Ujin stepped out of the rift just as its entrance began to quiver, revealing a tense assembly of cultivators from the various sects, clans, and schools of Shimmersteel. They stood poised, ready for what they knew was inevitable. Without ceremony, Ujin dumped the frail blood user into the hands of the rejuvenators, who seemed to have been expecting his arrival.

  In the distance, Ujin could sense the looming presence of the patriarch. Though the master was not physically present, Ujin knew it would take only a heartbeat for him to appear in person if necessary.

  Turning to Akero, who stood beside a seething Zehra, Ujin spoke with urgency. "Prepare for the worst. We may soon face a rift break." The eyes of the cultivators around them widened, and the already frantic preparations became even more desperate. Crude barrier formations, hastily acquired from merchants, were being installed with formation flags. The Highlords of the various factions stepped forward, ready to confront whatever abomination might emerge from the rift.

  As Ujin steadied himself, swallowing a tier 5 Ethra pill, he watched the rift glow a deeper shade of purple. His thoughts drifted to Tunde. Had he been transformed into one of the mindless drones serving the entity that ruled the rift realm? And if so, how would the lords of Shimmersteel fare against such a formidable power? Ujin glanced at Zehra, whose frosty aura wafted around her. The delegation from the Frostleaf clan stood subtly behind her, ready to whisk her away at a moment's notice.

  She was aware of their presence; Ujin could see it in the way she twitched, as if restraining herself from lashing out. He wondered sadly if she would ever muster the courage to tell the patriarch how much she despised the union. But Ujin knew it was her path to tread. Every cultivator must take responsibility for their choices, just as Tunde had.

  Pacifying the Black Rock Sect would be a delicate task, especially since Ujin suspected they had the ears of the imperial clan. His informants, subtly planted within the sect as merchants and traders, had brought news of a single lord who had gained favor not only with a Highlord from the main branch of the Talahan clan but also with the master—a figure long thought to be a mere rumor in the borderlands.

  A sinking feeling settled in Ujin's gut. Had Tunde's monstrous power been the result of an unholy number of resources provided by the imperials? If so, Ujin dreaded the consequences of bringing this matter to the master.

  The rift pulsed again, snapping Ujin's attention back as he ignited his Ethra, preparing a projection technique. The defensive formation flickered to life, enveloping the area. But then, the purple glow from the rift began to recede, turning into a greyish hue that exuded an Ethra Ujin recognized but couldn't immediately place. His eyes widened in realization.

  From the portal, a hand shot out. "Wait!" Ujin thundered, halting the cultivators from unleashing a barrage of techniques against what they assumed was a rift creature.

  Then, a body stumbled out. Zehra gasped audibly, and whispers of surprise rippled through the crowd as the rift sealed itself behind the smoking figure sprawled on the ground, unconscious. Hesitantly, Ujin stepped forward, his eyes wide as he recognized the figure. He gently touched the blistering hot body and felt a pulse.

  "He's alive," Ujin whispered, the noise around him swelling. "He's alive!" he shouted again, as the rejuvenators rushed forward. Ujin stepped back, locking eyes with Akero, who looked as pale as a ghost.

  "How?" the Highlord asked, his voice trembling. Ujin glanced at Zehra, who appeared utterly speechless.

  ***************************************

  Tunde remembered releasing the power he had stolen from the Highlord—or perhaps it was a tier 5 creature—back into the throne, his eyes ablaze with dark grey Ethra before everything went black. When he blinked awake, he found himself sitting upright, his body responding to his commands, though his Ethra lines were sore. Somehow, he had made it out of the rift, and as he surveyed his surroundings, he recognized the familiar setting of his room within the White Crane Inn.

  His robes had been changed during the time he was unconscious, and Tunde wondered with slight embarrassment who might have done it. Rising to his feet, he walked over to the window and gazed out at the bright surroundings. Everything appeared normal—no rift break, no catastrophic events. Puzzled but relieved, he exhaled deeply, letting the soft breeze ruffle his hair as he scratched at his itchy scalp.

  “Tunde Darkfist of the Black Rock Sect,” a calm voice spoke from behind him. Tunde whirled around, surprised to see an elderly man seated in a chair near the door, smiling warmly.

