Chapter 204
Duke William Blackwood stood with his back to the fire, the flames creating his tall frame in moving gold. The room was silent save for the low crackle of burning logs and the faint tap-tap-tap of a booted foot.
Three barons sat before him, arranged neatly in high-backed chairs more ornate than most deserved.
His study was not meant for hosting, but power often required intimacy over grandeur.
Baron Hadrian Vellmore, thin as a whip and twice as tense, sipped his tea, puckering his lips. His posture was perfect, his silver-crusted cuffs resting just so on his lap. But William’s eyes drifted to the man’s foot—tapping under the table in a nervous rhythm that betrayed the calm mask he wore.
Next to him, Baron Casten Drel muttered something under his breath and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His dark red coat was wrinkled at the sleeves, like he’d put it on in haste. His eyes flitted to the door every few seconds, and if the man could have sunk into the walls, William wagered he would’ve. Drel had always been too soft for this game.
Then there was Baron Wendell Farrow. Large, round, with a stained kerchief tucked into his collar like some merchant lord. He reached for another piece of honeyed sponge cake from the tray and bit into it with open disregard for etiquette. Crumbs clung to his beard as he chewed noisily, only pausing when he noticed William watching. The baron offered a sheepish grin but did not apologize.
Farrow could get away with it. His blood, distantly related with William’s own line through a forgotten grandmother's marriage, allowed him a casualness the others lacked. And the fat man knew it.
They said nothing for a time. The silence dragged on. Until finally, Vellmore cleared his throat.
“We received your letter, Duke Blackwood,” he said.
Farrow and Drel both nodded, not daring to speak before the other.
“We understand you wish us to support Count Arzan in the upcoming assembly,” Vellmore continued. “And we don’t mind doing so… but we are here because of our factions.”
William said nothing.
Vellmore swallowed. “The princes won’t be happy.”
There it is.
“So you do mind,” William said. “Just on behalf of your princes.”
A visible shiver passed through them. Farrow wiped his hands on his kerchief. Drel avoided his gaze. But none of them disagreed.
“Yes,” Vellmore said finally. “We cannot go against them.”
William arched a brow, stepping forward just enough to loom.
“I was under the impression,” he said slowly, “that aside from the first prince, the other two hadn’t yet decided to withhold support. Or is my information… outdated?”
Farrow coughed into his hand, then shook his head. “It’s not. But… Prince Thalric has told his core circle that he would need Count Arzan’s allegiance to move forward. He’s waiting for the Count to reach out to him.”
William regarded the man silently. Wendell Farrow had thrown in his lot with him long ago, his estates bordering the southern river routes the prince now quietly controlled through his ardent followers.
The other two—Vellmore and Drel—had long belonged to Prince Aldrin’s camp. The second prince’s network was sprawling and well-funded. These two barons were no different. Collectivism had dulled their edge. They’d forgotten how to move without orders.
That would have to be corrected.
William turned his gaze on them.
“I assume,” he said coolly, “Prince Aldrin is also waiting it out? Hoping Count Arzan reaches him?”
Drel nodded first this time, a quick jerk of his head. “As you know, Duke Blackwood… it would be considered an insult for a prince to reach out first. His Highness has barred any noble in his fold from making contact until the Count initiates it. He… wishes to ensure Count Arzan’s interest is genuine.”
A dry chuckle almost escaped William’s lips. So that was the play. Posturing disguised as pride. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned toward the hearth. They could dress it however they liked—tactic, etiquette, dignity—but he knew the truth. The young Count hadn’t groveled to a prince, and that, in itself, was rare. Admirable, even.
In a world so quick to bend, the boy stood.
And that, William thought, was a mark of someone who didn’t need a higher power. It was the mark of someone becoming one.
“Then doesn’t that mean,” he said, “that you are free to decide whether to support Count Arzan or not?”
Baron Drel, the one in the middle, looked away and then back again, as though checking the room for hidden listeners. “Yes… but if we make a decision now and our faction changes its stance later, we’ll be seen as backstabbers. To you and to the Count.”
William tilted his head slightly. “Then stand true to your decision,” he said. “There won’t be any backstabbing.”
Simple. Honest. And the truth, as far as he cared.
Vellmore set his tea cup down with a soft clink. “The princes won’t like that,” he muttered. “Beg your pardon, Duke Blackwood, but we are not Dukes. We don’t have the kind of power you do.” He picked it up again, continuing his slow sip.
Farrow, licking the last of the honey glaze from his thumb, nodded. “Yes. That sort of thing would just get us kicked out of the faction. Frozen out.”
William’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“And what else can happen, then?”
That shut them up. All three sat still as marble, and the Duke took the chance to pace slowly in front of them.
“If you support Count Arzan and that displeases your princes… What's the worst that could happen? You get kicked out of your factions? Is that it?” He stopped and looked each of them in the eye, one by one. “Will a prince ride out and burn down your estates? Or perhaps… take issue with the concubines you all seem to value more than your actual wives?”
Baron Vellmore choked mid-sip, sputtering and reaching for a handkerchief. The other two shifted uncomfortably, but none dared speak right away.
Eventually, Drel cleared his throat. “We’d lose the support of the faction… all the connections we’ve worked to build over the years.”
William snorted softly.
“Connections?” he said. “None of the Counts, Margraves, or Earls in your factions care about you. None of them care about any baron, unless they’re useful.” His eyes locked on them again. “What you’re really doing is betting on a prince to win, hoping that if he does, you’ll be thrown a scrap or two from the high table. Maybe an Earl’s third daughter for your fourth wife.”
Farrow’s face turned pink, grimacing slightly at the mention. The man already had three wives and seven concubines—far more than necessary and far less than tasteful. Still, it was legal. William didn’t care what a man did with his household, so long as it didn’t cloud his senses.
He leaned back slightly, gaze steady.
“So tell me,” he said. “Are you men, or are you dogs waiting at a gate that might never open?”
Before any of them could find their voice, William raised a hand, not wanting to hear whatever they had in mind.
“I’ll speak plainly,” he said, “since you’ve chosen to come here as a collective and not as individual lords. You’ve spoken for each other since the moment you entered, so I’ll address you all the same.”
He turned to Baron Vellmore first, eyes narrowed slightly. “Your father’s debt nearly cost your house its seat in court. We cleared it. Since then, our houses have shared wine and council.”
Vellmore looked down, fingers tightening around his cup.
William’s gaze shifted to Baron Drel. “The beast infestations in the marshlands of your territory still require my Knights’ attention. We send men every spring. Not once have you had to petition the crown.”
Drel had the grace to look away, guilt painting his face.
Then, finally, his eyes landed on Farrow.
“And you… your grandfather was a landless second son with ambition and nothing else. It was House Blackwood that gave him lands. It was we who backed his claim to a baron’s title.” He let that sit for a breath. “Unlike the others, you are our vassal.”
Farrow shifted slightly in his chair but didn’t speak. A dab of honey stuck to his lip. He didn’t wipe it.
William stepped back, voice softening a touch—not from pity, but from control. “I’m not reminding you of these things to posture or threaten. I simply want you to remember that your houses have benefited—directly and repeatedly—from your association with mine. And I still wish to help you.”
“The princes may exile you from their factions,” he continued, “but you three… you’re not significant enough for them to retaliate beyond that. Your absence will be noticed—but not mourned.”
Then, he let the hook slip.
“But siding with House Blackwood will bring you tangible benefits. The kind you are all after—positions, protection, prestige. That, I can guarantee.”
For the first time since they’d entered, something shifted. Sparkles of thought gleamed in their eyes—calculating, uncertain, but alive. The kind of look he liked. Any noble who accepted or rejected an offer too quickly was either foolish or desperate. Neither were welcome in the world he was building around Count Arzan.
Then, at last, Vellmore spoke. “We can help. We’ll give our votes to Count Arzan in the assembly. But… what of the future?” His brow furrowed. “If the second or third prince takes the throne, we’ll always be out of favour.”
Farrow nodded, setting aside his kerchief. “Yes, Duke Blackwood. No offence, but your position is not like ours. A ducal house is… immune. The royal family can’t afford to move against you. Too many men, too much land, too much coin. But barons? If we fall out of favour, we’re vulnerable.”
He looked sincere for once. Serious, even.
“As your vassal, our house will still stand by any decision you make. But I only ask you to consider the consequences we’ll bear.”
William studied them, silent for a moment. And then he smiled. “That won’t come to pass.”
Vellmore tilted his head. “You sound certain.”
“I am,” William said. “Because none of the princes you support will take the throne.”
Drel blinked. “But—though the first prince is leading right now, we can’t—”
“I don’t mean the first will win either,” William cut in. “I mean none of them will.”
All three barons stared at him, blinking as if his words had slipped through a crack in their understanding. None of them spoke—because he knew that none of them could make sense of what they’d just heard.
William Blackwood let them stew in the confusion for a few heartbeats more, then said, “I’ll leave you with this, your votes at the assembly might not just decide Count Arzan’s future.”
He let his gaze sweep over them.
“They might help you step into a new faction entirely. One that may very well take over the kingdom in time.”
The silence deepened. Vellmore's lips parted slightly, but William raised a hand before the baron could speak.
“I won’t say more until your decisions are made. I know it’s a gamble,” he said, eyes narrowing, “but if you take it… the benefits might just ensure your children and even their descendants will no longer bear the title of mere barons.”
Before any of them could ask the questions they were clearly choking on, William turned toward the door and made a simple, unhurried gesture.
“You may take your leave.”
There was hesitation, as if they weren’t sure whether the meeting had truly ended. But William did not repeat himself.
“I know I summoned you on short notice,” he added, more polite now. “You’re welcome to have lunch before returning to your lands. I won’t be joining you—there’s work to be done. But two of my daughters will keep you company.”
The words came with the weight of dismissal.
After a brief pause, the three barons rose in silence. They bowed—Vellmore the lowest, Drel a heartbeat late, Farrow still chewing something—and then left the study without another word.
Five minutes passed.
The door creaked open again, this time without knocking.
Leopold stepped in, tall and sharp-featured, his blonde hair combed back and his boots still dusty from riding.
“How did it go?” he asked, crossing the room in a few long strides. “You reckon they’ll do what we asked?”
“They will,” he said. “Their houses are far too tied to ours to refuse.”
He looked at his son. “The only reason they sought out the princes without speaking to us first… is because I’ve stayed neutral too long.”
Leopold folded his arms, considering that. “Even I didn’t expect you to break neutrality. I thought you were waiting for a sign.”
“I was.”
William stood, moving toward the window. Beyond the glass, the area under his house stretched under a pale sun.
“Count Arzan told me something,” he said quietly. “And it came true.”
Leopold raised a brow.
“He had the resilience and planning to come out of a fief war almost untouched. His forces took less than half the damage our scouts predicted.” William’s voice was calm, but pride crept into it. “He’s proven himself in war. His territory has grown rapidly, and every report says he actually cares for his people.”
He turned from the window, expression unreadable.
“He’d make a good king. And he wouldn’t have asked me to gather a faction if he hadn’t already made up his mind,” he murmured. “Only the medallion remains.”
“You don’t think he has it already?”
“If he does, he never mentioned it,” William said, a hint of frustration in his tone. “I asked. Directly. Not a word in any letter. My guess is that Valkyrie hid it because she wanted him to grow stronger first. That’s something she’d do. Guards it as if the fate of the kingdom depends on it. But he’ll have to get it before the assembly,” he said softly. “Or everything we’re building… will fall apart before it ever begins.”
“Father, should I help him look for it?” Leopold asked.
William shook his head.
“No. I have more pressing matters for you.” He moved back toward his desk, gathering a few scrolls and setting them aside.
“We’re building a faction around Count Arzan,” he said, “but the right to lead it must be earned. That right must be his—not something handed to him by someone else.”
He paused, gaze heavy with meaning.
“We’ll bring in a dozen nobles—men who won’t refuse me even if they wish to. That’s not the challenge. What we need now is volume. Support. The kind that turns whispers into storms.”
Leopold straightened, sensing where this was going.
“I want you to go to the capital.”
William met his eyes.
“Speak to the lower nobles. The Knights turned barons, the landless sons trying to prove themselves, the aging councilmen who’ve been overlooked too long. Find them. Bring them to our side. If they don’t know who Arzan is, teach them. If they’re hesitant, give them reason. I will arrange a meeting of them with Arzan before the assembly where he would truly earn their allegiance.”
He rested both hands on the desk.
“We need a faction with roots—not just weight. And I can’t keep you here playing watchman when your talents are wasted behind these walls.”
There was no hesitation. Leopold nodded once, firm and eager. “I’ll pack my bags right now.”
He turned to leave, then paused, fire in his voice.
“I promise to bring in as many nobles as I can. When the assembly comes, they’ll know Arzan’s name—and they’ll know it’s a name worth standing behind.”
William’s lips curled into a rare smile.
***
Entering someone’s astral realm was always… complicated.
It didn’t matter how many times he mapped spell structures, rehearsed safeguards, or double-checked contingency protocols—nothing truly made it simple. Even with Princess Amara, where it had gone surprisingly smooth the last time—even with him performing a mana surgery—it wasn’t something one did lightly.
The astral realm wasn’t just mana and thought. It was memory. Instinct. Fragmented will. And every time one stepped into it, they danced a line between comprehension and chaos.
This time, there would be no incisions. No magic laced with surgical precision. Just exploration. Just… observation. And still, things could go wrong. They were going in to uncover the anomaly that let Amyra absorb and purify dead mana—a trait no one, not even the records of his era, could fully explain.
For hours, he spoke to her. Explained everything—how it might feel, what the process was, what she might see. He laid out the goals and drilled the protocols for every what if. How to signal him. How to pull back. What to do if the link between their minds became unstable.
They rehearsed it all like a ritual.
Outside, Clement stood with arms crossed, keeping an eye on the time. Eron triple-checked the barrier seals around the room while Tiara arranged the potions for emergency extraction. Khoph, the Mage from the tower, stood with a blank expression on his face, ready to use a spell to relax their minds that Kai taught him if he sensed any disturbances.
They were ready. As ready as they could be.
Kai looked down at Amyra, already lying on the bed in the center. Her hair was tied back, eyes steady. She had already downed the mana-stabilizing potion he’d brewed himself—thick, bitter, and laced with calming agents.
Her mana signature pulsed evenly. Stable. Controlled.
“Are you ready?” Kai asked softly.
Amyra nodded, her voice calm. “I trust you.”
He didn’t reply, just nodded once. He’d already checked everything five times—but checked it once more anyway. Then he raised his hand.
Mana flared to life, dancing in structured harmony as the astral spell formed in the air, glowing symbols rotating in sync. They pulsed with a beat matching his breath, then hers, until their flows interlinked. And then—he let go.
His consciousness shifted.
It wasn’t like sleeping, or even falling. It was like stepping through water without feeling wet, pulled by something just beyond his reach. The room around him stretched, blurred, then vanished. And then—yanked.
Like a tether snapping tight, Kai’s soul was dragged forward—into her. For a moment, there was nothing. Then his eyes opened—
—and what he saw shocked him to his core.
2025-04-09 18:28:42 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 97
The talk with Chief Muyang was brief.
Once the old man gave his word to protect Meadow Village, he left with a spring in his step—most likely to inform the other elders of the village, blissfully unaware that Chen Ren had wanted exactly that.
The moment Muyang escaped his sight, Chen Ren's gaze turned distant.
This place can’t fall, he thought. Not just because the sect grounds lay nestled within the village’s bounds, but because just beyond them, Luo Feng was laying down the spirit anchors for the farm. A farm meant to feed his people, build their foundation—and eventually, grow into something much bigger.
He would need Chief Muyang’s help for that future. More farmlands wouldn’t be granted without the village’s blessing. It was easier to nod once the dust had settled than to raise walls when fire rained from the woods.
And if things went well… then the wild beasts would serve as more than just a threat.
Target practice, he thought with a smirk, fingers flexing at the thought of the prototype guns.
Once they were ready, there would be no better way to test them than wandering beast. And no better reward than beast cores, flesh, bones, and hides—each one a stepping stone for alchemy, weaponcraft, and cultivation.
He had made up his mind. He was going for the Immortal Market. If his people were to compete with the existing powers, they’d need more than just courage—they’d need equipment.
After the meeting, Chen Ren wasted no time and moved towards the sect. Yalan veered off with a wave of her tail, saying something about checking in on the refugees. He left her to it.
Word of his return had apparently outrun his feet.
Tang Xiulan was waiting at the doorstep like a proper young miss, straight-backed and smiling—until she saw him. No luggage with him. No signs of hardship. Just a slightly amused look on his face.
She blinked. “Where’s your stuff?”
He waved at her and walked past with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Come on. Walk and talk. I will explain.”
They strolled through the courtyard path as the sun filtered gently between the eaves. She filled him in on everything that had happened in his absence. Thankfully, most of it was good news—though she still sounded like she expected to be scolded.
A few unfamiliar faces crossed their path—young men and women who paused mid-step to bow politely at Chen Ren. And almost the entire time, they looked at him with awe and curiosity. Chen Ren politely nodded at them.
“We took in a few more villagers,” Xiulan explained. “They were looking for work and we still had coins left from the moonshine profits. Most of them are helping set up the brewery.”
He nodded. The brewery was essential—not just for coin, but for influence. People followed those who fed them and those who paid them. He was doing both and a bit of alcohol would go a long way with it. Moreover, it would also work as a gift in case he had to have meetings with more clans and sects.
“As for the cultivators…” she smiled faintly. “Zi Wen’s made the most progress. He’s even bonded with another beast—a tier-one greater weasel.”
“A weasel?” Chen Ren asked, faint surprise layered in his voice.
“It plays with the kids near the sect all day. They love it.”
He snorted, but didn’t complain. Playful or not, a tier-one beast was still a good bond for someone his level. Everything was slowly slotting into place. But the clock was ticking.
Chen Ren made a mental note to look for the weasel later—he was curious about the new addition to the sect. A tier-one beast bond wasn’t a small matter, and if it was getting along with the children, even better.
Tang Xiulan, never one to leave a moment quiet, kept talking.
“Hong Yi’s been in his own world. Literally. He's holed up in that workshop all day with the puppets. We can barely get him to eat.”
Chen Ren chuckled under his breath. At least he’s consistent.
“And Luo Feng,” she continued. “He’s just been farming.”
Chen Ren’s steps faltered for half a second, a flicker of disappointment passing through his eyes. Although her words had no other meanings, he realised that the only reason Luo Feng was just farming was because of a lack of an earth-aspected cultivation manual. He needed to get him one that suited his dao and any manual he knew would only slow him down since it won't be aligned with him and too focused on power.
A sour feeling coiled in Chen Ren’s chest at the thought. Guilt, perhaps. He had meant to handle that sooner. But with everything that had happened… Maybe I didn’t plan this sect as well as I thought.
Pushing the thought down, he asked, “What about Feiyu and Qing He? Any progress with guns?”
That got a smile out of her.
“Actually,” Xiulan said, “they wanted you to come meet them. Seems like they’ve finally perfected the prototype. Anji and Han Fei are helping test it too, since we’re building it for mortals.”
Chen Ren nodded. “I’ll go check it out. I need to speak to Qing He anyway.”
They walked a few more steps before Xiulan gave him a side glance. “You still haven’t told me what happened in Jingxi.”
He sighed, as if dragging a heavy cloak off his shoulders. “Long story. New enemies, same old conflict. But I managed to set up a base. Tripled our profits from Heavenly Fragrances.”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s great. And the enemies?”
“Took care of it temporarily.” He looked ahead, feeling the stares of the mortals passing by. “Our plan is to become big enough that when the problem comes again… we’ll be ready. I think we’ll be fine.”
He slowed down, turning slightly. “I’ll give you a detailed report later. For now, I want to see what Qing He’s been up to.”
Xiulan nodded and moved to go—but before she could take a step, his hand landed gently on her shoulder.
“I know I don’t say it a lot,” Chen Ren said sincerely, “but you’ve done a great job managing everything. You’re the reason I can leave the sect for more than a month without worrying. I wouldn’t be able to do it without you.”
She stared at him, unreadable for a beat, but he noticed the twitch at the corner of her lips.
“You pay me,” she said flatly.
“Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t appreciate you,” he said. “Even people who get paid for their work need to hear it. Otherwise, it just feels like an endless grind.”
“It is an endless grind.”
“Hopefully my words make it a little less grindy.”
That earned him a small huff of amusement. Not quite a laugh. But close enough.
Chen Ren turned without waiting for more, boots thudding softly as he moved through the corridors toward the workshop where Qing He and Feiyu had been working.
The loud noise of metal, occasional sharp clicks, and faint bursts of pressure were all the clues he needed. They were testing something. As he stepped closer, the sounds grew sharper, more controlled.
Then he saw them—Qing He and Feiyu, the latter wearing some leather armour, grinning like mad inventors as smoke rose from a line of targets. Han Fei was at the far end, shaking his head and loading something into a cartridge slot.
Chen Ren folded his arms, watching silently.
Perfect, he thought. Let’s see what my mad geniuses have cooked up.
And then, Han Fei passed the gun to Anji who took it like an experienced marksman. That surprised him a bit, not expecting that sort of confidence from her.
She stood with her feet firmly planted, both hands steady on the strange, slender weapon. Her brow furrowed slightly in concentration as she took aim at the line of wooden targets placed on the far end of the workshop grounds.
A bullet shot through the air and struck the target. A little left of center, but still a solid hit.
Han Fei, standing off to the side next to the two cultivators, gave an audible gasp. “That was amazing!”
Chen Ren watched quietly as Anji adjusted her stance, took another breath, and fired again.
Crack!
This time, the bullet hit dead center. Then another. And another.
Each shot rang clean through the yard, echoing against the workshop walls. Every puff of smoke from the barrel only solidified it for him—the gun wasn’t just functioning. It was thriving.
Chen Ren hadn’t expected Anji to have such a good aim, but even more than that, he was impressed by the weapon itself. It looked stable. Smooth. Powerful. Whatever issues had plagued the prototypes during testing were clearly resolved.
As the last round clicked empty, Qing He—already aware of his presence—turned toward him, brushing some soot off her sleeve.
“Well?” she asked. “How’d you like it?”
The others turned as well. Anji stiffened the moment she saw him, and Han Fei widened his eyes, giving an awkward but swift bow before fidgeting under the weight of his gaze
Chen Ren gave both of them a nod, then looked at the others. “You clearly worked a lot on this. Looks like it’s ready for battle.”
“I barely slept,” Qing He muttered with a tired grin. “Wanted to get it done before you came back.”
He scoffed. “You don’t need to sleep at your cultivation level. Don’t act like you made a great sacrifice.”
She clicked her tongue in annoyance.
He chuckled, then added with sincerity, “But still, you and Feiyu did a great job. It’s way faster than I expected.”
Feiyu nodded, arms crossed. “We’re still trying to improve it. But it’s at a stable phase now. We’re planning to test it against some of Hong Yi’s puppets next—should be a good benchmark.”
Chen Ren nodded approvingly. I was going to suggest that exact thing.
His eyes lingered on the gun for a moment, then he asked, “Think it can take down a tier-one beast now? Or cultivators”
Feiyu tilted his head, thinking it through. “Low-tier, definitely. One or two well-placed bullets could do it. For anything tougher, we’ll need to aim for vital spots, and it’ll still take a few rounds. The penetration’s good, but against higher-tier muscle or beast hide, it won’t be as effective.”
He paused. “Against qi refinement cultivators? They’ll probably get nicked or distracted at most unless we land a headshot. But body forging ones? That’s where they’ll start feeling it.”
Chen Ren’s lips curled upward.
Not bad at all.
Chen Ren smiled, satisfied, and stepped forward to examine the gun resting on the table.
It was sleeker than the last version—less bulky, with refined metal plating along the barrel and a reinforced chamber that hummed faintly with a touch of spiritual energy. Thin etchings of formation lines ran along the side like veins, channeling minute amounts of qi through a core that pulsed dimly with stored energy. The trigger assembly had been compacted, no longer looking like a mess of scrap but a carefully engineered mechanism.
This wasn’t a hunk of metal pretending to be a weapon anymore. This was a weapon.
As Chen Ren traced a finger along its body, ideas began to stir. He already had a few concepts—ways to make it powerful enough to punch through even qi refinement realm cultivators or disrupt a cultivator’s flow of qi on contact. Some involved formation cores that could accelerate the bullet mid-flight. Others required special metals to conduct spiritual energy, or bullet casings that could absorb and discharge condensed qi like tiny bombs.
But they didn’t have the materials. Not yet. Those ideas would come later—once they had more reach, more wealth. For now, this was more than enough. As he examined the weapon, he sensed an unusually strong energy. It was subtle—controlled—but not invisible.
He turned toward Feiyu, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“You made a leap,” Chen Ren said. “Your qi—it’s different.”
Feiyu smiled, sheepish but proud. “You noticed. I broke through to the third star of the qi refinement realm last week.”
Chen Ren raised his eyebrows, a grin forming on his lips. “That’s a solid jump.”
Feiyu nodded. “Working on the guns helped. Trying to design something new, push past the limits—it made my thoughts sharper. Helped my understanding of the dao of forge in a way that working on swords and shields never did.”
Chen Ren felt a flicker of excitement at those words. So I was right.
He had been wondering about it for some time now—what truly advanced one’s mastery of the dao of forge? Unlike his own path, which seemed to strengthen with every coin earned or trade made, the forge dao wasn’t as straightforward.
There were theories, of course. Some said it required crafting increasingly powerful weapons. Others claimed it was about infusing qi into creations, forming spirit artifacts. But none of the texts he read explained the lack of progress most blacksmiths made past the early realms. There were only theories.
Now it made sense.
Most blacksmiths were bound by tradition, forced to replicate the same weapons their ancestors had made for centuries. Without innovation, without creation, their path stagnated. And as far as qi infusion went—those secrets were closely guarded. Hidden by clans and sects.
It was no wonder most blacksmiths got stuck at the first three realms. But Feiyu wasn’t bound by that. He was making something new. Something never seen before in this world.
Chen Ren made a mental note to sit down with him soon, dig into the specifics of his dao insights. There could be a path forward not just for Feiyu, but for the entire sect if he could increase his understanding of different daos.
Turning his attention, he faced Qing He. “Were you able to procure some techniques?” he asked.
Immediately, Qing He shook her head, a trace of frustration in her voice. “No. I sent out letters to everyone I could think of—anyone who might’ve had what you’re looking for. But like I told you before… These techniques and manuals are heavily guarded. Even if you offer spirit stones, they won’t part with them.”
She paused, then looked him in the eye. “You need to understand—these are clan and sext secrets. Some of the manuals I do know… I can’t share them. Doing so would be betraying the sect I once served.”
Chen Ren’s expression darkened slightly, but he nodded. He understood. Though, that doesn't mean it didn’t sting. But at least now, he had confirmation.
He let out a breath, the bitterness from Qing He’s refusal lingering just a moment longer before he pushed it down. He had asked for earth-aspected cultivation manuals, even offered to pay in spirit stones—what few low-grade ones he had left—but the immortal world didn’t deal in generosity. There were things that couldn't be bought with currency.
Which left him with only one real option.
“Then what about ruins?” he asked, turning to Qing He.
Her brows instantly pulled into a frown. “Are you planning to dive headfirst into your death?”
Chen Ren gave her a casual shrug. “I have confidence. Especially with Yalan around.”
“Confidence doesn't negate danger,” Qing He shot back, folding her arms. “Ruins aren’t exactly friendly treasure vaults. If a sect or clan knew about one, they’d sweep it clean before you ever got there. And if they didn’t? There’s usually a reason why.”
“I know,” Chen Ren said, nodding. “But in the books I read from your shop, it’s clear—new ruins get discovered every decade. Some of them go unnoticed for centuries.” He paused and smiled slightly. “Even Hong Yi managed to find that inheritance, remember? That puppet technique of his didn’t come from a scroll lying in the market.”
Once he’d realized the business route was cut off—his influence in the immortal world too shallow, his name barely a whisper, and his spirit stone pouch more dust than coin—ruins had started to seem less like a reckless gamble and more like the only logical path forward.
Sure, they were dangerous. But even in the cultivation stories he had read before coming here, ruins were always filled with treasures—if you survived the traps. And traps? Traps could be prepared for. He had ideas. Devices. Techniques. And more importantly, he had Yalan. She wasn’t just feline—she was skilled, calm under pressure, loyal, and a meridian expansion realm spirit beast—the last one the most important.
“There might be some in the Corpse Lands,” Qing He finally admitted, reluctantly. “But they’re really dangerous. Definitely not for a cultivator at your level.”
“Corpse Lands?” Chen Ren echoed, brow raised.
It was Feiyu who answered.
“They’re at the empire’s western border. Entirely uninhabited now. Cultivators go there all the time looking for ruins or lost legacies,” he explained. “They say one of the strongest ancient sects fell there due to some unknown reason. The land’s cursed… but people believe the inheritance of their sect leader, a nascent soul cultivator, is still hidden somewhere in the region.” His voice lowered with quiet awe. “Even now, some who return from the outskirts find strange treasures—spirit-infused metals, talisman blueprints, even old formation keys.”
Chen Ren’s interest sparked instantly. Nascent soul inheritance? Hidden artifacts?
He didn’t want to leave again so soon—not after finally getting back and finding everything slowly falling into place—but this sounded like exactly the kind of risk that could turn things around for his sect. And at the very least, he could start learning more.
He turned back to Qing He. “Can you tell me more about it?”
She sighed, but her posture relaxed slightly.
“Follow me,” she said. “I might still have a book about it in the shop.”
Chen Ren nodded and fell into step behind her, thoughts already racing. Hence, he didn’t notice the way Anji’s gaze lingered on his back as he walked away, quiet and unreadable.
2025-04-09 18:26:55 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 203
Kai had been hearing about the plague here and there for a while now, but it was mostly exaggerated rumors, mixed up with fear and uncertainty. Sifting through the noise for real information had been frustrating at best.
A part of it was due to the plague originating in another kingdom, far beyond his reach—the western edge of Vanderfall, to be precise. Another factor was that his Watchers had been too preoccupied managing intelligence within the kingdom itself. But the reports of the plague had surged over the past two weeks, and for once, they weren’t just whispers in back alleys or the paranoia of traveling merchants. Even the ministers in the capital had begun to worry, fearing the plague would seep into Lancephil and drag it down with Vanderfall.
Plagues weren’t rare. Sickness thrived where hygiene didn’t, and most rulers treated them as minor inconveniences, trusting in their healers and magic to keep things under control.
There had never been a case, however, where a plague swallowed an entire kingdom whole, rotting it from the inside, making even nobles flee like common refugees. Kai didn’t need detailed reports to understand the severity of the situation.
The envoy’s face was enough.
Pale, gaunt, and hollow-cheeked, the man looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. His red-rimmed eyes, sunken deep into his skull, carried the weight of sleepless nights. His robes hung loose, dirtied with dried sweat and dust from the road. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve assumed the envoy was just another merchant robbed of his wares, forced to wander for miles in search of civilization.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Lord Arzan. I’m Corwin Merrel,” the envoy gave a brief bow, greeting Kai again. His voice sounded like he hadn’t spoken in days, hoarse.
"Start from the beginning," Kai said.
Corwin nodded. “Three weeks ago, the plague started appearing near the border. The soldiers at Fortress Aegis kept watch, monitored it, and did everything in their power to stop it from spreading. But…” He swallowed. “Unlike any normal plague, this one moves.”
“Moves?”
“It’s coming from the ground. It sickens everything it touches. We dug trenches to contain it, deep enough that nothing should have been able to pass. And yet… it kept going. Like it had a will of its own.”
Numerous thoughts came to Kai's mind but he stayed silent, letting Corwin speak. The man exhaled shakily, his hands coming to the front to clutch together as if the memory was haunting him.
“A week ago, Viscount Redmont realized that no matter what he tried, the plague wouldn’t stop. It’s not just spreading—it’s advancing. He sent envoys across the kingdom, begging for aid.” Corwin sighed again. “The royal family was already aware of the situation and tasked Archine Tower with handling it. But…” His lips pressed into a thin line. “They haven’t found a solution yet. And without one, we can’t hold out much longer.
“We thought sending Mages would turn the tide. But even that hasn’t worked. Vanderfall’s royal family has its own Magus, and even he was unable to stop the plague. If their strongest couldn’t do it, what hope do we have? That’s why I was sent here—not for supplies, not for medicine—but to request aid in relocating our common people to your cities.
“Viscount Redmont believes that if we cannot stop the plague, we must at least save the people. So please, Count Arzan, we beseech you—help us in these dire times.”
Silence settled over the room as Corwin finished. Kai exhaled slowly and turned to Killian, his mind already piecing together the implications. This wasn’t just a matter of disease control. Redmont had already given up on fighting the plague. He was relying entirely on the royal family and Archine Tower—an institution Kai had little faith in.
If those so-called high Mages couldn’t solve it, how likely was it that he could?
That depended entirely on what he was dealing with. And from what Corwin had described… Kai’s stomach turned. He might know what they were dealing with.
A plague that moved through the ground. That wasn’t sickness.
That was something else.
Something much worse.
His face remained composed, but his thoughts were anything but calm. If it truly was a dead mana plague, then there was no simple cure—no potion, no spell, no divine blessing that could wipe it out easily. It was a corruption, a lingering rot that seeped into the land itself.
He leaned forward. “Bringing refugees here won’t be an issue. We’ve handled such matters before.”
Corwin’s face lit up with relief—only for it to flicker with hesitation when Kai continued.
“But before that, I need to know more about the plague. I have some questions.”
Corwin nodded hurriedly. “I will answer as best as I can.”
Kai’s eyes locked onto him. “You said it spreads through the ground. Does it consume trees, grass—even barren land? Does it turn the soil into a foul, murky black with a stench so strong it makes men gag?”
Corwin’s breath hitched. His eyes widened, his face drained of what little color remained. “Yes, Lord Arzan” he whispered. “That’s exactly what happened.”
“The land before the fortress… it has already started changing,” Corwin continued. “The stench is so unbearable that some soldiers can barely function.”
That confirmed it.
Dead mana.
This wasn’t just a plague.
This was a disaster waiting to swallow everything in its path.
“What about people? Have you seen them turning into weavers? If so, how strong are they?”
Corwin hesitated, then shook his head. “We have been extremely careful not to touch the plague, knowing what it does to the land. But from what we’ve gathered… entire villages and towns have turned into mana weavers deep in the heart of Vanderfall. The people there call it the ‘Cursed Plague’—an extermination by the gods themselves.”
Kai exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening slightly against the armrest.
“Entire churches have dedicated themselves to prayer, begging the gods to end their suffering,” he went on. “And there are… reports of other creatures. We haven’t been able to confirm them, but the rumors are spreading.”
A bitter taste filled Kai’s mouth. That settled it. If the corruption of the land hadn’t been enough to confirm his suspicions, this was.
This wasn’t some divine curse.
It was dead mana.
A slow, creeping force that would continue to spread its roots until it devoured everything. And it would not stop—not unless they reached the core of it and destroyed it. He didn’t know how it had started. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was to put an end to it.
“How much time do you think Viscount Redmont’s territory has left before it falls completely?”
“A week. Maybe ten days. I can’t say for sure, but the Viscount told me to get here as soon as possible. I rode for twenty-seven hours straight without rest to deliver this message.” His voice was strained. “So… we don’t have much time.”
That explained the man’s haggard state. Kai turned his head slightly toward Killian, who stood beside him.
“If this continues,” Killian said at last, “Veralt will fall to the plague as well.”
“We are hoping help arrives from the Tower before that happens,” he admitted. “We are all in a desperate situation… and other than you, Count Arzan, there is no one in Sylvan Enclave with the power or resources to help us.” His voice was heavy with unspoken meaning. “Many fiefs are still recovering from the war.”
Kai grimaced but nodded. There was no malice in Corwin's words. Only the truth.
Even so, there was no time to dwell on politics.
The plague needed to be dealt with.
And if there was anyone in this world who had the knowledge—or even the slightest chance—of stopping it, it was him. No matter how difficult it would be. But before he made any decisions, he needed to see it for himself. He needed to assess how far the corruption had spread. And, most importantly—
He needed to know just how strong the fiends and weavers lurking within it had become. He could already imagine the scale of the disaster—a battlefield crawling with thousands of mana weavers, lurking amidst an even greater, unknown danger. And even if he somehow managed to fight through all of that, there remained the final problem, the core of the plague itself.
A fight of that scale would require enormous resources. Troops, enchanted weapons, golems, mana cannons… yet, despite the sheer difficulty of it, he knew one thing for certain.
If he didn’t start acting now, the plague would reach his territory next.
His fingers tapped against the armrest as his thoughts churned. How had the plague even started?
He had no doubt that Maleficia had a hand in it. Everything revolving around dead mana had them in the centre. But why would they encroach on Lancephil, knowing that Regina, one of their own, was its queen?
Unless…
It was a scheme.
Kai’s mind spun through the possibilities. Could it be that Regina wanted the plague to spread unchecked? If it reached a catastrophic level, the first prince could ride in like a savior, stopping it and securing his path to the throne. It would be the same thing that Lucian had tried with the beast wave after all.
The more he thought about it, the more plausible it seemed.
He would need to discuss it with Francis soon. But for now, his focus returned to the envoy, who stood there expectantly, waiting for an answer.
Kai exhaled and leaned forward. “I will order temporary establishments to house the refugees. If they can’t all fit in Veralt, there is enough space in Verdis or Veyrin. The fief war left quite a few homes empty—we can place them there.”
Corwin’s face lit up with relief, and he bowed deeply. “Thank you for your grace, Count Arzan.”
“It is only natural to save as many lives as possible,” Kai replied. His voice was calm, but his next words made the envoy stiffen. “However, I will also be traveling with you when you return to Redmont City.”
Corwin’s head snapped up, his eyes widening. “Is there a reason for that, Count Arzan?”
“I need to see the plague with my own eyes,” Kai said. “And I need to consult Viscount Redmont directly. Don’t worry, my decision to shelter the refugees will not change. Time is of the essence. We leave tomorrow afternoon.”
Corwin swallowed but nodded quickly. “Understood. I will be ready by then.”
With that, he was done and a maid promptly stepped forward to escort Corwin away, leaving Kai and Killian alone.
Killian, who had remained silent throughout the conversation, finally spoke. His brows were furrowed, and his expression was tight with concern. “You are leaving… again.”
Kai turned to him, already expecting the question in his eyes.
“The plague will reach Veralt if we don’t act,” Kai stated. “I need to see it for myself and decide on a course of action.”
Killian exhaled sharply. “I was thinking the same thing, but is it necessary to leave tomorrow?”
“Yes.” Kai’s answer was immediate. “For all we know, the plague could accelerate at any moment. We are on a timer, Killian. Our first priority is stopping it from spreading further.” His gaze darkened. “After that, we go in, wipe it out, and kill the core.”
Killian frowned, arms crossed. “How exactly are we going to do it? You told me before—anything that touches dead mana gets corrupted.”
Kai nodded. “Yes. That’s why we’ll be wearing full-body armor designed to resist corruption. I had Balen start working on them a while back, knowing we’d eventually have to fight stronger fiends.”
Killian’s gaze was sharp as he processed that. “Will that be enough?”
“It won’t be.” Kai’s tone was flat. “We’ll need a lot more. That’s one of the things I plan to discuss with Viscount Redmont. But more importantly, I’ve seen plagues like this before. They were one of the major reasons the world fell into dead mana. And they always have a core.”
Killian exhaled slowly. “So we need to find it and destroy it.”
“Exactly. Until we do, the plague won’t stop spreading.”
“Then this is an expedition. Another war—but this time, against weavers and fiends.”
Kai nodded reluctantly. “Yes. But unlike last time, we’re not aiming for total eradication. Our goal is the core. Once we destroy it, Vanderfall and Viscount Redmont’s forces can handle the rest. We do this as fast as possible.” His gaze sharpened. “And this might be a good opportunity to test the Elder Tree stumps.”
Killian looked at him skeptically. “You plan to plant them there? Won’t they get corrupted?”
“They will,” Kai admitted. “Which is why I first plan to purge a small area of corruption—using Amyra.”
Killian blinked. “Amyra?”
“Her abilities are exceptional,” Kai explained. “If she can purify parts of the land, we can plant the stumps there and see if they revitalize the surface.” His fingers curled slightly as he thought back to his research. “During my experiments, I noticed something. Even when Amyra’s ability purges dead mana, the land is left barren. Completely devoid of mana.” His eyes narrowed. “But if we plant the Elder Tree stumps immediately after, maybe they’ll start restoring mana flow. If the two work together, it could achieve something unheard of.”
Killian hesitated before sighing. “Amyra is just a kid, Lord Arzan. Are you sure it’s right to put this burden on her?”
Kai’s jaw tightened. “Even I don’t want to force that responsibility on her.” He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “That’s why, before I even talk to her about it, I want to test something. If I tap into her astral realm, I might be able to see what allows her to have such ability and try to emulate it for myself.”
Killian’s brow furrowed. “You think that’s possible?”
“I’ve been preparing for it.” Kai met his gaze. “I’ve been waiting for her to be ready—to allow me in. If she’s ready now, I’ll ask her.”
2025-04-07 17:17:05 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 96
Haoran moved through the marbled halls of the lord’s estate in Cloud Mist City, his soft-soled boots making no sound as he walked behind the servant guiding him. The young man bowed every few steps, showing the kind of trained courtesy that only came from a well-managed household. Haoran, however, paid him little mind.
His gaze swept from wall to pillar, tracing the cloud-pattern carvings and the subtle sheen of spirit-infused lacquer. He didn’t miss the scent of sandalwood incense drifting in the air, nor the placement of ornamental calligraphy scrolls on the walls—each poem selected not for ostentation, but for intent.
Order, virtue, diligence.
City Lord Li Baolong, it seemed, had taste. More importantly, he had balance.
Haoran had passed through too many cities over the last year, most of them bloated with decay beneath gilded roofs. Corruption, like mold, always found a way to grow in corners left unchecked. But here? The streets had been clean, the vendors sharp-eyed and unafraid. The smiths worked. The tailors worked. The laborers worked. Even the beggars looked far better than the other cities and were occasionally fed.
That was rare.
The economy here wasn't surging to rival the capital’s trade centers, no—but it thrived steadily, like a strong river beneath the morning mist. That was the mark of a competent lord. A cautious, intelligent man.
And his men... Haoran had studied their faces as he arrived. No excessive jewelry. No secret smirks. Their armor had been well-maintained, not over-embellished. Their bellies, blessedly flat. Not the kind of flab born from indulgence and misused authority.
He could always tell. Corrupt officials always carried themselves with a certain smug weight, a false confidence inflated by stolen coins. And if they didn’t, their wives or children often gave it away. But the guards at the city gates had stood with discipline. The record-keepers in the inner office had spoken with purpose.
It helped, of course, that Cloud Mist City was so close to the Soaring Sword Sect.
Where cultivators gathered, so too did merchants, craftsmen, wanderers, and seekers. Spiritual sects were like wells in the desert. They drew life. They brought coins. But coin could just as easily become poison in the wrong hands.
That was what made City Lord Li’s restraint so impressive.
He wasn’t just maintaining order. He was also supporting Princess Yanyue. And that was the real reason Haoran had come.
The Princess, despite her talents, had too few supporters in this conservative empire. She had the mind of a scholar, the grace of a diplomat, and the will of a ruler. But her cultivation lagged behind—an unfair mark in a world that too often weighed strength over wisdom.
It wasn’t right. Haoran didn’t agree with it. But what did it matter what a mere worker thought? He wasn’t a general. He wasn’t a noble. He was a servant of the court, a shadow without a name, tasked with a simple duty, find the extraordinary, and see if they could be convinced to support her.
This city had potential. The man at its head, even more so.
“We have arrived,” the servant said, bowing low.
Haoran blinked, pulled from his thoughts as the tall bronze-inlaid doors before them began to open with a gentle groan. The guards flanking the entrance stepped aside in perfect sync. They showed silent discipline and he admired it.
Beyond the doors, a spacious chamber lay bathed in soft daylight from a domed skylight. At the far end, seated with one leg crossed and his hands resting lightly on the arms of a jadewood chair, was City Lord Li Baolong.
He rose slightly at Haoran’s entrance.
City Lord Li Baolong looked every inch a man who ruled a city should look like. He wore robes of midnight-blue silk with subtle silver embroidery tracing the outline of cranes and pine, the man projected a calm and weathered strength. His features were angular, with a neatly kept beard framing his firm jaw, and his hair, though peppered lightly with grey, was tied in the traditional fashion—dignified but not ostentatious.
His eyes watched Haoran not like a host greeting a guest, but like a general evaluating an envoy. Even seated, he radiated quiet authority, as if the estate and the city beyond moved only because he allowed it.
Haoran stepped forward and offered a low, respectful bow.
“I greet City Lord Li,” he said evenly.
Li Baolong’s gaze didn’t waver. “Please, take a seat.”
Haoran nodded, accepting the offer and settling into the seat opposite the lord. He waited, posture perfectly straight.
“I hope the Princess’s health is good and that she is in high spirits,” Lord Li began with calm civility. “Word reached me that she has entered closed-door cultivation—attempting to break through to the foundation establishment realm, is that correct?”
Haoran inclined his head. “You are well-informed, my lord. She remains in seclusion even now, but the signs are promising. We expect her return soon.”
Li Baolong gave a thoughtful nod. Then, as expected, he moved directly to the point.
“So then... Why has Her Highness sent you here? I trust this is not a matter of idle curiosity.”
“It is not,” Haoran replied smoothly. “It pertains to a report you sent several months ago. Just before beginning her cultivation, the Princess read it and gave me a direct order—to come here and personally evaluate the one you mentioned. The one called Chen Ren. Or, as the city has begun to call him—Dragonheart!”
Li Baolong’s expression flickered with recognition, followed by a knowing nod.
“I expected someone to be sent sooner,” he said. “When I wrote that letter, I assumed the Princess would act quickly.”
“I had intended to,” Haoran admitted. “But the empire... has been turbulent lately. We lost Immortal Silver Jade not long ago. Marquis Daomi petitioned the Emperor to authorize an expedition to avenge his death, and several sects supported the motion. However, the Emperor declined—concerned that any confrontation with the suspected party would cost us far more.”
He sighed softly.
“I was drawn into the mess, and only now have I been released to fulfill my original task. And now, I would like to discuss Chen Ren.”
At that, Lord Li’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. “You may be too late.”
Haoran’s gaze sharpened. “Too late?”
“Chen Ren is no longer in the city,” Li Baolong said with a faint sigh, though his tone remained level. “From what my men tell me, he’s moved on to a small place called Meadow Village. There, he’s established a sect of his own. Divine Coin Sect, they call it.”
“A sect?”
“That’s right,” Lord Li said. “When I sent you that report, he was at the body forging realm. But in truth, he had already broken through to qi refinement by the time he left. And despite being offered discipleship by Vice Sect Leader Yan Xiu of the Soaring Sword Sect... he declined. Instead, he chose to found his own sect.”
Haoran frowned slightly, not in irritation but in contemplation. This was... not what he’d hoped. He had wanted to meet Chen Ren quickly, assess him, and return to the capital in time for the next set of political maneuverings.
But now…
“This person seems... peculiar,” he murmured. “A qi refinement cultivator creating his own sect? That’s not something I’ve seen before.”
“No,” Lord Li agreed, “nor have I.”
“I believe the Princess will find him interesting as well,” Haoran added, lips tightening slightly before relaxing again. “Can I know more? His lineage? His temperament?”
Li Baolong leaned back slightly, the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I did look into him,” he admitted after a pause. “Once he started gaining attention in the city. He’s not from here—originated from Red Peak City. From what my sources could gather, he was banished for some reason. Came here afterward, likely hoping to enter the Soaring Sword Sect. But that didn’t go well. He was severely injured around that time in their entrance examinations by my own son, Li Xuan...”
He trailed off briefly, then continued.
“But once he recovered, he didn’t try for the sect again. Instead, he turned his focus toward coin. Built up a noodle business—a delicacy that he said originated from the barbarians—and made a surprising amount of profit. With that, he started investing in himself. His cultivation rose quickly. Too quickly, some thought.”
Haoran tilted his head. “He bought pills?”
“That was the theory,” Li Baolong confirmed. “His spirit roots are low, nothing impressive. Everyone assumed he was using wealth to supplement his progress. But… after the tournament, it was clear there's more. The golden dragon”
Haoran leaned forward slightly. “So, it's true he's connected to the great being.”
“I think so. The dragon came to his aid. What type of connection he has with it? Only he can, but I'm inclining towards the dragon being his spirit manifestation.” Li Baolong folded his hands, then added, “As for lineage, the Chen Clan is Red Peak’s foremost cultivator family. So he’s got the blood, no doubt about it. But personality…”
He exhaled with a faint smirk.
“He’s scheming. Not the malicious kind, at least not yet—but certainly clever. And he doesn’t play fair.”
Haoran narrowed his eyes in interest. “Scheming?”
Li Baolong gave a short, amused laugh. “During the city’s martial tournament, he pulled a rather interesting trick. Let’s just say he managed to win rounds by using an underhanded method and manipulating the flow of the fight—without breaking a single rule. It was clever to say the least.”
Haoran chuckled. “So he’s got brains. That’s good. But his banishment worries me. You don’t exile someone from a clan like that without serious reason.”
“True. But I suppose you’ll find out more once you meet him yourself.”
Haoran exhaled, thinking about the journey he had to take to meet this man.
“If possible, one of my men can escort you to the village,” City Lord Li offered. “We could even prepare a carriage, if you prefer a more comfortable route.”
Haoran waved a hand, politely declining. “Just a guide is enough. I don’t need the extra attention.”
“As you wish,” Li Baolong said, giving a short nod.
But then he hesitated, gaze flicking toward the window as if debating whether to speak further. Eventually, he looked back and said, “May I ask something? About the Princess.”
Haoran raised a brow but nodded. “You may. As long as it’s within reason.”
“I wouldn’t dare step beyond my station,” City Lord Li said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I only want to understand something. Why is Princess Yanyue so intent on finding people with strange pasts? Unusual stories. She doesn’t just go for talent—she seems to be drawn to people with peculiarity in them. The other princes also search for talent, of course. But they look to the guardian sects. The noble academies. They wait for prestige. They care too much about face to chase shadows. But she—she hunts for outliers.”
Haoran nodded slowly, eyes distant with memory.
That—more than anything—was what made Princess Yanyue different from the rest.
While the Princes surrounded themselves with foundation establishment cultivators and clan-taught prodigies, bloated by pride and insulated by their own reputations, the Princess… she scouted the gutters.
A farmer’s son who barely reached body forging realm but showed tactical brilliance? She would consider him.
A girl with fractured meridians but terrifying tenacity? She would test her.
Even those with poor spirit roots—but a story that stood out, a spark that refused to go out—Yanyue would find a place for them.
And in time, those sparks had grown. Many of the “unworthy” cultivators around her had risen faster than anyone predicted. Not through sect favoritism or noble blood—but through effort, through grit, and perhaps a little bit of luck and her support.
“It all began because of one man,” Haoran said, the corners of his mouth curling into a faint, nostalgic smile. “Her aide. Wei Lian.”
Li Baolong raised a brow. “Her aide?”
“Yes,” Haoran said with a nod. “Since Her Highness’s mother passed early, she was mostly raised by palace staff. Wei Lian was one of them. A commoner, originally. No cultivation to speak of, but brilliant in his own way. Rose through the ranks slowly—quietly—until he was trusted enough to work within the inner palace.”
“And this Wei Lian... influenced her?” Li asked.
“Deeply. The Princess was always fascinated by cultivators. She used to sneak into the scroll archives as a child—Wei Lian would bring her records. Tales. Case studies. You know how the royal family keeps detailed accounts of major cultivators across generations?”
Li Baolong nodded.
“Well, he used to tell her those stories,” Haoran said. “But not the ones everyone hears—not the tales of sect-heirs or divine-blooded geniuses. No. Wei Lian focused on the ones who rose from nothing. A declining clan’s forgotten scion with shattered spirit roots, who rose to become a city’s guardian. A boy from a fishing village, saved by a beast god’s blessing. A disciple who was betrayed by their sect, survived, and returned to annihilate it.”
“They all had one thing in common: some kind of fortuitous encounter. A heaven-grade manual buried in a ruined cave. An artifact that lets them slow time and cultivate faster. A soul fragment of a dead sovereign whispering guidance from within a ring.”
Li Baolong sat back in his chair.
“And those stories stayed with her,” Haoran said. “Shaped her. While the Princes waited for geniuses to fall into their laps, she learned to look for the people no one else would see. The kinds of people who just needed a spark to become something terrifying… And the thing with fortuitous encounters, is that they don’t reveal themselves until it's already too late.”
“Too late?”
Haoran nodded. “By the time anyone realizes that some no-name cultivator is holding a heaven-grade treasure or has a celestial soul fragment whispering in his ear, the man’s already reached a level strong enough to protect himself. No one can move against him without consequences.”
The City Lord leaned back, arms crossed. “And that’s the pattern the Princess noticed.”
“Exactly.”
A moment of silence passed between them, filled with the weight of that shared realization. Then Li Baolong’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
“Then... does Her Highness believe Chen Ren has had such an encounter?”
Haoran’s reply came without hesitation. “It’s possible. The golden dragon's blessing alone could be one such sign. Of course, I’ll only know for sure once I meet him face to face.”
Li Baolong’s gaze lingered on Haoran a second longer, studying him. Then, in a quieter voice, “And if he has... does the Princess intend to recruit him? Or—if it’s a treasure that he used to gain the blessing—take it away?”
Haoran chuckled softly and shook his head. “No. She knows better than that.”
He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees.
“Anyone with a fortune like that carries destiny with them. You don’t trifle with it. You don’t try to control it. All you do is earn their respect… make a connection. Offer support, not chains. The Princess understands this better than most. And I’m sure you realize how much such a person stands to gain by accepting her hand.”
“I do. Very well.” The lord said. “This has been a good talk. I feel like I understand Princess Yanyue far better now. I thank you for that.”
Haoran rose to his feet, bowing slightly. “It’s no big deal. City Lord Li has long supported her efforts and maintained a good relationship with the Princess. I’ll be sure to mention how helpful you’ve been.”
The City Lord gave a respectful nod in return. “Then I won’t hold you any longer. One of my men outside will show you the way to Meadow Village.”
Haoran offered a final, respectful bow. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
With that, he turned and left the hall. The guards outside inclined their heads as he passed, and one silently stepped forward to lead him on the next leg of his journey.
As the cool air of the estate courtyard greeted him, Haoran’s thoughts lingered on the conversation.
Chen Ren… a sect founder now, is he?
It was unusual. Bold. Ambitious.
But most of all… it bred curiosity.
A lowly cultivator, barely out of obscurity, refusing to kneel before one of the greatest sects in the region—and instead building his own path?
The seed of curiosity planted in Haoran’s mind began to grow. What kind of sect was the Divine Coin Sect? What did it stand for? What kind of disciples had it drawn?
He stepped into the streets of Cloud Mist City, a faint smile forming on his lips.
I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.
***
It didn’t take long for Chen Ren to find Chief Muyang.
The old man was standing near the well at the village center, speaking to a small crowd. From their worn cloaks and weather-beaten expressions, it was easy to tell—they weren’t locals. Newcomers. Outsiders. One glance at the road leading into the village had already shown him carriages and carts trickling in like ants before a storm.
When Chief Muyang saw him approach, he quickly shooed the crowd away with a few polite words. The refugees dispersed without complaint, casting curious glances his way before moving on. Then, the chief turned to Chen Ren and gave a slight bow, his expression warming with relief.
