They departed at dawn.
Mist still clung to the lower courtyards of the Eternal Spring Court when Tai Lung followed his mother onto the boarding platform. The morning air was cool and fragrant, threaded with the scent of wet jade tiles and distant blossoms. Servants moved quietly and efficiently.
The flying ship waited above the platform, suspended as if resting on invisible water.
It was not a war vessel. Tai Lung could tell even without knowing the specifics. Its lines were elegant, elongated, its hull layered with lacquered wood and spirit-alloy ribs rather than armored plating. The Eternal Spring Court possessed a fleet of roughly fifty such ships – most built for comfort, diplomacy, and discretion. Only five were meant for battle, and of those, a single massive warship existed solely for moments of absolute necessity. The remaining four were smaller escorts, closer to swift cruisers than true instruments of war.
The Court had truly never been built to conquer.
Tan Na Yu boarded first. Tai Lung followed closely behind, his gaze flicking across the others joining them.
Six members of the Court accompanied them. One woman stood at the Foundation Completion stage (8). She was his mother's personal aide. The five men who followed were guards, all cultivators. Their leader radiated a pressure Tai Lung could feel even without understanding it fully – Soul Ignition (9). The remaining four were weaker by comparison, each at varying levels of Core Condensation (6).
To Tai Lung, who had only just begun the long road of Body Tempering (1), they all felt formidable.
Beyond them were the ship's crew. Ten in total: sailors, mechanics, two ship-bound maids, and two additional guards assigned to the vessel itself. None exceeded Qi Intake (4). They bowed respectfully.
Once aboard, Tai Lung understood something immediately.
This was luxury.
Every surface was polished and every corridor spacious. The cabins were larger than most halls he remembered from his previous life's yachts, and the common areas carried the quiet confidence of something built without concern for cost.
His lips twitched faintly.
The Eternal Spring Court owned a little over four dozens of ships like this.
Well, Roman thought distantly, in this life I live near gods. I suppose I should have expected it.
The ship departed smoothly, lifting without tremor, sliding into the open sky as if it had always belonged there.
The journey lasted three days.
The ship was fast – astonishingly so. Tai Lung judged its speed against memory, against private jets slicing through clouds, and found it comparable, perhaps even superior. What struck him more, however, was scale.
For three days, they traveled across a single continent.
One of seven.
On one plane.
Among nine.
And beneath them lay countless lower realms, stacked and layered like forgotten pages beneath a book no one finished reading.
The realization settled heavily in his chest.
He felt small.
Insignificant.
And he hated it.
Tan Na Yu noticed that her son's mood was down.
She said nothing at first, only watched him quietly before suggesting – gently – that he explore the ship. Speak with the crew. Learn something useful.
Tai Lung accepted immediately.
For most of the journey, he sat with the captain and the navigator. Both were experienced, and their speech was unhurried. He asked questions – a lot in fact. Benefits of being a child.
That was when he learned about the aerial laws.
There were rules here. Communication devices linked ships to guiding towers scattered across the continent – some on the ground, others anchored to floating islands. These towers shared information: regional disturbances, political movements, weather anomalies, and unusual qi fluctuations.
They also issued warnings.
Here, flying cultivator pirates existed.
They hunted trade routes, ambushed isolated vessels, vanished into cloud and void. The navigator showed him how routes were selected to minimize risk, how the network allowed ships to adjust in real time.
Each vessel carried not only a name, but a code designation. Through shared registries, flight authorities across the continent knew who was in the sky, where they were going, and – at least in theory – why.
The entire system had been established five thousand years ago. Immediately after the end of the War in Heavens.
Tai Lung found that unsettling.
Five thousand years, to him, was unfathomable. To these people, it was the past week. Some still alive had seen the war. Had fought in it.
For them, his nearly eight-century-old Tan Na Yu was still a child.
A day before they were due to enter the territory of the Celestial Sword Sect, Tai Lung sought out his mother.
The ship was gliding smoothly through clear skies. Tai Lung stood by the railing for a long while before speaking.
"Mother," he said at last, "tell me about the place we're going to."
Tan Na Yu studied him for a moment, then nodded. She rested her hands lightly on the railing beside his and began.
"The Celestial Sword Sect," she said, "is one of the Magnificent Ten. The ten largest and most powerful sects on the Whispering Silk Continent."
