Vasily Mahanenko

Law of the Jungle

Book#11

Magic Dome Books

Law of the Jungle

Book 11

Copyright © Vasily Mahanenko 2025

Cover Art © Linni 2025

Designer: Vladimir Manyukhin

English translation copyright © Mikhail Yagupov 2025

Published by Magic Dome Books, 2025

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-80-7693-909-7

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the shop and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is entirely a work of fiction. Any correlation with real people or events is coincidental.

New and upcoming releases from

Magic Dome Books!

If you like our books and want to keep reading, download our FREE Publisher’s Catalog, a must-read for any LitRPG fan which lists some of the finest works in the genre:

Tales of Wonder and Adventure: The Best of LitRPG, Fantasy and Sci-Fi (Publisher’s Catalog)

Table of Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

About the Author

Chapter 1

“YOU STILL ALIVE there? Or should we call it a day?” Vyllea’s voice, now deepened by the resonance of the giantess she’d become, broke through the oppressive darkness of the conjunction. She sounded concerned.

I opened my eyes, focusing on the three barriers I had just destroyed — once bound together by chains so imposing and locks so unyielding that they seemed indestructible. Of course, that was what everyone had thought. My poor battered back had a different opinion, proving to the world what it truly meant to be an opener.

Breaking the first lock had taken a few grueling hours, followed by three days of recovery. The second had forced me into a healing capsule for three hours — my body simply wasn’t prepared for the strain. And now, after obliterating the third lock that bound the chains obstructing ascension, I was even more certain of one thing — before I could break anyone else’s barriers, I needed to become a pure absolute with maximum potential in all three paths. Just like Dokravit, the head of the Executors of Fate.

“We need to finish this,” I groaned, struggling to sit up. It didn’t work — my body refused to obey. The capsule would clearly be my next stop.

“You sure?” Vyllea helped me up, her expression skeptical. “You look like death warmed over.”

“The block is gone, which means there’s nothing stopping the formation of a spirit core now. Besides…” I hesitated. “I don’t want to involve Rincede in our conjunction again.”

“My husband, jealous?” Vyllea’s face lit with mock surprise. “Are we about to witness an epic duel between two males for a mate? Oh, I must see this!”

“Keep needling me like that, and I won’t bake any of Burwal’s buns,” I shot back, aiming for her weak spot. Burwal’s buns and the green drink from the ancient recipe had become Vyllea’s favorite treats, so much so that she rationed them to our students — one per day at most. Despite her constant indulgence in sweets and pastries, Vyllea remained stunningly fit. Being a body absolute with maximum potential had its perks — she didn’t even need to train to maintain her flawless figure.

“Did it actually bother you?” The teasing smile vanished from her face.

“Not in the slightest,” I was honest with her. “Although I must confess that I was genuinely surprised. I didn’t see that coming.”

The news of Rincede’s marriage had arrived a week after Dokravit’s departure from Kairad. There was nothing inherently problematic about it — everyone had the right to pursue happiness in their own way. And since she’d clearly been opposed to the idea, I no longer saw Carmin’s sister as a potential second wife. I had proposed to her only to secure House Bao’s allegiance to the Third Tier. She had declined, her father had refused to lead the tier, and House Bao had opted out of greatness. Case closed.

But it seemed that the Heavens grew bored and made some other plans for yours truly. Enter Darna and Guerlon.

It began with the redhead meeting Guerlon in secret. He promised to keep their conversation confidential, so none of us knew what they discussed. The very next day, my blood brother returned to the Bao residence — this time with Darna in tow — and they emerged with shocking news — Benlad Bao had agreed to lead the Third Tier and accept Seekers into his family. But the foundation for this arrangement wasn’t me — it was Guerlon! He had proposed to Rincede, and she had agreed without hesitation.

The revelation stunned everyone into silence. We later learned that Rincede had been smitten with Guerlon since their first encounter at the cultists’ base. It was because of him that she’d regarded me as juvenile — she had someone to compare me to. Guerlon embodied everything she admired — strength, composure, and the stoicism of a true Taoist, even on the brink of death. The age difference played a role, too. Rincede was five years older than me, while Guerlon was nearly fifty years her senior — an ideal match for Taoists.

Guerlon addressed the matter with me only once, and the conversation was brief.

“She’s important to me. Is that a problem?”

“I’m not drawn towards her in the least. I have Vyllea.”

That was it. Guerlon nodded, and the topic was never discussed again.

Two weeks had passed since the engagement announcement, and now it was time to prove that my claims about the forthcoming ascension weren’t empty words. Working with Læogh’s barrier had been easy, and his body block crumbled quickly. But Rincede required significantly more effort. I knew that if I didn’t finish what I had started now, I might never muster the resolve to work with her again.

Forming a spirit core immediately wasn’t an option. Every time I considered it, something held me back — perhaps the knowledge that it would require using one of the two spirit core foundations we had, which were reserved for Læogh and Althea. I had to make sure they became Overlords, or Althea would torment me mercilessly, consumed as she was by her dream of becoming the youngest Overlord from the central palace of the Demon World in a century. When I pointed out Vyllea’s feat of becoming a Silver Overlord at just twenty-two, Althea dismissed it. Vyllea wasn’t a central palace resident, so her achievements didn’t count in the statistics. Besides, a mentor didn’t ask questions — they delivered results.

So crafting a spirit core was off the table for now. I’d settle for creating its seed and deal with the rest later. That was the plan.

But Rincede’s body, which apparently thirsted after ascension, had other ideas. The moment the final lock vanished, chaos ensued. Everything seemed harmless initially — a gentle flow of power from Vyllea and me into Rincede’s projection. But the situation turned dangerous before too long. It felt as though she were draining us dry, siphoning spirit energy straight from our cores. I felt alarmed and manifested twenty spirit essences between our spirit cores and the flow that was still being sucked in. Rincede’s body, realizing it could progress in its ascension, had started to absorb energy from anything it could reach with great voracity, and the only sources within reach were our spirit cores. With the buffer in place, I asked Vyllea to pull me back and prop me up so I could watch the spectacle unfold. To my astonishment, Rincede’s body started forming a spirit core autonomously. And not just any core — judging by the sheer volume, this was no Copper or even Bronze core. It seemed she had leapt straight to Silver, much like her future husband. Those two were clearly meant for each other.

“I need to open up,” I said as the twenty stones vanished.

“Is it dangerous?” Vyllea asked, her tone tight with concern. In all our time as Overlords, neither of us had ever had their core drained completely. There would always be something left. Yet this time, as I understood it, forming a complete Silver Overlord’s spirit core required an energy amount equivalent to that of at least one, preferably two, Taoists — ours, to be precise.

“It’s unpleasant, but not fatal,” I assured her, shuddering slightly as my spirit core began to deplete rapidly.

“Maybe we should just hand our conjunction core to that witless fool?”

“No!” I snapped with more emotion than I intended. “I won’t let her near it. Open up!”

“You don’t act like a man who couldn’t care less about what happens to another man’s woman. As the Heavens are my witness, it’s disgusting!”

Rincede ended up draining us completely. As the new formation stabilized, I released Vyllea’s hands and severed the conjunction. The sensations were… odd and deeply uncomfortable. If this was what my enemies experienced when I sucked them empty, it was no wonder energy vampires were universally reviled.

“How long are you planning to lie there?” Vyllea’s voice cut through the haze. I opened my eyes to find myself in a healing capsule. Apparently, as soon as I’d finished with Guerlon’s wife, I blacked out completely. I remembered nothing. I tuned into my body and sighed heavily. It would take at least a month before I could even think about working on another Tier barrier — or any barrier, for that matter. The mere thought of what I’d have to endure sent spasms through my limbs. Until I broke through my own block, tampering with anyone else’s was out of the question.

Vyllea yanked me out of the capsule, but didn’t rush to stow it away. I stared at the red indicator in surprise — the color meant it had been completely drained of power.

“How long have I been out for?” I asked, astonished.

“You’ve been resting for fifteen days, Zander Bao!” she replied, and only then did I notice the patch on her chest. Benlad Bao had finally signed all the necessary paperwork, granting my group and me an official last name.

“Understood. What happened while I was out?”

“Easier to list what didn’t happen. You should have seen the bloodbath Rednose had unleashed. I’d never have guessed she was so ruthless. House Cham is no more, ditto several other houses and clans. House Bao now governs the Third Tier in its entirety. Guerlon and that scheming ditz went to Illaon to solidify the Phoenix Clan’s dominance there. Althea and Læogh have become Benlad Bao’s chief advisors. Carmin was welcomed back into the family, and Elda was accepted as well. They’ll finish their business in the Second Tier soon and join us here. In short, while you rested, we kept ourselves very entertained. It’s time to escape this miserable city. I’m bored.”

“Have all families acknowledged House Bao?” My spirit vision swept across the capital. No cultists remained, which was a relief. I couldn’t detect any sign of Kairad’s dungeon lords, either. The one we’d approached for an antidote was alive, but the lair of the second — whom we’d never reached — had been destroyed completely. All the ancient metal that had shielded the lair from ordinary Taoists’ spirit vision had been excavated and neatly stashed in our spatial anomaly. I didn’t need to ask who had organized our trove so meticulously. The beauty standing before me was the obvious culprit.

“Do you think they had a choice? One Nascent God took care of Illaon, and another handled Kairad. I wasn’t idling, either. Benlad Bao has plenty left to govern, but no one remains who would dare oppose him. And I’ve already told him you won’t be available for at least six months. Let’s go, husband! We’ve got a meeting with Master Maseel in two hours! I’ve arranged for him to make us a few more outfits and update the ones we’ve got. We can’t keep wearing the same things forever!”

“Seeker Zander Bao, what a pleasant surprise.”

Master Maseel’s workshop was bustling. Despite the closed borders between Tiers and the recent purge of high-ranking Taoists, there were still enough people in the Third Tier willing to pay a premium for the master tailor’s exquisite work. Even so, spotting the fiery-haired beauty here was quite a surprise. I hadn’t seen her on the way in. The energy anomaly hovering a few meters away from her was a living answer to the question of how she’d managed to stay hidden. The Nameless One had finished his major purges and returned to guard his charge.

“Darna Feng, as I live and breathe. Why, I doubt this meeting is as unexpected for you as you claim,” I said with a nod.

The red-haired woman had changed. She wore a flowing crimson outfit that matched her fiery hair, creating the illusion of a swirling inferno. My traitorous heart skipped a beat. Darna was stunning, and only a blind man could fail to see it.

“You failed to meet the terms of our agreement, Seeker,” she said, throwing me a challenging look.

“Turon, the Executor of Fate, is dead,” I countered.

“You didn’t grant me access to his body.” Darna wasn’t about to back down. “That was a key condition of our agreement. One body, one fragment of a Primordial Soul. The body is gone, and the circumstances don’t matter. Seeker Zander took on an obligation and didn’t fulfill it. That’s serious. It might even tarnish your plaque.”

I understood her game perfectly. Darna wanted to become an Overlord, but she knew I’d demand payment. She had nothing left of sufficient value except my unfulfilled obligations. And she was right — I hadn’t granted her access to the body. Ironically, I was the one who’d offered to make her an Overlord. If she had approached me without her usual arrogance, I wouldn’t have hesitated.

“You’re right, Darna Feng. I’ve failed to meet my obligation in full,” I admitted, producing the box containing a fragment of the Primordial Soul. Vyllea growled inwardly but kept her composure. “This is yours.”

Darna frowned, her confident demeanor faltering. She clearly hadn’t expected me to relinquish such a priceless artifact so easily. It was an unparalleled energy source — unmatched across the Tiers. I stepped forward and pressed the box into her hands. I took a step back and added, “Consider our temporary truce over.”

“Zander, wait!” Darna called as I took Vyllea’s hand and turned toward Master Maseel’s shop. The energy anomaly shifted, now blocking my way. The Nameless One didn’t reveal himself, but he didn’t need to. I wasn’t about to test the barrier, so I stopped in my tracks. Without turning, I said, “I’ve returned your collateral and admitted my failure to honor our agreement. You know what it means for a Seeker to break his word. Perhaps Dokravit is already racing to this Tier to finish me off. What more do you want, Darna Feng?”

“Seeker Zander, I, Darna Feng, officially acknowledge that you’ve fulfilled the terms of our agreement!” Her voice, filled with an unexpected note of vulnerability, made me pause. I turning around and nearly collided with her.

“Take this — it’s rightfully yours. Turon is dead, and I did have access to his body, but Dokravit had blocked me. None of this is your fault. Zander, I’m struggling. So much has changed so quickly that I don’t know how to act or what to say. Please, forgive me. I… I was wrong.”

Darna extended the box back to me. Vyllea was about to grab the precious artifact but stopped when she noticed I remained still. Lifting her puzzled gaze to me, my wife asked,

“Zander?”

“So the first mask didn’t work, and you’ve decided to try another?” I said in a glacial tone. “The Darna Feng I know never apologizes — because she doesn’t even understand the meaning of the word. And it’s not just the word itself — it’s the entire concept that’s completely alien to her. There’s a goal, a clan, and the clan’s objectives — everything else is irrelevant. I won’t take this box. Your claim that I fulfilled the task doesn’t change my view — I didn’t. People don’t change, Darna. They just swap masks to suit their circumstances. I remember everything you did to my apprentices, what you tried to do to my parents, and all those who knew me. I remember your promises of what you’d do to me once you gathered enough strength. I offered to make you an Overlord if the need arose. If you decide to take me up on that offer, consider what you’ll pay. And don’t even think about offering me the contents of this box — it no longer interests me.”

“You’re wrong, Zander Bao,” Darna replied. Her eyes glimmered, though she stopped short of shedding dramatic tears — I wouldn’t have believed them anyway. “People do change. Sometimes it only takes a few moments to adopt a completely new perspective. I do want to become an Overlord, that goes without saying. It would make fulfilling the task set for me by the Executor of Fate a lot easier. But that’s not why I sought you out. I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. You’ve dealt with Turon, protected me from Dokravit, kept an eye on me when I was out of control, and chose not to kill me, even though you could have. Thank you for that.”

“That’s a strange way of showing gratitude,” Vyllea muttered. I could only imagine the effort it took for her to stay calm. She had already expressed her disagreement with my decision to give up the Primordial Soul a few hundred times within the anomaly. It was an artifact that any Taoist would covet — a resource that could considerably strengthen our group, help Guerlon become a Bronze Nascent God, and level the playing field with the Nameless One. House Feng and House Bao had formed a coalition in the Third Tier, but the decisions were made by Darna, backed by the strength of Clyed Feng and Dokravit’s approval. If we gained our own Bronze Nascent God, we could establish parity and pursue projects Darna would oppose. There weren’t any yet, but they certainly could appear in the future.

“Your apology and gratitude are accepted,” I said. “Is there anything else?”

“As a token of appreciation, I want to give you a gift.” Darna held out the box containing the Primordial Soul. “No obligations, no hints, no future demands. Simply a gift for someone who’s acknowledged the help they gave me. Please accept it.”

So Vyllea had been wrong, after all. Rincede wasn’t worthy of the title of “scheming ditz” — Darna could run circles around her as a master of cunning! She found a way to twist the situation yet again. Should I stick to my principles, I wondered? I gazed directly into Darna’s brown eyes, but all I saw was a perfect theatrical performance. Cunning, dangerous, and monstrously calculating — when had she become this way?

“Zander, your silence is making me uneasy!” Vyllea’s voice nearly broke into a tantrum within the anomaly. “Just take the box already! She said there are no strings attached!”

“No strings? Impossible,” Guerlon said meaningfully. He, like me, had seen through the motives of the fiery-haired fox.

“Mentors, explain! What does this bitch want from Zander?” Elda exclaimed, her tone brimming with anger she’d likely never let go.

“Will you explain, or should I?” Guerlon looked at me.

“I’ll handle it,” I said, finally accepting Darna’s gift. The pause had stretched too long, and a decision had to be made. Mine was clear.

“This doesn’t bind you to anything, Zander,” Darna said softly. “It’s simply a gesture to acknowledge my mistakes and your assistance. Maybe one day you’ll stop seeing me as an enemy. I know circumstances change. Once, I genuinely wanted to destroy you, but that Darna is in the past. We no longer need a truce because there’s no war between us anymore. You and your new family are my main support now. Without you, I can’t fulfill Dokravit’s task. Thank you for choosing to help me. That’s all. I suppose I should’ve started with this, but as I said, change is hard. Farewell, Zander. Now I’ll start considering what to offer you in exchange for making me an Overlord.”

Darna turned and walked away, the energy anomaly disappearing along with her, leaving the path to Master Maseel’s shop open once more.

“Well, I’m completely lost!” Vyllea demanded, glaring at me. “Zander, explain! Since when has Rednose turned into such a sweetheart? She’s so sugary it almost made my face twitch! What’s gotten into her? And is it contagious?”

“The fact that Darna is stuck in the Third Tier for five years does not derail her long-term plans. She aims to become the head of the Phoenix Clan, and for that, she needs resources — especially people. What did Darna see? Our meeting with Dokravit, the second most powerful figure after the Emperor. She witnessed how the Executor of Fate has treated a pair of ordinary Seekers. She heard his words about how our plaques are something unique, unseen in ten thousand years. What does that mean? She needs to win us over. She has to do everything within her power to stop us from seeing her as an enemy — or better yet, make sure we consider her a friend. That way, when Delilah’s advisor comes for her adopted daughter in five years, we’ll side with Darna. Because she’s our ‘friend.’ Because she’s suddenly reformed and realized how vile her behavior had been. Sweet, humble, and considerate Darna… just another mask custom-crafted for a specific audience. I’m sure that when Elda and Carmin reach the Third Tier, Darna will even kneel before them, begging forgiveness. A brief humiliation now will bring her tremendous advantages later. Now, we must work with Darna. But we cannot let her become our friend. Otherwise, we’ll be dragged into the Phoenix Clan’s internal power struggles, and once we’re either spent or no longer useful, they’ll try to get rid of us. That’s what the ‘sweetheart’ operating in the Third Tier is like. And you’ll need to figure out how to deal with her.”

“Us?” Guerlon and the apprentices exchanged glances.

“Yes, you,” I replied. “Because Vyllea and I are leaving the human world the moment we make Althea and Læogh into Overlords. As my wife puts it, it’s way too boring here!”

Chapter 2

“I THOUGHT WE’D NEVER leave!” Vyllea sank back into Cupcake’s seat, closed her eyes, and tilted her face toward the sky, savoring the pleasant breeze. We had just passed through the city gates and were heading toward the eastern edge of the Third Tier’s southern sector. Every promise had been fulfilled, every agreement honored, and every deal concluded. But accomplishing all of that had cost us a week of our lives. By now, I was certain the cultist demons had caught on, realized something significant had transpired in the human world, and dispatched their observers here.

There was a silver lining to all this, however — Guerlon and Althea could not only spot the filthy yellow sludge in cultists’ blood, but also identify the artifacts that allowed the demons to masquerade as humans. Even if a cultist’s ally arrived in the capital without ever having used a technological altar, they wouldn’t escape the notice of my group — which now had one more member.

I had admittedly gone a little overboard this week. But so had the entire upper echelon of House Bao, enforcing justice throughout the Tier. Dissenters were obliterated without the right to explain themselves. Benlad Bao had proven himself not only a master swordsman, but also one of the most uncompromising Taoists in this world. Houses and clans that refused to bow and tried to hold on to their former glory simply disappeared. Their replacements were either more compliant, or they vanished as well. Taoists who had grown accustomed to House Cham’s lax rule suffered the most.

They even tried to organize a semblance of a rebellion once. Several houses spontaneously banded together, marched into the square, and voiced their opposition to the new order. But it wasn’t Benlad Bao who came to negotiate — it was the Nameless One. The Bronze Nascent God suppressed the crowd with his aura and declared that anyone opposing House Bao was opposing the Phoenix Clan itself. He didn’t even need to kill anyone. The people began to begrudgingly accept the new regime as a result. A few ambitious individuals even arrived at House Bao’s new palace bearing gifts, clearly hoping to curry favor.

But instead of meeting the stern swordsman Benlad Bao, they were greeted by his two aides — Copper Overlords Althea and Læogh Bao. I couldn’t imagine what anyone could offer to bribe the daughter of a prince and the son of a former Tiger Clan head short of offering them the entire world, so there was nothing of substance to halt House Bao’s relentless imposition of order. The petitioners were met with blank stares and flat refusals, much to their chagrin and surprise. The Third Tier hadn’t yet gotten used to the desires and opinions of the great houses openly ignored.

So, what had I accomplished this week?

First, I’d managed to elevate Althea and Læogh to Copper Overlords. It was a genuine achievement — one that required the sacrifice of both spirit foundations, about twenty spirit essences, and the complete depletion of Vyllea’s and my own energy. The process was grueling. The demon and beast bodies resisted the transformation, just as Phasor Lin had warned when he said that every elevation required time — physical and mental readiness. But Althea had no intention of waiting. She was determined to ascend no matter what. After all, her invisible guardian — a demon foolish enough to think I hadn’t noticed him — had to report the event to her father and uncle.

Second, Darna. The fiery-haired beauty had ascended to Silver Overlord. Unlike Althea and Læogh, she’d already possessed a nascent spirit core, so no rare and costly ingredients were needed — just a transfusion of power from Vyllea and myself. The ease with which she’d reached her new ascension stage startled me — it was as if her body had been waiting for this very moment for a long time. Once again, Vyllea and I were left utterly drained, as forming her stable core had consumed all our strength. In return, Darna swore to cease all direct management of the Tier, leaving those responsibilities to Benlad, Althea, and Læogh Bao. Benlad quickly came to appreciate the benefits of teamwork and started to rely heavily on my apprentices, who displayed exceptional administrative skill.

My apprentices showed interest in everything — agriculture, provisions and other supplies, industry, and even monster management. Sometimes it seemed like they’d forgotten what sleep was, but I trusted this was temporary. Once the Tier stabilized, they’d have time to rest. For now, this was invaluable experience — no training could replace practical governance.

Finally, the third accomplishment was that just hours ago, I’d given a new member access to our spatial anomaly. Guerlon and Rincede had returned from Illaon via my teleportation method, and my blood-brother declared that his wife deserved a place in our sanctuary. He vouched for her completely. Arguing with Guerlon would have been pointless, especially for me. I’d welcomed my apprentices into the anomaly without tests or guarantees, relying solely on my instincts. The same logic applied now — I had no complaints about Guerlon’s wife. If she wanted to interact with us around the clock, so be it.

To clarify, she didn’t want to interact with us specifically, but rather with my apprentices. Around them, Rincede was lively and natural — especially with her brother, whom she had never met before. She laughed, chatted, and behaved like an ordinary person. But the moment Vyllea or I addressed her, she became an emotionless statue. Delving into the reasons behind her behavior wasn’t worth my time. That was Guerlon’s problem — she was his wife, not mine.

Unlike the elusive “key” that had still evaded us, I could give someone access to the anomaly in two ways — through conjunction, or by anchoring the anomaly to a wormhole seed, hoping it connected to a suitable subspace. Both required an existing anomaly, so I first used a millenarian lotus from our spoils to create a personal storage for Rincede. Entering a conjunction with a Silver Overlord seemed unnecessary — even though we were of the same rank, I had no desire to link with someone who was completely unavailable emotionally. Who knew what was lurking in her mind?

I opted for the wormhole method instead. On the second try, luck was on my side — I managed to pull in the right kind of subspace. Judging by the empty shelves, it must have belonged to a smuggler. Thankfully, the area came without people — otherwise I’d have had to track down the smuggler and permanently block his access to our anomaly.

That was my week, pretty much. It seemed like I had done a lot, but compared to what others accomplished, it felt insignificant. Not that I had any reason to complain. Besides, any degree of involvement would look substantial when you compared it to Vyllea’s. She was the undisputed champion in taking things easy. When they were handing out such qualities as diligence and meticulousness, she must have been busy stealing treats from the kitchen.

After traveling a few dozen miles from the city walls, I pulled off the road. My wife would have to get back to work.

“Come again?” Vyllea opened her eyes and stared at me in confusion. We hadn’t discussed how we’d get to the demon world. She seemed to believe that, since I was the man, it was my responsibility to sort out such details without burdening her with unnecessary information.

“We need to create a wormhole. We’re crossing into the demon world.”

“A wormhole? You expect me to use another seed?” Her hands instinctively went to her belt, where two small boxes dangled. One was already overstuffed with seeds. Personally, I thought this storage method was impractical and had suggested leaving half the seeds back in Kairad. That earned me a frosty glare and a long impassioned lecture on how a true mother would never abandon her children. Every seed was like a child to Vyllea, apparently. Since about a dozen seeds wouldn’t fit into the first box, she’d resorted to using a second one. Her frugality still managed to surprise me.

“That’s right. Make the breach.”

“But Zander! Let’s just travel for a while — we’re already gone for months anyway! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to part with each seed? I feel them! They’re like pieces of me!”

“Vyllea, open the passage!” I had to insist. Her glare turned venomous, but she obeyed. For a moment, I thought she might actually attack me to protect her “children.”

Creating the breach between worlds took almost no effort. Vyllea pulled out a seed, and within seconds, an ugly archway sprouted before us.

“We’ve got one minute! Move!”

Running through the squishy, fleshy tunnel — reminiscent of some colossal creature’s innards — was thoroughly unpleasant, but it didn’t take long. The space around us turned blood red, the natural colors of the demon world. Vyllea turned to watch the wormhole collapse with an expression of undisguised sorrow. Since it was a one-way breach, it couldn’t stabilize or permanently link the two worlds. Worse still, the seed used to create it couldn’t be recovered — it vanished forever. For Vyllea, who treated each seed as a priceless treasure, this was a devastating loss.

Finally, the passage sealed itself off with a loud pop, cutting us away from the world of humans. We found ourselves in the Third Circle of the demon world.

Transforming into demons didn’t take long — an hour of conjunction and two or three attempts to break through Vyllea’s spirit barrier, although I avoided pushing too hard. At least this time I wasn’t thrown against a wall. I’d successfully conveyed that until I broke through my own physical barrier, I wouldn’t be able to work on anyone else’s — not even my own spirit dams.

The crafty dwarves had gone quiet. I made several trips to the library, but each time the librarian dismissed me, claiming they hadn’t yet settled on a price for the information or for my own stories. They hinted that I should hand over the document written by Dokravit, but there was no overt pressure.

An attempt to take flight ended in embarrassing failure. The spot where we landed was at the boundary between the Third and Second Circles of the demon world. Unlike the human world, where the energy within a Tier was consistent regardless of location, here the absence of barriers created complete chaos. Near powerful sources, the energy could easily match that of the Fourth Circle. This was how the badlands functioned here. Elsewhere, the energy gradually increased from the world’s edge to its center.

The energy wasn’t strong enough to form a flying platform where we were. I could have ignored the laws entirely, using Darna’s gift to fly even in energy-void areas, but that felt childish and foolish. Flaunting rare resources in a place where they could be stolen was far from wise. There was no doubt that even princes would hunt for a fragment of the Primordial Soul if they learned of its existence. For some reason, power and aggression always seemed to go hand in hand.

So we resorted to the tried-and-true method — traveling on Cupcake. Even flying swords couldn’t rise more than six feet here. I located the nearest settlement with my spirit vision, and we headed toward it. Before doing anything, we needed to figure out where exactly the wormhole had dropped us.

“Honored Elders, the people of Mayrish Village welcome you!”

The mayor of a small settlement personally came out to greet us. He was an elderly demon with gray hair and a missing arm. To my surprise, he was just an ordinary demon who hadn’t embarked on the path of ascension — like everyone else in this village of fifty or so houses.

It felt like stepping into Tier Zero. Meeting someone pursuing immortality in a remote area, especially near the ocean, was a rare feat even there. But even in those places, village leaders were typically individuals who had formed at least one node. Here, there wasn’t a single node among the villagers.

The elder bowed again and continued: “Thank you, Honored Elders, for answering our call.”

“Call?” I asked, scanning the surroundings once more. My spirit vision revealed nothing unusual or extraordinary — at least, nothing that stood out from the rest of the demon world. A few Master-level beasts, some minor Warrior-level energy sources not worth my time, an abandoned Master-level badland, and no other settlements in sight. That was what struck me as strange. This tiny village, isolated in the wilderness, was an anomaly.

The vast lands surrounding the village were well-maintained, with crops, fruit trees, and animal pens, some of which also contained lower demons. Water came from an underground river. Most surprisingly, there wasn’t a single road leading to Mayrish. The village wasn’t just cut off from the rest of the world — it didn’t even exist on any map. At least, not in the southern parts of the Second and Third Circles.

“Our call, Honored Elders. I prayed to the Heavens for help, and they sent you to us. No one can reach this land by accident — it’s protected by a barrier. But if you’re here, the Heavens must deem you worthy.”

“The Heavens?” I echoed, taken aback by the elder’s words.

“The Heavens, Honored Elders. Is that so strange? Or is it that people in the greater world no longer revere the Heavens? Have they forgotten them?”

“People?” My astonishment grew with every word the elder spoke. “Aren’t we in the demon world?”

“Demons?” Now it was the elder’s turn to frown. “So that’s what they call people now. Very well, let us say ‘demons,’ for the meaning doesn’t change. The Heavens are the same for all — humans, demons, beasts, and monsters alike.”

“Zander, something’s off,” Vyllea murmured, her brow furrowed as she surveyed the area.

“I don’t sense any threat.”

“It’s not about how they treat us. There’s something wrong with this village. It feels… lifeless. I can’t pinpoint it, but something vital is missing.”

“The noise and bustle,” I replied, understanding Vyllea’s point. “That’s what’s missing. It feels as if we’ve stepped into a stage set. And there are no children — not a single one. Everyone here is as old as the village elder.” I glanced at Althea. “Any thoughts?”

“No clue what you’re talking about. I’ve never heard of anything like this. A self-sufficient village sealed off by a protective formation, with no roads leading to it? Sounds like the beginning of a promising adventure. Mentors, you cannot just walk past this!”

“Fine. Let’s assume the Heavens have indeed sent us here,” I agreed, seeing no reason to argue or try to prove otherwise. In case anything dodgy started happening, we could always erase the village from existence and create a wormhole to retreat back to the human world.

“Indeed, Honored Elders. No one else can find their way here. The Heavens protect these lands and those who live within them. We were entrusted with a great mission, but our time is ending. Now, it is your turn to become the Keepers of Knowledge. Please, follow me. There is much I must show you.”

“I don’t like this,” Vyllea grumbled.

“You’re not alone,” I admitted. “But it’s worth taking a look. If they revere the Heavens, no one will force us to do anything against our will. That would displease the Heavens, wouldn’t it? Let’s go.”

The elder moved slowly, conserving energy with every step. More than once, I felt the urge to pick him up and carry him inside, but I restrained myself. He had come out to greet us with relative ease, and now he was crawling along like a snail. Clearly, this was some ridiculous test of patience — something Taoists had in abundance. Meditation without patience was impossible.

The elder reached the door, opened it, and stepped inside. I hesitated, stopping a few steps short of the threshold. A sharp stabbing pain filled my head, as though a hundred needles had pierced it at once. What I saw with my spirit vision clashed violently with what my physical eyes perceived. Spirit vision showed an ordinary wooden house with mundane furnishings, no different from those found in any tier of any world. My physical sight, however, revealed something entirely different.

The elder’s attire had transformed into an elegant suit, and the interior resembled one of the many ancient bases I’d looted in anomalies. This jarring disparity between the two views caused an excruciating headache, one that even my healing techniques couldn’t alleviate.

I had to choose whether to trust my spirit vision or my physical sight. I opted for the latter — it felt more aligned with my instincts. The interior seemed unmistakably like the setup of an ancient base.

“Zander?” Vyllea’s surprise mirrored my own, though she wasn’t experiencing the same pain.

“We’re going in.” I took her hand, ready to bolt if necessary. Once the door shut behind us, sealing us off from the outside, I used spirit vision again, bracing for another wave of pain. But none came. Now, spirit vision aligned perfectly with my physical sight, showing me a modest three-room house outfitted with ancient metals and devices. It was clear we had stumbled into yet another long-forgotten anomaly. What unsettled me the most, however, was that my spirit vision couldn’t extend beyond the building’s walls. It was as though nothing existed beyond this structure. The sensation was unnerving, leaving me feeling small and powerless. I wanted to flee immediately, but I still sensed no threat.

The elder, now dressed in his formal attire, but still missing an arm, entered one of the rooms and sat at a small metal table. The chairs around it looked uncomfortably rigid, and Vyllea instinctively reached into the anomaly to retrieve more suitable ones. But nothing happened.

The anomaly was gone.

The entrance shimmered before my eyes, but my mind couldn’t penetrate it, as though something barred access. I tried forming an elemental sphere, but my techniques were unresponsive. The energy remained within my cores and meridians — both physical and conjoined — but neither I nor Vyllea could access it.

The rational part of me screamed and urged me to run. I turned to the door, only to find it firmly shut.

“No need to worry, Honored Elders,” the elder said, as if perfectly aware of our predicament. “You have entered the Repository of Knowledge. It was created nine thousand three hundred and twenty-seven years ago.”

“By whom?” I asked, frantically searching for a way out. No windows. The door was locked. Techniques were unavailable. The anomaly was inaccessible. All we had were our hands and the jians at our belts. However, Vyllea still had her boxes of wormhole seeds. Objects from the backworld might work here. But that was for later. For now, I focused on finding another escape route.

“The names would mean nothing to you. The founders of the Repository are long dead. They came here from the human world five hundred years after it was breached by the Primordial Soul. That event is known as Point Zero. The Primordial Soul didn’t breach just one world — it pierced two, binding them with its power. Taoists began colonizing this nearly lifeless realm a century after the first passages were opened.”

“So who opened those?” Despite my wariness, the elder had piqued my interest. I no longer felt the urge to escape immediately.

“Those who hunt after the contents of this place. Realizing they could no longer preserve knowledge in its usual form, the founders created this sealed sanctuary, housing all the accumulated knowledge of humanity before Point Zero. Everything humanity possessed — its knowledge, inventions, and art — has been stored here in the Repository of Knowledge. For nearly ten thousand years, we’ve safeguarded this place. But our time has come. We are not human — we are machines, programmed by the founders to protect this knowledge from those who would seize it. Yet a year ago, the control systems in the original world vanished. We understood that our time was ending, and we sent a call to the Heavens, asking for help. This knowledge must be preserved. That is our mission — and yours, as the new Keepers.”

“You’re protecting this knowledge from the spawn of the backworld?” I ventured.

“Precisely. From the entity that arrived with the Primordial Soul. It is a mysterious being whose sole purpose is to acquire the knowledge of new worlds. The founders believed that if it gained access to humanity’s pre-Point Zero knowledge, it would destroy both worlds to free the Primordial Soul and move on.”

“And this spawn… looks like a dwarf.” The answer came to me unbidden, as if the knowledge had always been there.

“Dwarves,” the elder corrected me. “It has many manifestations, but it is still one entity — the one who governs the backworld. Now, Honored Elder, I must ask for silence. I need to prepare the process of transferring the knowledge to you. My resources are nearly depleted, and I cannot manage multiple tasks at once. Time, as humans used to say before Point Zero, is money. You’ll soon understand this for yourselves.”

Chapter 3

“SO I CAN NEVER TAKE this off?” I asked, staring at the small bracelet the elder of Mayrish Village had secured around my wrist.

“Not by your own hand,” the elder replied. “The Heavens brought you here, so it’s for them to decide when you may be freed of this burden. Do not attempt to activate the key while you are in this shielded place. No waves reach here… techniques don’t work, and you cannot access spatial storage.”

“Let me guess — this is about the spatial anomaly? The one located within the backworld? Isn’t that the domain of the librarians?”

“The spatial anomaly, as you call it, is a structured environment of Prokofiev Space, isolated by psionic-alpha inversion flows. It was created by humans who managed to reclaim a portion of the backworld for their own purposes. The entity of the backworld cannot enter this territory.”

“And yet, the librarians seem to have their own anomaly. Or so I’ve heard.”

“A misunderstanding,” the elder corrected. “This is due to the similar principle of storing information and materials. The entity you call the ‘librarian,’ and in the plural, no less, has no access to any of the structured sections. If it did, it would have extracted all of humanity’s pre Point Zero knowledge long ago and moved on.”

“One thing I don’t get, though — if you are machines, why spend ten thousand years pretending to raise livestock, tend fields, and grow food?”

“We follow the programming set by our creators. They instilled this behavior to ensure that, even if the protective formation failed, any humans arriving here would have no way of discerning our true purpose. But in all those ten thousand years, no guests ever arrived. You, Honored Elders, are the first beings to pass through the barrier. I regret to say, however, that my time is running out much faster than anticipated. I have less than two minutes left. The other mechanisms of the village have already shut down. You have time for one last question, Keeper.”

“You look like a demon, not a human. Why is that?”

“The atmosphere of the new world differs from that of the original one. Our bodies are equipped with adaptive mechanisms to suit the surrounding environment. What you see is the result of ten thousand years of evolution. Comparing our changes to yours, it’s clear we followed a path similar to those who became known as demons.”

“How do we leave the protective dome?”

“I regret to inform you that this is considered impossible. The founder designed the perfect defense. While entry is possible under certain conditions, leaving… that is up to the Heavens. If they brought you here, they alone can…”

The elder’s sentence trailed off as his body began to change. It seemed as though he was rapidly living through ten thousand years in fast-forward. He aged visibly, his body withering until only skin and bones remained — and then even those crumbled into black dust. The door, which had blocked our exit, creaked open, and Vyllea and I stepped outside.

The village was gone.

The villagers, the animals, the lower demons, the fields — everything created by the Keepers had disintegrated. Even the houses began to crumble. I closed my eyes, stretching the spatial anomaly entrance to its maximum capacity. Losing a structure with such shielding properties was not an option. Time may have been merciless to it, but within the anomaly, the house would remain intact and free from the risk of turning to dust.

But to achieve this, I had to surpass all my previous limits. It wasn’t enough to transfer the structure — I had to lift it into the air, as the anomaly couldn’t distinguish where one object ended and another began. To do this, I tapped into the Primordial Soul, infusing both myself and the surrounding environment with its energy.

When the village of Mayrish finally disappeared, the now-unmasked house appeared within the anomaly. Its outer shell was made of a strange porous metallic material, quite unlike anything I had encountered before. Inside, the house was exactly as it had been during our meeting with the elder — technologically advanced and lifeless.

Most importantly, the house remained intact. The doors even opened, which was unusual for the repository. I moved it to an empty section of the anomaly — though finding space was becoming an issue — and turned to find Vyllea staring at the house wide-eyed, as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“This… this is for me?” she whispered, her voice trembling both in reality and within the anomaly.

“A demon can’t live without a home.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I’ve wanted to do something like this for a long time, but nothing suitable ever came along. Now, we have a home that will crumble if removed from the anomaly, but is made of shielding material that blocks absolutely every imaginable attempt to penetrate it. It’s a worthy dwelling for my first — and, as practice shows, my only — wife.”

The smile that spread across Vyllea’s face was worth all the treasures hidden in our spatial anomaly. It was the smile of a truly happy woman — one who felt valued and powerful.

“We need to open a passage back to the human world. It’s time to leave this place. We can’t just walk out of here — the elder said it’s impossible. Can you do it?”

“After what you’ve done for me?” Vyllea didn’t even argue. “I’ll make a hundred passages if that’s what my husband wants!”

She stepped aside, pulled a wormhole seed from her box, and… nothing happened. The radiant smile vanished from her face. She closed her eyes and extended her hands, holding the seed in place, but the breach between worlds refused to form.

“Zander?” Her voice wavered with unpleasant notes of panic. Her favorite tool had failed — and in a place where such failure should have been impossible to boot.

“It’s just as the elder had warned,” I replied, trying to suppress my own rising panic. But a shiver ran down my spine. “Getting in was easy. Getting out will be hard. Maybe we need to open a passage within this world instead of between worlds? How about we visit your mother?”

“Let’s try,” Vyllea agreed, forcing a strained smile. “Let me just switch seeds, and — ”

She didn’t finish.

All six projections of our group members materialized around us, surrounding Vyllea and me on all sides.

“Where were you?! What happened to you? Why did your projections vanish from the spatial anomaly?”

“Why the fuss? We’ve only been gone for a couple of hours,” I frowned.

“You’ve been missing for nearly three months,” Guerlon stated, shocking me. “From what we know, you entered some house, and your projections disappeared. We even had to ask Darna about the smugglers’ anomaly, which had dissolved completely. Ours remained intact, giving us hope you were alive. You say it felt like only two hours? That means you were in some sort of temporal anomaly, where time slowed instead of stopping. What happened during those two hours?”

“A lot,” I replied, glancing with interest at the house we had dragged into the anomaly. A temporal anomaly? The only explanation seemed to lie in the shielding walls, capable of blocking techniques and denying access to the structured backworld section. Which raised an even more intriguing question — what would happen to a body placed inside this house within the spatial anomaly?

“Vyllea, your hand,” I said instinctively, extending a projection of my hand toward her. Vyllea, not realizing that our bodies were incorporeal within the anomaly, tried to comply. Her hand passed right through mine effortlessly. Inside the anomaly, direct interaction was impossible. But what if we stepped into the house with the shielding walls?

“If we disappear again, pull the house out of the anomaly,” I warned Guerlon. He frowned but nodded. It was a relief not having to spend a hundred years explaining the logic of my actions — especially since, at this moment, I had no logic to offer. Something told me the result would be worth it.

“Vyllea, follow me!” I called, stepping into our new house.

Inside, everything looked exactly as it had a few minutes ago — or a few minutes for us, and several months for the outside world. Turning to face Vyllea as she entered, I swallowed involuntarily. Her translucent projection was gone. In its place stood a fully solid, vibrantly colored woman, staring at her hands in amazement.

