Fan Ling returned to his chamber with the spatial ring still warm against his palm—two million gold coins heavier than before. The weight felt like promise and pressure in equal measure.
He sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes, and opened the Wealthy System store once more.
The list scrolled past the god-tier items he couldn't yet afford. He ignored them. His finger hovered over something far more practical.
[Shadow Clone Technique (Naruto-verse, Basic Version)]
– Allows creation of up to 3 solid clones with 30% of original strength and full sensory sharing.
– Clones can gather experience, scout independently, and dissipate at will to return memories.
– Price: 1,000,000 Gold Coins
– Note: No chakra required; powered by host's Dou Qi.
Fan Ling didn't hesitate.
[Purchase confirmed.]
[Balance deducted: 1,000,000 Gold Coins]
[Current Balance: 2,200,000 – 1,000,000 = 1,200,000 Gold Coins]
[Technique acquired: Shadow Clone Jutsu (Basic)]
A stream of unfamiliar seals and energy pathways flooded his mind—simple, elegant, deadly useful. He formed the hand sign instinctively.
"Shadow Clone Technique."
Pop.
Two identical Fan Lings appeared in puffs of dark-red smoke beside him. Grey hair, crimson eyes, blood-embroidered robes—perfect copies down to the faint predatory smile.
The real Fan Ling felt the connection immediately: every sensation, every thought, shared in real time. One clone could stay behind to guard the sect or train in secret. The other could scout ahead. Three bodies working as one.
He dismissed them with a wave. The clones vanished, memories returning in a gentle rush.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Insurance. And extra hands for profit."
He stood.
Time to move.
Twenty elite Blood Guards waited in the central courtyard—silent, black-robed figures with scarlet handprint insignias across their chests. Eighteen were peak Dou Grandmasters. The remaining two stood a head taller, their auras denser, heavier.
Peak Dou Grandmasters.
The Blood Sect's true blades—men and women who had bathed in enough blood to earn Fan Lao's personal trust. They bowed as one when Fan Ling appeared.
"Young Master."
Fan Ling nodded. "We leave now. No fanfare. No banners. We travel light and fast."
They mounted swift bloodline spirit beasts—sleek, crimson-scaled panthers bred for silence and speed—and vanished into the shadowed mountain paths.
Three hours later, the jagged silhouette of Black Mark City rose against the bruised evening sky.
The city never slept, but today it thrummed with unnatural life.
Streets overflowed with cloaked figures—mercenaries, rogue cultivators, sect disciples, black-market dealers. Auction banners hung from every spire, crimson and gold, promising treasures that could change fates. The air crackled with suppressed Dou Qi and barely contained greed.
Fan Ling's group entered through the eastern gate without drawing undue attention. The guards recognized the Blood Sect insignia and waved them through—neutral ground meant no open hostility, even between sworn enemies.
They moved through the crowds like a dark current.
Then Fan Ling felt it.
A prickle along his spine. Cold. Instinctive.
Ahead, weaving through the throng, walked a lone figure in a plain black robe. Hood up. Face shadowed. No visible aura—none at all.
But Fan Ling's blood ran colder anyway.
That deliberate, unhurried stride. The faint scent of medicinal herbs and controlled flame. The way the crowd unconsciously parted around him, as though sensing something apex.
*Xiao Yan.*
The protagonist. The future Flame Emperor. Here. Already.
Fan Ling's heart hammered once—hard—then steadied.
One of the peak Dou Grandmaster guards noticed his young master's sudden tension.
"Young Master? What is it?"
Fan Ling forced his expression neutral. "Nothing. Keep moving."
He didn't look back.
But he marked the black-robed figure's path. Noted every turn. Committed the silhouette to memory.
*Not yet. Not today.*
Further down the main boulevard, he spotted more familiar—and dangerous—colors.
Black Skeleton Tomb disciples in bone-white robes, skeletal masks gleaming under hoods. Sky Serpent Mansion experts with serpentine patterns coiling up their sleeves, eyes slitted and cold. Jia Nan Academy outer disciples trying (and failing) to look inconspicuous. Even a few Jade Dragon Sect members, jade tokens flashing at their waists.
Every major power in the Black-Corner Region had sent representatives.
The auction wasn't just big.
It was a powder keg.
Fan Ling's lips curved faintly.
*Good.*
More sharks in the water meant more chaos. More chaos meant more opportunities to slip in, snatch high-value items at bargain prices, and slip out richer.
He turned to his guards.
"Spread out. Two-man teams. Scout the auction house perimeter, note the security formations, identify any VIP entrances. Report back in one hour. No engagements. Observe only."
The guards dispersed like shadows.
Fan Ling stood alone in the bustling street for a moment, grey hair catching the lantern light.
The Wealthy System panel flickered in his vision.
Balance: 1,200,000 Gold Coins.
Tomorrow night's auction catalog burned in his mind: Yin-Yang Harmony Pill. Black Flame Seed. Blood Phoenix Feather.
Any one of them could multiply his wealth tenfold.
But so could surviving Xiao Yan.
He exhaled slowly.
"Clone."
Pop.
A second Fan Ling appeared beside him—identical, silent.
The clone inclined its head.
"Scout the black market alleys. Look for pre-auction trades, desperate sellers, anything undervalued. Return in thirty minutes."
The clone vanished into the crowd.
Fan Ling adjusted his robes and continued toward the towering silhouette of the Black Underworld Pavilion.