Tunde stared at the large black gate, its sheer presence almost oppressive, then turned his gaze to Liu, eyes flicking over to Ifa—who still looked utterly enraptured, as though he were witnessing a long-lost legend come to life.

  “I don’t understand,” Tunde admitted, his voice low.

  Liu nodded, leaning forward slightly, careful not to take a step closer. The wolf was still watching him, its gaze sharp and unwavering. Liu kept his movements measured, respectful of the spiritual beast’s silent warning, but his voice was steady as he spoke.

  “To the untrained eye, this would appear to be just another soul space. But it’s not. If this is the same space you drew upon during the third round—where you broke the wills of your opponents and returned victorious—then you’ve been given far more than a mere advantage. You’ve been given a legacy.”

  Ifa, now composed once more, turned to Tunde. To his astonishment, the elder bowed deeply at the waist, hands clasped in reverence.

  “This humble one greets the heir of Alana, the Void Wolf of the Abyssal Walkers,” he said solemnly.

  Tunde instinctively stepped back, stunned.

  Liu nodded toward the gate.

  “That structure doesn’t just belong to the remnants of a Regent’s soul space—it is the entrance to it. Somehow, it’s been compressed, reshaped to nest within your own soul space. That’s a feat in itself. But more importantly… it bears the markings of an inheritance.”

  “Inheritance?” Sera asked, stepping forward tentatively.

  As she moved closer, the wolf turned its head toward her and growled. She quickly retreated with a startled yelp.

  Liu gave a small, amused smile.

  “Inheritances differ. Some cultivators leave behind relics, treasured manuals, perhaps pills, elixirs—things meant for their descendants or chosen disciples. Usually, they’re hidden, protected. Passed on only to those deemed worthy.”

  He gestured to the gate.

  “But this… this is different. Maybe it’s because it’s tied to a Regent. The power radiating off it clouds my senses. I can’t afford to probe it again—not unless I want to burn my soul to cinders. Whatever lies behind that gate… It’s for you to discover.”

  Tunde frowned, still trying to piece it all together.

  “Then why does the sphere cause it to react?”

  “The sphere is a key,” Ifa said firmly.

  “A key to what?” Tunde asked.

  “To vaults,” the elder replied.

  “The Seekers—Alana—had contingency plans in case the cult ever fell. She scattered vaults across the world, their locations hidden even from the clan elders. A final safeguard to ensure the Abyssal Walkers could rise again. If the sphere reacts to the gate, it means one of two things: either the gate is the vault, or it is the only way to find them. Either way, you’re not ready to use it fully.”

  “Why not?” Zhu asked.

  “If Tunde has the inheritance of a Regent—shouldn’t we use it now?”

  Liu shook his head gravely.

  “That’s exactly why the gate won’t open yet. Imagine what would happen if the other Regents found out a Highlord—maybe even a Master—held the inheritance of one of their own. The political and spiritual balance would collapse.”

  The silence that followed was heavy with realization.

  “My best guess?” Liu continued.

  “You won’t be seeing what lies beyond that gate until you’re at least a mid-tier Paragon—maybe even peak.”

  Tunde sighed, then straightened.

  “You said the sphere’s only partially useful. If I can’t access the inheritance now… is there another way I can use it?”

  Liu nodded.

  “Yes. It appears to be a transportation relic. A powerful one. It could move entire objects, large constructs—maybe even multiple people or armies—across long distances in the blink of an eye.”

  He eyed the wolf warily as it growled again.

  “And naturally, the guardian doesn’t like anyone getting too curious.”

  “Of all the Path Walkers,” Ifa said softly, “Alana was the greatest when it came to long-distance traversal. It fits.”

  Sera’s eyes lit up.

  “So when war breaks out, we can get the hell out of Talahar?”

  “Possibly,” Liu said, “if you have enough authority and essence flame to power a relic made for a Regent. So… not very likely at the moment.”

  The hope in Sera’s expression vanished in an instant. The others looked equally discouraged.

  Tunde narrowed his eyes.

  “But why would the Keepers use that space at all? Why would they risk it, if they knew how valuable this was?”

  “You assume they knew,” Ifa said with a faint, ironic smile.

