Tunde spent the night in his quarters—a large, well-furnished building with an understated elegance that reflected the taste and royalty of the imperial clan. Exhausted, he had fallen asleep almost immediately after cleaning up, slipping into a dreamless state of rest. The soft chirping of birds outside his window eventually stirred him awake.

  Sitting up, he crossed his legs and took a deep breath, feeling his Ethra circulate through his body. His lines were back to pristine condition. The memory of meeting the dead regent, Alana, and witnessing the beginnings of a sword technique that paired perfectly with his void step technique filled his mind. It was as if the two techniques were destined to be used together.

  Tunde spent the next hour meditating, cycling his Ethra, and refining his energy. Satisfied, he rose and stretched, his frame feeling lighter and more balanced.

  Stepping into the backyard of the building, he noticed a small, steaming pond meant for his personal use. His eyes widened as he sensed the rich life aura and raw energy emanating from the pool. Testing the water with his foot, he eased into the pond, his body immediately soaking up the energy.

  The realization struck him—just a single bottle of whatever had been infused into this pond would sell for hundreds of thousands of lumens. Yet here he was, gifted an entire pool.

  Sighing, Tunde allowed his body to relax completely, his mind to calm, and his muscles to go slack. For the first time in a long while, he let go. Floating on the surface, his thoughts drifted to the events of the past few weeks.

  He had endured an ambush at Shimmersteel, his first encounter with a Mistwalker sect member, the artificer sent after him—likely by Borus, a threat he had almost forgotten amidst everything else. Then came the horrors of Ashhaven and the emergence of a new, incomprehensible evil.

  After an hour in the pool, Tunde emerged, his body feeling rejuvenated and his mind clearer. For a brief moment, his legs felt weak, but he steadied himself, dried off, and returned to his quarters.

  Waiting for him in his room was a neatly folded black-and-white robe, a tray with two pills, a vial of elixir, and a note from Varis. Activating his Ethra sight, he glimpsed a retreating Lord-rank figure leaving the premises as swiftly as they had come.

  Curious, Tunde picked up the first pill and sniffed it. Shrugging, he placed it in his mouth.

  The effect was immediate. Raw Ethra surged through his lines, flooding his body with power. He quickly crossed his legs and began cycling, drawing the energy straight into his core. The void orb below his stomach absorbed the Ethra, refining it into void Ethra. A smile spread across Tunde’s face as he felt the newfound power bloom within him.

  Minutes later, he opened his eyes, his hand stretching out as Ethra formed into a seamless dark grey blade. The energy hummed with potential before vanishing with a clench of his fist.

  Turning his attention to the second pill, he wondered about its purpose before swallowing it as well. This time, he felt his aura quiver and thicken, expanding outward and leaking faintly from his frame.

  Then came the nausea.

  Rushing to the back of the building, Tunde retched violently, purging waste that left the area reeking until the wind mercifully carried the stench away. Grateful he hadn’t worn the new robes, he scrubbed himself clean in the pond, washing off the gunk—a byproduct of all the elixirs he had consumed in the past.

  Refreshed once more, he dressed in the new robes bearing the Talahan clan’s insignia on the back. Feeling a gnawing hunger, he left the confines of his building, heading out into the district to explore and find food.

  The message from Varis had instructed Tunde to return to the same building he had visited the previous day and not to consume the contents of the elixir just yet. The vial remained safely tucked within the folds of his robes.

  As he walked through the sparsely populated streets, he noticed people clad in the robes of the Talahan clan. Some greeted him with newfound respect, their expressions warm but leaving him puzzled. Others stared at him with barely concealed disdain—a reaction he found oddly reassuring.

  One thing stood out: all of them, to varying degrees, bore the telltale signs of Talahan lineage. Whether prominent or faint, the signature black-and-white hair marked their heritage.

  Tunde refrained from using his Ethra sight, considering it impolite. Although the glow of his eyes when he activated it would likely go unnoticed, it was a courtesy he preferred to uphold. Instead, he walked steadily, doing his best to contain his awe at the sights around him.

  Vessels floated gracefully through the air, constructs of all sizes worked tirelessly, and people bustled about their tasks. The towering buildings around him loomed with an imposing beauty.

  The strongest presences he sensed were Highlords, which struck him as curious. This was the capital, after all. Surely there were Masters and beyond present. He reasoned that they must be concealing their presence so well that even he couldn’t feel it. The thought comforted him; knowing such powers surrounded him might have set his nerves on edge.

