A full day had slipped by since he outplayed the three juniors. Twenty contribution tokens weighed pleasantly in his pocket, a quiet promise of breathing room. For someone like him, who earned barely two or three a day breaking rocks in the mines, it felt like the beginning of something wider than hunger and routine.
Morning light spilled across the settlement, sharp and unforgiving. When the sun struck his eyes, Lyn squinted and lifted a hand to block it, blinking the sleep away as he pushed himself upright from the patch of ground where he had rested.
"Not rich, huh," he muttered, a dry curl of amusement tugging at his mouth.
He drifted into motion without a destination, letting his feet wander while his mind worked, the way it always did when he needed to think. Dust whispered beneath his boots while his thoughts marched ahead of him.
Twenty tokens. Enough to plan. Enough to shape a small future.
Five tokens for food. Five days where hunger would not gnaw quite so loudly. That left fifteen. Shelter would be next. Cold weather crept closer each night, and he had no intention of freezing while pretending to be brave. A decent place would probably cost a point a day depending on how miserable he was willing to live. Seven days. That narrowed it down to eight.
Four would stay untouched. Security. Breathing space. Something to fall back on when the ground gave way.
The last four… now those could be interesting.
He imagined tavern doors, warm noise, spilled drink, and careless mouths. Not so much for the meals, though his stomach certainly would not complain, but for the people. Loose tongues. Gullible smiles. The kind of fools who saw a harmless boy where they should have seen danger.
His lips curved again.
He would eat well. He would sleep warm. And if luck behaved, he would walk out richer than he went in.
"Excuse me, senior." Lyn stopped a passing elder. The man carried age like a gentle cloak, with hair turned silver and a beard to match. His eyes softened when he looked at Lyn.
"Yes, junior?" The elder's smile warmed instantly. "Do you need help?"
Lyn swallowed, voice unsteady. "Do you know any taverns that are… peaceful? Somewhere without constant fighting." The last thing he needed was drunks turning his plans into bruises.
The elder chuckled, amused by the request. "I know only one worth mentioning. I have gone there for ten years. A family place, good people, good hearts. They call it Bamboo Delight." His expression brightened as if the name itself tasted pleasant.
Inside, Lyn's thoughts curled into something sharp. Perfect. Kindness often meant soft spots, and soft spots were easy to press.
He bowed deeply. "Thank you, elder. I am a little lost… could you show me the way?"
"Of course." The man seemed delighted simply to help. "Go right from here, then take the first left. You will see a line. It is always full."
Lyn thanked him again. The elder walked away with a satisfied smile, pleased with the simple gift of guidance. People loved to help when it cost nothing and made them feel like saints, this world was no different.
Just as promised, a building rose ahead with a wooden sign that read Bamboo Delight. Despite the early hour, a line stretched along the front. People filled tables outside, mugs lifted, plates steaming. Laughter drifted under the morning sun, while deeper voices rumbled from inside. There was an outer seating area, a bustling inner hall, and even a second floor.
Common folk trusted places built by common folk.
Lyn slipped inside and chose a corner table where shadows gathered and conversation blurred into a comfortable murmur. The inner hall was nearly full. Warmth pressed against him, soaked with the scent of strong alcohol and rich food. His stomach tightened, hopeful and hungry, but he forced it quiet. He would keep his spending small. Tea would do.
A girl approached his table. She looked barely older than him, dark hair falling down her back, silver eyes bright with life. Beneath that gentleness, her aura revealed something striking. Rank four, second stage. Someone strong enough to survive alone beyond familiar roads, someone a few steps away from becoming truly formidable. Seeing her here as a barmaid tightened his chest for a heartbeat. Why would someone at that level serve drinks?
He brushed the thought aside and offered a soft, reassuring smile instead. "Hello, sister. A cup of tea, please."
She returned the smile with quiet warmth and moved gracefully toward the other tables, sunlight catching in her hair while the tavern continued to breathe around him.
The reason Lyn froze for a moment had nothing to do with her smile or her beauty. Rank four, second stage was never something to dismiss lightly.
