The canyon deaths did not become public knowledge, but silence did not mean ignorance. In cultivation society, information traveled like underground water, unseen yet unstoppable. By the time Kael returned to the Veyron estate at dusk, at least three factions had already confirmed that Ashen Fang operatives had vanished inside Blackwind Canyon. None of them understood how. That uncertainty was more dangerous than proof.
Kael crossed the courtyard without speaking. Servants bowed. Guards avoided eye contact. His boots left faint streaks of dried blood on polished stone. He did not rush to clean it. Let them see. Let rumors shape themselves.
His mother intercepted him just before he reached the inner hall. She did not gasp at the sight of torn fabric or the shallow cut across his shoulder. Her gaze went directly to his eyes. That was where the difference was.
"You absorbed too much at once," she said quietly.
Kael paused. He felt the distance again, the thin layer between himself and the world. The Devouring Mark's aftereffect. His emotions were present, but muted. Sounds felt slightly dulled. Even the scent of evening incense seemed less vivid. He examined the sensation clinically. It was not weakness. It was cost.
"It was controlled," he replied evenly.
"That was not my concern," she said. She stepped closer and placed two fingers lightly against his wrist, checking circulation patterns the way she had since he was a child. "Your pulse slows after heavy absorption. You become quieter."
"I am always quiet."
She gave him a faint look. "Not like this."
His father entered from the side corridor. He took in the blood, the faint chill in Kael's aura, and the barely perceptible increase in pressure around him. His gaze sharpened. "How many?"
"Three."
"Highest realm?"
"Mid-stage Body Tempering."
His father nodded once. No praise. No shock. "And the canyon?"
"I farmed it."
A small silence followed. Not disapproval. Calculation. His father finally said, "Corrosive mist leaves residues. Purify thoroughly."
Kael inclined his head and moved past them toward the underground chamber. Neither stopped him. They never did. Support from them was never loud, never emotional. It was structural. Quiet reinforcement beneath every decision.
The chamber beneath the estate was carved from natural stone veins rich with stabilizing minerals. Kael sat cross-legged at its center and closed his eyes. The Devouring Mark warmed faintly as he began isolating the absorbed fragments from the canyon fight. Three distinct sources. One unstable and sharp. One fractured. One stubborn and resistant.
He separated them mentally and began refinement.
As he compressed the first fragment, a flicker of sensation surged through him. A brief flash of the canyon shelf. The feeling of fear. Not his own. The dying cultivator's. The Devouring Mark had not only absorbed qi. It had carried imprints. Emotional residue.
Kael's brow tightened slightly. He forced the fragment into tighter compression, burning away the imprint until only pure energy remained. The sensation vanished instantly.
So that was the true risk.
If he devoured without refinement, he would accumulate echoes of others. Fear. Rage. Desperation. Those would not remain silent forever.
He worked for hours, stripping foreign will from each fragment. The second fragment resisted longer, attempting to disperse through his meridians. He redirected it sharply, compressing it into his dantian and sealing it beneath a thin layer of his own cultivated qi.
By midnight, the emotional dampening began to fade. Sensations returned gradually. The faint hum of insects above ground. The smell of stone. The steady rhythm of his own breathing.
He opened his eyes. Stronger. Slightly more stable than before. But thoughtful.
Above ground, far beyond the estate walls, a lone cultivator stood atop a ruined watchtower. He wore no clan insignia. His cultivation sat one minor realm above Kael's current stage. He held a thin jade slip between his fingers, recently imprinted with information.
"Confirmed," he murmured. "The Veyron boy consumes qi directly."
A voice crackled faintly from the slip. "Does he lose control?
"Not yet."
"Then escalate."
The jade slip dimmed.
Back in the underground chamber, Kael felt a faint shift in the air. Not an attack. Not even a presence. Just pressure. The kind that preceded storms.
He stood slowly and walked toward the chamber exit. His father was waiting at the base of the staircase.
"You feel it," his father said.
"Yes."
"They will not test you with equals anymore."
Kael's expression remained calm. "Good."
His father studied him for a moment longer. "Do not rely on devouring alone. Power gained under pressure must still be stabilized."
"I know."
His father placed a hand briefly on his shoulder, firm and steady. Then he withdrew without another word.
Kael ascended the stairs into the night air. The stars were sharp above the estate. He stood there for several minutes, letting the cold settle into his lungs. Somewhere beyond the hills, someone had decided he was worth serious attention.
He almost welcomed it.
But as the Devouring Mark pulsed faintly beneath his skin, he acknowledged something else. The colder he became in battle, the easier decisions were. Cleaner. More efficient.
He would have to ensure that cold did not follow him everywhere.
The next hunt would not be as simple as the canyon.
And he suspected it would not wait long.