The echo of the stone statue’s resonant vibration still hummed in the soles of Evan’s boots as he began to walk across the cobblestone pathways of the First Court.

With the silver scar of the root faintly tingling on his pale palm, he slipped his right leather glove back on, adjusting the heavy wolf skin cloak against the biting wind.

He had two days before Santiago and Hannah returned from their confidential mission, because he was no fool, he knew that outer disciples won’t go out to trade some goods.

He had two days to understand the geography of his new home.

As he walked, the layout of the First Court unveiled itself with rigid, militaristic precision.

It was structured less like a spiritual haven and more like a fortified garrison.

Branching off from the main courtyard were the residential quarters.

A passing disciple’s muttered grumbles near the notice boards gave Evan the exact numbers.

For the outer disciples, the baseline grunts of the sect, there were twenty five rooms in total.

Fifteen were designated for the men, while ten were allocated for the females.

Four people lived in each of these quarters, a forced thing, Evan thought that meant to breed either tight knit comradery or ruthless rivalry.

Further down the eastern wing, where the spiritual air felt slightly crisper and the stone walls were reinforced with faint defensive arrays, lay the inner disciples’ quarters.

There were only ten rooms here, seven for the men and three for the women.

Space was a premium earned by blood, and only three people resided in each of these superior rooms.

Thankfully, the sect wasn’t entirely barbaric, every single room across both ranks featured an attached bathroom, saving the cultivators from the indignity of communal washing.

Centering the residential wings was a single, monolithic library, its multi-tiered roof dusting with snow, and a lone healer’s room that serviced the entire court, identifiable by the bitter, stinging scent of boiled poultices wafting from its vents.

To the far west, the rhythmic clanging of metals were to be heard, in the training ground.

Eventually, Evan’s boots brought him back through the threshold of the grand central hall.

Here, the fifty foot statue of the God of Nature loomed, anchoring the plaza.

It was a mandatory focal point.

The First Court operated entirely under the mandate of the greater sect, and the sect’s core philosophy dictated that they were merely an extension of nature itself, its predators, its storms, its unyielding cycle of decay and rebirth.

Evan stopped at the base, looking up at the smooth, terrifyingly blank visage and the four massive stone arms reaching for the cosmos.

He sank his hands into his pockets, lowered his head, and adopted a posture of deep, solemn reverence.

He let his shoulders slacken, feigning the look of a young cultivator overwhelmed by the primordial majesty of the deity.

But beneath his messy hair, his dark eyes remained cold, calculating, and completely empty of devotion.

’The sect is part of nature, and nature demands worship,’ Evan thought, a cynical sneer remaining buried deep within his mind.

But nature didn’t give me an aperture or system.

Nature didn’t give me the power and talent.

’Power is the only god worth bowing to,’ he thought.

To him, the giant rock was just an emerald pulsing tool to keep the elders blind to the predator hiding in their grass.

’Disciple Evan,’ a sharp, metallic voice interrupted his silent mockery.

Evan straightened up, turning smoothly.

Standing a few paces away was a mortal knight, clad from head to toe in heavy, silent iron armor.

The knight didn’t offer a bow, but his posture was rigid, his hand resting on the hilt of a gleaming halberd.

’The Second Head of the First Court requests your presence in his office immediately,’ the knight commanded, the visor of his helmet muffling his voice into a low metallic rasp.

Evan raised an eyebrow.

He had just left the office of the mountain-sized giant, who he assumed was the master of this place.

But the knight’s specific wording caught his attention. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

The Second Head.

From what he had gathered, the First Court was governed by a council of four heads, each managing a specific tier of administration, meeting in a single grand strategy room and sharing a massive communal dining hall that fed everyone from the lowest disciple to the senior staff.

The giant who had given him the blood-ink contract wasn’t the second head but rather he was the Third Head.

’Lead the way,’ Evan said, his voice flat, his fingers lightly gripping the leather belt at his waist.

The knight turned without a word, his heavy iron boots making surprisingly little sound against the obsidian stone, a testament to the high grade craftsmanship of the sect’s armor.