  “Who are you?” Tunde demanded, attempting to cycle his Ethra. A sharp pain shot through his core, causing him to grunt and drop to one knee in shock.

  “Straining your Ethra lines like that will only lead to further harm, young lord,” the man remarked, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Luckily, I arrived in time to help the rejuvenators settle your lines. We can’t have the acolyte of young master Varis coming to harm, now can we?” The man's tone was light, but Tunde stilled himself, realizing the gravity of the situation.

  Whoever this man was, Tunde couldn’t sense him—not his presence, not his aura, not even his Ethra. It was as if the man wasn’t there at all. Tunde refrained from summoning Ethra sight, wary of further injury. Wiping the blood from his mouth, he bowed at the waist. “I greet the elder,” Tunde said, his voice respectful.

  “A wolf pretending to be a lamb,” the man chuckled. “I see why you’re so often underestimated.” His deep blue eyes fixed on Tunde, sending a shiver of recognition through him.

  Deep blue eyes—Clan Acaia.

  Tunde’s wariness increased. Unsure of the elder’s rank, he maintained his deference, though he began to relax slightly, sensing no immediate threat. The elder was immaculately dressed, unarmed, and without a void ring—appearing almost like an ordinary man who had simply wandered into Tunde’s room.

  “Tell me,” the elder began, “why did you come to Shimmersteel?” He paused, then continued, “First, you embarrassed the Flowing Sword Style School, not by superior swordsmanship, but by dismantling your opponents’ techniques and exploiting their weaknesses.” The elder smiled. “Then, you broke the record in the fighting pit, impressing Ujin enough that he thinks he let you win. But we both know that in a life-or-death battle, you would have found a way to deal lethal damage to him—or his cultivation, or both.”

  Tunde noted the elder’s casual use of Ujin’s name, indicating either a rank equal to the Highlord or a position of authority that surpassed his. “Then, you taught a lesson to those whose greed drove them to claim what was rightfully yours by combat,” the elder continued, “and somehow, you survived a rift against a tier 5 guardian, closing it in the process. There’s more to you than meets the eye.”

  “In all honesty, venerable elder, I apologize for any harm or disturbance I may have caused the clan. I beg your mercy,” Tunde said, bowing low to the ground. The elder chuckled again and sighed.

  “I wouldn’t call it trouble, more like… interesting,” he mused. “You are what the greater clans and sects would call a generational talent. Either that, or the Talahan’s have filled you with so many resources and manuals that you might as well be a walking Highlord in person and lord in rank.” The elder frowned slightly. “Still, it would be bad news for Clan Acacia if anything happened to you within our domain. So, would you indulge this old man’s request?”

  Tunde nodded, bowing again. “If it is within my means, I will certainly do so,” he replied.

  “Avoid fighting. Either that, or leave Shimmersteel immediately,” the elder advised. Tunde stared back at the elder’s still smiling face, trying to process the words.

  “You have achieved what most lords and Highlords would consider impossible,” the elder continued. “Defeating a peak tier 5 rift guardian is something that would challenge even the most capable Highlords. And no, I don’t want to know how you managed it,” he added, raising a hand to stop Tunde as he was about to speak. “The less I know, the better.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The elder folded his hands on his lap. “Then again, I recognize that you didn’t ask for this and tried your best to stay out of trouble, even attempting to avoid the Acacia clan—foolish, considering you came to their domain.” The elder’s tone was chiding, and Tunde could almost picture Isolde shaking her head at his antics.

  “Considering that, and my own less-than-subtle attempts to forge a bond between you and our clan, you will be moderately compensated for your troubles,” the elder said, snapping his fingers. The door to the room opened, and Tunde grew rigid, staring into the face of Zehra Acacia.

  Zehra walked into the room stiffly, each step measured as if adhering to an unwritten rule. She bowed first to the elder, a gesture that set off alarm bells in Tunde’s mind, before presenting a void ring to him, her eyes avoiding his. Tunde could have sworn she was inches away from drawing her blade. He glanced hesitantly from her to the elder, who continued speaking.

