After a tense silence, Fall Night spoke evenly.
"Are you hungry, Purple Night?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Hungry for you. You'll serve me, Fall Night—body and soul—as your master commands."
She laughed then—high, unrestrained, almost hysterical.
Several cultivators in the crowd merely glanced at them before continuing on their way.
"I was talking about food," Fall Night replied, his tone dry, flat, and almost bored.
"I know," she said simply, grinning wickedly. "So what?"
Her smile carried both mockery and promise.
"You should be grateful I'm only playing today," she added, walking toward him slowly, one step at a time. "Because one day, when my hands touch your strong, youthful body, you'll find you can't run. You won't escape me."
A soft, wicked chuckle followed.
"Hehehe…"
With that, Purple Night calmly raised the lower half of her mask, sealing away her smirk. Then she brushed past him, her cloak whispering against his.
"Now," she said, her tone returning to business, "show me the best place to eat in this frozen city, Fall Night."
Still affected by her lingering aura, Fall Night straightened and adjusted his cloak.
"One of the best spots is called The Nation," he said, "but we're not going there. We're heading to the Banner of the Crest Palace. It was famous in the past, but nowadays, it's easy to miss. Still, it's worth visiting."
"You'd better not be dragging me into one of your wild goose chases," she warned. "How far is it?"
"Fifteen minutes," he said. "Twenty minutes at most if you want to check out some vendor stalls."
She laughed softly.
"Fair enough. Tell me something while we walk. What grade was that palm strike you used against me and Jagged?"
"Grade?" Fall Night glanced sideways at her. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't tell me you don't know the rank of your own technique."
"I don't," he said honestly. "In the Midnight Clan, basic techniques are often unranked. Most aren't labeled or measured by any common standard."
Purple Night folded her arms, thinking.
"You mean to tell me an unranked skill in the Midnight Clan can produce that kind of force?"
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
She let out a soft hum of surprise.
"Unusual… though not impossible. Listen carefully, Fall Night."
Her voice shifted into the tone of a teacher—controlled, steady, and carrying weight.
"From the Awakening Plane to the Emperor Realm, there are countless layers of cultivation. Skills and techniques follow a similar hierarchy. Most of us categorize them by rank, grade, and tier, just as we categorize ferocious beasts into Tiers. It is said that a Tier 9 skill or technique is equivalent to the Emperor Realm."
"Right," Fall Night said. "Common knowledge."
"Not to everyone," she countered. "The weak can't afford that kind of knowledge."
She paused before continuing.
"A skill is a singular action—a palm, a strike, a kick—limited by the cultivator's ability to execute it. A technique, however, is a sequence. It can adapt and evolve, and with enough understanding, it can even transcend realms. With sufficient insight and refinement, even a basic art can evolve into something divine."
"Let me guess. It takes a lot of time and effort to evolve a low-rank or low-tier skill into something that puts fear into a cultivator the moment they see it."
"Correct," she said. "Yet you're slightly off in your assumption. You forgot about grade. From F-Grade to S-Grade, the grade also determines the strength and quality of a skill or technique."
Purple Night paused, her eyes flicking toward him again.
"That's why unranked techniques are dangerous. They aren't limited by a predetermined structure. They can grow infinitely—or collapse entirely. They are… potential in its rawest form."
"Let's take your [Heaven Cleaver], for example."
"Okay."
"What is the rank, grade, and tier of the skill?"
"The skill is unranked. Its grade is E, and it has no tier."
"Perfect."
Purple Night clapped her hands softly.
"From what you've told me about this skill, the most it should normally be able to output is Grade D. But something is telling me the Midnight Clan has a methodology behind why it uses unranked skills and techniques."
Fall Night shook his head slightly.
"You're wrong about the potential of the skill or technique."
Purple Night raised an eyebrow.
"In our clan, we determine a skill's strength by how the cultivator pushes it to the next level. Because of that, there are never two completely identical skills or techniques within the Midnight Clan."
"Oh, really?"
Purple Night's heart began beating faster at the thought.
How incredible were the skills and techniques of the Midnight Clan?
Fall Night smirked beneath his mask.
"Being around you, Purple Night, I've learned that nothing you do is without motive. So—what do you really want?"
Purple Night smiled beneath her mask, her voice lowering.
"I want you, Fall Night. You—and all your secrets."
Her tone was direct now, stripped of flirtation. There was only hunger in her voice—hunger for knowledge, for power, and for his secrets.
She believed that taking him—body, mind, and essence—would ignite something magnificent within her. She had no proof, only instinct.
But in this world, instinct often separated the predator from the prey.
That was why she had taken the time to explain skills and techniques so thoroughly. She wanted him to understand the rules…
Before she broke them.
Fall Night, however, understood that despite the Midnight Clan's vastness and ancient heritage, knowledge did not equate to omniscience. He wasn't foolish enough to assume otherwise.
By the time their conversation ended, the pair stood before the Banner of the Crest Palace, the faint scent of roasted spirit beast and aged wine drifting from within.
"So this is the Banner of the Crest Palace. Not too shabby for this city."
"Well, most cultivators would say otherwise. Since you have traveled this vast world, can you tell me some of the places you've been?"
"Hahaha… I can. But I won't."
Fall Night continued to scan the Banner of the Crest Palace.
A few cultivators were leaving, their drunken voices carrying through the street.
"That Palace Mistress is something to admire."
"Hush! The last cultivator who openly praised her ended up missing!"
"Those are all rumors. Besides, that Young Master of Iron Hollow has been licking her boots ever since he came here."
"Hahaha. Who asked him to challenge the prestige of the Midnight Clan?"
"Truly. Even a flood dragon is still mightier than a mature dragon in its own domain."
"Serves him right. I heard the Iron Hollow Sect was taxed more these last two years than at any other time in its long history."
"Blah, who cares about him? Let's go and see if we can find some floozies. I heard there are plenty on the third and fifth."
"Perfect!"
The two drunk cultivators stumbled past Fall Night and Purple Night without a care in the world.