Kaelan pulls his hand back sharply.

  “No,” he says. “That is dangerous.”

  Clive withdraws his hand at once.

  “What was that?” he asks.

  “Bio-electricity,” Kaelan replies. “Every living being has it.”

  “With the Way of Life, you can master it.”

  Clive nods slowly.

  Then he asks,

  “What about the Way of Steam?”

  Kaelan’s expression shifts, thoughtful now.

  “The Way of Steam is unique,” he says.

  “It was not born from the Sand Temple.”

  “It was born from your kingdom.”

  “Engines.”

  “Automatons.”

  “Artificial systems that imitate life.”

  He pauses.

  “I believe the final destination of the Way of Steam is self-transformation.”

  “Not into Spirit Life.”

  “But into an automaton.”

  Clive falls silent.

  Each path stretches before him, distinct and dangerous, branching into futures he cannot yet fully imagine.

  At last, he speaks.

  “If you were me, which path would you choose?”

  Kaelan leans back in his chair, the wood creaking softly beneath him.

  He studies Clive with an expression that is neither distant nor indulgent, but calculating in a way that feels strangely respectful.

  He hums softly.

  “For your work as a detective,” Kaelan says, “you will need combat strength in the coming years, won’t you?”

  Clive does not answer immediately.

  Images rise unbidden.

  Simon’s voice, strained and shaken, is describing monsters that should not exist.

  The rotting skeletons of dogs twisted into something unnatural.

  The blood-soaked tunnels beneath the compound.

  And above all,

  The lightning spear.

  The way Kaelan summoned it without incantation or preparation.

  The way it erased Charlie as if he had never existed.

  And Charlie was only a man.

  A cultist.

  A believer of the Lord of Disaster.

  A god whose followers could borrow power directly from divinity.

  Against such enemies, his pistol is little more than noise.

  He exhales.

  “Yes,” Clive says.

  Kaelan nods, as if that answer was expected.

  “Then if you want combat effectiveness quickly,” Kaelan says, “and without needing to master complex spell frameworks, the most suitable path for you is the Way of Flesh and Blood.”

  Clive’s brow tightens.

  A pause stretches between them.

  He is already cultivating Flesh and Blood Alchemy.

  Yet the bloody history.

  The rivers of sacrifice.

  The knowledge that this path was once chosen out of desperation rather than wisdom.

  And then there is Steam Alchemy.

  Born in his kingdom.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  A path shaped by ingenuity rather than ritual.

  He hesitates only a moment longer before asking the question that has been gnawing at him.

  “Why not Steam Alchemy?” Clive says. “If I refine automatons, improve steam firearms, wouldn’t that give me the same combat effectiveness?”

  Kaelan smiles.

  Not mockingly.

  Not dismissively.

  But with the faint amusement of someone who has already walked that road in thought.

  “It would,” Kaelan says. “Eventually.”

  He lifts one finger.

  “But you would have to divide your time.”

  Clive listens intently.

  “Steam Alchemy requires refinement,” Kaelan continues. “Design, testing, iteration. You would need to split your days between your detective work and improving your machines.”

  He gestures toward the shelves behind him.

  “Blood Alchemy is different. Once you refine the blood of a Spirit Life, mastering its power can be done anywhere.”

  “On the road.”

  “In a tavern.”

  “In the middle of an investigation.”

  Kaelan’s gaze sharpens slightly.

  “But refining steam-alchemy items requires a laboratory.”

  “A stable environment.”

  “Tools.”

  “Time.”

  Clive’s mind immediately jumps ahead.

  Olden City.

  A fixed base.

  Clients arriving.

  Cases pulling him across districts, or even out of the city.

  “If you build a laboratory in Olden City,” Kaelan continues, “you will be bound to it.”

  “You will not be able to leave for long periods if you wish to continue refining.”

  “Your combat strength, as a Steam Alchemist, comes from what you build.”

  Kaelan pauses.

  “And what you build cannot follow you everywhere.”

  Clive closes his eyes briefly.

  The answer settles in his chest with quiet inevitability.

  He sighs.

  “Then Flesh and Blood Alchemy it is.”

  Kaelan inclines his head slightly.

  They speak a little longer, nothing profound, only clarifications, cautions, and reminders.

  Then Clive steps back from the counter.

  Before leaving, he stops.

  “Sir,” Clive says, “you’ve done me a great favour.”

  Kaelan looks at him calmly.

  “If you ever need help,” Clive continues, “you can call me.”

  Kaelan’s eyes narrow just slightly.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  Clive takes a deep breath.

  He knows what it means to offer such words to someone like Kaelan.

  He knows favours are never free.

  But he also knows that walking away from this debt would be a lie.

  “I’m sure,” Clive says.

  Kaelan studies him for a long moment.

  Then he nods once.

  Clive turns and walks toward the door.

  The bell rings softly as it opens.

