“What the hell do you need so many carcasses for? I hope it’s nothing weird,” Brickwall eyed him with suspicion, his voice a low rumble.

  “I’m going to cook a massive pot of stew,” Cade grinned. “Can you help me out or not?”

  “Fine, I don’t see a problem. I’ll be heading to Tower Oasis in a few days anyway, might as well pick up those carcasses for you. Any particular ones you… like?” A wide smile split Reeve’s face.

  “Desert stompers would be ideal, but honestly—buy any kind. The bigger, the better, as long as they’re complete and the price isn’t outrageous.”

  “To me, they’re all outrageously priced, but whatever.”

  “You know what I mean. Thanks, Reeve, I owe you one.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Brickwall’s massive hand landed on his upper back with a resounding smack, pushing most of the air out of his lungs.

  After Cade returned, he washed himself, refilled his voracious heart with blood essence, and went straight to bed.

  “Yes?” the female disciple asked, her voice polite and professional.

  “I’d like to see Sword Saint Erendriel. My name is Cade Ward.”

  “Please sit. It shouldn’t take long,” the young woman—a girl, really—smiled at him invitingly, pointing at a nearby cushioned chair. She was a beastborn, average-looking but with very few bestial features visible, other than slightly sharper ears and vertical slits for pupils, which weren’t uncommon. Her teeth were indistinguishable from humans. After opening a drawer at her desk, she picked up a black comms gem.

  Cade answered with a smile of his own, then fell into the chair with a comfortable sigh. He was hurting all over—especially all the muscles and joints in his upper body. Even his skin wasn’t healing properly anymore and had begun showing early signs of scarring.

  It had been two weeks since his first puppet training session. In that time, he had spent over 70 hours in the training chamber, and to say that his sword skill had improved would have been a major understatement. Regrettably, Legion had yet to awaken, but Cade could feel the spirit was definitely growing stronger. With a little bit of luck, it shouldn’t be much longer now. He still maintained his facade of ineptitude during group sessions, showing only modest improvements. It was best to keep the extent of his growth a secret. This was one of the reasons why he would always start his training at midnight. Two hours of fighting, one hour for recovery, then three more hours of fighting. By the time the seventh hour came, he was ready for yet another glorious day at the spirit garden. Other than the clerks, nobody knew about his nightly comings and goings.

  The puppets he was facing now were still at early Foundation Establishment, but their difficulty setting had risen from 1 to 4—out of 10. He set them to fight using the Wandering Crane Sword Art, which was considered a great all-rounder style, with good offense and solid defense. It used a great variety of moves, which really made it perfect for training purposes. Right now, his body needed a break, so for the next three or four days, he planned on sleeping as much as possible.

  After those two weeks, Cade realized he was missing something, which had prompted him to bother the Grandmaster. None of the 36 sword styles took advantage of his specific strengths, mostly his superior speed and agility—both on the ground and in the air. He had tested them all to see if any would match his preferred fighting style, taking quite a bit of damage in the process.

  As his mind wandered, a woman wearing a fitted white robe—a sign she was a core disciple—walked into the transportation room. For a single moment, their gazes met, and Cade was struck by her unique beauty. She was of the fey race, and absolutely gorgeous. No human woman he had ever met could have contended with her in terms of appearance. With long, twinkling silver hair that reflected the light of the sunstones, and a strong, lithe body filled out in all the right places, she was essentially a perfect specimen. The rather tight martial robe did little to hide her charms. Not even her abyssal, inhuman eyes spoiled this image. In actuality, they might have contributed to it, reinforcing her exotic appeal.

  He naturally offered her one of his best smiles, which she predictably ignored, and promptly disappeared inside the formation circle. At least she didn’t scoff at me. The disciple at the desk giggled quietly, and Cade shrugged, chuckling along.

  “Brother Cade, Saint Erendriel will be ready to see you in five minutes,” she informed him.

  “Thank you, Sister…”

  “Joana.”

  “Thank you, Sister Joana. In that case, I’ll be taking advantage of your hospitality for a few more minutes,” he smiled.

