Lin Shu followed the broad, stone-laid road toward the distant Lightning Peak Ranges, the jagged silhouettes of the mountains half-hidden by drifting curtains of rain. Somewhere within those peaks lay one of the empire's four great cities—a place under the empire's direct rule. Its name was Stormhold City, famed for the way the peaks caught the dawn sun and made the whole skyline glow like it was forged from sapphire.
The rain came in steady sheets now, pattering against his shoulders and running down his mask. The road was wide enough for six carriages abreast, bordered by old plane trees whose leaves trembled with every gust of wind. Rainwater streamed down the dark bark and gathered into thin rivulets that cut across the stone slabs.
Here and there, roadside stalls had taken shelter beneath waxed canvas awnings. Merchants shouted half-heartedly to passing travelers, their voices half-drowned in the rainfall. Carts rattled by at reckless speeds, wheels splashing muddy arcs into the air, while drovers whipped their beasts to outpace the pursuit of lesser blood beasts that had wandered too close to the trade route.
Lin Shu kept walking, silent, his eyes flicking over every face and every shadow. The closer he drew to the mountains, the denser the traffic became. More and more buildings rose from the mist—inns with red lanterns swaying in the wind, low tea-houses fragrant with boiling leaves, shops crammed with goods from distant provinces. Somewhere above, cultivators drifted through the rain, some riding beasts, others standing effortlessly upon their flying swords, their silhouettes flashing in and out of the fog.
Soon the road widened again, sloping upward, and through the thinning veil of rain, Lin Shu saw it—a colossal gate that dwarfed everything around it. The Palelight Gate was carved from seamless blocks of pale granite, streaked faintly blue by the minerals of the mountains. At its center, an archway rose high enough for a fortress tower to pass beneath, its doors sheathed in dark ironwood banded with engraved silver. The city's crest—a bolt of lightning piercing a stylized mountain—gleamed faintly under the overcast sky.
Beyond that gate lay Stormhold City, a place where wealth and danger walked hand in hand.
Lin Shu was halted at the city gates, where he handed over the entrance fee without a word. The empire's soldiers stood tall in polished armor, rain streaking down their helms. They barked the usual warnings about fighting inside the city, their voices loud enough for the entire line of travelers to hear—reminders meant for all, not just him.
Once inside, Lin Shu's steps slowed. The grand city stretched before him, a place where wealth and artistry walked hand in hand. The streets gleamed from the rain, reflecting a forest of towering buildings adorned with the empire's banners—scarlet silk marked with the imperial crest, snapping sharply in the wind.
The architecture was unlike the simple stone or timber homes he was used to. Here, every structure seemed crafted with deliberate elegance, as if even a teahouse or a merchant's stall was meant to be admired as a piece of art. Slender pavilions stood on carved pillars shaped like coiling dragons, their curved roofs tiled in jade-green or midnight-blue. Wooden houses bore intricate lattice windows, each frame etched with flowing patterns that caught the rain like tiny rivers. Shops opened onto the street beneath hanging lanterns of colored glass, their warm light flickering against the wet cobblestones.
The larger buildings rose like mountains of artistry—grand halls with sweeping eaves that stretched so far they seemed to embrace the street below, palatial estates wrapped in white stone walls, and multi-tiered towers crowned with golden ornaments that glinted even under the gray sky.
It was a city that did not simply exist; it declared itself—a place that wore beauty like armor, making it clear who ruled here and how firmly their hand shaped the world.
Lin Shu considered wandering the city later, but for now, his priority was gathering the materials for the Thunderforge Physique. He moved from shop to shop, asking around, and to his surprise, he found everything on the list. Then again, if he couldn't find them here—where they grew and formed naturally—how could he hope to get them anywhere else?
He purchased a sizeable haul: storm vine roots, shattered sky crystals, and the fangs of azure serpents. The total came to fifteen thousand gold coins. The recipe made it clear he'd fail more than once, so he bought extra. He wasn't an alchemist, nor was he versed in the path of medicine—he couldn't refine pills with an alchemist's precision or perform surgeries with their steady mastery. But that only convinced him further: learning alchemy wasn't optional.
Whether for healing pills or complex surgical techniques, it was a skill worth having. Of course, he had no intention of practicing on himself. He'd find "volunteers" among the missing—preferably bandits, the kind no one would miss.
Renting a small, cheap room in a backstreet inn, Lin Shu set up his tools. He wanted the pills ready by the time he secured the lightning eagle's heart. According to the art's instructions, the heart would lose its potency within twenty-four hours, so he needed everything prepared in advance. In his mind, a week of practice should be enough.
