A full day had passed since Lyn outplayed the three juniors. The twenty Contribution Tokens resting in his pocket offered a small but welcome measure of breathing room. For someone who had earned barely two or three tokens a day by breaking rocks in the mines, the amount felt like the beginning of something broader than hunger and routine.
Morning light spread across Emberbar. The sun struck Lyn's eyes as he pushed himself upright from the patch of ground where he had slept. He squinted, raised a hand against the glare, and blinked away the last traces of sleep.
"Not rich, huh?" he muttered, a dry curl of amusement touching his mouth as he set off without choosing a destination.
Dust rose beneath his boots while his thoughts turned toward the weight in his pocket.
Twenty Contribution Tokens. Five for food if I eat once a day, leaving fifteen. Shelter comes next. The nights are getting colder, and a decent place would probably cost one token a day, depending on how miserably I'm willing to live. Seven days would leave eight. Four for emergencies, which gives me another four to use...
Tavern doors came to mind, along with warmth, spilled drink, and careless mouths. The meals held some appeal, especially to his empty stomach, but the people mattered more to Lyn. Taverns offered information and connections, both of which could prove more valuable than food.
He needed connections now more than ever. He also needed distance from anything that could trace him back to Hazelrun. By now, the elder with whom he had exchanged the Rank Four Ash Residue had surely reported it.
Lyn laughed inwardly. What he needed was not merely protection, but the kind of protection that would make investigators dismiss him before they ever considered him. For all practical purposes, that meant changing his appearance as well.
A Dao Chosen had once nearly destroyed half the sect because no one investigated the irregularities surrounding him. The story had spread widely enough that even Lyn had heard bits and pieces of it. Although it had happened more than five hundred years ago, the scars remained.
If the same kind of irregularity were discovered in Lyn, he would surely be executed. When he was younger, he had never dared extract resources outside his path or from anything for which he possessed no Truth Carvings. At that moment, however, he had truly been in need.
As these thoughts turned through his mind, he spotted an elderly man walking along the street.
"Excuse me, Senior."
The man stopped. Age rested gently upon him, silver filling both his hair and beard, and his eyes softened when he looked at Lyn.
"Yes, Junior?" the elder asked, smiling at once. Lyn looked innocent in his worn clothes, more like a hard labourer than someone dangerous, so the elder naturally found it easy to be understanding.
"Do you need any help?"
Lyn swallowed before answering, allowing uncertainty into his voice. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Elder. Do you know of any taverns that are... peaceful? Somewhere without constant fighting?"
The elder chuckled as he looked Lyn over. No Essence leaked from him, so it made sense that he would want a peaceful tavern. He looked toward the sky as though the request had awakened an old memory.
"I know only one worth mentioning. I have been going there for ten years. It is a family place, run by good people with good hearts. They call it Bamboo Delight."
Lyn bowed deeply. "Thank you, Elder. Could you also tell me where it is?"
"Of course, of course. Go right from here, then take the first left. You will see a line. It is always full."
After Lyn thanked him again, the elder continued on his way with a satisfied smile, pleased by the simple act of giving guidance.
Just as promised, Lyn soon found a building whose wooden sign bore the name Bamboo Delight. Despite the early hour, a line already stretched along its front. People occupied the tables outside, raising mugs while steam curled from their plates, and laughter drifted beneath the morning sun alongside the deeper rumble of voices from within.
The tavern had an outer seating area, a crowded inner hall, and a second floor. Common folk naturally trusted places built by other commoners. Lyn slipped through the entrance and chose a corner table, hoping not to draw attention. For now, his only objective was to see whether the tavern held anyone who could be useful to him.
Warmth pressed against him, thick with the scents of strong alcohol and rich food. His stomach tightened hopefully, but he forced the hunger down rather than loosen his spending. Tea would be enough.
A girl approached his table. She was barely older than Lyn, with dark hair falling along her back and blue eyes bright with life. Her gentle appearance meant little to him. The Essence leaking from her did.
Rank Four, Stage Three.
Someone at that level possessed enough strength to survive alone beyond familiar roads and stood only a few steps from becoming truly formidable. Lyn remembered the caravan guard and fully believed the man could have fought the silver wolf alone. Seeing someone of comparable strength serving drinks in a tavern tightened his chest for a heartbeat.
