This Grisla, the real Grisla, laid across the void as though it were the most comfortable bed man could make. His expression spoke to the contrary. Face tightened and eyes watering, the world that the real Grisla saw was three years in the past.

“…Son, you need to stop,” Gihren said.

“Huh?” A bite-sized Grisla blurted, while squatting and forcing so much pressure, that his veins squeezed the skin and the boy looked as if he was trying to force an “accident”, of sorts. They were alone at dawn, at the outer edges of the training field trying as best as they could to go unseen. The shirtless Gihren had already finished his practice for the day, and the hard training he did mesmerized Grisla, leading to this.

An hour later and the bird’s song will begin, a cue for the regular citizenry to begin their day; toil their farms, and the so on. The young Orlith’s core sputtered out whatever Juva it could, and the boy tried collecting as it worked. However… the process has been going for ten minutes, and his bucket had a pitiful amount. Something that would take an instant for Gihren; and a few breaths for a child. Yet still, he was trying.

“I’m almost there. Hold on,” he said. At this point, his sweat had sweat. But the boy’s eyes came alive, and the light grin he held wasn’t false. “Check this.” Grisla made two steps, then delivered a swift, mechanical punch to the bark of a tree.

Grisla’s confidence popped like a bubble. Grimacing, he yanked his hand back double the speed he threw it with. And under his father’s sigh, he imitated a rabbit as he held that hand.

“You can’t collect the same concentration of Juva that you once held, boy.”

“I’m trying!”

The Strongwood tree was… much to Grisla’s disappointment: unfazed. Grisla was pained as if the tree itself had hit him.

“You’ll end up breaking your hand at this rate. I’ll see about your core, don’t fret. Olimuth owes me and so getting things back to normal shouldn’t take too long.”

“…I hope,” Grisla said, with a frozen smile.

When Gihren and Grisla started, and left the practice field, they didn’t notice the stranger leaning on the wall, watching them. In fact, they walked by him without so much as a glance. Another Grisla—one older, sterner, and with a sharper glare—was our Grisla. He watched the duo turn the corner and vanish.

What is this…?

He kicked off the wall and shadowed them. But it was unnecessary—a blink of the eyes had him somewhere he wasn’t that far from in time. A Grisla who stood before a brazier, screaming his head off in feeling abject failure. He remembers well. The pills his father had procured for him were Olimuth’s dregs, and that hurt.

“The fate of a fallen Chosen,” he sneered.

The real one turned, and once again a new scene. This Grisla stood amongst a lineup of Grittus disciples; the Lower District’s children too average to be thrown with the above-average and talented at the Upper District. Above them, would be the Chosen’s private tutors and classes he once took for granted.

One reason why he could never pay much attention to Elder Jinshi’s lectures was because most of it was oversimplified for the lowest-common denominator, boring him at best and scathing irritation at worst. Elder Jinshi demonstrated the forms of ‘Earth shatters; Heaven quakes’ for the first time, and he was shocked—the Chosen and those not so far from it knew and practiced the stages to perfection before they were old enough to question.

“Untalented! I said put your Juva into it! Do you have stones stuck in your ear?!” Elder Jinshi said. “Do you not want the pill offering I put up as a reward? Even you have want for this Soul Rejuvenating Pill, freshly made by Elder Olimuth!” A flicker of his wrist and the pill was pinched between his fingers, suddenly energizing all the children competing for the reward.

The current Grisla watched under the shade of a tree. Without Juva, I am above and beyond all the children on the field; but it matters little once it’s added to a fist. My expertise is nothing…when my ribcage can get shattered if they land their attack, and mine causes a light bruise if it connects.

The thoughts of a Grisla before, and the Grisla now aligned so well that the difference in time was meaningless. But for some reason, a sharp headache came on that realization.

Cultivation is everything. Juva is everything. Without cultivation, there is no Juva; bereft of Juva, my level is humorous.

The strike hit him again. He knew very well how much he practiced that day—he was on the verge of blowing his heart out trying to compete, but in the end: someone else won. With his hands in his pockets, Grisla walked on. He didn’t want to see the rest. What came next was the crippled boy sobbing beneath everyone’s notice, who was too caught up in celebrating the victor for them to spare a glance.

That was the only time he was grateful for the clan’s disregard of him. And so, he walked on.

Seri said: “Explain.”

“Demonic cultivators face something akin to what all Cultivators face at a certain boundary—Heavenly Tribulation. But, of course, it’s not the same thing. In a way, you can say Demonic cultivators get the short end of the stick, they must face two tribulations. To reign in their impulses, it requires extreme levels of self-control.” White Tiger said.