Advancing that far meant walking through Heaven's blockades, and none of them were gentle. Three stood between every cultivator and true strength, each one designed to break a different part of the soul.
Heaven's Blade, The first blockade strikes at the Vessel itself. Heaven shapes a beast from the cultivator's own Sea and Sky, a mindless predator driven only to consume the foundation of cultivation. While the physical body falls into silent hibernation, the true struggle unfolds within the Vessel. Victory is claimed by those who hunt the creature down, tear it apart, and claim its strength, leaving their Seas deeper and their truths carved in sharper certainty. Failure means permanent sea depth reduction and reduction of Truth Carvings.
Heaven's Executioner, The second blockade turns toward the cultivator's existence in the living world. Heaven sends a physical hunter, unseen by all except its chosen target, and beyond any hope of aid. Only the marked cultivator perceives its presence. Only they can trade blows with it. The fight becomes a solitary war against an enemy that strikes both flesh and spirit, and only those capable of standing against Heaven's executioner continue forward on their path. Failing costs Carvings and permanently reduces Sea depth.
Reflection Duel, The third blockade creates a silent reflection. The copy has the same Carvings and Shards but no will of its own. The battle is fought within. Victory devours the reflection and grants a large amount of Truth Carvings on the main path. Defeat lets the reflection settle into the flesh, leaving behind a puppet-like body called a Silent Hand.
Lyn recalled what he had learned, letting the knowledge settle again in his thoughts.
Blockades could be triggered at any time, like pressing a mental switch, and each test lasted for a different amount of time; it could not be calculated. They could be spaced out, faced slowly and cautiously, but no one could advance without confronting them. That was why so many cultivators lingered forever at second stage rank one, afraid of losing more than they could bear.
Additionally, if one failed a blockade and wished to retry, they could—however, the strength of the beast or executioner would be fixed at their past peak. This made any second attempt twice as difficult, as the cultivator would be fighting from a weakened state against a foe that had not diminished. The only way to overcome it was to outgrow that past self through a sheer number of new Truth Carvings—an extremely rare feat. And even if they succeeded, a new, stronger blockade would form anyway, because they had finally surpassed their former peak.
Silent Hands remained poorly understood. Scholars still studied them, still argued about their nature. Defeat allowed the reflection to settle into the body, replacing the original self and leaving behind a puppet known as a Silent Hand.
Lyn recalled what he had learned, letting the knowledge settle again in his thoughts.
And that girl… had already stepped through two of those storms.
No wonder he was shaken.
He steadied himself with a quiet breath.
He was only rank three, first stage. That alone reminded him to stay cautious. Advancement sounded glorious when spoken aloud, yet reality was far less forgiving. He had no intention of pushing forward any time soon, especially with the second blockade looming like a silent beast waiting in the dark.
Most cultivators feared that one for a reason.
Usually the beast was a humanoid type and had the ability to traverse walls. It did not affect the surroundings, nor could anyone see it other than the Dao Chosen himself. One could not hide from it or outrun it. Outsmarting it did not work, as it was driven by a sheer will to kill you. It could destroy your body physically and kill you there on the spot; the penalty of Sea depth reduction and reduction of Truth carvings was meaningless once you were dead. The only way was to kill it.
The first stage seemed harmless in comparison. The beast was dumber and easier to kill.
Lyn sighed inwardly and let the thoughts fade before they spiraled deeper than necessary.
His gaze drifted through the tavern instead. People filled nearly every table, laughter and idle talk weaving together into a living hum. Most of them seemed ordinary, wrapped in the quiet comfort of stable lives. Middle-class workers, modest merchants, a few cultivators who looked capable enough to walk safely but nowhere near the kind of heights that bent the world. At most, he counted four or five who might hold something resembling real authority, and even that rested more in posture than overwhelming presence.
It felt like a place built on warmth, habit, and community.
Which made it the perfect place for someone like him to quietly move unseen.
A few quiet minutes slipped by before the girl returned with a simple porcelain cup. Steam curled upward, carrying the scent of warmth and calm. Lyn thanked her politely and slid a single contribution point across the table. She accepted it with a nod, then disappeared back into the rhythm of work.
