CHAPTER 191: PASCAL.

The early morning mountain breeze was crisp and cool, brushing against Creed’s skin like a polite ghost with chilled fingers.

The sun was just rising above the distant peaks, casting golden light across the villa’s futuristic walls and the floating bonsai trees in the garden, which gave a lazy shimmer in response.

The world felt silent and fresh, and for the first time in a while, Creed was at peace.

He’d survived an assassination, a beast tide, a brush with a Beast King, and—most terrifying of all—a shockingly intense ’exchange’ with Meredith who had somehow drained him like the succubus she was for 15 hours straight!

He could still feel a lingering ache on his chest. It was quite shocking, honestly.

Now, he needed a run. Not just to stretch his legs but to get a proper feel of the area.

His villa was nestled on one of the many smaller mountains within the Bastion’s massive terrain, and while the air smelled of flowers and expensive taxes, Creed wasn’t the kind of guy to trust his surroundings just because they looked pretty.

So off he went, wearing a simple black shirt, joggers, and shoes that cushioned every step with the kind of bounce that could bankrupt normal people.

He jogged through a winding path that followed the cliff edge, admiring the peaceful neighborhood.

The trail wound through quiet, picturesque spots; bridges over koi-filled streams, hovering lampposts glowing gently even in daylight, and neatly trimmed grass that seemed to comb itself.

Occasionally, floating delivery drones zipped by carrying hot food or energy-imbued pastries for some rich retiree up the road.

Creed breathed in the morning air, trying not to laugh at how unfairly perfect everything was.

It was the type of place where even getting mugged probably involved a polite calendar invite and a signed agreement.

But just as he rounded a bend near a cliff that overlooked a sparkling lake, he stopped.

Because standing in the middle of the path was... a boy. A... quite familiar boy.

He was short. Like really short. Barely over five feet tall. His head gleamed in the morning light like a polished gemstone, a proud bald dome that shined with the confidence of someone who truly believed he was the chosen one.

He wore a flawless white shirt tucked into flawless white pants, tied with a black sash, and had the dramatic pose of someone waiting to be noticed by fate.

His hands were behind his back, chin tilted toward the rising sun, expression calm and mysterious, as if he was about to say something profound like, "The heavens are watching."

And then he saw Creed.

His eyes widened like a deer catching sight of a flaming motorcycle riding toward it. He froze, like fate had suddenly slapped him across the face with a wet sandal.

"You..." the boy whispered. "It’s you! The bringer of misfortune... the cursed calamity... the patriarch of the evil sect!"

Then, very slowly, he turned around and started walking away with the robotic stiffness of someone who was trying really hard not to scream and run.

Under his breath, he muttered dramatic complaints in rapid-fire, like a Chinese xianxia main character on crack:

"Why... why today... why must the tribulation of my path manifest in human form?! I, Pascal, had only set out for a morning cultivation walk! This is fate! This is karma! Woe is me! WOE IS ME!"

Creed blinked once. Then again. And finally, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh gods... It’s you," Creed muttered, already recognizing the walking cringe machine. He couldn’t forget him. Who could?

Last time they met, the kid had been conned into paying fifty thousand credits for a golden rock, got punched into a puddle, then muttered about hidden bloodlines and coming back ten times stronger. "Pascal, wasn’t it?"

The moment Pascal heard his name, he stopped mid-step. His shoulders twitched. He slowly turned around like a haunted doll.

"I knew it," Creed said, chuckling. "Only one person I know carries that much dramatic energy in a body that small."

Pascal raised his hand and pointed at Creed, his face torn between panic and righteous fury.

"Stand back, demon! If you come any closer, I may be forced to unleash my forbidden technique, one that will burn even the skies and sear your soul!"

"Cool, cool," Creed said casually, strolling forward. "I’ll risk it."

"No! Do not tempt fate—!"

Creed ignored the warning entirely and threw an arm around the boy’s shoulders. His hand nearly slipped off from how smooth the bald head was.

"Relax. I’m not here to fight you, kill you, or steal your fate. I’m just jogging. How’ve you been?"

Pascal looked like he had swallowed a toad. "You... you’re not here to snatch my precious weapons again, are you? Or cripple my cultivation? Or laugh at my pitiful realm?"

Creed tilted his head. "Not unless you give me a reason. So? How’s life?"

At that, Pascal’s face changed completely. His chest puffed up with exaggerated pride. "Hmph. Life is smooth! I am preparing to resume my glorious path at the Ambassadors Academy in a few weeks!"

Creed raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? That’s impressive. What class did you make it into?"

Lin Fan coughed. His chest deflated like a balloon.

"...The... basic class," he muttered.

Creed had to bite his tongue not to laugh.

But then, as if remembering he was the protagonist of his own ridiculous novel, Pascal clenched his fists and shouted at the sky,

"But this is merely the start of my immortal journey! I will rise through the ranks like a dragon through storm clouds! Just you wait, heavens! I, Pascal, will enter the elite class! Mark my words!"

Several birds flew away in panic.

