Wisdom

The next trial was even easier for Amon as he was simply endlessly drilled with questions and riddles relating to aether, cultivation, and theoretical knowledge.

Though the questions weren't hard, there were a lot of them, which took hours to answer one by one considering the questions required long answers.

'I can understand the battle portion of the trial being easy because of my newfound power, but why is this even easier? Is the legacy of a Warlock supposed to be so easily attainable?'

He scratched his nonexistent beard.

'What the hell even is a warlock? Do you know?'

[According to my database, a warlock is a cultivator that follows a special path. Their path is a fusion of the arcane, martial, and beast paths as they all intermingle to form a new and supreme one. Warlocks are fearsome individuals revered throughout the universe though very rare due to the harsh requirements.]

His gaze narrowed.

'I see…so is it a variant golden path or is it a supreme path?'

Aether cultivation could be approached four ways.

There was the Golden Path, the Variant Paths, the Supreme Paths, and the Blank Paths.

The Blank Paths referred to the easiest and weakest path of them all. In this path, the cultivator merely formed aether marks and used aether to slightly empower themselves at each stage and evolve.

That was the only thing they were required to do throughout their entire path and was why they were the weakest yet the most numerous.

Then there was the Golden Path, which required one to also form aether marks, but at each stage, one had to follow a specific number of steps to build a foundation.

Variant paths relied on the golden path but tweaked certain aspects of each stage while Supreme Paths were entirely different behemoths.

Supreme Paths had to be practiced alongside one's Golden Path and were exactly what they named themselves, Supreme.

Not much was known about them apart from the fact that supreme path practitioners were untouchable even by those of higher tiers.

[It is a Variant Supreme Path as it is the result of the fusion of three top-tier supreme paths.]

Amon's gaze twinkled hearing this.

The moment he'd been freed of his chains by the trial, he'd already decided to escape and free himself, regardless of what was in this ruin, and he was quite confident in being able to safely escape.

But now, he felt he couldn't pass up on such an opportunity. If he acquired this inheritance, how terrifying would he be?

In terms of innate stat potential, he doubted many matched him and eventually, when he hit his full potential limit, he'd be unrivaled but atop this all, the amount of origin aether he'd gathered over the years was tremendous meaning he was guaranteed to form a high-tier aether mark, tier nine at the very least.

All this plus a variant supreme path?

He had to get this inheritance.

For the first time in ages, he smiled, and his excitement bubbled forth.

The marble ground rumbled and suddenly, he was blinded and as usual, he was once again thrown into a portal.

***

Within a dark hall, lights began to flash.

One after the other, the third Prince's subordinates began to appear.

All seemed to be haggard, covered in blood and numerous injuries, the third Prince included.

As soon as Amon appeared, seeing this, he frowned.

His frown was twofold. The first was because it made no sense for the likes of Amato and Awa to be this injured, let alone the royal guards.

He knew just how powerful they all were, so this truly left him baffled, but beyond all this, they strangely seemed to be much weaker than they were on the outside, the third Prince in particular.

His gaze narrowed as he looked at the third Prince.

His long blonde hair had been torn off, his body covered in gashes as he repeatedly vomited mouthfuls of blood, but this wasn't what caught Amon's attention.

His jewels. They were gone.

'So my theory was right…he, himself, is unable to form aether marks, thus cultivate, so he relied on royal artifacts fused into his body…'

His gaze narrowed even more.

'But this trial took them away, the same way it got rid of my royal chains…so this is why he was so obsessed with these ruins…'

His thoughts moved at light speed, and clues from decades of keen and patient observation linked to form a picture of truth.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in, attempting to douse his erupting anger.

'He's a cripple.'

He suddenly began to laugh, unable to control his body or mind as his powerful vocal cords left the air shaking and startled all present in the hall.

"Hahaha!"

To think the man he'd hated so much, the man who'd inflicted the most suffering and trauma to him would be a mere and pathetic cripple, in search of his philosopher's stone.

He couldn't help but let out a self-deprecating laugh, one that pulled on years of fury, rage, sadness, and much more.

What was he supposed to do now? Where would the satisfaction from his revenge come from?

He'd imagined the third Prince to be a lofty and powerful figure that had the world in the palm of his hands, always moving ten steps ahead.

This was one of the reasons he'd been so diligent in his training over the last few decades, it was because he expected an insurmountable wall to stand before him as he grasped and fought for his freedom.

But now that this figure had turned out to be one of the endless number of nobles, pampered and coddled by their families, unable to do anything without the power they inherited, how was he supposed to exact his revenge?

Where would the satisfaction be in that? Would he stoop so low?

It was an endeavor where he was bound to lose, regardless of what he did.