He lifted the cup but didn't drink immediately. Instead, he listened.
The tavern always had its own language. Chairs scraping across wooden floors. Laughter. Whispers lowered just enough to feel secret. Eventually, a conversation drifted clearly enough for him to catch. Two tables ahead, a group of middle-aged men leaned in together.
"Milen? I heard of him," one murmured.
"The merchant?" another asked.
A bald man grinned as if preparing to boast. "They say he's a prophet."
"That rumor again?"
"It's true. He told me yesterday would bring Frozen Nova rain. And it did!"
A wave of impressed murmurs followed.
Then someone pointed. "Look. He's here."
The tavern door opened and a man stepped inside.
Long silver hair fell past his back, almost reaching his waist, sleek and well-kept. A silk robe of deep blue wrapped his frame, the sect's crescent symbol stitched proudly across the chest. His posture was rigid and proud, back straight, hands folded calmly behind him. His face lacked beauty, features harsh and almost unpleasant, yet people's gazes softened with respect the moment they saw him. Authority clung to him like a mantle.
The moment he entered, conversation fractured. Then silence swallowed the hall.
He paused only a heartbeat before smiling, voice light and playful. "Friends, what is this silence? I only came to enjoy some tea."
A ripple of laughter followed, tension easing, but the atmosphere didn't return to what it had been. People spoke again, only softer, more careful, as if Heaven itself had leaned in to listen. People feared those who they deemed beyond them.
Lyn narrowed his eyes slightly.
Inner sect perhaps? He sensed no Essence leaking, no clear sign of rank. That alone felt dangerous to him. And he had every right to feel danger. In this world, the amount of natural Essence leakage could say what words couldn't. He himself had a natural ability to conceal his Essence completely, an anomaly not achieved through rank or training.
Then the man moved.
Straight toward him.
Lyn's fingers tightened around his cup. The silver-haired cultivator stopped at his table and sat down without asking, posture perfect, gaze unreadable.
This was bad.
Thoughts flared. Had someone traced the scam back to him? Did those three juniors belong to this man somehow? Had the sect already noticed? Why him? He was just another scammer—why him?!
His pulse settled into a slow, guarded rhythm as he lifted his gaze to meet the stranger's eyes. Whatever this was, it wouldn't be simple.
The barista returned a moment later, but this time her confidence had slipped away. The warmth in her eyes trembled beneath a layer of caution as she stood beside the silver-haired man, paling for a second. Her hands tightened around the tray she carried, and when she spoke, her voice wavered.
"What… what can I get you, honored guest?"
He didn't even look at her.
"Light-Fire Whirl tea," he said, tone flat and dismissive, as if ordering warmth itself held no meaning to him.
No politeness. No gratitude. Just expectation.
"Yes, sir!" she replied quickly, bowing before hurrying away, relief almost visible in the way her shoulders loosened as soon as she turned her back.
The tavern breathed again, but only slightly. Voices rose, though softer than before, every movement just a little more careful. People laughed, yet no one truly relaxed. The man sat with hands still folded behind his back, gaze drifting without warmth, presence pressing quietly across the hall like an unseen weight.
Lyn watched him from the corner of his eye, heartbeat steady but alert. This kind of person didn't simply exist in a place. His mind screamed at him like instincts of survival; it screamed that he should be extremely careful—by the way he speaks, by what he says, and by the way he looks.
Milen's gaze finally shifted, settling on Lyn with a stern, piercing sharpness that lasted only a breath. Then his expression softened, friendly and easy, as if the seriousness never existed.
"Friend," he said lightly, "are you new to Emberbar?"
Lyn didn't answer immediately. His smile remained, but his mind moved fast. The calm authority in Milen's posture, the subtle weight he carried, the way the entire tavern adjusted around him—this was someone anchored deep within the sect. Inner circle. Not just a fighter. Someone important. The kind of man who touched politics, trade, or military command. Influence disguised as casual conversation.
He wanted to ask, what was a person from the inner sect doing in Emberbar? This was just one of hundreds of trade towns!
