Jinhai lounged in his chamber, legs crossed, swirling a cup of wine idly in one hand. The faint glow of candlelight flickered over his papers, stacks of reports detailing minor disputes, trade fluctuations, and military skirmishes. His kingdom ran efficiently, as it always did. That was the way he had built it—a machine, not a monarchy.
A light knock at the door.
"Enter."
A messenger stepped in, bowing deeply before setting a stack of fresh reports onto his desk. "My lord, the situation with the Silver Lotus Sect has escalated. Master Lin Wuye and Shen Mu are set to clash at midnight."
Jinhai's fingers paused against the rim of his wine cup.
Lin Wuye.
For the first time in years, that name stirred something in him—not as a ruler, but as a man who once had a past.
He had known Lin Wuye long before they had become what they were now—before Jinhai was a sovereign, before Lin Wuye had taken his path as a scholar. Once, they had been two boys caught between the expectations of their lineage and the boundless ambitions of their youth. They had studied under the same masters, debated philosophy under moonlight, and once even vowed that if they ever held power, they would reshape the world together.
But that was lifetimes ago.
The man Lin Wuye had become was not the boy Jinhai once knew. And Jinhai… Jinhai had long abandoned those youthful dreams. Ideals did not build empires. Ruthlessness did.
His grip on the cup tightened for a fraction of a second. Then, his expression smoothed over like glass, and when he finally spoke, his voice was devoid of anything but cold indifference.
Jinhai barely glanced up. "A sect dispute? Why are you wasting my time with this?"
"The region may destabilize if—"
"If they tear themselves apart, it is of no concern to me." He took a slow sip of his wine, waving a hand dismissively. "Tell the border generals to tighten control of the region. If it collapses, we will pick through the rubble at our leisure."
The messenger hesitated. "And the situation regarding the merchant request?"
Jinhai sighed. "Which one? I get this lowly merchants who wants to open sweet shops, weapon shops and even a casino. None of them is exciting and can be put on hold"
His messenger sterned and said "A merchant named Atlas seeks permission to establish a trade outpost and workshop within our territory. His credentials are impressive, and he claims to bring innovations that could revolutionize production." he hands him over his paperwork and credentials research done on Atlas.
Jinhai leaned forward slightly, finally looking interested. "Let him set up a shop. Innovation breeds power. But watch him. If he is lying, ensure his disappearance is swift and untraceable."
The messenger nodded. "And lastly, my lord, your intelligence division has requested guidance. They have received your orders to investigate Yasmina's death and are seeking leads on her most loyal follower. However, there is little to go on."
Jinhai tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair, his mind already knew this could've happened. "If information is scarce, we pull from a different source. Have my best spies make contact with the Underworld Queen."
The messenger stiffened at the name. "Are you certain, my lord? She is... unpredictable."
Jinhai smirked. "Yes, she is. But she is also the most well-connected figure in the underworld. If anyone knows who Yasmina's devoted follower was, it is her. Tell our men to offer whatever she wants in return for that information."
As the messenger left, Jinhai exhaled sharply, staring at the flickering candlelight.
How ironic.
Here he was, seeking information from a shadowed figure he had never met. And yet, unbeknownst to him, the infamous Underworld Queen was already closer than he realized.
A Scholar's Dilemma
The room smelled of herbs and ink, a strange combination of medicine and industry. Emery sat beside the cot where Zafira lay unconscious, her chest rising and falling steadily, though her face was still pale.
His fingers worked tirelessly, scribbling notes on parchment while his other hand idly ground a medicinal root with a mortar and pestle. Even injured, even after nearly losing her, he could not sit still. His mind needed to work. His hands needed to build. His leg was taken care of by Callum, a rare thing as Emery despises physical touch but allows it from him.
Across the room, Callum stood frozen, staring at his master nursing a woman with far too much care for someone who supposedly only cared about science.
Emery sighed, not even looking up as he reached out and yanked Callum's ear.
"Whatever you're thinking, stop thinking it."
"I—I wasn't thinking anything!" Callum yelped, rubbing his ear. "I just—well, you don't exactly do this for everyone, Master Emery. I mean, you made me treat my own wounds the last time I got injured!"
