As daisies, roses, and marigolds strikingly bloomed in the ringlike garden encircling the central hall, sparrows, chickadees, and some other backyard birds chattered while perched on slender branches and infrequently snacked on beetles that were diligently seeing off pests all the while a few cute hoglets were busy playing in good humor next to the hog-highways.

The atmosphere in the hall, though, was unlike how things seamlessly progressed in the wreathing garden, thanks to the abundance of weighty minds being at work. Though the flowers had been supplying much fragrance, many scarcely-breathing noses in the hall perhaps failed to feel it in the air.

Despite the differences in their appearances, the six personages, who had their fists raised toward the heavens, now appeared far mightier than they were known to be. The old woman and the little girl from before were the first ones to raise their fists next. One after another, dozens of people imitated those two.

The little girl's glances lay on some members of the crowd who were yet to raise their fists, and she even stood on toes, hoping she would be seen by more. As stressful seconds passed, the number of fists raised in the air stayed pretty much the same. She had expected a warm reception, but that wasn't what she got. Her brows knitted, and her lower lip extended up and out as a shadow veiled her sunny face.

“It’s okay, little girl,” the old woman assured her with a comforting pat on the shoulder. “You can’t ever straighten jelly spines for long, so don’t bother yourself with such yellow-bellies.”

“Mm,” the little girl slightly nodded, though she couldn’t fully comprehend what was just said. She then noticed that some outsiders were shaking their heads. “Why are those men acting strange?”

“That’s okay, too,” the old woman said. “The same flies that visit a dung pile also visit honey. Just ignore them so long as they don’t fly in your face.”

The little girl again couldn’t quite get her head around the old lady’s words, but she nodded anyway.

In the meantime, for all intents and purposes, Allda, Syam, and Fidelis remained seated in their deluxe seats, seemingly more interested in discerning the actions of the masses that filled the central hall.

One man, who possessed some air of authority around him, gathered strength into his legs and stepped ahead, putting himself on the front lines of the crowd. "A real martial may grow through all the grounding, but we are not martials," he slightly bowed his head. "Pardon me for saying this, but we are all freaking hollows, sir! In all honesty, even among the hollows who themselves have little to no face value, we’ve settled at the bottom. Forget about maturing into a Martial Child—it would be a miracle if the children taking this test lived to tell the tale, much less come back home in one piece." Hearing his words, some parts of the crowd got agitated. His audacious refusal set off a series of conflicting thoughts in their minds. The one who just opinionated was none other than Jermajesty himself, a member of the Court Stage[1], and the High Judge nonetheless.

“We’ve settled at the bottom as you’ve said, sir,” Picazo responded in a calm demeanor, “but that doesn’t mean we belong at the bottom.”

A flush of fervor permeated through the people’s bodies that had been soaking in the sun.

Jermajesty’s eyes, however, still flashed traces of repudiation as also evident through his face turning a shade grayer. “But…”

"The decision has already been made, sir," the voices of the three clan heads combinedly sounded as mighty as ever and pierced through the shilly-shally winds still wafting about in the hall. All the murmuring mouths stopped in a trice. A suffocating silence then permeated the central hall. Everyone went as silent as their shadows until the crows that had crashed into the walls now soared away at full pace, blustering in obscure tongue.

"Mr. Jermajesty," Picazo continued speaking in a respectful tone, "I appreciate you voicing your opinion, but let me ask you—how much longer do you wish to see our clan linger at the bottom as per the face value you've spoken of?"

Jermajesty's face, as a whole, gained in grayness as if dragged through the mud. "I—I only wanted..."

"I know you wish the best for the clan," Picazo exhorted, exuding calm and focus through his eyes despite the worriment that carelessly crept in the corners, "but hearken unto me, everyone, if we don't wager our sweat and blood from here on, we are bound to fall to the bottom of all bottoms. That is the price we have to pay for trying to live in our little world to date."

Picazo didn't need to say any further, for his words put forth the worst-case scenario—every soul of the clan biting the dust—that neither Jermajesty nor anyone in the crowd had ever thought of and helped in bringing them back to reality. More than having strength, whether one had the drive to continually outdo themselves or not was what the clan leaders esteemed and wished that every other clansperson would also hanker after. Knowing this, Jermajesty’s shoulders loosened.

"So, this is the year, after all..." Burton clenched his fists in a reticent fashion, a source of amazement still visible on his visage. It has finally come.

Out of more than 3100 registered sects on the Loosh continent, an attempt for any of those sects would have been just fine. However, the very thought of trying for the Shambala Sect—one that arguably had more fame than most of the said continental sects combined—crafted chills that let loose on people's spines.

"Did I hear it correctly?" Allda couldn't help but put forward a query, his expression blanching for several reasons. He knew he was asking it a bit late, but he had to confirm it with his own eyes and ears once again. "You truly got the entry tickets of Shambala Sect, Clan Head Picazo?"

"Yes, Mr. Merchant," Picazo gave a teasing glance like a cat to a squirrel, "Do you still want to consider leaving the clan? Latsgroth is coming to an end. You won’t find a better time in the year to move on."

"W-What are you saying, sir?" Allda beat his beefy chest with his pygmy palms, manifesting a crotchety smile that concealed his finespun conceptions. "How can the Pudota family walk out of the Faceless clan? That doesn't happen as long as the sun keeps rising in our east."

"And you, Mr. Syam?" Picazo shifted his gaze toward the golden brown-haired man, giving him deep crawls that cast away his discontentment.

