Lassim stood frozen as the massive figure at the front of the Shadow Sect group, flanked by the shadowy warriors, took a step forward.
The bulky man, taller than most spirit warriors and with a presence that demanded attention—the very opposite of the idea he had in his mind about what an assassin was supposed to be—glanced at Lassim’s worn initiate robes and let out a low chuckle, his voice deep and gruff.
"Well, isn’t this odd," the man said, his eyes gleaming from behind his mask. "A Spirit Ascension disciple wearing initiate-ranked robes? Tell me, is this some kind of joke? Did the Lightning Sect send you to greet us for a laugh? Or was the battle so devastating that you are actually a Sect Elder who lost his clothes and decided to borrow the first pair of rags he could find?"
The menacing grin beneath his mask widened, his words dripping with sarcasm. The assassins behind him stood silent and still, their eyes trained on Lassim as if they expected him to react.
But Lassim didn’t hear a word of the insult.
His attention was fixed entirely on the emotions flickering through the Soul Echo necklace pressed against his chest and the person standing next to the burly giant of a man.. That connection, that warmth—Lustria was here. He felt her anxiety, as she too felt the familiar nervous energy that he was showing, and the rising urge to see her, to call out her name. She felt every bit of that.
His heart raced faster as he instinctively began walking forward. Every step pulled him toward her, the bond between their necklaces growing stronger as she drew nearer. He could sense her presence clearly now, though she was hidden amongst the shadowed ranks of the assassins.
But before he could call out to her, before he could even take another step, his foot caught on something solid.
The next moment, Lassim found himself face-first against the ground, a mouthful of dirt silencing whatever he was about to say.
"Excuse my personal disciple," came the familiar, yet almost jovial voice of Sect Master Volten from behind him, his tone lighthearted but with an undercurrent of a faux apology that rippled through the air as he continued. "I haven’t had a chance to give him his new wardrobe yet."
Lassim spat dirt from his mouth and pushed himself off the ground then wiped his face with his sleeve while half turning back. His eyes narrowed with anger as he looked up to face Volten.
"When did I ever become your personal disciple? Don’t you have it out for me instead?" he shot back, irritated and embarrassed from being tripped in front of Lustria.
Volten brushed off the question with a wave of his hand. "Oh, no, no, don’t worry about that. I decided back when we closed those portals. Someone has to take on the burden of teaching you how to actually fight. Right now, you’re just a brute swinging that oversized halberd left and right, throwing out the most basic of mana blades.
It’s actually embarrassing to have a disciple like you, but…" He sighed dramatically. "I’ll take it upon myself to correct your path. You’ve got potential—if only you weren’t such a simpleton."
Lassim’s mouth hung open, caught between anger and confusion. "Simpleton? You—"
Volten cut him off again. "Now, why are you still down there eating dirt? Stand up and greet the First Blade of the Shadow Sect," Volten’s voice grew cold and his eyes narrowed, the levity vanishing as his spirit pressure suddenly began to thicken, "Who somehow, magically, arrived here much faster than any other sect I requested aid from."
As Volten spoke, the weight of his full spiritual pressure began to spread outward towards the arrivals. The entire area quivered under the crushing force of his presence as a new Spirit Prince.
The very air around them buzzed with tension, the oppressive energy pressing heavily down on the newcomers. Volten’s eyes gleamed with suspicion as he stared down the First Blade and his assassins.
Lassim quickly scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he sensed the sudden shift in atmosphere.
The warmth from Lustria through the Soul Echo necklace still tugged at his emotions, but he forced himself to focus, realizing the precariousness of the situation.
The First Blade remained unphased by the sudden pressure, his arms crossing over his chest as he met Volten’s gaze evenly.
His smile beneath the mask, though unseen, was evident in the confidence of his posture. "Sect Master Volten, there’s no need for hostility. We’ve come to aid you. We just left a bit earlier than your message requested." His tone was respectful, but there was an edge to it, as if he was testing the boundaries.
Volten’s eyes didn’t waver. "Requested? You arrived faster than I could update any of the many communication discs I own. How is it that the Shadow Sect just so happened to arrive at nearly the exact moment of our greatest need, plus a day or two?"
The First Blade chuckled. "It’s no coincidence, Sect Master. We left our northern continent over a month ago. Our Sect Master received a vision from the Night God, Undos, urging us to head south. A vision of war, destruction, and darkness engulfing the Southern Continent." His voice dropped slightly, carrying an ominous weight. "We were sent here by Undos’ divine will.
