The laughter was soft. Unhurried.

Like rain tapping gently on a tombstone.

The Grand Elder stepped forward through the flickering dust, each movement as composed as scripture etched into stone.

"Just as Pryag said," he mused, hands clasped behind his back. "Pawns must be sent first—to bleed, to break, to test the unknown. I didn't see it coming as well."

His gaze fell upon the sword—bloodied, cracked, lying in front of Aaryan.

"That soul attack... and this weapon." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Even I felt it. A whisper of death."

He raised one hand and beckoned.

The sword quivered. Then lifted.

Dust fell from its chipped edge as it hovered in the air. But instead of flying straight into the elder's palm, it twisted mid-air and resisted. A ripple flared—subtle but sharp—like a silent snarl.

The Grand Elder's brow rose.

"Interesting," he murmured.

His fingers closed around the hilt. The sword bucked once, a brief struggle of wills, then fell still in his grip.

He examined it with calm detachment—no awe, no fear, just ancient curiosity. Then, with a flick of his hand, he sealed it away into a flickering spatial ring.

Only then did he turn toward Aaryan—still suspended midair, limp and bleeding, breath barely audible.

"I had hoped to remain in the shadows," the Grand Elder said. "But this… is the first time in over a thousand years I've had to personally capture someone."

His voice was dry, almost amused. "You should feel honoured."

Aaryan coughed, blood threading down his lip. "Didn't expect… that the esteemed Sect Leader was just a pawn."

The elder paused.

"Pryag was my son," he said.

But there was no shift in his tone. No grief. Not even annoyance.

Aaryan blinked through the haze. "You don't seem too bothered."

The Grand Elder chuckled. A sound as cold as stone scraping bone.

"Live long enough… and the weight of blood ties fades."

He tilted his head. "It was always you who clung to these things—friendship, love, family. That's why you're broken now. That's why you lost."

Aaryan's eyes flared. "You think I've lost?"

The elder smiled faintly. "Haven't you?"

Then a shout.

A blur of silver lightning surged from the side—Dharun.

His robes were torn, his Qi flickering and ragged, hands dangling limp, but his charge was fearless. Desperate.

The Grand Elder didn't bother looking.

A lazy flick of his sleeve—barely a movement—and Dharun was hurled back as if struck by a mountain. He smashed into a pillar, blood spraying from his mouth. Cracks spidered through the stone behind him.

"Dharun!" Aaryan screamed.

But no sound came out. His throat burned. His limbs wouldn't move.

He could only watch.

His voice cracked, rasping from behind clenched teeth. "Why… why are you doing this…?"

The Grand Elder looked at him, expression unreadable.

Then he stepped closer.

The Grand Elder's gaze drifted past Aaryan, as if peering into some distant, half-buried memory.

"Not all of us are born prodigies," he said, voice almost casual. "Some are born with a spark. Others, with a blaze. And some… with nothing."

He stepped closer, hands once more clasped behind his back.

"I was the last kind. A mortal with no talent. No affinity. No path. Not even the hope of becoming a cultivator."

His voice didn't waver. There was no self-pity. Only the sterile cadence of a confession long detached from guilt.

"I was taken in as a servant," he continued. "A helper to a young disciple from one of the great clans. He was kind… for the most part. Fed me, clothed me, even let me listen when the elders lectured. I stayed with him for years. Hoping that if I served well, if I proved my loyalty, one day… he might offer me some sort of pill to help cultivate. A chance."

He smiled faintly.

"But all I received were chores. And silence. When I asked, I was reminded of my place. A servant has no destiny."

Dust flickered as he moved past a broken column.

"Then came Veinsunder."

A pause. Reverent. Like the naming of a god.

"We stumbled across the mountain during a border expedition. He was intrigued—reckless, but curious. The treasures he carried let him bypass the formations. I followed him… until we were separated in the mist."

The Grand Elder lifted a hand slightly, remembering.

"And that's when I found it. The cave. The altar. And the book."

His voice dropped, a whisper now.

"An ancient technique. One which promised me everything I never had."

Aaryan's breathing had quickened. The haze in his head slowly cleared—not from healing, but from horror.

