The night was cold and silent, broken only by the crackle of distant torches and the shifting of armour in the shadows. In the heart of Hollow Vale, now renamed Blackmist Hold, the atmosphere was tense. The report from the hooded wanderer had spread through the new Sovereign Legion like wildfire.
A bounty—ten thousand spirit stones.
Dead or alive.
Aeron stood on the high balcony of the Vault Temple, the wind fluttering the long black cloak draped across his shoulders. His sharp gaze scanned the valley below where his soldiers trained beneath the moonlight, unaware of how close death could be.
Dalia stepped into view behind him, her robes rustling softly.
> "The man you met," she began, "he carries no lie. The sect that placed the bounty is from the outer north—Crimson Grave Sect. They're notorious for hunting down rising talents before they mature."
Aeron didn't turn to face her. "It means they see me as a threat already."
Dalia nodded grimly. "You've crushed the Black Blade Fangs, claimed a leyline node, and started building a force in one of the forgotten valleys. Word travels fast."
> "Let them come," Aeron said quietly. "Let all who fear change come. I'll give them a reason to."
---
Three Days Later — Northern Wildlands
Across the ragged mountains far beyond Blackmist Hold, a gathering of masked figures stood beneath a blood-red moon. Their robes bore the sigil of the Crimson Grave Sect—a jagged fang over a crimson disc.
A man with a thin blade stood at their centre, his face half-covered by a metal mask etched with runes.
> "The boy has awoken the Vault," he said, his voice sharp and cruel. "He bears the old signature... Shadow Qi with bloodline compression. The prophecy may yet begin through him."
Another figure stepped forward. "Shall we eliminate him?"
> "No. Not yet. If the Sovereign can unite Hollow Vale, he may draw out others—survivors of the old sects, remnants of the Divine Eclipse Empire. Let him build his tower higher."
He turned, eyes glowing beneath the mask.
> "Then we'll be the ones to burn it."
---
Meanwhile — Blackmist Hold
Inside the inner sanctum of the Vault Temple, Aeron meditated once more. His core had reached the edge of the Body Foundation Realm, and he could feel the tension in the air—the boundary between his current level and the next.
His breathing slowed.
Qi swirled around him in deep hues of grey and indigo. The spiritual node responded, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat. His body shook. Muscles tensed. His core began to glow with internal heat.
Suddenly—
A burst of force rippled through the chamber, throwing dust from the stone walls.
—Ding!—
> You have reached Level 1: Early-Stage Transition Realm.
> New Ability Unlocked: [Ebon Pulse]
> Trait Enhanced: Shadowstep duration increased to 3 seconds.
> Qi Capacity Expanded: +200%
Aeron slowly opened his eyes. The power surged through him like fire, yet it was smooth, controlled. The Transition Realm. A cultivator's first step toward becoming a warrior who could reshape the world around them.
He flexed his fingers and looked toward the training courtyard outside.
> "It's time they saw what the next stage truly looks like."
---
The soldiers had assembled in ranks.
Kael Droven, still recovering but regaining some strength, stood by Dalia. His cultivation had dropped temporarily due to his damaged core, but he was now stabilized at Level 7 Body Foundation.
Aeron stepped onto the platform overlooking the courtyard. Silence fell.
> "You have all chosen to follow me. To build something greater from ash and ruin. But loyalty is not enough. Strength must follow."
He raised his hand—and in the centre of the courtyard, dozens of wooden training dummies erupted from the ground, carved with runes and formation circles.
> "These are not normal dummies. Each one contains a minor combat array that simulates actual battle pressure and suppresses your strength."
Gasps ran through the crowd.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "He's going to train them under pressure. A method even elite sects fear using too early."
Aeron's voice rang out. "Each of you will spar against one. You will bleed. You will fall. But in this valley, we will forge a legion that no kingdom dares challenge. You are not soldiers anymore."
He turned to Dalia. "You are Sovereign Disciples."
---
The training began.
The dummies lashed out with spiritual bursts mimicking real attacks. Low-level cultivators were knocked off their feet. Some cried out. Others gritted their teeth and rose again.
Kael watched with a faint grin. "He's ruthless."
> "He's precise," Dalia replied. "He's shaping them."
Hours passed.
When the sun began to dip again behind the western cliffs, Aeron walked among the injured, healing some with his limited qi, guiding others with short corrections in stance and form.
Each lesson, each fall, was a step.
> "You're not here to survive," he told one exhausted disciple. "You're here to conquer."
---
That night, as campfires burned and food was passed around the rough stone tables, an old man arrived at the valley's edge. His beard reached his chest, and his back was bent from years of cultivation.
The guards challenged him immediately. "State your purpose!"
He raised a glowing scroll.
> "I bring a proposal... from the Ironroot Clan."
Aeron was summoned.
He read the scroll slowly.
It was an offer.
> The Ironroot Clan requests audience and alliance. In exchange for military protection and spiritual medicine, we offer skilled blacksmiths, array masters, and materials for fortress construction.
