The streets of Ironhold are no longer unfamiliar to De-Reece. He has walked through them as a traveler, a hunter, and now, as someone preparing for what comes next.
The Sect Selection looms, but the recent events beneath the city have forced him to adjust his priorities.
Strength comes first.
Before dealing with the Demonic Sect's movements, the Jin Spear Sect's secrecy, or even rival cultivators, he needs to refine his techniques, enhance his Qi control, and prepare for what's ahead.
That means training.
That means alchemy.
And for that, he needs a place where eyes don't follow his every move.
Finding a place to stay in Ironhold isn't difficult.
Many cultivators come and go, renting rooms at warrior lodges or shared sect houses, hoping to gain an edge before the trials begin.
But De-Reece isn't interested in a shared space.
He needs seclusion.
He pays discreetly, handing over a small pouch of silver to a tired-looking landlord who doesn't ask questions as long as the coin is good.
A small house on the outskirts of the city, near the training districts but far from the main sects' influence.
The walls are old but sturdy, the inner courtyard wide enough for sparring, the second room perfect for setting up an alchemy station.
More importantly, no one will come looking for them here.
The days pass in steady, controlled progress, each moment dedicated to strengthening the foundation De-Reece has built. The house, simple but secure, becomes a place of focus, refinement, and silent growth.
On the first day, De-Reece clears the spare room, ensuring the space is properly ventilated before setting up his alchemy station. The table, reinforced with fire-resistant stones, holds various tools—some borrowed, some crafted, some improvised. He tests the heat of the firestones, ensuring the temperature remains stable. The Qi-Stabilising Root, his most valuable ingredient, is ground with careful precision, every motion deliberate. The air thickens with the scent of herbs and faint wisps of qi-infused smoke as the first phase of refinement begins.
Kalia, meanwhile, tests the limits of their training grounds. The open courtyard provides just enough space for movement drills and controlled sparring. She moves through her own combat forms—blades whistling through the air, footwork adjusting to uneven terrain. Though she says little, De-Reece notices the slight frown when a technique doesn't flow as smoothly as she wants. She isn't satisfied yet.
On the second day, the alchemy process reaches its crucial stage. The extract from the Qi-Stabilizing Root mixes with other refined herbs, condensing into a viscous liquid that must be carefully tempered. Any mistake, any imbalance, could ruin the entire batch. De-Reece works through the night, the dim glow of fire reflecting in his eyes as he adjusts each step.
Outside, Kalia has adapted her routine. She challenges herself with weighted strikes, increasing the difficulty of her movements. Occasionally, she pauses, watching De- when she thinks he isn't paying attention. Her expression remains unreadable, but he can sense her curiosity.
On the third day, the final process begins. The liquid is reduced, the impurities burned away, until only the essence of the Qi Solidifying Pill remains. As he shapes the first pill, a faint ripple of qi pulses through the room—a sign of successful condensation. De-Reece exhales slowly. It worked.
Later that evening, when he hands Kalia a small bottle of lower-grade pills, she eyes him skeptically. "Where'd you get these?"
"Picked them up from some overconfident cultivators and practised to produce some myself."
She snorts, rolling one between her fingers before slipping it into her storage pouch. "Lucky for me, then."
She doesn't question him further.
But De-Reece can tell she doesn't fully believe him either.
Not yet.
With alchemy set aside, his next priority becomes his weapons.
Through quiet observation, De-Reece learns about a small forge operated by an independent blacksmith, separate from the larger sect-affiliated workshops.
A place where rogue cultivators, mercenaries, and unorthodox warriors go when they don't want their weapons traced.
Perfect.
He visits the forge after dark, the glow of molten metal illuminating a broad-shouldered man with scarred arms and a sharp, assessing gaze.
"You don't have the look of a man who needs a new blade," the blacksmith mutters, crossing his arms. "What do you want?"
De-Reece sets down a single silver coin, letting it clink softly on the worktable.
"I need a place to work."
The blacksmith raises an eyebrow but doesn't refuse. "Fine. Don't waste my steel."
The market district of Ironhold is alive with movement, the scent of roasted meats and incense mixing with the sharp tang of freshly forged steel. Merchants call out their wares, eager to take advantage of the increased number of cultivators passing through before the Sect Selection.
