Zeryn collapsed the moment the platform docked at the Verdant Spire Sect. The compounding weight of his internal and external injuries had pushed him far beyond his limits, particularly after he had forced his Sword Intent to the breaking point to aid Nathan in those final, desperate moments.

  "Young Master," a figure materialized from the shadows beside him, visible only to Zeryn. "I did what I could to assist you."

  Zeryn gave a faint nod, his body sprawled across the sect’s grassy earth. His vision had failed him at the end, forcing him to rely on his insubordinate protector to relay information. He was just grateful his aid had arrived in time.

  "Why go to such lengths?" the shadow asked, its voice a hushed whisper. "You had only to call, and I would have whisked him and you away."

  "And then what?" Zeryn murmured, knowing their conversation was shielded from prying eyes and ears by a soundproof barrier. "Could you have protected him if others targeted him? Was I supposed to flee, to prove to the world that I am too weak to fend for myself? I told you before: I will return to the clan, and I will see you punished for your disobedience."

  "The higher-ups decreed I was not to intervene too deeply in the affairs of other factions. You cannot be so unreasonable."

  "I told you: pick a side. I may be unreasonable, but success brings its own rewards. Do not pretend you didn't aim for that when you accepted the position of my protector."

  The shadow remained silent for a long moment before speaking again. "Then please, accept this as an act of atonement. There is a group of strangers within the Verdant Spire Sect grounds."

  Despite a fatigue that felt like lead in his veins, Zeryn forced himself into a sitting position.

  He cast his gaze toward Elen, who, along with other disciples, was carrying the block of ice containing Frank toward the sect's medical wing. A squadron of figures in red robes descended on flying beasts to offer support. Disciples from other sects sat in meditative circles, tending to their wounds with pills and salves. Minato stood amidst the chaos, directing healers to the most critically injured, like Xander and Zahra.

  Zeryn's vision blurred, then sharpened. He spotted a group of people lingering near the merchant stalls at the border of the outer sect. Their faces and attire were unremarkable, designed to blend in. But they shared a common tell: their eyes kept darting toward the docking platform.

  He shifted his perspective, expanding his spirit vision to map the entire Verdant Spire Sect with points of light with the help from the protector.

  "Spies?" he asked.

  "No," the protector replied. "If it were them, I would know. These individuals arrived only during the time you and I were absent."

  "Mirothean forces?"

  "Possibly."

  "Why are they here?"

  "That is what you must find out."

  Zeryn recalled Nathan’s decision to abandon the fleeing column. Only now did he fully grasp the crushing pincer movement his friend was facing. He could only hope Nathan survived the harsh, unforgiving desert.

  "Can you trace their movements?"

  The shadow flickered. "They blended in with merchants and refugee groups to enter the outer sect. Afterward, they used artifacts to mask their presence, so I cannot track them precisely. It would take too much time, and eventually, the trails will fade."

  "Focus on the locations of Gideon Wight and Yao Qingfeng," Zeryn ordered, his brow furrowing.

  He turned to his teammate. "Elen, I’ll take care of Frank. Go find Gideon for me. Ask him if anything unusual happened during the war."

  "Yes, Senior Brother." Elen bowed and immediately dragged his exhausted body toward the inner sect.

  "Young Master," the protector said, his voice tightening. "There is a disturbance of foreign energy at Gideon Wight's ward and Yao Qingfeng's dormitory."

  Zeryn turned his head, staring deep into the sect. The enemy was really here for nora.

  "Young Master," the shadow continued, "I believe you have done enough. My advice is not to involve yourself in this. If they are targeting nora, the situation is no longer simple; it may require consultation from within the clan. If you simply provide them with information on Nathan Reed, you will be handsomely rewarded."

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  The shadow trembled as Zeryn’s gaze locked onto it. "Your Sword Intent has..." the protector stammered.

  "Silence!" Zeryn scowled. "It is not your place to guide my actions. Do not judge me by your own petty standards. If anyone else in the clan learns of this, you had best wait for the day I personally take your head and imprison your nascent soul in purgatorial fire to suffer for a thousand years."

  The shadow bowed low, well aware of the weight Zeryn's threats carried. "You warned him about this. Whatever the result, you should not concern yourself too deeply."

  The sword prodigy squinted at the high sky. What will the Verdant Spire Sect leadership do?

  The sect still had Orin, another terrifying figure, but even so, Darkan had forbidden Nathan from returning.

  Zeryn felt an ominous premonition, a sense that a great shift was approaching. He remembered the words he’d spoken to Nathan when his friend was still trapped in the Outer Sect. Bad timing. It wasn't just his personal assessment. It was the result of that thing he loathed: Fortune Flow. An elder of the Valtaris clan had pointed him toward the Verdant Spire Sect, hinting that an exceptional individual would rise from the ashes, reborn when no one placed their faith in him within three years.

