Whitehall sat on the cold ground, hidden behind a tent he'd chosen at random. His veil remained in place. He didn't want to be found.

  Unlike conventional veils, which dull a sacred artist's presence by suppressing their spirit , his worked differently . It was inspired by the Rosegold Marsupials he'd studied in Stormrock's tablets—creatures that didn't just veil themselves but altered their very composition to blend into their surroundings. Their predators's perception would see only grass, a bush, or a patch of stone.

  Whitehall had adapted the concept through poison. If anyone swept the area with their perception, they'd sense nothing but a rodent scurrying in the dirt. His Umbral Shroud .

  He looked up, scanning the sky, the flickering light of campfires, the distant silhouettes moving beyond the tent walls. No sign of the Sage's attention.

  Only then did he let himself tremble.

  His hands shook as he brought the pipe to his lips. When he struck the match, the flame barely steadied in his grip. The warmth did nothing to stop the shivering. He inhaled, drawing in the bitter smoke, and let it settle in his lungs. His body absorbed the toxins, cycling them into his spirit. That was new.

  It had been four days since he advanced. Four days outside. But inside… inside, it had felt like a lifetime of suffering. The memory of it clung to him, sharp as a barbed hook. The venom that had crawled through his bones, trying to twist them into something else. The pain that had nearly broken him.

  That, he could endure.

  What unsettled him—what truly curdled in his gut—was the moment when he had wanted to die. He had begged for it. And his body had refused.

  In the depths of that agony, he had questioned himself. Why did he hold on so fiercely to this world? He hadn't been here long. He owed it nothing. And yet, he had fought for it with everything he had.

  Then he had woken. And he had seen Sadi.

  And he had remembered.

  He wasn't alone. Sadi. The Beast King. Meatball. Sunda. They were fighting for something; even Lindon and Yerin were fighting to save Sacred Valley. It was the job of the elders to fight for the young. He wouldn't let them fight alone.

  The pipe steadied in his grip. The tremors didn't stop, but they slowed. The smoke tasted acrid, but he kept breathing it in.

  For now, that was enough.

  Mercy walked through the wet mud as rain fell upon her, her boots splashing a puddle with every step. The land around the portal was packed for miles, and finding a spot where she would not be noticed was difficult. She did not know how long she had walked and ended up picking a spot between two medical tents, where the strong smell of medicines and lit pipes were accompanied by the faint groans of the wounded.

  She pitied the wounded , and she could tell instantly what the leaf being smoked was. It was Death's Kiss. It was not a rare plant, but she had only smelled it once when she was young. She had never forgotten it- how could she? Her mother had made it necessary for her to watch the parties of Golds return to the clan after getting caught in a war between Aurelius and House Shen. She remembered the groans of the dying and the acrid smell of the pipe they smoked.

  It makes it easier for them, she had been told.

  She laid down a cloth beneath her to sit, and she cradled Harmony's axe in both hands.

  "That was a close call, Aunt Charity," she muttered.

  Her eyes drifted to the silver-and-purple owl that landed next to her.

  The owl replied with Akura Charity's voice. "Yet they made it out for the better."

  Guilt pricked Mercy like a thorn. She could have done more.

  "Did you send them after Lindon because he killed Harmony?" she asked her aunt's owl.

  "Him or that beast of his that left him to die," the owl replied. "They sealed the exit."

  Mercy somehow felt responsible for what was happening. She hadn't known Harmony would have been there, yet even if she did. What could she have done?

  "Was it my fault?" she asked slowly. "That he was there?"

  The owl flapped up and landed on something invisible. Then Akura Charity removed her veil and revealed herself to Mercy.

  She looked like a medical assistant of the Brightcrowns of the Blackflame Empire. She wore a plain brown dress with a cloth tied around her waist and a rag to keep her hair back. Her spirit remained veiled, however, and Mercy thought she would have fit in as a young Lowgold.

  "Possibly," the Sage answered. "But it is equally possible that we would've sent him there any way to gain experience on his own. Unlike you. "

  That was not true, but Mercy ignored the Sage's last sentence.

  Mercy followed her aunt's gaze and found them staring at the axe between Mercy's arms.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Mercy's eyes softened. She sympathised with her aunt. Harmony had been Aunt Charity's grand-nephew, and she would have watched Harmony grow.

  Despite having absolute control over her emotions, her aunt was still human.

  "Are you all right?" Mercy asked.

