Chapter 234
Kai jumped back just in time as Feroy’s spear slammed into the ground where he stood a breath ago. Fuck, it was too close. Without pause, the Knight wrenched the weapon free and stabbed forward. Kai brought his own spear up to parry, the clash of metal ringing sharply through the training ground.
Neither of them used mana techniques—not by mutual agreement, but out of necessity. Kai couldn’t tap into his magic while relying solely on his Enforcer abilities. And even without spells, it was obvious, Feroy held the advantage.
As Enforcers, both possessed bodies enhanced by mana, their strength and speed far beyond mortal limits. The mana coursed through their limbs passively, sustaining them even in stillness. But it was Feroy’s experience and raw power that made every strike feel like a killing blow. Kai felt it in every bone. He grit his teeth and refused to fall back on his spells. If he wanted to grow stronger, especially for what awaited him in the desert, he had to learn to fight without them.
Feroy launched two rapid strikes aimed at jarring Kai’s grip and disarming him. Kai blocked both, his arms shuddering under the impact. But the next blow came fast—An overhead stab aiming for his shoulder.
This time, he didn’t meet it with his spear.
He ducked low, twisting into a slide across the sand, and closed the distance in a blink. His spear cut toward Feroy’s legs.
The latter sprang back, barely avoiding the sweep, but that was the opening Kai needed. He surged forward, pressing the attack before Feroy could reset his stance. He knew better than to let the man use his longer reach to control the fight again.
Their spears clashed, a furious rhythm of strikes and counters. Feroy absorbed a hit to the shoulder and immediately twisted his weapon, using the shaft to redirect Kai’s next thrust and retaliating with a blow from the butt of his spear aimed at Kai’s temple.
But Kai was already moving. He twisted his head aside, letting the strike whistle past, then stepped in close. Feroy’s eyes widened as Kai grabbed the shaft of the spear mid-fight, yanking hard to pull him forward. When that didn’t work, Kai shifted tactics—tightened his grip and began pushing instead.
Feroy had already been pushing back with his own strength, so when Kai added sudden force, it threw the Knight off balance. He stumbled. Kai didn’t hesitate.
He darted in low, spear angled for a sweep—but Feroy wasn’t easy to catch off-guard. His head jerked back at the last second, and the spearhead struck the sand with a muted thud.
The sharp clap of hands drew Kai’s attention.
He turned his head slightly, catching sight of a small group gathered off to the side. Curious eyes watched from behind the low stone fencing of the training grounds—young boys with scuffed sandals, wide-eyed girls leaning on the rails, and a few adults standing just behind them with arms crossed.
The kids were the ones clapping, their awe unfiltered. The adults though looked less impressed, occasionally shushing them, but none had walked away.
They had found a quiet sparring ground near the hall earlier, but the clang of metal and the sheer presence of two foreigners crossing spears had drawn attention quickly. That had been an hour ago. The crowd had only grown since.
Kai let out a quiet breath and turned back to Feroy, offering him a hand.
The Knight took it with a hard smile as Kai said, “You’re holding yourself back.”
Feroy dusted himself off. “Can’t go all out on you, my lord. And what I’m holding back isn’t strength—it’s my flames. I’ve gotten too used to them.”
“Hmm. It’s the same with spells. The more we fight with them, the more they become like an organ—something you rely on without thinking. Trying to fight without them…” He rotated his shoulder with a wince, “…feels like using one arm when you have two.”
Feroy chuckled. “Exactly how I feel when I’m training the new recruits.”
Kai gave him a lopsided grin. “They’d probably just run away if you lit up your spear tip.”
That earned a short laugh from both of them. But as Kai turned his gaze back toward the crowd and the lengthening shadows behind them, the smile faded slightly. The sun was dipping low, painting the sand with shades of amber and crimson.
“It’s almost evening,” he said, brushing sand off his pants. “We should head back. Gareth should be back by now… and who knows maybe even Ansel.”
Feroy nodded, picking up his spear and brushing off the dust. As they turned to leave, he didn’t forget to give the kids a small wave, earning grins and excited murmurs in return. Kai followed suit, his own hand lifting in a casual gesture.
They seemed to admire warriors deeply—perhaps a product of the tribal culture here. Yet, as Kai glanced over the crowd once more, a thought nagged at him.
Despite the recent orc raid… despite the abductions… These children were smiling.
In most places, parents would have kept their young locked inside for weeks, maybe months. Fear would have lingered in the air. But here, the laughter still came easy. Were they used to it? Had the threat of orcs become something so common that it didn't affect them?
It was possible but it was also extremely unsettling.
Shaking the thought aside, Kai and Feroy made their way toward the city hall. The upper floors were quieter, cooled by shaded stone and light breezes slipping through the open slits in the walls. There, near the far corridor, they spotted Claire and Gareth waiting.
The two straightened upon seeing them, dipping their heads in brief bows. Claire was the first to speak.
“Lord Arzan,” she said, voice crisp. “A man came by earlier. He said the council have requested to meet with you tonight. They will send escorts for us.”
Kai raised a brow, then smiled faintly. “Good. Seems they’re not planning to waste time.” He folded his arms loosely. “Looks like the kids we rescued did their job.”
“Yes. I saw one of them running toward one of the larger homes. Likely belonging to one of the tribal leaders,” Gareth said. “I suspect Ansel spoke to his brother about what happened. That likely reached the council and the youths confirmed it. They’ve probably already pieced together some of our strength.”
“Let’s hope they take that knowledge well—see us as potential allies, not threats. And know that they won't be able to subdue us if they try. Otherwise, they’ll start playing power games, thinking they have authority over us.” He let out a quiet breath and leaned against the wall. He glanced out the open slit beside him, watching the dusty wind spiral outside.
Before coming here, he'd planned for a different approach. He had wanted to find Ansel’s brother or father, rally them, and use their influence to bring the rest of the tribes under one banner. That was the strategy.
But this council… it wasn’t in the plan. Kai didn’t even know such a thing existed.
“I believe at least two members of the council will try to test us,” Gareth said, pulling Kai's attention back to him.
Kai arched his brow. “You got the information I asked of you?”
Gareth smirked. “I did. About the council and its leaders.”
Kai wanted to ask all the questions in his mind right there, but he knew talking about sensitive matters in the corridor was a bad choice. So without a word, they moved to his room.
Once inside, Kai raised a hand and whispered words under his breath as a spell structure formed. Immediately, a faint wind stirred in the corners of the room, swirling until it formed a soft curtain. Just a simple first-circle ward—easy to cast, easy to maintain. He doubted anyone was listening in, but he wasn’t willing to risk it.
He took the edge of the bed, while Gareth sat in a nearby chair. Claire stood near the door with her arms folded, looking more confident than she had been in her role as just a maid.
“It’s called the Council of the Five Tribes. This place used to be the land of Rahzets, Ansel's tribe, but the council changed it,” Gareth began. “Few years back, nearby tribes decided to build this city together—partly to increase their odds of survival, partly to unify strength. That’s when the council was formed.”
Kai nodded, having guessed this part.
“Since we’re technically in Rahzet territory, the Rahzet tribe holds more sway,” Gareth continued. “But the others have been catching up fast. They've been quietly slipping more of their Sand Knights into key positions—guards, trade houses, even temple administration. Bit by bit, influence spreads.”
“Power invites politics,” Kai murmured. “That kind of structure always breeds friction.”
Gareth gave a grim smile. “Exactly. And out of the five council members, two stand out. In opposite ways.” He leaned forward slightly. “The woman we saw earlier—Maari. She's head of the Zahran tribe. Smallest of the five, but almost all her people are hardened fighters. Sand Knights with survival etched into their bones. Maari’s reputation is clear—she’ll do anything to protect her tribe. Even if it means turning the others into enemies.”
Kai remembered her cold eyes and stern posture. In the brief moment they had met eyes, she had looked at him not with fear, but with calculation.
“And the second?” he asked.
“Adil Rafiq. Leader of the Khareem tribe. A peak Rank 2 Sand Knight and, frankly, the most dangerous one on the council. He talks about unity, honor, and cooperation—but every tribe has a story about him betraying someone behind the scenes during the years the tribes were against each other.”
Kai’s gaze narrowed.
“They say he let his own father be taken during an orc raid to secure his rise to power,” Gareth continued. “No one’s proven it, but no one’s dismissed it either. He’s crafty, patient, and always thinking five steps ahead. He’s not just a warrior like Maari—he’s also a strategist. That makes him more dangerous.”
Kai exhaled a long breath. “So we’re dealing with a council full of subtle warzones. Maari sees us as either an opportunity or a threat. Adil will treat us like pawns or rivals.” He sighed and rubbed his temple. “That’s… problematic.” He paused, then added, “Tell me about the rest of them. And anything else we should know.”
Gareth gave a nod and leaned back in his chair. “The other three council members aren’t like Maari or Adil. They’re not particularly strong, nor are they cunning enough to scheme behind closed doors. They’re just tribal leaders doing their best to protect their people—men and women caught in a system that rewards those with teeth. Most of their actions come from a place of caution and survival, not ambition.”
Kai absorbed the information quietly. In a way, that made them the easiest to work with. He had hoped from the start that showing his strength—openly, without shame—would set the tone. He didn’t believe in hiding what he and his party were capable of. Not here, not in a land shaped by survival and power. If the council saw just how wide the gap between them was, maybe they’d think twice before trying anything foolish.
And if they didn’t? Then it was better to stomp those thoughts in infancy—before they grew into something harder to kill. After Gareth finished his explanation, Kai remained quiet for a few breaths, thinking over everything. Then two questions rose to the top.
“You didn’t find anything on the orc attacks?” he asked. “Also how’d you even get to learn all this? Even for a Watcher, this is more than I expected.”
Gareth gave a faint smile. “All I heard were fragments. Whispers. The orcs attacked a few hours before we got here, caught several tribals off guard, burned parts of the outer city, and killed a few Sand Knights. The ones they took weren’t random either—mostly relatives of council members and Sand Knights. No one knows why.
“As for how I got the information… I ran into Ansel. He was walking through his brother’s compound. We spoke, and he told me what he could. He’s planning to be at the council meeting tonight—he’ll act as a bridge between us and them.”
Immediately, Kai felt tension roll off his shoulders. Ansel was still doing his best to stick to the original plan. That much, he trusted. The man was loyal and never went back on his word.
“Good,” Kai said. “That means it all comes down to the meeting, then.”
Feroy, who had remained silent till now, spoke up. “So what’s the approach?”
Kai looked between them and shrugged lightly. “We go in straight. No games. No masking our purpose. We show strength, not arrogance—and hope the council has enough wisdom not to act like they’re better than us.”
Claire snorted softly from the wall. “That’s asking a lot, Lord Arzan. People tend to underestimate you and overestimate themselves.”
Kai smirked. “Yeah. But it’ll be much easier if no one decides to be arrogant for once.”
***
Despite all of Kai’s hopes, it seemed like he was destined to deal with arrogant fools after all.
He sat in a wide stone hall in Khalid’s estate—Chosen because it was the biggest building in the city, taller than even the city hall—as the moonlight filtered in through lattice windows. In front of him stood the five council leaders of the desert tribes, seated on raised chairs behind a long table marked with tribal patterns. Behind Kai stood Claire, Feroy, and Ansel.
Each council leader had brought along two Sand Knights of their own, posted at the sides of the chamber with swords and spears grounded, eyes sharp. Their wariness wasn’t concealed. Kai could feel the weight of their gazes on him, as though expecting him to leap across the room and strike someone down.
Good. Let them be cautious. That, at least, was earned. But anger stirred inside him—low and rising—as one of the councilmen talked.
Adil Rafiq.
The very man Gareth had warned him about. And the moment he opened his mouth, Kai understood why.
"Count Arzan of Lancephil," Adil said, his tone rich with condescension, "I’ve heard a few things about you. Tales of your ‘exploits’ in your distant kingdom. But I don’t think you truly understand the mistake you’ve made, coming into tribal lands uninvited." His voice turned colder. "You were not granted entry into our city. And whatever business you imagine having in the Ashari Desert… I advise you abandon it. The tribes will not support an outsider meddling in our affairs."
Kai didn’t speak right away. He could feel the muscles in his jaw tightening, could sense Claire and Feroy shift slightly behind him. Even the other council members looked uncomfortable, but none spoke up—likely waiting to see how he would respond. All of a sudden, he felt like they were testing him.
Adil continued, "You entered our city during the orc attack. But that is no different from what bandits do—arrive during chaos and pretend to have good intentions, when all they want is leverage."
The words rang through the chamber.
Feroy took a step forward, eyes blazing. "Watch your tongue."
Adil turned his head with a mocking smile. "And what if I don’t? This isn’t your estate, knight. This is tribal ground. You don’t give orders here."
Kai lifted a hand. Feroy stopped instantly. Still calm on the surface, Kai fixed his gaze on Adil, his voice level and cold.
“I believe,” he said, “you’ve misunderstood something.”
“Huh? Do tell me.” Adil raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. “What exactly have I misunderstood?”
Kai leaned forward. “Your capabilities.”
The councilman frowned, just slightly. Clearly, he hadn’t expected that answer. Kai smiled, but without any warmth.
“I see what you’re trying to do,” he said, eyes fixed on Adil like a blade poised mid-air. “You want to agitate me. Push for a reaction. Then give the signal. Call in the Sand Knights you’ve hidden throughout this estate—probably surrounding the building even now. You think that if I lose my temper, you’ll have justification to banish me. Or maybe worse. And if things go your way, you get to keep whatever I’ve brought with me. My weapons. My accessories. That, councilman, is what robbers do.”
The air grew colder. Even the guards at the wall seemed to still. Kai’s eyes swept across the room slowly, lingering on each council member, one by one. His voice dropped a notch.
“Let me clarify something, so there are no more misunderstandings. I am not here to request anything of you. If you choose to help me, then it will be to your benefit. But understand—requests are only made between equals.”
He let that hang in the air for a heartbeat.
“And even with all your Sand Knights combined, you still fall short in that regard.”
The tension in the room crackled now, like flint to tinder. Kai didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to, his words did the job. “So let’s have a straightforward conversation,” he said, settling back. “I don’t want to show off my strength tonight.”
The implication was clear. If they forced his hand, they would see blood.
2025-06-13 05:28:38 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 124
Yalan flicked her tail lazily, a low purr rumbling in her throat as the creamy, freezing chunk of what Chen Ren called ice cream melted against her tongue. It was cold—shockingly so—but not unpleasant. No, it was delightful. Smooth, sweet, and strange in all the best ways. The flavor lingered, teasing her senses long after she swallowed, and for once, she didn't mind the unnatural cold that came with it.
Chen Ren had introduced it as a “summer delicacy”, though Yalan privately thought it made just as much sense in winter. Snowflakes drifted lazily beyond the windowpane, but what did the weather matter to her? Mortals would probably end up sniffling under thick blankets after trying this in such weather, but her kind was made of sterner stuff.
Across the room, Qing He cradled a steaming cup of green tea—another one of Chen Ren’s odd but surprisingly pleasant recipes. Her eyes were closed as she sipped, clearly savoring the warmth.
On the low table between them, the severed head of Wang Jun sat upright, his eyes locked on the ice cream with a look of sheer envy. Yalan’s ears twitched. She sometimes pitied him—one who reached the so-called peaks of immortality, reduced to a talking head who could neither eat nor drink. But what could be done? There was no known art, spiritual or culinary, that could give him the pleasures of the flesh.
She dipped her head to lap at another bite, whiskers twitching with satisfaction. She was glad Chen Ren had chosen food as his first business. Her appetite had only grown sharper with each of his creations, and a part of her hoped he would invent more. Preferably something sweet.
Still... Yalan's eyes flicked towards a window, the face of Chen Ren appearing in her mind. She couldn’t help the small prickle of concern beneath her fur. With all that had happened lately, she wasn’t entirely sure Chen Ren would come out of his workshop the same man, or if he’d come out at all.
As if sensing her thoughts, Qing He spoke, “Do you think he’ll come out of there sane? Or will he be like those old monsters—cultivators who seal themselves away for centuries, chasing madness in the name of breakthroughs?”
Yalan shrugged with her paw. At this point, she truly couldn’t tell.
“It’s only been a couple of days.”
“A couple of days in one room for him is weird enough. You know how he is. Never still. One thing after another. He even dragged Feiyu in there and locked the door. Stopped all gun production too. I’ve been so bored because of it.”
Yalan gave a noncommittal chuff of agreement. Qing He wasn’t wrong. Chen Ren wasn’t the type to sit in one place. And the idea that both he and Feiyu hadn’t come out for food… It was troubling. She hadn't smelled anything cooked in days when she had passed by the workshop—only the faint buzz of qi and bitter smells of herbs and potions. They were likely sustaining themselves entirely on spiritual energy now.
At least there hadn’t been any more explosions. That was something. But the occasional scream of frustration had more than made up for the silence in between.
“Whatever he’s trying to do,” Yalan muttered, curling her tail around her paws. “He’s going to come out of it after he fails.”
“You sure he’s going to fail?”
Yalan finished the last of her ice cream with a satisfied lick and sat back. “He’s very capable. But what he’s trying to do… even seasoned alchemists would fail at it. Still, I don’t think he’ll give up. He’s just going to fail and keep going once he gets another inspiration. He’s far too stubborn to let the pill market go.”
“That’s true. I think he’ll end up hiring alchemists. Reshape how they work. You know how he is—if the sects won’t play fair, he’ll just try to change the rules. And it might actually work,” Qing He offered a smile. “But the real question is—when will he realise that? At this rate, he’s going to spend the next few weeks buried in cauldrons and scrolls, chasing the impossible idea of standardisation like a dog with a bone.”
A gruff voice broke into the conversation, dry and echoing slightly.
“In my time,” came Wang Jun’s scoff from the table, his severed head wobbling slightly. “Any disciple wasting weeks on innovation and contraptions instead of breaking through would have been disciplined on the spot. What a waste of precious cultivation time.”
Yalan’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she turned to look at him.
“And in your time,” she said with a slight edge. “You ended up as a talking head. If it’s Chen Ren, then him trying to innovate to sell a new product will probably bring him closer to a breakthrough. He’s not like any other cultivator.”
Wang Jun’s head turned stiffly toward her, his lips tight, as if he wanted to argue. But after a long pause, his mouth simply twisted into a reluctant frown and he let out a dry grumble.
“That’s… true. Even in my lifetime, the strangest Dao I ever encountered was the Dao of Gambling. Lost more spirit stones and resources to that bastard than I’d care to admit.” He clicked his tongue, lips curling in a grimace. “And even then, that man only reached the meridian expansion realm in two hundred years. From what I’m hearing now… Chen Ren’s already close to foundation establishment?”
His tone shifted to something like awe, if begrudgingly. Then a bit too casually, he added, “I would’ve loved to dissect his body one day—”
Yalan’s ears flattened and she hissed softly, her glare sharp as a blade.
Wang Jun backtracked immediately. “Only if he allows me, of course! Of course. Purely academic curiosity. Such rapid advancement... it must come with side effects. The heavens aren’t generous with anyone, not truly.”
“I don’t think the heavens are being generous.” Qing He broke into his line of conversation. “With the Gate of Immortals you told me about… I think that kid’s already tangled in threads he can’t even see yet. And I’m sure the heavens will come down on him when they think it’s time.”
Yalan’s expression darkened as she slowly nodded, reluctant but unable to deny the truth. She had seen too many rise fast only to burn faster—cultivators who shot through realms like falling stars, only to be snuffed out before they could shine. The heavens did not like imbalance. They rarely tolerated those who grew outside the pace of fate and treated them as bugs.
And Chen Ren… Chen Ren was no ordinary bug. He was a bug chewing divine grass, soaking in rare light, and growing far too fast for the world’s liking.
What kind of tribulation would come for him? Even Yalan couldn’t say. But she knew one thing for certain, when it came, she would be there. Just how she was protected once several centuries back.
She supposed the tribulation had already begun—Wang Fu of the Blazing Ember Sect had been a part of it. A monster in crimson robes with a thirst for cruelty. She had torn him apart with her own claws, but if the rest of that sect came looking… Yalan’s gaze drifted toward the workshop again. No matter what came next, she would protect him. Just like she had promised.
The heavens wouldn’t let her. Yalan could feel it—like a pressure in her bones, a tension in the qi around her. As much as she wanted to protect him, she knew the heavens themselves would interfere when the time came.
“When that happens... What is your plan?” Qing He asked suddenly and sipped her tea.
Before Yalan could reply, Wang Jun scoffed from the table. “I doubt she could do much. She’s pretty weak.”
Qing He didn’t even blink. “That’s rich coming from a head who can’t even walk.”
Wang Jun’s jaw twitched. “You can mock my current state all you like, but I was feared in my time. Even I wouldn’t be confident stepping near that Gate of Immortals. From what I know, it sounds more like a grave than a gate.”
Yalan narrowed her eyes. “Then what? What are we going to do?”
Qing He frowned and shook her head. “When the time comes... I have some thoughts. I’ve already sent letters to people I know. I’m inquiring more about this gate.”
Yalan tilted her head, her ears twitching. “Who are they? I still don’t know which sect you belong to.”
That made Qing He laugh. It was a quiet and bitter laugh when it came out. “I belong to no one. I’m retired from my sect.”
Wang Jun sneered. “No cultivator ever truly leaves a sect. It can only be destroyed. The identity always stays with you.”
Qing He’s smile faded as she shot him a sharp glare, and Yalan felt the shift in air around them. An argument was brewing. Yalan’s fur bristled. But before any of them could say more, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside.
They all froze. The footsteps were uneven, rushed—someone running, maybe in excitement, maybe in fear.
Yalan’s ears swiveled. One thing she liked about this crude little mortal building was how few arrays there were. It meant she could hear things. Really hear. She exchanged glances with Qing He and the head. All of them waited, breath held.
Then the door creaked open.
Chen Ren stood there, the winter light casting sharp angles across his disheveled frame. His hair had grown longer, wild and uncombed, and a thin beard dusted his jaw. Dark circles ringed his eyes—but there was no exhaustion in them. Only light. Bright, unfiltered, dangerous light.
He looked at them all—Yalan, the head, the tea-sipping Qing He—and grinned. Yalan became sure he had gone mad or at least closer to it.
“You all seem to be getting along well. Or have you just gathered here to gossip about me?”
Yalan didn’t respond to his teasing. Instead, she rose gracefully to all fours and stretched her body out along the windowsill, tail flicking once before curling neatly beside her. Her amber eyes fixed on him.
“You gave up on trying to standardize pill making faster than I expected,” she said, tone neutral and bored.
Chen Ren’s grin didn’t fade. If anything, it grew more amused. “You thought I’d fail.”
“It’s just… not something you should ideally succeed in. What you were trying to do is a fool’s errand. Pill refinement is like calligraphy—different hands, different results. Even sects with centuries of legacy haven’t managed true consistency.”
And yet, for some reason, Chen Ren’s idiotic smile only widened at their disbelief. The dark circles under his eyes, the faint scent of burnt herbs still clinging to his clothes—none of it seemed to matter to him.
“Then I guess I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he said lightly, raising his arms as if welcoming their shock. “I actually did manage to succeed. I’ve found a way to standardize pill making.”
Yalan’s tail froze mid-flick. Her head turned sharply, eyes narrowing as she searched his face for the smallest sign of a joke. A twitch at the corner of his lips, a gleam of mischief in his eye—anything to suggest he was messing with them.
But no. All she found was that same maddening, victorious smile. Had he really done it?
Her mind ran through every impossible variable. The qi variations, the unstable cauldron temps, the subtle timing and feel every alchemist had to learn for each recipe…
No. She didn’t believe it. But she knew one thing for certain. She was about to get the proof.
***
Chen Ren walked with light steps. The cold wind tugged at his robes and he glanced at Yalan walking next to him and Wang Jun wrapped discreetly in cloth in Qing He's hands with only his eyes peeking through.
All three wore expressions of disbelief. And that just made Chen Ren grin harder.
He wanted them to doubt. He wanted to see the way their faces changed when they saw what he had created. He could practically taste the satisfaction already.
“If this is a joke,” Qing He said dryly, “or it doesn’t work… I’ll hold it against you, kid.”
“Yes,” Wang Jun muttered from inside his muffled cloth cradle. “If this is some elaborate prank, you should be ashamed of yourself.”
Chen Ren only smirked. “It’s not a prank. Just keep walking. You’ll see soon enough.”
Truth be told, he couldn’t blame them for their suspicions. What he had accomplished wasn’t what he had set out to do—but it was still revolutionary. A breakthrough, just not in the conventional sense.
But he had found a way to bypass the problem entirely.
It was enough. More than enough to kickstart large-scale production. To bring pills to cultivators at cheap prices and make a large profit.
They walked in silence. With every step, he felt their expectations thick around him, until finally they reached the alchemy workshop. It looked like a battlefield.
Herbs were scattered in open crates and jars, some ground into powder, others left half-sorted. Mechanical parts—springs, cogs, tubing—lay half-assembled on nearby tables. Strange runes glowed faintly on a series of copper molds arranged in rows. Smoke hung faintly in the air, and the sharp tang of refined qi lingered like incense.
In the center of it all stood Feiyu, sleeves rolled up and short hair that had grown a bit messy was put back, holding a set of tongs and a half-finished pill mold. He turned as they entered and gave a small smile.
Chen Ren placed Wang Jun on a safe table and looked at Feiyu.
“Oh, you’re finally here. I was just preparing the next batch for production,” Feiyu said, gesturing at the pill mold.
Qing He stepped forward, brow furrowed. “What’s going on, Feiyu?”
Feiyu dusted his hands and gestured toward the room. “Sect Leader Chen needed help designing some equipment. I ended up assisting him through most of it. You’ll understand when you see what we’ve devised.”
She only nodded, though her gaze remained wary.
Chen Ren stepped forward and turned to face them all.
“What you’re about to see,” he cleared his voice. “will create history. I don’t know if I’m the first to do it—but I am sure it’s not a popular method. And it will make pill production ten times faster.”
Yalan padded forward, sniffing curiously, and extended a paw to tap the side of the newly designed cauldron they had created. A thick lid sealed the top, and from its center ran a long metal pipe that curved downward and fed into a second smaller cauldron nearby.
Her tail twitched as she examined it. “Isn’t this the same thing you did while making that alcohol? Distillation, you called it?”
Chen Ren grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. It uses that principle, sort of. But adapted. Either way—” He clapped his hands once, loud in the silence of the workshop. “—I believe we should begin.”
He turned to one of the cluttered tables and picked up a small tray where three sets of herbs had already been weighed and sorted.
“These,” he said, lifting them for the others to see, “are Jadeveil root, Starpetal leaf, and Blackscale bark. The standard mix for a qi replenishment pill.”
Feiyu nodded and moved, stepping beside the cauldron. He lifted the lid and reached for a ceramic jug sitting nearby. With both hands, he carefully poured the contents into the cauldron—a clear, slightly glowing liquid that steamed faintly as it made contact with the metal.
Qing He raised a brow. “What’s that?”
“Spirit water,” Feiyu replied. “Very easy to make. We’ve been refining it with our qi for the past twelve hours. Should be enough for this batch.”
Chen Ren stepped up with the herbs, now carefully adding each ingredient into the spirit water. The moment the last handful went in, he placed the lid back down and activated the heating array beneath the cauldron with a pulse of qi.
The workshop filled with a faint hum as the heat began to build, swirling the herbs and water together inside the sealed chamber. Steam began to rise, hissing softly through the pipe above.
Yalan narrowed her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re trying to do here.”
Chen Ren grinned, crouching beside the setup and pointing toward the pipe. “It’s easy. Qi disperses well in water. I’m heating the herbs with spirit water to pull out their essences into the liquid. Then—”
“Then they’ll try to escape,” Wang Jun interrupted flatly.
“Exactly,” Chen Ren replied, nodding. “That’s why I’m distilling them.”
He gestured toward the end of the pipe, where droplets had begun to fall into a clean, silver-lined vessel. Each drop made a soft tap, shimmering faintly with condensed essence. The air around it already felt a little warmer, a little denser with qi.
The liquid wasn’t thick like a pill paste. It was clear, refined, and almost glowing.
Chen Ren didn’t speak further. He just waited silently, arms folded, watching the vessel slowly fill, and wondering what kind of expressions the three ancient beings behind him would wear when they finally saw what he had made.
2025-06-13 05:27:08 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 123
Anji and the kids—Chun, Bo, and Jian—hefted bundles of wolf pelts onto the ground with a dull thud. She saw the motes of dust in the late afternoon light at the weight of them. Zi Wen, Hong Yi, and a few of the older villagers crouched nearby, sorting the furs into neat columns based on durability, rarity, condition, and usefulness. Their fingers sifted through the blood-matted hides with an ease born of repetition, though even they paused occasionally at the stench—some pelts still clung too tightly to the remnants of beast flesh.
The stink clung to Anji’s skin, turned her stomach, made her breathe through her mouth. She didn’t like it. But she stayed.
After all that Chen Ren had done to help preserve her sect’s legacy, this was the least she could offer in return. Every skin, every pelt, every bit of work she could do—it gave her hands something to busy themselves with. More importantly, it gave her mind something else to focus on.
Anything but him and his training.
The head. Wang Jun.
His voice had become something she dreaded now—sharp rebukes, cryptic metaphors, and bitter curses about her inability to grasp the basics of soul cultivation. Sometimes, his words bit deep enough to leave her questioning it all.
Was my father wrong? Was I never meant for this path?
But then she would remember Qing He’s calm voice, gently pushing her doubts aside. “If Wang Jun truly believed you were a failure, he wouldn’t waste breath on you.”
She understood where Qing He was coming from. Still, the lessons were cruel. The progress had been slow. For mortals, sensing the soul—let alone the energies around it—was near impossible. That was what the head said. And she had no choice but to believe him.
But she had to do it no matter how hard.
And when the doubts crept in, when the darkness of her own thoughts began to wrap around her, she’d found that work—mindless, physical, exhausting work—helped. As she moved to turn and get another batch of the pelts, a howl split the air.
Screams followed it.
Her body tensed before her mind caught up, spinning to look toward the village’s makeshift rampart. Shadowed figures moved along the barricade—villagers, weapons in hand, shouting commands into the growing panic.
Another beast had found its way into the Meadow.
Zi Wen sighed beside her, already rising to his feet and brushing fur from his trousers. “More work for us,” he muttered. Then, a smirk. “But at least, we don’t have to carve it up. That’s Chief Muyang’s job. A very dirty one with all the beast blood.”
Anji nodded, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her sleeve. “Shouldn’t you be on the wall? That howl didn’t sound like a weak one.”
Zi Wen only shrugged as he grabbed another bundle of smaller furs. “Li Xuan’s there. I don’t know what’s going on with that guy, but every time I watch him fight, it’s like he’s using the beasts as training dummies. Doesn’t matter if they can bite a man's head off.” He chuckled softly. “Little Yuze’s with him too, so I’d say we’re safe.”
Hong Yi let out a low grunt and muttered, “I’d rather be on the wall than sorting through blood-soaked pelts.”
Zi Wen snorted, not even looking up. “You said you were free when I asked.”
“I thought you needed to consult me on something!” Hong Yi snapped, brushing off his hands in disgust. “Not throw me into menial labor.”
Their bickering earned an eye-roll from Anji, but before she could say anything, a tug on her robes pulled her attention downwards.
“Can we go to the wall and watch too?” one of the children asked, wide-eyed.
“No,” Anji said flatly, narrowing her gaze. “I told you already. Xiulan will have my skin if I let you anywhere near the wall.”
“But Brother Zi Wen said it’s all safe…” Little Bo whined, pouting. But Anji knew it was all an act.
“For him, not for you lot,” Anji said sharply, straightening up. “You think getting into proximity of a creature that could eat you in one bite is fun? Stay here and help if you want that extra bowl of soup.”
She was about to scold them further when an explosive blast echoed through the village. The ground trembled faintly, and she flinched along with the others, heads whipping toward the wall.
But she saw nothing there. It looked the same with men shouting over the sound of gunshots and lightning that probably came from Li Xuan.
“You’re looking in the wrong direction,” Zi Wen said calmly, brushing a wisp of fur from his tunic.
Anji turned her gaze, following his line of sight—her breath caught. Smoke billowed out of the sect building and she immediately understood what the blast was.
Of course, she should’ve guessed. Her thoughts scattered again as Zi Wen nudged Hong Yi with his elbow. “So? How many is it now?”
“The third one today,” Hong Yi grumbled, squinting through the smoke. “You guessed right.”
Zi Wen held out his hand smugly. “Where’s my money?”
Hong Yi crossed his arms. “There could be more. If it ends up being four or five, I’m not paying. You said three exactly.”
Zi Wen scoffed. “You guessed two.”
“And I was wrong. Sect Leader Chen is clearly more talented at blowing things up than I gave him credit for.”
Anji gave both of them a flat look. “I should’ve expected this from you two. Instead of helping him out, you’re placing bets?”
Hong Yi shrugged. “Us helping out won’t do him any good. He’ll figure it out. He always does.”
Anji didn’t argue. They were right.
Whatever Chen Ren was building—testing—creating—wasn’t something anyone else had ever attempted. Not even the great sects had dared touch this path. Alchemy had always been a domain of the gifted—cultivators, blessed by affinity and talent, hoarding knowledge like gold.
And now here he was. Trying to bring mortals into the fold. To many in the empire, even the suggestion would be heresy.
Sure, she’d seen alchemists in her sect rely on arrays when they needed speed—channeling qi through inscribed formations to cut corners when time was tight or effort was lacking. But that wasn’t what Chen Ren was doing. He wasn’t trying to make pills faster.
He was trying to make them accessible.
To let mortals handle the refining process—and have the arrays take care of the qi-based steps. It sounded impossible. More than impossible.
Anji had studied alchemy, and even she had never heard of arrays like that—probably not even Qing He. Ones that could split the burden, isolate the essence binding from the physical process.
Yet Chen Ren was trying—she could tell from the blasts.
She felt it was both admirable and stupid. But then again, most of Chen Ren’s ideas were like that.
Anji sighed, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as she turned to Zi Wen. “What do you mean ‘he’ll figure it out’? Do you really have that much confidence in him?”
“Of course I do. That man figured out how to make perfumes without needing to deal with the sects. I still don’t understand how that works,” Zi Wen replied without missing a beat.
Hong Yi nodded, arms crossed. “If it’s about money, I feel like that man could climb a mountain with a broken leg and call it necessary for a business opportunity. You don’t need to worry. This is just his tribulation.”
Anji blinked. “Tribulation?”
“Every cultivator has one,” Hong Yi said matter-of-factly. “The way of the ruthless heavens. Some get soul demons. Some get lightning trying to burn them to ashes. For someone like him? It’s figuring out new ways to make money.”
Zi Wen snorted with laughter. “Exactly. You’ll see. He’ll overcome it—then dump a whole mountain of work on us.”
Hong Yi simply nodded. But Anji wasn’t sure it would be so simple.
If Chen Ren succeeded—if he really made it work—alchemy itself would never be the same. Not just a faster pill-making process, not just a clever shortcut, but a fundamental change in who could even do it. Mortals.
That alone would make the alchemy clans and sects in the empire froth at the mouth. They’d kill to keep things as they were. But he’s not doing it for that, she reminded herself. He’s not trying to revolutionize anything.
He just wanted to make money. That was all.
Still, the weight of what he was attempting… It made her uneasy. She exhaled slowly.
“I hope he passes this tribulation,” she murmured, looking up towards the sect building.
***
Chen Ren, covered in soot, frowned at the still-smoking cauldron in front of him with a single thought in his mind.
At this point, facing one of those heavenly tribulations where lightning tries to roast your soul might’ve been easier.
He wasn’t even joking.
He’d buried himself in books, scrolls, and even half-rotten alchemist notes, memorizing every scrap of information he could find. Cauldron types, herb properties, refining conditions, success factors—theories layered upon theories. He had even collected every array known to support pill refinement.
After weeks of testing, adjusting, and occasionally cursing the heavens, he had narrowed things down to a handful of arrays that might work. But “might” didn’t cut it.
Making pills only using arrays wasn’t the issue. He could do it—once, maybe twice. It was sustaining it that was the problem.
The real bottleneck was essence extraction. Even for the most basic, mortal-grade pill, the ingredients needed to be heated, coaxed, and broken down until their essence bloomed—and then that essence had to be fused with qi. Not just any qi—controlled, precisely molded qi. That was what formed the pill core.
In theory, he could encode the process into arrays. He had. But in practice?
Every time the array activated, it drained qi like a starving beast. And since it didn’t pull qi from a cultivator, but from the array’s own limited store, the formation became useless after a single use. Worse, if the balance tipped even slightly, the array malfunctioned—and the cauldron exploded.
He glanced at the cauldron. Blackened, cracked around the base. It somehow survived the third explosion today. Even if he managed to squeeze out a single pill, he’d have to redraw the array again, recharge it, and hope it didn’t blow up again.
At this point, it would've been easier to find a few dozen alchemists, lock them in a room, and ask them to make pills the old-fashioned way.
But that wasn’t an option. Not for him. Not for this sect.
From what Chen Ren knew, only the most Established sects—those with hundreds of disciples—could afford to run proper alchemy workshops. Not for efficiency, of course. They called it training, but in truth, it was nothing more than a glorified Chinese sweatshop. New disciples were thrown into rows of furnaces and cauldrons, refining pills endlessly for the benefit of the sect.
He could never do that.
Even if it were an option, Chen Ren wouldn’t take it. He believed in labour laws. In dignity. He didn’t crawl out of poverty just to become the kind of man who shoved others into it.
Which left him with more holes in his plan than he liked to admit.
Standing before his battered cauldron—cracked, reeking of charred lotus root—Chen Ren flipped through a stack of alchemical manuals he hadn’t touched yet, desperate for a new angle. The books were meticulous, each diagram a testament to centuries of tradition. But the more he read, the more one thing became painfully clear.
All of this was designed for cultivators. Every step. Every style. Every technique.
And then the thought struck him—so obvious, so simple, he actually froze with the book half-open in his hands.
Why am I trying to adjust this system... made for cultivators?
That was the flaw. He wasn’t thinking far enough. He wasn’t supposed to tweak their method. He was supposed to throw the whole thing out.
His eyes narrowed. Slowly, he set the book down and reached for a quill and a blank sheet of paper. If he was going to do this, he needed to start from scratch.
What do I know about pill making?
He scrawled the words at the top of the page. Underneath, he drew three simple bullet points.
Essence Extraction – Heat herbs in a cauldron until their essence is released.
Qi Containment – Use personal qi to hold the essence in place, preventing it from dispersing into the atmosphere.
Compression & Shaping – Apply pressure to form the pill.
He stared at the list.
That was it. That was alchemy, reduced to its skeleton.
He’d been trying to have arrays take care of step one and step three—extraction and shaping—while assuming step two was too advanced without a cultivator’s direct input. But the real issue wasn’t the complexity of arrays.
It was the entire foundation of the process.
Alchemy, at its core, assumed the presence of qi. Without it, the process collapsed. It wasn’t designed to run without a cultivator standing at the center.
He could already handle the first part—extracting the essence. With the right temperature and controlled heat arrays, even a mortal could manage that. The real issue was trapping it.
Once the essence rose into the air, it dispersed far too quickly—lost before it could be molded. That was the part cultivators handled instinctively, with qi as a net, sealing the essence mid-air.
Chen Ren didn’t have that luxury. He needed a new net.
He scratched his head, staring at the three bullet points he’d jotted down. Step three—shaping the pill—was ironically the easiest to hand off to mortals. After all, essence was vapor. Air. And back on Earth, there were plenty of ways to capture vapor, convert it, shape it—hell, there were entire industries based on it.
He just had to apply what he knew.
Excitement began to hum in his chest as his thoughts spun faster. He cleared his workspace, dust flying up from the chaos of books and broken quills. One by one, he started pulling out manuals, sorting them into piles. He wasn’t looking for theory anymore.
He was looking for replacements.
Three new steps. Three new methods. Something that mimicked the outcome of traditional alchemy—but used entirely different means.
And then—
His eyes widened. Of course. He shot up so fast the stool clattered to the floor behind him as an idea formed.
Not pills. Potions.
Chen Ren tore through the shelves, fingers flying over worn spines, until he found a thick manual he had completely dismissed before: Herbal Liquids and Spiritual Suspension—A beginner’s guide to potion brewing.
He flipped page after page until his eyes landed on the passage he needed—ink faded, margins yellowed with time. A slow grin crept across his face.
“I don’t know if this’ll work,” he muttered, almost laughing now, “but if it does…”
He sat back down with a thud, pulling a clean sheet toward him, and began to write and soon found himself stating at the three new rules. He exhaled, the words staring back at him like a challenge thrown at the sky.
“Water,” he whispered. “The solution was water all along.”
His fingers twitched to begin testing it immediately. There’d be failures. A lot of them. But this—this was the path forward. One that might just change alchemy across the empire. If it worked.
2025-06-10 19:13:24 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 233
Getting access to the city wasn’t hard at all.
The gates were broken, barely hanging by twisted hinges. No guards manned them, and no voices called out to stop them. It was silent—too silent. As Kai stepped through, spear still in hand, he realized just how empty the streets were.
Everyone was either hiding or had ran, or… well, he refused to think about the worst possible scenario.
After everything he’d learned—from the orcs’ oppression to how the tribes were being taxed harshly from Ansel—Kai had expected things to look grim. But not like this.
This was worse.
Buildings stood broken or burning, their wooden frames blackened and cracked. Roads were littered with rubble, shattered pottery, torn cloth, and blood—blood that had dried dark across the stone or still ran fresh near the gutters. Here and there, bodies lay sprawled. Some of them were armored in crude gear, clearly local guards who’d tried to resist the orcs.
They hadn’t succeeded.
The atmosphere was thick. Every corner they turned brought more ruin. And every time they passed a body, Ansel and the three Ashari youths would stop.
They’d kneel down, check faces, look for familiar signs.
More than once, Kai saw Ansel flinch, his fists tightening by his sides, his breath catching. But they never spoke. They just stood again and kept walking.
Even ten minutes in, they had seen no sign of the living. The silence was heavy, and it finally pushed Kai to speak.
He turned to the three Ashari men and asked, “Where is everyone? Did they escape?”
One of them who had taken the role of speaker—taller than the others, with a wrapped arm and tired eyes—shook his head.
“They’ll be at the tribe’s council hall,” he said. “There are underground bunkers beneath it. It’s where the children and women hide during attacks. It’s also the most fortified place in the city.”
Kai nodded. “Then lead the way.”
Without wasting a moment, the man turned and began to move, picking up the pace in a run. And the rest followed.
Kai kept his gaze ahead, but his eyes flicked sideways to Rhea. She hadn’t said a word the entire time. The burning streets didn’t seem to shake her. Her face stayed calm despite seeing corpses. Even if she was going through an inner turmoil, she didn’t show.
Good, Kai thought. She needs to keep composure in such situations.
But Ansel… Ansel was struggling.
His face had gone pale, his eyes constantly scanning the streets around them as if he might catch sight of someone familiar in a corpse. His steps didn’t falter, but there was a stiffness in them, like his whole body was tensed for bad news.
Kai glanced at him once, almost reaching out, almost saying something, but stopped. Words wouldn’t help right now. Only seeing his family alive could ease that fear.
So Kai kept his focus on running.
Eventually, after weaving through shattered roads and broken alleyways, they reached the council hall the teenager had spoken about. A large stone structure with sturdy walls and tall archways that was still standing and didn't seem to be damaged at all.
And to Kai’s relief, people were there.
Dozens of them gathered in the courtyard in a wide circle. Some sat or leaned against walls, clearly wounded. Others whispered among each other. But they were alive.
Kael immediately moved to station the horses away from the crowd as the three Ashari youths turned and paused at the edge of the gathering.
One of them gave Kai a respectful nod, murmuring a soft “thank you”. And then they all broke off, disappearing into the crowd—no doubt going to find their families.
Kai turned to the rest of his group. “Let’s reach the center,” he said. Then he looked at Ansel. “Your father is the tribe chief of Rahzet, right?”
Ansel nodded.
“Then it’s best we speak to him directly.”
They began moving through the gathered people. As expected, their appearance didn’t go unnoticed. Kai heard the whispers start almost immediately.
Strangers. Outsiders. Who were they?
Barring Ansel, none of them looked like they belonged here. Their skin tones, their clothes, their posture—it all marked them as foreigners, and the wounded, grieving eyes around them watched with cautious curiosity.
He tried his best to keep his expression calm and his pace steady, hoping the people here wouldn’t judge too harshly. Prejudice was the last thing they needed right now. As they neared the center, voices rose ahead.
At the heart of the crowd, a small clearing had formed. In it stood a middle-aged man—sharp-eyed and red-faced—locked in a heated argument with an older woman who looked just as firm and unwilling to back down.
A few others stood nearby, staring at the arguing duo. They said nothing, watching the argument escalated, but their posture and the presence of robed men around them made it clear—they were important.
Kai and the others stopped at the edge of the circle. Eyes turned toward them again.
But they stayed still, knowing there would be a right moment to step in. The woman’s voice rang through the clearing, sharp and full of anger.
“Do you really want to kill more people, Khalid? Why don’t we just execute each other now and get it over with?” she snapped. “What good will be left if we survive by stabbing each other in the back?”
Khalid gritted his teeth. His hands were clenched tight, his voice shaking with rage and exhaustion.
“You don’t understand, Maari,” he shot back. “Were you even in the meeting two months ago? Did you see what I saw?”
His voice rose. The crowd around them grew still.
“I watched that bloody orc Zethar crush Jahir with his bare hands. He exploded—flesh, bone, blood. It was not a simple death, Maari. There was nothing left to bury. We had to burn what was left so his family wouldn’t see him like that.” His breath was harsh now, almost panting. “You can believe what you want. But this isn’t just about cruelty anymore. Our tribes are being hunted down. We’ll be exterminated if we keep standing alone.”
He pointed around the circle, his voice rising to the others watching. “We either run—or we come together and launch a real, united assault.”
Maari shook her head. “I can’t send my men to die like that. I won’t lead them to become rebels.”
“We’re not rebels!” Khalid’s voice was loud and Kai saw his neck vein pop up in anger. “This sand—this land—belongs to us just as much as them. It belongs to us even more! After what they’ve done the last ten years? The orcs have no right to anything here.”
No one answered. Kai’s group stood silently at the edge, watching. He glanced toward Ansel and saw the change in his eyes. He followed his gaze and found it was on Khalid.
He could tell that Ansel was holding himself back and the next second, without saying a word to the rest of them, he stepped forward with tense shoulders.
“Khalid… You’re alive,” Ansel said softly, but it was enough for everyone to hear him.
Khalid turned, slowly. His eyes landed on Ansel, and in that moment, all the anger in his face fell away. For a long second, he didn’t say anything. Then his eyes widened. Khalid retreated from the woman, and moved forward toward Ansel, pulling him into a rough, desperate hug.
Kai watched as Khalid’s body shook, tears welling in his eyes.
“Ansel,” he muttered, voice cracking. “My brother… You’re back…”
Whispers spread through the crowd like wind over dry sand in an instant and he saw Maari and the others behind her had similar shocked expressions.
“Ansel?” someone muttered to Kai's left.
“He’s the one who ran away…”
“I thought he was dead.”
“After all this time?”
Hearing the whispers ripple through the crowd, Kai felt a quiet shift inside him.
That changes things.
The odds of earning the tribe’s support had just gone up—significantly.
He had known Ansel came from a tribe leader's family, but ten years was a long time, especially with the orcs exterminating humans. In that span, loyalties faded, leadership changed, and people ceased to exist. And the reaction Ansel had received from Khalid spoke volumes.
He still remembers him. Still care.
Kai turned his attention back to the center of the gathering from the whispers.
The brothers had broken off their hug and were now speaking in low, urgent voices. Khalid held Ansel by the shoulder, trying to steady his breath, but Ansel's questions came out one after the other.
“Brother… What's going on? Why did the orcs attack the tribes? And what happened to the village? It’s changed so much. Grew so fast. And where’s Father?”
Khalid’s expression shifted. His eyes lowered, voice dropping to a near whisper.
“Father’s dead,” he said. “He died a few years ago. Zethar killed him.”
Ansel froze. “What?” he said, the word barely audible. “But… he was a capable knight. He would never go down that easily.”
“I’ll explain later,” Khalid said quietly, glancing around at the people still listening. “This isn’t the time. We’ve just been attacked. There’s too much that needs to be done right now.”
Then, Khalid looked up. His gaze landed on Kai and the others. His brows furrowed slightly, clearly evaluating them.
Ansel noticed and followed his gaze.
“They’re with me,” he said quickly. “They came here with me for a reason. We have business in the desert.”
Then he pointed directly at Kai.
“That’s Count Arzan of Lancephil. He’s a Fourth-Circle Mage.”
The reaction was immediate.
Khalid’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and behind him, the other men and women—likely members of the council the Ashari teens had mentioned—shifted as well. Their expressions changed from neutral to guarded.
Kai recognized the look. It was the face of people reevaluating a stranger they deemed dangerous.
“You brought someone important with you,” Khalid said slowly. “A noble from Lancephil… His business in the desert must be important enough to come here personally.”
His voice wasn’t accusing—but it was clearly probing. Kai didn’t answer and let Ansel handle it.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Ansel said, shaking his head. “Not now.”
Khalid gave him a long look, then finally nodded. “Very well.”
Then he turned to face the council members behind him, his voice shifting back.
“I believe we can continue this discussion later. Right now, we need to focus on rebuilding.”
There was a pause.
Then one of the councilmen, an older man with gray streaks in his beard, stepped forward. His one eye was closed, and he bore Khalid with the other. “And what about the ones the orcs took?” he asked. “We can’t just leave them.”
Khalid’s jaw tightened.
His teeth clenched before he answered. “We’ll discuss that in the meeting. We can’t rush into anything. If we go after them now, we’ll only lose more people. Our numbers are already too low.”
That answer, though grim, seemed enough.
The councilman gave a short nod, then turned to a group nearby—men in plain desert robes, but with the unmistakable bulk of armor hidden beneath. At a signal, they moved out, quietly starting to guide and disperse the gathered crowd.
The circle broke apart slowly, the whispers fading as the survivors moved back to tending the wounded or helping with rebuilding. Khalid turned back to Ansel, then looked at the rest of them.
“Come,” he said. “Let me show you the way inside the hall. We don’t have many outsiders here, so you’ll need to accommodate yourselves.”
Without any more words, he led the way. They followed him in silence.
As they walked, Khalid kept asking Ansel questions. “How have you been all these years? Where did you go? I thought you would never step foot in the desert again.”
Ansel answered in pieces. Kai didn’t listen to the details—he didn’t need to. Just hearing Khalid’s warm tone was enough. The bond between the brothers was strong, unshaken even by time.
And Khalid was truly glad to have Ansel back.
The inside of the hall was simple. On the ground floor, there was a long table made of dark wood—surrounded by cushions and benches. Several smaller seating areas filled the space, and toward the back, there was a narrow hallway that led to what looked like a kitchen.
But it was the stairs that Khalid stepped towards.
They climbed up to the second floor, where a row of small, clean rooms lined the hall.
“We have three rooms available,” Khalid said, stopping in front of the first door. “You’ll have to share.”
He pointed as he spoke. “The men can take this one. And the women can share the next.” Then he looked at Kai and pointed at the one in the back. “That one’s for you, Count Arzan.”
Kai understood that it was a respect for his standing and nodded.
They stepped inside to place their things down. The rooms were basic—just beds, rugs, and wooden stands—but clean, safe, and dry. That was enough for now. He placed his spear near the door and walked inside.
At the door, Khalid turned to Ansel.
“Come with me,” he said softly. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Ansel nodded and turned to follow Khalid, but not before casting a brief glance back at Kai. He gave a slight nod and kept walking. Kai returned it with a small one of his own, watching Ansel disappear down the hallway with his brother.
Once they were gone, he stepped into his room and let the door close behind him. The bed was plain—woven from hay, cotton stuffed unevenly beneath the fabric—but it was clean. Dry. Soft enough to sit.
He let himself sink down, elbows resting on his knees, thoughts spinning.
So far… this could’ve gone worse.
From what he’d seen and heard, most of the tribal leaders—or at least those on the council—seemed to be against the orcs. Even the woman, Maari, despite her sharp words, didn’t seem to support the enemy. She was just trying to survive.
And he couldn’t blame her for that.
One fight against an orc had been enough to remind him—these creatures weren’t just dumb brutes. They were strong. And some were even trained. The ones he fought were dangerous, and the axe-wielding one from earlier… he’d been something more. Someone important, maybe even an elite.
If that was what they were up against, of course she wouldn’t want to send her people—mostly untrained humans without sufficient mana organs—into a hopeless battle.
Kai ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
Still… they’re leaning toward resistance. That’s a start.
Plans started filtering through his mind. Possibilities. Moves. What he needed to do, when, and everything in between. He needed to meet with Ansel again to gather more information. Ansel had reentered the tribe, but his footing wasn’t stable yet. Kai would need to tread carefully through the politics here.
Especially with Khalid.
The man hadn’t given him a reason to distrust him, but Kai knew leaders. Khalid struck him as the cunning type—probably one to play multiple sides when needed. Those kinds were always dangerous.
Kai stood up, straightened his robes, and made his way to the door. He hadn’t taken more than a step into the hallway when he saw two familiar faces standing just outside.
Feroy and Gareth. Both looked calm as they gave him a respectful nod.
Gareth was the first to speak. “You had the same idea as us, Lord Arzan.”
Kai smiled slightly. “Let’s go inside and talk.”
The three of them moved down the hallway quietly. As soon as they stepped into the room, Kai closed the door behind them and turned to face the two Enforcers.
“I believe the council will want to speak with us either today or tomorrow,” he said flatly. “The way some of them were watching… twitching… if Ansel hadn’t told them I was a Fourth-Circle Mage, I think they’d have ordered an interrogation on the spot.”
Feroy nodded, arms crossed. “Yeah. I noticed. So what are we doing?”
Kai stood in the middle of the room and spoke, looking at both of them. “We’re not here to cause trouble. But we do need to take control—at least enough to influence the council. If we want the tribes' strength behind us, and if we want information—on the orcs, and more importantly, the tower—we need their cooperation.” He paused a beat, letting that sink in. “I thought I could force my way to the tower,” he continued. “Use storage stones, my own mana, just launch myself through any orcs or traps in the way. But that was before I saw what we’re really up against. The orcs are stronger than I expected and the artifacts are dangerous. We need to launch a campaign.”
Feroy stayed quiet. Gareth leaned against the wall, listening closely.
“So,” Kai said, looking at both of them. “We need the tribes. We need their knowledge of the land. Their numbers. Their eyes.”
He turned his gaze directly to Gareth.
Gareth nodded before Kai could say anything. “You want me to sneak around. See what I can dig up.”
“Exactly,” Kai replied. “Get anything useful—who the strong voices on the council are, who’s leaning where, who’s afraid, who’s angry. Also… find out why the orcs hit this place so hard. They didn’t just kill—they took people. I want to know who.”
Gareth’s face turned serious. “I’ll make sure you have those answers.”
Kai nodded, then turned to Feroy.
“And me? What do you want me to do, Lord Arzan?”
Kai smiled at the question. “Actually? Nothing.”
“Huh?”
“I’m just going to wait until the council calls for us. Ansel will report back to me when he’s done speaking with Khalid,” Kai explained. “Depending on what they say, we can either stay or we’ll move on. There are more tribes in this desert. We can’t afford to stay here too long.”
He stretched his shoulders slightly, rolling out the tension from earlier. “But until then, I was hoping you’d spar with me.”
Feroy’s eyes widened a bit in surprise. “Spar? Here?”
Kai shrugged, grinning now. “Why not? Got to stay sharp. And I need to test something.”
Feroy chuckled. “Will we even find a sparring ground here?”
“We can check,” Kai said. “If not, we’ll go out into the desert. I’m pretty sure the tribals won’t mind. Might even enjoy the show.”
2025-06-10 19:12:05 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 122
The air was thinner here. Tang Boming noticed it when he walked through the gates of Meadow Village. It was only his second time setting foot in the village, but the stillness of the place made it feel older than it was, as though it had endured simply by deciding not to move with the world.
There wasn’t much qi in the surroundings. Nothing dense or worth meditating in. Just the natural kind that clung faintly to rocks, wood, and breath. Still, it was peaceful. Tang Boming inhaled once, held it, and then exhaled slowly.
If I were a mortal, he thought, I’d probably want to retire somewhere like this.
But that peace—it raised questions. Had this place not been devastated by beasts?
On his way here, he had passed two other villages. One was in ruins, roofs collapsed, blood dried into the dirt. The other had been quiet in that unnatural way—abandoned, windows boarded up, livestock pens empty. The people had likely fled to the cities, somewhere the walls were higher and somewhere that cultivators kept the beasts at bay.
This region was always overlooked around this time of year. The Kalian Empire directed its forces to the borders, to places where threats could spark political instability or touch noble estates. Remote villages like this were often left to fend for themselves—until the next census, until a noble heir remembered they had land out here, until someone important cared.
And yet…
Here, there were children.
He saw them as he walked down the main road—thin-limbed, red-cheeked, shouting at one another through the cold as they kicked around a worn leather ball. But there were no signs of trauma. No eyes peeking out of boarded-up homes. Even the elders moved freely, sitting under awnings or sweeping porches.
The Divine Coin Sect had a hand in this, surely. Whatever Chen Ren was doing here, it was working.
But how?
From what Tang Boming knew, the man barely had enough cultivators to fill out a training circle. Baby sects like his—barely a few moons old—struggled to recruit even a single wandering cultivator, let alone retain one.
And yet here they were. He adjusted the scroll case at his side, his thoughts already moving ahead to the meeting. Still… still, there were questions. How had he created peace here when stronger sects had fled or failed?
Tang Boming didn’t have the answers. But in his young age of seventy-eight years of living, he had learned one simple truth: everyone had their secrets.
And unless those secrets clawed into his life, he had no reason to chase them. Not everyone liked revealing those truths. So, he kept walking on the path that led him to the gates of the Divine Coin Sect.
If one could even call them that.
