The middle of the banquet hall was cleared in the blink of an eye, tables pushed to the ends of the hollow mountain. Tunde stood, hands folded behind him, his face stony as he watched Sera stare down the large cultivator who would be fighting in place of the man whose wrists she had unceremoniously shattered.

  Ifa, standing by his side, bit deeply into a sweet-smelling fruit as Tunde whispered under his breath.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, careful to keep his voice low.

  “Speeding things up,” Ifa replied with a nod, his gaze still on the unfolding scene.

  “What do you mean, and where have you been?” Tunde pressed, giving him a sidelong glance.

  Ifa shrugged. “Up and around. It’s not every day you get a chance to snoop around the home of the enemy, now is it?”

  Tunde raised an eyebrow.

  “Never mind; we’ll discuss that later. What interests me now is how blatantly the sect is moving against us.” Ifa added.

  “You think they have a hand in this?” Tunde asked as Daiki and Zehra walked over with Sera in tow.

  “No one among the sect would be foolish enough to antagonize us without the blessing of someone higher up,” Ifa replied.

  “It has to be the sect or vice-sect leaders, one of them. This is far too planned to be a random duel,” Zehra murmured, and Daiki nodded.

  “Still, we are but honored guests here,” the monk said disapprovingly. “Fighting won’t be looked upon well.”

  “On the contrary, a duel is exactly what we need to show them what we’re made of,” Tunde replied, drawing their attention.

  “No matter how much we help or prove ourselves, they’ll always look down on us. I see it in their eyes,” he continued. “At least, most of them.”

  “I would too if I were facing a threat as dangerous as the mountain apes and my reinforcements were just a bunch of lords and a Highlord,” Zehra replied with a nod.

  “Either that, or they’ve begun to suspect we’re more than mere reinforcements,” Ifa added, glancing around.

  “Then all the more reason to beat him into the ground,” Sera said, resting one hand on her blade, Slaughter.

  “Listen, don’t underestimate that guy, whoever he is,” Tunde said, as Sera raised an eyebrow.

  “When have you ever seen me hold back?” she asked, and Tunde paused, realizing how true that was.

  “Never mind. Just don’t kill him,” he said, as she smiled, cracking her neck.

  “I’ll try,” she replied.

  Tunde noticed Fen moving to the center of the cleared space, hands folded behind his back as the entire gathering grew silent. The way the situation had played out irritated Tunde. Thinking on it only made the entire scenario seem even more foolish, and yet, the subtlety and unexpectedness of the trap only heightened his frustration.

  “You’d be foolish to think they’d simply keep to themselves,” Ifa said airily beside him, sipping from the strong liquor in a gourd on the table. Tunde resisted the urge to turn toward the elder.

  “How does this sit with you?” he murmured, aware Zehra and Daiki were listening as well.

  “If I’m honest, I expected it,” Ifa replied. “They don’t see us as allies—not really. In fact, I believe they’ll do their best to ensure we don’t make it out of whatever plans they have against the apes and their king.”

  “Then why are we still at Ashhaven?” Zehra asked, watching as Sera drew her serrated blade, which seemed to excite the crowd. Tunde noted that the weapon’s malevolent aura had lessened, and he raised an eyebrow, wondering if Sera was indeed changing.

  “Both cultivators, step forward,” Fen commanded, raising his hand. Sera and the large man, whose tight-fitted robes clung to his muscular frame, moved forward. He glared down at her with his superior height, while Sera, with her red and black hair, stared up at him with what Tunde recognized as a mask of boredom, barely concealing her underlying excitement.

  “There will be no permanent harm,” Fen stated pointedly, looking directly at Sera as if to highlight that she was an outsider in the Heartlands. “We are civilized cultivators who follow the strict rules of dueling.”

  Tunde turned his gaze to where Rui sat with her mother, the vice-sect leader. Their eyes met, and he held her gaze, matching the kohl-black depths of her eyes, her pale white skin contrasting against his own dark complexion, until Mei noticed, raising an eyebrow at him. Tunde merely inclined his head toward the Highlady before turning his attention back to the duel.

  Fen produced talismans that burned up upon exposure, creating a bubble of Ethra that bloomed to life around the combatants.

  “This is a tier-five defensive formation. Fight to your heart’s content; it will hold,” Fen announced, stepping outside the barrier in a blur, hands folded behind him.

  The large cultivator drew a massive hammer from his void ring, swinging it menacingly. “You will pay for the insult to my brother and the dishonor to my family,” he vowed, while Sera stood still. Tunde activated his Ethra sight, observing her.

  Red and white Ethra—the energy from her Path of the Crimson Touch, merging the affinities of blood and flesh—coiled beneath her skin like a serpent poised to strike, despite her calm, composed posture. Her opponent, meanwhile, possessed a blend of ash and hammer affinities: a raw fusion of power combined with his mastery over the ash element.

  “Begin!” Fen commanded.

  *********************************

  Sera stared down the massive cultivator, who looked more like a wild animal barely held back by a leash, as she waited for the command to begin. The moment it sounded, her blade, Slaughter, was already arcing through the air, racing to meet the hammer of her opponent. Her bloodsurge technique poured Ethra from her blood and flesh into the weapon, sharpening it to a deadly edge and enhancing its flexibility.