Syam's sticking-out belly abruptly shrank in size. "Aha-haha, I was just joking," he laughed it off as he waved his picturesque hand fan, thereby not letting sweat take its place on his skin. “I’ve worked so much for the clan. How can I ever leave it?” After he said those words, the crowd in his vicinity, who took sneak peeks at his brazen-faced look, softly sighed.

"Clan Head Kwame, is all this real?" Sariyu, looking wistfully, couldn't help herself from not asking her bit.

Kwame glimpsed at Picazo, who then tossed the three sealed envelopes to Sariyu and the other two youngsters standing beside her. The items directly fell in their hands, and upon excitedly unsealing the covers, their eyes marked the contents—majestic cards exuding otherworldly glamor—and got arrested in the process. Aside from the spitting fire, the centrally-placed symbol of a curling red dragon showed signs of rising out of the card, but if one observed with keen eyes, the word 'Shambala' could be seen subtly hidden in the sanguine blaze that the dragon bathed in, and the letters of those words also appeared to be moving to some degree, putting to view its nebulous shapes.

"Is this fire?" Lirzod slipped his finger through the flame, and his skin got burnt upon contact, forcing him to let go of the card almost immediately. "Heavens! What just..." Though the burn didn’t leave a mark on his skin, this oddly inoffensive affair was still enough to birth incredulity in his eyes.

"That’s not some poker card for you to handle it however you see fit. Like always, you deserve what you get." Sinario slightly smirked as his fingers stroked the tortoise that had just bitten his finger, but after a nudge from Picazo, he controlled himself. "Ahem, be more careful with it, little fellow."

"Che," Lirzod's icy stare lay bare his glacial attitude toward Clan Head Sinario. Yeah, continue to keep waiting for the right time to mock me. I allowed it until today, but it will change from now. Just wait and see. This little fellow will one day make you look little. Putting up an impressive smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, he decorously asked, "Why don’t Clan Head Sinario show me how it’s done?"

"You are asking for more than what you deserve," Sinario plastered on a coy smile as he sat back in his seat.

Lirzod's lips fashioned a hard line. He pulls out the word ‘deserve’ every time right out of his ass. At that time, he shut his nose in haste.

“What’s wrong?” Sinario’s expression softened; his eyebrows, however, waggled from wonder, “Did you perhaps finally come to the realization that you were always on the wrong side in our conversations?”

“No, I think someone just farted,” Lirzod glanced at Burton, contorting his face into a sordid fruit.

“Why the heck are you eyeballing at me? Do you want a lightning cure for your hangover?” Burton enlarged his eyes, but Lirzod shook his head and backed up a bit. “Hmph!” Burton then waved his hand apace, looking away in one breath.

Lirzod’s gaze then shifted over to Sariyu, but she let loose her voice like a shot. “Who else but a nut-savvy like you will fart!”

“Huh, if I did, I would have admitted openly,” Lirzod voiced his opinion, rolling eyes away from her, ”unlike some Chilly Head who never dares to play Candor Grill.”

"C-Chilly Head?" a muscle in her jaw twitched, “I'm not the one who monstrously munches on nuts at midnight, you barebutt!”

“Who knows?” Lirzod cleared his throat and fingered the ear, “I mean, women eat the same food as men, but most of them still fart in silence, unlike men… which some people see as a good thing, but I tell you, silent farts are the stinkiest and deadliest farts!”

“I don’t know about other women," a line itched between her brows as her voice detonated, "but I don’t fart!”

“Oh, yeah," Lirzod's mouth slipped into subdued laughter. "You aren’t a human. I forgot. My bad," he turned to her and reproduced one of her celebrated curtseys, irking her further. "You are much more interested in staring at grasses, plants, trees, and shrubs than conversing with humans," he glanced slantways toward the skies," but, if I’m correct… cows fart more than humans, right?”

Sariyu gnashed her teeth, and redness crept in from all the corners of her eyes. “Who are you calling a cow!” Her hand clenched into a feverish fist and zoomed into Lirzod's face in a flash.

“Enough!” Kwame’s voice echoed all around the hall, making her fist halt at a touching distance to Lirzod’s sweet-little cheek. “If you want to quarrel over frivolous matters, leave the hall.”

“S-Sorry, Clan Head Kwame,” Sariyu expeditiously joined her fists and bent one of her knees as she bowed to the clan heads. “I won’t repeat this.”

“Mm. Apology accepted,” Kwame’s voice seemed to have softened, but then a storm began to brew in the folds on his forehead when he shifted his gaze to Lirzod, who wasn’t even looking at him. He glanced at Picazo. “Your son is such a breezy brat. Izel was nowhere near as casual and bratty as he is.”

Picazo replied with a slightly awkward smile. “Excuse him this once, considering the occasion and all.”

“I already did,” Kwame stated in a subdued tone, but he was still trying his best to not reciprocate some words with Lirzod for going a bit too far with his daughter.

At that time, Lirzod was glancing at Burton, his face tilted down a bit, a cheeky smile fashioning his face, "Look, your father is the only one who’s still resting his ass among the clan heads. Well, it's not surprising given he's got the laziest bum in the clan."

"Hmph," a vein popped out in Burton’s neck, "he's still better than your father."

"Stop it, you two," Sariyu intervened as she picked up Lirzod's card from the stage floor. Hm? Is it just my impression, or why does it feel like this beast is writhing in pain? From bathing in its own flames? She could only wonder. "The fire painting on this card is certainly not your normal painting. Handle it with more care and respect." She stepped closer to Lirzod and handed it in a glare while muttering by his ears, “I’ll get back at you afterward, you barebutt brat.”

