I couldn''t bear to see Adrian Whitlock like this. The once proud master now sat slumped in grief, his weathered face a mask of devastation. His disciples—his children in all but blood—murdered by the very hands he''d trained.


    "It wasn''t your fault," I told him, cing a hand on his shoulder. "You couldn''t have known Preston would betray you."


    Adrian looked up at me, his eyes hollow with loss. "I raised that boy from nothing, Liam. Twenty years of guidance, of sharing every secret I knew." His voice cracked. "And this is how he repays me."


    Outside the window, dawn broke over the mountain sanctuary, casting long shadows across the abandoned training grounds. The estate that should have been filled with the sounds of cultivation practice remained eerily silent.


    "We should find him," I said firmly. "Preston needs to answer for what he''s done."


    Adrian''s expression hardened. "Yes. He does." He rose to his feet, his grief transforming into cold determination. "The Enlightenment Tea would have advanced him significantly. We must be prepared."


    Eamon entered the room, his face grim. "Lin is stable but still weak. He told me more about what happened." He hesitated. "Preston didn''t work alone. He had outside help—warriors who wore no identifying marks."


    I exchanged nces with Adrian. Unmarked warriors suggested powerful backing, possibly from one of the major families or sects.


    "He''s always been ambitious," Adrian said quietly. "But to kill his own brothers and sisters in cultivation..." He shook his head. "I failed to see the darkness in him."


    "Where would he go?" I asked. "Someone with newly acquired power would want to unt it."


    Adrian''s eyes narrowed in thought. "The Autumn Tournament begins today in Runeforge Valley. If Preston wanted to announce his arrival as a new power, that would be the perfect stage."


    "Then that''s where we''ll go," I decided.


    ---


    We arrived at Runeforge Valley by midday. The tournament grounds bustled with cultivators from across the province, their colorful banners fluttering in the mountain breeze.


    Adrian moved with purpose, his earlier grief masked behind a fa?ade of calm. Eamon and I followed close behind, scanning the crowds for any sign of Preston.


    "There," Adrian suddenly stopped, his body tensing.


    In a clearing ahead, surrounded by admiring cultivators, stood a tall man with sharp features and an arrogant smile. Even from a distance, I could feel the powerful cultivation aura surrounding him—far stronger than seemed possible for his apparent age.


    "Preston," Adrian whispered, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.


    "That''s him?" I asked, studying the man. "His cultivation level..."


    "Grandmaster Eighth Rank," Adrian confirmed grimly. "The tea worked. He''s advanced far beyond what decades of normal cultivation would have achieved." <kbd ss="frag-e2ff67">This<i ss="node-sep"></i>chapter<i ss="node-sep"></i>was<i ss="node-sep"></i>originally<i ss="node-sep"></i>posted<i ss="node-sep"></i>on<i ss="node-sep"></i>*.</kbd>


    Preston stood in the center of attention, demonstrating sword techniques with effortless grace. His movements carried tremendous power, each swing creating visible distortions in the air. The young cultivators watching him appeared awestruck.


    "Let me approach him first," Adrian said. "This is between master and disciple."


    I nodded reluctantly. "We''ll be close if you need us."


    Adrian straightened his robes and stepped forward, walking directly toward his former disciple. The crowd parted instinctively before him, sensing the tension in his approach.


    Preston was midway through exining a technique when he noticed Adrian. His smile faltered momentarily before widening into something predatory.


    "Master Whitlock," he called out loudly enough for all to hear. "What a surprise to see you here. I thought you''d be busy attending to your... remaining disciples."


    The cruel emphasis on "remaining" sent a visible flinch through Adrian''s body. Around them, the crowd sensed the building confrontation and began backing away.


    "Preston," Adrian said evenly, "we need to talk about what you''ve done."


    Prestonughed, the sound cold and dismissive. "Done? You mean how I''ve finally stepped out from your shadow? How I''ve achieved what you never could?"


    "You killed your fellow disciples," Adrian said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent clearing. "You stole what wasn''t yours to take."


    Several gasps came from the crowd. Eamon tensed beside me, ready to move if needed.


    Preston''s face darkened. "I eliminated obstacles. That''s what true cultivators do." He gestured grandly to the onlookers. "I''m establishing a new sect—one that won''t be held back by outdated notions of restraint and patience."


    An older man near Preston stepped forward. I recognized him as Eamon Greene, who''d been quietly observing the confrontation.


