What followed was a flurry of activity and questions, most concerning Ifa, who now stood before them in Joran’s likeness. Zehra, seemingly cautious, darted between him and Sera, asking questions ceaselessly while giving the elder a wide berth. Tunde let her be, tuning out the chatter as he helped Daiki bury the bodies of the crew members. Ifa, meanwhile, had disappeared into the ship’s bowels, no doubt working to get it operational again.

  Sera reported that the Ethra furnace was burning at full capacity, apparently containing the flames of the Soul Saint. Under the burning sun, Tunde and Daiki performed the final rites for the fallen crew, following the monk's guidance. However, Tunde couldn’t help but notice how brief and dismissive the prayers were for the captain. He made no protest—after all, the man’s greed had, in a way, brought them through this trial.

  Once the rites were complete, the two men returned to the ship in contemplative silence. The heavy vibrations of the vessel hummed beneath their feet as they neared. Tunde noticed Daiki watching Ifa, who was once again above the prow, carving something into the ship's wooden frame before vanishing below deck.

  "You’re wary of him," Tunde remarked.

  "As are you," Daiki replied without missing a step.

  Tunde nodded. "But I can assure you, he means no harm."

  The monk shrugged. "His presence was a blessing from the Soul Saint. I don’t have an issue with him, but I wonder how long he has been with us?"

  "Since the very beginning," Tunde answered.

  Daiki nodded as if he’d suspected as much. "Still, this is not natural," he cautioned.

  Tunde paused. "What do you mean?"

  "Death and rebirth are cycles that must never be broken. Like a wheel," Daiki explained, invoking the wheel of existence that Bai had once spoken about. "Your elder was not meant for this realm any longer. His continued existence, even if well-intentioned, could have consequences."

  "Is this about those laws?" Tunde asked, narrowing his eyes.

  Daiki nodded. "Even I don’t fully understand them, but we are constantly warned not to interfere with the natural cycle, Bahataba."

  Tunde noticed the monk was using the term 'Bahataba' less frequently now. Perhaps they were starting to rub off on him. He thought about telling Daiki about the relic and Ifa's connection to it but decided against it. Just because Daiki seemed trustworthy didn’t mean Tunde was ready to forge deep alliances.

  "Perhaps," Tunde said thoughtfully, "but when the time comes, let me handle it."

  Daiki merely nodded, and they continued toward the ship. Inside, the vessel felt eerily empty, a reminder that they were the only ones left.

  Sera emerged from below deck, no doubt having been keeping an eye on Ifa. "I’m not sure what the Soul Saint did, but Ifa says the furnace has been improved somehow," she reported, collapsing into a wooden chair, a bottle of alcohol in hand.

  "Improved?" Tunde asked.

  Sera shrugged. "I’m just telling you what he said."

  "The Soul Saint would have gathered knowledge on the forging arts from his travels," Daiki remarked. "Perhaps he made some modifications to the furnace."

  Zehra appeared from another corner, wiping her hands. "We have enough provisions to get to Talahar and back, along with goods whose owners we can’t identify except for this list," she said, tossing a scroll to Tunde.

  He caught it and began reading through it. "We’ll hand the ship and goods over to the authorities in the capital. Whatever happens to them isn’t our concern."

  "That would be a poor choice," Ifa's voice cut in as he stepped out from the engine room. Having removed the upper part of his robes to avoid staining them, his tall, perfectly built form was revealed—black and white hair, dark grey eyes, and a trimmed beard. The room fell silent.

  "Why?" Tunde asked.

  "You’ve been given a great gift. This vessel now contains a portion of the Soul Saint’s authority and power," Ifa explained. "It will only grow stronger with time as the runes carved into its frame increase in potency."

  "Runes are the domain of arcanists," Daiki warned. "Using them without talismans or formations invites trouble, especially since we’re all Lord Realm cultivators."

  Tunde glanced at Ifa, activating his Ethra sight. He noticed Ifa's Ethra seemed weak, almost muddy.

  "Not a word, not yet," a soft voice flowed into Tunde’s mind—Ifa was using Ethereal Voice. Only Varis had ever used that on him. The realization struck Tunde: Ifa was a master.

  It cast him in an entirely new light.

  "True," Ifa continued, "but in time, the runes will fade and merge with the ship itself. By the time we reach Talahar, it will seem like any other vessel."

  "Still, that doesn’t explain what will happen to the goods," Zehra interjected. "The captain likely belonged to a merchant guild. The ship is theirs by law."

  Ifa shrugged and turned to Tunde. "Your decision?"

