The outer walls of the palace had concealed an inner one as well, this one half the height of the first but no less impressive. However, Tunde’s attention was quickly drawn elsewhere the moment they passed through the first gate and its defenders. Massive black constructs, forged from pure Ethereon refined with the Blitzfire Tempest concept of the Imperial Clan, loomed within the outer walls.

  Tunde’s growing horror was matched only by his envy as he realized these constructs were of peak Highlord rank.

  The Highlord leading him said nothing, as though Tunde were beneath his notice, unworthy of even the slightest effort. The man simply flew toward a sprawling estate in the outer district of the palace. The estate was so vast that Black Rock could have fit within its grounds twenty times over and still left room to spare.

  The warm air brushing against Tunde’s skin was a welcome change from the biting cold that had accompanied them on their journey to the capital.

  Somewhere within this massive city, Miria was being held captive by the Phantoms. Tunde was determined to find her, though he had the common sense to realize he couldn’t do it without help—specifically, the help of Varis or Rhaelar. He kept his thoughts to himself; voicing such a notion, especially referring to them so casually by name, would be both insulting and shameful. Moreover, he suspected the Highlord escorting him was looking for any excuse to turn against him.

  The estate they arrived at was serene and carefully cultivated. Vibrant flowers bloomed under the sun, and twin rivers flowed alongside the grounds, their waters glimmering with life Ethra. Tiny, glittering fish darted through the streams. Though the area appeared empty, Tunde could feel the hidden presences of powerful cultivators nearby, their auras carefully veiled.

  “It would do you well to treat everyone you meet here as an extension of the clan,” the Highlord said sharply, prompting Tunde to nod absently.

  The Highlord folded his hands behind his back and dropped to one knee. Tunde mirrored the gesture without hesitation.

  “I have brought the wastelander, as per the orders of the esteemed master!” the Highlord announced, his head bowed.

  If the man had expected his words to offend Tunde, he was wasting his time. Tunde had grown so accustomed to the term that it barely felt like an insult anymore. He kept his eyes lowered, focused on the smooth stones lining the path beneath him until the doors of the massive black stone building ahead creaked open.

  A figure emerged—an elderly man with white hair and glasses perched on his face. His aura was so powerful that Tunde nearly mistook him for a Master. Perhaps he was, merely masking his core to appear as a Highlord, much like Ifa often did.

  “Ho? I see he has arrived. Good. The master has been expecting him,” the elder said warmly.

  The Highlord who had escorted Tunde nodded and began to rise.

  “Right. I will take my leave now,” he said, only for the elder to raise a hand to stop him.

  “Not quite yet, young one. The master wants you to bear witness to this, to report back to the clan elders who no doubt have questions about your observations,” the elder said with a smile.

  The Highlord stiffened but obeyed.

  Turning his attention to Tunde, the elder spoke.

  “You have been considered a waste—not only of the master’s time but of the clan’s resources. As such, you must prove your worth to be taken as a student of the clan.”

  Tunde’s eyes narrowed slightly at the words.

  “Should you manage to get past me and into the building, you will have passed. Have no fear—I will not use any techniques against one as young as you. Only my body,” the elder said, a faint glint of amusement in his gaze.

  Tunde said nothing, glancing briefly at the Highlord who had brought him, only to find the man avoiding his gaze entirely.

  “It is impolite to keep an elder waiting,” the elder chided.

  In an instant, Tunde moved. Void Step carried him across the distance, Ethra Sight blazing as he analyzed the elder’s amused expression. The elder’s palm came up to block his path. Tunde twisted in midair, barely brushing the elder’s hand as he rolled to avoid it, seemingly landing just inside the building.

  Or so he thought—until he felt the elder’s other hand grab his robes and fling him back outside.

  Tunde flipped through the air, landing on his feet. The Highlord spectator stared in open shock, unable to hide his astonishment.

  The elder laughed, his voice rich and deep as a grin spread across his face.

  “The master has found a truly interesting one this time,” he remarked. “You have the touch of experience and profound strength in you. You are a Highlord in all but name and core already.”

  Tunde glanced down at his stinging palms, taking a deep breath as he imbued his body with Ethra. Ethra Sight illuminated the flow of energy around him. This time, as he moved, his palm shot out, coated in aura, meeting the elder’s palm mid-air.

