Amidst the boundless desert sands, which shimmered like a golden sea, a towering, pitch-black figure emerged. It resembled a shadow, slowly dissolving into the radiant ocean of light. In its grasp, a dark katana gleamed with an edge that defied comprehension.

Al, positioned fifty feet opposite from it, felt his Stubborn Will reach exhaustion long ago. While his Heat Will continued to surround him, the very air warped around him, creating a wavering distortion that obscured Al as perceived by the Immortal Spirit.

Al's scimitar, forged from fine metals, was red hot due to his Heat Will. Though his eye was no longer impaled by the serrated feather, its damage persisted, open wounds that refused to heal without the healing factor of his Stubborn Will.

The Immortal Spirit surged forward, an inky torrent streaking across the blank canvas of the desert. Yet, Al's senses remained acute, tracking every nuance with unwavering focus. He moved with an explosive speed that rivaled his opponents.

“I can’t go left. That’s what he’s going to expect because of my eye. He will swing left, hoping to cut through my blade and then me. I have to go right while evading his left swing.” Al strategized in a fraction of a second, his determination fueling his lightning-quick response.

Devoid of formal swordsmanship training, Al had fostered an uncanny kinship with Midnight Abyss. His mind was filled with sword movements that resembled a demonic dance. Its very essence seemed to have infused his being. One particular sequence had ingrained itself in his mind, poised for resurgence.

In the blink of an eye, the ethereal form of the Jackal-like Immortal Spirit surged towards Al. Just as he had foreseen, the strike arched towards his left.

Unfazed, Al seized his blade with only his right hand. With a swift motion, he propelled his left hand backward, stretching both arms to their limit. He spun 180 degrees to the left in an elegant pirouette, executing a graceful flip.

The katana, hungry for contact, met Al's right foot, releasing a bloody spray. Meanwhile, his right hand harnessed the momentum, swinging his scorching scimitar in a diagonal arc that rents the Immortal Spirit from shoulder to hip.

From the initial confrontation to the final exchange, a ballet of black and red unfolded in the space between breaths. The outcome was decided, leaving Al with only a minor cut on his right foot. This time, his ring and crimson leather bracelet absorbed the mist that once was the Immortal Spirit.

"I don’t even think he remembered me," Al murmured, a trace of curiosity in his voice. With purpose, he advanced towards the bird woman who struggled to flee. Her hand was drenched in a torrent of blood. Her gaze flicked back, witnessing the fall of her teacher, and terror radiated from her.

As Al closed the distance, determination etched across his features, the woman's cries turned frail, wisps of desperation escaping her lips. With only two right-sided wings remaining, she made a feeble attempt to take flight, her movements clumsy and frantic, ending in a pitiful sprawl upon the ground.

Al observed her, crawling in tearful supplication, her voice trembling as she begged for mercy. "Please just let me go! I don't know your karma with my teacher, but I have nothing to do with it."

Al regarded her with a stoic composure, his expression unmoved by anything she said. Yet, in an unexpected surge of desperation, the bird woman unleashed a fierce strike, her intact clawed hand slicing through the air, conjuring a powerful shockwave aimed at Al.

Instinctively, Al dropped to the ground, making body compact and agile, he launched himself forward like a projectile, forearms shielding his face. It was a swift maneuver, akin to a needle slipping through cotton, allowing him to unscathed through the attack. Instantly, he rolled onto his feet on the other side, poised for the chase.

The Dark Acolyte, driven by sheer terror, had resumed her frantic running. This time, she didn't even dare to glance back. Her singular focus was on escaping and putting as much distance as possible between herself and Al.

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The desolation of the dunes stretched endlessly, offering no refuge. Reaching her, Al swiftly subdued the fleeing Dark Acolyte. He yanked her head back, driving it forcefully into the sand. The weight of his foot pressed against her, and he poised his blade at her throat.

"If you answer a question of mine, I might just let you go," Al offered, his voice measured. She scanned her surroundings, realizing there was no escape. Resigned, she averted her gaze, refusing to listen.

