Ten days passed in the blink of an eye—
Inside an exquisitely decorated artifact shop, surrounded by luxurious relics and treasures displayed in polished glass cases, two noble figures sat across from the shop manager on plush velvet sofas. Their attire was unmistakably aristocratic, woven from the finest silks and embroidered with intricate patterns that shimmered under the ambient glow of enchanted lanterns.
The young man, Orien Vornxen around 20 years old, exuded an air of refined elegance, his posture relaxed yet commanding. His sharp, fox-like eyes—a striking shade of molten gold—narrowed slightly as he spoke, his voice smooth but laced with an undercurrent of displeasure.
"Yesterday, one of my servants inquired about the Silent Reign Sword in your shop. At that time, its price was 30 Ember Ashstone. Now, you claim it is 70?"
Though his tone remained controlled, the unspoken threat lingered in the air. He knew better than to act rashly within the Paradox Pyre Shop—an establishment backed by one of the most formidable organizations in the Vexillum Empire, its influence stretching deep into the empire's political and martial foundations. The identity of its leader remained a mystery, shrouded in whispers—man or woman, no one knew.
The shop manager, a middle-aged man with a practiced smile, spread his hands in a placating gesture. "Young Master Vornxen, how could I deceive you? It was a new employee's error—a miscalculation. The Silent Reign Sword is no ordinary artifact. It is an ancient relic, one of a kind, available only through our establishment."
Leaning forward, the manager's voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper. "Legends say of the Silent Reign Sword—It never sang. It never screamed. But kingdoms fell where it passed.' Such power… comes at a price."
Orien's jaw tightened imperceptibly. He turned his gaze toward the young woman beside him—Zeryrix Veil, his younger sister.
If Orien was the image of aristocratic poise, Zeryrix was a vision of ethereal beauty—a maiden who seemed plucked from a celestial painting. Her long, silver-white hair cascaded like moonlit silk, framing a face so delicate it might have been carved from porcelain. Her eyes, a piercing shade of glacial blue, held an unsettling calm, as if she could see through the very soul of those before her.
Clad in a gown of midnight-blue satin, she was around 17 years old, adorned with silver filigree that mirrored the constellations, she had remained silent throughout the exchange—her presence alone enough to command attention.
Orien exhaled softly. "Sister… what should we do now?"
Zeryrix's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile sweet, yet chilling. "Just buy the sword, brother. 70 Ember Ashstone are nothing to us."
Her voice was like winter's first frost—soft, yet carrying an unshakable finality.
Orien nodded and retrieved a sleek black card from his inner coat pocket, its surface embossed with the sigil of House Vornxen, a mark of immense wealth and influence. "Very well. We are purchasing this sword, then."
The shop manager's smile deepened, his eyes glinting like a cunning fox, though his tone remained impeccably professional. "Thank you, Young Master Vornxen, and Young Lady Zeryrix, for your patronage. I shall have it prepared immediately."
With a snap of his fingers, a female attendant appeared, bowing before swiftly moving to retrieve the Silent Reign Sword from its display. The artifact was encased in an ornate scabbard, its surface etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly with dormant power.
Meanwhile, Zeryrix had drifted toward the grand arched window, her delicate fingers tracing the edge of the stained glass. The sunlight filtered through, casting prismatic hues over her porcelain features. Her voice, barely above a whisper, carried an eerie certainty.
"I have a feeling… something big is about to happen within the Vexillum Empire."
Orien, who had been inspecting the transaction, turned sharply at her words. "Sister, what are you talking about?" He knew his sister didn't speak nonsense, if she said something, it had to be a matter of concern.
Zeryrix didn't immediately respond. Instead, her glacial blue eyes remained fixed on the horizon, where the empire's towering spires pierced the sky. After a beat, she exhaled softly. "Oh… it's nothing at all."
But the way her fingers tightened ever so slightly against the windowsill betrayed her unease.
Meanwhile, at the Outskirts of the Vexillum Empire…
The Morvex bird, a majestic creature with obsidian feathers and eyes like smoldering embers, descended near the empire's boundary, its massive wings stirring the dust as it landed. From its back, Eirian leapt down, his boots sinking slightly into the earth.
"Ugh… finally..!!" He rolled his shoulders, his body stiff from the long journey. "Traveling nonstop like this is exhausting."
The Morvex tilted its head, clicking its beak in what almost sounded like amusement.
Eirian shot it a dry look. "You go scout the area. But be careful. If anyone spots you, it'll cause unnecessary trouble."
With a sharp chirp, the Morvex spread its wings and took off, vanishing into the sky within seconds.
Eirian sighed, running a hand through his windswept hair. Then—
"Ohhh, stop your drama," a playful, echoing voice teased inside his mind. "You were sitting the entire time on the Morvex's back. How exactly did you get tired?"
Eirian's lips twitched, it was Soulless flame. "Change the subject," he muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone. "Let's just get inside the empire. I'm starving. I haven't had a decent meal since I arrived in this world."
The voice in his head chuckled. "Fine, fine. But don't blame me if you get into trouble the moment you step through those gates."
Eirian smirked. "When have I ever been in trouble?"
With that, he adjusted his cloak and began walking toward the towering gates of the Vexillum Empire, unaware that his arrival would soon intertwine with the brewing storm Zeryrix had sensed.
Eirian walked for several minutes before arriving at the towering gates of the Vexillum Empire, their massive iron-reinforced frames etched with runes of warding. The air buzzed with the hum of commerce and the steady flow of merchants, travelers, and guards moving in and out.
