《Grasp the Sky》


 Chapter 1 - An Unfortunate Herald

    It is the hundred and thirty-first year of Emperor Motian''s reign and all is as it should be. The savage tribes of the north have been pacified. The barbarian kingdoms to the south have been reduced to their rightful place as vassal states. The seven great sects bow before the might of the imperial family.


    In the ninth province of the empire, things are how they''ve been for the last thousand years. The cultivation culture still hasn''t recovered, leaving mere martial artists as the petty kings of the land.


    They tell stories of the old days. Of a sect of immortals that once ruled the province. Of how Grain could once be found in abundance and how everyone once had a chance to leap over the dragon''s gate.


    But those days are long since past. The Evil Star fell and that sect was destroyed overnight, as though it was nothing more than a beautiful dream.


    Over time, the people of the Barren Province began to think the stories of the Dragon¡¯s Gate were nothing more than fairy tales. Stories to tell children when they thought the real world was too dull.


    But that couldn''t be further from the truth. Something that would soon be proven by the man climbing the Highest Mountain.


    -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-


    The Stardust Mountain Range was enormous, forming a natural barrier that protected the southwestern border of the Azure Empire.


    In particular, nine mountains rose past the sky, their peaks hidden by the clouds. According to myth and legend, it was upon those nine mountains that the Dragon''s Gate Sect once stood.


    On the tallest and greatest of those nine vast mountains, a man by the name of Jaspen Veraglaas sat panting on a rock. He looked down at the city in the valley below, surrounded on all sides by the nine mountains. That city had been the most disappointing part of his journey so far.


    There¡¯d been so many rumors about it. ¡°The City of False Gods¡± it had once been called. The place where the elders of the ancient Dragon¡¯s Gate kept their mortal descendants. According to the tales, even some Jade Step elders of the sect had once lived there instead of on one of the mountains.


    It had been horribly disappointing to arrive and discover that the city didn¡¯t have even a single divine aspirant. Just martial artists. Barely better than mortals themselves. The worthless wretches didn¡¯t even know what a divine aspirant was.


    Jaspen spat to one side, trying to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. His encounters with the city had left him with a sense of impending disaster sitting in his gut, spreading poisonous tendrils into his mind.


    If that mythical city was so far from the rumors, what about the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect?


    He ignored the little voice in the back of his mind. It was hardly the first time he¡¯d had a setback or reason to doubt. But every time, he persevered. And every time, he¡¯d been right to do so.


    This was no different. Just another small hurdle. So what if the city wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d expected or hoped? That was a good thing! It meant they hadn¡¯t obtained the riches of the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect - otherwise, how could their cultivation culture still be so thin and rotten?


    That had to be the case. It had to be.


    Suddenly anxious, Jaspen felt his exhaustion melt away, replaced by a flow of nervous energy. He stood up, dusting himself off and turning to continue walking up the mountain. As he did, he absentmindedly regulated his breathing according to his breathing art.


    It was nothing special. Not by his standards, at least. The martial artists down in the city would likely fight to the death over it. But Jaspen knew his place in the world, as well as that of his branch of the Veraglaas clan.


    It was why he¡¯d taken such a desperate gamble. He wasn¡¯t satisfied. He wanted more. He wanted riches, fame, glory, divinity- everything the world had to offer. And with the wealth and knowledge of the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect, once one of the greatest of the empire¡¯s sects, that would be more than just a dream.


    In, out. In, out.


    Jaspen¡¯s aura pulsed gently with his breathing as he walked. It was a pity that he couldn¡¯t gather and refine Grain while he was at it, but this was the Barren Province. The Grain of Heaven and Earth was quite thin and disparate here.


    Which was why he had a grudging respect for those martial artists down in the city. Inferior beings they may be, but cultivating to anything beyond the Copper Step would take an enormous amount of effort and dedication.


    While he was getting his dinner, he¡¯d even heard that the elders and patriarchs of the major clans had reached the Iron Step. The same Step Jaspen himself was in. It was why he¡¯d decided against attempting to take over the local clans and have them assist him in his search.


    Being a genuine divine aspirant meant he was above any mere martial artist of his Step¡­ but a dozen at once could be a bit dangerous. Not that he thought he would lose, but why take that risk?


    He grabbed the gourd dangling at his waist, popping the cork and taking a long, hard drink. The blessed wine burned as it went down, the essence within seeping into his throat without his conscious harvesting of it.


    Blessed wine could be dangerous. Even the greatest forms of it were both a medicine and a poison. Drink more than you could handle and your death was almost certain. There were few cures for over-indulgence, and most came with a brutal cost.


    But this was the cheap stuff. Something he¡¯d bought down in the city to put some extra vigor in his limbs as he climbed this gods-forsaken mountain. At his level of cultivation, Jaspen could drink a barrel of it and barely get tipsy.


    The only reason he even felt the burn was because of the wretched black and gray dust that had begun to fill the air the higher he climbed. The foul stuff was likely the reason the martial artists down in the city were so unwilling to climb the mountains.


    The wine reached his stomach, settling nicely and sending pleasant pulses of warmth through his body. Jaspen sighed, taking another small sip before popping the cork back in. The wine wasn¡¯t actually a medicine, but it did have medicinal properties. It was enough to soothe his throat.


    "Onwards and upwards," he muttered, voice hoarse from the dust and wine. "Far too late to turn back now."


    And wasn''t that the truth.


    Jaspen didn''t regret his actions. Ascension was the ultimate goal of all divine aspirants. If you didn''t chase it with all your heart, then you weren''t worthy to call yourself an aspirant.


    But he did regret that those actions were necessary. He regretted that he couldn''t share the benefits he''d reap with his family. And he regretted that they''d certainly been punished for crimes that were his and his alone.


    The weight of the token hanging around his neck seemed to double at the thought. He grabbed it, holding it up to the light of the full moon.


    It was a rather small thing, given how important it was, fitting neatly in the palm of his hand. Rather than being circular, it had seven sides. Jaspen assumed the number stood for the seven steps of mortal cultivation, but it could also have some other meaning.


    The token''s material was something he''d never seen before, like a mix between wood, bronze, and glass, but clearly none of them. Within the token, there was a five-clawed golden dragon.


    Jaspen let the token fall from his hand. It bounced against his chest as it settled back to where it had been. This token was the reason his family would be punished. It was something he''d stolen from the clan''s ancestor, after all.


    Unbidden, memories of his old ancestor rose up in his mind.


    Jaspen had been one of the old madman¡¯s servants. Day after day, he¡¯d bring the man wine and listen to him tell stories of the days when he was young and brave.


    For a while, Jaspen hadn¡¯t thought anything of it. Every old man liked exaggerating the stories of his youth. Embellish the good parts, cut out the bad, and let every story grow in the retelling.


    But some of what the old ancestor said had caught Jaspen¡¯s interest. Mainly, the stories of how the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect had seemed to vanish. There¡¯d been no battle. At no point had anyone been called back to defend the sect. There¡¯d been no warnings at all.


    It had been there one day. The next, it was gone.


    So, did that mean all the riches of it were still there? Just waiting for the fated person to find them?


    Once the idea occurred to Jaspen, it was like it sprouted and took root. He couldn¡¯t get it out of his head. So he began to do some research. What he¡¯d found had given him hope. Everything he found agreed that the sect¡¯s ruins had never been found.


    He¡¯d started listening more intently to the old ancestor¡¯s stories. He¡¯d even dared to ask a few questions. Finally, he¡¯d put together his plan.


    Jaspen had poisoned the ancestor. Not with anything lethal; he wasn¡¯t so vicious. The old man wasn¡¯t in his right mind, but he¡¯d never done anything bad to Jaspen or his family. Besides, the Veraglaas clan would have dedicated everything it had to hunting him down if he¡¯d murdered the ancestor.


    The poison had just been to knock the man out. Jaspen had stolen the token, which his ancestor had once confided to him as being a key to entering the sect. Then he¡¯d made his desperate escape.


    It had been touch and go for a while. The Veraglaas clan hadn¡¯t sent anyone truly powerful after him, but they¡¯d still put more than a bit of effort into it. Jaspen nearly died several times, but had escaped in the end. Mainly thanks to his breakthrough to the Iron Step- something he attributed to the pressure he¡¯d been put under by the clan¡¯s enforcers.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He glanced down at the token again, starting to let out a sigh. Then his breath caught in his throat. The token was releasing a soft glow.


    Quickly, carefully, he cupped it in his palm, hiding it from the moonlight. The glow was still there. A wild grin split Jaspen¡¯s face. This meant he was close, right?


    A wild burst of aura sent him hurtling deeper into the forest. The light of the token sharply increased, reaching a crescendo as he approached¡­ nothing.


    Jaspen stopped, looking around. The token was glowing like a lantern, illuminating the forest. Yet still, he saw nothing. It was just trees and shrubbery and that disgusting dust. A careful examination with his divine sense said the same thing.


    He frowned down at the token, then at the ground. Was there some sort of shrouded teleportation formation? Was the Dragon¡¯s Gate hidden in a secret realm?


    That didn¡¯t seem right. None of the texts he¡¯d read had suggested anything of the sort. On the contrary; all of them agreed that the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect was located on the mountains themselves, with the heart of the sect being on the Highest Mountain, where the great waterfalls were.


    But then again, there had to be a reason nobody had ever found the ruins. It hadn¡¯t been difficult for him to make it this far and he was only of the Iron Step. A mere Noble Being. A Heroic Being of the Silver, Gold, or Jade Steps would have had even less difficulty.


    Yet nobody had ever found the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect.


    Jaspen frowned, the true magnitude of that problem hitting him for the first time. There was no doubt in his mind that the great sects and clans of the empire had attempted to find and plunder the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect. Perhaps even the imperial family had attempted it.


    Yet nobody had ever found the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect.


    The blood drained from his face. His legs felt as though they¡¯d turned to jelly all at once. Jaspen collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut.


    None of those Heroes had done it. So how could he?


    In that moment, Jaspen couldn¡¯t help but admit that, in his heart of hearts, he thought it would ¡°just work out.¡± As though he was some character in a story. That heaven would bless him and he would succeed where all others failed. That he¡¯d be the one to pull off a miracle.


    But that wasn¡¯t how life worked, was it?


    Jaspen clutched the token, a desolate sense of inadequacy and self-mockery washing through him like a cruel tide. All he¡¯d done, all he¡¯d suffered, and he hadn¡¯t even stopped to consider such a basic, important detail?


    He was a fool. Blind, stupid, ignora- what was the token doing?