“I was under the impression the demonic arts are all about… the opposite?”

“Well, you’re not wrong. It’s just more nuanced than that. Anything in excess is a bad thing. An art that cuts out the fluff and goes to the greatest difficulties of man—their seven sins is a great undertaking. Whomever devised it, I dread to think of how sane they were in the first place for considering it. The boy’s predecessor encountered a few of them in his heyday.”

“Tianbei Qin?” Seri said, and the four’s eyes flashed with reverence. They thought she wouldn’t catch it—but she did.

“Yes, all powerful… and all in various flavors of depravity. If Grisla should fall… he will wreak havoc among the population, namely everyone under Houtian Enhancement. The boy’s power has multiplied to the point where he’d be equivalent to the first stage.”

Her eyes widened. “T–The first stage?! He’s a fifth cycle! There’s still two more levels and an entire stage above him! You’re telling me that his power—”

Black Tortoise interrupted, “Yeah, we’re telling you. Doesn’t matter squat if he ends up being killed for it.”

“Then what are we to do…?”

“He’ll have to endure this tribulation by himself. If he cannot conquer Avarice, then there won’t be a second chance, I assure you. Demons don’t really believe in that,” White Tiger chuckled only to face Seri’s sharp glare. “…Your worry makes me worried, you know that? The boy will be fine, I assure you. If not—we’ll find a way.”

Grisla sat next to Grisla who sat next to Gihren. The residence was familiar, in the sense that you would know what’s behind you in your own home. He’d been here enough times to run to the rooms he wanted and disregard the rest. An estate half as big as the Rei’s, yet that didn’t mean much; still dwarfed the Orlith’s. The thin screen for a door near them led way to a garden lush with life; shadows of exotic plants waved on the other side, and the massive fountain big enough to bathe a child was adorned with jade dragons. The water’s cycle was a low hum, good enough to soothe anxieties if not, lessen them.

It was the latter for the shorter Grisla, and, from what the mature Grisla knows, nothing for his father Gihren. He noticed things he didn’t or couldn’t—because of his age at the time. The nervousness that made his father seem more…human. He sipped his wine a bit too often, a bit too fast; his eyes waved over his son here and there, as if wishing for something he didn’t see before.

Grisla crossed his arms. I’m sure that this night accelerated the aging of his hair.

He knew at what time they’ll arrive. And this memory replay was so tangible he could even hear what he couldn’t now with his cultivation; and thinking about it, Gihren can hear it too.

“…Such a pity.”

“For her, or him?”

“…the child’s been trying to train, as if he had the support of the clan again.”

“A farce, really!”

“And our Young Mistress has been acting…”

He looked down. To be insulted this way without even caring for the expert in the room, father has suffered much. Why did it have to be me…?

Grisla’s face twisted. That sharp rebuke came again! He can’t stand that pain! Why?! He did nothing, he thought. With him suffering he didn’t immediately react to the opening of the door. But the two to his side certainly did.

A man with a face sculpted by gods appeared, but he was not alone. The sleeve of his robe was held by a girl shying behind it, her face as difficult as Gihren’s and Grisla’s. Seeing her again, it reminded him of what once was. What should’ve been.

They’re at the Bei family’s compound; in the home of Patriarch Deng, Patriarch of the Bei family and—Bei Mei’s father. Gihren and his son stood up to offer their curtsy, but the Patriarch’s glare waved over them as though they were servants. The Grisla now didn’t care much for that, he watched a boy exchange looks with a girl, who was just beginning to show what she could be in the future.

When the father-son duo sat down; Patriarch Deng and his didn’t. Rather, he hovered over them like a hawk. Grisla never knew how much anger he could feel at one man just by a look—and hopelessness. Even with the advancements he’d made, he would be killed by this man as easily as lifting a cup. Then, what did his father feel, knowing what’s to happen even without a word said?

Patriarch Deng’s lips parted, surprising considering he looked like the task was all but impossible for his stone face: “Patriarch Gihren. A year ago, we made a deal.”

“A deal, yes.” Gihren lifted his head, as though he didn’t want to lose the last modicum of face. “I remember clearly. A son, and a daughter. Together, they’ll join the two families.”

The Grisla and Bei Mei then blushed; the other Grisla was a stone.

“I’m afraid that a complication stunts that agreement.”

Gihren’s face flickered. “He has been working on it, and when he gets back—”

“Lies are not productive to a conversation, Patriarch Gihren.” Deng’s hand rested on Bei Mei’s head. “I’ve heard tales that the child cannot even pass the examinations given to him by Jinshi in the Lower District.”

