail, walked in with grace. Beside her, Chen Ren walked with the same calmness he carried into business meetings, but Yalan’s amber gaze glinted.
An aura technique.
The young master was shaking. He looked like he was about to get on his knees.
Before he could collapse, he bowed—barely—and rasped, “No—it’s fine. I was just leaving.”
His voice cracked like a snapped reed as he half-walked, half-stumbled out the door.
Only after it closed behind him did the tension ease from the room.
Anji exhaled. “Thank you,” she said, glancing between the two.
“Another idiot trying to act like he owns the place?”
“One of many,” she said with a nod.
“How many has it been now?” he asked, frowning.
“Dozens.”
Chen Ren scoffed, muttering, “Prosperity draws out more vermin than sunlight.”
Then his gaze shifted—serious now, all the ease draining from it. He looked at her like he was measuring something beyond the present.
“What?”
“Come, let’s talk in the back.”
Her steps faltered. “Something happened?”
Chen Ren’s eyes flicked toward the customers and the counter staff, checking—always checking. Then he leaned closer, voice quieter than a breath.
“Yes. Darkmoon sect’s played their hand.”
Anji’s stomach tightened. “How?”
“They sent a spy.”
2025-07-14 05:26:50 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 138
Tiefang sat with his back straight looking at the dozen scrolls that lay open in front of him like ribs of a beast. They were all marked in crisp strokes, so fresh, he still smelt the ink. Broken Ridge City sales counts. Profit margins. Ratios of loss. Pill fluctuations. He scanned each line without pause, his mind calculating faster than his hand could move.
To his left, the incense burned, the smoke curling lazily around the still room.
Every fifteen days, this was the ritual. Every fifteen days, the numbers passed through his fingers like water, and the lifeblood of the Darkmoon Sect’s pill trade flowed where he pointed.
On the floor before him, three disciples knelt in silence—Ningkai, Quen, Udang, ready to answer any question that might arise.
As the most powerful outer sect elder of the Darkmoon Sect, he was responsible for their pill business since the majority of the alchemists that worked to make those pills were outer sect disciples. It angered him to even think about how those disciples worked day and night just to keep the sect running and prosper, yet the real benefit was taken by the inner disciples and those nepotistic products.
He was still enraged by the fact that Sect Leader Gao Moyue hadn’t done anything about the problem, but he had done his part. Everything else rested with the upper echelons of the sect.
He was an important figure within the sect—after all, he had reached the peak foundation establishment realm and was the only one at that level serving as an outer sect elder. But some matters were better left untouched.
Tiefang shook his head, attempting to shrug his thoughts and picked one of the scrolls, glancing at the disciples from above the parchment.
Huh… Their breathing was quiet. Postures discipline, but he knew that something was off. It was so obvious with all the sleeve tugging, how Quen completely avoided his gaze and how Udang kept looking at Ningkai.
Now that he noticed how nervous they were—was something wrong? Had they made a mistake?
He reached for the scroll without a word, his fingers steady even as his thoughts swirled like a storm-tossed sea. Questions pressed against his throat, but he swallowed them down. There would be time for that.
The soft rustle of parchment accompanied each flip as he moved through the monthly sales records. Familiar numbers greeted him. Regular pills—consistent. One line dipped slightly—expected fluctuation from Ironroot Defense Pill. Another had climbed, a pleasant surprise. Golden Vitality Pill. He gave a faint nod. So far, everything was within the bounds of normalcy.
The Sect Leader’s words echoed in his mind. “The sect bleeds when silver slows. Fix it.”
He opened the next scroll.
His pupils contracted the moment the inked numbers came into view.
A sharp breath slipped from his nose. He blinked once, twice, then let a pulse of qi wash through his meridians, clearing his senses. Trying to see if what he saw was real. Still, the numbers mocked him with their permanence.
The two best-selling pills—the ones their sect was famed for, Qi Replenishment pill and Bone Refining Capsules—had plummeted.
Not dipped even, dropped.
A quiet tremor passed through the air as his qi surged uncontrollably for half a breath. His fingers curled tighter around the edge of the scroll. A crease formed.
The disciples stilled. One shuffled backward as if distance might shield them from what they already knew was coming.
He lowered the scroll with measured grace, setting it on the desk as though it were fragile porcelain.
“...I see,” he murmured.
He closed his eyes briefly, swallowing the bitterness building at the back of his throat. They had chosen silence. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps out of shame, but there was no time for games, he needed answers.
“Explain.”
The word landed like a stone in a still pond.
His eldest disciple, Ningkai stood from his seated position and walked forward, robes brushing the stone floor as he bowed deeply. “It’s not the Darkmoon Sect's fault, master. We've maintained the same refinement schedules, same selling points. Our distribution routes are untouched. Production quality remains consistent.”
“And yet,” Tiefang interrupted, “we’ve lost twenty percent of our core sales in two weeks.” He couldn’t help but glare at them. “Did the entire city suddenly decide they’ve cultivated enough? Did enlightenment striked the masses overnight?”
Ningkai’s lips thinned and he looked down. “No, Master. The shift wasn’t internal. It’s—external. Beyond our influence. It's another shop.”
That again? Was he trying to shift any blame? A slow dread crawled down his spine, coiling tighter with every beat of silence. He exhaled, flicking his sleeve aside and narrowing his eyes.
“What’s the name of this new competition? I didn’t hear anything about a new sect moving into the city and the dip is too huge for a green sect to do so.”
Udang stepped forward, eyes lowered. “It’s a new sect, Master. They call themselves the Divine Coin Sect. Their storefront is known as the Divine Pill Apothecary. It’s all over the city right now. And every cultivator heading into the town is moving there to stock up.”
With every sentence, his eyes widened as he realised what was going on. The name was vaguely familiar… Where did I hear it? Where…
As he thought for a moment, it clicked.
Jadefire Hall. That failed husk of a sect, swallowed by debt and left to be abandoned. Recently, someone acquired it. He had dismissed them at the time, assuming they'd drown under the debt and the expenses of keeping a sect alive. But they’d taken a large share of spirit stones from Darkmoon Sect when he hadn’t been looking.
But how?
He made direct eye contact with his disciples, and they straightened as if yanked by invisible strings.
He didn’t speak the question. But they understood it anyway.
How?
Ningkai grimaced, as if the words themselves tasted bitter on his tongue.
“They’re selling their pills… for three spirit stones each.”
Three? That was barely above cost.
“And that’s not all,” he continued, voice tight. “They’ve introduced a new type. A variant of the Qi Replenishment Pill, but it leaves a lingering taste in the mouth.”
“Taste?” he echoed, narrowing his eyes. “What taste?”
Udang stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… tried one, Master. It worked just as well as ours. And it tasted like… mint.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
“Mint? Are you speaking of dessert or cultivation pills?”
Ningkai didn’t flinch this time. Instead, he dipped his head and reached into his robe, retrieving a small pouch.
“I brought some for you to examine, Master. Please… see for yourself.”
He took the pouch slowly, weighing it in his palm. The drawstring was silk, not standard hemp, and a faint scent clung to it—cool and herbal. His brow creased as he untied it and drew out a single pill.
The surface was smooth, almost waxed. It was of a completely different colour and its texture felt strange, something he’d never seen on a Qi Replenishment Pill. He placed it on his tongue.
A moment passed. Then it melted. Coolness spread across his tongue. His pupils shrank.
The qi came rushing in—refined, efficient, smooth as flowing water. His meridians lit up as if soothed by a healer’s touch. And then came the aftertaste. Just like his disciples had said, it tasted like mint.
He stared at the pouch.
Then picked out another and placed it on his tongue.
The same reaction. The same burst of clean qi, the same flavor threading through his senses. His throat tightened.
This wasn’t some cheap gimmick. These pills weren’t just real—they were good. The purity was slightly lower than the sect’s own, but the structure was stable, the dissolution perfect. And the flavor—he couldn’t ignore it. It left an impression, one that would make first-time users remember and return.
He felt his hand tightening around the pouch as the question ‘how’ rang in his mind.
Alchemy recipes weren’t playthings. They were legacies—refined over decades, centuries. It took years to even adjust ratios, much less reinvent a pill entirely. Yet here it was. A pill that worked… and tasted good.
And if they had done this with Qi Replenishment Pills, they could do it with other pills. His thoughts spiraled.
He looked up, the dread now fully nestled behind his eyes.
“How?” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “How in the name of the heavens did they manage this?”
No one answered because clearly no one knew the answer. And that was the most dangerous part.
Were they preparing for this for years?
His thought gnawed at him as he stared at the pouch in his hand.
Was this why Jadefire Hall had folded so quickly, why their sect leader hadn't left despite there being nothing left in his sect?
Too many questions, but there was no answers.
Only one truth remained, a new force had entered Broken Ridge. And it wasn’t leaving quietly.
He turned to his disciples.
“They’ve taken the first strike,” he said. “We must strip them of every advantage they hold. Have you uncovered anything about their pill recipe?”
Ningkai bowed again, shame creasing his brow. “No, Master. We attempted to break down the components… tested it with flame separation, talisman arrays, even spiritual resonance. Nothing yielded. Whatever they’ve done… it’s beyond standard alchemy. You know how hard it is to find a pill recipe by breaking down a pill.” He paused, hesitating. “But there is something else—something strange.”
Tiefang raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”
“It’s the price, Master. They’re selling them at three spirit stones. That’s just enough for us to break even. Yet they’ve given away hundreds already. No signs of scaling back. If anything, they’re increasing output.”
That… was indeed a question that raised so many others.
“You believe they have a backer that's giving them a treasure chest worth of resources to keep the low prices going,” Tiefang said slowly as the realisation dawned upon him.
Ningkai nodded. “We suspect so, we weren’t able to figure out more information on the Divine Coin Sect. But… There’s also the possibility, Master… that their recipe is simply more advanced than ours. Streamlined. Efficient enough to profit even at that price. If that’s true… the entire market in Broken Ridge will collapse.”
He exhaled slowly. “If cultivators grow used to lower prices,” he murmured. “We won’t be able to sell our pills at current rates. Not without bleeding the sect dry.”
“Precisely, Master. Word’s already spread through the lower halls. The junior alchemists in our workshops—they’re panicking. They think the apothecary’s rise will put us all out of work,” Ningkai said.
A pulse of irritation flickered through him.
“Then calm them down,” he snapped, but the anger quickly gave way to weariness. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We’ve barely recovered from the unrest after the deaths of the outer sect disciples. If another ripple starts now, the inner elders will begin to whisper behind closed doors.”
He didn’t need to say more. Everyone in the room knew what happened when whispers turned to accusations. Positions shifted. Heads rolled. And his wouldn't be the first—but it would be the most visible.
This cannot be allowed to continue.
He clenched the pouch tight enough to make it crinkle.
If the Divine Pill Apothecary is allowed to grow, the Sect Leader himself will peel the skin from my bones. Slowly.
It wasn’t enough to beat them in price. That ship had already sailed. He had to strike quickly—cripple the fledgling business before it took root. And more importantly… he needed their recipe.
His eyes narrowed.
They don’t have a backer, he thought. If they did, they wouldn’t have needed to swallow Jadefire Hall. Guardian sects haven’t meddled in Broken Ridge in generations, and the royal family wouldn’t touch us—not unless they’ve gone mad.
That only left one answer.
They made the pills themselves. Improved the recipe. Somehow.
He needed it.
No, he corrected himself, we need it. Or we’ll be obsolete before the year ends.
But how?
They had withdrawn all embedded spies from Jadefire Hall months ago when it collapsed. Anyone sent now would stick out like a sore thumb. The Divine Coin Sect would be wary. And every movement from there would be tracked.
He glanced at his disciples, knowing full well that any of them sent in could be caught… or worse. It wasn’t a risk he could justify. Simply analyzing the pills wouldn’t work either. They needed to learn it by seeing it for themselves. And for that, he needed to find a different approach.
Maybe rumors in the market and some hooligans breaking their shop would sabotage their business. Another faint thought stirred in the back of his head. The debt. He remembered now. Jadefire Hall had been drowning in it before they sold themselves to this upstart sect. And debts didn’t vanish with a name change. They lingered.
They’re still bound. They must be. And if that’s true…
One meeting with Xu Leiyan—the moneylender whose coffers ran deeper than most sects—and this little upstart sect might find itself crushed under paperwork rather than martial techniques.
But that was just one angle. The recipe… that was the real prize.
Without it, they'd always be chasing shadows.
His eyes flicked toward his disciples. “Do you know where they’re making the pills?”
Ningkai gave a short bow. “I believe it’s still at the Jadefire Hall grounds, Master. I’ve seen carts moving from there toward the apothecary early in the morning.”
“Do you want us to sabotage it?” Quen asked, stepping forward and speaking for the first time ever since he’d started to analyse the sales, eagerness tucked just beneath the surface.
He shook his head. The young man was always ready to throw hands.
“No. They’re too close to the city walls. And Hun Tianzhi may have fallen in rank, but he’s still an expert cultivator. We risk too much sending anyone in.”
The room fell quiet.
“I’m willing,” Quen spoke up again. “If that’s what it takes, Sect Leader.”
A flicker of regret flickered through his eyes.
He didn't doubt the boy’s loyalty—but this was no test of courage.
It was a game of shadows.
He stood up and turned away from them, folding his hands behind his back, and let the silence stretch. Ideas spun through his mind, some complex and fragile. He’d spent decades outmaneuvering rival sects, bleeding them dry with fake scandals, fake clients, even fake breakthroughs. But that had always been to break.
This time… he needed to take. You couldn’t just burn a house and expect the recipe inside to survive.
If I destroy them too fast… the formula dies with them. No alchemist worth his salt will part with a recipe under pressure. And if they do… it’ll be fake.
He exhaled for the nth time today, out of frustration at the growing thorn at their side. Then lifted his chin as something struck his mind.
“I have a plan. You’ll need to do it perfectly. One mistake, and we’ll have a lot of problems sniffing down our necks. Worse, we might lose the chance entirely.”
His disciples dropped to one knee in unison.
“Command us, Master.”
Tiefang turned to face them fully now.
“Well, here’s what I’m thinking…”
2025-07-12 01:30:51 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 248
Kai stared back at the hardened face of Valkyrie’s soul fragment. Her white eyebrows were knitted into a deep frown and the lips turned to a scowl. He hadn’t known what to expect when the bowl had pulled him into this strange realm, but it certainly was not an angry Magus.
“You are not my son,” she said again coldly. Her flowing white robe shifted with phantom wind, and the gentle grassland that surrounded them somehow felt sharper.
In a way, he should have expected this the moment he saw her. No normal Mage could leave such a stable soul fragment behind, let alone one capable of creating an entire memory-scape like this. She had been well-versed in soul magic—enough to hide a piece of herself in Arzan’s very soul. Enough to sense he wasn’t him.
Still, silence stretched. A breath too long, and her gaze narrowed dangerously.
“Tell me,” she said, sounding even colder than before. “Who are you? You are not Arzan. No one but my son should have been able to access this space.”
Kai grimaced inwardly. She was quite powerful even in death. And if she decided he was an enemy, she might lash out. And while he was fairly sure he wouldn’t die here, he still needed her. He needed answers.
Therefore considering all the factors that were present before him, he knew, ‘honesty’ was the best option moving forward. He had done it before. He had done it with Killian, Claire and Francis. He could do it again. He had to do it again. Valkyrie deserved to know the truth about her son. So he chose his words carefully.
He inhaled slowly and opened his mouth. “I know I’m not Arzan. But it’s… a long story. I’ll tell you everything, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Did you kill him?”
Kai answered almost instantly. “No. I didn’t. But someone else did. And I'm truly sorry for your loss. But yes, Arzan is dead.” He straightened his shoulders, as if to take the weight of the truth and wear it openly. “My name is Kai. I was once a Magus of the Sorcerer’s Tower.”
Valkyrie gave a questioning look at Kai. “A Magus? You are certainly close to that rank… but not quite there yet.”
“Well, it’s a long story. I'll tell you everything, but I want you to believe what I wanted to say. “
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Valkyrie said with certainty in her voice. “I created this space.” She looked around, waving her hand at all the greenery that surrounded them. “I created it all, no one can lie here. If you try, I will know.”
It explained a lot, her cold calm when he told her Arzan was dead, the way her mana had brushed against his soul. She had already known he wasn’t lying.
Kai started from the beginning. He talked about when he woke up in another man’s body, in a bed chamber, covered in blood.
He told her of the ritual that was the biggest gamble of his life. How the world he’d known had vanished, and how he had become Arzan Kellius. He told her how he was not from this era and by a miracle, had come back to the past.
He told her about Actra—the whispers, the manipulation, the poisoned thoughts that had driven her son to the edge. How he had made him believe he was alone. And he told her about Regina and Veridia. The bits and pieces he’d collected and put together. The foul smell of a plot that ran deeper than anything he’d expected.
Then, softer, slower, he told her about Arzan’s past. How he had pieced together the fragments of a shattered boy’s life. The scars. The silence. The way they had poisoned him—physically, emotionally, spiritually—until the only thing that remained was a husk obsessed with power.
And throughout it all… Valkyrie said nothing.
Midway through, she sat down on the grass, folding her legs beneath her robe, hands resting gently in her lap. She was not serene, not angry—but she was just still. Her flowy hair gently swayed to the wind.
By the time he finished, hours had passed. The grassland around them remained the same. Just like him, who stood with hands loosely at his side. For all his cleverness and foresight, he didn’t know what came next. He couldn’t tell.
She was a mother who had just heard how her son had grown up, what he became and how he died.
And he wasn’t sure if she’d cry… or kill him.
So he waited, giving her privacy to her silence and hoped his party didn’t think he was dead. Afterall, it has been a few hours.
Finally, the Magus stirred. She rose from the grass slowly, the folds of her white robe moving against her legs as she turned to face him. Her eyes carried both anger and sadness—burning with fire, yet softened by something far older than grief. But none of that was directed at him.
“Thank you,” she said at last, looking at him, “for being honest with me. And… for making Arzan’s name mean something in the kingdom again.”
Kai didn’t speak because for once since he came here, he wasn’t sure what to say.
She went on. “Some things are still hard to believe—especially a soul ritual powerful enough to reach through time—but I haven’t detected a single lie from you.”
Kai gave a tired smile. “Trust me, it’s hard for me to believe too. It wasn’t some grand plan. Just… a last resort.”
Valkyrie nodded slowly. “I understand.” She looked off into the distance for a moment. “I knew of the prophecy. But I never thought it would turn the world upside down like this.”
Then she bowed her head.
“Things have become far more complicated since my death.”
Kai said nothing because he could feel the grief in her voice, probably not for herself or her lost glory, but for her son. The one she couldn’t protect.
He wanted to offer her something—comfort, reassurance, even empty words. But nothing came out. So he let the silence stand.
A moment passed. Then another.
And finally, Valkyrie looked up, her expression calm again—though that old pain still lingered behind her eyes.
“I imagine you have questions,” she said. “Many. I left Arzan instructions—how to navigate the tower, what challenges he’d face, where the inheritance would begin. But… it seems they never reached him.”
Kai nodded. “I think they got lost. From what I’ve pieced together, your husband… he couldn’t handle it. The infighting, the poison, the politics. He withdrew from everything. I believe your death broke him.”
Valkyrie laughed at that—softly, bitterly. “Maybe,” she said, “but I was never that important to anyone. Even the marriage was just me… trying to hold onto something. A place. A name. A reason to belong.” She shook her head. “But it didn’t work. And in the end, I couldn’t even protect my son.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “You weren’t there anymore. You didn’t get the chance.”
Valkyrie didn’t respond. She just stared into the distance, her hair drifting with a breeze that didn’t touch him.
Kai glanced around at the endless hills, the blue sky, the stillness in the air. It looked straight from a painting. “Can I ask… what is this place?”
Her lips curled into a faint smile. “Obviously,” she said, “this is a soul space. A fragment of my astral realm, carved and anchored to this tower. It exists outside of time and body. Right now, we’re only souls.”
Kai raised a brow. “You made this?”
“I did,” she said. “Though not alone. The foundation of this space—and the tower itself—was built by me and a few old friends. Some of the greatest Mages of our generation.” She paused. “Most of them died before me. The rest… faded into obscurity.”
She looked down at her own hands as if remembering their faces.
“When I knew my time was near, I remade parts of the tower,” she continued. “This space, the guardians, the inheritance—I designed it for my son. I wanted him to have everything we built. And we’re standing here now in what was meant to be the final cusp of the trial.”
Kai exhaled. “What kind of trial?”
Valkyrie’s smile deepened. “A battle,” she said simply. “I wanted my son to become strong enough to challenge me. If he could defeat me here, in this space, he would inherit the tower—and all the knowledge we gathered.” Then her voice softened. “I didn’t expect to face you instead.”
“And if I fail?”
“You’ll wake up outside the tower,” she said. “Without access to anything inside.” Then she added with a playful glint in her eye, “Don’t worry. You can’t die here. Your soul’s anchored. This is a test, not a sentence.”
Kai had already suspected as much. There was no point in building such a vast soul realm unless something big was meant to happen here. He stepped back, rolling his shoulders. “So… to win, I’ve got to fight one of the greatest Battle Mages in history in her own realm?”
Valkyrie smiled again with a carefree nod. “Something like that.”
But even as he steadied his breath, Kai couldn’t help but wonder—how was he supposed to stand against Valkyrie?
She wasn’t just a Fifth Circle Mage. She was a Battle Mage. A pure one. The kind that history books mentioned in passing, with a quiet reverence that spoke louder than any praise. She hadn’t earned her title sitting in a tower surrounded by books—she had earned it by burning entire war camps to the ground.
Sure, he’d faced fifth circles before. But none like her if what he read was even remotely true.
As he stood there, mapping out possibilities, Valkyrie tilted her head and said, “I’m ready when you are.”
Right. No pressure.
Kai nodded, channeling mana into a spell—not something powerful, just a test. A volley of fire arrows flared into existence above his shoulders and launched toward her like crimson comets.
She raised her wrist. That was all it took.
An ice shield formed in the air—second circle, from what he could tell—but it held strong against the barrage, every arrow hissing and vanishing on contact like wet fireworks.
His eyes narrowed slightly. That wasn’t a normal shield. She had cast it too fast. No spell structure, no incantation, just will and execution.
From behind the translucent barrier, Valkyrie grinned.
“Not bad,” she said. “It’s amusing that you’re a Fire Mage, but your form’s far better than most I’ve seen.”
Kai smirked. “I’m more than just fire.”
He conjured another wave of flaming arrows, this time scattering them wide, some aimed straight at her, others veering toward the ground. As expected, she blocked again with ease, forming another shield with a casual flick.
“No matter how many you throw, they won’t—”
The grass beneath her erupted in flames as a chain of hidden runes ignited, releasing a delayed blast of magic. Valkyrie’s eyes widened, and she darted backward just in time, her body lifting into the air in a sudden gust of wind.
Kai blinked. “[Flight?]”
He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—the casual mastery of flight magic, or the fact that the records had only ever called her an Ice Mage.
Valkyrie floated in the air, her white robes fluttering, eyes sparkling with excitement.
Though he couldn’t feel a trace of wind mana from her, Valkyrie caught his look of confusion and smiled.
“I have a lot of tricks,” she said with a warning laced thoroughly in her voice. “Be ready. This will be a long battle.”
Before he could answer, she conjured an ice-forged sword in one hand and rushed him, robes flaring like wings as she surged through the air. Kai’s hands instinctively reached behind him for his spear—only to grasp at air. Right. No gear in a soul-space.
The sword arced toward him.
Kai conjured his own weapon on instinct—a spear of crackling flame—and swung it just in time to meet the strike. Fire and ice clashed with a hiss, and sparks scattered across the sky like dying stars.
Valkyrie grinned, her face close enough for him to see the thrill in her eyes.
Mana flared.
Kai ducked—just in time as a lance of sharpened ice shot from her free hand, narrowly missing his head. He retaliated with a sharp kick, pushing her back, and spun his flaming spear in a circle, casting a whirlwind of fire in her direction.
The inferno howled as it raced toward her, catching her mid-flight.
Kai expected her to fall, robes scorched and battered—but instead, the tornado vanished, unraveling like mist.
She stood untouched inside a dome of crystal-clear ice, not even a burn mark on her.
"...Of course she has more tricks," he muttered under his breath.
Without a word, she flicked her fingers, summoning jagged beasts of frost that bounded through the air like hunting wolves.
Kai cursed, casting his own fire beasts to meet them, and the air lit up with explosions of steam and mana. Conjurations tore at each other mid-air in a blur of elemental violence.
Then she was closing in again, her ice blade glowing brighter.
The battle shifted from ranged chaos to brutal, close combat—and it didn’t take Kai long to realize something vital.
Valkyrie was dancing.
Every move she made had intent, every spell flowed into the next, seamless and devastating. She controlled the pace of the fight like a seasoned duelist, and the worst part?
She barely gave him time to breathe, let alone counter.
It was like sparring against a storm that had memorized your every move before you made it.
And… it was as if Valkyrie conjured spells the moment she thought them into existence. That control—that instinct—reminded Kai painfully of his old master. Every step she took carried authority, and though he was managing to keep up for now, he knew it was only a matter of time before the balance tipped.
And it did.
He dodged another piercing lance of ice, countering with sharp wind blades that howled through the air. Valkyrie spun past them effortlessly—and, in a move that was almost mockingly classic, sent out another barrage of lances.
Kai prepared to meet them the same way.
He shouldn’t have.
As his wind blades hit, the ice didn't shatter. Instead, the spell structures twisted midair, morphing—changing—into something entirely different. The lances warped into translucent wasps the size of his fists, their bodies buzzing with unstable mana.
His eyes widened. It was too late.
They struck.
One slammed into his cheek—sharp pain blooming. Another burrowed in near his throat, and Kai let out a gurgled cry, blood spurting as he fell, spinning, before crashing into the grass near a jagged boulder.
He coughed hard, one hand pressing to the wound at his neck as he surged mana to slow the bleeding.
Above him, Valkyrie hovered, her shadow falling over him. “You’re fine,” she said lightly, tilting her head. “But you can do much better. You aren't understanding the laws of this place.”
Kai blinked past the haze. “Then… tell me,” he croaked, careful not to strain his throat.
She smiled, the kind of teacher's grin that said this will hurt more before it helps, and turned to gaze out at the unreal sky.
“I’ll tell you this much—but no hand-holding after,” she said. “This is a soul space. The limits of your physical body—pain, exhaustion, even the shape of your magic—don’t really exist here. The only rule is belief. If you can understand something, truly grasp it, you can make it real.”
She looked back down at him.
“That’s why you're losing. You’re still fighting like you’re in the real world.”
Kai froze, eyes widening.
It all made sense now. Her flawless maneuvers, her impossible flight, her seamless conjurations—none of it obeyed normal battle logic. She was using the concept of her power, not just the practice.
And he had been holding back. Because, he still was trying to see how strong she was.
He slowly sat up, blood still dripping—but a fire now kindling in his eyes.
Kai’s mind grasped at the new logic—or lack thereof—this soul space offered. Belief shaped reality. So he decided to test it.
He focused on his wounds, drawing on every theory he’d ever studied about healing magic—not the spells themselves, but the core principles. The understanding. The intent.
In an instant, his flesh stitched itself together. The pain vanished.
Kai blinked. His breath caught in his throat.
Then, he imagined his Mana heart filling—rushing, overflowing with pure energy.
And it did.
His whole body buzzed, his reserves brimming as if they’d never been touched. A stunned grin crept onto his face. So this is the law of soul spaces…
He looked up.
Far above, Valkyrie hovered still, a sharp smile tugging at her lips. “It seems the battle will finally be interesting.”
Kai rose into the air, letting go of restraint. As he soared, he imagined the feeling of his old robes—the ideal form of them—flowing and alive with enchantments. The fabric transformed mid-flight into streaks of crimson and white, arcane seals etched in gold across the cuffs. Beneath, a form-fitting layer of enchanted armor wrapped around his torso like a second skin.
Valkyrie eyed him with visible amusement. “Nice robe.”
Kai smirked. “I know. My master gifted me.” He cracked his knuckles. “Let’s see if it still impresses a Battle Mage.”
And then he shot forward.
2025-07-12 01:29:30 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 137
Jiek Wai walked with a nervous tic in his step through the streets of Broken Ridge City. It had only been a few days since the kobolds nearly ripped his life apart, and the load of survival had settled heavily on his shoulders.
Recovery had taken time, not just for his body, but for everything that came after.
He’d spent the last few days gathering information on his fallen comrades from the innkeeper and finding everything they owned—tattered letters, half-empty pouches, a chipped blade. With trembling hands, he’d written a message to each of their families, sealing the words with the shame of someone who had survived when the others hadn’t. He handed their belongings to a traveling merchant, asking him to deliver what little remained to the villages they once called home.
Jiek Wai wondered, as he watched the city around him move as if nothing had changed, what it would be like if the roles were reversed. If someone sent word to his parents, saying their son had died somewhere deep in the wilds, and that they wouldn't even see his body.
It was a cruel fate.
But cultivation was never meant to be kind.
The path of heaven was riddled with thorns and betrayal. One didn’t walk it expecting mercy. One walked it because turning back meant being forgotten.
And so, Jiek Wai had made his choice.
He would return to the wild lands. Not just for the spirit stones, not just for the beast cores or relics that rogue cultivators scraped by with—but for something deeper. He needed strength. Enough to return to that cursed kobold territory. Enough to find what was left of his fallen companions.
He didn’t expect to find much—kobolds ate human flesh, after all—but even a shred of cloth, a blade, a broken pendant… it would be something. A way to say: I didn’t forget. I came back for you.
That, he believed, was the least a righteous cultivator could do.
Even if his knees trembled and fear still lingered in the marrow of his bones, Jiek Wai kept moving.
Because for him, survival wasn’t the end. It was the beginning. But before heading back into danger, Jiek Wai had one more thing to do—something he couldn’t ignore.
Resupply and thank the people who had saved his life.
The two pills he’d taken that day—the ones handed to him for free near the border gates—had made all the difference. Without them, his bones would have remained broken, his qi hollow, and his corpse food for kobolds. He owed them more than spirit stones. He owed them his life.
He retraced the address the girl had given at the border. The name echoed clearly in his head, Divine Pill Apothecary.
It didn’t take him long to find it. The board was clear, bold letters painted in bright red against a lacquered wooden sign that stood proudly above the shop’s entrance. A soft herbal fragrance drifted from inside, strangely pleasant for a pill shop.
Jiek Wai stepped through the doorway—and froze.
The place was full. No less than a dozen cultivators stood inside, all in various states of chatter and trade. Some leaned over counters inspecting pills. Others discussed dosages and purity. A few were simply lounging and laughing, clearly regulars.
So many customers? He was confused.
He remembered the shop being new—not even open when he’d first gotten those free pills. Now… it was thriving. Morning light poured in through the windows, glinting off glass jars filled with colourful pills and orderly shelves stacked to the brim. He hadn't expected this much activity so soon.
Then again, the pills had worked. Better than expected. His wounds had closed, his qi had recovered, and unlike every other pill he’d ever taken… these had actually tasted good. No bitter aftertaste, no gut-wrenching kick.
He stepped further in, scanning the shop for the young man and woman who had been giving away pills that day. But neither of them were in sight.
So he approached the counter, where a middle-aged man with kind eyes sat sorting receipts. No qi emanated from him—likely a mortal—but his bearing was calm and inviting.
As Jiek Wai approached, the man straightened up and smiled.
“Honoured Cultivator, welcome to Divine Pill Apothecary. Are you looking for pills before heading to the wild lands?”
Jiek Wai gave a respectful nod. “I am. But first… I’m looking for someone.”
“Oh? May I ask who?”
“There were two people giving out free pills near the border gates a few days ago. I wanted to thank them. Those pills saved my life out in the wild lands.”
The man blinked in recognition. “Ah—you must mean Manager Anji and Daoist Tang. Wait here. I’ll get one of them for you.”
As the man disappeared into the back, Jiek Wai let his eyes wander around the shop again. The shelves were full, the scent of herbs and spiritual ingredients rich in the air, but what caught his attention most wasn’t the pills—it was the people.
Almost everyone in the shop was with a group. Small teams. Hunting parties. Friends.
He was the only one standing alone.
A dull weight pressed against his chest. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to picture the broken bodies of his comrades. But the memories rose anyway—the twisted limbs, the blood, the screams. He shuddered.
I have to get stronger. I can't let that be for nothing.
He said that to himself over and over.
Thankfully, the sound of footsteps broke through the storm in his head. Manager Anji returned, the same neutral expression on her face as when he had first seen her near the gates.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked.
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I was one of the people you handed pills to near the gates a few days ago.” He bowed deeply, then straightened and continued. “I just wanted to say thank you. If not for those pills, I wouldn’t be standing here. Your shop saved my life. Please… allow me to repay you for them.”
Anji raised a brow at that, then gave a small smile—genuine and a little amused.
“You don’t need to worry about it,” she said. “We don’t charge for what we give freely. But… if you want more, we have plenty in stock.”
Jiek Wai slowly raised his head, a furrow of confusion still etched between his brows. “But… I don’t know how else to pay you.”
“We didn’t give those pills to make anyone feel indebted. You don’t owe us anything.” Manager Anji said with a kind tone in her voice.
That caught him off guard. He’d expected some offer to buy more, at the very least—a pitch, a gentle nudge, something. But this?
He stood there, unsure what to say, unsure how to act. In his world, nothing came without a cost. Kindness, especially.
Still, he nodded slowly. Maybe he couldn’t pay them back, but he could support them. He could buy from them. Their pills were good—damn good—and judging by the murmur of conversations around the shop, their prices weren’t bleeding anyone dry either.
As he mulled over his thoughts, a voice cut through from beside him. Another cultivator stepped up to Anji, this one dressed in a reinforced leather vest and boots still stained with wild dust. He gave Jiek Wai a quick glance, then turned to her.
“I heard Divine Pill Apothecary is recruiting for a hunting party.”
Anji nodded. “That’s right.”
“But,” the man continued. “What’s this thing… insurance? One of your workers mentioned it earlier. You’re offering insurance to cultivators?”
Jiek Wai blinked, surprised. Insurance? That was a word he’d never heard in all his years wandering between villages and danger. The shop was recruiting—and giving… insurance?
Anji’s expression didn’t change as she answered. “It’s a term our sect leader came up with. What it means is simple—if something happens to you out in the wilds—if you’re killed or seriously injured—we’ll send money to your family. Enough to keep them afloat. And if you're wounded, we’ll cover the cost of healing you. Pills, treatments, whatever you need.”
She smiled faintly.
“All of it would be covered with no cost to you.”
The shop quieted just a bit. Or it could be just him. Words like that didn’t belong in a cultivator’s world. No one cared what happened to you once you were gone. That was the unspoken truth. Families starved. Orphans begged. Parents buried children with empty hands. And here was a shop… saying they’d change that?
He wasn’t sure if he believed it. But damn if it didn’t make him want to. Too good to be true.
If something like this had existed earlier, maybe… his comrades wouldn’t have been reduced to memory and letters. If he’d been able to send their families spirit stones instead of torn satchels and scribbled words… It wouldn’t have brought them back, but at least their deaths would’ve left behind something more than grief.
He knew he would’ve wanted the same for himself.
The other cultivator spoke up before he could. “It sounds too good to be true. Why would you do that?”
Anji gave an understanding nod, as if she understood where the question came from and why. Or maybe there were people who’d asked the same thing over before.
“Because we believe hunters deserve a real platform. One where they can risk their lives without having to worry what happens after. The basic coverage is free for anyone selected to join our hunting party. But yes—if you want more than that, extended protection, we take a larger share of your earnings from the wilds. Simple.”
The man rubbed his chin, intrigued. “And how much does this… basic insurance cover?”
“We can only share those details once your name’s on the registry.”
There was no hesitation in the cultivator’s next words. “Then where do I sign?”
She turned to one of the mortal attendants nearby. “Please assist this cultivator with registration. You’ll have to pass a few tests, but if you do, you’ll be under our care.”
The man nodded and followed the clerk deeper into the shop, disappearing behind a curtain. Jiek Wai watched them go, something stirring in his chest—hope, maybe.
A party with insurance.
It sounded like a dream. But it was also… exactly what he’d been looking for.
He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to lose everything in a heartbeat. The wild lands didn’t care how righteous or prepared you were—they chewed through cultivators like beasts through bones. And going alone again? That would be asking to die.
Still, some part of him hesitated. He didn’t want to repeat the past.
Anji’s voice pulled him from the spiral. “So, should I show you some of our pills?”
He blinked, then nodded. “Yes… please. Also…” He took a breath, then spoke with more resolve than he felt. “I’d like to register too. For the party.”
***
Chen Ren sat behind the low lacquered table, one leg crossed, the other foot resting on the cool wooden floor of the inn room. Flickering lamplight showed the parchment in front of him, the columns of the steady numbers.
Three thousand pills.
He traced the digits with his eyes again. It was clearly not a mistake, rather, a solid, recorded fact.
Across from him stood Anji and Tang Boming—both silent, both visibly trying to contain the satisfaction on their faces. Tang Boming had abandoned his usual half-sleepy posture, standing upright with arms loosely folded, while Anji had her hands clasped behind her back, a quiet glow of pride dancing in her eyes.
Chen Ren leaned back slowly, fingers interlaced as he exhaled through his nose.
They had done it.
They’d sold over three thousand pills in just two weeks.
Each one priced at three to four low-grade spirit stones—depending on purity, repeat buyers, and negotiated bundles—and that meant nearly nine thousand spirit stones now sat in their reserves.
He didn’t want to smile while the ink was still drying.
The numbers were impressive, but what made them incredible was how little they had spent to get here. Around two thousand stones. Most of it on raw materials. Supervising cultivators took their share, of course—but the mortals?
He glanced at the lower entries. They were working for silver wens. And that was an extremely small amount compared to how much he was earning.
Normally, the pill trade was known for slow profit margins. Between failures, bottlenecks, and the high cost of refinement, most alchemists considered it a grueling pursuit more than a business. But not him.
His method worked. His gamble had paid off.
A shame, really, that most of the stones were already spoken for. He reached into the side drawer, pulling out a second scroll—the debt ledger. His eyes scanned it with clinical precision. The numbers weren’t as pleasant here, but even they couldn’t darken his mood.
Two more months. That’s all he needed. Maybe less, if their momentum held.
And then… he could really start and shift resources into what mattered, research and development, expanding cultivation support, trialling new pill types, and investing in the progress of his disciples. Hun Tianzhi would approve once he saw the numbers.
Going basic was the right move, Chen Ren thought.
He double-checked the latest entries for discounts given to returning customers, then rolled up the scroll, tying it neatly with twine. Finally, he looked up at the two before him.
"It seems," he said, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. "We've managed to get quite a haul."
“Not bad for a shop everyone thought was going to fold in a week.” Tang Boming smiled back.
Anji agreed with a nod. “We have people coming in constantly now. The rumours are spreading fast—cheap, effective, flavoured pills? That’s all cultivators need to hear. Our marketing’s already doing its job without us needing to push it anymore. And since we haven’t had a single complaint, it’s building real trust. Word of mouth is working better than we expected.”
Tang Boming gave a satisfied grunt. “And don’t forget the hunting party. We’ve had a good number of interested folks. Most are newbies fresh to the city, but a few are solid—Qi refinement realm, battle-ready. If we play it smart, this’ll pay off in more ways than one.”
Chen Ren tapped a knuckle lightly on the desk. “It does bode well for us. Once we clear the debt, we’ll have room to breathe. Then we can start outfitting the team properly—gear, backup supplies, maybe even proper uniforms.” He paused, voice dipping slightly as he muttered, “And then, we can officially launch the insurance system.”
The thought of it settled in his mind. It wasn’t just about protecting their hunters—it was about changing the way rogue cultivators lived and worked. Giving them a future. A fallback. Something most had never dared to hope for.
But that wasn’t all.
“I’ve got other plans too,” he added, straightening up. “We could start a system of incentives. Discounts for regular customers. Something simple to track—buy ten times, get a heavy discount on your next purchase. That’ll make people want to keep coming back. The other pill shops don’t do anything like that. If we do… we won’t just be competing—we’ll be setting the standard.”
And that was only the beginning.
Chen Ren had already mapped out dozens of ideas in his head. A membership system for big spenders. Special pill bundles for teams or sects. Seasonal promotions tied to festivals. Referral discounts. Reward tiers. The list went on.
He knew they couldn’t launch everything at once—not while still paying off debts and managing staff—but some of these could be tested early.
And over the next hour, the three of them discussed the future in earnest. They made plans and focused on priorities. Not everything was feasible right away, but they could tell what mattered now and what could wait a few months.
By the time their voices fell quiet again, the room felt different. The air carried momentum.
More than momentum, they had clarity.
They had a direction now—not just a goal, but a path.
Anji looked toward Chen Ren, eyes gleaming. “At this rate… I believe in just a year, if we follow through with all this, Divine Pill Apothecary won’t just survive. It’ll dominate.”
Chen Ren didn’t speak right away. He looked back down at the ledger, remembering the numbers he’d written and smiled.
“Let’s make that year count.”
Tang Boming, who had been leaning back with a look of satisfaction just moments before, rubbed his jaw. “Yeah… but I’m also worried.”
“Darkmoon Sect?”
Tang Boming let out a short breath and nodded. “It’s only been two weeks, but I’d bet spirit stones they’ve already heard of us. Maybe not the full extent—but enough.”
Chen Ren’s fingers drummed on the side of the ledger. He’d been thinking the same. While most sects would ignore a small shop in its first month, Darkmoon Sect was different.
“They’re the only ones I’ve been watching out for,” Chen Ren muttered, then looked back up. “But have you heard anything yet? Any movement?”
“Not yet. No spies. No thugs sent our way. But that’s exactly what worries me. It’s quiet.”
-“Then they’re watching.” That thought itself made his gut clench. But it was a reality, he couldn’t run away from it. So, he faced it. “But they’ll act soon. They always do. Darkmoon Sect doesn’t let competition grow big enough to matter. If they think we’re a threat to their share of the market… they’ll move.
“I give them a week. Maybe less. So we will prepare.”
2025-07-10 00:49:43 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 247
Feroy stared at the sky in disbelief, his left hand tightened around the reins of his mount as the beast shifted uneasily. He could tell that it was scared, not just nervous.
Honestly, Feroy couldn’t blame it.
Above the distant cliffs where Valkyrie’s tower was supposed to be hidden among the dunes, there was a flaming dragon that writhed through the air. It was massive in every way, majestic, and terrifying. Its body seemed to be made of fire and its wings spread across the sky, creating a massive shadow over the desert sands below.
Around him, chaos brewed. The tribal warriors pointed it and some even began to retreat. Cries of “It’s an omen!” and “A curse in the sky!” rose in panic. Feroy heard someone drop their spear.
But he didn’t move.
Not because he wasn’t afraid—no one in their right mind could look at that thing and feel nothing—but because he knew. That wasn’t some ancient desert monster. That was magic.
And there was only one person he could imagine being strong enough to throw a dragon into the sky.
Next to him, Nerris and Ansel stayed quiet, their eyes locked on the fiery dragon. Before he could even say anything, Khalid’s voice cracked with disbelief. “W-what is a dragon doing in Ashari?” he pointed towards the sky, and Feroy immediately noticed the way his finger trembled.
Behind him, the rest of the tribal council gawked in silence, mouths half open.
Feroy exhaled and gave an almost unamused smile.
“Don’t worry! No need to go back.” As he said that, he noticed the way some men looked at him in exasperation.
“What do you mean? Are you crazy? We have to go back.”
“That’s Lord Arzan,”
Khalid spun on him, his eyes widened as if he heard the most deranged thing.
“That dragon is Count Arzan?! Have you lost your mind?”
“No, not the dragon itself. It’s one of his spells.”
Maari who was next to him let out a low gasp. “A spell? You’re telling me a Mage conjured that? Since when can spells do that?”
Feroy shrugged. “Since Lord Arzan.”
“I’ve never heard of a Mage doing that, ever.”
“Well, Lord Arzan is special… even among Mages.”
He looked at the sky again, and noticed how the dragon was coiling around something, probably fighting furiously against Khorvash. Due to the distance, dust, and effects of spells, he couldn’t see clearly what exactly was happening. But he had an idea.
“You should get the tribes together,” he looked at Khalid and said.
“Why?” Khalid stared at him, wide eyed.
Feroy pointed at the burning beast in the sky. “If that’s any indication… Khorvash’s death is near.”
“You’re sure?” Khalid asked, almost whispering it.
“Yes.” Feroy’s tone left no room for argument. “We move as soon as the signal comes.”
Fortunately, Khalid didn’t waste time. He spun on his mount to gather the tribal warriors, shouting orders. Many of them were already retreating in fear, but Khalid’s voice, brimming with urgency and command, cut through the chaos. He barked out that the dragon was no enemy—that it was a sign. A sign that the tide was turning.
While he handled the panicking warriors, Feroy turned to Ansel. “How are you feeling?”
Ansel didn’t look away from the sky. And for a moment, Feroy couldn’t figure out what the man was thinking, so he probed further.
“One battle left,” Feroy continued. “If all goes according to plan, your people will be free. Back to how they were before Khorvash rose to prominence.”
Ansel nodded slowly, then turned towards him. “I feel like it’s the biggest battle of my life, and that’s exactly why I have a favour to ask.”
Feroy arched his brow. “A favour?”
“I want to fight Zethar.”
Feroy halted for a brief moment. The name hit him instantly.
“Zethar—the orc general that killed your father?”
“Yes.” Ansel’s eyes didn’t waver. “My tribe may be freed after today. But I won’t be able to sleep another night unless I kill him myself.”
“You realize he’s no small fry, Ansel. He’s an orc general. You’re no Enforcer.”
“I don’t care,” Ansel said flatly. “I’m still a warrior. I have enchanted gear. That’s enough.”
“You’re asking for death.”
“No, I’m asking for justice,” Ansel replied. “Just clear the way when you see him. That’s all I want.”
Beside them, Nerris shifted uncomfortably. Feroy’s frown deepened. But at the same time, he knew he had no right to stand between Ansel and his revenge.
Ansel wasn’t just a crucial part of Veralt’s administration, he also belonged to the desert and was a man carrying a storm inside him. One built from loss, buried pride, and years of waiting. Denying him now would only fracture him further. And honestly, if someone had killed Feroy’s family… he’d be out for blood too.
So instead, he simply nodded. “Don’t die.”
“I won’t,” Ansel said.
Just then, a shout cut through the air. “Look at the sky!”
Feroy turned, eyes snapping upward.
The dragon—Lord Arzan’s conjured beast—was descending, its massive wings churning the clouds, its body wreathed in flame. A shriek tore through the air, so loud it shook everyone's bones.
Maari’s breath caught. “Is that the scream of—”
Husam finished her words. “I think so.”
A heartbeat later, fire exploded in the sky—brilliant and violent—scattering outward in every direction like a flare of war. The signal. The sign they had decided on.
Khorvash was dead.
The Duneborn Overload was… dead.
Feroy didn’t cheer. Instead, he turned his eyes to the tribal leaders, gauging their faces. They all knew what that signal meant. But none of them could quite believe it. He didn’t give them time to figure out what was next.
“We should move. This is the right time to strike. Without Khorvash, the orcs will scatter. They’re nothing without him,” he said, looking at them.
Maari still looked dazed but nodded slowly. Just then, Khalid returned—his face set, eyes burning—as he marched to the front of the gathered tribes.
“Khorvash is dead!” he shouted. “Now is the time! We end this today. We tear down the tyrants who stole our people!”
A surge of roars erupted in response—shouts of “Yes!” and “For the tribes!” echoing over the dunes.
And just like that, the warriors of Ashari began to move, their fury finally unleashed. They had been waiting near the orc territory all this time. Every single one on top of their mounts were tensed, but they stayed silent. But now, as the tribes surged forward, it didn’t take long for Rakhaal to come into view.
Rakhaal—The city of the orcs.
Feroy’s eyes narrowed as he crested a dune and saw walls rising up in the distance. But there was something else that made him pause.
A massive force of orcs stood at the city’s gates, already assembled. Over half of them were mounted on their beasts, weapons raised, eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Feroy did a quick count—at least a hundred, maybe more.
His gut clenched.
They’d slipped this close to the city without running into a single patrol. He’d chalked it up to luck. Now he realized it had been something far worse: betrayal. A spy. Someone had tipped them off.
But it hadn't been long ago. The formation of the orcs gave it all away. They looked hastily assembled. Heck, even their armor was half-buckled. Lord Arzan’s success had come fast enough to give them a fighting chance.
And it didn’t matter either way. They were going to die here. All of them.
Feroy turned to Khalid, who stared ahead in stunned silence. “Don’t stop,” Feroy said. “We take them head-on. I’ll lead.”
Khalid snapped out of it. “Are you sure?”
Feroy didn’t answer. He just raised his spear.
Flames roared to life around the tip of it, licking up the shaft until the whole weapon glowed. Ahead, the orc cavalry began to charge—thundering hooves shaking the earth, war cries splitting the air.
The two forces raced toward one another.
Ten steps left.
Five.
Feroy struck first, lunging forward like a bolt of fire. His spear pierced the first orc’s armor with a flash of heat and a spray of blood, sending the creature collapsing into the sand. And just like that, the two sides collided.
Steel clashed against one another, and mounts screamed. Fire and fury erupted on the battlefield. And in the middle of chaos, Feroy himself became a storm.
His burning spear carved through the orc line, clearing a path through the blood and bodies—straight towards the gates of the city.
***
Kai exhaled as the last sliver of the storage stone dissolved into his palm, the rush of mana surging through his veins like fire. His Mana heart pulsed, fully replenished at last.
It was enough for him to finally open his eyes and look around the chamber.
Gareth, Kael, and Adil had finished dragging the orc bodies to the side, piling them near one of the shattered statues. The stench of blood still lingered, but the silence was worse.
Claire paced along the walls, her brows furrowed as she examined the statues, including the broken ones on the ground. She even swept her hand through the walls, looking for a hidden mechanism. But there was nothing.
Nothing except for the podium, making him believe even more that it was the way to take control of the tower. But he didn’t move towards it right away. After all, he had no idea if he had to fight any more guardians that might reveal themselves if he touched the bowl on top of the podium.
He slowly turned toward the others from where he sat.
“I believe it’s time to see if there’s a tower spirit in that podium.”
“What’s a tower spirit?” Adil asked, looking confused.
Kai got up and folded his arms, keeping his eyes on the bowl. “It’s a soul fragment. Mages use them to manage towers like this—give them a kind of consciousness. But it’s rare. Creating one means you’re either powerful… or crazy as getting one is a painstaking task.”
“Then why are you sure there’s one in there, Lord Arzan?”
