If the missing elders had co to Ash Crown City following a trail, it was very possible that the Ephera Sect or their allied forces had also realized this place’s significance.
A hidden sect base, disguised among the countless rogue cultivators who passed through... it wasn’t unthinkable.
As the fla surged once more, Lin Mu placed his palms on the obsidian floor and allowed his body to drink in more of the raw elental surge. His pores tingled, his skin stead faintly, and his inner cores roared with vitality. He could feel his comprehension of both the Earth Dao and Fire Dao deepen ever so slightly, the fla whispering truths older than civilization into the corners of his mind.
’Let’s see how far I can go with this,’ he thought, fully imrsing himself again.
Unbeknownst to him, just outside in the flickering lamplight streets of Ash Crown City, Daoist Chu and ng Bai were beginning to uncover hints of secrets that had long been buried in the ash.
In the dim, smoke-choked interior of the Scorched Barrel Tavern, Daoist Chu was more than just out of place—he was an anomaly.
The scent of cheap liquor, old blood, and sweat hung heavy in the air as he stepped through the crooked doorway, the rusted hinges screeching like dying insects. His robes were immaculate, lined in pale silver thread and sealed at the edges with faintly glowing array patterns.
His boots didn’t carry a speck of ash despite the city’s ever-present dust. And most glaring of all, his upright bearing and unbothered elegance radiated the air of a man too clean for this part of the world.
The bar grew quiet—not out of fear, but wary curiosity.
Rogue cultivators, rcenaries, and bounty hunters lounged at the scattered tables, their weapons resting within arm’s reach and their eyes sharp despite the drink. This was a place where jobs were exchanged, grudges were settled, and sotis, information was quietly bartered away—if you knew how to ask.
Daoist Chu didn’t flinch under the stares. His gaze swept across the room like the gentle brush of falling snow—cold, detached, and imperious in its grace. Then, casually, he walked toward the bar and took a seat on a rickety stool that creaked under his weight.
The bartender, a man with a scar that cleaved through one brow and down to his cheek, arched a brow and grunted. "You look like you lost your way, sect man. You want sothin’ or just sightseeing?"
Daoist Chu gave a faint smile, as if the question amused him. "Your best," he said smoothly. "Sothing local. A drink that suits the place."
From a nearby table, soone let out a whistle. "Top shelf, huh? We got ourselves a high roller."
A round of rough chuckles followed. Daoist Chu didn’t even turn his head. He rely shrugged. "If you’re going to experience a place, you may as well taste it fully."
The bartender snorted but grabbed a squat bottle from behind the bar—a thick, brown liquid sloshed within. "Ashfire Brew," he said, pouring a glass with practiced ease. "Made from fernted embergrains. Don’t bla if it burns a hole through your gut."
More laughter.
One rcenary, a bulky man with bronze tattoos coiled over his arms, called out, "Careful, sect boy! That stuff’s made more than a few greenhorns cry!"
Daoist Chu raised the glass to the light, the liquid inside glowing faintly like molten amber. "I’ve drunk stronger flas," he said casually, before downing the entire thing in one smooth motion.
The tavern went still for a second.
He placed the glass down with a click, expression unchanged. "Pleasant."
A few nods of reluctant approval passed between the patrons. It wasn’t often a clean-robed cultivator from a proper sect could hold his own here without flinching.
But that was just the opening act.
He leaned back, arms on the bar, and looked over his shoulder toward the table where his target sat—a trio of rough-looking n dressed in patched robes and worn leathers, blades on their hips and eyes sharper than they let on.
He recognized them from the description he’d received: a group known to sell intel discreetly and with little allegiance, just how he preferred it.
One of the three, a wiry man with dark circles under his eyes, noticed his gaze and smirked. "You here for sothin’, silver-robes? Or just trying to prove you can piss with the wolves?"
Daoist Chu’s lips curled. "I’m here for a conversation. But I don’t like talking over barking dogs."
The air shifted.
Tension crackled faintly. The trio stiffened, just slightly. The tattooed man stood up, hand resting near his blade. "That so?" he asked, voice low, testing.
Daoist Chu didn’t stand. He rely raised a single finger.
Flick.
A ripple spread across the room, almost too subtle to notice—until glowing runes suddenly shimred into existence around the necks of the three cultivators. Delicate, golden-red lines coiling like chains just beneath the surface of their skin.
"What—?!" the wiry one blurted, hand going to his throat.
"Relax," Daoist Chu said, finally turning to face them. "It’s just a bit of fla-binding runework. A harmless toy unless activated."
The temperature around their throats surged, a searing warmth brushing dangerously close to pain.
"I don’t like being tested," Daoist Chu said with a pleasant smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "But since you were so eager, let’s not waste the opportunity."
The n looked panicked now, sweat breaking on their foreheads. "What... do you want?" the tattooed one asked, voice tight.
Daoist Chu’s tone turned cool. "Information. A year ago, two sword cultivators passed through this city. You’re going to tell everything you know about them."
The wiry man gulped. "We... we saw them. Didn’t know who they were then, but they stuck out."
"Go on."
"They ca through quiet, paid for lodgings in Ash Crown, but didn’t stick around too long. Thought they were just passing through until one of our guys saw them again... near the eastern ash pits."
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