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“This is unprecedented,” an old man said while holding a scroll open in front of himself. The rest of the cultivators were looking at the man with eager expressions. Although they all knew Grandpa Vremya was getting one of the slots to enter the phoegon cave, there were still four other slots. Maybe they’d get lucky and earn a few votes! A lot of cultivators had promised Grandpa Vremya their votes, so to get second place, not many were needed since there were so few remaining.

“However,” the old man said, “unprecedented events occur at every gathering of the cultivators, and rules are rules. We clearly agreed that the people with the most votes would gain entry into the legendary beasts’ nest. Elder Vremya has received every single vote … even his own. As such, only Elder Vremya shall be permitted to enter, and all of the eggs shall belong to him.”

“What!?”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“You can vote for yourself? How arrogant do you have to be to do that!?”

“Elder Vremya does have the qualifications to be arrogant though.”

“Ahem.” The old man who was holding the scroll cleared his throat. It sounded like thunder had erupted through the building. “Think about why you voted for Elder Vremya in the first place. Now, realize everyone else voted the same way because of similar reasoning. No one thought your contribution was worth anything compared to what Elder Vremya had shared. You’ve all gained much from this gathering; you might not be able to instantly become a soul-seed cultivator by absorbing the phoegon egg’s amniotic fluid, but your gains have definitely outweighed your contribution. Don’t be greedy and don’t covet what you don’t have the strength to hold.”

Azalea glared at Grandpa Vremya. Even though, logically, Grandpa Vremya deserved the votes, Azalea was still slightly miffed that he had voted for himself instead of her. He said he was attending the gathering to get her a phoegon egg, but if he were trying to do that, shouldn’t he help her win rather than winning for himself and later handing her the egg? After some thinking, Azalea shook her head and calmed herself down. It was Grandpa Vremya’s way of thinking. He had to be domineering, and that meant no one else could have any votes.

Grandpa Vremya stroked his beard and stared at the old man. “So,” he said. “When do I get access to the phoegon eggs?”

“Right this way,” the old man said. He glanced at Azalea. “Forgive me for my rudeness, but you’ll have to enter by yourself.”

“That’s not an issue,” Grandpa Vremya said and waved his hands. A few battlesuit golems appeared around Azalea. If someone wanted to use her to threaten him to give up a phoegon egg, then they were going to have a hard time. Besides, it didn’t seem like people cared too much. Most of them had been enlightened by Grandpa Vremya, and a few were already leaving, understanding they weren’t destined to obtain a phoegon egg.

The old man led Grandpa Vremya out of the room, through a hall, and down a flight of stairs. They ended up at a cellar. The old man flung his hand out, and dozens of spirit stones shot out from near his body, embedding themselves in the walls of the cellar, creating a pattern resembling the constellation of the phoenix. The old man flung his other hand out, and red stones flew out of his interspatial ring and created the constellation of the dragon. Upon completion, the cellar rumbled, and the center of the ground slid apart, revealing another flight of stairs. He gestured with his hand, indicating for Grandpa Vremya to walk towards the darkness. “Rules are rules. Even I’m not permitted to enter the phoegon egg nest.”

Grandpa Vremya waved his hand, sending a surge of spiritual energy down the flight of stairs. By doing so, he could get a rough image of what lay below. There was manmade flight of stairs leading towards a natural-looking cave. Considering the fact dragons nor phoenixes created structures like these, he somehow doubted the fact the path led to a nest. However, he wasn’t concerned. The gathering of the cultivators shouldn’t be a trap, and with his confidence in himself, Grandpa Vremya knew he could overcome any trial. He walked down the flight of stairs, leaving two golems behind to make sure the entrance didn’t shut and seal him in.

The gathering of the cultivators had been hosted on top of a mountain. The flight of stairs seemed unending, leading deep into the heart of the earth. Grandpa Vremya estimated he had gone halfway down the mountain before arriving at his destination. Whichever beast laid the eggs, the phoenix or the dragon, behaved like a sea turtle, digging out a hole to lay its eggs in before filling it back up. Grandpa Vremya glanced around the cave. There was a pool of lava in the center with hundreds of red crystals growing out of it. The crystals were positioned in such a way that there was a large crevice in the center of the cluster. Five glowing eggs rested on the crystals, emitting a red light.

Grandpa Vremya approached the eggs and stroked his beard. There wasn’t any difference in the appearance of each egg. They all seemed like they were ready to hatch; none of them looked infertile. Grandpa Vremya wasn’t a master on identifying whether or not an egg was fertile—at least, for now; he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Luckily, there was an easy way to tell, but it wasn’t entirely accurate. If he injected his spiritual energy into them and received a response from a creature inside, then he’d know the egg was obviously fertile. Of course, the technique only worked if the phoegon inside was already partially grown. He didn’t know how long ago it had been since these eggs were laid, and he didn’t know the gestation time for a phoegon either, but it was still better than cracking the eggs open to check.

Grandpa Vremya placed his hand on one of the eggs and injected some spiritual energy into it. Once it entered, it vanished from his senses. As the child of two legendary beasts, a phoegon had special properties. It could steal spiritual energy by cutting off its connection with its owner. If a cultivator stabbed a phoegon with a flying sword, he’d find he wouldn’t be able to control it anymore. The egg was just as overbearing, unwilling to give Grandpa Vremya even a hint of what was inside. He tested the rest of the eggs but received the same result. Either all the eggs were unfertilized, or the phoegons inside were too young to respond. Grandpa Vremya lifted the eggs, but all of them weighed roughly the same. Was there really no way to identify an unfertilized egg? If it weren’t for the fact an unborn phoegon might’ve resided inside one of the eggs, he really would’ve shaken them to see if they sloshed or not. Although phoegon’s were strong beasts, they had a tradeoff of being extremely vulnerable whilst inside their eggs. Even opening a tiny hole on the egg shell would cause spiritual energy to leak out, leading to the death of the embryo. Killing a phoegon would lead to unimaginably large amounts of bad karma. Removing the eggs from the bed of crystals they lay on would also lead to the embryos’ deaths. A frown appeared on Grandpa Vremya’s face. Did he have to sit here and wait until the eggs hatched? How long would that take? If only there were someone looking out for him who could easily solve the problem.

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