Chapter 136: The Status

Liana finished her flatbread without another word and retreated upstairs. The Pontifex busied herself scrubbing imaginary stains from the teacups. Sylvia, who had wandered downstairs only to catch the tail end of the dream conversation, took one look at the fractured silverware and wisely said nothing.

Theo sat alone in the courtyard, chewing his last piece of bread.

*Great Sage, pull up the Syndicate’s operational summary for the southern provinces.*

An interface materialized... columns of numbers, supply routes, and civilian faith metrics scrolling across the display.

The Abyssal Syndicate had been running on autopilot since Theo left for the Ashfall Peaks, managed by a handful of local agents and a few senior Cult operatives who had defected to his side.

The results were unexpected...

Revenue from enchanted provisions alone had tripled. Infrastructure investments in three border towns were yielding returns ahead of schedule.

And the faith accumulation was still generating a steady trickle of Imperial Mandate points.

But one entry caught his eye.

[Agent Report — Operative Cassia, Age 16]

[Status: Acting Regional Coordinator, Verdant Basin District]

[Quarterly Revenue Contribution: 340,000 gold sovereigns]

[Commission Claimed: 25%]

Theo stared at the number.

The standard rate was ten.

*Great Sage, who authorized this?*

[No formal approval on record. Operative Cassia appears to have negotiated the rate independently, citing "hazard pay" and "brand development expenses."]

He pulled up her profile. Sixteen years old. Daughter of a former Cult supply officer.

She had been handling distribution of subsidized grain and medicine across three townships... managing transactions, resolving disputes, and inflating her own salary without anyone noticing.

She had also, according to the after-action report, personally talked down a group of highway bandits from raiding a supply caravan.

Her method: convincing them the Abyssal Venerable would "descend from the heavens and personally rearrange their spinal columns."

Theo closed the interface.

The girl had grifted her way into a premium salary. And she deserved every coin of it.

"Little swindler," he murmured, though a grin tugged at his mouth.

He pulled up his total accumulated wealth.

[Current Liquid Assets: 12,900,000+ gold sovereigns]

[Material Reserves: Archon-grade ores (47 varieties), Elixirs (Grade 6-8, 200+ units), Formation Cores (31), Miscellaneous Artifacts (114)]

If he gathered every Patriarch in the Capital for a banquet, he could cover the bill with pocket change and still buy their estates for dessert.

His fortune kept inflating no matter how much he spent... the kind of problem only a reincarnated otherworlder with a broken system could possibly have.

Dozens of southern villages still lacked basic resources.

Delivering supplies required either an army of Shadow-Clones or more trusted operatives like Cassia.

He dismissed the interface and spent the remainder of the afternoon grinding Archon formations inside the *Abyssal Forge*.

By evening, his reserves were drained and his muscles burned.

---

The kitchen filled with steam as the sun dropped behind the Capital’s rooftops.

Theo moved between the stove and the counter on autopilot... no recipe just instinct.

Tonight it was a braised lamb shoulder with roasted root vegetables, seasoned with southern juniper spice he’d stockpiled from the Syndicate’s supplies.

He was plating the fourth serving when the hairs on his neck prickled.

He turned.

Liana stood in the kitchen doorway.

She had been avoiding him for the entire day. After breakfast and the dream incident, she’d sealed herself in her room...

Her eyes were locked onto the steaming plates with an intensity that bordered on devotion. Her lips had parted. Her nostrils flared. Her slender fingers twitched at her sides.

Theo noted that every trace of morning frost had melted from her expression.

If she wanted to pretend the entire day was a collective hallucination, he would happily sign that agreement.

"Take a seat. I will—"

She was already there. Fork in hand, spine straight, jaw set.

The chair hadn’t finished scraping against the stone floor before the Reborn Empress had assumed battle formation.

Theo carried the remaining plates to the table and went to collect the others.

The Pontifex was in the study, buried in historical texts, chewing on a writing brush.

He steered her toward the dining room without interrupting her muttering.

Sylvia was in the rear garden, meditating beneath a willow, recalibrating her Oracle senses after the tomb’s residual energies had overwhelmed them.

"Professor. Dinner."

Sylvia opened her eyes and rose.

As she passed through the doorway, she paused.

"The lamb?"

"With juniper."

Her expression eased by a fraction. "Good," she said, and walked inside.

...

Liana ate like a woman waging war against starvation itself. Each bite barely registered on her palate before it was gone.

Sixty seconds. Her plate was scraped bare, not a drop of sauce remaining.

She set the fork down and looked at Theo.

’More.’

He took her plate. Refilled it. Set it back.

Forty seconds.

Those eyes blinked at him.

’More. Please.’

Plate three. Plate four. Plate five...

Each one vanished faster than the last. By the fourth refill, Sylvia had abandoned her own food to openly spectate.

The Pontifex’s jaw hung loose. Even Theo’s eyebrows had climbed steadily higher with each serving... six full portions was more than Liana had ever consumed in a single sitting.

Plate six.

She set the fork down. A satisfied exhale escaped her lips, and every ounce of urgency seemed to drain from her body at once.

Her hands drifted to her stomach, pressing against the subtle swell.

’Thank you.’

She rose, glided to the divan by the living room window, and settled into it like a cat reclaiming its favorite sunbeam.

Within seconds, her eyes were closed.

He dried his hands on a cloth and walked into the living room. Liana was still on the divan. The residual warmth of the Genesis Sphere glowed beneath her skin.

Theo stood over her and projected his surface thoughts clearly enough for the Soul-Link to carry them.

"So. The exile is over."

Her eyes opened. She peered up through silver lashes, brow creased.

*Exile?*

The confusion was genuine. Her expression held nothing but honest blankness.

"This morning," Theo said. "The dream. The breakfast incident."

Liana blinked.

Her brows pinched together the way they did when she was reaching for a memory and finding an empty shelf.

*What about this morning?*

"Nothing," he said. "Forget I mentioned it."

Liana studied him for one more heartbeat. Then she closed her eyes, and returned to cultivation as if the interruption had never existed.

The evening wound down. Sylvia retreated to the garden. The Pontifex returned to her books and her half-written resume.

Liana remained on the divan.

Theo shut his bedroom door, settled cross-legged on the mattress, and emptied his lungs.

Productive day. Bewildering day...

But none of it changed the core arithmetic: he was still not strong enough.

Twenty-nine days until the Imperial Tournament.

He closed his eyes. Drew his focus inward. Began the first cycle of Aether circulation—

[Ding!]