Awakening to the Fifth Stage while confronting another whose awakening barely reached the Third—was a confrontation whose outcome could not be in doubt. Kaelen Draven forced himself to suppress the fury bubbling within, choosing instead the path of measured restraint.
With a glance of disdain, his eyes met Darian Vance's, only to be dismissed as he turned away without uttering another word, leaving the other youth's face contorting into a shade of simmering fury.
"He... he actually dared to look at me like that?!" Darian Vance hissed, his hands trembling with indignation. "You've got some audacity, boy!"
"Senior Brother Darian, why bother with scum like him? Let's move quickly to theJade Blossom Pavilion and collect today's task," suggested one of Darian Vance's lackeys.
The sect's duties were countless and never-ending; the Mystic Dawn Sect was no exception. For those disciples who had joined within the last decade, mundane chores were a constant. Only the select few who had proven their strength or value were allowed the privilege of peace atop the mountain, free from such distractions.
Once every ten years, the Mystic Dawn Sect would open its gates to recruit disciples from the secular world. Until then, it was the lowly disciples at the foot of the mountain who bore the brunt of the sect's daily tasks.
"Hmph! One day, I'll make him pay for this! Parading about without an ounce of ability—he's courting death!" Darian Vance snarled, his gaze smoldering as it followed Kaelen Draven's retreating figure, disappearing into the shadowed path lined with pine trees.
Darian Vance was not the type to forget an insult. His vengeance would come swiftly and without mercy.
Meanwhile, Kaelen Draven navigated a rocky bend in the path, where the trail widened. At its end, partially concealed by the dense woods, stood the Jade Blossom Pavilion.
The Jade Blossom Pavilion —an institution within the Mystic Dawn Sect charged with the management of the sect's mundane affairs—was the very place where the newest generation of disciples could be found, attending to the myriad tasks and duties the sect required.
As Kaelen approached, his eyes fell upon several white-robed youths moving in and out of the Pavilion's grand entrance, each carrying a jade token in hand, their faces either filled with purpose or grim determination.
Inside, a figure emerged to greet him. Her eyes sparkled with the clarity of autumn waters, and her skin glowed like finely polished jade.
"Senior Brother Kaelen!" Her voice rang out melodiously, light as the notes of a spring bird's song.
She wore the same white robes as the others, her form delicate and graceful, her long hair cascading in waves behind her. In that moment, she was the very image of ethereal beauty.
"Sister Liana," Kaelen Draven replied with a cool nod, his gaze unwavering. Without pause, he continued his march past her.
As their paths briefly brushed, the air grew heavy with the faintest of fragrances—delicate, sweet, and fleeting.
Sister Liana cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder, her eyes reflecting a quiet sympathy. However, she said nothing, turning back and continuing her exit from the Pavilion.
Behind him, Kaelen faintly heard the sharp voice of Darian Vance, his words filled with venomous arrogance.
Inside the hall, a group of youthful disciples stood before a jade wall, plucking translucent, milky-white jade tokens from its surface. A middle-aged Daoist, dressed lazily in a loose blue robe, reclined beside the wall, his long, disheveled hair a symbol of his relaxed and carefree nature. Though his appearance was that of disinterest and neglect, not a soul dared to disturb him.
TheJade Blossom Pavilionit self was unpretentious, neither opulent nor austere. White-robed disciples continued to enter, picking tokens from the jade wall, each one receiving a task as the contents of their tokens remained sealed until revealed by the bearer's will.
Kaelen stepped forward, reaching for the wall. A slight shimmer of energy—spiritual in nature—broke the air as his fingers brushed the jade surface. This was the Pavilion's protective enchantment, ensuring that the process of task selection was fair and uncontaminated by manipulation.
With practiced ease, he withdrew a jade token. He glanced at it, his divine sense sweeping over the token's surface. In his mind, a single line of text materialized.
"Today's task seems rather simple," he mused, his tone detached and emotionless. His task: to gather ten stalks of century-old Spirit Pearl Grass from the Dark Forest Valley, located fifty miles away.
"Ten years soon to pass... is the sect preparing for another round of Condensed Essence Pills?" Kaelen Draven pondered quietly, inspecting the jade token with a sense of curiosity before turning to depart.
As his foot passed the Pavilion's threshold, Darian Vance and his two lackeys blocked his path. Kaelen ignored them, his gaze as cold as ice. Without sparing them even a glance, he moved forward, brushing past their threatening, murderous stares.
"Damn him!" Darian Vance cursed, but he swallowed his rage, his gaze drifting to the elderly Daoist still lounging lazily by the wall.
No one dared act with violence inside the Pavilion. Not here. Not where the sect's presence loomed so heavily.
Kaelen made his way along the pine-lined path, veering onto a gravel trail. Ahead, a broad courtyard lay nestled between a cluster of simple, yet functional residences—homes belonging to the fourth-generation disciples of the sect. The female disciples were housed on the opposite side of the mountain.
The courtyard was encircled by half-moon-shaped residences, with a massive ancient tree dominating the center. Its thick branches spread wide, offering generous shade to the grounds below.
Returning to his modest abode, Kaelen swiftly consumed a few wild fruits, changed his robes, and readied himself for the journey ahead.
However, just as he stepped outside, a voice laced with malice and mockery rang through the air:
"Well, well, if it isn't the useless Kaelen Draven, off to scurry around somewhere?"
Kaelen Draven's brow furrowed in irritation as he lifted his gaze. There, leaning casually against the great tree, stood Darian Vance, his eyes gleaming with hostility. Two other white-robed youths flanked him—his ever-present lackeys.
"What do you want, Darian Vance?" Kaelen's voice was cold and steely.
"Hmph! Nothing much—just want to see that token of yours," Darian Vance sneered, his smile slow and deliberate as he took step after step toward Kaelen Draven.
The three youths closed in, encircling Kaelen with an air of contempt and mocking superiority, their expressions radiating disdain.
In Kaelen Draven's mind, a single word surged like a tidal wave:
Rage.