“Because this tower hasn’t fallen apart,” Kai said simply. “It’s ancient. No one maintained it for decades—yet the wards held, the structure endured, the traps didn’t decay, and the mana density is still unnaturally high. Everything still works… aside from that one accidental breach that let the orcs in.” He pointed to the podium. “Someone has been keeping it all running. I think the tower spirit has been in stasis all this time, using what little power it had to keep the place alive, subconsciously tending to its functions.”
Kael gave a low whistle. “And now we wake it up?”
“Yeah. Let's just hope it's not hostile.”
He stepped forward while the others followed close behind. The podium was right ahead, simple in design but impossibly sturdy. His battle with Khorvash hadn't even made a dent on it. The bowl on top of it shimmered faintly.
Kai reached out and brushed his fingers over its rim, then closed his eyes and began pushing fine strands of mana into the vessel.
Nothing happened. He pushed more mana into it, but the result was the same.
Claire’s voice broke the silence. “What happened?”
Kai exhaled. “I thought channeling mana would be enough. It worked on the gates, but this… this is different.”
He furrowed his brow and leaned closer, scanning the bowl and podium for any hint of seals or any other kind of enchantments—anything that might give him a clue. But everywhere he searched, he got the same answer over and over.
There was nothing on the podium.
Until a question rose.
Why a bowl?
Valkyrie had been deliberate with everything in this tower. A bowl—especially a crystal one—wasn’t an accident. It was a puzzle.
His eyes narrowed, and he whispered, “She made this for me.”
He formed a spell structure immediately. A layer of ice bloomed over his palm, and he guided it into the bowl, shaping it slowly and evenly until it filled the vessel completely.
Seconds passed.
Again. They were served with nothing. He inclined his head while wondering what had he done wrong. Even the others behind him shifted.
For a few seconds, they all stared at the podium, the crystal bowl and the ice, re-evaluating everything that surrounded them.
“Lord Arzan, maybe you didn’t—”
Kael was cut short when a sudden light erupted from the water.
Kai’s entire focus went to the soft glow that now pulsed through the bowl, gleaming across the surface of the ice. The frozen surface shimmered and slowly began to melt, transforming into crystal-clear water, like a mirror carved from the purest spring.
Kael gasped. “What is that?”
Adil stepped forward, reaching out to touch it—but Kai’s arm snapped out, stopping him mid-motion.
“Don’t,” Kai said sharply, his eyes still fixed on the bowl. “It might attack you, thinking you’re an intruder to the inheritance.”
Adil blinked. “A bowl of water?”
“A magical bowl of water. Trust me, that's the dangerous kind.”
That earned a skeptical grunt, but Adil backed off. “Fine. I’ll let you drown in it first.”
“Appreciate that,” Kai muttered, stepping back to the bowl.
He grimaced as he dipped two fingers back into the water, it was cold. Too cold for his liking but he waited for a beat, and another.
Yet nothing happened.
After a minute, it almost felt stupid. So, he plunged more of his hand in.
Still, it gave out nothing.
He exhaled through his nose, squinting down at the crystal bowl like it had personally offended him. “You know, a button would’ve been a lot more considerate.”
And then—because this was definitely a riddle, and he had long accepted she was the dramatic type—he went with his gut.
With a resigned sigh, he leaned forward, took a sharp breath and dunked his entire face into the glowing water.
The reaction was immediate.
The world spun violently. Mana rushed into him like a storm, flooding through his limbs, his chest—his very soul. Every nerve in his body lit up like someone had set fire to his bloodstream, but it wasn’t painful. It was an awakening.
Then came the stillness and he slammed down on the ground.
His feet were on the grass.
Kai blinked. The air was cool, the scent of flowers oddly nostalgic. The desert heat was gone. All around him, gentle hills stretched out under a bright blue sky. Birds chirped. Wind rustled.
“Arzan.”
A voice came and it struck something deep in him—warm, familiar, and commanding all at once.
He turned and there she stood.
A woman in white robes. Hair flowing behind her like it was caught in some celestial breeze. Her gaze locked on him with something between joy and pride.
“…Valkyrie,” he said quietly, not taking long to recognise her.
She smiled. “You took your time, child.”
He had seen her before. But now, standing here, the sight of her felt… more real. More powerful. It could be the way her robes flowed, the glint of silver in her gaze, or the soft hum of magic around her—she was ethereal, yes, but also present in a way no fragment had ever been.
He knew he was talking to a fragment of a soul, but this was one strong enough to create this space they were in right now.
Kai found himself staring.
She smiled at him.
A knowing, warm smile of a mother, and mana gushed out of her, to touch him.
Before Kai could blink, it covered him and a sinking feeling surfaced in his heart.
Her eyes narrowed.
The air around her changed. Mana crackled in the space and the warm presence vanished in an instant.
Her voice came out again, but the softness was long gone.
“You are not my son.”
2025-07-10 00:48:33 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 136
Chen Ren hadn’t expected the shop’s opening day to bring in waves of customers. If he did, that would mean that he hadn’t learned anything during his time in this world.
Selling perfume to mortals was one thing—impulse purchases, curious noses, a low-stakes decision. But pills? That was a different battlefield entirely. Cultivators didn’t part with their spirit stones easily, especially not for something as critical as a pill that might determine whether they lived through their next battle or not. Trusting a new supplier wasn’t just risky—it could be fatal.
Even if his pills had solid purity, even if he believed in them, what guarantee did a rogue cultivator have? Reputation mattered more than price in a place like Broken Ridge.
That was why he’d sent people to the border gates to hand out free pills. Let them try it. Let the pills speak for themselves. A taste of what Divine Pill Apothecary had to offer.
It wasn’t even that costly. Thanks to the pill standardization method he’d introduced, they could produce dozens of pills per batch with near-perfect success. Other sects spent five times the resources and still ended up with waste. Divine Coin Sect’s method? It was clean, consistent, and far more efficient.
He hadn’t expected a miracle—just a start. A few curious cultivators walking in. A trickle of sales. Enough to keep the fire burning while word-of-mouth spread. Get their foot in the door, become the go-to place for rogue cultivators. That was the idea.
But it seemed the heavens had other plans.
By the end of the first hour, the front door hadn’t creaked once.
By the second, Chen Ren had taken a seat behind the counter and cracked open an alchemy tome Hun Tianzhi had lent him. By the third, he had read through half of it.
He looked up from his book to see the shelves fully stocked. The counter was spotless, and his staff was prepared to serve customers. But the shop itself remained still.
Time ticked and Chen Ren buried himself in the books, and when he looked up again, it’s been six hours and nothing had changed.
Chen Ren closed the final page of the alchemy book and placed it down on the counter with a thud. Everything around him felt still.
He leaned back and glanced at the others.
Anji was by the window, arms crossed, pretending not to keep checking outside. Tang Boming sat on a stool near the wall, flipping a coin between his fingers. The three mortals who had followed them from the Divine Coin Sect were gathered quietly behind the counter, trying to look useful despite having nothing to do.
Hun Tianzhi and his disciples had left two hours ago, along with the workers from the supply line. They’d left with polite nods and awkward encouragements—“You’ve got this, Sect Leader Chen.” “We will come by to check in later.” and “Hope it all goes well!”
He wasn’t angry. He understood. No one wanted to be in the room when reality came knocking. When all the hard work turned up empty and it was a scary feeling overall. They didn’t want to witness it, and Chen Ren understood.
But he couldn’t help but sigh and mutter under his breath, “Maybe I messed up the marketing. Maybe they really don’t want flavoured pills after all.”
Anji turned from the window. “We did have three cultivators come in to look around.”
He gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. But they didn’t come because of our flyers or those pills we handed out. They just saw a new shop and wandered in. Window shoppers. They don’t count.”
The curious customers rarely turn into a sale, he thought to himself.
“Want me to head to the border gates again? Hand out more pamphlets?” Tang Boming shifted, leaning back in his chair until it creaked.
“No. The guards already gave you two warnings. I don’t want you getting chased off or worse. Let’s not poke that bear again so soon.”
Tang Boming grunted but didn’t argue. The coin in his hand stilled, and silence returned to the shop once more.
Outside, the street bustled like always. But inside the Divine Pill Apothecary, time dragged.
It was getting frustrating. Chen Ren exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. His thoughts were starting to spiral.
It’s just one day, he told himself. You don’t fold a business after one bad morning.
But the optimism he’d clung to earlier was thinning. Truth was—he had been excited. Genuinely. This had been his first real step into the immortal market, and he’d believed in every part of their plan. Now, sitting in the silence of a still-empty shop, that same excitement twisted into something heavier.
Business is like this, he reminded himself. Even if you do everything right, it doesn’t guarantee results. That’s just how it goes.
He forced himself to look at the positives. They had a good setup. A standardized process that other sects couldn’t replicate. Solid purity. Unique flavors. Low cost. If he kept at it… maybe it would still work. Maybe—
The door creaked open.
Chen Ren looked up, heart thudding just slightly. Four figures stepped in, their robes streaked with mud and dried blood, dust clinging to their boots and shoulders. His qi flared instinctively as his eyes caught the gleam of weapons and armor—but he stopped himself.
Their faces weren’t hostile, they just looked… tired and curious. But mostly, tired. And Chen Ren could already tell that they were cultivators.
The one at the front—a tall man with a longsword strapped to his hip—walked straight toward the counter. His eyes swept over the interior before settling on Chen Ren.
“This the Divine Pill Apothecary?” he asked. “The one that gave out free pills a few days back in the morning?”
Chen Ren straightened. “It is. Looking for pills?”
The man nodded. “Yeah. We tried the qi replenishment one on the field today. I swear, at first I thought it was just some sweet you’d handed out—but then I felt my qi bounce back. It was… strange. But good.”
He tapped a finger on the counter.
“If the price is right, we’ll take at least a dozen.”
Before he could even finish, Anji had already moved behind him, her hands working quickly. She reached into the storage drawer, pulled out a clean batch of qi replenishment pills, and placed the jars gently on the counter.
The man reached into the jar, pulled out one of the pills, and held it up to the light. He turned it in his fingers, gave it a cautious sniff, then looked back at Chen Ren.
“How much for one?”
“Three low-grade spirit stones,” Chen Ren replied. “Purity’s at sixty percent.”
The man’s brows lifted. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t lie to a customer. You’ve tried them already—you know how they work. A dozen will come to thirty-six, but I’ll give you a discount. Thirty-three spirit stones.”
The man turned to glance at his companions. One of them gave a small nod.
“Alright. Give me a dozen… and add three bone-refining capsules.”
Chen Ren returned the nod. “Right away.”
Behind him, Anji was already moving, nimble and practiced, retrieving the jars from their assigned shelf. As she placed them on the counter, the soft chime of the door opening rang again.
Another group of cultivators stepped inside—dust-covered, worn, eyes scanning the interior with cautious interest. One of them called out, “This the shop that gave out the free pills earlier?”
Tang Boming stepped forward to greet them in a friendly tone. Chen Ren watched as the conversation played out, just like before. Another sale, maybe.
He blinked, processing the shift.
Why now? Why not earlier?
Thousands of possibilities ran through his head but finally, one clicked in place.
They’re rogue cultivators.
Of course they hadn’t shown up during the day. Most of them would’ve been out in the wilds, pushing through dangerous terrain, scavenging beast cores, hunting. That armor they wore? Scratched, dented, bloodied. They hadn’t had an easy time out there. They’d only just come back to the city.
They were here now because their packs were lighter. Their pills were gone. And they needed more.
He had been foolish to expect a steady stream of customers throughout the day. Not yet. That would only come after reputation took root. Right now, this was the real start—the first trickle of the people he needed to impress.
These weren’t just any customers. These were the ones who would return.
And the next two hours passed in a blur.
One group came in, then another. Dust-caked cultivators, some walking with a limp, others nursing shallow wounds, stepped through the door with cautious eyes and curious expressions. Most didn’t linger long—some haggled, some scoffed at the limited selection, and more than a few left empty-handed.
But not all.
A good number bought. And with every clink of spirit stones exchanged across the counter, Chen Ren’s doubts thinned. Slowly, steadily, confidence returned to his stride. Maybe the marketing hadn’t failed after all. Maybe it had simply needed time.
By the end of the day, they’d sold nearly eighty pills. Nothing earth-shattering, but far more than he had expected. He allowed himself a small smile as he ate dinner that night—modest success, but success nonetheless.
What he didn’t expect… was that this was only the beginning.
The following day, they didn’t have to wait until dusk. Customers began arriving by noon, and by afternoon, the shop had a steady stream of cultivators filing in and out. Most were rogue cultivators—lone wanderers, small hunting parties, or mercenaries passing through Broken Ridge. They weren’t the type to hoard wealth. Their coin pouches were light, their risks high, and their reliance on pills absolute.
And Chen Ren’s pills were cheap compared to what was selling outside, clean and effective. Of course, it was pleasant to swallow.
It happened the classic way.
One cultivator tried them, found they worked, and told a friend. That friend told someone else. Curiosity bloomed into trust, and trust turned into sales. Word spread like wildfire through the rogue cultivators community, and the name Divine Pill Apothecary started floating in the air, moving onto the conversations at inns and border lines.
It was shocking to say the least, but by the end of the third day, the results were undeniable.
Every morning, the doors opened to waiting footsteps. Every evening, the shelves needed restocking. And by now, even the other pill shops had started to notice. Chen Ren could feel the shift in the air—the way passing cultivators glanced at his storefront longer than necessary, or how some men in grey robes took notes near their counter before slipping away without buying anything.
Divine Pill Apothecary was no longer just another new store. It was a contender.
Even when customers left empty-handed, the sight of a busy shop was worth its weight in gold. Foot traffic bred more foot traffic. Curious glances turned into steps through the door, and steps often led to sales.
With the way rogue cultivators operated—burning through pills faster than they earned spirit stones—it didn’t take long for a pattern to emerge. Within just a few days, Chen Ren noticed familiar faces returning. Repeat customers. But more than that, there was an increasing stream of new ones—fresh-faced cultivators who looked around Broken Ridge like they hadn’t quite figured out the rules yet.
That part wasn’t a coincidence. Chen Ren had made sure of it.
A few quiet bribes to border guards and innkeepers—the right people in the right places—had been enough to start a whisper campaign. He made sure it was nothing too obvious, just helpful ‘directions’ passed along to new hunters: If you’re starting out, check out Divine Pill Apothecary. Cheap pills. Good stuff. Might save your life.
It wasn’t illegal. He wasn’t buying customers—just… nudging them toward the truth.
The guards didn’t complain. They got a few pills for their patrol kits. The innkeepers earned a handful of spirit stones. And Chen Ren got exactly what he wanted: a rumor every rogue cultivator would hear within their first week.
Divine Pill Apothecary. Cheap. Reliable. Life-saving.
The same words echoed over and over.
Of course, not all of it was his doing.
Tang Boming had taken it upon himself to get drunk in every tavern he could find—loudly slurring praises about “tasty pills” and “healing like a sect elder spat qi into your mouth.” Embarrassing, yes. But effective? Definitely.
And with attention came customers. But attention also brought trouble.
By the fourth day, there was a steady stream of mischief. Nothing too serious—at first. A young master scoffing at the “peasant prices.” A rogue cultivator demanding free samples because “the heavens chose him.” Ego, entitlement, and more than a few overinflated senses of self-worth wandered through his doors.
Chen Ren took it in stride.
After all, business was growing. And if the worst that came with success was a few loud idiots, he’d take that trade any day.
Most of the arrogant ones came from far-off villages, where yes—they had been special. In a place where no one else had spirit roots, even the dimmest flicker could make someone feel like a chosen one. But Broken Ridge wasn’t a village. It was the real world. And here, the wild lands didn’t care about your childhood dreams. And out there, these men and women with inflated egos met sharp claws, venom and fangs.
Chen Ren didn’t need to humble them. The beasts would do it for him. Still, despite the occasional nonsense, he couldn’t help but feel satisfied.
The shop was working.
There was a steady flow to it now—spirit stones clinking into the register, pills moving off shelves, voices haggling just enough to feel like business was real. The stream of spirit stones wasn’t a flood yet, not enough to erase their debts overnight, but he knew it was growing. Therefore, he didn’t have to worry too much. Instead, take time to shift his thinking.
Chen Ren’s initial plan had been simple: focus on pills, perfect them, sell them and conquer the market. But Broken Ridge had more to offer than just cultivators needing healing.
So, after a week of running the shop, he turned his attention to the next step. Something bigger. Something riskier. An idea that would demand time, spirit stones, and manpower—but if it worked, it could bring in more than just profit that would help his sect massively in the long run.
And Chen Ren was nothing if not serious about it.
2025-07-07 18:52:55 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 246
Kai knew exactly what Khorvash had consumed.
Liquid mana.
Every competent Mage knee of it—it was a substance of myth and danger, raw power condensed into fluid form. It was just pure, volatile mana. Enough to turn even a novice into a threat. Enough to turn someone like Khorvash into a monster.
What Kai didn’t know was why Valkyrie had left a vial of it on the ground floor of her tower. Maybe bait. Maybe madness. But that didn’t matter now.
What mattered was that liquid mana wasn’t meant to be drunk. Not unless you wanted your insides scorched and your body to burn from within. But orcs were different. They absorbed mana—not for spells, but to fuel their strength, their regeneration… And of course, their fury.
And in the time it would take for the liquid mana to kill him—ten minutes, twenty at most—Khorvash would be the most dangerous creature alive.
The proof came in the roar that split the air.
Raw mana surged outward in waves. The ground shook as Khorvash launched forward like a cannonball. Kai reacted instantly—palms flashing, wind walls erecting, layers of ice forming behind them—but each barrier shattered in seconds. Khorvash plowed through them all like they were paper, his body glowing, steaming, veins lit from within.
Kai leapt back, twisting midair, and conjured a construct of spinning flame—an orc-shaped inferno hurtling toward the real one. Khorvash still came strong. He raised his gauntlets, the enchanted metal glowing red-hot, and blocked the assault head-on. Flames wrapped around him—his own and Kai’s combined—licking at his skin, boiling the air.
He didn’t care.
He kept walking, roaring, each step cratering the floor beneath him. Mana bled from him like steam from a fractured core, and still he advanced—eyes locked on Kai.
From above, lightning crackled down by the Storm Sovereign. The bolts struck true, lighting the chamber like a storm, but Khorvash barely staggered. His focus didn’t waver. His mind, though wild, was honed on one single point—Kai.
So Kai did what he had to.
He spun his hands, faster now, and wrapped the winds around Khorvash like a cocoon, compressing the air so tightly it cut against his skin. Every reserve he had left—every drop of power—he poured into his spell.
But Khorvash didn’t dodge. He leapt into it.
The tornado screamed as it tore at him—ribbons of blood spiraling outward, skin splitting wide—yet even as his flesh peeled open, it knitted itself back together. Veins pulsed. Bones cracked, then recovered.
Kai shot back, heart hammering, conjuring a [Flaming Lance] in his grip. He hurled it downward, the spear spinning end over end before piercing through Khorvash’s chest with a molten hiss. It sank deep.
Khorvash stumbled, but grinned—mad, wild, teeth stained red. His hand closed around the burning shaft and yanked.
Then he flung Kai skyward.
Wind rushed past Kai’s ears. He heard his party shouting his name, but there was no time. He muttered the [Flight] spell mid-air, mana flaring beneath his feet, and caught himself just below the tower’s fractured ceiling.
Bolts of mana struck Khorvash from all sides—precision shots from above. They lit up his back, punching into his skin. He didn’t care.
“You’ve got too many tricks,” Khorvash growled, his voice a snarl layered with mana. Then he crouched—and launched.
Kai twisted midair, barely avoiding the collision as the orc lord soared past him. Khorvash hit the ground hard, sending tremors through the floor, then spun, grabbing a shattered statue by the arm. He hurled it upward like it weighed nothing.
Kai braced, summoning a layered shield. The statue shattered against it, pieces flying like shrapnel. In response, Kai fired another spell, a barrage of [Blazing Spheres] that exploded midair, painting the chamber in firelight.
Khorvash, on the ground, leapt like a predator, dragging rubble from the earth, throwing it with rage-fueled strength. Every time Kai moved, something followed. Every time Khorvash advanced, something else broke—walls, floor, whatever stood in his way.
At one point, Khorvash turned and unleashed a cone of searing heat and a shockwave of brute force toward the Storm Sovereign’s perch. It was powerful, but unfocused, an afterthought. His eyes never left Kai.
And that was all Kai needed to understand.
He’s gone, Kai realized. Mad to the core.
It showed in his stare—wide eyes, unblinking, cracked with blood vessels. There was no strategy left in Khorvash’s movements, only obsession. And every time he advanced forward, he only had one goal—Kai.
The liquid mana wasn't just fueling Khorvash’s strength.
It was feeding his fury.
What had once been a cunning warlord was now a beast in humanoid form—snarling, mindless, drunk on power. His eyes had lost all focus, all thought, consumed by the blind hunger to destroy.
And no amount of third or even fourth circle spells would fix that.
Kai had held back, trying to preserve his mana. But that luxury had burned away with the last of Khorvash’s sanity. It was time.
As another pulse of heat mana burst from the orc’s toe rings, warping the air into molten waves, Kai didn’t dodge sideways—he launched upward.
Wind blades whipped around him, slashing through the remnants of the glass roof. Sunlight spilled through as Kai burst into the open sky above Valkyrie’s tower.
Khorvash’s scream followed immediately.
He reached behind him, ripped a spear free from a shattered statue's grip, and hurled it like a missile.
“You can’t run forever, human!” he roared.
Kai caught the movement and spun midair, wind curling beneath his feet. The spear grazed his shoulder, drawing blood, but he was too focused to care.
“I’m not running,” he called back, his voice echoing across the rooftop. “Some spells just don’t belong in tight spaces.”
Then he raised both hands to the sky.
Mana surged from his core, spiraling upward as glowing lines began to form. It became a complex art of light, glyphs and intent etching itself across the air. There were circles, runic syllables, and everything in between. The structure slowly began to take shape above him, but as the spell grew, so did the drain.
Kai gritted his teeth knowing his mana wasn’t enough.
He reached into his robes and pulled free a storage stone—then another.
He drained them one by one and let it flow into the formation above like blood into a beating heart.
A loud snarl came from below.
Kai looked down to see a hulk of tensed muscles and angry tusks. The hate in his eyes almost scared Kai. but he refused to give into that. Rather, he let the spell grow, knowing this had to end now.
But of course, Khorvash didn’t stand idle.
As soon as the spell structure began to solidify in the sky, he lunged with a roar, aiming to slam into Kai mid-cast and end it all. His massive form shot upward like a boulder launched from a catapult, both arms raised to crush.
But just before impact, his fists struck a shimmering dome surrounding the glowing array—a barrier of concentrated force.
The impact echoed like a gong, vibrations rippling through the air.
He reeled back, bellowed, then hurled a blast of wild heat toward the spellwork above. It dispersed like smoke against the shield.
Again. And again. Mana burst from his rings in wild arcs, striking the barrier—but none of it got through. His attacks, so fearsome moments ago, were now little more than tantrums against a fortress of arcane will.
Enraged, he landed hard on the glass roof below, spiderweb cracks spiraling beneath his feet. The ground groaned under his weight.
“You coward!” he roared, fists clenched. “COME DOWN AND FIGHT!”
Kai didn’t even glance down. He focused.
Each symbol etched in the air required precision, control—discipline born from a lifetime of study. He didn’t rush. I fought like an Enforcer in the desert, he thought. Brute against brute. But that’s not where my power lies.
He was a Mage.
And Khorvash—destructive, relentless—was still a creature of the ground, with fists for arguments and barely any reach. Kai let him rage. Because now… it was done.
The final glyph slotted into place with a low hum. Mana drained from his heart like a snapped artery. Even with the storage stones, he felt hollow, empty, barely floating—yet what hung in the sky above him was enough.
It had to be. He lowered his gaze.
Below, the orc was still pacing the rooftop, muscles flexing, teeth bared, eyes wild with fury. Kai exhaled and released the spell.
The air ignited.
Heat surged in all directions, rippling like a shockwave. He could tell even the sky was shifting its stance, but before he could properly take a look at it, the spell structure came to life.
A massive dragon, forged entirely from flame, burst out of the spell circle. Wings of blazing fury spread wide, its body formed. It hissed as it twisted midair, golden eyes flaring to life—then snapped its gaze toward Khorvash like a predator finding its prey.
The orc barely had time to react.
He let out a war cry and punched the descending beast with both gauntlets glowing. The blow struck true, fire and mana colliding in a burst of light.
It didn’t matter. It had no effect on the dragon.
Its maw opened wide, tongue curled, flames spiraling inwards, and then bit down on him—jaw locking onto his torso, teeth of heat piercing flesh.
Khorvash screamed, a raw, guttural sound as fire ate into his skin, past muscle, into bone. His body buckled beneath the sheer force of it, the reinforced glass finally shattering beneath him.
The Duneborn thrashed violently, even as his body blackened, even as his voice broke. But the dragon only tightened its grip, dragging him into a storm of flame.
“Arghhhhh!” He screamed in pain. But even now, the orc refused to die.
Inside the dragon’s flaming maw, Khorvash fought back—his fists hammering against the very flames that seared him. Each punch sent sparks scattering through the air, each blow a wild testament to his will.
Kai narrowed his eyes, then flicked two fingers. The dragon jerked its head and spat the orc out like a broken arrowhead.
Khorvash tumbled through the air, but didn’t fall far.
Somehow—somehow—his burning hands latched onto the dragon’s outer coils, gripping the solid flame that made up its form. His skin hissed and bubbled where it touched, but he held on, snarling like a beast dragged into hell.
Kai’s lips curled into a faint smile.
Good, he thought. I was hoping you’d be that stubborn.
With a single command, the dragon soared upward, cutting through the clouds like a comet. Higher and higher it flew, the temperature rising, the wind turning thin.
And at last, Khorvash’s grip failed.
His fingers slipped. His body peeled off the dragon’s burning hide like ash from embers.
He fell.
Arms spread, smoke trailing from his limbs, he plummeted through the air—and Kai pushed mana for the final spell.
The dragon dove.
Its wings folded as it streaked downward, mouth opening wide.
A second later, the [Dragon’s Breath] came—a torrent of concentrated flame erupting from its throat, engulfing Khorvash mid-air. The inferno caught him like a wave, shoving him faster toward the earth, spiraling him downward in a pillar of fire.
Kai followed silently behind, descending in the breath’s wake.
The crash came moments later—a thunderous crack as the orc slammed into the rocky cliffs below. Dust rose in plumes. Flame flickered along the shattered ridgeline.
For a long moment, Kai hovered above the wreckage, breathing hard. The emptiness in his core was gnawing now, his Mana heart nearly bone-dry. But he had to be sure. He descended.
And what he saw at the bottom made his brows knit.
The orc still breathed. Barely.
His chest rose and fell in slow, broken shudders. His armor was gone—burnt away. The gauntlets that once shone with runes were cracked and molten, hanging in scraps from his charred forearms. Blood streamed from his mouth, his ears, his eyes.
But somehow… he was alive.
Kai landed softly, boots crunching on scorched stone.
He stared for a moment—at this creature that should’ve died ten times over, at this twisted, stubborn will that refused to fade. Then he raised his hand.
Wind gathered at his palm—sharp, bladed, countless edges swirling in a silent promise. But just as he moved to strike, Khorvash’s lips moved.
A rasp of air left his throat. The words came slow, ragged, slipping past bloodied lips like sand through cracked stone.
“Human…” Khorvash wheezed, eyes barely open, his breath trembling. “You… might kill me… but Belkhor… won’t let this go. He will… reincarnate me. I will take revenge.”
Kai stared down at him, wind still coiled at his palm, then let out a quiet scoff.
“I’d almost give you that,” he said. “There’s an actual cycle of reincarnation. But no, Khorvash. Belkhor can’t give you a second chance. No god is that powerful. And Belkhor…”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering.
“…wasn’t a god at all. Just another orc—stronger than most, clever enough to dress himself in divinity and gather followers. He died like any other mortal. And so will you.”
Khorvash coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Blasphemy,” he growled. “His palace… is proof of his greatness…”
Kai tilted his head, lips curling slightly.
“That palace,” he said, “is a Mage tower. My mother’s tower. Belkhor didn’t build it. He probably couldn’t even read the engravings on its walls.”
Khorvash’s eyes flickered, confusion trying to push through the haze.
But Kai shook his head. “Either way… I’m not here to argue.”
The orc chuckled, weak but defiant, a dry, broken rasp. “You’re wrong… You’re very wrong… You don’t believe me now… but when I come back… I’ll crush you under—”
The sentence never finished.
[Wind Blades] flashed—dozens of them. Each one cutting brutally. Thin lines sliced across Khorvash’s thick neck, one after the other, until his breath caught mid-word.
Then his head rolled onto the scorched earth, blood spurting in rhythmic pulses before going still.
Dead silence followed.
He glanced down at the orc’s lifeless body, his expression unreadable. There was no satisfaction—only a faint flicker of disappointment. Even at the end, Khorvash had clung to his delusions. Still worshipping a false god. Still lost in fanaticism.
But that wasn’t Kai’s concern.
Fanatics didn’t change.
And he hadn’t come here to save anyone’s soul.
He had come for his inheritance.
And now, with the Duneborn slain, the path was wide open.
Before turning back to the tower, Kai raised his hands.
A small flicker of fire pulsed against the blue sky—a spark no larger than a candle flame. It drifted upward in silence, then burst into a cascade of red and gold. Fireworks. The signal they had agreed upon to tell one thing.
Khorvash was dead.
He could only hope the tribes would take it well… and that their leaders would be strong enough to reclaim the desert now that the Duneborn’s grip was broken.
With that done, he reached into his pouch and pulled out several storage stones, cracked and slightly warm to the touch. He pressed one to his chest and began to draw the mana inside, siphoning the dense energy slowly into his heart. The dragon construct had devoured almost everything he had—flying and the final spell had left him bone-dry. He couldn't afford to enter Valkyrie’s tower with his reserves empty.
There were too many unknowns left inside and there was only one way to find out.
***
Once he’d filled his Mana heart halfway—just enough to fight or flee if it came to that—Kai floated off the edge of the cliff. The wind tugged at his cloak as he descended, his body slipping through one of the shattered openings along the tower’s jagged side.
Inside, the air had shifted.
The oppressive air of raw mana that once pressed against his skin was replaced by a quiet, tense stillness. It was the kind of silence that followed storms.
His eyes swept across the chamber, sharp and searching.
His party was gathered near the far wall, seated or leaning in the dim light. Some were cradling wounds, others simply catching their breath, too exhausted to speak. Their formation was loose but deliberate—positioned well away from the three orcs that lay crumpled and broken in the corner. The bodies had not died cleanly. The acrid scent of scorched flesh lingered in the air, thick and clinging, mixing with smoke and dust.
Kai’s gaze flicked briefly over the corpses before settling on his people.
They looked up at him almost in unison, relief blooming across weary faces. Tension unwound from their shoulders like strings cut loose.
Even Adil’s lips softened—though whether it was because Kai had returned, or because his return confirmed that Khorvash hadn’t… that remained unclear.
“I took care of it,” Kai said, cutting through the silence before anyone could speak. “We’re safe.”
Claire was the first to rise, brushing dust from her skirt as she stepped forward.
“Are you okay, Lord Arzan?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
He gave a small nod. “No injuries.” A faint breath escaped him—half sigh, half disbelief. “Honestly… I got out of that fight better than I expected. Khorvash was… a lot dumber than I expected.”
A few of them chuckled—tired, shaky laughs. But it helped. The tension in the room lightened just enough. Kai’s eyes drifted around the aftermath.
The statues that once stood tall were shattered in pieces across the floor. Cracks ran like veins through the stone walls, and soot-black scorch marks marred everything within sight. A place meant for power, now worn by violence.
“We can deal with all this later,” he said, turning back to the group. “Right now, I need to take control of the tower.”
Kael lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed. “How are you going to do that?”
Kai only shrugged lightly, then turned his attention to the podium.
His gaze locked onto it—the same structure they’d passed before the battle erupted. Despite the chaos, it had somehow remained untouched, perfectly intact amidst the ruin. The runes carved along its sides still pulsed with a faint silver light, soft and rhythmic, like a heartbeat under stone.
It honestly felt like an invitation. And Kai gladly took it. But all the while, there were questions that ran through his mind.
Was this it? he wondered. Will I face no other obstacles? Or was this tower, with all its secrets and suffering, not quite finished playing its games?
Either way, he wasn’t turning back now. He was ready.
2025-07-07 18:51:44 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 245
They climbed floor after floor, and with each one, the guardians changed.
Not all wore the faces of orcs. Some prowled on four legs, lupine constructs with stone-forged hides and eyes that gleamed with mana. Others rose like mountains—pretty huge golems shaped from obsidian and gravel, their steps causing the marble beneath to tremble. Once, they entered a room and faced three tall figures with pointed ears and slender blades—creatures that looked like elves, or at least what was left of them, their features preserved in cold metal and ancient enchantments.
Khorvash didn’t hesitate. None of them did. Because every floor felt like a test. The Duneborns treated it like their divine judgement, smashing their way through fire and steel with reverence in their eyes and blood on their fists. In a way, it was a trial—just not for them.
Kai kept to the rear, being observant throughout. The more he saw, the more he pieced together things. How these weren’t random enemies. These could be opponents Valkyrie herself fought back in the day and had placed them here in the forms of golems to test her son. Some of the murals on the walls he saw confirmed that.
That gave him another question, had she made them herself? Or a golem maker had been involved. He hadn’t found anything in the information about her that hinted at a love for golems. But the arrangement, the escalation, the symbolism—it all spoke of intent. And the orcs, blinded by devotion, trudged on through the very halls meant for someone else.
Not that they cared.
Big Nose had already lost an arm, the flesh above the elbow a seared stump. Bald Head and Stinky bled from half a dozen cuts, their steps dragging, their breath ragged. Only Khorvash still walked with fire in his stride, the infernal gauntlets dim now, but pulsing with promise.
Kai’s role remained the same—hands on seals, eyes on the gate, mind running calculations. He never lifted a blade. Never cast a spell.
But he watched. Every swing. Every mistake. Every flash of mana from the warlord’s rings. And most importantly—every glance Khorvash threw at his wounded subordinates. They had a plan—Kai knew it very well. They were thinking of finishing them off once they reached the top.
And Kai was waiting for just that.
Another gate loomed ahead. A set of seals waited beneath his fingers.
Kai placed his palm on the center and felt the familiar pull of the enchantment, his mana sinking into the grooves like water into stone.
The gears behind the wall began to shift.
They had climbed too many floors to count, but Kai could feel it—each step brought them closer. The mana in the air was thicker now, almost syrupy, and the pressure on his skin confirmed his suspicion: they were nearing the top.
As the gate groaned open, stone grinding against stone, he turned to the group and said, “The next level should bring us to the control room.”
“Explain.” Khorvash narrowed his eyes, his heavy breath rasping through grit-stained teeth.
“The control room is the heart of the tower. The place where every mechanism, enchantment, and defense is regulated. It’s also where the tower’s creator likely stored the greatest resources.”
“So that’s where Belkhor left his final gift for us.” Khorvash grunted.
“Yes. Likely more than just that. You’ll see.”
That seemed to satisfy him. The warlord turned, barking a command, and the party began moving again—Khorvash in front, the others falling into the same formation. But this time, Kai hung back just slightly, his fingers brushing his waist as he gave a few subtle hand signals. Gareth blinked once. Claire gave a tight side nod. And Adil’s hand shifted nearer to the hilt at his side. They had all understood.
The trap had to be sprung soon.
The corridors here were different—short, narrow, and unnervingly quiet. No more twisting labyrinths or guardian ambushes. Just a straight path that ended in a circular platform embedded in the marble floor. There were seals running along its edges.
Three solid walls closed in around them, and the fourth—where an exit should’ve been—was simply blank.
Khorvash slowed, his eyes narrowing at the formation.
“What’s that thing?” Big Nose squinted at the glowing platform.
“It’s called a lift. It’ll take us to the top.” Kai didn’t look at him as he stepped forward.
He was the first to step on. The others followed, cramming onto the platform. It wasn’t spacious—especially with the bulk of the orcs—but it held. As soon as the last foot touched the edge, the platform shuddered once and began to rise.
The three orcs instinctively grabbed the railing, their bodies tensing from the unfamiliar sensation. Only Khorvash stood firm, arms crossed, eyes fixed upward.
No one spoke as the lift ascended. And the humming grew softer. The silence kept growing till the lift stopped.
Kai took one step out and froze as his breath caught in his throat.
The room before them could only be described as a palace in the sky. The floor sparkled, covered in a mosaic of embedded crystals that pulsed faintly with mana. Graceful statues were lined in the edges of the hall—Mages with prepared spells, beastkin in fierce stances, even a dragon mid-roar—each carved with breathtaking detail, as if they might move at any moment. A small garden of silver-leaved trees and glowing flowers breathed life into the center of the room, dew sparkling in the crystal light.
Above them, the ceiling was pure glass.
Through it, the open sky bled orange and violet, the setting sun illuminating the chamber. Mana pooled in the air, thick and tangible, denser than anywhere he had ever felt. It clung to his skin, soaked into his lungs. Even without visible crystals, he knew—this entire space was saturated. Either an aethum vein ran beneath the floor, or the room itself was built from refined crystal.
But none of that held his attention for long.
Because in the very center of the hall, raised slightly on a circular platform, stood a pedestal. And atop it: a crystal bowl, glowing faintly.
Kai’s chest tightened. That was it. The conduit. The activation point.
If Valkyrie had left behind a tower spirit, this was how to call it forth.
He stepped toward it without a word.
Behind him, Khorvash’s voice rumbled, “So… this is the end?”
Kai turned to face him.
There was no door left to open. No guardian left to fight. Only this.
“Yes,” he said. “This is the heart of the tower. Now it’s just a matter of taking control.”
He didn’t say who would take control. But that would be settled soon enough.
Khorvash’s eyes lingered on the glowing bowl for a beat longer before shifting to Kai.
“You have done well so far, human,” he said, voice almost reverent. “I believe now you are a follower of Belkhor. I truly hope the gods are kind enough to grant you rebirth… as a true orc in your next life.”
There was no warning. No signal.
The moment the last word left his mouth, the three orcs behind him moved like lightning—drawing weapons as they lunged toward Kai’s companions.
But the party was already ready.
Kael ducked under Big Nose’s axe swing and met him with a flash of his dagger. Gareth slammed into Stinky with a charge, pushing him back with a growl. Adil didn’t hesitate—he roared and met Bald Head head-on, his sword already out.
Kai didn’t spare them a glance. His eyes were locked on Khorvash.
“I guess it’s time to stop pretending,” he said calmly.
“So you did expect this.” Khorvash’s lip curled into a fang-filled smirk.
“Can never trust an orc.” Kai’s hands lifted, spell blazing to life
Flames burst forward, coiling with slicing gales of wind—ripping through the air toward Khorvash like a vengeful serpent. The overlord’s gauntlet lifted, shielding him from the brunt of the spell, but behind the wall of fire, his eyes widened.
“You used me to get here,” he growled, voice rough with fury. “You’re no follower of Belkhor.”
“No,” Kai said, eyes glowing with heat. “I’m not. This tower is my inheritance. It has nothing to do with you.”
Khorvash let out a snarl that shook the walls.
“Belkhor would never give anything to a human!”
His gauntlets erupted in flames—black and red, the fire of infernos—and he charged like a beast unchained.
Kai, too, shifted his stance, mana thrumming at his fingertips. The air around him surged in a vortex of elements. He dodged left, barely avoiding a flaming strike that shattered the crystal floor behind him, and launched a volley of spells—[Flame Arrows] laced with [Ice needles] carried by wind.
Khorvash tanked through the storm, swatting spells aside with brute force and armour protection. Each blow of his gauntlet lit the room in a hellish glow, forcing Kai to stay in constant motion.
Still, Kai smiled as his third-circle spell [Wind Rush] slammed into Khorvash’s shoulder and drew blood.
Khorvash grunted, pain flashing across his face before it twisted into fury. He roared and slammed his gauntlets into the crystal floor. Fire exploded outward like a shockwave, scorching everything in its path. Kai raised an [Ice Barrier] just in time—the wall hissed and cracked as the flame collided, mist bursting out and shrouding the battlefield in steam.
But then the air shifted. The pressure dropped. A hum of authority thrummed through the space, deep and thunderous.
Kai’s eyes widened. A presence far beyond mortal will finally entered the battle. The Storm Sovereign descended.
Not walked, not flew—descended, Its form manifesting from mana itself, towering and formless, composed of rolling clouds and crackling arcs of lightning. Its gaze locked on Khorvash.
The orc’s body tensed. "W-What—?"
The words didn’t finish.
Bolts of lightning screamed down from above, slamming into Khorvash with divine fury. A shield flared to life around him—an artifact’s last defense—but each strike fractured it, bit by bit. The shield began to crack like glass.
Kai didn’t waste the opportunity. He drew deep from his heart—mana surging, raw and violent—and cast forward.
From the swirling blaze in front of him, three [Infernal Titans] emerged—each one molded from crimson flame, humanoid in shape but carrying elemental rage. With a synchronized roar, which Kai totally didn’t project but took full credit for, they rushed Khorvash.
The first punch shattered the orc’s failing shield. The second sent him crashing into the marble floor like a sack of screaming muscle.
The floor trembled. Statues shook. Somewhere in the tower, a vase fell over. But Kai knew he wasn’t done—he was nowhere close to being done.
He spun his arm with flair, snatched up a crystal statue with a wind spell, and hurled it towards the Overlord. Khorvash blocked with his gauntlets—impressively—but still skidded back across the floor like a curling stone on fire.
“You dare!” He roared, eyes flaring wide, flames now licking up his body aggressively. “You dare strike the Champion of Belkhor?! You will all die here! No trick, no spell, no storm can stop me!”
His gauntlets erupted in flame, fire spilling like molten lava across his limbs, torso, legs—until he stood in full-blown infernal armor, forged from sheer heat and righteous ego. The flames didn’t flicker.
They roared. They looked like they had feelings.
He charged.
Kai’s [Infernal Titans] met him head-on—fire against fire. The fists collided, releasing shockwaves that rattled the very foundation of the tower. Lightning still rained from above, the Storm Sovereign’s wrath unrelenting, but Khorvash didn’t falter. His skin was seared. His mouth leaked blood. Yet he moved as if he didn’t even know what pain was.
Did he not feel pain? Kai didn’t know the answer and he didn’t get the time to wait around.
Khorvash ripped one of the flaming titans apart, punching through its chest and watching the flames burst into ash. Another he sent crashing into the wall, splintering it with the impact. Despite Kai pushing mana towards the third; it swiped at him—but Khorvash twisted beneath the strike, rolled through it, and locked eyes with Kai.
"You—" he growled, voice raw and bestial, "I will kill you!"
He lunged.
Kai’s body flared with wind, threads of magic wrapping around his limbs. He darted sideways just as a blast of searing heat tore through the space he'd been standing in—one of the toe rings pulsing with smoky red light.
But Khorvash was already there. A fist surged forward.
Kai raised a [Wind Barrier]—not strong enough to stop it, just enough to deflect and buy him a heartbeat. As the gauntlet slammed through, Kai conjured a volley of [Freezing Floes], point-blank.
They struck Khorvash’s chest. And melted instantly.
Steam exploded from the impact zone, hissing in the air as Khorvash sneered, “You can't kill me, human.”
“We’ll see.”
Behind Khorvash, the last fiery titan surged in.
It grabbed the orc’s shoulders, lifted him clean off the ground, and hurled him into the wall, stone shattering under the impact. Before Khorvash could rise, the giant moved to end it—its fist crashing downward.
Khorvash let out a primal scream, bracing with both gauntlets as another of his rings blazed. A blast of force and flame exploded from his body.
The giant’s chest caved in. Fire consumed its limbs. And just like that, the last construct fell.
Kai stood still, heart pounding, mist swirling at his feet, the scent of char and ozone heavy in the air.
The orc rose from the wreckage, armor cracked, blood pouring down his chin—yet somehow, he grinned.
“Try again, little Mage.”
There were cracks webbing across his infernal armor, eyes blazing with an unholy fire. His gaze swept to the far side of the room, where Gareth, Adil, and Kael were locked in brutal combat with the other three orcs. Blood pooled beneath them, and two of the orcs already looked one breath away from death.
Grinding his teeth, Khorvash turned his fury back to Kai. His voice trembled—not with fear, but something darker, wilder.
“This is no failure. This is Belkhor’s trial. His test.” He raised a hand to the heavens—or the glass ceiling above them—and continued, voice deepening, roughening, “The supreme god has granted me a path. All I must do is crush you… and I shall ascend. Become his true champion. His crusader.”
Kai's brows drew together. “This is not Belkhor’s temple. You’re deluded. This tower belonged to a human Mage named Valkyrie.”
“You know nothing!” Khorvash roared. “If this place weren’t built for him, would it have gifted me such strength?!”
Before Kai could respond, he pulled something from his belt. A small vial—filled with silver liquid that shimmered like starlight under the glow of the crystal ceiling.
Kai’s eyes widened in recognition. “Don't drink it!”
He unleashed a volley of third-circle spells, [Flame Arrow] and [Infernal Chains], but a translucent barrier burst from Khorvash’s chest, absorbing the impact as if it were nothing. The orc uncorked the vial, snarling.
And drank. Every drop.
His eyes rolled back. His mouth twisted into a bloodied smile.
“Power, human. I drank power. And now—” he dropped the empty vial, the glass shattering like a fragile bone, “you die.”
Mana exploded from his body like a wave crashing into the world.
“What the fuck was that?” Gareth yelled from behind, but the answer shifted in front of everyone.
The floor cracked beneath Khorvash—thin spiderwebs of stone splintering outward as he swelled in size. Muscle piled onto muscle, grotesque and unnatural, stretching his armor until it tore away in shrieking scraps of metal. His tusks pushed past his jaw like curved daggers, and each breath became thicker with mana than the last.
The wounds that once littered his body—deep gouges, torn and burnt flesh—sizzled with silver light, sealing shut in pulsing flashes, as if time itself refused to let him die.
Five seconds. That’s all it took.
And yet, to Kai, it stretched like a nightmare. A slow, deliberate horror.
You’ve got to be joking, he thought, eyes locked on the shifting beast before him. At this point, he was almost tired of his enemies transforming, but he knew, he just knew that there were always surprises.
He raised a hand—light flared as his spell surged forward.
The flaming arrow slammed against the barrier and fizzled out. He shot out another, but nothing happened.
Each cast—fire, wind, ice—was eaten alive by the same glowing wall that shimmered around Khorvash like a cocoon. The mana bounced back, dissipating in the air before it even reached the Overlord’s skin.
And still he grew.
His final vein bulged beneath his neck, blackened and glowing, pulsing once—twice—before settling into eerie stillness.
Only then did the shield vanish. And Khorvash opened his eyes and screamed.
And in a single step that cracked the marble beneath his feet, he charged right up.
Kai barely had time to conjure a wind barrier before the second round began.
2025-07-05 19:01:35 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 135
Zi Wen crouched beneath a thick patch of bushes, his eyes locked on the clearing ahead. Several beasts circled a large tree, their wings rustling and sharp beaks snapping as they guarded something high in the branches. Striker beaks.
After months of following traces and clues, Zi Wen had finally found where their nestling grounds were. But he knew that finding them was the easy part. His real challenge was just beginning. Striker beaks weren’t easy to tame. In fact, they were notoriously aggressive, especially when grown. One wrong move, and they’d tear flesh like paper.
But Zi Wen hadn’t come unprepared.
He had spent weeks buried his head in the bestiaries that Sect Leader Chen had given him, reading through every note on avian-type beasts. From diet to territory to temperament, he had soaked up every information and built a plan keeping them in mind.
And in theory, he knew his plan would work.
“If you’re planning to tame one by feeding it, that’s the oldest trick in the book,” came a male voice beside him. “But these beasts are grown, you can see that. They would attack you. Doesn't take a genius to know that.”
Zi Wen turned, his brows knitting at the sight of Hong Yi, crouching and looking like he’d rather do anything but be here. Zi Wen knew the man had no business being here. In fact, he had no idea why the cultivator kept leaving his workshop so often these days.
“You don’t know that,” Zi Wen shot back. “And I’m not feeding them just anything. This mix came straight from a recipe in the bestiary book. And it's something they actually like… uhh,” he looked at him sideways, questioning. “Why are you even here anyway?”
“I don’t want to be here. Trust me, I just need to study some birds,” Hong Yi muttered under his breath.
“What for?” Zi Wen asked back.
“I had a talk with Sect Leader Chen about puppets. He tossed out an idea, asking what if I made one that could fly? Normally, only meridian expansion realm puppets can do that if their materials are top-tier, but he said, why not base the structure off a bird instead? So, now I’m looking at birds.”
“Hmm. I could see that happening. You’re here, anyway. Do you know how birds fly?”
That made Hong Yi think. He went silent for a moment, and Zi Wen didn’t take his eyes off of the striker beaks.
“They flap their wings around and fly. That's about it, I don't know anything more. I always thought some beasts just used qi, but even ordinary birds fly. So it has to be something in their wings… right?”
Well, that answers my questions. Hong Yi might have knowledge on things related to his dao, but he should’ve probably done more research before coming down here. That thought itself made Zi Wen shake his head. He exhaled through his nose.
“Whatever, just let me do my work.”
With that, he slowly rose from his crouched position and pulled out a small pouch tied at his waist. He moved as quietly as possible and approached the tree, ignoring the sounds of leaves rustling overhead and the occasional warning cry from the beasts above.
He gave a brief glance behind to see if the puppet master was following him, but no, the man stayed back in the bushes, watching him closely.
Zi Wen didn’t stop until he was right beneath the massive tree. There, he reached into the pouch and scattered its contents onto the ground.
It was a recipe made mixed with dried herbs, fruits and crushed grain feed soaked in spirit water—all selected based on what the bestiary said the birds flavored.
Then, instead of retreating into cover, Zi Wen simply stepped back a few meters and stood in full view, keeping a respectful distance.
“What are you doing?” Hong Yi hissed from the bush, peeking over a low branch.
“They need to see I'm the one who left the food,” Zi Wen replied without turning. “They’re intelligent. If they don’t see me as a threat, they won’t attack.”
“And what if they do?”
“Then we run. I’m fighting beasts every day now. Some overgrown birds won’t do much to me.”
“We’ll see.” Hong Yi snorted under his breath.
They didn’t have to wait for long. One of the birds immediately noticed them. It gave a low, rumbling cry but didn’t alert the others. Instead, it flapped down from a thick branch and glided to the forest floor, talons clicking against the dirt.