I glanced at my own hands — they, too, were solid and real.

“Vyllea, your hand!” I requested again. This time, our palms met, the contact unmistakable. Without hesitation, I initiated a small conjunction circuit with nothing but body energy. It worked! Conjunction within our new house, inside the spatial anomaly, was possible! I pulled Vyllea into my arms, ready to enjoy a long, sweet kiss, but the house abruptly trembled.

The doors flew open, and Guerlon appeared on the threshold, solid and vividly colored like us.

“Stop hugging and get out! Now!”

Guerlon’s voice carried an uncharacteristic urgency. He looked composed, but his gaze betrayed genuine shock. What unsettled me even more was the rush of fresh air that entered with him. There was no wind inside the spatial anomaly!

Taking Vyllea by the hand, I stepped out of the house and frowned. My spirit vision activated, revealing a sight I could never have expected.

“Is this… one of the inner courtyards of House Bao’s palace?” Vyllea asked, stunned. “Zander, did we end up in Kairad?”

I turned toward the house, half-expecting it to collapse into black dust. But nothing happened. It stood firm. Not willing to take any chances, I returned the house to the spatial anomaly.

Inside the anomaly, however, Vyllea and I simply didn’t exist. The entrance shimmered faintly, but the consciousness responsible for managing stored objects was absent. Yet the moment the house reentered, Vyllea and I reappeared within the storage.

The bizarre sequence of events left me utterly bewildered. This wasn’t supposed to happen — or was it?

“So that’s how it works,” Guerlon said in a cryptic voice, forcing me to engage my brain to its fullest.

The wormhole had transported us to a sealed area created ten thousand years ago. Why? Likely because our plaques marked us as “embodying the will of the Heavens.” That was the only logical explanation for how we ended up at the boundary between the Third and Second Circles of the demon world.

The place we had arrived at was sealed off from the outside. The attempt to use a wormhole seed confirmed that standard exits didn’t work. I had no reason to doubt the elder’s claims. The fact that I’d managed to pull the house into the anomaly was sheer luck.

This accident created a space-within-a-space, combining a timeless zone with a temporal anomaly. As a result, Vyllea and I gained corporeal forms within the house, essentially becoming part of it. When the house was extracted from the anomaly, our bodies in the demon world vanished, manifesting within the house and relocating us to a new area.

Why this worked was a mystery. Normally, I could operate on three levels of consciousnesses simultaneously: one for the real world, one for the spiritual, and one for the spatial storage. But once I got inside the house with the door closed, the other two levels dimmed, leaving only my primary consciousness.

“How much time has passed after we closed the door to the house?” I asked.

“About an hour,” Guerlon replied. “You disappeared again and didn’t respond. We had to pull the house out.”

“What happened to our bodies back in the demon world? Did they vanish? Gain new consciousness? Or become empty vessels, devoid of any awareness? A lot depends on the answer. I see you’re wearing a new bracelet,” Guerlon pointed out. “Care to explain where it came from?”

“A gift from the former owner of the house,” I said, finally noticing the new entrance to the spatial anomaly. It was situated right next to the original, so I hadn’t spotted it right away.

My consciousness slipped inside, and I froze for a moment, finding myself in a vast field that seemed endless. Paintings, books, statues, devices, maps, and scrolls filled the space, meticulously organized on shelves. The room I’d entered resembled a librarian’s study. On the desk lay a catalog — a relic akin to the Great Artifact of Huang Lung. I had no doubt it contained a record of everything stored within the anomaly.

My gaze landed on a nearby painting. Mentally retrieving it, I brought it into the real world without issue.

“How beautiful!” Vyllea gasped, marveling at my prize. “Is this part of the pre- Point Zero legacy?”

“Looks like someone has an interesting story to tell,” Guerlon said, glancing between Vyllea and me. “Or did you promise not to say anything?”

“No obligations, but the information is fascinating,” I replied. “Remember your theory that demons are actually of human origin? It’s not a theory — it’s true. Originally, the other world had nothing but lower demons inhabiting it. Then humans arrived, and… well, things escalated.”

I hesitated to share details about the librarians and their true purpose with the group. These beings — or rather, this singular entity — had lived in our world for ten thousand years. If it intended harm, it would have acted long ago. It had more than enough time.

Instead, the librarian had not only established itself in both worlds, but also forged agreements with the emperor and king on how to operate and distribute information. One thing puzzled me, though — the librarian had mentioned some of its “brothers” going to drink tea with the Heavens. Did that mean it could be killed? Or was it merely shedding its forms like a snake discards old skin?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter. If the librarian had survived this long, it would endure a while longer. Confronting it was foolish and shortsighted. Cooperation was the key, especially if I wanted to unlock the secrets of breaking through the body’s barrier — knowledge I needed desperately.

“I suppose you’re right not to discuss this inside the anomaly,” I said, nodding toward Guerlon. “Just because this entity can’t enter structured areas doesn’t mean it can’t hear what we say. Our storage is surrounded by the backworld, and who knows what creatures lurk there. Information like this should only be shared face-to-face, after confirming no one else is nearby.”

In this, Guerlon was absolutely correct — no one else was present. Althea, Læogh, and their guardian were in the study, working through documents. Rincede was replacing her father at the estate, training students. Benlad Bao wouldn’t stoop to such tasks himself, being the head of a great house. Meanwhile, Elda and Carmin were preparing to transition to the Third Tier. House Kahn, which ruled the Second Tier, had appointed a new leader for the Seekers’ guild — ironically, former commander Artimal Kahn, who was now a candidate for first-rank Seeker.

Why a candidate? Officially, he couldn’t yet become a Seeker. Plates did exist, but no one had direct access to the clan head anymore. As a result, neither could we make our apprentices full-fledged Seekers, nor could other Seekers verify their own status. We also didn’t know how to independently update the names on the plates.

“The house needs testing,” Guerlon said firmly. “We need to understand what happens to the bodies during transitions and how time inside the house relates to the real world. Zander, it’s up to you.”

“Without me?” Vyllea raised an eyebrow. “I’m not letting my husband go anywhere alone. If we’re testing, we’re doing it together.”

A clever way of saying that if something went wrong, we’d face it together. What if found ourselves in some unexpected location yet again? There was no arguing with her logic, so we proceeded.

Vyllea and I entered the house under the watchful gaze of our anxious apprentices, still rattled by our earlier disappearance. The moment the door shut behind us, we regained our corporeal forms. We stayed inside for a few minutes before stepping out again.

This time, we emerged in reality — in the same courtyard as before, albeit at the opposite edge.

Rincede stood beside Guerlon. She had already completed her training and returned to the palace. At our appearance, her face became the usual emotionless mask. I had already gotten used to it by now.

Once outside, I returned the house to the storage and turned to Guerlon.

“For us, five minutes have elapsed.”

“For us, it was four hours,” Guerlon said thoughtfully. “The time disparity is nonlinear. More tests are needed.”

“What about the bodies?”

“As soon as the doors to the anomaly closed, they vanished — evaporated, as if teleported elsewhere. Go back into the house, close the door, wait ten seconds, then open it again and try stepping out.”

Executing these instructions was straightforward. Once again, my extra consciousness levels dimmed as the door closed. But upon exiting, everything returned to normal — except for the courtyard, which now looked as though a firestorm had swept through it.

“You vanished when the door closed, but reappeared upon exiting the house. It seems this structure serves not only as a teleportation device for the group, but also as a safety mechanism. You didn’t become invisible — you ceased to exist, at least temporarily. For example, my fire, which I used throughout the courtyard, did you no harm. That’s something to consider.” Guerlon’s voice was laden with deep contemplation. My blood brother rarely became this absorbed in thought.

“Elda, Carmin, have you gathered your belongings? Are you ready to move to the Third Tier?”

“We’re ready,” Elda replied. “We’re heading east to pass through the barrier breach. They say demons don’t harm Seekers.”

“Stop. Return all your belongings to the anomaly,” Guerlon ordered. “When you’re ready, enter the house and shut the door behind you.”

The apprentices exchanged glances. They hadn’t witnessed our experiments and had no idea what was happening. Guerlon was right — discussing this in the anomaly was risky. Still, none of the apprentices dared argue. Guerlon had never given them a reason to doubt his commands.

When instructed to jump into the house, they complied without question. They returned one of our self-propelled carts to the anomaly — we’d acquired several during our adventures — and entered the building, closing the doors behind them. At that moment, Guerlon began materializing the house in reality.

The process looked… strange. The house formed slowly, as though painted by a mad artist. First came the foundation, followed by the walls, roof, and interior. The entire process took about ten minutes.

Within the anomaly, the house had turned into a projection, similar to our incorporeal forms. Once the projection vanished, Guerlon appeared next to the entrance and opened the door.

“Come out!”

Carmin stepped out first, sword in hand, looking cautious. Upon seeing Vyllea, Rincede, and me, he frowned and glanced questioningly at Guerlon. Elda followed, her calm demeanor betraying no surprise. She must have assessed their new location quickly using her spirit vision.

Elda removed her amulet and took a deep breath. The Second Tier had scant energy for full-fledged Masters, and without their energy-hunger-blocking amulets, our apprentices wouldn’t have lasted long there.

Elda turned and examined the house with interest.

“Fascinating. Althea doesn’t know about this yet, does she?”

“No one speaks of this house inside the anomaly,” Guerlon explained. “Althea, Læogh, we need you here now. Take a break — the paperwork can wait. Zander has something to share.”

For the first time, our group was complete. Eight people, organized into four pairs. Three official Seekers, four apprentices, and one Rincede — whose status remained ambiguous. Wife? Yes. But her new spotted clothing suggested she might have taken the path of the Seekers. Another apprentice, perhaps? Also likely.

When Althea and Læogh joined us, they stood frozen in confusion, unsure why extra people were present. Guerlon activated a protective formation to shield us from eavesdroppers. I checked — it excluded their guardian, who still believed no one knew of his existence. The self-proclaimed great demon thought he was hidden from the world.

Once satisfied that no one could overhear us, I began my explanation. Starting with the wormhole formation and our arrival in the strange zone, I continued with the discovery of the infinite sea of ancient knowledge and concluded with the transfer of Carmin and Elda to the Third Tier.

Just as I neared the end, Vyllea’s voice rang out, filled with anguish.

“Zander, they’re gone! My wormhole seeds — they stayed behind in the demon world! That cursed house refused to bring them along! Zander, do something!”

Chapter 4

VYLLEA SAT IN CUPCAKE’S SEAT with a thousand-yard-stare on her face, having gone completely non-verbal. Not even treats could lift her spirits. The sense of loss hit her so hard that even Burwal’s pastries failed to bring her joy. And those weren’t just any pastries baked to the recipe — these actually came from the artificer’s bakery. We’d stopped by his estate to inquire about his current whereabouts. His rescued family had thanked us profusely, but no one — not even the servants — knew what had become of their master. One day he simply packed up and vanished without a word, taking all the healing capsules along. The estate manager, long accustomed to Burwal’s eccentricities, shrugged it off. The man rarely explained himself, and this time was no exception. He did leave one directive — if Seekers Zander and Vyllea ever arrived, they were to be treated as if they were Burwal himself. Free access, no objections, and respect at every turn. He knew we could be trusted — the Heavens would permit the Seekers no abuse of his hospitality.

Vyllea had to create yet another wormhole seed, which could then be used to open a new passage to the demon world. We’d learned that wormhole coordinators could only generate seeds from the backworld about once a week, and sometimes less often. Destroying stable wormholes was something Vyllea could do every minute if she wanted. But creating one from scratch — drawing power from the backworld and structuring it into something tangible — wasn’t an everyday feat.

So there she sat, sullen and frustrated.

We reopened the passage at the same location as last time, hoping to return to the same spot and recover the dropped items. But this time, the Heavens seemed not to favor us — or, perhaps, they did, after all. We found ourselves in the energy-saturated Third Circle, near its very center. Spirit vision revealed no closed anomalies or anything similar. Instead, we saw villages, towns, and farms stretched out in all directions. Peasants worked the barren land, lower demons scurried about, and flowers bloomed, nearly all of them on their way to ascension. It looked remarkably similar to our world and bore no resemblance to the secluded zone of the ancient Keepers.

Cupcake moved steadily and confidently. A number of demons had approached us along the way — most likely guards or overly curious onlookers. Yet each time they neared the aura of Silver Overlords, they remembered some urgent business elsewhere and quickly fled. In the Third Circle, Overlords rarely ventured this far from the capital.

It didn’t take long to determine where the wormhole had dropped us — about a month’s leisurely ride from the capital of the Third Circle’s southern sector. That was an immense distance in demon terms. But distance wasn’t measured in time here — it was measured in the cost of teleportation. Roads were only used by those who couldn’t risk entering portals — outlaws, fugitives, and other individuals who feared being redirected to the central palace for an interrogation by one of the princes.

Vyllea and I had nothing to hide. Even if we were searched — a laughable idea for Silver Overlords — no one would find anything illegal. Not even any wormhole seeds, which transitioned through portals with ease, even if they couldn’t travel inside our house. I wondered whether the portals only worked within a single world or whether you could travel to the human world that way. I wondered who might possess that information — and immediately realized that I had no wish of communicating with those who surely did. The librarians — or, rather, the Librarian. Getting used to the idea it was a single entity wasn’t easy for me.

According to the maps of the Second and Third Circles we’d obtained, we had landed in a backwater region. The nearest teleport was three days’ slow travel toward the Fourth Circle — a border town serving as a formal boundary between the circles. Ideally, we’d have made the journey on flying swords, but Vyllea wasn’t in any state for such an effort. That she’d managed to create a wormhole was reason to celebrate enough.

What reassured me was her unique emotional resilience. Vyllea couldn’t stay upset for long. Her mood may have soured for a full day — she hadn’t even gone to sleep. But after twenty hours of traveling the demon world, her eyes regained focus, and she started paying attention to our escort. The demons still kept their distance, wary of approaching us. But as we neared Shrungle, their presence grew bolder. An Overlord would make an appearance on the horizon every now and then. However, the gap between Bronze and Silver Overlords was as vast as that between a Gold Master and a mere Candidate. They observed us from afar, but did nothing — until one particularly “audacious” group decided they were above fear. Their logic seemed to go along the lines of, “If they’re moving on the ground and not flying like proper demons or Overlords, they can’t be that powerful, so there’s no need to fear them.”

Sure enough, they blocked our path before too long.

“Who are you, and why are you heading to Shrungle? The Chugaron Tribe watches over these lands. We won’t allow undesirables to loiter as they will!”

Three demons barred the way.

To their credit, they came prepared. A Bronze Overlord led the group — an impressive luxury for this backwater. Two Gold Masters flanked him, likely to make their leader seem more imposing. All three rode flying swords, belonged to the same tribe, and were “clean” — untainted by cultist ascension, that is.

Lately, I’d found myself dividing all beings into two categories: those somehow entangled in cultist ascension, who deserved elimination — and everyone else. The latter group’s morality didn’t matter — good or bad, their path to ascension was their own.

I suppose I was finally becoming a true Seeker.

Best not to let Guerlon know — he’d dissect my thoughts with his ruthless logic.

Vyllea’s eyes flared with anger. The demon hovering in front of Cupcake clearly knew he was addressing two Silver Overlords, yet he opened with neither respect nor deference. Instead, he flaunted the supposed power of his tribe — a tribe we knew nothing about.

If Almyrda had trained her daughter before I took her under my wing, Vyllea had long since forgotten everything. It was a wonder she even remembered her own name. I realized I’d grown complacent. While Vyllea could absorb the others’ energy, she did so in a peculiar and limited way — only what I taught her to sense. I needed to continue her training and find a way to make her see threads of power by herself. That was the only way to shatter the mental block impeding her ascension.

“Are you addressing us, boy?” Vyllea asked coldly. Judging by appearances, she looked half the Bronze Overlord’s age, but it didn’t faze her.

“Is there anyone else here?” The Bronze Overlord was deaf to reason — or simply lacked any sense of self-preservation. It happens, rarely — and briefly. “The Chugaron Tribe is an independent branch of the Li Tribe!”

“Li? Did you say Li?” Vyllea’s voice dropped so low it sent a chill down my spine. It could only mean one thing — she intended to kill.

“The leader of our tribe and the representatives of the Li Tribe are already aware that Seekers from the human world are heading to Shrungle. The only thing sparing you from death is that you appear to be demons. But you will be inspected. Humans are deceitful and treacherous, willing to stoop to anything to get what they want. You’ll undergo a search! But first, I demand an answer to my question. Who are you, and why are you traveling to our city?”

“Go ahead,” I said, releasing Vyllea to act.

The audacity of this demon, relying not even on his own tribe, but the reputation of another, was staggering. He didn’t even bother introducing himself, assuming that the names “Chugaron” and “Li” would strike awe into us. Such arrogance demanded correction.

The demon resisted, even attempting to block Vyllea’s energy absorption. He managed to turn toward her, only for his flying sword to lose power and plummet to the ground like a rock. We didn’t even consider the Gold Masters flanking him as threats. A brief release of aura from our Silver-tier conjunction pinned them in place, leaving us to focus entirely on the Bronze Overlord.

When his barriers finally crumbled, the energy from his spirit core surged into our conjoined core. Vyllea reached him, her jian stopping a hair’s breadth from his neck. His spiritual armor had been stripped away.

“Zander?” Vyllea looked back at me in surprise. My projection within the storage yelled for her to spare him loud enough to halt her bloodlust for a moment.

“He’s a Bronze Overlord,” I reminded her, “from the Chugaron Tribe.”

The demon, frozen in place like a statue, exhaled in relief and looked at Vyllea with a smug superiority. His expression said it all — if the male had called off the attack, the female should obey and submit. Surely he’d realized by now the dire consequences of opposing the mighty tribe he so proudly represented.

Vyllea’s fury boiled over.

“And? Am I supposed to kneel before him because of that? Don’t test me, Zander!”

“Remember what you told me about your foster father,” I said evenly. “He’s a Gold Overlord. Are you sure you can handle the aftermath of fulfilling that desire without preparation? This one is a Bronze Overlord of the Chugaron Tribe. If you consume him, no one will care — his tribe and his status are absolutely inconsequential. But this is your chance to understand just how intense the energy of a spirit core is, even if it’s an empty one.”

“What?!” The demon cried in outrage. “My name is Oritis Chugaron! I am the third son of the chief advisor to the leader of the Chugaron Tribe! Release me at once, or — ”

He didn’t finish. He gasped and collapsed to the ground, his terrified eyes fixed on the small gray spirit core wrenched from his chest. Vyllea hadn’t bothered with his meridians or energy cores. She had no interest in them anymore. But she’d never consumed a spirit core before.

Holding the gray, bloodied, and slimy orb, she brought it to her lips but couldn’t take the final step. Sniffing it, she recoiled and hurled it to the ground.

“What a disgusting thing.” She grimaced. “This is your fault, Zander! You’ve spoiled me with your pastries and other perks of the ascension process. Now I can’t even look at this filth without gagging. Heavens, did I really used to eat this stuff? Stuffing myself with meridians, gnawing on cores, that kind of thing?”

“Ten years ago, that was your entire diet,” I said with a smile. “Looks like you’ve become more… human, my dear.”

“Spend enough time with someone, and you’ll end up having kids that look like them,” Vyllea quipped back.

She crouched, stripping the corpse of artifacts and spatial pouch. The pouch was crafted with proper storage protections, far superior to the crude imitations made by amateur demons in the First Circle.

“Zander, I’m too lazy to search him. Does he have anything else valuable on him?”

“The flying sword,” I said, nodding toward the weapon still attached to the body. “And those two swords under the Gold Masters. Their pouches and amulets could be useful too. Do you want them?”

“No.” Vyllea’s voice was hard as her hand erupted in devouring flames. In moments, the Bronze Overlord and his weapon were reduced to ash.

“Since when did my wife become so wasteful?” I asked, genuinely surprised. This wasn’t like her. Vyllea usually stashed everything in the anomaly to analyze and sell later. But her anger — perhaps mixed with frustration at her condition — had made her destroy an expensive artifact without a second thought.

“Zander, drop the aura,” she requested.

The Gold Masters stopped writhing and quieted. One even managed to lift his head, staring wide-eyed at the charred remains of his leader. Or whatever Oritis Chugaron had been to him.

Satisfied the survivor had grasped the situation, Vyllea spoke,

“Did you see what just happened? Now get your asses up and move them! Take the other one with you. Tell whoever was responsible for this incompetence that they dared raise their voice in the presence of their Elders. If anyone has any complaints, they can address me or my husband in a couple of days when we reach Shrungle. Repeat it!”

The Master snapped to attention, repeating her words verbatim.

“Now hand over your pouch, and you’re free to go.”

“My pouch? No! That’s — ” He collapsed mid-protest, buried beneath a slab of earth he couldn’t repel. Vyllea retrieved the pouch from the bloody mess without hesitation. The Gold Master was unlikely to have anything of interest, but Vyllea couldn’t allow for someone to contravene her orders.

The second demon managed to compose himself quickly enough and made the smarter choice. He bowed low, extending his pouch with trembling hands.

“What a clever boy,” Vyllea said sweetly. “Did you memorize what to say?”

“Yes, Elder.”

“You’re dismissed. I’m done with you.”

The demon shot into the air, bowing deeply and accelerating so quickly he vanished from sight in moments. Vyllea incinerated what remained of the flattened Master, then climbed into Cupcake, stretching languidly.

“Enough suffering. Let’s go, husband! I’ve done my part to make sure trouble is waiting for us up ahead. Let’s not keep it waiting!”

Her ruthless obliteration of the two demons had noticeably improved her mood. She even pulled out her snacks, grumbling something about Althea and Elda casting too many covetous glances at her tray. Rincede, on the other hand, hadn’t set foot in our section of the anomaly since Guerlon had given her a tour of its resources. After that, she’d avoided the area as though it might bite her. Strange girl.

It took us two days to reach the illustrious city of Shrungle. Vyllea had suggested we gave the demons some time to prepare. Everyone understood that even if they managed to summon a Nascent God, it was unlikely to surpass our conjoined spirit core.

During our time with the Keeper of Ancient Knowledge — when we lost two months in the real world — our cores had nearly fully recovered. While we experienced the passage of time as a mere couple of hours, the cores underwent two months of peace and restoration. This allowed them to strengthen and adapt to the new changes. Our bodies still lagged behind — the influx of power was too rapid, occasionally causing a sense that my chest might burst. But overall, the adaptation was progressing in leaps and bounds. Absorbing the energy of the Bronze Overlord hadn’t affected us at all. More importantly, our conjoined core had condensed and prepared for the next rank — or, for Overlords, the next stage of ascension. We were on the verge of becoming Nascent Gods, albeit only in conjunction. Meeting an equally powerful demon wouldn’t be without challenges, but it wouldn’t be dangerous.

“Are they expecting us?” Vyllea asked, eyeing the enormous city. It lay in a lowland, beside a wide and powerful river — a rarity in this world, where water preferred to flow underground, often deep enough to be accessible only to the most determined demons or plants.

“From what I can see, they’re not,” I replied, surprised.

Shrungle lay before me like an open book, yet I sensed no directed aggression aimed at us. True, demons gathered in clusters, and the city teemed with Overlords of various ranks. I even spotted three Nascent Gods — likely leaders of the local great tribes or wardens of their respective sectors. The demon world had a slightly different system of governance — each Nascent God ruled a small territory as they saw fit. Once, Shang Li, the cunning Silver Overlord, used Guerlon’s Seeker Plates to destroy one such “observer,” absorbing his power. The Silver Overlord ascended to Gold, pinning all the blame on Guerlon. He claimed it was the Diamond Master who had destroyed the Nascent God. In truth, I had the impression that Shang Li had consumed the observer solely to divert suspicion from his own rapid rise. Now, no one would question how he had managed to become, say, a Nascent God. No matter — we’d be paying him a visit soon, and we would certainly have a thorough conversation about it.

“Didn’t make it?” Vyllea mused. “Knew I should have left the first Master alive. The second one rubbed me the wrong way. Useless idiot — didn’t even have anything worthwhile in his pouch. Just junk.”

She was exaggerating. The spoils from the three demons were respectable. The Overlord belonged to a wealthy tribe — Althea had discovered numerous items from the central palace among his belongings. However, she knew nothing about the Chugaron Tribe. Green-haired and pragmatic as ever, she dismissed the idea of remembering every exile who’d lost the trust of the Li Tribe as pointless.

“No, it appears he’s made it,” I corrected her.

I quickly pinpointed the Gold Master we’d released. He was in one of the central palaces, apparently training. There wasn’t much movement to speak of — or so it seemed at first. Upon closer inspection, one noticed significant activity unfolding.

All three Nascent Gods, along with dozens of Overlords of varying ranks, had been gathering in a small building resembling an auction house — though not an official one. This was a private, even secretive, auction. The building was far from the center of the city, accessible only by underground tunnels lined with ancient metal. The building itself was also encased in this metal. Whoever organized this gathering had taken security seriously. Participants were housed in individual rooms, each fitted with energy-blocking restraints on their wrists and necks. Even the Nascent Gods wore these metal devices, indicating an extraordinary level of trust in the organizers.

I smirked as I scanned Shrungle with spirit vision again. The Bohao cultists were conspicuously absent from this part of the demon world. Not a single creature carried the telltale murky yellow sludge in their blood.

But the absence of one cult was counterbalanced by the presence of another.

The majority of Overlords heading to the auction carried grotesque blood clots in their chests. One of the Nascent Gods, housed in the auction’s largest room, possessed a similar clot inside. Incidentally, this individual was the only participant not wearing energy-blocking restraints.

Most disturbingly, a vast underground cultist-controlled zone lay directly beneath the secret auction. It housed an altar and an enormous prison camp filled with captives — several thousand by my estimate. There wasn’t a single ordinary demon or human among them. Only those on the path of ascension had been taken, all at least at the Warrior stage. Among them, there was even a Gold Overlord — unconscious but alive.

As participants continued to arrive, the organizers began preparing the auction items — various artifacts, elemental hearts, rare resources, and — most notably — two spirit core foundations. These were crucial for Elda and Carmin to ascend to Overlords — or for us to take full control of our spirit core and push it to the next level. While it was possible to ascend without one, it would facilitate the process significantly.

“Zander!” Vyllea’s annoyed voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “What’s going on?”

“We’re of no interest to anyone,” I sighed, weighing my options. “Let’s change that. Are you ready to spend some serious money? We’re going to crash this secret auction. And I dare them to try keeping us out.”

Chapter 5

ENTERING SHRUNGLE POSED no difficulties. The guards dared not stop us, wisely deducing that Silver Overlords traveling in an outrageously expensive self-propelled carriage likely had important business in the city. Stopping such figures might earn a blast of some technique to one’s face, and while their superiors might later reprimand us or even demand a fine for any damage to the city, it wouldn’t benefit the unfortunate guard who’d end up dead.

We allowed them to run a detection artifact over us before we passed through the massive gates. Flying over Shrungle was prohibited by a defensive formation clearly crafted by someone far beyond an Overlord’s capability. I counted twenty anchors, each with power exceeding ours by a significant margin. Absorbing such a formation was technically possible with the right techniques, but the process would involve substantial suffering — a word that felt almost synonymous with my name, incidentally. And “suffering” could literally mean every hardship this world might throw at someone. The Heavens sure did love their surprises.

The participants of the secret auction were nearly finalized. Guests awaiting the event’s commencement enjoyed performances by musicians and dancers. The organizers ensured that no one grew bored, offering refreshments, food, and, for some, the company of five or six companions at once, as if quantity could enhance the experience. Spirit vision was both enlightening and a little too revealing in such cases. Vyllea would probably rip my head off for entertaining the very idea of such indulgence — which was just as well.

Two rooms remained available at the secret auction, and I watched as two Overlords bearing the marks of bloody rituals made their way to the underground entrances. One had already entered, using a pass — a plaque-like artifact. Notably, there were no energy links between the Overlord and the artifact, meaning it wasn’t personalized. We couldn’t intercept the first Overlord in time, but the second still had a few streets to cross before reaching the entrance concealed in one of the city’s restaurants.

From the outside, the restaurant seemed unremarkable, and no one found it odd that an Overlord chose to visit. The entrance to the underground passage was hidden in a room lined with ancient human metal, invisible to anyone without spirit vision.

“Do the esteemed guests wish to dine?” We reached the restaurant before the Overlord. We’d stowed Cupcake and raced across rooftops using motion techniques to gain the advantage. A hostess greeted us — a charming woman whose radiant smile gave the impression she had been waiting her entire life to welcome us.

“The best private room,” I said, tossing her a pouch containing a hundred spirit coins. Curiously, in both the human and demon worlds, currency was identical, as if minted by the same entity. I had a strong suspicion these coins weren’t produced by clans or noble houses, but rather by the Librarians. That was just a hunch, though, with no hard evidence.

“Follow me, please.” The pouch vanished from sight before it even hit the table. Her smile widened further, as though we were long-lost family. Pleasant, yes, but also grating. Was there anyone who genuinely enjoyed such overt servility?

The restaurant prided itself on privacy. The space was divided into closed booths with protective seals on the doors, ensuring that no one could enter without the guest’s permission or assistance from staff. Judging by the view, the hostess was leading us to a booth overlooking a plaza with a fountain and the palace of a prominent tribe. However, I had other plans.

Stopping before the booth directly opposite the metal-clad room, I pointed at its door for emphasis.

“I want this one. This is the best booth in your establishment.”

“As you wish, esteemed guests.” She didn’t hesitate, and another pouch of coins vanished midair.

“You’ll receive the same again if you enter our booth four hours from now. The money will be waiting on the table. Until then, no one is to disturb us — not even the waiters. Understood?”

“As you wish, Elders.” She gestured for us to place our hands on the door’s surface, so the booth’s enchantments could recognize us as temporary owners. Without this, we wouldn’t be able to open it again. Once we complied, the hostess returned to her post, pausing only to warn an overeager waiter about the peculiar nature of her new guests. No doubt we’d be the subject of some chatter, but that was the least of my concerns.

My attention was focused on the Copper Overlord who had finally reached the restaurant. The last auction participant hurried to claim their place.

The Overlord was accompanied by two ordinary demons untainted by cultist rituals, entering the building with familiarity and barely acknowledging the hostess before rushing further inside. He knew he was late, and those already gathered — especially the Nascent Gods — would not appreciate the delay. Typically, Nascent Gods arrived last to avoid wasting their time, but here, they had arrived first, indulging in the hospitality of the event organizers.

The Overlord moved with urgency, activating motion techniques as he nearly pushed past me. He paid no attention to my rank, likely assuming I was merely another Overlord. Reaching the door to the concealed room, he pressed his plaque against it, deactivating the lock, and stepped aside to let his companions enter.

“Hurry up, you worthless fools! We’re late!” he barked.

As I suspected, the demon couldn’t think of anything except the punishment he’d face for being late. He barely registered Vyllea and me, a mistake that proved fatal. The moment the cultist and his two companions stepped into the room, Vyllea transformed into death incarnate. There was no time for interrogations or discussions — our target was the plaque clutched in the demon’s hands. The doors leading to the underground part of the city were locked, and one couldn’t rely on conventional techniques within a chamber made of ancient metal. But the key word here was “conventional,” because ancient metal held no sway over Taoists with conjoined energy.

A lethal bolt of lightning streaked from one side of the room to the other. The Copper Overlord managed to draw his jian in an attempt to block the attack, but that was as far as his resistance went. Three swift strikes later, three lifeless bodies crumpled to the floor. The room reeked of rot — the cultists left an unbearable stench when they died. Fortunately, the hermetically sealed chamber of ancient metal would keep any stray Nascent Gods roaming the city from using spirit vision to spy on the scene. We wouldn’t be scaring off the restaurant’s patrons with the stench, either, as the bodies disappeared quickly. After securing the plaque, I tossed the corpses into an anomaly to deal with later.

The Copper Overlord’s spatial pouch would doubtlessly a trove of treasures. The demon must have brought along plenty of valuables in preparation for the auction. Checking its contents immediately would have been ideal, but we were already behind schedule. After unlocking the door to the underground passage, Vyllea and I leapt in and raced down the corridors, using our techniques to make up for lost time. Guards stationed along the halls merely watched as we passed. The glowing red plaque in my hand signaled our unquestionable right to be there.

Eventually, we reached the designated building. From the outside, it was an unassuming little house, indistinguishable from the thousands of others in the city. Even entering from the street would reveal nothing suspicious — there was nothing here but ordinary furnishings and ordinary demons. But behind the thick walls plated with ancient metal lay something completely different. Finally, after a short voyage through a bunch of convoluted underground corridors, we reached our destination.

The passage ended at a massive door, guarded by none other than a Silver Overlord. A cultist, of course, but the fact that someone of such power was employed as a mere doorman spoke volumes about the importance of the event. This was no small-town auction — it was a meticulously organized gathering of considerable significance.

We stopped mere steps from the guard, employing our techniques to halt. He didn’t flinch, confident in the immense power standing behind him — and his own, which wasn’t insignificant, either. The guard didn’t utter a word. Remembering how the Overlord we’d killed earlier had gained entry to the hidden room in the restaurant, I pressed the plaque to the energy convergence point reinforced with seals on the door. This door had a similar focal point, though its placement differed. The guard’s lack of reaction suggested he was waiting for us to follow the standard procedure — or, perhaps, testing us.

A click resounded as the plaque activated the mechanism. Slowly, the heavy door began to move, pushed by unseen techniques. Composed of an ancient metal alloy, it was impenetrable even to a Nascent God. The defense here was unparalleled.

“You’re late!” the guard barked.

“It happens,” I replied, neither flustered nor offering an explanation. Elders didn’t concern themselves with such trivialities. The Silver Overlord scowled, sensing our strength and realizing we were his equals. He also understood that we recognized this fact, yet refused to act as equals should. When the burning sensation between my shoulder blades grew unbearable and the door wasn’t fully open, I turned to meet the cultist’s gaze.

I made no effort to hide my desire to kill him. Monsters like him didn’t deserve a place under the sun, even though the demon world lacked a sun to shine upon them. Whatever the cultist saw in my eyes, it made him flinch and lower his head, acknowledging his defeat and my absolute right to be late. He was just a guard. The real adversaries awaited inside, and it wasn’t worth risking everything to kill him now. His time would come.

“Your invitation!” A sharp voice broke the tension as the door cracked open, and a petite girl dashed into the corridor. She might have been considered pretty if not for the cult’s mark on her. To become a Copper Overlord, she had willingly tortured people on an altar. Unlike the Bohao cult with its specially-trained executioners, blood cults required the beneficiary’s direct participation in the ritual. A delicate flower indeed — one the Heavens should have snuffed out as soon as it blossomed. Lovely on the outside, rotten within.

The girl snatched the plaque and glanced at it before her face lit up with relief.

“At last! Everyone else is already here! Five more minutes. and you’d have been barred from the auction forever! Follow me — quickly! The master is already displeased!”

And so, we ran. Like trainees during their first mentor’s drills, without techniques or enhancements, moving as though we were mere mortals — or rather, mere demons.

We approached our designated room, where a pair of servants waited for us. They fitted us with metal bands designed to block standard techniques — two on our wrists and one on our necks. The sensation was unpleasant, to say the least. Seeing energy but being unable to manipulate it was a particularly cruel punishment. I tried to draw a free thread of power into myself, but it refused to obey. The special metal not only suppressed techniques, but neutralized energy vampires as well.

The one consolation was that spirit vision, especially enhanced by ancient devices as it was in my case, remained unaffected. I wasn’t rendered blind.

“So infuriating!” Vyllea growled, glaring at the bands on her wrists. “Zander, do we really have to go through this?”

“I’ll remove them later,” I assured her after confirming that conjoined techniques still functioned. Our invisible energy responded like an obedient hound, as did the spatial anomaly. I doubted anything in this world could block it.

The doors opened again, and the staff arrived. They brought drinks and food. Two scantily clad women lingered at the entrance, unwilling to enter but positioning themselves where we could see them. I hadn’t told Vyllea about the activities in the neighboring rooms, so the presence of these “priestesses of love” came as an unpleasant surprise. Vyllea turned to me, clearly intending to vent her opinion of this male-revered profession. Before she could speak, the auction master’s voice spared me from her tirade.

The dancers and musicians left the stage, handing it over entirely to the organizers of the secret auction.

“Honored guests! At last, our final participant has taken their seat, and we are ready to begin the auction! I must assure you, the tardy party will face severe penalties — as per the rules of our auction, the price of all items will double for them. I understand we’ve already delayed the start long enough, so without further ado, allow me to present the first lot of today’s auction. However, before we proceed, I cannot miss the chance to express my gratitude to our master, a Nascent God of Copper rank, the great Chimat Li!”

Vyllea spun toward the arena so sharply that the attendants who had entered our room bolted out like lightning and shut the door behind them. We needed neither food nor drink, nor any of the additional services they hinted at. My wife’s full attention was riveted to the demon addressing the crowd from the main arena.

“Judging by your reaction, you recognize that name,” I said, uninterested in the gushing praise of today’s great and glorious host and the exotic origins of the items on display. Vyllea didn’t answer for a long time, but when she finally spoke, her voice carried a note of incandescent loathing I’d never heard before.

“My mother mentioned that name when we visited her. Chimat Li is Shang Li’s right hand. His loyal lapdog, who wouldn’t dare so much as cough without his master’s approval. When the Overlord Shang Li decided the Urbangos tribe should belong to him, he came to our home with Chimat. It was Chimat who killed my second mother when she refused to submit. He didn’t touch my father — Shang Li devoured him personally. My birth mother, Almyrda, understood the tribe might be wiped out and chose to surrender. She bowed to Shang Li’s power and lived with the belief he’d moved on. But he returned, offering a deal she couldn’t refuse. Ancient metal. All demons crave that cursed material, and they’ll kill anyone and everyone for it. Zander, Chimat Li must not leave this city.”

“He won’t,” I agreed, assuming the responsibility — or was it really a duty? Either way, I had to destroy the cultist. Whether I acted in the name of the Heavens or for my wife’s sake, the outcome was the same. Yet questions sprang to mind immediately, ones Vyllea couldn’t answer.

First off, if Chimat Li was a Nascent God, did that mean Shang Li had also ascended to the next stage? A dangerous and experienced opponent stronger than us in rank spelled trouble, to say the least. But the second question overshadowed the first. Shang Li supplied ancient metals and devices to the Bohao cultists. Most likely, he belonged to that cult himself. So why had his right hand joined a blood cult? Was there not enough ancient energy to go around? Or had Chimat decided he couldn’t advance under Shang Li’s shadow and struck out on his own, founding his own cult?

It hit me like a bolt of lightning — my second question contained the answer to everything! Chimat Li used to be a dependent figure. Now he’d settled in a town in the boondocks — practically in the middle of nowhere if not for the teleportation portal. And he’d turned into a local demigod. And that altar wasn’t his! It had once belonged to the destroyed Querancy cult — that was why it seemed familiar! When Advisor Delilah eradicated the cult’s god, their altars weren’t destroyed — they simply became unclaimed. Chimat must have seized one and set up his cult here in Shrungle. The Cult of Chimat! That was why there were so few cultists in the city, and why all of them were Overlords. That was also why there weren’t any ordinary demons or humans among the captives. Chimat was still adjusting to his role as a god, lording over others from his cushioned seat and grinning in satisfaction at his handpicked guests about to start spending their resources to enrich their master.

We’d stumbled upon this cult at its very beginning, and if we rooted it out now, this blight wouldn’t spread any further!

It only took me a few minutes to explain my thoughts to the group. Althea, who usually remained composed, uttered a curse so vicious and crude that everyone stared at her in shock. She knew exactly who Chimat Li was — one of the many “petitioners” who’d pestered her father with pleas to rejoin the Lin tribe. After all, it wasn’t him who’d been exiled, but his long-dead distant ancestor. She was seething at the thought that a blood-soaked cultist had once been a guest in her home, meeting with her father. Her fury grew so intense she began glaring at the teleportation portal, as if daring me to drag her into the demon world so she could deal with Chimat personally.

“Need help?” Guerlon asked in a casual voice.

“If you really want to help, head to the swamp. We need more toad spit. There are three Nascent Gods here, but we only have two doses of venom.”

“Every Seeker is responsible for their own weapons. What about wormhole seeds?”

“Vyllea cannot make them yet, so we’re out. It’s fine, though. The only person of interest here is Chimat Li. The other two Nascent Gods are clean — probably just here for the auction. After all, the items I can see with spirit vision are incredibly valuable. The two spirit foundations alone are worth a fortune.”

“You do realize we need them, of course,” Elda remarked, sparking laughter all around. Vyllea’s catchphrase had apparently become infectious, spreading among the women. Except for Rincede, of course. She just looked around in confusion, failing to grasp the joke.

We might have continued chatting, but by then, the auctioneer had finished extolling Chimat Li’s alleged grand achievements. As a pause settled over the arena, the first lot was brought out — not pulled from a spatial pouch, but carried in on an ornate tray to emphasize its value.

“Allow me to present the first lot of today’s auction! A Silver Nascent-God-level defensive formation with thirty anchors! Its coverage spans fifteen square miles, offering outstanding protection not just for your estate, but an entire city if needed! The starting bid is one hundred thousand spirit coins. The bid increment is ten thousand. Esteemed participants, place your bids and make this rare treasure yours!”

“We need it, don’t we?” Vyllea asked, her gaze fixed on the arena. I flipped through the auction rules conveniently provided in every room. They were much the same as those we’d encountered before — payment could be made in spirit coins or other valuable items, some of which might even be added as new lots. The only thing holding me back from purchasing the formation was its impracticality. A treasure of such power was impressive, but I didn’t have a city of my own to shield with a dome.