  The clash of their hands released a shockwave, rippling past the still-stunned Highlord and scattering the carefully placed gravel beneath their feet. Tunde gritted his teeth, struggling to maintain his ground as his palm pressed against the elder’s.

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Impressive. Truly. But not enough, it seems,” the elder said with mock disapproval.

  Tunde’s gaze flicked to the ground with a faint smile. The elder followed his eyes and realized too late that Tunde had maneuvered one foot across the threshold of the building.

  The elder laughed heartily, stepping aside.

  “Proceed. He’s expecting you,” the elder said, his grin widening.

  Tunde nodded, bowing deeply at the waist before stepping inside, leaving the shocked Highlord and the obviously impressed elder Highlord behind.

  The interior of the building was a breathtaking display of opulence and power. The floor, polished to a crystal-like sheen, reflected the dark glow of onyx—a style emblematic of the empire. Towering columns of pure gold and black crystals lined the hall, each radiating a subtle glow of black flames from within.

  At the far end of the hallway, a massive crest of the Talahan Clan in black and gold was etched into the wall. Beneath it, on an elevated platform accessible by a series of steps, sat a figure Tunde recognized immediately.

  Even from a distance, the chiseled features, black-and-white hair, and overwhelming aura of raw power left no doubt in Tunde’s mind. Sweet-smelling incense burned at either side of the platform, the faint trails of smoke following the figure’s controlled breath. Varis Talahan, a descendant of the main branch of the clan, sat in meditation.

  Tunde didn’t need to activate his Ethra Sight to sense the torrent of power coursing through the master’s lines. It was palpable in the air, saturating the room with energy so dense that even without seeing it, Tunde felt its oppressive weight.

  He stopped a few meters from the steps leading up to the platform. Folding his legs, he lowered himself to the ground and bowed deeply, his head touching the cool crystal floor. When he raised his head, Varis remained silent, his eyes closed.

  Tunde attempted to cultivate, only to find himself momentarily shocked by the sheer density of the Ethra around him. No doubt, it stemmed from Varis, but it made him pause, marveling at the sheer magnitude of the power Masters wielded, even after witnessing the devastation they could unleash.

  When he opened his eyes, he found Varis staring at him, his cold gaze sharp and assessing.

  “Shimmersteel. Shadowscar Peaks. The restricted island,” Varis began slowly, breaking from his meditation but remaining seated.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Tunde’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the Soul Saint’s Island, but he kept his features calm.

  “Everywhere you go ends up either destroyed or nearly destroyed. Some within the clan are skeptical of your presence here in Talahar,” Varis said, his voice flat.

  Tunde took a deep breath, tapping a finger against his chest, throat, and head in sequence. He felt a faint pressure unlock as Varis raised an eyebrow.

  “You sealed yourself from speaking. Why?” Varis asked, his tone carrying a trace of curiosity.

  Tunde swallowed; his voice hoarse from disuse as he spoke for the first time in days.

  “So much pain,” he began, shutting his eyes tightly as memories threatened to overwhelm him. He clenched his fists, his voice trembling with raw emotion.

  “Ashen Flame. Why?” he asked, his gaze wide and imploring.

  Varis regarded him for a moment, the silence heavy between them.

  “You want to know why I sent you there instead of stronger cultivators?” Varis asked.

  Tunde nodded silently, the memories of the horrors he had witnessed flashing through his mind.

  “Because I trusted you,” Varis said, his words leaving Tunde confused.

  “You, out of everyone I could have chosen, were the one I trusted to handle the task. My uncle left it to me—you may know him as the Paragon,” Varis continued.

  A Paragon. The mere thought of such a lofty title made Tunde’s mind reel.

  “My siblings would have wanted favors in return. The other clan members would demand the same. And we couldn’t trust anyone—not the four great clans, not the sects, not our vassals, not even the Phantoms, as you’ve come to understand,” Varis explained, his voice steady.

  Tunde bowed his head deeply. “Honored master, please, I—”

  “You want me to interfere regarding your…companion, held by the Phantoms,” Varis interrupted, his gaze piercing as Tunde sat up straight, his heart pounding.

  Surely, the master would not deny him this request after all he had sacrificed for the clan.

  “And it would be within your rights to ask,” Varis continued, giving Tunde a glimmer of hope.

