The Empire of the West, also known as the West Continent, was one of the five great empires that ruled over the planet Luan.

Within its vast domain lay countless regions—one of which was the Orion Region.

At the heart of this region stood Belthias City, nestled near its center, with Manida Land as the nearest neighboring city to the south.

Five towering mountains dominated the skyline near Manida, their snowcapped peaks gleaming beneath the rising sun. Each mountain served as the home of a powerful Sect—masters of cultivation with strength enough to dominate multiple cities. Yet despite their might, they chose seclusion, keeping themselves far from the squabbles of mortals and the struggles of worldly affairs.

Their presence acted as a natural shield, protecting Manida Land from the endless waves of sandstorms sweeping in from the western deserts.

But protection was all they offered.

Beyond that, the Sects gave nothing to the city—except for the occasional recruitment of disciples to strengthen their ranks.

On most days, the five peaks were quiet and still. Only a few flying swords occasionally cut across the sky, Cultivators perched atop them like birds in silent migration.

But today—today was different.

Today, the skies buzzed with motion.

Cultivators on flying swords, spirit beasts, and magical treasures poured out from the mountain paths like a flood. Robed figures from each Sect descended from the skies, converging toward Manida Land City. Each Sect dispatched at least a dozen disciples, led by an Elder.

Their robes varied—woven with distinct patterns and colors denoting their Sects—but their bearing was the same. Calm. Poised. Scholarly. They flew in perfect formation, hands crossed before them or tucked behind their backs, neither arrogant nor humble.

These Cultivators were aware of their worth.

Though they lacked backing from the Main Continent's Mother Sects, their influence stretched across the entire West Continent. That alone made them a force to be respected.

But once they entered Manida Land, even their numbers seemed to fade into the sea of people already crowding the city.

Outside the gates, long lines of visitors stretched across the horizon. Some hovered in the air, while others waited patiently on foot. Flying carriages, spirit boats, and other aerial transports were strictly forbidden within city limits, forcing their owners to park them outside the walls.

The entire city pulsed with life and noise.

The reason?

The Knowledge Exchange.

An elite event—organized for the great Sects, wealthy merchant families, and powerful organizations. It was an exclusive affair, focused solely on the exchange of cultivation knowledge, techniques, and ancient texts.

But to appease the masses, the city also announced a public tournament. A clever decision, one that instantly attracted tourists and cultivators from neighboring cities, putting Manida Land at the center of attention across the entire Orion Region.

It was a wise political move.

Meanwhile, deep within the Mayor's Mansion, in a vast, dimly lit hall capable of housing hundreds, a lone figure stood in silence.

He faced the window, watching the bustling streets below with eyes like cold steel—unmoving, unreadable. From afar, the people resembled ants scrambling with purpose he did not care to understand.

His back was straight as a sword. His long white hair flowed down to his waist. He wore a robe of deep indigo, decorated with gold embroidery in the shape of ancient trees and glowing spiritual runes that shimmered faintly in the light.

Over his robe was a high-collared mantle—marking his identity both as a powerful Cultivator and as the Mayor of Manida Land.

He idly twisted the ring on his finger, lost in thought—until the sound of heavy doors opening broke the silence.

Boom.

The doors shut behind the guest with a resounding echo.

The man turned toward the sound, revealing a face not of an elder, but of a strong middle-aged man. His skin was smooth. No wrinkles. Just calm, ageless confidence. His sharp blue eyes gleamed with quiet intensity.

He strode toward the large rectangular table in the center of the room and took his place at the head.

Then, nodding slightly, he acknowledged the person who had entered.

"What's your news?"

The man who entered the room was an elderly figure, stooped with age, his droopy eyes and sagging cheeks giving the impression of someone who should be long retired from duty. His white robe dragged slightly along the polished floor, mirroring the curve of his hunched back.

But appearances could deceive.

Despite his frail look, this old man—Master Feng—was one of Manida Land's 1st-Step Core Creation Cultivators. His strength was not to be underestimated.

Unlike Belthias, where such high-level Cultivators were rare, Manida Land teemed with them. It had existed for centuries, while Belthias was barely a century old—a young city still carving out its place in the Orion Region. In a world where cities rose and fell with the tides of conflict and calamity, Belthias was the latest to rise from the ashes.

"Mayor Hoaran, the Five Peaks Sects have entered the city," Master Feng began, his voice calm but laced with gravity. "They've already taken residence in the Guest Mansions and are awaiting the Knowledge Exchange."

"Early, as usual," Mayor Hoaran muttered, his fingers tapping thoughtfully on the table. His gaze remained fixed on Master Feng, silent anticipation urging the old man to continue. "Tell me the rest."

"The Black Arts Sect will be arriving this evening," Master Feng said. His voice dipped lower. "There will only be five of them, but I'll need additional eyes—both seen and unseen. Someone reliable."

Mayor Hoaran didn't hesitate. "Consider it done."

The Black Arts Sect, sometimes whispered about as the Cursed Sect, was not known for physical strength or explosive battle techniques. They didn't shatter mountains or tear the skies. Instead, they worked in shadows—with curses, hexes, and unseen forces.

Their methods ignored cultivation norms. Where most cultivators were bound by power stages, the Black Arts practitioners were... different.

With a mere glance, they could reduce someone to a wheezing corpse, vomiting black blood or writhing in invisible flame. Their curses bypassed barriers, strength, and bloodlines. If they saw you, they could ruin you.

Mayor Hoaran wasn't sure if even he could face one of them alone—and he had no intention of finding out.

Their origins were wrapped in fog—rumors of exile, whispers of forbidden texts, tales of gods long forgotten. Nothing confirmed. That uncertainty made them more dangerous than any other sect in attendance.

Still, they weren't known to provoke trouble—as long as their demands were met. That was the unspoken condition of peace. He could only hope things would stay that way.

"Anything else?" Hoaran asked.

Master Feng nodded and began listing details. The number of sects participating. The key figures. Wealthy merchants, empire-connected nobles, and independent organizations who had RSVP'd for the Exchange.

Then something caught Hoaran's attention.

"The Branch Manager of Alchemy House in Belthias... she's coming?" His eyes gleamed faintly with interest.

"Yes," Master Feng confirmed. "From our sources, she's scheduled to meet with our local branch manager. We're not certain if she plans to attend the Exchange yet."

Hoaran leaned back slightly, thinking. Then he gave a small smile. "Invite her personally. She won't refuse."

"Understood," Master Feng said with a respectful nod.

But then his expression shifted. His warm demeanor vanished, replaced by something colder. Sharper.

"Speaking of Belthias," he said, his voice hardening, "we've received... other news."