The other participants, however, had no such reservations. The artifact’s price soared past five hundred thousand and kept climbing. Room after room lit up with new bids, so quickly the auctioneer couldn’t always announce them before another followed. Around the million mark, the demons began to settle down. The winner was one of the Nascent Gods, likely representing a city. It seemed unlikely they’d use the formation for their palace — or would they?

“Now let us present the second lot — and it’s a surprise right away! The Lin tribe has cast us out, stripping us of one of our letters, but we prove our strength not with words, but deeds! Esteemed participants, get ready for a magnificent item that will crown any ascension ceremony! A Gold-ranked Overlord brought here directly from the central palace! Allow me to present the deputy headmistress of the Blue Lotus School in the Second Circle — Ærinn Lin!”

The servants pulled back the curtain, revealing a platform upon which — to our shock and surprise — lay the naked body of Mentor Ærinn. She was unconscious, her wrists and neck bound by plaques that blocked techniques. Even in her subdued state, the cultists clearly feared her.

“The starting bid is fifty thousand spirit coins, with increments of ten thousand. Esteemed participants, place your bids — and you may do with this body as you please!”

“Zander!” Vyllea snarled, slamming the bidding button first. “We need her!”

“No, Vyllea,” I replied coldly. “We don’t just need her. We’re taking everything in this place, because every participant and organizer of this auction has just signed their own death warrant. Guerlon, I need you. There’s work worthy of your skills here.”

Chapter 6

“ZANDER, TAKE THEM OFF already!” Vyllea growled, nearly snarling as she clawed at the technique-blocking steel bands. Despite their flimsy appearance, her strength as a Silver Overlord wasn’t enough to break them, and neither could any of our weapons so much as leave a scratch on their surface. Crafted by a Nascent God, these bands effortlessly withstood every attempt to destroy them. I couldn’t even drain their energy — every one of my techniques was neutralized. They were a perfect device for subduing anyone on the path to immortality. Once these bands were on, a demon or Taoist became nothing more than a powerless lump of flesh, capable only of swinging a weapon without even the aid of basic techniques.

“Three hundred thousand!” came the announcement from the arena. While Vyllea and I struggled with our restraints, the cultists were eagerly bidding for the right to possess Ærinn’s body. And Ærinn wasn’t just any demon — she was a Lin, and therefore a member of the demon world’s ruling tribe. That explained a lot about her education, Ascension stage, and the circumstances that had led her to this point. Becoming deputy head of a school, even one in the Second Circle, didn’t happen by chance.

“Ready!” Guerlon appeared at the door in record time, prepared to vanish into the strange state that allowed him to travel between locations. I stopped my futile attempts to break the bands and evaluated our situation. The secret auction was a precarious place to act rashly. Materializing our home here would instantly alert every demon to something amiss — half the hidden venue would crumble into ruins, leaving an unfamiliar structure in its wake. The only viable spot to bring forth the house was near the auction organizers. That area, too, would sustain damage, but not to the same catastrophic extent. The question was how to reach it. They wouldn’t just let us stroll out of our little room.

The answer came unexpectedly. The winner of the previous auction decided he wasn’t interested in the next few lots and summoned a representative to pay for his defensive formation and claim it immediately. Payment was handled in a separate chamber, and retrieving the item required a trip to precisely the location I needed to reach. If disinterested bidders could claim their prizes and leave, perhaps that was the key.

“What are you doing?!” Vyllea demanded as I pressed the button to place a bid.

“Winning us Mentor Ærinn,” I replied with a smug grin. My answer didn’t satisfy her, and I had to explain further to avoid a punch to the nose.

“Four hundred thousand!” the organizer exclaimed, delighted to declare the current high bidder. The winner was a Nascent God untainted by blood cult techniques, perhaps drawn to Ærinn Lin’s perfect form. If I wanted access to the prize chamber, I needed to win this auction. Letting her slip away wasn’t an option — who knew if the Nascent God would take her and leave immediately?

Trouble came quickly. The Nascent God clearly had his sights set on Ærinn Lin. Every time I raised the bid, he countered without hesitation. Five hundred thousand. Eight hundred. A million. One and a half. Our bidding war captured the attention of the entire audience, even drawing Chimat Li’s interest as he leaned forward to watch the lights flashing between our booths. Two million.

I didn’t care about the spirit coins, since I planned to destroy everything here and take whatever remained. But the Nascent God’s determination unnerved me. This wasn’t just about acquiring a rare item — there was something personal at play. I doubted he wanted Ærinn because of her beauty. More likely, he knew her before she fell into the cultists’ hands. The real question was what he intended to do with her. Release her? Unlikely. More plausible was that he planned to act on unfulfilled fantasies. That thought alone was enough for me to continue raising the stakes with grim resolve.

Three million. No one remembered the Nascent God-tier defensive formation that had sold for a mere one and a half million anymore — it was as good as gone to some pauper. Now, every participant crowded their windows, eager to see the madmen fighting over the Gold Overlord.

“Five million!” announced the organizer. My opponent illuminated his booth again but didn’t increase the bid. “Esteemed participants, we have reached a delicate situation. The lot’s price has risen hundredfold, triggering our safety protocol. While we do trust the commitment of our guests vying for such an extraordinary lot, we must verify that both bidders possess the required funds. Let me remind you that one of the bidders is a latecomer, and their price will be doubled. Please enjoy a performance by the magnificent Zarimala while we conduct the verification.”

Without warning, our door opened, and two figures stepped inside. These two had been stationed nearby, awaiting instructions from the chief organizer. It seemed something truly extraordinary had disrupted the secret auction.

“Elder, we apologize for our intrusion,” said one of the Gold Masters, bowing deeply. “Auction protocol requires us to verify your bid.”

“Do you want me to unload the spirit coins here?” I asked with casual indifference. Without waiting for a reply, I began materializing chest after chest. Each contained one hundred thousand spirit coins, neatly sorted into pouches of one hundred each — a quirk of Althea’s, who had a fondness for handling coins imbued with energy. Thanks to the spatial pouches we’d taken from countless opponents, I didn’t even need to dip into our reserves of valuable items. One of the intruders, evidently an appraiser, eyed the chests carefully.

“There’s not enough space here for all the chests,” I remarked, stopping at five million and filling most of the room. A sudden idea struck me, and I continued, “I’ll need more space to bring out the full ten million. That’s the amount you need, isn’t it? Or do you want me to show you twenty million, just in case the price goes higher? Shall we start counting?”

“Protocol only requires a demonstration of ten,” the appraiser stammered, clearly unprepared for such nonchalance. “Follow us. We’ll take you to a larger chamber.”

With a wave of my hand, the chests vanished back into my spatial anomaly. I rose to my feet, preparing to follow wherever the organizers led.

“Guerlon, ready in one minute!” I called out. “These bands are still on us. We can’t remove them ourselves. Conjoined magic works, but as an energy vampire, I’m useless. Hide inside the house — I’ll pull you toward us when we’re in position. Once you’re here, get these restraints off.”

Guerlon didn’t need to be told twice. He nodded and stepped into the strange metal house, vanishing into its temporal anomaly as its door closed. Moments later, he would reappear in the perfect position to free us.

The situation spiraled quickly out of control for the pair who had been sent to handle us. One of them led us to the prize chamber, while the other ran to the auctioneer, undoubtedly reporting on the strange demon with an absurdly vast supply of spirit coins. No one in their right mind would carry such a fortune in cash — there were banks, promissory notes, or high-value items that took up far less space. But ten million coins, meticulously sorted into pouches and chests? That was something else entirely. They hadn’t even begun counting yet. Perhaps I should make them, if they were so doubtful? It wasn’t a bad idea — it would buy time for the house to materialize.

“I’ve been told there’s an issue?” The demon who announced the lots greeted me personally. Judging by the look in his eyes, he had no idea who we were or what we were doing here. But since we had somehow joined the auction and even allowed them to place technique-blocking restraints on us, we were participants — unusual and unwelcome ones, perhaps, but participants nonetheless. The organizer would undoubtedly want to question us afterward to determine exactly who we were and why we were here.

“No issue at all,” I replied smoothly. “Per protocol, I need to demonstrate ten million spirit coins. The space in the room you assigned us was insufficient, so we were brought here instead. Shall I begin unloading the chests?”

“We’re talking about spirit coins specifically?” The organizer frowned. “Not valuables?”

“I’ve read the rules. Valuables are only offered if the bidder can’t pay the full amount in spirit coins. Personally, I find the rule foolish, but I won’t argue with the organizers. I prefer to pay exactly as required by the terms set by this fascinating auction.”

“And yet, no one knows how you got here.” The organizer couldn’t resist the comment. We’d certainly be interrogated later — if not now, judging by the piercing golden eyes scrutinizing me.

“The person who’s provided us with the invitation has been most generous,” I said with a smile. “So, should I proceed with the demonstration? Or has the protocol changed?”

“Proceed,” the organizer agreed with reluctance. “Rules are rules. But immediately afterward, you’ll have another meeting. I imagine Lord Chimat Li will be quite interested in hearing how two Sixth-Rank Seekers from the human world managed to attend this private gathering.”

Ah, so he not only recognized the significance of our spotted attire but understood its origins. This meant only one thing — they had connections to Seekers from the human world. But how? The Third Tier was a mess when it came to Seekers — the guild existed, but was largely inactive. Elda and Carmin had purged the troublemakers in the Second Tier, and the First Tier was far beneath this demon’s rank. That left the Fourth Tier. I had no idea who represented the guild there, but I had no doubt that the Fourth Tier would keep us just as busy as the others had so far — perhaps more so now that the disgraced House Pao had established itself there following its expulsion from the central region.

“What’s that?” the organizer asked sharply as I stepped aside, revealing the materializing house. It appeared slowly, piece by piece, as if constructed by an unseen builder operating at high speed.

“Ten million spirit coins is a thousand chests, each holding one hundred pouches. It’s a massive amount of money, so I’m saving everyone time by pulling out my entire house from storage.”

“Will it even fit here?” The organizer, a Silver Overlord like me, seemed stunned. While he was on the same rank and stage of Ascension, he clearly hadn’t considered the logistics of storing an entire house in a spatial artifact. Likely, he assumed the house contained extraordinarily valuable treasures. I never said the spirit coins were inside, though — it wasn’t lying if I simply omitted that detail.

“It should fit,” I said, surveying the space. “If anything, it might scratch the ceiling a bit. There’s no one above us, right?”

“No,” he muttered. “Can you stop the process? I think we’ve seen enough to confirm your ability to pay.”

“Unfortunately, extracting the house from storage is irreversible,” I replied truthfully. “Just a few more minutes, and it’ll be complete. If you’re unhappy with the result, I’m happy to discuss compensation for any damage to the ceiling. Afterward, of course, we’ll meet with Chimat Li. I’m sure we’ll have plenty to discuss — especially regarding this incredible auction where one can bid on none other than Ærinn Lin herself!”

I dragged the process out as much as I could. When the house finally solidified, it did indeed crush part of the ceiling. Dust and debris rained down, but it no longer mattered. As the house became tangible, I stepped to the door and swung it open, allowing the demon a peek inside.

Guerlon’s hands closed around my collar, snapping it cleanly in two. The restraints on my wrists followed shortly after. The Nascent God didn’t bother fiddling with unfamiliar artifacts — he simply destroyed them like they were made of paper.

“This…” the organizer began, but never finished. Guerlon, clearly seeing the blood clot nestled in the cultist’s chest, acted with precision. A barrier of dense air enveloped the Silver Overlord, trapping both stench and sound, before splitting in two and tearing him apart. The demon likely screamed, but the barrier ensured not a sound escaped. I marveled at the efficiency of a Nascent God. And it wasn’t just the overwhelming power — Guerlon also had the experience. He knew exactly what would happen upon a cultist’s destruction and prepared accordingly, unwilling to subject himself to the nauseating odor. Vyllea and I still had a long way to go — both in terms of strength and technique.

“Vyllea!” Guerlon called out as I dealt with the minor players, following our well-rehearsed routine. The two auction workers who had brought us here were mere Gold Masters and presented no challenge. I encased them in airtight boxes of air before splitting them in two. Meanwhile, Vyllea, now free, rubbed her wrists and shot me a displeased glare. I had promised to remove the restraints myself, and failing to do so might very well have earned me her wrath.

“Who’s that?” Guerlon asked, nodding toward Mentor Ærinn, who lay on the nearby platform. Musicians were performing on the arena stage, and the second lot had been stashed in the backroom — right with us.

“Our instructor from the Blue Lotus School in the Second Circle,” I explained. “A deputy headmistress of the school, a Golden Overlord, and, as I’ve learned, potentially a relative of Althea’s.”

“No idea,” Althea replied with a shrug. “The Lin tribe is massive. No one really keeps track of who belongs to which branch. If Mentor Ærinn carried the Lin name but never mentioned it during our training, she must be from a minor branch. They aren’t allowed to address the Elders directly.”

Guerlon approached the platform and effortlessly broke the metallic plaques restraining Ærinn’s techniques. Healing techniques proved futile — Mentor Ærinn remained unconscious. Using the same spirit vision as mine, Guerlon immediately noticed the sigils etched onto her chest, forcing her mind into a deep slumber. Without hesitation, he pulled a cloth from his storage and began wiping them away meticulously. Draining their energy was pointless — the ink used to inscribe the symbols contained fragments of spirit stone, which recharged almost instantly, even in this chamber of ancient metal. Mechanical destruction was the only solution.

It worked flawlessly. The moment Guerlon disrupted the seal’s governing lines, Mentor Ærinn regained consciousness. She remained motionless, feigning sleep, but deception is futile before those who command absolute reason and spirit.

“I don’t mind admiring such a stunning view,” Guerlon remarked calmly, “but this isn’t the time for indulgence. Any preferences for a weapon? Or a particular elemental crystal for recovery? We’re up against thirty Overlords and about fifty Masters. Your assistance would be invaluable.”

His tone was so nonchalant it might as well have been a casual conversation about the weather. Ærinn opened her eyes, locking gazes with my blood brother. Fully aware of her vulnerable state, she made no effort to cover herself.

“How old are you, Elder?” she asked, her voice breathtakingly beautiful. How could I have forgotten? Our mentor possessed one of the most captivating voices in this world — feminine, sensual, and tender, the kind that could stir the blood in anyone’s veins. Yet the question of age was the last thing I’d have expected from a Golden Overlord.

“Ninety-two,” Guerlon replied, prompting me to shift my gaze from Ærinn to him in astonishment. Ninety-two? I had always thought he was barely sixty! Didn’t he mention being fifty-something? That was ten years ago, back in Tier Zero. Later, I learned he had been an instructor at the Silver Heron School, which was destroyed fifty years ago. Why hadn’t I managed to join the dots? Because it never seemed necessary. Guerlon’s true age was hardly something I felt the need to track.

“You have beautiful eyes, human.”

“And you have an extraordinary voice, demon.”

“Are the two of you kidding me?” Vyllea snapped, utterly flabbergasted. “Do you really think this is the time to exchange pleasantries?”

“Vyllea?” Ærinn’s vertical pupils widened, transforming into human-like circles as recognition dawned. She knew Vyllea wouldn’t be here alone. Quickly sitting up, she blushed deeply upon realizing I had been openly admiring her. Despite her age, whatever it might be, Ærinn looked no older than twenty-five — a timeless beauty.

“Here’s some clothing.” Guerlon pulled a robe from his personal collection and handed it to her. Ærinn grabbed the garment as though her life depended on it, donning the robe in a way so effortless it seemed almost magical. In seconds, she stood before us, barefoot and beltless, her green hair disheveled. Clad in Guerlon’s speckled attire, she looked more like a wayward traveler than the fearsome warrior she truly was — one of the most powerful Overlords in this world.

How did I know her strength? Because few who walked the path to immortality had absolute potential in any of their aspects. Like Vyllea, Ærinn was an absolute of the body with maximum potential. Yet her mind and spirit were locked behind formidable seals. Born in the Fourth Circle, Ærinn was unlikely to become a Nascent God by conventional means.

“I’m not offering any shoes — we’re not that close yet,” Guerlon quipped before producing an Overlord-tier spirit stone and four elemental crystals. I knew water was her element, but I kept that to myself. Watching Guerlon interact with Ærinn was baffling. He was flirting — blatantly so! And all this after recently marrying Rincede. What was going on?

“You mentioned weapons,” Ærinn said, turning back to Guerlon. “I prefer a jian and gentleness. I dislike aggression or harshness in a partner.”

“Noted,” Guerlon replied, handing her a blade. He chose the finest jian we owned from our collection of weapons, categorized by quality, material, and techniques, — one that we rarely used ourselves.

“Care to join me?” Ærinn asked. “Let’s see what this local godling, who was bold enough to found a damn cult, is really capable of. Zander and Vyllea can handle the rabble.”

“With pleasure,” Guerlon said, watching as Ærinn tested the blade’s balance with a few fluid swings. She had already fully absorbed the spirit stone and elemental crystals.

“I have plenty of questions for the corpses-to-be that have turned our first meeting into such an unseemly affair.”

There was no need for Guerlon to explain our next steps. We understood each other perfectly. None of the auction participants would leave this place alive. Guerlon would deal with the Nascent Gods, while Vyllea and I would take care of the rest. It was an excellent trade, and exactly the reason why I had summoned my blood brother.

“Husband, did you realize what just happened?” Vyllea’s voice was stunned. “Guerlon’s bracelet is about to gain a new name! That was the same zing that happened between Althea and Læogh! Guerlon and Mentor Ærinn were made for each other by the Heavens themselves!”

Chapter 7

“WHAT?!”

That was the first reaction from all the Overlords without exception. For some reason, it wasn’t threats, pleas for mercy, or counterattacks, but pure shock and confusion. Demons — especially cultist demons — knew all too well what the speckled clothing signified. It marked Seekers from the human world — beings who came to bring punishment and enforce justice. It didn’t matter that we looked like demons or exuded no human scent. The clothing was enough. Where Seekers went, death followed.

Perhaps it was dishonorable to kill Overlords rendered powerless by technique-blocking restraints, but the thought of allowing them a noble death didn’t even cross my mind. Offering a chance at survival wasn’t the Seeker way — that was the stuff of ancient adventure novels, long forgotten. Modern tales were written along lines far more practical. As Althea once said, “Readers wouldn’t understand — no one wants to read about the characters’ utter stupidity.”

And so, Vyllea and I broke into room after room. I would erect an impenetrable air barrier to shield us from the nauseating stench of the cultists’ corpses. Then the stunned demons would be neatly halved. Overlords wearing technique-blocking metal posed even less of a threat than banquet tables laden with food — the tables might tempt us into overeating, choking, and dying.

The auction’s excessive security measures worked against the organizers as well as the participants. Each guest was secluded in a metal-walled booth impervious to spirit vision and soundproofed to muffle the moans of pleasure emanating from some of them. Even if I failed to activate the air barrier in time, no one heard the cries of the dying. The organizers, oblivious to their dwindling numbers, scurried through the halls like frantic animals, only to run into either Vyllea and me or Guerlon and Ærinn and meet their end.

Vyllea wasn’t killing cultists directly — she used this as an opportunity to practice forming air barriers. Ærinn, too, refrained from engaging. She stayed close to Guerlon, letting him take the lead. Guerlon, however, was the embodiment of death, methodically eliminating everything in his path.

The word zing was new to me, but it clearly resonated with the others. Vyllea had already recounted every detail of Guerlon and Ærinn’s exchange, embellishing their conversation for the group. Guerlon ignored her entirely, focused on his task. Meanwhile, Althea and Elda bombarded Vyllea with questions, demanding more details. Rincede, however, stayed silent, listening intently. What was she feeling? Her life had already turned upside down after the Seekers arrived. First, some young upstart had proposed marriage, and while she managed to fend him off, she couldn’t refuse Guerlon. But what seemed like a perfect match had its complications. Not only was Guerlon nearly four times her age, but now he had found his zing. How would Rincede react? Men of House Bao usually had but one wife. Carmin shared that mindset. He wouldn’t dare consider a second — Elda would kill him first. But what about me and Vyllea? Did we have this zing? Or were we just passing through?

Meanwhile, Guerlon and Ærinn reached their target. Guerlon wasn’t interested in minor prey — he sought true challenges. His first target was the Nascent God who had purchased the defensive formation. That demon’s body was already in our anomaly, awaiting inspection of its spatial pouch and artifacts. The next logical step would have been the other Nascent God, the one we had outbid for Ærinn, but their booth was on the opposite side of the arena. Guerlon had his sights set on the main prize — Chimat Li himself, who was lounging lazily on a pile of cushions, quite oblivious to the catastrophe unraveling within his domain.

When Guerlon burst into Chimat’s chamber, the arena trembled. Two equally powerful forces clashed. Ærinn remained outside, unwilling to risk entering a room saturated with the energy of battling Nascent Gods. The ancient metal walls held firm, absorbing the shockwaves. However, a searing stream of fire burst unexpectedly from a window, slamming into the opposite wall and incinerating the musicians, who were still standing there playing serene melodies. Several Overlords caught in the blast were also reduced to ash before we could reach them.

The fire lasted mere moments, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The battle between Guerlon and Chimat continued, but my blood brother understood the stakes. Even a stray technique escaping the room could obliterate the auction’s treasures, and Seekers never shied away from profit. So Guerlon had sealed the window with a slab of ancient metal in a swift calculated move.

Chaos reigned inside the chamber. Flames roared, but outside, only faint vibrations and muffled echoes of the inferno were felt. Chimat, wielding fire as his element, was attempting to transform the room into a volcanic eruption. A futile and idiotic tactic — the energy he expended evaporated immediately, feeding Guerlon’s spirit core.

The brief eruption claimed the five Overlords we hadn’t reached yet, along with many auction workers near the arena. Not only did the flames consume lives, but they destroyed the demons’ possessions, leaving only the auction lots untouched. The Copper-ranked Nascent God lacked the strength to obliterate those.

On the far side, only the second Nascent God survived, spared by the mere fact that Chimat Li’s fire had veered slightly aside from him.

“Move faster!” I shouted to Vyllea, kicking down another door. Stealth was no longer an option. Despite Chimat Li’s flames, the foul stench of rotting cultists lingered, and the blazing inferno pouring from his chamber had likely drawn everyone’s attention. The cultists had understood something was terribly wrong by now, so there was no point in maintaining silence any longer.

Vyllea burst into the room, delivering an instantaneous brutal strike that severed a demon’s head from his body. I wasted no time, sweeping valuables into the spatial anomaly before we dashed to the next target. Finally, some of the Overlords started getting restless. When we stormed the third door, we were met with a chair hurtling toward us — a desperate cultist, unable to use techniques, had resorted to whatever was within reach. The impact would have sent a lesser demon flying, but for us, Silver Overlords, it was little more than a nuisance. All he managed was to enrich our growing collection of valuables as his body joined the rest, and we moved on.

“Two left!” I announced after clearing the next room. “The chained Nascent God and the Silver Overlord who greeted us at the entrance. Who first?”

“The second one,” Vyllea decided. “Leave the Nascent God to Guerlon. Is he still busy?”

“They’re still fighting,” I replied, focusing briefly on the ongoing battle. Guerlon was indeed engaged, but he didn’t seem to be giving it his all. The storm of elemental energy made it hard to discern details, but the threads of spirit flowing from the cultist into Guerlon made me smirk. My blood brother was multitasking — not just killing the cultist, but also draining his strength. After all, in what other fashion could an energy vampire evolve? A single Copper-ranked Nascent God wouldn’t elevate him to Bronze, but where there was one, there were often two — or even three. After a few Copper Nascent Gods, Guerlon could become a force that even the Nameless One, now bound to Darna Feng, would have to respect.

But the Heavens apparently had other plans. As we made our way to the entrance, another player entered the fray. Barefoot and lethal, Ærinn wasn’t sitting idle while Guerlon fought. Why would she wait when so many enemies surrounded her? The Gold Overlord, who was an absolute of the body, demonstrated exactly why she was deputy headmistress of the school. By the time we arrived, the fight was already over — having barely even started. Ærinn’s brutal efficiency left no room for resistance. Years of life-and-death battles had honed her into a relentless warrior. Like Guerlon, she was death incarnate.

When our eyes met, her piercing yellow gaze gave me an extraordinary thought — we’d be no match for Mentor Ærinn in a battle. She had spent years traveling with the head of the School of Wrath, himself an energy vampire. No doubt, the infuriating fox had drained her energy countless times just to provoke her. She’d not only learned to block energy loss, but to counterattack in return.

“Zander and Vyllea,” came her melodious voice. “Somehow, I’m not surprised to see you in a place as strange and dangerous as this.”

“Because you expected a miracle?” I suggested. “And who else in this odd world could grant it but us?”

“You are specialists in miracles, that’s for sure,” she replied with a wry smile, her hand unconsciously brushing her cheek — the one once marred by the scars that had terrified so many demons.

“Guerlon is dealing with the master of this place. We’ve taken care of all the Overlords. Only the servants remain, along with the Nascent God. He’s bound with technique-blocking metal, so he won’t be a problem. Care to join us?”

“So, his name is Guerlon,” Ærinn murmured, as if savoring the revelation. Of course — they hadn’t introduced themselves. Why bother, when names carried so little weight?

“Did you hear me? We need to kill the Nascent God. Are you in?”

Her gaze sharpened, irritation flickering briefly before it softened. She finally took a moment to assess who we were. The anger in her eyes faded, replaced by confusion as she took in the two Silver Overlords before her — radiating an aura, thanks to my conjoined energy, that made us seem like Gold. Equals. Yet I knew full well we were far from being her equals. Experience didn’t come easy, and Guerlon had already demonstrated that fact repeatedly.

“I see you’ve kept busy,” Ærinn remarked. Her tone was neutral, and her reaction restrained. Our advancement had surprised her, but not excessively so. “Where to?”

The remaining Nascent God didn’t stay idle, either. From what I could tell, he was furiously trying to tear off the metal restraints, but without Guerlon’s techniques, such a feat was impossible. Even so, he was a formidable foe, and he stood there wielding a Nascent God-tier weapon capable of wounding anyone it touched.

Finally, the demon seemed to realize staying in his room was pointless. He didn’t bother forcing the door open — perhaps suspecting everything was orchestrated by Chimat Li. Instead, he leapt through the window, landing on the scorched arena floor. He must have gotten terribly bored.

We arrived just in time. The demon had barely landed and begun surveying the scene when he noticed us. Fully armed and ready, he prepared to attack. My spatial anomaly deposited us directly in front of him, right at chest level. I braced myself, prepared to use one of my two remaining streams of orimmal toad venom, but Ærinn’s sudden exclamation froze me in my tracks.

“What are you doing here, of all the people?”

A pause hung in the air. Ærinn stepped forward, stopping a few paces from the Nascent God. Her lowered weapon suggested he posed no threat to her. Vyllea and I flanked her, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. After all, a Nascent God was no trivial opponent — especially not in the stronghold of a cult.

“I came for you,” the Nascent God said, lowering his weapon as well, though he didn’t sheathe it. “Are you all right?”

“So, we’re not killing him?” I asked, glancing at Ærinn. “He’s with us?”

“Let’s say he’s not against us,” she replied, not rushing to embrace him. “But whether he’s truly with us is a bigger question.”

“What are you doing with these juniors?” The Nascent God spoke as though he were the one in charge. “And why are they wearing the attire of Seekers from the human world?”

“Because they are Seekers,” Ærinn replied coldly. “What are you doing here? Did you come at Chimat Li’s invitation? Do you think his cult will make you stronger?”

“I had to go through a lot to get here,” the demon answered, his tone equally frosty. “When you disappeared from the palace, your family left no stone unturned trying to figure out what happened to you. We even enlisted a Second-Tier prince to help. It had cost a fortune, but he has connected me to the right demons. That’s how I found Chimat Li.”

“Poor thing.” Ærinn’s voice dripped with mockery, entirely devoid of sympathy for the demon’s plight. “All that effort, and for what? The Seekers came from the human world and resolved the situation without your involvement. No need to feel bad — you’ll save your resources for someone else. You’re used to that, aren’t you?”

“Family? So, you’re related?” Vyllea, as always, cut straight to the point, bypassing any subtlety.

“We are, regretfully. This demon, bound in technique-blocking metal, is my father, Greer Lin, the head of our small but oh-so-proud branch of the family,” Ærinn said. Her tone carried no warmth or any trace of filial affection, just a cold detachment that spoke volumes about their relationship — or lack thereof.

Ærinn seemed to relish the situation. She looked at her father with unconcealed superiority, clearly savoring his current helplessness. Unsatisfied with her own words, she continued,

“Once upon a time, Greer Lin decided that paying the central families’ Ascension tax for a new child in the palace was too expensive. Instead of giving his offspring a chance at true elevation, he opted to settle for a mere Overlord. He didn’t make a voyage to Tier Zero, as a loving father would. He took a concubine — not even a wife — and moved her to the Fourth Circle. My birthplace. A daughter conceived on a whim by the illustrious head of our proud family. A daughter expected to be grateful she wasn’t born in the First Tier. Did I miss anything?”

“Family matters shouldn’t concern outsiders,” Greer Lin said, not breaking eye contact with Ærinn. Invisible lightning seemed to crackle between them, neither willing to back down.

“Should I just kill him?” I suggested lightly. “We can blame it on the cultists. Maybe even make him a hero — a father who defended his daughter against the wicked cult.”

Greer shot me a heavy glare, but it had no effect. He had no leverage in his current position. I met his gaze steadily, letting my genuine desire to finish him off shine through. In my mind, the jet of orimmal toad’s venom had already pierced his chest, leaving a gaping, grotesque hole. The way his face paled and how he raised his jian defensively told me he’d picked up on my intent. His combat instincts were sharp, at least.

“No need,” Ærinn said firmly. “Whatever else he is, he’s still my father. But he hasn’t explained what he’s doing here. What did you mean by ‘I came for you’? Instead of destroying this place, as the Seekers did, you became one of the people planning to torture me on an altar?”

“If I had attacked the base, they might have killed you. I couldn’t risk that. So I did everything possible to become a participant in this auction. Our family spent a great deal to secure my entry.”

“You’re repeating yourself, Greer Lin,” Ærinn snapped. “I’m not interested in your family’s financial woes.”

“It’s your family too,” he insisted.

“My family ended the day you told me a book was too expensive at twenty spirit coins! Twenty, you miser! I needed that book, but you ignored my request. Because, in your words, an undesirable girl, fit only to marry well, doesn’t need to be smart! Those were your very words, Greer Lin. And now you want to claim you’re my family? That you spent a fortune to be here? Let’s be honest — you’re just trying to curry favor with the prince by handing over the people who’ve abducted me. No risks, no bold moves, just staying in the shadows like always. That’s our family motto.”

“Guerlon, wrap it up,” I called through the anomaly. “Ærinn’s father has shown up with a litany of questions. We’re not allowed to kill him, and I’ve heard enough drama for today. Stop draining Chimat Li and come deal with your zing.”

“Understood. On my way.”

A moment later, the chaotic energies raging within the shielded room dissipated. Chimat Li froze, his expression one of utter disbelief, as his upper half slid cleanly from his lower and collapsed to the floor. The whole thing happened so fast the demon didn’t even realize what had killed him. The absolute artifact gifted to Guerlon by the Phoenix Clan had done its job in a single strike. Guerlon stored the corpse and its artifacts in his anomaly and reappeared at our side faster than I could track.

The dynamic shifted instantly. Where Greer Lin had maintained some semblance of control, he now faltered, retreating and raising his jian defensively. He knew exactly who stood before him. In the demon world, no Nascent God could claim ignorance of Guerlon’s reputation. It was his actions, after all, that had brought about the first truce between demons and Taoists in centuries.

“Are you all right?” Guerlon ignored Greer completely, focusing solely on Ærinn. Blood from her earlier battles had splattered her face, and without hesitation, Guerlon retrieved a velvet cloth from his storage and gently wiped it clean. Ærinn didn’t flinch under his touch. If anything, judging by her expression, she wanted more.

Greer Lin snapped back to himself. Realizing Guerlon wasn’t planning to attack, he lowered his weapon and sheathed it. There was no point in brandishing a blade against an unrestrained Nascent God.

“I take it Chimat Li is dead?” Greer asked.

“As is his entire cult,” Guerlon replied, finishing with Ærinn’s face before turning to Greer. “Now, you said you had questions for my future wife. Are you sure you want to hear the answers?”

Chapter 8

“DON’T SHOVE, DON’T rush! Masters first, then Warriors, with Apprentices bringing up the rear! Anyone who thinks they’re in charge here will die where they stand. There’s already too much chaos to make things worse. Move, demons! Or do I need to hold your hands?”

Guerlon’s voice boomed through every corner of the cultist stronghold, brooking no argument. The heart-to-heart between him and Greer Lin never happened. Guerlon’s grim expression left no room for discussion. When he declared Ærinn would be his wife, no one else’s opinion — including, it seemed, Ærinn’s — mattered.

We left her father where he was, still shackled by technique-blocking metal, and moved on to the Seekers’ favorite pastime, namely, looting. Well, perhaps claiming trophies sounded better. First we secured every lot from the now-defunct auction. Chimat Li’s fiery attack had conveniently incinerated most of his accomplices, preventing them from stashing valuables in spatial pouches. Destroying such storage artifacts was difficult, but if it happened, everything inside got obliterated, regardless of rank or value. Thankfully, we intercepted the remaining treasures before they suffered such a fate, although a few lower-tier items had been consumed by the fire.

It took us half an hour to gather everything valuable before Guerlon descended to the cultists’ concentration camp and altar. Vyllea and I turned our attention to the walls of the hidden stronghold, prying off the ancient metal panels. Leaving such a rare material behind was unthinkable. Ærinn and her father accompanied Guerlon to assist the prisoners, leaving us free to work.

Greer Lin, however, was visibly interested in the operation. His sharp gaze followed every plate we removed, betraying his miserly nature and deep appreciation for the metal’s value. I couldn’t blame him — ancient metal fetched high prices at the central demon palace. But he had no claim to it here. If he dared demand a share, Vyllea would shred him into scraps and use them as anchors for a protective formation.

“Althea, Læogh,” I called through the anomaly, “grab the defensive formation and set it up around Kairad. The southern capital of the Third Tier is protected by a Gold-Overlord-level barrier — that’s not just inadequate, it’s dangerous. The last thing we need is rogue Nameless Ones slipping through. Have your guardian assist with setting it up. He’s been hiding too long, so it’s time for him to be useful for a change. Also, check the loot for anything that could be used instantly. Take whatever you need.”

“Understood. We’re on it!”

“Got any plans for this city?” I asked Vyllea as I pried off another panel. I already knew the answer. Vyllea had no interest in the remaining cultists — they were Guerlon’s problem now. He wasn’t likely to return to the human world until his personal affairs were settled, so cleaning up the dregs of the cult fell to him. Spending time on such trivialities felt wasteful when bigger threats loomed, like the better-organized and far more dangerous Bohao cult.

“Any wormhole coordinators here?” Vyllea asked hopefully.

“Nope.” I scanned the city with my spirit vision, searching for the distinct energy signature. There was none. Vyllea sighed heavily and went back to ripping metal plates from the walls. Before leaving, we’d have to strip the entire stronghold, including the corridors leading to it. There was too much ancient metal here to risk leaving it for potential enemies.

I paused for a moment. Why were we hoarding this metal in the first place? It lay in storage, unused and gathering dust. Perhaps it was time to do a trick and set ourselves up as heroes.

“Follow me!” I grabbed Vyllea’s hand before she could protest and signaled for a motion technique. A few leaps brought us to the exit, and moments later, we were outside, racing through the corridors. We emerged into the open air and, in the blink of an eye, stood before the central palace of the local tribe overseeing the portal. The massive insignia above the doors identified it as belonging to the Chugaron tribe — the same tribe once home to Oritis Chugaron, the third son of the tribe’s chief advisor.

No one above Gold Master rank remained inside — the rest had likely become casualties of the secret auction. I had no interest in recollecting the colors worn by the corpses of the Overlords we’d killed. They all deserved an ignoble death. More importantly, no one in the palace dared oppose us. We walked toward the portal unchallenged. Servants scattered like leaves, and the stewards, who were peeking timidly from behind doors, remained silent.

At the portal, I inserted several spirit stones into the receptor. The arch shimmered, and moments later, the portal keeper emerged. Portal travel in the demon world wasn’t so different from that used by the humans, except there were more portals — and more keepers.

I felt a prickling between my shoulder blades. The demon who stepped out saw our speckled Seeker attire and instinctively considered striking us down. As a Bronze Nascent God, he could have done it. But recognition stayed his hand — he knew us.

“What do Seekers Zander and Vyllea require?” His voice was polite, his demeanor cautious. Having the favor of a demon prince made a significant difference in how we were treated.

“We need Phasor Lin,” I said. “We have uncovered a cult founded by Chimat Li, a Copper Nascent God and member of the Lin House, in the city of Shrungle. He aimed to become the god of his own cult, and we were forced to stop him. Chimat Li is dead, but his lair remains, along with evidence implicating one of the princes in cultist dealings. We lack the authority to untangle the connections between the prince and this failed god. That’s a job for another prince’s representatives.”

“Wait here!”

The portal keeper deliberated briefly before vanishing. It was fortunate that Althea had once explained the workings of this small but highly respected demon family responsible for managing portals. Portal keepers were obligated to respond to anyone activating a portal, no matter where it was. If a transfer was required, they would set the destination and collect their fee. But travelers could never be entirely sure of reaching their intended location — portal keepers had the right to redirect suspicious individuals to interrogators at the central palace. This authority was granted to them directly by the king, and no one could defy it or act aggressively against them. Misuse of their power came with harsh consequences.

Calling a portal keeper to fetch someone as influential as Phasor Lin required a compelling reason. Had I simply demanded his presence without justification, the keeper could have executed me on the spot, a privilege also granted by the king. While Phasor Lin’s influence might have spared us outright execution, it would have certainly led to complaints in the right circles. The next time we’d need a portal, prices would skyrocket, or, worse, we’d be sent straight to the central palace for interrogation. Transparency and cooperation were the only ways to ensure success.

Fifteen minutes later, Phasor Lin himself appeared. A broad demon with an ingratiating smile that seemed genuine but wasn’t, he exuded a calm, measured authority. Seeing him clearly for the first time was enlightening. Previously, he’d appeared to me as an indistinct dark void, hiding his true rank. As it turned out, he was a Silver Nascent God, though burdened by such immense advancement blocks that reaching the next rank would require a monumental feat. I’d always assumed he was at the Gold rank, so this revelation was surprising. What reassured me was the absence of anything forbidden in his essence — no traces of the Bohao cult or blood cultists. His advancement had been achieved solely through his own efforts.

“It feels like you can see right through me, Silver Overlord,” Phasor Lin, who normally looked “as sweet as a cinnamon bun,” according to Althea, stroked his beard as he spoke — a gesture his niece had once explained to be a rare sign of deep contemplation. He never showed surprise openly, but this small mannerism betrayed that something had caught his attention.

“I can,” I admitted. “I see the Silver Nascent God before me perfectly clearly, as he sees us, a pair of Silver Overlords. I trust the portal keeper has explained why I needed to summon a prince’s representative. What’s happening in your central palace is affecting my people. I hope you won’t mind taking a walk. It’s better to show than to tell.”

Phasor Lin closed his eyes briefly, releasing an aura that swept through the city like a searchlight before retracting. His frown deepened. He couldn’t detect the cultists’ lair — a testament to Chimat Li’s meticulous preparation. Vyllea and I had removed too few plates to compromise the lair’s defenses.

“If we weren’t already acquainted, Seeker Zander, I’d think you were luring me into a trap. It’s clear there are cultists here — that much is undeniable. But I can’t locate their hideout, which makes me skeptical. And only nine cultists in a city meant to host an aspiring god? That’s paltry. I hope you’re not expecting me to be fooled by talismans…”

He trailed off abruptly as I began pulling bodies from the spatial anomaly. Vyllea, holding her breath, immediately started collecting spatial pouches from their belts. Twenty Overlords of varying ranks were now before us. Encasing the pile in a compressed air dome, I conjured a gust of wind to clear the room of their stench. Among the bodies was the city’s tribal leader, his chest bearing the insignia of the ruling Chugaron tribe.

“Chimat Li had only recently begun forming his blood cult. He started by recruiting the city’s ruling Overlords. Here they are: twenty cultists whose bodies have rotted from within. Need more proof? I’ve got around thirty Masters too. The fact that you can’t see the lair only speaks to Chimat Li’s cunning and his thorough preparation. As for your suggestion of a trap…” I allowed myself a dry laugh. “A trap for a Silver Nascent God? That’s a good joke.”

“Which only shows you’ve yet to encounter true masters,” Phasor Lin smirked. “A well-designed trap can neutralize even a Gold Nascent God if approached with sufficient creativity. Still, you’ve piqued my interest, Seeker Zander. Let’s find this hidden lair.”

“Master, can I come, too? I want to spend some time with my uncle!” Althea’s voice cut in through the anomaly. “Læogh, let’s go! Elda can teleport us back afterwards.”

Without waiting for permission, Althea headed towards our teleportation house. As Guerlon arrived, I promptly concealed the structure again — it wouldn’t survive a Nascent God’s attack. Guerlon and I exchanged a glance before he nodded, granting Althea permission to meet her uncle. Word of her ascension to Overlord rank had surely reached him by now — three months was plenty of time.

“Hold on, there’s someone else who wants to meet you.” I stopped Phasor Lin as we reached the palace exit. While the servants had scattered at our arrival, they’d outright fled at the sight of Phasor Lin. The palace was deserted, the halls echoing with silence.

“So, it is a trap, after all?” Phasor Lin’s smile widened, but I felt a prickling between my shoulders. Did Althea’s uncle really distrust us so much? We’d stayed at his house!

“You’ll see for yourself.” I sighed and began manifesting the spatial house in the central square. Phasor Lin’s frown deepened as he activated defensive techniques. His wariness bordered on paranoia. Did he suspect treachery in every shadow? How had he lived so long without succumbing to the constant fear of hidden assassins?