Why would someone at her level work in a tavern?
Lyn simply could not understand it. She was probably the daughter of whoever had established the place, or something similar, but still. What a waste. Had he possessed her strength, he would have become a full-time sect soldier.
Though even that would only be possible after he erased his ties to Hazelrun. He set the question aside and offered her a soft, reassuring smile.
"Hello, Sister. A cup of your best tea, please."
She returned his smile with quiet warmth before moving toward the other tables.
Reaching Rank Four, Stage Three meant she had already passed through several of Heaven's blockades. Five stood between every cultivator and true strength, each designed by Heaven to test them. Lyn remained at Rank Three, Stage One, with only around three hundred Truth Carvings remaining before he could activate the second blockade.
His attention returned to the tavern. Nearly every table was occupied, with laughter and idle conversation woven into a constant living murmur. Most of the customers appeared ordinary, surrounded by the quiet comfort of stable lives: middle-class workers, modest merchants, and Dao Chosen capable enough to get by.
Lyn counted only four or five people who might possess genuine authority, and even that judgment rested more upon posture than any overwhelming presence. Bamboo Delight had been built upon warmth, habit, and community. It was the kind of place where someone like him could disappear in plain sight.
Several quiet minutes passed before the girl returned with a simple porcelain cup. Steam curled from its surface, carrying a warm and calming scent. Lyn thanked her politely and pushed one golden fragment of glass across the table.
I wonder whether I could replicate the formation inside these tokens one day. If I could, I would become the richest man alive.
The girl accepted the token with a nod and disappeared back into the rhythm of her work. Lyn raised the cup without drinking. He listened to chairs scraping against the wooden floor, laughter rising and falling between tables, and whispers lowered just enough to sound secretive.
Eventually, a conversation two tables ahead carried clearly enough for him to follow. Several middle-aged men had leaned closer together.
"Vilen? I've heard of him," one murmured.
"Vilen the merchant?" another asked.
A bald man grinned as though preparing to boast about knowledge that belonged to him alone.
"They say he's a prophet."
"That stupid rumor again?"
"It's true. He told me Frozen Nova rain would fall yesterday, and it did!"
Impressed murmurs passed through the group. Then someone looked toward the entrance.
"Look. He's here."
"As if—"
The tavern door opened, and the hall changed almost immediately.
A man stepped inside. Long, straight silver hair descended beyond his back and nearly reached his waist, every strand sleek and carefully maintained. A deep-blue silk robe covered his frame, the sect's crescent stitched prominently across its chest, while the markings surrounding it identified him as a First Honor Sect Disciple. His back remained perfectly straight, and his hands rested calmly behind him.
His face was neither handsome nor pleasant. Harsh features gave him an almost disagreeable appearance, yet the gazes directed toward him softened with respect. Authority clung to him like a mantle.
Silence swallowed the hall.
After no more than a heartbeat, the man smiled.
"Friends, why have you all gone silent so suddenly?" he asked in a hoarse voice. "I only came to enjoy some tea."
Awkward laughter moved through the tavern. Conversations resumed, although voices remained softer and words more carefully chosen.
Lyn narrowed his eyes.
Unlike the three juniors who had worn the sect's colours with borrowed importance and lied about their sect standing, this man was the real thing. The robe marked him as a member of the sect's core, a position notoriously difficult to obtain without inheriting the standing through one's parents.
Lyn could only imagine the privileges that came with it. Access to restricted markets and resources. Protection under the sect's authority. Priority in trade. The right to make demands that ordinary disciples would never dare refuse.
No Essence escaped from the man.
His gaze moved across the hall, and the ease with which everyone reacted to him made it clear that most were well acquainted with his presence.
Lyn could detect no clear indication of his cultivation, and that absence alone felt dangerous to him. In this world, the amount of Essence a person naturally leaked often revealed what words could not. Lyn could conceal his own Essence completely, but his concealment was an anomaly rather than the product of rank or training.
The silver-haired man turned.
Then he began walking directly toward Lyn.
His brows rose for a fraction of a second, as though he had found what he was looking for. Lyn's fingers tightened around his cup.
Had the sect traced the scam back to him? Were the three juniors connected to this man? Had someone already described him? He had spent only one full day in Emberbar!
How had they found him so quickly?
Questions rose one after another, each worse than the last.
