Chapter 115: Plans
Deep within the heart of the mountain, in a cavern so vast that the far walls were lost in shadow, the leaders of the Azure Sky Palace held their council.
The chamber was stark and ancient.
The floor was made of a single, polished sheet of black obsidian that reflected the light of a massive, gently floating crystal at the center of the room.
The air was still and cold, heavy with the weight of centuries of power.
Ten figures sat around a simple, circular stone table.
At the head sat the Sect Master, Valerius, a man so old his face was a web of deep lines, but his eyes were as sharp and clear as a winter sky.
The others were the core elders, the true pillars of the sect. Among them was Elder Boros, his long white beard resting on the stone table, his expression weary.
"The final report on the new disciples," Elder Boros said, his voice echoing in the vast, silent chamber. He pushed a thick scroll across the table towards the Sect Master.
"Three thousand seven hundred and forty-two aspirants attempted the trials. Three hundred and twelve were accepted as outer disciples. The rest failed."
Sect Master Valerius did not look at the scroll. His gaze was fixed on Boros, his ancient eyes demanding the real answer.
"The numbers are meaningless, Boros. Tell us of their quality. Were there any true talents? Any prodigies who can carry the weight of our sect into the next generation?"
Elder Boros let out a long, slow sigh. It was a sound of deep, tired disappointment.
"There were a few with promise," he said. "A young man from the Crimson Sun family showed a high-purity fire affinity. Another, a girl from a minor merchant clan, displayed a pure water affinity. They have potential. They will become strong disciples."
"Potential is not what we need," another elder, a stern-faced woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, interjected.
Her name was Lyra, and she was in charge of sect discipline.
"We need certainty. We need heavens-defying talent. Did you find any?"
Boros shook his head slowly.
"No, Elder Lyra. None with a rare bloodline. None with an innate spiritual body. The quality is... average. Solid, hardworking disciples, but no dragons among them."
He paused, a thoughtful look on his face.
"There was one curiosity. A young man with no elemental affinity, but his foundation was the purest and most stable I have ever witnessed. It was like a flawless crystal.
His will is also incredibly strong. He has potential, but his path will be difficult without a clear elemental path."
The Sect Master closed his eyes, a look of deep weariness on his ancient face.
"Another year, and another harvest of mediocrity," he whispered, his voice filled with a frustration that was shared by everyone at the table.
"With this rate of decline, how are we to find suitable candidates?"
The word ’candidates’ hung in the air. Everyone knew what he meant.
"The time for the Celestial Cleansing Tournament is only two years away," Elder Lyra said, her voice grim.
"Our sect is expected to present the strongest disciples. It is a matter of honor, a matter of securing our position among the great powers."
"Honor is a luxury," the Sect Master said, opening his eyes. They were no longer just weary; they were filled with a deep worry.
"This is about survival. The Seal is not as stable as it once was. The primordial energy grows more chaotic with each cycle.
It requires a tribute of the purest, most powerful energy from the younger generation to maintain its balance.
The ’Cleanse’ is a benefit, yes, but the true purpose of the tournament is a duty. A duty to maintain the prison that protects this world."
A heavy silence fell over the council chamber. This was the true, hidden purpose of the tournament, a secret known only to the highest echelons of power.
The disciples thought they were competing for glory. In reality, they were competing for the chance to offer their own power to reinforce the walls of their world’s cage.
"If we cannot find disciples with strong enough foundations, with pure enough Qi, then our offering will be weak," Elder Boros said, spelling out the terrifying conclusion.
"The Seal will weaken further. And what is trapped behind it will stir."
The Sect Master looked around the table at the grim faces of his elders.
"We will do what we can with the disciples we have," he said, his voice firming with resolve.
"Double their resources. Push them to their limits. Find the best among them and forge them into weapons. We have two years. It will have to be enough."
The council was dismissed. The elders left the chamber, their minds heavy with the weight of the future.
They were a great and powerful sect, but they were fighting a slow, losing battle against time and the fading talent of their world.
Far below the grand council chamber, in the lowest levels of the mountain-sect, Rhys was beginning his new life.
He, along with the other three hundred new outer disciples, was led through a series of massive, utilitarian caverns.
An older disciple, a stern young man with the title of Senior Brother, handed each of them their new identity.
Rhys received a set of simple, blue and silver robes, a small spatial pouch containing a basic cultivation manual and a few low-grade spirit stones, and a simple iron token.
Engraved on the token was the sigil of the Azure Sky Palace, his new, fake name, and a number: Outer Disciple 734.
This was who he was now. A nobody. A number in a crowd.
He was assigned a room in the outer disciple dormitories.
The rooms were small, simple caves carved directly from the mountain rock.
Inside, there was a stone bed, a small stone desk, and a single, glowing crystal that provided a soft, dim light.
The door was a heavy slab of stone that sealed with a dull thud, granting him his first moment of true privacy.
Rhys sealed the door. He let out a long breath, the mask of the hopeful, nervous young man falling away.
He sat on the hard stone bed and took out the cultivation manual that had been in his pouch.
It was not a skill book. It was a rulebook, a guide to the life of an outer disciple.
He read it carefully.
Most of it was simple rules and regulations. But at the end, he found what he was looking for: the path to promotion.
The manual clearly stated the two conditions an outer disciple must meet to be considered for promotion to the inner sect:
Reach Tier 4, the Aura Manifestation realm.Earn 1,000 Sect Contribution Points.
Rhys looked at the first condition.
He was already a Tier 4 cultivator. He had met this requirement before he even stepped foot in the sect.
But he could not reveal this.
A new disciple who was already at the level of a sect elder would not be seen as a genius; he would be seen as a spy, a monster, a threat to be eliminated immediately.
He had to hide his true power. He had to "progress" at a believable, if impressive, rate.
He looked at the second condition.
Contribution Points were the currency of the sect.
They were earned by completing missions posted on the sect’s mission board: hunting specific spiritual beasts, guarding caravans for sect-affiliated merchants, or mining for rare materials in the sect-controlled territories.
The points could be exchanged for resources: better cultivation techniques, alchemical pills, and even access to the sect’s more advanced training grounds.
This was his path.
He had two years before the tournament. He was not in a rush.
He would spend these two years living the life of a normal sect disciple.
He would take on simple hunting missions, the kind that would keep him away from the sect, out in the wilderness where there were no prying eyes.
He would slowly accumulate his Contribution Points, building a believable record of a hardworking, talented disciple.
But his real work would be done in secret.
The past year had been a chaotic rush of power. He had gained a bloodline, an Origin Skill, a dozen new professions, and a new family.
He had not had time to truly understand or master any of it. He had been reacting, surviving.
Now, he had time to train.