A few hours later, Supreme Elder Thorne sat alone in the grand hall. All the Elders had returned to their duties, and Samael had already departed.
For a long while, she remained silent and unmoving, her gaze fixed on the empty air before her as she let her thoughts drift and settle.
Though she felt thoroughly played by Samael's cunning antics, she couldn't help but smile. She had been deceived—masterfully so—but the game was the game.
She had gambled and lost, but this was a loss she could accept.
Suddenly, the air around her trembled, and three thrones appeared in front of and adjacent to her—three other Supreme Elders had arrived.
Each was veiled beneath a mantle of thick, heavy qi, dense enough to distort the surrounding space.
"The little guy is strange," said a masculine voice. "But I do wonder, Thorne… why didn't you press the issue?"
Supreme Elder Thorne raised a brow. "The issue?"
"His knowledge," the man clarified. "How does he know about the Pagodas? Is… our network compromised? Has someone been grooming him?"
Thorne shook her head. "I doubt it. He most likely slipped through our senses."
"But…" a feminine voice joined in from another throne, sharp and poised. "…I have been personally monitoring him the entire time. Are we to imply he can fool the senses of a Supreme Elder?"
Thorne gave a light shrug. "It wouldn't surprise me. A Heaven Chosen remains a Heaven Chosen."
Though no one replied, all inwardly nodded in agreement.
"Well," said the third Supreme Elder, their androgynous voice smooth and sweet, "I suppose this is something to celebrate. He and his siblings have been showing promise of truly ridiculous depths."
"If that's the case, we should activate their revival stations," Thorne added, her tone firm. "With how reckless they're being, it's best to be cautious."
"If they die, and the revival takes too long… I fear the Main Houses may punish us. And if they do…"
No more words were spoken.
—
[Myriad Truth Region – Ashen Pupil Capital]
The streets of the capital were more crowded than usual.
Flocks of cultivators and mortals flooded the stone pathways, their footsteps and voices blending into a steady hum—a perpetual, strangely soothing buzz that hung over the city.
People from all walks of life moved about, wandering between market stalls, exploring the wonders of the capital. Yet no matter their station, all had one thing in common—the rumors hanging at the edges of every whispered conversation.
Rumors about the youngest royal heir.
Word spread that he would soon be stripped of his royal immunity. But beyond that, even wilder speculations stirred heated debates: why had such news been leaked at all?
Surely the Empire had known well in advance. And if so, why hadn't they quashed the rumors immediately—true or false?
No one had answers, and that uncertainty only fanned the flames of curiosity.
Amidst the crowds, Samael walked unnoticed, weaving through the busy streets like a phantom. Not far behind him, Elder Dalia trailed silently, her presence masking his own. To the world, he was less visible than a shadow.
Above the clouds, across rooftops, and even within the sewers beneath the cobblestone, countless hidden experts watched and waited—ensuring his protection.
This was royal immunity: constant, unseen guardianship by the Empire's elite. And soon, he would lose it. Worse, the entire world knew.
It was an open invitation.
Samael didn't know who had leaked the information, but it was far from unexpected.
Still, at this moment, he cared for none of it. His only goal in challenging the Pagodas had been to secure one thing: freedom to roam the Empire, to move and act as he pleased.
Why?
Because if his plans were to succeed, he needed to begin his cultivation path much earlier than allowed.
And it would begin today.
As he moved through the throngs of people, he brought a finger to his lips and bit down. He stopped walking, blood dripping onto his palm as he began to draw a series of symbols.
Runes—complex, ancient, drawn with his own blood.
Elder Dalia's eyes narrowed, alarm bells ringing in her head. She surged forward, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder, her gaze darting toward his palm.
'…Runes?'
Her eyes widened.
In the next moment, some of the ambient qi surrounding her was siphoned away—sucked into Samael's body, then channeled into the runes on his palms.
The blood-lit runes glowed bright.
Samael looked up at her with an apologetic smile.
"I apologize. I'll have to be a bother once again. But it'll all be worth it—just persist a little longer."
Before Elder Dalia could respond, Samael vanished.
Gone—utterly, completely.
'What…?'
She turned in every direction, her eyes scanning the air, the street, the rooftops. Nothing. Not even a trace.
She couldn't believe it.
He had escaped not only her sight, but also that of the royal guard—despite being under full surveillance.
Then, the mental transmissions came in: panicked voices, guards confused and shouting over one another. Samael was gone.
How? How had he drawn a teleportation formation of that complexity using nothing but his blood?
How was it possible for a mere mortal to activate such a high-tier spell?
How could such a formation escape her detection?
Elder Dalia exhaled slowly, regaining her composure.
But as her breath steadied, an image flickered in her mind—that irritating little smirk of his.
And her temper snapped.
'…That little—'
—
Samael crashed down from the sky, slamming into the hard stone ground of the capital with a dull, wet thud. The wind was knocked from his lungs. Bones cracked and broke.
But instead of pain or anger, a smile spread across his face.
With great effort, he pushed himself up, limbs trembling, and surveyed his surroundings.
He was still in the capital—but in a far less crowded sector.
More specifically, he had landed directly in front of an old, dilapidated shop. And just as his gaze fell upon the cracked sign hanging above its door, a voice echoed from within.
"Oh my, look how pretty my little boy is. A few more broken bones, and I might not have been able to hold myself back."
Samael chuckled, limping forward as he pushed open the shop's worn wooden door.
"I missed you too, Aegon."