Alfir

122 Welcome Back, Dave

I had to admit. Shenyuan was one sneaky bastard.

Always had a backup plan. Always one step ahead. Always wriggling out of death like some smug, undead cockroach.

I scanned him with my Divine Sense, piercing through the layers of eldritch corruption that tangled around his form like barbed wire made of thought. And just as I feared, there it was. A faint, frayed tether that connected him to Dave.

“Of course,” I muttered, brow furrowing. “Unfortunately for you, pal, something else called dibs on Dave…”

Shenyuan had left a fragment of himself in Dave during their fight. A piece of soul or memory, hiding deep in the seams like mold between tiles. It made sense. Dave was forged from will and divine principle, but he wasn’t invincible. And when I’d made Dave study qi, something far outside his original design, it probably tore a gap wide enough for Shenyuan to slither through.

In my youth, I’d been taught to expect the unexpected. And in some twisted, paranoid part of me, I had expected something like this to happen. Still didn’t make it any less annoying.

As I stood there, watching the horror unfold, Shenyuan suddenly jerked violently. The black stitches on his mouth writhed like worms before snapping, and he screamed.

“HELP!”

His voice was raw, panicked, and human. The first time I’d heard that from him. And possibly the last.

Because he didn’t last long.

The eldritch woman, the thing with tar-slick skin and tentacle-like hair, let out a delighted hum as she swallowed him whole. Not with her mouth, but with the folds of her body. Like a nightmare consuming a bad memory. He vanished, twitching hands and all, without even a trace.

Then she turned to me.

And changed.

Her inky flesh smoothed into pale skin. Her wild, writhing hair coalesced into a sleek, dark curtain that fell down her back. Her shifting robe became silver, embroidered with a white lotus pattern that gleamed like moonlight. Her smile, Gods, that smile. It was hers.

Xin Yune.

She even tilted her head the same way.

“Join me,” she said. Voice soft. Almost tender. “Let’s become one.”

It hit me harder than I wanted to admit. My chest tightened. My breath caught halfway up my throat.

But I wasn’t stupid.

“No thanks,” I said.

Unlike the time I had to claw my way through Gu Jie’s soul during the Heavenly Demon incident, I wasn’t operating under limited conditions anymore. This wasn’t the Heavenly Demon's dream. It was mine. And I had authority here.

I focused.

The air rippled with intent as I mentally conjured a longsword, six feet of shining steel, runes carved down its length in radiant lines of power. No weight. No drag. Just a purpose.

Then I called upon my Ultimate Skill: Heavenly Punishment, its evolved version at least.

The blade lit up, no, it ignited, infused with the will of judgment itself. Blue and golden fire crackled along the edge, screaming with righteous fury. The ground beneath my feet cracked, unable to withstand the pressure.

“Sorry,” I said. “But I already have a lot on my plate. So I’ll finish it quickly.”

I stepped forward with Zealot’s Stride, the dreamscape blurring into streaks of red and black as I closed the distance in a heartbeat.

The thing that wore Xin Yune’s face smiled until my blade met her.

I slashed.

The moment my sword carved through her torso, she didn’t bleed. She screamed, not with sound, but with memory. The kind of shriek that tore at the edges of sanity and clawed at childhood fears. Her form incinerated under the divine fire, burning from the inside out. Tentacles flailed, her face peeled away, and that smile twisted into something… real.

Fear.

I watched as she collapsed inward, reduced to a smear of shadow, then nothing at all.

Gone.

I stood there, breathing hard, the hilt of my dream-forged sword still warm in my hand.

“Yeah,” I muttered to myself. “Next time Dave acts weird, I’m checking him for parasites.”

The lingering echoes of the eldritch entity faded like smoke, but I knew better than to assume that was the end of it. Something had slipped away, escaped. The woman with Xin Yune’s face hadn’t died. Not really. She was just hiding again.

So I stretched out my Divine Sense, threading it through the dream, feeling for the slightest pulse of wrongness in the seams of reality. She couldn’t hide from that.

And there she was.

A spark. A sliver. An afterimage riding on dream logic. She darted away, slinking into the scenery like a shadow escaping the sun.

I didn’t wait.

With a single breath, I activated Zealot’s Stride and took off after her, moving faster than thought. The world bent and blurred around me, landscapes shifting in a fever dream of places I’d walked in this foreign world.

First, the Imperial Capital, golden roofs glinting under moonlight, now twisted with ghostly outlines of people I’d never saved.

Then, Yellow Dragon City flickered between its past prosperity and the blood-stained aftermath of Brukhelm's attack. I passed the approximate of an academy, still smelling the ink and ash of my earlier days.

Ironmoor City came next, its forges glowing red with both metal and memory. Lu Gao’s laughter echoed faintly as I rushed by, a brief reprieve in a torrent of scenes.

But then… nothing.

I stopped. Dead in my tracks.

The trail vanished like it had never existed.

I looked around, frowning. She was gone. The scent, the imprint, and the echo was scrubbed clean. Something had blocked me, or maybe someone.

“Da Wei?”

I turned.

It was Gu Jie. She walked up, composed as always, eyes curious but calm. Beside her was Ren Jingyi, approaching with a hesitant smile.

“You alright?” Gu Jie asked.

“Yeah,” I muttered, eyes narrowing. “Just lost something important.”

Ren Jingyi tilted her head, concern knitted into her expression. “What did you lose?”

“A shadow,” I said absently.

And then I looked at her, really looked at her.

My Divine Sense flared. Not a single strand of ‘ominous’ out of place. Her form was perfect. Too perfect.

“Great, you are gaining intelligence…”

It wasn’t right.

I stared at her, then asked, “Jingyi… Who’s your favorite person?”

Her smile widened just a little too much. “You, of course.”

A beat passed. A breath. Then…

Lie.

It echoed through my soul like a gong. My heart dropped, not because she didn’t mean it, but because something was pretending to. My sword was already in my hand before I could stop myself.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “But you’re not her. She’d at least answer, it’s Big Sister Gu Jie, of course!”

The blade ignited, Heavenly Punishment surged through it, turning it white-hot with righteous fury. I slashed in one fluid motion, divine light tearing across the dream.

“Stop perverting my memories, you darn little thing!”

I spent the rest of the night chasing that damn entity across the infinite stretches of my subconscious, swinging my glowing slab of divine steel like a madman chasing fireflies.

Every time I thought I had her, as I slashed, burned, and purged, she slipped through. Like ink between my fingers. Like memory after waking. No matter how fast I moved or how hard I struck, she was always just one breath too far. And every now and then, she’d laugh. Not loudly, but just enough to crawl under my skin.

I hated how familiar she sounded.

Even in a dream, the rules of power applied. Skill mattered. Intent mattered. And I was starting to realize I needed more than just my current set of tools. I had Willpower, yes. Martial Tempering? Mind Enlightenment? Will Reinforcement? Sure. Even my Ultimate Skills. But my dreamwalking was crude, scratched together from fragments of Cloud Mist scrolls, various knowledge, and wild guesses.

I needed something sharper. A proper technique. If the Emperor wasn’t too deep in mourning, I’d probably ask for access to his vaults right now. Not that I liked the idea of owing him.

Eventually, I gave up the chase. Not because I wanted to, but because the world around me began to crack like shattered glass.

Time to wake up.

My eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, I didn’t feel like myself. My thoughts felt like echoes. Not broken, just… distant.

I wasn’t okay.

But I wasn’t broken either. Relevant sanity maintained, as I liked to say. A small win.

The rooftop was still cold beneath me. I sat up slowly, stretching my arms out until my joints popped. The early morning sun peeked over the palace walls, casting long golden shadows across the tiled surface.

Honestly, the rooftop probably wasn’t the most logical place to fall asleep. Especially not in a place like this. But logic didn’t apply anymore. I had used Willpower, brute control of my own body, and a splash of sheer cultivation stat-mashing to make myself dream on purpose. Not because I needed sleep, I hadn’t required that in a while, but because it was pleasant.

To rest. To remember. To be human.

Even if only for a few hours.

My gaze drifted up to the fading stars above, remnants of a night that refused to be forgotten.

“…Sentimental,” I muttered to myself. "I am getting sentimental."

I chuckled lightly, rubbing my eyes. “God, I’m getting soft.”

It was her fault. Xin Yune. That mad, brilliant, too-honest woman.

She made me feel things I hadn’t let myself feel in years. Not just grief or guilt, but appreciation. For all the messy, painful, beautiful things tied up in mortality. She reminded me that being human wasn’t just about pain… it was about meaning.

I yawned, the morning warmth coaxing me back to reality.

Then I focused, casting Voice Chat with a thought. I linked to my Holy Spirit, my faithful, if occasionally unhinged, companion.

“Dave,” I said, “you there?”

A pause. Then his voice came through, echoing through our bond.

“Here, my Lord. Ready to serve.”

A beat.

“Though… if permitted, I request additional rest. The last engagement taxed me deeply.”

I snorted. “Rest granted, Knight of my Sleep-Deprived Heart.”

“...That title is not officially recognized,” remarked Dave with a snap.

“Neither is ‘sane’, but we’re rolling with it.”

He didn’t respond, but I felt his energy dim slightly, slipping back into recovery. Good. He needed it. I closed my eyes, expanding my Divine Sense and enjoying the moment.

I remained still on the rooftop, the sun climbing higher, the capital waking up below me.

“The Emperor wishes to see you,” said a deep voice.

I opened one eye and stared up at the hulking figure now standing at the edge of the rooftop.

He hadn’t climbed. He had leapt, landed without cracking the tiles, which meant either immense lack of control or ungodly strength. Maybe both.

The man was a giant, tall and broad-shouldered, not the kind of muscle-bound oaf you see in martial tournaments, but the kind carved out of battlefield legend. His armor was thick, obsidian-colored with golden trims, though the upper arms were left bare, showcasing hard, corded muscle. His long, dark hair was tied behind him like a battle banner, and his sharp jawline could probably cut a gemstone.

“I am Zhu Shin,” he announced, voice thunderous but refined. “General of the Western Watch. Servant of the Imperial Throne.”

I gave him a once-over.

“Nice entrance,” I said as I stood up, dusting my robe. “Didn’t stab me in my sleep. That’s one in your favor.”

He didn’t react to the sarcasm. Maybe he wasn’t used to it. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Still, the fact that I’d been left unbothered throughout the night, even in the middle of the Imperial Palace, told me something. At the very least, the Emperor didn’t want me dead. Yet. Maybe with enough pranks, he'd start hating my guts... I mean, he was welcome to try...

Not that I’d mind if he tried. Between my skillset and Dave’s divine belligerence, we’d probably leave a crater or two. But I wasn’t suicidal, just skeptical.

Especially of emperors.

“Alright,” I said. “Lead the way, General.”

I took a step forward, intent on walking past him.

And then, clack, a hand clamped down on my shoulder like a vice.

I turned, blinking up at him. “...You know, it’s kinda rude to just grab someone like that. No consent. No warning. Zero points for etiquette.”

“You will show proper respect to His Majesty,” Zhu Shin said, his voice like grinding granite. “This is not Riverfall. This is not your sect or whatever loose institution you came from. This is the Imperial Capital.”

I narrowed my eyes. My Divine Sense enveloped him, subtle and unseen. Immediately, I got a read on him.

Ninth Realm. Same level as Xin Yune.

And now that I was using both Divine Sense and Qi Sense in tandem, I could see more clearly: his cultivation was stable, deep-rooted like an iron oak. There was a unique pressure on him: polished, disciplined, and forged in blood. Like all powerful cultivators, he exuded a unique spiritual signature, a sort of vibration or “color” that told you everything about what kind of force they were.

It was a thing among cultivators. A kind of unspoken canon. You don’t always need to fight someone to know if they can kill you. That was how they could measure cultivation realms, too.

Thus, I could tell… Zhu Shin was a dangerous person. To me? I couldn’t say, unless he tried first, but my money was on him dying…

I took a slow breath, jaw tight. My fingers twitched. I could’ve snapped his wrist. Could’ve shattered the rooftop beneath us. But I kept it in check. Barely.

“Get your hand off me,” I said, tone level.

For a second, I thought he’d test me.

Then, with a grudging grunt, he let go.

But the look in his eyes didn’t change. Still intense. Still watching me like I was a blade pointed at the throne.

Smart man.

“Follow me,” he said.

And I did. Not because of orders.

But because I had unfinished business with an Emperor.

Nongmin still owed me a slap or two.

That thought sat real comfortable in my chest as I followed Zhu Shin down the winding steps of the Imperial Palace. The general walked like a glacier with purpose: slow, controlled, but every step sounded like it could flatten a small army. I walked a step behind, arms folded behind my back like some casual noble, though my Divine Sense was spread out like a net. Old habit. Never trust a walk into the lion’s den, no matter how friendly the lion pretends to be.

I mean, sure, we painted his dying mother under a bodhi tree. Shared a quiet night, let some grief breathe, offered closure even. That counted for something.

But.

It didn’t erase the fact that Nongmin had pulled strings behind the scenes like a master puppeteer. Had watched my friends die, or nearly die, just to move pieces across some divine board. Had manipulated me, even if for what he thought was a good cause.

So yeah.

He still owed me a slap or two. Minimum.

And I wasn’t about to let him forget that.

121 Dream Walking

121 Dream Walking

After the final stroke of my brush, I let the tip linger, trembling ever so slightly as if the painting itself didn’t want to end.

Nongmin and Xin Yune stood together beneath the bodhi tree, still and eternal on the silk scroll I’d stretched across the wooden frame. The mother’s smile, the son’s weary eyes, the way her hand curled around his sleeve like she was holding him back from fading… I’d captured it all, or so I hoped. Art never got you the full truth, just the shadow of it. But maybe that shadow was enough.

I bowed my head to the painting. Then, without a word, I rolled it up, sealed it in a jade tube, and left it leaning against the tree where Xin Yune had vanished into lotus motes.

“That’s some magical pigments, Your Majesty… They dry rather well…”

My poor attempt at casual conversation was met with silence.

Nongmin didn’t look at me when I left. He stood motionless in the garden, wrapped in moonlight and silence, his back to the world. I could’ve said something. I don’t know, maybe a condolence, maybe a prayer. But in the end, I figured he needed the night more than my company. Even someone like him should have the right to mourn in peace.

So I walked.

The palace stretched vast and quiet under the stars. I let my feet carry me, eventually climbing onto the tiled roof of the eastern pavilion. No guards stopped me, though I sensed them. Divine Sense bloomed in my mind like ink in water: four presences nearby, light-footed but alert. Watching. Waiting. Professionals.

I sat down cross-legged and gave them a lazy wave.

“Don’t worry,” I said into the breeze. “I’m not here to defect or explode. Just looking.”

None of them answered. One of them shifted slightly on the western tower, but that was it. Good. I didn’t feel like explaining myself.

So I tilted my head back and looked up.

The stars here were different. I’d noticed before, in passing, but tonight it really hit me. I couldn’t find a single constellation I knew. No Orion, no Big Dipper, no Cassiopeia. Just endless scatterings of silver light, cold and sharp and unfamiliar. They were beautiful, sure, but they weren’t mine.

Back on Earth, I used to teach kids how to find the North Star. Simple stuff, really. Draw a line through the two outer stars of the Big Dipper’s bowl, go five lengths, boom, Polaris. Anchor point of the northern hemisphere. Some of the kids thought it was magic. Some of them couldn’t care less. I used to joke that it didn’t matter where you were; so long as you could find the stars, you could always find your way home.

Turns out that was a lie.

Because now? I was staring at an alien sky, under the eaves of an imperial palace in a world full of sword cultivators and spirit beasts and rulers who moved nations like pieces on a Go board. The stars above me were silent. Not one of them told me where I was or how far I’d fallen.

I let out a breath. Cold, clear air filled my lungs.

“So this is it, huh?” I murmured to the sky. “Whole new world. No constellations. No compass. Just me and the absurdity of surviving it all.”

It didn’t answer. Just shimmered.

A breeze rolled across the rooftop. I leaned back on my hands and let it wash over me. There was a strange sense of finality to it. Like something had ended, and not just Xin Yune’s life. Maybe it was the way she faded. Maybe it was the look on Nongmin’s chibi face. Or maybe it was just the quiet.

I wasn’t naive. I still had beef with the Emperor. Big ones. The kind that didn’t go away with a pretty sunset and a tearful goodbye. But even so, even in the middle of my grudge, I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt his grief. Not tonight.

A mother had died. That counted for something, even in a world like this.

I scratched my head and sighed. “I’m too sentimental for a cultivator. No wonder they find me weird.” Somewhere below, a bell chimed softly. Midnight.

Above, the stars refused to rearrange themselves into anything I recognized. And yet… I kept watching.

Because even if I couldn’t find home in the sky anymore, maybe I could find it somewhere else. Maybe, not tonight, not yet, but eventually.

For now, the rooftop was quiet. And the stars, though foreign, were still beautiful.

I leaned back, letting the cool night air settle into my skin as the stars above continued to mock me with their unfamiliarity. Then I closed my eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I could feel the weight of my cultivation stirring beneath the surface of my skin, like a vast ocean waiting for a command. So I gave it one.

With a flex of Willpower, sharp and clean, I shut down the nervous hum of my nerves, the tension in my shoulders, the restless thrum of my spirit. I didn’t just sleep. I commanded my body to obey.

It was like guiding a river with my bare hands, but I had fine control now. Mind Enlightenment might not be flashy, but it gave me clarity where others had chaos. Add to that the sheer brute force of my stats and training, and sleep came not as a thief in the night, but as a soldier under orders. Moreover, I was way past Mind Enlightenment. I now sat at Will Reinforcement, and that had to count for something.

“Divine Word: Rest.” The skill triggered, echoing faintly in the hollows of my consciousness.

It was overkill. Absolutely. But I didn’t care.

The world blurred.

Then… nothing.

When I opened my eyes, it wasn’t with my real ones. The dreamscape unfurled like a canvas dipped in memory and warped by longing. Fog drifted across unseen paths. The colors were inconsistent, saturated in some places, bleached in others. It was imperfect.

I could tell. The Cloud Mist Dream-Walking Technique had its uses, sure, but my understanding of it was still shallow. I’d cobbled it together from a few notes and firsthand improvisation. It worked, but like a house of cards in the rain. Shoddy. 

If the Emperor ever gave me access to his library, his real library, not the polished garbage he let the Inner Court shuffle through… if Xin Yune’s witness accounts were to be believed, I was confident I could build a true dreamwalking method, something stable and refined. But that was a problem for another day.

Tonight, I was chasing something different.

I wasn’t here to be haunted. I’d had enough of those memories.

I was here for the good ones.

The fog thinned, and in the distance, I saw her. Gu Jie, blunt as a hammer, eyes like frost-covered steel. She stood with her arms crossed, just like when we first met.

“You’ve got a death wish,” she’d said at some point back then. “But at least you’ve got manners.”

She gave me a look even now, in memory, that said Don’t get soft on me.

“I can’t believe the dream version of her was more snappy than the real one though…”

The vision shifted, and suddenly I was in that wind-blown cliffside courtyard, standing across from Jiang Zhen. His sleeves fluttered in the breeze, hands folded behind his back, that signature smile on his face, half-amused, half-wary.

“I thought you were a beggar at first,” he’d said with a laugh. “Turns out, you’re worse.”

Another flicker, and then I was at a pond.

My fingers dipped into the water, and a tiny goldfish swam circles around my hand, glinting with rainbow hues. I remembered that moment too well. I’d wanted the fish because I felt like the world owed me one gentle thing.

Then Lu Gao’s tent reappeared, its old patched cloth flapping in the desert wind, that absurd self-styled stew bubbling over a fire. Why desert? Because my dream decided it to be one… He’d shared everything with me: stories, food, names of stars he couldn’t even pronounce properly.

“People think you gotta be strong to survive,” his dream-version said. “I say you just need someone to eat with.”

Ren Xun’s voice cut through next. Not harsh, just clear.

“Don’t let them twist you, Boss. You’re not like them.”

His hand was on my shoulder. His conviction flowed through me. The first person who looked at me and didn’t just see a fool or an opportunity. Ren Xun was strangely perceptive like that.

And then… Joan. Alice. My girls.

I hadn’t seen them in years. Back on Earth, Joan used to be my online girlfriend, and Alice was an NPC crush of sorts. It was… complicated… I kind of wish to see my fellow gamers in this dreamscape, though. For some reason, it was Alice and Joan who appeared. They had become quite a duo, huh?

Joan was chewing on something. “Weird monsters again? Ten bucks says they explode.”

Why was she talking like that? Of course, she was talking like that because that was how I remembered her.

Alice adjusted her gloves. “You still owe me from last time.”

It was absurd, seeing them here. But comforting.

The dream pulsed and shifted again. The air got heavier.

Now I stood in front of Hell’s Gate.

Darkness. Pressure. Screams muffled behind stone. The remnants of the Shadow Clan stood at my back, blades trembling in their hands. We were too few. Too tired. Too broken. But I remembered gripping my sword and fighting to my last breath.

I let the dream ripple, soaking in those fragments. It wasn’t all of it. Not even close. But it was enough.

A lot had happened.

Escalation after escalation. No real breaks. Just reaction after reaction, until I barely recognized the face in the mirror. I was stronger now, sure. Wiser, maybe. But also heavier. Like every victory came with a toll.

Still… those memories reminded me why I kept going.

It wasn’t for glory. Not revenge. Not even survival.

It was for them. The ones who stood beside me. The ones who smiled, who joked, who shared their fire or a bowl of soup when nothing made sense. The ones who looked at me and didn’t ask for anything but honesty.

My dream-self sat in the middle of all those moments like a traveler resting beneath the stars.

I didn’t know how long I’d stayed like that.

Maybe it was only a minute.

Maybe a lifetime.

But for once, I didn’t want to wake up.

And then there was her.

Xin Yune.

Even in this makeshift dreamscape, the memory of her wasn’t foggy. It was clear. Painfully clear. Like she’d just left the room, and the air was still warm with her presence.

I didn’t conjure her into this dream. I didn’t have to. Her memory walked its own path, just out of sight, just beyond reach.

She sure was… an experience.

Challenging, sharp-tongued, and unexpectedly kind. The kind of woman who could stitch your soul and gut you with the same hand, depending on her mood. I remembered the way she laughed when I told her I summoned her son by threatening to make her pole-dance. I should’ve known she’d take that in stride.

Sigh.

So why was I here, really?

Yes, alright, part of it was to relieve myself. Dreams were useful for that: clearing the gunk and softening the emotional static. But there was something deeper I was digging for, even if I couldn’t put it into words just yet.

The dream fog thickened, and as I stepped through it, I found myself standing before a mirror.

Except it wasn’t me.

It was him.

Dave.

Full plate armor. Silver gleaming with divine inscriptions, etched into the Wandering Adjudicator’s design like war poetry. The cross insignia pulsed faintly on his chest. He stood atop a mound of corpses: warriors, monsters, devils, and even a few familiar silhouettes of fallen enemies.

“Dave,” I said, folding my arms. “What the hell are you doing?”

He didn’t answer. Not verbally.

He raised Silver Steel, that bastard of a sword, and in a flash of motion, used Flash Step, as he appeared right in front of me. The air cracked like lightning, and he brought the blade down.

Instinct kicked in. I met the strike with a bare fist.

CLANG.

The flat of the blade met my knuckles. I channeled raw intent as a Critical Hit triggered, and the sword shattered like glass dipped in sunlight. Fragments disintegrated mid-air.

It wasn’t the real Silver Steel, thus its fragility.

“Really?” I stared at him. “That's how it’s gonna be?”

Dave’s face was expressionless beneath the helmet. Just glowing eyes and radiant intensity. He didn’t talk. He never did. But I’d known him long enough to understand his silence.

Then he lifted a hand and cast:

Compel Duel.

“Of course you did,” I muttered. "But do you really think that would work on me?"

Then:

Designate Holy Enemy.

Me.

Great.

A second sword formed in his grip, pure light this time, crackling with holy energy. He came at me again, this time channeling Divine Smite.

The air howled.

I sidestepped, invoked Flash Parry, and caught his blade with two fingers. The sword trembled with cracks spreading… and then, boom. It shattered again under the force of critical hits compounded by Hollow Point.

Dave stepped back, recalculating.

“…Alright,” I muttered, rolling my neck. “I think I get what’s happening.”

He was lashing out.

I should’ve seen it sooner. He’d been quiet for weeks. Too quiet. Dave, my trusty holy spirit, was unraveling. Not out of betrayal. Not out of hatred. But from a kind of… internal collapse.

“You’re deviating,” I said softly, watching him pace around the dream battlefield. “Qi Deviation.”

He paused.

"You idiot," I pointed at him. “You’re a Paladin. A Paladin, Dave. How the hell do you end up going demon? Or going psycho? Do you know how counterproductive that is?”

His shoulders rose, tense and confused. Like he didn’t even understand it.

Of course. It made sense now.

I’d made him study qi. Used Divine Possession on a piece of Puppet Armor to give him a vessel, something he could move independently in the real world while I was occupied. And it worked. Kinda.

But qi wasn’t his language. Dave was forged in the logic of faith and divine judgment, not internal energy cycling and meridian theory. The moment I shoved a new system into him, I was asking for a malfunction. He was a holy program forced to run a demonic operating system.

Okay, calling qi ‘demonic’ might be too much, but that was the point… It didn’t help that Dave just got stomped by Shenyuan.

“This is my fault,” I admitted. “I thought you could handle it. But I didn’t consider the risks.”

Dave didn’t answer. But his light dimmed slightly. He dropped the hilt of his conjured weapon, letting it vanish.

Then, slowly, he knelt on one knee. A silent plea.

Not for forgiveness.

For help.

“Alright,” I sighed. “I’ll fix you. But you better not swing that holy stick at me again unless it’s to save my life.”

He looked up, and even without a face, I could tell he was relieved.

“…Also,” I added, “you owe me for that cracked knuckle.”

The battlefield shimmered and began to dissolve. The corpses faded. The stars returned, distant and foreign.

And me?

I stood there, watching my spirit, my partner, kneeling in the void, a flickering spark of a Paladin who’d lost his way.

We’d get him back.

I’d make sure of it.

"I failed my Lord… my friends… my family..."

The words came as a whisper, soft as breath but heavy as stone.

Dave’s helm shimmered out of existence, vanishing like mist beneath sunlight. What lay beneath wasn’t a stranger, wasn’t some ghostly apparition of a long-dead knight.

It was me.

My face.

Staring back at me with bloodshot eyes, cheeks streaked with soot, and that same damn crease between the brows that I never liked in the mirror.

“Great,” I muttered. “One problem after another.”

Seriously. They just kept coming. Like the universe was running a buy-one-get-one-free trauma sale, and someone had accidentally clicked auto-renew on my subscription. I took a breath. Deep. Controlled. Focused. This wasn’t new. I’d seen worse.

Hell, this reminded me of that time I had to exorcise the Heavenly Demon’s fragment out of Gu Jie. Now that was a mess. We barely got out with our souls intact, and Gu Jie nearly bit the bullet from the backlash. Calling it ‘barely’ might be overselling it, but the worse could have happened if I failed at that time.

I sighed, stepped forward, and pressed two fingers to the mirrored me, Dave’s forehead.

“Hang in there,” I whispered.

And then, with a flick of intent, I cast Divine Possession.

The shift was immediate.

One moment, I was in the dreamscape void, the next I was blinking into a new world: a harsh, wet wind slapping my face as I stepped into chaos. The sky was blood-red for some reason. The air, thick with fog and the sharp sting of metal and qi. Screams echoed from all directions, some human, some very much not.

This wasn’t how I remembered our fight with Shenyuan..

I was standing on the fractured cliffs of an island. One I recognized.

Shadow Clan territory.

A battlefield stretched before me, undead clashing against Shadow Clan cultivators, both sides bleeding darkness and fury. Yin qi curled in thick tendrils, clinging to the stone like oil slicks.

“Of course,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes. “We’re back here again.”

My gaze swept the battlefield. I didn’t care about the fighting. Not really. I was looking for him.

Shenyuan.

That pompous, scheming, walking can of ancient evil.

I cracked my knuckles, heart pulsing with anticipation. “Maybe I’ll wreck him a second time. Could be fun.”

Then I saw it.

Dangling in the air like a broken puppet.

Shenyuan.

Or… a fragment of him.

He wasn’t standing proud or cloaked in darkness this time. No smug smile. No elegant robes.

Just… horror.

His foot was hoisted into the air, held fast by a slick, roiling tentacle made of pure shadow. His lips were stitched shut with black thread that pulsed like veins. His eyes?

Gone.

Just empty, gouged sockets.

His hands flailed weakly, as if he were trying to claw at the nothingness, trying to scream.

Wrapped around him was her.

Hair like writhing tentacles. Eyes shimmering with eldritch hunger. A smile too wide, too still.

The damn thing in my head.

The eldritch entity I’d tried to forget. The one responsible for my transmigration. The one that whispered in the back of my skull when I meditated too deeply. The one I kept sealed behind reinforced layers of willpower and denial. 

And she was hugging him.

Like a lover.

Like a predator.

“…Fucking hell.”

She turned her head toward me then, ever so slowly, her gaze piercing through the dream, through the illusion, through me.

Her lips didn’t move. But her voice echoed in my mind like a hundred voices layered atop each other.

"Mine."

I took a step back.

Not in fear.

In caution.

Because whatever that was, whatever that thing had become, it wasn’t bound by the same rules as the rest of us. Not anymore.

And if it could devour a fragment of Shenyuan like that…

Then I wasn’t the only one with skeletons trying to claw their way out.

“Dave,” I muttered under my breath, even though I knew he could hear me from inside this shared dream. “Next time you decide to go haywire, warn me if you’re dragging me into some godforsaken horror dimension.”

I clenched my fists and took another step forward, eyes locked on the eldritch woman as the battlefield howled behind me.

“Let’s see what you want, you nightmare bitch.”

120 Tea in the Mist

The hill was cloaked in mist, as though the world itself wished to veil what occurred atop its lonely crown. A stone arch, half-cracked by time and weather, stood solemn at its peak, an ancient relic forgotten by all but a few. Beneath it, silent as the mountain wind, stood an old man.

Shouquan.

Robes of silver white, muted gold, and stormy blue fell in ripples about his aged frame. His white hair was tied in a knot, bound by a pin shaped like a crescent moon. Though time had carved lines into his face, his posture was upright, and his gaze held the weight of centuries.

