The mountain air bit sharp and clean as Duncem and the seven masters of the Skycleaver Sect arrived at the cavern mouth. Carved by time, not hand, it breathed an ancient stillness.
"Heavenly Saintr!" Cyril's voice, amplified by the pulsing energy of the Samsara True Qi (Vital Rockforce), boomed into the depths. "It's Cyril. We bring word… news of Owen."
Silence. Then, resonant and clear, cutting through the mountain's heart, came the reply. "I heard the Bell of Heaven's Mystery. Did you find Owen's disciple? Enter." Heavenly Saintr's voice held no frailty, only power honed by decades.
Inside the cavern's shadowed belly, coolness prickled Duncem's skin. They navigated natural tunnels for a hundred meters before spilling into a chamber. At its center, seated upon a great stone dais, was a silhouette radiating an aura of profound serenity and contained might. Duncem couldn't make out features in the gloom.
Cyril and his brothers knelt as one. "Honored Master."
Duncem, nudged by Cyril, clumsily followed suit. "Duncem… Duncem pays respect to Heavenly Saintr."
"Rise. Cyril, stand aside." A flicker of emotion, long buried beneath layers of discipline, touched the Master's usually calm tone.
As Duncem stood, two cold spears of light stabbed through the darkness – Heavenly Saintr's eyes snapping open. Clarity, immense vitality, and an unnerving intensity pinned Duncem where he stood. His own Samsara Vital Rockforce surged wildly in response, feeling both tested and drawn towards this titanic presence. He couldn't move a muscle.
"You are Owen's disciple? Duncem?" The pressure was crushing.
"Y-yes, sir. He taught me," Duncem gasped.
Heavenly Saintr sighed, closing his eyes. The pressure vanished like a popped bubble. "Tell me everything. How you met Owen. Your time together. How he died."
Duncem found no thought of resistance. He spoke, words tumbling out: his lonely childhood in the Illusion Woods with the alchemist Gorith, the discovery of intruders, the shock of finding masked figures swarming a man clad in white – Owen, already poisoned by the legendary, unstoppable toxin known as *Wuer Holy Water*.
A sharp intake of breath came from the masters; even they feared that poison's name.
But Heavenly Saintr seemed unmoved. "Continue."
"They… they were going to kill him! Then… he pulled out a sword." Duncem swallowed. "The Shadowblade."
This shattered the Master's composure. His eyes flashed open again, cold fury crackling in the air. "'Shadowblade'? So the 'Reaper', the infamous assassin haunting the realms… was my own disciple?" His voice held bitter disbelief. "All these years… unseen. Speak on."
Duncem narrated their flight, Owen's collapse, his rescue by Duncem, their years together, the harsh, relentless training fueled by bitterness and the sword's dark power, the devastating revelations about Owen's past – his guilt over his lover's death at the hands of the Killer Ninja' Syndicate, his shame at failing his Master – and finally, his slow, painful demise from the poison. "His last thoughts… were of his sister… and of you, Master. He… he told me to visit the Sect." Duncem's throat tightened. "He said… he was unworthy."
Reaching into his collar, he pulled forth the glowing sapphire pendant – the *Blue Dragon's Blood* artifact. "By the Blood of the Divine Drake, open the gate of space!" Light pulsed, and two objects materialized from the pendant's shimmering aura: Owen's massive Skycleaver Sword, resting point-down, and a simple ceramic urn holding his ashes. They settled gently on the cavern floor.
Deep silence engulfed the chamber. The air itself seemed to thicken with sorrow and regret. Then, a blur. Heavenly Saintr stood before Duncem. Close up, the Master appeared shockingly vigorous – a man in his prime except for the mane of silver-white hair and beard. His features were austere, defined by a high-bridged nose and sharp phoenix eyes that saw right through a man. An aura of profound righteousness and intense, charismatic power washed over Duncem, demanding reverence deeper than any priest could inspire.
The Master trembled slightly as he gazed at the sword and the urn. With a wave of his hand, the heavy sword and the ashes floated into his grasp. Decades of monastic serenity couldn't shield him from the shock of his daughter's death confirmed, or the loss of his troubled disciple. His strong fingers traced the worn hilt of the Skycleaver Sword.
"Owen… my boy…" His voice was a rough whisper, choked with grief long suppressed. "Your life was poisoned with thorns. Ah… my fault. My bitterness over… her death… I turned from you. It wasn't your failing."
The other Masters, faces streaked with tears, gathered around their master. Duncem felt the wave of shared grief anew. "Master Owen… I *will* avenge you," Duncem swore, the promise torn from his throat.
