Wh—what?

As if he misheard, Grisla asked: “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. What did you say for me to—”

The beast’s pressure blew out a wind from nowhere. Lifting Grisla off his feet and had it not been for a moment, he would have been stolen off by some measly air. And, with one step from his gigantic paw, the distance was closed. The shadow inescapable.

“I do not like repeating myself, boy. Did I not say that earlier?” White Tiger snickered.

“I said what I said. Kill your father, and you’ll pass.”

“Huh?! What did my father do?”

“It matters not what your father did, I’m more interested if you’re going to do what I told you.”

“That’s insanity! Who would murder their own parent for this?!”

“Hmm? Is that really so outlandish to you?” White Tiger turned his head, “A softie?”

Seri shrugged.

“Are you really in a position to stand on some high pedestal? Be realistic. This’s the first time in your life you’ve been offered something with a great return. Hell, Xinrei? Is that his name? He’s an ant. Will be even more true with you under our tutelage.”

What?

He blinked and viewed it all once again. Xinrei Grittus, Chosen of the Grittus family and clan. A darkening night, a burgeoning snowfall; Rei Han surrounded. Coward Grisla, taking the easy way out and leaving Han to face them, alone.

Rei Rangwha wasn’t told by Han that Grisla was there that night. He couldn’t imagine the face, or attitude she would’ve given him on their reunion. All owed to his weakness. His ineptitude.

His mother, the clan, the elders, his peers, everyone—he let down. And now, there was a heaven-gifted opportunity, right in front of him.

“Seri, what did you say his major problem was? Right, a core, wasn’t it? Deficient cores are hard to fix, for a clan of your level.”

Seri, coming from behind the White Tiger’s back, walked Grisla’s way. Suddenly, she began to walk on air; every step like a ladder upwards, “’You believe that, on this island and clan you call home—”

His heart wrung tight. “Stop,” Grisla said.

Still, she kept advancing: “You will struggle to progress, and that’s a reality you must accept. Though you will not let it hinder your ambition, to become strong, to stop people like us from treating you this way… will only be achieved through advancement. Strength, and—"

“Please!”

“…Undeniable power.” Seri came so close that their heads took up much of their vision. Her phantom-white eyes—the best marker for her inhumanness, stared at Grisla as if through a microscope. Whenever a twitch, or a deliberate flicker of the eye away from their shared look came from Grisla, she followed it. An inescapable inspection from on high.

“This is your one chance, Grisla Orlith.” Her fingers toyed with the flesh of his cheeks, “Should be grateful, our last candidates had much harder of a time.”

“How could I ever forgive myself if I commit such an act?”

“I’ll bet he’ll forgive you, maybe even give you his life, if he somehow knew. A story of patricide isn’t anything new in the world of cultivators.”

They were right. His father had dedicated everything to him, and would give more, if he could, but how could Grisla take such a road? He did laugh at himself, even they had called him out for this, it was the easiest task they could give him by far. With Jadewater Hands, what it would take is just a reversal of the wounds back to the state they were before he ever stabilized, and that was that. Grisla knew such a thing would kill him, and there would be no reversing his reversal, to work on his father’s body like an experiment would have the body give out in shock.

Seri wrapped her arms around him, “There’s no other way.” She whispered, breath warming frozen ears. With that said, her floaty trick was dispelled, returning to the tiger’s side.

Grisla glanced at the one who mattered most. White Tiger had nothing else to say.

These aren’t Four Beasts, such a lie. Devils in animal’s skin—and here I am, standing in their lair the whole time, oblivious.

Nothing was a free lunch in this world. Especially something with this amount of payoff. So, his laugh was great. Hearty and true, they had got him. Had these clowns shown up without the fanfare and asked him outright the answer would be obvious. But these—these were divinities! Grisla inherently knew that he was one of the few in the world to even get a chance to see creatures like these! Things beyond human understanding! And yet, why, why do such things act like Elder Jinshi, Elder Olimuth and the rest of them! Playing tricks on a thing equivalent to an ant, what a farce.

To gain something you must lose something; that is the way of a martial artist.

Seri, who stood underneath the Gargoyle’s shadow, said: “What will it be, Grisla Orlith?”

“I… want some time to think.”

“That’s fine. When you want to come back, call for me.”

The boy almost became one with the snow before he awoke. He didn’t need to check if the amulet was still around—this time, it showed itself on its own as it swooped in from nowhere to dangle at his neck; the place it always belongs to. It did sting, both in touch and in feeling. Was Seri nearby? She was, and yet not. Without a word, he begun retracing his steps, while considering a dilemma.

Their corpses weren’t disturbed, on close inspection. Grisla had been over in Limbo for nearly an hour, on his estimation. Nonetheless, the blood splatters on the white which weren’t far apart from his own not so long ago, were still fresh on his fingertips. Chilled by now due to the weather, but fresh indeed.

Did they pause time? Maybe…

He glanced to a tree, a tree that held one of the pair of knives he’d thrown to impede the Three-star. The knife wasn’t embedded in the bark, rather it rested at the base of the tree, cold as death.