  Charity looked away, revealing a rare troubled expression. "Lindon could not have stopped me from saving Harmony, and I doubt he wanted me to. I was unable to see into Ghostwater before the pocket world collapsed, but I believe it was Harmony who pushed their conflict far."

  "Who could've stopped you?"

  Charity's answer was short and grim. "I believe Ghostwater's owner is still alive."

  The pieces finally clicked for Mercy.

  "Sadi and Whitehall?" she asked. "Are they to be his representatives for the tournament?"

  Charity nodded. "I am not privy to the actions of Monarchs, but considering what I now know. I believe so. I also believe that grandmother allied with the Monarch of the Wastelands. After all, it was grandmother that ordered me to provide those two the resources to reach Underlord."

  That answer bothered Mercy.

  "Why Sadi and Whitehall, then? Why did you send the Seishen Kingdom after them, too?" Mercy asked. "They weren't involved with Harmony's death."

  "No, they weren't," the Sage concurred but did not elaborate further.

  Mercy sighed; she was not going to get answers from Aunt Charity if the Sage had not given her the first time she asked.

  Mercy stood up and held out Harmony's axe. "Take it back, and stop sending Underlords after them. That's just cruel."

  Seeing Charity dressed plainly and her hair wet with rain made her aunt look more real than she usually does. More human.

  Charity's eyes met Mercy's when she asked, "Do you think I am cruel?"

  "No," Mercy nudged the axe. "But I think you can be when you want to."

  Charity showed no signs of anger or disappointment from Mercy's words as she accepted the axe and tucked it into her soulspace. In fact- she showed no emotions at all.

  "Do you remember the last Uncrowned King tournament?"

  Mercy nodded. She was eight, but she still remembered.

  "The upcoming one will put that to shame. Something last year had disturbed the flow of fate. Nothing is certain anymore. One dreadgod had risen, and the other three are stirring."

  Mercy's eyes widened.

  "Alliances are being made, and lines have begun to be drawn. War is brewing and is certain to come. If not with the Dreadgods, then with each other. This tournament is our last chance to show that our next generation is as strong as the others and rip the power of the other factions in the form of prizes. There are even rumours that this tournament would be conducted differently, but that is for another time."

  The Akura Clan and Northstrider both shared hatred for the other Monarch faction on this continent. Seshethkunaaz, King of Dragons. Mercy knew the alliance between her clan and the Wastelands was stone certain. Northstrider hated the Lion King, but would Reigan Shen ally with-

  Aunt Charity cut her thoughts, "I did not send young Meira and the prince after Lindon specifically as a punishment. I am finding the best competitors for the tournament, and Eithan Aurelius's apprentices are the perfect opponent for the two Seishen Underlords. This will push them all forward, as you have seen."

  Mercy looked away. "Yerin was severely hurt. If it weren't for Whitehall, she would have died. Even then, he was at death's doorstep for days."

  " You could've helped ," the Sage's words cut through Mercy.

  "It doesn't make it less cruel," Mercy replied, her words firmer than previously.

  "Would your friends have done it differently if the roles were reversed?"

  Charity's question gnawed on Mercy.

  "...Yerin and Lindon would have crushed them," she admitted at last . Then, quieter, "But Whitehall wouldn't have." She met her aunt's eyes. "And you didn't have to drag his name by saying his poison was lethal."

  Charity looked to the side at the row of tents, brushing the water off her forehead with a cloth she had summoned. The rain had begun to subside.

  "I admit," the Sage said. "I was not privy to the abilities and personalities of the Wasteland Golds. But his action would've tipped the scales too far. And I also concede that I might have pushed your friends too hard in part because of your relationship with them."

  Another thorn of guilt jabbed into Mercy's heart. Her aunt wanted her to return and embrace her former power, she knew that. Her mother would have approved.

  "Therefore," Charity continued. "I acknowledged that I owe you a favour. You may let me know whenever you wish."

  Surprised, Mercy looked at the Sage. A favour from a Sage is not something to scoff at. "Thank you, Aunt Charity."

  "The Blackflame still owes the family for Harmony. Furthermore, now that I have a clearer understanding of the Wasteland pair, I shall provide additional support to the Seishen Kingdom to balance the scales."

  Mercy nodded, "I understand." She remembered how Sadi had easily toyed with the younger prince, Daji, and how Whitehall had taken out three Truegolds with his poison.

  Mercy thought the Sage would've left, but the other woman continued to speak. "Your mother regrets letting you go, although she would never say so. She thought we had plenty of time when she let you go, but now we no longer have that luxury."