Heavenly Saintr's gaze snapped back to Duncem, sharp as flint. "Show me the Shadowblade."
Duncem recoiled. "It's… it's too dangerous! Its evil–"
A wave of power slammed through the cavern. Heavenly Saintr stood taller, radiating pure, potent life-force that pushed back the shadows. "Hand it over. No darkness holds sway over me."
Duncem flinched at the commanding tone. Carefully, he unbuckled the special harness under his shirt. The Shadowblade's hilt pulsed with a faint, malevolent light. "Master… please… don't unsheathe it! It claims souls!" He offered the harness and its burden, his heart pounding.
Heavenly Saintr passed Owen's relics to Cyril. Pure, white light exploded from him, a bastion of living energy. Duncem felt the harnessed sword instantly muted within that glow, its pervasive evil suppressed as if contained within unbreakable crystal. Heavenly Saintr drew the Shadowblade from its harness. Instantly, a surge of chilling malice radiated outwards, but it dashed itself uselessly against the shimmering wall of Heavenly Saintr's power. Duncem watched, transfixed, as faint tendrils of deathly grey smoke coiled from the blade within its luminous prison.
"So… this is the artifact that ruined Owen's life." Heavenly Saintr's voice was low, analytical despite the raw emotions swirling in the chamber. "Such stubbornness. Such a toll of lives laid bare. No wonder he met such an end. The Shadowblade… its power is no myth." He gave the weapon an almost detached appraisal. "Curious… how many of its 'Reaper's Techniques' could I deflect?"
"Master Owen said… only someone at the peak of Samsara Vital Rockforce mastery – the Ninth Cycle – could safely wield the first five techniques," Duncem offered nervously. "He claimed… the rest weren't meant for mortal hands. Please… be careful, Master."
Heavenly Saintr slid the Shadowblade back into its harness. His piercing gaze fixed on Duncem. "What if I told you I wish to keep this blade here? With me?"
Relief, dizzying and profound, washed over Duncem. The Shadowblade, for all its devastating might, was a nightmare shackled to his soul. He nodded fervently. "Yes! Yes! Please, Master. Master Owen insisted I take it… but I never wanted its burden. Its malice… it's terrifying."
A flicker of understanding passed over Heavenly Saintr's stern face. "Pity. It has no purpose for me. Owen was right. Even such a weapon, guided by a just hand, could serve the light. You… your spirit is untarnished by its touch. *You* will continue as the Shadowblade's keeper." He tossed the harness back to Duncem.
Duncem fumbled, catching it. "But… Master! You… you *can* control it! I… I don't–"
"You are a disciple of the Skycleaver Sect!" Heavenly Saintr's voice cracked like a whip, his anger palpable. "Where is your grit? Your resolve? A cultivator bows to *no one* – not even Heaven! Do you understand?"
Cowed by the Master's rage, Duncem quickly refastened the harness, securing the cursed weapon against his skin once more, biting back further protest.
Heavenly Saintr swept his gaze over his grieving disciples. "Cyril? Your thoughts… on Owen's fate?"
Cyril's voice was tight with controlled fury. "Master, the Killer Ninja' Syndicate… this insult cannot stand! They knew Owen was yours! They killed little sister… enslaved him! We should gather our strength. Hunt them down. Let us avenge Owen!"
Master Zhou's knuckles were white on his sword hilt. "Yes! They spit on our name! Owen's blood cries out!"
Heavenly Saintr closed his eyes, the lines of his face deepening. "Vengeance… what peace does it bring the dead?" His voice resonated with a profound weariness that belied his vigorous form. "A century under the sky, and I couldn't shield my own disciples… my own child…" He shook his head slowly, the white beard catching the cavern's dim light. A sheen of unshed tears glistened in his eyes at the memory of Duncem's words – Owen's dying thoughts lingering on him. "Cultur?"
"Master… you cannot mean to let this pass?" Cultur's voice was tentative.
Heavenly Saintr's eyes remained closed. "I am weary. Take Duncem back to the fortress. Leave me… I must think. Duncem… you are formally recognized as an Initiate of the Skycleaver Sect from this hour." His voice dismissed them, heavy with unspoken burdens.
---
Outside the cavern, the weight crashed down. Duncem crumpled against a boulder, wracking sobs tearing from his chest. Reliving every moment with Owen, the stern kindness, the bitter training, the final confession… it was too much.
