After leaving the Outer Affairs Hall, Rinne made her way to the Frostfire Sect’s junkyard once again.

This place had become a regular stop for her whenever she had some free time. Over the weeks, her growing collection of seemingly useless items had taken up a corner of her workspace, lovingly organized into neat piles of "potential treasures."

One corner of her atelier was dedicated to these treasures-in-waiting. She hadn’t yet begun restoring them, as she wanted her spiritual root to fully stabilize before undertaking such projects, but it didn’t hurt to gather resources in advance.

As people lived their lives, they naturally produced trash, and the junkyard grew a little more crowded each day. Today, however, it held an unexpected surprise.

“Oh, jackpot!”

Rinne’s voice rang out with glee as she stopped in her tracks.

Among the usual piles of debris lay several human forms. These were handymen of varying ages, clad in their standard uniforms, with injuries ranging from minor to catastrophic. Some were missing limbs, others bore deep gashes, and a few looked like they had been crushed under immense weight.

“It’s not easy being a handyman,”

Rinne shook her head in pity.

Handymen led precarious lives, their work often undervalued and their safety routinely ignored. It was the same across all sects. While they performed essential chores, the risks they faced were steep, and their lives were often considered expendable.

Feeding spiritual beasts was a common task for handymen, yet many met grisly ends when the creatures turned on them. Clearing snow-covered paths posed another danger; those who weren’t careful could succumb to frostbite or even freeze to death outright. And perhaps the most frequent cause of their demise: offending someone important. Inner disciples or elders were often quick to mete out harsh punishments, even for the smallest of perceived mistakes, leading to injuries or worse.

Rinne’s mood didn’t falter as she approached; instead, her expression turned thoughtful. These weren’t just corpses—they were raw materials.

'These will make excellent puppets,'

Refining puppets was a controversial practice, labeled as forbidden and evil by the Immortal Alliance.

But rules like that only mattered if one got caught. Puppets could serve as invaluable assistants to their refiners, whether in combat or daily tasks. As these particular bodies were handyman, they wouldn’t be much use in a fight, but they would be very useful for handling chores.

She began methodically storing the bodies in her spatial bag, brushing off frost as she worked. The cold climate of the Frostfire Sect was another reason she’d chosen to stay here—conditions like these preserved materials in an ideal state, making her work much easier.

As she scanned the pile for anything else of interest, Rinne noticed something unusual. One of the figures—a girl wearing a bloodstained inner disciple’s uniform—was still alive.

“Huh, are you okay?”

Rinne asked, crouching down beside the girl.

The girl didn’t respond, her pale face lifeless and slack. Blood pooled around her abdomen, the wound still oozing faint traces of spiritual energy. Rinne inspected the girl with her spiritual sense and frowned. She was at the 8th level of the Spirit Gathering stage, but her spiritual root had been shattered, and her energy was leaking uncontrollably. It was a fatal condition for any cultivator.

Rinne examined the girl’s face but found no familiarity. This wasn’t someone from her list of previous victims, which meant that in her last life, this girl had likely died here, unnoticed and unremembered.

Unconsciously, Rinne reached a hand toward the girl’s temple but stopped short. Her heart skipped a beat.

“That was close,”

She muttered, retracting her hand. In her previous life, she wouldn’t have hesitated to use the Soul Search Technique to extract the girl’s memories. Depending on the usefulness of the target’s identity, Rinne could have impersonated her or exploited her connections.

But that was the past. She had left those ways behind.

Still, Rinne was curious about the girl’s story. Since she couldn’t directly extract the memories, she would have to rely on indirect methods. Perhaps the memories she had obtained from others in her past could provide some context.

And so, she took a moment to access her Soul Library.

She sifted through countless threads of fragmented memories, searching for anything connected to the girl lying before her. It didn’t take long for a story to unravel, one filled with drama and intrigue.

The girl’s name was Lyra Zhelar, the adopted daughter of Elder Zhelar, one of the Frostfire Sect’s more influential elders. Lyra had been brought into the sect as an orphan and raised alongside the elder’s biological daughter, Celis Zhelar. On the surface, the two girls appeared to share a bond of sisterhood, but beneath the facade, jealousy simmered.

Lyra, though adopted, had an unyielding determination and worked tirelessly to cultivate, eventually surpassing Celis in talent and strength. Celis, unwilling to accept being overshadowed, began spreading rumors that Lyra had resorted to forbidden techniques to artificially enhance her cultivation.

These accusations escalated until they reached the sect elders. And during the fateful day in the sect hall in front of the elders, Elder Zhelar was forced to act.

To protect his reputation and appease the sect, Elder Zhelar publicly denounced Lyra. Her cultivation was destroyed as punishment, leaving her disgraced and discarded. Now, Lyra had been abandoned to the junkyard, left to die unnoticed and forgotten.

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Rinne opened her eyes and let out a chuckle.

“What a classic story.”

At first, she simply stood up and turned away. Her plan had always been to cultivate quietly, avoiding the entanglements of righteousness, evil, or the convoluted schemes of inner disciples. This wasn’t her battle, and getting involved would only complicate things.

But after a few steps, she paused.

It would have been one thing if the girl had died without Rinne's awareness, but now that she was aware, allowing the girl to die intentionally would have undoubtedly left her with a sour feeling.

With a sigh of resignation, she turned back.

“Alright, alright. Let’s see what we can do.”

♠♠♠

Other's POV:

The scene shifted to Kael Verin's dormitory.

A young talisman apprentice sat deep in concentration. His usual cheerfulness was replaced by a furrowed brow as he sat cross-legged at his desk. The faint scent of burnt paper lingered in the room, a testament to his ongoing struggles.

