Chapter 2: Threads of Deception
Nether's frail figure emerged from the door of his room. Barely looking human and more like death incarnate itself, the trail of maids lining the decorated long corridor bowed slightly as he passed.
"It's the young master. He can finally walk!"
"The Iris Flower Elixir was really worth the search."
"The young master should perhaps be grateful to Highlord Galric."
The concealed murmurs of the maids drummed through his ears as he walked gently past the long, ceramic-tiled corridor.
Once or twice, his eyes caught those of a maid staring with a shocked and guilty demeanor. He merely surveyed her with apathetic eyes before glancing at a distant water spring.
There lay more beauty in the serenity of nature than in that of men.
Surely, he could ensure her demise. He could simply point all the proof toward the patriarch and she no less,would be gifted with the grace of a swift execution.
But it would be no less than a childish vendetta.
His feeble hands trailed the ceramic wall. It was smooth, devoid of any imperfections.
This was the mirror of his ideals.
Perfection..
She was no more than a pawn on a chessboard designed by the whims of his dear older brother. Killing her would arouse much unneeded suspicion on Galric's behalf, and then his naive impression of Nether would crumble to dust.
It would be a disturbing ripple in a pond he needed calm to cross.
Humans were simplistic creatures. Give them a win, and they regarded themselves as conquerors.
And Galric was no exception. He would prey on that until his very day of reckoning.
The day of judgment for the puppet and the master.
But until then, the only eternal pursuit would be transcendence: mending this negative Qi depletion, refining the fused bloodlines of sun and death, ascending the Divine Refinement Path without the heavens' interference.
Everything else—grudges, mercy, vengeance—would be a distraction. And distractions cost time.
Time was the only currency he could not afford to squander.
After a few twists and turns, he arrived at a chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. Beyond it stretched a greenery containing all herbs known to man in the County of Renories.
He took off his upper luxurious black garment, revealing a white linen undershirt spun with golden thread.
The gardener, an able man in his forties watching his actions, stood from his recess. He bowed in a panic, his huge beard trembling with distant eyes.
"Young master. Whatever plants, be it in the far distant part of the garden, I shall without hesitation bring to you." The gardener raised his eyes pleadingly, as if begging for his life.
"Please do not sully your hands with the filth of the soil."
He could have answered, but his voice was interrupted by a booming one that sounded from behind him.
He did not need to turn to recognize that voice. It was his older brother, Galric.
"I see the elixir is truly living up to its name. Then I can say without doubt it is really one of the miracles of heaven and earth."
He slowly turned his back before conceding to a low bow.
The predatory eyes of the five-foot man simply surveyed him, then with pitiful eyes withdrew to the pale-faced gardener.
"From the looks of your demeanor, is there anything wrong?" Galric's golden eyes fixed on the petrified gardener as he spoke.
The gardener stuttered as he tried to form words. This could very well be the end of his career, or worse, his life right now.
"It's nothing, Older Brother Galric," he intercepted, earning a silent sigh from the gardener.
He was not to be blamed. Galric was a legacy-defining prodigy of the D'Artagnan family who had reached the Innate Transition Realm, the third refinement path of the Sun God's bloodline, all before the age of a hundred.
In his previous life, by now, he had also comprehended the Star-Embodying Physique, pushing to peak Abject Realm physicality.
He was more of a body-soul refiner than a swordsman or alchemist, and thus had no considered feats in the realms of weaponry or alchemy.
And so it was no mere exaggeration to say his intent could claim the gardener's life right now.
"I was merely thinking of gazing at the flowers of the fields. I intend to draw inspiration from them for my next drawing." Then he gestured at the gardener.
"He was merely giving me ideas for the finest of flowers."
He had woven the lie into the very fact that he was originally a genuine curator of paintings and other art masterpieces, an act he had perfected after years of loneliness and desolation.
"Oh, brilliant," Galric said. He did one last survey of the boy in front of him before confirming his suspicions. There was this coldness around him, this numbness that tried to devour his inner Qi, albeit diminutive.
Not to mention he looked changed, and perhaps a little more lively and settled for someone who had been feasting on venom for years.
Or was this all a brave act?
He waved him off, but before Nether could trod down the hall, Galric whispered an order to him.
"Why don't we have a drink sometime, Nether? I believe there are things necessary to discuss. If I were to pick a date for that, it will be two moons from now." He patted his smooth obsidian hair.
"I hope I have your compliance ensured."
He gave another curt nod. "Yes, Older Brother."
He already knew the contents of what was to be discussed.
Galric gave a satisfied inner smile.
Perhaps Nether, this once before your death, you could be of use.
With a calm disposition, he watched him disappear around a curved turn. There was only one destination for the direction he had taken.
The patriarch's court.
Without sparing the gardener a glance or an ear, he walked into the green of the garden. As he walked through the dense bushes of blossoming petals and flowers, he could not help some self-reflection.
In two thousand years of defying the heavens, I realized one supreme truth. Mannerisms, ego, emotions—these are not virtues, but chains forged by the gods themselves.
Tools to make mankind predictable, to spin the wheel of fate with certainty, ensuring no one ever breaks free.
Pride? If it stood between me and eternal transcendence, I would carve it out without hesitation, like excising a useless organ. What use is a flaw that hinders the path?
To truly go against heaven, one must sever every tether of destiny. Emotions are fluctuations:predictable, exploitable weaknesses the heavens exploit to keep mortals dancing in their palm.
The heavens are emotionless and impartial; why should I be any different? I am no pawn of fate. I would be the blade that severs it.
Endure. Transcend. Nothing else matters..
He only halted when finally he sighted the Violet Blossoming Star. It had purple petals in a star-like arrangement and two anthers terminating in a black bud.
Carefully, he caressed it before glancing at the other many that saturated this space.
Known by only a few, this flower had the ability to slightly and positively influence one's ascension in the body-soul realm.
Not needing to check his world profile, he already knew he was at most Mundane Realm 1, the lowest physicality a person could be birthed with.
He would have to achieve Mundane Realm 3 before he could ascend to another realm, and then the Glory Realm, which had four tiers.
But with constant consumption of additives like the Soul Mending Grass, he could attain peak Mundane Realm 1 in a month.
But when he finally looked back at the plant in his hands, the violet glow of its petals was slowly dying into a gray hue.
Slightly fazed, he removed his palms from it. Then, like a miracle, it regained its hue.
He repeated it two more times before he finally concluded.
The only explanation for this phenomenon had to be the effect of him achieving a refinement path with the Death God's bloodline.
The bloodline posed Nether a certain challenge. Unlike the nascent Sun God's refinement techniques, which were well abundant in the library vaults of the duchy, he had absolutely no way of obtaining technique associated with this other bloodline.
Perhaps he could think of a way later. He had so many activities planned for the day, and the most spectacular was his weekly training spar with his direct older sister.
A prodigy in the domain of weaponry and warcraft.
Serhis Emrys D'Artagnan.
All he had to do was request the gardener's help in bringing this;he glanced at the purple bloom,to the kitchen, where he could begin his brewing.