“He has to die,” Ayun, Regent of the Mistwalkers, snarled through clenched teeth, his hands curling into fists so tight his knuckles cracked.

  “Has?” Kaius, Lord of the Talahan Empire, lifted an eyebrow in mocking amusement, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Shuyin of the Keepers snapped, her voice sharp as a dagger. Power laced her words, a ripple of oppressive authority flashing across the chamber.

  “We all witnessed what just happened!” she hissed, sweeping her hand in a wide arc across the gathered regents. Her eyes blazed like embers.

  “We all saw what happens when vermin are allowed to survive.”

  Her gaze locked onto Ayun, venomous, daring him to deny it. The Mistwalker Regent stiffened, a flicker of shame and fury twisting across his face.

  Kaius sighed, leaning back in his ornate chair, his fingers drumming lazily on the armrest.

  “Really, though,” he drawled, “all this, over a single Master?”

  The room froze.

  Every gaze turned toward him, a mixture of shock, indignation, and dangerous calculation flashing in their eyes.

  Kaius smiled wider, a lazy, almost careless thing that sent a chill down their spines.

  “I must confess,” Bashu of the Heralds rumbled, his voice like grinding stone, a deep frown carving into his features, “I did not see that coming.”

  “No one did,” Zian of the Veilweavers said softly, her tone measured, composed as always, though a glint of unease darkened her gaze. “And yet... we have other pressing matters to attend to, do we not?”

  Shuyin’s hands clenched on the table, her knuckles white.

  “This—this is the same mistake we made before!” she snapped, her voice rising, authority pulsing through the chamber like a storm. “We hesitated, we waited, and now look at what stands before us! We should have crushed this threat the moment it reared its head!”

  Her gaze swept across them all, accusing, daring anyone to argue.

  “A threat to you all, perhaps,” Kaius murmured, voice smooth as silk, laced with boredom. He waved a dismissive hand, the faint crackle of thunder dancing in his eyes.

  “I have better things to do than waste my time hunting down one insignificant Master at your request.”

  “You’re making a grave mistake,” Yensu of the wild wardens whispered, her voice like the lash of a whip, quiet yet sharp enough to draw blood.

  “Be that as it may,” Kaius replied, his smile sharpening like a blade, “you are all guests in my empire.”

  His voice shifted, deeper now, layered with the thunder of storms yet to come.

  “You will respect my laws.”

  Lightning flashed within his gaze, a crackling pulse of restrained power that made the air itself hum with tension.

  “The Wastelander is not to be touched. Not until after the competition. We have less than two days until the zenith of the convergence; nothing will come between us and that moment.”

  His gaze swept the room, holding each of them in place, his voice tightening with an edge of challenge.

  “Unless, of course... the thought of the Hegemon Realm pales in comparison to one relic of a forgotten era?”

  Greed sparked in the eyes of the regents—just as Kaius intended.

  They exchanged glances, silent calculations flickering between them, ambition warring with caution.

  “Very well,” Ayun muttered after a long pause, though the fire in his eyes had not dimmed.

  “Besides,” Kaius continued, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin, wide and knowing, “I am not ignorant of the threat he poses... to all of us.”

  His gaze drifted upward, distant, as if watching threads being pulled across unseen dimensions.

  “Things,” he said softly, almost to himself, “have begun to move.”

  And as the regents digested his words, a storm of greed, fear, and ruthless ambition churned beneath the surface.

  *****

  The end of the event had come that day, leaving behind shattered arenas, scorched air, and the lingering tension of battles fought and power earned. New cultivators had advanced, the last of the contestants emerged, and the convergence inched closer to its zenith. For Tunde, though, it was like drawing in the first breath of air after drowning—sharp, clean, and alive.

  Finally.

  Master realm.

  The void pulsed in his core, every step thrumming with barely restrained might. Appearing in front of Ifa’s home, he crossed the vast distance between the Great Valley, where the tournament had been held, and the modest dwelling of his elder in no more than two steps.

  For most Masters, it would have taken a dozen, perhaps more, but Tunde’s concept of the void, now fully entwined with his being, had warped space itself. His Void Step was no longer a technique; it was an extension of his will, as natural as breathing.

  And the power.

  It roiled within him, a tempest in his veins, singing through his soul, his bones, his very blood. His aura flared in violet-black waves, fused with his Ethra, his ego, his flame. His infant authority—that first taste of dominion—blazed, woven into every breath he took. He had surged past the early and mid stages of the Master realm in a single, cataclysmic leap, and the knowledge of that, the impossibility of it, made his lips curl in a quiet, dangerous smile.

  Then the door opened, and they appeared.

  Ifa, beaming like a proud father, eyes wide and sparkling with fierce pride.

  Zhu, grinning with that ever-present glint of mischief in his eyes, arms crossed as if waiting for a challenge.

