Sadi found the darkness repulsive. It pressed in on her from all sides, a suffocating void that made every fibre of her being scream to turn back. But there was no retreat—only forward. Her eyes strained to catch the faintest glimmer of light. She tried to use the anglerfish technique at the depths of the Wasteland. Yet here, the light didn't bounce; it simply shot straight forward and swallowed by the oppressive blackness.

  Finally, the overwhelming darkness began to recede , replaced by a softer, less menacing gloom. Above, the sky churned with black clouds that swirled like a colossal wheel, streaks of purple light breaking through in jagged patterns. Below stretched a vast valley, its landscape both haunting and majestic. To the left, a mountain loomed, its slopes blanketed in forests of blackened trees . But it was the mountain on the right that captured Sadi's attention. Perched atop it was a walled city, its crenellated walls as dark as the clouds above. The fortress was immense, its silhouette imposing against the sky, and the sheer density of vital aura radiating from it made the Wastelands feel like a barren wasteland in comparison.

  "Night Wheel Valley," Mercy murmured, stepping out of the portal behind Sadi. Her voice was soft, almost reverent as if the name itself carried weight.

  Orthos's head emerged from his shell, his glowing eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. "It was a gateway?" he rumbled, his tone laced with irritation. He snapped at a nearby blackened tree, tearing off a chunk of bark. "You could've mentioned that earlier."

  Meatball, perched atop Orthos's shell, snorted in agreement, but it was Eithan who responded.

  "Who has time for thorough explanations?" Eithan said breezily, his ever-present smile widening as he turned to Mercy. "Now, Mercy, where exactly are we?"

  Mercy's gaze remained fixed on the towering fortress. "This is one of my family's properties," she said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "I trained here for a while."

  Lindon swallowed audibly, his eyes darting toward the fortress. "Does that mean... in the house..."

  "Maybe," Mercy replied grimly, her expression darkening. "She doesn't live here, but she visits from time to time . Her presence ... lingers."

  Something in the way Lindon and Mercy spoke made Sadi take a second look at the fortress. "A house?" she blurted, her voice rising in disbelief.

  Mercy nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Yes."

  Whitehall, ever the pragmatist, chimed in with a raised eyebrow. "Like a holiday home?"

  Mercy looked away sheepishly, nodding again.

  Sadi's mind reeled at its sheer scale. A holiday home larger than entire villages in Sacred Valley? The wealth of a Monarch was beyond comprehension.

  "The valley is more like our family garden," Mercy added, though she looked distinctly uncomfortable admitting it.

  "Blimey," Whitehall muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. He pointed to one of the tall towers visible over the walls. "And that? Your toilet?"

  Mercy opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. Judging by her expression, Sadi guessed Whitehall had accidentally hit the mark.

  "Nope, nope," Whitehall said, waving his hands. "Don't tell me. I get it. Rich people exist."

  Mercy laughed, though there was little humour in it. She scratched her cheek awkwardly. "I used to cycle out here when I was a little girl," she said, gesturing with her staff. "The vital aura here is incredibly strong , and we have every aspect you can think of. Shadow, mostly—it's everywhere."

  And light, Sadi thought, though she doubted invisible light counted.

  Mercy continued, "This place is full of natural treasures. It's where we grow them, so to speak."

  Just then, Lindon let out a sudden cry, his balance faltering. Yerin's hand shot out, gripping his arm to steady him before he could fall.

  Sadi blinked, realising for the first time that the two had been holding hands the entire time. She bit back a teasing remark, deciding that a Monarch's garden was hardly the place for it.

  "The aura density here is far greater than it was in the Transcendent Ruins," Eithan announced, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. "Cycling here will be much faster than back home, which will make reaching Underlord that much easier! Half the reason Underlords are so rare in the Blackflame Empire is that the aura is so thin. Reaching the peak of Truegold becomes a monumental task. But here? This place is a treasure in itself!"

