Mordan and General Amit watched them disappear with calm faces. They had seen miracles before. They simply turned their attention back to the wooden cube and the ten clay bottles.
They didn't activate the cube yet. They suspected it was a one-time-use item. To maximize the benefit, they needed to select members from Mordan's secret organization—those already training in the basic breathing technique. Only the most disciplined, the most loyal, would enter the field.
The bottles lay in a neat row. Each had a small, carved label:
- Essence Gathering Pill — Basic pill that draws ambient essence into the body, speeding up natural Essence Flow absorption by 20–30% for steady, safe progress in early substages.
- Flow Smoothing Pill — Clears minor blockages in meridians, allowing smoother and less painful Essence Flow circulation.
- Root Strengthening Pill — Fortifies the root core, increasing its tolerance for denser Essence Flow accumulation before advancing.
- Calming Essence Pill — Soothes mind and body during cultivation, reducing distractions and mental strain for better focus on guiding Essence Flow.
- Meridian Opening Pill — Gently widens initial meridians, making the first Essence Flow cycle less painful and more efficient.
- Vitality Recovery Pill — Restores physical fatigue and minor internal damage after long cultivation sessions.
- Mind Clarity Pill — Sharpens mental focus, helping beginners avoid distraction during early meditation.
...
Ten bottles. Ten pills each. One hundred pills total.
Mordan and General Amit stared at them in reverent silence.
The puppet stood motionless nearby, eyes half-closed, like a statue.
Mordan cleared his throat, trying to be hospitable.
"Sir… please sit. We will begin tomorrow. For now, would you like something to eat?"
The puppet opened its eyes slightly and regarded him.
"No. Call me when it's time to train. I will meditate for now."
Mordan nodded, a little disappointed. He had hoped to befriend this being so closely tied to Sir Heart. But the puppet simply sat cross-legged in the corner, hands on knees, aura dimming to almost nothing.
In truth, the "meditation" was an excuse. The puppet was quietly recharging its core—saving essence flow. Outside the fortresses, ambient essence was too thin. Only in high-concentration zones like the Abode of the Sky or Dark Haven could it operate at full strength for long.
Mordan and General Amit exchanged a glance. They didn't push further.
They simply sat, looking at the cube and bottles.
Tomorrow, they would choose who entered the field.
Tomorrow, they would begin.
On the other hand, Umang and the Ether Clone had already arrived inside the headquarters of Free Fire's parent company.
They stood on the ground floor lobby, which was unusually quiet—almost deserted. The servers were down, so most employees had little work to do. A few clusters of people chatted near the coffee machines or scrolled on their phones, but no one was rushing or stressed. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost bored.
The Ether Clone had already placed an invisible shield around himself and Umang. The barrier wasn't just for concealment; it made them completely intangible. People walked straight through them without noticing. No footsteps, no shadows, no sound. They were ghosts in the room.
He had done this deliberately. Suddenly appearing in the middle of a street or inside a crowded building would draw attention—cameras, screams, security. Better to observe first, unseen and untouched.
With a single sweep of his divine sense, he had mapped the entire structure. Every room, every hidden server closet, every secret meeting space—he saw it all. He counted the employees (187 present today), the security cameras (312), the backup generators (4), even the exact number of coffee machines (17). Nothing escaped him.
Now he began planning.
Shifting the headquarters to the new island facility was the goal. The new place was ready, but it had no machines yet. No cables, no racks, no cooling systems. Everything here needed to move.
But how?
These employees—hundreds of them—wouldn't just pack up and relocate to a secret island without explanation. Would they agree? Most would refuse. Families, visas, fear of the unknown. Forcing them was not an option; he wanted willing cooperation, not slaves.
He stood motionless, thinking.
Just then, a noise broke his focus.
Umang—standing right beside him—suddenly yelped.
"What the hellllll?"