With a languid wave of his hand, the air before him shimmered. In the blink of an eye, a low wooden table of black sandalwood appeared. A soft couch, cushioned with silver-threaded silk, unfurled behind him like a whisper of memory. He lowered himself gracefully into a lotus position atop the couch, his back straight, his breath steady.

Another wave, and a tea set appeared on the table. Porcelain so white it nearly glowed, painted with runes that flickered faintly with light. Steam curled from the spout of the teapot as though it had been waiting to pour all this time.

He did not speak. He only waited.

And then… it arrived.

A ripple passed through the fog. The hill darkened, shadows deepening like a living shroud. Out of the gloom stepped a silhouette, its form shifting like smoke but anchored by two unwavering eyes, if they could be called that. Twin orbs of violet flame, pulsing with unnatural intelligence, stared back at Shouquan.

“Well now,” the silhouette said, its voice like silk torn on thorns, smooth yet unnerving. “Expecting a guest, aren’t you?”

Shouquan lifted the teapot and calmly poured two cups, the liquid a deep amber.

“And that guest is you,” he said simply.

The silhouette paused, then laughed. A rich, low chuckle that echoed strangely in the mist.

“I’m flattered,” it replied, taking a step closer, though it cast no shadow. “Most men flee at my scent. But here you are… offering tea.”

“I’ve shared tea with demons and gods alike,” Shouquan said, raising his own cup. “You’re hardly the worst guest I’ve had.”

The silhouette’s flaming eyes flickered in amusement.

“Then you must be very old, old man.”

“I am Ward’s anchor. Age is not a burden. It is a record.”

A faint hush fell between them. The wind seemed to hold its breath.

“And what record do you write today?” the silhouette asked, finally taking a seat across from him. It didn’t truly sit, but instead hovered just above the cushion, as though unable or unwilling to touch the world fully.

Shouquan looked into the mist beyond the arch.

“A changing one,” he said. “The world shifts. Outsiders grow restless. The lines blur between invader and savior. I have decided not to chase ghosts… but to receive them, and listen.”

The silhouette tilted its head.

“And what if the ghost decides to haunt you?”

Shouquan smiled faintly. “Then I’ll offer it another cup.”

The mist swirled, the hilltop growing colder. Yet in that moment, there was a strange peace: two ancient beings, neither wholly of this world nor apart from it, sipping tea in the eye of the coming storm.

Silently, the flames in the silhouette’s eyes dimmed, thoughtful.

“Very well, Shouquan of Ward,” it murmured. “Let’s talk.”

And the tea, warm and fragrant, steamed gently between them.

Shouquan sipped his tea slowly, the warmth soaking into his fingers through the porcelain, the faint scent of jasmine curling upward with the mist that still clung to the lonely hilltop. Across the table, the silhouette with violet-flamed eyes hovered like a mirage, formless yet palpable, a presence that devoured light and echoed of old disasters.

The silence between them had stretched, taut as a drawn bow, but Shouquan’s demeanor remained composed, as if this entire meeting were just another entry in his eternal ledger.

Then, casually, almost as if commenting on the weather, he spoke.

“Shenyuan.”

He set the cup back on the saucer with a soft clink.

“Stop with the tricks. I know who you are.”

The fog did not stir, but the atmosphere turned razor-sharp. The silhouette froze. Its flaming eyes flared as the air around it twisted violently, stirred by an invisible storm. Aura surged from it in erratic bursts: wild, ancient, and suffocating. Trees at the edge of the hill creaked. The very air felt thinner.

But then, just as quickly, it stopped.

The storm vanished like a breath held too long, and Shenyuan, if that was truly what remained beneath the flame-eyed illusion, let out a slow exhale. He raised a single hand, as though in mock surrender, and let it drop lazily back to his side.

“Well, well…” he said, voice no longer playful but edged with something more, respect, perhaps, or a cautious curiosity. “I’m impressed. Not many can pierce my veil, especially not these days. Seems you haven’t wasted your years.”

Shouquan didn't respond immediately. He poured himself another cup of tea. Slowly. Deliberately. Only when the steam had fully risen did he lift his gaze.

“Your disguise is clever,” he said. “But you never truly left your scent behind. The way you anchor your aura. The subtle twists in your phrasing. I’ve seen enough monsters try to walk as men.”

Shenyuan’s flaming gaze flickered again, this time, not in amusement, but in contemplation.

“It has been a long time since I walked beyond the Empire’s shadow,” he admitted, his tone now devoid of theatrics. “I know little of this age. Names change. Powers rise and fall. And I… I have forgotten how to place the faces I meet.”

He inclined his head slightly, eyes burning with a new intensity.

“Tell me, then. Who are you? What do they call the man who sips tea while naming ghosts?”

Shouquan scoffed, the sound dry as cracking leaves.

“Even if I were to give you my epithet,” he said, “you wouldn’t recognize it. You’ve been gone far too long. The world moved on without you.”

Shenyuan paused, letting the words sink in. A silence passed between them again, longer, heavier.

“So be it,” Shenyuan said at last, folding phantom arms across his chest. “Then let us speak without masks. You know my name. And now I know I’ve been noticed by a man worth exchanging words with.”

Shouquan sipped his tea again, his face unreadable.

“Then speak carefully,” he murmured. “Because I don't forget the atrocity of monsters.”

There was an edge to his voice with a hint of challenge.

The mist thickened around the summit, as if the mountain itself wished to hide the confrontation unfolding atop its sacred peak. Shouquan remained seated beneath the ancient stone arch, steam rising gently from the untouched cup of tea in his hands. His expression, ever calm, betrayed nothing, not irritation, not concern. Only timeless watchfulness.

Across from him, the figure cloaked in shadows and violet flame flared with silent impatience.

“Let me through,” Shenyuan said.

The words rang with command, like the cracking of stone, echoing through the stillness.

Shouquan raised an eyebrow. He did not flinch. He did not look up.

“No.”

A beat passed. The fog swirled.

Then Shenyuan chuckled, low and cold. He spread his arms, as though presenting himself to the heavens.

“What’s your price, Gatekeeper?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension and curiosity both.

Shouquan finally looked at him. He did not blink. His eyes, dark and deep as ancient wells, simply watched. It was not a stare of challenge, but of knowing.

Shenyuan took it as an invitation.

“I was told there is a path here,” he continued, stepping slowly around the table, circling Shouquan like a wolf gauging an old lion. “A passage to the Greater Universe. A crack in the world’s shell that can be opened. The Arch. Or, as it’s rarely known, the Arch Gate.”

He stopped, directly beneath the arch, the violet light of his eyes gleaming beneath it.

“And you,” he said, pointing a finger at Shouquan, “are its warden. Its sentinel. The last Gatekeeper.”

He bowed his head slightly, though there was nothing respectful in the gesture.

“So tell me,” he asked once more, “what is your price?”

Shouquan let out a soft breath, as though Shenyuan’s words were an old song he’d grown tired of hearing.

“The Arch Gate has not opened,” he said, “in tens of thousands of millennia. It will not open now.”

Silence followed.

Then, with a snarl, Shenyuan struck.

He slapped the table violently, sending the porcelain tea set clattering into the mist. Tea splashed across the stones. Shouquan didn’t move.

Shenyuan leaned forward, face inches from the old man’s, eyes blazing.

“Don’t you know who you’re speaking to?” he roared. “I am the One True Death!”

Shouquan’s expression didn’t even twitch.

“No,” he said flatly, “you are not.”

The mist trembled.

“You are a fake, a contingency. A shade, conjured by the original Shenyuan, in case he perished in battle. A resurrection tool wearing a soul like borrowed robes.”

Shenyuan’s flames flared with rage. But Shouquan stood now, rising slowly with the grace of still water, unshaken and unhurried.

“I was there,” he said, his voice low but clear, cutting through the fog like a blade. “To be precise, I watched it all happen. I saw the ritual. I saw the blood offerings. I saw you form, like a wound that refused to close. Back then, I was unable to do anything, since my cultivation was at a very sensitive period, but not so much now.”

He stepped forward.

“To call you ‘Shenyuan’ would be far too generous. That name belonged to a man who feared death so much, he fractured himself.”

Shenyuan bared spectral teeth. “You…”

But Shouquan spoke over him, not loud, but impossible to ignore.

“Tell me, fake… what deal did you make with the Outsiders?”

The hill went silent. Even the wind seemed to vanish.

The flames in Shenyuan’s eyes dimmed for the first time.

Shouquan stared into them, unblinking.

“You reek of them. Their madness coils around your every breath. So answer me: What did they promise you? Power? Completion? A name of your own?”

The silence that followed was not peace, but dread.

And somewhere, far beyond the clouds, the Arch Gate pulsed. Once.

Then all was still again.

The mist swirled like serpents around the ruined arch as silence reigned atop the hill once more. The shattered teacups lay forgotten on the stone floor, fragments glinting faintly in the gray light. Shenyuan stood tall and blazing, though his flames flickered no longer with arrogance, but with something darker. Calculating. Hesitating.

Then he spoke, and his voice was almost gentle.

“They promised me a place.”

Shouquan’s gaze narrowed.

“In their pantheon,” Shenyuan continued, hands lifted slightly, as if offering peace. “A seat among them, as one of their own. The Great Ones do not forget loyalty, Gatekeeper. If you cooperate… they might show you the same grace.”

A long pause followed.

Then came Shouquan’s reply, not in words at first, but in sound.

A snarl.

Not bestial, but ancient. A sound carved from contempt too deep for civility. It rumbled low from his throat like distant thunder.

“If there’s one thing I hate more than the Outsiders…” Shouquan growled, his eyes gleaming with fury that rarely broke the surface of his ageless calm, “it is your kind.”

He raised his hand and formed a seal with his fingers, the motion as fluid as the turning of a page.

“Betrayers.”

Shenyuan flinched, then screamed.

His shadow, once slithering beneath him like a second skin, unraveled.

Tendrils of darkness tore apart like threads of silk, unraveling into violet wisps of flame that twisted and screamed, writhing as if alive. Shenyuan stumbled backward, clutching at his chest as the ground beneath his feet shuddered.

“No—NOOOO—!”

But Shouquan did not move. He simply watched, his gaze surgical, mind already dissecting the unraveling being before him.

“Shadow Inversion,” he murmured, as if reading from a long-forgotten text. “A technique born of sacrilege and stolen fate. That was your secret art, wasn’t it? It took a bit of effort, but I managed to dissect it.”

Shenyuan gasped, shuddering violently, his form flickering as his essence unraveled.

“In essence, it's a possession technique," continued Shouquan, "Swallow their existence. Twist fate, karma, and destiny, all to serve your own hollow self. As a side-effect of that power, unable to create powerful enough clones, but that's besides the point.”

He took a step forward. The Arch Gate behind him pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat buried beneath stone.

“Your Shadow Inversion does not work on me.”

Shenyuan’s face contorted.

“Just what are you? Are you... An immortal? That's impossible!”

“No,” Shouquan replied, voice cold. “I am not. I stopped being immortal long ago. If it's a question of who we are, then we are merely… old monsters, who have too much time on their hands.”

His eyes gleamed, reflecting the pale outline of the Arch behind him.

“Let me see a fraction of Shenyuan's power, pitiful clone.”

Shenyuan turned, tried to flee, but his form staggered. A rune flared beneath his feet, then another, and another. Glowing script, carved into the stone long before either of them spoke, now activated like a trap waiting for its prey.

The hill itself had become a cage.

Shouquan had sealed the hill!

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Shenyuan howled, a monstrous echo of fury and desperation, but his flames dimmed. The trap gnawed at his form, draining his essence, pulling his soul apart piece by piece.

“You will speak,” Shouquan said, eyes like blades. “You will tell me everything about the Outsiders. Their plans. The deals you struck.”

Shenyuan writhed, his limbs dissolving into ash and fire, but he could not escape.

“And when I have all I need…” Shouquan’s voice dropped to a whisper, chilling and cold as the grave, “I shall delight in your suffering.”

The battle began in silence, as many ancient wars did, without witnesses, without drums, and without time.

Shenyuan’s scream echoed into the fog, twisting into a storm that swallowed the sky. Violet fire lashed across the hilltop like a tide of annihilation, devouring clouds, burning runes into the very air. Shadows from other worlds bled into the soil, pulling monstrous shapes from the gaps between dimensions. Wraiths of fate—dead gods, forgotten names, warped echoes—rose and fell in his wake.

Shouquan met it all in silence.

He did not roar.

He did not chant.

He merely moved, his fingers drawing seals in the air, his breath steady, his steps like flowing water. With every attack from Shenyuan, Shouquan responded not with equal force but with perfectly tailored counters. As if he had fought this battle before. As if he had already seen every outcome.

Days passed like minutes.

Weeks bled into months.

The world outside the hill forgot the two titans entirely. The fog never parted. The sun did not rise. All light bent around the place as if unwilling to bear witness.

Shenyuan grew more desperate as time wore on. He burned through vessels, consumed lives bound in karmic chains, and shattered his own essence again and again to try and touch the Arch Gate. And Shouquan? He stood still in the storm, unmoved, unchanging, his robes unsoiled, his aura calm as an undisturbed sea.

“Why!” Shenyuan had roared in one of his many final moments, voice broken, form flickering like a dying flame. “Why won’t you fall?!”

Shouquan only answered once.

“Because I’ve already fallen to the lowest I’d ever go.”

And then, at last, Shenyuan crumbled. His form, twisted beyond recognition, collapsed before the Arch Gate. What remained of his soul, a flicker of violet, dim and tattered, drifted upward like the last breath of a dying star.

But just before he vanished, he moved.

A final twitch. A last curse.

A fragment of his inverted karma, coiled and silent until now, lashed out.

It struck the Arch.

And the Arch groaned.

Stone cracked, not physically, but in ways that could not be seen. The seal of the Greater Universe buckled, however faintly. Invisible fault lines spread through the gate’s essence, like a spiderweb of doom across eternity.

Shouquan stepped forward too late.

He placed a hand on the Arch. It pulsed faintly, but the wound was already there. A scar that would not fade.

And in that moment, he felt it.

His cultivation, once vast as the sky, dipped. A sliver of it, gone. Not destroyed, but redirected, bound now in the act of containing the Gate's wound. Like a man pressing his body into a breach to stop a flood.

He staggered, just slightly. A first in eons.

Shouquan clenched his jaw. He did not curse. He did not mourn.

But he looked up into the heavens, where the Greater Universe slumbered beyond the veil, and whispered:

“The Gate is cracked. The locks weakened. The storm will come sooner than expected.”

He turned, eyes dim but resolute.

“I won this battle… but I do not know if I can win the next.”

The hilltop, scorched and quiet, returned once more to silence. Only the wind remained, howling through the broken arch, whispering secrets into a world not yet ready to hear them.

119 Beneath the Storm’s Veil

The air cracked.

A flash of blue lightning seared through the canopy, and a spear thrust forward like a god’s fury. Opposite it, a flicker of black shadow split the earth, and a sword arced upward in silence.

Boom. Crack.

The two figures clashed again and again in blurs of motion. The forest trembled from the aftershocks. Trees swayed, leaves spiraled down in flurries, and bark split from trunks as if the entire grove were recoiling in fear.

Tao Long’s spear twisted mid-air, breaking through the cascade of slashes coming from the dark figure before him. His robes, white with blue trimmings, rippled in the force of their movements, each motion accompanied by the roar of thunder.

Liang Na moved like a living shadow, her sword a whisper of death in the dim underbrush. Her every strike was measured, elegant, and deliberate. She was quick, quicker than most, but not quick enough.

"You’re not fighting an inferior," Tao Long’s voice came cool and calm as he weaved past her latest strike, his spear reversing with deceptive ease. "You should have known better."

She said nothing, gritting her teeth as she twisted her blade to parry. Their weapons met mid-air with a flash, lightning grinding against darkness.

Then, silence.

The next instant, Liang Na was on the ground, her blade clattering to the side as her knees buckled. Tao Long stood over her, unmoving, his spear lowered but still crackling faintly with residual force.

The forest had fallen still.

The rustle of the last falling leaf seemed louder than it should have been, brushing against the tension in the air.

Tao Long’s stance was statuesque and imperious. His eyes narrowed, silver-blue like an oncoming storm, watched as Liang Na pushed herself upright. Dirt clung to her palms and knees. Blood trickled down the side of her mouth, but she neither whimpered nor cried.

Their sparring had lasted only a few minutes.

A blur of shadow and light.

And now… lies her defeat.

Tao Long didn’t speak immediately. He let the silence stretch long enough for the weight of failure to settle into her chest. She felt it, just as he had intended.

Then, he spoke, low and cold.

"Take this lesson to heart."

His tone carried no anger, only the quiet disdain of one who had expected more. His gaze didn’t waver. "I am sparing your life out of deference to the Lord of Yellow Dragon City. Consider it a gift, as I have no interest in the blood of my fellow warriors, no matter their station."

Liang Na’s head dipped. Her breaths came sharp and shallow as she steadied herself on trembling legs. The loss burned, but so did the clarity it brought.

She lifted her eyes, calm despite the sting of pain and pride. “I offer my thanks, Senior Tao Long,” she said, her voice steady, humble. “I will learn from this.”

He gave a slight nod.

Then he turned, the storm dispersing with him, leaving behind a woman humbled and a forest bearing the scars of their clash.

With a thought, Tao Long crossed hundreds of miles.

“Hmmm… Did she follow me?”

No, she didn’t.

The forest was quiet again.

Leaves fluttered in the still air, and the scent of torn bark lingered after the clash. Tao Long stood amidst the broken clearing, his spear lowered, yet his mind far from calm.

His eyes fell to the weapon in his hand, Dra-kon Mar.

It pulsed faintly with a silver-blue glow, casting soft reflections against the dark soil. The shaft was unlike any material Tao Long had ever encountered: neither jade nor steel, but something far older… far stranger.

And the blade… It was razor-thin, curved like a fang, and hummed in resonance with his spirit, as if acknowledging him.

He turned the weapon slowly in his palm, fingers tracing the etched patterns near the base. The intricate carvings shimmered faintly, like ancient runes waiting to be spoken aloud.

A gift.

No… a loan.

The Outsider had given it to him. Da Wei, a man who was not a man. A cultivator who had not crawled through the heavens as the rest of them had, but had fallen from somewhere else entirely, a being of another world, another logic. Thus, the term Outsider.

"Dra-kon Mar," Tao Long’s lips curled faintly. “You’re not just a weapon, are you?” he muttered to Dra-kon Mar.

The spear vibrated subtly, as if answering.

There was power here. Unstable, unshaped, and dangerous. Tao Long could feel it settling into the marrow of his bones, nudging his instincts. It responded not just to technique, but to will. It was no ordinary tool. It was a mirror of the one who’d wielded it before.

Da Wei.

“Or maybe I am just overthinking it.”

However, Tao Long knew better.

“That man is a paradox,” Tao Long thought. Too reckless to live long. Too stubborn to die quickly.”

He had no illusions about their difference in strength anymore.

When they first met, Tao Long had weighed the man, measured his worth, and prepared for execution. It had been his mission, after all.

The Outsiders had to die.

And yet… Da Wei still lived.

Tao Long exhaled, long and tired. His hand clenched around the spear. “Perhaps,” he said aloud, his voice carrying into the trees, “there is more to this Outsider than I thought.”

But the thought did not bring him peace.

His gaze lowered, shadowed by the weight behind it. He was not a free man. Not truly. He never had been.

The mission had come from Shouquan, his superior within the Ward. The orders were clear: eliminate the Outsiders and secure the Ward’s place as the Empire’s indispensable weapon. That was the ideal they sold to the Emperor: a shield to defend against chaos.

But it was never just about protection.

It was about power.

Tao Long had made his choice. When he couldn’t kill the Outsiders because of the difference in strength and the fact that the prophecy happened anyway, he instead accepted a bribe: a favor, a treasure, and a promise in exchange for letting fate do the work. That was essentially what Drakon Mar was: a bribe.

So, in a series of unprecedented chances and through deductive reasoning, Tao Long had chosen the path that would benefit him the most. That was why he…

Let Da Wei walk into Hell’s Gate.

Let him die fighting the demons.

Let the problem resolve itself.

That was the idea.

And if he succeeded? If Da Wei survived, the world might change for better or worse. If he died, Tao Long could claim the spear, report success, and keep his conscience untouched.

That had been the unspoken gamble.  But the gamble had gone wrong.

“He was supposed to die…”

Tao Long’s jaw tightened.

“What am I supposed to say to Shouquan?”

Tao Long had failed to bring results. Instead, he had returned with rumors of an Outsider who had tamed the flames of Hell and bore a weapon not even the heavens understood.

What was worse, Tao Long had no more answers than before.

His superiors wanted strength. He had returned with questions. He looked again at Dra-kon Mar, letting its weight settle in his hand. The hum was there again. It was gentle, curious, and beckoning. A reminder that he had touched something beyond his reach.

“I can’t contact Shouquan like this…”

He sighed deeply, the breath tasting of regret.

It had never been about gold, or weapons, or favor. Tao Long had wanted certainty, a clean outcome, and a justified end. But the moment he hesitated, the moment he chose pragmatism over principle, the path before him twisted.

“I shouldn’t have accepted this spear and made everything so much more complicated.”

Tao Long moved through the forest without sound.

His robes were pristine, unmarred by the earlier battle, his gait smooth and steady, but his eyes were distant. The path twisted beneath the shadow of tall, old trees, their branches forming a canopy too dense for starlight. It was the kind of place only those with purpose or fearlessness would tread.

Eventually, he reached it: a hidden alcove, nestled behind a curtain of ivy and a jutting cliff face. It wasn’t visible to the naked eye, not unless one knew to look between the angles of natural misdirection. He stepped into it and raised his hand.

“Seal,” he commanded softly.

A pulse of energy rippled out from his palm, forming a formation circle along the borders of the alcove. One by one, sigils carved into the earth glowed faintly before vanishing from sight: concealment formations, distortion barriers, and a soft field of temporal delay. He wasn’t going to be disturbed. Not even the heavens could scry this place now.

But he wasn’t done.

With a quiet breath, he lifted his right hand to the sky.

“Rain.”

The word was not spoken with spiritual command, but with divine authority, cultivated through centuries of precise mastery.

Clouds gathered above the forest, thick and heavy. Within moments, the drizzle began, then thickened to a gentle, soaking rain. The sound of droplets on leaves cloaked the world, and the scent of fresh water over soil masked the spirit traces in the area.

Only then did Tao Long finally sit.

He leaned against a moss-covered stone, knees crossed, posture relaxed but ready. The rhythmic rainfall drummed around him like a lullaby, but his mind was anything but peaceful.

The Ward.

His lips twitched into something between a smile and a grimace. He wasn’t blind to their flaws, no, not anymore. There had been a time, long ago, when he thought the Ward was pure. A noble force for balance and justice. A necessary weapon against the Greater Universe: the looming unknown, filled with gods and monsters, Outsiders and Eternal threats.

They had to be ready. That was what Shouquan always said.

“Tao Long… if we don’t ready the sword, the blade will find our throat first.”

It had made sense, once.

He exhaled and reached into his sleeve, pulling free a wooden disk no larger than a teacup. Worn smooth by age, it bore no inscriptions. But when he flicked his finger across the surface, it shimmered with a pale golden light. Tao Long set it afloat before him, and it hovered in the misty alcove, spinning slowly.

From the rain and the fog, a mirage of a man emerged.

Stooped, thin, yet bearing a terrible gravity, Shouquan stood with his hands behind his back. His beard reached his belt. His brows were sharp as blades. His gaze, even through illusion, carried pressure.

He did not waste time.

“How’s your mission?” he asked.

Tao Long looked at him without standing. “Terrible.”

Shouquan blinked once. That was more than most got from him.

Tao Long didn’t bother dressing the truth. “I arrived too late. The Hell’s Gate had already opened. The target…” he paused, “the Outsider and his goldfish, had already instigated the opening of the Gate by the time I reached them. However, I am loath to say I don’t understand the full picture yet… So far, I am limited by the facts available to me.”

Shouquan’s brow twitched. “Is that really it?”

“I never got the chance to stop them,” Tao Long said, voice dry. “I was prepared to challenge them… but the Gate opened prematurely. I thought it would kill them.”

“It didn’t.”

“No,” Tao Long admitted. “Seeing where it was going, I saw it as pointless to engage him in combat. I planned to retreat and convene with the Emperor. But then, the Outsider by the name of Da Wei offered me a deal.”

There was silence for a moment, broken only by the hiss of rainfall.

Shouquan narrowed his eyes. “What deal?”

Tao Long showed the spear loaned to him. “This, in exchange for escorting the goldfish turned human, Ren Jingyi, to a man called Jiang Zhen.”

Shouquan’s eyes fluttered closed. He hummed, not unlike a grandfather considering a recipe. But Tao Long knew better than to be fooled by the sound. When Shouquan hummed, nations fell.

“A shame,” the old man said quietly. “Da Wei… I’ve heard his name being whispered in the Greater Universe more than once recently. Strange, he elicits so much interest….”

“This spear was called Dra-kon Mar,” Tao Long added, lifting Dra-kon Mar and letting the tip rest against the stone. “It doesn’t feel native to this world. It’s rare we get Outsider artifacts, so I made the executive decision to promptly accept this deal.”

“I see, so do you plan to refine the weapon?”

“It was given,” Tao Long corrected. “On loan.” 

So he couldn’t exactly refine it, lest he risk earning Da Wei’s ire. There was no need to step on eggshells around him, but Tao Long just thought of a scheme that would benefit him and his organization.

Shouquan grunted.

“Would you have killed him?” he asked, voice calm, too calm.

“What do you mean?” Tao Long met the old man’s gaze, thought about his sudden question, and answered. “I thought I could. Once.”

“And now?”

A pause. Then a breath. “No.”

Rain rolled off the edges of Tao Long’s robes as he leaned back slightly. “If the rumors I am getting are to be believed, he managed to block a Hell’s Gate all by himself.”

There was no shame in the admission. Not anymore.

Shouquan said nothing for a long time. Then finally:

“Strength is rarely the problem. It’s the mind. The will. This… Da Wei. Is he loyal to the Empire?”

“No,” Tao Long answered. “He’s loyal to the people he loves. The rest of the world can burn for all he cares. But… he’s not cruel.”

“Mm.”

That hum again.

“I need more operatives,” said Tao Long. “Preferably someone with powerful defense and someone with speed.”

Shouquan’s eyebrow arched ever so slightly. “Why?”

“Because I’m not enough,” Tao Long said. “Da Wei. I don’t believe I can contend with him alone, regardless of what advantages our resources can offer me. Not anymore.”

“I’d like to maintain a good relationship with him,” Tao Long continued. “Feign friendliness. Maybe gain more information. More leverage. However, if it comes to it, I need to be able to deal with him if I find myself suddenly on the back foot.”

A pause.

“This can help Ward in more ways than one… For example, with this venture, we can access more Outsider-class treasures.”

That earned the faintest twitch in Shouquan’s lips. Disapproval? Amusement? It was hard to tell.

“He’s generous,” Tao Long added, as if that justified everything. “Unusually so. For someone from the Greater Universe, he parts with sacred tools like one might gift fruit. There’s power in that sort of confidence. Or foolishness. That’s why you are suggesting this change in approach.”

“And your plan is to smile at him until he drops another divine spear in your lap?” Shouquan asked dryly.

“If it works,” Tao Long said.

The mirage of the old man gave no reaction.

“As for a strategy when it came to confrontation,” Tao Long went on, “I suggest we consider sealing him. Or, if possible, ejecting him back to the Greater Universe. Keep the damage to this realm minimal.”

Shouquan shook his head.

“Our exorcism methods won’t work on him,” he said flatly.

Tao Long narrowed his eyes. “Why not?”

“He doesn’t fit,” Shouquan said, “into the categories we’ve prepared for. Not in essence. Not in signature. He’s like a coin from a forgotten empire: foreign to our wards, immune to our scripts. You should not think of him as a clay bodhisattva. Or let your greed for his treasure cloud your judgment.”

Tao Long’s brow creased slightly, but he remained silent.

Shouquan’s tone shifted. It became colder, more formal.

“There is a change in policy.”

Tao Long stiffened. His fingers curled just slightly around the haft of Dra-kon Mar.

“Regarding Da Wei?” he asked.

“Yes,” Shouquan replied. “Effective immediately, the Ward’s protocols for dealing with Outsiders are being amended. Special exemptions will now be considered.”

“Exemptions?” Tao Long repeated, incredulous.

Shouquan met his gaze without blinking. “Da Wei is no longer to be hunted. You will not interfere with his movements unless provoked. And you will not attempt to seal or eject him from this realm.”

A frown deepened on Tao Long’s face. Something was wrong.

“Our stance,” he said carefully, “has always been clear. Outsiders must be met with violence, cunning, and without prejudice. No exceptions. No mercy.”

“There are now exceptions,” Shouquan said calmly.

“Why?”

The old man tilted his head slightly. “Because new intelligence has reached us. Devil-class Outsiders have been detected in the Riverfall Continent. Multiple signatures. Their presence is active. Confirmed. Violent.”

Tao Long’s expression darkened.

“So we let the Outsider roam free… because we have worse problems to deal with?”

“Correct,” Shouquan said. “Your primary mission now is to aid the locals. Protect the region. Reduce public panic. If any of these devils establish a foothold, we may lose more than just territory to the Outsiders.”

Tao Long was silent for a long moment.

“And Da Wei?”

“Your second objective,” Shouquan said, voice unflinching, “is to befriend him.”

The word tasted foreign in Tao Long’s ears.

“…Befriend?”

“Yes,” Shouquan replied. “Not spy on. Not manipulate. Befriend. Earn his trust. It has to be genuine. Cultivate the relationship. The empire has... interest in him now. If he truly is the one who blocked a Hell’s Gate, then there may be greater value in alliance than conflict.”

Tao Long’s thoughts spun in quiet disbelief.

This wasn’t policy.

This wasn’t them.

And yet… here was the order.

He nodded slowly, not in acceptance, but acknowledgment. “Understood.”

“Good,” Shouquan said.

Then, as if he could sense the unease radiating from his follower, the old man added, “I do not expect you to like this. But I do expect you to obey.”

With that, the image shimmered and vanished. The wooden disk drifted down and gently landed in Tao Long’s hand, its glow extinguishing like a lantern snuffed in fog.

The rain was still falling.

Tao Long didn’t move for some time.

His thoughts were a quiet storm. The policy shift unsettled him, not because it suggested change, but because it suggested hesitation. And hesitation, in the Ward, was as dangerous as mercy.

