The steam from the teapot rose in a perfect, straight line, undisturbed by the wind. This was not natural. It was a display of control by the old man sitting across the table.
Grand Elder Zi-Mo of the Violet Gold Pavilion.
He didn't look like a warrior. He looked like a kind grandfather, with snowy white eyebrows that draped over his eyes. But Kaelen knew better. In his Dragon Eyes, this old man was a burning sun of energy. A single flick of his finger could flatten the entire Silent Lake Manor.
Jiara sat to the side, silent. She knew her place. This was a conversation between monsters.
"You possess a calmness that does not belong to your age," Elder Zi-Mo said, lifting his cup. His voice was raspy, like dry leaves skittering on pavement. "Mist City is a small pond. It cannot birth a Dragon like you. Who is your Master?"
It was a trap question. If Kaelen said "I have no master," the Elder might kill him to steal his secrets. If he lied poorly, the Elder would know.
Kaelen took a sip of his tea.
"My Master," Kaelen said, looking at the reflection of the sky in his cup, "is the one who taught me that the tea tastes bitter only if you swallow it too fast. His name is Time."
Elder Zi-Mo paused. He stared at Kaelen. Then, a low, appreciative chuckle rumbled in his chest.
"A philosophical answer. It tells me nothing, yet it tells me everything. You are smart, boy. Dangerous, but smart."
Zi-Mo placed a heavy, wooden token on the table.
"The Pavilion Lord has agreed to your terms regarding the pill recipe. We will protect you from the Silver-Iron Clan within the city limits. But Jiara tells me you plan to leave for the Endless Sea."
"I have lost something there," Kaelen said simply. "I must retrieve it."
"The Endless Sea is a graveyard," Zi-Mo's face turned serious. The grandfatherly mask dropped, revealing the hardened veteran underneath. "The Black Whirlpool you seek... it is not just a weather phenomenon. It is a tear in reality. Ships that go there do not sink; they vanish. Are you sure you want to throw your life away for a map fragment?"
"It is not for the map," Kaelen replied. "It is for my mother."
Silence filled the room.
Zi-Mo looked at Jiara, then back at Kaelen. The calculation in his eyes softened slightly.
"Filial piety," Zi-Mo sighed. "A rare virtue in the cultivation world. Most cultivators would sell their parents for a Rank 4 pill."
"I am not most cultivators," Kaelen said.
"Clearly." Zi-Mo tapped the table. "However, the Pavilion cannot protect you outside the city. If you leave, the First Elder will send his entire force after you. And the Shadow Blade Mercenaries will not fail twice."
"I don't need your protection outside," Kaelen said, his voice firm. "I need your protection inside."
Kaelen turned his head slightly toward the kitchen, where Uncle Hwan was humming a tune, happily preparing snacks for the guests.
"I cannot take him with me," Kaelen whispered. " The journey is too dangerous. He is mortal. The sea air alone would kill him."
Kaelen pushed a scroll across the table toward the Elder.
"This is the complete 'Nine-Cycle Golden Body' pill formula. It is worth ten times the previous recipe. It can help a Spirit Ocean warrior break through a bottleneck."
Zi-Mo's eyes widened. His hand shot out and grabbed the scroll. He scanned it, his hands trembling slightly. "This... this is a lost ancient art! Where did you...?"
"The price," Kaelen interrupted, his eyes locking onto the Elder's, "is his safety."
"You want us to protect the old servant?"
"I want him moved to the Violet Gold Pavilion's Headquarters," Kaelen commanded. "Give him a job. Let him garden. Let him cook. But ensure that no one—not the Silver-Iron Clan, not the City Lord, not even a god—touches him. If he loses a single hair, our partnership ends, and I will burn your Pavilion to the ground."
It was a threat. A boy threatening a superpower.
Jiara gasped. "Kaelen! You can't speak to the Grand Elder like that!"
But Zi-Mo laughed. He laughed loudly, slamming his hand on the table.
"Good! Very good! A man who does not fear power when protecting his family. I like you, Kaelen."
Zi-Mo stood up, tucking the scroll into his robe.
"Deal. As long as I, Zi-Mo, draw breath, your Uncle will live like a king within our walls. But..."
Zi-Mo leaned in, his expression darkening.
"...if you die in the Endless Sea, this protection ends. We do not keep pets for dead men. Survive, Kaelen. Come back stronger."
"I intend to," Kaelen said.
...
Sunset. The Courtyard.
The guests had left. The house was quiet.
Kaelen stood by the small pond, watching the orange koi fish swim. He was delaying the inevitable.
"Young Master?"
