Ifa and the rest of the group were led to a building within a sprawling estate just outside the walls of the palace. Behind them, the massive walls loomed so high they blocked out most of the harsh rays of the sun. The compound itself, though modest compared to the grandeur of the palace, was far from insignificant. Plum trees lined the grounds, their sweet aroma filling the air. Ifa found himself relaxing, if only slightly.

  “We’ve all been through difficult times these past few days and weeks. Go and rest,” he ordered, watching as the team dispersed into the building.

  Only Zhu lingered, standing silently at Ifa’s side, his expression sullen.

  Ifa glanced at the Ethralite, whose unique appearance had drawn quite a few surprised stares on their journey. The jade scales that peeked out from his skin at various points shimmered faintly in the light, dazzling enough without the addition of the antennae atop his head.

  “He’s fine, you know,” Ifa said softly, breaking the silence.

  Zhu looked up at him in surprise, earning a chuckle from the elder.

  “You say that, Uncle, but you’ve seen how Elder Brother has been lately,” Zhu replied, his voice tinged with worry.

  Ifa couldn’t help but smile at the term “Uncle,” a warmth spreading through him. But his expression quickly turned serious, and he nodded.

  “I can’t deny that Tunde has been through a lot recently,” Ifa said. “The things he’s had to face are not the ordinary trials of a Lord realm cultivator. The Mistwalker and Artificer sects hunting him, the horrors of the Soul Saint’s Island, and then the Peaks—it’s more than enough to disrupt anyone’s cultivation. It’s enough to scar even the strongest of souls.”

  He paused, his mind wandering to Tunde’s mention of meeting Alana when he had been close to death. The revelation had shocked Ifa to his core.

  It explained how Tunde’s Ethra lines had been miraculously healed. But it also raised unsettling questions. Had Alana done something to the relic? Left a sliver of her power behind in case a descendant of hers faced grave danger?

  And if so, why hadn’t she told him?

  Ifa frowned, shaking his head to dispel the thought. Now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

  “I wonder if he’ll change toward me,” Zhu said hesitantly, drawing Ifa’s attention.

  “Why?” Ifa asked, curious.

  “I told him I was aware of my ancestor—the Tyrant’s—memories, close to his death,” Zhu admitted, his voice low.

  Ifa raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh? Interesting. What do you remember?”

  As they resumed walking, Zhu’s gaze darkened, turning toward the towering walls of the imperial palace.

  “I remember flashes of the battle. I remember who put him down,” Zhu said, his tone heavy.

  Before the weight of his words could settle, Ifa flicked Zhu’s forehead sharply.

  “Yow!” Zhu yelped, clutching his forehead. Ifa shook his head, his expression stern.

  “You are nowhere near that level to be raising your head like that,” Ifa chastised.

  “My ancestor was evil—that much I know,” Zhu muttered, still rubbing his sore forehead. “But I wonder…if Elder Brother will look at me that way too.”

  “Tunde knows better than that. He trusts you with his life. Your bond speaks to that. What does it tell you?” Ifa asked.

  Zhu frowned, closing his eyes and focusing for a few moments before shaking his head.

  “Nothing. All I can sense is calmness. Not the cold emptiness of the past few days—just…calmness,” he said, his voice soft.

  “Then all he needs is time. And I believe he’s in the best place to find the clarity he needs,” Ifa replied confidently.

  Zhu hesitated, glancing at the walls of the palace before nodding slowly.

  “Now come,” Ifa said, his tone lightening. “You need rest as well. Afterward, we’ll decide our steps moving forward.”

  Zhu followed silently, falling into step beside him as they made their way into the building.

  An elderly figure appeared in the compound, seemingly out of nowhere. The gates neither swung open nor gave any indication of movement. Ifa noted the arrival calmly, chalking it up to their hosts testing their readiness. He wouldn’t let them find him wanting.

  Seated cross-legged in front of the house where he meditated, Ifa observed the elder’s approach. With practiced ease, he produced a small table, a kettle, and tea leaves from his void ring. A touch of his Ethra on the heat stones set the kettle boiling, the tea’s aroma wafting gently into the air.

