Richard Brightheart walked unhurriedly down the spiral staircase, its slippery steps reflecting the flickering light of wall-mounted torches. The Emperor hardly ever entered the dungeons of Brightheart Castle, except for rare occasions like this.

  He passed the first and largest underground level, where the common criminals were held. When the guards noticed his tall, broad-shouldered silhouette, they immediately ceased their chatter, freezing in deep bows like statues.

  Richard ignored them and proceeded deeper, passing the second level where the protective beacon was housed. Here, slaves and criminals were sacrificed to maintain the integrity of the Empire's borders. Very few officials had access to this place. The beacon’s existence wasn’t exactly a secret among the higher echelons of Brightheart nobility, yet nobody was stupid enough to discuss it openly. It was one of the quickest ways to end up on the executioner’s block.

  The Emperor’s staunch figure, dressed in exquisite robes of blue and gold—imperial colors—finally stopped in front of a large, mithril gate. There were no guards here; they weren’t necessary. Only two people were capable of bypassing the layers of formidable defensive formations built into this place: Richard and the Chancellor. What was hidden behind these gates was of utmost importance to the Empire’s future.

  The Emperor took out a formation key, channeling spiritual qi into the artifact before pressing it into the designated spot on the gate. As the side bolts retracted, the heavy, double-winged gate slowly opened to reveal a long, dark corridor. Despite its many cells, this level held but a single prisoner. The humid air carried a subtle stench of rot and mold.

  Richard walked down the passage, halting in front of a heavy, mithril-reinforced door at the far end. After temporarily disabling the protective formations, the Emperor entered the large chamber. It was pitch black, even to his keen eyes. He waved his hand, and several glowing orbs formed above his head, spreading throughout the room.

  As the orbs grew brighter, their cold light revealed a chained man at the center of the room. The prisoner wore rotting rags, his malnourished body barely capable of supporting the weight of his thick, qi-repelling manacles. These had been put on by the Chancellor ahead of the Emperor’s visit. The man’s once long, lustrous blonde hair had mostly fallen out due to accumulated pill toxicity.

  The prisoner grunted, narrowing eyes that had long been unused to the light.

  “What… year…?” The man spoke in a hoarse voice, forcing the words through vocal cords loosened from long periods of inactivity.

  “Does it really matter?” The Emperor shrugged, taking out a comfortable chair to sit on. “I see your cultivation has advanced to the late stage of True Core. Very good. It won’t be too long before you reach the great circle.”

  The chained man ignored the words, gradually opening his blue eyes as they adjusted to the brightness.

  “I came here today because I finally realized what you’ve been trying to hide from me for so long.” The Emperor’s smile carried no emotion. “There is a young man who is giving us some trouble. A small fry on his own, but he seems to have decent backing. His name is… Cade Ward.”

  The Emperor watched the man like a hawk, hunting for any reaction, but the prisoner showed none. Richard hadn’t really expected anything else; he knew this prisoner just as well as he knew himself.

  “You know, my memory is not what it used to be. Ward is such a common surname; it makes a great choice for someone who wants to disappear. Still, for some reason, I couldn’t let go of it. It gnawed at me—where had I heard that name? Around a week ago, the revelation finally struck,” the Emperor spoke slowly in a steady, emotionless voice.

  The prisoner remained silent, his body slumped, weighed down by the thick, dark chains wrapped around his limbs and torso.

  “There was an old report from the time we were still searching for you. Inside was a single line mentioning someone surnamed Ward. One of the merchants in Sacrament City thought they recognized your portrait but couldn’t recall your full name. When Crowe finally brought you back, the investigation was dropped. But now…” The Emperor stroked his short beard. “I’ve reopened it. Turns out, a person can recall quite a lot of information when properly encouraged.”

  The prisoner’s eyelid barely twitched, but the movement did not escape the Emperor’s notice. He smiled with satisfaction.

  “Cade Ward. Leanne Ward. Jonnah Ward. Do these names ring any bells, ‘Jonnah’?”

  A flicker of emotion passed through the man’s face, though it very well could have been a play of dancing shadows.

  “Interestingly,” the Emperor continued, “they’re all supposed to be dead. Well, we know you’re not dead, but the boy and the mother are down in the county register as deceased. The mother was killed during a bandit raid, and the son was kidnapped—likely taken to Kettle to be sold. And we both know how those slaves end up being used.”

  Aside from that earlier slip-up, the prisoner never moved. Not even a single clink of chains interrupted Richard’s speech. However, the dimming light in his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

  “Now I have this young man, coincidentally named Cade Ward, who’s causing all sorts of trouble. What I need to know is what outside force is backing him. I know you well, clone. You’re not very responsive to persuasion. But maybe you could be convinced through other means. You see, not long after your Leanne was killed, her distant family moved into the house.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The Emperor’s unblinking gaze remained fixed on the dirty man. “They traveled all the way from the other side of the Empire, hoping for a better life. Not too long ago, they seemed to have stumbled onto a small fortune. While the amount was meager by cultivator standards, for them, it was life-changing wealth. And it wasn’t gold coins, either… someone gifted them spirit crystals.”

  The Emperor caressed his short, neatly trimmed beard.

  “Who would suddenly provide them with cultivator currency, if not a cultivator who felt obliged to do so? I sent Crowe to bring the family in for a little chat. Apparently, close to a year ago, a masked man visited their house. He was very interested in the two graves located in the backyard. This person was, without a doubt, Cade Ward. He has somehow managed to reverse his vastly unfavorable enslavement situation.”

  The briefest flash of emotion passed through the prisoner’s skeletal face. The Emperor acknowledged the change with a tight-lipped smile.

