Chapter 43 - Invitation
The market whispers linger for a few hours after the fight, but De-Reece does not acknowledge them. He does not stay to hear the rumors, nor does he care for the glances sent his way.
He has what he came for.
The life-saving talisman rests within his storage pouch, secured alongside the Qi Solidifying Pill and the medallion he has yet to understand.
He moves through Ironhold's streets, his pace unhurried, his mind already shifting back to what matters most.
Training.
Strengthening his foundation.
Ensuring that when the Sect Selection begins, he does not merely compete—he dominates.
De-Reece disappears from Ironhold's open streets, retreating into the house he secured with Kalia.
The world beyond their small courtyard moves forward—clashes, negotiations, and hidden power struggles—but none of it matters to him.
His days are structured, focused:
Qi Refinement: The Qi Solidifying Pill takes effect, strengthening his control over his meridians, making each burst of power more stable, more efficient. The difference is subtle at first, but by the third day, the results are undeniable—his strikes hit harder, his techniques flow with greater ease. Weapon Training: In the evenings, he visits the blacksmith's forge, testing different blades, refining his feel for balance and weight. The Demon Sword he carries is already powerful, but even the strongest blade is useless without mastery. Sparring with Kalia: Though their fighting styles differ, they push each other—Kalia's speed against his power, her adaptability against his precision. More than once, they end their sessions bruised, but the lessons learned make them sharper.
De-Reece does not seek out conflict.
But he knows that soon, it will find him.
On the fourth day, he notices it.
A shift in the air.
A presence—not hostile, not reckless, but patient.
Someone is watching.
Not from within the house. Not from the immediate training grounds.
But from the edges of Ironhold's quiet streets, just beyond his reach.
Whoever it is, they do not approach.
They simply observe.
A week passes.
De steps into Ironhold's training district, the weight of a week's focused cultivation settling into his stance. The Qi Solidifying Pill has refined his control, his movements feel sharper, and the faint burn of past exertion has long faded.
The city remains unchanged—its pulse steady, its conflicts hidden beneath the surface. But today, something shifts.
Someone waits for him.
A figure clad in deep blue robes, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His posture speaks of discipline, his presence carefully restrained, but not weak.
De does not react, but his awareness sharpens.
As he moves forward, the figure steps into his path.
The man's voice is steady, but there's no mistaking the weight behind it. "Cheon Ma De."
Not a question. A statement.
De halts, meeting the man's gaze. Not hostile. Not overly eager. A recruiter.
The man tilts his head slightly, a faint smirk forming. "You've drawn attention."
De says nothing.
The man continues. "It would be a waste to see you enter the selection with no backing. Consider a better path."
A recruitment offer.
Before the Sect Selection even begins.
De studies him, noting the insignia on his robe—not one of the orthodox sects, nor the openly unorthodox. A neutral force, perhaps.
An early invitation.
The real game has begun.
De watches the man carefully, noting the controlled ease of his stance, the confidence in his tone. This is not someone extending an offer out of desperation—this is someone who believes their offer has weight.
That alone is worth hearing.
Without breaking stride, De gives a slight nod. "We can s peak."
The man smiles, unfazed by the lack of formality. "Straight to the point. I respect that."
He gestures toward a quieter section of the street, away from the flow of warriors and merchants. "Walk with me."
De does not hesitate, following at a measured pace. Solar pads silently at his side, golden-violet eyes flickering toward the stranger, watchful as always.
The man speaks smoothly, as if this conversation has already been rehearsed. "Your name—Cheon Ma De—has been whispered in the right circles. You fight decisively. You train in silence. You refuse to draw attention, yet attention finds you."
He glances at De with an amused edge. "That is the mark of someone meant to walk further than most."
De doesn't react. Flattery holds no weight here.
The man continues. "The Sect Selection is still two months away, but the competition has already begun. The weak gather in numbers, the strong remain unclaimed. Tell me, have you considered what happens when you reach the selection grounds?"
De remains quiet for a moment before answering. "I plan to enter. I plan to win."
The man chuckles softly. "And you will. But raw strength alone does not secure a future. Power must be directed. And that is where we come in."
He gestures subtly toward his insignia. "We seek those who do not just desire strength—but understand it."
De glances at the marking—a neutral sect, one that does not immediately align with either the orthodox or unorthodox factions.
The recruiter pauses. "Our offer is simple. Enter the selection under our name, and you will not be alone when the time comes. No pointless internal battles. No uncertainty. You will have a foundation from the start."
De stops walking.
The recruiter stops with him, watching, waiting.
De's voice is calm. "And what does your sect gain from this?"
The man smiles faintly. "An investment. In return, you gain a path that will not break beneath you."
For the first time, De sees the true offer beneath the words.
Not an immediate demand.
Not forced loyalty.
But an early claim—one that, if accepted, would subtly tie him to their path.
De does not move, his expression unreadable as he studies the man before him. He knows the weight of premature alliances.
He also knows that knowledge is power.
To refuse an offer without understanding it is a fool's mistake.
His voice remains calm, measured. "Who are you?"
The man's smirk deepens slightly, as if he was waiting for that question.
"The sect I represent is not as famous as Mount Hua, nor as feared as the Demonic Sect."** He speaks slowly, deliberately.** "We do not seek to expand endlessly, nor do we waste time with weak disciples who will never reach the peak."
He pauses, measuring De's reaction.
"We are the Silent Edge Sect."
De lets the name settle in his mind.
Not an orthodox power. Not a widely known unorthodox sect.
A neutral force—one that operates between the lines of the great factions.
He has heard of them in passing. A sect that does not boast grand numbers, yet produces cultivators with impeccable technique.
A sect that is never at the center of war, yet is never ignored.
A sect that plays the long game.
De meets the man's gaze. "And what does the Silent Edge Sect truly want?"
The recruiter chuckles softly, his eyes sharp with amusement. "You ask the right questions. I respect that."
He folds his arms. "We want strength, but not just any strength. We value those who do not rely on blind faith in their own ability, but rather those who understand that power is only as useful as the way it is wielded."
He tilts his head slightly. "That is why we are interested in you."**
The recruiter does not press. He does not try to force De into a decision.
That alone tells De something important.
They are confident.
They are not desperate for disciples. They are choosing selectively.
This is not an offer given to just anyone.
The man speaks again, his voice even. "We do not demand loyalty. We do not require blind devotion. But strength that goes unclaimed is strength wasted."
He gestures toward the city beyond them.
"The Sect Selection will come, and sects will seek to claim the strongest." His gaze sharpens. "Make no mistake—if we do not take you, someone else will."
He steps back slightly. "I have made our position clear. The decision is yours. When you are ready, you may find me again."
He turns, ready to leave.
Then pauses.
His final words carry weight. "But make no mistake, Cheon Ma De—when the great sects begin to take notice of you, the choice may no longer be yours to make."
With that, he disappears into the crowd.
Leaving De standing in the middle of Ironhold, with more than just a choice ahead of him.