Not a pause in time, a different flow of time, Grisla noted.

The talismans attached had outlived their usefulness—both disintegrated on a touch. He held the knife, and a blink, and Gihren was there. Sword-chiseled face; cane glued to his hand. Death would come to him, eventually. It did for all men and creatures, what difference would it make should his father perish? Would his father even endorse this idea himself if he could?

He cut away from it, moving back to the bodies. Two One-stars; Two Two-stars. Their cores are a boon he hadn’t expected to receive at all, just a One-star core alone would save him months of cultivation time—time to repair the damage done to his family. Hell, if he cut his losses right now on the Path and sold the cores off, bodies included he and Gihren could live soft lives in the mortal world for some time. But he had made his bed.

The cores took some digging to get—the One-star he impaled from before was the easiest to retrieve, just a hand back in and back out.

Since his reawakening he’d expected to hear something from the amulet-girl, or Seri, as he named her.

Seri, huh? She was so nonchalant about the first thing that popped in my head, strange girl.

Grisla thought on it. Would “girl” be applicable to someone like herself? She was a self-admitted inhuman creation by her master’s—Gods would be more apt since she is their work. But she preferred “master,” and they preferred it too. Strange again.

The One-star’s core was an ugly thing—if one has a point about things being symmetrical and pleasing. It was more like a partly deflated ball than a “core”. Larger than a Soul Cleansing Pill, and darker too. The Two-stars’ was the same story, except it was less deflated, a little larger than the One-star, and a little lighter than its predecessor. Four cores from beasts who’d kill him all things being equal, sat in the palm of his hand.

His amulet—which by the way now shined with a brilliant silver, its rust banished away; its eerie glow and inside a world waiting for an answer that’ll change him, and everything as he was sure of it—forever. Such things weren’t decided upon easily, especially not when considering the genuine murder of his father.

The shame burned him. Grisla clinched himself as a horrible person for even entertaining the idea in his head for so long—without even vehemently denying it on the spot, to the divine beasts or Gods or whatever they had called themselves or wanted to be named. And—the heavens will never speak to him again, but he couldn’t help throwing a sneer that way. The heavens had forsaken him long ago—there was only two people’s judgement he’d ever cared for. One was lost to a nowhere, another would be a victim if he decides.

In the end, his suffering is his own.

These carcasses will begin to carry their scent downwind anytime soon, and Grisla was in no shape to be thrown into a scuffle again, or ever for the remainder of this trip in dire estimation. He took what he could, but with a bleeding heart had to donate the rest to the wilds. A fresh buffet of the scraps he couldn’t carry; no effort required.

A cave was found, and with its seemingly insular design Grisla had a hunch it was used by many other cultivators of ages past. Which makes it perfect for him. The wood he scavenged lit without complaint. Unlike his first camp he doesn’t have the safeguard of his barrier anymore, so if there was another encounter, there isn’t a need to say what might be of the outcome.

He sat down with the One-star cores in one hand; Two stars’ in another. Before giving them their reply, he had to make sure he would be alive to even get to. Which meant, he had to get stronger, right now.

The first group’s energy was artfully extracted, just as his Elder’s taught him; one of the only things they ever did—what would be their faces had they saw any of what went down tonight? Surprisingly, Grisla couldn’t find the heart to care. The meeting of those beasts and Seri opened his eyes. He couldn’t find reason to ever be miffed with their eyes so high, when they’re only kings of ants.

When his core met the wave of energy, it consumed each wave brought to it like fine dining. It was a long time since his core was spoiled like this, and it showed. With just one One-star core absorbed he was halfway to the second cycle of Juva Solidification. An imperceptible smile came, and he did the next. His core then broke apart—a fireworks and smoke show, with the shards of it scattered across. In the next breath, by magic or the unknown, it pieced itself together as if time were reversing. But the reforged core didn’t make sense—it was bigger in size than its last iteration.

This phenomenon continued through the night. When he was done, the wolves’ cores were sapped dry, sitting in his hand as brittle as chalk.

Grisla’s eyes opened. He let his aura push itself out for a moment—the aura of a martial artist at the third cycle of Juva Solidification. Not only that, but he was also only a step away from the fourth cycle. Had he another core becoming a legitimate fourth cycle cultivator would’ve been a true reality.

This would be a glorious time for celebration—or would’ve. Third cycle did make him happy, hell, it was the best progress he’d ever made since Grisla fell from grace.

Third cycle within Solidification, only requiring my near-death state and a visit to the devil. Just as normal as it should be. When the morning comes, I’ll have a better chance at escape should I encounter another Three-star like that one prior.

A calm infected him since his advancement. Grisla hoped it would be permanent, but that’s not realistic. However, it did entice him into finding his way faster than he expected. During his process of advancing, he had time. Enough to figure out how he should progress from then on, even if it’s more of a vague outline. With all his affairs done in the mortal world—

“Seri, I’m ready.”