Kael had recently reached the peak of the second level of the Spirit Gathering stage.

Unfortunately, he was still a few steps short of breaking through. For now, he focused on consolidating his spiritual energy, carefully building momentum for a breakthrough to the third level. Of course, he hadn’t neglected his talisman-making practice—as a family tradition and also as a source of income to support his cultivation needs.

At the moment, Kael was engrossed in crafting the Body Feather Talisman. Unlike the Fireball Talisman, which he could now produce effortlessly, this one required meticulous control of spiritual energy—a balance he was slowly beginning to understand through repeated failures.

A soft glow began to emanate from the talisman paper on his desk, but something was off. Sparks erupted from the paper, and within seconds, it crumbled to ash. Kael sighed deeply, setting down his brush and leaning back in his chair.

He stared at the charred remains on the desk.

'The Body Feather Talisman needs such precise energy control. It’s nothing like the Fireball Talisman, where I can just pour in power. But... this time, I almost had it. Next time, I’ll get it right.'

One of his roommates, Arven had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, observing Kael’s relentless efforts with growing concern. He was quite worried about Kael's current state of mind. In his mind, Kael was like chasing a ghost that most likely did not exist.

It seemed like Kael's mind was still clouded by the figure of Rin, whose existence Arven still had doubts about.

“Kael, you’re working yourself too hard,”

Arven said, stepping forward and breaking the silence. His voice carried both worry and a hint of exasperation.

“My aunt always told me that cultivation can't be rushed. It isn’t just about effort—it’s about balance. The mind needs rest too.”

Kael turned to him, silent for a moment as Arven’s words sank in.

He looked down at the charred talisman remnants, the weight of his efforts settling in his chest. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was truth in his friend’s advice.

After a moment, Kael pushed his chair back and stood, stretching his stiff limbs. A faint smile crossed his face.

“You’re probably right. Let’s take a break. How about we grab something to eat at the cafeteria?

Kael finally admitted with a small nod.

With a tired mind, forcing himself would only have a negative impact on whatever he wanted to do. Perhaps a change of scenery could provide some useful insight.

Arven’s nodded at the suggestion, his demeanor softening.

“That sounds good! Let’s go.”

He grabbed his outer robe from the nearby hook and prepared to leave, glancing over his shoulder at Kael.

Kael turned to the other two roommates, commoner disciples named Gren and Jax, who had been sitting quietly in their bed. He smiled at them warmly and extended the invitation.

“Hey, want to join us?”

Kael asked, his tone inviting and sincere.

However, on the side, Arven silently glared at them, warning them as lowly creatures to know their place. Although the sect claimed equality among disciples, old biases lingered.

Most of the wealthy and noble-born disciples disdained those of humble origins and often kept their distance from them. Arven was no exception on this. Maybe it was just Kael who was the oddball here, but Arven didn't say anything else so as not to hurt his feelings.

The two boys exchanged uneasy glances before Jax spoke up, his voice low and hesitant.

“Uh, no thanks, Senior Brother Verin. We’ve got... other things to take care of.”

Hearing their reply, Kael only sighed, his tone neutral as he responded.

“I see.”

Though his words were simple, his calm demeanor showed he had expected this answer.

After all, he had spent almost a month as their roommate, and their attitudes were still the same. Maybe it was just like his father said, not everyone could be friends with.

Before they left the room, Arven suddenly remembered.

“Oh, right... You got a package earlier. It’s on your bed.”

Kael raised an eyebrow in surprise and turned to find a simple wooden box resting neatly on his blanket. It was plain and unadorned, without any identifying marks or a sender’s name. Picking it up, he inspected it briefly before opening it.

Inside were five neat stacks of Fireball Talismans. The sight made Kael’s eyes widen. He carefully lifted one stack, feeling the energy radiating from it.

Arven asked incredulously, stepping closer to get a better look.

“Fireball Talismans? What kind of idiot sends fire talismans to Frostfire Sect? They’ll just fizzle out in this cold climate.”

Kael, however, didn’t share Arven’s dismissive attitude.

He examined the talismans closely, his fingers brushing over the runes. The spiritual energy within was dense and concentrated—far more potent than any Fireball Talisman he had ever drawn or seen.

What’s more, the runes were flawless—each stroke beautiful and consistent. It didn’t take long for Kael to realize that these weren’t drawn by using a brush but were created through extraordinary means beyond Kael's comprehension.

A thought struck him, his heart pounding with excitement.

“Rin! It’s definitely Rin who sent this!”

Kael’s mind raced. No wonder Rin hadn’t been impressed by the Verin clan’s talismans back there.

Compared to these masterpieces, even the ones drawn by talisman masters of his clan seemed like child’s play. He had assumed Rin came from a hidden clan, and this package only reinforced his belief.

“Uh, Kael? What’s wrong?”

Arven, who noticed Kael's silence, couldn't help but ask.

Kael quickly composed himself, slipping the talismans and the box into his spatial bag.

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

As they left the dorm, Kael’s thoughts lingered on the package. He didn’t plan to tell Arven what he had found. This package was the proof that Rin was somewhere in the Frostfire Sect. For now, that was enough.

Moreover, this package wasn’t just a gift—it was a message.

“Rin is here, somewhere in this sect. And this... This is a challenge. Rin’s telling me I’m not worthy yet. But just wait—I’ll prove myself to you.”

Kael clenched his fist.

The message basically tells Kael that if he wants to meet Rin, he must at least be able to recreate or surpass the talismans. It was a difficult task for sure, but Kael was sure that sooner or later he would succeed.

With that thought burning in his mind, Kael followed Arven out of the dorm, his resolve firmer than ever.