"I couldn't read it all," the elder said. "But I understood enough. With the help of the altar… I could steal it. Fate itself. Ability. Karma. Luck."

His eyes glittered with something terrible.

"I hid the book. Told the young master I had found a formation he might study. He believed me, of course. I had been with him for over a decade—faithful, loyal. He stepped forward, confident… and I trapped him at the altar."

Aaryan's blood chilled.

The Grand Elder chuckled lightly, as if amused by his own tale.

"I began the siphoning. Slowly. Carefully. His luck flowed into a sealed jar. His cultivation stagnated. He grew frail. Confused. And I told him it was the mountain's curse. That I'd stay by his side."

He exhaled, long and slow.

"But the process was too slow. I was aging. My face wrinkled, my hair grey. So, I rushed it. Forced the altar to drink faster. It killed him."

The air seemed to grow colder.

"I tried to open the jar. To claim what I had taken. But it wouldn't budge."

For the first time, a flicker of frustration crossed the elder's face.

"I tried everything. Even tried to break it open. Nothing worked. Until I found a note scrawled in the margins of the book. A method to unlock it."

His eyes met Aaryan's.

"A needle. Forged from the marrow of nine unborn children. Hardened in the fire of a special beast."

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He raised two fingers. "I scoured the entire cave. And found two—just two. And pierced the seal."

A silence.

"But I could only take a few drops. The jar sealed itself again—for decades. Still… it was enough. Enough for me to take my first step. To become a cultivator."

He gestured toward the sky, toward the crumbling battlefield around them.

"It took me fifty years to reach first stage of body tempering. Another seventy to reach second. My pace was slow, slower than anyone in the world. And now… after a thousand years… with the altar behind me, and the karma of generations flowing in my veins, I am ready to step into the Foundation Realm. No bottlenecks. No hurdles. I will live forever. And become the last cultivator standing."

Aaryan's throat trembled, but no sound came.

"I built this sect," the Grand Elder continued, "as a beacon. A haven. For the talented, the chosen. Those who radiate fate, karma, potential."

He smiled softly.

"They call it a ceremony. I call it maintenance."

He took a step forward. Closer now. Too close.

"I chose you because I felt you had strong karma with you. Stronger than anything I've seen in centuries."

Another step.

"I promise it will be painless. An honour, really. You'll help build the path of a god."

Somewhere behind him, a drop of blood hit stone. Loud. Louder than any scream.

Aaryan looked at him, eyes wide, blood dripping from his chin.

In that moment, he wasn't horrified by the method.

He was horrified by how calmly it was said.

By how low a human could fall—and still call it ascension.

His blood still trickled down his chin, but his voice cut sharp through the silence. "You're not afraid? That all this—this grotesque truth—might one day be exposed? That you'll die miserably once the world knows what you are?"

The Grand Elder chuckled, low and unfazed.

"Afraid? Of whom? The Singh Clan?" He scoffed. "They had their suspicion last time. Probably knew too. And what did they do? Nothing. Power binds tongues tighter than fear ever could."

His smile darkened, and he turned slightly, as if reminiscing.

"That girl… Meera, yes. Her escape is troublesome. She is a witness and probably cause others to attack me. But so what? This entire sect—disciples, elders, foundation and stone—they'll fight for me. Die for me, if need be. And if they all fall…"

He shrugged.

"I'll vanish. Hide for a few decades. Let the dust settle. Then reemerge, stronger than before. Kill them all. And start again."

Aaryan's breath hitched as he realized the scope of it—the sheer weight of history that stood in front of him.

"That's how you've survived?" he muttered. "This whole time?"

The Grand Elder nodded slowly.

"A thousand years. Countless names. Changed faces, changed sects, changed loyalties. Even I've forgotten my real name. But it's all been worth it."

He stepped forward again, something almost hungry in his gaze.

"But all this trouble will be worth it, The first one was promising, but you—you're drenched in karma."

Aaryan's lips curled bitterly.

"Blessed?" he spat. "I'm an orphan. Starved half my life. Three times now I've stood at the edge of the abyss—and you call that blessed?"

The Grand Elder's tone softened—not with sympathy, but with conviction.

