CHAPTER 10: Seeker’s Wrath

  “Enlightenment,” Rhaelar murmured, her voice smooth as silk as she sipped from a goblet of deep crimson wine, swirling the liquid within it with a slow, deliberate motion.

  The surface rippled like a pool of blood reflecting starlight. Beside her, Varis nodded, his gaze distant.

  “Every step forward brings with it the nagging suspicion that the seeker’s arrival at Jade Peak wasn’t mere coincidence,” Shen observed, the Master of Zao seated cross-legged as his sharp eyes followed the floating viewing constructs. Even as he monitored the display, his mind clearly churned with deeper thoughts.

  “You think he was placed in Varis’ path intentionally?” Mei asked, her voice thoughtful.

  She leaned forward, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She was Shen’s wife, mother of the siblings, and a scion of power in her own right.

  “I lack the gifts of foresight or true divination, my love,” Shen replied, his head inclining in respectful acknowledgment.

  “But this child—this Tunde—he grows at a pace that is… concerning.”

  “Already, the Mistwalkers will be forced to reposition,” Varis added, his tone clipped.

  “Only the deterrent of other great factions keeps them restrained. And they know better than to act within our borders—especially now, with our candidate in play.”

  “Black Ice,” Shen muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

  “Curious. I haven’t heard of that before. You?” He glanced toward his wife.

  Mei shook her head.

  “No. But I suspect that won’t be the first aspect of his concept to emerge.” She snapped her fingers, and a spectral servant—a phantom—materialized beside her, bearing two weighty tomes.

  The books were imposing. Each was bound in deep obsidian leather, the covers engraved with golden script that shimmered with subtle power. Thick golden chains coiled around them like serpents, binding secrets tightly within.

  “Uncle granted access to the forbidden archives?” Varis asked, eyes widening with incredulity.

  The Forbidden Sections—the deepest vaults of the clan’s knowledge—were sealed, filled with scrolls, tomes, and memory crystals that belonged solely to the patriarch. They were off-limits to all but a chosen few among the highest authorities.

  “I am the child of the patriarch,” Mei said simply, her tone flat.

  “There is no higher authority.” Shen chuckled under his breath, though the weight in the room did not lessen.

  “And still,” Rhaelar continued, voice thoughtful as her gaze returned to the viewing screen, “the branch heads already move against him. So many imminent attacks—the phantoms have had to intervene more times than I can count quietly. The Veilwardens report the same.”

  Tunde sat in quiet meditation, cultivating amidst the chaos. A halo of pure Ethra shimmered faintly around him.

  “Master realm will soon be within his grasp,” Shen noted, brows furrowed.

  “All signs point to the Void,” Mei said, her eyes scanning the open tome.

  “The seekers followed two major paths—Pathfinders, drawn to the Cosmic, and Path Destroyers, aligned with the Void. Tunde is showing clear signs of the latter.”

  Varis glanced at the book with unconcealed longing. He would give an arm—and maybe a leg—for a glimpse into its secrets. But even though it was his own mother holding it, such knowledge was protected by the sacred oaths of the regents. Only direct first-generation descendants or paragons could legally access them. Mei, as it happened, was on the cusp of satisfying both criteria.

  “So the Void,” Shen said thoughtfully, pointing to the viewing screen as the icy field began to thaw.

  But not normally—the frost melted in tandem with the limbs of the feline beast it had ensnared. Its form disintegrated, not preserved.

  “Ice that breaks down the physical form,” Shen continued grimly.

  “You may be right, my love. He is becoming dangerous.”

  Mei closed the tome with a quiet finality. The chains rewrapped themselves obediently before locking shut with a click. The phantom bowed and vanished with the book.

  “In one week,” Mei said, frowning, “the convergence will reach its apex. The banquet must be held by then.”

  “You say that like it’s a problem,” Rhaelar interjected.

  “Wouldn’t that be the peak of Ethra and aura on Adamath? We could push more cultivators into higher realms. Even you, mother, could ascend to Paragon.”

  “True,” Mei admitted.

