After ten tense minutes watching the Sphere of Memory, the light from the artifact finally dimmed.

Mayor Haoran's eyes narrowed as he turned to Master Feng. "We're… dealing with a child?"

Master Feng swallowed hard. "It appears so… he looks no older than ten."

The final image frozen within the sphere showed a small figure standing calmly over their fallen operative. The child wore tattered beggar's clothes, black hair framing an unremarkable face—simple features, dark eyes—but those eyes carried a depth and weight that belied their apparent age. His gaze alone projected experience, intelligence, and a chilling confidence.

Even without feeling any direct pressure from the Sphere's recording, Haoran and Feng could see how space itself bent subtly around the child, as if reality rippled in his presence—heavy and restrained, like the ocean gathering itself before a storm.

Below him, their agent—Bai Long—knelt, defeated. His life spark had since faded, but the Sphere had captured every humiliating second.

"There's no way that's actually a child," Haoran muttered, voice low and cold. "He must be concealing his true form. Pretending to be a beggar… probably a Wanderer in hiding."

Master Feng nodded grimly. "A Wanderer with Core Creation cultivation, staying inside Belthias unnoticed… no wonder Klown failed. He must have been aiding them from the shadows."

Haoran's eyes gleamed with suspicion. "Or there's someone else… another expert hiding deeper still."

Master Feng's frown deepened. "If there is, it will complicate everything."

"Perhaps," Haoran allowed, his tone cautious. "But judging from the memory, this disguised expert alone could be the cause of our failure."

"Does the Master know?" Feng asked, reverence softening his voice at the mention of their unseen superior.

Haoran gave a curt nod. "The Master provided the Ring of Black Water and this Sphere itself. He already knows."

As if summoned by his words, the Sphere of Memory flickered violently. A sudden chill swept through the chamber, though the heavy door never budged. Cold air, thick and swirling, coalesced into a vaguely humanoid shape that hovered before the pedestal.

The air shimmered like heat haze, barely visible yet radiating a crushing pressure that distorted space itself.

Haoran and Feng immediately stepped back, then fell to their knees.

"Master," they intoned in unison, voices hushed with fear and reverence.

The air entity remained silent for a heartbeat, its presence alone suffocating, pressing down on them until the room felt smaller than it was.

Then a hoarse voice rang out, not from the apparition but as though it came from the walls, the ceiling, the very air they breathed. "Hmm… just as I suspected."

Haoran and Feng lifted their heads slightly. Haoran stepped forward. "Master, what is your command?"

"We need not act hastily," the hoarse voice declared, each word reverberating through the stone. "He will come to us. That boy… I want him. Ensure he cannot leave Manida."

Haoran's eyes snapped to the frozen image of the child in the Sphere. "Boy? He's not an old cultivator in disguise?"

Master Feng's eyes darted between the Sphere and the specter of their Master. "Are you saying he's… truly a child?"

"Yes," the voice answered, amusement curling beneath its ancient rasp. "The hidden dragon of Belthias is a child—and a very interesting one." The swirling air pulsed, dark amusement oozing from its shifting form. "Haoran, you know what to do."

Haoran stood, spine rigid, eyes fierce. "Yes, Master! Once he steps into Manida, he will never leave!"

A low, pleased hum echoed from the humanoid mist. The air grew heavier, so thick Master Feng's breath caught painfully in his throat as the suffocating power of their Master settled upon them like an invisible stormcloud.

This was their Master—the being they worshipped like a god, a Devil whose true name they had never learned. They could feel his presence, unmistakable and oppressive, even if his form was little more than a swirl of shifting air.

Master Feng glanced around the once-dark chamber, now steeped in an eerie crimson glow. Every time their Master descended, reality itself warped: the air thickened, space distorted, and the world turned red. It was the most unmistakable sign of his presence, beyond even their instincts.

Feng had devoted his life to this Master, as had Mayor Haoran. He had always dreamed of earning a direct glance or word of praise. Yet no matter his sacrifices or loyalty, he remained unseen—ignored. And now, hearing a note of genuine interest in their Master's voice—but directed at a child—filled him with bitter envy.

A child. The one who shattered their plans in Belthias City, who killed Klown—a mere boy of nine or ten. A talent of such magnitude would be called monstrous even among the elites of the Middle Continent.

"You may do as you please with him," the humanoid air rasped, the voice resonating like a blade scraping stone. "Remember, he disrupted my plans in Belthias, killed my servant. Make sure he stays alive—just barely. I expect results this time. No more failures. Understood?"

"Yes, Master!" Haoran and Master Feng replied in unison, their faces lighting with savage excitement—none more so than Feng, who was already envisioning the boy's suffering.

But Haoran's brow furrowed, unease creeping into his voice. "Master… if he's truly a child, doesn't that mean there could be someone else behind him? A hidden master, perhaps?"

"No," came the Master's immediate response, cold and absolute.

Both men froze. A chill seeped into their bones. They knew the breadth of their Master's knowledge—his insights into history lost to time, the affairs of distant lands, even secrets thought forgotten. If he said the child had no master, then it was the truth.

Haoran swallowed hard. "Then… did he discover some ancient treasure? A secret manual? A rare bloodline?"

"That is for you to uncover," the hoarse voice answered, edged with a dangerous finality. "I am not all-knowing."

Haoran drew in a breath to ask more, but before he could speak, the humanoid air dissolved into a sudden gust that blew through the stone walls. The crimson light faded at once, returning the room to its cold, dim darkness.

The crushing weight of their Master's presence lifted—but a gnawing pressure lingered in their hearts, heavy with dread and expectation.

Silence stretched between them until Haoran let out a weary sigh.

"Master has always preferred to act through us, rarely showing himself directly. For him to appear like this…" He shook his head, deep lines creasing his face. "This is far more serious than Klown's death."

Master Feng's eyes flicked to him, a troubled glint in their depths. "He's fixated on that boy… what do you think he wants with him?"

Haoran's expression hardened. "Do not question the Master's will. We are pieces on this board—nothing more. Our task is to obey." Yet even as he spoke, a flicker of curiosity betrayed his own unease.