Imagination Spiritualism, it functioned like illusion, but wasn't quite the same.
Instead of mere tricks of the eye, this technique allowed one to conjure illusions with tangible weight and presence.
For a time, they were real.
Solid enough to deceive, to trap, to mislead. But only temporarily. Sooner or later, the constructed forms would fade back into nothing.
Still, for bluffing and manipulation, especially against cultivators with weaker divine sense, it was incredibly effective.
A tool best used in moments that required a sharp edge over the unprepared.
Then came the Iron Guard Dharma.
This technique stood apart from the others. It hadn't been purchased from any merchant or obtained through trade.
Instead, one of Liam's puppets stumbled across it while exploring deep within the Great Wilderness.
The discovery had been peculiar. According to the puppet's records, the jade slip containing the technique had been resting at the threshold of something vast, buried beneath layers of earth and stone.
Not just a ruin, but a gateway to a deeper, hidden structure.
Liam had already marked the location. At some point, when preparations were right, he'd send his puppets back there.
Ahem. Cough.
To take what remained and preserve it… for the sake of future generations.
Ilya, meanwhile, had finally steadied her breathing. Her shoulders rose and fell in quiet exhaustion.
She was clearly on the verge of collapse. Liam moved beside her, reached out without a word, and lifted her carefully by the arm.
His hand was steady, firm, but gentle as he guided her over to the side and pulled out another chair.
With a quiet motion, he placed her down onto it.
"S-senior, there's no need" Ilya tried to protest, voice soft and breathless.
But Liam gave her a small, unbothered smile.
That was enough.
She fell silent immediately.
Sitting up straight beside him, her posture became polite and composed.
Back stiff, she avoided leaning even slightly into the chair's rest.
Her hands folded neatly over her lap, though her fingers twitched now and then, betraying the nerves under her skin.
Liam gave her a long look before speaking. "You've been through quite a bit, Miss Ilya."
"I—I, uh…" she stammered, her voice barely audible.
"And your real hair color… has finally shown. That's interesting."
Her eyes widened. Reflexively, her hand shot up toward her head. She pulled a lock of hair forward, and froze.
The strands shimmered in the dim light, gleaming with a rich black and a mixture of gold hue.
So this was her original hair color?
Or perhaps the one from before wasn't real to begin with?
It wasn't just dye. It felt like she had been hiding parts of herself.
Liam watched her quietly, mulling over the implications.
Golden hair was rarely seen among common cultivators.
It was almost exclusively tied to those of royal lineage, or more specifically, to bloodlines that had long ago walked a unique cultivation path centered entirely around the element of light.
His thoughts were interrupted when Ilya shifted in her seat.
Her knees drew up and bent underneath her.
Hands slid to rest tightly on her thighs. Slowly, she bowed forward, head lowering until her forehead nearly touched the edge of the chair.
A soft hiccup escaped her lips.
Then tears began to fall.
Liam blinked, caught off guard.
Her voice broke as she pleaded, "S-senior… I… because of me… First Uncle and Second Uncle died…"
She was shaking now, head still lowered, words spilling out as though she couldn't hold them back.
"I… I have no excuse. I'm the one to blame."
"I shouldn't have went there, I-"
The same woman who had stood tall and stern not long ago, was now trembling and crying before him.
Liam's eyes widened, briefly.
But only for a moment.
"…It's fine," he said softly.
His hand reached out, paused briefly midway, then gently landed on her head.
Fingers moved slowly, carefully rubbing across her scalp, brushing through strands of her hair.
Perhaps being a bit too gentle, Liam doesn't know. He was still learning above love and affection, grasping these concepts.
She flinched at first from the unexpected touch. Then, cautiously, she tilted her head upward, her teary gaze meeting his.
She saw him clearly now, up close. The way his brows furrowed, the calm in his expression, the slight tension in his jaw.
Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly dropped her head again, but the tears didn't stop.
In fact, now they came with a strange mixture of emotions, brief over the loss of the two guards Liam had assigned to protect her, and something else.
Something warmer, more confusing.
Liam didn't say much, but he didn't need to.
He watched how her shoulders trembled with every breath, how her fingers clenched and unclenched on her lap.
And finally, he let out a quiet sigh.
In the end, she was still too young.
The way she reacted to the death of the two puppets, it didn't match someone who had clawed her way through fire and blood to reach this city.
Maybe he'd misjudged her. Perhaps it was time for another re-evaluation.
It took him a while to calm Ilya down.
Oddly enough, the more he tried to soothe her, the harder she cried.
He barely said anything, just kept a steady presence near her, and yet every attempt to comfort her only seemed to open up the floodgates more.
What a strange way of calming down, Liam sighed inwardly, brushing a few stray strands of her hair back as she hiccupped between sobs.
