The concept of the Imperial Clan was a truly terrifying thing to see in action. Black flames that ate through solid metal and rock like they were nothing, fused with the deadliness of lightning itself, ensured death unless the opponent had a perfect counter. Most times, they didn’t.

  And yet, as Tunde watched them bear down on him, their refined techniques on full display, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Hayu still hadn’t risen from where Tunde had crushed him through the building, and while he knew firsthand how durable the bodies of Lords were—especially those who had been fed body-strengthening elixirs from a young age—his absence only highlighted a deeper issue: their arrogance. They expected their techniques to be enough, but they lacked something crucial.

  Tunde exhaled as the first opponent, a swordsman, rushed him. His blade, a finely crafted weapon with a razor-sharp edge, gleamed under the flickering glow of the formation trapping them inside this battle. The swordsman’s footwork was solid, a well-drilled execution of the Imperial Clan’s burning sword style. But to Tunde, it was predictable.

  He deflected the strike with his naginata, redirecting the momentum before slamming a shoulder into the young cultivator. The force sent the swordsman stumbling back, his balance momentarily broken. Tunde capitalized instantly, his naginata flashing as it carved a deep gash through the back of the opponent’s leg. A scream tore from the young man’s throat as he crumpled to the ground.

  The second opponent wasted no time. A dual-wielding cultivator armed with two circular kukri blades, he spun them in his hands before hurling them. The moment they left his grip, they ignited with flames, cutting through the air in a spiraling arc toward Tunde.

  Tunde’s void realm blossomed around him. He had been curious to test something, and as the blades entered his dominion, their flames snuffed out instantly, reduced to nothing as if they had never existed.

  "As I suspected," he murmured.

  The dual-wielder barely had time to process what had happened before Tunde moved. Void Step carried him forward in an instant. The cultivator’s eyes widened as Tunde’s palm, imbued with void energy, slammed into his chest. The impact wasn’t fatal, but it was enough—his body went limp as he collapsed at Tunde’s feet, unconscious.

  His blades, which had been looping back for another strike, clattered harmlessly to the ground, their aura severed the moment their wielder fell.

  The third opponent, a spear user, hesitated but only for a moment. Then she activated her dominion.

  A realm of burning flame spears erupted around her, dozens of weapons forming in the air before launching at Tunde in a deadly barrage.

  But just like before, the moment they entered his void realm, the spears vanished.

  Still, she pressed forward.

  Unlike the others, she didn’t seem shaken by the failure of her technique. Instead, she closed the distance, her spear thrusting toward him with precision. Tunde parried, countered, then spun his naginata, forcing her back. But he quickly realized something—she wasn’t just retreating; she was baiting him.

  Movement to his right.

  The final combatant, a bare-handed fighter, exploded forward, his legs igniting with arcs of flame as he struck out with a devastating kick. The sheer force behind it rippled through the air, slamming against the edge of Tunde’s void realm. The flames died instantly, but the physical force still carried through. Tunde’s arms shook as he absorbed the impact with his naginata.

  A follow-up attack came—a pair of flaming fists aimed for his head.

  Tunde ducked, twisted, and struck first.

  His counterattack was brutal—a straight punch to the gut that sent the martial artist flying. The impact shattered the air, and the fighter tumbled across the ground before groaning and going still.

  Only the Spearwoman remained.

  To her credit, she did not flee. Instead, she tightened her grip on her weapon and surged forward once more. Tunde met her head-on, their weapons clashing in a flurry of blows. But she was already on the defensive, each of his strikes forcing her to yield ground.

  Then he broke through.

  With one final motion, he redirected her spear, disarming her and sending her staggering. In an instant, the blade of his naginata was at her throat. She froze, chest heaving, fear flashing in her eyes.

  Behind him, the others were already stirring, some struggling to their feet. Even Hayu, battered and bloodied, was rising with shaky limbs.

  Jing laughed from the sidelines, wiping tears from her eyes.

  "You will pay for this," Hayu spat venomously, his expression twisted in rage.

  Tunde raised an eyebrow. "Not what I expected to hear, seeing as I have my blade on the neck of your… friend? Sibling? Not too sure."

  "You dare—"

  "I dared nothing," Tunde cut in, his tone like steel.

  "You came after me, called me a wastelander, and proceeded to get beaten within an inch of your sanity. Just like any other arrogant fool who believes that their station in life makes them superior."

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  A single bead of blood welled at the edge of his blade, trailing down the woman’s neck. She whimpered.

  Tunde pressed further. "Swear an oath on your soul to leave me alone, or she dies."

  Jing’s gaze burned into the back of his head. "Beating them is one thing, Tunde. Threatening the life of an Imperial Clan member is another."

  Hayu grinned. "Listen to her, bastard. She speaks the truth."

  Before Tunde could respond, a voice cut through the air.

  "That will not be necessary, Cultivator Tunde."

  Tunde’s eyes snapped up.

  A figure hovered above them. He had not sensed his presence—not even a flicker. And judging by the looks of shock on the others’ faces, neither had they. Only the spearwoman looked relieved.

  Then the figure released his aura.

  A suffocating pressure slammed down on them. The Lords collapsed to their knees. Even Jing was forced down.

  Tunde… did not kneel.

  He staggered, but his body had endured worse. He gritted his teeth and stood firm, his muscles screaming in protest.

  The Highlord of the Talahan Clan assessed him with a calm gaze.

  Tunde exhaled, then bowed. "This humble Lord greets the esteemed Highlord of the Talahan Clan."

  The Highlord withdrew his aura and floated to the ground.

  "Thank you for not causing lasting damage to these idiots," he said casually.

  Tunde rocked back in surprise. "Venerable Highlord—"

  Hayu seized the moment. "But Venerable Highlord—"

  The Highlord turned.

  He moved in a blur, striking Hayu with a backhanded slap that sent him spiraling through the air. Hayu crashed down, unconscious. Again.

  "You are all hereby remanded to the custody of the Clan’s guardians," the Highlord announced.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "You have disgraced your respective branch families. Not only did you insult our esteemed guest, but you lost. Badly. Humiliatingly. You will be hearing from the main branch. Report to the cells. Now."

  They vanished immediately, dragging their fallen leader with them.

  The formation shattered, restoring everything to its original state.

  Tunde marveled at the sheer power involved.

  The Highlord turned back to him, watching him carefully.

  Tunde met his gaze, then nodded in respect—before vanishing.

  *************************

  The journey to the Burning Flame Smith was one of contemplative silence, Tunde left with more questions than answers, while Jing, beside him, seemed far too pleased with herself. The shimmering buildings of glass and black stone they passed lent the area an ethereal quality, contrasting starkly with the dull, gloomy outlook he had expected. The sky above was overcast with the faint, swirling traces of residual Ethra, a reminder of the ongoing Convergence and the recent battles fought within the clan.

  Off in the distance, telltale plumes of smoke twisted into the air, dark and dense, marking their proximity to the Forging District—or whatever passed for it in the capital. Rather than take one of the spirit beast-drawn carriages that clattered through the streets, Tunde and Jing had opted to sprint full-force through the city, wary of any remaining branch family members that might be lying in wait.

  As they moved, Tunde finally spoke.

  "Who was that Highlord?" he asked, recalling the terrifying presence that had descended upon them with no warning.

  Jing barely spared him a glance, too focused on their surroundings. "Some random Highlord of the clan," she replied with a shrug. "Too many of them these days. The Convergence and the surge in ambient Ethra raised a lot of cultivators' levels. You should know that by now."

  She turned her head slightly, then added in a more hesitant tone, "You do know that, right?"

  Tunde gave a slight nod.

  "Does that mean there are also more Masters?" he asked, genuinely curious.

  Jing snorted. "Hah. Hardly. I don't know much about what it takes to become a Master, but even I know that bottleneck is something else entirely. No amount of ambient energy is going to make breaking through any easier. So far, only your Master has managed to step into that realm in the entire clan."

  Tunde absorbed that information in silence.

  Jing, however, continued. "Which is why the clan probably chose to hold the Banquet of Power now. The residual Ethra in the air, coupled with the Convergence reaching its peak, should push many Lords to the realm of Highlord, bolstering the clan’s ranks."

  She paused then, turning to give him a look—one that started at his feet and slowly trailed up to his face, lingering there.

  Tunde raised an eyebrow. "What’s that look for?"

  Jing crossed her arms. "I know Hayu and his ilk weren’t peak Lords, but the way you destroyed them? That was something else." Her voice was calm, but her eyes were sharp. "Frankly, that was what i expected you to do to that Iron Fist Sect member, not a trained member of the imperial clan, how did you do that?"

  Tunde glanced at her. "I am a Lord," he reiterated flatly.

  Jing exhaled through her nose. "I know," she muttered.

  He shrugged, looking ahead as the distant structures of the Forging District loomed ever closer. "I have something that very few of the capital’s cultivators seem to possess."

  Jing raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what’s that?"

  Tunde's lips barely moved as he responded. "Experience."

  They landed in front of a towering structure of shaped metal and dark stone, the largest in the district, from which the thickest plumes of smoke rose. The scent of heated metal and burning fuel filled the air, but unlike the crude, chaotic forges Tunde had encountered in the past, this place was… pristine. The streets were spacious and clean, without a single scrap of discarded ore or soot-stained walls.

  More curiously, the smoke that billowed from the forges did not simply disperse into the air. Instead, it curled into strange formations—sigils, almost—before fading into the sky, seemingly contained by some unseen force. The entire place radiated an unnatural order, as though the chaos of forging had been tamed rather than allowed to run rampant.

  What drew Tunde’s attention the most, however, were the two towering metal constructs stationed at the district’s entrance. Humanoid in form, yet clearly mechanical, their massive frames were sculpted from blackened alloy and etched with intricate runes that pulsed with a dull, red light. Their eyes—or what passed for them—glowed a molten crimson, shifting slightly as they turned to regard the two arrivals.

  They did not move, nor did they breathe.

  But Tunde could feel their scrutiny.

  Jing slowed her steps, stopping at a cautious distance. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "These are the Guardians of the Forging District. Master-ranked constructs. You do not want to get on their bad side."

  Tunde, already at a respectable distance, stopped as well.

  "What are they here to do?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

  Jing smirked. "Keep out intruders, of course. The Burning Flame Smith doesn’t like unannounced guests."

  Tunde's brows furrowed slightly. "So they stop cultivators from visiting the other smiths?"

  Jing tilted her head, then shook it. "Tunde, I don’t think you understand." She gestured at the entire Forging District, sweeping her hand across the vast, smoke-laden streets and structures. "This district doesn’t belong to multiple smiths. It belongs to one."

  Tunde stiffened slightly, eyes flickering back to the colossal gate ahead.

  "You’re saying… this entire district belongs to a single smith?"

  Jing nodded, grinning. "Of course. That massive structure ahead? That’s where the Burning Flame Smith himself resides. The district isn’t just where he works—it’s his domain."

  Tunde let out a quiet breath. "That’s absurd."

  Jing chuckled, nudging his arm. "Welcome to the capital, wastelander."

  She glanced at the constructs, who had yet to move, then added, "Now would be a good time to show off that medallion of yours."

  Tunde wordlessly reached into his robes and pulled out the medallion bearing the mark of his Master, the gleaming sigil etched onto its surface glinting faintly in the dim light.

  The moment the constructs registered it; their crimson eyes flared.

  A low, grinding noise rumbled from their frames as they straightened, their immense bodies shifting ever so slightly. Then, without hesitation, the massive gates swung open with a sound like roaring flames, revealing what lay beyond—

  A landscape of molten fire and gleaming metal.

  Tunde exhaled slowly.

  Things in the capital simply didn’t make sense.

  ***************************

  The interior of the Burning Flame Smith was a world sculpted from fire and metal, a masterpiece of refined craftsmanship that transcended mere function and became an expression of power itself.

