Ebon Dirge was making several calculations, thankful for the silence as the boy sped across the grasslands. The most recent sequence of events had disturbed the immortal assassin, and he needed time to consider his strategy for the future, if not necessarily with this subject.

The first surprise had been the boy's friend. As Blue Ripple had turned to leave the outpost, Dirge's Eye of Heaven's Fortune had activated, showing that the man had at that very exact moment blazed forth with a destiny of his own. There had been no sign of this before in any of the times he had seen the young man; it had appeared right at that moment.

Dirge had been tempted to jump ship but thought the better of it. He was invested in his current prospect, and he wanted to see this one through to the harvest, if only for the experience in doing so. Without knowing more, there was a danger than a brilliant future like Blue Ripple's could backlash on the ghostly murderer as he currently was. He decided in this case to take a safe path and increase his accumulation of destiny before considering an attempt.

At the very least, that brilliant halo had proven to him that the technique wasn't defective or limited to finding someone like Strong River. He would just need to exercise patience and make wider sweeps in the future before selecting a subject.

The other problem that faced Dirge was that some of his personality and even basic ability appeared to be bleeding into the boy. Contrary to what he had said, he had not imparted River with the ability to read, much as he hadn't given those dreams to the kid. It was a issue of concern, something he wanted to nip in the bud while he was still dealing with a subject of such limited intelligence and ability as the current one.

He wouldn't have to be directly babysitting this subject for much longer anyway. His plan to sever the boy from his clan and have him leave to train in the Primeval Forest had gone off was successful.

Dirge was amused at the boy's pretensions -- Blood River, indeed -- and, seeing for himself the general state of affairs all around the Primeval Forest, knew that the possibilities for entertainment were myriad. He wouldn't divert the boy's cultivation path with frivolities, but that didn't mean he couldn't have his fun.

Setting aside those ideas for the moment, Dirge next had to consider what the boy's cultivation path going forward would be. The kid seemed determined to cultivate both physique and essence, and the blood arts did make the former a workable option, but developing both was likely a waste of time and effort.

If Dirge was right about the boy, then he only needed enough strength to handle meridian opening cultivators and defeat an early stage foundation cultivator, no more. Developing a physique alone to that point would lengthen the whole process. If he could get him to around the peak of meridian opening and perhaps a couple more steps through the Earth Realm, that might be enough.

The matter of battle techniques using essence would have to wait for a while until some of the kid's meridians were actually opened, though. Selecting those would be a process of trial and error, as the boy's aptitude was so inferior that Dirge couldn't get a read on any kind of special affinity to pursue.

All-in-all, things were going well for his plans, though. Once Dirge addressed the issue of his soul's possible instability and fulfilled the boy's wish for revenge, it would likely be time to move on to a better subject.

--------

Several days later, in a place far away from Flowing Water and the Primeval Forest, ripples of the events at Flowing Water arrived.

The throne room was a chamber the size of most villages, built of massive hewn stone blocks in a method of construction that was only possible with the labor of meridian opening cultivators. The decor was an odd mishmash, the cold stone floor piled with furs while the walls were decorated with giant bamboo scrolls painted with beautiful landscapes. Bonfire-sized braziers stationed at regular intervals kept the whole interior lit, day and night.

At the center rear of the chamber, on top of a dais with thirteen steps, was a heavy golden throne cast in the form of dragons twisting and contorting together. On a cushion on top of this monstrosity sat the one who commanded all here. He was a tall man with a clean-shaven face and head, his muscular frame scrawled with serpentine tattoos and scored with the scars of countless battles. Much of his body was exposed as he wore only a leather vest and breeches.

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Brave Dragon was a man who loomed large both figuratively and literally, and the design of the dais and throne only raised that lofty stature above all others. He had suffered much to maintain his personal image as a tyrannical leader of ruthless men and would have liked nothing more than to have had his seat at a more normal height, but his men in their zeal had constructed all this to their own view of the giant who stood astride their organization.

High upon his throne, he sighed. What a bother this all was.

Down below, a functionary who had been droning on making some kind of report about financials stopped his narration and bowed. "I-I am very sorry, my lord, if things are not to my lord's satisfaction--"

"You may go." The man on the throne's voice was not loud, and he did not shout or yell, but even so it carried throughout the chamber. The enthusiastic bandits had "helpfully" installed a conveying array on the dais so that every word of his could reach across the throne room. The thing bothered him to no end, especially after mealtimes.

