Tunde left the knowledge hall as quietly as he had arrived, slipping into the shadows with Liu at his side. The guards and other cultivators seemed oblivious to his presence, their eyes sliding past him as though he were little more than a whisper in the wind. That fact alone unsettled him. It meant there were only two possibilities when it came to Liu.

  The first—and the most damning—was that Liu truly belonged to the Talahan clan and that all of this had been some elaborate test of loyalty. A test Tunde realized, with a sinking feeling, that he might have already failed.

  The second option was far more complicated: Liu was part of some powerful, formation-using faction, and Tunde had unknowingly stepped on the wrong toes. That thought gnawed at him as they walked through the palace corridors, but it wasn’t until they reached his quarters that the full weight of realization struck him.

  The inscriptions written in the book Liu had given him—the ones meant to guide his use of the formation—weren’t simple glyphs or martial runes. They were something else entirely. They were arcanist runes.

  A slow, chilling understanding settled over Tunde.

  Liu, lounging nearby, smirked as he watched the realization dawn on his face.

  “I was wondering when you’d reach that conclusion,” Liu said, stretching lazily as they sat outside the building, within the vast courtyard that was now Tunde’s privilege as a recognized student of the Talahan clan.

  Tunde exhaled sharply. “You’re an arcanist.”

  Saying it aloud made it more real. It was one thing to suspect, another to confirm.

  Liu nodded, his blindfold still in place, his ever-present, infuriating grin firmly in place. “Indeed. Now, you should bow three times and call me ‘Master’ in recognition of my sheer magnificence.” He threw his arms wide in mock grandeur.

  Tunde just blinked at him.

  Liu deflated immediately. “Tsk. That used to mean more a long time ago,” he mumbled.

  “I know next to nothing about the arcanists,” Tunde admitted. “Only that you can read runes that are impossible for other cultivators of Adamath to decipher. Or something like that.”

  Liu sighed dramatically. “Yes, yes. Readers of fate and time, speakers of the lost tongue of Adamath, wielders of mystical arts—blah, blah, blah.” He waved a hand dismissively.

  Tunde narrowed his eyes. “Are those actually true?”

  “Who knows?” Liu shrugged. “I’m a baby arcanist. Left the fold before I could even—”

  “Stop.”

  Tunde’s voice was sharper than he intended, but it had the desired effect. Liu paused mid-sentence, his grin faltering ever so slightly. He must have sensed the irritation in Tunde’s tone—if not in his voice, then surely in his aura.

  “I get that you have secrets,” Tunde continued, voice firm but measured. “And if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. Really.” He exhaled slowly, trying to rein in his growing frustration. “But I’m putting my life on the line for you. I have no idea what kind of martial master, cult, sect, faction, or even clan is after you. The least you could do is show me some respect.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Liu swallowed and gave a small, almost reluctant nod. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “You’re right. I understand. And I apologize.”

  Tunde wasn’t sure what to make of the awkward atmosphere that followed, but before he could dwell on it, Liu clapped his hands together, his usual cheer bursting forth once more.

  “Be that as it may,” Liu said, “I wasn’t lying. My knowledge of the arcanists is… limited. And even if I could tell you everything, I’m under oath. Situations made my departure… rushed.”

  Tunde cracked his neck, considering that. “Then I’ll ask no further questions. Let’s begin.”

  Liu nodded approvingly.

  “Formations,” he began, his tone suddenly serious, “are complex arrays or patterns inscribed into surfaces. They’re designed to harness, control, or—most commonly—gather specific types of energy to fulfill a task.”

  Tunde listened intently.

  “You want to defend yourself against a powerful opponent you can’t beat?” Liu continued. “A defensive formation will help you withstand their attacks long enough to escape or counter with a hidden technique.”

  He raised his left palm skyward.

  “You want to lay siege to a stronghold? Overwhelm your enemies with sheer force? An offensive formation will do the trick.”

  His fingers curled slightly as if grasping unseen power.

  “Or,” Liu added, “let’s say you find a place rich in Ethra, or perhaps some rare affinity—a site blessed by the heavens, brimming with inspiration or essence flames. A gathering formation will let you absorb it all, cleanly and efficiently.” He leaned back, spreading his arms. “All in all, formations are an incredibly powerful tool.”

  Tunde frowned. “Then why doesn’t everyone use them?”

  If they were as fantastic as Liu was making them out to be, why hadn’t he seen them actively used in battle more often?