It moved cautiously toward the pile of food.
Its gaze flicked between the offering and Zi Wen, who stood completely still, arms slightly raised to appear harmless. A quiet breeze stirred the trees as the beast’s feathers ruffled, the tension in the air thick as it paused at the edge of the feed.
Zi Wen held his breath.
The bird let out a low, sharp cry, its eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. For a moment, Zi Wen held still, just watching it, taking in the sight properly for the first time.
And what a sight it was.
The beast was magnificent, its feathers were a deep crimson, like fresh blood under the sun, with streaks of shiny silver running down its wings and tail like threads of molten metal. Its beak was curved and sharp, polished black, and its talons dug into the earth with a heavy authority that made it clear this was no simple avian. The wingspan was broader than most beasts Zi Wen had encountered, and its height nearly reached his chest. Larger than a hawk, leaner than an eagle—powerful, and clearly not done growing.
Striker beak. A rare avian-type spirit beast known for its aggressive nature and explosive aerial abilities. At full maturity, a striker beak could easily reach Tier 2, and judging by its size and the absence of the flame plumes adult ones grew along their crest, Zi Wen guessed this one was still a teenager.
That worked in his favor.
The younger ones were more curious. They were more open. More likely to be tamed—if you knew how. As he stood perfectly still, the striker lowered its head toward the scattered feed.
Zi Wen, heart hammering, screamed silently in his head: Eat it. Eat it.
The bird nudged the food with its beak once… then again. And then—finally—it took a bite. Zi Wen’s lips twitched into a cautious smile.
The striker didn’t recoil or spit it out. Instead, it pecked again. Then again. Larger, faster bites until the entire handful had vanished into its sharp beak.
When it lifted its head again, its golden eyes were fixed right on him.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” Zi Wen said softly, smiling now. “I’ve got more. Want some?”
The bird didn’t answer—of course it didn’t—but it didn’t fly away either, and Zi Wen took that as agreement.
Moving slowly, he reached into his pouch and pulled out another portion of the special feed. As he stepped forward, the striker tensed, wings twitching, but it didn’t retreat.
That alone was a victory.
He knelt and placed the food gently on the ground. The striker waited only a moment before strutting forward and digging in again, wings flapping lightly as if in approval.
Zi Wen couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. “I’ve got more with me, you know,” he murmured. “I’ll give it to you if you just let me touch you. Just for a moment. I won’t do anything. I just want to feel you.”
He extended one hand forward, fingers open, gaze calm.
This was the most critical step.
And whether this beast accepted or rejected him would determine everything that came next. Because it was one of the most crucial parts of beast bonding. Every book and manual Zi Wen had read made that clear—if a beast let you touch it willingly, even briefly, it meant something had shifted between the two of you. That a thread of trust had been formed. It wasn’t just about taming, but rather about acceptance. Alongside acceptance came recognition and bonding.
Zi Wen knew he was pushing it.
The bestiary he'd studied suggested that some beasts, like the striker beak, could be approached physically after a single feeding if done right. He’d followed everything down to the recipe, measured the distance, even kept his posture and breathing steady.
But despite all that, the bird didn’t move forward.
Instead, its sharp eyes flicked downward—toward the pouch hanging at Zi Wen’s waist.
Suddenly, its feathers bristled, body tensing. And then, with a piercing screech, it threw its beak skyward and let out a cry so loud it made Zi Wen take a step back instinctively.
Oh no.
Every other bird circling the tree turned toward him in an instant. Their shadows fell over the clearing like a wave. The one he had just fed shrieked again—and then lunged.
Fuck, this is bad. This is bad, the same thought became a mantra in his head as he barely dodged in time as the bird’s claws slashed right at his side, going straight for the pouch. The beast wasn’t bonding—it was robbing.
A crash sounded behind him as Hong Yi burst out of the bushes.
“I told you, idiot!”
“You can complain later!” Zi Wen shouted back, already pivoting on his heel. “Run!”
The forest exploded with the cries of birds, feathers whistling through the air as the entire flock launched into motion.
Zi Wen sprinted forward, darting between trees, his breathing was loud in his ears. Behind him, Hong Yi cursed and followed, keeping pace as the birds shrieked overhead. The one he had tried to bond with didn’t stop—it was flying just above the treetops, wings spreading wide as it let out a furious gust of wind.
The blast hit him like a hammer.
He stumbled, nearly smashing into a thick trunk. Leaves scattered everywhere.
Gritting his teeth, he twisted his body and regained balance just in time, barely managing to stay upright as more gusts followed, sharp and punishing.
“Where’s your bonding now?!” Hong Yi shouted.
“Shut up and keep running!”
And they did—straight toward the distant outline of the village.
“I should’ve brought my puppets!” Hong Yi cursed behind him as he ducked a low-flying bird. “At least they could’ve taken some of the hits!”
Instead, he yanked out a dagger, holding it up just in case one of the birds got too close. Zi Wen, meanwhile, was scooping up pebbles from the forest floor mid-sprint and flinging them backward at the screeching beasts.
Not that it helped.
If anything, it made them angrier.
The birds flapped harder, their cries rising as their wings cut through the air with sharper force. One dove low, its claws raking across Zi Wen’s shoulder. He grunted in pain but twisted, slamming his knee into its side and pushing a surge of qi into his legs to keep going.
His plan had worked at first. The bait. The feed. The calm approach.
But he hadn’t expected the entire flock to come down on him like this.
Still, there was hope. He could see it—the outline of the village palisade breaking through the treeline ahead.
The birds, fierce as they were, never followed anyone too close to human settlements. They kept to the wild. That was his last saving grace.
And thankfully, the birds seemed to know that too.
Just as he broke out from the trees and hit the open trail toward the village, their cries started to fade. He didn’t stop running until he crossed the outer path and collapsed onto a large flat boulder near the road.
That was too close. I’d have had to fight a flock if—
Hong Yi grunted loudly interrupting his thoughts as he slumped down beside him.
They weren’t physically exhausted—both had energy to spare—but mentally, they were wrecked. That tension of being chased by angry birds clung to their nerves like cold sweat.
Zi Wen looked up.
The birds were still there, hovering in the air above the treeline. The one he had fed hovered just a little lower than the others. It stared at him, sharp eyes gleaming with something unreadable.
Then, with a powerful flap of its wings, it turned—and flew away with its flock.
Zi Wen exhaled. “Well,” he muttered, “that could’ve gone worse.”
Next to him, Hong Yi glared and let out an annoyed huff. “I told you. We nearly became bird feed.”
Zi Wen just shook his head with a grin. “Calm down. Nothing like that happened. That one bird was just a glutton—it wanted everything in my pouch. I didn’t expect that.”
“Oh, beasts want more food and can get aggressive over it?” Hong Yi muttered dryly. “Who would’ve guessed?”
“Whatever you say. I’m going to try again.” Zi Wen only chuckled.
Hong Yi blinked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why?”
“I need an avian companion,” Zi Wen said, brushing dust from his robes. “Little Yuze is great, but he’s not built for air. Those birds can fly long distances—they’d be perfect for surveillance. Sect Leader Chen said we needed something like that.”
“He says a lot of things when he goes off on one of his monologues,” Hong Yi grumbled, rolling his eyes. “He’s probably giving one of them right now back in Broken Ridge City.”
Zi Wen smiled at that. “Who knows.”
He stretched his arms, cast one last glance toward the retreating sky silhouettes, and turned toward the village. “Either way, let’s go. It’s nearly lunch, and I need something to eat.”
Hong Yi groaned as he stood. “You owe me lunch. Bird chase surcharge.”
Zi Wen laughed. “Fine, fine. One meal. But next time you follow me into the wild, bring a puppet.”
“Next time, I’m staying in the workshop.”
They headed toward the village, dust trailing behind their footsteps.
***
Chen Ren stood in front of everyone who had worked day and night to bring their pill operations to life. Tang Boming, Anji, and even Hun Tianzhi were there, along with a mix of disciples and mortals brought in from the Divine Coin Sect. They’d been handling everything—from production and quality control to packaging and logistics. Some of them still had dust clinging to their sleeves, others fidgeted like they were about to run into battle.
It was the first day.
He could feel it—the hum of nervous energy, the excitement just under the surface. First days always felt like the start of something grand. And for them, it was. This was their official entry into the immortal market. Even Hun Tianzhi had stepped away from his research to be here, which Chen Ren deeply appreciated.
He took a breath, then spoke loud enough for all of them to hear.
“Everyone, it hasn’t been easy getting here,” he said. “We’ve pushed ourselves these past few weeks—producing pills, refining processes, distributing fliers, dealing with doubters… and now, we stand here, ready to open shop.”
He looked around at each of them, letting his gaze linger.
“This city already has its favorites. People who’ve been buying from the same sects for years. But that doesn’t mean there’s no room for us. We’re not just here to survive. We’re here to thrive. To show Broken Ridge that a new player can not only step into the market—but do it better.”
He let the words settle for a moment.
“I won’t make this speech any longer. You all know your tasks. You’ve worked hard, and I’m proud of you. I truly am.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“Let’s show them who we are.”
With that, he turned and pushed open the doors.
Cheers rose behind him. Hands clapped, voices called out in excitement, and Chen Ren let the moment sink in before walking calmly to the front counter. The sign above them gleamed in the morning light—Divine Pill Apothecary.
Now came the real test. Would their gamble on quality, flavor, and marketing pay off? He exhaled, folded his arms, and waited.
Let the customers come.
2025-07-05 18:59:34 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 134
Jiek Wai stared into the basin, watching the rippling reflection of his face.
A frown tugged at his lips as his gaze landed on the scar slicing down his left cheek. Ugly thing. Should’ve known better than to try his luck with a giant slasher monkey. They were tier 2 beasts that weren't impossible to deal with—if you were an archer, maybe. But up close, with a sword and only at the second star of the qi refinement realm? It had been a stupid gamble, and he was lucky to come out with all his limbs still attached.
He’d tried to pass the injury off as a mark from fighting an insectoid, but the old-timers at the inn weren’t buying it. Hunters who'd spent decades in Broken Ridge City could smell a lie before it left your lips. They hadn’t called him out on it—just laughed into their ale and shared knowing looks.
Still, the scar had gotten him noticed.
Two nights ago, a small hunting party approached him. Three others, all around his realm, looking to team up and head beyond the borders together. It wasn’t much, but it was something. With a bit of luck, they'd bring in a solid haul today. Maybe enough that he could finally send a decent sum back to his clan—make sure his brothers got a proper education, maybe even some spiritual resources.
With that thought lighting a fire in his chest, he slung his sword across his back and stepped out of the cramped inn. The streets of Broken Ridge were already on the move with early morning life. He weaved past steaming food stalls and squabbling vendors, his boots scuffing against worn cobblestones slick with dew.
By the time he reached the border gates, the line had already grown long—rows of rogue cultivators waiting for clearance. He spotted a few uniforms in the crowd, Darkmoon sect disciples, a couple from minor clans. He adjusted his robes and settled at the back. Seeing them, made a weird feeling tug in his chest.
Well, that was part of the reason why he kept his distance. Sect disciples and clan-backed cultivators didn’t mix well with people like him, and the last thing he wanted this early in the morning was to be looked down upon. Instead, he leaned against a sun-warmed stone wall near the gate, arms crossed, listening to the usual gossip drifting from the crowd.
A new beast nest had been discovered near the eastern ridge. The insectoids were starting to counter-attack again. And, of course, yet another story of a young master dragging his party into a disaster that got them all killed. None of it surprised him. It was just a reminder of how risky this life was. But for someone like him—with barely twenty nine spirit roots to his name and a water aspect that no big sect cared for—there weren’t many other options. At least as a hunter, he was free. Free to make his own money. Free to die on his own terms.
Still, that didn’t stop the occasional sting of envy.
The sect cultivators always had better gear—reinforced armor, weapons embedded with runes, and endless pills to keep their energy up. His own sword had chips in the blade, and the only protection he wore was a stitched leather vest that barely counted as armor. He’d only been hunting for a month now, and every coin he earned either went into living costs or was sent back home. The black market was an option to arm himself, sure, but he wasn’t willing to gamble with that kind of money. Not when his little brothers still didn’t have warmer robes for the winter.
He sighed and rubbed the scar on his cheek, wondering how long it would take before he could finally afford something better.
That’s when a voice cut through the usual chatter. Not gossip—something else. “Free Qi Replenishment Pills and Bone Refining Capsules! From Divine Pill Apothecary! Just for today!”
His eyes snapped to the source. A man and a woman stood near the border gates, shouting at the top of their lungs. Curious cultivators were already gathering around them, drawn by the promise like moths to a flame.
He pushed off the wall, eyes narrowing. Free pills? That wasn’t something you heard every day. But Divine Pill Apothecary?
He’d never heard of them before. Were they some black market seller operating in daylight? But then… Why would they be giving out free pills? Even the border guards looked taken aback, glancing toward the commotion with mild suspicion, though none stepped forward to stop it.
Curiosity tugged at him. He wanted to know what that was about.
Well, my party members are not here yet, might as well go and see… He made sure to recheck if his party had arrived, and noticing how they hadn’t, he moved toward the jam.
The crowd had thickened already, with a handful of cultivators standing in front, asking questions in voices thick with doubt.
A silver-haired woman stepped forward from the crowd and raised her voice. “Why are you giving out free pills? Are they botched or something?”
The woman standing behind the stall shook her head. “No, they aren’t damaged in any way. We’re opening our shop in a few days and offering these as part of our promotional campaign. We want cultivators to try the pills for themselves, to realise these are the best pills in the city.”
The best pills in the city? He blinked at that. Even the Darkmoon Sect didn’t boast like that. Arrogance or confidence? He wasn’t sure. Could be both or just fake promises.
He let his gaze drift down to the table and eyed the pouches and a few pills sitting out of them. They were pale blue pills with a strange shine and a smoother texture than he was used to. The colors were odd, nothing like the typical dull greys or browns that were seen in standard Mortal grade pills.
He narrowed his eyes. “They don’t look authentic to me. The color’s off. The texture too.”
The man standing beside the woman gave a small smile. “We use our own recipes. These are flavoured pills—mint and honeyfruit. They’re designed to go down easy. Your taste buds will thank you.”
Flavoured pills? He nearly scoffed. What nonsense was that? Pills weren’t meant to be tasty—they were medicine, not sweets.
Despite the scepticism, people kept asking questions and with every answer that was thrown his way, his doubt grew thicker. Something about this didn’t sit right. Were they trying to poison people? Sabotage rival sects? But then… Why do it in broad daylight? Right in front of the gates, with guards watching?
If this was a scam, it was either bold or incredibly stupid. And either way, he couldn't walk away now. Not until he figured out what kind of fools gave away valuable pills for free in Broken Ridge.
So he stood there and watched for some more time while others continued crowding in, firing off questions at the pair—asking about purity, if there’d be hidden costs, or even where the shop was located. The answers came quickly. Purity? Fifty percent. Location? Just off the central street. Price? Lower than the market standard.
He almost laughed out loud.
Fifty percent purity wasn’t top-tier, but it was far better than he expected from a pair giving off free pills. And if the pills actually worked… Well, that kind of quality at that price was basically handing out spirit stones for free.
Still, there was ample doubt that began to creep.
Everything sounded too good to be true. But if he just walked away now, and the pills did work… wouldn’t that be like tossing money into a ditch? Did he want to do that? Kick something free when he couldn’t afford it?
With a reluctant grunt, he stepped forward, took the two pills being handed out, thanked the pair behind the stall, and slipped them into his pouch.
“Maybe I’ll visit your shop,” he said as he turned away. He wasn’t planning to. Not really.
As he turned, his eyes spotted the familiar figures of his hunting party walking toward him. They’d finally arrived. Three of them, all around his age, and just as new to the profession. He’d only met them last week, but they’d hit it off quickly. All from small cities, all with too little money and too much risk in their lives.
Their leader, a tall youth with a wild grin and a thick axe strapped to his back, gave him a wave. “What’s going on there?” he asked, nodding to the crowd behind him. “Someone selling pills?”
Jiek Wai shrugged, glancing back briefly at the pair still handing them out. “New shop giving free pills for promotion. I grabbed a couple too.”
“Free pills?” the axe-user barked a laugh. “They must be trash quality. Probably some spoiled batch.”
“Maybe,” he replied, not arguing. “But the wilds are harsh. Even trash might help out there.”
Behind them, the only girl in the group snorted, flicking her black ponytail behind her shoulder. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a hunt. We’ve been doing this for two months now, haven’t we?”
“She’s right,” the leader said, patting his axe proudly. “I’d be surprised if you even needed those pills. My axe will take care of everything.”
He glanced at the heavy weapon on his back and gave a noncommittal nod. “Right. Let’s go then.”
The group merged into the line leaving through the border gates. And as they walked, Jeik Wai reached down to pat the pouch at his side.
He could only hope he wouldn’t need those pills.
***
Jiek Wai felt the need to use the pills.
A deep gash tore through his left arm, blood running freely, and every breath sent sharp stabs through his chest. He was sure at least two ribs were broken. Worse, his qi was nearly gone. Just a flicker remained, not nearly enough to launch another proper attack.
In front of him, the swarm of kobolds snarled and circled, their yellow eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
How did it come to this?
He remembered the high from earlier—how he and his party had worked together, cutting down the beasts and harvesting their valuable parts. He’d finally felt like he belonged. Like he wasn’t just another rogue cultivator scraping by, but someone who could stand beside comrades and make a future.
And then greed ruined it.
They’d spotted the kobolds—two-legged, wolf-like creatures with coarse fur and jagged claws—and thought they could take them too. At first, they did well. Quick strikes, clean coordination. It was going so well that they pushed deeper, unaware that another kobold group had been stalking them from the shadows.
The ambush came swift and brutal.
The girl died first. Her head was gone before they even registered the attack. The second member barely got a scream out before he was torn apart. Their leader, the one who always smiled and boasted about his axe, fought like a man possessed—slaying three of the creatures in a blind fury—only to fall when a kobold ripped out his throat in a blur of red.
Now his body lay at Wai's feet, the blood soaking into the earth.
He was alone.
Each step back, each roll to the side, each shaky dodge brought him closer to the end. The scent of iron choked the air. The snarls grew louder. They were toying with him now. But he didn’t want to die.
He had responsibilities. Brothers to feed. A family that still thought he was going to make it big. He couldn’t let it end here—not in this pit, not like this.
As one kobold lunged, he twisted sideways using the last flicker of his movement technique and kicked it in the side, just enough to throw it off and did the one thing that he thought would save his life—he ran.
His water aspect was useless for speed, but the one thing keeping him alive was the Earth-grade movement technique he’d learned months ago out of a lucky encounter. It didn’t just make him fast—it made him burst forward like a charging bull, just enough to break through and keep moving. It had saved him once. It might do it again.
But with each step, he felt the weight piling up. His legs screamed. His ribs throbbed from when he’d smashed into a tree trying to dodge a kobold’s claw swipe. Blood soaked his robes, dripping from his torn hand. Behind him, snarls and pounding feet echoed louder and louder. They were catching up.
But fear kept his legs moving. Kept the qi pumping through his body even as his dantian began to flicker. He could feel it—his core was close to drying up. The pain was sharp, burning, and yet he couldn’t stop. Not now.
Then, in his desperation, his fingers brushed against something in his pouch. The pills. The two he had taken that morning. The free ones. From the strange stall he didn’t trust. He took them outside, and the pills felt warm in his hand.
He nearly laughed, breathless and mad. What choice did he even have now?
They could be poisonous. They could rot his insides or cripple his core. But he was already dying. If he was going to gamble on anything, it might as well be this.
Without hesitation, he popped both pills into his mouth and swallowed.
Immediately, a strange taste filled his mouth—not bitter or sharp like usual. Cool. Fresh. Mint? Before he could even to process it, the pills began to work.
Warmth spread through his gut, and then—Qi. Actual qi surged through his meridians. Not a flood, but enough to ease the ache in his legs. The pull on his dantian eased, and his breath steadied. At the same time, his bones gave a sharp crack, and he nearly tripped. The Bone Refining Capsule—he remembered the woman saying, was working too. He could feel the fracture in his ribs shifting, the sharp pain dulling as the healing started.
It wasn’t gentle. It hurt—it hurt like hell. But it was working. And with every step, his hope grew. He might actually survive this. Jiek Wai focused on just that—running.
He wasn’t willing to waste the chance the pills had given him. With each burst of qi, the distance between him and the kobolds widened. But he knew better than to relax. Just escaping a bit wasn't enough. He needed something drastic to shake them off completely.
Then he heard it.
The sound of water splashing against rock.
A river.
He honed in on the sound, pushing his legs harder, heart pounding in his chest. Trees whipped past him. He leapt over gnarled roots and low branches until finally, through the trees, he saw it—a river cutting across the land below a small cliff.
Behind him, the snarls were still there. He had no time to rethink his choices.
With a shout, he launched himself off the cliff, calling on his water qi the moment he hit the air. He braced as his body slammed into the river’s surface and felt himself submerged. The cold shocked him, but the current welcomed his element. It pulled at him, flowing fast and hard.
He let it take him.
With practiced instinct and desperate will, he maneuvered through the current, letting the river drag him away from kobold territory. His qi affinity helped him cut through the water like a blade.
Everything after that blurred together.
By sheer force of will, he crawled out onto a riverbank sometime later. He didn’t know how far he’d gone, only that he’d escaped. His limbs ached. His ribs throbbed. His skin stung with cuts.
But he was alive. Fucking alive.
The pills… They worked. There had been no side effects or backlash. Thank heavens. Still, his body ached, but he didn’t want to sit by and think about it. If he stayed in the wild lands any longer, some other beast would make him a meal.
Without another thought, he started walking.
He didn’t know how many hours passed before familiar rocks and broken trees led him back to the outskirts of Broken Ridge City. But the moment the border gates came into view, his heart felt lighter.
He staggered toward them, his robes torn and half-soaked. One of the guards at the post narrowed his eyes, then stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you okay? You went in with a party this morning, right? I saw you.”
Jiek Wai nodded, a wave of frustration and grief crashing through him. “They’re all dead… Kobolds got them. I managed to run and found a river.” His voice cracked. “Do you mind if I rest for now?”
The guard nodded solemnly. “Yeah. Just come tomorrow to file a report.”
Jiek Wai gave another nod, too tired to care about reports. He turned, dragging his feet toward the inn, heart pounding with a strange cocktail of sorrow and gratitude. He had survived.
And in his mind, one name kept echoing: Divine Pill Apothecary.
He’d have to thank them too. Without those pills… He would’ve been another corpse in the wilds.
2025-07-03 17:43:51 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 244
Just by looking at him, Kai knew Khorvash had bled his way through more battles than most warlords lived to see. Despite the way he sat, the orc looked ready to leap up and tear flesh from bone. His skin bore the pale, scarred sheen of someone who had absorbed too much mana—more than a body was meant to hold.
The scent of blood clung to him and even from afar, Kai smelt it. Even though his aura was repressed, Kai knew it had a lot of power. But the main problem wouldn’t be his raw strength, but the artifacts he wore.
Khorvash’s arms were sheathed in blackened gauntlets, etched with seals that shimmered with heat—flamebound, no doubt. The way they pulsed matched the slow, steady throb of fire elemental mana and it confirmed what he’d heard about the gauntlets. Around his neck, there was a thick silver necklace. Likely enchanted to block spells or absorb energy. But it was the toe rings that truly unsettled Kai. Three of them. Each glowing with a different hue—one red, one green, and one a deep, pulsing violet. Passive enchantments? Curses? He didn’t know. And that uncertainty was what made them dangerous.
Behind him, the others didn’t speak. The corridor they’d come through had narrowed into a stone arch lined with Aethum fragments, casting their soft glow across the black walls.
The inside of the tower was unlike anything they'd seen so far—clean, polished, and ancient in its beauty. Floating stones shaped like lanterns hung midair, lighting up the corridors.
Big Nose stepped forward and barked, “We found these humans trespassing, but they claim to follow Belkhor!”
Khorvash’s eyes burning yellow and slitted like a serpent’s and shifted to Kai. “That does not explain why you brought them here, to the sacred palace.”
“They claim,” Big Nose said, pointing at Kai, “that this one has studied temples of the god. He says he can open the upper floors.”
Khorvash rose.
He didn’t stand—he rose. Like a cliff face lifting out of the sand. Stone creaked beneath his weight as his full height came into view. Nine feet tall, maybe more. His voice echoed through the chamber, low and rumbling.
“A human. A follower of Belkhor?”
Kai lowered his head, cloak billowing slightly as he took one step forward. “My lord,” he said softly. “I’ve dedicated my life to studying the forgotten gods. Among them, none struck fear and reverence into the world like Belkhor. I’ve studied ruins for years just to understand Belkhor more.”
Khorvash stared at him.
“Our god,” he said slowly, “has no use for human devotion. You are tools. Meat. That is your place in his design.”
“Despite that… I still recognise him as the strongest god there is, and the strongest god there will ever be.”
Khorvash’s eyes narrowed—not in anger, but curiosity. “Indeed,” he rumbled, stepping forward with slow, ground-shaking weight. “But that alone does not make you a follower of Belkhor. If you claim it, then prove it.”
He raised a hand in challenge.
“What did Belkhor say?” the orc asked. “When he tore down the human fort in Darsk—alone, with nothing but his fists and flame?”
A test. Kai didn’t rush. He held still, letting a few heartbeats pass. Then he lowered his eyes and replied.
“He said... ‘The world belongs to the orcs. The only reason humans have more land is because they breed faster than roaches. But that just means there’s more of them to slay… more bones to count… more skulls to pile until the world kneels before me.’”
As the last word left his lips, the chamber felt colder. Or maybe it was just the way Khorvash was staring at him—like a wolf sizing up something not yet prey, but not quite his pack.
The overlord gave a sharp exhale, then tilted his head, impressed. “You have studied well.”
Kai gave a slight nod, his eyes never lifting too far. He wasn’t bowing out of fear—he was playing the part. He needed to be seen as someone who had walked through fire just to witness Belkhor’s shadow.
In truth, he’d memorized every hateful teaching of the orc god days ago—from the captured orc and the tribals. To earn a sliver of trust here, he needed to sound like a believer.
Khorvash turned, facing the obsidian gate that sealed the upper floors. The seals across it shimmered faintly in the torchlight, pulsing with unspent power.
“But,” the warlord said slowly, “none of that matters.” He turned halfway, casting a glance back over his shoulder. “I would never accept a human as a follower. Only as a slave.”
Kai’s jaw tightened for a split second—but he kept his expression composed.
“Still,” Khorvash said, facing the gate again. “If you can truly open this door, then perhaps… you would have my favour.”
That sent a ripple of shock through the room.
Stinky, still bristling with distrust, barked out, “A favour to a human? That’s—”
He didn’t get to finish his words. Khorvash turned and fixed him with a glare. Even Kai felt the intensity of it.
“I. Decide. Here.” He paused at every word. “I will decide what’s too much and what’s not. That’s what you were going to say wasn’t it?”
Stinky shrank back, gritting his teeth and saying nothing more. Even Big Nose and Bald Head stepped aside without a word.
Kai’s heart thudded in his chest from the sheer risk of what he’d just bought himself.
“I’m not lying,” Kai broke the silence and his voice echoed through the room. He didn’t wait for anyone to speak, but stood up slowly, and walked toward the towering obsidian gate, all the way while Khorvash’s glare was plastered on his back. “I can open it,” he added, his fingers already brushing against the etched runes. “I’ve seen these patterns before.”
Khorvash watched him, eyes gleaming like twin coals. “Very well. Try,” he said, folding his arms over his massive chest. “But know this—fail, and you join the others. You’ll be sacrificed to Belkhor tonight.”
From behind, Adil couldn’t help himself. “Sacrificed?”
Stinky sneered. “Shut up, tribal or I would break your jaw.”
At that point, Kai couldn’t afford to respond. He was already deep in focus, tracing the first series of seals along the frame of the gate. His fingers hovered just above the surface, eyes flicking from one glyph to the next.
These seals were merciless—traps. They had been forged to freeze, crush and burn people who came close to breaking it. He guessed that Khorvash had never been able to come close to that or else he would’ve been burnt by lightning bolts.
A dozen defenses woven seamlessly together in a matrix that had no tolerance for error. Whoever had carved these into the gate wasn’t just a Mage. They were a master—one of the greatest enchantment artisans the world had ever seen.
And he continued to explore every possible inch of them with Kharvosh’s stare burning into his back. He pushed it aside and closed his eyes, knowing he had no time to hesitate.
Kai focused, running the flow of mana through the spell structure in his mind like solving a knot blindfolded. And then, slowly, he found it—a flaw. No, not a flaw. A thread. The way to open up the gate, the only way to untangle the knot from the inside.
He reached into his mana pool and let it surge. A faint hum filled the corridor.
Mana snaked out from his hand like silver smoke, wrapping around the seals with precision, slipping into the grooves like water filling a mold. One by one, the runes flared to life, glowing white-hot as they accepted his touch—until the entire gate was pulsing with light.
The air turned sharp. Static licked at the edges of his sleeves. Behind him, someone gasped—maybe Claire. Maybe Kael. He didn’t look back.
He exhaled slowly.
“What are you doing, human?” Kharvosh muttered.
Kai had the urge to roll his eyes at the oblivious tone in his voice. “Opening it up.”
He focused on his mana and pushed the last thread of mana into the gate.
And it answered.
A low click echoed across the tower, followed by a deep grinding sound as ancient gears stirred from decades of stillness. The white light rippled across the surface like water, the metal shivering under the glow—then, with a thunderous boom, the gate began to open, revealing a broad corridor carved from the same mana-rich black stone. Pale crystals embedded in the walls pulsated gently, illuminating the interior. Dust swirled in the air, undisturbed for decades.
Behind him, he heard the shuffle of boots, the sudden inhale of disbelief. He turned back to see the Orc Lord hadn't moved one bit.
He stood frozen, gaze fixed on the newly revealed path like it was a mirage that might vanish if he blinked. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his thick neck twitching as reality sank in. There were a lot of things going through his mind.
He’d spent years—possibly more—trying to open this gate. And now a human has done it effortlessly.
He moved forward, looming beside Kai as he stared into the corridor. The orc was almost twice Kai’s height and what was more scary was how the flames in his gauntlets hissed low, like they too were uneasy.
“How did you do that?”
Kai inhaled a sharp breath through his nose.
“A mana mechanism in the door. You need to flow energy through the channels in a specific sequence to unlock it. Anything else would’ve backfired.”
He lied smoothly. The truth—The door had recognized the remnants of Valkyrie’s soul inside him and opened it for her blood—wasn’t something they needed to know.
Khorvash narrowed his eyes, but said nothing for a moment. Then he looked Kai over again, slower this time.
“You’re a Mage.”
“Barely,” Kai replied, shrugging one shoulder. “But I know how to use mana.”
A slow nod.
Then, Khorvash turned to the three orcs at the rear. “We’re going inside. You three—stay behind them. The humans come with us.”
Big Nose hesitated. “Overlord Khorvash… should we call for reinforcements? What if the palace has defenses?”
Khorvash’s voice dropped an octave. “If Belkhor left trials in his domain… then I will face them. Not you. Your only task is to make sure the humans don’t run.”
Big Nose flinched, then nodded. So did the others. A gesture from Khorvash, and the orcs began shoving the party forward.
Kai stepped over the threshold, eyes scanning every inch of the corridor as they moved deeper. He felt the pressure in the air increase—the presence of dormant enchantments, mana pulsing faintly through the stones.
He didn’t look back.
The corridors twisted through the heart of the tower, and whenever they took a turn, they were marked by glowing stones embedded into the high archways—they were dim enough to blend with the shadows, yet bright enough to keep them from stumbling blind. The floor soon turned to marble.
Kai stared at the walls. Every inch of this place was buzzing with thick mana, and after days and days of mana-starved wastes of Ashari, the richness of it made his skin prickle.
He wasn’t the only one affected. Even the orcs were glancing around more than usual, some flexing their fingers.
Kai kept looking around the walls and the ceiling, eyes narrowed.
Behind him, Gareth leaned in. “What are you watching for, Lord Arzan?
“Keep your eyes open,” Kai murmured. “There will be enemies ahead.”
Gareth tensed. “What kind?”
“Guardians,” Kai replied. “Maybe beasts. Maybe golems. I haven’t seen the tower spirit yet. That means something is still protecting this place.”
Gareth’s brows furrowed. “Tower spirit?”
Before Kai could answer, Bald Head's voice came sharp from the rear. “Silence. Speak again and I’ll have your tongue.”
The group kept walking.
Kai could see that Adil, though quiet, was practically mesmerized. His fingers brushed along the walls like a man rediscovering the sensation of magic. He drew in a breath, deep and reverent, as if trying to bottle the richness of the air. Even Khorvash, towering ahead of them, paused now and then, eyes narrowed, face tilted as if listening. Kai didn’t need to guess what the warlord was doing—he could feel the pull of mana around him, the faint suction of someone trying to absorb it. Not as easy here as sucking from aethum. The ambient mana flowed slow, coiled tightly in the walls, not meant to be sipped casually like water from a well.
The marble underfoot changed colors with the angles of light—pearlescent veins ran through the grey like rivers of moonlight. It wasn’t just expensive. It was intentional.
“Just how rich were you, Valkyrie?” Kai muttered under his breath. He knew she was a Magus, a Battle Mage at that, but he hadn’t expected this kind of wealth from her. Everything around here was beyond spells, and only someone with serious backing could afford to enchant every inch of a place like this.
And this was only the lower floor. He had no doubt—she had gotten a spirit to take care of the tower.
The corridor narrowed before flaring open again in a sudden burst of light. Kai squinted, but it was Khorvash who moved first—long strides carrying him into the room without hesitation.
The rest followed, but the moment they crossed the threshold, every step faltered.
The chamber was circular, hollow and spare, its marble floor polished to a mirrored sheen. There were no decorations, no furniture—only a winding staircase rising from the center that clearly went up. Yet no one was looking at that.
Their gazes were locked on the three figures seated cross-legged around the base of the staircase.
At first glance, they resembled orcs—massive bodies, just as broad as Khorvash, with thick limbs and weathered armor fused into their bodies. But then the light caught their skin, and it glistened—not flesh, but metal. Blue-tinted steel that reflected the room’s glow like a mirror.
Golems.
Kai's breath caught in his throat. Tower guardians.
But Khorvash didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care. He stepped forward, raising his voice with that familiar tone of arrogant certainty. “I am Khorvash, Overlord of the Duneborns, chosen of Belkhor. Do you serve him?”
For a moment, the golems remained still, statues in every sense. Then, one of them opened its eyes. A pulse of mana exploded outward, scanning the room in a shimmer that brushed across Kai’s skin like cold wind. The other two followed, eyes flaring open with the same inhuman light.
None of them spoke.
The lead golem simply stood.
Its right arm shifted with a grating whir—metal plates folding and locking into place until the limb became a heavy, blunt hammer.
Before Kai could blink, the golem charged.
The floor cracked beneath its weight as it slammed forward. Khorvash roared, raising his gauntlet in time to block the first strike. Flame burst from his fists, the heat rippling the air, but the impact sent him skidding back, boots gouging long lines across the marble.
Behind him, everyone froze. Even Kai felt something at the raw strength in the guardian’s strike.
Big Nose, gritting his teeth, was the only one to step forward, pushing past the others with his blade drawn. But just then, the second and third golems rose in unison.
One’s arm morphed into a curved blade, the edge gleaming wickedly. The other’s turned into a spiked mace that swung once, just to test its weight, and cracked the floor beneath it.
In an instant, the room erupted into chaos.
Flames burst from Khorvash’s fists as he activated his infernal gauntlets, setting the air alight with streaks of red and gold. His punch collided with the hammer-wielding guardian, creating a shockwave that shook dust from the ceiling.
And Kai kept observing.
Stinky and Bald Head apparently took that as their cue to jump in. They charged with a roar, weapons raised—one with a dented axe, the other with a crude scimitar. Kai barely glanced at them before the two guardians moved.
It wasn’t even subtle.
The blade-wielding golem turned sharply and slashed, the edge of its arm opening a deep gash across Stinky’s shoulder. He cried out and tumbled to the side, weapon falling from his hand.
At the same time, the mace guardian stepped forward and slammed its weapon into Bald Head’s stomach like a sledgehammer against a gong. The impact threw the orc back. He bounced once—twice—before groaning and curling into himself near the edge of the room.
“They’re… not very good,” Claire muttered beside him.
“Terrible,” Kael whispered.
Gareth turned to him, eyes wide. “Should we help?”
“Not yet,” Kai said in a whisper, making sure the orcs didn’t hear them. “Let them wear the guardians down. We can’t reveal our abilities yet.”
Adil, arms crossed, nodded slowly. “Let’s hope the great Overlord dies right here,” he muttered. “Makes things simpler.”
So they watched.
Khorvash was doing better, at least. His flames met steel in a chorus of ringing blows and flickering light. The guardian with the hammer seemed determined to plant him into the marble, slamming the floor with wild force every time he moved. Khorvash darted between attacks with surprising agility for his size, occasionally countering with an explosive uppercut from his flaming gauntlets.
But even then, the golem barely stumbled. It would slide back a step, reset, and charge again—relentless.
These weren’t mindless constructs. They fought with insane precision.
Each movement was clean.
“They’re trained,” Kai murmured. “The golems. They’ve learned martial arts.”
Gareth’s head snapped to him. “Golems can do that?”
“Some,” Kai said. “Good ones. These are tower guardians. They adapt.”
The other orcs… well, the less said about them, the better.
Big Nose tried. He really did. But he could barely get within range of the blade golem. Every time he moved in, the construct danced around him, striking from impossible angles. It didn’t even seem rushed—just efficient.
Meanwhile, the mace guardian was having a field day. Stinky had managed to get back up, but the moment he did, the golem kicked him square in the chest, sending him into the wall. Bald Head tried to swing at its side, but the golem pivoted and smashed him again with the flat of its mace. A dull thud echoed through the chamber.
Kai winced. “They might not come out of this alive.”
Just then, Khorvash grunted and backpedaled. The hammer golem slammed down where he’d stood moments ago, sending cracks splintering across the floor like spiderwebs. Khorvash skidded to a halt, fists glowing brighter.
Then it happened.
One of the rings on his foot flared—bright, pulsing with crimson light. The flames on his gauntlets turned darker, twisting into black fire, and a thick aura of smoke and power surged from his form.
Kai’s eyes narrowed.
“So that’s what the rings do…”
Khorvash lunged.
The hammer guardian raised its arm to strike again, metal gleaming—but it never made it. Khorvash's gauntlet collided with the descending weapon in a shattering impact that rang through the chamber. Shards of enchanted metal scattered across the marble floor like shattered glass, and in the same motion, Khorvash drove his fist into the golem's chest, sending it crashing into the opposite wall.
He didn’t slow.
In a blur of brutal momentum, he pivoted and hurled himself at the second guardian. His shoulder rammed into its side with enough force to lift it off the ground. The blade-arm lashed out instinctively, but he caught it mid-swing and slammed the guardian into the stone wall.
Then came the fists. They were flaming and continuous.
He pummeled the golem’s face and chest, over and over, until the light in its eyes flickered—then vanished. Its limbs went slack. A final punch shattered its skull plate into glowing fragments, and Khorvash let the remains crumple to the floor like discarded armor.
Before the dust could even settle, the last guardian raised its mace—but it was too late.
Two of Khorvash’s toe rings flared like stars. A wave of molten heat erupted from his legs, surging forward like a pressure blast. The wave struck the golem dead-on and it detonated, the force of it flinging limbs and debris in every direction.
Then, a long silence followed. Khorvash exhaled, flames still curling around his fists.
Then, slowly, he turned. His gaze swept across Kai and the others—measuring, challenging.
“Move,” he growled.
Kai met his eyes. For a breath, no one said anything. That was the first time he truly understood the power behind Khorvash’s reputation.
And it was clear now.
If Kai didn’t play this right, that fury would soon be turned on him.
2025-07-03 17:42:14 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 243
Once the three orcs agreed to escort them, the atmosphere shifted. The desert didn’t feel the same anymore. The wind still howled and the sand still bit at their skin, but now they were moving deeper into enemy land—under escort, yes, but it felt more like being paraded by guards who expected to kill them the moment they proved useless.
The orcs flanked them like wardens. One kept spitting into the sand. Another cracked his knuckles every few minutes. They exchanged no words, so the only sound was just heavy footsteps and the sound of snorting bulls.
Kai didn’t really care.
The first step had worked. He had bluffed his way in. But getting close was one thing. What came next would decide on how well he could access the tower while cornering Khorvash at the same time.
As they crested a dune, he looked at Adil, who was in the middle of covering his face with a scarf, only his dark eyes visible beneath the folds. The orcs didn’t seem to care.
But Kai noticed. He kept noticing.
Adil didn’t seem like someone who’d sign up to die. Not for glory. Not even for revenge. He remembered the information they had gotten on him. He was sure that he had more reason to come with him as a guide rather than just wanting the orcs dead.
After all, there were always things at play.
As if feeling the weight of Kai’s stare, Adil turned his head just enough. “What?” he asked, the sound muffled by the scarf.
Kai gave a vague smile, eyes squinting against the sun. “Just thinking.”
Adil raised a brow. “About what?”
Rather than answer, Kai flicked two fingers near his hip. A breeze kicked up around them. Harmless to the eye, but layered with the subtle folds of a sound-silencing spell. A shimmer, then silence wrapped around them.
Adil noticed. His brow furrowed deeper, but he didn’t comment.
“Why are you really here?”
Adil answered directly. “I’m guiding you.”
“That’s not what I mean. You don’t strike me as the kind of man to sign up for a suicide mission based on a tower you don’t even believe in. Or have you changed your mind?”
“I still don’t believe in your tower,” he said.
“No?”
“No. But I believe it can only be two things.” Adil cast a glance sideways, eyes squinting in the heat. “Either you’re telling the truth, or you and your whole crew are absolutely insane. Since you haven’t turned tail yet, and the orcs clearly believe something’s out there… I’m leaning toward the first. But I guess you are insane in either case.”
Kai gave a soft grunt of amusement. “So, you're betting on the insanity being real.”
“Something like that.” Adil shifted slightly in his saddle. “Besides, even if it’s a lie, it’s too late to walk away. And if it’s the truth—if there’s really a tower and you really kill Khorvash—then I sure as hell can’t be left behind.”
“Why not?”
“Glory.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“Let’s say you win,” Adil continued. “Khorvash falls. The orcs lose their grip. The balance returns to the desert… even tilts toward the humans again. Then what?”
Kai listened while they were moving.
“The tribes will celebrate. They’ll cheer your name. But soon enough, they’ll return to their old habits. Infighting. Grudges. Blood feuds between different tribes for reasons lost to time.” Adil shook his head slowly. “They might behave for a while, sure. But once the fear fades, they’ll remember why they hate each other.”
Kai’s brows furrowed at what the man was getting at.
“You’ll be the outsider who slayed Khorvash,” Adil added. “And since you’re not a tribal, no one tribe gets to take the credit. Which means no tribe will rise above the others.”
And that’s when it clicked.
Kai’s eyes widened slightly, realization dawning like a sunrise over dry earth. “You want to change that.”
Adil didn’t deny it. He let out a low laugh, dry and honest.
“I’m not trying to rule the desert, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “It’s too messy. Too many old debts and complications. But I want my people to rise above that chaos. To be something more.”
“You want to lead your tribe to prominence,” Kai murmured.
“Yes,” Adil said simply. “The council was a bandage. It kept things from bleeding out after Khorvash broke half the desert. But when he dies, that structure dies with him. And if I’m one of the men who helped kill him… that would be enough to stall any past rumors about me and give me the reputation to create something never seen before in Ashari.”
Kai understood what Adil meant. There were things like reputation, power and legacy that affected things. It would be enough to silence the whispers of his past. Enough to make his tribe feared, respected. Enough to build something new.
Kai looked at him more closely now. He wasn’t just another arrogant tribal leader riding out to die. He was a man who saw an opportunity to rewrite everything.
“You know about the rumors,” Kai said.
“Of course I do.”
“Then why...?”
“Because I’m not stupid,” Adil interrupted. “Lots of men in high places pretend they don’t hear the talk. I am not one of those.”
There was a brief pause. Then, quieter, almost reluctant, he asked, “Are they true?”
“What do you think?” Adil asked back.
Kai didn’t get the chance to answer.
Big Nose suddenly pulled at his mount’s reins and grunted sharply. The other orcs followed suit, halting in a loose semicircle. Kai instantly dismissed the warding spell around him and Adil, the magic winded down. He kept his face neutral.
“We walk from here,” Big Nose growled, hopping down from his beast with a heavy thud. The creature grunted and stamped its hoof, discontent with being left behind.
“Why?” Kai asked, though he already had a guess.
The orc shot him a glare. “Because we’re going to the palace. This path isn’t made for beasts.”
That was all he offered before turning and marching ahead, boots crunching against sand and dried roots. The other two orcs pushed them to get down their own mounts and followed without a word.
They moved forward, feet sinking into the warm dunes. Around them, the landscape subtly changed. It wasn’t the sand—it was the trees.
Dozens of them.
Twisted, pale-limbed desert trees with leaves like cracked leather—Luvara trees. Hardy, drought-fed things that clawed into the land like bony fingers. Kai had seen them before, sparsely scattered across the Ashari, but never this many in one place.
They grew denser with each step. Then it hit him.
A pulse—like a ripple through his skull. His instincts screamed danger. His foot halted mid-step, body tensing. Magic? An ambush? No… not quite.
He knew that feeling. It was a redirection ward.
The moment his mind recognized it, it tried to turn him away, to reroute his path—make him walk back and forget why he came.
He gritted his teeth and shook it off.
Next to him, Adil slowed. He was already starting to turn back when Bald Head stepped forward and shoved him back in line. Kael and Claire stood stiffly, eyes narrowed and confused, clearly shaken by the same force.
Even the orcs weren’t immune. Their steps faltered—only for a moment—but they pushed through.
“Keep walking,” Big Nose snapped. “Don’t give in to Belkhor’s curse.”
Kai nearly snorted aloud. Curse? That was no divine will. It was a ward. Basic, even. But for people without training—or any magical resistance—it would feel like divine compulsion. No wonder they thought it was some god’s protection.
He kept moving.
The dunes around them grew steeper. The wind shifted. Every few feet, the taste of mana in the air grew stronger. It was faint like a whisper compared to what he was used to—but in a place where mana was scarce to the point of extinction, even the smallest thread stood out.
And Kai could feel it pooling, drawing them closer. It turned out he’d been right all along.
The tower was leaking it. Not enough to overwhelm the enchantments, but just enough for a trained Mage to feel its presence threading through the air like silver smoke.
The orcs ahead slowed, muttering among themselves. Every few dozen steps, one would kneel, claw into the sand with a dagger, then nod as if confirming something before moving on. Claire leaned in close from behind and whispered, “What are they doing?”
“Illusion ward,” he murmured. “They’ve marked the right path. Lose it, and you walk in circles. So, they are looking at the route marks.”
Understanding passed in silence between the party. The illusion wasn’t surprising—Kai would’ve done the same if he wanted to hide something important. He had enough mana to brute force his way through if needed, and his bag carried spare storage stones filled to the brim just in case. But it was better to just follow the orcs. Every drop of mana counted.
So, they continued forward. Then suddenly, Stinky grunted, “We’re close.”
Kai's gaze swept forward, hoping to see something. But, there was nothing.
The desert still stretched endlessly, dunes gently sloping beneath a pale, blazing sky. There was no tower. No structure. No sign of anything.
Then he took one more step. And it appeared.
It didn’t fade in like smoke or shimmer into view. One second the horizon was empty—and the next, it wasn’t. The tower was just there.
A collective gasp rang out. Kael’s breath caught, and Gareth stumbled back. Adil muttered a curse behind them, his voice shaken and full of something that sounded dangerously close to awe. “It’s… fucking real.”
Kai didn’t speak. His eyes locked on the structure before them.
Even from a distance, the tower exuded presence. It rose like a monolith from the sands, made of smooth black stone that shimmered faintly under the sun, almost mirror-like but etched with seals and circular sigils that pulsed faintly with embedded enchantments. The edges of each floor curved inward before flaring out again, giving it a shape like a rising flame—elegant, yet imposing.
The stone itself, he could tell, was a rare mineral highly conductive with mana. Most towers he had seen or heard about only used materials with high conduction in important areas—but here, it made up the entire structure.
Valkyrie hadn’t just built a tower. She’d poured everything into it.
It was taller than the Archine Tower by at least four floors, and somehow far more… complete. Not in size. In intent.
Even if the tower had been completely hollow—just an empty shell with nothing more than dust inside—Kai would’ve still accepted it.
The value of the structure alone was staggering. Every stone, every enchantment, every rune carved into the arkhite frame shimmered with the price of nations. His mother hadn’t left behind an inheritance. She’d left behind a kingdom disguised as a tower.
But there was no time to admire it for long.
Bald Head suddenly let out a throaty chuckle, and then another followed suit. Sneers pulled at their cracked lips as the orcs turned back toward the group, puffing their chests with pride.
“Feel blessed, humans,” Big Nose grunted. “You’re the first of your kind to lay eyes on the palace of Belkhor. Kneel before it.”
He dropped to his knees as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The others followed without hesitation, heads bowed, fists over their chests in reverence.
Kai barely suppressed the twitch in his brow. He hated this part.
But now wasn’t the time to stir chaos. One by one, he and his party mirrored the orcs’ movement, sinking down onto one knee. Even Adil bowed his head, though Kai doubted it was for Belkhor.
The desert wind whistled faintly as the orcs muttered low prayers, their words inaudible to comprehend in another language. Kai didn’t understand them, but the sound scraped at something primal—devotion so deep it stank of blood and conquest.
When they finally rose, the group began moving again, cutting across the sand without a word. Five minutes passed in silence before the true entrance of the tower came into view.
It loomed like a wall meant to keep gods at bay.
The gate was massive—twice as tall as any city gate Kai had ever seen. Inlaid within it were crystals—raw aetheum, each one pulsing faintly as if breathing with the tower itself.
Kai stepped forward, eyes narrowing in curiosity. The metal… it wasn’t something he recognized immediately. But the way it reacted—the hum beneath his skin as he approached—told him it was highly mana-conductive, far more than he had originally thought. Maybe a rare alloy like xelantium or a reinforced variant of soulsteel. It didn’t matter.
He had an idea on how to open the door. His hand was halfway up when a strong grip caught his shoulder.
Kai’s body tensed, instincts flaring. Wind gathered in his palm before he realized who it was. Stinky.
The orc’s foul breath hit him first—hot, heavy, rancid. Then came the snarl.