  “Except—can you defend her?” Varis asked, his words cutting through Tunde’s thoughts.

  Tunde froze, his confusion apparent.

  “Getting her out of the Phantoms’ grasp, while expensive, is doable. But once she’s out, I cannot be seen showing favor to any random cultivator. Her protection would be beyond my reach,” Varis said. “So, I ask again: can you protect her?”

  “I—”

  “What happens if they send someone as powerful as the elder you just faced? Or worse, a Master? They treasure this affinity you gifted her, after all,” Varis said, cutting him off.

  Tunde’s fists clenched. “I will die if I have to,” he said, steel in his voice.

  “And it is for that reason I deny your request. For now,” Varis said, his tone final.

  Tunde’s eyes widened in shock; his resolve shaken.

  “I do not doubt you for a second,” Varis began, his tone measured. “You are crazy enough to sacrifice yourself, and surviving so many battles between Masters while dragging those poor souls along with you is nothing short of impressive.”

  “Few Lords could boldly claim to draw the attention of Highlords, let alone Masters. I even hear you managed to have one accompany you on your journeys,” he added, referring to Ifa.

  Tunde remained silent; his head bowed in shame.

  “She is alive. As for her well-being, I cannot say, but alive she is. If there’s one thing I know about the Phantoms, it is that everyone is a weapon in their hands. She is, in an odd way, in the best place possible to train herself,” Varis concluded.

  He rose to his feet, towering over Tunde.

  “While this is not the image of the capital I had hoped you would see, you are nonetheless my student and privy to knowledge that the billions of souls who call this continent home remain oblivious to,” Varis said.

  Tunde felt the rush of the Master’s aura as it cocooned them, isolating them in its oppressive weight.

  “We had long suspected something amiss within the Phantoms. We know of the Veiled Shadows, and your encounter with the assassin of the Brotherhood within their ranks confirmed what we suspected,” Varis said.

  “The Shadai Clan,” Tunde murmured softly.

  “That is a name you would do well never to utter again unless in my presence and at my command,” Varis warned, his voice sharp. Tunde nodded quickly in acknowledgment.

  “What we didn’t understand,” Varis continued, “was why they took such an interest in the Peaks and the Ashen Flame Sect—until we discovered their alliance with the Revenant Sect.”

  “No,” Tunde said abruptly, his voice cutting through the air.

  Varis paused; his sharp gaze fixed on Tunde.

  “It wasn’t the Revenants,” Tunde continued, his voice trembling slightly. “Whatever that thing was—the one with the power to rip through the air without a nexus stone or a rift—it wasn’t the Revenants.”

  He shuddered as memories of the creature’s baleful eyes piercing through reality flooded his mind.

  “Those cultivators of undeath come in many forms, Tunde,” Varis pressed, his voice firm.

  Tunde shook his head, his expression resolute.

  “I’ve seen them, fought their various branches many times, as I’m sure the Master has. But this…what the Vice Sect Leader became—it was something new. Different,” Tunde explained.

  “It didn’t have the sickening sense of undeath. It felt like life, perverted. Almost as if she were trying to emulate the heavens themselves, attempting to shape life to her own ends,” he said, his voice filled with conviction.

  Varis rubbed his beard thoughtfully, falling silent for a few moments.

  “You’ve given me much to consider,” he admitted.

  “And the true beast?” Varis asked, shifting topics. “Now that you’re aware of the rift and the Artificer relic hidden within the Peaks, there is no use concealing it from you.”

  “I…I’m unsure,” Tunde replied, wincing. “The last I saw; it seemed the Masters dealt with the beasts. As for the relic…I apologize, Master. Most of the fight, I was…unavailable.”

  “That’s a polite way of saying damaged and broken, but I understand,” Varis said, his tone almost light.

  “Which makes me wonder why you didn’t use the medallion as I instructed you to,” he added, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.

  Tunde met his gaze firmly. “Because I realized it would mean leaving my friends behind, and I couldn’t do that,” he replied without hesitation.

  Varis shook his head slowly. “The path to true power in cultivation is a lonely one. If you insist on dragging others along with you, I can only hope you don’t get burned.”

  Tunde offered no response.

  “A monk of the Luminous Path, the heir to the Acacia Clan, a barbarian girl with a blood affinity, and an unknown Master. You attract an odd group,” Varis observed.