  The cultivation art of the Crimson Pulse reinforced her body with every cycle, keeping her at peak strength. Her movements were almost as fast as thought itself, at least for a Lord-ranker. When the hammer crashed against her blade, the impact sent a heavy boom through the hall, nearly buckling her knees, but she parried the attack, her Dominion technique springing to life in a swirl of blood around her.

  It was risky to use her Blood Dominion technique—a simple name for a complex skill that sought to control the blood of her foe, feeding her with their vitality and strength. But for every scrap of power it stole, it demanded twice the Ethra to wield, a defect she had struggled to counter—until now. The Scroll of the Soul Saint on the flesh nemesis had been enlightening, albeit only to a degree, and she had grudgingly accepted the monk's help in deciphering its contents.

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  The hammer-wielder relied on brute strength and crude techniques, hammering at her with a frenzy that Sera met with a blur of parries and slashes, her eyes following the subtle shifts in his stance. The ash-storms he gathered attempted to tear at her skin, but her Blood Dominion dampened their effect, turning her red, swirling domain into a dark gray tainted by the ash Ethra.

  Taking a blow to her side with a crunch, she gave no sound of pain, her body knitting and healing the damaged bones instantly. Blood spears erupted from her, piercing the space where her opponent stood, but a barrier of ash absorbed the attack, soaking in the blood as the cultivator visibly struggled against her attempt to control his blood, eyes wide with effort as raw aura poured off him.

  Sera reversed her grip, the smooth edge of her blade slicing through his wrists, and the cultivator grunted, his pride restraining a scream. She slashed through his heels as well, watching him crash to the ground, and held the blade tip beneath his chin, lifting his head in a delicate threat to his life.

  “Enough!” The loud voice of the Highlord, whom Tunde disliked, broke through the haze of battle Sera had been reveling in. She calmly turned her head, sparing him a look. As he stepped through the barrier that fizzled out of existence, the Highlord proclaimed,

  “Lady Sera, envoy of the Emissary of the Great Clan, has won.” He announced her victory to the enthusiastic applause of the gathered cultivators, as Sera sheathed her blade and left the trembling cultivator on the ground, burning with visible rage. His ally slunk up to his side, helping him drink a healing elixir, casting glares in their direction as Tunde rose to his feet.

  “This still solves nothing,” Tunde declared, drawing curious looks around the room. “He touched my companion here without her consent, disgracing you all, and now he’s to be let off?” Tunde asked, directing his question toward Mei.

  “He lost in a duel, and that’s shame enough,” Fen replied as Ifa laughed loudly.

  “Perhaps, but it doesn’t mean anything more than that she’s his superior in cultivation,” Ifa added, subtly insulting their hosts, which drew angry mutters from around the room.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Zehra whispered, tensing as the mood shifted.

  “Bahataba, peace, not fight,” murmured Daiki, his voice calm though he clenched his prayer beads tightly, his aura slowly unfurling.

  A powerful surge of aura cracked through the room like a violent wind, halting everyone. The Highlady Mei had risen to her feet, her cold voice cutting through the tense silence.

  “This behavior is unbecoming of cultivators of your rank,” she stated icily.

  Suddenly, the two cultivators who had accused Sera dropped to their knees, forced down by the weight of the Highlady’s aura. Their eyes were wide, bodies trembling under the pressure as they struggled to breathe.

  “You will swear on your souls to me: did you accuse her falsely?” she demanded. Both men nodded hastily, terrified. The first tried to speak, but his only word was cut short as they were slammed into the ground, hard enough to crack the mountain floor. They lay there unconscious as Mei’s aura receded silently.

  She turned to Tunde; her gaze still cold. “I trust that will suffice for you, honored emissaries?”

  Tunde nodded, bowing deeply.

  “This one thanks the Highlady,” he replied simply. Mei gave a terse nod before returning to her seat, and Tunde followed her lead.

  She clapped once, drawing everyone’s attention. “I thank you all for attending this feast in honor of our esteemed guests, who have proven their… mettle,” she announced, a ripple of tense laughter passing through the gathering.

  “Tomorrow, we begin our invasion of the Dark Forest. Go home, rest, say goodbye to your families. War is upon us, and with it, the wrath of the Ashen Flame Sect,” she declared. Tunde glanced at Ifa, who sipped his wine again, undisturbed.

  “Emissaries Tunde and Ifa, your presences are required,” Mei said, pausing as she spoke, and Ifa sighed.

  To their surprise, the Highlady appeared beside their table, seemingly out of nowhere. “I will escort your companions back to their abode; the Sect Leader wishes to see you two—alone,” she emphasized.

  Tunde nodded, rising along with Ifa. Their companions looked at them with concern, and Tunde nodded to reassure them.

  “We won’t be long,” he promised, noting the hesitation on Sera’s face and the stubborn stance of Zhu, whose serrated claws were out.

  “Go with Sera, Zhu. I’ll be fine,” he assured the Ethralite, giving him a comforting pat on the head. Zhu regarded him for a moment before nodding once, then turned away, following Sera and the others out of the mountain.