"Yes. Because that's what shaped you."

He gestured to the blood on Aaryan's face, to the fire burning behind his pupils.

"I spent ten lifetimes to gain what you already have in ten years. Pain is the crucible of fate. It's what makes your karma shine brighter than anyone I've seen since… him."

A pause. The Grand Elder tilted his head thoughtfully.

"I'll even make you an offer," he said. "I'll let Dharun and Kalyani live. They're no use to me. I only need you."

His voice dipped.

"In return, you'll do your part. No games. No tricks. And also, tell me where you've hidden the jar."

Aaryan's hands trembled, fury coursing through him. But Dharun's life hung on the edge of a single misstep. Kalyani too, unconscious somewhere nearby. He gritted his teeth. Then slowly… nodded.

"Fine," he said hoarsely. "But release me first."

The Grand Elder smiled, pleased. With a flick of his fingers, the invisible weight pinning Aaryan vanished. He landed roughly on his feet, gasping.

"Don't try anything clever," the elder warned. "I know you've reached Spirit Awakening. But I stepped into that realm hundreds of years ago. Even if you survive… Dharun will not. I'll kill him before your heart can beat twice."

Aaryan looked up slowly, hate etched across his features—but he nodded, swallowing the bile in his throat.

His hand moved toward his spatial ring.

t's here," he said flatly, and a pulse of unnatural shimmer lit the air. A transparent jar—sealed and faintly glowing—appeared out of thin air.

The Grand Elder's eyes lit with primal joy.

"Yes… finally…"

But then—

He froze.

A glint of green. Subtle. Hidden in Aaryan's other palm.

Jade. A green jade.

The Grand Elder's smile vanished. His hand darted forward, fingers stretched like talons as a streak of soul energy shot toward Dharun—deadly, precise.

Aaryan's hurriedly crushed the jade.

CRACK.

A shattering sound exploded like thunder. A ripple burst outward—a field of searing green light that wrenched through the spiritual plane.

But the Grand Elder's attack was already halfway through.

The soul attack surged forward, a streak of spectral death—fast, precise, unrelenting.

Aaryan's hand was still clenched around the crumbling jade when he realized—

Too fast.

His eyes went wide. He didn't hesitate. The Grand Elder hadn't even paused to threaten—he'd simply struck.

Aaryan's breath caught. I gambled with Dharun's life... Regret twisted through him like a dagger. He hadn't expected the Grand Elder to be so decisive, so ruthless. Not this fast.

Across the clearing, Dharun raised his head, sensing death barrelling toward him.

But he didn't flinch.

Instead… he smiled.

A soft, knowing smile that made Aaryan's heart bleed. Why? Why did he still trust him this much?

A moment later—

CRACK.

The soul attack shattered—mid-air—as if it had struck an invisible wall.

The space in front of Aaryan rippled, not like the air shimmering when Pryag or the Grand Elder had appeared, but softer… almost serene. Ethereal.

Out of the distortion stepped a woman clad in flowing white robes.

Maya.

Her veil fluttered with a breeze that didn't exist. Her presence was utterly still, yet everything around her seemed to still more, as if time itself dared not move too quickly in her presence.

Aaryan stared, stunned. "You… reached fast," he said breathlessly.

Maya's voice was calm, unaffected. "That's how the jade works."

He nodded faintly, accepting the explanation. He didn't question further—didn't notice that she never looked at the jade.

Because the truth was—she had moved long before it broke.

She had been watching him all along.

Ever since she dropped him in Green Veil City, Maya had stayed in the shadows, veiled by divine concealment, observing him struggle, fall, and rise again. She'd witnessed him cornered, wounded, nearly broken—how many times had she nearly stepped in, fingers itching to crush these ants with a single flick?

But each time, Sampoorna's words echoed within her:

"Only when he asks for help… or when danger is truly fatal."

So she waited.

Even when he reached for the jade multiple times, her heart surged—but he always stopped. Always found another way. A loophole. A plan. A spark of madness.

And through it all, her awe deepened. This was their young master—not just clever or bold, but someone fate itself seemed to bend around, like a storm barely leashed.

Time and again, he rose higher than anyone could have expected—even her.