  As he neared the building, a woman appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Her aura marked her as a mid-realm Highlady, exuding a subtle lethality that put Tunde on guard. She inclined her head with a polite smile, her blue eyes warm yet calculating. Unlike the other clan members, she carried none of their ego or air of superiority. From that alone, Tunde surmised she was not of the clan.

  “Greetings, student of the great Master Varis,” she began. “By the master’s orders, you are to wait for him in the halls. Food and drink have been prepared, and you are permitted to explore the grounds to your satisfaction.”

  Tunde bowed deeply at the waist, pressing a fist to his palm. His voice carried genuine gratitude.

  “My thanks, venerable Highlady.”

  A flicker of pleasant surprise crossed her face before she schooled her features again. Without further comment, she led him into the building, past the stoic Highlord guards at the entrance. Though they ignored him outwardly, Tunde felt their keen awareness tracking his every move.

  Inside, the splendor of the building struck him once more. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, gold-encrusted columns gleamed in the light, and painted depictions of Varis in different stages of his long life lined the halls.

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  The food set out on the grand table was a feast. Tunde dug in with gusto, savoring every bite. The roasted meats—of animals he couldn’t identify—were tender and flavorful. The boiled rice pellets and vibrant vegetables were infused with life aura, making every dish a symphony of taste and nourishment.

  The Highlady, clearly amused by his enthusiasm, soon departed as quickly as she had arrived, vanishing without a trace.

  Stuffed and satisfied, Tunde couldn’t help but sneak some of the food into his void ring. Glancing around cautiously, he hastily emptied several plates into the ring, guilt flickering across his face.

  The building was silent, almost eerily so, though Tunde knew it wasn’t empty. The cooks who had prepared the feast, as well as the Highlady herself, had to be somewhere nearby. Still, with permission to explore, he wandered into one of the hallways, past golden braziers burning with steady flames.

  He found himself in a large room lined with wooden shelves stacked with dusty books. Above the shelves, carved into wooden plaques, were the words:

  “Techniques and Styles of Forgotten Clans and Sects of the Bloodfire Continent.”

  Tunde’s eyes gleamed with barely restrained greed. The wealth of knowledge contained here was immeasurable. Yet he stopped himself from stepping inside. This was the home of one of the greatest powers of half a continent. He couldn’t afford to break any rules or overstep his bounds, especially not here.

  Reluctantly, he left the room, continuing down another hallway until he emerged into an open courtyard bathed in the early morning sun.

  The space resembled a training ground—spacious, empty, and serene. The only object within was a wooden puppet standing motionless at the center, its blank face framed by two finely shaped crystals that served as its eyes.

  Curious, Tunde approached the puppet, his gaze scanning the area for prying eyes. Finding none, he stepped closer and noticed a hole in the puppet’s chest, clearly designed to house something—likely an Ethra crystal to power it.

  Around the puppet’s neck hung a cord holding a crystal that radiated Highlord Ethra. Tunde raised an eyebrow as he took it in his hand.

  A Highlord-level construct.

  Pausing, he wondered if this was another of Varis’s gentle nudges, leading him toward some unseen lesson or test.

  Without hesitation, Tunde slotted the crystal into the puppet’s chest. Ethra coursed visibly through its frame, and the creature roused to life. Ethra blades formed over its hands as it stood, poised for battle.

  Tunde shot backward, a smile spreading across his face. His naginata appeared in his hand as he drew it from his void ring, readying himself.

  Directly above the expansive training grounds reserved for direct bloodline members of the Talahan clan—those who had managed to impress Varis enough to be taken in as his students, a list of none, thus far—stood Varis himself. Shrouded by layers of concealment scripts, this secluded perch was one of his chosen meditative retreats, a place to escape the ever-watchful eyes of clan members.

  Especially his parents.

  He found it surprisingly odd that they hadn’t come seeking his “student,” plucked all the way from the borderlands. News of the boy had sent ripples through the inner circles of the clan, sparking a quiet storm of intrigue. The elders scrambled to keep the information contained, an effort doomed to fail, as Varis had predicted.

  Upon his return to Talahar, the clan’s elders had immediately summoned him and his sister, demanding answers as to why he would take a wastelander as a student. Their outrage had only amused Rhaelar and their parents. Technically, the elders had no authority over Varis. With the clan’s patriarch and emperor in seclusion for the past five centuries, pursuing the elusive pinnacle of cultivation—hegemony—the running of the clan had fallen to Jaito Talahan, the Paragon and first son of Varis’s maternal uncle. Jaito couldn’t care less about Varis’s decisions, so long as they didn’t endanger the clan or expose it to the other powers of Adamath.

  Varis had brushed off the elders’ complaints with a simple directive: “Wait until Tunde arrives at the capital.”