  The elder, a peak Master by Ifa’s estimation, walked with a deliberate, careful gait—a deception, Ifa knew. The elder’s power was palpable, and the weight of the blood he had shed to reach his rank was unmistakable. Ifa recognized it because he carried the same burden.

  Bushy eyebrows framed the elder’s sharp eyes, which peeked out with a glint of amusement. A soft smile rested on his face.

  “Ho? At least someone knows how to treat a guest,” the elder said with a chuckle.

  Ifa inclined his head respectfully. “Greetings, venerable elder,” he said.

  The elder waved the formality away with a dismissive gesture. “Bah! Masters shouldn’t have to greet each other like that,” he replied.

  “Be that as it may, we are guests within your territory. It would be impolite and insulting not to show respect,” Ifa countered calmly.

  The elder chuckled again, lowering himself carefully onto the ground with a grunt. Ifa poured him a steaming cup of tea, which the elder sipped with evident satisfaction.

  “That’s good tea,” he remarked.

  “Indeed. Straight from the borderlands—a good blend. I’m glad the elder approves,” Ifa responded, his gaze steady on the elder’s storm-grey eyes.

  As the elder drank, Ifa studied him, trying to guess his identity. Judging by his strength and age, the elder was undoubtedly a significant figure within the Talahan clan—perhaps from one of its branches.

  “You may simply call me Tianlei,” the elder said suddenly. “After all, we’re both cultivators of the sixth realm, are we not?”

  Ifa chuckled, pouring himself a cup and smiling at the elder’s choice of words. It had been a long time since he had heard the old terms used to describe the realms of advancement.

  “Indeed,” Ifa replied. “But one doesn’t ignore the wealth of knowledge that comes with age, Elder Tianlei.”

  The elder chuckled again, his amusement genuine. “Please, Elder…?” Tianlei prompted, leaving the sentence open.

  “Ifa,” he replied simply.

  Tianlei nodded. “Crystalreach. That explains why no one seems to know where you hailed from.”

  Ifa raised an eyebrow, unsurprised by the clan’s curiosity. Of course, they would have sought to uncover his origins.

  “Though I must admit,” Tianlei continued, “I find it impressive that you’ve stayed hidden from Lysandria’s walkers.”

  Ifa had been expecting the comment. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

  “I have no ties to the Mistwalkers, none dating back to the era of that other cult,” Ifa explained.

  The denial stung—his loyalty to the Seekers ran deep—but prudence often outweighed sentiment.

  “Indeed,” Tianlei said with a nod. “I believe the past should remain where it belongs—in the past. The current generation cannot afford to repeat the mistakes of our ancestors.”

  His eyes rested gently on Ifa as he spoke, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

  “Forgive me,” Ifa said after a moment. “But I find it strange that an esteemed elder of the Talahan clan would come all this way for a single Master like me.”

  Tianlei chuckled again, setting his cup down. “Curiosity about the cultivators who survived the slaughter of the Peaks, as it’s being called, got the better of me,” he admitted. “I can’t deny that one among you has caught my eye.”

  Ifa straightened slightly, tucking his hands into the folds of his robes.

  “Oh?” he prompted.

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  “I don’t speak for most of them,” Tianlei continued, “the Acacia clan’s heiress or the monk of the Luminous Path.”

  “True,” Ifa said, “but you speak of the Blood Path user.”

  “To my knowledge, she is the companion of the student of esteemed Master Varis of the clan. I can only call her attention to it,” Ifa deflected smoothly.

  Tianlei chuckled at the response, clearly entertained.

  “Perhaps,” Tianlei admitted, “but even you can’t deny the risks she would incur from the orthodox sects and the unorthodox ones as well.”

  The orthodoxy—the Heralds, Arcanists, Walkers, and others—was a force to be reckoned with. Ifa found it almost amusing that the deadly situations they had repeatedly found themselves in had somehow kept them off the orthodoxy’s radar. For now, at least. It wouldn’t last, not for Sera, and certainly not for Tunde.

