Alicia rolled her eyes as Aine put on a frown, the young boy quick to assure her that he hadn’t done anything despicable while he was out with the others.
“Alright,” said Nolan in a teacher’s tone. “Everyone get to it. Welson’s got a spy mixed in with Merchant Lord Kalvin’s people, so this guy will let him know when the group is an hour away from the city.”
“What if he’s a double agent?” Sean thought aloud. “You know, tells us the wrong time just to screw us over sort of thing.”
“I’ve thought of that. So, I’ll keep lookout while you all cultivate.”
May shook her head and stepped forward with a long stride of her clear, pale legs. “I’ll keep a look out. Remember, the closer I get to Soul Strengthening…”
Oh yeah, he thought with a frown. If May reached Soul Strengthening before she could engage in dual cultivation with a man of equal or higher strength—a man with the fire attribute to counteract her body’s propensity to only absorb cold energy from her surroundings—then she would die. What was it called again? The Heart of Ice constitution?
“Okay,” he said, ignoring a few raised eyebrows. “May will keep an eye out for the enemy while we try to make some last-minute breakthroughs.”
Once everyone agreed to cultivate in seclusion, the group split up to seek out private rooms elsewhere in the manor house. Nolan found a quiet spot within a cozy little office room at the far end of one of the many halls of the building’s second floor, at which point he stared down at the divine fruit for a few moments before deciding to cultivate the White Flame Scripture for the next several hours. After that, he'd make an eventual switch to the Ancestral Body Technique.
Judging from the immense amount of energies within the translucent little fruit, he figured that he would easily make a minor breakthrough by the following morning, and possibly even reach the seventh level of Integration by midafternoon of the following day.
Wondering how the upcoming conflict would play out, he sat down on the soft surface of the thick rug that covered the room’s floor and then quickly set about practicing his secondary cultivation method.
***
Merchant Lord Kalvin eyed the distant city from high up in the clear blue skies, his long, black hair unmoved by the strong winds that swept by him and those around him. He had just attempted to contact Connick, his chamberlain, but had received no response. Next, he tried to instigate a mental conversation with one of his subordinates that he’d tasked with shadowing Chamberlain Daren, but was told by the stuttering woman that both chamberlains had been killed at a public event by a strange group of young cultivators.
“So?” said Tems, impatient as he scratched at the messy facial hair that he’d allowed to cover his face in recent days. “What did your people say?”
“It seems that my chamberlain has been killed, presumably by the ones we’re here to hunt down.” Keeping his eyes on a distant part of the city where Daren’s villa resided—a villa that Kalvin had directly sold to the man at a discounted rate in an attempt to build relations between their factions prior to their alliance—he maintained a level expression. “Merchant Lord Varus’s chamberlain was also killed.”
“Hah,” spat Tems, whose hazel eyes were full of malice. “It seems those fools have made enemies out of your association too. Maybe I should’ve waited to strike up a deal with you.”
Belren, an elder of the Nightshadow Sect and Tems’s cousin, scratched at his clean-shaven chin with a look of interest in his sable eyes. “I’m even more curious about these people now. They don’t seem to think much of offending others, regardless of their station.”
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Just then, a young man dressed in ashen robes appeared at Belren’s side, addressing the short elder with respect in his tone. “Elder, it seems they’re not in town.”
“Did you locate them?”
The young man nodded and pointed toward a distant section of cleared greenery, a tiny pocket in the vast forests that filled the region around the city. “They’re in the tower at the centre of that clearing.”
Kalvin felt a bit envious as he observed the random disciple, who was already at the first level of Genesis despite his young age. Of the hundred sect members that Belren had brought along, all were at the Genesis stage, including the eighty-five disciples that made up the majority of the group. He was well aware that such a gathering was just a small example of the Nightshadow Sect’s prestige and overall power, as they were an organization with millions of capable members.
Seeing that the young man wore a look that suggested that he had something else to say, Belren ordered, “What’s on your mind? Speak.”
“It’s…they’re sitting on the tower’s roof. I suspect that they’re waiting for us, and that they might have set some sort of trap.”
“It doesn’t matter what preparations they’ve made,” said Tems, who looked impatient as he floated at the head of a group of over two thousand of his sect’s strongest members and a dozen hired hands of considerable repute. “They’ve got, what, ten people on their side? We’ve got thousands.”
“Sect Master,” said Dracia, the thin, willowy woman that had recently been promoted to the status of great elder within the Falling Rain Sect. “Forgive me for speaking out of bounds, but they had less members when they fought with us within our territories. Now that they have the White Rogue on their side, I doubt things will be so easy.”
Kalvin intended to poach this woman and her clan members into the CMA when the upcoming conflict reached its conclusion. She was smart and astute, like his subordinate Julian, but had higher awareness when it came to combat-related things.
“Is everything in order?” he asked Benlay, the tall, blond-haired man at his side.
“Yes. Our arrayment practitioners have sorted out the defensive techniques that you wanted them to cooperate with. Our mercenaries have also gotten used to using the flying swords that Tems supplied us with.”
Behind Kalvin were his most trusted subordinates; Benlay, a friend from his younger years, the barrel-chested Kester, a famed champion of countless martial tournaments within the Thebes Empire, and Julian, the young man that was in charge of the logistical aspects of most of his business dealings. These three were at the fourth, fourth, and third levels of Genesis respectively, thanks to the generous amounts of cultivation resources that they enjoyed at his expense. At their backs were the mercenaries that Benlay had mentioned, three thousand cultivators at the peak of Integration that were all floating quietly atop the flying swords that they’d recently been given.
In total, their forces numbered just over five thousand, 120 cultivators at the Genesis stage with the remainder being at the peak of Integration. In light of the recent incident on the Grand Isle of Weston, Tems had allowed the strongest members of his sect outside of the Genesis stage to make free use of the Desolate Spirit Tower in order for them to achieve much-needed breakthroughs so that they could be of more use in the fated conflict. One of the man’s rare wise decisions, Kalvin thought, considering that the tower would soon fall into his hands. Tems had already broken his blood bond with the sacred object and shrunken its size so that it could fit comfortably in one’s palm like a tiny model of its larger self.
As they hovered in the air above the boundary between the lush forests that surrounded Tallgate and the desolate, barren landscape that characterized much of the Northern Wilderness, Belren let out an impatient sigh that was somewhat similar to those that his cousin constantly let loose.
“Well? We know where they are, so let’s get this done already. Our business in the eastern reaches of the Dragon’s Tail is urgent, and if I don’t give our sect master an explanation on the reason for the disappearances of our disciples and protectors in that area, it’ll cause me some unwanted headaches.”
Tems flew off towards the distant clearing, which was a ways away from the city. His followers hurried after him as his azure robes fluttered in the wind—robes covered in golden rain drops that marked him as a superior to the great elders whose clothes were characterized by silver raindrops—and Belren and his people were quick to follow.
“You know what to do?” Kalvin asked those at his back without turning his head.
“Yes, milord," came Julian’s response, his tone reverent and respectful. Turning to their army of mercenaries, the young, narrow-faced man said, “Remember! We watch the fight play out, and then make our move at a crucial moment!”
He was met with a collective response that shook the wind from the force of many empowered voices.
“Yes, sir!”