Her voice was as calm as if she was speaking of the weather rather than something capable of crushing nations.
"Among them, it is also one of the oldest. Conservative estimates place its founding at over seven million years ago. And unlike most great sects, it was not established by an Immortal."
She glanced at him.
"It was founded by a True Deity."
That alone was enough to make Tai Lung's breath hitch slightly.
"The sect is vast," she continued. "Seventeen million disciples. They are spread across countless sword peaks, training valleys, subterranean halls, and floating platforms."
She paused, letting the words settle.
"Beneath the disciples exists a far greater population. Mortal servants. Administrators, farmers, artisans, builders, messengers. Their numbers are not recorded, because counting them serves no purpose."
Tai Lung frowned.
"They don't cultivate?"
"No," Tan Na Yu replied. "But without them, cultivation here would collapse."
Tai Lung tried to imagine it. Tens of millions of people moving, working, eating, maintaining a machine so vast it barely qualified as a single entity anymore. In his previous life, he had seen cities populated by tens of millions of people, but even then this number sounds absurd.
"In total," Tan Na Yu said, "the sect likely houses between thirty to two hundred million individuals."
Tai Lung went quiet.
The numbers made his thoughts stall, as if his mind refused to accept them all at once.
"Despite the name Immortal Realm," his mother continued, "immortals are rare."
She began to enumerate.
"The majority of disciples remain in the Mortal Arc. They form the base: outer disciples, trainees, logistical support. Many will never leave this stage."
"Roughly two million have reached the Foundation Arc. These are inner disciples, instructors, officers – those entrusted with responsibility."
"Approximately three hundred thousand stand within the Ascension Arc. By the standards of most realms, each of them is already a calamity."
She did not embellish.
"Above them stand the true pillars."
Tai Lung already knew what was coming.
"Every elder of the Celestial Sword Sect is an Immortal," Tan Na Yu said. "There are forty of them."
The comparison came unbidden.
The Eternal Spring Court had six.
Including his mother.
"This alone," she added, "places the sect beyond most."
Her gaze lifted, distant now.
"At the apex stands the Sect Master."
She did not say his name immediately.
"His true name is rarely spoken. Titles suffice. His daoist name is… lengthy." A faint curve touched her lips. "Heaven Piercing Divine Sword of Justice, Beauty, and Magnificence who Traverses the Road of Life with Unmatched Grace."
Tai Lung blinked.
"And people shorten that?" he asked.
"Some call him the Young Sword God," she replied dryly.
Tai Lung nearly laughed – then stopped himself.
"He is over one hundred thousand years old," Tan Na Yu continued. "He stands at the peak of Immortal Authority (15). Reality bends when he wills it. Few living beings are older than him, and he still have defeated opponents far senior to himslef."
"What do you mean?"
"He fought in the War in Heavens," she added. "And not just survived it. He thrived and vanquished many Immortals far older than he is now. Without doubt, he is one of the strongest individuals beyond gods, and some even claim that he is the strongest."
There was no mistaking the weight behind that statement.
"Among current immortals," Tan Na Yu said, "he is considered an old monster – not only for his strength, but for his endurance. Many believe that within a thousand years… perhaps fewer… he will step beyond Immortal Authority and enter Conceptual Existence (16)."
Godhood. Dear Lord, he might see a person who is close to being a literal god.
"The Celestial Sword Sect is firmly Orthodox," she went on. "It has faced annihilation more than once – during realm collapses, heavenly upheavals, and especially during the War in Heavens."
She turned to Tai Lung.
"Each time, it survived not through reckless aggression, but through patient consolidation and brutal internal discipline."
There was no warmth in her tone now.
"Those who endure there do so because they adapt," she said. "Or because they are replaced."
Tai Lung swallowed.
"To outsiders," she concluded, "the Celestial Sword Sect is both awe-inspiring and suffocating. It is a place where talent is abundant. Competition is relentless. Individual brilliance is respected – but never allowed to destabilize the whole. It produces masters in overwhelming numbers, yet only a handful ever rise high enough to leave a mark on history."
She rested a hand on his shoulder.
Even in an Immortal Realm, Tai Lung understood, power remained rare.
And the summit – no matter how high one climbed – was always lonely.