Streaks of golden sunlight slipped in through the tent flaps. Kaya yawned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and stretched. Then she stilled.

“Huh.”

She expected to feel sore. But she didn’t—at all. Her head was a clear blue sky. She was positively thrumming. Her body was light as can be, coursing with hearty morning vigor. She stood and inspected her arms, then her legs. The skin there was smoother than she’d ever remembered it.

Weird.

She checked out her hands, her knees, her feet. Everywhere she looked was hale and clean and smooth, not a freckle, spot, or blemish on her, like the skin of a baby. She gasped. Then she dashed over to the tabletop, snatched up the obsidian plate there, and saw her dark reflection.

Saints, I look good!

Grinning, she flexed an arm. She struck a pose like a warrior-goddess heroically spearing some heinous fiend. And she damn well looked the part, if she did say so herself!

She blinked. She’d been down on herself so long this sort of thinking felt awkward. Like stretching a leg that had fallen asleep.

And today was the first round of the Tournament, too. It was a darned pity she’d get all scratched up again in just a few hours—

No, no, no! She flicked herself in the temple. Bad Kaya! She made a mean face and made damn sure she saw it in the mirror. It was a very serious face, to show herself she meant business. No pouting! Not today. She curled a hand into a fist and breathed in deep.

“I will win this round!” she declared. Yea, that’s the spirit. Happy thoughts only! She glared at the girl in the mirror.

“Whatever dumb goon they throw at me, I’ll mash his face in so bad even his momma won’t recognize him!”

She grinned, bouncing on her feet. Now she was amped up.

Setting the plate down, she noticed a note on the table. It was from Io.

‘I’ve got some work in the city. Be back before noon for the first round. Wait for me.’ Short and sweet. She set it down, still grinning. Perfect. She’d spend the next few hours warming up.

Then she saw the mark on the back of her hand. Her grin froze.

This damned thing! It was still here, and she still had no idea what it was.

A contract—whatever that was supposed to mean—was what Io had called it. She squinted at it and tried rubbing it with a thumb. It didn’t so much as smudge.

A memory flashed to mind, warped and foggy, like a half-remembered dream. Her, kneeling in a pond of blood, surrounded by the crushed bodies of fallen Rats. She remembered laughing. She cringed. Was that really her? She still couldn’t believe it. Maybe it had been a dream. She liked hitting things, sure. She liked breaking things. She didn’t like hurting people… right? Not like that, anyways…

It felt really, really wrong.

But also kinda right, in a weird, twisted way. She shivered.

Whatever it was, she was damned sure this weird gold mark had something to do with it! She glared at it.

Best not to think about the damned thing, or touch it. Whatever the hells this contract was, she didn’t care. She’d pretend it didn’t exist—she’d pretend she couldn’t even see it!

She marched out the tent flaps, chin held high. She’d go about things how she always did and win how she always won: with her own two fists!

As she went, the rising sun bathed her hand in bright orange-yellow. Caught in the light, the golden infinity almost seemed to wink.

***

Dorian stood at the center of what looked like a ritual to summon a demon. He glanced around him, exasperated, as workers daubed the ground with thick lines of looping silver, making a loose circle. It was an array formation. It had one purpose: to protect.

Not to protect him from the outside as he made this crucial breakthrough. No—it went the other way. It was meant to protect them from him.

“Is this really necessary?” sighed Dorian.

Bin scowled at him. “After what happened to this estate the last time you broke through? You have no right to question any precaution I take! I’ll take no chances—Hey, you! Moron!”

He kicked a nearby worker, who squealed, nearly dropping his brush. “Thicker, dolt!”

Dorian rolled his eyes. He glanced at the loose circle of workers, Heilong family, and soldiers gathered about him. A cultivation breakthrough was usually a private affair, done in seclusion. Perhaps a sealed cave or underground chamber. This setup, on the other hand, was like having a crowd of onlookers when you’re trying to take a shower. Most people would’ve have felt self-conscious.

Of course, Dorian was not most people. He grinned and took a bow. “Enjoy the show, friends!” he called.

Minutes later, the workers were done. They scampered off. In came Bin, hefting a case of black snakeskin. He clicked open the latch, set it at Dorian’s feet, and nodded stiffly.

“Begin on my command,” he said archly, and marched out of the circle. He snapped his fingers. “Ready the stones!”

“Ready!” yelled a worker, saluting.

“Activate!” roared Bin.