"You are not eligible to say that," Lirzod glanced at her chest. "Why did you hide yours there? Didn't it burn your boob?"

"Control that vulgar mouth of yours," Sariyu swiftly took a handkerchief out of her sleeves and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Uwah…" Lirzod almost puked after briskly pulling out as if his life depended on it. "This thing is filled with your sweat and snot. How cold of you stuff it in my mouth!" he endeavored to shove it in her mouth, but she stepped back twice and made some distance. “Wait! Your mouth is ten times deadlier than mine. It must be shut down at all costs!”

Kwame, meanwhile, shook his head, his palm screening the face. “These two don’t have the slightest respect for us, much less the central hall.”

“You can’t expect more from your youth,” Sinario teasingly satirized, exchanging glances with the other two clan heads, but then Burton also joined in their banter after they bumped into him, causing Sinario to suffer some loss of face.

Seeing the three youngsters still quarreling as kittens do in their early weeks, the crowd shuffled between delight and displeasure.

Allda lit another cigar, his brown eyes flaring while regarding the three youngsters. "It’s still too much to take in the fact that we managed to get the entrance ticket for the sect test of Shambala Sect, but it also doesn't change the fact that there's a zero-percent chance for us to make an impact in the sect test, given how these three are cooperating."

"Right you are," Syam folded the fan, his mouth set in a hard line. "Needless to say, your words are on the money this time.” Without a doubt, he will make some handsome amount of coins out of this news. “Shambala Sect exams will be unlike any other sect exams. Failure will likely mean death."

"D-Death?" the nearby crowd drew a breath of cold air, and so did Burton, to an extent. For ten straight years, he had participated in ten entrance examinations of ten different sects that ranked over three thousand on the continent and somehow safely made it out from those sect tests. Though he didn’t need to guess that the test this year would be much more difficult, the thought had never crossed his mind that the top sects would not only hold more onerous trials but would also probably implement much crueler and terrifying methods to take in new members. After all, despite his failure-ridden past, his anxiety had always been under control when thinking about the hurdles encountered during the sect tests.

As far as Burton was concerned, he was willing to join even the last ranked sect of the continent and later come to be known as a Martial Child, as that would elevate his clan status at least ten times. Such was the effect of having a single Martial Child in one clan, regardless of where, when, and how they dawned. Nevertheless, everything changed when the clan heads announced the name of the sect. It was a lifetime chance that he had been waiting for and most likely been preparing. He stared at Sinario, who shot back what seemed like an indifferent glance, but as sharers of the same residence, their exchange of looks held meanings private to them.

“I get it,” Burton thought to himself. “Now is the time.”

Sects in conjunction with clans, tribes, clades, groups, and other such organizations of certain continents were also ranked together as assemblies[2]. Officially, there were ten thousand ranks for assemblies, and only those with rankings could bask in fame and fortune. Counting clans alone, almost one-hundred and eighty-nine thousand existed on the Loosh continent. Though most assemblies wouldn't admit, it was still an open secret that, in actuality, only the top ten-thousand ranking assemblies flourished.

Despite their glaring weaknesses, the unranked clans, tribes, and groups were so headstrong that they formed a beta-ranking system among themselves. All these beta assemblies competed with each other depending on their social, political, and economic status. Among the beta rankings, Faceless clan's rank was seven-hundred and sixty-seven thousand, and a bit more. The reason for their laughable position partly had to do with their lack of interest in climbing the ranking ladder, for the clan had many other things to worry about.

If one were to spread the news that such a clan got an entrance ticket to the sect test of Shambala Sect, nobody in their right mind would believe it, not even their own clansmen. Only because what seemed like legit entry cards were displayed, the faceless clan members could chew the fat off of the portentous words their clan heads spewed, for if such a story ended up being fake, an unimaginably dispiriting backlash would await them.

"Do you three honestly dare to take a test that might result in a great failure to the clan?" Allda pinned them with his eyes lit with a twinkle of mischief. "As a hollow, I can't even imagine how the tests will be for a beta-ranked assembly, much less one of this level and magnitude. Everything that's happening now seems like a curse in disguise to me. I can only hope I’m not on the money this time around."

Burton seemed hesitant on the outside. There's no need to ask. I wouldn't be shocked even if the participants of the sect test themselves are Martial Childs. That’s the kind of sect we are talking about here. It's possibly more powerful than the top sects of the Loosh continent. In the public eye, I am but an ant among all the other ants of this backwater clan. So, of course, a task like this seems a bit too much than we can handle. A moment later, his lips curled down a little as his eyes lay on Allda. That's what many might think I would say, including you, but I’ll have to say no to such thoughts. Currently, the expression he showed to the masses was the exact opposite of how he felt on the inside. “Thanks for your worry, uncle.”

Sariyu clutched her dress, eyes glued to the ground. What should I do? I raised my hand, but I don't want to die young. Her polished nails discolored at an unnoticeably slow pace.

As far as one could tell, Lirzod clenched his fists, trying to control the slight shaking movements of his hands, which made some clansmen think in a certain way, though the clan heads perceived it another way.

"If you three are willing to dare it, we won't object," Picazo’s gaze pierced into the hearts of the three youngsters and the crowd alike. His attire was one thing, but his eagle-eyed gaze and subduing voice outstared and out-voiced everybody else. Moreover, at this moment, no hesitant heart could make direct eye contact with him for a prolonged period.