  “Because formations are notoriously expensive to operate,” Liu explained with a sigh. “Most of the time, only wealthy cities can afford to maintain defensive formations. The Talahan clan, for instance, is filthy rich—rich enough to use all three types within their capital. And I can guarantee you, it’s swallowing an unholy amount of lumens, gems, and Ethra crystals each day just to keep functioning.”

  Tunde absorbed the information.

  “On top of that,” Liu continued, “formations are highly specific about the materials used to inscribe them. For example, the Heavenly Thunder Barrier Formation—used by the Heavenly Thunder Sect of the Far East—requires thunder stones found exclusively in their territory. I once saw it in action.” He shuddered. “Left nothing but charred bones of a Highlord.”

  Tunde rubbed his jaw, mulling it over. “So, the materials determine the type of formation?”

  “Exactly. That’s why learning another faction’s formation techniques is often useless. The materials they use are either unique to their region or fiercely guarded.”

  Tunde’s brows furrowed. “But you’re saying you can teach me formations without needing materials?”

  Liu smirked. “Because I developed another method.”

  Tunde’s head snapped toward him. “You… what?”

  “You heard me.”

  Tunde studied Liu carefully. “You’re telling me you’ve discovered an entirely new way to create formations?”

  Liu’s grin widened. “Yup.”

  “And yet you claim to not know much about the arcanists?”

  Liu hesitated. “Alright, I see where you’re coming from.” He chuckled.

  Tunde’s expression darkened. “And let me guess—this has something to do with why someone is hunting you?”

  “You might say that,” Liu admitted. “Which is exactly why I want to pass it on.”

  Tunde groaned. “So now your enemies become my enemies?”

  Liu shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “And no one in their right mind would dare go after the student of a direct member of the Talahan clan.”

  Tunde rubbed his forehead wearily. “Can you just teach me the material method instead?”

  “Nope.”

  Before Tunde could react, Liu’s fingers shot up like lightning, tapping his forehead.

  A rush of power flooded his mind.

  A flash of power surged through Tunde’s mind like molten metal, scorching and searing its way through his consciousness. He groaned, his body instinctively recoiling as he crashed backward, limbs trembling from the sheer force of it. A torrent of knowledge flooded his mind, raw and unfiltered, an overwhelming cascade of information that threatened to drown him. He had no idea how long he lay there, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, as his body fought to process the sudden influx. But when the agony finally subsided, another battle took its place—one of sheer will.

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  His fingers twitched, clenched into fists as the instinctual urge to end Liu where he stood pulsed through him. The arcanist’s infuriatingly smug smile only stoked the fire.

  “Don’t you ever do that again,” Tunde growled, his voice low and dangerous, Joran’s Wrath flaring in his palm before he forced it to dissipate.

  Liu, utterly unfazed, simply shrugged. “I apologize, but that was the fastest way to transfer the knowledge to you.” His tone, however, carried not a single shred of remorse.

  Tunde took a deep breath, forcing his temper under control. “What was that technique?” he asked, voice still tight but steady.

  “Something we use for initiates of the faction when they first arrive,” Liu explained, waving a hand dismissively. “It helps open their minds to the infinite possibilities of the world.”

  Tunde exhaled heavily, his heart still hammering in his chest as he pushed himself upright. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Liu opening the book.

  “This book has a rather peculiar habit,” Liu remarked, turning the pages with a practiced ease. “It modifies formations to suit the Ethra affinity or concept of its intended user. And in the case of the formations you drew?” He glanced at Tunde with an intrigued expression. “You.”

  Tunde frowned. “But I’m not ashamed to admit—I don’t see how these formations would work.”

  Liu tapped a finger against the page thoughtfully. “That’s the thing. Your affinity, your concept—it consumes, unravels, shatters. To see it power something instead?” He shook his head. “That would be quite the test.”

  Tunde’s gaze dropped to the book, and as if an unseen lock had been undone, his mind suddenly expanded, his understanding sharpening.

  “I can grasp it… to an extent,” he murmured, his eyes flicking back to Liu.

  The blindfolded arcanist nodded approvingly. “As expected. But before you can truly make use of formations, you must first understand their foundations. They obey the four cardinal points of the world, each tied to the natural elements.”

  He raised a hand, fingers tracing invisible lines in the air as he continued.

  “The North represents water and frost, the biting chill of winter. The South represents fire—offense, transformation, and explosive potential. The East aligns with wood—vitality, growth, and renewal. And the West? It embodies strength, discipline, and refinement.”

  Liu let the knowledge settle before continuing.