  “But so could the others. And the phantoms whisper of strange movements—trickles of cultivators entering deeper into the empire, drawn by the surge in Ethra and aura density.”

  “Prosperity leads to power, power leads to ambition, ambition leads to war and bloodshed,” Shen intoned solemnly.

  Mei nodded.

  “You fear war,” Varis observed.

  “I do,” Mei confirmed.

  “Something will happen when the convergence peaks. I do not know what, but we must not be caught unprepared.”

  She looked at Shen, who nodded almost imperceptibly. An unspoken understanding passed between them. Then she turned toward her children.

  But before she could speak, she snapped her fingers once more.

  Shen’s hand moved like a blur—silent, deadly. Blood sprayed into the air as the two phantoms stationed at the room’s corners suddenly collapsed, their heads severed cleanly, their bodies disintegrating into ash as green flame—essence flame from a Forge Saint—burned them away.

  The siblings did not flinch. Surprise showed briefly on their faces, but they waited. Trusted.

  A dense aura of power formed a protective bubble around the room, cast by Mei herself.

  “My father and brother are orchestrating something,” she said at last.

  “Something I cannot yet name, but I know the consequences will be catastrophic—for this clan, the empire, Bloodfire, and perhaps Adamath itself.”

  Varis began to speak, but she raised a hand.

  “Yes, the orthodox factions are involved. Whether the unorthodox are as well, I cannot say. But if they are… it speaks volumes of how far we’ve fallen, of the rot in our foundations.”

  She placed a hand on Shen’s. His expression was calm, but hard.

  “We are preparing for the worst,” she continued.

  “And with the convergence on our side, this may be the only chance we ever get to grow stronger before it all comes crashing down.”

  Varis’s eyes widened.

  “You want us to advance?”

  Shen raised a palm, and two golden pills shimmered into existence. They drew in the Ethra of the room like black holes, pulsing with celestial power.

  “Are those—?” Rhaelar asked, voice hushed.

  “Grade Seven Celestial Foundry Pills,” Mei said.

  “They cost a fortune… and two favors I will never be able to call upon again—from factions we cannot afford to be associated with.”

  Rhaelar’s gaze sharpened.

  “Which factions?”

  Mei raised a brow. “Of all I’ve said, that is your concern?” Shen chuckled softly beside her.

  “You’re asking us to betray the clan,” Varis said, voice low.

  “No,” Shen said firmly.

  “We are asking you to wait. Take the pills. Watch. See what unfolds.”

  His tone hardened.

  “Your grandfather is as ruthless as he is pragmatic. Family is just another tool in his hand. Whatever he’s promised his allies, you can be certain it involves chaos—and power on a scale we cannot yet comprehend.”

  “This is the man,” Mei added darkly, “who brought down a regent as a peak paragon, sitting on the burning corpse of that entire faction as he wrestled the profound laws of reality into submission. That was no exaggeration.”

  “I always thought that was propaganda,” Varis said quietly.

  “Oh no, dear,” Mei replied.

  “That was the sanitized version. He razed a kingdom to get closer to the Song of Blades. Centuries of peace were bought only because he entered self-seclusion to reach Hegemony. But that peace gave his enemies time to regroup.”

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  “Enemies within and without,” Shen added.

  “The Shadai heir, protected by a null. Treachery among the phantoms, denied by the First Blade. The Ark systems failing sporadically, resonating in places they shouldn’t. All of it… aligning.”

  Varis shut his eyes, fingers steepled.

  “And then there’s Tunde.”

  “His mere presence is the spark,” Mei said.

  “The excuse our enemies needed to stir chaos. A seeker—coincidentally—appearing at the very outpost where you were assigned to build a sect and suppress rebellion. A rebellion, I might add, that even my reckless brother wouldn’t have set off without guidance.”

  “You’re implying the patriarch foresaw this? All those years ago?” Rhaelar asked, incredulous.

  “Paragon and beyond aren’t just stages of strength, my love,” Mei said softly.

  “They touch the spiritual. They see. I can only bend fate’s threads. Imagine what the regents can do.”

  A chill settled in the room.

  “Family comes first,” Mei said, lifting the glowing pills and offering them to her children.