"You tripped over a bucket. That's not an injury. That's natural selection trying to do its job."
Callum scowled, but before he could argue, Emery waved a hand. "Enough. Have you gotten any updates about the law of continuity request I had you put out into the network?"
Callum blinked, then quickly dug into his satchel and pulled out a collection of letters. "Right! So, I worded it carefully to attract only serious scholars. I asked for anyone with knowledge on theoretical mechanics and the progression of forces without external interference."
Emery gave him a flat stare. "That's what you wrote?"
"Yes? What's wrong with that?"
Emery groaned. "You should have phrased it like this—'Has anyone observed momentum that seemingly violates natural resistance? Has anyone proven this phenomenon exists?'
Callum blinked. "That's the same thing."
"No, it's not! You left it open-ended, which means I'll get every self-proclaimed 'scholar' with a half-baked theory instead of someone with actual results."
Callum crossed his arms. "Fine, fine. I'll make the correction. But if I end up attracting some insane philosopher who thinks the stars talk to him, I'm blaming you."
Emery sighed, but the banter eased the tension in his shoulders. He turned his gaze back to Zafira, watching her breathe. For a moment, the room fell quiet.
He told himself he was simply waiting for her to wake up.
Not that he was relieved she was still breathing.
The battlefield was silent save for the flickering embers of torches and the distant groans of the wounded. Blood stained the earth, and standing amidst the chaos were two men—one a warlord who thrived in destruction, the other a scholar whose hands were left behind due to his own belief of pacifism.
Lin Wuye did not move like a traditional martial artist. His footwork was deliberate, each step measured with the precision of a man who had spent his life calculating outcomes. His qi was not wild and uncontrollable like Shen Mu's; it was sharp, refined, methodical.
Shen Mu scoffed, cracking his knuckles as his blood-soaked aura pulsed wildly around him. "So the scholar thinks he can fight? This should be amusing."
Lin Wuye said nothing. His stance was firm, unshaken. Then, with a single movement, he vanished.
The air split as he reappeared behind Shen Mu, fingers curled into a precise strike that slammed into the warlord's ribcage. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the battlefield, Shen Mu's body staggering as pain shot through him for the first time in the fight.
The warriors watching from the distance gasped. Lin Wuye was holding his own.
Shen Mu growled, his amusement fading into irritation. He retaliated with a devastating palm strike, but Lin Wuye redirected the force with a twist of his wrist, dissipating the impact entirely. Everytime they strike, winds of destruction would follow and the earth beneath them becomes unstable. His movements were effortless, as though he were reading Shen Mu's attacks before they landed.
"You rely too much on raw strength," Lin Wuye murmured, his voice laced with quiet disappointment. "Strength without control is a fire that burns its own wielder."
Shen Mu's eye twitched. He knew he is struggling against this scholar but then, without hesitation, he pulled a small black pill from his robes and crushed it between his teeth.
Immediately, his body contorted, veins turning black as his qi surged into something unnatural. A vile, corrupted energy bled from him, twisting his very form as his aura thickened into a suffocating presence.
"If strength is a fire, then I will become the inferno!" Shen Mu bellowed, lunging forward with inhuman speed.
For the first time, Lin Wuye faltered.
Shen Mu's attacks came faster, stronger, more erratic. Lin Wuye could feel his body straining under the onslaught, muscles screaming in protest as he deflected blow after blow. He could not keep this up—his body was reaching its limit.
This was only going on for 4 minutes but the trees surrounding them started to fall and the earth beneath them made holes each time Shen Mu jumped.
Pain flared through his arm as one of Shen Mu's attacks broke through, slamming into his ribs and sending him skidding backward. His vision blurred, his breathing uneven. Qi poisoning. He had pushed himself beyond his natural limit, and his own energy was turning against him.
Shen Mu laughed, stepping forward, ready to finish him.
Then, just as Shen Mu prepared to strike the final blow, the air around them shifted.
A presence surged forth—a pressure so immense that even Shen Mu froze. From the shadows, a figure descended like a falling blade.
The current Qi Master had arrived.