The manifestation took far too long. While Guerlon could bring it forth in mere minutes at the cultists’ lair, this time it required nearly twenty. Even so, Phasor Lin remained silent, standing by with his defenses prepared. At last, the house solidified. I approached the doors and released my students.

"Uncle! We did it! We’ve become Overlords!"

Althea shot out of the house like a lightning bolt, radiating joy. For the first time, the usually composed Phasor Lin faltered, clearly caught off guard. He had prepared for anything but the sudden appearance of his niece. Sensing an opportunity, I quickly dismissed the house, ensuring Phasor Lin couldn’t scrutinize it further. It was a good call — seeing his typically placid expression crack was priceless.

Phasor Lin, however, quickly recovered, casting a sphere of energy around the surrounding area. He was sending a clear message — no one should witness the prince’s advisor displaying any emotion. Anyone who happened to observe the scene, intentionally or otherwise, would likely face obliteration. The thought alone sent a chill through me as the sphere retracted into him.

“Is this some new Seeker trick?” Phasor Lin finally managed, his tone cool. “You weren’t here before, and now your mark has just appeared in my field of vision.”

“Let’s discuss our ‘tricks’ later, all right?” Althea brushed off his question. “Master, you don’t mind if I show my uncle where the cultists’ lair is, do you?”

“Don’t forget to introduce him to Mentor Ærinn and her father,” I reminded her. “She was kidnapped from the central palace and knows exactly who orchestrated it. As for her father, he made a deal with a prince to connect him with Chimat Li. Make sure to explain why your uncle can’t sense the lair. There’s a good chance similar places exist not just in remote towns, but even in the central palace. Cultists need somewhere to store their altars, after all, and let’s be honest — Nascent Gods rarely live on the outskirts. Get to it. We’re heading elsewhere.”

“Where to?” Phasor Lin asked, unable to resist. Considering it wouldn’t compromise anything critical, I answered,

“Hollyton, in the Second Circle. The Bohao cultists from the Second and Third Circles have turned it into their base. We’ve hit them hard in our world. Now it’s time to do the same in yours. One of the princes — I haven’t figured out which yet — is the cult’s god. Until we force his hand, he’ll stay in the shadows. But the harder we push, the sooner we’ll face their leader.”

“Ambitious goals for Silver Overlords who were mere Warriors a few years ago,” Phasor Lin commented, his tone skeptical. “You lack the experience, resources, and techniques to fight at that level.”

“We do,” I replied bluntly. “But those have them prefer to pretend everything’s fine. You know exactly which prince is involved. Maybe you lack evidence, and making baseless accusations isn’t the Lin family’s style. But that doesn’t excuse inaction. So it falls to us ‘inexperienced’ Seekers to cleanse your world of its rot.”

“Your actions jeopardize our family,” Phasor Lin said softly, though the prickle between my shoulders betrayed the threat behind his words. He wasn’t interested in how I’d elevated Althea to Overlord, how she had managed to become a Master in the first place, or whether that process could be replicated. His only concern was the safety of the Lin family. If a war with cultists endangered Althea, the logical solution was to eliminate the source of the threat — either the cultists, which was unlikely, or us.

“Uncle, I’ll decide what actions and threats harm me,” Althea said coldly. “If you want to argue with my master, you’ll have to start with me. I’ll tear out anyone’s throat for him — and that’s not a metaphor. Don’t touch Zander, Uncle!”

“You mentioned a cultist lair?” Phasor Lin shifted gears with practiced ease, once again becoming a “sweet cinnamon bun.” “Will you show me?”

Moments later, Althea took Læogh, who had just stood there silent all along, by the arm and confidently led him toward the nearest entrance to the underground lair. Her spirit vision pinpointed Guerlon, Mentor Ærinn, her father, and the crowd of freed prisoners. Guerlon had already stashed the altar, planning to destroy it later in some remote location. For cultists, altars were sources of power. For Seekers, they were reservoirs of energy waiting to be absorbed — though that required the proper rank and stage to handle the released energy safely.

“Infuriating,” Vyllea muttered, watching the demons leave. “Next time we do something nice for them, we’re charging up front. Guerlon, Althea’s heading your way with her uncle. They’ll probably declare the cultist lair their property. He didn’t pay us or even thank us. In fact, he contemplated killing us! Make sure he gets as frustrated as I am now.”

“We’ll discuss the new ownership of this place for sure,” Guerlon replied, preparing for his meeting with the Silver Nascent God.

After warning Guerlon about the nine remaining cultists — whom Phasor Lin undoubtedly knew about — I took Vyllea’s hand and headed for the portal. Our work in this city was finished.

The portal keeper arrived before I’d even inserted the spirit stones into the receiver.

“We need passage to Hollyton,” I stated firmly. The keeper gave us a strange look but refrained from asking about Phasor Lin’s absence. Instead, he named a price — one that seemed entirely arbitrary.

“Three thousand spirit coins.”

Haggling wasn’t our style, so I calmly produced pouches of coins and placed them on the table by the portal. The keeper swept them up with a nod, and the shimmering veil changed color. I didn’t understand how the shift occurred, but it clearly involved a new type of energy beyond the range of standard spirit vision.

Vyllea and I stepped through, hand in hand. The space around us warped for a split second before solidifying into the southern capital of the Second Circle. My spirit vision expanded immediately, and I took a deep breath.

“Lots of them?” Vyllea asked, intrigued.

“Lots,” I confirmed. “Two, maybe three hundred.”

“Perfect. I love a good crowd of enemies. Shall we dive right in, or follow your usual plan? Cloud everyone’s minds, sneak into the thick of it, and then heroically rip it apart? For the record, I vote for the second option — it’s always more fun.”

Chapter 9

THE KING’S RETINUE HOTEL stood out dramatically from every other place Vyllea and I had ever stayed at. Unlike the typical structures of either world — where hotels either soared skyward to offer breathtaking views from upper floors or sprawled across vast grounds, the way they did in the central regions and Illaon — this creation was something entirely different. A deliberate departure from conventional designs, it bordered on madness — or, perhaps, it was madness teetering on the edge of genius.

The first time we saw the building, we stopped in our tracks. Passing demons grinned in a knowing manner — locals were all too familiar with the effect the hotel had on first-time visitors to Hollyton.

The King’s Retinue resembled a colossal tree. At its core was a massive trunk, housing the main lobby, administration offices, and a host of attentive staff ready to serve guests at the drop of a hat. The trunk was anchored into an enormous underground foundation that resembled deep roots, where the hotel’s auxiliary services operated — kitchens, laundries, workshops, and expansive storage facilities. Not everything could be conveniently stored in spatial pouches, after all.

That was where any similarity to standard hotels ended.

The true brilliance — or madness — of the King’s Retinue lay beyond the trunk. There were no conventional floors. Instead, countless branches extended outward at all manner of angles, terminating in sprawling open spaces comparable to city plazas in size. These spaces had no walls or ceilings — only small private alcoves containing beds, which were the sole private areas of each branch. The rest of the branch was communal, furnished to encourage interaction among its inhabitants — plush upholstery, an abundance of cushions, and servers ready to appear at a moment's notice. The materials — wood, glass, and metal — were designed to emulate the aesthetic of ancient human artifacts, the kind that had once conquered the elements and reshaped nature itself.

Each branch varied in the number of private spaces and the quality of its furnishings. Movement between branches was facilitated by airborne techniques via corridors, adding to the uniqueness of the structure. In essence, the entire hotel was a massive Nascent-God-level technique supporting the weight of the overhanging branches above the city. Without the technique, the entire structure would collapse, crushing a substantial portion of the capital below.

“Welcome to the King’s Retinue, honored guests!"

A cheerful doorman greeted us at the entrance, radiating joy at being the first to spot such prestigious visitors. The hotel designers hadn’t limited themselves to a single entry point — the trunk itself functioned as an expansive entrance.

“We need a room,” I began, but the doorman bowed deeply before I could finish.

“Forgive me, Elders, but I do not handle room assignments. Allow me to escort you to the administrators. Our ladies will assist you in choosing accommodations that ensure your stay at the King’s Retinue is nothing short of perfect!”

The hotel boasted a vast number of administrators, catering to every conceivable preference. Judging by what I could see, even Nascent Gods were regular patrons. While the central palace of this realm was considered a paragon of style, it couldn’t compare to the King’s Retinue. The towering tree-like hotel stood out amid the low flat architecture typical of the Second Circle like a majestic wolf surrounded by a pack of docile dogs.

There were thirty-two Nascent Gods staying in the hotel currently. Only three had tainted blood — the rest were clean. They didn’t come here for advancement, but rather to marvel at the extraordinary creation.

“Welcome to the King’s Retinue, Seekers Zander and Vyllea.”

The smile of the administrator who greeted us was disarmingly warm. The excessive politeness and sugary demeanor made me feel almost nauseous. Too much sweetness was a bitter thing.

“I don’t recall introducing ourselves,” I remarked.

“One of the foundational principles of our establishment is to know all great demons and their unique preferences and habits,” she replied smoothly. “Seekers Zander and Vyllea, who have spent considerable time in the human realm, are among our potential clientele. Besides, Lord Churtan Hwal himself mentioned that you would appear sooner or later.”

Churtan Hwal, manager of the King’s Suite, had been sent our way by Ekratz Hwal, also known as Helion Li — a Nascent God masquerading as a Gold Master. Churtan was meant to meet with us, discuss potential cooperation, and assign a price for our advancement. That had been the plan before we became Overlords. Now, the plan needed adjustment. According to our new narrative, Vyllea and I needed to become Gold Overlords to confidently look toward future advancement. To the cultists, two human Seekers climbing toward the Nascent God stage would undoubtedly be enticing targets.

I expanded my spirit vision, examining Hollyton for any hidden details. The Bohao cultists had concealed their activities masterfully — there was no sign of a lair in the capital or within a thirty-mile radius. No altars, no bases shielded with ancient metals, no barrels of that murky yellow sludge. On the surface, it was an impeccably clean society. But among the populace were two hundred and forty-seven cultists scattered across various stages of advancement — three Nascent Gods, fifty Overlords, and a horde of Masters. Sooner or later, we’d have to “discuss” the immorality of altar usage with every one of them.

But I wasn’t rushing. What interested me were not the users but the providers. I needed altars filled with ancient substance, barrels of sludge, prison camps full of captives, and — ideally — coordinates for ancient bases in the human realm where the Bohao cultists sourced their filth. There was no way the base we destroyed had been the cult’s sole source. A major one, perhaps, but not the only one.

Destroying the core of their strength would force the cult’s god to emerge from hiding. That was when the real fun would begin — and when we’d truly catch the attention of powerful princes.

Ekratz Hwal, notably, was absent from the city — or at least his aura wasn’t among the countless energy signatures I scanned. It was possible he was hiding in the uppermost levels of the hotel, unmasked, but I doubted my luck would be that good. Most likely, the demon managing the Second and Third Circle operations of the Bohao cult wasn’t here at all.

One thing was certain, though — wholesale slaughter of the cultists would eventually draw the attention of an inquisitor, much like what had happened in the First Circle. This time, however, it wouldn’t be an Overlord arriving. With so many Nascent Gods present in Hollyton, it would likely be someone directly tied to the prince we were hunting.

Perhaps someone of Phasor Lin’s caliber…

The thought of unleashing chaos here, right now, was almost too tempting to resist.

All these thoughts raced through my mind in an instant, but I pushed them aside to focus on the administrator, who was still enthusiastically explaining why the King’s Retinue was considered the pinnacle of luxury in the demon realm. The hotel’s name reflected its core philosophy — a retinue was never fragmented. Its residents lived together in unity, supporting one another. This philosophy extended to its design, where Masters would mingle with Masters, Overlords with Overlords, and the topmost branches of the tree were reserved for Nascent Gods and entirely isolated from the lower tiers. Even their attendants were Overlords, as Masters couldn’t endure the aura permeating those lofty branches.

The hotel was specifically designed to minimize the need for energy-restricting amulets for demons of high advancement stages. Instead, its very construction harmonized with the natural flow of spiritual energy.

“A family alcove on the thirty-first level,” the administrator finally said after checking her ledger. “Three are three family pairs of Overlords residing there currently. I’m sure you’ll find much to discuss with them. Does this arrangement suit you?”

“I’d prefer something more exclusive,” I replied honestly. Sharing space with unfamiliar demons wasn’t appealing. “Perhaps we could rent an entire level?”

“I’m afraid that’s not permitted,” the administrator replied with a practiced apologetic gesture. “The principles of the King’s Retinue are inviolable. This is a place for networking and forging new connections. All guests must share communal spaces, or they do not stay here at all. Renting an entire level is simply not an option.”

“But you can offer us something other than the ‘family’ label?”

“If the term ‘family’ is unappealing, we could consider an open-tier arrangement for Overlords. However, I must point out that the ‘family’ levels provide the most exclusive service.”

“Fine, we’ll take it,” I agreed begrudgingly. “And how can we arrange a meeting with Churtan Hwal?”

“I’m sorry, but the manager is currently away on business. You can leave a request, and he will contact you upon his return. Shall I make the request for you?”

“Yes,” I nodded. So, the coordinator of the Bohao cult in the Second Circle was out on business. Likely, it was not mundane. Either he was advancing himself or escorting someone influential to the altars — tasks that couldn’t be entrusted to ordinary demons. The next step would be clear — catalog the current cultist population. When new demons with that murky yellow sludge inside their bodies appeared in Hollyton, we’d act.

The most crucial thing now was tracking their contacts and locating the cult’s base. Wandering around aimlessly wasn’t my style. If other avenues failed, I’d resort to scouring the countryside on Cupcake, but I’d prefer to avoid that. Only now did it dawn on me why the cult chose the Second Circle for their operations — the region was too energy-poor for flight techniques or flying swords. Demons were restricted to ground travel, making it significantly easier to secure altars and their base. I had no doubt that the base was cloaked in powerful defensive formations, impenetrable to ordinary demons. Likely, a prince serving as their deity had lent his hand to ensure this.

“Done. Family alcove on the thirty-first level,” the administrator said, jotting notes in an artifact ledger. “I must inform you, the minimum rental term is one week. Without meals, the rate is twenty thousand spiritual coins per week. Payment by cash or bank note? And for what duration will you rent the family alcove?”

“A month,” I replied without hesitation, though the pricing stunned me. “Payment in cash. Feel free to count it — each chest contains ten thousand spiritual coins.”

She didn’t flinch as I materialized eight large chests beside me. Twenty thousand coins per week. Who could afford such rates? Was this place solely for the richest demons in the realm?

Without any visible signal, a respectable-looking demon approached us. Opening one chest, he pulled out a pouch, weighed it in his hand, and inspected its contents. Unsatisfied, he selected a pouch from the bottom of another chest and repeated the process. After his fifth test, he nodded to the administrator. The chests vanished — I couldn’t tell who had taken them, the administrator or the man who hadn’t even introduced himself. Two plates appeared on the counter before us.

“Please place your hands on the artifact for binding. These are your passes to the King’s Retinue. For the next month, you are our esteemed guests. You can review the rules and available services in your alcove. An attendant will escort you.”

The journey up the trunk was unforgettable. In the human realm, elevators — ancient inventions — were the norm. Here, the ascent was powered by high-level techniques and a network of spirit stones. For a moment, the acceleration left me breathless and my ears popped. Within seconds, the doors opened, revealing a massive open platform shielded by protective formations. Our alcove, containing only a sleeping area, was at the far end of the level.

Two demon couples lounged on plush cushions in the platform’s center, engaged in quiet conversation. Upon seeing us, they fell silent, their gazes locking on our spotted attire. Seekers weren’t welcome in this realm, and we returned the sentiment with equal fervor.

“Honored guests, should you require anything, press the plate. An attendant will arrive immediately to assist you,” our escort explained before bowing and departing.

We were left alone with the two couples. A retinue, they said. Networking. Forging connections. What nonsense. Guests arriving at such a magnificent venue deserved enough privacy to enjoy it — not enforced socialization. The founder clearly didn’t consider this.

The four demons, still staring at us, were clean — no cultists among them. I couldn’t recognize the insignia on their garments, and they were well advanced in age even for beings at the path to ascension. To them, Vyllea and I were barely children — or grandchildren.

Sitting down nearby to engage in conversation seemed a waste. I had no interest in socializing. Turning to Vyllea, who was locked in a staring contest with the demons, I asked,

“Hungry? Let’s check out the local restaurant. If the food matches the cost of staying here, it should be excellent. Otherwise, I don’t see what we’re paying for.”

Admittedly, I had been a bit disingenuous — the view from our terrace was breathtaking. The entire city of Hollyton sprawled before us, like a vivid diorama, with its palaces, parks, and winding streets. This was the capital of the second ring in the southern reaches of the demon world, a sprawling metropolis stretching all the way to the horizon. At least thirty miles in diameter, if not more. I’d never seen a city of this size before, and I couldn’t help but admire how meticulously its comforts were maintained. Running water, a sewage system, waste containers, and cleaners — all of it operated with the precision of ancient mechanisms. Reliable and flawless.

Everything was so cleverly concealed that the average demon likely had no idea a massive pipe supplying water to half the city was hidden within the walls of the neighboring building. Like many major cities, Hollyton had an extensive network of underground levels — ten of them, in fact, setting a record among the cities I’d been to so far. The leader of the city’s underworld was easy to spot — a Nascent God of the Copper rank, residing on an additional, eleventh underground level, one excavated specifically for his lair.

I found the decision questionable. Why hide so deep beneath the earth? If other Nascent Gods came looking for him, they could destroy his lair regardless of how deep it was — be it the eleventh level or the hundredth. However, there was one crucial detail — such an attack would only succeed if they were aware of its existence. Like any crafty bandits’ hideout, the lair was encased in the metal of the ancients.

Still, this demon managed to capture my attention — so much so that I scrutinized both him and his entire operation. The demons in his circle were remarkably clean. Every single one of them! Not a single cultist was present in the city’s subterranean world — neither from Bohao, nor from any blood cult. What was this? A refusal to stoop to cult methods? From what I observed, the gang leader had more than enough resources to pay for any ascension he desired. Near his lair was a secret chamber serving as a treasury, and Vyllea would be better off not knowing just how many spirit coins, spirit stones, and other resources were stashed there. It reminded me of the smugglers’ spatial anomaly we had once raided.

How could such wealth fall into the hands of lowly Second-Tier thugs? This was merely what couldn’t fit into their spatial pouches — a dozen of which were in the treasury. I thought I understood why the gang leader couldn’t leave his lair. He was guarding his treasures. If he stepped away for even a moment, his underlings would immediately dip their greedy claws into the stash, knowing that even the loss of tens of thousands of spirit coins would be impossible to trace amid the hoard. I wondered if there was anything there that we might need, but decided now was not the time.

One thing did intrigue me, however — namely, the prospect of speaking directly with the gang leader. The lower levels of Hollyton seemed too “clean” amidst the surrounding filth. There was no way this was a random occurrence.

The hotel restaurant was a pleasant surprise. Located on the highest level of the “tree,” it offered a view that literally took my breath away. The winds up here were so strong that everything and everyone would have been swept away if it wasn’t for the protective formation. The open terrace with its modest railing was the only visible form of safety. At least, that’s how it looked to the naked eye. Spirit vision revealed the truth — falling was impossible, as the formation would prevent it.

“I never thought the King’s Retinue would sink so low as to host Seekers within its walls,” came a loud voice from a nearby table. Two Nascent Gods of the Copper rank were chatting freely, gossiping about everyone and everything. It wasn’t long before we became their topic of discussion. Technically, the gap in Ascension between us was so vast that we should have lowered our gazes and humbly absorbed the wisdom of these so-called great demons.

But spirit vision told me there would be no avoiding this confrontation. One of the Nascent Gods’ blood was tainted with a substance of the ancients. If a cultist was begging for death, who was I to stand in his way?

“Vyllea,” I said, “don’t you think the air here feels a bit stifling? It’s as though something filthy is nearby, so vile it’s making me sick. Wait a moment… Ah, of course. Look over there at the next table! He may be a Nascent God, but the stench coming off him suggests he just crawled out of a garbage heap. When they praised this establishment, I think they overdid it. How could they allow such filth to reside here?”

For emphasis — and to ensure the demon knew exactly whom I was referring to — I even pointed a finger at him. The Nascent God’s aura flared, enveloping us in its oppressive weight. He was making it abundantly clear who ruled this world. However, before the situation escalated, a hotel representative appeared beside our table. The worker, shielded by an artifact that functioned like an energy-blocking amulet, stood unfazed.

“Honored guests, please refrain from breaking the rules of the King’s Retinue. Otherwise, we’ll have to terminate your contract, and you’ll be barred from staying at our establishment.”

The cultist demon shot the worker a hostile glare but, surprisingly, complied. He slammed back into his chair, turning away from us in a clear show of disdain. But I had other plans for him.

“If we can’t settle this here, where would it be appropriate?” I asked the hotel representative, who was preparing to leave. “This junior has dared to insult Seekers.”

“Junior?!” The demon clearly struggled with self-control. “Watch your tongue, Seeker, or I’ll tear it out right here!”

“You see?” I said to the representative. “There’s no avoiding a conflict. But I don’t wish to break the rules. Your food is excellent, and we haven’t finished enjoying it yet. We need an arena. With spectators, if possible, so everyone can see that slandering the honorable title of Seeker is unacceptable. Can the King’s Retinue arrange a duel between Seeker Zander, a Silver Overlord, and… what’s your name, junior? Whom will I be killing?”

The demon managed to restrain himself but couldn’t hide a sneer when I revealed my status as a Silver Overlord.

“You’ll be crushed by Lizzag Hwal, a Copper Nascent God!” he spat. “Your wife’s quite the looker. Perfect! I’ll have my way with her, and then toss her into a brothel where she belongs. We fight to the death, worm! I’ll grind you into dust!”

“I’m glad you don’t dispute your status as a junior. If you fall to your knees and beg for mercy, I might just spare you.”

“I’ll bury you right here!” The demon’s face turned crimson with rage.

“I’ll need to consult the deputy manager,” the hotel worker said, visibly pale. It was clear this situation was beyond his authority.

“Let’s aim for ten tomorrow morning,” I suggested. “You ready to die then, junior? Or would you prefer half past, for an extra thirty minutes of life?” I held the cultist’s gaze steadily. He was the first of two hundred and forty-seven demons inhabiting Hollyton, and one of three Nascent Gods.

Vyllea was right — when we followed my favorite script and stirred up chaos, things got infinitely more entertaining. And it appeared that the Heavens approved of it, too, constantly throwing trouble our way.

Chapter 10

“YOUR IDEA ISN’T LOOKING so great now.”

Vyllea’s displeasure was evident as she surveyed the crowd gathering in the arena. Word that a Copper Nascent God had challenged a demon who had spent time in the human world and become a Seeker spread through the capital in mere hours. We’d endured a less-than-pleasant night in our corner of the hotel. Sharing space with three elderly couples eager for conversation left no room for rest. Our nosy neighbors were particularly curious why I had apparently chosen to commit suicide. Everyone understood the stark truth: a Silver Overlord had no chance of winning — let alone surviving — against a Nascent God. The difference in Ascension was simply insurmountable.

And that was precisely the point. I needed to learn, and what better teacher was there than sheer necessity? That was the situation I had crafted for myself, ensuring the Nascent God would engage in an actual fight rather than crush me with his aura or fling a fireball at my head. The idea, although not explicitly explained, came from mentor Guerlon. Instead of immediately killing Chimar Li, the Seeker allowed him to unleash every technique he’d learned. My blood brother and I shared an inconvenient quirk that could easily cost us our lives in critical moments — neither of us possessed techniques at the Nascent God stage. In fact, we didn’t even have Overlord-level techniques.

Guerlon had barely reached the Nascent God stage before being thrust into this situation. Just like us, he hadn’t joined any influential family guarding ancient knowledge. His survival depended entirely on the absolute artifact gifted by the head of the Phoenix Clan and on his new abilities — spirit vision and energy absorption. However, these wouldn’t suffice against a serious opponent. During his battle with Chimar Li, Guerlon devoted himself to study, allowing the fledgling Nascent God to demonstrate every cultist-taught technique. He absorbed energy as it burst forth, analyzing the sequence of meridian activation, core engagement, and elemental manipulation. There were no scrolls to reference — all the knowledge we’d hoarded was outdated. We relied solely on spirit vision and our adversaries.

That was why I required an open duel with the demon who’d introduced himself as Lizzag Hwal — a name that wasn’t even his own, but one bestowed by the cultists. According to my notes, this demon had undergone Ascension three years prior. In all that time, the Copper Nascent God hadn’t made any progress. Small wonder — those kinds of barriers made further progress impossible. Still, in three years, he must have mastered at least a single basic technique, which he’d undoubtedly use today. If he planned to overpower me with brute strength alone, he was in for a surprise. My conjoined spirit core was only slightly smaller than his. Dangerous, perhaps, but not critical.

If, however, this demon turned out to be a talentless fool who hadn’t bothered with self-improvement, it would be disappointing. Instead of drawing strength from him, I’d have to rely on other means for development. If there was nothing to develop against, I’d lose an invaluable chance to push my conjunction core to the Nascent God stage. I had prepared everything for a purification process to occur right there in the arena, complete with a protective formation to shield me from even a Copper Nascent Gods’ scrutiny. But that would come later. First, I needed to learn and adapt. It was time to grow stronger.

“Your seat is waiting,” I said, pulling myself back to the present and giving Vyllea’s hand a reassuring squeeze. My wife didn’t doubt my victory, but she detested unnecessary witnesses. And there were plenty of them — Hollyton’s arena could hold fifteen thousand spectators, and today, every seat was filled. The arena’s owner had even approached us to finalize a contract. If we won, a third of the ticket revenue would be ours. With admission to the duel priced at a thousand spirit coins, the earnings promised to be significant. Perhaps I should consider a career as a duelist? I wondered if such a profession even existed.

The central arena of Hollyton was fortified with state-of-the-art techniques and artifact craftsmanship. Unlike in Circle Zero, where demons struggled to assemble composite techniques for protective formations that often failed against an Overlord’s attacks, everything here was handled by artifacts. The city planners had prioritized spectator safety from the outset. Whoever designed the hotel must have been responsible for the arena’s defenses as well. Breaking through them wouldn’t just require effort — it would demand extraordinary measures, and even then, success wasn’t guaranteed. Not even a Silver Nascent God could breach these protections lightly.

The city’s grand prince, the Bohao cult’s God, would never personally oversee the installation of such defenses in the Second Ring — it would damage his reputation. That meant the work had likely been entrusted to someone in his inner circle. If my potential opponent — the one who might intervene to restore order — was a Silver Nascent God, I’d need to prepare carefully. Someone like Guerlon, who’d had experience with such foes, could defeat an opponent like that easily, and so could a jet of orimmal toad venom The demon would never expect that. However, using the venom before meeting him would tip my hand. Therefore, no orimmal toads for today’s audience. That ace up my sleeve was best left for the future.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Hollyton’s central arena!” The announcer’s voice boomed. The arena staff members were impeccable in their organization, already making rounds and offering refreshments. Betting had begun — how many seconds would the Silver Overlord last? One? Maybe he’d survive until the second? No one believed I could win. No one but Vyllea, who had no interest in such trivial bets.

“Today, we present a most unusual duel. Copper Nascent God Oblarith Tsurta has challenged Silver Overlord Zander Bao to a fight to the death, and to everyone’s astonishment, the Overlord accepted!”

Oblarith Tsurta? No wonder the demon preferred his cultist name. Lizzag Hwal sounded far punchier.

“The match rules are standard and unchanging. The combatants may use any technique, artifact, trick, or method to survive, with one exception — escaping the arena is forbidden! The protective formation will permit only one survivor. These are the rules established by the city’s curator, the grand prince of the First Circle!”

I strained to catch a name, hoping for some hint of the prince’s identity, but there were none. princes lost their names when they became rulers of this world. Three council leaders, seven princes of the First Circle, and another seven of the Second. Seventeen nameless beings. Demons knew precisely who was referred to as “prince.” I wished I shared their certainty.

Unfortunately, one thing was clear — the Bohao cult’s God wasn’t Bohayle Lin’s father. Bohayle, the demon, who had tormented Althea and even tried to invade her mind to force her love, had been demoted from the First Circle to the Second. The recent announcement exonerated him completely. That left only seven suspects, including, paradoxically, Althea’s father. Until I saw him with my spirit vision, which was capable of detecting the filthy yellow goo in one’s blood, I’d suspect everyone. The fact that Phasor Lin, the prince’s brother, was clean meant nothing. Life was unpredictable, and the Heavens ever reveled in turning monotony into chaos.

“And now, before the duel begins, please welcome the incomparable Tirmilda!”

A mature woman of considerable size stepped onto the arena, accompanied by a group of musicians. As they began to prepare, I watched the scene unfold with genuine astonishment. It was clear even the organizers didn’t believe the fight would be worth watching. Realizing it was wrong to draw such a large crowd for what would presumably last only seconds, they had invited a singer, too. In truth, the audience had come primarily for her performance — not to witness a duel between a Nascent God and an Overlord. We were little more than a free side attraction to the main event. An attraction that could be ignored, as it turned out.

After half an hour of mediocre singing paired with equally lackluster music, some spectators began to leave. They’d seen their idol, and the rest didn’t matter. Heavens, what had I gotten myself into? What was this circus, and why were we its clowns?

“Let’s thank the magnificent Tirmilda for her wonderful performance, and now, at last, we begin! I see no point in delaying the inevitable, so allow me to say the magic word: Fight!”

The protective barrier concealing me evaporated, and finally, I stood free. Before the match, both Lizzag Hwal (I decided I’d keep using his cultist name because I found his real one too cumbersome) and yours truly had been placed under containment formations to prevent us from escaping or starting the fight prematurely. As soon as the barrier dissolved, I felt a wave of pressure emanating from my opponent. He wasted no time trying to make it abundantly clear who was in charge here. I shivered. The pressure was unpleasant, but manageable.

Vyllea was seated among the spectators, ensuring that the distance needed for our conjunction would be maintained anywhere in the arena. Confirming that the pressure wasn’t fatal, I began walking toward my opponent slowly, encouraging him to take the fight seriously.

We couldn’t hear the crowd’s reactions — sounds from underneath the dome could be heard outside, but not the other way around. In truth, we couldn’t even see them, but no formation could block spirit vision. I could clearly see the departing spectators freeze in their tracks and abruptly turn back toward the arena. Some even leaned forward, eager to catch every detail. Ten seconds into the fight, and the Silver Overlord was still alive. Was that supposed to happen?

As I reached the center of the arena, it became clear why Lizzag Hwal had stopped his attacks. He stood with his back to me, bowing to the crowd. Though he couldn’t see them, he knew they were watching.

“So, is your aura the best you can manage?” I called out from the center. The speed of the Nascent God’s reaction was impressive. His meridians flared, activating a motion technique, and he launched toward me at full speed, drawing his weapon mid-charge. Or at least, he attempted to. Instead, a sickening thud echoed through the dome as his body collided with an invisible wall.

A simple spirit wall, the most basic Apprentice-level technique, had worked wonders. By infusing it with elemental energy, extending it deep into the ground, adding a hurricane-force wind from the opposite side to carry my flying platform, and reinforcing the technique with spirit power to prevent it from shattering upon contact, I’d achieved remarkable results. The impact left Lizzag Hwal standing dazed, shaking his head in confusion. He probably saw stars and swirling circles, but I didn’t particularly care.

The sand beneath him unexpectedly turned to dust, causing him to sink waist-deep. However, the protective arena formation prevented deeper pits from forming. That was fine by me — I solidified the dust into stone. While the technique wasn’t beyond the Overlord stage and would take a Nascent God mere moments to overcome, I had no intention of granting him those moments.

The idea of testing my opponent’s techniques vanished the instant he charged me with a jian. A melee fighter. Rather than annihilate me with a powerful technique, Lizzag Hwal wanted to tear me apart in close combat. Such a fighter wouldn’t bother demonstrating anything particularly dangerous or noteworthy. That left me free to act, and I planned to follow Guerlon’s advice. My blood brother had given a lecture on how Taoists with a rainbow-elemental core could hold their own against opponents of higher Ascension stages. We had no such limitations, unlike anyone who was bound to a single element.

As soon as I temporarily immobilized my opponent, I created a highly rarefied sphere around him, removing nearly all the air. Unfortunately, I couldn’t achieve a perfect vacuum, so the demon didn’t implode.

Instead, he retaliated.

Lizzag Hwal realized escaping my “childish” trap would waste time. The absence of air didn’t concern him — at his level of Ascension, he could hold his breath for hours. Rather than panic, he hurled an enormous orb of all-consuming fire directly at me. Of course. A demon and a cultist — fire as the primary element was almost inevitable. Maybe all fire-element demons should be checked? Then again, as I recalled, even Vyllea dabbled with fire early on. It was best not to generalize.

I didn’t bother dodging the fireball. It was pure elemental energy, albeit with the strength of a Nascent God. The orb dissipated mere feet away from me, fully absorbed into my core. A strange sensation bloomed in my chest, like a butterfly trapped and fluttering to escape. My cores trembled with the influx of power, and — unless I was mistaken — they wanted more. They liked it.

Lizzag Hwal wasted no time, launching a second fireball. Then a third. A fifth. By the sixth, he had to resort to a crystal of elemental energy to fuel his attack.

“Stop flinging useless fireballs, junior!” I shouted, addressing the crowd rather than my opponent. “Fight like an adult, not some overgrown demon who’s never seen a real technique!”

The answer to my taunt came swiftly — a pool of fire spread beneath my feet. My opponent had finally lost his temper and started taking me seriously. At the same time, three spheres of pure flame rained down from above. The air around me grew so hot that I feared for the safety of Master Maseel's robes. Vyllea would kill me if anything happened to them! Left with no choice, I absorbed Lizzag Hwal’s elemental assault.

The demon was just getting warmed up, as it turned out. This was all a distraction while he prepared his main attack. The trouble with elemental energy is that it didn’t involve a flow you could intercept — it was either seized the moment it was released, or it manifested into something dangerous. And this time, as I deflected his smaller fireballs, Lizzag Hwal was channeling an immense amount of power into an enormous sphere of all-consuming flame, devouring elemental crystals one after the other. So that’s why he had so many of them!

When he finally completed his technique, the entire arena became a volcanic inferno. Fire roared from every direction — above, below, to the sides. The heat was so intense that the sand beneath our feet melted into grotesque black glass. Absorbing an attack like this would be suicide. Lizzag Hwal had poured the power of five Nascent God-stage elemental crystals into this. No core could endure such force, conjoined or not.

I had to retreat into full defense mode. Three layers of protection: earth, water, and air. Earth formed the outermost layer, shielding me from the fire. Water made up the second layer, cooling the heated earth. Air, as the innermost layer, chilled the water. There was a fourth layer — my spirit armor — but it was useless against such an attack.

Breathing within the spheres was impossible. The heat wasn’t just intense — it was monstrous. Still, the defense held. Meanwhile, Lizzag Hwal stood safely under his dome, untouched by the flames. I smirked. Could a Nascent God’s fire harm another Nascent God? I didn’t want to absorb him — he was finally fighting as he should have from the start. However, his artifacts, particularly the defensive ones, were irresistible.

Fixing on one of his energy anchors, I tore the power out of it. The butterflies in my chest returned, more frenzied than before, almost bursting from my core. The artifact was clearly not Copper-rank — Bronze, or, perhaps even Silver. The pain hit like a tidal wave — my cores couldn’t handle it, forcing me to reroute the energy to my conjunction giant. With Vyllea absent, I had to crash into the dam of my own body at full speed. Relief followed as the energy redistribution worked perfectly.

No matter how much power Lizzag Hwal funneled into his fiery chaos now, it couldn’t touch me. But it could touch him. The moment I drained the anchor’s energy, it deactivated, and the firestorm found a new target. I thought I even heard a scream of unbearable pain. In an instant, the madness under the protective dome ceased — Lizzag Hwal had extinguished his element. My shields dissolved a moment later. I didn’t want to show him how I’d survived his attack; he might add solid projectiles next time to pierce my outer defense.

But Lizzag Hwal was too preoccupied to notice me. He was using healing techniques, one after another, in a desperate attempt to repair the severe burns that covered him. His clothes and hair were gone, his skin charred black. Two glowing golden eyes stared out from the darkness, so grotesque it sent a shiver through me.

The techniques dulled his pain but couldn’t fully restore his skin. He’d need a functioning healing capsule to recover. Still, it was now evident — Nascent God techniques worked just as devastatingly on their users if they lost focus.

A sharp sensation between my shoulder blades made me glance back. Lizzag Hwal was staring at me, unmoving. I suspected he couldn’t move, still trapped in my “childish” trap. In his current state, escaping it was impossible. Fortunately for him, the fire hadn’t reached below his waist, and the lower part of him remained intact, thanks to the stone barrier. Seeing me, the demon seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation. His aura didn’t affect me. I ignored his element. Close combat was off the table. What was left? The very thing he should have started with.

Nascent God-stage techniques.

Two hundred meridians flared to life! The energy flowed first into his energy core, gaining new properties, then through his elemental core, enveloping itself in flame, and finally into his spirit core, forming something complete and final. It all happened so quickly that I couldn’t commit the sequence to memory. I’d have to replay the moment later in my mind to avoid mistakes in replicating the meridian order. Any error could cause the technique to backfire, tearing apart the user’s hand — or worse, another part of their body through which the energy was released.

Lizzag Hwal didn’t overcomplicate things. Once all two hundred meridians poured their energy into his spirit core, he extended a clenched fist toward me. It was remarkable — and unnerving — that he still managed a ghastly grin, given his mangled state.

That was when I acted. I latched onto one of the meridians in his arm, and as the technique’s full force prepared to release, I let the energy escape prematurely.

The explosion was massive. The blast hurled my opponent several dozen feet away. The part of him still caught in my trap remained in place. Lizzag Hwal became torn in two. His arms, half his chest, and part of his face were simply gone. The disrupted technique was so destructive it mutilated even a Nascent God.

Amazingly, Lizzag Hwal wasn’t dead yet! He had passed out from the pain but clung to life as though his body refused to believe that a Silver Overlord had defeated him. Had he been more cautious and relied on his artifacts, he might have survived, but underestimating his opponent had sealed his fate.

The Copper Nascent God was dying, his life bleeding out onto the arena floor. But I wasn’t going to let him off as easy as that. I used a motion technique and appeared at his side in a split second. I raised my hand, erecting a protective formation around us, and began preparing a purification ritual. I even channeled a few healing techniques into him — letting a cultist die prematurely was unacceptable. His power would become mine, even if it happened in front of fifteen thousand spectators…

But why did I even need a protective formation? Let the cultists see what could happen to them! Let them tremble and send someone serious my way. What better reason to survive than the arrival of a Silver Nascent God, curious to learn how I’d managed to obliterate one of their own? That kind of information could grant a Silver Overlord’s life a temporary reprieve, even when faced with imminent destruction. Yes, that was it! No protective formation. Let the spectators watch — especially the thirty-two cultists among them.

Lizzag Hwal somehow held on long enough for me to complete my preparations. When I finally activated the technique, the overwhelming surge of released power forced me to my knees. His body dissolved into an unsightly sludge — a grotesque reminder of his journey toward Ascension, one built on borrowed strength from as far back as his Master stage. My conjoined spirit core groaned under the strain, barely capable of containing the immense power. I got lucky, though, for his spirit core had been partially depleted by his failed technique.

Focusing my will, I mentally compressed the surging force, forcing it to submit to me. Slowly, the swirling energy surrounding me dissipated, absorbed into my conjoined core. When the last trace of power settled, I rose to my feet and allowed myself a triumphant grin.

I did it. I had achieved everything I’d intended. His techniques, his power — and most importantly, I, Zander Bao, born in Tier Zero of the human world, had become a Copper Nascent God with a conjoined spirit core.

Now the hunt for cultists would take on a new dimension — my upgraded spirit core demanded growth!

Chapter 11

“YOUR WINNINGS, ELDER,” the arena representative said, doing his best to appear calm, though I could see his heart hammering in his chest. For this Warrior, who had reached the Second Circle by merit of ascension, standing near someone who had just turned their opponent into an unsightly mess smeared across the arena in front of fifteen thousand demons was deeply unsettling.

Instead of money, the demon handed me a promissory note for five million spirit coins. An insane figure, truly, but no one had forced the arena to sign a contract granting me a third of the ticket revenue. Another third had gone to the singer and her band, and the final third to the arena itself. If not for the “magnificent” Tirmilda — whom I personally found far from magnificent — my winnings would have been twenty-five hundred million spirit coins higher. Now I faced the minor challenge of converting this useless scrap of paper into something tangible. Neither Vyllea nor I trusted banks. Wherever there were demons, there were schemes and tricks. That rule applied here just as it did in the human world — wherever humans meddled, trouble followed.

“Elder, I beg your forgiveness, but may I ask a question?” the arena representative stopped me as I prepared to leave and join Vyllea. “What happened to the body of your opponent, Elder?”

“Nothing of what’s happened to my opponent should interest you,” I said, trying to suppress a grin. While waiting for the protective barrier to deactivate, my spirit vision had revealed three cultists approaching the demon and slipping him several pouches of spirit coins. It seemed the arena’s five million in earnings wasn’t enough, so its workers didn’t hesitate to take bribes. I expected some sort of setup, but reality was much simpler — the cultists were desperate to learn what had happened to Lizzag Hwal. None of the spectators understood the technique I’d used at the end, though those with spirit vision had clearly seen the energy vortex and the change in Lizzag Hwal’s Ascension stage just before his demise. The mystery and danger of it all had driven the cultists to the edge of panic. Bribing an arena worker to ask me directly? Amateurish.

