Three days after the announcement of the Heirs' Competition
The hall was empty. The echo of the patriarch's voice still seemed trapped within the walls, like a heavy sentence too harsh to forget.
Arata walked alone through the stone courtyard, hands behind his back, eyes lost in the cloudy sky.
"Three months... In three months, I need to beat Seok, Hyun... and still carry the burden of everything I've done."
He stopped before an ancient tree, its leaves swaying slowly in the wind.
"But how? I can't cultivate. I can't use formations. My body remains the same. I am just... me."
For a moment, the idea of giving up passed like a shadow. But it was quickly suffocated by a silent flame — the same one that had guided him since exile.
"No... I can't keep being the weak one. The useless one. The exile. I've been called a plague, a disgrace. Enough."
He clenched his fists.
"If I can't win with what everyone else uses... then I need something no one would dare try."
Then he remembered. An old tale he had read in the forgotten records of the Low Mist Sect: A reclusive alchemist whose pills could strengthen a mortal's body to rival cultivators. A madman, they say... but a genius to those who understand the hidden art of internal transformations.
"The master of the black pills..."
Arata raised his eyes, breath quickening, as if the weight of doubts had been swept away by a single breath of clarity.
"Finally… I have found the answer to grow stronger."
Arata knelt before the patriarch. The hall was silent, the eyes of the few elders present weighing on him like stones.
— I need to leave. For the Low Mist Sect.
The patriarch raised an eyebrow, fingers drumming on the ancient throne's armrest.
— Again? It's barely been a month since you returned. If you were going to go again, you might as well have stayed there.
Arata kept his head low.
— I wasn't strong enough when I returned. But I will come back with what's needed to win.
Silence lingered. Finally, the patriarch sighed.
— Go. If you must lose, at least lose with some dignity.
Arata bowed in reverence, then stood.
I will not lose.
---
After six days of traveling
Arata passed through the stone gates marking the entrance of the Low Mist Sect. The familiar scent of herbs — fresh, bitter, and comforting — wrapped around him like an old blanket. A deep silence reigned in the hidden valley, so different from the constant tension within the Jaegal Clan.
"I already miss this place... As if the weight of my clan's expectations simply doesn't exist here."
For the first time in weeks, his shoulders felt lighter.
The narrow corridors, stone walls covered with moss, lanterns flickering in the wind — everything seemed warmer now. The heirs' competition was still approaching, yes. But inside Arata, something new was blooming: a thin thread of hope.
Without hesitation, he headed to the library.
Li Yoon, as always, was there — surrounded by piles of manuscripts, the amber light of a lantern casting shadows on his wrinkled face. Upon seeing Arata enter, he raised his eyes and smiled calmly.
— Ah... Arata. I was just wondering when you'd come back.
— I need your advice, Master Li. — Arata said, approaching respectfully. — I want to learn alchemy.
The old master closed the book calmly, as if closing a chapter of his own life.
— Alchemy? — his voice was low, almost as if the very sound of the word caused him discomfort. — You don't just want pills, you want power.
Arata didn't back down.
— I want to win the heirs' competition. It's the only chance I have to change my fate. Without it... I'll remain a failure.
Li Yoon sighed deeply, his eyes lost for a moment among the shelves.
— Alchemy is not like martial arts, Arata. It's a lonely path. It demands precision, patience... and sacrifice. And it doesn't always lead to the power you expect to find.
— Even so... I am determined. — Arata answered. — If there is a way, I will follow it.
Li Yoon placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, his gaze hardening.
— Then you must seek Daiki.
Arata frowned.
— The gardener?
— Yes. He was the disciple of the disciple of the master of the black pills. A man almost no one dares to mention. Daiki knows the secrets you seek... But he abandoned that path. Today, he only tends to the plants.
Arata hesitated. The idea that a gardener would hold such deep secrets seemed absurd. But nothing in the Low Mist Sect was simple.
— Will he teach me?
Li Yoon shook his head slowly.
— I don't know. He avoids talking about alchemy. He refuses disciples. If you want to learn from him, you'll have to prove more than desire. You'll have to make him remember... why he left it all behind.
— Where can I find him?
— Probably in the southern greenhouses, among the rare herbs. He talks more to flowers than to people. But maybe... maybe he will speak to you.
Arata bowed silently, then turned to leave.
— Be careful, Arata. — Li Yoon said at last, voice heavy. — "The most potent poisons also come from the most beautiful plants."
---
The afternoon was fading as Arata walked through the sect's fields. The wind blew through the trees and leaves danced in soft whirlwinds. The sky, tinged with orange and purple, seemed to silently watch his journey.
"The master of the black pills... And now the gardener. The world seems to hide its greatest secrets in the most unlikely people."
He passed by silent greenhouses, carefully tended herb beds, and small moss-covered altars. The air was heavy with the scent of dried roots, rare flowers, and wet earth.
With each step, his resolve grew stronger.
"If this makes me stronger... then so be it. Even if it costs me everything."