  “You saw what happened to the Keeper who activated the space—it nearly destroyed him. That was its sealed form. And even then, only someone with Alana’s purest blood could have revealed its true nature.”

  He looked at Tunde meaningfully.

  “Now that you possess both pieces—the gate and the key—you should assume they’ll be coming for you. Sooner rather than later.”

  “Not just them,” Liu added.

  “You’ve offended factions on both the orthodox and unorthodox sides. You’ve made enemies all around.”

  Tunde nodded slowly, absorbing the gravity of it all.

  “And the wolf?” he asked, walking over to it, placing a hand gently on its snout. It didn’t resist, only breathed slowly beneath his palm.

  “It’s not sick,” Liu said, tilting his head, puzzled.

  “If anything… it’s changing.”

  “What’s happening to it?” Tunde asked.

  “It’s evolving. Advancing. Hard to describe, but its connection to the Regent’s inheritance is affecting it. Molding it.”

  Tunde leaned his forehead against the wolf’s, closing his eyes briefly in silent communion. Then he turned and faced them all.

  “Thank you,” he said, bowing deeply.

  “I wouldn’t be here without you. A year ago, I was a slave, lost and nameless. And now… we stand on the brink of reviving an entire cult.”

  Sera snorted.

  “There he goes again. All meek and humble.”

  Zhu nodded, arms crossed.

  “You’d think he was just some average Highlord.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Tunde chuckled despite himself.

  “So,” he asked, “what do we do now?”

  “That,” Ifa said gently, “is for you to decide.”

  Tunde blinked.

  “I barely know what’s going on half the time.”

  “You’re the head of the Abyssal Walkers now,” Liu said with a bright grin.

  “Leader—whether you like it or not.”

  Zhu raised an eyebrow.

  “You look way too excited about this.”

  “Can you blame me?” Liu said, practically giddy.

  “We’re founding members of a rising cult. That’s mystery, power, and legacy all rolled into one. I’ve never been this thrilled.”

  Tunde laughed. The arcanist was strange—but honest.

  “Very well,” Tunde said.

  “But I can’t do it alone. I’ll need your guidance. Every step of the way.”

  They all nodded solemnly and bowed as one.

  “We greet the Cult Head,” they intoned in unison.

  Tunde groaned.

  “Please don’t do that.”

  “I could stop,” Zhu offered casually, “for the Thunder Roc’s core.”

  Sera rolled her eyes as Tunde sighed and tossed it to him. Zhu caught the orb with reverence, the golden-blue lightning dancing across its surface lighting the soul space before the core shimmered—and vanished, no doubt appearing in the physical world.

  “It’s said that when a divine beast consumes the core of another, it can inherit traces of its bloodline,” Liu said, voice low with respect.

  “That core may shape Zhu in ways we can’t yet predict.”

  Tunde looked around, a shadow of seriousness crossing his features.

  “But we’re not complete.”

  Ifa’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then his expression softened in recognition.

  “Elyria,” he said, smiling.

  Tunde nodded.

  Liu tilted his head.

  “And when we are complete?”

  Tunde smiled faintly, something dark and clever dancing behind his eyes. “Then… we begin with a little something I’ve been planning.”

  ****

  The inheritance of the Destruction Path Highlord, delivered by Varis, still sat where it had been left, untouched and ominous. Now that they had withdrawn from Tunde’s soul space, their attention inevitably drifted toward it. Tunde, however, hesitated—his gaze wary as it lingered on the sealed chest.

  “We all know what happens to those who follow the Path of Destruction,” he muttered, his tone laced with distaste.

  Liu gave a slow nod, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully as his eyes narrowed at the box.

  “The fact that they gave it to you reveals two things very clearly,” he began, his voice quiet and measured.

  “First, the Talahan clan considers you valuable enough to entrust with such a… powerful inheritance. But I suppose that significance fades in comparison to your… possession.” His voice faltered on the last word, and he winced.

  He had caught himself just in time, aware they were no longer within the sanctity of Tunde’s soul space, where things might have been said more freely.

  “And the second?” Tunde prompted with a wary nod.

  “They intend for you to walk the Path of Destruction yourself,” Ifa answered gravely, “like a wick on fire—useful only until you burn out.”

