The swamp mist had grown thinner by the time they circled back to the glowing bloom.

The herb pulsed faintly as if it breathed, its petals opening to the murky air and reflecting soft silver streaks across the water's surface. Arden crouched before it, eyes narrowing as the system flashed alive.

[Rare Herb Detected]

Name: Moonveil Blossom

Location: Swamp Veil Hollow

Effect: Can be processed into an elixir. Greatly increases aether cultivation speed during meditation, reducing time needed to cross realm thresholds.]

Arden reached forward, steady, guiding his energy into his fingers as he plucked the bloom free. The swamp seemed to sigh as the glow dimmed, the stem releasing easily into his hand. He stored it carefully, sliding it into a crystal case where its light shimmered like a quiet star.

Behind him, Rael whistled. "That's a fancy flower. So, what's it do? Just pretty lights, or can it actually help us?"

Arden glanced over his shoulder, his tone even but carrying weight. "Moonveil Blossom. If properly refined, it'll push our cultivation speed. Days cut down to hours, and weeks shaved into days. If we want to climb realms fast, this is one way."

Nyra leaned in, her smirk faint but her eyes alive with anticipation. "So we're not just hacking beasts for training anymore. We're investing."

Arden closed the case, nodding once. "Exactly. Power comes from both battle and what we put inside ourselves. This will help balance both."

Zephyra gave a low rumble, her flame twitching faintly in approval.

While they secured their prize in the Outlands, the world beyond was far from calm.

In Greyhold town, the elders of the council gathered inside a chamber that smelled of old wood and burnt oil.

The round table before them was crowded with papers and stamped letters. Voices rose and fell like waves.

"The bandits grow bolder by the day," one elder barked, his palms flat against the table. "Supply lines are torn apart before they even reach our gates. Do we sit and wait until they strike here as well?"

"They already struck here," another snapped, grey hair bristling as he spoke. "Our merchants pay double for mercenaries and still return half-broken. Some don't return at all."

"Then perhaps we should call on the clans," came another voice, thinner, more cautious. "Great families will not let this disorder spread unchecked—"

"Clans?" the first interrupted sharply. "What clans? You know what's happening within their ranks.

Also, other Elemental users defect to the bandits, drawn by promises of strength. That is no simple band of thieves. It's a current pulling even trained men to drown."

The table went quiet. The words hung heavy, uncomfortably true.

One elder broke the silence, speaking slowly. "There's more. Every move we make, every plan we whisper here… they're answered almost before they're carried out. It's as if someone among us feeds them word."

Eyes turned, shifting glances circling the chamber. For a moment, no one spoke, suspicion staining the silence thicker than the smoke of the oil lamps.

It was the lord of Greyhold who finally broke the tension. His voice was firm, neither raised nor hurried. "Enough. If you look too long for traitors in your own circle, you'll tear it apart before the enemy does. What we can do is simple. We double the price of escort missions. We pay handsomely for merchant goods when they reach the town safely. If risk rises, so will reward, and greedy men will always step forward for more."

The table stirred again, murmurs of agreement spreading. The solution wasn't perfect, but it was practical, and practicality was what Greyhold had always survived on.

The lord leaned back in his chair as the meeting dissolved, elders rising one by one, muttering about plans and preparations.

When the doors closed, silence settled on him again. He clasped his hands, staring at the wooden grain of the table. His daughter's face came to mind, stubborn and bright, training somewhere deep in the Outlands. She was with Arden, that much gave him a measure of calm, yet worry lingered, unshakable.

"They target everything," he muttered to himself. "Even her. Damn them." His curse was low, almost swallowed by the empty chamber, but his fists tightened until his knuckles cracked.

Back in the Outlands, Arden finished sealing the Moonveil Blossom into his storage, letting his hand rest briefly over the case.

Then his attention shifted, life energy stirring faintly as he reached toward the remnants of the slain Dreadlings.

Threads of energy flickered before his eyes as the system whispered again.

[Life Signature Acquired]

[Name: Corrosive Veil

Type: Passive / Conditional

Effect: When exposed to corrupted or polluted aether, resistance increases. Can release minor corrosive aura to weaken enemy defenses over time.]

Arden read it twice, then exhaled through his teeth. The taste of it was foul, like swallowing swamp water. It would need testing, but it wasn't without value.

He hissed slightly, shaking his head.

Rael glanced up from where he was wiping his gauntlets clean. "What's with that face? You eat something rotten?"

Nyra tilted her head, curiosity sharp. "Or you found something good you're not sharing?"

Arden straightened, his expression cooling into calm again. "Neither. But we don't have time to pick at it now. Visitors are coming."

Rael blinked, then frowned. "Visitors? Don't tell me—"

Arden's gaze was already toward the treeline, his senses sharp as steel. "Yes. That same stench from before. Creed's dogs."

Zephyra's growl deepened, her flames stirring as if they sensed it too.

The swamp air shifted. The faint echo of footsteps pressed through the mist, slow but deliberate, moving in a ring around them.

Arden's grip tightened over the Moonveil's case, his voice low yet steady. "They didn't come for us. They came for this herb."

The mist thickened as shadows drew closer.

A/N:

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