3rd of Season of Fire, 59th year of the 32nd cycle

  The return trip had lasted much longer than Newt had expected. And he really was engaged. Again.

  Even half a moon later, the notion shocked him. After Jasmine, he was certain engagements and romance were something which would not happen in his life. Then again, an arranged marriage because he needed protection and because Maelstrom’s grandfather wanted powerful great-grandchildren hardly counted as romance.

  There were no official announcements, but the sect master told Newt to watch himself and not to do anything foolish or indiscrete. As if Newt had such plans. In truth, Maelstrom seemed like she needed to hear those words more than he did, preferably daily. The woman drank like a triceratops and seemed generally rowdy.

  Elder Woodhopper also seemed weird. Newt guiltily imagined she was regretting the lost opportunity, but discarded the notion quickly. Based on the woman’s speech they were never meant to be. Newt expected his plateau would be the tenth realm, hers the seventh. And by the time Newt reached his peak, Elder Woodhopper might even pass away from old age.

  “We’re landing,” the woman said, even sadder as they neared the sect.

  Her secondary quest to find an adequate replacement for her beloved dinosaur ended in failure.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The airship shook as it landed, snapping everyone from their thoughts and bringing them back to the present. The door opened, revealing a crowded beach rather than the standard landing.

  “Three cheers for the number eight sect in the world!”

  The black sand danced as the throats of hundreds of gathered cultivators unleashed the most impressive roars their owners could muster. And cultivators’ throats were powerful.

  Newt resisted the urge to blush, and like his fourth realm seniors, held himself aloof, as if outperforming three grand sects was not only normal, but expected of them.

  He tried to get away. The Sage’s Realm tournament showed with striking clarity just how horrible Newt’s abilities were. All he had going for him was raw potential; potential he was wasting by not giving it his all.

  The only thing Newt wanted to do was train. He was short on time and had none for distractions. He needed to cultivate his realm, to polish his techniques and instincts so he could easily switch between the third and fourth realm versions without conscious effort. He desperately needed weapon training, sparring with overpowering opponents, and more, so much more.

  For the next twenty years, the only thing Newt would have to do was constantly improve himself. Then he would have to do the same once he reached the fourth realm, and the fifth. Newt’s heart shook. He was excited at the prospect of reaching the top and terrified of the centuries he would have to spend with hardly any personal life.

  “Come on, Junior Brother.” Goodair grabbed his upper arm just as he was trying to sneak out. “We are having a feast in your honor! You can’t lock yourself away in a cultivation room.”

  Newt smiled awkwardly, that was exactly what he had intended to do, but he could sacrifice an afternoon and an evening before the two or three decades of dedicated work. He could even use the opportunity to discuss his training regimen with his master.

  Yes, that sounds good. Let’s do that.