The horizon rose like a blade.
Mountains jagged as broken swords loomed on either side of the ancient trade path. The mist crawled low, whispering across stone and root like a serpent in prayer.
Beyond the ridgeline, perched like a crown on the spine of the Cloudvein Continent, stood the city of Linhai (临海) — the Spire of Silver Death.
Rael stared.
It wasn't a city.
It was a monument.
A colossal spiral tower jutted from the mountain's core, wrapped in rings of floating jade platforms and interwoven bridges. Massive cranes of bronze and qi-rope pulsed with arcane light, lifting crates filled with spirit ores and talismans.
The city sprawled below it, built in layers — outer rings of ramshackle shacks and forge-smoke, middle tiers of pavilions, dojo halls, and cultivation towers, and at the center, untouched by dust or crowd, the Silver Spire rose into the clouds.
Yue Qingshi stood beside him, arms crossed, her hair swept back in the wind.
"You still want to walk into that?"
Rael didn't answer immediately.
He watched the glowing sky barges drift in overhead. Cultivators in flowing robes rode atop massive spirit beasts — jade-eyed falcons, fire-hoofed stags, one even astride a hovering turtle carved with prayer wheels.
And somewhere inside, waiting like a buried nail…
Was the name he had been chasing.
The man behind the massacre.
The one who'd ordered his village to burn.
Rael finally spoke. "We don't walk in."
Yue turned to him. "Then?"
"We climb."
---
Outer Ring – Lower Linhai Market
Chaos.
That was Rael's first impression.
The outer markets of Linhai didn't follow order — they pulsed with hunger, barter, blood, and ambition. Street stalls sold talisman pouches sewn with beast tendon. One vendor claimed he had a real Phoenix feather sealed in a bottle of ink. Another offered black-market cultivation techniques, whispered in secret beneath heavy cloaks.
Children with painted masks ran errands for mercenaries. Beggars meditated beneath flickering rune lamps, hoping to enter the dream realm for a single copper coin.
The air reeked of burning qi stones, spirit wine, and desperation.
Yue watched with narrowed eyes. "This place is a trap wrapped in incense and silver."
Rael ducked under a hanging incense line.
"That's why I like it."
They stopped before a crooked tea shop tucked between two apothecaries. Its name was etched on a cracked signboard: Three Cups of Silence.
Rael stepped in.
The man behind the counter didn't look up. He was blind, his eyes veiled in silk, but the weight of his spiritual presence made the walls pulse.
"Sit," he rasped. "What are you buying?"
Rael placed a blood-stained coin on the counter. Not currency — but an oath token from the Deadwind Crypt.
"I'm buying a name."
Silence fell.
Yue leaned slightly forward.
The old man's hands moved. He sniffed the token. His expression never changed.
Then he nodded once, and whispered:
"Gao Shen. Core Disciple of the Severed Lotus Sect. One of the Cloudvein Trio. Wears the mask of silence. And he has your memory."
Rael's fingers curled.
"Where is he?"
"Where you don't belong," the man replied. "In the Spire."
---
Evening – Broken Rooftops of Upper Linhai
Rael stood on the roof, watching the lights flicker in the distance.
Linhai changed at night.
The glamour faded. The Sect banners dimmed. And the real power stirred — assassins moving like smoke across rooftops, rogue cultivators dueling in alleyways, secret trades done by hand-seal and blood.
Yue approached quietly, holding two buns wrapped in rice leaf.
"Dinner. From a stall that hasn't poisoned anyone this week."
He took one. Ate without comment.
Yue studied him for a while. "You remember that name, don't you?"
Rael nodded.
"Gao Shen was in the courtyard. Watching. When the fire started."
"And now?"
"He's up there." Rael looked toward the distant Silver Spire. "Laughing. Practicing techniques he bought with my suffering."
Yue hesitated. "You're not strong enough yet."
"I don't need to beat him."
She blinked. "Then what?"
"I just need to make sure he knows I'm here."
Rael stood and unfurled the dark cloth strapped to his back.
Within it was a bow — black-lacquered, curved slightly like a crescent moon. The one he forged himself from ironwood and beast tendon. No inscription. No Qi runes.
Just raw hate.
He notched a spirit arrow.
"Wind direction?" he asked.
Yue glanced up. "Northwest."
He shifted.
Breathed in.
Held the memory.
Lia's laughter.
And let it fly.
---
Silver Spire – Central Arena Balcony
The arrow struck the marble post beside Gao Shen's head and embedded with a shriek of black flame.
Gasps rang out.
A dozen disciples scrambled. One woman screamed. Guards raised halberds.
Gao Shen did not move.
He simply looked down from the balcony at the street rooftops far below.
There was no one there.
But he felt it.
A presence. Cold. Patient. Familiar.
A ghost from a grave he thought long buried.
His lips curled.
"So you survived."