"Just look at them," Syam dropped his shoulders in a sigh, synchronously shaking his head. "Their faces are drowning in sweat, but I guess they can't be blamed. Any hollow would stain their pants when asked to take part in such a test. These three have already done well by managing to stand still. If I were in their shoes, I would have shuddered by now for sure."

"Yeah, not bad, I suppose," Allda forced out a tight smile as he nodded. Screw you, Allda. You thought they’d back away, but it didn't work. He made a slightly pinched expression. I tried my best for you, Tarqa.

On the face of it, as the two people standing beside Lirzod were wavering, he began to laugh aloud, puzzling everyone. Placing his hands on the waist, he proudly lifted his chin a bit. "As the sole surviving heir of the Basha family and the likely future head of our clan, I couldn't ask for anything less!" he raised his hand and forged into a fist that sparkled under the sunshine. "So what if it's Shambala Sect? Won't the people there breathe, eat, sleep, and shit like us?"

By all means, Lirzod's words astonished everyone, for they didn't expect such words to come out of a mouth they least expected. Some scratched their heads while some others absent-mindedly rubbed their arms. A few even let flies take a tour inside their mouths.

Lirzod continued, his throat swollen from the rising passion, "Won't their men scream if I pinch them? Won't their women sing if I kiss them?"

All the rushing blood in the veins of men and women suddenly stopped in a screeching halt and seemed to have lost its way.

"Uh, there he goes again," Fidelis sighed. "Just when I thought he matured a bit, he proved me wrong right away."

"Take things more seriously, Young Master!" some members urged him.

Lirzod stroked his eyebrow with the forefinger. "I'm already at my peak-serious state!"

Most of the crowd didn't know what to say to him anymore.

"You must be out of your mind," Syam swiftly opened his hand fan. "This isn't the time to show off, stupid lad! Shove your fake spirit down to where you pulled it out from!" he flung his fan at Lirzod.

Lirzod bent back, dodged the fan without a hitch, thereby avoided getting scarred on his face, but concurrently, his hand stretched out and caught the tip of the flying-away fan. "I'm not faking it, Uncle 'Spear Chin' Syam," Lirzod resolutely said, waving the fan and blowing the air unto himself, taking care of the sweat that had gathered on his face. "I promise you, if I pass the test and become able enough, I will repair that chin of yours."

"You cheeky little rascal," Syam stood from his seat, having half the color drained from his face. "You are going way overboard. You think passing a sect test is as easy as catching a fan?"

"I never said that," Lirzod folded the fan with a flick of his wrist, "All this while, I was just speaking my mind, that's all." His voice rose in volume as he addressed everyone in the hall, "I am taking this test whether you like it or not because that's what the clan leaders want, and I don't want to waste such an opportunity either. If I shy away from danger because it's too dangerous, I don't think I deserve to even think about sitting in my father's seat one day." His words made everyone—Syam and Allda included—think for more than just a moment.

"I think Young Master Lirzod is right," an old woman among the crowd opined with her raspy voice. "I'm a bit worried, but if both the young masters and the Young Mistress have no problem with participating in this sect test, then I think I can only pray for their safety."

“What comes out of a drunken man’s tongue isn’t courage,” an old innkeeper, Sunny, voiced his mind while seated on a staircase. “What comes out of a callow youth isn’t either. I believe Young Master Lirzod was just being over-adventurous, if not over-ambitious. So take his words with a glass of soda[3]. A sizable glass, if you will.”

“Huh? What nonsense are you spouting, Redface?” an adult man barked at Sunny. “Today is the meek day of Young Master Lirzod, and yet you are telling us not to take his words seriously? Go get your hangover cured, no, get wine out of your veins first, and then talk, geezer!”

“Hahaha,” many members in the crowd laughed till their stomachs hurt. Lirzod, though, was just watching Sunny with a somewhat happy face.

“Hmph,” Sunny, however, brushed the dirt off his butt as he stood and pottered away at his own pace. “New wine may please the eye, but the tongue always prefers the old,” he kept mumbling. “It takes time to produce anything of quality. I doubt a fourteen-year-old kid with his little experience can keep up, much less outdo his fellow challengers. He will be nothing more than a newborn fly entering a forest full of spider webs. Anyone with some matter in their head can tell that the fly won’t return unless it’s a miracle in the making.”

Different members now discussed variedly, putting forth their insecurities and beliefs together.

In the meantime, Lirzod secretly began to giggle within himself. Hehe, simpletons. Who gives so big of a damn about Shambala Sect? Whether I join it or not isn’t my prime concern. I do care about passing the test, but I care more about meeting the foreign beauties that take part in the sect test. Though the situation arrived a bit earlier than I had imagined, I'm not missing this once in a lifetime chance. I'm going to thoroughly make my heart feast on the wonders that attend this test, and also hopefully, soak myself in their smiles. His thoughts ran wild, and the expression on his face changed to that of a monkey manifesting a smile after downing a gallon of wine. And there's no way I can sit in my father's seat without seeing much of the world, but by the time I meet a billion beauties from a million cultures, I will have probably covered enough of the world, maybe. All of my explorations must make a lot of my dreams come true, or else, I wouldn't make a good clan head!

Burton’s brows knitted a bit as he spoke in a low voice with Lirzod, "As expected, you are underestimating the danger this test will undoubtedly possess. Though I wouldn't want to risk my life by taking part in it this year itself, I also don’t want to live as someone who didn't dare enter a test that you entered."

