Supreme Elder Thorne, the highest-ranked elder present, sighed deeply.
Looking into Samael's eyes, she could see the intent behind his actions—the unwavering conviction. And in that instant, she knew: there would be no persuading him.
Even if she could somehow manage it, it was already too late.
He had to do this.
But was she truly supposed to let a child of the royal line—a prodigy of unmatched potential—march toward his death so easily? Especially one with such promise?
To the Tharim Lineage, talent wasn't measured by conventional metrics. They did not place worth on what was tangible—cultivation level, raw strength, or innate qi density. Instead, their gaze pierced the intangible. They valued the subtle things that set one apart: the quiet tenacity, the defiant soul, the will to transcend limits.
And Samael embodied that more than any before him.
He was born healthy and strong—but without any qi roots. In almost any other lineage, this would have marked him for life, rendering him a mortal without cultivation potential.
But such trivial obstacles meant nothing to the Tharims. To lesser factions with meager resources, yes—this would have been a death sentence. But the Tharims? If they wished, they could simply implant a set of qi roots into him. Or better still, commission an elder to craft a perfectly tailored set just for him.
So, from their perspective, this had never been a cause for concern.
In fact, when it was discovered that Samael lacked qi roots, there was celebration—because it meant he would be forced to forge his own path from scratch. A blank slate upon which perfection could be written. It would temper his will, refine his soul, and elevate his potential even higher.
And Samael had delivered.
Beside only a handful of individuals in the entire history of the Lineage, he stood as one of the most extraordinary prospects they had ever produced. And beyond that, he was one of only three royal heirs of this generation.
He was perfect.
But now… none of it would matter.
Supreme Elder Thorne could not—would not—watch a flame so vibrant be extinguished by nothing more than youthful arrogance and reckless pride.
So, she would gamble.
A gamble Samael was likely hoping she would take.
'Maybe I can use this…' Thoughts flashed through her mind like lightning—rapid and layered—as she quietly formulated a plan. A strategy. A way to transform this mess into an opportunity.
Her gaze swept across the sea of elders encircling her. They met her eyes, and a stream of silent mental transmissions flowed between them. A flurry of debate ignited—rapid, fervent, and complex.
Samael remained still through it all, the loose dark grey silk of his robes rustling gently in the breeze. His expression remained serene. Detached.
He seemed indifferent to the discussion—or rather, unaware of its nature. As if he didn't fully grasp what was happening before him.
Moments passed. Then, one by one, the elders began to nod. The tension softened, and they reclined within their thrones.
Supreme Elder Thorne met Samael's gaze again. The concern in her eyes had faded, replaced by something else—a warm, reassuring smile. The smile a parent gives a child to assure them that everything is under control.
That there is nothing to fear.
"Young master, you seem adventurous," she said at last, her voice aged and gentle, yet steeped in undeniable authority. "Are you… adventurous?"
Samael looked at her calmly.
She resembled a loving grandmother in every way. Her face bore the marks of time with grace—wrinkled and wise, yet reflecting the refined beauty of a woman who had lived long and well. Her long, wavy platinum-white hair flowed like moonlight, and her robes of silver and brown hung elegantly, embroidered with symbols of authority and balance.
But it was her eyes—gentle bronze, like twin suns glowing in the midnight hour—that held the true weight of her presence.
She did not impose it. She did not need to. It was felt, instinctively.
"I'd hope so, Supreme Elder," Samael answered with a soft smile. "The world is vast and ever-changing. It would be a shame not to partake in its games."
Her gaze narrowed slightly, almost imperceptibly, at his words. But as they settled into her thoughts, her smile deepened.
"Is that so?" she mused. Her elbow slid to rest upon her throne's armrest, her chin lightly cradled in a closed fist. "Then, let us change the structure of the journey you wish to undertake."
"Clearly, if we have summoned every available Elder to this hall for your decision, it means we believe what you seek to do is of great danger to you. And as Elders, one of our core duties is to guide and protect the royal bloodline."
"In extreme cases such as this, rules can be… bent—though not ignored."
She paused to let her words settle.
"Once a Pagoda trial is invoked, it is set in stone. That is the will of the Pagodas themselves—not ours. But you are not ready. I doubt you even know what the Pagodas truly entail."
"So here is my proposition—I will extend the period before you are forced to enter the Pagodas. From three days… to four months."
Her voice remained calm, but her words struck the chamber with weight.
"In that time, we will assign you two tasks. If you complete them, we will allow your request."
Silence thickened the air.
"And those tasks are…?" Samael asked, still feigning ignorance, his tone light.
"The first is simple," she replied. "From this moment on, your royal immunity is suspended. You will participate in the Cullings of the Yin Houses—and you must place in the top three. Only then will you regain your immunity."
"And only then," she continued, "will you be allowed to undertake the second task."
A flicker of uncertainty passed across Samael's face as he sensed the faint smirks on the faces of the Elders.
They wanted him to see them. They wanted him to understand that they wanted him to understand.
This was not part of his plan.
"You will lose your royal immunity once again, and you will have to traverse the Blind Soul Forest—the only road to the Pagodas."
"You must go alone. You must survive. And above all, you must do it before your four-month window ends."
They waited for him to collapse under the pressure, to falter, to protest.
Instead, Samael sighed with relief.
His body visibly relaxed, and he shook his head with a small smile.
If this was the cost… then so be it.
While the challenge was certainly close to a death sentence, it wasn't much worse than what he had already planned to do behind their backs.
"Great. Deal accepted," he said cheerfully. "I suppose I'll now be allowed to roam freely through the empire, yes? Surely I can't be expected to prepare for such a journey while locked behind these walls."
The Elders were left… speechless.
Had this been Samael's true goal all along?