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"You're short! There are only three phials here, our agreement was for ten," a teenage boy dressed in a white robe with indigo and gold clouds embroidered on it chided with a disdainful frown on his face.

"I'm sorry Senior. The collection has become much harder given the increase in the... demand. I believe there are three more members from the Outer Division reporting to Senior," another teenager responded with a painfully deep bow. He was garbed in a black robe with similar embroidery minus the gold inlays. The condition of the fabric was also miles behind that of the other boy's, with frequent scuff marks and hastily patched up tears peppered around them.

"Are you saying it's my fault?" the white-robed boy shot back aggressively?

"N-No-"

Before he could respond, the black-robed boy was grabbed by his hair and slammed to the ground. The white-robed boy looked around hastily before dragging the boy by his hair into an occluded alley.

"I believe I made myself pretty clear the last time," the sentence was paused as an audible punch landed on the black-robed boy, in a region below his ribs. "You donate Body Tempering Potions to me, and I don't hurt you."

Another punch landed in the same location, eliciting a pained groan from the black-robed teen.

"I wouldn't need to recruit more members from the Outer Division if you had done a better job. Are you satisfied with doing the bare minimum?" The question was followed by a kick toward the black-robed teen, who was in the fetal position. "If you want to attract the attention of your superiors, you need to go above and beyond. What I gave you was a test."

"Fucking Outer trash! Get this through your head. This is how cultivation works. It's all about gaining benefits when possible," the white-robed teen bellowed maniacally. "If you want to get ahead, you need to step over a few heads in the process. Do you think every piece of shit entering the Outer Division gets to enter the Inner Division?"

"Do you think this is unfair?" The boy asked sarcastically.

"N..." a low mumble was heard. The attacker lowered himself into a squat and raised the beaten boy by his hair once again.

"That's right! You should be grateful! This Senior is simply teaching a lucky Junior such as yourself. So learn diligently, okay?" the white-robed exhorted with a snicker oozing with morbid enjoyment. "This is motivation. Do better!"

Markus walked past the alley with his attention consciously averted from the one-sided beatdown occurring within. The white-robed teen continued to pummel down on the nearly unconscious boy on the ground, making sure to avoid the most visible locations. Markus could only shake his head in disappointment at the outcome of a series of events. He was disappointed at the fact that life in a Sect was no different than back in the Academy. In many ways, it was worse here because there was a clear differentiation in the hierarchy between those less capable and those more capable in cultivation.

What the black-robed boy was going through, Markus had suffered worse. He had been hurt for the pettiest of reasons, sometimes simply existing and breathing was enough to warrant an assault. One day, Markus simply looked at a girl in his cohort for a second longer than the norm. That also ended up with him getting shoved into the garbage collector. Not because the girl demanded it, but rather a few groups of teens his age, who had failed to attract the attention of the girl, took it upon themselves to punish anyone with "untoward" thoughts. No one came to save him that day. Passers-by simply lowered their heads and moved on, just like he was doing now.

Sure Markus sympathised with the black-robed boy's plight. But he wasn't in any position to interfere. For one, Markus was pretty sure that the way the black-robed boy collected those three phials of potions was by meting out the same level of hurt to those around him. Secondly, Markus' intervention would be inconsequential. He could stand up and condemn the assaulter, and then what? Markus was sure he was stronger than the assaulter - he could beat him. But the victory would be overshadowed with a gauntlet of confrontations with a Senior above his conquest, then another, then another, until finally, an Elder would descend on him with the fury of a thousand suns for a simple "sleight" that had grown out of proportions.

An intervention was necessary, but not one that started from the trenches like this. If a change had to be made, it needed to come from the top. And in a world that listened only to the strongest, Markus' voice would barely register as a whisper.

Thus, to avoid attracting unnecessary conflict towards himself, Markus followed the cardinal rule of avoiding trouble: see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. He lowered his gaze and actively avoided seeing things directly. With his wider field of view after advancement, Markus simply allowed his mana senses to guide him. Everything he heard around him, entered through one ear and exited out the other. Finally, no matter what the case may be, Markus kept his lips sealed shut like a clam.