  Liu nodded in agreement.

  “That way, no one can say they didn’t help you ascend. But like all gifts in cultivation… it comes at a price.”

  Tunde folded his arms across his chest, a bitter look tightening his expression.

  “I say we dispose of it. Sell it. Destroy it. I don’t care what power it holds.”

  “Now, hold on a minute,” Liu interjected with a nervous cough.

  “Just because it’s dangerous doesn’t mean we can’t find a way around that danger. There might be something in there we can use—something worth the risk.”

  He grimaced as he blindfolded himself again, clearly unable to keep his mystical sight active for long stretches.

  “Besides,” Zhu chimed in, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

  Tunde blinked, confused—until the realization hit him. His bloodline. His ability to devour essence itself. Perhaps the inheritance could serve him in ways others couldn’t manage.

  From Liu’s void ring came four metallic flaps that zipped through the air to the cardinal points of the building. As they embedded themselves, a golden barrier shimmered to life, casting a faint glow beneath the pale morning sky.

  “It’s a containment formation,” Liu said.

  “To prevent any destructive Ethra from leaking out. Judging from the density of sealing scripts layered around that chest, whatever’s inside isn’t just dangerous—it’s volatile.”

  He pulled a handful of talismans from his void ring and slapped them onto the chest. They flared, and a blood-red barrier pulsed to life around it. Sera’s hand moved instinctively to the hilt of her blade, tense and ready.

  “Just in case,” Liu added, to nods of agreement.

  Tunde stepped forward slowly. He inhaled deeply, cycling his Ethra and readying his bloodline ability, just in case. His hand touched the lid.

  No explosions. No crimson Ethra bursting forth. No immediate death.

  “Well… that was anticlimactic,” Zhu muttered.

  “Better anticlimactic than apocalyptic,” Tunde replied, eyes narrowing as he peered into the chest.

  At the top of the contents sat a single scroll, shimmering faintly with red and gold light. It obscured whatever else lay beneath.

  “Oh no,” Liu murmured, his brows furrowing deeply.

  “That’s not good. That’s not good at all.”

  Sera was already mid-draw, her blade poised to strike the chest. Tunde caught her wrist, stopping her.

  “A Blood Oath Scroll,” Ifa said grimly, his voice edged with tension.

  “A what?” Tunde asked, even as Sera slowly sheathed her blade again.

  “It’s a type of inheritance trick,” Liu explained.

  “Some cultivators leave them behind as a test—or a curse. To gain access to the inheritance, you must swear a blood oath to complete a task bound to your soul.”

  “If the inheritance is powerful enough, the oath is usually just as heavy,” Ifa added. “Often, it's revenge. Always personal. Always brutal.”

  “And seeing as this chest has never been opened,” Liu continued, lowering himself to the floor, “I’d bet it’s exactly that—a revenge scroll. From someone who wanted his enemies erased, long after death.”

  “Can’t you… I don’t know… remove the protections on the scroll with those eyes of yours?” Sera asked Liu, tilting her head toward him.

  “So you do think my eyes are powerful,” Liu grinned, focusing his full attention on her.

  “He’s doing that thing again,” Sera said to Zhu, deadpan.

  “What did you call it? Flirting?”

  Zhu chuckled.

  “Yes, that’s the word.”

  “Everyone, focus,” Tunde said sharply.

  His gaze didn’t leave the scroll.

  “Liu’s right. A Destruction Path cultivator—especially one who made it as far as Highlord—would’ve made plenty of enemies. If he were Talahan, this could drag us into conflict with another major faction.”

  “Which,” Liu added, “we absolutely can’t afford right now.”

  Tunde tapped one finger to his shoulder in thought. “But… what if it’s not a revenge scroll?”

  Zhu scoffed. “Knowing our luck? You want to test that out?”

  Tunde sighed. It felt wrong to discard it. If it contained tools or knowledge vital to their survival, ignoring it could be a costly mistake.

  “There is another way,” Ifa said quietly, drawing everyone’s eyes.

  “I open the scroll,” he said calmly.

  Tunde stared at him, stunned.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Listen to me,” Ifa replied, steady and resolute.

