Il walked through the streets of Misty Jade City with heavy, weary steps. His shoulders drooped, and his face looked half-extinguished from exhaustion after a long day of training. The alleyways were crowded at this hour; one vendor displayed his spiritual herbs on a wooden stall, another shouted about fresh, high-quality meats, children ran aimlessly between legs, and the smell of food filled the air as if inviting him to surrender to the nearest restaurant.
The boy inhaled deeply, as though releasing his spirit from the pressure of the past hours.
(Hoooh… finally, it's over.) Asher yawned inside his mind. (At first it was fun… then it turned into a boring play. The last three rounds felt like we were repeating the same scene.)
Il raised a brow as he continued walking.
(Can you stop? Please, we're already in a troublesome situation. I feel like the family is starting to get suspicious of us.)
Asher laughed, that same irritatingly careless laugh.
(Relax… I planned everything. Of course they'll look for a reason for your current strength. And that's easy, because they'll find the "evidence" we left for them. Blood stains beside the training yard wall… the screams, groans, and crashing sounds the servants and guards heard at night… all of that will make them assume you were training like a madman.)
Il shook his head.
(This is not normal, man!)
(I know… but it's a comforting explanation for them. As for your behavior changes, the only issue is the shift in your facial expression when I take over. That's not something they can confirm. Just suspicion.)
Il had no convincing reply, so he kept silent and continued moving through the busy walkways.
---
Meanwhile, inside the Ren family residence, Instructor Haud was sitting in the main hall with Il's parents. Miranda placed the teapot on the table carefully; the aroma of mountain mint, which the family always served to important guests, wafted through the room. Next to her sat Hawk Ren, Il's father, his expression calm but intensely focused.
Haud was known as an old, strict instructor, but few knew he was also the Seventh Eye of the family… the man who sees what is not spoken.
He raised his cup calmly.
"Excellent tea, as always, Miranda. I've missed this taste."
She smiled softly, masking her tension well.
"Thank you, Haud. It's an honor that you like it."
The instructor set down his cup and leaned forward slightly.
"I just wanted to speak with you regarding Il… after what I saw today."
Miranda and Hawk exchanged a quick look.
Hawk asked in a steady voice, "Did something concerning happen during training?"
"Not exactly concerning…" Haud said slowly, watching their reactions. "But the boy showed a sudden leap. His physical strength improved, his energy circulation became clearer, and even his reflexes were different from what I've known."
Miranda placed a hand on her chest gently.
"He has been training a lot in the past two months. Maybe his effort paid off."
Haud smiled… but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Maybe… or maybe more."
Hawk's back stiffened slightly.
Haud continued,
"Tell me… have you noticed any strange change? Anything unusual? New behaviors… emotional fluctuations… or even a shift in the way he speaks?"
A silent blade cut the air between the words.
Miranda answered immediately, sharper than she intended,
"No, nothing happened."
Haud examined her expression, but soon lifted his cup again.
"That's good. I just wanted to be sure. The boy… has something different these days. And as his instructor… I must follow that carefully."
His words were ordinary… but the rhythm of his voice was not. He weighed every word they spoke.
Hawk said,
"We appreciate your concern. Il is doing his best to grow stronger."
Haud nodded.
"That's clear. And I hope he maintains this path. The new generation of the family needs examples like him."
He then stood up slowly and placed the cup down.
"I'll leave you now. I don't want to prolong the visit."
Both parents rose with him.
"You honored us, Haud," Miranda said.
"My duty," he replied, then left.
But behind the closed door… the questions lingered in the air like smoke.
Hawk looked at his wife. His face stayed composed, but his eyes carried a thin layer of worry.
"Miranda…" he said in a low voice.
"How long until your father leaves seclusion?"
She froze for a moment.
"A few weeks… maybe less."
"We need to ask him to examine Il," Hawk said carefully. "There's something… I can't pinpoint it. But Il isn't the same. His strength is changing unnaturally fast."
Miranda lowered her gaze.
"I know… I felt it too."
"Do you think that…" He hesitated. "…something spiritual happened?"
Miranda's head snapped up, eyes wide.
"Don't say that! There's no sign of anything like that."
"But Haud suspects."
"Haud suspects everything!" she said, fighting her fear. "We can't jump to the worst possibility."
Hawk placed his hand over hers.
"I only want to protect Il. And your father… he's the only one who can truly detect anything wrong inside."
That was true. Corvin Ren, Miranda's father, was a Peak Foundation Establishment cultivator—and a Spirit Reader, a title given only to those who specialize in soul arts.
They both breathed in anxiety.
---
Elsewhere in the main family mansion, Shala Ren stood before her wide window, arms crossed, body leaning slightly forward as she stared at the now-empty training yard. The evening breeze pushed strands of her hair back, but she didn't blink.
"That boy…" she whispered.
