“Mr. Sanders, who are you really, and just how strong are you?” Jared whispered to the empty air, eyes fixed on the horizon above Heaven Gate Mountain.
Bewilderment clouded his face. From the day Mr. Sanders had joined the journey, Jared had never once seen the man show fear.
The only true battle he could recall was the titanic clash they had fought at Rudy’s side. Beyond that, Mr. Sanders strode through the world as though nothing under the sky could ever threaten him. In the lofty Ethereal Realm, there had been one brief, disastrous reunion.
When Mr. Sanders’s shadow fell across Rudy’s path, the brash young cultivator did not posture or bargain. He simply whirled on his heel, terror snatching the breath from his lungs, and fled as though chased by the judgment of the heavens themselves.
***
The next morning broke clean and pale, a hush of dew still trembling on every leaf when first light kissed the stone courtyards.
Sylvia arrived at Nethergate Sect alone, footsteps light yet purposeful, as though she feared even the rustle of her own sleeves might plant doubts in Jared’s mind.
Jared gathered what little he needed, one travel cloak, a blade of plain make, and resolve sharpened by a night without rest, then followed Sylvia beyond the black-iron gates.
Neville, who had strained his very soul probing Jared’s hidden patron the night before, remained behind. The fright had jarred his spirit loose, three wandering souls peeling away like frightened birds.
Healing now demanded solitude, incense, and time.
Thus, Jared and Sylvia kept to the quietest trails, every sense tuned to danger the way a bowstring trembles before the arrow’s release.
Around the rumored ruins of Heaven Gate Sect, cultivators teemed. Cloaked interests from every faction lurked behind smiles, each spy aching to strip the land bare the moment an entrance surfaced.
Heaven Gate Mountain, one of level nine’s proud peaks, soared so high its crown speared mist and early cloud. From a distance, the ridgeline formed the shape of a colossal archway, a door flung open toward the fabled level ten.
Dawn light now gilded that arch in molten gold, sanctifying rock and vapor alike. Yet beneath the hush, greed watched, wide-eyed and patient.
“Mr. Chance, that rise ahead is Heaven Gate Mountain.” Sylvia halted, arm lifted toward the layered silhouettes.
Jared followed her gesture. Ranges rippled one after another, wrapped in streaming cloud, a landscape fit for dragon legends.
What troubled him more, however, were the countless auras flitting just beyond clear sight.
“So, word of the ruins has reached every corner of level nine,” Jared murmured, the observation flat but edged.
Below, on slopes and saddles, figures crawled like ants, some in trios whispering tactics, others lone wolves stalking for advantage. Excitement and tension mingled in the wind, a scent as metallic as drawn steel.
“Exactly,” Sylvia replied, offering a curt nod. “Fresh faces arrive daily, yet they circle only the outskirts. Not one has sensed the true doorway.”
“Then where is our way in?” Jared asked.
“Deep in the range lies a secluded valley,” she answered, voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “Ancient wards guard the spot. Without guidance, even the keenest eye would miss the veil. We must move carefully, no footprints, no whispers, until the mountain swallows us whole.”
Together they slipped into the folds of stone and cloud, every stride measured, every breath cautious.
They crossed paths with drifters and disciples alike, robed clansmen sporting polished sigils, scavengers in patched gear, all appraising Jared and Sylvia as potential rivals rather than fellow travelers.
Each glance they received carried the same wary question: friend, pawn, or the next obstacle to be buried beneath Heaven Gate Mountain’s silent soil?
A sharp whisper sliced through the restless crowd. “Look up there… Isn’t that Ms. Vale, the sect leader of the Earth Fiend Sect?”
Another low voice followed, breathless with surprise. “I never imagined Ms. Vale would be interested in the ruins of Heaven Gate Mountain.”
A third speaker leaned forward, curiosity flaring. “Who’s that young man walking beside her? His face is completely new to me.”
“No idea,” someone answered, the words half-swallowed, “But from the way Ms. Vale treats him, you’d think he outranks us all.”
Murmurs fluttered through the ranks of cultivators like startled sparrows.
Eyes bounced between Sylvia and the quiet stranger at her side, Jared, trying to stitch together an explanation from nothing more than posture and distance.
Jared felt several of those glances harden into needles, pricking at his skin with intentions that were anything but kind.
One gaze, colder than the rest, belonged to a black-robed cultivator who refused to blink. Though Jared never lifted his eyes, his spiritual sense brushed the man lightly and confirmed the stare, steady, unbroken, lethal.
Buried in that stranger’s aura coiled a thin ribbon of hostility, as chill and pointed as mountain ice.
“Mr. Chance, we should move, quickly,” Sylvia murmured, awareness sparking behind her calm voice. “Let’s get out of this open ground.”
Jared nodded once. Together they lengthened their stride, slipping deeper into the shadowed folds of the mountain range.