The Dao Chosen stopped beside his table and sat without asking. His posture remained perfect, his expression unreadable. Lyn forced his fingers to loosen around the porcelain and raised his eyes to meet the stranger's gaze.
Whatever had brought the man to his table, it would not be simple.
The girl returned a moment later, but the confidence she had shown while serving Lyn was gone. Caution trembled beneath the warmth in her blue eyes. Her face had paled, and her fingers tightened around the tray.
"What... what may I bring you, Honored Guest?"
Her fear made sense. Vilen was known for possessing immense wealth, rare materials, and influence throughout the sect. Most people regarded him as an exceptionally wealthy merchant. There were also rumours that he had reached Rank Six, something nearly unheard of for a merchant, and few were willing to take the risk of dismissing those rumours.
The girl's face, however, had paled for another reason. She knew that a single decision from him carried enough financial weight to bankrupt Bamboo Delight whenever he wished.
Without sparing her a glance, the silver-haired man answered in a flat voice.
"Light-Fire Whirl tea."
"Yes, Sir."
She bowed and hurried away. Relief showed in the loosening of her shoulders as soon as her back was turned.
The man let his gaze wander across the room without warmth. The quiet pressure of his presence weighed upon the hall, even as everyone pretended to return to their meals.
Lyn watched him from the edge of his vision.
At last, the man's gaze settled upon him.
A stern, piercing sharpness entered his eyes for the span of a breath. Then it disappeared beneath an easy, friendly expression as though it had never existed.
"Friend," he said lightly, "are you new to Emberbar?" Confusion lingered in his gaze. Lyn was looking at him without recognition. Vilen had never become a household name throughout the Ashen Light Sect, but anyone who had spent even a modest amount of time in Emberbar would almost certainly know him from its trade circles. His name appeared on countless stalls.
How could this boy not know it?
Lyn's ignorance was answer enough. Lyn did not reply at once. His smile remained in place while his thoughts moved quickly.
"Is it already that obvious?" He laughed lightly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes, I'm new. May I have the honor of knowing Senior's name?"
Several nearby customers turned toward him. Open disbelief spread across their faces. The stranger's sternness dissolved completely into polite charm.
"Vilen. And you, Junior? What should I call you?"
Only then did Lyn remember seeing the name Vilen printed in small letters across several stalls while mapping the city. He allowed none of that recognition to show.
He hesitated for a heartbeat, then let nervousness enter his voice. "My name is Ryn, Sir."
Vilen nodded thoughtfully. "Ryn. Mhm. Simple and steady. Then tell me, 'Ryn,' where are you from?"
Something shifted in his expression. It was slight, little more than a tightening around the eyes, but Lyn saw it.
Lyn opened his mouth to answer, but the girl returned before he could speak.
"It's on the house."
She placed Vilen's tea down a little too quickly, offered a shallow bow, and retreated while pretending another task demanded her attention.
Steam curled upward between the two men. The tavern quieted again. Vilen watched the miniature tornado of flame turning within his Light-Fire Whirl tea. Then he lifted the cup.
"You conceal your Essence perfectly, despite being a Rank Three, Stage One Dao Chosen of the Light Path," he said plainly, with the casual precision of someone listing an observed fact, and took a sip.
Disbelief held Lyn still.
He had kept his rank concealed throughout his time in the tavern, yet Vilen had identified it without any visible effort. Those around him had assumed he was rootless when he entered. Murmurs now began spreading among the surrounding tables.
"True," Lyn said after a pause, meeting Vilen's eyes. "What of it?" Something within him warned that lying his way out of this would be immensely difficult.
If the people I scammed are connected to him, my journey ends here anyway.
The surrounding customers pretended to continue their own conversations, though their attention remained fixed upon the table. A smirk crossed Vilen's face.
"I see, I see. Not bad. You are merely Rank Three, yet you can conceal your presence to this extent." His tone relaxed. "Kid, do you want a job?"
Lyn studied him. Vilen noticed the scrutiny, glanced briefly into Lyn's eyes, then lowered his gaze to his own cup.
He did not seem like someone who would hesitate to kill another person over tea. Refusal did not feel affordable. Although the cup remained warm between Lyn's fingers, his hands had begun to feel cold.
"A job?" he asked.
