In the central hall of the Falken sect, three domes of spirit stood undisturbed. With a flicker, Neave and Dukean appeared before them.

“You remember what we agreed upon?” Neave asked him.

Sighing, Dukean answered, “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. I’m not an idiot.”

He nodded at the young master. “Good.” then, with a swing, he shattered the first of the four domes.

The person inside flinched and jumped as the dome dissipated and the liquid spirit from within flowed out. It was Harel. She was skinny and young yet again, a far cry from the hardened woman they had all grown to know her as.

Next was Hunter, who was still incredibly bulky, with frown lines that had mellowed out appearing on his forehead once more.

After that was Gabrias, the man who had outwardly changed the least among them, it seemed.

And finally, there was Marven. The only thing different about him was that he was bald again.

“No time,” he spat. “We go now!”

They nodded.

Neave’s mouth opened wide into a massive circular shape. Then, numerous concentric circles of sharp teeth began growing.

The others were long used to Shapeshifting shenanigans, but this was more than a little strange, even by those standards.

And it only became weirder when those teeth started spinning with a loud buzzing sound. He first moved one of the massive stone tiles beneath their feet, revealing the foundation. Then, he stuck his open maw to that foundation and started drilling into it, rapidly descending into the earth. Once he made enough space for them to fit, he returned back up, threw everyone inside, and sealed the floor tile again.

He used a movement technique and appeared beside the others. “Dukean! I will keep digging down; you use your Earth Manipulation to shut the tunnel behind us! I don’t want any traces of us passing through!”

Dukean nodded, but his expression was grim. His control over the spirit power was still weak at this point. But he gritted his teeth and forced it to work anyway. The numerous years of experience helped with managing it.

And just like that, the six of them vanished into the underground.

He pulled out the special concealment treasure and cracked it, creating a shimmering barrier that enveloped all of them.

Just in time for Marven and Neave to sense someone powerful breaking into the sect and ransacking it in their search for them.

***

Hosolar strode into the Falken sect’s premises and commanded his numerous minions to scour it. The building was wildly suspicious. A massive, relatively competently built, and entirely new construction like this sat empty, void of disciples and, really, any members at all.

His minions’ report painted a rather strange picture. There was absolutely nothing of note in these premises. No treasures, no information, nothing.

This was no sect. Was this a… decoy?

That made him frown, however. For what purpose would someone create such an involved ruse? No, that probably wasn’t the case. It was just as likely that this wasn’t a finished project and that the occupants had escaped sometime before he appeared.

He couldn't stop himself from clicking his tongue. The distance from his true body was far too great, and the effect that had on his avatar was profound. Not even he could fathom just how tiny a fraction of power his senses still had. It was as if he was utterly blind. Without this impairment, tracking his targets would be easy. With it... He sighed.

They were hiding somewhere in the capital. There was no chance of escape without revealing themselves. That made things simple. All he had to do was keep searching.

***

Ilkivir nervously waited in the hidden realm. He was supposed to stay here and acclimate to his newly acquired power. He was supposed to prepare for the fight.

But now, focusing had become impossible. Sweat liberally trickled down his back, and he paced around. Why did a demigod appear so suddenly? No, he knew why; he was informed why, but that didn’t make it any better.

It was because of his failure that they had this problem. Because he failed to kill Neave.

Given how powerful that little shit had been, failure was nigh-inevitable. But would his masters see it that way? The thought made him shiver.

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Indeed, this was no joke. This was no time to be messing around. This was where he worked to redeem himself. But he kept losing focus.

The reason why was simple.

The demons around him wailed and screamed like mad, tearing at their bodies and cowering anywhere they could find a place to hide. Despite being hidden in a mystical realm, these creatures could still sense the presence of a demigod.

He was a true human, for now, at least, so he had no such problem. But as he witnessed these creatures wail in agony, he couldn’t help but wonder.

Just how powerful was Hosolar the Starflailer?

***

In a serene, verdant patch of forest near what had once been the Zearthorn sect, Kaphor sat with his eyes closed, carefully imbuing his qi into the plant before him. He was still maimed; half his face, several fingers, and his leg were still gone, but he appeared content.

Birds around him chirped, the water shifted silently, and the sound of the canopy rustling above calmed his nerves. There were also the occasional wails from the numerous abominids already invading the area, but not much could be done about that. Besides, they weren't a real threat anyway.