She remembered Il's spiritual energy in the middle of their fight… or rather, that brief instant when it flickered. It was a moment so short that the audience couldn't notice… but she, trained by her grandfather, noticed everything.
There was something… a larger presence… behind what he showed.
She turned to one of her attendants standing by the door.
"I want you to gather information on Il Ren," she said in a calm tone that allowed no hesitation.
The servant bowed instantly.
"What kind of information, my lady?"
"Everything. His training. His nightly activities. Who he sees. Who visits him. Even the sounds from his room at night. Don't miss anything."
The servant hesitated nervously.
"Is… is he dangerous, my lady?"
"I don't know… and that's what I want to find out."
---
On the other side of the training yard walls, Haud arrived with three of his trusted followers. They stood by the old stone wall where small bloodstains were still visible.
One follower crouched.
"Sir… these aren't bloodstains from a normal fight. They're scattered in a way that indicates impact against a hard surface."
Haud nodded, then turned to the guard standing upright nearby.
"Tell me again… what exactly did you hear in recent nights?"
The guard swallowed.
"Sir… on some nights we heard loud cries of pain, and impacts against something solid. Then… a thud. Honestly… we thought one of the young ones was training violently."
Another servant chimed in,
"I heard something similar four days ago. It sounded like someone being dragged."
Haud stood still. His gaze grew dark, focused, as if trying to assemble pieces of a puzzle he didn't yet have the picture for.
"Training violently?" he muttered.
"Or something else…?"
He pointed at the ground.
"These stains… these scratches… they're not from a boy his age."
One follower asked,
"Do you suspect someone was attacking Il, sir?"
Haud didn't answer immediately. He raised his head toward the dark sky.
At last he said:
"No. I suspect that Il himself… was the stronger side."
"Check if anyone from the family or servants is missing."
"Understood," his men replied before disappearing to investigate.
A heavy silence settled.
---
Asher finally reached the hut after taking his tracking precautions and putting on his dark cloak with its deep hood. He closed the passage behind him slowly and inhaled the cool night air.
He moved inside to the small wooden table covered with rune books, spirit stones, and a black-ink quill with a sharp metal tip—items he had reorganized as soon as he entered.
Asher sat without a word… his body moving with steady, machine-like precision. He picked up one of the stones where he had stored a rune, turning it between his fingers. Then he took the quill, let his spiritual energy blend with its tip, dipped it in ink, and began drawing precise lines across the paper.
Intersecting lines… tiny curves… dots marking key nodes.
His focus was cold… heavy… almost suffocating.
Inside his mind, Il grumbled:
(Asher… it's been half an hour and we're still on the same rune! Isn't there a faster way? My eyes are melting watching these lines I barely understand!)
Asher didn't lift his head and didn't change his calm tone.
"Speed is for fools… precision is for the living."
(…that's not an answer!)
"It's the best answer. Any mistake in any rune will blow the formation in our faces. You want us to die because of one missing stroke?"
(Of course not! But… but these runes are first-level, aren't they supposed to be simple?)
Asher paused, then lifted a sheet filled with dozens of failed attempts.
"If they were simple… you wouldn't need me."
Il fell silent.
Asher continued drawing. This time he picked up another stone, gray with a thin white line.
"We need a way to obtain more first-level runes. At this pace we won't make even a single second-level formation."
(I know… I'm thinking about that too. Maybe we can—)
Asher cut him off.
"Don't you dare suggest trading within the family. Not now."
(I didn't say anything!)
"But you were going to."
(…maybe.)
Asher lifted a wooden piece with primitive symbols and blew the dust off it.
He looked over the papers, murmuring coldly:
"All we have are fragments of a full system. A handful of first-level runes… one second-level rune… and a number of incomplete symbols. If we want stronger formations, we need a source… a market… a library… or someone knowledgeable."
(I understand. But… are we going out tonight? You're tired.)
"Fatigue is physical… the body can bear it. What we lack isn't rest… but strength."
(Hearing you say that makes me feel like we're walking on the edge of a cliff…)
"That's the truth. But we'll walk it carefully."
The room was silent… except for the quill scratching paper, the clinking of spirit stones, and the steady breathing that didn't belong to a fifteen-year-old boy… but to a man who had lived another life.
Then—
Ding.
Asher's head rose slowly, without a trace of panic. He stared at the door.
Ding… ding…
He tilted his head slightly… listening. No footsteps outside. No attempt to hide.
(Who…?)
He didn't answer.
His hand reached for the small dagger under the table… then stopped. Something about that ringing… wasn't hostile. It felt like a calm announcement.
Click.
The door opened.
A tall man entered, dressed entirely in white. A long cloak drifted behind him. His face was hidden behind a white mask decorated with red lines… shaped like a bird's beak.
The White Crow.
He stood silently… while Asher fixed his gaze upon him… without fear.
---