After two more full days of travel, Kyrian watched the horizon line, where the familiar contours of the yellow plain and the forming dark clouds began to appear.

The mark on his hand remained quiet now, only a faint residual warmth, a reminder that there would be more natural formations, but none very close for the time being.

Soon, thoughts about it and about the mark faded temporarily from Kyrian's mind.

And what emerged were thoughts about three things.

The tournament. The Blood Court. And Dong Zhen.

In the sky, the black-winged horse, strengthened by the spiritual stones, cut through the air with speed, guided instinctively toward the Shadow Court. Kyrian didn't need to tell it the way, the beast already knew its path back.

Then, the landscape below changed gradually, beneath the perpetual ceiling of dark clouds.

The massive concealment formation appeared before him, a distortion in the air visible only to Kyrian's special eyes.

The fortress of black bricks and pulsating red veins materialized as they crossed the barrier, its oppressive and living presence like a slumbering creature.

Dong Zhen was not at the top of the fortress to receive him. No one was. The landing yard was empty, except for one of the gray servants, who waited with his head lowered, robes fluttering slightly in the heavy breeze.

Kyrian dismounted from the beast, and the servant stepped forward to take the reins.

"Young Master Kyrian," the man murmured.

"Master Dong Zhen has requested your presence in his office upon your return."

Kyrian gave a brief nod.

"Take care of it."

Without hurry, but without hesitation, Kyrian entered the fortress corridors. His footsteps echoed alone.

He went first to his dormitory. Nothing had been touched. The book on the structure of the Blood Court was still on the table.

The rough simplicity of the place already felt like an anchor amid the unfamiliar strangeness of the pulsating environment.

He touched the pendant around his neck. The crimson glow pulsed, a silent beacon that had no doubt already announced his return to Dong Zhen.

Kyrian didn't care much about this. Freedom had been granted to him, and as expected, he had returned. The unspoken agreement had been upheld.

Leaving the dormitory, he headed to Dong Zhen's office. The reinforced metal door opened before he could even knock.

"Enter," came the calm voice from inside.

Dong Zhen stood before a shelf filled with red crystals. His face was turned toward a gem that cast a faint light across his features.

He didn't turn immediately. Kyrian stood at the threshold, waiting.

After a moment, Dong Zhen finally glanced at him. His sharp eyes swept over Kyrian, assessing him, weighing every detail. A faint, almost imperceptible sign of satisfaction touched the corner of his mouth.

"So you returned," Dong Zhen said, the statement sounding like the conclusion of a calculation proven correct.

"Oh. Your cultivation really advanced during your little absence."

Kyrian kept his gaze neutral.

"The time was well used for cultivation."

"It is evident that it was." Dong Zhen crossed his arms.

"And your journey? Did you accomplish what you wanted?"

"Yes," Kyrian replied, offering no further detail.

Dong Zhen didn't press. Instead, a thin smile deepened.

"Good. Very good. I was right. Someone with your eyes would not run from an opportunity like this. Would not run from a challenge, from a chance to grow." He took a step forward.

"You returned because this place is where you need to be. Where there will be resources and challenges aligned with your hunger for power."

Kyrian remained silent, confirming the statement without words. It was the truth, after all.

It was another step, like the Verdant Sword Sect. Another of many.

He would extract the maximum before moving on to the next.

"The tournament approaches," Dong Zhen continued.

"The branch leaders begin arriving tomorrow. The fortress will soon be full of curious gazes and disguised ambitions. Your presence here in the main branch will not go unnoticed. It will surely be questioned."

"Will they try to test something before the tournament?" Kyrian guessed.

"I believe some may. The younger ones, inflamed by the pride of their branches." Dong Zhen shrugged.

"Ignore minor provocations. But if a direct challenge is issued, within the limits, you must accept it. Showing weakness here invites disrespect. I want you to show them the weight of being chosen by me."

"And in the tournament itself?" Kyrian asked.

