Three months passed.

  In the sanctuary of my backyard, time moved differently.

  I stood in the center of the garden, breathing in the ozone rich air. The Spirit Soil beneath my boots was now Grade 3.

  My Heavenly Moss (Grade 3) carpeted the entire perimeter, glowing with an amber light even in the daytime. It pumped 3.2 Qi per hour into the atmosphere. I didn't even have to meditate anymore; just existing in my backyard kept my reserves topped off.

  My Qi Capacity was still locked at 50. I hadn't advanced past Stage 1 yet. My path required specific breakthroughs I hadn't hit. But my gear? That was a different story.

  I drew my sword. The Spirit Bamboo Sword was now Grade 3. The blade was no longer green; it was black, absorbing the light around it, with veins of glowing green running through the "steel." My Spirit Bamboo Armor matched it—lightweight, black, and harder than diamond.

  I wasn't the only one who had grown.

  Aiya had ascended. She was no longer a Foundation cultivator. She was a Commis Chef (Realm 2). Her personality had shifted with the power. The frantic, weeping woman I had saved was gone. In her place was someone cold, efficient, and frighteningly pragmatic.

  Our shared bank account sat at 5,000,000 Spirit Stones. A cool 2.5 million each.

  It would have been more, but Drane’s Auction House had closed for "renovations" (likely fortification), freezing our biggest revenue stream.

  Inside the house, Mayah, Sarah, and Chloe moved silently, dusting and cleaning. I had broken them down over the months. They were dependents. They feared the world outside more than they feared me. They were loyal because they had no other choice.

  "Time to go to work," I said, sheathing my sword.

  I drove the Terramotta to Eden.

  The building was finished. And it was spectacular.

  It looked like a chunk of the Amazon rainforest had crashed into a skyscraper. The exterior was glass and brushed steel, draped in cascading vines and vertical gardens. The sign—EDEN—glowed in white neon above the entrance.

  In the parking lot, a sleek red sports car was parked diagonally across two spaces. A Becket 458. Aiya’s new toy.

  I walked up to the patio. Aiya was standing with Sal, the contractor.

  "It's ready," she said without turning around.

  "It's perfect," I agreed.

  "We need staff," she said. "We have three housekeepers, but I need waiters, stockers, janitors. Seventeen more people."

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  She pulled out her phone and posted an ad on the Detroit Job Portal.

  [Hiring: Eden. Good Salary. No Cultivation Path Required.]

  An hour later, there were a hundred people in the parking lot.

  Aiya walked the line like a general inspecting troops. She pointed. "You. You. Not you. You."

  Two hours later, she had her seventeen. None of them had cultivation paths. They were civilians—unlucky bastards—just happy to have a paycheck in a safe zone.

  "Where are the cooks?" Someone asked.

  "I am the kitchen," Aiya said. "Why pay a chef when I can generate five hundred perfect meals in an hour?"

  She turned to the new hires. "Open the doors. We launch tonight."

  "Tonight?"

  "Yes," she said. "Don’t worry about it. I've got this."

  I drove downtown.

  I had been watching the construction for a month. Today, the tarp came down.

  Seaside Thunderdome.

  It was colossal. A massive, circular arena that dominated the skyline. It was built in a brutalist, sleek style—black concrete, neon purple lights, and massive holographic screens. The logo—a stylized purple boat—rotated slowly above the dome.

  Rumors were flying. Some said Mister O built it to bring back life in the city. Others said he was just showing off.

  Regardless, it was a statement. Mister O was planting his flag. He owned this city.

  I parked and walked around the perimeter, admiring the architecture. It was intimidating.

  "Hey you!"

  The shout came from behind me.

  A fist occupied the space where my head had been a microsecond ago. The wind pressure ruffled my hair.

  I looked up.

  It was Axehill.

  He was bigger than I remembered. He wore a blue tactical vest over a white long-sleeve shirt, with commando pants and heavy boots. A blue skull mask was tucked into his collar like a handkerchief.

  He looked like a villain from a comic book. And I couldn't lie—he looked badass.

  "Tomato Man," Axehill grinned. "You're fast."

  "And you're loud," I said, hand resting on my sword hilt.

  He rushed me. No technique, just overwhelming speed and power.

  I drew the Sword.

  His fist hit the flat of the bamboo blade. The sound was like a gunshot. The pavement beneath our feet cracked in a spiderweb pattern.

  I didn't budge. Neither did he.

  "You're quite strong," Axehill said, his grin widening.

  "Same to you," I said, and bowed slightly.

  We moved at the same time.

  He threw a flurry of punches and kicks, each one heavy enough to punch through a brick wall. I met them with fluid parries and precise deflections. I kept pace with his raw brutality.

  A crowd gathered. Phones came out. People were cheering, recording the duel of the titans in the shadow of the Thunderdome.

  We fought for ten minutes. My breath was coming in short gasps. Sweat stung my eyes. Axehill was panting too, his knuckles bruised from hitting my armor.

  He stopped. He stepped back, wiping blood from a cut on his cheek where my sword had nicked him.

  "This city isn't big enough for the two of us," he growled.

  "Interesting way to declare war," I said, straightening up.

  "I don't declare war," Axehill said. He crouched. "I declare targets."

  He launched himself into the air. He jumped thirty feet straight up, landed on the roof of a nearby warehouse, and vanished into the shadows.

  I stood there, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

  "Wait till Aiya hears about this," I wheezed.