Jared stepped across the threshold with Aurelius cradled against his chest, the monarch’s breath barely a whisper. At the center of the hall sat Artemis Lughlin, the sect leader of the Herb Sect and former royal physician.
Draped in violet silk, looked little more than thirty. Refinement clung to like fragrance to a blossom, the assured poise of a healer lingered in the lift of brows and the steadiness of gaze.
Artemis rose, skirts sighing across the polished floor. Her eyes widened as recognized the battered face against Jared’s shoulder. “King Aurelius, what in the heavens has befallen you? And you… Who are you, that carries a king in your arms?”
“My name is Jared Chance,” replied, words tumbling out on shallow breaths. “His Majesty shielded our retreat and was struck down by Soul Devourer. Level six is overrun, demonic souls everywhere. Only you possess the skill to save him. I beg your help!”
Artemis’s expression hardened. She swept a hand toward waiting disciples. “Bring His Majesty to the meditation room. Fetch a vial of Clarity Pills and an armful of Life Extension Pills. We begin at once, every heartbeat matters.”
The disciples answered in unison, then lifted the unconscious king with the care one grants sacred relics, hurrying down a lantern-lit corridor that smelled of crushed mint and drying roots.
Artemis turned back to Jared. “Come with me. I need every detail of his injury if l’m to craft the proper cure.”
In a book-lined study, Jared recounted the desperate duel, how Aurelius had clashed against Soul Devourer, how the priceless Ritual Manual was cast aside to slow pursuit, how demonic cultivators hounded them across mountains and ravines. He spoke until his throat ached, and the oil lamp beside them burned low.
When his story ended, Artemis pressed a hand to the bridge of nose and exhaled. “So level six lies in ruin, Soul Devourer holds the Ritual Manual, and ten thousand demonic souls roam free. Reclaiming the realm will not be easy.”
“Maybe not,” Jared answered, voice low yet unshaken, “But if we can bring the king back to strength, hope still breathes.”
Artemis gave a decisive nod. “I will do everything within my art. Still, his injuries are dire. Even under my care, will sleep for at least half a month. While mends, do not idle. Your reserves are nearly spent. Rest and train here inside the Herb Sect; you will need every ounce of power for the battles ahead.”
Relief unfurled through Jared like early dawn. “Thank you, Artemis. I am grateful…”
***
Days blended into a silent routine.
Jared split his time between the king’s bedside and the sect’s training chambers, inhaling air thick with spiritual fragrance and listening to the rustle of rare herbs steeping in bronze cauldrons.
Within that bounty of energy, and aided by medicinal herbs, his strength returned in surging tides, higher each sunrise than the one before.
One morning, Artemis sought out, usually steady gaze ablaze with curiosity. “Jared, I have sensed a potent draconic bloodline coiled inside you. The purity is remarkable, is it not?”
Jared’s heart kicked against his ribs. “Your perception is keen. Yes, I carry the dragon bloodline…”
A spark of purpose lit Artemis’s eyes. “Excellent… The women of the Herb Sect possess a unique constitution. If we could meld your draconic blood with theirs, their cultivation would soar, and they would gain weapons against demonic souls…”
“I propose we arrange controlled sessions in which groups of disciples undergo bloodline fusion with you. In return, every herb and pill within the Herb Sect shall be yours to bolster your own ascent. Will you consider it?”
The request struck silent. He had never imagined the sect leader would make such an appeal. Yet visions flooded his mind, the beast race cultivators who had fallen to protect their escape, level six drowning in darkness. Refusal would mean wasting power that might save them all.
“Very well,” said at last, drawing a resolute breath. “I consent…”
Artemis could scarcely contain joy. She summoned every disciple of Herb Sect and, voice shimmering with hope, explained the promise of fusing Jared’s dragon bloodline with their own.
A flush of embarrassment swept through the young women, this was, after all, an intimate ritual, but the thought of strengthening the sect against the encroaching demon clans steadied their nerves. One after another, they nodded their consent.
Dawn broke, pale and expectant.
When the first light spilled across the mountain compound, the ceremony began.
The first disciple stepped into the union room. She wore a snow-white gown that fluttered behind like a startled egret, and though posture tried for serenity, a tremor at the corner of mouth betrayed unease.
“Relax…” Jared murmured, pitching his tone somewhere between reassurance and playful challenge. “In a moment, you’ll feel like you’re touching the very edge of paradise.”
“Ms. Lughlin said I should trust you completely, Mr. Chance… So I will,” whispered, breath hitching on the last word.
With that fragile promise hanging in the charged air, reclined upon the emerald-lined platform, lashes falling closed as if surrendering to a dream.
