"I suppose I should be patient," the Patriarch said after a while. "But patience weighs heavier with age."
Lin Mu offered a rare smile.
"Then perhaps you simply need the right battle," he said. "One worthy of your blade."
The Patriarch chuckled, a dry, rumbling sound that echoed through the courtyard.
"Maybe so," he said.
And with that, the conversation ended as naturally as it had begun.
The next morning, Lin Mu stood at the edge of the training cliffs, gazing into the horizon as his robes fluttered in the wind. The Sword Cradle Divine Sheath rested heavily and comfortably on his back, like a sleeping beast dreaming of battles yet to co.
He had done all he needed in the Xian Sword Sect.
And now, like the Patriarch, he too could feel the gaze of the world again—watching, waiting, judging.
But unlike the old man, Lin Mu didn’t wait for permission.
He was the storm on the horizon.
And it was almost ti to move again.
Though peace had settled upon the Xian Sword Sect and Lin Mu had no great crisis pushing him forward anymore, his days were far from idle.
When he wasn’t guiding ng Bai at the Jade Echo Retreat, or testing the growth of Ocean Raker and Afternoon Pine within the Sword Cradle Divine Sheath, he spent his ti sparring with the elders.
These duels were less about domination and more about refinent—tempered clashes of blade and intent, where Lin Mu often held back for their sake. A few of the elders could match him for technique, but none could match the sheer depth of his Dao.
His occasional lectures to the disciples had also beco quite popular, despite his reluctance to formally take on students. Even the most stoic inner court disciples would rush across peaks and courtyards at the rumor of Lin Mu offering sword insights. To them, he wasn’t rely a prodigy—he was a legend in the making.
But even amid the calm of his current life, a shadow tugged at Lin Mu’s thoughts—persistent and cold like mist creeping in from the edges of the soul.
It was the matter of the Ephera Sect.
They were a topic that had never left his mind completely, even as the days passed and other responsibilities took precedence. It had been nearly four years since he first discovered their corrupted cultivators and learned of their dark practices—an organization hidden in the veil of legends, bent on manipulating fate itself.
He had reported everything to the elders of the Xian Sword Sect, particularly the two who had now left to investigate the ancient ruins where the Ephera had left traces of their workings.
Those two had departed not long after Lin Mu’s report, heading deeper into the immortal world’s hidden corners to unearth more information.
And yet... they never returned.
No ssages. No reports. No sightings.
The sect had tried to reach them through various ans, even activating certain sect artifacts used to track lost elders, but none of them responded. They had simply vanished.
It was not unusal for the elders to not contact the sect for a few months, but more than a year was concerning.
And four years? That was asking for a new investigation to be sent.
Lin Mu suspected the worst—but more than that, he sensed intention.
He had an urge to go investigate it himself, but before he could do that, the Sect first needed to find out where they were last seen. Without that, it would be the sa as going on a blind goose chase.
The Ephera Sect had not simply gone to ground. They had chosen to disappear. And when an organization that could tamper with souls and veil entire fates decided to go silent, it wasn’t a retreat—it was preparation.
What unsettled Lin Mu further were the ssages from Abbot Jin of the Silent Lotus Temple. The abbot had reported a cessation in the activity of corrupted cultivators. There had been no strange movents, no odd disappearances, and no reports of malicious qi infestations.
The abbot had worded it as good news—peace had returned.
But Lin Mu knew better.
’Too much silence is not peace—it is the stillness before a storm.’
He had seen how the Ephera Sect moved. Their influence did not simply corrupt—they erased. Their hand was not always destructive, but manipulative. They waited for the precise mont, unseen and untouched, to make their move.
And worse still, Lin Mu knew where they were hiding.
The last threads of fate he had traced years ago all pointed to one location: the Marshes of Silent Skies.
An ominous and inhospitable expanse of wetlands, shrouded by fog and baleful energies, far within the borders of the Darkhan Dynasty. A place where spiritual sense dulled, and ti itself was said to behave strangely. It was one of the few locations known in the cultivation world where even the Saintess could not easily see.
An ideal place for a sect like the Ephera to nest.
But reaching the marshes would not be easy.
Though Lin Mu’s reputation was now far-reaching, especially within the sects and certain parts of the Immortal Court, the Darkhan Dynasty was a sovereign cultivation empire—deeply political, jealously protective of its territories, and notoriously bureaucratic.
Even powerful sects had to undergo extensive diplomatic procedures to enter its inner lands. Official travel would take months of paperwork, favors, and court negotiations.
He could of course go unofficially, but Lin Mu knew that doing so would co with its own set of problems—border guards of great power, Qi-seeking arrays, and watchers hidden across the land.
He would be trespassing. And while he wasn’t afraid, he wasn’t reckless either.
Not yet.
For now, Lin Mu rely watched and waited. He strengthened himself further, kept his connections strong, and made preparations. There would co a ti when he would have to walk into the Marshes of Silent Skies, regardless of permission or protection.
And when that ti ca... the Ephera Sect would no longer have the luxury of shadows.
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