“Elder, please forgive my boldness, but we must know,” the worker insisted, trembling but determined. “To record your decisive victory and report it to all of Hollyton, we need to understand how one of the combatants was defeated. It will bring you greater honor and make our arena highly attractive to demons seeking such methods of elimination.”

This Second-Ring Warrior was terrified but pressed on, knowing the bribe had to be earned. He was taking no real risk — anyone familiar with Seekers knew we didn’t kill those who approached us with bowed backs and polite questions. The Heavens disapproved of such things.

“No,” I said curtly and turned away. I had no intention of making things easier for the cultists. Let them figure it out themselves. Energy burst? Yes. Ascension stage lost? Indeed, but how? They’d have to meet me in person to find out. Let them gather their numbers and come to me — I’d happily speak to all of them. One can never have too much loot.

The arena worker looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t dare call after me. Lizzag Hwal’s clothes, spatial pouch, and artifacts were already safely stored in my vault. I’d need to sever the pouch’s binding to examine the Nascent God’s hoard. And if anyone tried to lay claim to my spoils, I’d kill them on the spot and say they’d always been mine! A Nascent God’s vaults often contained items no amount of spirit coins could buy. Heavens, maybe I really should become a duelist, I thought to myself? It was absurdly profitable! Dangerous, perhaps, but profitable nonetheless. As long as the spectators kept paying a thousand spirit coins each, our small group would never want for money.

Naïve Zander. It was a good thing Guerlon had once taught me to face life’s curveballs stoically and not let my emotions spill out onto others. Everything had been going smoothly until Vyllea and I entered the bank hand-in-hand. A demon with a narrow, almost rodent-like face examined the promissory note from Hollyton’s central arena and looked up at me with a confused expression.

“I’m afraid this cannot be converted to cash, Elder. Based on this note, you can receive a checkbook and use its slips for purchases at any store in Hollyton, pay for lodging, or place bets, but turning it into spirit coins is impossible.”

“And this note is only valid in Hollyton?” I finished his unspoken thought.

“Exactly, Elder. The central arena of Hollyton guarantees this note, but banks in other cities will not honor it. In our world, a guarantor is everything. To use this note outside Hollyton, you’d need a guarantor with a global reputation, not one confined to the Second Circle. For example, the central palace’s weapons or alchemy workshops issue notes accepted in every major city because they have representatives everywhere.”

“Can I exchange this note from Hollyton’s central arena for one backed by a global guarantor?”

“Of course!” The banker beamed as if I’d just fallen into his carefully laid trap. “Considering your status, lack of credit history, Ascension stage, and the reliability of the arena’s guarantee, the central bank can offer you a note worth seventy thousand spirit coins. You can convert it into a checkbook and use it in major cities throughout our world. Shall I process the exchange, elder? I assure you, it’s the most favorable rate available anywhere.”

“Convert the arena’s note into a checkbook, then,” I said flatly, suppressing my emotions. Vyllea looked ready to demolish the bank and its rat-faced employees, but I managed to calm her down. A note for seventy thousand out of five million. It wasn’t even funny. I’d never encountered such brazen robbery in my life. And it was all delivered with such a straight face as though I should genuinely believe the banker’s intentions were honest. This was exactly why we never used banks.

“What size checkbook do you need, elder?” The banker looked disappointed.

“One hundred slips,” I said after a moment’s thought. Each slip would be worth fifty thousand spirit coins, which would suffice for most purchases. Still, the slips would only have value here in Hollyton. Anywhere else, they’d be nothing but scraps of paper.

“That will be two hundred fifty thousand spirit coins, elder. Five percent of the checkbook’s total value.”

“Can I pay with slips from the checkbook?”

“Regrettably, no, Elder. Banking fees must be paid in cash. If you don’t have the amount on hand, we can arrange a loan. Only fifty percent interest per month. Borrow two hundred and fifty thousand, repay three hundred and seventy-five.”

“Regardless of whether I repay it in a month or two minutes, it’s still three hundred and seventy-five thousand?”

“Correct!” the banker beamed. “A trivial matter for someone of your stature… What are you doing?!”

The demon’s startled cry was understandable. The promissory note for five million spirit coins turned to ash before his very eyes. I brushed the remnants onto his desk and rose from my chair.

“Have a nice day. Next time, I’ll make sure to clarify in advance that I don’t accept payment in notes.”

Perhaps I should have let Vyllea turn that bank into rubble. The defenses were formidable, of course, and it would have taken some effort to break through them — and the guards who would undoubtedly rush to defend the spatial pouches in the vault. But I had no desire to bother, much less to deal with banks. Stick your finger in their mouth, and they’d bite your arm off at the elbow. As for the five million spirit coins — easy come, easy go. No big deal.

Even though we’d only spent a short time in the bank, it had given the demons enough time to process the situation and plunge into utter chaos. When we stepped out of the grand building, a Nascent God was already waiting for us. Specifically, it was the demon who had loudly discussed the restaurant guests with a cultist the previous night at the King’s Retinue. The plaza was empty — demons had fled, fearful for their lives. Even the city guard, which was supposed to patrol this street, had suddenly turned into an alley.

Perhaps I should have stopped and played the patience game, staring down my potential opponent to see whose nerves would crack first. But such games didn’t interest me. I summoned Cupcake, making it clear that the demon’s presence was of no concern to me. It wasn’t until a sharp, unmistakable sensation pierced my back that I turned to face him.

As I imagined an orimmal toad’s spit emerging from a spatial anomaly and forming a gaping hole in the Nascent God’s chest, I broadcast my intentions. Yet the demon didn’t react. His self-control was impressive — he didn’t activate a single artifact, though he was draped in them from head to toe. It seemed as if this Copper Nascent God didn’t even register my unspoken message to back off. For a while, he simply stared at me, as if deciding whether I was the demon he was looking for. Finally, he spoke.

“Lizzag Hwal owed me money. You took all his belongings, and with them, his debts. That means you owe me money.”

“Seekers owe nothing to anyone,” I replied calmly, though his words caught me off guard. Never before had someone demanded that I shouldered the debts of a dead cultist. At this rate, a Third or Second Circle administrator would show up next and demand I start supplying barrels of that filthy yellow goo to the human world because I’d killed their local operational manager.

“Lizzag Hwal owed me money! He’s dead, so the debt falls to whoever killed him!” the demon repeated with stubborn insistence.

“If you have complaints, I’ll gladly address them in the arena. Want to contest my right to his belongings? No problem. Let’s go. I doubt it’ll take long.”

“I don’t intend to fight you, Seeker! I want my money! Look, I even have a note!”

To prove his point, the demon produced a slip of paper and held it out confidently, as though it explained everything. A promissory note, much like the one I’d received from Ekratz Hwal, the operational manager of the Bohao cult for the Second and Third Circles, although his actual jurisdiction seemed to extend much further. Presumably, Ekratz Hwal was now in the human world, trying to figure out what had happened in the Third Tier’s unofficial capital, why all the cultists had suddenly vanished, and what to do next.

“So?” I returned the note to the demon, whose name was Lond Caerol, if the paper was to be believed. A year ago, Lizzag Hwal had borrowed one million spirit coins from him and, judging by the note, was supposed to repay it all with interest yesterday. Instead, the cultist had tried to cheat death and failed spectacularly, leaving Lond Caerol, a Copper Nascent God, in a less-than-satisfied state. Notably, Lond was a clean demon, free of unbreakable chains or massive dams. His barriers were standard — breakable within two or three focused sessions.

“Lizzag Hwal owed me money,” Lond repeated as if reading from a script. “He’s dead, and you have all his possessions.”

“Zander, I’m bored!” Vyllea reminded me of her presence from inside Cupcake, urging me to wrap this up — preferably with some profit for us.

“I’m anything but bored,” I muttered, scrutinizing Lond Caerol. Something about him felt off, though I couldn’t put my finger on it. I knew nothing of the Caerol tribe. Judging by Vyllea’s indifference, neither did she. But it had to be a powerful tribe if it had produced a Nascent God. Such demons didn’t just appear out of nowhere.

“Althea, I need information…”

“No idea!” came her swift reply. “Mentor, when will you understand that the Lin tribe isn’t the only one in the central palace? There are countless tribes, big and small. Historically, the Lin tribe had become central because it produced all the princes, but even I don’t know why. And the librarians refuse to give me those two books on our history, claiming they’re only available in the Blue Lotus School’s library. Mentor, why don’t you visit your old school? You could give lectures on things important for one’s ascension such as — ”

“Enough,” I cut her off, realizing she was veering into her favorite topic — books. Preferably ones she hadn’t read yet.

My gaze returned to Lond Caerol. The unsettling sensation between my shoulder blades hadn’t faded — in fact, it was growing stronger. But I was beginning to suspect that Lond wasn’t the source. Something else was triggering the warning. What could generate such a sense of danger without appearing in my spirit vision, I wondered?

A cold chill ran down my spine. Lond Caerol was still staring at me expectantly, but made no move. Someone else, however, was taking action. I expanded my enhanced spirit vision to cover the plaza outside the bank. And there it was! An uninvited guest was heading my way. A hundred feet away and closing, each step amplifying the sense of danger.

Whoever — or whatever — was approaching, they weren’t here to exchange pleasantries or join the Seekers. This demon, cloaked in invisibility, had come for one purpose — to kill me.

Actually, no, they weren’t planning to kill me! If the cultists wanted me dead, they’d have done it from a distance, without resorting to such elaborate theatrics. Someone must have reached the prince or one of his aides while I was inside the bank, laid out everything that had transpired in the arena, and convinced them to send a cultist executioner here. But not to eliminate me — their goal was to capture the Silver Overlord who had somehow stood his ground in open combat against a Copper Nascent God and deliver him to the central palace. Through a portal? Unlikely, since the gatekeeper might not permit it. So, some other means. But why would they drag me to the palace? To show me to the prince or his aide? Surely they had more important matters to attend to than examining one seemingly insignificant Seeker…

Perhaps I was overestimating my importance. Maybe one of the cult leaders sent a stealthy demon here to capture and interrogate me thoroughly. But to transport me all the way to the palace? For what purpose? To make me “useful”?

“Zander, I’m bored!” Vyllea’s voice came sharper this time, urging me to take action. I glanced mournfully at my stock of orimmal toad spit and sighed heavily. No choice. I didn’t want to end up in the hands of the creeping demon, so I had to use one of my frozen green jets of venom.

The strike hit the bullseye. I couldn’t pinpoint the demon’s exact location or height — all I had to work with were the disturbances in the energy field they created. I aimed for the center of those distortions, manifesting the glob of spit’s exit point six feet above the ground. My opponent was unlikely to be a giant.

Vyllea was about to repeat her demand, likely accompanied by some thrown heavy object, but stopped short. The plaza outside the bank began to smoke. The venom of an Overlord-stage orimmal toad tore through the stealthy demon and splattered across the stones. Thankfully, the impact occurred some seventy feet away — if even a drop of that stuff had touched Cupcake, Vyllea would have surely killed me.

The demon didn’t even realize what had hit them before their body was sucked into my spatial anomaly. I followed up with a fire vortex to burn away the poison. The concentrated acid resisted stubbornly, emitting toxic vapors and consuming as much as it could before I managed to neutralize it.

Unfortunately, a large subterranean space beneath the plaza was filled with demons, and they were unlucky enough to bear the brunt of the spill. I wasn’t Dokravit, who’d managed to negate most of the poison during its previous use with his usual efficiency, and my efforts to burn it away were really clumsy in comparison. By the time I succeeded, the venom had burned through to the fourth underground level, leaving a hole wide enough for a portly demon to pass through.

Screams and shouts erupted as guards scrambled, suddenly remembering their duties. But instead of rushing to the plaza, they ran away from it. Chaos descended on the city, yet amidst the madness, Lond Caerol’s calm voice rang out clear.

“Lizzag Hwal owed me money. He’s dead, and all his belongings are with you.”

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, bewildered, as I turned back to the demon. “Did you somehow fail to notice what just happened here?”

“I’m not here to fight you or interfere with your actions. Lizzag Hwal owed me one million spirit coins. I even have a note to prove it.”

“Zander…” Vyllea drawled my name in a strange way, her attention finally focusing on our peculiar guest. With the disappearance of the invisible demon, the sense of danger vanished entirely. The Copper Nascent God before me had no intention of harming me — none whatsoever.

“I saw you at the King’s Retinue. Do you live there?”

“Lizzag Hwal invited me there yesterday,” Lond Caerol replied. “He told funny jokes about the other guests. He wanted me to make some up too, but that didn’t interest me. It was more entertaining to listen to him. But now he’s gone. And so are my coins. One million spirit coins. I even have a note.”

Once again, Lond Caerol tried to hand me the now-useless piece of paper.

“You’ll get your one million spirit coins,” I said, taking on certain obligations. Vyllea turned to me, clearly ready to protest such extravagance — especially considering I had recently burned a check for five million spirit coins — but froze when I silenced her with a warning gesture.

A satisfied smile spread across Lond Caerol’s face, as though he’d just heard another amusing story. I had to wipe that smile away.

“But you won’t get the money just like that. Lizzag Hwal had tried to kill me, so everything that was his is now mine. If you want your one million spirit coins, you’ll have to tell me about yourself. Who are you? Which tribe do you belong to? What are you doing in this city? Let’s just talk — two demons on the path to immortality. No mocking, no jokes, just a conversation. Agreed?”

“And I’ll get the money Lizzag Hwal owed me?” he asked. “I even have a note. I can show you.”

“Of course you’ll show it to me. Get in the red cart — we’re heading to the King’s Retinue. We’ll go up to the restaurant, and you’ll tell me an interesting story about the Caerol tribe.”

“Husband, what’s going on? Why are you dealing with this lunatic? Can’t you see he’s out of his mind?”

“Vyllea, I have no idea what’s happening! All I know is that we need to help this demon. Don’t ask me why. It’s the right thing to do and… Heavens, I’m confused. We’ll help him because I want to. That’s my decision, and I’m not explaining it. Get with the program, my dear!”

Chapter 12

“THAT’S ALL,” LOND CAEROL concluded his story. “Now, will you give me my money?”

“I will,” I nodded, processing what I’d heard — which, frankly, wasn’t much. Lond Caerol had woken up a few days ago in Lizzag Hwal’s company, remembering nothing about his past including his identity, origins, and purpose. If not for the promissory note that had inexplicably appeared in his hands, he would have been completely lost. Lond had learned his name from that note, as it turned out.

Lizzag Hwal had explained they’d trained together until Lond overexerted himself, collapsing with blood streaming from his nose and ears. For two days, Lond had wandered Hollyton, searching for anything familiar that might restore his memory. Healing techniques didn’t work, and other demons avoided him, unwilling to provoke a Nascent God. Lizzag, his only acquaintance, had made light of the situation, assuring him he’d remember everything eventually — if he stopped training.

When Lizzag died, Lond was utterly lost. The one familiar face in his new life was gone. So he decided to confront the Silver Overlord he saw and demand payment on the promissory note, hoping it might trigger more memories.

“What’s so funny, Seeker?” Lond asked, turning to Vyllea, who had let out a derisive snort. She fixed him with her signature look of disdain, but I cut her off before she could speak, firing my own question first.

“Lond, didn’t you think it was odd that the Lizzag Hwal you knew was introduced under a different name in the arena?”

The demon stared at me like he was seeing me for the first time. His gaze was unsettling — focused and unfocused all at once, as if he were looking at me, through me, and somewhere far beyond.

“It doesn’t matter. He told me his name was Lizzag Hwal. He knew me before I lost my memory, so I had no reason to doubt him. Nobody would use a fake name to take on a million-spirit-coin debt. Look, I even have the note!”

Once again, Lond brandished the much-abused slip of paper, as if one wrong move might tear it apart — the last thread connecting him to his past.

“He needs to be stripped to his undergarments,” Guerlon’s voice came through unexpectedly. “Examine his body and tell me if you find anything unusual. I have a suspicion, but I need confirmation. Do it!”

Easier said than done. Still, Guerlon and I often thought alike. While my blood brother was far more experienced, I’d already encountered a Nascent God who had been molded into something eerily similar. A few more months, and Guerlon might have become as harmless as Lond Caerol.

“One last request before you get your money. Can you roll up your sleeves and show me your forearms? Or remove your robe to the waist?”

“Is this really the last request?” Lond Caerol didn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he seemed incapable of such feelings. No cunning, no malice — just an innocent two-day-old Nascent God.

This meeting further convinced me that the Bohao cult must be eradicated. It wasn’t enough for them to ruin the life of a single demon — they had to mock him further by turning him loose in Hollyton as a near-mindless toy. A harmless Nascent God clutching a worthless promissory note. A demon who had likely spent countless hours on the Bohao cult’s altar, losing not just his memory, but his very identity. His mind had buckled under the strain and shut down completely. Sick bastards, the lot of them.

Lond Caerol proceeded to remove his robe right there in the restaurant without hesitation, oblivious to the stares of those around us. He simply didn’t notice them.

“You can get dressed,” I said, retrieving Lizzag Hwal’s spatial pouch. Activating a protective formation to shield our actions from prying eyes, I quickly broke the lock on the pouch. Sparks flew, acrid smoke billowed, but I by then I had already become an experienced safecracker. A gust of wind forced the smoke to the ground, where it got absorbed into a patch of earth I’d created. The restaurant staff could clean up the mysterious grime later.

I knew the pouch wouldn’t contain a million spirit coins. What I needed was something — anything — that could shed light on who Lond Caerol truly was. Personally, I doubted that was even his real name. The cultists wouldn’t compromise themselves like that, so they must have given him a fake identity.

The pouch was full of artifacts, resources, clothing, weapons, and spirit coins — a veritable treasure trove. Yet it lacked the essentials — there were no orders, notes, or journals of any kind. That didn’t make sense. Surely Lizzag Hwal had clear instructions from his superiors. Why else would he have been involved with Lond Caerol? The dead cultist’s rank wasn’t high enough to warrant keeping a “toy” of this sort as personal property. And I deemed such orders most unlikely to be verbal. There had to be a hidden cache where Lizzag stored anything linking him to the cult. Or maybe not. After all, he had gotten so confident in his safety that he even used his cultist name in everyday life. If he did hide anything, it would be in the spatial pouch — hidden well enough to be easily overlooked.

If I were a cultist who fancied myself near-omnipotent and untouchable, where would I hide important documents from my superiors? In that gaudy robe of his, perhaps, which positively reeked of wealth and luxury? Bingo!

“Orders for Lizzag Hwal: Ensure the care and control of the assigned body. Provide weekly reports to Churtan Hwal on its mental state and memories of its past life. Should any memories surface, destroy the body. — Ekratz Hwal.”

The letter offered few answers. The cultists, as always, refrained from using real names, referring to Lond Caerol only as “the body.” One thing was clear — the central decision-making hub was out of reach for now. Ekratz Hwal wasn’t in Hollyton. However, Churtan Hwal — the cult’s local handler and manager of the King’s Retinue — was still out on his mysterious trip. When he returned, I’d sure be paying him a visit.

“This doesn’t look like a million spirit coins.” Lond Caerol took the note, read it, spun it in his hands for no reason, and set it aside. No flicker of recognition crossed his face — just a passing mention of “the body.” It meant nothing to him.

“So, what will you do with a million spirit coins?” I asked, manifesting ten chests, each containing ten thousand coins. “Here’s one hundred thousand. A tenth of what you’re owed by the note.”

“I need a million,” Lond Caerol repeated with almost manic determination.

I sighed, dropping the protective formation to manifest enough chests for that amount. The demons watching us began whispering furiously. A million spirit coins!

“It won’t all fit here,” I said in a calm voice. “How about this? I’ll show you the amount in batches. Will that do?”

“Yes! According to the note, Lizzag Hwal owed me a million. Show me!”

Left with no other choice, I began the tedious process — manifesting ten chests, then dismissing them, only to bring them out again as another set. I did this nine times in total. Technically, I had demonstrated a million spirit coins, though in reality, most of what I had was stashed elsewhere. Not that Lond needed to know.

“That’s a million,” I concluded. “As you can see, I have the money. But I’m reluctant to hand it over. You don’t have a spatial pouch to store it, and you can’t carry a hundred chests on your own. How about I hold onto it for now? Is that all right with you? Lond, are you okay?”

The demon didn’t respond. His gaze had gone vacant, as though the note and the money were the only things tethering his mind. Now that he’d seen the full amount, his consciousness seemed ready to shut down — perhaps permanently. This wouldn’t do.

“But you won’t be able to get this money just like that,” I said firmly, forcing Lond to refocus. His eyes regained clarity.

“I have the note, and you’ve shown me the million. That means my money is with you. Why can’t I get it, Seeker?”

“Because I’ve decided you’ll have to work for it. If you want the full amount owed to you, you’ll need to put in some effort. Are you willing to work, Lond Caerol? Only through work will you begin to recover your memory. For now, training is out of the question, but I have plenty of important tasks that only you can handle. Work equals money. Does that make sense?”

“I need to work,” Lond said without a hint of aggression. “What do you want me to do?”

“Here are two pouches, each with a hundred spirit coins. Go into the city, find a candy store, and pick out the best treats for Vyllea — this wonderful lady right here. There is no greater responsibility than making my wife happy. Can you handle this task, or do you need something simpler?”

“Take the money, go to a candy store, find the best treats, and return,” Lond repeated. “I can do that.”

No protests, no complaints about being used as an errand boy. His willingness to comply was astonishing. I probably shouldn’t have let him go, but at the moment, I couldn’t think of any reasonable task for him. The only viable way to help him recover wasn’t something I liked. A healing capsule could work on his body, but not on his mind. Then again, the marks from the altar I’d noticed on his body might be restricting him even more than mental shackles. Those needed to be removed. When Lond returned, I’d send him to a healing capsule. A few hours should restore his physical condition.

While Lond went off to find candy — which, as Vyllea and I had already discovered, was scarce in this city — our group convened for a brainstorming session. The situation was dire. A Nascent God had spent an extended period on an altar, subjected to torment. His mind had broken under the strain, ceasing to channel the filthy yellow substance. What did this imply? At least two things.

First, somewhere in the Second Tier of the human world, there was a base of the ancients producing the yellow sludge. Second, there was likely another Nascent God on the altar right now. The cultists were too methodical to disrupt the charging process. The absence of two leading cultists in Hollyton suddenly made sense — they were at the ancient base in another world, accessible via a wormhole.

Things were becoming clearer. To find the base, I needed to wait for the hotel manager to return. He’d likely come from the direction of the wormhole. Few demons would bother with such precautions as returning from the opposite direction. Once I pinpointed the path, I could use spirit vision to locate the wormhole and, eventually, the ancient base. A solid plan — but what to do with the demon currently nibbling through every sweet in the confectionery to pick the best? Lond was all invested into giving each variety of candy a thorough tasting and filling a bag with his selections. I’d need to warn Vyllea not to throw the gift in his face. Lond was doing exactly as instructed, without improvisation. He was sampling the treats as instructed, one by one.

In the end, we agreed that Lond needed to be sent to a healing capsule. There were no alternatives. This was an unprecedented situation — madmen usually didn’t survive long enough to become Nascent Gods. Lond Caerol might seem harmless now, but what if a Lesser Demon had startled him, and he destroyed it in fear? And the whole city along with it, perhaps, given his inability to control his strength? Killing him would be easy, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Such an act would not only displease the Heavens, but make me their enemy.

A demon walked into the restaurant without anyone paying him much attention. It was some lower-level Warrior — nothing significant. Meanwhile, the demons around us continued to whisper about my fight and the casual ease with which I’d displayed a million spirit coins. Some speculated that all the chests were different, even citing the “numbers” they’d allegedly seen on them. The things people invented to feel important.

It was amidst this chatter that a lone Warrior entered the restaurant. His behavior immediately caught my attention. While others avoided drawing my gaze, this demon acted as though he belonged here. Yet my spirit vision revealed no sign of a Seeker’s plaque hanging around his neck — nor did he have a spatial pouch. Just a Gold-tier Warrior with no identifying marks and no business being here.

How could I not be intrigued?

What happened next was a masterpiece of audacity. The demon strode confidently toward the waitstaff’s area. Just before reaching it, he dramatically opened his robe and stashed it under a nearby table in one swift motion. Beneath the robe, he wore the standard uniform of the King’s Retinue waitstaff.

At that moment, one of the actual staff emerged to deliver a dish to the guests. The Gold Warrior said something, intercepted the tray, and began delivering plates of food with the poise of a seasoned server.

The transformation was so seamless that no one had noticed. Another waiter had suddenly joined the collective without anyone noticing. He moved with precision, taking orders and serving guests.

I could tell, however, that the demon was waiting for something, although what exactly they might be was a mystery so far. He wasn’t here for me or Vyllea — there were no ill intentions directed toward us. So who was his target?

The response came within minutes — two Copper Nascent Gods entered the restaurant atop the King’s Retinue and confidently strode in my direction. When Vyllea and I had arrived in Hollyton, there were three Copper-tier cultists in the city. One had already been dispatched to discuss their misguided evolutionary choices with the Heavens. Now, the remaining two headed toward my table, ignoring everyone else around them.

These were not hotel residents, but restaurant patrons, so the Retinue’s staff remained passive observers for the time being. Still, I could tell they were prepared to intervene if things escalated.

But what struck me was that no conflict arose. The demons weren’t approaching me — they were headed for a nearby reserved table. They had come for a meal, not to quarrel with a Seeker. Their glances slid over me with indifference, lingering on Vyllea’s beauty for a moment. Then one of them summoned a waiter with a gesture.

“What would you like, esteemed guests?” The fake waiter — the Gold-tier Warrior disguised as staff — was the first to reach the table. His performance was impeccable, though my spirit vision revealed his racing heart. He wasn’t here for me; he was here for this pair. A Gold warrior against two Copper Nascent Gods? Under other circumstances, I might have laughed, but not now. I saw the eyes of a killer, intent on fulfilling their contract.

“The usual! And hurry!” one of the cultists barked. Judging by his words, the pair were well-known here. Even the killer seemed familiar with them — he simply nodded and went to place the order. Near one of the tables, the “waiter’s” hand darted under the edge and re-emerged holding a small vial. It was an unassuming container, easily hidden in the palm.

The kitchen staff had clearly anticipated the arrival of these high-ranking patrons. As soon as the order was placed, two massive plates of bloody meat arrived from the lower floors. It seemed the cultists were committed to the demon’s path, consuming cores and essences of other creatures. In this case, the unfortunate offering was a Overlord-stage ram, brought to the Second Circle specifically for this pair.

What happened next was both expected and remarkable. The fake waiter slid a serving cart into position with his foot, as though the plates were too heavy to carry, and subtly sprinkled half the vial’s contents onto each dish as he placed them. The movements were so smooth, so natural, and so expertly shielded by his own body that I almost wanted to applaud. A masterful execution.

Spirit vision showed Lond Caerol had returned to the hotel and was confidently making his way toward the elevators to report back, so I relaxed and enjoyed the unfolding drama while engaging in casual conversation with Vyllea.

“Your order, esteemed guests!” The killer placed the dishes on the table, bowed, and left. The demons didn’t even glance at him — their attention was wholly on the food. Clearly, these cultists weren’t faking their devotion to the demon’s path. The ferocity with which they tore into the bloody meat, sharp teeth ripping and shredding like predators on a hunt, was unmistakable.

The killer returned to his waiter duties, pretending to be unconcerned about the results of his actions. Only his racing heart betrayed his anxiety.

Finally, one of the cultists tossed aside a gnawed bone and leaned back, belching contentedly. Nascent Gods had no concern for manners — if someone objected, they could voice it. If they couldn’t, they’d best stay silent and invisible.

“Waiter!” the cultist bellowed. A nearby staff member rushed over, but the demon waved him off, pointing at the fake waiter. “You! Come here!”

“At your service, esteemed guest!” The imposter approached the table, playing his role to the end.

“Did you really think the extract of Dureen herbs could harm us?” The cultist’s voice dripped with disdain. The second cultist, still tearing into his meal, threw the meat aside as if it were suddenly poisoned — which, of course, it was. In an instant, a small vial appeared in the first cultist’s hand. Likely an antidote. He drank half and passed the vial to his companion, who drained the rest and dramatically crushed the empty container in his hand, scattering shards on the floor. The glass didn’t even scratch his skin.

The demon clearly enjoyed the moment but failed to savor it fully. The restaurant doors opened, and Lond Caerol entered. His face was expressionless, though I would have expected at least some satisfaction from a successfully completed task. No — it was just work to him, a step toward the million spirit coins he now had no right to claim.

What happened next unfolded in mere moments. Both Nascent Gods leapt to their feet, completely forgetting the Gold warrior. Judging by their reactions, they recognized Lond Caerol and were baffled by his presence. He should have been with Lizzag Hwal. The pair hadn’t been at the arena, so it was unsurprising they didn’t know what had happened to their third sect member.

Both Nascent Gods charged at Lond, but the enhanced spirit wall I conjured proved its worth once again. It wouldn’t hold them for long, but it didn’t need to — it had already done its job. The wall gave Vyllea and me just enough time to close the distance.

I took a deep breath and drained every core and meridian in those two creatures, forcing them to experience sensations they couldn’t comprehend. A moment of disorientation was all we needed. Vyllea and I simultaneously snapped black metal collars around their necks — the kind that blocked all techniques. The secret auction at Shrungle had been worth it. Now we had plenty of amusing toys.

“What?!” Their shock at being rendered powerless made it easy to clamp matching bracelets on their wrists. Without enhanced techniques, Nascent Gods were just regular demons — especially those who had reached their rank through cultist shortcuts.

“You’ve violated the establishment’s rules and attacked my friend, interrupting our meal!” I declared as the hotel staff rushed to intervene. “For that, I’ll have to throw you out and ensure you never set foot here again! You! Come with us. You’re going to explain what Dureen herb extract is and how this demon could detect it. Any questions, junior?”

I turned to the pale-faced manager who had come to break up the fight.

“No questions? Good. Lond, I have another task for you. Carry these two bodies out of the hotel. We have much to discuss with them.”

Chapter 13

“GUERLON?” I CALLED OUT, seeking guidance.

“Not interested,” came his curt reply. “I’m not rushing to deal with two Copper-stage cultists.”

“You’re still in the demon world?”

“I have a few things to handle before my Ærinn is fully free.”

“Your Ærinn? That was fast,” I quipped, unable to resist.

“Why deny it? We’re made for each other.”

“And Rincede?”

“I don’t understand the question. Ærinn and I were destined for each other by the Heavens. Rincede and I have mutual feelings. I don’t see how one interferes with the other.”

“Mutual feelings?” I glanced at Rincede. The great warrior who could face an entire army on her own suddenly looked abashed. A woman who could stride into a battlefield without flinching now seemed utterly lost in conversations about emotions. I’d noticed she’d been warming up to Carmin, Elda, and even Althea and Læogh, but she still regarded Vyllea and me with caution. Now, instead of responding, she withdrew into herself.

I turned to Althea, who was watching the silent exchange between Rincede and me with increasing curiosity. When she caught my gaze, I gave a slight nod toward Rincede. Althea returned the gesture, understanding the unspoken message — someone needed to have a serious talk with Carmin’s sister. A proper discussion — not in the confines of a spatial anomaly.

“Do you doubt the mutual feelings Rincede and I have for each other?” Guerlon’s voice brought my focus back to him.

“Let’s not go there,” I said, raising my hands in a placating gesture. “So, the two Copper Nascent Gods don’t interest you. Got it. I’ll figure out how to deal with them. I can’t absorb both at once; my cores won’t handle it.”

The conversation was clearly strained. Guerlon appeared outwardly calm, but something was gnawing at him. He was nervous and unwilling to admit it. Likely, Ærinn’s problems were more severe than my blood brother had anticipated, but acknowledging that would mean conceding weakness — an unfamiliar concept for Guerlon.

As we were leaving the King’s Retinue, a harsh voice barked out: “Stop! Release — ”

The command abruptly ended when the Golden Overlord’s head separated from his body and thudded onto the carefully laid stone tiles. Vyllea hadn’t even entertained the idea of a conversation. The moment the cultist revealed himself, she was next to him, severing his head with impossible speed for a Silver Overlord. With her bare hands! The look of genuine surprise was frozen on the corpse’s face as its body disappeared into our spatial anomaly. Artifacts and the spatial pouch weren’t going to collect themselves.

Our temporary companion, Lond Caerol, reacted to the incident with his usual indifference. Nothing fazed him — he was merely completing tasks to earn his reward.

“Think about running, and I’ll kill you. Stay with us, and you’ll walk away alive,” I warned the Gold warrior, who had tried several times to melt into the crowd.

“You know I won’t give up my client?”

“I don’t care who ordered the hit on the two cultists. I’m interested in the poison you used. What is it? How does it work? And why could this body detect it?”

If our captives had been capable, they would no doubt have protested and demanded justice. But Lond, tired of dragging their struggling bodies, gave them a casual knock, sending their heads clashing together. The hard skulls didn’t crack but plunged the Nascent Gods into a deep sleep. I only hoped they wouldn’t lose their minds from such treatment. I still needed answers — like why they’d reacted so strongly to seeing Lond Caerol.

“Do you know these Nascent Gods are cultists?” the assassin asked in an odd tone. “What will happen to them?”

“Nothing good,” I replied curtly, avoiding unnecessary details. “As for the cultists, these aren’t the first members of the Bohao cult I’ve encountered in Hollyton. This morning, I killed one on the arena. Just now, my wife dispatched another. This city has far too many followers of corrupt ascension, but there’s a silver lining — there are no more Nascent Gods left. There were three. One is dead, and two are in my custody.”

“There are more. Many more,” the assassin said grimly. “I need to leave, Seeker. Right now. I want to meet with my client and inform him that two more cultist hunters have arrived in the city. If he finds the topic interesting, he’ll contact you himself. As for the poison, ask this body. If it recognized the Dureen herb extract, it must have encountered it before.”

“Fine, go,” I said, waving him off.

“Just like that?” The assassin seemed momentarily taken aback. “Didn’t you say you’d kill me if I disappeared?”

“If you tried to run away without a word, you’d have deserved punishment. But you’re not of much use to me. I have no quarrel with your guild. Do your work.”

The demon vanished so quickly it was as if he’d used a concealment technique. In reality, I watched him meld into the crowd of onlookers gawking at the spectacle. After all, it wasn’t every day you saw a Nascent God dragging two others like sacks of refuse. That was surely a tale to tell.

Settling into Cupcake’s driver’s seat, I pondered my next move. Where to go? Interrogating the captives at the King’s Retinue was out of the question. Renting another hotel room felt excessive. Leaving the city wasn’t an option either — two captives would raise too many questions. Hollyton was home to roughly fifty Nascent Gods, one of them Silver-tier. What someone of that level was doing in the Second Circle was beyond me. Likely vacationing. Or slumming, perhaps. Whatever the case, leaving wasn’t an option. Camping in the middle of a square under a protective formation didn’t seem like a good option, either.

I needed somewhere discreet. Too many eyes were on us already. The severed head of the Gold Overlord still lay on the tiles, a grim reminder to anyone considering rash actions.

Then, our temporary companion inadvertently provided the answer. After ensuring we weren’t following him, the assassin descended into the city’s underground levels. My curiosity piqued — was the hit on the two cult members ordered by the leader of Hollyton’s underworld? It seemed absurd, but the assassin’s movements suggested otherwise.

He descended to the fourth level through some shaft that was apparently only known to a select few. Then he continued to the fifth. After a half-hour of wandering aimlessly around the city — during which Lond had to knock the Nascent Gods’ skulls together twice more — the assassin reached his destination — the tenth level, the den of Hollyton’s gang leader.

Interesting, but not my current priority.

What intrigued me more was the third level — specifically, a sparsely-populated area in the city’s far reaches. The workshops directly above likely explained the low population density. The first two levels had no demons at all. Perfect. That’s where we were heading. An ideal spot to strip the cultists of their excess energy.

Perhaps I should have taken the usual route — found the passage, descended the staircase, faced off with the underworld guards, brushed aside their questioning stares, and, after hours of navigating, reached my goal. But I had no such intentions. Were I a Warrior or, at the very least, a Master, I might have done just that. But I was a Silver Overlord with a Rainbow Elemental Core! Crawling through subterranean corridors wasn’t for me, especially since the first five levels weren’t reinforced with ancient metals.

We arrived in the workshop district. Picking a suitable spot, I simply turned the earth, stones, and metal beams beneath us into dust. Why walk when you can fly — or fall, to be precise? Cupcake plummeted from a great height and, despite its impeccable construction, landed with such force that I nearly bit my tongue.

“Zander!” Vyllea’s indignant shriek made it clear she wasn’t too fond of my descent method. Perhaps I should have stopped there, but restraint and I were distant acquaintances. Once a decision was made, execution followed instantly! Cupcake rumbled forward along a narrow corridor. In a few dozen feet, I repeated the process of disintegrating the floor underneath us.

“Will you stop already?”

“One more jump,” I replied calmly, steering Cupcake to the next target — perfectly centered in the massive chamber below. Once again, its suspension groaned under the strain, and once again we were tossed around until stars nearly danced before our eyes, but we got there at last. I’d descended to the third underground level of Hollyton on my self-propelled contraption — whereas all the local residents had to walk in order to get there.

Thus, a certain amount of suffering was required to maintain our status as enigmatic forces of unknown magnitude. About a dozen frightened denizens of the underground scattered, abandoning their meager belongings. I expected the entire underworld to hear of our arrival within the hour — powerful demons had come to the third level — not walked in, but arrived on a self-propelled carriage. Let’s see how their leader reacts to this disruption.

“Lond, bring out the prisoners and tie them to chairs. We’ll start by having a chat.”

It didn’t take much to rouse the Nascent Gods. A few slaps, a whiff of smelling salts — courtesy of Guerlon — and both cultists opened their eyes. I could see their meridians and cores flicker to life, though they failed to harness their strength. The collars around their necks blocked any access to their power. Their wrists bore reinforced cuffs, designed to prevent breaking the collars. Neither strengthening techniques, nor brute force would suffice. For these two, at least, resistance was futile.

“You have no idea, Seeker, what kind of trouble you’ve just brought upon your mottled ass!” The one on the right, evidently the talker of the pair, was the first to speak. The other, judging by his physique, was a pure fighter. It was the talker who had identified the poison used by the assassin.

“Really?” I feigned surprise. “Perhaps my troubles need to deepen further. My wife says I’ve got a magnificent ass, so the more adversity it faces, the more glorious it becomes. Let’s start with you. Anything to say?”

I turned to the second Nascent God. He gazed at me with contempt. Both cultists understood one thing clearly — if they weren’t dead, I needed something from them. And where there was need, there was room for negotiation. Negotiation implied a chance of survival — and the opportunity to meet their adversary again under more favorable circumstances. This calculation was written plainly in the demon’s eyes, so I wasted no time.

Absorbing all the energy from both demons at once wasn’t an option. Vyllea and I would simply burst. Even handling one would be challenging. Although I didn’t know the limits of my new Conjoined spirit core — what if it could devour everything with ease? There was a revelation awaiting me — the Nascent God stage was, in essence, the Diamond Rank of the Overlord stage! As paradoxical as it may have sounded, it was a preparation phase for something greater — something no one truly understood.

Some Taoists and demons might have held the knowledge, but they weren’t sharing. Why did I think so? The answer was simple. Everyone set foot on their path being absolutely pure — one might even say innocent. Those who chose the path of ascension developed nodes and meridians in their bodies. This defined the Candidate and Apprentice stages, respectively. Each stage corresponded to specific internal organs formed within the body of someone aspiring to become immortal. Warriors developed energy cores, linking the meridians. Masters formed elemental cores. Overlords developed spirit cores, which bound the rest of the cores into a unified whole. But the Nascent God stage created nothing new! Instead, it transformed the spirit core into something quite extraordinary — dense, potent, and capable of wielding energies so intense it could make even artificial hair stand on end.

Why, then, was this treated as a separate ascension stage? The Overlord stage didn’t have a Diamond Rank! The energy gap was staggering — a Copper Nascent God could annihilate a Gold Overlord with a mere thought. A Bronze Nascent God would do the same to a Copper, and so on. Guerlon’s case was an exception — a Silver Nascent God had underestimated a Copper counterpart’s absolute artifact, which bypassed all defensive techniques.

Was it an artificial stage of ascension? The word “Nascent” was there for a reason — one wasn’t a full-fledged god yet, but no longer a Diamond Overlord. To rank them would require subdividing the Diamond Overlord stage into countless tiers. Instead, we used such terms as “Copper Nascent God,” “Silver Nascent God,” and so on, which all technically referred to instances of the Overlord stage.

Heavens help me, where was I going with this? My mind wandered into these convolutions of ascension stages while my hands mechanically prepared the tools needed to cleanse the cultist of excess energy.

“So, you’ve nothing to say. Let’s note it down — the captive remained silent, so I had to kill him. Send my regards to the Heavens, Bohao cult filth. Your ascension ends here.”

The technique activated, and I nearly doubled over in agony. The power unleashed into the surrounding world was more intense than anything I had prepared for. Back at the arena, Lizzag Hwal’s cores had been drained to perform an unknown technique. This time, the cultist’s core was full, and he had been actively progressing to the next stage of evolution. His methods included consuming beasts, as demons did, and drawing power from prisoners, as cultists did. Now, all that strength surged into me, threatening to crush me entirely.

My Conjoined spirit core creaked under the pressure, signaling it had had enough. It needed to acclimate to its current state rather than take on more. Though Vyllea had crafted the conjunction, it wasn’t enough — our titans couldn’t channel the incoming energy into strikes fast enough. The situation was dire enough to induce panic. We’d manage, of course, but consuming this much energy would render us vulnerable enough for the remaining cultist in technique-blocking shackles to kick us to death with his feet.

