Even after weeks of observing this force, Hero still couldn't grasp its true depth.
If he counted carefully, he had encountered more Foundation Building cultivators here than anywhere else in his life combined.
All from this single place.
They worked without pause, cold, distant, and indifferent.
At one point, he had even suspected they were puppets.
But that didn't hold up. Their reactions, their awareness, even their emotions, everything about them felt too natural.
And there were too many of them.
Even someone beyond the Nascent Soul realm wouldn't be able to sustain such a force purely through mental control.
Which only raised more questions.
Where did they come from?
What purpose did they serve?
The more he thought about it, the simpler the answer became.
Right now, he needed them.
In a time like this, a force like the Purple Cloud Pavilion was something he couldn't ignore, especially for the resources it could provide.
Love? Lust?
He desired them, yes.
But they weren't the priority.
With enough strength, everything else would follow.
Then, out of the blue.
"The business has been going well…"
"Uh—ah?"
Hero turned, pulled out of his thoughts by the voice.
A beautiful woman approached from behind.
Two guards followed her, perfected Foundation Building cultivators, dressed in deep purple robes with cloaks and masks concealing their faces.
Their presence pressed down on him, their gaze sharp enough to make it feel like they could see straight through him.
Hero flinched slightly under their scrutiny, but he forced a smile and shifted his attention back to the woman in front.
He bowed. "Beautiful as always, Lady Ilya."
"You flatter me."
Ilya gave a small nod, her expression unchanged as she stepped beside him, gesturing toward the busy field.
"Your formations have brought me considerable profit. I don't like being indebted."
"Here."
She tossed a ring toward him.
Hero caught it easily, though surprise flickered across his face.
"This is…?"
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "Ten percent of the formation disk sales for this period. A few hundred medium-grade spirit stones "
His eyes lit up, a trace of excitement surfacing. "Of course—"
"It's transactional."
She cut him off, meeting his gaze with a faint smile.
The smile, as always, didn't reach her eyes. Hero had noticed long ago, but it didn't matter.
"If you have any other useful formation scrolls," she continued, "I'm willing to pay."
Formation scrolls, the methods and structures behind creating formations.
To most cultivators, they were useless without the talent to use them.
To Ilya, they were valuable.
Most of the guardians under her command were skilled in many fields. Not masters, but close enough to make use of such knowledge.
A rare kind of versatility.
Hero smiled and shook his head. "The cleansing formation is the only one I'm willing to share for now."
Which meant he had more.
Most formation masters wouldn't share their work. Even if someone learned it, the result would never match the original.
Still, Hero's gaze drifted toward the crates being loaded nearby.
He could faintly sense the spiritual fluctuations coming from them.
He suppressed the reaction that rose in him.
Perfect copies?
The thought echoed in his mind.
So there were multiple formation masters within the Pavilion… and not weak ones either.
Judging by the volume being traded, there had to be quite a number of them, likely perfected first-grade formation masters.
Hero exhaled quietly, his expression unchanged.
"In the future, I may share more," he said. "But not now."
A vague promise.
Enough.
Ilya understood.
He wouldn't risk standing against her.
And if persuasion failed… force was always an option.
For the Pavilion. For Liam.
She was willing to go that far.
"I'm glad you still see us as a force worth working with, Hero."
"It's my honor, Miss Ilya."
Hero smiled, eyes narrowing slightly as they shook hands.
Then, as if recalling something, she added, "You can proceed with your business. My clerks will assist you."
"And you, Miss Ilya?" he asked casually. "Busy today?"
"Indeed."
She nodded, which caught him off guard. Normally, there was no reason for her to come down here personally.
Sensing his doubt, she added, "We're expecting a special guest. Excuse me, Hero… I'll be leaving now."
She turned and walked away.
Hero watched her go, a hint of curiosity settling in.
"A special guest…"
The pieces began to connect.
"Someone from outside?"
Someone important enough for the Lord's wife to greet in person.
His interest was piqued.
Hero followed behind them.
Ilya noticed, but didn't react. The guest she was about to meet wasn't so different from him anyway.
They moved through the crowd of workers. Even at night, the Pavilion remained active, its people working without pause, carrying crates and shifting goods with practiced ease.
By the time Hero registered it, they had reached the entrance again.
Ilya stopped just short of the line etched into the ground. Her posture remained relaxed, almost casual, as if she were simply waiting.
The two guards took their places on either side, standing still and alert.
Hero observed quietly, his gaze moving between them.
Important enough for her to come in person… but not enough to stir any real reaction.
He filed the thought away.
This kind of careful reading had kept him out of trouble for the past month.
The forces that once had their eyes on him had already given up.
After chasing him for weeks, they had either come up empty-handed or walked straight into his traps.
A moment passed.
Then, under their watchful gazes, a figure appeared in the distance.
At first, it was only a small, dark shape.
Gradually, it drew closer, its outline sharpening until the figure became clear.
Lucien.
A dark robe draped over him, embroidered with silver-white patterns that caught the faint light. His hood cast a shadow over his face, revealing only part of it from where they stood.
"Ilya…" he greeted, his voice low.
"Lucien."
Her reply was just as plain.
He gave a slight nod, his steps slowing as he approached.
Hero narrowed his eyes, studying him in silence.
Something about this man felt off.
He couldn't quite place it.
Ilya stepped forward, stopping just a short distance from Lucien.
The two faced each other at the entrance, their exchange quiet and brief.
From where he stood, Hero couldn't catch a single word. The noise of the workers behind him blended into a dull hum, swallowing whatever was being said.
Still, he watched.
Ilya's expression remained composed, but there was a faint shift in her eyes, focused than before. Lucien, on the other hand, stood still beneath his hood, his presence steady, almost too steady.
Serious.
That was the only conclusion Hero could draw.
Their conversation didn't last long.
Lucien lifted a hand and passed a storage bag to her.
The motion was simple.
Ilya accepted it without hesitation, her fingers brushing against the fabric for a brief moment before she tucked it away.
Hero caught that.
His gaze lingered for just a second longer than needed before he pulled it back, his expression unchanged.
Then, as if only just remembering his presence, Ilya turned slightly.
Her eyes landed on him.
"Ah," she said, her tone light, though her gaze remained measured. "You're still here."
Hero gave a small smile but didn't respond.