  Without another word, Varis and Rhaelar each took one. They swallowed them together.

  Pain. Raw power. A dam breaking.

  Their bodies seized, but they endured it—master cultivators on the verge of something more. The convergence delayed their breakthrough, yet marked them. The heavens watched.

  Varis exhaled slowly, turning back to the screen. Tunde had risen. His sword shimmered and morphed into a naginata as monstrous feline beasts broke past the defensive lines of his allies.

  “Nothing ever goes smoothly when you’re around… Wastelander,” he muttered.

  *********

  The rain still poured heavily over the island as the members of Team Talahan went to work. Techniques whistled through the air, slicing into the feline creatures whose numbers continued to swell with each passing second.

  Tunde exhaled slowly, controlling his breath as he expanded his void realm. Sheets of void ice unfurled in a wide arc around him, freezing several of the beasts in their tracks while carefully avoiding his allies.

  He opened his eyes and rose smoothly to his feet, his gaze catching on a large cauldron floating above Zhu, greedily sucking in the stray cores from the slain creatures.

  The Ethralite’s recent foray into alchemy—creating his own pills and elixirs—had apparently flourished without Tunde’s notice since their last meeting during his advancement to Highlord.

  Now, Zhu’s sickles, imbued and crackling with energy, carved through the aberrant beasts in deadly, fluid arcs, reinforced by the synchronized swings of Jing and Harumi’s blades as they fought side by side to stem the endless tide.

  “Something’s not right,” Tunde muttered under his breath, concern creeping into his voice.

  He floated into the air on his aura, scanning the distance. His Ethra Sight pierced the thick, tangled foliage of the forest—and his heart tightened at what he saw.

  A massive creature was barreling toward them, its body armored in deep jade scales, fiery eyes burning with primal hatred.

  It was a grotesque fusion between a deep-sea monster and a lizard, and when it roared, the sound slammed into Tunde like a physical blow, nearly destabilizing him mid-air.

  Acting instinctively, Tunde imbued his body, raising one hand as his void forge manifested—a spear taking shape in his palm, more solid and vivid than ever before. Crackling with the cold bite of ice and humming with the latent pressure of force, the dark spears shivered with restrained violence.

  He hurled them with all the precision his void-forged instincts could muster. The beast saw the attack too late. The spears slammed into its reinforced hide, shattering scales and driving deep into its flesh. The creature shrieked in rage, its massive form reeling.

  Then, in an unexpected display, the beast stretched out its hand—and Ethra began coalescing, shaping itself into a sword.

  Tunde blinked, momentarily stunned. Alarm followed as the creature hurled the Ethra-forged blade at him with blistering speed, like a projection technique taken to its violent extreme.

  He twisted to the side just in time, dodging the incoming weapon, and his own sword arced down, clashing against another sword the beast had rapidly created. Sparks flared between them, and Tunde marveled at the raw, brutal strength the creature possessed.

  Toxic green seeped from the creature’s claws as it slashed toward him—a clear threat—forcing Tunde to dodge again, then retaliate by dropping Joran’s Wrath directly onto its midsection.

  The resulting explosion of force sent the creature flying backward, smoke and shards of shattered scales bursting outward from the impact zone.

  Tunde pressed his advantage, gathering dozens more void spears around him, drinking deep from his core as the energy hummed against his skin. With a thought, he unleashed them, a hail of lethal projectiles ripping through the landscape toward the beast’s last position, each explosion shattering the ground and trees alike.

  Without waiting for confirmation, Tunde hastily retreated, flying back toward his team. The tide of lesser creatures was beginning to lessen now, their momentum finally breaking under Team Talahan’s relentless assault.

  Joining the fray once more, Tunde moved with cold precision, his void-enhanced senses sharpening every detail into crystalline clarity. His strikes were merciless and efficient, each step, each slash drinking deep of the void’s cold vastness.

  And then, silence fell. The last of the creatures collapsed to the ground, its body split apart by Tunde’s blade. He severed his connection to the void and surveyed the battlefield with a soldier’s satisfaction.