All around Dorian a veil of silvery light streamed upwards, flowing into a glistening, silklike dome. Dorian felt like a bug trapped under liquid glass.

Bin clasped his hands behind his back. “It’s done. Do as you wish, boy.”

Dorian had begun unbuckling the latch before he’d finished speaking. He threw open the case, and a jade glow poured out. A hefty aura blasted Dorian like a midsummer gale, driving the air from his lungs, but he’d braced for it. He managed to stay on his feet.

The Rope Javelin was coiled snug in a plush bedding. Dorian licked his lips. Damned beauty. Weapon fit for an emperor, this one!

He gingerly clasped it, one hand at each end—one at the fang, one at the handle, letting the chain hang in between. It felt like reaching his hand into a dying hearth and clasping the embers. Weighty, icy embers. He winced. It scalded him—not his hands, but in a realm beyond the physical. It was shockingly heavy, too. A mortal would not be able to pick up so much as a link of its great chain. If he dropped the whole thing, the impact would shiver the crater.

Best to do it fast. He closed his eyes, letting the darkness drop over him. Then, calling his mind to full focus, he groped about in the darkness of the mind.

In his mind’s eye he saw it, a glowing presence. In his hands he felt it, this icy smoothness gripped tight between his fingers. But to fuse with a Spirit Weapon he needed to embrace it with his Spirit, to coax it into the space of the self.

He frowned, linking the feelings in his hands and the vision in his mind. The sensations, so disparate yet so equal, coalesced until the two were made one. There was a pleasant thrumming, a resonance of aura, a rightness in the act. He knew it was true.

Gently, with mind and hand alike, he tugged.

The weight of it left his fingers in an instant. The Javelin dropped easily into him. Or, more accurately, his Spirit.

Dorian ignored the chorus of gasps. He tracked it in the space of his mind. It sank into into his Spirit Sea the way a dense stone drops down a deep, lightless well. Slowly, and in utter silence.

He measured the time in heartbeats.

One, two, three…

It hit the bottom. It met the mouth of the Sea, where the essences of its brethren—the other Scales which made Dorian’s bloodline—lay nestled, tirelessly infusing Dorian’s qi with that precious Bloodline essence.

And it claimed its spot among them.

There was no explosion. No earth-shattering blast of qi. Instead, Bloodline essence gushed into him like a fresh geyser sprung in a shallow lake, fresh and wonderful and chock-full of vitality. The qi in his Sea—his qi—was tinged black before. Now an inky blackness crept into his Sea, giving swathes of his qi the look of a liquid made of thick shadows. Soon it would convert all of it, and its integration would be complete.

Already he could feel it within him. It was a part of him, like that, like it had been there all along, the way a man feels a severed limb re-attached. Fresh, foreign qi flowed from it, too, mixing with the waters of Dorian’s Spirit Sea. Adding to it.

[Level-up!]

[Spirit Sea Saturation] 14% -> 23%

At full saturation—which meant his Sea was totally at capacity—the Profound Realm was complete.

Dorian let out a happy sigh. His Spirit Sea was Heaven-Grade. It held far more qi than most. Which meant that on pure qi volume, he could already compete with most of this place’s Earth Realm warriors.

[Level-up!]

[Bloodline Density] 3% -> 8%

[Level-up!]

[Spirit Weapon gained: Heilong Javelin]

[Spirit Property: Infinite Chain. So long as the user has qi to spare, the Javelin chain expands as long as the user wills it.]

[Level-up!]

[Weapon Technique: Shadow-Strike] Lv. 0-> 1

[The Fang enters a shadow and emerges from any other shadow in its vicinity, surprising the enemy.]

There was that rush of giddy joy, that feeling like his soul had caught on fire, that singular sense of aliveness which came with each breakthrough. Dorian let out a happy sigh.

Then the the system descriptions, etched into the Javelin by its maker, shimmered across Dorian’s mind. He read them. Then he sucked in a sharp breath.

Ooh! Really, now?!

That Technique… the possibilities were already flooding his mind. Dozens of combat scenarios flitted in the darkness behind his eyelids. He could see himself crafting his new fighting style already, a swift, fast-flowing blitz of shadows and speed and venomous sharpness. Light steps and heavy strikes intertwined. Oh, my, my my! He was buzzing with eagerness. It had been a mistake, a huge, huge mistake, to give someone like him a weapon as delicious as this. This realm wouldn’t know what hit it.

His eyes shot open. He grinned ear-to-ear.

Let’s test this baby out, shall we?