  Sera, standing tall and radiant, a predator’s grace in her posture, the air around her humming with the ferocity of a beast.

  And Elyria, who had somehow tracked them down yet again, stepping softly into the courtyard, her silver eyes sharp and searching.

  She bowed at the waist the moment she saw him.

  “Oh, stop it,” Tunde said with a playful frown, his voice light, but the weight of his power made the air tremble.

  “This one greets the honoured... peak master?” she replied, starting with a sarcastic lilt, until her gaze flickered over him, truly seeing him, and her eyes widened in shock.

  Tunde raised a single finger to his lips, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, as his aura, a storm of violent, raw energy, washed over them in a silent warning, instantly forming a barrier.

  “No need to shout it,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous.

  Zhu let out a long whistle, the sound low and impressed as he and Tunde clasped hands in a firm, grounding grip.

  “Knew we should’ve stayed behind,” Zhu muttered with a lopsided grin.

  “You need to catch up,” Tunde teased, a spark of challenge in his eyes.

  Zhu raised a brow, his own gaze glowing faintly, the unspoken knowledge between them clear: Zhu could have advanced any time he wished—he’d merely waited. Waited for Tunde.

  Sera, already an early-tier master in her own right, stood with arms crossed, her expression fierce but amused. The air around her pulsed with a low, steady power.

  “And they say suffering doesn’t have its rewards,” she said dryly, her smirk edged with satisfaction.

  Tunde smiled back, his heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

  Ifa, though—Ifa nearly burst with pride. His eyes shimmered with a fierce, protective joy as he pulled Tunde into a tight, crushing embrace.

  “Let them come,” he whispered into Tunde’s ear, his voice rough with emotion. There was a tremor in his tone, a storm barely held back.

  Tunde blinked, pulling back slightly, hoping Ifa was just happy and not preparing for a fight. He might have broken into the Master realm, but he wasn’t exactly eager to start hunting trouble. Not yet.

  But if trouble came—

  Well, they’d see.

  They barely had a moment to settle before four beams of light pierced the sky, streaking down toward them, hovering just outside the barrier Tunde had erected. Each one resolved into a golden box, small, intricate, and glowing faintly with an inner radiance.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Your rewards have arrived!” a voice rang out, grand and officious, emanating from the vicinity of the boxes.

  Tunde waved his barrier away, stepping forward with slow, deliberate calm, his perception sweeping through the air like a hunting hawk. He searched for traps, hidden threads of malice, subtle threads of formation intent, anything that might signal foul play.

  Just because he’d represented the Talahan clan didn’t mean they were allies now. If anything, he wondered why he was still here, in this city balanced on a powder keg.

  If war was truly coming—if the convergence was the storm before the storm—then maybe it was time to leave.

  But there was still much to decide.

  Sera floated up beside him, her presence a warm, steady weight at his side.

  “Well?” she asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

  Tunde’s gaze sharpened as he scanned the boxes, his name etched in bold strokes on one of them. He reached out, fingers brushing the lid. A faint pulse of power flickered through him as the box clicked open.

  Inside, nestled in soft velvet, lay a red and black pill, glowing faintly, ominous, and a gold void ring, its band smooth, adorned with a single black gem that seemed to drink in the light.

  “Wow,” Sera muttered, eyebrows raised. “Considering they don’t like you, they sure went all out.”

  Tunde’s senses probed the ring—nothing suspicious, nothing dangerous. Just... wealth.

  The voice from the box continued, clinical and detached:

  “The pill given to all winners of this round is known as the Fiery Earth Pill, a valuable sixth-grade pill refined by Master-tier receptors. It assists Highlords in breaking through to the Master realm, and for those already at the Master level, it stabilizes their cultivation.”

  Tunde picked up the pill, rolling it between his fingers, feeling the raw, crackling energy within. Without hesitation, he swallowed it.

  A rush of power surged through him—intense, bright—but compared to the storm of the Heavenly Crucible, it was a flicker. It burned through him and faded in an instant, swallowed whole by the vastness of his newly expanded core.

  He snorted quietly. Not enough.

  But the ring—that was interesting.

  He picked it up, pricking his finger to drip blood onto the surface. The moment the bond formed, a rush of information and wealth flooded his senses.

  Fifth-grade pills, dozens of them. Lumens, stacked in the millions. Aurum cards. Gold—real gold, refined and heavy.

  “The ring is a gift from the Talahan clan for a newly advanced Master,” the voice continued, emotionless. “It is only fitting, given they have also taken the liberty of outfitting your Skyvessel.”

  Tunde’s brows furrowed.

  Who gave them permission to touch his vessel?

  Arms crossed, he suppressed a flicker of annoyance as he reached for the remaining two boxes. Without much thought, he tossed them toward Elyria and Zhu. Apparently, Elyria’s had been delivered here as well.

