The cave was a dead end. Unlike the previous one filled with horror, this was merely a gouge in the earth, perhaps formed by the fissure caused by the clashing of masters above. Tunde's eyes darted about, searching in vain for some form of escape. As the realization slowly dawned on him, a chilling acceptance seeped into his mind: there might not be a way out.

  It was a stark realization, as immutable as the laws of reality. Tunde took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart as the cave shook once more, sending a thin stream of sand cascading down from above. He sank to the ground, his gaze fixed on the darkness ahead, his thoughts a whirlwind of fear and desperation.

  He was in a perilous situation. One stray technique from either of the battling powers above, and he would be dead. The air was thick with tangling Ethra and aura, making any attempt to bend or cultivate it a risk that could reveal his position. Yet, Tunde wondered if a simple imbuement technique might be his ticket to escape.

  But the lure of the spoils of war gnawed at him. What treasures might lie deeper within the cavern, waiting to be claimed once the Jade Tyrant either emerged victorious or lay defeated? Tunde winced, feeling the sting of his own greed.

  He was still a lord, competent and strong, but a lord nonetheless. Being caught in the crossfire would be suicidal. His heart pounded as the cave quivered around him, his body groaning from the accumulated pain of endless battles.

  Tunde opened his void space and retrieved a purification pill, the only one given to him by Varis for the war. He popped it into his mouth, feeling the icy sensation spread as it dissolved, cleansing his Ethra lines. For a fleeting moment, he regretted using such a precious resource, but only the living could afford to lament wealth.

  Weaponless, exhausted, and struggling, the Dark Fist found himself questioning his survival. He had hoped that the invasion of Jade Peak would mark the end of large-scale conflicts for a long time. Yet here he was, neck-deep in another war. As the pill’s effects washed over him, Tunde felt an overwhelming weariness settle in.

  Reclining against the rough walls of the cave, Tunde let the healing effect of the pill take over, its cool energy seeping into his core. Eyes closed, legs folded in a meditative stance, he assessed his body.

  A blinking screen in his peripheral vision nudged at his consciousness, but he ignored it, focusing on the swirling orb of dark grey power glowing faintly within him. This orb, connected to all his Ethra lines, pulsated with his two affinities, cosmic and force, melding together seamlessly.

  Taking a deep breath, he felt the harsh jade and beast Ethra in the air scratch his throat as he absorbed them bit by bit, careful not to draw too much at once. The cultivation art of the stellar force was a brutal process, crushing the ambient Ethra and molding it into something he could use.

  He observed this transformation with a calm detachment, watching as his tired lines soaked in the energy, sending it straight to his core. Slowly, despite his exhaustion, Tunde absorbed more Ethra, watching his once-gloomy core shine brighter as it purified the energy into its greater affinity.

  The concept of greater and lesser affinities expanded in his mind, the stellar force concept—a greater affinity—emerging from the fusion of his two core affinities. Opening his eyes as he exhaled, he felt the rumblings of the battle above. He rose to his feet, a new determination in his heart.

  His first priority was obtaining a weapon. It wouldn’t guarantee his survival, but he’d feel more secure with one in hand. Making a mental note to get Draven to forge as many imbued weapons as possible—assuming he survived—Tunde chuckled to himself, glancing at his dirtied pants and tattered robe.

  Approaching the edge of the cave, he surveyed the broken, cracked ground ahead, shaking from the clashes of the two masters above. Techniques tore through the air, animated green insects shrieking and golden yellow Ethra-conjured Sandshards responding in kind. Amidst this chaos, Tunde activated Ethra's sight.

  Summoning his relic required a significant amount of Ethra, but he did it. The fang took the shape of a blade. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his aura to cocoon his body, an extra layer of protection as he shot out of the cave. Ethra's sight revealed where the clashing energies were thinnest. He sprinted towards these pockets, his legs devouring the space with the speed of a lord stage cultivator.

  It was a race against time. The air around him blistered with raw power, and some of the projected techniques veered towards him, drawn by his aura. His urgent race turned into a frantic dash, each step a fight for survival. He dodged the first attack, his blade slicing another in two before absorbing the power within it. It was like swallowing an Ethra pill twice his advancement stage, the raw power slamming into him, nearly causing him to lose control.

  Staggering, Tunde rolled across the floor, Joran’s wrath blazing to life even as he slammed a punch into a projection technique of the Wasteland King. It felt like using a stick to hit a boulder—the golden worm of light smashed into him, cracking his imbued bones from the glancing impact.

