Rivers of the Night

Patriarch Nightingale was in silent meditation when it happened. He had left the other matters to the Elder Council. Although he wanted to be out there personally, he felt that if he was too overly eager, it might raise suspicion about other things.

He had always been a cautious and scheming man, so he preferred to keep his cards close to his vest.

The plan to treat this like an all-out war was his own, and that was already overextending himself a bit. But there was too much looming trouble overhead.

He had been alive for too long, and many were already questioning why that was. He had hoped that by now he would reach a standard that would allow him to cross the final barrier, but unfortunately, he hadn't been able to do it on his own.

He needed an opportunity from the Hall of Ice and Heart to do it, and this was his chance to earn that right. But what he never expected was that as he was laying out the last of his plans…

That this would happen.

Patriarch Nightingale slowly took out the badge that had followed by his side for centuries. He stared at it in complete and utter silence, every bit and piece of what it had once been laying there on his palm as though a dream.

This badge… it was the key to enter the tertiary entrance. With it, he didn't need to undergo the challenge he once had before and could directly go so long as he was standing before said entrance.

But now… it was broken.

There could only be one way such a thing would happen.

The inheritance that he had always thought was his, that he just needed time to claim…

It had been taken by someone else.

And this someone hadn't just gone through the secondary entrance. If they had, the badge would have simply alerted him, not shattered like this.

For it to be shattered, it meant that they had gone through the main entrance and done exactly what he couldn't.

Claim the main legacy.

Rage filled Patriarch Nightingale's heart, and his hand suddenly squeezed down. The shards were so hard and sturdy that they dug into his palm, drawing blood, but with a pulse of Mana, it was like they had never existed at all, crumbling into a rain of ash.

The Demon Chosen.

Patriarch Nightingale's expression was deathly calm, and yet his jaw was clenched so tight that lines of pulsing veins couldn't help but draw out of his skin.

It was no wonder they hadn't been able to find him. All this time, he was hiding in the Dark River.

However, what had been taken away from him would ultimately become the Demon Corps Chosen's downfall. Patriarch Nightingale might have never been able to enter the main entrance, but all of the entrances led to the same place.

Now, he could direct the stream of disciples toward the correct path and location.

There would still be some deviation, but…

Slowly, the Patriarch began to calm down.

Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad thing, after all.

That legacy… even if he had broken through, there was no guarantee that he could get his hands on it. But now that the Demon Chosen had claimed it for him, all he had to do now was take it away.

The unnamed cultivator had never made it clear how he had just "gotten lucky" in the past, but he had made it pretty obvious that he hadn't earned the legacy the right way the first time.

This had always pissed Patriarch Nightingale off. As "kind" as the unnamed cultivator seemed to be, why didn't he just hand over the full legacy after he had managed to make it through the tertiary entrance, risking his life all the while?

Now, it seemed that Karma had come around full circle. It would be the Patriarch's turn to "get lucky."

What the Patriarch didn't know was that the Howling Shadow Blade wasn't very happy with Theron either. The Patriarch thought that by snatching the legacy away from Theron, he would be paying the Howling Shadow Blade back for all the hardship he had put the former through.

But he didn't know that the Howling Shadow Blade probably hated Theron even more than the Patriarch did…

Patriarch Nightingale stood to his feet and began to send out messages. Now wasn't the time to care about the little details. He had to make sure he was the first to get his hands on Theron.

Once he did… that legacy would be his. Then, with or without the Hall of Ice and Heart, he would be able to take that step.

BOOM!

He shot away.

Theron's eyes shot open, a pulsing crimson light coming from them. They tinted his radiant blue eyes just the slightest bit violet, churning with a demonic air that bristled his hair.

The Third Cycle. Success.

However, the power of his eyes was one thing. Mastery was another matter entirely.

Entry, Proficient, Adept, and Consummate. These were the four levels of Mastery for all Spells.

Theron had reached a point where every Water Mana Spell he touched reached Consummate practically instantly, so he hadn't thought about Mastery in a long while. But right now, he had no choice but to.

What surprised him was that this Howling Shadow Blade character was almost… pathetic.

He had only ever reached the Entry Level of Mastery with these [Entangling Blood Vein Pupils]. Because of that, the only thing he could do was attach himself to other streams of Dark Mana.

But it seemed that the deeper one went, the more complex forms of "entanglement" could be used.

At Proficient, you could ride the momentum of other forms of Mana even if you couldn't control them.

At Adept, you could even try and force other streams of compatible Mana to fuse with your own.

At Consummate, it was even possible to entangle with Laws you hadn't personally comprehended yourself!

Of course, this was all limited by the Cycle your eyes were at. Right now, being at the Third Cycle, Theron could do this for any with Gold Resonance range.

These eyes had far more potential than Theron had given them credit for.

Slowly, Theron's eyes turned to the third podium. He could stay here for as long as he wanted, if not for the existence of it.

'It seems that I'll have to go soon… this place isn't as safe as I thought it was…'