  “Within that void ring are some of the best tier 4 pills, elixirs, and Ethra crystals we have, along with a gold aurum card, courtesy of the clan,” the elder said.

  Tunde bowed immediately, his voice reverent as he said, “I thank the patriarch.”

  “Ah, she gave it away, didn’t she?” the elder remarked, chuckling as Tunde remained bowed. “I suppose things change now that you know you’re in the presence of a master.” The clan patriarch let a sliver of his aura leak out, and Tunde’s body shuddered, his skin prickling as if a dozen blades were poised around his neck, ready to strike. The aura was in the air he breathed, in the Ethra around him—it was reality itself, and Tunde was merely something to be cut in two.

  He said nothing, bowing in silence as the master chuckled again. “Please, let it not stop you. You’re an honored guest of mine. Tell me about the Black Rock Sect and how we might forge bonds of friendship between our two factions. The enmity between us and the Verdan clan ended delightfully with its demise. I never liked Rowan, the bastard.”

  Tunde composed himself, reminding himself that the patriarch couldn’t harm him—at least, not without consequences. And even if he did, Tunde would be too dead to care. So he began to speak, addressing the patriarch of the Acacia clan as Zehra watched him with a puzzled expression, as if she couldn’t believe he had accepted the patriarch’s offer. But what else could he do?

  A few interesting minutes passed as Tunde spoke, the patriarch listening intently, his gaze unwavering. Tunde provided brief yet succinct details about those within the Black Rock Sect whom the Acacia clan should approach. All the while, he couldn't shake the suspicion that the master already knew this information and was merely testing him. The patriarch finally sighed, folding his hands into the sleeves of his blue robes.

  “Well, this has been enlightening,” the patriarch said, his tone light. “I believe my granddaughter has a few things to discuss with you, so I’ll take my leave.” He spoke with an air of nonchalance, but Tunde shivered slightly. Was he afraid of Zehra? No—he realized the temperature had plummeted, frost forming along the edges of his skin. Zehra gasped in surprise as the frost vanished, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The patriarch frowned at her, though Tunde could see the amusement in his eyes despite the stern expression.

  “As I said, you two have much to discuss,” the patriarch continued, then paused, his gaze sharpening as he turned back to Tunde. “But tell me, Tunde, if I were to cancel her troublesome engagement to the Frostleaf clan and offer her to you instead, what would be your response?”

  At those words, frost erupted around them, an icy aura filling the room. The patriarch waved his hand lazily, and in an instant, the frost Ethra was gone, the temperature returning to normal so quickly that Tunde almost doubted it had happened at all. He glanced at Zehra, who stared at him with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Swallowing, Tunde turned his attention back to the patriarch, who was now focused entirely on him.

  “Lady Zehra is an exemplary member of Clan Acacia,” Tunde began, choosing his words carefully. “She will undoubtedly one day become a pillar of your prodigious clan.” The patriarch snorted, clearly unimpressed.

  “But I must humbly decline your offer, venerable patriarch,” Tunde continued, feeling a subtle tremor in the air as he steadied his nerves. “I simply cannot accept such a proposal.”

  The patriarch's smile vanished, replaced by a cold, commanding expression. “Explain,” he ordered.

  “I would never insult the clan or cause it to lose face,” Tunde replied carefully. “But I regret to inform you that I am already committed to someone, and I intend to get her back.”

  For a few tense seconds, the patriarch said nothing, his eyes locked onto Tunde’s. Then, he nodded slowly. “Good. My conscience is clear.” Tunde blinked in confusion, unsure of what the patriarch meant.

  “You intend to attend the event at Talahar, correct?” the patriarch asked. Tunde nodded warily. “Good. We will provide you with a ship when you’re ready to leave, to ferry you directly to the capital.”

  The patriarch began moving toward the door, but before he left, he paused and turned back to Tunde. “I’d be careful if I were you,” he warned. “The ways of the outer sects and clans differ greatly from those of the heartlands and central plains. You’ve begun drawing attention to yourself too early. Your feats are… unusual for someone of your cultivation stage, meaning sooner or later, powers will come knocking—either to take you under their wings or to crush you before you become a threat.”