“You are not permitted to touch Belkhor’s gates,” he growled and pushed Kai behind. “Walk behind us. Do not get ahead of yourself, human.”
Kai's jaw tightened.
He stared into the orc’s eyes, his magic crackling beneath the surface like a blade half-drawn—but then, with effort, he swallowed the urge and gave a single, clipped nod.
“Understood.”
The orcs snickered, clearly amused at the show of supposed submission, and turned away, motioning for the group to follow as they veered off toward another path carved between the dunes.
Kai watched them go, his eyes flat, but he stayed muted. Let them laugh for now. Soon, they’d understand who they were really dealing with.
They trailed behind the orcs in silence, boots crunching over loose sand and gravel.
Kai’s gaze flicked toward the massive front gate they were leaving behind, brow furrowed. Why were they bypassing the entrance to the tower?
Before he could voice the question, Claire leaned in slightly. “Are you alright, Lord Arzan?”
He didn’t look at her, eyes fixed ahead. “Yes,” he said softly. “Let’s see where they’re taking us.”
The orcs led them around the tower’s curved flank, weaving through ridges of stone and dune until they came to an abrupt halt. One of them grunted something low, and the rest stepped aside to reveal what they had brought them to.
A split in the wall.
An ugly crack sliced through the otherwise perfect black stone—just wide enough for someone to squeeze through.
Everything clicked in Kai’s mind. They haven’t even breached the front gate.
He watched two of the orcs bend low, heads ducked, shoulders scraping as they wriggled through the opening like rats into a granary. Baldy looked back and waved a thick arm. “Move.”
The group obeyed without a word. Kai was the last to step through. He crossed the threshold and froze.
His breath caught.
They were standing inside what could only be described as the antechamber of a magical empire. The chamber spanned wide. It had high vaulted ceilings that were etched with seals that literally shimmered due to the mana crystals. A massive, pulsing Aethum core was set in the center of the floor, now dulled, giving off only a weak, lingering hum.
And everything, everything here clearly had been crafted for a Mage.
There were engravings in the wall, spiraling in a clockwise narrative. He could tell that they depicted battles—dozens of them. Flying figures, slinging spells, formations of strange symbols. But the faces… they were off.
It was the way the artist had made them, it was hard to say if it was humans.
No wonder the orcs thought this belonged to their god, Kai thought grimly. The artist must’ve had a flair for the dramatic.
He stepped deeper inside, boots echoing faintly against polished obsidian.
Then, curiosity prickling the back of his mind, he turned back toward the crack they’d entered from. Up close, he could see it more clearly—this wasn’t natural decay. The wall hadn’t crumbled from age or erosion.
It looked like an explosion.
The crack hadn’t come from outside. Kai could tell that much now. His eyes caught the rough fractures around the edges, but what really drew his attention was what lay just above it—a round, hollow cavity in the stone. A socket.
Something had once rested there.
Kai narrowed his eyes. An aethum crystal... and it exploded. He could still sense the faint echo of raw energy in the air, the kind that only came from a misaligned core breaking containment. That kind of burst could’ve fractured the wall, maybe even rattled the outer wards just long enough for someone to get inside.
Did Khorvash exploit that? A random failure or divine irony—either way, that crack had become the doorway to a decade of bloodshed for the desert tribes.
But there was no time to linger.
"Move," barked Big Nose.
The group fell into step again, weaving through arched corridors and winding stairways. The deeper they went, the harder it was not to stare. Intricate seals curled across every surface, faintly glowing like veins under skin. Rooms lined with relics of lost knowledge passed them by—many damaged, some still faintly humming with old enchantments.
Adil walked stiffly beside Kai, his eyes darting from wall to ceiling, a hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade. Out of all of them, he looked the most shocked. The man hadn’t even believed in the existence of the tower but now he was walking inside it. But something more shocking was around the corner.
They momentarily froze when they came across it.
It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough.
A large chamber opened to their left, lit by a dim crystal mounted high above. Inside, behind iron bars, dozens of figures sat slumped against the walls. Some looked up. Others didn’t move. Ropes bound their wrists and ankles. Dust covered their skin like a second coat.
Children. Teens. And they were all tribal.
Adil sucked in a sharp breath beside him, and his fingers twitched near his blade, but he didn’t draw it. No one did. They kept walking, heads low, faces tight.
Stinky muttered something under his breath with a snort, “Tried using them to open the gates. Thought they’d be smart enough.”
Kai kept his voice level. “They didn’t succeed?”
“Failed the Overlord,” Baldy replied with a shrug. “They’re lucky he’s merciful. He gave them time to think. And yes, to figure out how to open the gates.”
“What if they don’t know how to?” Kai asked.
“Then they’re useless.”
He pointed at Kai with one thick finger, eyes sharp. “Same goes for you. Talked big. Let’s hope you can do more than talk, or you’ll be joining them.”
On the inside, he felt the familiar burn in his chest—the rage curling quietly behind his calm face.
Kai dipped his head in a silent nod and kept walking.
The deeper they went, the more the tower pressed in around them. Dust clung to everything, and yet the mana in the air was undeniable—thick enough to taste, like lightning trapped in stone.
Then, without warning, the orcs in front dropped to one knee. Kai’s boots scuffed to a halt.
He and his party mirrored them, lowering themselves slowly, wordlessly while he wondered what was going on.
And then he saw him.
Khorvash.
The warlord sat just beyond the next archway, thick legs folded in meditation before a colossal gate carved into the far wall—one Kai hadn’t seen on the way in. He was bigger than any orc Kai had ever laid eyes on. His bulk was almost inhuman, the heavy slabs of muscle underneath his skin flexing even in stillness.
Kai took in his tattoos, red and black, and how his tusks had golden rings. His nose was filled with piercings and a thick bar of bone was pierced through one ear.
He was the book-description of an orc overload in every form. His eyes opened and his presence hit them like a raw wave.
“Why have you brought these humans to me?” He snarled, curling his upper lip in anger. “The ones we gathered have already proven useless!”
2025-07-01 15:13:48 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 133
Gao Moyue sat tall at the head of the long, polished stone table, his sleeves folded neatly over each other as his cold eyes swept across the elders gathered before him. One by one, they stood and reported.
Progress on training.
List of promising disciples.
Recent deaths.
Trouble from the insectoids.
Minor treasures discovered near the borders.
The words flowed through the chamber like a dull chant, but to Gao Moyue, it was all noise. He found some of them meaningless, just sprouting for the sake of routine, and predictable.
He had heard it all before.
Darkmoon Sect had existed for nearly three hundred years, and for over a hundred of those, he had ruled it from the top. Nothing surprised him anymore. The only time in recent memory when he had truly paid attention was seventy years ago, when the Empire had gone to war with the insectoids—after one of those monstrous things had actually formed a domain.
That battle had stirred something in him. But the thing had died, the threat passed, and since then, the world had returned to its slow, suffocating pace. The sect had continued to grow. Wealth had increased. His Cultivation had deepened.
Now?
Now he simply nodded politely as each elder took their turn. He stroked his long goatee with practiced grace, maintaining an emotionless face though his mind wandered.
How much longer would this drag on?
Unfortunately, there were always a few matters that forced him to speak.
One of the elders stepped forward, bowing slightly. His robes marked his standing as an outer sect elder. “Sect Leader Gao Moyue… There's a matter that requires your guidance. We've received a number of complaints from the outer sect disciples.”
At that, Gao Moyue squinted slightly—not in anger, but in thought. What was this elder’s name again?
He frowned inwardly. He couldn’t remember. Too much had changed in a century. Elders rose and fell like grass in the wind, especially out here at the Empire’s edge, where the wilds ate cultivators faster than time ever could.
Still, it would be rude to ask.
“Why the complaints?”
The elder visibly relaxed at not being rebuked. “It’s about the missions, Sect Leader. They claim the risk is too high, and the compensation is too low. Many have lost their lives hunting outside the city’s protection, especially since the insectoid numbers have started growing again.
“Recently, three dozen outer sect disciples had gone missing after taking a mission in the deeper regions of the insectoid lands. Word came back that they had been massacred—nearly all of them—by a peak-tier three insectoid. Only three managed to return, bloodied, broken, and shaken.”
He shook his head in lament and added, “Even though we sent everything those disciples owned back to their families—their savings, their robes, whatever they earned here—others in the sect feel it’s not enough. They’re demanding more compensation. And I believe there's merit in their words.”
Gao Moyue didn’t react immediately. He simply stroked his goatee in silence for a few seconds, then spoke calmly, reciting the same words his master had once said to him many decades ago:
“Cultivation is a long journey filled with endless trials. Each of them can take your life. To become immortal… one must learn to clash with mortality. Those who die have simply failed in that path. No one forced them to become cultivators. They chose this path. They must carry its weight.”
He watched the elder’s face. He didn’t look pleased. But the man nodded. That was the benefit of being the sect leader. No one openly opposed you. Gao Moyue had always liked that part of the job.
Then, one of the other elders, an inner sect one—he didn’t know his name either—gave a respectful nod and said, “Sect Leader is wise. These disciples should think twice before calling themselves cultivators. If they can’t handle the risks, they shouldn’t be out there.”
Before anyone else could comment, the elder who had started the topic frowned and said, “Of course you’d say that. Your great-grandson was the one who led them into the wilds chasing stronger beasts. And he was the first to run when they faced danger.”
The elder who had just spoken turned red and snapped, “And what’s wrong with knowing when to run? It’s why he survived. That’s wisdom.”
“He ran because he had an Earth-grade movement technique! The others didn’t. They didn’t choose to stay and fight—they had no way to escape!”
The room grew tense as the two glared at each other.
Gao Moyue wanted to stand up and leave the meeting then and there. This wasn’t new. He’d seen it many times before—outer sect elders clashing with inner sect elders, usually because of nepotism. Recently, it was growing more frequent, and it was getting boring.
Many elders had started pushing their descendants through the ranks. Gao Moyue had allowed it. After all, most of those descendants did have decent talent. But their personalities? That was another matter.
They were selfish and arrogant, living as though the heavens had blessed them and them alone. Still, he didn’t need to step in. As always, the argument defused on its own, ending with vague mentions of some future duel between their disciples.
And the meeting went on. More reports. More routine problems.
Gao Moyue listened without interest, nodding occasionally, offering short replies when needed.
He might be the oldest one in the hall, but these men were elders for a reason. They didn’t need his help to solve every little squabble.
At the end of the meeting, just as the elders began filing out of the hall, one of them lingered behind. Gao Moyue noticed it immediately. It was the same outer sect elder who had earlier brought up the complaints about disciple compensation.
He didn’t speak at first, just stood there with his hands tucked into his sleeves, a hesitant look in his eyes.
Gao Moyue raised an eyebrow. “Is there something else?”
The elder hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “I don’t know if it’s worth bringing to your attention, Sect Leader, but… I thought you should know.”
“What is it?” Gao Moyue asked, already expecting something trivial. “Another disciple trying to sneak pills out of the storage hall?”
The elder shook his head. “No. Not that. It’s about Jadefire Hall Sect.”
At that, Gao Moyue narrowed his eyes slightly. The name was familiar, but it took him a moment to place it. Jadefire Hall… one of those minor sects that had tried to make a name in the city but failed due to the competition. A promising one, if he remembered right, before they crashed and burned under pressure from the market. And little scheming from their side.
“What about them?”
“They’ve been bought out.”
“Bought out?” Gao Moyue repeated. “What does that mean?”
“Their sect grounds and city shop are taken over by someone else,” the elder explained. “Even the debt they owed has been transferred. All under the name of someone called Chen Ren. He’s from a sect called Divine Coin Sect. Not from around here—seems to be new in the city. I heard about it from the moneylender himself.”
“Divine Coin Sect?” Gao Moyue frowned. “Never heard of them.”
“They’re new,” the elder said, nodding. “But they seem to be awfully confident. From what I hear, they’re trying to make a move in the pill market. Planning to restart production in the Jadefire Hall sect building.”
There was a brief silence. Then Gao Moyue leaned back in his seat and gave a soft laugh.
“An Emerging sect trying to compete in the pill market? We see a few of those every two-three years.” He waved a hand dismissively. “Still, good you reported it. But I don’t think they’ll be much of a threat.”
“I think so too, Sect Leader,” the outer sect elder said quickly. “I just felt like you should know.”
Gao Moyue stroked his goatee and slowly rose from his seat. “It’s good you did,” he said with a nod. “But don’t worry. They won’t even be able to sell ten pills a day. Just focus on our own production.” He turned his gaze toward the elder, eyes sharp. “I heard in the meeting that sales dropped by five hundred spirit stones this month. You can do better.”
The elder bowed slightly. “We will. Thank you, Sect Leader Gao Moyue.”
With that, Gao Moyue gave a small nod and walked out of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
Another sect trying their luck. Another fool with dreams of taking over a piece of the market. He didn’t need to know who Chen Ren was. In a few months, the man would be just another name added to the list of sect leaders who tried and failed.
Everyone came to Broken Ridge thinking it was a treasure trove. And it was—but only if you had the power to control it.
And Gao Moyue knew, with the certainty of someone who had ruled for over a century, that Broken Ridge belonged to the Darkmoon Sect. No one else.
***
Chen Ren walked through the shop slowly as his eyes traced every corner of the space that would, in a few days, mark his official entry into the immortal market.
It was modest in size, but laid out well. Wooden shelves lined the walls, polished clean, with fresh lacquer still gleaming under the lamplight. Each row was now being filled by his mortal disciples—trainees from the Divine Coin Sect who had arrived just two days ago—working with quiet diligence. The air smelled faintly of mint, spirit herbs, and the dusty warmth of freshly cleaned floors.
This had once belonged to Jadefire Hall, and Chen Ren could see why it was so valuable. The location was ideal—just off the main street near the heart of Broken Ridge City, where crowds passed by from dawn till dusk. It wasn't tucked in a hidden alley or overshadowed by louder businesses. No, this spot saw foot traffic. And not just any foot traffic—Cultivators. The lifeblood of his future customer base.
There were other shops on the street, of course. One even bore the banner of the Darkmoon Sect, with its cold and towering presence. But Chen Ren spared it only a glance when he passed. They were dominant now, sure, but all he needed was a few weeks. Just a few weeks, and the cracks would start to show.
His gaze shifted to the shelves. Though he was starting with only three basic pills, the arrangement was deliberate. Qing He had helped him refine the process further, and now the pills could be produced in multiple purities through adjustments in the mixing method. That alone gave him variety.
But the shelves weren’t just split by purity—no, they had something else that would draw attention. Flavor.
Thanks to tweaking the binding agent, they’d managed to infuse two flavor profiles so far—cool mint and sweet honeyfruit. The moment he’d tasted the mint one, he knew it would leave a mark.
Even so, there was one thing nagging at the back of his mind: quantity.
They had enough pills for four days, maybe a week—but if demand rose too fast, they’d need to ramp up quickly. They had the production capacity, sure, but the logistics, the storage, the consistency of quality—it all needed attention.
Even now, as Chen Ren moved through the aisles, his gaze kept drifting to the empty shelves that lined the shop walls. Most were still bare, and he knew that wouldn’t change in a week. The plan was simple: fill the gaps with wooden bottles—emptied, sealed, and stacked—to give the illusion of stock abundance. A trick, yes, but a necessary one. Perception mattered in business, especially in a city where appearances sold trust.
In truth, their production couldn’t keep up with the look of a full shop. Jadefire Hall had adopted his pill-making method, but there was only so much they could create each day. And Chen Ren didn’t want to risk overproducing either—not until he saw the demand firsthand. Once he did, then he’d scale. Supply should follow demand, not the other way around.
Still, as he looked around the shop—at the rows of neatly arranged pill jars, at the young mortal workers who called him Sect Leader without a hint of hesitation—Chen Ren couldn’t help the small smile that touched his lips.
And as he passed by a shelf being dusted down by a mortal disciple, the shop door creaked open behind him.
Chen Ren turned to see Anji and Tang Boming entering. Both gave him a respectful bow before approaching.
“So, how’s it going?” Chen Ren asked, keeping his tone light but expectant.
Tang Boming was the first to speak. He had just returned from Jadefire Hall, and his robes still smelled faintly of spirit herbs and furnace smoke.
“Production’s going smoothly,” he said. “A few disciples made a face at the process, said it felt… ridiculous. I mean, I get it. Seeing mortals do what most cultivators train for years to do can be jarring.”
He gave a sheepish shrug before continuing, “But Tau Liu accepted the method early on, so the rest didn’t have much room to protest. And honestly, most of them seem relieved. I told them they can spend their time working on their own alchemy instead of basic pills, and that shut down any real complaints.”
Chen Ren nodded in approval. “Good. And what about Hun Tianzhi?”
Tang Boming gave a small grin. “He took to it better than I expected. Right now, he’s in his quarters, poring over the technique—probably trying to figure out how it works from an alchemical theory standpoint. He looked intrigued. Like it woke something up in him.”
Chen Ren smiled faintly, folding his arms. “Let’s hope he finds a way to make even more pills using our method.”
Then he turned to Anji, his gaze steady. “And what about you?”
She sighed, brushing some dust off her sleeve. “I handed out every pamphlet we printed. Stuck them at inns, talked to some vendors, even tried to stop a few passing cultivators near the southern plaza... but most weren’t interested. I’m worried. Marketing here might be harder than we thought.”
Chen Ren didn’t look surprised. “Marketing is hard everywhere,” he said simply. “But we still have to do it. If no one knows we exist, they definitely won’t buy from us.”
“Yeah, but the problem is... Cultivators around here have been buying from Darkmoon Sect for years. They’re used to their pills. Comfortable. Loyal, even. It’s going to be hard to break that habit.”
”We can change that—that habit.”
Anji looked at him, brows pinched. “How?”
Chen Ren didn’t reply immediately.
Instead, his thoughts shifted. Anji had made a good point—one that lingered. Marketing was something he could adapt in many places across this world, but marketing to cultivators… that was an entirely different beast.
They were proud. Sensitive. The kind who took offense at the tone of a greeting, let alone being handed a pamphlet. Even the wrong look could spark a duel.
But as his gaze swept across the shop—the neatly arranged shelves, the rows of bottles being filled, the faint scent of herbs in the air—an idea flickered to life. One that burned a little brighter with each breath.
“There’s one thing we can do,” he said at last, voice calm but certain. “One way to make sure cultivators notice us.”
2025-07-01 15:12:09 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 242
Kai’s plan was simple. Not in its details—no, those were bold, even dangerous—but in its intent, he and his party would carry the risk, so the tribes could carry hope.
That was the only way they’d even consider rebellion.
Khorvash’s name hung over every tribal chief like a chain around their necks. Clearly, the orc overlord had spent years building a legacy of fear—razing rebel camps to ash, sending heads of fallen leaders wrapped in cloth to surviving family members, turning resistance into a memory that these people were scared to speak of. He was the Duneborns’ pride—their strongest.
And here stood Kai, saying he’d take him on alone.
The room fell silent when he began to talk about his strategy. They all listened to it calmly until the very end.
His plan placed all the risk on his own shoulders. Taking on Khorvash directly was the only way to shake the fear from the hearts of the desert tribes—fear that had seeped into their bones after years of the orc overlord’s growing legend. And so, when he finished laying out his strategy in the meeting hall, the looks he received were nothing short of horrified.
Disbelief sharpened into open scoffs. One elder laughed under his breath, muttering that Kai must be insane. Another stood up, voice edged with ridicule, asking if this was all just some grand joke. But Kai didn’t show an ounce of hesitation. Every word he spoke, he meant and he stood by them.
Khorvash was the linchpin. Remove him, and the Duneborn dominance crumbled. Without their strongest warrior—the one wielding relics no other orc could tame—the scales would tip back to balance.
And that was all he needed from the tribes. If he succeeded, they would act. Until then, they would wait.
He sharply inhaled when he noticed a lot of tribals getting up and leaving, calling him a madman over and over again. But more stayed behind. Because in truth, it cost them nothing to wait.
Surprisingly, Khalid opposed him—not out of doubt with Kai’s skills, but because his eyes kept drifting to Ansel. Kai understood.
He pulled him aside that evening and promised Ansel would remain behind from what sounded like a suicide mission to him. Khalid didn’t say anything, but the tightness in his shoulders eased. He mentioned how Ansel was capable but he only wanted to take Enforcers with him.
And so, a day later, Kai stepped into the sands again. The sun hung high, casting long shadows across the ridges. Wind lashed at his robes, carrying grit into his teeth. And beasts, they came at his party with all their strength.
“Lord Arzan, above!” Gareth’s voice rang out.
Kai’s eyes darted upward just in time to see the creature plummet.
It dropped from a ridge—a twisted thing with dry, lizard-like scales and leathery wings stretched tight between its limbs. Eight legs clung to its body like broken branches. Its jaw unhinged mid-air, tongue snapping forward like a whip aimed for Kai’s skull.
He rolled sideways, out of his mount, the creature’s tongue grazing his shoulder as it missed. A hiss split the air.
These things weren’t new to him. He’d heard about them from Ansel—Skyrakes. Not true fliers—Just beasts that glided through the air—but they made up for it with speed and predatory focus. In a place starved of mana, they used what little they had.
A second one lunged. Its tongue lashed out, and Kai ducked low, twisting. He flung a dagger without pause. The blade buried itself in the creature’s eye. It screeched, convulsed, then dropped from the air like a stone.
The third came straight for his chest.
Kai met it with the butt of his spear, blocking the impact with a grunt. The creature recoiled from the force, wings flapping in panic. He stepped in and drove his spear through its exposed chest. Blood splattered against the sand.
Another dropped in from above. This one aimed for his arm, fangs snapping.
Kai shifted, spun his spear horizontally, and shoved it into the beast’s throat. Its wings beat one last time before its body slumped to the ground.
Skyrakes clearly weren’t tough. But they were fast, and in numbers, they could be dangerous.
Just as Kai wiped his blade clean, movement caught his eye—three of the Skyrakes leapt toward a nearby boulder, their claws scraping against stone as they scrambled to flee.
Kai’s hand twitched, ready to summon wind or fire—but a blur shot past him before the mana even stirred.
Steel flashed once. Then twice. Then a third time.
The bodies of the fleeing beasts dropped, lifeless, landing with dull thuds in the sand.
Adil stood at the top of the boulder, blood dripping from his curved blade, his chest rising steadily. He glanced down at the fallen, gave a slight nod, and jumped back to the ground with ease. Sand puffed beneath his boots as he strode toward Kai.
He was the only tribal that came with him on this death mission and the one whose willingness to move with him surprised Kai the most. He'd arrived with a mount of his own when they were about to leave saying that they’d need a guide to the territory. Kai accepted his inclusion, not seeing any reason to reject, especially because the man didn't seem like he wanted to cause any trouble.
“You could’ve just used those flashy spells of yours,” Adil muttered in a dry voice.
Before Kai could answer, Gareth snorted. “Lord Arzan is saving his strength for Khorvash. These beasts aren't worthy to waste mana.”
Adil grunted, glancing at the corpses again.
“Then he should stay out of these warm-ups. I don’t need help handling bugs.”
Kai shrugged, spinning his spear once in his grip. “I’m trying to practice my spear skills.”
Adil narrowed his eyes. “Practice? You’re not a Sand Knight. What’s the point?”
A faint smirk tugged at Kai’s lips. The man still thought his strength came only from magic. That was fine. He let him think that.
Kai turned toward the others. He saw Claire and Kael standing in the back with their mounts.
“Everyone alright?” he asked.
Claire nodded. “We’re fine.”
Kael gave a thumbs-up. “Just a scratch.”
Feroy and Nerris had stayed behind. It was a deliberate choice—Kai needed trusted people to guide the tribals during the rebellion when it finally broke out. As for Rhea, she was safely tucked in Khalid’s home. She’d begged to come, but this wasn't training anymore. Khorvash was far beyond her level, and Kai had left her with new spells to study and strict instructions not to follow him.
He glanced back at the blood-soaked sand, then at the horizon ahead.
“We move,” he said, voice low. “And we avoid any more of their nests from now on.”
No one argued.
Adil swung up onto his mount, the beast grunting as it rose to its full height. “If we avoid their nests,” he said, brushing dust off his trousers, “we’ll have to deal with worse. This part of the desert crawls with things you don’t want to see whether night or day. The orcs let them breed, then hunt them like cattle.”
Kai climbed onto his own mount, the scaled creature shifting under his weight. Behind him, Claire adjusted her saddle and asked, “How far is Drah’Kuun? The one you said Khorvash controls.”
Adil guided his beast toward the front of the group, the wind tugging at his scarf. “Not far. Two hours, if we don’t run into a patrol. I’ve been there once. The outskirts, at least. We’ll see guards soon.”
Then his gaze slid to Kai, serious now. “You’ll need to start your plan once we do.”
“I know,” Kai replied, already turning inward again.
They moved again, sand kicking up behind them in soft clouds as they rode deeper into orc territory.
Kai leaned forward slightly on his mount, his eyes unfocused, lips pressed tight in thought.
The plan had multiple layers—most of it hinged on his spells. Not the basic ones anyone could learn, but the ones that carved through legions, spells originally forged for war. Fourth and fifth circle spells. The ones he worked to modify as they moved.
After awakening in this new life as Arzan, Kai had been forced to adapt to an environment full of mana and hence, he had created a basic spell structure he used for both of his fire and wind aspected spells that contained calculations that took in a vast amount of mana.
But in the desert, he had been modifying them back to take in as little mana as possible and even work more lethally against orcs.
With every beat of his mount’s stride, calculations played behind his eyes, reforming the spells to suit what he needed out of them.
Fortunately, there was no dead mana here to slow things down. That helped since he didn't have to add in the lines to filter it. But higher-circle spells weren’t forgiving. One misaligned structure, one delayed release, and the spell could backfire. Or explode. Still, this was his strength. He’d always been good with calculations and changing spell structures.
And so the ride became a moving workshop. Until Kael’s voice cut through his trance.
"I see orcs," Kael muttered, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun. His words carried just enough urgency to make the others slow their pace.
The mounts began to shuffle, sand kicking up under their feet as the group eased to a halt. Ahead, a trio of figures approached, dust swirling around them. They weren’t on foot. Each orc rode a beast the size of a wagon, thick with muscle and fur the color of burnt clay. Their horns curled wide like crescent moons, jagged at the tips, and their nostrils flared with each breath.
The animals looked bred for war—hooves cracking the dry earth, eyes burning with the same brutish menace as their riders.
The orcs seemed relaxed, talking among themselves in low grunts and short bursts of their harsh tongue. But as the distance closed, the tension thickened. The one in the center—broad, crooked nose taking up most of his face—grunted something and yanked on the reins, halting his mount. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
“Why the hell are you humans here?” His voice was rough, more bark than speech. “State your purpose, or you won't be able to walk back alive.”
No one answered right away. The wind rustled against cloth and leather, but the silence hung heavier than the heat.
Kai's eyes swept over them—no glow of enchantments, no marks of power. No artifacts. Unimportant, then. But still useful.
He swung down from his mount with fluid grace, sand hissing under his boots. Without hesitation, he lowered his head in a deep bow. Behind him, his party followed suit, each of them bowing as they'd practiced. Even Adil.
“I am honored to meet the esteemed Duneborns,” Kai said, sounding as sincere as possible. “My name is Arzan. I am a traveler from distant lands, drawn to the Ashari desert by the legend of Belkhor’s chosen.”
The orcs exchanged glances. Suspicion and confusion danced in their expressions. Kai watched them closely.
Crooked Nose—the leader, clearly—tilted his head like a dog hearing something strange. The bald one beside him scratched his ear, squinting at the group with dull suspicion. The third, lean and filthy, had a sour look and a crusted film around his mouth, as if water was a myth he'd never heard of. Of course, he knew that orcs weren’t big on hygiene, but this one was much worse. The stench wafting off him made Kai instinctively breathe through his mouth. He dubbed them silently—Big Nose, Bald Head, and Slimy.
Big Nose grunted again. “That doesn't answer why you’re here. Some foreigners with a tribal tagging along.”
His voice was sharper now, less curious and more hostile. The other two began to fan out, their mounts shifting restlessly. Kai lifted his head, a calm smile already in place.
The orc jabbed a thick finger toward Adil, his lip curling slightly. “Why is he with you if you are from distant lands?” he asked, gaze sharp.
Kai's pulse quickened—but only slightly. By the way they talked, they hadn't recognized Adil for who he truly was. That was good. The man had told him that not many orcs would recognise him and that had turned out to be true.
“A local guide,” Kai said smoothly, then raised his chin with a look of genuine reverence. “And I'm here because I'm searching for the Palace of Belkhor.”
That got their attention.
Big Nose’s eyes narrowed into slits. His grip on the reins tightened, nostrils flaring. “How do you know about that?” he growled.
Kai kept his calm smile. “I’m a scholar. A connoisseur and seeker of divine knowledge. Among all the gods of the world, it is Belkhor who commands the deepest awe. Not just power—but savagery, might, fearlessness. Humans worship many gods, but none can match the greatness of Belkhor.”
He watched the orcs’ faces closely, noting the twitch of pride in Big Nose’s brows and the flicker of interest from Bald Head. Slimy scratched his armpit.
“I’ve studied his monuments. Traveled far to trace his legend,” Kai continued, voice tinged with just enough zeal to sound convincing. “In one forgotten ruin, I found mention of the palace—hidden deep in Ashari’s sands. That’s what brought me here. I wish to see its glory.”
He let his words hang in the dry air, hoping the bait had been taken. Fanatics always wanted confirmation—someone to agree their god was the greatest. And Kai had given them that. More importantly, he hoped they’d catch the subtle flattery hidden beneath his tone.
But then Big Nose squinted at him, confusion drawing lines across his forehead. “What’s a... con-su... su-er?”
Kai blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “Connoisseur,” he corrected after a beat. “It means someone who knows a lot about something. An expert.”
Big Nose grunted, still scowling. “Strange word. But it’s good that even a human like yourself knows the greatness of Belkhor.”
For a moment, Kai thought it was working—until the orc’s face hardened again.
“But belief doesn't grant privilege,” Big Nose snapped. “The Palace of Belkhor isn't for human eyes. Not even faithful ones. Only Khorvash, our Champion, and his chosen can walk that path.”
He leaned forward on his saddle, eyes now sharp with warning. “So I’ll give you one chance, human. Turn back. Leave these lands. Or I’ll spill your blood here and now, and feed your bones to the sands.”
The other two orcs let out guttural laughs, hands resting a little too casually on the hilts of their weapons.
Kai’s heart sank a little. For a second, he genuinely began to wonder if he’d overestimated the average orc’s intelligence.
How could they not know what Khorvash was doing? The orc he’d interrogated had clearly said his subordinates were aware of the tower, the enchantments, the efforts to reach the top. So why weren’t these three catching on?
But just as he began to pivot on his heel, ready to feign retreat and circle back another way, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Slimy leaned toward Big Nose, whispering—though “whisper” was generous. His gravelly voice scratched the air like rocks on bark.
“Ask about the tower... if he knows how it works.”
Kai almost revised the nickname on the spot. Maybe he was too harsh to judge Slimy, the orc was helpful.
Big Nose’s gaze returned to him. “You said you’ve visited Belkhor’s monuments. That you read records of the palace.”
Kai dipped his chin. “That’s right.”
A long pause occured. Big Nose’s next words were slower. “Then do you know how it works? The palace. The inner floors. How to climb them.”
Kai allowed a flicker of a smile to curve at the edge of his mouth. “Yes,” he said, steady. “Most of the places I visited had human runes engraved on the walls. I understand them. I know how to read them.”
All three orcs turned to each other this time, trading glances, jaws tight. Slimy shifted excitedly in his saddle, and Bald Head’s eyes lit up with a shade of hope—or greed.
Big Nose’s gaze returned like a hammer. “You truly know it?”
Kai bowed again respectfully. “I would never lie to the children of Belkhor.”
A moment of silence passed again. Then the orc grunted. “Very well. You come with us. Overlord Khorvash will want to hear you speak.”
Kai bowed slightly. But before he could signal the others, Big Nose jerked a thumb at his companions. “They won't come with you. Your friends can turn back. Especially the tribal. No tribals allowed.”
The words came like a snap of dry wood.
Kai's eyes flicked to his companions—Adil’s jaw clenched, Claire’s brow tightened, Kael's fingers twitched near his blade, only Gareth kept his composure—and then back to the orcs.
“They’re believers too,” Kai said quickly, keeping the urgency from his tone. “We’ve all travelled together for this. They’ve studied the texts with me. They only wish to witness the palace. They won’t speak, won’t interfere. Just let them see it.”
Big Nose’s lip curled. “Don’t need more filthy humans walking our divine palace. Especially a tribal.”
Kai placed a hand over his chest, bowing slightly again. “Believers of Belkhor are never filthy. They’re just... misguided souls who found the right path.”
Another silence.
The three orcs looked at one another again. Slimy scratched his shoulder, muttered something that might have been agreement. Bald Head shrugged.
Big Nose’s face twisted in thought, his brows furrowed like he was trying to chew through a rock with his mind. Before he could spit out another word, Bald Head gave a short grunt and jabbed a thick finger toward Claire. A low, ugly chuckle rumbled from his throat like dry gravel rolling down a hill.
Big Nose followed the gesture, his beady eyes settling on her. A slow, mocking smirk crept up his face. Then he turned back to Kai.
“Fine,” he said at last. “They can come. But none of them speak. Not one word. We don’t want human tongues wagging in our lands.”
Kai gave a small nod, keeping his expression carefully blank.
But then Big Nose added, “And before they leave… that one”—he jabbed his thumb at Claire—“stays with us. For a while.”
Bald Head’s laugh got louder. Slimy licked his lips. Behind Kai, he felt Claire stiffen. Kael narrowed his eyes, his knuckles white. Adil shifted like he was ready to draw.
Kai didn’t let his expression crack. He bowed his head slightly again, shoulders loose, eyes calm.
“Of course,” he said, voice smooth as polished stone. “Whatever you say.”
But inside, something in him burned hotter than the desert sun. They were already dead pieces of animals—just didn’t know it yet.
He would deal with Khorvash first. Then, when the dust had settled and the tower was his, he’d find these three again.
And make sure they never opened their mouths or laid eyes on a woman, ever again.
2025-06-29 14:10:07 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 132
Chen Ren hadn’t planned to stay three days.
Yet there he was, still in Jadefire Hall, sipping tea that had gone cold for the fourth time that morning, while Hun Tianzhi scrawled red ink across yet another clause of the contract. The old man wasn’t stalling. No, he was precise—disgustingly so. Every line was questioned, every vague word challenged. Chen Ren had half a mind to just toss the agreement out the window, but then again, each debate ended up improving the proposal.
Hun Tianzhi was too old to fall for sweet words. He wanted numbers, conditions and guarantees that things could work.
So he did what he did best—bargained without giving the full picture.
Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? Jadefire Hall was bleeding. Their pill revenue was nearly dust, their disciples were barely scraping by harvesting outside the border, and the debt was still chewing at the old sect’s bones. It wasn’t a fair trade—but it was the only one left.
Taking them in meant Chen Ren would be suddenly responsible for them. If he was honest, he had to dodge around the topic of how much wealth the Divine Coin Sect possessed. Alchemy was expensive, hence he knew Hun Tianzhi had expectations and with that came conditions that he insisted on having on the contract. That was fair in Chen Ren’s eyes but he didn’t want to say how much money they'd have right now.
Since it… wasn’t enough.
He had planned to succeed in the pill market and use that money to fund more in alchemy research, but he couldn’t tell it outright. The negotiations might have failed then and there, since it was necessary for Hun Tianzhi to believe that they would one hundred percent succeed. Hence, he simply agreed to the terms: Till they set up their pill business, relocation wouldn’t be necessary.
That provided Chen Ren enough room, and the old man didn’t seem to mind it, actually looking forward to it as having another go at the Jadefire Hall sect.
The debates didn’t end there.
“How will my disciples be ranked in your sect?” Hun Tianzhi asked.
“There’s no inner or outer system in the Divine Coin Sect.”
“What?” Hun Tianzhi asked loudly, almost shocked by what Chen Ren said.
“We sort them by realm.”
The silence that followed was long. The old man frowned like he was trying to understand whether he’d heard blasphemy or brilliance. Before he could respond, Chen Ren dropped the next stone.
“We also have mortals.”
Now that had made Hun Tianzhi sit up straight. His lips parted slightly, brows pinching as though he’d just bitten into something sour.
“You can’t be serious. Mortals? As full members? That’s absurd. They’d slow you down. Worse—they’d be liabilities.” The word was spat out like a spoiled pill. It hadn’t ended there, it continued with Hun Tianzhi weighing all the cons on why Chen Ren shouldn’t have mortals or give them responsibilities around the sect.
Chen Ren didn’t argue with his points, because he knew this was non-negotiable. He had just met his eyes and said that he wouldn’t throw them out. He also didn’t reveal about his guns—not yet, or the fact that mortals would be needed with the pill production.
Hun Tianzhi had muttered something about decorum and folded the sleeve of his robe tighter, but he didn’t bring it up again.
Chen Ren half-expected the man to have a heart attack once he actually showed him the process of what they were doing. The worldview shift was going to hit hard but that moment wasn’t here yet. For now, the negotiations had to continue.
And they did even after a dozen cups of tea, four long walks, two short naps, and with more back-and-forth than a coin caught in mid-flip.
To his relief, Hun Tianzhi proved easier to work with than expected—as long as the conversations were concrete. The old man didn’t care much for big dreams, but once Chen Ren began talking about modified pill recipes—especially ones that hadn't been brewed for centuries due to missing ingredients—Hun Tianzhi leaned in, elbow on the table, eyes practically gleaming.
That was when Chen Ren knew he had him.
They reached an agreement before the fourth day began. Hun Tianzhi would stay on as a researcher, focused solely on pushing alchemy forward, while Chen Ren would act as an investor of sorts—funding the operation, handling logistics, and taking care of every mundane necessity the old man didn’t want to deal with.
As for Jadefire Hall disciples, they would supervise the pill production Divine Coin Sect disciples performed.
Chen Ren had used the word “disciples” generously. He doubted Hun Tianzhi realized he meant mortals with no cultivation at all. But that was fine. Let him think there were alchemists back in the Divine Coin Sect—actual ones. By the time he found out the truth, the system would already be running too smoothly to question.
Besides, Hun Tianzhi wasn’t thinking about hierarchy. He was fixated on something else entirely.
“Recipes,” he’d said at one point, practically salivating over the old scrolls Chen Ren had casually mentioned. “Do you really have records of the Verdant Flesh Pill? And the Azure Draught?”
What he had was the recipes provided by Wang Jun, the ones the head had wanted him to use for the pill business.
“Fragments,” Chen Ren had replied. “Not complete. But with some work...”
Hun Tianzhi had waved a hand as if to say: Leave the work to me.
That ended that discussion.
Chen Ren’s plan was simple. Pour spirit stones into developing long-lost pills. Rebuild them using new ingredients, new methods—make them sustainable. And once that was done? Brand them as Divine Coin Sect exclusives.
He couldn’t rely on low-grade recovery pills forever and had to venture out in the future. He needed to plant the foundation of it now.
Fortunately, once everything was talked about, Hun Tianzhi was more than ready to agree to the cooperation.
Chen Ren expected the old man to visit the sect first, see things for himself before agreeing completely. But he’d been trusting. If Chen Ren held true to the promises, he’d assured things would go fine between them. Therefore he had agreed with a bow, knowing this kind of trust could go a long way if done right—especially considering Hun Tianzhi didn’t even insist on doing a qi oath. It was a calculated risk the old man took, but Chen Ren intended to make sure that he and his disciples wouldn’t have anything to worry about.
But even after they’d discussed everything, there was still one thing left—the debt.
It was honestly the most risk he’d taken in a business deal till now. Five thousand low-grade spirits stones. Enough to ruin most small sects, and the root cause of their disciples fleeing like startled geese. But it was the most necessary part of getting himself an alchemy hall and shop.
One thing for certain, he was confident in paying it back in a month or two of opening the shop. He knew that things could go wrong and his business wouldn’t do well as he expected, but he believed even the lowest estimation of it would make him breakeven. There was a problem, though.
If someone used the debt to try to strangle his business before they could pay back, it would ruin things and turn them into shambles.
From what Hun Tianzhi had shared, the money hadn’t just come from some neutral city lender. It had come from a man named Daoist Xu Leiyan, a retired foundation establishment cultivator and a member of the merchant guild in the city who, apparently, had traded pill bottles for pleasure houses. The man had a few mortal wives—or concubines, depending on how charitable one wanted to be—and a history of lending to struggling sects. Struggling sects that Darkmoon Sect conveniently ended up destroying.
Chen Ren didn’t believe in coincidence. He didn’t trust Xu Leiyan, and he didn’t trust anything even remotely connected to Darkmoon Sect.
Which was why, when the clerk at the office of Xu Leiyan handed him the transfer document and asked him to confirm the terms, Chen Ren cleared his throat.
“I’d like to add a clause.”
The young clerk, barely older than twenty and still smelling of fresh ink and nervous sweat, blinked at him. “Clause?”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I want it in writing that for the next ninety days, you can’t claim or seize any properties or assets under my name.”
The clerk looked baffled. “You… want us to not be able to collect on the debt?”
“I want a buffer window,” Chen Ren said smoothly. “Ninety days. No asset collection. No pressure visits. No subtle threats. After that, all standard terms apply.”
The clerk frowned, looking at the scroll again, then at Hun Tianzhi, who sat beside him with a quiet, guilty look—like a man watching someone willingly step into the same trap he had once fallen into.
“I can’t change the interest rate,” the clerk warned, his tone slightly defensive. “This is one of the highest-risk debts on our books. Nine percent monthly is standard.”
Chen Ren raised a hand. “I’m not arguing that. Keep the rate. I’m asking for a clause in the new contract. The debt is changing ownership. That gives room for renegotiation. Ninety days is all I need.”
The clerk still didn’t look convinced. From the side, he glanced at Hun Tianzhi, who hadn’t said a word yet.
“Daoist Hun,” the clerk said carefully, “I’ve advised you before, haven’t I? Selling your shop, the cauldrons, even the land—those would’ve eased this months ago.”
“I wouldn’t be able to cover it,” Hun Tianzhi said suddenly. “Even if I sold both the sect grounds and the shop property in Broken Ridge City.”
Chen Ren turned his head slightly, listening.
“The shop might fetch a decent price,” the old man continued, “but the sect property? It’s worthless to most. Rogue cultivators don’t need a place like that, and every sect or clan already has their own lands.” He paused. “As for my personal artifacts and cauldrons… those aren’t for sale. Not now. Not ever.”
The clerk glanced between the two of them, then leaned forward on his desk. “But you’re handing your sect and its debt over to this man?”
“We’ve discussed the terms.” Hun Tianzhi folded his hands. “And they’re fair. He’s offering better conditions than any I’ve been given in the past two years.”
The clerk hesitated, then nodded. “Then I won’t ask further.” He turned back to Chen Ren. “You do know if you fail to make even the interest payments, we’re fully entitled to act?”
“I know. And I will pay the interest on time. All I’m asking is that no other actions are taken—no seizures, no forceful visits—for ninety days, as long as I make those payments.”
The clerk leaned back, squinting at him. “I don’t get it. If you’re confident about paying, why the buffer window?”
Chen Ren offered a faint smile. “You’ll understand in the next three months. I’m not asking you to take a loss. You’re getting your interest. I’m simply limiting the damage others can do if things go… unexpectedly.”
The clerk looked uncertain. “Still… it’s not up to me. I’ll have to speak to my father.”
“Your father?” Chen Ren raised a brow.
The young man straightened slightly, pride creeping into his tone. “I’m the twenty-ninth son of Daoist Xu Leiyan.”
Ah.
Chen Ren quietly adjusted the young man’s status in his mind. Twenty-ninth son might not hold much power, but it was still better than being some nameless clerk.
“Very well,” Chen Ren said. “Please speak with Daoist Xu. I believe he’ll see reason. What I’m asking won’t harm your business at all.”
The clerk frowned and rubbed his palms together. “Maybe. But he’ll still want to know your reasoning.”
Chen Ren didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small pouch, placing it gently on the table. The clerk picked it up, gave it a careful sniff, and his eyes lit up.
“Are these pills?”
“Qi Replenishment pills,” Chen Ren said. “Each one tested at sixty percent purity. Consider it a small gift, for the trouble of presenting this proposal in the best light.”
The clerk weighed the pouch in his palm for a long moment. Greed flickered in his gaze before he cleared his throat. “Very well. I’ll bring this to him and start drafting the contract for transfer of ownership. I hope you won’t regret this.”
Chen Ren smiled.
“I won’t. This—” he tapped the scroll on the table “—might just be the most important part of everything I plan in Broken Ridge City.”
***
Thankfully, the clerk came back with good news. His father had agreed to the ninety-day clause Chen Ren asked for. This meant for the next three months, no one could try to take Chen Ren’s property or resources because of the debt—even if he hadn’t paid it off yet. It gave him a sense of relief and a clear deadline. He now had exactly three months to get his business up and running, and to start making money before anyone could cause trouble.
The pill shop that used to belong to the Jadefire Hall sect was still in great condition. Chen Ren had already looked through it and found that there wasn’t much work needed. They just had to remove any traces of the previous sect, clean the place up, and give it a new name. He asked Anji and Tang Boming to handle all of that while he focused on something more important—the production side of things.
Instead of setting up the pill-making in a new place, Chen Ren decided it would be smarter to use the old Jadefire Hall building. It already had enough space and all the alchemy tools were still there. He didn’t have to waste time or effort moving anything around.
To get started, he called for the mortals from Divine Coin Sect who had been training under Qing He. These people had been learning the standardized pill-making method, and within a few days, they arrived at the new location, bringing with them the materials they needed.
Chen Ren had picked three types of pills to start with. All of them were in high demand and used common ingredients, which made things easier. He also bought more ingredients from the local market in Broken Ridge City. Thanks to his method of standardization, they could make a much larger number of pills in each batch compared to traditional methods. In no time, they would have enough pills for a full-scale launch.
When Chen Ren explained the plan to Hun Tianzhi, especially the part where mortals would handle the actual pill-making, the old man was shocked. At first, he didn’t believe it and even got angry. How could mortals make pills without qi? It went against everything he had been taught.
Chen Ren didn’t want it to escalate into an argument. Instead, he asked Hun Tianzhi and his disciples to take a qi oath that they wouldn’t share the method with anyone. This was important because the method was easy to copy, and Chen Ren wanted to keep it a secret advantage. The disciples and the old man agreed—probably because they were too curious to say no.
And then came the real surprise.
When Chen Ren finally showed them how the mortals made pills using spirit water, set timing, and perfect measurements, it left them stunned. They just stood there, watching the whole process, silent. It was clear that everything they thought they knew about alchemy had been shaken.
In the end, some even looked like they were questioning their life choices.
2025-06-29 14:07:07 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 131
Throughout the meeting with Hun Tianzhi, Chen Ren couldn’t shake the feeling that the old man in front of him was misunderstanding something. He didn’t bother asking about it or correcting him, though. From the moment Chen Ren brought up the idea of acquisition, Hun Tianzhi’s eyes had shifted—first flashing with anger, then narrowing with caution, softening into respect when Chen Ren talked about the elders in his sect, and finally settling into something close to realization when Darkmoon Sect entered the conversation.
The old man likely hadn’t noticed Chen Ren watching him, but it was hard to miss. His smile never wavered, he could tell it was a mask, but every time he paused to think or took another sip of his tea (which was a lot throughout the hour long conversation), something flickered in his eyes. They were small shifts but they told Chen Ren enough.
Still, he was glad. Even if he hadn’t yet looked into Jadefire Hall’s full resources, Hun Tianzhi didn’t strike him as the sort of man who’d be difficult to work with. Before, the old man would’ve laughed at the proposal the moment it left Chen Ren’s lips. But now? Now he was clearly considering it.
And that was a win in itself.
By the time their tea was finished, Hun Tianzhi confirmed Chen Ren’s growing impression of him—offering a tour of the sect with the kind of casual hospitality that didn’t feel forced. They found Yalan, Tang Boming, and Tao Liu waiting outside by a small pond. From there, the group followed Hun Tianzhi deeper into the sect grounds, heading toward the Jadefire Hall’s herbal gardens.
It was there that the rumours proved true.
Hun Tianzhi surely wasn’t the ordinary sect leader one would expect—he was an alchemy scholar at heart. The moment they stepped between rows of deftly cultivated plants, the old man’s voice came alive. He stopped beside a tall stalk with thin crimson-veined leaves and began speaking at length about it.
“As you know,” he began, “Soothroot leaves are often used to feed young spiritual beasts that cultivators rear. Most think it’s simply because the creatures like the taste, but that’s only part of it.” He crouched beside one of the pots, brushing a thumb across the leaf gently. “These leaves have a compound in them, nearly impossible to extract—that naturally calms aggression and encourages docility. Makes the beasts easier to train… even friendlier.”
He looked up, eyes twinkling slightly. “Now, it’s very, very difficult to use them in alchemy. Because they’re very volatile. They break down fast and don’t react well to spiritual heat. Only beast bodies can seem to handle it. But Tao Liu here—” he turned, gesturing at his disciple, who stood behind him with hands politely clasped, “—is cultivating a small batch for me. I’m working on a potion that might be the first to properly use it. It could revolutise alchemy.”
Chen Ren nodded, not for the first time. This was the thirteenth rare plant today. And there was one thing in common for every plant—they all came with their own story. “So, it's a potion that affects hormones. Hmm,” he said, more to himself more than others.
“Hormones?” Hun Tianzhi’s confused voice dragged him out of his thoughts.
Hormones… Right. He doesn’t know what it means. Chen Ren gave a slight chuckle. “Think of them as… chemical messengers inside our body. They handle a lot of things—growth, energy, even mood. What you’re trying to make might influence those, push a person’s emotions one way or another.”
A light nictitate in the old man’s eyes and for a brief moment, he looked less like a weary sect leader and more like a child hearing a new bedtime story.
“Huh… Fascinating,” he whispered. He looked at Chen Ren directly when he spoke next. “You have quite extensive and mysterious knowledge, Sect Leader Chen. I would love to learn more about it, if you’re willing.”
Chen Ren simply smiled. “Just things I picked up from someone wiser.”
Hun Tianzhi nodded again, slowly this time, as if confirming something in his mind. He didn’t ask further, and Chen Ren didn’t correct him.
They left the herbal garden behind and began the climb up one of the higher ridges. Different sizes of stone steps curved around the slope, leaning to chambers that carved directly into the cliffside.
“This is where our disciples come to practice pill-making,” the old man said as they reached the plateau. “Most of the chambers are empty now.”
Chen Ren looked at the passing doors and his thoughts turned to what he wanted to ask from Hun Tianzhi. It was a good time to learn more about the debt that he got to know from Tang Boming.
