(Office of the Sky Pavilion)
"Are your claims verified?" The Elder of the Sky Pavilion asked the trio standing before his table, a faint glint like distant stars flashing briefly in his eyes as he leaned slightly forward.
The office was dimly lit by hanging lanterns, their soft blue glow reflecting off polished stone walls and neatly stacked scrolls lining the shelves behind him.
"They're authentic, Elder Fotio... He showed us the golden token himself." Merkules answered, standing upright with restrained tension in his shoulders, and the Elder rubbed his temple slowly as if suppressing a forming headache.
"So what do you want me to do?"
"We don't want you to do anything, Elder Fotio... We just happened to make sure you're aware of this information," said Pavlon, lowering his head slightly in measured respect.
"The Golden token holds secrets that I couldn't even unravel with my mid-stage cultivation level... Doesn't the Sky Pavilion Elder find this intriguing?" Merkules said slowly and deliberately as he forced Elder Fotio to think in his line of direction, his tone carefully measured to provoke curiosity.
The Elder sized the trio up for a while, his sharp gaze moving from one face to another, before opening his mouth and revealing crucial information.
"The Golden token was created by the Northern Gladiator... It holds secrets far beyond what you think... Since you saw the golden token, why don't you take it from him?" The Elder squinted his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable.
The trio looked at each other before turning to the Elder, their faces having turned red from embarrassment, their earlier confidence faltering under the weight of that suggestion.
"Achoo* Such profound secrets should only belong to the Elder of the Sky Pavilion." Merkules bowed a little, forcing a respectful tone despite the discomfort lingering on his face.
"We will now take our leave." The trio said at once, as if planned beforehand, and rushed out of the Office of the Sky Pavilion, leaving Elder Fotio to think quietly, his fingers tapping lightly against the wooden surface of his desk.
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.
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(Sky Earth Drum — Few weeks later.)
Socrates sat in a lotus position as he stared at the surging stream of water for the umpteenth time without losing his focus nor gaze, his posture steady despite the long hours spent unmoving.
Every morning he sat there, studying the flow of water... The way it rushed into the drum from the path connected to the stream, creating ripples that echoed softly along the curved stone walls.
Then he watched how the water was diverted to the Sky Pavilion pathway and the pathway of the Earth Pavilion, splitting into steady currents that disappeared into carved stone channels leading outward.
As days passed, he stopped filling the drum since he already saw it as a waste of time and quietly whiled his time away watching the waters, his attention sharpening toward understanding rather than labor.
At a certain night, he went to the cafeteria to order a meal as usual when he noticed the strong and gloomy atmosphere in the air, the usual lively chatter replaced by heavy murmurs and tired expressions.
He didn't pay attention and went straight to the vendor and ordered his own ration, his movements calm and routine despite the tension surrounding him.
He was given two hard bread crumbs and a blue grape, placed roughly onto a small wooden tray.
Socrates squinted his eyes as he watched the dish, turning the tray slightly as if expecting more to appear.
"Why is it so different from the previous serving? And why is the bread so hard?" Socrates asked, his tone carrying mild confusion rather than anger.
"Young Gladiator. You've to bear with us... The Kitchen house is lacking water.... Before now, the Son of Trueblood had made our lives easy... Water was enough for everyone and the food could be prepared well.. Now, the water couldn't even satisfy the disciples of the Sky Pavilion.. Only little was reaching us here.." The Elder in charge of food complained bitterly, wiping sweat from his brow as steam barely rose from the nearby cooking pots.
"I wonder what happened to the Son of Trueblood."
Socrates didn't linger around, he carried his food and went to sit on a table at the far end, choosing a shadowed corner away from the center of the hall.
But he couldn't eat in peace..
Every disciple present was lamenting about the lack of water, their voices rising in frustration and exhaustion.
Some were cursing and swearing for him...
Some were sympathizing with him thinking that something might have happened to him...
Some claimed that it wasn't his fault...
But one thing is sure...
Either good or bad... The name of Socrates kept ringing into the ears of everyone present, echoing repeatedly across the hall like an unavoidable chant.
"The disciples need the water... Punishment or not... I must do what I have to do." Socrates folded his fist as the hard bread scattered, crumbs breaking apart under the pressure of his tightening grip.
(Blue Stream — The next day)
Splash!
