Chapter 35: Calm Before the Storm

The celestial radiance that had set the northern horizon ablaze vanished, leaving behind only bitter dust and cold ash.

Across Silverwood City, the atmosphere soured into foul disappointment. Rumors spread like a foul contagion through the municipal districts: the heaven-defying anomaly had evaporated into thin air, leaving the grand factions clutching at empty shadows.

Inside the Vance Family’s private estate, the fallout was venomous.

Crash!

A solid sandalwood conference table shattered into splinters under a heavy palm strike. Wood fragments rained across the floor as Hector Vance, an elder of the clan and a peak Martial Master, breathed heavily, his veins bulging with fury.

"Five thousand top-grade spirit stones!" Hector roared, his voice shaking the grand hall. "We burned five thousand stones worth of fuel, array-disrupting scrolls, and mercenary retainer fees, only to sprint into a barren pit of scorched rock! The entire municipal district is laughing at us!"

The surrounding clan retainers stood with their heads bowed, trembling in silence. The Vance Family had staked an immense sum of operational capital to reach the crater first, only to return with mud on their boots and a mountain of wasted receipts.

Standing in the corner, Eric Vance watched his uncle’s murderous temper flare. His jaw still throbbed with a faint, dull ache from the humiliation Lucian had dealt him at the barbecue market. Instead of shrinking away, a cold, vicious spark ignited in Eric’s eyes.

He saw an opportunity.

Eric stepped forward, keeping his voice low, measured, and dripping with calculated resentment.

"Uncle, calm your anger," Eric began, offering a respectful bow. "The anomaly was an unpredictable disaster. But our clan’s dignity doesn’t have to stay buried in the dirt. While our eyes were fixed on the mountains, someone else has been actively dragging the Vance name through the mud inside the city."

Hector turned his bloodshot eyes toward his nephew, his tone harsh. "What are you babbling about now?"

"Lucian," Eric hissed, his fists clenching tight. "That D-rank orphan from the slums. He’s been clinging to Evelyn Sterling like a stray dog, parading around under her protection. Days ago, he openly assaulted me, mocked our lineage in the public commercial district, and spat on our family’s honor."

Eric took a step closer, his eyes narrowing to vicious slits.

"The college entrance mock trials are only two days away. If that useless beggar is allowed to march onto the field beside Evelyn, every prominent clan in the province will whisper that the Vance Family can be slapped across the face by an orphan without consequence. We cannot touch Evelyn directly—not with Magnus Sterling watching. But Lucian? He’s a nobody. A beggar who awakened a trash-tier D-rank shadow."

"What do you propose?" Hector asked, the murderous edge in his voice turning cold and sharp.

"Lend me the Fourth Squad retainers," Eric urged, a twisted smirk curling his lips. "We track his movements. The moment he steps outside the Sterling perimeter without Evelyn, we strike. Drag him to our private warehouse in the old industrial zone. Before the mock exams even begin, I will shatter his meridians one by one and leave him crippled on the pavement. Let everyone see what happens to a slum rat that bares its teeth at our clan."

Hector stared at his nephew for several agonizing seconds before letting out a guttural, cruel laugh.

"An orphan dares to look down on our family?" Hector waved his hand with utter disdain. "Take the Fourth Squad. Make it clean. Don’t leave a trail that Magnus’s dogs can sniff back to our doorstep."

"Understood, Uncle!" Eric bowed deeply, his chest burning with triumphant malice.

’Lucian, you arrogant bastard...’ Eric sneered internally. *’Let’s see if your shameless tongue still works when your bones are ground to powder.’*

...

Far from the Vance estate, beneath the cracked concrete pillars of an abandoned expressway bridge, shadows clung thick and heavy.

Four figures draped in coarse burlap robes knelt in a circle around an iron brazier. Sickly, pale-green flames flickered within, casting grotesque, shifting silhouettes against the damp concrete.

At the head of the circle stood the Pig-Mask Envoy.

The grotesque porcelain snout caught the green light as the Envoy let out a low, grinding rasp of breath. His small, vicious eyes reflected the dying embers.

"The northern mountain anomaly was no divine descent," the Envoy muttered, his tone flat and chilling. "It was an ancient displacement circle. A spatial escape mechanism that burnt itself out upon activation. There is no celestial relic to reap."

A cultist crept forward, pressing his forehead against the dirt. "Then, Envoy... what of our congregation’s purpose?"

"We return to the primary harvest," the Envoy commanded, snapping the bone talisman in his hand.

He lifted his gaze toward the distant, illuminated skyline of the Sterling Grand Courtyard.

"The wild goose chase into the Thousand Mountain Forest has worked in our favor. The municipal garrison, the mercenary guilds, and Magnus Sterling’s external guards are scattered, exhausted, and blind. The perimeter defense of Silverwood City has never been this weak."

A jagged sacrificial blade slipped from the Envoy’s sleeve, gleaming with dark, dried ichor.

"Evelyn Sterling. The S-Rank Azure Phoenix. Her bloodline carries the divine heat our Lord demands. With the city’s powerhouses chasing ghosts, the time to strike has arrived. We will set the bait, sever her protection, and offer her immortal flame to the Pig God!"

"Blood for the Great Sovereign!" the cloaked figures hissed back in unison, their forms melting silently into the dark alleys.

...

Meanwhile, thirty kilometers away, inside the quiet sanctum of the Sterling Manor’s cultivation chamber.

Lucian sat motionless upon his woven meditation mat, his breathing slow, rhythmic, and deep.

The violent backlash from the spatial siphon had receded. Within his Soul Sea, the obsidian Spiritual Seed spun smoothly once more, drinking in the dense Spiritual Energy radiating from the room’s gathering array.

Wisps of dark essence circulated through his meridians, steadily restoring the drained reserves of his dantian. Through the faint, trembling soul link stretched across the void, he could still feel the steady, rhythmic pulse of Shadow One—safe, hidden, and biding its time in that distant, alien realm.

Lucian slowly opened his eyes, the obsidian depths of his pupils reflecting a calm, unbothered stillness.

He stretched his limbs, feeling the formidable six tons of pure physical force settling comfortably into his bones once again. He had no idea that Eric’s assassins were already staking out the streets, nor did he know that the fanatic knives of the Outer God Cult were turning toward the woman he was set on protecting.

Lucian glanced toward the window, looking out over the peaceful garden bathed in the early morning light.

"Two days until the mock trials," he murmured softly to himself, a subtle, confident smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "Let’s see what this city has to offer."