  Spitting blood, he felt the power within him healing his injuries rapidly. He was back on his feet, running for safety, his eyes scanning the distance. He had no idea where he was heading, but anywhere away from this deadly battleground was a good option. Ethra's sight revealed the gathering jade Ethra of the Tyrant coalescing in front of him, making his heart lurch into his throat.

  Terror seized Tunde as an aura grabbed him with raw force, slamming him into the ground. He fought back, his dominion technique enveloping the space around him even as he struggled to his feet, resisting the crushing presence that held him.

  “You have an interesting concept,” said the voice of the Jade Tyrant, emanating from a projected form. Featureless, but unmistakable, the voice was etched into Tunde's memory. He felt like a leaf struggling under a boulder, resigned to whatever the Tyrant would do to him. The green glowing form crouched, raising Tunde’s head with a single finger, sending shudders through him.

  He could stab the fang through the creature, but the thought of what that amount of master realm Ethra would do to him made him hesitate. A mere taste of its projected technique had filled his core to the brink and beyond. Besides, his void realm was still active, and the creature stood within it as if it were nothing. There was no shame in admitting he was facing a foe far above his level. Talking his way out seemed his only option.

  “Venerable Master,” he croaked, and the creature chuckled. “Please, enough of that,” it said, amusement in its voice. “You killed a true beast and survived this long; perhaps the heavens do favor you,” it continued. “Either way, I will need that luck of yours,” the Tyrant said.

  “I don’t understand, Master,” Tunde replied, dread filling his body. “The Wasteland King and I are tied, a shame really,” the Tyrant said. “My strength is still stabilizing, and I’m guessing he’s similarly constrained—a most fortuitous coincidence,” it continued.

  “There are many things a Master might fear, but a lowly Lord is not one of them,” the Tyrant said.

  Tunde’s eyes widened. “There is nothing I can do against a Master,” he protested weakly.

  “Perhaps,” the Tyrant replied. “But I believe I have a solution to that.”

  Beside it, the air thickened, forming crystals that glowed green, revealing something within. As the crystals shattered, a floating green sword appeared. Single-edged green metal with a golden hilt fashioned in the shape of a snarling creature Tunde didn’t recognize.

  The sword stabbed into the ground next to his head, too close for comfort. The Tyrant spoke calmly, “My time grows short, so I’ll be quick. Your only chance out of this place is if either I or this so-called King dies. Luckily for you, he wants you dead. I see potential in you,” it continued.

  Tunde wondered where that potential had been when the Tyrant had supported Heito in the cave, but he kept his lips shut, listening. “That blade is a master-ranked weapon, forged by a long-dead Forgesmith. There is only one left of its kind,” the Tyrant said.

  The Tyrant released Tunde, “Stab that blade into the King. He might be powerful, but he wears the body of a Highlord. There are limits, laws that ensure he cannot surpass a certain threshold of power,” the Tyrant explained as his body flickered. “The battle requires my complete attention. Get close enough to the King, stab that blade through, and I will do the rest. Succeed, and your advancement to the peak of Highlord would be nothing but a joke. Fail, and you will wish you had died in the cave,” it concluded as the projection dispersed.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Tunde stared at the blade, aware that his relic had faded away the moment the Tyrant appeared, as if cautious of being discovered. He grabbed the ornate weapon, feeling no different as it only felt like a cold, lifeless object. Running his Ethra through it, the weapon consumed copious amounts, almost draining his core dry before he cut it off.

  It was a master-ranked weapon, a tier 6 weapon. Not even all the Lords in Black Rock combined could power it. He would have to find Ethra elsewhere, but it left him wondering where the Tyrant expected him to get the Ethra from. The Tyrant wasn't aware of his ability to absorb and steal Ethra from other beings, so it must have known he would die trying to power the weapon.

  Tunde stared grimly at the dull green blade. Well, it would be in for a surprise.

  **************************

  Miria’s blade sliced through a Corespawn, the creature splitting into segments as she dispatched two more in quick succession. Her projection technique, Shadow’s Embrace, released its dark tendrils, holding two more lord-stage Corespawns at bay as she faced the true beast before her. It was a monstrous thing of bones and blades, dancing around her, hacking and slashing, intent on rending her flesh from bone.

  Her blade found a chink in its bone armor, the serrated edges tearing through as she twisted and released the weapon. The creature was diced apart, blood spraying everywhere. Beside her, Giselle crushed creatures with each blow of her hammer.

  The adamantine body reinforcement technique made her almost impervious to physical attacks, an unstoppable mountain obliterating everything in her path with practiced swings of her silver hammer. Her projection technique, Celestial Hammer, conjured ethereal hammers made of her combined affinities, smashing any foe that got too close or escaped the biting edge of Sera’s distant attacks.