Cyril laid a firm hand on his shoulder. "Child… enough. Owen will know justice. Heavenly Saintr… he protects his own like a lion guards its cubs. The Syndicate will pay. You're exhausted. Rest. You're part of the family now, Initiate Duncem. I am Elder Leaf Cyril. Address the Master as Grandmaster."
---
Back in the Spartan chamber assigned to him in the mountaintop fortress, Princess Petal Stella met him, her violet eyes wide with concern. "Duncem! Your eyes! What happened?"
Duncem grasped her hand like an anchor in a storm. "Heavenly Saintr… he accepted me into the Sect. It's just… remembering Master Owen…"
Princess Petal Stella frowned. "But Duncem… if you join the Sect… how will we journey? How will I have my trusty oaf tagging along?" Her attempt at levity felt brittle.
Duncem looked away, troubled. "I… I don't know. My head is spinning."
Seeing his genuine confusion, Princess Petal Stella softened. "You look terrible. Get some sleep. We'll talk about adventures later." She pushed him towards the narrow bunk, tucking the rough woolen blanket around him. As she turned to leave, Duncem caught her hand.
"Stay… Princess Petal Stella? Just for a bit? I feel… lost."
Princess Petal Stella nodded, sitting on a stool, her small hand warm and steady in his trembling one. "Sleep now, silly knight. Dawn solves nothing."
The warmth of her touch, the sheer *life* radiating from her, finally calmed the storm inside him. Exhaustion, physical and emotional, dragged him under into the oblivion of sleep.
---
He awoke to evening shadows and an empty room. The familiar weight of the Shadowblade harness pressed against his chest. Memories of the cavern, the staggering power of Heavenly Saintr and the Elder Leafs, flooded back. *I am nothing next to them*, he realized starkly. His 'Grim Flash' technique would be little more than an insect sting before such might. Avenging Owen required power he didn't possess. *Only training. Relentless training.* He traced the outline of the harness.
The door creaked open stealthily. Princess Petal Stella peeked in, then jumped seeing him awake. "Duncem! Creep! Say something next time!"
"Just woke." Duncem pushed himself up.
"The Elder Leafs summoned us for dinner," Princess Petal Stella said. "Rock and Rockforce are already stuffing their faces. Come on!"
Duncem frowned. "Princess Petal Stella, show respect. They are worthy elders."
Princess Petal Stella stuck out her tongue but said nothing, pulling him up.
---
The communal hall hummed with the sound of eating Brothers. A new table held heaping platters of mountain fare: roasted roots, wild greens, game stew. Rock and Rockforce, looking intensely respectful, were demolishing food with gusto. Duncem and Princess Petal Stella joined them. The simple, hearty food was ambrosia after their ordeal.
Elder Leaf Cyril offered a tired smile. "Rest and replenish, Duncem. Mountain life is simple." His gaze encompassed Princess Petal Stella, Rock, and Rockforce.
They ate heartily, especially the travel-weary quartet. The Elder Leafs merely picked at their food, the shadow of Owen's fate heavy upon them.
Cyril set his cup down. "Duncem. How came you to travel with Rock of the Dunceclan? And our honored guest from the Holy Church?" His gaze on Princess Petal Stella was politely probing. "Pope Mystic rarely sends unblooded youths as envoys."
Duncem glanced at Princess Petal Stella. He recounted their meeting (omitting Princess Petal Stella's relation to the Blood Skeleton Monk Priest), the ill-fated Death Mountains bounty quest, and their detours through the Dunceclan lands and eventually, the hidden realm of the Elves.
Elder Leaf Cultur chuckled dryly. "Fools rush in where Angels fear tread. The Death Mountains? Glad the Elves turned you back. Your bones would whiten those peaks."
Elder Leaf Cyril turned his compassionate gaze to Rock. "And the loss of your wife… at your brother's hand… Rockfall's heart turned black indeed." He sighed. "Grief is a dark path, but you must find light beyond it, Rock. The offer stands: refuge and training here, if you seek it."
Rock met the Elder Leaf's gaze steadily. Years ago, he'd have leapt at the chance. Now, duty bound him elsewhere. "Deep thanks, Master Cyril. But my path is pledged – to the Elf Queen, to find her lost people. Perhaps… another time."
Cyril nodded acceptance. "Duty calls. So be it." He shifted focus to Duncem. "Duncem? Your pledged path? Will you remain?"
Duncem felt Princess Petal Stella's urgent gaze prickle his skin. "Grand Elder Leaf… I swore to the Queen first. Her people must be found." He avoided Princess Petal Stella's relieved smile.
