Alert, Nathan rose and moved toward the source. Pushing through the undergrowth, he came upon a violent scene. In the clearing ahead, a young man about his age fought with fierce determination. He wore a luxurious white robe, his long white hair gleaming under the moonlight, and his cultivation aura revealed him to be at the tenth stage of the Qi Condensation realm.

  Surrounding him were several men dressed in black, their faces hidden behind masks. They moved with deadly precision—assassins wielding Metal Qi. From their arms, blades shimmered into existence, only to vanish and reform as darts and jagged spears, each glistening with venomous light.

  The young lord’s aura blazed. His Fire Spirit Root was an anomaly, and from his strikes erupted flames unlike any ordinary blaze—white fire that seared the night, pure and merciless. Each palm strike sent arcs of flame roaring outward, consuming conjured blades and reducing poisoned darts to ash before they could reach him. Trees around the clearing shuddered as the heat warped their bark, shadows dancing in the pale inferno.

  One assassin lunged, spear dripping with poison, but the young lord’s sleeve flared with fire, engulfing the weapon in a burst of white flame. Another dart whistled through the air, only to melt mid?flight as his qi surged. His robe whipped around him as he spun, a storm of fire and fury, scattering his attackers like leaves before a tempest.

  Yet even white fire could not shield him forever. A single dart slipped through, piercing his shoulder. Pain flared, venom burning through his veins, dimming the brilliance of his flames. His vision blurred, his breath grew ragged, and though he struck down the last assassin with a blazing fist, his knees buckled. Blood flecked his lips, his body trembling as paralysis set in.

  Sensing Nathan’s presence hidden in the brush, the young man’s eyes snapped toward him. “Come out!” he commanded, suspicion lacing his voice. For a moment he thought Nathan was another assassin, but when Nathan stepped forward, ragged and plain, it was clear he did not fit the description.

  Relief flickered briefly in the young lord’s gaze before his strength gave way. Desperately, he reached for a pouch at his hip, but his fingers failed him. The poison surged, and he fell face?first to the ground, unable to move, his body locked in the venom’s grip.

  Nathan panicked as the young man convulsed, blood spilling from his mouth and eyes. He had no medicine, no skill—only desperation. Then the marble in his dantian flared, flooding his spirit sense with clarity. It named the venom “qi?eroding poison.” Without aid, the boy would die within minutes. But the marble showed him a path. First, Nathan pressed his hands to the young lord’s chest, channeling qi to seal his dantian and meridians, halting the poison’s spread. The convulsions eased, buying precious time.

  Afterward Nathan moved swiftly. He hauled the young lord’s limp body through the forest until he found a shallow cave tucked beneath a ridge. The shadows offered concealment, a refuge from any assassins who might still prowl nearby. He laid the boy down.

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  Nathan went out again, scouring the forest for flame?aligned herbs—bitter and acrid, just as the marble’s knowledge had revealed. When he returned to the cave, he brewed them into a steaming bath, stripped away the blood?soaked robe, and lowered the young lord in. The boy groaned as the heat bit into his flesh, black threads of poison seeping from his pores. An hour passed before his breathing steadied, but the venom was not yet gone. Nathan kept him submerged for another two hours; only then did the poison fully recede. It was at that moment the young lord stirred.

  He tensed, preparing to strike, but Nathan stopped him. “Stay still—you’re still weakened.”

  “Who are you?” the young lord demanded. “Where am I?”

  “My name is Nathan,” he replied. “And you’re in the Azure Forest.”

  At the mention of the forest, the young lord’s eyes widened. Memory returned. “The realm…” He tried to rise from the bath, but his legs gave way. Nathan caught him before he fell.

  “I told you not to move. You’re weakened, and your dantian and meridians are sealed.”

  The young lord checked within himself and realized he could not channel qi. His gaze sharpened. “You… what are your intentions?”

  Nathan snorted. “Humph. I saved you, yet you suspect me of foul play? I missed my chance to enter the pocket realm because of you. I might even end up dead from the assassins chasing you.”

  “I’m sorry,” the young lord said at last, his tone softer. “Now stop being so dramatic.” He paused, then asked, “Where are my clothes?”

  “They were bloody, so I washed them and set them out to dry,” Nathan replied.

  The young lord frowned. Strange—who strips down a stranger and washes their garments? It felt intrusive, yet he could hardly complain. Without this ragged cultivator’s intervention, he would already be dead.

  “Bring me my pocket pouch,” he ordered, his voice regaining a measure of authority.

  Nathan nodded and did as instructed. The young lord retrieved a fresh set of garments from his pocket realm, but his hands trembled as he tried to dress. Nathan moved to help, but the boy snapped, “Don’t touch me. I can manage.”

  “Alright then.” Nathan shrugged and stepped back.

  It took nearly half an hour before the young lord was fully dressed. He then sat cross-legged, attempting to restore his strength and unblock his meridians. Such a feat was possible only for cultivators strong enough to resist the qi that sealed them—but he was not. Alone, he could not undo it. He would need a powerful expert to release the seals. Yet if he sought one, he risked missing the pocket realm. And in his weakened state, wandering the Azure Forest with assassins still near, he might not survive long enough to reach the palace. Even if he did, would anyone aid the disregarded twentieth prince?

  His eyes turned to Nathan, ragged and plain like a servant. Suspicion flickered—was it Nathan who had sealed his meridians, or the poison itself?

  The thought seemed absurd. This boy looked too much like a servant to possess such skill.

  “Could you… unblock my meridians?” he asked quietly, hesitation lacing his voice.

  Nathan glanced up, distracted. “What’s that? Did you say something?”

  The young lord’s jaw tightened, frustration flashing across his pale face. “Forget it.”

  “As soon as your qi recovers, the seals will fade,” Nathan said firmly. The marble’s knowledge had assured him of this.

  Relief softened the young lord’s features.

  “By the way,” Nathan asked, his tone edged with curiosity, “who are you—and why were those assassins trying to kill you?”

  From the young man’s attire earlier—the luxurious robe, the bearing of someone raised in privilege—Nathan could tell he belonged to a noble family or perhaps a powerful sect. That made the attack difficult to comprehend. Who would dare send killers after someone of this status?