Though, I’m not sure how much help you still need? There seems to be quite a large number of Endless Sun Sect Disciple rags still scattered in the debris of your headquarters. Quite, unclean…"
Volten’s gaze flickered for a brief moment, considering the First Blade’s words. The Gods were known for their occasional revelations, and that was partially why Volten was so upset with them in the first place that nothing reached him or Bavdall’s disciples to prevent the events that occurred.
After a long pause, Volten finally nodded, though the suspicion in his eyes remained. "Very well. I won’t turn down aid in our time of need. But know this—I’ll be keeping a close watch on your movements while you’re here."
The First Blade inclined his head slightly. "Of course. We are at your service."
With a flick of his hand, Volten signaled one of the nearby Lightning Sect elders. "Escort them to one of the still functional council halls. We’ll discuss a strategy for targeting the remnants of the Sun Sect and how best to eradicate any remaining threats across the Southern Continent."
The elder stepped forward and bowed, gesturing for the Shadow Sect’s group to follow.
In perfect, silent unison, the shadowy figures moved, their steps almost invisible as they melted into the shadows and followed the elder toward the hall.
Lassim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as the pressure lifted with the departure of the assassins.
But the connection through the Soul Echo still throbbed at his chest. He could feel Lustria’s presence more strongly now as the seconds passed and rekindled the connection and he watched her walk away..
Before he could dwell on it further or try to follow them, Volten tossed something toward him.
Lassim barely managed to catch the object—a simple, but finely crafted storage ring.
"Get yourself cleaned up," Volten said with a smirk. "That ring holds your new robes. Come meet us in the hall once you’re presentable. I want you to be there too. We’ll discuss the details of your room and status upgrade later when we have a moment to ourselves. There’s several things I wish to talk to you about."
Lassim opened his mouth to protest, but Volten had already turned away, disappearing into the air with a crackle of orange lightning.
Sighing in frustration, Lassim glanced at the storage ring in his hand. With a quick glance around, he activated the ring, and in a flash of light, the robes appeared in his hand. They were different from anything he’d ever worn before—rich purple martial robes accented with intricate gold embellishments.
What caught his eye, though, was the unique orange lightning bolt pin on the chest of the robe. It seemed to pulse faintly with power that he instantly recognized, carrying a sliver of Volten’s oppressive Defiance Lightning.
Just holding it felt like it weighed more than it should, the energy imbued within it adding some sort of natural aura that radiated—like his divine presence—from the martial attire.
With a resigned sigh, Lassim quickly changed into the robes, noting how they fit perfectly and moved with a fluidity that made them feel like an extension of his own body. He even felt the enchantments that added a strong layer of defense and energy boosting enchantments.
He instantly felt relaxed and more powerful as he observed the gold accents shimmering in the flashes of lighting from the storm above. The orange lightning pin felt strangely empowering too as his own lightning element seemed to want to interact with it a bit out of curiosity.
He stared at himself for a moment, unsure of how to feel about the change.
The purple and gold signified his elevated status as Volten’s personal disciple, a position he wasn’t sure he even wanted. Yet, at the same time, the power coursing through the robe made him feel… capable? More responsible? It was odd.
Shaking off the thought, Lassim took a deep breath and made his way to the council hall. The battle might be over, but there was still work to do, and he wished to see Lustria as soon as possible..
As he approached the hall, the massive doors loomed before him.
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Taking a deep breath, Lassim pushed open the doors, the heavy wood creaking as they swung inward.
Inside, the hall was moderately lit, some pillars casting shadows across the polished and lightning vein filled esoteric stone floor and walls.
Seated around the long table at the center were members of the Lightning Sect’s war council that Lassim recognized, along with the intimidating figures of the Shadow Sect’s group that was sent.
They had such a strange air to them. Their presence filled the room with a chilling silence, like predators waiting to strike and faint bloodlust radiating out.
Volten stood at the head of the table, his orange lightning-infused eyes scanning the room.
Next to him sat the First Blade, the leader of the Shadow Sect’s elite group, a man whose mere presence made the air feel thicker, darker. His mask hid most of his face, but the gleam in his eyes was enough to convey his authority. And beside him…
Lustria Alisone.This time with her hood down and radiating a clear presence of a Spirit Transformation stage, Level 2 Spirit Warrior.
Her older, now more mature, face hit him like a lightning strike.