    Still stunned from the self-loathing he¡¯d been experiencing, Jaspen watched absentmindedly as the token began to pulse, the yellow dragon inside seeming to writhe and roar. He opened his hand, letting the token rise into the air. It floated towards an empty patch of air, seeming to lock into place.


    A ripple passed through the air. Then, without further warning, rainbow light burst forth. Jaspen yelped, vainly trying to shield his eyes from the blinding brilliance. It filled the forest, shining like a newly-born sun. Even with his hands covering his eyes, Jaspen could still feel tears welling up from the sheer brightness of it.


    Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the rainbow light faded away. Jaspen stood there for several minutes, stunned, desperately trying to blink the spots from his eyes. But when his sight did finally clear, he struggled to believe what he saw.


    Beyond a simmer in the air, like a film of shifting and swaying water, there was a scene like a child¡¯s nightmare come to life. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of people and animals frozen in place, their dried out husks withered and blackened into horrific, ghoulish parodies of their former selves.


    All of them were facing his direction, down the mountain. Most had their arms and legs poised as though they were running with all their might. Some looked like they¡¯d fallen from the sky, with craters and trails carved into the ground behind them.


    Black mist billowed and swirled around them, flooding in and through them. Jaspen took a shaky step back as a wave of it seemed to surge towards him before crashing harmlessly against the shimmering barrier.


    He swallowed hard, looking past the corpses. In the distance, he could just barely see a gate. One made of¡­ stone?


    Jaspen shook his head at himself. Of course it wasn¡¯t stone. The gate for a sect like the Dragon¡¯s Gate would have used valuable, powerful materials for their gate. Even if it was more for show than anything else, since their protective formation would be what they truly relied upon for their defense.


    That was how the Veraglaas clan and all the sects around them had done things, anyways. They kept their fancy walls and decorated gates and had people guarding them at all times, but they didn¡¯t actually treat them as a true defense.


    Hesitantly, Jaspen reached out with his divine sense. It hit the haze in the air like it was an impenetrable wall. Which was as expected; even the formations of the Veraglaas clan and the surrounding sects could do the same.


    Still, this felt like confirmation that it was a protective barrier. None that would just stop entry, rather than doing something horrible to those who attempted to get through. Jaspen had seen one of those before. A woman had tried to push her way through it. Her corpse had collapsed as a bloody mess on the other side.


    Jaspen hadn¡¯t expected anything of the sort from this barrier. It was the outer defensive measure of what had once been a powerful righteous sect. There was no way they¡¯d have something like that as their first line of defense. But he¡¯d survived this long through an abundance of caution. There was no way he¡¯d let himself die at the finish line due to a momentary lapse of judgment.


    Slowly, carefully, Jaspen pushed his hand towards the shimmer in the air, ready to jerk it away at a moment¡¯s notice. But there was no need. His hand moved through the rippling air like it was nothing more than a strange wind.


    A broad, nearly manic grin spread across Jaspen¡¯s face. He could nearly taste the glory and power held by the gods. Eagerly, he began to move his entire body through the barrier, instinctively making a motion as though to push it aside like the curtain it resembled.


    As his head passed through, the barrier trembled violently. Up above him, the light of the token shuddered and pulsed. Jaspen gave it a sharp look, quickly jerking the rest of his body inside the barrier.


    The action seemed to further destabilize it. Jaspen winced as the barrier shook wildly, looking more like the surface of a stormy sea than the gentle shimmer it had previously been. Hesitantly, he reached out and grabbed the token.


    He immediately regretted it.


    The sensation was like fire and ice. It poured through his hand, down his arm, and into his body. It slammed into his lungs and viscera, forcing a grunt of pain from his lips. Still, he tried to pull the token free as gently as he could, but it was like it was locked in space.


    Panicking, the brutal forces of the unstable formation slowly tearing him apart from the inside, Jaspen pulled with every scrap of strength his body held. His aura exploded forth, fueling a physical enhancement art as he twisted and heaved.


    With a sound like cracking stone, the token abruptly came loose. Jaspen stumbled back, gasping and coughing. Flecks of blood flew from his mouth, covering the blackened, mummy-like corpses around him. As if drawn in by his pain, the thick blanket of black smoke billowed and rose around him.


    A quick burst of his aura forced it back. Dust was still dust, after all. Even if it was some creepy dust that may or may not have come from the sea of corpses around him. Before it could gather back around him, Jaspen quickly grabbed at his gourd.


    In a single smooth motion, he popped the cork, drained the last of the wine, and tossed the empty container aside. As the wine settled in his stomach, slowly sending pulses of revitalizing power through him, he tore off his sleeve and wrapped it tightly around his mouth and nose. It probably wouldn¡¯t do much, but it was better than nothing.


    Basic needs taken care of, Jaspen forced himself to stand up straight and look around, grimacing from the rush of pain and lightheadedness. His grimace grew deeper by the second as he got a better look at the blackened, seemingly mummified corpses of what he assumed to be the former disciples of the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect.


    It truly was a horrible sight to behold. Men, women, children, beasts of all sorts. All clearly having died while desperately fleeing whatever disaster had enveloped and destroyed the sect. It was a foul parade of corpses that wouldn¡¯t have looked out of place in one of the hundred realms of hell.


    Steeling himself, Jaspen reached out with his divine sense towards the nearest corpse. A hound, by the look of it. Its teeth were bared in an eternal, panicked snarl, snout nearly pressing against the barrier.


    His will poured through the corpse, searching for any lingering spirituality or life force. There was nothing. Which was what he¡¯d expected, but it was still relieving to know for certain that this wasn¡¯t a field of thousands of undead.


    Just to be safe, he checked a handful of the other corpses. Beyond the strange lack of any rotting, there wasn¡¯t the slightest thing unexpected about what he found. Satisfied, Jaspen began running towards that stone gate.


    Behind him, a sharp crack rang out. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw something absurd. The corpses, ones he¡¯d checked just moments ago, were moving. One had slammed a sword into the barrier.


    Stunned, Jaspen just stood there and stared, momentarily heedless of whatever personal danger the corpses might pose.


    How were they moving? They couldn¡¯t be moving. There was nothing in them to move. No animating principle. No vital spark. They had no soul to guide them and no life to invigorate them.


    Even the undead had spirituality and an animating force. But he¡¯d felt nothing of the sort within these things. They were dead. Truly, absolutely dead. How could they possibly move in that condition?


    The answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.


    Puppets.


    Jaspen spun wildly, looking for the culprit. All around him, the ancient corpses began to silently rise. Most moved towards the barrier, attacking it with fists, claws, and weapons. But a few moved towards him.


    A fierce glint entered his eyes. Aura pulsed through him as he fell into a fighting stance. He wouldn¡¯t give up. Not with his goal so close. He¡¯d find whoever had turned these corpses into puppets and kill them. The riches of the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect would be his. His personal springboard to divinity.


    He wou- a spear pierced his chest from behind.


    Jaspen tried to scream, but choked on his own blood. A wild panic filled him as he turned with enough force to force the spear free of whatever had been holding it. For a moment, he stared wildly at the corpse puppet who¡¯d stabbed him. Then his shock transformed into a mad fury.


    With a roar (that came out as more of a gurgle), Jaspen exploded towards his assassin. A single punch was enough to destroy the head. A second pulverized the heart. As expected, the combination was enough to immediately render the corpse puppet inert as it collapsed to the ground.


    As he stared down at it, Jaspen felt like he could see his own fate. The wound was a fatal one. There was no doubt about that. His lung and heart had both been slashed with that single thrust. He didn''t have a method to heal that kind of damage.


    The sound of shuffling behind him alerted him. Jaspen whirled, dodged the sword thrust, and decapitated the corpse. It staggered, not immediately falling like the first had.


    Jaspen didn¡¯t, however, bother to destroy the heart to immediately finish it off. There was no point in wasting effort like that. If he wanted to have even the slightest chance of survival, he needed to preserve his strength and make it into the sect. If heaven smiled on him, he might just find a pill or herb that could save his life.


    Steeling himself, Jaspen began his grim fight towards the gate he¡¯d seen further up the mountain. He didn¡¯t look back as the corpse puppets finally shattered the barrier behind him.


    -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-


    When the people of Goldplume City saw the rainbow lights, they went into a frenzy. Martial artists of every rank and affiliation began to surge up the Highest Mountain. Even some commoners tried their luck.


    Most of them died within hours, consumed by the black fog that had begun to billow down the mountain.


    It had caused something of a panic in the city as people watched the fog descend, getting closer and closer to the valley. Fortunately, the fog didn¡¯t even make it halfway down the mountain before thinning and fading away.


    Hours later, those who¡¯d survived the fog returned with tales of ghouls and zombies that now wandered the mountain. The uneasy peace that had settled over the city was instantly shattered again.


    The city lord and heads of the great clans were forced to step in. They made sweeping promises to the people, vowing to protect them and defeat the evil that lay within those foul mists.


    That wasn¡¯t a lie. But it was far from the entire truth. In the background, the clans and city lord began plotting. All of them knew the legends of the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect.


    More importantly, they knew that the stories were more than mere fairy tales.

 Chapter 2 - Aftermath

    A messenger hawk soared through the air, gliding down from the high reaches of the mountains. The target was a great city built in one of the few valleys. Though it had high stone walls, only a small part of it actually fit within them. The rest spilled out into the wider valley, filling it nearly completely.


    Goldplume City. Once known as the City of Eminent Mortals.


    The hawk shot over the walls like an arrow from a bow, bypassing the protections entirely. It rose over the outskirts of the inner city. It glided above the secondary walls of the outer court, moving towards the section devoted to the Mor clan.


    And finally, it flew above the walls of the Mor clan itself. Past the gilded gates with their stone tigers. Past the barracks. Past the courtyards where men and women trained their martial path. Straight to the heart of the manor at the very center of it all.


    There, a man stood on a balcony, one arm outstretched. The hawk alighted on his arm, ruffling its feathers as he stroked it. Gently, he untied the scroll on its leg and let it unfurl.


    For a while, he considered the contents with a thoughtful expression, going over them again and again. Finally, he shook his arm, sending the hawk back off to the roost before returning to his office.


    Mor El Tyran had arrangements to make.


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    What was the best part of training new initiates?


    If someone asked Aten this question, he¡¯d answer without hesitation: getting to watch them suffer while he lounged on a bed of pillows and was cared for by beautiful women.