Uncle Hwan walked up behind him, carrying a bundle of clothes. "I packed your bags. I put in extra socks. The sea is cold at night. And I put in some dried meat. The food on ships is terrible."
Hwan was smiling, but his eyes were red. He knew.
Kaelen turned around. He looked at the bundle. Then he looked at the old man.
"You know I can't take you, Uncle."
"I know," Hwan said quickly, his voice cracking. "I know. I am old. I have bad knees. I would only be a burden. I would slow you down."
Hwan tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob.
"I am not sad!" Hwan wiped his eyes aggressively. "I am happy! My Young Master is going on an adventure! Like a hero in the stories! I will... I will stay here and guard the house. I will keep it clean for when you return."
Kaelen stepped forward and placed his hands on Hwan's shoulders.
"You are not staying here, Uncle. The Pavilion will take you in. You will be safe there."
"But... who will make your porridge?" Hwan asked, looking up like a lost child. "Who will wake you up? Who will remind you to wear a coat?"
Kaelen felt a lump in his throat. This was harder than fighting a thousand demons.
"I have to grow up sometime, Uncle," Kaelen whispered.
He reached into his robe and pulled out a small, wooden carving. He had made it last night. It was a small dragon, crude but sincere.
"Keep this," Kaelen placed it in Hwan's rough hand. "It has my spiritual imprint. If you are in danger, break it, and I will know. No matter how far I am... I will come back."
Hwan clutched the wooden dragon to his chest. He took a deep breath, straightening his back. He was a servant, but he was the servant of a Dragon. He had to be strong too.
"Go," Hwan said, forcing a brave smile. "Go save your mother. Bring the Mistress back. I will wait. Even if it takes ten years. Even if it takes a hundred years."
Kaelen nodded. He didn't say goodbye. Goodbye meant the end.
"I will see you soon, Uncle."
Kaelen turned. He didn't look back. If he looked back, he might never leave.
He walked out of the Silent Lake Manor, his shadow stretching long in the setting sun.
He wore a bamboo hat. He carried a single sword on his back—a new, black steel sword Jiara had given him.
As he stepped onto the main road leading out of Mist City, the wind picked up.
He was no longer the Cripple of the Silver-Iron Clan.
He was no longer just the Reincarnated Emperor.
He was a son on a mission. And the world was about to tremble under his feet.
One Mile Outside the City.
The road passed through a narrow canyon known as Ghost Weep Pass. It was the only way to the coast.
Kaelen stopped walking.
The canyon was silent. Too silent. No birds. No insects.
"Come out," Kaelen said to the empty rocks. "The First Elder must be very impatient to send you so close to the city."
Rustle.
From behind a boulder, a figure emerged.
It wasn't a mercenary.
It was Garret.
But Garret looked different. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin was pale. And he was holding a red pill in his hand—a Berserk Pill, a forbidden drug that doubled strength at the cost of life force.
"You took everything from me," Garret whispered, his voice shaking. "My reputation. My pride. Elara's heart. Everything."
Garret swallowed the pill.
ROAR!
His aura exploded, jumping from Spirit Ocean Level 1 straight to Level 3. His veins bulged like snakes.
"I don't care about the clan's orders!" Garret screamed, drawing his sword. "I don't care about the map! I just want you dead!"
Kaelen tilted his bamboo hat up. He looked at the fallen genius.
"Garret," Kaelen said, his hand slowly reaching for the hilt of his black sword. "You are not fighting me. You are fighting your own insecurity."
"SHUT UP!"
Garret charged. He was a beast now, fast and mindless.
Kaelen didn't move. He waited. The Spirit Ocean inside him—Gold and Black—began to churn.
This would be the first time he used the First Form of the Abyssal Dragon Sword Art.
'Form One: The Dragon Lifts its Head.'
Kaelen drew his sword.
It wasn't a slash. It was an upward strike, like a dragon rising from the deep sea to swallow the moon.
The world seemed to turn black and white for a second.
Shing.
Kaelen appeared behind Garret. He slowly sheathed his sword.
Click.
Garret froze in mid-charge. The red aura around him dissipated.
"How..." Garret gasped. A thin red line appeared on his chest.
"You rely on pills," Kaelen said, walking away without looking back. "I rely on the Dao."
Garret collapsed to his knees. He wasn't dead. Kaelen had used the back of the blade at the last millisecond. He had shattered Garret's cultivation, but spared his life.
"Live," Kaelen's voice echoed in the canyon. "Live as a mortal. Maybe then, you will learn what it means to be strong."
Kaelen walked into the mist, leaving his past behind. The adventure had officially begun.