In Sifir's room, a young maid was waiting for him to return.
"Young Master, are you hungry?"
"No. Beyond Blue, I need to start getting ready."
"Young Master, are you leaving for another mission?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
In a rare moment of gentleness, Sifir reached over and rubbed Beyond Blue's hair until it became tousled and messy.
"Stop that, Young Master!" Beyond Blue slapped Sifir's hand away. "Do you know how long it takes to do my hair?"
Beyond Blue pouted.
A light chuckle escaped Sifir.
"I don't, and I don't care."
"This is what I dislike the most about Young Master. You're always ruining my hair. You have no decorum when it comes to a lady's hair."
Sifir continued to chuckle.
"Do you know what this mission will be like?"
"I don't, Beyond Blue."
Beyond Blue handed him a token that had been delivered to his room while Sifir was speaking with Patriarch Murda.
Sifir tilted his head and inspected the token in his hand.
*This is a high-level authority token from the clan...*
"Also, Young Master, someone brought this spatial bag to you as well."
"Mhm..." Sifir placed one hand behind his head. "This looks like a high-level spatial pouch to me."
*What kind of bag did the Patriarch give me? This is more like a dimensional pouch than a bag.*
"Do you think the Patriarch gave you the wrong one?" Beyond Blue asked curiously.
Sifir shrugged.
"Who knows? Beyond Blue, fetch the usual supplies from the clan warehouse. Also, get essence containers and several pairs of clothing."
Beyond Blue nodded and left.
Sifir considered his current stock of spirit fruits and rare plants. The body cultivation method he practiced demanded a considerable amount of resources, and breakthroughs were painfully difficult.
*Also, let me get a few things the Patriarch mentioned in those reports. Preparation is always needed before entering the unknown.*
He had thirty hours before he had to report.
He wouldn't be early.
But he wouldn't be late either.
Some might call that reckless.
Others might call it cunning.
---
### Five Hours Before the Meeting
Five hours remained before Sifir was due to arrive at the location where he was supposed to meet the Elder.
When Sifir arrived at the meeting place, it looked rather casual: a modest building roughly four hundred square feet in size, surrounded by a fence and guarded by several cultivators in the Earth Realm.
Most of the guards cultivated at the Initial Earth Realm, while some were likely middle-to-late Refinement fighters.
They were strong enough to handle ordinary threats, but little else.
Sifir slowly approached the gate with the calm demeanor of a seasoned warrior.
The guards standing at the gate immediately questioned him.
"Halt! What business do you have here?"
"I, Sifir Midnight, have been summoned by the Elder."
He tossed them a token.
The guards examined its sigil. After confirming its authenticity, they stepped aside and allowed him to pass.
Sifir never relaxed internally, but outwardly, he never broke a sweat.
Eyes followed him as he crossed the courtyard toward the main building.
Before reaching the door, he released a small pulse of energy, carefully probing the surroundings for traps and formations.
Inside, three figures watched a floating screen.
"A cautious one," the man in the orange cloak sneered before continuing. "Caution won't save your life."
He laughed maniacally.
"Being safe is better than being sorry," the purple-cloaked watcher replied with mild annoyance. She turned her head toward the man in the orange cloak. "Reckless behavior gets you killed in the long run."
"Let me at him for a few moments," the orange-cloaked man said maliciously. "He won't regret it."
Sifir entered the small chamber, which had a simple design.
A low, husky voice greeted him.
"The Elder will be with you in a moment. I'll brief you on the unit you're assigned to and the items on the table."
Sifir said nothing.
His attention shifted toward the side wall.
Three masks hung there, each pulsing faintly with spiritual energy.
They weren't merely disguises.
Sifir could sense their aura signatures.
Each mask possessed a will of its own.
The red oni mask emanated fiery aggression. Its spiritual flame seemed to test the will of anyone who dared touch it.
The green dragon mask radiated overwhelming pride and vitality, almost arrogant in its divine aura.
But the black mask...
It was different.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
The longer Sifir stared at it, the more he felt something tugging at his soul.
The black mask seemed to swallow the light around it. Its surface resembled a void, subtly bending the glow of the room. Two fangs extended from its jawline, almost as if the mask were wearing a faint smile.
Faint ripples of cold darkness pulsed beneath its surface, resonating with the subtle darkness within Sifir's cultivation core.
The husky-voiced man chuckled.
"Most avoid that one. They say it's cursed—forged from a beast that devoured its own spirit.
"But if you're brave enough, take it."
Sifir said nothing.
He simply extended his left hand.
The instant his fingers brushed the edge of the mask, a deep vibration echoed through his mind—a whisper without words.
For a brief moment, the surroundings dimmed.
He saw an indistinct figure.
A warrior cloaked in night sat atop a mountain of corpses.
Then the vision vanished.
Sifir opened his eyes.
His expression remained calm, but inwardly, every instinct was alert.
"I'll take the black one."
"Your funeral," the husky voice muttered.
"But remember the rule. Once you choose the mask, it bonds to you. It marks your aura signature and conceals your identity, even from divine sense."
The husky voice paused.
"That is the price for anonymity."
The mask's fangs shimmered faintly before dulling once more, as if acknowledging its new master.
Sifir tucked it into the pouch at his waist.
His expression remained unreadable.
He then created a condensed version of the black mask and slipped it over his face.
---
The chamber beyond was circular, its walls carved with runes designed to suppress fluctuations in qi.
At the center sat the Elder.
His posture was straight, his eyes half-lidded. He appeared calm yet dangerous, like a blade hidden beneath velvet.
As Sifir stepped inside, the black mask covering his face released a faint hum, synchronizing with his qi circulation.
He could feel it probing him.
Testing him.
Measuring his strength.
But Sifir allowed it.
A weapon only obeyed once it understood the will of its wielder.
Yet internally, this surprised Sifir.
The mask he had condensed from the black particles merely mimicked the black mask inside his pouch.
The realization sent a quiet ripple of caution through him.
He wanted to look inside his pouch.
He wanted to touch the original mask.
But Sifir remained composed.
*Forever cautious.*
He acted as though nothing had happened.
"Good," the Elder said, his voice low and heavy. "Since we are all present."
He looked across the chamber.
"Unit 04—codename Quiet Storm—stands assembled."