The sky flashed with lightning as the two cultivators stared at each other. Only a mere thirty feet separated them—a distance that could be closed in an instant should conflict break out.

  As a young member of the Daihu Tribe who had been largely sheltered within the secure walls of the Martial Hall, Ishin was oblivious to most of the activities among the other prominent tribes. Occasionally, though, stories of heroic feats and powerful warriors from throughout the greater Nine Striped Hills region would reach him, often from traveling merchant caravans. Elder Lou Heng of the Anji Tribe—or more commonly known as Lou Heng of the Blood Paint—was a name that Ishin had heard of.

  The man had obtained prominence after fending off an enemy tribe’s raid single-handedly. According to the stories, Lou Heng had killed over one hundred combatants that day. Afterwards, he led a counteroffensive, conquering a settlement in retaliation. Had that been all, it still would have been impressive—but not unheard of. No, what caused Lou Heng’s name to spread far and wide was that after both battles, he was said to have painted a portrait of the bloodied landscape to showcase his accomplishments. Some rumors even claimed that he had used the blood of his fallen foes to enhance his artwork.

  Whether true or not, the stories about Lou Heng’s victory and subsequent painting earned him the name Lou Heng of the Blood Paint. In recognition for his rising reputation and battlefield accomplishments, he was promoted to the rank of elder within the Anji Tribe. More importantly to Ishin, he was said to be a rival in strength to the Anji Tribe’s own First Warrior and Chief.

  Ishin studied his mother. There was no doubt she was taking Lou Heng seriously as a threat. Within the Daihu Tribe, Akira had claimed there were only half a dozen members she considered her peers. Considering this, Ishin didn’t doubt that the man before them was one of the strongest people in the Nine Striped Hills.

  “Ro Akira,” Lou Heng replied. “I could ask you the same.” Despite Akira’s defensive stance, he appeared unconcerned. Lou Heng gestured at Tyrant’s Rest. “I came here in hopes of capturing Tyrant’s Rest’s beauty during the storm for my next painting. I never expected someone else to be here as well.” He gave an unnecessarily elaborate bow. “Let alone the Daihu Tribe’s infamous First Warrior.”

  Akira didn’t lower her spear. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon after the conference at Zai’s Bluff. It’s not often I encounter someone with your reputation without needing to kill them.”

  Lou Heng’s grin flashed under the lightning. “Back then I wished to trade pointers with you. And here we are. It’s as though the Heavens decreed our Immortal Paths needed to cross again.”

  This time, Akira returned the grin. “A fate I do not mind.” Her eyes drifted over to Ishin. “But our martial souls will need to wait before they are satisfied.”

  Lou Heng gave a brief nod. “And who is that with you?”

  “He is my disciple. I brought him here so he could gain guidance on his Immortal Path.”

  Ishin felt Lou Heng’s attention settle on him. “Your disciple is impressively skilled at suppressing his cultivation. What a harsh master you are, venturing out in this for training.”

  Thunder roared as Ishin waited intently for the two mighty cultivators to clash. While the Daihu and Anji Tribes weren’t currently at war, neither were they allies. If one were to die out here where there would be no witnesses, the victor wouldn’t have to worry about large-scale consequences. Akira had even told him stories of when she’d encountered warriors from other tribes during reconnaissance missions. More often than not, she had killed them and left behind no evidence of who the culprit was. She’d even boasted about it to Ishin.

  At long last, Lou Heng spoke again. “It just so happens I was in need of a new vantage point to complete my art.” He turned to the west. “Perhaps I will try my luck over there.”

  Akira finally lowered her spear. “It would also be a shame to delay you any further, Elder Lou Heng. If the Heavens will it, I’m sure we’ll encounter each other again.”

  Lou Heng nodded. “Indeed, First Warrior Ro Akira. I hope the Heavens do find a future meeting favorable.” Turning his back to them, he called out, “Heaven’s blessings upon you,” and vanished into the air.

  Wind howled around them as Ishin waited for his mother to act. Despite Lou Heng’s apparent departure, she still hadn’t lowered her guard. No doubt she remained vigilant until she was certain he was truly gone—lest she be caught off guard again. Several minutes later, Ishin saw Akira’s shoulders finally relax.

  “It’s fortunate that we encountered him here.”

  “It was?”

  Akira continued scanning the surroundings. “Yes. Tradition dictates that there will be no bloodshed here. Many believe they’ll incur Heaven’s wrath if they spill blood on sacred ground.”

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  Given the reverence for Tyrant’s Rest, Ishin supposed that made sense. “I see.” Unable to help himself, he asked, “Is he strong?”

  “He is,” Akira answered. “Fighting him would be an actual test of my martial skill.” She stared to the east, clearly imagining what the battle would’ve been like. Sighing, she added, “But it would’ve been a risk, and the collateral damage wouldn’t have been worth it.”

  My weakness is a liability.

  “Come, Ishin,” Akira said. “Let’s begin our ascent.”

