Outworld Liberators-Chapter 212: Arrival of the Elite Youth Disciples

While the disciples immersed themselves in the Path Previews, Radeon handed Calyx and his gang of wraiths a new mission.

[New Task Detected]

[Task Details: Greet the arriving guests properly and give them a tour.]

[Reward: 5 to 20 Contribution Points depending on your performance.]

The five of them exchanged glances. Then, without warning, each severed an arm and hurled it into the air.

The detached limbs shot upward with a thunderous boom, sending a rush of wind across the disciples.

Eldric also hurled one of his arms ahead, knowing his face carried enough weight on the Radeon Terraces in case anything went wrong.

Several of the disciples flinched.

They wanted to ask why anyone would casually throw away an arm, but they understood better than to pry into matters that were none of their business.

At the sky gates of the fifth layer, a massive beast came hurtling in.

It was a breed of Foo Dog, a mountain-guarding creature famed for its loyalty to its master.

The thing was enormous, nearly twenty meters long, with a broad back strong enough to carry a full group of riders.

When it landed, an elder with a thick frame stepped down first.

His face was marked by old scars, and a heavy stubble shadowed his jaw.

The disciples behind him were built much the same, all muscle and force, though none of them looked older than twenty five.

"Manners," the elder said. "We aren’t on sect grounds. Do not waste this chance to make names for yourselves."

Then he added, with the bluntness of a man who had no taste for subtle lectures.

"One more thing. Start finding wives for yourselves. Do not come crying to me if fifty years pass and you still cannot touch a woman."

This was the Infernal Warfiend Court.

It was a sect made up almost entirely of men, since only those with overwhelming physical strength and an aptitude for fire and yang arts were usually chosen as disciples.

Then a woman rose from among them.

She stood over seven feet tall, with an afro, bulging muscle, and a presence impossible to ignore.

Yet for all that brutal stature, her face was undeniably beautiful in a way that only made the contrast more striking.

"What about me, Elder?" Jenkii asked. "Am I not pretty?"

Elder Denzil rolled his eyes.

"You are pretty, yes, so what?" the elder snarled.

"Look at those hands. Not dainty at all. Look at those muscles. Where is the softness of a woman in you? Nowhere."

Jenkii only grinned and began caressing the elder’s arm in open defiance, teasing him for all she was worth.

Yet the moment her hand closed around him, her grip bit down with the force of an alligator.

"Scram," Elder Denzil said, yanking his arm away from the mischievous core disciple.

"I don’t want those caresses. You are no woman at all."

Before Jenkii could fire back, one of the disciples suddenly shouted.

"Look, someone’s coming."

It was Calyx.

The moment Jenkii saw his youthful and handsome face, her eyes lit up, and she looked ready to rush forward and greet him at once.

Denzil blocked her with one arm before she could move.

Though he stood at the peak of Spirit Transfiguration, he still felt a chill the instant he laid eyes on the approaching man.

"Guests from afar, welcome," Calyx said, extending a hand to Denzil.

The gesture was unfamiliar, but Denzil understood the intent well enough and clasped it.

Their hands met in a firm grip, each testing the other with quiet strength.

A few breaths later, both men laughed.

This, Calyx realized, was exactly what Radeon had meant.

The old monster had kept telling him that knowing how to meet people properly, how to choose the right kind of speech and bearing, would matter if he ever wished to walk farther on the immortal road.

"Haha. Are young fellows these days all this strong?" Denzil asked.

"Not at all," Calyx replied easily. "I was barely holding on just now. Why don’t we head inside?"

The Infernal Warfiend Court was still a top sect, and they had come prepared with ample funds after the cultists told them they would enjoy themselves here.

None of them even blinked at the three copper entrance fee.

They paid it without complaint, curiosity already driving them forward.

The moment they passed through the light screen, Jenkii’s eyes brightened.

"It smells so good in here. Wow," she exclaimed, sounding suddenly far closer to her age.

The other disciples relaxed as well, their guarded expressions softening as they took in the strange welcome of Radeon Terraces.

Calyx brought them next to the Cuisine of the Radeon Spirit.

The finest cooks of the Ghost Realm worked there, and at its heart stood yet another body of Radeon.

This one was much like Eldric in form, though narrower in purpose.

It knew only cooking. Radeon had allowed this body to master the ingredients of the present realm too deeply, perhaps for fear that even a kitchen might become another path to terrifying expertise.

The moment the disciples of the Infernal Warfiend Court stepped inside, the aroma struck them so hard their stomachs growled one after another.

Even Denzil paused.

For all his talent in cultivation, he hated reading. That was why he usually shoved menial tasks onto others whenever he could.

Yet when he saw the menu boards, each dish rendered in vivid, mouthwatering detail, even he stood there in surprise.

"Alright, everyone. Pick whatever you like. The sect brought money, so let’s eat well."