"Oh, not bad, Big Brother Burton," Lirzod glanced at him and plastered on a smile. Che, I won't let this fox disturb my lovely trip. He then quickly continued, "But are you sure about that? Why don't you first check your pants for poop?"

His words made some sections of the crowd burst out in laughter, though they all contained themselves in double-time, for laughing at a young master of the clan in public was not in the clan's doctrines of goodness.

"I'm not scared, Brother 'Good-For-Nothing' Lirzod," Burton gave him a dirty look, "It’s called being healthily wary."

"Healthily wary?" Lirzod blew air through his nose. "The heck that's supposed to mean?"

"Count me in as well," Sariyu plucked the fan out of Lizard's hands and put it to use for herself.

“I care not whether you come or not, but give me my fan back!” Lirzod tried to fetch it back, but she didn’t make it easy for him. “I have dozens like those in my home, so I will let you take it.” Unable to get the fan back, Lirzod could only look away. This Sawshin wants to join as well? If she comes, then she won’t let me be. No, no, I can't let her participate, no matter what. His thoughts alone made a significant amount of comfort escape out of his body.

“Yeah, keep bluffing,” she rolled her eyes away.

Lirzod turned his head back toward her and shaped a low-spirited smile. "If you participate and expire, I can't live the rest of my life without you."

"Hmph, I’m not some pill to expire easily, but if I do end up kicking the bucket, then you can just jump into my final fire[4]."

"If you insist on it, then so be it," Lirzod waved his hand, swiveling away from her. Che, she seemed to have fixed her thoughts. It's impossible to change her mind now. My sweet journey—must I say goodbye before you even get to start? He was almost in tears.

"Are they serious? The three of them are participating?" unable to stop the habit, Syam used his hand to blow some air into his face. "I don't wish it in my damndest dreams, but if they all happen to meet their end during this journey, then there's no future for our clan, literally. We must think about this again, Honorable Clan Heads!" Till that moment, Syam didn't feel the need to directly intervene as he expected at least one of those three to back out, but given that his expectations failed, he couldn't stay silent anymore.

"There's nothing more to think, Mr. Syam Yerram," Kwame folded his hands, standing in a relatively comfortable posture than before. "We've already spent all of our clan's savings to get the entry tickets for Shambala Sect. Now, all we can do is be thankful to the younger generation for not betraying the hopes we’ve put on them, at least until now. Whether they come back victoriously or not, they are not jelly-spined jokes[5], that’s for sure."

His words stirred many hearts, and the contortions conceived on people's faces evinced bafflement.

"T-That's..." Syam was at a loss for words. They've spent all the stock in the treasury? He involuntarily clenched his fists. Without even saying a word to me, these three did such a thing. As rage tried to consume him, he promptly calmed down with a deep breath. Well, I guess telling me this wouldn't benefit them in any way. It's understandable why they did it, but still, they took a rash decision, which is so unlike those three. Their skills are waning.

Allda, on the other hand, completed his fourth cigar since the meeting started. Just what made the clan heads have such confidence in their young ones? Do they earnestly believe they can make it back in one piece? He scratched his chin. Did they lose their minds?

Fidelis just put an impalpable smile on his face as he had been doing for much of the meet.

"Does anyone else have any objection?" Kwame's voice resounded in the hall.

Most people just stared at the ground and gulped down breaths to stay quiet. As a result, none responded, let alone riposted.

Despite Kwame's inquiring words that further got backed by his coinciding countenance, many members of the crowd, including Syam and Allda, were still left with a bad taste in their mouths.

Seeing the downward gazes of the crowd, Picazo voiced his mind, “We have been living free lives in Helenia for the past few decades not because of what we’ve got in our treasury but because of what we’ve got in our hearts. However small they may be, it’s the battles we’ve won that made us stand here together today, despite the differences in our pocket sizes. And we’ve just gotta do the same to continue to survive and be free, though on a grander scale from here on out.”

Picazo’s words many people in the crowd shift their gazes back up to meet him in the eye.

At the same time, right outside the hall, on the other side of the street, there was a figure hidden inside a tall mango tree.

"A touching speech, but the truth is, forget about struggling to survive or strive, your small, futile clan isn't even worthy of existing, let alone live on a beautiful little mountain like this, so let me save you all the trouble by taking the burden upon myself," a tall man in a green cloak showered a smile with a blowgun in his mouth. "Time to say goodbye to one of your clan heads," he blew air through the mouth and into the blowgun, "Mum Sting!"

A pink-colored, minuscule, ball-like energy blasted out of the blowgun. The ball then metamorphosed into a tiny bird and gained speed as it hawked over the crowd and flew straight toward one of the clan heads, the one standing in the middle. The bird then shape-shifted into a needle as it went for his forehead with multiplied speed.

Picazo didn't move an inch.

However, at the last second, something happened. The needle went past Picazo's head and pierced through the seat that was a couple of meters behind him.

“Winning is the simplest path to freedom,” said Picazo, speaking as intently as before, as though he had never been interrupted.

The man in the tree, who was smiling till then, smiled no more. "He dodged? No. I was watching him. He didn't move an inch." His eyes, hidden under the hood, slowly but surely enlarged to a great extent. "It can't be... He's..." He instantly climbed down the tree and jumped onto a nearby rooftop, and fled in haste. Only after crossing half-dozen streets, he slowed down and eventually stopped in an alley. Sweat started fighting for places on his face as he thought back on what had happened. "Maybe it was just my imagination. A random, lowly clan like this surely can't—" he suddenly turned his head and looked up. There was a blonde sitting at the edge of the rooftop, swinging her legs casually while sucking on a lollipop, but her eyes were staring right at him. It was Primera. She wasn't there when I got here or was she? While keeping eyes on her, he took out his blowgun and put it to use, "Mum Sting!"