Water splashed across the rock as Socrates dipped the yoke into the stream, drawing out water, the cold liquid swirling around the wooden rim before settling into the buckets.
In a swift motion, he filled up the two shoulder poles which were carrying two gigantic buckets each and placed them on his shoulder, the heavy weight pressing firmly into his muscles as droplets slid down the sides.
He turned around to leave when he sensed something...
A presence gaining in very fast. He took a step back as a dagger pierced into one of the buckets, tearing a hole through it as the water burst out violently, spilling onto the rocky ground below in a rushing stream.
Out of the shadows came out Merkules, Mastrile, and Pavlon... Putting on sky-blue robes and combat gears beneath it, their silhouettes emerging slowly from behind tall stone formations near the stream bank.
They were all holding swords as they stared at Socrates with a crazy confidence on their faces, their grips tight and posture aggressive.
Socrates was surprised... This was the men that couldn't face him weeks ago.. He wondered what was the reason for their confidence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their stance.
Socrates was no fool, he knew these trio won't just attack him without proper consideration, his instincts immediately placing him on alert.
"Are you ready to take it now?" Socrates asked as he stared sharply at the trio with a glint in his eyes, his tone calm yet challenging.
"Yes... We are fully ready." The moment those words tore out of Merkules' mouth, Mastrile and Pavlon jumped forward immediately as they slashed out at Socrates, their aura flaring violently when Socrates made his move...
Stepping forward as he bent his shoulder, causing the two shoulder poles to crash together in a violent clash that caused the buckets to break as water spread out violently, crashing on the duo that was rushing in.
They had to stop their launch and guide themselves against that violent rush which drenched them from head to toe, their robes clinging tightly to their bodies as the force staggered their footing.
Merkules watched with horror as the water crashed down. He thanked his luck that he didn't rush in like the others, but that was a fool's dream as his head instinctively looked up to see a gigantic wooden bucket crashing down on him.
This was the last bucket that had not broken earlier and Socrates had sent it flying towards Merkules, the spinning container cutting through the air with heavy force.
"Freeze.." Merkules stated as he slashed the air with his blue sword.
A blue swirl of energy tore through the air as the bucket got frozen mid-motion, encased instantly in solid ice before shattering into rigid fragments.
He then turned his gaze at Socrates...
"We are settling this here..."
"Oh... You want another round of beating.." Socrates squinted his eyes as at that moment, the two drenched fellows returned to their feet, water dripping steadily from their soaked robes.
"Beating? You're mistaken. This is not a duel and was never a duel.." Merkules replied, a faint smirk forming on his lips as confidence returned to his posture.
"Pfft... I'm afraid, the three of you is not enough." Socrates flexed his muscles without even looking at them directly, the subtle tightening of his shoulders sending faint creaks through the wooden yoke resting nearby.
"Yeah... The three of them are not even going to involve." Another voice came, deep and steady, and Socrates squinted his eyes as a chill instinctively ran along his spine.
The trio created a path for the short man who strolled in while stroking his beard, his small figure moving with unhurried confidence as his gaze seemed to be staring at the stream rather than Socrates.
The faint sound of water flowing over stones filled the brief silence as the figure advanced.
"We pay greetings to the Sky Pavilion Elder."
'So this is their preparation... The Sky Pavilion Elder..' Socrates wasn't afraid, but every part of his body was high on alert...
Because if there's something to be known, it's the fact that the Sky Pavilion Elder's cultivation is far higher than that of his...
He had trained his body and could rival a mid-stage Energy Condensation Realm Cultivator...
But there's a big difference between a mid-stage and a Peak stage...
"Come on, boy... Hand over the token..."
"If you want something, you come take it yourself." Socrates replied to the Elder in a sharp tone that caused a faint frown to appear on the face of the Elder.
"You've been neglecting your punishment for the past few weeks... This Elder only wants to show you some corrections." Elder Fotio justified his reason why he was carrying out his action as he released his aura...
The surging aura of a Peak Energy Condensation Realm expert spread outward like a rising tide, causing the trio that was surrounding him to shift backward due to the immense pressure pressing heavily against their bodies.
The aura surged violently as even Socrates was forced to take two steps backward due to the immense surge, loose pebbles around his feet trembling slightly under the invisible force.
That moment. That very moment... Socrates knew that he's in for a tough fight, the weight of the Elder's presence settling heavily across the battlefield like an approaching storm.