The obsidian council chamber at the Flare Palace pulsed with quiet tension. Jalen stood at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping across the gathered leaders—Simon, Jana, Tomlinson, and Master Talia. The polished runes beneath their feet glowed faintly, reacting to the pressure of his spirit sense.
"I'll be gone for some hours." Jalen's voice was calm but absolute. "While I'm away, I expect order. No internal disputes. No power plays. And no hesitation."
Tomlinson nodded, posture rigid. "We'll keep the elders and warriors in line."
Talia's eyes narrowed with resolve. "If anyone steps out of bounds, they'll answer to us."
Jalen's gaze lingered on them both. "Good. Because if I return to chaos, I won't be resolving it with words."
This made Tomlinson and Talia shiver. For all their influence in the Flare State's rise—months of loyalty, strategy, and sacrifice—they remained hostages to a truth they couldn't escape: Jalen's mercy was the only thing keeping them alive. And mercy, unlike power, could vanish on a whim.
Jalen turned, robes trailing behind him like fading light, and exited the chamber.
Outside the palace, Lloyd waited—cloak drawn, eyes sharp. His aura had matured since his return, now pulsing with Spirit Fusion Realm pressure. But beside Jalen, he still felt like a flicker beside a flame.
Jaquan was also present—not because he desired to see the look on his ex-wife's face when she realized the terrible mistake she'd made abandoning him and their son, but because Jalen had insisted. Today would not only be the day of vengeance for Lloyd—it would be the day Jalen and his father confronted the woman who had left them behind.
"Are you ready?" Jalen asked.
Lloyd nodded. "I've been ready for years."
Jaquan just nodded. Though he had long buried his grudge toward Yelena Illume, anxiety stirred beneath his calm. He didn't know what this confrontation would bring—but he knew it was necessary.
Jalen raised his hand, and the air bent.
Flare of Recursion activated—his light qi folding space with surgical precision. And in just two leaps, Jalen and company arrived in the Rage Forest.
From there, Lloyd took the lead. Though Jalen had passed through this region before, he had never stepped foot inside the Sabre Sect, which lay deep within the State of Sword. It took them a few hours of flight before they arrived outside the sect's towering gates.
No one from the Sabre Sect expected them. They hadn't sensed their approach—Jalen's breath-like-dust technique had cloaked their arrival in silence. But that silence shattered when Lloyd stepped forward.
His voice boomed across the entire territory:
"I'M HERE TO REQUEST A DUEL WITH ELDER PHIL TYRRELL."
His heart pounded—not with fear, but with memory. This was the name that haunted his blood.
The outer core disciples and elders stirred at the sudden commotion but quickly scoffed. Lloyd's aura was formidable—stronger even than their lead elder, a Peak Imperial Realm cultivator—but in their eyes, he was still insignificant. One Spirit Fusion cultivator wasn't enough to shake the great Sabre Sect. Not even close.
An inner sect elder eventually emerged to confront the insolent owner of this voice. Like Lloyd, he was an early Spirit Fusion Realm expert, his expression steeped in arrogance. His presence also drew outer sect elders and disciples from their quarters, eager to witness his skill as he disposed of the intruder.
To everyone's surprise, it was three young cultivators.
Jaquan, standing beside his son and Lloyd, was openly sneered at. A Peak Moon Realm cultivator? Laughable. But when some outer core elders and strong outer core disciples sensed how young he was—barely forty—they hesitated. That kind of progress was rare.
Lloyd, though young—early twenties—radiated Spirit Fusion pressure. That alone was mythic. Still, there was no fear; if anything, everyone here believed that he and those who were with him were suicidal coming here demanding to duel with an inner core elder.
But when eyes landed on Jalen, reactions fractured.
Some treated him as an eyesore. Others—especially the well-informed outer sect elders and top disciples—froze.
They didn't know his name.
But they knew his face and the stories.
This person is not only the one who wiped out disciples from twenty-nine of the thirty continental powerhouses, but he also destroyed the Wave Weave Temple and forced the Dragon Meridian Sect into hiding.
The elder who had stepped forward trembled.
"You?" he whispered, voice cracking.
At the same time, several elders in the crowd sent silent distress signals via telepathy to the inner sanctum—sharp threads of warning woven through spirit-sense. That danger had arrived at their doorstep. And within minutes, waves of inner core elders emerged: mid- and peak-Spirit Fusion Realm cultivators, along with a few early Immortal Realm experts. Disciples spilled from training halls, summoned by whispered commands and scrambling lackeys desperate to witness the storm unfolding.
Among the crowd that now gathered on the ground and in the sky, two figures caught Jaquan's eye.
One was Renard Hewitt, his cousin—an early Diamond Realm expert at just forty. His cultivation was impressive enough to earn him a place among the inner disciples.
The other was Yelena Illume—Jaquan's ex-wife and Jalen's mother.
She stood poised, her beauty undiminished, her aura refined and steady at Peak Diamond Realm. Jalen bore traces of her—sharp cheekbones, quiet intensity in the eyes. But where her gaze flickered with uncertainty, his burned with quiet resolve.
Though Renard and Yelena's realms were modest compared to the sect's elite, their age of attainment had earned them privileges—access to Spirit Fusion mentors, advanced cultivation resources, and status within the sect.
They recognized Jaquan instantly.
Renard's eyes widened. Yelena's breath caught.
Neither spoke. They pretended not to know him.
But the shock was real.
Jaquan's cultivation had not only recovered—it had surpassed theirs. His aura pulsed with quiet strength. His posture was no longer that of a broken man. He stood beside his son and Lloyd, not as a relic of the past, but as a force reborn.
And they couldn't help but wonder:
How did he do it?
Then the courtyard shifted.
The Patriarch of the Sabre Sect, Tavares Tyrrell, arrived—a mid-Immortal Realm expert, followed by his second, Lionel Tyrrell, also a mid-Immortal Realm expert. All elders and disciples bowed in reverence to them.
But the patriarch and his second didn't acknowledge them.
Their gazes locked onto Jalen.
Lloyd and Jaquan were like wind in their sight—present, but irrelevant.
Only one figure mattered now.
And the storm he carried was silent.