The Cunning Treasure Hunter

Nearly a month had passed since Elise and her brother settled at Iron Fist Sect. During that time, Elise had fully recovered her original inner energy and began training with her brother to control it. The two decided to stay in Iron Fist Sect, thanks to the generosity of Abbot Gregory, who had granted them refuge.

"If I send them away now, the same tragedy might repeat itself," the abbot had reasoned. Thus, he permitted them to remain until they were strong enough to fend for themselves.

Meanwhile, Marcus had completely recovered. Master Nathaniel's mastery of the Transcendent Wisdom Sutra was unparalleled; he had eradicated even the deepest killing intent that had seeped into Marcus's body. However, a thin scar remained just below his solar plexus—a scar precisely matching the width of the blade that had pierced him. When Vera saw it, she was stricken with guilt. Yet, Marcus only smiled and called it his badge of honor.

"Isn't it a mark of pride, Vera? A scar I earned as your elder brother while protecting my junior sister."

And now, it was the last night of their stay at Iron Fist Sect. Everything they could resolve had been settled. Sev and Elise's futures were now in their own hands. Even the matters of Bloodshadow Pavilion—while destined to resurface in Akrest—were as resolved as they could be for the time being.

Only one thing remained.

"…Alright."

Within the quiet solitude of her chamber, Vera sat cross-legged. Following the incantation of the Soul Harmony Realm Technique, she began to weave her thoughts into focus. She channeled her inner energy, guiding it along the meticulously memorized pathways of her body's meridians. Cultivation breathing techniques were the foundation of her art.

Vera could not forget what she had absorbed during the blood-soaked battle. Something had entered her—a presence that surged her inner energy beyond her capacity. Though she had quickly sealed it away, she knew the time had come to examine herself.

As her consciousness sank into the depths of her mental landscape, she found herself standing before the familiar surface of a vast, tranquil lake. Above her, a lone star shone brightly in the heavens—a single, unyielding light.

North Star's Breaking Light, the last star of the Big Dipper, burned brilliantly.

Beneath its glow, Black Dragon lay curled in deep slumber.

As soon as her foot touched the water's edge, the beast stirred, its eyes snapping open. In an instant, it bounded toward her, knocking her over with playful enthusiasm and showering her face with licks.

"Enough…!" Vera protested.
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She didn't dislike it, knowing full well the beast would vanish upon waking. Still, being drenched in its saliva was far from pleasant. She scooped up some water from the lake to rinse her face before using the dragon's soft fur to dry off.

"...You've grown a lot," she muttered, marveling at its size.

The Black Dragon had grown so large that her arms could no longer wrap around its neck. The creature had now fully embraced its role as a divine beast, exuding a towering presence worthy of its name.

"You've devoured the killing intent and malice that seeped into me, haven't you?"

The dragon nodded solemnly, and Vera stroked its chin, her fingers tracing the curve of its sleek horns. It leaned closer, resting its massive head on her lap, clearly asking for more attention.

Without hesitation, Vera obliged, gently running her fingers through its fur. Her thoughts, however, drifted to the truth of her existence.

Celestial Blade Star—a cursed destiny, a fate to bring mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Vera had long sought the truth of her identity, even before the fall of Bloomspire Sect Gate. She was said to be born with:

An innate thirst for bloodshed.A cruel and remorseless nature.An unmatched talent for wielding weapons.

The world of martial arts believed that a Celestial Blade Star grew stronger with each kill but became increasingly consumed by madness, an unrelenting cycle of blood and strength.

Yet, Vera had never felt the bloodlust described. She wasn't cruel, nor was she devoid of emotion.

"Why, then…?"

She thought back to the gruesome battlefield. There, amidst rivers of blood and slaughter, something within her had awakened—a monster slumbering deep in her soul. It was a primal, instinctual creature. For the first time, she had felt it:

The urge to kill.The temptation of cruelty.

"Was it because I witnessed so much death and carnage for the first time?"

Thankfully, the Black Dragon had immediately suppressed the chaos within her, consuming the malevolent will and vengeful spirits that had seeped into her core.

This was the role of the Soul Harmony Realm Technique, a martial art designed specifically for her cursed fate. It allowed her to reclaim her sense of self and anchor her mind amidst the turbulent tide of her destiny. The dragon absorbed the malice and slaughter, shielding her from being consumed by the Celestial Blade Star's influence.

Still, the technique wasn't merely defensive. It also made her the ultimate adversary of immortality. By embracing the very essence of death and destruction, Vera's power grew in direct opposition to eternal life and indestructibility.

"I'll grow stronger as I spill blood, but… I won't lose myself."

This was the promise of the Soul Harmony Realm Technique, her safeguard against madness.

"...Thank you, for everything."