"It's all a learning experience," Markus repeated to himself. After all, he was here only to observe, not interfere. His purpose here was to gather information for his Master's sect - as a Disciple, he wasn't here to make things harder for his Master. Everything good should be assimilated, everything undesirable should be recorded and avoided.

Therefore, Markus decided to put the uncomfortably rampant bullying within sect premises at the top of the 'Everything Undesirable' list in his head. Speaking of discomfort, there appeared to be another kind of bullying he hadn't yet experienced in his lifetime... bullying of the sexual kind. Not just men acting... ungentlemanly with women, but also women pushing themselves aggressively against other men all to gain benefits for themselves. Of course, the horned up male teens were unaware of the blatant harassment they were facing, but Markus, as a third party, was extremely disgusted.

"To use their bodies in such a way..."

After an exceedingly mountainous amount of effort, Markus finally tuned out all the other unpleasant displays around him to focus on more constructive things. His first stop was at a rather prominent building at the centre of the Sect which was labelled as the Mission Centre. He could only enter and peruse the peripheral hall, which held a few sparse escort and extermination missions with a substantial payout. Most of these missions seemed to originate from well-known sources, primarily businesses that had a nationwide and international reach.

Based on Markus' knowledge, a Sect could generate income through two main routes. The first, and most straightforward, is through these sorts of missions. The Sect would perform these mercenary works for contracting parties in return for payment. On the down low, certain sects are also known to take on contracts that walk the grey or black paths such as theft, kidnapping or assassination. Usually, it is the unorthodox sects that proliferate in this market, but sects in the orthodox alliance are also known to dabble in these acts while maintaining plausible deniability.

Alternatively, a Sect could also earn money through its own side businesses. The Cloudstrider Sect is known for its highly potent ritual formations. Third parties can contract the Sect's services to set up formations for defence, offence or general utility. Other sects offer their own speciality as a service or even other tangible resources obtained through mines or resource-generating infrastructures under their control.

Markus took note of this aspect as he moved past the Mission Centre. Since the location acted as a central node of the entire Sect, moving on the rising path led Markus to the entrance to the Sect's Inner Division.

"Hold it! Identification," One of the armoured guards blocking the path demanded as they moved towards Markus. Markus bowed respectfully in return, causing the guard to lower his aggression slightly, before presenting the token on his person.

The guard injected his mana into the token before tossing it back. A smug smile flashed across his face for a microsecond, before it returned to a flat frown. He then said, "Beyond this point is the personal quarters of the Inner Division members."

As he terminated that statement, he walked toward Markus with an imposing aura. His body language clearly implied opposition, while his words did not dictate it.

Markus bowed once again before turning. As he did so, he noticed another guard approaching the man who turned him away. By gently sharpening his mana senses, Markus caught their conversation.

"Wasn't that Elder Glista's token? Why did you turn him away?" The second guard asked.

"I wanted to test and see what kind of a person caught Elder Glista's attention," the first guard snorted in disdain and said, "Look at how weak he his? He didn't even utter a peep, he just ran away with his tail tucked beneath his legs!"

"What if he goes and complains?" The second guard responded with a worried tone.

"I never stopped him," the first guard retorted innocently. "The formations will have recorded every word spoken, they can testify that I never denied entry."

The second guard chuckled and said, "You're walking a tight rope."

"Who cares? As long as I'm in Young Mistress Loras' corner, it won't be so easy to shake me."

"Corruption," Markus shook his head in disappointment. This was another problem affecting such organisations. He had witnessed it back in the Academy as well, although it wasn't so blatant and bone-deep as here - where even the guards and peons had some form of "backing".

Needless to say, apart from the Sect's architectural heritage, Markus was thoroughly disappointed by everything he'd witnessed till now.

"Maybe it was my own fault for keeping such high hopes," Markus sighed. "It's all the same, no matter where you go."

With an audible exhale and a dismayed shrug, Markus resumed his walk in the direction of the Outer Division.