Kaelan stops walking.
Around him, whispers ripple through the hall like soft waves.
"What's going on?"
"Wow… she's beautiful."
"Why isn't it me?"
"She's the manager of the inn."
"Sometimes she picks a guest like this to drink with her."
"He's lucky…"
Kaelan turns slowly and follows the golden whip to its other end.
A woman stands there.
Beautiful—striking in a way that does not need adornment.
Her eyes are like molten gold, bright yet deep, and her hair carries a strange duality—golden at the roots, fading into shimmering silver as it falls. Her features are sharp, elegant, almost otherworldly, as if an elf stepped out of legend and learned how to walk among mortals.
She looks at him calmly, a faint smile on her lips.
"Do you want to drink with me?" she asks.
Kaelan tilts his head slightly.
He raises his hand and carefully unwraps the golden whip from around his neck. As it loosens, he reflects inwardly.
Her control is exceptional.
The whip wrapped around his neck with absolute precision—no excess force, no pain, not even a hint of injury. Few in her realm could manage such restraint.
He nods.
"I am coming."
He walks toward the stairs, ignoring the murmurs that grow louder behind him. Step by step, he climbs to the first floor and enters the private room where the woman waits.
They drink.
The wine is refined, fragrant, carrying a warmth that spreads gently rather than burns. Conversation is sparse, unforced. Neither presses the other. It is an easy silence, punctuated only by the clink of cups and distant music below.
When Kaelan finally rises to leave, the woman produces a small pouch and places it on the table.
Inside are one hundred spiritual coins—each minted with precise inscriptions, the standard currency of the Silver Treasure House.
Kaelan glances at it once.
Then pushes it back toward her.
"I don't need it."
The woman studies him for a moment, then smiles—not amused, but intrigued.
Kaelan turns and leaves.
Back in his room, he spends the night cultivating. Conscious threads continue to form, quietly strengthening his foundation as the city sleeps.
---
The next morning, Kaelan leaves the town.
He takes to the sky, heading toward Nillun Town.
A few kilometres away, movement on the road below catches his attention.
Fighting.
A carriage lies overturned, its guards either dead or scattered. Several figures surround it, blades drawn.
Kaelan is about to continue onward—
Then he notices her.
The woman from last night.
She stands with her back to the carriage, golden whip snapping through the air like a living thing. Three attackers press in on her, all at the same level as her, moving in coordination and cutting off her escape routes.
She is skilled.
But outnumbered.
Kaelan slows.
"For yesterday's wine," he thinks.
He raises a single finger.
"Silent Kill."
Metal and wind converge.
There is no flash.
No sound.
No visible blade.
Only three invisible currents—compressed, razor-thin, perfectly aligned.
Because of the disparity in realm, none of the attackers sense them.
The first blade passes through the air and pierces straight through the back of the nearest man's heart.
The second follows an instant later.
Then the third.
Three hearts are pierced from behind, cleanly and without resistance.
The men freeze mid-motion.
Hands clutch at their chests.
Eyes widen.
They collapse one after another, lifeless before their bodies hit the ground.
The road falls silent.
The woman stares at the fallen attackers, then turns sharply.
Her gaze locks onto Kaelan, hovering calmly in the air above.
He nods once.
"For yesterday's wine."
He does not raise his voice.
The wind carries the words gently to her ears.
Her lips part slightly, shock flickering across her face—then something else.
Recognition.
Kaelan turns away and continues his flight toward Nillun Town, leaving the road, the carriage, and the stunned woman behind.
The sky swallows him.
As if he was never there.
---
Jin Yinji stands frozen for a breath, staring at the empty sky where her wine partner vanished.
The wind still carries the faint echo of his voice.
For yesterday's wine.
The clash of steel jolts her back to reality.
Shouts erupt behind her.
The remaining attackers, realising their companions have fallen without warning, snarl and rush forward, hoping to overwhelm her people before panic takes hold.
Jin's eyes harden.
Her golden whip snaps outward.
It cracks through the air like lightning, and as it arcs, crescent blades of light peel away from its path—thin, radiant slashes infused with the Light element.
One blade slices cleanly through a man's throat.
Another cuts down a charging attacker before he can raise his weapon.
Her guards seize the opening.
Steel rings against steel as they counterattack, emboldened by the sudden reversal. Jin Yinji moves among them with fluid precision, her whip striking, coiling, releasing—each movement measured, lethal, and controlled.
Within moments, the attackers either fall or flee.
The road falls quiet once more.
Later, the survivors regroup.