But this time—this single time—he hadn't moved fast enough.

And Dharun's death… would have left a scar on his soul.

So, she didn't wait.

She had moved before the jade even shattered.

Now, her gaze shifted. From Aaryan to the Grand Elder.

And the air changed.

Aaryan couldn't feel it, but the Grand Elder did.

Oh, he did.

His pupils contracted. His mind raced.

She wasn't just any expert.

She was a nightmare.

A thousand years of survival had honed his instincts sharper than most blades. And those instincts were now screaming. Screaming that the woman before him wasn't bound by the same mortal scale as him.

Even if he couldn't tell her exact cultivation, he knew.

He had kicked an iron plate. No… something far beyond even that.

Aaryan stood beside her, calm, casual. But when she turned back toward the Grand Elder, her face—until now expressionless, serene—had shifted.

Now it carried the cold gravity of a storm held barely in check.

And on it, revenge was carved clearly.

She didn't care what he had done—or to whom he had done it

But he had hurt her young master.

And as Sampoorna had warned:

"Those who hurt him… must die."

The Grand Elder didn't move.

Not out of courage—but sheer survival instinct. His body screamed to run, but his mind knew one wrong twitch might provoke the figure standing before him.

"I-It was a misunderstanding," he stammered. "Senior doesn't need to lower herself for someone like me. I didn't know he had such backers. If I had known—never would I have dared…"

He gave a strained laugh, sweat beading at his temples. "It's beneath your dignity to waste a breath on me. Please, let me go. I—I swear I'll leave and never return."

As he spoke, his hand moved behind his back—quiet, practiced—and shattered a jade talisman.

A circle of blinding light bloomed beneath his feet.

Teleportation.

He leapt toward it at once—only for the light to flicker and vanish.

Gone.

Like it had never existed.

His eyes widened in horror. "What…?"

The space around him had gone still—too still.

Then it hit him. That choking, unbreachable stillness. He had only ever heard of it, maybe read once in some arcane book.

Spatial lock.

She hadn't moved. Hadn't flicked a sleeve. And yet… she had locked the very space around him.

Only peak-level monsters—beings far beyond anyone he had ever met—could wield such control. People who didn't fight wars. They erased armies.

He fell to his knees. "Mercy, Senior. I was wrong—please—mercy—"

A pale white light shimmered in Maya's palm.

She extended her hand.

And the Grand Elder simply—ceased.

No scream. No sound. No resistance.

He vanished as if he had never existed.

Not a bone. Not a speck of ash.

Only a spatial ring hovered in the air.

Maya caught it, then casually tossed it to Aaryan.

He blinked, catching it one-handed—more reflex than intent. "What the hell does she even need me for?"

Dharun, who had dragged himself to slump against a tree, stared with wide eyes. "So… the one who gave him the jade… was this person?"

She took out a pale jade bottle and handed Aaryan a translucent pill. "Swallow this."

The moment it touched his tongue, a rush of cool, soothing energy spread through him. The fatigue in his limbs melted. The deep cuts began to knit. Even the pain in his body dulled to a quiet hum.

"Remind me to ask for more of those jade tablets," Aaryan muttered.

Then he turned, eyes drifting toward Dharun—who was still smiling, still bleeding, still watching them like a man at peace.

Aaryan's voice quieted. "Do you… have something for him?"

Maya nodded once. Another pill was placed in his palm.

He moved to Dharun, knelt beside him, and gently lifted his head. "This might taste weird. Try not to spit it at me."

Dharun's smile twitched.

Aaryan eased the pill into his mouth. Slowly, colour began to return to the old man's face. His breathing evened.

As soon as he could walk, Dharun led them to her.

Still unconscious—resting in what looked like a hidden compartment beneath the floor of the last hut.

Kalyani.

Still unmoving.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

Her robes were torn, her lips pale, but no blood stained her.

His chest loosened. The knot of fury, fear, and grief inside him… slowly unwound.

He stayed quiet for a moment, just watching her.

Then: "Maya."

She turned.

"Could you take us… to the Evernight Sect?"

A pause. "All of us."

Maya nodded. No questions asked.

The air shimmered behind her again.

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