The sect's structure flickered through Lyn's thoughts like a quiet reminder. Outer disciples worked. Sect disciples survived. Inner disciples shaped everything beneath them.
He kept his tone warm and harmless.
"Ah, so obvious already?" He laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, I'm new. May I have the honor of knowing senior's name?"
Milen's sternness melted fully into polite charm. "Milen. And you, junior? What should I call you?"
For a heartbeat, Lyn hesitated.
Names could be anchors. Or chains. He could be traced back. This was dangerous. He was not protected by anyone or any organization; if the sect were to find trouble with him…
"My name is Ryn, sir," he replied, letting a nervous edge creep into his voice.
Milen nodded thoughtfully. "Ryn, hm. Simple, steady. Then tell me, 'Ryn'… where are you from?"
'Ryn' opened his mouth to answer.
The barista arrived first.
She placed Milen's tea gently on the table, careful, respectful, almost reverent. Steam curled upward between them, and for a moment the tavern quieted again, as if waiting to see what the silver-haired "prophet" would do next.
"You hide your Essence perfectly. However, you are a rank three, stage one of the Light Path," he said plainly, sipping his tea while waiting for a reaction.
Lyn stared. He had indeed concealed his rank the entire time he was in the tavern. Yet this person had identified it without any apparent effort.
He dropped the act. With someone like this, trying to lie would be a disaster.
"True," he paused, looking Milen dead in the eyes. "What of it?"
People around them were focused on their conversation, merely pretending to have their own. Milen smirked before replying in a somewhat relaxed tone, "I see, I see. Not bad. You are merely a rank three, yet you can conceal your presence to this extent. Kid, do you want a job?"
A job? This could mean anything. He couldn't afford to say no; the most likely outcome of a refusal would be immediate execution. Lyn recognized this type of person merely from his demeanor. He was not someone who was shy about killing over tea.
Lyn felt his hands go cold, even while holding the warm cup.
"I'll hear it." he said plainly
He couldn't back out now. His luck had run out.
"Well, to be more precise, you would first need to become my student. The job I have in mind is currently impossible for you," he said, watching a miniature fire tornado swirl inside his Light-Fire Whirl tea before finishing the cup.
Lyn was stunned. This was actually beneficial. If he could grasp this situation well, he would not only achieve his goal of having enough food, he would also gain more than enough flexibility to learn about this world. However, he did not get his hopes up. In this world, if something appeared good, it often was not. Good food had to be triple-checked before consumption.
"What job, exactly?" he said, relaxed, though his mind was racing.
Milen chuckled before continuing. "Boy, do you have an issue with kil—"
Before he could finish, Lyn replied, "No."
Milen laughed. "Perfect. In short, I will need you to kill an Expression of Heaven. I'll fill you in on the details later."
Immortals?
Indeed, after rank twelve, the ranks continued from thirteen to twenty. The issue was the vast chasm between mortals and immortals. In this world, immortals went by different names. They called themselves Expressions of Heaven—an arrogant title, yet justified by their strength.
The people in the tavern suddenly stopped and dropped their act.
In unison, they whispered, "An Expression of Heaven?!"
Milen sighed. "You people just have to poke your noses into others' business. Yes, an Expression of Heaven."
Lyn was not surprised; perhaps in the entire tavern, he was the only one who had no idea what a Heavenly Expression was.
"What is a Heavenly Expression?" he said plainly.
The crowd was speechless.
Milen was somewhat surprised that he didn't know, but he replied regardless. "A Heavenly Expression is a person who has a rank higher than twelve."
Lyn's face remained expressionless. "In short, Senior, you want to be my mentor so that I kill someone? Why not do it yourself?"
Lyn wanted to test what rank Milen could be.
Milen sighed. "Ugh, that person… he is rank fifteen. I can't break through; I'm not ready, and I am growing older each day. Not to mention this poison from my last blockade… I've been searching for a while for someone who could prove worthy. Not the soldiers or the high elders, but commoners. Someone with the right… foundation."