  Ifa nodded, rubbing his beard thoughtfully, though he had already considered this and more. The current situation offered him an invaluable opportunity. Few could claim to be this close to the heart of a powerful clan like the Talahan.

  “The elder is indeed wise,” Ifa began, sprinkling in a bit of praise to soften the discussion. “But I can’t help but wonder—why would an esteemed elder like yourself take interest in a blood cultivator? Surely the other major clans and sects boast more promising talents?”

  Tianlei sighed, his gaze momentarily distant.

  “Of course. But the heavens have guided my path differently,” he replied, extending his palm.

  Ifa immediately felt the Ethra around him come alive, boiling with intensity. His frown deepened as he realized it wasn’t just the ambient Ethra—his own Ethra lines stirred, resonating with the elder’s power. Red lightning crackled to life in Tianlei’s palm, a deadly display of blood and lightning affinities combined.

  “I chose a path none would dare consider,” Tianlei said calmly.

  The footsteps of the others, disturbed from their rest, echoed through the building as they prepared for battle. Ethra surged within their lines as they burst through the doors, ready to face whatever enemy awaited outside.

  “I see why they call you the Crimson Tempest,” Ifa remarked, earning a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from Tianlei.

  “You’ve heard of me? I’m impressed,” Tianlei replied, clearly amused.

  Ifa offered a slight bow in acknowledgment just as Sera led the group out, their energy crackling in the air. With a casual flick of his wrist, Tianlei diverted the shattered door fragments away from them.

  “Everyone,” Ifa began, his voice calm and authoritative, “pay your respects to Elder Tianlei, the Crimson Tempest of the Eastern Borders.”

  Zehra’s eyebrows shot up in shock before she dropped to her knees, dragging a reluctant Daiki and a loudly protesting Sera down with her.

  “We greet the venerable elder!” Zehra and Daiki intoned in unison, the monk holding down the struggling barbarian firmly.

  Tianlei laughed heartily. “Those were titles of the past. Now I’m just an old man tending to his clan’s well-being,” he said, though his tone betrayed his pleasure at the reverence.

  Zehra raised her head, pressing a fist to her palm in formal greeting. Her voice quivered with reverence as she spoke.

  “On behalf of the Acacia Clan and my grandfather, the patriarch, I offer my special greetings to the Tempest himself!”

  Sera, looking thoroughly confused, eyed the heiress warily before turning an equally wary gaze toward Tianlei.

  “Ah, I remember your grandfather—Juga, was it? And to think he now has a grandchild. I’m impressed,” Tianlei said, his gaze softening as he studied Zehra.

  Zehra beamed with pride, her expression so elated that Ifa couldn’t help but chuckle at the look of playful disgust on Sera’s face.

  “Perhaps I shall meet with your grandfather when he arrives for the competition,” Tianlei mused. “He served me well when he was under my forces. Perhaps our clans should grow closer, hmm?”

  Ifa raised an eyebrow at the implication, and Zehra’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she bowed her head. A marriage proposition with the imperial clan? Such a union was the height of ambition for a lesser clan like the Acacias. Judging by Zehra’s expression, the idea clearly intrigued her.

  Tianlei then turned his attention to Daiki, whose serene demeanor remained unshaken.

  “It is peculiar to meet a monk of the Luminous Path so far from his brothers. Tell me, how fares the Saint?”

  Daiki bowed deeply. “He continues upon the path of enlightenment,” he replied, his voice calm.

  Tianlei nodded, satisfied, before finally turning his gaze to a hesitant Sera. Ifa’s lips twitched, anticipating the barbarian to say something outrageous.

  “Be my disciple,” Tianlei said, cutting straight to the point.

  “No,” Sera replied bluntly.

  The sharp smack of Zehra’s palm against the back of Sera’s head resounded, drawing a yelp of protest from the barbarian. Tianlei burst out laughing as Ifa simply shook his head, barely concealing his amusement.

