Chapter 42: Chapter 42
The Divine Flame Body Building technique arced before Ethan’s mind like a blazing comet, ablaze with possibility.
But its brilliance without the accompaniment of the elusive strange flames was like an untuned instrument—endless potential, yet voiceless.
He did not even dare dream of the innate spiritual fire, the next great leap among the flame ranks. Not a hint of even the lowest beast fire had crossed his path. The pathway ahead was shrouded in mist, and grasping the materials essential to awaken the technique felt at times like chasing the wind.
"It’s maddening," Ethan thought with a sigh, "to possess a heavenly formula yet lack the flames to cultivate it."
Yet fortunes favored those who dared, and fate often spun threads through hidden looms.
By virtue of the jade pendant—its regal purple sheen bearing the mark of mysterious patronage—Ethan now held the key to roam as he wished throughout the Azure Origin Sect’s sprawling territories. No longer would a barred gate or closed door impede his quest. The valleys, mountains, and hidden caches beyond the sect’s heart whispered for his discovery.
With this freedom, he could journey to find the rarest treasures and, crucially, the strange flames that would breathe life into his martial path.
As night deepened and fatigue settled, Ethan gathered his precious gifts with care—scrolls, potions, and pendant alike—and prepared to rest.
Far, far away, within the timeless shadows of the Demon Sealing Cave, the chill of eternal winter gripped the air. Here, where the dead’s silent vigil was never broken, the moon’s silver blade cast a faint glow that danced on crushed stone and jagged peaks.
There, standing with his back to the abyss and gaze fixed upon the heavens, was the Elder Azel. His years etched upon a visage only hardened further by uncounted battles, Azel’s posture radiated a calm strength befitting a man whose power whispered through centuries.
Suddenly, like a wisp unraveling from the darkness itself, a figure descended upon the sacred grounds—Ash Burn, the enigmatic Supreme Elder. The moonlight traced his broad shoulders and the grey cascading beard, his presence as overwhelming as the legends proclaim.
Azel turned, his eyes lighting up respectfully.
"Elder Burn," he greeted, offering the solemn salute of the highly ranked.
"Don’t bother with such formalities," responded Ash Burn with a wave, his voice gravelly yet warm.
"Elder Burn... had you been drinking?" Azel asked, scenting faint traces of alcohol on his breath.
"Aye, your nose is as sharp as ever," laughed Ash Burn, his grin wide despite the curve of age.
"I dropped by to see this Ethan fellow you mentioned. Took a sip of his wine while I was at it."
Azel’s brows arched in amazement as Ash Burn moved inside the cave’s maw. It was a rare occasion indeed to see the Supreme Elder leave his secluded domain, and rarer still to see him personally investigate a mere exile.
The elder’s rosy cheeked demeanor hinted at satisfaction, a rare emotion for the austere man rumored never to have left the cave in decades.
"What does the Supreme Elder think of Ethan?" Azel whispered to himself.
Ash Burn’s eyes gleamed with admiration. "Mature, steady, and resolute. In this waning era of physical cultivation, he’s discovered, almost alone, a path to strength best for him. His talent is nothing short of unparalleled."
A shake of his head brought forth a rueful smile. "He’s a tightwad, though."
Curious, Azel asked, "Why would the Supreme Elder say such a thing?"
"Because the lad refuses to part with his wine," chuckled Ash Burn. "I asked, begged even, but he wouldn’t give a drop. In the end, I slipped away with two full tanks without him realizing."
Even in his drunkenness, Ash Burn’s respect was no jest.
"Ethan is one to cherish, that’s for sure. I imagine the tale of his name will spread through the heavens soon."
Azel, however, nodded thoughtfully. "Two tanks... still a small gift form a man of his potential."
Ash Burn replied with a twinkle, "True, but I gave him more than just flavors—also the Purple Dragon Order, and a martial scroll, in exchange."
Upon uttering those words, Ash Burn vanished like a shadow swallowed by night, leaving Azel breathless.
The mention struck a chord.
"The Purple Dragon Order..." Azel echoed, frozen in place.
He recalled the sacred lore—the symbols that govern all within the Azure Origin Sect.
The Purple Dragon Order—one of the highest insignias, bestowed by the Supreme Elder, and a symbol of absolute authority on the same level as the the Red Phoenix Order, the mark of the Empress herself.
Possession of the Purple Dragon Order meant the bearer’s rights rivaled even the sect leader’s, granting unrestricted passage and command across the vast expanse of the sect.
"To gift such a token to Ethan..." Azel murmured, awestruck.
"What does it mean? Is the Supreme Elder considering a disciple?"
The memory of the Supreme Elder accepting only one disciple—the Empress—lurked heavy in his mind.
"Could it be..." Azel breathed, sinking to his knees in the chill, "that Ethan’s path is intertwined with destinies far beyond our reckoning?"
Yet, a shadow of doubt crossed his thoughts. "Why would such a prodigy be dispatched to the Serene Lake to atone for a mere youthful indiscretion?"
It seemed madness.
Azel shook his head in disbelief. "To exile a prodigy for peeking at a female disciple’s bath? It reeks of injustice — a monument to the harshness of sect laws."
Still, deeper instincts whispered of schemes woven in the quiet shadows of the sect’s great halls.
"Thank the heavens I spoke openly," Azel muttered.
"For if I had remained silent, such a gem might have been damned to oblivion."
The knowledge flowed through him—hope mingled with a chill.
At dawn, the frost-stained world began anew.
Ethan rose with the sun, leaving his humble abode for the sleeping tomb.
Alone once more, he prepared for cultivation and practice.
The Black Mist Hand awaited his focus — a martial art plucked from forbidden lore, an echo of the demonic clans, pulsing with dark fire and bloodred power.
Two hours later, sweat traced the lines of his chiseled frame as the essence of the technique flowed through him.
Though far from perfect, the martial art’s core now danced inside his very marrow.
"Compression still lacks refinement," he admitted with quiet resolve.
"Two hours to truly grasp a heavenly art—is there no faster way?"
He knew others would scoff at such ambition. To master even the simplest heavenly martial art demanded months, sometimes years. Many lacked the foundation to even begin.
Yet, Ethan’s speed astonished even himself.
While elite warriors in the Territory might spend days—sometimes weeks—molding their artistry, Ethan’s mastery incubated in mere hours, a fact that whispered of his terrifying hidden potential.
Summoning his newfound power, he inscribed Black Mist Hand upon the air, condensing qi and blood into an immense crimson hand soaring through the icy mist above.
The attack’s force rocked the tomb—pines shook, earth trembled, and stone shattered.
Ethan commanded the palpable weight of the hand, controlling it for moments before hurling it forward with a detonating roar.
A violent shockwave rained destruction—trees fell like soldiers felled by a tempest, columns of earth torn asunder.
"Indeed... this is a heavenly art of terrifying might," he breathed.
But the evening’s peace shattered by an ominous presence.
Turning sharply, his gaze cut through darkened fog.
From the swirling shadows emerged a colossal silhouette.
A demonic bird, immense—even in form, a portend of calamity.
Bewildered, Ethan tensed, readying for conflict.
Suddenly, a voice called out, soft yet commanding.
"Ashira, come!"