Soot and fire mingled within the ruined base of the Brotherhood as Miria moved soundlessly across blood-slicked floors. The bodies of fallen cultivators lay in heaps, victims of her Nightblades' ruthless efficiency. Most had been poison or stealth cultivators—useless against the phantoms who mastered both. They were cut down even as their desperate projection techniques shattered the darkness, momentarily illuminating the carnage in harsh bursts of light.

  It didn’t bother her. She could see as clearly in the abyss as in daylight. But her quarry was deeper within the stronghold, and Miria would not allow him to escape. One did not displease the Lady of Shadows and live—she knew that personally.

  She reached the grand doors, her blades assembling behind her in perfect formation. Before she could touch them, they swung open of their own accord, revealing a lavish chamber.

  It reeked of stolen luxury. Long, silk-covered chairs and windows draped with spider silk curtains framed the space, while gem-crusted goblets rested atop a table laden with exotic dishes and rich wines. Purple Ethra-infused flames crackled in golden braziers, casting eerie shadows. But beyond the opulence, it was the thick, cloying Ethra that suffused the room that held Miria’s focus—and the figure who sat on a gilded throne of gold, a sigil she knew all too well engraved upon its surface.

  So, the rumors were true after all.

  The man on the throne had slicked-back grey-white hair, his features arranged into an expression of mild amusement. His grey robes hung loosely over his frame, a sword strapped to his waist. Rings adorned his fingers, chains coiled around his neck like gilded shackles. He regarded them as a father might a petulant child, his lips curling as if he expected them to be angered by his arrogance. Futile. No words could shake phantoms with cold, steel-forged hearts.

  He rose leisurely, stretching his arms as he grinned.

  “The Phantoms? In my home?” he mused, his tone laced with mock incredulity, as if he hadn’t heard the explosions tearing through the undercity.

  Miria tilted her head slightly, gaze shifting to the darkness behind his throne. A shape stepped forward, materializing from the shadows—a masked man, broad-shouldered, his presence heavy, a sword hanging at his hip.

  “And yet, how dour you all look,” the grey-haired man continued, sighing. “Storming into a man’s home, blades bared, seeking blood. Do the Phantoms know no honor?”

  A blade moved.

  Faster than a blink, a phantom’s sword became a streak of silver light, cutting through the air like an imbued spear.

  The masked figure reacted.

  There was no Ethra in the movement. No aura. Just a slight shift of his blade—so quick it nearly escaped Miria’s sight. The very air itself became a razor edge, severing the phantom in two. Blood misted the chamber as the halves tumbled lifelessly to the ground.

  The grey-haired man chuckled softly.

  Miria moved.

  So did the masked figure.

  Their blades met in a shriek of metal and a shower of sparks. She drew upon her concept, allowing the cold embrace of twilight to consume her, her body slipping into the void between moments. The masked figure’s sword ignited with blue aura, clashing against her twin daggers, their movements a deadly dance across the chamber.

  Her realm of twilight descended. Darkness devoured the room, thick and endless. The figure paid it no mind.

  His blade carved an arc.

  A tiger of blue aura erupted from its edge, roaring into the abyss. The inky black shattered like fragile glass, the force sending ripples of destruction outward. Miria’s eyes widened. Her daggers blurred in intricate patterns, deflecting the brunt of the attack, but the sheer pressure made her limbs ache.

  Twilight Edge crisscrossed with his blade, technique against technique, mastery against mastery. She danced on the razor’s edge of death, her instincts thrumming, her every fiber focused on survival. The moment stretched, stretched—

  And then they separated.

  “Null.”

  The word slipped past her black-painted lips, cold as the void itself.

  The masked figure inclined his head slightly.

  “Wraith,” he acknowledged. “You wield a stolen technique.”

  Her gaze flicked to her phantoms, who now battled the grey-haired man. He danced among them, his sword a blur, parrying each attack with effortless grace. He wasn’t just holding them off—he was enjoying himself.

  “You are the Null of the Brotherhood,” she stated. “The protector of the head.”

  Again, the slight inclination of his head.

  “And that makes him… Shadai.”

  A chill swept through the chamber.

  A presence stirred.

  The masked figure moved.

  His sword cut through the air in great arcs, aura bursting from its edge. The blue tiger roared once more, but this time—

  “No.”

  The word, softly spoken, carried absolute command.

  Darkness swallowed the world.

  Deeper. Heavier. This was no twilight. This was something beyond mere void. It consumed light, sound, existence itself.

  Only one thing remained.

  A pair of violet, luminous eyes.

  The Lady of Shadows had arrived.

  Yue.

  The masked figure blazed with blue aura, his presence surging in response. The grey-haired man threw back his head and laughed.

  “Oh! To be graced by your presence!” he exclaimed in delight, raising his sword with reverence.