Cyril's smile held understanding. Princess Petal Stella's feelings were plain. "Honorable causes. Such paths are worthy. Should troubles arise in sun-drenched empires… the peaks shield those beneath our banner." He paused, his voice growing serious. "But Duncem… a request. Stay a few days. Heavenly Saintr grapples with Owen's legacy… and the Syndicate. Await his decision before continuing your quest."
Princess Petal Stella, eager to secure Duncem's freedom, jumped in. "Of course! The peaks are stunning! That Skycleaver sunrise… we'd be fools to miss it!" She smiled brightly, unaware this choice would anchor Duncem to the mountain for years to come.
---
Meanwhile, deep within the secret vaults beneath a decaying city in the Sunset Empire's heart, tension crackled like static.
"WHAT?" The Thieves' Guildmaster's fist slammed onto the obsidian table, rattling goblets. "'Viper' fell? To the Reaper's apprentice?" Fury radiated from his cloaked figure. *'Vipers'* (Harvesters) were the Guild's elite, its backbone. Each loss was a crippling blow. Only the staggering bounty – ten thousand diamond marks! – had justified risking them all. It meant security for a decade.
Phoenixbane stepped forward, the black veil finally removed before her father. Her face, usually cool and detached, was etched with anguish. "It's my fault, Father. Viper… he saved me. From the Shadowblade. Punish me."
The Guildmaster regarded his only child, his pride. Nineteen, a *'Viper'* through sheer grit and talent. He knew why old 'Viper' had stepped into that deathstroke. He sighed heavily, the anger cooling into weary sorrow. "Speak the tale. Clearly."
Phoenixbane recounted the mission: infiltrating the forests of the Skykindred Elves with her Viper uncles and a strike force of Guild thieves. Initial success – sixteen Elves captured. Then heightened Elven patrols, Guild losses mounting, forcing retreat. Finally, the appearance of an outsider group – six men, two women. Their capture by a wary Elven squad. The calculated risk: overwhelming force to seize that squad and complete the quota. The ambush, succeeding until…
"The outsiders broke their bonds! Turned on us! Cutters and Shadows fell like wheat! We had to engage… personally." Her voice hardened recounting the duel. "One fell quick. Then… the oaf stepped up. Strong… but not strong *enough*. Until…" Phoenixbane's fists clenched. "Until he drew *that* blade. Viper… he pushed me away. Took the blow meant for me. The Shadowblade… it… he was gone. Before his next breath." Her voice choked.
Cob (the oldest Viper, known as *Cob* due to his gnarled demeanor) stepped beside Phoenixbane. "Guildmaster… the fault is mine. I urged testing the apprentice's claim. Spare the girl. Punish me."
The Guildmaster stood, a pillar of shadow. "Enough. The fault is the Shadowblade's… and the Reaper's lineage. Grief consumes us all." He paused, then spoke, his voice regaining its controlled cadence. "The mission… you completed it."
Shock rippled through the Vipers. Phoenixbane stared. "Completed? But we only secured sixteen…?"
"Among them," the Guildmaster stated, a grim satisfaction coloring his tone, "was the blood heir. The Elven Presidenttain's daughter. Her value? Greater than a hundred souls cut from the herd. The patron paid the full sum… and added five thousand diamonds. That bounty… is yours. Divided." He spread his hands. "Decades of service. Loyalty forged in shadow. Rest now. Rebuild your strength. Leave the recruitment to me."
Phoenixbane's eyes blazed. "Father! Viper's blood? Unanswered?"
"Phoenixbane!" *Cob* hissed a warning. "The Syndicate… even we don't stir that nest!"
"After decades of secrets fed?!" Phoenixbane protested.
The Guildmaster raised a silencing hand. "Viper will have his due. Darkness answers to Darkness. But caution, child. Why did the Reaper pass his blade to an apprentice? That… intrigues me. Go. All of you. Leave the rest to me."
Left alone, Phoenixbane ripped off her veil. Her face was pale, her eyes obsidian pits of hate. "Father, *let me hunt him!*"
"No!" The Guildmaster's voice turned sharp. "Your recklessness already cost one brother! Power hides everywhere! You are *my heir*! My *only* light in these shadows! This *stays with me*!" He softened marginally, seeing her anguish. "I know you loved him like a sire. But this prey is cursed. Leave it. Dismissed." The finality in his tone allowed no argument.
Phoenixbane stalked out, unspoken fury a pyre burning in her soul. The image of that dull-faced apprentice, the flash of the Shadowblade consuming Viper… it was seared into her mind. Vengeance wasn't her father's to dictate. It was hers. Her hunt was just beginning.