    Mor El Aten watched his trainees sweat and groan in the burning light of the waxing sun from his position in the shade of his patio. Mira, one of his personal maids, held a fat, juicy grape up to him. He lazily opened his mouth for her, letting her push it past his lips.


    It was disappointing to see the lack of a blush on her face as her fingers brushed him. She''d gotten used to him, it seems. More¡¯s the pity; he¡¯d quite enjoyed teasing her.


    Aten shifted his head to glance at Ana, the maid playing the zither. Now, there was a woman who was fun to tease. It could be hard to get a reaction out of her, but it was always worth the effort.


    Rea shifted by his side, leaning her head against his shoulder. He smiled fondly down at her. Honestly, it was too damn hot to be holding a woman, no matter how beautiful she was. But he''d always found it hard to say no to Rea.


    Rolling his eyes at his own small weakness, he glanced out at the courtyard. Immediately , he locked eyes with one of the twelve training out in the courtyard. The boy was glaring at him like Aten had kicked his dog. The bitter and resentful gaze of the sweaty, dirt-covered boy made Aten¡¯s heart sing with delight as a wide grin spread across his face.


    Yes, truly this was the best part of training.


    His silk pants and shirt rubbed smoothly against his skin as he indolently sprawled deeper into his cushions, hugging Rea tighter. They were fine clothes, made of the best silk in the city: steelheart silk. A product of the infamous black grass spiders.


    Black grass spiders were rare things. Hard to capture and harder to contain. Their bite was viciously venomous and even their silk had to be carefully processed to remove the acidic and poisonous properties of it. Only the Bethel Clan knew how to do it. Which meant they were free to set the prices.


    As such, to get a full set of clothing made of steelheart silk cost more than most merchants made in a year. Those with the money declared it a waste. Those without weren¡¯t worth mentioning.


    Aten had seven sets, all in different colors. One for each day of the week, if he felt like it.


    Another grape was lifted to his mouth. He accepted it, chewed, and washed it down with a sip of blue lily wine.


    A pair of trainees had stopped sparring to stare at him. It was hard to read the expressions on their exhausted faces. But if he had to sum it up in a word, he¡¯d call it envy. Or perhaps hatred.


    ¡°Get back to sparring,¡± he called out, raising his cup at them in a mock toast. ¡°It¡¯s not time for a break.¡±


    His grin returned in full force as his words registered in their heads, rattling around and making their faces turn redder and redder. Several other trainees had the same reaction, all stopping to glare at their supposed instructor. Their impotent rage only made his wine taste all the sweeter.


    Chuckling, he motioned at Kua. She quickly raised her large fan, waving it at him. Simple designs embroidered on the delicate fabric lit up with a dim glow as she channeled her aura into it, cooling the air as it passed over Aten¡¯s face.


    He closed his eyes, basking in the pleasant sensation. It really was a hot day. It must be horrible to be out in the sun sparring and exercising.


    Mira held another grape up to him, holding it against his lips. Without bothering to open his eyes, he opened his mouth for her. He chewed absently, enjoying the mix of sweet flesh and tangy juice.


    A moment later, his eyes popped open. He glanced slyly over at the two unhappy trainees. Sure enough, they still weren¡¯t sparring like they should be. They stood there, panting and seething as they glared venomous hatred at him. Wonderful.


    ¡°Rem,¡± he said, not bothering to raise his voice. His servant would hear him. ¡°Tell those two to go run laps around the yard. They can¡¯t stop until I tell them to.¡±


    Rem Alicos stepped out from the shadows he¡¯d been hiding in. Like all Masters of the Martial Path, he was a powerfully built man. More akin to a carved statue than something any human could be expected to achieve. Combined with the large frame of his Alicos heritage, he was more than enough to intimidate a couple of boys into obedience.


    Aten watched as Rem stalked across the yard, his black and orange robes making him truly look the part of a tiger in human form. Which was, of course, the entire reason for the robes having been designed that way.


    The two boys quailed as Rem reached them. Their eyes widened in blank horror as he gave them their new training exercise. They pleaded, they begged, and they quickly gave in. As they began to jog, they shot Aten malevolent glares. His eyebrows shot up at their audacity.


    After considering them for a moment, his eyes drifted over to the other ten martial disciples sparring in the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard. They were, to a one, entirely unimpressive. He¡¯d been more skilled than them as a child.


    Though, to be entirely fair, they weren¡¯t much older than children themselves. Twelve and thirteen, to his fifteen years. By that measure, they weren¡¯t half bad. After all, not everyone was him, either in natural talent or the training they received.


    It was still embarrassing to watch. It hadn¡¯t been so bad before the sun rose. At least then they¡¯d had the excuse of poor vision. But now the light of the rising sun was illuminating the world. What was their excuse now?


    His gaze drifted back to the two impudent children who¡¯d had the temerity to glare at him. Perhaps¡­


    ¡°Ana,¡± he asked, rolling back so he could get a good look at the woman playing the zither. ¡°Do you think I should go out there and give those insolent fools a beating?¡±


    His maid hummed softly, the sound harmonizing naturally with the soft plucking of strings. Aten watched her as she frowned down at her zither, giving the casual question far more respect than it deserved.


    All of his maids were beautiful. It was only natural. He was the son of Mor El Tyran, patriarch of the Mor clan. Just as importantly, he himself was a prodigy the likes of which was rarely seen. That he''d have beautiful, well-mannered maids to attend to him was simply a matter of course.


    Ana plucked the strings of her zither with an elegant grace that truly turned it into an art form. A simple dance done with just the movements of her arms and hands. Aten waited patiently, a light smile playing around his lips. Even Mira and Kya had turned to look at her, Mira pausing in her efforts to select the best grapes from the small vine she was holding.


    ¡°If the young master so desires, then of course they deserve a beating,¡± she said at last, looking up from her zither with a serious expression. Aten laughed, saw her face morph into a pout, and laughed again.


    ¡°All that thinking and that was your answer?¡± Aten asked, smiling fondly at her. ¡°Come on Ana, just toss out the first thing that comes to mind. To beat them or not to beat them?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Ana paused her playing for a moment, an embarrassed flush gracing her cheeks. Then she nodded sharply, raising her clenched fist into the air. ¡°They got angry at the young master out of petty jealousy. They definitely need a beating!¡±


    Aten laughed again, reveling in her simple honesty. This time, even Rea, Mira, and Kya couldn¡¯t hold back their amusement, laughing along with him.


    Ana looked at her fellow maids with a faint expression of betrayal. Her hand fell back down to the zither, seeming to pluck the strings without thought as she straightened her back and did her best to ignore their amusement.


    It only made their shoulders shake harder as they watched her desperately try to look the part of an elegant musician in a futile attempt to maintain whatever scraps of dignity she had left.


    Still chuckling, Aten rolled over and sprang to his feet. He stretched languidly, looking down at the lowly disciples training in the courtyard.


    "Very well!" He announced proudly. "I''ll put on a show for these sorry fools!"


    His maids all clapped, looking suitably impressed by his statement. Aten grinned back at them before letting the smile drop as he turned back to the courtyard.


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    Time to actually be an instructor, he supposed. Well, if something was worth doing, it was worth doing right. He''d go ahead and put some effort into this. It''d be a chore for sure, but he could deal with.


    ¡°Disciples of the Mor Clan,¡± he called in a voice that brooked no disobedience. ¡°Gather!¡±


    At once, the ten boys and girls that were still sparring broke apart and ran to assemble at the foot of the raised pavilion Aten had been lounging in. The two that Rem had sent to run laps looked over uncertainly, clearly unsure if they were to be included in the command.


    ¡°You two!¡± Aten waved at them. ¡°The stupid ones! Come stand at the front.¡±


    He smirked as outrage rippled through their bodies at the little insult. Their indignation only rose further as their peers began to mutter and whisper, sending strange looks their way. The bigger of the two already looked ready to pick a fight, whether Aten wanted one or not. Good for him. He lacked sense, but at least he had a spine.


    Aten considered them as they pushed their way through the little crowd. The bigger, and likely older, of the two was still nearly a head shorter than Aten himself.


    That was something of a problem.


    Despite what he¡¯d said to his maids, this wasn¡¯t meant to be a beating. Well, not just a beating. It was to be an object lesson, performed using the two unlucky fools as living props. But how was he supposed to give a good demonstration with such weak opponents?


    Nominally, he was in the same realm of cultivation as all twelve of these initiates. But in reality, he could beat them like dogs and not so much as dirty his robes. There was simply no comparison. He leapt down from his patio with an easy grace as he mulled over the problem, landing an arm¡¯s length from the two.


    What had their names been? They¡¯d all announced themselves earlier when they arrived, but he hadn¡¯t been paying much attention. He''d been much more interested in teasing Rea about those strange books he''d caught her reading.


    ¡­Hvath and Mel, was it? Yes, that sounded right. Aten snapped his fingers as he recalled, startling the initiates. Mor Joi Kes Hvath and Mor Ket Mel. A member of an inner family and his accompanying servant.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to spar,¡± he informed them. ¡°We¡¯ll keep going until the two of you give up. You¡¯re free to use whatever methods you like. I won¡¯t use my aura.¡±


    Not that he¡¯d need it. It didn¡¯t look like either of them had manifested their blood aura, so foregoing his own was just leveling the playing field.


    Well, not really. He''d have to hold back the great majority of his physical strength and speed as well. There wasn''t much he could do about his durability, but Aten didn''t plan to let them get any hits in.


    Looking over them, he spoke to the other ten. ¡°You¡¯re all going to watch. Maybe you¡¯ll learn something.¡±


    That said, Aten turned back to Hvath and Mel. Naturally, they were both glaring at him. He¡¯d expect nothing less by this point. Mel spat to the side, advancing on him.


    That¡­ actually made him rather angry. Anger was one thing, but blatant disrespect?


    ¡°Anything goes, right?¡± Mel asked as he stalked forwards.


    ¡°Yes, anything from the two of you,¡± Aten confirmed, folding his arms. ¡°Lowly Beings like yourselves could never harm me, so don¡¯t bother holding back.¡±


    Mel sneered as Hvath circled around to Aten¡¯s back. ¡°What gives you the right to be so high and mighty? You¡¯re in the Copper Step too!¡±


    Aten hummed, not bothering to respond to the nonsensical statement as he listened to Hvath¡¯s footsteps. The boy was, what? One, one and a half meters away?


    Mel seemed to take his non-response as pure contempt, from the way a vein started popping out of his forehead. Which was completely accurate. Aten had never taken him seriously and didn¡¯t plan to start now.


