The human-faced fish demons, laboring forward on scaled bellies, had already covered half the distance. Beneath the unrelenting sun, their slick hides glistened with feverish heat, scales cracking under the dry air.

  They were nearly upon their prize when a human boy appeared in the near distance, a crimson pulse flaring from his hand.

  Wherever that energy touched, the finest wild spirit herbs withered in an instant—stems blackening, leaves curling to ash.

  The fish demons scarcely had time to register the loss before the boy vanished like a sudden gust, leaping into the dense forest and gone.

  The lead male, its grotesque features twisting in rage, let out a guttural stream of curses—bubbling, wet sounds that echoed across the slope.

  Then it raised its bone staff high, threw back its head, and unleashed a piercing, shrill cry that sliced through the air like shattered glass.

  At its command, the pack slid down the mountainside in a rush of scales and slime, plunging into the river. They vanished beneath the surface, streaking toward the direction the boy had fled.

  Now, memory stripped away, Timo Yang was nothing more than an innocent boy—wide-eyed, unburdened, alive with simple wonder.

  Sniffing the air, limping slightly, he realized that even after absorbing so much essence from the herbs, the bones in his foot remained imperfectly healed.

  He stood there, brow furrowed in childlike puzzlement, unable to fathom why. But joy had already eclipsed hunger and pain; it bubbled up inside him like an endless spring.

  He shouted aloud, voice ringing with delight, and ran—awkward, exuberant strides—until he crested the hill and beheld a hidden pool below: a deep, crystalline spring nestled in shadow.

  The water was impossibly clear, inviting. Timo Yang wrinkled his nose at his own scent, then—without a second thought—leapt.

  A faint trail of wind rippled in his wake.

  He hit the surface with a resounding splash, sank like a stone, then surged upward in a burst of laughter.

  “Haha… incredible! Whoa…”

  Lost in the moment, Timo Yang tumbled and twisted through the water, swimming with reckless abandon. He gathered wind essence without thinking, sending great sheets of spray skyward in glittering arcs.

  From the treeline, the half-wild man watched the boy’s joy unfold. Long-buried memories stirred—fragments of his own childhood, bright and fleeting.

  But as the images rose, his smile slowly hardened.

  He remembered now: a son, a daughter. That final campaign—to eradicate the Evil Cultivator’s leader. His fleet had fallen to the fish demons’ illusions, lost in the deep sea’s embrace. When he awoke, the ships were wreckage, the crew gone. He alone had been taken…

  “Hey! I see you up there—come down and play!”

  The half-wild man, already turning away in sorrow, froze at the boy’s bright call.

  He looked back—and horror seized him.

  Beneath the surface, a fish demon’s shadow glided swiftly toward the boy.

  The half-wild man flailed his arms, loosing frantic, guttural cries.

  Timo Yang, mistaking the warning for greeting, waved back with eager enthusiasm.

  Water droplets caught the light—and in their reflection gleamed a female fish demon, scales gleaming, rising fast.

  With a sharp hiss, she burst from the pool.

  Her bone weapon flashed once, striking the boy squarely on the skull.

  Timo Yang’s laughter cut off. His body went limp, sinking slowly.

  The half-wild man gathered spirit essence for a desperate rescue—then lightning cracked behind him.

  He whirled. An electric arc seared the air where his head had been.

  Instinct took over. He dropped flat, then sprang upward in a powerful leap, swinging into the high branches. A few desperate arcs carried him clear as the male fish demon’s pack closed in.

  From safety, he watched helplessly as the demons dragged the unconscious boy into the depths.

  The current carried them swiftly—darkening waters merging into blackened sea—toward a cavern of jagged reefs and sunken wrecks.

  That place was the half-wild man’s nightmare. He lingered in the fading light, watching until the sun dipped below the canopy.

  Hunger gnawed at him. As dusk settled, he swung back to the shallows, warily snatching small fish before retreating to his cave midway up the slope.

  “Timo… I’m sorry…”

  Far away, Lulu Gan jolted awake in the fortress training chamber, nutrient fluid sloshing around her.

  She had dreamed of Timo Yang again—plunging from the judgment platform, body broken beyond recognition, devoured by beasts.

  Guilt twisted in her chest. If she had spoken up, testified… none of this would have happened.

  And that guilt was precisely why Fei had stopped her at the trial.

  “Captain Fei is guarding the mountain. Sister Yue is still clinging to life—they’ve locked her in an ice prison. If I had told the truth yesterday… what would have become of me?”

  Muttering to herself, Lulu Gan dressed. The nutrient fluid absorbed fully into her skin, leaving her renewed, invigorated.

  She summoned thunder essence experimentally—and felt the surge of a new layer of power.

  “What are you doing here on a day like this?”

  Lost in thought, Lulu Gan startled at her father’s voice—Lin Gan’s voice.

  She assumed he meant her and reached for the door—then heard a woman reply. She froze, listening.

