When Lance and Riley returned to the Raven Clan, they descended from the sky side by side, their figures framed against the fading glow of the void as if they had just walked out from a place beyond mortal comprehension.
The clan's great plaza was already crowded.
Elders, core disciples, and even servants had gathered the moment word spread that the two true immortals had returned.
Their eyes followed the pair's every step, brimming with curiosity and barely restrained anticipation.
They wanted to know—no, they needed to know—what had happened in that unreachable battlefield.
Only true immortals could venture into the void to fight, and the clash between such beings was beyond imagination.
Even the most powerful among them knew that attempting to spy on that battle would be nothing but a fool's dream.
And yet, the hunger for answers was written plainly on every face.
The air was tense, the silence stretching thin.
Finally, Riley stopped before the great steps of the Raven Clan's main hall, his gaze sweeping across the assembly.
He could feel the weight of their expectations pressing in from all sides.
"It was a draw," he said, his voice calm but carrying clearly over the gathered crowd.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then, like a dam breaking, cheers erupted.
The disciples roared in relief and admiration, their pride swelling at the idea that their clan's old patriarch had fought a true immortal to a standstill.
The elders exchanged satisfied glances, the tension bleeding from their faces.
Only Lance did not join in the cheering.
He stood quietly, his expression unreadable—save for the faint glint of something new in his eyes. Respect.
Perhaps even a touch of wariness.
Riley noticed, meeting his gaze for a moment. He offered a small nod and a faint, knowing smile.
The gesture spoke volumes: This much is enough. Let them wonder, but the truth belongs to us alone.
Lance's lips curved ever so slightly in response.
No words were exchanged, but an understanding passed between them—an acknowledgment that what had transpired in the void was something far greater than the crowd could imagine.
With that unspoken agreement, the matter was quietly laid to rest.
The feast resumed, now filled with boisterous laughter, clinking cups, and the sound of musicians striking up lively tunes.
The oppressive curiosity from earlier was gone, replaced by the easy warmth of celebration.
The night rolled on, and when it finally came to an end, it left behind not whispers of rivalry, but a lingering sense of triumph for the Raven Clan.
After that, Riley and his wives chose to remain within the Raven Clan's territory.
The clan's domain was as fine a place as any in the vast Immortal Realm—mountains that pierced the clouds, valleys brimming with spiritual herbs, rivers that glimmered like liquid jade.
The air itself seemed to hum with spiritual energy, each breath nourishing the soul.
While Riley had the freedom to travel anywhere in this realm without challenge, there was a quiet satisfaction in dwelling where one was not merely tolerated, but openly welcomed.
The Raven Clan did not hide their warmth. Whether their hospitality sprang from genuine respect or from a calculated desire to hold fast to the thick thigh of another true immortal mattered little to Riley.
He understood the currents of power and the instincts of survival; such alliances were the way of the world.
In his judgment, the Raven Clan was upright in its dealings, their people loyal, their leaders honorable enough.
That was sufficient for him to stay without the weight of suspicion on his heart.
Days passed in a pleasant rhythm. Riley devoted much of his time to his wives, enjoying the comfort of shared meals, moonlit walks, and the occasional private seclusion that left the rooms echoing with laughter and sighs.
Yet even in these moments of warmth, a shadow lingered in his mind—the threat of Sunny and his cadre of unkillable subordinates.
Riley did not underestimate them.
Sunny's reach was wide, his influence spreading like invisible roots deep into the soil of his immortal domain.
In his imagination, Sunny was something of an enigma. That monkey had probably slain, captured, or eaten realm makers like him and the like.
Riley spent the better part of a month wrestling with this problem.
He began subtly.
He tested the edges of Sunny's vigilance. Small traps were laid—seemingly unrelated events, baited with just enough allure to draw the attention of Sunny's forces.
Without fail, the responses were swift and precise, as though Sunny's men could sense danger before it was even born.
Even the idea of rallying other True Immortals proved fruitless.
In the Immortal Realm, these towering beings would shrink back like children when faced with Sunny—just as they would before Riley.
In the end, it all came down to realm maker against realm maker.
And in that game, Riley found himself on the losing side.
By the end of the month, Riley found himself at the same point he had begun—no viable plan, no secure allies, and no clear path forward.
Sunny was too entrenched, his web too vast, and any direct confrontation would be reckless without a decisive strategy.
Still, Riley was not disheartened.
He had lived long enough to know that in matters like this, patience was a weapon sharper than any blade.
And so he remained in the Raven Clan's halls, biding his time, waiting for the one opening that would inevitably come.
During this time, countless spies and envoys began arriving at the Raven Clan, each under a different pretext—some bearing lavish gifts, others offering diplomatic overtures, and a few pretending to be wandering cultivators who had simply "happened" to pass by.
All sought the same thing: an audience with Riley Mason.
Every single one was turned away without exception, in accordance with Riley's explicit instructions.
Even those bearing the banners of ancient clans or imperial courts were politely but firmly refused.
Word of this spread quickly, and before long, the name Riley Mason was circulating like wildfire through the highest echelons of influence in the Immortal Realm.
True Immortals were the undisputed giants of this world—beings whose mere presence could shift the fate of nations.
A single careless word from one could shatter alliances or ignite conflicts that would last millennia.
No sect, no clan, no empire wanted to be caught unprepared, much less publicly embarrassed, when dealing with a figure of such weight.
The great powers moved swiftly.
In the Heavenly Radiance Sect, the grand elders convened in their Hall of Starlight, voices hushed yet urgent as they debated Riley's possible origins.
The Ironclad War Clan gathered in their fortress halls, pouring over dusty battle annals in search of any record of a "Mason" who could have risen to such heights.
The Imperial Court of the Azure Phoenix Kingdom dispatched diviners to read the flow of fate itself, hoping for a glimpse of his path.
Across the realm, secret messages flashed through jade slips, encrypted in ancient runes.
Vast fortunes were spent bribing informants in distant lands, commissioning shadow agents to slip into hostile territories, and hiring seers to risk their lives peering into Riley's destiny.
The effort was monumental, but the results were disappointing—he remained a figure cloaked in mystery, his past hidden behind an impenetrable fog.
Whispers began to circulate. Some claimed Riley Mason was a wanderer from beyond the edge of the Immortal Realm itself, a being who had crossed the void from a higher plane.
Others insisted he must be a hermit from one of the lost immortal sects, returning to the world after countless eras in seclusion.
A few even speculated that he was an ancient figure reborn in a new body, carrying with him knowledge that could shake the heavens.
Yet for all their curiosity, no one dared act recklessly.
The fact that he resided peacefully within the Raven Clan's territory was already seen as a stroke of fortune for that clan, and moving against him without cause could invite disaster.
For now, the powers of the Immortal Realm watched and waited, holding their breath for the moment when Riley Mason would make his next move.
As for Riley, he could only shake his head in quiet frustration as he sifted through the countless leads, all of which ended in dead ends.
"Truly fruitless," he muttered under his breath after each failed attempt to uncover a weakness, a pattern, anything that could give him an edge over Sunny.
The weight of the problem pressed heavily on his mind, but the more he searched, the more it became clear that brute force or rushed plans would only lead to ruin.
He sank back into his chair, rubbing his temples as exhaustion crept in—not just from physical strain but from the relentless mental battles waging in his head.
For all his strength and wisdom, this enemy was a puzzle that refused to be solved.
It did not need telling that Sunny was indeed a great foe that would not be vanquished easily.