Vera gently touched the dragon's horns, a rare smile gracing her face.

The Black Dragon, sensing the end of her meditation, nudged her cheek with its horn. It was time to rise. Vera chuckled softly, stood, and prepared to return to the waking world.

Morning of Departure.

At the Hall of Visitors of Iron Fist Sect, Marcus, Ethan, and Vera were busy packing their belongings.

When they had arrived, they had little to carry. But now, things were different. The Iron Fist Sect had generously provided them with various supplies.

Among the items, the most precious and practical was undoubtedly the tent.

While inns, taverns, or even small villages were preferable, such conveniences were rare during long journeys. When no such place was in sight, camping became unavoidable.

The Iron Fist Sect had gifted them a tent made from the same sturdy material used for ship sails crossing the River. It was durable and clearly expensive—a true treasure for travelers.

" Vera, you should have seen Ethan in his disguise," Marcus teased, a playful grin spreading across his face.

"Senior Brother, please!" Ethan groaned, visibly flustered.

"You would have looked rather charming, Senior Brother Ethan," Vera chimed in with a lighthearted smile.

"Not you too, Vera…" Ethan muttered, sinking further into despair.

What stung most was the undeniable truth behind her words. When he had glanced at his reflection in the mirror, even he had to admit:

"Not bad at all."

That fleeting thought had thrown his mind into chaos. How unsettling it was to find one's disguised self oddly appealing.

At least he had been spared the humiliation of Vera actually seeing him in that state. The moment rumors of her return began circulating, he had torn off the wig and scrubbed his face clean of makeup.

"And when he panicked and scrubbed off the makeup, you should've seen that too," Marcus added, laughing.

"You even applied makeup?" Vera tilted her head, her smile widening.

Ethan couldn't take it anymore. "Yes! The monks said my complexion was too dark!"

Another round of laughter erupted, filling the room with mirth. Amidst the jovial atmosphere, a knock came at the door.

Marcus rose to open it, revealing Elder Valen standing solemnly.

"Have you finished preparing your things?" the elder asked, his voice calm yet commanding.

"Yes, Elder. We'll be ready shortly," Marcus replied respectfully.

"Ensure everything is in order within the hour. Otherwise, you may have the opportunity to test the durability of that tent yourself," Valen remarked dryly before turning to leave.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on Vera.

Something about her presence had shifted—a sharpness, an aura of strength. A true weapon need not flaunt its edge to command respect, and her current demeanor carried such weight.

"Could it be…?"

The elder clicked his tongue in disbelief and shook his head. He dismissed the thought as absurd.

"There's no way she's already at the threshold of the Sublime Realm."

Under the Plaque of Iron Fist Sect.

The group stood ready to depart. The disciples and monks of Iron Fist Sect had gathered to bid them farewell.

"You're leaving so soon," muttered Arther, a touch of regret in his tone. He had grown close to Ethan during their time together, as had many other monks.

"I'll miss sparring with you, but we'll meet again someday," Arther said.

"When we do, I'll be even stronger," Ethan responded with a confident smirk.

"You'll probably end up getting whacked with a monk's wooden staff again," Arther teased.

"Urgh…" Ethan winced at the memory.

After the Healing Stream Hall incident, Master Nathaniel had unexpectedly allowed Ethan and Arther to spar freely. Their fierce duels had become a source of mutual growth, pushing both to the limits of their abilities.

The once-tentative juniors had ascended to the threshold of the Sublime Realm, their clashes sharpening their talents.

Even Marcus had benefited greatly. While he hadn't received the elusive Golden Bodhi Elixir, the month-long guidance of Master Nathaniel's profound internal energy technique had fortified his meridians.

As for Vera, her transformation was undeniable. Everyone present felt it—the sharpened presence, the undeniable weight of her aura.

"Vera," a voice called out, halting her steps.

It was Sev, who approached with a small object in his hands—a dagger no longer than one used for peeling fruit.

"This is a token of my oath," he said, extending the blade toward her.

"A token…?" Vera asked, tilting her head as she accepted the gift.

It was clear at a glance that the dagger bore the craftsmanship of Northern Ice Palace . Though Sev was from a side branch, this weapon undoubtedly symbolized his lineage.

"This is a blade forged from Ten Thousand-Year Cold Iron," he explained.

The crowd gasped. Ten Thousand-Year Cold Iron was as rare as Heavenly Meteorite Steel, a material of legendary durability and unmatched value.

"Call upon me whenever you need a friend," he said earnestly.

"Thank you," Vera replied, bowing deeply as she tucked the dagger away.

The monks of Iron Fist Sect pressed their palms together in farewell, while Sev and Elise bowed low.

It was a quiet yet heartfelt parting—a farewell not to sever ties, but to strengthen them.