  Sadi felt her stomach churn at the sheer abundance of vital aura. She had noticed the stark drop in density when they'd entered the Blackflame Empire from the Wastelands. "But Mercy said her family grows treasures here," she pointed out. "Shouldn't that be our priority? You said we needed funds."

  "Yes!" Yerin agreed, her voice loud with excitement. "What she said."

  Lindon took charge immediately, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of treasure hunting. "Mercy and Eithan can be our guides," he began.

  Before he could continue, Meatball fluttered above Lindon in excited circles. "Me! Me! I know where I can find treasures for me and Orthos."

  "You can sense them?" Lindon asked, surprised.

  "Of course," Meatball replied. "But they're only useful for Sacred Beasts. Well, unless you want to change species."

  "Can I?" Lindon asked, his curiosity piqued.

  "That's a discussion for another time," Eithan interjected, clapping Lindon on the back. "Once we've stolen as much treasure as we need, we can theorise all the ways to turn you into any animal you like."

  "You could be a dragon!" Orthos rumbled between bites of blackened bark. "Like me. Then you'd finally have a shell of your own."

  "Apologies, Eithan," Lindon said, refocusing. "As I was saying , Mercy and Eithan can be our guides, while Meatball and Orthos can travel together. We'll split up, clean out the closest treasure sources, and then send a signal through our armour when we're finished. After that, we'll assign new hunting spots so we don't waste time covering the same ground."

  "Brilliant plan!" Eithan clapped his hands. "Lindon, take Mercy and Sadi over there," he pointed to the left side of the fortress. "There are treasures there that would suit you three perfectly. I'll explore with Whitehall and Yerin on the opposite side."

  "What?" Yerin and Whitehall exclaimed in unison, their voices tinged with dismay.

  "Go on," Eithan said, shooing Lindon and the others away. "Every second we spend here not stealing is a treasure wasted!"

  Yerin's angry stomps echoed through the valley, each step a thunderous declaration of her irritation. She trailed behind Whitehall and Eithan, her glare flickering between the two like a predator sizing up its prey. Whitehall, ever perceptive, had picked up on the tension and wisely kept his mouth shut. Eithan, however, seemed utterly unfazed. He whistled a jaunty tune as they walked, his carefree demeanour only fuelling Yerin's frustration.

  Finally, Yerin had enough. She planted her foot down with a stomp that sent a small shockwave through the ground, cracking the earth beneath her. Eithan didn't so much as flinch, his whistling uninterrupted. "What's your game, Eithan?" she demanded, her voice sharp enough to cut steel.

  "Game?" Eithan asked, turning to her with a bright, infuriating smile. "Well, stealing treasures, of course."

  Yerin's eyes narrowed to slits. "Not what I meant, and you bloody know it."

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Eithan gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if she'd struck him. "Yerin, I am wounded! You think I—humble, innocent me—would manipulate a situation for my own amusement?"

  Yerin was not amused. "Yes."

  Eithan wagged a finger at her. "Well, yes, but that's beside the point. This time, I have noble intentions."

  Yerin folded her arms, her grip on her sword tightening. "And those would be?"

  Eithan suddenly stopped walking, forcing both Yerin and Whitehall to halt. He turned to face them, his smile shifting to something more knowing. "You two are miserable."

  Yerin's hand twitched toward her sword. "What—"

  "Let me finish," Eithan cut in , holding up a hand. "Here we are, in a Monarch's back garden, about to be surrounded by enemies. We need both of you to fight together, not at each other's throats."

  Whitehall shrugged. "We fight together plenty on missions."

  "Yes, you do," Eithan conceded, his tone light but pointed. "But you've never sparred. You don't know each other's strengths and weaknesses. And that's not the only thing I'm talking about." His gaze locked onto Yerin, his smile turning infuriatingly smug. "I'm talking about you and your Bloodshadow."

  Yerin's Bloodshadow stirred within her spirit, its presence a roiling storm of anger and hunger. It gnawed at its confines, thrashing against the barriers she'd built to keep it in check. Yet, for the first time, she sensed hesitation from it —a flicker of uncertainty.

