When Ardam pressed his lips to Lyuna's, her resistance dissolved in a heartbeat. Caught in a sudden, visceral surge of passion, she surrendered, her fingers tangling into his hair as she pulled him closer, her arms locking around his neck.
But for Ardam, this moment was governed by professional detachment rather than pleasure. As their bodies pressed together, he could feel her internal Erta flow—it was jagged, turbulent, and fractured. It wasn't the smooth, rhythmic pulse of a healthy cultivator; it felt like water struggling to flow through a ravine choked with thorns and jagged rocks.
"System, can you scan Lyuna's body?" Ardam commanded internally, his lips still locked with hers.
[DING! Understood. Please maintain physical contact...]
Ardam deepened the kiss. Lyuna, completely lost in the intensity of his focus, clung to him even tighter. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, her entire being seemingly starved for this newfound strength.
[DING! Scan complete.]
[Target: Lyuna.]
[Analysis: Severe burning of Erta fibers. Chronic respiratory dysfunction detected. 3rd and 4th Erta Veins are ruptured. A permanent, non-healing wound identified on the left thigh.]
[Conclusion: The chaotic Erta energy within her is slowly poisoning her system. To ensure a full recovery, "Dual Cultivation" is recommended.]
"Now is not the time," Ardam thought. Gelli was still in the back of the tailor shop and could return at any moment.
He shifted his hand, placing his palm over Lyuna's heart—just above the soft silk covering her chest—where her pulse raced with a mix of fear and desire. Lyuna's breath hitched; she closed her eyes tight, her nails digging into Ardam's shoulders. She assumed this was a gesture of pure lust, but the reality was far different.
"System, expend 100 OC (Opposite Coins) to restore the target's body."
[DING! Commencing restoration...]
In that instant, a refined, warm current of energy surged from Ardam's palm into Lyuna's body. This wasn't ordinary Erta; it was the System's primordial healing essence. The energy tore through the blockages in her lungs, stabilized her erratic heartbeat, and raced through her veins to target the hidden scar on her thigh. Within minutes, a strange sensation washed over Lyuna—it felt as though a crushing mountain had been lifted from her shoulders. Her body grew light, and her breathing became crystal clear.
[DING! Restoration process complete.]
Ardam broke the kiss. His gaze remained as cold and enigmatic as ever. He withdrew his hand from her chest and took a measured step back.
Lyuna stood frozen for a moment. The dull, persistent aches that had plagued her for months were simply… gone. "Ardam… what… what was that?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Before she could finish, she instinctively lifted the hem of her dress to check her left thigh. Realizing a man was standing right in front of her, she flushed deep crimson and quickly dropped the fabric. But those few seconds were enough for both of them—the deep, jagged wound that had refused to heal was gone. Her skin was as smooth as a newborn's, without even a trace of a scar.
"Why can't you cultivate anymore?" Ardam asked, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Lyuna let out a long, heavy sigh and looked at the floor, her eyes clouding with resentment and pain. "A few months ago… I was in a duel with Mina, the top disciple of Master Aldeya. Mina didn't just want to win; she wanted to cripple me. The Sect's Chief Alchemist told me my Erta Veins were so badly damaged that the leaking energy was poisoning my very organs."
Tears welled in her eyes. "The treatment was far beyond our reach. That Chief Alchemist… that disgusting old man… he said he would give me the healing pill only if I entered into a Dual Cultivation contract with him—if I gave him my body. I refused, and because of that, he blocked us from even buying the pill with gold. My father eventually begged Elder Bram, the Sect's High Alchemist, for help. Bram said that ruptured Erta Veins are impossible to mend. Even if I had accepted that Chief Alchemist's deal, the pill wouldn't have worked... he just wanted to humiliate me."
Ardam reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Lyuna's face. She shivered at his touch. "Don't worry. I can fix it," Ardam said, his voice ringing with the finality of a law. "Come to me tonight."
The command sent a jolt of exhilaration through Lyuna's heart. Without another word, Ardam turned and walked out of the tailor shop, his new silk robes fitting his powerful frame perfectly. As he stepped into the sunlight, the fabric shimmered, lending him an air of effortless nobility.
[DING! Intimacy detected. Target Rating: 7.1 points.]
