A strong sun shone brightly from the centre of a cloudless sky, one which had wept away all of its gloom during the wretched thundershowers that had plagued much of the region in recent nights. Vast fields of dazzling flowers drank in the daylight, their dew-slicked bodies creating countless refractions that twinkled like a sea of diamonds, dancing to the tune of a calm but constant breeze.

Approximately 200 kilometres to the east of Verdure’s southernmost city, a pair of bedraggled youths sat quietly amid the seemingly endless field of vibrant flowers. They wore sombre gazes that were rarely seen on people so young, as if any moment they might receive the worst possible news that they’d been dreading for weeks.

They kept low to the ground like ferrets in the presence of a predator, the boy lying prone with his leg resting atop a bundle of sodden cloth, the surface of his foreleg blotched with bumpy, misshapen patches of silvery, hairless skin.

Goddamn, this is worse than chicken pox was. Nolan tried to ignore the irritating itch of his recently mended wounds.

He knew it would disappear with a bit more attention from the miracle water that he’d brought along from Nia, the strange world where he’d obtained the Ancestral Body Technique, though he didn’t have the luxury to wait around for a full recovery. For all he knew, there were still some of those Bloodhand Sect maniacs in the area.

Nyla sat within arm’s reach, her dark eyes narrowed and vigilant. Her long hair was messy, reminding him of a raven’s feathers. A tiny cut on her cheek told a grim tale of infection, where little brown veins were converging along the centre of the thin, finger-length slit. The wound was barely comparable to a paper cut, but it had become terribly infected and was now covered in small deposits of pus and leaked a clear liquid that continued to accumulate no matter how many times she wiped at the scratch.

“Man, I’m glad we took that water with us before we left the glade. Could you imagine what a nightmare this would be if we hadn’t?” Nolan lowered his gaze from the clear sky above and withdrew a corked bottle from his spatial bag. The large container held at least three litres of fresh, energizing water.

Light as the wound was, it had left a terrible infection that had almost killed her. If they hadn’t doused it in water as soon as the poison began to take effect, then she would have died within minutes.

Nyla shrugged in agreement, holding out a cloth for him to soak with the contents of his bottle. “This cut would be much worse, for one.”

“And my ribs would still be broken. Man, I’m just glad that neither of us got stabbed by that sword. Imagine how bad it would’ve been if that guy had used its essence fusion effect.”

The crazy battle of several days ago had been particularly savage. It transcended the scale of the medieval battles that Nolan had visualized as a child, back when such gruesome and horrific realities were simply the playful imaginings of a boyish mind. The conflict had been quite an eye-opener, since it proved just how dangerous the Bloodhand Sect really was. Even the weakest disciple was as strong as the boys that had almost killed him in Redfox Village, and every single member of their sect seemed able to use an offensive martial skill, which greatly improved their offensive strength.

“How are you feeling?” Nyla asked. “Do you really care if it scars?”

“Not really. My ribs are still a bit sore but my leg’s good to go. How about you?”

“No change since yesterday. The water stops it from getting worse, but it still hurts.”

When the tiny cut on her cheek had begun to fester like a bad smell, Nolan had asked to examine the sword that’d wounded her. It was an essence fusion weapon with a bone-white blade, a simple, bandaged handle without pommel or hilt. An eerie, pestilent aura lingered around it like an unseen horror in the midst of a fleeting nightmare. It had belonged to the leader of the bloodthirsty disciples that had ambushed the merchant caravan en route to the nearby city of Ferguson, at least until Nyla had run him through with the elegant, jade-green longsword that she’d looted from the flattened corpse of Greenwall’s city lord.

I hope there’s something in Ferguson that can treat her. In a world full of strange medicines and remarkable herbs, surely there was something that could purify the poison in her body.

Once the torrential storms had subsided and were replaced with a clear, lazy summer’s day, the colourful meadows had lost their sense of security. Such weather was the last thing that they needed at the moment, for there was a good chance they were still in danger.

For two days they’d been taking refuge within the tattered fields, rocked by rough winds while the great storm tore many flowers and plants to shreds. Nolan had focused on healing his broken leg and his injured ribs, which had brought him more than just a little bit of frustration. He’d had to project a small layer of inner essence over his wounds so that the special waters in the cloths that covered him wouldn’t dilute under the tumultuous rainfall. Nyla was the same way, for apparently the cut on her face burned like hot iron on soft skin, and left her ears ringing with a pounding headache.

The possibility of pursuers wasn’t the only thing on Nolan’s mind as he lay prone in a muddy puddle of pooling rainwater, which had begun to evaporate under the sun’s needy rays soon after the change in weather. Another cause for worry was his spectral teacher, the so-called Arrayment Master that shared an incomprehensible relationship with the Millennial Ring, which still occupied an intangible space within Nolan’s chest.

Moments before the ring had ferried him from Nia to Venara, the old ghost had launched an unknown bead of scarlet liquid in his direction. He suspected that it had been blood from the lingering spirit’s corpse, which supposedly resided within the cabin of the glade.