“Can I ask you something?” he said in a respectful tone. “If it won’t offend you.”
“Of course, Sect Leader Chen. I’m not one of those wrinkled fossils who take offence at every word. Speak freely.”
Chen Ren nodded once. “How did your sect end up with such a heavy debt?”
Hun Tianzhi’s steps slowed. His smile didn’t vanish, but something in it dimmed. “Ah…” he murmured, glancing toward the clouds drifting past the peaks. “I figured you must’ve heard whispers in the city.”
“I’d rather hear it from you,” Chen Ren said simply.
Before Hun Tianzhi could respond, a voice piped up from behind.
“It’s all my fault,” Tau Liu said, lowering his head. His hands clenched the helm of his robes. “If I hadn’t brought that man to Master…”
Hun Tianzhi stopped in his tracks and turned, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Tau Liu,” he said firmly, “you need to stop carrying that blame. You didn’t know. None of us did.”
“But I trusted him,” the disciple muttered, still not meeting anyone’s gaze. “He said he could help, and I believed him.”
Chen Ren watched them, a small furrow forming on his brow. The pieces didn’t quite connect yet. “What happened?” he asked, glancing between the two.
Hun Tianzhi looked ahead again and exhaled slowly. All of a sudden, he sounded like a man who kept a secret hidden for so long and was reluctant to talk about it.
“It was two years ago,” he began. “We were finally making headway in Broken Ridge City. Disciples were refining pills daily, our name was beginning to matter. I started thinking… maybe this dream of mine, this haven of pure alchemical pursuit, might actually become real.”
He paused, stepping over a flat stone, then continued.
“But peace never lasts in this world. The Darkmoon Sect saw us growing and didn’t like it. One by one, the hunting teams we’d made deals to gather herbs and other ingredients with started backing out. I went to ask them why.” Hun Tianzhi’s eyes narrowed slightly, not in anger, but memory. “They wouldn’t say much. Just that it wasn’t convenient anymore.
“We had no choice. My disciples had to go outside the city, into the wilds, to gather ingredients themselves. That was when the trouble really began.”
Hun Tianzhi exhaled through his nose, the lines on his face deepening as he spoke again.
“After that,” he said quietly, “Darkmoon Sect stopped hiding their hands. I’m certain now—there were already spies in our ranks. They began turning hearts slowly. Gentle words, promises of better resources, recognition… This and that. One by one, disciples I had taught with my own hands left. Some didn’t even say goodbye.”
He looked up at the narrow path winding ahead of them.
“Supplies dried up soon after,” Hun Tianzhi continued. “The merchants stopped any business with us. The few who did… well, they wanted prices only a fool would accept. And you’ve seen it—our land’s not under a proper qi vein. Our herbs were already growing slow. With no materials, our production dropped. And with that, our income.
“Trying to get suppliers from other places didn’t work until one day.”
Tau Liu spoke then. “It all started with me,” he said, voice tight. “I met him first.”
Hun Tianzhi turned, shaking his head, but the disciple pressed on, eyes darkened by guilt.
“I was in the Wild lands,” Tau Liu said. “The outer edges, near the old ruins. I’d gone out hunting—trying to gather rare ingredients myself. Stupid idea, I know. I was already injured when a xila worm showed up.”
Chen Ren blinked. Xila worms were huge caterpillar-like beasts, usually twice the size of a horse, covered in bristles that sprayed acidic mist. He had heard about them from Tang Boming when he had asked about the dangers of the wild lands. Fighting one alone in open land was a death sentence.
Tau Liu nodded, seeing the recognition in Chen Ren’s face. “It nearly tore me in two. But then he showed up—A meridian expansion realm cultivator. Killed the worm like it was nothing. I was… I was grateful. He even helped treat my injuries.”
He shook his head slowly.
“We talked,” Tau Liu went on. “I told him about the sect, about our struggles and why I was there. And he said he could help. He’d been living away from sects, some hidden trail within the empire. A hermit, basically. He said he was looking for someone who could make a peak earth-grade pill for him—the Silver Root Ascension Pill.”
Chen Ren stiffened slightly. That pill was no joke. Extremely complex, incredibly rare and one used for breakthroughs as implied in its name.
“That should’ve been the first red flag,” Tau Liu muttered. “Someone like him could’ve just gone to a Guardian Sect. They’d have given it for a favour. Or even auctioned one if he offered enough. Why would a man like that come to Broken Ridge of all places?”
“Tau Liu brought the man to me,” Hun Tianzhi said, his hands behind his back. “He was polite, well-spoken. Carried himself with the calm of someone used to strength. Said he was interested in a long-term contract… if I could make the Silver Root Ascension Pill for him. He gave me half the ingredients,” Hun Tianzhi continued. “Rare ones, ones you can’t just fake. That’s what convinced me. Said he was still searching for the other half but if I could get them myself, he’d pay me in full the moment I gave him the finished pill.”
Chen Ren’s brows rose slightly, but he still didn’t interrupt.
“I used what little spirit stones I had left,” the old man said with a soft, tired chuckle. “Even called in favours from old friends. I sent word to the markets in the capital. Took a loan from Broken Ridge’s merchant guild. All of it to make one pill.”
Chen Ren didn’t need to hear the rest.
He turned to the man. “But he didn’t buy the pill. Or pay for the materials.”
“No,” he said. “He took the pill. Told me it wasn’t the quality he needed. That it wouldn’t help his breakthrough.”
“And you couldn’t make him pay,” Chen Ren added, though it wasn’t a question.
The old man gave a slow nod. “I tried. Even shouted at him in front of the sect gates. He just looked at me like I was a barking dog. I knew I couldn’t win—not against someone like him. He was stronger. Much stronger.”
A long silence followed as they reached the outer walkway of the alchemy chambers. Disciples had once filled the halls here, Chen Ren could tell from the setup—ventilation channels, fire-control arrays, but now, the place was undisturbed.
“I even wrote to the Emperor’s Office,” Hun Tianzhi added, almost absently. “Filed an official report. But… they don’t bother with things like this. Two cultivators fighting over a failed deal isn’t important enough for them. Not when no cities were razed. The City Lord’s office gave me the same answer.”
Chen Ren sighed. “I’m sorry that happened.” Truly, that was unfortunate. “Do you think… the Darkmoon Sect—”
Hun Tianzhi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to.
“I think so,” he said in a flat voice. “Too many things lined up. Too many things fell apart, one after another.” He looked back at Chen Ren, somehow his face felt older than before. “They didn’t just want to beat us in alchemy. They wanted to destroy us from the root.”
The story stayed with Chen Ren long after it ended, lingering like a bitter taste on the tongue. It stayed as a cruel and clear reminder on just how far the Darkmoon Sect would go to wipe their enemies from the map. Hell, they wouldn’t stop at crushing, but at burying every trace beneath layers and layers of shame and debt.
After that, they walked slowly and silently through the corridor that led into the alchemy chambers. He looked around, large cauldrons stood like statues, spaced out in perfect symmetry. They all showed signs of wear and history–proud and clear—burnt marks, inscriptions worn soft from years of use, lids that had been clearly mended more than once. It was quite the sight.
They blended well with shelves and shelves lined on the walls stacked with different bottles, herbs, dried roots, and racks filled with tools that Chen Ren saw for the first time.
He trailed his fingers across one heavy cauldron rim as he passed, feeling the deep grooves etched into the bronze. It was old—older than the sect itself, maybe. And well-used.
“They’re not bought, you know,” Hun Tianzhi said beside him, voice light with a hint of pride. “I earned every one of these.”
Chen Ren turned to glance at the old man, who had his hands tucked behind him, eyes half-closed like he was remembering something from far away.
“First one was won during the Firewind Alchemy Meet in Green Vale,” the old man continued, nodding at a squat red cauldron with strange spirals carved around its base. “That was thirty-seven years ago. That tall one over there? From the Pill Tower Invitational. Narrowly beat a Foundation establishment realm cultivator with a lotus-based restoration pill.”
Chen Ren raised a brow, genuinely impressed. “That’s… impressive, Sect Leader Hun.”
Hun Tianzhi gave a small shrug, but the pride in his voice said enough. “There’s one more. My best one. Silver-bodied, resistant to most things that could break a cauldron. But I keep it in my private chamber.”
Chen Ren caught the unspoken words easily. He nodded with a small smile. “Then I’ll look forward to seeing it someday. But even all of these have impressed me a lot.”
As he turned away from the rows of cauldrons, his gaze swept over the space again, mind ticking rapidly. Even if they didn’t have many disciples left, the chamber itself was worth keeping. With some refurbishing, maybe a stronger qi-gathering array, it could be converted into a proper research and refining lab. The location was a problem—it wasn’t exactly close to the Divine Coin Sect’s base—but for production purposes, it was perfect. It could work like a satellite branch, a supply and a research and development hub just for Broken Ridge City.
He mulled over that silently before turning to the old man again. “If I may ask… how many disciples are still here?”
“Ten,” Hun said. “Including Tau Liu.”
Chen Ren simply nodded, showing no change in expression. That wasn’t a problem—if anything, it made things easier. He didn’t have the space to suddenly house dozens of disciples, and those that had stayed must have belief in Hun Tianzhi, so he wouldn’t have to deal with any resistance that came from taking over a sect.
He stepped back from one of the central cauldrons, folding his hands behind him. “Your sect has impressed me a great deal, Sect Leader Hun. If I may be direct—what do you truly think of Divine Coin Sect acquiring Jadefire Hall?”
Hun Tianzhi didn’t answer right away. And Tau Liu looked between the two of them, clearly puzzled. His brows furrowed slightly, but he said nothing, sensing this wasn’t a conversation meant for him just yet.
Hun Tianzhi, however, finally gave a small nod. “It does interest me,” he said slowly. “Though I’ll admit, I still have some… trepidations about how it might work.”
His gaze drifted out of the chamber window for a brief moment, as if pulled back to some far-off memory.
“My time in another sect, back when I was a younger man… It wasn't exactly pleasant. I’ll also have to ask for my disciples’ thoughts before I agree to anything. They’re few, but they’ve stayed through the worst. Their opinion matters.”
“Yes, that’s fair. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Before I leave, I’d like for us to sit and go over everything in detail—your sect’s debt, my plan for how the acquisition would work, and how we’ll take a slice of the pill market in Broken Ridge City.”
Hun Tianzhi frowned at that. “You’re very confident, Sect Leader Chen. You realize I haven’t said yes yet.”
“I know. I’m just very good at negotiations. You’ll see—within the next couple of hours.”
2025-06-27 12:39:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 241
Knowing exactly what they were dealing with gave Kai an edge and he knew it. Every piece of information the orc had let slip gave him leverage to gather the tribes together. The very moment he shared it with Maari and Sahlira, he felt the atmosphere shift. At the same time, he realised that they were on an extremely strict deadline.
But it turned out to be a hidden blessing since it didn’t give any leaders time to drag their feet or get lost in pride and caution. He had solid grounds to press on the fact that they had to act fast. Maari and Sahlira agreed.
Thus, the discussion shifted toward the future plans. They drafted heralds to send word to every known tribe across the desert. The message that was sent was clear and open, they were taking on the orcs to save their children.
He knew that giving out whatever he had found out would prompt the tribals to stop rotting in their fears and move to act. Some, he expected, would be too afraid. Some would call it a trap, a fool’s errand. And he was right—not everyone came.
But more than he’d hoped for, did. They chose to gather at the City hall of the five tribe council. It was apparently located in the centre of the desert, and according to Maari, the council hall at its heart was the only building large enough to host so many chieftains at once.
The sun was just starting the climb when they began to arrive. One by one, the leaders entered the hall, and they were all flanked by guards bearing the marks of their tribes.
The council greeted each one. Formal words were exchanged, but the tension was clear. This wasn’t a festival or market day. This was war talk. The air inside the hall was thick with suspicion, hope, and something deeper—the weight of old wounds and lost sons.
Kai stood at the front, his gaze steady as tribe after tribe entered. He didn’t speak yet. Not until the room was full. Not until all eyes turned toward him.
Each tribe that arrived came bearing more than just banners and guards—they came armed with doubts. And before the meeting could even begin, the same questions echoed again and again across the stone walls of the city hall.
“Did you really capture an orc general?”
“Is Khorvash’s strength truly not divine, but stolen from a Mage’s tower?”
“Are our people really held inside that place?”
Kai had expected skepticism. What caught him off guard was how quickly that skepticism turned to unease the moment they saw him and his party. Loud whispers were exchanged—a foreigner? What was he doing here? And they'd been even more shocked to know that he was the one to interrogate the orc. More than one leader demanded proof, refusing to suddenly believe things. Narrowed eyes, crossed arms and accusations that came from a place of distrust were thrown at him one after the other. One even scoffed aloud, calling it blasphemy.
But Sahlira’s voice silenced them all, “I was right there when it happened,” she said. “I saw it with my own eyes. I heard what the orc said. Whatever information was given to you all is true.”
That shut them up for a moment. Even still, Kai could feel their heavy eyes on him.
He didn’t like it—but he understood it. He was an outsider, standing in the heart of ancient tribes.
By the time the final tribal leader set foot inside the hall, the sun was high, flooding through the openings in the roof and lighting it up. The doors shut behind the last guest with a groan of finality, and the meeting began without further delay.
Khalid stepped forward to speak. "You already know what brought us here," he began. "For years, we've watched Khorvash rise in power, subjugating tribes, silencing rebellions—our men and women had died because of him! And our children…"
He let those words hang for a moment before continuing with a firm voice. That was the beginning of his speech and soon, he started briefing the leaders about what happened in the last week and why they were suddenly talking about going to war with the orcs.
Although the information had been spread among them before he spoke, it only made sense to give an official briefing.
“I already explained before that we now know that Khorvash is trying to climb up the tower where their newfound strength comes from. He’d only breached the ground floor, but had been blocked from climbing the tower due to enchanted gates. That’s what the abductions are for—he needs people who can read the runes and break the seals."
Murmurs rippled across the room. Some leaned forward. Others scowled.
"If we strike now," Khalid pressed on, "we have a chance to stop him. But if we wait—if he succeeds in unlocking the tower—then this suppression of ours?" He shook his head. "It might become something worse. Something like slavery, if it's not that already."
Kai scanned the hall, watching reactions like a hawk. A few of the leaders nodded, quiet agreement showing in their clenched jaws and somber eyes. But not everyone looked convinced.
A deep voice cut through the tension.
"And if we fail? We would die."
All eyes turned to the speaker—a burly man with sun-darkened skin, long braided hair streaked with grey, and a beard like a lion’s mane. His arms were crossed, his voice laced with challenge. Kai recognised him as Panek from the earlier introduction when the man had entered the hall.
“We are dying either way,” another man said. He was older than most, with white streaks lining his thick black hair and sun-creased skin pulled tight over high cheekbones. “You know Khorvash. If he gains more strength, he won’t hide it. He’ll come down on us the moment we do something he doesn’t like—maybe because we didn't give him as much in taxes, or say the wrong thing. Or worse, he’ll take us with him if he ever decides to go to war outside Ashari. And we’ll be nothing more than meat shields in his armies.”
A heavy silence followed.
That man had said what Kai had been thinking since the interrogation. Khorvash wasn’t building strength for defense—he was preparing for something greater, and he was willing to use every tribal child to get there.
But while the room wrestled with the weight of those words, Kai stayed quiet. It gave him time to do what he had come here for besides pushing the council—observe.
He let his eyes scan each of the gathered leaders, noting expressions, subtle twitches, body language. Some nodded quietly, already leaning toward war. Others said little but seemed ready to follow the majority if it meant their tribes would survive. But a few kept their arms folded too tight, their faces too still, eyes too cold.
Kai didn’t trust stillness in a room meant for movement. Especially not when Maari had warned him that some tribes had already sold themselves completely to the Duneborns—sworn loyalty to the orcs for food, weapons, or the illusion of peace. She had made sure none of those tribes were invited today, but even so, Kai knew there could still be spies among them. Those willing to nod along now and sell them out later.
That’s why Gareth and Ansel were quietly working in the background, eyes sharper than blades, ears wide open. And he hoped it would be enough.
Tension began to rise again. The meeting was slowly boiling over, voices turning sharp, arguments slipping into repetition. Those against the idea of an attack had dug their heels in, not with strategy, but fear. Fear to lose their lives and become something they didn’t want to be for orcs when they retaliate.
And then Panek finally snapped out the question that had been simmering beneath the surface.
“You’re asking us to start a war based on the word of an outsider,” he said, his upper lip curling. “You say there’s a Mage tower. That this is where the orcs strength comes from. But none of us have seen it. Not one. And you tell us it’s invisible?” He scoffed. “With all due respect, does that not sound stupid to anyone else?”
That earned him a few nods and murmured agreements.
“An orc already verified those claims,” Khalid emphasized his words again.
The burly man who’d been stirring the pot scoffed and spat to the side. “He could’ve been feeding you lies. Dying breath nonsense to throw us off. You’d risk all our tribes on that?”
And then—finally—he turned fully toward Kai. Up until now, the man had barely spared him a glance, like a scorpion circling but waiting to strike.
“And this man,” he said, voice curling with scorn. “Why is he still here? He already gave you whatever he got from the orc, didn’t he? You’re going to let a foreigner sit in on our war talks like one of us?”
Before anyone else could speak, Husam stood from his seat. “Because the Mage tower we’re talking about? It belongs to his mother. Valkyrie Kellius, a Magus.”
Panek blinked, thrown for a moment. But he recovered fast, slamming his hand on his lap. “One that no one has seen. One that’s invisible, apparently. This whole meeting is a farce. You all know it!” His voice grew louder, turning bitter. “You. All. Fucking. Know. It. You just want to feel like you tried something before we all bury our children’s names in the sand.”
That last line earned him more than just glares. A few people rose half from their seats, and suddenly noises arose. Hands tightened on armrests. Even the quiet ones, the ones still undecided, looked ready to speak.
“Why don’t I answer you, Panek?” Kai asked, looking at the man directly in his eyes. And everyone turned towards him.
Kai felt their stares crawling in his skin, but he ignored it. He stepped forward, hands at his side and spoke, “I’m Count Arzan Kellius of the Lancephil Kingdom. And yes, the tower we speak of belongs to my mother, Valkyrie Kellius. Some of you believe this. Some of you don’t and that’s fine.”
He took a breath and let his mana rise.
“But let me give you something you can believe.”
Mana surged from him, in countless silken threads of glowing blue, winding their way through the hall like veins of starlight. Gasps echoed across the chamber. A few weapons were drawn in reflex, but no one moved further as the threads wove themselves together midair.
And then, in front of them all, a map shimmered into being—made of raw mana, detailed and alive, hovering above the stone floor.
A perfect three-dimensional layout of the desert's western region, marked by dunes, cliffs, and at the very center—floating above the sand was the tower.
“This,” Kai said, “is proof. Pulled from my astral space. Bound to me through blood and legacy.”
As soon as he said that, all the chaos from before died. Even Panek didn’t seem to have anything else to say.
“As you can see,” he said, now his voice was louder and clearer. “This is the tower I spoke of. I call it Valkyrie’s Tower, after my mother. It rests between these two peaks—” he gestured to the illuminated ridges glowing in the air—“hidden from normal sight by enchantments. During the interrogation with the orc, Zarak, I found out that the duneborns call this place the Palace of Belkhor.”
A murmur rippled through the room. Then, quietly, one of the older tribal leaders stood up—bald head wrapped in a grey scarf.
“I… I’ve heard of that place,” he said.
Dozens of heads turned to him.
Khalid narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about it?”
The man hesitated, rubbing his hands together. “Not much. Just tales. I’ve overheard orcs, a few times. They spoke of a holy ground. A sacred place. One no human could ever touch, no matter how close they walked.”
Maari leaned forward, brows furrowed. “It’s possible,” she said slowly. “They might believe that because the tower is truly invisible to those without the knowledge of its location. To them, it could appear divine. Untouchable and Khorvash might have created a story around it.”
The room buzzed again with whispers and thoughtful nods until Panek spoke again.
He slammed his hand on the table. “You’re just making it sound more mystical to cover the holes in your story!” he barked. “I’d rather believe that the orcs’ gods gave them strength than some foreigner spinning tales about an invisible tower.”
Kai held back his frown. Panek was continuing to become a thorn at his side. And Kai was almost certain that the man had come to the meeting to reject any initiative of a war from the start. No words of persuasion would affect him and he briefly wondered if he was the spy.
But well, he knew one thing that’d make even him take a step back and rethink.
“If Belkhor is helping them,” he said calmly, “why aren’t your gods helping you?”
That struck hard. The man’s expression twisted, jaw clenched, and he rose halfway from his seat. “Watch your tongue,” he growled. “You might be a Count where you come from, but out here, no one will care if you die in a tent before dawn.”
Before the tension could snap, a voice cut through it—low, sure, and unexpected.
“Step down, Panek,” Adil said.
All eyes snapped to him.
The young warrior stood with his arms crossed. “If you go against him, you’ll be on the ground before you know it. He defeated me.”
Gasps erupted through the hall like dry wood cracking in fire. A few of the leaders even stood, looking at Adil with stunned disbelief. Kai knew that Adil’s reputation was one that carried weight—there weren’t many in the desert who didn’t know of the sand-scarred warrior who had beaten challengers twice his age and had earned a title.
Kai didn’t bother correcting him. Adil had left out the part where he’d faced five tribal champions at once and won—but that didn’t matter. The message had landed and he’d not even expected that from him.
Finally, the meeting turned quiet again, with the weight of the truth sitting heavy in every breath.
Then Panek—now seated, but with a clenched jaw and raw bitterness in his voice—spoke again. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said. “We don’t want to go after the orcs. Not again.”
“We’ve had rebellions before. You all remember,” he said, scanning the room. “Every tribe that led them… burned. To the last child.” His voice caught for half a second, but he pushed through. “Even if we’re crawling in the dirt now, at least we’re breathing. You want to throw that away?”
A few leaders nodded, slow and stiff, while others looked down at their hands, faces heavy with something too close to guilt.
“So you’ll forsake your next generation?” Kai asked back. His eyes raked around the men and women, and planted on some who looked down in shame.
Yet no one answered.
Kai inhaled a sharp breath through his nose. “The orcs didn’t just kill—they took. Children. Sons. Daughters. They were the future of your tribes. Every one of you knows they won’t come back on their own.”
A murmur broke through the crowd. One of the leaders, with a dry and cracking voice, muttered, “We… we can’t abandon the children.”
Panek spun on him. “So we all die too?”
His eyes were rimmed red, and something deep trembled beneath the surface. He wasn’t speaking to argue anymore. He was speaking from a place already torn open.
“I’m devastated too,” he continued. “Both of my sons were taken. My wife hasn’t stopped crying since,” he went on, shaking his head. “But I have more than just a family. I have a tribe. Men and women who already buried too many. I can’t ask them to die for my sons. It’s not right. It’s not fair.”
His hand fell to his side, clenching into a fist.
“I don’t want to see Khorvash again. Not in dreams. Not in war. He’ll crush us like he always has.”
And for the first time, Kai looked at Panek differently.
He had expected a coward or a spy—a man too afraid to stand and one who had already given away his integrity. But what he saw now was something far heavier. A father making an impossible choice. A leader trying to carry the weight of dozens without collapsing.
Putting your tribe before your family—that took more than courage. It took sacrifice, and for a father, it was the hardest thing to do. And it explained all his doubts.
But Kai had already prepared for this. He had seen the fear Khorvash’s name brought, how it twisted the tribals’ hearts in dread. And he had made a plan because of it.
Because if they feared Khorvash more than death… then it was time to give them something greater to believe in.
“And I intend to take care of that problem,” Kai said, hushing the room again.
A man near the back scoffed. “What are you saying? If we lift a hand against the Duneborns, Khorvash will come down on us himself.”
Kai’s gaze didn’t shift. “He won’t… if he’s already dead.”
Heads slowly turned toward him, confusion and disbelief painted on nearly every face.
Khalid sat forward. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’ll take on Khorvash myself with my party. You don’t have to move until he’s dead.”
More gasps and whispers followed, but Kai continued.
“I’ll send a signal once it’s done. When the orcs least expect it, that’s when you strike. Finish what they started. End their tyranny before it becomes your children’s future.”
For a few seconds, the hall felt like it had stopped breathing. Then came the looks—some wary, some sharp with doubt. Others, just pity.
Even Maari’s expression had shifted, her brows pulled tight in something like disbelief. Khalid stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
And then—of course—Panek let out a dry, bitter laugh. “You really think we’ll fall for that?” he said, half-glare aimed straight at Kai. “Stop joking. This isn’t some bard’s tale.”
“I’m not joking,” Kai said and shook his head.
“I don’t understand. Even if you’re strong—Count Arzan—Khorvash is something else entirely. The orc overlord isn’t just muscle. He’s cunning, ruthless, and we don’t even know where he is right now,” Khalid said.
“If you’re planning an assassination,” someone added from the side, “you’ll fail. You don’t have enough to go on. No maps. No movements. No guarantee he’s even at this tower.”
“It’s not an assassination,” Kai said, lifting his chin. “I’m not going to stab him in the dark and run.”
“Then?”
Kai swept his gaze through the room and started speaking, calling out his plan to kill Khorvash, to get control of his mother’s legacy.
2025-06-27 12:38:09 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 130
Hun Tianzhi brought the ceramic cup to his lips and sipped the slightly bitter tea. He put the cup down and his lips curved into a smile—a smile he’d used too many times that settled on his face like a second nature.
That smile had seen him through feasts and funerals, betrayals and bargains. He had worn it when bowing before meridian expansion realm elders, when rejecting marriage alliances, when being called a failure by nobles who couldn’t tell a cauldron from a chamber pot. Over time, he had learned that this facial expression was his safest armor.
But today, the smile nearly cracked.
“I want your sect… to be acquired by mine,” the young man across from him said, as if he were talking about buying buns from a street vendor.
For a moment, Hun Tianzhi felt his breath hitch. His fingers, curled around the cup, tightened. His eyebrows nearly twitched.
Acquire? Acquire?
The word echoed in his mind like a slap over and over again.
He breathed in slowly through his nose and let the air fill his chest before answering, forcing his voice to sound not-so enraged. “What do you mean you want to acquire my sect?” he asked. “It’s not a food cart to be bought or sold on a whim.”
Though he didn’t mean to, the last few words came out sharper than intended. He regretted it immediately, but only slightly.
But the boy, barely two decades old, gave off a smile in return.
“You already said the sect was on the verge of closing,” he said with a light shrug, “So wouldn’t it be better to give it to me, since you’re ending it anyway?”
Hun Tianzhi almost spilled the tea. But thank heavens, he didn’t. He kept his calm front and took another slow sip to hide the ripple in his thoughts. For a moment, the heat of the liquid grounded him.
It was true. He had thought about closing the sect and just moving along the next phase of his cultivation journey. He had made the mistake of saying it out loud.
But that didn’t mean he was ready to hand over the legacy he’d built from scratch with his own hands—especially not to a young cultivator with barely any experience in the real world.
He set his cup down gently.
“It’s true, Sect Leader Chen,” Hun Tianzhi said slowly, “that I mentioned the idea. But the thought of giving this sect to someone else had never crossed my mind. This humble one has no desire to become part of another sect. And…I still don’t understand what you mean by acquiring my sect.”
He wanted to know the truth. And when he thought the young man would start beating around the bush, his grin widened.
“I didn’t mean I’d buy everything you own,” he said. “It’s similar, but not exactly that.”
“Then? What do you mean?” Hun Tianzhi asked.
“The Divine Coin Sect isn’t like traditional sects,” he began. “We believe cultivation should help both mortals and cultivators live better lives—through trade, through ideas, through what the world actually needs.”
What does that mean? He questioned the man’s intent and narrowed his eyes.
“I won’t go into every avenue we’re working on,” Chen Ren continued, “but they’ve been successful. And now, we want to take it further—into the pill market. That means we need skilled alchemists. People who know their craft. People like you and your disciples.
“My plan is to create an Alchemy Hall under Divine Coin Sect. And I want your sect to take charge of it—under your leadership, of course—with some guidance from me on how to run things.”
He kept his face still, but a twitch in his brow betrayed the stir beneath the surface. It was absurd—almost laughable. That wasn’t the path of immortals. And to be reduced to merely an alchemy hall in another sect? That was laughable for someone his standing.
Chen Ren sipped his tea as if he hadn’t just suggested that Jadefire Hall—his life’s work, the legacy built through decades of hardship—should be reduced to a branch of some fledgling sect playing shopkeeper.
Winner of the Eastern Alchemy Trials… Hun Tianzhi reminded himself. Earth-grade alchemist. Peak foundation establishment realm cultivator. And this boy dares speak of “guiding” me?
He studied Chen Ren closely, looking for cracks. But there was no nervous twitch. Heavens, help me. He didn’t even seem to realise just how insulting his words had been—or worse, he did and simply didn’t care.
But again, why was he so… confident? He was clearly only at the qi refinement realm. Sure, it was impressive for his age, but he was asking a much stronger cultivator to basically work for him.
That made Hun Tianzhi think. So, he averted his eyes from Chen Ren and looked at the tea that was cooling down.
Maybe, there was a catch. Or else there was no way a cultivator could be so foolish. But what was it?
Was it the Soaring Sword Sect he had mentioned? That might explain his boldness. But he’d said it was only a brief meeting. Not a sponsorship. Then what?
Hun Tianzhi narrowed his eyes slightly, the warmth of the tea now forgotten. He had no intention of agreeing to any of this—but he needed to see the shape of the game before walking away from the board.
“Sect Leader Chen,” he said at last, keeping his tone polite, “if you don’t mind… I’d like to know a little more about your sect before considering anything.”
Chen Ren looked up from his cup, smiled faintly, and nodded. “Of course. What would you like to know?”
Hun Tianzhi hesitated a beat, then asked the simplest question that could reveal the most. “How many elders do you have?”
Chen Ren leaned back slightly and answered, “Three, I’d say.”
Hun Tianzhi lifted his cup again and took a slow sip, using the motion to mask the flicker of suspicion growing in his mind. Three elders? For a sect barely known in cultivation circles?
Three? He himself had only ever managed to attract one—and that man had left after a single winter, lured away by better offers and brighter sects. And that was when he had already stepped into the foundation establishment realm. Chen Ren was still in qi refinement.
The thought alone should’ve made him scoff. But he didn’t. Because something didn’t add up.
When Chen Ren arrived, he knew that the young cultivator came with someone and he felt that cultivation, a mirror of his own. And yet, they haven’t been introduced as an elder.
So it meant, whoever these three elders were, they were much stronger than qi refinement realm.
That confidence Chen Ren carried, the way he spoke as if the world would shift to make space for him—it wasn’t arrogance. It was trust. Trust in someone behind him. Someone powerful. Someone using him as the face while they worked from the shadows.
That explained everything. Especially the offer he’d made that Hun Tianzhi had no incentive to accept.
This… this surely was some sort of a plot or a test for him. Why? How? He had no idea, but he needed more information right now.
His throat felt a little dry. He glanced into his cup and found the tea had cooled, no steam rising. He didn’t remember how long it had been.
“You’re awfully quiet, Sect Leader Hun. Are you okay?” came Chen Ren’s voice. “I thought you had more questions.”
“Hm,” he murmured, trying to cover it. “Apologies. I was… thinking.”
He took a sip of the cold tea and placed the cup down. “You mentioned elders. None of them came with you?”
“One did. But he prefers staying inside. Doesn’t like crowds. You know how… experienced cultivators are… especially once they’ve seen the peak of their strength. They’ve got their own pace.”
There it is. The confirmation.
Hun Tianzhi’s heart gave a slow thud, and he masked it behind a nod. If the cultivator didn’t want to go out, and just meditated and was reclusive—that was a sign of an ancient cultivator.
He cleared his throat and said lightly, “Ah, I was hoping to meet him. Learn more about other members of your sect. It would help me… understand things better before I give my answer.”
After saying that, Hun looked at Chen Ren closely, to see any sign. There, there it is. A small hesitation in his gaze.
It didn’t last long—barely a flicker in the boy’s eyes, the briefest shift in the corners of his mouth—but it was there. A pause where there hadn’t been one before.
Why?
Before he could dig deeper—
“I wish that was possible. But he doesn’t… give his time to others unless it’s something important. You know how older cultivators are, Sect Leader Hun. Once they’ve seen the peak of their strength, they walk a different path. They do things their own way.”
A soft beat passed.
Hun Tianzhi’s heart thudded again, heavy and deep. Peak of strength? That phrase echoed like a drum. There were many stages in cultivation, but only a few could say they’d truly seen the peak.
Was it the meridian expansion realm? Golden core? Could it be legendary domain manifestation…? Unlikely. But possible. The idea alone was staggering.
Whoever this elder was, he was stronger than Hun Tianzhi. That much was certain. But why? Why reach out now? Why his sect?
He couldn’t stop himself. “Sect Leader Chen, I understand your offer, but why… My sect? You must know—there aren’t many disciples left. We’ve barely produced anything of worth in the last year. We’re in debt.”
That last word scraped out of him. Debt. It tasted bitter even now. It was what had driven his students away, what had broken their morale. Some had believed they could no longer climb the mountain they once dreamed of.
“I don't mind that,” the boy said. “I’m not looking to turn your sect into a pill factory.”
Hun Tianzhi’s brow twitched. Huh? I thought—
“I’m interested in what makes your sect different. You focus on research. Discovery. Not just copying what’s already been done. That’s rare. Especially in a city like this. I want you and your disciples to majorly focus on research about new pills and their recipes.”
For the first time in their conversation, Hun Tianzhi felt more interested in the offer. And somehow, the offer no longer sounded ridiculous. But he soon curbed himself.
Research…
That was what he had dreamed of doing, once. Before the debt, before the disciples fled, before the city’s pill market turned its face away from his sect. The thought alone made his pulse steady for a second. But then the doubt crept in.
Could they really afford to fund research? It wasn’t cheap. Materials, failures, more materials… and months with nothing to show for it. Could this boy’s sect really carry that weight?
Just as the question took shape in his mind, Chen Ren spoke again, this time like he had read the old man’s thoughts. “As for your debt,” he said lightly, “I’ll acquire it too.”
Hun Tianzhi blinked. “You’ll… what?”
“Your debt,” Chen Ren said again. “Five thousand low-grade spirit stones, right? That’ll be transferred to Divine Coin Sect under the agreement. If we’re going to do this, it makes no sense to let you carry that burden.”
The cup in Hun Tianzhi’s hand felt heavier. He didn’t drink. He just stared into the cold tea as the implications settled like dust in his mind.
Five thousand spirit stones.
It wasn’t just money. It was a shame. It was the weight on his shoulders that had broken the backs of his disciples. It was what had pushed away his most loyal students, what kept his head bowed at merchant guilds and made him avoid the alchemists’ halls where he once stood proud.
And now someone said he’d erase it? Just like that?
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His thoughts spun too fast to catch.
The offer was too generous. Ridiculously generous. A sect to run research in peace. A hall to lead, named under him. Debt would be gone. And resources would be available. A background supporter strong enough to silence enemies.
But why? Why him?
Heavens never gave anything for free. In this world, if something sounded perfect, it meant you hadn’t seen the price tag yet.
And until he knew it, it didn’t feel right to agree. And Chen Ren, the boy didn’t press. He simply sat there after sharing his end of the deal.
“Sect Leader Chen… forgive my directness, but this offer—”
He paused, choosing his words.
“It’s too generous. I don’t understand why your sect is being so kind to someone like me.”
His voice was calm, but in his eyes flickered something that hadn’t been there for a long time—hope trying to fight off disbelief.
“Well,” Chen Ren said. “You haven’t heard how I want you to run the alchemy hall yet.”
Hun Tianzhi’s brows lifted slightly. He didn’t interrupt.
“I understand your hesitation,” Chen Ren continued. “Truly. I came to you because your philosophy aligns with what I need. You focus on the craft, not just the coin. That matters.”
“But there’s more,” he added, tone shifting. “Your location in Broken Ridge City—it’s valuable. It gives us access to a growing market and visibility in a packed city.”
Hun Tianzhi nodded slowly, the logic clear.
“I plan to absorb your debt,” Chen Ren said next, “but only if the agreement transfers that debt to Divine Coin Sect. And naturally, your tools, grounds, and hall would come under us too.”
Hun Tianzhi’s fingers curled just slightly on his knee.
“But,” Chen Ren said, “the main reason… is your history with Darkmoon Sect.”
That name.
The words hit Hun Tianzhi like a bitter pill. He never liked hearing the name of the sect that ruined him and his dreams so fast. The sect whose trap he had fallen in to be ruined.
His lips thinned. The smile that had held through this long, strange meeting wavered. “So,” he said softly, “you want to go against them.”
“Yes, I plan to take them on right here, in Broken Ridge.”
Hun Tianzhi exhaled through his nose. “Sect Leader Chen… dare I say, even if I loathe them more than anyone alive, you must understand—Darkmoon Sect isn’t something to challenge lightly. They’ll move fast. Poach your alchemists. Smear your name. Pull strings with the city lord. They’ve done it all before.”
“That’s okay. I don’t think they’ll succeed,” Chen Ren replied, unbothered. “They won’t expect someone who’s not playing their game. I’m not here to play safe. I want to make a splash—and remind this city that the pill market isn’t a monopoly. It’s a sea, and we’ve just cast our net.”
Hun Tianzhi opened his mouth. Words of caution stirred on his tongue. But then he stopped. Something shifted behind his eyes.
A thought clicked into place, fast and sharp. The confidence. The strange structure of the offer. The generous terms. The ancient cultivator who never showed his face.
Of course.
It all fits now.
Chen Ren wasn’t the one calling the real shots. There was someone older and stronger. Hidden in the shadows, backing Divine Coin Sect. Someone with history—someone who hated Darkmoon Sect as much as he did.
An elder who had been ruined by them, perhaps. Now coming back.
The elder wanted to use Chen Ren as a front to this while playing everything out in the back.
His pulse picked up, he couldn’t help it. It all made sense now.
But now came the real question. Would he do it?
Join a plan that wasn’t his. Become part of a web someone else had spun. Be a chess piece, even if that meant rising again… and maybe, just maybe, winning.
His fingers tightened around the edge of his robe.
Was revenge worth it?
2025-06-25 09:59:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 240
Interrogation wasn’t something Kai had done often. He’d witnessed it before—plenty of times in his old life. Watching men scream and beg, threats whispered into ears, fingers broken one by one, flames brushing skin just enough to blister. That worked—on humans.
But orcs were different.
He stood in the doorway of the small mud-brick house they’d claimed for the interrogation, watching the creature they had captured. The orc sat against the far wall, arms bound behind him with ropes thick as Kai’s wrist, legs pinned beneath a collapsed wooden bench. Blood had crusted thick along his torn right thigh where his leg used to be, but the wound had sealed. Whether it was regeneration or sheer grit keeping him alive, Kai didn’t know. He was shirtless now—partially stripped by the tribals while tying him down—and his green skin was marred with blackened bruises and ash from earlier attacks. Flies buzzed at the drying blood around his mouth.
Despite all that, he grinned.
Kai narrowed his eyes. Pain wasn’t working. He had already tried flame on skin—nothing more than a twitch. Threatening death sounded like a joke.
Orcs didn’t cling to life like humans did. And worse, threatening their kin was useless. From what Kai had learned, their belief system followed brutal strength. If a son or brother died, it wasn’t a tragedy. It was proof of weakness.
So the orc had sat there, head held high, bleeding from his torn eye socket and smiling with snaggy yellow teeth.
Kai might’ve wasted more time if help hadn’t arrived.
Boots crunched on sand and clay, and the door creaked as a woman stepped inside. The tribal leader of the Atemra– Sahlira, the woman he had briefly talked to during the battle. Her thin face was tight with fury, and Kai didn’t see an ounce of fear. A strip of cloth held her thick hair back. Her eyes barely flicked at Kai before locking onto the orc. She didn’t ask for permission.
She simply crouched, pulled out a thin dagger, and with a sharp twist, drove it upward into the orc’s mouth. A wet sound rang out as the blade hooked beneath a tusk—and then, with a sickening crunch, she ripped it free.
The orc howled for the first time.
“Speak,” she said flatly, holding up the blood-covered tusk. “Or I’ll take the other one.”
The orc writhed, blood pouring down his lip now, and spit at her feet, though it barely missed his own chest.
“You think that’ll scare me, stupid human?” His voice was guttural and strained, the gaping hole in his mouth whistling as he breathed. “You’ll get nothing. Burn me, cut me, flay me—I won’t squeal for a pack of weaklings.”
Kai crossed his arms, watching closely. Sahlira didn’t so much as blink. Her hand was already reaching for the second tusk.
“You came here burning homes. You beat my people. You tried to drag our children into the sand. Why?”
The orc laughed—though this time, it was bitter, stained red.
“You’ll die in the fire same as the rest,” he growled. “Stupid… Stupid human! You won’t get anything from me!”
“I know your kind,” she said, voice low. “Your skin’s thick. You’re proud. You think pain makes you strong. But I won’t kill you.” She pressed the dagger against the orc’s thigh. “I’ll carve you piece by piece until you tell me why you came here. Why did you burn our homes? Why did you steal our people? And there will be no mercy. Just as there was none for my husband when he was cut under your blades.”
The orc's lips peeled into a grin. His one good eye gleamed with challenge, not fear.
“Human,” he growled, “your man died because he was weak. I will die because I was weak. That is the way of Belkhor.”
That struck.
Her expression didn’t break—but her hand did. The dagger slammed into the orc’s remaining leg, the steel burying deep into muscle. With a brutal twist, she ripped sideways. Flesh tore. Blood splattered the wall. The orc writhed, growling—but not from agony.
From triumph.
He wanted her to lose control.
Kai, still leaning against the doorway, narrowed his eyes. Sahlira’s fury was real, but so was the orc’s satisfaction. In that pain, he had found victory. As her questions fell unanswered, repeated again and again, the orc just kept smiling, baring broken teeth and blood-slicked gums.
It wasn’t that Kai didn’t think she’d succeed.
She would break him. Given hours, maybe a day, she’d shatter his pride like dry stone. There was something cold and determined in her he hadn't seen in their brief interaction—something carved from years of silent grief. She wouldn’t stop.
But Kai couldn’t wait. He stepped forward, placing a calm hand on her shoulder.
She turned sharply, eyes still burning, ready to snap—until she saw it was him. She hesitated. Her chest rose and fell, her knuckles still clenched around the hilt of her dagger.
“Let me handle it.”
Then, slowly, she looked back at the orc, her jaw tight, her silence an admission of reluctance. But she nodded.
Kai walked past her.
The orc turned his one good eye at him. Blood stained his face. And still, there was that mocking grin.
Kai stared at him quietly. There were many ways this could go. Different elemental spells that could twist the air in his lungs or freeze the blood in his veins.
But he had a feeling none of it would work.
Not because the orc was too strong… but because some beings would rather die than let go of their faith.
The orc knew he was going to die.
That was clear from the stillness in his limbs, the way he no longer tried to thrash against the ropes digging into his arms. The wound had stopped bleeding—mostly. But so had his resistance. Not because he had broken. But because he’d accepted it.
Kai crouched down, resting one elbow on his knee, his gaze level with the orc’s.
“I’m not here to play games,” he said calmly, quiet enough that it forced the orc to lean in just a bit. “But if you’ve already given up on life, why the silence?”
The orc bared his teeth in a twisted grin. “Because you get nothing, Mage. Your flashy little tricks don’t hurt much anyway.”
Kai tilted his head. “Your screams told a different story.”
A grunt answered that, short and sharp. “Pain’s easy. Real orcs don’t cry for it. And we don’t give anything to those who don’t earn it. You want words from an orc ready to die?” He scoffed, spit blood to the side. “That’s not going to happen.”
Kai smiled faintly and leaned forward. “What’s your name?”
The orc blinked.
“…What?”
“Your name,” Kai repeated. “If you’re going to die here, I’d at least like to know what they’ll call the corpse.”
The orc stared at him, confused for a second, then grunted again.
“Zarak.”
Kai gave a slow nod. “Zarak. Good. Now that we’re speaking, let me ask—do you believe in Belkhor?”
Zarak’s lips thinned instantly. “Any orc who doesn’t believe in him isn’t an orc.”
Kai’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then tell me… what kind of death does Belkhor consider worthy?”
There was a pause.
Zarak bit into his lip, tasted blood again, and for the first time… hesitated. Then he spoke, almost reverently. “A warrior’s death. To fall in battle against someone stronger. No regrets. No shame. Just blood, steel, and glory.”
Kai smiled at that, a cold, knowing curve of his lips. He guessed right.
“I see,” Kai said softly, rising to his feet with a slow exhale. “Then that’s unfortunate.”
Zarak looked up sharply. “What?”
“You won’t get that death,” Kai said, tone flat as a blade edge. “You’ll rot in this hut. Tied to a pole. Beaten. Left to bleed until your body gives up. No glory. No steel. Just silence.”
Zarak’s good eye twitched. “I know. I know that. I die here, weak and tortured. All because of you.”
The hatred in his voice was a storm. Rage and fury and shame all rolled into one. Kai didn’t pull back either. His eyes narrowed slightly.
“No,” he said. “You would die here… because you were weak.”
“You should have killed me,” the orc growled. “Like the others.”
Kai didn’t react right away. He let the silence stretch between them, then tilted his head just slightly. “I needed information. You’re the only one who might have it,” he continued, eyes flicking briefly to the artifact-laced bracer that lay discarded by the wall. “You wore that. That means rank. That means knowledge.”
Zarak’s lips pulled back in a sneer. “And I’ll die with it. You’ll get nothing from me.”
Kai didn’t move. But the wheels in his mind turned. That was the confirmation he needed. The orc had the information. And this—this wasn’t a shot in the dark anymore.
“Then,” Kai said, “let’s make a trade.”
Zarak laughed, blood dripping from the sides of his lips. “What do I look like? A merchant?”
“I’m not one either. And I’m not offering coins.”
The orc narrowed his eye.
“You tell me what I want to know,” Kai said, “and I give you a chance to face me again. One move. One strike. Win, and you can drag yourself out of here. Lose, you get a warrior's death, not the death of a rotting hound.”
Zarak’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t speak, not immediately. He coughed instead, blood bubbling out between clenched teeth. But Kai had seen it—the shift in his gaze, the flicker of conflict. He had touched something deep.
Zarak wasn’t just a soldier. He was devout. And for the orcs, Belkhor wasn’t just a name—they believed in him wholeheartedly. In battle. In death. In honor through strength.
“How do I know,” Zarak rasped finally, “that you’re not lying?”
That was it. Kai knew then—he had him.
“Because I’m a warrior too,” he said. “I don’t lie about battle.”
From behind him, Sahlira shouted. “You’re sure about this? You… You can’t trust orcs.”
Kai didn’t take his eyes off Zarak.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly. “If he agrees… I’ll believe him.”
For a long breath, silence stretched between them—taut and heavy, like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
The orc stared at Kai, his single good eye boring into him, searching for deceit, for even a flicker of hesitation. But Kai didn’t flinch.
Then finally, with a deep exhale that sounded more like a growl, the orc spoke.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you… if you stay true to your words. I don’t want to die a coward. That’s… unacceptable.”
“Very well,” he said. “Then let’s begin. Why are the orcs abducting people? Even children. Why?”
The moment the words left Kai’s mouth, the orc’s jaw clenched. His thick fingers curled into the dusty floorboards, and for a moment, it looked like he might refuse.
But he didn’t.
“It’s Khorvash’s orders,” the orc said at last. “He wants to go deeper. Into the sacred place… our god’s temple.”
His gaze flicked to the side, as if even saying that much left a taste of ash in his mouth. Kai didn’t interrupt. He waited, letting the orc speak at his own pace.
“There are doors there,” the orc continued, each word falling heavy. “Sealed. With markings no orc can read. Khorvash said they might be ancient writings of your kind. Human words. He thinks… if he brings enough of your people, especially those who can read or… write, maybe the doors will open by one of them…”
***
The interrogation proved both fruitful and deeply unsettling.
As the orc spoke, piece by piece, the puzzle in Kai’s mind began to complete itself. The vague outlines of theory he’d been working with suddenly sharpened into clear, terrifying truth. Khorvash hadn’t just stumbled across a ruin or some buried relic site. He had found the entrance to Valkyrie’s Tower.
He had been able to finally confirm it.
Only the ground floor was accessible so far, sealed above by enchanted gates. But that hadn’t stopped the orc overlord. Instead, it had sparked something far worse: a plan.
The abductions—scattered, vicious, and senseless on the surface—were orderly beneath it. Khorvash was targeting those most likely to be useful. Children and relatives of tribal leaders and Sand Knights who were young enough to have information, but still capable of obedience. Trained just enough to serve, not enough to resist.
It made sense. And it painted a bloody image of what was coming.
Kai leaned back once Zarak had finally stopped talking. His thoughts spun around the tower. If only that ground floor had gifted Khorvash enough power to change the rule the Duneborns and create such a terrifying reputation, then it bagged the question just what was on the upper floors.
Khorvash sapping on the power of a massive aethum crystal was believable. Most towers had one somewhere, buried under stone or locked within. That wasn’t the concern. The artifacts were.
The orc couldn’t give exact numbers, but he had named several that had already been distributed among Khorvash’s elite. Rings that turned flesh to stone. Bracers like the one Kai had taken. Cloaks that bled illusions and blades that drank heat. None were on the level of true relics—but in the hands of a dozen orcs, they were dangerous enough.
Kai had pressed for more, and Zarak, stubborn but bound by his warrior’s vow, gave what he could. It was enough to get a general map of Khorvash’s inner circle—and more importantly, their strengths.
But only one orc seemed dangerous to Kai. Khorvash himself.
The others were threats, yes, but manageable ones.
The orc overlord, Khorvash—so the stories went—was the strongest to rise in the last hundred years.
And he listened closely as the prisoner spoke, the fire in his voice steady even through the pain. Different stories of conquest poured out like long-held pride—villages burned, rival chieftains crushed, Sand Knights torn down one by one. But what interested Kai wasn’t the victories. It was what had made those victories possible.
Especially how Khorvash kept everything for himself. And hearing it all gave him a good idea of both the strength and personality of Khorvash.
He asked everything he could—for hours and hours. Every name that has an artifact. Every defensive layout. Guard rotations, traps inside the tower, the frequency of patrols. The orc was stubborn at first, spitting insults between words—but he kept his vow. He answered.
And by the end, Kai had more than enough.
But a deal was a deal.
Even with one leg gone and blood caked along his jaw, the orc demanded what he was owed: a warrior’s death. He said nothing as Kai stood, and Kai said nothing back. A glowing [Wind Blade] shimmered to life as Zarak charged with one leg, and in a single clean arc, it slid through the orc’s heart.
