On the fourth day of their journey, the Veilwardens’ vessel breached the skies above the capital itself, revealing what looked to Tunde like the largest island he had ever seen. Of course, he had only seen one other island—the domain of the Flesh Saint—but this wasn’t fit to be called an island. It was a vast landmass so large he couldn’t see its end, even from the prow of the ship where he stood.

  Gaunt and still, Tunde’s appearance resembled that of a monk deep in sequestered meditation—or so Daiki had remarked. His eyes blinked slowly as the winds whipped at his robes, though he barely moved, save for the occasional shifting of his arms. He could have been mistaken for a statue.

  Tunde had awoken on the third day—alive and seemingly hale, but mute, much to Highlord Hao’s disapproval. Ifa had taken one look at him, read the message Tunde had shaped on the wall with wide eyes, and left him alone. The rest of his companions, seeing the sorry state he was in, had also kept their distance, unnerved by the presence he now exuded.

  Throughout the day, Tunde had isolated himself in the room, meditating, cycling Ethra through his lines, and refining his flow using the technique Alana had taught him. Occasionally, he imitated the sword techniques she had demonstrated, careful not to use his aura, focusing instead on perfecting his movements.

  It was during this time that inspiration struck again. He unlocked a new technique: Void Step.

  Perhaps, Tunde thought, he had attuned himself so deeply to his concept that he could now move as though jumping through the space between himself and his destination—as though his concept consumed the space entirely.

  At first, the technique demanded immense concentration. Each attempt required careful focus, his mind locked on the space he wished to cross. He hopped clumsily around the room, swaying when his stamina faltered. Yet, with each attempt, his control improved.

  His appetite grew voracious. No matter how much food was brought to him, his body seemed to consume it all, much to Ifa’s dismay.

  Tunde was pulled from his reverie by the sound of footsteps approaching behind him. He turned slowly, coming face to face with Highlord Hao of the Veilwardens. The muscular man stared at him with thinly veiled distaste. Tunde idly wondered what he had done to earn such a reaction.

  “We have arrived at Talahar,” Hao announced curtly. “Soon, we will proceed directly to the outer walls of the palace, where you will report to the Master himself.” His commanding tone left no room for argument.

  Tunde bowed slightly in acknowledgment, his silence clearly irking Hao. The Highlord’s eyes flashed with something akin to frustration, perhaps expecting Tunde to protest or respond. But all he received was quiet compliance.

  Tunde’s senses stretched outward briefly. He could feel the presence of his companions as they made their way over from their ship. He could also feel the defensive barriers and formations spanning the continent-sized capital, along with the overwhelming power signatures emanating from the ground below. The sheer magnitude forced him to shut his senses off—it was too much.

  Perhaps one day, he mused, he might enjoy traveling across the central plains and heartlands. He would explore the empire’s many sword and martial arts sects, study their techniques, and immerse himself in their teachings. But for now, trouble seemed to find him at every turn.

  “You’re lucky to be alive, Cultivator Tunde,” Hao continued as Sera and the rest of his companions came into view.

  Tunde inclined his head slightly, a faint smile gracing his otherwise blank face.

  The change in his companions was evident. The almost childlike excitement they had once carried, even during their battles on the Soul Saint’s Island, was gone. The horrors of the Ashen Flame Sect had scarred them all deeply.

  “I have gleaned some of what happened—from your master companion and your other friends,” Hao said, his tone measured. “Especially concerning the role of the Whispering Phantoms.”

  “We kindly ask the Highlord not to include us in his report,” Zehra interjected from behind.

  Hao glanced at her, noting the shift in her appearance. Where her once long, silver hair had flowed elegantly, it was now cropped short, giving her the hardened look of a battle-worn cultivator rather than an heiress.

  “Oh?” Hao queried, raising an eyebrow.

  “Indeed,” Daiki said, stepping forward with his cracked staff, his head and beard now cropped close. “The Luminous Sect and, I am sure, the Acacia Clan would prefer to avoid becoming embroiled in the Imperial Clan’s affairs.”

  “We are simply not powerful enough to endure the retribution that might come from the warring factions,” Zehra added, bowing low at the waist.

  Hao frowned. “Your words could help clear matters faster. What is happening here surprises me as much as it does you. I nearly died at their hands.”

  “We mean no insult, but you already have the student of the Master himself, do you not?” Zehra replied, gesturing toward Tunde.

  At that moment, Zhu flew over, landing beside Tunde, who smiled softly as he rubbed the Ethralite’s head. Zhu’s eyes were filled with sadness as he gazed at Tunde.

  Hao’s attention shifted back to Tunde, who could feel the weight of his gaze.

  “Is that so?” Hao asked, his tone ambiguous, leaving Tunde unsure whether the Highlord was surprised by the revelation or the way Zehra had so casually thrust him into the spotlight.

  Tunde glanced at his companions, exhaled deeply, and gave a small nod.

  Hao straightened; his expression unreadable. “So, it is decided,” he said as the ship shuddered slightly.

  “Now prepare yourselves,” he commanded. “We approach the first inspection point.”

