Meanwhile, at Earthfire Pavilion’s Heavenfire Secret Realm, Jared sat cross-legged on the Flame Lotus Throne at the Chamber’s heart, eyes closed, breath long and steady. Crimson-gold earth fire flowed around him like docile silk, threading through the air in languid currents.
On his left breast, the once-hideous imprint from Soul-Devouring Demonic Palm had dwindled to a faint rose scar, its surface alive with wisps of chaotic energy and the elusive shimmer of a golden dragon.
Exactly three months had passed since he crawled out of the abyss beneath the world. In all that time, Jared had not taken a single step beyond the Heavenfire Secret Realm. Earthfire Pavilion emptied its treasured vaults for him, dispatching healing elixirs, body-tempering tonics, and mind-clearing teas in an unending stream. Vermilion Demon Lord, too, lingered instead of leaving with the Jadeheart Marrow, just so he could pour a lifetime of demonic cultivation into Jared’s hands.
Outside the realm, Lindsay kept vigil night and day, using her own Earthfire True Scripture to steer the surrounding flames and quicken Jared’s recovery.
Now, Jared’s eyes opened. Deep within those pupils swirled primordial gray, the sovereign gleam of a soaring golden dragon, and the blistering red of earth fire—three lights shifting, meeting, then sinking into calm and quiet. He let out a slow, stale breath. The breath coalesced into a palm-sized dragon of three colors that circled him thrice before bursting into pure, radiant spiritual energy.
Finally… I’ve recovered completely…
He rose and curled his fingers into a fist, feeling rivers of strength thunder through his veins. His chaotic celestial energy now shone denser than before, his Golden Dragon Bloodline straining toward another awakening, and the Earthfire True Scripture had vaulted to its seventh tier. Nominally, he remained at Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Three, yet his true combat power was far beyond that.
A razor-bright glint flashed in Jared’s eyes. If he had to fight Soul Devourer again, he could now promise a decisive kill within fifty exchanges.
“Hubby!” Lindsay’s shout came from the entrance of the realm, and a flame-red blur swept in like a swallow on the wind. She wore a scarlet combat outfit today, ponytail high, every stride radiating crisp, buoyant valor.
“How are you feeling? Are you completely healed?” she asked as she looked Jared up and down.
The man rose and smiled. “I’m fine, and, in fact, my cultivation has improved slightly. Tonight, we can get back to our dual cultivation.”
Relief loosened Lindsay’s shoulders; the idea of missing their dual cultivation had worried her more than she dared admit. Once she had tasted that sweetness, restraint no longer came easily.
“Father told me to fetch you. He said there’s something important we need to discuss. Also, several unfamiliar guests have arrived in the grand hall, and they all radiate powerful auras.”
Jared’s brow lifted. Earthfire Pavilion entertained visitors daily, yet for Ignatius to send Lindsay personally, and for her to wear such gravity was a rarity indeed.
“All right. Let‘s go check it out.”
***
Inside Earthfire Pavilion’s main hall, a heavy, waiting hush pressed against the stone pillars. The grand audience chamber, once vast enough to dwarf a regiment, now felt strangely cramped. Dozens of figures occupied both colonnades, some seated, some standing, forming stern rows that mirrored one another. Their attire spanned opulent brocade, plain homespun, even rag-torn robes still wet with blood, yet every last one radiated an overwhelming surge of power, no weaker than a Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Seven.
The moment Jared crossed the threshold, he was met by a simultaneous snap of gazes, as though the roof itself had turned to stare. Inside those eyes, he caught appraisal, curiosity, and doubt—and, threaded between them like barbed wire, several strands of undisguised hostility.
“Jared, over here…” Ignatius greeted as he beckoned Jared over. For once, he wore the full regalia of the Earthfire Pavilion: scarlet robes stitched with nine lotus-blazing suns, a coronet of red-gold crowning his brow, and solemnity carved into every line of his face.
Jared stepped to Ignatius’s side, letting his gaze roam the chamber like a silent lantern. A few faces leapt out of the crowd—faces he actually knew. On the leftmost chair lounged Vermilion Demon Lord, eyes closed as if dozing, though black mists of demonic aura whispered around his frame in constant vigilance. Opposite him sat Gerald, usually as elusive as smoke; today the venerable patriarch twirled his long beard, studying every guest with fathomless eyes.
The rest were strangers, each carrying their own tale of disaster. An old man wearing a tattered green robe, his left arm severed at the shoulder, bore a wound wrapped in a strange gray-white aura. The aura continuously ate away at his life force, leaving his face as pale as paper.
Beside him stood a beautiful middle-aged lady cradling a shattered lyre whose every string had snapped. Blood beaded along her fingertips, yet she appeared numb to the sting, staring past the doors toward a sky only she could see.
Three gold-armored guardians stood shoulder to shoulder, plates scarred by blades and spears. One man’s armor had been rent open by talons, revealing a gash so deep the bone glimmered beneath. Huddled nearby, seven or eight younger cultivators wore intact robes but terror-creased faces, twitching at the faintest rustle like arrows quivering on a taut string.
Yet the eye was drawn most irresistibly toward the trio occupying the very center of the hall. At their head was an elderly man leaning on a cracked cane, whose hair and beard had turned snow-white. His aura sank deep like an ocean trench; Jared could not gauge its bottom, save that it hovered near Top Level Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Nine.
Flanking him was a man and a woman. The man was about thirty, with sword-straight brows and star-bright eyes. He carried a long blade wrapped in coarse linen, and even though it was sheathed, a keen sword intent leaked through the fabric. The woman, on the other hand, was barely into her twenties, with serene features framed by a water-blue gown. Silver bells at her waist chimed softly, weaving a rhythm that soothed restless souls.
Ignatius cleared his throat, voice rumbling like banked embers. “Jared, this is the grand elder of level twelve’s Azure Firmament Sword Sect, Winslow Walden…”
Winslow dipped his chin, snowy brows quivering almost imperceptibly as his gaze rested on Jared.