Though it didn't even take a second for the needle to reach the spot where Primera sat, she was no longer there. She was gone, having completely slipped out of his sight before the sound of the lollipop getting crunched lingeringly reached his ears.

“What?” the man in the green hood was startled, but he soon squinted his eyes, for he realized that she was currently standing behind him. However, he didn’t turn in haste and maintained his composure. If she was following me from the start, why didn’t I feel her presence till now when she wasn’t even using Might Hide? Then again, at this distance, she surely can't dodge! Just as the lollipop’s stick hit the ground in the distance, he swiveled back and shot the needle at her again. The needle once again failed to hit her, and to his added shock, she was standing behind him again.

“A clan of hollows? What a bunch of liars,” he ground his teeth and turned back before snorting. His muscles bulged and ripped his shirt and cloak apart and pulled the hood down, thereby revealing a face that had no skin. "Blowgun is but a handy tool in my eyes. I'm not just a long-distance fighter. My specialty is close combat!" he charged at her and unleashed his cannon-like fist. "Ten Thousand Pound Jolt!"

BAM~~!!

A sharp sound ripped the nearby space with a metallic echo, and the man's eyes widened, for his attack got suppressed with her bare hand. He hastily jumped back and made some distance. My attack didn’t even leave a scratch?

"It doesn’t seem like you were just passing by," Primera's voice was colder than the depths of the sea. "Who sent you? Give a name. Spit something, and I might spare your life."

"Shut up, you swine!" he yelled back confidently. The veins in his forearms and hands reddened up and glowed as if fire and lava were flowing through them, and medium-brown gaseous energy covered his forearms and hands as he dashed at her. "Earthly Fists of Aekador..." he let fly a torrent of puissant punches at her, "Beast Killing Chain!"

The alleyway didn't provide enough room for her to dodge all of his punches, so she blocked most of the attacks with her palm while continually moving backward. Every time his fists met her palm, there was a drumming sound in the air, and even the nearby walls—on his side—cracked little by little. The shockwaves awoke a dog sleeping in the shade of a tree in the neighboring street, and it skedaddled away in the opposite direction.

To think she's blocking my mighty punches with ease... The faceless man frustratingly roared and put his all into his fists. She still kept defending as many attacks as she could, for she also tried to minimize the property damage. However, some of his attacks still left holes in the walls, and as the fight grew intense, both of them ran on the walls and fought for a quarter-minute and did not fall to the ground.

"Kya!" a woman, who just came to the window of the opposite building and watched the scene from the first floor of her house, tossed the mirror in her hand away as she screamed in horror, especially after seeing the skinless face of that man, who was quite close. "H-He has no face!" she ran inside for a moment but then came back and shut the window.

The two of them continued fighting at high speed as they bounced on and off the walls of the buildings while briefly stepping foot in midair, where small fleeting clouds formed to cushion their feet. However, unlike the faceless man, Primera was also using one of her palms to propel herself through the air while effectively blocking and deflecting his attacks with the second palm. They were making full use of the space in that alley to the point the place, position, and directions lost relevance. Sometimes they were on the walls, and sometimes they were airborne with their feet pointing toward the sky as the conflict escalated.

However, the faceless man soon sprang from one wall to another before coming out of the alley and onto the main street. He could feel the unnatural vibrations in his hands, carrying pain up to his shoulders and making his arms feel heavier. Not good. He frowned. It wasn't that he was weak, but his opponent this time was not someone he could hope to defeat without completely breaking loose in a foreign territory. I must leave this place quickly. He hastily began to run away. Upon entering the next street, he caught sight of a little girl who was walking a puppy.

The puppy barked, as it had been doing for the last minute or so, but the little girl almost got a heart attack upon seeing the man with the skinless face and stood rooted to the ground.

The puppy, however, gathered courage and jumped to bite his leg, though only to get mercilessly kicked away. When the girl cried out for the puppy, he was about to grab the child, but Primera appeared above him and hammered her heel on his head. His skull cracked and spine ruptured, and he crumpled to his knees before hugging the ground, eyes seemingly frozen open.

"Trying to take a kid as a hostage..." Primera kept stomping on his back in exasperation. "You not only lack a face but a heart as well."

The little girl looked petrified. "S-Stop, Sister. He might die."

"Ah?" Primera glanced at the little girl. In two steps, she got to the girl and stooped down and put up a fleeting smile on her face. She put her hand on the little girl's shoulder as she spoke, "What are you standing here for when your dog was beaten to slumber?" she opened her eyes, and even though her voice was soft, her eyes were telling an entirely different story. "Won't you go take your puppy and get back home?"

"Y-Yes!" the little girl felt a shiver running down her spine. She hastily took her puppy and ran away in a rush.

“That’s a good girl,” Primera smiled with her eyes shut. After the little girl left with her puppy, Primera stood and mumbled, “The best parts of some people’s lives drive others insane. I wish I was still as unsophisticated as little children, but, turning back time, that’s pretty much impossible.” She slightly sighed. “It’s that kind of a world we live in.” She whistled and then picked up the faceless man’s body. Soon, a horse cart, driven by a big brown horse with minimum white highlights, arrived at the scene, and she tossed him inside and patted the horse once and uttered the word ‘Poh!,’ causing the animal to get going again. Primera just watched as the cart left. “Once the tongue says the word, it’s ever spoken.”