  The patriarch’s gaze intensified. “I only extend my hospitality because your benefactor is also mine,” he added meaningfully. Tunde nodded in acknowledgment. “Good. Now that we understand each other, I sincerely hope for your sake that we never meet again. Farewell.”

  One moment, the patriarch was in the room, and the next, he was gone without even opening the door.

  Tunde’s heart pounded as the oppressive aura lifted, leaving him to shudder in relief. He turned his attention to Zehra, who was watching him warily. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Finally, she broke the silence.

  “What are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

  Tunde sighed, shaking his head. “I have no idea what you’re implying or even talking about,” he replied, though deep down, he knew the truth was more complicated than he dared to reveal.

  *******************************

  Ujin stood beside the patriarch’s vessel, bowing deeply as the master emerged from a gentle ripple in the air. Around them, the other lord-ranked servants hastily followed suit, including the patriarch's direct son, Highlord Tian Acacia. With his black hair, muscular build, and deep blue eyes that radiated a cold demeanor, Tian was the true blade of the clan, second only to his father. He was a ruthless cultivator, spending his time either in battle or cultivating, driven by an ambition to claim the seat of the clan, even though the patriarch had named the city itself after his concept of Shimmering Steel.

  Ujin knew that with Zehra’s strength and power, Tian would either mold her into his blade or place her directly in control of the clan if it suited his ambitions. Neither option was appealing to Ujin, who could easily imagine the havoc a war-hungry cultivator like Tian would wreak if given control. But these were just assumptions; the patriarch had shown no signs of relinquishing his position or joining the ranks of other masters who had reached the peak of their cultivation but could not advance to Paragon due to various reasons, choosing instead to remain in secluded cultivation.

  The patriarch hummed to himself as he boarded the vessel, seemingly in a cheerful mood. Ujin glanced back at the White Crane Inn.

  "You can relax; he’s fine," the patriarch said with a light-hearted chuckle.

  "I see," Ujin replied softly.

  "What do you make of him, Father? Was he sent by the Talahan clan?" Tian asked. The term "Father" was something Ujin could never address the patriarch as for to do so would be to accept himself as an heir to the Acacia seat—a notion he had long since discarded. He knew Tian used the term deliberately, to spite him.

  The patriarch shook his head, smiling. "Far from it. In fact, I believe he truly came here simply to explore," he replied. "He has the gaze of a child being shown new toys, and yet, I believe we might have a prodigy on our hands. No wonder the imperial clan snatched him up so quickly."

  Ujin felt a wave of smug satisfaction as he glanced at Tian’s frowning face.

  "He’s dangerous, especially for Zehra," Tian said, his tone heavy with concern.

  Ujin suppressed an inward sigh. Tian's influence, alongside the iron hand of the patriarch, had shaped Zehra into what she was—a cultivator who only saw the world in terms of strength and weakness, with no middle ground. It saddened Ujin to think that this mindset would cause her to miss crucial lessons, ones that could one day save her life.

  "The only threat he poses to her is a blow to her ego when she realizes he could defeat her with ease—a lesson she needs, if I may say so," the patriarch replied, causing Tian to stiffen. "He’s a cultivator from nowhere who advanced three ranks within a year, outsmarted Zehra within a rift, and escaped both the rift's destruction and an entire clan—all as an adept. Yes, I believe he could, and would, defeat her if he set his mind to it."

  Tian simmered in silence, and Ujin couldn’t help but feel pity for the harsh words Zehra would likely hear once this was over.

  "He has agreed to stay out of the public eye while he remains our honored guest," the patriarch continued. "Until he leaves for the event, he will refrain from duels or unnecessary attention, enjoying our hospitality in quiet comfort."

  Ujin doubted whether such a thing was possible. Cultivators like Tunde were drawn to danger; it was in their nature. The idea of him quietly lounging around seemed unlikely. "But then again," the patriarch mused, "I don’t see him staying idle. Either he leaves, or something will force him to act, breaking our agreement. When that happens, we can leverage it to our advantage, can we not?" he asked, noting the interest sparking in Tian’s eyes.

  "The convergence will soon come into full force, and Clan Acacia must be positioned to reap its bountiful rewards," the patriarch said as the vessel began to move.