    At least he had an explanation for the kid¡¯s sheer idiocy. The fool didn¡¯t even understand the difference between them. Saying they were in the same Step? It wasn¡¯t wrong, but that didn¡¯t mean he was right.


    Oh well. Perhaps he¡¯d realize the truth during this fight. If not, well, there was always next time. Mel seemed like the sort to pick fights with his betters on a regular basis.


    Aten fell into a loose fighting stance. As he did, he made sure to keep a tight grip on his aura. It would be pretty embarrassing if he used it on instinct after saying he wouldn¡¯t. Not like he¡¯d need it, but habits were easy to fall into. Besides, he wanted to make a particular point. That power was important, but skill was king.


    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re ready,¡± he invited. An arrogant smile curved his lips as he met Mel¡¯s gaze.


    Mel didn¡¯t waste a second. The dust around him scattered as he launched himself at Aten, rising to meet Aten¡¯s face. Behind him, Aten could hear Hvath doing the same.


    The urge to roll his eyes was nearly unbearable. It wasn¡¯t a bad strategy. Just¡­ predictable.


    Spinning on his heel, he raised both arms, palms out. Hvath and Mel reached him an instant later, Mel lashing out with a vicious kick towards his head and Hvath going in low for a liver shot.


    Aten easily ducked the kick, slapping Hvath¡¯s punch to the side. In the same motion, he backhanded Hvath across the face. Which didn¡¯t do much damage, but it still knocked him off balance.


    Seizing the opportunity, Aten turned his full attention on Mel, who was only just recovering his balance after his failed kick.


    Aten didn¡¯t go for the kill shot. He could see it clearly in his mind¡¯s eye. Step in close, driving a fist into Mel¡¯s gut. Shift to the side when Mel doubled over, then slam a hammer blow down on the back of his head.


    But that would leave Mel unconscious for the lesson. Which wouldn¡¯t be good. Aten already knew the sorts of answers his questions would get. They¡¯d be wrong and give him a chance to thoroughly explain the correct answers.


    So instead, Aten slammed his fist into Mel''s gut, slid to the side, and dropped a hammer blow on his shoulder. Mel crumpled like a sack of dropped bricks as his shoulder was dislocated, letting out a grunt of pain as he reached with his good arm to push it back into place.


    Aten didn''t stick around to wait. Like a whirlwind, he spun back to Hvath. The audacious young servant immediately aborted his Pouncing Tiger strike, falling into a defensive posture and giving Aten a wary look. Aten smirked at him.


    That had actually been some rather decent form. Nowhere near good enough, of course, but much better than he¡¯d expected from the flunky of someone like Mel. Maybe this kid actually had some real talent?


    Aten figured it would take Mel at least a few seconds to pop his shoulder into place and get back in the fight. That was plenty of time. He could afford to indulge a little.


    A sharp flex of his legs put him up close and personal with Hvath. The boy threw a punch, clearly moving according to some boxing style. Aten met it with a palm, redirecting it with the sort of skill normally only seen in people thrice his age.


    Normally, Aten would have followed up by taking another quick step forwards and landing a punishing blow to the liver or kidney. But he wanted to see what this servant boy was made of.


    So instead, he stood his ground. Hvath quickly rebalanced himself and drove forwards with an onslaught of punches. Though calling them an onslaught might be giving them too much credit.


    Still, there was the beginnings of what could one day be a decent boxing style. Nothing truly remarkable, but not bad for a kid from a servant branch.


    His curiosity satisfied, Aten did what he should have done from the start, stepping in past Hvath¡¯s guard and slamming a fist in his solar plexus. While Hvath folded, the air knocked from his lungs, Aten knocked his legs out from under him with a low sweep. Hvath hit the dirt hard, choking and wheezing.


    That had been, what? Four seconds? Maybe five?


    Glancing back at Mel, Aten was satisfied to see that the boy was still clutching at his shoulder. It looked like he''d popped it back into place already, but hadn''t gotten past the pain yet.


    Looked like his training hadn''t included fighting through injuries. Pity. That was the sort of training that kept you alive in a real fight.


    Shrugging, he took the opportunity to turn to the other ten disciples, who were all looking at him in a mixture of awe and horror. He smirked at their awestruck expressions. It had been a pretty clean takedown, hadn¡¯t it? It had been like beating up children, even if they were supposedly all Coppers.


    For a moment, the smile slipped off Aten¡¯s face, replaced by something much more complex. Then he blinked, an easy grin reasserting itself. Time to play at being a teacher. With Mel as the bad example.


    "Tell me, Mel," he asked, squatting down to look the boy in the eye. "Why did you lose?"


    For a moment, Mel considered attacking instead of answering. Aten could see it in his tight, angry eyes. But apparently, the effortless beating he''d just received had managed to knock a bit of sense into him.


    So instead, Mel settled on giving Aten a surly look as he answered. "You were stronger than me. And faster."


    "Wrong," Aten said flatly. "I restricted my strength and speed. Try again."


    Mel snarled. Behind him, Aten could hear Hvath dragging himself to his feet. Given the sounds of scuffling, Aten guessed one or a few of the other disciples were helping him. None came over for Mel though.


    Poor Mel.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Mel spat through gritted teeth.


    ¡°Yes you do,¡± Aten countered. ¡°You just don¡¯t want to admit that I beat you through superior skill.¡±


    Aten waited, giving Mel a chance to respond. But nothing came. Mel just kept silently glaring at him. Aten rolled his eyes.


    ¡°Mel,¡± he asked, a bit exasperated, ¡°What do we cultivate?¡±


    For once, Mel answered immediately and without any venom. ¡°Essence.¡±


    The word came with the certainty of having been asked this question a thousand times and having given the same answer every time. But it was still- ¡°Wrong.¡±


    Aten looked around, meeting the eyes of his temporary students one by one in an effort to drive his point home. ¡°Essence is not what we cultivate. Never make that mistake.¡±


    He picked up a handful of dirt and held it up so they could see. ¡±If we compare ourselves to a garden, essence is the soil. It¡¯s required for growth, but it isn¡¯t what we cultivate.¡±


    The soil fell as he opened his hand, then clenched it into a fist. ¡°In a garden, the gardener cultivates plants. But as martial artists, we cultivate our skills. Our martial arts.¡±


    They nodded along, easily understanding his point. Which was expected; all of them must have heard this at some point already.


    Looking back at Mel, he concluded his little lecture. ¡°A cultivator refines essence, growing the size and quality of their Source. But we are more than mere cultivators. We are martial artists. To neglect our skills is to neglect the entire purpose of the garden we develop.¡±


    Aten didn¡¯t bother waiting to see if Mel or any of the others had accepted his words. He was done trying to teach them. He turned towards his pavilion, smiling at his maids. Mira raised a bunch of grapes invitingly.


    He waved disinterestedly back at the students, not bothering to look at them. ¡°Alright, lecture¡¯s over! Go back to sparring!¡±


    With a soft grunt, Aten leapt up the small staircase in a single bound, twisting in midair to snatch a grape off the bunch as he flopped into his bed of pillows next to a startled Rea, who gave a little yelp as she desperately tried to prevent his wine from spilling. He tossed the grape into his mouth as he wrapped an arm around Rea, smirking at the disgruntled expressions of his maids.


    He let his eyes drift shut, all lingering tension from the little fight leaving his body as he listened to Ana''s music. Maybe he''d have Kya or Rea give him a massage? It''d be nice to relax before his Baptism in the afternoon.


    Abruptly, Ana''s zither went silent. Aten blinked his eyes open. He turned his head towards her, a question in his eyes. That question died the instant he saw the man in black, gold trimmed robes.


    A gilded servant. An elite who served at the whims of the elders and patriarch, accomplishing whatever task was asked of them, no matter how minor.


    "Young Master Aten, your father requires your presence," the gilded servant said, not bothering with any pleasantries. Not that Aten had expected any.


    "He does, does he?" Aten mused, raising a questioning eyebrow at the servant. "Pretty unusual that he¡¯d send a gilded servant to come fetch me. Must be important. Is it about the happenings on the Highest Mountain?"


    ¡°I cannot say, young master,¡± the gilded servant said.


    Aten waved his hand dismissively. ¡°Yes, yes, I know. You¡¯d never dare to put words in my father¡¯s mouth. I was merely speaking my thoughts out loud.¡±


    The gilded servant said nothing. Because of course he didn¡¯t. Aten scoffed, reluctantly getting to his feet. He scooped his wine glass out of Rea¡¯s hand, downing the contents in a single go before handing the empty glass back. There was no sense in wasting good wine, after all.


    ¡°Well, I suppose you four can clean up here,¡± he said casually. Rea, Mira, Kya, and Ana all bobbed their heads agreeably.


    That settled, he turned to follow the gilded servant.

 Chapter 3 - His Fathers Plan

    Aten watched as the gilded servant knocked on the door to his father¡¯s private office. It was completely unnecessary. His father was a Martial Grandmaster of the Iron Step. He¡¯d have noticed Aten and the gilded servant long before they reached the door.


    Still, his father was the patriarch. The appropriate courtesies had to be shown. Even if you were his only son.


    The door swung upon immediately, making Aten raise a questioning eyebrow. It was unusual for his father to be able to see him as soon as he arrived. He was ordinarily busy with something else, forcing Aten to wait at least several minutes.


    Had his father been waiting for him? That¡­ didn¡¯t bode well. The last time his father had made time for him like this was after Aten had beaten the city lord¡¯s son into a bloody pulp. His father had taken great care to impress upon Aten what a very bad thing he¡¯d done.


    It had been a deeply unpleasant experience.


    But that couldn¡¯t be what awaited him now. He hadn¡¯t done anything!


    Okay, sure. He¡¯d started a drunken brawl in the Peach Blossom House. A bit embarrassing for the clan, but nothing warranting this! Especially since he¡¯d won.


    ¡­ And he¡¯d gone gambling in the Winding River Hall. But that shouldn¡¯t warrant the personal attention of Mor El Tyran. At most, a couple of elders would give him some token punishment.


    Had he done anything else noteworthy? As far as he could remember - and his memory was excellent - he¡¯d just been cultivating and practicing his martial arts.


    Aten tried not to let his nervousness and uncertainty show on his face as he strode into the room, moving with a confidence he didn''t feel. It''d be better if he at least knew what he was being reprimanded for.


    His father was standing off to the side, looking out a window at the Highest Mountain. The office itself was rather small. At least, when compared to what would be expected for a martial artist of his father¡¯s power and influence. A single desk, some shelves, a few chairs, and a small balcony off to one side.


