Julian's smile was the cold, perfect curve of a predator who had just sprung a flawless trap, the words echoing in the library's silence. The Dimensional Compass felt impossibly heavy in his hand; it was not a prize, but a useless rock. He was not the hunter; he was the prey.
He didn't run. He didn't flinch. In his past life, a humiliation like this would have broken him, but the Kael who had died on a marble floor was a man who understood a simple, terrible truth: you can only be betrayed once. Everything after that is a calculated risk.
His mind was a maelstrom of furious analysis. "Looked in the right place." Julian's words. The "right place" was not the library shelf; the "right place" was Kael's memory. Julian's "Rewriter" ability hadn't just changed the present; it had subtly edited Kael's past. Julian hadn't just planted a decoy; he had planted a false memory of finding a decoy, knowing Kael's regression would lead him here. The Dimensional Compass in his hand was worthless. He'd been lured into a game he was already losing.
With deliberate movements, Kael slid the compass into his pocket. He had to assume Julian had eyes on him a surveillance rune or a distant spiritual sense. His only chance was to turn this checkmate into a desperate gamble. He gave Julian a slow, deliberate nod. It was a silent message: I see your move. But I will not surrender.
Without another word, Kael turned and walked away, his stride unhurried, as if he had accomplished his goal. He headed for the clan's training spars, a place Julian would expect a newly cultivated genius to go. But as he passed a high window, he caught a flicker of light a reflection from a far-off telescope, pointed directly at him from the Patriarch's tower. The gleam of Julian's sigil-infused irises confirmed he had been watched from afar. The game was public. The Patriarch was already a spectator, perhaps even a participant.
Kael reached the sparring arena and ducked into a small, rarely-used washroom. The moment the door clicked shut, his shoulders slumped and a low curse escaped his lips. The mask of calm shattered. He moved with a speed that defied his weak cultivation, his hands fumbling slightly as he threw a quick-acting energy suppression rune on the door. Julian was still three steps ahead, but Kael was a master of the hidden path.
The Ledger flared to life. [Target: Dimensional Compass]
[Status: Relocated]
[New Coordinates: The Sunken Vault of the Ardyn Clan]
The Sunken Vault. A place of legend, buried beneath the manor, guarded by a maze of traps and forgotten spells. Julian hadn't just hidden the compass; he had put it in a place he knew Kael couldn't access without a key a key Julian himself possessed.
Kael's mind went to the clan's ancient records he had memorised in his past life. The Sunken Vault had a single, tiny weakness: a flaw in its mana-draining array that could only be exploited by a specific, rare mana-infused ore. An ore that was used to forge the ancient blade of his great-grandfather, a sword now displayed as a decoration on the wall of the clan's trophy room.
He left the washroom and moved with a new sense of purpose. This wasn't a public stage anymore; this was a personal vendetta. He slipped past servants, dodged a few patrolling guards, and made his way to the trophy room. The air was cool and still, thick with the scent of aged metal and polished wood. He didn't just need the compass; he needed to show Julian that he was more than a puppet whose strings could be cut. He was a force of chaos.
He reached the trophy room. The sword was exactly where he remembered it. With a whisper of mana and a technique he had not yet mastered, he carefully siphoned a single, minuscule fragment of the blade's core. The sword didn't even register the damage. He now held the key.
He navigated the maze of twisting tunnels beneath the manor, his path a series of turns and detours only he would know. The air grew heavy, stale and damp. The Ledger counted down the seconds, its screen a silent guide. He found the entrance to the Sunken Vault, a heavy, rune-etched door. He touched the small, cool fragment of ore to a specific point in the ancient array. A single, audible click echoed in the deep silence. The door's heavy wards shimmered and dissolved.
Kael stepped inside. The air was thick with the scent of aged power and dust. The vault was a single room, a repository of the Ardyn clan's true, hidden treasures. And in the centre, on a simple stone pedestal, was a compass identical to the one in his pocket. He picked it up. This one felt different. It was warm. It pulsed with a subtle, living energy.
Julian had won the first round. But now Kael held the true prize.
He activated the compass, pouring his newfound cultivation energy into it. He felt the pull of space, the familiar sensation of a dimensional gate forming. But the gate that appeared was not the stable, shimmering portal he expected. It was a chaotic, swirling vortex of purple and black energy.
From within the portal, a voice echoed. It was a voice that belonged to no man or beast, a voice that rumbled like mountains shifting and whispered like the very fabric of reality being torn. It spoke in a language Kael knew from ancient cultivation scrolls but had never heard spoken aloud.
"You have awoken me, Keybearer. The game of Kings has a new player."
The voice wasn't a greeting. It was a command. And it was speaking directly to the Dimensional Compass, not to him. Kael looked down at the compass in his hand, and it hummed with a fierce, possessive energy. This was not a tool. It was a living key. And it had just opened a gate to something far, far beyond Julian Ardyn's comprehension.