At that, the disciples crowded closer.

Denzil studied the images and the prices with growing interest. The food was expensive.

Not merely costly, but absurdly so. He had never seen meals priced like treasured artifacts before, and that alone made him want to know whether they were truly worth it.

As he began pointing out his choices, he noticed that the attendant taking his order was a Nascent Embryo cultivator.

That shocked him. He immediately tried to spread his perception and gauge the room more carefully, but it only reached a few meters before thinning away.

Still, the discovery unsettled him. A Nascent Embryo cultivator serving food was not something one saw every day.

Elsewhere, Eldric was greeting the disciples of the Netherdemon Sanctum Court.

Each of them had arrived riding a Nethermist Crane, elegant and eerie creatures that looked almost too refined for the mortal world.

Several attendants skilled in handling beasts came forward to receive them.

The Netherdemon disciples grew wary at once, their eyes sharpening on the men approaching their mounts, but a thin man with deep shadows under his eyes lifted a hand to calm them.

He was Riev, the equivalent of Denzil in rank.

He looked like a man who had not slept properly in days.

Behind him, a handsome blond man with curling locks stepped forward.

"Inner Elder Riev, may I know who these people are?"

Riev’s expression eased at once. The speaker was Radimir, the sect master’s newest direct disciple.

"These are your seniors. They are here to attend to the cranes, so do not obstruct them while they work," he said, his voice worn with fatigue.

Though he stood at the Middle Stage of Ethereal Integration, Riev had been given only one real task for this trip.

The sect master had phrased it less like an order and more like a plea.

Relax. Enjoy yourself.

The reason was simple. Beyond his cultivation, Riev carried a second distinction.

He was a Premier Alchemist, and he had been downcast ever since a three-decade experiment ended in failure.

One by one, the disciples of the Netherdemon Sanctum Court offered the three copper entrance fee as they passed through.

Unlike the rough and openly forceful nature of the Infernal Warfiend Court, these men and women carried themselves with refinement.

They were polished, careful, and almost courtly in bearing.

One might have called them opposites.

Yet the two powers had been neighbors for thousands of years, close enough to know one another’s habits and sharp enough to measure themselves against each other without fail.

That was why both had sent their finest young elites to this place.

They had come to contend for name, for pride, and for supremacy within the Radeon Terraces.

They too were led into the Cuisine of the Radeon Spirit.

Denzil, being Riev’s junior, quickly made his way over and offered a respectful greeting.

"This junior pays respect to Senior Riev."

Riev only gave a small nod. His eyes still looked tired, shadowed by the sort of weariness that seemed built into his face, yet the moment the fragrance of herbs and rich broth reached him, something sharper stirred beneath that fatigue.

A quiet excitement lit deep in his gaze, though he hid it well.

He glanced toward the Infernal Warfiend Court disciples, who were already eating with shameless fervor.

"What’s good?" Riev asked.

Denzil scratched his head, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, he seemed unsure how to answer.

"Senior Riev, I am still five hundred years short of your experience," Denzil said honestly, "but I dare say this is the best food I have ever tasted in my life."

The two men had crossed paths before at formal banquets held under the authority of the Celes Imperium, ruler of the entire continent, so the exchange did not feel unfamiliar between them.

Riev gave another quiet nod, then turned his tired gaze toward the attendant.

"Bring us what they are having."

Orders were soon placed, and more sects and schools began arriving one after another.

The Hemal Tithe Cult entered next. This time, Jekyll did not wear the mask of the Silent Severance Operation Leader, but appeared instead as an Inner Elder of the Hemal Tithe Cult.

The one he brought with him was Mason, the Supreme Elder’s direct disciple.

Mason sized up the other youths near his age, then looked away, already sensing the quiet competition hanging in the room.

The other young cultists who came with them were likewise the finest elites the remaining elders could spare.

Opportunities like this were rare, and more importantly, the setting was far safer than any venture into the unknown.

As more guests poured in, the Cuisine of the Radeon Spirit began to expand itself.

Those already seated barely noticed the change. Arrays beneath the floors and walls lifted, widened, and reshaped the hall so smoothly that no one felt the movement at all.

Before long, the whole place had turned lively.

Juniors greeted seniors. Seniors offered advice. Laughter rose between the tables.

The hall grew warm with conversation and appetite, carrying the easy spirit of people who had come to compete, yet found themselves disarmed by hospitality first.

The Everwritten Archivists Court was not known for martial strength, but its influence ran far and wide.

Through its journals and small schools scattered across the world, news traveled where swords could not.

It was also where Fay and Radeon had first begun.

The elder leading their excursion was none other than Luella.

She was the very woman who had taken Fay in as an infant, back on that storm-lashed night when a soaked and abandoned infant had been found at the sect’s mountain gate.