    "Greetings, father," he said, bowing with his left fist pressed against the palm of his right hand in a classic martial arts salute.


    The urge to ask why he''d been summoned was hard to resist. But given that he was already in trouble, it was best not to push at the edges of proprietary. Still, that his father was looking at the mountain gave him hope that it wasn¡¯t about something he¡¯d unwittingly done wrong, but about something to do with the strange lights and mist on the mountain.


    His father didn¡¯t acknowledge him immediately and Aten didn¡¯t dare break his bow without being acknowledged. Disrespecting the elders was one thing. But filial piety, his respect for his father, and his own sense of self-preservation all demanded that he give Mor El Tyran the respect he was due.


    So he just stood there, head bowed and hands clasped. Finally, his father¡¯s voice entered his ears.


    ¡°Relax. You aren¡¯t here to be punished.¡±


    A wave of relief washed over Aten. He dropped the salute, looking up at his father.


    Mor El Tyran looked much the same as always; a handsome man who seemed to fill whatever room he was in. Tall, powerfully built, and wearing the black and orange robes of their clan, stylized in accordance with his position as patriarch. His hair, like Aten''s, was black. Though his eyes were gray to Aten¡¯s yellow.


    ¡°Glad to hear it!¡± Aten beamed at his father. ¡°So then, what orders do you have for me? Something to do with the Highest Mountain, I presume?¡±


    His father clasped his hands behind his back, nodding gently. ¡°Yes. Come, join me on the balcony.¡±


    Aten frowned slightly, but obediently followed his father. The view was quite something. Goldplume City itself was built on a small hill in the valley, allowing those in the inner city to easily look out upon the entire city and surrounding farmland and homesteads.


    His father''s office in particular was located on the highest floor of the Great Manor of the Mor clan''s inner city compound. It therefore had an excellent view, allowing him to see the entirety of the Mor clan with a single sweep of his eyes.


    "Do you remember the stories of the Dragon''s Gate Sect?" His father asked as they stepped onto the balcony. "In particular, the stories about this city?"


    "Of course," Aten said, a hint of dismissal in his voice. "The Dragon''s Gate was a high divine sect famous for their boast that any with sufficient diligence could leap the dragon''s gate and become a god. But one day, the entire sect vanished. This city, where they kept their failures, is all that remains as proof that it existed at all."


    His father nodded, a strange look on his face. "Failures indeed," he mused. "Our Mor clan was around back then. Did you know that?"


    Aten nodded. It had been part of his history lessons. The Mor clan was the only one of the five great clans that could be considered an ancient power, as they were the only one to have been established before the Dragon''s Gate vanished.


    One would think this advantage would leave them as the strongest clan in the city. But while it was true that the Mor clan¡¯s roots ran deep, they¡¯d gone through hard times more than once. On more than one occasion, they¡¯d been on the brink of total annihilation.


    ¡°Although we credit the establishment of our clan to the Tiger King, Mor Lin,¡± his father continued, ¡°He was merely responsible for pulling our clan out of obscurity. Our clan was truly founded by descendants of an Exalted Being from the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect.¡±


    Aten nodded. This, unlike his father¡¯s previous question, wasn¡¯t common knowledge. He only knew it because he was the son of the clan patriarch. As far as he knew, there was no real reason to keep it a secret. But it had been the habit of their clan for a thousand years.


    ¡°I say all this so that you understand the gravity of my next statement.¡± Mor El Tyran turned to his son. Aten''s mind staggered under the full, unrestrained weight of his father¡¯s focus. ¡°We must obtain the Rising Tiger Scripture.¡±


    ¡°Not the Dragon¡¯s Gate Scripture?¡± Aten blurted out, unable to hold back his surprise. The legendary scripture was the namesake of the Dragon''s Gate Sect. It was, for those with the conviction, a straight path to divinity. Or at least, so said the old stories.


    His father snorted. ¡°If possible, yes. I¡¯d certainly like that one as well. But the Rising Tiger Scripture is the one that suits our clan the most, as it was established by our ancient ancestor. The true progenitor of our clan, of whom we¡¯re the ¡®failed descendants.¡¯¡±


    Aten wasn¡¯t quite sure what to say to that. His father sounded bitter in a way he''d seen when his father talked about Kees Nervant, the Nervant Clan patriarch. He''d never realized how much his father despised the term ''failed descendants.''


    "The Rising Tiger Scripture will resonate with the bloodline of our clan members," his father continued, all traces of bitterness gone from his tone. "Over the generations, this will allow more and more of our clansmen to undergo atavism, like what you experienced."


    Like what he experienced? Aten frowned, feeling slightly uncomfortable at the thought. Then he shook his head, letting out a slightly self-mocking laugh.


    What an idiot he was. Wanting to be special instead of working to help the clan. Besides that, Aten normally asserted with great confidence that he would be great even without the prowess granted to him by the purity of his bloodline inheritance.


    Was he not talented, focused, determined, and intelligent? Was his confidence so easily shaken? To instinctively reject the idea of any other clan members having his same level of bloodline purity felt like a slap in the face to his conviction and self-confidence.


    When he regained his clarity of thought, he noticed that his father was looking at him with a knowing gaze. Aten felt another stab of embarrassed shame. Wanting to move past the awkward moment, he quickly spoke up.


    ¡°Did the ancestors leave behind any records of where it could be found?¡± Aten asked. Then, idly, he gestured towards the gray mist visible on the Highest Mountain. ¡°Though it seems like the more pressing issue is that murderous fog.¡±


    Aten didn¡¯t actually think the fog would be a problem. His father wouldn¡¯t have started this conversation if there wasn¡¯t some sort of solution. He just wanted to prod his father into telling him what that solution was.


    If Aten had to guess, it was likely a matter of cultivation. Perhaps having a lower cultivation was a boon to whatever method his father had discovered?


    That would explain why his father had called him here instead of simply climbing the mountain himself. The sense of unease that had been slowly winding up in his chest loosened a little at the thought.


    Perhaps there really was nothing to worry about?


    Still, something about his father felt off in a way Aten couldn¡¯t quite put his finger on. If it was anyone else, he¡¯d have called it guilt. But he¡¯d never seen his father feel guilty about anything. He wasn¡¯t sure the man was even capable of such an emotion.


    ¡°The fog isn¡¯t an issue.¡±


    Yep. He''d called it.


    ¡°It¡¯s dissipating,¡± his father continued. ¡°In a month, perhaps two, it will be possible for people to begin ascending the mountain. Those with lower cultivations will be able to ascend sooner than those with higher cultivations, as the fog is more drawn to those with denser essence.¡±


    His father hesitated. Then, as though choosing his words with great care, he said, "The Mor clan will need allies for the conflict that will surely come."


    Aten wasn''t sure why, but the look in his father''s eye made his stomach drop. It was guilt. He was sure of it now that it had become so pronounced.


    "But even more important," his father continued, looking him directly in the eye, "Is that we break the alliances of the Nervant clan."


    A frown creased Aten¡¯s forehead. Something about what his father said was niggling at him. Establishing new alliances. Breaking Nervant alliances. There was something- Aten felt his mouth go dry as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place.


    ¡°You want to break Hela¡¯s engagement with Sion and engage her to me instead,¡± he said flatly.


    It wasn¡¯t a question, nor was there any doubt in his voice. He knew he was right. It was just the sort of thing his father would do. Accomplishing three goals in a single master stroke. Break the alliance of an enemy clan, establish one of their own, and get one over on his old rival, the Nervant clan patriarch.


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    ¡°It¡¯s already been arranged,¡± his father said bluntly, not bothering to spare Aten¡¯s feelings. ¡°Tonight, at the City Lord¡¯s banquet, their marriage contract will be annulled and a new one between Hela and you will be established.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯ll hate me,¡± Aten said. His head was starting to feel fuzzy as the real implications of his father''s plan started to sink in. ¡°You do realize that, right? Sion and her really do love each other.¡± His own voice sounded like it was a thousand miles away. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t put it past her to murder me in my sleep.¡±


    ¡°The contract will have a binding component. She won¡¯t be able to act against your interests.¡±


    His father¡¯s merciless words were like the swing of an executioner''s ax, killing Aten¡¯s final hopes. He swayed slightly, grabbing the railing for support. This was too sudden. Tonight? He¡¯d only just found out. It was happening tonight?


    ¡°What part will I play in the proceedings tonight?¡± Aten asked mechanically. He wasn¡¯t sure how he¡¯d come up with the question, nor where he¡¯d found the energy to ask it.


    His father¡¯s jaw tightened for a moment. ¡°Sion will be there. It¡¯s likely he¡¯ll attack you out of anger and humiliation once his engagement is canceled and Hela is arranged to marry you instead. If he does, you must publicly humiliate him.¡±


    Of course. It would be the final nail in the coffin. A dagger in the heart to the political momentum the Nervant clan had been building under the leadership of Kees Nervant.


    But that wasn''t what this was about. Not really. If it was for the sake of the clan, his father wouldn''t look so guilty. This was personal. His father had always hated Kees Nervant ever since Jiris Illian chose Kees over Aten''s father.


    "Understood," Aten said tightly. "May I go now?"


    His father looked at him for a long moment. The guilt was still plain to see on his face. But so what? It didn''t matter that he felt guilty. He was still doing it.


    Aten wanted to say something. A cutting remark. A comment about how he was doing this for his own sake, not the clan''s.


    He didn''t. He couldn''t. He couldn''t string the words into coherent sentences, much less get them out of his mouth.


    "I still have more to tell you¡­" His father hesitated, looking at Aten closely. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. "No, it can wait. Go clear your head."


    "Thank you." Aten bowed, then left the room. He tried to not make it look like he was running away.


    -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-


    Aten sat outside one of the Mor clan compound''s medicine halls. A smaller one meant for the personal use of the clan patriarch and his family. Maybe the occasional elder as well, if needed. His thoughts weren''t so chaotic anymore, but his mind was still frazzled.


    It was one thing to have his marriage arranged. He''d half expected that; it was simply what happened to the children of the clan''s patriarch. But this¡­ this was different.


    He''d always expected to be married to one of the Bethels or Hui. Not to Hela Kaats. He''d never even considered the idea of marrying her; as long as he''d known her, she and Sion had been promised to each other.


    Aten sighed heavily, trying to expel his frustrations. He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the winding streams and well-kept gardens without really seeing them.


    Unconsciously, he began to regulate his breathing according to the Tiger Breathing Art. The foundational breathing method used by everyone in the Mor clan.