  The first inspection point was a floating platform, manned by Lords and Highlords clad in the robes of the Veilwardens. As soon as the vessel came into view, they swarmed aboard, their auras flaring as they stepped onto the deck. They saluted Hao the moment they saw him, but this didn’t stop them from thoroughly searching the ship.

  Tunde stood quietly in a corner, observing as the inspection unfolded. The Veilwardens retrieved the bodies of the Phantoms Hao had killed during the mission.

  Hao exchanged hushed words with the other Highlords, their expressions hardening as they glanced at the bodies. Tunde noted the widening of their eyes before they stiffly nodded and departed, taking the corpses with them. The Veilwardens wished them a quick journey to the palace before leaving the ship.

  The vastness of the capital was overwhelming. Talahar was more than a city—it was a continent-sized landmass, the sheer scale of which boggled the mind. Yet Tunde remained vigilant. This was enemy territory, whether they liked it or not, and his suspicions were confirmed the moment he felt the faint presence of shadow affinity—a telltale sign of an assassin approaching.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  He rose smoothly from where he had been sitting, his posture alert. Hao, seated nearby, arched an eyebrow at him.

  “It would be wise not to attack first, Lord,” Hao said, his tone patronizing, almost as if he were addressing a child.

  Tunde’s Ethra Sight revealed the assassin—a Highlord of the Phantom Sect—landing silently aboard the ship. The veil technique concealing his presence faded away, revealing a figure cloaked in black robes. Layers of black bandages hid his features, and his jet-black eyes fixed on Hao, dismissing Tunde entirely as though he were beneath notice.

  “Warden Hao, I sense no presence of the Phantoms who accompanied you,” the Highlord said as his greeting.

  Hao crossed his arms. “I apologize. I intended to deliver the message myself, but they died during the mission assigned by the Imperial Clan,” he responded evenly, his tone neutral.

  “Six Phantoms died in an attack on a lesser sect?” the Highlord asked, his eyes narrowing as his gaze flicked briefly toward Tunde, who stared back blankly.

  “Indeed,” Hao replied. “They fulfilled their duty to the Imperial Clan, as was befitting of them.”

  The Highlord blinked, nodding curtly, before raising one hand—a movement Tunde didn’t hesitate to intercept.

  In the blink of an eye, Tunde crossed the distance between them, clamping down on the Highlord Phantom’s wrist with such force that the assassin staggered, caught off guard.

  “What are you doing?” Hao’s voice cut through the tension, deadly and low, directed at Tunde.

  Tunde merely smiled at the Phantom before releasing his grip and hopping backward, maintaining a casual demeanor.

  “How dare you!” the Phantom hissed, regaining his composure and drawing a black blade.

  “I would exercise caution,” Hao interjected, his tone cold and dismissive. “You’ve just drawn your blade against the emissary of a member of the main branch of the Imperial Clan.”

  The Phantom froze, his anger momentarily overridden by the cold calculation of the situation.

  “This was a step too far, Warden. You would let the Phantoms lose face?” he asked, his voice boiling with restrained rage.

  “You’re a Highlord,” Hao retorted, his tone sharp. “Act as befits your station.”

  The Phantom’s eyes widened briefly before his figure vanished. Tunde’s gaze followed the assassin’s retreat as he disappeared beneath the clouds.

  “This is becoming troublesome,” Hao muttered, frowning at Tunde just as Sera and the rest of the group emerged from within the ship.

  “That power just now—that was a Highlord?” Sera asked, her gaze unsettled.

  Tunde wondered what exactly had unnerved them. The Phantom Highlord had undoubtedly sensed their presence but had chosen to ignore them entirely.

  “You could throw a pebble and hit a Highlord in the capital,” Zehra remarked, pulling out a communication construct.

  “I’d best get in touch with my clan’s people here. The sooner I’m out of your problems, the better,” she said to Hao, who shook his head.

  “I would advise against it,” Hao replied firmly. “At least, until we reach the final inspection point.”

  Zehra and Daiki exchanged glances before turning back to him.

  “By now, the Phantoms are shadowing our movements. If they recognize you, not only you but your clan’s people within the capital will be at risk,” Hao explained.

  “Because we don’t know who’s orchestrating this evil,” Daiki surmised, his cracked staff tapping softly against the floor.

  Hao nodded in agreement.

  Ifa appeared then, stepping onto the deck. Tunde glanced at the vessel flying next to theirs before turning his attention back to the elder, who gave a simple nod.

  “The vessel is fine,” Ifa reported, his tone curt.

  Tunde briefly recalled the thought that had crossed his mind earlier—about the illegal goods they were carrying. If the ship had passed the first inspection point, then it must have been deemed acceptable.

  The final inspection point stood at the towering black walls of the Imperial Palace itself. The walls stretched endlessly in both directions, so massive that they made the ships look like mere pebbles before their structure. The large onyx-metal doors, unnecessarily high and nearly reaching the top of the walls, marked the location of the final checkpoint.

  Tunde saw rows of Highlords stationed there, all at the peak stage, their auras radiating power. One among them stood out—a null, and significantly more powerful than Hao himself.

  The ships slowed to a halt as Ifa returned to command their vessel, ensuring it was clamped securely in place by massive black metal braces. The crew lined themselves up along the deck as the inspection began.