He looked down at the spear across his lap. Dra-kon Mar. An artifact from another world. A token from a man who broke the sky.

“What are you really, Da Wei?”

And what did it mean… that the empire had an interest in him?

118 The Painting

The night had long fallen over the Imperial Capital, draping the palace in moonlight and velvet stillness. The kind of quiet that only came when all the servants were dismissed and the world itself agreed to pause.

Xin Yune gently closed the lacquered door to the inner chamber, the soft click echoing like a whisper. Da Wei had excused himself with a grin and a respectful nod, saying something about “not wanting to interrupt the bedtime ritual of royalty.”

She knew what he meant. Knew that it was his way of giving her space. She appreciated it.

Now, it was just her and her son.

Nongmin had already curled under the thick quilt of embroidered clouds and mountain motifs. His head rested against the pillow, silver strands of his long hair splayed over the silk, his breathing steady. Still too regal, too still. But for once… just for once, he had let her lead him into bed. Like he used to.

She sat at the edge of the bed and reached for the old, worn book she had pulled from her personal shelf. The leather cover was cracked, the title faint from decades of use: The Heroic Farmer and the Snake.

“This one again?” she asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from his cheek.

He didn’t open his eyes. “It’s the most mathematically inconsistent.”

And it was the story she’d read most to him.

She chuckled. “Is that so?”

Opening the book, her voice took on the same gentle rhythm she had used centuries ago, back when his hair was shorter and his legs dangled off the bed.

“Once, there was a farmer, brave and plain. He lived with his daughter near the edge of the Whispering Forest. One day, a venomous snake bit the daughter while she picked herbs. The farmer had no medicine, no power, and no hope.”

Nongmin opened one eye. “Why would they live by the forest if it was known for snakes?”

It was strange, hearing him ask such a question for the first time… when normally, he always have an answer.

“Shh. He’s a farmer, not a strategist,” she said with a teasing smile.

He closed his eye again.

She continued reading, her voice threading through the room like warm wind:

“But the farmer did not despair. He went into the forest, found the snake, and captured it alive. Instead of killing it, he struck a deal—he offered food and warmth if the snake spared his child. The snake, surprised by mercy, wept. It produced from its fangs a single drop of crystal venom—the antidote. The girl was saved.”

She glanced down. Nongmin’s breathing hadn’t changed, but his lips were faintly parted, and his hands, so often poised in mudras or commanding gestures, were now just hands, resting still beneath the covers.

Nongmin no longer had use for sleep, given his cultivation… but there was no stopping him from falling into one anyway…

This was the closest she’d ever get him back. Not the Emperor. Not the Divine Sovereign. Not the wielder of the Heavenly Eye. But her child. Her little boy.

A soft smile tugged at her lips, unbidden and gentle.

“The farmer and the snake became friends,” she finished, “and from then on, no beast in the forest ever harmed another soul. Not because of fear, but because of gratitude.”

She closed the book quietly and set it aside.

“You always hated that ending,” she murmured.

“…It’s not realistic,” came Nongmin’s half-mumbled voice, barely audible. “Snakes don’t… cry.”

“I know,” she whispered, brushing his forehead with her hand. “But maybe some do.”

There was no answer after that. Only silence.

She stayed there a while longer, watching him. Not because she thought he’d disappear. But because she wanted to remember this, truly remember this.

If this were a reenactment of the past, then so be it. It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough.

Enough for a mother who had spent lifetimes waiting for this one simple moment:

To tuck in her son.

To tell him a bedtime story.

And to know, even just briefly, that he listened.

Nongmin lay there with his eyes closed, his breath deep and regular, but Xin Yune knew better. He had likely forced himself into sleep using cultivation, an unnatural quiet meant to simulate something peaceful. But even that choice was telling. He wanted her to believe he could still sleep beside her. Like before.

She didn't disturb him.

Quietly, she rose from the bedside and walked toward the door. Every step felt heavier than the last.

Her fingers wrapped around the cold brass handle.

She didn’t need to test her pulse or sense her own life force. She knew. She had always known. Her time was close. She could already feel herself beginning to drift, like embers that refused to catch flame no matter how much breath was blown into them.

She was ready. Or at least, she thought she was.

And then…

A gentle tug.

The sensation was faint at first, barely noticeable. But it stopped her dead in her tracks.

Her eyes shifted to her sleeve. A hand. His hand.

She turned slowly.

Nongmin was no longer asleep. His eyes, open and uncertain, stared at her with something rawer than calculation. Vulnerable. Trembling.

"…I don’t want to see you go," he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

Her heart twisted. There was no grandeur in those words. No imperial edge or philosophical acceptance. Just a simple, childlike truth.

"But I have to go," Xin Yune answered gently. She turned her full body toward him, her face soft, even if her soul weighed heavy.

His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t let go either. He searched her face as if some different answer might be written there, hidden in the wrinkles that had come from time, not technique.

"You’re not coming back," he said.

"No," she replied, the word firm but quiet. “I’m not.”

The silence between them grew like vines, reaching, curling, unsure whether to strangle or protect.

Nongmin looked away for a heartbeat. She could see him wrestling with something.

Then he looked back, and with a tremor in his voice, he said, “I want to be there… even if you go… forever… I want to be there.”

Xin Yune felt something splinter inside her.

There it was again. That small spark of her son she thought she had lost forever. Not the one who commanded armies or read the timelines of endless possibilities, but the boy who once cried when she was gone too long buying food in the market or just roaming around. The boy who stayed awake until she came home from healing others, just to know she was still alive.

That boy was still here.

Her hand reached out and touched his cheek, her fingers trembling slightly. She smiled, small and pained, but deeply grateful.

“You’ll be there,” she said. “And knowing that… it heals me more than any technique ever could.”

She didn’t need the Heavenly Eye to know this was the truth.

Her son wouldn’t try to stop her. He wouldn't beg, or bargain, or twist fate to trap her here.

He would just be there.

And that, in the end, was all she had ever needed.

Xin Yune stood in the quiet stillness of the room, her son’s hand still gently wrapped around her sleeve, his eyes reflecting flickers of things she could never quite read. Her heart was heavy, but not with dread anymore, just with time. Time that had run its course.

Then, an idea sparked within her like a sudden gust of spring wind through old leaves.

She snapped her fingers. “I have an idea,” she declared, with that same mischievous glint she used to have when Nongmin was still small enough to carry on her back.

Nongmin’s head jerked up instantly. "Da Wei…" she began.

But her son was already moving. Before she could say another word, he darted forward and clasped her wrist with urgency, almost desperation.

His gaze sharpened, not with anger, but understanding. As if he had already seen it.

“He already knows what I’m thinking,” Xin Yune realized, heart warm with bittersweet amusement.

Without a word, they flew.

They took to the skies like streaks of wind-touched silk, moving above the roofs of the Imperial Capital. The city was hushed at this hour, the lanterns dimmed to gentle glows, and the stars bloomed bright above.

They found him not long after.

Da Wei sat alone on a rooftop, legs crossed, back straight, eyes tilted up toward the heavens. He was staring at the stars, one hand resting atop his knee while the other nursed a skewer of half-eaten roasted mushrooms.

He didn't startle when they arrived. Instead, he tilted his head lazily toward them.

“What’s the occasion for the imperial mother and son to grace me with their presence?” he asked with a smirk.

Xin Yune stepped forward, her voice soft but certain. “I have a request.”

Da Wei gave a mock bow, still seated. “Then I shall oblige. What is it?”

Xin Yune turned to look at her son, who now stood at her side again, cloak fluttering gently in the night wind.

“Can you paint us?” she asked.

There was a pause.

Then Nongmin added with an unusual lightness to his tone, “Let’s go to the courtyard. I’ll fetch the canvas, easel, brushes, and paint.”

Da Wei blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Nongmin replied.

The three of them descended to the courtyard shortly after. Nongmin vanished for a moment and returned just as swiftly, arms loaded with a lacquered wooden easel, a folded canvas, a case of thick-haired brushes, and ceramic jars filled with rich pigment.

As the easel was set up under the open sky, and the canvas stretched across its frame, Xin Yune took a deep breath.

This was a moment carved out of reality.

A painting not of power, not of immortality.

Just of a mother. And her son.

The canvas was enormous.. It was taller than any man and wider than a banquet hall door, its pristine surface fluttering slightly in the courtyard’s early spring breeze.

Da Wei stood before it in silence. He stared at the sheer size of what he’d agreed to paint, lips parting slightly as though to question his own life choices.

“…This thing is taller than a carriage,” he muttered. “I can’t believe a small-looking easel could hold this much weight.”

But then he gave a small shrug, rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and got to work.

Xin Yune couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t the size of the canvas that amused her… it was him.

Da Wei darted back and forth in front of the painting like a man possessed, each step exaggerated, each retreat a long stride as though the ten paces back gave him mystical insight. He leaned in to dab a bit of color on one edge, then practically dashed back across the yard to squint, tilt his head, and nod like a scholar contemplating divine scripture.

“You know,” she said, smiling, “with your cultivation, I’m fairly certain you don’t need to move like that just to paint.”

Da Wei, brush in mouth, shot her a mock glare. “Art… requires drama.”

“You’re such a child,” she teased.

“Flattery,” he mumbled through the brush as he peeked back and forth from behind the canvas.

As for Nongmin, he stood at her side under the broad leaves of the bodhi tree, silent but attentive. His hand rested gently in hers, small fingers curling around hers with a grip that tried to hide its nervousness.

He wasn’t trying to act like the Grand Emperor. Not tonight.

He was simply her son.

She told him a few jokes to fill the time. Some of them were old and corny, ones she’d told him when he was no older than five. Others were more biting, teasing the way he always sat too straight or how he once tried to fight a goose and lost.

To her surprise, he laughed.

Not a lot. Not loudly.

But it was real.

And as Da Wei painted, brushing in the shadows of leaves above them, dabbing amber light into the corner where the lanterns hung, lining the gentle slope of their shoulders together, Xin Yune felt something long buried in her heart rise to the surface.

Not regret.

Not sadness.

But peace.

She leaned gently into her son. Nongmin shifted just slightly to lean back.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Under the bodhi tree, with Da Wei’s hurried brushwork dancing like fireflies across the canvas, a quiet moment was etched, not just into paint, but into memory.

The brush whispered across the canvas, a soft, wet rhythm beneath the rustling of the courtyard’s leaves. Lantern light glowed amber and gold, casting soft halos around Da Wei’s flitting silhouette. He was painting furiously now, strokes quick but deliberate, his brow furrowed as if chasing a fleeting dream he could only capture with each sweep of color.

Xin Yune stood beneath the bodhi tree, her hand still clasped in Nongmin’s. His palm was warm, but the quiet pressure of his grip betrayed an inner tremble. She glanced sideways at her son, whose expression betrayed little. The mask of the Emperor still lingered, even now.

And then, a voice entered her mind. Clear, solemn, and spoken in the ethereal tones of Qi Speech… that rare, intimate language of soul to soul.

"Theoretically," Da Wei said as he painted, "I can ensure you live just a bit longer, you know? The spell I used, Divine Word: Life, it could maintain your existence, as long as I cast it… every day."

Xin Yune didn’t look away from the tree’s leaves above. She watched the way the branches swayed and let the silence stretch before responding in kind.

"No need, Da Wei." Her tone was gentle but firm, like a mother refusing a child’s last-minute plea. "I’m tired. I just want to have fun… and go happy. Don’t give me false hope."

From his place before the canvas, Da Wei’s brush halted mid-stroke. He didn’t face her, but his reply came sharp and quietly frustrated.

"That’s a bit selfish, no? And how do you know the hope’s false… when you haven’t even tried?"

Xin Yune closed her eyes briefly and exhaled.

"Thing is…" she responded slowly, "I can be selfish. It’s called free will." She gave a faint chuckle, not bitter but worn. "And if your methods really worked, my son would’ve tried them already. Told me otherwise. Begged you to do it, regardless of what I think. There would be tears and then drama. Then surprise, I get to live after all. But. Truth is. That was never I the cards for me. I am done."

A pause. The wind caught the canvas and fluttered its edge like a turning page.

She continued, softly now. "Knowing Nongmin… If your idea had even a sliver of a chance, he would’ve seen it already. The same way you summoned him in that abandoned warehouse,  you probably asked him to look into the future. Asked him if your spells would work. In fear of ruining the rather nice mood right now, you decided to conspire with my little Nongmin as you tried to make a desperate bid to see a way out. But guess what, it's a dead end."

She didn’t need confirmation.

Unlike her son, Xin Yune had always possessed imagination, an abundance of it. Her years as a healer, a mother, a woman who survived wars and betrayals, had not dulled that creative spark. Even without the Heavenly Eye, she could see the hidden shape of things.

And right now, the shape of truth stood quietly in the hand she held.

Suddenly, she felt a tug at her sleeve.

She turned and looked down.

Nongmin was crying.

His face hadn’t contorted into a sob. He didn’t wail or shake. But his eyes, those golden, calculating, ancient eyes, now shimmered wetly, tears sliding down his cheeks like raindrops over stone.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

“…What is it?” Xin Yune asked, softly, though she already knew.

When their eyes met, the mask of the Emperor fell away completely.

He was just a boy.

Her boy.

“I’m sorry,” he said so quietly it wasn’t clear if he spoke it aloud or with his heart. “I… don’t want to see you go.”

She pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him without hesitation, pressing his head gently against her shoulder.

“I know,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry too.”

Behind them, Da Wei said nothing. He only painted, his strokes slower now, more careful, as though he knew the image before him would never come again.

“Done,” Da Wei said, his voice quieter than usual.

He stepped away from the massive canvas, his hands stained in streaks of crimson and gold, flecks of azure and green dried at the edges of his sleeves. With careful strength, he grasped the easel and dragged it in a wide arc, rotating it in place until the painting faced them.

Xin Yune stared.

It took her a moment to breathe.

The painting was towering, easily twice Da Wei’s height, and vibrant, like something born of a dream. Beneath the old bodhi tree, lit by warm lantern glow, she stood beside Nongmin, hand in hand. The details were stunning. The way her head tilted slightly, the gentle laugh caught in the lines of her smile. The calm tension in her son’s shoulders, as if unsure how to act, yet willing to try for her sake.

There were stories woven in the background too. A basket of tanghulu skewers rested at her feet. A few stray petals drifted down from the tree’s crown, glowing with a faint, silvery shimmer. Even the bark of the bodhi tree was textured with dozens of carvings: names, hearts, and phrases long faded, etched faintly into the wood. Life, memory, and love—pressed into canvas.

Xin Yune smiled, bittersweet.

“Thank you, Wei,” she said, her voice steady despite the crack in her chest.

Da Wei opened his mouth, but no words came. Instead, he looked at her with something unreadable in his eyes. That of half admiration and half grief.

Xin Yune turned to him, her expression gentle. “In life,” she said, “there are just… people and things you can only let go.”

Da Wei grimaced. “Doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

“No,” she agreed, her voice softer than the wind. “But sometimes… letting go is the only way forward.”

And then she felt it… a sudden weight against her back, a thud of small arms clumsily wrapping around her waist. Her heart clenched.

“Mom…” Nongmin’s voice broke. “Mom…”

She turned, only to see her son crying again, this time no longer hiding it behind imperial stoicism. His grip around her tightened, desperate, trembling.

And then she saw it.

Her left arm, glimmering.

Tiny silver motes of light were unraveling from her skin, drifting up like fireflies to the sky.

It had begun.

“Oh…” she whispered.

Still, she smiled.

With her right arm, the one that remained, she cradled her son close, tucking his head against her shoulder just as she had when he was small.

“My little Emperor,” she said, voice warm and full of pride, “you’ve made your mother so proud. And so very happy.”

Her light was spreading now, up her shoulder, along her collarbone.

“But more than that…” she whispered into his hair, “I want you to be happy too. Let this be my dying will, my little Emperor…”

She kissed the top of his head.

“...find a happy ending for you as well.”

Her body shimmered, light blooming across her form in slow, rhythmic pulses. Her breath, steady and calm, faded with the last syllable.

And then, gently, softly, Xin Yune dispersed into the wind.

Silver lotus petals scattered where she once stood—weightless, delicate, rising into the air like stars returning to the heavens.

Nongmin fell to his knees, arms wrapped around the emptiness she left behind, the scent of her warmth still clinging to the space.

Da Wei stood still beside them, the painting behind him a living echo of what once was.

And above, beneath the quiet sway of the bodhi tree, the petals of the final lotus danced with grace—her last goodbye.

117 A Bittersweet Skewer

If there was one thing the Heavenly Eye lacked, it was imagination.

Had it possessed even a shred of it, Nongmin would have foreseen this moment, this humiliation, lightyears in advance. But no. There were rules, limitations, and principles of divine sight that even he could not override.

First, the Heavenly Eye was limited by actionable facts and plausibility difference. It could not show him what defied logic, only what could possibly happen within the realm of reason.

Second, the granted omniscience was not so omniscient after all. It only worked within his territory, bounded by the sacred lines of spiritual jurisdiction.

Third, and most damningly, even if he could see all things... he could not see them all at once in a single breath. He needed to digest the information, and even with his Tenth Realm cultivation, he could only interpret and digest so much.

And so, the most feared man in the world, the Grand Emperor Nongmin, stood in awkward silence, boxed in by a dilemma his Heavenly Eye could not solve.

"Little Nongmin," said Xin Yune with a bright smile that melted ten thousand years of frozen karma. She pulled a sparkling tanghulu from her Storage Ring, the skewered red hawthorns glistening with a candy shell that shimmered in the light like spiritual pearls. "Want a candy?"

Her voice was casual, but not unintentional. There was a mother’s challenge buried in it, a gentle prod to stir memory, emotion, and vulnerability.

Nongmin’s eyes, golden with faint trails of spiritual current, flickered open. The Heavenly Eye spun within his soul, accessing not the present, but possibility.

In one future, he politely declined.

"More for me!" Xin Yune would laugh, twirling the tanghulu like a sword and biting into it with exaggerated glee. Her smile would be real, and her joy untainted.

In another, he reached out and accepted the candy.

"Aiyo, my son’s still just a baby inside," she’d say with a teasing grin, pulling him into a side-hug and ruffling his hair, even if she had to hover to do so. Again, the joy would be real.

So what was the right answer?

Both were right. Both made her smile. Both ended in her happiness.

His jaw tightened.

“This is illogical,” he thought. “The question should have one optimal answer. Why do both branches lead to fulfillment? Is this... quantum benevolence?”

And then… another ripple of future vision opened. An unlikely possibility. An implausible, almost irrational one.

Da Wei reached in and stole the tanghulu.

He moved like a bandit: shoulders relaxed, face utterly shameless, and the kind of smile only someone with no moral stakes could wear.

Nongmin’s body responded before his mind caught up.

Flash!

The air cracked as he moved in an instant, his fingers like iron as they snatched the tanghulu from Da Wei’s hand mid-swipe. The candy skewer floated an inch above his palm, untouched by even gravity itself.

Da Wei blinked.

Then he grinned. Slow. Wicked. Like he’d planned it all.

“Huh,” Da Wei said, eyes twinkling. “Didn’t think you’d go for the candy and the dramatic reveal. You really are your mom’s son.”

Nongmin said nothing. His face remained calm, but his internal qi frothed like an ocean storm. He'd seen a thousand futures, but this? This was not supposed to happen. This was... chaos. Ridiculous. Nonsensical. And yet…

"Aiyo! My baby is so cute!" Xin Yune giggled, suddenly appearing behind him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her chin rested lightly against the curve of his neck. “You protected Mama’s candy! My little Emperor, so fierce, so clever~”

"...I did not intend to—"

“Shhh,” she cooed, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

The Heavenly Eye spun inside him, useless now. He could no longer predict her. And maybe that was the point.

Nongmin, Lord of the Realm, Grand Emperor of Eight Territories, slayer of gods and planner of epochs, stood still with a candied skewer in hand and his mother wrapped around him like a warm scarf of affection.

Across from him, Da Wei casually leaned against a column, watching with interest, lips curled upward like a fox who’d stolen a chicken and returned it just to see what would happen next.

Imagination, Nongmin realized, was not just irrational.

It was dangerous.

Still, this result was… acceptable.

Nongmin bit into the candied hawthorn on the skewer. The sweet and sour juice mixed with the delicate crack of the sugar glaze. The flavor grounded him. It was a strange contrast to the mental whiplash he'd just endured. His mother still held him gently by the wrist, guiding him forward through the path as if he were no older than five.

And right beside him, like an unwanted shadow that refused to disperse even under direct sunlight… was Da Wei.

Nongmin’s gaze slid sideways, not with annoyance but with cold curiosity. His Heavenly Eye spun, not outward, but inward, reaching into the nearby timelines that splintered like hairline cracks in the porcelain of fate. A single question formed in his spiritual voice, spoken through Qi Speech, a language only wieldable by cultivators whose soul had surpassed the threshold of mortality.

“What are you doing, Da Wei?”

The man walking beside him didn't respond aloud, but in the alternate futures, Nongmin saw it.

“Watching you,” Da Wei said in one strand of time. “Making sure you’re not lying. Or doing anything weird. You know… Emperor stuff.”

Nongmin returned to real-time and scoffed, a short, dry exhale that carried with it the precise measure of disdain he deemed appropriate.

His mother turned her head slightly, her eyes peeking at him through a curtain of dark hair. “What’s so funny?”

Nongmin hesitated. His mind turned. For a moment, he debated telling her. Then, with the faintest smirk forming on his lips, he gestured at the man beside them with his skewer.

“Mother,” he said in his proper, regal tone. “Is it just me, or is this commoner a bit of a bother?”

Xin Yune blinked. Her pace didn’t change. “Oh, I think it’s fine for him to hang around.”

Nongmin stopped walking. His body remained calm, but his heart shuddered ever so slightly with an unfamiliar sensation.

Betrayal.

His mother—his ally, his constant—had just sided with Da Wei. The man who once threatened to dance her on a pole to summon him. The man who just tried to steal his tanghulu. The man who, by all logic and structure, should not be here.

Well, it was kind of his fault he was here…

Nongmin narrowed his eyes.

“Why didn’t I check that response beforehand?” he thought bitterly. “If I knew Xin Yune would side with him…”

Then realization hit.

“I wanted to manipulate her. Just now… I thought of using the Heavenly Eye to predict her answer. To nudge her toward the response I wanted.”

Nongmin’s throat tightened. The taste of hawthorn lingered in his mouth, but it now felt oddly bitter. A low tide of guilt swept through his chest, cooling his qi and coiling it around his heart like a silent reproach.

He remembered the promise he made.

Long ago when he first opened the Heavenly Eye, when the world felt like a scroll to be rewritten, he had drawn a single line in the sand. “I will not use this power to manipulate Mother. Not even once. Not even for her safety. Especially not for my comfort.”

He bowed his head slightly. Not to anyone. Just to himself.

“Fool,” he told his inner voice. “You nearly crossed the line without realizing it.”

Beside him, Da Wei remained quiet. His hands were behind his head, walking as if this were all a stroll and not a moment of emotional upheaval.

Nongmin bit into the next hawthorn.

The sugar cracked again.

This one was a little sweeter.

The past few days had unraveled more than he liked to admit.

He had stood at the height of cultivation. Held the Heavenly Eye. Read infinite threads of reality. He was supposed to know better. But now—walking beside his mother and Da Wei trailing like a persistent shadow—Nongmin couldn’t keep lying to himself.

He had manipulated her.

Not just in minor ways. Not just with harmless white lies or calculated omissions. No, he'd wielded the Eye like a scalpel, cutting and suturing moments so subtly even she hadn’t noticed. A soft suggestion here. A spontaneous encounter there. A few nudges to ensure that she stayed in the capital a little longer, saw a certain flower bloom, heard a melody drift from the right street at the right time.

And all for what?

To buy her a smile. A few moments of joy. A sense of peace that wasn’t born naturally but designed.

Because her time was running out.

For centuries, Nongmin had exhausted every method to lengthen her life. He'd searched forbidden ruins, bartered with timeless existences, and even attempted to rewrite destiny itself, only to be met with the same cruel truth: there was no clear path forward. No pill. No art. No deal worth making. Even he, with all his gifts, couldn’t cheat fate for her.

And so, slowly, despair gave way to something else.

Resignation.

He stopped looking for answers and began searching for something harder to define. He started asking: What does happiness look like?

That was when he realized something horrifying.

He didn’t know.

He lacked imagination. As much as the Heavenly Eye could see, it couldn’t create. It worked with probability, causality, and memory. But it didn’t dream. And without that, he was lost.

So, step by step, he tried.

He looked into tens of thousands of futures, breaking himself apart across a million potential lives. He viewed them all with cold scrutiny and a growing ache in his heart.

There were futures where she died in his arms, smiling. Others where she never smiled again, growing bitter at the burden of an immortal son. Some days ended quietly with tea and silence. Others ended with unspoken regrets and words left unsaid. All of them were… wrong.

Until he stopped looking at himself.

He cast his gaze outward.

Zhu Shin had a conversation with her on a riverside bridge: nothing dramatic, just heartfelt. His mother laughed, truly laughed, and Nongmin had replayed that moment dozens of times.

Sikao Biaoji, of all people, had a loud and heated argument with her about something absurd: peach wine, perhaps. It ended with both of them hurling insults and giggling like fools.

There were futures where she never saw her son in her final moments. And yet… she died happy.

Why?

Because she lived. Truly lived, with people who saw her neither as the Emperor’s mother nor the Divine Physician, but just as Xin Yune.

And then… somewhere in the thousands of threads… he saw it.

Da Wei.

A stranger. An anomaly. A man who walked like a mortal but defied every expectation. Nongmin had never liked him. Still didn’t. But… the threads were clear.

In reality after reality, Da Wei was there.

He made her laugh. He annoyed her. He challenged her. Sometimes they fought. Sometimes they just sat under the stars, saying nothing. But each time, each thread, ended the same way:

She smiled.

And in some of those futures… rare, golden ones… she died smiling. It was the kind of smile he used to see when he was just a boy everytime he made small mistakes or just made a poor joke.

In a quiet field. In a bustling street. In a tiny cabin far from civilization. The location changed. The people changed. But Da Wei was there. Always.

And in those same futures, when Nongmin finally looked at himself, he realized something terrifying.

He was… at peace.

And so, back in the present, biting into his candied skewer, Nongmin said nothing as Da Wei walked beside him.

He didn’t need to ask again what Da Wei was doing.

Because now… finally… it all clicked.

Da Wei wasn’t his enemy. Nor his pawn.

He was the piece Nongmin never knew he needed. The piece he couldn't move, couldn’t predict… but the one that made the whole board make sense.

And as the final hawthorn disappeared from the stick, Nongmin whispered under his breath, barely audible:

“…So that’s the answer.”

His mother looked at him. “Hm?”

He blinked, offered her a smile, not one he rehearsed or calculated, but something soft and unguarded.

“Nothing,” he said.

Just… everything.

The scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced meat skewers drifted lazily through the streets of the Imperial Capital, as the sun dipped into a gold-tinged horizon. The clamor of children, merchants, and cultivators wrapped the trio in a living, breathing nostalgia.

Nongmin walked slowly, hands tucked behind his back, as his mother practically skipped ahead, dragging him by the wrist. A full-grown man with the Heavenly Eye and enough political power to shift continents… and yet, here he was, being towed along like a stubborn boy too proud to admit he enjoyed the attention.

She stopped every few stalls to buy something—sweet lotus root, grilled tofu, sugar-dusted rice cakes—and he ate all of it without resistance. Not because he particularly wanted to. But because she offered.

Da Wei trailed just behind them, arms crossed, eyebrows slightly raised. His presence was casual, but Nongmin knew that the man was observing everything, him especially, with the suspicious patience of someone waiting for a snake to show its fangs.

“Hey,” Da Wei said, “you should talk more.”

Nongmin didn’t even look back. “About what?”

“Anything. You’ve got a squeaky little voice, but we’ve heard worse. You might as well use it.”

Nongmin frowned. Squeaky? He turned halfway and glared. “My voice is dignified. Elegant. Measured.”

“It’s nasally,” Da Wei corrected. “You sound like a baby duck pretending to be a tax collector.”

His mother stifled a laugh. Nongmin gave her a betrayed look.

“You know,” Da Wei continued with a smirk, “as a former teacher, I feel morally obligated to make awkward kids speak up in class. Consider this homework. Talk. Tell us a joke or something.”

Before Nongmin could respond with the full might of his dignity, his mother clapped her hands with delight. “Oh, oh! I have one!”

Nongmin froze. “No.”

“Yes!” she beamed. “Do you remember the time you got your little robes stuck in the well pulley and you spun around until you passed out?”

Da Wei raised an eyebrow. “Please. Elaborate.”

“No need…" Nongmin started, but she’d already begun.

“So he was six, right? Went out to practice some ancient technique involving balance or whatever. But he tripped, got tangled in the rope, and the pulley launched him like a roast duck on a spit! Round and round he went… arms out, eyes spinning… until he flopped down and fainted! The servants were terrified. Thought he was possessed.”

Da Wei burst out laughing, holding his sides. “You passed out?! That’s gold.”

“I was calibrating my meridians,” Nongmin said stiffly.

“Oh, is that what the chicken noises were for?” Da Wei asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I didn’t make…"

“And then,” his mother chimed in again, “there was the time he tried to impress the girl from the carp clan by flying on a sword. Only, he forgot to bind the soul core to it and crashed into the lotus pond. He came up looking like a soggy turnip.”

“Mother,” Nongmin said, voice brittle.

“Even the koi pitied you,” she said fondly, patting his head.

Da Wei leaned closer and whispered just loud enough for Nongmin to hear, “I’m gonna collect these stories like spirit stones.”

Nongmin stared straight ahead. He tried not to let the flush rise to his cheeks. He reminded himself, he chanted it like a mantra, that he was the Grand Emperor. A wielder of cosmic secrets. Master of nations.

…And yet, right now, he was just a boy again. A boy walking through familiar streets. A boy whose mother had a hand on his wrist, and whose dignity was steadily unraveling.

But in the warmth of her laughter, and the echo of Da Wei’s chuckles, he found, much to his own horror, a faint smile creeping onto his lips.

He didn't suppress it.

Not this time.

The moon hung low and full over the Imperial Capital, its silvery light bathing the city in quiet reverence. The night breeze carried a lazy coolness, rustling leaves and lanterns as the city began to fall asleep.