Heavens forbid the mighty dragon, a cultivator of the foundation stage who ruled a thousand kilometers in every direction, have an upset stomach or -- horror -- a bit of gas. If he did, the array would undoubtedly let everybody know, and so the bandit monarch had made a policy of only attending to court in the middle of the day or middle of the night, far from mealtimes.

Keeping subordinates happy was such a chore.

The ledger-bearing minion below heard his lord's dismissal, trying to read into it some meaning and failing, but he still bowed and scraped and fled the scene, a rat scurrying back to its hole.

"What else have we?" Brave Dragon rumbled.

"Ah, let's see," his majordomo -- a bespectacled man in a scholar's robe embroidered with battling dragons -- replied while reviewing a list in his hand. "Ah, yes. A report from the investigation at Flowing Water." A courier scurried forward, brow already beginning to bead with sweat.

Brave Dragon frowned. "Flowing Water... which one was that again?"

"Uh," the courier faltered, grasping for an appropriate descriptor, "it's, uh, where the Flowing Water clan is located, my lord."

The bandit chieftain sighed and rolled his eyes at that. "Yes, I gathered that already. There's something at the back of my brain that's tickling when I hear that name, though." He frowned. "Hey Specs, you got any idea?"

The majordomo, who insisted on being addressed with that ridiculous moniker much to Brave Dragon's chagrin, furrowed his brow as he did a quick mental review. "Ah, yes. It's the place where we found that girl, my lord."

"Oh, yes. Flowing Water. The girl. That all makes sense now." Brave Dragon was thrilled that his master of affairs wasn't as stupid as his nickname and could remember these kinds of details for him. "So, what's the situation over at Flowing Water?"

"Uh, my lord..." the courier nervous continued, "the outpost there has been apparently... wiped out."

"Wiped out?" That got Brave Dragon's attention. "How many? When? By who?"

The messenger trembled as the barrage of questions came at him in rapid succession. "Only five, my lord. It was a trade and monitoring station used as an occasional drop-off point. It was in the past week, probably, and we don't know who and the locals were either ignorant or tight-lipped when asked."

"Probably?" the majordomo interjected.

"Uh, yes sir. We only found out when a courier between locations wanted to stop off there. The place had been pretty demolished inside, but for some reason most of the goods and supplies were still intact."

"Hm, interesting," Brave Dragon mused from atop the dais. "We can't let that go uninvestigated or unpunished. Specs," he called upon his majordomo again, "you think you can hold down the fort here while I whizz on by and take a look?"

"Uh, my lord... you have appointments all month," the man complained while pushing up the spectacles on his nose. "It's not possible to squeeze in a trip and handle those. How about sending a team to take a look?"

Brave Dragon frowned. These people never let him have any fun ever since they put him in charge. It was always an appointment here and supervising a spar there and hosting a banquet on another date. Ever since he had left the sect, he had wanted hot-blooded adventure! Fighting! But these men instead made him their babysitter, and he owed too much to them to outright complain about it.

He sighed. Another missed opportunity. "Let's dispatch a team then. 50 men?"

"Uh, hm..." the majordomo seemed uncertain.

"100 men?" Brave Dragon upped the offer. "Yeah, let's make it 100 men. I'm sure Flowing Water is a very nice village and would be happy to accommodate the men in a little carouse, right?"

"Certainly, my lord," the majordomo agreed, bobbing his head. "I'll see to the arrangements."

"And get this good man here a nice cold drink and a visit with Doc. It can't be healthy to be sweating so much indoors." Nobody could say that Brave Dragon was not magnanimous or that he didn't care for his men. He was satisfied that he could handle this kind of matter so easily, although he had to hide his disappointment on not getting to join the men on this outing. He was sure it'd be one hell of a party.

The bandit chieftain and the eponymous dragon of the Dragon's Den, a foundation stage expert and commander of thousands of men, slayer of monsters and able to drink almost any man under a table in a contest, had absolutely no idea that he had just casually ordered a massacre. His men weren't going to bother letting him know about such a petty detail either.