Still, in his own way, he'd secured this heroine from falling into someone else's hands.
After all, she first appeared beside him, a protagonist himself.
It would've felt strange… maybe even unpleasant, if another man had swept her away after that.
As for this concept of heroine and protagonist, Liam used it to make it easy for him to identify potential targets.
Plus, Ilya was everything he needed now. Smart enough to handle miscellaneous task for him, possessing a chamber of commerce for him to use, and even a considerable status around this area.
In a way, he wanted to use her, but in another way, he also craved for the so called feeling of love.
He wanted both, he wanted to learn more about himself and change.
But from time to time, his bad habit got into him first.
The constant thoughts of how to use other for his own benefits...
Sighh...
Somewhere between her crying and sniffles, she started talking about Lucien. How he'd sacrificed himself to protect her.
Liam just smiled faintly, his gaze lowering as he muttered under his breath, "Those who hold the cards… they will never die."
"They will never die?" Ilya echoed, wiping her sleeve across her eyes.
She looked embarrassed about her earlier outburst and tried to compose herself as best she could.
Though her face was still streaked with tears, and her clothes bore the wrinkles and dust from the earlier chaos, she sat upright and attempted to look normal.
Liam glanced at her briefly. That one look alone sent a wave of warmth to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away.
"The origin of the card is unknown," Liam began, his tone casual but holding a certain weight, "But the benefits that come with them… they're beyond anything you can imagine."
"T-these cards?" she asked. "And those black-robed figures chasing after them… who were they?"
"They're... people with ambitions," Liam replied smoothly, making it up as he went along without blinking. "They want the cards to gain power, limitless power, endless treasures… a straight path beyond anything this region can offer. Or so the stories go."
He let out a short chuckle. Ilya, meanwhile, sat there looking just as confused.
"So the card is a treasure?" she asked again, trying to piece things together.
"It is," Liam nodded. "And what it represents, is a treasure."
Then, just to stir the pot a little, he added, "Even a Nascent Soul expert would lose their mind if they knew a single card had surfaced here."
Boom.
That one line hit Ilya like a hammer to the chest. Her heart sank, deep, all the way down.
The mere mention of Nascent Soul cultivators wasn't something she could take lightly. They weren't ordinary people. Not even close.
To think she had once held such a card in her own hands, tucked inside a jade box… and so casually at that.
If what Liam said was even half true, that card had the power to flip this entire region upside down.
The realization made her skin clammy.
She wiped her palms against her robe, suddenly aware of the sweat forming on her back.
Fear curled at the edge of her thoughts.
Slowly, she looked up.
There he was, Liam. Leaning back a little, arms crossed loosely.
Calm. Like everything he said just now wasn't anything special.
He didn't just speak like someone who had heard of these things… he sounded like someone who knew.
As if the world she thought she understood was just a part of what he walked through daily.
"T-then Senior's intentions to gather them?"
"I don't need them" Liam shook his head, "My job is to guide them, to those who are qualified."
"It is my responsibility, to make sure these cards don't fall into the wrong hand."
"It is... " Liam paused, his eyes flashing, melancholy, reminiscing, giving Ilya enough time to make up her own story inside her head, "It is my eternal duty, to guard them. And grant those who are worthy."
"I-I see... " Ilya felt it, the way how Liam's tone dropped slightly. As if... He was all alone in this path he was walking on.
The meanings behind his words, she already imagined a whole huge scenario of a world threatened by huge dangers.
And what kept this world stable was this mam before her. In a way, she felt a bit breathless, overwhelmed by the sheer scale of what was happening.
But then, she threw a short peek at Liam's face, blushing.
When it came to how he treated her, she could feel it. His intentions weren't masked.
They were there in his words, in the way he listened to her cry, in the way he didn't rush her.
Likewise, Liam could sense the shift in her heart. She wasn't pushing him away. She didn't want to.
They'd known each other for quite a while by now. These last few months, she was a frequent visitor, almost always around.
Sometimes she'd bring pastries or books. Other times, she'd just sit by the window and chat. Liam, on his part, had been quietly bridging the space between them.
He never rushed it. He always kept a certain distance, cool, reserved, sometimes cold, like a young master who couldn't be bothered.
But now and then, he'd let his guard down, just a little. Show a softer side.
And those small moments… they stayed with her. Those glimpses of warmth in him, they lingered far longer than he probably realized.
Strong.
Mysterious.
Lovable.
Those were the three words Ilya quietly associated with him. Not as titles, but as truths that slowly formed inside her heart.
She liked him, slowly.
And under his presence, all her past problems, the ones that used to keep her up at night, felt suddenly… small. Like pebbles in a man's palm.