Within the palace’s inner courtyard, tucked behind walls that had heard a thousand secrets, Nongmin sat cross-legged on a cushioned mat, a plate of candied hawthorn beside him, and his mother humming as she combed her long black hair.

The room was humble by imperial standards: no jade tiles, no gold-rimmed curtains, only soft silks and woven mats, the way she preferred it. It was the room she had once slept in before he ascended to the throne, untouched even after all these years.

“Are you going to keep staring at the floor, or are you going to talk to your mother?” she said without looking up.

Nongmin blinked. “I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re mumbling.”

“I am dignified.”

She gave him a flat look through the mirror. “You’re sulking.”

He crossed his arms. “I am not sulking. I am… contemplating.”

“Sulking,” she confirmed.

He looked away.

This wasn’t going well.

Nongmin had spent the entire evening trying to “usher in” his childish side. After all, he had combed through hundreds, no, thousands, of alternate realities in search of the best ending for her. And more often than not, the ones that made her happiest were the ones where he stopped trying to act like a god and just was her son.

So he tried. He really did. He had let her feed him candied fruits again. He let her ruffle his hair. He even sat on the floor cross-legged instead of his usual upright lotus stance like some transcendent elder about to deliver a sermon.

It was hard. Incredibly hard. Every time he relaxed, he caught himself monitoring the Qi flows of the palace, or checking his precognitive threads. Every time he tried to smile, it felt like a negotiation with his own muscles.

Still, he persisted.

“I brought something,” he muttered finally.

His mother turned, interested. “Oh?”

He reached into his sleeve and awkwardly produced… a hand-drawn picture. It was old—centuries old, from the first years after he inherited the Heavenly Eye. A child’s drawing, depicting a crude version of her holding his hand, standing in a garden with stick flowers and a crooked sun.

She blinked.

“I thought you threw that away,” she said softly.

“I archived it in a pocket realm,” Nongmin said, averting his eyes. “For preservation.”

She laughed. Not the amused kind. The moved kind. The kind that made his chest tighten. She took the drawing with delicate fingers, and for a long time, didn’t say anything. Just smiled at it.

“You really were a strange boy,” she said fondly.

“I still am,” he admitted.

“Mm. Except now, you hide it under layers of cosmic awareness and imperial posture.”

Nongmin hesitated. “Is that… bad?”

“No,” she said. “But it’s okay to peel those layers back. Just a little. Sometimes.”

There was a pause. A long, comfortable one.

“…Do you want to braid my hair?” she asked suddenly.

He froze. “No.”

“Too complicated?” she teased.

“It’s illogical,” he grumbled. “My dexterity is meant for qi threads, not vanity rituals.”

She handed him the comb.

He stared at it like it was a sword made of scorpions. Still, after a moment, he sat behind her, carefully parting her hair like he’d seen her do countless times. His hands were clumsy, his movements stiff, but he tried.

Each pass of the comb brought with it memories of being small, of sitting exactly like this, of her humming old lullabies as the world outside faded away.

And for a few rare minutes, Nongmin didn’t feel like the Emperor. He didn’t feel like the wielder of the Heavenly Eye. He just felt like a son again.

She didn’t comment on the crooked braid. Crooked only because of his emotions. Xin Yune only leaned back slightly, resting her weight against him.

“I missed this,” she murmured. 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t trust his voice. 

But in his heart, cold, calculating, and often unbearable even to himself, he etched the moment down as sacred.

He would remember this night, not through a vision, not through a reality thread, but for what it was: something he’d lived, awkwardly, honestly, and with all the childlike love he could summon. 

It was love.

Plain and simple.

But just as complex as it was incredible.

116 Have a Heart

By the time dusk arrived, we found ourselves on a lake, drifting in a canoe. An old man, hunched yet steady, paddled with a bamboo stick, pushing us gently across the shimmering water. The sun, half-submerged on the horizon, painted the sky in streaks of orange and violet, its reflection stretching across the rippling surface like molten gold.

Xin Yune sat across from me, wrapped in a thick shawl, her once-pristine skin now wrinkled and paper-thin. Her frame, once full of life and energy, had withered, her form frail, almost delicate. She had grown thinner throughout the day, the vibrance in her eyes dimming ever so slightly. It was happening fast. Too fast.

I wanted to complain about how unfair the Emperor was—to have all this knowledge, all this power, and yet let this happen—but I held my tongue. I wasn’t going to ruin these last moments for her.

Instead, I sighed, leaning back slightly. "How are you feeling?" I asked.

Xin Yune, still gazing at the sunset, smiled faintly. "Still pretty."

I let out a small laugh. "Yeah," I said, shaking my head. "But not pretty much alive."

She turned her head just enough to glare at me, though her expression was more amused than angry. "Hey," she snapped, "don’t kill me off too soon just yet."

I smirked. "No promises."

"If I die, I die," Xin Yune said as she rested her eyes, her voice light like the breeze gliding over the lake. "That’s life."

She opened them again after a moment, staring at the pink and gold sky like she was trying to commit it to memory. Her smile was soft, unfazed by the weight of her words.

"You’d at least let me try to resurrect you if you do end up kicking the bucket, right?" I asked, only half-joking. Honestly, I’d still try even if she rejected my offer.

It was selfish, but…

"Sure," she answered easily, as though giving me permission to try something I was doomed to fail at. “Don’t blame Nongmin if you failed, though. That would be childish.”

I leaned forward, elbows on knees. "You must be pretty confident with your son’s precognition, huh?"

She chuckled dryly. "We should stop referencing His Majesty as my son," she said, her tone shifting. "It’s improper."

"Yeah… your son," I murmured, trying not to smirk.

"A slip of the tongue," she waved her hand lazily, as though brushing away something irrelevant. But her eyes lingered a second too long on the setting sun. "I do miss the little boy in him."

I tilted my head, watching her for a moment. "Hey," I said. "Are we in love?"

Xin Yune turned her head to me slowly, blinking once, twice, before staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

"You’re an idiot," she said flatly, then gave a faint huff of a laugh. "Don’t get carried away."

I rubbed my chin. "Just checking."

She sighed. "It’s not love. Not that grand or poetic nonsense. It’s just…" She looked up again, watching the clouds take on deeper hues. "I started to care. You started to care. Sympathize. Feel. That’s it. Don’t dramatize it. Don’t make something big out of it. We care, just because."

I looked at her sideways. "So, it’s not falling in love. It’s falling into caring?"

She nodded. "Caring for a fellow human being. And that’s enough."

I leaned back again and closed my eyes for a moment, the creaking of the canoe beneath us like a lullaby to the conversation.

"Yeah," I murmured. "That’s enough."

We stepped off the canoe as the old man gave us a solemn nod and pushed off again, disappearing into the growing dusk. I offered my arm to Xin Yune, and she took it without a word. Hers was thinner now, frail almost, and the wrinkles around her eyes told me the end wasn’t far.

I led the way, and we walked slowly, our footsteps quiet against the stone path bordering the lake. We didn’t say anything for a few moments, just listening to the crickets and the ripple of the water.

Then she asked, “Since I shared part of my story, don’t you think it’s your turn?”

I hesitated. I could’ve cheated. I had access to the memories of David_69, but that guy wasn’t me, not really. That identity felt borrowed, artificial, stitched into me like a costume. What felt real, what truly was me, was David from Earth. Earth David. So, I decided to be honest.

“I used to be a teacher,” I said.

She tilted her head slightly, curious. “Ah? You taught disciples?”

“No, not quite… I was an elementary school teacher.”

That gave her pause. “Elementary? A junior Sect, then?”

“Er… not a Sect. Just… young children. I taught music, arts, physical education, and health.”

Her expression brightened in understanding, or at least what she thought was understanding. “A multidisciplinary Sect Master! “Sound arts, image crafts, body cultivation, and medicinal studies. A fourfold mastery. You truly must’ve been a Sect Master. No wonder your aura is strange! The harmonization of disparate schools of thought... fascinating!”

I choked a little on my own spit, trying not to laugh. “That’s… not what I meant.”

She was already too deep in the misunderstanding. “What’s the name of your Sect?” she asked excitedly. “What are your founding principles?”

“Oh dear god,” I muttered.

“God?” She raised a brow, probably assuming I meant some obscure deity. “So it’s a theocratic order! I must say, I’ve never heard of such a composition. You must’ve kept a low profile to avoid clashing with the orthodox branches.”

I sighed in surrender, raising one hand to the heavens in a helpless gesture. “The name of my Sect… is the Department of Education.”

She placed a hand over her mouth, stunned. “So daring. To name your Sect after the concept of education itself! That’s truly ambitious. What are your cultivation principles? Enlightenment through instruction? Strength through childhood discipline?”

I rubbed my temples. “You have no idea how ironic all of that sounds.”

She squeezed my arm affectionately, still chuckling to herself. “You’re a strange one.”

“Says the woman who might die tonight and still made time to bicker about Sect names.”

“True,” she admitted. “But it’s been fun. And in this final chapter, maybe that’s all I wanted.”

We spent fifteen minutes like that—me trying to clarify, and her over-interpreting everything. Every time I said something simple, she layered a dozen assumptions over it like frosting on a disaster cake. Eventually, I just gave up.

In the end, the only thing she really absorbed was that my “Sect” helped mortal children earn the qualifications they needed for a better future. She even praised the structure.

“We have something similar in the Empire,” she said, chewing on a candied hawthorn skewer she must’ve been saving from her Storage Ring as we walked. “A merit-based path, still rare, but growing. Sikao Biaoji was a product of it.”

“That… actually makes me feel better,” I said. “I still don’t like the guy, seems like a weird dude. Okay, this is out of the blue, but hear me out. Just out of curiosity… How much lifespan does a cultivator gain each time they break through? As the Divine Physician, I reckon you know the answer. Books are really stingy when it comes to answers. Hopefully, this wasn’t too confidential of an information you’d rather not share.”

She turned to me then, eyes narrowed with faint suspicion. Specifically, it was a look of half suspicion, half worry, and a pinch of professional curiosity.

I gave her a knowing smirk. “Just curious. Promise.”

The answer to my question was probably around Class Four or Class Three knowledge, but it didn’t seem to be that big of a deal.

“Mmhm,” she said, unconvinced. Still, she continued, “It varies, of course. Cultivation method, talent, even fate plays a part. But in general, the higher you climb, the longer you live.”

There was something strange in her tone; it was soft and cautious, as if she were measuring her words. I didn’t press. Not yet.

“Do you want to live longer?” she asked. “It’s out of my… personal curiosity. Promise. Just to get this out of the way. I am not judging, since everyone wants to live longer after all, and there was no exception.”

It was a simple question, and she didn’t really need to explain herself. But it knocked something loose in me, especially with how she worded it. I thought about my disciples. No, more like students. About Ren Xun’s lazy jokes. Gu Jie’s brooding face. Lu Gao’s cynical comments. Hei Mao’s ever-stubborn eyes.

“I want time,” I said. “To make things right.”

Xin Yune took a moment to think. Her face, now lined and softened with age, turned contemplative under the shade of the umbrella I still held for us. It was strange, holding an umbrella like this… almost domestic. Almost sweet.

Then she finally spoke. “Every cultivation realm adds years to your lifespan. It's one of the core blessings of the path, though many forget that's all it really is—borrowed time.”

I nodded. “So what's the math like?”

She gave me a tired but patient smile. “For Martial Tempering, the First Realm… you get anywhere between six to ten years more. It's minor, barely noticeable.”

“Okay…” I tried to do the math in my head, but she continued without waiting.

“Mind Enlightenment, the Second Realm, gives anywhere from ten to a hundred years. The gap’s bigger because some people truly awaken late, and others barely scrape by.”

“Huh. Then I suppose the Third?”

“Will Reinforcement and Spirit Mystery, the Third and Fourth Realms, are more consistent. You gain at least a hundred years, but most cultivators enjoy a lifespan not less than a thousand when they reach this level. It's when the soul and will begin to manifest tangibly.”

That tracked. I was in Will Reinforcement and, well, the idea of living a thousand years used to feel terrifying. Now it felt… tight. Like it wasn’t nearly enough. Of course, it wasn't like Mana Road Cultivation would give me extra lifespan, but learning this talk about lifespan did give me a new perspective.

She kept going. “Soul Recognition, Essence Gathering, and Bloodline Refinement—Fifth to Seventh—these are where things get mythical. One to three thousand years of life is common.”

“Three thousand… Each Realm?” I muttered, imagining the sheer time. Entire civilizations rise and fall in less.

“Yes. Each. But,” she said, looking up at me from under her wrinkled brow, “you can still die. Time runs long, not forever.”

“What about the next tiers?”

“Heart Path, World Path, and Endless Path, the Eighth to Tenth… that’s when you begin touching the divine. A hundred to ten thousand years, depending on comprehension. It’s less about power and more about resonance with the world.”

My lips pressed together. “So time itself starts being subjective.”

“Exactly.”

I exhaled slowly. “And the Eleventh Realm?”

Xin Yune smiled faintly. “Perfect Immortal. The moment one steps into that realm… time no longer holds sway. Lifespan becomes an outdated concept. You are no longer walking the river... you’ve become the river.”

That one made me pause. I imagined it. Endless time. A still mind. A perfect state of being.

But I’d already seen people in power. And none of them ever seemed peaceful.

She was quiet after that. Her feet shuffled lightly against the dirt path. Her face had truly begun to age now. She looked like someone’s grandmother. Someone’s teacher. But also still herself, Xin Yune.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

“For what?” she asked.

“Thank you for spending your time with me,” I said quietly. “Really. I’m glad I spent my time, when I was most vulnerable, with you. If I had to slum it with the Emperor or bottle it all up, I’d probably do something… regrettable.”

Xin Yune shook her head, her voice soft and dry like worn silk. “No,” she said. “It’s me who’s thankful.”

“Hush now,” I whispered, lifting a single finger and pressing it gently to her lips. "Let me win this argument, pwetty pwease?"

She raised an eyebrow at that. Amused. Uncertain. But she didn’t pull away.

We were back in the abandoned warehouse, the one with all of Nongmin’s precious, secured hoard. It took her a second to realize. We’d been too deep in conversation—about life and death, love and care, about Sect names that weren’t really Sects and my failures to translate the word ‘elementary’—to notice the journey back.

Then, from the shadows, a familiar figure emerged.

The Emperor.

Nongmin.

I blinked, tilted my head. “Huh,” I said casually, “he really appeared.”

Xin Yune turned to me, eyes narrowing, then back at Nongmin with growing wariness. “What… is happening?” she asked, guarded now, the healer’s warmth in her voice cooling.

I scratched the back of my head. “Well, I had this idea,” I began, “about storming this place with you. Imagine it: what would happen if I came here, with you in tow, intent on raiding the place, grabbing whatever loot I could, screaming at the top of my lungs that I deserved compensation?”

Xin Yune arched a brow, still watching her son. “And… he saw it. Through his Heavenly Eye.”

“Probably,” I shrugged. “In some alternate reality, I convinced you to raid this place with me. We were loud. Chaotic. I was yelling threats into the void—‘If Nongmin doesn’t want me to steal his stuff, he better show up by X time,’ and to make things more interesting, I might’ve said I’d make his mom dance on a pole if he didn’t.”

Xin Yune broke into a sharp cackle. The kind that aged her and made her eyes sparkle all the same. Her laughter echoed around the dusty beams of the warehouse.

“That part was a lie, by the way,” I added quickly.

Nongmin said nothing. He just stood there, arms behind his back, posture rigid, face unreadable.

“Yep,” I concluded, pointing at him. “To surmise, I basically summoned the Emperor here.”

Silence reigned for a heartbeat too long.

Then Xin Yune said, “You’re insane.”

“Only marginally.” And relatively. I’m pretty sane, I think.

She gave a faint chuckle, eyes still locked on her son. “Well, my boy… looks like you’ve been summoned.”

Nongmin’s gaze finally shifted from me to her. And I saw it. That flicker. That twitch. That tiny, fleeting crack in his imperial mask.

He didn’t say anything.

But then again, maybe he didn’t have to.

I had a feeling we were about to talk.

Or fight.

Maybe both.

Nongmin just stood there. Quiet. Stoic. Probably recalculating all his life decisions.

“So yeah,” I said. “To sum it up… I basically summoned the Emperor. Cool trick, right?”

And now? I threw the ball into his court.

I gently squeezed Xin Yune’s hand and raised it, linking our fingers deliberately. I imagined it—intent laced with absurd conviction—that I’d confess my undying love to his mother, ask her hand in marriage, and proclaim myself the next Emperor if Nongmin wouldn’t at least open up to her about how he really felt. I imagined myself making demands in an alternate future.

“If you won’t tell her how you feel,” I thought sharply, aiming the spike of the idea directly into his soul if that was even possible, “then I’ll become your new father. Emperor Da Wei has a nice ring to it, no?”

I internally counted in my head up to ten, and then I would act on what I just imagined.

Nongmin’s left cheek twitched.

Score.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said slowly, his voice tight. “For caring for this worthless son of yours. I’m… sorry. I’m sorry this son of yours cannot find a way to extend your life.”

I probed with my Divine Sense and detected no lies. He meant it.

“There is nothing to be sorry for,” Xin Yune said softly. “You’ve given me more than enough.”

I wasn’t done messing with him. I imagined it again, intent sharp and playful. If he still stayed cold, I’d force him to do a chicken dance right here and right now!

He stared straight at me, deadpan.

“I’ll never do a chicken dance,” he said.

Xin Yune blinked. “What’s… a chicken dance?”

Nongmin stiffened. “Just a poor joke from this barbarian.”

“Correction,” I said, placing a hand on my chest, “a Paladin… barbarian? Meh… Never mind that. We’re not here for that.”

Nongmin's expression shifted just slightly to fatigue, maybe. Maybe something else.

Xin Yune didn’t press. Instead, she stood a little straighter beside me, leaning ever so slightly into my arm.

We were at the edge of something. An ending, maybe, or the last act of a play whose script we’d all long abandoned. But as long as I had the stage, I figured I might as well improvise.

“So what is it gonna be? You know what? I have an idea.”

Nongmin stood still, silent as ever, watching me with his usual impassive gaze. His robes barely shifted despite the open air of the warehouse, his stance as regal and unreadable as ever. But I knew better. Beneath that cold exterior, I had already struck a nerve.

I smirked and raised a hand, crooking a finger toward him. "Come here."

I wasn’t polite about it. If anything, my tone was closer to summoning a dog than addressing an Emperor. A lesser man would have drawn his sword on me, thrown me in a dungeon, or worse. And yet, he walked forward, measured, and graceful. Obedient, even.

Surprising.

He could have dismissed me as an insolent fool, as he had done countless times before. But he loved his mother more than he loved his pride. And that, I could respect.

As soon as he stepped within reach, I pulled out a small glass vial from my robes. Chibi Perfume. A ridiculous name for an even more ridiculous effect. Truly a gimmick item. Without hesitation, I uncorked it and sprayed it directly into his face.

Nongmin flinched, blinking rapidly as the mist settled over him.

Xin Yune, standing just beside me, frowned. “Did you just poison my son?”

I turned to her, feigning offense. “What do you take me for? A brute? I wouldn’t poison him in front of his aged mother.”

Her lips pressed together, unimpressed. “So you would poison him behind my back?”

I shrugged. “I make no promises.”

Nongmin’s lips twitched, but he remained silent. That was the thing with him. He rarely spoke unless necessary, but I could see it. That exasperation, that faint annoyance simmering beneath his blank stare as he watched his mother and me exchange barbed words like old friends.

With a small sigh, I turned to Xin Yune. This was the real reason I had summoned the Emperor here.

I stepped closer and raised my hand. The air around us shifted, charged with an unseen energy. I called upon Divine Word: Life.

Golden-green light shimmered at my fingertips before flowing into her, tendrils of light slithering beneath her skin like rivers of vitality. I wasn’t some grand immortal who could cheat true death as defined by this world, but I could fortify life, strengthen what remained, make it brighter, and make it last as much as possible.

Xin Yune inhaled sharply. Wrinkles smoothed, her frail body filled out. The years peeled away, and before me stood the woman I first met, the same one who had scolded me with that sharp tongue of hers, who had challenged me at every turn.

She lifted her hands, staring at them in awe. “You…” She looked up at me, eyes wide. “What did you do?”

I smirked. “Fixed you up.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a much smaller problem.

I turned, and there stood Nongmin, except he was no longer the towering, regal Emperor. He was tiny, barely up to my waist, his Imperial robes shrinking to fit his chibi form. A perfect miniature version of himself, complete with furrowed brows and a scowl that looked far less intimidating on a child’s face.

I let out a low whistle. “Well. That worked better than expected.”

Xin Yune, finally registering the sight, blinked. And then… she burst out laughing.

Nongmin, our little Nongmin, glared up at me. “What,” he said, voice still as even and composed as ever despite the absurdity of his appearance, “did you do to me?”

I crouched down to his level, grinning. “You’ve been chibified, Your Majesty. Temporary effect. Probably. No guarantees.” I was lying. He’d revert to his original shape.

His eye twitched.

I clapped a hand on his tiny shoulder. “But enough about you. Your mother’s looking great, huh? If I choose to keep her by my side, we could probably do a round and a few more.”

Nongmin coughed, looking terrified.

Xin Yune chuckled, brushing her newly restored hands over her arms, as if still getting used to her rejuvenated form. But her gaze softened as she looked at her son: now small, now vulnerable.

I stood up, brushing the dust off my sleeves. “Listen, kid,” I said, deliberately using the word kid just to rile him up. “I can’t stop the inevitable. I can’t rewrite fate. But I’ll be damned if I let you sit on that throne, drowning in politics, while your mother’s still here.”

Nongmin stiffened.

I grabbed his tiny hand, small enough now that my fingers wrapped entirely around his wrist, and pulled it forward. Then, just as firmly, I grabbed Xin Yune’s hand and pressed them together.

“Go and have fun,” I ordered. “She’s your mother. She doesn’t have much time left. And as her only son, it’s your job to make her happy in her final days.” It was not my job to make her happy.

Nongmin looked up at me with the same unreadable face. But I knew him well enough by now. He understood.

I patted his head, grinning. “Have a heart, little Emperor.”

For the first time in a long, long while, he didn’t argue.

115 Unforeseen Date

"Walk with me," Xin Yune said.

I obliged.

Like a gentleman, I offered her my hand. She took it without hesitation, linking her arm with mine as we stepped out onto the quiet streets.

It was dawn. The sky was painted in soft hues of orange and lavender, the air still crisp with the lingering chill of night. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few early risers preparing for the day—vendors setting up stalls, street sweepers brushing away the remnants of the night before.

As we walked, she talked.

She told me about her childhood, about a time before the Grand Ascension Empire bore its current name. Back then, it was simply the Grand Empire.

“There were nine daughters,” she said, her voice light but nostalgic. “And never a son.”

I glanced at her. "Nine princesses, huh? That must’ve been… eventful."

Xin Yune chuckled. "Oh, you have no idea."

She went on, speaking about the old days, the power struggles, the traditions, and the expectations placed upon them. But as she spoke, there was one thing she seemed particularly passionate about.

She scoffed. "You know, my ancestors weren’t really that good with names."

I raised an eyebrow. "That’s what bothers you?"

"Of course it does!" she said dramatically. "Grand Empire? How unimaginative. And then later, Nongmin just slapped Ascension onto it, like that suddenly made it grander. And don't even get me started on the city names. Imperial Capital? Really? That wasn’t even a name!"

I chuckled. "I take it you would’ve named things differently?"

She gave me a look. "Oh, absolutely. I had an entire list when I was younger."

I smirked. "Do I even want to know?"

"You do," she assured me. "But I’m saving that for another time. If I get another time."

That last part made my smirk falter, just a little.

But she just kept walking, smiling up at the morning sky like she hadn’t just reminded me that this was her final day.

"I could bring you back to life, you know?" I offered, watching her carefully.

Xin Yune shook her head. "No need," she said simply. "I've already made peace with it. And besides, you’d probably fail."

I frowned. "You sound awfully sure about that."

She smiled, but there was something knowing behind it. "Lifespan is different from life force," she remarked.

I raised an eyebrow. "And that means…?"

She sighed, clearly expecting me to not get it. "I am going to die, and that's it."

I opened my mouth to respond, still trying to make sense of it, but before I could, she reached over and pinched my side.

"Ow…" I stopped. "I just want to ask a question. No need to resort to violence."

Actually, I didn’t feel a thing.

More importantly, she didn’t get hurt either.

My Reflect ability should’ve rebounded the force back at her, but I had instinctively forced my willpower to suppress it. Huh. Maybe I was getting better at controlling it.

"Don’t interrupt," she scolded, pulling her hand back with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes but stayed quiet.

She continued, "Even your healing spells wouldn’t be able to bring me back."

"How are you so sure?" I challenged.

"Because my son already foresaw it."

That made me pause.

Before I could press further, she suddenly pointed ahead. "Oh, look! That food stall’s open too early."

I followed her gaze. The scent of something deep-fried filled the air. The vendor had just finished setting up, stirring a wok filled with oil. A sign on the side read something about… fried crickets.

Xin Yune’s eyes lit up. "I love fried crickets."

I stared at her. "...You what?"

I paid for her fried crickets, watching as Xin Yune took them with an almost childlike glee. She popped one into her mouth, crunching down with a satisfied hum, then sighed wistfully.

"You know, I miss the simpler days," she murmured between bites.

She leaned against the food stall, gazing at the warming sky. "Back then, my son wasn’t even called Nongmin," she said absentmindedly.

I paused. "Wait… what?"

She let out a rueful chuckle. "I can’t even remember his true name anymore."

That caught me off guard. I frowned. "What do you mean you don’t remember?"

Xin Yune exhaled, idly shaking the paper bag of crickets as if searching for the best one. "The day my son ascended as Emperor, he cast away his true name into the void," she said. "A form of defense."

I narrowed my eyes. "Defense against what?"

She shrugged. "Divine Scrying, fate manipulation, soul bindings—things that could be used against him. Without a name, such things lose their hold."

I absorbed that for a moment. "...And the name Nongmin?"

"It means farmer or peasant, I think. He never really explained himself when he picked the name." She smiled, popping another cricket into her mouth. "Quite the irony, isn’t it?"

I wasn’t sure whether to scoff or nod in admiration. That was the kind of poetic nonsense an Emperor might pull.

Xin Yune continued, speaking as though recalling a story that had only happened yesterday. "In my youth, I got involved with a commoner," she said, her voice dipping into something softer, almost nostalgic.

"It was a time of strife," she went on. "The Empire was deteriorating, and no one knew what the future held. But despite that, I fell in love."

Her gaze flickered toward me with a knowing look, as if daring me to say something. I didn’t.

She huffed. "The Empire was so stupidly patriarchal back then. None of my sisters was even considered eligible for the throne. But of course, our children? That was a different story."

She rolled her eyes. "Ridiculous, really."

Then, as if flipping a switch, she suddenly lit up. "Oh, but my son… oh, you should’ve seen him! Even as a child, he was brilliant."

And just like that, she was a proud mother bragging about her child’s achievements.

"He could read by the time he was two," she said, gesturing grandly with a fried cricket in hand. "He wrote his first political treatise at five! The ministers thought he was some reincarnated sage! Ha!"

I listened, arms crossed, as Xin Yune launched into a full recounting of her son’s greatest exploits, all while happily munching on fried crickets like they were the greatest delicacy in the world.

Eventually, Xin Yune finished her fried crickets, brushing off the crumbs with a satisfied sigh.

"Alright," she said, looking up at me expectantly. "Tanghulu."

I stared at her. "What?"

She gestured vaguely toward a street vendor a few stalls down. "I want tanghulu."

I sighed but walked over to buy some. Naturally, she made me pay. Again. I grabbed one for myself too. By then, the sun had risen higher, and the streets were beginning to bustle. The heat was already creeping in, so I led us toward a shaded alleyway where the air was cooler.

She took a bite of her candied hawthorn and hummed. "Mmm… I haven’t had this in ages."

As she chewed, she continued reminiscing.

"When I first pushed my cultivation," she said, twirling the stick between her fingers, "I never really intended to be the Divine Physician."

I listened quietly, watching as she reveled in her memories.

"I was just desperate at first. I had a child. I had to survive." She licked the sugar glaze off her lips. "But then… the more I studied, the more I understood. And before I knew it, people started calling me the Divine Physician. Of course, after healing just enough… people."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Ridiculous title. I just didn’t like seeing people die if I could help it."

As she spoke, I noticed something.

She was aging.

It wasn’t sudden, nor was it drastic. But it was there. Moment to moment, her features were subtly shifting. The smoothness of her skin gave way to faint lines. The vitality in her eyes dimmed just a little. If not for her makeup, it would have been more obvious.

When we first stepped onto the streets, she could have passed for someone in her twenties, maybe early thirties. Now? Now she looked… older. Middle-aged.

Even knowing what she told me earlier, actually seeing it happen made my stomach feel oddly heavy.

Xin Yune either didn’t notice or simply didn’t care. She kept eating her tanghulu, eyes soft with nostalgia.

By the time noon arrived, we found ourselves in a small eatery, seated at a modest wooden table by an open window. The scent of sizzling oil and fragrant broths filled the air, mingling with the lively chatter of other patrons.

Xin Yune leaned back, stretching slightly before resting her chin on one hand. "You had a question earlier," she said. "Something about lifespans and life force?"

I nodded. "Yeah. What exactly is the difference?"

She exhaled, tapping a finger on the table. "Lifespan is the distance between life and death. It’s the length of time a person is supposed to exist before the world naturally reclaims them. Life force, on the other hand, is the power that fuels a living being, the energy that lets them move, think, breathe."

I frowned. "So if someone runs out of life force, do they die?"

"Not necessarily." She shook her head. "If you run out of life force, you’ll weaken, maybe fall into a coma, but you can recover. Lifespan, though… once that’s gone, that’s it. You don’t recover lifespan."

I clenched my jaw. "That makes things difficult."

Xin Yune glanced at me. "You’re thinking about someone specific, aren’t you?"

I sighed. "I’ve lost people. Precious ones."

She said nothing, waiting for me to continue.

"I tried to bring them back," I admitted. "But it didn’t work. I don’t know why."

Xin Yune studied me carefully before leaning back with a soft hum. "If it were natural death, I could tell you why. But… you said they didn’t die naturally, right?"

I shook my head. "They were killed. By Shenyuan."

At that, her expression darkened. "Ah… him."

There was a weight in her voice, something more than just knowledge.

I narrowed my eyes. "You know something."