“Young Master Chen Ren, you’re back.”
Chen Ren gave a simple nod, eyes already scanning the distant figures unloading bundles and crates into old homes. “When I entered the village, I noticed a lot of people coming in. What’s going on?”
Chief Muyang gave a wry smile, scratching his chin with a leathery hand. “It’s the winter, Young Master. These people are from the nearby villages. They wish to spend the cold season here.”
Chen Ren’s brow arched, waiting.
“As you know,” the chief continued, “when winter comes, spirit beasts tend to grow more aggressive. Their hunger and instincts flare during the cold moons. Larger cities can withstand the attacks, but small villages like ours… we always suffer casualties. It’s not uncommon for people to move closer to a city during the season for protection.”
The old man sighed, glancing back at the bustling edge of the village.
“But this year, they’ve chosen our village.”
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes slightly, already piecing things together.
“Because of the Divine Coin Sect,” he said.
Chief Muyang nodded. “Yes. Because of the recruitment and the growing reputation. Word’s spread far—about your efforts, the locust plague you helped us solve, even how you started giving the men jobs and good food. These people… they’re hoping to survive the winter here due to you.”
The chief hesitated before continuing, “We do have space. If we house them in the barns, in the storage rooms, and a few unused huts, it’ll work. I was going to agree—if they’re willing to pull their weight and help out around the village. The farms need as much help as it could get. But I wanted your word first.”
Chen Ren looked around, thoughtful.
This... wasn’t unexpected. In fact, in the memories of this body’s previous owner, such winters were even recorded as opportunities. His family used to use this very phenomenon to teach young cultivators how to hunt and defend against beasts.
But knowing about it and being prepared for it were two different things.
Yalan, Zi Wen, and Hong Yi could help defend the perimeter, of course. They were capable. But except for Yalan, the rest were still early in their training, and there weren’t enough of them. Most of the nearby beasts were Tier 1 threats—easily manageable.
But the problem was always the unknowns.
If a Tier 2 beast wandered too close—or worse, if it smelled the influx of people—they could lose everything before a second line of defense even formed. Yalan could easily look out for one and kill it, but she couldn't be everywhere at once and he would prefer to do it without her help.
He folded his arms, a shadow of concern tightening in his chest.
And then… he heard it.
A sharp, faint crack in the distance. Chief Muyang didn’t flinch, and didn't seem to hear it at all. But Chen Ren’s senses had long since sharpened beyond that of a mortal.
The sound of a bullet piercing wood.
He smiled.
Qing He and Feiyu—probably testing out the next model. And just like that, an idea formed in his mind.
He looked back at the chief and nodded once.
“Let them in,” he said. “And start building better walls. High ones. Reinforced.”
Chief Muyang blinked. “You’re sure?”
Chen Ren turned, watching the edge of the forest beyond the fields.
“The Divine Coin Sect will protect everyone here.”
The old man gave a deep bow, voice thick with gratitude. “Thank you, Young Master Chen Ren. I’ll get to work immediately.”
Chen Ren nodded absently, already thinking about where to place the new watchtowers. How to test range. How to determine impact spread. Because while the villagers thought he was preparing defenses…
He was preparing targets.
The beasts weren’t just threats.
They were going to be field tests.
2025-04-07 17:13:48 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 95
Chen Ren lifted his hand, studying the ring in his hand, polishing it with a cloth as he felt a grin stretch on his face.
The black metal, dull and almost matte but with a thin silver groove running along the band had a faint shine to it. It was unassuming at a glance, the sort of thing a poor merchant might wear, but it sat on his finger with a weight that had nothing to do with its size.
It had once belonged to a man who attacked them from the Xueying Clan, Yushu, who’d been handed over to the city lord’s men to assist their investigation. And Yushu had been scornful until the very last second. He’d sneered even as shackles bound his wrists. “Three years and I’ll walk free,” the man had said with pride bleeding from every syllable.
For cultivators, their jail time for most of the crimes were never more than three years; and three years weren’t considered a long time compared to their lifespan.
Obviously, it was different when sects were involved. They had their own ways of punishing that were much more painful and humiliating than being put in a jail, but all things considered, Yushu chose well.
Chen Ren hadn’t answered. Just forced him to retract his hold over the spatial ring so he could take it for himself. The man wasn't willing, but had no choice when he threatened to kill him if he didn't do it. In the end, Yushu sighed and pressed his hand forward, letting the qi seal on the ring melt away.
A twist of spiritual intent later, the ring was his.
One cubic foot. That was all. Barely enough for what was needed and could be used in a battle. But it was his. His space to use.
In the corner of his mind, memories danced of his time back on Earth. He used to read a lot of Xianxia novels and in all of them, a spatial ring was a staple artifact to identify a protagonist with prestige and background.
And now he had one of them. He felt like he was finally worthy of the title of a sect leader.
He turned the ring again, watching light ripple over it. The fact that it had come from a bandit? A cultivator who did the bidding of a clan without any morals or self respect? He didn't care about that. In the stories, the protagonist always took treasures from their fallen enemies. This was no different.
He had won. And this was the prize.
As he polished the ring, the door creaked open with a soft thunk. Small padded footsteps followed, and a familiar scent—one part dried herbs, two parts disapproval—announced the visitor before she even spoke.
Yalan walked in, flicking her tail in the usual lazy grace, though her ears flattened slightly as she neared. She winced, nose twitching.
"You still smell like a newly married woman," she muttered, blinking up at him like she’d just swallowed something sour.
Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. "It’s the perfume," he said, letting out a sigh. "We sell a lot of them. If you were putting samples on yourself ten times a day to show customers, you’d smell the same."
Yalan’s whiskers twitched. He could already see the sarcastic retort forming in her eyes, so he threw the conversation off a cliff before it could take flight.
"Why are you here?"
"The Tang girl’s looking for you," Yalan said, sitting back on her haunches. "She came back from that union meeting. Wants to talk before we head out. Honestly, I’d rather we left soon."
Chen Ren raised a brow. "Why’s that?"
"Because Xiulan makes better food than all the servants here," she said with a huff. "And it’s not even spiritual food. But at least it doesn’t taste like over boiled tree bark. Eating here makes me remember the time I cultivated alone in the mountains, surviving off qi and dew. Trust me—qi tastes like nothing. Might as well eat air."
Chen Ren held back a grin, the corners of his mouth twitching as he stood. "Just a second. I’ll get down, and then we’ll visit one place before heading back to Meadow."
With that, he turned to the pile near the corner—a few folded outfits and two short daggers resting on cloth. He extended his hand, let his qi flow into the ring, and murmured the command he’d practiced in the courtyard late at night. A flicker of spiritual energy responded.
The air shimmered.
The daggers and clothes trembled—then vanished with a soft pull, disappearing into the ring as if swallowed by water.
Chen Ren exhaled, smiling. Techniques like this weren’t new to him anymore. He’d practiced multiple qi-based techniques and learned how to wield lightning.
But this… this still felt like a new type of magic. The kind that filled the delusions of kids and it appealed to that side of his.
Without a second glance, he walked away from the room.
The lower levels of the building buzzed with life.
Customers moved between counters, their robes rustling, their voices bartering, some curious, some impatient. He moved through the crowd like a fish through reeds—used to the noise, but not quite part of it.
It didn’t take long to spot Yuqiu.
She was with a group of customers, explaining something about lavender scented perfumes with the ease of someone who’d repeated the same script dozens of times. Once she passed them off to her maid, she turned and noticed him.
"How was your first union meeting?" he asked as he approached.
She blew out a soft breath. "Felt like my first day under Scholar Wan, who was my childhood teacher," she said, brushing her hair back from her face. "Nerve-wracking. Every word felt like a test. Half of them didn’t even bother hiding their annoyance that I was there. Some merchants are still loyal to the Xueying Clan. They looked at me like I’d dragged mud in on their fancy rugs."
Her voice was steady, but Chen Ren could see the tightness in her shoulders.
"You stayed through it," he said. "That’s what matters."
She gave him a glance—half gratitude, half doubt—but didn’t reply immediately.
"But there wasn’t much attention on me," Yuqiu continued, folding her arms, her gaze wandering to a group of customers squabbling over a one of the latest introduced perfumes—one smelled like lotus. "They were more focused on choosing a new union head now that Xueying Shenmu’s been suspended."
Chen Ren’s brow lifted slightly. "Who won?"
"Wenqing," Yuqiu said. "She had support from more than two-thirds of the members. It wasn’t even close."
Chen Ren hummed in response, mind drifting back to the sharp-eyed woman with a spine like steel and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Ambition clung to her like a robe, but she’d played her role well. He remembered how effortlessly she’d helped bring Yuqiu into the union, her influence smoothing the way when others balked.
It wasn’t a bad outcome. If anything, Wenqing rising to the top only meant the union would be more pragmatic, more aggressive. And he liked that. With her there, Yuqiu would have a better chance to carve out her place—and more importantly, his business had a foothold in the structure now.
There was still plenty to do.
Yuqiu glanced up at him, her tone a bit softer now. "Are you going to leave now?"
"Yeah," Chen Ren said, shifting his weight. "I plan to head out on foot. It'll be faster to reach my sect that way. I’ve spent enough time here anyway. I want to see how things are going back at Meadow."
Yuqiu gave a slow nod. "Makes sense. Before you go, are you planning to get supplies?"
He nodded. "Heading to the center of the city. Need to stock up on pills and potions."
"Good call," she said. "The wilds are dangerous. I heard a Tier three beast wiped out a dozen caravans in the southern empire. And that’s an area where Tier two beasts are already rare. You never know what you’ll run into."
Chen Ren smiled. "I’ll be careful. But I’m not buying them for myself."
"Oh?" Her brow arched. "Then what for?"
"Research," he said simply.
Yuqiu gave him a long, skeptical look, like he’d just claimed he was going to fly to the moon with two sticks and a gust of wind. "Research?"
He nodded. "Since the expansion’s going well, I need to think ahead. Even if the profits are flowing, I’m still just earning in coins."
"And?"
"And a cultivator doesn’t need coins," he said. "A cultivator needs spirit stones. And there’s no way I’m going to get those just selling perfume to mortals."
"Unless you start making spiritual perfume," she said dryly.
"Exactly," he replied, grinning. "But I’m thinking even beyond that. Pills. Potions. The whole alchemical sector is practically swimming in spirit stones. It's one of the most lucrative markets in the empire—and it's dominated entirely by cultivators."
Yuqiu blinked. "Wait, you’re serious?"
"I’m always serious when it comes to making money," he said.
She stared at him like he’d just declared war on the heavens. "Just breaking into the perfume market nearly made us so many enemies. And you actually had a cost-cutting advantage there. But pills? There’s no way to lower production costs unless you’re some kind of alchemical genius. Even if you burn a mountain of gold just to start up, you’ll still be behind sects that have hundreds of years of reputation. Why would any cultivator buy from you instead?"
Chen Ren nodded slowly, the corners of his mouth tightening. Everything Yuqiu had said was spot on.
He hadn’t realized she’d studied the pill market that deeply, but her words mirrored the conclusions he’d reached through his own research. The empire’s alchemical trade was not just competitive—it was a battlefield, and one long claimed by the ancient sects. They didn’t just brew pills for their own disciples. Their disciples were the workforce, the apprentices churning out cauldrons of elixirs day and night, working in the alchemy halls like cogwheels in a well-oiled divine machine.
These sects had roots sunk deep into imperial cities, clan alliances, and supply chains that stretched across mountains and oceans. Breaking into such a business… it would be like throwing a pebble into a flood.
Unlike perfume, where he’d had a modern edge, or noodles, which weren't there in the empire, pills and potions were abundant. He wouldn’t just have to match the standards—he’d have to surpass them and stand out. There was no easy shortcut this time.
Still… he had a few ideas. If he could get Qing He involved—the strange, brilliant old woman who knew far more about alchemy than him—this might just become his sect’s first true step into the immortal market. A high-risk gamble, but one worth making.
He fell quiet, thoughts weaving together, calculating risks and possibilities. The wheels in his mind turned, over and over.
“It’s not that I don’t believe in you.”
Yuqiu’s voice broke his trance and he looked at her. The softened voice, and the look on her face—she’d mistaken his silence.
"I think if anyone could claw their way into the pill market and actually make a profit, it’s you. But… Just think about it a bit more, alright? This isn't like your noodle stall or the perfume shop. You won’t be fighting clans here. You’ll be fighting sects. The kind that have been around since the founding of the Empire. And they don’t play fair."
She hesitated, then added, "I’ve heard of sect wars starting over things like this. Trade disputes over pills and spiritual resources… and they always end the same way. One sect gets annihilated."
She didn’t need to say the rest. And your sect is too young.
Chen Ren exhaled slowly. "I know. I know the risks. And I’m not rushing in blind. But this is the natural way forward—for me and for the sect. I don’t want to delay it anymore. We’ve played safe long enough."
He met her gaze once again. "As for those sects… I don’t plan to provoke anyone I know I can’t beat."
Yuqiu looked at him for a long moment, then smiled faintly and shook her head. "You sound like one of those wandering cultivators who walks into a tavern, picks a fight, and ends up with a bounty on his head."
"I’d prefer to be the guy who owns the tavern," Chen Ren said, his lips twitching with a smile. "And sells pills out the back."
***
After his conversation with Yuqiu and one last look around the mall that had become the starting point of his little empire, Chen Ren picked up a few mortal grade pills and potions—strictly for research purposes—and left behind another promise to deliver the spirit rice to Wenqing soon.
Then, with a deep breath, he and Yalan took to the road.
The wide stone path leading out of the city was full of carriages, wandering merchants, and the occasional rogue cultivator. But to Chen Ren and Yalan, they were nothing but streaks of blurred silhouettes whisking past them like shadows in a dream.
The path to Meadow Village would have taken several days by a decent carriage. But with a body honed to the qi refinement realm and a pulse of thunder underfoot, Chen Ren was confident they’d make it in a day.
Or… at least, he would, if he could keep up.
Yalan was always ahead of him. Her movement technique—one he couldn’t even begin to understand—set her paws ablaze, igniting the air with bursts of fiery speed. Even with lightning crackling at his heels and wind streaking his face, Chen Ren could barely follow her flaming trail, let alone catch up.
She taunted him more than once, voice echoing through his mind, "Slow again? I think the tortoise back there blinked faster than you could move."
Chen Ren gritted his teeth but didn't rise to the bait. Mostly because he had no retort—and partly because he suspected she was still holding back. He knew Yalan could be faster. She was a spirit beast in the meridian expansion realm, and if she actually tried, she could probably cross the distance in under an hour.
That thought sparked another one.
He realized then… he'd never really seen her full power.
He'd caught a glimpse when she protected him from the spectral rhinos. He’d seen her size shift effortlessly, her claws rip through illusions and bone alike. But how far could she go?
And more importantly, could he… ride her?
Mid-sprint, he asked the question over their link, trying to sound casual. "Hey, I’ve been wondering. You know how you can grow bigger? Could you, maybe, you know… grow big enough for me to ride?"
She only answered with silence for a bit.
Then, a single, sharp glare over her shoulder that nearly made him trip.
"Do I look like some lowly mount to you?" she snapped, ears twitching in outrage. "Keep dreaming, two-legs. My majestic self won’t lower her dignity just so you can feel cool zooming around like a brat in a folk tale."
Chen Ren sighed, disappointed. He had already imagined it—the windswept mountains, the dramatic music in the background, himself racing across the Empire on a giant, flaming cat like something out of a special-effects blockbuster.
Not today, it seemed.
The rest of the journey passed mostly in silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional distant roar of a beast far from the road. Yalan stayed ahead, her fiery paws lighting the path, and Chen Ren focused on his own footing, using the opportunity to fine-tune his movement technique.
Each step sparked with lightning now, not just in speed but in precision. He began to learn how to shift direction mid-stride, soften landings, and conserve energy.
For now, he was far behind Yalan.
But Chen Ren had plans. And the next time he passed through this road… he wouldn’t be just a runner.
He’d be a storm.
More qi always meant more speed—but more speed came at a cost.
He had long suspected it, but this journey confirmed it: his control over qi… was still lacking.
No matter how much he pushed himself, there was always leakage. Stray threads of qi, invisible to the mortal eye but clearly seen by him—drifting into the air, mixing with the atmosphere and dissipating without use. It was subtle, but over time, it added up. He’d first noticed it with his offensive techniques—especially [Lightning Frenzy]. A quarter of the qi he poured into the technique never even made it to the target.
It just… vanished. Like throwing coins into a river and hoping they float.
If he were at the foundation establishment realm, maybe he wouldn’t have cared. At that point, he'd have a sea of qi to draw from, and minor inefficiencies wouldn’t matter. But as someone still rooted in qi refinement, with every drop hard-earned, Chen Ren knew he couldn’t afford to be wasteful.
Yalan had agreed with a low rumble of approval, her eyes narrowed in that smug kind of way.
“I’ve been waiting for you to notice. Thought about telling you, but you’ve been busy with your perfumes and noodles and… spirit rice promises.”
Chen Ren could only grunt at that. She wasn’t wrong.
Still, the road gave him room to breathe, and for once, no one was demanding noodles, paperwork, or sudden genius ideas. So he focused.
What he found was… curious.
His qi wasn’t just leaking randomly. It felt like it wanted to blend with the environment, like water naturally soaking into sand. And unless he was deliberately guiding it, his control over it vanished the moment it left his meridians.
It was like holding water in cupped hands—if he relaxed even a little, it slipped through the cracks.
Yalan described it better, “You need to grab it. Not just let it go. Like holding it with a hand made of intent. Grip it after it's left your body. Otherwise, it’s just going to do what qi does—disperse.”
Easier said than done.
By the time the silhouette of Meadow Village rose in the distance—low sloping roofs nestled against the foothills—Chen Ren had made exactly zero progress.
But oddly enough, he wasn’t frustrated.
In fact, he was… satisfied.
He had found a flaw. A clear one. A tangible gap he could work towards closing. And in the path of cultivation, that was sometimes more valuable than a sudden breakthrough.
Still, those thoughts were pushed to the back as something else caught his attention.
Meadow Village, when he’d first arrived, had been quiet. A remote settlement tucked away from the rest of the Empire—hardly bustling, barely inhabited. But now, as he slowed near the entrance, he spotted more than a few people walking about. A gathering, even.
Mortals, merchants and a few guards stood there. He’d passed by a couple of carriages on the road and had thought nothing of it, but now he realized… they were all headed here.
Why?
There was a lot of chatter. The kind that came with people setting up tents, looking for food, speaking of opportunity.
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes, stepping through the entrance as Yalan padded beside him, tail flicking in curiosity.
Without delay, he made his way toward the village chief’s residence to know what was going on and if anyone would know, it would be him.
Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal. And he didn’t believe in coincidence. There was a reason all these people were gathering here.
2025-04-05 17:58:24 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 202
Although Kai was fulfilling his duties as lord well and pushing himself toward the fourth circle, there was one more position and a responsibility that followed with it—one that he could only oversee once a week. Being the Tower Master of the Sorcerer’s Tower.
Thanks to the efforts of Earth Mages, the tower had been built. He admitted that the pace was impressive and the Mages had done a great job that now, there were even discussions of plans for expansion. Of course, it would be after they gain more members, and according to Claire’s reports, that moment wasn’t far off.
After the fief war, he had taken a rare day off to construct a device—the mana organ sensor. Using Aethum and a series of carefully arranged seals, the device was made to move a controlled strand of mana through a person’s body, determining whether they possessed the necessary organs to become a Mage.
The concept wasn’t new to him—by his time, such devices were common—but the version he had built was a simple one, limited to merely confirming the presence of mana organs rather than assessing their quality or potential.
That level of testing would come later, once the identified Mages and Enforcers reached Veralt. He had plans for a broader search, particularly within the Sylvan enclave, but such a large-scale effort would take time.
The apprentices in the tower were still learning how to construct these machines, after all.
Fortunately, progress was being made. Klan and Cansor, his acting assistants within the tower, had reported that the apprentices would soon be capable of producing a few dozen sensors.
Still, despite these advancements, he couldn’t shake a small sense of guilt. The Mages who had chosen to stay in Veralt had done so to refine their understanding of mana, eager to learn better techniques and spells. While he had provided them with some, he knew that a proper lesson was overdue. Not just out of obligation—but because he had plans.
Dead mana. Spells from the future, designed specifically to combat fiends. It was time to teach them all of these. Because every piece of information and lesson handed out to them would be handy when the situation calls. He knew one day, he’d had to face a dead mana dragon and the urge to prepare the Mages only grew.
That morning, he had Klan inform everyone about the lesson, making it open to all—even the novice Mages they had discovered in the villages around Veralt.
It should be a strong turnout, he knew, but when he arrived at the largest auditorium in the tower, he was still surprised.
Every seat was filled.
And he could hear how they were whispering among themselves, all clustered together.
He gave a brief glance over the crowd, quickly picking out familiar faces. He immediately noticed a blonde-head with green eyes, positioned right between Klan and Cansor. Rhea.
He gave a subtle nod to the trio and walked to the platform. A wave of movement spread as he moved, everyone rising in respect and greeting.
He locked eyes with as many Mages as he could and nodded, acknowledging their presence. “Sit,” he instructed and let them get settled. Soon, he used [Amplify], a voice modification spell. “I know some of you are seeing me for the first time, being new members of the tower. And while many here have witnessed my spells and prowess in action during the beast wave and fief war, this will be the first time I deliver a lecture. At least, here.
“Without wasting any time, let’s begin. The topic for today is something that some of you may already be aware of—dead mana and the ways to combat it. How many of you know what dead mana is?” He asked, looking at the serious faces of the crowd.
A few hands immediately shot up. He gave a slight nod. “For a basic explanation—dead mana is simply mana that has lost its original properties of life. As its name suggests, it has become dead.
“But that doesn’t mean it can’t be used. In fact, dead mana is a highly corrupt force—far stronger than regular mana. However, unlike normal mana, absorbing dead mana can corrupt your body, transforming you into a mana weaver.”
A few people shifted uneasily at the mention of mana weavers. Kai wasn’t surprised. “I know many of you believe that mana weavers are merely cursed men—hunted and executed by the church. But the truth is, they are people whose bodies have been altered by dead mana, twisted into something monstrous. There are purification spells that can heal them, depending on how far the corruption has spread. But let me be clear—dead mana is not something you should ever touch directly. It is a force of destruction, and equally, one of persistence. Once it takes root, purging it is no simple task.
“As Mages, it is inevitable that you will one day cross paths with mana weavers or necromancers who wield dead mana.”
Kai took a step forward and extended his hands, pointing at a few Mages who sat in the front. “So now, the real question is—how do you defend against it?”
A few people nodded at his words, and Kai could tell their minds were working to find an answer. Some looked at their friends, but no one spoke up. He simply raised his hand, and with a controlled surge of mana, a spell structure materialised in the air before him.
It wasn’t a real spell—just a visual construct, one put together with pure mana for demonstration.
The lines and patterns blinked in the air, drawn with such speed and accuracy that the entire auditorium fell silent. Some even gasped, and soon the silence was followed with whispers. The Mages instinctively tried to analyze the structure before them.
“This,” he said and looked at the structure himself. “Is a second-circle fire spell called [War Flame].”
“Look at it closely.” He enlarged the spell structure and let the Mages study it carefully before bringing it back to its original size.
“Can anyone explain what patterns it contains?” Several hands shot up. Kai pointed at Mages one after another.
“It has patterns for manipulating air to create flames.”
“Looks like there’s a stabilization pattern for high-temperature ignition.”
“It’s likely using a compression effect to intensify the heat.”
Kai listened to each response, but in the end, he shook his head.
“Think harder.”
The room fell into a short rest and he let them; he let them sit with the challenge for a moment before continuing. “This spell was specifically designed to combat dead mana.” He gave a hint, but the crown still didn't seem to have a clue. Half of the Mages were visibly confused, the front row of the auditorium had full-on frowns on their faces as they tried to reassess what they were seeing.
Then, finally, Cansor spoke up. “I think…” Multiple pairs of eyes turned towards him. “At the edge of the structure, there’s a summoning pattern,” he said slowly, his eyes narrowing in concentration. “It’s a bit different from what I have seen before, but it’s close enough.”
Kai’s lips curled into a small smile. “Cansor is right.”
For a moment, he considered the young man. Initially, he had been hesitant to take him as an assistant. With Jacks positioned in the Archine Tower as a spy, he didn't have anyone else that he felt would be good for the position and in the end, he had simply chosen him because he had some background as an assistant for some alchemist back in Archine Tower. But Cansor had turned out to be intelligent and dependable. Someone who had simply lacked the opportunity to rise in a place like the Archine Tower. Here, he was proving his worth.
He turned back to the spell. “Yes, this is a summoning circle,” he confirmed. “In a normal fire spell, you manipulate the atmosphere to create flames. But that’s not enough against dead mana. It overpowers most second-circle fire spells with ease.”
He raised his hand again, and this time, mana surged outward, solidifying into reality. The air around him rippled, and in an instant, flames—bright white—burst to life in his palm.
A collective gasp echoed through the hall.
“But this spell doesn’t create fire,” Kai continued, watching as the flames danced along his fingers, untouched by the natural elements of this world. “It summons it. This fire comes directly from the fire elemental realm—a place where flames are known for their purifying abilities.”
He lifted his palm, letting the white flames flicker for all to see. “They might not be able to purge dead mana completely,” he admitted, “but they can contend with it.”
His hand shifted, and the white flames in his palm flickered, swirling and twisting with unnatural grace. Slowly, he extended his fingers, and the flames followed his command, snaking across the room. They danced through the air, tracing patterns that formed shapes—spirals, circles, and even a few abstract figures. His apprentices gaped in awe, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape as they tried to follow the movements of the elemental fire.
“Normally,” he began, “you need years of practice before you can manipulate it to this degree. You need to have a fine control over how much flame you're summoning.”
He made a sweeping gesture, and the flames responded instantly, shifting from a swirling mass into a more controlled stream of fire that he bent into a perfect loop in the air. It hovered, the light dancing against the walls as if the flames themselves were alive.
“And you need to leave the small portal open to summon more, should you need it. But at the same time, you must wield it as easily as your normal flames.”
The room was silent save for the soft crackle of the fire. Kai's apprentices exchanged glances, some looking bewildered, others envious of the ease with which he manipulated the flames.
Rhea, sitting near the front, raised her hand.
Kai gestured to her to speak.
"Master, how do we do that?"
“Practice.” He let the fire dissipate, the shapes vanishing into air.
“To master this, you need to study the summoning patterns. At least the basic ones. But the most important part is practice. Never try this outside of a training room with emergency enchantments designed to contain any potential disasters.”
A few Mages shifted uneasily at that, their eyes narrowing in concern. Kai saw the grimace on their faces and laughed softly. "If you try this outside and lose control, it’ll burn the entire building down. And if that happens, you’ll all have to rebuild it again.”
There was a collective wince, a shared understanding of the consequences that made the lesson all the more real. Since they’d helped the building to be at the state where it was now, he understood that they knew the pain and effort it took to create it. Most of them were pampered in the Archine Tower, even if they had been at the bottom and construction wasn't one of the things they ever had to do before.
“Fire-aspected spells are an excellent way to deal with dead mana creatures, but don’t think that other elements are far behind.” He clutched his hands behind him as he studied the men and women.
“For example, there’s a third-circle water spell. It’s used primarily for purifying dead mana and healing people who haven’t been too far corrupted. Unlike the first and second-circle purification spells, these work instantly.”
He began pacing slowly, the mood in the room shifting as they hung on every word.
“But,” he continued, “if you truly want to go on the offensive against dead mana creatures, I believe there’s nothing better than a third-circle spell called [Black Lightning].”
A few apprentices looked confused, but Kai could see the curiosity in others’ eyes. "It’s a spell that will drain all your mana reserves. It’s brutal, but it’s a lethal strike. A single blow that could save your life in the heat of battle. At least for those with a lightning affinity."
The apprentices shifted in their seats. Kai gave them a moment before his voice lightened again. “I’ll teach the spell structure to you when you're ready, but don’t rush it. The basics come first, and you need to understand what you’re wielding before you start calling on powers like that.”
For the next half an hour, Kai moved fluidly from one spell form to the next, demonstrating a variety of elemental aspects and spell structures. Though he couldn’t summon all the elements, he knew most of the spell structures. Because in his era, it was standard for all Mages to be compulsively educated in the fundamentals of elemental manipulation and combat, so his knowledge in this field was vast, due to years of rigorous study and countless battles.
The way he moved, the way the spells responded to his commands—it was a result of something he had long since perfected.
To their credit, none of the Mages seemed to be taking it lightly. The air was thick with questions.
“How do you refine the spell structure to make it so precise?” one Mage asked, eyes glued to the spirals of ice Kai had conjured. Another asked about the biology of dead mana creatures, their curiosity piqued by the practical applications of the lesson. A few others wanted to know about mana refining, about how to manipulate the forces of the world with the same effortless control Kai exhibited. He answered each one, feeling a sense of satisfaction in knowing that they were taking his lessons seriously.
He knew that these Mages were his best bet in the fight against dead mana. The Enforcers had grown stronger, many now at the second-grade power level, but they were no match for the corrupting power of dead mana.
They were built for physical strength, for close combat, and though their power was formidable, their bodies made them more susceptible to the deadly effects of corruption.
They would not be able to take the frontlines against dead mana creatures, not without the right kind of magic to protect them. He was already designing armor, refining weapons, and developing countermeasures, but in the end, it was the Mages who would be the key to winning any future battles.
The Sorcerer’s Tower was his focus now. He had plans to elevate it, to make it the head institution of magic not just in his kingdom but in the world. He could already see the potential of his students—these Mages would shape the future of magic, and he would be the one to guide them.
And this was just the first step.
As the lecture continued, he lost himself in the rhythm of teaching, answering questions and demonstrating complex techniques.
It wasn’t until the light from the window shifted that he realized how much time had passed. The sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold.
Kai looked up at the room of eager faces, realizing it was time to end. He gave a small smile and said, "I hope this lecture was informative for all of you, but I think I need to end it here." His voice carried a note of finality, though his tone remained warm. "If I have time, I might do more of these. There’s still much to cover, and I’m happy to answer more of your questions. If you have any major ones, feel free to write them down and send them to my office."
The Mages, eager for more knowledge, raised their hands in unison, their voices blending together, "Tower Master Arzan, one last question!"
“Please, I have one doubt!”
And more voices followed that Kai couldn’t tell which belonged to who. He wanted to answer at least some of it when the heavy door to the auditorium creaked open. All eyes shifted to Bord who entered. His eyes were locked onto Kai as he crossed the hall.
"Lord Arzan," Bord whispered, "there’s an envoy waiting for you."
Kai furrowed his brow, the sense of urgency in Bord’s tone quickly catching his attention.
"Is it really that important to find me in the middle of my lecture?" he asked.
"Knight Killian was talking to him," Bord explained. "I don’t know what it’s about, but ten minutes into their discussion, he sent me to get you. I think it’s important."
Kai’s eyebrows raised at the mention of Killian. He knew better than to interrupt Kai during a lecture. "Who’s the envoy from?" Kai asked the next best question.
"Viscount Redmont," Bord replied.
Viscount Redmont. The only noble in the territory who hadn’t moved against him during the war, and the one who had even sent a letter congratulating him for the victory. Kai remembered the information on the Viscount well—he was the one who defended Fortress Aegis, which sat at the border of the kingdom. To have an envoy from him, especially now, raised more questions than answers.
A flash of concern passed through Kai’s mind, quickly replaced by suspicion. Had there been an invasion? He doubted it—Vardenfall was nearly in ruins due to the plague. But then, as his mind turned over the possibilities, it hit him.
"Lead the way," Kai commanded, wanting to know for sure if what he was thinking was true or not. Then, he turned toward the Mages still waiting eagerly, their hands still raised, and added, "Send me your questions. I’ll be going now. All of you are required to learn at least a few of the spells I talked about today—nothing beyond the second circle for now."
With that, he swiftly followed Bord out of the Sorcerer's Tower. Once outside, he didn’t waste time with the carriage. Instead, he leapt into the air, his mana propelling him upwards as he soared toward the estate.
Bord, trailing behind, watched him disappear into the distance as he flew toward his destination.
Arriving at the estate, Kai landed smoothly on the ground, the quiet hum of mana still resonating in his body as he moved quickly toward the building.
He reached the stairs without hesitation, his footsteps echoing through the stone halls as he reached the third floor.
The meeting room awaited, and as soon as he entered, Kai's eyes locked onto the envoy—a balding man who immediately stood and bowed deeply upon his arrival.
"What’s going on?"
The envoy remained silent, deferring to Killian, who stood nearby.
"The plague. It seems to be moving upon us. As we speak, it’s breaching the border."
Breaching the border?!
2025-04-05 16:15:48 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 94
There were only a few moments in Xueying Shenmu’s life when he had truly felt humiliated. There was the time he had lost to his brothers after they had begun their cultivation journeys—when he, once the most talented among them, had been left in the dust.
Then there were the bitter losses he had suffered in his early years of business, each one a wound to his pride. But none of those compared to this. Because they were lessons, and this; this was humiliation.
To be dragged from his own estate, flanked by city guards like some common criminal, while his sons, daughters, wives, and even the lowliest servants watched—it was beyond disgraceful. His skin reddened and he felt heat crawling up it at all the whispers, wide-eyed stares, the barely hidden smirks of those who had once groveled at his feet. All of it burned him from inside out.
And it wasn’t just his household. The whole city seemed to have gotten word of his arrest. People lined the streets as the carriage rolled toward the magistrate’s estate, their murmurs and speculative glances cutting deeper than any weapon in the world. They were looking as if it was a spectacle.
Shenmu clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms, shooting pain through his hand.
At least they hadn’t bound him in ropes. That was the only silver lining. But even without them, the humiliation was complete.
How did this happen? How?
His competitors had tried to report his methods before, whining to the bureaucrats like dogs yapping at his heels. But he had long since ensured that any such complaints were conveniently lost, ignored, or buried beneath a mountain of red tape.
This time, however, there had been no warning, no attempt to negotiate—just a swift and public humiliation. Someone had planned this. Someone had made sure that no bribe, no favor, no threat would be sufficient to stop it.
Whoever they were, Shenmu swore he would find them. And when he did, their heads would roll.
He could see the magistrate’s office, its large iron gates parting to admit them. As soon as the carriage stopped, the guards wasted no time. They escorted him swiftly inside, leading him not to some dim interrogation chamber where he could stall, bribe, or negotiate, but directly to the magistrate’s office itself.
That was when his worry truly set in.
The old man, the magistrate he had greased the palms of so many times, had betrayed him. There was no other explanation to this.
Shenmu entered the office, his steps heavy with the weight of his humiliation. Even his breath felt heavy.
Inside, the old magistrate, Qi Heng, was pacing back and forth, his long goatee swaying slightly. The man had always been composed, his wrinkled face unreadable, but now there was a clear sign of distress—the way his fingers twitched against his robes, the restless shifting of his feet.
As soon as Shenmu stepped in, Qi Heng snapped his gaze toward him. “Lock the door.”
Shenmu hesitated for a fraction of a second but did as instructed before striding to the chair across from the magistrate’s desk. Qi Heng motioned for him to sit.
The moment he lowered himself into the seat, the words burst out of him. “What the fuck is going on here? Is this just some way for you to squeeze more silver out of me? Or is this because I didn’t recommend your daughter to my brothers for a sect placement?” His lip curled. “You know as well as I do that her spirit roots are abysmal. Roots so weak they might as well be a curse, not a blessing. She wouldn’t make it past the first threshold.”
Before he could continue, Qi Heng reached out and gripped his wrist tight. “Enough.” His voice was sharp, his grip firmer than Shenmu expected from an old bureaucrat. “It’s not about that. You’re in trouble. A big, big problem.” He exhaled heavily and released his hold. “And I had no hand in your arrest. More importantly, I won’t be able to help you much. Not right now anyways.”
Shenmu’s confidence wavered at those words. A sliver of ice ran down his spine. The magistrate wasn’t playing games. His eyelids were half closed, his usual self-serving smirk nowhere in sight. This wasn’t a ploy. This wasn’t leverage for a better bribe. This was real.
His throat felt dry. “What do you mean? I have no idea what’s happening here.”
Qi Heng pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing. “Of course, you don’t. It’s a shitshow of the highest order.” He let the words hang for a moment before shaking his head. “Four dozen merchants—four dozen—filed formal complaints against you at the same time.”
Shenmu’s breath hitched. “What?”
Four dozen? That is a shitshow.
“Yes,” Qi Heng confirmed. “If it were just complaints, I could have buried them like always, no matter how many came. At worst, I’d have warned you. But this time, these merchants came prepared. Many of them have men with direct ties to the bureaucracy. That’s something I’ve never seen before. And with so many of them acting at once, various departments in the city requested the City Lord’s aides to investigate. Even they were caught off guard by how fast it all happened.”
Shenmu’s face lost all color.
“I wasn’t even able to stop it. Do you understand what’s happening now?”
A sickening realization settled in Shenmu’s gut. His voice came out weaker than he would have liked. “The City Lord knows everything.”
Qi Heng nodded. “Yes. If it were just merchant complaints, he might have ignored them or delayed action. But it wasn’t just that. There were written records. From your own men.” He leaned in, his gaze sharp as a dagger. “And some of them were cultivators who confessed to the crimes you made them commit.”
Shenmu’s fingers clenched against the armrests of his chair. “They… they confessed? Even cultivators?”
“Yes.” Qi Heng scoffed. “What did you do to them? Did you starve them? Feed them grass? Because for them to betray you like this—knowing they’d face punishment themselves—they must have had a damn good reason.”
At that moment, the pieces fell into place. Shenmu’s eyes widened as a name slipped from his lips, barely more than a whisper.
“Chen Ren.”
But even as he said it, he couldn’t understand how the man had pulled it off. Mortals, sure. They could be threatened, bribed, or beaten into submission. But cultivators? They weren’t so easily broken. What had that bastard done to make them turn?
Before he could process it further, Qi Heng’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“I had to act, Shenmu. If I delayed, the City Lord would have turned his suspicion toward me as well.” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “And I don’t think the merchants are your only problem.”
Shenmu’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
Qi Heng leaned forward, voice dropping lower. “One of the City Lord’s aides is actively working against you. He’s the one who got the city guards involved alongside my enforcers.” He watched Shenmu carefully. “Did you offend one of them?”
Shenmu frowned, thinking hard. He had his fair share of enemies, but a City Lord’s aide? He would have remembered stepping on someone that important. He shook his head.
“No, I don’t think so. Who is it?”
Qi Heng hesitated before saying the name. “Mingwei.”
The moment Shenmu heard it, a fresh wave of realization hit him, one far worse than before. His stomach twisted as a deep sense of betrayal seeped into his bones. He felt his lunch churn in his stomach.
It was him—the brother of Wenqing.
That was why the woman had been able to establish her restaurant so quickly in the city. The Xueying Clan had been in business for decades, yet she had only been here for five years and still managed to thrive. It had been because of her brother’s silent backing.
And now, she had turned against him.
No—this wasn’t her alone.
Chen Ren.
Shenmu could already see it. The bastard had somehow managed not just the merchants grouping together but also Wenqing’s betrayal.
But how?
That was the part he couldn’t wrap his head around. What kind of leverage did Chen Ren have to move so many pieces at once?
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that if he didn’t find a way out of this mess, he was going to end up a prisoner.
His gaze hardened as he met Qi Heng’s eyes.
“Get me out of here.” His lips thinned. “I don’t care how, but I’m not going to rot in a cell over this.” He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes, his nose flaring in anger. “And don’t forget—if I go down, I won’t be the only one.”
Qi Heng squinted his eyes at him, his frown deepening. “Stop threatening the only person who can help you right now,” he said flatly. “Your emotions are clouding your reason.”
Shenmu clenched his fists but didn’t back down. “I can apologize all you want once I’m free of this mess. Do you have any idea what this will do to me? My businesses? My family?”
The magistrate sighed, nodding as he reached for the teapot. “I understand.” He poured two cups, sliding one across the table. “Drink first. Then we’ll talk.”
Shenmu took the cup without hesitation, draining it in one go. A quick wave of relief washed over him as he realised something. “You already have a plan, don’t you?”
Qi Heng exhaled, his expression dark. “You won’t like it.”
Shenmu let out a bitter chuckle. “I’ll like anything that gets me out of this situation.”
“First of all, there’s no immediate way out. No matter what, there’s going to be an investigation. The City Lord won’t let this go. It could take months for him to shift his attention elsewhere.” He hesitated before adding, “Maybe a year.”
“I need to stay here for a fucking year?”
“That’s just an estimate.” Qi Heng sighed. “I’ll do my best to get you out sooner, but a lot depends on how severe your offenses appear. And now, even if you do want to get out, there’s only one way.” He paused. “You have to sacrifice your sons.”
Silence filled the room.
Shenmu stared at him, his entire body going stiff. “That’s your plan?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Throwing my own blood to the wolves?”
“There’s no other way,” Qi Heng said and groaned. “You have a lot of sons, and some of them already handle your businesses. They’re young. They can endure this better than you. By the end of the investigation, we’ll push the blame onto them. They’ll be jailed, but you will come out as the clueless patriarch who had no idea what was happening under his nose. At most, there will be fines. But no prison for you.”
“And how long will that take?”
Qi Heng didn’t answer immediately. “That depends. There are people working against you. They’ll try to drag this out for as long as possible.”
Shenmu gulped. His anger coiled inside him like a snake, but he forced it down. Lashing out wouldn’t help him now.
This morning, he had woken up as the untouchable head of the Xueying Clan. Now, he was trapped like a rat.
His past sins had caught up to him.
But this wasn’t fate or retribution.
This was the work of one man.
Chen Ren.
Shenmu exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the chair as reality sank in.
He had known Chen Ren was shrewd when their usual carriage ambush had failed. The man had slipped through their grasp like an eel, always a step ahead. But this?
Banding together so many merchants? Reaching deep enough to sink his nails into the union members?
This was something else entirely.
Shenmu had been betrayed from every angle. His competitors, the bureaucrats, and even people within the merchant guild had all turned against him. The magistrate spoke with confidence about getting him out, but even he didn’t know when that would be. A year? That was just an estimate.
And even if he got out, a year was more than enough time for everything to change.
Just the thought made his stomach churn with something violent. He wanted to slam his head against the floor and drown in his own blood rather than swallow this kind of defeat.
But he wasn’t dead yet.
And as long as he lived—and as long as even a part of his businesses remained—he could make a comeback.
And when he did, Chen Ren was going to pay.
Early in his life, he had learned that revenge was the best motivator a man could have. Even the thought of sacrificing his sons felt like a small price to pay for the opportunity.
His jaw clenched as he turned back to the magistrate. “Fine. Do it. I’ll talk to my sons when they come to see me.” He leveled the man with a hard stare. “But know this—if you don’t get me out of here in a year, we’ll be sharing the same cell.”
***
The news of Xueying Shenmu’s arrest spread like crazy.
Chen Ren didn’t even have to fan the flames—the scandal was too big to contain.
For a trade city like Jingxi, where laws around corruption and business practices were strict, this wasn’t something that could be brushed under the rug. He had made sure of that. Shenmu wouldn’t be seeing freedom for at least a year or two.
But even though this was a huge victory, Chen Ren knew better than to celebrate just yet.
Because it wasn’t over.
Getting a man like Shenmu locked away for life was beyond him. The old man’s claws were too deeply embedded in the city. At best, all Chen Ren had done was buy time—time to grow his mall to a level where even if Shenmu returned, it wouldn’t matter.
Of course, that didn’t mean the attacks would stop.
His sons were still out there.
And in this world, if you kill a son, the father comes to fight. And if you kill the father, the son takes up the blade.
But that was fine. He was prepared.
With the support he had gathered, he doubted any of them could seriously harm his business. In fact, the smaller merchants were already celebrating, eager to devour the market share the Xueying Clan had monopolized.
He was happy to let them.
Let them tear apart the old man’s business—because in the end, he was going to own the biggest slice.
Perfumes and fabrics. Two industries Shenmu had dominated for years. And now? They were his. That alone was enough for the merchant union to consider him for partnership. Of course, his current contracts played a part, as did the fact that he wasn’t just any merchant—he had a sect backing him.
Whatever the reason, he knew one thing—He had done everything he could in this city.
And more importantly, he had driven his roots so deep that no one was pulling them out. People would try, of course. Success always attracted jealousy. Always brought conflict.
But if he could take down the Xueying Clan, then there wasn’t a single merchant in Jingxi that he feared.
And now? Now, it was time to expand.
His mall was already a massive success. But he still had his noodles. He still had his chips.
And he had no doubt that the people of this city were going to love them.
2025-04-03 14:53:55 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 201
Silvren moved through the sprawling crowd, his sharp, blue eyes scanning every man and woman bustling along the lively streets of Veyrin.
A few months ago, these same streets had been almost deserted—silent and lifeless, with merchants abandoning their shops and people disappearing behind locked doors. But since the new lord had taken over, the city had started to breathe again.
Shops reopened, carts rolled by, and laughter and chatter filled the air.
Even Silvren, who cared little for politics, had overheard whispers of reforms. Not that it mattered to him. All that concerned him was how the bustling streets made for better business—his kind of business.
Sliding through the throng with the ease of someone accustomed to going unseen, he silently shifted between his next targets. A group of teenagers laughing too loudly, two women gossiping as they strolled, and an old man who practically oozed wealth, his fine robes on display and his beard groomed to perfection. The gleaming rings on his fingers and the slight bulge in his coat pocket made the choice easy.
Silvren trailed the old man from a safe distance, slipping through the gaps in the crowd like smoke on a windy day. When they neared a stretch of alleyways he knew well, he sped up, his thin frame allowing him to dart forward without drawing attention.
In one swift move, he brushed against the man, as if just another passerby in a hurry. His fingers slipped into the man’s coat pocket like he’d done it hundred times before and closed around the coin pouch. The weight felt promising.
Got it.
Without missing a beat, Silvren turned on his heel and ducked toward the alleys, his heart thrumming with exhilaration. He didn’t look back—there was no need. He knew the timing, knew how long it would take for someone to realize they’d been robbed.
Except today, his luck seemed particularly rotten.
“Stop! Thief!”
The shout cut through the street like a blade, and Silvren’s blood ran cold. The old man must have felt the sudden lightness of his pockets because his voice rang out again. “Hey! Thief! Catch him! That one! Silver hair!”
If Silvren wasn’t already running, he certainly was now. His legs pumped faster as panic tightened in his chest. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed the worst—two guards were barreling toward him, cutting through the crowd like wolves on a scent.
How had he missed them? He’d been too focused on his prize, too eager to slip away. Now that coin pouch felt heavier than ever, dragging him down with the weight of his mistake. A rookie mistake, he probably lingered his finger for too long that the oldie caught. Or maybe— now’s not the time. Goddess Lumaris help me!
His breath came in ragged gasps as he continued to speed through the alleys, the guards shouting behind him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been chased, and he still bore bruises from the last time he’d been caught. Being small had saved him from a stint in the city cells, but the guards had been more than happy to give him a thorough beating as a “lesson.”
Unfortunately, these weren’t the same guards. New ones had been enlisted since the new lord arrived, and Silvren had no idea what they might do to him. Worse still, he’d heard rumors that some of them were as strong as Mages.
He risked another glance. Luckily, these two didn’t seem to be throwing fireballs or summoning ice walls. They were just fast. And that wasn’t exactly comforting either.
His feet barely touched the ground as he ran. He leaped over crates, dodged past a couple kissing against a wall, and even dove through the open window of a house, scrambling out the other side. But no matter what he did, the guards kept up, their footsteps pounding closer and closer. They weren’t giving up, and his energy was fading fast.
Two days without food had left him weak, and he could feel it now in the heaviness of his limbs and the ache in his chest. His breath burned in his throat, and every step felt slower than the last. The guards were gaining on him.
And then the alley ended.
Silvren skidded to a stop, his heart sinking as he stared at the open square ahead. The main square. The worst possible place to be.
It was crowded today, more crowded than usual. A large gathering had formed, and there were more guards stationed there than he’d ever seen before. Too many to count, too many to dodge. With the guards breathing down his neck, he knew it was his only option and snaked inside the crowd. Soon, the crowd gave way to a long line that was headed straight toward the center of the square.
Without a second thought, he made his way toward it, slipping into the crowd and weaving along its edges until he found a spot. As the line shuffled forward, Silvren seized the moment, slipping into a gap and squeezing himself between two people.
“Hey! Get back! No cutting!” the man behind him snapped, shoving Silvren forward.
Silvren stumbled but held his ground, mumbling an apology while avoiding eye contact. The line continued to move, and he did the same, his eyes flicking nervously toward the edges of the square.
The guards hadn’t given up. They were scanning the crowd, moving between people and asking around—clearly, searching for him. His obvious silver hair didn’t make it any easier. If he had to guess, there were no more than two people in the throng with silver hair and his size—or maybe it was just him.
Silvren cursed under his breath. His luck had really rotted today. Maybe he’d stolen from someone important. The old man had looked wealthy enough to be connected.
For a second, he actually considered slipping the coin pouch back. Should I? It would just let me free. Maybe then the guards would call off the chase. But the growl of his empty stomach quickly shoved that thought aside. Those coins were his ticket to survival.
A whole month of not being hungry. Of having food. He couldn’t just give that up, no matter how badly things were looking. Life was already unfair enough for street rats like him. If he let go of every prize he’d won—or stolen—he’d never get anywhere.
Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed how much the line had moved until he found himself almost at the front. His breath hitched when he saw the dozen guards stationed there, but he quickly forced himself to calm down. They didn’t know he was a thief. As far as they were concerned, he was just another scruffy kid standing in line.
His gaze drifted upward, toward the woman standing at the front of the line. She looked calm, poised, and important, dressed in a white dress with a crest of a rising phoenix embroidered at the center of her chest. At her side stood a strange… equipment, glowing faintly in the sunlight.
Silvren squinted at it, his eyes catching on the ruby embedded at its center. It was massive, polished to a gleaming crimson sheen. He couldn’t help but wonder how much a ruby like that would sell for—probably enough to feed him for an entire year.
But the dozen guards flanking the device made it clear that any attempt to grab it would end with him in shackles—or worse. And today, he did not want to find out what that ‘worse’ meant.
He was just about to slip out of the line and make his escape when he felt a firm hand land on his shoulder. He froze, heart thudding wildly.
“Your turn,” the woman said with a kind smile. Her voice was warm but left no room for argument. “If you’re nervous, don’t be. It only takes a few seconds, and then we’ll have the results.”
“Results?” Silvren croaked, his voice cracking. His mind raced. Results of what?
The woman’s smile widened slightly, and she gestured toward the glowing device. “Yes. The results of whether you’re a Mage, an Enforcer, or a mortal.”
Silvren stared at her, stunned.
“I know it’s nerve-wracking,” she continued, mistaking his silence for anxiety. “Everyone wonders if they have the mana organs that allow them to be more than normal. But trust me, it’s better to know than not to.”
Silvren froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Mage?
The word echoed in his mind, and his pulse quickened.
He knew of them—the Mages. They were the powerful, untouchable few who ruled the kingdom, standing above everyone else. He had heard tales in the bypass of how they even had institutes, honing their skills. It was odd. But it was… important. It was of an importance he’d never known. Apparently, they could control the elements, wield magic, and had wealth and status beyond imagination. Mages were nobles, always rich and always influential. They were nothing like him. He was just a street rat, a kid who had to steal just to survive.
His eyes darted back to the kind woman, his mouth dry. His voice trembled with hesitation. “I thought only nobles can be Mages?” He was asking.
Her smile remained gentle. “No, anyone can be a Mage if they have the mana organs necessary to make them one. It’s just that the kingdom never lets common people test for it.” She paused, meeting his gaze. “But Lord Arzan is changing that in his territory. We’ve already seen a lot of people from common backgrounds becoming Mages... and even Enforcers.”
Her words lingered in his mind like a glimmer of hope—something he hadn’t dared to dream of. A life beyond the streets, beyond stealing scraps for survival.
“My name is Claire,” she continued. “And I’ve been tasked with conducting the tests in most of the Sylvan Enclave. It’ll only take a moment, just a simple test. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” She reached for his arm, guiding him toward the strange device.
For a moment, Silvren was paralyzed with uncertainty. But curiosity, that relentless spark in his chest, pushed him forward. What if this could change everything? Could he really be a Mage? Could something like that even happen to someone like him?
He didn’t know how to escape her grip, and frankly, he didn’t want to. There was something about her calm certainty that made him wonder if maybe he could just escape the life he’d known for so long.
As they reached the device, he finally found his voice again, his words shaky. “How does it work?”
The woman named Claire’s smile softened further, if it was possible. “Just put your hand on it. Lord Arzan built it to sense if you have the mana organs within you. That’s all it takes.”
The device before him was strange—a metallic structure, intricately etched with runes, standing tall with a large ruby at its center. There were three cubes in the center of it and handles that held the ruby—and the ruby, it was glowing faintly. Silvren swallowed hard. He had no idea what "mana organs" were, but he figured he might as well go along with it. If he was going to have any chance of changing his life, he had to take this shot.
He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and placing his hand on the surface of the ruby.
At first, nothing happened. The ruby remained still, its surface smooth. Silvren’s heart sank. He started to pull his hand away, thinking maybe it was all just a waste of time, when suddenly—
A jolt of energy surged through him.
It was sharp, like a burst of electricity.
For a long moment, he couldn’t focus. The world seemed to blur around him as he tried to comprehend the sensation. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.
The cubes glowed with an intensity that mirrored the pounding in his chest. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of the device’s reaction when the crowd around him started murmuring. He glanced nervously at Claire, but her eyes shifted from calm anticipation to pure shock.
His heart dropped. What had he done wrong? He hadn’t meant to do anything, just wanted to know if he was a Mage or not. But now it felt like all eyes were on him, and the weight of his actions pressed down on him.
Before he could react, a voice pierced through his thoughts.
“Halt right there! He’s a thief!”
The words made his stomach drop. His blood ran cold. The guards. They were still after him, and now they had caught up.
Panic surged through him, and without thinking, he spun around, ready to bolt, to run for his life. But just as his feet moved, something grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him backward, his feet leaving the ground for a split second.
He turned to see one of the guards holding him up, his grip tight on his tunic. The entire crowd was watching now, eyes locked on him with varying expressions. Some were curious, others just confused. But all he could focus on was the fierce grip of the guard and the murmurs growing louder behind him.
The guard’s voice cut through the silence. “Lady Claire, this kid is a thief. We saw him stealing a lot of coins. You need to give him to us.”
Claire’s gaze locked onto him, her expression unreadable. She didn’t seem flustered at all, but Silvren could see something new in her eyes—an understanding, an intent that he couldn’t fully comprehend.
Claire didn’t hesitate. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”
The words hung in the air like a bombshell. Silvren’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at her in confusion, wondering if she had just heard him wrong. She can’t do that?
The guard looked equally surprised. “Why not, Lady Claire?”
“The kid is a Mage. Even if he had stolen, we can’t let him go with you. If he wills it, he’ll be moving to Veralt, to learn in the newly established Sorcerer's Tower.”
The words hit Silvren like a lightning strike. A Mage?
His mouth went dry, and his mind scrambled to understand. A Mage? Him? The very thought was absurd. He had always thought that Mages were the elites, born into power and wealth, the kind of people who could throw fireballs and control the very earth beneath their feet. He had never once considered himself a candidate for such a life.
He blinked several times, his mind struggling to process. “M-Mage?” he stammered.
