Mordan and General Amit—who had been quietly finishing the last of the blue fruits and sipping the celestial tea—exchanged matching grins. Their faces were relaxed, renewed, the exhaustion of weeks of crisis lifted by the simple power of the gifts Sir Heart had left behind.
Mordan set his cup down gently.
"Now I'll inform Sir Heart."
He reached for the black communication rock and pressed his thumb to its surface, sending the mental signal.
Nothing happened.
The rock remained inert.
Mordan frowned, confusion flickering across his face. He was about to speak when—
The air beside the table shimmered.
The Ether Clone—Sir Heart—appeared without warning, robes untouched by the room's stillness, presence as calm and inevitable as gravity.
Mordan, Umang, and General Amit rose instantly, greeting him in unison.
"Sir Heart!"
On the other hand, ether clone hasn't come because of the mordan's call, the black rock Mordan had used remained silent because the signal had never reached the Ether Clone.
The call had routed instead to the Heart Clone, who was deep in the Beast Continent—surrounded by layers of powerful restriction Vyuhas and separated by vast spatial distance. The stone's link simply couldn't penetrate that far. No response. No connection.
So he hadn't come because of the failed call.
He had come because he already knew.
Using Divine Sage calculations days earlier, he had seen this exact moment: the acquisition completed, the announcement made, the three men sitting in this office at this precise hour, fruits half-eaten, tea cooling, hearts racing with anticipation.
So he arrived exactly on time.
No flourish. No dramatic entrance. Just quiet certainty.
The Ether Clone inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment and took a seat as though he had always been there. With a casual wave, fresh baskets of glowing fruits and a new jar of steaming tea materialized on the table.
The three men sat again, the earlier tension melting into quiet anticipation.
For a few minutes, they chatted casually—about the weather in capital, the latest Free Fire drama, the taste of the tea (still impossibly perfect). The Ether Clone answered sparingly, voice warm but measured, letting them lead the conversation while he listened with quiet patience.
Then the Ether Clone set his cup down with a soft clink.
"Let's come back to business."
The three men straightened instantly. Excitement flickered across their faces—Mordan's smile widened, Umang's eyes gleamed, and General Amit leaned forward, all of them barely containing the anticipation that had been building since Sir Heart first promised rewards.
The Ether Clone reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small wooden cube, no larger than a fist. Its surface was covered in mysterious, unknown symbols that seemed to shift slightly when looked at directly—neither carved nor painted, but somehow etched into the wood itself, glowing faintly with inner light.
The moment the cube appeared, all three men's eyes locked onto it. They guessed immediately: this had to be the cultivation system. But how to use it? None of them could tell. Even with their knowledge of novels, they had no idea—whether it was absorbed through touch, blood, or something else entirely.
The Ether Clone set the cube gently on the table.
Then, with another motion, he produced ten small clay bottles—simple, unadorned, each sealed with wax and bearing tiny, precise handwriting carved into the clay. Each bottle had a short description of its pill's use and function.
He pointed first to the cube.
"This item creates a field in a 10-meter area. Anyone who enters will receive the complete knowledge of the cultivation system instantly—every meridian route, every breathing pattern, every danger and breakthrough. No words needed. Just step inside."
He gestured to the bottles.
"As for the pills… read their descriptions. They will help you begin safely."
He paused, then summoned a puppet from thin air—a tall figure, dressed in simple robes, standing motionless like a statue carved from living marble.
"This puppet will guide you for two days now. After that, he returns to me. Next month, he comes again—but only for one day. He will bring the next batch of pills. Every month, ten bottles. That was our deal."
The Ether Clone's voice turned serious.
"Be warned: cultivation is not easy. It requires months of boring energy gathering, enduring mental pain, and unbreakable patience. If you lose focus or get distracted during practice, your own energy will turn against you—shredding meridians, tearing the body from inside. Prepare your will. If you are not ready, do not begin."
The three men absorbed his words in silence. They had guessed the rewards, but seeing them in front of them—the cube, the pills, the puppet—made emotion rise in their chests. Gratitude. Awe. A quiet, fierce determination.
Mordan spoke first, voice thick.
"Thank you, Sir Heart… Sir Heart, the ownership of the company is now in your name. No one knows about you. When you go there, take Umang with you—he can help with the formalities."
He motioned to Umang, who stood immediately, bowing slightly.
"Sir Heart, please. This way."
But the Ether Clone only smiled faintly beneath his mask.
"No need to walk."
The sentence finished—and both Umang and the Ether Clone vanished in a soft ripple of space.