    "Young man," Eamon said calmly, "murder and theft aren''t the foundation of any legitimate sect I know."


    Preston''s eyes shed dangerously. "And who invited this old fossil to speak?" Without warning, he struck out with a palm strike aimed at Eamon''s chest.


    I moved without thinking, stepping between them and meeting Preston''s attack with a defensive technique. The impact sent vibrations up my arms, but I managed to block the worst of it.


    Preston''s eyes widened in surprise. "You''re only at Foundation Realm, yet you blocked my strike?" His gaze sharpened as recognition dawned. "Wait. You''re Liam Knight, aren''t you? The so-called King of Eldoria?"


    "Leave Eamon out of this," I said firmly. "Your quarrel is with your master."


    A cold smile spread across Preston''s face. "The famed Liam Knight, meddling in affairs beyond his station. I''ve heard stories about you." His cultivation aura red threateningly. "When I''m finished here, perhaps I''ll hunt down that Ashworth woman you''re so fond of. I hear she has quite remarkable blood."


    My anger red at the mention of Isabelle, but I kept my expression neutral. Reacting to his provocation would only y into his hands.


    "Preston Ironwood," Adrian called out, drawing attention back to himself. "As your master, I demand answers. Why did you steal the Enlightenment Tea? Why murder your fellow disciples?"


    Preston turned back to Adrian, contempt evident in his expression. "Why? Because they were weak, and I was strong. Because you hoarded power instead of using it." He gestured at himself. "Look at what I''ve be in mere days! What you could have be years ago if you weren''t so obsessed with your precious ''right timing'' and ''worthy recipients.''"


    "That tea wasn''t meant for you," Adrian said, his voice heavy with sorrow. "It was prepared with specific energies for a specific purpose."


    "And yet it worked perfectly for me," Preston sneered. "Face it, old man—you''ve growncent in your mountain sanctuary, watching better men surpass you while you cling to outdated promises."


    Adrian''s expression grew pained. "They trusted you, Preston. Liu, Mei, Joran—all of them looked up to you as their senior brother."


    "And they died still believing in your fairy tales about honor and brotherhood," Preston replied coldly. "Their cultivation bases added nicely to my own, by the way. A useful technique I learned during my travels."


    The crowd murmured in horror. Soul absorption was considered one of the darkest paths in cultivation.


    "You consumed their souls?" Adrian whispered, his face ashen.


    Preston shrugged casually. "Waste not, want not. They were going to die anyway."


    I felt sick watching this exchange. The casual cruelty with which Preston discussed murdering his fellow disciples—people he''d trained alongside for years—was chilling.


    "How could you?" Adrian''s voice was barely audible, choked with grief and rage. "I treated you like a son."


    "A son you nned to pass over," Preston snapped, hisposure cracking momentarily. "I found your notes, old man. I saw who the tea was really meant for." He gestured contemptuously in my direction. "Some outsider with a special body? Someone who''s barely started cultivation? While I dedicated twenty years of my life to your teachings!"


    So that was it—jealousy had fueled this betrayal. Preston had discovered Adrian''s ns to give the Enlightenment Tea to me and couldn''t bear being passed over.


    "The tea wasn''t a reward for service," Adrian exined, trying onest time to reach his former disciple. "It was specifically formted for a unique constitution—"


    "Spare me your excuses," Preston cut him off. "I''ve surpassed you now. That''s all that matters." He smoothed his expression into a confident smile. "I''ll even be merciful. Kneel and acknowledge me as your superior, and I''ll let you live as a servant in my new sect."


    Adrian''s posture straightened, a quiet dignity falling over him despite his grief. "You were my greatest pride, Preston. Now you''re my greatest failure." He shook his head sadly. "But I won''t abandon my responsibility. As your master, it falls to me to correct my mistake."


    Preston''s smile turned cruel. "You? Correct me?" Heughed, the sound echoing across the clearing. "Look at us, Master. I''m at Grandmaster Eighth Rank. You''re barely at Sixth. Your time has passed."


    "Perhaps," Adrian acknowledged, taking a stance. "But some lessons transcend mere cultivation levels."


    I tensed, ready to intervene. Against an Eighth Rank Grandmaster, Adrian was severely outmatched.


    Preston''s eyes gleamed with malice as he also assumed a fighting stance. "I''m in need of someone to establish my authority," he dered coldly, "and you are a perfect opportunity!"