Xin Yune drummed her fingers against the table. "There’s a reason why Shenyuan was called the One True Death," she said. "People feared him, not just because he could kill, but because when he killed someone, they stayed dead."

A chill ran down my spine.

She continued, her voice quieter. "It’s not just power or skill. There’s something else at work. I’ve heard rumors… theories. Some say he developed a secret technique that allowed him to access an afterlife—or some form of it."

I frowned. "An afterlife?"

She nodded. "Or something close to one. If true, then it’s possible he could cut off the remaining distance of a person’s natural lifespan, even if they hadn’t reached it yet."

I felt my fingers tighten into fists.

"So what you’re saying is," I muttered, "he didn’t just kill them, he erased their remaining lifespan?"

Xin Yune sighed. "That’s the theory, anyway. But if it’s true… well, it would explain why you couldn’t bring them back."

A heavy silence settled between us.

Just then, the waitress finally arrived at our table. She gave us a polite smile. "What will you two be having?"

Xin Yune didn’t miss a beat. "Noodles. Something spicy."

I exhaled slowly, loosening my fists. "Same for me."

As the waitress left, I turned back to Xin Yune.

I pressed Xin Yune with a few more questions until I was satisfied. It seemed there was a different form of afterlife in this world, something beyond reincarnation, being stuck as a ghost, or any of the folklore I’d heard. That complicated things.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. "So what you’re saying is, there’s an entire other realm where the dead might go, and Shenyuan somehow had access to it?"

Xin Yune nodded, sipping on her tea. "If anyone knows more, it’d be Nongmin."

Of course, it’d be him.

She continued, a little too cheerfully, "So you should talk to him soon. And don’t kill him."

I scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, copy that," I smirked. "I’ll still touch him, though."

Xin Yune’s lips curled into an amused smile. "Oh, absolutely. That boy needs disciplining."

A thought crossed my mind, and I couldn't resist. "Should I make him call me daddy?"

Xin Yune nearly choked on her tea. Then she threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, I would pay to see that!"

We kept laughing as our food arrived, spicy noodles in large steaming bowls.

Lunch was filled with ridiculous banter and dirty jokes, some so foul that even the old men at the next table gave us side-eyes. Xin Yune, despite her graceful bearing, was an absolute menace when it came to raunchy humor. I wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned.

By the time we finished eating, the sun had climbed higher, and the heat made the streets shimmer. With nothing better to do, we resumed our walk, wandering through the bustling city like we had all the time in the world.

Xin Yune waved her hand, and an ornate umbrella appeared from her Storage Ring. She opened it with a practiced flick, casting a cool shadow over both of us. Before I could say anything, she wordlessly passed it to me.

I took the umbrella, holding it over us as we walked.

After a few moments of silence, I asked, "Why are you spending your last day with me and not your son?"

She smiled wistfully. "Because my son said I’d have more fun with you."

I scoffed. "See? He’s clearly just using you to get to me." I gave her a side-eye. "While you’re still alive, why don’t you kick his ass and teach him a lesson yourself?"

Xin Yune suddenly turned to me, her expression unusually serious. "Never in my life have I ever laid a hand on him. And I won’t do so now."

I blinked. I hadn’t expected such a firm response. "…That was a poorly worded joke. Sorry."

She waved it off. "It’s fine." Then, after a moment, she spoke again. "Can I confess something to you?"

I raised a brow. "If you’re about to confess your love, I should warn you, you’re this close to walking past my strike zone." I held up two fingers, barely an inch apart.

Xin Yune burst into laughter, shaking her head. "That was an awful joke."

"I know," I admitted. "But go ahead. Whatever it is, I won’t tell anyone."

She exhaled, glancing up at the sky. "My son will probably see this conversation anyway, sooner or later," she mused. "His Heavenly Eye makes sure of that."

I frowned. "That thing lets him spy on people?"

"Not exactly," she replied. "But he sees more than most. Still, it should be fine."

I tilted my head. "Then what’s this confession about?"

Xin Yune looked down at her feet for a moment, then at me. Her voice was softer this time.

"I’m scared for my son," she admitted. “It’s just so scary…”

Xin Yune’s voice softened as she continued, her steps slow and measured.

"Do you know what it feels like to know a person… and then, suddenly, not recognize them anymore?" she asked.

I shook my head.

She exhaled. "The Heavenly Eye granted Nongmin wisdom and intelligence beyond his years. When he was young, he was just like any other child, he’d laugh at stupid jokes, play games meant for his age. But as the years passed, and the Heavenly Eye grew stronger, his personality started changing."

I frowned.

To some extent, I could sympathize. My absurdly high charisma stat made me act more mischievous and cranky than I normally would have been back on Earth. It wasn’t mind control, exactly, but stats did influence behavior. I was confident that the current me was vastly different from who I used to be.

But the Emperor’s case… it was more extreme.

Xin Yune sighed. "I’m scared for him," she confessed. "Not of him, but for him. I fear he might lose himself entirely."

I glanced at her. She was changing again. Aging. The once youthful woman from this morning now looked old enough to pass for my mother.

She suddenly stopped walking and turned to face me. Her expression was serious, more than it had been all morning.

"Can I make a request?"

"Sure," I said.

She took a breath. "Can you save my son from himself?"

I hummed, rubbing my chin. "Okidoki. I’ll adopt him, have him call me daddy, we’ll play catch…"

"I am not joking," she interrupted, her voice sharp.

I let out a small chuckle and firmly grabbed her palm. "For a one-night stand, you sure are making things tough for me."

114 Every Second

Fifteen minutes later, I was still completely sober. Xin Yune, on the other hand, was hammered.

Her cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, her eyes hazy with drunken amusement. She swayed slightly in her seat, grinning at me like I was some grand joke the heavens had played on her. Every time she laughed—somewhere between a chuckle and an undignified snort—it was followed by her slapping the table hard enough to shake the plates.

“You…” She pointed at me, her finger wobbling in the air. “You cheat!”

I raised an eyebrow. “I cheat?”

Xin Yune nodded vigorously, her hair slightly disheveled from her movements. “Yes, yes! Thou art… most unfair! Most wicked!” she declared in an archaic tone, the kind of formal speech used in old scriptures.

I leaned forward. “You’re speaking in archaic.”

She blinked at me, squinting as if she were only now realizing it herself. Then she waved a hand dismissively. “’Tis but the truth! I am drunken, yet thou remaineth clear of mind! ’Tis most vexing!”

I exhaled. “You’re a Divine Physician. You have the cultivation to resist alcohol. So how exactly did you end up like this?”

Xin Yune grinned triumphantly, as if waiting for me to ask. “Aha! ’Tis mine own craft! A method devised by none other than myself!” She thumped her chest proudly, then winced.

I frowned. “You created a technique… to get yourself drunk?”

“Verily!” she announced, then proceeded to explain. Apparently, she had devised a method that involved striking a dozen key meridians in sequence, temporarily weakening her body’s natural resistance to alcohol. In short, she deliberately sabotaged her own cultivation for the sake of getting drunk faster.

I stared at her. “That’s either genius or the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Xin Yune only smirked. “It worketh.”

That much was obvious.

I leaned back, considering. “Can you do it to me?”

She tilted her head, lips curling into a smirk. “Dost thou trust me so?”

I hesitated for only a moment before nodding. She had gained my trust, whether I admitted it openly or not.

Xin Yune clapped her hands together. “Splendid! Then, brace thyself!”

Without further warning, she struck at my meridians. Or rather, she tried.

The moment her fingers made contact, a sharp crack rang out.

Xin Yune let out a small yelp, retracting her hand as she cradled her fingers. Her mouth formed a perfect "O" as she stared at her injury. Then, rather than expressing pain, she just… started laughing.

“Aha—haha—!” She doubled over, shaking with mirth, still holding her broken fingers.

I sighed. “You broke your hand.”

Xin Yune, still giggling, wiggled her injured fingers as golden light wrapped around them. Within moments, the bones set back into place. She flexed her hand and then, as if nothing had happened, turned back to me with that same drunken grin.

“Very well,” she said, clearing her throat, “since my methods hath failed, thou must do it thyself.”

And just like that, my lesson in self-sabotaging meridian began.

Impressively, it was easy to learn. It didn’t even take me five minutes to get it down.

In fact, I managed to improve it. Instead of having to strike my meridians each time, I modified the technique so I could lower my alcohol tolerance with a mere thought. A convenient trick, if utterly useless for combat. But hey! At least now, I could get drunk.

Of course, this was only possible because of my absurdly high stats and my Will Reinforcement cultivation.

At the Martial Tempering stage, a cultivator would reach the peak of mortal physical ability at the bare minimum, raising all physical stats significantly. Then, at Mind Enlightenment, a cultivator would achieve breakthroughs in their mental faculties, allowing synergy with Martial Tempering and further raising all stats across the board. The exact distribution varied depending on one’s cultivation method, but the principle remained the same.

In my case, at Will Reinforcement, a cultivator could use their sheer willpower to influence their body, thus allowing me this feat…

I ran a quick internal check. My meridians were adjusted. My alcohol resistance was suppressed. I should get drunk now, right?

I looked at Xin Yune, who was still grinning lazily at me, her face flushed, her eyes unfocused but gleaming with mischief.

“It should work, right?” I asked.

She nodded, speaking in that archaic tone again. “Verily, 'tis bound to work. No doubt, thou shalt be swaying anon.”

I exhaled, grabbing my cup. She grabbed hers.

We clinked them together.

And then, we drank.

Thirty minutes later, two drunks were fooling around outside the next brothel.

That was me and Xin Yune.

Superpowered drunks? That sounded like trouble, potential disaster, even. And yet, for some reason, we were having just enough of a good time without being destructive. A miracle in itself.

Xin Yune, by suppressing her cultivation, allowed herself to truly enjoy the moment without worrying about self-restraint. I, on the other hand, was too paranoid to suppress my stats completely. Instead, I relied on my willpower, making my subconscious prioritize not being harmful.

It worked.

The Will Reinforcement realm was truly miraculous. Most cultivators controlled their power consciously, but at this stage, I could manifest my willpower as an instinctive directive. It meant I could finally let loose—really let loose—without the constant fear of crushing something or someone by accident. And that, I had to admit, was a godsend.

So there we were, shoulder to shoulder, swaying slightly, singing a lewd shanty at the top of our lungs while we drank from our tankards.

The brothel was alive with celebration. Courtesans and paramours laughed, danced, and drank alongside us. It wasn’t the kind of lewd revelry one might expect. It felt more like a wild tavern party, filled with laughter and camaraderie rather than debauchery.

Somewhere between the third and fourth round, Xin Yune had the brilliant idea of buying out the entire brothel for the night.

Somehow, I still couldn’t remember how I got pulled into that plan.

"Pour the wine, don’t spill a drop,
Oops—too late, now close up shop!
A slap, a chase, a broken chair,
Guess I won’t be welcome there!"

"Raise your cups, don’t lose your head,
Who’s that sleeping in my bed?!
A wink, a grin, a big mistake,
Run before we both wake!"

The shanty echoed through the night, a rowdy, off-tune mess of slurred voices and wild laughter. We stumbled through the brothel, making a mess of just about everything—knocking over chairs, spilling drinks, and nearly toppling a decorative vase that some poor soul managed to catch at the last second.

Last time I had this much fun? Probably when I graduated from college.

And just like back then, the night didn’t stop there.

From the brothel, we wandered into the next inn, then the next tavern, drinking and singing all the way. At some point, we joined a tavern brawl, not by fighting, but by healing everyone involved so the fight could go on longer. The brawl only ended when everyone was too exhausted to throw another punch.

The last thing I remembered clearly was laughing, singing, and stumbling through the streets with Xin Yune.

Then, somewhere in the chaos of the brawl, the drinks, and the questionable life choices… my hand landed somewhere it definitely shouldn’t have.

Xin Yune’s rear.

And she kicked me. Hard.

To be absolutely clear, it was an accident. I swear on my life, cross my heart, hope to die. But try telling that to a drunk Divine Physician with very quick reflexes.

One moment, I was standing. The next, I was somehow airborne.

After that, everything was a blur.

I woke up feeling… relatively sober. My head didn’t hurt, but my body was heavy with exhaustion.

I yawned. Memories of the night flickered through my mind like broken puzzle pieces: singing, fighting, drinking, and laughter.

Then I turned to my left.

There, sharing the soft bed with me, was Xin Yune. Naked.

I looked down.

I was naked too.

I exhaled slowly.

“…Ah,” I muttered.

I got honeypotted in the end.

Funny thing, I saw it coming and didn’t put up any resistance.

Xin Yune’s kick, I mean.

The moment my drunken hand landed where it shouldn’t, I knew exactly what was about to happen. But instead of dodging, blocking, or even defending myself, I just accepted my fate. Maybe it was the drinks. Maybe it was the fact that it had been far too long since I’d been this intimate with someone, accidental or not.

Either way, I took the hit. And now, here I was.

The room was a complete disaster.

Cups, bottles, and plates were scattered across the floor. The table had somehow lost a leg, and a curtain had been half-torn down. Our clothes had ended up in completely opposite corners of the room—how that happened, I had no idea. It looked less like two people had shared a night together and more like a small battle had taken place.

I sat up, rubbing my temple just as Xin Yune stirred beside me.

She yawned, stretching her arms above her head before blinking lazily at me. I stared at her. She stared back.

Then, she smiled.

“Don’t make anything big out of it,” she said casually. “Just saying that in advance.”

“Sure,” I replied.

She sat up, brushing her messy hair back before glancing around the room. “Thanks for having fun with me last night.”

My lips twitched. Something about that phrasing made me pause.

Slowly, I stood up, beckoning my Lofty Jade Proposition robe from the floor with Willpower, wrapping it around myself with practiced ease. It used quite a bit of mana, but convenient. My Wandering Adjudicator armor followed from the Item Box, securing itself under the cosmetic item. As I adjusted my sleeves, a thought struck me, one that made my expression darken.

“…Was this the Emperor’s plan?” I muttered.

Xin Yune tilted her head, still blinking sleepily. “Hm?”

I turned to her fully. “Using my affair with you as justification to string me along? That I…” I exhaled. “That I slept with his lover?”

For a moment, Xin Yune just stared at me.

Then, she burst out laughing.

Not a small chuckle, not a polite giggle—full-on wheezing laughter.

“Oh… oh my heavens…” She wiped at her eyes. “You’re so paranoid it’s almost funny.”

I frowned, watching her struggle to breathe through her own amusement.

She gasped between laughs, shaking her head. “What’s next? In your moment of vulnerability, you were taken advantage of by a woman’s touch?” She grinned at me, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And I am that woman? I am so flattered!”

I stared at her.

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t mocking.

It was just… genuine teasing.

Either she was really heartless, or she really didn’t think this was a big deal.

Xin Yune finally caught her breath, wiping away a nonexistent tear. “Oh, please,” she sighed. “I’m not the Emperor’s lover.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Wife?”

“Not that either.”

I studied her carefully. If she had been lying, I would have scoffed.

But my Divine Sense told me otherwise.

"I'm his mother," Xin Yune said.

I choked on my own saliva.

Coughing, I sat back down, staring at her in absolute disbelief. "What?"

Mother of whom? The Emperor's?

She laughed again, clearly enjoying my reaction. "What, is it so hard to believe?"

I narrowed my eyes. "I don’t see any resemblance."

That just made her laugh harder.

"You really do wear your heart on your sleeve," she said, wiping at her eyes. "It’s endearing."

I frowned, still trying to wrap my head around her claim. "We have a high enough cultivation to suppress any extraneous reaction," she continued, "but you? You don’t even try." She smiled at me, a little softer this time. "That’s what I like about you, Da Wei. You reciprocate sincerity with sincerity."

I pressed my lips together.

She wasn’t wrong.

For all my paranoia, for all the tricks and deception I had dealt here in the Imperial Capital, I had yet to find any cracks in her sincerity. And that, more than anything, was what unsettled me.

Still, I argued, "I can do a poker face."

"Yes, you do," she admitted with a smirk. "And yet, you still remind me of my late husband."

I paused, staring at her. "...The late Emperor?"

She shook her head.

I blinked. "How many husbands did you have?"

"Only one," she said simply. "A commoner."

That meant the late Emperor’s bloodline flowed through her, the mother. Not the father. It was an interesting development I didn’t expect to see in an Empire, further giving more color to the Emperor’s rise to power.

“My father isn’t exactly keen on my… let’s say rebellion, it sounds fitting, doesn’t it?” added Xin Yune. “It was fun, while it lasted. Hopefully, you aren’t disgusted with this widow…”

“You are a fine woman,” I answered. “For example, you have a big personality.”

“Funny,” Xin Yune stood up, stretching her arms above her head, completely unbothered by her own nudity. Her skin was pristine, untouched by any marks of age or imperfection. With a wave of her hand, her robes flew into place, wrapping around her as if dressing was merely a thought, not an action. “Always with the jokes…”

She turned to me, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Want some more?" she asked, her tone flirtatious.

I placed a hand on my hip, giving her a flat stare.

She smirked. "Your loss." Then, with a softer expression, she added, "But thanks nonetheless. You might just be my first and last one-night stand."

I frowned slightly.

There was something in her voice, something just beneath the carefree exterior. It wasn’t mere fickleness or reckless indulgence. There was a weight to it, a hint of finality.

I studied her for a moment before asking, just to be sure, "Are you dying?"

She met my gaze without hesitation.

"Yes."

I exhaled. "...How?"

Xin Yune smiled, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "I’m at the end of my lifespan." She turned away, summoning a mirror from her storage ring and fixing her hair with practiced ease. "Today’s my last day."

I watched as she adjusted her robes, making herself look presentable with a deliberate elegance.

"So…" I said slowly, "your suggestion of me hitting the Emperor is enforceable, then?"

Xin Yune chuckled.

"Can you just hit him for me?" she asked, tilting her head at me through the mirror’s reflection. "I don’t know, use a slipper?"

I huffed, shaking my head. "That’s ridiculous. I’d rather you hit him yourself…"

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Such a jester you are." Then, after a pause, she sighed. "My son is… complicated."

"Complicated" was an understatement.

This was next-level.

A honeypot? Nope. This was something more. Something worse.

For the first time, I realized just how weak I was when faced with sincerity, especially the kind that came from good intentions.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You know," I muttered, "I am being manipulated. And so are you."

Xin Yune glanced at me from the mirror, carefully pinning her hair up with a delicate jade ornament. She dusted a light layer of powder over her face, blending it effortlessly before inspecting herself with a critical eye.

To her, this really was complicated.

She didn’t respond to my complaint, maybe because she didn’t disagree.

I sighed again, heavier this time. "Damn it."

Xin Yune finished her little beautification routine, tilting her head slightly before nodding in satisfaction. She flicked her hand, and the mirror vanished back into her Storage Ring.

Then, she turned to me.

"Well?" she asked with a small smirk. "How do I look?"

I stared at her for a moment before deadpanning, "Pretty alive."

Xin Yune laughed at my remark before replying in archaic noblespeak, her voice smooth and playful.

"To further expound, I am living every second of it."

I raised an eyebrow. "Really leaning into the dramatics, huh?"

She simply smiled, adjusting the jade hairpin in her hair. There was something both lighthearted and heavy in her words, like she was savoring every breath, every moment, knowing exactly how fleeting it was.

I watched her for a second longer before exhaling through my nose.

"...Yeah. I can see that."

113 To Bad Ideas?

"Let's go see the Emperor," I said.

Xin Yune nodded and pulled out a talisman. A moment later, space twisted around us, and we warped out of the facility.

The world snapped back into place.

We were back at the abandoned warehouse.

"So, to the Emperor it is," Xin Yune remarked. Then, with a casual shrug, she added, "Please don't kill His Majesty. A lot of people are gonna suffer if you do."

I glanced at her, frowning.

What?

Was she taking hostage of the common folk or something? Why the playful tone?

I could tell… this wasn’t her seducing me or anything like that. She was being too carefree.

Just what was her angle?

"I'm just a Will Reinforcement cultivator," I told her.

She snorted. "We both know you’re more than that, Defeater of Hell’s Gate, God of War, Great Protector."

I stopped walking.

I narrowed my eyes. "What was that about?"

I vaguely remembered the Emperor calling me God of War before I lost consciousness, but I hadn't paid much attention at the time.

Xin Yune tilted her head. "The Emperor wields the Heavenly Eye. He can see into the past, present, and future. Within the Empire, the Emperor is omniscient."

I studied her carefully.

Again, not a lie.

It was getting suspicious how genuinely honest Xin Yune had been.

I exhaled sharply and turned to Xin Yune. "Are you gonna lead me to the Emperor or what?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything, I changed my mind.

"You know what?" I said. "Let's put off the meeting. Find an eatery first."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? The Defeater of Hell’s Gate needs a meal break?"

I ignored the jab. There was just too much to consider after the big reveal she had thrown at me.

Omniscient? The Emperor?

That had to be an exaggeration.

…Right?

"I know a place," Xin Yune said, suddenly tugging at my sleeve and pulling me forward.

Fifteen minutes later, I was staring at an incredible spread.

Lobster. Turkey. Roasted duck. Exotic fruits and vegetables. Plates upon plates of steaming, fragrant dishes. All arranged neatly in a private room with a large window overlooking the nightlife of the Empire.

The streets outside were alive, with glowing lanterns and bustling people making it feel like the city had never slept.

I sat down, still processing everything.

Xin Yune smirked. "So. Eat first, existential crisis later?"

I picked up my chopsticks, tasted a bit of everything, and then slowly set them down.

I had no appetite.

Meanwhile, Xin Yune was eating without holding back, savoring every bite. She looked completely at ease, enjoying her time. Every bit of an eccentric, huh?

If we had met under different circumstances, I could imagine us becoming friends rather quickly.

I leaned back slightly, watching the city lights flicker outside the window. Hopefully, I wasn’t overthinking it, but something about what she had said earlier—

"Omniscient within the Empire."

—made me uneasy.

She hadn’t said it as praise. She meant it literally.

And if that were true… then the Emperor probably had the answers to my predicament.

I might not be able to see the future, but I could deduce one thing. If he were so omniscient, then he’d be able to put me under his thumb one way or another. And if not outright control, then at least ensure he could manipulate me to some extent.

He’d already proven his competence by orchestrating my collision with Shenyuan.

It was highly likely that the Emperor had also given orders to his son, Ren Jin, to make sure that Ren Xun would accommodate my every whim, giving me the illusion of free choice while steering me exactly where he wanted me to be.

Simply put, the Emperor was the kind of person who always knew which buttons to push.

…But why?

Maybe I was exaggerating things at this point, but couldn’t he have just… befriended me?

Just asked me sincerely for help?

I couldn’t see myself refusing if he had simply appealed to my emotions and rewarded me fairly. That was what had been baffling me ever since I realized the Emperor’s scheme.

Across the table, Xin Yune paused mid-bite, watching me.

“What’s the problem?” she asked.

"Nothing," I said.

Xin Yune didn’t look convinced.

"You’re ruining the mood," she replied, pointing at me with her chopsticks.

I exhaled through my nose, leaning back slightly.

"And," she added, tilting her head, "you’re cracking your knuckles every breath you take."

I blinked and looked down at my hands.

I cracked my thumb, then my index finger.

…Huh.

I hadn’t even noticed.

I glanced back at her, thinking the world was really ironic.

"What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shook my head. "Nothing."

This must be karma.

For all the food trips I had gone on while someone else was stuck brooding.

For that one time, I shooed Gu Jie away when I was too busy playing with goldfish to listen to her. Well, I should have been more tactful at that time.

Ah… memories.

Xin Yune cracked the lobster shell with a casual flick of her fingers, using her cultivation as if it were second nature.

"There is no ‘nothing’ nothing," she insisted, pointing the lobster claw at me. "Talk."

I ignored her and changed the topic instead.

"I thought cultivators in the higher realms despised eating mortal food," I said, gesturing to the table.

A lot of the spread was just that, mortal. There was nothing special about it. No rare spirit ingredients. No divine beast meat.

Xin Yune took a bite of her lobster and shrugged.

"There’s only so much in life I can enjoy," she said simply.

Then, after a brief pause, she added, "And I’m homesick."

"Me too," I admitted.

Xin Yune glanced at me but didn’t say anything.

I sighed, resting my elbows on the table. If you had thousands of years’ worth of memories crammed in your head, you’d feel homesick too.

It was strange—how I still identified more with the old me from Earth rather than the me from LLO, despite the latter having lived through multiple lifetimes of experience.

Made me think…

Was it the eldritch thing-y in my head messing with me?

Or was I just overthinking it?

Was it the Emperor’s fault that my friends were dead?

Or was it all on Shenyuan’s hands?

…Or maybe…

It was my fault all along.

I exhaled sharply.

Ah. I shouldn’t go there.

The blame game was an unwinnable game.

Across the table, Xin Yune studied me carefully.

"What is it, really?" she asked. "What’s troubling your mind?"

I didn’t answer.

She set down her chopsticks. "You were so eager to meet His Majesty just a moment ago. What made you change your mind?"

I met her gaze.

"You should know," I said. "For all I care, your presence here is just another scheme of the Emperor. Another script, tailored to appeal to me."

Xin Yune’s eyes widened slightly, then she smirked.

"You’re being paranoid," she teased. "There’s no such thing."

I leaned forward, fingers tapping against the table.

"How could I believe that?" I asked.

For the first time since I met her, Xin Yune’s expression faltered.

Then she smiled, but it was a painful smile.

"Then ask me," she said softly.

She held my gaze, unwavering.

"You have a special power that lets you tell if it’s the truth or a lie," she added. “Don’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes. "How would I even know if you have an ability that lets you lie so cleverly that I wouldn’t notice?"

Xin Yune shrugged. "Then ask me and determine it for yourself."

She set her hands on the table, leaning forward slightly. "What pains you greatly?"

I exhaled slowly, cracking my knuckles. This time, I was more conscious of it.

I guess this was the best I could get to therapy, huh?

Sarcasm aside… There was no real harm in telling her what I felt. In a way, she represented the Emperor, didn’t she?

"I’ve thought about it," I admitted.

"If I stood face to face with the Emperor… would I be able to hold myself back? To not kill him, I mean? To not pop his head off?"

Xin Yune nodded. "Go on."

I scoffed inwardly.

If it were another person, they’d have lost their mind already, screaming about treason or conspiracy, as if I was even a citizen of this damn Empire.

I couldn’t even confide in Jiang Zhen about this. Not because he wasn’t trustworthy, but because he was simply weak. If the Emperor fancied it so much, he could crush Jiang Zhen instantly.

But me?

I’d be fine.

Confiding in what could pass as an uncertain ally, or even a probable enemy, was dangerous.

But at this point? I had nothing to lose. 

It wasn’t like I was scared of the Empire.

I survived a Hell’s Gate alone. Yeah, leaving Lu Gao hanging was terrible, but the gals should be able to take care of him. That was besides the point.

What could the Empire possibly throw at me that would be worse than a Hell’s Gate? Frankly speaking, they could probably do a lot worse, considering they have the power of an entire super civilization backing them and they were on home ground.

Still, I spoke.

I told Xin Yune about my experiences in the Hell’s Gate, about Shenyuan, about my time in the Black Forest.

I told her about the bonds I lost that day.

I told her that while I had vented a lot of my frustration on smashing demons, a lot of my bloodlust remained, hidden, suppressed.

Xin Yune tilted her head, her gaze unreadable. “Do you want vengeance?”

I scoffed. “Not so much vengeance.”

I leaned back, rubbing my temples. “I’m just… angry.”

And I knew why.

Killing the Emperor—no, even considering it—wasn’t just about me. It wouldn’t stop at me.

Even if I could handle the backlash, the common folk wouldn’t.

I could argue all day that I was raising a revolution, that I was freeing the world from a tyrant.

But the Emperor wasn’t exactly a tyrant.

Oh, he was plenty tyrannical in how he handled cultivators, sure.

But what about the rest of the world?

My knowledge was limited. The things I knew could have been propaganda, either altered or twisted.

But still.

I had seen Yellow Dragon City, Ironmoor City, and the Imperial Capital.

The Imperial Capital, not so much, but enough.

Too few examples to truly judge him, but…

I had seen how Ren Jin, his son, worked.

And that…

That was complicated.

I rubbed my chin, finally realizing the truth.

I didn’t really want the Emperor dead.

But I was pissed at him. So much.

Xin Yune watched me, then smirked. “Then just hit him once.”

I stared at her. “What?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. “It should be fine. Maybe just a slap in the face to make it more humiliating?”

The quiet hum of the restaurant around us only amplified the absurdity of the conversation we were having. I narrowed my eyes, my voice low but firm.

"I have to ask, just to be sure… Was it the Emperor who put this in your head? Were you reading from a predetermined script? Is this all part of his manipulation?"

Xin Yune shrugged. "I wouldn’t really know if His Majesty was manipulating me," she admitted, "but I stand by what I said. If you can’t kill him, then hitting him should be fine."

I activated my Divine Sense, scanning for any trace of deception. Nothing. She was telling the truth. But still, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

"You’re serious?" I asked, incredulous. "Wouldn’t you be in trouble for suggesting something so… crass?"

She didn’t even look up. She simply picked up her chopsticks and continued eating, as if we were discussing the weather.

"If you kill His Majesty, the Empire would be in deep trouble," she said casually. "As the Empire’s benefactor, you shouldn’t do that."

She had a point. A frustratingly valid point.

Xin Yune picked her chopsticks up and returned to eating. "I can bring people back to life, sure. But I’m not so sure I could bring back an Empire. If the Emperor, who promised to live forever, were to die—even once—there would be chaos. Civil war would break out. And the Empire you saved from the imminent demon invasion via Hell’s Gate would be prey to other nations."

Yeah. That had been one of my concerns too. The Seven Imperial Houses had a history drenched in blood. If the Emperor fell, they would definitely tear the Empire apart.

Xin Yune suddenly tilted her head, as if remembering something. "Oh, if you’re thinking of hitting him, maybe do it in a private place."

I let out a long, exhausted sigh. "That’s not really the issue here."

"I think if you ask him to let you hit him as compensation for all the trouble he caused you, he’d agree."

I scoffed. "I’m starting to think hitting him just once is too light."

Xin Yune didn’t even flinch. "Then do it twice."

I gave her a look. "What exactly is your job again?"

"A freelancer."

"A freelancer physician," I corrected.

She smiled. "A freelancer Divine Physician, actually. So yeah, I think I could patch His Majesty up just fine, even if you beat him within an inch of his life."

I stared at her, stunned into silence.