One of the guards scowled, still holding Silvren up. “This doesn’t change the fact that he’s a thief, Lady Claire.”
Claire turned to him then, her eyes softening once more. “Did you steal from someone?”
Her words were almost too much to bear. He stood there, staring at the ground, unable to meet her eyes. The shame of his past, of every crime he had committed to survive, surged up within him. He had stolen. He had harmed people, twisting and turning for a mere handful of coins, the only thing that mattered in his world.
“I... I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Claire ignored his comment and looked directly into him. "Even if you did steal, I would let you off if you return the stolen money. I promise you, you'll never have to steal again. Not with what we can offer you."
Not with what we can offer you. The words hit Silvren like a sudden gust of wind, pushing his thoughts aside and leaving only the sharp reality of her offer. He blinked, eyes wide in disbelief. She’s offering me a way out? The thought seemed too good to be true. No more stealing. No more fighting for survival on the streets. He had stolen, yes—but to survive. Was this really a way out?
"Really?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly, though not entirely from fear. This was a chance—a real one. Could he trust it?
"Yes, really. If you return the money, there’s nothing else to be done. You won't need to steal anymore."
The guards still held him tightly, eyes waiting for any movement. But at Claire’s instruction, the guard loosened his grip on Silvren’s collar, and the young thief was finally free to move. His body felt like it was made of lead, but he could feel the weight of the pouch against his back. Slowly, he pulled the stolen pouch from his pocket and hesitated just for a moment. There was still that sliver of doubt, that gnawing suspicion.
What if this was a trick? What if, even after returning the money, he’d still be punished?
His hands trembled as he handed the pouch to Claire.
"Here," he muttered, still unsure of what might happen next.
Claire accepted the pouch.
She turned and handed it to the guards who had been standing by. They nodded in acknowledgment and left without another word. Silvren could only watch.
When the last of the guards disappeared into the crowd, Claire turned back to him. Her smile was encouraging but there was a serious glint in her eyes as she studied him.
“Now,” she began, “we can start with introductions. You’re going to be the newest Mage in the Sorcerer's Tower, but I don’t even know your name.”
Silvren hesitated for a moment. Mage. The word echoed in his mind. It felt strange, like an illusion. He wasn’t a Mage. Not really. His heart thudded in his chest.
"My name is Silvren," he said, his voice almost lost in the noise of the crowd. It felt strange to say it out loud. His name had never meant much to him. It was just a label, a way to differentiate him from the other street kids. But now, as the words left his lips, they felt different.
Claire’s smile widened. "Silvren. It’s good to meet you."
2025-04-03 14:52:31 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 93
Talking to Wenqing was only the first step of his plan, but once that was done, he moved to the next step; moving towards the other union members, but only going to the ones he believed were more likely to turn against the Xueying clan.
He couldn't take a massive risk and fall head first, like letting the clan know what was going to hit them in advance, and handing them the time to find ways to prepare for what was about to come. He wanted them unprepared, helpless and in a way that could hurt them.
The information and knowledge he had collected over the last month came in handy here, and he swiftly moved to convince the union members that siding with him was going to be more beneficial to them than the Xueying clan.
Partly, he was only able to do it because, rather than just being a merchant group, he was also representing a sect and could trade a lot of things that the union members might need. If not that, then he always had his modern knowledge, and he put it to good use—especially for Li Chengyuan who had a large clothing business. The man had been hesitant at first, but all it took was a demonstration of his sewing machines and an offer to provide six of them in exchange for his support. After that, Li Chengyuan had practically talked with a fat grin on his face.
In the grand scheme of things, a few sewing machines in the hands of a competitor weren’t going to shake the industry. But they would get him the backing he needed, at least for now. And that was all that mattered.
Still, getting the support of the union members alone wasn't enough. Their connections would allow him to drive the Xueying clan out of the union, and the backlash would serve as a warning to the other two dominant clans not to try anything reckless. But before that, he needed to cripple them. He needed more than just social pressure—he needed legal pressure, something that would force even the bureaucrats to take action.
And, ironically, the Xueying clan itself had handed him the perfect opportunity.
After spending the entire evening securing union support, Chen Ren shifted his focus elsewhere. In the world of money, people always chased after the gold, but there was plenty of merit in collecting coppers and silvers too. And that was exactly what he planned to do next.
He sent out invitations to about a third of the minor merchants operating in Jingxi, disguising them as an exclusive opportunity to visit his mall with their families while also hinting at a meeting that would give them a good opportunity to grow their businesses. The invitation was worded carefully—cordial enough to seem like a generous offer, yet compelling enough that they wouldn’t dare to reject it.
Just as he had expected, nearly all of them arrived the next day. Their wives lingered on the ground floor, browsing through perfumes and clothing, while Yuqiu discreetly guided the merchants to the second floor, where a large table had already been set for them with a tea to warm the tension.
Seated at the head of the table, Chen Ren took a sip of his own tea cup and raised his gaze as a plump man walked into the room. The merchants who had already claimed seats looked up at the newcomer, a few nodding in polite acknowledgment.
The man—Tai Yueshi, whom Chen Ren immediately recognized from his prior research—gave a sheepish smile as he stepped forward, giving a half bow. "Apologies. My wife and daughter wanted my opinion on a few things, so I had to stay back for a bit. Those perfumes and clothes—they’re absolutely loving them."
Then, turning toward Chen Ren, he gave a respectful bow. "Daoist Chen Ren, your sect’s products are something I can only hope to replicate."
Chen Ren smiled. "Thank you for your kind words, Tai Yueshi. I’m honored. I’ll make sure your family gets a good discount." He glanced at the already occupied seats. "Sadly, it seems all the seats are taken."
Tai Yueshi. nodded, scanning the table before shrugging. "No big deal. I can stand for a bit." With that, he moved toward a corner where a few other merchants had already taken position.
Chen Ren let a brief silence settle over the room before speaking. "I believe enough people are here for me to begin this meeting. Shall we?” His question earned him a few hums, and nods. But more than half of the gathered merchants looked skeptical, casting glances among them. Chen Ren ignored the wariness and talked with his cheerful voice.
“First of all, I’d like to thank everyone for arriving on such short notice, and I hope your families are enjoying our products."
Only a few merchants nodded at that, but he knew none of them were discontent. Maybe it was because of their family that they arrived here or perhaps it was due to the reluctance of offending a cultivator. Minor merchants rarely had the power to refuse a cultivator’s summons, after all. Though, it was likely a mix of both.
He exhaled lightly, then continued, "Now, I imagine you’re all eager to hear the real reason I invited you here—the opportunity that would let you all grow your businesses further, but before that, I want to talk about the reason a lot of your businesses aren't doing well—the ongoing sabotage of your businesses by the Xueying clan."
The air in the room shifted. He could tell how it became almost suffocating at the mixed mention of Xueying clan and sabotage. The two men who sat right in front of him stiffened, while others exchanged glances.
"I’m sure some of you are already aware," Chen Ren went on, his eyes sweeping across the table. "For example, Dong Tinguang, your merchant clan's candle business was crippled when the Xueying clan secured exclusive contracts with the beekeepers, forcing you to import beeswax from another city at ridiculous costs."
Dong Tinguang’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Yes, that's what happened."
"And that’s just one example." Chen Ren shifted his eyes to the one who sat next to him. "But it's not just businesses like his," he said. "There are also people like Yan Wudong of the Yan clan, whose transportation business suffered repeated attacks, causing him to lose reputation in the market."
At that, an older man seated near the middle of the table grimaced, his expression souring. Chen Ren noticed the way his hand shook when he grabbed the tea and sipped on it, clearly uncomfortable with the awful truth.
"Let me tell you now—those attacks weren’t just bad luck. They were intentional and planned. Every single one of them was orchestrated by the Xueying clan. And not just that—they even went so far as to spread rumors about your business, and about you personally, to damage your standing."
Yan Wudong’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Chen Ren reached into his robe and slid a stack of parchments onto the table.
"I have proof."
A tense, pregnant silence followed as Chen Ren pushed the documents forward.
"These are copies," he said. "Take one and read for yourselves."
The merchants hesitated for only a moment before standing up and reaching for the parchments. As they read, their brows furrowed. Some paled. Others clenched their fists. The room filled with the rustling of paper and the occasional sharp inhale of breath.
It was one of the merchants—a younger man near the edge of the table—who finally broke the silence. "Where did you get this information?"
Chen Ren crossed his hands in front of his chest. "While I was transporting my products from Cloud Mist City, I was attacked by men from the Xueying clan. Some of them were cultivators that I was able to capture. They gave me this information—records of all the shady dealings they’ve been involved in, specifically targeting your businesses. Wasn’t easy to get them, but I did."
His gaze flickered to Yan Wudong. "There should be a detailed account in there about how your carriages were attacked. Does it match what happened to you?"
Yan Wudong flipped a few more pages before stopping, his fingers tightening around the parchment. "Yes… that’s exactly what happened." His voice was tight with barely contained anger. "All this time, I thought it was a group of bandits. All. This. Time.”
Chen Ren nodded. "I don’t doubt that Xueying clan paid bandits to do their dirty work. But they mixed in their own men, too—and that was their mistake. And I have no doubt that this is just scratching the surface of their foul practices.
"As you all know, rising to the top of any industry is difficult. It takes time, effort, and—above all—honesty in business. There is a sanctity in the way merchants conduct themselves, a trust that allows trade to flourish." His eyes narrowed. "Xueying clan clearly does not believe in that."
It was then that Tai Yueshi, the plump merchant who had arrived late, let out a sigh.
"Even if they’re doing this," he said carefully, "they’re doing it in ways that make it difficult to pin the blame on them. If we confront them, they’ll just deny everything. Say they had no idea."
Some of the merchants glared at him. Yan Wudong and Dong Tinguang practically threw daggers with their stare. Realising what he had said, Tai Yueshi. quickly raised his hands. "I’m not defending them," he added hastily. "But let’s be honest—we’re too small to act against them. If we try, the entire union could turn against us. And that…" His face darkened. "That’s a good way to go bankrupt."
Silence stretched once more. Chen Ren had expected resistance—but he also had an answer for it.
At that, another merchant—a middle-aged man with a narrow face and sharp, large eyes—let out a weary sigh. It was Guo Qiang, someone who sold spices brought from the Yellow Stone mountains. "I’ve already tried before. When they stole a month’s worth of stock from my carriages a few months ago," he said. "It’s not like I didn’t know who was behind it. But they’re too big. The moment I pushed back, they threatened to crush me. What can we even do? The union always had each other's back and it's impossible to do anything when they are acting together."
Chen Ren interjected before anyone else could voice their agreement. "If I hadn’t already done something about the union, I wouldn’t have called you all here."
The shift in his tone silenced the room. Every pair of eyes turned toward him.
Calmly, he continued. "I will give you my word on this—the union isn’t going to unite behind the Xueying clan this time. If we act against them, they won’t be able to call on their usual support."
Yan Wudong narrowed his eyes. "How is that possible?"
Chen Ren smiled. "Because I made it possible. Until now, you all had grievances against the Xueying clan, but you were powerless to act. Why? Because in the grand scheme of things, you are like ants, and Xueying clan is the elephant. And no single ant can take down an elephant." He gave a warm smile and said, "But a swarm of ants? Working together? They can strip even an elephant down to the bones. What I’m offering is the power of collective strength. And I have the plan to make sure you all get the revenge you’ve been waiting for. Once we strike at them, their hold over the market will weaken. And when that happens? We’ll be the ones swooping in to take their market share."
Then, he leaned back slightly and spread his hands. "I won’t force anyone into this. If you don’t want to involve yourself, that’s fine. Go downstairs, take a look at the items, buy anything and leave. No hard feelings. But for those who want to be part of something greater, those who want to stop being trampled underfoot—stay."
He folded his arms again and waited; waited for someone to stand up and walk away. He saw how the men who stood exchanged glances, said so many things without actually speaking.
Just when he thought the air couldn’t get more suffocating, someone spoke.
"I’m in,” Guo Qiang spoke.
A single voice. But it was enough to break the hesitation.
Another merchant nodded. "Me too."
"Same here."
“Let’s do this.”
One after another, voices rose in agreement.
Chen Ren remained still, only allowing the smallest smile to tug at the corner of his lips. He had chosen his targets carefully, and once again, his instincts had proven correct.
With the room now fully committed, he exhaled lightly and straightened.
"Good." His eyes gleamed. "Since we’re all on the same page, let’s talk about the plan."
***
Xueying Shenmu sat in his seat in his office, his back rigid as he listened to Dexin, his steward, who stood right in front of him, giving his usual report. But today, it wasn't the usual rundown of activities. This time, the focus was entirely on Heavenly Fragrances, which had exceeded his expectations by a wide margin. The perfume business had exploded in Cloud Mist City, but he hadn't expected it to do much better here.
Dexin continued, "According to our informers, Heavenly Fragrances had to give away around two hundred and ten bottles of perfume for free due to complaints about counterfeits. They've managed to maintain their reputation, and in some ways, it’s even improved, but they are definitely taking a hit. Even with the profits they've made, this free giveaway could hurt them in the long run."
"Interesting," Shenmu murmured. "More demand, more counterfeits... It's working out just as we anticipated."
Dexin nodded. "Yes, Master. But what's more, after learning that Heavenly Fragrances has been giving away free perfumes to counteract the counterfeits, some people have started trying to make their own knockoffs, hoping to get a free bottle in return. The cycle is feeding itself."
Shenmu chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep within his chest. "I always thought we had so many leeches in our city, wanting free things, but I never thought I would appreciate them. So, when can we initiate the second phase of our plan?"
"Soon," Dexin replied without hesitation. "We're in the final stages of preparing the weak poisons that should cause harm to anyone who uses the affected perfumes. Though, we are still brainstorming ways to mix them into the Heavenly Fragrances products. But once we do, it won't take time to start the rumours and they should gain enough momentum with a few cases emerging.”
Shenmu nodded approvingly. "Good. Keep up the work, and we’ll have these people off our backs in no time." He paused, his gaze flickering toward Dexin. "Also, contact the Jinshi Trade Association and Lotus Mist Fragrances. Ask them for substantial compensation for dealing with this problem. We don't need any more distractions while we're pushing this forward."
Dexin bowed his head. "As you instruct, Master. But before I go, there’s one more thing,” he said.
"What is it?"
“A few days ago, there was a significant number of small merchants and their families visiting Heavenly Fragrances. They came with their families, so we didn’t think much of it at first. But so many of them arrived at once, and after investigating, we discovered that Chen Ren called them there, promising them discounts—likely to forge some sort of connection.”
Shenmu scoffed. "Chen Ren... I knew that boy would be trouble. Did they meet with him directly?"
"Yes," Dexin confirmed, "and some of them are already making moves to align themselves with him. They see the opportunity for profit, and he’s playing the role of a connector, giving them a sense of exclusivity."
"He’s probably just trying to make connections since he’s got none in this city, but it’s all useless. His business will be stripped from here soon enough, and there’s nothing he can do about it. What can those small-time merchants even do? Half of them already have businesses that are on the verge of collapsing."
But just as the words left his mouth, there was a sharp knock at the door. The door creaked open, and his son, Xueying Zian stepped in, his usual pale face was even paler, and his lips were parted. Sweat covered his forehead as if he’d run a marathon to get there.
Shenmu’s smile faltered, his brow furrowing. "What’s wrong, Zian?"
Zian's voice trembled as he spoke. "Father, there are a lot of city guards outside—along with the enforcers from the magistrate. They said they would speak to you once you appear, and if not, they’ll barge in."
Shenmu’s eyes widened. "Why? What is this about?"
"They… they didn’t say much, but they insisted they need your presence right now. They said it’s urgent, or else…"
Shenmu stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Lead the way," he said curtly.
As he moved swiftly toward the courtyard, Shenmu’s mind raced. What was this all about? He had always been on good terms with the magistrate. His gifts had always been well-received, and their relationship had been nothing short of cordial. To send guards and enforcers here—this was an insult, a slap in the face he couldn't overlook. He needed to get to the bottom of it.
By the time he reached the courtyard, he was met with a scene that froze him in place. The courtyard was crowded with enforcers flanked by guards. The moment they saw him, one of them stepped forward and looked into his eyes.
"Xueying Shenmu, head of the Xueying clan," the enforcer said loud enough for everyone within a mile to hear, "you are hereby taken into custody under charges of sabotaging the businesses of small merchants, orchestrating bandit attacks against transport routes, and engaging in underhanded dealings that have cost the city’s economy. You stand accused of spreading counterfeit goods, creating monopolies by coercion, and unlawfully tampering with public trade to secure your own wealth."
"If you do not cooperate," the enforcer continued, "we will be forced to take you by force. Do you surrender?"
2025-04-01 13:06:12 +0000 UTC
View Post
Chapter 200
It took time to settle everything after the attack. Cleaning up the mess and calming the nobles’ nerves took hours in itself. They were rattled—more than Kai expected—and annoyingly oblivious to the fact that he’d just saved them. Instead of gratitude, they demanded better security measures, which, in fairness, he could get behind… if only they had been more civil about it.
Still, the reality had finally sunk in for them. Their lives were in danger. Kai hadn’t been bluffing before, and now they understood that there were powers actively trying to eliminate them before the assembly. That realization left them far more shaken than he’d anticipated, likely because none of them were Mages. They were completely dependent on Kai to survive, and though he didn’t care much for them personally, he knew they’d be important in the future.
So, he ensured additional Enforcers would be guarding them from now on, then moved on to a more pressing issue—finding out where the Mages had come from.
There were several ways those Mages could have infiltrated the city, especially with a third-circle Shadow Mage among them. They might have traveled to the edge of the Sylvan Enclave and teleported inside, but with the number of Mages involved, Kai figured that would’ve required far more effort and preparation. He leaned instead toward the possibility of a large-scale teleportation circle, likely with its destination set to Veralt.
But that type of spell wasn’t easy to pull off. Beyond the massive amount of mana it would take, the ritual circle would need to exist in both locations. That was why, first thing in the morning, Kai mobilized the Watchers, sending them out across the city to search for any sign of such a circle. A large-scale teleportation array was bound to attract some attention, and he was confident they’d find a clue soon enough.
Having a circle like that hidden somewhere in the city made him uneasy. It felt like a knife hovering over his neck, and it left him restless. But his options were limited.
Finding the circle was only the first step. Tracking down whoever had created it was far more critical, as they could have other spies hidden within the city. Fortunately, everyone who had entered through the gates had been carefully documented. Now, he could only hope that the Watchers would uncover some useful leads—and fast.
By the time he had finished giving orders and handling the aftermath of the attack, the sun was already rising. He had lost an entire night’s sleep, but he didn’t head to bed. Instead, he decided to keep the commitment he’d made the night before—a breakfast with Princess Amara.
It wasn’t just about the promise, though. He genuinely wanted to check on her after everything that had happened. The explosions, the threat to the castle—he knew she’d be shaken. And there was something else on his mind, something he had been meaning to discuss with her for a while.
When he entered the dining hall, Amara was already seated at the table. The maids quickly finished placing the food and quietly excused themselves, leaving the two of them alone.
That was when he noticed how she was staring at him, scanning his face and even trailing over his body as if seeing for some hidden injury. Her worry was plain to see. And she was being completely transparent about it.
Kai shook his head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “I’m not injured, Princess. Last night wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t like I was fighting another blood drinker lord. I managed to deal with the Mages that attacked us.”
“Still,” Amara said softly, her voice tight with concern, “I heard all the explosions. I actually thought… something might happen to you.” The small swallow in her throat explained everything on her worry that seemed to have persisted from last night.
“And as you can see,” Kai replied with a faint smirk, gesturing at the food in front of him, “I’m fine. Sitting here, eating breakfast right in front of you.”
He picked up a piece of meat and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully while watching her. He could still see the tension in her eyes, and he decided it was time to shift the conversation away from the attack.
“So,” he said, after swallowing, “you wanted to talk to me before, right? Sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”
Amara waved a hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I understand. You’re a Count and you have so many duties to handle. I would offer to help, but… I have no experience managing a large territory—or any territory, for that matter.”
Kai leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “That’s true. But you could still help me in other ways.”
Amara tilted her head, curious. “How?”
“Have you heard about the assembly?” Kai asked.
She nodded. “Anya makes sure I’m updated on everything that’s happening. After all, I can’t exactly leave the castle, especially after the attack. What about it?”
Kai leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh before speaking. “As you know, to win the judgment in the assembly, truth doesn’t matter as much as support. I’ve already started building some of it—messengers have been sent to Duke Blackwood to rally him to my cause.” He paused. “But… I don’t think that alone will be enough.”
Amara stilled, her fork suspended midair as she processed his words. Her eyes sharpened slightly, catching the subtle hint of what he was implying. Slowly, she set her fork down and tilted her head. “You want me to gather support for you.”
Kai gave a slow nod. “Yes. Every faction in the kingdom revolves around a prince—your brothers. None of them are going to support me, not unless I agree to become one of their… dogs.” His voice hardened on the last word, the disdain evident. “So, I need to create my own faction. I need enough backing in the Assembly to hold my ground. And aside from Duke Blackwood, who I believe will support me, you’re the only person with enough influence to truly help.”
Amara let out a soft sigh and resumed eating, though there was a pensive look on her face. After a moment she shook her head.
“I wasn’t expecting such serious talk over breakfast today.”
Kai frowned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s okay,” she interrupted, raising a hand to stop him. “I get it. Things are dire, and there’s no time to relax. I’m aware enough to understand the severity of the situation. But… I’m not sure how much I can help you.” She leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly. “You probably already know this, but I don’t have much pull. I always lived under my mother’s thumb, and she never allowed me to break away. Most nobles still assume I’m allied with my brother. And after being absent from the capital for the past few months… I don’t even know how people see me anymore.”
Kai regarded her carefully, then leaned forward slightly. “If you’re willing, maybe it’s time to break away from your mother.”
Amara blinked, probably surprised by his bluntness. But there was no other way to phrase it. If he was going to ask for her help, he needed to be straightforward.
“You’re not the same anymore,” he continued. “You’re not a princess who needs chemicals just to function. You’re a Mage now. And like I’ve seen with my own eyes, your condition has recovered.”
Amara’s lips pressed together, and she gave a small nod. “That’s true…”
Her Mana heart—the shattered core that had left her fragile and dependent on alchemical potions—was already a thing of the past. Ever since Kai had healed her, she had grown stronger, healthier, with each passing day.
And she had started to change. She was more than surviving. She was learning.
She had begun actively studying magic again, and though she hadn’t spoken about it much, Kai could sense her progress. By his estimation, she was already approaching the second circle. She had been quietly applying the methods he had given her, and the results were starting to show.
“Your absence from the capital won’t mean anything if you return completely healed. I had planned to keep my mana surgery methods hidden for now, but maybe it’s better to let at least some rumors spread. Nobles are curious, and rumors tend to grow on their own. There’s no harm in that.”
Amara’s lips pressed together as she mulled it over, her brows furrowing in thought. After a few moments, she sighed softly. “But I don’t have any experience with nobles. I’ve seen them, met them. They’re opportunistic, never satisfied. Even the good ones. I don’t know how to deal with people like that.” She hesitated, her gaze dropping slightly. “I was never anything more than a showpiece at the balls I attended. Just a princess on display. That’s what my mother told me.” Her voice wavered at the end. “I have no real power.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed as he observed her, wondering just how deep her trauma ran. He had known it was bad—her astral realm had made that painfully clear. Regina had been the largest and most menacing wraith in Amara’s subconscious, towering over everything else. But just how far had that abuse gone? Verbal? Physical? Or perhaps… something even worse.
His jaw tightened as a quiet surge of anger burned in his chest. He hated Regina already, but the more he uncovered, the deeper that hatred grew. Not solely because of Amara, but for who Regina was.
There were plenty of evil people in the world—some who were cruel to others but still cared for their families. And then there were people like Regina, who only worked for themselves, treating everyone, even their own children, as pawns in their endless game. He restrained a sigh at the disappointment that crept up to him and looked at her gently.
“You’re stronger than you think. And honestly, handling nobles isn’t as difficult as it seems. They’re simple-minded in their own way. Opportunistic people are easy to predict.”
“Like?”
“Take Malden, for example,” Kai explained. “He’s opportunistic. But he knows that staying in my favor is in his best interest, so he’s always been on my side. That’s the kind of mindset you’ll be dealing with.”
She considered it while tapping the rim of her glass. “And… what exactly do you want me to do?”
“I don’t want you to go after the nobles with power,” Kai clarified. “I want you to focus on the ones who are looking for power. These are the people who won’t dare scheme against someone from the royal family. They’ll just want to extract as much benefit as they can. And that’s where we have the advantage.”
Amara tilted her head. “What kind of benefits could I possibly offer them?”
Kai smiled slightly. “You have royal blood. That alone is a huge draw. Just by talking to them and inviting them into our faction, you’d be raising their standing. And for more practical benefits… well, you’re at the very center of all the major events in the kingdom. I’m sure you can think of ways to leverage that. And don’t forget—it’s my faction. I’ll make sure we can throw in a little wealth here and there to sweeten the deal.”
Amara nodded slowly, her eyes thoughtful as she started to grasp the idea. She wasn’t entirely convinced yet, but Kai could tell she was beginning to come around.
He also knew that this wouldn’t be an easy path for her. People didn’t just break out of their shells and transform overnight, no matter how many pep talks they got. But if anyone could do it…
It would be Amara.
Even if Amara had been little more than a showcase in the palace, he knew that she’d still gained valuable experience simply by living there. She’d observed and interacted with nobles, absorbed palace politics, and endured the shadow games that had shaped her life. Those experiences could be leveraged to help him.
As he was lost in thought, Amara broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “My mother… what about her?”
“You don’t need to worry about her,” he said firmly. “I’ll send Enforcers with you for protection. And as long as you’re inside the palace, I don’t think she’ll be able to do much. Not with you being a Mage now. She has influence, yes, but she prefers to work from the shadows. She won’t risk exposing herself by doing something overt, especially if we stay cautious.”
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers. Her lips parted for the briefest moment, but she composed herself quickly. Kai simply looked at her eyes. “I’m not going to let any harm befall you, Princess. Whatever you do in the capital, it’ll be discreet, and I’ll make sure you’re protected. Besides, right now, her attention is focused on me… and maybe Duke Blackwood. If again, we’re careful, she won’t even realize what’s happened until it’s too late. By the time the assembly comes around, you’ll already be in position.”
Amara blinked, and for some reason, her face flushed slightly as he finished speaking. Kai had no idea which part of his speech had caused it, but it didn’t seem to be a negative reaction—which was definitely a good sign.
She glanced down at her plate, picked at her food for a moment, and then said, “You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you? You already had all the points ready.”
“I had to. If it were up to me, I’d ignore the assembly and all the politics entirely. But what I’m doing… it needs people. A lot more than the ones I have in my territory right now. And to get them, I need to stay in the kingdom’s good graces. Either way, the kingdom’s heading toward turmoil soon. The succession’s bound to cause chaos, and I’d rather be prepared.”
He paused, biting into the meat and chewing it. Once he swallowed, he looked up, noticing how she was already looking at him. “So… what do you think?”
“I wasn’t planning to leave Veralt for a while. It felt like… home. For the first time in a long time. But I understand that I’ll be able to accomplish much more in the capital.” She leaned back slightly, a small, sly smile curving her lips. “But… you’ll have to give me something in return.”
Kai blinked, caught off guard. His mind immediately raced, wondering what she could possibly want. Whatever it was, he figured he’d just agree and deal with it later.
But the words that came out of Amara’s mouth left him completely speechless.
“I’ll leave next week,” she said, raising both her eyebrows. “Until then… let’s have breakfast together. Every day.”
Kai opened his mouth to respond—and nothing came out. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to ask for, but this hadn’t been it.
For once, he had no witty remark, no strategic comeback.
2025-04-01 13:04:26 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 92
The initial crowd demanding compensation for counterfeit perfumes had been just the beginning. By mid-morning, the trickle turned into a flood. More and more furious customers kept arriving, slamming down cheap wooden bottles with deceptive labels and demanding their money back. To save face and protect their reputation, Chen Ren had no choice but to hand out replacements from their own stock. Even if they were the lowest-priced perfumes in the shop, the losses were piling up fast—and he hated losses, especially when they came from someone else’s scheme.
He clenched his jaw as yet another disgruntled buyer left the store, satisfied only after walking away with a real bottle of their perfume. “At this rate, we’ll be handing out half our inventory before the sun sets,” he muttered to himself.
This wasn’t just bad business— it was personal. Whoever had flooded the market with cheap knockoffs wasn’t just after profit; they were trying to destroy his brand. And he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.
He’d already asked Tang Boming to take his men and sweep the city; to find those counterfeiters and drag them to him. But by the time Boming’s men reached the places—the ones the scammed customers had told him they had bought the perfume from—the counterfeiters were already gone. It was as if they had vanished overnight. No trace of the cheap perfumes, no sign of their operation. Chen Ren wasn’t surprised.
The Xueying Clan had already covered their tracks.
Still, he wasn’t naïve enough to think they were done. If anything, they were probably preparing to pump out more counterfeits. This was just the opening move. Therefore he kept his men patrolling the city, scanning for any sign of new stalls or suppliers. He wasn’t going to be caught off guard again.
Meanwhile, Yuqiu wasn’t sitting idle either. She had stormed off to the local bureaucracy, determined to pressure the officials into taking action. But Chen Ren already knew how that was going to go.
The empire’s bureaucrats were slow-moving at the best of times, and when it came to protecting merchants from knockoffs? They barely lifted a finger. Patent rights didn’t even exist for most products in the empire. Copycats were everywhere—he’d seen it firsthand with his noodle stall, where imitators had popped up recently.
Sure, the officials might move against the counterfeiters eventually, since outright scams were technically illegal. But with a powerful clan like Xueying pulling the strings, the bureaucrats were more likely to just sit back and watch the chaos unfold rather than risk stepping in. Hence, he knew he had to do his own thing.
Beyond managing day-to-day operations, he’d been quietly gathering information. With Yalan’s help, he had been asking around in inns and taverns, bribing servants and workers connected to the various union clans, and piecing together a map of alliances, rivalries, and hidden dealings.
Now, he had everything he needed.
It was time to put that information to use and go against Xueying Clan.
After the day finally wound down and Heavenly Fragrances closed its doors, Chen Ren found himself seated on the second floor of the Rice Heaven Pagoda, the prestigious restaurant owned by one of the union members, Wenqing. It wasn’t his first choice of where to be after a long day of compensating angry customers, but this meeting was needed.
The second floor of the restaurant was eerily quiet, with only a handful of servants lingering in the corners, waiting silently while Chen Ren sat alone at a polished mahogany table. Getting here hasn't been difficult. As a cultivator, access to the VIP floor was practically guaranteed. Flashing his sect mark had been enough to convince the manager to take him seriously, and when Chen Ren mentioned he was from Heavenly Fragrances and hinted at a lucrative business opportunity for their boss, the man had practically bolted off to summon her without a second thought.
Now, he waited. Alone, but not idle. His fingers tapped a quiet rhythm against the table as he kept his senses sharp, stretching his awareness to feel the ebb and flow of qi in the restaurant. It was unlikely that anyone here would make a move against him, but he wasn’t the kind to sit defenseless. Not after what had happened today.
After about ten minutes, the sound of soft footsteps broke the silence. Chen Ren’s eyes lifted just as Wenqing entered the room.
She looked to be somewhere in her mid-fifties, though it was clear that old age was creeping up on her. The lines on her face were deep, and there was a faint weariness in her step that spoke of someone who had spent too long carrying heavy burdens. Still, there was a certain sharpness to her; how her black hair was dyed and combed back neatly, and how clean her attire was, and even the way she looked at him.
Wenqing was flanked by two guards, both of whom moved with the restrained power of cultivators. Chen Ren didn’t need to probe too deeply to sense their strength. Body forging realm. Solid, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
He rose to his feet as she approached, but he didn’t bow his head. Instead, he offered a small, polite nod and spoke.
“It’s nice to finally meet the owner of the Rice Heaven Pagoda. I’ve been meaning to dine at one of your restaurants.”
Wenqing’s lips curved in a faint smile as she nodded at him. “And you’re going to dine with the owner herself. Not many get the honor.”
Chen Ren didn’t respond, his eyes sweeping the room. He noted the servants standing silently along the walls, their postures rigid, their eyes carefully lowered. Then, he glanced back at Wenqing and raised an eyebrow.
“Are we going to talk with them around?” He asked, looking at the people around. “I don’t think you’d want business discussions slipping out.”
Wenqing’s smile didn’t waver. “They’ll leave after serving the food.”
“Alright,” Chen Ren inhaled and followed after her and sat. Within minutes, the servants returned, carrying trays filled with different types of dishes—a platter of glazed duck with crispy skin, bowls of fragrant rice, stir-fried greens shimmering with oil, and small plates of steamed dumplings. A separate tray held a carafe of deep red wine, which one of the servants poured into crystal glasses.
Once everything was set, the servants and even the guards left the room, closing the doors behind them.
Wenqing swirled her glass of wine, watching the crimson liquid cling to the sides, before taking a small sip. When she set the glass down, her eyes were sharp, cutting straight to the point.
“I don’t like beating around the bush,” she said. “Especially because this isn’t some courting meeting. What do you want, and what can you offer in exchange?”
Chen Ren chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. “More than what I want, I’m here to make a deal about what you want.”
Her expression hardened, lips thinned and she frowned. “Don’t play games with me. I don’t like all that. Talk about what’s pertinent to the meeting.”
He shrugged lightly, picking up his chopsticks. “It is pertinent to know what you want if we’re going to have a real discussion here.”
Wenqing’s almond shaped eyes narrowed. “And what do you think I want?”
Chen Ren didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a small bite of the glazed duck and then the rice, chewing slowly as if savoring the taste. After swallowing, he spoke casually.
“This food is good,” he said, “but I don’t sense any spiritual ingredients in it.”
Her frown deepened. “It’s high-quality rice. The ducks are cooked with precision. Everything here is high quality.”
Chen Ren shifted his attention solely to the bowl of rice, scooping up a small bite again. He chewed slowly, then nodded as if confirming something to himself. “But it’s not spiritual rice.”
He set his chopsticks down.
“You’ve been trying to break into luxury dining for a while now, haven’t you? A place that caters exclusively to cultivators. Targeting rogue cultivators who roam the region and the wealthy merchants who’d pay a fortune for even the smallest benefits from spiritual food. Your restaurants serve everyone in the city, but you want to expand, to attract the wealthiest clientele.”
Wenqing’s expression didn’t change, but Chen Ren caught the slight tension in her shoulders.
“So what?” she asked.
It was clear by her tensed shoulders that she’d put up a cold front for him. Probably because she knew exactly who he was, and didn't want to associate much with him since the head of the union she belonged to was against him. He couldn’t blame her, but her coming here was enough for him to know that there was hope.
“So,” Chen Ren said, “the Jinshi Trade Association stabbed you in the back. Even though they’re part of the same merchant union, they’ve taken the idea you’ve been working on and gone behind your back to make it happen first. They’ve secured a better deal with the White Bear Sect, offering higher prices in exchange for their supply of spirit rice. And now…” He paused for effect. “Now, you can’t find another source of it—not one that won’t bleed your coffers dry.”
Wenqing’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she said nothing.
Chen Ren continued, his tone matter-of-fact. “Spirit rice is a luxury product for a reason. It’s only grown by sects, and only in qi-dense environments. Most sects cultivate it solely for their own disciples—it strengthens their bodies, keeps them full for longer, and enhances recovery. Very few ever sell it, and even then, it’s in tiny quantities at sky-high prices.”
He leaned forward again, his voice dropping slightly. “Finding a reliable source for spirit rice? That’s nearly impossible… unless you know where to look.”
Wenqing’s hand came on top of her other hand, knotting.
“Why are you telling me all this? I get that you’ve done your research, but unless you actually have spirit rice, you’re just reminding me of the sinking hole I’m already in. And trust me,” she added dryly, “there are plenty of people happy to remind me of that every day.”
Chen Ren smiled.
Wenqing’s displeased face deepened. If there was one bitter looking woman he’d met in this life, it could be the one in front of him.
“What?” she asked.
“I do have spirit rice.”
For a moment, she froze. Her mouth opened, then closed, as though she was struggling to form a coherent response. When she finally spoke, her voice was incredulous.
“Impossible. From what I know, your sect is too young, too… raw… to already have access to spirit rice.”
“You’re right about my sect being young,” Chen Ren said with a casual shrug. “But that doesn’t really matter, does it? What matters is that I can get you the spirit rice.”
Wenqing fell silent, her brows furrowing as she mulled over his words. After a long pause, she finally sighed. “What’s your price?”
Chen Ren smiled inwardly. Got her.
In any business deal, if the conversation reached the question of price, it meant the deal was already halfway done. And seeing by how defeated she looked, she was more than ready to give in.
“It’ll take more than just coins.”
Her eyes flashed up and her upper lip curled. “If you’re thinking I’ll betray the union, forget it. I know they’re trying to sabotage your growing business, but going against them outright would be disastrous for me. I’m not strong enough to take them on. Find your way out if that’s what you want.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” Chen Ren said smoothly. “But you misunderstood. I’m not asking you to take on the entire union.”
“Huh? What else…”
“I want you,” he continued, “to go against the Xueying Clan, the Jinshi Trade Association, and Lotus Mist Fragrances. That’s not the same as turning the whole union against you. It’s more about weakening a few key members—and maybe getting them into a little trouble.”
She blinked, her frown deepening. “I still don’t get it. How do you expect me to do anything like that? Spirit rice is good—I want it—but these businesses are strong, deeply rooted. You can’t just take them out on a whim.”
Chen Ren took another bite of rice, chewing thoughtfully before answering.
“I have plans,” he said, setting down his chopsticks. “And we’re not going after all three at once. We’ll be focusing mainly on the Xueying Clan. Their current head, Xueying Shenmu, also happens to be the head of the entire merchant union. If we can get rid of him, the other two will lose their strongest supporter. They’ll pull back on their own.”
Wenqing studied him carefully. But Chen Ren could see the glint of interest in her eyes, the flicker of hope she was trying to suppress.
She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she started eating; eating with the grace and precision of someone accustomed to maintaining appearances, even in private. Every sip of wine, every bite of food, was slow.
Chen Ren mirrored her pace, savoring his meal as though they weren’t in the middle of discussing a plan that could shake up the entire merchant union. He relished the pause. The longer the silence stretched, the better it was for him. It meant she hadn’t dismissed the idea outright. She was weighing it, calculating the risks and rewards, deciding whether siding with him and betraying the union head would be more profitable than kicking him out.
And she’ll choose the former, Chen Ren thought, his confidence unwavering. Merchants, after all, were naturally greedy. And what he was proposing wasn’t just about revenge or power—it was about profit. Serious profit. Enough to tip the scales in his favor.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wenqing set down her wine glass and cleared her throat.
“This plan of yours,” she said slowly. “How confident are you in it? And what’s the basis for it?”
“Very confident,” he said. “And it’s very simple. The Xueying Clan is the biggest business clan in the city. They have their hands in almost every major trade and industry. It’s obvious that if anyone tries to expand or get big, it’s going to ruffle their feathers.”
Wenqing’s lips twitched, as though she were suppressing a smile.
“Union members might tolerate them because they’re too strong to fight directly,” Chen Ren continued, “but who said you have to fight alone? You band together, push them into a corner, and suddenly they’re the ones scrambling to protect their assets. Especially if we play it smart.”
Wenqing nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought. Chen Ren could see the gears turning in her mind as she began to piece together the possibilities, stitching together the vague framework he’d laid out for her. He had deliberately left her with just enough information to let her imagination fill in the blanks.
He didn’t know exactly how she would execute it. That wasn’t his job. But he could tell, from the glint in her eyes, that she was already considering ways to make it work.
And more importantly, she knew that he knew it too.
“Let’s discuss the spirit rice price first,” she said.
“Sure,” he said. “But keep in mind that it won’t be available for a few months. Once it is, though, I can supply you with more than just a few pounds.”
Wenqing nodded, swirling the wine in her glass thoughtfully. “Then, I’ll pay three thousand silver wen per pound.”
Chen Ren tilted his head, suppressing a smile. “That’s too low.”
“It’s not,” she countered smoothly. “Especially since I’ll be helping you out with the union.”
He smiled for real this time, thinking, Got her for real. A verbal confirmation, subtle as it was, meant she was already leaning in his favor. Now it was about hammering out the details.
“Still,” he said, “this is a long-term partnership. I don’t want to take a loss. And once the Xueying Clan is out of the way, the seat of the union head will be open. Don’t tell me you’re not eyeing it.”
Wenqing grimaced, caught off guard, before quickly masking her reaction. “Four thousand silver wen.”
“Eight thousand,” Chen Ren replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow.
“That’s ridiculous,” she snapped. “You’re pricing it like it’s spirit jade.”
They volleyed back and forth, each offering slightly better terms while trying to squeeze the best deal out of the other. The tension heated, voices rose, and more than once Wenqing glared at him like she was ready to throw her wine glass across the table.
But Chen Ren kept his cool, keeping pace with her relentless haggling until, after half an hour of heated negotiation, they finally found common ground.
“Five thousand silver wen per pound for the first year,” Chen Ren said, offering his final compromise. “After that, we can revisit the price, depending on how well the market responds.”
Wenqing drummed her fingers again, her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, after a brief pause, she leaned forward. “Make it two years at that price, and we have a deal.”
“One and a half,” Chen Ren countered.
She narrowed her eyes, considering. “And you don’t sell to anyone else in the city during that time.”
Chen Ren grinned. “Deal.”
Wenqing sighed, leaning back in her chair as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. For a moment, she looked like she grew younger.
“I never thought someone as young as you would go toe-to-toe with me in negotiations,” she admitted, taking a long sip of her wine.
Chen Ren chuckled. “I’m a cultivator. I might not be as young as I look.”
“Are you actually old, then?”
He shook his head. “No. Just reminding you.”
She gave him a sharp look, then laughed softly. “Fair enough.”
Chen Ren set his chopsticks down for the hundredth time and prepared for the real discussion.
“Either way, now that we’ve got that settled, why don’t we get to the crux of the plan? It might take a bit of time.”
Wenqing nodded. “Sure.”
And as the servants quietly cleared the table off the plates, leaving them alone once again, Chen Ren began outlining the plan that would set everything into motion.
2025-03-30 11:24:46 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 199
Kai knew from the sheer strength of the Mages attacking the estate that their leader had to be someone in the same circle as him. But what he hadn’t expected was for the man to have a Shadow affinity. That revelation, however, explained a lot. Shadow spells weren’t just destructive—they were notoriously good for sneaking around unnoticed. And getting so many Mages inside the city undetected would’ve drained the man’s mana reserves. He must’ve been lying low here for days, slowly replenishing his energy before launching the attack. Not that it would matter for long. Kai would confirm that once he captured him.
Seeing him appear, the Shadow Mage paused, momentarily distracted, giving Bran just enough time to back off.
“I was hoping to finish off the nobles before you arrived,” the man said with a sigh. “My men are really trash.”
“They are,” Kai agreed without hesitation. “They’ve got battle training, but not much experience. I really wonder if you’re any different.”
The man tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He stepped forward. “My name is Erling. Remember it. I want you to know the name of the man who kills you.” Confidence was practically oozing out of him.
Kai shrugged, meeting Erling’s dark gaze with a calm that bordered on disinterest. “Lots of people have said the same thing. A lot.”
Without any more words, the battle began.
He felt the surge of mana from Erling instantly—huge, overwhelming, and far more dangerous than the other Mages.
His mind raced as he quickly summarized his next move. Unlike before, this wasn’t just about defeating the enemy. It was about location. If he fought Erling here, within the estate walls, their battle could easily destroy everything—and everyone—he was trying to protect.
He needed to get the man out of the estate. Fast.
As spears of void shot out of the Mage’s palm, Kai countered swiftly, containing them with his wind spells. The sharp crackle of dissipating mana filled the air as the spears broke apart, unable to pierce through his barrier.
The Mage smiled at the display, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Not bad,” he said, launching another volley of attacks, this time with more force and speed, holding nothing back.
Kai moved fluidly, dodging each attack with precision while using [Mana chains]. Bands of shimmering mana shot toward the Mage, binding him in place with chains made up of pure mana.
Erling gritted his teeth, struggling to break free as Kai poured more power into the restraints. Without wasting a moment, he propelled himself forward, slamming into the Mage with enough force to smash him through the nearest wall. The crash was deafening.
Erling’s body hit the ground hard, sliding through the wreckage before coming to a stop.
For a brief moment, Kai caught a glimpse of terrified nobles peeking from behind the furniture, their faces pale with fear. But there was no time to linger. He needed to get the battle away from them—and fast.
Before Erling could fully recover, Kai flew in and smashed him through another wall, driving him farther and farther until they finally burst outside, into the left side of the estate.
Gasping for breath, Erling finally wrenched himself free of the restraints, shaking off his hands and sent more spears to distract Kai who dodged.
He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes darkening. Half of his mana shield seemed to have broken in the assault, but parts of it were still standing, giving a faint glow around him. “I see what you’re trying to do,” he said coldly, dusting himself off. “But it won’t matter. Once I deal with you, I’ll kill them all anyway.”
Kai narrowed his eyes. “You talk too much.”
Without waiting for a reply, they launched into battle again.
Kai immediately noticed something—Erling wasn’t just strong; he was a dual caster, weaving two spells at once with impressive speed as he launched attacks while keeping himself up in the air. But Kai also knew that maintaining flight with void spells burned through mana far faster than his own wind-based flight, putting the Mage at a disadvantage.
And Kai had another edge—he could triple-cast.
The Mage seemed to realize this as Kai relentlessly flung alternating [Flame arrows] and [Ice shards] at him, forcing him on the defensive. Void magic burst around them in short, unpredictable teleportations as the Mage tried to disorient Kai, sending attacks from different angles in rapid succession.
But Kai spread his mana perception outward, sharpening his senses until he could track the Mage’s every move. No matter how fast or erratic the teleportations, he wasn’t letting him out of his sight.
With a flick of his wrist, Kai summoned a flaming tornado right above Erling. The spiraling inferno roared to life, taking a massive amount of debris particles with it, and Erling teleported away just in time—but the tornado wasn’t done. It twisted and surged after him, homing in on his location like a predator hunting its prey.
Seeing the opening, Kai unleashed another wave of attacks. Jagged spikes of ice hurtled toward Erling who was now struggling to avoid both the flaming tornado and the incoming ice while simultaneously trying to keep himself in the air. Kai drove him toward a trap, creating multiple freezing nine feet tall walls in Erling’s path, narrowing the space he could teleport to.
The Mage was running out of options. And Kai knew it.
In the end, Erling couldn’t avoid it. Trapped by the ice walls, the flaming tornado engulfed him, roaring like a beast as it tore through the air. Kai watched as the man’s body was hurled downward, crashing hard into the ground below.
A thick mist spread across the tornado, its fiery heat clashing with the remnants of his ice wall. Kai wasted no time. He shot toward the crater, a spell crackling in his palm, ready to strike if the man was still alive and capable of launching another attack.
As he flew through the swirling mist, his gaze darted around the impact zone—but the Void Mage’s body wasn’t there.
A sudden shift in mana happened around him.
Kai’s instincts screamed at him, and he spun around just in time to see Erling reappear behind him, his hand glowing with dangerous, pulsing energy—a burst attack aimed straight at Kai’s chest.
Without hesitation, Kai unleashed his prepared spell—a fourth circle [Tempest Blade] draining most of the reserves of his mana.
The spell cut clean through the man’s arm before he could land the blow, too fast for him to counter. Blood sprayed through the air as the severed limb dropped to the ground, and Erling let out a howl of pain, staggering backward.
Kai didn’t give him a chance to recover. He shot forward, binding the injured Mage with [Infernal chains]. Dark flaming chains erupted out of the ground, snapping tightly around him, locking him in place.
Even then, Erling didn’t seem like he was done. Gritting his teeth, he tried to lift his other hand, gathering mana for another spell.
Kai’s eyes darkened. He raised his hand, and a [Wind Blade] tore through the air, severing the Mage’s remaining arm.
Erling screamed again, collapsing to his knees. Blood poured from his wounds, and his defenses, already weakened, had crumbled entirely.
Kai hovered above him. “You aren’t bad. Double casting, decent skill, and enough power to cause real damage.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you’re too slow. You take too much time to cast your spells—and you’re too proud of your techniques. You thought no one could counter you.”
He crouched slightly, leveling a cold gaze at the defeated Mage. “Now, why don’t you tell me who sent you? Was it Veridia? Or Regina? I know it was her—but I want confirmation.”
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll make your death swift if you give me the answers I need.”
The man didn’t answer. He just growled low, his teeth bared in defiance despite the agony wracking his body. Blood dripped from his severed arms, pooling beneath him, but it didn’t dim the hatred in his eyes as he glared up at Kai with pure malice.
Kai’s gaze sharpened as he suddenly felt a surge of mana gathering deep within the man’s chest—dangerously close to his heart. His breath hitched. A parasite? Was it possible Erling had been infected with the same insidious spell that had plagued others before?
But before he could investigate further, the man’s growl twisted into a scream—a high-pitched, agonized wail that grew louder and louder until it curdled the air around them.
Kai’s eyes widened as realization slammed into him. He knew this sound. He knew exactly what was happening.
“Damn it,” he hissed, leaping backward into the air.
Mana flared wildly around him as he cast twin shields—a barrier of roaring flames and another of slicing winds. He barely had time to brace himself before—
BAM!
A massive explosion erupted from where Erling had knelt, sending shockwaves ripping through the clearing. The force of it blasted Kai backward, slamming him into the trees with enough power to crack their trunks. Leaves rained down around him as a roar echoed through the forest.
His shields held. Barely. They absorbed the worst of the blast, sparing him from serious injury, but he still felt the impact deep in his bones as he was thrown several feet away, skidding across the scorched ground.
When the shockwave finally subsided, Kai groaned and pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he rolled his stiff shoulders. His ears were ringing, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt earth and charred flesh.
He wiped some dust off his face and slowly moved toward the site of the explosion. The ground had been obliterated, leaving a deep, blackened crater where Erling had just been. Trees had been ripped apart, their splintered remains scattered like broken matchsticks. Everything—plants, rocks, even the very soil—had been blasted away.
Kai exhaled slowly, grateful that he'd managed to move the fight away from the estate. If that explosion had gone off any closer, the nobles inside would have been turned to ash.
As he approached the center of the blast, he saw what little remained of the Void Mage. Pieces of flesh and streaks of blood were splattered across the ground, but there was no sign of the man’s body. He’d been completely obliterated.
Kai’s jaw tightened, and he grit his teeth in frustration. “Regina,” he muttered darkly. “You’re really meticulous, aren’t you?”
He knew exactly what spell the Mage had used. It was a rare and brutal technique—a self-destruction spell cast on one’s own body before a battle. Once activated, it only needed a tiny trickle of mana to trigger, and when it did, it would detonate the caster’s body in a violent explosion, taking anyone nearby along with them.
It was the kind of spell used by desperate soldiers or fanatics determined to drag their enemies into the afterlife. But seeing it here, on a high circle Mage, was unexpected. Even if he’d suspected it, stopping it would’ve been next to impossible without far greater skill—or without killing Erling before he had a chance to activate it.
Kai sighed, running a hand through his hair as he surveyed the destruction. “No body, no answers,” he muttered.
He could only hope that one of his subordinates had survived his Enforcers and gotten captured. Though, if their leader had been prepared with such a deadly escape mechanism, he doubted the others wouldn’t have similar fail-safes.
How far was Regina willing to go to achieve her goal? A third-circle Mage was no ordinary combatant. Even among those with significant mana pools, it was rare to see someone reach that level of strength. Awakening a Mana heart wasn’t something that could be done by anyone in this era. It required wealth, resources, and, most often, noble blood.
To throw away someone like that in an assassination attempt—just to kill a few nobles—was extreme. Even for her.
Kai’s musings were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps approaching from the forest. He turned toward the noise and soon spotted a group of Enforcers and guards, led by none other than Killian. He seemed to be largely injured by his stride, though his armour was stained with blood.
Killian’s stoic face brightened when he saw Kai, visibly relieved to see him standing there, battered but still in one piece.
“Lord Arzan! Are you alright? What happened here?”
“I’m fine. The Mage I was fighting didn’t see any way to win, so he used a self-destruction spell,” he explained, gesturing toward the smoldering crater. “Tried to take me with him.”
Killian grimaced, his eyes narrowing as he took in the devastation. “Bastard,” he muttered under his breath.
“And on our side? Is anyone still alive?”
Kai’s lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Killian shake his head grimly.
“We tried,” Killian said, his voice low with regret. “We really did. We aimed to capture at least a few alive, but they weren’t easy opponents. Most of them fought to the death. One of them—we almost had him—but he had poison hidden in his mouth. Bit down on it before we could stop him.”
Kai sighed, his expression turning dispirited as he processed the report. “I suspected as much,” he murmured. “It’s likely they weren’t ordinary Mages from Archine Tower after all. More likely, they were trained assassins.”
Killian’s brow furrowed. “Why do you think that?”
Kai rubbed the dust off of his sleeves. “First of all,” he began, “two weeks ago, Jacks sent us a list of all known third-circle Mages associated with Archine Tower. There was no mention of a shadow-affinity Mage on that list.”
Jacks, who had taken up the offer to become a spy in the Archine Tower, had been sending continuous information. They weren’t anything serious to act on—simply names of mages, their specializations, and rumors about them. But they were helpful.
Kai read through every single piece of information Jacks sent and identified the strength of the organization he was bound to go against. Unfortunately, the Mages he’d fought tonight weren’t on that list. That meant either Jacks had missed them, or the Mages were not registered in the tower.
At the moment, he had all the more reasons to lean toward the latter.
“So, you think they were trained outside the tower?”
“It’s possible. It’s easy to erase records or never officially enroll them in the tower at all. Train them in some hidden facility instead. Or they might just be from some other kingdom.”
Killian scratched his jaw. “They did speak Common, though. Sounded like a Lancephil accent.”
“That doesn’t rule it out,” Kai replied. “Accent is easy to change. Even magic can do it. We’ll know more once we examine the bodies. Mages usually carry something that can help us identify them—a talisman, insignia, or notes. Something.”
Kai’s sharp gaze shifted toward the guards and Enforcers standing nearby. Straightening, he addressed them with quiet authority.
“Gather a small team with potions and bandages and check up on Bran and the nobles. I remember Lyra was sent to support him, but I didn’t see her after the battle. She might be more injured and need immediate care. Don’t delay—get them patched up. I am guessing you all already drowned your potions, so focus on the others for now.”
The guards nodded in unison, immediately splitting off to organize the small medical team. They headed toward the estate where Bran and the nobles were.
As they left, Kai glanced at Killian, who gave him a silent nod, already understanding what needed to be done next.
Together, they walked toward the area where the bodies of the Mages lay sprawled across the ground, remnants of the fierce battle between them, Killian and his Enforcers. The smell of blood and burned mana hung thick in the air, and the ground was littered with broken weapons and scorched earth.
Kai knelt by the first body, carefully examining it. The man was clad in leather armor that looked surprisingly durable—thicker and sturdier than most standard Mage gear. As Kai ran his fingers along the material, he realized it wasn’t something he recognized.
“Beast hide, maybe,” he murmured to himself. “But from what creature…?”
He pushed the thought aside for now and continued searching the body. He found a wand tucked inside the assassin’s belt, along with a couple of mana potions and a short, curved blade. Nothing unusual so far.
Moving systematically, Kai removed the assassin’s leather armor, exposing his bare arms. And that’s when he noticed it.