    The chaotic eddies and ripples in his aura began to slowly smooth as he fell into meditation. He didn''t practice the meditative forms that normally accompanied the breathing method; he wasn''t doing this for the sake of cultivation, after all. He just needed to calm down.


    Really, this wasn''t so bad. So he''d be stuck in a loveless marriage. So what? It wasn''t like she''d actually kill him in his sleep. The Mor clan elders, let alone Aten''s own father, would slaughter the Kaats clan in revenge. It wouldn''t get to the point of clan extermination, but Hela and her close relatives would certainly die.


    ¡­Besides, he was immune to most poisons. Cultivating a resistance to them was a requirement with the Bethels as one of the other major clans of the city.


    He could strike some sort of agreement with Hela. He''d overlook her indiscretions if she overlooked his. So long as she and Sion were discreet, he could accept them continuing their romantic engagements. Aten wasn''t like his father; he didn''t have any particular grudge against Sion or Kees Nervant.


    It wasn''t like Aten had his heart set on any particular woman anyways. He''d always been too focused on his study and practice of martial arts. Success was something built day by day, after all. Only diligence would see him rise to the top.


    Really, this situation was much worse for Hela than him, given her genuine feelings for her current fiance. Which was why his gut reaction had been that she''d murder him so she could go back to being engaged to Sion.


    Aten snorted, breaking his meditative trace. Sighing, he looked up at the sky before shaking his head. It was an unpleasant situation. But life wasn''t a fairy tale. He wouldn''t always get what he wanted. His near loss of control earlier was just embarrassing.


    So, the Nervant clan would be losing their alliance with the Kaats clan. That was big news. The two had been inseparable allies for several generations now. His father must have paid a pretty shocking price to convince the Kaats elders to betray that alliance.


    Something like that wouldn¡¯t normally be worth it. But with prizes like the Dragon¡¯s Gate and Rising Tiger Scriptures on the line, there was no such thing as being too careful. If the Kaats and Nervant were able to work together to bar the Mor clan from competing over the scriptures, it would be disastrous.


    Which was probably the exact train of thought his father and the clan¡¯s elders had followed and why they had decided it was worth paying the price. It was also likely the main reason his father had been willing to force him into this situation.


    After all, his internal accusations of his father doing this for the sake of revenge were just petty. His father wouldn''t do this to him if it wasn''t for the sake of the clan. That his father could stick a knife in Kees'' back was an added bonus, not the main point.


    That was what Aten would choose to believe. And he certainly hoped it really was the truth.


    "Young Master," a soft, feminine voice called out. "The Baptism has been prepared."


    A wry smile worked its way onto Aten''s face as he got up, nodding his acknowledgement at the physician''s assistant. It certainly wouldn''t do to miss his Baptism after all his worries of being poisoned by his future wife.


    -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-


    Aten breathed deeply, trying to ignore the stinging, itching, rotting sensation of the poisons infecting every part of his body.


    The ''Hundred Poisons'' of the Hundred Poisons Baptism wasn''t hyperbole. First, various needles were poked into acupoints along his body. They were used to both dose him with the medicines he''d need to survive the Baptism and to act as entry points for the poisons.


    Next, a bath of sixty-four poisons was prepared. While soaking in that bath of malfeasance, thirty-six more poisons were intermittently drunk, taken as pills, or breathed in. His entire body was submerged in the poison bath throughout the process, with him breathing and taking in the oral poisons through a tube alongside various medicines.


    It was a miserable experience that always left Aten feeling like he was made of broken glass. More like a walking corpse than a martial artist. It took hours for him to recover enough to cultivate.


    Still, the benefits were undeniable. Aten took a deep breath of poisonous air as he tried to focus on that.


    Not only did it increase his resistance to poisons, it increased the strength and flexibility of his body. The physicians claimed it had a positive effect on the soul as well, but their inability to prove it left Aten skeptical. Though, in spite of all those benefits, he still thanked the heavens that he was nearing the end of the treatments.


    According to Master Jelwir, the physician who''d pioneered the development of the method, another thirty or so days should take him to the limit of what he could get from the process. At that point, he''d supposedly have the physical strength of a weak Iron and a high enough resistance to poison that he''d have little to fear from the Bethel clan.


    Supposedly.


    Aten was far less certain about it than the physicians, despite having studied and understood the theory behind the Baptism''s methods and the expected effects. The methods and process of the Hundred Poisons Baptism had only been perfected a few years ago. So far, only Aten and his own father had begun the process of attaining the so-called Hundred Refinements Body.


    Other than the test subjects, of course. But they''d all been immediately executed after verifying the effectiveness of the method. Aten and his father were the first important people to undergo the treatments. In other words, Aten had never personally seen anyone display such impressive strength due to the benefits brought about by the Hundred Poisons Baptism.


    The very idea was bizarre. The poisons were expensive, but not horribly so. The process wasn''t especially complicated either, in spite of the genius required to actually invent it.


    Most importantly, it didn''t require any active effort on the part of the person undergoing the Baptism. As far as Aten knew from the research he''d done over the last few years, all similar body enhancement methods required a person to have opened their Fate Palace. Possessing a divine sense was just a basic requirement to make sure the body refinement process worked correctly.


    If this Hundred Poisons Baptism process truly brought people''s physical strength to the level of a Noble Being¡­ calling it revolutionary would be an understatement. The Mor clan could quietly double or triple its strength in just a few years by having the elders undergo the process.


    Sure, it did nothing to increase his cultivation of vitality. If anything, it hampered it. While Aten could and did cultivative as soon as a few hours after his Baptism, he could only do so gently and with great care. Even the following morning, he''d feel brittle and sore to the point that cultivation was difficult.


    But that didn''t matter. The increase in physical strength was far more than enough to make the process worth it, even if it turned out to be less than promised. It was just a pity this whole business with the Dragon''s Gate was happening now, not in a decade''s time.


    Thinking of the Dragon''s Gate brought his mind back to his future bride. Within the poison bath, Aten''s expression soured.


    Fortunately, he didn''t have any time to sink back into his earlier frustrations. On either side of him, plugs were being pulled out of the bath, draining the poison he was submerged in.


    Above him, he could just make out Master Jelwir''s nasally, weedy voice. The man was one of the few people he genuinely respected, but Aten really did hate needing to hear him speak.


    "Alright, that''s all for today," Master Jelwir was saying. "You''ll have a few hours to recover before you need to attend that party the City Lord is hosting."


    Aten relaxed his jaw, letting his breathing tube fall to the side as he gave a weak nod. The first few minutes after the Baptism were almost worse than actually being in the poison bath. He felt so frail and helpless. His skin, muscle, bones, and organs were all absurdly sensitive as they readjusted to the lack of incoming poison and every puff of air that touched his skin felt like it had riddled his body with tiny holes.


    A bit of drool tried to leak out the corner of his mouth, but he refused to allow something so embarrassing. With an enormous effort of will, he licked his lips and swallowed. The lingering poison on his lips burned.


    "Send Eli and Yan in." Aten had to force the words out, his voice raspy and raw. But having his two manservants here to help him would be a whole lot easier and less painful than staggering around to wash and clothe himself on his own. It was worth a bit of pain in his throat.


    Master Jelwir waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, they''re already here. You''d have seen them if you''d bothered to sit up."


    Aten twitched, ignoring the spike of pain from the action as he was once again reminded of why he respected Master Jelwir, but did not like him. Master Jelwir was entirely aware of how damaged Aten¡¯s body was. Sitting up wasn¡¯t outright impossible, but it would be agonizing and he knew it. The comment was just meant to poke at Aten¡¯s pride.


    To either side of his tube, Eli and Yan silently stepped closer and into his line of sight. Without commenting on his inability to move on his own, they reached down and picked him up with gloved hands. Over the next few minutes, they rinsed him down, dried him, and helped him dress.


    He¡¯d still need to take a real bath later, but this was good enough for now. A little bit of his normal strength was already starting to seep back into his body. He still felt like a sack of rotten meat, but at least he could move around. In a few hours when the banquet started, he should be in adequate condition to give Sion a beating.


    Aten sincerely hoped it wouldn¡¯t be necessary. Sion wouldn¡¯t be that stupid, right? The Nervant young master had once been Aten¡¯s equal, but that was when they were children. Then the yellow rot had torn through their valley like a wildfire.


    The fungal disease had robbed Sion of the strength in his lungs. And while Kees Nervant had spared no expense to heal his son, there wasn¡¯t much that could be done.


    Naturally, Sion¡¯s cultivation speed had fallen dramatically. Cultivation had a heavy emphasis on being able to use breathing arts, after all. By this point, Aten could easily crush him. Sion had to know that.


    Aten sighed, helplessly running a hand through his hair. He really, really hated the role he was playing in all this. He may have accepted his unfortunate new marriage, but that didn¡¯t mean he liked being the feast¡¯s two-bit villain, breaking up the star-crossed lovers.


    Well. It didn''t really matter, did it? It was out of his control. His only two options were to embarrass his father and the clan by publicly rejecting the engagement when it was proposed or accepting his fate.


    His lips twisted in a wry grin. While the first was a nice daydream, Aten knew he''d never really do it. The clan was his home and his pride. His father was his rock and greatest reliance. He could never betray them like that.


    He would do his duty.

 Chapter 4 - The City Lords Feast

    Eight hundred years ago, a tradition began in the Lingering Valley. As the seasons turn and summer becomes winter, the residents of the valley gather in Goldplume City to celebrate the harvest in what¡¯s known as the Yellow Moon Festival.


    For the common folk, it¡¯s a time of joy and thanksgiving. A period to remember the trials of summer and prepare for what¡¯s to come in winter. But for the nobles, it¡¯s a time to socialize during the nightly feasts hosted by the City Lord, whoever they may be.


    This goes on for a full week, culminating in the Flight of the Phoenix fireworks show held on the final night. A grand event jointly run by all the reigning powers of the city.


    It¡¯s on this night that the Mor and Kaats clan will publicly humiliate the Nervant clan in front of all their peers.


    -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-


    Aten lay sprawled across a plush couch, a wine glass in his hand and a rich robe on his body. All around him, the young aristocrats of the city laughed and talked. Fake smiles and false pleasantries hiding verbal daggers. Several even hung out by Aten himself, orbiting him like he was their leader as they borrowed his name.


    After how much he¡¯d been dreading it, the banquet was turning out to be shockingly boring. He knew that wouldn¡¯t last after the announcement, which would likely be soon, but it was still disconcerting to look over the crowd and see how blithely unaware they all were.


    Were they all blind? How could they not see the clans moving in the background?