  "My decision?" Tunde echoed, surprised.

  Ifa nodded. "The monk is against it. The heiress is skeptical. Sera doesn’t care." He gestured to Sera, who raised her bottle with a chuckle. "I think it’s wise to keep a personal vessel. That leaves your vote."

  Tunde rubbed his face, considering. "Nothing matters until we reach Talahar. Let’s wait until then. Agreed?"

  They all nodded.

  "Very well," Ifa said, "we’re ready for departure. The sooner we leave, the better. The battle must have drawn attention. I’m surprised no one’s shown up yet."

  With that, their preparations hastened. Ifa took on the captain’s role, and soon, the ship rose into the sky. Tunde stood at the prow, watching the island slowly fade until it was nothing but a distant speck.

  *******************************************

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The island had settled back into its isolated, quiet state after the recent events. Its trees, now free of taint and evil, fluttered in the wind, while the grass welcomed the sunlight. Creatures began to stir, coming alive as they danced and absorbed the Ethra that now filled the air.

  The village where the final battle had taken place was a desolate scene. The broken body of the Flesh Saint lay still, soon to be overtaken by moss and grass as nature reclaimed what was hers. The body shuddered, almost as if alive, as a green rift appeared above it. From this rift, a pale grey arm stretched out, widening the tear. A figure with pale skin and even paler hair stepped through, releasing dark green Ethra that rippled around him.

  The figure was muscular, dressed in green robes, with dark green eyes and black veins streaking across his exposed skin. A blade, made of bone and dark green metal, was strapped to his back. He crouched in front of the Flesh Saint's body, frowning as he examined the shattered orb within the chest cavity.

  "What a waste," he muttered, standing up with a sigh. Just as he turned to re-enter the rift, a sudden force manifested above the island, freezing him in place with wide eyes.

  "Your kind dares come this far into our territory?" a voice called out as a whirlwind revealed another figure. A shimmering rift closed behind the newcomer, who wore simple robes and stared calmly at the revenant.

  "Revenants," the robed figure said coldly, "you've gone too far."

  The revenant unleashed his Ethra—Highlord Realm power, billowing out in a corrupting wave of undeath. But the robed figure moved too fast for the revenant to react. Before the revenant could even draw his bone blade, the man was in front of him, palm outstretched. In an instant, the revenant exploded into a bloody mist, vanishing into nothingness.

  The robed figure, with black hair and grey eyes, glanced at the remains of the Flesh Saint. With a flick of his wrist, essence flames appeared in his hand, and he cast them onto the saint’s body, reducing it to ash.

  "Well done, old friend," he whispered as the ashes scattered. "Rest in peace."

  He turned toward the rift the revenant had emerged from, waving his hand to seal it. The taint that had lingered on the island vanished as the rift closed. Moments later, more figures stepped through. Clad in black robes, they exuded a soft aura of fire and lightning, each armed with a weapon. Bowing to the man, they spoke in unison: "We greet the master."

  The master waved his hand toward the island. "Cleanse it of all traces of life. Attune it to pure Ethra. It will serve the imperial clan."

  "As the master wishes," they chorused before vanishing to carry out their orders. The master could feel their presence as they began arranging the array formation that would purify the island’s Ethra, preparing it for new affinities in anticipation of the Convergence.

  A hum in his robe interrupted his thoughts. He pulled out a silvery disc, a communication construct, and infused it with a bit of his Ethra. The construct powered to life, revealing the image of a woman with black and white hair—clearly of the Talahan bloodline—and storm-grey eyes. Her smile was sensual, almost teasing.

  "My heart," she greeted him.

  The master smiled. "Enjoying your time clearing the Heartlands?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Contrary to what you think, I would never sully my hands with tasks meant for the clans. Let them prove their loyalty to the Empire."

  She chuckled. "Trouble?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Depends. Bai is gone. The island is empty."

  She frowned. "Impossible. There’s no way he could have defeated his other half. Not with both of them being saints."

  "He had help," the master said. "I suspect another faction was involved."

  The woman’s eyes sharpened. "You know something."

  He gave a ghost of a smile. "Perhaps. Nothing concrete," he added quickly, as she laughed.

  "Don’t keep me waiting, my Wind," she said with a tinkling laugh.

  The master’s gaze softened as he chuckled. "I suspect our son’s new fascination played a role."

  Surprise flickered across her face. "Did you see him?"

  The master shook his head. "No, but I sensed his budding authority. No doubt, the medallion he gave the child."

  She sighed with relief.

