One attacker spotted him and smiled behind his cloth mask, seeing the weak aura.
He lunged.
Lucian raised his hand like he was stopping a dog.
The attacker froze mid-step. Not by fear. By something that didn’t allow the motion to finish.
Lucian blinked, then sighed like he’d made a mistake.
"Cael," he muttered under his breath.
Althea heard it and flinched, because she hated how casual he was during violence.
The attacker’s body went stiff. Then he dropped like all strength left him at once, collapsing face-first. Not dead. Just... empty. Like his spirit fell asleep.
The other attackers hesitated, suddenly sensing something wrong.
One of them turned to flee.
Lucian looked at him.
The man tripped. Hard. Like the ground decided he shouldn’t run today.
Lucian rubbed his forehead. "This is why I don’t like doing this."
Althea snapped, "Then stop—"
But another attacker tried to stab Elara from the side, and Althea moved without thinking, putting herself between them, sword catching the blade with a sharp clash.
She pushed, kicked the attacker back, and her sword point hovered at his throat.
"Back off," she said coldly.
The attacker’s eyes flicked to Lucian, then to the Verdant Willow disciples surrounding them, and panic hit him. He tried to throw a talisman.
Lucian lifted one finger.
The talisman burned into nothing before it activated.
The attacker stared, breathing fast. "What are you—"
Lucian said, "Tired."
The Verdant Willow sect leader stepped in then, her voice calm.
"Enough," she said. "Bind them. Take them alive if possible. If not, end it clean."
The fight ended fast after that. Not because the caravan was overwhelming, but because the attackers lost nerve. They weren’t fighting a caravan anymore. They were fighting the feeling that the world itself had turned against them.
Two got bound. Two fled. Two were unconscious on the ground, staring blankly.
Elara wiped a small cut on her sleeve, then looked at Lucian like she was trying to see through his skin.
"You didn’t use Qi," she said softly.
Lucian replied, "I’m a scholar."
Elara didn’t laugh.
Althea walked over, sword still in hand, eyes hard.
"You said you’d blend in," she said.
"I did," Lucian answered.
Althea pointed at the unconscious attacker. "That’s not blending."
Lucian looked down. "He’ll wake up later."
Althea stared at him like he was insane.
Elara spoke before Althea could explode.
"My lady," Elara said carefully, "we should keep moving. This was a probe."
The sect leader agreed. "They were testing distance. Testing our response. We leave now."
They moved again.
As the caravan continued, whispers spread.
"Did you see that scholar?"
"He didn’t move, and the attacker just dropped."
"Some kind of soul pressure?"
"No, I didn’t feel anything."
"I felt... nothing. That was the scary part."
Women looked at Lucian even more now. Not just captivated. Curious. Uneasy. Like looking at a calm river and suspecting it was deeper than a mountain.
Lucian ignored them all.
Althea stayed close, not because she trusted him, but because leaving his side felt like stepping into a trap.
Near the third day, the road climbed.
More groups joined, merging into one large flow. People started wearing their best gear. Their best robes. Their best smiles.
The Trial was close.
That night, Althea sat with Lucian and Elara while the sect leader spoke with other elders nearby. The talk around them was all about rankings, hidden geniuses, and which faction was most likely to grab the Starlight Blossoms.
Althea listened, then asked quietly, "Do you think my mother is there."
Lucian didn’t answer right away.
"No."