To him, it looked more like a large residence than a sect. There were no ornate pillars or formation flags fluttering in the wind. No guardians at the door. But Tang Boming had long since learned that in this world, appearances meant little. Power and reputation weren’t always carved in stone or gold—they often grew in silence.
He approached the gate and gestured to a passing mortal boy. The child paused mid-step, eyes going wide in recognition, then bowed and scurried off to announce his presence.
Not long after, a figure emerged from the side building. Familiar. Though not in the way he’d ever imagined seeing her.
Tang Xiulan.
Dressed in dark green robes with the faint coin and dragon emblem of the sect stitched near her collar, she walked toward him. She stopped a few feet away and offered him a bow.
Tang Boming returned it with one of his own, a little more hesitant. Because for a moment, seeing her here, in this role, stirred something he couldn’t name.
She straightened. “I’ve sent a mortal to inform Sect Leader Chen of your arrival,” she said. “You can wait in the reception room. There’s hot tea prepared.”
Tang Boming nodded, but his feet lingered for a breath too long before moving.
He followed her down a stone path, passing by a trimmed garden and a few mortals sweeping up fallen leaves. And then, just as the doorway to the waiting room came into view, the question slipped from his mouth.
“…Are you happy here?”
Tang Xiulan stopped.
Just like that.
She didn’t turn around. Didn’t answer right away. Her shoulders stiffened, and when she finally looked at him, her face had changed. The courteous calm had vanished, replaced with something harder—more guarded.
“Do you really care?” she asked with a flat voice. Whatever caution she had in her voice before was gone.
Tang Boming met her gaze. “Yes,” he said simply. “You’re family.”
She let out a breath. Not a laugh—not quite. More like a sigh tinged with something bitter. “That’s just a name,” she muttered. “I was a servant in the Tang household, remember? Maybe people treated me kindly enough, maybe I had a place. But that never changed who I was. Not really.”
Tang Boming didn’t argue. He couldn’t. She was right. The way she had been treated in a place she could call her own home was—not right. Something akin to shame bloomed in his chest, making him look away for a moment, then, back at her. “Still,” he quietly said. “I want to know, are you happy here?”
Tang Xiulan was silent.
Then she exhaled again, softer this time. “Yes,” she said at last. Her gaze drifted to the hallway beyond the reception room. “I am.” She paused, the words catching on her tongue before she continued. “I have actual responsibilities here. I manage things. People come to me when something needs to be done. No one judges me for who I was—because most of them don’t know. And even if they do, it doesn’t matter. Not really.”
She looked at him again.
“For them, I’m just the one who keeps things running. That much is enough for me.”
Tang Boming smiled faintly, a rare softness brushing the edges of his normally composed face.
“I’m happy for you,” he said and he meant every syllable.
Tang Xiulan didn’t reply, but she gave a shallow nod and continued leading him to the reception room. The door was already open, and inside, a pot of tea sat on the low table, steam curling gently from the spout.
Tang Boming stepped inside, settled himself with a straight-backed posture, and let out a slow breath.
Tang Xiulan, standing at the threshold, gave him a formal bow. “I hope your conversation with Sect Leader Chen goes well.”
He returned the nod, watching as she turned to leave. Just before she stepped out, his voice caught her retreating form.
“…Hope your life in the sect goes great too, sister.”
She paused—but didn’t turn. Then, with silent steps, she left. The door clicked softly behind her.
Tang Boming’s gaze lingered on it for a moment before he lowered his eyes to the tea in front of him. His hand hovered near the cup, but didn’t touch it.
Too late?
The thought drifted uninvited into his mind.
He had neglected family for decades. Not out of cruelty, but convenience. A choice made quietly over time. His parents hadn’t cared much—they were practical, indifferent as long as the clan name was upheld. But his siblings? He had no relationship with them.
He had sacrificed all of that in the name of advancement, chasing realms and stages, hoping that the next bottleneck would bring him closer to something meaningful—immortality, maybe.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Maybe it was time to mend a few things—before it truly was too late.
The door creaked open again.
He straightened instinctively.
Chen Ren entered the room, his presence as grounded as ever. Simple robes, sharp eyes, and the aura of authority surrounded him easily. But what drew Boming’s attention was the woman behind him.
An old lady with silver-streaked hair, walking with an elegance that made the air shift subtly around her. There was no overt show of power—but even from a glance, Tang Boming felt the pressure.
Qing He, if he remembered correctly. Tang Yuqiu had mentioned her before—called her a master of cultivation, someone even her father gave respect to. That fact alone made Tang Boming’s nerves stir. She didn’t look like Chen Ren’s master, but… who knew? Again, in this world, appearances often lied.
He stood and gave them both a respectful bow—deeper when facing her. Chen Ren didn’t waste time.
“Let’s skip the small talk,” he said, stepping forward and settling down across from him. “I’m interested in the information you’ve brought.”
That was Chen Ren—always to the point.
Tang Boming smiled, the nerves fading beneath a layer of trained professionalism. His back straightened just a little more as he took the scroll outside.
“Very well,” he said. “Let me begin… though I don’t know if you’re going to like what I have to say.”
***
As Chen Ren stepped into the room, he immediately sensed something hanging in the air.
It wasn’t spiritual pressure, no, it can’t be—it felt personal. Tang Boming sat at the table, his posture composed, but his gaze had been lost somewhere just a moment before—some lingering thought he clearly hadn’t shaken off yet. Chen Ren noted it, but didn’t press.
Everyone had their ghosts.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Chen Ren asked at his previous statement.
Tang Boming’s smile didn’t change. “Because the situation is far worse than even I feared when I first started looking into it.”
That set the tone.
“As you already know, most sects operate with internal sect economies. They refine pills, manuals and weapons and circulate them through their own disciples—part of their training and a source of control. But beyond that, the truly powerful sect don’t stop there.
“All of the Guardian Sects sell their pills externally,” Tang Boming continued. “In cities with high cultivator populations. They dominate local markets, supply minor sects, wandering cultivators, and even the nobility. Especially the Emerald Sun Sect—you know, the one focused almost entirely on alchemy.”
Chen Ren frowned. The name wasn’t unfamiliar. The Emerald Sun Sect had always been mentioned whenever he had read about great alchemists in the empire. They were the richest Guardian sect for a reason. Competing with them wasn’t just a bad idea—it was suicidal. Not just for him, but for any sect.
“I’ve ignored any region where their presence is dominant,” Tang Boming added, clearly sensing where Chen Ren’s thoughts had gone.
Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “That’s fine. I have no plans to run headfirst into a powerhouse.”
Tang Boming unrolled part of the scroll. “That’s why I focused on regions tied to the Established Sects. Ones that still command presence, but don’t completely control the flow of pills. I looked into details from seven cities—places where the market is active, but not locked. Every single one has a healthy number of cultivators, Emerging sects, and at least one or two clans vying for influence. There you can get a foothold. Build a customer base among wandering cultivators and rogue ones. Then, once your name and supply line are stable, start supplying the smaller clans and Emerging sects. That’ll open doors—without drawing too much attention early on.”
Chen Ren gave a small nod.
He already knew what Tang Boming was saying was true. Selling pills to clans and sects—especially those trying to claw their way up the hierarchy—would be nearly impossible for someone like him right now. They wouldn’t see him as a threat or a supplier. They’d see him as a nobody trying to punch above his weight.
A baby sect with no foundation, offering pills they could get from anywhere else? They’d laugh. Or worse, they’d crush the business before it even drew its first breath.
No, he thought. The smarter path is the rogue cultivators. Wanderers. Drifters. The new ones trying to rise, who don't have clan support or sect backing. They’d buy anything that gave them an edge. Especially if the price is right.
That was the plan.
Target the cities. Build slowly from the bottom.
“What are those seven cities?”
“Lianhai, Tiandu, Golden Bell City, Cloudmere, Redwing Hold. Jiushan and Broken Ridge.
“All seven have a decent cultivator population,” he continued. “Some more than others. A few have well-established clans that control portions of the pill market. None of them are completely dominated by a single sect, though all of them have multiple powers vying for control.”
He paused, letting the weight of that sentence settle for the next stretch of time that felt like thirty hours to Chen Ren as the man gave him all the information he had gathered on them.
Tang Boming broke down regional economics, trade flows, and black market routes. But most of his time was spent detailing the power structure of each city, which clans were influential, which sects had territory nearby, their known highest-level cultivators, the kinds of pills they produced and sold, and—most critically—the rivalries that existed between them.
Chen Ren absorbed everything.
Competition wasn’t a problem in itself. It was expected. But the type of competition mattered. And in every city he heard about, the same pattern emerged, too many players.
In Golden Bell City alone, five mid-tier clans were battling for pill market control. In Redwing Hold, an Established sect had burned down two storefronts in the last year to maintain monopoly. Jiushan had a tangled mess of alliances that shifted with the seasons—one deal too successful, and the other side would step in to crush it.
Even if Chen Ren could carve out a corner of the market, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be forced into conflict—not with one power, but several. He didn't want that. Not now.
By the time the briefing ended, only one city remained in his mind—Broken Ridge.
Less tangled than the others. Not without risk but manageable. Not many clans had roots there, and the pill market was still fluid. Cultivators passed through often. Independent powers hadn’t fully sunk their roots in.
It wasn’t ideal. But it was viable. And right now, that was enough.
“You said in Broken Ridge City, only the Darkmoon Sect holds the majority share in the pill market,” he said. “What about the rest? Surely there were other powers there before.”
“There were. Over the past few years, several clans and minor sects have tried to gain a foothold. But one way or another, they’ve all been pushed out.”
Chen Ren frowned. “Pushed out?”
“Outcompeted. Undermined. Disbanded,” Tang Boming said flatly. “Whatever leverage they had—pill sales, supplier networks, even storefronts—eventually vanished. The Darkmoon sect took over most of it. They’re the biggest player now by a large margin.”
There was a pause, and then Qing He spoke. “How?”
Tang Boming gave a short exhale. “I didn’t dig too deep into all the methods. But one of their known strategies is… recruitment. Specifically, they recruit the alchemists of their competitors.”
Chen Ren blinked.
Qing He raised a brow. “And the alchemists just… leave?”
Tang Boming shrugged. “Apparently so. The sect doesn’t pressure the power itself. They just offer better resources to the talent. And from what I heard, most of those alchemists don’t even look back. That alone breaks their rivals. If your alchemist leaves, your product vanishes. Your market collapses.”
Tang Boming continued, “Broken Ridge City is on the southern border. On the other side of the region lies the territory of a race of insectoids. Massive beasts with natural armors, glands, and unique internal organs—all of which are extremely valuable for cultivators. Some parts are used directly in pill refinement. Others can replace spiritual herbs altogether. On top of that, the insectoids are intelligent. They build nests over ancient ruins and treasure grounds. Human cultivators often cross the border to hunt, harvest, and scavenge.”
“And the Darkmoon Sect take advantage of it?” Chen Ren asked.
“They have one of the most successful hunting teams in the region,” Tang Boming nodded. “They bring back materials and relics—treasures others rarely get their hands on. They offer those directly to the alchemists they recruit. Not just spirit stones or empty promises.”
Qing He nodded slowly, a trace of wry amusement curling at the corner of her lips.
“It makes sense,” she said. “Cultivation is a pragmatic path. Loyalty doesn’t mean much unless there’s an equal return. Most people would sell their allegiance for a furnace full of rare cores and a stable cauldron.” She looked at Chen Ren. “It won’t be easy.”
She was right.
For cultivators—any kind of cultivator—treasures held more sway than oaths or banners. Power came from resources, and no one walked the path of cultivation hoping to stay in the shadows. If the Darkmoon Sect truly offered rare ingredients and relics from the insectoid territories, it wasn’t hard to imagine why alchemists abandoned their allegiances without looking back.
He didn’t even know the full extent of the offers they were making. But whatever they were, they worked. His thoughts were pulled back by Tang Boming’s voice.
“So,” the man asked, his tone carefully neutral, “you’re going to Broken Ridge?”
Chen Ren looked at him. He didn’t speak immediately, but after a long breath, he gave a slow nod. “It looks like the best option among all. Only one dominant player… and a lot of rogue and low-level cultivators cycling through. The types of pills I’m aiming for won’t help those in the higher realms anyway.”
Tang Boming gave a slight nod in return. “Then I’ll collect more detailed information. The Darkmoon Sect, their structure, their key figures, and the local sect and clans.”
“Do that,” Chen Ren replied.
But even as he said it, he felt Qing He’s eyes on him. He didn’t need her to speak. Just in the quiet gaze she leveled at him, he understood the unspoken question.
You picked a city. But what exactly are you going to sell?
He had chosen the battlefield. But he hadn’t yet forged the weapon.
And in truth, he still hadn’t cracked the code of standardized pill-making. No method that didn’t rely on personal skill. No array structure that mortals could operate with consistency. No reliable way to mass-produce anything that could stand against even second-rate mortal grade pills.
What he was trying to do was aiming to revolutionize pill making itself.
A madman’s dream. And yet, what other choice did he have?
He couldn’t compete with reputation. He didn’t have ten alchemists on call or cauldrons forged in divine flame. If he was going to do this—really do this—he needed to make a new system. One no one else had. But was he really doing that?
That thought stirred something in his chest. He stood up abruptly, pushing back his chair.
Tang Boming blinked, surprised. “Leaving already?”
“It was good meeting you,” Chen Ren said with a nod. “Thank you for your help—as always. Give Yuqiu my regards too.”
“I will,” Tang Boming replied and bowed again.
Then Qing He looked at him. “Where are you going?”
Chen Ren looked over his shoulder. “I need to research pill making,” he said. “So I’m going to read.”
“Read what?” she called out.
“We’ve got dozens of old books now,” he said, already stepping toward the door. “Alchemy. Arrays. There should be something in there that can help me.”
He walked through it and was already on the way to the library they’ve created. Hope burned in his heart and he wished he was right.
2025-06-08 18:57:48 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 232
Adrenaline pumped through Kai as he charged towards the orcs, the vaults he’d opened brimmed with mana, strengthening his body.
The rush hit him hard.
It had been a while since he’d used these abilities, since he’d moved like this, fought like this. Every step made his blood burn hotter. The orcs up ahead were confused, their heads turning too slow to react. Maybe they didn’t expect a human to charge straight at them like this.
More arrows flew past him. One struck an orc in the leg. It let out a deep roar, blood spraying from the wound as it turned, furious. Its eyes burned with hate.
“Fucking humans!” he shouted, lifting a foot to crush the captured Asharian beneath him in rage.
But Kai got there first.
He twisted his spear and stabbed it into the orc’s knee. The force pushed the beast back. “Run!” Kai shouted to the man. “Go!”
The orc growled, wobbling but steadied himself. His eyes locked onto Kai.
“You’ll be minced meat under my leg,” he spat. “I’ll tore through your flesh.”
Kai stepped forward. “You talk too much,” he said, and swung his spear again but it hit the sand as the orc dodged back. He moved to retaliate with his huge arms, but Kai moved fast—faster than the orc could track.
He circled the towering brute. His smaller size was a weapon in itself, letting him slip through gaps the orc’s slow, heavy body couldn’t close. The creature roared and swung his thick arms, his fists crashing down with enough force to break bone.
But Kai was never there.
He rolled under wide swings, pivoted around crushing stomps, and aimed low—always low—his spear darting toward the knees, the ankles, the soft spots where the joints moved.
Steel scraped skin. Blood flicked across the sand. But the orc’s hide was like leather, thick and heavy. Each cut barely pierced deep enough to bleed. But by the painful growls, he knew they hurt and that was enough.
The orc grew more furious with every scratch.
He snarled, stomping hard, trying to smash him into the earth.
A fist came down toward Kai’s head like a hammer.
He ducked just in time, feeling the wind of it rush past his ear. The punch slammed into the ground where his skull had been a second earlier.
He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Kai dropped low and drove his spear into the orc’s toe, right where the bone met the nail.
The orc screamed—a deep, howling sound full of pain and rage—as he twisted the blade deeper. Kai wasn‘t done. Not yet.
As the massive creature reeled, he used the opening. His hands moved fast, forming a quick spell structure in the air. Mana surged. A [Firebolt] shot from his palm, small but focused—straight into the orc’s open mouth.
The bolt tore through gum and tongue and ignited inside the orc’s face.
He shrieked, louder than before. Blood, spit, and tears sprayed from his face as he staggered back, flailing wildly, his arms sweeping through the air in blind rage. Smoke rose from inside his jaw, his face blistering from the inside out.
Kai stepped back, careful not to get caught. He reached beneath his robes, pulling free a throwing knife.
One flick and the blade spun through the air.
It struck the orc’s head—but bounced off with a dull clang.
Kai grabbed another knife and hurled it without pause.
This one sank deep into the orc’s left eye.
The beast screamed in pain. Hah! Blood poured from the ruined socket, drenching his cheek as the orc dropped to one knee, his body swaying like it might fall but it didn't.
Kai charged.
He didn’t wait for the next move. He gripped his spear tight, brought all the strength in his body into one final drive, and plunged the blade into the orc’s thick neck.
Steel punched through skin and muscle. Blood gushed out in thick streams as the orc choked and thrashed, collapsing onto the sand.
But it was still alive. By the constant twitch, Kai knew he was still holding on. If he could do one peaceful thing, it’d be ending it with one final stab. And he did just that as his spear plunged into the orc’s throat.
The body went still as blood erupted. For a moment, Kai just stood there, breathing hard and staring down at the massive creature he had slain.
He had used a bit of magic—but only a [Firebolt]. That spell barely scratched the surface of his reserves. Most of his mana had gone into strengthening his body, and even that hadn’t drained much.
Enforcer bodies didn’t leak mana. You didn’t push it out—you let it cycle inside, powering muscles and sharpening reflexes. But there was no time to think more.
From the left, screams echoed. The fight wasn’t over.
He turned, eyes scanning the field. The three remaining orcs were still alive. During the fight, Gareth and Ansel had joined the fray. One of the orcs was already in bad shape—bleeding heavily as Ansel, Kael, and Neris worked together to bring him down.
Another was locked in battle with Claire and the Storm Sovereign, both of them holding their ground. With the spirit sending lightning arcs every time the orc tries to get closer.
But the third orc… that one was different.
He was bigger than the others—and the only one holding a weapon. A massive axe, wide and jagged, and glowing faintly with mana. One glance was enough to confirm what Kai had feared. It’s human-made.
That basically confirmed the theories in his mind.
The orc swung the axe in a wide arc, forcing Feroy to leap back. Gareth moved in from behind, trying to land a hit, but the orc turned fast. With a grunt, he deflected Gareth’s blade and snarled, “You’re all going to be meat today!”
Mana surged from the axe. Kai’s eyes widened.
“Dodge!” he shouted.
Right then, a blast of energy—shaped like the orc’s axe—exploded from the weapon. It raced toward Feroy.
Feroy dropped flat, pressing himself against the hot sand just in time. The blast missed him and slammed into the sand behind, exploding with heat so intense it turned the desert into glass. The glass shattered instantly, spraying sharp pieces everywhere.
Kai shielded his eyes. But as the dust settled, he saw the orc lowering its axe, chest rising and falling hard. He can’t use it again so soon.
Now was the time.
Without a second thought, Kai charged at the ugly orc, his body still humming with mana, his grip tight on the spear.
He reached the orc a second too late to land a solid blow as he recovered, but his spear still grazed the creature’s arm. The orc growled in pain, eyes flashing with rage, and brought his massive axe down in a wide arc.
Kai dodged swiftly—but not just with speed alone.
He created a spell structure beneath his feet, and a small surge of wind burst out. It boosted his speed, making him blur for a moment, just enough to throw off the orc.
The creature blinked in surprise, but before it could track Kai, Gareth appeared behind it—silent and quick as a shadow. He drove his weapon deep into the orc’s back, making him snarl in agony.
The orc spun to retaliate, but Gareth was gone, fading into the shadows before the axe could touch him.
He roared in frustration and rage, veins bulging on his neck. His eyes snapped to Feroy, who was already rushing in. Each step Feroy took shook the ground, his spear leveled forward.
They clashed.
Axe and spear slammed into each other with a loud crack. Feroy didn’t try to meet the full force—he sidestepped, smartly deflecting the axe’s path. Flames erupted from the tip of his weapon as he swung, trying to keep the pressure on.
But the orc was faster than he looked. Despite his size, he moved with sharp instincts. Every swing Feroy made was blocked by the thick, enchanted axe. Sparks flew with each clash.
Kai didn’t wait on the sidelines.
He joined the fight, his spear twisting through the air. Timing his attacks with Feroy’s, he struck at the orc’s exposed sides. His aim was precise and he kept moving, always shifting positions to stay out of the orc’s direct reach.
Together, the two of them pressed hard. It was a tight struggle—constant movement, constant strikes. They stabbed, slashed, twisted their bodies to avoid the axe, pushing the orc back step by step.
Then it happened.
The orc growled, muscles flexing, and suddenly twisted. With one hand it swung the heavy axe to keep Kai at bay—and with the other, it punched Feroy straight in the chest.
The hit landed.
Feroy flew back, his body crashing into the sand. He groaned, winded, blood trickling from his mouth. Kai’s eyes widened in panic and he decided that the battle had gone on for far too long.
He pushed more mana into his core and quickly formed a third circle spell. The wind around him sharpened, swirling like blades.
Then—he released it.
A blast of razor-sharp wind burst from his palms and struck the orc dead in the chest. The impact sent the creature flying, tearing up the ground beneath it. Blood sprayed across the sand as the orc slammed into the earth, tumbling back with a cry.
The desert fell silent for a second. Only the sound of the wind and the faint groans of the wounded filled the air. Kai stood tall, chest rising with each breath, his fingers still crackling faintly with wind mana.
But even as the orc crashed into the ground, his grip on the axe didn’t loosen. His chest bled, but he rose again, teeth bared and eyes wild with rage.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” he roared, and mana surged once more from the weapon in his hand.
Kai’s instincts kicked in. He jumped to the side just as another mana-shaped blast tore through the sand where he’d stood. The heat rolled past him, searing his skin. But the orc wasn’t done. Not even close.
It raised the axe again—and fired another blast. Then another. And another.
Each strike came faster, and Kai was forced to pour more mana into his movements just to keep dodging. His legs burned from the effort. His back stung as a near miss exploded behind him, spraying him with sand and glass. The heat grazed his shoulder, and he hissed in pain but kept moving, kept breathing, kept waiting for an opportunity to finish the orc.
In the corner of his eye, movement flickered—Claire.
She fought one of the other orcs alongside the Storm Sovereign. The orc towered over her, swinging wildly, but she didn’t back down. The massive deer beside her was glowing faintly with stormlight, its antlers crackling with power.
Then it struck.
The Storm Sovereign stomped the ground, hooves glowing, and with a flash of blinding blue, it released a bolt of lightning straight into the orc’s chest. The creature howled as the electricity slammed into its body, sending it stumbling back, muscles twitching and steam rising from its skin.
Kai only caught a glimpse of it, but even that much gave him a bit of relief. They’re holding on.
Unfortunately, he couldn't look for long.
The orc in front of him screamed again and charged, raising the axe for one final swing, blood still dripping from its chest, eyes locked onto Kai with nothing but hate.
And he readied his spell.
Kai was just about to cast another third circle spell—to end the fight once and for all—when an explosion rocked the ground behind him. He screamed, more in surprise than pain, and stumbled backwards. Smoke filled the air. The orc in front of him dropped to his knees with a loud thud.
The stench of burnt flesh—thick, heavy, and disgusting—spread across the battlefield. He immediately cut off the mana flow in his hands and turned his head.
Through the smoke, a figure revealed himself—Gareth.
Kai’s eyes then followed the trail of damage and landed on the orc’s back.
There was a hole. A wide, torn gap in the flesh and armor, like something had ripped through it from the inside. Kai could see the charred remains of half a heart and shredded organs through it.
He understood instantly.
Gareth had used one of the explosive potions. He'd thrown it into the orc’s back while it was focused on Kai, ending the monster in one deadly strike.
Kai exhaled slowly. The tension in his chest eased.
It’s over.
But he didn’t sit down or relax.
He turned quickly and made his way to Feroy, who was sitting in the sand, his breathing heavy, a half-empty healing potion in his hand.
“You okay?” Kai asked, kneeling beside him.
Feroy gave a tired smile. “I’m fine. My armor took most of it, even if it cracked a few ribs. I’ll be alright in a few minutes. Already hurts less.”
Kai nodded, relieved. If Feroy had gone down this early into the desert, it would’ve been a disaster. They couldn’t afford to lose someone like him.
Once he was sure Feroy would recover, Kai stood and looked back at the rest of the group. The last orc was down. Ansel and the new Enforcers had finished it off—Rhea was with them. He had told her to stay back and not get herself involved and it seemed like she had followed his command.
His eyes drifted toward Claire. She was standing next to the Storm Sovereign, leaning against it slightly. She looked drained, but alive. That was good enough for now.
But Kai didn’t keep looking at his party.
Instead, his gaze shifted to the three Asharians. They were standing near Ansel, speaking in a different dialect of the common Lancephil language—fast, clipped words that Kai couldn’t understand from this far, but he could guess the tone. It seemed urgent, and a little afraid.
Ansel had once told Kai that most desert tribes still used Lancephilian Common, since the sands had briefly been ruled by the Lancephil kingdom hundreds of years ago. That rule hadn’t lasted long, but the influence had stuck—especially in language.
Kai moved toward the group, hoping to understand how the orcs had captured them and what was going on. Bits of conversation drifted toward him as he approached.
One of the Ashari men was speaking quickly, his voice low and tense. “We saw a large troop of them when we were out hunting, and then—”
The words stopped as Kai got closer. The three men looked at him.
Ansel turned to him, a frown already forming on his face.
Kai met his eyes. “What’s going on?”
Ansel’s voice was tight. “The situation is bad, Lord Arzan.”
He gestured to one of the desert men beside him.
“This is Harad. He’s from my tribe,” Ansel explained. “He told me they saw a large group of orcs moving toward our tribal lands. He and his two companions spotted them while hunting. When the orcs saw them, they gave chase. They barely made it out alive.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed. “Then why didn’t they kill them?”
Ansel’s eyes darkened and he inhaled sharpkly. “Because the orc with the axe—the one we just fought—was the son of a general. He wanted to play with them first.”
Behind Ansel, the three Ashari men nodded grimly, confirming the story.
“Is it normal for orcs to approach the tribe like this?”
It took Harad a moment to catch the question. Then he slowly shook his head. “No. They don’t come near. We only see them when we go to pay the monthly taxes.”
Kai frowned. “Then something’s going on. And I doubt it’s anything good.”
Ansel nodded. The worry was plain in his face now. If the orcs had moved towards his tribe with a large procession, and with someone of rank leading them, the tribe might already be under threat.
Kai could see it in Ansel’s eyes: the fear of not knowing if his people were safe and alive. And that worry quickly became Kai’s own.
“We need to get there,” Kai said. “How far is the tribe from here?”
Harad glanced toward the dunes. “An hour. Maybe less.”
Kai turned back toward the others. “Then we move now. Feroy can ride—he needs the rest.”
Feroy, who had walked up to them, gave a tired nod. “I’m not arguing.”
Kai looked over the group one more time. They were not injured and could traverse without any problems.
Before they left, Kai looked at Kael and said, “Hold onto the axe. I’ll study it later.”
The Enforcer nodded and carefully picked up the heavy, mana-soaked weapon.
With that, they began packing up quickly. Kai felt a small wave of disappointment—he had hoped to study the orc corpses, check for items they might had, maybe understand how they were gaining strength. But there wasn’t time. The tribe came first.
Still, their pace wasn’t ideal.
The three Ashari men they had rescued had minor injuries on their legs, and the horse couldn't walk fast with their baggage and Feroy on top. Kai could see the tension in their group, but no one was as terrified as Ansel.
The man walked faster than all of them, often glancing ahead like he could will the journey to end sooner. His fists were clenched, his eyes sharp with worry.
Kai understood. This was home for him.
But moving faster wouldn’t help. The orcs had already had a head start—and they apparently had mounts. There was no catching up now, only hoping they hadn’t done the worst.
So he kept his eyes on the horizon, and followed their group. Finally, after an hour or so, they reached a rise in the dunes—just high enough to see it.
It was a small desert town that lay ahead, its outline barely visible through the heat haze. But something else was clearer—there were flames. Tents and buildings were burning. And thick, black smoke curled into the sky making even the air shimmer with heat.
There were no orcs in sight.
But the fire was enough to tell them what had happened. Ansel stopped walking. He stared. His face went pale.
“No… my tribe…” he whispered, voice breaking. His hand came to his face as he wiped off sweat. “They—they…”
Kai stepped forward and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t despair yet. We don’t know everything. Some of your people might have hidden. They could still be alive.”
That earnt a grunt. Kai waited for the man to calm down his heartbeat as he visibly shook with rage and worry. He let him absorb his words.
Ansel swallowed hard, clenched his jaw and nodded.
“Y-yes, Lord Arzan. You’re right.”
Then they began moving again—down the slope, toward the burning tribal town. Toward whatever truth waited for them in the ashes.
2025-06-08 18:56:38 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 121
Chen Ren moved through the sect building with quick, near-silent steps.
He had left Zi Wen behind after seeing the smoke coming from the alchemy workshop, telling him that it must be something there exploding and not an attack, but panic still plagued his insides. What if one of the mortals had sneaked into the workshop? The thought clenched his jaw. Had they activated one of the defensive arrays he had planted by accident? That would be troublesome—but even worse, what if the arrays had damaged the herbs Zi Wen had been painstakingly gathering? Some were rare that couldn’t be easily replaced.
He took the final turn that led straight to the workshop. The thick scent of smoke greeted him before he even opened the door.
When he opened it, he froze on the spot.
Inside, smoke curled out from the lip of his alchemy cauldron, lazily drifting through the open window. And he looked around, taking the nervous stances of unexpected people inside.
Anji stood to the side of the cauldron, her long robes speckled with soot. Her arm was raised, fingers wrapped around something he couldn’t quite make out at first. Then he saw it—the head, Wang Jun. She held it by the chin like a strange relic, her eyes narrowed, trying to look through the smoke.
On the opposite end of the room stood Qing He. Wisps of qi flickered around her fingers like threads tugged from her core, but they dimmed as she glanced toward him. Her eyes wide with surprise.
For a moment, all Chen Ren could do was stand there, one hand still on the doorframe, trying to make sense of the scene. Of the people in it.
Anji and the head were supposed to be in seclusion, working on their soul cultivation. Qing He? She should’ve been drinking bitter tea somewhere in the outer courtyard or working with Feiyu on gunpowder, not standing in his alchemy room like a child caught mid-theft.
Their gathering felt wrong, in every way and form. His voice, when it came, rumbled from his throat like a rolling stone.
“What is going on here?” he snapped. “Are you trying to destroy the only cauldron I have?”
Qing He lifted her chin, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. “I remember giving you that one.”
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “And I remember you gifting it to me. That usually means the item belongs to the receiver.”
Qing He gave a slow shake of her head, lips twitching into a familiar smirk—the kind she used when trying to be both infuriating and evasive. Chen Ren exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to Anji, then to the old man in her hands.
The head licked his lips in desperation. “We were… trying to make a Stormbite pill.”
Chen Ren stared at him in silence. Then at the cauldron. Then back at the trio.
It wasn’t rage he felt—it was something worse. That slow, creeping certainty that he should have put more arrays around the workshop. Though, he doubted whether any amount of arrays would be enough to hold back Qing He.
The head let out a dry chuckle and gestured at the cauldron, where the smoke had begun to fade but the smell lingered.
“As you can see,” he said, “it didn’t go well.”
Chen Ren crossed his arms, one brow arching upward with slow, pointed disbelief. “Stormbite pill?”
“Yes,” Wang Jun replied. “You might not know about it. It’s actually a pill composed entirely of qi—no herbs, no earthly ingredients. Just the fusion of multiple aspected energies, shaped and sealed by the alchemist’s control alone. It was quite common back in my day… though it seems most modern alchemists have forgotten the art.”
Chen Ren blinked, slowly processing that. He could believe that part; the man often spoke of techniques long buried by time or discarded for easier, more cost-effective methods.
“What does it do?” he asked.
The old head’s lips curved into a grin. “It tastes good.”
It… tastes good? Is he serious? Chen Ren couldn’t help but stare at Wang Jun. “That's it? You nearly blew up my only cauldron… for flavoured qi?”
The head scoffed, as if the insult wounded him more than an actual strike. “Do you think that’s nothing? I… I can’t consume food anymore. I survive on qi alone—but the qi in the air, the qi in the earth, even the qi that escapes your body from time to time, it’s fucking bland. It's not condensed enough here. Do you know what it’s like to never experience flavor again?”
Chen Ren opened his mouth, but Wang Jun continued.
“All I wanted was a little taste. But this woman—” he jabbed his tongue out in Qing He’s direction “—couldn’t even control the arrays properly.”
Qing He’s arms were already folded, but now her eyes narrowed, the flicker of qi that still lingered on her fingertips dimming with irritation.
“You should have explained it better,” she snapped. “How was I supposed to know a wind-aspected gathering array would go unstable the moment it mixed with my qi? You said to channel it—you didn’t say to filter it. And if I hadn’t contained most of the backlash, you’d be nothing but ash next to your disciple.”
That last part made Chen Ren’s brow twitch.
Wang Jun didn’t respond immediately. The light behind his eyes seemed to withdraw. Chen Ren recognized that look. It was the same expression he wore whenever he was reminded that this form was a cage more than a vessel. He couldn’t answer because deep down, he knew she was right—and he hated it.
Qing He noticed the silence too. Her expression softened slightly, and she looked away with a faint huff, as if her own words had left a bitter taste behind.
When they had first met, she treated the head like an artifact—an animated relic she could poke and prod for forgotten knowledge. But the more they had spoken, the more she had listened, the more that had changed. Now, they spoke as peers. Friends, even.
At least sort of friends, Chen Ren thought, watching the two in silence.
Qing He and the head didn’t continue their argument—not fully. The sharp retorts faded, and though they were clearly irritated with each other, they didn’t let it erupt into something worse. That, in itself, said more about their relationship than any apology might’ve.
Thankfully, the silence stretched a bit more, giving Chen Ren space to step further in. His eyes finally landed on his cauldron.
Due to the heat that curled around it, he had to move cautiously. The thick bronze surface had blackened in places, scorched at the rim. And to his surprise, there were no cracks or structural damage. Everything was still intact.
It would hold—at least for now.
But what caught his eye wasn’t the damage. It was the inside. They’d drawn faint lines across the inner belly of the cauldron. He traced one with a finger. He didn’t touch, but hovered near enough to feel it. He felt the wind qi moving alongside the symbols.
These were [Wind qi gathering arrays]. He could see how they’d spiraled inward, concentrating the ambient qi into a focal point… and how it had likely spiraled out of control when touched by another’s will.
Chen Ren frowned. Alchemy cauldrons usually had arrays—yes—but heating arrays. Ones that controlled the smokeless flames beneath the metal, or helped circulate qi to properly mix with herbs.
Gathering arrays for cauldrons were rare, at least at low levels.
He’d heard of more advanced cauldrons used by Established and Guardian sects and wealthy clans. Cauldrons that didn’t just assist but amplified the qi infusion process. Some even refined the desired effect during the process. But those were luxuries. Things bought by master alchemists who could afford to spend enough. But now, he found himself staring at the possibility.
Could this kind of structure be incorporated? Could arrays like these stabilize the pill-making process? Maybe not this chaotic wind one, but something simple. For a moment, he fell into deep thought. Unconsciously he rubbed his chin.
Then his eyes flicked to Wang Jun.
“How exactly is the Stormbite pill made?”
Wang Jun looked at him, almost pleased by the question, like a teacher being glad that the student was finally curious.
“Good question… You gather different aspected qis—fire, wind, water, earth, whatever blend you’re craving,” he said. “Then, using your own qi as the core binding force, you swirl them together—slowly. Tightly. Think of it like spinning threads into a tight knot while keeping them from unraveling.”
He looked at the cauldron for a moment.
“Arrays help gather the qi from the air. Simple ones, if you’re lazy. Complex ones, if you care about flavor. But really, it’s just a ball of condensed qi with too many elements in one space. Unstable as hell. One mistake—boom.”
“And you got Qing He to make something like this in my workshop.”
“Oh yes.” The head’s grin turned nostalgic, completely ignoring his words. “In combat, some cultivators used to toss them like spirit grenades. But most lost their heads—literally—before they could make a proper throw. Too volatile.” He sighed, wistful. “But someone with control, like me…? I could hold it steady. Sip it. Taste the essence in layers. Fire first. Then the crackle of lightning. The sweetness of water qi right after. It feels a bit stingy on the tongue, but that flavour is just what I need right now. A proper spiritual drink for the living. Or in my case half-living.”
Chen Ren didn’t respond immediately. He just stared at the man. He was serious. All of that… for flavor.
Wang Jun paused and his eyes flicked to Qing He.
“Of course, someone isn’t nearly as skilled as she thinks she is.”
Qing He huffed and continued to mutter something under her breath.
He ignored both their jabs and the tail-end of Wang Jun’s ridiculous explanation about flavor. His mind had already moved far past that. He kept staring at the inside of the cauldron, especially the arrays. And the way they had drawn in qi.
The method had failed, sure, but not because the principle was wrong. No—if anything, it was because the components weren’t durable enough, or the synchronization was off. But the idea… that stuck with him.
The pill wasn’t made by crushing herbs or mixing powders or infusing with the alchemist’s qi alone. It was made almost entirely by the arrays. They didn’t assist—they did the core work.
Chen Ren’s heart beat once, hard.
Then came the question.
“Can we make different kinds of arrays on the cauldron?”
Both Qing He and Wang Jun looked at him.
Qing He nodded. “Yes. Some cauldrons are built by blacksmiths and array masters working in tandem. You’ll see it more often in older sects and accomplished alchemy halls. But you need stronger materials. A lot stronger. This one,” she gestured toward the half-burnt cauldron, “nearly cracked with just a [Wind qi gathering array]. You’d need spirit-grade alloys for proper load-bearing.”
Chen Ren walked to the side of the cauldron, fingers trailing along the scorched rim.
“What about simpler arrays?” he asked, almost to himself. “Ones that don’t gather, but radiate qi. Or ones that hold it in place. Like a qi-pressuring seal to stabilize the herbs mid-process. Or a qi-holding net that keeps the medicinal essence from leaking out during breakdown…”
His question earned another round of silence. Before he could follow up, an audible breath from Wang Jun came.
“You want… to use arrays to make a pill. Without an alchemist.”
“Yes. That’s the idea.” Chen Ren nodded, not hiding his intentions. “Isn’t it better than finding a way for mortals to handle everything? Sounds easier.”
Qing He shook her head. “You’re replacing alchemists with arrays. And maybe, if you can figure out the finer mechanisms. The exact output of qi, the exact pressure the arrays need to exert during every phase… then yes, the process might become smooth enough to automate. But even then, you’d still need a cultivator to fuel the arrays. Not to mention regulate them if something goes wrong.” She crossed her arms, a frown appeared on her face. “Also, wasn’t the whole point of standardization to let mortals take over alchemy? If they can’t even activate the arrays, doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”
Chen Ren’s shoulders dipped, and his arms slowly uncrossed. His gaze fell back to the cauldron.
She was right.
Even if arrays could act like machines, they still required energy. And unless he designed a whole system where energy was self-fed or controlled by someone without a core, a cultivator would always be part of the equation. That wasn’t what he’d wanted. Not fully.
And worse still, even if he could get that to work… What then? He had always known what he was up against.
If he wanted to challenge the pill market, he had two choices. Either increase his rate of production enough to offer pills at prices so low even sects couldn’t compete—or create something so superior that price wouldn’t matter. And so far, he’d been chasing the former.
A faster, cheaper, repeatable method. But this? This wasn’t that.
Maybe arrays weren’t the answer after all.
His shoulders sagged further, and he exhaled slowly. But even as doubt seeped into his mind, something inside him pushed back.
He knew this path had potential. There was something here, just beyond reach. Like he’d opened the right book—but some crucial pages were still missing. If he could find those pages—figure out how to bridge the gap between cultivator-run arrays and mortal operability—then maybe there was a way.
A hybrid system. Arrays doing the work. One or two cultivators maintaining the framework. Mortals handling the preparation, storage, collection. Not operators—but attendants to a greater process. A factory.
He clenched his jaw, staring at the cauldron’s blackened rim again. He knew that he wasn’t on the wrong path.
He just hadn’t reached its end.
The more Chen Ren turned the thought over in his mind, the more solid it began to feel. He glanced between Qing He and Wang Jun.
“I still think it has potential,” he said. “I just haven’t figured out the right way to use the arrays yet.”
Wang Jun sighed and looked like he had just heard someone declare they would build a flying ship out of paper. “I really don’t know why you’re even bothering with this. If it’s success in the pill market you want, then use the recipes I gave you. Half of them aren’t even in circulation anymore. You’d corner the market in months.”
Chen Ren gave him a tired look. “The recipes you told me about require ingredients that only sect leaders and imperial alchemists have access to. One of them—” his hand gestured vaguely, “—needed a herb that grows in the middle of the ocean. How exactly do you expect me to get that?”
Wang Jun clicked his tongue like an annoyed teacher. “You can, if you try hard enough. The way you talk, you’d think gathering herbs was harder than refining pills. For now, you're just going to be stuck chasing this array alchemy dream of yours. Maybe for hundreds of years.”
That stung—but before Chen Ren could reply, another voice cut in.
“I think it’s an interesting idea.”
He turned.
Anji had been silent this whole time, standing off to the side like a statue, her hands still faintly dusted with ash from the earlier explosion.
“You think so?” Chen Ren asked.
Wang Jun scoffed. “What would she know? She hasn’t even learned to perceive her soul yet.”
Anji flushed. Her cheeks turned a faint pink, and her lips parted in protest—but no sharp words came out. Just a quiet, “I’m trying.” Her hands curled slightly at her sides, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she turned fully toward Chen Ren, stepping slightly closer.
“Yes,” she said. “I do think it’s interesting. If you can really make the arrays function on their own—with just a cultivator to activate them—then it changes everything. The time it takes between pills, the consistency, the output… everything would increase. Arrays don’t rest. They don’t lose focus. And if mortals help with preparation and collection while the system keeps running—then you’d finally be able to enter the pill market.”
Chen Ren studied her for a moment, then nodded. “That’s the plan.”
And hearing it aloud again—spoken with belief, even if only from one person—felt like the first real step toward making it happen.
Qing He’s eyes lingered on him for a long breath before she spoke again. He could hear the suspicion in her voice.
“Have you even made progress on where you’d be selling pills?” she asked. “The Empire is vast, and if you’re thinking of heading toward Cloud Mist City because of that brat Li Xuan, then you’re just asking to get crushed by the Soaring Sword Sect.”
Chen Ren gave her a sideways glance, lips twitching. “Obviously, I’m not going to take on a Guardian Sect.”
His tone was dry, but he had considered it once—if only for a second—before discarding it as foolishness. He turned slightly, resting a hand on the still-warm cauldron.
“I’m still figuring out the logistics,” he continued. “But I’ve already sent word to Tang Yuqiu. Asked her to compile everything she can find—cities with a high number of cultivators, especially ones where rogue cultivators pass through regularly. Places with pill markets not locked down by Guardian sects. I’ve got a few shortlisted already.”
“Will it be Ashen City?” Anji asked.
“No. I did think about it,” he admitted. “It has cultivators, sure. And we managed to build a foothold there because of our work with the Zhu clan. But that’s the problem. I had to work with a clan to even get started. And with pills?” He glanced at her. “I’m not doing that again. Not unless I want to get dragged into clan politics every time I sell a bottle of healing pills.”
He straightened, rubbing his neck lightly.
“Ashen City’s just too tangled. Too many undercurrents. Too many people who’ll want a piece of anything new. I’ve already invested in my relationships there—I’m not about to ruin that by stepping on a few toes with a new venture.”
“So?”
“I’m looking toward the border cities,” he replied. “Lots of travelling cultivators pass through. Fewer established powers to contest me, and a more open market. I'm just waiting for the information before narrowing it down to one.”
As soon as he said it, a knock echoed against the door.
They all turned.
Without a word, Anji moved. She leaned down and yanked open the crate at the far side of the room. The head let out a low, ghostly grumble as she stuffed him inside, muffled complaints already bubbling.
“You treat me like furniture,” he muttered as the lid shut over him.
Anji ignored him and opened the door.
A young mortal stood there, his chest lightly heaving, as if he’d run through the compound.
“Sect Leader Chen,” he said, bowing quickly. “Tang Boming from the Tang Clan is here to meet you.”
Chen Ren smiled. Finally, it seemed like the information he had been waiting for had arrived.
2025-06-05 17:48:30 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 231
Sand whipped across Kai’s body like tiny shards of glass, carried by the dry desert wind that howled over the dunes. With a smooth flick of his fingers, a wind barrier shimmered into existence, enveloping not just himself but the rest of the party behind him. The shield bent the grains away in an arc, giving them a moment of quiet amidst the storm.
They stood at the edge of a steep dune.
The group had been marching for over an hour under the relentless sun. Progress was slow, but it was there. On the other hand, Kai had been conserving his mana carefully. He didn’t cast excessively unless absolutely necessary.
But now, as he stared at the scene below, he felt the quiet urge to call upon it.
Down in the shallow valley just ahead, sitting smugly on the fat curve of a cactus plant, was a scorpion. Not just any desert crawler. This one was the size of a grown man’s torso, its thick legs clung easily to the cactus like it owned it. Its outer shell gleamed a dark crimson, and a stinger the size of a dagger curled above it, twitching slowly. Its three eyes were locked on them.
Kai’s gaze narrowed as a glint from its underside caught the light. Beneath its limbs, instead of the weak flesh most scorpions exposed, this one bore a shiny carapace—thick and hard like blackened jade.
Rhea’s breath hitched beside him. Her eyes lit up, sparkling with fascination.
“What is that thing?” Kai asked, already turning toward Ansel.
“It’s a crimson thorn scorpion,” Ansel replied. “Grade 2. Nasty little bastard.”
Feroy squinted. “Doesn’t look that strong.”
Ansel let out a soft, humorless laugh. “That’s what gets most people killed. Normal scorpions? Flip them over and stab the soft bits. This one? Its underside is naturally armored. No weak points there unless you crack it. And it’s fast. Very fast.”
Kai frowned. “Is it going to attack us?”
“Most probably. They’re territorial. We could try another path, but they tend to chase prey once they’ve marked it.”
Kai sighed, brushing sand from his robes. “Let’s just deal with it, then.”
He turned toward Gareth, who gave a silent nod.
In the blink of an eye, Gareth vanished. Dust exploded behind him as his body blurred forward. He reappeared beside the cactus, his blade already coming down.
But the scorpion was faster than expected.
With a sharp screech, it leapt—its body blurring as it twisted midair. Gareth’s sword tore through the cactus, slicing it clean in half, but the crimson thorn was already airborne, its stinger aimed forward like a spear.
And it dived straight for Kai’s party.
The moment the scorpion’s stinger closed in, it slammed against the wind barrier and rebounded with a thud, skidding across the sand like a tossed stone. The protective barrier of air rippled outward from Kai’s figure, still holding strong.
The beast screeched in frustration, legs scrabbling for purchase as it tried to recover mid-bounce—but three shadows moved to meet it before it could launch again.
Feroy, Kael, and Neris rushed down the dune. The sand slowed them somewhat, but their footing was solid, and Kai knew raw power more than made up for the terrain disadvantage.
The scorpion leapt again, tail slicing toward Neris, but his buckler caught the strike and Kael stepped in to parry with the blunt end of his axe. The beast skittered to the side, trying to reposition, but Feroy was already channeling.
Mana surged visibly through him, coiling around his arm. His spear ignited with a deep, pulsing flame that didn’t flicker like normal fire—it roared. With a single lunge, Feroy’s strike met the scorpion mid-air, punching through its armored head earning a sizzling crack.
The beast shrieked but wasn’t dead yet. It thrashed, tried to twist free—even managed to leap backward in a desperate bid for survival—but instead slammed straight into Kael’s waiting shield. The impact rang out like a gong.
Kael didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward with a grunt and brought his foot down.
Crunch.
Silence followed.
Feroy exhaled, covered in sweat, and looked at Kael with a grin. “Good job.”
Kael gave a thumbs-up, already pulling his shield free of the scorpion’s shattered carapace.
Feroy crouched near the corpse, inspecting the body with an appraising eye. “Tough bastard,” he muttered. “That was harder than I expected.”
“They usually are,” Ansel said, coming up beside them. “They’re a damn pain in the ass. Tasty, though. Went on hunts for them a few times with the Sand Knights. Always left us tired.”
Kai approached the scorpion’s corpse, studying the cracked shell, the still-glowing tail, the residual mana signature clinging to its body.
“Are they going to be common out here?” he asked, glancing at Ansel.
Ansel shook his head. “Not if we keep heading toward my tribe. We’ll be skirting the edge of their territory. But we’ll still have to deal with strikers—big bastards that burst out from under the sand without warning—and laughing hyenas. Pack hunters. Annoying, but manageable with our group.”
Kai nodded. “And the real threat?”
Ansel’s lips lopsided. “Sand elementals. If we run into one of those, expect a proper fight. Not beasts, not spirits either—just mana that grew a will and started tearing things apart.”
Kai’s brow furrowed. He’d dealt with elementals before—ice, wind, even one made of raw shadow. They were always a pain.
Even the weakest of sand elementals would be a Grade 4 beast. Kai hoped the desert gods weren’t cruel enough to throw one at him here.
He crouched beside the scorpion’s corpse and watched the sun. Heat shimmered off the sand. Rhea approached from behind, her boots crunching softly as she followed him.
A good time for a lesson.
Kai tilted his head toward her. “Ever seen a scorpion-type beast before?”
Rhea shook her head quickly. “No, Master.”
“Then how would you know where to strike one if you face it in battle?”
She hesitated, lips parting slightly, clearly thinking. “Can’t I just… burn it?” she offered. “Everything burns if the flames are strong enough.”
“That’s true. But not everything burns fast enough to stop it from killing you first.” He tapped a knuckle lightly on the carapace. “Some beasts have bodies resistant to flame. Others absorb it, twist it, or spit it back at you. This one might not—but who knows?”
Rhea frowned slightly, her brows knitting.
“Beasts have special organs,” Kai continued, “designed to absorb ambient mana and use it. Not consciously like a Mage or Enforcer, but through instinct. That’s how they gain their abilities. You want to survive? Learn where the power comes from.”
As he spoke, he drew a thin dagger from his belt. Its edge gleamed unnaturally bright—enchanted for dissection, not battle.
Without ceremony, he plunged the blade into the scorpion’s cracked carapace and began slicing it open with precision. The smell of beast-blood, acrid and sweet, filled the air.
Rhea’s face twitched, a flicker of revulsion, but she didn’t look away.
Good.
Kai worked quickly, pulling apart chitin and muscle, exposing sinew and organ sacs. His hand paused as he pointed at a swollen gland near the tail.
“See this?” he said. “This sac stores venom. If it had stung you, that poison would already be racing through your veins. Depending on the dose, you’d be paralyzed—or dead—within minutes. You’d need a specific antidote, which only experienced alchemists or desert hunters know how to make.”
He shifted his blade, revealing a thickened heart wrapped in a dark, fibrous sheath. “And this? Its heart. Coated in a natural armor, probably to protect it during combat. Meaning stabbing it here wouldn’t do much.”
He tapped the scorpion’s head with the hilt of the blade. “Go for the brain. Or the eyes, if you want to blind it. Targeting the wrong place in battle just wastes time—and gives the beast a chance to kill you.”
Rhea nodded, eyes fixed at the dissected insides.
Kai continued, exposing the beast’s internal structure like a scholar with a textbook. He explained mana circulation patterns, the placement of muscles around the stinger, and how the shell segmented in a way that made certain spots more vulnerable than others.
Only when he wiped the dagger clean and rose to his feet did he notice the silence.
The others were watching.
Feroy, Kael, Neris. Even Claire had turned her full attention. Ansel smirked as if he had expected nothing less.
Kai dusted off his hands and looked over the group. “Alright,” he said calmly, as if nothing had happened. “Let’s be on our way.”
Everyone gave a brief nod, and the group fell into motion. The newer Enforcers moved to take their place alongside the horse lines.
Gareth peeled away without a word, heading up a nearby dune. He moved lightly, almost invisible, his figure shrinking in the distance as he began scouting for more threats.
Kai kept pace with the group but let his attention drift. He glanced toward Rhea. She walked a little behind him, brows furrowed, her fingers twitching occasionally as if mimicking the dissection in her mind. Probably replaying the lesson. He said nothing. Letting her wrestle with information was part of the training.
His own focus shifted outward.
The mana in the air—if it could still be called that—was like a weak whisper. Barely there. He’d noticed it the moment they entered the Ashari desert.
Not utterly dead, like the zones of his time but still dangerously thin. The sort of place that choked Mages and slowly wore down even high-grade breast that relied on mana to survive. If you weren’t prepared, you’d find yourself drained and defenseless in a day.
It wasn’t quite suffocating, but it was… wrong.
Like breathing stale air after living in mountain winds.
Kai exhaled slowly, letting his senses stretch into the barren emptiness. Even the wind felt empty here. Still, he was built for this. Trained for scarcity. His techniques were shaped for precision, not indulgence. In some twisted way, this place gave him an edge. Even so, it felt like standing on the edge of a knife.
Footsteps approached from behind, soft and steady. Kai didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Ansel came up beside him, dust coating the lower hem of his robe. “We should reach my tribe in about five hours if we keep this pace,” he said. “More if we stop for rest.”
Kai gave a short nod. “Will they accept outsiders?”
Ansel didn’t answer immediately. He pulled a scarf up to cover his mouth against the blowing sand, then said, “Normally? No. They don’t like outsiders. Most desert tribes don’t.”
Kai raised an eyebrow.
“But you’re with me,” Ansel added. “And I’ll tell them why you’re here. They should support you. My father should still be the tribal leader… and if he’s stepped down, my brother will have taken over. Either way, we’ll be received.”
“I didn’t know tribal leaders retired,” Kai said, glancing sideways.
Ansel chuckled, the sound dry and unbothered. “They do. Eventually. All our leaders are Sand Knights—strength matters too much in the desert for it to be otherwise. But there’s a limit. After a point, their bodies just can’t keep up.”
He kicked at the sand lightly, eyes scanning the distant dunes. “We rarely have Sand Knights reach the third rank. Desert life’s too harsh. So when the body begins to fail, the next in the bloodline takes over—someone younger, stronger. The former leader becomes a councilor. It’s a rite of passage, not just an exchange of power. Not as easy as it sounds.”
Kai nodded slightly. “It’s all fine—so long as your father or brother’s reasonable.”
Ansel grinned beneath his scarf. “Trust me, they are. My tribe’s one of the more progressive ones. We’re not stuck in the past like some of the others.”
Kai gave a noncommittal hum. He hoped it was true.
He knew that he wasn’t here to form alliances or dance around politics. After meeting with Ansel’s tribe, he planned to head straight for the peak—and the tower. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became: the orcs weren’t just mutating on their own. They were drawing mana from somewhere… and that somewhere was likely a leak in the tower.
If he could stop that, he could turn the tide. The path to taking down Overlord Kharvosh would become clearer. But every hour they delayed gave the enemy time to grow.
Still, urgency didn’t mean carelessness. They continued to move at a steady pace. The wind died down somewhat, the sun still relentless but less cruel as afternoon shadows stretched longer across the dunes.
From time to time, Kai fell back to walk beside Rhea. She was still focused, her brows drawn tightly together, lost in internal repetitions of the lesson from earlier.
He decided to press the advantage.
Without much warning, he began showing her modified versions of first circle spells. Simple ones, but all rewritten with tighter mana flow, lower burn. They didn’t strike as hard or last as long, but they didn’t collapse after one cast either. And in this kind of environment, that was survival.
Rhea struggled with them, as expected. Her casting stuttered more than once, and she often defaulted to the older structures she knew. Kai didn’t correct her harshly. Just watched, then demonstrated again, slower.
The truth was, most Mages got used to a single structure per spell—muscle memory of the mind. Breaking that, rewriting it, and still casting successfully was a whole different discipline. Not many learned it. Fewer bothered.
But Kai intended for Rhea to.
The Ashari Desert was harsh, but it made the perfect crucible. If she could master spell optimization here—where mana was thin and failure could be fatal—she’d be a better Mage than most her age by the time they left.
And if he was going to fight the orcs, he needed her to pull her weight. As the sun sank lower behind the dunes, their journey pressed on and with it, the desert seemed to wake.
One by one, the beasts came.
Lizards the size of wolves, with gleaming black eyes and sand-colored scales that blended perfectly with their surroundings. Laughing hyenas that circled like jackals, testing the edges of their formation before charging in wild packs. Even a cluster of burrowing sting-worms tried their luck, exploding from beneath the sand in a flurry of teeth and clicking shells.
None of them lasted long.
Kai didn’t need to raise a finger. His Enforcers moved like clockwork, shields raised, weapons glowing with just enough mana to strike cleanly. Each time a beast charged, it was met with trained resistance and swift counterattacks. The desert may have been unforgiving, but so was his party.
After the fourth attack, Kai began to relax slightly. That was, until Gareth returned.
The watcher appeared at the edge of a dune. His steps were hurried, and sand trailed behind each stride.
“Lord Arzan,” he called out. “There are orcs up ahead. And… they have humans in capture.”
Kai’s body stiffened at once. The air around him seemed to still.
“How many?”
“Four orcs. And many humans. All seemed young. You’ll want to see it yourself.”
Kai gave a curt nod, and without wasting another second, the group shifted course.
They moved silently across the ridge Gareth had come from, cresting the dune in formation. As Kai reached the top and peered over the sandy ledge, his breath hitched.
Down below, no more than a hundred feet away, a grim scene unfolded.
Four orcs stood near a rock outcropping, and their forms cast shadows by the setting sun. They were large—no, massive. All seven feet tall, with thick gray skin marred with crude red war paint smeared across their torsos. Under the paint, there were tattoos—so many of them. One had tusks that jutted upward like broken spears, the others wore bone-plated shoulder guards and had rusted cleavers too jagged to be called proper weapons.
Before them, on their knees, were six young men. Humans.