A mark, carved directly into the man’s flesh.
It was shaped like a wolf, its fangs bared, with uneven lines etched around it. The carving wasn’t decorative—it looked deliberate, almost ritualistic.
“Killian,” Kai called, his tone sharp.
Killian, who had been examining another body, quickly walked over. “What is it?”
“Look at this.” Kai pointed to the mark on the assassin’s arm. “See if the others have it too.”
Killian’s eyes narrowed as he crouched to get a better look. Without a word, he moved to the nearest body and began checking. One by one, he and Kai inspected the fallen assassins—and, just as Kai had suspected, every single one of them had the same mark.
Killian leaned back on his heels, frowning deeply. “You recognize it?” Kai asked.
Killian shook his head. “No. I’ve seen wolf marks before—some smaller factions use them—but this design is different. More… vicious.”
“We’ll need to send it to Ansel. He might be able to dig up more information on it.”
Killian grimaced. “You think it confirms what we thought?”
“Yes. These Mages don’t belong to Archine Tower. They’re part of another organization. And if that’s the case, it means Regina’s reach goes deeper than we thought. Maybe from Maleficia directly, but they didn't use dead mana.”
Killian cursed under his breath. “Hidden assassins, secret training… What the hell is she planning?”
Kai didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on the wolf mark, unease coiling in his chest. Whatever this organization was, it wasn’t one he had prepared for—and that made it all the more dangerous.
He briefly recalled Shakran’s words—how Regina had entire legions under her control, stretching far beyond the influence she had in the Archine Tower. It made sense now why things had been escalating so quickly. Kai’s gut told him there was more to Regina’s forces than just what he had faced tonight. He needed to know the numbers, the full extent of her reach. Without that, every step he took would be a reaction to her next move.
He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders not quite easing as he glanced back down at the wolf mark. He could only hope that Ansel would find something useful from it—some piece of the puzzle that could give him a clearer idea of Regina’s operations.
But for now, there was something more pressing to handle.
Even through the stillness of the night, Kai could hear the distant murmur of voices from the city—the citizens roused from their sleep by the explosion, their fears spreading quickly through the streets. The last thing he needed was for the attack of the Mages to lead to panic in the city.
Turning to Killian, he spoke.
“Make copies of these marks and spread them around to Ansel. Send him drawings of their faces too. As for the public, we’ll tell the city they were thieves who accidentally stumbled upon one of the mana cannons, triggering the explosion. No mention of assassins or the marks to the public—keep it quiet. We can’t afford unrest in the city.”
Killian nodded. “I’ll get it done, Lord Arzan.”
“Don’t let this get out of hand,” Kai muttered under his breath, before turning his attention back to the battle-torn battlefield. The explosion had left behind nothing but scorched earth and mangled bodies. But it wasn’t just the damage that weighed on him—it was the knowledge that Regina was pulling strings from the shadows, and he had no idea what the end game was.
Killian’s steps faded as he moved to carry out his orders. And Kai stood up from his crouched position, his head heavy with thoughts—one after another.
2025-03-30 11:22:47 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 198
More and more shouts echoed through the estate. A thin trail of smoke drifted in through the window, curling ominously. Without wasting a second, Kai flicked his hand, summoning a wind barrier that pushed the smoke away and sealed the room in a protective bubble.
Amara’s eyes widened and clutched Kai’s hand, shaken by the sudden chaos outside.
“Princess.” She looked up, bewildered. “It’s going to be okay. This isn’t an attack on us.”
Though he felt the tremor in her hand relieve, she still looked up with unease, but managed a nod. “What’s going on?”
Kai frowned. “We have invaders.” That was the most basic explanation he could give. “But they aren’t near this part of the estate yet. They’re probably after the captured nobles. If they kill them, it could destroy crucial testimonies—and my case will get worse.”
He grimaced. “We had a feeling something like this might happen. That’s why we moved every noble, even Idrin, to the western wing, where we could concentrate more guards.”
Amara clenched her fists on his arm. “But how? With all the security checks in place before anyone can even enter the city?”
Kai sighed. “No system is foolproof, and there’s always the chance of hidden ways in. Besides, I’d bet good gold we’re dealing with a mix of Mages among the intruders.” His eyes sharpened as he looked at her. “We’ll have to put our conversation on hold until I deal with this.”
Amara hesitated, then took a breath. “Can I come with you?”
Kai shook his head firmly. “Please don’t. I won’t be able to focus if you’re with me. Stay here and hide for now. You know how to cast [Water Bed]?” He asked, referring to a second-circle water affinity spell that created a bed of water, which would transform into a cushion when something with weight fell on it.
Amara nodded. “I do.”
“Good. If anyone makes it to this room, use it to jump out of the window. It’s unlikely—they’d have to bypass the wards I’ve set—but be careful.”
She swallowed hard and nodded again.
Kai gave her a brief, reassuring look before removing her hands from his gently and turned around, walking towards the window ledge. He knew if he stayed more to cease Amara’s worries, the situation outside might escalate.
Without looking behind, he jumped as a sharp gust of wind propelled him forward, he launched himself into the night, dropping in with control before using [Flight] to soar toward where all the noise came from.
Smoke curled ominously into the sky, and his eyes narrowed as he glided through the air.
Below, guards scrambled toward the source of the disturbance, and distant screams echoed through the estate, adding to the chaos. He knew those screams belonged to his own people, and felt every single one of them like a jab to his back.
Under his nose, there’d been an attack. He couldn't let it be.
He rose higher, flying swiftly toward the western wing.
As he approached, he spotted the battle raging in the courtyard. The smoke wasn’t coming from any building, thankfully—but from the trees, which had been partially set ablaze.
The reason became immediately clear. In the middle of the courtyard, a dozen intruders were locked in combat with the guards. Several of the intruders wielded spells, particularly fire. By the amount of first circle and second circle flaming spells they launched indiscriminately, they looked like they wanted to burn everything down. And since over half of them were Mages, their relentless spell-flinging kept the guards on the defensive.
Leading the defense were Killian, Gareth, Bord, and two Mages from the newly established Sorcerer’s Tower.
Kai’s mana sense flared, analyzing the attackers. Most of them were second-circle Mages—but unlike the ones he had seen in the Archine Tower, these Mages looked to be battle-hardened. Their spells were precise, their coordination tight, and three of them focused solely on maintaining layered defensive barriers.
The barriers shimmered with different elemental hues, a translucent blue shield of water magic that rippled with each impact, a sturdy earthen wall reinforced with jagged stone protrusions, and a flickering dome of air that deflected incoming projectiles.
Kai didn’t waste any more time. He raised a hand and channeled his mana, summoning a blazing fireball. With a swift motion, he hurled it toward the barriers.
The fireball struck, giving out a deafening sound, colliding with the layered defenses and causing a violent explosion that rocked the entire courtyard.
Dust and smoke filled the air as cracks spiderwebbed across the barriers, and two large holes appeared in the shimmering dome.
There you go.
The enemy Mages looked up, startled, finally realizing that Kai had joined the fray. But before they could regroup, Kai followed up with an [Ice beam]—a concentrated blast of freezing energy that shot straight toward the defense Mages.
The icy attack hit its mark, freezing two of the Mages in place.
Their barriers flickered and collapsed as frost spread rapidly across their bodies.
Killian and Bord seized the opportunity—shortening the distance between them and cutting down the frozen Mages with swift, lethal strikes.
Just then, a crackling bolt of lightning hurtled toward Kai from the left. His reflexes kicked in, and he raised a hand, casting a wind barrier just in time to absorb the strike.
The lightning fizzled harmlessly against the swirling wall of air.
Kai turned toward the Mage, a middle aged bald man, who had attacked him and smirked. Without hesitation or mercy, he retaliated. Flames roared to life around him. He drew the spell structure in a heart beat for [Flaming Knight] and unleashed, aiming directly at the bald Mage.
A flaming knight materialized. It was twice as big as the Mage, and wielded a flaming sword. Faceless, the humanoid figure made out of fire was blazing with heat as it charged toward the enemy Mages, aiming to cut him clean in half. But the Mage dodged at the last second, rolling out of the way as two more intruders stepped forward to intercept. Just then, the [Flaming Knight] disappeared, surprising the Mages.
Taking the momentary distraction, Kai casted [Wind Blades] that sliced through the air with deadly speed.
The attackers scrambled to dodge, but the blades still found their mark, cutting deep gashes into their shoulders and legs. Cries of pain filled the courtyard as they staggered back, their formation crumbling.
Taking the chance, guards who were on the defensive before charged right at them, killing them right away.
It was clear that with Kai’s intervention, the tide was shifting in their favor. Because for every other spell that broke the opponent’s formation, the guards pressed forward. Killian had rightfully trained all those men to fight under pressure, even if their opponents were Mages.
Kai’s hand flew forward, sending a [Gust], taking a Mage out of balance. But before he could do any more, a shout took his attention.
“Lord Arzan!” Killian’s voice came from his right. “Another group of Mages has already moved inside! Bran and Lyra stationed with the nobles are probably holding them off, but they might need your help!”
Kai’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded without argument. Killian was right. If the attackers had split their forces, it could mean only one thing: these Mages here were just grunts, meant to distract them while the real threat went after the captured nobles.
And if he was right, there was a good chance that whoever was leading the attack was a third circle Mage or worse. None of the Enforcers stationed in the western wing would be able to handle that.
As that thought crossed his mind, Kai unleashed a powerful [Gust], knocking down a few more Mages to give the Enforcers some breathing room. The next second, he rose higher in the air.
Killian and the rest can handle it, he thought to himself as the enemy numbers dwindled. But his eyes strayed to the massive fire next to them that seemed to be growing more.
Without wasting a moment, he imagined a massive block of ice forming just above the burning trees. The spell structure took shape on his palm as he briefly closed his eyes. Inhaling mana from the air, he felt the surge of power rushing through him, leashing forward as the [Ice Block] descended, covering the entire section of trees.
The enemy Mages had somehow managed to cause considerable damage. If it continued, every tree in the western wing would be engulfed in flames. Kai extended his hand, casting a second-circle controlled [Flame Blast]. The ice block melted under the blast, releasing a torrential downpour that doused the flames and filled the air with thick smoke.
The ice should hold for at least thirty more minutes—enough time to get the fire under control.
Giving it one last look, he turned and moved away from the courtyard, heading upward toward the second floor.
Unfortunately, the windows on the building up to the third floor had been sealed to prevent the captured nobles from escaping and he had even removed the windows from the fourth floor completely, sealing it with cement—a precaution Kai had personally ordered. And he also couldn't blast a wall of the fourth floor to enter in case he injured the nobles or his Enforcers.
Hence, he decided to move up from the third floor.
The wind from his hand shattered the sealed wooden window, and he slipped inside the castle. As he landed on the floor, his mind moved to think of the attack.
Though he’d anticipated an attack, he hadn’t expected such a large force of Mages to come after the prisoners. Regina must have wanted to deal with the nobles as quickly as possible, but the scale of the assault raised troubling questions. How had such a large group managed to infiltrate the city undetected? A hidden location? Flight magic? Teleportation? Any of those options would require a serious investigation, but that could only come after dealing with the current threat—and, if possible, capturing their leader for interrogation.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Kai moved swiftly down the corridor, his senses sharp. As he approached the staircase leading to the top floors, where the nobles were being held, he could hear the faint clash of steel and the crackling of spells—evidence that the fighting had already reached that area.
But before he could climb the stairs, a blast of force struck his air shield, making it flare with blue light as it absorbed the impact.
Kai skidded back a step and snapped his gaze to his right, where two Mages stood waiting. One was as tall as Kai and glared with grey eyes in the same shade as his hair. He had a massive scar on his nose that flared with every breath he took. The other one was taller, and much leaner. He wore thick, serrated stone armor. Kai also noticed the blue, shimmery necklace around his neck.
The grey-eyed one had launched the opening attack—a surge of water magic that still dripped from his hands. Kai recognized the stone armor on the other Mage immediately, [Stone Body], a second-circle earth aspected spell designed for defense.
A quick scan with his mana sense told him all he needed to know. Both were second-circle Mages. Although the spell structures looked a bit rough around the edges, something he was used to by now in the Mages of this era, they both seemed to be battle hardened and had enough time to plan a strategy for him. Two arrogant assholes, thinking that they could take him down.
Before Kai could launch a counterattack, the Earth Mage charged toward him, chunks of stone breaking off his armor and flying toward Kai, sharp enough to tear through blood and flesh alike.
Kai twisted his hand, summoning a [Gust] to deflect the stones, but the Earth Mage was already closing the distance, slamming a stone-clad fist against Kai’s shimmering barrier.
Kai’s shield wavered under the impact, small punctures forming in the shimmering surface, but it held firm. Judging by the wide-eyed look on the Earth Mage’s face, he hadn’t expected that.
He did what any sane Mage would do—seize the opportunity. With the Earth Mage already at close range, he unleashed a [Infernal bolt] straight toward him. In the narrow confines of the corridor, there was no room to dodge. The third circle spell struck the rock armor directly, exploding in a burst of heat and force. The impact sent the Mage hurtling backward, slamming him into the wall and cracking his stone defenses.
The grey-eyed Mage sidestepped his flying comrade, his hands already moving to form a new spell structure. Kai’s mana flared as he recognized the spell, [Flood], a third circle spell. As the name suggested, it was designed to flood any area. If he didn't do anything soon, the whole corridor was going to be turned into a death trap.
He didn’t let the latter finish. With a sharp twist of his fingers, he cast [Blizzard], a third-circle spell. It unleashed a strong, freezing wind force that raced down the corridor, freezing everything in its wake. The frost ate the walls and floor at an alarming speed, and before the Water Mage could complete his spell, it engulfed him, freezing his legs, torsy and moving upwards. His expression froze–-literally–into one of wide-eyed shock as it trapped him.
The Mage struggled, hastily cancelling his spell to cast a [Water Blast] to free himself while the ice spread through his fingers, but it was too late. Kai watched as the water that formed from his spell immediately froze over again, locking him in place. With the man already wasting a lot of mana with the third circle spell that didn't even make it out of his palm, he didn't have any mana to do anything now.
So, Kai moved to land his final attack.
The ice began to melt rapidly, and thick, swirling vapors filled the corridor, turning the air hot and humid in seconds. The Water Mage blinked in confusion, realizing too late what was happening.
Kai’s voice cut through the mist, calm and deadly.
“Let’s finish this.”
***
Bran frowned as he carefully placed Lyra down on the bed, his heart heavy as he took in the gravity of her wound. Her entire chest was a mess of torn flesh, as though the enemy’s spell had ripped through her like a beast’s claws. He’d fed her every potion he had, but the gash stubbornly refused to close. It wasn’t bleeding anymore—that was the only mercy. But it wasn’t healing either. It was red, opened and a part of her ribcage was visible.
His jaw tightened. He could only hope she’d pull through until reinforcements arrived. Not that he was holding his breath. Judging by the chaos ringing through the estate, the reinforcements were going to be a long time coming.
The number of enemy Mages that had infiltrated the grounds was far beyond anything they’d expected.
Bran figured even Lord Arzan—who was a strong Third Circle Mage—would need time to deal with them all. Until then, it was up to him to stall for as long as possible.
He cast one last glance at Lyra’s pale face, then turned around.
His gaze shifted to the cluster of nobles huddled in the corner of the room. They were too scared; scared for their lives. Malyr was even hammering at a wall with a small hammer he had found god knows where, trying to break it open with trembling hands.
“Stop,” Bran said, already done with this entire thing. But Malyr ignored him, his fingers driven with pure desperation, scratching at the unyielding glass. Bran sighed. Even if by some miracle he was able to break the well, he would plummet to his death and even if he survived, there were a lot of Mages outside, ready with their spells to incinerate him.
Bran gave a final glance at Lyra, her eyes now closed but he knew she was breathing. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “And don't dare die on me. I don't need that on my conscience.”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him. He turned and immediately took in the Mage standing at the end of the corridor.
The man exuded danger. His dark robes were embroidered with unfamiliar symbols that seemed to pulse faintly with mana, and there was a predatory gleam in his eyes as he toyed with the three guard golems that were trying—and failing—to subdue him.
Balen’s golems had been crafted to protect the castle and its inhabitants, each one standing over seven feet tall, forged with glowing cores embedded in their chests. But right now, they were losing.
One of the golems already had a gaping hole in its chest where its core had been shattered, and it was barely standing, its movements jerky and sluggish as though its legs might give out at any moment. Pieces of its armor were scattered across the floor, along with one of its arms, which had been ripped clean off.
The other two were faring slightly better, but not by much. They were trying to close in on the enemy Mage, their massive fists swinging with enough force to crack stone. But the Mage was fast. Too fast.
Bran narrowed his eyes, focusing on the swirling black energy that coated the Mage’s hands like a liquid fog. It wasn’t an element he recognized. Every time the golems moved in to strike, the Mage unleashed tendrils of something dark that slithered through the air like living whips, slicing through golems with ease and keeping the constructs at bay.
Bran clenched his fists.
He had a bad feeling about this.
The Mage fought like a shadow came to life, his dark robes flowing unnaturally as if caught in a breeze no one else could feel. Bran could make out pale, angular features; long dark hair tied to his back, pointed nose, and a scar on his forehead. And the symbols glowed faintly along his sleeves again, pulsing in time with the eerie black fog that drifted around his hands like coiling serpents.
As the Mage’s spell structure flared to life in front of him, his eyes caught the formation of several spears made entirely of darkness.
The golems moved to dodge, but the spears changed trajectory midair, curving like hunting beasts. One spear slammed into the already damaged golem, severing its remaining arm and sending it stumbling backward with a groan of stressed metal.
Bran tightened his grip on his sword and rushed forward knowing there would be no better time to join the fight, his mana flaring to life as thick plates of stone began forming over his body. They spread across his arms, chest, and legs, creating a heavy, rock-like armor that weighed him down—but after months of hardcore training, he barely noticed the added burden. When he’d first gained his affinity, it had been a struggle just to cover a single limb with stone. Now, he could coat his entire body in it easily.
As Bran charged, the Mage finally seemed to take notice. He turned his head slightly, a smirk curling his lips. “You’ll die, just like that little ice girl,” he said.
You wish, Bran’s anger flared. He launched forward.
He was almost upon the Mage when the man raised his hand and conjured another spear of darkness directly in front of him. Bran swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming to deflect the spear, but before he could land a hit, the remaining golem—still mostly intact—lunged at the Mage from the side, its massive sword slicing through the air with enough force to cleave a man in two.
The Mage reacted without hesitation. He lifted his other arm, and a second spell structure flared to life around his hand. In an instant, he conjured a swirling sphere of shadows and thrust it forward, slamming it into the golem’s chest before the construct’s blade could connect.
The effect was immediate—and devastating.
The sphere seemed to pulse once, then explode outward in a shockwave of dark energy. The golem shattered into pieces, its metal limbs and core flying apart as if it had been torn from within.
Bran barely had time to throw up his arms as several chunks of debris slammed into his rock armor, causing him to stagger back. His eyes widened in shock. The golem… it had been obliterated in an instant.
The Mage turned toward Bran, his smirk deepening. “It was a fun little fight,” he said casually, as though they were sparring and not fighting for their lives. “But as you can see, our strength levels are entirely different—even if you can use a bit of magic.” His eyes glinted darkly. “Now… let’s end this.”
With a flick of his wrist, the Mage summoned more spell structures around him, and Bran’s heart sank as he saw what was coming.
Tens of spears materialized in the air, hovering around the Mage like a deadly storm of black missiles.
Then, with a sharp motion, he sent them hurtling toward Bran.
There was no way he could dodge them all.
He raised his sword desperately, blocking the first spear as it streaked toward him, the impact jarring his entire arm. More spears followed, slamming into his rock armor with brutal force. Cracks began to spider web across the stone, and Bran gritted his teeth, forcing more mana into the armor to reinforce it—but it wasn’t enough. The spears kept coming, and he could feel the stone starting to give way.
If he stayed where he was, he’d be punctured all over, left bleeding out on the cold stone floor.
Realizing he had no other choice, Bran gritted his teeth, adjusted his grip on his sword, and did the only thing he could think of. He charged.
If he was going down, he was going down fighting.
He ducked and weaved as the spears of darkness hurtled toward him, each one barely missing him by a hair's breadth. His breathing was ragged, and his rock armor cracked further with every close call, but he kept moving, refusing to stop. He wasn’t going to die here. Not yet.
The Mage watched him with an irritated expression, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “You’re suicidal,” he sneered, raising his hand to form that terrifying sphere of darkness once more. It swirled ominously in his palm as he stepped forward and launched it straight at Bran.
Bran dodged to the side, grunting as the sphere grazed his arm, only slightly burning his skin. His sword came down to slice the Mage in his arm. And he expected to feel the tearing, burning pain of his flesh cutting but instead, there was… nothing.
He looked down in confusion and noticed something faintly shimmering around the Mage’s body—a transparent, almost invisible layer of protection. He hadn’t even realized it was there.
The Mage narrowed his eyes, noticing Bran’s surprise. “Rookie mistake,” he said with a mocking chuckle.
Before Bran could recover, the Mage surged forward, aiming to slam the sphere directly into his chest. Bran saw it coming, but there was no time to dodge. He braced himself, closing his eyes and waiting for the impact that would end him.
This was it. This was how he would die. He didn’t even get time to have his final moment. He waited—and waited.
But it never came.
A sharp crack echoed through the corridor and he opened his eyes, and suddenly, the Mage’s arm jerked backward as something wrapped tightly around it—a whip, shimmering with energy.
The Mage hissed in surprise, yanking at his arm, but the whip held fast.
And then, Bran heard the voice he had desperately been waiting to hear.
“It took longer than I expected to deal with your minions.”
Lord Arzan. A wave of relief washed over Bran. He wouldn’t die, not when his lord was right there.
Lord Arzan stepped into the corridor calmly—too calmly, his robes fluttering around him.
“But it seems like I arrived just in time.” Lord Arzan cocked his head sideways, studying the Mage as Bran took the opportunity to step back, knowing his fight was over.
2025-03-28 08:03:02 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 91
Chen Ren hadn’t expected it, but the opening day was simply the prelude to what was about to come. Due to their initiative in marketing, discounts, and the perfumes already being pretty cheap, word of mouth had spread pretty fast. There were now twice the amount of people entering their shop that were on the opening day.
The public samples helped, but it wasn’t just that. They had recognized some young girls from non-union clans and, in a bid to make sure the product reached as many as possible, gave them free items to advertise within their circles. By the next day, the store was swarming with an even bigger crowd.
It wasn’t just the perfumes that were flying off the shelves. Even the clothes were being snapped up faster than expected. He even witnessed a few women fighting for the last piece of a certain design, and that spoke volume to him.
Yuqiu had to ramp up production, bringing in more sewing machines and doubling the workforce to meet the growing demand. It was the ideal scenario for Chen Ren, who realized he’d underestimated the middle class in the city. The people of Jingxi were far more hale than he’d initially thought. In this world, even a middle-class family, who had money to spare, often had more than two or three children. So, if one member of the family bought a perfume, it was only a matter of time before the others would follow suit, either out of curiosity or because of the absolute effectiveness of the product.
On the other hand, this shift in momentum gave him a rush of qi and an unshakable confidence. Finally, he had the public’s support, and he could feel it. It was time to take on the union. Yet, even after a week of the shop’s opening, the union didn’t seem to make a move. The Xueying Clan was still looking for their men, but at this point, even they knew they might not be able to find them.
But other than that, it was quiet. Too quiet one might say.
Maybe he had misjudged the union. Maybe instead of competing, they might want to collaborate, seeing the potential for mutual profits. That view wasn’t unreasonable, because even on Earth, such situations had always existed, and more often than not, they led to lucrative partnerships. He knew that in order to succeed long-term in Jingxi, becoming a part of the union was going to be inevitable. There was no way they could dismantle the whole thing, not when it had its tendrils so deeply embedded in the city.
In the end, all merchants simply wanted to make money. But as the days went by, his expectations proved to be wrong. On the eighth day of the mall opening, the calm was finally broken, and a problem cropped up.
He was on the ground floor, contemplating an offensive lightning technique that he had found in Chen Ren’s memories, one that he hadn’t had the time to practice yet. He knew the basics and where to begin, but he simply hadn’t had the proper time to practise and develop when the drama started.
“Hey! I need to talk to the owner!”
An angry voice came from the entrance. Three women barged in the store and the one leading them yelled, making every head on the ground floor turn towards the entrance. For how loud she was, he knew even the second floor customers might’ve heard the chaos.
Chen Ren looked up from his trance and noticed the group of people. One look at their faces told him they weren’t customers that came to hunt for good perfume or a dress.
Apart from the three women, there were two middle-aged men that entered after them, all of them were sweaty and brimming with anger. The woman’s upper lip curled into disdain as she looked around at the store before making a beeline for the counter.
Her eyes narrowed down to where Chen Ren sat, right beside the counter. By his fine tunics, they could tell his worth. But he’d been silent, studying their appearance.
“Are you the owner of this place?” she spat the last word as if it was the last thing she wanted to say.
Chen Ren straightened up. “Yes, how can I help you?”
Before he could even finish his sentence, one of the men pushed a wooden container on the counter, the soft thud of the cylindrical box hitting the surface of it.
As if their voices aren’t enough, they just have to make a show, Chen Ren thought while still maintaining a neutral expression on his face. Polite, yet unoffended.
The man’s face twisted in fury as he spat, “I need a refund. You-you better check this piece of garbage! You sold colored water in the name of perfume to my wife.”
The other man, clearly in agreement, chimed in. “Same here. You sold fake perfume to my sister... and I'm here to demand a refund. You thought you could scam me out of my hard earned money. I will complain about you to the City Lord.”
He moved forward and wiped his sweaty brows. The younger woman, who Chen Ren guessed was the sister, among the five nodded with a sniffle.
Chen Ren blinked. There was no way they could have sold colored water. The perfume bottles were checked thoroughly before being put on the shelves, no exceptions. And colored water? They never created them. The colors of the perfumes were a result of the products infused in them.
And to make things worse, there were more and more customers looking at them. He wasn’t about to give them a spectacle. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure.
“How about we deal with this upstairs in my office?” Chen Ren offered, attempting to move the confrontation out of the public eye.
“No,” the lead man snapped. “We will talk here. Do you want to just sweep this under the rug after selling us such a scammy product?”
Sweep under the rug?
From the corner of his eye he saw Yuqiu, who had been upstairs handling the production, stepping down quickly, her eyes scanning the room, studying the men and women whose eyes were on Chen Ren.
“What’s going on here?” she asked, the noise probably bringing her down.
“These men are saying we sold them colored water instead of perfume,” Chen Ren replied, taking the eyes off of the men.
Yuqiu walked closer. “Let me see.” She took the container the man had pushed over and turned it around in her hand. The label, even Chen Ren noticed, was extremely similar to their packaging. And now, she confirmed so. “This does look like the design of our container, with the brand mark of the Divine Coin Sect on it, but…” She opened the cap and inhaled. “You’re right, there’s no fragrance in it. Coloured water loses it in a couple of hours. This isn't our perfume.”
Chen Ren felt a tightening in his chest. He had no idea what was going on, but this was the type of attack he’d been waiting for. He had no doubt that the union was involved in this.
He narrowed his eyes at the lead man. “Where did you buy this?”
The man, momentarily flustered, turned to his wife who stood beside him, clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation. She was the one to answer. “From your men,” she said.
“But where exactly? Did you get it from our shop here?”
“No… we got it from one of the stalls that were advertising the perfumes. They sold it to us.”
The other two men nodded in agreement, and Chen Ren’s heart dropped as everything clicked into place. The stall was likely one of the offshoots run by the union or someone working with them. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was deliberate.
“Then I’m sorry, but we didn’t sell it.”
That earned multiple gasps from the women that were watching the drama. But it clearly pissed off the five people who’d walked in.
“What do you mean? We bought it from someone selling it with your shop's name on it. How is that not your responsibility? Mind you, we will not let this go until we get our refund!”
Chen Ren opened his mouth to explain, but before he could get another word out, the sounds of more commotion from outside rang through the open doorway. More angry shouts came from outside.
“Chen Ren! Come out! We demand our money back!”
“You better come out before we barge in!”
“Cheap businessmen! We won’t let you continue your business here! Come out!”
What the fuck? Chen Ren’s eyes went to the door. From the shouts, it looked like there were at least a dozen people outside.
“Hold on,” Chen Ren said quietly.
He exchanged a brief, tense look with Yuqiu, who had already gone pale. Without wasting another moment, they both moved quickly toward the door, ignoring the remaining angry customers inside for now. This was escalating way quicker than he thought.
And as they stepped outside, the sight before them made his stomach twist. It was more than just a dozen people. Probably twice, shouting his name and waving perfume bottles in the air. The chants for refunds and demands for their money back rang out, almost deafening. He couldn’t decipher and single-out any more sentences.
His presence turned the roar into an uproar.
The union had finally made its move, targeting his reputation and hitting them where it would hurt the most—public perception. His heart sank, and he felt a headache start to form at the back of his skull.
Yuqiu stood next to him, her face pale as the enormity of the situation dawned on her too.
A few of their guards moved to contain the crowd, but they were vastly outnumbered. The guards flanked Yuqiu and Chen Ren, positioning themselves in protective stances, but even Chen Ren knew it was more of a formality than a real defense.
The crowd was simply too large, and the situation was growing too volatile.
Chen Ren didn’t need protection. He stepped forward, trying to calm his mind. The union had taken its time, but now they had set in motion a scheme that would tear apart the goodwill he’d worked so hard to build. They had carefully orchestrated this—an attack on his reputation, one that was already doing its damage.
He stood firm, facing the mob of angry customers.
His fingers flexed at his sides, and he could feel his qi stir, but he knew better than to act rashly. For now, he needed to think, to strategize. He couldn't afford to make the situation worse by responding in anger. The crowd was only growing, and their demands for a refund echoed through the streets, but he knew there was more to this than just a simple misunderstanding.
In a way, this… made sense. In a psychotic, evil way. The union had used the same tactic he had used to market his products—attracting attention through crowds—but this time, it was being used against him. The union had turned his own methods back on him, but with malicious intent.
With a deep breath, he stepped forward, raising his hands in a gesture meant to command attention.
"Everyone, I’m Chen Ren," he said. "Please calm down, so I can deal with whatever problems you’re having."
The crowd stilled for a brief moment, but then a man from the mob shouted, his voice full of accusation, "You sold us fake perfumes! Give our money back!"
Chen Ren turned to face him, unwavering. "Did you buy it from me?" he asked the same question as he asked before.
The latter hesitated, glancing at the others before replying, "No… but it was from your men."
Chen Ren's eyes narrowed. "How do you know that?"
"It has the mark of your shop on it. You can’t fool us!"
The accusations hung in the air, the murmurs growing louder once again to a point where he couldn’t hear his own thoughts. The angry men, in the middle of the day drawing more and more attention from the passerby, felt like a cruel joke.
He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his qi, letting the energy surge slightly through his body, infusing his voice with a subtle but commanding resonance.
"Please," he said, his voice cutting through the noise with an authority that only a cultivator could wield. "Calm down."
They all hushed, realising that he was a cultivator.
Chen Ren took the opportunity to speak again. "I know you all have been fooled, but trust me, Heavenly Fragrances had nothing to do with it. Those are not our products. Someone has made them and sold them to all of you, scamming you. Although I’m sorry for what happened, Heavenly Fragrances wasn’t involved."
There was a brief silence, the crowd still simmering with doubt. Finally, one woman stepped forward, her voice hesitant but filled with suspicion. "But they have your mark on their bottles…"
The mark of our bottles… It gave him an idea. He stood a little taller and nodded, acknowledging the concern. A sudden wave of confidence rushed over him as he knew just how to stop this chaos at once.
Yes, they had the engravings, but Heavenly Fragrances had done much more than just engraving the Divine Coin Sect mark on the front. Chen Ren wanted to create something luxurious, and with Yuqiu's help, he had done exactly that—right down to the packaging.
"Yes, but only in the outer engraving. It’s a cheap imitation, not something we’ve ever sold."
He turned to one of the guards positioned near Yuqiu, the man’s attention sharp as he stood ready. "Get me a bottle from inside," Chen Ren instructed.
The guard nodded and moved swiftly into the store. Chen Ren kept his gaze on the crowd, letting the tension linger in the air, but with a sense of control now radiating from him.
As he waited, he could already sense the growing anticipation of the crowd. Some were still whispering and throwing comments regardless of his words. But he stood ground, staring at them directly, showing them that he couldn’t be manipulated into accepting responsibility that wasn’t his to begin with.
Fortunately, the guard returned soon, a bottle in hand.
Chen Ren took it, holding it up for the crowd to see, his voice ringing clear and authoritative. "Although it has an outer carving of the sect mark, there's one on the inside too."
With a focused expression, Chen Ren used his strength to delicately peel away a thin layer of wood from the bottle, just enough to reveal the inner engraving. He held it up for everyone to see. The mark was crude—obviously hastily made—much less refined than the one on the outside, but it was there.
"See?" he said, "We haven’t just carved out the brand mark on the outside but inside too. This is how we do it. We ensure the mark is there, solid and clear."
He turned to one of the men in the crowd. "Can you give me one of your bottles?"
The man hesitated but then handed over one of the offending bottles, his grip tight with frustration. Chen Ren took it, and without hesitation, peeled it open in the same manner, spilling the coloured water on the ground and revealing the complete lack of a brand mark inside. The engraving was missing entirely.
Chen Ren held it up for all to see, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Like you can see," he said. "These bottles are not from us. Someone has counterfeited them and is selling them in our name. I know you all are troubled, but this isn’t our fault."
The crowd stood in stunned silence for a moment. Slowly, expressions of realization began to settle on their faces, but there was no denying the dissatisfaction still bubbling underneath.
A few murmurs rippled through the crowd before one woman stepped forward, her voice trembling with frustration.
"But we spent a good amount of money on it. I used up my savings of months to buy this."
Chen Ren’s heart clenched as the woman’s words sank in, and he could see others nodding in agreement. "I spent my entire monthly savings," another woman added, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought I was buying something worth it."
The anger and regret in their voices were palpable. Chen Ren felt his chest tighten. This was a blow to his reputation, one he hadn’t been prepared for. The stall where the counterfeit products had been sold—where was it now? It probably wasn’t there anymore or these people won't have come here.
But again, they’d placed trust in a brand, in something they believed in, and it had been betrayed.
He could already sense the rumblings of dissatisfaction spreading through the crowd, like a wildfire. Even if they walked away knowing that the issue wasn’t directly tied to Heavenly Fragrances, the damage had been done. The trust they might have in the brand was shaken, and worse yet, if word of this got out, the gossip and rumors could tarnish everything he had worked for.
He swallowed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. A solution had to be found—one that would satisfy the crowd and repair the damage to his reputation. The problem was that even if he hadn’t been involved, they were still holding the bag.
He didn’t have time to waste. "I understand your frustration," he said. "I truly do. But please, listen to me. This is an issue of counterfeit goods, and we will work to ensure that whoever is behind this is held accountable." He paused, feeling the weight of their gazes. "However, I also understand the predicament you're in. You’ve spent your hard-earned money on these products, expecting quality. And I can't ignore that."
A few of the people in the crowd murmured in agreement, their eyes expectant.
Chen Ren’s gaze sharpened as a plan began to form in his mind. "Here’s what I’ll do," he said. "If you’ve bought these bottles from the stall selling them under our name, bring them to us. We will offer you a full refund or exchange it for our actual products at no extra cost. You won’t leave here empty-handed."
What he was saying… It wasn’t an immediate fix, but it was something that would help ease the tension and rebuild the trust that had been fractured. Even grow it.
"And," Chen Ren continued, feeling the pressure lift just a little, "We will personally investigate and make sure those responsible are found and held accountable. I will not let this tarnish the name of Heavenly Fragrances. You have my word. Now, I need you all to bring the bottles you’ve purchased to us, and we’ll handle this the right way."
“That’s amazing! Thank you!” A woman said, her hands in the air as she broke into a wide grin.
People mirrored her expression, and soon began to move inside. He felt a wave of relief wash over him—at least for now, the situation was under control. But the gnawing sense that this was only the beginning of a larger battle didn’t leave him.
He exhaled slowly, his gaze shifting to Yuqiu as she walked up beside him, her expression tight with concern. “This will take away from our profits,” she said with a sigh. “A good chunk. We’re giving it away for free.”
Chen Ren’s eyes hardened as he looked out at the crowd, who were now filing in, eager to get their hands on the real product. “Reputation is far more important at this stage,” he said. “We can't afford to lose it. Not now, not when we’ve just begun to build something good.”
Yuqiu crossed her arms, her lips tight with frustration. “But more people are going to come in with the fake perfumes sooner or later. What then? Are we just going to keep handing out free products?”
Chen Ren gave a single nod. “Yes, I understand. We can’t keep giving them free perfume forever, and we won’t. But right now, we need to prove that Heavenly Fragrances stand for integrity. We can’t afford to let falsehoods spread. This will buy us some time, but we can’t let them flood the market with counterfeits.”
Yuqiu's gaze softened slightly, but she still looked troubled. “So, what’s the plan then? You’re going after the counterfeiters, right?”
It was a good question. The moment he knew this was what the union had planned all along, he knew exactly what to do.
“Yes, going after the counterfeiters, but more than that… I’m going after the union itself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was waiting for the perfume shop to stabilize before I started dismantling them,” he wiped the sweat that had formed in his own brows. “But I don’t think I can wait any longer. We can’t let them continue to undermine everything we’ve worked for. I will do the one thing that unions always have a hard time against—internal strife.”
2025-03-28 08:01:30 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 90
Chen Ren knew there were certain things that could draw humans like moths to a flame, and among them, crowds stood at the top of the list. In both his previous life and this one, he had learned that nothing stirred curiosity more than the sight of people gathered together, craning their necks to see what the fuss was about. It didn’t matter if someone was headed somewhere important—if they passed by a crowd, they would slow down, even stop, just to take a peek.
It was a truth that had served him well before, and today, it was paying off again. He had proven it during his very first noodle stall venture, where a few groups of customers enjoying his food had drawn more like flies to honey. This time, he was planting an entire network of groups.
Tang Yuqiu had brought plenty of people with her to help launch their business here in Jingxi, and Chen Ren wasn’t about to let those resources go to waste. He assigned them roles carefully, using the prettiest girls among them to set up enticing booths in key areas of the city, while the rest were sent to act as “curious bystanders,” gathering around the booths to create the illusion of a buzz. All it took was a few whispered words about the new shop selling perfumes and clothes, a little playful chatter about limited stock, and—most importantly—a special opening-day discount if customers brought their friends along.
The results spoke for themselves. By midday, the trickle of curious onlookers had become a flood.
Chen Ren stood at the top of the staircase inside the newly opened shop, his gaze sweeping across both the ground floor, where bottles of handmade perfumes were neatly organised and the first floor, where racks of elegant clothes were being admired and tried on by eager shoppers.
It had been slow in the morning, but by afternoon, the shop was packed. Young women, middle-aged women, and even a few curious men wandered between displays, sampling scents and running their fingers over finely tailored fabrics. Too many different conversations filled the air to decipher who’s telling what. But he noticed several delighted exclamations as some ladies found a perfume they loved or a dress that fit just right.
During those times, Chen Ren allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. If he was being honest, this was far beyond what he had expected. They had already surpassed the first-day sales back in Cloud Mist City—and they still had hours left before closing time.
As a result of all of that, he felt his qi steadily building up inside him. Constantly, surging and filling him. His eyes took it all, moving across the crowded floors, observing everything. He didn’t want to miss a single thing about the opening.
Even if things seemed to be going smoothly on the surface, he wasn’t the type to let his guard down. Now that he knew that they had powerful enemies, it was clear as day that opening day was as good a time as it gets to strike and make someone suffer; snuff it out before their mall could even spread its wings.
Even the thought sent a light shudder through him. He wanted nothing more than for the opening to go drama-free.
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a presence.
He looked to his side, seeing Yalan approach quietly and took a seat beside him on the staircase. Her ears were swiveled toward where all the noise was coming from, and when Chen Ren looked at her, he saw how her amber eyes were scanning the crowd, just like he was. But her pupils were dilated. Whiskers pushed forward and awaited some sort of trouble. He was used to this trance now—she was on alert.
She was the only person, aside from Hong Yi, who had followed him to Jingxi. Hong Yi, however, had already returned to the sect after Chen Ren had inspected his puppets in action and assigned him the task of creating more. It was a mission Hong Yi had eagerly accepted, leaving Chen Ren with Yalan.
Chen Ren asked through their mental connection, “Did you find anything?”
Yalan’s lips barely moved as she responded telepathically. “Nothing suspicious. No cultivators, at least. It’s pretty peaceful—just mortals, as far as I can tell. Though… There were a few mortals who lingered around the booths and quietly observed before slipping away, but I couldn’t tell if they were from the Union or just random passersby.”
Chen Ren nodded slightly. “It’s fine. I fully expect the Union to be aware of how big our opening day is. We’ve made enough noise that they’d have to be blind not to notice. Besides, after their last attempt to sabotage us, we were never going to stay low-key for long.”
Yalan grunted in his mind and meowed next to him.
After a moment, Chen Ren’s gaze flicked toward her, and he asked with a hint of dry amusement, “And what about our captured princesses?”
“By now, they’re probably wishing for death—if only to escape the humiliation.” She glanced at him. “They can’t even get through their chains, and you’ve drained all their qi. It’s been… humbling for them.”
“Good.” They had captured them for a reason, and he wasn’t about to let them slip away anytime soon.
“I’ve seen a few Xueying Clan members snooping around the city, though. They’re clearly searching for them, but the [Redirection arrays] are still working, at least for now.”
Chen Ren hummed. “Let’s keep it that way. The longer we keep them off our trail, the better. But stay ready. If anyone tries to make a move, I want to know about it immediately.”
“Understood.”
Chen Ren nodded, his thoughts shifting back to the first thing he had done after arriving in Jingxi: putting Yalan to work as their scout.
The cat wasn’t the type to pour all her strength into helping him unless she thought he was on the verge of failing, but she was supportive enough to lend a hand—especially when it came to stealth. With her feline agility and nimble movements, slipping through alleyways and keeping out of sight came naturally to her. It hadn’t taken long for Yalan to track down useful leads and scope out potential dangers.
Unfortunately, their progress had been limited. They weren’t able to get into the inner areas of any Union member estates. Those places had been locked down tight. The outer areas were easy enough to check, but the inner estates? All of them were warded with arrays. And even with their skills, snooping around would set off alarms. If someone tries to force their way in, they would break, alerting whoever’s handling them. Basically, it was like walking into a wasp’s nest. That was something they couldn’t afford yet.
“So, what are you planning to do with those ‘princesses,’ anyway? They’re kind of useless right now, aren’t they?” she asked, looking towards him.
“I have plans for them. They’re still cultivators, and they’re witnesses to everything the Xueying Clan has done. The clan head won’t want people like that getting captured. In his eyes, it’d be better for them to die than to be left alive as liabilities.”
“Are your plans going to start soon, then?”
“Hopefully,” Chen Ren replied. “I just need to wait for the right timing. For now, I’m watching and waiting to see what the Union does next.”
“You’ve been waiting for a long time. They’ve gone quiet. Completely silent, actually.”
“I know. But that’s exactly why I can’t relax.”
“So, you’ve finally become paranoid, huh?”
Chen Ren glanced at her, a dry smile playing on his face. “I prefer to call it being prepared.”
“Sure, whatever you call it, you are still paranoid.”
He didn't say anything to that, knowing Yalan was right. He had become paranoid, and there was no denying it. The constant waiting, the feeling of being on edge, always expecting something to go wrong—it wasn’t a pleasant way to live.
And honestly, that was probably exactly what the Union wanted.
If this was some kind of mental tactic, it was working, at least for now. But Chen Ren was also certain that whatever they had planned, they wouldn’t wait much longer after seeing how successful the mall’s opening day had turned out. He could practically feel the tension building, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap at any moment.
“Actually,” Yalan said suddenly, “paranoia isn’t all that bad for a cultivator.”
Chen Ren glanced at her, as if asking ‘what do you mean?’.
“The longest-lived cultivators are always paranoid,” she continued, stretching lazily but keeping her sharp, catlike gaze fixed on him. “They move to get stronger, always expecting a blade to hit their neck at any time. It’s how they survive.”’
Chen Ren let out a low breath. “That sounds like a pretty hard way to live—”
Before he could finish, a loud voice cut through the hum of chatter below.
Chen Ren’s head snapped toward the sound, his body already tense as he stepped down the stairs a bit to get a better look. His eyes quickly locked onto the source of the commotion—a man dressed in extremely fine robes, standing near one of the counters on the first floor. He looked like the typical young master of some influential family, and he wasn’t alone. A small group of lackeys stood behind him, nodding and murmuring in agreement as he argued with Ling’er.
The man’s voice was loud enough to draw the attention of nearby customers, and Chen Ren felt his jaw tighten. Is this it? Is the Union finally making a move?
Without wasting a second, he moved quickly down the stairs, moving through the crowd to intercept the situation before it escalated into something bigger. As he drew closer, he caught part of the conversation.
“You don’t know who I am, do you?” the young master was saying. He rolled his eyes as if she’d made the worst mistake; not knowing who he was. “Yunji Lian! I belong to the Yunji Clan. My father won’t be happy to hear that you’re treating us unfairly.”
Ling’er, to her credit, didn’t back down. She stood her ground while still maintaining a respectable trance, her hands clutched in front of her. “Young Master, we’re not being unfair,” she said evenly. “We only give the discount if you’ve brought more people with you, as per the rules.”
Lian scoffed, gesturing dramatically at the small group of followers behind him. “Don’t you see? I did bring people with me! Are you blind?”
“No, young master. I see them,” the maid replied, nodding politely. “But they need to actually buy something, too. They aren’t purchasing anything right now, and because of that, they don’t qualify for the discount. Nor do you.”
Chen Ren’s eyes narrowed as he observed the exchange, his mind already racing. This disagreement wasn’t just random, it had all the signs to cause huge trouble. Though he didn’t know if the Union had a part to play in this, he wasn’t about to stand and find out. For all he knew it could be some arrogant young master looking to flex his status and buy things cheap. But no, he couldn’t let either of the reasons disrupt the opening.
The drama was attracting too many eyes, and the longer it dragged on, the harder it would be to smooth things over. He stepped forward with a polite, disarming smile.
“Hello, I’m Chen Ren, the owner here. Can I ask what’s going on?” He looked at the man’s brown eyes directly, maintaining a friendly demeanor.
Lian put his hands in the air. “Finally, someone important!” he said, puffing up his chest. “You promised a discount, but you’re not giving it! That’s cheating!” His voice rose slightly, as though daring Chen Ren to argue.
Chen Ren didn’t respond right away. Instead, he glanced at Ling’er, who gave him a small shake of her head. He suppressed a sigh. He still couldn’t tell yet if this was some minor ploy by the Union to stir up trouble or just the antics of a self-absorbed brat from a lesser clan.
Either way, he knew he had to deal with it quickly. Thankfully, by now, he’d learned a thing or two about handling this particular brand of arrogance.
Turning back to Lian, Chen Ren kept his tone light, as though he were explaining something simple to a child. “Young Master Yunji Lian, it’s not cheating. The discount applies only when the people you bring also make a purchase. It’s not enough just to bring them along—they have to actually buy something, too.”
The latter opened his mouth to retort, but Chen Ren smoothly cut him off before he could say anything.
“I get it’s just a misunderstanding,” Chen Ren said. “But I’m also pretty sure that someone as wealthy and influential as Young Master Yunji Lian can easily afford to pay for his friends, too.” He smiled slightly, letting the words sink in. “And, if I may say so, that kind of generosity would definitely earn you even more admiration from the ladies here.”
At that, the young master blinked and glanced around, finally noticing the crowd that had gathered. Several young women, dressed in fine robes, were watching the scene with barely concealed amusement. Some were whispering to each other, while others openly stared, their eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Chen Ren could practically see the shift in the young master’s demeanor as he realized just how much attention he was getting. His outburst had turned him into the center of attention—and not necessarily in a flattering way. But Chen Ren’s words had given him an easy out, a chance to turn the situation around and save face.
The young master’s face immediately flushed, realizing that, in his anger, he’d come across as stingy in front of several young women. His eyes darted around nervously, and Chen Ren noticed the moment recognition dawned—he must have spotted a few familiar faces, likely young ladies from clans as prominent as his own.
Chen Ren knew exactly how much value these young masters placed on their reputations. Just reminding the guy of how much he was losing by continuing this outburst was enough to make him straighten up. The young master shot Chen Ren a sharp glare, his face still red with embarrassment, and forced a stiff smile. His hand wiped his hair thrice in a row.
“I understand,” he said through gritted teeth. “It was a simple misunderstanding. I’ll return later with money for my men.”
Without waiting for a reply, he spun on his heel and bolted out of the store, his lackeys scrambling to follow.
Chen Ren stood there for a moment, quietly watching the young master retreating back. He half-expected the brat to cause more trouble later, but for now, at least, the situation seemed under control.
Yalan’s voice broke his focus. “I doubt he’s related to the Union,” she said with a dry chuckle. “That was just a stupid, spoiled guy. No schemes this time.”
Hearing that, Chen Ren exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked back at where Yalan was and saw her giving him a pointed look.
“I know you’re paranoid. But you need to relax before you lose your mind.”
“Yes, okay. I get it.”
Even as he said it, he tried to steady his breathing. After a month of constant vigilance, waiting for the Union’s next move, it felt like something could happen at any moment. That constant tension had kept him sharp—but it was also slowly wearing him down. If he stayed on edge like this, he’d just end up deteriorating before the real fight began.
Yalan, smug as always, gave him a knowing look before flicking her tail lazily and leaping to a nearby windowsill.
Shaking his head, Chen Ren turned to Ling’er. “Take care of the mall for now. I’ll be back soon.”
She nodded without hesitation, already turning to resume her duties.
Chen Ren stepped outside, breathing in the crisp air as he strolled through the streets. With all the work that had piled up, he’d barely had time to explore the city properly. Now seemed like a good time to fix that—and maybe even do a bit of research for his next line of products. And hope that no problem would come up while he would be out
Though at this point, he was welcoming anything so he could put an end to the Union altogether.
***
Anji woke abruptly to the distant sound of a rooster crowing. Her eyes snapped open, wide with alarm, as her hand instinctively reached for the blade that should’ve been at her side. But her fingers grasped at nothing, meeting only the rough fabric of her blanket.
She blinked, her heart hammering, until the cool morning breeze drifted in through the small window, brushing softly against her skin. Slowly, her pulse calmed, and her tense body began to relax as the reality of where she was set in.
This wasn’t an ambush. There was no battle. No danger lurking around the corner.
She was in her room. In a quiet, peaceful village. Safe. Meadow Village. That was where she was.
She took a deep breath and sat up, pushing back the thin blanket. As the last remnants of fear ebbed away, she glanced around the small room. It was humble, barely furnished, with a worn wooden chair in one corner and a shelf holding a few essentials. From what she’d been told, it had once been a storage room, but Tang Xiulan had given it to her, knowing that she valued her privacy.
It wasn’t much. She’d lived in larger rooms before—far larger—but it was better than sleeping on the streets, better than waking up to the cold stones of alleyways and the constant fear of being found. Here, she could breathe.
Soon, her drowsiness began to fade. She stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and mentally ticked off her tasks for the day.
First, she’d help with breakfast, even if her cooking wasn’t the best. After that, there were the lessons. Since Tang Xiulan had discovered that she could read and write, she’d asked her to teach some of the illiterate mortals in their sect. Anji had agreed, not just out of obligation, but because she’d found that she enjoyed it. It was better than doing the endless, menial tasks that many others in the sect had been saddled with. Teaching gave her a purpose, even if it wasn’t exactly the life she’d imagined for herself.
She sat there for a few more moments, watching the morning light stretch across the floorboards. Then, with a soft sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
As she reached for her shoes, she suddenly paused, frowning. There was something she’d forgotten.
She turned back to the bed and rummaged beneath the shelf, her fingers brushing against a small, smooth object. Pulling it out, she glanced down at the cylindrical tube in her hand.
It was the latest creation that Sect Leader Chen had designed before he’d left for the city. After finalizing a few prototypes, he’d instructed Tang Xiulan to test them, and in turn, Xiulan had asked Anji to try one out.
They’d called it… a lipstick.
The tube felt rough against her skin as she examined it. It was sleek and surprisingly well made, even if made from wood. When she twisted the base, the top of the lipstick extended upward, revealing a vivid crimson stick with a faint sheen. She rubbed the tip with her finger and saw how beautifully the crimson stuck to her skin. But she knew this goes on her lips.
She tilted her head, leaning closer to the small, cracked mirror mounted on the wall. Slowly, she raised the lipstick to her lips and swiped it gently across them.
The texture was smooth and creamy, spreading easily, and as it touched her lips, she tasted a faint hint of something sweet—honey, maybe, or a subtle floral note that lingered just enough to be pleasant without overwhelming.
She pressed her lips together, savoring the strange but not unpleasant sensation. For a brief moment, her reflection caught her off guard.
The vibrant red brought out the faint rosiness in her cheeks, making her face look softer, more alive. It was a small difference, but it felt… nice. Almost as though it wasn’t just her lips that had changed—but something inside her, too.
Anji touched her lips lightly, feeling the subtle warmth the lipstick left behind, before setting the tube down carefully on the shelf. Then she straightened her back, smoothed
out her tunic, and walked to the door.
It wasn’t bad. The texture on her lips reminded Anji of the fine powder she used to pat onto them in her teenage years, trying to keep them from drying and cracking during harsh winters. But this lipstick was far more convenient—no mess, no crumbling, just a single smooth swipe that left a soft, protective layer.
As she stared at the small tube in her shelf, her thoughts drifted, inevitably landing on the man who’d thought of this.
By now, Anji wasn’t even surprised at the strange, innovative ideas that seemed to constantly spill from his mind. From the noodles that had made a good profit even in a place like Cloud Mist City to products like this, Chen Ren’s thoughts always seemed to leap ahead of what anyone else was doing.
And yet… that felt natural, didn’t it? After all, he’d been chosen by the Golden Dragon.
She had no idea what it truly meant. She hadn’t been involved in that fateful event, just nearby when the dragon appeared, and Chen Ren had escaped with his life intact due to him even against a demonic cultivator. He never spoke about it, not to her or anyone else, but she didn’t need an explanation to know that it marked him for something greater.
Maybe that was why she’d decided to stay close to him. Maybe, deep down, she hoped that by following him, by staying in his orbit, she’d grow strong enough to keep a promise she was currently too powerless to fulfill.
Or… was that just an excuse?
Anji frowned. Was that truly why she stayed? Or was it something else? A fear that she wouldn’t be able to walk her own path?
She hadn’t wanted to admit it for a long time, but the truth was there, in the back of her mind, like a ghost. She was running. Running from the road she was meant to walk. Because it felt terrifying. Because every time she thought about taking that first step, she was overwhelmed by how distant her goal seemed.
But wasn’t she alive right now to walk that path? Wasn’t that the reason she was still breathing, still moving forward despite everything? Why was she turning away from it?
The questions hit her all at once, swirling around her mind, tightening her chest until—
Knock, knock.
“Anji? Are you coming for breakfast?” Tang Xiulan’s voice rang out.
Anji blinked, her mind sluggish as it struggled to adjust from the deep, uncomfortable reflections to the mundane reality in front of her. After a pause, she cleared her throat and called back,
“Yes! Just a minute.”