  "I told you I'm not giving that beast any chances," Yerin growled, her voice low and dangerous.

  Eithan's smile didn't waver. "You say that, yet I sense you've already made up your mind ."

  Yerin's nails dug into the grip of her sword. She pulled it halfway out of its sheath, then slammed it back in with a sharp clang. "Fine," she huffed, her tone dripping with reluctance.

  "Very good," Eithan chimed, his smile widening.

  Whitehall, who had remained silent throughout most of the conversation, finally spoke up. "Why am I here, then?"

  "For my own amusement, partly," Eithan admitted with a grin. "But also to spar with Yerin and her Bloodshadow."

  Yerin's Bloodshadow recoiled at the idea, its agitation spiking. Yerin felt it retreat deeper into her spirit, as if trying to hide. She knew why , the Bloodshadow had been afraid of Whitehall ever since he started melting Bloodspawns during their missions.

  "What?" Whitehall looked hesitantly between Yerin and Eithan. "I don't think my poison path is suitable for sparring. What if I accidentally kill her or her Bloodshadow?"

  "In your dreams," she shot back.

  Eithan beamed at Whitehall. "Then you'll just have to treat her with the antidote," he said, winking . "I have the utmost faith in you." He turned back to Yerin, his expression softening. "Yerin, look at it this way. You'll finally learn to work with your Bloodshadow against someone you despise—well, one of you, at least. And you'll both learn about each other's strengths and weaknesses."

  Yerin raised an eyebrow, her scepticism clear. "Are you sure we'll have enough time for this?"

  Eithan's smile turned triumphant, sensing that his adopted daughter had finally bought into the technique he had suggested to her over a month ago. "Then it'll be quick spars."

  True to his words, Eithan made Whitehall and Yerin do quick two-minute spars in between stealing natural treasures. At first, Whitehall thought the spar would only benefit Yerin. He was almost correct; sure, it benefited Yerin's willpower training as she tried to control her Bloodshadow, but it benefited him too. Countless hours of self-experimenting and studying had finally begun to show its fruit.

  Whitehall had always envisioned his enforcer technique as something flexible and adaptable to any situation. But this was the first time he felt like he was truly mastering it. When Yerin unleashed her rippling sword techniques, his body reacted almost instinctively. He could feel the venoms inside him shifting, flowing to his legs to grant him bursts of speed and agility, allowing him to dodge her strikes with precision. When her Bloodshadow lunged at him, he instinctively knew which combination of venoms to release, sending a faint cloud of poison in her direction. The Bloodshadow was aware, too, that she would back off or stand down when she realised she would be caught by his poison. He never shot his poison towards them; this was a spar, not a fight to the death.

  Yet, for all his newfound control, Yerin was a force to be reckoned with. Her swordplay was relentless, her movements fluid and precise, a stark reminder of her master's terrifying prowess. Whitehall couldn't help but recall the day the Sword Sage had carved a path of destruction through the Ancestor's Tomb, his blade a whirlwind of death. Yerin's style echoed that same ferocity, though tempered by her own unique flair.

  In their first spar, Yerin and her Bloodshadow had fought like strangers, their attacks uncoordinated and predictable. It had been easy for Whitehall to counter them, using his toxic gases to disrupt their rhythm and force them to retreat. It had taken the full two minutes for them to finally corner him, forcing him to yield .

  But as the sessions continued, the dynamic shifted dramatically. Yerin and her Bloodshadow began to move in sync, their attacks coming from multiple angles at once . Yerin would engage him head-on, her sword a blur of silver, while her Bloodshadow struck from his blind spots, her crimson form flickering in and out of sight. Whitehall found himself constantly on the defensive, his venoms flowing faster and more precisely than ever before. Even so, he knew he was outmatched. If not for Eithan's timely interventions—calling the fight the moment Whitehall was caught off guard—he would have been mortally wounded more than once.