Xin Yune blinked, then quickly corrected herself. "I didn’t tell you to beat him within an inch of his life."

I shook my head. This woman was impossible.

“Hear me out, I didn’t mean to boast, but I could bring people back to life too,” I said, leaning back against the chair.

Xin Yune raised an eyebrow. “Or so I’ve heard,” she replied, setting down her chopsticks.

I gestured across my neck with a slicing motion. “Maybe I could just… you know… in closed doors.” I paused for effect. “And then revive him? Do you think he’d agree?”

This time, it was her turn to stare at me like I was the ridiculous one. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but instead of immediately shooting me down, she actually looked thoughtful. A rare sight.

Then she sighed, letting her shoulders slump as she finally put down her chopsticks for good. “I need a drink,” she muttered.

I nodded in agreement. “I think I’d want some too.”

Xin Yune raised a hand and waved over a waiter, her tone casual but firm. “Bring us your most expensive liquor.”

The waiter hesitated for only a moment before bowing deeply and hurrying off.

I watched him leave before glancing at Xin Yune. “Didn’t take you for a heavy drinker.”

“I’m not,” she admitted, resting her chin on one hand. “But you’re making me reconsider that stance.”

I smirked. “So you’re saying I drive people to drink?”

“Among other things.” She exhaled through her nose. “Honestly, do you really think that’s a good idea? Killing the Emperor just to revive him?”

I shrugged. “Depends. I mean, if he agreed, then technically it wouldn’t be murder.”

Xin Yune pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s the worst justification I’ve ever heard.”

“Well, you were the one who told me to hit him. I’m just escalating.”

She gave me a deadpan look. “There’s a difference between slapping a man and outright executing him, Da Wei.”

I chuckled, but even as I did, I felt the weight of my own words settling in. The truth was, I didn’t really know what I wanted. Did I want revenge? Did I want closure? Did I just want to punch something—someone—until this gnawing frustration inside me went away?

The waiter returned with a beautifully crafted bottle, pouring two glasses of what smelled like potent alcohol.

Xin Yune picked up her glass and held it up. “To bad ideas.”

I grabbed mine and clinked it against hers. “To bad ideas.”

And then we drank.

Could we even get drunk? Maybe there was a trick to it? Nah... we'd find a way... Maybe...

112 Where’s My Armor?

"So, where to now?" I asked, glancing at Xin Yune.

She smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Follow me."

Without another word, she strode forward, weaving her way into the depths of the city's backstreets. It didn’t take long before I found myself trailing behind her through a maze of hidden alleys. The paths twisted and turned in ways that would have normally confused me, but with my Divine Sense combined with my Will Reinforcement cultivation, I quickly understood the function of the wards and hidden talismans surrounding us.

The pathways weren't just random: each turn followed a deliberate pattern, like a lock being undone. The spiritual energy of the formations shifted subtly as we moved, almost as if acknowledging Xin Yune’s presence.

Eventually, we arrived at what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. Inside, the place reeked of dust and neglect. The wooden beams were cracked, and the faint scent of rust lingered in the air. But I had seen enough deceiving appearances to know better than to judge too quickly.

Xin Yune turned to me, a knowing smile on her face. She seemed to be waiting for something.

I frowned. "What is this supposed to be?"

She simply shrugged. "Wait for it."

A second passed.

"Wait for it," she repeated, her grin widening.

I opened my mouth to retort, "Is this some kind of elevator—"

Before I could finish my sentence, a burst of rainbow lights erupted beneath our feet. The brilliance swallowed us whole, the sensation eerily familiar. It reminded me of the warp function from the Floating Dragon. Damn, I missed that boat.

The next moment, the light faded, and we were somewhere completely different.

A hidden facility stretched before us, filled with people clad in black and white robes. Each figure wore a veil and a strange headcap, giving them an air of secrecy. The atmosphere buzzed with restrained energy, an undercurrent of purpose in every movement.

I exhaled slowly, taking it all in. This wasn’t just some forgotten corner of the city. No, this place had a purpose. If I had to compare it to something, it felt like a weapons or technology research facility, the kind of place where breakthroughs happened in secret, away from prying eyes.

The people moving through the corridors carried themselves with quiet efficiency, their black-and-white robes contrasting against the metallic sheen of the walls. Strange devices flickered with ethereal energy, while subtle runic inscriptions pulsed beneath my feet, reinforcing the structure with layers of enchantments.

This wasn’t just a hidden bunker. It was a nerve center, a place where the cutting edge of technology and cultivation met.

Xin Yune gestured forward with a flourish. “How about a little tour?”

I crossed my arms. “What’s this place?” My voice was edged with impatience. “I just want my damn gear back.”

My Wandering Adjudicator armor never really needed repairs in the first place. It had been crafted with self-repairing properties, one of the few things I could rely on. It wasn’t something just anyone could tamper with.

Xin Yune sighed, as if indulging a stubborn child. “It’s only been a few days since you fell unconscious, you know.”

I blinked. “A few days?”

“With precision... sixty-eight hours and fifty minutes.” Her voice was smooth, matter-of-fact, yet there was a certain satisfaction in her tone. “And before you ask, yes, I was here the whole time.” A beat passed before she added, “I watched you sleep all the way.”

I frowned.

There it was again... that deliberate wording. She was doing this on purpose, trying to make me uncomfortable. And yet, for all her teasing, she had gone out of her way to accommodate me. That much was clear.

Shaking off the weirdness of the moment, I focused on the more pressing matter. “So, my armor?”

“The researchers found something interesting.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “The self-replicating durability of your armor—they estimated it would take about a week to fully repair itself. But thanks to a little technological boost, they managed to accelerate the process. You can pick it up whenever you want.”

I nodded slowly. That was good news.

But then she smirked. “Of course, you could just take your armor and go.” She tilted her head, watching me. “Or you could take this once-in-a-lifetime chance to see something very few ever do.”

I exhaled through my nose, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. She made it sound like she was doing me a grand favor. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. The civilization here was vastly different from what I had grown up with, and even more advanced in certain ways than the world of LLO. Seeing how far their technology had come—how it compared to everything I knew—was tempting.

“…Fine,” I muttered. “Show me.”

Xin Yune grinned, eyes twinkling. “That’s the spirit.”

Should I be pissed that my gear had been touched by others? Absolutely.

But I bottled it up, saving it for when I finally confronted the Emperor.

I was so damn close to losing all of my patience and just storming his palace. But that would be biting off more than I could chew. As much as I wanted to, it wasn’t the right time.

I had priorities.

The thought of wanting to go home had become more and more of an afterthought. The way I saw it, life in this world was going to be terrible for me, no matter how much power I held. What was the point of strength if the bonds I formed could be so easily severed by death?

It wasn’t like I could just turn them into immortals and be done with it.

I exhaled through my nose and pushed the thought aside. For now, I needed my armor.

“Before you give me the grand tour,” I said, crossing my arms, “I want to pick up my armor first.”

Xin Yune nodded without hesitation. “Understood. I’ll lead the way.”

The rooms around us were divided by wooden and paper doors, each adorned with intricate paintings. Some depicted grand battlefields, others landscapes of serene beauty, and a few bore symbols I didn’t recognize. The artistry was impressive, but it also felt like each door held a story, a meaning only the people here would understand.

Xin Yune explained as we walked. “The area we’ve been warped into is randomized. No two arrivals share the same location.”

I raised a brow. “Why?”

“For security,” she replied casually. “Every personnel here is keyed into a specific room meant for them. If someone unauthorized ended up here, well…” She trailed off with an amused glint in her eye. “Let’s just say they wouldn’t get very far.”

Clever. If someone tried infiltrating, they’d be lost in a labyrinth before anyone even knew they were inside.

As we turned another corner, a question pressed at the back of my mind. “What’s your position here?” I asked. “Or rather, what exactly are you to the Empire?”

She smiled. “A freelancer.”

I scoffed. “So, what? You wouldn’t die for the Emperor or anything?”

Xin Yune let out an actual scoff of her own. “I’m a physician, not a soldier.” She flicked her sleeves, as if the idea was absurd. “Besides, like I said, I’m a freelancer. I work for the Emperor... not worship him.”

Again, not a single lie.

We walked past another set of rooms before curiosity got the better of me. “How old are you?”

She grimaced, whipping her head toward me like I had just committed an atrocity.

“That,” she said, her voice flat, “is overly rude.”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously?”

“You should be careful asking women their age,” she chided, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

I sighed, letting the topic drop. By now, we had already made several turns. This place really was a maze.

“…Alright,” I said, shifting the subject, “how old is the Emperor, then?”

Xin Yune didn’t hesitate. “He should be 1,268 years old.”

I frowned. “That’s oddly specific.”

She gave me a knowing look. “By the way, that information is Class 2 knowledge.”

I grimaced. Beyond doubt, this woman was an eccentric.

As we walked, Xin Yune continued her rambling, as if enjoying the sound of her own voice.

“The Emperor is actually fairly young compared to the real powerhouses that move the world,” she remarked. “You should be a bit nicer to him.”

I scoffed. “Nicer?”

She nodded, an amused glint in her eyes. “He’s basically an infant compared to you.”

That made me pause. “Compared to me?” I frowned. “And just how old do you think I am?”

Xin Yune hummed, her gaze flicking over me as if she were analyzing my very essence. “Well,” she said, tapping her chin, “based on your body’s condition, its structure, and the residual traces of energy within your cells… I’d estimate you’re somewhere between twelve thousand to thirteen thousand years old.”

I almost laughed in her face. She was way off.

Or so I thought.

Then it hit me.

From David_69’s perspective… that wasn’t so much the case.

I had been playing LLO since its beta phase, back when the game was still in its infancy. Fun days. The devs and mods actually made an effort to communicate with the player base, so it was pretty engaging.

The problem?

They were a bunch of chunni.

It was fun while it lasted.

However, at some point, the game devs, mods, and staff just stopped communicating with the player base. If not for their monthly update of the game, most of the players at that time would have suspected them either dead or just gone.

But still…

“Am I really that old?”

“Yes,” remarked Xin Yune in a deadpan tone. “You are an old bastard.”

I groaned inwardly. If I started taking game-time into account, converted into lore-accurate years, Xin Yune’s estimate wasn’t as ridiculous as I first thought.

Before I could respond, we arrived at a room. A single six-by-six-meter space, plain and unassuming. At its center stood my Wandering Adjudicator armor, displayed on a wooden dummy. A researcher circled it, sketching something in a notebook.

I frowned. Had they been studying my armor?

Before I could say anything, the researcher finally noticed us.

His gaze snapped to me, then to Xin Yune.

And then he sneered.

"Do you mind?" he snapped, his voice dripping with irritation. "I was in the middle of actual research before you two came stomping in here like a pair of buffoons."

I raised an eyebrow.

He wasn’t done.

"First, some glorified physician drags in some unconscious nobody, and now you’re back? Again?” He scoffed. “I swear, people have no respect for academia these days."

I exhaled slowly. This guy was testing me.

With a quick sweep of my Divine Sense, I immediately understood what I was dealing with.

This guy was at the Seventh Realm. His cultivation was a notch higher than Hei Yuan, the elder of the Shadow Clan.

Speaking of the Shadow Clan, I needed to find a way to resurrect the ones in my Storage Ring. Their deaths still weighed on me, and while my priorities were stacked, I wouldn’t just leave them behind. If there were a way to bring them back, or at the very least, help those who remained, I’d take it.

I had already tried reviving Ren Xun and Gu Jie when I was with Ren Jingyi... and I failed.

I hadn’t even tried bringing out the Shadow Clan elders’ cadavers at the time.

It wasn’t the right moment. Not with Ren Jingyi watching.

If I were in her place, seeing strangers come back to life while the ones I cherished remained dead… I’d be heartbroken.

I clenched my jaw and pushed the thought aside. Priorities.

Xin Yune, either unaware or just ignoring my internal conflict, gestured lazily at the researcher.

“This is the Imperial Grand Scholar, Sikao Biaoji,” she introduced with a smirk. “While his fighting ability is inferior even to someone at the Fifth Realm, he’s got a really good head on his shoulders.”

I scanned him properly with my Divine Sense, seeing past his veil. Middle-aged, at least in physical appearance, though that meant little in a world where cultivators could live for centuries.

I didn’t care much about his credentials. I just wanted my armor.

Without another word, I stepped forward and reached out toward my Wandering Adjudicator—

Smack.

I stopped, staring at my now-reddening hand. 

Sikao Biaoji had taken out a fan and slapped my hand away.

That was… frankly impressive.

There was probably something special about the fan.

I slowly turned to look at him.

He sniffed, completely unfazed.

Seriously, dude?

I narrowed my eyes. “I promise,” I said slowly, “you don’t want this beef.”

Sikao Biaoji looked at me with ridicule, like he couldn’t believe what he just heard.

“What beef?” he scoffed. “I don’t even eat beef! Haven’t touched it since I reached the Fourth Realm!”

I sighed. This guy…

He gave off the impression of a proud researcher... the type who would take offense when questioned, or someone who would throw a tantrum for interrupting his precious work. Or maybe both.

Too bad for him, I wasn’t feeling polite.

I reached forward and grabbed my Wandering Adjudicator armor, ignoring the increasingly furious look on his face.

Before he could protest, I stuffed it into my Item Box in a single motion.

And then, before his very eyes, I equipped it directly from the Item Box.

The armor settled onto my body, seamlessly hidden under the cosmetic item I was already wearing.

Sikao Biaoji’s face twisted in disbelief. Then fury.

Snap!

His fan lashed out again, aiming for my hand.

This time, I was ready.

I switched my TriDivine ability from Divine Might to Divine Flesh. With sheer willpower, I redirected the reflected damage back into his fan.

Crack.

His precious fan snapped in half.

Silence.

The scholar stared at his now-ruined fan. Then at me. Then back at his fan, like he was struggling to process what just happened.

I ignored his dumbfounded look and asked, “Did you tamper with my armor?”

His expression darkened. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he snapped. “I didn’t even manage to disassemble it! You think I wouldn’t if I could?! I was lucky the spell formations managed to accelerate their self-repair!”

I studied him.

No lies.

That was enough for me.

Since he hadn’t messed with my armor, I’d be gentle with him.

I activated Divine Word: Rest.

The effect was instantaneous.

Sikao Biaoji collapsed, falling asleep without resistance.

The Sleep status ailment was absurdly powerful in its own right, since few had complete resistance to it.

I turned to Xin Yune.

“I changed my mind,” I said flatly. “I don’t want that tour anymore.”

111 Skull’s Temptations

Lu Gao opened his eyes.

Sand. Everywhere.

The golden dunes stretched endlessly before him, the wind sweeping grains into the air like a fine mist. Heat radiated from the ground beneath him, and his skin burned under the merciless sun. His last memory flickered like a cruel dream... pain, searing pain. Blue flames licked at his flesh. A woman with pink hair. Another with blonde. And then...

That monster.

Twin moons, each with grotesque, unblinking eyes. Arms sprouting from maws too horrific to describe. A nightmare given form, a horror that refused to fade from his mind. And then, it had shifted and warped, until it took on a humanoid form, its many faces merging, twisting, staring.

A sharp pang shot through Lu Gao’s skull. He groaned, gripping his forehead as he forced himself upright. His limbs felt like lead. Half of his clothes had been torn away, leaving his chest exposed to the elements. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his ribs protesting with every movement. He coughed, his throat raw, and then...

Blood. Thick and dark, it splattered onto the sand beneath him.

"Cure."

The word was spoken softly, but with clarity. A spell. A familiar one.

Lu Gao’s gaze snapped toward the source of the voice. A woman stood before him, her pristine white robes barely disturbed by the wind. Blonde hair framed her serene face, and her emerald eyes gleamed with quiet focus. The warmth of healing magic spread through him, soothing his battered body, knitting wounds that he hadn't even realized he had.

But Lu Gao did not relax. His instincts screamed at him... Enemy! Enemy!

He tried to move, to push himself away, but a firm grip landed on his shoulder.

His vision spun as he turned his head. Another woman, this one with striking pink hair and deep crimson eyes, gazed down at him. There was no hostility in her expression, but there was something unreadable, something that kept him frozen.

His breaths came shallow. His mind reeled. Where was he? Who were they? His body refused to obey his frantic will, leaving him vulnerable beneath their scrutiny.

Then, they spoke.

Not to him. To each other.

Their words were fluid, unfamiliar. A language he had never heard before.

He could only watch, caught in a daze, his heart hammering in his chest as the two women conversed in hushed tones, their gazes occasionally drifting toward him.

Slowly, the memories seeped into Lu Gao’s mind, filling the gaps left by pain and exhaustion.

The battle... he had fought alongside his Master. Himself, under the effects of Divine Possession, had stood beside these two women. There was familiarity in their movements, an ease in their coordination that suggested they weren’t just allies by chance.

They knew his Master.

The realization brought little comfort. His Master had many secrets, too many for Lu Gao to unravel. And right now, that knowledge did nothing to explain where he was or why he was still alive.

Before he could dwell further, a voice cut through his thoughts.

A deep, rasping cackle.

"Do you want power?"

Lu Gao blinked. The voice hadn’t come from the two women.

It had come from...

His gaze dropped, and there it was. A skull was strapped to the pink-haired woman’s waist, yellowed by sand and cracked with age. Its hollow sockets flickered with eerie blue flames.

"Riches? Bitches?"

Lu Gao felt his headache worsen.

The flames within the skull’s eyes flared as it continued, its words flowing in a Qi-infused cadence that vibrated through his bones.

"Tell me, mortal... what is your deepest desire? Strength beyond measure? Wealth untold? Love eternal? I can grant it all. You need only do one thing..."

The temperature around Lu Gao seemed to drop. A weight pressed upon him, unseen but suffocating.

"Accept me as your Master!"

A long silence stretched between them. The skull waited. The two women said nothing. The wind howled across the dunes.

Lu Gao, however, could only think of one thing.

"If I could talk right now, I’d tell this damn skull to fuck off."

His expression remained blank, unenthused, and unimpressed.

The skull was undeterred.

"Ah, I see. You are a man of refined taste. Mere words are not enough to sway you," it mused, the blue flames in its sockets flickering with amusement. "Then let me show you!"

The temperature around Lu Gao shifted again. This time, it wasn’t a chill but a creeping sensation, like invisible fingers crawling up his spine. His mind buzzed as an image was forced into his thoughts: visions of a throne carved from the bones of his enemies, treasures beyond imagination piled at his feet, and beauties draped around him, their gazes filled with adoration.

"You can have it all. Wealth. Power. Women. A life free of hardship. Accept me, and I will carve your destiny into the stars themselves!"

Lu Gao would have groaned if he had the strength. Instead, he shut his eyes, doing his best to ignore the damn skull.

Meanwhile, the two women were caught in a heated discussion, their voices rising in a language he couldn’t understand. The pink-haired woman’s expression darkened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she gestured sharply toward him. The blonde-haired woman’s response was calm but firm, her emerald gaze unyielding as she countered.

From their tones alone, it was clear that they were arguing.

Lu Gao’s headache worsened. He was stuck between a tempting, scheming skull and two women locked in an intense debate, neither of whom seemed aware of the spiritual artifact trying to manipulate him.

"Still hesitant? Ah, you are truly wise! But you see, I am not just offering power. No, no, no. I am offering freedom. You will never bow again, never suffer indignity. You will be the one others kneel to!"

Lu Gao’s patience, thin as it already was, was now nonexistent.

"If I could move," he thought, "I’d punt this damn skull into the desert."

"Ah… Such hesitation. Such doubt!" the skull drawled, its eerie blue flames flickering with mockery. "You are wise indeed, but let me illuminate your path, my future king."

Lu Gao’s jaw clenched.

"Look upon them," the skull continued, its tone shifting into something archaic, almost regal. "These women... You see them arguing, don’t you? Do you know why? Because they are my slaves. Yes, mine. And they bicker because they are unworthy, unable to comprehend the true grandeur of my will. But you… You, Lu Gao, are different. You can have them too... if only you accept me."

Lu Gao inhaled slowly, his eyes drifting toward the two women.

They were still engaged in their heated discussion, their voices rising and falling in a language he didn’t understand. The pink-haired woman looked especially agitated, her crimson eyes ablaze with frustration. The blonde-haired woman remained calm but resolute, her expression unyielding. They seemed completely unaware of the scheming skull.

Lu Gao then realized something.

He could hear the skull, yes. But now, he could reply.

A thin thread of Qi connected him to the skull, a link subtle enough that he hadn't noticed it earlier. His fingers twitched as he tested the connection, his mind whirling.

A choice lay before him.

Frankly, he was conflicted.

He trusted his Master. That much was absolute. But these two women? No. Trusting them was too soon, too risky. It didn’t matter how familiar they seemed with his Master. For all he knew, they were acting. Feigning closeness.

After all, they had ambushed them.

Even if they were friends with his Master, such ties could shift like the wind. Cultivators were fickle. Alliances changed. Betrayal was common.

And yet…

Lu Gao was no fool.

The skull was suspicious... far too suspicious.

He was already at a disadvantage, trapped in an unknown land with two powerful women whose motives he couldn’t fully discern. Adding a scheming, Qi-infused skull to the mix? That was just asking for trouble.

No. Between suspicious and overly suspicious, the choice was obvious.

So, he ignored the skull.

The ancient relic, however, refused to be ignored.

"Ah, but do you not see? You hesitate because you lack vision! Allow me to correct that."

Its flames flared once more, and its tone grew poetic, almost theatrical.

"Ballads shall be sung of your name, Lu Gao! The world will tremble beneath your might! You shall sit upon a throne forged from the bones of your enemies, draped in the silks of celestial maidens, your enemies weeping at your feet as they beg for mercy that you will never grant!"

Lu Gao didn’t even blink.

The skull’s flames dimmed slightly, as if confused by his lack of reaction.

Still, it continued, its words now flowing like a grand prophecy.

"Oh, the future we could weave together! Kingdoms shall rise and fall at your whim! The heavens themselves shall bow before you! If only... if only, my dear Lu Gao... you would accept me as your Master!"

Lu Gao narrowed his eyes.

Really?

Really?!

A talking skull was trying to seduce him with ballads?

Suspicious.

Really fucking suspicious.

Lu Gao remained as still as possible, his mind set on ignoring the skull’s increasingly desperate attempts to lure him in. Unfortunately, the damn thing refused to give up.

"Ah, but my dear Lu Gao, surely you can feel it? The boundless potential within you? Accept me, and I shall unlock it! Unleash it! Mold you into a god among men! Come now, don't be shy! Take my ha...”

A sharp snap echoed through the air.

The skull screamed.

Lu Gao’s head jerked toward the pink-haired woman. Her hand moved through the air in a deliberate motion, fingers curling like she was grasping something unseen. The skull convulsed at her waist, its eerie blue flames flickering wildly.

"Aghh! Mistress, please! I was only... AAAAH! Mistress, NO!... Wait! YES! More! Ahhh~♥!"

Lu Gao winced.

What the fuck?

The blonde-haired woman, seemingly realizing what was happening, shot the pink-haired woman a sharp look before raising her hand. Another gesture, another snap, and the skull shrieked again.

"Ohhh~♥! Yes! Yes, punish me, mistresses! I’ve been so bad! Ahhh~ ♥♡♥♡!"

Lu Gao’s stomach turned.

He had seen many horrors in his life. The battlefield was ruthless, and cultivators had little regard for morality. But this? This was something different. Something vile.

Something disgusting.

His eye twitched as the skull continued moaning obscenely, its voice emoting in fluent Common, while the two women, clearly unable to understand the language, kept punishing it with deadpan expressions.

Lu Gao wanted to die.

He’d take the desert heat. The unknown landscape. The fact that he was bound by some unknown spell. Anything but this.

Then, cutting through the madness, a familiar voice echoed in his ears.

His Master’s voice.

A sensation like warm Qi wrapped around his mind, a gentle yet firm presence anchoring him. Through the miracle of Qi Speech, his Master spoke.

"Lu Gao."

Lu Gao exhaled sharply, tension leaving his shoulders. His Master’s Qi Speech had always felt miraculous, intimate in a way no spoken language could ever replicate.

"How are you faring?"

Lu Gao let out a dry laugh in his mind.

"Not so great, Master," he admitted. "I'm bound by some spell, stranded in a desert, and these women aren’t particularly friendly."

There was silence. Lu Gao could feel his Master thinking, a quiet contemplation that hummed through the Qi thread between them.

Finally, his Master responded.

"Cooperate with them. They are friendly."

Lu Gao frowned.

"I don’t know about that, Master."

His Master didn’t answer immediately. Lu Gao could sense the weight of consideration before the next words came.

"Stay calm. I will converse with them."

Lu Gao sighed. His gut still twisted with unease, but if there was one thing he knew, it was that his Master rarely made mistakes.

Still…

His eyes flicked toward the two women, who continued their silent yet thorough punishment of the skull.

The artifact, meanwhile, was still moaning in bliss.

Lu Gao’s doubt remained.

The women stopped.

Their argument died down, their gazes shifting as if listening to something unseen.

Lu Gao narrowed his eyes. His Master was speaking to them now.

That much was clear.

The pink-haired woman crossed her arms, her crimson eyes flickering with something unreadable, while the blonde-haired woman simply nodded, her expression calm but serious. They exchanged a few more words in their unknown tongue, their tones softer now, before turning their focus back to him.

Then...

"Ahem."

The skull cleared its nonexistent throat, its flames dimming as it spoke in that same language, the one Lu Gao couldn’t quite place. The two women listened, their expressions neutral, before one of them, most likely the pink-haired one, let out a scoff.

A moment later, the skull turned to him.

"Well, well. It seems I shall be your translator, my dear Lu Gao, bridging the divide between you and my slaves."

Lu Gao blinked.

Then, with cautious movement, he flexed his fingers.

He could move again.

His jaw ached, stiff from disuse, and his arms felt as though they had been bound for hours. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the lingering tension.

The skull, apparently taking this as an invitation to continue, spoke in a much more subdued tone than before.

"My slaves feel rather sorry for how they treated you, considering the circumstances."

Lu Gao scoffed.

He turned his head, fixing the skull with a flat, unimpressed stare.

"You know I know they aren’t your slaves, right?"

The skull shrugged... or at least, it somehow felt like it shrugged.

"Do you have proof?" it asked, its hollow sockets gleaming with mischief. "Let me have my fun, you insufferable buffoon! Or do you want me to sunder your soul from where you stand?"

A chill ran down Lu Gao’s spine.

He wouldn’t admit it, not even under the threat of death, but he was intimidated.

There was something in the way the skull spoke now. The air around it seemed heavier, as if the weight of countless forgotten years pressed down upon it. It was a fleeting thing, a shift so brief that it was almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Lu Gao kept his expression blank, unwilling to let the damn thing know it had rattled him, but deep inside, a quiet, nagging thought took root.

Just what was this artifact?

110 Expectations

None of the items I had in my possession worked.

Phoenix Feather. Nothing. Not even a flicker of life.

Resurrection Stone. Dissolved into useless dust.

Elixir of Resurrection. A mere golden droplet sizzling away like water on hot iron.

Liquid of Revival. No reaction.

Starussertion. The rarest, most expensive revival catalyst I had ever owned… and still, nothing.

I refused to panic. I had one last measure... one that shouldn’t fail.

I took a deep breath and invoked Divine Word: Raise.

Silence.

The world didn’t shake. No golden light enveloped their bodies. No breath returned to their lungs.

Nothing.

It was a slap in the face.

But more than that, it was terrifying.

It told me just how out of my depth I truly was. How foolish I had been to think a few legendary artifacts and divine invocations were enough to defy death itself in this world. 

No wonder Shenyuan’s moniker was the "One True Death," huh?

I closed my eyes for a moment, swallowing the bitter frustration rising in my throat. Then, I carefully recovered their cadavers and stored them in my Item Box.

When I turned to Ren Jingyi, I expected to see despair or anger, some reflection of what I felt. But she only looked a little more glum than when we started.

And then, to my surprise, she smiled.

“I believe in you, Master,” she said softly.

I blinked.

A moment passed before I reached out and gently patted her head. “Thanks,” I murmured.

Even with everything happening around us, even after seeing me fail so utterly… she still smiled.

And for some reason, that alone made me feel just a little stronger.

In my Divine Sense, I sensed someone approaching us.

Yue Ruo was looking mildly chafed as if she had been interrupted from something important, or perhaps something frustrating. Or maybe she was just pissed at me for being unable to protect her son. I wondered how much she knew. Did Ren Jin tell her already? I managed to talk to Ren Jin a few moments ago. 

“Honorable guest,” she greeted me, her tone polite but lacking warmth. A stark contrast to the last time I was here, when she had addressed me as Young Master with a more accommodating demeanor.

Her gaze flickered toward Ren Jingyi, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

I decided to ease the tension. “Jingyi, Lady Ruo is a nice woman,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Though she and her husband tend to act like rabbits.”

Yue Ruo let out a perfectly timed cough, feigning innocence.

Ren Jingyi blinked, her eyes bouncing between me and Yue Ruo, utterly lost. “Rabbits…?” she echoed, her voice laced with confusion.

I smirked but said nothing more. No need to explain things that weren’t meant for children’s ears.

Yue Ruo, regaining her composure, clasped her hands together. “I have come to escort you to your resting chambers.”

I glanced at her, then at Ren Jingyi, who still looked a little wary. This woman was technically the Lady of the City, but the true power rested with her husband, Governor Ren Jin. Still, the fact that she personally came to attend to us said a lot about Yellow Dragon City’s stance... or perhaps even the Emperor’s.

Whether it was a show of respect or a way to keep me under watch, I’d have to figure out.

Still, there was a more important matter at hand.

I sighed inwardly, steadying myself before speaking. “Lady Ruo, I apologize… for being unable to protect your son.”

"I see... So, it finally happened." Yue Ruo’s expression didn’t waver. “Ren Xun made his choice,” she said, her tone measured. “My husband and I… we encouraged it, but ultimately, it was his decision. The fact that he was able to be of service to you," she inhaled softly, her voice steadying, "was enough.”

I maintained a neutral expression, but inside, I was too aware of the lie she was telling. Through my Divine Sense, I could tell. The truth lay beneath the surface, beneath her composure. Pain. Regret. The grief of a mother who had lost her child.

“I have his body,” I offered, my voice even. In my mind, I hesitated. I’d rather keep it. Not out of selfishness, but because I believed. Or maybe I was just being arrogant, that only I could bring him back. That only I had a real chance at undoing his death.

Before Yue Ruo could respond, Ren Jingyi suddenly raised her voice.

