At that moment, inside Grace Pavilion, Jared stood by the window, his gaze seeming to pierce layer after layer of buildings until it rested on the celestial envoy being treated like the moon among stars.
He had coaxed Rania into the adjoining quiet room, claiming he needed absolute silence to test a Tranquil Heart Formation.
Outside, the sentries were indeed looser than the last two days; the intervals between patrols had lengthened, just as his careful watching had suggested. The narrow back paths leading toward the treasury district lay almost deserted.
“A celestial envoy… Sixth-grade Upper Immortal…” Jared murmured under his breath, a cold gleam forming in his eyes.
This is a chance: contact the celestials, pull information, maybe even track down the Soul-Refining Crystal. Julian, that sly fox, had loosened the watch on purpose. The intention was obvious—borrow a knife, test the depths.
Fine, I will play along. Jared’s shape blurred and slid into the nearest shadow, slipping out of Grace Pavilion without a sound. He did not sprint for the treasury; like a patient hunter, he flowed along the relaxed routes, using his grasp of the Manor formation array and the masking nature of chaotic force to evade every watcher.
The treasury restricted zone usually bristled with guards. Tonight, most eyes were glued to the treasury’s front gate where the tribute was being tallied. Jared surfaced like a wraith at a secluded rear corner of the treasury halls.
A small, hidden door used for emergency transfers sat there, layered in complex seals. With Quentin’s fragmentary memories and his own chaotic force, the barrier was hardly a wall. Gray light pulsed at his fingertip, probing the node until the array went numb and docile. The door sighed open a finger’s width. Inside, lamps burned bright.
Julian himself stood beside Mr. Clive, guiding him through glittering heaps of spirit crystals, herbs, and ore. Several celestial guards fanned out, watchful. Jared pressed into the seam between light and shadow, shrinking his presence, eyes darting over the chamber. The mundane tribute meant nothing to him; he wanted the Soul-Refining Crystal.
Quentin’s memories, plus tidbits coaxed from Rania, placed the crystal deep inside, locked within the Profound Ice Chamber warded by Julian himself. Gliding between towering shelves and hillocks of cargo, he slipped past a roving steward and headed for that spot.
The air grew noticeably colder. A massive black-iron door carved with frost runes loomed ahead, rippling with chilly light—the Profound Ice Chamber.
Jared had just begun to study the lock when faint footsteps and voices drifted in behind him. Julian and Mr. Clive, business concluded, were heading straight toward him. Julian looked like he was flaunting the manor’s hidden wealth for the envoy, or steering him here on purpose. A sharp thought snapped through Jared. He slid behind a stack of tall, frost-rimmed ice ore and smothered every trace of his presence.
Julian‘s voice carried over, a hair tense. “Envoy, this is the Profound Ice Chamber where we store certain special goods.”
A faint tremor tucked itself beneath Julian’s words. Mr. Clive stopped before the door, feeling the wards. “Adequate defenses… Manor Lord Jade, the unfinished soul crystals are refining here?”
“Exactly,” Julian replied and added, “A few more days will finish the process…”
Mr. Clive stared at the chamber gate, eyes glinting. “Open it. I want to see the progress myself.”
Julian‘s mouth tightened. “Envoy, the refinement is delicate, any disturbance could…”
“I will judge that,” Mr. Clive cut in. The envoy’s tone brooked no argument, steeped in celestial arrogance. “Or is there something you‘d rather hide, Manor Lord Jade?”
The air drew taut, humming with unspoken threat. A dry laugh flickered in Jared’s chest behind the ore. Seeing this, Jared could see how cunning Julian was.
Old fox, you’re dangling the envoy in front of the Soul-Refining Crystal and hoping someone… Me… will stir the pot.
A flicker of struggle crossed Julian’s face before he sighed, conceding. “Since the envoy insists… So be it…”
He advanced, weaving signs; thin lances of light shot into the gate’s nodes. Runes flared, the cold thickened, and the heavy door rumbled inward. A sharper chill bled out, laced with a faint, soul-itching resentment.
Approval flashed in Mr. Clive’s eyes, and he stepped forward. His boot hovered over the threshold when the moment ripped open. A haze-gray sword flare erupted from the ore’s shadow without warning. It sheared at space itself, arrowing for the envoy’s exposed back; the air hissed, eaten away.
Jared’s long-poised killing stroke had finally struck. The blade wanted the envoy, not Julian.
Mr. Clive, a sixth-tier upper celestial, moved with startling speed. Silver radiance burst out, a fitted inner cuirass surfaced as he wrenched aside.
Rip!
The gray edge sliced through the light, digging a deep groove in that costly armor, almost punching through. Chaotic force seeped inside; the envoy grunted, cheeks bleaching white. He whirled, a lightning-laced silver sword flashing into his grip, and cleaved toward the fading shadow. But Jared was already withdrawing, refusing to tangle.
His form melted back into darkness, streaking for the chamber’s edge. He had wounded the envoy, sown panic, and gauged both men—mission achieved!
Humiliation blazed across Mr. Clive’s face; someone had dared strike him inside this treasury. It was an affront he could not forgive. He shot after Jared like forked lightning, Thunder Sword Light shredding the air.
