After the discussion with Riley concluded and the terms of their agreement were settled, Daoist Twelve Fists left with a spring in his step—a rare sight for someone who had lived for over two millennia.
His heart, once heavy with uncertainty, now burned with purpose.
The weight of countless years, of regrets and missed chances, suddenly felt lighter.
For the first time in centuries, he could see a true future ahead of him.
A path beyond stagnation, beyond death.
He wasted no time in spreading the word.
Within hours, he had gathered the other high-ranking cultivators from the Nine Cauldrons Continent—the old wise fogeys who had remained in the Austere Clan for safety and cultivation, unwilling to risk the endless dangers of wandering the wider world.
These were not reckless men and women. They were survivors.
Veterans of countless battles and near-death encounters.