  Miria’s instincts screamed.

  For the first time in a long while, she felt it—danger, real and absolute. She watched as her master gathered her authority into a single fluid motion. If she unleashed it—

  It would obliterate the entire stronghold.

  The Null moved first.

  He swung his sword down, and reality paused.

  Then shattered.

  A rift tore open before him. He fell through it, blades of aura erupting from the void like fangs, striking at those who dared pursue. Miria deflected most, shadows coiling around her in response to her master’s overwhelming presence.

  Then Yue released her technique.

  A silver blade of twilight met it in return.

  The clash was pure devastation.

  Miria sucked in a breath, blinded by the sheer force of it. Her ears rang, the impact threatening to tear her apart.

  Then—silence.

  She opened her eyes.

  The entire building was gone.

  Only the stone platform beneath them remained, hovering above the ruined undercity.

  And kneeling before the shadowy figure of her master—

  Half of his body gone—

  Was the grey-haired man.

  Blood pooled beneath him, yet his one remaining eye crinkled, as if laughing even now. Miria’s ears were still healing, but she knew—her master was speaking to him. The last of the Shadai.

  Then, slowly, the man turned his gaze toward her.

  He grinned.

  Mocking.

  “Good luck, Wraith.”

  Then—

  He shattered.

  Like a statue of dust, he crumbled, vanishing into nothing. Even his blood dissipated, erased as if he had never been.

  Miria rose, the echoes of battle still raging in the undercity.

  She stepped toward her master, then fell to one knee.

  “The Shadai clan persists,” Yue murmured, thoughtful.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Miria’s gaze flicked to the empty space where the man had stood.

  “And they know we’re coming for them,” her master finished.

  A promise. A declaration.

  And in the distance, the undercity still burned.

  **********************************

  Tunde had no sense of time as he meticulously went through the sparse collection of scrolls and books in the formation section, feeding each one to the large tome Liu had handed him. Page after page, knowledge was absorbed, and soon enough, there was nothing left for him to devour. The process left him with three refined Grade 4 formations—more than he had expected but far from what he needed.

  Leaning back, he exhaled in satisfaction, though his gaze instinctively darted around, wary of Liu appearing out of thin air. It was his book, after all. But Tunde doubted the elusive formation expert would take the risk of returning, not when the hall’s guardians were on high alert. Even Liu’s luck had limits.

  Turning his attention back to the tome, he examined the first formation:

  Defensive Formation, Refined: Grade 4

  It was a complex, violet-colored diagram, intricate symbols spiraling across the page with inscriptions detailing the precise flag sequences and runic placements required. Yet, despite how comprehensive it appeared, the knowledge felt foreign, almost alien. The more he stared, the less it made sense. His Ethra sight allowed him to pick formations apart, but assembling them was another challenge entirely—one he had no guidance for.

  Flipping to the next page:

  Attacking Formation, Refined: Grade 4

  Then the next:

  Support Formation, Refined: Grade 4

  Folding his arms, he chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating how exactly he was supposed to make use of these formations. Nothing in the scrolls he had absorbed explained how to teach a novice the fundamentals. His Ethra sight could deconstruct formations with ease, but what good was that if he couldn’t construct them himself?

  A voice broke his train of thought.

  "That is quite the overhaul."

  His body tensed. He turned, shocked to find Liu seated beside him, the man’s ever-present blindfold still in place.

  "You’re actually back," Tunde muttered, narrowing his eyes. "I’m not sure if that’s foolishness or confidence—but if I had to bet, I’d go with the former."

  Liu grinned, running his fingers over the pages of the book as if he could see through touch alone. His expression darkened slightly as he traced the formation diagrams.

  "Do you know what first drew me to you?" Liu asked, seemingly unfazed by the danger of his return.

  "You’re seriously not concerned about the hall’s guardians catching you?" Tunde shot back.

  Liu waved his hand dismissively. "The guardians see what I want them to see." His voice carried such conviction that Tunde hesitated.

  Something about that statement gnawed at him. He considered pressing for an explanation but ultimately decided against it. Liu already felt dangerous enough. Whatever trick he was using, it was best left alone—for now.

  "You’re no Lord or Highlord, are you?" Tunde asked instead, watching him carefully.

  Liu chuckled. "I’m not past that, if that’s what you’re asking. But I also don’t take cultivation as seriously as you bloodthirsty people do. There’s more to life than fighting and dying to climb an endless ladder."

  Tunde squinted at him.

  Liu smirked. "But back to what I was saying—what interested me about you wasn’t your brooding demeanor, nor even your Ethra sight that feels like destruction, even though I know it isn’t."

  Tunde’s fingers twitched. "...Oh? And how do you know that?"