Just as he stepped forward to pass through, a firm hand shot out, blocking his path.
"Halt. Show your pass or pay the entry toll, 2 Ember Ashstone," commanded a guard clad in a blue war-dress relic, its surface engraved with intricate defensive formations. His voice was indifferent, his gaze sharp as he scrutinized Eirian.
Eirian frowned. "Sorry, but I'm new here. I wasn't aware of the rules."
Inside, his mind raced. Ashstone? Is that the currency here? Damn it, I don't have any.
The guard's expression soured. With a dismissive wave, he snapped, "Then move aside. Don't waste our time. Plenty of others are waiting." He gestured toward the line forming behind Eirian, impatient merchants and travelers shifting restlessly.
Eirian clenched his jaw but didn't argue. Stepping back, he scanned his surroundings, searching for another way in—or at least a way to get his hands on some Ashstone quickly.
Just then, a smooth, amused voice echoed in his mind, "Trouble already? And here I thought you'd last at least five minutes before hitting a snag."
Eirian glanced to his right and spotted a lean, wiry man dressed in plain commoner's garb leaning casually against a gnarled oak tree. The man's hood was pulled low, but a smirk curled at the edge of his lips—the same smirk that had been taunting him telepathically moments ago.
"Took you long enough to notice me," the man said, his voice now audible rather than echoing in Eirian's mind. He pushed off the tree and sauntered forward, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Honestly, if I were an assassin, you'd be dead twice over by now."
Eirian crossed his arms. "If you were an assassin, I would have also attacked you."
The man chuckled and asked, "So, how do you plan to get Ashstone? Got any ideas?"
Eirian exhaled sharply. "No, Do you have any bright ideas?" He felt slightly embarassed in his heart, but didn't let it appear in his face.
"Hmm… steal some?"
No..!!!
"Pickpocket a merchant?"
"I'd rather not start my time here as a criminal."
The man chuckled, tossing a small pouch toward him. Eirian caught it midair, the metallic clink of Ember stone unmistakable.
"Two Ember Ashstone, as requested by our lovely gatekeepers," the man said, nodding toward the guards. "Consider it a welcoming gift."
Eirian weighed the pouch in his palm, eyeing him skeptically. "And what's the catch?"
"No catch," the man said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Just the kindness of my spirit."
"Your 'spirit?, Is about as kind as a starving wolf," Eirian muttered, but he pocketed the Ashstone regardless.
The man's grin widened. "Exactly. So you'd better be on your guard." With that, he melted back into the crowd, disappearing as swiftly as he had appeared.
Eirian exhaled sharply and turned back toward the gate, this time slapping the two Ashstone into the guard's waiting palm.
"Happy now?"
The guard inspected the stone, gave a grunt of approval, and stepped aside. "Move along."
As Eirian passed through the towering gates, the sprawling majesty of the Vexillum Empire unfolded before him—bustling streets, towering spires, and the faint hum of magic in the air.
And somewhere in the shadows, he knew his mysterious ally was watching.
Eirian stepped through the gates, the weight of unanswered questions pressing on his mind. Who was that man? Why did he give me Ember Ashstone? Does he have some ulterior motive? The unease lingered like a shadow, but with no immediate answers, he pushed the thoughts aside, for now.
The moment he took in the sight before him, his breath caught.
The Vexillum Empire stretched before him in a breathtaking display of grandeur—towering spires of white marble gleaming, streets paved with enchanted stones that shimmered faintly with every step, and bustling markets alive with colors, scents, and the hum of magic. Lavish banners bearing the crest of noble houses fluttered in the breeze, while airships dotted the sky like floating jewels.
Compared to this, the Valley of Whispers might as well have been a backwater village.
Eirian's lips curved into a slow, intrigued smile. This… this was power. This was civilization. And he was walking straight into its heart.
Eirian stood before the Eclipse Legion's solitary southern branch in the Vexillum Empire. Penniless and desperate, "Quite the operation," he mused. After days of wandering penniless, he'd followed the whispers of passersby to this swan-shaped marble structure place. Cultivators streamed in and out in orderly silence—no brawls, just quiet efficiency.
He was standing in front of Eclipse Legion. Its only one branch located in Vexillum Empire south area. He had arrived after asking passersby, to earn some money to survive for now he didn't have single penny.
Everyone now and then people could be seen coming and going full of crowd but no fighting.
An elite mercenary syndicate cloaked in secrecy, the Eclipse Legion operates in the shadows of empires—hunting bounties, recovering ancient relics, and quelling rebellions before they ignite. Bound not by patriotism but by contracts and coin, they are feared as much as they are respected. Their symbol: a dark crescent eclipsing a burning star—an omen that wherever they appear, silence follows death.
Stepping inside, Eirian approached the reception, where a broad-shouldered man in his forties sat polishing a dagger. His aura prickled Eirian's senses, an 8-star Emberflesh Realm cultivator, just to manage a desk? The Sacred Legion's depth was… unsettling. He felt slightly surprised but didn't let it appear on his face.
"Hello," Eirian began, offering a curt nod. "I'm new. What should I know about the Eclipse Legion?"
The man's gaze swept over him, unimpressed. "We deal in bounties, relics, and the occasional war," he said, flipping a ledger open. "Bring proof of a completed contract before sunset, get paid. Fail, and the Legion takes its cut from your hide."
He tapped a posted notice—a list of names, some crossed out in red. "Still interested?"