"To be more precise, you would first need to become my student." Vilen continued watching the flame spiral inside his tea. "The job I have in mind is currently impossible for you."
He emptied the cup. The offer was unexpected, but the situation might benefit Lyn. If handled correctly, he could secure more than enough food while gaining the freedom and opportunity to learn about the world. Even so, he did not allow his hopes to rise. In this world, anything that appeared good frequently concealed something else.
"What job, exactly?" Lyn asked, keeping his posture relaxed while his thoughts raced.
Vilen's expression became deadly serious.
"Do you have an issue with killing..."
"No," Lyn replied before he could finish, then emptied his own cup.
Silence followed. Vilen stared at him for a moment. Then he suddenly laughed. "Perfect, perfect! In short, I need you to kill an Expression of Heaven."
An Expression of what?
Around them, the remaining customers abandoned all pretense of ignoring the conversation. A cup slipped from someone's hand and struck the floor. Another man nearly slid from his chair.
"An Expression of Heaven?" several voices whispered.
Vilen sighed and raised his voice just enough for the tavern to hear.
"You people simply cannot keep your noses out of another person's business. Yes, an Expression of Heaven."
Lyn showed no surprise. He was likely the only person in the room who had no idea what the title meant. "What is an Expression of Heaven?" he asked plainly.
The surrounding crowd stared at him with renewed disbelief. Even Vilen appeared mildly surprised, and he dealt with commoners every day.
"An Expression of Heaven is someone whose rank exceeds Twelve."
Above Rank Twelve...
The path of advancement continued beyond Rank Twelve and reached as high as Rank Twenty. The divide between Rank Twelve and Rank Thirteen was no ordinary gap. Mortals and immortals stood upon opposite sides.
Lyn kept his expression steady.
"So, in simple terms, Senior wishes to mentor me, and in return I am expected to kill someone." He paused. "Why not kill this person yourself?"
His tone remained calm, but the question had one purpose.
Measure Vilen's strength.
Vilen sighed, partly because he understood the purpose behind Lyn's question and partly because the answer reminded him of his own limits. He looked toward the ceiling.
"Ugh, that person... He is Rank Fifteen. I cannot break through because I am not ready, and I grow older with every passing day. There is also the poison left behind by my last blockade."
His gaze returned to Lyn. "I have been searching for someone who could prove worthy. Not one of the soldiers or high Elders. A commoner. Someone with the correct... foundation."
So he intends to throw mice at his enemy until one reveals a weakness.
The realization did not fluster Lyn. It gave him something concrete to bargain against. What if he accepted the benefits and disappeared before the actual job?
The thought lasted only a moment. He could not imagine escaping the Rank Fifteen enemy Vilen expected him to kill. Before deciding anything, he needed to understand why Vilen had chosen him.
"Why me?" Lyn asked. "Is it because I can conceal my Essence?"
Vilen leaned forward slightly. "Your concealment is flawless for someone of your rank, yes, but that is not the true reason."
His gaze seemed to pass beyond Lyn's body and settle upon his heart. "Beyond the technique, your soul possesses a faint signature. A resonance of Fragmented Heaven. It is the same echo found within the Silent Hands, those hollow puppets left behind after failure in the Reflection Duel."
Cold spread through Lyn's blood.
I remember reading about them. The third blockade. Someone becomes one after failing, if I remember correctly. They are mindless puppets. Then if...
Vilen continued before Lyn could carry the thought further.
"But you are clearly whole. Your will belongs to you. This paradox..."
A scholar's fervor gleamed within his eyes.
"It makes you a unique specimen. My target's defenses are designed to reflect and shatter coherent wills and souls. A will carrying the echo of a Silent Hand may be the one kind of arrow capable of passing through his guard unnoticed and striking the core."
Vilen leaned back and allowed the explanation to settle. "So you see, the important matter is not merely that you can hide. You are an uncarved piece of the darkest wood, and I need a dagger made from shadow to kill a man of blinding light."
Lyn said nothing.
Vilen continued.
"If I were not an Expression of Heaven myself, I would never have sensed you."
There it is. When one remains silent, others simply continue speaking.
Had Vilen heard the thought, he might have found it amusing. Whether he had revealed the information accidentally remained another matter.
The man seated before Lyn was an immortal. The danger of accepting was obvious. So was the opportunity. With this person, Lyn could soar through the skies, yet the opportunity itself was a very, very sharp double-edged sword.
