The third clone gives one last glance toward the Tianren Mountains.
Then he turns his gaze forward.
As his will settles back into the flying ship, he feels it clearly now—this is not merely control. It is cultivation.
A new path unfolds in his mind.
Not refinement of Qi.
Not meditation on Law.
But nourishment of consciousness itself.
He is only at the first step.
And even by his own calculations, he is still unimaginably far from completion.
In his vision, the flying ship is no longer an external tool. His threads of consciousness will one day function like the cells of a living body, distributed throughout the ship, responding instantly and independently, yet unified by a single will.
The reason this first step takes so long is simple.
This cultivation grants strength too easily.
A mortal who has never cultivated—even one with no Qi, no mana, no foundation—could, in theory, wield the power of Third Stage Transcendence, as long as their mind does not collapse under the strain.
That alone is enough to terrify any orthodox cultivator.
The drawback is equally clear.
Time.
And the mind.
Most minds break long before they reach such heights.
Kaelan understands why this path was never discovered naturally.
It is dangerous.
And yet—
It fits him perfectly.
As the flying ship cuts through the sky, he begins with the simplest step.
Nourishing the conscious thread.
The ship continues on its course, steady and silent, while his awareness deepens, spreading thinly yet firmly through every rune, array, and structural joint.
Flocks wheel in confusion as the massive silhouette glides overhead.
Some circle curiously, others scatter in alarm.
From the above forests, the ship casts a slow-moving shadow across canopies of green.
Over hills, it drifts like a wandering cloud. Over mountains, it passes beneath peaks older than kingdoms.
Rivers split beneath it—silver threads cutting through land.
Towns pause.
Villages look up.
Children point.
Kaelan breaks his cultivation every hour or so, briefly surfacing to check his location, his sense of direction precise and calm.
Eventually, the landscape below changes.
A wide, fast-flowing river rushes beneath the ship, its water so clear that jagged rocks are visible far below the surface, sunlight refracting into broken patterns of white and blue.
On one bank of the river, a large settlement comes into view.
Kaelan's thought shifts.
The flying ship responds instantly.
It slows.
Descends.
Then, as it nears the settlement, the massive vessel begins to shrink, folding inward on itself like a collapsing illusion, until it becomes no larger than a palm-sized construct.
A moment later, it dissolves entirely into the third clone's mana energy body.
He lands lightly on the ground.
He does not head toward the central city of the Silver Treasure House.
Not yet.
This territory is dangerous in its own way.
Here, a new martial cultivation system has emerged—the Evil Qi, or Turbid Qi, system.
Nine cultivation sects have formed around it.
And all nine exist within the territory of the Silver Treasure House.
The reason is simple.
While other regions are ruled by monarchies, the Silver Treasure House is governed by merchant guilds—the largest and wealthiest in the human world.
Once suppressed by kings.
Once treated as nothing more than coin purses by nobles.
They banded together.
Bought land.
Founded a territory free from crowns.
And in doing so, created fertile ground for unorthodox paths.
Kaelan is curious.
Very curious.
What do the Nine Sword Holders intend to do with this new system?
He suppresses his aura deliberately.
Not too much.
He settles it at First Stage Transcendence.
Appearing completely mortal would draw suspicion. Showing a little strength keeps trouble away.
He walks toward the settlement.
At the gate, armoured guards step forward.
"Identification from the Silver Treasure House," one says, eyes sharp.
"Or pay the entry fee."
Kaelan does not argue.
He pays.
The guards wave him through.
As he steps inside the town, noise rises around him—commerce, bargaining, unfamiliar cultivation auras tinged with something heavy and impure.
Kaelan moves calmly into the crowd.
Noise, laughter, bargaining voices, and the faint hum of mixed cultivations surround him, but none of it disturbs his pace. His eyes sweep the street once before settling on a building that dominates the surrounding structures.
Golden Sparrow Pavilion.
Tall, wide, and unmistakably affluent.
He steps inside through a side corridor and emerges into an open floor. The space opens suddenly—an expansive hall with a raised platform at its centre, clearly meant for performances. The ceiling stretches high, nearly two stories tall, supported by lacquered pillars etched with subtle runes.
On both sides of the hall, the walls rise upward into two floors of open box rooms, four on each side per level. Silk curtains hang half-drawn, concealing private guests while allowing sound and scent to drift freely.
An attendant is mopping the polished floor.