While I scanned the lifeless room for a solution, my gaze landed on Lond Caerol. He stood nearby, watching the events unfold with his usual apathy. This demon had no concept of emotions, nor what to do with them. Yet, in this moment, he seemed the perfect answer.

“Lond, come here and give me your hands. Close your eyes and don’t resist. I’m going to work with your memory.”

“As you wish, Seeker,” Lond replied, stepping forward without hesitation. “Is this an assignment? If I do well, will you return my money?”

“If!” I growled through clenched teeth, the mounting pain turning my voice into a snarl. Lond’s slow pace infuriated me. I grabbed his hands, closed my eyes, and entered the world of dams.

In an instant, a new space materialized around us — so extraordinary it momentarily erased the pain constricting us. When faced with the incredible, agony became irrelevant.

We couldn’t reach Lond Caerol’s dams — they were visible far off in the distance. Between us and the dams stretched a monstrous lake of blood and mangled flesh, blocking access to the ascension barriers. A storm raged across the lake, its waves so tall they seemed to touch the clouds, though an invisible barrier prevented them from spilling onto our side. That didn’t stop chunks of bloodied matter from relentlessly slamming into it, a sight disturbing to both Vyllea and me. We’d never witnessed anything like it.

Yet even the lake wasn’t the most shocking revelation. At its center was a lone island, encircled by an equally impenetrable barrier. On this island sat a cross-legged giant, and I didn’t need prophetic skills to recognize the face — it was Lond Caerol’s. Somehow, the demon’s consciousness was trapped within this horrific lake, unable to escape on its own. Where would a solitary giant find such strength?

But Vyllea and I had that strength. Approaching the invisible wall, I placed my hands on it. The energy within me found a new outlet, eagerly surging forward. The barrier quivered, and to my amazement, it shifted — a hair’s breadth, but it moved! Gesturing to Vyllea, I signaled her to join me. For clarity, I pressed my hands against the wall again, this time applying more force. Pain shot through my body, though it was trivial compared to the agony my physical body was enduring. Some serious problems were brewing there — ones that would require a healing capsule to resolve. I realized we wouldn’t manage this on our own.

“Got it!” Vyllea stepped beside me, placing her palms on the barrier. Her face twisted in pain, but she didn’t pull back. “Let’s do this! Pour everything into it — we need to reach that demon! Push!”

And we began to push. The endeavor was insane, but it worked. Gradually, our bodies in the real world stopped trembling — my spirit core efficiently channeled the energy, taking nothing for itself. After all, hoarding even a fraction would risk oversaturation, given the overwhelming energy surrounding us.

The lake of blood and flesh didn’t appreciate our efforts. The waves grew more violent, battering the barrier as if trying to force it back into place. At one point, we froze, unable to take another step. But we were giants, and our size allowed us to see the island.

Something stirred there. Lond Caerol’s consciousness had somehow sensed us. The giant stood, abandoning his meditative state, and, mimicking us, began to push against his barrier towards our side. I had no idea where the demon found the energy, but it moved — the island shifting with it as though tethered to the barrier. Lond roared, screamed, and strained, yet kept working, unwilling to remain alone.

“I’m done!” Vyllea collapsed to her knees. “Empty. Zander, we need more energy!”

I nodded, turning to gauge our progress. Considering Lond Caerol’s efforts, we’d covered a little more than half the distance. One more demon of the same level, and we’d be able to reach Lond Caerol’s consciousness. This would allow us to… What the — ?

Sensing our weakness, the lake retaliated with sudden and ferocious intensity, slamming against the barrier so forcefully that Vyllea, Lond, and I were shoved back to our starting positions, skidding across the ground. The waves seemed more monstrous than ever, as though all the energy of the Copper Nascent God hadn’t gone into breaking the consciousness barrier, but strengthening it instead!

The giant with Lond Caerol’s face resumed its cross-legged position, falling into a meditative state once more. The consciousness had tried to escape its trap, but failed. It needed to recover — and it was doing precisely that.

“How is this even possible?” Vyllea asked, staring at me in bewilderment. “Zander, are you telling me we’re back where we started? Was all that suffering for nothing?”

I severed the conjunction, glaring at Lond Caerol, who sat motionless, his gaze blank, yet distant. The chair that once held the cultist was now standing in a grotesque puddle of foul sludge. Thankfully, I’d had the foresight to strip the Nascent Gods of their artifacts and spatial pouches beforehand. Digging through that mess wasn’t something I wanted to do.

“We’re done for now.” I released Lond’s hands. “The first attempt failed, but we’ve established that it’s possible to restore your memory. We just need more energy. This cultist didn’t have nearly enough. You’ve completed this task, Lond Caerol. Here, this is rightfully yours.”

I handed him a pouch containing a hundred spirit coins. Lond accepted it without hesitation and moved aside, not even bothering to count. Such trivialities didn’t concern him — he’d earned money he could actually use. As his gaze grew glassy again, I quickly added, “Bear in mind — the rest will come from future assignments. Are you ready for them?”

Lond’s eyes regained focus, but I was no longer listening to his routine remarks about agreements and how Seeker Zander had promised to repay him fully. That was all well and good, but not as pressing as speaking with the remaining cultist. After what had transpired, I was certain that one Nascent God’s strength wouldn’t suffice to reach Lond Caerol’s island. And after that, we’d still need to breach the ascension dams — with the giant’s help.

We’d need two, or better yet, three high-ranking cultists to make real progress with Lond.

“So, where were we? Ah yes, my backside — which my wife considers magnificent, as I’ve already told you — and the troubles awaiting it. Care to enlighten me, or should we skip the threats and get straight to the part where you tell me about the Bohao cult — and that curious Nascent God you have attacked? Who is he, and why did you target him?”

Chapter 14

“ZANDER, I HATE IT here!” Vyllea was fuming as she perched herself in Cupcake, arms crossed in displeasure. The ceiling on the third underground level barely cleared ten feet — a suffocating height for anyone accustomed to the vast openness of the skies.

“I get it, but we have to wait. The locals are stirring. Soon enough, they’ll come to us. Another half an hour should do it. Lond, stop hitting him on the head. We need him alive. A dead cultist is no use to us.”

Lond Caerol carried out his task with almost obsessive precision. Charged with knocking the cultist unconscious whenever he made the slightest move, Lond loomed over the prisoner, monitoring him closely. At first, Lond struck every second, interpreting even breaths as movement. I had to intervene, lest one Nascent God accidentally kill the other. While the prisoner’s mind was no longer of much use after our conversation, I didn’t want him dying prematurely. I had plans for him.

The discussion had been remarkably unproductive, despite the cultist’s willingness to cooperate. The Nascent God knew nothing of value — no real names, no location of the altar, not even Lond Caerol’s true identity. That last question had left him completely flummoxed — he sincerely believed it to be Lond’s actual name. A few days prior, Ekratz Hwal had delivered Lond and instructed Lizzag Hwal to monitor “the body’s” every move. Not a pleasant task for a Nascent God, but none dared to argue with the operational overseer. Even so, both demons found ways to needle their colleague.

Upon returning from a trip outside the city, they discovered that Lizzag Hwal was no more — he had ceased to be; he had expired. The news was puzzling — there weren’t many demons in Hollyton crazy enough to challenge anyone bearing the Hwal name. Yet it was this revelation that allowed our prisoner to identify the poison. He had became suspicious and hypervigilant. The demon who’d brought their meal was someone he’d never seen before, though he knew all the waitstaff by face. Trying the food with the expectation it was poisoned, he recalled past encounters with extracts from Dureen herbs. The cultists even had an antidote, though it was exceedingly rare.

That was all — almost. I did learn something useful — the number of Nascent Gods in Hollyton affiliated with the cult. Beyond the trio I had already met, there was the hotel manager, two of his closest aides, and two more Nascent Gods responsible for providing living “supplies” to the cult. These last two intrigued me the most because the prisoner provided real names. Both were Bronze Nascent Gods currently in Hollyton, heading clans that acted as vast armies encompassing all stages of ascension.

One specialized in the demon realm, draining life force from regions where it was abundant. The other worked in the human realm, doing the same. Both rarely used the cult’s technological altars themselves. The demon operating in the human realm even employed full-time wormhole coordinators, which piqued Vyllea’s interest. Her treasure chest remained empty.

That was it — nothing else of critical value came from the cultist. He naively believed he could prolong his life by holding our interest. But as I said, I had plans for him, and those didn’t include sparing his life.

Perhaps I should have headed to the surface and dealt with the Overlords and Masters in Hollyton before the cult’s main forces regrouped. Two hundred and fifty-odd creatures wouldn’t die off on their own. Yet I hesitated, distracted by odd movements in the camp of a potential ally.

The underworld boss had already been informed that two Seekers had breached his territory. The assassin we’d spared had met with the boss. My spirit vision couldn’t discern their conversation, but shortly afterward, the boss convened a meeting, summoning several Overlords. It appeared the local leadership was gathering in full force.

Now, a Gold Overlord was headed our way, accompanied by a formidable entourage of twenty aides — Overlords, Masters, and Warriors. It seemed they believed sheer numbers could sway the outcome. Then again, what did I know about demons? Perhaps they planned to scatter a powder made from ancient metals into the air, blocking techniques in a confined space before attacking en masse. They couldn’t have known our conjoined techniques were immune to such metals.

Finally, the group of thirty demons reached the third level. Vyllea, by this point, was at her wit’s end, frustrated with sitting idly underground. Lond Caerol remained focused on the prisoner, occasionally delivering a knock on the noggin when the demon showed signs of life.

The approaching group split — an Overlord and a few Masters headed directly toward us, while the others ascended to the second level, likely preparing to deploy their poison mixed with ancient metal powder from above. They’d also no doubt brought crossbows from the central palace of this world — special weapons designed for use against Overlords and even early-stage Nascent Gods. Suicidal, of course, but effective nonetheless.

“Welcome to Hollyton’s underworld, esteemed guests,” came the Overlord’s voice.

The demons lingered at the entrance for ten minutes, waiting for their second group to secure a strategic position. Their coordination was impressive — without spirit vision, I’d never have suspected the killers lying in wait, ready to strike from the gap I’d created. Among them was the demon we’d spared, now leading the second group. A most peculiar Gold Warrior, as it turned out.

“My name is Nakori Dill. What brings Seekers to the third — “

“You were too slow, Nakori Dill," I interrupted the Gold Overlord. Technically, he outranked me, but I wasn’t about to waste time on formalities. Should he demand I observe protocol, I’d set Vyllea on him. No powder or crossbows could stop her.

A sharp sensation between my shoulder blades told me the Gold Warrior had signaled his group to prepare for an attack — but not to strike yet. The absence of searing pain confirmed it. Their restraint saved them — had I sensed true hostility, I would have crushed them all under the aura of a Nascent God, leaving only the Gold Overlord alive.

But all this was mere conjecture. The tension among the bandits was palpable as they readied for battle, though I had no interest in a fight. So, I continued.

“My name is Seeker Zander, and this is Seeker Vyllea. We travel across the demon realm, exterminating cultists of all kinds. Upon arriving in Hollyton, I identified two hundred fifty cultists in the city, including three Nascent Gods. Two are already eliminated, and I’ve set the third aside for now. The Overlords are next on the list, but there are so many of them that finishing the task in a reasonable time frame might be impossible. That’s why we decided to seek allies — particularly here, where cultists, for some reason, aren’t tolerated. The absence of cultists in Hollyton’s underworld piqued my curiosity. So, we came to discuss potential cooperation. Yet, instead of presenting a proposal — which I assume you have — you have decided to ambush me. Tell me, Gold Overlord Nakori Dill, do you truly believe your warriors, aiming crossbows at me through the breach I had created, stand a chance? Has it not occurred to you to wonder how I made that breach in the first place? Clearly, my expectations of Hollyton’s underworld were too high.”

“Do you mind if I use an artifact to verify the purity of your blood?” Nakori Dill asked, his tone neutral. If my words had unsettled him, he didn’t show it. “The Bohao cultists are treacherous creatures, capable of deceiving even the sharpest minds. However, no concealment technique can fool a true artifact. If it confirms you and your companions are clean, we’ll gladly continue this discussion.”

“One of my companions, as you might have noticed, is a prisoner — a Copper Nascent God. If he’s not a concern, since I’m not relinquishing my catch, I’ll undergo the test without issue. But you’ll use the artifact on yourself first so I can see how it works. I’m not subjecting myself to an unknown device.”

“A reasonable precaution,” Nakori Dill agreed. “Observe, Seeker.”

He produced a small rod, placing it against his forehead and activating its embedded techniques. A wave of energy rippled outward, then another, and another, enveloping Nakori Dill’s body and penetrating him without harm. The energy resembled that used in research artifacts, though subtly altered. After a moment, the rod glowed green, signaling the Gold Overlord’s purity.

“Start with him,” I said, gesturing to the prisoner. I wanted to observe the artifact in action. When it glowed red, I nodded in satisfaction. Now it was clear — the rod emitted a specialized aura that resonated with the yellowish sludge in tainted blood. Normally, the aura returned unchanged, as it had with Nakori Dill. But when resonance occurred, the aura became distorted, making the artifact “unhappy.” No better term came to mind — it genuinely seemed as though the device found the interaction unpleasant, hence the red glow.

The rod showed green after testing me and my group. With that, Nakori Dill signaled his hidden warriors, who vanished silently and swiftly. Perfect assassins! It was a shame their skills were so ineffective against spirit vision. For that, you’d need something far superior — like the invisibility of the Nameless One or Althea’s protector. Speaking of which, were there any others lurking nearby?

The sight of an energy anomaly near Cupcake sent a chill down my spine. My failure to check our surroundings upon arriving on the third level was inexcusable. Now, who was the invisible figure? Were they aligned with the bandits as support, or with the cultists, aiming to use us to reach Hollyton’s underworld leader?

Judging by what I’d seen, the leader had taken great care in selecting the place for his base on the tenth level. Reaching him required an arduous route inaccessible to ordinary demons. The kingpin’s lair was thoroughly isolated, its entry point concealed and protected by ancient metal. Without knowledge of this entry, breaking through was impossible unless you wanted to destroy everything — which would also collapse the city above. Cultists at high ascension stages were effectively shackled: they could reach the depths but couldn’t destroy anything critical. And even if they reached the lair, they’d need the entry point, guarded with utmost secrecy.

I urged myself to think. If Nakori Dill had come to me with this kind of backup, would he have sent a second team to the breach? Crossbows had indeed been aimed at me, and that was the first time I’d felt genuine danger. The invisible figure had worked hard to avoid arousing suspicion about their presence. That meant, with ninety percent certainty, they weren’t local. An outsider. A cultist? Likely. We were already in their hands, and killing us would be easy. But their real prize would be completing their higher-ups’ orders and finally locating the bandit leader’s lair. The reward would be immense.

Heavens, I only had one glob of frog spit left! If I used it against someone fighting cultists, disaster would follow. I’d need to call in Althea and Læogh, then leap to the Third Tier of the human realm to replenish my supply in the swamp. Overlord-tier frogs hadn’t gone anywhere, and they’d proven their effectiveness repeatedly. Why hadn’t I done this earlier? Now that we had a teleporting house, traveling was no issue. So it was settled, then — I’d restock the first free moment I got.

“Well, since everyone’s clean except for the prisoner, I suggest we move on. However, certain precautions will be necessary. We’ll need to use several transport artifacts to keep you from identifying the route.”

“So your leader considers himself too important to come out and meet us in person?” Vyllea asked, scowling. “Perhaps you should tell him that Seekers specializing in killing cultists are waiting on the third level. I have no desire to descend into your abyss!”

“Regrettably, that’s impossible. The cultists have been hunting him for a long time. Should we drop our guard, one of those cunning creatures will eventually find their way to our lair, and Hollyton’s freedom will end.”

“You don’t think one of those creatures might already be with us, do you?” I asked, carefully steering Nakori Dill toward the right conclusion. “As far as I know, the central palace employs demons granted a special concealment technique — one that even the most advanced research artifacts can’t detect. That technique is of a King-tier level.”

“Oh, we’re aware of such demons. They move in shadows and, in essence, are shadows. They’re called the Faceless Ones. Over the years of fighting cultists, we’ve lost more than one lair before we learned how to deal with those creatures. Believe me, we have ways to surprise them. For ten years now, the cultists of Hollyton have been trying to locate our current lair and reach the leader, but they’ve failed every time. That’s because we’ve developed methods to counter those who walk in shadows.”

“What stops a Faceless One from capturing one of you and dragging them to the torture table?” Vyllea, as always, went straight to the heart of the matter, though I already knew the answer.

“Techniques tied to consciousness and a toxin embedded in the body. If anyone with access to the hidden descent is compromised, they’ll die instantly. That’s why there were only two such demons among those who came to us — myself and the assassin who failed to kill two cultists earlier today. The rest of the team was assembled on the way.”

A sharp prick ran down my back again — Nakori Dill was seriously considering killing all of us. Or… was it not him? The energy anomaly near Cupcake finally detached and moved toward the Gold Overlord. The Faceless One had learned what it needed and decided to act. A spatial rift opened above its head, but I hesitated. This was my last frog spit, and I had to use it as effectively as possible.

“Just to clarify, there are no invisible figures in your group, correct?” I asked, nearly crying out from the searing pain in my back. The Faceless One stopped, and I could feel its gaze boring into me. They seemed to have sensed something, unsure how to respond. Should they destroy me immediately? Or wait a bit longer?

“Invisible figures in our ranks?” Nakori Dill smirked. “If we had even one — ”

He didn’t finish. He had to leap aside as concentrated venom sprayed in his direction. The spit of an Overlord-tier frog proved its monstrous effectiveness again, piercing the Faceless One completely. The venom, true to its infamous nature, didn’t stop there — it began dissolving the stone of the third level, dripping down to the fourth, fifth, and possibly even the tenth, forming an unintended new descent into the underworld.

Allowing that wasn’t an option, so I swiftly moved the corpse into a spatial anomaly and began the cleanup. Water, earth, fire, air — I used every element to halt the formation of the hole. I managed to localize the damage to the fifth underground level, containing not just the venom but also its toxic fumes, which could have killed many in the subterranean metropolis. Compressing everything into a bucket-sized container, I brought the fumes to our level and tossed them into the anomaly. Later, I’d dispose of all this stuff somewhere remote. Hopefully, I’d remember — I already had far too much hazardous junk piling up.

The reaction of Nakori Dill and his entourage pleased me. After seeing the corpse, they refrained from asking questions, letting me focus on the cleanup. Even when I finished and nodded to Vyllea, who was meticulously inspecting Cupcake for new black spots, the bandits remained silent, waiting for me to explain. But I saw no need for fabrication — the truth would suffice.

“I sincerely hope that demon wasn’t one of yours. It’d be unfortunate to start this acquaintance by eliminating such a significant force.”

“May I examine the body?” Nakori Dill maintained his composure as befitting a Gold Overlord.

“Not here. The corpse still drips venom, and I’d have to clean up again. We’ll need a location that’s expendable, with no one beneath it.”

“So, what you did in the square near the bank was the same?”

“That was the first Faceless One. This one is the second. How many there are in Hollyton, I can’t say. My ability to see them is limited to a small radius around me.”

“Extended spirit vision in a constantly active phase?” Nakori Dill demonstrated impressive knowledge of techniques. “You must be an absolute of the mind at the very least. Judging by your use of Overlord frog venom, unmistakable in its potency, you’re a pure absolute at the Nascent God stage. Why, then, do you wear the guise of a Silver Overlord, Elder?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I deflected with a question of my own, unwilling to admit that there was no disguise at all. Vyllea and I were Silver Overlords simply because I couldn’t be bothered to pursue our ascension further. Despite having every opportunity, laziness held me back.

“My apologies for my ignorance, Elder.” Nakori Dill inclined his head, while his entourage fell to their knees, bowing low. “Had you arrived as a high-ranked Nascent God, the city would have emptied in an instant. Cultists have a nose for danger — they’d immediately flee to their hidden lairs, as secretive as ours. But when they see only a Silver Overlord, many, like me, feel emboldened. Thank you for the lesson, Elder! Are you affiliated with a First-Circle prince? Or, perhaps, someone on the Council? Or…”

“Whatever I am, I’m no prince,” I cut in as Nakori Dill trailed off. “That’s all you need to know. I have a prisoner who can’t be killed just yet. But it’s equally wrong to keep bashing him over the head. I need a way to immobilize the Nascent God, keeping him unconscious indefinitely. Something akin to a paralysis technique without time limits. Can you provide that?”

“Yes, Elder, we’ll arrange it,” Nakori Dill replied without a trace of surprise at my request. Any Nascent God worth their salt should have a method for such situations. I did — flying daggers crafted by Guerlon. Yet when I tried to scratch the demon with one, the blade simply broke, refusing to perform its intended function. Overlord-stage weapons were useless against the skin of a Nascent God, apparently. Most infuriating! Once again, I’d need to upgrade my arsenal. Rapid ascension had its downsides — the body, artifacts, and equipment of immortality seekers couldn’t keep up. We were always lagging behind, with no solution except to take time sorting through the mountain of trophy artifacts gathering dust in our spatial anomaly. Surely there was something worthwhile in that pile.

“I’ll also need a safe place for a healing capsule. This demon must recover. He spent a prolonged period on a cultist altar, his suffering fueling their substance and leaving his consciousness in shambles. That’s all for now. Is the leader ready to meet?”

“Yes, Elder. I was tasked with vetting you and, upon success, escorting you.”

“Then let’s go. You don’t expect us to walk to your hidden descent, do you? Seekers of my level don’t travel on foot — it’s beneath our status. And don’t even suggest hiding us in your transport artifacts. You’ll meet the leader yourself. Lond, toss the body into Cupcake. We’re heading to the bandit lair!”

Chapter 15

“SO, NO HELP FROM YOU,” I said, making no attempt to hide my surprise. Of all the scenarios I’d envisioned, this wasn’t one of them.

“You’re Seekers. Eliminating cultists is your job. So get to it,” the leader of Hollyton’s underworld declared with a nonchalant expression on his mug.

A Copper Nascent God, he appeared slightly older than Guerlon — though, in my view, most Nascent Gods looked older than my blood brother. The only truly powerful figure I’d met who appeared younger than Guerlon was Advisor Delilah. Her pigtails, doll-like face, and petite frame made her look like a child. Yet everyone knew this terrifying woman might be ten thousand years old. No one was quite certain, but it was rumored Delilah had been the wife of the Phoenix Clan’s current leader since foundation, which was a very long time ago. Of course, Delilah was an exception. And I wasn’t convinced her youthful appearance wasn’t the result of masking techniques. For all I knew, she could look like an old hag. Only a hag could perpetrate the madness associated with the name “Advisor Delilah.” A sweet girl with pigtails couldn’t manage that.

Meeting the leader of the gang hadn’t promised any trouble. Given that the demon was actively hunted, he should have been eager to help us purge Hollyton of the cultist plague. But the Heavens had other plans. As soon as the kingpin understood who we were, his demeanor shifted dramatically. He may have been cooperative at the outset, but as soon he realized what we’d done by having eliminated three prominent cultist Nascent Gods (including our prisoner), as well as two Faceless Ones, his attitude soured. Right before our eyes, he transformed from a willing ally into an uninvolved bystander who couldn’t care less about our mission.

I couldn’t entirely blame him. Once the cultists realized something was amiss in Hollyton, they’d start sniffing around for scapegoats. From his perspective, better it be two Seekers than his entire loyal army.

“In a way, you’re right. We are Seekers, and our job is to eliminate cultists. But when you say ‘Seeker,’ you conveniently forget that this job primarily pertains to the human realm. Cultists in the demon realm are a secondary priority. So, if you want to step aside, fine. We’ll kill a few more Nascent Gods and move on to the human realm to handle our business. When a prince’s representative arrives in Hollyton to punish and rampage, we won’t be here. Care to guess whose door they’ll knock on?”

“Seekers leaving without finishing the job? Don’t insult me with fairy tales you don’t believe yourself. I know your kind well — I’ve dealt with Seekers before. Don’t scowl — I haven’t always sat in this chair. Three centuries ago, I was a young and naive warrior with ambitions to conquer the human realm. I fought, I raided. I had my backside handed to me a few times. That was when I learned who Seekers are and what they do. You could have turned a blind eye and left Hollyton before engaging with the cultists. No one would have said a word, and your Heavens wouldn’t have judged you. But you stayed. You’ve killed two, captured a third, and taken down two Faceless Ones. Seekers rarely act of their own accord, but when they do, they see things through. Don’t try to scare me with threats of future retribution, Seeker. Save those stories for someone who cares.”

I stared silently at the demon’s smug face, gradually accepting that we wouldn’t be getting support from Hollyton’s underworld. They wouldn’t interfere, but they also wouldn’t put their necks on the line to help, either. We were on our own, and the gangsters would keep to themselves.

“Vyllea, we’re leaving. There’s nothing left for us to do here.” I rose from my seat, signaling the conversation was over.

The kingpin’s grin vanished to be replaced with a scowl. He clearly wasn’t used to others deciding when to end a meeting in his office. Our eyes met, and I sincerely wished the demon would attack me — to show us our place. But Golden Overlord Nakori Dill, who had escorted us here, had already recounted our battle with the Faceless One. Specifically, how easily we detected and eliminated the invisible spy. They wanted to examine the body, didn’t they? Good luck with that.

“So, you’re not even going to ask about the rod that identifies cultists?” Vyllea asked, frowning. The leader’s eyes lit up, intrigued by our apparent interest. Bartering was always enjoyable when you had something the other party wanted.

“Why bother? It’s just a rudimentary stick that requires direct physical contact and generates a few energy fields. Too unreliable. I could easily bypass its detection if I wanted to. Our figurines are far more effective.”

“Figurines?” the gang leader asked, visibly intrigued. “What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I didn’t even bother turning toward the demon, instead extending a hand to help Vyllea up from her seat.

“I decide what matters here!” The metallic edge in his voice was unmistakable. I turned to him, my challenge clear.

“Then decide, demon. You’ve refused to be our ally, so you remain neutral. I won’t waste time expressing my disappointment. I came here seeking partners to help us eliminate cultists and share the spoils. Instead, I found merchants looking to profit off others’ work. Unpleasant, but it doesn’t make you our enemy. However, if you try to make decisions about us, I’ll remind you why we’re here. Do you think those two Silver Nascent Gods died on their own? Or that my arena battle, which I’m sure you’ve heard of, was a fabrication? I haven’t found the allies I sought. Don’t force me to find new foes.”

I met the gang leader’s gaze without flinching. This three-hundred-year-old demon knew he was dealing with youngsters. Vyllea and I were only twenty-three, mere children by his standards. But age was a fleeting thing, while the strength we possessed at twenty-three far surpassed everything this three-hundred-year-old demon could muster. He understood that. He didn’t know how we’d achieved it, but he knew. And so, he stayed rooted to his seat.

No further conversation took place. Hand in hand like small children, Vyllea and I left the office of Hollyton’s underworld leader. Heavens — one, Zander — zero. What a waste of time!

“Lond, grab the body. We’re leaving,” I commanded. Several Overlords, including our escort, scurried back to their leader for new orders and instructions. Not our problem anymore. There’d be no help from these demons. Leaving Lond Caerol and our prisoner in a healing capsule with them would be as good as forfeiting both. We needed to find a new place.

It took us half an hour to surface. The labyrinthine corridors and constant ascents made any kind of speed impossible. In theory, we could have carved a direct path, but the ancient metal reinforcing the walls wouldn’t allow for such liberties.

“If you ever suggest going that deep again, you’ll be going alone!” Vyllea declared. “I’m not dealing with those cowards again. And so damn smug! Did you even catch what he said? We’re Seekers, so it’s our job to handle the cultists! I never thought I’d say this, but demons irritate me! It feels like every other one is a scheming opportunist, looking for some mark to pull a fast one over. Honesty? Nobility? Loyalty? They only seem to exist in those fairy tales Althea’s so fond of. You once said the human realm lives by the law of the jungle — strength makes right. I laughed, thinking my world was different. What a fool I was! It’s not just the same here, it’s even worse. The flaws are amplified. When we’re done with Hollyton, let’s return to the human realm. There’s more honor among your kinfolk than among demons.”

Vyllea was clearly stung by the gang leader’s refusal to help. She probably envisioned others going door-to-door to destroy cultists while she simply pointed directed them to the next target. The reality — namely, that we’d have to do the work ourselves — was a harsh wake-up call. But it wasn’t such a bad idea. From what I’d gathered, Hollyton wasn’t just the capital of the second and third circles — it was the de facto capital of the Bohao cult in the demon realm. All their finance flowed through here, and it served as the main hub connecting the two realms. If we purged the city on our own, we wouldn’t have to share the spoils with anyone. With luck, we might finally find proper weapons and support artifacts for our level. We desperately needed both.

“Time to decide on our next move! We need a place to stay.” I glanced at Lond, who held our prisoner aloft with no apparent effort. The bandits had done us one favor — they’d forced some kind of poison down the cultist’s throat, ensuring he wouldn’t wake without an antidote. We’d have to be careful, though — even a Nascent God might die after a month without food. Surviving solely on ambient energy was impossible for someone like him, especially when the energy was obstructed by metal that blocks techniques.

“We already have an alcove at the hotel,” Vyllea reminded me.

“We do. But they won’t let Lond or our prisoner up to our level. Rules are rules. And, honestly, I don’t want to go back to the place whence we snatched two Nascent Gods. Let’s find an empty apartment and settle in uninvited. I have one in mind — although it’s not entirely vacant.”

“Husband, your face sharpens whenever you’re scheming. What are you up to now?”

“Right now, there’s a meeting of ten cultists in an apartment in a mostly empty building. No servants, no regular demons, and very few residents. It’s a three-story building. The first floor is completely empty, the cultists are on the second, and the third floor has a single occupant — a squatter like us. Hop in — it’s better to see what they’re up to than to speculate endlessly."

I materialized Cupcake, and Lond Caerol climbed in first, acting on autopilot. His mind might have been dormant, but his muscle memory remained intact. That gave me hope we could eventually cross the lake of blood. It had become a matter of principle. I needed another cultist — maybe not even a Nascent God. An Overlord would suffice, and Hollyton had plenty. Two of them had even been at the secret meeting. Demons wouldn’t venture into the workshop district without a good reason.

When we reached the building, the reason for it being so unpopular with everyone became clear — the sewer. While the city center was maintained meticulously, with no chance of unpleasant incidents, this industrial district’s outskirts were neglected. There were no underground levels here — just a few tunnels, now sealed off. The underworld’s residents had no use for this area.

The first floor of the building was practically nonexistent, submerged below street level and half-flooded with sewage. No one seemed interested in pumping it out. Vyllea and I barely flinched at the filth — we’d seen worse while clearing anomalies. Here, unfortunately, there were no anomalies — just a rickety ladder the demons used to climb up. The windows were sealed tight, and the demons had hidden their meeting under a protective formation, ensuring their air quality was fine. The squatter on the third floor chose this place for the same reasons as us — it was a homeless demon who’d found a place where no one would ever evict him.

“Lond, stay inside Cupcake. Vyllea, there are ten cultists inside. I need two Overlords — the rest you can kill. Go.”

I didn’t bother asking if Vyllea could handle it — I hadn’t the slightest doubt about it. She launched herself at a window, entering without even drawing a weapon. My wife loved tearing heads off with her bare hands. A few seconds later, I followed her, leaping through the same window.

The sight that greeted me was distasteful. Ten demons sat around a round table, oblivious to our arrival. On the table rested a small box, glinting with green Crystals of Oblivion — a forbidden substance in both realms. That, of course, didn’t stop thrill-seekers from producing and consuming it.

“Zander?” Vyllea stood beside the table, hesitant to proceed. My wife loathed touching filth, and these cultists had debased themselves beyond reason. Being ordinary cultists was bad enough, but this was something else entirely.

Without a word, I enclosed the table and the cultists in an air sphere, creating a blazing inferno inside. In an instant, everything turned to ash — the table, the crystals, the demons — absolutely everything. I extinguished the flames and stared at the scorched floor before raising my eyes to Vyllea.

“I’ll admit, coming here wasn’t the best of ideas,” I said, not even trying to hide my frustration. “But I don’t think a few sleepless nights will kill us. I suggest we start touring Hollyton, paying visits to everyone who has a trace of that vile substance in their blood. The quicker we make the rounds, the sooner someone important will show up in this city. Staying here long-term isn’t an option. We’re not scavengers to live in this stench.”

“You’re so perceptive!” Vyllea said with a sly smile before leaping out of the window without waiting for my reaction. She had no intention of lingering in this house any longer. Honestly, neither did I. Taking one last look at the scorched patch on the floor, then at Hollyton’s skyline, we prepared to greet more “guests.” Our goal was simple — kill as many cultists as possible before they sounded the alarm and scattered like cockroaches.

The plan was to start with those least likely to be missed — the solitary types. Unfortunately, there weren’t many of them. The group we’d just dealt with was an anomaly — most cultists preferred to live in luxury, surrounded by loyal followers. Some did live alone, but they had so many servants that sneaking in was nearly impossible. We’d either have to become like the Faceless Ones ourselves or throw caution to the wind, barge into their homes, and slaughter everyone, guards and servants included. The second option was tempting, but not really advisable if we wanted to keep things quiet. Demons were cunning — they’d scatter the moment chaos broke out.

So, what next, I wondered? I glanced at Vyllea, and a new plan — one costing several million spirit coins — suddenly took shape in my mind.

“Læogh, get ready! We need you in the demon realm. Your concealment ability will be crucial.”

“I’m coming with you!” Althea chimed in immediately.

“Not this time, apprentice,” I replied. "You’ve got too much work turning the South of the Third Tier into a paradise. Both realms need to see what they should aspire to.”

Married life had clearly done Læogh good. The once-reclusive and brooding youth had transformed into a cheerful and engaging individual. As I found out, he was well-educated and versed in management theories. His father, the former head of the Tiger Clan, had prepared him for a tough life with an emphasis on self-sufficiency, providing him with the best tutors available. If not for Læogh’s scales — a physiological trait that set him apart — he might have shone among the top Taoists in the human realm. But fate had been harsh, and only Arisco Galth’s sheer determination had kept the boy alive.

Manifesting the house in the demon realm turned out to be surprisingly easy. It took just fifteen minutes. When Læogh stepped outside and saw the fantastical building dominating the cityscape, he froze in awe.

“Althea, when all this is over, you have to come here. There’s a tree-building!”

“Master, that’s not fair! I want to see Hollyton, too! I’ve read about the hotel, but I’ve never seen it in person!”

“What hotel?” the others asked, clearly intrigued.

I wished Læogh had kept his mouth shut. Now everyone was suddenly interested in the hotel — Althea, Elda, and even Rincede. Worse, they all wanted to visit the demon realm to see this marvel for themselves! My reasonable argument that the building wasn’t going anywhere fell on deaf ears. Elda scoffed,

“Sure, Master, it isn’t going anywhere — until it does. The First Circle’s School of Ascension had stood for centuries, even millennia, until two Seekers showed up. Remind me, what happened to that school? Oh, right — it doesn’t exist anymore. Nor does the mountain where it had stood!”

“Don’t pin the school on me! That was Delilah Feng’s doing!”

“Who wouldn’t have been there if not for you, right? So don’t try to tell us the hotel will be fine. If Seekers Zander and Vyllea are in town, destruction looms on the horizon as surely as my name is Elda. And don’t forget, we’re not just talking about warriors or masters. There are Nascent Gods in Hollyton, and they could wipe this city off the map in seconds. Ladies, let’s vote. Who’s in favor of having Mentor Zander take us to Hollyton? Mentor Vyllea, why aren’t you raising your hand? You’re not against us, are you?”

Four hands shot up as if we were in a council meeting. Seeing Althea’s enthusiasm, Læogh raised his hand too.

“If need be, I’ll drag them all back myself,” Carmin said with a shrug as he added his vote.

I glanced at Guerlon, but my blood brother remained stoic, uninterested in such frivolities. As a Seeker, beautiful buildings weren’t his concern. He was still preoccupied with Mentor Ærinn’s troubles.

As I stood there facing the grinning rebels, I wanted to argue that humans didn’t belong in the demon realm, but even that excuse fell flat. In the past, we’d needed special amulets to block the scent of humans. As Overlords, both Taoists and demons had lost that distinguishing feature. The only difference now was their eyes, which would only be noticeable at uncomfortably close range. And my students didn’t take kindly to close scrutiny. They’d killed for less…

Then it struck me. Killed! That was it! The Hollyton underworld leader had declared it a Seeker’s job to eliminate cultists. My rebellious students wanted more freedom? Fine! Elda and Althea had spirit vision, Læogh would work with his wife, Rincede with her brother’s spouse, and Vyllea and I would take on the Overlords. Previously, I’d worried about cultists fleeing from one part of the city to another. But if we hit three locations simultaneously, few would escape — if any.

“All right, I’ll take the lot of you to Hollyton, but there’s a catch. You’ll have to work — and work hard. If you agree, keep your hands raised. Here’s the plan…”

There were no objections, as expected. Escaping administrative drudgery to visit another realm, see a stunning building, and tear the heads off a few dozen cultists — what could be more fun for a group of Seekers? Even Carmin, who’d initially grumbled a little, perked up at the mention of a purge.

The second manifestation of the house took two hours. As I’d said — there was no logic to its timing. Sometimes it was quick, and sometimes not. Once the doors opened, my group spilled out, their exclamations of delight filling the air. Even Rincede, who was usually as stiff as a statue, softened somewhat.

Everything seemed perfect — until Althea’s voice cut through the excitement like a thunderclap,

“Greetings, Elder!”

Everyone turned to stare at her, puzzled. Standing in a bow, Althea remained silent for a moment before straightening.

She had been addressing Lond Caerol, who continued staring indifferently into the distance, oblivious to the attention.

“Girlfriend, is there something you’d like to share with us, perhaps?” Elda, who was standing closest to Althea, asked in a pointed tone.

“Share?” Althea glanced at me, her expression tense. “Master, you have no idea what kind of mess we’ve stumbled into! This demon… he may have once had a name, but it’s long since been erased. I remember him — he used to visit my father often. He brought me gifts. Candy. Then one day, he disappeared. That was ten years ago. They’d searched for him for two years, thinking he’d gone into meditation, but they never found him. The Council eventually declared him dead, and the central palace held a year of mourning. It’s not every century that the demon realm loses a first-tier prince. The one you call Lond Caerol is actually a Gold Nascent God — a prince of the First Orbit. And I have no idea what we’re supposed to do next. There must always be exactly seventeen princes in our world. That’s the King’s law. If an eighteenth emerges, something will happen. And I have a strong feeling it won’t be anything good. I suspect the cultists have kept him alive for a reason. They’re clearly planning something…”

Chapter 16

A PRINCE… IN ANY OTHER situation, I might have stood there dumbfounded, stare at Lond Caerol and contemplate the meaning of existence and our place in this world. It was possible that I’d have spiraled into some philosophical nonsense. But I hadn’t brought everyone here to gawk at a demon.

Assuming Althea was right, and Lond really was a prince, would that change how I felt about him or the need to restore his mental state? Not in the slightest. I still believed we needed to cross that blood lake, and nothing had swayed me otherwise. Pondering how a Gold Nascent God had fallen to Copper, and why, could wait — probably forever.

“All right, students, what is this? Did you come here to admire my companion, or are we going to get to business?” My sharp tone snapped their focus back to me — everyone’s except Lond Caerol’s. He’d returned to his state of placid indifference.

“Althea and Læogh, you’re handling the southern sector. Althea, your targets are Master-stage cultists and low-level Overlords. Use whatever approach works — force your way in, infiltrate buildings with Læogh’s help, or announce to the entire city that you’re a prince’s daughter here to punish criminals. Your call. Questions? None? Perfect!”

“Elda and Rincede, you’ve got the eastern sector. Forget stealth — go for brute force. Minimize unnecessary casualties. Vyllea and I will take the northern and western sectors. Keep in mind there are forty-two Nascent Gods in Hollyton right now. They’re clean, but if they sense anything unusual, they’ll come sniffing around. Avoid unnecessary attention. Your sectors have few Nascent Gods, and none of them, as far as I can see, are near any cultists. Coordinate through the anomaly — I’ll be monitoring everything that happens in the city. If I tell you to drop everything and run, you’ll follow that order without hesitation. And don’t forget why we’re here! Collect every personal spatial pouch the cultists have, along with anything valuable in their homes. We’ll need to fill our expanded anomaly territory with beautiful things eventually.

I paused for a moment, and then turned to the prince, who still stood there placidly.

“Lond Caerol! Stay in Cupcake, guard the prisoner, and don’t leave for the next five hours. If we’re not back by then, come find us to collect your money. Understand? Nod, at least for appearances. Good, that’s better. All right, students, move out! The city won’t purge itself!”

I grabbed Vyllea’s hand to set the example and activated a motion technique. We started with the nearest target — a Gold Master living in the next building over.

The demon resided on the third floor, enjoying a lovely view of the hotel and several palaces. He was holding a cup of tea, perhaps reflecting on his upcoming ascension or debating whether to confess his sins at the central palace, claiming he’d been forced into cultism. Who could say? Minds were dark unknowable places. What he didn’t expect, though, was for his window to suddenly shatter as two lethal whirlwinds burst into his room. There was a sickening squelch, and his head separated neatly from his body — Vyllea’s masterful handiwork.

Meanwhile, I focused on more pressing matters — rifling through papers and tossing his bookshelves into the spatial anomaly. Althea could sort out the junk from the treasures later. Books were valuable in both our world and this one, and the demon’s collection suggested he was aware of said fact.

The safe, desk, paintings, artifacts, pouches — it took us only a minute to loot the entire room. After a final sweep to ensure nothing was left behind, I glanced at the body and summoned fire. I had no need for gestures anymore — just visual focus. A moment later, only a small pile of ash remained on the charred floor.

