Night enveloped Blackridge Forest outside Yewell City, alive with the hum of insects and the distant calls of nightbirds.
Simon Harper, his face hidden behind a bronze ghost mask, moved through the dense trees, his steps silent. A faint, acrid scent trailed him, repelling mosquitoes and snakes—an insect-repellent powder he'd crafted.
"They're waiting ahead for the Holt family's wealth," he thought, peering through the foliage. Firelight flickered in the distance.
It had been a month since Cedric Holt's plea for help. Simon had instructed him to play along, feigning compliance without arousing suspicion.
Tonight was the agreed ambush date.
"The Holts' influence is strong," Simon mused. "Cedric could've sought aid from Yewell's martial clans, but he didn't."
Was Cedric testing the Verdant Society's strength, or avoiding sharing his wealth with others?
Simon's steps slowed, his figure cloaked in shadows as he neared the firelight.
The forest opened to a mountain path, where four masked figures in black stood, their eyes scanning vigilantly.
"Acquired Inner Breath, Minor Achievement," Simon assessed, shaking his head. "Not the leader."
Their lack of deference suggested another was in charge, hidden nearby.
Simon scanned the surroundings, his gaze settling on a large tree. "There," he thought, spotting a shadowed figure on a branch.
The figure's posture confirmed Simon's suspicion—Great Accomplishment of Acquired Inner Breath, like a martial artist he'd met in his last simulation.
His hand rested on his saber's hilt, steps light as he approached.
The leader sensed him, eyes flicking toward Simon's position. Despite Simon's care, the leader's heightened senses caught the subtle movement.
"Who's there?" the leader shouted, leaping from the branch, drawing his saber. Its blade gleamed like water, slashing toward Simon's hiding spot.
The four masked figures froze, then rushed toward the commotion.
Simon hurled a handful of medicinal powder, engulfing the leader mid-air.
"Not good!" the leader gasped, unable to retreat. The powder coated him, some inhaled despite his held breath.
He knew it was trouble, his movements slowing as fear took hold.
Simon emerged, his saber flashing. Sparks flew as their blades clashed, illuminating the leader's terrified eyes.
"Scared?" Simon thought, pressing his attack. His blade, fueled by the reckless killing intent honed in his last simulation, slashed relentlessly.
Though unrefined, his technique carried a fierce aura, overwhelming the leader, whose strength waned as the poison took effect.
"Not good, the poison's working," the leader thought, gritting his teeth to block Simon's strikes.
Another clash, and Simon's saber knocked the leader's blade away.
Disarmed and poisoned, the leader was helpless. Simon pressed his saber to the man's neck, drawing a thin line of blood.
"Swallow it," Simon ordered, tossing a poison pill.
The leader caught it, glancing at his approaching subordinates. Feeling the blade's sting, he tore off his mask and swallowed the pill.
He couldn't hesitate—Simon's cold eyes promised death otherwise.
Simon tossed an antidote. "Take it."
The leader obeyed, swallowing the second pill.
Simon turned to the four masked figures, now close. "Help me subdue them," he commanded the leader.
The leader gave a bitter smile. His life in Simon's hands, he had no choice but to comply, turning on his former allies.
Clang! Clang!
With the leader's aid, Simon swiftly subdued the four, forcing each to take a poison pill.
Seeing them all comply, Simon relaxed slightly, his saber still ready.
Simon Harper, masked in bronze, studied the subdued leader in Blackridge Forest, the firelight casting flickering shadows. The air was thick with pine and smoke.
After removing his mask, the middle-aged man revealed a weathered face, his expression bitter. "Your name?" Simon asked, voice low.
"Elliot Vance," the man replied.
"Which group are you with? Why target the Holt family's wealth?" Simon's curiosity stirred.
Five Acquired Realm martial artists—Elliot at Great Accomplishment, his men at Minor—shouldn't need to rob.
"We're from the Crimson Blade Sect of Great Dawn," Elliot said, glancing at his unhappy subordinates. "Our Sect Leader was killed, and our elites perished. We fled to Great Vale to rebuild."
"We needed funds, so the Saintess ordered us to plunder for the sect's revival."
"Crimson Blade Sect?" Simon mused. In his last simulation, as an escort, he'd heard of their power, led by Grandmaster Roland Keen.
"What happened to Roland Keen?" Simon asked. "A Grandmaster, among Great Dawn's elite."
"I don't know details," Elliot said, shaking his head. "Rumor says he provoked a Great Grandmaster, and the sect suffered."
"Great Grandmaster?" Simon frowned. Only a handful existed in Great Dawn, one step from Human Immortal.
"Who's the sect's strongest now?" he pressed.
"The Saintess, at Innate Realm," Elliot replied. "The rest are Acquired, like us."
"Innate Realm…" Simon's mind sparked with a bold plan.
"How do you contact the Saintess?"
"She's in hiding," Elliot said. "She contacts us; we can't reach her, only other sect members plundering here."
Simon's plan clarified. "The Saintess is isolated. I could seize the Crimson Blade Sect's remnants, like a cuckoo taking a nest."
Controlling her followers could fast-track his Verdant Society's growth.
But challenges remained. He needed more power and information.
"Have you heard of the 'Iron Blade Wanderer' in Great Dawn?" Simon asked, referencing his past simulation's alias, earned through righteous deeds.
Elliot frowned, then nodded. "About twenty years ago, near Dawnridge City, his legend spread. It faded soon after. Some say he died in a Human Immortal's clash."
Simon recalled the giant hand that ended his last simulation. "A Human Immortal's work," he thought, awed by its power—a single strike leveling a town.
"Twenty years between simulations? Manageable," he noted. His current efforts could carry forward to future simulations.
He issued orders to Elliot and his men, securing their loyalty with poison.
Back in Yewell City, Simon sat in his mansion, poring over books Elliot had delivered to a hidden drop. The room smelled of old paper and ink.
He read "Martial Chronicles," compiled by the Great Crest Dynasty, the Martial Realm's strongest empire.
"Great Crest ranks martial arts in two lists: Extraordinary Techniques and the Ten Celestial Arts," Simon read, eyes fixed.
The Extraordinary Techniques listed the top hundred arts, each profound. The Celestial Arts, the ten most powerful, could spark wars, even drawing Human Immortals.
"Great Subduing Blade, Radiant Fist, Asura's Wrath, Starlight Canon…" Simon paused at the Radiant Fist, first on the Celestial list.
"Guardian art of the ancient Sunspire Temple, said to be Buddha-given. Its legacy faded with the temple's decline," he read, sighing.
Most Celestial Arts were lost, their successors vanished.
Flipping to the final page, Simon froze. "The Martial World?"
"A spiritual realm formed by the souls of countless fallen martial artists, holding all this world's arts and battle scenes, even traces of the Celestial Arts."
"No entry method," Simon muttered, frustrated. The book's compiler had teased a secret without revealing it.
"Even Great Crest likely can't access it easily, or the Celestial Arts wouldn't be lost," he reasoned, shaking his head.