She glanced back at the lipstick on the shelf. Then, she took a long, slow sigh, as if exhaling the tangle of doubts threatening to choke her.
Not now.
For now, she would lock those thoughts away. She’d shove them deep into the corners of her mind where they couldn’t reach her, where she could feel that fragile peace she’d finally found in this quiet, sleepy village.
Squaring her shoulders, Anji smoothed her tunic, reached for the door, and stepped out into the light.
2025-03-26 08:21:16 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 197
What Kai discovered in his experiments with Amyra wasn’t just groundbreaking. It was the kind of breakthrough that every Mage in his era, and countless ones before it, had spent lifetimes chasing. The ability resisted, absorbed and purified dead mana. It should’ve been impossible, unprecedented that even ancient archives of the Sorcerer’s Tower held only vague theories about it. Yet here it was. And Amyra was at the center of it.
Today’s test confirmed what he’d started to suspect: she wasn’t just a promising Mage. She might very well be the key to saving the world. Maybe even more than him. And that meant, there were so many other things he had to consider when it came to her.
Her control wasn’t perfect, not yet, but what she accomplished in the last few hours was more than enough to leave Kai in awe. She had managed to absorb and purify the dead mana from two and a half meters of the land—a small patch by most standards, but when it came to dead mana, any progress was monumental. In the grander scheme of things, it was just a fraction of what was needed, but Kai could already see the potential brimming beneath the surface.
He had no doubt her ability would grow stronger as she advanced in her circles, though it didn’t feel like a simple mana-based skill. If he had to guess, it was more akin to a mental discipline, like a spell that sharpened with practice. The purified mana she absorbed seemed to replenish her reserves, but it was the act of processing it—the mental strain of bending dead mana to her will—that seemed to take the real toll on her.
There were ways to help with that. Minor spells to ease mental fatigue. Potions that could soothe her frayed focus. But none of those were his real goal.
His true focus remained on unlocking the deeper mechanisms behind her ability. Understanding what made it work. And, if possible, finding a way to replicate it.
Because if Amyra could master this power—or, gods willing, teach it to others—they might just stand a chance against the creeping tide of death that threatened to swallow their world whole.
With Amyra being just one person, he knew the risks were immense. The moment Maleficia discovered her existence, they would focus on her with unrelenting ferocity. And that wasn’t just paranoia—it was calculated certainty.
He had his suspicions that Maleficia might have been behind the massacre of her clan. It was too convenient to think such a large, powerful bloodline had fallen by chance. But he still lacked hard evidence, just fragmented clues that pointed in too many directions. Until he had more, all he could do was protect Amyra with everything he had.
To that end, he’d already assigned Clement to shadow her, along with additional watchers keeping her under constant, albeit subtle, surveillance. He knew Clement wouldn’t fail him, and it was a consolance. It helped, but it didn’t ease his mind completely. He’d be much more at peace if he could discover a way to replicate her abilities—or at least gather more Mages like her. It would share the burden. Take some of the danger off her shoulders.
But again, danger was inevitable. That much was certain. And once again, he was left with the feeling that he should grow stronger. Especially now that there were so many depending on him.
With his daily duties as lord finally winding down, he made his way toward his quarters.
It was still early evening, which meant he had a few hours before his body would demand rest. A perfect window for cultivating his mana. Especially now that he could feel the next breakthrough, the elusive fourth circle, hovering just out of reach. Tonight, perhaps, he’d finally crack the barrier.
With that single hope in mind, he walked. He moved through the castle corridors that were shadowy but still alive with quiet activity. Maids moved here and there, carrying linen and trays. Guards patrolled the halls. And as he moved, they bowed in respect, but he barely acknowledged them, his mind already drifting to the familiar pull of mana refinement.
He was used to this routine by now.
But just as he reached the hall outside his room, he noticed someone lingering near the door.
Anya. Amara’s maid.
The young woman straightened the moment she spotted him and dipped into a deep bow, her hands neatly folded in front of her.
“Lord Arzan,” she greeted softly.
Kai slowed his steps, raising an eyebrow. “Anya. What are you doing here?”
She straightened. “Her Highness, Princess Amara, wished me to deliver a message.”
Kai’s expression didn’t change, though he could already guess where this was going. “And what message would that be?”
“The princess was wondering if you might join her for dinner this evening.”
Kai hesitated, unsure how to respond.
After the fief war, he hadn’t had much time for Amara—or for anyone, really. His responsibilities as someone who had conquered a large territory had consumed him entirely, and any free moments he could have spent with her were swallowed by paperwork, strategies, and inspections. Even his meals were taken in his office, often in the middle of signing documents or reviewing supply chain reports.
The few times they’d crossed paths in the hallways, Amara had tried to strike up conversations, every time being cheerful about it, but he’d always been too preoccupied to properly engage. His answers had been clipped, his mind elsewhere, and after a while, she’d stopped trying. He knew that she had waited.
But it seemed that patience had finally run out.
Kai glanced at Anya, whose steady, neutral expression betrayed none of her own thoughts. He sighed internally, realizing that as much as he might want to, he couldn’t give Amara the time she deserved tonight. Not with everything weighing on him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I have to work on my mana circles tonight.”
Disappointment flickered in Anya’s eyes, but before she could reply, he added, “Tell her I’d love to join her for breakfast tomorrow morning instead.”
At that, Anya’s face brightened just a little, and she nodded. “I’ll let her know, my lord.”
Without wasting any more time, she dipped into another bow and quietly left, her footsteps fading down the hallway.
Kai stood there for a moment, watching her leave, before exhaling softly and turning toward his door. He’d deal with the rest later. For now, he needed to focus.
The door closed behind him with a soft click as he entered his room. Striding across the familiar space, he shrugged off his outer cloak and let it fall onto the nearby chair before lowering himself onto the floor in a familiar cross-legged position.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and let his body relax as he prepared to cultivate. But before that, he needed to ground himself. With all the thoughts that occupied his mind like restless shadows vying for attention, he had to get his focus straight.
His responsibilities as lord. The endless reports were still waiting on his desk. The need to test more people for mana organs. Amyra. Maleficia. The Elder Tree.
Each thought surfaced and lingered for a moment before slipping away, replaced by the next. But as he slowly began to swirl his mana within his core, each worry faded, one by one, until his mind was silent, empty of everything except the steady flow of energy coursing through him.
His focus narrowed, sharpening as he directed his attention inward, toward the Mana heart at the center of his core. Three glowing circles spun within it, bright and steady, each one representing the culmination of countless hours of cultivation.
Now, his goal was clear: to forge the fourth circle.
He concentrated, guiding the swirling mana into the familiar channels within his body. It flowed through his veins like familiar liquid fire. Slowly, steadily, he began to push it toward the edges of his core, where the barrier to the next circle lay, waiting to be broken.
It wasn’t just about power—it never had been. This was about control. Refinement. A delicate balance between pushing the limits and holding steady. One wrong move, and the entire process could backfire, destabilizing his Mana heart.
But he didn’t rush. He knew better. He could lose all the abilities to wield his powers if he rushed, if something broke. He took it easy.
As the mana surged and swirled, he lost track of time, his breathing slowing to a deep, rhythmic cadence. The room around him faded, and the only thing that remained was the mana, the circles, and the silent, unyielding barrier standing between him and his next breakthrough.
He knew he was close. He had been for a while now, but that invisible wall, that maddening barrier, refused to budge. It mocked him like a silent challenge, daring him to break through.
It wasn’t the first time he had felt this frustration.
In his previous life, reaching the fourth circle had been a grueling, torturous process. It had taken him three times longer to achieve than the first three circles combined. He’d spent years clawing his way past it, frustrated at every failed attempt, every wasted night of cultivation.
Now, he was in an era where mana was abundant, so thick in the air that you could practically taste it. And unlike before, his techniques were refined, sharpened by experience, and vastly more efficient. His progress had been extraordinary so far. Even so, he knew that none of it mattered unless he could cross this threshold.
Because the real power of a Mage didn’t begin until the fourth circle.
This was the gateway to true strength, the step right before earning the title of Magus. It was also the point where a Mage began to transform, refining their body to be something far more than just human—a being of mana and flesh, with both working in tandem.
But to reach that stage, he first had to surmount this wall.
And right now, it felt like a mountain.
He gritted his teeth and kept swirling his mana inside his core, drawing in more of the ambient mana around him. Slowly, he guided it toward the walls of his astral core, the intangible space within him where his mana circles spun like glowing rings of energy. Each circle burned bright, marking his progress—and the fourth one hovered at the edge of formation, flickering like an incomplete rune waiting to be etched.
To create more circles, his astral core needed to expand. And expanding it wasn’t as simple as just adding more mana.
It was pressure.
Unrelenting pressure that pushed against the boundaries of his core, forcing it to stretch, to grow, to make room for more. It wasn’t a physical core—it wasn’t something you could see or touch—but the process felt real enough. The burning ache deep inside him, the tight, almost suffocating sensation as his astral core expanded bit by bit—it was excruciating.
Not as bad as becoming an Enforcer, perhaps. But still painful enough that it threatened to shatter his concentration with every breath.
He didn’t let it.
He focused.
Bit by bit, he targeted specific areas of his core, gently expanding them with each pulse of mana. It wasn’t a process that could be rushed—if he pushed too hard, the entire core could destabilize, undoing everything.
So he moved carefully, almost surgically. Slowly, he expanded the boundaries while simultaneously guiding the swirling mana to form the fourth circle.
The mana crackled within him, like a storm waiting to be unleashed, but he held it in check, guiding it, shaping it, forcing it into submission. And all the while, the pressure mounted, pressing down on him like the weight of the world, threatening to crush him beneath it.
Both tasks—expanding the core and forming the fourth circle—demanded intense focus, but Kai had long mastered the art of multitasking under pressure.
Every half hour, he allowed himself a brief respite. Just five minutes. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t shift from his position, but he loosened the tight hold on his mana and let his body relax. The tension in his shoulders, the slight ache in his back from sitting upright, the strain in his core—they eased during those moments.
Getting back on track after each break was difficult, like forcing himself to jump into icy water after warming up. But he knew better than to push through nonstop. This wasn’t a battle where brute force would win the day.
One wrong move could cripple him permanently.
But that wasn’t why he was taking it so seriously. No, there was much more at stake.
Advancing to the fourth circle would change everything.
Once he broke through, his Mana heart would expand, granting him a vastly larger mana pool and the ability to control it with greater finesse. His body would also undergo subtle, but profound changes.
Mana resistance was one of the most critical ones.
Right now, lower-circle spells could still affect him. Not easily—he had training, enchanted gear, a tougher Enforcer body and sheer combat experience—but they could. Once he reached the fourth circle, that would change. His body would be so saturated with mana that first-circle spells would barely scratch him. Even second-circle magic would have a hard time breaking through his defenses unless it was cast by someone powerful.
And that was just the beginning.
Higher-circle Mages weren’t just stronger because they had more mana. They were stronger because they lived on a different level. Their spells hit harder, yes, but more importantly, they became almost immune to lower-circle attacks.
It was why, in a duel between a fourth-circle Mage and a second-circle one, the outcome was almost always predetermined. Power level wasn’t the only issue—there was an inherent, almost biological gap that magic couldn’t easily bridge.
And that gap widened with each circle.
Kai knew that reaching the fourth circle would give him a much-needed edge. Against Maleficia, against rival nobles, and against the inevitable dangers that would come his way.
It would also extend his lifespan significantly. That was one of the most understated, but critical, benefits of advancing in mana circles. His body would age slower, his cells sustained by the constant flow of magic.
That, too, was why so many powerful Mages seemed to remain at their prime for decades longer than normal people.
And why Kai was giving this everything he had.
His path to the third circle had been relatively easy, by comparison. The first three circles mostly involved increasing one’s mana capacity and control—challenging, but straightforward.
The fourth circle, however, was a different beast entirely.
Here, it was about transformation and not just accumulating more mana. Expanding his astral core, weaving the new circle, and pushing his body to adapt to the higher concentration of energy flowing through it.
And it hurts.
The pressure kept building, like an invisible weight pressing down on him as more and more ambient mana gathered around his body, drawn in by his cultivation technique. He could feel it like a gentle, but persistent, current brushing against his skin, soaking into his pores, filling him from the inside out.
He breathed through his nose, slow and steady, guiding the flow.
One breath in. One breath out.
Again. One breath in. One breath out.
And again. One breath in. One breath out.
Bit by bit, the fourth circle was forming, and the boundaries of his astral core were slowly, painstakingly stretching to make room for it.
It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t easy.
But it was progress.
The circle inside Kai’s body was a swirling vortex of condensed mana—a chaotic spiral that was supposed to smooth into perfection. But it wasn’t there yet.
Frowning internally, he shifted his focus, channeling more mana into those missing sections to fill the gaps. He knew that, under normal circumstances, he should have been done by now. Yet, something felt off.
The circle wasn’t stabilizing.
Instead, it kept devouring more and more mana.
By now, he had poured more energy into this one formation than he’d needed for his fourth circle in his previous life. And it still wasn’t enough.
He clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface, but there was no time to dwell on it. The increasing density of mana meant that his astral boundaries—already stretched beyond what he’d anticipated—would have to expand even more.
And that… was a serious problem.
His breathing grew ragged as exhaustion crept in. The constant push and pull of mana left him drained, and despite his best efforts, the boundaries kept stretching without a sign of stopping.
It was like trying to fill an endless void.
A low groan escaped his lips as the pressure built to unbearable levels. His chest tightened, his limbs trembled, and sweat trickled down his face in rivulets. He was at his limit.
And he knew it.
If he kept this up any longer, he’d risk collapsing his entire core.
With a reluctant sigh, Kai let go of the flow, cutting off the mana supply to the circle and slowing the stretching process. He needed to stop—immediately.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The sudden rush of light and sensation hit him like a wave, and before he could steady himself, his body gave out. He slumped forward, collapsing onto the cool stone floor with a dull thud.
His breath came in harsh gasps as he lay there, chest heaving, sweat pooling beneath him. Every muscle ached, and his head throbbed with the dull pain of overexertion.
That was too close, too fucking close.
After a few moments, he forced his shaky hand to rise and cast [Refresh] on himself. For a moment, he felt like even that small spell took so much of him. But it died when a rush of cool energy washed over his body, dulling the worst of his fatigue. It was still there, but just not as bad.
With a groan, he shifted onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as he summoned a sliver of mana to inspect his Mana heart.
His astral core flickered into view, and he scanned it carefully, bracing for the worst.
To his immense relief, there was no damage. No cracks, no signs of instability. Just the swirling, incomplete fourth circle sitting at the center, waiting to be finished.
Good.
Still, something about the whole process didn’t sit right with him. He’d poured far more mana into this circle than he should have needed. Why?
Had he miscalculated? Was there something different about his current body—or his astral realm?
Questions after questions hit him.
He sighed, wiping the sweat from his brow as he sat up slowly. His limbs still felt like lead, but his mind was already working, running through the calculations again, trying to make sense of what had happened.
How much mana do I actually need to complete the fourth circle?
That was the question. And until he had an answer, he wouldn’t be attempting another breakthrough anytime soon.
Knock! Knock!
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair before staggering to his feet. His limbs still felt heavy, as though they were tied down by iron chains, but the knock at the door forced him to push through the exhaustion. He shuffled to the entrance, his steps uneven, and pulled the door open.
Standing before him was Princess Amara. She was wearing a bright smile, happier than ever just to… see him? Or was there something else?
“Lord Arzan,” she said, “I’m glad you’re still awake.”
Kai blinked, momentarily thrown off, but before he could respond, Amara’s eyes flicked downward, taking in his disheveled state—the damp shirt clinging to his chest, his tousled hair, and the tired lines etched into his face.
“Are you… all right?” she asked, her brows furrowing with concern.
Kai managed a small, weary smile. “I am. Just a bit of training,” he said lightly, though the understatement didn’t quite hide the exhaustion in his voice. “Did you have some work for me, Princess?”
Amara shook her head, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. “No, it’s just… it’s been a while since we talked.” She paused, hesitating for a brief moment. “I know you said we could talk over breakfast tomorrow, but… I couldn’t sleep. And I thought you might be free by now.”
Kai didn’t know what to say to that. He stood there, momentarily at a loss for words, because even if he was free, he knew exactly what it would look like for a princess to visit him in the middle of the night.
There might not be any scandal, given that they were within his estate, but…
Amara wasn’t ignorant of such things. She knew what she was doing.
Clearing his throat, Kai looked at her, “Princess, I don’t think us meeting like this—at this hour—is appropriate.”
Amara lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head. Then, to his surprise, she smiled.
“Do we have to worry about that?” she asked. “I believe we’re both capable of thinking for ourselves. We don’t need to concern ourselves with the social implications of every little thing.” Amara took a step closer, closing some of the distance between them. “And if nothing else,” she added, “we can talk about magic. I’ve been meaning to ask you some questions.”
Kai exhaled quietly, wondering if he was really about to have this conversation at this hour. He could feel the intensity of her gaze, the quiet challenge in her words to reject her now.
He was about to reply, words forming on his lips, but he suddenly stopped, his mouth closing with a quiet click. His eyes shifted past her, narrowing slightly as he glanced back toward the window behind him.
“I don’t think I’d be able to do that,” he said quietly.
Amara frowned, tilting her head. “Why not?” she asked, her brows drawing together. Her lips parted in a low gasp. “Do you really not like—”
“It’s not that,” Kai interrupted. He held up a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Listen closely.”
Amara blinked, confused, but she obeyed. At first, there was nothing but the soft rustle of the night breeze brushing against the windowpane. But then, faintly, shouts rang out. Men, women—he didn’t know. But there were shouts.
Her eyes widened as she looked back at him. “What is that?”
“I believe… We’re under attack.”
The words had barely left his mouth when an earth-shaking explosion rocked the entire estate. The walls shook hard, and the floor lurched like it had been hit by a giant hammer.
2025-03-26 08:18:32 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 196
Kai stayed with the Lombards for another day, sharing everything he knew about the different types of Enforcers and more into the lost art of the Berserkers.
By the time he was born, Berserkers had already become legends of the past, their peak etched into history during the second golden era of magic. Back then, they had built an empire fueled by fury and unmatched might. Although much of their knowledge had faded into obscurity, Kai still recalled fragments of their skills and fighting styles from a book he had read on them—techniques that turned unbridled rage into a weapon of mass devastation.
His plan for the Lombards was clear; transform them into a small, furious battle regiment. It was a vision that seemed to resonate deeply with the tribe. Both Yafgar and Ragnar, in particular, were electrified by the idea.
Ragnar, being extremely burdened by anger since the loss of his friend, appeared especially eager to channel his fury into something… less self-destructive. But again, grief was different from person to person. Kai was one of the people who’d direct grief into something purposeful, and only wished Ragnar would see the whole Berserker theory from his point of view.
During one of their discussions, Yafgar pressed Kai about the source of his knowledge. Was there truly a surviving tribe of Berserkers, hidden away somewhere? How had he come to get the knowledge of their martial arts? Kai had no answers for such questions and had simply dismissed it as nothing more than folk tales that he’d heard in his youth.
Making excuses for his extensive knowledge had now become second nature, and thankfully, both Yafgar and Ragnar seemed far more invested in the practical application of fury than knowing where the knowledge came from.
And when he finally departed, he carried hope in his heart, leaving behind a tribe ready to rise like a storm.
His journey back to Veralt was brief, but once he arrived, he quickly realized that he had little time to settle. Another venture called to him—not as a lord but as a Mage seeking to unravel new mysteries of magic. He barely paused before setting out again, this time accompanied by Amyra. Their destination was the gorge where he had faced Shakran, west of Castle Dorn.
Passing the castle, they noted the ongoing repairs that the place was going through.
He felt no obligation to oversee the reconstruction—he had returned Castle Dorn to Viscount Buck already. Still, he had sent a contingent of men to assist with the repairs. Buck, one of the more reasonable nobles, seemed like a good noble to be acquainted with, and creating a solid relationship with him seemed a prudent move.
After all, alliances often started with small gestures of goodwill.
They guided their horse along the slightly rocky path, the uneven terrain making the ride just bumpy enough to force them into light conversation. They spoke briefly about the terrain and the monsters that roamed these parts, their voices blending with the steady clopping of hooves.
It was Amyra who finally changed the topic to their purpose here, her curiosity bubbling over. She leaned slightly forward from her seat behind Kai, her arms loosely gripping his waist. “So... what exactly are we here to do?”
Kai glanced back at her over his shoulder, raising a brow. “What do you think we’re here for?”
She tilted her head, chewing on the question for a moment. “To train?” she guessed first, her lips quivering in thought. “Or maybe... sightsee for a change?”
“If it was the first, I’d have brought Rhea along,” he said. “And sadly, I don’t think I have the luxury to take a sightseeing trip right now. No, we’re here for something else. You’ll see when we get there—it’s close by.”
Amyra nodded as she knew that it was all the explanation she’d get for now, and kept her mouth shut as Kai urged the horse to pick up speed. The wind tousled his hair as they rode faster, and soon the horizon opened up before them.
The first thing Amyra noticed as they approached was the land.
All around the wide field ahead, the ground had turned barren and lifeless, riddled with blackened patches that looked as if something had drained the very essence from beneath the soil. As they drew closer, a rancid, gut-wrenching smell hit them like a wall, making Amyra gag from behind.
“The smell of dead mana,” she muttered, scrunching up her nose in disgust. “They smell worse than the spiders.”
“Yeah,” Kai said. “With the spiders, their natural odor masked some of the dead mana’s scent. But here, there’s nothing to cover it.”
They slowed to a halt at the edge of the corrupted land, dismounting carefully. Amyra stepped forward, taking in the devastation up close. He looked at how she scanned the ground, noting how lifeless and eerie it looked, as though nothing had thrived here in years. “How did it end up like this?” she asked.
She was rubbing her hands constantly, as if trying to wipe off any trace of the disturbing scene from her body.
Kai rested a hand on his horse’s neck, staring out at the desolate landscape. “During my battle with Shakran—the blood drinker Lord, remember? I told you about it over breakfast a couple of weeks ago—we fought right here,” he explained. “He used dead mana to power himself up, channeling it through some kind of parasite.”
He hesitated for a moment since recalling the details was unpleasant. “I won’t go into the full story, but the aftermath… The dead mana that spilled into the land left it like this. Fortunately, I warned the nearby villagers to stay far away from this place. If they hadn’t, we’d have had to deal with a whole mess of mana weavers by now. Even most beasts avoid it. For now, the dead mana is contained to the land.”
Amyra nodded. “It’s worse than I imagined.”
“We’re going to begin a few experiments here. Ones I’ve been meaning to do for a while to better gauge your powers. Are you comfortable with that?”
Amyra blinked at him, then turned to look at the barren, corrupted ground ahead. “Yes.”
Together, they began walking toward the desolate patch of land. “The reason I chose this place is that, even though it’s tainted, the concentration of dead mana here is still low. It hasn’t reached the point where I wouldn’t be able to heal you if something went wrong. But if your innate powers work the way we think it do… it shouldn’t.”
Amyra gave him another small nod. “What do you want me to do?”
“Let’s start with something simple. A basic interaction with the dead mana.”
She understood immediately. Without another word, she stepped closer to the edge of one of the blackened spots on the ground, her focus sharpening. Taking a deep breath, she crouched slightly and extended her hands toward the tainted earth.
Kai tensed, ready to act if anything went wrong. His mana surged within him, prepared to pull her away and purify her if needed. He watched closely as her fingers hovered just above the blackened soil before lightly brushing against it.
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Kai noticed subtle changes. The dead mana—dark, twisting strands invisible to most eyes—began to react to her presence. It seeped upward, like oily smoke, and latched onto her fingers.
Dark spots started to bloom across her hands, spreading slowly up her arms as the corrupted energy traveled through her veins. Kai’s jaw tightened. He could feel the dead mana creeping through her body, invading her system.
Amyra though, on the other hand, stayed still, her breathing steady despite the visible corruption. She kept her hand on the tainted ground for a full minute, even as the dark veins spread further up her arms. Kai’s instincts screamed at him to intervene, and he was just about to pull her away when something unexpected happened.
The dark spots… began to fade.
At first, he couldn’t notice it. But then, the corruption started retreating, shrinking back as if it was being pulled inward and dissolved. Amyra stepped back from the dead mana zone, brushing her hands off as though nothing had happened.
Kai was already at her side, his hand reaching out to gently take hers. He inspected her fingers carefully, his brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”
Amyra nodded. Kai noticed the subtle changes in her, her golden pupils dilated, her cheeks flushed. But there were no signs of tiredness. Almost as if she hadn’t absorbed dead mana seconds ago.
“I told you—I’m resistant to it.”
“Let me see.”
Kai didn’t believe her right away. Instead, he closed his eyes and sent a pulse of his own mana through her hand, letting it flow through her veins as he searched for any lingering traces of the dead mana. He expected to find at least some residue, something to indicate that it had been there.
But there was nothing.
Not even a hint of corruption remained in her system. It was as if the dead mana had simply… vanished.
Kai frowned, delving deeper with his mana, searching for any clue about what had happened. But the more he searched, the clearer it became—there was no trace of dead mana left in her body. It hadn’t just been suppressed or expelled. It was gone. Completely.
That shouldn’t be possible.
He opened his eyes and studied her. Either the dead mana had been broken down and purified by her own mana—a feat that was already incredible—or it had gone somewhere he couldn’t detect.
Both possibilities left him with more questions than answers.
“You… shouldn’t be able to do that,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
Amyra raised a brow. “But I did.”
Kai shook his head slightly. “Yeah. You did. Can you do it again?”
She blinked at him. “Again?”
“This time, I’m going to add a stream of my own mana to yours. I want to see where the dead mana is going.”
“Umm… Okay.”
Once more, she stepped toward the edge of the corrupted patch of ground, crouching slightly and extending her hand. Kai moved closer, gently taking her other hand in his and focusing as he slowly began pushing a stream of his mana into her.
He closed his eyes, letting his senses expand as he observed what happened inside her body. At first, everything seemed normal—until the dead mana began moving again.
He saw it clearly this time. Like dark, parasitic strands, the dead mana snaked through her veins, attempting to spread throughout her body. It moved like a living thing, insidious and relentless, trying to corrupt her mana and taint her body from the inside out.
His grip on her hand tightened slightly, but he didn’t pull back. He kept watching, following the path of the dead mana as it slithered closer to her Mana heart. And that’s when it happened.
The dead mana disappeared.
It wasn’t expelled or neutralized—it simply vanished the moment it neared her Mana heart. His eyes widened, but before he could even process what he’d seen, he felt it—a sudden burst of mana surging from her core.
The burst wasn’t chaotic or uncontrolled. It was strong, steady, and purposeful. It flowed through Amyra’s body, reinforcing her strength and slowly purging the remaining traces of dead mana. The dark spots on her skin faded once more, and within moments, there was no sign that she had ever been corrupted.
Kai exhaled slowly.
What just happened?
The entire process had confirmed several of his theories. Her resistance wasn’t just a passive ability—it was tied to something far deeper. The way her Mana heart had absorbed and purified the dead mana wasn’t natural. Since he couldn't see which part of it had done the purification, he was sure that it was connected to her astral realm. There was no other explanation.
And yet, despite his understanding, there were still so many unanswered questions.
Kai looked at Amyra, who was examining her hands.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She glanced at him and nodded. “I’m fine. It felt… easier this time.”
Kai studied her for a moment before deciding to push things further. “Amyra, can you try something else for me?”
“What is it?”
“Can you absorb the dead mana from the ground? Not just let it corrupt you, but try to pull it out all from the ground.”
“Absorb it? I’ve never tried that before.”
“Just give it a shot,” Kai said, nodding toward a small patch of dead mana to their left. “Try sending out strands of your own mana and see if you can absorb the dead mana inside that patch.”
Amyra hesitated again, biting her lip as she considered his request.
“Alright,” she said softly.
He watched as she extended her hand again, releasing multiple strands of mana that shimmered faintly before lodging themselves deep into the corrupted ground. For a moment, she seemed hesitant, her brows furrowing slightly in concentration as she tried to pull the dead mana upward.
At first, nothing happened.
Then, there it was—her mana strands began to darken within seconds, like ink spreading through water. The dead mana clung to them, climbing up her arm in slow, sinister tendrils.
He tensed, ready to intervene the moment it seemed like she was losing control. But as he watched, something remarkable happened.
The dark spots on Amyra’s skin began fading just as quickly as they had appeared, vanishing as if they had been burned away from the inside. He could feel it—the dead mana wasn’t dissipating. It was being purified. Again.
But she didn’t stop there.
Amyra sent out more strands of mana, drawing in more dead mana from the ground in steady pulses. Each time, the process repeated—the corruption climbed up her body, only to be purified and expelled near her mana heart.
Kai’s gaze flickered back to the ground, and that’s when he noticed something strange.
The blackened, corrupted soil beneath her hand was starting to change. The dark patches were shrinking, and the earth beneath them was left cracked and dry, like parched desert ground. It looked barren, almost lifeless. When Kai focused his mana senses, he confirmed what he suspected—there was no dead mana left in that patch of land.
But there was something else, too.
There wasn’t much mana left in the soil, either. It was almost depleted, as though the dead mana had taken all the energy with it when it was sucked away.
He’d never seen anything like this before. In his time, no land had ever been cured of dead mana—not fully, not like this. No one even knew what happened to land after it was purged. Would it eventually recover? Or will it stay barren forever?
The possibilities swirled in his head, each more incredible than the last. Experiments. Research. If Amyra could do this on a larger scale…
He turned back toward her just as she dropped her hand, breathing heavily. Sweat glistened on her brow, and her chest rose and fell as she struggled to catch her breath. It was clear that purifying so much dead mana at once had taken a toll on her. It must’ve taken a lot from her to purify it.
“There’s a limit,” Kai murmured to himself, noting the signs of fatigue. “You can’t purify endlessly.”
Still, he had to admit—it was more than he ever could have imagined.
“Should we stop here for today?” he asked, stepping closer.
Amyra looked up at him, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. She was tired, but there was a fire in her eyes.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I can still go on. I just need a few minutes.”
Kai considered her for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Because I have a few more things I want to check. And if I’m right… we’re going to be seeing miraculous things in the future.”
“What kind of miraculous things?”
Kai smiled faintly, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “You’ll see,” he said. “Because you’re going to be at the center of it all. But for now… we have more experiments to run.”
***
A man raced down the forested road at breakneck speed, his crimson hair whipping wildly in the wind, strands flying across his face as though urging him to stop—but he didn’t. His eyes remained fixed ahead, unwavering, his jaw clenched.
Behind him, a retinue of armored Knights followed, struggling to keep pace with his galloping steed. Hooves pounded against the dirt, kicking up clouds of dust, as trees blurred past them in a dizzying rush. The air was thick with urgency, every second a race against something unseen but undeniably perilous.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the man caught sight of his destination—a towering fortress carved into the side of a hill. It loomed over the landscape like a silent guardian, its stone walls weathered by time and battle. More than just a stronghold, it marked the boundary of the Sylvan Enclave, far away from the center.
As he drew closer, soldiers on the wall caught sight of him, their eyes widening in recognition. By the time he reached the fortress gates, a group of men was already there to meet him.
“Viscount Redmont.”
They bowed as he dismounted, but he barely acknowledged them
“Take me to the walls,” he ordered.
“Yes, my lord!” they responded in unison, straightening at once. Without hesitation, they led him toward the winding stairway that climbed the fortress wall.
He followed them swiftly, nearly running. His Knights were still catching up, their armor clanking as they ascended behind him, but he didn’t slow down. He had to see it for himself.
At the top of the wall, a small group of officers and soldiers awaited him, everyone so stiff. He knew why. Among them was a tall, broad-shouldered Knight clad in dark plate armor—the man entrusted with overseeing the fortress’s defenses, Knight Cais.
“What’s the situation?” Redmont demanded.
Cais exchanged a troubled glance with the others before answering. “You should see for yourself, my lord.”
Wordlessly, Cais gestured for him to follow, leading him toward the center of the wall. From there, they had an unobstructed view of the other side of the hill—and what lay beyond it.
When Viscount Redmont reached the edge and looked out, his breath caught in his throat.
Goddess Lumaris help me!
An unnatural darkness stretched before him, swallowing the land. Trees, grass, stones—everything was cloaked in black, as though the earth itself had been infected by some vile curse. He couldn’t see anything beyond the tallest tree branches. It was a sea of darkness, endless and consuming.
For several long moments, he stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. His heart pounded in his chest, cold fear creeping through his veins. And fuck, he could feel the goosebumps all over his body.
“When… when did this start?” he asked at last, his voice quieter now, almost hoarse.
“Two weeks ago, my lord,” Cais replied. “It was small at first—just a patch near the edge of the forest. But it’s been spreading ever since. It’s already reached the lower slopes of the hill. If it keeps advancing at this rate, it will overrun the fortress… and breach the border.”
Redmont’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles turning white. Fear flickered in his eyes, but he forced himself to remain composed. He couldn’t afford to panic—not now. Though his body, his entire body wanted him to run away from this… disaster.
“We need to send word to the King,” he said. “And to every noble in the surrounding region. Anyone who can lend us aid. If we don’t stop this… the Lancephil Kingdom will face its worst ordeal since its founding.”
Cais nodded. “I’ll see to it at once, my lord.”
But Redmont wasn’t listening anymore. His gaze had drifted back to the spreading darkness, his mind racing with possibilities—and none of them good.
The plague could consume everything on its way. And that… that was scary. He wiped the sweat from his face, though his eyes—he couldn’t tear away from the stygian he was staring.
2025-03-24 06:18:45 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 89
Tang Yuqiu couldn’t help but marvel at the sight before her. The machine, made of copper and gears, hummed steadily as it stitched together a dress—something that would have taken weeks by hand. Two weeks, eight hours per day. Now, it felt like it would be done in just two days. And it was only two days because the woman using it was still adjusting to the new process.
It had only been two weeks since she started learning how to use the machine, and old habits didn’t change overnight. Still, Tang Yuqiu couldn’t help but envision a future where hundreds of these machines were at work, producing enough clothes to flood the market—without breaking their backs on labor costs.
Just a month ago, she would have dismissed such a scenario as impossible. Yet here she was, standing in front of a miracle brought to life by Chen Ren.
They only had three sewing machines right now, but the blacksmith she’d hired was already working on more. She remembered his face when he first looked at the blueprint—how he’d stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head and muttering that it was more complicated than some weapons he’d forged. Even with a detailed design, it had taken him a full week to craft the first one.
Though a part of her mind still wondered how Chen Ren had come up with something so advanced that it could shock a veteran blacksmith. But deep down, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. Because whatever it was, she had a feeling it would only lead to more questions—questions that might change how she saw him forever.
And right now, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for that.
Their relationship was finally reaching a place where they could trust each other, where they were starting to work together as real partners. Whatever secrets Chen Ren might be hiding… she wasn’t ready to uncover them just yet.
Her father had often told her that curiosity could lead to disastrous outcomes. He’d even recounted the tale of a werecat whose curiosity cost her life, a cautionary story that Tang Yuqiu had taken to heart. She lived by his principles. And right now, she had no desire to do anything that might upset the balance between her and Chen Ren—especially when they were on the cusp of opening their mall.
It had already been a month since he’d helped transport the materials to Jingxi. After that, he’d decided to stay, saying she might need him if the union tried anything else—and to help with setting things up. She had to admit, in the past month, he’d certainly been busy.
He’d taken charge of transporting additional materials, setting up a small factory at the back of their building to begin production, and assisting with the construction of the sewing machines. But that wasn’t all. He’d also been keeping a close watch on the city, gathering information and preparing for any retaliation from the union.
To both their surprise, though, nothing had happened. It was as if the union had decided to quietly back off. No other attempts had been made during transportation for more materials, and there hadn’t been so much as a whisper of a counterattack for the men they had captured. Unfortunately, the prisoners hadn’t yielded much useful information either.
The mortals among them had been easy to interrogate, but they were little more than grunts—completely useless. The cultivators, however, had been far harder to control. Chen Ren had been forced to use a poison that slowly ate away at their qi to keep them bound, and even then, it had taken a while to break them down.
When they finally spoke, their information was disappointingly sparse. They were nothing more than hired muscle for the Xueying Clan, with little knowledge of the clan’s inner workings. Still, they’d confirmed what Chen Ren and Yuqiu had already suspected: Xueying Shenmu, the clan leader, wouldn’t stop until he’d crushed their business completely. He had a reputation for… pitiless efficiency and the prisoners had described past instances where Shenmu had systematically wiped out rival enterprises down to their very roots.
If nothing else, it gave them a clearer picture of the enemy they were up against—and just how dangerous he really was.
The silence from the union was beginning to gnaw at Yuqiu, leaving her uneasy. Even now, as she made her way through the corridor on the second floor of their mall, she couldn’t shake the feeling. It was a continuous heaviness. They had converted this part of the building into production and living quarters for herself, Chen Ren, and their subordinates.
Making her way down the stairs, she tried to push the uneasiness aside. Tomorrow was the grand opening, and she couldn’t afford to spiral in any way. The ground floor looked spotless, exactly how she wanted. Shelves gleamed with neatly arranged perfumes, and every corner of the shop reflected the effort they had poured into it. She could only hope the launch would be as successful as it had been in Cloud Mist City.
She stood for an extra second, surveying the space.
From the right corner, she saw her maid, Ling’er approaching and turned her head towards her. The latter offered a polite bow before speaking.
“Young Miss, everything is ready. I’m sure the customers will be stunned by how beautiful the shop looks.”
Yuqiu smiled, but it seemed like Ling'er noticed the worry etched on her face and frowned slightly. “Is something troubling you, young miss? I can help—”
“It’s not anything tangible,” Yuqiu admitted, sighing softly. “Just pre-opening jitters. I’ve been through it before, but the nerves never really go away. Not when it feels like there’s an axe hanging over our heads.”
“Young Miss, we’ve done everything we could, and we’ve planned for every possibility. It will be okay.”
Yuqiu gave a small, wry smile. “You know as well as I do, Ling'er, that things never go exactly according to plan. Change is the only constant in business. Our success will depend on how well we adapt to whatever comes our way.”
Ling'er mirrored her smile. “And you will adapt, Young Miss. You always do. Besides, Young Master Chen Ren is with you. He won’t let the union cause any harm.”
“I know,” Yuqiu whispered. “I have faith in him. He’s done so much for us, and I know he’ll keep us safe. But… But you know, I can’t rely on him forever. That’s not how it works. My father is happy that I’m finally seeing the kind of success he always hoped for me, but I don’t know if I’ve truly earned it yet. Chen Ren has been responsible for so much of this. He’s here now, but he has his own path. Even if he acts like a merchant, he’s still a cultivator at heart. One day, he’ll have to move on—and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep this going without him.”
Ling’er took a step closer. Yuqiu saw the way she clutched her hands a little tighter. “Young Miss, I have faith in you. You’ve worked hard for this, and I believe you will take Heavenly Fragrances to even greater heights.”
“Thank you, Ling'er. You’ve always been there for me.”
“It’s my duty, Miss.”
Yuqiu fell silent at that, her thoughts swirling. She knew that just talking to someone—even someone as steadfast as her maid—wouldn’t completely alleviate her fears. Those fears were hers alone to deal with. No one could shoulder that burden for her.
But even so, it helped to know that there were people who believed in her, people who had faith in her abilities. That knowledge didn’t erase the fear, but it gave her something far more valuable—courage. Courage to face whatever storm might come for Heavenly Fragrances.
Before that, however, she had to focus on the challenge directly in front of her.
The opening day.
They had worked tirelessly for weeks to get everything ready. Plans had been made, the marketing campaign had already been rolled out, and all that was left now was to see if their efforts would bear fruit.
And tomorrow, she would witness it for herself. Whether the opening would be a success or not would depend on how well they had prepared—and how well they could adapt if things went awry.
She inhaled through the nose, felt her lungs fill and straightened her shoulders. She gave a small nod to Ling'er, locking her determination in. Tomorrow would be the start of something great. It had to be.
***
Yan Ling strolled aimlessly through the lively streets of Jingxi, feeling lost in the middle of the hustle and chatter of the crowd around her. A few times, she lightly bumped into a passersby, murmuring distracted apologies without truly registering them. Her mind was elsewhere, spinning through the river of unfortunate events that had come to her life over the past few weeks. And all those thoughts pressed her chest tighter, cutting off any conscious supply of air.
Just a year ago, the Yan Clan had been one of the more prominent minor merchant clans in Jingxi. Their transportation business had been thriving, with steady contracts and loyal customers. Her father had been confident that their success would earn him a coveted seat in the union, the headmost trade body in the city.
But the heavens, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.
A few devastating raids by well-organized bandits were all it took to cripple their reputation. Word spread fast in the merchant circles, and soon, the Yan Clan’s contracts began slipping through their fingers like sand. Fewer customers, dwindling profits—and then, bankruptcy was over them like a shadow they couldn’t escape.
In the weeks that followed, as her family scrambled to recover from the losses, her father had sat her down with a somber expression and delivered the final blow: the marriage talks they had been negotiating with two wealthy clans had completely fallen through. Those families, sensing their decline, had backed out without so much as a word of apology.
“You’ll have to find a match on your own,” he’d told her, looking wearier than she’d ever seen him.
Yan Ling had nodded at the time, putting on a brave face, but deep down, she knew the truth.
At twenty four, she was already considered too old to marry in Jingxi’s upper circles. Her younger cousins had been married off years ago, securing alliances and stable futures, while she had waited, hoping for a match that would bring her wealth and status.
And now? That dream was crumbling before her eyes.
She could already imagine the whispers—the knowing glances from other merchant daughters, the pitying smiles from her aunts. If she didn’t secure a match soon, she would end up like those bitter old matrons who spent their days gossiping and lamenting what could have been.
Her father had promised that he would support her in marrying whoever she chose, but what good was that when she didn’t have a line of suitors clamoring for her hand?
Sighing, she rubbed her temple, trying to cease the incoming headache.
That might have been true two years ago when the Yan Clan’s business was at its peak, and her name carried a weight in Jingxi’s merchant circles. Back then, she had been seen as a desirable match—a young woman from a prosperous family with a bright future ahead of her.
But now?
Now, Yan Ling was hardly thought of as someone with good prospects. A twenty four year old woman from a fallen clan, no longer the talk of advantageous marriage arrangements. Too old for the best matches, lacking in wealth, and without any clear path forward, her head felt like it might explode just from thinking about it all.
And it wasn’t as though she could just marry anyone. Even with their decline, the Yan family wouldn’t allow her to marry beneath their station. They needed someone of equal or greater status for the marriage to make sense. But where was she supposed to find such a match when most potential suitors avoided families on the verge of ruin?
Her only real chance had come two days ago, when she’d managed to secure an invitation to a banquet—a prestigious gathering where even members of the Union would be in attendance. It might be her only opportunity to make an impression, to catch the eye of a young master with enough wealth and influence to overlook her family’s current misfortune.
But even that opportunity came with problems.
Her clothes were old—two seasons out of fashion—and her jewelry was barely worth wearing. She could already imagine the disapproving glances and whispered comments from the other young women at the banquet, who would be dressed in the latest silks and draped in gold and jade.
She’d asked her father for help, hoping he might buy her at least a new dress, but he had only shaken his head and sighed. “We’re struggling to keep the business afloat. We can’t afford luxuries right now.”
And so, she had spent the past two days wandering through the city, visiting shop after shop, hoping to find something suitable within her meager budget. She’d tried negotiating for lower prices, pleading with shopkeepers she had once known, but none of it had worked. The dresses she could afford were too plain, and the ones she wanted were far beyond her reach.
In the end, she had refused to go home, feeling like it would be admitting defeat if she did.
Now, as she strolled through the streets, her mind was heaving with frustration and hopelessness, she suddenly noticed a large crowd gathered near the central square, where roads branched off toward different districts of the city.
What’s going on?" she wondered, slowing her steps as she craned her neck to get a better look.
The crowd was clustered around something, but she wasn't able to make out what it was.
Curiosity stirred within her. It wasn’t often that something would attract this much attention, especially in the central square.
Yan Ling let her feet carry her toward the crowd. Using her small, petite frame to her advantage, she slipped between the people, squeezing through narrow gaps until she found herself near the front. It wasn’t too difficult—most of the men and women were too preoccupied with whatever was happening ahead to notice her weaving through them.
When she finally reached the front, the scene before her left her momentarily confused.
A beautiful woman with striking features stood in the middle, dressed in a flowing gown of deep crimson silk embroidered with highlighting gold patterns. Her posture was graceful but commanding, and her lips were curved in a bright, confident smile.
In front of her was a long wooden table, lined with neat rows of small perfume bottles. Behind her stood several men who looked like guards—broad-shouldered, watchful eyes and swords strapped to their waists.
“I’m glad our little demonstration has caught your attention,” the woman said. “But don’t worry—I won’t take up too much of your time.”
Before she could continue, a playful voice called out from the crowd, “I was hoping to see you for a while longer!”
That earned a ripple of laughter from the onlookers, and the woman smirked, tilting her head slightly.
“Thank you, but sadly, I’m not on display today.” She gestured gracefully toward the table. “Heavenly Fragrances’ perfumes are.”
Yan Ling’s eyes shifted to the bottles on display. They were made of polished wood—not even glass, and although she couldn’t see the liquid inside, the subtle, lingering scent that was wafting through the air hinted at something high-quality. Having used so many perfumes, she knew that well.
The woman continued, her smile never wavering. “I’m sure some of you here have already heard of Heavenly Fragrances. We’re the most famous perfume brand in Cloud Mist City, with customers ranging from high-society ladies to common folk—and even cultivators. And now, we’re finally here in Jingxi, ready to let you discover what true high-quality perfume smells like, all for the price of just five to eight silver wen!”
Yan Ling’s eyes widened in shock.
Five to eight silver wen?
She stared at the bottles, half-expecting them to transform into something cheap-looking, but the smell remained as refined and pleasant as before. She never knew that perfumes were sold at such low prices, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was some kind of scam. Most perfumes in Jingxi sold for at least several dozen silver wen, sometimes even more depending on the shop.
How could something that cheap be any good?
As the thought crossed her mind, she heard a few whispered conversations around her.
“My cousin lives in Cloud Mist City,” a young woman nearby said excitedly to her friend. “She told me the perfumes from Heavenly Fragrances are amazing—and they’re really that cheap!”
“Yes! I visited Cloud Mist during their annual tournament last year and tried some of their perfumes. They’re great. I’m so glad they’ve opened a store here!”
That made Yan Ling hesitate, her earlier suspicions faltering. Could this really be the opportunity it seemed to be?
As if sensing the crowd’s uncertainty, the woman behind the table smiled again. “If you’re curious, we’re offering free samples. You can try them right here.”
Yan Ling’s eyes widened, excitement flaring despite herself. Before she could second-guess her reaction, the words burst out of her mouth. “Can I try?”
The woman’s eyes sparkled, mirroring Yan Lin’s expression. “Of course, young miss. You’re free to.”
Yan Ling stepped forward, her heart beating faster as she approached the table. One of the men behind the woman handed her a small wooden bottle, and she poured a few drops of perfume onto Yan Ling’s palm.
As soon as she raised her hand to her nose, the scent enveloped her—a soft, luxurious blend of jasmine, sandalwood, and something light and floral she couldn’t quite place. The fragrance was subtle yet intoxicating, elegant but not overpowering.
Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she took it in. This is… really good.
“It’s wonderful,” she murmured, opening her eyes to find the woman smiling at her.
“Thank you, young miss. If you hurry, you can be one of the first customers at our Jingxi City branch. It’s just down the street, past the central square.”
Yan Ling nodded absently, still distracted by the lingering scent on her skin. But before she could think of what to say next, the woman leaned in slightly.
“And there’s more,” she said with a wink. “If you bring two friends with you, you’ll get a thirty percent discount on your purchase. Not only that, but you’ll also have the chance to try out our newest collection of women’s clothing. There are only a limited number of dresses available right now, and you could get your hands on them before they sell out.”
Yan Ling blinked.
“Are they as affordable as the perfumes?” she asked.
The woman chuckled. “Yes, young miss. You won’t find such designs anywhere else at these prices, I can promise you that.”
Before Yan Ling could press for more details, several other people from the crowd surged forward, eager to try the perfumes for themselves. She was jostled slightly, and the woman turned her attention to the new customers, offering more samples with the same bright smile.
Left standing at the edge of the crowd, Yan Ling’s mind was spinning. Good perfume, affordable dresses, and a discount if I bring two people…
Was this the opportunity she had been waiting for? Maybe the heavens had finally thrown her a lifeline.
She debated for a moment, thinking of her options. It could be a scam—or it could be exactly what she needed to make an impression at the upcoming banquet. And what did she have to lose by at least checking it out?
Moreover, she needed that discount, and that meant she needed to bring two people with her.
Without wasting another moment, she turned on her heel and quickly made her way through the streets—not toward the shop, but toward the homes of her friends. After all, she wasn’t going to let an opportunity like this slip through her fingers.
2025-03-24 06:17:09 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 195
The city of Dyerich was almost dead. Feroy moved through it, his boots clicking softly against the stone streets as his retinue followed behind him. Everywhere he looked, he was rewarded with thick silence. But despite the stillness, the tension was there. He felt it and he was sure that others did, too.
“Knight Feroy, I’ve told you, you aren’t going to find any slaves here. And you have brought too many men into the city. Look around, it will scare the citizens, especially because the fief war just ended.”
Feroy looked at the source of the voice. Kailak, Baron Kairnso’s brother. The current regent of the city who’d been appointed by his brother just recently.
“Knight Feroy?” His voice was annoying, louder than necessary, cutting through the calm.
Feroy’s eyes briefly went to the two young men that flanked him. They looked more nervous than the man they were here to protect and he could tell that they were hastily conscripted, no doubt, a response to the increasing tension in the wake of the recent conflict. They were far too green to be of much use, but Kailak had insisted they accompany him for protection.
He turned his sharp gaze back to the regent. Kailak flinched under the weight of Feroy's stare.
"I told you to clean them up yourself if you don’t want us here," Feroy replied. "Lord Arzan has given orders to clean his cities of these vermin. They ran away from Veyrin once the fief war ended, but we found enough clues that they have a base here."
Kailak frowned at the words, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "Are you accusing me of letting slavers infest this city?" His voice grew sharper, his eyes narrowing with defensive pride. "Slavery has been banned since the Act of Abolishing. Forty years, Knight Feroy. It had been forty years since then. That’s no small amount of time."
Feroy paused, letting the silence stretch between them for a moment. When he spoke again, it was with a careful calm. "I’m not accusing you, regent." His eyes bore into Kailak’s with a touch of disdain. "But your brother wasn't exactly the most just man. Even you should know that. So let me just act with my men."
The regent’s face darkened, but Feroy didn’t relent.
"You’re doing enough good by giving us permission to search," Feroy continued. "You don’t have to make it hard for you."
Kailak’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I gave you permission to search,” he said in a tight voice, “but I didn’t expect you to bring so many men.”
Feroy didn’t so much as blink. “The slave network is big from what we’ve uncovered. We need as many men as we can. I would’ve asked yours to support but after the fief war… Well, not many of them remain.”
Kailak gritted his teeth but didn’t argue. Feroy knew why. It was the only reason they had gotten permission so easily—Dyerich simply had nothing to defend itself with. The city couldn’t afford to offend the man who now ruled most of the Sylvan Enclave.
Even if the king had remained silent on the fief war, and rumours of the Assembly of Judgment swirled in the shadows, for now, Lord Arzan was indisputable in the region.
As they moved deeper into the city, one of Feroy’s men finally broke the silence.
“We’re here.”
Feroy turned his gaze forward. The building stood at the very edge of the city’s poor district, a two-story structure crammed between crumbling brickwork and narrow alleys. The lower half was built from dark stone. He could tell that the stained surface was due to years of neglect. The upper floor leaned slightly over the street, wooden beams jutting out to hold its frame. The windows were small, thickly shuttered and the only sign of recent use was the worn path that led to the door.
As he had requested, most of the common people had already been cleared from the area, and according to the Watcher’s scout assigned to this mission, people had spotted figures slipping in and out of the building in the last few days—but none had escaped since last night.
Feroy let his gaze sweep over the structure one last time before giving his orders.
“Three will move through the back entrance,” he said. “Two stay outside. Keep an eye on everything. The rest are with me through the front. Got it?”
The men nodded in unison. Feroy turned to Kailak and his guards. “Do you want to come with me?”
Kailak’s lips curled upwards. “Sure. I’d like to see your face when you don’t find anything.”
“Sure,” Feroy said, motioning for his men to move forward. And I’d like to see your face when we do, he thought to himself and focused on the task at hand.
One of the shorter men stepped up first, a man with nimble fingers and a quiet presence. He reached for the door, drawing a small set of lockpicks from his belt. A soft click echoed in the silence as it unlocked, he pushed the door open just enough for them to slip inside.
The air within was stale, thick with the scent of damp wood and unwashed stone, and there was another murky smell; one that he couldn’t point out.
“Light,” Feroy muttered.
At his command, a Mage named Iskiel lifted a hand, summoning a soft, glowing orb of light that floated above them. The yellow light illuminated the space as the group spread out, moving carefully.
Kailak walked a few paces behind, his guards flanking him. More than once, Feroy caught the regent’s expression tightening, his mouth parting as if to speak—only for him to snap it shut again.
And for his luck, Feroy wasn’t interested in knowing whatever was on his mind. He was here for a mission, and he didn’t need any more distractions.
The search continued.
Feroy tried to look through every nook and cranny, desperate to find something that would lead to the slaves.
Weapons were strewn about haphazardly—daggers, rusted swords, even a crossbow left resting against a crate. A plate of half-eaten jerky sat abandoned on a table as if someone had left in a hurry. But for all the signs of occupation, there were no men to be found.
It was all empty of life.
He walked closer to take a good look at one of the crates when a voice called out from deeper inside.
“Knight Feroy! I found something.”
He moved quickly with a few others, stepping into a side room that had remained shrouded in the darkness until now. Iskiel’s light showed what was inside. And the sight before them was damning.
Cages. Fuck, what a fucking inhumane thing! May hell bestow upon all of them, Feroy cursed under his breath over and over. No one should go through a living misery like this.
Lining the walls were row upon row of iron cages, their bars caked in filth, the floor beneath them littered with straw and dried stains that needed no explanation. Shackles dangled from the bars, some still locked shut, others hanging loose, as if their occupants had only recently been freed. Torn scraps of fabric lay scattered across the ground—one, in particular, catching Feroy’s eye. He crouched, looking at the strip of cloth that had once belonged to a dress.
A woman’s dress.
It was disgusting to say the least, and his heart clenched for the poor… girls.
Slowly, he stood, turning and looked at Kailak. “Are you still going to say slavers aren’t here?” His jaw ticked at the mention. “These… cages, are made for humans—more specifically, they’re too fucking small for most men, so, for women. Whoever was here, was selling sex slaves.” He cursed again. “Bastards.”
Kailak’s face had gone pale. His mouth opened, but the words barely came, a weak murmur escaping him instead. “I… I didn’t know about this.”
Feroy let out a breath, shaking his head. “I believe you… But your brother did.”
“I don’t see anyone here,” one of the men muttered, scanning the empty cages and scattered remnants of occupation. “Did they escape?”
“Keep looking. We’ve been watching them—they haven’t left the building. There must be a hidden entrance somewhere.”
At his order, the search continued, boots shuffling against the grimy floor as men overturned crates, tapped against walls, and checked beneath tables and furniture for anything out of place. He turned the tables and threw them at the walls, desperate to find any secret entrance to where they were.
“Nothing’s in here,” someone from behind said.