No pain. No delay. That was the most he could give Zarak.
Just honor.
Kai looked down at the body for a moment, then turned to Sahlira, her eyes narrow and unreadable in the dim torchlight.
“Take care of his body,” Kai said quietly. “Give him a proper burning, if you can.”
She hesitated. The hate in her was clear—but she nodded all the same.
But the moment brought no peace. Instead, a deeper urgency set in.
The orc had confirmed too much. Khorvash had reached the tower. He had reached his tower. Only the ground floor, yes, but the seals above wouldn’t hold forever.
Even if the doors were soul-locked to Valkyrie’s bloodline, there should be other ways to get in. Kai couldn’t afford to take that risk. He hadn’t even set eyes on the tower himself, and yet the clock had already begun to tick.
He turned away from the corpse and said the only thing that mattered now.
“Call a meeting.”
***
The room was quiet. Kai sat at the head, his spear resting beside him. Around him were Maari, Sahlira and the members of his party, some seated, others leaning against the walls, listening.
He had told them everything. Every word the orc had spilled. When he finished, silence followed.
Maari's face shifted—eyebrows drawn in tight, jaw clenched, lips slightly parted like she was still trying to piece it all together. Fear sat in her eyes. Then disbelief. Then something unreadable.
After a long moment, she exhaled through her nose and said, “I never thought… the orcs were hiding something this deep.”
“I told you.”
She looked at him, eyes narrowing for a beat before softening. “I know. I didn’t doubt you, Count Arzan. But this… this confirms it. No one can question the words of an orc carrying an artifact.”
Sahlira folded her arms. “We’ve tried capturing orcs like him before. Wanted answers. All we ever got were grunts and rumors. The few who knew anything died too fast. And if we push too hard, we risk a full crackdown. The orcs have already crushed too many tribes.” She paused, then added, “Still… I’ve heard of this temple. The one they revere. They barely speak of it.”
Kai leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That temple is our goal. The tower. If I’m right, that’s where the abducted are. All of them. And Khorvash is forcing them to read the runes and unlock the upper levels.”
Claire, sitting cross-legged near the corner, frowned. “But… they wouldn’t know how. None of them aren’t Mages.”
Kai nodded. “Exactly. Seal magic isn’t something you stumble into. It takes years, training, lineage. Even if someone had a clue, they wouldn’t get far. And the desert has no Mage culture.”
He glanced around the room.
“Which brings us to the real question…” His eyes moved from face to face. “What happens when Khorvash realizes they’re useless to him?”
No one answered. No one needed to.
The silence said it all.
Faces hardened. Claire looked down at her hands. Feroy’s mouth was set in a tight line. Sahlira exhaled slowly, her hand tightening around the hilt of her dagger.
They all knew the answer.
“We have to reach the tower,” he said. “Before Khorvash makes a decision we can’t undo.”
2025-06-25 09:58:21 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 129
Despite how much Chen Ren appreciated Tang Boming’s ability to gather information, he quickly learned that good intelligence on sects was still hard to come by.
The markets were full of rumors—whispers about this sect being on the decline, that sect harboring grudges, another having an internal dispute—but none of it could be taken at face value. What was true and what wasn’t had to be verified through effort, patience, and well, direct probing. If they gambled on bad intel, any negotiations he initiated could collapse before they began.
That said, Tang Boming had managed to pull together a few worthwhile leads.
After cross-verifying sources and leaning on some of his merchant contacts, he was able to map out several lesser-known sects that had a history with the Darkmoon sect and hadn’t fared well under their dominance. Some had lost territory, others disciples, and a few had simply faded into irrelevance under pressure.
But gathering names was the easy part. The real challenge came right after.
Getting a meeting with a sect leader—even from an Emerging sect—turned out to be more difficult than he had expected. Most weren’t interested in any kind of partnership, and fewer still wanted to listen to a stranger cultivator talk business. They were focused on selling their pills and maintaining whatever scraps of respectability they had left. A few had already decided to leave the city altogether, hoping to rebuild elsewhere.
That was when he really understood just how ego-driven alchemists could be.
He did manage to secure one meeting, though—with the sect leader of the Aqua Azura Sect, a small, two-generation sect operating out of a narrow corner shop in the lower district of Broken Ridge City.
Property prices in the city were infamously steep. Rent wasn’t paid in wen, but in spirit stones, and nearly all the good locations were owned by cultivators. Even having a small storefront meant something, especially for a sect clinging to relevance.
He understood and respected that. So he came prepared. In fact, he approached the meeting with every intention of treating the Aqua Azura Sect as an equal, no matter how small he knew their name was. It wasn't as if his own sect was a Guardian Sect.
But it went much worse than even his lowest expectations.
The sect leader, an old man with a hunched back and the constant stink of booze on his breath, spent the entire meeting rambling about the “glorious legacy” of his sect. Every attempt Chen Ren made to steer the conversation toward practical terms was brushed off, ignored, or derailed by slurred stories of “once upon a time” achievements.
And when Chen Ren finally brought up the actual proposal—partnership, investment, shared infrastructure—the old man leaned back, narrowed his bleary eyes, and slurred,
“If you want us to even consider your little scheme, boy, we’ll be needing majority revenue. Seventy percent at least. We’re the ones with the legacy, after all.”
Chen Ren just sat there, staring at him in disbelief.
He knew some cultivators had their heads shoved too far up their own asses, drunk on the importance granted by being born with spirit roots. But he hadn’t expected a sect leader to be like that.
That was enough reason to leave then and there.
Chen Ren didn’t even bother sipping the tea that Yalan quietly warned had some weird chemicals mixed in. He walked out without a word, leaving the old man and his delusions behind.
After that disaster, Chen Ren decided not to waste all his time on sects. Instead, he shifted focus to independent alchemists—rogue cultivators without sect affiliations. In theory, they should’ve been easier to deal with. No reputation, no politics, no legacy egos or inner circle drama.
In theory.
Because it didn’t take long for him to realize there was a reason these people were unaffiliated. He spoke to four—and each one turned out to be more frustrating than the last. All of them wanted a ridiculous amount of resources just to consider joining the Divine Coin Sect. Two of them even looked down on him for being a “mere” qi refinement realm sect leader, not even noticing that a meridian expansion realm beast was sitting beside him the whole time.
By the end of it, Chen Ren was starting to think this entire plan had been a terrible idea.
That was when Tang Boming returned with good news. Another sect had agreed to hear him out.
Unlike the last few, this one actually had a reputation. And according to Tang Boming, the sect had even carved out a decent foothold in the city before the Darkmoon Sect targeted them. They were known as the Jadefire Hall, a sect formed out of a pure love for alchemy.
Their focus had been research rather than profit or power—especially on advancing alchemical techniques, testing ingredients, and innovating new recipes that most cultivators didn’t bother with.
But of course, that kind of focus made them a soft target.
The Darkmoon Sect had picked apart their core disciples within months. Poached their top alchemists, undercut their ingredient suppliers, and spread subtle rumors that turned customers away. Now, there were whispers that their sect leader was planning to step down and worse, disband the sect entirely.
The more Chen Ren heard, the more perfect it sounded. A research-driven sect. Out of favor with the heavens. Desperate, but still holding on to some pride.
It was the exact kind of opportunity he had been hoping for.
Without wasting another second, Chen Ren made his way up the peaks where the Jadefire Hall was located, Tang Boming and Yalan trailing behind him.
He didn’t know how this meeting would go.
But for the first time in days… it felt like the odds weren’t completely against him.
The mountain trail narrowed the further they went.
Spiky cliffs flanked them on one side while thick, frost-dusted pines clung stubbornly to the other. Wind howled between crags. Chen Ren found himself unintentionally pulling his robes tighter, even if he didn't actually feel the cold.
They had been climbing for nearly two hours now. And still, there was no sign of the Jadefire Hall.
Behind him, Tang Boming let out a tired sigh, shifting the large satchel slung over his back. Inside it, they’d brought a small gift to the sect leader. “We should’ve asked for a neutral location to talk,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder. “Even the messenger I sent last week said he got tired from all the climbing…”
Yalan, who had long since stopped walking and started leaping over jutting boulders like a nimble mountain goat, glanced over her shoulder. “Why the hell is their sect so far up the peak anyway? It’s not like they’ll get better qi up there.”
Tang Boming snorted. “Apparently the sect leader likes the view from the top. Says it gets his creative juices flowing. Better mindset, better odds at discovering new pill recipes.”
Chen Ren almost rolled his eyes. “The more I hear about this guy, the more it sounds like he’s better suited for research than leading a sect.”
Tang Boming chuckled. “Well, you’re not wrong. From what I heard, he started the sect after winning a small regional alchemy tournament—Eastern Alchemy trials. Also spent a few months in a traditional sect and hated it.”
“Why?” Yalan asked, hopping down to join them for a moment.
Tang adjusted the strap of his bag again. “Because alchemists at lower levels have it rough in big sects. No matter how talented you are, they don’t give you proper respect until you can craft at least an Earth-grade pill.”
Chen Ren frowned. “Isn’t that the same for every cultivator?”
“Nope,” Tang said, shaking his head. “If you’ve got a good spirit root or blow the entrance exam out of the water, elders will fight over you. Martial cultivators train hard, but if they have talent, they get treated well early on. But alchemists? They get dumped in the work halls. Told to refine pills day and night with garbage ingredients until they prove they’re worth anything.”
Chen Ren nodded quietly to himself as they walked. A sense of pride swelled in his chest—not arrogant or boastful, just solid, earned pride. His new system of pill standardization was rough, unrefined even, but it worked. If more sects adopted it, countless alchemists wouldn’t be shackled to their cauldrons, grinding out Mortal grade pills day and night. They could focus on creativity, research… on actually growing.
But he also knew most sects would never touch his methods nor would he give it in. Tradition ran deep in this world—so deep it suffocated innovation.
It made sense, but it wasn’t for him. He considered himself lucky; lucky to have people like Anji, Wang Jun and Qing He who didn’t care too much for rules or pride or old ways. They were people who looked at results.
As they continued their climb, the cold air thinned and sharpened. The clouds felt close now like curtains drifting lazily above their heads.
The view, however, was breathtaking.
Chen Ren paused briefly to glance across the deep gorge that split this mountain from the one directly opposite them. That distant peak—swathed in mist and faint flashes of array light—was unmistakably the home of the Darkmoon Sect. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out more, but the thick layering of illusion and concealment arrays distorted everything. It looked more like a blurred smear across the landscape than an actual stronghold.
And beyond the sect?
Chen Ren saw the wild lands—The official term for the land beyond the city.
Cliffs, ridges, deep green woods crawling across slopes like spilled ink. And here and there, distant booms echoed across the air, followed by flashes of red and gold. Cultivators fighting beasts. Or insectoids.
He kept his eye on those lands while walking, wondering what a battle would be like with an insectoid until the delineation of a stone gate emerged from the edge of the path, sculpted right into the mountainsides.
It wasn’t grand. Not like the jade arches or soaring towers of other sects. It was plain, almost humble. Two worn pillars, one cracked across the middle and held together with some crude sealing talisman. A crooked wooden sign hung above the gate, its paint faded from years of wind and sun.
Someone sat beneath it.
A lone man, robes draped lazily across his body, eyes half-lidded and arms folded. His hair was tied up in a messy knot and a broken sword leaned against the wall beside him.
But the moment Chen Ren and his party stepped closer, his body tensed.
His eyes sharpened immediately as he pushed himself to his feet. His fingers brushed lightly against the hilt of the sword—not drawing it, but clearly preparing himself.
“Who are you all?” he said sharply in a hoarse voice. “State your purpose.”
Chen Ren stepped forward, hands behind his back.
“We’re here to speak with your sect leader. We have already sent a messenger,” he said. “He agreed to hear us out regarding a business proposal.”
The man frowned. Then his eyes narrowed further as he looked over Tang Boming’s heavy satchel.
“Name?”
“This is Sect Leader Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect,” Tang Boming said, stepping closer to the guard. “We sent a messenger ahead. Your sect leader agreed to meet with us.”
The sleepy-eyed gatekeeper blinked again, his gaze flicking between Chen Ren and the satchel-laden Tang Boming. Despite the apparent fog in his mind, some instinct pushed him to focus when Chen Ren took a step forward and let a thread of qi roll off his body like smoke caught in sunlight.
“Can we go in?” Chen Ren asked casually.
The man straightened immediately, nearly stumbling over himself as he moved to open the gate. “Y-yes, please go in,” he said hastily, gesturing them through with both hands like he was brushing aside invisible curtains.
Chen Ren exchanged a glance with Tang Boming, who just gave a helpless shrug. The gate creaked open and they stepped inside.
And within seconds, Chen Ren frowned.
It was too quiet. No, it was empty.
Chen Ren looked around—broad walkways, clearly demarcated housing buildings, training grounds, and several specialized workshops were built into the stone of the mountain itself. The infrastructure was good. Very good. Far better than the ragtag compound the Divine Coin Sect had grown from.
But it all felt abandoned.
There were no disciples sparring in the yards. No murmurs of training, no sounds of trial and error from alchemy rooms. Even the buildings themselves looked like they had been left in a hurry—some doors slightly ajar, some windows covered with grime, the scent of unused incense lingering in the air.
“They really did lose a lot of people…” Chen Ren murmured to himself.
He had known that. Tang Boming had told him. But this—this was something else. This was a ghost sect.
After nearly ten full minutes of walking, and just as Chen Ren was about to turn around and call back the sleepy guard, footsteps echoed down the stone path. He turned around and saw a short man walking towards them.
He wore red robes, the kind dyed with expensive herbs, and the symbol of the five elements—metal, wood, water, fire, earth—was woven into the cloth over his chest. The emblem matched the one the gatekeeper had worn, marking him as a disciple of the sect.
But unlike the guard, this one was alert. His beady eyes studied their group even as he bowed deeply at the waist. Tang Boming returned the bow politely.
Chen Ren simply offered a nod. His status as sect leader meant he didn’t need to bow to a disciple, and the man didn’t seem offended in the slightest.
“You must be Sect Leader Chen Ren. I apologise. I only got to know about your arrival minutes ago,” the man said. His voice was clear, with a slight rasp—like someone who’d spent more time breathing in herb smoke than fresh air. “I am Tau Liu. Core disciple of the Jadefire Hall. Sect Leader Hun is waiting for you. Let me lead you to him.”
Chen Ren gave a small smile. “Then let’s not waste his time.”
With a polite nod, Tau Liu turned, leading them deeper into the sect grounds—toward whatever was left of a place that had once tried to stand tall beneath the shadow of a much darker moon. The three of them followed him as they moved through the quiet, echoing streets. Even here, right in the middle of the sect, the absence of other disciples remained unsettling.
Trying to make conversation, Tang Boming spoke up. “I’ve heard a great deal about Master Hun Tianzhi. To meet such an honoured alchemist in person… It’s an honour in itself.”
Tau Liu offered a small, prideful smile. “I’m glad you think so. I’m thankful to the heavens every day that I get to learn under him. Sadly…” his smile dimmed slightly, “some people don’t realise how fortunate they are.”
Tang Boming prodded gently. “I heard a few of your disciples were taken in by the Darkmoon Sect.”
The smile vanished completely. A flicker of anger flashed across Tau Liu’s face before he composed himself. “The heavens punish the unloyal,” he said tightly. “And I’m very sure they’ll come to realise their mistakes in time.”
“I’m sure they will,” Tang Boming said diplomatically, leaving it at that.
Throughout the remainder of their walk, Tang Boming continued to pry more information—on sect affairs, on recent alchemical developments, and on Sect Leader Hun—but Tau Liu was careful. He was being polite, but extremely guarded. Beyond what they already knew from rumours and reports, he gave away nothing.
Eventually, they arrived before a large wooden sliding door etched with subtle patterns of flame and mist. A weak medicinal scent seeped through the seams.
Tau Liu stepped aside and gestured with an open palm. “You may go in, Sect Leader Chen. My master is expecting you.” He added after a pause, “Only you. Your… pet and disciple will remain here.”
Chen Ren almost chuckled at that, especially when he saw Yalan’s eyes narrow, her body stiffening at the word pet. He didn’t correct it. There was no point—and it might be fun to tease her about it later.
Tang Boming handed over the bag to Chen Ren and without a word, he stepped forward and entered. The door slid shut behind him.
The room was simple. A single table rested on top of a woven mat, flanked by two cushions. Behind it, a modest bookshelf stood, filled with scrolls and what he guessed as alchemical tomes. He scanned his surroundings more and realised that there was no ornament, or ostentatious display of power. Not in any way that mattered.
For a moment, he felt like he’d stepped into a scholar’s retreat rather than the inner sanctum of a sect leader.
And at the table, sitting quietly, absorbed in a book was the man he had come to meet.
Hun Tiazhi.
He was dressed in clean but faded robes dyed a deep ember red. He had calm features with a neatly trimmed beard peppered in silver and thin fingers that turned the pages of his book with care. His hair was tied in a simple knot, and the aura around him was restrained. Chen Ren immediately noted the round jade necklace around his neck.
Hun Tiazhi looked up from his book, closed it, stood and offered a light bow.
“I am Hun Tianzhi, sect leader of the Jadefire Hall,” he said with a composed smile. “I received your letter. It’s quite rare to see someone so young already leading a sect.”
“Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect. It’s an honour to meet an alchemist of your reputation.”
He offered the satchel he’d been carrying.
“There’s moonshine inside—strong alcohol. Cultivators love it. One of the products my sect makes."
Hun Tianzhi stared at the satchel for a few seconds and accepted it with a small nod, setting it down at the corner of the table. “Thank you. And… reputation? I haven’t done much worth to have it in a while. But your kindness is appreciated.”
He motioned to the cushion across from him. “Please, have a seat.”
Chen Ren accepted the offer, settling onto the cushion as the older man poured tea into two ceramic cups—one for himself and one for his guest. The act was simple, but it wasn’t lost on Chen Ren. Pouring tea for another was a gesture of respect. Already, this meeting was going better than the last one he'd suffered through.
He lifted the cup and took a sip—mildly bitter with a medicinal note. Fitting, considering the host.
“I walked through your sect on the way here,” Chen Ren said, setting the cup down gently. “It’s serene. Peaceful. The layout and structure reminded me of the Soaring Sword Sect, in some ways.”
At that, Hun Tianzhi’s eyes lingered on him a little longer, as if reevaluating him. “You’ve been to Soaring Sword Sect?”
Chen Ren nodded. “Not as a disciple. I had already founded the Divine Coin Sect by then. I killed a demonic cultivator in the past year that Soaring Sword Sect was after, and Vice Sect Leader Yan Xiu invited me personally as thanks. I made a short trip there.”
What Chen Ren was doing was simple—textbook, even. He was establishing his reputation, making it known that he wasn’t some wandering rogue or greenhorn with delusions of grandeur. Mentioning the Soaring Sword Sect and Yan Xiu, no less was a quiet way of setting the table.
This is who I am. These are the people who know me.
He had no need to show off his cultivation. Hun Tianzhi had likely already guessed it and deemed it not significant. So, connections mattered the most. And while both their sects were “Emerging,” there was no doubt that Hun Tianzhi’s Jadefire Hall Sect had more history, more foundation… more pride. Chen Ren wasn’t trying to overshadow that. He was simply levelling the field.
The old man seemed to recognize it too.
But he didn’t seem interested in playing the same game.
He exhaled quietly, setting his teacup down as his gaze turned faintly dry. “It seems you’ve caught the attention of a few powerhouses already. And yet, here you are… in the crumbling halls of a sect on the verge of closing. Why?”
Chen Ren knew what it was; it was an invitation to stop dancing around and speak directly.
Chen Ren appreciated that. In truth, he preferred it.
He met Hun Tianzhi’s eyes. “Like I said in my letter,” he said evenly, “I have a proposal. I want your sect… to be acquired by mine.”
2025-06-23 08:10:11 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 239
Kai charged right at the orc, just as his massive fist smashed through his own shield—an act that sent cracks through the air and a wave of pressure toward Kai’s head.
He ducked.
The gust of force brushed past his cheek, but in that brief second, Kai caught a clean glimpse of the bracer strapped around the orc’s thick forearm.
It was a crude-looking thing, but the seals on it were humming with mana.
He rolled sideways as the orc’s second strike cratered the ground behind him. Dust and sand exploded upward, but Kai was already back on his feet. That shield… it wasn't versatile. The orc had to break through it himself to even land a strike.
That was a flaw. And Kai fully intended to exploit it. He stepped back into stance, his spear held low and waited. He didn’t say a single thing—not even to taunt the orc and provoke it.
Like all of its kind, this one was already boiling over with bloodlust. Battle-loving and extremely simple-minded.
That should be easy.
Just as he expected, the orc roared and charged. Kai moved fast, his hand flicked through the spell structure for a modified first circle ice spell.
Mana pulsed from his core and sank into the ground ahead of him. In an instant, the earth shifted—sand hardened into slick, icy glass.
The orc’s footing vanished.
His thick legs skidded, slipped, and crashed forward under his own weight, slamming into the frozen sand with a loud thud. Before he could even snarl, Kai leapt towards him.
He drove his spear straight toward the orc's side—but the shield returned with a violent shimmer, stopping the blade in midair with a hard pulse of mana. Sparks flicked at the point of contact.
The orc grinned wide, jagged teeth bared. “Stupid human,” he growled, and his hand shot forward to grab Kai’s leg.
But Kai was no novice.
He jumped before the hand got close, anticipating the exact moment the shield would drop. In the bare fraction of a second that followed, he twisted midair and brought his spear down—straight at the orc’s neck.
The blade struck flesh. Blood sprayed, and a deep crimson splattered against the pale frost.
The orc choked, one hand darting to his throat. But Kai wasn’t done. He felt it—mana surging around the bracer. That artifact was trying to kick in again.
Kai's hand flared.
A half-circle of flame exploded from his palm—[Firebolts] conjured in a blink. In the next heartbeat, they raced through the air, trailing heat and sparks.
They hit him point-blank—flames bursting against his thick skin, leaving burnt marks all over his body. The orc flailed around his arm to stop them from hitting his face. Despite that, one of them seared into the orc’s eye with a sickening hiss.
Kai leapt back just in time as the bracer activated again, and the translucent red shield flared up with a harsh buzz of magic. But it was too late. The damage was already done.
The orc howled, his voice shaking the air as he clutched at his bleeding face. Thick blood streamed down his cheek, mixing with the charred skin where the [Firebolts] had scorched him.
He snarled at Kai, hatred radiating from his one good eye, then charged.
Kai didn’t recoil. He whispered a wind spell and mana sprang into his legs, enhancing his speed, and sidestepped the reckless blow with ease.
The orc barreled past him, blind with fury. What followed wasn’t a fight—it was a test.
Kai weaved around the orc’s attacks, using feints, half-steps, and short bursts of elemental magic to stay one move ahead. Between each exchange, he probed the artifact. How long did the shield take to activate? Did it move with the orc? Was it chant-based or triggered by intent?
And the answers came quickly.
The shield only activated when the orc was still and that much was enough for him to put the bracer as a low grade artifact.
Kai almost laughed when he realised it. What kind of artifact only worked when the user didn’t move? Maybe it was designed for a defensive stance—but paired with an enraged orc, it was almost useless.
And rage was all this one had left.
The orc lunged again and again, swinging with wild strength, aiming to crush Kai with every strike. But Kai moved through it all, striking low at the knees, sweeping at the ankles, jabbing the side of his spear into the orc’s ribs before stepping away. Several times, he grazed the already-wounded neck, and blood flowed freely.
But the orc kept going.
Every time Kai neared it, he activated a small wind shield, letting it burst outward like a repelling gust, knocking the orc off balance just enough to delay a strike. It wasn’t damaging, but it was disorienting—especially paired with pain and a half-blinded gaze.
Still, the orc roared, relentless.
He swung and stomped like a beast possessed. And Kai understood why. This wasn’t just about pride or duty anymore.
The orc had lost an eye. And even with their famed regeneration, that was no small loss. It would take years to recover—if it ever did.
Kai spun the spear once more and drove the blunt end into the orc’s gut, pushing him back again. He could see the fury—but also the desperation. Maybe the orc knew it too.
He had already lost this fight. But he refused to accept it—he lunged forward, punching Kai who twisted his body to escape before lunging the spear toward the orc’s legs. His tip grazed a wound he had created earlier and the orc shouted.
“Belkhor!”
Ignoring the pain searing through the orc’s leg, he launched forward again, moving to punch Kai right across the face.
This time, he didn’t just redirect it through his shield, he manipulated the wind to slowly envelope the orc’s right hand and seep into the bracers.
The orc’s eyes widened. Clearly seeing what was going on. He immediately moved his other hand to hold the bracer, but Kai was quick.
He sent out another [Wind Barrier] to block the other arm.
With him being trapped in his wind, at least for the next few seconds, Kai received the time he needed to end the farce and gathered flames around his spear.
They licked and curled around the tip.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t an Enforcer technique since he was still in the first rank. Just a spell, but it was enough.
He moved his spear with flames, striking the orc’s legs, hitting the same spot again as he tried to get out of his wind trap.
The spear struck true, hitting the same wound he’d made earlier and flames engulfed its legs. Kai stabbed deeper and the orc fell to the ground, crying out in pain and tried to kick him.
But Kai was fully in control and dodged the strike. But when he tried to stab deeper, his spear proved futile against the orc's thick skin.
That moment of realisation was all he needed to summon a massive wind and flame forged axe. As the weapon conjured in the air, he felt the heat of the axe and saw the wind curling around it, and through it all he saw how the orc looked… feared for the first time.
His eyes widened as he tried to use the bracer, but just then Kai’s wind trapped the bracer away.
The moment the bracer hit the ground with a metallic thud, Kai moved. He didn’t give the orc a chance to dodge.
He swung the axe through the air, and it let out a sharp hum. He brought it down in one clean motion, slicing through the orc’s right leg with a loud crack. The leg dropped to the sand as blood bursted forth. The orc screamed, but Kai didn’t stop.
He let the axe vanish and quickly cast an ice spell. Cold spread from his hands, freezing the orc’s body from the legs up to his chest. Only the head was left uncovered. The ice cracked and steamed in the desert heat, but it would hold for now. With no legs and his body trapped, the orc wasn’t going anywhere.
Kai turned around, leaving the orc for later, and looked at the rest of the battlefield.
One orc was already dead, his body blackened and smoking—probably hit by the Storm Sovereign’s lightning.
The other three were still fighting his party. Feroy fought one of them head-on, his strikes hard and heavy. Gareth was taking the second one as he moved fast, dodging punches and cutting back with quick slashes. Kael and Nerris were behind them, acting as support.
Farther away, the last orc was surrounded. Claire stood tall, her spirit above her, lightning flashing between them. Maari came from the side, spear ready. Ansel and the others moved in from different angles, keeping the orc off balance.
Kai watched them for a moment. They were covered in sweat and blood, but they were fighting well.
His party hadn’t suffered many injuries other than a few.
Kael wiped blood from his arm, a deep slash trailing down to his elbow. Nearby, Ansel spat a red glob into the sand, his jaw clenched, the corner of his mouth smeared dark, probably from a chest injury he had taken. Nothing life-threatening. A few gulps of potions would fix both.
Kai’s gaze shifted from his party to the edge of the battleground, where figures knelt in the dirt. A row of bodies—some groaning, others too still—lay beneath the crumbling shade of a ruined wall. Those who could still move were doing what they could—tying strips of cloth, holding broken limbs in trembling hands.
He stepped toward them, his boots crunching the scorched sand. Heads snapped up. The air stiffened. One woman gripped a boy’s wrist tighter. Another reached for a stone lying uselessly nearby.
Kai lifted his hand, palm open. “I can help,” he said quietly. “I know some healing spells.”
A murmur passed through the group. One woman spoke in a low voice. “A Mage?”
He gave a nod and knelt beside a young man whose leg bent the wrong way, blood pooling beneath him. The others still watched, uncertain, but didn’t stop him. With a focused breath, Kai let mana gather in his palm, his fingers glowing faintly as the spell took shape. A soft light passed over the wound. Skin pulled together. The bleeding slowed. A crack popped as bone began to shift back into place. Not perfect, but enough to give the man a chance.
He moved down the line, repeating the process. Sweat gathered at his brow. His spells were basic—meant to stabilize, not heal completely. But they did more than nothing.
As he pressed a hand over a gash on a woman’s shoulder, he turned slightly, eyes settling on another woman who hadn’t flinched like the others. Her clothes, though torn, were clean and clearly better than others. She watched him, wary but calm.
He met her eyes. “Why did the orcs come here?”
A flicker passed over her face—grief, confusion, anger, all in one breath. She glanced toward the charred buildings still smoldering behind them. Then she looked away.
“They didn’t say. They just broke through the gates. Set fire to everything. Kept shouting…” Her voice cracked. “Said to hand over anyone who could read. Or write.”
Huh? Kai paused, the spell still flickering in his hand. Of all things… Why were they after that?
“Why would they go after people who can read and write?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “We tried to fight back, but they were too strong. And even though everyone here hates them, most of the men who could fight… ran.”
Kai glanced at her hands, and noticed how steady they were despite the shaking in her voice. “But you stayed.”
She gave a faint nod. “This is my ancestral land and my husband died fighting for it against the orcs. If I left, who would tend to it? His spirit would wander restlessly if I did nothing.”
Kai gave a slow nod. “I’m sorry about your husband.”
He turned to the last injured man, his leg split open and swelling. Kneeling down, Kai placed his hand over the wound. Light flickered from his palm, sealing torn flesh and easing the pain. As the man exhaled in relief, Kai looked back at the woman.
“Who leads the tribe now?” he asked.
“That was my husband’s duty.” Her voice didn’t waver. “He’s gone three years now. I’ve held the post since. Until my son is ready.”
Kai blinked, not expecting to be talking to the tribal leader. “Then I suppose introductions are in order. I came here to—”
A scream tore through the air.
His words died in his throat. He spun around.
Ansel was on the ground, his sword knocked from his hand. The last orc—the only one left alive—was towering over him, fists raised and bloodied, ready to hammer down the kill.
“Ansel!” Feroy and Gareth were already charging. Lightning cracked overhead as the sovereign roared, but the orc didn’t even slow down. Blood soaked his side, yet he moved with terrifying purpose, as if dying meant nothing if it could drag Ansel with it into the afterlife.
Kai narrowed his eyes as a spell circle spun to life on his palm. A dense ball of wind shimmered into existence, then blasted forward with a sharp crack, slamming into the orc’s face. The creature flew back, hitting the ground with a thud and didn’t move again. Feroy moved to slash at his neck, ending him.
Without a word, Kai swept his gaze over the battlefield—burned corpses, scattered limbs, blood soaking into the sand. All the orcs were dead.
He gave a short nod to the woman watching his back, then turned and walked toward his party. Things could’ve gone south if Ansel had gotten a serious injury—or worse. But he ignored the thought and continued to walk until he was in front of the latter.
Ansel lay on the ground, chest heaving, face smeared with dirt and sweat. He looked up, pale but breathing. “You saved my life, Lord Arzan.”
Kai crouched beside him and gave a tired sigh. “Be more careful. Orcs in a rage don’t stop until someone’s dead.”
He stood and turned to Feroy. “Any major injuries?”
Feroy shook his head, wiping a blade clean on his cloak. “No, Lord Arzan. A few cuts. Nothing a sip of potion won’t fix.”
Kai nodded, his expression softening. He gave them all a brief, grateful smile—especially Claire. Her spirit had made a clear difference in the fight, and even Maari was watching her with a new sort of curiosity, as if seeing the girl properly for the first time.
Kai gestured toward the wounded villagers. “I’ve healed a few already, but there are more. We should help. I spoke with their leader,” he pointed at the woman, “I assume you know her.”
Maari followed his gaze and nodded. “I do. We’ve spoken before.”
Her attention shifted to the last orc, the one Kai had frozen earlier. The ice had melted under the sun’s heat, and the creature was still trying to crawl away, dragging his half-frozen body across the sand, eyes burning with hate.
Kai stepped closer, watching the orc struggle.
“What do we do with him?” she asked.
He looked back at her. “We interrogate,” he said. “We need answers. Why are they taking people… and where are they keeping them? I believe this one would know. If he's important enough to get an artifact, he should have answers. We just have to make him talk.”
2025-06-23 08:08:30 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 238
As Kai had expected, all the tribal leaders agreed to help him launch a crusade for the tower the next morning.
He had seen it coming. With their families taken and their pride wounded, rebellion was only a matter of time. His presence merely accelerated what was inevitable. By taking the lead, they could shift the blame to him if things went wrong. It was smart politics afterall. But Kai didn’t mind—so long as they fought. Once he took control of the tower, the orcs who had kept humans as slaves for generations would finally be judged.
Logistics were handled quickly. He, Maari, and his party would travel across the desert to contact other tribes and check for more abductions, while Khalid and the rest stayed behind to muster a warband. The problem was scale—dozens of tribes scattered across the sands, many without proper cities. It meant hours of riding, long travel under the harsh desert sun, and unpredictable beasts.
Fortunately, the tribes didn’t move on foot.
They rode beasts called Zirkaan—sleek, sand-colored lizard-like creatures with hardened scales and strong limbs that bounded across dunes with unnatural grace. Domesticated and disciplined, they were everything horses weren’t in the Ashari desert. And to Kai’s surprise, it was Adil—the arrogant thorn in his side—who led the tribe that bred them.
Without a word, Adil had arranged for each of them to receive one after the council agreed on their next steps. Whether it was out of duty, pride, or simply not wanting to owe him anything later, Kai didn’t know. But he accepted the reins with a nod, then mounted his beast.
Adil wasn’t even snarky about it, which surprised Kai. He didn’t give any smug remarks, no sideways glares—just a silent nod as he handed over the reins. Maybe defeat had humbled him. Or maybe Adil was simply the kind of man who respected strength when it was undeniable. Either way, Kai didn’t dwell on it. He gave a curt thanks and rode off with the others toward their first destination.
It wasn’t until hours into the ride that the true weight of their mission settled over him.
By noon, they had already passed through five tribal camps. Smoke still lingered in some—rising from half-collapsed homes and scorched wood, ashes blown into the wind like forgotten memories. In each one, the story was the same: people missing, houses burned, men slain, hope nowhere to be found.
And yet… no anger. No fire. No hunger for retribution.
One elder had called them traitors for entertaining an outsider’s words. Three others had listened in silence, their eyes dull with something far worse than fear—resignation. Only one, a tribe led by a younger man with sand-burned skin and an iron-stiff jaw, had said they might consider joining a rebellion. But only if Kai could return with the abducted and prove the tower even existed.
The rest? They were too busy surviving.
Kai’s grip on the reins tightened as wind lashed against his robes. The zirkaan beneath him hissed, adjusting its pace to match his agitation. Were these really warrior clans? How had they let themselves fall this far?
He guided his beast forward until he rode side-by-side with Maari, her figure cutting steadily through the shifting dunes. The sun was lowering behind her, drawing long shadows across her armor and the dust-coated scarf over her mouth.
Kai raised his voice over the whistling wind. “Why are tribes like this?”
She turned to glance at him, eyes unreadable beneath her hood.
“Weak and poor?” she asked.
“No,” Kai said. “Content. With how things are. With the way they’re treated. Like slaves.”
Maari was quiet for a long moment, the sound of claws skimming sand filling the gap between them.
“They stopped dreaming a long time ago,” she said finally. “When you’ve lost enough sons, enough daughters… when every rebellion ends in fire and bones... even warriors forget how to hope.”
Kai looked ahead, to the fading horizon where the next village waited. He understood war. But this—this was something different. People who had learned to live inside their own cages.
And that was far harder to break.
Maari’s expression shifted at his words—less guarded now, more tired. She kept her eyes forward as her mount carried her across the dune, but Kai could see the way her brow furrowed.
“You know how many rebellions we’ve led in the last five years?” she asked.
Kai shook his head. “No.”
“None.”
The answer hit him harder than he expected.
“What?” he asked, almost disbelieving.
A wry smile pulled at the corner of her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “But before that,” she continued, “there were seven. Seven rebellions. The tribes gathered together—each time thinking this would be the moment the orcs would be pushed back. That we’d finally restore the balance of the sands.”
“And?” Kai asked back.
“They failed,” she said simply. “Every single one.” She paused, and her eyes looked distant than ever. “I was there when one of them ended. We actually won a skirmish—caught an orc battalion by surprise, killed dozens. Spirits were high. People thought maybe, just maybe, it was turning around. Then Khorvash summoned a tribal gathering. Said he wanted to talk terms, but it ended in a battle. And we lost. He made all the Sand Knights who fought in that battle stand in front of a crowd.”
She inhaled sharply, as though the memory still stung her lungs.
“He burned them alive. Crushed them. Turned their blood into rivers at our feet. And he made us watch. Said it was justice.”
Kai didn’t respond. For a moment, he couldn’t.
“I can still smell the smoke,” she added. “Still hear the screaming.”
He turned toward her, trying to read the emotion that slipped between her words.
“So why now?” he finally asked. “Why agree to help me? Why come with us? From what I remember… you didn’t want a fight with the orcs.”
This time, she looked at him.
“I don’t even know,” Maari said. “At first, I didn’t want to get involved. But the rest of the council—especially Khalid—was pushing for it. I started thinking about it seriously before that meeting with you. The orcs just… came. Took people. Our people. Our family. There was no reason for them to do that. It felt like I was a mouse in a trap—waiting to be slaughtered without even knowing why.”
Her hand clenched around the reins.
“It was depressing. Like I was suffocating slowly and pretending it was air.” She turned her eyes to Kai. “I didn’t want to live like that anymore.” There was a beat of silence before she added, “Then I saw what you could do. Heard about the tower. And for the first time in years, it felt like we had a way out. Felt like it all made sense.”
She exhaled through her nose, letting the words linger for a second before adding bluntly, “Of course, you still need to prove it exists.”
“It’s there,” Kai replied immediately, then thought for a moment before continuing. “If we find some orcs, I can interrogate them. There's no way they believe Khorvash just plucks artifacts out of the air.”
Maari’s lips twisted. “Let’s see if we encounter any. You killed those three… that would have stirred some of them. Especially with that axe you took. That orc didn’t seem like some brute. Carrying something like that? He was likely a general’s son. I doubt they know what happened, but they would move to search for the bodies.”
Kai nodded, eyes scanning the horizon and noticing how far the sands stretched. “Good. That makes it easier if they come to me.” The wind kicked up a bit of dust and they lowered their heads instinctively.
“For now,” he muttered, “I just hope the next tribe is easier to deal with.”
“They should be,” Maari said and gave a nod. “This one talks shit about the orcs openly. Always looking for a reason to spill some blood. You might actually enjoy it.”
Kai smiled at that, looking ahead at the sand dunes stretching like waves toward the sky.
“How much longer?”
“Thirty minutes,” she replied. “We should’ve been there already but I’m taking the long path. Trust me, it’s better.”
That raised a question in Kai’s mind. “Why?”
“We found a sand elemental family nesting near the usual route. I don’t know when they’ll move on, and I’m not in the mood to fight beasts like that.”
“A family of elementals?” Kai asked, raising a brow.
Maari only shrugged. “They all look the same. A lump of angry sand. Sounds like a family to me.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound lost to the wind as their mounts surged forward across the shifting dunes. The sun crept higher in the sky, and it felt merciless with the heat that turned the world into a baking kiln. Kai felt sweat cling to his back beneath his cloak, but a small flare of mana summoned a soft chill through the air.
A first circle ice spell cooled his skin and then rippled outward to the rest of the party. It was a small mercy, but they welcomed it with open arms.
But they didn’t stop. The zirkaans raced across the desert without pause, and after thirty more minutes, the blurred outlines of civilization began to take shape. It was far from a city.
It was a village that sat at the foot of a rocky cliff, its structures scattered and small, more like bones left behind than true homes. It lacked the order and strength of the tribal city they’d left behind.
That naturally slowed the entire troop.
“There’s something wrong,” Maari said suddenly. “I see people… running.”
Kai turned to glance at her, but her eyes were already focused ahead, brow furrowed.
Without waiting, he used, [Hawk Eyes] and mana surged behind his gaze. The world snapped into sharp focus, every detail leaping forward as if he stood right at the village edge.
There they were—a man and a woman, sprinting, the woman clutching a child to her chest. Behind them, more figures showed themselves. They were all running—no, fleeing. His eyes shifted to the center of the village and he swore.
There were five orcs, all of them taller than six feet, standing in the village square. Their weapons were raised, clashing with dozens of tribal warriors who moved with desperation rather than discipline of tactic.
Kai’s jaw clenched.
He dropped the spell immediately and turned towards Maari.
“There are orcs ahead. Five of them are right in the center of the village. They’re fighting with the tribals.”
Maari gasped. “Are you sure?”
“I saw them. We have to move. Now! If we’re any slower, we’ll be too fucking late.”
Without waiting for an answer, Kai urged his zirkaan into a full sprint, cutting through the dunes in a straight line toward the village.
He couldn’t let the orcs burn or abduct again—not when he might finally capture one and pry out the answers he needed. The wind lashed against his face, but it didn’t matter. He gripped his spear tight and leaned forward, his focus narrowed to a single point.
Behind him, Feroy's voice rang out, carried by the rushing air. “How are we going to deal with it, Lord Arzan?”
Kai didn’t look back. “We take them head-on! No time for strategy. Claire, start the attack—shock them before we rush in. Capture one of them alive, whatever it takes!”
He heard their acknowledgments over the howling wind, but his focus remained locked on the sight ahead. The outer edges of the village flashed past, terrified tribals halting in place as he thundered by. Some stared in awe; others fell to their knees, as if unsure whether salvation or another storm was descending upon them.
The lizard-like beast beneath him tore through the muddy outskirts with no hesitation. And then, at last, Kai saw them. The silhouettes of five orcs, massive and brutal, towered over the scattered defenders in the village square.
Two Sand Knights held their ground well—likely Rank 2s—but the rest were struggling, their movements insanely panicked. But they were enough to create chaos. Enough to be a distraction. And that was all Kai needed.
“Claire, now!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the clash of steel and screams.
Suddenly, the air shifted.
A crackle of energy surged high above, and the clouds twisted into a spiraling vortex. Antlers formed first—vast, ethereal, glowing with crackling energy—and from between them emerged a storm-wreathed figure. The Storm Sovereign came to life with a roar of thunder that shook the very sands.
The sky dimmed as a bolt of lightning split the air, lashing down between the orcs, blinding and deafening all at once.
Lightning danced across the battlefield, crawling through the Storm Sovereign’s ethereal form as the creature looked down at the stunned orcs with burning eyes.
“Filthy creatures,” it growled, the voice deeper than thunder, reverberating through the bones of everyone present.
The orcs froze, sensing the raw power that had suddenly filled the air. One even stepped back, his tusks twitching in what looked like fear. The villagers, recognizing the divine weight of the mana above them, fell to their knees, clutching the sand as if it might protect them from judgment.
And then came more thunder.
Bolts of lightning exploded downward from the antlers like spears hurled by a vengeful god, striking the ground in brilliant white flashes. Screams were lost in the roar of thunder as the orcs were hit in perfect unison. One staggered and fell to his knees, smoke rising from his armor. Another cried out, clutching at a scorched arm.
But not all of them fell.
One orc, larger than the rest, snarled as a red-tinged shield shimmered around him, generated by a glowing bracer on his forearm. The artifact absorbed the lightning with a strained hum, flickering from the impact but holding.
Kai’s eyes locked onto him. He was the leader.
“Attack!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the aftershocks of the strike.
The moment he shouted, his mount surged forward with a burst of wind-fueled speed, and Kai became a blur. Like an arrow loose from a bow, he aimed himself at a stunned orc still reeling from the Sovereign’s wrath. His weapon pierced through the creature’s thick neck in one clean strike.
Blood arced through the air as the force of the mount dragged the dying orc several feet through the sand. Kai jumped down before the beast had even stopped moving, slamming the spear again into the orc’s throat to ensure no second wind would bring him back.
His eyes rose after he killed the orc. The bracer-bearing orc stood tall, shaking off a final arc of lightning. Their eyes met.
Kai charged.
2025-06-21 09:13:03 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 128
Chen Ren’s nose twitched as he took a sniff off the phial filled with shining purple pills. They gave off a faint medicinal smell with a slight hint of bitterness that lingered in the air for long.
He turned the phial in his hand, watching the light catch the engraved patterns on the glass.
Hmm, interesting.
He wasn’t sure about the pills themselves, but whoever had made the container was undoubtedly quite good at their craft. The filigree worked into the stopper, the smooth clarity of the glass, and the balance of the weight—it was the sort of thing one would only expect from a high-end alchemy store.
Setting it down, he reached for another phial when a polite cough from behind caught his attention.
He turned around to find Tang Boming standing near a bald man dressed in the standard grey robes lined with black—Darkmoon Sect colors. Likely an outer disciple picking up extra spirit stones by working here at the alchemy shop.
The man offered a thin smile and stepped forward slightly.
“Esteemed cultivator,” he said smoothly. “You’ve been browsing our selection for nearly an hour without making a purchase. Has nothing caught your eye?” Then, as if sensing his own tone, he added, “If you’d like to share your cultivation realm and what kind of pill you’re after, I’d be happy to assist you more directly.”
Chen Ren almost laughed. The smile was courteous, and he noticed the respectful tone in his voice, but the meaning behind it was clear: buy something or leave.
Still, he didn’t take offense.
Instead, he lifted the phial of purple pills and held it up. “What’s the purity of these?”
The bald man answered immediately, as if the number had been drilled into his skull. “Thirty to forty percent, esteemed one. One of our more affordable batches. Modest, but effective.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly, his eyes still focused on the pills.
“What about the ingredients?” Chen Ren asked, turning the phial slowly in his fingers. “Are any of them harmful to someone with a lightning-aligned spirit root?”
The bald man’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose the exact ingredients, esteemed cultivator But I can assure you, our pills are formulated for general use. Safe for cultivators of all aspected spirit roots—fire, water, lightning, and the rest.”
Chen Ren hummed thoughtfully, but didn’t stop there.
He continued his casual interrogation—asking how old the pills were, where they were made, what purity ranges they typically stocked, and whether they had any better-quality versions tucked away for refined customers.
To his credit, the bald man answered each question without faltering. And to his surprise, the bald man’s tone remained courteous throughout, his smile unfailing. Chen Ren could tell the man had either been given proper customer training or was just naturally good with people.
Probably training, Chen Ren guessed. There was tension behind the man’s smile, barely masked irritation in his eyes. He was getting annoyed. And Chen Ren didn’t blame him.
In a world where cultivators could destroy shops over perceived slights, having customer training was necessary. One wrong word, and a stray fireball or sword qi could level the front desk.
Finally, as Chen Ren set the phial back on the display, the bald man clasped his hands behind his back and asked, “So, will you be purchasing this batch of Iron Marrow Pills, or should I bring out something with better purity?”
Chen Ren turned slightly, meeting his eyes with a casual smile.
“Actually,” he said, “I was just curious about the Iron Marrow Pills. I might come back for them if I decide to go hunting insectoids outside the city.”
He clapped the man lightly on the shoulder in thanks, already turning to leave. “But for now, thanks for answering all my questions.”
That should’ve been it. But the man’s control finally cracked.
“You wasted so much of my time and aren’t buying anything?” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to draw glances from across the shop. “I could’ve made an actual sale with someone else in the time you spent poking around!” His face twisted with frustration. “Buy the pills or I will—”
He froze. Chen Ren hadn’t moved much. Just turned his head. But the subtle shift of qi that leaked out from his dantian and charged like a brewing storm was enough to silence the room.
The bald man’s voice died in his throat.
Clearly, the flare of qi reminded the man who he was speaking to. Afterall, the disciple was just a body forging realm cultivator.
Chen Ren, on the other hand, was much stronger.
The instant his qi flared, the bald man’s expression changed. His eyes widened slightly, and a cold bead of sweat rolled down his temple. He gulped, realizing—too late—that Chen Ren wasn’t just another broke cultivator loitering around with empty pockets.
He’d misjudged badly.
“You should think before speaking,” Chen Ren said quietly and sized him up. “Might serve you better.”
Then, without another glance, he turned and strode out of the store, Tang Boming following a few steps behind.
The streets outside welcomed them with sharp wind and passing footsteps. Chen Ren just continued walking down the stone-paved road, eyes flicking between the people, the storefronts, and the distant banners fluttering under the morning sun.
Tang Boming had to half-jog to keep pace.
“That’s the third pill shop you’ve been to,” he said between breaths. “You’re going to end up in a duel at this rate, poking around without buying anything.”
“I am thinking of buying. Eventually. I’m just not going to waste spirit stones unless I know what I’m buying is worth it. Some of them are already selling garbage dressed up in fancy bottles.”
He paused and rubbed his hands together.
“Either way, they need to work on their staff. They're trained, sure, but not well enough. Polite until you say 'no,' then the mask slips.”
“Well, they are cultivators. Even if they’re working in a shop, they’ve got pride. You can't train that out of them.”
Chen Ren gave a short laugh. “Pride? Sure. But pride doesn’t stop a stronger cultivator from trashing your shop.” He shook his head, muttering under his breath. “I was hiding my cultivation level, walking in with you who didn't bother hiding cultivation… and that guy still couldn’t hold himself back from acting like a cliche young master.”
Tang Boming glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Cliche what?”
Chen Ren waved it off. “Doesn’t matter.”
His eyes scanned the road ahead—another alchemy shop down the block, this one with a slightly fancier banner.
“At least I can say this,” he added. “Darkmoon Sect’s got a solid customer base. Even on a Tuesday morning, that place was buzzing.”
Tang nodded slowly. “That was their third branch in the city, you know. The smallest, too. They’ve got the biggest market share for a reason,” he said. “It’s not easy to take them down.”
“Fortunately,” Chen Ren replied, “I’m not trying to take them down.”
He smiled faintly, the kind that hinted at ambition coiled just beneath the surface. “I just want a piece of their market. A big enough piece to matter. Once I get a steady stream of spirit stones rolling in, I’ll be able to build businesses that attract cultivators… and don’t face any competition. At least not at first.”
Tang Boming shot him a sideways look, raising a curious brow. “And what kind of business would that be?”
Chen Ren just grinned. “You’ll know when it’s time. Right now, I need to focus on setting up shop here. Did you get the information I asked for?”
“I sent a few of my men out to look into it,” he said. “But I’ll be honest—it’s rough.”
He scratched the side of his jaw. “Any decent alchemist either leaves the city, gets pulled into a clan, or just ends up serving the Darkmoon Sect outright. And the ones that don’t… Well, most of them got screwed over by the Darkmoon sect and just packed up and left.”
“None stayed?”
