Chapter 24: Glimpse of the Ocean
The sect's training grounds rang with noise; qi strikes snapping against stone, bodies slamming into sparring circles, and elemental bursts sparking off ward posts while attendants kept watch. Tharia hadn’t meant to linger, but the chaos sucked her in anyway. She slipped through the crowd of outer disciples, ears twitching with nerves and shoulders hunched like she was trying to disappear.
"What's happening?" she asked a nearby disciple.
"Senior Sister Lyra," the disciple whispered, reverent. "She's fighting three core disciples at once."
"Three at once?!" Tharia's ears shot straight up. "That's—who approved that? Is there a form? Does she have insurance? This feels extremely illegal!"
The disciple gave her a strange look and moved away.
Tharia's eyes caught the figure at the center tearing through the arena. Her ears shot straight up. "Shit! That’s absolutely not fair. Someone nerfed the core disciples."
Several people turned to look at her.
Lyra’s dark skin gleamed under the arena lights. She was tall, sleek, and dangerously curved, her violet ponytail whipping behind her as she spun. Her crimson wolf tail lashed wildly. The black one-piece she wore was pure forbidden fashion. Skintight, baring her shoulders and back, clinging to her powerful thighs; it covered only the bare minimum.
Some disciples in the crowd muttered darkly about “that woman’s cursed fashion sense again.”
“Is that—” Tharia started, then slapped a hand over her mouth.
But not fast enough.
An inner disciple next to her smirked. "Jealous?"
“Of course not!” Shot back.
But her traitor eyes had already dropped, straight to those thick muscled thighs barely contained by the scandalous fabric, then up to Lyra’s breasts straining hard against the top. One sharp kick and they looked ready to spill free. The outfit was doing the absolute legal minimum and Tharia’s brain was not coping.
‘I wish— Wait! no. Stop. Combat analysis only. Very professional fox.’
She yanked her gaze back up, face burning.
The disciple next to her grinned. “You’re staring.”
“I’m analyzing combat practicality!” Tharia squeaked, cheeks on fire. “That’s different! Totally different! The thighs— I mean the leverage— and the… structural support issues— I’m being scientific!”
"Sure it is."
Tharia’s cheeks puffed out in indignation. “It is! I’m a scholar of violence! A connoisseur of efficient murder clothing! I have notes!”
A nearby inner disciple in full traditional robes sniffed. “Disgraceful. Wearing the Villainess’s cuts so openly… some people have no shame.”
Tharia’s face flooded with heat. ‘Great. Now I’m thirsting over forbidden fashion. This is fine. Everything is fine.’
Lyra’s aura pushed outward, heavy and hot. She fought three core disciples at once, and they were helpless before her. Her speed was ridiculous, and her every kick exploded with fire that propelled her forward in bursts of flame.
She played with the three core disciples like they were training dummies, golden eyes full of lazy amusement.
But she was not only fast, her fists burned. Flames burst with every blow, scorching the air. Her flaming fists made close combat brutal, forcing opponents to shield or retreat.
A spinning strike ignited the air, forcing one opponent to move back, coughing.
A burst of flame exploded outward as the heat washed over the crowd.
The kimono flickered as the wave of heat hit; the already short hem, riding up her thigh, cool air brushing bare skin, that warm little spark flaring low in her belly.
‘Wait—no. Not here. Bad fox.’
Tharia slapped both hands over the seams. “No. Not now. Don't you dare—"
It stabilized.
An outer disciple next to her raised an eyebrow.
“Allergic to fire!” she announced loudly. “Very common fox condition. Mind your business.”
The disciple moved away.
“The clothes flickered from HEAT too?!” Tharia hissed under her breath. “Since when?! System, you absolute—”
System:
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Interference Detected: External Qi Source
Recommendation: Stand further from rank one cultivators.
Note: Even if you use SHOP templates, external thing will still affect you. You don’t like it? Go get real clothes.
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“OH NOW YOU TELL ME.”
Tharia's ears flattened from the residual heat.
"She's on fire," Tharia muttered. "She's literally on fire and she's fine with it."
The outer disciple next to her—a different one, they kept cycling away from her—nodded. "Fire Path cultivation. Rank one overall."
"Right. Fire. That makes sense. Very sensible cultivation choice. Not terrifying at all."
Her ears pinned back in reluctant awe.
Lyra's movements never slowed, each strike carried fire and weight, overwhelming her opponents until they collapsed.
A final strike sent her opponents sprawling, robes singed and breathless.
The crowd erupted in loud cheers.
Tharia remained frozen, heart slamming against her ribs.
Lyra exhaled slowly and flicked her tail. “Enough.” The three core disciples bowed and retreated. She stepped down from the sparring floor and the crowd parted, as her path headed straight toward Tharia.
‘She’s coming this way. Why is she coming this way? I’m nobody.’
Lyra’s golden eyes lifted and locked onto her. “Oh shit,” Tharia yelped. “Nope. Not me. I’m invisible. I’m a ghost.”
She was not invisible. Her tail was waving like a surrender flag.
Lyra's gaze stripped through her illusion like it wasn't there, not Kaela's professional assessment, but something sharper. Something that made her skin prickle and her kimono shimmer again.
Tharia's hands shot to the seams.
‘Don’t flicker. Don’t flicker. If you flicker in front of her I’m done.’
It held. Somehow.
Lyra slowed as she passed and leaned in close, voice low. “Still hiding behind crates, little cutie?” That sharp smirk appeared. “You’ve gotten bolder. I almost didn’t recognize you with clothes on.”
Tharia’s brain short-circuited. ‘Crates?! CRATES?! CLOTHES?!’ Her mouth open fell open, ears slammed flat, face burning crimson as her tail puffed to catastrophic disaster volume.