  “Each of these elements plays a crucial role in the coordination and linking of arrays, transforming simple patterns into something truly formidable. The deeper your understanding of these cardinal alignments, the greater your mastery over formation arrays.”

  Tunde tilted his head. “So is formation mastery separate from normal cultivation ranks?”

  Liu nodded. “Very much so. Formation users rarely have the luxury to keep up with their traditional cultivation. Those with true knowledge of formations are often snapped up by powerful factions, given the resources to pursue their craft without interruption. It’s why the Arcanist Faction is both respected and protected by the great cults and notable factions of Adamath.”

  Tunde sighed, turning another page of the book. “So, I’m guessing I’m at the very bottom?”

  Liu rubbed his jaw in thought. “Not exactly.” He leaned in slightly. “No formation adept can see through formations the way you do—unraveling them, breaking them down. And considering that the second rank of formation users is that of an adept…” He smirked. “I’d say that’s where you stand.”

  Tunde raised a brow. “There are ranks?”

  “Six, to be precise,” Liu listed them off effortlessly. “Novice, Adept, Master, Grandmaster, Paragon, and Sovereign.”

  Tunde scoffed. “And where do you stand?”

  Liu smiled wryly. “I am but a humble Formation Master.”

  Tunde’s eyes widened slightly, but Liu waved off his reaction.

  “Don’t mistake it for the lofty rank of a cultivation master,” he warned. “It simply means my knowledge of formations rivals that of masters in the Arcanists. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Tunde chuckled. “Be that as it may, it seems I’m in good hands.”

  Liu’s smirk returned. “Like we were saying, your concept or affinity raises doubts about how you’ll use formations. Let’s put it to the test with something simple.” He reached into his void ring, retrieving several large, luminous white Ethra crystals.

  Tunde frowned. “I thought formations didn’t require materials?”

  “They don’t,” Liu admitted, “but before you can break the rules, you must first understand them. To truly grasp formations, you need to comprehend what it is you’re creating.”

  He held up a crystal. “This is a basic Spirit Gathering Array, used to increase the rate of Ethra absorption in a particular area.”

  “A gathering formation,” Tunde murmured as realization dawned.

  Liu nodded. Without hesitation, he began placing the Ethra crystals at the four cardinal points, forming a perfect circle around them. Despite the blindfold covering his eyes, his movements were precise, practiced—flawless.

  Tunde watched, mesmerized, as Liu’s Ethra—bright blue, unaligned with any particular affinity—scorched the ground, carving intricate lines into the dirt.

  “Another hurdle you’ll face,” Liu said as he worked, “is that formation users typically learn to carve circles with pure Ethra from a young age, within the halls of the Arcanist Faction. You’re far too old to start from scratch.” He sighed, then grinned. “But, well, we’ll make do.”

  Tunde’s sharp gaze tracked Liu’s every movement, his peak Lord Realm eyes easily following the complex weaves of his hands as he traced runes into the ground. The air around them thickened, ambient Ethra swirling toward the array as it came to life, glowing with an almost hypnotic brilliance.

  Tunde inhaled deeply, drinking it in, committing every motion, every shift in the energy, to memory. He immersed himself in the process, absorbing not just the knowledge but the feeling of it—of creation, of power woven into structure.

  Then, just as quickly as it flared to life, the array burned itself out. The Ethra crystals shattered, breaking into luminous, rainbow-hued shards.

  “Basic formation arrays—Grade 1—are weak and temporary,” Liu explained. “They don’t last long. Most formation users at this level are Initiates or Disciples, using them for rudimentary traps or battlefield enhancements.”

  Tunde nodded thoughtfully, but before he could speak, a presence appeared on the horizon.

  A servant, dressed in crisp robes, approached with measured steps, bowing respectfully before presenting a sealed letter and an intricately crafted void ring.

  Liu let out a low whistle. “That’s an expensive-looking void ring. Perks of serving the Talahan Clan?”

  Tunde took the letter, his expression softening into something unreadable. He opened it, scanning the contents before letting out a quiet chuckle. Then, with a flick of his fingers, the letter went up in sudden, violent flames, disintegrating without leaving a trace.

  “No,” he finally answered, slipping the ring onto his finger, admiring its craftsmanship.

  A small, knowing smile played at his lips.

  “A gift from my past.”

  Inside the void ring were gifts from the Golden Pill Pavilion, the very same establishment through which he had sent a letter via the servant. Alongside the resources he had specifically requested for Zhu’s cultivation, Baron Dale—whose influence within the pavilion seemed to have grown considerably—had included an unexpected wealth of additional resources. Tunde’s lips curled into a knowing smirk as he assessed the sheer abundance now in his possession. With the ring Harumi had gifted him still brimming with valuables, coupled with the wealth in the Baron’s ring and his own personal reserves, he realized something undeniable—he had no business remaining in the Lord Realm any longer.