  Nearby, Zhu’s void ring continued to spill out herbs—some sweet-smelling, others emanating potent energies that even from a distance made the skin prickle.

  “What are you refining?” Tunde asked, stepping closer.

  Zhu glanced up with a small smile.

  "Vitality pills, grade 5," he replied, his tone almost casual.

  "For my personal use."

  He hesitated briefly, then added, "Consumption of the cores of rift spawns... well, it benefits true beasts like me."

  Tunde noted the careful wording. He doubted the others knew what a divine beast truly was—even he barely understood it.

  Not far away, Sera had gathered the blood of the rift spawns, shaping it into floating orbs around her. Tunde raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

  “A better way of using blood... rather than mine," she answered smoothly.

  "Besides, it helps train my mental strength."

  He nodded in approval, turning his gaze back toward the forest, pointing his weapon into the distance.

  "There’s a peak grade five rift creature out that way," he said grimly.

  "It caused the chaos when we entered. I hit it hard, but I’m not convinced it's dead."

  “Strong?” Jing asked, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

  She summoned a tiny construct from her void ring—an intricate metal bird that chirped once before soaring into the forest canopy.

  “It took one of my strongest techniques head-on," Tunde replied, "and it barely flinched."

  "Then we best make sure it stays down," Harumi said, drawing his blade.

  Pale green Ethra coated the weapon as he swung it sideways with startling speed.

  Tunde felt a ripple in the air from that swing, so faint and fleeting that he almost doubted his senses. A razor-thin blade of wind screamed forward, slicing cleanly through the trees ahead, toppling them like grass before a scythe.

  “That’ll have alerted the rest to our position," Jing warned, her voice sharp.

  "The island's only so big," Tunde countered with a shrug.

  "Better we find them than let them find us."

  Jing stiffened suddenly, Ethra flaring around her.

  "Be careful what you wish for," she muttered before launching herself forward, the rest of the team following without hesitation.

  They raced through the devastation Harumi’s blade had carved—over fallen trunks and through high grass trimmed as neatly as with a gardener’s shears.

  Tunde’s mind turned over Harumi’s display, wondering: Was that the Song of Blades?

  The epitome of weapon mastery—the moment when a cultivator and their weapon resonated so deeply that every strike carried the weight of their soul. It took years, decades even, of wielding a single weapon to reach such a peak.

  They came to an abrupt halt.

  The creature Tunde had struck down earlier stood there—alive and gnawing viciously on the mangled remains of a fallen cultivator. The corpse was too far gone to recognize, the colors and emblems shredded beyond recognition.

  The beast paused mid-bite, its head swiveling toward them.

  Its eyes locked onto Tunde, and in the next heartbeat, a wave of raw malevolent aura exploded outward, forcing the team back a step as the creature lunged at him with deadly intent.

  Tunde brought his blade up just in time to deflect the creature’s brutal attack, the sheer force of the impact pushing him backward through the rain-soaked air. He twisted sharply, narrowly evading another swipe of its razor-sharp claws, the strike slicing through the space where he'd just been.

  His companions wasted no time; techniques roared forth, slamming into the beast with relentless power, carving bloody gashes across its massive body and forcefully dragging its attention away from him.

  Zhu moved with brutal efficiency, his sickles scraping harshly across the creature’s jade-like scales. The beast retaliated with a savage backhand, the blow hammering into the Ethralite’s midsection and sending him flying.

  Yet Zhu’s sickles, bound to his wrists by chains, yanked him to a sudden halt midair. Instead of crashing away, Zhu twisted with the momentum, spinning gracefully as shards of jade Ethra crackled into existence around him.

  They shot toward the beast in a brilliant flurry—only to shatter inches from its skin, broken apart by the oppressive aura surrounding it.

  The rest of the team pulled back, wary now.

  "What in the Hegemon’s name is that thing?" Jing hissed; her voice sharp with disbelief.

  Before anyone could answer, a voice answered from above, cold and laced with arrogance.

  "A creation of ours."

  Their gazes snapped upwards. Floating above the monstrous creature were two figures clad in resplendent white robes, sashes of gold flowing behind them like banners. Two Keepers of Astradriel, unmistakable in their sacred regalia.