  "Because the book I gave you would have recorded it," Liu replied, almost absentmindedly. "Instead, it simply refers to it as ‘void’—whatever that means."

  Tunde’s heart froze.

  Had he just given himself away? Fallen into some unknown trap? He could alert the guardians, restrain Liu, hold him down until backup arrived. But before he could act, Liu shook his head.

  "You’re thinking I’m after your secrets," Liu said, as if reading his thoughts. "I’m not."

  Tunde hesitated, his wariness sharpening. "Then what are you after?"

  "Something you can offer me."

  Tunde exhaled sharply. "So this is you calling in that favor?"

  Liu laughed. "Oh, heavens no. That favor is for later. This, however, is leading to it." He sighed as if explaining to a slow student. "I have a rather peculiar talent for foresight."

  "You can see the future?" Tunde asked, narrowing his eyes. It was oddly similar to Ethra sight.

  "That’s a crude way to put it—but yes," Liu admitted. "And unfortunately, so can the ones after me."

  Tunde frowned. "After you? You never mentioned being hunted."

  Liu tilted his head. "Do you know why the hall’s guardians haven’t found me yet?"

  Tunde crossed his arms. "I assumed you were just good at hiding."

  Liu smiled. "That, and because of you—well, and my concealment formations woven into the hall, but mostly you."

  Tunde scowled. "What the hell does that mean?"

  "You’re... strange," Liu murmured, as if studying him for the first time. "It’s like you’re not there—empty, nonexistent, irrelevant." He frowned. "Hmm... I’m not explaining this well."

  "You think?" Tunde muttered dryly.

  Liu ignored the jab. "Everyone has a presence in foresight—an imprint, a thread in the grand tapestry. The two guards at the entrance? Fraternal twins—murky futures, probably die together in some tragic manner." He shrugged. "Most cultivators here won’t make it past Highlord, assuming they even get that far. But you? Nothing."

  Tunde snorted. Fate recognizes me just fine—it just enjoys screwing with me.

  "It’s odd," Liu continued. "Your presence is anything but insignificant, yet fate seems unable to grasp you. Two opposing things happening at once—quite fascinating."

  Tunde gave him a flat look. "And how exactly does that help you?"

  Liu grinned. "The first time you spotted me, I had a thought: what happens if I weave that ‘nothingness’ around myself?"

  Tunde’s expression darkened. "What are you saying?"

  "I’m saying your very nature corrodes techniques—hence why you resemble destruction cultivators. But when applied to formations, the results are... interesting."

  Tunde’s jaw tightened. "You used me to evade the guardians?"

  "I never left your side," Liu corrected. "Your very presence shields me from those who seek me. And frankly, that benefits both of us."

  Tunde studied him hard. Liu’s grin never faltered.

  "Who are you, really?"

  Liu leaned forward, beckoning him closer with a single finger.

  "I’m the one who’s going to teach you how to use formations like an expert in just a few days—no flags, no fancy tools, just raw skill."

  Tunde leaned back, exhaling slowly. "And our deal still stands? No harm to the Talahan Clan or anyone I know?"

  "Of course," Liu assured. "Besides, those after me wouldn’t dare draw the Imperial Clan’s attention."

  Tunde nodded. "Good. Let’s begin."

  **************************

  The figure in a crimson robe, with a seemingly mundane blade strapped to his waist, strode leisurely across the vast courtyard of the imperial palace. His demeanor was almost carefree, as if the grandeur of the place held no weight in his mind. Above him, the sun cast its golden rays, illuminating his striking white hair, which bore thin strands of black, drifting freely in the wind—untamed, as though he resented the very idea of restraining it.

  His physique was a contradiction of refinement and raw strength—lean yet powerful, his well-defined muscles visible beneath the loose folds of his robe. As he walked, his gaze drifted toward the shade of a towering uru tree, its wide branches casting a cooling shadow over a carved stone bench nestled beneath it. With an air of contentment, he seated himself, stretching out as if this were just another ordinary day.

  The uru tree was more than a mere source of shade. It bore the famed uru fruit—coveted by Highlords and Masters alike for their use in body-tempering techniques. Each fruit fetched no less than 300,000 lumens apiece in the open market, yet here they were, scattered carelessly across the manicured garden, left for the birds and whichever lowly servant deemed them worth picking up.

  The figure sighed, plucking a few of the fruits from the ground with deliberate ease, stowing them away into his void ring without a second thought. With equal nonchalance, he withdrew a large wine gourd, tipping it back to take a deep swig. The taste was sharp, rich, laced with an age that spoke of quality. He exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes as the warmth of the liquor spread through him.

  The fact that he sat so casually within the heart of the Talahan domain spoke volumes—either of deep familiarity or of confidence so absolute that it bordered on arrogance. In truth, for him, it was a bit of both.

