Lin Shu placed the shards back into his ring before leaving the small rented room. Once outside the town, he made sure he was far enough away before breaking into a run, heading straight toward his destination.
"Gloomvale isn't too far from here… I should be able to reach it soon enough," he muttered to himself.
The western lands stretched before him, cold and misty—a perfect place for ambushes and assassinations. That was why he needed to reach the main road quickly. It had been built for this very reason: lined with special lamps that cut through the haze, preventing the mist from rendering sight useless.
Lin Shu's body moved with sharp precision. His speed was now at a level he was certain could rival a high-tier movement technique. More importantly, the training he had forced himself through granted him far greater control over his body. His steps no longer thundered against the earth, cracking stone and grass beneath him. Instead, he ran with measured force, each step firm but quiet, never reckless. He no longer tore through the ground with raw power. Instead, his movements flowed—controlled, balanced.
Though he was far from the level of a trained assassin, he had learned enough to avoid immediate detection. That was all he needed. Time—to strike, or to vanish.
The land around him shifted into a sea of tall grass, each blade rising to his waist, some even brushing against his shoulders. The mist here was heavy, rolling down until it clung to the ground itself. It curled thick between the grass, swallowing his vision inch by inch.
Lin Shu continued across the vast grasslands at top speed, the wind tearing at his hair as the world blurred past him. He slipped through the misty forest, his steps silent as shadows, until the trees broke into a wide open field. In the far distance, faint light flickered—a sign of the road to Gloomvale. Without hesitation, he surged forward, the pounding of his footsteps steady and relentless.
As he advanced down the road, more and more people began to appear. Some ran, others walked, yet most were left behind in an instant as Lin Shu swept past them like a phantom. They were all heading to Gloomvale, but an unspoken rule kept order among them. Those who ran stayed to the road's edges, those who walked remained in the center, and none dared to disrupt the flow. Lin Shu didn't slow—he carved through the road like a knife, and none stepped in his way.
Before long, the path grew crowded with carriages creaking under their loads, beasts snorting as cultivators rode them steadily forward. To avoid losing momentum, Lin Shu slipped to the side, running parallel to the road, keeping just within reach of the forest's edge.
Structures began to rise on the horizon—huts, inns, shops—and then, something greater. A magnificent city unfurled before him, its colossal gate dominating the landscape. Lines of dark light ran like rivers along its edges and core, each etched with ancient inscriptions. The work of master formationists—so precise, so profound—that even formation specialists lingered in awe before it, whispering at the level of mastery required to craft such a wonder.
This was the Darklight Gate, entrance to Gloomvale City, one of the empire's four major cities.
A long line of travelers stretched before it. Guards stood in rows, their presence sharp and oppressive, yet divided. On one side stood the empire's soldiers in their iron discipline, on the other, disciples of the VenomHeart Sect and Ironblood Sect, their gazes sharp as blades. Together, they checked each entrant, scrutinizing papers, tokens, and faces. None entered without approval.
Lin Shu waited, patient and cold. When his turn came, he stepped forward to a smaller door, his movements calm, and placed down a pouch of gold. One hundred coins vanished into the guard's hand, and the door opened.
Inside, the city revealed itself in full. Gloomvale did not disappoint. It was a city of scale and order, its pulse steady despite the empire's weaker hold. Though here imperial law was diluted, its grip balanced by the authority of the sects, there was no chaos. Instead, it breathed a different kind of freedom, one only possible under shared rule. The empire could not impose all its decrees without the sects' consent, and that gave the people space to live differently.
It was this freedom that interested Lin Shu. Among many things Gloomvale offered, one stood above all: the battle arena. A place where blood met coin, where men wagered on victory and glory, and where masks could conceal a fighter's name and past. Lin Shu's eyes hardened with intent. There, he could fight without shackles, gain both experience and coin, and all without fear of recognition.
The largest arena was said to be owned by an Emberwake Realm cultivator, and even the sects themselves invested in it, sending disciples to fight for profit and prestige.
For Lin Shu, it was the perfect ground.
"There's many things I can do here… I could try joining a mercenary or assassination organization, but I don't know how to approach them. My best shot is for them to come to me. If I fight in the battle arena and gain enough popularity, I'm bound to get offers from all kinds of organizations."
Lin Shu's thoughts sharpened. "But first, I should gather as much information about the arena as possible."
He began moving through the city, asking pedestrians now and then, sometimes bribing others to confirm what he learned. Piece by piece, the picture grew clearer. The arena was located near the city center, and its name was The Valor Arena. Its owner was Kuang Baotu, a man who went by the title Valor Seeker.
Kuang Baotu's reputation spread across the western lands—renowned for his love of glory and battle. His most famous deed was a clash with Xie Tianhun The Ironfist master, a former general of the empire. That detail Lin Shu obtained from an information broker he found with relative ease. After recognizing the subtle symbols leading to their safehouses, Lin Shu had no trouble tracking down members of the Mistveil Serpents, one of the west's most well-known information networks.
Through them, he learned more. Kuang Baotu was not merely a fighter—he was a battle-mad beast. The empire itself had chained his tendencies, issuing repeated warnings to restrain his thirst for war. The man was said to be eager to wage battle against anyone, even entire clans, for the smallest reason.
Lin Shu's expression hardened. Someone like that was dangerous. He had already seen what a Rank 2 cultivator could do—let alone a Rank 3. If Kuang Baotu truly lost control, he could level the arena in an instant.
Still, there was reassurance. For all his madness, Kuang Baotu had his limits. He never targeted those weaker than himself unless provoked or insulted. More importantly, he would never risk damaging the arena—the empire, sects, and major clans would never tolerate it. And even someone like Kuang Baotu wasn't reckless enough to destroy the very place that brought him wealth.
Lin Shu moved toward the city's center, his steps steady and unhurried. Along the way, he committed every alley, market street, and hidden turn to memory. If one day he needed to vanish from pursuit, these paths would be the difference between escape and capture.
By the time he reached the Valor Arena, he had already shaped an ivory mask across his face—featureless, pale, and cold, like a face carved from bone.
The building before him loomed grand, its size dominating the plaza around it. Its walls were alive with murals of ancient beasts and cultivators, painted with such violence and reverence that they seemed almost to move in the torchlight. One figure in particular drew all eyes: the Golden Carnage, an extinct beast Kuang Baotu had long idolized. To him, it was the purest embodiment of war, a monster that thrived in massacre. He had often declared that if it still walked the earth, he would make it his own soldier and valor seeking companion, no matter the cost.
Lin Shu's gaze lingered only for a breath before sliding away. A beast's myth meant little to him.
He stepped into the arena's golden halls. The interior was lavish, the wealth on display enough to blind the poor. Polished stone floors reflected shimmering lanternlight, and columns wrapped in banners of crimson and black towered high above.
The noise struck him next. Hundreds of voices filled the air—shouts, laughter, wagers, drunken arguments, and the sharp hum of anticipation. Overhead, four immense boards floated in the sky, each glowing faintly with inscriptions of Qi.
On them, names were displayed in pairs, locked in battles yet to begin. The copper, silver, and gold boards were impressive enough, but the last was unlike the rest. Its frame gleamed with heavy gilding, crowned at its head by a cerulean aether shard that pulsed faintly with inner light.
Lin Shu narrowed his eyes. A shard like that was worth no less than a hundred thousand gold coins, and here it was used as nothing more than a decoration.
"I guess if I want wealth," he thought, the faintest edge of hunger stirring within him, "this is the right place for me."