  Sera, meanwhile, received her own pill—along with a scroll bearing a technique Elder Tianlei had created specifically for her. The Blood Tigress, as Ifa informed him she was now being called, accepted it with a flash of satisfaction before excusing herself, vanishing into a blur of red to seek out her teacher.

  Zhu opened his own box, finding the standard pill alongside another—a grade six pill, designed specifically for true beasts, crafted to ease their advancement and stabilize their transformations upon reaching the Master realm.

  Elyria, quiet as always, received the pill—and a letter. Her expression turned somber as she read, her eyes darkening. Without a word, she nodded once to Tunde, then turned to leave, her figure fading into the dusk.

  Tunde had wanted to ask Elyria what was wrong, the weight behind her somber expression lingering in his mind. But he held the question back, letting the words die unspoken. Whatever burden she carried, it wasn’t his place to pry. Not yet. She needed space, and perhaps, in time, she would share it.

  Her departure left him alone with Zhu, Ifa, and their hidden guest—Liu, the arcanist—who waited beneath the very building they stood upon, veiled in the silence of stone and aura.

  Tunde paused for a moment before descending, his gaze sharpening as he extended his perception like a net cast wide across the entire compound. Threads of awareness reached out, searching for hidden figures, concealed watchers, or subtle flows of hostile intent. The void pulsed with quiet hunger in his chest, but there was nothing—no spies, no assassins, no threads of foreign Ethra.

  Satisfied, he turned, following Ifa and Zhu as they moved down the steps in measured silence.

  The underground chamber was sparse, lit by faintly glowing runes etched into the walls. Liu sat cross-legged at a low table, scrolls spread before him in careful, ordered stacks. The glow of Ethra wove gently through the air, barely perceptible to those untrained, but to Tunde’s new senses, it was as clear as the veins of a leaf under sunlight.

  Liu lifted his head, his veiled gaze locking onto Tunde. A small, respectful smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he inclined his head.

  “Greetings, honoured master,” Liu intoned softly, voice smooth and formal.

  Tunde waved the greeting off, settling himself with a quiet sigh. His aura, though reined in, still thrummed faintly beneath his skin, a storm waiting to be unleashed.

  “So,” Tunde began, his tone sharp but measured, “what’s the word from your side?”

  Liu’s eyes glinted behind the veil, the faintest flicker of tension in his posture as he spoke.

  “The forces are gathered. Preparations are in place. I believe within two days, they will strike. When and how exactly... that, I do not know.”

  Tunde rubbed his jaw, thoughtful, the weight of impending conflict settling like a stone in his gut.

  “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to stay here once paragons and saints start clashing. Not as a master, not yet.”

  Ifa nodded slowly, his face lined with worry, but resolute.

  “Maybe. But we still have this to deal with.”

  He held up his hand, palm open. A faint, sinister glow pulsed there—a red sigil, dark and malevolent, its edges sharp like a branding iron burned into flesh.

  Tunde’s eyes narrowed. Of course. The curse of Guyan. A lethal brand that demanded blood—specifically, the death of a paragon and the head of the Talahan clan.

  He exhaled sharply, a slow hiss of breath through clenched teeth.

  “I’m sure,” Liu offered thoughtfully, “when the forces arrive, it should be... accomplishable.”

  “Not unless the patriarch himself is dealt with,” Tunde muttered darkly.

  The words hung in the air like a leaden weight, dragging the room into heavy silence.

  Kaius Talahan.

  A storm of power, a shadow cast over the entire region—a regent whose very name made lesser cultivators shudder. None of them was ready for that. Not yet. And that wasn’t even considering the other regents—other monsters—lurking in the shadows of the great factions.

  Tunde closed his eyes briefly, rubbing his forehead as if trying to press the headache out of his skull.

  “One step at a time,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

  “But you, though,” Liu said suddenly, breaking the silence with a spark of curiosity, leaning forward slightly, voice sharpened with intrigue.

  “Peak master realm... in one crucible? How is that even possible?”

  Tunde smiled faintly, the curve of his lips edged with a dangerous glint.

  “Gue helped,” he said dryly, the name of the Mistwalker falling from his lips like a blade. “Albeit unwillingly.”

  Liu’s eyes widened slightly, the implications clear. Gue’s power—his Ethra, aura, essence flame, even his infant authority—had been stripped clean, devoured in the crucible’s storm. Tunde had consumed it all, adding it to his own void-forged core.

  “Drained him dry,” Tunde added, the faintest thread of satisfaction curling beneath his words.

  Zhu let out a low hum, arms crossed, eyes glinting like twin moons.

  “I believe the Talahan clan now realizes exactly what sort of threat you truly are,” he said, voice low and even.

  Tunde nodded once, grim.