They bypassed the administrative chair where the giant sat when Evan first came, and headed toward the northern wing, passing the heavy iron doors of the central meeting room before descending a corridor that led toward the rear of the compound.

Through the high narrow windows, Evan caught a glimpse of the far backside of the First Court, a massive, sprawling stable structure where the faint, rhythmic beating of powerful wings could be heard.

Horses with wingspans shifted in the shadows of the stalls, their feathers catching the grey winter light.

The knight stopped before a set of double doors that looked entirely out of place in this bleak, stone fortress.

The office was constructed from polished, pale wood and sheets of clear, flawless crystalline glass that shimmered like ice.

It was a masterclass, reflecting the grey sky and the falling snow in a way that practically screamed for attention.

It looked exactly like the kind of place owned by a flashy, deeply arrogant man.

The knight stepped aside, gesturing for Evan to enter.

Evan pushed the door open, the scent of expensive cedar and a faint, crisp chill hitting his nose.

The interior was spacious, dominated by a massive, mahogany table that gleamed under the light of floating elemental lamps.

Behind the desk sat the Second Head of the First Court.

The man was the absolute antithesis of the third head.

Where the giant was a mountain of raw, scarred muscle, this man was thin, tall, and strikingly young.

His hair was immaculate grey, styled perfectly, and his most arresting feature was a sharp, walnut colored eye that locked onto Evan the moment he crossed the threshold.

He wore a formal, flowing white robe made of premium silk, the fabric so thin and delicate it looked suited for a midsummer festival rather than a freezing mountain winter.

Yet, the man didn’t emit a single shiver.

’Probably cultivates the Ice path,’ Evan thought, noting the faint frosting along the edges of the mahogany desk where the man’s fingers rested.

A sharp, arrogant kind of smile cut across the young head’s face, the corners of his lips curling with an institutional confidence that bordered on a smirk.

He didn’t rise, merely gesturing with a ringed hand toward the space in front of his desk.

In the gap of the table, two identical wooden chairs stood waiting.

’Sit,’ the flashy man said, his voice smooth, carrying an melodic, high-born cadence.

Evan didn’t hesitate.

He walked over to the pair of chairs and chose the one on the left.

Instead of sitting rigid like a typical terrified recruit, Evan sank into the wooden frame, laying his back comfortably against the support.

He leaned over slightly, propping his right elbow onto the armrest of the chair, and held his face by the fist of his right hand, his gloved knuckles resting against his jawline.

His dark eyes stared back at the senior cultivator with a quiet, unbothered neutrality.

The flashy man’s smile widened slightly, amusement dancing in his walnut-colored eye at Evan’s lack of deference.

’My Name is Jia Gao, Mister Evan,’ the man began, leaning back and lacing his long, pale fingers together over his silk robe.

’I have three questions for you. First, which path you cultivate. Second, which faction of the sect do you want to join and you should note that you can not change it in the future. And last but not the least, how would you like the color of your ride, that would also not change of course as the Pegasus is your honor.’

He spoke the words with a casual, almost rhythmic speed, as if reciting a standard script he had given a thousand times, yet his gaze remained sharply fixed on Evan’s reaction.

Evan didn’t alter his posture.

His fist remained supporting his jaw as he let the questions hang in the chilled air of the office for a brief second.

He has two Blood Path Blood Worms and three weaponry path, he thought he should only reveal one so he did.

’Currently I cultivate the weaponry path,’ Evan replied, his voice steady, matching Jia Gao’s smooth tone without a hint of tremor.

’Scouts faction would be well suited to me. The last question hmm... white.’

Jia Gao’s eyes narrowed slightly, processing the answers, the arrogant smile never leaving his face as he tapped a single finger against the mahogany wood.

’Very well Mister... Evan,’ Jia Gao replied, his tone dripping with an easy, aristocratic grace.

’Tasks, badges, uniform and of course your ride will be delivered to you three days from today.’

’Well, he is not as arrogant as I thought,’ Evan thought.