  “You have clearly put plans into motion. Who did you get in contact with? Who is backing the boy? These are the things I need to know. We both understand that I cannot kill you, but I can make your life a lot more miserable than it already is. Damaged foundations can be repaired once I take over the body. My body.”

  Richard was hoping this little problem would solve itself with the Duke’s help, especially after his sons went missing and were now presumed dead. Unfortunately, Corwin remained tied up in the massive border conflict with the beastkin, who had apparently found a way to temporarily overcome the beacon’s effects. In the meantime, Darkheart had gone missing, and the Mirror Tyrant—Corwin’s loyal dog—had vanished as well.

  Neither were huge players, but both were far from pushovers. Now that Richard had a tangible thread to follow, he couldn’t afford to ignore this matter any longer. At least Crowe had already departed for the desert. The old manhunter had always been the most dependable of the bunch.

  “There are… no plans. All I wanted… was to live out my life… in peace… with my family,” the prisoner rasped.

  “See, I don’t believe you. You are me, and I am you. I know exactly how my mind works.” The Emperor shook his head. “Why make it harder than it needs to be? Say what needs to be said, and save them from suffering.”

  “I am… nothing like you.”

  “I guess the hard way it is, then,” Richard sighed, rising from the chair before swiping it back into his storage bracelet. He opened the reinforced gate, dispersing the lights with a thought before stepping out of the chamber.

  “Someone will come and bring over your wife’s family. One way or another, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”

  The reinforced door shut with a resounding thud, and soon after, the ever-present silence reclaimed its reign over the dungeon.

  As the chained man moved for the first time with a sharp clink of his heavy chains, elsewhere on the Sun Continent, a world gate opened with a brief burst of radiance.

  Cade stared into his ring, cursing under his breath in two languages, but he was quickly forced to put the matter of the missing Rank 4 blood essence aside. Trouble started brewing the moment he stepped out of the gate. Sensing what was coming, he passed Jade to Brickwall.

  This was to be expected—both Cara and Malon had flown immediately to their respective Masters. As a result, the Asura was now standing behind Grandmaster Erendriel.

  The elf, dressed in official robes of blood and gold that marked him as a Sword Saint, frowned at the two powerful cultivators in front of him: a shorter, bald man wearing orange spectacles and a tall, distinguished elven woman.

  Despite the fact that these two people were releasing no spiritual fluctuations, Cade was painfully aware that his current strength was nothing in the face of such figures. He was quite happy to stand behind the Grandmaster. He had already briefly explained the situation to the old Saint. Erendriel had listened carefully before finally shaking his head in silent resignation.

  “Fine. I’ll deal with it,” the elf muttered, taking a glance at his disciple’s blindfold and releasing a weary sigh. He then turned toward the two fourth-tier experts.

  “Grandmaster, you owe us an explanation!” Master Salizar insisted. He clearly did not intend to let the matter go easily. After all, Cara and Elanis were both his personal disciples.

  “I… owe you? I don’t think so.” Erendriel’s voice hardened. “Let me reiterate: your disciples attacked my disciple’s friends. Not to mention that both Cara and Elanis have shown strong animosity toward Cade, as well as threatened his life—all done publicly. So, Salizar, what exactly is it that you want explained?”

  “That may very well be the case, but those were merely words. Did they take any action?!” Salizar argued, though he had to know he wouldn't win. Cade assumed this was more of a show for the Long family and whatever clan Elanis was from.

  “Was he supposed to wait until they ambushed him? Don’t be ridiculous. Your disciples are at fault; therefore, your point is moot. If you have a problem with my disciple defending himself and his friends, then it means you have a problem with me. Maybe you’ve suddenly decided I’m unfit for the title of Grandmaster? If so, then just say so.”

  Erendriel’s unyielding voice cut through those weak arguments like a newly sharpened blade. Salizar threw him a grim, indignant look. According to his life signature, the elder was not furious, nor did he want to escalate things. Cade judged that by this point, the master's posturing was mostly done.

  “Hmph. One day, I will claim that title! Since you’ve put it this way, I can only take a step back. But make no mistake, this is something that’s not going away. Even if I’m forced to drop the matter, both the Long and Yesrel families won’t.”

  Erendriel offered him a nonchalant shrug. “The Yesrels won’t dare to fart if I don’t allow it. And the Longs… Let me put it this way: whoever tries to kill my disciple needs to be prepared for me to take direct action. If the Long family needs a reminder of who the most powerful cultivator on the continent is, I can only ask the Sword Matriarch to give them some advice on the matter.”

  His voice was as hard as tempered steel before he turned toward the elven woman in the orange robes. “Lythienne, do you likewise believe this situation was my disciple’s fault?”

  The ageless beauty smiled softly. “I am very clear on the matter of who stands at the root of the conflict. If possible, I would like to speak to your disciple. Alone. No harm will come to him.”

  Erendriel glanced over his shoulder at Cade, who reluctantly nodded in agreement.

  “Alright,” the old Saint responded, gesturing for the Asura to go.

  “Come with me, young man,” Lythienne said, gracefully moving between the hundreds of disciples—some of whom didn’t even notice her presence—leading him to a remote corner of the cave. The elven woman flashed a quick seal, and Cade felt the noise surrounding them fade into complete silence.

  “I’ve read the note you passed to Malon, and before I decide, I have a few questions. Do you mind answering them?” Lythienne asked in a neutral voice.

  Before responding, Cade offered the elf a martial salute and a small bow. She had the same cultivation as Grandmaster Erendriel—the late stage of Soul Avatar. It didn’t hurt to be respectful.

  “Senior, I’m not trying to be difficult, but it depends on the questions,” he carefully answered.

  Lythienne laughed quietly, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I suppose it does. The first one is very simple—I’m curious as to why you want this ‘silver bead’ so much that you’re willing to pass on a million spirit crystals.”