"I—what—crates?!" The words tumbled out in a squeak. "When did you—I don't hide! I'm very brave! I fought a wolf! A WOLF! Why would I—WHAT DO YOU MEAN WITH CLOTHES ON?!"
Lyra kept walking, tail flicking casually. Tharia stood motionless, mouth open, ears flat, tail puffed to twice its normal size.
"Crates," she said to the air. "What crates. I have never hidden behind a crate in my life. I'm a princess. Princesses don't hide behind crates. We hide behind dignity and poor life choices."
She paused.
"WAIT. WHAT DID SHE MEAN 'WITH CLOTHES ON'?!"
An outer disciple cleared his throat.
She turned, to find half the training ground was staring at her. Several were trying not to laugh.
One whispered to another, "Did she just admit to being a princess?"
"I'm leaving now," Tharia announced, voice too loud. "That's happening. Right now. Immediately. Everyone forget what you heard. Royal decree."
She power-walked away fast, cheeks still puffed in embarrassment.
Her outfit kept shimmering for a solid minute before she got enough qi control back to stabilize it.
'Crates. CRATES. What the fuck does she mean crates. And WHEN DID SHE SEE ME NAKED?!'
She made it three steps before a sect attendant appeared like a judgmental ghost. “Outer disciple Tharia. Survey the southern ridges. Report at dawn.”
Tharia took the slip, still spiraling. “Dawn. Ridges. Right. Very ridge-y. I’m an expert on ridges now. Super punctual. Definitely not still panicking about crates and mysterious nakedness.”
The attendant's expression didn't change.
"Dawn," Tharia said quickly. "I'll be there. Super punctual. I'm known for my punctuality and definitely not for panicking in front of rank one cultivators who have seen me naked for some reason."
The attendant left without comment.
Tharia stared at the slip, then back at where Lyra had disappeared.
‘Crates. Naked. WHEN. HOW MUCH DID SHE SEE?! And why do I keep announcing things in public?’
Spirit stones.
The mission meant spirit stones, and spirit stones meant paying Kaela, meant getting stronger, meant maybe not freezing like a scared kit the next time someone like Lyra casually revealed she'd seen her naked behind mysterious crates that Tharia had zero memory of.
She needed to train.
No. She needed to stop thinking about crates.
‘Same thing.’
…
Tharia stayed in the practice yard until dusk, striking the dummy again and again.
CRACK.
"HA!" She pointed at it. "I'm getting better! Suck it, wood!"
An inner disciple walking past gave her a strange look. She cleared her throat. "I meant that respectfully. To the dummy. Very respectful violence."
They kept walking.
Tharia went back to hitting things, and when the lanterns finally lit and the training grounds emptied, Tharia stopped, muscles trembling.
System:
[SYSTEM NOTICE]
Vein Resonance Threshold: 32% (+2%)
Note: Repetition without instruction provides diminishing returns.
Recommendation: Pay for more training or stop pretending you know what you're doing.
[collapse]
"I know what I'm doing," Tharia told the System.
[Secondary Note: You do not.]
"Fuck you."
The System did not respond, but she could FEEL it judging her.
Tharia looked at the mission slip in her hand.
'Tomorrow. Southern ridges. Earn stones. Pay Kaela. Library. Invisibility manuals. Become un-findable by scary wolf ladies who know about mysterious crates and have apparently seen me naked.'
She rocked onto her toes, ears twitching with determination.
'I won't stay at the bottom. And I won't hide behind crates. Because I don't know what crates she's talking about and it's driving me insane.'
She stepped into the night, still muttering about crates, and the naked thing.
Mostly the naked thing.
*
[Serenya POV]
Meanwhile, somewhere far away.
The days blurred, steady footsteps, from dawn and dusk.
Serenya carried almost nothing except her pack and the faint shimmer of her master’s concealing seal. Each night she rested under trees or in shallow caves, gaze fixed on the distant peak of Skyreach Pinnacle. The air grew thin and sharp as she climbed, and mist clung to her cloak until the gates of the Fate Sect appeared through drifting fog.
Inside it was quiet, measured steps, and hushed voices.
An attendant led her to her master’s chamber.
The female elder sat by the wide window, white hair loose, staring into the mist. “You’ve come far, Serenya.”
Warmth filled Serenya’s chest. She bowed, then stepped closer. “Master.”
The seal dissolved. White hair spilled down, pale glowing skin, blank irisless eyes. Crowned by two small, curved horns and a slit on her forehead.
The elder rested a gentle hand on her head. “This is who you are, do not fear it.”
Relief hit her hard, but the old ache came right after.
Her master sighed, then asked softly, “Tell me of your journey. Who did you meet?”
Serenya spoke: The roads. The storms. The strange fox-tailed girl who made something pull inside her chest.
Hours go by.
As Serenya finished, the elder smiled. “Fate weaves threads we cannot always see. If you feel a pull, then follow it.”
Serenya bowed. ‘If Tharia knew what I really am… what I did…Would she still look at me that way?’
System Status:
Host: Tharia | Age: 18
Status: Healthy
[TECHNIQUE ANALYSIS]
Illusion Proficiency: 39%
Chaos Stability: Fragile (Improving).
Qi Circulation: Vein resonance threshold - 32%.
Achievement: 'Style Over Substance'
Traits: 'The Reluctant Royal' (Passive). ‘Willing Exposure’ (Passive)
Passive Techniques: 'Shame-Guard' (Passive)
Module: 'Path of the Unseen'
Active Techniques: Illusory Raiment (Rank: D)
Chaos Essence: 78.
Status: Duskwind Sect - Outer Disciple.
Active Quests: Exceed Vein resonance threshold 50%.
SHOP.
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