  The girl tittered again and returned to her work. Cade checked his timekeeper, and once the time was up, he proceeded towards the formation, nodding to the assistant before being transported to Grandmaster Erendriel’s mansion. It covered a quarter of the citadel’s second-highest level and was one of the few places with natural sunlight, the buildings built along the wall to maximize the exposure. So far, Cade had only been to Erendriel’s study, which was on one of the lower levels, mostly due to the risks involved in alchemy. Things occasionally blew up.

  While the lowest levels gave off an almost ascetic aura, with simple, functional furniture and plain black stone covering every surface, it seemed the Saints lived like kings. He stood outside the formation circle with his mouth half-open, taking in the view. He found himself inside an enormous open space, its ceiling at least 100 feet tall. The transportation formation was at the end of a large courtyard overgrown with many exotic plants, short bushes, and a couple dozen trees covered in orange-colored fruit. Despite spending eight hours every day in the spirit garden, not a single plant here looked even remotely familiar. On the left side of the courtyard was a large, rectangular pond filled with shimmering koi; on the right, an open pavilion, its columns covered with colorful, flowering vines. On the other end of the courtyard were three squat, large structures built of white stone threaded with golden veins, their roofs covered with red shingles. Sunlight fell through massive, narrow windows carved into the enormous, converging walls of the citadel. Despite the elevation, there was no wind here—doubtlessly powerful formations protected this tranquil place. A wide stone path led from the transportation circle to the center building, and Cade simply followed it.

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  “Enter the building and turn left. You should see us there.” Grandmaster Erendriel’s voice sounded in his mind, a similar technique Master Lao Ren had used to communicate.

  Us…? It surely can’t be her…

  And yet, it was. Within a large chamber supported by several pillars, Saint Erendriel sat at a table with the beautiful fey disciple. She looked at him, surprise flickering across her face before it settled back to neutral. Grandmaster Erendriel drank from a silver cup in front of him, and smiled upon seeing the young Asura enter.

  “Cade, I see you’ve finally decided to pay me a visit. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a reluctant in-name disciple. What has it been, three weeks?” the elf asked in a humorous tone. He was wearing a red daoist robe trimmed with golden thread, the two crossed swords embroidered over his heart.

  Cade bowed and cupped his fist towards the two people before answering. “Apologies, Grandmaster. I didn’t want to bother you with trivial questions.”

  “Yes, yes. I certainly wouldn’t have picked you if I thought you’d actually do that. Which means you have encountered a problem. But before we get to that, come and sit with us.” When Cade approached, the fey beauty slowly stood up, each move as graceful as a swan’s.

  Damn, her charm is exceptional. I’m not detecting any qi, so it’s not an aura or a cultivation art; it’s really just how nature made her. Her life signature points to minor nervousness, but looking at her you wouldn’t be able to tell.

  “Greet your Martial Sister,” Erendriel presented the fey. “Aria, this is Cade Ward. Cade, meet Aria of the Voidwalker Clan.”

  Cade stumbled in shock but swiftly composed himself and offered the fey a martial salute. His knowledge of the fey came from books, so it was very possible things had changed. But the most recent one he had read mentioned their race was ruled by a council of seven powerful clans—each a small nation on its own.

  The young woman nodded at him, and that was it.

  “Cade is a very interesting young man. I’m sure you’ll find time to get to know each other; after all, we’re now like a family. Well, at least in name,” Erendriel chortled quietly at his own joke. Aria smiled lightly, and it made her only more attractive.

  The fey set her abyssal gaze on his figure. “I’m sorry for ignoring you earlier, Martial Brother. I didn’t know you were the new in-name disciple the Grandmaster took on. Please don’t take it personally,” she said in a pleasant but rather emotionless voice. However, her signature pointed towards minor embarrassment.

  “I won’t. And there’s no need to apologize,” Cade said, his smile tilting wryly as he rubbed the back of his neck. Nobody liked being ignored, especially by a gorgeous woman. However, he was also painfully aware that he wasn't exactly good-looking, at least not in the distinguished, ethereal-like way most female cultivators adored. This was how the ancient immortals had looked like.