  “Half of what I am today, I owe to you. Without your elemental gene fusion technique, I—Mingzhu Yang—would never have claimed the seat of Prophecy Elder.”

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  Madam Yi’s voice. Lulu Gan’s eyes widened in realization: the apprentice named Mingzhu Yang from the fusion records… was Madam Yi herself.

  Now the woman stood transformed: clad in a fresh vermilion robe edged in golden threads, bald head etched with intricate gold patterns, the Eye of Order marked upon her brow. Her boots rang against the floor with deliberate, metallic steps.

  Lin Gan offered no welcome. Her unannounced intrusion into his fortress soured his expression.

  “I know your fears,” she continued smoothly. “Rest assured—we share the same desire: to make the Ancient Legion the unrivaled master of this world.”

  Lin Gan gave a dismissive snort. The elder behind him seemed perilously naive.

  “My aim is simpler: eradicate traitors and Evil Cultivators, protect the land beneath my feet. The rest… does not concern me.”

  “Then our paths align. Fight beside me, conquer the realms, and I will see you seated as commander of the Five Alliances.”

  Lin Gan glanced at his reflection. The failed fusion had stalled his cultivation forever; at nearly sixty, he had no wish for endless war unless survival demanded it.

  “Without spirit vein resources, even dominion over the world would leave us chained to others. Hmph. Elder, you’ve surely heard the saying: greater power, greater responsibility. I, Lin Gan, lack that power.”

  The Prophecy Elder shot him a sharp glance—frustrated, yet powerless to force him.

  “If Old Gan will not rise, who will? Consider my offer. And widen your vision: the abyssal depths hold resources beyond imagining.”

  At the mention of the undersea abyss, Lin Gan stiffened. That self-contained realm… How vast was this woman’s ambition?

  “You flatter me. I will think on it. But I have a suggestion of my own: you only ascended yesterday. Is it wise to open alliance trade negotiations today?”

  “What impropriety? Have you not long advocated opening commerce with the allied nations? I spent years among the Five Alliances—I have seen the might of their magitech. Delay further, and we will lose our very foothold.”

  In all his years, Lin Gan had never heard anyone declare so confidently that the Watch Legion might fall.

  “You… have heard rumors, then?”

  Madam Yi realized her slip and recovered swiftly.

  “The law of the wild has never changed. But soon we need fear it no longer. Advanced magitech will be ours—and with your fusion techniques, we shall dominate all. This time, no one will stand in the way of our transformation.”

  The Watch Legion had splintered many times across its long history, yet Lin Gan’s family had never once forsaken this soil. No matter who rose or fell, no matter the decisions made—once one left the Legion, they were severed from the ground forces forever.

  “I have sworn my life to the Legion alone,” Lin Gan said quietly. “As commander of the ground troops, I must warn you: if you depart, I can promise nothing.”

  The elder heard the steel in his voice and felt, paradoxically, a measure of relief. She had only meant to remind him of the stakes; more pressing was the need to entrust her son to someone she could trust.

  “Each follows their own path,” she replied. “Very well. From this day forward, I will make the title of Tianjiao Elder echo across the world.”

  At the sound of that grandiose name, Lin Gan offered a perfunctory clap—polite, but hollow.

  “A bold title indeed. Then I shall look forward to seeing how our Tianjiao Elder reshapes the future of the Ancient Legion.”

  The sarcasm curled at the edges of his words. Madam Yi’s expression tightened.

  “Your barbs are tiresome—yet that is precisely why I value you. From now on, my son Kai Yi is in your hands. I trust the refined elemental gene fusion technique will serve him well.”

  With that, she turned and departed, her steps light and unhurried as she vanished down the fortress passage. Before leaving, she cast a fleeting glance toward the training chamber—she knew every corner of this place intimately.

  Lulu Gan, pressed against the door in breathless silence, waited until the stone portal ground shut. Then she burst into the room.

  “Father, didn’t you swear to protect Timo Yang? You saw the truth that night—why didn’t you testify?”

  Lin Gan only sighed, shaking his head with weary resignation.

  “One child’s death to save the entire Watch Legion—if it were you, what would you choose?”

  Lulu Gan’s fists clenched until her knuckles whitened.

  “I… I would stand for justice.”

  At her impassioned words, Lin Gan gave a soft, scornful laugh.

  “Justice? There is no such thing in this world—only wishful thinking. The Ancient Legion has endured a thousand years not on justice, but on survival.”

  The dismissal ignited her anger.

  “Then what about Sister Yue? She is a hero’s descendant! If even the blood of heroes is treated this way, how can anyone remain loyal?”

  Lin Gan exhaled heavily. Even Old Bai had not intervened; the legend of the Child of Darkness was no mere rumor. He would not risk everything on a gamble.

  “Others we might shield. But Yue and Timo… no one can touch their fate.”