Their skin was darkened from sun exposure, a natural copper-brown that matched the sand. They weren’t bound, but their limbs shook. Sand clung to the sweat on their faces as they bowed low, muttering frantically something that he was too far to hear—but he didn’t need to. The fear in their eyes was universal.
The orcs laughed.
They were exasperating sounds of amusement, like mockery overlapping one another.
One of them stepped forward, nudging one of the boys with his boot until he fell on his side.
Kai's jaw tightened. Whatever had happened here, he didn’t know—but he did know what the look in the human’s eyes meant. They thought they were already dead.
He glanced sideways at Ansel. “Do you know any of them?”
Ansel’s lips pressed into a thin line. He shook his head. “No. They’re teens. Must’ve been kids when I left. I don’t even know which tribe they’re from.” Then his eyes narrowed. “But if we don’t move fast, they’re going to get a swift death.”
Kai nodded slowly, his thoughts aligning with Ansel’s. The orcs weren’t killing yet. Not because they were merciful—but because they were enjoying playing with them. Fucking bastards. He could see it in their eyes. Cruelty disguised as amusement. A casual confidence that they had all the time in the world to butcher the helpless.
Even if he wanted to preserve his mana—and he did—he doubted facing those orcs head-on without it would be easy. But as he stared down at them, his grip tightening, a thought came unbidden, This is the perfect chance to test it.
Without hesitation, Kai reached behind his shoulder and drew his spear.
The motion caught Feroy’s attention immediately. His eyes widened slightly. “Lord Arzan… are you sure?”
“Yes. I can always fall back on my magic if I need it.”
Then his gaze shifted, planning ahead. The orcs were still focused entirely on their captives—laughing, jeering, showing no sense of caution. Perfect.
He spoke low and fast. “Gareth, Ansel—you two circle from the rear. Hit them just as we reach the center. They won’t anticipate a split formation.”
Ansel gave a nod, then looked at Gareth. “You saw no other orcs?”
“None,” Gareth said. “Just these four.”
Kai grunted. “Good. Be on your way. We attack in two minutes.”
The two men peeled off with swift precision, flanking wide through the dunes without a sound. Kai watched until they disappeared behind the curve, then turned his eyes back to the orcs.
His hand flexed around the spear.
It had been a long time since he fought like this—without spells, without shields of wind or bolts of fire. Just strength. Just speed. Just the raw ability that he’d tried to practice harder every day.
Aside from Killian’s brutal training sessions, he’d barely touched that part of himself.
Time to wake it up.
But just as that thought settled, Feroy let out a low snarl beside him. “Lord Arzan—look.”
Kai’s eyes snapped forward—and his stomach turned.
One of the humans on the ground had tried to crawl away. An orc stepped forward, its massive foot slamming down on the boy’s leg with a crack. Bone shattered. The boy screamed.
The others started shaking even harder, some crying for their lives and panic radiated from them. The orcs just laughed louder.
Kai’s jaw clenched, fury flooding through him. He exhaled once, steadying it.
“Now,” he said, voice cold. “Let’s go.”
In an instant, Neris raised his bow and loosed an arrow. It whistled through the air and struck the nearest orc cleanly in the thigh with a solid thunk.
The orc let out a guttural cry, stumbling back in surprise. The other three turned sharply, their amusement gone in a flash—replaced by confusion and rage.
By the time they understood what was happening, it was too late.
Kai and his group were already charging down the dune, sand kicking up in sprays behind them.
2025-06-05 17:47:19 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 120
Every season brought its own kind of business, and Chen Ren had come to understand that truth more intimately than most. He had learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, that the world moved in cycles—not just of cultivation and qi, but of need, opportunity, and coin. Summer demanded ice cream and light robes; winter demanded warmth and protection. Monsoon rains? That was a time to sell umbrellas by the dozen.
He had seized the summer with cold treats that children and adults clamored for. Now, with frost crawling into the bones of the mornings, there had to be something, some niche he could carve out to survive the lean months ahead.
His first thoughts had not been small ones.
He had envisioned a kind of rune heater—something small, portable, and self-sustaining, drawing ambient qi from the air and gently releasing heat into a room.
But the complexity of such a device far exceeded his current capabilities. The few prototype inscriptions he etched sputtered and smoked, the qi diffusing too quickly to maintain warmth for more than a few breaths. Worse, he lacked the time and manpower to refine the design. And even if he was able to, he had no men for large scale production. The skilled hands at the brewery were already stretched thin, bottling up the autumn’s batch of moonshine.
Then came the more practical idea—simple heat arrays. Basic warming formations etched onto stone, installed in each home for a fee. But even that had its issues. The villagers could barely afford spirit salt, let alone luxury comforts like warmth-on-command. Besides, he wasn’t about to exhaust himself trudging door to door, casting the same formation over and over. The sheer energy it would take wasn’t worth the handful of silver coins he’d earn back.
Qing He could probably anchor a large-scale warming array over the entire village if she wanted to. But she had refused, saying it was beneath her to do so and cold was something mortals should get used to. And Chen Ren had no interest in playing the knight when there was a coin to be made.
That was when the idea finally arrived, nudged by Chief Muyang. It came in the form of a corpse.
The wolves black and red fur glistened even in death. He’d felt a pang of regret for the pups—their lives snuffed out before they could even grow—but he was no fool. In this world, you either used the opportunity, or someone else did.
Fur. That was it.
But ideas were only as strong as the knowledge behind them. Before he could build a business on beast pelts, he needed to know which creatures had the most valuable furs, if he could expect them in the rising, how dangerous they were, and—most importantly—how many could be hunted without tipping the balance of the local ecology.
Only one man could help him with that.
Zi Wen.
Once a hunter, now a member of his sect who patrolled the area often, Zi Wen knew the surrounding forests better than the back of his own hand. He had walked its every trail, tracked every pawprint and claw mark. If there was a beast to be found, Zi Wen knew.
Lately, Chen Ren had heard whispers—Zi Wen poring over the bestiary he’d borrowed, and then asking for more. That alone was enough for him to consult him.
So, after the cleanup from the wolf attack was over and the air smelled less of blood and smoke, Chen Ren made his way toward the sect grounds. The wolf corpses had been brought there, stacked near the old shed where sect members stored unused weapons and half-broken training dummies. Some of the villagers worked under the watch of mortal members, dragging bodies with hooked spears or tying them down with ropes soaked in cleansing salt.
Zi Wen was there, sleeves rolled up, sweat glistening along his brow despite the chill. He was crouched beside one of the bloodbacks, examining its hind legs, murmuring something to himself.
Chen Ren didn’t call out immediately. Instead, he watched.
The way his fingers pressed into muscle, noting the density. The way he examined the fur from root to tip, comparing length and softness. He wasn’t just looking. He was cataloging.
Good.
Chen Ren finally stepped closer. His boots crunched lightly on the frosted grass, and Zi Wen glanced up, eyes alert before softening with recognition.
He immediately gestured toward the three largest bodies in the pile.
“We can feed the sect for a month or so with good meat from these,” he said matter-of-factly. “I believe Secteader Chen, you should create an ice chamber. Etch some frost arrays on the walls and line them with crystal salts—keep the meat from rotting. We can distribute the wolf pups’ meat to the villagers. It won’t taste as rich as the adults, but they’re spiritual beasts in the end. Might help the old ones with their joints... and the children grow up a little sturdier.”
Chen Ren folded his arms, letting him speak without interruption. Zi Wen always thought of the village.
“I actually didn’t come here to talk about the meat,” Chen Ren said after a beat. “Other than maybe getting a decent meal out of it, I’m not all that interested.”
Zi Wen finally looked at him, brushing his hands on his pants. “Then what?” he asked, brows furrowed. “The furs? Thinking about Chief Muyang’s offer?”
“Something similar,” Chen Ren replied. He stepped closer, his eyes drifting over the glinting pelts. “Bloodback wolf furs are too luxurious for this village. Even the nearby towns won’t be able to pay what they’re worth. At best, they'll barter small items or offer a couple gold. But I know what these are truly worth in the cities.”
He tapped his knuckle lightly against the beast’s stiff shoulder. “And winter’s going to be around for a while. So I’m thinking something different.”
Zi Wen tilted his head. “What kind of different?”
“By the end of the rising—how many furs do you think we can get our hands on?”
Zi Wen scratched his chin, then glanced upwards towards the hill that hemmed the village like a slumbering beast of its own. “Hard to say exactly. But hundreds, definitely. Lots of furred beasts emerge or migrate in winter. Some rare ones come out from underground too, hunting or looking for mates.”
A smile crept to Chen Ren’s face.
“Are you planning to collect them all?” Zi Wen asked.
“Yes,” Chen Ren said simply. “And I’m going to start an interior heat insulation business with them.”
Zi Wen blinked. “A what?”
Chen Ren chuckled. “I figured that would throw you off. Let me explain. We take the furs, stretch them over wooden wall panels. Stuff the insides with straw, dried moss, even coarse linen—whatever insulates well. Then we hang those against the inside of walls in houses. Simple. Effective.”
“That’s...” Zi Wen paused, brow tightening. “I have heard some tribes in harsher regions do that?”
“Yes. Nomadic clans up north use that method all the time to keep the cold from seeping into their buildings. But here’s the kicker—our version will use spiritual beast fur. That means it won’t just insulate better, it’ll be able to use the qi in the air to heat the insides. Beast bodies have unique properties that don't end with the beast’s death. It only lessens with time. And do you know who will give us good money for it?”
Zi Wen waited for an answer and Chen Ren soon gave it to him.
“Rich households,” he answered. “Clans. Emerging sects with wide halls and open-air sleeping quarters. Imagine what a spiritual-fur-padded wall would do for a meditation chamber during winter? Or for a bedroom? We’ll tailor the size and thickness, maybe even add minor enchantments to enhance warmth. If we keep the rarer fur for them, they would lap it up.”
A slow nod came from Zi Wen. “You could make quite a bit of money.”
“I know,” Chen Ren said.
“But what about Meadow Village?” Zi Wen asked after a pause. “I’m pretty sure most of them won’t be able to afford that kind of luxury. Even a handful of fur would cost more than a season’s worth of grain.”
Chen Ren turned his eyes down, then gestured silently to one of the wolf pup corpses, smaller and curled almost peacefully under the morning frost.
“I’m getting to that,” he said but his eyes lingered on the small wolf pup’s body. Its form was curled as if still seeking warmth in death.
That tugged his chest. He still felt bad seeing it like that. But only for a moment.
This was the world they lived in. Either you used what you had or you let it rot. He reminded himself of that again and again.
Drawing in a slow breath, Chen Ren stepped forward and crouched beside the pup, brushing some frost from its pelt. “We can turn these into blankets,” he said. “Stitch two or three together at the center, reinforce the edges with cheaper cloth—cotton, linen, even patched hemp. That way, each piece becomes something that can warm a whole family.”
He looked up at Zi Wen. “Kids won’t be going out much in this weather, especially not with beasts prowling around. Blankets like these could help families sleep through the cold nights.”
Zi Wen folded his arms again, thoughtful.
“If we get enough of them,” Chen Ren continued, rising to his feet, “we can start moving them toward the cities—Jingxi, Cloud Mist. Li Xuan already promised to help on the business side, and with his connections, we won’t just be selling blankets. We’ll offer full insulation services. That, and we can still hold back some of the best-quality fur for cloaks and armor. There’s enough material here to support three ventures if we plan it right. And we would be killing more beasts everyday.”
Zi Wen nodded slowly, but his expression was still clouded with logistics. “You're not wrong. But where are we going to find the people to get this moving?”
He gestured around at the piles of wolves. “We need men to strip the fur without ruining it. Then stitchers to join and reinforce it. That’s not something anyone can do—you need hands that have worked with fur before and won't hesitate with beast fur. A group, even a small one, with the right touch.”
Chen Ren looked to the distant rooftops of Meadow Village, smoke rising from a few houses windows.
“Do you know anyone like that here?” he asked.
Zi Wen scratched at the side of his head, brows drawn together. “Should be one or two,” he murmured. “Old wives of hunters mostly. They’re used to tanning and patching up hides for their husbands’ cloaks and boots. They might not be professionals, but they’ve got the hands for it.”
Chen Ren’s smile returned. “And with the population expanding recently, I’m sure there are more who know the basics. Maybe some who worked in trades before coming here. Tailors, leatherworkers... we just have to find them.”
Zi Wen took a moment longer, then gave a decisive nod. “Alright. I’ll start asking around.”
He turned back to the wolves but paused, then let out a short chuckle, not hiding his grin. “You’re always thinking of new businesses, Sect Leader Chen. Very peculiar for a cultivator even with such a dao.”
Chen Ren’s smile didn’t falter. He couldn’t tell Zi Wen that it wasn’t just about the coin. That everything he did was one more step toward cultivation. One more pulse of qi, one more tether to this world’s power. Without it, he would’ve long taken the easy path—and frankly, he didn’t want to now.
But instead, he just smiled and said, “Somebody has to.”
Chen Ren tilted his head upward, his eyes tracing the drifting clouds scattered across the pale winter sky. The chill in the air didn’t seem to touch him at all. If anything, he looked... invigorated.
He exhaled slowly, and with a small, almost amused smile, said, “We’ll have a lot of new businesses soon.”
“Really now?
Chen Ren nodded without breaking his gaze from the clouds. “I’m already working on one. Once everything is in place, we’ll be stepping into an entirely different market.”
Zi Wen squinted at him. “Let me guess… pills?”
That brought Chen Ren’s gaze back to him—and for a moment, he was shocked. He quickly recovered and masked his surprise. “You know about that?”
Zi Wen gave a slight shrug. “Heard it from Xiulan.” He paused, lips twitching with restrained amusement. “And Luo Feng mentioned something too. Asked if I could keep an eye out for certain herbs growing in the deeper forest. Said he wanted to see if they could be cultivated—they were herbs used in alchemy.
“Besides… it just feels like the natural next step for the sect. First food and perfume, then defending the village. I was wondering if you are satisfied with just this much. Though, I’ll admit I don’t know how you plan to do that without more alchemists.”
Chen Ren gave a small hum in response, neither denying nor confirming. But inside, he felt that pressure again. The same one that always returned when he thought about the future of the sect.
Zi Wen was right.
Alchemy was the logical next step. If the sect wanted to rise above mere survival, if it truly wanted to grow, it needed more than mortal businesses and wen. It needed immortal currency and cultivation resources.
The problem was, there weren’t many alchemists. In fact, the only two within the sect were Qing He—and himself. Maybe Anji knew a thing or two.
That had been a constant frustration these past weeks. He had been in quiet talks with the head, and even with Qing He herself, about something revolutionary—training mortals to craft pills. At least, the basic ones. It was slow work. The idea alone had been met with skepticism.
Qing He had practically scoffed when he mentioned it. “Standardize pill crafting?” she’d said, laughing. “You want to turn the Path of Flame and Herb into a bakery?”
But Chen Ren had seen the flaw in this world’s system. If only cultivators could make pills, and they only taught those who joined specific paths, then those without affinity or luck would always be left behind. His idea wasn’t to replace alchemy but to widen its doors.
Still, it was far from complete. He had some notes. A few working theories. Even drafted a system. But each time he tested it, something went wrong. He needed better tools, more time… and more smarter minds around him.
Zi Wen’s voice broke the thought spiral.
“You’re the only one who knows alchemy here, right? Besides Senior Qing He?”
Chen Ren opened his mouth. “Yes, but there’s Anji—”
BOOM!
A tremor rolled beneath their feet as a shockwave of sound cracked through the winter air. Chen Ren felt the noise in his chest.
Chen Ren’s head whipped toward the sound, eyes narrowing. A plume of smoke had begun to rise—faint, but black against the grey sky.
Zi Wen had already turned to run, boots kicking up frost. “That came from the sect building!”
Chen Ren felt lightning run through his legs and up towards his hands. If it was an attack, he didn't know how the sect was going to defend against it, especially with the beast on the ramparts.
But as he took another look at the smoke and where it was rising from, he froze.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed sharply, his pace faltering for a second.
The smoke was coming from his alchemy workshop.
***
Hun Tianzhi looked at the young man seated before him and took a slow sip of his herbal tea, letting the warmth settle on his tongue as a way to keep his expression neutral. The bitterness grounded him, masking the faint tightness in his chest. He felt it go through his throat to his stomach, ever so slowly.
He still remembered the day this man had passed the entrance trials—how he had stood before him, face flushed with pride, eyes bright with admiration. He had spoken of honor and belonging, of how glad he was to become part of the sect.
But now… now, that same man wouldn’t even meet his gaze.
The young cultivator sat with his shoulders stiff, fists resting on his knees, and after a breath too long, he finally spoke. “As you know, Sect Leader Hun, with how things are currently… I don’t think I can remain part of the sect any longer. It’s been five years… I’ve hit a bottleneck, and I believe the only way to break through it is to see the wider world. I want to leave the sect.”
The words were insanely practised. He could tell. Hun Tianzhi translated what was truly being said. The sect is too poor to help me break through. I want to try my luck with one that has more resources.
He set the cup down softly, letting silence hang in the air before asking, “Do you plan to return?”
The man hesitated. Just for a moment—but it was enough.
“We don’t know if I’ll even be alive out there,” he said at last. “The world’s dangerous. The beasts are agitated. If the heavens will it… I’ll come back.”
Hun Tianzhi translated that just as easily.
I don’t plan to return. You may as well consider me dead already.
A part of him wanted to say something—to warn him, to scold him, to remind him of the sect that raised him, fed him, sheltered him in his weakest years.
But there was no point. The man’s decision had already been made long before this conversation. He wasn’t here to ask permission—he was here to inform.
So Hun Tianzhi gave a small, simple nod. “Very well, then. I hope the heavens are kind to you in this next phase of your life.”
The man stood, bowed formally, and placed his sect token on the table between them with quiet finality. Then he turned and walked away. No hesitation. No glance back.
The room fell still as his footsteps faded down the corridor. Hun Tianzhi sat where he was, finishing the last of his tea, now lukewarm and bitter in a way that clung to the tongue.
He remained alone for several minutes, the scent of sandalwood curling softly through the air from the incense burner.
But when the cup emptied, and the quiet returned to its natural hum…The calm faded.
His fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the tea cup as the door clicked shut behind the departing disciple.
A moment passed. Then the cup shattered.
“That imbecile!” He shot up from his seat, fury flashing in his eyes as he slammed his palm down on the table, rattling the remaining teacups and sending the incense burner askew. “I wasted a Celestial Core Pill on that brat—that—that ungrateful coward—just to push him into the qi refinement realm! And now, the moment things get hard, the moment the sect’s footing gets weak—he runs.”
He paced once, twice, muttering between gritted teeth. “It’s not the pill you need. It’s talent you lack. You’re just a waste with a steady hand. If you weren’t half-decent at alchemy, I would’ve thrown you out myself.”
But the storm inside him began to fade almost as quickly as it had flared. All the righteous anger melted into a deep exhaustion.
He slumped down into the floor, shoulders sagging, elbows resting on the cold surface of the table. His voice dropped to a dry murmur. “How many is that now…?”
His fingers rubbed at his temples.
“…Seven. Seven in a month.”
He laughed—but there was no humor in it. He laughed a little louder.
“At this rate, I’ll be the only one left in this sect in another month or two. Just me… and ghosts in the corridors.” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, voice cracking. “Why are the heavens punishing me so much?”
The room fell silent again, but this time it felt heavy. Suffocating. Like it was trying to kill him right then and there.
His mind drifted to memories he didn’t want to remember, the day he founded the sect, how full of hope he had been, how every win had felt like a sign from fate. The silver cauldron gifted to him after winning the Eastern Alchemy Trials. That had been the turning point—his name whispered with respect, invitations from major clans, disciples waiting in long lines for a spot beneath his tutelage.
And now?
He was grasping at smoke, watching the walls crumble around him, one back turned disciple at a time. But memory changed nothing. Misery changed nothing.
So, like always, Hun Tianzhi stood.
Nothing would change unless I change.
He walked through the quiet corridors of his sect. Where once dozens of voices would have filled the air—laughter, sparring, footsteps—now only silence greeted him. Rooms that once held bright-eyed cultivators now lay dark and gathering dust.
He ignored it. He had learned to.
His destination was the one place where time still felt like it had meaning—his personal alchemy chamber.
The door slid open without a sound, and there it was. The silver cauldron. Smooth. Grand. Reflecting the faint flicker of light crystals embedded into the walls. It had once been the pride of his sect—the proof of his rise.
Now, even looking at it brought no satisfaction.
He stepped forward and activated the flame array with a flick of his finger. Heat flared to life beneath the cauldron, and with the motions worn into his bones, he began to push down herbs. He pushed down the dried ones, the crispy ones, and the ones he’d carefully, carefully chosen.
A low hum filled the room as the array engaged.
But even as the fire flared and the scent of ginseng and fireflower root thickened the air, Hun Tianzhi’s mind wandered once more.
Is this really the end?
With so few left… with all the promising disciples gone…
Should I really keep holding on? Or should I leave, just like them?
The flame crackled. And Hun Tianzhi stood still, staring into the rising mist, unsure for the first time in a long while… whether it was still worth the fight.
He stared into the shimmering mist rising from the cauldron, its silvery body humming faintly under the strain of the heat. He smelt the familiar scent of boiling spiritual herbs—earthy, bitter, tinged with sweetness—filled the air like incense, but it no longer stirred pride in him.
He could find a place, if he wished to. He knew that. Even now, with a sect barely standing behind him, his name still held some weight. His achievements hadn’t vanished. The Established sects would take him in. A Guardian Sect might even give him a respectable position—a seat among the lesser alchemy halls, or a post managing disciples in herb refinement. He would have housing, safety, resources. More than enough to live out the rest of his years in comfort.
But…
Did he want to be that again?
A cog.
A number.
One more alchemist sitting behind a row of cauldrons, churning out mid-grade pills for other people’s battles. Teaching recipes from old scrolls, not discovering his own. Watching others rise while he remained stagnant. He had lived that life once—back when he was younger, hungrier, and still unknown. It had taken him years to climb out of it. To earn enough respect to build his own sect from the ground up.
To be the master, not just a part of the machinery.
Did he really want to go back to that?
His hands moved automatically, feeding herbs into the swirling mix, controlling the temperature through his qi—refining root essence, layering spiritual fragments. His mind should have been focused. Alchemy demanded precision. Yet the weight in his chest refused to lift.
He didn’t want that life. He never had.
But what choice did he have now?
Without a miracle, this sect wouldn’t survive the winter. He could feel it—like rot creeping under the foundation.
The disciples were leaving. Resources were scarce. And no one—no one—was looking toward them for hope or strength.
He cursed under his breath. Only a miracle from the heavens could save them now. As he pushed the last set of powdered lotus seed into the cauldron and channeled his qi, he felt it settle inside him.
Only a miracle. Only a miracle would save him.
2025-06-03 15:22:16 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 230
Khorvash, orc overlord, sat in a meditative position at the base of the Palace of Belkhor, their Eternal One. His legs were folded beneath him, massive arms resting on his knees as thick, luminous tendrils of mana moved through the air, connecting him to the sacred crystal embedded in the earth before him. The crystal pulsed with divine energy, and where Khorvash’s hand touched it, the mana flowed like a torrent—rushing through his body, filling his limbs, bones, and soul with strength that had once been beyond comprehension.
A decade ago, he had been nothing but a scavenger. A hunter stalking a desert scorpion, driven by hunger. That chase had changed everything. It had brought him, bloodied and starving, to the sanctuary carved into the cliffs—a place hidden to all but the chosen. There, in the middle of murals and sun-bleached bones, he had found it.
Belkhor’s blessing.
It came as an overwhelming power. Crystals that were embedded into the chamber floor had lit with Belkhor’s will, and when he touched them, mana surged through his body like a storm. The first time, it had nearly killed him. His young body—still lean, still soft with inexperience—had spasmed violently, veins glowing like molten lines beneath his skin. He had thought it was death.
But it was only awakening.
Now, as the crystal fed him, his skin glowed faintly under the light. And his body strengthened. He could see the bulging muscles under his tattoos etched in deep black and blood red ink. Every tattoo had a story—just like everyone else in the tribe, a duel, a conquest, a name taken and discarded. Dozens of them were across his chest and arms, some even burned in with sacred ash from Belkhor’s altar.
His tusks were thick and slightly curved, and had golden rings. Four piercings lined his nose, and a thick bar of bone—carved from the spine of a Sand Knight—pierced through one ear. Across his back, rows of iron studs gleamed dully in the light hammered in by his own hand after every warrior he crushed underfoot.
He was no longer the boy who hunted for scorpions.
He was Khorvash, Chosen of Belkhor—Overlord of the Duneborns.
His path to power had been a bloody one.
There were artifacts, relics with divine carvings among the gifts in Belkhor’s temple. One by one, he’d learned to wield them. A gauntlet that turned wind to blade. A pauldron that hardened his skin like stone. A horn that summoned the rage of the dunes. With these in hand, and strength boiling through his veins, he challenged every orc chief that dared to block his ascent.
And they had fallen—one after another. Some in fair duels, others in ambushes at night. One by one, their heads had rolled. The sands remembered.
Until finally, ten years ago, he faced the last of them. It had been a weakling overlord. One who had failed to conquer the human tribes nesting in the sacred desert, letting them wander freely like sand fleas. Khorvash had ended him under the moon, cutting him down and dragging his corpse to the altar of Belkhor.
From that day forward, the desert had changed.
The Sand Knights of the tribes—once the pride of the human enclaves—had crumbled under Khorvash’s march. Their strongest warriors had fallen, their beasts slain, their hopes burned under black banners.
Only a few Knights remained now, relics of a dying era, offering desperate protection against beasts and orcs alike.
But it was just that—desperation. False hope.
Because Khorvash did not conquer for sport. He conquered for legacy. He knew that this desert belonged to the orcs once more. The sacred lands were under the dominion of his tribe, and no outsider would take it again. He wouldn’t let it. Not humans, not beast-tamers, not soft-tongued Mages. No, no one would take it again.
The age of the orc had returned. And Khorvash would see it carved into the dunes themselves. But rulership did not mean only glory and conquest. Khorvash knew that well.
To wear the title of Overlord was to stand at the peak—and be the target of every eye that burned with envy. Even among his own, there was always that greed behind respect. He took them as challenges. Because if there was one thing, that’d be that Orcs respected strength, but they also desired power. And so, to stay above them all, Khorvash had to keep growing stronger—stronger than the orcs, stronger than the desert beasts, stronger than any human Mage or warrior.
Stronger than the world itself.
But there was a problem. A problem that no blade could cut.
The crystal—Belkhor’s Heart, as they called it—was dying.
It began three years ago. An extremely subtle shift. The mana that surged into his body had felt thinner, more sluggish. At first, he had denied it, blaming his body, the weather, or the alignment of the moon. But by the second year, he couldn’t ignore it. The mana was weaker. He felt it yet he continued to grow stronger.
And now? Now he knew. The crystal was running out.
He had barred every other orc from ever touching it, slaying those who disobeyed without hesitation. Not even his most loyal shamans were allowed near. The sacred source belonged to him alone—his right, his burden. That act had prolonged its life, yes, but not prevented the inevitable.
Khorvash was already beyond mortal strength. His body pulsed with mana. But he had grown dependent on the crystal’s flow. Like a beast fed on blood for years, he didn’t know what would happen if it stopped.
Would he weaken?
Worse—would he go mad?
The thought twisted in his chest. His jaw clenched, tusks grinding together as the last threads of mana slipped into his core for the day. It was a meager meal compared to what it had once been. He pulled his hand away from the crystal with a sharp inhale, his thick fingers twitching as mana surged through his limbs. His skin shimmered faintly beneath his tattoos, muscles taut and alive with restrained power.
With a loud snort, he pushed himself to his feet.
The air around him shimmered with the leftover energy, and he turned, walking toward the alcove to his left, where his armor and artifacts rested in sacred silence.
They were the strongest relics left behind by Belkhor—the god’s final gifts.
The red gauntlets were first. Forged in flame and marked with runes that glowed faintly when he slipped them on. Spiked ridges covered the knuckles and forearms, they hummed with dormant heat. As soon as his hands slid into them, he could feel the power of fire itself curling at his fingertips, ready to be unleashed.
Next came his armor.
Piece by piece, he strapped it on. The shoulder guards of obsidian-black steel, etched with crimson veins. The plated chestpiece, layered with hardened leather from a sand wyrm’s hide beneath enchanted alloy. Each plate weighed more than most men, but on his body, they moved like cloth.
Finally, he reached for the necklace.
A thick black cord, bound with teeth from his fallen rivals, and at its center, a single shard of the god-crystal. It was duller than it had once been, its glow faint—but it was still alive. Still warm.
As he fastened it around his neck, the shard pulsed once.
Just once. Khorvash’s breath slowed. His time was not yet up, but he could tell that it was running out.
When he had first worn the necklace, the shard’s glow had burned a bright, furious red—like the heart of a volcano captured in crystal. Now, even that glow was fading. A sign that the power within it was dwindling… or slipping beyond his reach, and it wasn’t just the necklace.
He had begun to notice the change in other artifacts too. Some of the sacred relics he’d granted to his elite—once roaring with divine magic—had gone quiet. Their enchantments failed to spark, their mana had gone dormant. It had turned to be useless. He had been forced to reassign other relics in their place.
But his own artifacts?
He didn’t dare to imagine them failing. There were no replacements. Because each piece he bore had been born from the Belkhor’s will and was bound to him through pain and blood. If they withered, so too would his throne.
The thought clenched his gut like iron. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from behind.
He turned sharply, muscles tensing.
An orc approached, a broad shouldered, tall one. He dropped to one knee without a word, head bowed deeply in respect.
“It is I, Grakthul, my Overlord,” the orc said in a low voice. Like he hadn’t meant to disturb. “I bring news… of our efforts exploring more of the great god Belkhor’s palace.”
Khorvash narrowed his eyes. “Speak,” he growled. “But know this—if it is not good news, your head will fall where you kneel.”
Grakthul visibly flinched, swallowing hard. “My lord—it is good news. After weeks of clearing debris and pushing through collapsed chambers, our team managed to bring down part of the inner sanctum wall. Behind it… we discovered a door. And it was not wooden, not stone—metal. We haven’t seen anything like that before. We believe it leads to the upper floors of the god’s creation.”
“But?”
Grakthul fell even lower, palms pressed to the stone. “But… we cannot open it. We tried everything—axes, hammers, picks. The weapons shattered. Even the relics you gifted us, my lord… they did nothing. Not even a scratch.”
Khorvash's jaw flexed, and his blood boiled. Grakthul immediately noticed it and rushed on.
“The door has strange patterns etched into its surface—runes. Symbols. We’ve seen similar ones in the ruins before, but we… we don’t know what they mean.”
Khorvash's frown deepened into a scowl. The air around him tensed—and then, with a thunderous crack, he smashed his gauntleted fist against the ground. The floor trembled under the force, and the shockwave echoed through the chamber like a war drum. Grakthul flinched violently, arms shielding his face as dust and fragments scattered all around him.
The red gauntlet hissed with heat where it struck, smoke curling between the engraved runes.
He had seen those strange patterns before, and it maddened him. Because their meaning had always eluded him. Why? Why would the great one leave behind a fortress of divine power and then seal it so thoroughly? And when he searched there had been no hint to open it!
Was this a test of strength?
If so, then it was clear what he had to do. If knowledge and tools failed, then he would break the door himself—with his own hands, even if it meant grinding bone into dust.
He raised his head, eyes narrowing at Grakthul.
“Bring me to this door.”
Grakthul did not hesitate and bowed again, his head hitting the floor. “As you command, Overlord Khorvash.”
The next second, the orc stood up and moved, leaving the sanctum behind.
The corridors of Belkhor’s palace stretched before them. There was a dull blue glow that seemed to hum from veins of crystal embedded in the walls. The ceilings arched unnaturally high, not only built for orcs—or perhaps built for gods.
As they walked, Grakthul’s thoughts churned. How had such a place come to be?
He had lived for over five decades, fought across endless dunes and bloodied battlefields, but never had he seen anything like the Palace of Belkhor until the day he stumbled across it while chasing a sand beast into the cliffs. Hah! It was as if the tower had appeared out of nowhere.
Had it been hidden?
Had Belkhor summoned it into being with a mere thought?
A god of that power—he could do such things. Without doubt. And perhaps, if Khorvash reached the top—if he unlocked every floor and survived every challenge—then maybe… maybe he would be welcomed among the god’s true chosen. Maybe he would be gifted a sliver of Belkhor’s divine essence.
That hope was fire in his belly.
They turned sharply through branching corridors. Broken statues lined the hallways, some resembling beasts, others shaped like forgotten warriors. In one corridor, the ceiling was shattered open to the sky above, but sand had not spilled in—as if the desert itself refused to enter this place.
Then, finally, they reached it. The door.
It stood at the end of a massive, sloped hall—tall enough for three orcs to stand on each other’s shoulders, wide enough to fit a siege chariot through without scraping the sides. It was carved from the same strange, black metal that made up the outer gates of the tower. And there were no scratches, no marks. Not even a fucking dent.
Khorvash’s jaw clenched as he approached. He raised a hand and pressed it against the door.
It was the same as the entrance. And that alone made him curse under his breath.
He had tried to break pieces off the outer gates before—to forge armor, to understand the composition. But nothing had worked. No forge could melt it. No hammer could dent it. Even his own strength, when channeled to its peak, had failed to crack it.
And now this door… His fingers curled into a fist.
How was he going to break through this one?
Behind him, Grakthul dared not speak.
And he stood in silence, thinking of ways to break through the gate. He felt the air shifting faintly with the leftover heat of his aura from all the mana channeling. He became aware of movement to the sides—where several orcs stood.
“My lord… we have tried everything. It does not yield. Only your strength—your strength—can break this.”
Another followed, pounding a fist to his chest. “This is the gate of the god! Only his chosen may pass!”
A third added, “None but you, Khorvash. You were chosen in the sacred chamber. You carry the god’s flame!”
A chorus of voices rose, their confidence roaring into cheers that reverberated through the ancient stone. Their eyes burned with faith—undeniable and absolute. Faith in him.
Khorvash exhaled hard through his nose, nostrils flaring as he turned his gaze back to the door.
“This metal,” he growled, raising his arm to gesture at the immense surface, “was forged for Belkhor himself. This… is the god’s armor. Nothing can break it.”
A hush fell over the gathered warriors.
“But if anything can…” he continued, stepping forward, fists clenching, “it will be his chosen.”
The orcs erupted into thunderous cheers, their roars shaking the corridor. It was evident that they all believed in his powers.
Fueled by their cries, Khorvash walked to the gate, looming before it like a beast sizing up its prey.
Strange symbols spiraled across its face—etched deep and without meaning to mortal minds. Runes that glowed faintly, pulsing like a slow heartbeat. He ran a hand across them. It felt cold. For a brief moment, he kept it there, feeling the metal.
Then he stepped back, planted his feet wide, and drew in a breath so deep it filled his chest like a bellows. His muscles bulged and veins flared. And with one swift movement, the orc overlord let his fist fly—
BANG!
The hit echoed like a gong struck with a mountain. But the door didn’t move. Not even a tremor. Not a single crack.
Khorvash’s brows twitched. That was more resistance than he expected.
He looked at his followers. “Get back.”
They obeyed immediately, clearing the floor behind him.
Turning back to the gate, Khorvash raised both arms—and then pushed. Power surged from deep within him, drawn into the gauntlets. The red metal flared to life, runes ignited. Flames burst from the surface, licking up his arms, curling around his shoulders. Some scorched his skin—angry, biting flames that chewed at flesh.
But Khorvash didn’t stop.
He was used to this now. The pain would be gone by tomorrow. His body healed faster than most beasts could bite. The flames were his, and he welcomed them like brothers.
So he charged. He struck the gate again. And again. And again until his fists became a blur of motion.
He grunted, roared with every strike. After so many tries, the gate was no longer a door. He took it as a challenge. It was an enemy. A godless traitor that dared bar his path.
And heavy minutes passed. Dozens of hits landed.
The door scorched in patches, darkened where fire met metal—but that was it.
There was not a single dent.
Panting, Khorvash stumbled back. The air felt suddenly heavier—or maybe it was just the toll of his effort. His skin blistered in places, and the gauntlets glowed red-hot.
He looked at his hands. They trembled. With pure frustration.
Still nothing.
He stomped the floor hard enough to crack the stone beneath him.
His eyes burned with rage—not at the gate, but at himself.
Was he still not enough? Had all the strength he gained, all the blood he spilled, all the tribes he conquered—had it still not been enough to pass this test?
Hatred and hunger filled his bones.
He needed to be stronger.
He had to be.
But how…?
The crystal was fading. The divine mana that had fed him for a decade was draining away like blood from a wound.
And this door, this divine lock—mocked him.
The heat of failure burned in his chest, twisting through his gut like a blade and it soon turned to rage. He wanted to tear something apart, rip stone from wall, shatter bone under fist. The desire to crush something surged with every heartbeat. But then…
His eyes drifted back to the symbols.
Wait…
The small runes couldn’t have been done by orcs. Orc hand would never ever bother with such details. These… these were far too refined. So who had?
Khorvash narrowed his eyes, leaning in. The grooves were so fine they looked as if painted with a needle. Some curled in strange loops, others connected like webs of thought. The deeper he stared, the more convinced he became. These were made by… Humans.
Only they were weak enough, clever enough—and had small enough hands—to draw these ridiculous little signs. He snarled at the thought, lip curling, tusks gleaming in the dim glow of the runes.
Had Belkhor used them?
The idea sent a strange sensation through him. The god… accepting help from humans? It was blasphemous. But also… possible. If they had been slaves, then perhaps—perhaps—they had knowledge. Perhaps some still remembered.
And if they did—
He stepped back from the door, his expression changing—fury sharpening into something like purpose.
If those pitiful creatures knew what these markings meant, then he would make them speak.
Turning back to his followers, Khorvash found them still watching him—wide-eyed, expectant, uncertain of whether their overlord would lash out or strike again.
“Bring me humans,” he commanded.
A hush fell across the corridor.
The orc who had led him here, Grakthul, blinked. “What do you mean, Overlord Khorvash?”
Khorvash’s growl was low and rumbling, like boulders grinding in his throat. “From the worthless tribes. The smart ones. The ones who can read and write. I don’t care how old they are. Get them—all of them. I want them here. Now. You understand?!”
There was a long pause. A few exchanged glances—grim, wary, confused. But then, one by one, they knelt.
“We understand,” they said in unison.
The group dispersed quickly.
He knew what his command meant. It would be a slaughter. His orcs weren’t known for mercy—especially not when raiding the human enclaves.
But Khorvash didn’t care.
Sympathy was not for kings. And certainly not for gods-in-the-making.
Let the humans bleed. Let their homes turn to ash. So long as one of them could read these cursed runes, so long as one could unlock the truth behind Belkhor’s gate, it would be worth it.
All that mattered… was the upper floors.
He clenched his fist slowly, the red gauntlet flaring with heat.
He would reach them. Even if it meant the humans had to scream every step of the way.
2025-06-03 15:20:42 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 229
Rhea jumped around excitedly as she asked, for the third time, “When will we leave?”
Kai smiled, standing beside her. “Once we load up everything,” he said calmly. “We’ve got ten minutes before we roll out.”
Rhea nodded eagerly, eyes practically sparkling under the morning sun. Her energy was infectious—like a child on the edge of an adventure.
Killian, checking the saddle straps on one of the horses, glanced over with a frown. “Are you sure about bringing Rhea, Lord Arzan?” He asked in just above a whisper. “This isn’t going to be a trip. It’s the Ashari desert.”
Kai’s eyes stayed on the bustle of final preparations. “I know. But it will be a good learning opportunity for her. A mana-bane desert is honestly a great place to train efficient mana usage, and I want to give her more of my time. I’ve been neglecting that.”
Killian raised a brow. “You think she’ll be safe out there?”
“I believe she can take care of herself,” Kai said without hesitation, but he was still watching Rhea—who, unsurprisingly, had been listening to the whole exchange. She stepped up proudly, fists on her hips.
“I can!” she said, directing her words at Killian with unwavering confidence. “I even formed a second-circle [Fire Blade]! If we meet any enemies, I can use that. I promise I’ll be useful.”
Kai didn’t interrupt her, but a part of him winced inside—not at her enthusiasm, but at her naivety.
She had formed the spell. That much was true. But forming it once in a controlled environment wasn’t the same as using it in the field. According to Klan, who he had quietly asked to keep tabs on her progress, she had drained her mana dry just casting it. And the spell’s structure had collapsed less than two seconds after forming, sparking out in a weak cascade of light.
Still, Kai didn’t correct her.
That, after all, was his responsibility. The structure has had obvious flaws. But so did her mentality. She was eager to help, desperate to prove herself. But it wasn’t enough. She’d have to learn patience by going through failure, and understand her own limits so she could eventually surpass them.
Watching her beam with pride now reminded him, in a way, of why he’d decided to bring her. It hadn’t been just about mana training or teaching spell efficiency and giving her field training. It was about making sure she grew right. Seeing her compete in the mana-ball game days ago had made that painfully clear. She had fought with heart—but no technique. She had courage—but no control over her emotions.
The Ashari Desert was not kind. But maybe that was exactly why it was the right place for her. It would wear her down, force her to confront the gaps in her training—but if she could survive that, if she could adapt, it would forge her into something more than just his apprentice.
Otherwise, if she was left to her own devices, Rhea was just going to become another unreliable Mage. Even if she advanced quickly in theory, without the right grounding, that speed would only lead to fragility.
Kai had seen too many like that before. Mages with talent, but no discipline. Powerhouses in sparring matches who crumbled the moment real blood was drawn.
As their conversation drifted, servants from behind lifted the last of the supplies onto the rear of the reinforced carriage that would take them into the Ashari Desert.
Rhea’s attention flicked to the boxes. “What’s in it? Is if food?” she asked, pointing to one of the larger crates.
Kai followed her gaze. “Food, in one of them, yes. Enough to last us about two weeks,” he said. Then, pointing at another crate, he added, “But the rest are filled with mana storage stones. I made them last night from quartz.”
Rhea tilted her head. “Why the stones?”
“I told you the Ashari Desert is a mana-bane region, didn’t I? What do you think that means?”
She fell into thought for a second, brow furrowed. Then her eyes lit up. “There’s not… a lot of mana in the air?”
He gave her a nod, pleased she was catching on. “Exactly. And with little ambient mana, you won’t be able to draw in energy to recover once you run out. When we Mages exhaust the mana produced by our mana hearts, it takes time for them to recharge on their own. We usually speed that up by breathing in mana from the environment.”
“But in a mana-bane region…” Rhea murmured.
“That’s not possible,” Kai finished for her. “Hence the quartz stones. They’re durable, good at holding mana, and safer to handle than some of the alternatives. I refined and charged them myself. They’ll be our backup, in case anyone’s reserves drop too low. Still, we’ll need to modify our spell structures to be lean and efficient.”
Rhea’s lips parted slightly as she absorbed the information. Then she asked the one thing that mattered most to her. “Isn’t that dangerous to modify them?”
“Not for me.”
Rhea blinked. And then, her eyes softened. There was something in the way she looked at him that spoke of complete trust. Blind, perhaps. But sincere.
Kai didn’t say anything more. He simply turned back toward the carriage, and watched the final crates get secured. The team was moving smoothly now, almost ready. Just as he took a step forward, Ansel approached.
“We’re good to move, Lord Arzan,” Ansel said.
“Alright.”
His gaze drifted to the front of the caravan where the others waited—those who would be accompanying them into the heart of the desert. Aside from himself, Rhea, and Ansel, the group included Claire. Then there were Gareth and Feroy.
Trailing near the edge were two newer figures—young, eager, and still green behind the ears. Kai hadn’t bothered memorizing their names at first, but now he remembered. Kael and Neris. Claire had picked them out during her talent search, both tested and confirmed to have stable mana organs. Of the many she had screened, these two had stood out in training.
As Kai looked over the group gathered near the carriage, Killian stepped beside him, lowering his voice just enough that only Kai could hear.
“I still believe you should bring some Mages with you,” he said.
Kai inhaled through his nose. “Some firepower needs to stay here,” he replied. “And they won’t be as useful in the desert anyway. My storage stones are limited—I can’t afford to have half the group relying on mana they can’t replenish. Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”
He didn’t say it out loud, but he meant it. If Ansel could win over the desert tribes, things would fall into place. That was the real plan. The rest? Contingencies.
Killian gave a reluctant nod, and Kai stepped forward, raising his voice slightly. “Alright. Everyone, get in. We're moving out.”
The group began to climb into the carriage, Rhea hopping up first with a bounce in her step, followed by the others. Kai was about to pull himself up into the carriage when a voice rang out behind him.
“Lord Arzan!”
He paused, turning back. Amyra stood a short distance away, her golden hair tousled from running, cheeks pink with the effort. She was slightly out of breath, hands clenched by her sides.
He hadn’t expected her. They had spoken the night before. He had told her about the plague lands. Unsurprisingly, she had offered to help before he could even ask.
But she had been sad. Not because of the task—she had volunteered for it—but because he wouldn’t be there when she started. She had wanted his presence beside her when she attempted to purify the tainted lands. A reasonable wish. Even now, Amyra didn’t fully trust others when it came to her powers—especially not strangers like Elias. Kai had asked Killian to assist in the first few days before heading to the capital, hoping that would ease the transition.
He walked toward her, a small smile forming on his lips. “You came just in time,” he said. “I was just leaving.”
“I know,” Amyra replied, her breath slowing. “I was watching from the window.”
There was a pause.
“I just… came to say my goodbyes,” she added, eyes steady on his. “And to tell you that when you come back… there won’t be any plague lands left. I’ll make sure of it.”
Kai stopped short.
There was a fire in her gaze, quiet but unwavering, and it caught him off guard. He had seen her confidence grow, yes—but this was something more. Not the fragile resolve of someone who wanted to prove themselves. This was a promise. A vow.
“I would be grateful,” he said softly. “You won’t have to worry while you’re there. You’ll have protection.”
Amyra gave a small nod. “I know. But… I want you to come back safe too.” She hesitated. “I read that the Ashari Desert isn’t… friendly to Mages.”
“I’m more than just a Mage, Amyra. I’ll be fine. There’s still a lot to do—both in the desert and at the assembly.” Then, he whispered. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about it.”
When Kai turned, Claire was standing just beside the carriage, arms folded.
He looked back one last time. “Take care of yourself,” he said to Amyra.
And then, without another word, he climbed into the carriage.
Claire followed. The driver gave a short whistle, and the horses neighed, stamping against the ground as the wheels lurched forward. The carriage began to roll through the cobbled streets of Veralt, past curious onlookers and the sentrys lining the walls.
And just like that, they were on their way—out of the city, toward the burning dunes of the Ashari Desert.
The Ashari Desert stretched far to the east of the kingdom, a scorched land of sandstorms, dead ruins, and breathless silence. The journey to reach it was long—painfully so—even when the horses were pushed with minimal breaks.
Time blurred into the rhythmic creaking of wheels and the carriage rocking gently as the days passed.
Thankfully, Ansel had insisted on taking a less conventional route through a network of underground tunnels. According to him, this shortcut carved through the lower foothills and would shave almost a week off their travel time. Of course, there was a catch.
“Not many take it anymore,” he’d said. “Thanks to the spindleback spiders and shriek-bats. Nasty little things. Hunt humans who travel alone.”
They were grade one and two beasts at best—nothing that Kai’s group couldn’t handle. So they pressed on, and true to Ansel’s word, the tunnel system sped up their journey considerably.
The darkness underground was heavy, absolute. Only pierced by their lanterns. The air was damp, and the echo of distant scuttling reminded them that they were never quite alone down there.
For Kai, the journey was… quiet.
He didn’t have much to do besides sit and think. Projects filled his mind—artifacts he wanted to forge with Balen's help, experimental spell structures that he had to research into Enforcer techniques, and the refinement of his own battle styles. But most of those would have to wait.
So instead, he spent time cultivating his vaults—something he hadn’t done properly in weeks. When not cultivating, he took breaks to instruct Rhea, explaining how the desert would affect her mana circulation and the importance of preserving strength in hostile environments.
She listened with focus, her brow furrowed in thought, occasionally asking smart questions that reminded him that she could be a very capable Mage in the future.
He also found himself talking to Claire more than usual. She told him about the villages of the Sylvan Enclave, the faces she’d met. She had looked tired after coming back from them, but it had been a good experience for her.
The Enforcers, as expected, were quiet. They took turns driving the carriage or scouting ahead on foot, always alert, but offering little conversation.
Three days passed like that—uneventful.
Until they entered the tunnel. That’s when the silence cracked open.
Excitement returned with the hiss of claws and the flap of leathery wings. True to Ansel’s warning, the tunnels weren't abandoned. The deeper they went, the more frequent the attacks became.
Spindleback spiders that lunged from cracks in the stone ceiling. Shriek-bats that swooped in flocks, drawn to body heat and light. The Enforcers handled them easily, especially Gareth and Feroy who barely broke a sweat. But Kai saw an opportunity.
The beasts were weak enough that they didn’t pose a threat to the group. Which meant they were perfect targets for training.
“Rhea,” he said one morning as they fought another group of spiders. “Your turn.”
She jumped at his words, but didn’t hesitate. Her hands lit up with flame as she called the first circle spell—[Firebolt]—and sent it flying down the tunnel.
It hit a boulder instead.
A sharp crack rang out as splinters of stone flaked off the side. Rhea’s expression fell, her mouth tightening in frustration as she stood in front of him, posture rigid.
Up ahead, the two new Enforcers braced themselves behind a shield, holding off three spindlebacks that hissed and reared with eight trembling legs. The creatures were half as tall as Kai, with shiny black shells and two glowing eyes each. Compared to Vermorga and her brood, they were almost tame. Their venom, while paralytic, wasn't lethal, and even the new recruits held their ground well.
Rhea, though—her spellcasting was raw.
Her aim was off, and more than that, her control wavered. Every time she formed the Firebolt, she lost her pull on it midway, letting it drift, falter, and finally misfire.
Kai watched her shoulders sag slightly. She didn't speak, but the disappointment was clear on her face.
He stepped forward. “It’s okay to fail a few times. [Firebolt] is one of the harder first circle spells. You’re not doing as bad as you think.”
Rhea looked up at him, her brows drawn tightly together. “But I already managed a second-circle spell,” she said, voice low with frustration. “First-circle should be easy for me.”
“You haven’t practiced this one a lot before,” he reminded her. “Control doesn’t scale with power, Rhea. You’re already doing well enough.”
She didn’t seem fully convinced, but she listened.
“Try it again,” he said, gently. “This time, don’t just launch it. Focus on the connection between you and the bolt after it forms. That’s the thread you’ve been losing.”
Rhea gave a small nod and stepped forward, inhaling deeply. The tunnel felt colder now, darker, but she shut her eyes and began to construct the spell. Slowly, carefully, the structure formed in her palm—concentric circles, lines of heat, core of flame. Mana twisted together in her palm, and a [Firebolt] shimmered into existence above her hand, casting flickering orange light on the stone around her.
This time, she didn’t rush. She raised her hand and exhaled, urging the [Firebolt] forward. It shook mid-air, veering slightly—but she caught it with her will, held it firm, and redirected it just in time to strike a spindleback in one of its jointed legs.
The beast screeched, twitching violently before it lashed at the shield-bearer in front of it, slamming the Enforcer back a step with surprising force.
Kai allowed a small smile to form. “Good job.”
Rhea blinked, then grinned. “I can do it again!”
“Go ahead,” he said, nodding. “Three more. Make them count.”
She didn’t need to be told twice.
The next bolt fizzled mid-air, caught in a web mid-flight as the second spider flung a sticky line to intercept it. But her next two? Clean hits. One to the torso, another to a mandible—both weak spots. The damage was small, not nearly enough to kill or cripple the monsters, but her control had noticeably improved.
That alone was enough for Kai.
Before she could ready a fourth, Ansel called out from near the edge of the tunnel, tone clipped and alert. “Lord Arzan, we should move. We’ve already been inside the tunnels too long.”
Kai gave a small nod and turned toward the spiders, raising his arm. Wind began to spiral from his wrist, a focused mana current forming into blades. In an instant, [Wind Blades] lanced forward—sharp, clean, and fast.
The first spider lost its head.
The second was cut into three neat pieces, its legs twitching as they hit the stone. The third was handled by Feroy who struck it when it was trying to escape.
Rhea’s eyes widened, lips parting in awe. Even the two new Enforcers stiffened, their hands tightening around their weapons.
Kai, however, had already turned his back to the remains. “Let’s move on.”
Half an hour later, Ansel raised a gloved hand. “We should stop here,” he said, pointing toward a natural hollow cut into the side wall. “We’ll hide the carriage. It won’t survive in the sand—wheels will sink within minutes.”
Kai nodded. Together, they moved the carriage into the alcove, using a few pulleys and muscle to wedge it tightly into place. A large, rounded boulder was rolled across the opening, obscuring it from view.
Then, Kai stepped up to the wall, raising both hands as his fingers wove. Threads of mana sank into the stone, forming pale symbols that pulsed briefly with light before dimming into invisibility.
Seals.
He made four—one on each side—and pushed enough mana into them to last at least two weeks. To the untrained eye, they would blend perfectly into the rock. But if any beast—or man—wandered close, their minds would simply… overlook it. A simple, but an effective misdirection ward.
With that done, the group turned toward the light ahead—pale, filtered through fine sand.
The tunnel’s exit was near.
As they began walking, Ansel moved closer to Kai and spoke.
“When I crossed this route years ago with a band of travelers,” he said, “a large spider ambushed us near the exit. Took five of our number before we brought it down.”
“What worked?” Kai asked, without breaking stride.
“Poisoned arrows,” Ansel replied grimly. “Strong ones. The kind that eats through exoskeletons. Normal blades barely scratched it.”
Kai gave a quiet nod, his eyes narrowing as they stepped into the final stretch.
As they walked, Rhea’s voice broke the silence, quieter now, almost hesitant. “Do you think that spider will still be there?”
Ansel didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t think so,” he said, then glanced at her with a faint smile. “And if it is—Lord Arzan will take care of it.”
Rhea nodded, reassured, though her hands still hovered near the small pouch of potions at her belt. She wasn’t scared. Not exactly. But there was something about being underground for so long—the weight of the stone, the narrowness of the path—that made every sound seem louder than it should be.
Kai was about to respond, to offer some comfort or perhaps just a tactical reminder, when he caught it—a thin, silvery shaft of light breaking through the dark ahead. It shimmered faintly, cutting through the dusty air like a knife.
“Light,” someone whispered from behind.
The group instinctively picked up their pace. Boots hit the stone with more urgency, hands reached for weapons just in case. Even the horses behind them stirred, sensing something had shifted.
The tunnel began to widen. The rocky walls thinned, cracked in places, and the ceiling arched higher until the air grew lighter, the darkness peeling away in layers. And then—finally—they reached it.
The tunnel mouth.
One by one, they stepped out.
The Ashari Desert.
The sand was rich in burning bronze, glinting and shining under a sun that hung low. It was a beauty. Dunes rolled in the distance like ocean waves frozen in place. Heat shimmered above ground, and the transition immediately felt sharp.
From stone and darkness to openness and raw sunlight. The scalding wind hit their faces and Kai soon stepped forward, shielding his eyes for a moment.
His boots sank to the edge of the sand, and he could already feel it—mana here was thin, barely present.
Behind him, the others adjusted their packs and gear, taking it in with silent awe or wary caution. Then Ansel stepped beside him, lifting a hand toward the horizon where jagged red hills broke the flow of the dunes in the far distance.
“We’re here,” he said, wiping his nose. “In my home.”
2025-06-01 15:28:22 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 119
Chen Ren walked through the stairs to the rampart with the mortal sect member. The young man followed him silently, but their shared silence was loud with what was going on up ahead.
Even from here, he could hear the chaotic medley rising above the walls—crackling gunfire, beastly howls, and, through it all, the unexpected cheers of mortals standing their ground.
The sound didn’t reassure him. If anything, it made him wary.
Had the guns really performed that well? He doubted it. He remembered the power of the beasts too vividly from the first day of the rising. The beasts had torn through the defenses, their blood-drenched hides almost impervious to anything short of higher realmed cultivator attacks. On the first day, their rifles had worked well enough to wound, maybe kill a few weaker monsters, but certainly not something that ranked tier two.
Still, something had changed. The cheering. The occasional pauses of the fire. The lack of panic. That all meant the guns were working, at least more than he had expected.
And the entire thing was no small feat. His sect’s power had risen in the last few weeks because of these weapons. Production was limited now—every musket, every bullet, took time, effort, and materials they could scarcely afford to waste—but the framework was in place. Sooner or later, Chen Ren knew they’d produce enough to arm every mortal in the sect.
That thought alone sent a good-kind-of-shiver through him.
He reached the top of the rampart and paused, one hand resting on the parapet as he took in the battlefield below and understood the reason for the cheering. His brows lifted.
Below him, a line of mortals in sect robes crouched behind makeshift cover, smoke curling from the barrels of their muskets. They were firing at a pack of mid-sized wolves—red and black-furred pups. Each time a bullet struck true, the impact sent a pup sprawling with a yelp that was cut short mid-air. Blood pooled in the dirt where they fell.
But not every shot struck home.
Chen Ren’s gaze followed a young disciple who fired with a tremble in his shoulders. The musket kicked back, but the shot flew wide—a clean miss. The wolf pup lunged, only to be brought down by another shot from further down the line.
Chen Ren winced. Too many wasted bullets.
They were learning, yes, but most hadn’t drilled enough. Only a handful had spent real time in the training range, refining their stance and aim. The others still flinched when they pulled the trigger, blinking smoke out of their eyes, shocked by the sound and recoil.
They'd get better. They had to. Bullets weren't cheap. Every miss cost more than just a coin—it cost time and sweat.
He pulled his gaze away from the firing line, turning it beyond the mass of pups—past the blood, past the makeshift barricades—and finally saw what had truly set the battlefield in motion.
Two towering wolves stood at the rear—Bloodback alphas, their stance looked like shadows drenched in rusted crimson. Thick tufts of black-streaked fur bristled as they growled, eyes burning with feral rage.