  And again, as it closes behind him.

  ,

  Kaelan remains seated.

  For several seconds, he does not move.

  Then, quietly, he speaks.

  “Clive Holmes.”

  The name lingers in the air.

  There is no one to hear it.

  Kaelan’s gaze drifts, unfocused, slipping through layers of time.

  In another life.

  In another world.

  That name carried weight.

  A symbol of deduction, reason, and defiance against chaos.

  Here, in this world, the name has appeared again.

  Not as a legend.

  But as a man.

  A detective.

  Kaelan exhales softly.

  “How nostalgic.”

  That nostalgia is not the only reason he chose to help.

  But it is nothing.

  After Clive leaves, Kaelan remains behind the counter, fingers tapping lightly once more.

  Tap.

  Tap.

  His thoughts turn inward.

  The world’s spiritual energy is returning.

  Slowly.

  Unevenly.

  But undeniably.

  He is on a schedule.

  A very tight one.

  He invaded this world long ago for a reason.

  When the First World is invaded by the Sword Immortal World, chaos will follow.

  At that moment, Kaelan intends to seize control.

  This world will be his foothold.

  From here, he will invade the Sword Immortal World.

  The two worlds will divide the Sword Immortal World between them.

  And then,

  Merge.

  That is the plan.

  But for that to happen, this world must recover fully.

  Only then can Kaelan advance to the Fourth Stage of Transcendence.

  Only then can he influence the world’s laws directly.

  Only then will the plan proceed without resistance.

  Tap.

  His fingers still.

  Because there is one thing.

  One unpredictable variable.

  One flaw that could unravel everything.

  Kaelan’s gaze darkens slightly.

  “And that,” he murmurs, “is what worries me most.”

  It is not the return of spiritual energy.

  Nor the awakening of talent across the continents.

  Nor even the looming war between worlds.

  What troubles him is the *unknown history* of this world, and the *Blood Abyss Tunnel* that festers beneath it.

  Even with his power, Kaelan has only been able to recover *sporadic records* of the time before the Holy Empire.

  Fragments.

  Echoes.

  Broken truths scattered across relics and ruins.

  The demigods of this world, the Lord of Pain, the Lady of the Lake, and the others, were all born *during* the era of the Holy Empire.

  They were not innate divine beings.

  They cultivated their way upward.

  Step by step.

  They reached the Demigod Realm through faith, power, and opportunity.

  And because of that, they know almost nothing about what came *before*.

  The Holy Empire marked the beginning of recorded transcendence.

  Before it lies a veil.

  Kaelan has tried to pierce it.

  Again and again.

  One conclusion, however, remains unshaken.

  The *Blood Abyss Tunnel* was not created by this world.

  It is artificial.

  That realisation alone sends a chill through even Kaelan.

  Because of one word.

  Abyss.

  In the void sea, worlds are not equal.

  They are divided into levels.

  At the lowest are *Demiworlds*, fragile and incomplete.

  Above them are *Small Worlds*, then *Large Worlds*.

  Higher still come *Small Thousand Worlds* and *Large Thousand Worlds*.

  Beyond them stand the *Great Worlds*, sovereign powers that rule entire regions of the void.

  And at the very peak, perhaps, exist *Eternal Worlds*.

  Or so the legends say.

  No confirmed Eternal World has ever been recorded.

  But Kaelan’s inherited memory, etched deep into his existence, mentions them.

  That leaves the Great Worlds.

  Among them is one whose name carries terror across countless realities.

  The *Ruin Abyss Great World*.

  Like the abyssal myths of Kaelan’s previous life, the Ruin Abyss is said to have *innumerable layers*, each more hostile than the last.

  A world where demons are born, refined, and perfected through endless conflict.

  A world where even demigods are prey.

  If the Blood Abyss Tunnel is connected, directly or indirectly, to such a place…

  Kaelan’s fingers curl slowly against the counter.

  There are *thousands of Demon Lords* in the Abyss.

  Any one of them could kill him.

  Not eventually.

  Not with preparation.

  Simply kill.

  “If the Blood Abyss Tunnel truly links to the Abyss,” Kaelan whispers, “then this world is standing on borrowed time.”

  He cannot allow himself to be distracted by war while an unknown abyssal hand lurks beneath the surface.

  Otherwise, the outcome will be simple.

  The clam and the snipe fight.

  The fisherman takes everything.

  And the fisherman, in this case, would be a Demon Lord of the Abyss.

  Kaelan exhales slowly.

  “I need to investigate the Blood Abyss Tunnel before I join the war.”

  But he will not go himself.

  Not yet.

  Stepping directly into the abyss, or even close to it, would be reckless.

  Instead, he will send a team.

  Observers.

  Pieces on the board.

  His gaze shifts, thoughtful now.

  Among the names already etched into his calculations, one stands out.

  Clive Holmes.

  Kaelan’s lips curve faintly.