He Yu could barely contain his excitement. As far as he’d come in the past four years at the sect, this was beyond that he’d ever imagined. Since he was a child, he’d wanted nothing more than to step into the world of immortals, witness the deeds of legends, and perhaps become one himself. Now he would do just that.

Upon arriving at Yi Xiurong’s home, he found the First Disciple already waiting. Zhang Lifen was there, too. Trying his best to contain himself—no mean feat in his eyes—he bowed over a salute.

“You’ve done us a great service, Junior Brother He,” Yi Xiurong said. “The mirror you gave to Sect Sister Zhang, combined with the demon core you recovered, allowed us to finally pierce the obscuring techniques Kong Huizhong used to keep himself hidden.”

Yi Xiurong spent a moment looking him over. The weight of her attention pressed down on him, and he wondered if perhaps he may have done something wrong. Maybe she suspected him of something, given how much he’d provided. Maybe it was just a component of her nature and her Way. He Yu couldn’t have said.

“Consider me impressed,” she said after the silence stretched out far longer that He Yu was comfortable with. “When Sect Sister Zhang proposed that you come with us, I would have refused had it been anyone else. Clearly, you are an asset to the sect. As much as bringing you along represents a risk to your safety, I find myself in agreement with Sect Sister Zhang. The benefits to your development outweigh those risks.”

He could have burst then. It took all the self-control he could muster to remain properly deferential. “This one thanks Senior Sister for her consideration.”

“Good. Meet us at the sect gate in one hour. Take the time to gather whatever provisions you may need. We leave immediately after.”

He Yu wasted no time. Although he kept most of his more potent restoratives with him these days, he still used his old storage treasure as a hidden stash. After grabbing a few extra mid-grade spirit stones and some elixirs, he made his way to the sect gate.

As he passed through the outer sect, he caught the rumors that were already spreading. Two core disciples? And one of them, the First Disciple herself? Speculation was rampant. When He Yu joined Yi Xiurong and Zhang Lifen, he couldn’t help but smile at the renewed murmur around them. He didn’t have time to bask in it, though. Yi Xiurong gave a sharp nod, and they were off.

Yi Xiurong’s flying treasure manifested from her storage. The peacock feather floated a hand span above the ground, and its vibrant iridescence shimmered even in the diffuse light of the Shrouded Peaks. It held a spiritual weight not dissimilar to Zhang Lifen’s bow, and He Yu was dying to ask if it had any other capabilities beyond flight. Not as though flight wasn’t impressive enough on its own.

Placing first one slippered foot on the peacock feather, then the other, Yi Xiurong floated toward heaven. “I trust you’ll be able to keep up,” she said down to He Yu. “I’m aware of your limits, but I will not tolerate anything less than your all.” Qi gathered around her, and she shot off to the northeast.

Zhang Lifen gave him a reassuring smile. “She’s not all bad,” she said, before adding, “just mostly.” With a curl of mist, Zhang Lifen activated her movement technique, and followed Yi Xiurong. He Yu’s perception was now at a level that he could track her with only a little difficulty. She was still remarkably fast, and his eyes seemed to slide off her when she used the technique.

He Yu activated Empyrean Ninefold Body Tempering and leaped dozens of feet into the air. Catching himself with the Sky Dragon’s Flight, he shot after Zhang Lifen and the First Disciple. Thankfully, the two of them kept their pace slow enough that he caught up to them before long, but that wouldn’t last. As soon as he drew close enough to almost touch the hem of Yi Xiurong’s gown, she increased her speed to match his. Zhang Lifen did likewise.

They traveled for several days like that, with He Yu pushed to the absolute edge of his speed. When Yi Xiurong finally called a halt, he only had a couple hours in which to restore himself. He pulled one of the mid-grade stones and an elixir from his storage treasure and settled in to cultivate. At the very moment he’d restored himself to the state he’d been at when they left, Yi Xiurong ordered them to leave once again.

For a little over a week, they traveled in this manner. They moved at the very limit of what He Yu was capable of for several days at a time, and then Yi Xiurong would call a stop. During their rests, they cultivated in silence. He Yu had gotten used to idle chats when he went somewhere with Zhang Lifen, but it quickly became clear the two core disciples didn’t particularly care for one another. That gave the trip a somewhat frigid tension he’s rather have done without.

As they traveled, Yi Xiurong would periodically produce the mirror from her storage treasure. From atop her peacock feather, she would peer into it, then make adjustments to their course. The mirror itself had taken on a slightly black tinge at the edge of its bronze frame, and it gave off a weak impression that reminded He Yu of the demon core.

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After almost two weeks of travel, they came upon a small town. Formation stones ringed the edge, but He Yu couldn’t detect any experts within. It most likely relied on maintenance from the sect to ensure the barrier held. Still a good way out from the town, Yi Xiurong called a halt.

“Take a pill. No time to cultivate,” she said. “Kong Huizhong is close. Junior Brother He, take care. Remember, you are here to act as support. Should new enemies arrive, deal with them as you are able. Should any new arrivals be too much for you, inform Sect Sister Zhang. She will deal with them in that case. Otherwise, observe. You will only be a hindrance to us once we engage the Emissary. I’m sure Sect Sister Zhang has already warned you, but I will repeat it—should you become involved the coming battle, you will die. See first to your own safety.”

