He’d thought Burnwater was just saying things when he said there was a special charm to these little worlds. But he kind of got it. The place was fragile, sure, but the more time he spent here, the neater he found it.

  He trekked across peaks of seven-colored greenery and across peaks belching fire. He crossed a bare red-sand desert where the stars gleamed in the naked sky and winds surging with spirits carved murals in the dunes—the memories of those ghosts washed away by sundown.

  In all, it took a few weeks of in-world time. A nice little trip—and one he could afford to take his time on. He had some time before the challenge began.

  The moment he’d felt those demon-power geysers bursting with that dreamy astra essence, he knew where he was going.

  He took out that random stick Avery gave him that one time for no reason. It made for a pretty good walking stick. He reached Krag’s Outpost with a day to spare.

  ***

  Just a li away, the Wandering Monk stood with one foot on the tip of his staff, seeking to find his center.

  In testing moments, he liked to ground himself. Folk would look at him strangely, and he would smile and say it was no different than a man taking deep, calming breaths. He sought the earth where they sought the air.

  But today the deep earth was of no help.

  It trembled, unsure. And when he sought the air, the winds hesitated, like Fate itself held its breath…

  Something huge was coming. Something earth-shattering.

  The staff in his hands—the pillar of the drowned god—could expand to the size of a mountain and shrink to the size of a pin.

  But even it would be helpless…

  Only—what was coming?

  ***

  Not a li away, General Li Zhang practiced his forms, shirtless, sweating. So often the public’s heroes disappointed them—in person, they were nothing like they’d imagined. Flabbier or smellier—perhaps they stood a head shorter or squeaked when they spoke.

  Then there was Li Zhang.

  Li Zhang was a war hero straight out of myth—from his perfectly sculpted muscles to his dastardly grin.

  Storm clouds gathered on the tip of his spear. He’d sought out the hottest winds of the day, winds that scorched glass out of sands, and stood there, letting them scour his face.

  He grinned.

  “Captain Shou!” he called. “I have to say, I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

  “You have a good feeling every fight.”

  “And when have I been wrong?”

  The captain snorted, but he couldn’t argue.

  It was legend by now that the last time Li Zhang had lost a battle was when he was nine years old.

  “Tell me, Captain. Do you believe in Fate?” Zhang turned a lazy grin on Shou, a grin that’d charmed the skirts off half the young women in the Kingdom, it seemed to Shou.

  “I do not,” said Shou. “…Except for you. Lucky bastard.”

  Zhang laughed.

  Shou sighed. “You can’t keep getting away with it, you know. All these reckless charges, all these last stands, they make for good stories now. It all works out, until it doesn’t.” He said it almost pleadingly.

  Zhang shrugged. “I hear that every battle,” he said. “And yet…”

  “Battle is one thing.” Shou nodded to the skies, at the airships looming like storm clouds. “Those folks up there? They’re half-step Ascendants. You’ll need a lot more than luck to take them down.”

  “Maybe,” said Zhang.

  He wiped some sweat off his brow. There was that grin again. “But I haven’t lost yet.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Cocky brat,” snorted Shou. But there was some grudging warmth in the old veteran’s voice.

  Something about Li Zhang made even him believe—just a little.

  ***

  White Tiger Sacred Land airships

  The Bastard Prince Tatsuo stood just a few li off—and though he saw them out in the desert, he couldn’t make them out. This high up, they were all ants to him.

  “After today,” he said quietly. “Even Father can’t deny me anymore.”

  “Perhaps.” His Uncle Koga shrugged. “Perhaps not. Oh, don't look at me like that.”

  Then he looked at the faded stars, hands clasped behind his back.

  “The stars… I’ve been scrying. Lately the constellations are not linking as they should. They speak of a threat. Perhaps a trap? Something’s blocking the signs…”

  “Of course there’s a threat. We lay siege to a Demon temple.”

  “No,” said Koga. He gestured to the masses outside the sand, and beyond, out to the horizon. “It comes from out there.”

  “The natives?” said the Prince. He hardly gave them a glance.

  Tatsuo was descended from the White Tiger. He might’ve been the bastard son, but his blood was the purest in a thousand years—it was said he had sixteen drops of Godbeast Blood in his veins.

  No man on this continent was his match. No man was even worthy of his attention.

  By any measure—blood or merit—there was no better claim to the Tiger Throne. Every man in the White Tiger Sacred Land knew it, except his Father.

  Fine, he thought. Just you watch.