One cultist down. Time to move on.

This day would surely go down in Hollyton’s history — either as the Day of Great Cleansing or, perhaps, as the Day of Terror from the cultists’ perspective.

Our three groups worked with such speed that the demons didn’t suspect anything until Vyllea and I reached our thirtieth target. Initially, I’d felt bad about killing Overlords without draining their energy, but that regret vanished after the fifth.

It became clear that even if we gathered every cultist in the city, their combined power wouldn’t be enough to restore Lond Caerol. A separate external power source — equivalent to ten Nascent Gods — was needed. Ironically, I had such a source — a fragment of Primordial Soul gifted by Darna. But explaining to the others why it had to be used for an unfamiliar demon was a challenge I wasn’t ready to face.

No matter — that was a problem for future us. Right now, we needed to focus.

The Nascent Gods finally began to stir. Our mistake was sparing the servants, and now we were paying for it. One of the demons threw caution to the wind and ran to the grand palace of the main supplier of human livestock to power cultist altars. The Overlord we’d just killed had been one of his subordinates.

The consequences came quickly — a trio of Gold Overlords set out after us. They were untainted by the dirty yellow substance, but a force to be reckoned with nonetheless. Even for Vyllea and me with our ability to access Copper Nascent God level power in conjunction, they’d present a challenge.

The slave trader’s subordinates of the were a finely tuned team of Taoist hunters, which became evident when they deduced our movements and intercepted us as we exited another house.

“Seekers?” the trio’s commander asked, surprised. “What are you doing in Hollyton? You’re from the human realm. Since when did human Seekers start roaming the cities of the demon realm’s Second Circle?”

It seemed a natural question, asked in a bewildered tone, as if the demon was so stunned he didn’t know how to proceed. But his words didn’t match his actions.

While the commander tried to engage us in conversation, the other two slipped away, moving silently to flank us. They were so quiet that only spirit vision revealed their positions. Worse, they carried crossbows loaded with nets made of ancient human metals and some modern component — designed not just to restrain but to thoroughly entangle even a Nascent God.

These demons specialized in capturing Taoists, and their equipment was proof. They had special amulets around their necks that blocked the auras of higher ascension stages identical to those worn by the King’s Retinue hotel staff. Crushing them with aura alone wasn’t an option.

“Are you sure you want to hear the answer?” I chuckled as I gave Vyllea the signal to act. I chose to start with the one on the right. I locked onto his cores and began draining their energy despite his fierce resistance. The Gold Overlord knew how to establish blocks against energy siphoning, but he clearly hadn’t anticipated facing a Spirit Absolute with maximum potential wielding that ability.

For me, the blocks of a lower-tier ascender, which was exactly what a Gold Overlord was to a conjoined entity with Copper Nascent God power, were no more of an obstacle than stepping over a shallow stream. Sure, there was always the chance of slipping and falling into the water, but the odds of that happening were negligible. The Heavens, ever fond of their trials, had already given me one in the form of Lond Caerol’s true identity. So we got a free pass this time.

The Gold Overlord froze briefly as all his defenses and energy drained away. He reached for his spatial pouch, likely to retrieve some restoration items, but he wasn’t fast enough. Vyllea was already beside him.

She didn’t bother trying to rip off his head — instead, her jian flashed with a speed that would have put an orimmal toad’s spit to shame. With another fluid motion, she swiped the blade clean of stray blood droplets and delivered a shove to the demon’s chest, splitting him into two parts, to wit, his head and everything else.

The head rolled across the ground, but the body didn’t get the chance to fall — it disappeared into our storage. A Gold Overlord who specialized in capturing high-ranking Taoists was dispatched in mere moments. I’d bet several rare spirit stones that his pouch was bursting with valuable items. Stuff we needed!

The second Overlord managed to take a shot at us, proving he was worth every ounce of effort and resources poured into his training. A net hurtled toward me, its design immune to direct techniques and, importantly, containing ability-blocking materials in its fabric — infused with another variety of ancient human metal.

These thoughts raced through my mind in an instant. Vyllea pivoted towards the second demon, and following my precise instructions, she used a motion technique to dart toward him — not directly, but just to his side. That was important because the demon had erected one of my favorite obstacles — a spirit wall.

The crafty bastard had placed it to catch onrushing opponents by surprise. Clever. It was almost a shame we couldn’t let this fight drag on — I could have learned a lot from him. But our mission wasn’t to spar with demons. Our job was to eliminate cultists, and those involved in trafficking humans into this realm fell into that category even if their blood was clean. So, the second Overlord had to go, too.

I drained all his energy in an instant, allowing Vyllea to close the gap and finish him with her jian.

As for the net meant to cocoon me and render me harmless, it never reached its target. Ancient human metal might be impervious to techniques, but it was still a physical object with weight. While I couldn’t directly influence it, nothing prevented indirect manipulation.

A monstrous windstorm erupted in the net’s path — the same type I’d once used to propel my flying platform. No matter how potent its properties, the net couldn’t defy the gale. It was hurled backwards, slamming into the wall of the building opposite.

Vyllea returned to my side with a satisfied smile on her face. The second demon, along with his considerable loot, joined our spatial anomaly.

That left the commander. My instincts screamed that he was a dangerous opponent who shouldn’t be underestimated. His artifacts began activating one after another — both defensive and offensive. He was preparing to surprise us, and I had a hunch we wouldn’t enjoy it.

I attempted to latch onto the demon’s energy or his artifacts to drain their power, but it was futile. The ring he wore somehow absorbed all swirling energy streams. I could break through, but the artifact’s tier was far too advanced — even for a conjoined Copper Nascent God. It was likely crafted by a Silver Nascent God — a master whose work I kept encountering in the demon realm.

Breaking the ring’s defenses would take time, and the demon could unleash something deadly in the meantime.

“So that’s how it is,” the demon said, drawing a spear and assuming a combat stance. “A disguised Nascent God who’s an energy vampire. I suppose you’re good for nothing but feeding, which is why you drag that female around. My master will be pleased with this catch, and as for your fem — ”

He didn’t get to finish.

I saw it — the rapid activation of nodes within him, forming what was undoubtedly a terrifying technique. I watched energy flow through his cores, down his arm, and into the spear’s tip, transforming it into a highly lethal weapon.

Direct energy interference was still impossible due to the ring. Agitating his meridians to explode him from within was also a no-go.

So, for the first time in my life, I used a Nascent God technique — the one I’d learned during the arena battle.

The commander of the Taoist hunter squad was about to lunge at us but never got the chance. Nor did he finish his grand statement.

Energy burst from my chest, forming into three wide blades that covered the distance between us in an instant, shredding him into countless fragments. The blades moved so swiftly I could barely track them. His protective artifacts resisted for a single heartbeat before their energy got depleted.

This technique drained half my conjoined spirit core. Enough energy to annihilate a small city had gone into it.

When it was over, the blades hovered ominously over the demon’s remains, refusing to dissipate.

I frowned — this wasn’t what I’d expected. Techniques usually dissolved into the surrounding space after completing their purpose. But the one I’d learned in the Hollyton arena wasn’t finished.

The three blades just hung in midair, as if demanding another target. Spirit vision revealed they still contained a significant amount of energy, which was likely the reason they hadn’t disappeared.

When I imagined them returning to me, they moved so quickly I nearly flinched. In a flash, all three were at my back, pressed close. Without spirit vision, no one would know they were there.

“Vyllea, did you see what happened to the demon?” I asked, fully aware of her capabilities.

“Beats me!” she said. “One moment he was standing, the next he was shredded. Did you do something?”

“So you don’t see the three blades behind me?”

“Zander, don’t test my patience! If I saw something, I’d say so, wouldn’t I? No, there’s nothing there!”

So the blades were invisible to everyone but me. On the one hand, this was a blessing — very few immortality seekers had their spirit vision on permanently. On the other, how would one defend against something they couldn’t even see? I understood this technique was a Nascent God-level ability — essentially, a kind of ultimate weapon against ordinary immortality seekers. Still, something about it seemed wrong. Take energy vampires, for instance — there were rings and other amulets that allowed the wearer to counteract such threats. What, then, was the solution for defending against these blades? I could see and absorb them, given that they were pure energy untethered to itself. But what about the others? Surely, there must be some ultimate defensive techniques for Nascent Gods in existence, capable of countering even weapons like these. Something flawless, refined, and perfect. And I desperately needed to get my grubby hands on it.

The remnants of the squad commander were sent to the spatial anomaly, and Vyllea and I pressed onward. How long before the demons realized their squad was gone? Probably no more than half an hour. The group was too well-coordinated and well-equipped for anyone to overlook their absence. The next ones they’d send would almost certainly be Nascent Gods, and I doubted they’d want to talk.

We needed to work fast. It was imperative that the Nascent Gods’ focus didn’t shift toward the eastern and southern parts of Hollyton, where my apprentices were still finishing their tasks. Exposing them to mortal danger wasn’t an option.

We managed to clear out another ten palaces before an alarm blared across the city. I hadn’t even considered that demons might have a centralized alert system, but whoever designed Hollyton had been maniacally thorough. When something went wrong, an alarm would be triggered, and all buildings would activate additional defensive formations.

Breaking through those wouldn’t be hard, but it would immediately alert the city’s defenders to my location. It was a clear signal — our hunt was over for the day. Drawing the attention of Nascent Gods now would be suicide. They’d overwhelm us without a second thought, not even asking our names.

Still, our haul had been incredible. When we arrived in Hollyton, the city had housed two hundred and forty-seven cultists, including three Nascent Gods. And now that number had been reduced to about a hundred. The Nascent Gods were gone entirely, and only fifteen Overlords of various ranks remained. Eighty-five Masters were cowering in their holes, too terrified to even peek outside.

No worries — the alarm wouldn’t last forever. They couldn’t keep everyone locked in indefinitely.

Spirit vision revealed that ten Nascent Gods, ranging from Copper to Bronze, had entered the city. They were sweeping through the streets, hunting for dangerous intruders. Meanwhile, the ordinary demons, upon hearing the alarm, scrambled to their homes to hide under the safety of their private defensive formations.

Even the building where Vyllea and I were holed up, along with those of our students, was enveloped in such a formation. It would seem prudent to stay put, but the gnawing sense of unease told me otherwise. We needed to leave — now. Out in the open, I could reach Lond Caerol and our prisoner more easily.

Not to mention Cupcake. Vyllea would kill me if something happened to her beloved red vehicle.

The defensive formations blocked exits, but each of my groups had an energy vampire capable of finding and destroying an anchor. While the shield repaired itself, we’d already be outside.

Once the street checks and captures were complete, the second phase would begin — a meticulous inspection of every building. The demons struck me as methodical and relentless, capable of achieving any goal they set.

Our group reunited near the central bank. The demons had already repaired the hole left by the orimmal toad’s acid. Things like that were resolved quickly in Hollyton. I chose a spot beneath which no demons resided, dissolved the stone, and led by example, going underground. Based on what I saw, all the official entrances to the criminal underworld were sealed by energy formations. The surface-dwellers had protected themselves well against those below.

But the city’s designer hadn’t accounted for someone ignoring standard entrances altogether.

Once my group was safely below, I sealed the passage behind us, replicating the surrounding stone patterns as best as I could. The result wasn’t perfect, but it would pass casual inspection.

Indeed, the two Nascent Gods who appeared on the square minutes later didn’t notice a thing. They used search artifacts, sending energy spheres ahead of them repeatedly, but never beneath them.

Thirty minutes after the alarm sounded, the streets were cleared. Anyone who hadn’t made it home was detained for questioning. There were a few hundred of these unlucky stragglers, meaning the investigators had a long night ahead.

Phase two began — a systematic inspection of every home. The demons entered, used artifacts to locate all living beings, and checked their plaques. Vyllea and I had such plaques as well — passes from the King’s Retinue hotel.

It seemed that every resident of Hollyton was meticulously accounted for. Anyone who didn’t have a valid pass or couldn’t explain their presence would be detained immediately. Staying in Hollyton illegally was a bad idea — unless, of course, you were a high-ranking Nascent God.

“That’s it for today,” I declared. “I hope you’ve all managed to admire the city’s beauty and take in its wonders? No? As I thought — none of you cared about the scenery. All you wanted was to escape your routines and tear off a few heads. Got that out of your system? Good. Prepare for the return trip. The Third Tier isn’t going to improve itself!”

I glanced over my small group and continued,

“Læogh, I have a special task for you. You need to find a way to let Arisco Galth know you’re alive and well. But do it discreetly. The Tiger Clan cannot learn about you yet, but establishing contact with the head ninja would be invaluable. Assuming Arisco Galth is still alive, that is. This plague has claimed so many lives that nothing would surprise me anymore. Vyllea, I understand you’re against descending deeper, but we’ll have to venture below even the tenth level now. It’s time to confront the blood lake once again and free our companion’s mind from its prison this time. Whether he’s a prince or not doesn’t matter to me. First and foremost, he’s a sentient being in need of help.”

I thought to myself that it would also be easier for a prince to handle the cult God’s deputy. There was no need to give my students more fodder for their allegedly humorous pestering. They’d started holding votes already, for Heavens’ sake. Next time, I’d assign all voters to clean the sewers. After all, anyone who demanded freedom of speech should be prepared to bear the consequences of what they said.

Chapter 17

“LOND, PLACE THE PRISONER here.”

I gestured to a platform I had formed from the earth. I double-checked our hideout with spirit vision to ensure there were no gaps or weak points, just to be on the safe side. Everything was perfect — we were inside a ten-foot cube lined with ancient metal plates. Every joint had been sealed with a lubricant containing traces of the same ancient metal.

Even if the god of the Bohao cult descended into Hollyton’s depths personally, they wouldn’t be able to find us. Without one of the ancient human devices implanted in your brain, locating us was impossible. Air generation was handled by the appropriate elemental technique, and we were buried deep beneath the tenth subterranean level. Ten feet of dense earth and stone blocked the entrance to our lair. Whatever catastrophe might befall Hollyton’s underworld, we wouldn’t be disturbed.

And something was bound to happen. The cultists had whipped up a flurry of activity, as if preparing for something major.

A part of my consciousness kept scanning Hollyton through spirit vision even while preparing for the upcoming attempt to conquer the blood lake. I noted with some dismay that most of the surviving cultists had already left the city. Worse still, they’d used portals — impossible to track. By the time my preparations were complete, only twenty-three Masters who had passed through the cult’s altar remained in Hollyton.

Yet there was a silver lining — three Nascent Gods of Silver rank had just arrived, each steeped in the foul yellow energy of the cult. That taint in their blood was unmistakable.

Apparently, the deputy or assistant of the prince likely playing the part of the Bohao cult’s deity had decided that the situation required more than a single hand. These three Nascent Gods could easily obliterate Hollyton and everything within a five-mile radius. But it was doubtful they had the authority to do so.

Their objective was clear — to find the Seekers.

I wondered if they were hunting for one group or all three.

The city’s defenses were still intact, and the demons were meticulously checking every anchor point to ensure no one had tampered with them. The Nascent Gods were just as thorough, inspecting house after house for suspicious elements. Meanwhile, an enormous queue of demons had formed at the city hall, where investigators were stationed. Escape was not an option — any disobedience was met with instant death, a fact already demonstrated through grim precedent.

Unpacking all the tools for the “purification” process, I felt a familiar nervousness creep in. It might have been prudent to bring someone else from our group here — just in case something went wrong and we needed to be put into healing capsules.

But that thought had visited me too late.

Leaving this perfect hideout was out of the question, so we’d have to proceed without any heroics. Then again, heroics seemed inevitable.

Just in case, I took out the healing capsule and opened the lid to save precious time later.

“This was a gift to you,” Guerlon had said when we discussed the shard of the Primordial Soul. “So it’s yours to use as you see fit.”

That had been the general consensus, drawing a clear line under how Darna’s gift should be handled. The redhead herself had kept her promise not to meddle in the affairs of the House of Bao. She and the Nameless One were roaming the Third Tier, eradicating anyone who resisted the new order. Resistance had been surprisingly minimal. Once the great houses of the Third Tier realized they were up against two Nascent Gods and an entire army of Overlords, most protests were stifled before they began.

The only holdouts were related to House Cham. Darna had vowed to wipe them off the face of the Third Tier. No negotiations were held — everyone who’d been allowed to survive had denounced House Cham and publicly joined other houses, condemning their former leader’s actions. And even those defectors faced grim futures — who would trust such blatant turncoats? But that was the least of Darna’s concerns. She continued her campaign, restoring the Phoenix Clan’s forgotten glory throughout the Third Tier.

“Enough delays. Vyllea, a conjunction!”

Vyllea pressed her body against mine from behind as I activated energy circuit after energy circuit. My spirit vision flickered toward the demons above us, still searching the surface and showing no interest in descending underground. Odd. Did they truly trust their defenses that much?

That was fine by me. I needed maximum focus now.

The air in my crafted cube filled with the energy of a Copper Nascent God. This cultist had even less power than the previous one. If I relied solely on that energy, I’d fail for certain.

But I didn’t need to — it wasn’t my only resource.

A shard of the Primordial Soul appeared in my palm, and the sensation was so intense it nearly broke the conjunction. The energy released by the cultist couldn’t dissipate within the cube — it bounced chaotically, passing through our bodies without causing any harm.

But the moment the shard emerged, all this chaos ceased.

The energy vanished — absorbed entirely by the shard as though it was returning home. Remarkably, the shard’s energy level remained unchanged. It had barely noticed the addition. As the cultist's body dissolved into an ugly sludge, I adjusted the platform, sinking the remains into it and sealing the passage. I didn’t feel like burning the mess just yet. I pocketed the shard, ready to draw as much power as needed, and said,

“Lond, give me your hands.”

The demon approached, moving with deliberate calm as he obeyed my request. His expression was utterly blank.

The sight chilled me.

I was sweating and trembling with the weight of what lay ahead, but Lond Caerol remained unperturbed.

I closed my eyes, banishing intrusive thoughts, and focused on the dams. Vyllea’s giantess form was waiting for me there, and I saw the monstrous blood sea looming nearby upon arrival. If anything, it had grown even wilder since our last encounter. Waves now surged almost a hundred feet high, threatening to crush anyone who dared defy their will.

The giant on the island remained still, immersed in his meditation. He wouldn’t stir until we began.

“Should we push forward?” Vyllea asked, her hands aglow with energy drawn from the Primordial Soul. The sight was commanding, almost triumphant — it felt as though she could channel that force straight into the blood lake, shattering its defiance. How could such a chaotic manifestation of will stand against the essence of the Primordial Soul? It would crumble for certain, leaving its bearer exposed and defenseless.

But my wife, ever wise, noticed my hesitation. She paused, redirecting the energy back into the shard easily. The fragment itself materialized in the air nearby, dim and stone-like, almost as if it found its presence here uncomfortable. Sensing my reluctance, Vyllea tried to coax out my reasoning.

“Zander, what’s on your mind? Why can’t we break the barrier?”

Because it would destroy the prince’s consciousness! Her question prompted a realization, clear and indisputable. It was fortunate we’d failed in our first attempt. Even if we had combined our strength, the barriers wouldn’t have yielded — they weren’t designed to break under force. The storm over the blood lake ensured that any direct destruction of the barrier would doom the consciousness beneath. One drop from that lake could dissolve it completely. Worse still, there were no assurances that even our giants could withstand such contamination.

So, what was the solution? Giving up wasn’t an option. The answer was here, close at hand — I only needed to grasp it. What had happened during our initial attempt? We drew upon the energy of a Nascent God teetering on the edge of Bronze rank. We attempted to push the barrier closer to the prince’s consciousness using that energy. But instead of helping us advance, it was absorbed by the barrier and amplified the storm.

What were we actually doing? When we pushed, we were saturating the dam with borrowed power, hoping it would shatter under the strain. Yet, strangely, reinforcing the barrier made it weaker — fractures formed, chains snapped, and the structure began to collapse. Why did that happen? Was it just how I had conceptualized the process — smashing the obstacle with borrowed energy instead of… instead of what?

The answer lay in reevaluating my approach. Barriers were not destroyed by brute force, but by an overflow of energy. I had always believed that saturating those caused cracks, but what if the premise itself was flawed? What had just happened with the Primordial Soul shard? It absorbed stray energy, clearing the space and neutralizing danger. Couldn’t the same principle apply to barriers? After all, barriers weren’t abstract constructs — they were tangible energy formations tethered to a specific individual. What if I treated them not as obstacles to be overwhelmed, but as energy to be consumed?

I wasn’t merely a Taoist striving for ascension — I was an energy manipulator, a vampiric force with the innate ability to interact with these ascension blocks. If barriers were composed of energy, then perhaps they could be undone by siphoning that energy instead of overloading the circuit. Now the nature of our earlier mistake became obvious to me. We had handed the storm energy on a silver platter, which it readily consumed. But why persist in feeding it when I could drain it instead?

I approached the Primordial Soul shard and grasped it firmly in my hand. Oddly enough, in the giants’ world, the crystal had also grown, fitting comfortably in the palm of my hand. I gestured for Vyllea to step back, and then reached for the barrier with my free hand.

The lake responded instantly. It sensed my power and began pulling energy from me with horrific voracity — like an enormous spider draining its prey. The storm even retreated slightly, inviting me closer to its center, where its strength was most concentrated.

But the lake had miscalculated.

I visualized its chaotic churn of flesh and blood as a tangle of energy threads. The mental shift was effortless, as if my subconscious had been waiting for this very realization. I reached through the barrier with unseen hands, grasping the nearest thread in a viselike grip.

The pain was staggering — a never-ending torrent of lightning coursed through me. The energy, outraged by the intrusion, unleashed everything it had accumulated over the years. It should have torn me apart, physically and mentally.

But I wasn’t alone.

The Primordial Soul shard was with me, responding to the chaotic energy the same way it had with the cultist’s remnants. It absorbed it. The shard drank deeply, as though reclaiming what had always been part of it. The pain dulled, replaced by a feeling of power and protection. The lightning persisted, but it no longer harmed me.

As I opened my eyes, I found myself leaning forward, as if drawn by the retreating barrier. The storm on the blood lake raged on, but its size was nothing like before — the lake was shrinking rapidly.

The cleansing dragged on for what felt like an eternity. The lake couldn’t resist — it had no source of additional energy to draw from. I wasn’t putting pressure on it — I was wringing it dry instead. At one point, the blood-red creation attempted a final desperate attack. It abruptly shrank by several dozen feet, forcing me to sprint forward, and then it pressed with such intensity that I found myself sliding back across the sand. But those were merely its death throes — the Primordial Soul continued to consume energy even as we retreated. The pressure abated almost immediately.

The lake, as though possessed of some rudimentary consciousness, seemed to realize its mistake. Rather than continuing to fight me, it turned its focus on the second barrier, as if unwilling to perish alone. But it was far too late. The bloodied creation had nothing left to give.

With a few more steps, I finally reached the island. Under any other circumstances, I would have paused to deal with the prisoner still sitting cross-legged in meditation, his eyes closed. But some sixth sense warned me against it — stopping now would be disastrous. If even a single drop of that blood lake remained, the prince’s mind would emerge damaged. How did I know this with such certainty? I had no idea. But I felt that was the case — and I pressed on, each step drawing me closer to the three mighty barriers. It would take incredible effort for this Gold-ranked Nascent God to progress in his ascension. Advancing to the next stage with these barriers in place was utterly impossible.

At last, the blood lake’s final drop was consumed. The barrier in front of me burst with such a sharp sound that a ringing filled my ears for a time. When it finally subsided, I felt a presence beside me. Lond Caerol had awakened.

“What is this place?” A commanding voice rang out. Even here, in the realm of my imagination, the prince spoke with the authority of a demon accustomed to command.

All I could do was let out a heavy sigh — speaking during a conjunction was impossible for me. Still, his voice carried such strength that I decided to show him my inability to offer a proper response. Turning, I faced Lond Caerol. Or rather, I faced what he had become. Gone was the mindless husk, indifferent to everything. In its place stood a strong and self-assured demon, ready to fight for his life to the bitter end — even after believing himself dead.

There was nothing else to be done. I began to speak, knowing full well that it would likely amount to nothing coherent.

“These are the barriers blocking your ascension. You can’t become a god with obstacles like these in place.”

I spoke mechanically, still grappling with my shock. I was speaking. In a conjunction. Out loud. Just think about that — I was speaking in a conjunction! For the first time in twelve years!

“The last thing I remember,” Caerol began, his tone cold and deliberate, “was the executioner’s smirking face. I suppose he had achieved his goal — I groaned, and then there was darkness. A single flash of awareness, and I was in the midst of a strange lake made of blood and shredded flesh. So, I did die after all? You’re wearing spotted clothing, like a Seeker from the human world. I’ve always wondered what awaits us after death, but I never imagined I’d encounter Seekers here. Does this mean your Heavens truly exist? And my barriers block the path to them?”

I had no idea why I’d regained the ability to speak, but it was proving useful. Noticing Vyllea, whose eyes were wide with shock as she stared at me, I decided to bring the prince up to speed immediately.

“I never said you were dead. As for the place you’re in — I call it the external conjunction. It may have a more specific name, but I don’t know it. This is where I work on ascension barriers. My wife and I freed you from the Bohao cultists, but their torture forced your mind into hiding. That flash you experienced was our first attempt to reach your consciousness. It had failed spectacularly. This is our second attempt — and it has succeeded. I’ll end the conjunction now, and you’ll return to your body. We’re in Hollyton, on the eleventh underground level, in a cave I created and reinforced with ancient human metal. If you start drawing energy from the surrounding world to recover, you’ll kill both me and my wife. Apart from the three of us, there’s no one else in this artificial chamber. My apprentice, Althea Lin, told me you were a rational and reasonable demon, unlikely to destroy us simply because we wear Seeker uniforms.”

“I understand where you’re going with this, Seeker,” Caerol replied. “I swear on my power that I will not harm you or your wife when we return to reality. First, we need to deal with the situation at hand. That’s the most I can promise.”

“That’s enough,” I assured him.

The conjunction ended, and as I returned to reality, I saw reason in Lond Caerol’s eyes. I probably should have said something, but my body gave out, and I collapsed forward — straight onto the prince. The last thing I heard was Vyllea’s voice, shouting,

“Zander! Prince, don’t just stand there! Get him to the capsule! And let me tell you — if Zander dies, I’ll…”

I never found out what my wife planned to threaten a Golden-ranked Nascent God with. Darkness took me.

Hollyton. Twelve hours after the alarm was triggered.

“Elder, we’ve managed to reconstruct the situation.” Although the demon addressing his superior was of the same ascension stage and rank, the thought of calling him an equal would never have crossed his mind. He was an Elder in every sense of the word.

“Speak,” the silver Nascent God said at last, opening his eyes and ceasing his spiritual scan of the city. He had once postponed purging the city’s criminal underworld, dismissing it as a minor nuisance that kept his subordinates sharp. Apparently, that had been a grave mistake. The Bohao cult had never suffered such a humiliating blow. Their Nascent Gods, Overlords, and Masters — the sect’s pillars of hope — had vanished, leaving nothing but ash. The demon controlled his emotions well, but his fists clenched despite himself. Someone would pay for this outrage.

“Three groups of Seekers from the human realm operated in the city. How they entered Hollyton and where they disappeared to remains unknown. No breaches in the city’s defensive formation have been detected. There is no residual energy indicative of a closed wormhole. All the underground routes have been inspected — there is no evidence the Seekers escaped that way. This suggests that those six Seekers had arrived long before the incident and remain in the city. Seventy percent of the buildings have been searched, and the streets are under constant patrol. They won’t escape, Elder.”

“Seekers?” The silver Nascent God frowned. “Isn’t Guerlon — the one who’d forced demons to forge peace with the Taoists — the last remaining Seeker? I thought our ally had ensured this scourge was permanently eradicated from her world. Was Guerlon here?”

“Based on the descriptions, no. We’ve identified two — Seekers Zander and Vyllea, Guerlon’s apprentices. The other four are unknown.”

“And the body? Was it recovered?”

“It’s gone as well, Elder.” The demon understood immediately which body his master meant. “It was last seen with Seekers Zander and Vyllea when they carried two of our younger brothers — those who had ascended to Nascent Godhood — out of the King’s Suite hotel. The one tasked with guarding the body died hours earlier, fighting Seeker Zander in the arena. From the reports, it seems Zander is concealing his true ascension level, presenting himself as a silver Overlord. Most likely, he is a Copper Nascent God.”

“Why weren’t they stopped?”

“There was no one left to stop them, Elder. Ekratz and Churtan Hwal had left for the human realm on your orders. One Overlord attempted to intervene, but was dispatched as effortlessly as if he were a mere Candidate.”

“So the Seekers took the body… It must not be discovered prematurely. If Ekratz and Churtan failed to ensure adequate protection for it, they will be punished. See to it. As for Hollyton — are you certain the Seekers and the body are still here?”

“They haven’t left the city, Elder. Of that, I am certain. I personally inspected everyone passing through the portal. The anchors of the city’s defensive formation are intact, and the barrier hasn’t been breached. They must be hiding, most likely underground.”

“In the criminals’ lair? That should have been dealt with long ago. We cannot allow the body to reach the central palace ahead of schedule. Let Hollyton become its grave. I authorize a total purge. Ensure no soul survives.”

Chapter 18

“HOW LONG?” I ASKED as soon as the darkness gave way to the confines of the healing capsule. The lid was already open, signaling that the treatment was complete. Now all that remained was to determine how long I had been lying there. Though frankly, there was much more to figure out — spirit vision revealed a drastically changed environment.

“Three days. Zander, why did you have to go and play the hero again? We agreed, no overreaching this time!” Vyllea’s voice carried both exasperation and concern.

“I don’t think this is about heroics,” I replied, sitting up with her help. “It’s the sheer intensity of the energy I had to work with. My body simply couldn’t handle the strain. The bloody lake concealing the prince’s consciousness was overwhelming. Three days is a minor consequence — things could have been worse.”

Vyllea extended her hand to steady me as I struggled to sit. In the modest space of my crafted sanctuary, there were two chairs, one of which was occupied by the prince — or, rather, Lond Carol. I hadn’t decided which name suited him best, so it would remain Lond for the time being. His heavy, scrutinizing gaze followed me. The capsule’s reset had stripped me of the Seeker’s form, leaving me human once more. Perhaps his irritation was due to more than just my appearance. Spending three days cooped up with Vyllea was a trial for anyone unprepared.

“Zander, you spoke during the conjunction!” Vyllea exclaimed, frowning when I nearly stumbled. “Husband, what’s happened to you?”

“System recalibration,” I admitted, settling onto the floor. Standing was out of the question — my head spun. “It was too abrupt a surge in physical development. My body wasn’t ready for it.”

“You’ve become a physical absolute?” Vyllea asked, surprise evident in her voice.

“Not quite, but my block took considerable damage. It seems I have destroyed part of my own barrier alongside the lake. That’s likely why I was able to speak during the conjunction — the barrier must have crossed some threshold.”

“So does it mean that if my mental block got broken all at once, my head would explode?” she asked, reaching a disturbingly accurate conclusion.

I nodded. “That’s why ascendants strive for harmonious development across all three aspects — body, reason, and spirit — avoiding any significant imbalance. Removing a barrier prematurely is a recipe for pain, suffering, and ultimately death. Help me into the chair. Even something so minor feels monumental right now.”

Lond Caerol waited silently as we spoke, though the furrow between his brows deepened. Once Vyllea had stowed the healing capsule, she helped me into a chair, then set up a table and prepared tea — brewed to perfection. It was time to address the matter at hand.

“I’ve always understood princes to be Gold Nascent Gods,” I began. “Yet what I see is a Copper — perhaps even nearing a Gold Overlord. Is this the result of your time on the altar, or was it always so?”

“That’s your foremost concern right now?” Lond’s brow creased further. He was clearly unimpressed by how the conversation began.

“It’s not really a concern per se,” I replied, meeting his gaze and holding it. “Did Vyllea explain everything already, or did you wait for my recovery to hear the full story?”

“I was worked on by true masters of their craft,” Lond said with a grim expression. “The torturers buried my consciousness so deeply that escape was impossible. Yet here I am — thinking, speaking. I need answers, Seeker.”

“Well, so do we,” I said, leaning back. “Let me start with how we met Althea Lin and our training at the Blue Lotus School of the Second Circle of the demon realm…”

The teapot emptied, but my story continued. There was no point in hiding anything about the Bohao cult. Transparency was the best weapon against secrecy. I showed him the figurines crafted by the head of the Silver Heron School and mentioned the artifact that was last known to be in the local gangsters’ possession. However, from what I’d seen, the underworld of Hollyton was no more.

While I’d been recuperating in the healing capsule, the three Silver Nascent Gods had obliterated the underground levels, and the obliteration had been absolute. The levels from the tenth to the first had collapsed, compressing everything into compacted earth and stone, its former inhabitants reduced to unsightly smears. Survivors were few — spirit vision detected only about fifty demons trapped in isolated niches. They couldn’t escape — the weight of the compressed layers above was insurmountable. Oxygen was depleting rapidly in most such pockets, leaving them with mere hours — or less — to live. No one could save them.

The surface city of Hollyton had also suffered. Changes to its foundation had left some buildings askew. But it was the outskirts that bore the brunt, and the Nascent Gods were actively addressing these issues. The city’s core remained untouched. The King’s Retinue hotel still loomed over the skyline, its grandeur undiminished. Palaces stood intact, too — the Gods of this world had ensured the integrity of the surface by erecting earth reinforcements to prevent a total collapse.

The gangsters’ lair was reduced to rubble, yet not all had perished. The Nascent God kingpin had erected a defensive barrier to shield his chamber from the collapse. Several Overlords had also survived, protected by amulets or sheer fortitude. While escape was impossible, they were rescuing what remained of their forces. Some had already been freed, and others awaited their turn. However, one Bronze Overlord had been overlooked, separated by a barrier of ancient metal in a far corner of the underground complex. Unseen, and soon to be forgotten.

But the most intriguing discovery was that the Nascent God’s lair had been severed from its treasury. The ancient metal plates couldn’t withstand the pressure and collapsed, rendering all techniques useless. One of the Overlords was skilled in manipulating earth, but his energy reserves were drained — spent entirely on reinforcing the gang leader’s chamber to prevent the crushing earth from turning them into paste.

“So that’s the situation,” I concluded. “The cultists seem so desperate to eliminate you that they’ve opted to obliterate Hollyton’s entire underground world, assuming there’s no way we could have escaped the city. I doubt the three Silver Nascent Gods came here specifically for us Seekers.”

“So, the number of princes is seventeen again,” the demon mused, his expression darkening. “That explains a great deal. If a mindless prince were presented to the king, the council’s three current leaders would be deposed — if they were lucky. More likely, the king would destroy them for failing their duties.”

“Why must there always be exactly seventeen princes?” I asked.

The demon fixed me with a heavy stare, the pressure between my shoulders uncomfortable despite his depleted power. He radiated danger even in his current diminished state.

“That’s not a question I’ll discuss with a human,” he said at last, tempering his response. “Just know this — such is the law. There must always be seventeen princes. If their number grows beyond that, as it has in the past, the king eliminates three of the council’s leaders for failing to obey his command. That’s all I’ll say.”

“That’s all I need to know,” I replied. “It explains why your life was preserved. The cultists intended to reveal your mindless body at the right moment, forcing the king to act. The current council trio would vanish, replaced by others — likely with the God of the Bohao cult among them. Who is he?”

“First Circle, third on the right,” came the cryptic reply. The princes had no names, only their circle and position within the hierarchy.

“Will we hear an enthralling tale about how one of this world’s strongest demons became a source of power for the cultists and regressed to a copper Nascent God? Or is that a story unfit for human ears?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” the demon replied. “The answer to the first question is simple — betrayal. By those I trusted with my life. That trust was misplaced. As for the second, it’s hardly worth asking — I spent ten years on the cult’s altar, enduring daily torture. They drained my energy and kept me in the Second Tier of the human world without any inhibitors for energy starvation. Time and deprivation did their work — I regressed. Call it reverse ascension. Now, Seeker, tell me why you restored my consciousness. I won’t become your puppet.”

“I’ve better things to do than manipulate a prince, even one stripped of his strength. I did what I believed was right. Once we surface, our paths will diverge. We’ll hunt Bohao cultists while you attend to your own affairs. I imagine you have plenty to address after ten years.”

“No vows, no promises, no gifts?” The demon’s frown deepened. “You’re simply going to let me go without securing my future assistance?”

“Zander, I’m getting bored!” Vyllea interrupted, her tone laced with irritation. “Can we leave this place already? These endless talks are driving me mad. This underground chamber is driving me mad. I want to get to the surface!”

“Do not provoke my wrath, woman!” The prince’s voice turned glacial, his aura so oppressive that my back tensed painfully — death itself seemed to speak. But Vyllea wasn’t me. She ignored the danger with ease, even escalating it.

“And what are you going to do about it?” she shot back. “You have no power, no artifacts, and no authority. All you’ve got is our goodwill. You’re trapped in a deep underground bubble lined with ancient human metal. From what I’ve seen, you’re a fire demon — you can’t manipulate earth, you can’t create air, you can’t do anything. Even your strength is gone! Right now, you’re a Copper Nascent God, so act like one!”

The prince struck. He saw us as mere silver Overlords, no match for him even in his weakened state. Activating his aura required almost nothing, and while he didn’t aim to destroy us — Vyllea was right, he couldn’t escape on his own — he clearly intended to put us in our place.

But I had my own views on how we should be treated. The Heavens bore witness — I’d hoped to resolve this amicably, without giving the prince any reason to resent us enough to seek revenge later. Alas, it never went as planned. Maybe I should stop planning altogether, I thought to myself.

The aura flared and then collapsed immediately. It was hard to maintain something like that with no energy left. The prince wheezed and slumped back into his chair.

“As if I’d let him shut me up!” Vyllea scoffed, casting a disdainful glance at the fallen prince. “You’d better get used to your new reality, nameless demon. I’ve seen your barriers — they’re so formidable you’ll take an eternity just to reach Bronze Nascent God. Zander says there are about sixty Nascent Gods above us right now, at least four of them Silver. What can you do against them in your current state? Tell them how great you were ten years ago? Stamp your feet and demand respect? Just because we pulled you out of the mess your trust in demons had gotten you into doesn’t mean we’ll let you treat us like your servants. Seekers aren’t anyone’s servants. Seekers do what’s right. You bore me now. Zander, do you have any plans left for this accursed pit, or can we leave?”

“I always have plans,” I said, struggling to my feet. My body craved action, but the lack of coordination between my body and my mind was stark. Luckily, techniques didn’t require physical effort.

“Vyllea, take down the plates. We’re not leaving them here.”

“What are you planning?” she asked, entirely dismissing the prince. He no longer interested her. We’d done what we came to do — saved his life, restored his consciousness, and given him a crash course on the past ten years of the demon world, with Althea’s help. That was where our obligations ended. From here on out, he was on his own. Honestly, Lond Caerol had been more pleasant to deal with.

“About two miles from here lies the local gang’s treasury. The gangsters themselves have survived as well.”

“A treasury? You never mentioned this before!” Vyllea’s excitement was palpable as she practically sprang into a predatory stance.

“Because back then it wasn’t ours,” I replied. “I also had plans for the gangsters — someone needed to maintain order in the city after we finished our work. Heavens, this dizziness is infuriating! But now, those plans are irrelevant. There’s no one left. They’re all dead. An entire underground city was destroyed just to ensure that news of a single prince didn’t reach the central palace too soon. I think I even understand why. If the surplus prince gambit fails, the God of the Bohao cult will devise another plan to join the Council of Three. And in that case, an extra prince would be a liability — because then, the King would destroy the God himself. Ugh, I’m getting sidetracked. Such trivialities shouldn’t concern me. Vyllea, move aside. We’re going straight ahead.”

I didn’t need to gesture or point to where I intended to work. Threads of elemental energy surged forward, clearing the way. The tightly compacted earth didn’t just compress further — it transformed, becoming almost metallic. But against the will of a Nascent God, even the hardest earth had no resistance.

We exited the makeshift cave, and the moment we moved a few dozen paces, it collapsed behind us. The cultists were still working on the underground, compressing the lower levels and filling voids with earth. Judging by what I observed, a few more Silver Nascent Gods had been summoned to Hollyton — pure ones, untouched by the ancient substance’s corruption. It seemed the God of the Bohao cult had enlisted the city’s original architect among others, a demon attuned to the earth element. The city was being reshaped before our eyes. What they planned to do with the ruined utilities and sewage systems, though, was anyone’s guess — both were entirely obliterated along with the subterranean network. Even the King’s Retinue had taken damage — its underground sections, including the kitchen and storage, were gone. All that effort, just to kill one reluctant ally of ours.

The prince followed us in silence, making no attempt to attack. Not that he could, lacking the energy to do so. The Second Circle didn’t provide energy suitable for a copper Nascent God, and I certainly wasn’t going to share my resources with him. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I’d already done more than enough for him, and as everyone knows, Seekers never worked for free.

“Elder, my life is now yours! I’ll be your eternal servant — just get me out of here!” yet another rescued demon cried out.

“Silence!” I barked, cutting him off. I’d chosen a path that would allow me to rescue as many survivors as possible. If the Heavens had decreed them fit to survive, who was I to argue? The tenth demon I saved parroted the same desperate pledge, as though they’d all agreed on it beforehand. Annoying.

With each additional rescue, the frown on the prince’s face deepened. He didn’t understand why a human was doing what I was doing — what drove me or how the earth parted at my approach. He seemed to have decent spirit vision, though he likely couldn’t maintain it for long periods. A brief meditation was all he needed to activate it, and it revealed that no elemental threads extended from me. Yet the earth opened, and fresh air constantly circulated in our tunnel. Perhaps he suspected some form of conjunction, but Vyllea and I hadn’t even touched each other. The demon’s frustration at his lack of understanding was palpable, but I had no desire to enlighten him.