  “And it is because of them that I am alive today. I owe them my life,” Tunde replied, his voice steady.

  “Perhaps,” Varis said skeptically.

  “Which brings me to my final question for now: why haven’t you advanced?” he asked, his gaze narrowing.

  Tunde frowned, confused.

  “I can see the signs. Your Ethra is struggling to break free of the confines of the Lord realm. Your aura feels displaced—a clear indication of advancement delayed,” Varis explained.

  “You instructed me to remain in the Lord realm for the event,” Tunde replied.

  “True. But that was because I assumed you would recklessly push yourself all the way to Highlord in your mad bid for power,” Varis countered.

  “Perhaps I underestimated your abnormal growth rate. Either way, when the Crucible descends again, advance. The longer you delay the Crucible, the harsher it becomes. A peak Lord and an early-tier Highlord are treated the same in the event,” he explained.

  Tunde bowed deeply. “As the Master commands.”

  “You will be shown to your quarters within this estate. I will have someone bring you a few things that may be of use. For now, rest—you’ve had a rough few days,” Varis said, dismissing him.

  The doors to the building opened as a slim woman in the black robes of the clan stepped inside, bowing deeply to Varis.

  “I greet the esteemed Master and his student,” she said, her voice soft and pleasant.

  “Take him to his quarters and see to his needs,” Varis commanded.

  She bowed again, and Tunde followed her, his mind still racing with everything he had learned.

  A massive vessel broke through the skies over the capital, its hull painted in gleaming silver with vibrant blue accents. Its powerful engines hummed loudly as it approached the first checkpoint of the continent-sized city. The defensive array formations encircling the entire capital glowed faintly, emanating raw power—enough to obliterate the ship if the authorities so desired.

  The ship came to a stop, its imposing presence hovering ominously in the air as a contingent of Veilwardens boarded. Led by a single Highlord and accompanied by several Lords, the Veilwardens moved with precision, their cold gazes fixed on the two figures emerging from the inner chambers of the vessel.

  Metal constructs bustled about, performing various tasks, their movements smooth and efficient. The ship’s hull shimmered with etched runic symbols, and though its powerful weapons lay dormant, they radiated the energy of a Master-ranked Ethra core, simmering deep within its depths.

  If the Highlord of the Veilwardens was intimidated by the vessel or its occupants, he gave no indication. His posture remained rigid; his hands folded behind his back as he bowed stiffly to the taller of the two figures.

  The first figure, a woman with metallic hair and a gem embedded in her forehead, snapped open an ornate fan, peering down at the Veilwardens through its edge. Beside her stood a slightly smaller figure, also female, whose stoic demeanor contrasted sharply with her companion’s air of superiority. Bowing at the waist, the smaller woman pressed a fist into her palm, her Ethereon arm etched with faintly glowing runic symbols catching the light.

  “Welcome to Talahar, honored guests,” the Highlord began, his tone formal.

  “As per the agreed rules, I must again—”

  “Yes, yes,” the taller woman interrupted dismissively. “Any signs of aggression would result in the pact being broken, and the full might of the Talahan Clan descending upon us poor technocrats.” Her silver and blue eyes glowed brighter as the gem on her forehead pulsed faintly.

  The smaller woman cleared her throat lightly, prompting her companion to snap the fan shut with a sigh. Tapping it against her palm, the taller woman inclined her head, ignoring the fact that the Veilwardens’ hands were now on their blades.

  “We will abide by the rules of the competition,” she said, her tone sharp. “I and my student, on our souls.”

  As the oath sealed itself, the Highlord relaxed slightly.

  “Then this way,” he said, gesturing toward their vessel as he and the Veilwardens departed. Their own ship, though floating next to the technocrats’, looked like a mere bug in the shadow of the massive vessel.

  The student, standing beside the taller woman, exhaled softly.

  “That went well,” she said.

  The taller woman snorted. “The Imperials are nothing short of vain,” she replied. “I, for one, simply want to get this over with. Nothing good comes from tarrying here for long—not with the powers I hear are gathering.”

  She turned to her student, her expression stern. “You would do well not to offend anyone, Elyria,” she added, her narrowed eyes emphasizing the warning.

  Elyria smiled lightly. “Of course not, Master,” she replied.