Bandages are wrapped. Broken armour is discarded. A cracked axle is reinforced, and the escaped horses are brought back, snorting nervously as they are re-hitched to the carriage.
Jin Yinji stands beside her guard leader, Wang Yun, watching the men work.
Wang Yun's jaw is tight.
"Are they still not satisfied," he says bitterly, "even after exiling you for five years?"
Jin's grip tightens slightly on her whip.
"We must be careful for the rest of the journey," she replies calmly.
"With my mother sick, they won't hesitate to snatch our family wealth if given the chance."
Wang Yun nods grimly.
"If that man hadn't helped us," he says, "we would be dead."
Jin Yinji glances once more in the direction Kaelan disappeared.
"And you tried to stop me from inviting capable people," she says quietly.
"See now? He helped because of hospitality."
Wang Yun lowers his head, chastened.
"I was wrong."
Jin Yinji does not linger on it.
She turns back to overseeing the preparations, her mind already moving ahead—calculating routes, risks, and debts owed.
---
By evening, he arrives at his destination.
Lights bloom across the streets as dusk settles, lanterns reflecting off polished stone and gilded signboards. The town hums with restrained excitement, the kind that only appears when wealth, danger, and opportunity gather in one place.
Kaelan looks up at the familiar sight.
Golden Sparrow Pavilion.
He exhales slowly.
Once more, he steps inside the largest inn in town.
He books a room.
As an attendant leads him upstairs, Kaelan speaks casually, as if making idle conversation.
"Does the Green Serpent Sect take in new disciples now?"
The attendant shakes his head.
"Not at the moment. With the auction around the corner, most of their high-level members have gone to Silver City."
Kaelan nods.
"The sect master went as well?"
The attendant laughs awkwardly.
"How could a little attendant like me know news at that level?"
Kaelan smiles faintly.
"You're right."
He enters his room.
Later, he stands by the window and looks down onto the street in front of the inn. The evening crowd flows steadily—merchants, cultivators, guards, and hidden figures moving with purpose.
Then he notices them.
Three damaged carriages pull up in front of the Pavilion.
Their wheels are scuffed. One axle has been hastily reinforced. Fresh blood stains mark the wood, partially cleaned but not fully concealed.
From the central carriage, a woman steps out.
Jin Yinji.
She moves with controlled composure, her expression calm despite the signs of recent conflict. Guards fan out around her as she enters the inn.
Kaelan's gaze sharpens.
Not on her—but on the street.
Hidden among the crowd are watchers. Their auras are suppressed, their movements careful, eyes lingering just a little too long on Jin Yinji and her people.
Kaelan narrows his eyes slightly.
"She's not just a small branch manager of the Golden Sparrow Pavilion," he thinks.
Her identity is deeper.
More entangled.
But—
It is not his concern.
He helped her because of the wine.
Nothing more.
Kaelan turns away from the window and closes his eyes.
---
His consciousness sinks inward.
He enters comprehension.
The Law of Storm.
In this world, storms form naturally—from the collision of weather patterns. Thunderstorms, sandstorms, blizzards, firestorms.
He possesses divinity, for he created a cycle of storms.
Thunderstorm gives birth to a firestorm.
Firestorm erodes into a sandstorm.
Sandstorm freezes into a snowstorm.
Snowstorm collapses back into a thunderstorm.
A closed loop.
A self-sustaining cycle.
From there, he extended the idea.
From natural phenomena to Elemental Law Storms.
From elements to Conceptual Storms.
A storm born not of wind and lightning—but of meaning.
He has completed the cycle.
He now stands at the Elemental Storm stage.
Two paths lie before him.
A Dark Elemental Law Storm—
A storm formed of shadow, erosion, decay, and annihilation.
Or—
A Conceptual Storm of Death—
A storm born purely from the idea of ending, collapse, and silence.
Between the two, Kaelan chooses the former.
Conceptual storms are harder to stabilise.
Dark elemental law is closer.
More controllable.
He begins to comprehend the Dark Law.
In his mind, darkness is not absence.
It is an accumulation.
The gathering of all things that remain unseen.
The erosion that does not explode, but consumes.
A storm of darkness does not announce itself with thunder.
It arrives quietly.
It strips warmth.
It dulls perception.
It erases boundaries.
Darkness condenses around his consciousness, threading itself into the storm cycle he has already perfected. Wind loses light. Lightning turns black. Clouds thicken into a void.
Kaelan's breath slows.
The storm within him deepens.
Outside, the city continues its noise.