Percy had more questions, but he didn’t get a chance to voice them. Diving toward one of the shorter pillars jutting out of the clouds, his host landed on a less-crowded spot near the edge, carelessly tossing the greatsword into the depths behind him.

This place seemed to be some kind of teleportation hub – judging by the organized chaos of platforms scattered over its surface. They were sculpted from dimensional marble; each etched with ornate insignias mixing seamlessly with glowing runes.

Kassorith slithered through the crowded summit, making his way toward the centre of the pillar. There, Percy saw a platform depicting the image of a coiled serpent, a single fang descending from the right side of its gaping maw. Percy recognized it immediately as the same insignia that adorned his host’s spatial pin.

Seemingly remembering something, Kassorith paused just before he stepped onto the platform. Without a word, he opened his mouth and pinched his left fang, ripping it out with a sudden jerk. The pain tore through Percy like a jagged bolt, punching through his host’s skull with the subtlety of a meteor strike as the taste of iron flooded their mouth.

To his credit, Kassorith didn’t so much as wince.

‘What the hell was that for?!’ Percy asked, trying to dam the pain behind a wall of mental effort. It wasn’t easy, because two lines of blood trickled down the Blue’s face – the first rolling down his chin, the other swallowed by his throat – offering Percy a constant reminder.

At the same time, Percy recalled that the Blue’s left fang had been missing when he first found him – at least until their moulting regenerated it. Percy hadn’t thought much of the missing fang, assuming it had been another of the many injuries Kassorith had sustained while massacring the villagers. Clearly, there was more to it than that.

His host answered with a flicker of wry amusement. ‘The Broken Fang Sect demands that new members rip out their left fang as tribute – proof of loyalty and conviction. Naturally, healing it is easy, but doing so is frowned upon.’

The Blue finally stepped onto the enchanted platform, brushing his fingers across the pin on his tunic. The runes below his tail ignited in response, weaving a new constellation of light. Evidently, the spatial artifact was more than just a storage device.

Then, the world blinked.

They reappeared on a second pillar, this one quieter, with fewer teleportation platforms. But they all bore the same symbol this time – the one belonging to Kassorith’s sect. There were fewer people too, all of them wearing the same style of clothes – a loose tunic draped over their shoulders, its colour matching the grade of their cores. Most were Blues, a few escorting Greens. A solitary Violet stood out, popping into existence atop a platform a few dozen metres away. Some Blues wore noticeably finer clothes, their tunics embroidered with serpentine patterns that gleamed with violet silk, giving their attire a unique trim.

Percy tilted his host’s chin slightly in their direction. ‘What’s up with them?’

‘Stop that! Don’t even look at those people! Do you want to get us both killed?!’ Kassorith snapped at him with a silent hiss.

Percy bit back the sarcastic retort at the tips of their forked tongue. He didn’t really care about the Blue’s survival, but he didn’t want Kassorith to die before he got the life-extending leaf. As much as he hated his host’s guts, Percy understood that he had to play nice until that happened. In the end, he remained silent until Kassorith reached the far edge of the pillar. Conjuring another greatsword, the Blue took off again, disappearing into the haze above. Clearly, this place wasn’t their destination – only a waystation on the journey.

‘I’m still waiting for an answer to my question,’

Percy said once it became clear his host had no intention of replying.

‘Why do you even care about our clothes? You just want to get the leaf and go, don’t you?’

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Percy rolled their eyes. ‘I care, because you said that getting one wouldn’t be easy. I need to understand your sect if I’m going to negotiate with your master.’

A sigh escaped Kassorith, sharp and resigned. ‘The violet trim marks them as elite disciples. On paper, it means they can fight someone above their grade.’

The Blue’s words gave Percy pause. Back on Remior, the idea of jumping grades was all but unheard of. At least, until Percy came along. Some talented mages – like Rambert, Jason or Galahad – did stand out among their peers, but only within the narrow confines of their own grade. Even somebody with a blessing and a bloodline couldn’t easily bridge the gap to the next one.