  "Clan Talahan are not the only ones with access to forbidden techniques," one of them said, his staff burning with eerie, skeletal flames.

  "And as much as it pains us to use them, we must—for the greater good."

  Tunde’s eyes locked onto the staff, a creeping horror filling him as he noticed the skeletal remains twitch within the fire.

  "What madness has overtaken the so-called orthodox factions?" Harumi growled; his voice low with fury.

  "First the Walkers, now the Keepers?"

  The rain seemed to pause around them as golden talismans erupted from the second Keeper’s void ring, pulsing with ominous energy.

  A blast of force hit Tunde like a hammer, hurling him away from his team even as a radiant golden barrier slammed into existence between them. Within seconds, a deep, empty silence fell over the barrier, muffling sound and movement.

  The barrier echoed with a loud, thunderous gong, the vibrations driving Tunde to one knee as he gritted his teeth against the force.

  "The Keepers hold no quarrel with the Zao family," the staff-wielding Keeper declared, waving a hand.

  The barrier echoed again—and Harumi vanished without a trace.

  Tunde’s heart clenched.

  "What have you done to him?" he growled, rising to his feet, his body already starting to burn with the rising surge of essence flame.

  "Harumi Zao is safe," the second Keeper replied smoothly.

  "Somewhere else on the island. The Zao heir can fend for himself."

  The staff-wielder gestured toward the beast that prowled near Tunde's trapped companions.

  "Let the gorebeast deal with them. You, however, will submit to a swift execution if you wish for them to live."

  Tunde’s weapon shifted in his hand, his blade reforming into the long, deadly form of a naginata. His aura erupted outward, essence flames licking his skin as the void surged within him.

  "I take that as a no, then?" the Keeper said dryly.

  From his void ring, he summoned a massive golden bell, its surface covered in ancient inscriptions. It began to toll, each sound wave a crushing force of pure authority that slammed down upon Tunde’s spirit.

  Tunde’s spirit screamed at first—and then, almost instinctively, relaxed. He realized quickly that the pressure was only a sliver of true authority, carefully restrained to avoid damaging the Keeper’s own soul. In contrast, Tunde felt the void within him stirring eagerly, hungry for the taste of that power.

  His gaze sharpened. Across the battlefield, Zhu caught his eye and gave a single nod. The divine beast's spirit roared to life, a shriek of raw power smashing into the golden barrier and forcing the second Keeper to focus his energy on maintaining it.

  Tunde turned his full attention back to the initial Keeper, who regarded him with a cold, imperious stare.

  "The Talahan clan has allowed your corruption to fester, to grow unchecked," the Keeper sneered.

  "But it ends here."

  Another weapon appeared from the Keeper’s void ring, and the air itself seemed to weigh heavily. A soulbound weapon—a golden-shafted spear inscribed with silver etchings—floated beside the Keeper, humming with potent energy. A golden shard materialized at his forehead, his aura swelling even further as the pressure mounted.

  Tunde’s spirit only grew more restless, his excitement hidden behind a mask of ice-cold focus. He watched silently as more talismans spilled from the Keeper’s void ring—and then the puppets appeared.

  Metal and wood constructs, each brimming with raw Ethra and aura, armed with a dizzying variety of weapons. Every single one was at the peak of the Highlord realm, constructs radiating authority and absolute demand for submission.

  "Are you finished?" Tunde asked, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

  "You speak boldly for one whose death is certain," the Keeper replied.

  Tunde cracked his neck casually and let the void fully flood his veins, his voice turning as cold and absolute as the grave.

  "You will face what all others who sought my death have faced," he said, his words laced with a soul-chilling power that bordered on true authority.

  "You will taste the void as it devours all you are, and you will beg for the mercy of death—but I will deny you that end. Let us see who truly falls here."

  He swung his naginata with a roar, the storm of his will unleashing itself. Empty Silence and Joran’s Wrath tore the heavens apart, crashing into the Keeper's summoned spear with a cataclysmic impact that shook the skies.