"Just fight to win. There is no 'to the death,' but severe injuries are common and accepted. Death may occur if the loser is stubborn or the winner is relentless. But there will be consequences for such an act."

Dong Zhen fixed his gaze on Kyrian, piercing.

"Your objective in this tournament is twofold."

"First, to secure the main branch's resources for the next five years and, more importantly for you, to establish your authority. Victory will grant you unrestricted access to the Blood Library and absolute priority in training resources."

The Blood Library. The name resonated like a deep bell in Kyrian's mind. He had read briefly about it in the book he'd been given earlier. It was a repository of knowledge that could contain information about everything, from blood techniques to, perhaps, even more information about natural formations or about the black masses of hostility.

Perhaps even more information about innate talents and about the mark on his hand.

"Understood," Kyrian said after briefly thinking, his resolve solidifying.

"Use the remaining time to prepare," Dong Zhen instructed, turning back to the shelves.

Kyrian nodded once more and left the office, the heavy door closing silently behind him.

The cold determination in his mind was now present. Along with a deep fatigue that came from his entire body. Kyrian only now realized that he hadn't rested properly in many, many days.

The inheritance, the journey with Dong Zhen, the days of incessant flight, the stage advancement, and the event at the river. All of it had consumed more of his energy than he had realized in the heat of the moment.

He returned to his dormitory. The silence of the fortress at night was absolute, broken only by the distant, steady pulse of the blood core.

The loneliness of the place was strange and tangible, but Kyrian liked that environment, though he knew that in the coming days the noise of new people would spread through the area.

Entering his dormitory, he didn't go to the table or the room. Instead, he opened the door again and found a servant stationed in his usual post in the corridor, motionless like a statue.

"Bring me food," Kyrian said to the servant, his voice a little rougher from fatigue.

"Bring the largest amount you can. Meat, bread, whatever you have. And bring something good to drink."

The servant understood and inclined his head.

"Immediately, young master."

Kyrian entered and left the door ajar.

A few minutes later, the servant returned carrying a large, dark metal tray, heavy with generous portions.

There were pieces of a pale, dense meat, it looked appetizing, probably the meat of some beast Kyrian didn't recognize, as well as some cooked vegetables and several types of bread. There was also a jar of a purple drink.

The food was simple, robust, and made to sustain, not to delight. But with the hunger Kyrian felt, anything would do.

Kyrian carried the tray to the stone table and devoured everything in silence. With the efficiency of someone who had gone days without eating, restoring his fuel.

Each bite was a conscious effort against the exhaustion dragging at his limbs. As he ate, his mind wandered. To the silent mark on his hand. To the book in his mind. To the library that was now a tangible prize. To the unknown eyes that would soon watch him, measuring him, probably underestimating him.

Once he finished the meal, he pushed the tray aside and, almost staggering, walked to the room. The hard wooden bed and firm mattress felt like a divine invitation.

He removed his boots and outer tunic, letting them fall to the floor without ceremony, and collapsed onto the bed.

Sleep seized him like a black tide. Drowning him instantly, erasing his last conscious thoughts.

There were no dreams, only a deep and restorative void.

Time then passed.

The deep night gave way to a dawn dimmed by the constant dark clouds. The silence of the fortress was slowly invaded by new sounds.

First, the distant flapping of wings, different from the winged horse Kyrian had used, the sound was more varied.

More numerous. Then, voices came. Not loud, but firm, carrying the authority of those accustomed to command. The sound of footsteps echoing through the silent corridors of the castle, until then empty, emerged.

Along with the metallic clanging of armor and weapons.

Kyrian slept through all of it. His body was more exhausted than he could have imagined and did not awaken with the changes in the fortress. Mainly because he felt no immediate threat. So his restorative sleep continued.

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw a faint and diffused light that managed to filter through the clouds and the narrow window, entering the room.

He wasn't sure how many hours had passed, but the stiffness from the journey had disappeared, replaced with a renewed sense of fullness.

The mental fatigue had also dissipated, leaving behind a clear and sharp mind.

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