Jared nodded once, strode to the hidden valley, and raised a protective array of modest talismans. Then he stepped inside Pentacarna Tower and let the mortal world fade.
Tens of thousands of item pouches bulged with resources, more wealth than most sects could dream of. For now, he was rich enough.
Time blurred. At some forgotten moment, the very last pouch cracked open, spilling its final crystal. Only then did he feel his realm shatter through its ceiling, Earthly Immortal no more, but Human Immortal Realm Level One.
That avalanche of treasure had carried him only so far. “May what little remains,” he murmured, eyes half shut, “Be enough for me to pierce level two.”
High above Swordmaster City, Lyra spent each day drowning in petitions and decrees, yet she still found moments to glide to the valley mouth, peering in to see whether Jared had emerged from the tower’s black maw.
One such day began like any other, ledgers, judgments, endless footsteps echoing through marble halls.
Without warning, the sky above Swordmaster City rippled. Space itself trembled, folding open into a humming corridor of void.
From that ragged wound poured more than a dozen auras, each vast, ancient, and terrible enough to darken the sun.
Over Swordmaster City, and indeed across the entire level five, a hush of dread spread like frost on glass.
From the void above rolled a dozen crushing auras, vast and unfamiliar, unmistakably belonging to immortals from realms higher than their own.
No one understood what had drawn such giants to level five, and that ignorance only sharpened the terror.
Lyra gathered every disciple onto the windswept plaza. Jaw tight and eyes bright with worry, she stared into the dark, spiraling passageway yawning over the city.
Inside a distant guesthouse, Flaxseed jolted upright, half-dressed, scrambling away from the startled woman beside him. He pulled on wrinkled robes and stumbled into the street, heart hammering as loudly as the city’s alarm bells.
Panting, he reached Lyra’s side. The void crackled. He forced a crooked smile.
“Lyra, let’s not panic just yet. Maybe, just maybe, whoever’s coming means no harm,” he said, voice far steadier than the throb in his throat.
He himself, however, was nervous, too. Courageous words could not calm the riot in his chest.
Flaxseed knew Jared had offended more than a few powers from loftier heavens. If those powers had traced Jared here, Swordmaster City would offer as much protection as paper before a storm. None among them could stop such vengeance.
The approaching presences drew nearer, heavy footfalls of divinity. Slowly, figures emerged from the swirling rift.
At their head drifted a woman in silken white, Onneas, flanked by ten Celestial Guards clad head-to-toe in burnished gold.
Flaxseed sagged with visible relief, shoulders dropping.
“Thank the stars,” he breathed, the words fogging in the chill air.
“Lyra, it’s all right,” he said quickly. “They’re allies. That’s Onneas from the Fourth Hall.”
So it was, Onneas Dusko, radiant and unreadable, having crossed worlds with her Celestial Guards. Even the casual pulse of her power pressed every local cultivator to their knees. Beneath her gaze, the proud warriors of level five felt as small as ants beneath an eagle’s shadow.
“The overlord of the Fourth Hall?” Lyra whispered, swallowing hard.
A bead of sweat traced her temple. The Sixth Hall lord had once seemed invincible here; the Fourth was said to be stronger still.
“Mr. Flaxseed, is Mr. Chance within the city?” She spoke without threat, yet the very question bent the air.
“Ms. Dusko, Jared has been cultivating inside Pentacarna Tower for some time. He has not yet emerged,” Flaxseed replied, bowing low.
“Still in seclusion?” Onneas murmured, a faint crease marking her brow.
“Has something happened, Ms. Dusko?” Flaxseed asked, unable to mask his concern.
“When he exits, tell him to reach the Celestial King Palace on level eight at once. I will be waiting.” Her tone brooked no delay.
“Understood. The moment he returns to daylight, I’ll send him to you,” Flaxseed promised.
Onneas’ gaze slid toward Lyra. Determined not to flinch, Lyra raised her chin, meeting the immortal’s eyes while her knees quivered beneath her robes, resolve and awe warring in her chest.
Onneas let her eyes linger on the other woman, then asked in a low, deliberate tone, “Are you Jared Chance’s woman?”
Lyra gave a small nod, only to shake her head a beat later, the gesture a tangle of silk-black hair and uncertainty.
What am I to him?
A senior? A lover? A wife he has never spoken of out loud?
The unspoken possibilities burned behind her eyes.
“You’re lucky… Cherish him,” Onneas said, the words slipping out on a sigh that carried equal parts envy and blessing.