  Sera, the blood and flesh cultivator of the Crimson Touch, was a demon on the battlefield, blood and death trailing behind her. The path of the Crimson Touch was one Miria reviled, but it suited the barbarian’s savage nature.

  Wounds against Sera healed almost instantly, her tattered, blood-soaked robes fluttering in the air. Her projection technique formed blades from the blood of her fallen enemies, adding to her ferocious attacks as she moved with unpredictable savagery, making it difficult for attackers to pin her down.

  Harun moved with the practiced grace of a swordsman, his Ebbing Tide Blade Art transforming him into a steady, unwavering figure amid the chaos. His sword, glowing with blue and silver Ethra, cut through foes with lethal precision.

  The four of them fought in close proximity, their attacks not necessarily complementing each other but reinforcing their individual defenses. The cacophony of battle surrounded them, each fighter a whirlwind of lethal intent, their combined presence a bulwark against the encroaching Corespawns.

  Miria’s eyes darted around, ever vigilant, as she and her companions carved a path through the onslaught. Every swing, every clash, was a fight for survival, the stakes higher with each passing moment. The ground beneath them was slick with blood, the air thick with the scent of iron and the cries of the dying.

  In the heart of the battle, Miria’s mind was a tempest of focus and fury, each enemy a step closer to their goal—or their doom. The relentless tide of Corespawns pressed in, but together, they stood firm, their determination and skill a beacon in the encroaching darkness.

  In the distance, the clan heirs fought alongside their adept-ranked servants, the elderly figures moving with the speed of cultivators at the threshold of the lord stage. Miria paused a few paces away, watching them as a blood-soaked Sera moved closer. “Well?” the barbarian asked as Harun and Giselle arrived at her side, the battle raging around them.

  Above, the skies blazed with fire and golden light, waves of raw aura that could obliterate any who strayed too close. The Talahan Highlord was picking off the strongest of the king’s army one by one. No one knew where the opposing Highlord had disappeared to, leaving the king’s forces exposed.

  The master realm cultivator seemed indifferent to his forces’ plight, not even attempting to intervene in the onslaught laid down by Varis. Then again, facing the master of the imperial clan must have demanded all his concentration. Miria allowed her whip-blade to break into segments, her gaze fixed on the heir of the Cheng clan.

  “I’ll take the girl. You all handle the rest. Go for the adepts first,” she said. It occurred to her that she was in over her head trying to beat the heir of one of the empire’s great clans. They all were. But they had no other choice; either they found out what happened to Tunde, or they perished trying.

  As if sensing their intent, Emi glanced at them, her adept stepping in front of her, wary eyes fixed on them. “What is this?” the heir of the Cheng clan asked. “Betrayal against the great clans and imperial clan itself?” she continued as the other heirs paused, joining her. Sera chuckled, releasing her aura, red billowing blood filling the air.

  Wol Huang, heir to the Huang clan, stepped forward, hands tucked into his robes with a soft smile. “Whatever this is,” he started, “I’m sure we can come to an amicable solution.”

  “I hope not,” Chun of the Zhang clan added, drawing a frown from Wol, who Miria noticed fought to hide a smile.

  “You wasteland bastards have gotten in over your heads,” the Zhang heir continued. “Just because the Highlord gave you crumbs of attention, you suddenly think yourselves important, pah!” He spat to the side.

  Sera growled, stepping forward, but Miria placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Tunde,” Miria said loudly, “what did you do to him?”

  Chun chuckled, and Emi spoke. “What makes you think we did anything to him?” she asked, amusement in her voice.

  “Because you were afraid of him, of his potential, of what he’d become,” Giselle said, speaking up.

  Wol frowned, this time genuinely. “It is one thing to accuse us of baseless crimes,” he started, “it is another to utter such shameless words.”

  “I hear no denial in those words,” Harun said calmly.

  Chun laughed as yellow lightning coursed through his body, his Ethra lighting up the air around him. “You filthy, arrogant things. So what if we did something to him?” he snarled.

  Wol frowned. “Chun,” he said, but the Zhang heir paid him no mind.

  “He should be dead by now, your vaunted dark fist. I simply didn’t want his blood on my hands,” Chun continued. Miria gripped her blade tightly, rage dancing through her veins.

  “Lord Chun,” his female adept servant said. He glanced at her and, in a blur, slapped her head, her skull exploding as her body toppled to the ground. Emi looked horrified, Wol disgusted as he stepped away from Chun, who clearly didn't want the blood to stain him.