“A few,” Tang admitted. “But mostly out of pride. Old sect loyalists—alchemists who still wear their broken emblem like a badge and try to build themselves back up. Doesn’t work out. No resources, no backing. They keep trying, but they’re all stuck in place.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Then those are the ones we aim for. Any good among them?”
Tang sighed. “Not really. Most are stubborn to a fault. Cultivators with chips on their shoulders. They’re hard to control—and harder to convince. Worse, they’re afraid to openly go against the Darkmoon sect , even if they hate them. Won’t join the sect, but won’t defy them either.”
He gave Chen Ren a skeptical glance. “And I don’t get why they’d say no to Darkmoon, then turn around and agree to get acquired by you. No offense.”
“None taken,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “But them saying no to Darkmoon is exactly why they might say yes to me.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not the one who ruined them. I’m not the reason they lost their sect, their resources, their pride. That alone makes me less of a threat and more of a friend. It’s easier to reach out a hand when you’re not the one who pushed them into the pit.” He paused, then added, “Can you get me full records? Names, affiliations, and the strongest person in each sect or clan, and—most importantly—what caused their downfall. I want to see if there’s anything I can use.”
Tang Boming nodded, slower this time, the gears turning behind his eyes. “I can do that but I’ll say it again—it won’t be easy. Especially since you’re not exactly wealthy… by immortal standards.”
“I know,” Chen Ren replied with a half-grin. “But sometimes words are worth more than spirit stones. And my mouth tends to run well. I know how to use it.”
Tang gave him a long, awkward look, the corner of his mouth twitching as they turned a corner into a busier street. “That… came out strange.”
Before Chen Ren could offer a comeback, a loud voice cut through the street.
“Get out of the way!”
Both of them turned toward the sound.
Up ahead, the crowd began to part, merchants, cultivators, and commoners all stepping aside as a group of men strode confidently through the center of the road. They wore the unmistakable grey robes with black stripes that he had used to seeing in every other street. Their expressions were proud, arrogant even, as if the entire city belonged to them.
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes and muttered, “What’s going on?”
Without waiting for an answer, he stepped forward with Tang Boming following close behind.
Gasps and scattered praise rippled through the watching crowd. A few women clapped softly, and some young cultivators stared with wide eyes as the group passed by. It wasn’t until the tail end of the group passed in front of Chen Ren that he saw the reason behind the spectacle.
One of the Darkmoon disciples at the rear was dragging something large behind him—a creature, long dead, but no less monstrous in death.
It was a mantis-like insect, easily seven feet tall even while slumped forward. Its exoskeleton gleamed pale green under the sunlight, fractured in several places but mostly intact. Serrated claws the length of a man’s arm hung limply from its arms, and two large pincers jutted from its sharp, angular head. Its multifaceted eyes had gone dim, and a long slit across its thorax still oozed blood.
Chen Ren spotted several deep puncture wounds in its chest, alongside neat stab marks—likely from spears or sabers. But the creature hadn’t been hacked apart. Its body was clean, almost preserved.
He tilted his head. “Why the show?”
Tang Boming let out a short breath. “Probably new disciples,” he said. “That’s likely one of an elder’s grandsons up front. Darkmoon sends their newcomers out in hunting parties. It’s part of their training—kill something dangerous, bring it back, and show the sect you’re useful.”
Chen Ren watched silently as the group continued on, the crowd still murmuring in awe. The disciple dragging the beast gave a smug glance to either side, clearly enjoying the attention.
So this was how they built their image—power, presence, and public display.
He wasn’t impressed. But he was definitely taking notes.
Tang Boming exhaled and added, “And when any group manages to hunt an insectoid without damaging its core parts—organs, carapace, glands—they parade it around like this. Makes them feel like heroes. It’s a small custom among the disciples.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the corpse as it was dragged past.
Even from a distance, he could tell: the insectoid had value. Its thick green carapace could be processed into tough, qi-conductive armor, especially for younger cultivators. The organs—particularly the heart sac and nerve nodes—might serve as rare alchemical components. And the blood, dark and viscous, could be distilled for poison resistance or strengthening agents.
He didn’t say anything, but already, his mind was noting quantities, preservation methods, potential market value.
Beside him, Tang Boming continued, voice low, “They’re spoiled, most of them. Walk around like the city belongs to them. I’ve only been here a few weeks, but I’ve already seen young Darkmoon disciples stir up trouble in the markets, harass other cultivators, even drive smaller merchants out.”
Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened. “The city lord doesn’t do anything about it?”
Tang gave a humorless chuckle. “You know how it is. The emperor’s always been lenient with the nobles and the sects. He lets them run things how they want, as long as taxes flow and border security holds.”
He glanced around, voice dropping further. “The city lord gives full support to the Darkmoon Sect. He looks the other way when they suppress competition—sometimes even helps them do it.”
Chen Ren frowned at that.
The last thing he needed was a political authority working against him while he was trying to build a business that would eventually challenge a dominant sect.
“So what happens if I clash with them?” he asked. “Would the city lord step in?”
Tang shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not if you play your cards right. Shower him with gifts, keep your relationship clean, and you’ll be fine. Just because he favors Darkmoon doesn’t mean he’ll sabotage you.” He paused, then added, “As long as you’re not disrupting the city or attacking people in broad daylight, I doubt he’d interfere with a healthy competitor. If you come off as stable and profitable, he’ll keep a neutral stance.”
Chen Ren exhaled, tension still lingering in his brow. So… he could move here. But he’d have to walk the line—carefully.
“Good,” Chen Ren muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “One more thing on my plate.”
He turned to Tang Boming. “Get me a meeting with one of the sects that really hate the Darkmoon Sect. Someone desperate, bitter, and aligned enough to be useful to our purposes.”
Tang gave a wary look but didn’t interrupt.
“And while you’re at it,” Chen Ren added, “dig around. See if there’s anything we can use at the negotiation table—debt, past betrayals, internal scandals. I might have to work just to get them to talk to me, but once I’m sitting across from them… I want to have cards in my sleeve.”
Tang nodded slowly. “I can do that. But I’m not making any promises. Getting a meeting with sect leaders isn’t easy. Especially the disgraced ones—they either vanish into isolation or cling even harder to their pride.”
“That’s fine,” Chen Ren said. “I trust you.”
They walked in silence for a few paces, the hum of the city around them filled with calls from vendors, distant cultivator chatter, and the occasional clang of iron from a forge street nearby.
Then Chen Ren reached over and clapped a hand on Tang’s shoulder.
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I want information on the hunting squads that go after the insectoids,” Chen Ren said, voice calm but firm. “Breakdown their costs—pills, gear, mounts, anything they take with them. Then give me the actual profits they make per trip. Not the ones they brag about. The real margins.”
Tang Boming frowned. “You’re planning to start your own hunting team?”
“I don’t know yet,” Chen Ren admitted. “I need to run the numbers first. But it’s a good idea. Outside the city, beyond the borders, only strength matters—and no one has jurisdiction out there. No city lords, no sect pressure. If the profits are as good as I think, it could be a reliable stream of spirit stones.”
He looked ahead, eyes gleaming now with layered ambition. “And I’ve got some other ideas too. Unique ones. If we play this right…”
His smile widened.
“This city will be a gold mine for the Divine Coin Sect to unearth.”
2025-06-21 09:11:56 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 127
Chen Ren was floating in a void—or so it felt like that.
It was a dark expanse all around him. He tried to squint his eyes to see, but there was no light, no sound, not even the beat of a heart to anchor him. It was the kind of silence that didn’t only deafen a person—it erased; it erased to the point where his own existence felt thin and faulty as if reality had forgotten he was supposed to be there.
But he knew he existed.
Otherwise, how could he be thinking? How… how could he remember the pain so clearly that he felt it torn through every nerve in his body just moments ago? Or wait. Was it months ago? Years ago?
He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t even tell if the time here moved. Maybe it never had.
All he knew was the cold, creeping dread that he might have slipped back into the cycle of reincarnation.
Heavens, that would have been the worst, worst possible outcome.
He had only just begun to find his place in this world—friends who didn’t want to stab him in the back, and a sect that he could build something out of, a strange new life that, for once, felt his. And starting over again? Throwing it all?
He grimaced—at least, he thought he did. It was hard to be sure in this formless black.
That trope had always annoyed him in the xianxia novels he used to read, the one where the protagonist died, lost everything and had to rebuild from scratch just to get stronger. It was pointless to say the least.
Well, he didn’t think of himself as a protagonist, he couldn’t be. But the point still stood.
And now, with every passing thought, his mind felt muddier. Like it was melting in the void. The images in his mind grew fuzzy, logic slipped through his fingers, and soon, he had a feeling that his own memories would begin to fray at the edges.
He simply drifted—and continued to drift more.
Who knew how long he drifted like that—
His hand touched something.
He almost missed the sensation, but no, he was sure. It was a resistance against the nothingness. And it grounded him, if only for a moment. Before he could process, he heard a sound.
It was not his thoughts, or an echo. He was sure it was a voice, almost too soft to hear—but unmistakably there, calling to him.
Where is it coming from? He tried to focus on it. Tried to follow the direction. But the sound kept slipping through his grasp, close, and yet impossibly far.
Chen Ren gritted his teeth and pushed. He knew his strength wouldn’t be enough, but he pushed with will, trying to seize control over whatever this place was. He needed to move—to choose.
And for a breath, he thought it was working. It felt like it was working. But then came the pain. A sharp pain pierced through his skull like a blade of ice, sudden and blinding. His thoughts scattered, his control shattered.
And the void swallowed him again. He cried out as his eyes flew open.
The void shattered.
Cold air brushed his face and it felt like someone was holding him. Soon, voices filled in, muffled at first—and then they became clearer.
Yalan, Anji and Wang Jun were all looking at him.
He was alive.
Chen Ren blinked hard, breath ragged as he tried to piece everything together. His limbs still trembled, but the pain was gone—leaving only a phantom echo in his bones.
Yalan’s voice was the first to break the silence.
“Are you okay? You passed out screaming.”
He turned to look at her, his vision still a little off-center. Screaming? The fight came back to him. The spectres. The lightning. The cold. The void.
His brows tightened. “Was I cursed?” he asked, eyes darting to each of them. “I don’t know what happened. I just felt this… pain—like everything was tearing apart.”
Yalan shook her head. “There were no other spectres around. I would’ve sensed it. And I’ve never heard of a curse like that. Even if you were cursed, there’s no foreign qi in your body. Everything’s… stable.”
“Then why did I pass out?” Chen Ren muttered, voice low, almost to himself.
Wang Jun scoffed under his breath. “How would we know? All I saw was you getting cocky and overextending yourself. Maybe you just burned yourself out.”
Chen Ren turned toward him with a small frown. “No… I had qi to spare. I’ve been in tougher fights than that. It just doesn’t add up.”
Before he could spiral further, Anji gently took his hand.
“I don’t think you should overthink it right now,” she said quietly. “What matters is that you’re awake. Whatever happened… you can figure it out once we’re in Broken Ridge.”
Yalan purred in agreement. “There should be healers there—cultivators with more insight into body or soul injuries. You should get checked out. We still don’t know if that demonic cultivator did something to you back in the vault. If he unleashed some sort of a curse, then you would have been the recipient of it since my cultivation was stronger than his.”
That made Chen Ren pause.
Right. That encounter… the strange feeling that had clung to his core ever since. His jaw tightened, thoughts spinning faster now.
Something had happened.
And whatever it was—it wasn’t done with him yet. Chen Ren gulped at the thought, feeling a pit forming in his stomach.
“Hopefully it’s not that,” he muttered. “I don’t feel any pain now, but what I did feel… It was like embers burning through my veins from the inside out. I never want to feel that again.”
Wang Jun huffed from the side. “Then don’t push yourself. Use as little qi as possible. You were perfectly fine ever since you started working on your standardizing pill production. But suddenly you collapse right after a ghost fight? If it’s not a one-off, then something’s wrong with your body. You should rest before you do something stupid again.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly. “Okay. If we’re lucky, I’ll figure out what’s happening before we run into any conflict in the city.”
“We’re not even there yet, and you’re already thinking about conflicts?” Wang Jun asked.
Chen Ren shrugged at that, the edge of a smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m being smart. Planning for what lies ahead.”
Another snort. “If you can still talk like that, then yeah, you’re probably fine.”
Oddly enough, Chen Ren had to agree with him.
Aside from a dull ache pulsing in the back of his skull—where he’d knocked his head against the carriage roof trying to sit up too fast—he felt no lingering effects. No tightness in his chest, no stiffness in his limbs, no trembling of qi.
And as a cultivator, he would know.
He had trained enough to have a clear sense of his body. Of when something was wrong. But now… there was nothing.
So why had he passed out?
Why had the pain felt like his body was being torn apart from the inside?
No answers came.
Just another mystery.
One more added to the growing pile that had started ever since he stepped foot in this world.
Chen Ren leaned back against the carriage wall, closing his eyes briefly as the wheels rolled onward over uneven terrain. And somewhere in the corner of his mind, a single, bitter thought echoed:
Why can’t things ever just be simple?
He didn’t know.
And that—more than anything—frustrated him.
To distract himself from the mess in his head, he turned to the window and took a slow sip from the canteen. The water was lukewarm, but it helped to settle the dry feeling in his throat.
The forest had long since vanished behind them.
Now, the road cut through wide open plains. There was golden-brown grass flattened by winter winds. In the distance, he could see the forms of carriages and farmer carts dotted the road like ants moving toward a hive.
Chen Ren watched them roll by—some filled with grain sacks, and others carrying bundled up families. And he knew that the city was close.
He tried to picture what a border city would be like. He hadn’t traveled closer to the empire’s fringes. His mind conjured tall, worn walls, a stationed garrison.
Turning his head slightly, he glanced at Yalan.
“Have you been here before?” he asked.
She looked at him, an apple now mysteriously in front of her—half-eaten, as if she’d conjured it from thin air.
“I passed by it once,” she said between bites. “Not a bad city. But back then, there were more… insectoid attacks.”
Chen Ren’s brows lifted. “The insectoids?”
Yalan nodded. “Yeah. The Empire started reinforcing the place after that. Rebuilding the walls. I think it’s much safer now.”
“How big is the wall?” he asked.
She tilted her head lazily toward the horizon. “Should come into view soon. When I passed by, they were still building it. You’ll see.”
Chen Ren nodded, shifting slightly in his seat and fixing his eyes outside. The clouds were heavy and white, drifting lazily above the winter-chilled plains. The cold pressed against the carriage walls, but instead of biting, it felt grounding—soothing, even.
His gaze drifted upward again, following the skyline until something far in the distance caught his attention. Peaks.
They rose from the earth like fangs, dark and distant. Between them, he thought he saw shapes—angular structures nestled between the cliffs, unmoving.
Buildings. A sect? Probably. This close to the city, there could only be one.
Darkmoon Sect.
He leaned slightly forward, eyes narrowing as if it might bring the image into better focus. It surprised him, still, that a border city like this hadn’t been placed under the authority of a Guardian sect. But then again—Guardian sects were all built atop major qi veins, places carefully chosen for cultivation.
Relocating would’ve cost them more than it was worth. Which left room for Darkmoon to expand… and take.
There could’ve been other reasons too—but Chen Ren didn’t dwell on them. His attention was pulled forward, toward the road and what lay beyond it.
He saw it.
The first silhouette of Golden Ridge City’s outer wall.
It loomed in the distance, rising steadily with each roll of the carriage wheels. Far more massive than he had imagined, the wall stood easily fifty feet tall—constructed from grey stone slabs stacked and sealed with precision. Even from afar, he could tell that it was a fortress.
As the carriage drew closer, the finer details sharpened. Guard towers lined the wall, manned with crossbow-wielding soldiers in thick winter cloaks. The gates themselves were a pair of iron-reinforced slabs, tall enough to let through caravans and wagons in double lines.
And in front of them—stood the crowd. Two lines had formed at the city’s entrance.
To the right, a longer line of civilians, farmers, and tradesmen—some with carts, others on foot. To the left, shorter but more distinct—cultivators.
Chen Ren recognized them instantly by the faint shimmer of qi radiating from their bodies, like heat rising off stone. There were at least two dozen outside the gates already, waiting their turn or speaking quietly among themselves.
He let his perception flow, subtle and smooth.
The strongest qi signature belonged to a man leaning against the wall with a spear on his back—Foundation establishment realm. The rest were mostly qi refinement cultivators, with a few that gave off the sturdier, more physical aura of body forging realm ones.
That many cultivators just standing outside? His eyes gleamed. Every single one of them was a potential customer.
He would need to investigate how large the cultivator population in the city actually was—but if the numbers were anywhere near his estimates, then his plans might go beyond just success. He could become rich. Very rich.
The carriage rolled into the cultivator line. Slowly but surely, they inched forward, the winter wind brushing against the sides and causing the cloth canopy to flutter faintly.
At the gate, Tao Li handed over a small pouch of silver to the stationed guards.
The guards gave them a bored glance, then nodded. No questions or inspection. They waved the carriage through.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly as they passed under the towering gate. That easy?
He remembered how Gu Tian had managed to sneak into Cloud Mist City so effortlessly—and now it made more sense. Even border cities like this didn’t seem to have strict vetting, especially for cultivator entries.
Still… he supposed it made sense.
In cities thick with cultivators, who would dare cause trouble? And who would survive if they did?
Of course, unless someone was a high-realm expert. But even then, there were ways to stall them—long enough for someone stronger to arrive and deal with the threat.
As their carriage finally rolled through the towering gate, Chen Ren shifted slightly to take in the sights. The head grumbled from the front bench, already anticipating what was coming.
“Back to the bag again,” he muttered, voice dry and bitter.
Anji sighed with him. “Just for a little while, Master. You know it’s only until the room is secured.”
Chen Ren didn’t say anything. He did feel bad for the old being—but they had no choice. The head had lived this way for a long time. He’d have to bear with it a little longer.
The streets of Golden Ridge were wide and lined with stone-paved roads. Tall buildings stretched upward on both sides—shops, homes, and towers that hinted at merchant wealth and old city architecture. Everything had that border-town sturdiness to it.
What caught Chen Ren’s attention most were the people.
Cultivators filled the streets—more than he’d expected. They strode confidently with sheathed swords on their backs or spirit tools at their hips. Their robes came in every color and style, but the most common by far were grey robes striped with black—Darkmoon Sect colors, if he had to guess.
And not a small number, either. They were everywhere. And wherever they walked, the crowd made room. Mortals instinctively stepped aside, heads lowered. Even other cultivators gave them a wide berth.
Influence, Chen Ren thought, eyes narrowing slightly. They weren’t rulers here. But they were treated like it.
The carriage continued, occasionally stopping as Zushi and Tao Li hopped off to ask directions. It turned out Tang Boming had already arranged lodging for them—somewhere near the merchant quarter, close enough to the central plaza but far enough from the sect grounds to stay low.
It took nearly half an hour of winding through the city streets, but they finally arrived.
The inn was a three-story building made of pale brick and timber. A small wooden sign swung out front with the name Quiet Pines Inn written in graceful calligraphy. A few people filtered in and out—travelers, merchants, and what looked like the occasional cultivator.
The moment the carriage stopped, Chen Ren stepped out first, stretching his back as his boots touched solid ground. The winter wind bit at his cheeks, but the air smelled fresh, clean—different from the streets outside the capital.
Anji followed behind and Yalan walked with her, both gazing up at the inn with unreadable expressions. The mortals hurried inside the inn to handle their tasks—checking in, arranging their luggages, sorting rooms.
And for just a moment, Chen Ren stood still and allowed himself a breath of quiet satisfaction.
This was why building a sect mattered. Not just for the name or the pride—but for the people. Delegation. Support. A real network. He didn’t have to worry about every small detail anymore.
And that… was progress.
After a minute of quiet observation, Chen Ren was pulled from his thoughts by the soft creak of the inn’s front doors. Tang Boming stepped out alongside Han Fei.
Tang Boming’s sharp eyes swept over the group, lingering for just a moment on each face. There was something unreadable in his gaze—perhaps disappointment—but it vanished the next second, replaced by a warm smile.
“You all arrived earlier than I expected,” he said, clasping his hands together. “Seems like you didn’t run into any migratory beasts.”
“Just a few frost spirits,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug. “Nothing serious.”
Tang Boming’s brow twitched upward. “Frost spirits, you say? I heard a lot of villages are tired of dealing with them. Still, glad to see you made it safely.” He gave a small nod. “I’ve been doing what you asked of me. Waiting. Listening. Gathering what I can. There are information guilds in this city, so getting anything without being noticed takes finesse.”
A glimmer of satisfaction lit his eyes.
“But I think you’ll like what I found.”
He gestured behind him. “Come inside. Let me show you the rooms first.”
They entered the Quiet Pines Inn together, and Chen Ren’s eyes drifted over the layout. A small receptionist’s desk sat near the entrance, manned by a sleepy-eyed woman scribbling something on parchment. A few guests lingered in the common area, sipping tea or reading scrolls. The walls were painted in muted colors, and everything smelled faintly of cedarwood.
As they passed through the main hallway, Chen Ren caught sight of a back door slightly ajar—beyond it, the gentle clatter of dishes and muffled conversation revealed a restaurant built into the back of the inn.
Tang led them up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor, where a corridor stretched with evenly spaced doors.
“I booked one for everyone in your party,” Tang said casually as they walked, opening doors one by one. “Second floor gives a good balance—easy to leave from, not too noisy. You’ll have space, privacy, and no nosy neighbors.”
Chen Ren gave a small nod of appreciation as each member of the group stepped into their rooms. When they reached the last room at the end of the hall, Tang Boming stopped and opened the door with a quiet creak.
“You can use this one, Sect Leader Chen,” he said with a smile. “I imagine you’re tired after the road. There’s a public bathhouse just around the corner from here. Clean and quiet. Hot water from natural springs. Cultivators love it, and I’ve already arranged for your party to be granted access.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Might be worth checking out right away.”
Chen Ren let out a soft breath, the thought of hot water easing his aching shoulders sounding like heaven.
“That does sound wonderful…” he said. “But I wanted to do something else first.”
Tang tilted his head. “Oh? What’s that?”
“Do you know any alchemy sects or small organizations in the city?” he asked, getting straight to work. “Preferably ones with a few members, maybe some working equipment… that might be interested in getting acquired by me.”
2025-06-19 05:22:35 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 237
As soon as the battle ended in his victory, Kai gave the tribal leaders time to rest and recover. He knew they needed it.
Out of all of them, Adil had taken the worst of it. Shards of glass had torn through his legs, one even breaching the side of his chest. It hadn’t been fatal, but it was still brutal enough that for a moment, he considered offering one of his potions.
But he didn’t.
Adil would only see it as an insult.
And it turned out, the worry had been unnecessary. Within minutes, a pair of Sand Knights arrived, carrying clothes soaked in herbal paste and a dark liquid in a bone flask. Kai couldn’t tell if it was a health potion or just a local tincture, but judging by the way the other council members didn’t rush to help or look alarmed, Adil would recover faster than his expectations.
Hence, he turned his back on the injured man and walked toward the rest of the tribal leaders, who had clustered together near the edge of the dueling ring. Maari, Husam, Saif, and Khalid stood close, speaking in low voices, but their eyes shifted as he approached.
The way they looked at him now—It was different. He could tell that they no longer saw an outsider trying to make demands. They saw only a strong Mage. He had faced all five of them together, and while none of them had gone all out, neither had he. And still—he’d won.
That was more than enough to shift the ground they stood on. Only now he could hope they’d go through what he asked for.
“That was a good duel, Count Arzan,” Khalid said in a steady voice.
Kai nodded. “It was. You all surprised me, quite a bit. It would’ve been a grander battle if I’d seen more of you using your elements.”
That made Maari chuckle, brushing a lock of wind-swept hair behind her ear. “Going by your last move,” she said, “I think we all agreed it wouldn’t have gone well for us.”
She gave him a sideways glance, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.
“And if you're serious about what you told us… then we all need to be in good condition. No use showing off just to be bedridden when it matters.”
Kai inclined his head. “That’s fair. So you agree to my proposal?”
She met his gaze without blinking, then frowned slightly. “We still need to think about it. But,” she added, “you’ve shown your strength. And more than that—your courage. Not many would stand against all five of us. That’s something we’ll remember.”
Her eyes flicked across the ring toward Ansel, who stood a little apart from the group, arms folded and watching quietly.
“And one of our own has vouched for you,” she said.
Kai followed her gaze, then turned as Khalid stepped forward.
“You wouldn’t have gotten support otherwise,” Khalid admitted. “Not because of pride. But because we’ve barely managed to keep our people alive these past few years. Sending them to war—even for an important cause—felt like throwing stones at a mountain. I believe we weren't just at the edge of the cliff. But with the abductions…” His jaw clenched. “The orcs have crossed a line.”
Kai could see it in their eyes. They had hidden it during the meeting to gauge his intent, but it was on display. Not just weariness—but something colder. He knew that it was personal. The way Saif stared into the darkness, the way Maari’s hand curled at her sides, and the way Khalid’s gaze sank to the ground as if something inside him refused to meet anyone’s eyes.
He understood.
“They took members of your family,” Kai said.
Khalid looked up almost immediately. “You know?”
“Ansel told me.”
A beat passed.
“He didn’t tell me he said that,” Khalid muttered.
Before Kai could answer, another voice broke through—strong, bitter.
“They took our sons and daughters,” said Saif. He stepped forward, voice rough with barely restrained anger. “It’s not a secret. Not anymore. The Duneborns came into our lands and dragged away our blood.”
He looked straight at Kai.
“If you can help us get them back—if you mean what you say—then I’ll back your journey. Tower or no tower.”
Kai didn’t hesitate.
“If we can agree on terms,” he said, “I’ll personally lead my people to hunt those orcs down. No delay. While you gather your warriors, prepare for the march on the tower, I’ll take the fight to the ones who stole from you.” He looked across each of them. “I’ll need guides. Paths only your tribes know.”
Silence stretched between them. For the first time, no one looked away.
“That won’t be hard,” Khalid said, folding his arms. “But I believe we should check with the other tribes too. It’s possible they’ve had similar attacks. I was going to send out messengers earlier, but dealing with the aftermath… took time.”
Kai nodded once, then asked, “How many tribes are left?”
The question made Khalid’s jaw tighten. “Not many,” he said quietly. “Thirty-one. We hold a gathering every six moons,” he continued. “Some of us meet more often, others less. But the numbers… dwindle. Every time a tribe offends the orcs, even slightly, one of Khorvash’s generals rides in with their banner—and the whole tribe is exterminated.”
Kai narrowed his eyes. “And you don’t do anything?”
There was a sudden pause. Then Husam frowned deeply. “It doesn’t do anything.”
His voice reeked of bitterness. “The orcs treat us like livestock. Cattle they allow to graze so long as we keep our heads down. When we rise up… they make examples out of us. Even if all the thirty one tribe band together, we wouldn’t be strong enough to stop them. At least not with the god given artifacts they wield.” He spat, realising his mistake a second later. “Sorry, I mean human made artifacts.”
Kai nodded, everything making sense now. The fear. The inaction. It wasn’t because they lacked pride—but because survival had become its own kind of resistance. Still, a question had been nagging at Kai’s mind ever since he first heard about Khorvash.
He looked toward the ring at Adil getting treated with a paste and asked slowly, “Has this Khorvash grown in strength… gradually? I don’t mean tactics or artifacts,” he clarified. “I mean raw strength.”
The tribal leaders glanced at one another, confusion flickering across their faces—until Maari’s voice broke through the silence.
“I’ve seen him,” she said. “Four times in my life.”
The others turned to her, listening.
“Unfortunately, every time I did, I also watched him slaughter tribals. Entire squadrons of Sand Knights. And yes…” Her lips pressed into a line. “He’s changed.” She looked at Kai directly. “The first time, he was strong. Strong enough to take three knights on his own, but he needed help. The second time… five. Then ten. And the last time—two years ago—he fought twelve Sand Knights without using any of his artifacts.”
Her voice lowered.
“He crushed them. With his fists.” She inhaled sharply and looked directly into Kai’s eyes. “Why are you asking?”
He stared at the question reflecting in the woman’s eyes, his mind running a thousand miles. Strength like that didn’t come from training especially in a mana desert. It usually came from things that had higher involvement. And right now, he could imagine.
“I believe Khorvash is absorbing mana… from a leak in my mother’s tower.”
“What do you mean?” Khalid asked.
“Well, different creatures use mana differently. Mages channel it. Beasts sometimes store it. But orcs—they absorb it. Through their skin. Into their flesh. It strengthens them, warps them. The more they take in, the more powerful they become. In normal orc societies, those who can absorb more become leaders. That’s how they rise.”
He glanced around at the others, letting his gaze rest on each of them in turn.
“But this is the Ashari Desert. Mana is thin here— basically starved. So the orcs that live here have probably never reached their full potential. They’ve been… limited. Until now. Mage towers… they aren’t simple buildings. They’re constructed on Aethum stones. These crystals pulse with condensed mana—and if something damages the foundation, it can leak. That leak would have permeated the atmosphere… might’ve overpowered the concealment enchantments.”
He drew in a breath.
“But if someone like Khorvash is absorbing all of it—”
Maari’s eyes widened as she continued his words“—then the tower remains hidden.”
“And he gets stronger,” Husam finished.
Kai nodded. “That’s my conclusion. And I’m confident about it. The tower is leaking mana. Khorvash is feeding on it. That’s why his power has been growing unnaturally fast.”
Khalid’s face darkened. “He proclaims himself the chosen of Belkhor.”
Kai chuckled. “Do you really think an orc knows what’s happening to him?”
He shook his head.
“They have no real study of magic. No foundations in runes, formations, or arcane theory. If there is a leak—he probably believes the mana he’s absorbing is a divine blessing. A ‘gift’ from Belkhor. Fanatics attribute everything to their gods. They don’t ask why something happens. They only kneel and thank the sky.”
The silence that followed was broken by Khalid’s voice, quieter now.
“We… also have gods we worship.”
“You’re not fanatics,” he said simply. “There’s a difference between faith and fanaticism. They might look alike from a distance… but one builds temples, the other burns them down. It’s the difference between a religion and a cult.”
His voice lowered a notch.
“Either way, I’m not here to preach.”
Maari nodded. “We appreciate the information. You’ve given us much to think about.” She exchanged a glance with the other leaders before continuing. “We’ll give you an answer by tomorrow morning. And if we decide to do something about the orcs… I’ll personally accompany you to the other tribes. If you truly mean to go deep into orc territory, you’ll need all the tribes behind you. Not just a handful of names.”
Kai’s eyes lingered on hers for a moment. He inclined his head. “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”
He didn’t say anything more. Just turned and walked back toward his people. But even as he moved away, his thoughts continued to flow inside his mind. They would agree.
He had seen it in their eyes. In the weight of silence after he spoke, in the way even Adil had avoided eye contact toward the end of their fight. They were tribal leaders—but they were also fathers, siblings, sons and daughters who had lost kin and watched their people bleed. His strength had spoken to them, but it was his offer that was without games—that had opened the door.
Now, it was a matter of how they would move. How fast they could find the abducted. How many more tribes could be convinced before the orcs realized someone had begun to stir the sands against them.
Time, Kai thought, his jaw tightening. It was always a battle against time.
***
Francis impatiently tapped his leg against the wooden floor of the carriage, the stack of parchment across his lap were long forgotten. Minutes trickled by like molasses, slow and sticky with irritation. It had already been half an hour since they stopped, and not a single wheel had turned.
Through the window, the sun was beginning to set, dyeing the sky with streaks of amber. Francis sighed. Another night in this gods-damned carriage? He had been promised a proper bed. A soft one, with clean sheets and a goose-feather pillow. Not straw under his back and a lump for a cushion.
Growling under his breath, he shoved the door open and stepped down, the cold evening air biting into his joints. It rattled his bones—but not as cruelly as it used to. Two years ago, a chill like this would have sent him to bed aching for days. But now?
Now, he thought with a wry grin, now I’m practically spry.
He owed that to Lord Arzan. Ever since he had taken up residence in Veyrin, the young lord had sent him elixirs and potions like clockwork. Expensive ones. Potent ones. The kind even nobles only took during emergencies. Every month, without fail. It had done wonders for his constitution.
The pain in his knees had dulled. His fingers no longer stiffened like rusted hinges. The fatigue that once weighed on him like a curse was now little more than an annoyance. He stood straighter these days—and he noticed the way people looked at him differently for it.
He pulled his robe tighter and walked down the line. A row of luxurious carriages stood lined up to the right. Gold filigree, crested lions, and winged swords stared back at him like smug little ghosts. He recognized a few of the houses. Nobles he had intended to court once they were properly inside Hermil. The fact that they were all here together…
If someone didn’t know better, Francis mused, they’d think King Sullivan was dead and they’d all come to squabble over the crown.
He didn’t dwell on it long. Something tugged at his focus—the gates. He adjusted course, picking up his pace until, after five minutes of walking, the city’s southern gate came into view. It loomed tall and wide, guards stationed at both ends, lanterns flickering to life.
Francis slowed, eyes narrowing as he observed the scene.
On the left, a procession of carriages was being steadily allowed through. The guards examined each crest, compared it against a list, and waved them inside without hassle. It was all very proper.
But that wasn’t what made him pause. It was the names. Or rather, the ranks. Several of those let through were Viscounts. One was even a Baron. Francis’s jaw clenched slightly.
Our house outranks half the men being let in, he thought. So why in all hells are we still waiting?
He glanced back toward the line of carriages behind him. Their crest was clear—polished, pristine, unmistakable.
Count of Veralt. Appointed by the King himself.
And yet they were stuck.
Francis’s eyes narrowed further, his gut twisting in suspicion. Something is not right. He huffed, cold breath curling in the air as unease itched at the back of his neck. A bad premonition.
His eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on Killian and a handful of their men near the gate, locked in what looked to be a tense argument. A city guard—clearly a commoner—stood opposite them, arms folded tight, jaw clenched stubbornly.
Francis adjusted his cloak and made his way toward them, the chill forgotten. Killian glanced at him as he approached.
“This man,” Killian said, voice simmering with irritation, “is disrespecting the name of Kellius—refusing to let us through before the others. Says we’re not allowed to move forward.”
Francis turned his gaze to the guard, who met his stare with surprising steel for someone so far beneath them. “And why is that so?” he asked. “Be careful with your answer. House Kellius will not suffer insults without consequences.”
The guard flinched slightly—just enough to show he understood the weight of the name—but recovered quickly, squaring his shoulders. “Orders came from the first and third prince,” he said. “They said their loyal followers are to be let through first. I’m just following commands, my lord.”
Francis’s brows drew together. “So you’re breaking the hierarchy? Tradition dictates those of higher title pass first.”
“Please understand,” the guard said, sounding more desperate. “The rules come from the crown. This isn’t my decision to make. It’s above me.”
Francis didn’t respond immediately. His eyes shifted to Killian, whose fingers had dropped to rest on the hilt of his sword, knuckles white with tension. A single, subtle shake of the head from Francis was enough.
Not here. Not now.
They weren’t in Veralt or Veyrin anymore. Stirring trouble at Hermil’s gates would only confirm whatever lies the Princes had whispered into court ears. A noble striking down a guard—what better way to turn public opinion?
He turned his attention back to the guard. “Then fetch me someone who can make a decision. Your guard captain.”
The man blinked. “I—I was told to follow the Princes’ orders—”
“And did those orders include barring conversation with your superiors?” Killian interjected, eyes narrowing. “We’re not asking you to break the line. Just to send word.”
The guard hesitated, clearly cornered. He looked behind the gate, lips parting as if to argue again, but Killian moved closer, resting a firm hand on the man’s shoulder.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said smoothly. “Ask someone else to call him.”
The guard swallowed. “Why don’t I just go fetch him myself?” the guard muttered, stepping back with a grimace.
“No,” Killian said flatly, and that one word held enough edge to make the man freeze again.
Before the tension could rise further, Francis caught movement from the gate. Two figures in crisp guard uniforms strode toward them, head held high.
Both bowed the moment they approached. “Lord Francis, Knight Killian,” one of them said formally. “We apologize for the delay. You may proceed inside immediately.”
“But the Princes—”
One of the men turned to the gatekeeper, and his eyes hardened into a glare sharp enough for the man to wince back. “What are you doing? We had orders from the King himself. Do you think the Princes outrank that?”
The guard’s face drained of all colours. He sputtered, eyes wide, and shook his head quickly. “No—no, of course not. I didn’t know. I wasn’t told…”
“I’m sure,” the senior guard snapped. “We’ll deal with this later.”
Francis didn’t say a word to the guard. He simply looked at him, letting the silence speak volumes. He’d expected King Sullivan to remain neutral, perhaps even test Arzan’s faction a little. But this… This was an explicit gesture of favor.
Still, calling for the guard’s punishment now would only cause more noise. Later, Francis thought. There’ll be plenty of time to clean house once we’ve planted our roots.
“Let’s go,” he said to Killian, turning toward the now-open gates. The others followed, and behind them, Francis could hear the hissed scolding of the junior guard as the other two set into him.
But Francis’s thoughts were already far ahead.
“The games have begun,” he muttered, his voice low.
Killian nodded beside him, grim. “And we’re still the weaker hand. The Princes hold more sway.”
“For now,” Francis replied. “But our goal isn’t to play their game. It’s to build a faction that outgrows both of theirs.”
Killian gave a short nod, but his jaw was tight with tension.
A sudden chill passed over Francis then—not the wind, not age—but something that scraped against instinct. He shivered, pulling his cloak tighter. As they sat in the carriage and passed through the gate and into Hermil’s outer ring, he glanced up at the darkening sky.
Red spilled across the heavens, bleeding into the dusk like an omen.
Will we rise or be crushed before we could do anything?
He exhaled softly, watching his breath curl in the air.
Time will tell.
2025-06-19 05:21:23 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 126
On Earth, acquisitions and mergers were standard practice in business—that they were almost mundane. But in this world, they were rare.
Poaching? That happened all the time. Cultivators jumping sects, clans bribing each other’s elders, rogue talents being lured away with promises of pills and treasures. But actually buying out a falling organization?
That was something else entirely.
Usually, it was the hobby of rich clan sons or daughters trying to prove a point. They’d pick up a collapsing business or small mercenary group for cheap and forget about it when things got hard.
But what Chen Ren had in mind… went far beyond that. He was thinking of acquiring an entire sect.
It started as a ridiculous thought—one even he wouldn’t have entertained seriously a few months ago. But the more he worked on pill production, the more he came up against the same bottlenecks—lack of equipment, lack of trained hands, lack of formal infrastructure. It was like trying to build a tower from sticks and spit.
That’s when he remembered something Qing He had said offhandedly while sipping tea and talking about sects one day— hundreds of sects fall and rise every year. Most so small no one remembers their names.
That stuck with him.
Wouldn’t at least some of those fallen sects have alchemists? Or at the very least… cauldrons?
Alchemy was, after all, one of the most widely practiced disciplines in cultivation. Even minor sects often had at least one cauldron and someone who knew how to use it. That thought—innocent at first—had snowballed into something bigger when he recalled what Tang Boming had mentioned weeks ago.
How the Darkmoon sect in Broken Ridge City had absorbed and disbanded multiple smaller sects and clans in the area over the past decade, consolidating power like a slow, creeping shadow. Tang Boming had explained that many of the alchemists had been poached, but that conversation stuck with Chen Ren for another reason.
He never said anywhere that all of them were taken.
It stood to reason that the Darkmoon Sect wouldn’t have the resources—or the need—to absorb every single alchemist or disciple from the sects they destroyed. Some people would be left behind. Some wouldn’t have made the cut. But his focus also shifted to equipment, artifacts and cauldrons that could've been left behind.
Without wasting any more time, he made his decision to travel to Broken Ridge City.
He left Zi Wen, Luo Feng, and Li Xuan behind to protect the village, instructing them to keep everything running smoothly in his absence. Qing He, reluctant as ever, agreed to continue refining their recipes—though not without warning him she wouldn’t tolerate any “half-baked schemes” derailing her work.
Once the cauldron and alchemist issue was solved, Chen Ren planned to begin full-scale pill production.
He could already picture it all coming together—his own production line, a shop full of customers, and spirit stones flowing like water. He would have everything and would slowly began to get richer in the immortal world too.
He smiled to himself, watching the road ahead. Then Wang Jun’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Your plan is stupid,” he said bluntly. “You’re relying entirely on chance and luck. And frankly, I don’t think you’ve got much of either.”
The carriage bumped over a rocky path, rattling slightly as Chen Ren turned his gaze toward him. Across from him, Anji let out a soft sigh, clearly used to Wang Jun’s way of speaking by now. Yalan was perched near the window, half-asleep and swaying with the motion of the carriage.
Aside from the three mortals seated in front, driving the carriage in turns, Chen Ren had brought only this small group with him. Originally, he had intended to travel with just Anji. But Wang Jun had insisted on tagging along, citing something about guiding Anji’s soul cultivation and ensuring she kept practicing her perception.
But rather than doing that, he was just being annoying.
Chen Ren didn’t rise to the insult. Instead, he leaned back and looked out at the passing trees before replying.
“Every business opportunity is a chance. All of them. The difference is in how you see it.” He tapped his temple lightly. “Chances are everywhere—you just need the eyes to spot them.”
“Good eyes?” the head scoffed. “I’ve got a better brain, and I can't even imagine someone selling their sect to you when you don’t even have the spirit stones to buy a dozen cauldrons. You’ve got no high-grade artifacts, no valuable techniques to trade. What exactly are you going to give them in exchange—optimism?”
Chen Ren frowned.
The man had a point, annoying as it was. He truly didn’t have the resources to outright buy a sect—not in spirit stones, and certainly not in anything a proper cultivator would consider valuable. Mortal currency wouldn’t get him a bowl of soup in a sect, much less resources or allegiance. He had gotten a good amount of spirit stones due to looting the vault, but they were only a few hundred in total, all low grade.
Still, it didn’t mean all doors were closed.
He glanced over at the head and said coolly, “Sometimes you don’t need spirit stones or artifacts. You just need to figure out what the other party really wants. If it’s something other than spirit stones, I might be able to get it.” He let a beat pass, then added with a smirk, “Worst case? I just sell you. Pretty sure any cultivator would be interested in studying something like you.”
Wang Jun snorted. “First, I’m priceless. And you’d have the emperor’s inquisitors knocking your door down if anyone saw me with you. I don’t exactly scream righteous cultivator mascot, do I?”
“Then keep your mouth shut and behave. You can’t be seen in the city.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Anji said from beside him, her voice calm as always. “Master will stay in the room with me. He won’t cause trouble.”
The head grumbled. “At least let me out at night. I’ll die of boredom.”
Chen Ren didn’t respond. He simply looked out the window, watching the road wind through the hills, rocky and covered with snow. But he wasn’t really seeing the terrain. He was thinking over the head’s words.
Was he relying on chance?
...Maybe.
He just didn’t want to admit it. But there was some logic behind it. Logic built not on numbers, or wealth, or leverage—but on something simpler. Something that every cultivator had, regardless of age, status, or sect. Pride.
And if Tang Boming’s stories were true, Darkmoon Sect had risen through ruthlessness—absorbing, discarding, and humiliating anyone they didn’t need. Which meant they had bruised a lot of pride.
If Chen Ren could find the ones left behind—the alchemists tossed aside like old tools—then he didn’t need spirit stones or fancy artifacts. He just needed to offer them something far more valuable.
A chance at payback.
Chen Ren’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden jolt—the carriage lurched violently and came to an abrupt halt. He nearly lost his balance, stumbling sideways and brushing against Anji, whose face flushed a faint pink.
He muttered an apology and shifted his focus and looked at Yalan, whose sleepy gaze had sharpened into something eerily focused. She sat upright and her nose twitched slightly.
“I feel something,” she murmured.
Chen Ren nodded. That was all the warning he needed.
He stepped out of the carriage, boots crunching into the half-frozen dirt path beneath. The wind had grown colder and sharper. The sky above was a dull grey, clouds thick and unmoving. Tall, leafless trees flanked the worn path on both sides. A faint mist clung to the earth.
At the front of the carriage, three mortals stood frozen—Zushi, Tao Li, and Han Fei. Their faces were pale, almost bloodless, eyes wide with fear.
Chen Ren followed the line of Zushi’s trembling hand as he pointed toward the mist-shrouded path ahead.
And then he saw them.
Six ghostly figures drifted slowly in a wide circle, moving without sound. Their bodies were translucent, their outlines vague, but he could make out long trailing robes and faces blurred like fogged glass. They didn’t seem to notice the living at all. They simply circled… aimlessly.
A cold dread settled in his chest.
The ground near them was half-covered in snow, and just off the path, half-buried in it, lay corpses—at least four of them. Villagers, judging by the worn linen clothes and farming tools still clutched in dead hands. Their skin had gone pale blue, eyes wide open and staring into nothing.
Zushi’s voice cracked as she whispered, “Frost Spirits… they’ve come to take us with them.”
“You know what they are?” Chen Ren asked, turning to her.
Zushi gave a stiff nod, not daring to look away from the spirits. “I’ve heard stories, Sect Leader Chen. From my grandfather. He said when people die during the frost moon, and their spirits can’t find peace, they wander in circles like that—forever cold, forever lost.”
“They’re spectres,” Zushi continued. “Wandering souls born in the wilds—feeding on the spirits of those who die in winter. That’s how they grow stronger. Once they’ve fed enough, they don’t just wait anymore… they kill. Lure people off cliffs, drive beasts into villages, even whisper into the ears of children.”
Beside him, Tao Li added, “Seeing them is a bad sign, Sect Leader Chen. Very bad. We should turn around.”
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “Is there another path?”
The three mortals looked at one another before slowly shaking their heads.
“No, Sect Leader,” Han Fei said. “This is the only route to Broken Ridge unless we turn back and go around the river. That’ll take a week.”
Chen Ren took a breath and exhaled sharply. “Then wait here. I’ll deal with it.”
He stepped forward, boots crunching frost. As he walked, his spiritual perception spread outward like a silent wave, brushing against the air and locking onto the six circling forms.
Just as he thought—their energy was thin.
There was no weight to it, no pressure like what he’d felt from higher cultivators or beasts. They were dangerous, yes—but not powerful. Not in the way he feared. Even six of them, right now, weren’t enough to threaten him.
Still… he felt uneasy.
These were ghosts. Astral beings. And physical attacks meant little to them. His punches and kicks wouldn’t help much if they could phase through his strikes. But he had something better.
Lightning crackled faintly along his fingertips as he walked, using the qi in his dantian and tracing it in his veins like electro threads. Lightning was one of the most effective elements against wandering spirits, he had read in a book and now it was time to test it.
As he drew closer, the mist thickened and the spirits stopped circling. They turned toward him. And for the first time, Chen Ren got a full look at their faces beneath the pale veil of fog.
If they could be called faces at all.
Flesh peeled and hung from bone, patches of icy skin split and crumbled. They had no nose, no mouth—just gaping sockets filled with twin orbs of pure white, glowing like fog lamps in a storm. They didn’t speak. Didn’t shriek.
They just stared.
Without hesitation, Chen Ren spread his arms, pushed his qi outward, and let the lightning build into a sharp crackle.
A bolt of bright golden lightning ripped from his palm toward the nearest spectre.
It hissed through the air—clean and deadly—but the ghost dodged, slipping sideways like smoke caught in a breeze. Its jaw tore open suddenly, flesh splitting down the middle in a grotesque spiral to reveal a row of jagged, crystalline teeth.
And then, all six charged at once.
Chen Ren didn’t wince as one of the spectres lunged at him, a jagged claw arcing down toward his chest. Instead of dodging, he let the lightning within him surge.
The energy exploded outward with a thunderous crack, bursting from his body like a web of fury. Arcs of lightning lashed through the air, snapping toward the ghostly figure.
The spectre didn’t even have time to scream properly—it was consumed mid-lunge, writhing as the lightning tore through its misty form, burning it into fragments of pale vapor that vanished into the wind.
Around him, the road grew deathly still. The frost-covered trees stood like silent sentinels, their twisted branches groaning softly under the weight of snow. The mist swirled with each movement.
The lightning danced, trailing behind him in snapping, flickering streams. The other spectres shrieked in wordless, primal sounds as they circled closer, no longer in an eerie trance but now driven by mindless hunger and rage.
Even as one collapsed into the dirt, its form breaking apart into a drifting fog, the rest charged toward him, weaving erratically, trying to slip through the arcs of lightning.
“Stupid things,” Chen Ren muttered, watching one try to dive beneath a crackling bolt and get clipped in the stomach. “Mindless ghosts. Can’t even be good targets.”
But the next attack came faster.
A second spectre slashed at him, its claws gleaming with cold spiritual malice. Chen Ren leaned back—just enough to let the strike pass by his face, ruffling his hair—then slammed his fist forward.
Lightning-qi surged into the blow.
His fist collided with the creature’s distorted face, and for a moment it looked as though it would shatter entirely—but instead, its jaw unhinged grotesquely, trying to swallow his entire forearm. Mist churned violently around its neck as if it were choking on the pain.
With a grunt, Chen Ren brought his other arm up and drove it straight into the thing’s chest.
The spectre split apart with a high-pitched shriek, collapsing into a pile of mist that scattered with the next gust of wind.
He exhaled, letting the qi in his core swirl and stabilize.
Across the road, three more spectres came rushing in, claws swinging, their ghostly bodies weaving through the trees and over the rocks. But Chen Ren didn’t even feel a shred of fear.
They were weak and killable. And now that he had confirmed that, he charged.
Snow kicked up in a spray behind him as he dashed forward, lightning wrapping around his arms like coiled serpents. The spectres attacked in tandem—two from the sides, one from above—but he ducked, twisted, and lashed out.
Each blow met its mark.
As the battle went on, Chen Ren noticed something different. The spectres were adapting.
Their dodges became sharper. The moment he raised his arm, they would jerk to the side. When he gathered qi in his palm, they began to scatter, separating instead of swarming. One of them even tried to bait his lightning bolt before pulling back, letting it strike the frozen ground.
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes.
“Learning, are you?” he muttered. “Fine.”
No more ranged blasts.
He shot forward with full speed, leaping onto a jagged rock and launching himself straight into the fray. Mist burst around him as he punched one spectre out of the air, turned mid-spin, and drove his elbow into another’s skull-like head.
Lightning burst from his body on contact, short-range arcs frying anything that got too close. He moved like a streak, a whirlwind of motion and storm. One fell. Then another.
The fight blurred—slashes came, fists answered. He dipped beneath claw strikes, caught one of the spectres by its broken, smoky neck and slammed it down with a burst of qi that shattered its form completely.
He shifted his stance just as the final spectre lunged forward, claws sweeping upward. Chen Ren dodged back, his boot skidding across the frost-hardened ground. Lightning crackled through his legs as he pivoted mid-step and lashed out with a savage kick.