  “Which means we can’t trust anyone, or anything.”

  His gaze flicked to Zhu, sharp as a blade.

  “You need to advance. We need every ounce of strength we can get before this storm breaks.”

  Zhu smirked, but there was no hesitation in his movements. He folded his legs beneath him, closing his eyes as a faint glow began to bloom around him—jade-green, ancient and deep. The air thrummed as divine energy began to pool, the presence of a true beast preparing to break through.

  Tunde rose to his feet, his gaze distant and sharp.

  “I need to finalize preparations. Something tells me we’ll be leaving Talahar in a rush.”

  Ifa inclined his head, a father’s concern glimmering in his eyes.

  “Be careful out there.”

  Tunde nodded once, eyes flashing with quiet resolve.

  “I will.”

  ********

  Tunde arrived at the Golden Pill Pavilion in the blink of an eye, materializing before the gilded gates that shimmered in the afternoon light. The air was thick with the faint scent of alchemical herbs and rare flowers, and the guards stationed at the entrance, both Lord Realm cultivators—straightened with rigid formality the moment they saw him.

  Their eyes widened with a mix of awe and fear as they hastily bowed at the waist, their voices almost in unison.

  “Welcome, esteemed Master.”

  Without a word, they swung the massive gates open, their movements smooth and reverent, as if they were handling the very will of the heavens themselves.

  Tunde stepped inside, a faint ripple of Ethra trailing in his wake, and immediately, he was swept into a world of opulence. The inner halls of the Golden Pill Pavilion were carved from white marble veined with gold, the ceilings adorned with intricate murals of ancient alchemical arts, cultivators entwined in battle.

  Before he could even speak, attendants clad in elegant robes arrived, bowing gracefully and ushering him into the highest-tier guest chamber. The room overlooked the sprawling alchemical gardens below—an expanse of rare herbs, glowing spirit blossoms, and ethereal mist.

  A trio of beautiful female servants appeared at his side like wraiths, their movements fluid as they set down steaming cups of plum tea and trays of delicate, fragrant pastries. Tunde took a tentative bite of one—sweet, buttery, and filled with a burst of tangy fruit. His brows rose in mild surprise.

  Not bad at all.

  Before he could settle fully into the plush seating, Baron Dale arrived, entering with a smooth, practiced gait. His face bore the lines of age, but his eyes sparkled with vitality and the glint of opportunity.

  He bowed low at the waist, his tone respectful and warm.

  “Honored Master.”

  Tunde waved him off with a shy, almost boyish smile, shaking his head as if embarrassed by the display.

  “Please, stop it. We’ve come a long way from all that.”

  But Dale straightened with an easy grin, folding his hands behind his back.

  “Respect must be given to those whom heaven blesses, Master Tunde.” His words rang with a certain gravity, a truth both spoken and felt.

  “Across the Borderlands, all eyes are turned to Black Rock. Even Shimmersteel and the nearby cities are now seeking alliances, hoping to curry favor, now that they know Black Rock has the protection of a master.” He paused, letting the weight of those words settle, then added with a grin, “A powerful master at that.”

  Tunde’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of concern beneath the surface.

  “And Black Rock? How is it doing?” he asked, voice steady, but the faint tension in his shoulders betrayed the quiet worry he held for the home he’d fought so hard to defend.

  Dale’s eyes gleamed with pride as he straightened further.

  “Flourishing, my lord. The ruins of Jade Peak have been integrated into Black Rock’s holdings—cleansed, fortified, and somewhat rebuilt. The entire city is expanding, its foundations stronger than ever. Soon, it will rival the great cities of the Borderlands, maybe even beyond.”

  His grin widened.

  “Even the elders have broken through; many now stand at Peak Lord Realm, fueled by the convergence and the new rifts that open more frequently. Resources, opportunities, and cultivation treasures flow like rivers into the city. It won’t be long before Black Rock becomes the leading faction in the entire Borderlands.”

  Tunde exhaled slowly, a weight lifting from his chest. A genuine smile tugged at his lips, warmer this time, his eyes alight with something deeper than satisfaction—hope.

  “That’s good. That’s... really good,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

  Dale watched him for a moment, then inclined his head slightly, the glint of a shrewd merchant sparking in his gaze.

  “I believe you came here for that,” he said, gesturing subtly toward the alchemical halls below.

  Tunde nodded, then paused, an idea flickering through his mind, sharp and unexpected.

  “Yes. That... and something else.”

  He leaned back in his seat, the wheels of his mind already turning, his fingers drumming lightly against the table’s polished surface.

  Dale raised an eyebrow, interest piqued, but he waited—silent, attentive, as any good merchant should.

  Tunde’s gaze shifted toward the alchemical gardens outside, the distant shimmer of Ethra drifting through the air like golden mist.

  An idea... and a plan.