“He’s been in critical condition since the clan’s coronation, you were there and know that a full recovery will take time.”

“Time,” he mouthed, “that you do not have. My house has been flooded with marriage proposals since word of the child’s crippling came out. The Rei, Fang and Grittus families have letters sitting on my desk right now as I speak.”

“And,” Patriach Deng said, laying his eyes on Grisla, assessing his past, present, and future all in a second, “what I see here…is nothing but insipid mediocrity. Accept it Gihren, the boy’s damaged goods; his era is over.”

Two hands slammed the table. The tipped teacups’ stain went unnoticed by everyone there. The Grisla of the future and the Grisla of the past knew their father well, at least—it took everything for him not to blow the room apart. And both shared the same expression watching their father, their Orlith family be humiliated.

“Bei Deng! You wouldn’t dare utter such words to me a year ago.”

“Struggle as long as you’d like. I will not have my daughter involved in it. From here on, our Bei family will have no association or binding agreements with you—we are strangers, and that applies for your son, too.”

He looked down. “Do you understand, Mei?” his daughter’s conflict was obvious, she was the most inexperienced in hiding thoughts. But, after a time, a few breaths if someone counted—she mirrored her father’s dispassion, albeit weakly.

Grisla sighed. I remember now. How could I forget…? Her father’s the most overprotective I’d ever seen. Hell, he makes any child feel unloved watching this guy. In an obsessive way. The day after this, she became a different person entirely—the Bei Mei that I know in the present. She changed because her father told her to, because it was necessary…

He made a face. It doesn’t add up. So why does she take extra time to humiliate me in the clan…?

He again, didn’t want to watch the rest: he knows how it ends. That Grisla cried. Caring little for the opinions of his father, currently acting as the Patriarch for the Orlith family; and Bei Mei’s father, the Patriarch of his. Bawling out in the room pleading for her father to reconsider—for Bei Mei to help, but she was as powerless as he. Thinking about it now, she was the only girl he’d ever loved—truly, at one point. Even before official talk of their marriage, he’d already chosen her as his.

Funny, because if the Grisla of ages past asked his older twin, he’d tell him that love is a distraction, and only strength matters. Entertaining such a frivolity wouldn’t help him. A measure done in caution for his shaky future; he wasn’t cruel enough to string a girl along and end up dead weeks later someplace.

Yet, for some reason, that made his chest squeeze. A strange happening indeed.

…Again, another heart broken due to my failure. I really am useless.

When Grisla waited for the next scene to come, he found that there was nothing but a strange delay waiting for him. In fact, looking around, the world was frozen. Gihren was lifting a finger, younger Grisla was talking through tears, and Bei Mei’s soft eyes watered with him. All frozen. The fountain outside was silent, as if it were a vague memory too.

A giant had shoved an axe into his skull—and his knees fell out from under him. What did he do!? Nothing in his life could compare to this pain! The world: this memory he knew of had fractures running laps across it, and with his final gasp for air, it shattered and the boy was gone.

Grisla ‘Avarice’ Orlith was frozen too. The castle courtyard was littered with bodies, and their twitching stopped some time ago. The spared cowards ran off before he finished with the last, in fear of him deciding to change his mind. He didn’t give them a second glance while he fought. An agreement is an agreement, after all.

Suddenly, the widest smile a man could make with the muscles given splayed across his face, making him look like his insanity had tripled. “You… lose.” He said. But no-one was alive and conscious to hear. “Like I said… everything… mine.”

He put a hand on his chest, “Even this.”

In Limbo, the Cardinal Four’s aura trembled. Seri wanted to find somewhere to retch, the smell! The absolute depravity in that stench was now overpowering! Laughter came. It reached them, all the way from one realm to the next! How was it possible?! But the boy’s mouth hadn’t moved, so….

She sealed off her ears with Juva, however the manic laughter was not traveling through air—it somehow weaseled its way into her very thoughts, “What’s happening!”

“…He’s failed.” Azure Dragon grimly said. “Grisla Orlith, is no more. His avarice has been freed.”

White Tiger howled in her face, “Seri, bring him in. Now!”

Without hesitation, Seri jumped out of Limbo and to the world they watched, landing just behind him. Grisla—Avarice, was no slouch. He faced her before a word was spoken. Surely a different person, there was no one at this level who can detect her if she didn’t want them to.

He shared his face. His voice, and his mannerisms. But it wasn’t him. Seri frowned, “You’ve got some explaining to do when I fish you out of there.”