29th of Season of Fire, 59th year of the 32nd cycle

  Newt sprinted out of the jungle, clutching his glaive. The weapon was impressive to say the least. Ever since he parted ways with Greenbow and the rest, he had relied on it to stay alive despite his reckless charge through the dinosaur-ruled jungle.

  With each battle, the weapon changed, adapting to Newt’s strength and technique until it became an extension of his limbs. The sensation would have been exhilarating, if not for the looming threat of the summer solstice, which was mere sixteen days away.

  As he dashed out of the jungle, Newt looked around, scanning the farmland. The sun was close to setting and the fields stood void of humans.

  There.

  He ran straight towards a farmer, appearing before the man in a shower of earth he kicked up before braking abruptly. The old man toppled over, lifting his arms to his head.

  “Do you know where the Black Fist Gate is?”

  The terrified farmer stared blankly and shook his head.

  “Ever heard of Thunder Ridge?”

  The man shook his head again.

  “Where is the nearest town, city, or imperial city?”

  The elderly farmer tried to speak, but words got stuck in his throat.

  Newt had no time for nonsense. The sand in his hourglass was falling and with each wasted grain he was a step closer to death. He had one hope and one hope alone, Magmin’s realm. He would hide from the sun, then find whoever’s left of Explorer’s Gate and see whether they can protect him. If they can’t—

  That’s next year’s problem. I have to survive this solstice before I start to worry about the next one.

  “I won’t hurt you, I need to find a town! Lives are at stake!” Newt snapped, and the old man started whimpering, shielding his head with his arms.

  The landscape was unfamiliar, there was an earthen road connecting east and west, with more farms in the distance.

  I should be west of Dragon’s Rest mountain. Newt left the terrified old man and ran to the road, his full sprint leaving behind craters and kicking up dirt, ruining the unpaved road. He rushed towards the east, ignoring the farmers who jumped out of sight when they heard the thunderous noise. An hour later, he had reached a town.

  Torches burned, flanking the gate, their flames dancing above a pair of already drowsy sentries. Newt leaped over the wall, not bothering with the guards. He needed someone educated, or a merchant, someone who either traveled or had studied the maps.

  I swear, if I survive this, I’m memorizing the entire map of the empire. No, of the known world! The very notion was absurd, the kingdom spread tens of thousands of miles in every direction, most mortals rarely traveling more than a handful of miles away from their home. Even the majority of cultivators remained in a given area through the entirety of their lives.

  Newt landed beyond the gate, cracking the flagstones. He looked left and right, most of the houses were dark, but the lights still burned in the tavern.

  Newt rushed to the door, the paved road considerably more resistant to his abuse. He was about to jerk the door open and probably rip it off its hinges, when he stopped himself.

  An intimidating outburst might paralyze the townsfolk, and he would waste more time than the quick opening of the door would buy him.

  He calmed, took a deep breath, and opened the door with care. Inside, a dozen sweaty loggers shoveled stew into their mouths in silence. Each had a tankard of ale next to their bowls, but the beer remained ignored, overshadowed by the steaming food.

  A young serving girl looked towards the door from a table she sat at, and her eyes slowly went wide as she realized a cultivator had entered. Newt moved with care not to destroy the establishment or the furniture, a blur to her eyes, before he stopped before the girl.

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  She’s younger than me?

  The thought was shocking. Newt was always the youngest person around.

  “Good evening,” he smiled reassuringly, but the gesture unnerved the girl even further. “May I speak with the owner?”

  The girl nodded and turned around.

  At least she’s not petrified.

  “Dad!”

  A tall, massive man entered from the kitchen. He wore clothes stained with grease, despite the big white apron covering half his impressively large belly. His brow was scrunched up into a frown until his gaze landed on Newt. His eyes widened, his frown disappeared, and he offered a deep bow.

  “Honored cultivator, how can this lowly one be of service?”

  “I seek directions to Dragon’s Rest mountain or at least the imperial city of Thunder Ridge.”

