Sifir entered the chamber alongside Beyond Blue. The room was spacious enough to fit ten people comfortably, simple yet composed. The floor was made of cherry peach oakwood, exuding a soft, soothing fragrance that calmed the mind. Though considered low-grade among natural treasures, cherry peach oakwood was valued for its balance — supple enough for furniture, yet firm enough for sturdy floors.
A figure stood beside the bubbling tempering bath, clad in a light sage robe trimmed with deep yellow. This was Herbalist Litework, a woman not blessed with striking beauty, yet possessing a natural warmth that could ease the spirit. She didn't turn to greet them, her attention fixed on the steaming bath.
"The bath will be ready in thirty minutes," she said quietly.
Across the room, a disheveled man knelt by the bath's edge, scribbling runes and lines into the floor with deep concentration. His hair was wild, his clothes an unkempt patchwork of stains and dust — the picture of chaotic genius. Scatter Breeze, the clan's Third-Rank Array Master, was an eccentric formation expert renowned throughout the Midnight Clan.
Among the Liger race, physical strength was prized far above spiritual craft, yet talents like his were rare and indispensable.
"Yes, yes — thirty minutes. You're always so quick, Litework."
Litework's lips twitched.
"Unlike you, Scatter Breeze, I actually manage to complete my work before the moon rises. Some of us are busy discovering formulas that improve bloodline serums."
Scatter Breeze snorted.
"You call yourself a herbalist, but you're more of a blood doctor — always rambling about how one strand interacts with another. Can't you just let things be?"
"Funny. You say that while obsessing over which rune connects to which array. Hypocrisy suits you."
The two continued bickering like old rivals, their words sharp but oddly affectionate.
Sifir and Beyond Blue merely stood there, silent, watching the argument unfold like two children quarrelling over sweets. Neither dared to interrupt; anyone foolish enough to interject between those two would only invite a scolding.
A soft cough echoed at the doorway.
Both elders froze instantly.
The First Elder had entered, his presence alone silencing the room. He glanced once at Litework and Scatter Breeze, who immediately lowered their heads in respect. But his gaze soon settled on Sifir — on his broken, battered form — and his eyes softened with a weary sigh. Without a word, he turned and left as quietly as he came.
When the two specialists finished their tasks, they too departed, leaving Sifir and Beyond Blue alone with the bubbling bath.
Beyond Blue gently helped Sifir into the seething mixture. The liquid hissed as it met his wounds, and agony coursed through every fiber of his being. He had known it would hurt — but not that it would feel as if his very soul were being torn apart.
Then came the voice.
A languid, humorless chuckle echoed in his mind, vibrating through his bones.
'I may have forgotten to mention," the voice drawled, "that this will be excruciating. You might wish for death — yet death will refuse you. Pain will be your companion for the next while. This is the fastest way to heal your broken foundation, though you'll never grow accustomed to it. It will *always* feel like the first time.'
Sifir clenched his jaw and gripped the bath's edge until his knuckles cracked. The voice continued:
'Your body's fragility stems not merely from your injuries, but from your very foundation. You've imitated the cultivation of humans — admirable, perhaps, but never meant for one such as you. Listen well, Sifir. The true path of cultivation for the Awakening Plane is grounded in the six primal elements — expanded into nine celestial forms.'
The voice began to fade, almost dreamlike.
'Metal shapes the bones. Fire shapes the blood meridians. Earth refines the muscle and skin. Water cleanses the blood. Wind tempers the heart. Air shapes the chi meridians. Then — Moon creates the Soul Palace. Sun creates the Will Palace. Star creates the Mind Palace. I'll explain more… when I awaken. For now… endure.'
The presence vanished.
Sifir's body trembled violently. His teeth sank into his lip, drawing blood as he fought to stay conscious. He lasted one minute. Then five. Then fifteen. After thirty minutes, his will finally broke, and the darkness swallowed him whole.
---
Three and a Half Years Earlier
The first image that surfaced was of a desk — clean, orderly, with a single parchment resting atop it. Behind it sat a broad-shouldered man, sharp-eyed and dignified, his hair tied into a tight ponytail. His name was Patriarch Murda of the Midnight Clan. The lines between his brows deepened as he read.
"This Elder is audacious," Murda muttered, voice low and edged with contempt. "Does he think his greed is invisible? Still… a clever ploy — forming a new unit under the guise of unity."
He looked up.
"Contact Sifir."
An attendant bowed.
"Yes, Patriarch."
Moments later, a young liger entered the chamber. His skin gleamed faintly like burnished bronze, his hair wild as untamed grasslands, and his abyss-black eyes carried both curiosity and instinctive wariness. Though only six years old, his physique radiated the maturity of one far older.
It was known that magical beasts aged differently. One year for a liger was equivalent to five for a human. By human reckoning, Sifir appeared around thirty years of age — a warrior in his prime. Yet cultivation for beasts was far slower. Humans drew closer to the heavenly Dao, while monkeys, nimble and clever, straddled both paths. The heavens had indeed given each race its burdens and gifts.