Perhaps, it wasn’t so strange that this place was different though. It was a greater spring, after all. Thess’kala had more people… more gods… more of everything, really – Decrees, bloodlines, blessings, ambient mana, advanced runecrafting, longer lifespans… It stood to reason that a few lucky individuals would be born with enough advantages to leap ahead.

‘What do you mean “on paper”?’ Percy asked, catching the caveat in his host’s explanation.

‘Fighting above one’s grade is still quite uncommon. Nine out of ten elite disciples “earn” their elevated status by having connections or flattering the right elder. Even so, I’d rather not mess with them.’

Percy nodded in understanding. As advanced as Thess’kala was, it appeared that corruption was a universal truth.

‘What about other grades? Can they get trims too?’

Kassorith hovered for a moment, his eyes scanning the horizon before responding. ‘Kind of. Most sects don’t accept disciples below Green. And Greens obviously can’t jump grades no matter how talented they are, because they don’t have domains. So, really, you’ll only see elite disciples among Blues.’

Percy felt the urge to compare himself to the residents of the greater spring. It appeared that somebody like him – who could not only bridge a gap of two grades but also kill Blues without having a domain – was a rarity even here. Not surprising, maybe, given all the advantages he’d woven into his arsenal over the years, but the thought still caused the corners of his borrowed lips to curl up. He wondered if the same was true for factions ranked even higher up the cosmic hierarchy – like the Moirai or Sixiang.

Either way, he couldn’t help but picture himself in a yellow tunic with a blue trim – something he would have been eligible to wear if he lived here. It wasn’t the most aesthetically pleasing combination of colours, but it was possibly one that no Thess’kalan had donned before.

‘What about your Violets or Whites? Can’t any of them fight against stronger opponents?’

‘Some can,’ Kassorith replied, before elaborating. ‘But they’re no longer disciples. Regular Violets – like my master – become sect elders. Those with a white trim are grand elders. Reaching White turns you into a deputy sect master. The strongest Whites – the ones who can stand against demigods – get a golden trim. They get to compete for the sect master’s seat.’

‘And your actual demigods? I’ve seen thousands of them scattered across the planet while searching for a body.’

Kassorith shrugged.

‘They’re called ancestors. Once somebody ascends to that level, they stop getting involved in mortal affairs. They aren’t even allowed to help their sects unless they are defending against an invasion. They spend most of their time in seclusion, trying to attain divinity. As for a trim… it’s meaningless to them. None of them can fight a true god on their own anyway, nor do they care about past achievements or talent. At that level, there is only one thing that matters – you either become a god, forever etching your name onto our world’s history, or you fail and end up forgotten.’

Percy mulled his host’s words over. Aside from the sheer number of people at the higher grades that Thess’kala boasted, he was struck by how integrated they remained within their society. Unlike Remior, they didn’t seem to corral all their Whites and demigods into a special organization like the Divine Order – at least, not before they actually attained divinity.

That was only to be expected.

On a lesser spring, only the Green-borns could reach such heights. With so few of them, it made sense to gather and protect them to the very end. But on a greater spring, even Yellow-borns could ascend to godhood, making it impractical to isolate them. The more sensible approach was to simply let everyone be – until they crossed the final threshold and shed their mortal coils.

Kassorith came to an abrupt halt, snapping Percy out of his thoughts. Another pillar loomed ahead, tall enough to pierce the ceiling of fog. Unlike the others, its surface was pocked with holes that grew wider and farther apart toward the top. The ones near the bottom weren’t very busy, but countless Blues swarmed in and out like bees around the mid-section, while Violets did so higher up.

‘We’re here,’ the Blue said, angling toward a cavern relatively high up. Most of the people flying at that height were Violets, so Percy assumed Kassorith was heading straight to his master’s residence, and the man’s next words confirmed that.

‘Oh… I should warn you – he has quite the temper. Let me do the talking.’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep