Tunde’s next priority was a visit to the Great Knowledge Hall—a journey that once again had him riding in a carriage pulled by spectral horses, their eerie, translucent forms galloping effortlessly over vast distances. He had initially intended to return home, but the revelations he had witnessed continued to echo in his mind. The tournament itself was set to begin the following week, with this initial week dedicated to celebrations, rites, and the gathering of powerful figures from across the land.

  Zhu had chosen to remain with the master, dedicating himself to refining his Aura and Ethra techniques. Ifa had even introduced him to Essence Flame Cultivation, a path that required an absurd amount of resources. Tunde, however, had every intention of making full use of his medallion to gather such resources, already inquiring about merchant families and influential businesses around the capital. To his surprise, he had discovered that the Golden Pill Pavilion Mercantile Service had a branch in the capital.

  And within it—a familiar face.

  Without hesitation, Tunde had sent a letter of introduction through one of the more-than-eager servants, directing it to the Pavilion. He had no doubt that Baron Dale or someone closely tied to him would be there. The thought of facing the baron again amused him. The last time they had met, Tunde had been nothing more than an Adept. How would the man react now?

  Shaking the thought away, he turned his attention forward as the towering structure of the Great Knowledge Hall loomed ahead.

  It was a marvel.

  The hall was circular and colossal, its structure reaching toward the high heavens. From four equidistant points around the building, massive column-like towers jutted out, as if anchoring the knowledge contained within. The walls glowed with an ethereal grey radiance, each brick a perfect fusion of Ethra, Aura, and ancient inscriptions. These inscriptions connected seamlessly, forming an intricate formation—a single, living array that encompassed the entire hall.

  Despite sensing no aggressive intent from the formation, Tunde knew better than to assume it was benign. Even in its passive state, the structure radiated an undeniable power, one that far exceeded his current cultivation realm.

  As the carriage slowed to a halt a respectful distance from the entrance, Tunde stepped out, inhaling deeply. The air was crisp and cool, tinged with the faint scent of old parchment and burning incense. With a final nod to himself, he reached into the folds of his robe, producing the medallion, and strode toward the massive iron-wrought doors.

  Even without activating his Ethra Sight, the doors' etched formations were impossible to miss—ancient runes pulsed faintly, each one woven into a grander structure of sealing, warding, and identification.

  Two cultivators stood guard at the entrance.

  They were blindfolded, each gripping a long silver spear in one hand. Their robes were pure white, pristine and unblemished, and at their waists, large tome-like books hung from chains, secured to their belts like sacred relics. Their heads were shaved, and their stillness was unsettling.

  But what struck Tunde the most was their cultivation.

  Both were Highlords—an uncommon sight for simple gatekeepers.

  Despite their blindfolds covering not only their eyes but also their ears, the moment Tunde’s foot touched the marble steps, they turned toward him in perfect unison. Their movements were fluid yet unnervingly precise, their attention locking onto him so sharply that he instinctively paused.

  “Disciple of the Main Branch, you may pass,” the leftmost guard declared.

  The second guard mirrored his movements, nodding once before returning to complete stillness.

  Tunde hesitated, curiosity getting the better of him. How had they known?

  “Apologies, but… how?” he asked.

  The guard on the right smiled faintly—the kind of smile that spoke of a question heard too many times before.

  “The medallion speaks true,” he answered cryptically.

  Before Tunde could inquire further, the iron doors groaned open, revealing the vast expanse beyond.

  He merely bowed in respect before stepping inside.

  The moment he crossed the threshold, a wave of sensation washed over him.

  The air was thick with knowledge, the scent of ancient scrolls, oiled spices, and rare inks enveloping him entirely.

  The sheer scale of the hall was staggering, even more so than Tunde had anticipated. Towering stone shelves, ancient and inscribed with glowing runes, stretched endlessly in all directions, forming a labyrinth of knowledge that seemed to defy space itself. The ceiling soared high above, lost in the mists of distance, while floating stone platforms—each a solid ten inches thick—drifted through the air, carrying cultivators of varying strengths who browsed through tomes with single-minded focus. Their complete disregard for his presence was refreshing; for once, he was not the center of attention.

  Taking in the overwhelming vastness, Tunde realized he needed guidance. It would take him years to search through this archive blindly. His best option was to ask someone for directions.

  The first cultivator he approached ignored him entirely, as if he were a ghost. The second, a woman dressed in elegant robes, barely spared him a glance before shooting him a look of utter irritation and floating away on her aura. The third seemed unable to speak, and the fourth, after scratching his head in confusion, admitted he was just as lost as Tunde.

  Frustration creeping in, Tunde finally decided to seek out someone in charge. He let his aura lift him slightly off the ground, ready to navigate deeper into the hall—when a figure materialized before him out of nowhere.

  Tunde flinched.

  The man was lean, almost lanky, with jet-black hair and intricate tattoos that twisted along the side of his face. A silk cloth covered his eyes, yet he grinned at Tunde as if he saw him perfectly.

  "You're strange," the stranger said, his tone amused.

  Tunde narrowed his eyes, quickly assessing him. "Greetings," he replied cautiously.

  "I’m Liu," the man introduced himself cheerfully. "Resident floater and humble servant of the knowledge hall. And you?"

  Tunde hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "Tunde."

  Liu’s smile widened. "Tunde… Hmm. That’s an odd name for someone of Bloodfire."

  Tunde suppressed the flicker of surprise at being recognized. Meanwhile, Liu spun lazily in the air, seemingly unable—or unwilling—to control his direction.

  "Apologies," Tunde said, deciding to cut to the chase. "I’m looking for the section on formations."

  Liu’s expression shifted into one of genuine surprise. "Formations? That’s a first." He tilted his head, considering. "Usually, strong cultivators like you make a beeline for the techniques section, the weapons hall, or—" he grinned mischievously, "—try sneaking into the forbidden archives and end up as a pile of ash."

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  "So, do you know where it is?" Tunde asked, ignoring the last part.

  "Of course! I dabble in formations myself," Liu said, looking quite pleased with himself.

  Tunde exhaled in relief. Finally, someone useful. Though, he had to admit, the man’s sudden willingness to help was suspicious.

  Liu tapped his chin thoughtfully, clearly enjoying the moment. "Hmm."

  Tunde stifled a sigh. "What is it?"

  "Oh, nothing," Liu mused, spinning lazily again. "I was just wondering if diving straight into formations would actually help you for the competition."

  Tunde immediately stiffened.

  Liu raised both hands in mock surrender, laughter in his voice. "Relax, relax."

  Tunde kept his eyes locked on him. "Who are you, really?"

  "A simple cultivator of knowledge." Liu’s grin widened. "You, my friend, are the real mystery here."

  "I wouldn’t call us friends," Tunde countered flatly.

  Liu shrugged. "Fair enough. But I do find you interesting. Hardly anyone comes to study formations apart from those stuffy main branch cultivators. You're a rarity."

  Tunde pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. What do you want in exchange for guiding me there?"

  Liu clapped his hands together, clearly delighted. "I’m glad you asked! First, try to notice the layered formations around you—like the noise-canceling one I placed a while ago."

  Tunde frowned and glanced around. It was true—despite their conversation, not a single person had paid them any attention.

  Liu grinned at his reaction. "And second," he added with a mischievous glint in his covered eyes, "try and find me."

  With that, he vanished into smoke.

  Tunde remained still for a moment, then activated his Ethra Sight.

  Liu was already floating away, weaving effortlessly through the library, dodging cultivators with uncanny precision. His movements were fluid, almost unnatural, his tattoos shifting and morphing as if they were alive, forming and dissolving inscriptions in an endless cycle.

  "A living formation," Tunde murmured, realization dawning.

  Whoever Liu was, this encounter was not mere coincidence.

  His interest piqued, Tunde activated Void Step. In a blink, he closed the distance and clamped a hand onto Liu’s shoulder.

  Liu stopped, startled.

  Tunde met his concealed gaze with a calm, unwavering stare. "Satisfied now?"

  For the first time, Liu looked genuinely surprised. Then his lips stretched into a delighted smile. "Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."

  Their journey took them past countless rows of towering stone shelves, past dozens of cultivators engrossed in ancient tomes, and even floating constructs that hovered silently beside their masters like obedient sentinels. These constructs moved with eerie precision, assisting their cultivators in ways that seemed almost… sentient. Yet, for all the knowledge hoarded within these walls, Tunde had not seen a single official member of the Knowledge Hall—not a single attendant, nor even a glimpse of the Hall Keeper, whoever that might be. The realization unsettled him.

  Liu, on the other hand, remained as unfazed as ever, floating leisurely beside him. His carefree attitude was almost disarming, but Tunde wasn’t fooled. Liu wasn’t just some idle wanderer. There was an uncanny ease with which he navigated the halls, as if the shifting paths and endless corridors bent to his will rather than the other way around. What was even more puzzling was his clear expertise in formations—something that, despite his jovial demeanor, hinted at a mind sharper than most.

  Tunde’s bloodline ability allowed him to see through hidden things—Ethra affinities, formations, the veiled intricacies others could never perceive. Formations, in particular, should have held no mystery for him; once revealed, they were little more than intricate puzzles waiting to be unraveled. But Liu’s formations... they didn’t behave the way they should. Tunde could see them, yes, but understanding them was another matter entirely. Their layers overlapped in a way that defied convention, each thread of energy constantly shifting, as though alive.

  So he entertained Liu’s small talk, keeping his own words measured and vague. He revealed only surface-level details—who he represented, where he hailed from. And yet, for the briefest flicker of a moment, that ever-present smile on Liu’s face froze. A flash of something—recognition, perhaps? Shock?—crossed his features before he smoothed it over.

  What was that?

  Tunde wasn’t sure, but he filed the reaction away. For Liu to move so freely within the Knowledge Hall meant he had the blessings of the imperial clan. That much was clear. And if that was the case, then every cultivator present—the ones hunched over books, the ones floating above the shelves, the ones barely sparing him a glance—had to be under the empire’s watch as well.

  “Most can’t go past the first sections,” Liu remarked casually, his fingers tracing absentmindedly through the air. “Their medallions have restrictions built in. Should they even think about stepping past their clearance, the formations would warn them.”

  Tunde frowned. “So how come you’ve been able to bring me this deep?”

  Liu grinned. “I’m pretty well-known among the imperial clan.”

  That answer was as vague as it was suspicious.

  Tunde’s frown deepened. If Liu was implying he had connections to the main branch of the imperial clan, that was a problem. Jing said there were no direct descendants in our realm or age bracket. So who was he, then? Another assessor? A hidden heir? Tunde was getting tired of constantly running into the imperial clan’s people.

  “Besides,” Liu continued, voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper, “someone has to help organize this mess of a Knowledge Hall, even if they don’t like to admit it.”

  They rounded another turning, and Tunde noted that the grey stone shelves were progressively growing darker. Where once light grey scrolls and crystal tablets had lined the shelves, now thick, heavy books—bound in leather, weighed down by age—began to appear. The very air seemed to shift, taking on a different texture, as though knowledge itself had begun pressing in around them.

  “Is this it?” Tunde asked uncertainly as they stopped before a significantly shorter shelf.

  “Indeed! The Formation Section, in all its glory!” Liu announced with a flourishing wave of his hand.

  Tunde stared at the stone shelf. Then at Liu. Then back at the shelf.

  “…It looks…”

  “Dilapidated? Forgotten? Old? Decrepit?” Liu offered helpfully.

  Tunde exhaled sharply. “That’s because these books,” Liu explained, “are the sum of what’s generally known about formations. Nothing new, nothing advanced. Just scraps of knowledge that have existed since time immemorial.”

  It took Tunde a moment to fully grasp what Liu was implying. His shoulders sagged. “No one would openly share the secrets of their formations.”

  Liu patted his shoulder with a knowing chuckle. “Correct.”

  Tunde resisted the urge to groan. All this effort for nothing? He should have gone after techniques instead—focused on the myriad cultivation paths in the empire rather than this.

  “Not to worry,” Liu said cheerfully. “You have me!”

  Tunde narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  Liu clasped his hands behind his back, tilting his head in contemplation. “For a little favor, I could teach you what countless formation geniuses and masters would sell entire cities for.”

  Ah. Now this was familiar territory.

  “So,” Tunde said dryly, “you weren’t doing all this out of the goodness of your heart.”

  Liu snorted. “Thought as much,” Tunde muttered. “Alright. What do you want?”

  Liu’s grin widened. “A favor of my choosing, sometime in the future. You cannot refuse it.”

  Tunde’s eyes narrowed further. “Why me?”

  Liu folded his arms, tapping his chin in mock thoughtfulness before murmuring, “To the truthful, the runes danced.”

  Tunde blinked. “What?”

  “Ah,” Liu sighed dramatically, “how to explain this to an idiot…”

  Tunde raised an eyebrow.

  Liu snapped his fingers. “Think of it this way—when I lost my eyesight, I gained something else. My inner mind was opened to the machinations of existence. I can sense… points in time. Flares of significance.” His smile grew eerily serene. “Most people are like candle flames—flickering, weak, inconsequential. You, however? You burn like a bonfire. A raging inferno. One that will have serious consequences.”

  Tunde didn’t reply immediately. He merely stared at the enigmatic cultivator, weighing his words.

  “So you’re saying… you can see the future?”

  Liu laughed. “Ha! Smart, but no. Not exactly. I simply read probabilities. Patterns. And the ones surrounding you?” His grin turned oddly sharp. “Mostly bad.”

  Tunde rubbed his forehead, already feeling a headache forming. “And you want to stay near me because you think it’s safer?”

  “Again, not exactly,” Liu admitted. “But close enough.”

  Tunde exhaled. “Fine. But my favor cannot involve betraying the imperial clan, those close to me, or killing anyone for you. I swear this on my soul.”

  The oath tightened across his very being, its binding absolute.

  “Great!” Liu exclaimed. In one smooth motion, he reached into his void ring, retrieving a massive tome before casually tossing it to Tunde. Even with his peak Lord Realm strength, Tunde was surprised by its weight.

  “Study that before we meet next time,” Liu said cheerfully. “I’m needed elsewhere.”

  Then he vanished.

  Not like before. Not with smoke, nor an illusion. He simply… ceased to exist.

  Tunde’s Ethra Sight caught nothing. No residue, no trace. One moment Liu was there, and the next, reality had simply decided he wasn’t.

  Before he could process this, a floating figure in white robes appeared above him, a blade gleaming in his grasp.

  “State your purpose here.” The voice was cold, authoritative.

  Tunde hastily produced his medallion. The figure’s eyes widened before he dipped into a respectful bow.

  “Honored student of the Talahan clan, forgive my words. We had no idea you were here.”

  “That’s alright,” Tunde replied. “I met one of your people—Liu.”

  The figure frowned.

  “Liu?”

  “Yes. Is there a problem?”

  The cultivator hesitated. “I apologize, honored student, but… there is no one bearing that name within the Knowledge Hall.”

  Tunde’s fingers tightened around the book. Slowly, he flipped it open.

  It was empty.