"Sifir," Murda began, "do you know why I've called you?"
"No, Patriarch," Sifir replied, his tone respectful but uncertain.
"Sit. There are matters we must discuss."
Sifir obeyed, sensing gravity in the patriarch's gaze.
"You've heard the Elder is forming a new unit — selecting promising talents for an expedition. He has requested you join."
Sifir frowned.
"Patriarch Murda, why me?"
Murda's lips twitched — neither smile nor smirk.
"Because, Sifir, your strength draws eyes. You've reached the Human Realm and fight with the prowess of the Flowing Water Stage. Impressive, especially at your age. But that's not the only reason."
In truth, Murda had another motive — one he didn't voice. The Elder's influence was spreading too swiftly, and Murda intended to keep a measure of control over the former overlord of the Ligers. Sending Sifir was both a concession and a subtle move on the clan's chessboard.
Sifir's face darkened with quiet disdain. He understood well the Elder's greed and ambition.
"How long before I leave?"
"You have less than forty-eight hours," Murda said. "Here — take this spatial pouch. It contains what you'll need. And… be careful. Don't let your guard down."
Murda paused, then continued, tone soft but heavy with meaning.
"One more thing, Sifir. You must understand the world beyond our lands — the powers that rule the continents. Once, our Midnight Clan united dozens of tribes and houses — Thunder Panther, Heavenly Lion, and others. Now, many turn their backs on us."
Sifir nodded. Everyone in the clan knew this history — yet Murda's tone carried something more.
"If your journey takes you to the Everlasting Continent, remember this: the Dragon Clan reigns supreme. Their current ruler, Kagayaku Kurai, the Nine Dragon Empress, sits at the peak of the True Emperor Realm. Avoid her clans and legions — their reach is vast."
He handed over a scroll.
"This contains their known networks."
Murda reached for another document.
"If your path leads to the Burning Continent, you'll find it under Phoenix dominion. Their True Emperor rivals that of the dragons, though their clans are fewer and their minds sharper. They see further than most. Study this report as well."
Sifir received both, bowing lightly.
"I'll prepare immediately, Patriarch."
"Good. You may leave."
As Sifir exited, he couldn't shake the thought that Murda's warnings were more than idle caution — perhaps foreshadowing the mission itself.
---
Elsewhere, the Elder studied a vast map dotted with glowing marks.
"The request was sent?" he asked without turning.
"Yes, Elder. Sifir should arrive by tomorrow."
"Good. All proceeds as planned. You may go."
When the messenger departed, a faint smile crept across the Elder's lips. The old capital of the Liger Empire — a treasure trove of secrets and danger — awaited. His plan was delicate: crack both the Midnight and Night Clans from within.
"Unit Four."
Three figures entered, kneeling.
"Yes, Elder."
"You will gain a new member tomorrow. Prepare the mission. Everything must proceed flawlessly."
"Yes, Elder."
As they left, he called again, voice cold as steel.
"Unit Five."
A shadowed squad appeared and bowed.
"Follow Unit Four. Do not be seen."
"As you command."
Silence reclaimed the chamber. A faint golden glow enveloped the Elder as he sat cross-legged, feigning meditation. Those who knew him well understood — this was no act of enlightenment, but of calculation. His cultivation was in scheming, not battle.
---
Far away, in the bustling city of Sunchaser, a festival atmosphere cloaked the streets. Crowds of ligers gathered to greet their new matriarch. Whispers rippled through the air — admiration, surprise, curiosity. The sudden change in leadership had come without fanfare, but none were foolish enough to underestimate its significance.
In a mansion that would be considered grand in any human city, the elites of numerous clans mingled, trading pleasantries and subtle threats masked as compliments. Politics, after all, was another form of war.
At the center of it all stood a young woman with long silver-and-white braids and calm poise. Though her attire was simple, her presence drew every gaze. Her eyes burned — serene on the surface, but alight with barely contained ferocity.
This was Judah Sunchaser, the new Matriarch of the House of Sunchaser.
"Matriarch Judah, congratulations on your ascension," said Gentle Winter with a polite bow.
"Thank you, Gentle Winter. Do inform your Grandmaster that the Sunchaser Clan values cooperation with the Winter Bliss Sect. We'll need your support in the coming months."
"Of course, Matriarch Judah."
Footsteps thundered through the hall as two ligers approached, faces pale with urgency.
"Matriarch! The Elder has sent a request to the Midnight Clan!"
Judah's lips curved into a knowing smile.
"Naturally. That old serpent moves exactly as expected."
"What are your orders?"
"We do nothing — yet. Prepare everything according to the Grand Elder's instructions. When Sifir returns… if he returns… our plan will advance. The Elder and his shadows won't stop it."
"Yes, Matriarch!"
As they departed, Juda's gaze turned distant, her tone almost amused.
"Oh, Elder… you think yourself a player on the board. But a pawn that believes itself a master remains a pawn. The board is vast, and I've already begun my move. I trust Sifir will survive — he must."
Her reflection in the polished floor stared back, eyes gleaming like twin suns waiting to rise.