Chapter 12: A Taller Path
For two days, Flux did little more than rest.
He remained in his quiet inn room, meditating, sharpening his control over qi, and enjoying the rare sense of stillness. His body recovered swiftly, and his mind stayed sharp, focused on the road ahead. The tournament in Mologan City loomed ever closer.
On the third morning, he finally stepped out into the streets of Oaktown.
Children ran past him, laughing as they chased each other through the market square.
"I wish I was older already!" one boy shouted.
"Yeah! Then I could become a cultivator and fly like the swordsmen!"
Flux stopped in place, blinking as he watched them disappear around the corner.
"...Wait a second," he muttered. "Why didn't I think of that?"
A moment later, he smacked his own forehead. "I can just cast a spell to make myself look older. I'm so dumb."
Shaking his head, he headed toward the local tailor shop, muttering all the way.
"I need more clothes anyway. Can't show up to a big city looking like I crawled out of a beast den."
As Flux entered the shop, the bell above the door jingled. The familiar scent of freshly sewn fabric and leather filled the air, and he saw the middle-aged man from his previous visit behind the counter.
The shopkeeper, who had served him before, looked up from his work and blinked. His eyes seemed to linger on Flux for a moment before something clicked in his mind.
"Ah! You!" The shopkeeper's face brightened. "You're the young master who walked in here before with that bear skin, aren't you?"
Flux paused, blinking, then gave a slight nod.
"Yes, that was me."
The shopkeeper smiled warmly, his voice filled with recognition. "Ahh, so it's you, young master. I remember now. You finally decided to buy some new clothes, huh? I've got plenty of fine recommendations for you, if you'd like."
Flux shook his head. "No need. I just need something a little... bigger this time."
The shopkeeper's face fell for a second, then he chuckled softly. "Is that so? It's a pity, really. There were many clothes here that would suit you very well, young master."
Flux moved toward the racks of garments, his eyes scanning the various styles. He was drawn to a particular set—a sleek black robe, simple yet elegant, with a subtle silver thread running through it that caught the light. The quality was obvious.
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow as he watched Flux approach the robe. "A gift for someone, young master?" he asked, his tone curious.
Flux didn't answer, instead reaching for the robe. His fingers brushed over the fabric, and a small smile tugged at his lips as he held it up to his chest.
He didn't reply to the shopkeeper's question but instead added, "I'll take this one. And that hat over there too."
The shopkeeper looked at him curiously but said nothing, simply retrieving the items for Flux.
As Flux prepared to pay, the shopkeeper's eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing something. He was still puzzled, but he chose not to press.
---
That evening, Flux stood before the mirror in his inn room.
He took a moment to inspect his new attire: the black robes fit him perfectly, their long sleeves flowing around his arms. The silver threadwork shimmered faintly under the dim light, adding a subtle elegance to the otherwise simple garment. He placed the wide-brimmed hat atop his head, letting it cast shadows over his face.
With a sigh, he raised a hand and began to trace a glowing sigil in the air with his fingertip. Qi swirled around him, and his features subtly shifted. His height increased, and his youthful face matured, becoming the visage of a seventeen-year-old.
Flux's sharp sapphire eyes stared back at him in the mirror, his expression now colder, more serious than before. His experience as a hunter had honed his features, sharpening his gaze, though he was still handsome. There was something different in his appearance now—more grown, more capable.
He gave a satisfied nod. "Not bad," he muttered, adjusting the brim of his hat lower.
After a moment, Flux grabbed his things and slipped out of the inn.
Outside the gates of Oaktown, he summoned his flying sword with a fluid motion. The blade shimmered in the light as he stepped onto it, pouring qi into its core. The sword lifted him smoothly into the sky, the wind rushing past as he soared eastward, his mind focused on the journey ahead.
---
That night, he descended near a quiet village nestled between wooded hills.
Lanterns swayed gently from wooden posts, casting soft orange glows onto cobbled paths.
The roadside tavern was small but warm, its interior filled with the scent of grilled meat and rice wine. A few travelers lingered inside, their conversations hushed.
Flux stepped through the door, his black robe stirring faintly with the breeze. He kept his wide-brimmed hat low, shadows obscuring most of his face. More than one patron glanced his way, then quickly looked back down.
He approached the serving girl behind the counter.
"One private table," he said quietly. "And food. A lot of food."
She blinked. "How much is... a lot?"