They were here to hunt the humans and two men stood in their way.
Claws scraped against stone as one leapt forward, aiming for a figure darting across the wall’s edge—Li Xuan, blade flashing as he barely avoided being torn in half. At his flank, Little Yuze twisted in the air while perched on his back was Zi Wen, musket in hand, steady despite the bucking movement.
Zi Wen aimed low and fired. A crack rang out. The wolf reeled with anger. Blood splattered its snout, but it didn’t slow.
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. At a glance, he could tell.
The two wolves weren’t random tier twos. They were a pair. Mated. And the pups being slaughtered on the battlefield were their children. And each time a pup was gunned down, the alphas howled. Their low howl echoed through the hills like mourning turned to fury, and they lunged harder.
Both Li Xuan and Zi Wen fought as if they were about to face death. Lightning crackled along Li Xuan’s blade as he clashed head-on with the larger of the two bloodback alphas. The beast’s claw came down, but the man lifted his sword and swung it, sending sparks arcing into the air as the force rattled through his arm. He slid back a pace, and Chen Ren saw how his boots dug into the dirt, but the man held.
Across from him, the she-wolf lunged at Little Yuze, only to meet resistance. Zi Wen from behind gritted his teeth, fired another shot, and hit the she-wolf square in the snout. The beast reeled but didn’t fall. Blood dripped from its muzzle, but its fury only deepened.
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t expected Li Xuan to be defending them. Last he’d heard, the man had stayed behind after losing his duel, retreating into solitude. He had holed himself up in a room cultivating as if trying to drown his defeat in qi.
And yet here he is, Chen Ren thought, watching him deflect another claw strike. Holding the line. It was a good thing too. Without him, the rampart would’ve already been torn apart.
He folded his arms, thoughts shifting. He didn’t want to call on Yalan, Qing He, or even Hong Yi and his puppets—not yet.
From the edge of the rampart, a voice broke his thoughts.
“You’re late,” Yalan said.
He turned toward it and saw her perched on the rampart. He hadn’t noticed when she arrived—but then again, he rarely did when it came to Yalan.
“But I suppose it was worth it. You’ve reached the eight-star qi refinement realm, haven’t you?”
Chen Ren exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. It almost felt like my body was breaking.”
“It might just. You're pushing too hard. Even a cup breaks if you pour a waterfall into it.”
Her words hit home. Chen Ren’s gaze drifted down the battleground again, his expression tightening.
That was one of his worries these days. After the Gate of Immortals had revealed itself, he’d spoken more with the head—more than he ever had before—especially about the Dao of Money.
Unfortunately, the head hadn’t even heard of such a Dao.
The conversation had shifted instead—to legends about the golden dragon, to whispers passed down through scrolls and dreams. And, eventually, to Chen Ren himself.
The head had warned him. "Progression like yours is rare. Unnatural. One day, your body might not keep up."
He knew it could be true. But for now, he hadn’t felt anything wrong—not yet. But the words struck with him, growing louder each time he broke through. Especially with the amount of pain that followed.
And the only one who might truly understand was the dragon itself. Which was why he had so many questions that he wanted to ask.
He glanced at Yalan. “I saw it today.”
Yalan purred, licking her lips and stared back at Chen Ren. “Did you talk?”
“No. It looked… weak. Faded. And so, so tired—”
Before she could press further and he could tell whole, a deep, snarling howl ripped through the air, louder than any before. Chen Ren’s head snapped toward the front lines just in time to see Little Yuze cry out, blood flaring as a claw slashed across his face, forcing him backward. Zi Wen tumbled from his shoulder, musket clattering against the stone as he hit the ground with a grunt and didn’t rise.
On the left flank, Li Xuan’s stance faltered, the weight of the male alpha’s strikes growing heavier with each blow. It wasn’t that he was growing weaker. It was the wolves that had changed.
Chen Ren’s eyes swept over the field—and saw it.
The pups were gone. Every last one of them—slain, broken, still. The bloodback alphas were no longer just fighting.
They were mourning. And they were enraged.
Fuck. This is bad.
He turned toward Yalan. “I’ll tell you later.”
Without another word, he leapt from the wall.
Lightning flared at his heels and the wind roared in his ears as he descended. His eyes were fixed on the she-wolf-mid-charge. Its crimson-streaked claws arced forward, aimed to finish Little Yuze once and for all.
But Chen Ren struck first.
He dipped low, momentum surging through him like a crashing tide, and slid beneath the beast's strike, palm surging upward with precision. His lightning-clad hand slammed into its ribcage, a dull crack echoing out as the force knocked the wolf sideways, claws tearing grooves in the earth as it skidded to a stop several steps away.
Dust rose around them.
Chen Ren straightened, eyes cold, and glanced back toward Zi Wen as he reached Little Yuze’s side. “Get him treated. I'll handle it.”
Zi Wen didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded and dragged himself toward Yuze, beginning to apply basic healing powder from his pouch even as the bonded beast protested faintly.
Chen Ren didn’t look again. His attention returned to the she-wolf who was now staggering to its feet.
And up-close, it was easier to see—the red and black, matted fur, now thick with blood, snow and soot, the hardened muscle that was twitching beneath torn skin. One of its eyes was bloodshot, and there was a wound just below it from a glancing shot. It was obvious that the injuries weren’t fatal, but they had been carved lethally. But it still looked ready to take on a hundred men.
Was it rage? The need for revenge? Or was it because they were naturally resistant?
Chen Ren exhaled at the thought and the qi within him surged.
His breakthrough to eight-star had brought with it a new clarity, a tautness to his meridians, a density in his qi. And now, he would test it.
Without hesitation, he moved.
Lightning coiled tighter around him, not wild but refined—condensed. It arced across his chest and shoulders as he charged.
“Grrrrr!”
The she-wolf reacted. Its hind legs tensed and she sprang to the side, narrowly avoiding the downward punch Chen Ren had aimed at her spine. Her claws lashed out in retaliation, a streak of motion too quick for most mortals to follow.
But not for him.
He pivoted mid-strike. Starlight burst across his skin, a shimmering pale-blue glow wrapping his forearm just as the claws connected. Claws scraped against qi-forged resistance.
He gritted his teeth, caught the beast’s paw mid-swipe, and with a growl of his own, heaved it over his shoulder, sending it careening through the air.
Its body collided with a tree at the base of the slope, the wood groaning before splintering from the impact. The wolf let out a choked whimper, rolling onto its side as it struggled to stand.
Behind him, a sharp, aching howl broke through the haze.
Chen Ren didn’t turn. That’ll be the male, he thought. Li Xuan… I’ll leave that one to you.
He surged forward again.
The female had barely pushed its upright, thick ropes of muscle along its limbs twitching as she faced him once more. Her mouth opened wide, fangs bared—she lunged.
Chen Ren stepped into her charge, planted his feet, and caught the beast by its jaws.
Teeth inches from his throat.
His hands locked onto either side of the she-wolf’s gaping maw, and before it could clamp shut, lightning erupted from his dantian—wild, unrelenting, a pure storm crashing outward in all directions.
[Lightning Frenzy!]
The blast created a white flash in the battlefield. The wolf’s body convulsed in his grip, its limbs jerking violently as the current tore through the muscles, down the spine, and into the ground. It made no sound, only a broken gasp before its body collapsed at his feet, steam rising from the fur. The belly contracted deeply, showing off its ribcage.
Chen Ren stood over it, chest rising and falling, fingers still sparking faintly. He didn’t celebrate. Didn’t speak.
He simply turned, eyes narrowing, as the next howl rose in the air—this one deeper, louder, closer.
The male. It was still coming. And this time, it wasn’t howling in grief. It was howling for blood.
The she-wolf twitched.
Its body lay broken, smoldering where lightning had torn through muscle and bone, but even now, it struggled. Claws scraped faintly at the earth, legs trembling as it tried to rise.
Chen Ren watched in silence.
There was no glory in this. No pride in seeing a once-fierce creature reduced to this fragile motion, barely clinging to life. For a breath, he felt something shift in his chest—a weight, not of pity, but something quieter—guilt.
But it passed.
He had fought too many battles in the last year. He had bled and endured and steeled his heart enough to know that mercy had no place here. Not anymore.
Without another word, he raised his hand.
A single strike—quick and clean.
Lightning pulsed through his palm, and the she-wolf’s head burst in a flash of force and light. No more twitching. No more suffering. Just stillness. He knew that was the best gift he could give—a quiet death.
Behind him, a hoarse roar came.
Chen Ren turned just in time to see the male bloodback wolf charging forward, red eyes locked onto him like burning coals. Its body, larger than its mate’s, moved like a boulder in a landslide, claws outstretched and jaws wide.
Behind it, Li Xuan followed, panting but unyielding, sword flashing as he tried to close the gap. But the beast reached Chen Ren first. Its claw came down fast.
There wasn’t enough time to dodge. But there didn’t need to be.
A thin shimmer sparked to life around Chen Ren’s body—the faint outline of his defensive technique, like a second skin. The claw struck, and energy flared, absorbing the brunt of the impact.
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. In the next instant, lightning surged down his legs.
He crouched low, planted his foot, and then launched himself upward, driving his heel directly into the wolf’s chest with all the force. The impact sent the beast flying backward through the air, its massive form spinning above Li Xuan’s head. The cultivator ducked, barely avoiding the flailing limbs, and rolled to the side as the beast crashed into the earth with a pained snarl.
Chen Ren didn’t wait.
Before it could recover, he was already moving—lightning crackling, qi condensed and singing through his blood as he descended on the wounded alpha.
The beast twisted on the ground, desperate, half-curled in pain. Its forearm swept out, claws aiming wildly in an attempt to catch him—But Chen Ren was faster.
He dipped beneath the swipe, fists coiling with power. His knuckles struck just below the creature’s jaw, a clean, sharp punch to the throat.
The beast let out a strangled sound as the force of the blow sank in, and then lightning burst outward from Chen Ren’s fist—driving deep, tearing through bone and tissue.
The wolf convulsed once. Then went still.
For a moment, only the low crackle of spent energy remained. Smoke drifted from the wound. His arm still tingled from the release of force.
Chen Ren straightened, slowly breathing through the adrenaline.
He looked down at the beast’s corpse. Both wolves—now lifeless at his feet—had been stronger than most. Even the male, who had withstood Li Xuan for far longer than Chen Ren expected, had only barely pushed him.
He exhaled through his nose, letting the last embers of lightning fade across his skin. Mid-tier two, at the very least. The male... perhaps just shy of the peak. And yet, he thought, flexing his fingers, it hadn’t felt like a real fight. No strain. No real pressure.
Power still surged in his veins, thrumming beneath his skin like a river waiting to burst. This had only been a warm-up.
A single breakthrough could shift the scales of battle. He had just proven that.
Before he could drift too far into thought, a ripple of noise drew him back.
Cheers.
It started softly—a few voices from the wall, scattered like distant bells—but it grew. Soon, it became a tide of voices, rising over the rampart as his sect members raised their muskets in the air, some pounding fists against the stone. Even the villagers who had clung to cover minutes ago now leaned forward, their faces flushed with awe and adrenaline.
They were cheering for him.
Chen Ren blinked, pulled out of himself.
His gaze swept across the rampart until it landed on Yalan perched low. She didn’t clap. Didn’t smile.
Instead, her amber eyes were focused on him. Whatever was going through her mind was not good, Chen Ren just knew.
Before he could read more into it, another voice cut through the noise.
“How…?”
Chen Ren turned.
Li Xuan stood a few paces behind, sword still in hand, breath visible in the cold air. His brow was furrowed, but more than that—his eyes were wide, face flushed red, mouth slightly parted as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle that refused to fit.
“How did you get so much stronger in such a short time? Were you hiding your strength?” he asked again.
For a moment, Chen Ren felt a pang.
Had he just widened Li Xuan’s wall?
“I made progress in my Dao,” he said.
Li Xuan stared at him. "You got enlightenment... just sitting around?"
His voice had an edge now—half disbelief, half the brittle weight of someone questioning their own path.
Chen Ren offered a wry smile. “My Dao’s a bit... special. It’s more abstract than most. Hard to explain.”
That, at least, was half-true.
His Dao wasn’t truly abstract. If anything, it was the most grounded concept imaginable. But it was powerful—deceptively so—and even now, he didn’t fully understand it himself. Some parts still slipped through his grasp like water through fingers.
But Li Xuan didn’t need to know that.
Neither did the others.
Let them think it was something vague and mysterious. Let them underestimate it. That was safer—for everyone.
Li Xuan didn’t respond. Not immediately. His eyes drifted toward the bodies of the wolves, then down at his sword. The expression on his face shifted—like someone standing on the edge of something vast, unsure if they should step forward or retreat.
Before the moment could stretch too long, another voice broke in.
“Hey.”
Zi Wen approached, limping slightly but steady, with Little Yuze leaning against his side. Its eyes were dim, and tongue out panting.
Zi Wen glanced at the corpses, then at Chen Ren, then whistled low. “You didn’t leave much for us.”
Chen Ren’s gaze dropped to Little Yuze.
“He’s okay?”
Zi Wen nodded. “Yeah. he’ll be fine. Recovery’s already sped up a lot.” He smiled faintly, patting him on the back. “Just needs some rest and a bit of salve. No bones broken.”
Yuze sank to the ground with a whimper.
Chen Ren let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Chen Ren gave Zi Wen a small nod, but his eyes weren’t on him anymore.
They had drifted toward the ground, where the bodies of the wolf pups lay scattered—small, fragile things compared to the adult beasts. Their red-and-black fur still shimmered faintly in the dim light, and for a brief moment, it was hard to look at them as monsters.
They hadn’t howled like their parents. They hadn’t really fought. Most had run. A few had lunged on instinct, maybe out of fear, maybe in confusion.
And now, they were still.
Killed by bullets.
He felt something twist in his chest. A quiet sadness that pulsed like a bruise beneath the ribs. They were just following their parents. They never got the chance to grow.
He hated that part of this world. Of any world.
The moment hung between them until Zi Wen’s voice broke the silence.
“You don’t have to feel bad, Sect Leader Chen,” he said, stepping closer and following his gaze. “These are bloodback wolves. Nasty ones. They’re not like other beasts.”
Chen Ren glanced at him, and Zi Wen continued.
“They suck blood from anything they catch—humans, animals, even other monsters. That’s how they grow stronger. We’ve lost hunters to them before, deeper in the forest. They don’t just kill—they feed. And they enjoy it.”
He jerked his thumb toward Little Yuze.
“Even he doesn’t like them.”
Chen Ren’s gaze softened as it flicked briefly toward Yuze, who snorted faintly and looked away.
He nodded. Slowly. “I know.”
But the weight in his chest didn’t vanish. It never did, not completely. Still, he understood. This was the way of the world.
Power ruled. Mercy came second. Sometimes last. And no matter how he felt about it, the wolf pups would’ve grown into killers, just like their parents. There was nothing he could change now.
With that thought pressed down, he turned, and they began walking.
Together, the four of them—Chen Ren, Li Xuan, Zi Wen, and Yuze—made their way back up to the rampart. As they crested the steps, the scene above had already shifted.
Villagers lined the stone path.
Some injured, others dirty and soot-covered, but all standing. And as the group stepped into view, the people bowed. Quietly at first, then more openly as they passed.
Chen Ren felt their gazes at his back.
Then, as if appearing from the crowd itself, Chief Muyang moved towards them.
He bowed low, deeper than the others, and straightened only when he spoke.
“Thank you for your service, Sect Leader Chen,” he said. His voice was rough but sincere. “If not for you… we wouldn’t have been able to hold against those bloodbacks. Our hunters have feared them for generations.”
Chen Ren met his gaze and shook his head lightly.
“It’s alright, Chief. This is our duty. We live in this village too.”
Li Xuan, standing just behind, gave a faint nod and added, “A righteous cultivator always helps those in need. They were only beasts.”
But Chief Muyang didn’t move. His hands remained clasped, and his eyes shone with quiet intensity.
“Still,” he said, “for someone to fight for our lives… It is not a small thing. Everyone will remember this.”
Chen Ren said nothing to that. Just offered a faint, awkward smile. Praise had never sat well with him. He’d done what needed to be done. That was all. But then the chief’s gaze flicked past him, toward the rampart’s edge—to the corpses of the fallen wolves.
His brow furrowed. “By the way… what are you planning to do with the bloodback bodies?”
Chen Ren followed Chief Muyang’s gaze toward the corpses of the bloodback wolves.
“Harvest,” he said simply. “Some of their organs might be useful in alchemy. Beasts store qi in strange ways—there’s value in that.”
Chief Muyang gave a thoughtful nod but didn’t stop there.
“What about the fur?” he asked. “This winter’s been cruel. Too cruel. A few of the wealthier families in the village have already come to me asking for ways to keep warm—some of them said they’re willing to pay good coin if they can get their hands on wolf-fur coats.”
Chen Ren blinked at that.
“Fur coats?” he echoed, half to himself.
He glanced back at the bloodback’s body—its thick, rugged hide still mostly intact despite the battle. The coarse fur, dense and sharp, shimmered faintly red in places where qi had warped the color. It wasn’t beautiful, exactly. But it was striking. Memorable. And more importantly—durable.
And just like that, an idea sparked. Not just a one-time harvest. Not just pelts for profit. A business.
2025-06-01 15:22:41 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 118
Chen Ren breathed.
He found himself sitting in the center of his star space, and felt qi fill his surroundings. There was a stillness here, the kind that clung to your skin and hummed in your bones, gentle and all-encompassing like warm water in a bath.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat there with his legs crossed, eyes half-closed, and embraced the silence that wrapped around him.
The air shimmered with his qi. It danced around him lazily and every breath he took seemed to draw more of it toward him. He had no idea how such a place could exist—this entire astral world suspended inside his dantian, invisible to all, yet as real and solid to him.
It was absurd. Fascinating. Impossible. And yet, here he was, again.
He exhaled slowly, letting his thoughts drift up like mist, and tilted his head back to gaze at the stars overhead—his stars. There were three now, suspended in that swirling void like miniature suns, each pulsing softly with life. The moment his eyes landed on them, a spark of pride warmed his chest.
Three stars. Three successes.
The first one was gentle, denoting his noodle stall. He inhaled again, although not physically—he could smell the broth and the sizzle of oil. It was deeply etched to his memory. The way kids came to eat with their parents, laughing amongst the crowd, the customers who complimented the dish every now and then, the clatter of bowls. It was all a fond memory when he had first started.
And though he hadn’t pushed it as aggressively as the others, he knew it stood strong.
The second star, though… that one had changed.
Chen Ren didn’t need a manual to understand why. His perfume business had shifted, grown, evolved. It was no longer just scented oils and bottles arranged in a tidy little shop. It had become a mall.
A smile crept to his lips. A mall. In a cultivation world.
Perfumes, clothes, accessories. Clothes that refined the sense of fashion in the current world that attracted clients one after another. It had become a space that people could walk into and transform. And at the center of it all, Yuqiu was pushing further every day. The ideas had been his, but she had run with them, made them real.
It was no wonder this star was outshining the others. He could feel it even now—qi trickling from it in steady waves, more than he’d ever refined from it before. If it kept growing at this pace, it would become his strongest income of cultivation for a long while— at least until his pill business bloomed.
The noodle and chips business was still small, but he had started laying foundations in two new cities. Ice cream had been phased out with the seasons, but next year, when summer returned, he’d come back with new flavours, new carts, and a better plan to keep it cold for longer journeys. He wanted it to be more than a street-side treat. He wanted it to be a sensation.
And as for the alcohol business, it was steady—suprisingly so. It was also a slow burn, like the brews they were perfecting in their modest brewery in the village. They hadn’t pushed past Ashen City borders yet—there simply wasn’t enough production capacity to meet the demand a larger region would bring. But within Ashen City, especially among the local cultivators, their product had become something people praised in delight, higher than he’d expected and his stocks in the Zhu Clan had just risen.
His eyes lingered on the stars for a long moment, his mind drifting back to everything that had brought him here. Every challenge, every twist of fate flashed in front of his eyes. All of it had led to this—to the stars overhead, to the qi swirling around him like a lazy river finally beginning to rush.
He exhaled softly, a breath deeper than the rest, and leaned into it. How big of a leap am I going to make this time?
He was at the peak of the fourth star qi refinement realm. The middle of a realm where most would slow. But Chen Ren knew today wasn’t just another step forward—it was a leap. The signs were all around him—the fullness of the stars, the way his meridians tingled in anticipation, the calm focus within his own mind.
He could feel it. Maybe not one star, or two—possibly three. But he was sure of two. That surge would carry him to the seventh star. Maybe even eight.
He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he’d reach the peak of the realm—not yet. But if he did, if he touched the very edge of it, then everything would change. His ability to protect himself and his ventures. His power to defend those who had begun to rely on him. And he would get the strength to stand against stronger enemies for just a bit longer.
No more running.
No more hiding strength behind half-smiles and cheap robes.
With that thought anchoring him, Chen Ren inhaled deeply, muting his thoughts—and the world turned quiet.
He reached out first to the golden warmth of the first star—his food stall. The qi it released was familiar, gentle, almost comforting. Like the steady rhythm of chopping vegetables or the heat of a pot just beginning to boil. It wrapped around him like a seasoned companion, a friend who had walked with him through the dust and mud of the early days.
He let it wash over him, soaking into his dantian, then coursing outward. In an instant, his limbs hummed. His breath deepened. The qi wasn’t aggressive; it settled. Fortified. Expanded. He could feel the gentle stretching of his meridians as his body accepted more and more of it.
A soft sigh escaped his lips as the last of that qi was drawn in. It wasn’t enough to push him through—but it laid the path.
He opened his senses to the third star next. The alcohol business. The brews. The cultivators.
From the moment the qi touched him, he knew something was different.
It was potent. Not merely denser—but alive. Energetic. Almost unruly. It didn’t slide into his dantian like the first—it charged in, forcing his body to adapt to it on the spot. His skin prickled. His core tightened.
His breath caught—then released in a quiet laugh.
“Cultivators,” he muttered.
That had to be it. The qi wasn’t just from mortals drinking to forget their worries. It came from fellow cultivators, those with their own spiritual essence. Their own refinement. And somehow, some part of that qi had found its way back to him—refined once, now refined again.
And it was perfect for stabilization.
He let it ground him, focusing on firming his foundation. His inner sea of qi no longer sloshed around like water in a jar—it gained shape, weight. Density. And it all happened slowly. Painfully so.
The very air around him shifted, as if the star space itself was acknowledging the change. He didn’t rush. Didn’t force the next step.
Only when the third star’s qi had fully settled—leaving a radiant, molten feeling in his limbs—did he finally turn his attention to the second star.
The largest. The brightest.
He smiled again, almost unable to help it.
The moment Chen Ren opened himself to the final star—the brightest, most bloated with power—it surged through him like a flood that had been waiting for too long behind a brittle dam.
Qi slammed into his body with the weight of a falling mountain.
His back arched involuntarily, every muscle seizing for a heartbeat before relaxing again in slow shudders. His bones creaked—actually creaked—as the energy rushed into marrow and muscle, trying to make space where there was none. His dantian expanded like a bloated waterskin, qi swirling with enough intensity to leave him breathless.
Too much. Too fast.
But Chen Ren didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to.
He could feel his strength rising in real time—flesh, bone, dantian—every part of him stretched taut under the weight of transformation. His veins burned, his breath came in ragged pulls, but he gritted his teeth and leaned into it, feeling his heart pound in his ears.
No, he would not stop here.
His limbs trembled, sweat beading along his brow—even in the quiet of his star space, the illusion of pain could not be muted.
“Arghhh!” He screamed but kept his eyes tight shut.
What his Dao demanded was never easy. It was progress. And sometimes, to move forward meant bearing the unbearable. This was one of those times.
He slowed his pace. Instead of gulping down entire mouthfuls of qi at once, he began to sip—bit by bit, thread by thread. He let the smaller strands coil into his dantian, where they could unfold and settle more cleanly. The pressure didn’t go away—but it lessened. And the flow became manageable, even if barely.
He felt his body scream and spirit ache, but somewhere beneath it all—he decided he’d adapt.
After all, that was what cultivators did. They were thrown into oceans, they learned to breathe underwater, dropped into flames and they learned how to walk through them.
And as the qi poured into him—filling, flooding, fortifying—he learned.
Soon, as he expected, the foreignness dulled. The pain became a pattern. His breathing steadied again, and even as tremors rolled through his limbs, they no longer rattled his control.
Then it came—the shift.
His qi flared at the suddenness, catching him off guard. Like a mountain rising from the sea, his qi began to change. It changed even in depth. With that, he felt the threshold crumble.
One star. Two. Three.
His cultivation surged, each leap like thunder behind his ribs. The fifth. The sixth. The seventh star flared to life, and for a brief moment, he thought that was the end.
He grunted in pain but he knew it wasn’t the end. The pressure didn’t recede. If anything, it pulled taut again—qi still pouring in—and Chen Ren held himself steady as he crossed into the eight.
A place most people never reached in their entire lives. But he had. In hours.
Fuck… it hurts!
The last trickle of qi faded, and his breathing calmed. For a moment, he let go.
He didn’t rush to test his new strength. He didn’t smile. Didn’t even stand up. Instead, he sat still, eyes closed, feeling the echo of everything that had happened. The minor fractures in his meridians. The stretching of his dantian astral walls. The subtle misalignments that, left unchecked, could cause instability later.
So he corrected them.
Bit by bit, pulse by pulse, he moved qi—repairing, smoothing, reinforcing. For a moment, he knew he was someone who had bent a realm to his will. And with that power came responsibility—especially to himself.
Only when every vein, every channel, every whisper of his qi sang in perfect harmony did he finally open his eyes.
His star space greeted him in silence.
The three stars still shone overhead—but fainter now, their brilliant bodies dimmed by the offering they had given. Chen Ren looked at them quietly, and acknowledged.
They had grown. And so had he.
A smile formed in his lips, it was tired, soft, barely more than a twitch of the lips—-but genuine all the same.
Even the stars above him were dimmer now, as if resting. He knew they would recover.
Yet, even as that warmth lingered in his chest, it didn’t erase the other feeling curling in the back of his mind.
The golden dragon still hadn’t returned.
It had been so long since he last saw it—since the tournament, since that moment when it had shattered the skies to defend him, burning its own essence to do so. Since then… silence. And now, with the Gate of Immortals revealed and more questions clawing at his thoughts than ever before, the absence stung sharper than he expected.
He had hoped that his breakthroughs would stir it awake. That the echo of progress would draw it forth.
But it came out to be nothing.
He let out a slow breath, attempting to ground himself further—only for the air to catch in his throat halfway.
The star space began to shift.
The once-still sky began to ripple, the stars themselves stirring as if pulled by some ancient tide. One by one, they drifted from their positions, glowing with new light—golden, silver, deep crimson—until they formed a vast, twisting shape in the void above him.
His eyes widened. He knew this shape.
The serpentine body. The long, tapering horns. The aura that spread like curtains of light. The dragon. The same one he had seen when it first saved him.
But it was different now.
Weaker.
Its form shimmered, translucent, and every line of its body looked less defined than before—as if struggling to hold itself together. And still—it appeared.
And Chen Ren… forgot how to speak.
His mouth parted slightly, eyes locked on the great beast floating above him. His knees, even in the endless calm of his star space, felt weak beneath him. Something tightened in his chest—not fear, not reverence, but something deeper.
A connection when he looked at him.
Eyes the color of gold met his. Tired. Wise. Proud.
“I—” Chen Ren stuttered.
The golden dragon groaned, sending vibrations through his body.
“I have questions,” he muttered. The words felt brittle on his tongue. He hated how small his voice sounded—but they were the only words he could muster.
Heavens, why do I feel weak?
The dragon’s head tilted slightly, as if it was smiling without moving its mouth.
“You have time to ask them,” it said finally, the voice frail and echoing like wind through crumbling stone. “For now… stay alive.”
“Wait—what do you mean?” Chen Ren asked, the sharpness in his tone surprising even him. “Why are you—?”
But before he could finish, he saw it. The golden shimmer began to fade.
The body of the dragon started unraveling, piece by piece, light unweaving like threads from silk. The tail scattered first, dissolving into particles. Then the limbs. The horns. Even the eyes began to dim.
“No, wait—!” he reached upward instinctively, even though there was no ground, no sky, no way to hold onto light.
But it was already gone.
And with it, the stars broke apart.
“No!”
His entire star space cracked like glass under pressure, reality folding inward as qi scattered like dust. He couldn’t hold it together. Couldn’t do anything. It crumbled.
And with it, he succumbed to darkness.
***
Chen Ren gasped awake, the cold air of his room hitting his skin like a slap. He was sprawled on the floorboards, drenched in sweat, his robes clinging to his skin. His heart thundered in his chest, every beat loud and frantic, as if his body was still caught in the moment of collapse.
The world was still. The stars were gone.
His cultivation had risen—he could feel it. His qi was sharper, heavier, stronger. But his mind wasn’t on that. Not even close.
There was only one thing echoing through his thoughts, wrapping around his lungs like a vice.
Stay alive?
Why had the dragon said that? Why now?
And what was coming that made even a celestial being speak such words?
He stared at the ceiling, his breath slowly evening out—but his eyes did not blink.
Because now, more than ever, he needed answers.
And the questions only increased when he remembered the fading form. He knew the Golden Dragon was a being of immense power and even greater mystery, and yet… it looked weak. Like something only barely holding on.
He let himself lay in the bitterness of it all.
After a few long minutes, he finally exhaled and moved to sit upright.
His limbs still trembled faintly, his back slick with cold sweat. He reached into his robe pocket and withdrew the one thing that always seemed to anchor him these days when his thoughts began to spiral.
The medallion.
He held it carefully in his palm, and felt the cold metal. It looked the same as always—an old, slightly tarnished disc no larger than his palm, carved with overlapping symbols and inscriptions that even now he hadn’t fully deciphered.
But now… now he could feel it.
There were trickles of qi running through its surface. He’d felt it before when he had bonded with it, but it had been faint. Easy to dismiss. Lately, though, in the quiet moments when he clutched it during meditation or thought, the sensation had grown stronger.
He had grown used to holding it. It had become something of a habit—something he reached for not studying, but when he felt unsettled, as he did now. A totem of calm. A weight in the hand that said, you’re still here.
Chen Ren closed his eyes briefly and focused.
And the medallion responded.
It vibrated lightly—just once—and then light spilled from the carvings, growing outward in lines. Right in front of him, he felt the air move.
A holographic map unfolded, made from pale gold and thin threads of qi, forming a three-dimensional display. Mountains rose in ghostly peaks. A long, winding river shimmered its way through the middle, flanked by scattered cities and marked routes.
Chen Ren leaned forward, attempting to scan every detail.
He had seen this map before—but every time, it left him with the same quiet awe.
It was the medallion’s doing. A function he had only discovered after that first strange vision of the Gate of Immortals—a vision that had not returned since.
According to Wang Jun, this holographic display was not the final destination where the gate was, but a guide—a clue left behind by the creator of the medallion. It pointed to the location of the next piece.
A piece he would need, if he hoped to uncover the truth behind it all.
Chen Ren reached out with a finger and slowly traced the river, eyes narrowing on a valley nestled between two mountains. There were no names written here, no clear markers—just the terrain itself.
He had studied this map enough times to memorize its flow.
And he finally understood something.
This is how Gu Tian found the first piece in Cloud Mist City.
The realization settled like stone in his gut. Gu Tian must have held a similar medallion—must have stood in a similar room, watching a similar hologram flicker to life. And then, like Chen Ren, he had followed the trail. Piece by piece. Until fate had led him right into Chen Ren’s path.
Their meeting hadn’t been an accident. He clenched the medallion tighter, feeling the faint buzz of qi still humming from within.
Though he hadn’t found anything else on Gu Tian’s person, not even a trace of the medallion piece, the implications gnawed at him.
Had Gu Tian hidden it before they fought? Or worse—had someone else given him the information? That thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. Because if someone had guided Gu Tian, that meant there were others—people with knowledge of the medallion’s secrets.
His eyes drifted back to the glowing map, the projection still hovering silently in front of him like a suspended memory. Despite the unease coiling in his gut, the sight soothed him.
There was a pull to it.
A sensation that tugged lightly at his spirit, not painful, not overwhelming—but persistent. Like something beneath those mountains, hidden along the river’s path, was waiting for him. Whispering his name. Telling him to come.
He knew it was the medallion. Ever since he had bound it to his qi, the connection had only deepened.
But right now, he welcomed the feeling. Because it was easier to focus on this pull—on the mystery in the distance—than the dragon’s brittle voice and the ominous words it had left behind.
Chen Ren took a slow breath and let his thoughts settle. Slowly, he gathered the scattered pieces of his mind and focused. He wasn’t one to lose himself in fear.
He had come too far for that.
Just as he was beginning to trace a path along the edge of the holographic river, a knock rang against the door.
He blew out a breath, then snapped his fingers lightly, cutting off the qi flow to the medallion. The projection rippled once before dissolving into the air, leaving only silence in its place. He tucked the medallion back into his robe and moved to the door, brushing sweat from his brow.
When he opened it, a young man stood outside. One of the mortals. Dressed in plain brown robes, the man bowed deeply the moment the door opened.
“Sect Leader Chen,” he said breathlessly, eyes wide with worry. “Forgive the disturbance, but we need your assistance on the wall. Cultivator Zi Wen sent me personally.”
“What happened?”
The man swallowed. “A Tier 2 pair of bloodback wolves have appeared outside the city. We—we had no idea such beasts were living nearby. They’re... coordinated. And the spiritual artifacts aren’t doing enough. Our cultivators are holding them back for now, but—”
“You need strength. Understood.”
The man nodded, clearly relieved. Chen Ren didn’t waste another breath.
Even as fatigue coiled in his limbs from the earlier breakthrough, he pushed it down. There was a tightness in his arms, a thrum of overdrawn qi in his core, but it didn’t matter. His mind was clear now. The weight of the dragon’s warning, the medallion’s mysteries, all of it folded neatly behind the reality in front of him.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice sharp as steel. “I’ll see for myself what this monster is.”
2025-05-30 18:34:56 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 228
After deciding to journey to the Ashari Desert, Kai didn’t waste any time.
The moment Ansel sent him the information he needed, Kai devoured every scrap of it about the Duneborn tribes and the desert’s shifting politics. What he uncovered wasn’t encouraging. The desert wasn’t just vast—it was fractured. Tribal skirmishes, ancient grudges, and alliances tied more by survival than loyalty meant that even approaching the tower might demand more than strength. If Valkyrie’s tower was located anywhere near orc territory, as the maps hinted, then conflict was almost inevitable. And Kai didn’t even know if showing up was enough to claim the inheritance—or if the Magus had left behind trials or guardians to test a successor's worth.
And with all that, time wasn’t a luxury he could waste.
The Assembly of Judgment was also looming—barely a month and a half away. He needed to be in the capital ahead of schedule. With his recent support of Duke Blackwood, many nobles who had remained neutral were finally leaning toward his faction. A few were openly supporting him. But support could be fickle unless reinforced by familiarity. They would want to speak with him, weigh him up, see if he was a man worth placing their future behind. Skipping out on that would be political suicide.
He had to manage both the desert and the capital. But traveling to the Ashari Desert, returning to Veralt, and then making the long journey to the capital afterward? That was out of the question.
It was too slow and it could create unnecessary risks.
Which was why, just two days later, Kai called a meeting to finalize everything. Logistics. Delegations. Fallback plans.
Not just Ansel and Killian, but Francis as well—recalled from Veyrin on special summons. The old man’s mastery over politics and networking would be essential.
With Veyrin being in the same region, it hadn’t taken long for Francis to return to Veralt. He didn’t even stop by his home. Instead, he walked straight into the meeting room, dropped his cloak into a servant’s hands, and requested the meeting be started without delay.
Now, Kai sat at the head of the chamber’s oval table, flanked by three of the most capable people in his circle: Killian, Ansel, and Francis, who had dyed his hair completely black since the last time they met—no longer the streaked white.
He gave it a second glance and decided to move on.
“I’ve made a decision,” Kai said, making eye contact with every single person in the room and pointing to the map that was laid in front of them. “I’m going to the Ashari Desert. I sent you a briefing on why I need to go there. My mother's inheritance is buried in a tower there.”
The words barely finished leaving his mouth before Killian’s brow creased. Ansel stopped mid-fidget. But it was Francis who leaned back first, folding his arms with a sigh sharp enough to cut through the tension.
“My lord,” he said and cleared his throat. “You’ve just returned from the plague lands. You’ve barely had time to breathe, and from what Killian’s told me, you also plan to purify Vanderfall and lay its foundations again.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“On top of that, the Assembly is approaching fast. Do you really plan to dive into the desert now and fight the Duneborns that ruled there. It will stir up sandstorms on foreign soil.”
Kai remained silent, letting the concern weigh in the room.
Francis exhaled. “It could easily become a political disaster.”
Ansel spoke up, frowning. “How so? The desert isn’t part of any kingdom. Surely it falls outside the purview of the crown.”
“That’s exactly the issue,” Francis replied. “The Ashari Desert is its own volatile soup. It’s not lawless, but it’s not bound by any crown either. You have major factions—old bloodlines, tribal alliances, and the orc clans. If Lord Arzan, a Count of Lancephil, walks in wielding power and starts liberating tribes or taking a stand...”
He let the words hang for a beat before finishing quietly, “...he becomes a foreign actor. And if the orcs see him as a threat, they won’t forget it. You might make enemies that won’t wait for you in the desert—they’ll come for us in Lancephil instead.”
Kai remained still, watching the flicker of unease in Ansel’s eyes and the grim set of Killian’s jaw.
Francis turned toward him fully now, no longer speaking as an advisor, but as a man who had been in more political battles than most nobles dared whisper about.
“And politics aside,” Francis added, “A Mage taking on orc clans in a mana-bane region is suicide. You’ll be weakened, and they won’t fight fair. You know that as well as I do. They are no better than beasts.”
There was no anger in his voice. Just worry. A loyal man warned his lord of a storm too big to weather without consequences. But Kai's expression didn’t change. Because he already knew all that.
Killian nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “We also need to prepare for the Assembly. You know that as well as I do.”
His voice was quieter than usual, but it carried the weight of shared responsibility. Kai didn’t reply immediately—because he didn’t need to. Ansel’s face said enough. He looked like he got punched in the face. For an instant, his mood shifted, shoulders sagged and he gave a single glance at Kai.
Truthfully, they weren’t all wrong. But Kai knew the stakes better than anyone else in the room.
“What you say makes sense,” he locked eyes with Francis, “but you need to understand—this is equally as important as the Assembly. Maybe even more.”
He paused for a beat, letting their attention settle fully on him.
“I need the medallion. King Sullivan told me to bring it and I suspect it's among the inheritance.”
That landed like a hammer. Both Killian and Francis straightened in their seats, surprise flashing in their eyes.
Kai hadn’t told them that part before. They only knew that King Sullivan had sent him a letter. He had his reasons, but now wasn’t the time to keep secrets.
Francis was the first to find his voice. “But... we don’t even know if it’s there.”
“We all know it’s not in Veralt. Or Veyrin. I even checked Valkyrie’s grave.” His voice tightened at that, but he pushed through. “The inheritance makes the most sense. If the medallion piece is anywhere, it’s there. And even if it isn’t, I need that tower before the Duneborns find a way to reach the upper floors. Maybe they already have.”
He saw the tension shift again in their expressions—Francis looking away, brows drawn; Killian tapping his fingers against his leg.
“This inheritance,” Kai continued, “isn’t just a power boost. It could be something vital. Something that changes the balance. And we need every advantage we can get if we’re going to stand against Maleficia.”
His voice dropped, low and grim.
“Do you really think Queen Regina won’t send anything else after us?”
Silence stretched. Neither of them responded.
Because they couldn’t.
Kai watched them quietly, noting how both men’s eyes darkened with thought. He could tell they were already weighing everything—rethinking their protests, assessing risks against necessity. And truthfully, he figured they both had known from the start that he was going to go.
They hadn’t stopped him from walking into Sylvastra. Not when he fought in the plague lands. Not when he risked everything to go against the Archine Tower.
But they had to say their piece. Offer their advice. That was the role of a subject—loyal, measured, necessary. And as a lord, it was Kai’s duty to hear them out. He had, and he respected every word of it.
But some paths couldn’t be avoided just because they were dangerous or would cause more problems in the future.
Francis exhaled slowly, then leaned forward again. “Even then... what if we make enemies of the Duneborn?”
“They’re already our enemies,” Ansel muttered, his tone flat. “The Duneborn have been at odds with humans for centuries. Their alliances are born out of convenience and desperation, not peace.”
Kai looked at him and nodded slightly. “He’s not wrong.”
He turned his gaze to the map on the table, fingers brushing the corner of the Ashari region as his voice lowered.
“Everything I know of the orcs supports that. They’re a bloodthirsty society. And if you don’t already know—” he looked up “—they find human meat particularly tasty.”
That earned a grimace from Francis and a disgusted frown from Killian.
Kai wasn’t just repeating what Ansel had said. This wasn’t any lie—it was his history. One he was trying not to repeat.
What he knew came from fragments of the First Golden Era. He’d read it in a grimoire salvaged from a ruin. Back then, the Duneborn orcs had attacked a flourishing human kingdom. They hadn’t just slaughtered the population—they had consumed them. Not in metaphor, but in reality. Records had claimed they said human flesh was “delicate, rich, and addictive.”
Now that he thought about it, perhaps that horrifying conquest hasn't just came due to the orc's savagery and human's negligence. It might’ve been because they had gained access to a piece of the same inheritance he was chasing now—tapping into its latent power. With it, even their limited numbers could destroy kingdoms.
It was a solid theory. Terrifying, but logical. His thoughts were cut off by Killian’s voice, quiet but firm.
“They’re strong, Lord Arzan. Even with your spells… you won’t be at full strength in that region. You know that desert holds very thin mana.”
Kai looked up and nodded. “I know. But I’m not going alone. I’ll bring a party with me. Trusted people. Fighters who can handle themselves. And I’ve worked in places where mana was nearly nonexistent. I’ll manage.”
There was a beat of understanding.
Killian and Francis exchanged a look, and both seemed to understand what Kai was really saying. Mana-bane zones were nothing new to him. And unlike most Mages, Kai didn’t panic when there wasn't much mana to use—he adapted.
From there, the conversation shifted.
Francis and Killian fell into the rhythm of discussing the logistics. For the next few hours, strategy, contingencies, maps, marked borders were discussed. By the end of it, they’d planned most things.
Francis kept pressing Ansel, trying to pry a guarantee that the tribes would support Kai’s mission.
“They respect strength,” Ansel explained. “If Lord Arzan proves he isn’t there to conquer or exploit, some of them may rally behind him. Especially the ones who've suffered under orc rule.”
But that wasn’t enough for Francis. “I need more than maybes. I want to know which tribe leaders we can lean on—names, reputations, family ties. Who can sway others.”
Meanwhile, Killian’s focus was sharper.
“Forget the tribes,” he said. “What about the Duneborns? What weapons do they have? Are we talking bloodsteel axes or enchanted relics pulled from the tower? Because if they’ve already accessed the upper floors, they might be armed with extremely strong artifacts.”
That drew a cold silence. Even Ansel didn’t have an answer to that. The desert was a gamble—one that could burn them all. But Kai had already rolled the dice.
Unfortunately, most of Ansel’s knowledge was outdated by years.
Moreover, the Ashari Desert had always been fluid—alliances shifted like dunes in the wind, and what was true three years ago could be wildly inaccurate now. Still, it gave them a framework, a rough estimation of the power structures, danger zones, and tribal dynamics they might face.
By the time the candles had burned low and the air had grown thick with strategy and speculation, only one major question remained.
“How are you going to make it back in time for the Assembly?” Killian asked.
That earned every pair of eye on him. He leaned back in his chair and tilted his head sideways, thinking of the plan that he’d formed in his mind.
“I think I’ll go straight to the capital from the desert.”
Francis’s bushy eyebrows frowned. “There’s no direct route. Not unless you want to ride your horse into death itself.”
“I won't need a road. I’ll fly.”
Both men went quiet.
“My entourage can return to Veralt on their own,” he continued. “But I’ll break off once the inheritance is dealt with and head to the capital alone. If I’m in the sky, paths don’t matter.”
Killian raised a brow. “That’s assuming there aren’t any complications.”
Kai smiled faintly. “There won’t be. I know it’s a dangerous place, but if I can win the tribes over, the Duneborns won’t be an issue.” He turned to Ansel. “And with you here, I’m confident we can make that happen.”
Ansel straightened, eyes clear. “You can leave it to me, Lord Arzan. I’ll make sure the tribes understand who you are and what you’re here for.”
Francis sighed, pushing back from the table slightly. “Then it’s settled. But if you're heading straight to the Assembly from the desert, we’ll need a separate group waiting for you in the capital—prepped and ready.”
“I was thinking you could lead it.”
Francis blinked. “What about Veralt? Veyrin? The other cities?”
“Let your apprentices handle it,” Kai said simply. “We’ve trained enough capable people by now. It’s time we start trusting them. Both you and Killian should come with me to the capital.”
He paused, his voice dropping in tone.
“The Assembly will bring together nobles from every corner of the kingdom. There’ll be alliances, power plays, subtle traps. I’ll need both of you beside me. Not just as my advisors—but as the shields who’ve stood with me since the beginning.”
Silence stretched for a long moment.
Then, almost at the same time, both Killian and Francis nodded, but Kai could still see the hesitation behind their eyes.
They had built up these territories with him. Watched over Veralt, Verdis and other places like guardians, nurtured them like caretakers of a fragile future. Leaving them behind, even temporarily, was no small thing. It was like asking a parent to walk away from a child just starting to grow.
But duty pulled elsewhere now.
As the discussion shifted back toward the Assembly, Kai finally asked the question that had been pressing at the back of his mind since this meeting began.
“How many nobles have agreed to vote for me?”
Francis reached into his pockets and retrieved a bundle of notes, folded neatly, sealed with familiar crests. “I’ve gathered reports from Princess Amara, Duke Blackwood... and even Malden.”
Kai blinked. “Malden helped?”
Francis chuckled, handing over the parchment. “Surprising, I know, Lord Arzan. But yes. According to his letters, he’s convinced the nobles he’s been working with to look at you favorably. His words, not mine. With the three nobles he personally brought into your camp, we now have around twenty-two confirmed votes.”
Kai raised a brow.
It was a solid start, especially considering how a few years back, he had no reputation, but it wasn’t enough. From what he remembered, Lancephil had over a hundred nobles—most of them minor lords, barons or viscounts, ruling over little more than a few villages. Still, their votes counted just as much when it came to the Assembly.
Francis noticed his expression and offered reassurance.
“These are just the ones who’ve formally agreed. We’re still in talks with around forty others.”
“Forty?”
“A lot of them are cautious. They don’t want to abandon their current factions—at least, not until they’ve met you. They’ve heard of you, yes. But hearsay doesn’t win hearts.”
Kai nodded. “Then those are the ones I need to speak to once I reach the capital. Before the Assembly begins.”
“Exactly,” Francis said.
Kai smiled faintly. “I’ll try to finish things in the desert quickly then. The Duneborns may be dangerous, but I’ll deal with them. Once I’ve secured the inheritance, I’ll head straight to the capital. You can arrange the halls, the banquets, the secret meetings—whatever we need to pull the rest over.”
Both Francis and Killian nodded firmly now, the earlier doubt starting to shift into focus and resolve.
Kai looked at Ansel, and noticed how the man looked to be in much ease. And just then, Killian raised a question.
“Who are you bringing to the desert, Lord Arzan?”
Kai didn’t answer immediately. A knowing look crossed his face as he glanced toward the flickering candlelight.
“I have a few names in mind.”
Kai leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely as he considered Killian’s question.
“I’m thinking of taking Gareth and Feroy with me,” he said. “They’re the strongest Enforcers we have other than you, and they’ve both handled field command before. I’ll need people who can act independently if things go south.”
Killian nodded slowly, expression thoughtful.
“I’ll also bring a few of the new Enforcers—the ones who’ve shown promise. If the trip goes as planned and we manage to aid the tribes, they’ll gain valuable experience. Plus, if we do establish ties, I want them to learn from the Sand Knights.”
“The desert’s version of the Enforcers,” Ansel murmured with a faint grin.
“And Claire,” Kai added, his voice lighter.
Francis raised an eyebrow. “Claire? Not a Mage?”
“No,” Kai replied, “Mages won't work as well there and her power comes from her spirit companion. Spirits aren’t affected by mana reduction the way Mages are. Her abilities should remain intact, even in the worst parts of the desert.”
Francis shook his head. “Still, not bringing a proper Mage? That’s unusual for you.”
“Mages don’t work well in Ashari,” Ansel said simply. “Mana currents are too thin. Spells won't get enough power. There's a reason we have Sand Knights being the topmost power there.”
“Exactly. That’s why I’m choosing based on adaptability, not raw power.”
He paused for a moment, eyes drifting slightly as his thoughts churned.
“There is one more person I want to bring,” he added. “But I’m not sure if it’s the right call.”
Killian leaned forward slightly. “Who?”
Kai’s lips curved into a small, unreadable smile.
“Just someone I’ve... neglected recently,” he said. “You’ll see tomorrow when we leave.”
Killian and Francis exchanged a glance but didn’t press.
They knew better by now. And that put Kai’s mind at ease.
2025-05-30 18:30:47 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 117
Just a mortal.
That’s all he was, and all he’d ever be.
Gao Shun peered down across the village perimeter, standing on top of the newly erected ramparts of Meadow Village. The wood beneath his boots still smelled of fresh bark that was uneven and splintered in places. It was crude work—lashed logs and hammered stakes—and it would barely hold against a real beast rising. But it wasn’t meant to. Not really.
He knew that. After all, this would be the twenty-fifth beast rising of his life.
The real purpose of the wall, he understood, was to give men like him something to believe in. A line to stand behind. A symbol that maybe this time, things would be different.
Usually, he wouldn’t be so sure.
He’d passed most risings on the road—moving deeper into the Empire when he could, sheltering in rat-cold bunkers when he couldn’t. He’d seen towns hold. He’d seen towns fall. One time, he’d watched a city burn for three days while the nobles fled in sky carriages and left the rest of them behind.
He never had the coin to go where the sects were. And even if he did, the gates of those cities never opened for refugees like him. It was saddening, but it was his reality. Not just his, but the reality for many mortals.
A city could only take so much.
But here, in this muddy village where the main road still turned to soup when it rained, something felt… different. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but the thought lingered anyway—maybe they’ll survive this one.
Because for the first time in his life, Gao Shun was standing beside cultivators. Real ones.
He’d doubted it at first, of course. Some new sect setting up themselves in Meadow Village? It sounded like a joke. It reminded him too much of that time in a western village when a scam artist painted his skin gold and paraded as an immortal. They built him a shrine. Worshipped him for a year until the beast rising started.
That day, the village had been annihilated. Everyone there had pinned their hopes on the so-called cultivator who blessed their wells and claimed to command the heavens. When the beasts came, he vanished. Vanished like smoke in the wind. Gao Shun remembered the screaming. The silence after.
That’s why he didn’t trust easily. Not the heavens. Not sects. And definitely not men with power.
But this time… this time was different. It felt different.
A massive pitch-black wolf sat next to him on the rampart, lazily licking its paws like it didn’t have a care in the world. It had the bulk of a cart horse and the muscle of a predator. No mortal could tame such a thing. And yet, the villagers walked past it like it was a well-fed farm dog.
Gao Shun kept glancing at it, more curious than scared now. Something about its round belly and half-lidded eyes made him think of the mutts back in his childhood home—the ones that slept by the hearth and begged for scraps. Honestly, the beast looked less like a wolf and more like a dog that had eaten too well for too long and simply kept growing.
Still, the urge to pet it stayed locked behind his ribs. He liked living.
He didn’t want to disturb a peaceful looking beast. As he looked at it, something happened. His eyes widened when the wolf’s ears twitched suddenly.
In an instant, its body tensed. Its nails extended from its paws and it growled. It was a low and a deep growl that felt like thunder in its throat.
Gao Shun froze, taking a cautious step back. Had it sensed his thoughts? Did it somehow know he’d imagined rubbing its stupid fluffy head?
Maybe he should move from where he was—
He immediately noticed where the wolf’s gaze was fixated. It was not on him. But beyond the wall, into the forest. Others began to notice too. The entire crowd looked beyond the wall.
That was when a figure moved through the gathering of guards and villagers atop the rampart, parting the crowd with silent authority. Zi Wen, one of the cultivators. The man was lean but carried himself like steel wrapped in skin, and the wolf—Little Yuze, the villagers called him—perked up at his approach.
“What is it, Little Yuze?” Zi Wen asked.
The beast raised its head and pointed its snout toward the trees.
A beat passed.
Then the man turned and shouted. “Everyone! Bows and guns ready! Beasts incoming!”
That was all they needed.
Gao Shun's fingers tightened instinctively. His body moved without thought, reaching for the worn bow slung across his back. He wasn't a soldier, but he'd hunted his whole life during his travels. Rabbit, deer, even the odd wild boar when he was lucky. Archery had kept him alive longer than luck ever did.
He pulled the string, testing the tension. It was old but dependable—like him. Nothing moved. The forest was still.
Maybe it was a false alarm.
Then the ground trembled beneath his feet. Once. Twice. Like distant drum beats getting closer.
A roar erupted through the trees. It wasn’t one beast. It wasn’t even two.
It was a whole damn herd, he could tell.
From the edge of the forest, trees cracked and splintered as hulking shapes burst through. Bull-like creatures—snorting steam, eyes glowing with fury—charged across the open earth like an avalanche of muscle and hate.
Gao Shun swallowed.
The twenty-fifth beast rising of his life had begun.
And seeing the beast, he wasn’t sure if the ramparts—or hope—would hold.
Gao Shun’s breath caught in his throat. Those things—those beasts—were going to smash through the ramparts in a single blow. He could feel it. The crude walls would crumble like straw huts before a storm.
He didn’t wait.
He nocked an arrow, drawing the string back until it creaked with strain. His fingers held steady. All he could do now was wait.
Then, the voice came.
“Attack!” Cultivator Zi Wen’s command cut through the air.
Dozens of bows twanged in unison. Arrows flew like a swarm of wasps, raining down on the oncoming monsters. Most simply bounced off—useless against the thick, armor-like hide of the bulls.
But some, like his, found purchase. One of Gao Shun’s arrows sank into a soft spot near the beast’s throat. A spurt of blood followed.
It didn’t stop.
None of them did.
The creatures charged forward. Their tongues were out, salivating to take a taste of their blood. It was sickening in the stomach, and Gao Shun felt death was coming. Every time an arrow hit the bulls, they didn’t care. Didn’t stop for a second and continued pouncing forward.
Fuck! This is not working!
One of the bulls leapt high, its massive frame blotting out the sun for a moment as it came crashing down toward the wall.
He couldn’t run. Couldn’t breathe.
Bang.
A sound came from behind, tore through the air and hit the beast. Gao Shun blinked in both awe and shock.
What is that? Another sound came. Something long and metal, fast as lightning—shot through the air and slammed into the beast mid-flight. Its body jerked back, limbs twitching as blood erupted from fresh, precise wounds.
More followed.
Each shot drove another beast backward. Flesh tore, blood sprayed, and for the first time… the monsters fell.
Loud shouts escaped their mouths when they were about to die.
The beasts, once unstoppable, now writhed on the ground, howling in agony. Their charge had faltered—stopped cold.
Before Gao Shun could even process what had happened, Little Yuze leapt from the ramparts with terrifying grace. Its form blurred, and suddenly its claws gleamed with a strange, iridescent energy. No longer a lazy, oversized dog—now it moved like death given shape.
It tore into the fallen beasts with visible fury. One slash—dead. Another leap—another cry silenced.
With every kill, the villagers screamed in triumph. Cheering, shouting, their voices filled with disbelief and hope.
Gao Shun found himself yelling with them, his throat raw, his heart pounding. He was cheering Little Yuze. But even as the euphoria built, a question gnawed at him.
What just happened? What had hit the beasts?
Zi Wen hadn’t moved. He was right there—ten paces away, watching like the rest of them.
And Gao Shun knew there were no other cultivators on the rampart right now.
So what was it?
But before Gao Shun could think further, another growl ripped from Little Yuze’s throat.
Still crouched beside a mangled corpse, the wolf’s fur bristled again—and then the forest howled. This time, it wasn’t the bulls.
They came in dozens—smaller, sleeker beasts, their red fur like embers under the sun. Fox-like things with too many tails and eyes that glowed gold. Gao Shun’s blood ran cold.
He knew those. Ember foxes.
Tier one beasts—swift, agile, and worst of all, climbers.
He’d seen them scale stone walls like spiders, biting through tendons and vanishing into the chaos. These things didn’t knock gates down. They climbed over them and tore people apart from the inside.
Gao Shun’s fingers moved fast, pulling another arrow from his quiver, cursing under his breath. They had to stop them before they reached the ramparts.
He nocked it, lifted his bow, took aim—
The same loud sound interrupted him. Then another followed. And another.
Before his arrow ever flew, the foxes were already tumbling backward through the air, bodies twisted, blood spraying in wild arcs. Dozens fell in seconds.
He lowered his bow, eyes wide.
Little Yuze didn’t even move this time.
He scanned the battlefield, then looked at the rampart, following the direction of the thunderous blasts. That’s when he saw them.
Men and women—mortals, just like him—stationed behind crates and barricades at different points along the wall. They held strange metal weapons in their hands, short and stubby, gleaming with polished barrels. Gao Shun’s breath caught in his throat. What is that?
He looked at the people. One of them he recognized.
A young man who wore the gold-stitched robes of the Divine Coin Sect.
Just as he watched, the man lifted the weapon, adjusted his stance, and curled his finger—
Bang.
A flash occurred and a projectile followed. One of the fox-beasts dropped mid-leap, skull shattered. More followed—one after another. Without a break, the beasts fell to the ground, dying on the spot, all killed by that one young man.
The mortals killed them… all.
Gao Shun’s mouth fell open.
The man hadn't used any cultivation technique. No glowing runes or hand signs, meaning he was really mortal. Just a twitch of the finger—and a beast died. He looked at his own bow. Then back at the strange weapons.