He leaned forward slightly, his playful demeanor replaced by an analytical sharpness. "Your concealment is flawless for your rank, yes. But that is not the true reason."
Milen's gaze seemed to pierce through Lyn, not at his body, but at the space his soul occupied. "Beyond the technique, your soul has a faint... signature. A resonance of quiet oblivion. It is the same echo found in the Silent Hands—those hollow puppets left after failing the Reflection Duel."
Lyn's blood ran cold. Silent Hands.
"But you are clearly whole. Your will is your own. This paradox…" Milen's eyes gleamed with a scholar's fervor. "It makes you a unique specimen. My target's spiritual defenses are designed to reflect and shatter coherent wills and bright, burning souls. But a will that carries the echo of a void? A soul that whispers of the silent end that awaits all reflections? I believe you may be the one type of arrow that can slip through his guard unnoticed and strike at the core."
if that person was allowed to become stronger he might become something beyond this world he had to be killed.
He leaned back, his point made. "So you see, it is not merely that you can hide. It is what you are hiding. You are an uncarved piece of the darkest wood, boy. And I need a dagger made of shadow to kill a man of blinding light."
Lyn said nothing.
"If I were not a Heavenly Expression myself, I would not be able to sense you!"
Indeed, when you stayed quiet, people just kept talking. Bingo. A Heavenly Expression. With this person, he could soar the skies.
"Thank you for the compliments, but it's just hard work," Lyn replied.
Inwardly, he was unsettled. He had thought everyone could conceal their presence to this extent, the information of silent hands made him no sense. He didn't ask anything further.
"I also accept your proposal, Senior. How should I address you?"
The crowd was once more left speechless. To them, Milen was a merchant who could, for unknown reasons, predict events, obviously done using specific immortal Heavenly Shards.
"Perfect, perfect. You may call me simply by my title: I am Defying Sun." Joy showed on his face.
Before continuing, he added, "I will bring you to my training grounds in the Restless Mountains."
The Restless Mountains lay east-south of Emberbar, far, far away. The capital was shielded by those mountains but was thousands of kilometers distant—due to the sheer vastness of this world, it could not be seen from the mountains.
"Sir Defying Sun, but the Restless Mountains are millions of kilometers from here. We would need perhaps three years of travel…"
"I am a Heavenly Expression. I have my ways," he said plainly before tossing a Heavenly Shard to Lyn.
It looked like a Pegasus, wings spread, completely golden. It was made of something like glass, yet it gleamed like solid gold.
Lyn took the Heavenly Shard in shock. He couldn't even tell its rank.
"That is the Pegasus's Leap Heavenly Shard, a rank eight fragment of law. Naturally, a rank three cannot activate a rank eight shard, so I will channel my Essence through a linked formation space. My Essence will be linked to that fragment, meaning you just have to hold it in your hands and it will work. Do not try to place it in your Vessel Realm, as it will instantly crush it due to the vast rank difference and foreign Essence. Understood?"
Now it was Lyn's turn to be speechless. So something like this is possible, he thought.
He nodded.
"Kid, step outside. I'm guessing you have an inn or something. Take your stuff, and we are leaving. I'll wait for you here in front of the tavern."
"Not necessary."
Milen was mildly surprised before saying, "Very well. I will keep injecting my Essence into the fragment. Don't lose sight of me, or the formation link might break due to the distance."
He then activated the formation. Faint, fiery veins could be seen glowing within the shard.
"Follow me," Milen said before suddenly vanishing.
This was the might of a rank eight Heavenly Shard.
Lyn was immediately worried about how he would keep up or ensure he didn't fall behind, but he instantly noticed a magnet-like pull in a specific direction.
"Ah, that's it."
He focused his intent to activate the shard.
He vanished.
The crowd, the entire time, had been speechless.
An old man at the bar, his eyes distant with memory, slowly set down his mug and spoke in a voice like weathered stone:
"When gold-winged promise leaves the hand,
And common ground gives way to sky,
A mortal walks where gods command
Beware the pupil, Teacher. Fly."
Those around him seemed to agree. It was almost a perfect reenactment of that myth.