Ishin and Akira spent the next hour removing the remaining chakras from the dead Sun Tigers. In total, there were five. Three were of the initial realm, each aspected to light qi. The two chakras from the mother Sun Tiger were noticeably larger than the others, indicative of having reached the adept realm. One of the adept chakras was the same shade of yellow as the rest, reflecting its light aspect. The other, however, glowed with the orange hue of a setting sun.

  Akira told Ishin that this one was aspected with sun qi. When Ishin asked why the Sun Tiger had aspected its second chakra differently, Akira explained that most spirit beasts chose their aspects by instinct, unlike humans.

  Once the chakras were gathered, Akira had Ishin place them into his pack. The two left the Sun Tiger corpses behind. Part of Ishin felt it was a waste—scavengers would surely come to feed on the remains—but he understood why his mother wanted the chakras. Cultivation resources are expensive.

  On the eighth day of their journey, the Heavens’ favor finally abandoned them.

  Rain began to fall in steady sheets, turning the land into a mire of mud. Strong gales followed, and the skies above roared with thunder as flashes of lightning tore across the sky. The sudden shift in weather made every step a struggle. Once-stable earth sank beneath their feet, and the thick mud gripped their boots like glue. Though they had packed rain cloaks, the fabric offered little protection against the turbulent downpour. Wind tunneled through the narrow paths between hills, howling with such force that Ishin was nearly knocked off his feet.

  Storms were rare in the Nine Striped Hills—but when they came, they lasted for weeks.

  Nights offered no reprieve. They had brought tents and tarps, but setting up camp under the pounding rain and unrelenting wind was a trial in itself. By the time Ishin managed to erect their shelter, it was already soaked through. Rain leaked in, soaking bedrolls and supplies. With the storm raging overhead, building a fire was impossible. Their clothes remained wet, and their spirits dampened with each passing day.

  This is miserable, Ishin thought, teeth clenched as he struggled against the wind. This is what it means to walk the Immortal Path?

  To Ishin’s disbelief—and growing envy—Akira moved through the storm as if it were nothing. Her footing never faltered. She advanced through the wind without being slowed, the rain running off her like it feared to cling. Despite the same exposure, she somehow didn’t appear nearly as drenched as him. How is she not soaked? he wondered. Is this what a true cultivator looks like?

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  For five days they pushed on through the unyielding storm, until at last they arrived at their destination.

  Only flashes of lightning lit the hill before them—no sunlight pierced the veil of storm clouds. Tyrant’s Rest stood like a fortress carved from the land itself. Thunder rolled in the distance as Ishin stared up at the tallest hill he had ever seen. It loomed twice as tall as any they’d passed, and three times as wide. Earthen ridges jutted across its face, some ending in sheer drops. Aspens dotted the hillside, bending slightly under the wind. From where they stood at the base, the summit was hidden behind rain and clouds.

  We have to climb that?

  The slope was too steep for a simple hike. The ridges might offer some stable footing, but even without the storm, the hill would’ve been a challenge. With the rain turning the slopes into slick mud, the path upward looked nearly impossible.

  “Almost there,” Akira said, her voice steady. To Ishin’s amazement, she was smiling.

  She pointed left. “There should be a trailhead over there. With this weather, I bet it’ll take us six hours to reach the summit.”

  “It’s so tall,” Ishin said, unable to hide his awe.

  He’d heard the stories. He’d seen tapestries and paintings. But standing here now, with the storm howling and the hill towering over them like a sleeping god, he finally understood why Tyrant’s Rest had earned its name.

  Akira laughed. “Of course it is. It’d be disappointing otherwise, right?” She looked up at the peak, her eyes soft. “It’s been a while. Even I forgot just how impressive it is.”

  “You’ve been here before?” Ishin asked. She’d never mentioned it.

  “Many years ago,” Akira said. “Back when we first came to the Nine Striped Hills. You could say I was looking for… guidance.” She turned toward him, smiling faintly. “You were so little back then.”

  Before Ishin could ask more, a voice called out from the east.

  “Here I thought I’d be the only one visiting in this weather,” a man’s voice exclaimed.

  Akira moved instantly.

  She leapt in front of Ishin, spear in hand, her stance guarded and alert. He hadn’t even seen her move.

  “Reveal yourself!” she barked, eyes narrowed.

  A figure appeared as if from the air itself. He held an umbrella and wore a scarlet and alabaster cloak. Despite the wind and rain, his cloak hung still, untouched by the storm. A technique, no doubt, masking his presence and shielding him from the elements.

  Lightning cracked the sky, casting the figure in light. Ishin caught a glimpse of silver hair and a trimmed beard. Beneath the cloak, he wore red cultivator robes. A leather satchel hung at his side, partially obscured. Where are his supplies? Ishin wondered.

  “Stay behind me,” Akira ordered sharply. Ishin obeyed without hesitation.

  To the stranger, she asked, “Lou Heng of the Blood Paint, what are you doing here?”