Those foxes… they weren’t weaklings. They were spirit beasts. Things that would take five men and still leave with a leg in its jaw. And these mortals were butchering them like livestock.
His eyes darted across the rampart, and realization dawned.
Every single person wielding one of those weapons wore the robes of the Divine Coin Sect. The pieces slid together in his mind.
Gao Shun gripped the railing tightly.
The Divine Coin Sect had brought something new to Meadow Village. A weapon that could let mortals kill beasts.
A spirit artifact, probably—but not like any he’d ever seen. Not a flying sword, nor a glowing talisman, nor a jade ring that summoned fire. Just a metal tool in a mortal’s hand. One that could kill beasts.
And the man who used it? Just a mortal like him.
Gao Shun's heart thudded with something he hadn’t felt in years. Not just awe—possibility.
Was it really just the weapon that made the difference? Could he… use it too?
With the ramparts quiet now, and no more beasts spilling from the trees, he looked toward Zi Wen. The young cultivator stood at the edge of the wall, his robes slightly blowing in the wind, expression distant.
Gao Shun took a breath, swallowed his hesitation, and walked forward.
When he reached him, he gave a deep bow. “Lord Zi Wen, I have something I wish to ask… about the spirit artifacts that let mortals kill the fox-beasts.”
Zi Wen turned to him, brows raised. “You mean the guns?”
Gao blinked. Guns? So that was what they were called. Strange word. But he nodded quickly. “Yes, those, Lord Cultivator.”
He hesitated then pushed forward.
“Can I use one? To help fend off the beasts?”
Zi Wen’s gaze sharpened immediately.
Gao Shun raised his hands in alarm. “I would never dare run away with it. I only wish to defend the village. Truly.”
Zi Wen was quiet for a beat. Then he sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you to fight. We need every hand we can get.” His eyes turned serious. “But the guns are only given to sect members. I can’t give one to you unless you’re part of the Divine Coin Sect.”
Gao’s brow rose at that. The door hadn’t shut—only narrowed.
He licked his lips, then said carefully, “Then… may I become one?”
Zi Wen stared at him. “You want to join the sect? What do you do?”
“I—I’m a merchant, my lord. I’ve traveled to most of the Eastern provinces. I know trade routes, supplier names, tax rates, ore prices and even if that's useless, I have hunted a lot—” he stopped, realizing he was rambling.
Zi Wen, surprisingly, chuckled.
“A merchant, huh?” He seemed thoughtful. “Then Sect Leader Chen might be interested. He likes merchants.”
Hope flared in Gao’s chest.
Zi Wen added, “If he agrees to take you in, then yes—you’d be allowed to carry a gun.”
Gao Shun’s eyes lit up. A mortal in a sect. That alone would make him higher ranked in standing than most mortals in the Empire.
“Where can I find Sect Leader Chen?” he asked quickly, afraid the offer would vanish if he didn’t act fast.
Zi Wen’s smile turned wry. “You can’t. He’s in closed-door cultivation right now.”
Gao’s face fell.
“But,” Zi Wen added, “he’ll be out soon. Likely when the next wave of beasts comes—he’ll show up.”
Gao Shun stared at him. And then, slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. He hadn't seen Sect Leader Chen, only heard about him, but if he could really accept him as a member and let him use these guns, then it would change everything.
Hence, for the first time in his life, Gao Shun felt the urge to meet a cultivator and hoped that he would be out of his closed door cultivation soon.
***
Chen Ren had heard a saying before. Cultivators need a calm mind to begin their path.
It always sounded like something sect elders said to keep disciples from running off after every impulse—a pretty excuse to make meditation feel more important than it was.
He used to think that, anyway.
But now, sitting cross-legged in the quiet of his chambers, staring blankly at the flickering lamp on the table, he knew it was true.
He couldn’t enter his star space.
No matter how long he sat there, no matter how many breathing techniques he cycled through, his consciousness remained scattered—like a jar of water filled with ash. It felt clouded and chaotic for no reason.
Even his account books, once a comfort, lay untouched. The columns of numbers blurred when he looked at them, his focus fraying before it even began.
The reason was simple.
The medallion. Or more accurately—what he had seen when he bound it. He felt like he was in the middle of a game of immortal chess. Not as a player, but… a pawn. A small, insignificant pawn that had been picked up, moved, and now stood in a position he didn’t understand. He didn’t know who was playing the game, or why, or even what the rules were.
But he understood this much, pawns die early.
If he wanted to survive—no, if he wanted to change the outcome—he couldn’t remain a pawn. He had to evolve. Upgrade himself. Maybe even… become a player.
But he wasn’t there yet. Not even close. And that truth weighed on him like a millstone around his neck.
Even Yalan, for all her knowledge and faith in him, had stepped back. She’d said this wasn’t something she could help with.
“Calming your mind isn't a magic trick, Chen Ren. You have to find the stillness on your own.”
He’d thought about using herbs—something to still his thoughts, open the doors to cultivation. But that felt like cheating. Worse—it felt like a crutch. And once you needed a crutch, you couldn’t run without it.
No. He needed to win this battle in his own head. He inhaled deeply and decided to take a different approach.
Rather than dwell on the bad—the things that hadn’t happened yet—he chose to focus on the good that had. In the past year, he had won a cultivation tournament, launched new businesses, and expanded the ones he already had. They were no longer just sources of coin—they now gave him a steady income and small but consistent flows of qi.
With so much of it accumulating, he knew that reaching the foundation establishment realm was only a matter of months. That kind of speed was nearly unheard of. Even once-in-a-generation geniuses, nurtured by powerful clans and blessed with heavenly roots, rarely advanced so fast.
And him? He had low spirit roots—the kind most sects wouldn’t even bother to take in.
As he thought through each achievement, his breathing grew calmer. He knew the road ahead would be hard—filled with schemes, enemies, and involve the Gate of Immortals he’d glimpsed during the medallion binding. But he had come so far, so fast.
Sometimes he forgot that.
And forgetting was a quick way to spiral into the illusion that he wasn’t doing enough. That he wasn’t enough.
There was always room to grow—but today, he had to acknowledge what he'd already built.
And he had friends. Real ones.
Yalan was first in that list. He knew she would stand with him when trouble came. Whether it was because of the pact that bound them, or their friendship… he couldn’t be sure. But he hoped it was the latter.
Then there was Xiulan, Yuqiu, Qing He, Zi Wen, Feiyu, Luo Feng, and others—each one now a thread in the fabric of his life. A sect, even if not all of them were cultivators.
But with the guns they now wielded, they had become something more. A force. Especially with Feiyu and Qing He constantly developing newer designs.
Thinking of these things, Chen Ren slowly felt the weight lift from his chest.
Sometimes, focusing on the positive instead of the endless unknowns was enough to reset the mind. To let the chaos settle.
And as he held onto that quiet fulfillment, he felt it. His connection to his star space returned, gentle but firm—welcoming him.
Chen Ren smiled. It was finally time to accumulate his gains.
***
Sorry for late chapters. I have been travelling and got sick. They will be regular now.
2025-05-28 15:14:17 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 227
Kai felt a long conversation was about to take place and he excused himself from the mana ball game. A brief nod to a Second-Circle Mage was enough to hand over the supervision of the children.
Collectively, they made their way up the spiraling stairs of the Sorcerer’s Tower.
He entered his office at the top floor—a room that hadn’t seen much use since he rarely came here for long. Still, it remained a quiet and secure place, perfect for a conversation that had the possibility to change his goals of the near-future.
Ansel and Siton followed closely behind, the former desert-dweller completely silent until they were seated.
Kai leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, and looked at Ansel. “What do you mean by your tribe’s extinction?”
Ansel’s expression tightened, his brows furrowing. “It’s a long story, Lord Arzan.”
“I’ve got time.”
Ansel sighed, rubbing his hands together. For a pregnant second, silence stretched. And Kai didn’t want to wait any longer.
“Well?”
“When I left home, it wasn’t for adventure. I’m sorry if I gave you a wrong impression at first. It wasn't to see the world. It was because the future of my tribe—and all the tribes scattered across the Ashari desert—hung in the balance," Ansel began. Kai saw the burdened look in his gaze.
“We used to rule the deserts,” he continued. “A collection of tribes who traded, governed, and protected the sands from outsiders. But it was never easy. Others always wanted control. Power.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who? Another kingdom?”
Ansel shook his head. “No. The Duneborn. Orcs. They were fierce and… intelligent. But still as ruthless as wild beasts.”
He paused, as if replaying something in his mind.
“There were always skirmishes between them and us. I saw too many growing up. Blood on sand was nothing new. But ten years ago, something changed.”
Kai tilted his head. “Changed how?”
“They got stronger and faster, almost unnaturally,” Ansel said. “Artifacts began appearing among them—powerful ones. Magic we hadn’t seen in the desert before. And at the center of it all…”
He exhaled sharply, then met Kai’s gaze.
“A new Overlord rose among them. His name is Khorvash.” Ansel practically spat out the name.
“They say he was blessed by Belkhor, the orc god of blood and conquest. Their shamans called him chosen, and whatever dark rite he underwent… It worked. He united the orcs—every last duneborn—and within a month, twelve tribes were annihilated. Down to the newborns.”
Ansel’s voice grew quieter, but the weight of his words only deepened. A shadow crossed his face as though he was reliving those bloodstained days.
“I was just a boy when it happened, but I knew then,” he said bitterly, “we wouldn’t be able to withstand them. Not with how things were. We had Sand Knights—our pride. Warriors raised with the desert, for the desert. They stood on par with Second-Circle Mages, maybe more in their prime. But what they had in skill and discipline, the orcs overwhelmed in brute strength, madness and those trinkets. Those artifacts weren’t forged by anyone from our lands. They were mysterious and foreign.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I begged the elders of each tribe to seek help. From kingdoms. From Mage towers. But they refused. The Ashari Desert has always been proud, closed off. It was shaped to resist outsiders. A place of only the ones born in the sand with our unique cultures and a lot of them simply looked down upon foreigners.That same pride would be our end, I always felt that.”
Kai’s gaze sharpened. “But you knew they wouldn’t be enough. And so you left.”
Ansel nodded once, grimly. “Yes. I fled. Traveled far and wide. From border towns to great cities. I tried to meet powerful Mages, people with strength and position, someone who could help. But access to true power is not given freely. And the lesser ones didn’t care. No one wanted to march into the Ashari. It’s a mana-bane region, and to them, not worth the risk.”
He looked down at his hands, then back at Kai.
“And then… after years of wandering, I found myself here. I saw you. What you were doing. How fast you were growing. And I made my choice.”
That’s one way to put it. Kai thought but it also made him question certain things Ansel had said. Kai leaned back, thinking over his question but asked it anyway. “Did you join my service just to have me fight your war?”
Ansel cleared his throat. And for a moment, Kai could see the hesitation in his eyes. He nodded.
“I don’t want to lie, so I'll tell you everything. That doesn’t mean I lied before, Lord Arzan, but to answer your question, yes. I saw potential, so I stuck by you. You were building something. Consolidating people, strength, knowledge. I thought if I worked hard enough, proved myself, maybe one day I could ask for a favour. Not out of pity. But as a man who had earned it.”
“But believe me, Lord Arzan,” Ansel added quietly, “I genuinely love everything about Veralt. No matter where I’m from, the people here have treated me with kindness. I’d still serve you—fight for you—even if you decide not to help the tribes. That’s not going to change.”
Kai studied him for a long moment.
He wasn’t lying. Kai had appointed him head of the Watchers for a reason. Ansel had proven himself in more than one battle—fearless, strategic, and loyal. He had bled for Veralt, nearly died defending its gates. A man willing to risk his life for a city not his own was a man Kai could trust.
But even as he nodded, his mind shifted. Not toward the tribes. But toward the orcs.
Artifacts… unnatural strength... from where?
The Ashari Desert was a mana-bane region. That alone made artifact crafting nearly impossible. Without ambient mana, the engraved seals would fail to draw power from the environment, rendering them inert. You could fit in Atheum to keep them going, but it wouldn't work for long and he doubted orcs had discovered a mine. That meant those artifacts had been brought in or found.
Kai’s brow furrowed.
From what he knew, orcs didn’t use magic the way humans did. No conjuration. No elemental control. They absorbed mana, yes—but more like beasts than spellcasters. They used it to amplify their already monstrous physiques. More Enforcers than mages.
So how had they grown so quickly? How had Khorvash united them? How had he armed them? There was only one answer that made sense. They had found something.
His thoughts returned to the Valkyrie’s inheritance—the hidden tower buried in the desert, still untouched. If orcs were growing stronger and wielding artifacts, it couldn’t be a coincidence.
Still, he needed confirmation. Kai turned to Ansel.
“Those peaks on the map… the ones you have been on when we were discussing the tower—are they near the orc territory?”
Ansel gave a small nod. “A little south of it, yes. Far closer to the Duneborn lands than ours. The only reason my brother and I could climb those peaks back then was because we were escorted by a full squad of Sand Knights. Without them, we wouldn’t have dared to go there.”
Kai’s thoughts moved back to the map in his astral realm. His fingers tapped once, then stilled. If Khorvash had found even a fraction of what lay buried in that tower, then this wasn’t just about the tribes anymore.
It was about what came next.
Suddenly, Siton tilted his head. “Why were you being guarded by Sand Knights? I thought they are like Enforcers and very important.”
Ansel blinked, as if remembering something long forgotten. His brows lifted. “Ah… right. I never mentioned that, did I?” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “My father… he’s the chief of one of the desert tribes—of the Rahzet, to be specific. I’m his second son.”’
Siton’s eyes widened. “You’re royalty?”
Ansel snorted. “Hardly. But being the chief’s son meant I always had protection. Especially back then, when tensions were high. Orcs weren’t the only threat—some tribes held deep rivalries, and targeting a chief’s child wasn’t uncommon.”
Siton leaned back, clearly surprised.
Kai, however, showed no visible reaction. If anything, a glint of interest passed through his gaze.
So Ansel’s family holds weight in the desert. That… changed things. Not only did it make gaining access easier, but it gave Kai a valuable inroad if he ever intended to move troops or negotiate. Still, the headache forming at the edge of his mind refused to ease.
The orcs…
They were going to be a problem. A war was brewing—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but Kai could see the shape of it forming on the horizon.
If Khorvash and the Duneborns had somehow accessed Valkyrie’s tower, then everything inside—artifacts, tomes, enchanted crystals—had been looted. Claimed. Worse, used.
Mage inheritances were never simple caches. They were legacies—collections of unimaginable value. Magical weapons, ancient enchantments, sealed knowledge. Even one of them could turn a Mage's fortune around. If the orcs had taken it all…
They had to be stopped.
No, Kai corrected himself. It all has to be taken back.
There was no other path forward. The confrontation with the Duneborns wasn’t optional anymore. It was fate. And yet, despite all that, he glanced back at Ansel—the man had been loyal, patient, never once pushing his request until now—and felt something settle inside his chest.
Even if there had been no tower, no stolen artifacts, no danger to the world…
He would have still helped.
For Ansel. Maybe he wouldn't have gone personally and would have simply sent Enforcers, but he would have helped for sure.
The orcs being his target too was just a coincidence.
Kai looked at Ansel again, this time with sharper intent. “How many orcs do you think there are now?”
Ansel straightened, tapping a finger against the edge of the table. “Around a hundred. Maybe more. It’s been some time since I was last there, but Duneborns have a hard time expanding. Harsh land, limited food, bad fertility rates and they don’t trust each other enough to form large settlements until Khorvash. So… there won't be many more.”
Kai nodded thoughtfully. “And their general strength?”
“Each of them are at the level of a Grade 2 or 3 beast. Worse if they have artifacts.” Ansel paused, then continued, “But not disciplined. Very reckless. Their strength is in packs. If we can isolate them, they fall.”
“What about the tribes? The Sand Knights?”
“Before I left, we had about thirty active Knights across the surviving tribes. Might be less now. Most of the young ones were being trained, but training takes years—especially in a place like Ashari.”
Kai leaned back, asking more questions—details about terrain, food and water, tribe locations, orc encampments. Ansel answered each one with careful words, occasionally glancing at Siton who silently listened and absorbed.
And when he felt like it was enough verbal information, he gave a small nod. “Make a full report. Everything you know. Put it in a file and get it to me. I want to study it before we move.”
Ansel’s face lit up with hope. “Then… you’ll truly help?”
“I need to reach those peaks. That means a journey through the Ashari Desert is already confirmed. And while I’m there…” His eyes sharpened. “I’ll make sure the orc tribes' rule comes to an end.”
Siton perked up, nervousness evident in his eyes. “Is this going to be another expedition, like before?”
Kai shook his head. “No. A small group. Mostly Enforcers. Mages won’t be of much use there—mana’s too thin in the desert air. It’ll be a waste of resources.”
Both Ansel and Siton nodded in agreement. After a few more words and a discussion about routes, terrain familiarity, and the number of people they could bring, the conversation began to taper off. Ansel stood first, bowing with unusual solemnity before taking his leave. Siton followed soon after.
Kai remained in the office, alone.
He stared at the flickering light from the wall sconce, the shadows dancing on old books and scattered scrolls. A new adventure was beginning, whether he liked it or not.
The Ashari Desert isn’t part of Lancephil, he thought. It’s a world of its own—tribes, rivalries, and I doubt they like outsiders. Even with Ansel by my side, would they accept my help? Or see it as another power move?
He exhaled slowly, hoping he wouldn't get bogged down in politics there.
But he knew this was also an opportunity. The Sand Knights, despite their primitive image, were essentially trained Enforcers—martial cultivators shaped by brutal land and inherited tradition. If he could study them and learn their techniques, it would benefit his own forces a lot. From what he knew, they might even have detailed information on Enforcer progression that was vital.
But that would come later. First, he needed to find the peaks. Map the route. Reach the tower.
And he doubted Khorvash—and whatever name the orc god was called—had claimed the inheritance fully. If it truly was soul-locked like he expected, then only someone with the Valkyrie’s soul imprint could access it.
That someone was him. That could only mean one thing—Khorvash had gotten into the lower levels of the tower.
He hadn’t claimed the core inheritance, Kai thought, but even the scraps must’ve held artifacts. Weapons. Reservoirs of stored mana. Enough to shift the balance of power in the desert. Enough to wipe out twelve tribes in a month.
And that was just the bottom of the tower. A flicker of possessiveness stirred in his chest. That wealth—those secrets—belonged to Valkyrie. And now, by fate, they belonged to him.
Arzan’s legacy. My legacy.
But among all that, there was one thing he hadn’t stopped thinking about—the medallion. He leaned back in his chair, gaze distant, thoughts racing. Is it there? Hidden at the heart of the tower? He could only hope. Because if it was…
Then this journey wasn’t just about aiding the tribes. It was the final piece he needed before the next chapter of his fate. Before the Assembly of Judgment.
***
Magus Veridia sat in silence, legs crossed, her back straight in the high-backed obsidian chair carved with the runes of her rank. The chamber was quiet except for the hum of the mana seals etched into the walls—wards to ensure privacy and protection.
Before her stood Mage Jasper. His face was blank, trained in court neutrality, but she noticed the subtle twitch in his fingers, the slightest tremble in his breath.
He was nervous.
As he should be. Not because of her—but because of who had sent him. Veridia let the silence stretch a moment longer, then finally spoke.
“What did she say?”
Jasper’s gaze dropped to the floor, as if hoping not to meet hers. “She… wants the Arzan problem ended, Magus Veridia. Before or during the Assembly.”
Veridia’s eyes narrowed.
“She’s ordered all the Mages loyal to you to contact their families, to begin pushing votes against him. And she has also instructed you to send more assassins.” His voice dropped lower. “To hunt him down.”
Veridia didn’t react outwardly. Her mana remained still, perfectly restrained, though the air in the room felt heavier.
“I assume,” she said softly, “you told her I’ve already lost several skilled operatives to this little crusade of hers?”
“I did,” Jasper said quickly, swallowing hard.
“And what did she say?”
He hesitated, then took a slow breath.
“She told me to remind you… that the seat you occupy right now exists only because she placed you in it. That none of this came from your own merit. And that if you fail to obey, she will strip you of everything.”
For a moment, the hum of mana in the room turned violent. Veridia’s power flared, not as an outburst—but as a warning. The marble beneath her chair groaned as the pressure intensified. Jasper flinched and took a step back.
Then, just as quickly, she reined it in. Her voice when it came out was cold.
“That’s a rather direct threat.”
Jasper nodded, the tension in his shoulders refusing to ease.
“Anything else?”
He hesitated again, then nodded. “Yes. If… all else fails, she wants you to challenge him.”
Veridia blinked. “A challenge?”
“A duel,” Jasper clarified. “A formal one. In broad daylight. In front of other nobles and Mages if possible. She said she’ll handle the excuse—frame it however she must—but she wants you to kill him. Publicly.”
A beat of silence passed. Then Veridia slowly rose from her seat, robes rustling like thunderclouds in a storm.
“A public duel… with Arzan Kellius,” she murmured. “She really must be losing her mind.”
Magus Veridia laughed.
It rang through the warded chamber, causing Mage Jasper to flinch, eyes flicking toward the door as if calculating whether he could survive a dash for it. She caught the look, and that only made her laugh harder.
“Oh, she’s gone brazen,” Veridia said, amusement crackling at the edges of her words. “Arzan must’ve given her more than just sleepless nights.”
Her eyes shimmered with something dangerous as they settled on Jasper again. “Did she mention anything else?”
He hesitated—just a beat too long. Then said quietly, “She said… not to be like Maelis.”
The name hit like a shard of ice down her spine.
Veridia closed her eyes, her breath stilling. A frown slowly curved across her face. “You may go,” she said softly.
Jasper didn’t wait. He bowed, turned, and vanished through the door like a man chased by ghosts.
Alone now, Veridia tilted her head back, eyes rising to the ornate ceiling of her private sanctum.
“Maelis…” she murmured.
Another pawn crushed under Regina’s heel.
A Mage who had studied alongside her. He was both talented and obedient, until the day he wasn’t. The story had been simple—found dead in his bed by a maid while vacationing at his country manor. Heart failure, they’d said.
But she remembered how quietly his name had vanished. How fast the reports were sealed. All because he had refused to do what he was told.
Veridia chuckled again, softer this time. Not out of amusement, but something darker. Bitterness, maybe. Or inevitability.
She looked down at her own hands. So powerful. Yet now they felt… shackled. Not in flesh—but in purpose.
Her lips pressed into a thin line as she flexed her fingers. Is it time to break them?
The question echoed in her mind. How?
She didn’t have the answer yet. But she did have new orders. And with them, an excuse to not think about her situation. A public duel.
“A duel, huh…” she whispered.
Her thoughts wandered—back to the Adept ranked Mage who had once stood before her during the interrogation. Young. Focused. Uncaring about stronger power.
Arzan Kellius.
Since then, she had heard too much.
Rumors. Achievements. A beast wave repelled. A title granted. A city rebuilt and some taken from the hands of his own kin.
How strong had he become? she wondered. Strong enough to take me on? No. Not yet.
Too little time had passed.
But still… she turned to the side table, reaching for the familiar folder—the one containing the exam papers he had filled out that day. Spell theory, structure, combat rationale. Clean handwriting. Innovative tactics. Unconventional, but efficient.
She traced her fingers along the top sheet. And felt it. That flicker.
That emotion she hadn’t tasted in a long time.
Excitement.
A grin split across her face.
***
Sorry for late chapters. I have been travelling and got sick.
2025-05-28 15:12:50 +0000 UTC
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Epilogue 2
Li Qingfeng ran like his life depended on it—because it did.
Behind him, thousands of zombies thundered across the dead, cracked soil of the Corpse Land. Wind tore through his clothes and lashed at his face, pushing him forward with every step. He was desperate to get to safety. But the horde was relentless. From time to time, the rotting mass would hurl one of its own like a projectile, hoping to strike him down with the weight of the dead.
Zombies were supposed to be mindless husks, driven only by hunger. But after centuries in the Corpse Land, some had… changed. Developed the barest hint of cunning. Just enough to make them terrifying.
Beside him, his twin sister Li Qingxue panted hard, her black braid whipping in the wind. She kept twisting around, her bow flashing with pale light as qi-condensed arrows exploded into the horde. Each shot took down clusters of undead, but the swarm only grew, pulling more corpses into its tide with every passing breath.
Ten years. They had scavenged in the Corpse Land for ten years. They had hunted, fought and survived. But never—not once—had they drawn the attention of something this large.
Li Qingfeng’s legs were starting to fail him. His chest ached. His qi pulsed faintly, like the final flicker of a lantern in a storm. Maybe… maybe this was it. Maybe his dao had run its course.
But before that thought could take root, Qingxue’s voice cut through the chaos.
“Don’t you dare give up!” she shouted. “We’re almost there! Just keep running! The wall’s close—I know it is!”
“I’ve been running for six hours!” Li Qingfeng gasped. “My qi’s nearly drained!”
Qingxue scoffed and unleashed another barrage of arrows. One of them exploded near him, shoving him forward with the force. Fifty zombies crumpled to the ground behind him.
“Maybe don’t go deeper into the Corpse Land next time,” she snapped. “You heard the reports—these mindless fucks have been acting weird lately.”
“And you still followed me!” he shot back.
“I only followed you,” she said, “because you’d already be dead without me.”
Above them, the sky was stained with drifting ash, casting a sickly pallor over the world. The air reeked of decay and dried blood. But up ahead, half-shrouded by dust and distance, a silhouette rose from the horizon.
The Wall. Their sanctuary. They just had to make it a few more steps.
Li Qingfeng leapt over a jagged rock, barely clearing it as another zombie lunged at his heels. “But why the hell would I know they’d start chasing us out of nowhere? I’m no diviner!” he shouted over the wind. “You were the one meant to scout!”
Li Qingxue groaned. Her bow snapped another glowing arrow into place. “And I did tell you a horde was moving this way. Or we’d be flat under their feet by now.”
He frowned but didn’t answer. The banter died between them out of necessity. The wall was close now. He could feel it in his bones. If they could just reach it, the defensive arrays would handle the rest.
The absence of other scavengers told him enough—everyone else must’ve heard the rumble and fled earlier. If not, someone might’ve shown up to help. Or maybe they were just smart enough to live them on their own, not wanting to fight against a horde.
His instincts suddenly flared like a struck match. Danger. Immediate. Too close.
He whipped his head around—and saw a zombie nearly on him, its rotten hand outstretched, inches from his back. Without thinking, he yanked a talisman from his belt and tore it in half.
A flash of light erupted, followed by a roaring wave of flame. The fire surged outward, swallowing the zombies in a burst of heat and smoke. The pressure pushed them back, buying him precious seconds. He sucked in a breath and pushed forward, his legs screaming.
From ahead, Li Qingxue’s voice rang out. “That was a Tier 3 talisman! That was a month’s worth of income!”
“Money’s no use if we’re dead,” he snapped. “That thing nearly grabbed me.”
“We’ll argue after we survive,” she muttered, and he could hear the strain in her voice too now.
No more words passed between them. All their energy went into running. Dodging. Surviving. And then—he saw it up close. The Wall.
It rose like a sleeping giant from the cracked earth. The surface was carved from black stone and had glowing gold arrays embedded. It was fifty meters tall. To Li Qingfeng, it looked like a salvation incarnate.
Figures moved along the top—scavengers and guards in patchwork armor, some already leaning over the edge in surprise. They hadn’t expected survivors from that direction, and certainly not ones this close to the jaws of the horde.
Ropes dropped from the top, thudding onto the cracked soil. Li Qingxue grabbed one and swung herself upward without hesitation. Li Qingfeng followed, every muscle in his body screaming in protest as he climbed.
Below, the fire from his talisman had died down. But the horde hadn’t. If he had to take a guess, he’d say the wall would stand against them. It would be confirmed soon. One look at the ground made him internally shudder.
The horde had finally reached the wall and they were only halfway up.
The first wave slammed into the base with a sickening crush. For a moment, his soul left his body. The sound of flesh and bone collapse against the stone echoed upto them.
But both of them gritted their teeth and climbed faster. Li Qingfeng’s hands burnt from the rope friction and he felt his limbs tremble from exertion.
Fuck… A little more. Please, Heavens!
Just as a few corpses began clawing at the stone below, the ropes jerked upward.
Li Qingfeng’s boot cleared the edge, and strong hands pulled him in. He rolled onto the stone floor, chest heaving, just as Li Qingxue scrambled up beside him.
The ropes were yanked back, and for a moment, they both lay there—staring down.
Below them, the horde roared. They pressed against the wall, piling on top of one another in a frenzy to climb, but the wall was too tall, too smooth. Even the most determined didn’t make it more than a quarter of the way before slipping, tumbling, or getting crushed under others.
Then it came.
A shift in the air. A thrum of power that made the very stones hum beneath their backs. It was a sudden burst of qi in the air, flooding the arrays that were carved into the wall. They lit up in waves, activating one after another until the entire surface glowed like a sunrise.
Then came the fire.
Blazing torrents of flame poured from the runes, sweeping over the horde with merciless force. Screams filled the air—dry, cracked howls of things long dead. Hundreds burned every second, their bodies charred into ash or blackened husks.
What moments ago had been a threat large enough to consume them was now being turned to cinders. A few zombies at the back turned and fled, but it didn’t matter.
The Wall had done what it always did. It stood. And it destroyed.
Li Qingfeng collapsed fully onto the stone, arm over his eyes, lungs still begging for air. Beside him, Qingxue was in no better shape, both hands on her chest, trying to slow her heartbeat.
They had been seconds away from dying. A single slip, a single hesitation, and they would’ve been gone.
Just another pair of corpses in the cursed land, shuffling endlessly with no memory of who they were. No purpose. No name.
Li Qingfeng turned to his sister, still catching his breath.
“Let’s take a break,” he muttered. “Head back home. Tell our parents we’re not dead yet. Just... stay the fuck away from this cursed place for a while.”
Li Qingxue nodded, sweat still trailing down her brow. “That sounds good. I doubt I’ll step beyond this wall again anytime soon. We’ve earned enough. We can live easy in the mortal cities for a while.”
Before either could say more, a new voice cut in. It was calm, deep and held a certain awe in it. “That’s a wise decision.”
They both looked up.
An older man stood nearby, arms crossed, a long blade sheathed across his back. Beady eyes, bushy brows, long beard, tall frame. His metal armor gleamed even in the dim light, clearly inscribed with spiritual runes and reinforced with qi-etched plating. A cultivator, no doubt powerful—and wealthy enough to make them look like fledglings.
He looked at them with calm eyes and said, “There are rumours... that a corpse lord is rising.”
Li Qingxue sat up straighter, frowning. “A corpse lord? That’s impossible. Isn’t it?”
The man’s eyes shifted to the scorched remains below. Smoke rose in curling tendrils from the corpses, and the stink of burning rot hung heavy in the air.
“The undead are restless these days,” he said quietly. “And that’s the main theory. A corpse lord—something strong enough to influence the mindless. Something sending them here, toward the walls, with a purpose.”
Li Qingfeng’s brows drew tight. “You’re saying… they were commanded?”
The man nodded once. “It’s the popular theory among the sects and the stronger scavengers around here. Some say the horde patterns are too coordinated lately. There’s word of a group being formed—an investigation team. They’re pulling cultivators from several factions to go deep into the Corpse Land and confirm whether the rumors are true.”
Li Qingxue’s expression darkened. “If it is a corpse lord, then…”
“Then we’re all in trouble,” the man finished for her. “The Empire will have to intervene. It won’t stay a scavenger problem anymore.”
They both nodded grimly. A corpse lord wasn’t a myth. It was a nightmare with history.
At peak meridian expansion realm, such an existence was nearly unstoppable on its own. But worse, it could control the undead—raise them, command them, gather them into legions. It was said that when the Corpse Lands were first born from the great calamity, one such being had risen from the graves. It had taken dozens of Established sects in the leadership of the Guardian ones and an entire battalion from the Empire to destroy it. Since then, it had been a myth to scare off fresh scavengers.
Li Qingfeng exchanged a glance with his sister. Neither of them had to say it. Their decision to leave—at least for a while—had never felt more justified. He turned back toward the cultivator. “Are they going to shut down all scavenging, then?”
The man gave a tired shrug. “Probably. But not yet. Not enough have died. The sects—hell, even the Empire—they’re all waiting for confirmation. Right now, it’s just a theory. A disturbing one, sure, but unless they find proof...”
He trailed off.
“...people will keep dying,” Li Qingxue finished for him.
The man gave a slow, quiet nod.
For a moment, no one said anything. The three of them just stood at the edge of the wall, watching the blackened field of corpses below. The flames had died, but the dread had only just begun to rise.
The man was still speaking when the ground began to tremble beneath their feet. The rest of his words fell into deaf ears as a deep, guttural rumble rose from the depths of the earth.
Then the quake hit.
The stone beneath them lurched, and Li Qingfeng had to grab the nearest railing to avoid being thrown off balance. Beside him, Li Qingxue staggered, falling into his side.
“What the hell is going on?!” he shouted, barely able to hear himself over the rising roar.
“Another horde?!” she yelled back, eyes darting toward the horizon.
Around them, chaos erupted. Cries of panic echoed across the walltop as guards and scavengers scrambled to stay upright. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone. Several cultivators flared their qi, anchoring themselves to their weapons or bracing their stance with glowing spiritual energy.
But something felt… off.
“No,” the older cultivator muttered, and his voice, though quiet, cut through the panic. “Look over there. Something’s rising... deep from the Corpse Lands.”
Li Qingfeng’s eyes snapped to the horizon and froze.
Far in the distance—beyond the ashen dunes and the broken hills—something was pushing its way out of the ground. A black structure. Vast. Monolithic. It rose slowly but unstoppably, sending tremors through the earth with every meter it climbed. The blackened trees around it cracked and crumbled, giving way to its emergence.
The siblings stared, breathless. Their mouths opened, closed, then opened again—no words forming, only disbelief.
It was built like a pagoda. A massive one, tiered and elegant in shape, but wrong in color. Pitch black, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it.
As it climbed toward the heavens, the tremors lessened. The ground stilled, but no one moved. No one even breathed.
What is… happening? Li Qingfeng narrowed his eyes.
He and Li Qingxue pulled themselves to their feet, barely registering the soreness in their bodies. They couldn’t tear their eyes away.
Now fully visible, the tower stretched high into the sky, its top shrouded in clouds. Even from this far, they could make out the carvings—inscriptions, ancient and luminous, glowing with silvery light as they caught the rays of the sun. Symbols of power—they looked like array runes.
The tremors died down and they took it all in.
It was beautiful. And terrifying…. Mostly terrifying.
“Is that… is that the Pagoda of…” the man standing next to them was cut off by his own thoughts as he continued to stare at it.
“Pagoda of what…? Tell me!”
“The… Pagoda of Eternity.”
Li Qingfeng blinked. “What?”
The man swallowed hard. “That… that is the tower said to hold the inheritance of the last nascent soul realm cultivator that was the sect leader of the sect whose remains became the Corpse Lands. A true monster. The kind that shook kingdoms. They say it was buried long ago—sealed away beneath the Corpse Lands to stop others from finding it.”
He turned to them, and for the first time, there was fear in his eyes. “I thought it was just a story. A myth. But… it’s real.”
And that changed everything.
Silence fell again.
Li Qingfeng and Li Qingxue looked at each other, the same thought rising in both their minds. Were they really going to go home now? Because whatever they had seen before—hordes, talismans, walls—it all felt small now.
And deep down, both of them already knew the answer for the question. If it was actually the Pagoda of Eternity, they weren’t ready to leave. Not yet.
***
The world flowed on.
Seasons changed. Small sects rose and fell. Stars shifted in the skies.
And the golden dragon slept.
It drifted through the spirit realm like a fading ember, its vast, serpentine body coiled in a sea of mist and forgotten dreams. Time passed like breathless eternity, and still it did not stir—could not. Its strength was broken, shattered in the moment it had chosen to intervene.
It had no regrets.
It had acted when it must—when the demonic cultivator and the spectral parasite had threatened to snuff out the life of the one it had chosen. A reckless soul, yes. A foolish one, often. But with something far rarer than raw strength, potential.
The dragon had revealed itself in that moment, spent the last of its might, not only to destroy those enemies, but to rebuild the boy's broken body—one too fragile to contain even a sliver of the dragon’s essence. Had it not intervened, the boy’s body and soul would have burned to ash, leaving behind nothing but regrets and lost fate.
And so, the dragon had fallen into hibernation.
It could no longer whisper guidance. Could no longer shape qi into visions. Could no longer teach.
But it could still see.
Even in sleep, the dragon watched. Its gaze stretched across rivers of energy, peering into the mortal world from beyond the veil.
It saw its chosen.
Saw how the boy struggled to rise, step by bloody step. How he gathered people around him—people with weak potential, average cultivation, or no strength at all. But they followed him. Believed in him.
Potential. That was all it took sometimes. And the boy—it's chosen—knew it too.
He believed wealth could bring power, so he chased it with feverish hunger. The dragon would have laughed, if it had lungs to do so. So wrong… and yet so right.
The world ran on cycles. Even those who knew fragments of destiny rarely understood the whole. But the dragon had seen more. It had once stood at the edge of immortal gates. It had guarded them.
And now, so too had its chosen begun to learn of his eventual path. The key to the Gate of Immortals. A relic no man held and was alive for long … and yet the boy had begun to connect to it. Slowly. Blindly.
It was not enough.
The dragon knew the moment would come when teaching would be necessary—when strength alone could not guide him through what was to come.
And that moment was near.
It could feel its body beginning to reform in the void. Could feel its power stitching itself together, scale by shining scale. Soon, it would awaken fully. Soon, it would once again enter the star space of its chosen and speak.
But not yet. For now, it rested. In silence. In waiting. Floating above the spirit seas, ever-watchful. It was protecting, healing and guarding.
Because it could feel it now. A tremor in the strands of fate. Something was coming. Something worse, way worse than what they’d gone through.
And when it arrived, the boy would need more than luck, strength, or money. He would need the dragon.
The fight for the Gate of Immortals had begun.
Of course, not openly. Not yet. But the signs were there—subtle ripples in the fabric of fate, echoed across realms both high and low. Forces long buried were stirring. Hidden sects reemerging. Ancient cultivators breaking their silence.
And in the center of it all—his progeny.
The dragon felt it with absolute certainty. The one it had chosen, the soul it had saved and rebuilt, would be drawn into the storm. Was already being drawn into it. Such was fate.
But the dragon did not intend to let him be swallowed by it. No.
When the gates opened, when the final trial came, it intended for him to stand among the worthy. To rise not as a pawn—but as a force.
Strong enough to challenge what came from beyond, strong enough to survive and strong enough to save this realm. Because if he failed—if the enemy succeeded—then nothing would remain. Forget about the sects, empires or even the stars. Everything would be devoured.
The dragon had seen such endings in other worlds. It had lived through calamities where no gods answered, where no heroes rose, where hope was just a story whispered by the dead. It would not let this world follow that path.
Not while it still had breath. Not while its chosen still had strength left to rise.
And so it waited—one eye open in the vast spirit realm, soul coiling with slowly rebuilding might.
The time was coming. The enemy was coming. And the dragon would be ready to support his chosen.
2025-05-25 07:01:15 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 226
Kai leaned back in the chair, the sun warm on his face as he brought a glass of orange juice to his lips and took a slow sip. The field behind the Sorcerer’s Tower stretched out around him, green and open, a rare bit of peace in a world that rarely allowed it.
After months of countless battles, which included an extreme level of planning, construction and near death, he had finally taken a break— a real one.
Though, even his break came with work.
Before him, a group of newly awakened Mages were spread out across the grass, shouting, laughing and blasting small bursts of mana in chaotic bursts of movement. They were playing mana ball, their robes pulled up, sleeves rolled back and cheeks flushed red from all the exertion.
Kai watched with mild amusement, resting his foot on a small stone and tilting the chair slightly. The glass in his hand clinked softly as he swirled the juice inside.
Most games in the kingdom—hell, in the whole world—were built around duels. Sword duels. Spell duels. Duels of wit or blood. At best, you’d see children playing catch with sticks or chasing each other through the mud.
But this—this—was different.
Mana ball was a relic from the Second Golden Era of Magic, a time when spells weren’t just weapons, but part of everyday culture. A time when high-circled Mages created games to challenge themselves in ways that didn’t always end in death.
He took another sip and watched the play unfold.
Two teams of eleven Novices ran across the field, chasing a shimmering orb of condensed mana. Each time a player kicked or passed it, the sphere scattered a small wave of energy into the air, thinning with each move. Whoever controlled it had to infuse it again with their own mana—refuel it on the fly—or risk letting it disappear.
And if it vanished while you were in possession? That was a five-point penalty. Enough to lose the match outright.
The only other way to win was the traditional method of scoring a goal. But even that wasn’t easy. The defending team had a single keeper, and that Mage was allowed to use a first-circle spell—just one—to block the ball at any moment.
It was a stripped-down version of the real thing. High-circle matches had three or more mana balls, faster spells, enchanted rules that changed mid-play, and often ended with someone bleeding. Or unconscious. Or both.
But with these fresh Novices—barely past awakening—it was just rigorous enough to teach them pacing, mana control, and teamwork, all while giving them something to enjoy.
Kai leaned back further, watching as one of the girls on the blue team lunged forward, her boot connecting with the dimming ball and sending it streaking toward the other end of the field in a burst of golden light.
A few cheers went up. One of the defenders scrambled, eyes flaring with focus as they prepared their single-use spell.
Kai sipped his juice, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the play unfold.
Chasing a glowing sphere wasn’t the main goal of the game; it trained more than movement and mana management. Every player subconsciously kept their mana perception active across the field, adjusting it to follow the ball. And most importantly, they were being forced to push mana through their legs.
That was something this era’s Mages sorely lacked.
Most focused entirely on hand-based casting—the classic posture of spellcraft. Logical, sure; spells were easier to control that way. But it was also limiting.
Why let your entire body be a conduit for mana if you only used one part?
Kai had long since integrated mana flow into his entire body. His [Flight] spell used his legs as the primary release point, which gave him speed and stability most other Mages couldn’t dream of. And yet here, on the field, it was painfully clear that these young Mages had barely started down that road.
The result? The defenders barely had to do anything.
The glowing mana ball would fade out in mid-pass, shrinking to a flicker in the air, and then vanish completely—giving the other team a five-point bonus by default. It happened again and again.
Only two players managed to keep it going longer than a second:
Rhea, his apprentice, sharp-eyed and burning with focus, who led the blue team with a precision that mirrored her training and her strong determination to win. And Silvren, a wiry boy from the streets of Veyrin, found by Claire and brought into the tower less than a month ago, who looked like he’d put everything in his power to keep the game going.
Both of them could move with mana in their legs. Not for long. Not perfectly. But better than the rest.
Still, it wasn’t enough. Not when the rest of their teammates fumbled basic flow, losing energy with each step. Kai leaned forward slightly, observing their reactions.
Rhea’s expression was tight, frustrated—she barked instructions, trying to guide the others, but her tone was too pointed. Her teammates looked terrified of her. The way they flinch every time she opened her mouth was enough evidence for him to know; she was a natural caster, not a leader yet.
And Silvren?
He didn’t shout. But he started doing something worse—hoarding the ball. Taking longer runs, pushing himself harder, refusing to pass unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t trust his team, and that trust breakdown was visible in every move.
Kai sighed softly.
It was another test, really. One they didn’t even know they were taking. Leadership.
Rhea had the raw power but lacked patience. Silvren had adaptability, but no faith in his allies. Both of them were losing not because they lacked skill—but because they lacked the ability to bring others with them.
And Kai watched it all unfold like a slow-burning lesson written across the field.
Another pass collapsed mid-air. Another five-point penalty.
He set down the glass on the armrest of his chair, just as Silvren clenched his jaw and pushed mana hard enough that sparks flew from his feet. It was not efficient, not in the long run. It was a mere burst of effort that would burn him out before long.
But Kai didn’t move. He didn’t call out. They’d have to learn the hard way. But he’d be watching every moment of it.
As for Rhea, she moved across the field like a storm trapped in human form—the very image of an angry young goddess. Every time her team lost points, her voice rang out sharp and cutting, like a lash across exposed skin.
“Are you blind? The ball was right there!”
“Do you even know how to push mana into your feet? Or are you just pretending?”
“If you can’t play, move!”
Not one of her teammates answered back. They kept their heads down, eyes averted, swallowing whatever pride they had left. But Kai could see it—the tight jaws, the stiff shoulders, the occasional glance passed between them when Rhea’s back was turned.
It wasn’t fear. It was dissatisfaction. The only reason it hadn’t boiled over into open defiance was his presence—and the fact that she was his apprentice.
He had known for some time that Rhea was receiving special treatment. No one dared train with her too harshly, and she got resources faster than most. She wasn’t spoiled exactly—she worked hard—but her link to him placed her above the others by default.
That wasn’t her fault. But this? This attitude? It would rot her from the inside out. And the worst part? It was his fault.
In the madness of the past months—wars, plagues, treants, courts—he had neglected her. He had given Amyra time, yes, but Amyra had needed it. She was different—gentle, composed, and thoughtful by nature. Even with her powers, she remained grounded.
Rhea, though…
Rhea had always carried the scars of a cruel family and a cold childhood. Magic had given her power. Power had given her confidence. And confidence, in her case, was now turning to arrogance.
Kai took another slow breath, watching as the ball zipped across the field.
One of Rhea’s teammates—a boy with short brown hair and a nervous stance—suddenly found himself with the ball at his feet. His eyes widened, panic setting in.
The ball immediately began to shrink.
He tried to force mana into it, his arms flailing slightly as he focused—but it was too slow. The glowing orb dimmed to a flicker and then vanished with a faint hiss of displaced energy.
A maid acting as referee—one of the tower’s staff given the task of scorekeeping—blew a sharp whistle and called out the penalty. “Five points to Silvren’s team!”
Cheers erupted from the opposite side of the field. A few high-fives, some laughter. Silvren himself just crossed his arms and gave a smug little nod.
But Rhea—she snapped.
She stomped across the grass, fury in every step, her hands glowing faintly with unstable heat. The boy didn’t even try to defend himself as she marched up to him, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.
“You had so much time!” she shouted. “You saw the ball fading, and you still let it vanish! You could’ve passed! You could’ve done anything! But you stood there like an idiot!”
Her mana surged. Sparks danced at her fingertips.
“How incompetent are you?”
Kai’s eyes narrowed.
That was enough.
The young Mage stepped back, hands trembling at his sides, his eyes wide and lips parting in a rush. “I—I'm sorry,” he stammered. “I just thought I could—”
“You thought?” Rhea snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. Her mana flared again, a thin line of heat visibly rippling around her arms. “What exactly did you think you could do? Because from where I’m standing, it’s clear that none of you can push mana properly through your bodies. That’s the basics. The bare minimum.”
The boy lowered his head, face flushed with shame.
“You realize my master is watching this?” she continued, voice rising. “Do you know how embarrassed I feel when you can’t even hold the ball for a full second—”
A sharp snicker broke through her tirade. Rhea turned, eyes blazing toward Silvren, who stood across the field with his arms loosely folded, laughter playing on his lips.
“What’s so funny?” she growled.
But before the tension could snap and devolve into a full-on confrontation, a voice cut clean through the field like a blade.
“That’s enough.”
The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be.
Kai had finished his juice. The glass now rested beside his chair, forgotten. His gaze was fixed on Rhea, steady and sharp—not filled with anger, but with the kind of cold clarity that demanded silence.
Every Mage on the field stilled. All heads turned. Rhea’s shoulders tensed, and for the first time that day, she visibly shrunk back under his gaze.
Kai stood slowly.
“It’s not your group that’s incompetent, Rhea. It’s you.”
Her eyes widened.
“What?” she breathed. “How? I never lost the ball! If it weren’t for them, we would've—”
Kai raised a hand, and she fell silent.
“You’re not incompetent because of your spellwork,” he said calmly. “You’re incompetent because of how you act as a leader.”
He stepped forward onto the field.
“This is a training match, not a life-and-death battle. It’s meant to teach coordination, mana flow, trust. And instead of encouraging your team or planning around their weaknesses, you let your anger rule you. You lash out. You humiliate your teammates in front of others. That’s not strength. That’s immaturity.”
Rhea’s arms dropped to her sides, the flames around her dissipating like embarrassed sparks. Her eyes lowered, the fight drained from her.
“But I… I tried my best…” she said quietly. For the first time throughout the match, Rhea looked… small.
Kai nodded. “I know you did. And I’m not saying your effort isn’t there. I know you want to win.” He paused. “But berating your fellow Mages in front of others—and in front of your own master—isn’t just unkind. It’s against Mage ethics.
“You have a long way to go, Rhea. As a Mage. And as a person.”
There was silence across the field.
The members of the other team—especially Silvren—couldn’t help themselves. A few smiles broke out. One of them even snorted faintly, quickly covering their mouth when Kai’s gaze swept over them.
Silvren, however, didn’t bother hiding it. He stood a little taller, the satisfaction plain on his face. Kai’s eyes locked onto him.
"And you—Silvren."
The silver-haired boy flinched, though his smile didn’t vanish entirely. Kai’s tone turned colder.
“I don’t know where this little rivalry of yours with Rhea started, and I don’t particularly care. But don’t think I didn’t see how you handled this match either.”
The boy’s smirk faltered. Slightly.
He hadn't met Kai before today, that much was clear—but the stories had reached him. The Count of Veralt, the Mage that stood against a beast wave, the man who had killed his brother in a war that had killed hundreds.
And now that same man was staring straight at him with a frown.
Silvren straightened defensively, that cocky edge in his voice returning. “But we won.”
“Yes, you did,” Kai agreed, “but you were an equally incompetent leader.”
That shut the boy up fast.
“You didn’t trust your teammates. You held the ball too long, even when it was clear you were burning more mana than you could afford to. You trust yourself, and that’s good—but you’ll end up isolated like that.”
Silvren’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue.
Kai turned, his gaze sweeping across the rest of the team. “And you,” he said, voice carrying, “you all didn’t do better. Just because you won doesn’t mean you performed well.”
Some of the other Mages looked up hesitantly, uncertain. A few of the younger ones glanced at each other.
“You were content being sidelined,” Kai continued. “You didn’t fight for the ball. You didn’t try to improve. That’s not the mindset of a Mage. You’re too easily satisfied with being carried.”
The words hit home. Heads lowered. Backs hunched. Even some of the older recruits—those who had discovered their mana organs late in life—looked shaken under his sharp critique.
Kai took a slow breath, eyes narrowing just slightly as he let silence settle over them.
Then, one by one, he picked them out.
“You,” he pointed to a tall boy near the back, “kept trying to use your hands. You need to reframe how you think about spellcasting. If your legs can’t hold a spell, they’ll never support flight or movement enchantments.”
Another, a girl who had stayed near the sidelines, flinched when his gaze landed on her. “You were too hesitant. You waited too long to act. If the ball scares you, what’ll you do when it's a live spell flying at your head?”
And on he went. Not with cruelty, but with a disappointed tone they deserved. And by the time he was done, the field was quiet. The Mages stood with sullen faces, shame mixing with quiet understanding. Even the older ones—once proud of their newfound status—looked chastened.
Kai watched them for a beat longer, then smiled faintly. They would learn.
In time, they’d learn to keep their expressions neutral under criticism. They’d learn to take correction without letting it bruise their pride. For now, it was good that they still felt it. That meant they hadn’t grown numb.
He took a long breath, then finally spoke again.
“But despite all that—some of you didn’t do badly.”
A few heads lifted.
Kai pointed to Rhea and Silvren. “You two clearly have the best aptitude and raw talent among the group. That’s something to be proud of.”
Both of them brightened at that, even if their shoulders remained tense.
“But,” he added, “your personalities need work. Talent without humility is just a blade with no hilt. You’ll hurt yourselves—and others.”
Then he turned slightly, pointing at three more. “You three—not bad. Your control is rough, but considering you’ve never channeled mana through your legs before, you held the form longer than most.”
A few of them straightened, surprise flickering behind their eyes. Then Kai clapped his hands, loud and sharp, like the start of a new lesson.
“Reset the field. Start again.”
Looking at the gathered group of Mages—half of them still wearing the weight of his words—Kai softened his tone just a touch.
“As for the rest of you,” he said, “don’t worry too much. It’s your first time playing this, and some Mages take a while to map out all the mana veins in their bodies. You’ll get there.”
A few hopeful glances flicked his way. He saw one or two straighten their posture slightly, as if already trying to feel for mana in their legs again.
“So—do you want to play another round?” He said and glanced around the Mages for a final time.
The answer was immediate. Nods. Smiles. Even Rhea, still quiet, lifted her head, and Silvren grinned, clearly ready to redeem himself.
Kai raised his hand and conjured a fresh mana ball, letting it hover in the air for a heartbeat before sending it spinning toward Silvren, who caught it mid-step with a controlled burst of mana at his heel.
Then Kai turned, walking back toward his chair as the shouts resumed and boots pounded the grass.
He sat down slowly, sighing as the sun warmed his shoulders once more. His plan had been simple—to rest today. The plague lands had drained more out of him than he liked to admit, and his heart was still stabilizing after the fourth circle.
But now that the game was going again, the idea of spending his whole day supervising eager young Mages wasn’t exactly appealing.
Maybe the library, he thought. He hadn’t touched the new archives since he had ordered it's expansion. And if he remembered right, there were some old novels tucked away between spell theory and political journals. Light reading. Something relaxing.
He was already picturing himself with a book in one hand and tea in the other—until movement at the edge of the field caught his attention.
Kai turned his head, and his casual plans shattered instantly.
Two figures approached—one was Ansel. Beside him was Siton.
The moment Kai saw them, he knew. These weren’t men who left their posts for trivial reasons. If they’d come here, now, it meant something was about to land in his lap.
Sure enough, both men came to a stop a few feet away, bowed in unison, and Siton spoke first.
“Lord Arzan,” he said quickly, “apologies for disturbing your rest, but we bring good news.”
Kai blinked, surprised. “Go on.”
“The location you requested—we found it.” Siton lifted the scroll slightly. “Or rather, Ansel did. And I’ve already moved to verify it personally.”
Kai’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t expected it to be so fast. Truthfully, he thought it would take weeks—months even. Valkyrie hadn’t built her inheritance in Lancephil, that much he had been sure of.
The idea that they had found it now… so soon? All the weight of fatigue slid off his shoulders in an instant.
He looked directly at Ansel, excitement tightening in his chest like a drawn bowstring. “Where?”
Kai leaned forward slightly, the chatter of the game fading behind him. He needed to find the inheritance before the assembly, not just to retrieve the medallion, but to understand what kind of knowledge—or weapons—a Magus of Valkyrie’s level had left for her son.
If the rumors were true, her inheritance would contain spells, techniques, maybe even artifacts from the past. Things that had been lost in the future he had came from.
His eyes locked onto Ansel. “So where is the tower located?”
Ansel took a small breath, then a deeper one, as if gathering himself. “It’s in the Ashari Desert, my lord,” he said carefully. “My home.”
Kai blinked, caught off guard. “Ashari?” he repeated. “Are you sure? You’ve never mentioned such a tower before.”
“That’s because I’ve never seen one there,” Ansel said, shaking his head. “I only recognized the map you drew. The peaks, the paths—I know them. I’ve walked those ridges as a child, climbed them with my brothers. That’s how I knew.”
Kai’s frown deepened. “You’re certain the terrain I drew matches?”
“Yes,” Ansel nodded. “Exactly. Especially the forked path and the narrow ridge leading between two needle-shaped cliffs. Siton here,” he gestured to the administrator beside him, “confirmed it too. He checked the regional maps, compared elevation notes.”
Siton gave a respectful nod. “The formation is real, my lord. There’s no mistaking it.”
Kai leaned back slightly, the gears in his mind spinning. If the peaks were known… then why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned a tower? It was massive in his vision—tall, looming, impossible to miss.
Only one conclusion made sense.
It was enchanted— basically, hidden.
If it truly was a Mage tower, then it would be built with layer upon layer of illusion and protection. The structure wouldn’t just be cloaked from view—it could be woven into the fabric of the land itself.
And if the enchantments had failed, the mana would’ve leaked into the atmosphere. In a desert like Ashari—a region with mana scarcity—a surge like that would’ve drawn the attention of every man and beast in a hundred-mile radius.
But there had been no such things he had heard of a tower being discovered there. Which meant the enchantments were still working.
As Kai’s thoughts deepened, Ansel’s voice pulled him back. “My lord…” he hesitated. “Why are you looking for the Ashari Desert?”
Kai’s gaze turned toward him. “There’s something there I need,” he said simply. “The tower I drew—the one hidden among those peaks—it’s real. And I need to find it.”
For a moment, Ansel and Siton locked eyes. Then the former spoke.
“Then… are you going to take a trip there?”
Kai nodded slowly, the decision already made in his mind. “Yes. Soon. I need to get there before the assembly.”
Ansel inhaled once. “Then, Lord Arzan… can you bring me with you?”
Kai raised an eyebrow. “Why? I’m pretty sure you have a lot of tasks here. You're the head of the Watchers. You disappearing won't go unnoticed.”
Ansel didn’t deny it. “It’s true. I do. But there’s something… unfinished in the desert. Something personal. Something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about for a long time now but… I never got the chance.”
Kai narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re asking for a favor?”
Ansel nodded once. “Yes. If you’re really going there, then I would like to ask you to grant me one. A personal one.”
“And what kind of favor are we talking about?”
Ansel met his gaze without flinching.
“The kind that involves saving my people. My tribe. From extinction.”
The words dropped like a stone into still water.
2025-05-25 06:59:10 +0000 UTC
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Epilogue 1
Shen Linao's face folded into slow wrinkles as he listened, the report scratching at his ears like chalk on a board. The sect reagent of the Blazing Ember Sect had grown accustomed to silence, to reports filled with praise, submission, and the occasional minor dispute—nothing that stirred the flame in his chest beyond a flicker.
But this… This brought a bitter taste to his tongue. Not unlike that affair, months ago. One of his favored concubines had shared her bed with a lowly outer disciple. A moment of amusement, perhaps. A lapse in desire. He had incinerated her personally, leaving no bones behind—only the scent of jasmine and ash.
And yet, despite the punishment, the bitterness never left. It sat like char on his soul.