No, they couldn’t give up. Not when he knew they were close enough to find the girls.
“Search farther. Iskiel, provide light till—”
“I think I found something!”
A shout came from the basement.
At once, they all descended the creaking wooden steps two at a time. The air grew heavier with every step-down, thick with the scent of damp rot and something far fouler.
As they reached the bottom, the man who had called out was standing near the centre of the room, pointing downward. There, hidden beneath a ragged carpet, was a hole in the ground. The edges of the stone had been roughly carved, leading down into utter darkness.
So, that was where the smell was coming from.
“They ran through the sewers,” Feroy muttered, feeling like a long search was ahead of them.
The man nodded. “Should we go in?”
Feroy exhaled, considering. “Yes. But not everyone.” He turned to Kailak. “I’ll send some of my men with you. Do you know every sewer exit in the city, particularly the ones that lead outside?”
Kailak hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Yes. We have records of them.”
“Good. A few of my men will go with you and your guards to check those exits,” Feroy instructed. “Meanwhile, I’ll head down and see if any of them are still hiding below.”
He expected Kailak to argue, to snap back at his casual commands. But instead, the regent simply nodded. “Okay.”
Maybe he truly hadn’t known about the slavers and felt guilty. Or maybe he was simply trying to stay on good terms with Lord Arzan. Either way, Feroy wasn’t going to question it—not when it worked in his favour.
As Kailak left with his assigned men, Feroy turned to the others. “I’ll take the lead. Iskiel and the rest of you, follow after me.”
They nodded. Without hesitation, Feroy stepped forward and leapt down into the darkness.
As Feroy landed, the stench hit him like a solid wall. The foul mix of rot, filth, and stagnant water was nearly unbearable, clawing at his throat and making his stomach churn. Without hesitation, he reached for his sleeve, tearing off a strip of fabric and pressing it to his mouth and nose.
Behind him, the others descended one by one, each immediately recoiling as the same putrid assault struck them. A few muttered curses, others coughed sharply, but none faltered for long. They were soldiers, hardened by war and battle, and they had learned to endure far worse.
Iskiel raised a hand, murmuring a quick incantation. A soft, glowing orb of light formed in the air, illuminating the damp, narrow tunnel ahead. They saw their shadows dancing on the moss-ridden walls.
“Let’s go,” Feroy ordered; his voice muffled by the cloth over his mouth. “They might have left some clues behind.”
Soon, they pushed forward. Slippery patches of grime made footing risky, and the narrow stream of sludge running along the centre of the tunnel only made things worse. Despite the filth, they kept to the walls, their eyes scanning every inch of their surroundings.
“Are there gonna be beasts down here?” one of the men muttered, warily glancing around.
“Some overgrown rats, maybe. But nothing else. If there were, the slavers wouldn’t have chosen this route. They’re cowards. They only know how to run.”
The group nodded in agreement and pressed on, their movements quick but careful. Time dragged on as they walked, the tunnel stretching longer than Feroy had expected. Just how far did these sewers extend?
Then, he saw it.
“Stop,” Feroy ordered sharply, raising a hand.
At an intersection ahead, right within the damp stone walls, was a door. Heavy, wooden, and reinforced with iron bands, it looked old but sturdy—far too wanton to be a simple maintenance entry.
Iskiel stepped forward, studying it under the glow of his spell. “Do you think it’s some kind of emergency room?”
Feroy exhaled through his nose, gaze unwavering on the door. “Probably built to hide during attacks, sieges, and the like. Knight Killian mentioned they’re making something similar in Veralt as an emergency measure for civilians.”
He took a step forward, resting a hand on the hilt of his spear. “I’ll take charge."
And with that, he moved toward the door.
Feroy gripped the shaft and gave the door a firm push, only to find it locked from the inside. His eyes narrowed as he turned back to his men.
“There’s a good chance they’re inside,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Get ready.”
Without hesitation, he channelled power into his spear, its edges glowing faintly with a burning aura. With a single mighty slash, the weapon cleaved through the wooden gate. The door shattered instantly, sending splinters and debris flying.
What lay inside confirmed everything.
A dozen men stood, weapons already drawn, their faces rough and unkempt with thick beards and sharp, animalistic eyes. They had expected trouble. And Feroy would give enough of that. Because what was behind them, boiled his blood.
Behind them, bound in heavy chains, were women—no, girls—filthy, bruised, and huddled together in fear. The air in the room was thick with sweat, damp wood, and something darker—something vile.
Feroy’s eyes flared with fury.
“Get ready for a fight!” a throaty yell escaped his lips. Then, glancing at the Mage behind him, he added sharply, “Iskiel, no wide spells! We can’t risk hurting the innocents!”
Without another word, he surged forward.
Fire erupted around his spear, a searing heat that crackled in the air. The slavers froze for a split second, their eyes widening in shock at the sudden blaze.
Feroy didn’t give them time to recover.
He lunged, his spear a blur.
From the back of the room, two arrows whistled toward him. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he deflected them midair, the metal tips glancing harmlessly off his weapon. His momentum never faltered—his spear arced downward in a savage strike, cleaving through the first man in his path. Blood sprayed across the room as the slaver’s head rolled to the floor.
The next man managed to block.
Feroy’s eyes flickered to the enemy’s blade—just in time to catch the glint of something green along its edge.
“Poison!” he shouted to his men. “Watch their weapons!”
He shifted immediately, his strikes turning precise, avoiding attacks. No reckless movements, no unnecessary risks. He let his fire do the work—every swing of his spear forced the slavers back, the searing heat making them falter, their grips loosening as flames licked at their weapons.
One by one, they stumbled, their flesh burning just enough for pain to override their will to fight.
Meanwhile, behind him, Iskiel unleashed elemental attacks. Small bursts of wind sent slavers tumbling, warm gusts swirled around them, knocking them off balance and making them hesitate in fear.
The strategy was working—pushing them back, keeping them off balance, ensuring they never regained control.
All the while, Feroy was going full offensive with his spear. He continued to attack, bleeding them to death. He slashed and thrashed, finding any joint possible, digging deeper until he knew they could no longer stand.
Like that, only one was left and he surged forward and pierced his spear through the man's throat. It happened too quickly for the slaver to defend, and he fell with a gurgled cry.
He barely spared the body a glance before casting his gaze around the bloodstained room. The scent of sweat, rust, and death still clung to the air, but the fight was over.
Feroy finally turned toward the captives.
Huddled together in chains, the young women trembled. Some cried and some flinched at every movement, their wide, fearful eyes darting between the bodies and the armed men standing before them. He couldn’t even properly identify their facial features with all the dirt that they were covered in.
Their cries filled his ears and he waited for a second, and another until his adrenaline calmed. He couldn’t scare the women more than they already were. But seeing the state they were in, barely any clothes left on their bodies, soot covering their bodies—he wished he could bring the bastards back to life just to kill them all over again, slower.
He exhaled loudly through his nose, forcing his breath to calm down and voice into something gentler.
“It’s over,” he said. He took a step towards them. He felt his breath caught in his throat at the tremor of his own voice. “You’re safe now. We will get you back to your families soon.”
The words did little to ease their terror, but at least some of the shaking stopped. A girl who was in the corner couldn’t stop her hiccups, and Feroy knew she needed time.
He turned back to his men. “Is anyone injured?”
Two raised their hands.
One had taken a deep gash to the leg, while the other clutched his hand, blood seeping through his fingers where a poisoned blade had cut through.
Feroy’s eyes narrowed. “Get them potions and take them out of the sewers first,” he ordered. “They’ll need proper treatment for the poison. Have them keep drinking the potion every five minutes until we’re sure it’s flushed out.”
A few of his men nodded and quickly moved to help the injured, supporting them as they began the slow trek back up.
With that handled, Feroy turned back to the girls. He knelt, reaching into his pouch and pulling out a handful of healing potions. He uncorked one and extended it toward them.
“Drink this,” he said. “It’ll help with your injuries. Soon, you’ll be out of here.”
The girls hesitated. Fear still lingered in their eyes, their hands twitching as though expecting another cruel trick. But after a long, uncertain moment, one girl with dirt-covered-blonde hair slowly reached out, taking the potion from him.
She hesitated only a second before drinking.
Then, voice hoarse, she asked, “Who are you?”
Feroy gave her a small, reassuring nod. “Knight Feroy,” he said. “I came to save you all—by the order of my lord, Count Arzan.”
***
A feroy chap.
2025-03-22 05:27:06 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 88
Xueying Shenmu, clan head of the prestigious Xueying clan, swung his sword, feeling the ripple of his biceps. His muscles strained as each blow landed. A sharp crack formed against the wooden dummy in front of him.
“Argh!” He swung it again, this time aiming at the dummy’s neck. It once again caused wood to splinter. Beads of sweat ran down his face as he brought his sword back, just to hit the dummy again, and again.
His grunts filled the air, as he kept on swinging.
The movement became one of practice rather than conscious as his eyes grew distant, lost in memories.
Every strike reminded him of his childhood.
Born to a branch family of cultivators, Shenmu had once dreamed of rising above his humble beginnings, wielding a sword with enough strength to topple mountains and make the heavens tremble. His days back then had been spent just like this—relentlessly swinging his weapon, sharpening his skills, and preparing for the moment he could step onto the path of cultivation and bring glory to his family.
But fate had been cruel. Extremely cruel that he almost felt bad for himself.
When his spirit roots had finally been tested, the results were devastating. None. While his two younger brothers were found to have excellent cultivation potential and had been chosen as the future scions of their branch family, Shenmu had been left behind, crushed beneath his shattered dreams.
For years, he only tasted one thing; bitterness.
Until, one day, he didn’t.
The realisation hit him; there was more to life than just chasing unreachable heights. There were other ways to bring pride to his clan—other ways that he could stand tall. And so, he had set down his sword and chosen a different path. The path of money.
His lips twitched upward slightly as he thought about how far he’d been able to come. Through grit, ambition, and relentless effort, he had built a fortune so vast that no one dared to look down on him now. He was still mortal, but he commanded the respect of both cultivators and commoners. His family, once just a branch, had become one of the most powerful clans in Jingxi. And countless cultivators now bowed their heads to his family—because of his wealth. He hired more than half of them to work for him.
Still, even after all those years of training, he had never let go of the discipline he’d forged in his youth.
Every morning, he trained, swinging his sword as if he could carve those dummies with it.
Thwack! Another strike, and he pushed another painful memory aside.
Maybe this was his way of coping, but it’d helped him for years.
Thwack!
He pushed past another memory of his siblings this time. He raised his sword again—
Knock! Knock!
Shenmu frowned, lowering his weapon as he turned toward the door that slowly opened. Standing in the doorway was the chief steward, Dexin an elderly man with a thin frame and a perpetually serious expression. He bowed deeply.
“Master.”
Shenmu’s frown deepened. “You know I don’t like to be disturbed during this time.”
Dexin straightened. “I wouldn’t have, Master, unless it was important. I know better.”
A moment passed before Shenmu gave a curt nod. “Very well. Speak.”
“We’ve just received word, Master. A new delivery of Heavenly Fragrance bottles and materials was made to their shop about an hour ago.”
At those words, Xueying Shenmu's eyes widened, shock flashing across his face. “What happened? We sent Yushu and the others, right?”
“We did, Master. But none of them have reported back. We’re assuming they’ve been captured by the forces of the Tang Clan and the Divine Coin Sect.”
Shenmu’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening until he heard his teeth grind. He shook his head after a few seconds of contemplation. “That can’t be. No, check once again. Yushu is a qi refinement realm cultivator. According to what we know, this so-called sect is a newly established one, no different from any other Emerging sect.”
Dexin cleared his throat. “Master, we assume that Chen Ren himself might have protected the carriage. And as far as things have been confirmed, he is in the qi refinement realm too.”
“Even then, we sent more cultivators with Yushu. There’s no way he could have done this alone. This Chen Ren must have brought in more cultivators to support his sect, or it wouldn’t have been possible.” He paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, before asking, “Did they at least manage to damage some of the supplies? There were orders to harm and retreat if they weren’t confident in winning.”
Dexin shifted uncomfortably, a trace of hesitation in his voice as he responded, “No, Master… There wasn’t anything like that. All the materials were delivered safely, and the scouts specifically reported that the Heavenly Fragrance bottles were in pristine condition.”
Shenmu’s teeth clenched audibly, a flash of anger rippling through him. “How can that be?”
“Because we were tricked, Master.”
Shenmu’s head snapped up. “Tricked? How?”
“When we observed the delivery, we noticed that the supplies didn’t come from the Tang Clan’s carriage as expected. Instead, there were six carriages owned by ordinary merchants, carrying mixed supplies. We later identified them as traveling merchants whose business route runs between Cloud Mist City and Jingxi City. It seems the Tang Clan paid them to hide their supplies among their other goods.”
Shenmu’s eyes glinted with cold fury as he considered the implications. He certainly hadn't expected such a move.
“Do you want us to take action against those merchants?”
He fell silent, lowering the sword slowly as he sank into deep thought. Did he want to go against those merchants who had crossed their clan? Did they even know what they were doing or were they simply after some easy coins? His mind spinned with different scenarios.
After a long moment, he sighed and spoke.
“No… leave them be.”
Dexin blinked in surprise but remained quiet as Shenmu continued.
“Even if we warn those merchants, the Tang Clan will just find someone else next time. And they might even employ more clever tactics to avoid detection.” His lips curled into a smile. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had outsiders bold enough to stand against us. Bold… and cunning.”
He took a slow breath. “But they’re forgetting one thing. We have roots in this city, deep roots that have grown strong over generations. They’re just a sapling. And there’s no way this ends well for them.”
“What are your orders, Master?”
“For now, do nothing. Watch them carefully, but don’t interfere. They’ll be expecting retaliation, waiting for us to make a move. Let them fall into a false sense of security.”
He rubbed his hands; one thing on his mind. “And when they finally open up, we’ll rip that sapling out of the ground.”
***
Chen Ren moved through the spacious two-storey building. Tang Yuqiu walked beside him, her eyes squinted in pride and excitement. He glanced around, taking in the place she had spent the past few months renovating. Sunlight poured in through large windows. It made the space feel more warm. The ground floor had an open layout, perfect for displays, with sleek counters, shelves, and plenty of room for customers to move around. The high ceilings gave it a grand, airy feeling, and the decorative lanterns hanging from the rafters added a touch of refinement.
The first floor had smaller sections partitioned for specialty goods, areas were connected by smooth, dark wood railings and stone steps. The second floor, he assumed, would be for administration or VIP clients and they could always add more floors. It was clear Tang Yuqiu had spared no expense.
Chen Ren let out a low whistle, impressed. “You sure you didn’t just empty everything you earned through Heavenly Fragrances—and more—by buying this building?”
Tang Yuqiu turned to him with a confident smile. “I still have money left,” she said breezily, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have put this much into it if I didn’t think I’d earn it back the moment this store opens.”
Chen Ren arched a brow. “You could’ve asked me for some help, you know.”
She shook her head, a light chuckle escaping her lips. “You were busy with your sect. I know you’ve taken in a lot of people, and feeding them every day can’t be easy.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t done. “Besides,” she added, “you’re already giving ideas on perfumes and clothes. It’s only natural that I handle the rest. I can’t be a bad business partner, now, can I?”
Chen Ren nodded, not arguing, but inside, he felt a quiet wave of gratitude. He’d definitely made the right call by partnering with her. Their relationship hadn’t started off smoothly, but now, he knew he could leave a lot in her capable hands and trust that she wouldn’t let him down.
More than that, she was keeping his situation in mind—managing the business without asking him for money, even though they were partners. That was as good as a business partner could get.
The only thing he could do to repay that trust was to make sure this expansion worked out. For both of them.
As they descended to the ground floor, Chen Ren’s eyes were drawn to the organized chaos of crates and supplies scattered across the room. Large wooden crates labeled with the distinctive mark of Heavenly Fragrances were stacked neatly along one wall, while rows of wrapped wooden bottles gained his attention almost immediately. The perfume bottles, with their elegant designs and delicate stoppers, seemed almost out of place amidst the rough, utilitarian packaging.
Nearby, smaller containers filled with raw materials for production were stacked in clusters. Dried herbs, powdered minerals, and oils imported from the outskirts of Cloud Mist City were neatly packed, labeled with the contents and sources. Tang Yuqiu’s thoroughness was evident in every detail. He was glad that none of it had broken.
Even if he knew his plan was most likely to work, he was still concerned and had sent Tang Boming and his men to each of the merchant carriages that had the materials to protect them. Fortunately, they had delivered the materials in good condition.
Chen Ren crossed his arms, nodding appreciatively. “When are you planning to start production?”
They had gotten enough perfumes for the grand opening, but they were setting up a factory in Jingxi as well. It made more sense for them to supply the raw materials from Cloud Mist City since they were cheap and abundant there. It would save them a fortune in transportation cost down the line if they produced everything locally.
“In a day or two.”
Chen Ren nodded. “Sounds good. What about the clothes?”
“We’ve already prepared samples. Depending on how well they sell, I’ll expand production. But it might take some time. These designs aren’t easy to make, and crafting them is labor-intensive. Even if I hire more workers, the profit margins will shrink. It’s a fine balance, you know.”
Chen Ren sighed, knowing she was right. In this world, sewing and cloth-making were entirely handcrafted processes, demanding years of practice to master. Unlike the convenience of machines he remembered from his previous life, here it was an intricate art form. Each stitch, each pattern was a testament to the skill of the artisan. Even cultivators often took it up as a discipline, producing enchanted robes and garments as a specialty.
But waiting wasn’t something he was fond of. He had a strong feeling these clothes would be a hit, and the more stock they had, the better. The thought of missing out on potential sales because of slow production didn’t sit well with him.
Fortunately, he’d already devised a way to speed things along. A small, satisfied smile played on his lips as he thought about it. It was time for him to step up as a business partner—Tang Yuqiu had already more than proven her worth, and now it was his turn to do the same.
“Actually, I do have a way to speed things along,” he said casually.
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Oh? You’ve got another method to make clothes? Like the perfume idea?”
“Something like that. It’s very simple. You just have to rely on a machine to reduce the manual work. With that, we’ll increase production by a lot.”
Tang Yuqiu blinked at him, and then her eyebrows squinted “A machine? What kind of machine?”
Instead of answering right away, he reached into his storage pouch and pulled out a rolled-up parchment. He unfurled it on a nearby crate, revealing a detailed, hand-drawn diagram. It was filled with precise sketches, tiny notes, and arrows pointing to various components.
“I came up with this design once I returned to my sect after our talk,” he explained, tapping the parchment. “It won’t be the easiest thing to build since it needs some fine-tuning, but if we can pull it off, I think we’ll have a machine that could change the way clothes are made.”
She traced her finger along some of the lines, trying to make sense of it, but her expression quickly turned puzzled. “I’m not going to lie, this looks… complicated.”
“It is. This is a sewing machine.” He pointed to a part of the drawing where a small, sharp object was prominently featured. “See this here? This is the needle. It’s the core of the whole machine. As the machine works, the needle pierces the fabric automatically. And that means on its own.”
Tang Yuqiu squinted at the parchment, then glanced at him. “On its own? How?”
Chen Ren tapped another part of the diagram. “This is the hand crank. It’s a small wheel on the side that you turn by hand. That, in turn, moves the needle up and down. And here—” he pointed again, “—are the feed dogs.”
Tang Yuqiu immediately straightened up, giving him a wide-eyed, incredulous look. “Feed… dogs?” She tilted her head. “Wait, why are we talking about dogs all of a sudden? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
Chen Ren couldn’t hold it in a laugh. The seriousness in her eyes made him shake his head, but he could see why she would get confused by the name. “Yes, I’m fine. It’s just the name of the component in the sewing machine,” he explained, pointing at the small part on the diagram. “It’s called that because it looks like a dog’s teeth.”
Tang Yuqiu tilted her head, studying the drawing again before nodding. “Okay, that makes sense… sort of. But your naming sense is still a little strange.”
Chen Ren considered telling her that he wasn’t the one who came up with the name, but he let it slide and continued his explanation instead. He walked her through the various parts of the machine, explaining how they worked together—the hand crank turning the gears, the needle moving automatically, and the feed dogs pulling the fabric forward.
At first, he’d thought of making a more modern, electronic version. But as soon as the thought came to mind, he dismissed it. The lack of electricity in the empire was a major issue, and he didn’t want to add an array to every machine, knowing it would be too much effort in the long run—costly and impractical. So, he’d settled on a gear-based design instead—something anyone could use.
Besides, it would get the workers used to the concept, and later on, he could always upgrade the design when the time is right.
By the time he finished explaining, Tang Yuqiu looked far less confused, though a flicker of astonishment lingered on her face. She tried to hide it, but Chen Ren could see it clear as day.
“I don’t know if we’ll be able to build it exactly like this… but if we can, it’ll be a massive innovation. Something that could change the entire clothing industry.”
“Exactly. And we’ll be at the forefront of it.”
“How do you even come up with all these things? Noodles, ice cream, chips, perfumes… and now this? Sometimes, I think you’ve stumbled upon the hidden knowledge of some ancient sage.”
Chen Ren didn’t reply right away, but internally, he thought she wasn’t entirely wrong. It wasn’t exactly a sage—more like the collective wisdom of the internet. Most of his knowledge came from browsing random topics during high school and college, a mix of curiosity and procrastination that was now paying off in ways he’d never imagined.
Not wanting to dwell on that thought, he changed the subject. “Anyway, the faster we get a prototype made, the better for us. Once we have that, we’ll need to make at least a few machines to ramp up production. The opening day of our little mall is getting close, and we want to be ready.”
Tang Yuqiu nodded. “Got it. I’ll get to it.” She rolled up the parchment carefully, cradling it like it was a treasure. “You won’t be disappointed.”
Chen Ren smiled. “I know I won’t.”
2025-03-22 05:24:48 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 87
Yushu yawned. His long, bulky hands stretched behind his neck as he sat on top of a small hill, overlooking a road. His back was against a tree as he felt himself almost falling asleep.
When he had first become a cultivator and realized that, rather than soaring over cities and practicing techniques that could shatter entire buildings with a single strike, ‘Cultivation’ was more about sitting in a room, absorbing the world's energy while popping pills like a drug addict, he had felt utterly betrayed. All those grand expectations—reduced to hours of motionless meditation, chasing after some vague, unseen progress. And worse, while some people barely cultivated for an hour a day and still saw results, he could sit for entire nights and feel nothing.
So he fought tooth and nail for pills to speed up his growth, only to realize that even that was a struggle. Between the politics of his sect, the resource hoarding, and the endless cycle of training on lifeless dummies, he had enough. If cultivation was going to be a slow death of boredom, he would rather risk dying on his own terms.
And so, he left.
Many called him foolish, said things like, nothing good will happen. That he was walking down the wrong path. That the heavens would not look kindly upon a rogue cultivator. But in just his first year of being one, he had proven them wrong. Even as a mere first star qi refinement cultivator, he received offers from various clans, each eager to recruit him.
In the cities, women threw themselves at him, hoping to catch his eye and secure a better life. After all, even the lowest cultivator was far wealthier than ordinary mortals.
In the end, he joined the clan that had given him the best offer—the Xueying Clan of Jingxi City.
They had given him pills every week, accelerating his cultivation from first star to third star in just two years. It was something that he felt was impossible before, but it happened. It became possible. Not only that, if he desired women, they were brought to him without hesitation. The clan leader had even attempted to betroth him to one of his daughters, eager for a grandson with cultivation talent.
All in all, his life had suddenly become colorful—a complete one-eighty to the dull days of meditation and endless training dummies.
But just a week ago, that had changed.
His latest task had been simple—too simple for his liking, which was to stop a carriage from some Tang Clan trying to build a business in Jingxi City. He had done it easily. After all, it was just a carriage, not a cultivator. But apparently, it had been a trap. A false alarm that was well-played by the Tang Clan to gauge their reaction. Now, with the Xueying Clan’s true intentions exposed, the Tang Clan was sending another batch of goods into the city, or at least that was what he was let on.
This time, Clan Head Xueying Shenmu had warned him that cultivators might be among the escorts and that he might actually have to fight.
And if he was honest?
He didn’t mind.
He was confident in his skills. Unless the Tang Clan had somehow scraped together a peak qi refinement cultivator or, worse, a foundation establishment expert, he had nothing to worry about. And honestly, someone that strong wouldn’t waste their time on merchant escort duty.
But the problem wasn’t the fight.
It was the waiting.
He had been sitting on this hill for seven hours now. The sun had set, the road remained empty, and the only thing accompanying him was the occasional night breeze.
He almost felt like he was back in his sect, doing nothing but sitting around. And that pricked his scalp, not in a good way. He folded his arms in front of his chest, and let his eyes partially close in boredom.
This is just… Boring. I might as well–
"Daoist Yushu, I see a carriage coming!"
The sound of wooden wheels rolling forward reached his ears. Right, he scoffed without even bothering to open his eyes. "Not every carriage belongs to the Tang Clan. We need to be sure before acting."
"But, Daoist Yushu—the carriage is tinted red, and it has the Tang Clan’s crest on it."
Yushu’s eyes snapped open.
This time, he took a proper look.
A large carriage strolled through the road. The wooden frame was reinforced with dark iron. And the front held a driver’s seat where there was a lone man, controlling the veins. Behind that, a middle compartment was made, probably for the guards or anyone travelling with them. And at the very back, an extra portion extended outward, possibly for storage.
It was just like the last one.
Yushu turned his gaze to the group behind him—five mortal men and three body forging realm cultivators standing at attention.
He smirked.
"Get ready."
Their spines straightened instantly.
"Our goal is simple," he continued. "Kill any ordinary people, capture anyone important, and confiscate or destroy whatever they’re carrying."
A wave of grim nods passed through the group. “You, aim properly!”
Yushu motioned to one of the mortals, a bowman, who stepped forward and drew his weapon.
The mortal narrowed his eyes, taking the aim. Yushu saw how he didn’t even breathe for a second. They all waited for the perfect moment, locking their gazes on the rolling carriage—then, with a twang, the arrow was in motion, slicing through the air, finding its mark right at the carriage wheel dead center.
A splintering crack rang out. The wheel snapped, sending the entire carriage lurching to the side. The force of the impact made it tilt uncontrollably, the wooden frame groaning as it tumbled forward and slammed into a tree with a heavy crash.
“Arrrrh!” The driver’s high-pitched voice pierced through the air as he flung from his seat, his body hitting the ground hard. He let out a grunt, and another.
Yushu grinned. "Great shot, mortal." He was on his feet the next second, drawing his weapon.
"Now—let’s go!"
He heard his men acknowledge with battle cries, and together, they rushed down the hill.
One by one, they moved towards the wrecked carriage. The road was mostly deserted at this hour—fortunate for them, as there would be no interruptions.
“There,” Yushu signalled his men. They veered off to deal with the driver who was groaning on the ground while clutching his sides. Yushu strode toward the carriage doors, fully expecting resistance from whoever was inside.
He grasped the handle and yanked the door open.
“Hello there,” Yushu said playfully, but his eyebrows shot upwards.
Empty.
Is it the wrong carriage?
But just as doubt began creeping into his mind, his eyes moved to the Tang Clan crest carved into the wooden door.
No. This was definitely the one.
Something was off.
Something was definitely off, he sensed it in his bones.
He turned towards the rear compartment, where he knew that goods were typically stored.
Taking a steadying breath, he reached for the doors.
His fingers curled around the handle.
Click.
The latch lifted, and as the doors swung open, his eyes widened.
There were no crates of herbs. No bottles of perfume.
There were only people inside.
Or at least—at first glance, they seemed like people.
In the dim gloom of the compartment, their figures were shrouded in darkness, but before Yushu could make sense of the situation, the one in the middle suddenly flashed him a grin—
—And lightning crackled to life in his fist.
Shit—!
Instinct kicked in, and Yushu leaped backward.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
The lightning strike arced through the air, slamming into his leg before he could fully escape.
Pain exploded through his limb as a sharp zap surged through his body, and he hit the ground with a cry.
"Daoist Yushu!" one of his men called out.
The others snapped to attention, their weapons raised, watching their leader fall.
But Yushu wasn’t someone who would go down that easily. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, his injured leg trembling under his weight.
"Get ready for battle! We’ve been fooled!" he bellowed.
As his words rang out, the lightning-wielding cultivator stepped out of the carriage.
The first thing Yushu noticed was his short dark hair. Then, his smug smile.
He tilted his head and sized the man up and down. He didn’t even have a big build of a body to threaten Yushu, but his lightning packed a sharp jolt. His blood boiled at the audacity of the man. “Who the f—”
His words died. And his breath hitched in his throat as he saw the other people step out of the carriage besides the cultivator.
Though, it wouldn't be right to call them people.
Rather than flesh and blood, the figures that emerged were humanoid constructs, their limbs carved from wood, their joints held together by intricate mechanisms. He had mistaken them for humans in the darkness of the carriage, but now, he could tell what they were.
Puppets.
Yushu felt a chill crawl up his spine. And judging by the energy rolling off of them, these weren’t just for show. They could fight better than any mortal he had brought.
His gaze flicked back to the lightning-wielding Cultivator.
"A Puppet Master?" Yushu muttered under his breath.
Not just that—one proficient in lightning arts that was in the qi refinement realm?
His mind raced.
The Xueying Clan Head had mentioned that the Tang Clan was working with some small-time sect. Yushu had assumed that meant a few low-level cultivators in the body forging realm.
But this?
A lightning user and combat-ready puppets were way beyond his pay grade. And he knew he couldn't just retreat.
Grinding his teeth, he charged forward, calling upon his qi as his fists became encased in solid stone, a martial technique he had painstakingly practiced known as [Earthshroud Gauntlet.]
The lightning-wielding cultivator met him head-on.
A crackling fist, wreathed in arcs of electricity, slammed against his own.
For a split second, Yushu felt a tremor run through his stone armor—then a sharp fracture spread across its surface.
Damn it!
The force behind the lightning cultivator’s blows was no joke.
Still, he refused to back down. Circulating his qi, he stepped forward and launched into another attack—
[Stone Avalanche Strike!]
His fist came down like a hammer, aiming for his opponent’s ribs.
But the man moved like a phantom, electricity surging through his legs as he dodged, barely a flicker in Yushu’s vision before he appeared just out of reach.
And the few times Yushu did manage to land a hit?
His opponent simply took the blow head-on, his body absorbing the impact without hesitation.
He's as strong as me—maybe stronger.
Realization hit him harder than a physical blow. The lightning user wasn’t just some useless cultivator with no battle experience. He had the technique and endurance to fight on even footing.
But I'm not done yet!
Summoning all his strength, Yushu activated his core technique—[Titan's Embrace.]
A surge of qi hardened his skin, wrapping his entire body in a dense layer of stone, turning him into a walking juggernaut.
With a roar, he lunged forward, too swift for a dodge and as he expected, the lightning cultivator didn’t got any time to jump back.
Instead, his entire body shimmered, bathed in a brilliant sheen of blue light—a defensive technique Yushu had never seen before.
And when they collided, a shockwave rippled through. The ground cracked beneath them.
For a moment, the two of them stood locked in place, neither giving an inch.
Then—lightning surged from the dark haired man’s fingertips.
Before Yushu could react, a blazing fist shot forward, striking him square in the face.
Crack!
His stone armor shattered—and Yushu was sent flying.
His body crashed against the hard ground, bouncing once before skidding to a stop.
For a second, everything spun. His vision blurred, his ears rang, he couldn’t even feel his limbs. The momentary defeat dissolved.
Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus.
His gaze swept across the battlefield—
One of his fellow cultivators was already down.
The other two were locked in a desperate struggle—surrounded by four wooden puppets, their movements relentless and precise.
As for the rest of his mortal men?
They lay scattered, groaning in pain, completely overwhelmed by the puppets.
Yushu counted seven of them in total—each one radiating the strength of a body forging realm fighter.
How the hell does a small sect have this many puppets?!
The sheer quantity of them was absurd.
He had assumed that the sect backing the Tang Clan was insignificant.
Now?
It was clear that he'd made a grave mistake.
A sharp crackle made his heart lurch—
He turned just in time to see the lightning cultivator charging toward him again, eyes locked onto him like a predator moving in for the kill.
Shit! No time!
Desperately, Yushu punched the ground.
[Earthquake Fissure!]
A jagged crack split open the road, forcing the lightning cultivator to leap into the air.
But that brief moment—that single heartbeat—was all Yushu needed to push himself back to his feet.
His mind raced as he wondered what to do. Even if he somehow held his ground against this lightning bastard, how the hell was he supposed to deal with the puppets?
And more importantly—
Who the hell was controlling them?
Yushu barely had a moment to think.
A surge of lightning arced toward him, crackling like an unchained storm. Reacting on instinct, he forced qi into his skin—[Earthen Bulwark!]
Stone encased his body, forming a protective shell—But it wasn’t enough. The lightning tore through, searing his flesh beneath the cracks. His knees buckled. His muscles spasmed.
Move!
He bit down on his tongue, the sharp pain grounding him just enough to keep his stance from collapsing completely.
His opponent was already closing in.
Damn it! No choice!
Yushu poured qi into the ring on his finger.
A silver spear materialized in his grasp, shocking the lightning cultivator whose eyes widened in shock.
Too fucking late.
Yushu thrust forward.
The tip of the spear pierced through his opponent’s arm, slipping past the thin sheen of his defensive technique.
The lightning Cultivator gritted his teeth and staggered back.
But within moments, the starlight barrier flickered back to life, repairing itself.
Tch. Not enough.
Yushu refused to give him time to recover.
He lunged forward, spear cutting through the air in rapid succession, aiming to break through the defense completely.
But the lightning cultivator was too fast.
With lightning coiling around his legs, he blurred out of reach again and again.
Yushu growled in frustration.
He had heard of lightning cultivators being nimble, but this was ridiculous.
“Enough with the tricks. It’s time to end this.”
The words sent a chill down Yushu’s spine.
For the first time, the lightning cultivator stopped moving. Looking at Yushu as if—as if he was just a dead man standing. His stance held firm. Yushu didn’t hesitate. He drove his spear straight toward his chest.
It landed.
For a fraction of a second, Yushu thought he had won.
Then he saw it—
The defensive energy converging.
It wrapped around his spear, locking it in place.
His eyes widened.
Shit.
“NO!”
He tried to pull back, but it was already too late.
Lightning surged from his opponent’s body, a storm condensed into a single devastating blast. Electricity ripped through him, burning, tearing, forcing his body into violent spasms. Yushu tried to form a final rock armor—but the moment it took shape, it shattered.
His vision blurred. His body collapsed.
The last thing he saw—
Was the lightning cultivator’s impassive gaze and his stupid smirk. He wished he could wipe that clean off of his face. But— but, his eyelids grew heavy.
Darkness overtook him.
***
Chen Ren exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His body still thrummed with the lingering aftershocks of battle, muscles taut from the strain.
He glanced down at his side—a clean puncture wound, courtesy of the spear that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
The injury wasn't deep, and the bleeding had already stopped.
Still… he hadn’t seen that attack coming.
It was a mistake. One that had cost him blood.
His expression darkened for a brief moment, then he let out a quiet breath, dismissing the thought. His body would recover. Instead, his gaze drifted downward, settling on the unconscious figure sprawled across the ground.
The man’s breathing was ragged, his body still twitching slightly from the aftermath of lightning coursing through his meridians.
But Chen Ren’s attention wasn’t on his injuries.
It was on the ring—a simple, unadorned band of dull silver wrapped around the cultivator’s index finger.
There were no gems, no engravings, nothing that would make it stand out to the untrained eye. But Chen Ren knew better. Even without touching it, he could feel the faint pulse of qi emanating from within and the spear appearing out of nowhere already confirmed what the ring was.
A spatial artifact.
A coveted treasure.
He knelt down, slipping the ring from the man’s finger, rolling it between his own.
Up close, the material was smooth, cool against his fingertips.
There were faint etchings along the inner rim, almost invisible, but undoubtedly part of the formation that allowed it to store objects beyond normal space.
He pressed a thread of his qi into the ring, testing its reaction.
Would it recognize him? Or was it bound by the previous owner’s will?
Chen Ren furrowed his brows as his qi failed to make anything happen. The ring was apparently qi bound.
He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing slightly. That complicated things.
Before he could think further, footsteps echoed behind him, deliberate and unhurried.
He turned his head, his guard still raised, but when the figure approached and reached up to remove his mask, a familiar face was revealed.
Hong Yi.
His silver eyes glinted with amusement as he glanced around at the unconscious bodies littering the battlefield, then let out a low chuckle.
"That was a great fight," Hong Yi said, stepping closer. "I can’t believe things went this easy."
Chen Ren smirked. "That’s because we planned for it. Expected everything."
His gaze shifted to the fallen cultivators around them.
"And we got our prize."
He lifted the ring between his fingers before gesturing at the defeated men.
Hong Yi’s eyes immediately locked onto the ring, a flicker of greed flashing through them before he let out a thoughtful hum.
"A spatial ring?"
Chen Ren nodded. "Yeah. And big enough to house a spear."
Hong Yi’s expression changed slightly at that. "A ring that size…" he muttered, rubbing his chin. "It’d be worth at least a dozen spirit stones. Maybe more, depending on its size and functions. But they’re really rare." He gave Chen Ren a sidelong glance. "Are you planning to use it for yourself?"
Chen Ren twirled the ring once before sighing. "I can’t seem to open it. Looks like it’s qi-bound." His eyes flickered with consideration. "I’ll need someone like Qing He or Yalan to go over it before I can use it. But yeah, it’s a nice reward for all the trouble." He smirked, tucking the ring into his robes. "I’m sure the Xueying Clan gave it to this guy." His gaze drifted over the unconscious man before him. "Wonder how they’ll react when they realize they lost both him and the ring."
2025-03-20 04:32:56 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 194
Kai moved through the new lands of the Lombards, taking in the sight of the growing settlement. He had to admit, everything felt meticulously planned out. When he’d told Francis to lend a hand in designing the territory, he hadn’t expected the Lombards to follow the guidance so well.
Afterall, they had no reason to follow the structure that nobles provided, but surprisingly, they had. Of course, they were integrating their own architectural style into the designs, but that was a good thing. It gave the place character, made it distinct. And if the settlement expanded enough in the coming years, maybe—just maybe—it could become a tourist destination. That idea wouldn’t take shape for at least a decade, but it was an interesting possibility.
As he walked, Brugnar, the barbarian escorting him, finally spoke. The man was second-in-command to the chieftain and the warrior who had accompanied Ragnar to assist in the beast wave.
“I apologize, Lord Arzan” Brugnar said. “The chieftain didn’t come to personally greet you at the gate. We weren’t aware of your arrival today, and he’s been occupied with something important.”
Kai gave a slight nod. “It’s no big deal. I had some time and figured I’d stop by to discuss a few things with him.” He paused, glancing toward Brugnar. “What exactly is he observing?”
Brugnar let out a low chuckle. “Ragnar is taking on a group in the new sparring grounds.” His expression shifted, as if he was weighing his words. “It’s not finalized yet, but soon, Ragnar is expected to be named the heir officially. Before that happens, the chieftain wants him to learn to control his anger.”
Kai raised an eyebrow. Not at the part of Ragnar becoming the heir. That was something set in stone already, but he didn't knew that the man had trouble controlling his anger. He had always been an aggressive warrior, but other than their initial meeting, he had only seen him be more in control.
“I didn’t know Ragnar had anger problems. Other than our first meeting, he’s always been amiable.”
Brugnar shook his head. “He doesn’t. But things have changed since Wulfgar’s death. His emotions aren’t in check, and he’s not even able to sleep properly. It’s affecting him, and could possibly affect him if he were to be put into a position of power. We Lombards have to be very careful about… everything, if you know what I mean. And the chieftain made it clear that we can’t have him as heir if he’s like this.”
“So the way to fix it is to fight?” Kai asked, glancing at Brugnar.
“It’s not to… fix.” Brugnar exhaled through his nose. “He has a lot of anger in him right now. And this is a good way for him to release it all.”
As they walked, the sounds of shouting and cheers grew louder. Kai’s gaze finally landed on the sparring grounds—a large clearing where a crowd had gathered in a wide circle.
Brugnar led Kai and Talon through the throng, parting the gathered warriors with ease until they reached the front. Standing there, watching the fight with sharp, small eyes, was the chieftain, Yafgar.
Yafgar turned at their approach, his gaze landing on Kai. For a moment, he was still, then he inclined his head slightly—just enough to acknowledge Kai’s authority without seeming fully subservient.
“Lord Arzan,” Yafgar said. “I did not expect you today.”
Kai gave a small nod. “I wanted to see how you were assimilating here and discuss something with you.”
Yafgar gestured to the growing settlement. “As you can see, we are adapting well. But tell me, what is it that you wish to discuss?”
Kai glanced toward the center of the clearing. “We’ll talk after the fight.”
His attention shifted to the battle taking place. In the middle of the clearing, Ragnar was locked in combat with three men at once, his movements precise yet brutal. Two others lay on the edge of the clearing, injured, indicating that the match had originally started as five against one.
Kai observed closely. This wasn’t just a spar. It was a test. But it hardly seemed fair. “Why are there so many against one man? Are they all Enforcers?”
Yafgar nodded towards two of the opponents of Ragnar. “Those two are. The rest didn’t make the cut.” His eyes were unreadable. “To be the next chieftain of the Lombards, Ragnar must be stronger than anyone else. Being blessed has given him power beyond what he would have originally possessed, but the world is changing—I can feel it. That power alone won’t be enough. He will need more. If he cannot stand against five of his own tribe, then he cannot rule above them.”
Kai nodded, understanding the logic behind it. The Lombards were a strength-based tribe, wild and untamed, with a culture built on survival and dominance. It made sense that only the strongest could lead.
Still, he believed ruling took more than just brute force. Yet, in a world where creatures could forge weapons from their own blood and Mages wielded devastating affinities, having overwhelming strength was a necessity.
His thoughts drifted back to the fight just in time to see a large man charging straight at Ragnar. He was one of the two Enforcers still standing and hefted a large battle axe.
Ragnar met the strike head-on, their weapons clashing in a thunderous impact. Before he could recover, the other Enforcer lunged at him, a spear thrusting forward. Ragnar barely managed to twist out of the way, but that left him open.
An arrow sliced through the air. Fast and well-aimed.
Ragnar tried to shift, but it grazed his shoulder, drawing a sharp cry from him. He clenched his teeth, eyes flashing with pain and frustration.
“Fuck!” Ragnar clenched his fist and his other hand curled around his mace.
Kai analyzed the situation quickly. The logical move would be to take out the archer first—remove the long-range threat—before dealing with the melee fighters. But before Ragnar could move, the axe-wielding warrior let out a sharp, loud laugh.
“You’re slow, boy! What kind of man takes a hit like that? You’re not made for it. Chieftain Yafgar would think twice before letting you lead after seeing such a weak display of strength. No wonder you can't protect your men.”
Ragnar’s body tensed at the jab. His grip on his weapon tightened.
Instead of charging at the archer, he reached into his belt and, with a quick flick of his wrist, sent two knives flying towards him. The archer barely had time to react.
Ragnar’s breath came in ragged gasps, his fury burning hot as he locked eyes with the archer. One of the blade he’d thrown cut deep into the man’s leg, sending him stumbling back—but not down. The archer’s grimace only sharpened his focus, and he sent another arrow in quick succession, one that narrowly missed Ragnar’s side. The pain in his leg barely slowed the archer’s rhythm.
But Ragnar’s eyes were already darting to the larger threat—the axe-wielding warrior charging toward him. Rage seemed to bubble up inside him, and he surged forward with a newfound aggression, his mace crackling with intent to finish this. The axe came down with a crash, its sheer weight aimed to split Ragnar in two. But Ragnar was quick—too quick.
He pivoted and parried the blow, feeling the shudder of metal on metal, and without losing momentum, swung his mace low, aiming for the spear-wielding man who was right there, looking to attack him. But Ragnar’s speed was unmatched. The spear’s haft cracked as his mace cleaved it in two, the sharp tip falling to the ground with a dull thud. The spear-bearer staggered backward, eyes wide in realization.
He moved back, retreating to the edge of the clearing, out of the fight for good. But Ragnar’s eyes had no time for mercy. He turned to the axe-wielder, who was already swinging his weapon again at him. He dodged the axe’s edge by backtracking, and just then, his eyes flickered downward in a brief moment of distraction.
He groaned loudly.
The arrow struck right before his leg, a sharp, violent thunk. His muscles tensed, his eyes narrowing in pain—but only for a split second. That second was enough. The axe-wielder took his chance, crashing forward and hitting Ragnar squarely in the chest with the flat side of his axe. Ragnar’s eyes widened as he was flung back, crashing into the dirt with bone-jarring force.
He gritted his teeth, struggling to rise, but his legs betrayed him. Arrows pierced deep into his flesh, one after another, pinning him to the ground. His fingers twitched, but he couldn’t push himself up. The pain was clearly unbearable, but his pride made him fight it.
“I can still fight!” Ragnar roared, but his voice cracked with desperation. He looked to the archer, still nocking another arrow, ready to finish him off.
But Yafgar's voice cut it off.
“The duel is over.”
Ragnar froze, his chest heaving with each agonized breath. His gaze snapped to his father, disbelief flashing across his face. He clearly didn't want it to be over, not by a long shot. Kai knew it by how the man was ready to fight again, and again if necessary—his eyes said it all.
“You lost.” The chieftain’s voice was firm, unwavering. “In a real fight, you’d be dead by now.”
Ragnar’s eyes blazed with a fight and he tried to stand up, but his body refused to cooperate. He had lost. His fury slowly drained away, and his shoulders slumped. The archer lowered his bow, and the axe-wielder stood silently.
Yafgar nodded at them as he turned away from his son and motioned with his hand, signaling the end of the spar.
As the gathered Lombards began to disperse, their movements were respectful, each bowing their head toward the chieftain in acknowledgment before retreating to their own corners. Even the two remaining fighters, their muscles taut with the thrill of combat, gave a quick bow to the chieftain and Kai before heading off. The murmurs of the crowd slowly died down, and a few of them glanced at Kai with curiosity in their eyes, finally noticing him, some bowing his way before they turned back.
The clearing, now quieter, allowed Kai to move closer to Ragnar, who had been slumped on the ground, his body weighed down by both injury and the humiliation of his defeat. Ragnar’s gaze didn’t lift immediately, but when he finally noticed Kai approaching, the harsh, ragged breath he had been taking seemed to pause in his throat.
Before he could utter a single word, his father’s voice, sharp and full of disappointment, cut through the air.
"You’ve lost yourself in your anger," the chieftain said. "There were so many moments in that duel where you would have been dead. You’ve lost your way, my son." His words hung in the air, a solemn reminder of all that Ragnar had once shown promise of becoming. "After seeing a flicker of maturity and brightness in you after all those reckless years, I had hoped… But now, you’ve started to disappoint me again. Like before!"
Ragnar’s head lowered immediately as if the weight of his father’s words had struck him harder than any blow he had taken in the fight. The silence between them stretched on, thick and oppressive. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, Ragnar spoke, his voice barely a whisper.
"Sorry, father... anger got me. I wasn’t able to follow your principles."
Yafgar huffed, his breath escaping in a frustrated exhale. He didn’t respond immediately but instead crouched down, inspecting the arrows lodged in Ragnar’s legs, the sight of the blood seeping from the wounds sending a faint grimace across his face.
"We need to get you healed," he muttered, almost to himself. "I’m pretty sure Helga will have some of the herbs we need for this."
Kai, still standing at the side, reached into his cloak and pulled out a small phial of potion, the liquid inside a bright shade of green. He stepped forward, offering it to chieftain with a firm gesture.
"Remove the arrows," Kai said calmly. "Make sure nothing stays inside. Then drink this. It’ll heal you."
The chieftain looked at the potion for a long moment, his brow furrowing. But he nodded, silently taking the vial. He began to remove the arrowheads from Ragnar’s legs who groaned with each pull.
"You’re stubborn, boy," Yafgar muttered, his voice more exasperated than angry. "The pain you’re feeling now wouldn’t have been there if you had controlled your anger. Instead of rushing forward, instead of fighting with a blind fury… you let it consume you."
Ragnar’s face twisted in pain, but his eyes glinted with something more—understanding, perhaps, or something close to it—as he finally took the potion, drinking it down quickly. A small sigh of relief escaped him.
He lowered the phial, his voice thick with something deeper than just anger. “How could I?” he asked quietly. Kai noticed how he avoided Yafgar’s eyes for the briefest moment, looking far away. “How could I control it when I feel so angry all the time? Not at others... but at myself. I can process it, but it just leaves me haphazard, like a storm I can’t stop. It’s… It’s bubbling inside me, father. I lose it all in a matter of seconds.”
The chieftain, still crouched beside him, exhaled deeply, his weathered eyes softening. He placed a steady hand on Ragnar’s shoulder, his voice low and steady, like a grounding force. “It wasn’t your fault Wulfgar died. In war, people die. Friends die. Even I will die one day. I’ve told you this since you were old enough to understand the world. It’s something you have to learn to accept.”
Ragnar’s jaw clenched, the frustration mounting. His fists tightened around the empty vial, his fingers white-knuckled. “But I don’t want to be weak enough to just let you die... or anyone else. When I became blessed, I thought it would open new paths of strength for me. But I didn’t realize... I didn’t realize that I would still feel so weak." His voice cracked slightly, a bitter edge creeping in. "I have so much anger inside me because of my weakness. No matter how much I train, no matter how hard I push myself, I don’t feel like I’m improving. I should have defeated them all easily. But I made a fool of myself." His chest heaved. "I feel weak, father."
Yafgar studied him for a long moment and gave a short, almost amused huff, as though Ragnar’s struggles were familiar to him, but still worthy of attention.
At that, Kai finally decided to speak. “You aren’t weak. You’re pushing yourself too hard. Things don’t work out when you’re going beyond what your body can take. You’re going to break yourself like this. You’ve gained newfound strength, but you’re not using it properly. I understand the anger. But you’re not utilizing it the right way.”
Ragnar’s brow furrowed as he looked up at the Kai, confusion clouding his gaze. “What do you mean?”
Kai, who had played the role of a quiet observer till now, took a slow step forward. “I actually came here to talk to you about it.” His eyes met Ragnar’s, then the chieftain’s. “Originally, your martial techniques were well-renowned. Especially for anyone who uses heavy weapons like axes.”
Yafgar nodded in acknowledgment, his pride evident. “Yes, so?”
Kai continued. “Is there a role for fury in those techniques?”
Yafgar’s gaze became sharper as he considered the question, then he nodded. “There are seven techniques, each requiring more and more strength. Fury is a tool and one mentioned in the techniques... a good way to temporarily enhance strength. But it comes with a price. It can cloud judgment, make you reckless. The stronger you get, the more your emotions will play into your power. Fury is a good way to unlock a surge of strength—but it won’t solve everything. Not if it’s the only thing you rely on.”
Kai nodded again. “Actually, I’ve been thinking. You can enhance those techniques in a way that even Enforcers can use them. I know these techniques were originally designed for your warriors, but looking ahead, I think a lot of your tribe's men are going to become Enforcers. Optimizing these techniques could turn you all… undefeatable. Moreover, what I have in mind is mixing in anger when optimizing them, to help you use it to its full potential.”
Ragnar blinked. “How do we do that?” he asked, his voice almost eager, as if waiting for something to make sense of his endless frustrations.
“Mana moves on emotions,” Kai said. “A lot of the time, a Mage’s mana can act differently—more destructively—if their emotions are triggered. Let’s say, for example, they’re angry. Their spells will hit harder, but they’ll also drain their mana reserves faster. It’s a temporary boost in strength, but it has consequences. The same goes for Enforcers, since you also use mana. I’ve heard of techniques that temporarily grant a huge surge of strength in a fury-induced state. Of course, it's temporary, and you’ll be exhausted soon after. But while the effect lasts... you’ll be a war god.”
Ragnar’s eyes gleamed, the hunger for that power evident in his posture. He straightened up, gripping his mace tightly as though imagining the raw power in his hands.
But the chieftain stood up from his crouched position, his brow furrowed as he considered what Kai had said.
“I think,” Yafgar mused slowly, “you’d want something in exchange for helping us with the optimization, Lord Arzan.”
Kai’s lips curled into a faint smile, and he didn’t even try to hide it. “Yes. I won’t lie about that. I was hoping a part of the Enforcers, and even some of my ordinary men, would train with the Lombards.”
Yafgar raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharpening as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You won’t ask me to teach them our martial techniques, though?”
Kai’s smile softened, and he met the chieftain’s eye with a calmness that belied the heaviness of the words. “That’s your choice. I’m not here to force you into anything. I would be grateful, of course, but in the end, these techniques are something your ancestors passed down to you. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to give them up.”
He had hoped that his men could learn the techniques of the Lombards, but he wasn’t about to push too hard. His relationship with them was too important to risk, and forcing the issue would only cause resentment. Besides, the help he was offering was merely a starting point—a few basic notes, nothing too intricate or deep. The real optimization would be done by the Lombards themselves, as they were the true experts in their own martial techniques.
He wasn't well-versed in Enforcer techniques, after all—he only knew a few key aspects, not enough to teach them properly. His role, he knew, was to provide the foundation. It would be up to the Lombards to perfect it.
“Because, my help will be basic, just enough to get things started. The rest is up to you and your warriors to figure out. After all, you’re the ones who truly understand your techniques.”
The chieftain nodded, his expression inscrutable, but there was a hint of approval in his eyes. “Very well. I will ensure your men are treated well during their training. When they return to your cities, they’ll be much more than they were when they came here.”
Kai smiled. “That would be great. I believe in their potential, and this will only help them grow stronger. And as for the technique I mentioned earlier—it came into being by being used by a group of Enforcers called Berserkers—let me tell you more about it.”
2025-03-20 04:28:48 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 86
Chen Ren moved through the corridors of the building with steady steps and entered the one in the middle.
Inside, a man from the Tang Clan was already waiting for him. As he stepped inside the room, the man, who’d been leisurely sipping tea, raised his head to look at him. Almost immediately, he set the cup down and bowed.
“You are Young Master Chen Ren?” he asked, his voice surprisingly stern despite him looking like a young man around his age.
He nodded. “Yes. And you are?”
The man straightened and presented a small crest bearing the insignia of the Tang Clan. “I’m Tang Boming.”
Chen Ren took the crest, examining it to make sure it wasn't fake while keeping his eye out on the man. There was something about him that stood out from the ordinary subordinates he had dealt with till now. His eyes held a certain feeling of authority.
After spending so much time in this world, Chen Ren had learned to distinguish between an ordinary person and a cultivator. Tang Boming was undoubtedly the latter. His conjecture wasn't just based on his atmosphere, but also the fact that the man had come here alone. Normally, mortals would always be in groups along the road due to the threat of beasts.
Though he had never seen the man before, he wasn’t surprised. Tang Yuqiu has been gathering capable people over the past few months. This one must be one of them and by the way he shared her surname, he might just be a distant relative of sorts.
Chen Ren moved to the seat across from him after making sure the crest was real, settling in. “I wasn’t expecting anyone so soon.”
Tang Boming poured another cup of tea but didn’t take a sip this time. “Miss Yuqiu sent me at the first sign of trouble since things played out exactly as you predicted.”
Chen Ren raised an eyebrow. “So the carriages were attacked?”
Tang Boming handed him a parchment. “Everything you need is in there.”
Chen Ren took the paper.
Before leaving Cloud Mist City, he had spoken to Tang Yuqiu about the possible obstacles they would face in Jingxi City. Both of them had known that the local powers would not welcome them with open arms and it was for them to guess how they would attack.
