Rivers of the Night

The room was much smaller than the other two, but it was still about ten meters from the entrance to the end of it all. There were two walls of shelves, each wall having three shelves, and each shelf having a line of Soul Lamps, some of which had already flickered out of existence, and some of which were still flickering with life.

Theron scanned them all, but there were no names attached to them. However, his eyes eventually landed on one that was still radiating the faintest trace of an aura despite already having flickered out. This one must have only flamed out recently, and it carried a familiar aura…

Patriarch Nightingale. He was sure.

'Does this mean they won't know he's dead?'

Theron frowned.

He didn't like things he didn't understand. The fact that these Soul Lamps were here instead of being constantly monitored by some janitorial elder didn't make sense. What was the use of a Soul Lamp if it couldn't tell you about the life and death of a person immediately?

This could either be—

Theron's eyes sharpened.

A Soul Lamp was effectively the strand of a person's soul. In the wrong hands, something like that could be especially dangerous.

The only people you would give something like that to would be those you could actually trust—your Sect or Clan Elders.

Was Patriarch Nightingale storing his soul here because there wasn't anyone he actually trusted?

But then there was the other problem… the stronger the cultivator, the stronger the Soul Lamp needed to be. On the continent, having Soul Lamps for junior disciples was actually quite common, but Soul Lamps strong enough for the upper echelon of organizations were far rarer and more difficult to find.

This was why Theron had been able to kill Dean Thistle's right-hand man without him suspecting anything for a long while.

However, from what it seemed like here, not only was there a Soul Lamp for Patriarch Thistle—the most powerful cultivator of the Sect—there were more than a dozen other Soul Lamps of comparable or even higher quality here.

How could that be possible?

Part of Theron just wanted to accept that this world was different from the continent he grew up on. Maybe Soul Lamps were easier to make here, or their crafters were of higher skill levels.

However… the fact these Soul Lamps were hidden away in a place like this made Theron second-guess that conclusion.

His gaze shifted, landing on the Soul Lamps still dancing with life.

'… These… aren't Dark Mancers.'

By their auras, Theron picked out a Spirit Mancer, an Earth Mancer, what even looked like an Ice Mancer. There were also a few other Dark Mancers, but most of the Soul Lamps still flickering with life didn't seem to be members of the Nightingale Sect at all.

And then Theron's gaze stopped sweeping all of a sudden. He had been about to pass right over an extinguished Soul Lamp until he noticed something odd about it.

The Soul Lamp was about three or so inches shorter than the others, and its enclosure was too pristine. Usually, a soul flame would leave behind some markings on the glass enclosure, but it looked like this Soul Lamp had never been lit in the first place.

Theron's first thought was that it was an extra Patriarch Nightingale was keeping, but what were the odds that he would only have just one such extra? And why was it placed on these shelves as though part of the rest of them?

'Hidden in plain sight…' the thought immediately came to Theron.

He took a step forward and picked the unlit Soul Lamp up.

He took several minutes, scanning it from top to bottom until his heart skipped a beat.

Without hesitation, he poured his senses into it and the lamp flickered to life. He held it up and then pointed toward one of the Soul Lamps with the weakest auras.

Theron's head snapped back and to attention, his eyes glazing over. His brain, however, was seeing something completely different.

His eyes opened to a world that he didn't recognize at all. He was suddenly staring out into the open.

"Caulderone."

A grating voice filled with suppressed fury burst into Theron's ears and he snapped back again, the vision disappearing as he almost collapsed.

It didn't hurt, nor did the voice forcefully break the immersion, but it was instead a reflexive action on Theron's part. Just now it felt like a new internal voice had appeared in his mind, as though someone else was thinking for him.

That feeling was so shocking he was forced to pull back, and rapidly at that.

Theron breathed slowly, trying to regain his bearings, but it took a while.

'… This Patriarch Nightingale…'

Theron was slowly piecing together a picture.

If Theron had a lifespan so much longer than everyone else's but didn't have the talent to match up to it, what would he do?

Depending on his ambition, the flexibility of his morals, and how patient he was…

There were many things he could do.

But maybe the best plan of them all was to target young disciples, ones weaker than him because they hadn't yet had the time to grow. He would corner them, force them to give him a strand of their souls, and then he would just sit back, waiting for them to grow into their potential, eventually taking up important positions in the strongest Sects in his territory.

Theron looked through the Soul Lamps once again, realizing that Patriarch Nightingale's ambition wasn't small. He was a true monster of scheming, a person who had all the patience in the world.

If he had had just a little bit more talent… just how far would he have made it?

Theron's expression became icy cold.

This was more important than any resource. This foundation that Patriarch Nightingale had left behind was effectively a toolbox of chess pieces he could use to scheme against the entire galaxy.