Three and a Half Years Earlier
There was a set of footsteps approaching down the hall. They moved neither too quickly nor too slowly, maintaining just the right pace.
"How have you been of late?"
"I have been fine. Thank you for asking. How have you been as the Patriarch's servant?"
"Tiresome, but it is better than fighting for resources."
"That is true. Keep working hard, then."
"Thank you, Sifir."
A few moments later, the two arrived at their destination.
"We are here. Let me tell the Patriarch you have arrived."
Knock, knock.
"Who is it?"
"It is your humble servant, my lord. I have brought Sifir here as you requested."
"You may leave. Sifir, you can come in."
The door opened, and Sifir stepped inside.
The first thing he noticed was a desk—clean and orderly, with a single parchment resting atop it. Behind the desk sat a broad-shouldered man, sharp-eyed and dignified, his hair tied into a tight ponytail.
His name was Patriarch Murda of the Midnight Clan. The lines between his brows deepened as he read the report in his hand.
"This Elder is audacious," Murda muttered, his voice low and edged with contempt. "Does he think his greed is invisible? Still… a clever ploy—forming a new unit under the guise of unity."
Murda looked up.
A young Liger named Sifir stood before him. His skin gleamed faintly like burnished bronze, his hair wild as untamed grasslands, and his abyss-black eyes carried both curiosity and instinctive wariness. Though only six years old, his physique radiated the maturity of someone far older. He wore only casual attire, a sign of the familiarity and trust afforded to him even in the presence of the Patriarch.
"Sifir," Murda began, "do you know why I've called you?"
"No, Patriarch," Sifir replied, his tone respectful but uncertain.
"Sit. There are matters we must discuss."
Sifir obeyed, sensing the gravity in the Patriarch's gaze.
Murda placed the report on his desk with a heavy sigh.
"Before we get into the main topic, I have a few questions for you. How has your training been?"
"It has been going well lately. I was able to learn and somewhat master the first step of the [Nine Steps of Extinction]."
"I see. What else?"
"I have been honing my fundamentals with palm strikes and striking."
"Why haven't you driven deeper into throws, grabs, and elbows?"
"I don't think they suit me as well as palm strikes and striking, Patriarch."
"Sifir, you need to have a more versatile kit when dealing with enemies. Especially humans and dragon cultivators."
"I will keep that in mind, Patriarch."
Murda sighed.
"You have always been like this, even from a young age."
Murda began tapping two fingers against his desk in a smooth rhythm.
"You display a naïve, nonchalant indifference, whether in public or private. Sigh… ever since you lost your father and mother."
Silence crept between them.
For the briefest of moments, sadness filled the room—the sorrow of an old man remembering his dead son and daughter-in-law, mixed with the burden of being the leader of an entire clan.
"I know you cannot show me favoritism because of what I have accomplished so far in my short life, Patriarch," Sifir said. "This is the only stance I can take. Even if you are my grandfather, I must show that I have the skills and ability to carry out my cultivation."
Sifir paused for a moment, gathering the right words.
"Patriarch, you told me there are no familial bonds within the clan."
"I did, Sifir. That is still true even now."
Murda leaned back slightly.
"Did you know the Matriarch has been watching over your training?"
"No."
"Have you ever wondered why your training has been ramping up over the last few months?"
"Would it be weird if I said no? Of course I noticed my training routine had become incredibly hard."
"Hahaha. That would have been weird, and I wouldn't have believed you either."
Murda's laughter softened as quickly as it came.
"Too bad I cannot have more of these casual conversations with you, Sifir. When your father was little, he would try to spar with me every day. I defeated him every time with a single palm."
Murda's gaze lowered for a moment.
"I watched him grow, eventually becoming a pillar that this clan could lean on during times of trouble. Now, that same expectation has been placed on you."
Sifir simply listened to Murda, feeling the depth of his sadness.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Enough of this old man's rambling," Murda finally said. "Let's get to the main topic."
"You've heard the Elder is forming a new unit—selecting promising talents for an expedition." Murda tapped his finger against the desk, mild annoyance evident in his expression. "He had several options among our talents, and he ultimately requested that you join his team."
Sifir frowned.
"Patriarch Murda, why me?"
Murda's lips twitched—neither a smile nor a smirk.
"Because, Sifir, your strength draws attention. You've reached the Human Realm and fight with the prowess of the Flowing Water Stage. Impressive, especially at your age. But that's not the only reason."
In truth, Murda had another reason to believe the Elder wanted to control or cripple them even further, leaving them with no way out. Yet he didn't voice any of those concerns.
The Elder's influence was spreading too swiftly, and Murda intended to maintain a certain measure of control over the former overlord of the Ligers. Sending Sifir was both a concession and a subtle move on the clan's chessboard—a way to cross-infiltrate the Elder's ranks while keeping an eye on his intentions.
Sifir's face darkened with quiet disdain.
He understood the Elder's greed and ambition all too well. Ever since he had begun going on missions and gaining experience through live combat, Sifir had seen the reach of the Elder's influence.
"How long before I leave?"
"You have less than forty-eight hours," Murda said. "Here—take this spatial pouch. It contains what you'll need."
He handed the pouch to Sifir.
"And… be careful. Don't let your guard down."
Murda paused, then continued, his tone soft but heavy with meaning.
"One more thing, Sifir. You must understand the world beyond our lands—the powers that rule the continents. Once, our Midnight Clan united dozens of tribes and houses—Thunder Panther, Heavenly Lion, and others. Now, many have turned their backs on us."
Sifir nodded.
Everyone in the clan knew this history, yet Murda's tone carried something more.
"If your journey takes you to the Everlasting Continent, remember this: the Dragon Clan reigns supreme. Their current ruler, Kagayaku Kurai, the Nine Dragon Empress, sits at the peak of the True Emperor Realm."
Murda's expression became more serious.
"Avoid her clans and legions—their reach is vast."
He handed Sifir a scroll.
"This contains their known networks, the habits of famous dragon clans, maps of the Everlasting regions, and, most importantly, what happens if you encounter mature dragons."
Murda reached for another document.
"If your path leads to the Burning Continent, you'll find it under Phoenix dominion. Their True Emperor rivals that of the dragons, though their clans are fewer and their minds sharper. They see further than most. Study this report as well."
Sifir received both documents and bowed lightly.
"I'll prepare immediately, Patriarch."
"Good. You may leave."
Sifir turned and exited the room.
As he walked down the hall, however, he couldn't shake the feeling that Murda's warnings were more than idle caution.
Perhaps the Patriarch knew something he did not.
Perhaps those warnings were meant to prepare him for something waiting beyond the Midnight Clan.
And perhaps this expedition was far more dangerous than the Elder wanted anyone to believe.