  Tunde and Ifa made their way to Mei, who rose along with her daughter, Rui. “The Sect Leader will see you now, Tunde,” she said, her eyes settling on Ifa. “But I would like a word with your Highlord,” she added, matching Ifa’s gaze. He gave her a curt smile and inclined his head.

  “Whatever happens, don’t give away our true mission,” Ifa conveyed to Tunde through Ethereal Speech.

  “My daughter, Rui, will escort you to her father’s sanctuary,” Mei added, as Tunde noted the subtle frown on Fen’s face.

  The pale-faced lady moved past Tunde like a whisper of air, and he followed her toward the large door behind Mei’s table, leaving Ifa among three Ashen Flame cultivators.

  *********************************

  Ifa watched the doors close behind Tunde and the girl, then sighed and sat down across from the Highlady, who observed him in silence as servants brought out another round of trays laden with food, now enriched with the potent aromas of life elixirs and similar enhancements.

  “The Ashen Flame Sect has been most generous to us,” he commented, watching as Fen took a seat beside Mei.

  Peculiar, he thought. Interesting, even.

  Was there something between them? Partners in crime, perhaps, or something…taboo? Ifa found himself amused by the novelty of sensation again: the wind on his face, the burning ache after training his body to its limits. Here he was, a relic of an ancient time, playing at pretense with Highlords who couldn’t begin to grasp the depth of his power and cultivation.

  It was refreshing.

  “It must be rather insulting,” Mei began, pouring him another bowl of their potent alcohol, which Ifa appreciated for helping him train his body’s resistance to toxins. “Being placed in a secondary role to a mere Lord—especially one from the wastelands, as we hear.” She looked at him pointedly, and Ifa chuckled.

  “Not really. I get to travel the empire with the authority of the Imperial Clan. Not a bad deal, if you ask me,” he replied, noticing Nue standing in the corner, eyes fixed on him.

  “Perhaps, but I find it interesting that none of your techniques resemble those of any vassal sect or clan of the Talahan Clan,” Mei observed.

  Ah, there it was—the question he’d been waiting for.

  “Which clan, sect, or school do you hail from?” she asked.

  Ifa gave a theatrical sigh. “Unfortunately, you wouldn’t know it. You see, my clan was…let’s say, stubborn with the Imperial Clan, and such foolishness brings only one result, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Fen nodded. “Indeed. Complete annihilation.” His tone warmed, and Ifa chuckled internally. Fool.

  “And yet, they spared you—and made you their…servant,” Mei added, emphasizing the last word as though it meant “dog.”

  Ifa shrugged. “I was relatively young when it happened, merely an adept. Perhaps I caught the eye of higher powers as a blade they could discard at any time.”

  “Quite a shame,” Mei replied. “You strike me as someone whose path has been paved with the corpses of those who dared stand against you. Perhaps that’s why they favor you? I’ve heard that the Imperial Clan quietly employs arcanists—not the dregs who craft talismans or low-grade formations, but true practitioners.”

  Ifa gave a soft smile. She was perceptive; he had to give her that. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But that doesn’t change the fact that my companions and I are simply tools they’ll discard without hesitation. I have no doubt they expect us to meet our ends sooner or later.”

  “And yet we continue to survive, always pushing for the next stage to win our freedom,” Mei said.

  Ifa raised his cup to that, nodding in partial agreement. Chains of bondage were relative—cultivators, after all, were bound by nothing mortal, beholden only to the purview of the regents. Hegemons could not have cared less about the affairs of the world. Ifa was certain of that.

  “To freedom, elusive as it may be,” he announced, raising his cup in a toast. The others followed, raising theirs in solemn silence.

  “I suppose this brings us to the main question,” Mei said, setting her cup down. “What role will you play in the coming days?”

  “Same as always—to protect the emissary and support the Ashen Flame Sect however we can,” Ifa answered.

  “We would be most grateful if you could lead a team of our cultivators as well,” Fen added, folding his hands as Ifa set down his empty bowl.

  “In what manner?” Ifa asked.

  “To be blunt, we don’t have enough Highlords for tomorrow’s invasion,” Mei explained, as Ifa raised an eyebrow. To his knowledge, Ashhaven was crawling with Highlords, almost eerily so.

  “At least, we don’t have enough to spare, given that most of them will accompany the Sect Leader and me to face whatever this ‘Ape King’ is, leading those abominations.”

  “I’m following,” Ifa replied simply.

  “We believe that, deep within the Dark Forest, lies not only the relic of the Artificers but also another rift—the original rift—one we believe has been strengthened by the relic. It will likely contain…valuable items,” she continued, her voice dropping as she watched his reaction. “Items we might come to an understanding about?” she suggested.

  “Without the emissary or your companions knowing, I presume,” she added.

  Ifa suppressed a laugh, letting only a glint of interest show in his eyes as he saw the satisfied looks on their faces. Greed—a mild, yet fascinating flaw in the world of cultivators. Though advancing in cultivation was the deadliest ambition of all, Ifa believed greed was a close second.

  He poured himself another bowl of the strong liquor and smiled. “I’m listening,” he said.