This could not be a coincidence.

This Eudora girl must’ve pulled strings. The first round was supposed to lob him easy meat! It was meant to be a warm-up, a showcase for his new abilities! He felt as though he were a baby bird still a week away from hatching—and then Fate cracked open his egg, dumped him on his ass still bleary-eyed and dripping yolk, and chucked him straight out the tree, screaming “Fly, motherfucker, fly!”

Damnit! Dorian just couldn’t catch a break, could he?

He didn’t know what it was about this run. It was like it couldn’t make up its mind whether to give him really good luck or really bad luck—and it kept flip-flopping, one after the next, like a stone had been tossed in the lake of Fate, and all he could do was tread water in the wake of its ripples.

He scratched his head.

… Or—or—he was just being very overdramatic. That was a very distinct and likely possibility. It seemed more and more likely the more he thought about it.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Whatever! It is what it is—too late to do anything about it now, eh? I’ll deal with it. What else is left? The first seed is the only one we’ve not covered, right? Why don’t you tell me about him?”

Pebble nodded. “Ooh, this is fun—fun fact—the first seed is actually my Master! Feiyang Shen, the Rat-King of Azcan, Chief of the Mischief and Ruler of the Undergrounds.”

Dorian raised a brow. The name was vaguely familiar. Hmm. The Mischief—that was the main gang from the Outskirts. Now that I think of it, there’s a whole horde of Outskirters, huddled up, just waiting to be exploited! That’s a lot of manpower for my Sticks…

“Hmm,” said Dorian, rubbing his chin. “Point him out to me, will you?”

Smiling, Pebble jerked his head to the wall.

There, back against the wall, sitting alone, was a man.

That was the first thought that popped to mind. If you told some artist—perhaps a fevered, giggly pubescent girl—to draw her ideal fantasy of tall, dark and handsome, this guy was it. His jawline could puncture steel. It almost looked comical—like if he looked down too fast his chin might pierce a hole in his own neck. His hair was a mop of coal strings, his eyes sealed shut. In Dorian’s opinion, he was straddling some invisible line between “cool” and “trying way too hard to seem dark and mysterious” very well. Not a look many could pull off!

It was his power level, though, that most caught Dorian’s attention. Peak Earth Realm. Dorian blinked. Now this was one to watch out for. Only warriors at the tippy top of the Azcan power hierarchy gave him this feeling—men like Bin Heilong. It wasn’t quite at the level of the Oasis Lord, but it was close enough to be deeply concerning.

Somehow—incredibly—all the breakthroughs he made in the past few days still might not be enough to win this thing! He was at least a step behind this guy. It was a little annoying, to be honest.

Still. It’s just a little cultivation to go, isn’t it? Dorian would put himself somewhere in the Earth Realm right now. No clue where, but he was up there. At power level parity I should wipe the floor with everyone here.

He sighed. Worst come to worst, he could try a time-honored tactic: shitting on the reward to make himself feel better.

“Say, what are the prizes anyways?” he said. “I’ve heard whispers of Relics and Gods, but they’ve all been very vague. Is it really all that?”

“Well, there’s the usual—the super-potions and the riches and so on,” said Pebble. “But as for the main draw… y’know, I’m not sure either. That I haven’t heard about for sure. And I hear everything!” Pebble leaned in. “But—but—there’s a rumor floating about that it’s something to do with the Dweller in the Deep.”

“Oh?” Dorian raised a brow. “As in the thing you Oasis dwellers pray to? Some Prime Bone, perhaps?”

“No. No way!” Pebble shook his head. “It’s—“

He hesitated, looking around. “I don’t know if this is true… but some say it’s still alive. It didn’t die in that war of the gods years and years and years and years and years ago! Some say it’s still deep deep down in the Sinkholes.”

“Sinkholes. Plural.” Dorian squinted. “Which Sinkhole?”

Pebble cast his gaze about again, biting his lips. “Oh, I hate to say false things, these are merely rumors! You mustn’t hold me to this!” He paused. “But my cousin Sherlo is a courier. He says they saw a Flood Dragon surface at the Taimen Oasis’ Sinkhole. Then three weeks later it showed up at the Yao Oasis’s Sinkhole! They knew it was the same one. It had the same scars along its back and the same screwed up hind leg and everything! And this is only one of several stories like this through the years. There was that incident with the lost Chiwen fish, and the corpses of Jiatu clam, which should be native to only Azcan, showing up in Sinkholes thousands of li away!”

Dorian perked up. Oh? This is interesting.

“So you’re saying,” he said slowly, “That the Sinkholes are connected somehow. Underground. Through, say, some network of tunnels. Or… an underground ocean?” “See, nobody’s got that far! No-one knows!” cried Pebble. “The deeper you get, the more it’s Beast King Territory. Some of those things down there even the Oasis Lord wouldn’t dare take on!” He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Which is why some think the Dweller is still there. Nursing its wounds, biding its time and stuff.”