Flux considered. "All the roasted duck you have. Three plates of beef slices. Steamed buns. Pork dumplings. And a full kettle of strong tea. Black."
The girl stared for a moment, then gave an uncertain nod. "Alright... one moment."
He sat at a shadowed table by the window, still wearing his hat. The brim concealed his eyes, casting his face in darkness. Combined with his silence and the black robes, he gave off an aura that was somewhere between traveling noble and wandering assassin.
Soon, the food came—plate after plate.
The roasted duck was golden and glistening, the beef slices thin and fragrant, dumplings steamed to perfection, and the tea dark with a sharp aroma.
Flux ate with clean, efficient motions, never lifting the hat, never speaking. He didn't rush, but there was intent in every bite, as if each morsel restored something carved away by long travel. Between bites, he sipped tea, savoring the warmth in his chest.
Two cultivators sitting nearby cast occasional glances his way.
"...They say the Mologan tournament might draw disciples from four major clans this year."
"Really? I even heard rumors someone from the Crimson Veil Sect might show up."
Flux didn't react. He drained the last of the tea and stood, dropping six low-grade spirit stones on the table without a word.
As he walked away, the serving girl whispered to the cook, "Who eats like that and keeps his hat on the whole time?"
The cook shrugged. "Someone with secrets."
---
Morning came, and so did the road.
After several days of swift travel through the skies, Flux decided to take it slow.
Flying is efficient, he thought, but it dulls the senses after a while.
With that, he dismissed his sword mid-air, landing lightly on a quiet forest trail. The blade vanished into his storage pouch as he adjusted his black robes and began walking.
Birdsong echoed through the canopy above, and sunlight dappled the forest floor. Each step felt grounding, steady—letting his body stretch and his mind wander.
He walked for hours, letting the rhythm of his footsteps carry him east.
Eventually, his instincts stirred.
He stopped mid-stride, scanning the shadows ahead.
Five figures emerged from the treeline—grinning, ragged, and armed. Their movements were confident but unrefined, their expressions greedy.
"Well, well," the leader sneered. "A lone traveler, and dressed like a noble. Must be carrying a fortune."
Flux's eyes narrowed slightly. He sensed one of them had reached the third level of Foundation Establishment at most—nothing he needed to worry about.
His expression remained calm. No panic. No wasted movements.
They hadn't noticed his true strength. His cultivation masking held firm.
Flux gave a soft sigh. "You're in my way."
A bandit laughed. "We'll be taking your valuables now. Don't resist, and maybe we'll let you walk away in your socks."
Flux took a step forward.
But before he could draw his sword, a voice called from above, "Five against one? Cowards, the lot of you!"
A figure dropped from the trees, landing in a smooth crouch beside Flux.
He was young, looking like in his twenties, with sharp golden eyes that glinted with amusement. His robe was a vivid sky-blue trimmed with cloud-white edges, and his black hair was tied up into a neat tail. A silver token pinned to his chest marked his sect.
"Ryo Vercu," he said, tapping the token. "Blue Mist Mountain Sect."
The bandits hesitated, sensing his cultivation—6th level Foundation Establishment.
Then Flux released a flicker of his own aura. Cold, quiet, but utterly overwhelming.
Eighth level.
The air tensed. The bandits turned pale.
"Oh... damn," one of them whispered, legs shaking. "We messed up."
They dropped their weapons and knelt instantly. "W-We surrender! Please, spare us!"
Ryo whistled. "Well, that escalated fast. Level eight? That's no joke."
He peered at Flux. "Can't see your face with that hat, but you don't look much older than me."
Flux didn't reply.
Ryo grinned. "Strong, quiet, mysterious. I like it."
Flux gave a nod. "Flux."
"Nice. Well then, Flux, what do you say we travel together? Two's safer than one. And we can drag these idiots to the nearest town. Might cover lunch."
---
By sundown, they reached a small outpost town nestled at a crossroads.
After turning in the bandits and collecting a modest reward, they found an inn and sat down for dinner. Ryo, in contrast to Flux, filled the room with chatter.
"I heard the tournament this year might include a trial phase—team survival or something. Think you'll join that part?"
"Mm."
"You're not much of a talker, huh?"
Flux gave a faint smirk. "I prefer to listen."
Ryo laughed. "Good. I like to talk. We'll get along just fine."
As the moon rose high above the rooftops, casting silver light across the tiles, Flux gazed toward the eastern horizon.
Mologan City waited.