    No, that was a stupid question. They were blind, but that wasn¡¯t the problem here. Aten himself had only seen it when he¡¯d been shown. The plots being woven in the background of this gathering were subtle and well hidden.


    He swirled his wine glass, letting himself sink deeper into the couch he was draped across. Around him, his so-called peers laughed and chattered. A few women tried to catch his eye with one, a pretty blonde in a glittering dress, even going so far as to discreetly shift her dress to show more cleavage when he looked her way.


    Aten ignored them all. Not a one had the discipline or conviction required to pursue the peak, no matter what they claimed. They¡¯d leech off their families, reaching the peak of bronze at most.


    It disgusted him. Cultivation was all about improving and empowering yourself. It was to reach for the heavens, trying to grasp the sky in a single hand. Yet what were these people doing? Wasting their time playing these useless games.


    Truly, they were Lowly Beings. Worse than ordinary mortals.


    At least the farmer in the field had an excuse for their weakness and lack of ambition. Who would give training or resources to a farmer? Who would educate them on history and the sciences or teach them philosophy and how to think for themselves? But what excuse did these worthless parasites have?


    Aten shook his head lightly, trying to pull himself out of his dark mood. The whole business with his upcoming engagement was getting to him again. That he was still aching and sore from the Baptism didn¡¯t help either.


    There¡¯d been something different about this Baptism. There was a lingering weight on his chest that made the air feel thicker as he tried to breathe. But in a strange way; he could move, Breathe, and speak like the weight wasn¡¯t there. Yet the moment he got lost in his own thoughts, the weight settled on his chest again.


    It was stifling. And he wondered if it was more a symptom of nerves than damage from the Baptism


    Trying to ignore it, he let his eyes wander around the banquet hall. It was an impressive place. The City Lord¡¯s entire manor was formed from still-living trees that had been carefully grown into walls, doorways, windows, and balconies.


    Above them, the canopy of treetops formed a masterfully designed roof that kept out the rain while still allowing sunlight and moon light to trickle in. Different trees of various colors had been woven and grown together to create beautiful murals and intricate patterns. Not once had the wood been carved, only ever carefully trimmed and guided.


    Aten''s attention settled on the raised area where thirteen tables sat. The hall was divided into three strata. The lowest one, which he was currently in, was for the children of notable figures. The second was for notable figures.


    He could see them up there, distributed among the twelve tables set up in the middle strata. The clan elders and notable aristocrats, be they influential merchants or the heads of lesser clans, were all laughing and socializing.


    Finally, the third was for the City Lord and Four Great Heads themselves. Fenn Yelrat, the City Lord and patriarch of the Yelrat clan. Jirai Bethel, matriarch of the Bethel clan. Hui Wang, patriarch of the Hui clan. Kees Nervant, patriarch of the Nervant clan. Ethias Kaats, patriarch of the Kaats clan. And finally, Aten¡¯s own father. Mor El Tyran, patriarch of the Mor clan.


    His gaze lingered on Patriarch Nervant for a moment. Just long enough that the man sensed it and glanced over at him. Aten didn''t meet his gaze, letting his attention slide off like he hadn''t been staring. The last thing he wanted was to provoke Kees Nervant with a staring contest right before the stunt he was about to pull.


    Instead, he focused back on the building as a whole. The entire place was a way for the City Lord to show off his wealth and influence. Just one enormous wing of a much larger building. It was a statement that not only did he have the money to waste on something like this, he¡¯d also remained in power long enough to see it through.


    But that should be coming to an end soon. The City Lord was over two hundred and fifty years old. Most Martial Grandmasters couldn''t live much longer than that. A decade more, maybe two. Then the City Lord''s reign would end.


    Of course, that was before the Dragon''s Gate Sect revealed itself. Aten fully believed there were pills and techniques in the sect that could extend the City Lord''s life while enhancing his powers. He had no doubt that the City Lord would do everything he could to get his hand on those treasures.


    He sipped his wine, easily tuning out the inane chatter of the vapid wastes around him as he thought. There were only a handful of people at his own cultivation level that could threaten him. Though, he hadn¡¯t truly tested himself since beginning the process of the Hundred Poisons Refinement.


    By this point, he could probably crush anyone at his cultivation level through sheer physical strength. Once he completed the Baptisms, that would certainly be true. Even if it didn¡¯t provide him with the promised strength of a weak Iron, it would still give him the strength of a powerful Bronze.


    And wasn¡¯t that a strange idea? Aten still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea that a process so quick and inexpensive could catapult anyone, even ordinary people, into possessing physical strength at the cultivation tier as his own father.


    Of course, his father could still butcher any number of people like that in a real fight, but the concept was still shocking. By the end of this process, he¡¯d be one of the strongest people in the entire city. Even most elders could only be considered weak Irons. Martial Masters with Iron cultivation, rather than Martial Grandmasters like his father or the City Lord.


    Hmm. Speaking of his peers¡­


    Aten¡¯s gaze, which had been lazily drifting around the ballroom, focused on the young man with gray hair walking towards him. He was dressed in a rich blue robe that hid what Aten knew was an incredibly well-defined physique.


    Qaelon Yelrat. The City Lord¡¯s firstborn son.


    ¡°Mor El Aten,¡± Qaelon greeted, a greasy, insincere smile plastered on his face. ¡°It¡¯s been a while! How are you? Has the banquet been to your liking?¡±


    What a pest.


    Aten strongly considered just ignoring him. But Qaelon definitely wouldn¡¯t take that well. He¡¯d probably do something stupid that would force Aten to give him a public beating. Which could potentially spoil the clan¡¯s plans for tonight.


    Irritated, Aren took another, larger sip of wine. It really wasn¡¯t bad. Nothing too expensive; this was being offered to all of the two hundred or so guests attending the Yellow Moon Feast, so making it too excellent would dent even the City Lord¡¯s coffers. But it was still higher quality than he¡¯d expected. It was probably one of several power plays the City Lord was doing as part of his preparations for climbing the Highest Mountain.


    Now, there was a thought. Was Qaelon approaching Aten for a similar reason? Had his father put him up to this? Best to tread carefully. Qaelon was an idiot, but the City Lord was dangerous.


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Aten said, letting a wide smile bloom across his face. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you since the New Year.¡±


    Qaelon¡¯s face momentarily twisted in rage before he regained control over himself. Aten hid his smirk behind his wine glass. He¡¯d slapped Qaelon around in the first round of the New Year¡¯s annual Copper ranked tournament after some fool decided to rig the matches to put them against each other. Aten hadn¡¯t seen the man again, so he presumed Qaelon or the City Lord himself arranged for him to be quietly taken care of.


    "Yes, that was quite the day," Qaelon ground out, barely maintaining his civility. "Things will go differently in the upcoming Hidden Dragon Tournament my father is arranging."


    "Oh?" Aten raised an eyebrow, intrigued. ¡°He¡¯s setting up a tournament?¡±


    Qaelon smirked at him. "That''s the difference between our families, Aten," he said with all the smug condescension of a man too stupid to breathe. "My father can casually arrange a grand tournament involving the entire city. What can yours do?"


    Aten badly wanted to say something snide like ''win in a fight.'' It was something of an open secret among the nobility that the City Lord feared the Mor clan patriarch. But that would likely push Qaelon into doing something rash. He had a hair trigger temper, after all.


    So instead, he kept quiet and drank a bit of wine. Qaelon¡¯s smirk slowly slid off his face at the lack of reaction, as Aten knew it would. Qaelon was almost a stereotype of ''arrogant young master.'' Honestly, it should be him in Aten''s current position. He''d love stealing Sion''s fiance and publicly humiliating him to boot.


    Qaelon opened his mouth, likely to say something he thought was clever and biting. But Aten spoke first, cutting him off.


    "Hello, Karnae," he greeted. Qaelon whirled, eyes locking onto the third young mistress of the Bethel clan. Karnae Bethel waved lazily at Qaelon, but her eyes never left Aten.


    She''d had a crush on him for years now. He''d never returned her affections, but he hadn¡¯t rejected them either. Karnae was one of the women he¡¯d considered a viable possibility for marriage, so turning her down could have backfired on him. Besides, she was one of the handful of his peers he didn''t hold in abject contempt. He might even call her something of a friend, though it was hard to be friends with her when she kept trying to ¡®subtly¡¯ seduce him.


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    She was overtly, absurdly purple today. Her violet hair and lavender eyes were only to be expected; they were proof of her strong Bethel clan bloodline. It was sometimes called the Wicked Fragrance Bloodline, as it was most commonly used to create airborne poisons. Though the more common name was the Purple Death Bloodline, owing to the physical features it gave the Bethel clan.


    Beyond that, she wore a light purple inner robe, purple pants, a dark purple outer robe, and darker purple shoes. Her delicate purple eyeshadow matched the hair net woven with shining purple gems. Satiny purple gloves with intricate designs adorned her hands. And he had no doubt that beneath them, her fingernails had been painted some shade of purple as well.


    "Your outfit is offensive to my eyes," Aten said bluntly. "Change into something else or leave."


    It was actually shockingly nice. Aten was genuinely impressed at how she managed to make an entirely purple outfit look so good. Her recent growth spurt had done her some good, in more ways than one. But he had to put a stop to this. Every time he saw her, she''d added more purple to her outfit. Next thing he knew, she''d be painting her skin purple as well.


    Karnae''s eyebrows shot up at his words. Then she laughed, raising the embroidered fan in her right hand to hide her wide smile. Naturally, the fan was a pale purple. Because of course it was.


    "My, my, Aten," she cooed, her eyes thinning to inviting slits. "I didn''t know you were a fashionista."


    Aten rolled his eyes. "Enough of that. You were a gangly kid just last year. I''m not buying your ''seductive older woman'' act."


    She pouted playfully at him, but Aten could see the glimmer of real irritation in her eyes. Come to think of it, maybe she was the one he should be worried about when it came to being poisoned. Karnae had quite a temper. He honestly wouldn''t put it past her to try to murder him or Hela in a fit of jealous rage. Especially if he kept poking fun at her like that.


    "Really though," Aten continued, "What made you think so much purple could possibly be a good idea?"


    Karnae shrugged. "I like purple."


    Qaelon snorted, drawing both their attention. "You''d think the third young mistress of the Bethel clan would have better taste. Or at least servants who could steer her on the right path."


    "Now look at what you''ve done," Aten mock complained. "You''ve made me agree with Qaelon!"


    Qaelon sneered at Aten as Karnae glared at them. "I didn''t come over here to have my outfit insulted like this," she said primly.