Now it has returned again.
He took a slow sip of tea, his qi swirling around the cup to hold the temperature perfectly—a small act of control in a world tilting toward chaos.
"Are you certain Wang Fu has betrayed the sect?"
The disciple, Tu Wei across from him knelt, eyes low. "It’s either that, or he was killed. I found no trace of him in the Void Blade Sect vault. Not even bones."
"By whom?" Shen Linao asked softly. Fire coiled beneath the words.
"No clear signs. I searched thoroughly—traps, escape paths, even spiritual residue. Nothing useful remained. Whoever did it was careful. Or strong."
Shen Linao’s fingers tapped once against the lacquered wood. The silence between them crackled.
"Did you find anything from the nearby town?" he asked next, already suspecting the answer would not please him.
Tu Wei nodded. "There was an altercation. Our group clashed with a young master from a minor clan. They denied everything, even after I killed one of their top cultivators. Still—"
"Still?" Shen Linao’s voice cooled, like embers before a coming wind.
"Still… I don’t believe they’re lying. Their highest cultivator is a single foundation establishment realm one, and he belongs to a sect barely a hundred years old. An Emerging Sect, master. Their background isn't strong enough to threaten ours."
Shen Linao stared into his tea and nodded slowly, eyes narrowing like slits of molten iron. “So… not strong enough to do anything,” he murmured.
Tu Wei, still kneeling, took it as a cue to press on. “Hence, I believe it must be betrayal. When I reached the vault, the main chamber had been opened. Everything was gone. Even the library—picked clean. Only the minor sections were left untouched, mostly where the beast guardians were hibernating. Perhaps Wang Fu didn’t find them worth the risk.”
A long breath escaped Shen Linao’s lips. It wasn’t quite a sigh. Not yet. His gaze didn’t leave the tea cup, still rippling faintly from the heat of his qi. He listened—truly listened—not just to the words, but the weight behind them.
What he was hearing… it wasn’t a lie. But it was being shaped into one.
It could be subtle or intentional. He knew this tone. Knew this disciple. The hunger behind the words wasn’t for justice or truth—it was the desire to see a rival fall. Wang Fu, the most backed among the inner disciples, the one who had grown fastest, given the most techniques, survived the harshest of trials. Tu Wei had always hated him.
Shen Linao closed his eyes for a breath. And then opened them.
His aura flared—silent, formless, but heavier than a mountain. It crushed the air around them and fell upon his kneeling disciple like the sky itself. The man froze mid-sentence, blood draining from his face as his limbs trembled under the pressure. His breath hitched. He dared not look up.
“Do you have definite proof?” Shen Linao asked, voice like a slow-burning flame. “That he ran away? That he betrayed the sect?”
When no answer came, Shen Linao's voice dropped to a growl. “Answer me!”
Tu Wei collapsed into a kneeling position, his forehead touching the floor. “I—I’m sorry, Master! I have no proof. It’s only what I assumed… based on what I know of Wang Fu—”
“You know nothing,” Shen Linao snapped. “He wasn’t alone. I placed others beside him for a reason. You think I gave him resources without securing his leash? All of them had family bound to the sect by oaths. They wouldn’t dare turn traitor.”
Tu Wei hesitated, swallowing hard. “What if… What if Wang Fu killed them?”
Shen Linao’s gaze didn’t waver.
“That can’t be,” he said. Cold certainty laced every word. “Wang Fu is strong. But more than that—he knows our sect. He clawed his way up from the outer ranks. Spent blood and years just to earn a seat at the inner sect. He wouldn't betray us. Not unless his mind was shattered.”
He looked past the kneeling disciple, into the distant flicker of the lanterns behind.
“Even if the vault held the secret to reaching the nascent soul stage… he wouldn’t risk turning on us. And we both know it doesn’t. That cursed Void Blade Sect never had a cultivator break through beyond core formation in hundreds of years. Only the founder did. Their inheritance was always second-rate.”
Tu Wei remained silent, shoulders tight.
“The most plausible explanation,” Shen Linao muttered, “is that he was killed. Alongside the others. Then burned cleanly—so thoroughly not even the bones remained. No qi traces. No marks of technique. Just silence.”
He paused, then asked sharply, “Did you see any signs of battle?”
Tu Wei blinked, clearly sifting through memory. “There were… cracked tiles in the vault chamber. And claw marks on the stone near the main vault doors. I assumed it was from a scuffle with one of the beast guardians. Maybe it awakened, or resisted him during the raid—”
“Can it be more?” Shen Linao cut in.
Tu Wei flinched. “...Yes, Master. It can.”
Shen Linao leaned back slightly, his hand absently brushing over the runes etched into the armrest of his chair. His eyes stayed locked on the man in front of him.
“Then tell me everything. Which rooms did you check? What was intact, and what wasn’t?”
As the disciple began listing chambers—inner storage, pill vaults, scroll sanctums, talisman archives—Shen Linao listened in silence. Every word a hammer forging certainty in his mind. Most of the chambers had nothing inside of them, age crumbling the valuables, but the main vault and the library did.
They hadn’t been simply looted. It had been systematically erased. Not haphazardly, but professionally. And worst of all, when the disciple finally mentioned the last detail—
“There were no footsteps in the secondary passageways. At first, I thought it odd, but I assumed… the paths had naturally cleared. Or perhaps the qi flow had scattered the traces.”
Shen Linao’s face darkened.
“No,” he said flatly. “That was deliberate. It means whoever attacked them covered their tracks. Perfectly. If Wang Fu’s group and the enemy clashed inside, then their footsteps would’ve overlapped. A simple earth-aspected technique could blend the stone surface, reset it. Make it unreadable.”
He clenched his fist.
“It was no accident. No beast rampage. This was a surgical strike. Someone knew the vault’s location. They knew when it would be vulnerable. And they had the skill to wipe out an entire team of elite inner disciples without leaving behind a single corpse.”
The tea in his cup boiled suddenly, his qi flaring uncontrolled.
“All my investment in Wang Fu… wasted,” Shen Linao muttered, more to himself than to the disciple. “A vessel I prepared for years, broken and scattered like ash in the wind.”
His knuckles whitened.
“And someone… someone thinks they can do that to me.”
Although Wang Fu had still done much—especially infiltrating the the Void Blade Sect—Shen Linao knew his potential was far from spent. The boy had promise, fierce instincts, and enough cruelty to survive this sect’s path of fire and ambition.
Shen Linao had plans. So many plans. Wang Fu was to serve their Lord when the time came—one of the chosen vessels to carry his will into the next century. His death didn’t just remove a talented disciple. It disrupted a carefully laid future.
And now, another force had clearly inserted themselves into the game.
But how? How did they know about the vault’s location?
His thoughts churned like smoldering coals before he asked calmly, “Was the vault gate damaged?”
Tu Wei shook his head. “No, Master. I saw no marks on it. No burn, no cracking. Though… I did find parts of the guardian puppets Broken. Strewn across the hallway and the outer perimeter.”
Shen Linao's gaze lowered, shadow falling across his face. “…That’s bad.”
He said it quietly.
“We let someone go. Someone from the Void Blade Sect who knew how to open the vault. There’s no other way in. The door requires a specific method to enter—one lost even to most of their elders. And even I have no idea on it.”
Tu Wei hesitated, brow furrowing. “Are you sure, Master?”
Shen Linao lifted his head and stared straight into the man’s eyes.
“Obviously, I’m sure.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I learned nothing of the vault after torturing every captured Void Blade elder for months?”
Tu Wei flinched.
“You don’t even realize the weight of what we’re facing.” Shen Linao exhaled slowly, expression unreadable.
From the man’s blank stare, it was obvious. He didn’t get it.
Of course he didn’t. This disciple—Tu Wei—was the kind who crushed problems with fists, not thoughts. If it weren’t for the others being tied up in searching for the medallion, Shen Linao would never have sent someone like him to investigate Wang Fu’s disappearance.
So he explained it plainly.
“What this means, Tu Wei,” he said in a cold tone, “is that at least one elder of the Void Blade Sect escaped the purge. Someone important. Someone who knew the vault’s access methods. And worse…”
He stood, robe flowing behind him as the warmth in the room dropped several degrees.
“…They’ve allied with an Established sect. One that has, at the very least, a meridian expansion realm cultivator among them. No one beneath that level could have killed Wang Fu—not with everything I gave him. Not unless he was ambushed. Surrounded.”
Tu Wei stayed kneeling, mind slowly catching up.
“A sect strong enough to hide their strength,” Shen Linao continued. “Smart enough to erase all traces. And ruthless enough to kill everyone.” A dark chuckle escaped him, humorless and hollow.
“Whoever they are… they are dangerous.”
Shen Linao paused, then let out a long, weary sigh.
“Moreover,” he said quietly, “if I’m right… Wang Fu isn’t the type to go down without using every trick he had. No true cultivator is. Which means... something slipped.” He looked away. “Our secret might already be out—loosened and floating somewhere in the folds of fate. Another power now knows what we’ve been hiding. What we’ve pledged ourselves to.”
He turned back toward Tu Wei, gaze sharp enough to cut bone. “Do you understand how much risk we’re in now?”
Tu Wei’s lips parted, but no words came.
“They’ll go to the Emperor,” Shen Linao continued, voice rising a fraction. “If they haven’t already. A Royal Inquisition will follow. And if even a whisper leaks—just a whisper—about who we serve…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.
Tu Wei’s face drained of all color. “A-Are any of the inquisitors… really that strong, Master?”
Shen Linao’s expression turned grim. “They have domain holders among them. That is strength above anything in this realm. Strength that could flatten this entire sect without lifting a finger. So yes. They’re strong enough to kill every last one of us.”
Tu Wei’s shoulders trembled as he lowered his head again. “Then what… what should we do, Master?”
Shen Linao didn’t respond immediately.
His mind whirred. If the Great Lord caught wind of this failure, he’d be deemed a liability. Burned away without hesitation—just like every other pawn who overstayed their usefulness. And if the Emperor caught wind?
The result would be no different. His choices narrowed. The cost would be immense—but the path to immortality was paved in blood and buried truths.
At last, he spoke.
“I’ll reach out to my contacts in the royal palace. We’ll monitor every whisper, every scroll, every tavern drunk who mutters ‘Blazing Ember’ into a cup. If talk begins to spread, we’ll hear of it.”
Tu Wei nodded stiffly, still pale.
“As for the sect—whoever has taken our rightful reward—they must be found. And when they are…”
His voice dropped, seething. “…we’ll crush them.”
“But… but we don’t know who they are,” Tu Wei said helplessly.
Shen Linao stood tall, power thrumming beneath his robes like a volcano waiting to erupt.
“Then we’ll find out.”
He turned toward the window, where dusk had begun to descend like ink spilled across the sky.
“We’ll activate the [Grand Divination Array]. A full-scale scrying. We’ll find out what happened in that vault… and which sect dares to raise their hand against us.”
His voice echoed with the weight of flame and judgment.
“And once we know…” His fingers curled into a fist. “…we’ll make sure they are burned to the ground, all of them.”
Tu Wei opened his mouth… then closed it again.
He understood. Even with his brute instincts, even with his limited grasp of subtler arts—he understood the price.
Divination wasn’t just some ritual. It was a discipline of cultivation in itself—one that bled qi and burnt lifespan. It meant opening a window through the veil of time and fate, peering into threads that were never meant to be touched.
“We’ll… we’ll need to halve all cultivators in our sect that know any form of divination,” Tu Wei finally said, voice dry in his throat.
“A small price,” Shen Linao replied without hesitation, “to avoid death.”
He turned his back to the disciple, gaze sweeping over the shadowed chamber as if already seeing the flames of war licking at their doorstep.
“They will agree… if I offer them what they all desire—concessions for their families, open access to our inner treasury, and a fast-track to inner sect discipleship for their children. If they refuse…”
He paused. His voice, when it came again, was sharp as glass.
“…then I’ll make them agree.”
There was no outrage. No pause for ethics. The situation was far past that.
“But,” he continued slowly, “at the same time…” His gaze turned, pinning Tu Wei with a spear-sharp intensity. “…you will join the others in searching for the medallion.”
Tu Wei blinked. “The medallion, Master?”
“If we have it,” Shen Linao said, “then we can call upon the Great Lord’s favor. And if he supports us directly… then even if the Empire comes, even if the Heavens descend—we will not fall.”
Tu Wei’s eyes widened. He bowed so low his head scraped the floor. “I will do my best to bring it to you, Master.”
Shen Linao gave a single nod of dismissal. Tu Wei turned and left in hurried steps. The chamber was silent again.
Shen Linao moved toward the window and stood still. Outside, the sky had darkened further—clouds rolling overhead like bruises painted across the heavens.
Was this fate’s punishment? Was it Heaven itself, condemning him for choosing the easy path to immortality? For pledging his soul to something other than the Heavenly Dao?
His lips curled slightly.
Let Heaven try. Let them throw their lightning, their righteous cultivators, their domain-wielding heroes. He would break them all.
Because he was not Wang Fu—destined to die a dog’s death in a stolen vault. He was not another pawn discarded by fate.
He was Shen Linao. Infernal Spear of the Empire. And a future immortal, rising not through virtue—but through fire. And when he stood at the peak, looking down at the righteous path shattered beneath him, he would laugh.
Because in the end… the Heavens never chained those born of flame.
2025-05-21 05:15:40 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 225
The celebrations in Fort Aegis were a sight to behold.
From the moment the gates had opened and the soldiers marched in, it was as if the entire stronghold had transformed into a festival ground. Banners waved from the walls, laughter echoed off stone, and the scent of roasted meats filled the air. But beyond the revelry, there was something more—recognition. Every soldier, no matter their rank, was treated like a king.
At the heart of it all stood Viscount Redmont, flushed with pride and animated by the thrill of survival and victory. He led from the front—not in war, but in reward.
Each of his soldiers received generous gifts: parcels of land, pouches of gold, and gilded weapons. For some, it was the greatest wealth they’d ever touched. And he didn’t stop there. The Church, too, was shown gratitude. A substantial donation was promised, one so generous that Bishop Maurice spent the entire evening grinning like a man who had just found a second sun.
Even Kai’s soldiers, those from Veralt, were not forgotten.
The Viscount offered them weapons, gold, and a standing invitation—should any of their families ever wish to relocate, land and shelter would be waiting. It wasn’t quite as lavish as what he gave his own men, but Kai didn’t mind. Rewarding his people was his responsibility. And he already had plans—plans that would make every one of his soldiers understand that their suffering, their survival, had not gone unnoticed.
Because truly, nothing Kai had experienced—not the fief wars, not even the beast wave—had demanded so much.
Back then, he had been defending. He could choose where to dig in, when to strike. But in the plague lands, they had been the attackers. Every step forward had been a gamble with death. The land itself had turned against them—a single touch could kill. Strategy alone hadn’t kept them alive. Resolve had.
Throughout the celebration, Viscount Redmont barely left his side. The man kept a goblet in one hand and a string of thank-yous in the other, offering his gratitude over and over.
He promised to support Kai at the upcoming assembly. He swore to be his shield in the Sylvan enclave. And, in true noble fashion, he even tried—half-heartedly—to arrange a betrothal between Kai and his daughter.
Kai accepted all of it… except the betrothal.
His polite refusal was met with visible relief from the young lady herself, who looked far more interested in her wine than in the idea of a political marriage.
Thankfully, Knight Cais had taken over the duty of reporting their battle, giving the Viscount a clear picture of what had transpired. Kai had no need to go into details. But he did make one thing clear: Magus Elias had been a key part of their victory.
He didn’t elaborate further—just enough to make sure that credit was given where it was due. That small piece of information—Elias’s involvement—had clearly surprised Viscount Redmont.
He had stilled for a moment, goblet halfway to his lips, his brow lifting in a quiet flicker of disbelief. After all, Elias didn't have the best pv the reputation. It was enough to raise questions, and dangerous ones at that.
But Kai had been prepared. He explained only what was necessary and made one request clear.
“Don’t include it in your reports to the crown,” Kai had said.
The Viscount had hesitated. But only briefly. The look in Ka’s eyes made him understood.
The moment that detail made it into royal hands, someone—some petty noble or power-hungry rival—would twist it into something else entirely. Kai’s position in the kingdom was already balancing on a knife’s edge. Elias helping him could easily be painted as conspiracy. A collusion with a foreign power.
And Kai didn’t need that. Not now.
Redmont had heeded his request. No oaths, no ceremony—just a look and a quiet promise. It was enough.
The Viscount had wanted the celebrations to stretch for days. He had even begun planning contests, feasts, and a formal banquet. But Kaii had no interest in staying.
He had spent too many days stuffed inside enchanted plate armour, too many nights on broken ground, his spell structure always ready in one hand. The music and cheering were pleasant… but they weren’t rest. Not the kind he needed.
So, once everything was settled, he called Killian aside.
“You’re in charge of the men,” Kai said. “Let them enjoy themselves. Get them moving in two days. Return to Veralt.”
Killian’s expression was half-smile, half-concern, but he nodded without question.
And with that, Kai left.
His mana reserves were full now—fuller than ever, thanks to the stabilizing of his new fourth circle. When he took to the skies, his body rose like a shadow drawn into the clouds.
The air was cold, cutting against his face. But it was freedom. Flying had always been a joy, but this time, it was something else too. It was escape.
The wind roared past him, and the world below blurred. He crossed the stretch between Fort Aegis and Veralt in under two hours—a record for him.
When the stone walls of his city came into view, he allowed himself a breath.
A few guards on the ramparts looked up in surprise. One or two even knocked arrows, reacting more out of instinct than sense. But someone must have shouted his name, because the bows dropped before the string was pulled.
He didn’t slow down. He didn’t land at the gates or seek out an Enforcer to get reports. He glided over the rooftops, found his castle, and landed on the balcony outside his room.
The window was unlocked. The maids had been keeping the place clean. He slid it open, stepped inside, and didn’t even bother to take off his boots. His bed was made.
Kai let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and fell forward into the mattress. He didn’t think of Elias, or Redmont, or even the royal court. He didn’t think of assemblies, politics, or the future.
He thought of roots tearing through stone. He thought of poison in the air. He thought of death—narrowly avoided—and the way his men had looked when they saw the sky again.
And then something deeper, quieter, overtook him. It wasn’t fear or guilt.
Just exhaustion.
His breathing slowed. The world dimmed.
And before he knew it, Kai was asleep.
***
Kai woke to soft rays of sunlight spilling through the high windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden light.
He blinked, disoriented for a moment as he stared up at the stone-carved ceiling above his bed, unfamiliar only because it had been so long since he last saw it. A beat passed before he let out a quiet yawn and slowly sat up, pushing the blankets off.
The silence was… pleasant.
No shouting. No marching. No sickness in the air. Just the faint chirping of birds beyond the balcony and the distant hum of the city awakening. He stood and stretched, cracking his shoulders, then stepped toward the bathroom. The basin inside was clean—but, of course, no water had been drawn.
He frowned, then simply raised a hand. A shard of ice formed in his palm. With a flick, he hovered it over the basin and seared it gently with fire mana until it melted into cool, clean water. He splashed it on his face, exhaling at the sensation, and wiped his hands on a nearby towel.
As he patted his face dry, a familiar thought returned. Plumbing.
The lack of it had faded to the background during his recent battles, but now that he was home—standing in a room that should have water on demand—it bothered him more than ever. He’d already made latrine pits standard for the new homes being built in Veralt, but if he truly wanted to modernize the city, plumbing was essential. Running water. Drainage. Heated baths.
Another project to add to the pile.
He shook off the thought for now and made his way to the closet. A fresh tunic and breeches—simple and comfortable—were pulled on quickly. He tied the sleeves, adjusted the cuffs, and ran a hand through his slightly messy hair before stepping toward the door.
The moment he opened it, two maids standing just outside jumped in surprise. Their eyes widened, clearly not expecting anyone—especially him—to be here.
They stared for a second too long before abruptly bowing, heads lowered.
Kai raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “You were here to clean?”
“Yes, my lord,” one of them stammered. “We… we thought you hadn't returned yet.”
“I came yesterday. Is Siton in the office already?”
One maid straightened slightly, still flustered. “Yes, my lord. I just handed him his morning tea.”
“Good,” Kai said, nodding. “Bring some for me too. And… anything to eat with it.”
The maid nodded quickly, giving another hurried bow before retreating toward the kitchens. The other slipped into his room with a quiet apology to begin cleaning. Kai lingered at the door for a moment, watching them both, then gave a faint smile.
Was he really that scary?
It wasn’t like he barked orders or glared at people. But then again… he supposed not many people had real conversations with him. Aside from Claire, he hadn’t connected with any of the staff. And maybe that distance, combined with his status and his magecraft, made him seem like something untouchable.
He had experienced this before.
That quiet fear, the kind that crept into people’s eyes once they realized what he truly was—not a noble, not a man with a sword, but a Mage. Someone who could bend fire and water and air with a thought. Someone who could kill with a flick of his fingers.
Kai didn’t enjoy it, but he had accepted it. It came with the life he chose.
With a small exhale, he brushed the thought aside and made his way down the hall, footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. When he reached the apprentice’s office, he didn’t bother to knock.
He opened the door and stepped in.
Siton, seated behind the desk with a cup of tea in hand, looked up in surprise.
The office was far more chaotic than usual. Papers were stacked high, some teetering at the edge of the desk. Open books were scattered on nearly every flat surface—thick tomes on historical cities, scribbled scrolls of merchant ledgers, maps, letters, and even what looked like a half-finished blueprint for a windmill.
A chipped ink bottle sat next to a cracked quill stand, both smudged with fingerprints, and a Heat Stone that had long lost its glow rested beside an open scroll, half-buried under letters bearing different noble seals.
Despite Francis having left behind five apprentices to manage Veralt’s affairs, Siton bore the brunt of the responsibility. He was Francis’s hand-picked successor, and over time, he had become Kai’s de facto steward when it came to internal affairs.
The moment Siton saw him, he stood quickly, nearly spilling his tea in the process.
“My lord—Lord Arzan. You’re back?”
Kai gave a small nod, stepping inside. “Yes. I returned last night. You probably didn’t hear since I went straight to my chambers.”
“I hadn’t the faintest idea,” Siton said, bowing properly this time. “Just yesterday I sent an envoy to Fort Aegis. I was worried about the expedition. We hadn’t received any official news.”
Kai snorted faintly, moving to take the seat across from him. “Then your envoy will arrive just in time to find a celebration—and probably get drunk.”
Siton blinked. “A celebration?”
“The treant is dead. The plague is purged. We took casualties, but fewer than I expected. We won.”
Siton’s expression softened into a smile, genuine and tired. “That’s… that’s truly wonderful news, Lord Arzan. A blessing on the city.”
Kai leaned back slightly in the chair. “Yes. But I need to know—how did things go here while I was away? I’d like a full report.”
Siton straightened again, already moving toward the stack on his left. “Of course. Give me a moment.”
And for the next hour, the apprentice delivered.
He moved through categories—economic reports, showing the gold flow from trade routes and recent taxes collected; infrastructure updates, including the progress on the new housing district and the expansion of the southern wall; recruitment numbers, listing every Mage and Enforcer discovered in the nearby villages and towns, along with their affinity, status, and whether they had accepted Veralt’s offer of employment or chosen to remain independent.
Kai listened carefully, occasionally taking scrolls into his hand and skimming them. Numbers flowed easily through his mind. But he didn’t just listen for facts—he listened for gaps, hesitations, things that might have been missed.
And so far, Siton hadn’t disappointed.
Midway through the reports, there was a soft knock, and the door creaked open.
One of the maids stepped in, carefully balancing a silver tray. A steaming cup of tea, still swirling with heat, rested beside a small plate stacked with round, crisp butter cookies dusted with crushed nuts.
Kai gave her a small nod as she set it down on the side of the desk. Without a word, she bowed and backed out, the door clicking shut behind her. Kai took the cup with one hand and flipped another page with the other, sipping slowly as he scanned the financials.
Everything was here—clearly documented, down to the last copper spent on ink and parchment. Construction projects, trade taxes, grain stock levels, Mage commissions. The sheer thoroughness would have made most lords dizzy, but Kai appreciated it.
A few entries caught his eye.
One detailed a guard rotation system recently established to monitor the sewers which was hopefully going to keep the assassins out of the city.
Another file outlined the construction of a theatre in the town’s central square. An “entertainment initiative,” it said—one he vaguely remembered agreeing to in a moment of fatigue, more to keep some of the more restless Mages content.
And apparently, it had worked. Several Mages were now personally involved in shaping the structure with earth magic, their enchantments helping speed along the frame and seating.
Every time Kai turned a page, he could feel Siton watching him. Not obviously, but with the subtle glances of a man trying not to look too eager—eyebrows raising here, shifting in his seat there, as though trying to guess which part Kai was reading.
Eventually, Kai chuckled and set the documents down.
“I feel like I’m being watched more than the reports,” he said, giving Siton a faint smile. “Relax. Everything looks good. You’re doing a fine job in Francis’s absence.”
Siton let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shoulders loosening. “Thank you, my lord. He taught me well.”
“He did,” Kai agreed, sipping his tea. “I would’ve liked him here, but Veyrin needed stabilizing, and there’s no one better for the job. Still, you’re holding up well—and for that, I’m giving you a task.”
The apprentice straightened up, posture instantly attentive. “What kind of task, Lord Arzan?”
Kai leaned forward, setting his cup aside.
“I need the full machinery of my territory—Watchers, Enforcers, Mages, even the village chiefs. Everyone available.”
Siton blinked. “To do what, exactly?”
Kai didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for a blank piece of parchment, pulled a quill from the inkpot, and began to draw.
A peak, sharp and jagged, surrounded by smaller mountains. A winding path leading up. Then, at the summit, a tower—tall, narrow, piercing through clouds. He sketched the curve of the land around it, adding marks that would help in locating it. The image came naturally—burned into his mind ever since he had first seen it floating in the center of his astral realm.
When he finished the rough map, he slid it across the desk.
“I need to find this,” Kai said softly. “It’s not on any of our current maps. It may be hidden. But I want eyes on anything that even resembles this place. It might not even be in Lancephil, but we need to find the tower.”
Siton stared at the drawing, eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line.
“I’ll begin immediately but I’ve never seen a tower like this before,” he said. “And I’ve traveled quite a bit before coming here to serve my apprenticeship. If this exists in Lancephil… it’s not near any of the common landmarks.”
Kai’s frown deepened. “That’s what I feared. It might not be in the kingdom at all. That’s why I want everyone—especially the Watchers—looking for it. Make copies. Quietly distribute it. Have them check every report, every old ruin or isolated peak in every border region.”
Siton nodded. “I’ll handle it personally.”
“Good.”
There was a moment of silence before Siton glanced up again. “Anything else, Lord Arzan?”
Kai paused to think, rolling his shoulders slightly. The warmth from the tea still lingered in his hands, but already his mind was shifting to the next steps.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I’ll be taking it easy for a few days. The plague lands drained me more than I’d like to admit. But once I recover, things are going to move fast.”
Siton gave a sympathetic nod.
“Send an envoy to Fort Aegis. I spoke with Viscount Redmont—he’s agreed to let us have a permanent presence there. I want one of our own stationed at all times.”
The apprentice tilted his head slightly. “You think there’s more to be done in the plague lands?”
Kai nodded. “The plague’s been stopped. But the land is still dead. I don’t plan to claim it, but we can’t just leave it either. I want every weaver and fiend still hiding in those lands purged. Redmont’s agreed to assist if we agree to supply his men with more of our armour.”
“I see,” Siton said. “We’ll need to work fast then.”
“I know,” Kai replied. He rubbed his temple. “I’ll need to speak to Amyra about it too. If you see her, tell her I’m back and to come see me.”
Siton blinked, a flicker of surprise in his expression. “She can help?”
Kai could see the confusion there—unsurprising. He hadn’t exactly advertised what Amyra was. What she could do.
“She’s one of my apprentices,” Kai said simply. “And I’d like her involved. I’ll be busy… and need to teach her about these things.” Kai stood up and stepped toward the door. “Either way, I’ll leave you to it. And make sure I have an answer on that tower’s location as soon as possible.”
Siton nodded. “Will do, Lord Arzan.”
***
Ansel sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the towering stacks of paper in front of him. Then, with a slow turn of his head, he glanced at the other table across the room—also full. Reports, letters, scraps of coded messages, intercepted notes. He had been working through them for hours now, maybe days, and the pile never seemed to shrink.
He wasn’t surprised. They’d expanded fast. Too fast, maybe.
With the assembly approaching, the political game had intensified, and he'd responded in kind—recruiting new Watchers, spreading them like seeds into noble houses across the kingdom. Most of them had been deployed using Malden’s merchant network. And now, all those little seeds were bearing fruit. Every single Watcher was sending something back—gossip, troop movements, rivalries, trade shifts, family tensions. The flow of information was relentless.
And with the druidic magic embedded into their system—courier birds trained with nature-binding spells—Ansel was almost certain the Watchers were the fastest intelligence network in the kingdom. Possibly even the world.
But that also meant he had to read it all.
Well, not all—his assistants helped sort it. They skimmed the obvious clutter, categorized the useful, and passed on anything truly important or delicate to him. Still, even the filtered pieces came by the hundreds.
And he was tired.
Burnt out.
He wasn’t made for desk work. He was a field operator, a wildsman, trained to move like a ghost through trees, not to sift through scandals and blackmail material in a quiet chamber that smelled like parchment and ink. But he also understood one thing clearly.
The Head of the Watchers couldn’t afford to disappear into the field anymore. Not when Lord Arzan needed him close. Not when too many eyes were watching. Not when any misstep could tip the scale.
And Ansel had agreed to that. So he kept his mouth shut and kept reading.
He picked up another paper from the stack—this one regarding a minor count from the southern territories whose daughter had apparently run off with a commoner. Some details about how it could be turned into leverage were underlined in red.
He exhaled again, lifting the parchment—when a knock at the door made him pause.
“Come in,” he called, already expecting more work.
The door creaked open and one of his assistants stepped in.
Tlara, the red-haired hire from Veridis stepped forward with a piece of folded parchment in hand. “This just came in.”
Ansel frowned, rubbing the lines on his forehead.
“Tiara,” he muttered without looking up, “I need to get through this stack before I look at anything else. We’re already behind on northern noble reports and the merchant unions.”
“I know,” she said. “But this came from Lord Arzan himself.”
That made him pause. He glanced up, brow creasing.
“He wants us to locate a tower. As soon as possible.”
“A tower?” Ansel repeated.
He had already known Lord Arzan was back—his men had seen the Count fly overhead the night before and sent word before dawn. But a tower search? The request didn’t make sense. Not with everything else going on.
Still, he didn’t question it. Lord Arzan’s intentions were often layered, and Ansel had learned long ago not to dig too deep unless asked.
Wordlessly, he held out a hand. The girl passed the paper to him. The moment Ansel’s eyes landed on the drawing, he froze. It wasn’t the tower that hit him—not at first. It was the peaks. Jagged, narrow, drawn with the kind of precision that only someone who had seen them could manage.
He had seen them too. Many times. His grip tightened on the paper as his throat dried. Slowly, he looked up.
“You’re sure this came from him?” he asked, voice quieter now.
She nodded. “Yes. Is something wrong?”
Ansel didn’t answer immediately. He looked back down at the sketch, his heart thudding harder than it should’ve. He didn’t recognize the tower, no—but those mountains? That curve of ridge, the split valley, the forked path winding up through the stone?
He had walked those trails. Camped in their shadows. He could still feel the burning wind. The heat. The dust in his throat.
He stared at it for a few seconds longer, then finally whispered:
“This is the Ashari Desert.”
The words felt heavier than they should have.
“My home.”
2025-05-21 05:11:38 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 116
Wang Jun looked at the medallion as if it were the secret of immortality itself. And by the way he had called it the key to the Gate of Immortals, that might just be the case.
Questions burned through Chen Ren’s mind as he waited in silence, watching Wang Jun examine the object with an intensity that made even the air feel heavier. He glanced at Anji and Yalan—both of them equally absorbed, their eyes fixed on the medallion. Whatever this thing truly was, they all wanted answers.
He’d heard of the Gate of Immortals before back from Gu Tian and the spectre. But no one ever explained what it actually did. Was it a gate to the heavens? A trial that only immortals could pass through? Or was it something more?
Chen Ren’s curiosity itched at him, made him want to urge Wang Jun to speak—but he forced himself to wait still, swirling his qi in his dantian to keep his mind calm. Finally, the head let out a dry, rattling laugh, his golden eyes strangely gleeful. He nearly toppled from his perch with the force of it.
“Ah, the heavens have their own games. I never would have thought I’d wake to find myself face-to-face with an inheritor of the key to the Gate of Immortals.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed. “So… it really is a key to it?”
Wang Jun sobered slightly, glancing up at him. “I can’t say for sure. I don’t understand the writing on the back.”
Yalan frowned, her whiskers twitching. “Then why say it’s the key if you can’t even read it?”
“Because,” Wang Jun said, voice tinged with a grim certainty. “Even if I can’t read it, I recognize the script. And the metal it’s made of. That’s more than enough to confirm it.”
Chen Ren leaned forward. “What kind of metal?”
Wang Jun lowered his gaze again, staring at the medallion as if seeing something ancient and long buried. “Soulsteel. A metal forged by infusing parts of the dantian of domain manifestation cultivators into an alloy.” He lifted his gaze again, hollow eyes gleaming. “Don’t ask me how it’s made. It was an ancient practice… a dangerous one. But I’ve only ever heard of one thing that used this script and soulsteel together.”
Chen Ren glanced at the medallion again.
Made from a dantian? The thought made his stomach twist. He had been carrying that thing around for months—tucked in pockets, hung around his neck at times—never realizing it might’ve once been part of someone’s core.
Still, he pushed the image aside and turned his attention back to Wang Jun, who, as always, had more to say.
“Since you all look both curious and disgusted,” Wang Jun drawled, eyes glinting, “let me explain. It’s not as bad as you think.” His eyes shifted slightly, the faintest rattle in his voice as he continued. “Back then, there was a battle called the War of the Immortals. A catastrophic era where countless cultivators perished. In the face of such destruction, some chose to offer up their bodies after death—to have their remains forged into weapons or tools. It was a way to continue protecting their sects even after death.”
He paused, letting the weight of that sink in before adding, “As you should know, cultivators at higher realms—especially those who’ve stepped into domain manifestation—are unique. Their blood, their bones, their very dantian… all of it holds tremendous value. And so, metals like soulsteel came to be.”
Anji wrinkled her nose. “That still sounds like something demonic cultivators would do.”
Wang Jun gave a creaky laugh, his eyes cold and clear. “In war, there’s no righteous path. No taboos. Only what leads to victory. If you want to make a name for yourself in the wider world—no matter how weak it’s become from what I’ve heard—you’d better understand that.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly. As distasteful as it sounded, there was logic in it. It reminded him of the war Qing He had once mentioned—the one against the Devourers, a conflict so devastating that it reshaped the world entirely. Was that the same war? he wondered. The War of the Immortals?
He filed the thought away for later and brought his focus back to the medallion.
“What about the script?” he asked. “And how can you be so sure it’s a key just from that and the metal?”
Wang Jun snorted, as if insulted. “Heaven’s Script isn’t used for anything mundane. That writing is reserved for the divine—gates, seals, trials, inheritances, things crafted by cultivators who stood at the edge of godhood.”
His voice lowered. “You don’t write in Heaven’s Script unless you want the heavens to notice.”
Wang Jun didn’t stop there. His tone grew sharper, more intense, as if he was lecturing a group of stubborn disciples. “It’s not just a script. Do not even think of it as such,” he said. “It’s a language of the heavens. Every word carries power—so much so that even inscribing it can leave the writer vulnerable. And the metal it’s carved into—Soulsteel—isn’t something used for everyday trinkets.”
He gestured toward the medallion with a slight tilt of his head. “When you combine Heaven’s Script with soulsteel, there are only a few possibilities. And more than that—this wasn’t just legend. During my formative years, tales of the keys to the Gate of Immortals were common. Spoken like myth, yes, but known well enough that the powerful coveted them. If people are coming after you, calling it that... then it likely is that. And you just can bind it to you to confirm it.”
Chen Ren leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing. “So there’s a way to confirm it?”
“There is,” Wang Jun said with a crooked grin. “And it’s fairly simple.”
Yalan folded her paws and cleared her throat loudly. They all turned to her and she asked one question: “How?”
Wang Jun turned to her. “From what I remember, each of these medallions was meant to be bound to a guardian. Someone chosen to protect it until the time came to use it. The binding was done by blood.”
Chen Ren stilled.
Wang Jun continued. “Since you inherited it, I’d wager someone in your bloodline was that guardian. Or—” His tone turned sly— “your ancestor took it from whoever it was bound to and ended up binding it to himself.”
Chen Ren's gaze flicked to Yalan for a heartbeat before returning to the medallion. His mind spun. Could someone in Chen Ren”s family have fought in the War of Immortals? It seemed possible. This thing had been passed down for generations. But if it was truly so important… Why had his family let him take it when he was exiled? Had they forgotten what it was? Or had the truth been deliberately hidden—to prevent future descendants from ever trying to use it?
The more he thought about it, the more plausible that sounded. Not forgotten… erased.
Still, he hesitated. The idea of binding it by blood unsettled him. It felt like stepping deeper into something far larger than he could yet grasp. But at the same time, knowing more might save him later. If this really was what Wang Jun claimed it to be, then others—especially demonic cultivators like Gu Tian—would certainly come for it.
And even if the medallion’s purpose remained unclear, the value of soulsteel alone—refined from the dantian of a domain manifestation cultivator—seemed staggering. Chen Ren stared at the medallion, a quiet weight pressing on his chest.
To bind… or not?
But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized something vital—binding the medallion to himself would mean little if he didn’t even understand what the Gate of Immortals truly was. Without that knowledge, it was just an ominous relic wrapped in mystery and danger.
He opened his mouth to ask—but Yalan beat him to it.
“What is the Gate of Immortals anyway?” she asked. “In all my hundreds of years, I’ve never heard of it until recently.”
Wang Jun scoffed, as if she’d asked whether the sky was real.
“Obviously you haven’t,” he said. “This thing is thousands of years old. Even in my time, few had ever heard of it. And only after I reached the pinnacle of cultivation did I find the first real evidence of it. It's very likely that whatever knowledge once existed was either erased—forcefully—or sealed away using some kind of technique. Only scraps of records remained.”
He paused, letting the weight of that settle in.
“Either way, to answer your question…” He looked at them sheepishly. “I don’t actually know.”
Chen Ren stared at him. Hard.
For a long moment, he genuinely considered punting Wang Jun across the room. But the man only met his glare with a raised brow.
“Don’t give me that look,” Wang Jun said flatly. “It’s not like I’ve seen the Gate myself. I only know fragments. And I wasn’t even sure what they referred to until you showed me that medallion.”
Chen Ren exhaled, annoyed but not surprised. “Then tell me the fragments. Any knowledge is better than none.”
For once, Wang Jun went quiet. His gaze drifted downward, like he was searching through his memories as the seconds dragged. Chen Ren folded his arms, impatience growing.
This man babbled endlessly in the carriage about minor things like the type of spirit grass used in an emperor’s burial incense, but now, when it was something that actually mattered, he was silent?
And the silence continued for a little longer. He was about to butt in when Wang Jun stirred.
“Ah. Yeah. I remembered,” he said, voice a bit lighter now. “Took some time—I was just filtering out all the nonsense. When I found the records, I found a lot of theories. Wild speculation. Lies. Guesswork.”
He looked back up, eyes gleaming. “But what I focused on was what exactly the Gate of Immortals is a gate to.”
Wang Jun let out a breath and settled into his usual lecturing tone. “Like its name suggests, many believe it’s a gate to the heavens. A place where cultivators who reached the peak of immortality dwell. Open it, and you get to join them.” He snorted. “Bullshit.”
Anji blinked. “Why?”
“Obviously,” Wang Jun said, rolling his eyes as much as a severed head could, “the heavens aren’t handing out immortality passes through some door. That goes against everything we know. If immortality was just one gate away, half the continent would be camped outside it by now.”
Chen Ren couldn’t argue with that.
“The second theory,” Wang Jun continued, “is more grounded. Some believe the gate isn’t a gate to heaven, but a lock—one that guards the secret inheritance of a cultivator who reached the transcendent realm. A realm that’s known to be the peak of immortality.”
That made Yalan and even Anji pause.
“But again,” Wang Jun said with a shrug, “that theory has holes. If there was truly an inheritance behind it, why didn’t the people who held the key take it for themselves? Why pass it down? Why hide it?”
There was a brief silence. And then the floodgates opened. Wang Jun launched into theory after theory—some mystical, others absurd, a few disturbing. One involved a portal to another plane. Another insisted the gate was a prison, holding in something terrible. There was even a theory that the gate didn’t lead anywhere—that it was a test by the heavens to see who was foolish enough to seek it.
By the end of it, Chen Ren felt like his brain had been turned into soup.
He slumped back, rubbing his temples as Wang Jun finally fell silent. Despite how exhausting it was, he could tell that Wang Jun had spent years, maybe even centuries, thinking about this. Obsessing over it.
And yet, for all the wild speculation, none of the theories sat right with Chen Ren. Not one of them mentioned the Devourers.
His instincts whispered that it had to be connected. After all, the golden dragon that lived within him—one that had been injured fighting the Devourers—had only recently stirred. And now, at the same time, a demonic cultivator had come for the medallion… the same medallion tied to the Gate of Immortals.
Coincidence? He didn’t think so. He leaned forward again, eyes narrowing and decided to ask the question he had to.
“Do you know anything about the Devourers?”
At Chen Ren’s question, Wang Jun tilted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he hadn’t understood.
“Devourers?” he echoed. “Is that some kind of beast?”
Chen Ren leaned forward, his expression sharpening. “You’ve never heard of them? Nothing at all? I thought they fought in this war you talked about.”
Wang Jun gave a jerky shake, which looked more like his body trying to twitch rather than an actual nod. “No. The records of the War of the Immortals are nearly nonexistent. Most theories say it was just cultivators fighting each other—sect wars on a divine scale. But there's no proof, no names, no enemy known by that title. If the Devourers were part of it… I wouldn’t know.” He paused, then added, “The only reason I even know about soulsteel is because I saw it once. In a ruined clan estate long abandoned and buried under ash. That’s how I recognized the metal in your medallion.”
Chen Ren nodded slowly, trying to suppress the disappointment curling in his chest. He’d hoped for at least a hint, anything to tell him what those beings were. But this led to nothing.
And then Yalan, frowning, said what he had been thinking all along.
“Even with everything you’ve told us… it doesn’t explain who made the Gate of Immortals. Or its keys. It’s clearly manmade. Someone forged it.”
Wang Jun growled, his face twisting. “How should I know? It’s not like I was there watching them hammer the damn thing.” He let out a sharp breath before continuing, voice lower but more focused. “But what I do know is this. There are keys. Plural. Many of them. Each one is necessary. They must be brought together to unlock the gate. That much I’m certain of.”
He pointed—well, looked—at the medallion. “And the existence of that proves it.”
Chen Ren and Yalan exchanged a look.
That opened a flood of questions—questions they couldn’t hold back anymore. Where was the gate? Has anyone ever tried to gather the keys? What would happen if they were all brought together? How many were there? Did any sects or empires still hold them?
But by the time they ran out of breath, it became obvious.
Wang Jun’s knowledge was limited—frustratingly so.
And the more Chen Ren looked at him, the more he wondered if that knowledge had once been whole. Maybe Wang Jun had known more. Maybe, over time, through whatever rituals or madness had kept him alive, pieces of his memory had faded.
It was entirely plausible. After all, surviving for centuries as a disembodied head couldn’t have come without a cost.
In the end, Wang Jun just sighed, his voice rasping with impatience. “If you really want to know more… why don’t you just bind the damn medallion to yourself?”
His eyes locked onto Chen Ren as he spoke, as if daring him to back down.
Chen Ren raised a brow. “How?”
Wang Jun grumbled. “I would love to meet your clan’s patriarch. Sitting on a treasure like that and not knowing how to use it—what a waste.”
He shook his head, or tried to. “It’s simple. Cut your finger and drop some blood onto it. If it’s what I think it is, your qi will flow into it and bind it to you. At least, that’s how it should go. Some artifacts are soul-bound. But I doubt you want to cleave off a piece of your soul. We can try that if this doesn’t work.”
Chen Ren gave a dry laugh. “Let’s… hope it works with just blood.”
He glanced at Yalan, who gave him a firm nod. Her eyes, always sharp, held the same thought he’d been pushing down—It’s time. No more running from it.
With a slow breath, he pulled a small knife from his spatial ring and held it against his thumb.
And hesitated. Sigh.
He already had too much on his plate. From getting his pill production system stabilized so he could finally enter the immortal market, to testing his firearms against the winter beasts, to strengthening his sect before the Blazing Ember Sect inevitably came knocking for revenge—every path ahead of him was already lined with thorns.
Binding this medallion would only add to it all.
But that wasn’t the real reason he hesitated.
The real reason… was hope.
A sliver of him still hoped he wasn’t involved in something so much bigger. That maybe Gu Tian was wrong. That maybe the medallion wasn’t a key, and he was just some unlucky bystander caught in someone else’s war. But if the gate truly needed all the keys—then Chen Ren wasn’t a bystander.
He was one of them.
And Gu Tian hadn’t come for him by chance.
With a quiet breath, he pushed the knife forward, slicing a shallow line across his thumb. Blood welled up, bright and hot, and he let a drop fall onto the surface of the medallion.
For a long moment, nothing happened and hope built up that it was really just an ordinary medallion.Then—
A strange, almost electric sensation pulsed through his body. Not painful… but deep. As if something unseen had just threaded itself through his very core. Chen Ren’s eyes widened as he felt it.
Like a distant hum awakening inside of him. Like he was suddenly part of a whole. Chen Ren’s breath caught as the pulse of qi intensified—then, without warning, his vision swam.
The chamber vanished.
The walls, Wang Jun, Yalan and Anji—all dissolved into light, and in the next heartbeat, he was floating. Suspended in a sky that didn’t belong to any world he knew. Vast and endless, painted in shades of gold and gray, qi surged through the air like rivers of light, flowing around him in tidal waves of pressure and raw power.
It should’ve crushed him. It almost did. His spiritual sea buckled under the weight, his dantian screaming with the strain—but somehow, he held on and watched.
Before him floated a gate.
The Gate of Immortals.
Massive and ancient, towering higher than any mountain he had ever seen. Its surface shimmered with divine metal, runes glowing faintly along its outer frame. Qi curled around it in spirals, reverent and endless, as though the heavens themselves circled it in worship.
And then he saw them.
Engraved across the top of the gate were four majestic beasts.
A phoenix, wings half-spread in eternal flame.
A white tiger, muscles coiled, fangs bared in defiance.
A black turtle, calm and unmoving, its shell etched with mountains and rivers.
And at the center—looming, regal, unchallenged—The golden dragon.
Its body curled around the arch of the gate, coiled in celestial might, and as Chen Ren stared, breathless—Its eyes opened. Not a glow. Not an illusion. The dragon looked at him. Right at him, as if it was peeking into his soul.
And at that moment, Chen Ren understood.
Everything he had experienced so far—every conversation, every fight, every clue about the devourers, the medallion, the dragon inside him—Had only been the beginning.
2025-05-19 05:57:51 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 224
Amara tried her best to calm her nerves as her gaze trailed to the tall arched window.
The view from her chambers overlooked the eastern gardens, their neat lines dotted with frost from the early morning chill. She watched as a few leaves danced on the wind, they were fragile and bore no weight, unlike the heaviness that rested on her shoulders.
She almost wished she could return to her past life—where there was only quiet, hidden beneath layers and layers of royal silk, fake smiles and silence. A life where her words meant nothing, where she was just another pawn in the court, tucked behind her mother’s overbearing presence.
Even if she had been stifling, it had been safe. She didn’t have to think about political ripples or noble alliances or the weight of representing someone else’s cause.
But now… the moment she stepped through that door, everything would change.
A new life awaited her—one where she would stand not just as a princess, but as a voice for a faction that could shift the very structure of the kingdom. One tied to Count Arzan. One she believed might do good, might bring balance… but whose consequences she couldn’t fully foresee.
Being healthy again, truly healthy, came with its own cost. She had prayed for strength, and now that it had come, so had responsibility. Arzan had asked this of her, and she had accepted without hesitation.
But acceptance didn't mean she would be at ease. Still, she had made her choice and she would see it through, without complaint.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft, familiar voice of Anya. “Princess, you’ll do well.”
Amara turned from the window, offering a small smile. “I hope so,” she said just above a whisper. “But it won’t be as simple as looking nice and smiling while making small talk. I’ll have to be persuasive. At least half of the nobles inside need to shift their support to Count Arzan. And nobles… nobles are fickle.”
Anya chuckled softly, stepping towards her. She ran a hand over her dress. “It will be okay, Princess. You have the list the Watchers handed over two days ago.”
Amara nodded.
“I read through it,” she said. “It was beyond helpful. Most of the confidence I have—if I have any at all—comes from that list.”
She didn’t say it aloud, but the truth amazed her. The level of detail Count Arzan’s Watchers had managed to gather in such a short time was frightening.
Information networks weren’t uncommon in Lancephil. The thief guilds, merchant rings, and even a few royal intelligence branches all had their own channels. But none of them came close to this. None were as thorough… or as quietly precise.
The list she had received was a map. A breakdown of each noble expected to attend the gathering—old families with deep ties to the beginning of the kingdom itself, tangled in politics and tradition, and newer ones, born from coin or blood spilled in war. Some had only gained their titles in the last two decades, still finding their footing within the aristocracy.
The older ones were unlikely to be swayed. Many of them had long-standing connections to one of the three princely factions, and those ties ran deep—through marriage, mentorship, or shared enemies. Shaking their loyalty would take more than clever words. It would take a shift in the very balance of power.
But the newer nobles? The ones still scrambling for favor, recognition, and stable land? They were her true targets. Yet even they wouldn’t fall into her arms easily. Backing the wrong person—especially someone like Count Arzan—was a gamble. A wrong step here could freeze their family’s rise for generations. Amara knew that. And it made her role even more important. She had to make them believe they weren’t gambling at all. That they were choosing wisely. That they were backing the future.
She had already convinced one. Baron Renlod, once a merchant, now land-holding noble with growing influence. A few hints about trade routes being planned by the crown, promises about future infrastructure projects—just enough to catch his interest. She hadn’t promised anything, of course. But the man had bitten down on the bait, and now, he was hers.
Even now, she stood in his mansion.
Beyond the tall doors of the drawing hall, she could hear the vibration of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. The sound of nobility mingling, of wine being poured and alliances being tested. Knights, heirs and and daughters of noble houses—many of whom had accepted her invitation out of curiosity alone.
There was a mercantile saying she had once overheard in the market as a child, listening from the back of her carriage, If you can sell one product, you can sell a hundred.
Amara straightened her shoulders, knowing she had to embody that saying today.
“I’m ready,” she said softly.
Anya gave her a quick nod and stepped forward to go ahead. Amara remained still, listening to the muffled sounds beyond the door until a moment later, the steward’s voice rang clearly through the chamber.
“Her Highness, Princess Amara Lancephil, enters now.”
With that, the heavy doors swung open.
Light spilled across her face, the warmth of the chandelier bathing her as dozens of eyes turned to greet her.
And with her next step, the campaign began.
She walked in with grace—measured, elegant, exactly as she had been taught since childhood. Her smile was calm, not too cheerful but not distant either. Just enough to seem warm. Just enough to seem confident.
The room quieted as her presence settled in, and every eye turned to her.
She caught a few whispers at the edge of her hearing, light murmurs passed between fans and flutes of wine. Some nobles tilted their heads, examining her with faint curiosity, as if trying to confirm with their own eyes the whispers about her recovery. After all, the sickly princess had rarely stepped foot into social gatherings.
But she didn’t react. She didn’t let her gaze flick toward them or falter. Instead, she kept walking toward the center table, where the hosts and the main guest were gathered—heads of noble houses, and wives draped in finery.
She gave a graceful nod to the bowing nobles and knights as she passed, the murmurs growing quiet under her calm presence, before finally stopping at the main table.
Her eyes met the gaze of a wide man with thick fingers and a jewel-studded chain of office across his chest—Baron Renlod, the merchant-turned-noble who had opened his doors to her cause.
“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Baron Renlod,” Amara said with a polite smile. “This ball is quite splendid.”
Baron Renlod puffed his chest and gave a quick bow. “The pleasure is ours, Princess. That you have graced our hall tonight... many didn’t believe me when I said it would happen.”
He cast a pointed glance around the table, where three men and two women stood, all finely dressed and clearly measuring her with cautious eyes.
One of the men leaned forward. He was younger than the rest, with a curled mustache that seemed too large for his face and an easy smile that he wore like armor.
“Ah, Renlod, don’t be like that,” the man said with a chuckle. “For once, I believed you and came just to see the Princess. You’re harder to catch a glimpse of than the princes themselves.” He raised his glass slightly. “But I’ll say this—the rumours of your beauty are well spoken.”
Amara smiled, unbothered. She knew full well there had never been such rumours. That was pure flattery. But flattery was a tool—one she had learned to accept with a mask of grace.
She let her eyes linger on the man thoughtfully, recalling the information she had memorized. Then, with a polite dip of her head, she spoke.
“You must be Lord Marcellin of House Faenlor. I’ve heard your family’s sons are becoming exemplary royal knights. They've been doing well—consistently among the top ranks in the evaluations.”
The man blinked, visibly surprised. “The Princess knows my name… and my family?” He straightened, pride blooming on his face. “It’s truly an honour.”
Amara’s smile held steady. “I keep track of every man I believe could become a pillar of the kingdom’s future.”
His smile grew wider, and Baron Renlod gave her a small, approving nod from the side. She had done well.
Since the moment she stepped into the hall, negotiations had already begun—even if her guests didn’t know it.
They might have guessed she wasn’t just here for idle conversation, but most probably assumed she was gathering support for her brother. That she was here to gently bolster the first prince’s presence through charm and grace.
They were wrong. Utterly.
She wasn’t here for her brother. She was here for Count Arzan—and no one had noticed yet.
After a few more carefully guided exchanges at the main table, Amara rose with poise, followed closely by Baron Renlod and Anya. She moved through the crowd with purpose, ensuring to greet every noble who had accepted her invitation.
They should’ve come to her. That was tradition. Nobles greeted royalty, not the other way around. But Amara walked—calmly, deliberately—to each knot of conversation, offering a greeting first, a nod, a small smile. Not forced. Not overly polished. Just enough to show they were seen.
And they didn’t know what to do with it.
Men who had barely been acknowledged at court blinked at her approach, stumbling over their own names in surprise. A few of the women stiffened at first, caught off guard by her presence at their side, only to relax the moment Amara gently praised a daughter’s flute recital or mentioned a nephew’s recent promotion.
She didn’t need to look down at a scroll. She already knew. Names, estates, old feuds, small wins. It was all etched into her memory, given to her by the Watchers and polished through repetition.
“You must be Baron Halric,” she said at one point to a thin man with a sharp nose. “I’ve heard the irrigation plans you funded near the Greystone fields helped reduce the seasonal flooding. Practical work. Nobles like you are very needed in the kingdom.”
The man stared at her, caught between awe and suspicion, then finally muttered, “Didn’t think anyone outside the village even noticed.”
“I did,” she said simply, and moved on.
Another, a grizzled matriarch in a dress too big for her, raised an eyebrow when Amara complimented her family's hunting buisness. “They say you were ill,” the woman said. “I almost didn’t come.”
“I was,” Amara answered. “But I’m not anymore. And I’m glad you did.”
That softened her. Just a little. And slowly, it spread.
Amara noticed it not in applause or cheers, but in the shift of body language—nobles leaning in closer as she passed, glancing at each other when she left. Murmured thanks. A few of them even followed her to the next conversation, eager to stay in her light.
It wasn’t just the names she knew. It was the listening.
Every time someone mentioned a concern—a poor harvest, a delayed title confirmation, a tax they couldn’t argue—she never cut in. She let them speak. Then, once the problem lay open, she placed a hand lightly on their arm, nodded, and said the same quiet phrase.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Not a solution. Not a guarantee. Just a word of hope wrapped in royal silk. And it worked.
It worked so well that halfway through the evening, while smiling at a young knight and praising his sword form, Amara caught her reflection in a polished wine pitcher—and didn’t quite recognize the woman she saw.
She was negotiating. Persuading. Making calculated promises she might never fulfill. Not lies—no, she would try—but not truths either. And they were eating it up.
I feel like a politician, she thought suddenly, and the realization almost made her laugh. She, who once couldn’t hold a conversation without retreating to her books, was now charming half a hall into loyalty they hadn’t planned to give.
She straightened her shoulders and reminded herself: this wasn’t about her. This was for Arzan.
If she failed to build his support, he would be vulnerable. Even with the rumors of her father’s favor toward the count, she couldn’t afford to trust them. The King had not been present in her life—or in the kingdom’s—for a long time. She had no one else to rely on.
By the time the dancing began and strings filled the hall with warm, sweeping music, Amara had already counted six nobles who had quietly leaned toward Baron Renlod and whispered that they’d like to “discuss future possibilities.” Four more had left her side smiling, with eyes brighter than when they arrived.
There would be more work. More events. A few more balls, quiet meetings, and veiled conversations before any open support could be gathered. But the foundation had been laid.
As she stood near the edge of the ballroom, watching the dancers twirl beneath the glow of chandeliers, a thought crept in. What will his face look like… when he finds out I did this for him?
Would he smile? Thank her?
Would he finally see her not just as a sheltered princess… but as something more?
A friend, she thought. And then, before she could stop herself, Maybe something more than that.
She felt her cheeks warm. And she hoped—truly hoped—that when that day came, he would see her clearly. The way no one else ever had.
***
The conversation with Elias had gone on far longer than Kai had expected.
What began as a quiet discussion beneath the cold stars had stretched deep into the night, turning from cautious probing to grim revelations.
It turned out the old Magus hadn’t been entirely blind. He had known of the prophecy—at least parts of it. Whispers passed down through broken records and ancient families. But like many scholars of his age, Elias had never taken it seriously. To him, it had always seemed like a myth, a cautionary tale to spice up dusty history scrolls.