He Yu shot a glance toward the town. “What about them?” he asked.

“What about them?” Yi Xiurong’s expression was cold. Her voice betrayed no emotion. It was as if the very idea of consideration for the mortals in the town hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“Don’t concern yourself with them,” Zhang Lifen said with a shrug. “Mortals die. That is a part of life.”

For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Didn’t want to believe what he was hearing. After looking between his mentor and the First Disciple, it finally sank in. They were serious. They didn’t care what—if anything—happened to that village. To them, the lives of all within were utterly inconsequential.

“Isn’t it our duty to protect them?” He Yu asked. It was the only thing he could think of that would challenge their indifference without overstepping the bounds of rank and propriety.

“It is,” Yi Xiurong said. “But our mission takes precedence. The Emissary must be dealt with. If the battle crushes a town, that is unfortunate. But it is not different from a mortal stepping on a trail of ants while carrying water. Regrettable perhaps, but ultimately inconsequential.”

That—no. He couldn’t accept that. But neither could he disagree. At least not now. Not here. Yi Xiurong was the sect’s First Disciple. She was the highest ranked member of the sect other than the elders themselves. To disagree with her would be a grave insult. He Yu tried to keep his distress from showing. Given the sympathetic smile Zhang Lifen gave him, he hadn’t done a very good job.

“You’ll come to understand someday,” Zhang Lifen said.

He Yu’s Wayborn Seed twisted and recoiled. Although he said nothing as Zhang Lifen turned to confer with Yi Xiurong, he agreed with the flood of sensations he got from the seed. He wouldn’t come to understand. Understanding wasn’t his Way. It wasn’t the path of a hero, nor a legend, nor the one he’d set himself upon. As they moved in the direction Yi Xiurong indicated they’d find the Emissary, He Yu cast one last glance to the town.

They moved as quickly as they could while keeping their spirits restrained, making use of the bodies they forged for themselves during their time in the Third Realm. They moved far faster than even the swiftest of mortals, but far more slowly than they could. It was more to conserve whatever qi they could rather than mask their approach. Even with their presences reigned in, there was only so much they could do.

Three mid-realm cultivators—one Golden Core, Nascent Soul, and Soul Refining stage apiece—would weigh heavily on the world around them. Zhang Lifen’s qi was the quietest, given the nature of her cultivation base. Even as a mere mid-Fourth Realm, He Yu carried the traces of the storm with him wherever he went. His movement flickered from place to place like distant lighting. The scent of fresh rain followed him everywhere, and faint currents of wind constantly eddied as he moved.

Yi Xiurong was the loudest. Or, rather, the brightest. She seemed to shine, no matter how bright the day or dark the night. A sense of judgment hung around her, clinging to her gown and pressing down on the world, like the concept of severity and law personified. She was impossible to miss.

As they drew ever closer to their destination, He Yu had to cycle his qi according to the Peerless Judgment. Excitement and apprehension did battle, as his heart felt ever more like a thundering drum in his chest. The reality of it all had finally sunk in. He was going to witness a battle out of legend. A battle that could kill him if he weren’t careful. Easily, too. But he didn’t care about that. All he could think of was how lucky he was. Not only to be living his dream, but also to bear witness to a clash that would surely provide valuable insight to his own cultivation.

Somewhere ahead, perhaps over the next hill, lay the Emissary himself. Kong Huizhong. When He Yu finally felt his presence, it made his stomach turn. Fire and blood. Metal caked in rust-colored flakes, half-molten, and stinking of death. Anger, avarice, and hate. He Yu wanted to gag. Given the set of both Zhang Lifen’s and Yi Xiurong’s features, he wasn’t the only one who felt it.

They crested a hill. In the bare hollow below, He Yu finally laid eyes on the man he’d first felt almost two years prior. The man King Hao’s death had summoned, and He Yu had fled from with his friends. He hadn’t really known what to expect. A tyrant? A monster? Certainly not what he saw.

Kong Huizhong sat atop a broad, flat rock at the center of the hollow. A cleaver lay across his lap, fashioned of black metal and glistening red. The weapon was of similar length to a typical jian, but twice as broad and single-edged. The end was notched on the back side, like it had been damaged and left unrepaired. Like Yi Xiurong’s peacock feather and Zhang Lifen’s bow, it gave off a noticeable spiritual weight. The Emissary himself was dressed in a black robe embroidered with silver thread. Dragons decorated the sleeves and hems. His hair was held back in the fashion of cultivators. The crown hairpin he wore was set with a ruby and fashioned of a similar black metal as his weapon.

He looked refined, if severe. His intense eyes stared at the three sect disciples from beneath a pair of fierce, sword-like eyebrows. He set his weapon on the rock next to him, stood, and saluted. His movements were slow and controlled. Everything about him spoke of confidence, power, and grace. He was, after all, at the peak of Nascent Soul.

“Get somewhere safe,” Zhang Lifen said. Her bow of black qilin horn fell into her hand. Although she kept herself restrained, He Yu could feel the shifting of her spirit. Qi moved through her meridians and into her bow.

“I had almost grown tired of waiting,” Kong Huizhong said, retrieving his weapon from the rock next to him. “Shall we exchange pointers, disciples of the Shrouded Peaks?”