Vilen's words had left him unsettled. For the moment, he chose to ignore what he could not yet understand. Refusal offered no clear safety. Acceptance offered resources, knowledge, and time.
"I accept your proposal, Senior. How should I address you?"
Once again, the tavern's customers were left speechless. To them, Vilen had been a powerful and wealthy merchant who, for unknown reasons, could occasionally predict events. What they had just overheard went far beyond anything they had expected.
"Perfect, perfect." Pride entered Vilen's face.
"You may address me by my title: Defying Sun. I will take you to my training grounds in the Restless Mountains."
The Restless Mountains lay southeast of Emberbar, at an almost impossible distance. Although they shielded the capital, the land separating them from it remained vast. The world itself was simply too large. Even from the mountains' highest peak, the capital appeared as no more than a faint point upon the horizon.
"Sir Defying Sun, the Restless Mountains are millions of kilometres from here," Lyn said. "Reaching them would require several years of travel, perhaps longer."
His disbelief was obvious, and several nearby listeners nodded without realizing it.
"I am an Expression of Heaven. I have my ways."
Vilen tossed something toward him.
For a split second, gravity seemed to triple across the entire settlement.
Everyone in the tavern went on full alert. Some fled at once. Others remained where they were, captivated despite themselves. Seeing an actual Expression of Heaven was extraordinarily rare. Many hid themselves away or simply did not walk among mortals.
Those who remained watched with the helpless fascination of people witnessing something they knew they should flee.
Lyn caught a Heavenly Shard shaped like a Pegasus with its wings fully spread. Its entire body was golden. The material resembled glass, yet gleamed like solid gold, and Lyn could not determine its rank.
"That is the Pegasus's Leap Heavenly Shard, a Rank Ten Shard," Vilen explained.
A Rank Ten Shard...
Several of those watching seemed to reach the same conclusion.
"Naturally, a Rank Three Dao Chosen cannot activate it, so I will channel my Essence through a linked formation space. My Essence will remain linked to that fragment. You need only hold it in your hands, and it will work."
He indicated the golden Pegasus in Lyn's grasp.
"Do not attempt to place it within your Vessel Realm. The difference in rank and the foreign Essence would crush your Vessel Realm immediately. Understood?"
Lyn nodded, the shock plain on his face. After feeling that immense pressure, even for a split second before Vilen suppressed it, he understood more than enough.
Vilen sighed as he studied Lyn's expression.
"Kid, step outside. I assume you have an inn or somewhere similar. Gather your possessions, and then we will leave. I will wait in front of the tavern."
"That will not be necessary."
Vilen's eyebrow rose. Then it returned to its natural position. Lyn had already said this was his first time in Emberbar. Of course he would not have an inn. Inns could be expensive, and one look at him was enough to know he was not rich.
"Very well. I will continue feeding my Essence into the Shard. Activate it immediately after I leave, or the linked formation may break once the distance between us becomes too great."
He activated the formation. Faint veins of fire began glowing within the golden Shard.
"Follow me."
Vilen stood and walked outside.
Lyn followed moments later, only to find empty air waiting beyond the door.
Vilen had vanished.
The speed revealed the might of a Rank Ten Heavenly Shard.
For one brief moment, Lyn wondered how he was supposed to keep pace or avoid falling behind. Then he sensed a magnet-like pull drawing him in one precise direction.
"Ah, that's it."
He focused his intent upon the Shard in his hand and activated it.
Lyn vanished as well.
Back in the Tavern no one spoke for a while.
An old man seated at the bar slowly lowered his mug. His gaze had gone distant with memory, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like weathered stone.
"When gold-winged promise leaves the hand,
And common ground gives way to sky,
A mortal walks where Heaven commands."
Those gathered around him appeared to agree. What they had witnessed had been an almost perfect reenactment of the old myth.
A man who looked to be in his eighties gave a quiet laugh.
"And how did that one end?"
The question pulled the others back to reality. The myth sounded beautiful, but it reminded them of too many deaths. Years had passed since anyone in the tavern had last heard it, and hearing it again felt like reopening old wounds.
Conversations shifted soon afterward. People spoke of other things and pretended the encounter had never happened.
None of them wanted to be implicated.