  A voice broke the quiet.

  “You know the clan has executed people for stealing less than that, right?”

  The voice was feminine—smooth but edged with amusement rather than threat. The man cracked open one eye, a slow smile curling his lips.

  “I’ve found that, when it comes to the Talahans, power is might,” he replied, his voice calm, almost lazy.

  Mei Talahan, sister to the head of the Imperial Clan—Paragon Jaito Talahan—settled beside him on the bench. For a moment, she sat in subdued silence, watching him.

  “It’s nice seeing you again, Kael,” she said finally.

  Kael Ironedge. Master. Warbringer. Herald. Ruler of the Sword Enclave.

  He chuckled, taking another sip from his gourd.

  “Was that emotion I just heard in your voice? Motherhood has made you soft,” he teased, casting her a sideways glance.

  She met his gaze evenly. “You know I meant it.”

  Kael sighed, swirling the wine in his gourd. “Indeed. And I appreciate it. Though, I doubt your brother would.”

  Mei scoffed. “Jaito may lead the clan, but he’s a pompous idiot. I’d say that anywhere, anytime.”

  Kael extended his senses, sweeping them over the garden. Even before he did, he knew what he would find—watchful eyes, hidden blades in the shadows, constructs lying in wait.

  “Your Master-ranked constructs might not appreciate hearing that,” he mused. “Nor would your wardens and assassins.”

  Mei exhaled, her voice carrying a quiet command. “Leave.”

  Like mist dissipating at dawn, figures peeled away from their hidden perches. Shadows flickered as the clan’s phantoms and guardians withdrew, vanishing in silent acknowledgment of her authority.

  Kael smirked. “I’ve always wondered what they think they could do against a Master.”

  Mei only smiled in response. “Congratulations on your ascension to Sainthood.”

  Kael shook his head, unsurprised by her knowledge. “I know better than to wonder how you heard. But thank you all the same.”

  She studied him. “Is that why you taught your student how to wield Authority at Lord Realm?”

  Kael exhaled, tilting his head back. “I knew this reunion was too good to be true.”

  He sat up, the playful ease in his demeanor thinning. “What the Heralds do is none of the Talahan Clan’s business.”

  “It is when the person in question was once our subject,” Mei countered.

  “Rhyn ceased to be a subject of the Talahan Empire the moment he swore his oaths to the Warbringers,” Kael replied smoothly.

  Mei’s expression softened. “And you?” she asked, her voice quieter.

  Kael’s gaze held hers for a moment before he looked away. “You know I was never part of the Empire or the clan.”

  “You are forever my brother,” she said firmly, “consequences be damned.”

  Kael sighed, briefly considering whether he should have brought more wine. “Why exactly did you call me here, Mei?”

  Mei’s gaze drifted toward the distant spires of the palace. “Something is afoot.”

  Kael frowned. “The Fleshbinders?”

  “Yes. The Technocracy has much to answer for,” she admitted. “But it’s more than that. You must have felt it—the rising Ethra—as if the very essence of the world is reaching a crescendo. You remember what happened last time.”

  Kael’s fingers tapped against his gourd. “If I recall correctly, you became a Master, your husband as well. Jaito became Paragon and crushed the rebellions.”

  What he didn’t mention was his own exile—his forced departure from the Empire upon reaching Highlord. Tainted blood was not allowed to remain on imperial soil.

  Mei’s voice was grim. “And the Asuras rose. The Revenants gained another Master. The Envoys strengthened their ranks.”

  “You think we’re approaching another peak?”

  “I know we are. The Ark Systems were a failed attempt at stalling the inevitable. Adamath will not be denied its due.”

  Kael exhaled. “I take it you don’t agree with your brother’s decision to host the tournament in the middle of the Convergence?”

  Mei folded her arms, unimpressed.

  Kael chuckled. “My point exactly.”

  She straightened. “What I want is for us to stand united—all of us. The Orthodoxy.”

  Kael arched a brow. “The Orthodoxy doesn’t consider the Empire part of its fold.”

  “Be that as it may, when chaos finally descends, there is no one I would rather stand beside than you, brother.”

  For a long moment, Kael said nothing. Then, with a small sigh, he rose to his feet.

  “When that time comes, I doubt we’ll have the luxury of considering such things.”

  His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Besides, what’s this rumor I heard about your son taking a student? And one from Crystalreach, no less?”

  Mei smiled, her expression proud. “A strong child—peak Lord Realm, ready to step into Highlord any moment now. Makes me wonder... if he and your student crossed paths, who would come out on top?”

  Kael chuckled as he turned away.

  “I’d be careful what you wish for.” He vanished like a wisp of wind. “Rhyn has a penchant for hunting those from the Reach.”