  “Apologies, great elder. She doesn’t know who you are, you see,” Zehra stuttered, her voice flustered, while Daiki shook his head in exasperation.

  “It is fine. I don’t expect anyone from the borderlands to know much about the clan, let alone myself in particular,” Tianlei said, his tone calm.

  Zehra heaved a visible sigh of relief.

  “Why don’t you want to be my student?” Tianlei asked, his curiosity piqued. “There are many benefits to such an arrangement, you see.”

  “I know what you big clans think of us wastelanders, and what you think of blood cultivators. I’m fine as I am,” Sera replied hastily, pressing a fist to her palm in salute. “I thank the elder for his consideration.”

  Tianlei chuckled softly. “I am far too old to care about what the world thinks of wastelanders, much less the rules of the orthodoxy.”

  His gaze turned serious as he continued. “No, I see talent within you. Talent strong enough to climb the path of cultivation. But your foundation seems patched—a shoddy, hastily erected thing. I would like to help.”

  “Why?” Sera asked bluntly, her wariness plain.

  “Because we share the same affinity. And I, for one, would like to do at least one good deed before I either die or ascend to the heavens,” Tianlei said with a shrug.

  Ifa kept his expression carefully neutral, though his mind raced.

  “Ascend to the heavens?” he asked cautiously.

  “Indeed,” Tianlei replied, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “But that is far off. Masters are unworthy of the secrets of the Hegemons and the heavens. Perhaps the emperor himself will enlighten me someday.”

  Ifa dismissed the comment as the musings of an old man. The heavens hadn’t opened in a long time to welcome cultivators from this realm—the Seekers had seen to that.

  “If I may,” Ifa interjected, turning to Sera. “Opportunities like this are rare. The heavens have given you a chance at power. Do not waste it.”

  Sera stared at him for a long moment before nodding hesitantly.

  Tianlei raised a hand to halt her before she could speak.

  “I understand your doubt,” he said. “But I would like to show you what you could learn from me.”

  Folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes, he continued, “Come tomorrow. I will return with a minor student of mine. Perhaps a spar will suffice to demonstrate what you might gain?”

  Sera smiled faintly. “I would be honored, venerable elder.”

  Ifa rolled his eyes.

  Figured it would take a fight to convince her.

  Tianlei rose to his feet, his purpose fulfilled. After saying his goodbyes, he headed toward the gates of the estate. Ifa escorted him, the two Masters engaging in light conversation about the upcoming event.

  When they reached the gates, Tianlei bid Ifa farewell, vanishing just outside the estate as effortlessly as he had appeared.

  Ifa lingered for a moment, watching the elder’s departure before turning back toward the group. Sera and the others approached him, their expressions ranging from curiosity to wariness.

  “We would do well to tread carefully within the capital,” Ifa said evenly. “Powers abound here, and for now, our lives are in their hands.”

  Sera glanced at him; her face unreadable. After a moment, she nodded silently.

  Hao and Vayne departed from the palace vicinity aboard a small vessel provided by the sect. Vayne, seated cross-legged with his eyes closed, appeared to be meditating, leaving Hao to maintain his watch alongside five silent Lords of the sect.

  Hao’s blade, a long, black Ethereon steel weapon, rested tip-down on the floor as he cycled his Ethra steadily, his senses sharp for the inevitable. His head snapped to the right as he felt a presence.

  “They’re coming,” Vayne said without opening his eyes. Hao nodded grimly.

  As a Null, Hao’s heightened senses made him particularly attuned to detecting cultivators, even when they veiled their presence. But their unwanted guests weren’t concealing themselves—quite the opposite. Their strength radiated openly.

  “We were not expecting members of the Shadow Hall,” Vayne remarked softly as two cultivators from the Whispering Phantoms sect approached.

  Hao grudgingly admitted to himself the perfection of their shadow Ethra concealment. He had heard whispers of how shadow Ethra could tap into something deeper—something his mentor had refused to explain until Hao advanced to Master rank, still decades away.