  Hours later, they made their way back to the portal at a leisurely pace . Eithan had assured them there was no need to hurry, and the group took their time.

  "So, Whitehall," Eithan began casually, breaking the silence as they walked. "What do you think of how Yerin fights?"

  Whitehall shot Eithan a questioning look. "Is there a point to me answering that? I doubt she'll care what I have to say."

  Eithan glanced over his shoulder at Yerin, who was trailing a few steps behind. "Would you?" he asked, his tone light but probing.

  Yerin didn't reply. Instead, she fixed Eithan with a glare that could have melted steel. She felt like a cornered animal, torn between her pride and the practicality of the situation. On one hand, Whitehall was the last person she wanted critique from. On the other, all the natural treasures they'd stolen were stored in his void key. Her silence was answer enough.

  Eithan took her lack of response as permission. "I think that's a yes," he said, turning back to Whitehall with a smile .

  Whitehall exhaled, clearly understanding the delicate position he was in. He decided to keep his critique brief and to the point. "Her Bloodshadow needs a sword."

  "I'll be dead and buried before that thing gets a sword!" Yerin snapped, her voice sharp as she stomped past the two men, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust .

  Whitehall sighed, glancing at Eithan. "She'll come around," Eithan said, his smile unwavering.

  Whitehall raised an eyebrow. "Does she have a choice?"

  Eithan's smile widened into a grin. "Just between you and me?" he whispered, leaning in slightly.

  Whitehall nodded, his eyes flicking to Yerin's retreating form.

  "I used to believe I should respect my disciple's choices, even if I knew they weren't the best for them," Eithan said, his tone thoughtful.

  Whitehall furrowed his brow, unsure where Eithan was going with this.

  "But that wouldn't make me a good master, would it?" Eithan continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

  "Where are you... going with this?" Whitehall asked hesitantly.

  Eithan winked. "Instead, now I'm opting to give them the illusion of choice by simply persuading them."

  A smirk tugged at the corner of Whitehall's lips. "Then I can only hope you know as much as you seem to act like you do."

  Eithan winked again, his grin turning mischievous. "I know everything."

  Whitehall snorted, shaking his head. He highly doubted Eithan knew everything, especially after the man had once confessed to ignoring the Wastelands entirely. But he had to admit, Eithan's confidence was ... impressive if nothing else.

  When they exited the walls and stepped back into the valley, the once-quiet forest was now a hive of activity. The serene landscape had been transformed into a sprawling Skysworn camp, bustling with soldiers and bustling with purpose. Flags bearing the emblem of the Blackflame Empire fluttered in the breeze, their vibrant colours stark against the muted tones of the valley. Medical tents had been erected, their white canopies standing out like beacons amidst the chaos. Trees had been cleared to make way for hastily built huts, and the ground was churned up by the constant movement of boots and equipment. The camp stretched as far as the eye could see, a sea of organised chaos that seemed to swallow the entire forest.

  Above, the sky was blotted out by the sheer number of Skysworn cloudships, their silhouettes dark against the purple light of the valley. Soldiers streamed out of the portal in an endless tide, their armour glinting as they moved with military precision. The air was thick with the sounds of shouted orders, clanging metal, and the occasional trumpets of elephants.

  Whitehall had to take a second look, his eyes widening at the sheer scale of the operation. It was the largest war camp he had ever seen, dwarfing anything he'd encountered in the Wastelands. "Are you lot going to war or something?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

  "Haven't you heard?" Eithan replied, his tone light but knowing. He was well aware Whitehall hadn't been briefed. "The Akura Clan is making us compete with another vassal nation for the treasures here. The Seishen Kingdom."

  Whitehall frowned, his gaze sweeping over the camp again. "Then why does it look like the Blackflame Empire is about to wage a massive war?"

  "Not a war," Eithan corrected, his smile never wavering. "Just a friendly competition between vassals, orchestrated by their liege. Though, admittedly, it's the kind of competition where accidents are bound to happen."