By the time I finished, I had gathered twenty-seven demons, including the Overlord who’d been cut off by a layer of ancient metal. Spirit vision indicated a dozen more demons scattered beneath the city, but the rest were already dead — either from suffocation or the relentless pressure exerted by the Nascent Gods above. My tunnel kept collapsing whenever I stopped channeling active force into its reinforcement.

“All of you, stay put. Only the Seekers are going further. Vyllea, get rid of the obstacle.”

I still didn’t have the strength to cut through the ancient metal myself. Even walking had been a struggle, every movement accompanied by pain and discomfort.

“Are you a Seeker?” The prince, who tried to follow, glared at me, his indignation barely concealed.

“You dare to stop me in my own lands, human?” he snarled. He clearly hadn’t come to terms with his diminished state, clinging to old notions of authority. Without energy, a simple shove would suffice to send him sprawling — but even that minimal effort was beyond me at the moment.

“Zander, I’m done!” Vyllea called out cheerfully, approaching me and glancing at the prince. “Is there a problem?”

“Make sure he doesn’t follow me,” I instructed. “And don’t try to enter yourself. The one who set up this cache was a true fanatic — there are several traps inside. They need to be disarmed.”

“Got it. No one’s getting through, don’t worry,” she replied, planting herself in the corridor. “Or is someone going to try?”

Ten years ago, such blatant defiance would have resulted in Vyllea being reduced to dust without a word. But times and circumstances had changed. I had no interest in watching their silent standoff and continued forward, draining energy from the protective artifacts as I went. Had anyone else entered the treasure vault, the defenses would have flooded the contents with Nascent-God-level flames. Surviving the fire might have been possible, but the treasures would have been irrevocably destroyed. That wasn’t an outcome I could accept, so I focused on disarming the traps before indulging in any excitement.

“Vyllea, I’m done! You can come in!” I shouted, stashing the last chests and shelves into a spatial anomaly. All that remained was to retrieve the gang leader, his subordinates, and get out of Hollyton. Before engaging the silver Nascent Gods in earnest, I needed to visit orimmal toads in their marshes. Absolute weapons — or, rather, a multitude of absolute projectiles — were a necessity. If the Bohao cultists thought their streak of bad luck had ended, they were gravely mistaken. It had only just begun.

Chapter 19

“ZANDER, HE’S GETTING on my nerves! Get back here, or I’m going to do serious damage to some part of his anatomy!”

“All right, you can pull me back now. I think ten globs should be enough for all of us for a while. The toad is clearly spent — it cannot spit anymore.”

My projection reentered the house, and for a moment, the real world faded away. It seemed that Vyllea and I had been apart for more than three days for the first time since our conjunction. That was how long it had taken me to travel to the human world, use my sword and hurricane wind to reach the swamp, locate an Overlord-stage orimmal toad, and make it spit at me. The last two spits had been so weak I had serious doubts about their utility. Low velocity, poor acid density, and a tiny impact area — there was no guarantee those last two globules, now suspended in my spatial anomaly, would pierce the defenses of a Silver Nascent God. Bronze? Maybe. But, theoretically, Vyllea and I could take one of those down by ourselves. It was better to have them around and see whether they might come in handy.

We emerged about six miles from the city. Once past the walls, movement became significantly easier. I had managed to extract thirty-two demons from the underground, including the gang leader and his lackeys,. The last few had wanted to speak up, but the presence of an official Nascent God kept them silent. For now, the prince had chosen to remain in the guise of Lond Caerol. His subdued presence was the only thing preventing the gang leader from dumping the full blame for Hollyton’s underground’s destruction onto our shoulders — a responsibility I had no intention of accepting.

I picked a small ravine, one out of sight from the city in case any sharp-eyed demons were watching, and began the ascent. The earth yielded to me so easily that after only twenty minutes of slow walking, the others were looking at me with a mix of fear and awe. A silver Overlord couldn’t do what I was doing. Neither could a Gold. In fact, not every Nascent God had this level of precision, especially in the Second Circle. My energy wasn’t wasted — it went exactly where it was needed. Most importantly, I managed to reclaim some of the energy released by the collapsing tunnel behind us, partially replenishing my Conjoined spirit core. By the time we surfaced, it was almost halfway full.

“You’re on your own from here,” I announced. “I’ve done all I can for you. You’ve survived an attack by Nascent Gods, so consider this your second chance. Don’t waste it on trivialities. Vyllea, give me your hand — we’re leaving.”

“Seeker, wait! We need to talk.”

Lond Caerol addressed me for the first time since his tantrum in the cave. A sense of foreboding pricked at me, though it didn’t come from the prince — his quiet calculating demeanor wasn’t the source. It was the gang leader’s gaze, heavy with malice, that unsettled me. The rescued Silver Overlord must have informed him that we had looted the treasure vault, leaving nothing behind. Right now, the Copper Nascent God saw me as the root of all his troubles — and he wasn’t that wrong. If we hadn’t meddled in Hollyton’s affairs, none of this would have happened. But there was always a “but.” If the gang leader had agreed to help us initially, we would have been forced to defend the underground. Instead, he deemed himself too clever for the likes of us and pushed the responsibility onto the Seekers. Now, he was reaping the rewards of his shortsightedness.

“I need your help, Seekers,” Lond Caerol stated.

“Seekers don’t work for free,” I replied, turning to face him. Vyllea huffed irritably beside me — she didn’t like the situation either, but we couldn’t outright refuse a direct request. At the very least, we had to hear him out.

“Don’t worry about payment,” the prince assured us. “How about knowledge?”

“That’s a vague offer,” I countered. “Information can range from invaluable to worthless.”

“You know who I am. I can guarantee that the knowledge you gain will far outweigh the cost,” the prince replied, calm and self-assured. He didn’t need to inflate his value — it was already astronomical. I understood that, and he knew I understood. That mutual awareness was why he seemed so composed. The promise of knowledge from a prince was too tempting to decline.

“We need to get farther from Hollyton — twenty or thirty miles at least,” I said after a brief pause. “We’re too exposed here. Once we’re safe, we’ll talk.”

“I need a source. Without energy, I can’t use my motion techniques.”

“Here.” I grudgingly handed him several spirit essences. Precious commodities, especially in the Second Circle. After a moment’s thought, I added a few spirit stones and fire-element crystals. If he was going to recover, he might as well do it properly. The prince said nothing about my unexpected generosity. Hopefully, he understood that if things went sideways, I could reclaim all that energy in an instant.

“Don’t fall behind,” I warned, then activated a motion technique with Vyllea. We leapt fifteen hundred feet ahead — the maximum range our technique allowed.

However, upon landing my spirit vision revealed an astonishing sight — the prince was striding a few miles ahead, standing calmly with his arms crossed. In my eagerness to show off, I had overlooked the prince’s high-tier motion technique, which was far superior to ours.

I stopped, closed my eyes, and rewound the events mentally, focusing on the sequence of his technique’s activation. Keeping spirit vision active all the time was proving invaluable. Whoever had invented this technique was a mad genius. It involved all two hundred and fifty six meridians and three cores, performing not just teleportation, but also forming an energy barrier around the user’s body to shield against air pressure and airborne particles.

When we jumped fifteen hundred feet, Vyllea and I constantly had to maintain spirit armor. As a Conjoined pair, it was manageable for us, but ordinary immortality seekers couldn’t manage simultaneous techniques from overlapping meridians. That was the immutable law of ascension.

The creator of the Nascent God’s motion technique had prioritized maximum comfort. No acceleration, no collisions with airborne debris, and no disorienting speed. All one needed was a clear view of the destination, and the technique would bridge the gap. It worked like a spyglass, bringing distant points closer. It was the epitome of a Nascent God’s motion technique. Just having access to such a marvel justified keeping the prince around, even if he had no idea we were stealing glimpses of his secrets.

Once I fully grasped the mechanics of the new motion technique, I didn’t even bother using my regular sight — spirit vision was enough. Still holding Vyllea’s hand, I activated the technique and, in the blink of an eye, we appeared beside the demon. Vyllea glanced around in surprise, clearly expecting the usual rush of speed and air resistance. Instead, she found herself enjoying a comfortable transit. The prince frowned, since he had clearly expected us to arrive much later.

“Keep moving! Straight ahead for twenty miles! I’ll wait for you there!”

Spirit vision revealed a hilly area up ahead, perfect for creating an underground shelter. Staying on the surface, especially when a pursuit could start at any moment, wasn’t the safest option. Worse, some of the rescued demons might decide it was a good idea to sell us out to the cultists. If we were taking such precautions, they might assume we were fugitives from the city’s ruling clan. Not everyone would want to run or stay hidden. Some might find it easier to return to Hollyton and report how Seeker Zander had extracted a whole crowd of demons. Judging by what I saw, at least two demons had already made that choice. Let them, I thought. The Heavens saw everything.

The motion technique worked perfectly, almost like teleportation. We simply vanished from one place and appeared in another. I was starting to understand how Dokravit had escaped us in the human world — he had used a high-tier motion technique, although my spirit vision back then hadn’t been able to track the energy flow within a God. Jumping twenty or thirty miles? No problem, as long as you could see your destination. Everything else was secondary. If my spirit vision could one day encompass the entire southern region of the Third Tier, I would theoretically be capable of moving from one end to the other in mere moments. Now that was motivation to keep growing.

Lond Caerol appeared a few minutes later. He had to pause and wait for his meridians to stabilize between each use of the technique. Reckless use of such a powerful ability back-to-back could damage them severely, causing huge problems down the line. For conjoined pairs like us, however, such issues were irrelevant, since our meridians faced no such risks.

The prince said nothing about our unexpected speed, though I could clearly read the question of how we had arrived earlier than him in his eyes.

“We need shelter,” I announced, feigning nonchalance to make it seem like nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. I selected a dip between two hills and created a spacious cave, large enough to house our teleportation home. It might have been wise to line the structure with ancient metal to ensure the cultists couldn’t find us, but I couldn’t imagine anyone checking underground in an open field. I wasn’t paranoid about security.

All that remained was to inform Lond Caerol of the next steps.

“I’ll be gone for three days. During that time, you need to clearly outline your requirements for how we can help and decide on fair payment. If we’re going to talk, let’s make it worthwhile.”

“Mentor, let me join the prince!” Althea’s voice rang out. “He’s at a point where he has to trust humans — people he’s never met before. I want to speak with him, reminisce about the past, and discuss whether he needs my family’s help. It’ll also make it easier for him to finalize his requests and decide what he can offer in return. Besides, Vyllea would probably prefer spending these three days in my company rather than alone with a demon she barely knows.”

Althea’s reasoning was so sound that I implemented it without hesitation. The teleportation home took just five minutes to materialize, which was incredibly frustrating. The prince watched its appearance with indifference, clearly not understanding what it was or how it would be used. Perhaps he thought Seekers had an odd quirk of needing to sleep in an actual house, no matter how strange it looked.

However, when the doors opened and Althea stepped out, the prince’s indifference melted away. For a brief moment, he even seemed moved. The furrow between his brows deepened into a near-chasm.

“Althea Lin?” the demon finally asked, seeing the smiling young woman. “You… you’ve grown.”

“I’m Althea Bao now,” she replied. “I have a new family, a husband, and plans for the future. And you haven’t changed at all — except you’ve lost a bit of weight! Zander says you’ve decided to go by Lond Caerol now. Can I call you that? Or would you prefer the old name?”

“Lond Caerol will do,” the prince nodded. Althea had been right — seeing a familiar face clearly brought him some relief. Trusting us would now be far easier.

“Three days,” I reminded them before disappearing. My consciousness retreated into the house, and not long after, Elda opened its doors, releasing me into the human world. Thus began the pursuit of orimmal toad spit…

Finally, I returned to the demon world, suppressing a grin. All three days of my absence, they three of them had talked extensively. While Althea found the conversations a joy, Vyllea had tired of them within the first minute. My wife yawned, drank endless cups of tea, and even managed to sneak in a few naps. Althea had no qualms about waking her up with a sharp elbow to the ribs, dragging my grumpy wife back into the discussions. By the time I reappeared in the makeshift cave, Vyllea was ready to kill everyone in sight. Not even Burwal’s delicacies could placate her. Læogh had personally visited Burwal’s estate to buy her a fresh batch of sweet buns, but the artificer himself remained missing. His prolonged absence was beginning to worry his kin and servants, not to mention his clients.

“A most remarkable mode of transportation,” the prince remarked, clearly impressed with our teleportation home. In three days, he had regained much of his composure and now carried himself like a prince rather than a Copper Nascent God suddenly thrust into power.

“Have you decided what kind of help you want from us?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.

“I need a meeting with the prince, Althea’s father. For that, I must infiltrate the Central Palace. Without portals. Secretly. Once that’s accomplished, your mission will be complete.”

“Infiltrate the Central Palace of the demon world,” I repeated slowly, turning to Althea. “Is that even possible?”

“No,” Althea answered without hesitation. “The Central Palace is the most secure place in our world. Its defenses were crafted by the best demons, and it’s said the king himself contributed to the security system. The prince knows this better than anyone. As a first-level representative, he should have access to information about its protective formations.”

“I’m well aware that entering the central palace isn’t something you just casually do,” the demon replied easily. “But it’s the only path that offers even a slim chance of results. Everything else is a dead end. Althea’s father is an old friend of mine — he won’t hand me over to the Triad Council. Together, we’ll figure out how to deal with the traitor.”

“So the cult’s god… isn’t Althea’s father, is he?” I asked cautiously. My Apprentice shot me a sharp glare for my trouble, but the prince only nodded.

“He’s not. I like that you even doubted him — caution is wise. Logic tells me your mission is impossible. And yet, there’s something in my gut that refuses to question your success, even though I have no idea how you’ll pull it off.”

I glanced at Vyllea, who was frowning deeply. The amusing thing was that we both already knew how to reach the central palace from the Second Ring. But the method that would get us there was one she categorically despised. A wormhole within a single world. However, opening one required us to be in the central palace itself — the tear in space could only be initiated from there. The defenses would prevent an exit from forming inside the palace, but an entry point was fair game. All that remained was to find a way into the palace. A small matter, really — Althea could get us to the right spot. The lingering questions were far more complicated. Would her father accept a friend long thought dead? Surely he’d understand the punishment for harboring him could be severe. Would Phasor Lin let us go once he saw the teleporting house? Though stopping us wouldn’t be easy unless he rendered us unconscious. And what about the central palace guards? Would they swarm the place the moment someone began opening a spatial breach? Too many uncertainties, but the prince’s request was feasible, even if it bordered on madness.

“All right, we understand what you need. Now the question is, what can you offer us in return?”

“You’re an energy vampire,” stated Lond Caerol. It wasn’t a question. “But, if my memory serves me right, a rather limited one. I don’t recall everything from my time in Lond Caerol’s mind, but one moment stands out clearly — when you destroyed the Faceless One and tried to stop the acid that burned through several levels of Hollyton. You acted like most ordinary demons, holding back your true power. Acid is energy above all else. A true vampire would have absorbed it in seconds, preventing any destruction. If you help me enter the central palace, I’ll give you a letter containing one phrase: ‘Train him.’ That letter is for the head of the School of Wrath in the Second Circle — the master of energy absorption. He’ll teach you the true strength of energy vampires.”

“I was planning to visit that cunning fox even without your referral,” I replied, making it clear I knew exactly who he meant.

“Without the letter, he won’t teach you. You might try to pressure him and force his hand, but you’ll never get proper training. The headmaster swore an oath to only train those the princes direct him to. Being an energy vampire makes you a heightened threat to the entire world. It puts you under constant scrutiny and makes you a top target in any conflict. True vampires can rewrite history single-handedly.”

“And you intend to grant this power to a human?” I couldn’t resist the provocative question.

“Not a human — a Seeker. There’s a vast difference. Your Heavens guide you. They won’t allow you to misuse this power. So, Seeker, do we have a deal?”

“No,” I replied, earning stunned looks from both women. Lond Caerol frowned deeply, clearly unprepared for my refusal. I had to elaborate. “What you’re asking for far outweighs what we’ll gain. Even if my energy vampire skills are limited, they’re sufficient to drain Copper Nascent Gods who actively resist. The cunning fox may indeed surpass me in that area, but is his training truly worth such a high price? You’re asking for a miracle. As a prince, you know the futility of standard methods for infiltrating the central palace. You’re banking on something unconventional…”

I hesitated. Unconventional? Of course! A wormhole breach in the central palace would draw the guards like flies to spilled nectar — or trigger some catastrophic defense that could obliterate Althea’s father’s palace and everyone in it. Because wormholes were conventional. It’s something other demons could do. But that word — unconventional — had sparked an idea, one so bold it was perfect. I could get Lond Caerol into Althea’s father’s palace. How? That would remain my secret, even from Vyllea. The moment the Heavens got wind of it, they’d throw some devious trial in my way. Better to let them intervene after the fact.

“So does that mean we cannot reach an agreement?” Lond Caerol probed.

“Oh, absolutely not! Two rational beings can always come to terms, especially when one of them was once a mighty prince, one of the Seventeen. I don’t need your secrets about why there must always be seventeen princes. Keep that to yourself. What I need is a demonstration.”

“A demonstration?” The prince frowned again, his eyes betraying shock. I’d managed to unsettle him.

“Yes. I’ll provide you with spirit stones, elemental crystals, and spirit essences in whatever quantity is necessary. All I require is a demonstration of power. I know I won’t witness the strength of a Gold nascent god, but I’m sure even a Copper’s abilities will leave a lasting impression. Show me everything — enhancements, defenses, attacks, flight, movement — anything I couldn’t imagine. Demonstrate the might of a true prince, and with the letter of recommendation to the head of the School of Wrath, that will be fair compensation for the impossible. A demonstration, relocation to the central palace, and the letter — that’s my offer.”

“I don’t understand,” the prince muttered, clearly baffled. “A demonstration of techniques? With full access to resources? It sounds absurd. You must be after something. But what? What could a Silver Overlord gain from observing a Copper Nascent God’s techniques beyond fear of someone else’s strength?”

I suppressed a grin as I watched the prince’s furrowed brow, knowing full well he couldn’t refuse. To him, it was a negligible cost — especially since I’d replenish his energy. For me and Guerlon, however… Oh yes. For us, this demonstration would be vital. The time had come to grow stronger.

Chapter 20

“DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?” Vyllea turned to face me, demanding an answer.

Cupcake had stopped thirty-five kilometers from Hollyton, and truthfully, I wasn’t eager to approach the city. It wasn’t just the strange energy dome that now covered the entire Second Circle’s capital. Nor was it the scanning artifacts operating at full capacity, their auras extending a solid five miles. The real issue was much larger — the Bohao cult’s god had arrived in Hollyton.

I had never seen a spirit core of such magnitude. It seemed as though it had absorbed countless others, creating something entirely new. Soon, the construct would transform into something capable of manipulating energy on an entirely different level. When Dokravit had arrived, his energy structure had been a mystery to me — he had concealed it with a special technique, something akin to what the Nameless Ones and the Faceless Ones used. But here, there were no such defenses. This allowed me to witness the raw power of a Gold Nascent God through spirit vision. It was terrifying.

Moreover, when I focused on the demon, he reacted. Pausing as if he’d sensed something, the demon turned toward us and lifted his head, as though trying to discern something on the distant horizon. A wave of pure energy radiated outward from Bohao cult’s god, akin to a probing aura, but far more concentrated. Unlike the standard diffuse energy of city gate artifacts, which extended for five miles, this aura was focused on a specific sector, pushing its reach to twenty miles. An extraordinary feat for any being on the path to immortality. If we hadn’t been slightly farther out, it would have caught us.

When the energy finally recoiled, the cult’s god shook his head, as if dispelling a fleeting illusion. Not wanting to escalate the situation, I stopped scrutinizing him — no need to provoke a chase based on a mere suspicion. The God hadn’t come alone. Alongside him was a formidable entourage: ten Silver Nascent Gods, in addition to those already stationed in the capital. It seemed as if the cult had summoned every high-ranking demon to Hollyton to track their primary target.

The two demons we had freed were also in the city, and judging by the attention they were receiving, they had regretted their return three hundred times over. The interrogators were merciless, and the cult God’s orders were clear — learn everything about us.

In theory, I could leap straight at the demon and attack him with the spit of an orimmal toad, but that method of suicide didn’t appeal to me. The Heavens wouldn’t be pleased if we died before completing our primary mission — namely, ridding both worlds of the cultists.

“We can’t go to Hollyton right now,” I said. “The cult’s entire demon world leadership is there.”

“You say that as if there’s also the human world leadership,” Lond Caerol commented from the second row.

“The Bohao cult has two gods,” I confirmed. “One is currently in Hollyton, while the other resides in the human world acting as the chief advisor to the head of the Phoenix Clan — also his wife, loyal companion, and, I suspect, a full-fledged Taoist at God stage. Technically, the clan shouldn’t have two gods, but I doubt Advisor Delilah cares. Nothing seems to stop her.”

“Mentor, you shouldn’t make baseless accusations,” Althea interjected, ever the voice of tedious caution. “You don’t know for sure that Advisor Delilah is a cult god. She may have helped capture Guerlon and prepared Darna Feng as a gift for the demon world cult god, as the redhead seems to claim. But everything else is speculation and idle talk. Accusing the clan head’s wife of being a cult God requires evidence, not assumptions.”

“Guerlon, are you still in the demon world?”

“What do you need?”

“A portal for Althea. The one nearby is inaccessible. She urgently needs to speak with her father and uncle.”

“Mentor, what’s with the sudden urgency? Things were going just fine!” the green-haired woman protested.

“Althea, get inside the house!” Guerlon ordered. The prince’s daughter huffed in annoyance, but obeyed. I turned to watch the process of her transfer. At first, she froze, paralyzed. Then, as Guerlon extracted the house from the anomaly, her body dissolved like smoke on the wind. It was a vivid and mysterious display, enough to prompt the prince to mutter,

“You Seekers have far too many secrets and abilities for ordinary folk.”

“Who told you we were ordinary Seekers?” I replied, genuinely surprised. “Ordinary Seekers don’t drag princes into central palaces or travel freely through the demon world. Let’s move. The farther we get from Hollyton, the calmer I’ll feel. I don’t like the density of high-ranking cultists in one place. I suspect they’ve come to Hollyton specifically to search for us. The investigators are far too thorough.”

Lond Caerol knew how to draw conclusions. I saw him forming an investigative technique reminiscent of the one the Bohao cult’s God used. However, the Copper Nascent God’s energy only extended five miles. Hollyton, of course, was still twenty-five miles away. The prince’s analytic ability was impressive — creatures of his level didn’t reach such heights without it. I understood the thoughtful look he occasionally cast at me and Vyllea. It wasn’t surprising — there were too many oddities about us, far too many to explain with a simple conjunction. But let the Heavens deal with that!

My instincts were right on the money. Five miles out, with Hollyton and its residents left far behind, my spirit vision caught a glimpse of a Silver Nascent god — and not just any, but one of the cult god’s trusted lieutenants. This was the demon responsible for the destruction of the Second Circle’s underground world. Clearly, the cultist prince hadn’t ignored his suspicions, sending a loyal servant toward the perceived threat. The demon moved in zigzags, covering vast areas at once and deploying five-mile-wide energy probes in each new location. The energy expenditure was immense, but the cultist showed no sign of slowing. In his hands was an object glowing bright as Earis — the same kind of artifact I had already stored in a spatial anomaly. The Bohao cult’s god had equipped his servant with a shard of the Primordial Soul.

Was this artifact from this world or ours, I wondered? But that was inconsequential — what mattered most was that a dangerous opponent was on our trail. Judging by his pace, he’d catch up in half an hour at most. Too precise, too methodical — the cultist was executing his master’s orders flawlessly. I wondered if the other Nascent Gods had also set out in different directions. The two prisoners under interrogation had no idea where we’d gone. All they could reveal was where we had surfaced. And, of course, that working with earth posed no challenge for me.

Not that it mattered now.

“What now?” Vyllea muttered, shooting me a displeased glance as Cupcake came to a halt.

“A Silver Nascent God. He’ll find us in no more than thirty minutes.”

“Are we hiding?” Her voice carried a sharp note of irritation. Vyllea hated hiding. She could do it, even had plenty of practice, but she despised it all the same.

“Why would we? The cultists have no idea Lond Caerol has regained his memory. To them, he’s still a highly valuable prize — one that could elevate their master to new heights. They’ll only kill us once they’ve secured the allegedly mindless prince. Still, we should be cautious and create a cavity lined with ancient metal.”

“Agreed!” Vyllea’s face lit up with a satisfied smile. If her husband wasn’t planning to run, that was all that mattered to her.

“Let me get this straight,” Lond Caerol interjected, his tone skeptical. “Two Silver Overlords are planning to face off against a Silver Nascent God?” The demon clearly doubted our sanity. His choice of words suggested he didn’t even consider a fight to be an option. Even if we had been Copper Nascent Gods armed with every technique the prince himself had demonstrated, the gap between the two ranks of the Nascent God stage was far too vast to bridge. Explaining this to him, however, was not part of my plan. We could just call it another Seekers’ secret. And yes, we now had those techniques, but there was no way we’d show them to Lond Caerol. No need to give him any reason to consider us enemies. Some of them were clearly of a personal or classified nature.

“You’ll see soon enough,” I replied, forming a shallow pit that Vyllea and I quickly reinforced with plates of ancient metal. It wasn’t the most reliable defense, but it only needed to hold for a few moments to survive the demon’s initial attack. After that, we’d figure things out.

The cultist, who was leaping from point to point, found us in just twenty minutes. We hadn’t even managed to finish our tea. His search aura finally pinpointed two Silver Overlords and one Copper Nascent God. Based on what I could see, the demon’s jumps covered no more than one mile at a time, and he required a pause after each one. Burning out his own meridians was not on the agenda.

“Thirty seconds to readiness,” I warned, stowing away everything into the storage space. “Everyone remembers their roles? Play them well, or the cultist will start trying to kill us. Vyllea?”

“I got it!” she snapped. She hated the fact that our lives depended on the whims of an enemy — more precisely, whether he felt like talking or not. If I was wrong, and Bohao cult god’s orders were to kill us on sight, the demon would launch a devastating attack without hesitation. That was precisely why I’d prepared the pit, ready to seal it shut and block his technique. Absorbing the power of a Silver Nascent God wasn’t an option — I’d burn to ash if I tried. Our only real chance of survival was hiding in the cavity lined with ancient metal. Escape wasn’t feasible, either; the teleporting house was still materializing near Guerlon.

“He’s half a mile away,” I alerted, bracing for impact. The cultist didn’t rush. He used his search artifact a few more times, seemingly double-checking our location before stopping. Likely, he was recharging his energy and cooling his meridians. After all, he’d just channeled an enormous amount of power in a short period. Attacking us immediately might cause an overload or even total burnout. Against Copper Nascent Gods, he could rely on basic artifacts, but the cultist wasn’t willing to take risks. He hadn’t reached his current heights just to die in a random skirmish with unknown opponents. No heroics or unnecessary risks.

Waiting for an attack by a powerful opponent was deeply unsettling. The cultist took his time — so much so that by the time he was ready, Althea had already reached Guerlon and was rushing toward the portal, occasionally glancing at the library. Amusingly, Guerlon had ended up at the Blue Lotus School in the Second Ring — the very place where Vyllea and I had once trained, and where Althea was eager to uncover the true history of House Lin. Some strange dealings with Ærinn, Guerlon’s former mentor, had brought him there, and no one seemed particularly bothered. Even the portal overseers didn’t think to send him to the central palace of the demon world.

And then, as always, everything happened far too quickly for me to properly react. Once satisfied that his meridians were cool enough to channel more energy, the cultist made his move. In an instant, he was mere steps away, activating a suppression technique. It was a form of paralysis, leaving the target unable to move but fully conscious. We had that technique in our arsenal too, thanks to the prince’s demonstrations. Unfortunately, it only worked on those weaker in rank — it wouldn’t affect beings of equal or greater ascension since it depended on the creator’s spirit core.

The cultist brandished a crossbow-like artifact and aimed it at us. Clearly, he wasn’t sure of our true level of ascension and wanted to err on the side of caution. What if we were Silver Nascent Gods? Situations could be unpredictable. However, he never got the chance to use the artifact — we’d already been turned into motionless statues. All three of us. None of us even had to act. All our preparations turned out wasted!

“That’s it?” the cultist said, sounding disappointed. He was a large, middle-aged man with an amusingly thin black goatee. I would have smiled if I could — it seemed he’d wanted some major prey, but ended up with something puny and unimpressive. Most striking, however, was his face — his wide protruding eyes and a jutted lower lip that gave him a slightly deranged look. Yet he wasn’t mad. Quite the opposite. He was strong, fearsome, and extremely dangerous.

“And who are you really?” the cultist asked, strolling toward me at a leisurely pace. His approach ruled out the possibility of using the orimmal toad’s venomous spit — no way was I ruining my clothes with splashes of that stuff. He stopped close, placing his hand on my chest and activating another investigative technique. I kept my gaze forward, which allowed me to catch the sheer shock that widened his bulbous eyes. His vertical pupils dilated so far they nearly consumed his irises.

“A Silver Overlord? You’re just a Silver Overlord? Wait, that’s impossible! Are you in charge of everything?”

The question was directed at Vyllea. He took his time moving to my wife, repeating the same process. Her projection in the anomaly was seething. The cultist acted as if we were objects, placing his hand on her chest without a care for decency.

“Another Silver Overlord?” he muttered, clearly stunned. “Well, this is getting interesting. Maybe you’re one too?”

I switched to spirit vision to follow what happened next. The cultist moved to Lond Kerrol and examined him as well.

“A Copper Nascent God. Finally, something expectable. So, is it all about the artifacts? Fascinating. Very well, let’s talk.”

The cultist approached us and tore off the spatial pouches hanging from mine and Vyllea’s belts. Not satisfied, he proceeded to frisk me, then her, searching for hidden artifacts despite his exalted rank. When his hands found the box secured at Vyllea’s waist, his frown deepened. He clearly understood the purpose of such storage containers. Another point in our favor — wormhole coordinators were far too rare to be disposed of lightly.

After ensuring we carried no concealed artifacts, he moved to the next phase. Slipping technique-suppressing bracelets onto both of us, he rendered us utterly powerless — mere lumps of flesh, at least in theory.

“Now we can talk,” he said flatly, without a hint of gloating. The suppression field enveloping Vyllea and me fell away, but it hardly mattered. We had indeed become two inert, useless bodies.

“For starters, I want to know how you survived Hollyton.”

“And who exactly are you?” I asked, attempting to stand. Surprisingly, I managed it effortlessly. Somehow, the suppressive metal had synchronized my body with my mind, restoring control. A useful discovery I’d need to remember.

“Your death, Seeker,” the cultist replied, his tone devoid of drama. “Whether it’s swift and painless depends entirely on you. Cooperate, and you’ll spare me the trouble of involving interrogators, earning yourself a quick end. Resist or act foolishly, and you’ll be dragged to the altar, where you and your wife will live out what remains of your pitiful lives. Our masters will ensure that what remains is long and filled with unimaginable pain, each moment serving to exalt my lord’s glory. You know what I mean, Seeker — I see it in your eyes. Do you want to resist? Oh, please do. I’d relish watching you break. It’s always fascinating to see when the strong crumble. To witness that precise moment they lose all hope, surrendering to despair. That’s your future, Seeker. Unless you choose otherwise.”

“Sick bastard!” Vyllea spat, earning a sharp gasp of pain when the cultist turned his focus to her.

“You’re a demon, aren’t you? When we’re done, I’ll have your kin dragged to the altar — all of them. You’ll watch as they give their worthless lives for our glory, cursing the day you were born. And you’ll be the last to go.”

“Her tribe? You’d have to betray your own. Her adoptive father is Shang Li.”

“Shang Li?” The cultist’s surprise was palpable. Vyllea stopped gasping and collapsed to the ground, her position perfect to avoid acid splashes, but I hesitated. In our world, information was a costly commodity, especially of this kind. The cultist’s face twisted, as though forced to acknowledge someone beneath contempt.

“So that scoundrel’s left his mark here too? I always knew working with him was a mistake. No matter — this will give us an excellent reason to rid ourselves of that leech for good.”

“He’s not a cultist?” I asked, genuinely startled by the demon’s unexpected words.

“I ask the questions here,” the cultist snapped, inadvertently answering me. Shang Li wasn’t a cultist. More than that, the Bohao’s God deputy despised him, viewing him as a schemer who’d tricked the cult.

“You have one last chance to earn a painless death, Seeker. How did you manage to survive — ”

The cultist never finished his sentence. Overconfidence was dangerous, especially when it lead to carelessness. Initially, he had been extremely cautious — restraining us, confiscating our belongings, and applying suppressive-technique metal. But then he grew complacent, allowing his defenses to wane as he poured less valuable energy into them. I wasn’t about to let that slide.

Armed with fascinating intel about Shang Li, whom we might not need to eliminate after all, I waited for the cultist to step away from Vyllea before striking. I aimed from above to ensure a direct hit to his head — no chance of him retaliating with a final destructive technique upon seeing a hole in his chest. My weapon of choice was the first and most potent glob of orimmal toad venom. The concentrated acid sliced through his defenses as if they weren’t there, burning straight through the Silver Nascent God. His suppressive technique disintegrated instantly, since there was no one left to maintain it.

Lond Caerol lunged toward the cultist’s body, aiming to reclaim the spatial pouch, but was a split second too late — the corpse vanished.

“That’s our prize,” I declared, catching the demon prince’s disgruntled glare.

“My belongings might be inside!” he argued.

“It’s been ten years. Anything of yours has long since been sold or given away. Either way, it’s ours now.”

The situation could have escalated, but Althea’s voice crackled through just in time.

“Zander, I’m home! I spoke to my father — he’s willing to meet the prince and offer him sanctuary. But he has no idea how to bring Lond into our house. My father can’t leave the central palace. As a Candidate for the Triad Council, every move he makes outside the palace is closely watched by competitors. It’s high politics, and he won’t risk his reputation. Inside our house, he guarantees safety. Outside, he’s powerless.”

“Find a concealed area to manifest the house. On my signal, anchor it at your location,” I ordered as I started forming the teleportation house near us. The empty dwelling took shape so quickly I nearly shouted in disbelief — it only took seconds.

Lond Caerol watched us with lingering displeasure, clearly debating whether to attack, but ultimately relented. With a begrudging gesture, he tore apart the technique-suppressing metal.

“Get inside!” I demanded, opening the door and stepping aside. The prince eyed the house with skepticism, prompting me to explain. “Althea’s father knows you’re alive and is prepared to meet you. You must get to the central palace. The only way is through this house.”

“Zander?” Vyllea asked, perplexed. “How are you planning to move him? Living beings can’t be placed into spatial anomalies.”

“They can’t,” I confirmed. “But this house is considered a monolithic object with its own temporal anomaly within our storage space. I have a theory — unverified for now — that any living being inside transitions into a state distinct from life. Don’t ask me what that means. Just a thought. We won’t know until we test it.”

The prince didn’t hesitate for long. He stepped inside, and the moment the doors shut, I began anchoring the house to the entrance of the spatial anomaly. It was a struggle, as always with massive objects, but the process moved steadily. First the roof disappeared, then the walls, the foundation, and finally, the passage collapsed, sending the ancient dwelling into our storage space. Although, I was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t an ordinary house at all — perhaps some ancient device cleverly disguised as one.

“Althea, pull!” I nearly shouted. She nodded, and the house vanished, reappearing to begin manifesting elsewhere in this world. Time seemed to stretch unbearably thin. My nerves were frayed. Instead of testing the process of transferring living beings with some lowly demon, I had started with a prince. Why hold back? If he died, it would at least be dramatic — befitting a creature of his stature.

Althea informed me that the house was forming at an agonizingly slow pace. By her estimation, it would take no less than six hours for it to fully materialize. What would happen to the prince during this time was anyone’s guess. Perhaps he was writhing in agony, losing his mind — or maybe he had already perished, leaving his cold corpse as an unpleasant surprise for Althea’s father. There were too many possibilities, most of them deeply unsettling. Honestly, I liked only one outcome — everyone alive and intact. Anything else would be a failure.

“It worked!” Althea’s jubilant cry nearly deafened everyone. Her projection jumped with joy, as if she couldn’t believe her luck. “Mentor, it worked! The prince has made it to our house alive and well! Uncle says he has many questions for you, and I’m not leaving the palace until you show up. Oh, and I’ve returned the house to storage. Læogh, carry me! Can you believe it? My own uncle is setting conditions for me now!”

“Wait!” I stopped her before she dashed off. “First, find Lond Caerol and get the letter he’d promised us. I learned something very unpleasant today — I can’t fight high-ranking Nascent Gods. I need additional strength, and I know a demon who can make sure I get it. But I need the prince’s permission for that. So, for now, you’ll have to stay as a guest of your father. You cannot leave without that letter.”

Althea nodded, and a satisfied grin spread across my face. The war against the Bohao cult was gaining momentum. Speaking of, what about the spatial pouch we’d claimed? Perhaps it held something interesting. As Vyllea always said, we needed it badly. We always did. Maybe it was time to rebrand the Seekers, calling us “the Needy” instead? A fitting name for those determined to cleanse both worlds of cultist filth.

The next books of the series!

Law of the Jungle (Book 12)

Law of the Jungle (Book 13)

Law of the Jungle (Book 14)

А new series by Vasily Mahanenko!

The Selected

a LitRPG Action Adventure Series

by Vasily Mahanenko & Yuri Vinokuroff

End of Book 11

Thank you for reading Law of the Jungle!

If you like our books and want to keep reading, download our FREE Publisher's Catalog, a must-read for any LitRPG fan which lists some of the best works in the genre:

Tales of Wonder and Adventure: The Best of LitRPG, Fantasy and Sci-Fi (Publisher's Catalog)

MORE BOOKS BY VASILY MAHANENKO:

The Selected

A LitRPG Action Adventure Series

by Vasily Mahanenko & Yuri Vinokuroff

Condemned (Lord Valevsky: Last of the Line)

A Progression Fantasy LitRPG Series

The Alchemist LitRPG Series

The Bear Clan LitRPG Series

NEW RELEASES!

The Order of Architects

A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Oleg Sapphire & Yuri Vinokuroff

Kill to Live

A LitRPG Progression Fantasy Adventure Series

by George Bor & Yuri Vinokuroff

An Ideal World for a Sociopath

A LitRPG Apocalypse Adventure Series

by Oleg Sapphire

The Healer’s Way

A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Oleg Sapphire & Alexey Kovtunov

How I Built a Magic Empire

A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Konstantin Zubov

Banned

A LitRPG Apocalypse Adventure Series

by Michael Atamanov

The Dark Summoner

A LitRPG Apocalypse Adventure Series

by Andrei Tkachev

The Selected

A LitRPG Action Adventure Series

by Vasily Mahanenko & Yuri Vinokuroff

The Afflicted

A LitRPG Apocalypse Adventure Series

by Konstantin Zubov

The One Who Changes the Future

A Dystopian Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Boris Romanovsky

Kill or Die

A LitRPG Series

by Alex Toxic

The Last Portal Jumper

A LitRPG Progression Fantasy Series

by Konstantin Zubov

The Dark Healer

A Historical Progression Fantasy Series

by Alex Toxic & Nadya Lee

Lord of The System

A LitRPG Progression Fantasy Series

by Alex Toxic & Furious Miki

The Strongest Student

A Portal Progression Action Fantasy Series

by Andrei Tkachev

A Shelter in Spacetime

A LitRPG Apocalypse Series

by Dmitry Dornichev

The Coming of God of Death

A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Dmitry Dornichev

The Village

A LitRPG Progression Fantasy Series

by Dmitry Dornichev & Alexey Kovtunov

Law of the Jungle

A Wuxia Progression Fantasy Adventure Series

by Vasily Mahanenko

Condemned (Lord Valevsky: Last of the Line)

A Progression Fantasy LitRPG Series

by Vasily Mahanenko

Living Ice

A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Dmitry Sheleg

Ghost in the System

An Apocalypse LitRPG Series

by Alexey Kovtunov

Crossroads of Oblivion

A Portal Progression Fantasy Adventure Series

by Dem Mikhailov

The Goldenblood Heir

A Portal Progression Fantasy Series

by Boris Romanovsky

In order to have new books of the series translated faster, we need your help and support! Please consider leaving a review or spread the word by recommending Law of the Jungle to your friends and posting the link on social media. The more people buy the book, the sooner we'll be able to make new translations available.

Thank you!

Want to be the first to know about our latest LitRPG, sci fi and fantasy titles from your favorite authors?

Subscribe to our New Releases newsletter!

Be the first to know about new LitRPG releases!

Visit our

Facebook LitRPG page

to meet new and established LitRPG authors!

Tell us more about yourself and your favorite books, view new book covers and make friends with other LitRPG fans!

More LitRPG news and discussions at fellow LitRPG group

GameLit Society!

Follow the latest LitRPG news on Twitter!

Till next time!

About the Author

Vasily Mahanenko is a fantasy and sci fi author and one of the original founding fathers of the new genre of LitRPG - the MMO-based fantasy and sci fi. His debut novel The Way of the Shaman series took literature by storm in 2012.

Vasily dipped into his college-days insider knowledge as a hardcore gamer in order to create a believable world of the virtual-reality MMO game. His bestselling series combines fiction and video games, telling the story of Shaman and his friends stuck in the ruthless reality of Barliona. He used his more than ten years' experience as an ERP implementation project manager to approach his writing in a well-organized manner, working to a strict schedule, a set of deadlines and even a budget. The entire body of Vasily's works to date is available on Amazon now, with new books adding as he comes up with new fantasy worlds and stories.