Denzil let the teachers crowd around his screen without protest. He had his reasons.
Even a man born from the strongest fighting force in the Emperia Continent, perhaps in the whole world, had no business scorning small ties.
Small ties became doors. Free lodging for disciples and elders. Swift notice when a sect traitor surfaced, or when one of their own went missing.
Invitations to expeditions, ruins, and the sort of chance meetings that turned beggars into kings.
Piece by piece, favor by favor, those little exchanges had built the thing outsiders never quite understood.
The Infernal Warfiend Sect was not merely a sect. It had become a Court.
And this lost craft in his hands, these linen screens, stirred him more deeply than he cared to admit.
Denzil read through the usage guidelines with the care of a man studying a blade manual, then followed each step exactly as written.
When the connection steadied, he spoke at once, the words rushing out in a single breath.