  “Why not? Just because of some old Windrider Clan prophecy? Who still believes those childish fairy tales?”

  Her voice rose sharply. Lin Gan tensed, glancing about as though the walls might hear.

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “That doesn’t matter. If you won’t testify, I will. I’m going to the elders now.”

  “Foolish girl! Even the Mother of Earth could fall. To openly defy an elder’s judgment—what better end could we expect? You would only hand our enemies the chance to destroy us.”

  Lulu Gan halted. The safety of the family weighed upon her; she knew that without their status, her fate would mirror Timo’s.

  “Our heavy-armored guards are loyal to the death—raised on Gan family bounty since childhood. No one could threaten us.”

  So she told herself—yet Lin Gan would never wager everything on uncertainty.

  “We raise soldiers for a thousand days not for petty crises, but for the moments that decide survival. Only the living inherit the future.”

  To hear Timo and Yue’s suffering dismissed as trivial cut her deeply.

  “If the future is built on trampling the innocent, I want no part of it.”

  As she moved to leave again, Lin Gan flashed forward, blocking her path.

  “What did I teach you? What are you planning?”

  Facing his sudden severity, Lulu Gan understood his fear. She was not so reckless as to endanger everything; she only wanted him to see where she stood.

  “What can I do? Do you think I’m like you? Watching friends die unjustly—I’ll have nightmares. I can’t sleep. I’m going out for air.”

  Lin Gan studied her a moment longer, then stepped aside. He watched her stride toward the passage leading to the medical wing.

  “You’ll grow used to it in time. Fei is leaving soon—go see him off. You were master and apprentice once. After that… you know what must be done.”

  At those words, Lulu Gan paused. She sighed.

  Of course she knew: he wanted her to slip through the hidden tunnels again, to observe the Legion’s workings—today, that included the allied nations’ trade council.

  She had never relished the calculations of adults, yet from the moment she was born into the Gan family, such duties had been her birthright.

  She turned to storm away—then caught sight of a photograph.

  It was from her apprentice days, taken while Yue Yang trained the young recruits. Lulu Gan had been the first to receive an electronic communicator that day; Timo Yang had reached for it curiously, eager to see. The moment had frozen them together in a single, carefree frame.

  Seeing their smiles, tears pricked her eyes. She drew a steadying breath, then placed the fresh fruit she had been about to eat beneath the photo like an offering.

  “Timo… it wasn’t me who harmed you. If you become a vengeful spirit… seek those who wronged you.”

  With that, she turned and disappeared down the medical passage without looking back.

  Fei had already packed. A large brown rucksack rode his shoulders.

  He harbored no resentment toward the elder’s punishment; he knew his mother would have saved Yue Yang too, whatever the cost.

  But the stone house before him felt hollow now—no trace of his mother Rui Guo’s warmth, his father Yong Yuan long gone.

  “Father, Mother… rest easy. I will carry on your mission. Guarding the mountain is no disgrace—it lets me focus, grow stronger. I will protect those I choose to protect.”

  He spoke softly, brushing tears from his cheeks. Then, with a heavy thud, he dropped to his knees and kowtowed three times, forehead ringing against the floor.

  Memories of childhood surfaced—his mother’s hand on his shoulder, the last gentle touch he could recall.

  A bitter smile crossed his face. He rose abruptly, earth-colored spirit essence flaring in his palm. The stone door sealed behind him with a low rumble. Fei strode away from home without looking back.

  “Captain Fei! Wait!”

  At the call, Fei turned to see Zhi Zhao approaching along the forest path, a pack slung over his shoulder.

  Ever since learning Zhi Zhao had been ensnared by the Evil Cultivator Wan Lin, Fei—like many in the Watch Legion—had distrusted him.

  “What is it?”

  Zhi Zhao scratched his head, awkward under the cool gaze.

  “The adjudicator sentenced me to mountain duty too. I thought… I’d walk with you.”

  Fei gave a curt snort. “Convenient timing. Afraid you’ll meet Wan Lin on the road alone?”

  “Heh… a little, yeah. For the next three years, you’re the boss. Whatever you say goes—I’ll fetch water, wash dishes, anything.”

  Fei’s expression hardened further; he despised such flippancy.

  “No whining. If you falter, I won’t go easy on you.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain Yuan!”

  As they spoke, Fei led the way toward a fenced grove where fierce winds periodically howled, sending leaves spiraling upward in restless dances.

  Zhi Zhao hung back warily. He knew the thunder eagles’ tempers and awaited Fei’s signal before drawing closer.

  Meanwhile, Lulu Gan had navigated the hidden passages to a medical chamber. A button-sized electronic eye, insect-like, slipped through a vent and into the room beyond.

  Through its lens she saw two iron-clad, shaven-headed enforcers standing rigid guard over Yue Yang’s treatment chamber.

  Inside the medical pod, Yue Yang lay in deep, unconscious slumber.

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