  The older of the two Phantoms, a Highlord and the only one to reveal his face, pressed a fist to his palm in greeting, though his expression was marred by a frown.

  “I apologize for my sudden appearance,” the elder Phantom began, his tone heavy, “but I’ve heard disturbing news that has caused an uproar within the sect.”

  “It is as you heard,” Vayne replied, his tone carrying a hint of threat. “Some of your sect members attacked my Wardens. Do you deny this?”

  The elder’s frown deepened. “Obviously, this was neither known nor sanctioned by the Shadow Hall,” he countered.

  The Shadow Hall—the seat of power within the Phantom sect.

  The Lord-level Phantom beside the Highlord tilted his head toward Hao, his masked gaze clearly dismissive. Hao kept his expression neutral, though the disrespect grated at him.

  “Be that as it may,” Vayne said coldly, “you’ll find that the Imperial Clan has already been made aware. Consequences will follow.”

  “Come now, there’s no need for threats,” the elder Phantom said, folding his hands behind his back.

  Before Hao could respond, a flare shot up from the large Warden vessel transporting the bodies of the Phantoms who had followed him to the Peaks.

  Hao didn’t hesitate. He launched himself out of the smaller vessel, his aura propelling him toward the larger ship at full speed. Black shapes clashed with the Wardens aboard it.

  The faint smell of poison hit his nostrils—a clear sign that he had already been exposed. Snarling, Hao imbued his fist with aura and slammed it into the skull of a Lord-ranked Phantom. Blood sprayed as the body crumpled, and Hao landed on the vessel.

  The elder Phantom and his masked companion appeared at his side; blades drawn. The attacking Phantoms froze momentarily, their shock evident at the sight of one of their own Highlords.

  “Phantoms! What is the meaning of this? Who sent you?” the elder roared.

  No answers came. Instead, the attackers silently raised their blades and resumed their assault.

  The masked Phantom beside the elder moved swiftly, cutting down his own sect members with ruthless efficiency, but Hao wasn’t convinced. For all he knew, it could be an act.

  Clapping his hands together, Hao unleashed a powerful aura technique. The force ripped through the skin of the Phantoms closest to him, their bodies crumbling under the assault. He refrained from drawing his blade, deeming them unworthy, and instead hardened his aura-infused fists to shatter weapons and cave in chests as he fought his way toward the Wardens defending the bodies.

  Hao hissed in frustration as one Phantom slipped past the defensive circle and reached the bodies.

  Before Hao could act, a figure appeared out of nowhere. A female Phantom—judging by her silhouette—lashed out with a whip blade. The weapon coiled around the attacker, its edges cutting deep before pulling him back. The Phantom exploded into pieces.

  She moved with blinding speed, her blade twirling seamlessly as she dispatched the remaining attackers. Her strikes were fluid, her movements a blur, cutting her way toward the elder Phantom.

  Vayne suddenly leapt into the air, and Hao briefly wondered what he was doing before a massive black vessel shimmered into view above the Warden ship. Hao’s eyes widened in shock.

  Had that been there all along?

  Vayne’s aura-infused punch smashed into the prow of the hidden ship, the explosion of force rippling through the air. Hao shielded his face as hundreds of bombs rained down from the black vessel, detonating across the Phantom ship in a chain of fiery explosions.

  The black vessel erupted in a violent blast, the resulting shockwave slamming Hao into the side of the Warden ship. He coughed violently, his vision swimming as he scrambled to his feet.

  Vayne landed nearby, his robes scorched and his expression thunderous. Hao cursed under his breath as his eyes fell on the smoldering remains of where the bodies had been. Nothing was left but ashes.

  “They’re gone,” Vayne said bitterly.

  Hao’s head snapped toward where the elder Phantom and the masked Lord had stood moments ago. They, too, had vanished.

  The situation was spiraling out of control. An attack within the capital itself—by the Phantoms?

  Hao slammed his fist against the wooden railing in frustration, his thoughts racing.

  Who was the female Phantom?