Meanwhile, there wasn’t much confidence in the voices of the locals that had graced the central hall. Also, the fact that the clan heads emptied the treasury for their children’s entry tickets didn’t help the situation, either.

The crowd was oblivious to everything that had happened; the fact that one of their clan heads got attacked in broad daylight. How would they know when they couldn't even see the tiny, pink-bird fly over their heads? Lirzod and Sariyu also seemed oblivious, though Burton had his fists clenched.

More importantly, many eyes among the crowd still looked unsettled. They surely felt Picazo’s speech about freedom, but with an empty treasure behind their backs, what would happen if some natural disaster were to fall upon their lands? Were the clan heads doing this on purpose? Were they trying to prune the clan-tree by cutting the ineffectual limbs and leaves?

One old man in the crowd opportunely reminded some folks of the clan’s saying: ‘the sparrow may fly away, but the chickadee shall stay.’ This originated from people’s observation that when a gardener had plenty of seeds in their hands, both the sparrow and the chickadee would alight on stems nearby; however, when there was only one seed in hand, the sparrow would likely go away, but the chickadee would still choose to stay.

Murmurs sprang to life as seconds sluggishly passed, and most people felt sourness rising in their throats, regardless of the intentions their leaders held.

"Beyond question, the choice we now have offers us an unforeseen chance," Picazo began to step down the staircase of the stage the clan heads were on, "so it baffles me seeing you all feel so unnerved about this situation. Don’t you know that even if we fail, we won't be losing any more face because we're already faceless> Our repute can’t go any lower, either, and though we may lose riches like these mountains that we own, we will lose them sooner rather than later if we don’t start strengthening our ranks to back our lands. While it's true that we can’t win every single time and may lose three of our potential future leaders of the clan if they make this trip, I'm still sure that even in the absence of those three, some youngblood from our clan will rise to the situation and lead us to greater heights all the same." Some faces, young and old, in the crowd brightened like the faces of flies touring by the lanterns upon hearing his words, whereas Allda was inwardly cursing himself at his own inability to sway the masses like the head of the Basha family. "It’s a big risk we’re taking, but if even one of those three young ones manages to win, we'll climb the ladder of fame so fast and so high that our clan will make history which otherwise wouldn't have been possible.”

His words perceptibly lifted people’s countenance.

Picazo continued, "And if anything close to that were to happen, our clan’s name is bound to eventually be known to everyone, be it on the ground, in the air, or on the seas. Then it’ll be on us all to see to it that our folks will forever flourish under the heavens, and only death shall do us apart.” He placed his hands on his back and gave an adamant once-over to everyone in the crowd. “The stakes are undoubtedly high, but this is how it should be. Nothing in this world comes for free, but simply worrying doesn’t work, either. We can’t see ourselves as hollows and expect the world to respect us for it. The world won't stay inactive because of our inaction. We must act now, and act big, big enough to better ourselves like no one else can replicate our rise. We already did our best in getting the entrance tickets," his eyes then lay on the three youngsters, "now, it's their duty to make our dreams come true."

Picazo’s words notably picked up the mood of many people, and eventually, they all rose to each other’s voice and began to call out similar words. "Rewards reflect risks."

One after another, every local in sight stood straight and shouted in unison, with their fists raised high, "Rewards reflect risks!" That was the motto of the clan. Sinario was the one who took the most risks, and Kwame assisted from behind when necessary. The rewards those two brought were utilized all across the clan as per the rules and regulations set by Picazo. After all, these three men were the main pillars that built the Faceless clan into what it was today. Though its rank had been amongst the lowest in the world, its people were always proud of their leaders who had combinedly done many commendable deeds for their clan.

The flag hoisted atop the building, visible in the background of the clan heads, had three smiling faces with their upper-halves veiled by lion, tiger, and panther masks that had deep cracks running down their middle. A dove-shaped earring was hanging by the right ear of Tiger and the left ear of Panther, whereas a dove-shaped pendant was on Lion’s neck, which was in the middle of the three.

"Swannie[6], you can still withdraw, and no one will laugh at you," Lirzod tried to remind Sariyu, but she paid him no attention.

Standing on the balcony of the top floor of the building—behind the clan heads and outside the hall and the garden—were their wives. The skinny, green-haired one was Issa Vesta. The slim, platinum blonde was Keira Basuvu, the tallest of the three. The slender, golden-white-haired gorgeous one in the middle was Valli Basha, who looked the youngest of the three, and she was pretty popular among the girls and the ladies for creating a style of applying makeup to one’s own face without requiring a mirror.

Their faces lacked the usual luster, probably from the lack of sleep, as also evident through their palatial clothing, worn almost a day ago.

Holding each other's hands, except for Issa, who pressed her shoulders against them, they let worry take over their visages as they watched the ongoing scenario in the central hall. "I hoped none of those three would be willing to go, but all of them ended up choosing to go," Valli pressed her hands against her chest, doing her best to keep the growing pain in check. “And my son got his shirt on backward again.”

"Don't worry, Sister, Burton will take care of Lirzod," Issa’s soft voice was pleasant on the ears, for the nearby sparrows that had been munching on the hanging rice grain stalk—explicitly put for them, looked at those three once in a while, and particularly at Issa whenever words escaped her mouth. She had no arms even if she wanted to pat on Valli’s shoulder and comfort her, so she could only rely on talking.