  “You’re the leader now. You carry the regent’s mark. My time…” He faltered, then exhaled. “My time is past. Yours is just beginning.”

  “We could just sell it,” Zhu offered.

  “Auction it off, buy resources instead. Safer.”

  “If this is a trap set by the clan,” Tunde said, voice firm, “I’m not letting anyone else pay the price.”

  Ifa gave a soft, almost tired smile—then moved before anyone could stop him.

  “No!” Tunde shouted as Ifa reached out and pressed his bloodied fingertip to the scroll.

  The moment the blood touched the parchment, the scroll flared to life with a hiss. Crimson veins of light spread across its surface, ancient glyphs igniting one by one. The temperature plummeted, and the sunlight dimmed as a suffocating pressure filled the air.

  The scroll pulsed—and then he emerged.

  A spectral figure formed from crackling Ethra, cloaked in robes blacker than night, his presence so heavy it fractured the stones beneath him. His eyes were hollow sockets of red flame, his voice dry as ash, layered with thunder.

  "Foolish. Greedy. I knew one such as you would come."

  He hovered above the scroll, aura lashing through the air like knives. Everyone staggered back, breaths caught in their throats.

  "You pry open what you do not understand. You think power will kneel to your hunger. But…" The phantom’s gaze locked onto Ifa.

  "I see it in you. The fire. The desperation. You do not rise to rule—you rise to burn."

  Ifa held his ground, unmoving. The shadow deepened around his face as he whispered,

  “Then speak.”

  The scroll ignited in black flame, and burning letters flared into existence above it—floating in the air, searing their meanings into the minds of all who watched.

  "You cannot walk my path and remain yourself. Choose to follow… or be consumed."

  Silence fell, as thick as a shroud. Then the voice came again, low and final.

  "Your blood has sealed the oath. I command you now, Successor of Ruin: Seek out Jaito Talahan, Clan Head of the Talahan Brood. Burn his legacy to cinders. Grind his name into ash. Only then will the true path be revealed."

  The phantom began to unravel, flickering like dying embers.

  "Waver, and Destruction will claim you first."

  Then—he was gone.

  The scroll disintegrated into ash. And in the silence that followed, they all felt it—a brand, invisible yet seared into the deepest part of Ifa’s soul.

  They had all heard it.

  The spirit’s final words still echoed in their minds, reverberating like a death knell. A cold, bone-deep chill settled across each of them, sapping the warmth from the air and their limbs alike. Tunde felt his knees buckle beneath him, the weight of the moment too much to bear. He collapsed to the floor, breath shallow, trying—failing—to compose himself.

  They had made a mistake.

  A terrible, irreversible mistake.

  His gaze lifted slowly, locking onto Ifa, who stood quietly amid the silence, his face unreadable.

  “Why?” Tunde asked, voice hoarse.

  The word barely made it out of his throat, caught between shock and betrayal.

  “Why would you do that?”

  Ifa didn’t answer at first. His gaze remained fixed on the space where the ghostly Highlord had disappeared, his expression calm—too calm.

  “Thank the heavens the barrier stops sound from going out, doesn’t it?” he asked, his tone neutral as he looked to Liu.

  Liu nodded silently, still stunned, his mind evidently reeling with the enormity of what had just transpired. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “Ifa,” Tunde snapped—more forcefully than intended. The sudden edge in his voice startled the others, snapping them out of their stunned daze.

  “My path is mine alone, Tunde,” Ifa said, finally turning to meet his gaze. His voice was steady, but it carried a weight Tunde had never heard before.

  “What I choose to do… I do not for myself, but for the cult.”

  Tunde stared at him, disbelief tightening his features.

  “How does killing a paragon help the cult?” he demanded.

  The words felt unreal as they left his mouth, heavy and dangerous.

  Killing a Paragon.

  The Paragon of the Talahan Clan.

  Just saying it aloud made it real. And impossible. How could they even reach someone of that level, let alone bring him down? It was absurd—no, suicidal.

  Ifa only smiled, a quiet curve of the lips that made Tunde’s blood run colder.

  “I believe,” he said softly, folding his arms behind his back, “you have an inheritance to look through.”