It was time for him to head toward the clan estate; there was absolutely no reason for further delays.
Raising the affection of a stranger was a monumental task, and Urek knew he needed to invest some serious effort into the endeavor.
’I am willing to bet my own family jewels that the protagonist is running a severe fever right now,’ Urek mused internally as his clone stepped out.
For the time being, he needed to exercise the absolute utmost care regarding his main body.
It was far too fragile to risk in the field.
Once he grew powerful enough, he would gladly step into the spotlight, but for now, that was strictly out of the question.
He walked for several minutes before arriving at a humongous wall.
Busy hovercars were lined up at the checkpoint, while others smoothly exited the gates.
This area served as the outer sector of the clan...essentially the localized settlement managed by Wenya.
Perhaps it was a form of charitable contribution for the common populace.
"So, how exactly am I supposed to navigate that queue? It’s already bustling, even though it’s still incredibly early in the morning."
Urek walked forward nonchalantly, approaching the guard post where another man was currently on duty.
’I need to ask for a number next time, would it be considered making a move?’
[ That entirely depends on the context of the situation, Host... ]
’Wow, I honestly didn’t expect you to provide actual feedback.’
[ I am your designated system, so such interactions are perfectly standard. ]
’Lucky me...’ Urek thought sarcastically as he stood before a guard clad in heavy armor, hefting a volatile electric baton.
...
’Terrifying... I bet anyone’s balls would get completely fried if they got clipped by that thing.’
Urek swallowed hard. The sentry himself was a formidable specimen, standing an imposing 6’5" with a physique bulging with packed muscles.
A literal juggernaut.
Of course, Urek wasn’t exactly a lightweight either; the vessel stood at a respectable 6’2" with a lean, well-proportioned frame.
"Stop right there. State your business."
"Uhh... I am checking to see if there happens to be an invitation for me, sir."
"Hmm. Your name?"
"Urek. Though I didn’t actually state my name to the goddess, she might not recognize it."
"Hmm. Let me cross-reference the registry to see if a directive was left. Wait here."
"Yes, sir."
Urek wasn’t entirely certain of the outcome, but he hoped his current luck was high enough to pull through.
...
After a five-minute wait, the muscular guard returned to the post.
"Crimson hair, ruby eyes... well, it looks like you received clearance." The sentry thoroughly scrutinized Urek, scanning his physique to ensure no illegal magitech firearms were concealed beneath his clothing.
"Very well... you may enter. However, let me remind you that you are strictly permitted to wait in the courtyard for our lady to appear. Whether you actually catch a glimpse of her or not is entirely dependent on your own luck."
"Understood, sir... thank you." Urek bowed his head respectfully.
There was always plenty of time to act like a fanatical fool later, but right now, maintaining a polite facade was paramount.
He followed the specific path the guard had indicated.
It was a bit of a loss that he couldn’t inspect the sentry’s stats, but his specialized monocle only functioned when equipped by his original body; his clones did not inherit the overlay.
Still... it is what it was.
The fact that he could allow his individual clones to grow independently was a massive boon.
This mechanism differed completely from standard cloning tropes, where duplicates were traditionally vastly inferior to the original caster.
In Urek’s case, the opposite was true.
While his main body wasn’t so weak that he could be squashed like a common bug, it remained a significant bottleneck.
Until he accumulated enough plundered fate to manifest a Gold Clover, his primary vessel would remain heavily restricted.
Well, it was restricted in the sense that he could only utilize a single innate skill, but the cultivation potential of his network would eventually become monstrous.
Bam!! Bam!!! Bam!
Shing! Shing! Shing!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He turned his head upon hearing the synchronized clashing of weapons.
Not far away, in the center of a vast courtyard, a multitude of disciples were actively practicing...executing defensive drills, conditioning exercises, and intense spars.
Urek was genuinely intrigued, observing the full display of the martial artists out there.
He wasn’t a clueless idiot who would constantly question the world around him; what would be the point of reading 9,999 Chapters if a guy had to ask about every single piece of lore?
In this world, individuals who cultivated energy were universally designated as "Rankers."
These elites held the power to alter the global landscape as they pleased, provided they were strong enough, naturally.
Just like his own, the power hierarchy was categorized from the baseline Tier 1 all the way up to the legendary Tier 9.
Honestly, it was a pretty lazy layout because the web novel’s author had decided to use basic numbers instead of inventing fancy, esoteric names for the cultivation realms.
The author did write his note..and it goes like this.
-I’m tired of making such a name...so let’s be satisfied with numbers.-
’What kind of lazy shit is that? ’ Urek smirked internally.
Imagine finding the naming process so tiring that you just default to numbers.
At least the author possessed a decent sense of humor.
"Hoho... what exactly are you staring at so intently, young man?"
A serene, sage-like elder approached him.
True to the classic archetype, he sported a long, flowing white beard that cascaded all the way down toward his lower torso.
’Perfect, right on cue... I should probably ask this old sage.’
"Good morning, old man."
"Impudent rascal! Do not refer to me as an old man!" The sage-like elder’s dignified face instantly cracked with indignation.
Him? An old man? He could still plow like a youth in his prime!
"My apologies, sage old man..."
"Listen here, you little rascal... remove the ’old’ entirely!" The elder desperately wanted to smack the back of the youth’s head.
Unfortunately, he had a reputation as a wise sage to uphold, so resorting to immediate violence would look bad.