"Yeah, let's hope they help each other and make good use of this chance," Keira’s voice was a bit deep, befitting her tall figure.

"If they don't... we won't even get to see their final forms[7]," a tear stroked a path on Valli’s cheek, softening the skin further along its path. "I can't let him take this test."

"Get a hold on yourself, Sister," the other two tried to comfort her. "It's not like you to be so negative like this."

"No, let go of me. I can't knowingly send my son to his death!" she tried to force her way out, but those two tried their best to stop her.

"Hmm?" at that moment, Lirzod just looked up and saw his mother and his aunties watching in his direction from the balcony. Are they having fun? Geez, I may be one of a kind, but those three know not of holding back even for the sake of maintaining some face befitting their position. Heat crept up his neck, causing him to slide his hand over it. “At least, show some propriety for our sake.”

Meanwhile, a horse cart steadily climbed a steep mountain track and arrived at one of the cliff points, where an olive-skinned young woman was sitting at the edge of the cliff and was staring at the sun. Next to her, a scar-filled white wolf was busy playing with a stuffed beaver. The arrival of the cart made her slowly stand, and though she was wearing loose clothes, her shirt was a bit short as it was sloppily tucked at the front, so her abs partly showed. Her fountain of light golden brown hair was falling all the way down to her knees, making her look much more feral and intimidating. She was already almost seven-feet tall, just a bit shorter than the wolf, but her eyes were more amber than that of the wolf that now started growling at the cart, probably from sensing the odd customer inside the vehicle.

“I know you’re awake, mister,” she said, looking calmly toward the cart, as her clothes—a v-neck black baggy shirt and olive green skirt-like pants—fluttered in the wind. “If you force yourself to move around with your skull and spine in such a sad state, you’ll really die.”

“I thought I’d fooled one monster,” the faceless man stepped out of the cart, with small green crystalline spikes protruding out of his spine, “but I should have known that this damned horse was only escorting me to another. Then again, I knew something like this would happen, but I didn’t have enough time.”

“So you know how to heal yourself,” she slid her hand under her sleeveless shirt and pulled out a double-capped pen. “I’m not in the mood for a fight, but it’s my job.” She flicked a cap up into the air, thereby exposing a small knife.

“A penknife?” the faceless man cringed in frustration, “You want to fight me with that?”

“Not if you be a good boy and let me take you into custody,” she said and glanced at the wolf, “Right, Woo?”

The wolf in a violet bow tie, Woo, then cutely woofed in agreement.

The faceless man frowned. A rush of thoughts stormed through his mind. He soon cleared his throat and said, “Y-You know. I’ve been meaning to tell you this since the second I saw you.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re quite gorgeous,” he said without a hint of hesitation this time. “You really are. You have such great eyes, hair, and skin. If goddesses were real, they might look like you do.”

She went silent, with her expression staying the same. Even the wolf blinked a few times in startlement.

Is she falling for it? I hope so, considering that all women are vulnerable to praises. He faked a genial smile. “Why don’t you come with me? I’m not like some princes who see every hole as a goal. With me around, you’ll never need to work or cook. I’ll treat you like a princess. A bewitching beauty like you deserves to be treated in such—”

“Stop sucking up to me like some stupid-smart sissy,” she sounded somewhat irked. “Whether I work, or cook, or beat a crook, I do it my way, by my own rules, and I don’t need you to tell me how I look,” she started walking in simple yet confident strides, “I know I’m hot.”

Stirring silence briefly ruled the space between them, not counting the sound of the wind and her footsteps.

“By the way, you smell that?” she asked.

“Smell what?” he couldn’t help but ask in return.

”Your impending loss, fool,” she charged him in a flash, along with her triggered wolf.

The faceless man ground his teeth in bitterness and rage. Horse-fucking dammit! If I escape this nightmare, I’ll shit cream and save makeup costs! Two brown crystalline blades extended out along his forearms as though they were part of his body, and he met the opponents in a reverberating collision, sending a shockwave that uprooted delicate vegetation and wilted average plant life in the neighborhood.

As hot air blasted in its face, the big brown horse shrieked in suspense and hastily retreated to a safer spot before resuming to watch the battle that was already well underway; some squirrels soon sought the cart for shelter, needless to say, their little mouths well-stocked with all kinds of seeds and nuts. Only the horse had nothing to eat, so it caught some flying-away grass and savagely chewed on it.

———————————————

[[1] Court Stage: An open stage made of stone that lies in the shade of a big banyan tree. It's used for prosecuting criminals and other judiciaries of the clan.

[2] Assembly: It's a body formed for a purpose, whatever it may be. Sects are also assemblies.

[3] Glass of soda: It’s similar to the idiom ‘take things with a grain of salt.’ But since the character speaking those words is an innkeeper who deals with wine every day, an appropriate phrase was chosen.

[4] Final Fire: The fire used to burn a dead body and perhaps help the soul climb to the heavens as told in many stories around the world. Though Sariyu used the word ‘final fire,' as per Faceless Clan’s tradition, their people were buried not burned after death. She was just referring to one of the stories told in school to sound cool, and Lirzod just went along with it.

[5] Jelly-spined Joke: Someone who can’t be courageous for once.

[6] Swannie: The only nickname out of all that Lirzod uses to call Sariyu that probably doesn’t upset her as much as the rest.

[7] Final Form: A less painful version of ‘dead body,’ at least to speak.