“Don’t worry, miss! My Master can bring Ren Xun back to life, no worries! His Eminence is mighty and powerful! He can do everything! My Master’s the greatest!”

I blinked. What.

Ren Jingyi’s enthusiasm was infectious, her tiny face full of unshakable confidence. What made it even worse was how she kept switching between Master and His Eminence, as if she couldn't decide which title fit me best.

I messed with her hair, ruffling it playfully. "Easy there, little goldfish. You're making me sound like a god."

Ren Jingyi pouted, swatting at my hand. "But it's true! Master is almighty!" 

Adorable? Absolutely. Embarrassing? Even more so.

Then, Yue Ruo chuckled. A rare, harsh sound that quickly turned into a cough.

I sighed, stepping forward and instinctively rubbing her back. I considered using a spell to help, but she raised a hand, signaling for me to stop.

“Thank you,” she rasped between coughs. “I’ve never had a laugh like that before.”

Ren Jingyi frowned in confusion. “But… it wasn’t a laughing matter?”

I sighed again. This girl…

Yue Ruo shook her head, her expression composed but her eyes betraying a deeper emotion. “You may keep Ren Xun by your side… as long as you do not cease in your efforts to bring him back.”

I raised a brow, genuinely surprised. Did she hear this from Ren Jin? The last time I spoke with the Governor, I had told him the truth and my intention to keep Ren Xun by my side. Well, half of the truth, at least. I left out the part about how the Emperor’s invitation had been an elaborate ploy to maneuver me into a confrontation with Shenyuan. Some things were better left unsaid.

Still, I nodded. “I promise.”

Yue Ruo led us through the dimly lit halls, her presence refined yet oddly comforting. Finally, we arrived at the resting chamber. The moment we stopped, I turned to her and Ren Jingyi. “I’ll take my leave here.”

Ren Jingyi blinked. “Where are you going, Master?”

“Business,” I smirked.

Yue Ruo clapped her hands lightly. “Then leave Ren Jingyi to me. I shall keep her company.”

I inclined my head slightly. “Thanks for playing babysitter.”

At the word babysitter, Ren Jingyi huffed, her small face scrunching up in protest. “I am not a baby!”

“Meh… you’re still a baby,” I teased, reaching out to flick her forehead.

She pouted, rubbing the spot. “I am not! And I know what babysitter means, too!”

That made me pause. I tilted my head, genuinely impressed. “Huh. Not bad for a goldfish.”

Ren Jingyi huffed again but didn’t argue. I chuckled, giving her one last ruffle of her hair before turning on my heel and stepping away.

Time to take care of business.

I channeled my Egress spell, and in the next instant, the world blurred. The pull of space warped around me, and when it settled, I found myself before the towering Imperial Capital Gates.

Huh. It looked like the game mechanic of only being able to teleport to gates with the Egress spell remained true in this world.

I hadn't thought much about it before, but now that I did, it made sense. The spell never let me appear inside cities, only at their designated entry points. Security measure? Rule of the world? Whatever the case, I didn't have many opportunities to use this spell anyway. Spatial travel was convenient, but with so many unknowns in this world, I couldn’t rely on it too much.

“Hello? I can sense you by the way… Can I come in?”

Massive walls stretched into the night sky, their stone surfaces etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly under the silver moonlight. The Imperial Seal was embedded in the center of the colossal gate, golden inscriptions glowing softly, exuding an oppressive, majestic aura. Just like in Yellow Dragon City, it was night here as well, though the Imperial Capital never truly slept. Through my Divine Sense, I could see what it was like inside… Lanterns bathed the streets in flickering light, and the distant hum of life echoed from beyond the walls.

A voice called out, sharp and commanding. “Who goes there?”

I turned to see a guard stepping forward. His Seventh Realm cultivation didn’t intimidate me one bit. He wore imperial armor, its gleaming metal adorned with intricate engravings of dragons. His aura flared slightly, a silent warning.

Before I could speak, a breeze stirred beside me. A figure descended gracefully from the sky, her white robes billowing like clouds under the moonlight.

Xin Yune.

Her presence was serene yet authoritative. The faint medicinal fragrance that clung to her was unmistakable. I had only known her as a skilled physician, but from Ren Jin, I had learned her true title... the Divine Physician.

She turned to the guard, her voice calm yet firm. “Stand down. The one beside me is a guest of His Majesty.”

The guard stiffened at her words, his gaze shifting between us. Finally, he bowed, stepping aside.

“Welcome to the Imperial Capital, honored guest of His Majesty. May the heavens shine favorably upon your stay.”

Then, turning to Xin Yune, he lowered his head even further, almost to a bow.

“Divine Physician, this humble one is honored to witness your grace once more. If there is anything you require, simply command it, and it shall be done.”

Xin Yune waved a dismissive hand. “No need for the formalities, just do your job properly.”

“Of course, my lady!” The guard stepped aside, making way for us.

The gates creaked open, revealing the grand streets of the Imperial Capital bathed in the dim glow of lanterns. The city was just as alive at night as Yellow Dragon City, though the atmosphere here was different... orderly, disciplined, and unnervingly perfect.

As we stepped inside, our pace slowed to a leisurely walk. I turned to Xin Yune. “Sorry for suddenly leaving like that. Hope the Emperor doesn’t mind.”

Xin Yune glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “He probably doesn’t.”

I raised a brow. “Why the ‘probably’?”

She smirked. “You tell me. Since when did you care about politeness?”

I shrugged. “You healed me. That’s enough to show you a bit of respect.”

“What about the Emperor then?” she asked, amusement flickering in her eyes.

I let out a dry chuckle. “Respect is earned.” As for the Emperor? I wanted to smack him in the end.

Xin Yune hummed, then remarked, “If it weren’t for the Emperor, you’d probably still be trapped in Hell, with no way of returning.”

I gave her a sideways glance, lips curling in a half-smile. “I’m fairly certain it was the Emperor who put me in that situation in the first place.”

Xin Yune outright laughed. “Your insight is sharp. That was indeed the case.”

I frowned. “You’d just admit it so openly? Won’t you be in trouble?”

She shrugged. “If I was going to get in trouble for saying that, I’d already be in trouble. Since I just said it now and nothing happened, that means he doesn’t care.”

I clicked my tongue. “What a casual way of admitting to scheming.”

As we walked deeper into the city, Xin Yune began listing off the rules of the Imperial Capital.

“No flying unless you’re part of the Imperial Guard or have a permit.”

Reasonable.

“No killing.”

Also reasonable.

“No using of spells.”

Alright. Restrictive, but fine.

Then she added, “And absolutely no littering, public indecency, or, most importantly... no shitting on the road.”

I stopped walking.

“…What?”

Xin Yune kept a straight face. “No shitting on the road. That’s an offense punishable by public flogging.”

I stared at her, waiting for her to say she was joking.

She didn’t.

“…What kind of city needs a law like that?”

She sighed. “You’d be surprised.”

Okay. I had long stopped thinking this world was some barbaric backwater. In fact, I’d grown to appreciate the little things it had to offer: the intricate craftsmanship, the cuisine, the martial arts, and yes, even its strange laws.

But still…

Hearing the word "shitting" come out of Xin Yune's mouth had been both a shock and a strangely humbling experience. A beauty like her, one of the highest-ranking healers in the world, casually talking about public defecation? It was almost surreal.

But more than that, something about the way she said it rubbed me the wrong way.

I frowned. "Hold on."

Xin Yune tilted her head. "What?"

I squinted at her. "Why did you feel the need to specifically tell me not to shit on the road?"

She blinked. Then, a smirk tugged at her lips. "No reason."

No reason my ass.

I suddenly felt a deep, unsettling sense of self-awareness. Was this how I had been treating other people? Looking down on them, assuming they were incapable of understanding things just because they weren’t from my world?

Maybe this was karma.

I sighed. "For the record, I'm not that kind of person."

"Good to know." Xin Yune chuckled.

I clicked my tongue. "Anyways, before we see the Emperor, can you take me somewhere to pick up my armor?"

Xin Yune’s playful expression faded into something softer. She stared at me for a moment, then gave a quiet nod.

"Sure."

Wow... so accommodating... I wondered what was the Emperor playing this time?

109 Little Goldie’s Wish

Ren Jingyi woke up in a daze. Her thoughts felt sluggish, like wading through a dream she hadn’t quite escaped. The bed beneath her was soft—too soft. The sheets, embroidered with silver lotuses, were too luxurious. The air smelled of incense, calming yet unfamiliar.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw a ceiling of polished wood, adorned with intricate carvings of celestial beasts. This wasn’t where she had last been. This wasn’t the battlefield.

Her fingers twitched, then curled. She touched her arms, then her face, small, oval-shaped, and delicate. There was something profoundly different. She sat up, feeling her legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Legs. Humanoid limbs.

She stared at her hands in wonder. Fingers, palms, nails... everything was there. The realization struck her fully now. She had taken a humanoid form.

A mirror stood at the far end of the room. Her bare feet padded against the floor as she rushed toward it. The girl reflected back at her was small, perhaps no more than nine or ten years of age. Messy dark hair framed her round face, and a robe far too ornate for her taste, hung over her small frame.

Her height reminded her of Hei Mao.

A pang of pain surged through her chest.

She turned abruptly, her hands searching for something familiar. On the bedside table lay a bundle of cloth—Gu Jie’s robes. The ones she had hastily thrown over herself after everything had gone wrong. The ones she had clung to in her grief.

She picked them up, pressed them to her nose, and inhaled. But the scent was faint, fading. It wasn’t enough. It could never be enough.

Her grip tightened, the ache in her heart deepening, but she forced herself to calm down. With a shaky breath, she stashed them in her Storage Ring, securing the last remnants of her sister-figure.

It took effort, but she steadied herself.

She was alive. That meant Master was alive.

The thought struck her with urgency.

Her eyes widened. Had it all been a dream? Had she imagined their reunion?

Her bare feet hit the floor as she dashed for the door.

As she threw it open, she nearly collided with someone entering.

A woman stood there, dressed in flowing robes of pale lavender, her demeanor calm and composed. Ren Jingyi vaguely remembered Tao Long introducing her before—Yue Ruo, an important person.

Yue Ruo offered a gentle smile as she observed Ren Jingyi. “I am glad to see that my younger daughter’s robes fit you well,” she remarked, her voice warm yet refined.

But Ren Jingyi barely spared her a glance. Her mind was elsewhere.

She ran past her without hesitation.

"Master!"

She had to find him. Had to see him again. Had to make sure it was real.

The night sky stretched vast and empty above, barely any stars piercing through the darkness. Ren Jingyi wandered through the quiet halls, her mind still clouded with remnants of her exhaustion and grief. She remembered crying in her Master’s arms, the warmth of his embrace making her feel safe for the first time in what felt like forever. At some point, she had drifted into slumber, the weight of her sorrow pulling her into unconsciousness. But now she was awake, and only one thought filled her mind.

She needed to find him.

In her haste, she bumped into a tall figure, firm as a mountain. Stumbling back, she looked up and found herself staring at Tao Long, the man her Master had tasked with escorting her. His sharp features were cast in the dim glow of the lanterns lining the corridor, his long dark hair tied in a loose tail, and his expression was unamused.

“Where are you running off to at this hour?” Tao Long asked, arms crossed.

Ren Jingyi clenched her fists. “Bring me to His Eminence.”

Tao Long frowned. “…Your Master?”

She nodded furiously.

Tao Long let out a sigh, rubbing his forehead. “I am a cultivator at the peak of the Ninth Realm. I have fought beasts that could sunder mountains, dueled warriors who command forces beyond your understanding, and stood unfazed before ancient sect leaders that could move the world… Yet here I am, playing babysitter.”

Ren Jingyi glared.

Tao Long exhaled again, shaking his head. “Fine, fine. Come along. Let’s find your Master before you bite my head off.”

Without another word, he turned, gesturing for her to follow as they set off into the night.

Soon, they arrived at a room guarded by a lone woman, her presence quiet yet sharp, like a hidden blade waiting to be unsheathed. As Ren Jingyi and Tao Long approached, the woman straightened, eyes narrowing.

“Identify yourself,” she demanded, her voice calm yet firm.

Tao Long scoffed, tilting his head arrogantly. “How dare a mere guard question my presence? I am a guest of the prince himself. Do you have the gall to stand in my way?”

“That’s Governor to you,” the woman spat back, her eyes sharp as a blade. “While here in Yellow Dragon City, the Governor only wishes to be addressed by his government post and nothing else!”

Tao Long raised a brow, amused by her fire. “Ah, so the Governor demands proper decorum even from his esteemed guests? How rigid.”

Liang Na did not waver. “Governor Ren Jin upholds the dignity of this city. If Lord Tao Long cannot abide by simple customs, then perhaps he does not deserve to be here at all.”

Ren Jingyi frowned. She could feel the pressure exuding from Tao Long—subtle but overwhelming, like a coiled dragon ready to strike. The air grew heavy, but before she could voice her irritation, the woman before them matched his aura. It was not as overwhelming, but precise and suffocating, like a fine dagger pressed against one’s throat.

“This humble guard is Liang Na,” the woman said, her tone respectful yet unwavering. “I believe this is our first meeting, Lord Tao Long.”

Tao Long raised a brow, intrigued rather than offended. “Impressive. To think someone of your age has reached the Eighth Realm… and even refined your stealth arts to such a degree that you are nearly indistinguishable from the lesser. Perhaps, had I not been paying attention, I would have mistaken you for a mere shadow lurking in the night.”

The two locked gazes, the tension between them sharp enough to cut through steel.

Ren Jingyi, growing increasingly impatient with the posturing, tugged at Tao Long’s sleeve. He ignored her.

They continued to exchange subtle barbs, their words polite but laced with challenge.

“Flattery from a man who prides himself on his own talent? Funny you say that,”  Liang Na’s expression did not change, but a sharp glint flickered in her eyes. “I should consider myself honored then.”

Tao Long chuckled. “Not flattery, merely an observation. Of course, it is quite the achievement for a mere guard. One must wonder if such skill would not be better put to use elsewhere. Or perhaps you are simply comfortable standing at doors and barking at guests?”

Liang Na folded her arms, her presence unwavering. “A dog may bark, but a true guardian does not need to raise her voice—only her blade. I do not question my place, unlike some who wander with borrowed status.”

Tao Long’s grin widened. “Borrowed? Ah, I see. You assume my presence here is unwarranted. Perhaps you should ask your Governor why he sent for me, or why am I even here at all. Or are you too busy growling at shadows to listen?”

Liang Na’s lips twitched, but she remained composed. “I merely guard that which is worth guarding. Whether you are among those things remains to be seen.”

Tao Long gave a mocking bow. “Then I shall strive to prove my worth to the ever-watchful guardian of Yellow Dragon City. A most noble profession, truly.”

At this point, Ren Jingyi had had enough. She tugged at Tao Long’s sleeve, frowning. “Enough with the posturing. Can we just go inside already?”

Tao Long ignored her, continuing to smirk at Liang Na.

Ren Jingyi scowled and kicked the back of his knee.

Thunk.

Tao Long did not even budge. In fact, Ren Jingyi might have broken her toe. She quickly healed it with divine energy coursing her meridians, while cursing Tao Long under her breath as he resumed his conversation.

"Governor Ren Jin truly fosters an interesting city," Tao Long mused. "His hospitality extends even to his guards, who seem to believe they hold power equal to their lord."

Liang Na scoffed. "The Governor has faith in his people, as he should. It is why this city stands strong while others crumble."

Ren Jingyi clenched her fists, thoroughly exasperated. Adults were the worst.

Liang Na turned away from Tao Long, her sharp demeanor softening as she looked at Ren Jingyi. “Little Goldfish, it has been some time since we last met.”

Ren Jingyi blinked. Little Goldfish? She felt a pang in her heart, the nickname tugging at some distant warmth in her memories. Despite her earlier irritation, she found herself softening toward the woman. Swallowing her pride, she spoke with newfound politeness. “May I see my Master?”

Liang Na nodded and turned toward the door, knocking in a distinct rhythm. After a brief pause, she announced, “Ren Jingyi seeks an audience.”

A few moments later, the door creaked open just enough for Liang Na to usher Ren Jingyi inside.

Tao Long stepped forward to follow, but Liang Na raised a hand, her fingers subtly curling in a silent command. “Not you,” her meaning was clear without words.

Tao Long frowned. “Oh? And why not?”

Liang Na merely smiled, unyielding. “Because I said so.”

Ren Jingyi didn’t wait to hear whatever smart remark Tao Long had prepared. Her focus was ahead.

She stepped into the dimly lit chamber and immediately noticed the tension in the air.

Her Master sat casually, yet there was an unmistakable seriousness in his expression. Across from him, Governor Ren Jin, who had seemed so composed before, was biting his thumbnail, clearly deep in thought. Meanwhile, Jiang Zhen, the man who had once introduced himself as a kind uncle and a friend of her supposed-to-be mother, was scowling.

The topic of their argument was clear.

“…The demons are still a looming threat. Even if we cut off the immediate dangers, there’s no telling what remnants still fester in the shadows,” Jiang Zhen said grimly.

Ren Jingyi felt revulsion twist in her gut at the mere mention of demons, but she quickly composed herself. She wasn’t here to dwell on old wounds.

The conversation abruptly halted as all three men turned their gazes toward her.

Feeling the weight of their attention, she hesitated only for a moment before speaking.

“Did I come at a bad time?”

Master Da Wei’s gaze softened as he shook his head. “No.” His voice was gentle.

Jiang Zhen exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s fine. We should adjourn for now anyway.”

Ren Jin nodded in agreement, though he looked like he still had more to say. Even so, the discussion was over for now.

Before Ren Jingyi could process any of it, her Master was already by her side. His hand found hers, warm and steady, and without another word, he led her toward the door.

She glanced back as they stepped out. Liang Na and Tao Long were nowhere to be seen. That struck her as odd, but her curiosity quickly shifted to something more pressing.

Her Master’s expression.

The night air was cool against her face as they walked in silence. The weight of unspoken thoughts lingered between them.

After a moment, Ren Jingyi hesitated, then softly uttered, “Master…”

Da Wei turned to her, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You used to call me ‘His Eminence.’ Didn’t you? What changed?”

Ren Jingyi’s cheeks burned. “H-How did you know?”

His smile deepened. “Hei Mao would tell me stories of your conversations.”

Ren Jingyi’s steps faltered. “T-traitor… He’s a traitor…”

Da Wei laughed.

Back then, when she was still just a fish, only Hei Mao could truly talk to her. Her Master had a method to communicate as well, but she had been too shy to respond. Learning the Common tongue had been difficult, and by the time she could finally use Qi Speech, so much had already changed.

With a weak mutter, she finally confessed, “After everything that happened… I thought I was being left behind. So, like the others… I wanted to call you Master too.”

Da Wei’s steps slowed. He didn’t say anything right away, but the hand holding hers gave a reassuring squeeze.

The courtyard was quiet, save for the distant rustling of trees. The cool night breeze carried the scent of damp earth and blooming flowers, but Ren Jingyi hardly noticed. Her thoughts were elsewhere.

Her Master stood beside her, arms crossed, gazing up at the barely visible stars. Then, as if speaking more to the night than to her, he said, “I’ll try to bring them back.”

Ren Jingyi’s breath hitched. “Really?” she asked, eyes wide with hope.

Da Wei blinked, then shook his head. “No,” he corrected himself. “Rather than try, I’ll definitely do it.” He turned to her, his usual carefree smile forming. “I’ll find a way.”

For some reason, hearing him say that filled her with confidence.

“Big Sister Gu Jie?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes,” Da Wei affirmed. “I’ll definitely bring her back.”

“…Even the annoying Ren Xun?”

He laughed. “Even him.”

“What about Big Bro Lu Gao?”

“Still plenty alive,” Da Wei remarked. “So don’t go killing him off just yet.”

Ren Jingyi let out a small chuckle, the first one in what felt like forever.

Then, after a moment of hesitation, she asked the one question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered. “What about… Traitor Hei Mao?”

Da Wei’s smile faded. His expression turned serious, the lightheartedness vanishing like mist in the morning sun. He met her gaze and said firmly, “Yes. Even Hei Mao.”

Ren Jingyi bit her lip. She wanted to believe him.

Slowly, she fiddled with her Storage Ring, fingers grazing the cool surface.

Da Wei shifted beside her. “Can you bring them out?” he asked, voice quieter now. “Gu Jie and Ren Xun.”

Ren Jingyi swallowed hard. Then, with a solemn nod, she reached into her Storage Ring and, with a thought, brought out their yet-to-rot cadavers.

The sight of them made her chest ache.

As she looked down at their lifeless forms, she wished—deep in her heart—that their small, dysfunctional family would be whole again.

108 End of Book 2 - The Emperor’s Summons

I woke up feeling like I’d been tossed into a mountainside, rolled down a cliff, and then stomped on for good measure. No... actually, if that really happened, I probably wouldn’t feel as bad as I do right now.

This wasn’t just physical pain.

This was "I fought back-to-back against a world boss-level monster, then had to deal with some PvP troll immediately after, only to be thrown into a solo raid of Hell’s Gate with no party members" kind of pain.

That kind of situation.

My entire body ached. Every muscle, every bone, every nerve... burning, sore, exhausted. I sucked in a slow breath. Not dead, then.

That’s a win.

I opened my eyes.

The first thing I noticed?

The bed was soft. Incredibly soft.

So much so that I wanted to just sink in and fall back asleep, aches and all. The sheets were cool, smooth, and had a faint fragrant scent, like some kind of exotic flower I couldn’t place.

I’m… wearing unfamiliar clothes.

That’s when I noticed the next thing.

Someone stirred beside me.

Sleeping.

Okay?

I froze.

She had dark hair and wore flowing white robes embroidered with silver lotuses. Her breathing was slow and peaceful. Her arms? Firmly wrapped around my waist.

Okay…

This was awkward on so many levels.

If I was any younger, both soul and mind, I’d probably be blushing like an idiot right now. But I had long since tempered myself against such trivial matters.

So I did the only reasonable thing.

I stayed on the bed.

You don’t turn away gifts.

A few moments passed before the woman stirred again, her eyelashes fluttering as she opened her eyes.

She blinked at me.

Then, with a calm, almost lazy voice, she murmured, "Oh."

I stared at her.

She yawned, and stretching slightly, though she didn’t let go, before saying, "I dozed off."

"Right," I said slowly. "And you are…?"

"Xin Yune," she replied.

I nodded. "And what exactly do you do?"

"A physician," she said.

A pause.

I glanced down at her arms, still wrapped snugly around me.

I raised a brow. "So, uh… why are you hugging me?"

"It was part of the healing," she said smoothly.

A moment later, she added, "And you smell good."

I squinted.

"…Okay?"

That was a bit freaky. But hey, to each their own, I guess.

I decided to move on from that particular topic.

"Where’s my armor?" I asked.

"Being repaired," she answered.

I frowned. That thing had been with me for a while now... It wasn’t exactly disposable.

"Where am I?"

"The Empire," she said.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"Where in the Empire?"

"The Imperial Capital."

I sighed. "Where in the Imperial Capital?"

She gave me a lazy smile. "In the Emperor’s bedchambers."

…

What.

I stared at her.

She smiled back, looking far too amused at my reaction.

I used Flash Step.

One moment, I was in bed.

The next, I was by the window.

A cool breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of incense, lotus blossoms, and the faint trace of steel... the mix of a city that was both spiritual and warlike.

We were high up.

Far below, the Imperial Capital of the Grand Ascension Empire stretched out endlessly beneath a golden morning sun.

I closed my eyes.

With my Paladin Legacy and Will Reinforcement cultivation combined, my Divine Sense had reached a new level.

Range. Accuracy. Refinement.

My five senses, once ordinary, had been honed to the point where I could paint the world in my mind’s eye, clearer than sight itself.

So, I closed my eyes completely and let my Divine Sense sweep across the capital.

And what did I see?

Wealth. Power. Status. Life.

The Imperial City was a place of contradictions: sacred yet violent, elegant yet ruthless, and ancient yet ever-evolving.

Towering jade pagodas gleamed under the sunlight, their golden inlays shimmering like stars against emerald stone. White-robed scholars and cultivators walked its broad avenues, their flowing sleeves brushing against the air, while armored imperial guards stood at every gate, their hands resting on the hilts of spirit-forged weapons.

The streets were filled with life.

Merchants called out their wares in booming voices. Silk vendors. Spice traders. Alchemists hawking miracle pills. An old man sat cross-legged on a wooden mat, painting with a brush dipped in liquid qi, his art infused with spiritual energy that made the ink dance like living creatures.

A group of disciples practiced sword forms in a grand courtyard, their footwork in perfect harmony, their movements like flowing water. Not far from them, priests or monks in golden robes lit fragrant incense before a shrine, their prayers rising in soft murmurs to the heavens.

And above it all, looming in the heart of the city was...

The Imperial Palace.

A colossus of jade and gold, its thousand-tiered spires reaching toward the sky like the fingers of a god. The banners of the Grand Ascension Empire flew from every tower, emblazoned with the sigil of the Heavenly Eye, watching over its people with an all-seeing gaze.

"Definitely a spell formation."

It was a city that had stood for thousands of years, the crucible of the nascent Empire that had risen to ascension in recent centuries. At least, that was how it went according to Ren Xun's history lectures.

The Grand Ascension Empire had only begun its true reign three hundred years ago. Before that, it had been a lesser nation, known by a different name, overshadowed by greater powers.

But now...

Now, it stood at the center of the world.

I let out a slow breath, soaking in the details, my Divine Sense drinking in the life and breath of the empire.

Then, a voice cut through my focus.

“His Majesty bids thee attend, that ye may partake in tea and discourse.”

I opened my eyes.

Xin Yune was watching me with a small and knowing smile on her lips.

I stared at her.

Tea?

With the Emperor?

…Right. Because that was a totally normal thing to happen.

Ah, right… The imperial summons.

I recalled the Emperor had invited me for tea.

But… I didn’t remember coming here.

The last thing I recalled was the Hell’s Gate, the endless waves of undead and demons, and then... being sucked into a green portal. I heard a voice. Someone had told me that I owed them tea.

And now, here I was.

I sighed.

I never imagined my first real adventure would be so thrilling that I’d lose almost my entire party, except for Ren Jingyi.

A ghost of a pain rose in my chest.

I hope that dragon guy did as he promised.

I pushed the thought aside and turned to Xin Yune.

“Lead the way,” I said.

She dipped her head in acknowledgment, moving with the grace of a drifting cloud.

I followed.

Might as well get this over with.

Then, I could start searching for the remains of my fallen party members and resurrect them.

And after that… I still needed to figure out a way to get in touch with Alice, Joan, and Lu Gao.

There was so much to do.

I searched inward, reaching for the presence that had always been there, Dave, my Holy Spirit.

Silence.

Nothing.

That was… worrying.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. There were too many unknowns, and panicking wouldn’t solve anything. I needed to prioritize the conversation ahead.

As we walked through the Imperial Palace’s grand halls, I cast a sideways glance at Xin Yune and decided to make some idle conversation.

"Just so you know in advance, the honeypot strategy won’t work on me."

She blinked at me, her expression as placid as still water. "I don't understand what you mean, but I would love to know about this… 'honeypot strategy.'"

…Right. 

Either my joke didn’t translate well, or Xin Yune was that much of a straitlaced person.

I missed my party already.

At least they humored my eccentricities instead of just staring at me like I was an unintelligible relic from an alternate reality.

We arrived at a terrace, bathed in the soft golden light of the late afternoon sun.

And there, seated at an exquisitely carved jade table, was a middle-aged man.

He was handsome, in the way that sculptors dreamed of capturing in stone, his features sharp, but not harsh, with the kind of ageless refinement that made it impossible to tell whether he was in his forties or hundreds. His long black hair was streaked with faint traces of silver, tied loosely behind him, as if he couldn’t be bothered with overly elaborate styles.

Draped over his shoulders was an ornate imperial robe of gold and black, the embroidered dragon patterns almost seeming to shift with every movement.

In his hand, he held a delicate porcelain cup, steam rising from its contents as he took a slow, unhurried sip.

He didn’t even look at me.

Xin Yune stepped forward and inclined her head, her tone measured and formal.

"His Majesty, the Grand Emperor, Wielder of the Heavenly Eye, doth bid thee welcome, Honorable Daoist and Esteemed Guest of the Empire."

I clasped my fist and bowed slightly, offering the standard greeting.

Xin Yune then turned slightly, gesturing toward the man.

"This is His Majesty, Nongmin."

At that, Nongmin finally looked at me.

I smiled at him.

"This humble one is named Da Wei, a wandering traveler of foreign lands, a friend to Yellow Dragon City, and a self-proclaimed minstrel who strums the strings of fate with but meager skill."

Xin Yune gave me a slightly curious look, no doubt noticing that I was mimicking her change in speech pattern.

Meanwhile, Nongmin simply raised an eyebrow, setting his teacup down with deliberate grace.

"There is no need for such formalities," he said, his voice smooth and assured. "Thou mayest speak freely, without reservation."

Ah, I see.

He wanted me to drop the act.

That was exactly why I wouldn’t.

I straightened, meeting his gaze with an expression of solemn reverence that was entirely fake.

"Thy benevolence knoweth no bounds, O Grand Emperor. Yet, how could this lowly one dare cast aside the sacred customs of propriety when standing before the august presence of he who weaveth the tapestry of fate with the eye that peereth into infinity?"

Fuck you, Emperor. Yes, fuck you.

Xin Yune blinked. Nongmin stared.

A tiny, almost imperceptible twitch formed at the corner of his mouth. Was that irritation?

Good.

I disliked this guy on principle, and if I had to be here, I might as well make sure he knew it.

“No need to play the sycophant,” said Nongmin. “Speak freely.”

I took a slow breath, letting my expression remain as unreadable as possible. Nongmin was watching me with that same calm, infuriating gaze, like he already knew what I was about to say. Maybe he did.

He used me.

I saw it now, clear as day. The pieces had fallen into place the moment I found myself here, in the very place he had invited me to, a hundred days after his summons. The timeframe wasn't arbitrary. He had known. He knew I would cross paths with Shenyuan. Maybe not every detail, maybe not exactly how it would unfold, but he had accounted for me, pushed me toward an outcome that suited him.

And my party…

Their deaths.

Had he seen that too?

Did he expect it? Want it?

Not as malice, but as a convenient reality. A price I would pay so he could have leverage over me.

