Half a month had passed since the imperial summit, and the Ron State was no longer what it once was.
Alina, once a fortified town nestled between mountains, had absorbed every neighboring village and outpost within a hundred-mile radius. Under Jalen's direct oversight, roads were reinforced, spirit veins embedded, and cultivation towers rose like spires across the horizon. Training halls were constructed, protective formations layered, and the infrastructure refined to perfection. The population surged past two million—a mix of cultivators and ordinary citizens. What had begun as a sanctuary was now a city-state, pulsing with qi and ambition. The growth was unstoppable.
Ethion, once a proud state, was now fully integrated into Ron. Its princes had been evicted or reassigned—some forced into exile, others offered a chance to serve as vessels of Emperor Ameer Ron in newly appointed territories. Of course, they were under strict supervision. Their loyalty was being tested, and Jalen had made it clear: betrayal would not be forgiven.
The Petal State remained fractured. More than half of it had already been absorbed into Ron. The remaining territories were divided into ten regions, each ruled by a surviving son of the former emperor. But that arrangement wouldn't last. Change was inevitable.
As for the Trident State, its emperor had been hunted relentlessly. Jalen had ordered wave after wave of attacks, never giving him a moment to recover. The emperor fought back, killing several Peak Sage Realm cultivators. But in the end, he fell. His death cost lives—but it was worth it. Most of his children and royal kin fled. Those who stayed died trying to reclaim their crumbling empire. The majority of their vassals surrendered and submitted to the Ron State. They were spared.
And just like that, the Trident State was swallowed whole.
The threats from the former three states had been neutralized.
But others remained.
Lithia. Tulsa. Rican. And beyond them, the top states of the great Erias Continent—each with their own Sky Limit Realm experts, ancient bloodlines, and imperial ambitions. Ron State, for all its newfound power, had no Sky Limit cultivator to anchor it.
Even so, none dared to strike.
Ron now boasted over two hundred and fifty Peak Sage Realm cultivators, many of them once enemies—now bound by slave pacts or swayed by the scent of greener pastures. The number of mid- and early-stage sages had tripled. Any state considering invasion might win—but they would bleed for it.
And then there was the rumor.
Whispers of a Light Clan elder residing in Alina.
No one wanted to offend the Light Clan. Not without reason. Not without consequence.
So while the top states hated the annexation—hated the rise of a new power—their hands were tied.
At least for now.
—
In this time, Ameer accepted proposals from Lithia, Tulsa, and Rican to establish diplomatic relations. Trade routes were opened. Cultivation exchanges were discussed. But Ameer didn't drop his guard. He knew politics could turn deadly in seconds.
After all, Elder Jalen had overturned four kingdoms in less than a year—kingdoms that had ruled for thousands of years, now reduced to ash and replaced by something new.
The message was clear: power could shift. Quickly. Brutally.
—
As the Ron State prospered, its armies grew, and its borders solidified, Ameer trained under Jalen's watchful eye.
Not just in cultivation—but in strategy, rhythm, and restraint.
Jalen had assigned the six sages to assist his growth, but Ameer preferred Jalen's direct guidance. And Jalen didn't refuse.
He opened meridians Ameer hadn't known existed. He crafted medicine baths infused with spirit root essence. He refined Ameer's qi flow, corrected his posture, and taught him how to listen to his own spirit sea.
In just another half a month, Ameer reached the Peak Amethyst Realm.
His silver-white hair shimmered under moonlight. His eyes glowed faintly, like polished crystal. His aura was no longer timid—it was sharp, deliberate, and regal.
—
Jalen hadn't only focused on Ameer.
He had finally completed a cultivation method for Calen—a technique tailored to the boy's unique spirit core. He named it the Radiant Solar Method, a system of twenty cultivation techniques built around solar qi.
Jalen had spent weeks researching flame-based arts from across the Erias Continent, dissecting their structure, refining their flow, and mythifying their rhythm. The result was a method that balanced aggression with elegance and heat with harmony.
Calen was ecstatic.
Under Jalen's guidance, he began practicing immediately. And in just weeks, he had mastered six techniques:
Technique 1: Solar Dance: A movement technique that channels sunlight at Calen's feet, allowing him to dash as swiftly as sunrays. Trails of golden light ripple behind him with each step. Most effective in daylight, but still usable under moonlight by drawing ambient solar residue.
Technique 2: Solar Beam: A focused attack that condenses solar qi into a miniature sun in Calen's palm. With a pulse, it expands to the size of a beach ball and launches forward, incinerating whatever it touches. The beam's power reflects Calen's emotional clarity—hesitation weakens it, conviction sharpens it.
Technique 3: Solar Veil: A defensive technique that conjures three walls of scorching heat around Calen. The veil can be projected outward or condensed into a second skin, absorbing slashes, arrows, and spiritual strikes. It cauterizes wounds and burns anything that touches it.
Technique 4: Solar Arrows: A ranged technique that creates arrows imbued with solar qi. Upon impact, they burn through armor and disrupt the target's qi flow. Against weaker cultivators, they can ignite meridians or reduce them to ash if Calen wills it.
Technique 5: Solar Rage: A blade technique that causes Calen's weapon to pulse with radiant fury. Each swing releases arcs of solar energy—razor-thin waves of heat and light that slice through enemies at range. The angrier Calen is, the wider the reach.
Technique 6: Solar Punch: A close-combat finisher that infuses Calen's fist with concentrated solar qi. Upon impact, it detonates in a burst of heat capable of vaporizing weaker foes and staggering stronger ones. The blinding flash disorients enemies, giving Calen a critical edge.
Jalen watched him train, correcting his stance, adjusting his breathing, and occasionally flicking his forehead when he got cocky.
Each technique carried the energy of the sun—blinding, explosive, and pure. And with every strike, Calen stepped closer to the myth Jalen had designed him to become.
__
Jael had changed a lot too.
Over the past month, his growth had surged—unnatural, unrelenting. He no longer stood nearly level with Calen. He had surpassed him. Now, though barely six years old, Jael looked eighteen—taller, broader, his frame carved by qi and time. The boy who once clung to Jalen's robes had vanished.
His limbs had lengthened. His posture sharpened. His presence deepened.
His eyes, once playful, now held a quiet intensity—the same intensity Jalen carried.
Jael didn't speak much anymore. He watched. He listened. He moved like mist over steel—fluid, composed, and dangerous. And when he stood beside Jalen, the resemblance was unmistakable.
It was as if they were twins born of different storms. The only difference: Jael wore his hair short.
When Calen finally asked, Jalen explained it simply: Jael was a dragon. His growth didn't follow human rhythms. The more potent the environment, the faster he matured.
He had already reached early Spirit Fusion Realm.