62nd of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd cycle

Sect Master Blackfist handed Newt a small leather pouch he picked off a shelf. “Take these.”

Newt opened the pouch and found five grape-sized pills. “What are they?”

“First, you thank the person giving you a gift, then ask questions.” Blackfist rolled his eyes at the uncouth behavior, and Newt’s ears burned.

“Thank you. What are they?” he said with more than a hint of embarrassment.

“Spirit pills to increase your realm. As I mentioned before, I dabble in alchemy. Those five should push you from the initial second realm to the peak of the second realm. You must take them ten hours apart, and they require no effort or focus to internalize. Your spirit roots will handle everything.”

Newt was still annoyed with how easily Blackfist had inferred all his secrets, but at least he did not know about Magmin’s secret realm. There was no way to deduce its existence with simple logic. At least Newt hoped so.

“And if I don’t want to reach the peak?”

Blackfist eyed Newt carefully, looking for the hints why the youth would choose not to become more powerful and as soon as possible, but failed to find anything.

“Take three of them.” He shrugged. “They should push your cultivation to the ninth layer. Take the rest when you are ready.”

With that, they parted for the night. Newt consumed the first pill when he returned to his tavern. Heat spread from his stomach, flowing towards his heart and forehead as he shared dinner with Dahlia and persisted even after he returned to his room to meditate.

A storm raged in Newt’s realm. Lava erupted from the volcano, jumping hundreds of yards in the air, crystalline pinecones grew on Magmin Pines and fell like rain. The trees themselves seemed to dance in a haze of their own heat, and gusts of searing wind battered Newt’s form.

Cultivating and training were impossible given the circumstances, so he decided to sleep. He dreamed that the sect master had gone insane. In Newt’s nightmares, Blackfist kidnapped him, handling him as easily as a child, before chaining him onto a stone table and opening him up with a knife. Newt tried to summon his defenses, to reinforce his skin, and to fight back, to no avail. Blackfist had shackled him with the same chains his clan used to bind the two loyal elders.

Newt awoke screaming. He sat, the bed beneath him was wet, the blanket thrown aside. Faint, bloody light ominously entered through the window. Newt looked outside and saw that the black sky had turned violet.

“It was just a dream,” he assured himself and wiped his brow, still panting. But regardless of his half-hearted words, he was afraid of Blackfist. He was an unorthodox cultivator. He admitted he would kill his son and commoners who tested his patience. A man like that was not to be trusted.

But he already knows almost everything about me. He even knows how I should cultivate my realm better than I do.

Newt considered his problem, watching the sun rise without seeing it. He was still sitting in his bed when he had come to certain conclusions. The fearsome sect master was better learned, had greater experience, and was smarter than him.

Experience Newt would gather while exploring and traveling the world. Intelligence should also be a matter of time and cultivation, since Blackfist mentioned that Newt’s third eye should expand his mind as he grew. As for knowledge, the library was within reach.

He glanced at the leather pouch. The pills it held were valuable enough to allow him to browse a lot of second and third realm tomes.

Comprehending them would take ages. Blackfist seems to have laid low here for twenty years to read in peace, and now that he has accumulated all the knowledge he needed, he is going to try to rebuild his cultivation from the ground up.

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But Teacher said Blackfist was a dimwitted bandit with a strong and merciless fist. Was that an act, or is his friendly attitude a sham?

Newt concluded that both the stupid bandit and the friendly wise man were fake. Blackfist struck him as a man pursuing his goal by any means necessary, and that thought brought him back to Jasmine. He would have to confront her, maybe first win the tournament and test whether Blackfist’s theory was true, whether he could really rid himself of the heart demon by triumphing over Hardsteel and having Jasmine fawn over him.

Suddenly, his eyes went wide.

“Jasmine!”

Blackfist told her to come to his room last night for a round of dual cultivation.

Five minutes later, Newt was at the Black Fist sect. He had run all the way from his tavern. The guards let him pass and he slammed open the door of the Sect Master Blackfist’s tea parlor.

“Jasmine,” he shouted. It was a question, an accusation, and a plea all in one.

“Good morning to you too.” Blackfist smirked. “Would you like some tea?”

“What happened with Jasmine?” Newt begged to know.

“She was waiting in front of my bedchamber when I returned. She was very patient and dutiful.”

Newt’s face paled and Blackfist chuckled.

“But I told her I had a headache and gave her a first realm spirit gem for her trouble before sending her off.” His smile widened. “I wanted to tell her I planned to wash my hair, but it seemed too inappropriate.”

Newt did not understand what the sect master was talking about, but some hope returned to his eyes.

“You mean…” he did not complete the sentence and left it hanging.

“I did not penetrate your childhood sweetheart, but given the way you are acting, I should do what any would-be mentor ought and shatter your ideal vision of her.” Blackfist paused, dead serious. “The problem is you would hate me for the rest of your life, and as I have said, I would prefer us to be friends for a long time to come.

“See, you are gnashing your teeth already, even after I told you I have not laid a finger on her.” Blackfist shook his head. “I will blame the hormones for your behavior. Now, would you like some tea or should I drink it alone.”

“Drink it alone,” Newt snapped at Blackfist, whose smile faded as he raised an eyebrow, not amused in the slightest.

“Kid,” the sect master’s voice turned air into ice. “Get out of my meditation room and come back when you cool your head. If you cannot calm your mind, do not bother coming back.”

Newt stared at the sect master, his chest feeling too tight to breathe.

Blackfist rose to his feet in a blur of motion and pointed his finger at the door. “Get out!”

Newt fled.

Suddenly, the chuckling, tea-chugging man had turned into a demon of destruction, and Newt knew that disobeying him would get him killed on the spot. He dashed into the street, the guards following his sprint with confused gazes.

He stopped running after a few dozen yards and looked around. Even though the Black Fist sect was dead at the center of the city, there were no merchants, no street stalls, and only a handful of passersby.

Grumbling about amiability and cursing Blackfist, Newt went to find a food stall with something to eat. He believed the hour was too early, especially since there was no crowd, but the food providers were fanning the coals, with meats, vegetables, and treats sizzling on their grills or in their pans.

The scent of spiced food made Newt drool, and the heavy press of bodies he pushed against the day before was lighter, with fewer people in the streets so early.

The youth exchanged a handful of metal for sustenance and sat down by the side of the road. He dipped the crispy meat into a sweet and hot sauce and chewed it with zeal. Slowly, he calmed and considered what had happened that morning.

He was acting like a young master again. The brash behavior, the arrogant tone, Newt was repeating the pattern for which he believed he had suffered karmic retribution.

And what about Blackfist?

Thus far, he had done nothing to harm Newt. He offered warnings, free advice, and gave him cultivation resources. The situation still reeked. Newt was not so naive to believe anybody would treat him that well without getting something in return.

Then he tried something his father had often mentioned. Newt placed himself in Blackfist’s position. He had wasted time on a boy he had no reason to take seriously. A whole day, in fact, and he seemed ready to waste another. Why? Newt forced the question out of his mind temporarily. So, he invested his time to treat a child seriously, and the child threw a tantrum.

Yeah, I would be angry too. Newt tore a chunk of fried bread and chewed it when he realized that he was mistaken. He recalled Blackfist’s eyes, and they were not burning with anger.

He was disappointed.

Newt finished his breakfast and calmly returned to the Black Fist Sect. The guards made no attempt to stop him, but they were having a hard time, struggling not to laugh at him.

He went to the Sect Master’s meditation chamber and knocked.

“May I come in, Senior?”