He was wrong.
A month slipped away in failure after failure, each attempt eating through his supplies. By the time he succeeded, he had burned through an extra seven thousand gold coins. Outside, the weather shifted—snow now fell in steady waves. The Lightning Peak Ranges were always cold, but their seasons followed their own strange rhythm, unlike the milder lands he came from.
He had grown up on the outskirts of the central region. To the north lay the jagged, storm-shrouded Lightning Peak Ranges and the city of storm hold one of the major cities of the empire and where the Palelight gate stood. Far to the south stretched the Crimson Ember Wastes, where the Empire was currently raising the Brightlight Gate in the city of Radiance Bastion.
In the west stood the Empire's third great city, Gloomvale, home to the Darklight Gate and two of the region's great sects. The east held the gleaming Goldenlight Gate within Sunreach City, where the remaining two great sects rooted their influence.
The Empire had built these gates as monuments to its strength, ensuring its dominance was carved into the land itself. The sects, unwilling to bend, responded by planting powerful branch halls in every great city, turning each into a battleground of quiet, endless struggle for control.
Lin Shu's days in the city were not spent idly. The last time he had tried, he had failed in producing the Thunderforge Pills, his control over fire and medicinal fusion still lacking the precision such a recipe demanded. That failure lingered in his mind, not as shame, but as a mark of unfinished business. Until he succeeded, he refused to let the matter rest.
Whenever his refining session ended without success, he would sometimes leave the city under the cover of night, heading toward the rougher outskirts and the forests beyond. There, he hunted low-life bandits and wandering scum, using them as unwilling test subjects for certain operations he had been developing. These trials were not for cruelty's sake, but to sharpen his hands, steady his will, and make sure when the time came for more delicate procedures, there would be no hesitation and mistakes thay could endanger his life.
Each time he returned, it was as if nothing had happened—just another quiet figure walking back through the rain-washed streets of Stormhold, the faint scent of blood fading under the smell of wet stone and lantern oil.
And with the Lightningforge Pills finally complete, Lin Shu decided it was time to move on to the most dangerous step—acquiring the Thunder Eagle's heart. He had no intention of throwing himself headfirst into the ranges to wrestle such a creature. There had to be a safer, more practical way… and in a city like Stormhold, there was always someone willing to take a risk for the right price.
He spent the morning slipping gold coins into the hands of loose-tongued locals, prying loose bits of information. He learned of many places where one could hire cultivators—clans, mercenary halls, even some shadowy "unregistered" organizations whose work was quick and quiet but whose loyalty was as thin as mist. Lin Shu preferred reliability over secrecy, so he set his sights on something more stable: a sect branch.
It didn't take long before he found himself standing before the iron gates of the Stormbreak Sect branch. Two disciples in clean azure robes barred his way.
"State your business," one said, looking him up and down. His eyes lingered on Lin Shu's plain clothing, his lack of affiliation insignia.
"I wish to commission a mission," Lin Shu replied evenly.
The disciples exchanged a glance, clearly doubtful that a mid-stage Rank 1 cultivator with no affiliation could afford their services. Still, rules were rules—if he could pay, they would listen.
"Follow me," the taller one said at last.
Inside, Lin Shu noted that even a branch of the Stormbreak Sect was far more refined than the Stone Path Hall Institute he had once known. The training grounds were larger, their sparring platforms polished smooth from years of use. The library's doors stood tall and heavy, inscribed with runes that hummed faintly with protective energy. Disciples moved with purpose, their movements sharper and more disciplined.
He was guided to a large pavilion where wealthy cultivators stood in quiet conversation with robed attendants. At the center sat a long desk, behind which a man with ink-stained fingers sorted through scrolls and mission slips.
"I would like to commission a hunt," Lin Shu said when it was his turn.
The man didn't look up. "Name and rank of the beast. Any special conditions."
"A Rank 1, peak-stage Thunder Eagle," Lin Shu replied. "I must receive its corpse within ten hours of its death."
That made the man pause, finally lifting his eyes to study Lin Shu. The request was precise, and that time limit… ambitious. Still, his tone remained businesslike.
"That will be 2,500 gold coins if you want high-stage cultivators," he said. "However—few high-stagers will risk that task. The terrain is treacherous, and a Thunder Eagle will not land unless forced. If it dies mid-flight, the fall will ruin the corpse. I recommend a peak-stage cultivator. That way, the job is done cleanly the first time. Price for that is 5,000 gold coins."
Lin Shu considered it. It made sense—only someone with absolute confidence could strike such a beast down and still preserve the heart intact. After a moment, he nodded.
"I'll take the peak-stage option."