Outworld Liberators

Within Radeon's Pavilion, the new disciples finally let out the breaths they had been holding.

Relief passed through them in a soft wave. For a time, they had truly believed their two seniors, Fay and Oswin, would never slip free of such a creature's clutches.

Almsgiver, as expected, pointed toward the Living Ghost Pagoda with bright, curious eyes.

"Boss Radeon, why do not we let big steel snaky come out and play? Wouldn't he be lonely in there?"

"That is quite a bad snaky. He needs to reflect and amend his wrongdoings."

That much was true. Both Calyx's pagoda and Radeon's own were Living Ghost Pagodas.

That Infant Living Ghost Pagoda, however, had a flamboyant streak common to the Ghost Realm. Left unchecked, it would flaunt that nature without shame.

If Radeon ever let it loose in public, the Goldkeep Crownmarkets would take one look and mark them as enemies.

In the stadium, the crowd sat on the edge of their seats.

No one joked. No one dared make a sudden noise.

What unfolded before their eyes felt too real for idle chatter, and most of them had never seen creatures like these before.

Yet that only sharpened the thrill. They were hooked. With every narrow escape, their admiration for the disciples' craftiness climbed higher, until the crowd had begun gifting each of them heroic titles of their own.

Even the booming sounds carried all the way toward the audience.

Radeon, still being tempered beneath the blows of great sledgehammers, lifted a thumb toward Calyx in approval.

The masters and teachers, however, were far less at ease.

They had seen their disciples on the larger screens, yes, but the enemies set against them were not merely dangerous. They were the sort that could scar the mind.

Some stood at the level of Gilded Core and even Nascent Embryo.

Still, for all their anxiety, even they could appreciate the value of it. A safe environment that could reproduce such intensity, such realism, was not something one came by often.

Then Eldric appeared in a small corner of the screens, though this view was reserved for the teachers alone.

"I have studied this secret realm. I may be unable to enter due to my cultivation, but I can still insert my own creations into it. That is why you are able to watch."

He spoke with the calm ease of a man presenting a miracle and a bill in the same breath.

"These structures can also transmit your voice. However, such transmission requires at least a hundred high grade spirit stones for one minute each day, with a maximum of ten minutes, should you wish to offer guidance or coaching."

A few faces darkened at once, but Eldric only smiled faintly.

"Yes, this is extortion. If you cannot afford it, do not worry. It will not alter the fortune of your disciples."

He lifted one finger.

"One last thing. We also offer loans for this service. In exchange, we can arrange work for you, since your disciples will remain here for a hundred days."

Then he pointed upward, as though he could see exactly what they saw. His visage even leaned beyond the little box that held him, one finger indicating the ear icon.

"That is the call icon. Mind you, if your student is in a precarious situation, I would not advise using it. They may be startled and lose their opportunity."

"I would never wish for teacher and student to be parted by my own hand. That is all."

When the announcement ended, the masters and teachers could not help drawing out their pipes as they drifted toward the snack rooms reserved for them alone, already murmuring over prices, risks, and whether concern was worth the cost.

Riev handed out pipes with easy generosity. At heart, he was the richest among them, his wealth flowing from the countless panaceas he could concoct for those willing to pay.

He also served as a diplomat to other sects, though beneath that polished role lay a quieter ambition.

In time, he meant to swallow the smaller schools for the sake of Netherdemon Sanctum Court.

The teachers gave him face for good reason. They knew him as Calm Giver.

His pipes could settle a restless mind and grant small gains in comprehension besides.

Even so, there was always something strange about sharing a meeting with him.

No smoke ever curled from the mouth.

Only dreamy bubbles, soft and glistening, drifting through the air until the whole room looked half sunk in a pleasant delirium.

"So. Does anyone want to call their disciple?" Riev asked, looking over the room.

Denzil, already used to the pipes, plucked three from Riev's hand and slipped two into his pocket.

"Why not. I was watching Jenkii. She just stumbled onto a great fortune, but she also looks like she is being pulled around by the new peers she is with. A few words of advice might help."

The masters and teachers found little to object to in that. To forces like theirs, a hundred high grade spirit stones was neither a trivial sum nor a painful one.

More than that, words spoken in the midst of such controlled danger were precious beyond measure.

A student who found enlightenment in a single warning, a single sentence, might carry that lesson for the rest of a lifetime, until it hardened into instinct.

For all their differing alignments, whether demonic, neutral, or righteous, these cultivators took their duty as teachers with grave seriousness. That was one reason they had been invited here at all.

There were many clans and even more schools, but Radeon was not a man who gave face where it was not earned.