  The innkeeper shuddered. “Please forgive this lowly one’s uselessness. I have never heard of either of those places. The imperial city of Amber is two weeks away by foot; it should be easy to find any information you are interested in if you head to Amber.”

  “Where is Amber?”

  Three minutes later, Newt was once more ruining the dirt road, racing east towards Amber.

  Two weeks by foot translated to seven hours of running, and Newt reached the imperial city just before dawn.

  The cultivator gate was open, only a handful of first realmers standing in line, and without shame, Newt cut to the front.

  “I just need to use the library for a moment, and I’ll be off.” Newt explained to the guard, who checked his disheveled appearance from head to toe.

  The spear caught his eye, but he just nodded and motioned Newt to enter.

  Newt burned with the desire to sprint towards the center, where the core buildings stood, but reined in his need for speed. Causing a commotion in the imperial city would mean spending time in a dungeon, and he was already on a tight schedule.

  He only had fifteen days left to live.

  Wait, what if the dungeon’s anti-cultivator wards can prevent the solar tribulation?

  Newt dismissed the thought. There was no way the defenses in a backwater city could handle an attack of such a scale, but he had come up with another strategy for survival.

  If Explorer’s Gate had fallen, he could visit Magmin’s realm once, but taking on the fifth realm dragon while he was at the fourth spelled almost certain death. Instead, he could get himself incarcerated for an extended period and cultivate in solitary confinement, protected by the dungeon’s wards.

  Newt liked the idea and made a mental note to study the imperial law more deeply to see which crimes could net him the punishment he needed.

  Relieved he had come up with another solution, Newt reached the library’s steps and entered.

  “Honored librarian.” He offered a deep bow as soon as the prim man appeared. “I am not seeking the kind of knowledge this well-respected institution usually offers. I’m in search of a map, or information about the distance to another imperial city. It’s a matter of life and death, and I wouldn’t have bothered you, but I just came out of the Savage wood a few hours ago.”

  The librarian almost turned around to dismiss the beggar before him, when he noted Newt’s robes.

  “Are you from the Explorer’s Gate?”

  “Yes I am, honored librarian. Do you have any news of my sect? We were attacked by demons, we fought as many as we could, slaying swaths of them, but they overwhelmed us.”

  The librarian nodded, motioning Newt inside.

  “Come, have some tea, it’s not every day one gets to talk with heroes of the empire.”

  Newt’s heart stopped beating. What to do? On one hand, he was in a hurry, but the librarian would have dismissed him without a word if not for the sect robe he wore. Was the information he sought worth one hour?

  It is.

  “Thank you.” Newt bowed once more, and the librarian returned the gesture even though his bow was quite shallow.

  “Feel free to share details, imperial servants above the third realm all have basic understanding of the taboo topics, for obvious reasons.”

  Newt’s story was not one of heroes, but he delivered it, such as it was. Describing the events in detail, mentioning the heroic sacrifice of the elders, the escape, but withheld the information about a potential saboteur, claiming the airship crashed because they did not know how to pilot it.

  Newt finished his telling before the tea, and took a nervous sip, waiting for the librarian to reveal the information he desperately needed.

  “Your actions, even if you belittle them, were heroic,” the librarian said. “You have fought and slew demons, guarded your comrades’ escape, and obeyed your elders, ensuring their sacrifices were not in vain. Remarkable. Your sect has received a commendation, officially losing two ninth realm cultivators, one eight realm cultivator, three sevens, and five sixes. Your sect master was away on forged imperial summons, the guilty party was found dead in their chambers inside the outer palace.”

  Newt’s heart started beating faster.

  “The reports have found their way to the desks of those important enough to read them, along with a long report on the dead cultists. You have dealt them a huge blow.”

  “Does the sect still stand?” Newt failed to keep the tremble from his voice.

  “It does, but over eighty percent of its disciples have perished during the battle. It was a carnage.”