  The competition ahead would be far more formidable than anything he had previously faced. If he wanted to stand a chance, it was time to take the final step.

  His gaze flicked toward Liu, who cocked his head inquisitively.

  “I have somewhere to be, and I can’t take you with me,” Tunde stated, securing the void ring onto his finger. “Explaining your presence would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Liu merely nodded, unconcerned. “No problem. Just make sure you study the basic Spirit Gathering Array. Oh, and good luck on your opening trials.” His lips quirked upward. “I have a feeling it’ll be easy for you.”

  Tunde frowned, instantly alert. “What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing too serious,” Liu replied with a shrug. “But like all major cultivation tournaments, the first stage is always about weeding out the weak. They’ll need a method to separate the strong from the expendable, and the first test is usually designed for just that—eliminating the unworthy.”

  Tunde considered his words, nodding slowly. It made sense. A broad elimination round would be the fastest way to cut down the numbers before the real battles began.

  “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude genuine.

  Liu merely waved a hand dismissively. “We’re both Lord Rankers. There’s really no need for that.”

  With a final nod, the blindfolded formation master rose into the sky, his aura flaring briefly before he vanished into the distance. Tunde watched him disappear, then exhaled, rolling his shoulders before taking off himself.

  He arrived at Ifa’s compound to find the elder meditating in quiet stillness, his aura perfectly restrained. Tunde had barely set foot on the grounds when his attention was drawn to Zhu, who was lugging a massive cauldron, his face flushed with exertion.

  The sight sent an involuntary shudder down Tunde’s spine. That cauldron... it was far too familiar.

  “How was your journey to the Knowledge Hall?” Ifa asked, rising to his feet with effortless grace.

  “Eventful,” Tunde replied, watching as Zhu finally set the cauldron down with a heavy thud, panting slightly.

  “Where did you get that from?” Tunde asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “I’ve decided to become an alchemist!” Zhu declared enthusiastically, his voice brimming with excitement.

  Tunde blinked, momentarily thrown off. He turned to Ifa, who simply shrugged, looking just as perplexed.

  “I see,” Tunde said, rubbing his chin. “And when did this sudden passion for alchemy begin?”

  “Someone has to make sure we have all the pills and elixirs we need to keep climbing the path,” Zhu answered with a nonchalant shrug.

  Tunde considered the reasoning. It was a valid point. Alchemists were always in high demand, and having one within their circle would be invaluable.

  “A worthy endeavor,” he admitted. “I myself have just started walking the path of a Formation User. It seems fate has a way of pushing us toward new roles.”

  Zhu grinned and patted the side of the massive cauldron. “This beauty right here cost me four hundred thousand lumen. It’s a Grade Two Refinement Furnace!”

  Tunde choked. “Four hundred thousand?!”

  Ifa nodded in confirmation. “He took the alchemist entry tests at the headquarters in the capital. Zhu is now an official Alchemist Initiate.”

  Zhu proudly presented a copper-plated medallion, proof of his newfound status.

  Tunde’s shock faded into a grin. “That means you can refine pills and elixirs now?”

  “Nothing grand yet, Elder Brother,” Zhu admitted. “Just basic pills.”

  Still, Tunde clapped him on the shoulder, his pride evident. “We need to celebrate that. But that’s not why I’m here.”

  Ifa nodded, his sharp gaze already analyzing Tunde. “I know. I sensed it the moment you arrived. You’re ready to advance.”

  Tunde exhaled. “Yes.”

  “Good. And the items?”

  Without hesitation, Tunde reached into the void ring Baron Dale had given him and began withdrawing the necessary resources. A small mountain of treasures steadily formed before them, glowing with potent energy. Zhu whistled, his eyes widening.

  “These are some seriously expensive materials,” he muttered in awe.

  “If we want to ensure his tempering,” Ifa explained, “along with the Heaven’s Crucible that will no doubt punish him for defying its will for so long, then all of these are necessary.”

  With a snap of Ifa’s fingers, a bubble of aura enveloped them, sealing the area in absolute silence. Tunde clenched his fists, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. He regretted not learning a basic concealment formation from Liu—this would have been the perfect time to use it.

  Ifa’s eyes gleamed with authority as he stepped forward.

  “Let us begin,” the elder intoned. “Your path to the Highlord Realm starts now.”