Aeron's eyes narrowed.
> "The war drums are beating already."
Aeron stood at the edge of the firelight, the scroll still held in his hand. The flames danced in his eyes as he stared at the aged emissary from the Ironroot Clan. Around them, soldiers paused their meals, ears sharpened, eyes watchful. News of alliances stirred more than curiosity—it awakened memories of betrayal, power struggles, and blood-soaked soil.
The emissary, a hunched cultivator with wispy white eyebrows and a crooked staff made of stonewood, bowed deeply. "Sovereign Aeron... my clan has watched your rise with both respect and caution. Your claim over Blackmist Hold has shaken the balance."
Aeron's gaze remained steady. "And what does the Ironroot Clan hope to gain from an alliance?"
The emissary lifted his staff slightly, tracing three points in the dirt with the tip. "Access to your leyline node. The ability to forge high-grade spirit tools under the stabilised spiritual field. And... protection."
Aeron's brow lifted. "Protection? From whom?"
The old man glanced behind him, voice dropping. "The Crimson Grave Sect. They're hunting more than just you. They've begun sending their Bone-Masked Executioners to bordering clans. Two days ago, they wiped out the Redbranch Family. Not a single cultivator left above level 20."
The wind grew colder.
Dalia stepped forward, her arms folded beneath her robes. "And you offer skilled craftsmen and array masters in return?"
"Yes, Elder Dalia. Ironroot has the oldest forges in the northern valleys. Some of our smiths are born with Fire-blood Physiques. We can outfit your legion. Give them real weapons, not salvaged scraps."
Kael, standing off to the side, growled lowly. "If they're that desperate, why didn't they seek refuge with the mountain lords or the capital?"
The emissary glanced down. "Because the capital has already pledged silence. The Crimson Grave Sect sent envoys. The northern duchies won't interfere."
Silence fell.
Aeron crushed the scroll in his hand and looked to the horizon. "Then this land truly has no protectors left. Only scavengers."
He turned sharply. "You have three days to relocate your clan to the southern side of Blackmist Hold. Bring only those willing to stand and fight. No cowards. No spies. If you betray us—"
Dalia stepped beside him, voice like ice. "—we will bury you beneath your own furnaces."
The emissary bowed again, deeper than before. "As you command, Sovereign Aeron."
---
Two Days Later – Ironroot Exodus
Over six hundred members of the Ironroot Clan marched through the winding trails into Hollow Vale. The sight was unlike anything the valley had seen in decades—long convoys of blacksmiths carrying spirit-forged anvils, carts loaded with glowing ore, and elders bearing intricate formation scrolls.
Aeron watched from above as the fortified gates opened.
Dalia's voice rang out beside him. "They've come prepared. Look at that ore—Molten Silverstone. And the scrolls—they're three-ring arrays. Rare even in the duchy capitals."
Kael added, "But they also bring mouths to feed. That'll strain our supplies."
Aeron nodded. "We'll send scavengers deeper into the forest. The southern lakes are filled with spiritfish. Let's expand the agricultural ward in the Spatial Kingdom. We'll convert one inner section to grow Spirit Grain."
---
Later That Night — The Deepforge
Within the newly constructed Deepforge beneath Blackmist Hold, the Ironroot smiths lit sacred fires and began to chant in rhythmic harmony. Fire-element Qi danced through the air. Hammers struck enchanted anvils. The forge became a song of flame and steel.
In the centre stood an elder named Varrik Ironroot, whose hands glowed with branded runes. His cultivation wasn't high—only level 35, Spiritual Warrior—but his craftsmanship bordered on the divine.
> "This blade," he told Aeron, "will drink the blood of sect warriors. I'll name it Hollowfang."
Aeron received the finished blade days later—an obsidian weapon that shimmered with a dull red aura, perfectly balanced and forged from Nightmare Iron, a rare ore found only in lightning-rich regions. Hollowfang hummed when drawn, eager for battle.
---
Meanwhile — Crimson Grave Outpost
A report landed in the hands of the masked man from earlier.
> "The boy has allied with the Ironroots. He now controls two leyline fragments and a high-yield node. His power grows faster than expected."
The man set down the scroll. "Send the First Executioner. Test his strength. If he survives, the Shadow Tribunal will convene."
---
Back at Blackmist Hold — Training Grounds
Aeron now stood before one hundred newly-equipped soldiers, each bearing armour enhanced by the Ironroot smiths. Hollowfang hung at his side, and his spiritual pressure had stabilized at Level 2 Transition Realm.
Kael, leading the spear division, now cultivated steadily after being healed partially by a rare Flame Lotus.
Dalia, refining her water-based arts, had begun teaching spiritual formations to ten gifted disciples.
Aeron addressed the crowd.
> "We do not wait for the storm. We become it. Tomorrow, we march to reclaim the Crimson Pass. Once theirs—now ours."
A roar echoed across the valley.
The era of hiding was over.
Blackmist Hold would become the forge of a new power.