[Results:]
Prolonged Kiss (4 minutes): +70 ACIntimate
Touch: +30 AC
Embrace: +8 AC
[Current Balance: 163 AC and 500 OC.]
As Ardam navigated the sect streets, he felt the shift in the atmosphere. The disciples and servants who used to look at him with mockery or disdain now averted their eyes, whispering in hushed, shocked tones only after he had passed. His new, imposing physique and the heavy, measured weight of his footsteps were living proof of the "Hidden Genius" rumors.
He headed straight for the Sect Commission Building—the heart of the hierarchy. This was where disciples had their strength measured and received the bands that signified their rank. Ardam pushed open the massive gates and walked directly to the reception desk.
"I am here for the official rank-up evaluation. 1st-Rank Warrior," Ardam stated. His voice seemed to vibrate through the stagnant air of the hall.
The girl behind the desk stared at him, paralyzed. The pressure radiating from the young man before her was so stifling she barely dared to breathe. With trembling hands, she handed him a permit stone and pointed toward the corridor on the right.
Ardam took the stone and entered the testing chamber. In the center stood a massive Monolith covered in ancient, glowing runes. An experienced evaluator—a 3rd-Rank Warrior with a face etched in scars—was waiting. They exchanged a brief, respectful nod.
"Approach the Monolith," the evaluator said, his curiosity piqued. "Place your hand on the stone and release every drop of Erta in your body at once."
Ardam stepped up to the Monolith. He pressed his palm against the cold, smooth surface and closed his eyes. In that instant, the Ancient Core in his heart roared to life. He unleashed his energy without restraint.
The air in the room grew heavy as a golden storm of Erta particles swirled around him. The Monolith suddenly pulsed with life. A brilliant blue light surged from its base, engulfing the stone, while the crown turned a vivid, searing red. The energy was so dense that the floor surrounding the Monolith began to crack.
"Enough!" the evaluator shouted, his voice cracking with shock. "Your Erta quantity and quality… they are well beyond the requirements for a 1st-Rank Warrior."
The evaluator handed Ardam a small dagger and a metallic rank-band. This was the final formality. Ardam took the blade, pricked his finger, and let a drop of blood fall onto the sect seal on the band. The metal flashed, binding Ardam's blood and energy signature to its memory.
"It is done. This band confirms your status. Congratulations, young warrior," the evaluator said with newfound respect.
As soon as Ardam left the building, the reception hall erupted in chatter.
"It's true, then!" the receptionist whispered. "Young Master Ardam Cray really was a hidden genius. And he's so handsome…"
The evaluator, meanwhile, stared at the closed door in a daze. "Wait… was that really the same Ardam Cray everyone called talentless? If he reached this level in a single day, he's been playing us all for fools for years. That coldness in his eyes… that power is terrifying."
By the time Ardam reached the Arena, it was past noon. The Arena was the bloodiest, most ruthless place in the Sect, currently teeming with hundreds of warriors preparing for the "Successor's Tournament." Ardam walked to the registration desk in the corner.
"I want to register for the Successor's Tournament," he said, showing his new rank-band.
The 3rd-Rank disciples in charge of registration looked at him, then at the band. Their expressions soured into discomfort.
"Our apologies, Young Master," one said, bowing his head slightly. "But the primary roster is already full. The tournament begins tomorrow morning; you are too late."
"I am a direct successor of this sect," Ardam said, his voice rising, echoing across the arena floor. "How is it possible that there is no room for me?"
"Hey, Ardam! Are you suggesting the other successors don't deserve their spots?" a mocking, arrogant voice called out from behind.
Ardam turned. Deris stood there, with Kerun lurking behind him. Deris was the son of Elias—one of the nine elders and the brother of Karot and Clay's mother. Thanks to his family ties, Deris acted as if he owned the arena.
"I've heard about you," Deris sneered. "It seems everyone calling you a 'Hidden Genius' has gone to your head, Ardam Cray."
"To you, it's Young Master Ardam," he replied, locking eyes with Deris with a chilling stare.
Deris's face contorted with rage. "Who do you think you are, trash? Taking a rank-band doesn't make you a genius!"
Deris suddenly unleashed his aura, intending to crush Ardam's will and force him to his knees in front of everyone. But Ardam didn't flinch. Instead, he released his own aura, saturated with the violent energy of the Merdun Lightning.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. The air didn't just grow heavy; it became electrified. Where the two energies clashed, the air hummed and hissed with sparks. Other warriors in the arena recoiled, instinctively moving away from the terrifying pressure.