  The Sage paused.

  "But I believe that she doesn't only need your strength. She needs her daughter. Her heir," the Sage continued.

  Mercy looked away. Aunt Charity had not been subtle in her attempts to guilt Mercy into returning home. Worst of all, it was working. "How's my brother?"

  "Pride feels that his sister had abandoned him and had let that pain drive him to reach Underlord-"

  Charity's words were cut short as the air cracked around her, and a purple fist struck her jaw.

  Whitehall had let his mind drift as he inhaled the pipe. He had been gone for more than an hour in peace in his little corner when he felt a familiar spirit approaching his position. Mercy.

  He had thought she was there to check on him and nearly told her that he was fine when she spoke.

  "That was a close call, Aunt Charity," she whispered.

  Aunt?

  Then he noticed an owl landed nearby where Mercy came from. It was the Sage's owl. He thought the Sage might have seen him and was surprised when he soon found out she had not detected him.

  He was good at listening when people thought he wasn't there. And so he listened. He listened as they spoke of Lindon. Of Harmony. Of how the Sage had sent the Seishen Kingdom after them.

  His hands curled into fists as the pieces slotted together. She sent them after us.

  The conversation continued, and he buried his frustration.

  "You didn't have to drag his name by saying his poison was lethal."

  Whitehall frowned. The Sage said what?

  But he kept listening, knowing from experience that information would be more valuable than satisfaction right now. The Sage spoke of war brewing and how the Dreadgods were stirring, and then he heard how the Sage was planning to give additional support to the Seishen Kingdom to balance the scales.

  He had to physically stop himself from cycling his madra.

  Then,

  "But I believe that she doesn't only need your strength. She needs her daughter. Her heir," the Sage said.

  He was about to do something he shouldn't.

  Once the conversation had led towards information Whitehall had deemed unimportant. He acted in quick succession.

  His body moved.

  He cycled his madra.

  He activated his enforcer technique.

  And he punched Akura Charity in the jaw.

  The impact cracked through the air.

  For a single, perfect second, satisfaction burned through him.

  And that was as far as it went.

  His fist stopped dead the moment it made contact with the Sage's cheek. His bones vibrated from the backlash of his strike. He was pretty sure he might have broken a few of his bones.

  He had just made a big mistake.

  A very big mistake.

  Worth it.

  Whitehall inhaled sharply through his teeth and roared, "SPY!"

  Tents rustled. Injured Skysworns scrambled from their cots, half-dressed but with weapons in hand.

  Charity's violet eyes met his, calm, unreadable.

  Then shadows rose around her body, and she disappeared.

  Whitehall's head snapped to the only person still standing there.

  Mercy.

  She gave him a nervous smile.

  "Hehe… Hi," she said, lifting a hand in a small, guilty wave.

  House of Blades

  Iteration requested. Amalgam.

  Date. Denied

  Report Complete.

  "If you don't want to marry me, just say so," Valiar growled, his voice low and strained. His fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with tension. The warmth that usually filled his eyes was gone, replaced by a storm of hurt and frustration.

  "Sangkuriang, I'm telling you the truth," Dayang pleaded, her voice trembling. She took a step toward him, her hands outstretched as if to bridge the gap between them. But Valiar stepped back, his expression hardening.

  "Stop making up these stupid lies," he snapped. "Did Cornelia put you up to this?" He had returned that evening after speaking to the other members of Valinhall. They had been happy for him , supportive even , and Valiar had been ready to relinquish his sword—his very identity as a Traveller— to marry Dayang. But now, whatever lies Cornelia had fed her seemed to have taken root, and Dayang had bought into them completely.

  "No, she didn't," Dayang insisted, her voice breaking. "She just confirmed my suspicions about your scar."

  "Whatever," Valiar said, his tone dismissive. He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him as he made for the door. "I won't bother you again."

  Dayang's heart clenched, her chest tightening with panic. She couldn't lose him—not again. Not after she had just found him. "How about this?" she blurted out, her voice desperate. "Build me a thousand temples before the rooster crows. If you can do it, I'll marry you. But if you can't, you'll accept the truth."

  Valiar stopped in his tracks, his shoulders stiffening. He turned slowly to face her, his expression a mix of conflict and determination. For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of her challenge hanging heavy in the air.

  "Done," he said, the single word sharp and final. And then, in a flash, he was gone, leaving Dayang alone in the dimly lit room, her heart pounding in her chest.