  "I’m glad I missed them. One of those revenant pests thought it wise to open a rift directly into our territory. The Wastelands were one thing, but this is a direct insult." The master said

  The woman’s expression darkened. "His orders are clear. Leave them be, for now."

  "I know," he replied, inclining her head. "But the boy's potential is interesting. He shows such promise."

  The woman smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Perhaps he’s worth the effort Varis has put into him."

  Her eyes glittered with amusement. "Perhaps. But I must go. Preparations are calling my attention. Come home soon, my Wind Blade."

  "Soon," he promised. "But I must give my friend a proper farewell."

  The construct flickered and died out.

  The master sat down, the gold void ring on his finger producing a large gourd and two wooden bowls. He poured the liquid from the gourd into both bowls and set them down in front of the temple with a smile.

  "Safe travels in the next life, old friend," he murmured, draining a bowl, the thick scent of potent alcohol filling the air.

  A group of Talahan clan cultivators, cloaked in black, appeared and bowed.

  "Esteemed Master Shen, it is done," they said.

  Shen nodded, rising to his feet and leaving the gourd and bowls behind. He turned and marched toward the rift, stepping through with the lords following in his wake. As they disappeared, the island shimmered with inscriptions from the array flags planted at key points. Like paper folding in on itself, the island shrank and twisted, defying reality as the authority of a greater being came into play.

  When the island had become as small and flat as a piece of parchment, it floated through the rift before it sealed shut, leaving nothing but the vast, flowing sea behind.

  **********************************************

  The ship powered on towards the Heartlands, the seas gradually thinning as they passed through towering mountains—some inhabited, others desolate. These mountains, Ifa and Daiki explained, were home to creatures of nature. Massive, rock-formed beings lived peacefully within the bowels of the mountains, that was, until the ship flew too close to their domain.

  For the better part of the next hour, Tunde and the crew found themselves deflecting rocks infused with earth Ethra that aimed to bring down the ship. Under Ifa's remarkable guidance, they refrained from retaliating, something Ifa insisted would only escalate the situation. Instead, they navigated carefully, managing to clear the creatures’ territory and push further into the Heartlands.

  Tired, Tunde retreated to his quarters. The battle had drained more time and Ethra than he had anticipated. Now that they were fully within the Heartlands, Daiki recommended they rest. The factions here were as ruthless as they were cunning, and although Ifa assured them they wouldn’t pass over any clan, sect, or school’s domain—something Tunde found hard to believe—they still needed to recuperate.

  Deciding to use the downtime wisely, Tunde turned his attention to the inheritance the Soul Saint had left him. With a thought, he unlocked the ring, his eyes widening at the sight inside. Lumens—vast quantities of glittering coins—filled much of the ring’s space, dwarfing the wealth of the Acacia clan’s golden Aurum card.

  Tunde swallowed greedily, realizing he had never seen such a massive fortune, not even when they had been building Black Rock. As he marveled at the wealth, something else caught his eye, making him freeze in disbelief.

  A diamond Aurum card.

  One tier above the gold Aurum card, it held a minimum of one million lumens and a limit of ten million. The Soul Saint had two of them, both filled to the brim. Tunde let out a short laugh, his heart racing as the sheer magnitude of the saint’s wealth dawned on him. If he sent just one of these cards back to Black Rock, the sect’s power and influence would skyrocket. With the resources and domain they already controlled, coupled with the protection of the Imperial Clan, they would rise to unprecedented heights.

  He could already picture it—Black Rock would eclipse even Clan Verdan at its peak. But then Tunde’s excitement dimmed, and a frown creased his brow. Strength invited challenge, and challenges bred conflict. Conflict, in turn, brought war.

  It might not happen immediately—maybe not even in the next year—but could Black Rock truly withstand the powers of the borderlands if war broke out? If they lost, everything they had built would be stripped away by the victorious factions, leaving Black Rock in ruins.

  Tunde folded his hands, weighing his options. For now, he decided to leave the cards untouched. There was no way to send them back at the moment, unless he met Isolde at the capital. With a sigh, he set the wealth aside and began exploring the other treasures within the ring.

  The quality of elixirs and pills impressed him. There were elixirs for healing, endurance, and some that smelled like potent poisons, making Tunde wrinkle his nose as he passed them by. But one item stood out—an intricately rolled scroll.

  He pulled it out, inspecting it carefully. A support formation scroll. Tunde wasn’t sure what it was for, but he tucked it into his robes, sealing the ring shut.

  Suddenly, the future didn’t seem so uncertain after all.