Freya Sharpe. Warren Sharpe. Midnight’s Sharpe family.

  The Sharpe clan’s brightest moment was the birth of a child with Ice Spiritual Roots—who became a disciple of Thunder Sect’s Drake himself.

  Lauren remembered Senior Brother Tarot once mentioning that Master had accepted such a disciple long ago, but he’d died young.

  And here, in the jade slip’s records, it was written clearly: the Ice Soul Sword’s last master was Freya Sharpe. After his death, the sword’s whereabouts were lost to history.

  Oh my god. Lauren’s pulse quickened. If she hadn’t checked the library, she would have had no way to explain producing the Ice Soul Sword out of nowhere.

  When Devourer had handed her the blade, he’d insisted she could use it freely without trouble. Thankfully, she hadn’t believed him.

  How had the sword fallen into Devourer’s possession? What was his connection to Freya Sharpe?

  Lauren shoved the Ice Soul Sword deep into her storage bag, hidden away. She’d sooner carry the butcher’s ugly cleaver than risk exposing that sword now.

  By the time she returned to the mountain, the sky had already gone dark.

  Since it was her first time leaving Starfell Summit since becoming his disciple, Master Drake himself came out to meet her.

  “What did you gain from your trip down the mountain?”

  “Master, I… made a friend.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “He said he’s from Rain Peak. His name is Nash. I thought he was interesting, so we exchanged sound transmission talismans.”

  Lauren held out the talisman Nash had given her. Drake only glanced at it before waving for her to put it away. He didn’t ask more about her ‘making friends.’

  Instead, he asked, “Did you watch Timothy’s challenge?”

  Lauren stiffened, then gave a small nod.

  “I saw it. They said he has dragon spirit roots—the blood of an ancient dragon. His strength really is terrifying. In Foundation Establishment, he’s unmatched.”

  Drake gave a slight nod. “Do you want to defeat him?”

  Lauren blinked. “Me? Defeat him?”

  Timothy was born with a monstrous natural advantage. For her to surpass him would mean clawing her way uphill every step.

  “Of course I want to,” she admitted. “But the gap between us is so great I’m afraid—”

  “Don’t overthink it,” Drake cut her off. “In three years, the Hidden Mist Secret Realm will open. Timothy will suppress his cultivation so he can enter. Those three years are your chance to catch up. I expect to see you there.”

  Lauren’s breath caught.

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  The so-called ‘open’ secret realm was a deathtrap for anyone below the ninth level of Foundation Establishment. By the seventh or eighth level, you might as well write your will. Only those at Great Perfection had a real chance of survival.

  That meant she had three years to climb from the first level of Foundation Establishment all the way to the tenth.

  She’d been toying with the idea of focusing on crafts—alchemy, talismans—but looking at Drake’s steady gaze, she knew there was no time left for side pursuits.

  “Disciple will do her best.”

  “You were born with immortal roots,” Drake said calmly. “You’re just as qualified as he is.”

  Lauren’s stomach dropped. He knows?

  Had he somehow seen the strange four-legged lizard clinging to her immortal bone?

  Ever since she’d mistaken it for a gecko, she’d started calling it Little Four-Legged.

  “Don’t be surprised,” Drake continued. “I also have immortal roots. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Relief loosened her shoulders. So that was it. He hadn’t actually looked into her core.

  It was technically possible for someone two major realms above her to peer into her core, but doing so was taboo—dishonorable unless given permission, or in the middle of saving a life.

  Lauren bowed her head. “Master, my cultivation is still low. I don’t dare reveal such things easily. I wasn’t hiding it on purpose.”

  “It’s fine,” Drake said, his expression softening. “I’ve walked the same road. I know the fear well.”

  Drake raised his hand, and a nearly transparent garment appeared between his fingers.

  “Take this and put it on. It’s the Spirit-Repelling Silkworm Garment I once wore. It’ll conceal the aura of your Immortal Roots—no one, not even I, could peer past it.”

  “Thank you, Master.”

  Lauren’s heart leapt with joy. Her choice to follow him openly instead of sneaking around in the shadows had been the right one.

  If some greedy bastard discovered she had Immortal Roots randomly, she’d probably end up flayed alive and refined into some Immortal Artifact. Who would she cry to then?

  But when she unfolded the garment, her face immediately flushed crimson.

  Thin. Sheer. Small. The damn thing looked less like protective wear and more like… erotic lingerie.

  Wait—hadn’t Master just said he used to wear it?

  Her hands shook. She didn’t dare imagine it.

  Before she could find her words, Drake handed her another item: a jade slip.

  “This is a heavenly-grade manual, suited for you. Train with it diligently.”

  Lauren’s eyes widened. It was the exact same manual devourer had once given her—only this time it wasn’t just half, it was the complete version.

  She had worried endlessly about how to find the missing half. Now Master had just handed it to her, whole.

  The benefit of being taken in by a powerful master was undeniable.

  “Thank you, Master,” Lauren said, bowing deeply.

  “Go on. You have only three years.”

  Back in her courtyard, she immediately recorded the manual into her sea of consciousness before carefully studying it.

  As for the so-called “garment,” she knew it wasn’t dirty—strictly speaking, it wasn’t clothing at all, but a rare spiritual treasure forged into the shape of clothing.

  Still, why the hell did it have to look like underwear?

  As a modern soul, she just couldn’t get over that mental hurdle.

  After a long hesitation, she decided to wash it. If nothing else, it would make her feel better.

  She carried it to a hot spring that bubbled year-round on Starfell Summit, steam rising thick even in the perpetual snow.

  The moment she dipped the garment into the water, it seemed to dissolve, shimmering like frost melting away.

  And then—Drake’s voice rang directly in her ears.

  “Dust-Cleansing Techniques are better than water.”

  Lauren froze.

  Her fingers went slack. The garment slipped from her hands and sank into the pool.

  She whipped her head around. The voice had been right beside her—but the clearing was empty.

  Laughter suddenly echoed from the rocks. A tall figure stepped out of the shadows.

  If it wasn’t Senior Brother Tarot, who else could it be?

  Lauren’s stomach knotted. There were only three people living on this mountain—her master and her senior brother both liked to drift about like phantoms. If her heart weren’t strong, she’d have already been scared half to death a dozen times.

  “Don’t bother looking,” Tarot said lightly. “Master isn’t here. That was a transmission from him.”

  “Then… where is Master?”

  “Inside Starfell Hall, of course.”

  Her throat went dry. “So… he saw me… washing clothes?”

  Tarot’s lips curled. “Yes. He saw everything. Master’s spiritual sense can blanket the entire Thunder Sect. If he wishes, even the flutter of a cicada’s wings won’t escape him.”