According to Yuqiu, they had already attracted a considerable amount of attention. However, Jingxi City was an open market—laws prevented any direct suppression of new businesses. The city thrived on trade, even encouraging fresh merchants to set up shop. But that didn’t mean the established factions would sit idly by.
Only a handful of clans and trade associations truly controlled the city’s commerce. And when something—or someone—threatened their position, they wouldn’t hesitate to act.
He unfolded the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents. As he read, a wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. One of the scenarios he had predicted had played out exactly as expected.
While their new building was under construction in Jingxi City, Tang Yuqiu had arranged for materials and perfume bottles to be transported from Cloud Mist City. But, as anticipated, the carriages never made it to their destination intact. Bandits had attacked the convoy, destroying everything in their path and making off with whatever remained.
The drivers had barely escaped with their lives, but the carriages were left in ruins.
Chen Ren exhaled sharply and shook his head. "They’re really using cliché tactics."
He looked up from the parchment, meeting Tang Boming’s gaze. "So, I’m assuming the only real loss we took was the perfume containers and the carriages?"
Tang Boming nodded. "Just as you instructed, the carriages we used were old and worn, and were only carrying water in those bottles. The bandits smashed them to pieces. Aside from that, they destroyed some fabric—cheap enough that it won’t make a dent in our budget—and took a few common herbs."
Chen Ren sighed. "We were lucky we ran this trial first to see how they’d react."
Tang Boming inclined his head. "Indeed."
"But this just confirms our concerns. The so-called 'bandits' are clearly working for one of the local clans, and they’re bound to come after us again. The real issue is, we still have a significant shipment to transport for our grand opening in a month."
Tang Boming set his cup down. "I will personally escort the carriages along with a few other body rorging realm cultivators."
Chen Ren narrowed his eyes slightly, having not expected the man to reveal his identity so easily. "There's a whole group of them Tang Yuqiu hired?"
The man nodded. "Yes. We were originally a mercenary team. The young miss gave us a good offer, and we agreed to serve for the next three years. I lead them and I have some time with the Tang Clan, so it was an easy decision."
"A few body forging realm cultivators would certainly be helpful, but are you sure that’s enough? From what we know, they might send cultivators after us. Plenty of rogue cultivators would be happy to take the job and disappear afterward. Our real goal is protecting the materials, and that’ll be difficult since they won’t just steal them—they’ll try to destroy them."
Tang Boming frowned. "That is a concern. We could try to fortify the carriages, but I doubt that will do much against cultivators."
"It won’t," Chen Ren said simply.
Silence stretched between them as he leaned back, deep in thought. Though this was just about safely transporting materials on the surface, he knew it ran deeper than that. There were layers of complications that could spiral out of control. He needed a foolproof plan.
First, he needed to understand exactly who they were up against.
Chen Ren turned his gaze. "Let’s start with the basics. Who, exactly, are the clans and trade associations opposing us in Jingxi City? I heard a bit from Yuqiu, but do you have any more information on them?"
The latter nodded. "I do. We are trying to gather intel and we have found that rather than a collection of separate clans and associations, it’s more like a union."
Chen Ren’s brow furrowed. "A union?"
"Every major clan and trade association with influence is involved," he explained. "They compete with each other in business, but when it comes to outside threats, they work together. That’s why new businesses rarely succeed there unless they align with the right people.”
Chen Ren exhaled sharply. "And out of all of them, who are our biggest problems?"
"The Xueying Clan, the Jinshi Trade Guild, and Lotus Mist Fragrances," Tang Boming answered without hesitation. “All of them either have perfume businesses or clothing shops aimed at women. They’re definitely the most purchased in the city. At the same time, they’re the most shaken by our foray into the city. Miss Yuqiu believes that out of all of them, Xueying Clan are the most likely to send bandits since they have a mercenary business on the side. It’s easy to put two and two together; it’s not that hard for some mercenaries to act as bandits.”
Chen Ren nodded, taking in the information about their competition. Previously, he’d faced a nuisance named Bai Hu Trade Association, and then there was the bun shop owner’s petty schemes that had been nothing more than a flickering candle in the wind.
But this—this was different. Three opponents. A united front. And the merchant union lurking in the shadows, ready to tip the scales against him with a mere nod.
A slow breath escaped his lips. Difficult? Yes. Unexpected? Hardly. Any growing business was bound to stir the hornet’s nest.
Rather than diving headfirst into chaos, he broke the problem down. One step at a time.
His thoughts turned to transportation. Too many unknowns. The roads would be their battlefield—ambushes, sabotage, hidden fees, and sudden "inspections." His rivals would exploit every trick in the book. But so could he.
The corner of his lips lifted up as he looked at Boming. A plan was already forming in his mind.
“I believe,” he said, “I have a way to deal with this.”
***
A group of people sat in a wide room, the chairs arranged at equal distances, creating an atmosphere of order and restraint. Servants moved between them, their footsteps light and practiced as they poured steaming tea into fine porcelain cups. The rich scent of brewed leaves filled the air, yet most of the attendees barely acknowledged it. Their attention was drawn instead to the two figures seated at the far edge of the room—locked in yet another bickering match.
"Yexuan, you really showed your fangs this time," The woman snapped, her eyes throwing daggers at him—so sharp and intense that any outsider would have flinched. "Poaching my spirit rice supply from White Bear Sect? And now, you're even sitting there with that smug little smile on your face?"
The man across from her, Yexuan of the Jinshi Trade Association, merely sneered, his fingers drawing patterns against the lacquered armrest of his chair. "It's an open market, Wenqing. You can't do anything about it. They simply thought your offer was cheap—just like you." His smirk widened. "Would you like to file a complaint to the head? I’m sure he’d scoff just like I am now."
Wenqing, the owner of a well-known chain of high-end restaurants, let out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Oh no, I’m not like you, scumbag, sending lavish gifts to the head just to curry favor. Must be nice, having your hands in so many pockets. I could never!"
"Those sound like the words of someone who wishes they had the White Bear Sect’s rice supply. Wouldn’t you all agree?" Yexuan glanced around, an amused smile playing on his lips.
The tension between them crackled, their rivalry long known among the union members. While the Jinshi Trade Association boasted a vast reach across multiple industries—including the perfume business—Wenqing had built her empire on her own. Without a powerful backer, she fought tooth and nail for every resource, and she wasn’t about to let Yexuan walk over her without a fight.
The rest of the room merely sipped their tea in amusement. Their bickering was nothing new, and until the meeting officially began, there was no harm in enjoying the entertainment.
Then, the doors to the chamber swung open.
A hush fell over the room as an old man strode in, flanked by two guards. His presence commanded immediate respect, and without hesitation, everyone rose to their feet in acknowledgment of custom.
The old man gave a single nod before lowering himself into his chair at the head of the room.
He spoke. "I, Xueying Shenmu of the Xueying Clan, call this meeting to order."
And just like that, all distractions were set aside.
As the last of the servants filtered out of the room, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind them, leaving only the select few in attendance. Even the guards, who usually stood watch outside, were dismissed for this meeting. The lanterns cast shadows across the table where the heads of the various businesses in Jingxi city gathered. The old man, a sharp-eyed figure with a long, silvery-streaked beard, was the first to break the silence.
"Let's go over today's agenda. I trust everyone knows why we’re here," he said, his gaze sweeping across the room.
Wenqing snorted loudly, earning a few confused glances from her left. “Do we really need a meeting for a new clan trying to enter Jingxi city? Happens all the time, doesn’t it?” She asked, stroking her slender chin.
Yexuan, the burly merchant cut through with a scowl on his face. "This one's different," he said, his thick fingers steepling before him. "They’ve taken over half the market in Cloud Mist City, and their backing comes directly from a sect. That’s not just some merchant group we can ignore."
She, in return, scoffed, her eyes narrowing in disdain. "You're only saying that because it’s a threat to your precious perfume business," she teased.
Xueying Shenmu raised a hand to silence the fight. His gaze shifted to each person at the table before she spoke in a calm but firm voice. "I believe it's a threat to a lot of businesses.” That silenced everyone, including Wenqing. “Like Wenqing said, shops, merchant groups and clans entering our city isn't anything new. But we created the union for a reason. To maintain the balance and protect our interests. We can't afford another clan moving in.
"From what we know, the Tang Clan and the Divine Coin Sect have big plans, and their actions up to now suggest they’re not here for just a piece of the pie. They won’t be happy with the bread crumbs we feed to other merchants who came here for business. They want it all. If we don't act, they’ll turn this place upside down."
A heavy silence fell over the room as everyone considered Xueying Shenmu’s words. Most knew that the old man’s fervor had much to do with his own business interests, but no one dared to speak against him. The union had a structure, and words from the head carried weight. They had all seen what happened when someone disregarded that.
Slowly, heads began to nod in agreement. The market was delicate—too many new variables could send it spiraling out of control. They couldn't afford to let another faction in, especially one with the backing of the Tang Clan. No one spoke up to challenge the old man, but the tension in the air was rough.
The thoughtful silence was broken by the sharp voice of one of the men, a merchant who mostly dabbled in seafood. "So what are we going to do?" he asked and looked in between the head, Yuxuan and Wenqing. "Are they still trying to get into the city after their carriages were destroyed?"
Xueying Shenmu's brows furrowed. "That was a trap," he said, the words tinged with frustration. "They wanted to see how we would react."
A murmur of confusion spread through the room, and one of the younger merchants leaned forward. "How did you figure that?"
Yexuan, his arms crossed and his eyes scanning the table, grunted before speaking. "The perfumes and herbs we found—" he paused, allowing the others to catch his meaning. "They were either fake or too common. Not the kind of materials you’d expect from a clan with such high aspirations. And even the driver, when we went to investigate, he ran at the first sight of the men we hired. He didn't even try to look at the carriage or material once."
A few heads nodded in understanding. "It was all a test. A way for them to gauge what we would do, and they played right into our hands."
Wenqing let out a low chuckle, a smile tugging at her lips. "Ah, so they’re smart and paranoid. The worst kind of people to deal with.”
"It doesn’t matter. What matters is that now they know we’re aware of our little game. This just means they’re going to be more cautious. They’ll probably send a retinue of guards, maybe even cultivators. We’ll need to prepare,” Xueying Shenmu said.
Wenqing scoffed, shaking her head. "Do we really need to? Although Tang Clan can be formidable, they won't put all their manpower into getting a foothold here and this Divine Coin Sect doesn’t seem like much to me. It’s not even a real sect, just a fledgling group with no real weight behind it. I have looked into it and it's just an Emerging Sect."
"It doesn’t matter," the head of the table cut her off. "They’ll still have cultivators at their disposal, and there are rumors—mysterious ones—about their leader. People in Cloud Mist City call him Dragonheart."
The room fell silent for a moment as everyone digested the name. One of the men scoffed, breaking the silence with a dismissive sneer. "Dragonheart? That’s a stupid title. I bet he paid to spread those rumors to make himself feel important. I know enough cultivators who do that."
"It doesn’t matter what you think of the title, Kian. What matters is that he won the Cloud Mist City tournament, and he defeated a demonic cultivator in the process. He’s dangerous. And they’re alert now, more so than before,” Shenmu said pointedly. “We can send more men to take care of their carriages, but there’s still a good chance they’ll manage to get into the city. They’re determined, and the girl from the Tang Clan is shrewd enough to have already taken care of the legalities. She’ll find a way in, regardless of what we do. We can only harm them with… tricks. Subtly. Not directly at all.”
Yexuan cleared his throat. “Uh… Well, have you prepared any?”
The old man sat up straighter, his eyes gleaming with resolve. "A few things," he said. "I called this meeting to discuss just that.”
2025-03-18 01:19:23 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 193
Kai talked to Isolde for a while longer, but apparently, she had other places to be and soon left after ensuring that he had received the royal message and getting Kai’s seal over a document. Once he was alone, he moved to his office on the upper floors, leaving Killian to fetch one of Francis' apprentices who was well-versed in kingdom law.
As Kai sat waiting in his office, he flipped open the letter—not the one regarding the Assembly of Judgment—but the one personally sent by King Sullivan. The letter was short and to the point, a brief note with a request from the king. It stated that he wanted a meeting with Kai once he arrived in the capital and insisted that he bring Valkyrie's gift with him. It also mentioned that Kai should contact the king privately when he arrived in the capital and, in no uncertain terms, warned him to be sharp. There were plenty of opportunities for an attack, and the king made it clear that the situation was far from safe.
Though it was short, the letter left Kai with far more questions than answers. Why did the king want to meet him? Why bring up the medallion now, after all this time? The mention of an attack didn’t sit well with him—he suspected it was likely Regina who was planning something, but the question lingered, was the king truly opposed to her, or was there more at play here? Did King Sullivan know of her involvement in darker dealings? The letter only deepened the web of confusion in Kai's mind, and the more he thought about it, the more complicated everything seemed.
But one thing was clear, the medallion was becoming more and more crucial for him. Kai would have liked it if the letter had at least mentioned where to find the medallion, but he guessed that King Sullivan himself wouldn’t have the faintest clue on its location. Only his mother, Arzan's mother, would know. But finding it would require him to dive deeper into the soul fragment.
Up until now, Kai had focused on increasing his power, hoping that the fragment of Arzan’s mother would give him a clue as to where the inheritance—and the medallion—was hidden. But with the stakes rising, he might have no choice but to enter his astral realm, where the silhouette was likely residing. However, that was a whole new level of complication, one that could be risky and difficult to navigate.
His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Killian entered, followed by Francis' apprentice, Mina, who was holding two books in her hands.
Kai glanced up. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"We did," Killian replied, stepping aside as Mina approached the desk. "According to Mina, the books detail the Assembly, but it's an old custom—one that hasn't been used in a long time."
Kai's brow furrowed, intrigued. He turned his attention to the young apprentice, who placed the books on the table and opened one of them. She flipped through the pages, finally stopping at a particular illustration. There, etched on the page, was a drawing of a grand parliamentary structure, with people standing on platforms, addressing the assembly.
Mina spoke as she pointed to the illustration. "It's mostly used for matters that the king alone cannot judge."
Kai studied the drawing and read the information written down about it, his mind racing. An assembly of that scale, with nobles on platforms and the king unable to make a judgment alone—this was more serious than he had first thought. The implications were much deeper, and it only raised more questions.
As he examined the page, Mina continued. "So, it’s like war crimes or extremely complicated criminal cases," she said, looking at the illustration and his face. "It was used once during a fief war, when a group of nobles waged war against each other, and only one survived. The surviving noble’s family got the territory as per the rules of the fief war. But the survivor was punished for war crimes—burning entire towns, massacring over a thousand people—and he was executed."
Killian's gaze sharpened, and he glanced at her. "Who decides this punishment?"
Mina responded without hesitation. "Votes. It’s called the Assembly of Judgment for a reason. Every noble is required to be there and cast a vote after everything—the witnesses, testimonies, all the details—are presented. The vote decides what should happen."
Kai's frown deepened. Votes—a decision made by the collective. Nobles never remained neutral in such matters, and their votes were swayed by their alliances, rivalries, and politics. If this assembly was going to be like that, his chances of staying on top hinged on something crucial—his reputation.
He turned toward Killian, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "If this is truly how it’s going to be, then the most important thing for us is to build my reputation—not among the commoners. With my feats, I know I’ve built a reputation among them. Malden has even told me about it in our last meeting, how he’s been spreading good rumors about me and countering any bad ones." He let out a quiet sigh, thinking of how much of a web of influence he'd need to weave. "No, we need to make sure the nobles see me as someone they can’t afford to dismiss. My reputation among them... that’s what’ll matter here."
“How are we going to do that?” Killian asked, lines forming on his forehead.
“That's what we need to figure out.”
Kai leaned back in his chair, and started stroking his growing stubble unconsciously. His mind churned with the complexities of the situation: his reputation among the nobles was fragile at best. He had made some connections, but nothing substantial enough to rely on in such a pivotal moment. Most of the nobles were already divided into factions, each with their own agendas.
The first prince was unlikely to offer any help. He had already shown his dislike for Kai, and even if he managed to win support from nobles from his faction, Regina will make sure they turn his back to him at the final moment. The other two factions were no better—they wouldn’t even consider supporting him unless he pledged allegiance to their causes first. The political game had a price.
A part of him wanted to give up on the entire kingdom, to cast aside his ambitions and stop caring about the petty politics that governed it. But he quickly dismissed the thought. He wasn’t strong enough yet to walk away. Not with an established kingdom standing in his way. The reality was clear: without strength, allies, and more power, he would never stand a chance in this game.
He needed to keep pushing forward. And, after some deliberation, he realized there was only one person he could truly rely on now—Duke Blackwood. If the duke had any sense of loyalty after the results of the fief war, he would be the one to stand with him. But that wasn’t a guarantee. It seemed like it was time to reach out and make sure the duke had made up his mind. Writing him a letter would be the next step.
As he mulled over these thoughts, Killian’s voice broke his concentration. "What are we going to do now, Lord Arzan? You’ll need considerable support to prevail in the assembly. Even with all the proof we have, maybe a few neutral nobles might take your side, but with the state of the kingdom right now, most will just follow what their factions tell them. None of them have any reason to support you yet."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, the king really shoved me into a bad situation," he muttered, as if confirming the reality of his predicament. But as he sat there, lost in his thoughts, he started piecing together a new plan.
One of the major advantages he had was the time. Three months before the assembly began. It was likely due to the need to gather all the nobles to the capital. He guessed that it was also the reason why the herald had looked to be in such a hurry, having to deliver summons to more noble houses. Either way, time was on his side. The question was, what could he do with it? What could he do to ensure he emerged unscathed?
Relying on Duke Blackwood for support was important, but he knew he couldn’t put all his eggs in one basket. He had to act on his own, too. His reputation among the nobles wasn’t solid enough to rely on yet, and he had no allies strong enough to guarantee his safety. But maybe, just maybe, the assembly itself could be the key. Not as an obstacle to overcome, but as an opportunity.
As his thoughts reached there, he plan parts of a plan coming to him.
"I believe this is the best thing that could have happened to us," he said.
Killian’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean, Lord Arzan?"
The young apprentice, Mina, glanced between them, her confusion mirrored on her face. "I don’t understand... What is your lordship thinking?"
Kai smiled, confidence slowly returning to him. "We had to make contacts with the other noble houses anyway, if we wanted our future plans to come true. And the assembly—it will be the perfect excuse to get close to them. It's a formal event, a time for everyone to gather and discuss matters. There's no better opportunity to make a lasting impression. If we play this right, we can start forming alliances, solidifying our position, and maybe even turning a few of the other nobles into potential allies."
Kai fell into contemplation, his mind working through the possibilities. The pieces were falling into place, slowly but surely. He glanced at Killian and Mina, both of them waiting for his next words.
"We have a lot of time," Kai continued. "And if we can slowly break away some noble houses from the three factions, we might just put ourselves in a safe position. In the assembly, every noble’s vote is counted the same. Your standing doesn’t increase your influence there, not like how some would expect. Right, Mina?"
Mina nodded. "Yes, Lord Arzan. Each noble gets only one vote, regardless of their rank."
Kai’s lips curled into a small, thoughtful smile. "Exactly. So, the key is to target those nobles who are in the factions, but who don’t truly belong there. The ones who might be stuck, either by obligation or by fear of moving against their faction."
Killian raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "How are we going to do that?"
Kai smirked. "That’s the question, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Well, when you want to target a section of society, you should always target the youth. They’re weak, gullible, and they want opportunity—but they seldom get it. They’re ripe for the picking."
"Youth?"
Mina's eyes lit up as she understood. "You’re talking about Barons and Viscounts, Lord Arzan, right? The younger generation, the ones just starting out, eager for a chance to prove themselves."
Kai nodded. "Yes. Even though many of them are part of the factions, they didn’t always choose to be. A lot of them simply joined because the Count or Marquis they serve under went into a faction, and they had no choice but to follow. We can use that. I’m sure there are many who are reluctant to be tied to a faction, but they’ve got no power to change their circumstances. They’re desperate for a chance."
Mina’s eyes twinkled with understanding. "And the ones who aren’t getting the opportunity they need."
"Not only that. There’s more. The kingdom isn’t in the best shape right now, especially when it comes to food. The harvest this year was poor, and from what we’ve gathered from the south, the rains have eluded them. They’ve had to rely on Mages to keep the crops from failing completely."
Killian frowned, looking uneasy. "That’s not good."
"No. And on top of that, we’ve lost a major trade partner. Vanderfall’s been decimated by a plague. The Watchers reported it, though they haven’t gotten close enough to confirm the exact nature of the outbreak. But the result is clear—the plague has crippled Vanderfall. The royal family and most of the nobility are holed up in one city at the edge of the kingdom, leaving their lands and trade routes in ruins. And Lancephil’s trade relations have been severely damaged as a result. We’ve effectively lost a critical partner."
Kai's mind raced with the potential that lay before him. The trade ties with Vanderfall were a gaping hole in the kingdom's economy, and with the loss of such an important partner, many nobles would feel the strain. He knew how to exploit that weakness. The discontent among the ranks of the nobility was palpable, and this assembly might just be the perfect opportunity to capitalize on it.
After weighing everything, Kai sat back in his chair, a decisive glint in his eyes. "The assembly... it might become the very thing that helps us create the faction we’ve been talking about. It's the opportunity we've been waiting for, and we have three months to work with. Three months to gather what we need, get the right support, and build a force strong enough to make a difference."
Killian nodded thoughtfully. "So, how do we proceed, Lord Arzan?"
"First, we need Duke Blackwood. He’s the key to this. We need him to spearhead our negotiations and bring his influence to the table. His support will solidify our position and help convince other nobles that we are a force to be reckoned with. He’s pragmatic, and with the right push, he’ll see the benefit of aligning with us."
"Understood. I'll make sure to contact him immediately."
Kai continued. "Next, Ansel. I want you to tell him to gather information on every Baron and Viscount in the kingdom. Their alliances, their weaknesses, any piece of dirt we can use. We need to know everything about them, what motivates them, and what we can use to sway them to our side.
“When we go to the capital, we’re not going alone. We need a large force of our own."
Killian gave a firm, final nod.
***
After learning about the Assembly of Judgment, Kai took a full day to gather everyone important enough for his plan. He explained what each of them needed to do and assigned tasks, ensuring every detail was covered. Once everything was set into motion, he sent a trusted messenger to inform Francis of the situation and ask for any advice or insight he might have and got to move with Talon, one of the Enforcers he seldom had any talks with.
They set off on a journey through his newly acquired territory, heading towards a spot on a small hill nestled between the border of his lands and the former Lucian territory.
The area was an untamed stretch of land, dotted with various types of trees, and the scent of the wild hung in the air. He knew that wild beasts often roamed around here, distant howls were proof of that.
It was a place that had once been home to a thriving village before the attacks from a dangerous nest of creatures had forced the inhabitants to relocate. The leader of these beasts was a Grade 3 beast, a terror that had been too much for the villagers to handle. Now, however, Kai had seen potential in this spot, and he had a plan to make it useful once again.
This would be the perfect location for the barbarians, he had thought.
The tribe had proven invaluable during the fief war, with their strength and tenacity helping turn the tide of battle. Afterward, Kai had offered them a settlement within his territory, granting them a prime piece of land to rebuild their village. One that was both arable and had nearby beasts for them to hunt.
As he and Talon ascended the hill towards the site, the loud noise of construction greeted them. The barbarians had wasted no time in getting to work. Wooden walls were rising up, and even from a distance, Kai could see a watchtower under construction. The industriousness of the people was evident, and it made Kai feel a sense of pride in his decision to offer them a new home.
As they neared the walls, one of the Lombards standing guard up top must have spotted them. There was a brief movement, a rustle in the watchtower, and Kai knew that there would be someone to greet him when they reached the gate.
As they traveled, Talon, who had been right beside him, finally turned to him. "Lord Arzan," he asked, "why are we visiting the Lombards? Is there a particular reason you're making the trip out here personally?"
"Yes, there's a reason," he replied, his tone leaving little room for further questions. "And it's really important."
"Can I ask what that reason is, Lord Arzan?" Talon persisted.
"Basically," he began, "since the Lombards are now with us, I’ve been meaning to talk to them about their tribe's techniques. They’re a martial tribe and have developed a lot of unique techniques over the years. In fact, even the kingdom has shown interest in them for their own knights and soldiers." He paused. "But now that many of them have become Enforcers, I thought it would be worth discussing whether they could evolve their techniques into proper Enforcer martial arts."
2025-03-18 01:17:29 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 192
Like Kai thought, a little show of power was enough for Kairnso and Vensar to fall in line. They still seemed displeased, their pride wounded, but it was clear to them now—their lives were in Kai's hands, and there was nothing they could do but hope whatever fate he had planned would be merciful. It was almost satisfying to watch the prideful lords fall into an awkward silence.
With a slow breath, Kai straightened in his chair, the wooden chair creaked under his weight. He could feel their eyes on him, waiting, uncertain, but too afraid to speak out of turn.
“I have a lot of other work to do, so I’m not going to mince my words.” He began. “The truth of the matter is, for whatever reason—loyalty, greed, expectations—you all chose to support my late brother in the war against me. And in the end, you lost.”
Kai looked at each noble. At the mention of defeat, he could see how their eyes faltered for a brief moment, and the bitterness of being on the wrong side of history reeked through them. But that would be their reality now. No one spoke a single word.
“I can understand wanting to prove yourself to a Duke, especially ones who’ve ruled these lands for centuries,” he said, knowing that his words came out as mocking. “But the truth of the matter is, you all lost. And now, you’re here as my prisoners.”
Vensar shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Buck looked at Kai with a combination of suspicion and resignation. But no one dared to speak, not with the tension thick in the room.
“Noble conduct tells me that although I can’t just ask for your entire territories, like I did with my brother—since you were only supporting him—I can still ask for reparations from you all.”
Viscount Buck, who had been silent until now, furrowed his brows. “And what do you want in exchange for our freedom, Count Arzan?” Kai saw how the man knitted his fingers together in nervousness.
He smiled. “A hundred thousand gold coins,” he said as if it's the simplest thing he could ask for. But he wasn’t done. “Twenty-five percent of your territory’s taxes, in the form of both gold and grain, for the next five years. And I won’t ask you to swear fealty to me. However, you will sign a non-aggression pact, one that lasts for the next century.”
Kairnso was the first to react. “That… is asking too much. Just giving a hundred thousand gold coins alone would drain our coffers. And a portion of our taxes for five years… That’s going to ruin our territories.”
Even Buck, who’d been much more cordial compared to others, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His eyes darted to the other nobles, and for a moment, they were all silent, contemplating the consequences. But before anyone could speak, Malyr, who’d remained quiet until now, cleared his throat.
“Count Arzan, I know we’re at your mercy here, but that’s too much. You can’t possibly think we’ll survive such demands. My territories... my treasury... they won’t hold out. Even if we are at fault, think of all the peasants.”
Kai tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “If you think I’m going to change my mind, then you are wrong. My demands will stay the same. Do you think I don’t know that, if I’d lost, you wouldn’t get a piece of my territory? If I had lost, the treasures I possess won’t be yours? Hell, Lucian might have promised you even more…” he waited, seeing their response. When he saw the slightest tremor in their eyes, he continued.
“I’ve even found letters in his study—letters that say he planned to give you the contract to make and sell my mana cannons once the war was won, Kairnso. He also promised to give Verdis to Idrin here and I'm pretty sure you all got similar promises.”
At that, Kairnso visibly shuddered, his eyes widening in shock as the truth of the situation settled on him. Kai continued.
“If you were going to be richer with a win, you’ll have to struggle for the next five years to make up for it,” he said. “My mind is made up, and it’s not changing. The deal is set.”
Suddenly, everything seemed tense as the silence spread. Kai could feel the uncertainty vibrating in the air as the nobles processed the reality of the situation. Their heads dropped, and their faces were a mixture of frustration and dread, no doubt considering how this would affect their territories, how they would manage their diminishing resources. Kai could already imagine them calculating the tax hikes they would impose to meet the demands, wondering what sacrifices they would have to make just to survive this.
In that silence, he allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. He could feel their powerlessness in the air, their resistance fading as they accepted the terms. They had no choice but to agree, even if they hated it. Their defeat was complete, and there was nothing left for them but submission.
He could almost feel the pressure of the nobles' strained thoughts, their minds racing with how they would meet the terms he had set. This was exactly what he wanted. He knew that with the growing trade in the region, more people would be needed—more workers, more guards, more strength for the city. And now, with his victory solidifying control over the Sylvan enclave, he had the perfect opportunity to pull in the displaced, the discontented, the ones pushed to the edges by their own leaders’ failure.
He had already gotten Francis to lay the groundwork for his new forces—testing both for magical potential and physical strength. If his calculations were right, he’d have an army twice the size it was now, enough to make any future conflicts more manageable. The nobles, all now subdued, would only hasten the influx of the population he needed. If they raised taxes or worsened conditions for their people, Kai knew they'd have no choice but to migrate to the cities he controlled. He’d be waiting with open arms, ready to integrate them into his ranks.
His musings were broken when Viscount Buck spoke, in a resigned tone. “I accept the offer.”
Malyr, who had been quiet until now, nodded. “I don’t think prisoners can negotiate.” He was reluctant, but Kai could sense that he valued his life more than money. Kairnso, Idrin and Vensar followed suit, their earlier resistance melting away into reluctant compliance.
Kai pushed the documents forward, the inked promises of reparations and agreements laid bare for them to see. He made no effort to hide the finality in his movements. "This is only a first step," he said. "King Sullivan's mark is needed to make this official. But for now, I need you all to agree. After that, we will proceed."
The nobles, still processing, began to sign in agreement, but as they did, Buck’s voice broke through. “So, after this, we can return to our territories, right?”
Kai looked over to him, the question a sharp note in the otherwise still room. It was almost as if he spoke everyone else’s minds. His lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “Actually, no, you can't go back just yet.”
The sound of pens freezing mid-air echoed through the room. Idrin, who was already in the process of signing, let out a grunt. His eyes snapped up to Kai, confusion flickering in them.
Kairnso, too, stared right at him, his fingers trembling slightly around the pen. “What?”
Idrin's voice came right after. “Why?”
"Well, even though the fief war has ended, the king hasn't announced his verdict yet. And I need to wait for that to legitimize my win before letting you all go,” Kai said. When he added his next words, the silence in the room deepened. "Letting you all go right now wouldn't be good. We're all moving to the capital, and you'd be giving a good account of what transpired in the fief war, especially you, Baron Idrin."
Idrin's face drained of color instantly, his eyes flicking nervously between Kai and the others. The weight of the situation hit him hard, and he likely realized that if the truth about his involvement came out in front of King Sullivan, his days were numbered. That was exactly why Kai had no intention of letting any of them go—especially not Idrin. He needed them to remain under his control until the capital had its say. More importantly, releasing them now could easily turn them into targets for Regina’s assassination attempts. She would certainly won't like the truth of the fief war coming out in the open.
Kai’s thoughts lingered on this threat, knowing that keeping them here under his watch was the only way to ensure they wouldn't be cut down before they could testify.
Viscount Vensar then spoke up, breaking the silence. “But we don’t know how long it’s going to take. Are we just going to let our territories fall to chaos? My second-in-command was killed in the battle already, and my territory is probably in a mess."
Kai studied him for a moment, considering his words. He understood the pressure of leadership, the responsibility that weighed on these men’s shoulders. But the situation wasn’t simple. Still, he had a solution prepared.
"I already have an idea for it," Kai said. “I will allow you to send letters to your heirs or anyone you trust enough to handle your territories. They’ll be able to take charge as your regents," he continued, meeting each of their gazes. "You won’t have to worry about your territories, and I'll even allow you to send letters to them, keeping track of how they’re handling things. But beyond that, I can’t do anything. You’ll have to rely on them to manage the situation in your absence.”
Viscount Buck was the first to nod eagerly. “I don’t mind that. My son needed some experience anyway." His relief was palpable—at least there was something he could do to keep an eye on his territory, even if it was through his heir.
Malyr also nodded. “That seems fine by me. But I would ask for a better arrangement for us living here.”
Then, Vensar spoke up, his voice a little less sure than before, "My sons are in the capital. I need to think about who to regent."
Kai nodded, not offering advice on the matter. That was his problem, not his.
Kairnso, on the other hand, seemed less eager to let go of control. "I don't have any heirs, and I don't trust anyone," he grumbled, his voice laced with contempt.
Kai looked at him. "You’ll need someone. Or you could let a commoner govern it." His words were dry, almost dismissive.
He scowled, clearly offended. "As if I’d let a commoner handle things." His pride was evident in the way he spoke, a true haughty noble to the core.
Kai almost let out a chuckle, but he held it back, biting his tongue. He could only imagine the look on his face if he knew that commoners had been running his city while he’d been absent. Worse yet, his own household had been ransacked—his power was slipping away, and he was too ignorant to see it. The irony was thick in the air.
His gaze shifted to Baron Idrin, who was reading through the parchment again. Out of all of them, Idrin would be the one who wasn’t just walking away from this with a simple loss. His dealings with Lucian were enough to have him executed in any other court. Yet, here he was, meekly signing the documents in front of him, his posture small, his face drawn.
Idrin knew exactly what he had done, knew the blood on his hands—the blood of an entire village, innocent men, women, and children who had been slaughtered for political gain. The drinkers, who had been part of that massacre, were already dead. Soon enough, it would be Idrin’s turn.
If not for the need to have Idrin testify in front of the king, Kai would have had the man executed already. But for now, he would remain a prisoner, waiting for the king's judgment. Kai didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy for him.
As the nobles finished signing, he stepped forward, taking the documents from them. "Everything looks in order," he said and confirmed them.
They had agreed, for now. But the real challenges were still to come.
"How long do you think we would have to stay in your estate?" Viscount Buck questioned, bringing everyone’s gaze to him.
Kai’s fingers unconsciously stacked the papers and looked at him, directly into his eyes. "I honestly don't know," he said with a shrug. "The royal stuff always takes time, and it depends on what the majesty has decided for the aftermath of the fief war. Royal heralds are already on the way, and we’ll know soon enough."
As soon as he finished speaking, there was a knock on the door, cutting through the quiet tension in the room. Kai turned his head, watching as the door opened slightly. A maid stood there.
"Lord Arzan," she said, bowing her head. "There’s a herald from the capital waiting for you."
There it is.
Kai glanced at the nobles, his lips curving into a brief smile. "Looks like you’ll know the answer to your question soon," he said, before standing up and making his way toward the door.
With Killian by his side, they exited the room, and as they stepped into the corridor, Kai turned to the guard who stood by the door. "Get Idrin back to the cell," he instructed. "Make sure the nobles get what they want, as long as they’re well-behaved."
The guard nodded, acknowledging the command with a crisp nod before moving to carry out the order.
Then, Kai and Killian moved down the long corridors, the stone walls echoing their footsteps as they passed through the estate. Soon, a maid appeared ahead of them, leading them toward the room where the herald awaited.
As they entered, Kai’s eyes immediately fell on the woman seated inside.
She was nothing like the herald he had dealt with previously. This one was young—perhaps too young for the position. She had brown hair, framing a face that looked almost too innocent for someone in her line of work. Her black eyes, though sharp, carried an air of quiet uncertainty, and her features were so smooth that Kai found himself wondering if she was still new to the job. Her baby face made her appear younger than she likely was, and it made him question just how much experience she had in dealing with nobles and their affairs.
When she saw him enter, she immediately rose from her seat, her movements quick and respectful, but there was a nervousness in the way she held herself. She bowed low, her voice carrying a touch of formality, but there was an edge of inexperience there as well. "Count Arzan," she greeted.
Kai took a seat at the large table gesturing for the herald to do the same. Killian remained standing in the back.
“I believe the king has sent you here to tell me what the kingdom has decided to do with the fief war,” Kai said, getting to the core of the topic in an instant.
She nodded, her nerves apparent despite the formal setting. "Yes, my name is Isolde, and I’ve been traveling non-stop for the past two weeks to deliver this." She handed him the parchment, her hands trembling slightly as she did so.
Kai raised an eyebrow at the long, unbroken sheet of text. “What’s in it? I’m pretty sure you know,” he said, not hiding the curiosity in his tone.
Isolde flushed slightly, her eyes darting down. “I haven’t read it,” she admitted, almost bashfully. “I was told only to deliver it.”
Kai nodded, not particularly surprised, before pulling the parchment open. As he scanned the document, his brow furrowed. Long, convoluted lines of text filled the paper, but Kai’s eyes moved quickly over them, picking out key details. He was expecting some confirmation of his victory, a grant of Lucian’s territory, but instead, he found something that made his heart skip a beat.
An Assembly of Judgment.
It was scheduled to happen three months from now. The details were vague, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t just some administrative formality. All the nobles were to be invited, and their fates—his fate—would be decided there.
His mind whirred. He had never heard of such an assembly, and nothing in his books on the kingdom had mentioned anything quite like it. From what he could gather, it seemed as if it was a gathering meant to sort out disputes on a larger scale, perhaps involving much more than just his little corner of the fief war.
His initial assumption was wrong. It wasn’t just a hearing where he could present Idrin’s misdeeds and gain Lucian's territory in a simple ceremony. His eyes widened slightly as he kept reading. The implications were immense. This wasn’t just about his victory—this would change things for everyone involved.
Before Kai could dwell further on the meaning of the Assembly of Judgment, Isolde’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Count Arzan," she called. "There’s one more thing that was told to be given to you.”
Kai lifted his gaze to her, intrigued. “What is it?”
Isolde reached into her bag and withdrew a sealed envelope, handing it over to him. “King Sullivan personally wrote a letter for you and sent it with me.”
Kai blinked, his surprise evident. The king? Personally? He hadn’t talked a lot with him during their meeting and while the king had granted him the county seat by being impressed by his defense of his territory, a personal letter was something he hadn’t expected.
With a quiet nod, he accepted the envelope, his fingers brushing the wax seal as he held it. There was something about it, the seal, the king’s personal touch—that made it seem far more important than any of the other correspondence he had received.
He leaned back, his mind racing with questions, but he didn’t allow his curiosity to overpower his composure. Slowly, he broke the seal, pulling out the letter. His eyes scanned the writing, and as he read, his expression shifted. His brow furrowed, and his lips parted in surprise as he took in the contents.
Huh?
2025-03-15 22:10:42 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 85
The prototype gun model firing a bullet was a big win, even if it didn’t seem like much. For Chen Ren, however, it was just the start. He knew there were countless improvements to make, both in the design of the gun and the powder itself. He shot the bullets a few more times, and while the weapon didn’t explode in his hands, it did jam after a while. It seemed the residual from the explosive powder was blocking the mechanism.
After a thorough discussion with Qing He and Feiyu, they determined the issue stemmed from the powder not burning as efficiently as it should. The gun’s design needed refinement to prevent the powder from sticking and clogging the system. What followed was hours of debate and idea-sharing as they brainstormed solutions and ways to enhance the current model.
Chen Ren contributed his knowledge of modern firearms, outlining key design details, while leaving the more technical aspects to the experts. The primary goal was to make the gun lighter and prevent future jamming, but the discussion quickly expanded to other concerns. One of the most pressing issues was the smoke that billowed from the barrel every time the gun fired. Chen Ren knew that older weapons produced this issue, but modern weapons had long since transitioned to smokeless powder. He wanted that same advancement, not just for efficiency, but because the smoke would give away the shooter’s position.
Another issue was the noise. In a real fight, being able to conceal your location was crucial, and the gun’s current sound was anything but discreet.
Qing He seemed to understand, and with that understanding came the reality: more experiments. Unfortunately, An Idiot Cultivator’s Guide to Blowing Himself Up – Volume 1 had nothing to offer on creating a smokeless powder formula. It was a task that would require her own ingenuity. Even she admitted it would be a tough challenge, and Chen Ren could only hope she’d manage to make some progress.
After wrapping up his discussion with both Feiyu and Qing He on the guns, Chen Ren headed back to his bedroom to focus on a task that had occupied his thoughts for the past few weeks.
As soon as he stepped into the room, he saw Yalan already lounging on his bed. For some reason, the cat had taken a liking to that spot. Closing the door behind him, Chen Ren barely had a chance to settle in when she asked, “How did it go?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You already know I was trying out the gun?”
Yalan lazily drew biscuits in his bed. “I heard the noise. I believe a lot of mortals know you’re up to something with Qing He and Feiyu, thanks to all the explosions and noise.”
Chen Ren nodded. “Yeah, it was successful. We’re closer to a working prototype. I think once we have the basic models ready, we can start training the mortals.”
“I’m interested to know how the guns perform against beasts.”
He sat on the chair and leaned back. “We’ll test it all out soon enough.” He paused for a moment, then pulled something from his robe. "Anyways, right now, I need to see if I can decipher this." He set the medallion on the table in front of him, his gaze fixed on it.
Since receiving it back from Feng Ming, and especially after the tournament, Chen Ren had found himself increasingly drawn to the heirloom. He knew Gu Tian wanted it, and that only fueled his curiosity. He had a feeling that this medallion held secrets he was yet to uncover.
He couldn't quite pinpoint why he was so interested in the medallion, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was tied to something bigger. He had heard the spectre mention something about a "Gate of Immortals," and it was easy to say that the medallion had a connection with this place or item. But how? What was this Gate of Immortals?
He had yet to find out. If the gate was truly important, then others might be coming after him, too. That made this even more critical to understand. But when he asked Yalan about the gate, even she had no answers. Qing He hadn’t been much help either, until, by chance, she mentioned Ancient Immortal script.
The mention of the script triggered something in Chen Ren’s mind. It reminded him of the strange characters at the back of the medallion, the ones that had haunted his thoughts ever since he had gotten it back. Curious, he had asked Qing He for a book on the script, hoping to decipher the ancient words.
But despite all his efforts, he hadn’t made any real progress. The script was elusive—too intricate, too foreign.
Still, giving up wasn’t an option.
He sat in his chair, poring over the ancient texts, comparing them to the letters on the back of the medallion. Every time he would feel like he had made some progress and a letter felt similar to the one in the medallion, he would realise that it was a bit different, making him start from the beginning again.
The hours slipped by unnoticed, with only Yalan’s occasional stretch on the bed to remind him of the passage of time.
He muttered to himself, frustration creeping in, “This script has thousands of letters, and although they seem identical to the ones on the medallion, I can’t find the exact meaning.”
Yalan stretched again and yawned before replying lazily, “I did tell you that the words on the medallion could just be written in a different dialect, or someone might have intentionally altered them, creating a secret code that only those they trust can understand. Higher realm cultivators often do that.”
Chen Ren looked at Yalan. “I understand that, but if the script is really a secret code, then it might make it impossible for me to decipher what's written here. And if it’s truly the Ancient Immortal script, then this medallion could be the oldest thing in the world." He paused, looking at the medallion more closely. "I originally thought it was made of some kind of copper, but now I think I could be wrong.”
Yalan, intrigued by his words, squinted her eyes, as if zooming in to see the medallion. “Yeah, that’s true. But we won’t be able to find out what material it is, nor will we be able to experiment to see how sturdy it is.”
Chen Ren nodded. The medallion was too precious and important for him to risk breaking it just to see its durability and the material it was made from. In a way, breaking it would free him from the responsibility of owning it, but if the people after it were demonic cultivators, then it could be the key to something valuable. And there was always the chance of them trying to kill him for the medallion.
But there were also questions that arose. Why had Gu Tian come after the medallion just now? The medallion had been in the Chen Clan for generations. So why now? Maybe he was missing something, maybe there was more context that he was not seeing, and those were always a thing.
Maybe he should contact the Chen Clan and ask them about it. But again, he didn’t have any connections with them. Even in his memories, Chen Ren hadn’t been close to anyone in the clan. Especially after his parents had died.
The thought of reaching out to the Chen Clan felt like a daunting task, and Chen Ren couldn't shake the sense of unease that clung to the idea. Despite everything, he knew that getting more information about the medallion could be the key to understanding what Gu Tian—and others—were truly after. And perhaps, in the process, he would learn more about himself than he cared to.
His mind briefly wandered back to the past of Chen Ren. He had been the typical young master—a figure who had once been expected to live up to the prestige of his lineage, but who had never been treated with the reverence such a role usually commanded. It wasn’t simply because of his behavior, though he had been rebellious and distant. There were deeper issues at play within the Chen Clan, things that festered beneath the surface, things even his memories struggled to clarify.
As he closed his eyes, a wave of thoughts and half-formed memories began to flood his mind, but before he could focus on them further, a knock on the door startled him out of his reverie.
He stood and walked over to the door, opening it to reveal one of the mortal members of the sect, a young man named Huang Hai.
“Sect Leader Chen,” he greeted with a deep bow. “There’s someone from the Tang Clan here to see you. They said it’s urgent.”
The mention of the Tang Clan instantly piqued Chen Ren’s interest.
“Urgent?” Chen Ren repeated, his brow furrowing. “Let’s go,” he said.
***
Li Xuan walked down the mountain path. It was rugged. The sword strapped to his side made him remember the journey he was on. His eyes were filled with a fierce determination as he scanned the distance. So very often, he found himself looking back at the path he had already travelled. The soot that fell on his face from the distant smoke only seemed to deepen his pensive mood. Was there truly a point to this journey? Was it the right path?
For a moment, he considered the comfort of staying in the sect. He could have continued his training there, surrounded by familiar faces and challenges. But then he shook his head, dispelling the thought. Staying in the sect had grown unbearable.
After his humiliating defeat at the Cloud Mist City tournament, the relentless challenges from both outer and inner sect disciples had only escalated. Every day, he found himself sparring for hours, sometimes with multiple opponents at once. They saw him as an easy target, thinking his defeat to the rogue demonic cultivator had weakened him. But he had crushed each one of them, one by one, his frustration simmering beneath the surface as he wiped the floor with their arrogance.
But it wasn’t the constant sparring that had pushed him to this breaking point. It was his master. After the loss to the demonic cultivator, his master had been… tireless. The man’s pride had been wounded, and in an effort to punish Li Xuan for his perceived failure, he had relegated him to menial tasks. Sweeping the sect’s steps, cleaning his master’s old clothes—tasks meant for the outer sect disciples. These were things Li Xuan had never imagined he would be subjected to. The tasks had been demeaning, and as the days dragged on, they only served to humiliate him further.
The real blow had come when his master had begun giving him personal sparring lessons, not to help him grow stronger, but as a punishment. Each session felt more like an exercise in breaking his spirit than in refining his skills.
Li Xuan clenched his fists, the memory of those painful lessons searing his thoughts. In the end, he had been unable to take it any longer. He had requested this journey, the one so many cultivators embarked upon to clear their minds, learn new things, and progress in their cultivation. He had hoped that this would be the escape he needed to regain his focus and find more success in his path.
But now, as he walked alone down the mountain, the weight of the sword seemed to grow heavier with each step, and the doubts crept in. Was this really the right choice? Would he find the answers he sought out here? Or had he simply run away from the one place where he might have truly grown? But these questions will be answered soon, he knew it.
Days had bled into one another since he left the city. The hours spent in cultivation felt like a blur—wild beasts slain, rogue cultivators dispatched, yet none of them had truly tested him. Their strength paled in comparison to his, their movements too predictable, too weak.
A small, nagging thought kept tugging at him: What if he wasn’t ready? What if his past defeat still lingered in his blood, in his mind? Should he call for a spar with Chen Ren again? The idea of facing Chen Ren again, of tasting another loss, sent a cold shiver down his spine. No, he wasn’t ready. Not yet. He needed more time. More strength.
So, he walked. The winding mountain road leading up to Ashen City became his path, his sanctuary from the noise in his mind. The few carriages that passed by were nothing more than fleeting distractions. The heat from the volcanoes made the air thick, oppressive, but Li Xuan breathed it in, as if trying to fill himself with something more than doubt.
His lips moved quietly, reciting lines from [Heavenly Soaring Manual], the familiar rhythm offering some semblance of peace. His thoughts drifted to his techniques—how to refine them, how to make them flawless. Each step was a thought in motion, each breath a subtle reminder that he wasn’t where he needed to be yet, but he was getting closer. At least, he hoped so.
Then, a sound—sharp, thunderous—split the air, snapping him out of his thoughts. ROOOOOOAAR!
His feet slowed, his heart pounding in his chest. The cliff ahead loomed high, jagged rocks forming a natural barrier, and from behind it came the unmistakable sounds of struggle. The clash of weapons, the roar of the beast, and human shouts blended together into a cacophony of desperation.
He moved quickly, his boots crunching over gravel and debris, sliding between boulders and weaving through the sparse trees that dotted the rocky terrain. The scent of burning herbs and sweat mixed in the air as he crouched behind a large rock to take in the scene before him.
A massive creature that looked over seven feet hovered below the cliff. He was covered in rough, scaled armor. And the texture—similar to a serpent but far thicker and more… menacing. The long tail seemed to be its weapon as it whipped through the air, knocking one of the cultivators aside, sending him to the ground with a loud force. Its mouth opened in a horrific snarl, revealing rows and rows of bloodied teeth. It hissed at the group of cultivators trapped against the cliff face.
The men were skilled, he could tell by the way they moved, using techniques that seemed honed by years of practice. But even their combined efforts weren’t enough. The beast’s movements were swift, and its attacks relentless. It wanted blood. Each strike of its claws sent shockwaves through the air, rattling the cultivators’ stances, their swords barely able to penetrate its tough scales.
From their clothes, Li Xuan could tell they were not normal cultivators. Their robes were fine, decorated with patterns that marked them as affluent individuals from prestigious clans. They should have been able to handle such a beast, yet here they were, struggling for survival. It almost made him laugh, but he refused to, understanding the sheer magnitude of the situation they were in.
These men weren’t prepared for a fight this dangerous, nor for the overwhelming power of the creature before them. The mountain path was their only escape, but climbing the cliff in their condition seemed impossible.
Li Xuan’s mind raced. The beast was clearly Tier 2, far beyond their abilities, and if they couldn’t subdue it, they’d be doomed. The thought of turning back and leaving them to their fate flickered in his mind, but something inside him stirred. He couldn’t just walk away—not when they needed help, not when there was something he could do.
It was in these moments that the true nature of a cultivator was revealed, wasn’t it? The righteous path was not just about personal growth or victory in battles—it was about using one’s power to protect others, to stand against the darkness when others couldn’t. The thought of what his master would say to him if he walked away from this only hardened his resolve.
Without a second thought, he unleashed his sword and gripped it. His breath steady, he took a step forward and jumped down, revealing himself from behind the rock. The cultivators seemed momentarily startled by his sudden appearance.
The beast’s reptilian eyes locked onto him, a low growl rumbling from deep within its chest as it shifted its stance, clearly sensing a new threat. Li Xuan stood tall, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.
He took a deep breath, his mind clearing as he called upon his cultivation, feeling the surge of energy within him.
He was already in motion as he leapt into the air, his body a blur of motion. He charged toward it with a ferocity that shook the very ground beneath his feet. The beast’s elongated body rippled with muscles as it crouched low, preparing to strike with its sharp claws, its massive tail whipping through the air like a deadly whip.
He didn’t have time to think.
Not when its eyes locked onto his. A low growl came from its throat, echoing against the cliffside. The claws— they were much scarier to upfront; long as swords, capable of rendering through steel with a single swipe.
Without hesitation, his sword cut through the air, the blade shimmering with a surge of lightning as he moved to meet the beast’s charge. It met the beast’s stomach, a burst of electric light erupted, sending jolts of lightning coursing through its body. The beast recoiled with a shriek, its sharp claws tearing through the air in an attempt to strike Li Xuan down. He rolled on the ground, missing one of its sharp claws by an inch.
Shit!
The cultivators behind him gasped in awe, witnessing the display of power, but Li Xuan wasn’t interested in their reactions. His focus was entirely on the battle. "Stay back!" he ordered coldly. He didn’t have time to explain, and he didn’t want them interfering.
“ROOOOAAARRR!”
His escape angered it as it swiped at him with claws again, and again. Li Xuan was already in motion. He moved around its attacks, and felt the power of his recent training coursing through his veins. Now at the third star of qi refinement realm, his confidence had been sharpened with the knowledge that he was more than a match for this creature.
Yet, he tried to avoid attacks until he found a good, weak spot to retaliate.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw its tail lash out suddenly, aiming to crush him, but he was quicker. He jumped over the swinging tail, his sword flashing with lightning as he sent a rush of electricity coursing through the air, trapping the beast in place for just a moment. It let out a growl of frustration, its body twitching, momentarily stunned by the electric trap.
Seizing the opportunity, Li Xuan closed the distance in a flash, his sword slashing downward. The blade struck the beast’s underbelly with precision, cutting through its tough scales as easily as slicing through cloth. The creature’s cry of agony filled the air, but it was too late. Before it could react, Li Xuan twisted the blade, driving it deep into the beast’s vulnerable underside.
The beast convulsed once, then collapsed, its body spasming as its life force drained away.
Blood oozed out of its body as it let out one final roar that sounded like a moan of pain before its body went limp. Li Xuan stood over the fallen creature, panting lightly as he withdrew his sword from its body, the blade still crackling with residual lightning.
Finally, Li Xuan huffed loudly and looked behind.
The cultivators stood stunned, staring at him in awe. They had watched a creature they had thought unbeatable be taken down in a matter of moments. Li Xuan’s gaze swept over them.l
One of the cultivators, a tall man with sharp features and a well-maintained robe, stepped forward cautiously, bowing deeply. "Honoured Cultivator, thank you for saving mine and my friends' lives," he said respectfully. "I, Zhu Renjie, am deeply grateful for your assistance and would like to know your name."
Li Xuan gave a small nod, sheathing his sword as the crackling of lightning in the air died down. “Li Xuan,” he replied simply, the name flowing easily from his lips. He then raised an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. “But tell me, how did you come across such a beast? None of you seem to be in the qi refinement realm.”
Zhu Renjie hesitated for a moment, then looked toward his companions, before turning back to Li Xuan. "We were hunting a few young backbreakers like the one you just fought near their nest," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "We didn’t realize the full-grown one was nearby, and it attacked us, chasing us all the way here. We were fortunate you came when you did. Had you not intervened, I fear we would not have made it."
Li Xuan nodded, his face impassive. "You were lucky," he said flatly. "Next time, try to think things through before challenging a nest. It might save your lives."
Zhu Renjie bowed again, looking both humbled and impressed. "We will remember that, Daoist Li Xuan," he promised. Then, as if considering something, he added, "For your help, I would be honoured to host you at my Zhu Clan in Ashen City. You can partake in a feast there and we even have a batch of moonshine from the Divine Coin Sect. Every cultivator in the city loves it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it."
Li Xuan’s expression shifted at the mention of the Divine Coin Sect, his eyes narrowing slightly. He had heard of them before, in passing. But he wasn't able to put where he had heard it until the face of the man who had defeated the opponent he hadn't been able to pop in his head. Hasn't his master mentioned that Chen Ren had rejected Soaring Sword Sect to create his own sect and the name of that sect was also similar.
Slowly, the connection became clear. Without hesitation, he fixed Zhu Renjie with a sharp gaze.
“Wait,” Li Xuan said, his voice steady but with an edge of interest. "Is this moonshine from the Divine Coin Sect connected to a cultivator named Chen Ren?"
Zhu Renjie’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Yes, it is," he confirmed, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed the question. "Do you know him?"
Li Xuan’s pulse quickened at the mention of Chen Ren’s name. His gaze hardened, and he took a step closer to Zhu Renjie, his voice low but firm.
“I do," Li Xuan replied, the weight of his words settling between them. "Tell me everything you know about him."
2025-03-15 22:03:36 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 84
Chen Ren looked over at the farm that scattered across him.