Without looking up, the man calls out sharply,
"The place is closed. It'll open after sunset."
Kaelan pauses.
"Oh," he says mildly.
"My mistake. I thought this was an inn."
The attendant finally looks up.
"It is," he replies, tone softening slightly.
"But to book a room, you need to enter from the street on the other side."
He points toward the back.
Kaelan gestures lightly.
"Can't I go through from here?"
The attendant shakes his head apologetically.
"Doors are locked at this hour. Sorry."
Kaelan nods and turns back.
There are other inns along the street—smaller, cheaper, louder—but he does not hesitate. Instead, he walks the long way around.
The Golden Sparrow Pavilion is not merely an inn.
It is the largest inn in the town.
And one of the Eight Pillars of the Silver Treasure House—the Golden Sparrow House itself.
If information flows anywhere, it flows here.
He reaches the main entrance on the opposite street and steps inside.
The lobby is refined and quiet, with soft incense burning and attendants standing in perfect alignment. Kaelan approaches the counter.
"I want to book a single room for one night."
The woman behind the counter smiles professionally.
"Welcome, sir. What grade of room would you like?"
"The highest."
Her eyebrows lift just slightly.
"Please wait a moment."
She checks a ledger, performs a quick calculation, then names the price.
Kaelan pays without hesitation.
He is led upstairs to a spacious room furnished with silk bedding, carved wood furniture, and a faintly glowing array embedded in the walls to stabilise energy.
Once alone, Kaelan sits down.
He cultivates quietly.
He does not need food—but when lunch is offered, he accepts.
Blending in is as important as power.
Time passes.
The sun sinks.
As night arrives, the Pavilion awakens.
Kaelan takes a seat inside one of the open box rooms, curtains half-drawn. Wine and delicately prepared food sit before him as dancers move gracefully on the central platform below, their movements fluid and mesmerising.
Music rises.
Conversation swells.
Kaelan eats slowly, drinks casually, and listens.
Every voice.
Every whisper.
Every careless boast.
An attendant approaches to refill his wine jar.
Kaelan speaks casually, as if making idle conversation.
"Do you know anything about the new Gang Qi sects?"
The attendant pauses, then smiles faintly.
"Are you thinking of joining one, sir?"
Kaelan nods.
"Is there one nearby?"
The attendant leans closer and lowers his voice.
"The Green Serpent Sect," he says.
"They're in Nillun Town. One day away by carriage."
Kaelan nods.
"Thank you."
The attendant withdraws.
Having obtained the information, Kaelan does not leave.
He remains seated, watching the dancers below as silk sleeves arc through the air and music pulses through the hall. The atmosphere is lively, indulgent, and layered with countless overlapping emotions.
It does not disturb him.
He has already reached a realm where cultivation no longer requires isolation or silence.
While cups clink and laughter rises, he continues cultivating.
Every couple of hours, a new conscious thread quietly takes shape within him, nourished by the steady refinement of his will. The process is slow, deliberate, and invisible to everyone around him.
Voices drift up from the central floor.
Guests talk about the upcoming auction—rare artefacts, forbidden manuals, rumoured treasures whose value is debated with excitement and envy.
Others speak of something more intriguing.
A ruin discovered in the north of the Shi Kingdom.
Ancient.
Unmapped.
Surrounded by strange deaths and sudden wealth.
Kaelan listens without reacting, his thoughts moving steadily.
Should I visit it before returning?
Or even after returning?
Another thought follows naturally.
Should I open an academy here?
The Silver Treasure House territory is a crossroads.
A haven for unorthodox paths.
And now the birthplace of the new martial cultivation system—Evil Qi.
If left unchecked, it will spread.
If monitored closely, it can be controlled.
An academy here would serve as both a counterweight and a net.
Kaelan sits there, thinking, cultivating, observing.
Time passes unnoticed.
Eventually, he rises and leaves the box room.
The central floor is crowded now, dense with bodies and sound. Dancers spin below, servants weave between tables, guests lean close to whisper deals and secrets.
As Kaelan walks forward, something changes.
A subtle shift.
A ripple in the air.
An attack—
But without killing intent.
Kaelan does not react.
In the next instant, a golden whip lashes down from above and coils around his neck with startling precision.
The whip is warm, flexible, and humming faintly with restrained power.
Gasps rise nearby.
Some guests turn in shock.
Others smile knowingly.
Kaelan stops walking.