"Stop!" Kerun intervened, his face slick with cold sweat. "Let a duel settle this. Ardam, if you want a spot so badly, duel Deris. If Deris loses, he gives you his spot. If you lose… you will submit to any condition Deris sets."
Both rivals reined in their pressure. A repulsive smirk spread across Deris's face. He wasn't about to miss a chance to tear Ardam apart in front of the whole sect.
"Fine," Deris said. "Tomorrow at dawn, before the opening ceremony. I can't promise I won't kill you, Ardam."
Ardam turned and walked away without a word, a victorious calm settled on his face.
Kerun exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Damn that Ardam… how did he get this strong?" he wondered. Kerun had only just reached 1st-Rank by opening his 7th vein, whereas Deris had been at that level for seven months and was already at his 8th vein. Yet the pressure Ardam just exerted… it was denser and more menacing than Deris's.
"I'm glad I didn't step in," Kerun thought with a shiver. "If I had fought him, I doubt I'd be standing right now."
The Sect's Main Palace was a monument to power and luxury. In the central cultivation chamber, the air was tinged blue from the sheer density of Erta. Here, Clay and Karot were busy tempering their bodies like steel. Suddenly, a young messenger—a mere boy—rushed in, clutching his chest and gasping for air.
"Young Masters… forgive the intrusion!" his voice shook with terror.
Karot opened his eyes. His gaze was so cold the messenger instinctively dropped to his knees. "Speak," Karot commanded.
"Young Master Deris and… Young Master Ardam…" Before the boy could finish, Clay jumped to his feet.
"What?! Since when did that trash become 'Young Master'?!" Clay roared, his face turning purple with anger.
"Don't interrupt, brat!" Karot snapped at his brother before turning back to the messenger. "Well? What has our 'waste-collector' done now?"
"They are dueling tomorrow morning at Arena 2. Ardam Cray has been officially ranked as a 1st-Rank Warrior. The Commission confirmed it hours ago," the boy continued, head bowed. "Most shockingly, he claimed his status as a 'direct successor' and said he had more right to be in the tournament than anyone else."
The calm on Karot's face vanished. The veins in his forehead bulged like vipers, and his fingers crushed the stone armrest of his seat into powder. "Get out!" Karot bellowed.
Once the messenger had scrambled out, Clay approached his brother. "Brother, what do we do? How can that trash have the same rights as us? If he wins…"
"Don't worry," Karot's voice was now ice-cold. "Deris won't lose to him. Deris has eight Erta veins open; Ardam is just a lizard whose tail has barely started to grow. But just in case… bring Deris to me immediately. He's going to need some 'assistance.'"
In another corner of the sect, Elder Bermis sat in his courtyard, listening to the report from a registration warrior. A moment later, a boisterous laugh rang out.
"Hahaha! This boy never ceases to amaze me!" Bermis chuckled, stroking his beard. "Reaching Warrior rank in a day and immediately challenging Deris… Who is Deris to set conditions for Ardam? Still, Deris isn't weak. If what you say is true, Ardam can handle it. A volcano has woken up inside him."
"Who is this Ardam?" a melodious voice asked.
A girl approached Bermis. Her fiery red hair seemed to glow in the twilight, and the sharp intensity in her eyes made it clear she was no ordinary girl. This was Termina, Bermis's granddaughter.
"I will certainly introduce you, my granddaughter," Bermis said, smiling. "He is the most 'interesting' young man in this sect."
The Commission had assigned Ardam a luxurious private room in the Inner Sect due to his new rank, but Ardam didn't go there. He returned to his old, dilapidated hut.
"The last night…" he whispered, locking the door. "Tomorrow is a big day, but tonight, I have a guest."
Ardam sat on his old bed and summoned the golden screen in his mind. "System, overclock the Ancient Core. Spend all remaining AC."
[DING! 163 AC expended.]
[Ancient Core processing speed increased by 23x.]
[Balance: 0 AC / 500 OC remaining.]
Ardam's heart began to thrum with incredible speed. His body heated up like a furnace, greedily pulling in the Erta from the surroundings. Just then, a soft, hesitant voice came from outside the door.
"Young Master… may I come in?"