“Master,” she said when she saw him, bowing low. “I’ve formed my Core.”

  Drake didn’t even blink. “I know.”

  Lauren bit back a smile. “Master, thank you.”

  Drake’s expression didn’t change. “Helping you is the same as helping myself. There’s no need to thank me.”

  So he did know about the thing in the sky.

  Even after such a monumental event, his face was unreadable. No surprise. No joy. Just calm detachment.

  Tarot had once said that their master wasn’t always cold like this, but Lauren had never seen another side to him. Every time she tried to reach out, she was met with the same tranquil indifference.

  “Master,” she tried again, “about last time—”

  “You already thanked me last time.”

  Lauren froze. “…Right.”

  “Master,” she said carefully, “you haven’t left the Thunder Sect in over a thousand years, yet for me—”

  “You’re overthinking,” Drake cut her off. “I only stayed to play chess with Herbert.”

  Lauren blinked. “…”

  Sure. Chess.

  That was her master—unshakable, impenetrable, and infuriatingly calm.

  “Then, Master,” she said finally, “I want to go home.”

  “When?”

  She thought for a moment. “When my realm stabilizes. Maybe in a few months.”

  “Alright,” Drake said. “You’re grown now. You don’t need to report everything to me. If there’s something you can’t handle, ask your senior brother. If he can’t handle it, then come to me.”

  Lauren stared at him. …Right. Having a disciple really was easy for you, isn’t it?

  But she smiled faintly all the same. “Yes, Master.”

  After taking her leave, she headed toward Tarot’s residence to share the news.

  Halfway there, Edmund’s voice broke in again.

  “Your master’s busy,” he said. “Don’t go to him unless you have to.”

  “Busy?” Lauren frowned. “He doesn’t look busy. He hasn’t even stepped out of the sect in a thousand years. What’s he so busy with—polishing chess pieces?”

  Edmund sighed. “This is the third and last time I’m saying this. He’s covering the sky.”

  Lauren froze. …I didn’t get it. What the hell does that even mean?

  She lifted her gaze again.

  Above Starfell Summit, the same strange, dim cloud loomed—faint but endless.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Maybe her master had paid a heavy price to keep it there.

  So he wasn’t a reclusive homebody by choice—he was trapped by circumstance.

  Lauren sighed softly. “I wonder if Senior Brother and the others know about this.”

  Edmund’s voice was calm. “They’re not qualified to know yet.”

  Lauren looked up again at the shrouded heavens.

  So Master’s carrying it all alone.

  Lauren rushed to Tarot’s quarters, practically bursting through the door.

  Still recovering in bed, Tarot tried to bow but winced halfway through. “Congratulations,” he said with a wry smile. “I’d get up to salute you, but I think I’d just fall flat on my face.”

  Lauren sat down at his bedside, frowning. “Senior Brother, is your vitality really that badly damaged? Even after taking so many elixirs, you still need to rest this long?”

  Tarot sighed. “Yeah. It’s bad.” Then he chuckled. “But overall, we didn’t come out of it too poorly. We got his storage ring, remember? That haul alone makes up for the trouble.”

  Lauren laughed. “You’re the one who took the damage, I’m the one who gained the reward.”

  “Hey, what’s mine is yours,” Tarot said with mock exasperation. “Now that you’ve formed your core, I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

  Lauren thought for a moment, tilting her head. “How about you just give me spirit stones or sect points so I can buy it myself?”

  Tarot blinked. “…You’re refreshingly honest, you know that? Hand over your identity jade token.”

  Grinning, Lauren passed it to him. Tarot flicked his wrist, and moments later, ten thousand sect points appeared in her account.

  “Thank you, Senior Brother,” she said sweetly. “You’re so generous.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re this happy over a little pocket change? You clearly haven’t tried asking Master. He’d give you a hundred thousand without blinking.”

  Lauren froze. “What? He’s that generous?”

  “Of course,” Tarot said with a shrug. “He’s not like those poor old geezers with thousands of disciples bleeding them dry. Master only supports the two of us. He’s practically swimming in points.”

  “That’s not true,” Lauren said skeptically. “The more disciples a master has, the more support they get from the sect.”

  “Ha! And where did you hear that crap?” Tarot said, smirking. “When you gave that boundary marker to Master last time, half of the sect reward went straight into his personal account.”

  Lauren blinked in disbelief. “Wait—you’re saying Master takes a commission from his disciples’ accomplishments?”

  “Of course. He’s been alive for who knows how many centuries, and his family’s basically rolling in spiritual wealth. Don’t worry, we couldn’t bankrupt him even if we tried.”

  Lauren slumped in her chair, feeling like she’d just missed out on a small fortune.

  Should she go back and ask for some now? No… she’d die of embarrassment. Forget it.

  ......

  Her next goal was clear: strengthen her talisman arts as fast as possible.

  She needed to create at least a fourth-grade Explosive Spirit Talisman—the kind that could blow a Core Formation cultivator to pieces.

  She didn’t bother wasting time with utility talismans like Invisibility or Concealed Breath. Why waste precious hours when she could just buy them with a few spirit stones?

  Explosives were her specialty, and she was already working on the third-grade. The difficulty had increased dramatically, but so had her cultivation.

  The gap between Foundation Establishment and Core Formation was far wider than she’d ever imagined.

  Back when she was still in Foundation Establishment, she’d struggled for days to complete even one third-grade talisman. Now that she’d formed her Core, she nailed it in one go.

  She kept drawing until her head spun and her spiritual energy thinned. When she was done, twenty glowing talismans lay neatly on the table.

  Edmund—who had been silently observing—stared at them, wide-eyed.

  He glanced from the talismans to her face, then back to the talismans. He even counted them twice, muttering to himself in disbelief.

  Lauren’s heart swelled with pride, but she kept her expression calm, just like her master taught her. Never show too much emotion—control your face, control the situation.

  She coughed lightly. “Ahem. What’s wrong? Can’t you count?”

  Edmund slumped forward on the table, tail flicking lazily. “The old man can finally rest in peace,” he said, almost solemnly.

  Lauren raised a brow. “You mean the old master from the Talisman Sect?”

  “Yes,” Edmund said. “He had three disciples in his lifetime. Two betrayed him, then turned on the third. He personally executed both traitors, but the art of talismans was nearly lost. His greatest regret before dying was that he never found a successor worthy of inheriting his legacy. If he could see you now, he’d finally be able to die with peace of mind.”

  Lauren was silent for a long moment. Then she said softly, “Do dragons… also practice the art of dying with peace of mind?”

  Edmund gave her a long look. “…It’s a metaphor, girl. I was helping you understand.”