His foot slammed into the spectre’s chest, sending it flying backward like a rag doll.
The spirit smashed into a tree with a low, dull thud, and for a moment it lay there, coiled mist curling around the trunk. It lifted its head and snarled at him—only to be greeted by a sharp arc of lightning, searing through its center.
The spectre shuddered, hissed—and then dissolved into the wind, leaving behind nothing but cold silence.
Chen Ren stood in the center of the now-quiet path, steam rising from his skin in the cold air, shoulders rising and falling as he caught his breath. Around him, the mist began to thin, leaving only the frost-covered corpses... and the smell of burnt air.
For some reason, none of the spectres had tried to flee.
Even as their kind were shredded by lightning and sent howling back to whatever realm had spawned them, they kept coming without a shred of self-preservation.
That suited Chen Ren just fine. The last thing he needed was their kind roaming the countryside, preying on villagers in the night.
He finally exhaled, breath fogging in the chill. The wind had picked up, sweeping through the trees, dragging the remnants of mist into the gray sky above. He stood there, the faint scent of ozone lingering around him, chest rising and falling.
From the carriage, the three mortals stared at him in awe, wide-eyed and half-afraid to speak.
Yalan had already stepped out, padding toward him across the snow-dusted path with her usual lazy grace. Her voice slipped into his mind.
“That was slow.”
Chen Ren turned to her, blinking. “Slow? I dealt with six of them in under two minutes.”
“A lightning cultivator should’ve done it in under one,” she replied without missing a beat. “We may run into more. You should do better next time.”
He grumbled under his breath but didn’t bother replying. She was probably right.
He turned to head back to the carriage, stepping past the frost-coated corpses. But just as his boot met the earth, a strange sensation pulsed through his body—like a ripple in his bones. His eyes widened.
Then a cracking sound came. It was deep, jagged and wrong. Not from the earth—but from inside him. Pain exploded through his limbs.
His arms seized first, then his legs, joints locking as if they were being twisted from the inside out. His chest clenched violently, and then something burned through it—no, everything burned. He felt fire in his bones. Fire in his blood. Even his teeth felt like they were melting.
He stumbled, eyes wide, vision splitting into white and red.
Then the pain hit his head, a thundering wave of heat and pressure. Like someone had stuffed a lightning bolt into his skull and set it off. The world spun. His body seized—and all he could feel was fire and tearing.
Like he was being remade. Or ripped apart. His vision shook violently. One moment he was upright, the next, he felt life leaving his body.
His palms met the frozen earth with a dull slap as his knees buckled beneath him. The sharp sting of ice bit into his skin, but it barely registered. His body convulsed once, a surge of pain lashing through his chest.
Somewhere, through the ringing in his ears, he heard Yalan’s voice.
It was close. He could almost hear her—
But the words were a garbled mess, warped and distant, like she was speaking underwater. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus—on her face, on the ground, on anything—but everything was spinning, twisting, like the world was folding in on itself.
Is it a curse? Or I got attacked by another spectre? Had one of them cursed me after all?
His thoughts scattered like ash in the wind.
Then his eyes went glassy, the grey skies above blurring into nothing but streaks of shadow and light. Blackness crept in from the edges of his vision, smothering color, dulling shape. His breath hitched. Then everything went still.
And Chen Ren collapsed onto the frost-covered path—body limp, fingers twitching—before the dark swallowed him whole.
2025-06-17 06:34:17 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 236
Kai didn’t want to fight the tribal leaders. Certainly not five of them at once.
Every part of him preferred to avoid that outcome—mana was better spent on orcs than politics, and a fight with five tribe leaders, even at Rank 2, wasn't something to take lightly. But after sitting through a meeting that turned to sharp words and more posturing than progress, he’d reached a simple conclusion—the fastest way to establish his place was with a weapon in hand.
The Ashari desert tribes were warrior clans. Blood and sand were their language. Titles, words, and diplomacy had their place—but strength was what made them listen. There was a reason each council member was an Enforcer. That strength was how they earned their seats. And strength was what they respected.
Kai just spoke the language better.
He already knew what they were capable of. Ansel had given him the breakdown ahead of the meeting. All five were Rank 2 Enforcers—three at the early stage, Khalid among them. Maari, the older woman with eyes like a desert hawk was the second strongest. And the strongest—of course—was Adil.
The man who had spent most of the meeting trying to provoke him. Kai wasn’t eager to clash. But he was ready.
This was, after all, a rare opportunity. How often did he get to test his spear against seasoned warriors who didn’t fear or respect him? And if he came close to losing, which he knew he would if he only relied on his spear skills, he could afford to use a few spells.
When he issued the challenge, no one stopped him.
There had been no protests, no deflections and no council leader rose with a hand raised. They just stared at him. He had expected them to lash out, maybe one or two leaders laughing at him, but he only saw stiff shoulders, clenched jaws and narrowed eyes.
He immediately realised what it was—pride.
Kai had managed to graze their pride by challenging them all to a duel at the same time and he could see it in their eyes that they wanted to teach him a lesson. That worked well for him since no one them wanted to back down.
Without another word exchanged, the entire group filed out of Khalid’s stone hall. They crossed the courtyard and wound through a narrow path until they came upon a wide, ringed arena dug into the ground—a sunken circle surrounded by old banners and trees. The sand here was darker, clearly disturbed often.
At this hour, the place was quiet—eerily so.
The wind blew harshly through the desert, the stars blinked faintly overhead, and the moon cast its pale glow on the sand-ring nestled in the heart of the secluded grove. There was no crowd, no cheering tribes folk, no rising drumbeat to mark the duel. Though he would’ve liked a crowd, this felt much better, just the trees and the people that were needed.
Kai eyed them briefly.
The five tribal leaders were readying themselves nearby, checking their weapons, murmuring quiet words to one another. None wore armor. They likely thought that adding armour to the duel would simply make Kai’s position much worse and that it wasn't needed.
He didn’t mind being underestimated. On the contrary, he liked that.
“Be careful of Adil,” Ansel said, stepping close enough to speak quietly. “Even when I was a boy, they called him the swift sword. Fastest Sand Knight in the desert, they said. He’ll hang back and wait for the others to press you—then strike when you’re off balance.”
Kai glanced at him, then nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind. Anything else?”
Ansel hesitated, his brow furrowing in thought. Then he shook his head. “No. You’ll be able to handle them. You’ve seen more battles than I have—more than most of us. I can see it every time you fight.”
That earned a faint smile from Kai. “I’ve been in my fair share.”
Ansel gave a quiet nod, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Just one thing.”
“What?”
Ansel glanced toward the ring, then back. “Don’t hit my brother too hard.”
Kai smiled. “I won’t.”
With that, he turned and stepped toward the ring.
His boots crunched over the loose sand. The arena felt older than it looked—well-worn, scarred by a hundred sparring sessions beneath its peaceful canopy. He crossed the boundary and entered first, spear in hand.
The tribal leaders followed, fanning out in a rough semicircle, weapons drawn but not yet raised. Khalid, standing at the edge, lifted his voice.
“The duel ends at the count of third blood or if one is pushed from the ring. No killing strikes. This is to be a friendly spar.”
Adil snickered as Khalid’s voice faded. The sound was low, biting, and Kai didn’t need a spell to know the man had no intention of following the rules. At least thessy one.
Kai tapped the butt of his spear against the ground and said casually, “No referees, right?”
Khalid shook his head. “None. We don’t need one. It should end quickly anyway.” He paused, his gaze unreadable. “We can still change the spar’s format. Make it less lopsided—”
“No need,” Kai said, cutting in. “Just come at me.”
Khalid frowned. “Are you sure—?”
Before he could finish, Adil let out a scoff. “Khalid, stop trying to give him a way out,” he said. “He’s the one who wanted this.”
Khalid’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing else. After a breath, he nodded stiffly.
He gave a look to one of the Sand Knights standing nearby. The man stepped forward, raised his arm high, and announced, “The spar begins on the count of three. Take your positions.”
The tribal leaders began to spread out immediately, the air shifting with movement and purpose.
Kai’s eyes tracked them. They weren’t taking chances. Each one was creating space to move, to breathe, to flank.
Adil and Khalid both wielded swords—Adil’s sleek and slightly curved, meant for speed; Khalid’s heavier and paired with a round shield strapped to his arm.
“One!”
The blacksmith, Husam—his name, carried a warhammer that looked like it belonged on a battlefield, not in a spar. He was already bouncing on his heels.
The fourth, a slim man named Saif, notched an arrow onto a desert-carved bow, eyes scanning from a distance—he was waiting for the opening. And then there was Maari.
“Two!”
She stood still, holding a pair of slender daggers at her sides. But as Kai’s gaze settled on her arm, he caught a flicker of something metallic wrapped near her wrist. He didn’t get the chance to examine it further.
“Three!”
The word cracked through the air like a whip.
Husam lunged first, charging forward. Kai had already shifted his stance by then, muscles coiled, and leapt back just as the hammer slammed down where he'd stood a breath ago, sending sand flying.
Even before his feet touched the ground, Kai sensed movement—faint whistles in the air.
Arrows.
He twisted mid-air, bringing his spear around in a wide arc. The metal shaft caught two of them, knocking them out of the air before they could pierce flesh. The third scraped his outer robe as it sailed past.
Danger prickled down his spine.
Kai spun, lifting his spear in time to block a swift slash from Adil, who had already closed the distance. The man’s strike was fast—blindingly so. Their weapons clashed with a harsh crack, steel on steel.
Adil sneered, lips curled as if the fight had already been won.
Kai pushed forward with a sudden surge of strength—but the hammer came crashing again. Kai dropped low, rolled across the sand, and rose to a sprint, weaving as arrows hissed toward him like angry wasps.
So far, predictable.
Let’s see how long they can keep up.
Surrounded in a ring with five trained warriors, all capable and all watching for an opening, Kai knew he couldn’t afford to drag this out—not if he was relying solely on his Enforcer abilities.
They were too many. Too fast. Too coordinated. He needed to break them apart.
Khalid stepped forward just as Kai twisted to move. His stance was solid, predictable, but not slow. A moment later, his sword swept out, aiming to pin Kai in.
But Kai was already moving.
Mana surged into his legs as he cast a wind spell through his foot, the pressure building before it exploded beneath his feet. His speed spiked—Khalid’s eyes widened, sword swinging wildly to catch him mid-dash.
It was too late.
Kai slipped under the blow, twisted his spear, and drove it into Khalid’s shield arm. The tip sliced skin—shallow but enough to draw blood. Khalid grunted, stumbling half a step.
But Kai didn’t have time to press the advantage.
Arrows hissed through the air again.
He pushed himself back, retreating in quick steps as the shafts embedded in the sand where he’d stood. He gritted his teeth. The archer was smart—waiting for openings, keeping him mobile.
Fortunately, the ring was big enough to give him room. And right now, that was all he needed. His eyes snapped toward Saif—the archer—who was already nocking another arrow.
Kai didn’t hesitate. He flicked two knives from his belt and sent them spinning through the air. They weren’t enchanted, just steel, but they forced the archer to shift, to duck, to hesitate.
And in that brief pause—Kai moved. He didn’t charge. Instead, he whispered an incantation.
Mana pooled in his heart, then threaded into his arms as he shaped the spell inwardly. The spectral threads formed in his palm, coiling, tightening.
A mana whip cracked out.
It lashed forward arcing low—and caught Saif by the ankle just as he tried to sidestep.
The man hit the ground with a grunt, bow flying from his hand. He scrambled, twisting to sever the hold, but Kai gripped the ethereal tether tighter, jaw clenched, and poured more strength into the spell.
Then with a twist of his arm, he swung Saif sideways.
The man skidded across the sand and over the edge of the ring.
Kai muttered under his breath, “One down.”
He didn’t have time to savor it.
A thunderous step behind him took his attention—Husam, the hammer-wielder, charged in. And from the other side Adil, moved like a shadow with that thin, gleaming sword.
They had timed it perfectly.
Two angles. No room to run.
Kai didn’t stop to think.
Wind burst beneath his feet again—this time mixed with a pulse of fire. The combination launched him upward in a spiraling jump, robes whipping behind him as the hammer crushed air beneath and Adil’s sword swept through nothing but dust.
Kai flipped mid-air, landed in a slide, rolled—
And the moment his hands hit the sand, he felt his senses prickling, feeling danger out of nowhere.
He saw something sharp—a glint, a flash—coming fast from the right.
His body reacted before his mind caught up.
He spun his spear up like a wall and braced.
The impact rang through his bones. Kai’s eyes widened as he caught the gleam of metal arcing toward him again—too close, too fast.
He stepped right on instinct, spear up—but it wasn’t enough. The dagger curved mid-air.
The wire guiding it shone and the blade twisted unnaturally, slicing across his arm before he could fully dodge. Pain flared and for a moment, he was taken back. Blood welled up and slipped down his forearm, warm and thin.
He hissed, jerking back, but the damage was done.
Only then did he get a good look at it—thin daggers, connected by nearly invisible threads. They snapped back sliding into the hands of Maari, who stood just outside his range with a calm smile on her lips.
“You still have time to surrender,” she called out lightly.
Mana flowed inward, gathering into his veins. He almost regretted not laying a barrier down from the start. But barriers drained mana fast, and he had been hoping to avoid that. But he had no such luck.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement—fast and aggressive.
Adil, Khalid, and Husam, all charging again, closing the distance from different angles.
He raised his hand, lines of heat forming in the air around him as he shaped a new spell structure. The runes linked cleanly—tight, fast, practiced.
Half a dozen [Firebolts] hissed into existence, launching outward like arrows made of flame. The tribal leaders' eyes widened as they rushed toward them, splitting paths—three heading straight for Husam, one toward Maari, and two weaving between Adil and Khalid like flying fangs.
The hammer-wielder was the first to react.
Husam roared and swung hard at the air, trying to knock the bolts aside. But they slipped past, too nimble, too fast. One slammed into his upper arm—he staggered, yelling as the flames bit through his skin. Another struck his side, and a third circled behind and licked across the back of his knee.
His hammer came up in a wide, desperate horizontal arc, knocking one bolt out of the air. But the last one struck clean into the back of his leg.
He went down, coughing out a curse, steam rising from scorched flesh as he became the second person to lose.
Kai watched it from the corner of his vision as Adil, dodging the bolts, muttered under his breath, “Everyone other than me is useless.”
He and Khalid had fared better—Khalid’s shield caught one of the bolts, absorbing it with a loud crack, while Adil twisted his body, slipping between them with barely a singe. They were way faster than Husam.
Too fast for more bolts to do much now unless he fully overwhelmed them. Not worth the drain. It was time to change tactics.
Kai adjusted his footing and surged forward—wind pouring through his legs once again, pressure coiling tight around his calves before releasing in a sharp burst of acceleration.
His target was clear now. Maari.
She had reach. Tricks. And worst of all, range. Someone like her needed to be taken out first.
Kai shot forward, wind swirling around his feet in steady bursts, targeting Maari with deadly precision. But she wasn’t idle. She had already dealt with the fire bolt he’d sent her way and was mid-motion, flicking both her daggers forward.
They whistled through the air—fast, sharp, controlled by invisible wires.
Kai didn’t stop.
He ducked low, twisting mid-run, and small gusts of wind erupted around every part of his exposed skin—arms, neck, legs. The daggers curved toward him, but instead of biting into flesh, they deflected off the sudden flares of air, thrown just slightly off-course.
Maari’s eyes widened, surprise flickering across her face. That was all the time he needed.
Kai closed the distance in a blink. His spear swung in a wide arc—metal flashing as it aimed straight for her side. She caught it.
A steel bracer on her forearm sparked as it absorbed the blow, but it forced her back a step. Her daggers snapped back into her grip on their thin wires, and she spun with a dancer’s grace, slashing toward him.
Kai moved with her, spear flowing into blocks and parrys.
Steel hissed against steel.
He ducked under a slash, shifted to the side, then rammed the butt of his spear into her ribs. A grunt escaped her lips as she staggered—just long enough for Kai to twist the spear in his hands and slash low.
The blade tore a shallow line across her stomach. She grimaced and took a step back, wounded—but not finished.
Kai didn’t wait.
He swept his foot into her shin, and as she stumbled, he snapped his fingers. A glowing whip of mana erupted and lashed around her legs like a snake, dragging her balance away completely.
She hit the ground hard—and a second later, the force of the whip sent her sliding backward across the sand.
Over the line. Out of the ring.
“Three,” Kai muttered. He turned—
Just in time to see Khalid charging at him, shield raised like a wall and eyes narrowed in focused rage.
Kai’s hand moved before thought finished forming. He slammed his palm against the ground and poured a sharp breath of mana into it.
Ice crackled beneath Khalid’s boots.
The shift from dry, sun-baked sand to slick, frozen surface was instant. Khalid’s expression flickered from fury to confusion—and then to panic as his foot slipped.
His charge collapsed mid-stride. He fell hard, shield catching his weight with a clang as he skidded forward. He tried to push up, but the ice was too foreign—too alien for someone born and raised in sun and sand. His limbs scrambled for grip that wasn’t there, hands clawing at the slick surface.
Kai stepped forward calmly.
He raised a hand, formed [Firebolts]—small ones, fast and precise. With a flick of his wrist, he sent them gliding across the ice. They didn’t hit with force.
Just grazed him—along the arm, the back, the shoulder. Thin trails of blood bloomed across Khalid’s exposed skin.
Khalid grunted in frustration and exhaustion, half-crawling off the ice, but by then he was out.
Four down.
Only one remained.
Adil.
The man stood across the ring, arms crossed, a thin smirk playing on his lips. He hadn’t moved during Kai’s clash with Khalid. Hadn’t interfered. Hadn’t helped. Just watched.
Now, he stepped forward slowly, drawing his sword, the gleam of polished steel catching the starlight.
“That’s all they had.” He scoffed. “Now let’s see if you can keep up with me. You took out the weak ones with tricks. But that won’t work on me.”
Kai rolled his shoulders, the shaft of his spear firm in his grip. “We’ll see about that.”
He had no intention of ending this with fire bolts or whips. Not yet. A one-on-one fight was rare, and it was the perfect chance to push his close-combat skills against a fast, dangerous opponent.
Adil didn’t wait.
He shot forward, a blur of movement and steel. Kai braced, grounding his stance and meeting the first blow with the solid shaft of his spear. Sparks crackled off the metal as the weapons clashed.
But Adil was faster than him.
In the same breath, he spun low and jabbed toward Kai’s chest.
Kai twisted, just barely dodging the strike, the sword grazing past his robes. He countered instantly, snapping a kick toward Adil’s ribs, but the man was already gone, darting back and out of reach.
Their clash continued without a single wasted second. In the next minute, they traded dozens of blows—Kai’s spear sweeping, thrusting, pivoting—Adil’s sword responding with clean, deadly arcs.
Kai ducked two strikes that would’ve sliced open his side. He blocked another aimed at his shoulder, and caught a fourth with the flat of his spear.
But every time he moved, Adil was already reacting. Already evading.
Yet behind that cold smile Adil wore with every dodge… Kai saw it. The twitch in his brow. The slight tightening at the corners of his eyes.
Panic.
It wasn’t visible to anyone else, but Kai had seen enough real combat to recognize the signs. Adil wasn’t in control. Not really. His confidence was being chipped away strike by strike.
“You’re not as bad as I expected,” Adil said coolly, stepping back as if he still had the upper hand. “But let’s see how you handle this.”
Before Kai could respond, he felt it—mana rising fast.
The sand around Adil stirred, already moving upwards. It whipped around his body, clinging to him, to his blade, to the air itself. In seconds, the man and his sword were obscured, shrouded in a storm of golden dust.
The wind howled as Adil vanished within it—and then, with a sharp burst, the storm shot forward, blinding, jagged, all aimed at Kai.
Wind burst from Kai in all directions—tight, sharp, slicing through the air around him and forming a protective spiral. It didn’t stop the sand, but it redirected it, forcing the cloud away from his face and eyes, pushing it behind him.
Still, he could barely see.
Adil’s voice came from somewhere within the storm. “Your spells won’t save you.”
Then the attack came.
A glint of metal. A sudden movement. Kai jumped back on instinct, but the sand thickened again, obscuring Adil’s precise location. It wouldn’t last long. Kai knew that.
And if it continued this way—if he let the storm grow—he’d be picked apart.
So, bitter at having to spend more mana than he wanted, Kai made his decision.
He summoned fire.
Heat rushed through his limbs. Then, with a sharp step, he drove his palm into the ground—fire exploding outward in a ring.
The flames met the sand instantly. And everything changed. The entire tide of the battle shifted.
Adil’s storm faltered as the heat roared through it. The sand suspended in the air turned first to glowing clumps, then to slick shards—and finally, to glass.
The arena hissed as fire met dust. The ground beneath Adil’s feet warped and crackled. His sword slowed in its arc.
His eyes widened.
He tried to shake the sand off his limbs, realizing too late what Kai had done. The molten edges of the arena shifted. Thin patches of glass cracked beneath his steps.
Then—
Sharp edges rose. The glass caught him.
Blood sprayed from Adil’s leg as he stumbled backward, his foot sliced by what had once been a harmless dune.
2025-06-17 06:32:55 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 125
Once the vessel was filled up enough, Chen Ren let Feiyu handle the rest of the process. The man moved immediately, mixing the herbal essence water with starch—the same binding agent they had tested before and found effective. As Feiyu focused on the blend, Chen Ren turned toward the three people he had called to witness the demonstration.
Their eyes followed every movement with curiosity and quiet tension.
Wang Jun was the first to break the silence. “There’s no way this will work,” he said, his nose scrunching up in protest. “I get the principle—it works on paper, sure. But pills aren’t theory. There’s no guarantee they’ll actually come out right.”
“They did, and it turned out good, too,” Chen Ren replied simply. He turned around and moved to bring over a wooden tray filled with round pill molds where they had put essence mixed with starch yesterday. It was now dried, shimmering faintly in white color.
Qing He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she reached out. “You ate it?” she asked. “How was it?”
“Honestly, it’s better than the one I bought from Jingxi City. You should try for yourself.”
That was the only invitation Qing He needed. She plucked two pills from the tray and placed one in front of Yalan. The third witness, Wang Jun, remained still, watching as the two placed the pills on their tongues.
A few seconds passed as they swallowed the pills.
Qing He grunted in approval and turned to the head. “Try it,” she said with a smile.
Wang Jun rolled his eyes. “You know I can’t. I’m just here to see whether Chen Ren pulled it off or not.” His tone was flat when he spat out words.
Chen Ren knew he wanted to take a taste as well, the curiosity was well evident in his eyes.
Qing He shot a glance at Chen Ren. “It worked,” she said. “It’s a solid Qi Replenishment pill. Well, I do have some notes. It's far from perfect.” Chen Ren opened his mouth but was cut off by Qing He. “Purity could be better. And the taste… taste is terrible. Worse than the regular pill. Probably because the starch didn’t mix well. But it’s workable, I guess.”
“And I’m pretty sure you could still sell it to those broke rogue cultivators. They won’t care about taste if it restores Qi,” Yalan said, tasting another.
The moment Chen Ren heard those words, a bit of tension in his shoulders eased. He unclenched his jaw and realised how tight it was until then. After all the sleepless nights, half-burned mixtures and ruined batches, they’d finally managed it—an unconventional way to make pills. One that gave a way for mortals to help out.
Of course, it wasn’t perfect yet. But he could already see the way forward. With the pills in line, he’d be able to create a successful production line, a steady supply chain, and small workshops. Although he hadn’t sat down to calculate the numbers, he was certain that this method would let him produce far more pills using fewer herbs than traditional alchemy ever allowed.
That alone gave it value and purpose for him to move forward.
He knew one of the biggest flaws with traditional alchemy was the element of luck.
The process could shift and turn solely based on the alchemist’s qi and concentration. But that wasn't the case with distillation, drying and molding—there was no luck involved. As long as the ingredients were good, and the process was precise, he knew the outcome would be consistent.
That outcome… it could bring him success. And—
Qing He’s voice cut into his thoughts.
“Even so,” she said, brushing her hands together. “If I dare say it, it serves your purpose. But you’ve added non-traditional components—starch, spirit water. The way essence binds is a plus, but it’s still crude, so you need to refine it further…” her eyes suddenly narrowed at the pill tray and looked up. “If you used something like spiritual clay—or even just dehydrated the mixture instead—you’d probably get better results.”
She paused for a moment.
“Also, not all herbs pair well with spirit water. Some clash entirely. So you should know that what you could make with this method will be limited.” She tilted her head briefly. “But I guess you don’t care about it.”
“I don’t. I can leave the rarer pills for actual alchemists.”
From the beginning, his goal was never to replace alchemists. It was to create common pills cheaply in a constant supply. And now, he was on the verge of achieving it. His eyes sparkled. There were still ideas brewing in his mind, to make his pills far more efficient.
“You think spiritual clay would work better as a binding agent?”
“It should.”
“But, would it help the taste?”
Qing He’s gray eyebrows rose an inch. “Taste?”
Wang Jun burst out laughing from the side. “If you want something tasty, kid, why not make me the Stormbite Pill again?” he grinned. “We can try together. Maybe it would blow up the cauldron fully while we’re at it, but if the pill comes out well, it's worth it.”
Chen Ren ignored Wang Jun’s teasing and turned toward Yalan instead.
“Do you remember those healing and bone-mending pills you fed me after the spectral rhino incident?”
Yalan’s whiskers twitched. “I remember. You almost vomited them out.”
The corners of lips turned up. “Anyone would’ve. Honestly, it’s not just those. I’ve tasted quite a few since then and every single one was bitter enough to make me question whether alchemists have tongues at all.” He scrunched his nose up in disgust. Even thinking about the taste made him almost gag.
That statement made Qing He frown, folding her arms. “Obviously, they taste bitter. Pills aren’t food to taste good. They’re for healing and cultivation. No one cares about taste.”
“But why not?” Chen Ren countered, raising two fingers between them. “Let’s say two pills are priced the same, have the same purity and effect. One tastes like you’re chewing on the brain of a bug. The other doesn’t. Which one would you pick?”
Qing He narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you getting at?”
“I’m just thinking with a consumer mindset,” he said with a shrug. “So, tell. Which one?”
From the side, the group’s silent observer finally spoke up. “I’d take the flavored one,” Wang Jun said. “A little taste won’t kill anyone.”
“Same,” Feiyu chimed in from the back, still stirring the essence and starch mixture with rhythmic movements.
A grin spread through Chen Ren's lips. He turned his eyes towards Qing He who clearly didn’t like the way this conversation was going. And he had an explanation for that; it was likely because of her alchemist roots.
And he understood that. But a little support from her could go a long way for him.
“See? I think this could work.”
That earned a brief glare that lasted for a few pregnant seconds. He didn’t back out. He kept up the staring contest until she let out a long breath and said, “So you want to add something that brings in more flavor to the pills. Fine. But you do realize that doing that could alter the pill’s effects entirely. There’s a reason we follow recipes refined over hundreds of years.”
“I know. Trust me, I do,” Chen Ren replied and kept the pill tray away. “But how do we perfect anything if we don’t test and adapt? Now that I have a working method for consistent pill production, I want to push it further. Refine the process. Build a whole system around it and improve the recipes along the way so I could sell a lot of pills to cultivators. Also, I’m not trying to invent a new kind of pill here. I just believe alchemy has stagnated. This might be the change it needs.”
After his explanation, which was mostly aimed at Qing He, he waited. He waited for any reaction that he could get.
Then surprisingly, Yalan gave a low purr. “What you’re saying isn’t wrong. And I didn’t even think you’d get this method to work, so if you are trying to get the taste to get better, you would achieve it sooner or later.”
Chen Ren blinked, then placed a hand on his heart and feigned hurt. “Really? I thought you’d have some faith in me.”
Yalan snorted. “Faith? You couldn’t even make an Earth-grade pill properly two months ago.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and simply said, “Point taken.” His gaze shifted back to Qing He, waiting.
Qing He’s frown deepened as she crossed her arms. “Do you really want my help?”
“You’re the only one here with enough knowledge to actually help me refine this. And right now, after trying so much, I believe I really do need help. I don't want to spend months into this.”
That was all needed for Wang Jun to jump in. “I can help too, you know.”
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you specialize in outdated methods?”
“There’s no such thing as outdated knowledge in cultivation. We’ve been using the same principles for hundreds of years, and they work just fine.”
Chen Ren opened his mouth to concede—he wasn’t entirely wrong—but Qing He cut in before he could.
“Alright, I’ll help. I’ve got a few ideas already… but I’m doing this as a favor. I would use that one day and you wouldn't be able to get out of it by using your sweet tongue.”
Chen Ren smiled, clearly not minding the jab. Then, he looked back at his workshop. “That’s all good with me. We’re going to have some exciting days ahead of us.”
***
The next few days were not exciting at all.
Perfecting recipes and refining his new method of alchemy turned out to be an incredibly tedious—and exhausting—task. Far from the thrill of invention, it was a slog of measuring, boiling, grinding, and more measuring. Every ingredient had to be weighed accurately. They had to figure out better ways to dissolve herbs in spirit water without compromising purity, and—perhaps the hardest part—find a binding material that could carry flavor without ruining the pill’s integrity.
Chen Ren, at one point, entertained the idea of flavoring the pills like candies, imagining rows of mint or chocolate-flavored qi boosters. But even he had the sense not to say it aloud.
That level of madness could wait. For now, he needed to get at least three more reliable pill types added to his recipe book before he could even think about "candy-like pills."
Thankfully, help arrived in an unexpected form.
Anji volunteered to assist—without being asked—and took charge of the herb measurements with surprising efficiency. Wang Jun joined her and it quickly became apparent that he had a deep knowledge of herbs. Even Qing He looked impressed when he identified multiple substitutes that dissolved better in spirit water while maintaining the same effects.
That part alone shaved off hours of trial and error.
But it was Anji who truly proved invaluable. She quietly mentioned her experience working in the alchemy halls of the Void Blade Sect, and her competence showed. Under Chen Ren’s instructions, she calculated the exact quantities needed to make a consistent batch of twenty pills—down to the last stalk and grain.
And she didn’t stop there.
Without needing to be told, she began developing spreadsheets—on parchment, of course—mapping the costs of each herb, the volume of ingredients, and even projecting profit margins per batch. When Chen Ren glanced at her notes, he blinked twice. She had even calculated the overhead cost of spirit water production and labor in terms of spirit stones.
It was to the point that Chen Ren decided, then and there, that Anji would be the one handling the pill business for him. She might not have made a single pill herself, but the way she managed the logistics—herbs, costs, profits—was something even he couldn’t replicate without burning out.
That decision, at least, was easy.
What wasn’t easy was everything else.
The Qi Replenishment Pill, for all its flaws, had been the simplest one on his list. The real challenge began when they moved on to the next three basic pills he wanted to recreate—ones every young cultivator kept stocked: Scarlet bloom healing pellets,
Bone-refining capsules and Focus clarity pills.
Unlike the Qi Replinsment pill, these were a headache from the very beginning.
Not only were they more complex in composition, but they also demanded longer preparation times and more sensitive handling. The Scarlet bloom healing pellet in particular used a fire-aspected herb that absolutely refused to dissolve in spirit water, no matter what method they tried. Chen Ren scratched his head over it until it felt like his scalp would bleed.
He and Qing He spent hours poring through notes, trying every substitution they could think of. Even Wang Jun pitched in with a few herb names that looked promising—only to reveal, after a second thought, that they were either extinct or unavailable near Meadow Village.
Eventually, they dropped that particular pill altogether.
Fortunately, the world of pill-making wasn’t short on basics, and they pivoted to a different one—a common Muscle Recovery Pill that had fewer restrictions and a lot more room for experimentation. If Chen Ren had to point out the real problem, though, it wasn’t the recipes.
They had time. They could tweak the mixtures and run trials until the measurements were exact. Once that was done, most pills stabilized and followed predictable results.
No, the real problem was the equipment.
Aside from the basic heating arrays, Chen Ren had been experimenting with inserting auxiliary arrays into the cauldron interiors—arrays that would agitate the mixture, help with essence separation, or accelerate evaporation. The theory was sound. The application, not so much.
There was only so much a cauldron could take before the inscriptions interfered with each other or just melted straight off.
And more than once, he found himself standing in front of a smoking piece of scrap metal wondering how real alchemists dealt with this daily.
Which brought him to another conclusion—they were going to need an actual alchemist or two. Not just for the pills’ integrity, but to certify the quality, balance, and grade of each batch they produced. Innovation was fine, but without recognized alchemists backing them, they were just rogue pill sellers with no reputation.
Anji could handle the business side of things. She’d gotten experience with the alcohol venture already—organizing transport, managing supply chains, and doing the math no one else wanted to touch. Chen Ren had no doubt she’d do the same here.
But supervisors and equipment were another matter entirely.
Unfortunately, after just one serious conversation with Qing He, he realized how far out of reach those things really were.
They sat across from each other at a low table, the scent of dried herbs lingering in the air. Qing He stirred her tea idly, not even looking at him as she spoke.
“You need to understand something, Chen Ren. Cauldrons for alchemy aren’t easy to get. The good ones are made by sects themselves. Even the ones in regular alchemy shops are second-rate at best. You are lucky I gave you the ones I have.” She looked up, her eyes steady. “And for what you’re trying to do, you don’t just need one—you need big ones. Ones that can handle embedded arrays, uniform heating, batch refinement. Those are rare. And expensive. You’ll need to shell out a lot of spirit stones.”
She paused to take a slow sip, then added, “And alchemists? You’re lucky to have a few cultivators working with you now. Skilled alchemists don’t wander around waiting to be hired. Your best bet is to start training someone new. But that’ll take years.”
Chen Ren exhaled slowly, slumping forward on the table. “There’s got to be a way,” he muttered. “You don’t want to supervise the pill assembly line either.”
“Obviously I don’t,” Qing He replied with a sniff. “I have better things to do with my time.”
He bit back the retort that nearly slipped out—like drinking tea all day?—and instead stared down at the unfinished schematic on the table between them.
It wasn’t like he could just walk into the wilds and stumble across a skilled alchemist and perfectly preserved pill cauldrons.
…Or could he?
It was far-fetched. Ridiculous, even. Skilled alchemists were rare and always affiliated with sects or clans. Good equipment gets taken away by the powerhouses—usually those same sects.
But then, a flicker of memory came to him. Something Tang Boming had said when handing him a scroll of information on Broken Ridge City's clans and sects.
Chen Ren’s gaze slowly shifted to Qing He.
“Acquisition,” he said aloud.
She blinked. “What?”
“I need to do an acquisition,” Chen Ren said, eyes lighting up as the idea turned into a full-blown plan in his mind. “That’s how we solve this.”
2025-06-15 06:50:41 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 235
With just those words, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
It wasn’t immediate—more like a ripple through still water—but Kai saw it. Hands brushed against hilts. Fingers tightened around spear shafts. The Sand Knights standing along the stone walls didn’t move, not yet, but they were ready. One wrong word, and they’d strike.
Kai didn’t move.
He simply sat there, letting the weight of his words linger in the thick, charged air. Letting the tribal leaders stew.
He didn’t know what they were thinking—whether it was shock that an outsider had dared speak to them like that, or if some part of them was actually considering whether he was telling the truth. Either way, he didn’t particularly care.
Trying to speak gently wouldn't work. Not with a council with their own motives. Diplomacy wouldn’t hold here. Respect, in this land, was carved with steel and certainty.
He would play their game. But on his terms and soon the silence cracked.
Adil leaned forward. “What arrogance,” he spat. “You come into our land, speak before our council, and dare act as if you’re above us?”
Kai tilted his head. “I believe it was you who compared me to a robber, Councilman. If anything, that’s cause enough for a duel.”
Gasps whispered through the room.
Adil’s smile thinned, sharp and eager. “Then I would welcome it.”
His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, but before he could rise, another voice cut in—measured, firm.
“Stop it.”
Maari’s hand rested lightly on Adil’s shoulder, but there was no mistaking the strength behind her words.
“This won’t give us the answers we’re here for,” she said, and looked at Kai calmly. “We came to speak. Not to fight.”
Adil stiffened, clearly biting back a reply. But he sat down again, reluctantly. Maari gave him a final glance before returning her focus to Kai.
“Count Arzan,” she said. “I apologize for Adil’s behavior. Tensions are high after the orc attack. I’d like us to start again.”
Kai gave her a respectful nod, but his eyes didn’t lose their edge. He knew conversations like this could go wrong at any time. Therefore, he waited for the women to speak.
She continued, “First, allow me to thank you. The men you saved—they were from my tribe. Every single one of them. And for that, we are grateful.”
“It was my duty. Innocents in danger deserve protection, no matter whose land they’re in.”
Adil snorted under his breath, but Kai didn’t so much as glance at him. Maari ignored him as well and pressed on.
“I never doubted that Lancephilians had honour,” she said. “But I also don’t understand why you and your party are here. In the Ashari Desert. At a time like this.” She paused, then added more pointedly, “You’re aware, I assume, that the desert’s been… turbulent.”
Kai nodded once. “From what Ansel told me, it’s been turbulent for a decade now.” The statement alone earned a few furrowed brows. “I’m here for a business tied to that. Something… deeply personal.”
Khalid spoke for the first time. “What do you mean? I asked Ansel myself, and he avoided the question. What business brings a Lancephilian all the way out here, so far from his own lands?”
“That business,” he said, having no reason to lie. “Is my mother’s inheritance. She was a Magus. And her legacy lies at the heart of orc territory—a tower she built herself, housing ancient artifacts, research, and sources of power sought after by every Mage across the world.”
He let the silence sit.
“I’ve come to reclaim it.”
The words dropped like a stone in water.
“What?” Khalid asked.
Ansel, standing behind Kai, met the look squarely and gave a single, solemn nod. “It’s true.”
For a few seconds, no one spoke. The room was a still sea of calculating stares. Kai could feel them thinking about every word of his, scanning his face to see any deceit. So he waited.
Saif, one of the quieter leaders, finally broke the silence. “We’ve never seen such a tower. You say it’s here in the desert? In the orc territory? If that were true, surely someone would’ve seen it by now.”
“It’s protected. My guess is that there are powerful illusion seals masking its presence, enchantments in simpler words. I’d wager the whole region around it is warded—people might have passed by a dozen times and never known it.”
Maari turned her head slightly and exchanged a glance with Khalid.
She looked back at Kai. “Even if we believe your words—and I don’t doubt you’re lying—what exactly do you need from us? From what you’ve said, you already know where the tower is. So why are we needed?”
“Yes,” Kai said, “I know where it is. But like I mentioned—it lies within orc territory. I could get to it far easier with the support of the tribes.”
The sentence had barely left his mouth before Adil let out a short, mocking laugh. “Ah, right. You say you’re stronger than all of us combined—but now you need our help to find a tower that doesn’t exist?”
The sarcasm in his voice hung heavy in the air. He quickly followed the statement with a loud laughter.
“You’re funny.”
Kai inhaled sharply. This man is so annoying, he thought to himself but maintained a neutral face as much as he could. “I can handle the orcs. I could even face their overlord, if I have to. But they’re not what they once were.” His eyes flicked around the table. “They’re aided by artifacts. And as you all know—they’ve grown far stronger than they have any right to be.”
Adil snorted. “Whatever. None of this benefits us. You want us to follow you into sandstorms and the orc territory for what? Will you let us take a share of this supposed ‘inheritance’ when we get there?”
Kai ignored the scoffing tone, choosing instead to speak to the room as a whole.
“I said this before,” he replied. “And I’ll say it again—it’s in your favour to help me.”
“How?”
Kai’s response was cool, almost bored. “If you were smart enough, you’d have realised it by now.”
The words landed hard.
Adil’s expression twisted into scorn, but no retort came. Tension gripped the room, but this time, someone else cut through it—Maari.
“You mentioned the tower is full of artifacts,” she said slowly. Her eyes narrowed, her mind clearly already working through the implications. “Does that mean the orcs…?”
Kai gave her a small nod, grateful that someone at the table wasn’t entirely thick in the brain department.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I suspect,” he said. “I believe the orcs broke into the tower. Somehow, they bypassed the seals. What you’ve seen them wield—blades that cut steel, stones that shoot out mana attacks, cloaks that protect them from any of their attacks—all of that… It's not random. It was part of my mother’s inheritance. All of it.”
Gasps rippled through a few of the council aides in the background, barely restrained.
And then, at last, Councilman Husam who had kept silent till now spoke.
“But the orcs believe those artifacts are gifts,” he said. “Blessings from Belkhor—their god. They believe the overlord was chosen to receive them, and he doles them out to his most loyal.”
Kai frowned at the ridiculousness of those words. He almost said it outright—that the orc faith was blind, built on myth and delusion—but he held his tongue. Words like that would only close ears, not open them. From what he knew from Ansels, the tribals were as much into gods as the orcs.
“That’s what they believe. But what they believe doesn’t change what those artifacts are—or where they came from. They’re not gifts. They’re stolen. And the longer the orcs have them, the more powerful they become,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I believe you’re not dealing with scattered battle brained creatures. You're dealing with a rising force armed with magic no one had ever seen before in the desert. I suspect that they haven't even scratched the surface of the tower. Once they do, they might be several times stronger.”
Finishing those words, he simply turned to Feroy.
Without a word, the Knight gave a short nod, stepped out of the chamber, and returned moments later carrying something heavy in his arms.
He laid the axe down in the center of the council table with a solid thud.
The light from the hanging lanterns glinted off its curved edge. Seals shimmered faintly along the haft and blade. The reaction was immediate. Every council leader leaned forward. Their eyes widened.
Adil went as far as to touch it, his fingers brushing the handle. “So it’s true… You retrieved an orc artifact,” he muttered. “I heard you found it after killing those words, but this looks far more stronger than what I envisioned.”
“It's not an orc artifact,” Kai said and pointed at the weapon. “It's human. Look at the enchantments. Study the structure. And try to compare it with the crude weapons orcs wielded ten years ago. You’ll find no similarities.”
The council fell silent again. They moved to stare and inspect the piece of weapon in front of them and Kai let them.
Until Husam spoke.
His thick brows furrowed as he ran a callused hand across the axe’s engravings. “Count Arzan… I believe you’re right.”
“I’ve had suspicions before,” Husam continued slowly, “but this confirms them. This isn’t orc craftsmanship. Not even close. These patterns…” He traced one with his thumb. “I’ve seen them in Lancephil. And one more time in a northern kingdom—Zerha. The style is exactly that.”
Khalid stiffened. “Are you certain, Husam?”
The man looked up, his eyes sharp. “Are you doubting my knowledge of weapons?”
Khalid leaned back immediately. “Obviously not. You’re the most knowledgeable here in that field.”
“The orcs could never forge such weapons,” Kai said, taking the opportunity to speak up. “And it’s laughable to think their god would arm them with human-made arms. No—these were taken. Ripped from the tower my mother built. This axe—everything they’ve been using against you—none of it belongs to them.”
He sighed. By the looks on their faces, he could tell that they were actually starting to believe in his words. Even if it hadn't reached trust, they had started to suspect the source of the orc’s sudden strength.
“They’ve turned my mother’s legacy into a war chest. And unless it’s stopped, they’ll keep raiding, keep growing stronger, until no tribe, no alliance, no men can face them.”
The way the tribal leaders looked at him changed—just slightly. The doubt hadn’t vanished. Still, belief hadn’t taken root. And from the far end of the table, Adil’s lips twitched. His frown twisted deeper as he looked between the others.
“You all aren’t actually buying into this bullshit, right?” he snapped. “A Mage tower in the middle of the desert? Really?”
His voice rang through the hall, tight and full of scorn.
“We’ve lived our whole lives in this sand. If something like that existed, we’d have seen it.”
He gestured toward the axe, then toward Kai.
“These artifacts? Could’ve come from anywhere. The orcs probably looted some kingdom armory. Or better yet—maybe the orcs just locked up some blacksmiths and Mages and forced them to work. That’s more believable than some lost tower suddenly belonging to a foreign count. I'm pretty sure this man is just trying to use us and Khalid's brother is involved.”
He pointed directly at the back of the room at Ansel.
Kai didn’t even need to glance to feel the tension suddenly spike.
Adil’s voice sharpened even further. “It’s all too convenient, isn’t it? This outsider shows up, and who’s right behind him? Ansel—the same man who ran off years ago.”
Ansel’s hands clenched at his sides, his jaw tight.
“You come back,” Adil said, sneering, “serving a foreign lord. And now that same lord talks openly about using the tribes to take on the orcs—how long before he tries to use us to rule what’s left?”
Ansel stepped forward, teeth gritted. “What did you say?”
“I said,” Adil growled, “you’re the one who ran. And now you return, helping a man who spins tales and drags us into war. What proof do we have that you’re not just setting us all up to die so he can claim the desert?”
All tribal leaders looked at Adil as if they hadn't expected him to go this far. Even Maari’s brow tightened—but it wasn’t Kai who spoke next. It was Khalid.
He stood up, drawing a short sword from his side, rage covering his eyes. The blade caught the light and he pointed it directly at Adil.
“I’ll cut your tongue out if you ever question my brother’s integrity again. And I mean, ever.”
Adil didn’t back down.
“I’m questioning yours, too. This whole thing—this tower, these artifacts, this convenient inheritance—it reeks of power play. And it stinks of fear.” He looked at the others on the table. “You all just want to believe it because you’re scared of how strong the orcs are now.”
“Power play? What a load of bullshit!” Khalid didn’t move the blade. “My tribe Rahzet gave all of you shelter when we built this city. We helped form this council. And we let every one of your tribes retain their warriors, your strength, your power.”
He stepped forward, slow and firm, still holding the blade between them.
“If I or anyone in my family wanted to rule over the rest of you, we would’ve already done it.”
Adil’s lips curled, and the fury in Khalid’s tone silenced the rest of the room.
“You don’t get to stand there and throw mud just because you’re afraid of losing your authority,” Khalid growled. “Ansel may have left—but he never stopped thinking of the tribes. Even when you forgot what unity was.”
The leaders looked at each other with nervous eyes, clearly not expecting such a display. And honestly, even Kai hadn’t expected Khalid’s outburst—at least not like that. If things escalated, it looked like the man would fight Adil to death—
Before things could spiral further, the remaining three leaders moved swiftly.
Maari stood, placing a hand on Khalid’s arm and quietly urging him back. Husam rose as well, his large frame moving between them with the quiet authority of someone who’d defused more than one political standoff. Even Saif motioned Adil to sit down, his narrowed eyes reminding him of the danger in pressing further.
Khalid sheathed his blade slowly. And Adil sat, stiff and sour.
But the tension didn’t leave.
Kai could feel it—settled like dust in the lungs. The illusion of unity had cracked. And now that he was looking closely, he realized it had never been particularly strong. This council was already fractured. Distrust ran deep.
Still, at least now he knew where Khalid stood.
Once the quiet returned, Ansel stepped forward. “I didn’t run away,” he said. “I left the desert because I saw what was coming. I saw what the orcs were turning into—what the tribes couldn’t face alone. I left to ask for help.”
His gaze moved around the table.
“For ten years, I searched. I begged. I bartered. And in the end, I found Lord Arzan—someone who had his own reasons to fight the orcs. And he agreed to help. He didn’t have to. He doesn’t owe the desert anything.” He paused, then added pointedly, “And from what I’ve seen of his strength—if he did want to take control of the tribes, we wouldn’t be having a meeting. He would have taken what he wanted.”
Adil snorted. “We don’t need an outsider’s help. We never have.”
“Are you sure?” Kai asked almost immediately. He looked across the table now, speaking to all of them. “Because from where I stand, you weren’t even able to stop the orcs who came to abduct your people.”
That landed hard. Several tribal leaders’ faces tightened, and Adil’s eyes narrowed—but none of them spoke.
Maari, after a beat, said, “Yes… but we’ve sent out scouts to track them. To learn where they’re keeping the ones they took.”
Kai turned toward her.
“And do you believe,” he asked, “that you—and your Sand Knights—will find them in time? And be able to rescue them?”
Maari’s jaw tightened. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The silence said everything.
Kai leaned forward and softened his voice.
“You may be proud warriors. But the orcs aren’t what they once were. Their strength isn’t just brute force anymore—it’s stolen magic. And it’s growing.”
“Still… it’s our problem.” Husam’s grumbling voice earned his attention and Kai didn’t refute.
“It is. And I’m offering you a chance to solve it.”
Kai exhaled slowly and placed his hands flat on the table.
“Let me make it simple. I’m not here to take your lands. I don’t want to rule over your tribes or make you bow to me. What I want—what I’ve always wanted—is a long-term relationship built on trade. Mutual gain. Not subjugation.
“I have no interest in holding power here. Your region’s valuable with the beasts, yes—but it’s also laced with mana-bane terrain. That alone makes it less attractive to most Mages.”
That part, at least, was true on the surface. But deep inside, Kai knew he was half-lying. One thing in the Ashari Desert did interest him.
The Sand Knights—how they adapted to this land without relying on external mana and their mana techniques. Also, the desert was a graveyard for careless Mages and that made it an ideal training ground to forge stronger Mages.
But this wasn’t the time to speak of it. Trust hadn’t been earned yet. And for now, silence was strategy.
“What I’m looking for,” he continued, “is to reach my mother’s tower, take my rightful inheritance, and retrieve the artifacts stolen by the orcs.” His gaze swept across the table. “The tribes could help in that. And in return, I’ll ensure the safe return of those who were abducted and if it comes to that, face Khorvash.”
He leaned back, letting the confidence in his voice carry the truth. “You’ve heard what happened with the three orcs. You’ve heard how my people handled them.”
Husam nodded slowly. “We have. But three orcs and an entire warband are very different things.”
“They are. But I don’t believe the outcome will change.”
Maari studied him with narrow eyes. “You’re very confident in your strength.”
“I have to be,” Kai replied simply. “I’ve survived battles against enemies far stronger than any Duneborn. Even in this land—even here—where my magic is restrained, I can assure you, I’m not defenseless.”
Maari gave a nod, tilting her head and looking at other tribal leaders.
Adil, of course, didn't believe a bit of his words.
“And how do we know that’s not just talk?” he snapped. “What if we believe you, agree to your proposal—and the moment the orcs come, you run? We’re still subservient to them, just to survive. We take the blow for your gamble.”
“Do you need a demonstration?”
That silenced Adil for a moment.
It was Husam who spoke next. “What kind of demonstration?”
“I’ll fight all of you. The entire council.”
Stunned silence swept across the room and Kai continued.
“I’ll take on each of you in the ring. At the same time. If I win, you’ll know I’m not lying about my strength. And if I lose…” He shrugged. “I’ll leave the desert. You’ll never hear from me again. So, how about it?”
2025-06-15 06:49:28 +0000 UTC
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