None of the monsters he could encounter here would be a threat. For a long time, at least.

As he opened his eyes, he was met by the mighty grace of his creation.

Paora, as he had named it, was a beautiful specimen of grass. Frankly, it looked like no grass stalk he’d personally seen. It was big, branched out a lot, and its stem was growing thick enough that it looked more like it belonged to a tree than mundane grass.

He pondered its blades as he caressed their furry undersides. He wondered about its height, both as it were and as it would be, the span of its roots, the way it drained the soil and absorbed power.

Then, he sank into his spirit. There, with relative ease, he grabbed a hold of a few threads. When he left, many hours had passed. And he’d made further progress down the second step of the golden path.

With each day that passed, he grew considerably. Not in large bursts but in a constant stream of revelations. Indeed. Many older individuals experienced something like this late in their lives.

While they had fought their entire life and spent all their time working, their philosophy had prevented them from seeing and grasping the fruits of their labor. They had eyes but couldn’t see what was there, as they were too preoccupied with looking for the thing they wanted to find.

Experience was a double-edged blade. The more one knew, the less they believed there was to know, no matter how hard they tried not to fall into that trap.

What Kaphor was experiencing at that time was enlightenment.

He found himself in a forest that had always been there but one he had failed to spot in his search for the trees.

There was a wealth of potential that had only gone unrealized due to his refusal to acknowledge it.

His musings were interrupted as he sensed something odd entering the range of his spirit senses. “Hmm?” he hummed as he turned to face the direction of the sensation.

It was a monster, he was sure of it, but something about it felt odd. There was a tinge of strangeness to the energy surrounding it. Whatever it was, it was utterly alien to his senses.

He got up and rushed toward the creature. Whatever it was, he couldn’t let it come close to Paora. His one leg served him better than two did many other warriors, and he embraced the potential of his limits, the disabilities he lived with, and his ability to adapt to them.

One one-legged hop after another pushed him forward, and he soon appeared beside the invading force.

It was a golem. But it was a deeply strange one. There were specks of purple crystal embedded in its stone, and its shape was alarmingly humanoid despite feeling like it didn’t hold much power.

He turned the creature into a pile of shards with a single mighty punch. After checking its body, he swiftly retrieved the core. Once he did, his eyes shot wide open.

It was near-perfectly round. The power within was something he could easily add to his own with minimal additional interference. And its power, the ability to manipulate a strange, potent violet energy, would not hinder the rest of his spirit powers.

The sight of the shimmering purple pearl made him salivate with greed. His entire body lit up with desire, and he was already instinctually searching for a cup to dilute the core in and absorb its power.

But he stayed his hand, storing the core into his ring instead. He also collected the strange purple crystals embedded in the golem’s corpse and returned to Paora’s side.

As he stood there, admiring the beautiful form of his creation, his eyes grew misty. He had had children at one point. They had all died, however. Many of them because he prioritized his own growth over trying to help them prosper. He had always been a greedy piece of shit who aimed to monopolize all the benefits he could get his grubby little hands on.

And where had that taken him?

He had learned his lesson. Before him stood something he wasn’t nurturing for benefits. It was merely another being he cared about. Whatever path it would walk, he just wanted the best for it. That was the true path up in the world. It wasn’t just about himself.

Through teaching, one could learn. Through providing, one could receive. And through sacrifice, one could gain.

The next step in growing a spirit plant like this was to provide it with a core. He extracted the small, round pearl of spirit and gazed at it. Not in a million years could he hope to find a better alternative. Wasting it on an old fart like himself was truly a foolish endeavor.

He chuckled. The crystal he would carefully approach; perhaps it could be used to somehow nurture the plant, but handling the core wasn’t too tricky.

He pressed the core up against the stem of the plant. It was small, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to make it fit inside. Then, with a burst of qi, he used a technique. It was a gentle one. A slow one. It urged the plant to grow around the core, allowing him to slip it in more easily. Many hours of careful, delicate work later, the plant’s stem finished embracing its new spirit.

As it was fully enveloped and melted in the liquid flowing through the plant, the bump where the core had been slowly deflated as the core disappeared.

He walked away, satisfied, as he prepared to sleep the encroaching night away.

But he had failed to notice an important detail.

He hadn’t spotted the minuscule speck of darkness shimmering in the depths of the monster's core.