  And so they had. Reports from the Veilwardens, who had interrogated the survivors of the Shadowscar Peaks, had left the elders speechless. A mere Lord, with no formal foundation or training, had adapted and fought his way into becoming one of the most lethal combatants of his generation.

  So impressive, in fact, that Elder Tianlei—the Crimson Tempest—had tested Tunde personally, though under Varis’s orders, the elder had suppressed his core to the early Highlord realm. Even then, Tunde had held his ground.

  Now, as Varis observed Tunde sparring with the Highlord-ranked puppet, he noted the boy’s vastly improved movements and techniques. Each strike met the construct blow for blow. A faint smile tugged at Varis’s lips. Yes, the child would do well in the event.

  The caliber of cultivators arriving for the tournament—peak Lords and early Highlords—represented the best of the best. They were the chosen disciples of the empire’s masters and vassals. And among them were students of the clan’s own masters. Varis doubted Tunde would make it to the end, but he didn’t need him to. Tunde only needed to go far enough to prove a point Varis had been holding onto for years.

  He felt the presence before the figure materialized beside him. Without turning, Varis frowned, recognizing Elder Tianlei. The elder’s storm-grey eyes were fixed on Tunde below, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “You’ve found a rough gem, my dear boy,” Tianlei said, a smile playing on his lips as Tunde narrowly dodged a blade aimed for his neck.

  Varis made a mental note to strengthen the concealment scripts around his domain. Not that it would do much to deter the elder. Tianlei was infamous for appearing in places he wasn’t meant to be—so much so that the clan had once considered putting him in charge of the Phantom sect.

  “Venerable Elder,” Varis greeted, his tone carefully neutral.

  Tianlei’s smile widened. “What brings you to my perch?”

  Varis struggled to keep his displeasure in check. As one of the clan’s most feared “blades,” Tianlei was called upon only when the clan required complete annihilation of its enemies—a task he relished. The elder spent much of his spare time hunting members of the Asura sect, bloodthirsty cultivators who roamed Adamath in search of worthy opponents.

  “I came to observe this student of yours,” Tianlei replied. “And to congratulate you again on finding such a promising cultivator.”

  “There’s no such thing as promising,” Varis said flatly. “Only those strong and cunning enough to survive.”

  Tianlei chuckled. “You’re starting to sound like your mother. Fatalistic, isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps. But it doesn’t make it any less true,” Varis countered.

  Tianlei turned his gaze back to Tunde, who was now trading blows with the puppet. “I assume you’ve heard about my interaction with the blood cultivator?”

  Varis smirked. “I hear many things, Elder. News spreads quickly in the palace.”

  Tianlei stroked his beard. “Well, the girl demands a demonstration of my power before accepting me as her teacher. Amusing, isn’t it?”

  Varis chuckled, watching as Tunde pressed the puppet harder, his focus unyielding. “She’s not like Tunde yet. I doubt she’d last against any of the clan’s Lord-rankers.”

  “She’ll learn,” Tianlei replied darkly.

  Varis raised an eyebrow. “Something more is troubling you. This isn’t just about a single blood cultivator.”

  Tianlei nodded. “The Asura sect has a new Master. Kalia—a cultivator of blood and fire affinities. She’s searching for a disciple worthy of her techniques.”

  Varis frowned. “Impossible. A new Master, and the clan’s own hasn’t intervened?”

  “We knew,” Tianlei admitted. “But any action would have resulted in unacceptable collateral damage. The elders deemed it unworthy of pursuit—until now.”

  “And now?”

  “Raijin has sent her to represent the Asura sect in the tournament,” Tianlei said. “A test of her capabilities, I suspect. Rumor has it she annihilated two orthodox sects in the Central Plains by herself.”

  Varis’s expression darkened. “And yet, the clan head’s orders remain unchanged—we cannot touch his guests during the tournament.”

  “Not unless they offend us or cause us to lose face,” Tianlei agreed. “But it’s only a matter of time.”

  “You want the girl as your disciple to deny Kalia a valuable protégé,” Varis said.

  Tianlei smiled. “That, and the girl has untapped potential. It almost makes me want to visit the wastelands myself to see what other gems might lie hidden there.”

  Varis’s lips twitched into a faint smile.

  Tianlei straightened. “I’ll take my leave. Be careful, Varis. Not everyone in the clan agrees with the direction you’re steering us, even if your time is centuries away.”

  With that, the elder vanished, leaving Varis to his thoughts.

  Moments later, Varis dropped from his concealed perch into the training area below, his movements fluid as he approached Tunde, who stood over the deactivated puppet, his breaths heavy but victorious.