  The walls were not just walls—they were latticed with shimmering glass, woven seamlessly with metal, forming intricate patterns that pulsed with soft, shifting hues. The inscriptions that ran along their surfaces were more than decorative; they were living formations, complex sigils that radiated an unseen energy, as if the very walls breathed in the forge’s heat and exhaled something far greater. Tunde knew little of formations, but even he could tell that these were unlike anything he had encountered before. They whispered of artistry and mastery beyond his comprehension.

  A fountain of molten lava, smooth as liquid gold, cascaded from a grand golden mantle overhead, its flow impossibly controlled, a constant stream that never splashed nor wavered. The lava ran through channels carved into the very ground, weaving a path past the various forges that dotted the expansive hall. The sight alone was mesmerizing, but more than that, Tunde could feel the sheer power in the air—an almost tangible presence that pressed against his skin, reminding him of the authority he had felt in the presence of masters and saints.

  The forge was alive, not merely a place of creation but a domain of sheer, unbridled will.

  Ethereon—pure condensed energy—was carried in large containers by workers, flowing through the forge like lifeblood, feeding the flames of the artisans toiling away at their craft. Lords, and even a few Highlords, stood at their stations, hammering molten steel, their movements fluid, precise, and reverent. There was no wasted motion, no casual conversation—only the rhythmic clang of metal on metal, the roar of flames, and the whispered hum of power.

  Tunde turned to Jing, sensing her silence, only to find her staring in quiet reverence. Her eyes were locked onto a blade, freshly forged and cradled in the arms of a Highlord as he passed them, utterly indifferent to their presence. The weapon gleamed with a luster that seemed to draw in the surrounding firelight, bending it to its will.

  “This is my first time inside the Burning Flame Smith,” she murmured, almost to herself, her voice carrying the weight of awe.

  Tunde raised a brow. He had assumed someone from a branch family of the main clan would have at least visited before, but the look on her face told him otherwise. He glanced around, feeling smaller than he had expected.

  "Who do we even talk to around here?" he asked, half to himself.

  A deep, gruff voice answered from behind them.

  "Usually, I would find that offensive."

  They turned as the forges’ orange glow illuminated the figure who had spoken. A mountain of a man loomed over them, his muscular form outlined in the flickering light. A glowing green stalk—some kind of enchanted herb—was clenched between his teeth, its surface pulsing faintly like embers hidden within leaves. His gaze was hard, scrutinizing, as if weighing their worth in the same way one judged raw ore before the forge.

  Jing bowed immediately, and Tunde, catching on, followed suit. There was no need to ask—the sheer pressure rolling off the man told Tunde that he was a Highlord.

  "Greetings, honored Highlord," Tunde said formally.

  The Highlord merely raised a hand, stopping him mid-bow, exhaling in mild irritation.

  "I know who you are. The master of this forge knows as well." His voice was rough, but not unkind—merely blunt, like a hammer striking an anvil. "And he wants me to convey to you a simple fact: just because you are the student of a direct descendant of the main branch does not mean you are entitled to an audience with him."

  The words landed with weight. Tunde bowed lower in response, keeping his voice firm and respectful.

  "I pray for the master’s mercy. I was only directed here by my own master to forge a weapon. If I have in any way offended the master, then I can only beg his forgiveness and ask what must be done to atone."

  For a brief moment, the forge went silent.

  The ringing of hammers ceased. The air stilled.

  Tunde glanced up, confused by the sudden shift, only to realize what had drawn everyone’s attention—the large metal door at the far end of the forge, previously closed, was now swinging open with a slow, deliberate motion.

  The Highlord’s brows rose slightly, his expression betraying surprise.

  "Well," he mused, glancing at Tunde with newfound curiosity. "It seems you'll get your chance to ask him yourself."

  Tunde hesitated for a brief second, a twinge of unease settling in. He had not expected this.

  "He doesn’t like to be kept waiting," the Highlord added pointedly.

  Jing immediately took a step back. "The honored master wants to meet you, not me. I'm fine just where I am," she said quickly, shaking her head.

  Tunde exhaled, glancing once more at the open door. Beyond it, a deeper fire glowed, something far more intense than the forges outside.

  He squared his shoulders and stepped forward.