    "Why''d you come over at all?" Qaelon asked bluntly.


    Aten rolled his eyes. Qaelon really was lucky to be born the City Lord''s only son. His personality was too atrocious to make it anywhere in life without such a good starting point. Case in point, Karnae was giving Qaelon a look that promised a slow, agonizing death. Something that should be taken very seriously when coming from a Bethel.


    ¡°To confirm some rumors I¡¯ve been hearing,¡± she said, still glaring at Qaelon, ¡°I heard your father is going to hosting a tournament to celebrate the unveiling of the Dragon¡¯s Gate Sect.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Qaelon said, instantly back to his smug self. Mentioning his father usually did that. ¡°There¡¯ll be three brackets. One for Copper, one for Bronze, one for Iron.¡±


    Aten barked out an incredulous laugh. ¡°He thinks he can get the patriarchs and elders to display their strength? Has he lost his mind?¡±


    For all that Goldplume City loved its tournaments, there was never a bracket for Noble Beings. Only the elders of the clans could reach the Iron Step. And they would never casually display their techniques and force of aura before an audience for something as unimportant as public glory.


    Qaelon¡¯s face reddened as Kardae chuckled behind her fan. ¡°Of course not!¡± He snapped. ¡°He already knows how strong they are; he doesn¡¯t need such an unreliable method.¡±


    Well, that was fair enough. The City Lord would certainly have a decent estimate on how strong his rivals were. It wouldn¡¯t be perfect; every clan was always working to create new techniques to give them an edge, like the newly minted Hundred Poisons Refinement Method. But it would be pretty close to accurate.


    So- ah. That was the game.


    "He wants to measure our strength," he said, giving Karnae a meaningful look.


    She nodded. "Us and the others at our cultivation level." She shrugged. "Though the main goal is likely to impress anyone he''s trying to ally with. It would just be a bonus if any young master or mistress was stupid enough to show off."


    Qaelon looked about ready to explode.


    "Stop talking like you''re in private," he hissed, glancing furiously around at the various young aristocrats. They weren¡¯t close enough to easily hear the three of them, having moved away to give the three young nobles of the city¡¯s great powers space. But some of them were clearly trying to listen in anyways.


    "Are you trying to start rumors slandering my father?" Qaelon demanded, lowering his voice even further.


    Yes, actually.


    Aten didn''t say that out loud though. Qaelon would definitely go tattle to his father if he did. Granted, he''d probably do that anyways. But there was a large difference between having plausible deniability and outright admitting his intentions. And the City Lord''s ire wasn''t something that could be taken lightly.


    "Of course not," Aten lied, plastering his most insincere smile on his face. "I''d never be fool enough to insult the City Lord like that."


    Qaelon sneered, but Aten ignored him with an ease born out of years of practice. Instead, he kept turning over the City Lord¡¯s potential plans for the tournament in his mind.


    This wasn¡¯t a show of wealth or force. At least, that wasn¡¯t the main goal. Just a nice side benefit. What the City Lord really wanted was to measure the general strength of those at the Copper and Bronze Steps. Especially those who¡¯d earned the right to be called Martial Disciples and Martial Masters.


    It didn¡¯t matter that none of the prodigious youths of the great clans would enter the tournament. The City Lord already knew what they were capable of. No, he wanted to find diamonds in the rough. People who¡¯d gone unnoticed.


    The City Lord was recruiting. Sparing no expense in an attempt to quickly boost his military might in preparation for the upcoming chaos. Probably for seizing the treasures on the Highest Mountain as well.


    Aten took a sip of his wine, frowning. It was an open scheme that nobody could do anything about without outright rebelling against the City Lord. Given the City Lord¡¯s wealth and prestige, it was almost certain that he¡¯d be able to recruit the vast majority of talented individuals unearthed by the tournament.


    Wait, if this was the City Lord¡¯s plot, did that mean Qaelon wasn¡¯t talking to him as power of a scheme? Had he just been paranoid for no reason? Aten pursed his lips, then took another sip of wine. He glanced a moment later, curious as to why Qaelon and Karnae had been so quiet as he thought. Not that he minded, but it was certainly out of character.


    The answer was immediately apparent. A large man with ashen hair and flat black eyes was standing before Aten, arms folded and an expression that could have been carved from granite. Mor Er Kin. Aten''s cousin.


    "Greetings, cousin," Aten said lazily, raising his wine glass in a mock cheer. "Is it time already?"


    His cousin''s eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. I don''t know what''s going on here, so I can''t say for sure. But you''ve been summoned up to the high table. Sounds like Hela has been too."


    Behind Kin, Aten could see Qaelon raise one eyebrow inquisitively. Karnae, meanwhile, looked like she¡¯d been struck by lightning. There was no way she¡¯d figured it out in an instant, right? This was just jealous paranoia, right?!


    After all, Hela was the only girl their age Aten could point at as being clearly superior to Karnae. Smarter, more disciplined, more talented, prettier - Hela was just an impressive woman. He could see why Karnae would get nervous.


    If Hela hadn¡¯t been engaged to Sion since birth, Aten really might have fallen for her like so many of his ¡®peers.¡¯ But he¡¯d never allow himself to feel that way towards a taken woman. Not that his self-control had done him much good. What he was about to do went a bit further than just having a crush on her.


    "Oh?" Karnae said, a lilt to the sound that made it come out as a question. "Why would you and Hela be summoned up to the high table together?"


    Nope. Aten wasn''t going to be the one to have this conversation with her. He hopped to his feet, carelessly draining the rest of his wine and tossing the glass to a startled servant who''d been hovering nearby.


    A sudden wave of dizziness almost made him stagger as that strange weight on his chest seemed to redouble. Alongside it came a light-headed, vacant sensation. Almost as though he was watching his actions from outside his own body. Then he blinked, and the sensation was gone. The weight was still there, but it had lessened again.


    Interesting. But he could look into it later.


    "Sorry, that''s a long conversation. No time for it," he said. His tone had a hint of an apology in it, though something in her expression told him she''d seen through him. He chose to ignore it as he caught up to Kin, who''d already turned and started walking away.


    Aten''s gaze turned towards their destination. The high table. The place where the city''s greatest powers, both in martial and political might, sat waiting. He caught his father''s eye for a moment, but couldn''t read anything in his expression.


    Sighing lightly, he looked left and right, surveying the crowd. After a moment, he spotted her. A messenger, presumably from the Kaats clan, had found Hela where she was talking to Sion and Jun.


    She''d dressed up well for the Yellow Moon Feast, likely because of what was about to happen. She wore dark green outer robes with white patterns beautifully woven around the seams. Both the belt around her waist and her inner robes were a pale tea green and her black hair was done up in a tight bun. Like Karnae, she wore gloves that extended up her forearms. Though, unlike Karnae, her gloves were white.


    As he appraised her, she looked his way. Her face tightened as they locked gazes, her cold amber eyes meeting his own tawny yellow. If looks could kill, she¡¯d have struck him dead then and there.


    Aten didn''t let himself sigh again. He''d been expecting this, after all. No point in pretending to be surprised and offended. Instead, he returned his attention to the raised platform. Their approach was starting to draw attention. Different nobles and elders were glancing their way. Some of the ones on the Nervant clan¡¯s side seemed to be getting a sense that something wasn¡¯t right as they started frowning and muttering to each other.


    Kees Nervant, meanwhile, was giving Ethias Kaats a quizzical, searching look. There was a half smile on his face, like he was waiting for Ethias to let him in on a joke. But Ethias was clearly avoiding making eye contact.


    Aten internally winced at the sight. It was well known that the two patriarchs were close friends and had been since they were Aten''s age. A small, empathic part of him ached as he watched that friendship crumble before his eyes. Then he shrugged it off. It wasn''t his problem and now was a terrible time to get emotional about the consequences of what he was involved in.


    No, he should act more like Qaelon: the quintessential young master. An arrogant, unrepentant silkpants who hid behind the influence of his father and clan. A smirk flickered across his face. As it happened, he really was wearing a pair of silk pants. They were quite comfortable too.


    Aten schooled his features into a blank mask as he stepped onto the raised platform where the elders sat. A few gave him quizzical looks. Notably, several Kaats elders looked incredibly smug and self-satisfied. Aten would bet every gold square he¡¯d ever owned that they were responsible for forcing Patriarch Kaats and Hela into this position.


    He watched the Kaats elders for a moment longer. Three in particular, an old man with a wispy white beard and two old women who looked to have a foot in the grave, stood out to him. All three had an air of superiority and triumph about them as they watched Hela and himself pass through the second strata and approach the high table.


    Idly, Aten wondered what price his father had paid for the City Lord to agree to his banquet being usurped like this. It would be a bit embarrassing for the City Lord, after all. What they were about to do could be called dishonorable. It would reflect poorly on the City Lord for it to occur at his banquet.


    The problem rolled around in his head for a little while before he decisively dismissed it. He was just trying to distract himself. Aten liked to think of himself as being unafraid of the immensity of heaven and earth. But the closer he got to the high table, the more his knees wanted to buckle.


    That feeling of pressure that had been weighing on him the entire night had been rising with every step he took towards the third strata. By now, it felt like there was a great weight on his shoulders. An intangible, immovable, unfathomable heaviness. Like something incredibly important was happening. Far, far more meaningful than his engagement had any right to be.


    It was crushing and overbearing. Suffocating him to the point he could barely breathe. With every step he took, it grew and grew, building into a terrible storm. His mind felt frozen, as though every thought was traveling through molasses.


    Yet it didn''t slow him down. Before Aten knew it, he was at the high table, Hela standing nearby. Kin bowed to the clan heads and City Lord, then quickly left alongside the servant who''d fetched Hela. Aten, of course, bowed as well. First to his father, then the City Lord, then the table as a whole.


    "I''m sure you''re wondering why I''ve called these two up here," Aten''s father began. "Especially you, Kees."


    The Nervant patriarch didn''t rise to the bait. He just watched Patriarch Mor with a cold gaze, occasionally glancing towards Patriarch Kaats. There was a look in his eye. Aten wouldn¡¯t quite call it dawning comprehension, but it was close.


    The man had clearly realized that he was the main recipient of a play being put on. One that his supposed ally was in on. From the half smirk on his father¡¯s face, Patriarch Mor had seen it too.


    ¡°I want to announce an engagement,¡± Patriarch Mor said. His words came out with a certain richness that betrayed the cruel joy he took in delivering the words, a broad smile on his face. ¡°From this day onwards, my son, Mor El Aten and Hela Kaats are promised to each other.¡±