When he had gotten rid of the locust problem, the village farms had been in a miserable state—worn-out soil, trampled crops, and a thick air of defeat clinging to the land like a curse. He had assumed it would take seasons before anything would grow again. Yet now, as he gazed at the fields stretching beneath him, he could feel a difference in his bones; the current of the air changed.
The land no longer looked exhausted. The soil appeared richer, darker, as if it had drunk its fill of nourishment. Fresh sprouts pushed up through the earth, small yet resilient. Winter crops, the ones Luo Feng had planted weeks ago, had already begun to bud.
As he observed the quiet miracle of nature, Luo Feng stepped beside him. His eyes were bright, and a grin broke into his face. "Soon, they’ll grow big," he said with confidence. He exhaled, his breath visible in the crisp morning air. "I can already feel it. After that, I'll plant wheat, sorghum, and flax. And there—" He gestured to the left. "That’s where I’ll start your spirit herb growth plan, Sect Leader Chen."
Chen Ren turned to him and nodded. "And what of the spirit rice?"
Luo Feng’s smile broadened. "Already planning a paddy for it," he said. "But that’ll have to wait until I reach the qi refinement realm. Right now, I can feel qi flowing into me as my connection with the land strengthens. But according to Master Yalan, I won’t be able to truly infuse my qi into the soil until I step into that realm."
Chen Ren nodded again, taking in Luo Feng’s words.
It had been two weeks since his return to the sect. In that time, he had kept a close eye on Luo Feng, recognizing the potential hidden beneath the young farmer’s dedication. There was something different about him now—an awareness, a growing strength that came not just from effort, but from understanding.
And in cultivation, understanding was everything.
Chen Ren had introduced Luo Feng to Yalan, revealing her presence to him for the first time. She had once given a lecture on the Dao of Farming, and what she revealed that day had opened Chen Ren’s eyes—Luo Feng might just be the greatest hidden treasure of his sect.
According to Yalan, cultivators who walked the Dao of Farming had a rare and invaluable ability: they could infuse their land with qi, slowly transforming ordinary soil into a place rich with spiritual energy, much like the ancestral grounds of great sects. Moreover, they could enhance the growth of crops, making them far superior in both quality and potency.
That single revelation had changed everything for Chen Ren.
First, his sect had not been established on a natural qi vein—it was merely a patch of land with decent terrain, chosen more for its location than its spiritual properties. But with Luo Feng’s talent, they could slowly create an artificial qi-rich environment.
Second, and perhaps just as crucial, Luo Feng would be able to cultivate a generous supply of spiritual ingredients. That meant alchemical materials for Chen Ren’s pill-making, but also rare herbs and grains that could enhance the food he sold. If everything went well, his stalls and in the future, restaurants wouldn’t just serve good food—it would serve food infused with true spiritual energy, capable of strengthening even mortal bodies.
Of course, all of this would take time.
The process was similar to photosynthesis—spiritual plants absorbed ambient qi, but some special varieties also released more qi than they consumed. Yalan had explained that by carefully cultivating such plants, Luo Feng could gradually shift the land into a place that nurtured qi instead of merely depleting it. It would be at least a year or two before they saw any real results, but even that timeframe was enough to make Chen Ren excited.
Still, there were problems.
He turned toward Luo Feng with a slight frown. "Sorry," he said, exhaling. "Getting the earth aspected cultivation manual for you is taking longer than I expected. Without it, you can't progress in your realms."
Luo Feng shook his head, the corner of his lips lifting in an easygoing smile. "It’s fine, Sect Leader. I’m already learning plenty just by working with the land. But once I get it… I’ll make sure this place becomes something even the guardian sects will envy. Right now, I'm just happy being able to farm like this."
Chen Ren chuckled, but deep down, he knew Luo Feng wasn’t just talking big. Given enough time, this man might just make that dream a reality coupled with everything he himself had been doing for the sect.
He rubbed his chin. "I understand, but the sooner you get the manual, the faster you'll be able to grow. Right now, we don’t even have an earth aspected technique for you. And while finding a spiritual farming technique might be difficult, at the very least, I want to get you some earth-aspected martial techniques. It's always good to know a few."
He had already spoken to Qing He about it, but even she didn’t have much for Luo Feng. There were books on earth-aspected cultivators, detailing their abilities and theories, but no actual cultivation manuals. And that was the real problem—technique manuals weren’t things that could simply be found in bookstores. They were treasures hoarded by clans and sects, rarely making their way to the open market.
It was a frustrating situation, despite Luo Feng’s reassurances.
Chen Ren had a few ideas on how to get his hands on one, but it would take a significant amount of money—possibly draining most of the low-grade spirit stones he had.
As he thought over his options, he suddenly felt movement to his left. His senses sharpened, instincts kicking in—only to relax a moment later when he recognized the massive figure approaching.
A large wolf padded toward them, its fur dark as the evening shadows, and its teal eyes locked ahead. On its back, sprawled in a completely unbothered manner, was Zi Wen. Rather than sitting properly, the man had made himself comfortable, stretching his large limbs out lazily across Little Yuze’s body as though he had just woken from a nap.
As the wolf came to a stop, Zi Wen cracked one eye open and glanced at Chen Ren before smoothly rolling off. He landed lightly on his feet and gave a small bow in greeting.
Chen Ren nodded at it. "Were you in the forest all day again?"
Zi Wen grinned, brushing dirt off his sleeves. "Of course. And just now, I reached the third star of the body forging realm."
Chen Ren raised a brow. "Oh?"
Zi Wen stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Training with Little Yuze these past few weeks made me realize I was walking the wrong path all along. If I hadn’t corrected my methods, I’d have been stuck at the first star for who knows how long."
Like Luo Feng, Zi Wen had changed a lot. And it wasn’t just his cultivation—his entire… mood had shifted. He remembered how the man had been when they first met. Hollow-eyed, drowning in self-doubt and looking like he had given up on the world—but now, he looked far more energetic.
He stood straighter, his eyes had regained their sharpness, and for the first time since joining the sect, he had even spoken about regaining his ambition.
Watching him, Chen Ren couldn’t help but reflect on how important it was to have a path in life. When someone found a road they could walk—one where their efforts bore fruit—life seemed just a little bit better. A little bit brighter.
He nodded at Zi Wen and turned his gaze to the wolf standing beside him. "Little Yuze looks even bigger now."
The massive beast who seemed to be growing every week, now sat with his tongue lolling out, looking more like an oversized dog than a scary spirit beast.
Zi Wen chuckled. "He has, a bit. With my connection, I believe he’s going to keep growing with me. Right now, he’s at Tier 1, but in the future, I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to reach the higher tiers once I do."
Chen Ren nodded in approval. "And how’s the task I gave you going?"
At that, Zi Wen straightened slightly and sighed. "Harder than I expected." He tugged the ends of his hair in the back. "Like you told me, I’m trying to form bonds with more beasts, but it’s been tough. Little Yuze might’ve been special… or maybe it was just easier because he was a pup.
"I tried bonding with a nest of uyah hawks and even found a ione ironhide boar, but no luck. The boar got aggressive, so I had to put it down—but at least Little Yuze had a good meal."
"And Whiskey?"
Zi Wen let out a short laugh. "Oh, he acts friendly enough, but he’s got no interest in forming a bond with me."
Chen Ren shrugged. "Well, Yalan did say lunaris are solitary creatures. Maybe that’s why." Then, shaking his head, he added, "That little beast is more interested in alcohol than anything else anyway."
Zi Wen huffed. "You’re not wrong. I swear, the only time he looks truly happy is when he gets his paws on a jar of moonshine. I'll still try. Defending the sect with tamed beasts is an interesting idea, and I'd love to help out."
“That’d be great." Then, narrowing his eyes slightly, he asked, "You came here just to report your gains?"
Zi Wen suddenly froze, his expression shifting. "No… I had more to talk about. I almost forgot." He sucked in a breath before hurriedly continuing, "Feiyu’s looking for you. Apparently, Elder Qing He and he managed to make a breakthrough with that artifact you called a ‘gun.’ They were trying to find you to give you a demonstration."
Chen Ren’s face changed completely. "You should have told me that first!"
Without waiting for another word, he surged lightning through his legs, and in the next instant, he was gone. The ground beneath him crackled as he blurred past the farmlands, buildings, and villagers, moving at record speed toward the heart of the village.
His destination: the third building he had claimed—one that he had converted into a forge and alchemical workshop.
As soon as he stepped inside, a pungent, acrid scent hit him, a mix of burnt metal, sulfur, and something distinctly chemical. He barely noticed it as he strode deeper inside, reaching the hallway that had essentially become a makeshift testing room.
Qing He and Feiyu were both there, deep in discussion, their voices animated. The room, however, was an absolute mess. Failed prototypes of guns, cartridges, and bullet casings were scattered everywhere, some neatly stacked, others tossed aside haphazardly. On the far side of the room, protective containers housed failed samples of the gunpowder—or rather, "explosive powder," as Qing He was now calling it.
Thanks to all the experimentation, there had been more than a dozen explosions in just the past week. Thankfully, they had been testing things out in the open, behind the building—otherwise, the entire workshop might have gone up in flames by now.
Chen Ren took in the chaotic scene, his pulse quickening in anticipation. "Alright," he said, stepping forward. "Show me what you've got."
As he strode toward them, both Qing He and Feiyu turned to look at him. Qing He was the first to speak, clicking her tongue. "You're late, kid. My old bones don’t like waiting."
Chen Ren scoffed. "I came as soon as I was informed. And you’re not an old lady—you can run faster than me."
Qing He snorted but said nothing, only crossing her arms as Feiyu shifted the gun in his hands. Chen Ren's eyes twinkled as he caught sight of it, curiosity overtaking him.
"I heard you wanted to give me a demonstration," he said.
Feiyu nodded. "I’ve been making good progress, and I believe this gun will work well now."
As he spoke, he adjusted his grip, spinning the gun slightly in his hands before passing it over. Chen Ren took it, feeling the weight immediately—heavier than he would have liked, a bit bulky and large, but otherwise exactly what he had envisioned.
The design reminded him of a Colt M1911, though slightly larger, with an elongated barrel and a more reinforced grip. The cartridge was of similar size, making it clear that Feiyu had successfully replicated the chambering system. But what caught Chen Ren’s attention most were the runes inscribed all over the weapon. Qing He had etched them into both the outer shell and the inner workings, enhancing durability, self-cleaning, and stabilization.
The bullets on the nearby table were just as detailed, each one bearing inscriptions for piercing power, explosive impact, or other enhancements. Chen Ren almost shuddered as he realized the sheer potential of firearms in a world where magic could amplify their destructive power.
After thoroughly inspecting the gun, he turned back to Feiyu and Qing He. "You sure this won’t blow up in my hand like last time?"
Feiyu, looking slightly offended, straightened. "No. We’ve made sure the inscriptions will protect the one firing the bullet."
Qing He smirked. "We’ll know for sure when we take it outside for a demonstration. And even if it explodes, it’s not like you’d die."
"I’d still get injured."
Qing He waved a hand dismissively. "I’ll protect you. Just like last time."
Chen Ren glanced at her, remembering the last time a gun had exploded in his hands. It was four days back and his memory was vivid—the moment he pulled the trigger something had gone wrong, and the entire thing ruptured in a blast of flames and shrapnel. Qing He’s ridiculous speed, possibly a movement technique, pulled him back just in time and if not, he’d have lost more than some burnt fabric. Even the thought sent a shudder through his body.
Shaking off the thought, he exhaled and said, "Let’s go outside then. I can’t wait."
Moving carefully through the mess of blueprints, shattered metal parts, and leftover powder stains, the trio moved toward the backdoor. As they stepped out, they entered a small training area—a cleared-out space with training dummies positioned at different distances.
Chen Ren had bigger plans for this spot. Eventually, it would become a designated gun training area, but for now, it was just a place for testing prototypes and making sure nobody lost their limbs in the process.
Qing He crossed her arms, smirking. "So, what are you waiting for?"
Chen Ren stretched his neck and moved his wrists in circles. "I’m starting."
Walking forward, he stopped at a red line drawn into the dirt, marking the shooting position. He took a deep breath, gripping the gun firmly as he raised it toward the central dummy and froze.
It wasn’t hesitation due to inexperience—he had fired guns before, on Earth, during hunting trips and even during earlier experiments. No, this was different. This wasn’t just a normal firearm; it was something altered, enhanced and made deadlier.
Qing He had been refining the explosive powder relentlessly, pushing its limits with the knowledge he had provided her from Earth, as well as what she had gleaned from ancient alchemical texts. He had no doubt that the weapon would work. The real question was: would it work too well?
With one last deep breath, he steadied his stance, aligning his shot. He trusted Qing He. He trusted Feiyu.
Click.
The trigger squeezed.
And in an instant, the gun roared to life. A violent explosion of force surged through his arm as the bullet tore through the air. The force almost pushed him back, but he gritted his teeth and stood firm. The bullet shot through the air like a streak of light, slicing through the wind with a sharp whistle.
Then—boom!
The impact struck dead center on the dummy, sending a deep, resounding sound through the courtyard. Dust and splinters exploded outward from the sheer force of the shot, and for a moment, it was silent.
Chen Ren tensed, waiting for something to go wrong—the bullet to shatter uselessly, the gun to explode in his grip, or even some unexpected backlash from the inscriptions. But nothing happened. No fiery explosions, no misfires. The weapon had worked.
His eyes flicked to the dummy, the bullet lodged cleanly in its center. Then, a grin split his face.
He turned to Qing He and Feiyu, excitement bubbling in his chest. "We did it." His voice came out breathless, then stronger. "The demonstration is successful!"
Feiyu let out an exhilarated laugh. "It actually worked! No misfire, no explosion—nothing! Whoa!"
Qing He smirked, crossing her arms. "Hah, of course it worked. What, you think I’d let you lose a limb over this?"
Chen Ren huffed a laugh, still staring at the gun in his hand. It worked.
2025-03-13 20:12:50 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 191
Kai stood before the gathered crowd, their eyes locked onto him. Hundreds of gazes bore into him, heavy with emotions he couldn’t fully decipher. But if he had to name them—reverence and authority would be at the top.
A sea of faces stretched before him, each marked by loss, by hardship, by survival. Some clutched at the hands of loved ones, others held themselves stiff, shoulders squared in forced composure. Children peered up at him from the safety of their parents' arms, too young to understand the meaning behind the gathering. Yet, in all those faces, he found no open hatred.
He had expected it. Deserved it, even.
The burden of the dead pressed against his spine like an iron yoke. He had braced himself for resentment when he had handed out the compensation, waiting for a grieving widow to curse his name, for a father to spit at his feet. A few had hesitated before accepting the coin, fingers curling tightly around the pouches as if struggling against the finality of it. And yet, none had refused. None had openly blamed him.
Was it because they had faith in him? Or had they simply learned to swallow their grief as he had?
Either way, their silence didn’t ease the guilt that sat heavy in his chest.
A deep breath. His hands clenched behind his back. The stone slabs before him gleamed under the sun, engraved with names that would never be spoken again by the men who bore them. Names that had once shouted in the heat of battle, names that had called for loved ones in their final moments. Now, they were nothing but etchings on cold stone.
He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the hush.
“People of Veralt! The past months have been a trial for us all. A beast wave at our gates. A war, fueled by my brother’s greed, threatening to tear our home apart. And yet, we still stand.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd, barely more than a shift in posture, a tightening of fists.
“But we do not stand here alone. The peace we have now—the very ground we walk upon—was won by those who gave their lives for it.”
His gaze swept over the rows of names.
“Each name on these stones belongs to a warrior who stood when others could not. Who fought when retreat was the easier choice. Who struck down enemies by the dozens, knowing full well they might not live to see another sunrise.”
A pause. He swallowed the tightness in his throat.
“As their lord, I am proud. As a man, I grieve. We were not strong enough to save them. But I promise you this—Veralt will never forget them.”
Kai yelled over the crowd, weighty with conviction. He could’ve used a voice amplification spell, but he didn’t want to. He wanted this moment to be intimate, from him to the crowd; the fallen men and their families.
“The names carved into these stones belong to warriors—men who stood when others would have fallen. Men like Liam and Rylan, who faced a blood drinker, one of the deadliest creatures to walk these lands, and not only survived but wounded it before falling.”
A shift happened in the crowd. A woman who had stood stiffly moments ago now bowed her head, fingers curling tightly around the fabric of her dress.
“There was Mishan, who helped to take down three stalker hawks in the beast wave, his arrows never missing their mark. And Rhaegon, who alone cut down twelve enemies in the fief war, ensuring gates of Verdis held even as blood soaked the ground beneath him. And even one of the men from the Lombards—Wulfgar…”
One by one, he spoke their names. One by one, their families straightened, their grief momentarily tempered by the pride that came with remembrance. Fathers clutched their sons' shoulders a little tighter. Mothers wiped their tears but held their heads high.
Kai exhaled slowly.
“I know that no compensation, no memorial, will bring them back. And I will not insult you by pretending that it will.” His gaze swept over the gathered families. “But I swear this—so long as I live, Veralt will remember. We will remember what we lost for this peace.”
A hush settled over the crowd, deep and solemn. And then, Claire stepped forward, silent as she pressed a bundle of small flowers into his hands.
Kai took them without a word, turning toward the first name on the stone slabs. He knelt, placing the flowers beneath the engraving. One by one, he moved, honoring each fallen warrior as the people watched, some joining him in quiet reverence, others whispering their own prayers.
It took him some time to get through all of them, but he did. And in return, he gave the grieving families the time—to mourn, to speak, to share stories that would keep the memories alive. Then, when the moment felt right, he stepped away, moving toward the carriage where Claire and Killian waited.
Just before climbing in, he turned to Rhea who he had noticed in the crowd. “Meet me in the evening for your lesson.”
She nodded, her usual sharpness softened by the aftermath of the ceremony. Kai understood, because even he felt heavy. He nodded back and climbed.
Inside the carriage, the door shut with a quiet thud. The stillness wrapped around him, but the heaviness in his chest remained. His fingers tapped once against his knee before he stilled them.
Claire watched him carefully. “Lord Arzan, are you alright?”
“I am,” he said, his jaw tightening slightly. “I just... feel bad for the families of the fallen. No matter what we do, they will always feel that absence.”
Killian exhaled, leaning back against the seat. “You did what you could. The men knew what they were getting into.”
Kai didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the city outside the window.
Did that make it any easier?
He wasn’t sure.
"I know that," he murmured, answering Killian’s words. "I know they chose this. I know the risks were clear. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take a moment to think about it. About the fact that now, people fight and die for a cause that I lead."
A pause stretched between them.
His voice was quieter when he spoke again. "I need to be strong enough for them."
Neither Claire nor Killian interrupted the moment of reflection.
Kai leaned back and sighed again. His mind was now moving in circles, back and forth on his memories. "When I was in the Sorcerer’s Tower, I wasn’t someone who led others. I was strong enough for it, but I worked better alone."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claire shift, watching him with an intensity he had come to recognize.
That look.
The same one she always wore when he spoke of the era he came from.
A truth he had revealed only to his most trusted subordinates weeks ago. Killian hadn’t dwelled much on the personal details of Kai’s past, but he had been relentless in questioning him about the Enforcers of the future—their tactics, their weapons, the kind of beasts they had to contend with. Claire, on the other hand, had always wanted to know more. She wanted to know Kai more on a personal level.
Before she could press further, Kai steered the conversation away.
"Anyway, what’s the latest news on the locked birds?"
Claire blinked at the abrupt change but answered without hesitation. "Still insufferable, Lord Arzan. They constantly demand meetings with you. Baron Kairnso and Vensar are the worst—harassing the maids assigned to them, even attempting to break out."
Kai’s fingers twitched slightly at that. He would deal with them soon.
Claire continued. "Viscount Buck and Viscount Malyr are better behaved, but they’ve requested an audience with you almost every hour for the past two weeks."
Kai nodded, lips curling slightly. "Good. Desperation makes men pliable. Right now, all they want is their freedom—or at the very least, better conditions. That means we can squeeze them dry."
Killian smirked. "It's good that we aren't treating them with honour. They don't deserve it."
Kai let out a quiet chuckle. "Honor won’t refill our coffers."
And that was another mess entirely.
After the fief war, Kai had expected to replenish some of the resources he had poured into war preparations by digging into Lucian’s treasury. Yet when he examined the ledgers, the reality had been far worse than anticipated.
Lucian hadn’t just mismanaged the city’s finances—he had barely maintained them at all. Large sums had been funneled into mercenaries, hired during the beast wave but kept idling in his territory, waiting for the inevitable conflict. What little wealth remained had already been drained by the time Kai took over.
A bitter inheritance.
His gaze flickered toward the carriage ceiling. That bastard didn’t just lose the war—he was already losing before it even began.
Kai had gone over the numbers again and again, and the truth remained the same—if he took the rest of the money for himself, the people of Veyrin would suffer for it. He had seen how they lived. The war had drained more than just their spirit; it had hollowed out their livelihoods.
Fortunately, he had nobles in his grasp. Unlike Lucian, their territories weren’t in complete ruin. That meant they had wealth to spare—and he fully intended to squeeze it from them.
Killian leaned back, arms crossed. “They’ll want their freedom in exchange for whatever we ask of them. We can’t let that happen.”
“Of course not. But I’ve thought of ways around that. We just have to keep them contained until we move to the capital.”
Claire tilted her head. “So you plan to drag them along like caged animals?”
“If necessary.” Kai allowed a hint of amusement to creep into his voice. “From what Ansel reported last night, the fief war is still the main gossip in the capital. King Sullivan has already sent heralds to deal with its aftermath.”
That was where things became more interesting.
The Watchers had grown since the war, taking in a handful of Mages and expanding their influence. They had even begun incorporating druidic magic, allowing them to scout far ahead. Their presence in the capital was no longer just whispers in the dark—they had set up a base, and now Kai had a steady flow of information reaching him every week.
Killian frowned. “And what do you think will come of that?”
Kai exhaled. “Francis and I already discussed it, but the outcome is obvious. The king will have no choice but to regard us as the victors.”
They weren’t the aggressors. That played in their favor. And as for the matter of the blood drinkers…
Kai knew how to handle that.
Lucian and Idrin had been careless. They hadn’t even bothered to properly hide the drinkers’ involvement in the village massacre. No doubt, they had assumed that once he was dead, no one reputable enough would be left to accuse them of anything.
That arrogance would cost them.
Kai’s lips curled slightly. “The blood drinker's existence will be a massive advantage. Lucian thought he could control the flow of information. But he made one mistake.”
Claire raised a brow. “And what’s that?”
“He didn’t kill me. If I’m killed,” Kai murmured, his voice quiet, “there won’t be anyone reputable enough to accuse him of anything.”
Killian shifted, his jaw tightening. “Regina would still likely try to pin Lucian’s death on you, even if he took the poison himself. She won’t stop at that, either. There could be other schemes… and hiding the existence of the Enforcers is getting harder. A lot of information from Veralt is reaching other territories slowly after all.”
Kai stared ahead, his mind running over the possibilities as he nodded. “If weapon enchantments and armor were enough to achieve what the Enforcers do,” he said, “other nobles would’ve already copied it. We could only stretch that lie for so long.”
Killian nodded sharply. “That’s the key,” he said, his voice colder now. “Our main weapon against any enemies. We can’t let the secret of it leak. Not to anyone.”
Kai leaned back in his seat, the pressure of it all weighing on him, but he remained composed. “I know,” he replied. “We’re already distributing mana cannons, but we’ve made sure they can’t be used against us. The demand is rising for them... and the golems too but we won’t sell them either.” He paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. “But with them, we’ve implemented failsafes. The Enforcers, though… if they get their hands on them, it would be catastrophic.”
The room fell into a heavy silence. They all understood the gravity of the situation.
Kai exhaled a long breath, shaking his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” he muttered. “For now, I need to meet with these spoiled nobles.”
***
When he got over to where the captives were, Baron Kairnso was the first to speak. “So, you finally showed your face,” he said, his tone dripping with a mixture of disdain and curiosity, as if Kai’s presence was both an irritation and a surprise.
Lord Vensar continued where Kairnso left off, his words sharp with barely veiled accusation.
“I thought you would have forgotten about us once this damned war ended. The norm was to visit us, once the war was over.” He gave a dismissive wave, as if the matter was as trivial as a social call. “But it seems you’ve forgotten all the norms and standards of a noble.”
Kai’s gaze remained fixed on the two men. His silence spoke volumes as he studied their expressions—ones that seemed to be oblivious to the gravity of their situation. They acted as though they were still in control, still operating under the belief that they could talk their way out of anything. But Kai could see it now; they hadn’t yet grasped the reality of their predicament.
He understood why, of course. By law, nobles were given certain privileges. Prisoners of noble blood couldn’t be harmed. They were entitled to basic living conditions, no matter their crimes. That was why Kai had provided rooms for the nobles under his custody, rooms guarded by his men. But then there was Baron Idrin, sitting to the left of the others.
Idrin had once been a proud man, but now, he looked like a shadow of his former self. His cheeks were sunken, his once-lustrous hair thinned out, leaving him a far cry from the man he had been. The pride and arrogance that had once defined him were gone, replaced by the gaunt features of a man who had been broken. And Kai hadn’t treated him with the same leniency. Idrin was kept in the cells, far removed from the comfort afforded to the other nobles. There were no basic living conditions for him. His crimes—the massacre of an entire village, his collusion with Lucian—meant he had no right to the normalities of noble life. He had been brought here, not out of necessity, but because Kai wanted to see him face-to-face.
Beside Idrin were two other nobles, Viscount Buck and Viscount Malyr. Neither of them spoke, but their discomfort was evident.
Their eyes darted around, avoiding Kai’s gaze, knowing that their companion’s words would only dig them deeper into the hole they were already in. They wore the expression of men who understood the stakes but were too fearful to challenge the situation they found themselves in. Buck’s hands were clenched at his sides, as though the very act of being present was too much for him to bear. Viscount Malyr, a bit more composed but equally uneasy, shifted in his seat, his discomfort palpable in every twitch of his shoulders.
The moment Kairnso and Vensar finished speaking, Kai’s eyes locked with Killian, standing just beside him, ever watchful and ready for whatever might unfold. Killian’s gaze was steady, giving him a subtle nod.
“I’ve not forgotten the norms,” Kai said. “But as you said, the war is over. And now, I have different priorities.” He looked each of them over, his eyes lingering on Idrin, before continuing. “And you should be worried about what those priorities mean for you.”
Kai’s gaze swept over the room, lingering on Kairnso. His lips curled into something akin to a smile, though it lacked any warmth. “You should be glad I’ve been too busy to deal with you all,” he said. “You’ve had time to heal from any injuries my men might have given you. Trust me, though, you won’t like this meeting.”
He turned next to Vensar whose scowl deepened as Kai spoke. “As for forgetting the standards of nobility… I believe it was you all who had forgotten them,” Kai continued. “You rushed into a war that wasn’t yours, and you lost. Pathetically. Not befitting of a noble, is it?”
Vensar’s jaw clenched, his lips parting to retort, but Kai cut him off with a decisive wave of his hand. “Moreover, you don’t even have the basic decency to act like proper war prisoners.” His eyes narrowed. “You need to understand something. You aren’t in your territories right now. Here, I’m in charge. And I won’t be giving you that warning again.”
Buck shifted uneasily, his discomfort growing under the weight of Kai’s words. He cleared his throat, glancing between the other nobles before speaking up, his voice tight. “I understand. We will cooperate.”
Kairnso’s defiance flared. “No, we won’t,” he snapped, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You might be a count, but we have rights too. And once the king hears how you’re treating us, he won’t be happy.”
Kai’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing as he studied Kairnso. Where’s this confidence coming from? His mind ticked through possibilities. Perhaps Kairnso thought he could escape his fate, believing the King would intervene. Or maybe, he thought that as neighbors, there would be some level of mercy. But Kai was done with the attitude.
He straightened in his seat, his voice steady but final. “Okay. That’s enough. I told you that was my last warning.” Without another word, he made a subtle gesture towards Killian.
In an instant, Killian moved, faster than Kairnso could react. The baron tried to stand, eyes wide with shock, but Killian was already there, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him back into his seat. The sharp tip of his sword gleamed in the dim light, now pressed right against Kairnso’s eye. He froze, his breath catching in his throat as he realized.
And Kai could see the man’s body visibly tremble, his face paling as the sword tip dug just a bit deeper. His eyes darted to his fellow nobles, all of them wide-eyed, visibly shaken. Vensar, on the other hand, looked downright ashen, the color drained from his face as he watched Kairnso struggle. He had clearly underestimated the situation—and now, it was too late to back out.
“I—I’m a noble!” Kairnso stammered, his voice quivering as he wriggled in Killian’s unyielding grip. “You can’t do this to me! It’s a sin! Let me go! I’ll—I'll complain to the king! He’ll—”
Kai’s gaze sharpened as he leaned forward, cutting off his desperate words. “You can do whatever you want in the future,” he said, his voice low and chilling. “But right now, you’re under me. You’d do better than to talk like we’re equals.” His eyes flicked toward Killian, whose sword remained steady. “We are not equals. And if you don’t know, I’m already accused of killing my brother. I don’t think it will matter if any of you lose your heads here.”
Kairnso stilled for a moment, his earlier bravado faltering. The room was heavy with tension as Kai’s words sank in. He could feel the tension of his words pressing down on him, on all of them.
“Nobles not being able to take defeat and killing themselves in their prisons isn’t so rare of an occurrence,” Kai continued. “So, you need to decide now. Do you want to act like prisoners and talk to me about what happens next? Or are you going to lose your heads?”
2025-03-13 20:10:35 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 190
Killian, Knight of Veralt, moved along the roads leading to the city, taking in the crisp morning air. His sword—the one Lord Arzan himself had gifted after the beast wave rested securely on his back, a familiar thing he barely noticed anymore.
It was rare for him to forgo morning training, but today, he had chosen to jog the perimeter of the city instead. By now, his subordinates had likely already started speculating about his absence, spinning all sorts of rumors. He had long since stopped caring. He was beyond such trivialities.
But he knew he needed to get away, to have space to think—especially after what Lord Arzan had revealed two weeks ago. No... should he call him Kai now? He wasn’t sure.
The revelation that his lord wasn’t from this era, that he was a man from the future, had been shocking. But in hindsight, it explained everything—his decisions, his knowledge, his unnerving foresight.
Strangely, it hadn’t changed how Killian perceived him. Yes, the deception stung. He had always regarded Lord Arzan as more than just his liege; he was a friend. Learning that the person he thought he knew was someone entirely different was unsettling. But he understood why the secret had been kept.
Regardless, his loyalty remained unchanged. The gravity of that revelation had been difficult to process, but Francis had helped him through it. The old man had ultimately chosen to remain in Lucian’s territory, fixing what needed to be fixed now that it was under their control, with the butler assisting him. Before Killian had departed for Veralt with Lord Arzan and a few others, he and Francis had spoken at length about their lord; everything he’d done to everything who he was. They had both come to the same conclusion—they would serve him to the end.
Not just because Arzan—Kai—had proven himself a just and capable ruler, not just because he had been magnanimous to his people, but because if what he had revealed was true, then a mere beast wave or a fief war was the least of their concerns.
Lost in thought, Killian soon found himself at the city gates. Over the past two weeks, following the war’s end, the gates had been expanded and reinforced. Additional smaller doors had been built into the massive main gate to allow easier passage for pedestrians, while a separate, larger entrance was designated for carriages.
And in front of those gates, a long line of people stretched out—people seeking entry, hoping to start a new life in Veralt.
Refugees were nothing new to Veralt—or even Verdis—but ever since Lord Arzan had taken control of the nobles who had sided with Lucian, the cities under their rule had fallen into disarray. Struggling to keep themselves running, rumors had spread like wildfire that Lord Arzan would seize their food and wealth to feed his own territory. Fearful of starvation and ruin, many had chosen to flee, seeking refuge in Veralt, hoping to assimilate with the victor.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason for the influx. Veralt had quickly become the most prosperous city in the Sylvan Enclave, and merchants passing through had made sure tales of its growth reached every corner. It was a sight to see, especially after years of abandonment.
As Killian approached the gate, cutting through the long line of travelers, he caught snippets of conversation from a family sitting in a carriage.
"Why is it taking so long to get in?" a man grumbled.
A woman beside him sighed. "I saw them writing down everyone's names on a parchment. That’s probably why."
"Tch. Annoying," the man muttered. "What’s the point of it anyway? And those creepy golems—they’re unsettling. I hope they don’t attack us."
Killian passed them by with a slight smile, unfazed by their complaints. Because they wouldn’t be the first or the last to find the queue annoying.
As he neared the front of the line, he looked ahead to where the guards were stationed, recording the names, backgrounds, and purposes of every entrant. Next to them, several drones hovered in the air—silent sentinels.
These weren’t the explosive ones. From what he had heard from Balen, they were still prototypes, a work in progress meant to integrate into Veralt’s security system soon. For now, their only function was to float above the gates, acting as an eerie deterrent to anyone who thought about forcing their way inside.
He moved further down the line without giving a glance behind. He felt the streets beyond the gate hum with the usual bustle of Veralt, but today, there was something different in the air—a quiet anticipation, like the city itself was holding its breath. He could feel it, and even see it in some of the faces. He inhaled sharply and continued his steady pace.
The guards who were flanking the queue acknowledged his presence with a sharp bow. He gave a subtle nod back. He glanced to the side and caught sight of a few mercenaries—no, adventurers now—patrolling alongside the guards. His eyes lingered on Kellen, the red-haired one, and a memory of the beast wave stirred.
The adventurer guild, led by Gorak, had come together quickly. It wasn’t something Killian had expected, the way the guild had settled into the city’s rhythm so seamlessly. But Gorak’s steady hand had made all the difference, his leadership had paved the path.
As Killian stepped forward, the path ahead cleared effortlessly, the guards instinctively making room for him. He was used to it now—the subtle shift in the crowd, the way people gave him space, not out of fear but respect. But as he moved past the gates, the murmur of a voice reached his ears.
"Why are you letting him through? I’ll pay you extra to let me in faster," a fat merchant in the front grumbled, his voice thick with annoyance.
A guard snapped back. "He’s no mercenary. He’s Knight Killian. Show some respect."
Killian didn’t pause to hear the merchant’s reply. He had no time for them today. The city was bigger than petty squabbles, and so was he. With his head held high, he continued down the street.
His steps carried him towards the left side of the city, away from the estates and the training grounds. This was the part of Veralt that had been changing rapidly, where Lord Arzan’s plans were taking root. Schools, libraries, projects in the making—buildings that spoke of a future beyond just surviving, and getting the people to be educated.
Around him, others began to move in the same direction, their pace quickening as they neared the educational district. And soon, he found lots of gazes on him.
A child pointed, their eyes wide with wonder. A man tipped his hat with a smile and a brief, respectful nod. A woman called out, "Knight Killian, good to see you! Thank you for everything!"
He returned their nods and smiles, but inside, it felt like too much, too fast. Their eyes were filled with admiration, hope, and unspoken expectation. It was a heavy burden, yet one he wore willingly. After all, he hadn’t fought and bled for nothing. Not for himself, but for them—the city, the people. But he continued his walk.
He slowly neared an open ground, which was quiet, save for the distant murmur of voices. He had arrived at his destination.
He walked closer to the center. His boots crunched on the gravel, and the air felt thick with the weight of history that was going to take place today. Towering before him, large square stone pillars erupted from the ground, their surfaces covered in carvings and faded diagrams.
One pillar in particular drew his attention. The scene it depicted was familiar, the final battle of the fief war—the day that had defined so many lives. A brave gunner stood at the heart of the scene, facing down a blood drinker in a desperate, last-ditch fight. The details of the struggle were frozen in time, a single moment where survival meant everything. Beside the image were names, neatly etched into the stone with lines of achievements, detailing the sacrifices of those who had fallen in the war and the beast wave that was before it.
The names weren’t just words on a monument—they were memories, lives lived, and lives lost. Each one represented someone who had given everything for the city. Lord Arzan’s first decree after victory had been to honor them—proper compensation for the families and a memorial to ensure their legacies endured.
As Killian studied the stone, he felt his heart grow heavy; a constant feeling that was in him these past few days. This was why he fought, why he stood by Lord Arzan. No matter who he was, Killian knew that this was a man who believed in justice, in remembering those who had been forgotten by time. And Killian had no doubt that he was serving the right cause.
As his fingers brushed the surface of the pillar, he felt the familiar stir of footsteps approaching. He turned to see Rhea Valen, Lord Arzan’s apprentice, and beside her was Francis’s apprentice, a young man named Siton—a slender boy who helped manage the administration in his absence.
The trio exchanged greetings.
Soon, Killian asked the question that came to his mind. “Where’s Lord Arzan?” His eyes scanned the ground, expecting to see the familiar figure.
Rhea shrugged slightly, a flicker of something in her expression—something between frustration and resignation. “I saw him talking to Amyra during breakfast. He’s probably busy teaching her something.”
Killian caught the subtle sulking in her tone but didn’t mention it. It wasn’t the time. Instead, his gaze shifted to the apprentice who had been quiet until now.
“I think he’ll be here soon,” Siton said. “He’s not the type to miss something like this. Today’s the official founding of the memorial.”
Killian chuckled softly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think he’ll miss it, either. But if he’s with Amyra, it’s gonna take some time.”
***
In the magical arts, there were always problems. It was a truth that had echoed throughout history, one that every Mage, from the simplest to the most advanced, had to contend with.
The growth and advancement of magic had always been a matter of breaking through different sets of problems. Some of these challenges had taken centuries to overcome, while others remained stubbornly unsolved despite the tireless efforts of countless generations. Spells, techniques of mana manipulation, and even the mysteries of what lay at the peak of magic—these were problems that tested the limits of imagination and perseverance.
Kai, the Last Magus of the Sorcerer's Tower, had taken on many such projects in his time. There had been a time when he had poured over ways to surgically alter his veins, striving to improve the flow of mana within him. Another time, he had dedicated himself to experimenting with Mana hearts, trying to amplify the innate affinities of individuals.
All of these projects had ended in failure, though not without yielding a few breakthroughs—insights that had pushed the boundaries of what he understood, but nothing concrete enough to bring lasting results. The experimentation had never brought him the definitive answer he had sought.
Still, those were problems he knew how to approach. Problems he could see through the lens of logic, technique, and incremental advancement. He had an inkling of an idea on how to move forward with them, a framework to follow. But as he looked down at Amyra, lying on the bed before him, her eyes full of hope and trust, he could only try his best to ease the deep frown that tugged his face.
He had checked her before, casually assessing her body’s quality, evaluating her innate talent, which had been off the charts—genius level. But now, as he channeled his mana again, sending it deep into her body, he found himself in uncharted territory.
His mana slid through her veins, gentle but taking everything into detail. He focused, pushing past her organs, feeling the rhythm of her pulse, but that wasn’t enough. This time, his mana dug deeper, searching her bones, her muscles, her mind. Every part of her was under his scrutiny, and with each subtle shift of his power, he delved further into the unknown.
Her mana stirred inside her instinctively, a subtle defense mechanism, trying to push his away, mistaking his probing as a potential threat.
But Kai didn’t pull back. He allowed her mana to fight back against his, a necessary part of the process. It would adjust, react, and settle. He had seen this before.
His focus sharpened, and as he continued his exploration, he pushed further, deeper—into her Mana heart. His senses sharpened as he searched for something specific, something hidden beneath the surface.
What was it? The source of her unique power. There was something in her, something that didn’t belong to the ordinary world of magic, a force that was both familiar and entirely foreign. Every corner of his mind buzzed as he focused, determined to understand it, to unravel the mystery of her extraordinary abilities.
Kai’s mana flowed through Amyra’s body like a slow river, tracing every vein, every fiber, every pulse. But no matter how deeply he probed, nothing stood out. Her organs were perfect—crafted for magic, each one designed to make her a Mage of incredible power, and her mana seemed to pulse with an unnatural, smooth flow. But there was no sign, no anomaly, that could explain why she was so immune to the dead mana.
He focused again, a third time, even deeper, trying to find anything he might have missed. His mind flickered through various theories, but each time, they crumbled beneath his scrutiny. Everything in her body screamed potential—nothing more. There was no secret, no hidden power beyond what any other talented Mage might have.
Finally, with a sigh, he withdrew his mana from her, sitting back on his heels. “I can’t find anything different in your body,” he admitted. “Your mana organs are in excellent condition, but there’s nothing that stands out enough to explain why you’re resistant to dead mana.”
Amyra nodded and simply sat up from the bed, a subtle grace to her movement as though the disappointment didn’t fully reach her heart. “I understand,” she said softly. “I wish I could help... but my clan only knew we had a special constitution. They never tried to find the reason behind it.”
Kai furrowed his brow, studying her. His eyes locked on her goldens. There was something about her calmness that made him press further. “Were there any myths or folktales passed down in your clan? Anything about why you were tasked to stand against dead mana, or how it might be possible?”
Amyra paused, her mind clearly wandering to the memories of her home. “There were bits of stories,” she murmured. “They said that a man gave us this duty, that he helped us settle our home... but there wasn’t much beyond that. More than the past, though, they talked about a future where we would be fighting against the fiends.”
Kai’s lips thinned together as he listened, sensing the sorrow that lined her words. “Did they know when that future would come?”
Amyra’s eyes grew distant. “My clan leader wasn’t as bullish on combat training,” she continued. “We’ve lived in peace for a century, and according to him, the prophecy wasn’t going to come for thousands of years. So the younger generation of Mages, like me, never got the necessary training. If only we had—”
Her words faltered. Kai’s hand gently pressed to her shoulder, grounding her in the moment. His touch was firm, and acted as a silent reminder to focus on the here and now.
“I know it’s painful,” he said; his voice sounded understanding. “And your mind likes to replay every possible scenario, to wish for a different outcome. But we need to stay in the present. Right now, what matters is what we can do.”
She looked at him, eyes brimming with unshed tears, yet she gave a slow nod. She understood.
His mind was already spinning with possibilities, but he needed to voice his plan clearly, to give her some sense of direction.
“I believe I’ll be able to run more experiments to see if I can find the anomaly inside you,” he said.
Amyra raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “What kind of experiments?”
Kai leaned back slightly, hands resting on his knees as he considered. “Well, there’s the soul inscription you mentioned. If I can get into your astral realm, perhaps I’ll find more. There’s a good chance that I won’t, but I need to try, and I’m curious about the inscription itself. Soul inscriptions like that are extremely rare. I’d be willing to bet that someone in your clan has extraordinary skill in them—enough to be sought after by every Mage in the world.” he paused. “Other than that, we might have to run some physical experiments, too.”
“Do we have to go out for that?”
Kai nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “Yes. I want to see how exactly you interact with dead mana. Whether it’s just resistance or something more... That’s important for us to understand the full extent of your abilities. But we won’t be doing it now.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Kai straightened, letting out a soft sigh as he stood up. “I have somewhere I need to be. The memorial. It’s today, and after that, I have a lot of work ahead of me. The new territories I’ve inherited need attention, and there are also some nobles—troublesome ones—who’ve been causing issues with the maids. I need to have a good talk with them.”
Amyra nodded, understanding the gravity in his tone. “Alright,” she said softly, her eyes briefly meeting his before she lay back down. “I’ll go out in a while.”
Kai understood that she needed space and nodded. “Okay,”
***
Never thought I will write volume 4 of a book of mine one day. Thank you for the support! I hope you show it on Amazon too.
2025-03-11 18:49:39 +0000 UTC
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Chapter 83
It took a while, but Qing He was finally on board with moving to the sect temporarily to work on the gunpowder and assist with the casing of the gun itself. By the end of their discussion, she had even provided ideas for the weapon’s construction, suggesting the use of runes to reinforce the structure and improve durability.
Chen Ren hadn't given much thought to that aspect—his knowledge of runes was basic, limited to the ones he used for talismans—but Qing He’s insights were detailed enough that even Feiyu found himself agreeing. By the time their conversation ended, he got the distinct impression that she wasn't just coming along because he asked her to; she was genuinely interested in the project itself.
With that settled, they didn’t linger in Cloud Mist City for much longer. He made his rounds, visiting the noodle stall, making rounds of Heavenly Fragrances, and checking in on the staff. He went over the accounts and spoke with Yuqiu about their next steps, making sure that they had a plan in place for expansion. While he wouldn’t be around personally, he reassured her that he’d assist with any problems that arose. And that was all she needed.
Once that was done, he set out for the village with the rest of his party behind him.
Fortunately, the roads weren’t in bad shape, and they made good time on the journey; with occasional conversations and resting. Before long, they were met with the sight of the village.
They soon made their way toward the sect’s buildings.
Even in the short time he had been away, a lot had changed. He could tell. Construction was still ongoing, but there was a clear sense of order now.
The scattered chaos of early development had dissipated, giving way to something more structured—organized. And as they got closer, Chen Ren noticed a few mortal sect members lingering outside. It wasn’t long before one of them moved inside, likely to call Tang Xiulan as they stepped out of the carriage.
Soon, she walked outside with Zi Wen behind her, but Chen Ren's eyes didn't move to them. They locked onto the massive wolf, who was towering over both of them and momentarily, he was stunned.
Of course, Little Yuze had been large before he had left, but now the beast looked nothing short of a behemoth. He had grown a foot or two, his fur darker, darker than the obsidian than was before and more imposing, and as he opened his mouth, Chen Ren caught sight of far more pointed teeth than he recalled.
“Good to see you both again.” He looked back at Zi Wen and Xiulan but his eyes went back to the wolf for a while, assessing the changes closely, before turning his head back to Zi Wen. "It seems like you were successful."
Zi Wen nodded with a proud smile. "Yes. I hadn't expected it, but once I found that link to my new path that I was searching for, things happened quickly. Even Little Yuze changed once I formed a strong connection with him. I don't know why."
Chen Ren hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head towards the wolf. "Yalan told me that Beastmasters naturally accelerate the development of their beasts once they form a link. So it's probably that, but I'd love to experiment more to see what else has changed. Though..." He glanced back toward the carriage. "I think we should wait until Yalan wakes up from her nap before bothering her."
Zi Wen chuckled. "That’s fair.” He scratched the back of his neck and spoke again. “But Sect Leader Chen, it wasn’t just me who connected to the Dao while you were gone."
Chen Ren couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows. "Then... Luo Feng?"
Xiulan, who had been quiet so far, nodded. "He's not here because he's tending to his fields. Apparently, he connected to the Dao of Farming and has been there since then, only coming back for food."
Chen Ren was genuinely surprised. He had always thought Zi Wen’s path would be of a Beastmaster , so that wasn’t shocking. But Luo Feng? The man had been so eager about martial techniques before. That he had suddenly connected with a Dao so seemingly mundane was unexpected—but also a pleasant surprise.
He crossed his arms, thinking. He had heard bits and pieces from Yalan about the Dao of Farming. Despite its name, it was one of the strongest Daos. Not only will Luo Feng have a deeper connection with the earth and his crops, but he’ll also be able to bypass the lack of qi in the surroundings to grow spirit plants by infusing them with his own qi. He knew that eventually, his farm would become like a domain, where he would be the master of everything that grows and comes there.
And as Chen Ren continued to think over it for a moment, realization struck. If Luo Feng’s connection to the Dao of Farming developed further, he might be able to help solve the sect’s resource issues. That alone was a huge relief.
“That’s good news,” he finally said. “I didn’t expect to come back to such progress.”
Xiulan gave a genuine smile. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment and looked behind. “Seems like you’ve made decent progress yourself, Sect Leader Chen.”
Chen Ren nodded, following her trance at the two men who awkwardly stood with their hands clutched to the front. Qing He stood behind them, just looking over his sect buildings with an appraising eye. “Hong Yi is going to be in the sect now. Try to make sure he doesn’t venture out too much. His sect has been dealt with, but you never know who might still be looking for him.” He shifted his gaze to the other figure. “As for this guy, he’s Feiyu, a blacksmith cultivator I found while negotiating the alcohol contract.” He finally looked at the last person. A smile breaking into his own face. “I brought Qing He back with me so she and Feiyu could work on a project for me, but we’ll talk about that later.”
Zi Wen let out a low chuckle. “Seems like there’s still a lot of work to do.”
“Certainly,” Chen Ren agreed. “First of all, we need to get the alcohol production going. Are the mortals making good progress?”
Xiulan nodded. “Yeah, a few of them are doing better than I expected. Even the ones who are just average are making slow progress. It's not fast, but at least they are moving.”
“Good. Pick out some of the bright ones to head the alcohol production. We’ve managed to strike a solid deal with the Zhu Clan, but I want to set up at least two breweries. We’ll also be making contact in the west and south to see if any clans there are interested in buying moonshine. The Zhu Clan has good reach, but it doesn’t cover the whole empire.”
He paused, then added, “I also need to check out Luo Feng and see his Dao for myself. But before that, I’ll be heading to my room for the day.”
“Oh? Already? Is there anything I could help—”
“No, nothing like that,” Chen Ren exhaled, feeling the faintly glowing strands of qi swirling within him. “I made a lot of progress during the journey, but most of it was in my business. Even in Cloud Mist City, things are going well. And now… I keep feeling these small strands of qi circling in my core. I think it’s finally time to see how much I’ve grown. And for that, I need some quiet space.”
Xiulan immediately understood and gave a brief nod.
But as he said it, he couldn’t help but wonder—was he about to leap through a few stars? The qi refinement realm usually took far longer to progress through than the body forging realm, but his businesses had been steadily minting him good money, and his qi had been accumulating. If he was right, this could be his biggest gain yet.
Without wasting another moment, Chen Ren made his way to his room and immediately plunged into his star space.
***
Feeling the air in his star space was always a one-of-a-kind phenomenon. Even though he knew it wasn’t truly the case, Chen Ren always felt the most secure there. The qi filled the space around him, steadying his breath, making him feel weightless yet grounded at the same time.
As he floated within his star space, his gaze instinctively searched for the being that had eluded him for so long. But as always, no matter where he looked, there were no signs of it. Not even a trance of its magnetic eyes.
With a sigh, he shifted his focus to the sky above.
The stars twinkled, filling the sky. Slowly, as usual, their light dimmed—yet this time, something was different. Instead of leaving behind just two stars, a third one remained, a bit farther away from the first two but present. It shimmered with the same energy as the others, and he could already sense the qi contained within it.
He exhaled, steadying himself before beginning the process of absorption. He started with the noodle shop. Compared to the others, it didn’t hold much qi, but he noticed something else—it had grown. Not in terms of qi, but in size. The star itself was slightly larger now. He guessed it was because of the recent additions to the business—the chips and ice cream. Even the qi surrounding it felt more potent.
Slowly, he started absorbing the energy, letting it flow into him. He wondered how the star would look once he fully expanded the stall business. The thought made his lips curl slightly, but he refocused on the task. He continued his absorption.
By the time he was done, he felt like he had eaten a hearty breakfast—satisfied, but still capable of taking in more. Without hesitation, he turned his gaze to the second star, the one representing his perfume business.
Unlike the noodle stall, the perfume business hadn't grown much in size, but its steady success meant it was still wrapped in a significant amount of qi. He felt it in his core. Targeting middle-class women with affordable perfumes had proven to be a solid strategy, and as Chen Ren absorbed the energy, he could tell that this star would expand soon enough. When it did, the amount of qi he was receiving now would be only a fraction of what he'd gain in the future.
He sighed in contentment as he felt filled once again.
With both of his primary stars drained of qi, he turned his gaze toward the third one. A frown appeared on his forehead as he stared at it for a while without doing a thing. He wanted—no, needed to take it all in.
This star was different—it almost bubbled with energy, pulsing as if barely containing the qi within. The alcohol business had brought in a large sum already, and with the profit-sharing model in place, he would continue receiving a steady flow of income every month. That meant this star would only grow brighter and more potent in the coming months.
Chen Ren stared at it, his mind drifting back to everything it had taken to get here. He had been constantly downplayed by the big players, forced to fight tooth and nail to carve out his own space. The only way he had succeeded was by creating demand—by making people want his product so badly that they couldn’t ignore him. Contrary to what it had looked like from the outside, it hadn't been easy.
The fact that Ashen City was filled with alcoholics had played a huge role in his success, but even that advantage hadn’t been enough on its own. Getting his product into the right hands had taken a serious set of effort, and even after that, trying to get Feiyu in his sect had nearly ruined his partnership with the Zhu Clan. It could’ve been worse—he could’ve ruined everything he tried to build in a heat of a second. But fortunately, he didn’t.
And all of it had been a lesson.
In business, there were always dangerous waters to tread. One misstep could cost everything, and balance was key—knowing when to push forward, when to step back, and most importantly, when not to step on a business partner’s toes.
Because businesses were fickle, partners even more so, and keeping everything in balance was a lesson worth its weight in gold. The alcohol deal had drilled that into him. As he reflected on it, the star above him twinkled, and suddenly, a surge of qi rushed toward him.
Unlike the first two stars, this one felt overwhelming—dense and heavy, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. He hadn't expected such a massive influx of qi, and as it flooded his dantian, his body screamed in protest.
Every muscle felt like it was being stretched and torn apart, but he gritted his teeth and bore through it. This was his moment—if he gave in now, he'd regret it forever.
He mentally screamed in agony, but didn’t let out a single whimper that tried to break past his lips. He knew he was strong enough of the change that was about to happen. He had to be.
The qi raged within him, swirling through his meridians, breaking past bottlenecks he hadn’t even realized existed. His entire being felt like it was being reforged, the pressure almost unbearable. But then, finally, the qi began to settle. It permeated every inch of his body, strengthening him in ways he couldn't yet fully grasp. And then—
Something shifted.
A powerful sensation flooded his muscles, the unmistakable feeling of multiple breakthroughs hitting him all at once. And in that instant, his star space began to crumble.
But just before everything collapsed, he saw it.
Golden eyes.
A massive dragon loomed above him, its gaze piercing straight through his soul. It had always eluded him before, appearing only in glimpses or sensations—but this time, he saw it clearly. He tried to speak, to call out, but before he could, the vision shattered—
And he was back in his room.
Chen Ren gasped for breath, his body drenched in sweat. He hadn’t realised when he had moved, but he was on his knees, his hands on the ground. His heart pounded against his ribs as he struggled to steady himself.
Unlike his previous breakthroughs, there were no visible changes to his body—no sudden transformations—because the qi refinement realm was all about internal strengthening, purifying his qi and preparing his foundation.
Curious, he raised his hand and summoned a strand of qi. It crackled to life in his palm, far denser and stronger than before.
Before he could fully process the change, a voice cut through the silence.
“It seems like you made a bit of a gain.”
Chen Ren snapped his head toward the window.
Yalan stood there, watching him with an amused look. The cat’s timing was always immaculate—or was it that she was always watching over him? He didn’t care at the moment, instead, wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Fourth star," he muttered to himself rather than Yalan. "Made quite a big leap." He could still feel his heart throb in his ears at what had happened.
Yalan, oblivious to his inner changes, purred, a sign of approval. "Good. So, what about the dragon?" she asked, her tone shifting to something a little more curious.
He looked at her, his expression turning serious for a moment. "Still hiding. But it’ll come out soon, I think."
"Hmm. Hopefully," Yalan said while licking her feet in a very cat-like manner. "Anyway, things are going well. What’s next for you?"
Chen Ren’s gaze shifted, his mind already buzzing with tasks.
"There's a lot to get done. Setting up the brewery is the first priority—gotta make sure the base ingredients are flowing properly. Then, I’ll check on Luo Feng and Zi Wen, test their powers, see where they’re at. After that, I’ll give Hong Yi something to work on, keep him occupied. Finally..." His eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I’ll start making guns. It’s time to see how they’ll work out in this world."
2025-03-11 18:43:20 +0000 UTC
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