Rivers of the Night

The badge of a white gold moon hung from the newcomer’s lapel. There was a heaviness to his aura that the old man didn’t have, not because the old man was weaker… but maybe because this newcomer—the Patriarch of the Luminescent Moon Sect—wasn’t an assassin.

The difference between facing a powerhouse that had spent a lifetime learning to mask their aura, and one that was used to flexing it to establish prestige, was akin to night and day.

And yet, this man still made Theron feel far warmer than the old man ever could have.

This feeling, though, only lasted for a brief instant before Theron shrugged it off, frowning inwardly.

He didn’t like that feeling just now, the feeling of reverence. It was like he almost naturally gave way for the man.

Of course, Theron wouldn’t mind even bowing right now if that was what he had to do. But there was a difference between doing something to get by and because he felt it was the smart thing to do, and doing something because he wanted to from the depths of his soul.

The latter was the far scarier prospect, because that would mean he would have lost what edge there remained to him.

"Ah, so you are the River I have heard so much about. Thank you, thank you. You’ve helped us deal with quite the scourge of our Sect."

Theron curiously observed this man for a while, trying to understand something.

The Patriarch blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, the world doesn’t know that Beifong is a traitor, so they’ve just taken it as your top Outer Disciple losing to a live-in son-in-law."

The Patriarch burst into laughter.

"Ah, so this is what you’re worried about. Only the weak care so much about face, young man."

There was a flash in Theron’s eyes.

Was this true? In part. Theron himself subscribed to this philosophy. He had put himself through a lot to reach this point.

But by the same point, face was a fact of life. Without face, a Sect would struggle recruiting strong geniuses. Without face, the tides of war could change as neutral parties might choose to join your enemies. Without face, someone who was strong might have to waste too much time fighting small fry that didn’t know their place, wasting both time and energy.

Most of the strongest families of a city could probably be toppled over if enough smaller Clans came together, but would these smaller Clans ever do this?

Likely not.

Why?

Because the strong Clan had too much face.

Face wasn’t just an arbitrary measurement of pride and the prideful. It was a very strong political tool used to avoid headaches and concentrate power.

If the Nightingale Clan’s face was great enough, would the Thistles even dare to lead a rebellion? This was why Theron had found the crown prince’s words so ridiculous.

But by the same token, was the Patriarch wrong?

No.

If you were indeed strong enough, none of it would matter. Who cared about disciples joining your Sect? You were their future. Who cared about little Marquise Clans attacking you? You would crush them. Who cared about ants when a single snort could send them all flying?

"It’s just not too convenient for me to bully the young," the Patriarch said with a smile. "I was also hoping that he could take another step forward under the pressure, honestly. But it seems that for his first challenge, he met someone he couldn’t surpass. What do you say, River? Would you like to become the new number one ranked Outer Disciple of my Sect?"

"Don’t try and poach my men right from beneath my nose."

The Patriarch put his hands up.

"Okay, okay. I’m just here to bring rewards. Tell me, River, have you found the jade?"

Theron shrugged. "I looked through the spatial ring and found some stuff, but I have no idea if it’s what you’re looking for. Feel free to check for yourself."

The Patriarch chuckled. "Is this a method of testing me to see if I’m more honest than the old man? Fine, fine."

Theron tossed over the spatial ring and the Patriarch caught it. After a quick look through, he nodded, smiling.

"It is indeed all here. So, River, what rewards would you like for this?"

"Two things. I want the Beast Core of a Ninth Silver Resonance Immortal Jellyfish. And I’m also curious about the booklet. Can you tell me what it is?" Explore hidden tales at

The Patriarch blinked while the old man just leaned back in his chair, watching curiously.

"Immortal Jellyfish? Are you sure?" The Patriarch looked to the old man, but the latter didn’t seem intent on giving anything away. "Do you…"

"I know. It’s probably among the bottom three weakest Water Imbued Beasts in all of existence, but it’s the one I want."

"It’s not just that, but there are no redeeming qualities about its Echo. Many Water Mancer researchers in the past have had no ambitions for combat and have tried to use them as a medium for improving the Path of Healers for Water Mancy, and they’ve all failed. You should know that Echoes are best chosen from beasts that have strong external effects. Beasts that internalize their abilities make the worst Echoes."

"There’s just something everyone has neglected about the Immortal Jellyfish?"

"Oh?" The Patriarch started. "That’s quite arrogant of you to say."

"The self-healing abilities of the Immortal Jellyfish all boil down to one very important thing: control. Its body is made up of over 95% water, and yet it can seamlessly heal itself nonetheless."

The Patriarch frowned. "This isn’t difficult. That 95% of water is tied down by the Mana of Life. All it has to do is distinguish between Water Mana it can use and cannot."

"And what of the transition between Water Mana to healing?" Theron asked. "At that point, there’s little difference in feel between Water Mana and Water Mana imbued with the Mana of Life."

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