Creed slowly nodded. "Right... that’s the spirit. Never change, Pascal."

Then he looked around the pristine mountain path, then back at the boy’s baffled expression and sighed deeply. "Hey... the thing is... I’m kinda lost."

Pascal stared at him for a second. "Wait. You? Lost?"

Creed shrugged. "This place is huge, okay? All these perfectly trimmed floating bushes look the same. Everything smells like money and energy.

"I turned left at the koi pond with emotional issues and now I don’t know where my villa is."

Pascal blinked.

Then, for the first time, he smiled.

"Fear not, fellow cultivator. For fate has clearly brought us together so that I, Pascal, might guide you! Let us journey together and face this treacherous path! Who knows what trials await us next?! Perhaps even—breakfast!"

Creed laughed.

Loudly.

Maybe this mountain wasn’t so bad after all.

.....

A full week drifted by, like a slow cloud across a peaceful sky.

After the chaos, destruction, and beastly terror of recent days, the quiet that followed felt almost unnatural to Creed, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

But he didn’t complain. Not once. The silence wasn’t just welcome, it was sacred.

His days fell into a rhythm, the kind that healed wounds better than any potion.

He woke up, did his usual meditation in bed (because who really liked sitting cross-legged?), took a few laps around the picturesque mountain trails, then either trained alone or with Meredith, depending on how long she could stay focused before trying to cuddle him mid-spar.

The villa’s luxury tech and top-tier facilities made it easier to slip into a productive groove—whether it was reviewing his path insights, learning his custom spear technique, or just watching Meredith float upside down while practicing hex calligraphy like an overcaffeinated bat.

Pascal, the bald xianxia enthusiast had somehow become a semi-regular visitor too.

They would sometimes run into each other on the trails or the floating lotus garden by the koi pond, and Creed would end up listening to another monologue about fate, tribulation, or how Pascal was definitely going to unlock a hidden bloodline soon.

And to be honest? It was fun. Pascal’s drama made the mountain feel more alive, like a weekly sitcom where the main character wore too much white and dramatically pointed at birds.

But none of that was the main shock of the week.

No, that came from Meredith.

It happened three days ago, in the middle of a sparring match.

One second she was dodging his strikes, eyes glowing with shy but determined focus, and the next, a faint white light burst from the horns above her head.

Her body trembled, her wings vanished briefly, and her chest tattoo flared with eerie light as her hex symbols began to glow with a new, sharper gleam.

She’d broken through.

To Stage 2.

In one week.

Creed had nearly dropped his spear.

He knew succubi were gifted with speed when well-fed and focused, but this was absurd. She’d consumed only the energy he gave, no shortcuts, no pills, no external help.

And yet... here she was, already beginning to feel like a mid-tier fighter in her own right.

With the breakthrough, her hexes had grown slightly more powerful and, perhaps more importantly, they now lasted longer.

Her buffs lingered, her debuffs lasted longer, and her confusion hexes now sent Creed’s footwork into dancing chicken territory more often than he’d like to admit.

They trained harder after that, focusing not just on making her stronger, but on coordination.

She was obedient and a fast learner, never once complaining even when her wings crumpled from overuse or her energy ran dry.

If anything, she always ended training with that same smile, that soft, heart-melting smile that said, "Did I do well, Master?"

He’d ruffled her hair too many times to count.

Now, it was the eighth day since they moved to the Tier 2 bastion, and Creed stood alone in the underground training hall.

He wasn’t swinging his spear.

He wasn’t even meditating.

He was pacing.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a stressed-out cat in a cage too small.

The air was silent. The training hall’s walls shimmered faintly with barrier energy, designed to contain even Gold-tier attacks.

Floating lights lined the ceiling like stars in a simulated sky. But all Creed could think about was the tattoo across his chest.

That tattoo, the living seal that held Lilith and Tierra during their two-week shedding process was glowing.

Not brightly. Just a soft pulse. Like a heartbeat. But it had started two hours ago, and it was still going.

Which meant...

"This is it," he muttered under his breath.

He looked down at his chest. The sigil flickered again, slow, alive, but unreadable. He couldn’t sense their life force. He couldn’t peek into the space inside the tattoo.

It was one of the few times the system had sealed him out. Two weeks, it had said. Either they complete their evolution or they perish.

He clenched his fists.

The thought of losing either of them was like thinking about cutting off both his arms. No, worse.

They were more than weapons or summons. They were his. His bond, his team, his girls. The thought of them not waking up...

Creed took a deep breath and forced himself to sit down on the floor.

"Okay," he whispered. "Don’t be dramatic. They’re strong. They’re awesome. They’ve survived worse."

Meredith sat quietly in the corner, hugging her knees and watching him with wide, curious eyes.

She said nothing, respecting the mood, but her wings swished gently like she was worried too.

She’d asked earlier if she could help, and Creed had just shaken his head. This wasn’t a problem magic could fix. This was a moment only time could answer.

"...Come on," he muttered, voice low.

"...Lilith. Tierra. Come back to me."