Nolan glanced at the tattoo-like mark on his left forearm, the result of a prior spiritual arrayment that he’d willingly allowed the old man to cast on him. The moment that the tiny bead of liquid made contact with the original markings, they had turned red. This clearly signified that the arrayment had been altered, which could only happen if a second arrayment was cast. Nyla’s markings had disappeared not long after they’d ventured out into the world beyond the glade, though Nolan’s had suspiciously refused to fade. Could Uncle Grey have been planning some sort of scheme during all that time that they had spent together?

That two-faced bastard. Whatever he’d done, it couldn’t be good, else he would have talked to Nolan about it beforehand and asked for his permission. Just what the hell did you do to me, you damn weasel?

“I think we should leave, Nolan. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t shake it.”

Moving his body with experimental caution, Nolan tossed aside the damp cloths that covered his wounds and jumped up from his reclined position, landing on his feet with the grace of a world-class gymnast. “Well then, I guess it’s about time we hit the old dusty trail, eh?”

“Our best bet would be to run in the direction that the caravan was heading.”

“You actually remember that? But if there’re more disciples out there, they’ll probably be waiting around any known routes to nearby cities. That’s what I’d do.”

“What’s your idea then?”

He pointed eastward. “We go that way.”

“Why?”

“The sun still rises in the east and sets in the west, right?”

“It was the same in your world?”

“Yeah, and Ferguson is due east. Even if we miss it, we should still hit a main road. If not, we can find a safe place and rough it out in the countryside for a month or two. Then we can return to the glade. The only problem with that…”

“Uncle Grey.”

“Let’s worry about that later. For now, I say we keep close to the ground and get moving.”

He crouched low and then took the lead, like a trespassing thief in a rich man’s field. They maintained an even pace of around thirty kilometres an hour, blending in with the surface of the flowery sea that kissed all horizons.

After all the time that he’d spent hiding away in the dirt like a cowering field mouse, Nolan felt a certain freedom now that he was on his feet again. The power in his limbs, the energy welling up inside him—he no longer felt as scared as before, as if the ball had finally rolled back into his court.

Two hours passed, and with it roughly sixty kilometres. The fields persisted without any signs of transitioning into another biome, densely vegetated and very vibrant. Nolan felt invigorated now that he was finally on the move, and knew that he could run on for the rest of the day if fate permitted.

“Wait.”

Nyla stopped abruptly and yanked him down to the ground. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, as a sheepish breeze stirred the hot summer air.

Nolan immediately cast his spiritual sense about the area, for a radius of about one kilometre. At this distance, he could just barely sense large forms like trees and perhaps some bigger animals, though anything smaller than a dog was likely to pass his notice. So long as he retracted his senses to about a tenth of those limits, he could make out the shapes and sizes of all living things larger than a rat. Within twenty metres, he could discern objects within people’s pockets.

“What?” he whispered. “Did you notice something?” Although the ranges of their spiritual senses were pretty much the same, he’d learned that the clarity of Nyla’s awareness was a cut above his own.

“I’m not sure. It’s gone now, but for a second I was almost positive that—”

“Oh?” A sudden voice startled the two of them, the tone strong and accented by a light rasp, cutting cleanly through the silent field. “Only at the Profound Entry stage and you actually managed to catch notice of me? Even if it was only for a second, I am ashamed.”

Nolan leapt back at the same time as Nyla.

An old man had suddenly appeared behind them like an eagle swooping down to snatch up a snake, a predatory aura seeping from his eyes as he stood there with a curious expression. He must have been in his early fifties, with a short head of hair that was mostly grey, save for the few stubborn traces of walnut strands that remained. Deep amber eyes regarded them with chilling indifference, his hands folded behind his back, arms obscured by flowing sleeves. Nolan instantly recognized the bloody crimson trim of the heavy black robes. The embroidered hand on the breast of the outfit was outlined by silver thread, making him stand out from the other disciples that Nolan had encountered so far.

Nolan’s heart was hammering away. The man had taken them completely unawares, and he leaked absolutely no traces of his cultivation.

We can’t fight him, he realized. Thinking rapidly, he tried to put together a plan of escape. He could have killed us just now, but he didn’t. He must want something.

“Pardon me, sir. Is there something that we can help you with?”

Shit, shit, shit! Will the gunpowder work? No, not unless I can hit him with it, but he’s probably fast as fuck. The white sword, then? That would only work if he managed to land an all-out strike, and only if the weapon’s essence fusion effects were activated in full, and if he could put enough strength behind his strike to penetrate the guy’s skin.

“As a matter of fact, you can.” The man unfolded his hands from behind his back and held out a small slip of parchment. “I’m looking for my grandson. This sound transference talisman is supposed to lead me to a young man that is travelling alongside him. Only, it’s led me to you. Why is that, I wonder?” His eyes flashed sharply as a bit of heat tinged his voice.