  Zeryn hadn't cared. He came because he had nowhere to go and found a young man older than his peers, a bold figure who feared no challenge in his climb, who disregarded rank to befriend Orin—a man Zeryn had been warned to avoid. Zeryn hadn't cared then, either, joining this trio of drinkers.

  He just hadn't believed the person the clan foresaw was Nathan.

  Why?

  The question had plagued him ever since Nathan’s lightning-fast ascent into the inner sect. After that, events had moved faster than a tidal wave. Nathan became a top talent, and was now surviving in a place where others faced certain death.

  The truth twisted Zeryn’s mind. He didn't want his friend to be the one chosen by fate. He knew fate was a bitch; when it targeted someone, nothing good ever happened to them. Nathan's choices would affect every move on the board. For one person, it was too heavy a burden.

  No wonder Darkan and Alaric had brought Vincent in, leaving Nathan to his own devices after Cascade Gardens. A fracture in space and time was more visible now than ever.

  "Young Master," the shadow spoke, "be careful! Your mind is linking with our ancestral shrine. If you truly wish to keep this information contained, you should not expose yourself like this."

  Zeryn took a deep breath, stabilizing his spirit. The three-year term had arrived, and no individual was more exceptional than Nathan. His gaze fell upon Xander, the one-armed youth whom Arthur held in high regard. He recounted the events at Maelivar. Nathan had been there, performing the impossible. But perhaps, by adjusting the narrative slightly, he could disrupt the "vision" of certain powers.

  A plan began to form in Zeryn's mind.

  With a rush of wind, figures hovered in the sky above Nathan. They looked small against the towering dunes, yet they brought with them an unimaginable pressure.

  Among them was Darkan.

  Nathan’s pursuers halted, their altitude dropping instinctively. Argentius alone remained defiant, holding his position at eye level with the newcomers. His head, crowned with a mane of platinum white, was held high in arrogance. Nathan could almost feel the eyes glued to the monster, yet no one made a move.

  Argentius understood the situation and channeled mana into his companion's body, helping Nathan’s exhausted form sit upright. [Healing Factor], Nathan realized, wasn't as omnipotent as he had thought. It was currently displaying a limitation similar to a bottleneck. The skill functioned, but his body refused to cooperate, largely due to the fatigue from the Berserker state. He needed to research the mechanics further, or perhaps the skill simply needed a higher level to overcome this hurdle.

  "You lot," Darkan grumbled, his voice booming like distant thunder, "best get lost. Now."

  "Elder Darkan," spoke one of the pursuers, dressed in attire similar to Ammon's but far more polished. "We have no hostile intentions. We merely descended to protect our descendants."

  Darkan raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a mocking sneer. "Tongues smoother than venomous snakes, aren't they? My disciple harmed your people? Not the other way around?"

  "Young Nathan certainly put on a performance that surprised us." Another figure drifted closer. "Precaution is hardly excessive, is it?"

  Nathan’s eyes turned cold. Even if it wasn't for nora, possessing the draconic bloodline was enough to make him a target. Without Darkan standing in the way, he would have been snatched. Even if Caelindor or the Verdant Spire Sect demanded his return, the process would be a long, bureaucratic nightmare.

  Nathan concluded that cultivators shared an undeniable trait: the stronger they were, the thicker their skin. It wasn't that protections for lower Tiers didn't exist—the Tier 7 at The Shifting Trials had been forced to yield, after all. But limits existed as prices to be paid; the only question was whether they were willing to pay them.

  "The peace treaty has been signed," Darkan said, crossing his arms. "Take your armies and leave. This territory does not belong to Mirothea."

  "You insolent loser," one of them shouted, pointing a finger at Darkan. "We are the ones giving orders, not you."

  In a flash, the world before Nathan blurred. He had to rely on Argentius to understand what had just happened.

  Before dashing forward, Darkan had cast a protective mana sphere around Nathan. His master’s figure flickered into existence beside the speaker, his bare hand piercing the man’s chest. The offender’s body exploded in a spray of blood.

  Simultaneously, the remaining pursuers rushed Nathan, hurling fists and swords against Darkan’s barrier—the cause of Nathan’s blurred vision.

  His body was dry and spent from using lava essence and the full Berserker state, yet he felt cold sweat drenching his back.

  Argentius bared his fangs and roared. But to the enemies, he looked like nothing more than a kitten throwing a tantrum.

  "They’re all Tier 4," Argentius said.

  Nathan wasn't surprised. He simply watched, eyes narrowed, trusting his master to handle everything.

  Seconds later, Darkan swung his leg. Space warped under the terrifying force. The group of Tier 4s was blasted backward; some clutched their chests, others fell to their knees, groaning in pain.

  The nascent soul of the man whose heart had been crushed shrieked and shot into the sky, leaving a long, shameful trail of green light.