  She led them to the western side of the hill’s base. Tall grass that reached Ishin’s navel concealed it from afar, but sure enough, there was a trail. Akira explained that it had formed over centuries of pilgrimages and that, had the weather been clear, it would be easier to see as a wide, well-traveled path.

  The journey upward proved daunting. The pilgrim trail curved around the entire hill along the many ridges. Several parts of the path were perilous, the once smooth ridge eroded from the violent storms that barraged it over time. The track was slippery and muddy, and Ishin found himself using his spear as a walking stick half the time. In places where wide chasms separated the path—sometimes stretching dozens of feet—Akira had to carry Ishin across as she lunged. Ishin didn’t understand how even Initial Realm cultivators made those crossings.

  More concerning than the chasms were the occasional landslides that came from above. It was clear that the storm had destabilized the hill’s earthen side. The first time Ishin heard a landslide falling above, he sprinted forward—but it had been too large and too fast, covering the width of fifty feet. Akira had needed to use a movement technique to carry them both to safety. When Ishin looked back at the destroyed section of trail, he understood how the many chasms along the path had formed.

  By the time he reached the summit of Tyrant’s Rest, Ishin was wet, dirty, and exhausted.

  All of that faded the moment he gazed upon the peak.

  Vast marble ruins stretched across the hill’s wide crest. Ishin saw half-standing pillars beside the shattered remains of their upper halves. A white marble roof, long since fallen, leaned upward against an eroded stairway. Angled along its side were engravings of fierce beasts, including Sun Tigers. In the center of what must have once been a grand settlement rested a wide open dais. Stretches of sunken earth—too uniform to be accidental—encircled the dais. At the far end of the ruins lay an ancient fountain, its enormous basin overflowing from the perpetual rainfall. A sculpture had once stood proud at its center, but it had collapsed into the basin. From the portion that still stood, Ishin could make out the lower half of a tiger’s head.

  Before he could speak, an imperious roar echoed across the entire peak. Ishin felt the vibration travel through his entire body—and even his soul.

  He blinked and found himself standing atop Tyrant’s Rest, overlooking the endless green expanse of the Nine Striped Hills, soft dry grass beneath his feet. The storm clouds were gone. Golden light illuminated the land as endless streaks of Sun Tigers ran through the tall grass. Mounted atop the spirit beasts were humans in simple leather garbs. Even from this vantage point, the roars and cries of the great horde reached his ears.

  Is this a dream… or the past?

  Before he could process the sight, his body lurched forward and then snapped back. Rain fell down his face once more.

  He was back.

  Akira stood beside him, her expression unreadable.

  “What is this place?”

  “Tyrant’s Rest,” Akira said with a knowing smirk. “I’m guessing you just heard a tiger’s roar and experienced a vision?”

  Ishin nodded. “Yes! Did you experience the same?”

  Akira gave a light laugh. “Everyone experiences it their first time up here. It’s largely why the region’s inhabitants view this place with such reverence.” She tapped the ground with her spear. “They call what you just experienced the Monarch’s Greeting.”

  “Monarch’s Greeting?” Ishin echoed. He looked around the peak again. “What is this place exactly, Mother?”

  “The remains of a forgotten sect,” Akira answered. “At least, that’s the theory. Legends claim it used to be the home of the Golden Tiger Monarch long ago.” A faint smile traced her lips. “At least, that’s what the natives call him.”

  That explains the Sun Tigers in the vision.

  Like all members of the Daihu Tribe, Ishin had grown up hearing tales of the Golden Tiger Monarch. A demigod from the distant past, he had traveled to the Nine Striped Hills and led the ancestors of what would become the Four Great Tribes. The legends said he ruled for a hundred years before ascending to the Heavens. Only after his departure did the Nine Striped Hills fall under the rule of the Heron Empire.

  “This is the home of the Golden Tiger Monarch?” For the first time, Ishin understood why pilgrims endured the brutal journey to reach this place.

  “Supposedly,” Akira said. “But you’ll have time to gawk later. For now, let’s get out of this rain.”

  She led them beneath the fallen roof leaning against the stairway. There was plenty of space underneath, and Ishin figured that if Akira wasn’t worried about it collapsing, he didn’t need to be either. After days in the storm, he was just glad to be dry.

  “Eat something,” Akira said, taking out a strip of jerky. Ishin retrieved a few pieces of his own, surprised by how hungry he was. After finishing, he drank deeply from his waterskin.

  “Feel better?” Akira asked.

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “Good.” She took a sip of water. “We’ll remain here for at least another week. Our rations will last that long, but if we need more time, I’ll hunt more Sun Tigers for meat.”

  Ishin’s expression turned serious. “You think it’ll take that long for me to form my chakra?” A boom of thunder echoed above, as if in response.

  “No. Up here, I bet we’ll get you struck by lightning in a day or two.” She smiled mischievously. “The rest of the time will be used to cultivate.”