As for Maleficia—he had heard the name. A threat, perhaps, but never one that warranted true concern. That changed after the conversation.
Kai told him enough to paint the shape of what was coming—not in full detail, but enough for Elias to understand that what lay ahead wouldn’t just threaten their kingdoms. It would engulf the entire world.
And by the end of it, Elias was no longer skeptical. The oath, however, was another beast entirely. It took hours.
Kai had to make sure every word was in place, every clause ironclad. It was a shield for Amyra’s existence. He layered the oath with intent, with language that bound Elias not just to silence, but to protection. The old Magus couldn’t reveal her, nor allow others to discover her by neglect. He couldn’t act in ways that endangered her, even indirectly.
On top of that, Elias had to agree to a fifth-circle spell—[Sandstorm]—to be cast across the land when they began their reclamation efforts.
The spell would blanket the area in obscuring grit, saturating the air with mana particles that would scramble divinations and blind scouts. No spy would get close. And even if they tried, Elias would be there, stationed nearby with the authority and power to intercept.
When Kai had first insisted on this level of caution, Elias had looked at him like he was mad. Until Kai told him why.
He didn’t name Amyra. Didn’t reveal her form or her origin. But he spoke of a Mage—a singular existence—who could absorb and purify dead mana. That alone had been enough to drain the color from Elias’s face.
Then came the second revelation. Kai had Elder Tree stumps. Elias had gone still for nearly a full minute before whispering, “Can I study one?”
“No,” Kai had said without hesitation.
But he knew that Elias would try.
He would watch the planting sites, examine the reactions of the land, make quiet notes and sketches when he thought Kai wasn't there. It was inevitable. But as long as he didn’t uncover her, that was acceptable.
More concerning had been Elias’s next request.
“I want to come with you,” the old Magus had said. “To see this Mage with my own eyes.”
Kai had refused. Flatly. There was no way to bring him close without risking more political rumours.
Elias hadn’t pushed. Not after that. He understood there were lines even an ally couldn’t cross. Besides, he had duties of his own—he had to return to the royal family of Vanderfall, to report on the treant’s death and the cost of its defeat.
So they parted ways under the pale light of a breaking dawn. Elias left with more knowledge than he had ever expected to gain that night.
And Kai… Kai was left with the same weight he always carried. But at least now, he didn’t carry it alone.
With only his soldiers and the church’s people accompanying him now, the air around the force lightened. Tension still lingered—ghosts of the plague lands clung to them like dust—but without Elias, the unease faded.
But they marched on, fast and purposeful.
The journey passed quickly, and before long, the towering walls of Fort Aegis rose in the distance.
Kai narrowed his eyes. Soldiers lined the top ramparts, waving down toward them. Word had clearly arrived before they did—his message must have been taking well. The men on the wall had already begun celebrating.
This is good, he thought to himself as they drew closer, the iron gates creaking open. But nothing could have prepared him for what was inside.
The courtyard wasn’t just filled with guards waiting to report or servants rushing to serve. Hundreds of people had gathered—men, women, children. And at the heart of the crowd stood Viscount Redmont, dressed in ceremonial armor, flanked by what Kai assumed was his family: a dignified woman, likely the Viscountess, and two sons and daughter.
Rows of tables stretched across the edges of the courtyard, stacked with steaming dishes and decorated with colored cloths. Sizzling meats, sweet pastries, and fruit arrangements lined them, enough to feed a small town. Bards stood off to the side, instruments in hand, strumming lively tunes that floated across the cobblestones.
Everywhere, there were smiles.
Even Kai, hardened as he was, found himself blinking at the sight. Behind him, his soldiers began to slow, taken aback by the arrangement that none of them had expected. And then the Viscount raised his hand.
“Everyone,” he called, voice booming with pride, “the heroes of Lancephil have returned—after purging the plague that devastated Vanderfall!” He stepped forward, sweeping his hand toward the weary warriors. “Let’s welcome them home with a cheer they’ll never forget!”
The crowd erupted.
Claps, cheers, cries of joy—so loud it felt as if the very castle walls vibrated. It crashed over them like a wave. The soldiers froze for a moment, stunned by the force of it. Some blinked back tears. Others stood taller.
Kai glanced to his side and saw Killian removing his helmet, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair, a crooked smile on his face. The others followed suit, their expressions ranging from confusion to cautious pride.
All their eyes turned to him.
Kai met their gazes.
He smiled. Just a little. Just enough.
“Go,” he said quietly, but they heard it. “Enjoy yourselves. You’ve earned it. You survived hell.”
And like a dam breaking, the men exhaled. His own men broke into cheers—louder, freer than before
They dispersed into the crowd, greeted with handshakes, warm food, and the kind of welcome only home could give. Kai stood still for a moment longer, watching them disappear into the joy he hadn’t known they needed so badly.
Some of them were already scanning the faces around, searching for family—brothers, sons, wives waiting with teary eyes and open arms. Others, like Knight Cais, kept their discipline a bit longer, heading straight for the Viscount to report. But most… most made a beeline for the food.
And Kai couldn’t blame them.
After days of hard marching, half-rations, and chewing through dried jerky like leather, the smell of roasted meat, fresh bread, and honey-glazed pastries was enough to make anyone pause.
He caught the scent of peppered steak—thick, seared perfectly, juices sizzling as they were flipped on an open grill just a few stalls away. The warmth drifted on the breeze, and his stomach grumbled in response.
For a moment, he considered heading toward the keep, maybe freshening up, maybe talking to the Viscount privately first. But then… He had returned victorious.
The treant was dead. The plague fields behind him. The oath with Elias sealed. And his people—his men—were safe. So Kai let himself breathe.
He took a step forward, then another, until he stood in front of the stall, the flames licking under thick slabs of steak. A wide-eyed cook bowed hastily before holding one out to him on a plate, trembling slightly from the weight of the moment.
Kai took it with a quiet nod, letting the warmth seep into his hands. He tore off the first bite before he could even sit down.
And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, he let himself enjoy the simple act of being alive.
2025-05-19 05:55:50 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 115
The perks of being a sect leader were simple: people always listened to you. The downside? You never got time to rest.
As soon as the duel ended, Chen Ren wasted no time. Alongside Yalan, he emptied the contents of his spatial rings. The flood of treasures, weapons, scrolls, herbs, and artifacts filled not just one, but two entire rooms—and spilled over into a large portion of his workshop.
The look on Xiulan’s face was something Chen Ren doubted he would ever forget. She stared, frozen in wide-eyed horror, already exhausted at the sheer thought of organizing so much… only for Chen Ren to casually pull out yet another pile and add it to the growing mountain. It was funny in its own way, but he knew the work ahead was no joke.
For the sect’s safety, they couldn’t allow mortal servants to help. It wasn’t that Chen Ren distrusted them, but loose talk bred unwanted attention, and secrecy was essential. He had no doubt the Blazing Ember Sect was going to be on high alert, especially after discovering their prized sect vault had been stripped clean and their members dead.
Discretion was survival.
Worse, the sheer scale of the haul brought fresh complications. The artifacts needed to to be sorted—Dangerous ones separated, fragile ones sealed in preserving arrays, and the rest organized into secondary storage rings. He was already resigned to the fact that this task might take a week, perhaps even longer.
Yet despite the looming workload, Chen Ren was quietly thrilled. Ever since he’d glimpsed the Soaring Sword Sect’s treasury, he had longed for the chance to examine such a collection himself. Now, standing amidst the piles of rare cultivation artifacts, that dream was finally his reality.
But that could wait. First, he had to settle matters he’d left unfinished. He had taken in disciples, yet beyond nudging them toward their dao paths, he hadn’t done nearly enough for them.
Now, it was time to change that.
After spending an entire day sorting manuals and cultivation books—and finally managing a few hours of real sleep—Chen Ren sat cross-legged in his chamber. Before him stood Feiyu, Zi Wen, and Luo Feng, all wearing expressions of curiosity and confusion. The pile of books beside Chen Ren only deepened their curiosity.
Hong Yi was absent, having already secured anything remotely related to puppet refinement in his own spatial ring and quietly excused himself.
Chen Ren’s gaze settled first on Feiyu, who, despite trying to hide it, looked utterly drained. His eyes had sunken, lips were dry and even his posture was shrunk. Long nights at the forge and constant tinkering with firearms had left him worn thin.
“Thank you for coming,” Chen Ren began. “I know I helped you escape your old life. But I’ve done little to push you further in your cultivation and smithing—”
Feiyu shook his head firmly. “You’ve done more than enough, Sect Leader Chen. I’ve already progressed far.”
Chen Ren gave a small, knowing smile. He was grateful. He’d always been grateful. “Not far enough. I want you to be the best. The best blacksmith in the entire empire.”
With that, he picked up a neat stack of thick, aged tomes and placed them into Feiyu’s arms. The sunken man staggered slightly under the weight, eyes widening as he read the titles.
“These are ancient smithing techniques and forging manuals. There’s also a book on rare and spiritual metals that might aid your craft.”
Feiyu flipped through the first few pages, a mix of excitement and worry flickering across his face. “This is… too much.”
“It’s exactly as much as it needs to be,” Chen Ren said with a warm smile. “If you want to meet my expectations.”
Feiyu bowed low, clutching the books with renewed resolve. “I won’t disappoint you.”
Chen Ren then turned to Zi Wen, who straightened under his gaze. “As for you, I gathered these.” He motioned to another small stack and handed it over. “Bestiaries.”
Zi Wen blinked. “Bestiaries?”
Chen Ren nodded. “I don’t have any books on the dao of taming, but these hold detailed information on spirit beasts. Habitats, traits, weaknesses. It will help you in your training. I heard you’ve been struggling with avian beasts.”
Zi Wen flushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes… They always fly away before I can form a bond. If I try to force them down, their wings get damaged. They’re useless after that.”
“Then use knowledge, not brute strength,” Chen Ren advised. “Read, learn, and adapt. That’s how you’ll master the dao of taming.”
Zi Wen bowed deeply. “Understood, Sect Leader.”
He lastly turned to Luo Feng.
The young man sat with perfect posture, back straight, shoulders tense, and nervous energy radiating off him. His hands tightened slightly in his lap as Chen Ren pushed another small stack forward.
“These are earth-aspected cultivation manuals,” Chen Ren explained. “They’ll help you take your first steps on the path of cultivation.”
Luo Feng’s eyes widened slightly as Chen Ren continued. “I’ve also included two books on spiritual herbs and farming techniques. They’re low-grade and the information is very basic, but I thought they might still be of help.”
Luo Feng picked up the book on top, carefully flipping through the pages as if it were made of gold. His expression softened, and without hesitation, he slid off his cushion into a full kowtow. “Thank you, Sect Leader Chen.”
Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Study them all and choose the one that feels most compatible with you and your dao. Some are mortal-grade, but there are also a few earth-grade manuals mixed in.”
At that, all three disciples stiffened. Chen Ren didn’t miss the rapid flicker of shock passing across their faces. They had clearly assumed the books he’d handed out were nothing more than ordinary manuals. And now looked at them in a different light yet none of them dared to ask where such rare texts had come from. It was an unspoken understanding. They likely guessed the answer wouldn’t come even if they did ask.
Looting the treasury of another sect was not something that was ever going to leave my mouth, Chen Ren thought dryly.
“I’m also planning to establish a formal merit system soon,” Chen Ren continued, shifting the conversation forward. “And a proper library for the sect, where you’ll be able to access other techniques as you earn the right to study them. The collection will be… substantial.”
Zi Wen raised a hand hesitantly. “How will the merit system work, Sect Leader Chen?”
According to what Chen Ren knew, nearly every sect in the empire ran on a merit system. Disciples were expected to take on tasks or quests to earn points, which could then be exchanged for items, artifacts, or privileges. No one was rewarded simply for sitting around and cultivating. Even entry to higher floors of a sect’s library came with a cost. It was an effective system, and one Chen Ren had learned a great deal of from his memories and talks with Qing He.
But his own system would be different. It would be better.
He glanced at the trio of disciples, who waited quietly, their curiosity barely contained.
“The sect will grant every member a fixed number of points each month,” Chen Ren said. “Mortals only need to fulfill their daily responsibilities to earn them. Cultivators will receive theirs through consistent work on their dao and contributing to the sect.” He paused to let that sink in before continuing. “These points can be exchanged for coins, items made by our sect like alcohol or even perfumes, services from other cultivators, spirit stones, or even unique resources.”
Feiyu raised a hand. “Will these points be used to gain access to the library as well?”
Chen Ren shook his head. “No. The library will remain open to all, even mortals. Mortals, however, will be limited to books that expand general knowledge—history, geography, basic theory—but not cultivation manuals or techniques.”
He locked eyes with each of them in turn. “Cultivators may study any available technique, but they must first seek my permission. That way, I can track your progress and ensure you’re not practicing anything dangerous or defective. Beyond that, I’ll also be introducing regular classes.”
“What kind of classes, Sect Leader?” Luo Feng asked.
Chen Ren smiled in return. “Like the introductory lessons you received when you joined the sect, but much broader and more frequent. Topics will cover everything from the daos to the things you’ve likely never even imagined.”
“I will personally conduct some of them,” he continued, “and when I cannot, I’ll prepare notes and appoint someone capable to take over. I’m aiming to make them weekly, at the very least.”
Zi Wen shifted uneasily. “Won’t that be dangerous, Sect Leader? Giving out knowledge so freely?”
Chen Ren’s eyes sharpened. “No. Locking knowledge behind barriers is what’s dangerous. Most sects treat learning as something you must claw your way toward, and I understand the caution—some techniques can harm the user. But the knowledge I intend to offer will be different. It will broaden your understanding of the world, not endanger your life.… It’s something that needs to spread as far as possible.”
The three disciples looked at each other, uncertain, until Zi Wen finally voiced the question lingering in all their minds. “What kind of knowledge, Sect Leader?”
Chen Ren gave a small, almost amused smile. “Have any of you heard the term science?”
All three shook their heads.
“It’s the study of the world around us,” Chen Ren explained patiently. “The understanding of things you interact with every day, even if you don’t know why they work. It covers everything—from the forging of metals, to the workings of the human body, to the mysteries of alchemy. It’s science. I’ll be teaching you what I can of it. There will even be classes on farming.”
At the mention of farming, Luo Feng visibly straightened, eyes brightening with interest. Chen Ren had passed him a few simple farming techniques in the past, and the man had applied them with surprising success. Even Feiyu and Zi Wen, normally more focused on cultivation and taming, leaned in with curiosity. By now, Chen Ren’s reputation as a man with knowledge far beyond his years was solid among them.
This had always been part of his plan.
He wanted more than just a sect. He wanted a foundation—one that would make both his mortal and cultivator followers stand above their peers. Where they lacked in cultivation manuals, he had already compensated. Now it was time to elevate their understanding, to push them closer to the standards of people from his original world.
If nurtured properly, especially in areas like finance and business, they could become a power of their own. A self-sustaining force. One day, they could run the sect without him, leaving Chen Ren to simply sit back and watch the profits flow. That had been the true, long-term reason for building a sect, not only for the resources and protection it brought, but to cultivate talent.
For over an hour, they continued to discuss. The merit system, how the lectures would be organized, who would supervise in Chen Ren’s absence, and how he planned to balance it all with his ever-growing network of businesses. The energy in the room shifted from confusion to excitement. They could sense that something very different, and very grand, was about to take shape.
But once the meeting finally ended and the disciples left, Chen Ren’s thoughts drifted to something far heavier.
The severed head.
Ever since they had obtained it, Chen Ren had debated whether to ask him the questions that bothered him. He had discussed it with Yalan just the night before. She had agreed with his caution—this kind of trust, with something so potentially dangerous, could easily become fatal. But so far, the head had proven itself neither deceitful nor unreasonable.
Still, Chen Ren had grown tired of walking in the dark ever since the fight with Gu Tian. The unanswered questions clawed at him; the medallion, the devourers, the ancient dragon locked in his star space. Was the medallion truly something of importance? Or had Gu Tian hunting for it been nothing more than a false alarm?
He needed answers.
With firm determination, Chen Ren rose and walked through the silent halls of the sect toward the private chamber he had assigned to the head. The time had come to confront the biggest mystery of his current life.
To finally lay bare the truth, or at least the next piece of it.
***
Chen Ren stared at Wang Jun resting calmly atop the pedestal before him. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Chen Ren broke the silence. “Does she need to be here?” he asked, glancing at Anji, who stood quietly by the wall.
The head’s ancient voice rasped out. “Yes. If you want my assistance, that mortal must remain. She is my disciple now, until I pass on what I know of soul cultivation. The last member of my sect.”
Anji blinked in surprise. “I can leave if it’s something private,” she offered respectfully.
“No,” Wang Jun replied firmly. “You will stay. If I tell you to remain, you will remain.”
Chen Ren exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why is he suddenly so possessive of Anji? he wondered. But there was little point arguing; he could only adapt.
He shifted his gaze to Yalan, who nodded slightly before turning to Anji. “I would appreciate it if you kept whatever is said here to yourself.”
Anji bowed her head. “You have my word.”
“Well.” With the tension slightly eased, Chen Ren stepped forward and looked the head squarely in the eye. “What I’m going to show you is something passed down in my family. For most of my life, I believed it was just an ordinary inheritance item. But recently, I’ve come to suspect it’s far more than that and since it's at least hundreds of years old, I can't find anyone who knows it's purpose.”
The head’s tone grew more curious. “And you want me to see if I recognize it?”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yes. I want to know what it truly is. Its purpose… if any.”
Wang Jun chuckled dryly. “Is it a sword? Then its purpose is to kill.”
“No.” Chen Ren shook his head. “It’s a medallion.”
“A medallion?” the head mused aloud. “Then it may be a key to something. Go home and ask your family.”
“I can’t,” Chen Ren said simply. “I’m banished.”
At that, Wang Jun’s brow lifted ever so slightly, the faintest flicker of interest flashing across his expression. Clearly, he was interested in his past. But Chen Ren pressed on without giving him the chance to ask. “Either way, I doubt they know what it is. I will show you.”
Without another word, Chen Ren reached into his robes and carefully pulled out the medallion. Its surface caught the faint glow of the lanterns in the chamber, glinting in the dim light. He stepped forward and set it gently before the head.
The head stared at it intently, his aged features tightening as he squinted, studying every curve and marking with unsettling focus. The room felt unnaturally still as the seconds dragged on.
As the head examined it, Chen Ren spoke quietly, “Someone mentioned it might be connected to something called the Gate of Immortals.”
The effect was immediate.
The head froze. Slowly, impossibly, his golden eyes lifted to meet Chen Ren’s. A storm of emotions flickered through them—shock, disbelief, fear, and something close to awe. A subtle, crushing pressure radiated outward for the briefest heartbeat, enough that Chen Ren felt the air itself grow heavier.
Then the head spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, yet sharp enough that it could harm someone.
“You… you have a key to the Gate of Immortals?!”
2025-05-17 09:11:23 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 223
Kai felt his surroundings shaking as he slowly came into being. His head pounded dully, and every part of his body felt weak, like he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for a very long time. His throat was dry, and his limbs were heavy as stone. He frowned faintly, trying to remember what had happened, but there was only a blank space in his memory. Had he been hurt during the battle with the treant? That was the last thing he could recall, but even that memory was distant and unclear.
As he struggled to sit up, the rough fabric wall in front of him shifted. A flap opened, and an unfamiliar face peered inside. The young man wore a simple metal helmet and bore the crest of… Viscount Redmont.
Kai stiffened, his senses still dulled but his instincts sharp as ever. The soldier’s eyes widened in surprise at seeing him awake, and without saying a word, the man quickly closed the flap and disappeared.
For a while, the carriage kept moving, the familiar jerking and swaying continuing under him. Then it slowed, and the shaking finally stopped completely. Kai heard footsteps crunching softly on dirt outside before the flap opened again.
This time, a much more familiar figure stepped inside.
“Lord Arzan, you’re awake,” Killian said with obvious relief. His eyes softened as he stepped forward.
Kai groaned quietly and pushed himself upright with effort, leaning heavily against the cushion. His breathing was rough, and his muscles ached as he glanced around the cramped space.
“Yes… where are we? Is this a carriage?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Killian nodded quickly. “Yes, Lord Arzan. We’ve been traveling back to Fort Aegis.”
Kai frowned slightly and shifted his position. “What happened?”
Killian looked at Kai for a second, and he could tell the man was contemplating something.
“Well?”
“You collapsed while advancing to the fourth circle. I was scared. I thought something had gone terribly wrong and that your body had been damaged beyond repair.” His eyes darkened at the thought. “But Magus Elias checked you and said you were only exhausted. He assured me you would wake up once your body recovered.”
Right… Killian’s words stirred something deep within him. His memories began to return and everything played right in front of him. The brutal fight with the treant. The overwhelming pressure of that battle. Their hard-won victory in the plague ridden land. And then the surge of mana as he built his fourth circle at last. The feeling had been overwhelming… and then the vision. The woman. Valkyrie. The same strange, distant figure and her cold embrace. It burnt deeply into his mind.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself as the weight of what had happened settled on him.
In an instant, he closed his eyes immediately and slipped his senses inward, entering his astral realm.
The familiar space greeted him, but something new caught his attention. Right at the center floated an unfamiliar shape—a map, faintly glowing, its lines and symbols drawn with a delicate yet powerful hand. It showed what he instinctively knew to be the site of the inheritance.
He stared at it in silence. Doing something like this with just a soul fragment should have been nearly impossible. It would have required a high-circle soul spell and a great deal of effort. Kai could only guess that the fragment Valkyrie had left behind had used his own mana to make the map, draining him to the point of complete exhaustion.
Combined with the strain of forming his fourth circle, it was no wonder he had fallen into such a deep sleep.
Still, as a precaution, Kai ran a quick check over his heart and his four circles. He examined the state of his organs and the pathways where mana flowed. Everything was as it should be. Relieved, he let his senses withdraw and slowly opened his eyes again.
Killian was still there, standing stiff and tense, worry written all over his face.
“I’m okay,” Kai said at last. “Don’t worry about me. I reached the fourth circle. I just overdid it and passed out from exhaustion.”
Killian’s posture eased, and some of the tension left his face. Especially the frown–it was gone.
“That’s good to hear, Lord Arzan. We were worried. We’re a few days away from Fort Aegis. We’ve been traveling fast since the treant is gone. No more fiends or weavers have come after us, and Magus Elias has taken care of any random ones who thought we were an easy target.”
Kai nodded slightly, but his thoughts lingered on Magus Elias.
The old Magus had not returned to Vanderfall after the battle, even though the danger had passed. That could only mean one thing: the man still wanted something from him. Kai, too, had plans that involved speaking to the Magus.
Looking back at Killian, he asked, “Magus Elias didn’t intend to go back to Vanderfall right away, did he?”
Killian shook his head. “In his own words, only if you hadn’t woken up by the time we reached Aegis. He mentioned wanting to speak to you about the future of Vanderfall, and possibly to seek your help. I didn’t ask further.”
Kai gave a soft hum of understanding. “That’s about what I expected. At our next stop, I’ll go find him and hear him out.”
Killian straightened. “If you need anything, Lord Arzan, the sentries outside the carriage are at your disposal. The news of your waking will calm the soldiers. Morale has been low since your collapse.”
“Thank you.”
With that, Killian gave a respectful bow and slipped out of the carriage, leaving Kai alone once more.
Kai closed his eyes again, not to sleep, but to focus on the map in his astral realm. He had only glanced at it before. Now he studied it more closely. The image showed a towering structure that pierced the clouds, standing tall between jagged mountain peaks. There was land spreading out in every direction, but something about the scene nagged at him.
It didn’t look like any place he knew within the Sylvan Enclave. If a tower of that size existed, he would have seen or heard of it. That meant only one thing. The tower must be hidden—concealed by layers of enchantments and powerful arrays that kept it out of sight. Or it could simply be outside Lancephil itself.
Kai frowned, mind already racing through possibilities as the carriage rocked gently onward through civilization.
If it wasn't hidden, the tower would have already been found and ransacked long ago. Its concealment made locating it incredibly difficult. If Kai wanted any real chance of success, he first had to identify those mountain peaks.
Fortunately, he had already invested heavily into expanding the Watchers, his network of scouts and spies. Once he returned to Veralt, he could leave the search in their capable hands. Still, curiosity gnawed at him.
What did the inheritance contain? Was the medallion hidden there? The thought of it made him want to abandon the caravan and fly straight home to begin searching.
But that was only impatience talking. The feeling passed quickly. He needed time to stabilize his new fourth circle anyway, and by then they would be back at Fort Aegis. There was still time before the assembly. Time he could use to begin the hunt for the inheritance. King Sullivan had made his request clear: return with the medallion. Kai fully intended to honor that just to see what the king was playing at.
As if on cue, the wagon’s shaking slowly came to a halt.
Kai opened his eyes. It was time to find Magus Elias.
He pushed himself up and carefully stepped over stacked crates of mana cannon parts and destroyed drone frames. His body felt so much better, far strengthened than before.
Once outside, the cool breeze met him. Soldiers posted around the wagon immediately straightened and bowed. Kai nodded absently in return. He could feel eyes watching him, whispers of surprise and relief passing quietly between the ranks. He ignored them.
He walked steadily through the camp and soon spotted Magus Elias seated by himself, well away from the campfires where the rest of the soldiers gathered. The old magus was chewing slowly on a strip of dry jerky.
Kai approached and sat beside him without a word. Without looking up, Elias reached into his pouch and offered Kai a strip.
“You should eat,” Elias said gruffly. “Your body has been running on nothing but mana for days.”
He had a point.
Kai accepted the jerky and bit into it. The tough, leathery meat had no taste left to offer, and Kai chewed mechanically, already longing for a hot meal back at the fortress. Still, it did what it needed to.
After another bite, Kai glanced sideways at the Magus. “You’re not planning on coming with us to Fort Aegis, are you?”
Elias let out a short, amused snort. “No. I don’t plan on starting a war.” He shifted slightly and finally turned to meet Kai’s gaze. “And that’s actually part of why I wanted to speak with you. Avoiding war.”
Kai nodded slightly. “Killian mentioned something about the future of Vanderfall.”
“Yes. Even though the plague is finished, the land is ruined. The soil is poisoned, the rivers run foul. Nothing will grow there again. The royal family knows this. They’re preparing for a desperate war to claim new lands for the people of Vanderfall.”
Kai frowned, chewing slowly. “You can’t stop them.”
“I’ve tried,” Elias said quietly, shaking his head. “I’ve begged them to rebuild what little remains, to adapt and endure. But it’s not so simple. Most of the remaining healthy land is owned by the nobility and wealthy families. They have no intention of giving it up for the displaced commoners. So the king and his council are turning their eyes outward.”
Kai said nothing at first. He understood all too well how politics worked. Greed and pride had destroyed more kingdoms than any army ever had.
“That’s dumb,” Kai said flatly.
Elias sneered and gave a dry chuckle. “Obviously it is. The current royal family of Vanderfall isn’t what I’d call wise leadership. They’re heavily influenced—controlled, really—by a group of powerful nobles. The king himself… let’s just say he’s not someone I’m a fan of.”
“Then why do you still work for them?”
“A mana oath,” Elias said bitterly. “I bound myself to them to secure my future. I didn’t have much support when I was younger and I needed powerful backing. And who’s better than the royal family of Vanderfall?” He laughed coldly. “I was a bit delusional back then. I thought they weren’t as bad as the rumors said. Turns out, in recent years they’ve lost parts of their brain and forgotten where to look for them.”
Kai gave him a blank look. The joke fell flat, given the weight of the conversation.
“So you need my help?” Kai asked, steering the talk back to the point. “To do what? Restore the land? Make it livable again?”
Elias nodded, chewing slowly on another bite of jerky.
“I guess so. That’s the only real solution I see. The alternative is… well, killing off most of the commoners to reduce the need for land. But even the royal family won’t go that far. They still need people to serve and fight for them.”
Kai fell silent, his thoughts drifting momentarily to Amyra. His eyes swept over the dead, barren land around them, the taint of dead mana leaving nothing but withered soil and cracked stone.
“You do know,” Kai said at last, “that anyone capable of restoring this would be hunted. Mages from all corners would come to dissect their methods. They might even try to kill them to keep the knowledge for themselves.”
That made Magus Elias pause. He stared at the ground for a long moment and nodded. “I know. But I still have to ask. I’ve already searched every text in the royal library. Nothing. I plan to reach out to Mages I trust and bargain with those who I don't. I’m prepared to trade anything I have to find even the smallest clue. That’s why I decided to ask you as well.”
Kai raised an eyebrow. “Do you think we have that kind of relationship? Or are you going to offer me something to trade too?”
Elias chuckled softly. “I thought after standing side by side in a battle like that, we had a good enough relationship already.” His tone shifted, turning more serious as he studied Kai’s expression. “Unless…” he paused, narrowing his eyes, “you’re asking because you actually know something.”
Kai said nothing. His face remained impassive, but the slight tension in his posture was answer enough.
Elias froze, his expression shifting from cautious hope to outright shock. It was clear that, though he had dared to ask, the old Magus had fully expected a rejection. Now, the silent confirmation left him reeling.
But Kai couldn’t admit to it. Not yet.
The existence of Elder Tree stumps—the rare and ancient generators of mana—was something he could reveal in time. They would be noticed eventually. But Amyra? That was different. A part of him refused to risk her existence becoming known, even to Elias.
At the same time, he couldn’t simply let an entire country remain cursed and barren. Not when he knew Maleficia would eventually find ways to exploit dead mana lands. It wasn’t just about Vanderfall. It was about preventing something far worse. So the question became, could he trust Elias? Like, truly trust? Not just share a part of his plan, but trust him.
The old Magus had fought well beside him. There was respect between them, yes—but they were still only temporary allies.
Kai didn’t know how far that trust could stretch. But he did have one way to protect himself.
He stared at Elias for a long moment before finally speaking.
“If I’m going to help you,” Kai said slowly, “you’ll have to make a mana oath.”
Elias raised an eyebrow. “What kind of oath?”
“There’ll be more than just simple terms,” Kai replied calmly. “But the core of it is this: you cannot reveal the existence of my method, or anything or anyone involved with it, in any way. You cannot act with hostility toward it either. There will be some other protections added as well.”
Elias nodded slightly, waiting for him to finish.
“And one more thing,” Kai continued. “In exchange for my help, you’ll have to convince the royal family to formally agree to avoid any act of aggression toward Lancephil for the next fifty years. Not even a hint of it. And I would also need a favour out of them.”
Elias let out a low whistle and rubbed his gray beard thoughtfully. “I can understand the mana oath conditions. If your method works, that’s a small price. And even the non-aggression pact… well, I think I can persuade them. For all their flaws, they’ll listen when I tell them that a Lancephillian saved their kingdom.” He gave Kai a sharp look. “But why the favor? What do you want from the royal family?”
Kai hesitated for a moment. Then he shifted, the weight of his thoughts finally surfacing. “What do you know about the current political state of Lancephil?”
Elias snorted. “Three princes, all idiots vying for the throne. A king who’s alive but might as well be dead. A mess.”
Kai allowed himself a faint smile. “Accurate. But it’s even more complicated. I’ve been named Count, and that comes with… attention. I also killed my brother who launched a full out war to take my land. I’m walking straight into an assembly that will judge whether I keep my title or not. That’s what they claim, but it’s really about power. There are factions already moving behind the scenes.”
Elias folded his arms. “You’re in a big mess.”
“Not really,” Kai said with a shrug. “I’m confident I’ll win the assembly. But it’s what happens after that concerns me.”
Elias leaned back and frowned. “What comes after?”
“You’ll see. But I can already tell I may need another country’s cooperation at some point. Don’t worry, it won’t cost you much. Certainly far less than what you would’ve spent trying to destroy the treant without me.”
Elias chuckled dryly. “Fair enough. I’ll speak to the royal family… but I can’t promise anything.”
Kai’s expression hardened slightly. “I will need a guarantee.”
Elias sighed and gave him a sidelong look. “You’re stubborn, Arzan. Why not just ask a personal favor from me instead?”
Kai shook his head. “I think you’ll have your hands full in the coming years.”
Elias narrowed his eyes. “Why do you say that?”
Kai took a deep breath, his gaze drifting over the twisted, lifeless landscape around them. “I meant to speak to you about this before we faced the treant, but I never got the chance with the constant assaults.” He turned back to Elias, voice steady. “Why do you think the treant appeared there… and how it grew so large?”
That silenced the Magus enough for him to fall into deep thought. Kai waited patiently until he gathered his thoughts. “My guess? Some foolish noble ignored it. Maybe thought it was just some special magical tree. They let it root in their territory and by the time they realized the danger, its roots had spread too far and it had grown too big to deal with.”
Kai nodded slightly. “You’re not wrong. That’s how treants grow. Slowly, feeding off the land. But I believe this case is different. I believe it was placed there.”
Elias straightened, his eyes sharp. The frown deepened. “Planted? By who?”
Kai studied him for a long moment. He could already tell that Elias had considered the possibility, even if only in the back of his mind. But the Magus had never found any clues to act on.
Kai spoke the next words slowly, letting every syllable linger in the air. “There is a prophecy that governs this world and an organisation trying to fulfil it. I’ll tell you about it. It’s a long story.”
2025-05-17 09:06:30 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 222
Killian’s mind replayed the entire war against the treant over and over. He could still see how his men had held their ground, even when things became nearly impossible. They had been trained, yes. But more than that, their minds had been honed to withstand the pressure of a greater threat. He couldn’t have been more proud of them.
“How many are dead?”
Killian stirred at the sound of a quiet voice.
He turned and saw Magus Elias standing nearby. They hadn’t spoken much during the entire expedition. In fact, Elias had barely spoken to anyone except Lord Arzan. The question caught Killian a little off guard, but he answered smoothly.
“Twenty men,” Killian said. “Their ashes will be the first thing to reach their families once we get back to Fort Aegis.”
Elias nodded. “I expected more. I’m glad the majority survived.”
“Anything more than zero is too many casualties.”
Elias gave a small smile. “You have the makings of a good leader.”
“I’m just a Knight,” Killian replied firmly. He didn’t like short talk, especially not when it came in the form of grief-bonding.
“No, you’re far more than just a Knight,” Elias said, shaking his head. “You’re a general. You don’t need to spend all your time guarding your lord. He’s more than capable of protecting himself. You’ve shown the kind of leadership that will be remembered in history. Even those proud Mages who think they’re better than everyone won’t be able to ignore your name, not with your strength.”
That caught him off guard. Killian looked away for a moment and thought before speaking. “That strength came from Lord Arzan. And there are still times he needs me as his guard… like right now.”
Killian glanced around at the camp. Tents had been set up for a short rest before they would begin the journey back. The soldiers were exhausted from the brutal expedition. There had been no celebration yet, only quiet rest after the funerals were done. Lord Arzan had also withdrawn into his tent, though for a very different reason.
Elias followed Killian’s gaze. “I believe his advancement will go well. He’s far more skilled than I ever was at his age.” He paused. “Though I’ve been wondering… how old is he? He looks young, but if he’s really in his early twenties, then he’s the most gifted Mage in the world.” Elias let out a small laugh. “I only reached the fourth circle when I was in my sixties.”
Killian almost asked how old Elias was now, but stopped himself. Instead, he just nodded. “Lord Arzan is young.”
Elias gave him a knowing look. “Not much of a talker, are you?”
Killian gave a small grunt. “I’m not sure if we’re allies.”
“We just fought side by side. Not to brag, but I’d say I played a big part in your victory.”
“For that, both I and my lord are grateful. You’ll always have a place in Veralt if you want it. But our countries are different.”
Elias grew quiet and looked out over the ruined land. The barren, cursed soil gave off traces of dead mana, and twisted creatures still skulked at the edges.
“I don’t think there’s much left of my country,” he said at last. “The plague may have ended, but I don’t know if this land will ever recover.”
Killian noticed a rare, honest pain in the Magus’ eyes. It made him pause. He wondered if Elias had truly loved his people and his nation. It was still a mystery. Killian wasn’t the type to judge another’s patriotism, but as Lord Arzan had told him once, “A Magus never reaches greatness without being ruthless and practical.” Patriotism wasn’t usually part of that.
“A kingdom is its people. You can always rebuild.”
Elias gave a sad smile. “I’ve always believed that too. But you also need land to rebuild on.” He sighed. “We lost a lot of our people. The armies and Mages who survived, along with those from the big cities, are all crammed into a single city at the edge of the plague. The living conditions there are terrible. It’s not the kind of place you can rebuild from easily.”
Killian frowned as he understood what Elias meant. “They plan to go to war… to take more land?” he asked. “Even if they still have an army, they must have lost most of their supplies and resources.”
Elias sighed and looked out at the dead land again. “Desperate times turn men into worse than beasts. And desperate beasts are dangerous. I don’t want it, but there are already whispers. Some want to attack the small border kingdom of Aeoloria and then move to gain more land in Lancephil.”
Killian stiffened at the thought. His men had barely survived one nightmare, and now another war might be on the horizon. “Are you in favor of that?” he asked carefully.
“I was in favor of dealing with the plague and reclaiming our land,” Elias said quietly. “The first part is done, even though the royal family thought it was lost forever. But the second part…” Elias shook his head and pinched between his eyebrows. “I don’t know where to even start. I’ve never heard of dead mana being fully removed. For all I know, the land is cursed forever.”
Killian nodded slowly, but his thoughts drifted. He thought of Amyra and the ancient Elder Tree stumps. Maybe they were the only way to heal the land. But her existence was a tightly kept secret. Not even Elias could know about her. Only Lord Arzan could decide when—or if—that secret would ever be revealed.
Elias’ next words caught Killian off guard. “That’s why I’m hoping Arzan might have answers.”
Killian frowned. “Why do you think he does?”
Elias chuckled softly. “He has the look of someone who knows what he’s doing. Someone with answers. If he knew how to kill the treant and purge the plague, maybe he also knows how to reclaim this land.” He turned to Killian and asked, “Do you think he knows? And if he does, will he help?”
Killian looked at the tent where Lord Arzan rested. “We’ll only know when he wakes up.”
That was the most he could give to the old Magus who was trying to pick answers. Elias smiled at that. “Then let’s wait for his fourth circle ascension.”
***
The tent was quiet, just like Kai wanted. He sat cross-legged and focused on the heartbeat that thrummed in his ears.
For so long, he had chased the next step with everything he had. Time after time, he had pushed himself toward the fourth circle, only to fall short. But now, he knew deep inside that today was different. Today was the day he would finally advance.
The moment he had felt that familiar pull—the instinct that told him he was close—he had ordered the army to rest.
He had stepped away and isolated himself here, inside the tent, to complete the long-awaited breakthrough.
A part of him had considered waiting until they returned to Fort Aegis, where it would be safer. But there were talks he needed to have with Elias, and a little more power could only help. On top of that, he simply wanted to be done with it. He had spent long enough stuck on the edge.
Now, as he meditated, he stretched the invisible walls of his Mana heart—the astral chamber inside him where his power lived. Carefully, he pulled in mana from the air and directed it into the almost-formed fourth circle.
The plague lands made it harder. The mana here was tainted, and he had to purify it as he drew it in. Still, bit by bit, the walls expanded. Mana threads wove into the structure, pushing the new circle closer to completion. It was almost done—ninety percent formed and growing stronger by the second.
Kai wasn’t only preparing for this advancement. As always, he was thinking ahead. He pushed the boundaries of his Mana heart wider than needed, laying the groundwork not just for the fourth circle, but for the fifth and sixth. That was why this step was so important. Any Mage who could stretch their astral realm to this size almost guaranteed their path to the sixth circle.
But after that… advancement was no longer just about pulling mana from the world. Reaching the fifth and sixth circles demanded more: perfect control, flawless internal balance, and an understanding of mana far deeper than most would ever grasp. The journey only got harder. Many Mages reached this point and went no further, either lacking the talent, the discipline, not wanting to take risks, or simply running out of time.
Kai knew the risks. The higher the path, the steeper the climb. Mistakes wouldn’t just stall him—they could shatter his Mana heart entirely. He would be left crippled, unable to cast even the simplest spell.
He pushed the thoughts aside.
With extreme focus, he guided the final mana waves into the walls. The astral chamber trembled as lines of pure energy locked into place, light blooming deep inside him like a second sun. The last thread settled, and with a soft pulse that rippled through his entire being, the walls of his astral realm stretched to the brink.
It was done. It had been hard, but thankfully, it went well.
Kai sat motionless for a moment, breathing heavily. He reached out with his senses, inspecting his inner world—his astral realm. The space inside him felt solid and whole. The circles spun in perfect harmony, their patterns stable and strong. More importantly, the chamber itself had expanded, leaving room for even more circles in the future.
For the first time in a long while, he allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
He focused on the last part of his advancement. Before him, the swirling vortex of compressed mana spun like a small star. Slowly and steadily, he pulled more mana from the air to feed it.
Tainted mana tried to slip in, but Kai pushed pure mana and expelled every trace of it.
Only purified mana remained, blending into the vortex. It wasn’t easy. Sometimes the vortex rejected even the clean mana he had just placed, forcing him to push it back again and again.
Bit by bit, the circle grew. It rose steadily until it matched the height and size of the other three circles inside his core. He kept going, refusing to stop.
Finally, the circle expanded to the perfect size. A wave of energy rippled through his entire astral realm. The signal was clear, after all his hard work and failed attempts, he had finally reached the fourth circle.
Power surged within him. His mana capacity had multiplied, now holding forty-five times more than a normal person’s mana heart. It was a major jump from the third circle. An average Fourth Circle Mage had about thirty times the mana, but his result was far greater thanks to his unique method of awakening—and the natural talent of Arzan’s body.
Kai was about to end his meditation and celebrate his advancement when something strange happened.
A cooling sensation spread through his body, tightening around him like invisible chains. His breath caught as he realized what was happening. Then, just as several times before, a familiar figure appeared in front of him.
Arzan’s mother, Valkyrie… Kai thought as he took in her pale figure and white hair. She smiled warmly, even her eyes lit up. Her hands came around to embrace him. Kai felt how cold they were, but in an instant he knew she was fading.
“You are capable now… go, my heir… inherit my legacy.”
As the woman’s presence faded, Kai felt something strange enter his astral realm. He didn’t know what it was, but he could sense it clearly.
His concentration wavered. All he wanted was to rest, but curiosity pulled him back for one last look.
Alongside his four perfect circles, something new had appeared. A projection—a faint glowing map—hovered inside his astral space. He stared at it, watching as it displayed pathways and obstacles, all of them leading towards a tall, thin tower rising high between sharp mountain peaks.
Kai tried to study the map, to understand where it was, but before he could focus, a sharp pull yanked him out of his astral realm.
His eyes snapped open. His body collapsed onto the ground of the tent as he gasped for breath.
His vision blurred and spun.
Kai tried to cast [Refresh] to recover, shaping the spell with weak, shaky hands. But the magic failed every time. His body was simply too drained, too empty of energy to respond.
Exhaustion overwhelmed him. He felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, barely aware of footsteps approaching from outside.
The tent flap opened and Killian rushed inside, kneeling beside him with urgency written across his face. “Lord Arzan, are you alright?” Killian’s voice was faint, as if coming from far away.
He wanted to sit up and tell it was alright. But he couldn’t. For a moment, his body betrayed him. His hands fell to his side, twitching.
“I-I’m okay. I reached the fourth circle. I’m just too tired to move. Please… protect me while I rest.”
His vision darkened. He could see Killian’s mouth still moving, but no sound reached him.
As the darkness fully took him, one last thought stayed firm in Kai’s fading mind: He'd found the location of Arzan’s inheritance. Now it was time to claim it.
2025-05-15 05:54:37 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 114
With everything that was going on, a duel with Li Xuan was the least important thing on his mind. But he agreed. He wasn't about to pass up an easy opportunity to expand his business and tax concessions, especially not one handed to him so neatly. Besides, the man had been persistent. It left him with little choice. If there was one thing he knew, it was that Li Xuan would’ve found a way to challenge him eventually.
It wasn’t just rivalry either. He could tell. The path of cultivation was as much mental as it was physical. If Li Xuan truly saw Chen Ren as a wall in his path, then sooner or later his cultivation would stagnate under that belief. Overcoming Chen Ren might be the key to unlocking his next breakthrough—or so Li Xuan believed.
But with the added offer of business connections, Chen Ren wasn’t about to make it easy for him. Li Xuan wasn’t his enemy. Stubborn, sure. Arrogant, perhaps. But not malicious. He struck Chen Ren as someone who lived by his word, and that was all he really needed.
Once he accepted, Li Xuan insisted they fight immediately. Chen Ren, despite the fatigue of the long journey home, agreed. Better to get it over with quickly than let it hang over him. Besides, preparation would be useless.
From what he could sense, Li Xuan’s qi hovered somewhere at the fifth or sixth star of the qi refinement realm. Chen Ren had seen his fighting style during the tournament, but time had passed and training changed people. The Li Xuan standing in front of him now might fight in a completely different way. Any plan Chen Ren made in advance would likely fall apart the moment the battle began.
Then again, he wasn’t the same person from back then either. He would face him as he came.
On the other hand, word of the duel spread faster than Chen Ren thought possible. Most likely, some wandering mortal disciple had overheard him agreeing and rushed to tell everyone. Soon, a small crowd had gathered at the sparring grounds.
Most were mortals, curious and whispering amongst themselves, but a handful of familiar faces stood out. Anji watched from the side, looking at Li Xuan warily. Luo Feng leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed. Zi Wen stood nearby, with Little Yuze curled at his feet and Whiskey perched quietly on his shoulder. Feiyu stood right next to Xiulan. Even Qing He had made the effort to come and observe.
The only one missing was Hong Yi, but Chen Ren had a good guess where he had gone—no doubt locked away in his workshop, already tinkering excitedly with the puppet parts they’d had brought back from their journey.
His eyes briefly met Anji’s across the crowd. She gave a small nod, a subtle signal that she had secured Wang Jun’s head out of sight. Chen Ren allowed himself a silent breath of relief.
Just then, Yalan’s voice echoed calmly in his mind. “How are you going to win?”
Chen Ren smiled faintly. “Old tricks and new ones.”
“Will it be enough?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, flexing his fingers lightly. “But I think I can catch him by surprise. After that, it’ll come down to who can last longer.”
As the crowd quieted, Xiulan stepped confidently between them. She raised her hand and gestured for both to approach. The audience instinctively pulled back to form a wide circle around the two fighters.
“This will be a duel between Chen Ren of the Divine Coin Sect and Li Xuan of the Soaring Sword Sect,” Xiulan announced clearly. “There will be no deaths. Any lethal injuries will end the fight. Weapons, pills, arrays, and talismans are permitted. Use of any forbidden technique will result in immediate disqualification. Are you both ready?”
Chen Ren gave a silent nod.
Li Xuan smirked. “I’ve been ready for months.”
With a single sweep of Xiulan’s arm, the duel began. Lightning crackled in Li Xuan's blade as he shot forward with a terrifying speed. He looked like he wanted to end the battle in one swift blow.
Chen Ren had anticipated it. He shifted sharply to the side, narrowly dodging the arcing strike. As his feet touched the ground, Chen Ren retaliated instantly, launching his [Lightning Frenzy] in a wave of crackling energy.
Bolts lanced toward Li Xuan, but a shimmering shield of lightning qi flared to life around him, absorbing the strikes.
Li Xuan laughed sharply. “Too weak!” He charged again, calling out, “[Stormpiercer Lightning Blade!]”
Chen Ren activated his defense technique. A faint blue radiance enveloped his form as he braced and met the blow head-on for a single heartbeat. Then, with barely a ripple of motion, he vanished from that spot using his movement technique and reappeared behind Li Xuan.
His palm lashed out, striking squarely against Li Xuan’s shield. The barrier held, but that wasn’t his true aim.
Flames erupted beneath Li Xuan’s feet as Chen Ren burned one of his talismans he had left there. Li Xuan reacted immediately, leaping high into the air, but not before the searing flames licked through the cracks of his shield and scorched the edges of his robes.
Li Xuan landed lightly. “Always crafty.”
“In a real fight, you don’t expect your opponent to play fair,” Chen Ren replied with a shrug.
“Very well then,” Li Xuan cracked his neck and looked at him. “But I’m a cultivator of the dao of sword. I will not be outwitted so easily.”
Qi gathered rapidly along his sword, the air itself humming ominously. As Chen Ren prepared to evade, his sense screamed danger—seven spectral blades materialised around him in an instant, converging toward his position from every direction.
For a split second, Chen Ren froze.
And that hesitation was enough for Li Xuan.
The latter’s primary blade crashed down. The blow struck Chen Ren’s armor with a loud noise. But he reacted in the same instant, thrusting his palm against the blade and surging his own lightning qi into the steel.
The clash sent both fighters skidding backward. Chen Ren used the momentum to leap away and widen the distance between them, breathing hard, muscles tensed.
Li Xuan spun sharply, eyes blazing as he locked onto Chen Ren’s position. Without hesitation, he surged forward once again, lightning crackling along his form, boosting his speed to near-blinding levels. His blade flashed over and over.
At his speed, Chen Ren could barely keep up. His eyes struggled to track the blur of movement, and he quickly stopped relying on sight altogether. Instead, he focused on the minute fluctuations of qi in the air—the faint ripples that marked where Li Xuan’s presence shifted. It was the only reason he avoided a direct hit.
Fortunately, Li Xuan didn’t seem to have caught onto that method, continuing to rely on pure speed and force to corner Chen Ren.
Chen Ren adapted fast, retreating to maintain distance, laying down burning talismans along Li Xuan’s path. Every burst of flame forced Li Xuan to adjust or slow just enough to avoid getting caught. The field of battle soon erupted into chaos, arcs of lightning, pillars of flame, and sudden gusts of wind surged across the grounds.
The spectators, already wary, kept moving farther and farther back to avoid being caught in the crossfire. But not one of them looked away. The duel was becoming something far more brutal and spectacular than they’d expected.
Both of them bore the marks of the ongoing clash.
Their defenses had held, but only barely. As lightning cultivators, they had managed to evade the worst of each other’s strikes, but there was no doubt the fight was taking its toll.
Chen Ren got caught in several strikes and even if his armour held, bolts of lightning did shock him. He had to take pills to keep going without his focus getting distracted.
Minutes dragged by in a blur of motion. When the seven illusionary swords once again materialized and shot toward him, Chen Ren instinctively dodged and, in that moment, realized something profound, he was holding his own.
He was using talismans freely and popping pills to recover when the pain became too sharp, yet he stood toe-to-toe with Li Xuan. The same Li Xuan who, in the sect entrance examinations, had effortlessly crushed the former soul of this body.
Chen Ren wondered for a fleeting second if the stubborn will to win was a remnant of the soul that came before him, but deep down, he felt it clearly—this desire to beat Li Xuan was his own. Not for the reward, but for the satisfaction of proving himself.
Spurred by that realization, his counterattacks became sharper, faster, and more aggressive.
Li Xuan laughed, exhilarated. “You’re finally taking this seriously!” he called out, his blade weaving between Chen Ren’s attacks.
Instead of retreating as before, Chen Ren advanced. He layered the armour made from his [Starlight Defence] around his arms and fists, stacking it thick enough that his reinforced hands became weapons in themselves.
Without drawing a blade of his own, Chen Ren met Li Xuan head-on. Fist met sword in a savage, close-quarters exchange that sent sparks and ripples of qi bursting outward with every impact.
Li Xuan gritted his teeth and pressed forward.
Chen Ren matched him blow for blow, surging his own [Lightning Frenzy] technique at point-blank range to disrupt Li Xuan’s rhythm. Sparks burst wildly between them. The strain was evident; Li Xuan’s thunder armour, already weakened by the constant barrage, flickered and failed to absorb the full brunt of the assault. The lightning danced painfully along his body, yet Li Xuan only clenched his jaw tighter and kept going.
“You should give up,” Chen Ren said evenly between breaths, side-stepping another vicious swing and using his momentum to launch a punch. “You’re too exhausted.”
“Never.” Li Xuan’s eyes blazed with raw determination as he dodged.
He suddenly halted and drew his blade back in both hands, the qi around him violently compressing into a singular, focused point. The oppressive killing intent that erupted in the next heartbeat sent cold prickles down Chen Ren’s spine.
Li Xuan roared, calling the name of his technique, “[One Slash Strike!]”
Chen Ren’s instincts screamed at him. Even if this wouldn’t kill him outright, it would cripple him badly. All of Li Xuan’s remaining qi was pouring into this final, desperate blow.
Without hesitation, Chen Ren vaulted backward, hastily flinging out a handful of talismans. Thick earth walls surged up between them with loud rumbling cracks.
But the moment Li Xuan swung, the air itself split. A blinding, crescent-shaped sword aura blasted forth from the blade, a sharp beam of energy that effortlessly carved through the stone walls like paper.
Chen Ren barely twisted out of the way, the edge of the attack slicing past him and detonating against a nearby tree. The thick trunk exploded into splinters , the upper half toppling to the ground with a heavy crash.
Chen Ren stared for half a second, throat dry. If that had hit me…
More sword auras followed, each like a scythe of pure destruction arcing across the battlefield. Chen Ren immediately went full defensive, dodging and weaving with every ounce of speed his movement technique could offer, leaping over the attacks, sliding under them, barely staying ahead of the slicing beams hunting him down.
The battle had reached its deadliest phase—and Chen Ren knew he could no longer afford a single mistake.
“You can’t run forever!” Li Xuan shouted, his voice crackling with the same intensity as the sword auras he kept launching across the battlefield.
“And you can’t keep throwing them for long,” Chen Ren shot back, breathless but still moving.
Even as he spoke, Chen Ren frowned inwardly. Li Xuan showed no sign of stopping. Either his qi reserves were far greater than expected, or—more concerning—he was recklessly burning his life force to fuel the attacks. It was insane for a simple spar, but Chen Ren knew the man’s obsession with breaking through his imaginary wall could push him this far.
At this rate, he realised, I’ll lose if I keep running.
So he decided to gamble.
In a sudden blur of motion, Chen Ren sprinted straight at Li Xuan. The unexpected charge caught Li Xuan off-guard, but instinct kicked in as he swung out another lethal arc of sword aura. Chen Ren twisted his body at the last possible second, narrowly evading the beam, and closed the distance between them to barely ten steps.
With a smooth, practiced motion, Chen Ren channeled his qi into his spatial ring—and drew the weapon he had kept hidden for emergencies.
The gun gleamed dully in the flickering light of the battlefield.
Li Xuan’s eyes widened in disbelief at the strange, foreign object aimed at him.
Chen Ren gave him no time to react. With a sharp click, the first bullet roared from the barrel.
The sharp report of the shot tore through the air like a thunderclap, causing Li Xuan’s concentration to falter. His sword aura flickered wildly. He hastily deflected the first bullet with the flat of his sword, but Chen Ren had already fired again. And again. Click. Click. Click.
The relentless barrage left Li Xuan scrambling defensively. The sword was a poor match for the strange speed and trajectory of the small projectiles.
Finally, two bullets struck home—one in each shoulder. The rounds didn’t pierce skin, merely slamming into him with bruising force, but the pain and shock staggered him.
Chen Ren didn’t hesitate. He surged forward like a predator closing in on wounded prey. Li Xuan swung reflexively through the haze of pain, but the former ducked under the blade, stepped inside his guard, and drove a heavy punch into his chest that knocked the air from his lungs.
With a twist of momentum, Chen Ren forced Li Xuan to the ground, straddling him. Cold metal pressed against Li Xuan’s neck as Chen Ren leveled the gun just beneath his jaw.
The crowd gasped.
Li Xuan stared, stunned, his sword falling from his numb fingers with a dull clatter onto the dirt.
Chen Ren stared down at the defeated cultivator, the cold barrel of the gun still pressed lightly against Li Xuan’s throat.
“Even with your toughened body, this close, the next shot will pierce your skin,” Chen Ren said calmly. “Surrender.”
In truth, he had already used every bullet. The musket was empty, but Li Xuan had no way of knowing that. His eyes flicked between Chen Ren’s expression and the strange weapon for several tense heartbeats before he finally closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.
“I surrender.”
Chen Ren immediately stood and stepped back, slipping the gun back into his spatial ring with a faint, satisfied smile. He then extended a hand toward Li Xuan.
“It was a good fight.”
Li Xuan stared at the offered hand, surprised, then grasped it and let Chen Ren pull him to his feet. His expression shifted to a frown. “You won.”
“I almost lost,” Chen Ren replied, shaking his head. “You should have used a healing pill.”
Li Xuan straightened, brushing the dust off his robes. “It’s against the ideals of my sect’s duels. No healing pills are allowed once the fight begins.”
Chen Ren chuckled softly. “I’m glad you have such strong ideals.”
The tension dissolved as others hurried forward. Xiulan reached him first, eyes sharp as she looked him over.
“Are you alright?”
“I took a healing pill midway through the fight,” Chen Ren reassured her. “My injuries aren’t too bad. We might need to let Li Xuan rest, though.”
Li Xuan, who had been standing stiffly with a somewhat distant look in his eyes, shook his head quickly. “I’m fine. My injuries aren’t severe.”
Chen Ren gave him a knowing glance. “I’d still prefer you stay at the sect until you’ve fully recovered. It’s the least we can offer.”
Li Xuan hesitated, visibly conflicted, then inclined his head slightly. Chen Ren expected for the man to say no. But surprisingly, he accepted easily.
“Thank you for your generosity.” After a pause, he added, “I will keep my word. Your sect will have no difficulties entering many cities in the empire. I’ll personally ensure you receive the connections and tax concessions I promised.”
Chen Ren smiled and clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Thank you.”
As he glanced around, he noticed the expressions of wonder and excitement on the faces of the crowd. Most of them were mortals who had never witnessed a duel of such scale before. They whispered animatedly, pointing at the now calm battlefield and replaying the moments of the fight in hushed awe.
Chen Ren let out a light laugh. “Alright, everyone, I hope you enjoyed the show,” he called out. “Now, back to work!”
No one argued with Chen Ren’s dismissal. The crowd reluctantly dispersed, though the energy of excitement lingered in the air. Chen Ren had no doubt the story of the duel would ripple through the entire village by nightfall, likely growing more exaggerated with each telling.