  He knew his true competition. He narrowed his eyes across the skies, where Princess Saori stood on the prow of the Vermilion Bird airships, long hair streaming behind her. She met his glare with a smirk.

  “Tch!”

  His face burned as he remembered their last meeting—at the Zodiac Cup, the meeting of the heirs, when he surrendered with her saber to his neck.

  This time, he swore things would be different.

  ***

  Imperial Capital, Four Winds Kingdom

  Most days at the North Wind Observatory didn’t amount to very much. Weather reports, mostly.

  The most excitement Official Dai got was when the vanes picked up Monster horde migrations. But they usually got put down pretty fast.

  There had been a scarce few spikes in the last few years.

  He was just enjoying a nice cup of jasmine tea when the readings went off the glass.

  He spat it out, splattering the glass, then wiped it—“Eh?!”

  It had to be some seismic event. A dragon’s wake? The volcanic rings of ice and fire, going off all at once? It wasn’t like the Hand of Zane, which was a massive spike in power. This was a jaw-dropping quantity of it—almost like a huge number of beasts migrating at once…

  But then it was gone again.

  He rung up Krag’s outpost, up in Gor—but no one had heard a thing.

  He supposed it had to be a malfunction.

  ***

  You could nearly feel the emotion in the air, it was so thick. It was one of those times.

  Nervousness, excitement, spite, redemption, hope, greed. People high and low, masters and paupers, had come together in a buzzing mass.

  One man sat rather apart from it all.

  Zane happily slurped away at some noodles in a dive bar.

  He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and checked his pocket watch.

  It was about time, it looked like. Sure enough, folks were piling out.

  He finished up his last few noodles, tipped the wait staff, only to find they’d also run out.

  Then he shrugged and left.

  ***

  “The portal opens in five minutes!” Even boosted by an amulet necklace, the reedy voice struggled to make itself heard over the bubbling mass. A twig of an official stood on a box, trying to keep them all in his sight.

  A dozen portals, grayed out, stretched across the sands. Each loomed like a cavern mouth, and still they’d struggle to fit all the experts gathered.

  The big sects, especially those with peak Nascent and even half-Ascendant experts, lined up first.

  “No need to push! You'll all have your chance,” cried the official. “Everyone who enters faces the same trials—and the portals won’t close ‘til you’re all done!”

  He cleared his throat. “It’ll be a test of endurance. You’ll be thrust straight into the underworld—as best as the imperial scryers can tell, that means millions of demons, tens of millions, potentially. They’ll pour in from the horizon, from all sides—the longer you last, the stronger the waves! It starts at Foundation but grows quickly stronger. No one knows the peak. As best we can tell, those who make it past 20 minutes will have a chance to enter—admitted in order of placing. To all those gathered, the King would like to say—best of luck!”

  The crowd’s restlessness only grew. He cleared his throat, only louder—

  “And might I remind you, although we stand in an outpost, you remain on the lands of King Four Winds! That means disputes are to be settled through His Majesty’s officials. The King will tolerate no grudge matches and certainly no murders on his territory. As to the prizes—”

  “We know,” growled a man in a loincloth. “Will you shut up already?”

  “Excuse me!” squeaked the official, indignant. “Look here. I speak with the voice of the King—”

  “I didn’t know the King’s balls hadn’t dropped!”

  A peal of raucous laughter.

  Desperate, the official looked to Li Zhang for support.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” said Li Zhang, and winked. He was the second most relaxed guy there. “Just enjoy the show.”

  The portals will open in thirty seconds.

  Hunger filled folks’ expressions. They stood at the starting line of an epic race. What waited for them on the other side?

  One guy was pretty sure.

  There were a cluster of folks off to the side, in black vests and bowler hats, waving tickers.

  “We’ve got every known fighter Core and over accounted for and scored!” shouted a squat man, mustache bristling. “It’s not over after your run’s over—come by Old Rao’s Pavilion for odds on every master. Might be you’ll win back the price of your ticket, might be a whole lot more!”

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  “Alright!” said the official sternly. “No pushing, now—”

  The portals opened.

  Skyhammer Kang roared a battle-cry, and his brigade charged.

  The rest of the crowd surged through. The official screamed and went down flailing. He curled up and waited until the shaking stopped.

  “You alright?”

  A big, rough hand reached down before him.

  “Y-yes—thank you—” He wobbled to his feet, blinking through cracked spectacles.

  “No worries.”

  He couldn’t get a good look at the guy’s face. “What’s your name?” he gasped.

  “…Don’t worry about it.”

  With that, he strode through the portal.