De-Reece moves with purpose, his steps steady but unhurried. He has no interest in being caught up in the noise—only in finding what he came for.
A life-saving talisman.
Though Kalia is more than capable, there are things that skill alone cannot counter.
An unexpected injury. A poisoned blade. A battle that doesn't go her way.
He knows how quickly fate can turn.
He'd heard about these while previously reading in his old world, and from the information he had gathered, they did seem to exist in this world, too.
A talisman imbued with a protective formation can activate upon sensing lethal intent, absorbing one fatal strike before shattering.
Simple. Effective.
And at 10 silver, worth every coin.
As De-Reece reaches for his coin pouch, a voice cuts in sharply.
"I'll take it for 20 silver."
A figure steps into view—a young man clad in embroidered green robes, the insignia of a well-off but not top-tier family stitched across his sleeve.
The merchant's eyes gleam, sensing the chance for a profit. He barely glances at De-Reece before nodding toward the newcomer. "It seems the price has risen."
De-Reece doesn't react. He simply places 20 silver on the table.
The young master's eyes flicker in irritation.
"50 silver."
The merchant hides his grin behind a polite cough.
De-Reece drops 50 silver.
The young master's brow twitches.
His fingers tighten slightly before he smirks—an expression meant to be condescending but only comes across as forced.
"100 silver."
A few nearby cultivators pause, sensing a confrontation.
De-Reece meets the young master's gaze, unreadable. Then, without hesitation—
He places 100 silver on the table.
The market falls silent.
The young master's smirk fades. He hadn't expected De-Reece to match his bid.
To ignore his presence.
The merchant, barely containing his greed, swiftly hands over the talisman before pocketing the silver. The deal is done.
De-Reece turns without a word.
Oh how he didn't have the time to be some young masters side quest, he had read about these guys a lot in the xianxia stories he'd read back on earth. Constantly trying to cause problems and flaunt their wealth on those they'd deemed lesser than themselves. But this was an item he needed if Kalia was to travel with him, and paying the inflated price to him, was trivial. He believed he could recoup it selling pills with a little effort.
A hand clamps onto his shoulder.
Not with force—but with expectation.
De-Reece stops, glancing back without emotion.
The young master sneers. "You really think you can walk away like that?"
De-Reece stares at the hand. "Remove it."
The young master scoffs but obeys, stepping back with a casual ease. "You have no idea who I am, do you?"
De-Reece remains silent.
The young master's expression hardens at the lack of response. "I am Liang Ren of the Green Lotus Clan. Do you understand what that means?"
De-Reece's gaze remains indifferent.
Liang Ren exhales sharply."It means I don't let nameless nobodies look down on me."
De-Reece never once looked at him. That's what angers him the most.
Liang Ren's hand tightens into a fist. "Fight me."
De-Reece's voice is calm. "No."
A flicker of rage. "Coward?"
De-Reece steps past him.
Liang Ren's aura flares.
His qi ripples, his hand forming a half-seal.
"Then let's see if you can still refuse when I take your legs from beneath you!"
A technique.
Fast.
The ground beneath De-Reece cracks.
Liang Ren strikes first.
A burst of wood element qi surges into the ground, sending thick roots spiraling upward, attempting to ensnare De-Reece's legs.
A formation.
A control technique—meant to bind an opponent before following up with a decisive blow.
But De-Reece is already moving.
A single shift of his stance, a breath of qi flowing through his meridians—
Shadow Phantom Steps.
His form flickers, the roots grasping at empty air.
Liang Ren's eyes widen. "What—"
De-Reece closes the distance.
Before Liang Ren can react—
Domineering Demon Fist.
A single blow—not to cripple, not to kill.
Just enough.
A shockwave pulses outward, the impact cracking the stone beneath them.
Liang Ren staggers backward, his arm numb, his breath stuttering.
The crowd stares.
De-Reece's stance is unchanged. As if he never moved.
He doesn't look at Liang Ren.
Only at the path ahead.
The fight is over.
Liang Ren knows it too.
His pride demands a counterattack.
His body refuses.
Teeth clenched, he watches as De-Reece walks away, the talisman in hand.
And he can do nothing.