Still, he didn’t mind. A bit of added reputation never hurt, and right now, he had more pressing matters to handle.
He turned back to Li Xuan. “We’ll discuss how you’ll help us over dinner tonight?”
Li Xuan, still catching his breath but recovering quickly, gave a short nod. “That would be good.”
Chen Ren gestured toward Zi Wen. “Go with Zi Wen. He’ll show you to a room. Make yourself comfortable.”
Zi Wen gave a respectful nod and led Li Xuan away from the training grounds.
Chen Ren then glanced at Anji, Yalan, and Xiulan as they approached him. He gave them a wry, almost tired grin. “Help me out a bit.”
Xiulan tilted her head curiously. “With what?”
Chen Ren’s smile widened slightly as he turned toward the main hall. “We need to sort and catalogue all the treasures we brought back. I hope you’ve got a few empty storage rooms ready, because we’re going to need them.”
2025-05-15 05:51:24 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 113
Chen Ren had intended to learn more about Wang Jun—the head—in the carriage, but as soon as he started asking, he realized one thing: the head never shut up.
What began as a simple question, “What was your life like before losing your body?” turned into an endless flood of life history.
From his birth as a farmer’s son, to finding a mysterious treasure hidden in the mountains that propelled him into the path of cultivation, to the chaotic clashes with young masters of more established clans (a phenomenon that seemed eternal no matter the era), Wang Jun rambled on.
He recounted his early breakthroughs, his first loves, grudges, betrayals, duels—nothing was left out.
By the end of day one, Chen Ren and the others trapped in the carriage had long since stopped trying to process the sheer volume of detail. Meanwhile, Wang Jun showed no signs of tiring. After spending so long sealed in sleep, he seemed almost manic for conversation.
Unfortunately, Chen Ren’s group bore the full brunt of that enthusiasm.
The only relief came during rest stops to eat. Amusingly, that was when Chen Ren realized Wang Jun, having no body, didn’t and couldn’t eat. Instead, he explained that his current existence was something unique—he now absorbed qi directly through his soul. It fascinated Chen Ren, though he refrained from probing further. Anything about soul cultivation was tied to Anji’s inheritance, and Chen Ren wasn’t eager to overstep. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if he could gain even a basic lesson or two from Wang Jun. Adding soul techniques to his arsenal could one day be invaluable.
Another thought had been eating at him. How strong was Wang Jun’s soul? Chen Ren’s own soul, originally from Earth, had crossed dimensions and fused with the fragments of this world’s Chen Ren. Did that make him capable of going further in soul cultivation? He was almost impatient to ask Anji if he could join her in training.
Apparently, she had already brought up the idea with Wang Jun, and the head had agreed. Chen Ren didn’t know why, but he also knew how delicate the topic was. To ask for a share in her inheritance without offering something valuable in return would be an insult.
He had already profited greatly from the Void Blade Sect’s vault. His sect might have lacked recognition, but it's treasury had elevated it to the level of ancient sects. With the books, techniques, and weapons he now possessed, Chen Ren could nurture a force of cultivators powerful enough to shake the region.
And yet, he knew such fortune came with a price. Trouble would follow him. That was certain. After all, he had robbed the treasures of another Established sect—one that would surely discover the loss of their expedition team, even if they found no trace of the culprits.
The true danger lay in the fact that they were demonic cultivators in disguise. To what degree, he couldn’t exactly say, but he wasn’t about to take chances or find out. It was only wise to prepare for retaliation, even if he was fairly confident they wouldn’t be able to trace the deed back to the Divine Coin Sect.
As Yalan had once told him, paranoia served cultivators well. Chen Ren intended to put the new treasures he had acquired to good use. If they came knocking, he would be ready. Even with the gap in strength, he believed he could overcome them.
But before that inevitable conflict, increasing his own power was the first step. The moment he returned to the sect, that would be his focus. Not only for the Blazing Ember Sect’s survival, but also to prepare for the coming winter.
What had initially been a plan to test his firearms in the wilds now served a dual purpose. He would test himself as well, hunting beasts and gaining real combat experience. The opportunity to fight cultivators had been plentiful— beasts were a different matter, and he needed that knowledge.
The days passed in a blur of steady travel. They stopped less and pressed harder, cutting down the distance swiftly until finally, the familiar shape of Meadow village came into view.
At that moment, Wang Jun was still droning on about a chapter of his life, recounting his time aboard a ship to a distant island. Hong Yi, seated at the front of the carriage, interrupted sharply.
“I see the village!”
Chen Ren leaned toward the window, catching sight of the wooden walls rising against the horizon. Chief Muyang had clearly taken his suggestion to heart—the palisade was being built. Parts were already standing, sturdy and well-crafted, while other sections remained under construction.
As Chen Ren watched in quiet satisfaction, Anji grabbed Wang Jun by the hair and pushed the head forward so he could see.
“So this is where I’ll be staying until I get a body, huh?” Wang Jun said, in an oddly cheerful tone.
“Yeah,” Chen Ren replied with a faint grin. “This is home—for now.”
“Looks like one of those small villages that used to treat cultivators as gods.”
Chen Ren huffed. “That’s close enough. They're more cautious around us than reverent, though. Times have changed.”
Wang Jun’s head was pulled back inside the carriage, and after a moment of quiet, he spoke again. “Are they good servants? I want two for my needs. One of them can hold me so I can take morning walks.”
Chen Ren frowned immediately. “They aren’t servants. And you’re not getting morning walks. If I let a talking head wander around, there’d be mass panic. I doubt the world has gotten used to disembodied heads strolling about in the centuries you’ve been... napping.”
Wang Jun scowled. “So I’m to sit in a room and be brought out only when you want to extract knowledge from me? Am I some dusty old relic on a shelf?”
By now, Chen Ren knew the head had already figured out their intentions. For all his endless rambling, Wang Jun had once been the founder of a sect that had stood for centuries after him. He was sharp enough to see through them.
“We can talk about your... request when we arrive,” Chen Ren said carefully, not wanting to come off rude. “Of course, I won’t demand your knowledge for free. I’m not your disciple, nor will I act like one. Whatever knowledge I seek, I’ll offer something in return. It’ll be fair. A give and take.”
“Hmph.” Wang Jun sniffed. “Even if you were my disciple, I wouldn’t answer everything. My last disciple tried to steal my lover. They had an affair, then ran away together.”
“Did you kill them?” Chen Ren asked immediately. He couldn’t have imagined anything else happening to the disciple at the cost of his actions.
“No,” Wang Jun replied, sounding almost insulted. “Those idiots hid inside a wyvern’s nest and got eaten. I had to kill the wyvern and slice open its stomach just to confirm they were dead. The whole thing was... complicated. I’ll tell you the full story one day.”
Chen Ren simply nodded, still a bit stunned, as the carriage finally rolled past the gates and into the village. The crude but solid palisade surrounded them as the familiar buildings came into view.
As they neared the sect’s entrance, Chen Ren let out a long, quiet breath of relief.
When Wang Fu had transformed, there had been a time he wondered if he would ever see this place again. But now, here it stood in front of him, solid and real. Home.
There, at the entrance, Xiulan stood waiting for him alongside a few mortal sect members. Chen Ren smiled faintly at the sight of her before leaning toward Anji.
“Get the head out under a cloth once there are fewer eyes around,” he whispered. “I’ll go talk to Xiulan.”
Anji nodded, and Chen Ren sighed inwardly. If only Wang Jun could be tossed into a spatial ring. Unfortunately, living beings—or in this case, something close enough—couldn’t survive in dimensional space without catastrophic consequences. He wasn’t eager to test that theory with a talking head.
He climbed down from the carriage with Yalan following close behind. Xiulan approached with a bright but tired smile.
“You succeeded,” she said, then glanced toward the carriage. “Are the items you found in there?”
Chen Ren shook his head and raised his hand, flashing the spatial ring. “No. Everything is safe inside here. I’ll explain later. There are… complications. We also brought someone back with us.”
Xiulan’s brows lifted. “Another disciple?”
“No,” Chen Ren said with a tired chuckle. “It’s… difficult to explain. You’ll see soon enough. For now, I just want to sleep. A lot happened this week, and I need rest before we talk.”
Xiulan nodded but hesitated. Her eyes darted nervously toward the carriage and back.
“Well–”
Chen Ren caught it instantly. “What is it?”
“There’s someone here for you.”
“Who?”
“Li Xuan.”
The name made Chen Ren sigh and rub at his temple. “Li Xuan?”
“He arrived yesterday asking to spar with you. Zi Wen found him walking near the village and brought him here. He was disappointed you weren’t around, but he’s been waiting for your return.”
Chen Ren groaned inwardly. The last time he’d seen Li Xuan, the man had barely survived Gu Tian’s assault and had been left paralyzed. They had only interacted once since Chen Ren had taken over this body.
Though Li Xuan had always struck him as one of those rigid cultivators who lived and breathed cultivation, he was neither reckless nor impulsive. Still, Chen Ren couldn’t fathom why the man would now seek him out for a spar.
Chen Ren considered refusing outright. He liked to think of himself as more of a strategist, a planner—not someone eager to fight duels. But letting an unknown variable roam his sect unchecked wasn’t an option.
“Take me to him,” he said at last. “The next few weeks are going to be critical. I can’t afford loose ends. Especially not a variable like Li Xuan.”
Xiulan nodded and led the way. They wound through the sect buildings, heading toward the training grounds at the back.
As they approached, Chen Ren spotted Zi Wen in conversation with a tall figure clad in plain robes—Li Xuan.
At their feet, Little Yuze lay sprawled comfortably on the ground, rolling lazily like a large pup under the afternoon sun.
Chen Ren hadn’t seen Li Xuan in some time, but he noticed the change immediately. The man’s aura had shifted. His long, flowing hair was now cut shorter, and there was a calmer, more disciplined air about him. The rigid arrogance Chen Ren remembered had been softened. A small, relaxed smile lingered on Li Xuan’s face as he conversed with Zi Wen, the two standing under the gentle warmth of the afternoon sun.
As soon as they heard footsteps, both men turned. Their focus pointed toward Chen Ren almost instantly.
“Chen Ren,” Li Xuan called, stepping forward. “It’s good to see you’re already here. I was prepared to stay here for weeks just to have the chance to challenge you to a spar.”
Well, wouldn’t that be convenient for you? Chen Ren thought, noticing how the man looked simply happy seeing him here. He stopped a few steps away, hands loosely at his sides.
“It’s been a while, but I have some questions,” he said, not wasting any time. “Did I offend you by winning the city tournament instead of you?”
“No. You deserved that victory. After I lost consciousness, I was told everything. I heard how you defeated Gu Tian. I’ll admit it—you were my better in that tournament. I fell for his underhanded methods. You prevailed.”
Chen Ren raised a brow. “Then why are you here now, asking me for a spar if you hold no grudge?”
That was the only question he had in mind. He knew cultivators were egoistic men who’d do anything to get back on someone if they lost, but if that wasn’t the case, why was he here?
“Well,” Li Xuan straightened his shoulders. “To know if I'm better than you. I never imagined I’d say this, but I've come to see you as a wall I must overcome. You succeeded where I failed, and since that day, I've trained tirelessly to surpass you. I’m confident now. So, here I am, I want to climb over that wall.”
Chen Ren inwardly groaned. Wall? He had never seen himself as one.
On raw cultivation strength, Li Xuan almost certainly surpassed him now. The man’s qi was denser and more stable than before, clear proof of his progress. The only reason Chen Ren had survived against Gu Tian was because a literal dragon had intervened. But knowing the cultivation society, spirit manifestations were just a part of a cultivator’s strength.
Li Xuan’s eyes gleamed with unspoken challenge, practically begging to fight here and now. Chen Ren hesitated. Should he just accept and lose? No—that might only insult and antagonize Li Xuan further if he saw through the ploy. Could he refuse altogether?
Testing the waters, he replied. “I don’t want to fight you.”
Li Xuan’s brows furrowed. “Why not?”
“I have no interest in sparring. I think you’re stronger than me.”
Li Xuan frowned deeply. “We won’t know that until we spar. It doesn’t have to be life or death. I know you have your sect to think about.”
Chen Ren sighed. The man was adamant.
“Even so, I don’t see any benefit. You see me as a wall, but I’m not even fond of fights, and this is one I can avoid. So my answer is no.”
Li Xuan stared at him for a long moment, clearly weighing his next words. For a moment, he thought Li Xuan would say okay, accept his ‘no’ and be on his way.
But instead, he offered, “If you win, I’ll teach you a sword technique that has been passed down through my family for generations. I believe that would make it… interesting enough for you.”
Chen Ren might have been tempted under other circumstances. But after looting an entire sect library, he was certain he already possessed countless sword techniques. Even if Li Xuan’s style was superior, Chen Ren didn’t use a sword to begin with. None of his disciples were sword cultivators either.
“I don’t use a sword,” Chen Ren said flatly.
Li Xuan’s brow creased, but he quickly recovered. “Then I can offer a spear technique. Or a movement technique. Or even a body refinement method—”
Each offer was met with the same quiet shake of Chen Ren’s head.
“No.”
“No.”
“No.”
With every rejection, Li Xuan’s expression darkened, frustration creeping steadily onto his face. He tugged his hair in the end. The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably between them.
Chen Ren let out a slow breath, convinced the man had finally given up.
“I believe I’ve rejected it enough. I’ll be taking my leave now to get some rest—”
“If you win,” Li Xuan interrupted, his voice suddenly sharp with purpose, “I’ll speak to my father to secure tax concessions for your business in Cloud Mist City. I’ll also help you obtain permits and better connections in other nearby cities.”
Chen Ren froze mid-step.
“You know my family has held lordship over the region for generations,” Li Xuan continued calmly. “I have ties with many nobles. I can open doors that would otherwise take you years to unlock.”
For a moment, Chen Ren simply stared, his mind racing. This is too good to be true. Greed tugged at him insistently. It was an offer no merchant could ignore. But still…
“If I lose?” Chen Ren asked warily.
“Nothing,” Li Xuan said at once. “I only want to prove to myself that I’m stronger. That’s all.”
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes. “No tricks? No hidden conditions?”
“I don’t like scheming. I’m not trying to trap you. I just want a clean answer to a single question, am I better than you?”
Chen Ren fell silent, gaze flicking between Zi Wen, Xiulan, and Yalan, all of whom were quietly watching the exchange. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he nodded.
“Fine. I’ll spar with you.”
2025-05-13 03:12:33 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 221
Some plans he had made were so risky and unusual that even Kai had doubted them, despite knowing that nothing else was going to work. This was one of them.
Originally, he had intended to bring down the massive tree by burning its roots and weakening the earth around it. But the task had proven far harder than expected. He had backup plans—several, in fact—but in the end, he had decided to trust Elias instead. The old Magus was a variable, unpredictable, but had done nothing to arouse suspicion so far. Kai had deliberately kept him in the background, knowing full well Elias was used to leading, yet the man had not complained. That willingness to cooperate earned him Kai’s trust now, at the most critical moment.
Kai battled the writhing roots and the occasional fiends on the ground while Elias focused on preparing his spell. [Earthquake]—a sixth circle spell—required time, precision, and extensive preparation. The golems flanked Elias as guardians, with Sentinel taking the lead in shielding him from surging roots, weavers, and fiends. If the situation worsened, Kai was ready to assist with defensive spells, but for now, he was fully occupied.
The roots felt endless. By now, Kai had burned through what seemed like thousands, yet they regenerated relentlessly, twisting out of the blackened earth as fast as he could destroy them.
Frustration gnawed at him, but he pressed on. He continued throwing spells one after another. His second circle flame spells were barely slowing them. Gritting his teeth, he summoned a third circle spell.
A blazing disk of molten magma tore through the roots, incinerating them only for new tendrils to surge forward in their place.
As Kai took care of them, he stole a glance toward Elias.
The Magus stood tall, chanting the incantation with unwavering focus. Strands of raw mana coiled from both of his outstretched hands, burrowing deep into the ground. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his face had grown pale. Kai knew the spell’s cost would leave the man drained and barely able to stand afterward.
That was trust. And Kai honored it.
Turning his gaze toward his forces, he also saw that the battle on the flanks was nearly over. The treant had hurled wave after wave of weavers and twisted creatures against them, but at last, the tide seemed to have ended.
With the disciplined formation of soldiers, Enforcers, Mages, Paladins, mana cannons, and golems working in unison, his forces had held their ground. Casualties and injuries had been heavy, but they stood victorious, cutting down the last remnants of the treant’s twisted army.
Although he was proud of how they kept formation, in the back of his mind, he knew something else. This was only a temporary victory. Even if every weaver and fiend here was slain, the treant could summon more from the corrupted wilderness of Vanderfall. They were scattered everywhere. Unless the weaver—the treant itself—was destroyed, the war would drag on.
They had won battles. But the treant was the war.
As that grim thought settled, Elias staggered and slumped to the ground, his breathing ragged. Kai flew to his side and caught him as he wavered. The spell matrix still pulsed faintly between Elias’ palms.
“You good?” Kai asked quickly.
“It’s done.” Elias’ voice was hoarse. He turned to the side and spat on the floor. “The spell is ready. You can trigger it whenever you want, but don’t wait. I can’t hold it long.” He glanced up weakly. “Warn your forces. I don’t want them swallowed by the fissures.”
Kai nodded sharply and shot into the air. He spotted Killian, deep in the fray, cleaving through the armored hide of a stone lizard fiend.
“Killian!” Kai shouted as he descended. “Pull our people back. Get them away from the center. And send the rest of the explosive drones down the tunnels the golems dug.”
Killian hesitated briefly, not fully grasping the scope of the order, but then gave a crisp nod. The man knew better than to question whatever Kai had in mind. He’d trusted him ever since the beginning—blindly. And he knew it came handy in such situations.
Without another thought, he ascended again. If the [Earthquake] worked the way he hoped, they would be the final blow. Below, a supporting Mage guided the golems to drop the last of the drones into the tunnels.
The golems had served their purpose: distracting and entangling the roots underground. But their true task had always been to carve paths toward the treant’s main roots.
Seconds later, Killian’s voice rang out across the battlefield. “Lord Arzan, we’re ready!”
Kai’s response was immediate. “Burn them.”
The ground below trembled violently as the explosives detonated. Flames and shockwaves roared through the tunnels, consuming roots in blistering fire. The massive tree above groaned and shook violently.
At that moment, Elias unleashed [Earthquake]. An overwhelming surge of mana coursed from his frail body into the ground. Kai stayed airborne, his wind magic keeping him steady as the world below began to fracture. Sentinel and the other golems propped Elias up to keep him from collapsing.
The treant, in a last desperate act, retracted its roots from the surface and tried to lash out at Kai. The molten disk spell had already faded, and Kai hovered just out of reach, watching. The ground heaved and split. The fire still raged below, devouring the roots that were once its lifeline.
Kai could almost feel the treant’s panic. It tried to extend new roots, but the shaking ground tore them apart. There was nowhere left to go, nowhere to escape.
With every passing second, the quake intensified. Cracks split the earth like lightning bolts, racing toward the treant. Its enormous roots flailed wildly, writhing in primal fear as the world beneath it prepared to swallow it whole.
Kai simply hovered above, watching as thin cracks widened into gaping fissures, splitting the earth beneath the treant’s enormous bulk. The ground around it fractured violently, unable to bear the weight.
Not letting up, Kai ascended higher and conjured spheres of molten magma, launching them into the exposed holes where desperate roots clawed for stability. The regenerating tendrils that tried to anchor the treant against the earthquake burned and exploded into ash under the relentless assault.
Yes! It’s working, Kai thought as he saw how the treant had begun to tilt. More and more fissures spread like veins across the earth, radiating outward from the collapsing center.
The mighty trunk, once towering and indomitable, wavered like a dying beast.
The tremors intensified. With a last resounding crack, the final of the underground roots were wrenched free as the ground gave way completely. The treant toppled, crashing down with an awful noise that sent a massive shockwave rippling across the battlefield. For a moment, the entire area was covered with dust.
Kai didn’t wait. The moment the great corpse lay broken on the ground, he summoned the remaining drones linked to his mana signature. They shot through the air and obeyed his command, releasing the vials they carried.
In an exact pattern, the drones circled, scattering a golden liquid in a fine mist over the treant’s sprawling remains.
The substance clung to bark, branches, and splintered roots. Even as the treant weakly tried to lash out, dragging ruined roots across the ground, the struggle was already over. Once every inch of its massive frame was soaked, Kai held out a single finger. A small flame flickered to life at the tip. He took careful aim, then let it fly.
The fireball struck—and the reaction was instant. The flames roared across the soaked corpse in a heartbeat, engulfing it completely.
The treant ignited instantly. Its once-impervious bark, thick and ancient, was no match for the alchemical liquid. Kai knew it was only a matter of time now. With its roots severed, the great beast had no way to anchor or heal itself. It could do nothing but burn, powerless, awaiting its inevitable end.
A voice broke through his thoughts. “What was that liquid?” Elias rasped from behind.
Kai didn’t take his eyes off the inferno. “Pyrosene,” he said. “An alchemical essence. Normally used in top-grade pill refining, where the mixture has to be heated for months without burning away. It can also be used to create an alchemical phenomenon called the Endless Flame.” He gestured at the blazing corpse. “That’s what you’re looking at. Just one spark is enough to ignite it—and once it starts, it won’t stop. The treant will burn for hours, but the pain alone will finish it long before that. Without roots to draw strength, it’s already dead.”
Elias stared at the roaring flames and gave a slow nod. “So…it’s over?”
Kai finally exhaled, the weight of command easing from his shoulders. “Yes. We won.”
He turned toward the rear, where his forces had pulled back to safety. A few stray cracks and fissures had reached them, but thanks to the early warning, they had escaped serious harm. Across the battered field, Kai spotted Killian among the ranks, his armor scorched and dented, grinning in exhausted relief. Kai gave him a firm nod in return.
Releasing the last remnants of his active spells, Kai felt the draining pull of mana finally fade. His limbs heavy, he lowered himself to the ground and sat back hard against a jagged stone.
He breathed deep and hard. His entire body shook as the toll of the march, the constant ambushes and the harrowing battle caught up with him. Every cell of his being was exhausted.
And yet, beneath the exhaustion, a quiet sense of satisfaction settled over him. They had done it. The treant had fallen, and he had done it without sacrificing the core of his forces.
He had come far—farther than he ever thought possible. From a lone wanderer to the leader of a united force, shaping strategy and guiding men through horrors few could imagine.
As he sat there, a familiar feeling stirred inside him. A powerful energy building deep in his core. He had felt this before.
The call had come again. It was time. Time to reach the fourth circle.
***
Viscount Redmont stood on the walls, staring down with full focus at the dark, empty land outside. The ground was torn and barren, marked by the deep holes where the cursed roots had once crawled out.
For over a day now, the roots had pulled back for some unknown reason. It had been a huge relief for the Mages and soldiers who had stayed behind to fight them. Even Redmont himself, though too proud to say it aloud, felt the heaviness on his shoulders ease.
Because by now, the endless battle had worn them all down.
But the fact that the roots had retreated worried him just as much. It likely meant the treant had drawn its roots back to protect itself in battle. That meant Count Arzan had reached the monster. Redmont clenched his fists on the cold stone wall. Was the battle still going on? Was the Count still alive? Both the questions left him with a stupid headache.
A soldier standing beside him broke the silence. “My lord Redmont,” the bald man said, “the expedition will surely defeat the cursed treant. It’s been a day since the roots vanished. If the treant had won, the roots would have returned by now.”
Redmont nodded slightly, though the worry did not leave him.“I believe you’re right. Arzan’s forces are strong. That’s exactly why I’m still concerned.”
The soldier blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, my lord?”
Redmont kept his eyes on the dead land. “The men we sent are the best this kingdom has,” he said quietly. “The army may have larger numbers. The Archine Tower may have more Mages. But Count Arzan’s force is different. They are balanced in every way—soldiers, knights, Mages, Paladins, Clerics and even golems. And Arzan himself… he has knowledge far beyond his years and his rank due to his lineage.”
Redmont sighed deeply and tightened his grip on the wall. “If even that force struggles, it only shows how dangerous this enemy truly is.” Redmont turned toward the soldier with a small smile. “Do you know what the most important thing is in a war?” he asked.
The soldier hesitated, unsure of the answer. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, probably not knowing what to reply with. Redmont waited patiently, knowing the man had to speak his heart.
“Well?”
“Strength, my lord?”
Redmont shook his head. “Ah, no. Knowledge. A man with knowledge can plan, and a man who plans rarely loses. Arzan has both knowledge and the strength to use it. If even he cannot defeat the treant, then I fear for the kingdom’s future.” He looked out at the distant horizon. “The kingdom is not as strong as it once was. We don’t get men like Arzan very often.”
The soldier fell quiet, but curiosity got the better of him. “Does that mean House Redmont will support Count Arzan?”
Redmont paused, falling silent. The soldier quickly panicked.
“I didn’t mean to overstep, my lord. Please forgive me—”
“No, it’s fine,” Redmont interrupted gently. “I was just thinking. You’re right. If Arzan returns after killing the treant, House Redmont will support him fully. In both the Sylvan Enclave and the Assembly.”
Just as he spoke the words, Redmont froze. A strange wave of mystical energy swept over him. A clear voice echoed in his mind—it was Arzan’s voice.
Viscount Redmont, the treant has been burned. We suffered losses, but we are safe and will return soon. I only wished to tell you of our victory and give you peace of mind.
Then the voice vanished. Redmont stood still, eyes wide. For a moment, he wondered if he had imagined it. He blinked a couple of times, feeling the exhaustion of Arzan’s voice. Maybe it—but no—it had been real. Too real.
Slowly, a smile spread across his face.
The soldier beside him looked worried. “My lord, are you alright? What happened? You froze—what is it?”
Redmont turned to him, his eyes bright.“They’ve won.” He took a deep breath. “Count Arzan has defeated the cursed treant. We are free from the plague’s hold.” He straightened, voice strong and clear. “Inform everyone. When they return, I want every one of them to be given a hero’s welcome. They have saved our kingdom.”
2025-05-13 03:10:51 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 220
After the beast wave, the forge never rested.
Where once it had only crafted swords and armor, now it pulsed and thrummed with energy and purpose. Under Kai’s guidance and the sharp eye of the dwarf mastersmith Tharnok, the forges turned mana cannons to something greater. They had been powerful already, capable of shooting out concentrated bursts of mana, but Kai believed that wasn’t their limit. They could become much more.
And they did.
Tharnok’s new sealwork changed everything. Inside each cannon, there were fresh pathways lined the core, inscribed with runes that twisted and flickered when charged with Aethum. The result? The cannons now took in the raw energy of Aethum stones and released it not just as a single beam—but two. One was pure, condensed mana. The other, a blazing inferno of liquid fire. Both emerged together through twin barrels, spiraling like dragons locked in a dance, ripping through air and enemy alike.
Kai stood on a hill above the battlefield and watched as they fired.
The twin beams screamed forward—white mana and molten flame coiling around one another. Where they struck, everything ceased to exist. Roots that once surged like serpents were gone in an instant, turned to smoking ash. The very air cracked with pressure. The treant’s hulking form reeled, black veins bulging across its bark as if in agony or confusion. For a moment, the forest stilled, the remaining roots hesitated—as if the treant was trying to understand what had just happened.
Then the counterattack came. Not from the front—but from behind.
Dozens of roots burst out of the ground, encircling the very wagons that carried the cannons. The soldier manning one of them froze—but the roots never reached. A wall of stone exploded upward, intercepting them with brutal timing. The second after, both wagons rose. A thick platform of earth lifted them, grinding upwards like a moving fortress, placing the cannons out of reach. Kai glanced at Magus Elias—who stood with hand raised—and gave a short nod. The man nodded back.
Kai inhaled and let the winds move him. They burst out around him as he leapt into the air, the army below shifting into their roles under Killian’s command. From above, Kai could see the flow of battle—soldiers fighting to hold the flanks, Enforcers clashing with weavers and fiends rushing in waves.
He rose higher, faster, fire licking at his palms.
Below him, roots snapped up, reaching for him—but his response was immediate. Twin bolts of [Fiend fire] exploded from his hands, spiraling downward and turning the tendrils into molten slag. He flew further still, higher into the canopy’s edge, just past the treant’s reach. His hands formed spell structures midair and mana surged outward. Then came the spells—ones he rarely used.
[Magma Halo], spinning disks of superheated stone that scythed through branches and fiends.
[Wind Sever], a compressed arc of air sharp enough to slice steel.
[Blazing Shardstorm], countless flaming shards rained down like meteorites, hammering the treant’s limbs.
But even as his strongest spells struck, the treant barely affected. Its bark was charred but not broken. Kai circled it, hitting it from every angle—fire spells and wind torrents carved gouges into the side—but still, it stood, its massive body barely budging.
And worse—it was adapting.
From beneath its thick canopy, fiends began leaping at him—small, fast ones, crawling from hidden hollows like insects. They lunged at him midair, claws glinting, but Kai was faster. He sent wind daggers into their eyes, and flaming spears attacked their bodies, turning their wings to ash. Most never reached him.
The rest plummeted into the chaos below.
Still, the roots didn’t stop. Still, the treant endured. And above it all, he hovered—eyes narrowed, mind racing.
“This thing… it’s stronger than I thought,” he muttered, fire crackling along his arms. “Much stronger.”
But he didn’t turn back. Because the guardian of the plague lands had to fall.
His hands flared with fire and wind, the elements merging into a single devastating blast that roared through the air and slammed into the center of the treant’s chest. Bark split open, the impact leaving behind a deep crater—his strongest spell yet.
But even that barely dented the beast’s enormous body. The bark was just too thick. He narrowed his eyes. Then changed tactics.
Two massive magma spheres spun into existence over his palms, heat rippling off them like the breath of a volcano. With a grunt, he hurled them—not at the treant’s trunk, but beneath it. The twin orbs fell like meteors, striking the ground. Flames burst outward in all directions, devouring fiends and weavers caught in the radius, and the soil hissed and bubbled from the impact.
But that wasn’t the goal.
His aim was the ground itself.
If he couldn’t burn the treant down, he would bring it down.
The earth cracked, splintered, and caved in under the weight of the treant. Steam billowed upward, flames licked the roots, the terrain grew unstable, revealing more of the gnarled roots buried beneath.
And that was when the treant reacted.
The ground trembled again.
The roots came faster—wilder, angrier, with a will that felt almost desperate. They lashed and coiled, stabbing toward him with deadly speed. But Kai was still faster. Frost burst from his outstretched hand, forming ice walls that wrapped around the treant’s base. The roots slammed into them, cracking but not breaking through. He followed it with a second spell—freezing the soil itself, buying him time to dig deeper, to expose more of the treant’s lifelines.
He knew this was the only way.
If he couldn’t reach its core, he had to sever it from its foundation. Without its roots, the treant was nothing but a fat old tree too large to hold its own weight. It would fall under its own size—and Kai would be there to finish it.
But then, a sound pierced the battlefield.
Not the screech of fiends, nor the groan of trees, but a roar. It ripped through the air like a blade, loud enough to silence even the crackling of his flames. Kai flinched mid-cast, his instincts forcing him to twist his body as roots struck from the side. He slashed with a wind blade just in time—cutting through them before they could pierce his side.
And then, from the corner of his eye—he saw it. A shadow in the branches. A shape he hadn't seen before. Something watching him.
Three glowing eyes stared through the leaves—unblinking. And then it moved.
Stepping out from the dense branches, the creature revealed itself fully.
It was hideous—not because of its form, but because of what had been done to it. It was a mix of the body of a bear—dense with muscle, dark fur matted with blood and scars—and the face of an owl. It was twisted and warped, covered in black lines of cracked, pulsing dead mana. Its third eye gleamed with a sickly light. A corrupted owlbear. This one was grade 4, probably touching grade 5.
It was massive, standing over ten feet tall, every limb thick with strength. Its presence radiated pressure. The dead mana inside it didn’t just glow—it spread, seeping into the air like poison.
Kai's mouth tightened. A memory flickered—a fight with an owlbear long ago, and how much effort that had taken. This one was larger. Before he could come up with a plan, the third eye flashed. A beam of destruction screamed through the air.
He shot upward, wind blasting from his legs, dodging the attack by inches. The ground below exploded into shards and flame as the beam touched him. He spun in the air, steadying himself mid-flight.
And he realized one thing.
If the treant had a guardian… this was it.
***
Battles were interesting.
Elias had always thought so—ever since his very first one. They were brutal, yes. Bloody. Loud. But there was something in the chaos of it all, something raw and honest. War stripped away the masks people wore. It didn’t care for bloodlines, titles, or philosophies. Only power. In battle, being a killer wasn’t a sin. It was a skill. A virtue.
And winning?
Winning was jubilance—pure, thrilling superiority.
But somewhere along the way, that feeling had left him.
He didn’t remember when exactly. A decade ago? Two? It didn’t matter. The moment his power had risen beyond his peers, battles had stopped being exciting. There was no challenge left in Vanderfall. No rival Mage who could force him to dig deeper, think faster, or feel alive. And challenging another kingdom’s Mage was tantamount to declaring war. Politics had bound his hands.
So he turned to beasts. But even that had grown stale.
You didn’t find a worthy beast every day.
But today... was different.
The battlefield in front of him was unlike anything he'd ever seen. A sea of roots writhed, crashing through the ground with unnatural speed. Weavers darted between them, their sickly forms slashing with their claws while fiends sprinted through gaps in the chaos like wild dogs off leash. At the center of it all, towering like a dark monument, was the treant.
A monstrosity of bark, blight, and rage.
He was certain that if the army of Vanderfall saw this battlefield, half of them would flee. But this force—this strange, mismatched army—held the line.
The stronger warriors took the front without hesitation, fighting as though this were their fate, not just their duty. The weaker ones stayed in formation, shielded by shimmering barriers and golems that acted with coordinated precision. Mages and other ranged attackers hit from the back. Clerics darted between the lines, using their blessings for the wounded, dragging them back and replacing them with fresh fighters. And above and beyond it all, the cannons.
Elias’ eyes lingered on the strange devices mounted atop the wagons, still elevated on the stone platforms he had raised. He had never seen anything like them—twin-barrelled constructs that spewed out beams of destruction strong enough to vaporize mana-born creatures. Their inner mechanics were alien to him, but they used aethum stones that burned hot and long. The way those beams sliced through the battlefield...
If he got out of this alive, he would study them. He had to. For now, he was given a job: protect the cannons. And he did—effortlessly.
Earth was his domain. When roots surged, they met stone. When weavers rushed in, spikes erupted beneath their feet, impaling them in mid-stride. No fiend crossed his threshold with its heart still beating. The battlefield around him was in constant motion, yet Elias barely had to move. He controlled the ground beneath his feet like it was part of his body.
And yet…
He felt wasted.
He knew it wasn’t true. Strategically, he was in the right place. Losing those cannons would mean losing the fight. But emotionally, it didn’t sit well. This wasn’t the kind of magic that made his heart race. So, from time to time, he sent out volleys of stone shards—tearing through enemy ranks, crushing skulls and limbs—but it brought no joy.
No satisfaction. Until his gaze drifted upward.
And there, above the battlefield, where the light of fire and mana met the shadows of twisted branches, there was Kai.
The young Mage soared through the treetops, fire circling one hand, wind roaring around the other. And before him, locked in a savage midair duel, was a creature Elias hadn’t seen in years, an owlbear. But this one was unlike any before. Bigger. Darker. Its fur was riddled with scars, its body pulsing with threads of dead mana. Its third eye fired beams of ruin, chasing Kai through the air as the man danced just out of reach, retaliating with precise spells and elemental bursts.
Interesting, Elias thought, tilting his head slightly.
He had underestimated Kai at first. Young, yes. Rough around the edges, yes. But he had a presence. Power. And now, as he fought something even Elias would hesitate to take lightly, he did not falter.
Not many Mages dared stand so close to death.
Therefore, he watched. His interest already piqued. For the first time in years, a battle had started to feel less stale.
At the same time, the roots surged upward—curling and spiraling to trap the young man mid-air. Elias raised an eyebrow.
Not bad… he thought. At least for a tree.
Kai was fast, clever, and more capable than most Third-Circle Mages had any right to be. Elias had little doubt he’d eventually handle the owlbear—logic said otherwise, but instinct said yes. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the boy was risking too much. The way he flew, darted, burned—like he didn’t care to survive in his pursuit to win.
Perhaps he was just waiting to call in his elemental warriors once the field was cleared. Or maybe he had something else in mind. But Elias had begun to understand the young man a little by now. Kai didn’t like asking for help. He didn’t trust easily. His entire strategy had clearly been drawn without factoring Elias into the equation. And Elias didn’t blame him. He’d himself not trust a higher circle Mage from an enemy country to stand together against such a creature.
Still… he was bored.
Protecting supply wagons from roots had long lost its charm. It was a job for apprentices, not him. And frankly, watching a treant and an owlbear put on a show while he stood idle felt like an insult to his power. So, even if Kai hadn’t asked, even if the boy didn’t trust him, Elias wasn’t about to let the battle end without getting involved.
He raised his hands. A complex spell structure lines lit across his palms.
From the earth around him, five massive stone spears erupted. They hovered for a moment in front of him, humming with dense mana. Without delay, he shot them—not at the enemy, but toward the supply wagon. The men manning it flinched, ducking down in panic, until they realized the spears weren’t meant for them.
Elias gave a short nod and spoke dryly, “These will take care of any roots that come near. I’m going to go lend your lord a hand.”
Before they could even reply, the ground beneath Elias surged. A stone platform burst upward and launched forward like a moving walkway, speeding him through the battlefield. He couldn’t fly—he didn’t use wind spells, nor did he carry enchanted artifacts for levitation. But this was better.
The speed, the control—it was almost fun.
Within moments, he was upon the treant. His eyes caught the blur of movement—Kai and the owlbear still locked in aerial combat, the beast lunging from branch to branch. Elias didn't hesitate. From his palm, a large, brutal spell formed—a spiked stone sphere the size of a wagon wheel, glowing faintly with compressed force. He lobbed it with ease.
The projectile arced through the air, collided with the owlbear’s chest mid-leap. The beast howled and staggered, claws scrabbling to grip a thick branch, barely catching itself from plummeting to its death.
Kai turned, hovering mid-air. “What are you doing here?”
Elias shrugged, unbothered. “I was bored watching supply wagons. Did you really think my power was only good for guarding a box on wheels?”
Kai exhaled sharply. “I would have finished the treant by now, but it’s far stronger than I anticipated.”
“So you need my help,” Elias said, voice flat.
Kai didn’t respond directly. His eyes narrowed instead. “Look out.”
The third eye of the owlbear flared.
Elias reacted instantly. A wall of stone surged upward—followed by three more, each layered behind the other in quick succession. The beam slammed into them, carving a path through the first two before fizzling against the third.
“Well,” Elias muttered, stepping forward as more platforms rose to match Kai’s altitude, “this is a bit more like it.”
Now, side by side with the younger Mage, he glanced over the battlefield again. The treant loomed above them, a wall of bark and blight. The owlbear circled warily beneath the canopy.
“So,” Elias asked, “what’s your plan? Because if it were up to me, I’d break through the bark, reach its core, and end it.”
Kai shook his head. “Won’t work. The bark’s too thick—it’d take hours. And we don’t have hours.”
Elias raised a brow. “Then?”
“I do have a plan,” Kai said. “Once we deal with the owlbear, I’ll tell you. You’ll like it.”
“Oh?” Elias grinned. “Giving me something big to do, are you?”
Kai’s eyes stayed fixed on the enemy, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You are probably happy to know you’re not just decoration.”
Elias cracked his knuckles, mana humming through his arms. “Then let’s kill the damn bird-bear, and see what you’ve got.”
Without another word, both Mages launched into motion.
Elias raised his hand, and thick stone walls erupted from the branches below—four in total—slamming upward in an attempt to trap the owlbear in a tight, jagged cage. For a heartbeat, it almost worked. The creature paused, its massive body squeezed between the sudden rising barriers. Then it roared.
That ugly sound it made, would haunt anyone at sight for nights. Dead mana pulsed through its veins like lightning.
The walls shattered under its strength, chunks of stone raining down as the owlbear smashed through with raw force. Elias clicked his tongue. The corruption really has pushed it past its grade…
Kai moved then.
Even as roots clawed their way toward him, he surged forward, fire blazing in one palm, wind circling the other. He released the flames with precision, guiding them with wind to spiral and engulf the owlbear’s massive body, trying to cook it from the outside in.
The wind fanned the inferno, spreading it over the beast’s fur, but it only seemed to enrage it further. Roots lashed out toward Kai, but he turned mid-air, countering them with blasts of compressed air while keeping his flames steady on target.
Elias watched all this—and frowned.
The boy was holding his own. More than that—he was triple casting, and doing it with a level of control that belied his circle. Elias had seen Maguses fumble while dual casting, yet Kai flowed through it like it was second nature. But even with all that, Elias could tell—it wasn’t easy on him.
Time to show him why I didn’t become a Magus by playing dress-up in royal halls.
He extended both arms. Mana surged through his veins like molten iron, and from his right palm, the plague-ridden dirt below began to rise. Not simply lifted—shaped. It molded and transformed. A knight formed—massive, dense, and crude.
Ten feet tall, forged from the corrupted earth itself. Its limbs were rough, its armor patchy, and yet it radiated strength. Elias grinned slightly. The plague grounds had given it an edge—texture, toughness, and a bit of bite.
“Go,” he whispered.
The earthen knight launched forward, crashing through the treetop maze and straight into the owlbear. Sword met claw. Weight met fury. They slammed into each other, the branches beneath them groaning under the force. The owlbear snapped its beak, trying to line up its eye-beam, but Kai’s timing was impeccable—he interrupted it each time, fire and wind hammering into its side before it could retaliate.
Elias, meanwhile, wasn’t finished.
He raised his hands again, and this time, small shards of stone began to swirl into the air—dozens, then hundreds. Tiny, sharp, fast. They hovered, gathering above him like a swarm of steel-gray insects. And they kept multiplying. More and more. The sky above them thickened with them, humming with suppressed force.
Kai took one look and blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Your mana control... it's far better than I expected for that kind of spell.”
Elias gave a rare smirk. “First time anyone’s said that to me since I became a Magus.”
And then he unleashed it.
The knight dove to the side, and the stone swarm struck.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t elegant. It was relentless.
Thousands of tiny projectiles tore through the air and slammed into the owlbear from every direction. Roots tried to intercept them—shielding tendrils that twisted upward—but the swarm overwhelmed them. Some bounced off, others broke through, and a critical number pierced deep into the creature's hide.
Several struck its glowing eyes.
The owlbear shrieked. It flailed, blinded, falling from the branches in a tangle of wings and limbs. Roots shot upward to catch it—but Kai was already moving. A wave of fire surged out from his hands, burning them before they could grip.
The creature crashed down, limp and still. Dead.
Kai exhaled and drifted down beside Elias, wiping soot off his sleeve.
“That saved me a lot of mana,” he said. “Thanks.”
Elias rolled his shoulders. “It was fun. Haven’t had to do real math for spell density in years.”
Kai gave a slight nod, then looked up toward the treant.
“Tell me,” Elias said, stepping beside him. “What’s the plan?”
Kai turned toward him, eyes sharp and burning with intent.
“Tell me, Elias… do you know a spell called [Earthquake]?”
2025-05-11 01:09:31 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 112
Honestly, Chen Ren had no idea what to do with the head.
Leaving a hidden vault with the severed, still-living head of a former domain manifestation realm cultivator was never on his to-do list. Yet here he was, with the thing staring at him, occasionally muttering, and holding what could very well be the true inheritance of soul cultivation. It was the kind of bizarre twist that would’ve made him laugh if it didn’t feel so damn serious.
He kept asking himself why Anji’s father had never told her about the head. But when the man in question claimed that his own brother, Wang De, the sect’s founder, had rewritten history to make himself the sole creator of the sect’s legacy… it started to make uncomfortable sense. If that was true, then not even Anji’s father had entered the vault. No one had. For centuries, all they’d done was maintain the outer array, checking it every hundred years or so, treating it more like a sacred monument than a treasure trove.
Talking to Anji afterward confirmed most of his guesses. She said the techniques they had were passed down by word of mouth, not scripture. Rumors of soul cultivation had survived, sure—but they were like smoke without fire. If someone with unfathomable soul talent had appeared, the vault would have been opened to them. But no one had. Not in generations. And so the head remained sealed and forgotten, like a locked book no one ever tried to open.
After some basic questions, Chen Ren left the head with Anji. The man didn’t seem dangerous—just confused, bitter, and tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. More like a man who’d waited too long and was still unsure what to feel. He didn’t give off killing intent, that made him believe that Anji was safe. Besides, Chen Ren had other things to do.
He didn’t want to linger in the vault. The place smelled too much like secrets and dust. So he called Yalan, instructed her to burn the bodies—both the dead cultivators and the hound, then store their ashes in a pouch to scatter on their journey.
After that, they moved to the living quarters where the last two dead cultivators had fallen. Yalan burned those too, the flames rising clean and hot under her control.
Only one task remained now, moving to visit the library.
Chen Ren walked alone toward it, following Anji’s directions. He felt a slight giddy feeling in his chest at the fact that the library mattered. Maybe even more so than the treasures they had found in the vault. He just had hoped the books he needed had survived.
Anji had warned him that some of the library’s protective arrays had failed over time. Several bookshelves near the entrance had collapsed, the books upon them rotted beyond recognition. But a decent number still stood tall, untouched by decay, and Chen Ren hoped that they held the manuals he was looking for.
On the way, he peeked into the other chambers lining the corridor. One looked like an old kitchen, complete with dusty jars and long-dry storage pots. Another resembled a storeroom, shelves still stacked with dried herbs turned to powder. A few doors led to rooms so dark even his vision couldn’t pierce them, but Yalan tensed near one and quietly whispered, “Beast guardians. They’re asleep.”
Apparently, these slumbering beasts were only meant to awaken under two conditions: if someone failed to open the vault and triggered the traps—or if someone, like Chen Ren, waltzed into their den and punched them awake like he did with the puppet.
Not in the mood for another fight, he wisely left them alone. The library door creaked as he pushed it open. And what greeted him made his eyes widen.
It was massive. Not as vast as the main vault chamber, but easily half its size, with shelves towering around him. Books stretched from wall to wall, row upon row. It felt like an ocean of forgotten knowledge. A few shelves at the front and back had collapsed, and the books there were too far gone—molded and blackened by time. But most stood intact, their spines still sharp, the array glyphs faintly humming.
“We start with earth-aspected manuals and anything on beast mastery,” Chen Ren said, his voice hushed by instinct. “But we’re taking everything.”
Yalan gave a small nod. “I’d like to read some of these too.”
He raised a brow. “I’ve never seen you read.”
She snorted. “That’s because this world’s current knowledge bores me. But this…” She gestured around. “This is legacy. Established sects sometimes have tomes that can change the way you see cultivation itself.”
Chen Ren only nodded, quietly agreeing, and moved deeper into the library.
In the center, he noticed a strange shelf—different from the others. It looked reinforced and held a strange mechanism embedded into its frame. A few books lay fallen before it, untouched by mold, but he ignored it for now.
Instead, he started scanning each shelf, pulling out books to check their contents. They were well-organized. One entire shelf was a bestiary, filled with sketches and descriptions of spirit beasts—he made a mental note to pass it to Zi Wen. Another held volumes detailing the history of the Void Blade Sect, which he now suspected was at least half false, crafted by the founder’s brother to hide the truth.
Further along, he found odd collections, manuals on herb gathering, ancient recipes written in archaic script, even an entire shelf dedicated to esoteric cultivation theories. One scroll, tucked between thicker books, claimed to teach a method to cultivate while sleeping. He chuckled at that and pocketed it for later reading.
Finally, in a dusty corner of the library, he found what he had truly come for—manuals on elemental cultivation. The shelf was crammed with books bound in different colors, each marked by an element. Fire. Water. Metal. And then—there it was.
An earth cultivation manual titled [Earth Resonance].
He didn't know its grade yet, but the moment he touched it, he knew Luo Feng would lose his mind when he saw it.
There were others too—at least a dozen more on similar techniques.
Without wasting time, he pulled out one of the empty spatial rings he’d found in the vault and swept every book from the shelf inside.
He didn’t just throw all the books into the spatial ring at once. Instead, he paused, letting his fingers brush across the spines, scanning for anything he might want to read during the long carriage ride back.
It didn’t take long to find something interesting.
There was a worn manual discussing the many aspects of qi—not just elemental, but spiritual, conceptual, and emotional. It intrigued him. Then he found a slim, faded book on the nuances of tea-making and cultivation harmony. He tucked it aside, already knowing Qing He would appreciate it. But the one that truly caught his eye was a book with a dragon etched into the cover—not gold like legends often described, but crimson, coiled around the book like it was guarding the words inside.
He picked it up without thinking.
Just as he was preparing to store the rest into the ring, Yalan’s voice cut through the silence.
“What are we going to do about the head?”
Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. He glanced over at her, then let out a sigh.
“Honestly?” he said. “I wanted to just… leave him somewhere. Somewhere no one would find him.”
Yalan tilted her head. “Why?”
“Because he’s a variable,” Chen Ren replied in a whisper. “Old monsters, especially ones who lost everything, can’t be trusted. He knows his sect is gone. We’ve already killed Blazing Ember Sect cultivators, but he might want a whole crusade against them. If word spreads… I don’t want more trouble. He might be weak now—just a head with no body and no power. But variables become problems when you stop watching them.”
He paused, rubbing the back of his neck.
“But thinking more about it… I don’t think we can leave him here. Anji’s inheritance lies with him. Whatever truth about soul cultivation is probably tied to that man. And I know you’re curious too.”
Yalan exhaled. “I am. But I don’t want to risk anything.”
“Neither do I,” he said. “But… it’s like a pet you can’t abandon. Anji needs him. And I—I want to understand soul cultivation better. He might be the only source left. But the only question is…”
He trailed off, looking back toward the direction of the vault.
“…will he be an ally, or an enemy?”
Silence fell between them, broken only by the soft rustling of pages as Chen Ren pulled more books into the spatial ring. For a while, Yalan said nothing. Then, finally, her voice came soft but certain.
“I believe he can be trusted.”
Chen Ren glanced at her, his brows raised just a bit.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, “but I believe it. You’ll make sure he won’t become a threat.”
Chen Ren didn’t reply, but the grip on the dragon-covered book in his hand tightened slightly.
“He needs us,” Chen Ren said after a moment. “To build a body.”
Yalan nodded. “By his own words, he’s one of those cultivators who always wanted more—stronger realms, deeper comprehension, greater heights. He won’t be content staying as just a head. That’s our advantage.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought as she continued.
“He’s vulnerable right now. And we need his knowledge. So if we give him what he wants… he’ll give us what we need.”
“Like answers,” Chen Ren murmured. “About the medallion. The golden dragon. Everything Qing He told us. He might have some clue about it.”
“Yes,” Yalan said firmly. “He might even know about the devourers.”
That name lingered in the air for a few more seconds.
“He said he was born centuries ago. If the stories existed back then, he might have heard them before they became myths.”
Chen Ren nodded. He had thought the same thing. Deep down, he’d already accepted it—no matter how much he tried to shape his own fate, there was a larger design unfolding around him. A deeper plan. He had been so focused—building his sect, growing his businesses, training, preparing—but there was a looming shadow beyond it all. Something bigger than just him or even the sect.
The medallion. The vision. The golden dragon. And worst of all—he knew the danger was coming, but he lacked the information to face it. The head might finally fill that gap.
“If he really knows something,” Chen Ren said slowly, “then I might finally understand the threat. And start preparing for it properly.”
He turned to Yalan and let out a long breath. “So we’re taking him back to Meadow.” Then he sighed and touched his forehead. “Let’s just hope none of the kids see him. They’ll toss him around like a ball.”
Yalan chuckled. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Then her expression shifted, becoming a little more serious. “I want you to get closer to him in the carriage. Talk to him. Learn who he is. If we’re going to rebuild his body… we need to prepare.”
Chen Ren gave her a long look, then let out a low, wry laugh. “So more work for me, huh? I can’t even sleep on the carriage now.”
“You can sleep in the village,” Yalan replied smoothly. “Besides, don’t pretend. I know you’re curious. You want to learn more about him.”
Chen Ren didn’t deny it. He simply gave a small nod, looking back at the crimson dragon on the cover of the book in his hand.
“Well… yeah. I am.”
***
Li Xuan walked alone down the dirt path, the wind cold against his back, sharp enough to cut through his robes. The path ahead was empty, but his steps never quickened. His gaze kept drifting over his shoulder.
Something was following him.
It could’ve just been the wind—any normal person would’ve thought so—but Li Xuan trusted his instincts more than his senses. He had honed them too long, too carefully, to mistake the weight of a gaze for a breeze.
Still, he didn’t stop. Whatever followed him would reveal itself in time. And he didn’t have to work for it.
He walked with his spine straight and his aura sealed, but anticipation stirred in his chest—not from fear, but from excitement. Soon, he would meet the one who had unknowingly marked the end of his cultivation journey. Chen Ren.
Ashen City had given him far more than he’d expected. Ever since he saved the Zhu Clan’s young master and they took him in, his days had been full. A blur of training sessions, sparring bouts, and conversations—more than he was used to.
The girls in the clan hadn’t missed a chance to talk to him either. He hadn’t known how to handle that at first. He’d spent most of his life under strict training, sheltered and focused, so when they smiled or lingered near him, he didn't know whether to run or bow. In the end, he let them talk. Let them flirt. A cultivator, after all, was meant to experience all things—battle, spirit, hardship… and women.
But indulgence wasn’t his weakness. He wasn’t like the soft-hearted sons of nobility who fell at the first taste of wine and perfume. He trained every day, no matter the distractions. Sparred without fail. And there was no shortage of opponents in Ashen City.
The Zhu clan had no lack of fighters. Dozens had challenged him, and he’d learned from each one. When they had fallen short of expectations, he had found opponents beyond the clan. And it was Shen Bao who stood out—head of one of the more aggressive hunting groups with ruthless instincts and no hesitation. Sparring with him had left Li Xuan sore, bruised, and better.
Still, as valuable as this time had been, he knew he couldn’t stay. Chen Ren was the reason.
A name he hadn’t expected to remember, let alone pursue. A man who had risen in the chaos, not through luck, but will. There were other factors that backed him up, determination, strength, and strategy. And when Li Xuan looked at him, he didn’t see a rival anymore—he saw everything he had wanted to become.
That was the truth. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was clear.
He didn’t need a home, a clan, or even a city. What he needed was that one moment. That final battle. To see who he truly was, when everything was stripped away.
And so, with his sword at his back and his mind set, Li Xuan had taken off toward Meadow Village—the place where Chen Ren had founded his new sect.
He didn’t know what to expect.
A part of him imagined a fledgling sect barely held together with discipline and luck. He had tried one of their products—alcohol called moonshine they brewed and sold, apparently good enough to catch the attention of most cultivators in Ashen City. But surely that wasn’t what the sect was about. Chen Ren didn’t strike him as the kind to waste cultivation potential chasing after liquor.
Would there be powerful cultivators waiting there?
Unlikely. Most sects took decades—centuries, even—to gather real talent. Especially those built from scratch, without ancient backing or long-standing bloodlines.
As he walked, the wind stirred again, curling down his collar like a warning finger. The sense that something was following him returned, this time heavier, almost oppressive. His instincts screamed.
He spun on his heel—and landed in a ready stance just as the creature came down in front of him with a thunderous thud.
Li Xuan’s eyes narrowed.
It was a wolf—but no ordinary one. No, this one looked nothing short of a behemoth.
It stood easily a foot or two taller than any spirit beast wolf he had ever seen, its limbs coiled with lean, corded muscle. Its fur, once perhaps a dusky gray, had darkened into something far more menacing—blacker than obsidian, absorbing the light instead of reflecting it. It radiated an overwhelming pressure, and when it bared its fangs, Li Xuan caught sight of teeth like daggers—far more than a wolf should’ve had.
Every instinct told him to draw his blade. Until his gaze rose just a little higher… and he froze. A man was sitting on the beast’s back.
Li Xuan’s sword slid half out of its sheath before he raised it and pointed directly at the rider, who—judging by the relaxed posture—had no intention of hiding.
The man tilted his head, expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. “Who are you?”
Li Xuan’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I tell you anything?” he replied coldly. “You’re just a bandit blocking a road.”
The rider laughed. “Bandit? Haven’t been called that in a while.” He leaned forward slightly, patting the beast’s thick neck. “I only asked because you’re heading toward my sect. It’s not every day someone like you strolls in. Strong. Armed. Quiet.” He gestured lazily with one hand. “State your purpose.”
Li Xuan’s grip tightened on his blade. Was this man talking about Chen Ren’s sect? A sect with beast tamers already?
That was… unexpected. Impressive, even. Still, he wasn’t one to be interrogated on the road like a criminal.
“And what if I don’t?” Li Xuan said.
“Then I’ll have to force it out of you,” the man replied, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
Li Xuan’s stance shifted slightly. “You and your pet will lose your lives.”
“Maybe,” the man said, utterly unfazed. “But who said I was alone?”
Li Xuan’s eyes flicked to the trees for a moment, sensing no other presence—but then the man spoke again, calmly.
“And even if I fall, Sect Leader Chen will take revenge. That, I promise.”
At that, Li Xuan lowered his sword. So Chen Ren already had followers willing to die for him? Li Xuan's thoughts turned thoughtful. The sect might be further ahead than he had imagined.
There was no doubt anymore—the man in front of him was one of Chen Ren's people.
Knowing he hadn’t come seeking trouble, only a match that would settle the restless fire in his chest, Li Xuan exhaled slowly and lowered his blade. The gesture made the rider raise a brow, clearly surprised.
“Sect Leader Chen?” Li Xuan asked. “You mean Chen Ren?”
“Yes… Yes, I do. You know him?”
Li Xuan nodded once. “We’ve sparred in the past. I’ve come to find him.” He stepped forward. “I’m here to challenge him to another duel.”
The man atop the beast gave a low whistle, lips quirking in amusement. “You’re the first person I’ve met on this road with a reason like that.” He leaned down slightly, studying Li Xuan more closely. “Well then… I guess you're not lost after all.”
2025-05-11 01:07:07 +0000 UTC
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