"So, that's how it's going to be. I can make things excruciatingly painful," Al warned, seizing one of her right wings and applying pressure, snapping it with a sickening crunch. The anguished cries of the Dark Acolyte reverberated through the vast expanse.

Seeing her agony, he approached her final intact wing, her tears mingling with the desert sand. Desperation painted her expression as she clutched his hand, pleading for mercy. "No more, please. I'll answer your questions. Please, stop," she implored. Recognizing her cooperation, Al released his grip on her wing, but his sword remained poised.

Al locked his gaze onto the Dark Acolyte's eyes as he asked questions. "Your kind has areas where they meet with Rakh-ahtan warriors and trade with them. What's the location of the nearest one? If you lie, I'll know," he stated with a steely resolve.

Her response was tinged with a resigned truth. "That's what you wanted to know? In the ancient ruins of the world. We are everywhere," she revealed.

Al lowered his blade momentarily, allowing her a fleeting sigh of relief. But before she could regain her composure and rise, he raised the weapon again, catching her off guard. "We're not done! What do you know about enlightened beings, and have you ever heard the name Lapapatzli?" he inquired, his tone unwavering.

Upon hearing the name Lapapatzli, the Dark Acolyte's demeanor shifted, and she exhibited a trace of amusement. "This idiot is chasing Emerald Flame. He might as well be digging his own grave. Telling him the truth would get him there sooner," she mused silently before answering Al's question. "I've heard of her. She's an enlightened: a dark acolyte who acquired a human body through human sacrifice. She reached enlightenment almost two thousand years ago due to the help of her master."

Before she could say another word, Al swiftly decapitated her, causing her form to disintegrate into a mist that was greedily absorbed by both of his etheric shells.

"That is not enlightenment. It's a perversion," Al whispered, the weight of the dark acolyte's words settling heavily upon him. Memories of Mark's transmogrification at the hands of a dark acolyte, the death of Agnethe, and his own harrowing experiences with Lapapatzli flooded his mind.

His target was no more, the enemies killed. The task was accomplished. However, after hearing the Dark acolyte's words, he knew things were only beginning.

With measured steps, Al retraced his path to retrieve his longsword. Returning to the oasis in the unforgiving desert, he needed to recover and sat beneath the sheltering fronds of a palm tree. His gaze fixated on the sun's descent, a silent witness to the passing day.

Seated in contemplative meditation, he turned inward, channeling his breath in a methodical dance. His A.R.C. stirred, manifesting his Stubborn Will. In the quiet expanse of the desert.

As night surrendered to dawn, Al remained immersed in his cultivation, the desert's quietude broken only by the rhythmic cadence of his breath. By the time the sun graced the horizon, his Stubborn Will had worked its regenerative magic, stitching together the tapestry of his injuries. Simultaneously, his Heat Will rekindled its fervent vigor, infusing him with renewed vitality.

With purpose, Al rose and began his journey back.

Upon his return to the 23rd Supreme Seed, Elissa's disbelief flickered across her features. An Immortal Spirit, even in their disembodied form, still surpassed any being in the Mortal Chasm. She had hoped for Al's success, but a lingering doubt had persisted that he might not return alive.

He explained to her how another Dark Acolyte within the Mental Domain of the Mortal Chasm had led him to the Immortal Spirit, and he had to fight both. Elissa realized that Al possessed tenacity and resourcefulness beyond her initial estimation.

She agreed to give Al two hours of one of her days so he could ask her about any subject related to cultivation. Afterward, they would move on to the next part of Elissa’s plan.

Returning to his Housing unit inside the 23rd Supreme Seed, Al found solace in the lit room. Its ceiling stones glowed like miniature suns, casting an ethereal illumination. Seated cross-legged, he cradled a runestone etched with wavy characters—a gateway to the wisdom of countless individuals who had cultivated Heat Will.

With focused dedication, Al delved into the memories of how other cultivators with Heat Will had interacted with their Will, studying their methods, techniques, and insights.