  Aria nodded, cupping her fist and bowing at the Saint, then walked out of the chamber, her hair sparkling like strands of thin, silver wire.

  “Yes, yes. She’s spectacular,” Erendriel grumbled light-heartedly. “More importantly, she’s an example of an amazing talent that works hard. It took her less than a year to become a core disciple, and now she’s already sixth on the Low Ladder. Aria is your age, you know, not some fossil like myself. I think she might challenge Castien soon,” Erendriel remarked between sips.

  “That’s… very impressive,” Cade said, his brow rising. It was a massive achievement, and meant Aria’s combat ability was on an elite level. He had yet to witness any core disciple duel, as they weren’t often challenged. His own goal wasn’t to simply advance to the inner court but rather to do it without revealing too much of what he was truly capable of. A matter complicated by his lack of an adequate dueling weapon.

  “So, what issue brings you here?” Erendriel asked, pouring himself more wine and offering some to his disciple.

  Cade politely declined and shortly described his current training situation, focusing on how none of the styles took advantage of his strongest points, especially their lack of focus on aerial combat.

  “Never let the Sword Masters hear you say their sword style isn’t good enough for you,” the Saint chuckled. “But, you’re not the only one who has realized the styles are… lacking, especially when it comes to flight. The reason is simple: we created them primarily for low-ranked cultivators. More than half of our disciples might never progress past the middle stage of Foundation Establishment and Skeletal Reinforcement realms. Most will never see True Core or Muscular Enhancement. There were stretches lasting over thirty years when not a single disciple advanced to the fourth tier of cultivation. We do what we can, but high aptitude is no longer as common as it used to be before the Exodus.”

  Cade's eyes widened, and he immediately felt like slapping his forehead. It made perfect sense that those 36 styles largely focused on ground combat. Flying for lower-ranked cultivators was a luxury; it devoured excessive amounts of spiritual qi.

  “Where did you hear the puppets were capable of fighting in more than 36 styles?” Erendriel asked.

  “It’s just a rumor going around. I was hoping it was more than hearsay," he answered truthfully.

  Erendriel nodded, scratching his hairless chin. “Well, it is. Four styles were removed from the puppet’s memory, as they are simply too demanding for second-tier cultivators. They are almost impossible to learn at lower realms and use up a lot of spiritual qi. I’m sure after facing the puppet you’ve realized how much we have declined compared to the ancients. We didn’t want our disciples to spend what little spare time they had on trying to learn something that was nigh impossible for them to execute properly before advancing to the middle third tier,” the Saint explained.

  “I understand, Grandmaster. Would it be possible for me to at least see what those styles are like?”

  Erendriel’s brow furrowed slightly, and he placed his wine cup on the table, appearing to ponder something. His finger traced the cup’s edge, and he pulled out a small rectangular crystal slip from his storage artifact, no larger than a thumb. Cade’s eyes focused on it, magnifying the view. It was as if someone had frozen the air, filling it with a dense web of faint black threads that formed a complex, interwoven pattern. It was the first time he had seen anything like it.

  “This memory crystal can be inserted into the puppet, allowing it to train you in one of those four styles,” Erendriel said. “I admit, I’ve watched a couple of your training sessions,” he shrugged, smiling lightly. “I was curious how you were progressing. Your skill was a little poor initially, mildly speaking, but your rate of improvement is impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anyone learn this fast, and I’ve seen a lot. This is the only reason I’m giving this to you. Always remove it from the slot after you’re done training and replace it with the original memory card.”

  “Yes, Grandmaster. Can I ask which of the styles is on the card?” Cade asked, not even trying to keep the growing excitement from his voice. As for being watched, he had assumed the Elders could find out what was going on inside the chambers. This was the main reason why he had always restrained himself from using Blood Wings openly during training.

  “It’s called Four Faces of War. I believe it would suit you best—it’s a direct inheritance from the founder of our monastery, the inventor of the Law Severing Art. He walked these halls more than six hundred thousand years ago. We call him the Grand Ancestor; his true name has long been lost to time.”

  Thump.