It took nearly half an hour before Uriel steadied, his breathing calm, his composure returning. His eyes hardened once more, the mask of a prince sliding back into place.

  “If you utter a word of this to anyone,” he said coldly, “I’ll kill you.”

  Nathan gave a faint smile. “It’s alright, Your Majesty. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

  “Now why would you say that, little brother?” Nathan teased.

  Uriel groaned. “Come on, let’s check for treasures.”

  Nathan followed, and together they eventually stumbled into a chamber stocked with high?grade spirit stones, medicinal herbs, and—most astonishing of all—a Foundation Supreme?grade Spirit Pill of the first tier.

  Spirit pills were treasures of cultivation, each crafted to refine qi and strengthen the body. They were divided into four common grades: low?grade, mid?grade, high?grade, and supreme?grade. Supreme?grade pills were the rarest of them all, coveted across the continent. Only master alchemists with centuries of experience could attempt their creation, and even then success was uncertain—failure meant wasted materials or dangerous backlash. To distinguish their potency, supreme?grade pills were further split into three tiers: lower, middle, and upper supreme, each tier marking a dramatic leap in strength and rarity. To discover such a pill here was beyond expectation, a stroke of fortune so rare that few cultivators would ever encounter it in their lifetime.

  But Nathan wasn’t interested in the pill, not knowing its true value. His eyes lit up instead at the sight of the spirit stones, though his excitement dimmed when he realized the problem: he had no storage tool to carry them.

  “We’ll share the spirit stones between us,” Uriel suggested. “I’ll take half, and you take the other half. As for the herbs, we’ll split them too. As for the pill…”

  “You keep it,” Nathan said without hesitation, shocking Uriel.

  “Are you sure?” The words barely left Uriel’s mouth, his tone caught between disbelief and suspicion. Is this boy an idiot? Doesn’t he realize what kind of priceless pill this is for someone in the Qi Condensation realm?

  “You’re my little brother. Of course I’d give it to you.”

  Uriel raised a brow. “Do you really take that seriously?”

  Nathan shrugged. “I see you don’t acknowledge me as your brother yet. Fine—I’ll just have to work harder until you do.”

  “Are you an idiot?” Uriel muttered.

  “You’re mean, calling your big brother an idiot.” Nathan grinned.

  Uriel rolled his eyes. “Just grab your spirit stones, and let’s see if there are any more treasures in this place.”

  “I would,” Nathan said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly, “but I don’t have a storage pouch.”

  “You are definitely an idiot,” Uriel complained. This kid is unbelievable. Is he even a true cultivator? “Fine, I’ll store them in my pouch for now, until you get one of your own.”

  “Thank you, little brother. You’re the best.” Nathan threw an arm around Uriel’s neck, pulling him closer and shaking him playfully.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Get your hands off me,” Uriel whined, though he didn’t push him away.

  ____

  They ventured further into the palace, but all they found were mid?level spirit stones and more herbs. It’s not as valuable as the first set they found, but they were useful. At last, they left the chamber behind; the palace doors creaked as Nathan and Uriel stepped into the moonlit courtyard.

  There, two figures blocked their path. Disciples of the Caeruleum Sect stood waiting, blue and red robes rippling in the night breeze, eyes sharp with greed. One’s aura surged with water qi, droplets condensing into a swirling tide around his arms. The other’s wind qi whipped his robe like storm?torn sails, each breath carrying the promise of blades unseen. Both radiated power—the unmistakable pressure of cultivators at the peak of the twelfth stage of Qi Condensation.

  They were young—barely twenty?five—yet already at the peak of Qi Condensation. Prodigies groomed by the Caeruleum Sect, destined to ascend into Foundation Establishment within a decade. To see such talents standing here was proof the sect had sent its brightest, not expendable fodder.

  Uriel’s flames flickered to life, white fire licking his arms, his expression hardening into princely defiance. Nathan’s silver qi pulsed faintly, unreadable, his gaze calm as ever.

  “And if we refuse?” Nathan asked simply, his voice steady.

  “Then die!” The water cultivator surged forward, torrents crashing like a river unleashed. Uriel met the strike with blazing palms, white fire roaring outward. Steam hissed as flame clashed against water, but the tide pressed harder, forcing Uriel back step by step.

  The cultivator conjured a serpent of liquid, its fanged maw snapping toward him. Uriel countered with White Flame Burst, incinerating the serpent, but droplets reformed instantly, striking like whips. His robes tore, his skin scorched by the cold bite of water qi.

  Uriel gritted his teeth, pride refusing surrender. He unleashed Phoenix Flame Ascension, a towering blaze that forced the water cultivator to shield himself, yet the tide returned stronger, crashing down like a relentless storm. Uriel’s fire sputtered under the pressure, his reserves draining fast. For every strike he landed, the water cultivator answered with two, his advantage clear.

  Meanwhile, the wind cultivator moved like a phantom, blades of air slicing toward Nathan. He blurred into motion with Silver Step, gliding past the first strike. His fist cloaked in qi—Silver Strike—slammed into the man’s ribs, forcing him back.

  The cultivator snarled, unleashing Tempest Dance, a flurry of cutting gales. Nathan invoked Silver Wave, qi rippling outward, scattering the blades. He pressed forward, each move deliberate, each technique building upon the last.

  The wind cultivator conjured a cyclone, roaring as it tore across the courtyard. Nathan’s silver qi condensed into Silver Breaker, piercing the vortex with inevitability. The gale collapsed, leaving the cultivator staggering.

  Nathan’s eyes narrowed. He invoked Silver Tempest, cloaking his body in silver qi, unleashing a whirlwind of strikes. Each blow resonated, scattering wind defenses, breaking bone, and driving the cultivator to his knees. Five moves—precise, unrelenting—and the phantom of wind lay dead.

  Uriel staggered, his flames dimming, sweat pouring down his face. The water cultivator pressed harder, torrents crashing like waves against cliffs. Nathan stepped in, his fist cloaked in qi—Silver Strike—shattered the watery serpent mid?lunge, scattering the tide with a single blow. The water cultivator reeled, defenses collapsing, and Nathan pressed forward with Silver Step, appearing in front of him in a blur of light. One final strike sent the man crashing into the courtyard wall, his body limp, blood staining the stones.

  Uriel’s knees buckled, his body drained. Nathan caught him before he fell, steadying him with one arm.

  “Are you alright, little brother?” Nathan murmured.

  Uriel scowled, his breath ragged. “Don’t call me that.”

  “I think the words you want to say are ‘thank you, my handsome big brother.’”

  “I’ll kill you.”

  “Fine, fine. You can do so after I find somewhere for you to recover.”

  With Uriel leaning against him, Nathan guided them away from the carnage, his steps steady despite the weight he bore.

  No sooner had they vanished into the shadows than disciples from other sects, drawn by the clash, spilled into the courtyard. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd as eyes fell upon the broken bodies.

  The Caeruleum Sect members froze, disbelief etched across their faces. Then fury ignited. Their seniors—cultivators at the peak of Qi Condensation—lay dead. Rage burned in their eyes, grief twisting into vengeance.

  They swore blood oaths beneath the moonlight, voices sharp as blades: the perpetrators would be hunted down, and their deaths repaid in kind.