  The realization of what the empire's cultivators truly were brought another level of disgust to Miria. “You really think you can take us on without your esteemed dark fist, you—”

  Miria appeared next to him just as the lightning affinity user reacted, her blade wrapping around him as its sharp edges bit into his skin. Shadow’s Embrace manifested, its tendrils about to wrap around the heir when he disappeared with a thunderclap. Miria instinctively hardened both her blade and body as a kick slammed into her side, sending her crashing into the sands a few meters away.

  Her blade was already in motion, cutting a Corespawn in two even as Chun reappeared, a mad grin on his face. She found herself on the defensive, his relentless attacks crashing into her faster than she could repel them. All the while, he laughed maniacally. She focused on the battle, fighting for her very survival, her blade slashing through the air as Shadow’s Embrace lashed out ineffectively, trying to catch the lightning-fast user.

  A blow she didn’t see coming landed on her ribs with a sickening crack, agony lancing through her. She stifled a scream, her blade circling her defensively, tears welling up as Chun moved closer.

  “Barely any aura mastery, somewhat lethal attacks, inexperience,” he mocked, grabbing her by the neck and lifting her off the ground. Miria stared into his cold, yellow eyes. “I’ve been training with the best of my clan since birth, and you think a measly advancement could close the gap between us?” he sneered incredulously.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Miria saw Sera battling the Hang heir, her attacks ineffective against the cultivator whose palm strikes sent her crashing into the ground, only for the barbarian to rise again each time. She was a mere plaything to him, the adept-ranked servants watching with cold amusement.

  Even Giselle and Harun struggled against Emi, the Cheng clan heir’s dominion technique of thorny vines keeping them on the defensive. They were outmatched, and Miria knew it. But she also knew they had no choice. Turning her gaze skyward, she called out, “Venerable Highlord, the evidence!”

  Chun’s eyes widened, and the remaining heirs froze, terror in their gazes. Suddenly, Varis appeared in their midst, arms folded, eyes burning black with power. Chun dropped Miria, who quickly summoned and then dismissed a dagger from her void ring.

  “So, the girl wasn’t lying,” Varis said. “Venerable Highlord,” Wol’s servant began, but Varis snapped his fingers. Both Huang and Cheng clan servants exploded in an inferno, their screams dying before they could even leave their lungs. In an instant, they were ashes.

  “The words I wish to speak are not for the ears of lowly servants,” Varis continued, unfazed by his actions. “When my sister allowed you spoiled brats to join her, it was to show the greater clans what we face at the borders. Of course, we knew how much your clans covet the borderlands. Do you think us stupid?” he asked calmly.

  “No, Venerable Highlord,” Wol croaked, his head pressed to the sands amid the ongoing battle.

  Miria guessed none would dare come close with the Highlord present. “Instead of learning what little you could outside the gaze of your clans, you thought yourselves cunning enough to divide Black Rock among yourselves,” Varis continued. “Even going so far as using a spatial anchor. Perhaps it’s time the imperial clan visits the Zhang clan. I wonder what other priceless treasures you have been hoarding.”

  Chun stiffened, but Varis sighed and clapped his hands. A dozen imperial warriors appeared beside him. “As of this moment, the heirs of the great clans are no longer our guests. They are under our protection,” he declared. Emi’s eyes widened in shock as the warriors grabbed the heirs roughly, who said nothing, their eyes averted from the Highlord as they were taken towards Black Rock’s walls.

  Varis glanced contemplatively at Miria before speaking. “He could be dead,” he said.

  “He’s alive,” Miria groaned, not sure where her certainty came from. Varis nodded slightly, as if unwilling to believe it, but his indifference was clear.

  “Be that as it may,” Varis continued, “it would be suicidal to head into the thick of battle looking for one lone cultivator.” Miria’s body slackened as she knelt in the sands, Varis turning his gaze skyward. “Unless, of course, you go along with your companions, without my knowledge, seeing as after I disciplined the heirs, I rejoined the battle proper,” he added, staring at her.

  Confusion crossed Miria’s face before understanding dawned. She bowed her head into the sand, feeling Varis vanish. Sera and the rest caught up to her, the blood and flesh user wincing. “They hit like Highlords,” she muttered.

  “You don’t know what a Highlord’s blow looks like or would do to you,” Harun replied.

  Giselle helped Miria to her feet gently, staring into her eyes. “Where next, sister?” she asked.

  Miria turned, looking towards the distance where the king’s forces still battled the cultivators of Black Rock, rubbing her void ring gently. “We find where the most terrible fights are, and we start from there,” she replied.

  Harun nodded, sheathing his blade as Sera swung hers haphazardly, eyes alight. “You really think he’s still alive?” Giselle asked, hope leaking into her voice.

  “He has to be,” Miria replied softly.