“I see.” Dorian chewed on the thought. It was a lot to digest, and he had no clue what to do with it right now. Probably best to shelve it for later. “That’s all well and good,” he said. “But what’s it have to do with the Relic?”

“Ah, yes!” Pebble’s eyes brightened. “See, the thing with the Dweller is it’s got some pretty gnarly abilities! Again—darn, I’m saying this a lot—no clue if it’s true. But some say it can mess with time. Some say it can heal a limb in a blink! Some say it’s got a qi pool as big as all the qi in the realm combined! If even a tiny bit of that’s true, swallowing merely a drop of blood might grant some nasty powers…”

He paused. “Y’know the Oasis Lord’s never lost a fight?”

“Really, now.”

“Yup. And some say it’s cause he can see his enemy’s every move before he does it! ‘Cause he drank one drop of Dweller’s Blood.”

Dorian was, in his first life, the Godking of Time. Some monikers never leave you. So he knew better than most anyone how unpredictable the future could be. It was downright irresponsible. It made promises it simply couldn’t keep, a recipe for disappointment.

And yet he couldn’t keep from salivating. Just a little.

He knew of powers like these. They were rare, even among Gods, given only to a few Bloodlines and guarded jealously.

He also knew their potency at a very, very deep level. You never know anything quite like your first Heavenly Dao. Sure, all the comprehension had left him in this form, but it’d be back in a blink. Right now he was akin to a legendary swordsman being forced to fight with a kitchen knife.

If Dorian got this it frankly didn’t matter what his power level was. Are you kidding?! Give him even three seconds of sight into the future, and he’d never lose to anyone on this damned plane ever again!

But of course—of course—

It was probably nonsense. By the way Pebble described it, it was speculation wrapped in rumor, dunked in hearsay, and lathered with a thick sheen of embellishment besides.

Still, it had him piqued. He’d give it that.

“Hmm,” said Dorian again at last. “Well. For a person who claims to abhor rumor-mongering, you sure traffic in your fair share, eh?”

“Hey! Unfair!” Pebble puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms. He glared. “You were the one who asked, mister!”

“I’m only playing, child. Relax.”

Pebble made a face. “That’s mean. Don’t do that! I can never tell when people kid.”

Before Dorian could respond, a voice smooth and deep as a riverbed cut in from the other side of the room. “Pebble.”

It was the Rat-King. He regarded them both with a flat, black gaze. His gaze lingered on Dorian for a touch longer than necessary it slid onto Pebble. He beckoned.

“Oooh,” said Pebble with a wince. “Gotta go! Hope this was helpful—and good luck! I expect you’ll really need it.” He held up a finger. “Here’s a tip! Don’t let her sashes around your chest or head! She seems real mad, and that’s the only way you might actually, erm, perish. As long as you don’t let her do that, she’ll prolly just batter you around for a bit and they’ll call it off!”

With those parting words of encouragement, he threw Dorian a thumbs up and scampered off.

Dorian was still chewing on all the revelations Pebble had dumped unceremoniously at his feet as he walked over to the Rust Tribe camp. Kaya stood there, frowning, in some kind of discussion with Pearl. The tattooed man was staring at her like she had grown three heads.

She saw Dorian as he drew near, and grinned. “Oh, you’re here! Perfect! I’ve got a question for you.”

“Yea? What?”

“I got paired up with this guy—Leo Ouyang. Heard of him?”

…

The pungent taste of watermelon mixed with toe sweat floated through Dorian’s mind. His cheek twitched.

Ah, so the pairings are rigged! I’m not paranoid after all.“As a matter of fact, I have.”

“Really?” Kaya said, wide-eyed. “Who is he? What’s his deal? How should I fight him?! I’m so—“

She was cut off by a blast of chatter, the white noise of a boisterous crowd. Dorian squinted to the front of the chamber, where the door had creaked open once more to admit a referee.

“Princess Eudora of Azcan and Io of the Heilong!” said the man. “You’re up!”

Dorian blinked. Already?! He shot Kaya a sorry smile. “That’s my matchup! I’d better go.”

“Oh—okay,” she said, looking a smidge disappointed. She said something else too, but it was drowned out by the blast of the crowd.

“One last thing!” Dorian had to fight to make himself heard. “His fatal weakness is his feet!” He shrieked. “Target them without mercy or conscience! Best of luck!”

Then he clapped her on the back and strode calmly into the mouth of the beast.

Well, Javelin, so-called greatest weapon in all the desert! It’s time to see if you’re all you’re cracked up to be.

Because if it wasn’t? He was unfathomably screwed!