Steward Felric had carried me himself, despite being injured all along?
In Darian's memory, Steward Felric was like a father—a vast, calm presence with a gentle smile that never quite reached his eyes. Though Darian couldn't recall anything from before he was four, he knew he had traveled to many places with Steward Felric. Perhaps he was the man who had raised him from infancy.
"Uncle Theron, is Steward Felric's injury serious?" Darian finally asked, unable to hide his concern.
Theron caught the anxiety in the boy's voice and nodded. "I asked him the same question years ago. I even offered all my healing pills, but he only smiled faintly and shook his head."
"I remember clearly. He said, 'It's an old injury from many years ago. It won't heal, but it won't kill me either. No need to worry.' I was stunned, but seeing his calm, I had no choice but to accept it."
"An old injury that won't heal but won't kill?" Darian's heart sank. So much had happened to Steward Felric.
"Later, I invited him to the Valeblue family. He brought you here and stayed for over a month. During that time, you—who'd been unconscious—awoke. But I noticed that at four years old, you had lost your previous memories. He wasn't surprised. Eventually, he entrusted you to the Valeblue family and left behind the Blood Dragon Jade. Then one night, he vanished without a trace."
Theron's voice dropped low. Over the past eleven years, if not for Darian's very existence, Steward Felric's memory might have seemed like a dream—silent and fleeting. No one knew where he came from or where he went. Only Darian might know, but those memories had been lost.
Darian's face remained calm, but inside, a storm of confusion raged. Ten years of relentless persistence, and now this half-answer—a mystery wrapped in shadows. Steward Felric's hidden wounds, his quiet departure, Darian's own amnesia—all pulled at his soul.
He sighed deeply, touching the Blood Dragon Jade and the letter nestled against his chest. Slowly, the turmoil gave way to resolve.
"Steward Felric, Darian will find you. No matter what."
Theron sighed inwardly, sensing the boy's stubborn will—relentless and obsessive, much like his sudden explosive breakthrough yesterday. If not for years of hardship and unyielding endurance, how could he have risen so quickly?
Even now, Theron suspected Darian was hiding his true strength. After all, it was impossible for someone to ascend from Body Tempering Fifth Heaven to Body Tempering Great Perfection in just a month.
But none of that mattered now. Theron chose not to press further—he knew Darian carried burdens beyond his years. Just like years ago, when he secretly arranged a marriage contract between Darian and his daughter Aeris—one Darian had begged him to cancel many times—yet that contract sparked the duel with Lucian.
"Maybe Aeris just wasn't destined for that blessing," he muttered. "Let the young handle their own fate."
Having learned what he sought, Darian left the room, retreating to his small quarters to ponder what he now knew about Steward Felric. Riven wisely stayed silent, giving him space.
"Riven, you said a single finger could turn three Mortalveil Realm Fifth Stage cultivators into ash and erase memories without harm. What level of cultivation does such power require?" Darian's eyes gleamed, asking the question burning in his mind.
"Remember the yellow-robed elder beside Jaren? His cultivation is roughly the same as Valtor's—both have surpassed the seven Mortalveil Realm stages. Even they can kill three Mortalveil Realm Fifth Stage Qi Po cultivators with a finger, but to turn them to ash? Impossible, no matter how strong."
"As for erasing memories harmlessly—that's beyond cultivation alone. Only cultivators wielding powerful divine abilities can achieve that."
Riven's tone was certain, having heard Theron's account. Naturally, he shared his insights.
Darian narrowed his eyes, his mind racing.
"The Drakeflare City Lord, Valtor—even if dozens of times stronger—cannot do what Steward Felric did with ease. Erasing memories so completely without harm? Only a near-invincible cultivator like Steward Felric could. Yet he hides deep wounds, left me behind, and vanished alone. He must fear something—perhaps a stronger enemy hunts him. That would explain why he traveled so far with me as a child—maybe to escape."
His eyes burned with fierce resolve.
"Besides, if I'm right, Steward Felric was very close to my parents. Otherwise, why would he bear the burden of fleeing with me? Then... where are my parents? Are they alive?"
One question birthed a hundred more.
Solving one mystery only uncovered deeper ones. With what little he knew, Darian wasn't sure of his guesses—only more information about Steward Felric could confirm them.
"The Hundred Cities War… if there's news of Steward Felric in the First Main City, no one can stop me!"
His sharp focus ignited. Finding Steward Felric, defeating Jaren, and unraveling Riven's past were the reasons he endured ten years of silent cultivation. Now that a lead had appeared, he would seize it relentlessly.
Golden Saintly Battle Qi surged within him, blood glowing crimson-gold. He slipped into cultivation once again.
He did not follow Valtor to the Saren Clan but stayed behind in the Valeblue family—first to recover, then to confirm Steward Felric's secrets.
Time passed swiftly in cultivation.
Early the next morning, Darian left the small home he'd called his for ten years, a faint reluctance tugging at his heart. Step by step, he walked the familiar Valeblue family path, the Seven-Star Refining Dao Box slung over his back.
Ten years had been devoted to cultivation, neglecting all else. Now, leaving this place stirred a strange melancholy. This was where he had grown up—the thought that he might not return for many years weighed on him.
His black hair tousled by the breeze, he soon reached the small building where Liora lived.
He lingered silently but did not enter. He didn't want to say goodbye—not yet, not like this.
Though miles apart, true friends remain close at heart.
"Liora, Brother Darian will come find you, no matter what."
Turning away, Darian headed toward the Valeblue family's martial training grounds.
Unbeknownst to him, atop Liora's loft, a middle-aged woman in a flowing cyan robe watched silently.
A cold aura cloaked her face, her voice hoarse as she asked, "Has anyone in the Valeblue family seen the Lirae Maiden merging her True Spirit?"
Her words were as chilling as ice that would never thaw.
Liora's clear eyes showed no emotion, no warmth, as she replied softly, "No."
"Good. Please have the Lirae Maiden follow this old servant."
With a wave of her hand, the room flashed with red light and Liora vanished without a trace.
At the martial training grounds, Darian stood alone, the dark long box on his back. Valeblue disciples whispered softly around him, especially the girls who cast shy, regretful glances his way.
In a shadowed corner, a beautiful woman watched silently. Conflicted emotions flashed in her eyes—shock, confusion, regret. Her red lips bit tightly. It was Aeris.
Elsewhere, Lucian clenched his fist, rage and hatred twisting his face as he glared at Darian.
"Darian! You stole my Blood Dragon Jade! You stole my place! I will not forgive you! I will never forgive you!"
Suddenly, a ripple appeared on the horizon, and three figures swiftly approached.
Darian looked up.
Leading was Valtor. Behind him were a man and a woman—the girl was Seraphina, eldest daughter of the Lian Clan, whom Darian had seen during his duel with Lucian.
The man was surely Selene, the Saren Clan's top prodigy.
Valtor raised a hand in greeting. Darian felt a tremendous force lifting him, moving him beside the trio in an instant.
Valtor laughed heartily, a faint halo radiating from him and the others before disappearing from the eyes of the Valeblue disciples.
As he felt the strange sensation of floating, a sharp voice challenged from behind.
"How can someone who hasn't even condensed a Spirit Core fight alongside me, Selene in the Hundred Cities War?"
Seraphina's cold eyes flickered at the challenge. Her glance swept over Darian, who remained calm, as if she hadn't spoken.