  Whitehall snorted, his disbelief evident. "How noble of the Aku—"

  Eithan suddenly threw his head back and shouted into the sky, "You are right, my temporary disciple! The Akura Clan is the most noble of nobles and the best liege any vassal could ever wish for!" He then turned back to Whitehall, his smile as bright as ever. "Please do refrain from criticising a Monarch's family when we are in their territory."

  Before Whitehall could respond, Eithan pointed towards one of the huts nestled in the forest. "There they are!" he exclaimed, breaking into a jog as he made his way towards it.

  Whitehall followed Eithan's gaze and spotted Yerin standing near the hut. The others had gathered there as well —Lindon, Mercy, and the rest of their group. But his attention was immediately drawn to Meatball. The garuda's black eyes locked onto his, and he was surprised when he felt a message through their bond: We need to talk.

  Iteration requested. Amalgam.

  Date. Denied

  Report Complete.

  Valiar moved quietly through the dense forest, the soft crunch of leaves under his boots blending with the distant chirping of birds. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and damp soil, and shafts of golden sunlight pierced through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Strapped securely to his side was Cornelia, the doll whose sharp tongue and sage advice had been his constant companions since childhood. Her porcelain face was serene, but her tone was as cutting as ever.

  He paused, his attention caught by a butterfly struggling to emerge from its chrysalis. Its delicate wings fluttered weakly against the confines of the cocoon, and Valiar's hand instinctively went to the knife at his belt.

  "Don't," Cornelia said sharply, her voice cutting through the quiet of the forest . "You'll kill it if you cut it open."

  Valiar hesitated, his hand hovering over the hilt of his blade. "What do you mean? It's struggling."

  Cornelia let out a long-suffering sigh. "Valin really should've paid more attention to your studies."

  "Hey, Master tried his best," Valiar retorted, though there was no real heat in his words .

  "Whatever," Cornelia muttered. "Remind me why we're here again?"

  Valiar shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the struggling butterfly. "Master thinks it'll do me some good to go out alone. Said it'll make me better."

  "And why did you have to bring me along?" Cornelia asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  "You're my favourite," Valiar joked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "And I heard from Master that you're the reason he took me in."

  "You have an interesting way of showing it," Cornelia replied dryly.

  Valiar chuckled softly and continued walking, the forest growing denser around him. The air was alive with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, but there was something else—a faint, melodic hum that seemed to weave through the trees.

  "Do you hear that?" Cornelia asked, her voice low and cautious.

  "Yes," Valiar replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Is that… humming?" He began to tiptoe toward the source of the sound, his movements careful and deliberate.

  "Be careful," Cornelia warned, her tone serious.

  Valiar nodded and crept closer, eventually hiding behind a thick bush. Peering through the foliage, he saw a woman—stunningly beautiful—kneeling among a patch of wildflowers. She was humming softly as she picked the blooms, her movements graceful and unhurried.

  "Blimey," Valiar muttered under his breath, his heart skipping a beat .

  He felt Cornelia sigh, a sound that was becoming all too familiar. Before he could react, the woman's head snapped up, her sharp eyes locking onto his hiding spot. In an instant, she was on her feet, her secateurs held like a knife, her stance defensive.

  Valiar raised both hands, showing them empty. "I come in peace," he said, his voice steady despite the sudden tension.

  Cornelia sighed again, louder this time. "She's scared of your chains, you idiot. Might as well announce you're a traveller."

  "Oh," Valiar said, realisation dawning on him. "Erm, hi?" he offered lamely, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

  The woman's grip on her secateurs tightened, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

  "My name's Valiar," he introduced himself, hoping to ease her suspicion.

  The woman didn't respond. Instead, she pointed behind him, her expression unreadable.

  Valiar turned, scanning the area, but saw nothing out of the ordinary . "Idiot," Cornelia muttered under her breath.

  When he turned back, the woman was gone as if she had vanished into thin air.