Before long, even those short on funds agreed after fair contracts were laid before them by the human attendants of Ironbuck Mines.

Radeon did not dare let the ghost attendants wander too freely among these people.

They were far too sharp, and too much exposure would only reveal something better left hidden.

Like any machine with too many parts, the more there was to manage, the more chances there were for error.

While the great teachers weighed each word, careful not to squander their brief chance to guide their disciples, the first to reach the entrance of the second area had already arrived.

It was Lifara. She had done it alone.

Not because she was the strongest, but because terrain like this belonged to her.

In places of overgrowth, rot, damp soil, and patient life, she became something close to unfair.

With the Abundance Harvest Physique, she could turn herself into a walking mass of moss, her body lacking true veins in the ordinary sense.

Then there was her cultivation, Perpetual Flora Workshop, which allowed her to alter and recreate plants according to need.

Hundreds of thousands of dandelion seeds drifted out at her command, each one a tiny scout.

They flew, landed, and returned their findings to her through the web of her art. Lifara only needed to plant, send them forth, then keep moving.

Some disciples even noticed the dandelions and scattered them with idle breaths, never knowing they had touched part of her search.

Still, Lifara had been taught by Radeon. She knew he was watching, and she meant to prove his teachings had not been wasted.

So she concealed the inheritances beneath the overgrowth already present, folding moss, root, and vine over them until they seemed part of the land itself.

Then she sent her plants deeper, probing each inheritance in silence, testing what lay within before deciding which one, if any, deserved her hand.

Second, Lifara took out a Beacon Tree seed.

Once grown, that tree bore flowers and fruit that gave off a steady glow. She planted it right by the exit.

Her intention was simple. Draw the other participants toward that point. Most people, when pressed by danger and uncertainty, would drift toward an exit if one made itself known.

She had listened carefully when the rules of the second stage were explained, especially the warning against lingering there too long.

So instead of entering at once, Lifara sent all her remaining dandelion seeds ahead of her to probe the place in her stead.

Only then did she move again.

She began hopping along in a quiet tune, visiting the inheritances she had marked and left behind one by one. There was no rush in her steps.

Thaddeus, however, had come with an altogether different purpose.

He was not here with fortune in mind.

Blade light flashed all around him. There was no grandeur to it, no elemental spectacle, no shining excess. Only gray slashes cutting through the air in clean, murderous lines.

At his feet lay hundreds of dead horrors, their bodies piled and broken in his wake.

Right before him stood an eight-armed Undead Slayer.

In life, its sole purpose had been to vanquish evil. Now it had been reborn from evil itself, its skin gray, eight swords in its grasp, and its cultivation standing at the Middle Stage of Gilded Core.

Yet some fragment of its old will still lingered within it. That lingering emotion had turned into a single, brutal intent.

It was here to drive this boy to his brink. It was here to see what mettle Thaddeus truly possessed.

Thaddeus was covered in wounds. His hands trembled around the hilt of his broken blade while his other weapons lay scattered across the ground like things already claimed by defeat.

Still, he believed every word Radeon had told him.

There is no invisible weapon. Only an invincible cultivator.

He stared at the creature before him. The Undead Slayer stood still with all eight swords in hand, waiting, measuring, giving no ground and asking none.

Then another of Radeon's teachings rose before the first.

There is no shame in running. Shame only comes when you are dead and people mourn the bright future that never came to pass.

So Thaddeus looked away from the monster and searched the distance.

There, far off, he caught sight of a blinking light.

At once, his face changed. With his still childish features, he pointed at it in the same shameless way Almsgiver always did when curiosity took him.

"Mister Eight Arms, I do not have any weapon left. Let us stop for now and allow me to take a look over there. I will return."

The Undead Slayer looked him up and down.

The boy had not fled even after fighting this long. He was bloodied, exhausted, and still standing. At last, the creature gave a single nod.

Thaddeus did not run. He knew cultivators could sense the shape of surface thoughts, if only vaguely, so he kept his mind plain.

Hunger. Blood loss. Empty hands. Weariness. Nothing more.

Soon, he found Lifara. There was no exchange of greetings, no breathless question of what had happened.

There were no tears. No gasps. No dramatic cries of worry.

They only gave each other a quick glance, up and down, measuring the state of the other, then shared a single nod.

Lifara raised her hands toward her fellow disciple, Thaddeus, and a wave of green qi began mending each wound.

Such things were for home, for safe places where the body could afford softness.

Out here, in a place where every scrap of energy might decide whether one lived or died, even emotion had to be spent sparingly.