CHAPTER 151: MOUNTAIN: NEW REALM

In the opulent imperial chambers, the air was thick with the weight of reports streaming in from across the empire. The Third Imperial Commander, Kiol, stood before the Emperor, his voice steady but tinged with unease as he delivered the latest news. "Your Highness, it’s gone," he said, his expression grim.

"What’s gone?" the Emperor asked, his eyes narrowing.

"The Ruins of Ashenfall. The entire site has vanished."

The Emperor’s brow furrowed. The Ruins of Ashenfall. It wasn’t good in any way. Though it was inhabitable, it acted as a good defense for them, but now?

If one saw the place now, there was a gaping wound in the earth, as if a colossal beast had torn away the land itself.

"The storms will claim that territory and form a stronghold." Kiol mused silently, recognizing its potential as a natural stronghold. The disappearance also severed a critical link between Solaris and Lunar, a strategic breach he chose not to voice aloud.

"And the Last Front?" the Emperor pressed, shifting focus.

Kiol hesitated. "A new species has emerged, red-skinned, with spiral horns. We’re calling them devils for now, as we’ve yet to classify them properly."

The Emperor chuckled darkly. "Devils, eh? What a fitting name." His tone grew serious. "What else?"

Kiol’s voice lowered. "Apparently, there’s been a new torture method that can make even the Iron Brotherhood talk."

The emperor’s eyes widened. The Iron Brotherhood, known as the Adamant Order, was infamous for its unbreakable resolve. Even the most brutal tortures—burning their kin before their eyes—couldn’t force them to speak. "Who devised this method?" he demanded.

"Jin," Kiol replied.

The emperor’s surprise was palpable, and Kiol recounted the tale: Jin’s mission, the Blightroot family’s, the ferocious battles, and the devastating clash with the 7th Star enemy.

"So, he hasn’t woken since?" The emperor asked.

"Yes, it’s been over a week."

’You really know how to stir a place with your presence, huh?’ The Emperor smiled faintly.

***

The Blightroot family, still reeling from the battle, found solace in the presence of Golden Knights stationed at their estate.

Gilbert, however, after calming his family wasted no time spreading word of the heroics that had saved them. Tales of the 7th Division’s bravery—and Jin’s pivotal role—swept through the empire, amplified by newspapers hungry for sensation.

Headlines blazed across the cities:

—Jin Returns as the 5th Seat of the 7th Division of the Red Sun!

—The Darkan Hero Rises Again!

—If Jin Didn’t Die, Who Did?

—How Did He Deceive the Empire?

For Jin’s admirers, the news was a triumph, a vindication of their faith in the Darkan hero. But for his detractors, it was a bitter pill. What all this meant was, the person they had been insulting all this while was a fake, how couldn’t they be angry?

Then they came with their own statement.

—How dare he deceive the empire?

Their based their anger on that and let it simmer, fueled by their wounded pride.

The Blightroot family’s account of the battle was vivid, detailing Jin’s relentless fight against the 7th Star enemy.

Yet one revelation shook the empire to its core:

—Jin wielded the Blightroot legacy, a power bestowed by our ancestors. He will revive our family.

Gilbert beamed as he published this claim, the story generating a flood of wealth for the Blightroot estate. Whether this move would prove wise or reckless remained uncertain, but for now, their coffers swelled, and their name resounded across the empire.

***

In the sterile infirmary of the 7th Division, the protagonist of these tales stirred.

Baines—known to the world as Jin—opened his eyes, his mind sharp despite the haze of recovery.

’Eye, replay everything,’ he commanded. At his order, Eye replayed the scene of what happened before he collapsed, projecting a vivid recounting of the battle that had nearly claimed his life.

He scanned his body, expecting ruin. "I lost some parts," he murmured, recalling the mangled arm, the blinded eyes, the pierced ear. Yet, to his astonishment, he was whole. His left arm flexed, his vision was clear, and no trace of injury lingered. Before he could ponder the miracle, a voice interrupted.

"You’re awake," Rakel said, seated beside the bed. His tone was distant and heavy with the weight of recent losses. Baines met his gaze but remained silent, staring at the ceiling. "Luckily, we were saved by the 4th Division," Rakel continued, "but half our members were lost before they arrived." He paused, expecting a reaction, but Baines offered none.

"We held a burial when we returned and filed a report. New recruits will join the 7th Division soon." He stood, his voice softening. "Thank you for your help, Jin. And... congratulations." With that, he left, leaving Baines to his thoughts.

...

The pursuit of power was a universal one.

A journey etched into the souls of those who dared to chase it. It began with a single, courageous step, leaving the safety of one’s home, the familiar warmth of the hut, to venture into the vast, unforgiving desert.

The desert was a crucible, its endless dunes a test of will. Some faltered halfway, their spirits broken by the relentless sun and shifting sands. Others never dared to start, paralyzed by fear or doubt. Many believed the desert had no end, a Sisyphean expanse that devoured hope. But for those rare few who persevered, who pushed through the mirages and storms, the desert gave way to a new horizon.

At its edge loomed the Mountain, a towering, primordial giant, its peak shrouded in clouds that whispered of mystery and power. To climb it was to transcend the mortal coil.

The first steps brought an intoxicating rush: the air grew thinner, the world sharper, and a surge of strength coursed through the climber’s veins. It was bliss, a liberation from the desert’s weight, a taste of true power. Those who scaled its slopes never wished to return to the sands below.

The Mountain was not just a thing but a realm, a new world where the rules of existence bent to the will of the climber.

This was the realm of the Grandmaster.

A domain reserved for those who had conquered the desert and dared the ascent.

Crossing its threshold triggered a profound metamorphosis. The body restructured itself—bones hardened, muscles realigned, veins pulsed with newfound vigor. This was no mere enhancement but a rebirth, a recalibration to house the torrent of astral energy now flooding the climber’s being.

Close to the heart, a new organ formed: the upper core, a radiant nexus that birthed this energy and anchored the climber’s domain.

Within the upper core lay the inner world, a personal cosmos unique to each Grandmaster. If the lower levels of power demanded raw strength, and the master level required the honing of aura and will, the Grandmaster realm was about creation.

The inner world was a canvas, a nascent universe that the climber shaped and elevated. To build it was to wield godlike power, to levitate it to higher realms was to touch divinity. Each choice, each act of will, sculpted this world, defining the Grandmaster’s essence and their place in the cosmos.

Currently, Baines had crossed into this realm. The battle with the 7th Star had been his crucible, shattering the barriers that held him for over a year.

As he grappled with this transformation, the door swung open. "Hello there," they said, their voice calm yet resonant. "I am Quintelle Lindell."