  Hao fell to his knees, prompting Tunde and the others to follow suit alongside the other Veilwardens aboard the ship.

  “We greet the Warden!” the Lord-ranked Veilwardens shouted as figures stepped aboard.

  Tunde immediately recognized the look of a member of the Imperial Clan: black and white hair, a haughty demeanor, and cold aloofness that was matched only by their ferocity in battle. The apparent Highlord-ranked member of Clan Talahan, dressed in black and white, with his hands folded behind his back, stepped lightly onto the deck, his eyes scanning the crowd.

  But Tunde’s attention was drawn to the larger man behind him—the null. Even from where he knelt, he could feel the absence of Ethra around him, replaced by the raw, overwhelming weight of his aura.

  Hao bowed his head deeply toward the member of the clan.

  “This one greets the member of the Imperial Clan,” Hao said formally.

  The Highlord’s eyes flicked to Hao briefly before landing on Tunde, his gaze cold and assessing.

  “You. Are you Tunde?” he asked, his tone as icy as his demeanor.

  Tunde nodded and stood slowly, meeting his gaze.

  “Follow me. The rest of you will be taken to lodgings specially prepared for guests of the clan,” the Highlord said flatly, turning away without waiting for a response and beginning to walk.

  “This simple monk begs a moment, venerable Highlord,” Daiki spoke up, his voice calm yet deferential.

  The Highlord paused, turning his head slightly to listen.

  “We were to meet with members of our respective sects and clans upon arrival in the capital. We humbly ask your leave to go inform them of our arrival,” Daiki finished, bowing low.

  Tunde noticed how Zehra kept her head down, her hands clenched tightly at her sides to stop them from trembling.

  “Your factions have already been notified of your arrival. You will remain where we place you. Such is the will of the clan,” the Highlord replied curtly.

  Tunde glanced at Sera, whose eyes widened slightly before she gave him a small nod.

  Zhu, his Ethralite companion, seemed transfixed by the sight of the massive palace walls. Tunde rubbed the divine beast’s head, drawing Zhu’s attention.

  “No, I want to come with you,” Zhu said stubbornly, his tone resolute.

  Tunde sighed, pressing his forehead gently against Zhu’s before straightening and stepping forward.

  “I do not tolerate my time being wasted, student of a clan member or not,” the Highlord said sharply, his tone laced with impatience.

  The null at his side raised an eyebrow as Tunde finally rose and followed. Together, Tunde and the Highlord floated upward, their auras propelling them effortlessly past the massive palace walls and into the Imperial Palace itself.

  Hao rose to his feet as his elder, Thalor Vayne, approached, the man’s powerful aura forming a bubble of silence around them.

  “You were right, Elder Vayne,” Hao began. “It seems something terrible is happening within the Phantoms.”

  Thalor Vayne, a Warden and peak Highlord, nodded, rubbing his salt-and-pepper beard. His storm-grey eyes swept over the group of Lord-realm cultivators and the elderly Master standing among them.

  “And them? What is their story?” Thalor asked.

  “Pure destruction,” Hao replied with a frown. “Nothing remains of the Ashen Flame Sect. Their account is as confusing as it is disturbing.”

  “The Imperial Clan had long suspected something was amiss in that region. It is fortunate they discovered the truth just as events reached a climax. Hegemons preserve us,” Thalor murmured grimly.

  “Will this impact the event?” Hao asked, his tone cautious.

  Thalor shook his head. “No. The clans, sects, and schools are already pouring into Talahar. The capital is overflowing with cultivators of all realms. This will not stop it.”

  Hao frowned, but Thalor gestured for him to follow. “Come. Let us deal with these guests of the clan.”

  The bubble of aura dissipated as they approached the group.

  Ifa turned to them, bowing at the waist, his ever-present soft smile gracing his lips.

  “I greet the illustrious guardians of the clan,” he said warmly.

  Thalor regarded him with a neutral expression. “I hear you and the sect leader of the Ashen Flame Sect are the reason anything remains of it at all. You have our gratitude.”

  Ifa waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing. I merely did what any good cultivator would do—help those in need.”

  “Ah, a member of the justice faction, then? What sect?” Thalor asked bluntly.

  Hao stiffened slightly, recognizing the same question he had asked Ifa repeatedly—and receiving the same answer, no matter how he phrased it.

  “Faction? Oh no, I’m simply a wandering cultivator blessed by the heavens to have advanced to the realm of Master a while back. A decade of intense meditation will do that,” Ifa replied, his eyes gleaming with a curious light.

  “I see,” Thalor said, his tone measured. “The ways of the Hegemons are strange to mere mortals like us. I myself am close to the realm of Master. Perhaps I might visit you later for insights?”

  Hao resisted the urge to glance at his elder. He didn’t trust Ifa, and from the way Thalor spoke, it seemed he shared that sentiment. There was something about the Master that felt…off, something that set the senses on edge.

  Ifa bowed again; his demeanor polite. “I would be honored to host a member of the Veilwardens.”

  Thalor and Hao turned and walked away, leaving Ifa behind.