A quiet rage settled in my chest, a bitter ember that burned without roaring. He wasn't my enemy, not yet. But this wasn't right. Yeah, I needed to vent. I'd punch him later, when I cooled off a bit, because I reckoned killing the Emperor of a prosperous nation would be just asking for trouble. I internally sighed.

It sucked being so conflicted.

And what could I do about it?

Mock him. 

So, I offered him a poem.

I clasped my hands behind my back and let my voice flow like the wandering bards of old, slow and solemn:

"Upon the stage, a tale was spun,
The Shadow rose, the play begun.
A hand unseen did guide the thread,
We danced, we fought, the stage ran red.

The dice were cast, the script was writ,
A tragedy, yet most well-fit.
The heroes fell, their names unsung,
Yet lo, the curtain still was hung.

Was it fate, or was it art?
A grand design, so cold, so smart.
Oh playwright throned in halls of gold,
Didst thou not know the cost so bold?

Or was it known, yet unopposed,
A sacrifice that fate composed?
The stage is set, the ink runs dry,
And so we meet, just thou and I."

Silence.

I held my stare as Nongmin looked at me with an emotionless stare.

Xin Yune shifted slightly, lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.

“I spoke freely,” I said. “Now it’s your turn. Also, fuck you.”

Let him chew on that.

Nongmin took a slow sip of his tea, as if weighing his words. "My people have handled the remainder of Shenyuan’s contingency. The blood demons he planned to release have been neutralized."

I frowned. Shenyuan did warn me about them. That smug bastard had muttered something about unfinished business before I sent him to whatever afterlife he deserved. Unknowingly, I released a sigh of relief.

Nongmin continued, setting his cup down. “We traced an isolated event to Ironmoor City. From there, it was simple enough to track and deal with the outbreaks in other cities before they could escalate. Whatever vile techniques they intended to spread have been contained.”

That was… surprisingly efficient. Annoyingly so. The way he said it, as if this had been no trouble at all, irritated me. Had I really been flailing around fighting for my life while his people cleaned things up like janitors sweeping away broken glass?

Still, the Hell’s Gate manifesting had been half of my responsibility. Nongmin hadn’t lifted a finger for that.

He met my gaze and inclined his head slightly. “For your efforts in holding the line and barring the Hell’s Gate, you have my gratitude.”

I almost snorted. It was surreal, hearing an emperor thank me. But then, his expression shifted slightly, and his next words came with a weight I didn’t quite trust.

"As for the deaths of your people," he said, "I apologize."

I stiffened.

He continued, "Among those you call your own was my grandson, Ren Xun. So, understand this... I, too, have lost."

I stared at him, searching for any flicker of dishonesty. My Divine Sense stretched out, reading the minute shifts in his breath, the subtle tremors in his body. Nothing. If he was lying, he was damn good at it. Unbelievably good.

But Ren Xun was dead. That part wasn’t in question. What was in question was Nongmin’s sincerity.

Was he truly grieving, or was this just another layer to his manipulation? Was he trying to draw a false camaraderie between us, playing on emotions to align our interests?

I sighed. The Grand Emperor was far more complicated than I had imagined.

With a shake of my head, I sat down.

Xin Yune poured me tea.

I exhaled, letting my muscles relax. The bitterness from before still lingered, but it was time to move the conversation forward.

So, naturally, I asked, “Is it true you've stayed a virgin for a thousand years?”

Xin Yune froze.

Then, in the next instant, she shook.

She missed the cup.

And suddenly, I was drenched in tea.

For a long moment, there was silence.

Then, she started laughing.

A proper, elegant Imperial Physician laughing like a common tavern girl.

I wiped my face, blinking at her. Did I just break her?

Nongmin’s lips twitched. He set his teacup down with a quiet clink before finally responding.

“There is nothing to discuss about my virginity,” he said flatly. “And I am no longer a virgin.” He exhaled through his nose. “It has been... oh, a century or so already.”

I nodded solemnly, as if he had just revealed some grand truth of the universe. “Apologies for my curiosity,” I said. “But I’m glad to see that you are human too, who could be embarrassed.”

Xin Yune, who had only just stopped laughing, let out a small cough and quickly composed herself, though I could still see the ghost of a smile on her lips.

How?

The Emperor didn't seem to care about her laughing at him... 

Never mind, I focused inward, calling upon my Item Box. With a thought, my damp robes vanished, and in their place, I donned Lofty Jade Proposition. It was made of flowing emerald-green silk, accented with gold thread—elegant, impressive, and most importantly, dry.

At the same time, I discreetly stuffed my soaked robes into my Item Box. No need to give the Emperor the satisfaction of seeing me drenched.

With that handled, I turned my attention back to him.

“So,” I said, leaning forward slightly. “What do you want from me?”

Nongmin met my gaze. “I want your power.”

I scoffed. “I have no desire to become someone else’s sword.” My voice was firm. “My sword is my own.”

Nongmin didn’t seem offended. Instead, he shook his head. “I do not wish to own you,” he said. “I wish to sponsor you.”

I frowned. That sounded like semantics to me.

He continued, “A World Summit will soon be held. News of the Outsiders must be spread.”

I blinked. “Outsiders?”

“To you, they are the Great Enemy.” Nongmin lifted his teacup again, this time sipping at a more leisurely pace. “I first heard the term from you.” He set the cup down. “Or rather, from Ren Jin. Your battle against a certain demon back in Yellow Dragon City, the report he gave me mentioned your use of that phrase.”

I clicked my tongue. So that’s how he knew.

“It was not difficult,” Nongmin continued, “to put two and two together.”

I sighed. “And you want me to come with you to this World Summit?”

“Yes,” he said. “There are people you need to meet.”

I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the sky. The tea had long since cooled, but I still felt its warmth lingering on my skin.

Honestly, Nongmin was asking a lot.

I had been swept up in events outside my control for too long. The more I fought, the more I traveled, the farther away my old world felt.

Going home… was that even possible anymore?

Was there even a point to any of this?

Why was I still moving forward?

Was it really just about getting stronger?

I closed my eyes for a moment. Then, exhaling slowly, I opened them again and looked at Nongmin.

“...What’s in it for me?”

Nongmin sipped his tea, his gaze steady on mine. "In an act of good faith," he said smoothly, "I will tell you where to find the rest of your people… so that you may bring them back to life."

Ah. So that’s how it was.

I had suspected it from the start, but hearing it confirmed only made it more obvious that he was using their deaths as leverage.

But… the fact that he gave this information freely, without demanding my loyalty in return, at least spoke to his character. It didn’t mean I trusted him, but it did mean he wasn’t as manipulative as I initially thought. Or rather, he didn’t feel the need to be.

I exhaled. "And what’s your source of information?"

Nongmin smiled. "Classified."

Of course it was.

He continued, "The carcasses of Gu Jie and Ren Xun remain with your youngest disciple, Ren Jingyi. Their remains are stored within her Storage Ring."

Gu Jie and Ren Xun… still within reach.

Nongmin went on, "Ren Jingyi herself is doing well. She currently resides in the Riverfall Continent and is traveling with a cultivator named Tao Long. Meanwhile, Lu Gao..."

I straightened. "Tao Long?" Was that the dragon guy's name?

"...is in a desert." Nongmin took another sip of tea. "With strange people."

I frowned. A desert? That didn’t tell me much, but it was something.

Nongmin set his cup down. "I can help you track them down and bring them here," he offered. "Though retrieving Lu Gao may be… difficult."

It was odd how he spoke about my people so casually, as if he knew them personally.

I leaned on my seat, keeping my expression neutral. "I know the ‘strange’ people with Lu Gao. They’re friends."

Nongmin merely nodded, acknowledging my words.

I hesitated for a beat before finally asking, "What about Hei Mao?"

Nongmin shook his head.

That was all.

No explanation. No further words. Just a single shake of his head.

I felt my heart break.

Hei Mao… gone.

I swallowed, forcing my emotions back down. I wasn’t going to let Nongmin see my pain.

At the very least, I had some solace in knowing where the others were.

Nongmin set his cup down and regarded me with an unreadable expression. "I have already arranged for Ren Jin to secure Ren Jingyi. A guard has been posted with her at all times."

I kept my face neutral, but I wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

"My son will handle the matter of her safety delicately," Nongmin added. "You need not worry... she will be kept safe."

Safe.

I downed the last of my cold tea, then stood. "I’ll think about your offer. We’ll talk later."

Nongmin simply nodded, as if he had already foreseen my response.

I turned away, resisting the urge to sigh. I thought about using Voice Chat, maybe reaching out to Lu Gao, maybe Alice, or Joan, but I decided against it.

Not yet.

Instead, I activated Egress.

I thought about Yellow Dragon City.

A moment later, I stood before the city walls.

The massive walls of Yellow Dragon City loomed before me, a familiar sight, yet distant in a way I couldn’t quite explain. I had been away for too long.

Without hesitation, I activated Zealot’s Stride.

Mana surged through my body. My feet barely touched the air as I shot forward, streaking across the sky like a comet toward the Yellow Dragon Estate.

The guards stationed outside barely had time to react.

"Halt—!"

Too slow.

I blurred past them, their protests lost in the wind.

I zoomed into Ren Jin’s office.

And then...

I stopped.

Stared.

Ren Jin and his wife, Yue Ruo. were making out.

Not just kissing, but full-tangling limbs, hands-wandering, passionately-locked-in-each-other's-arms kind of making out.

I blinked.

I sighed.

They still didn’t notice me.

I faked a cough.

They froze.

Ren Jin slowly turned his head, his wife still half-clinging to him, both of them looking like guilty teenagers caught by their parents.

I didn’t even care anymore.

I closed my eyes and extended my Divine Sense.

I searched, looking for that spark.

That tiny, unique little presence that reminded me of her when she used to be just a goldfish.

There.

I moved.

I jumped from the open veranda, landing lightly in the courtyard below.

Ren Jingyi was training with a whip.

Across from her, Jiang Zhen stood with arms crossed, his expression calm and patient. Tao Long was off to the side, watching with a contemplative look.

I activated Flash Step and appeared within Ren Jingyi’s peripheral vision.

Her whip slipped from her fingers.

Her eyes widened.

She let out a small, choked sound...

Then ran.

Straight for me.

I barely had time to brace myself before the little girl threw herself into my arms.

Ren Jingyi clung to me, her small fingers digging into my robes as if afraid I’d disappear again. "I... I thought I’d never see you again!"

Her fingers tightened around my robes as she trembled. "I was so alone… I didn’t know what to do…"

Her voice cracked. "I was so scared… so sad…"

I let out a slow breath, rubbing her back gently. "It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine."

She choked back another sob but nodded. "Promise?"

"I promise," I hugged her tighter, murmuring softly, "It’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine."

Ren Jingyi sobbed into my shoulder, but she nodded.

She hugged me tighter.

And I hugged her back.

107 Heavenly Eye

The imperial throne room was a vast chamber of solemn majesty, its floor a seamless expanse of polished jade that reflected the golden light cast by towering braziers. Pillars of verdant nephrite, each carved with the writhing forms of celestial dragons, stretched high into the vaulted ceiling, where a mural of the heavens was depicted in exquisite detail—stars of crushed gemstone glittering against a lacquered night sky. At the end of the hall, raised upon a dais of radiant gold, stood the throne of the Grand Emperor. It was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship, sculpted from a single slab of orichalcum, its backrest carved into the shape of an unfurled lotus.

And upon this throne sat the ruler of all under heaven, a man known by many names. To the world, he was the Grand Emperor. To those who feared him, he was the Final Emperor, the wielder of the Heavenly Eye, whose mere gaze could sunder mountains and lay truth bare. But to an affectionate few, he had a humbler name... Nongmin.

He exhaled softly, his expression unreadable as he snapped the portal shut with a flick of his fingers. Green sparks flared and vanished into the ether, leaving only silence in their wake.

And in that silence lay a man, Da Wei.

Unconscious and battered, his body slumped against the jade floor like a discarded weapon. His once-pristine armor, a fusion of foreign craftsmanship and divine invocation, was now a ruinous shell. The breastplate, once engraved with holy inscriptions, was cracked down the center, fissures branching outward like a shattered mirror. The pauldrons bore deep gouges, torn apart by forces that had no place in the mortal realm. His gauntlets were bent out of shape, fingers barely visible beneath the blood and soot that clung to the metal.

Beneath the ruined armor, his body fared little better. Blood seeped from wounds both fresh and half-clotted, staining the tattered remnants of his undershirt. A deep gash ran along his side, just beneath his ribs, the torn flesh a stark contrast against the faint glow of lingering divine energy that struggled to mend him. His face, partially obscured by tangled strands of black hair, was pale from blood loss, but his expression, even in unconsciousness, held an iron-willed defiance.

The air around him still crackled with remnants of power, vestiges of whatever battle had left him in this state. Though his body lay still, his presence was undeniable, like a blade dulled but not yet broken. 

“While I’d love to share tea with him, it is clear he is in no condition to engage in such frivolity,” said Nongmin as his golden eyes, radiant as twin suns, settled upon the only other person in the chamber. “Divine Physician Xin,” he said, his voice steady, neither demanding nor pleading, simply stating. “Take care of our guest. And make sure to protect his privacy. I'm sure our dear guest would appreciate being spared from dealing with flies, worms, and your average day vermin.”

The woman beside him, Xin Yune, moved without hesitation. She was dressed in flowing white robes embroidered with silver lotuses, the very image of serenity. With a casual wave of her hand, the broken and bloodied body of the stranger lifted from the floor, weightless as though caught in an unseen current. The man, Da Wei, as Nongmin believed his name to be, remained unconscious, his injuries grievous but not beyond Xin’s skill.

The Divine Physician studied the wounded man for a moment before nodding. “It would be best to tend to him in your private chamber,” she remarked, her voice light but assured. “The energies here are not suited for healing.”

Nongmin inclined his head slightly, conceding the point. With another flick of his fingers, the great doors of the throne room opened, and the Divine Physician, with Da Wei floating behind her, departed in silence.

For a moment, the Grand Emperor remained seated, his golden gaze lingering on the space where the portal had been. Then, with a quiet sigh, he closed his eyes.

The throne room returned to stillness.

The Empire had endured another crisis. Under his guidance, such tribulations rarely left lasting scars. However, one thing still lingered in his thoughts: Shenyuan. That old monster sure caused trouble for him. How unexpected. Nongmin had thought the Black Clan’s and Shadow Clan’s past had long been buried, its remnants either scattered or faded into obscurity.

Yet, not only had Shenyuan survived the purging and his schemes from that time, but he had reemerged stronger with designs of his own, entwined with the Eternal Undeath Cult.

A troublesome development.

Still, the most surprising aspect of the recent ordeal had not been Shenyuan. It had been Da Wei who ended it all.

The stranger was… an anomaly. He was not a blind spot to Nongmin’s Heavenly Eye, few things in existence were. Yet, Da Wei was concerning in a different way. The man’s moral compass did not fit this world. It was neither naive nor foolish, but it operated on principles that felt out of place, untethered from the unspoken laws of survival that dictated life in this realm. Nongmin had encountered many types of men: heroes, tyrants, and visionaries, but Da Wei was something else entirely.

He sighed, rubbing his temple before raising his fingers. With but a thought, Qi Speech carried his command across the vast reaches of his domain.

“Zhu Shin. Attend me.”

Moments later, the throne room’s grand doors swung open with a deep thrum, reverberating through the chamber like the beating of a great war drum.

A man entered.

He was large, built like a moving fortress, every step heavy with restrained power. His presence alone carried the weight of a seasoned warrior, one who had stood at the Empire’s borders and held back countless tides of destruction. His armor, though grand in craftsmanship, bore the marks of battle, etched scars of long-forgotten wars.

He was General Zhu Shin, a cultivator of the Ninth Realm and one of Nongmin’s most trusted subordinates.

Zhu Shin knelt before the throne, fist to chest in a formal salute. His voice was deep and steady. “Your Majesty.”

Nongmin regarded him for a moment before speaking. “How fares the defense against the demonic forces?”

He already knew the answer, of course. His Heavenly Eye had long since shown him the state of the frontlines, the battles fought, the victories claimed, and the lingering struggles. But this was not an empty question.

It was a habit.

A habit he had cultivated for the sake of his people, to acknowledge their efforts, to ensure their work was appreciated, and to make clear that the battles they fought were seen.

Zhu Shin exhaled before responding. “The demonic incursions have been repelled along the western border. The Black Tides were held at Mount Qingshi, and our forces secured a decisive victory. However, there are still lingering infestations in the northern wastelands. We have sent purification squads to deal with the remnants.”

Nongmin nodded. “Well done. You have led them admirably.”

Zhu Shin did not smile, nor did he boast. But there was a shift in his posture, the smallest sign of pride in his duty.

The Empire endured because of men like him.

General Zhu Shin remained kneeling before the Grand Emperor, his expression composed as he continued his report. His voice carried the weight of a man who had seen countless battlefields and knew the cost of war.

“The Seven Imperial Houses have been cooperative,” Zhu Shin stated. “Their swift response minimized casualties and prevented widespread damage. Their unity has been commendable.”

Nongmin inclined his head slightly. The Seven Imperial Houses were the backbone of his Empire, ruling vast territories and commanding immense power. It was always a delicate balance keeping them aligned with his rule, but in times of crisis, their cooperation was paramount. That they had acted accordingly this time meant fewer matters to clean up.

“However,” Zhu Shin continued, his tone shifting slightly, “the Black Clan suffered the most from this ordeal.”

Nongmin sighed inwardly. That was hardly surprising. The Black Clan, also known as the Black Imperial House, had once been the direct sword and shield of the throne. They were meant to be an unshakable pillar of the Empire. But now, they had become the greatest victims of what was likely the most significant coup attempt in the last millennium.

Though, in truth, neither the Black Clan nor the Shadow Clan was at fault.

They had once been a single and mighty clan. But history had split them apart, and their paths had diverged. The Black Clan remained in direct service to the Empire, while the Shadow Clan had withdrawn into secrecy, guarding their inherited knowledge that most had long since deemed dangerous or forbidden. 

Yet despite their differences, they had both been manipulated. Shenyuan had used them as pawns in his grand scheme.

“They were not the ones pulling the strings,” Nongmin murmured, his tone laced with irritation. His Heavenly Eye had long since shown him the truth. Shenyuan had been the true architect of this disaster. The Shadow Clan, the Black Clan… they had merely been caught in the web of a monster that should have died centuries ago.

But Shenyuan was dead now.

That should have brought Nongmin satisfaction. And yet… he clicked his tongue, a faint sense of disappointment lingering in his thoughts.

It had not been his hand that ended Shenyuan.

It was good riddance, of course. The world was better off without him. Had his schemes come to fruition, it would have thrown the entire balance of power into chaos. The Hell’s Gate had already been enough of a problem. Shenyuan’s frenzied blood demons had only worsened the situation.

Had Da Wei not been involved, Nongmin might have been forced to split his resources and fight a war that his Empire was not prepared for.

That was an outcome he would never have tolerated.

“The blood demons have been secured,” Zhu Shin reported. “The military has taken full control with the assistance of the intelligence division. Any remnants are being systematically purged.”

Nongmin gave a slow nod. That was as it should be. He had no interest in allowing such creatures to roam unchecked. But Zhu Shin was not finished.

“There is another matter,” the General added, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful. “The blood techniques used by Shenyuan’s creations… they are highly effective. Little cost, great power. If studied properly, they might be repurposed for our soldiers.”

Nongmin closed his eyes briefly and exhaled through his nose. Of course, he would think that.

Zhu Shin was proactive when it came to strengthening the military, sometimes to problematic extremes. It was not a bad trait. It was precisely this drive that had made him such an indispensable subordinate. But in this case, it was a dead end.

“That would be a waste of effort,” Nongmin stated plainly. “I have already seen the truth of these techniques through my Heavenly Eye. They will not work as you hope.”

Zhu Shin frowned slightly. “May I ask why, Your Majesty?”

Nongmin waved a hand dismissively. “The cost is not as ‘little’ as it seems. The drawbacks are simply hidden well. To rely on such power is to invite disaster.”

The General bowed his head, accepting the judgment without argument. Nongmin appreciated that about him, loyalty tempered by pragmatism. Zhu Shin would push for what he believed would strengthen the Empire, but he also knew when to relent.

“What else?” Nongmin asked, shifting the conversation.

Zhu Shin hesitated for a brief moment before answering. “The World Summit, Your Majesty.”

Nongmin’s expression immediately darkened.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue in clear annoyance.

The World Summit, the grand gathering of sovereigns, sect leaders, and rulers of the great powers. It was a necessary institution, a place where the balance of power was maintained, where alliances were forged and grudges either settled or deepened.

And he had no interest in attending.

But ignoring it was not an option.

Not now.

Not when the signs of a turbulent era were becoming more and more evident.

Nongmin leaned back against the golden throne, exhaling softly. The weight of the Empire rested upon his shoulders, yet this was no burden... he had long since mastered the art of governance, balancing strength with wisdom.

"Go," he said, his voice steady but firm. “You are dismissed, General.”

General Zhu Shin, still kneeling, clasped his hands and bowed low. "As you command, Your Majesty."

The massive doors of the imperial throne room creaked open as the General took his leave, his towering figure vanishing into the dimly lit corridors beyond. The heavy doors shut behind him with a final thud, leaving Nongmin alone in the vast chamber.

Silence reigned, save for the distant flickering of jade lanterns and the faint hum of spiritual formations embedded in the walls.

With a thought, Nongmin opened his Heavenly Eye.

He had already confirmed that Da Wei was in stable condition under Divine Physician Xin’s care. That was fine. What he needed now was leverage, to know the people around Da Wei.

With a wave of his hand, a set of bamboo scrolls materialized in front of him, each marked with crimson seals. These were the reports compiled by his son, Ren Jin, gathered from the observations of his grandson, Ren Xun.

It was time to see what pieces he had on the board.

With another thought, his Heavenly Eye turned to Ren Xun.

Dead.

His grandson's corpse lay stuffed inside a Storage Ring of all things, an undignified end. There was not much to see, just an empty, lifeless husk sealed away in a pocket dimension.

But then, as his sight shifted toward the threads of fate, he glimpsed something… unclear.

A possible future where Ren Xun lived again.

Nongmin’s brow furrowed. A resurrection?

He prided himself on his ability to see fate’s currents, to divine the future with more accuracy than any mere prophet. Yet, even his sight had its limits... it was not absolute.

Still, if Ren Xun could return, it was worth noting. He would not be so foolish as to ignore something so unnatural.

Next, he turned his gaze toward another name on the list.

Gu Jie?

Dead.

A shame, but expected. She was always too reckless, from what little he had seen in Ren Xun’s reports. Cavalier even… and sometimes, too reliant on her special ability.

Ren Jingyi?

Alive.

But what truly caught Nongmin’s attention was who she was with, Tao Long.

Tao Long? That was a name he hadn’t heard in centuries. His old friend.

Curious.

Next, Hei Mao?

…Nothing.

Nongmin frowned. That could mean one of two things.

Either Hei Mao was dead, or something was obstructing his vision.

Given recent events, the former was more likely.

And then, the last name on the report.

Lu Gao?

Out of range. Nongmin could tell, after all, he could perceive his spark still… just too far away.

That meant he was outside the Empire. Nongmin narrowed his eyes. If the Lu Clan child had escaped beyond his sight, he would have to exert more effort to find him.

With a murmured incantation, he channeled his Heavenly Eye’s power, weaving a spell to enhance his vision. His sight pierced across continents, past mountains and rivers, across deserts and oceans, until finally...

A vast desert.

The shifting sands stretched endlessly beneath a burning sun. But before he could focus, before he could see clearly, a woman with rosy pink hair turned her gaze toward him.

And stared directly into his Heavenly Eye.

The world lurched as a sudden, suffocating bloodlust filled his vision.

Nongmin flinched.

It was not possible. No one, not even the greatest seers of the era, should be able to see him when he scried from such a vast distance. And yet, this woman had not only noticed him but had also locked onto him as if he were prey.

Then...

Darkness.

The connection was severed.

Nongmin lost sight of Lu Gao entirely.

A deep frown formed on his face.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

Who was that woman?

More importantly, how had she intercepted his sight?

That was a problem for later. For now, he had bigger matters to consider.

Nongmin took a slow breath and exhaled.

Perhaps looking into Da Wei’s companions was a waste of time. He would need to adjust his approach.

Instead of chasing shadows, he would focus on the man himself.

With another thought, he turned his Heavenly Eye toward Da Wei’s future.

What he needed was a path... a series of simulated events that would allow him to guide Da Wei toward an agreement. One that would benefit the Empire.

The best-case scenario?

He recruited Da Wei.

A man with power beyond reason, someone who could withstand the attacks of the likes of Shenyuan without breaking a sweat, such a person could be an unstoppable force for the Empire.

A storm was coming. He knew it.

And in the end, when the dust settled, he would ensure that his Empire stood above all.

106 God of War

I remained aloft in the air, watching the two gargantuan demons in front of me. Their massive, twisted forms loomed over the battlefield, their skin like molten rock, their eyes burning pits of malice. One of them was still regenerating its arm, the limb that had been obliterated earlier. The other let out a guttural roar, the force of it shaking the island beneath us. More demons spilled forth from the incomplete Hell’s Gate behind them, their forms twisting and writhing as they emerged.

I reached into my Item Box and pulled out my helm piece, fitting it into place. The weight of it settled over my head as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon.

Good. That meant my spell slots had recovered.

Unlike skills or ultimate skills, spell slots would regenerate twenty-four hours after the first spell had been cast. I’d been burning through Divine Possession at the crack of dawn every day since my training arc, making sure my mana cycles aligned with my peak condition.

Sigh… I’d love to be carefree about this, but this was really bad.

I focused inward, sensing the lingering effects of my previous spells. Divine Word: Life was still active, and my accumulated reflect was holding strong. But that wasn’t enough. Not against this.

I reached into my Item Box again, pulling out Magic Scrolls. With a flick of my wrist, I tore them apart, unleashing their stored magic.

Greater Strength. Greater Freedom. Greater Thought. Anti-Demon. Heaven’s Embrace. Magic Reflection. Fortified Sanctuary. Arcane Warding. Divine Aegis.

The power surged through me, layer after layer of protection and enhancement reinforcing my body. The crackling energy of Magic Reflection hummed against my skin, and the divine warmth of Heaven’s Embrace settled into my core.

Then I turned to my skills.

Bless. Lion’s Courage. Shield of the Eternal. Holy Sanctuary. Shield of Faith. Holy Aura. Armor of the Indomitable. Spell Resonance: Sacred Bulwark.

Golden radiance flared around me as the skills took effect. My Holy Aura pulsed, a beacon of divinity cutting through the darkness, searing the ground where lesser demons dared step.

The wounded demon growled, its infernal voice dripping with rage. “I will rend you to pieces until nothing remains!”

Thanks to my Translation Skill, I heard him loud and clear.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s cute. Say it again after you grow your arm back.”

The other demon roared again, louder this time, sending tremors through the battlefield. The Hell’s Gate crackled with energy, and more demons poured forth, such as lesser fiends, enough to overwhelm a small army.

Deep breaths.

I could do this.

I’d fought against an incomplete Hell’s Gate before. The problem was, this was my first time soloing one.

I just needed to survive.

As long as I held out, the incomplete Hell’s Gate would eventually dissipate. But that meant enduring the relentless onslaught until then.

I swept my Divine Sense across the battlefield, searching for any survivors. A few Shadow Clan cultivators still fought desperately, shielding what remained of their people. They were battered and bloodied, but they hadn’t given up yet.

Without hesitation, I activated Voice Chat, broadcasting a message across my Divine Sense radius to anything non-hostile.

"To all surviving members of the Shadow Clan—hurry and evacuate! Things are about to get messy!"

There was a pause, then flickers of movement as they started retreating.

Good.

I renewed Blessed Regeneration, feeling my body reinforce itself further, then reached for my Item Box once more. A handful of mana potions materialized in my grasp, and I chugged them down one after another. The moment the last vial shattered in my grip, I summoned my weapons.

Silver Steel.

Hellcleaver.

The long sword and great axe gleamed in the morning light, radiating an aura of divine power and hellish touch.

I adjusted my grip, feeling tense at the moment.

“Alright, you oversized abominations,” I muttered, exhaling slowly. “Let’s see who lasts longer.”

Then I dove straight into the fray.

The only strategy I could think of at the moment was to abuse Reflect damage.

That meant abusing Sacrificial Zeal, my passive ability that turned every hit I took into divine retribution.

The flying demons, gargoyles, fallen angels, red-skinned horrors, and djinns screeched as they swarmed me from all sides. But the moment they got too close, they exploded.

Feathers, stone, and charred flesh scattered in the air like grotesque fireworks. Even those that barely grazed my aura detonated on contact.

The swarm quickly realized the problem.

They dispersed.

And that gave the demons below an opening.

Blinding arcs of flame, spiraling lances of darkness, searing void beams: spells of terrifying potency surged toward me.

I let them hit.

They should have incinerated me. Instead, the moment they struck, the casters themselves suffered.

Some erupted into gore, obliterated by their own attacks reflected back at them. Others staggered, their bodies mangled by the overwhelming damage rebounding at multiplied force.

Normally, Reflect only worked in a certain radius. But I was too stacked with buffs right now.

The battlefield turned chaotic.

I gestured in the air.

Summon: Holy Spirit.

A pillar of light and a golden sigil manifested beside me. From it, a familiar figure materialized in divine brilliance...

Dave.

His form was ethereal, his presence like a fragment of the divine itself.

I turned to him. “Use Divine Possession on me.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

His voice held no hesitation.

When Divine Possession was nerfed back in LLO, I had devised a workaround... a combo using a summoned Holy Spirit.

As Dave merged into me, I felt it instantly; his emotions were raw and true.

He was hurting.

Just like me.

But he didn’t waver.

He pushed his emotions aside. Not to suppress them, but to turn them into strength for me.

My stats skyrocketed by fifty percent. On top of the fifty percent buff, I gained two additional spell slots, a trick I had discovered by accident. The Holy Spirit's presence provided me with extra divine reserves, allowing me to stretch my endurance even further.

I needed every bit of power I could get.

And my Reflect damage? It multiplied several times over.

The gargantuan demon with its arms still intact suddenly lunged.

Each step shattered the ruins beneath it. Buildings crumbled as it charged straight at me.

I didn’t stop swinging.

Silver Steel. Hellcleaver.

The divine blade and demonic axe cut through the demons in my path like wheat before a scythe.

The gargantuan demon leaped, both arms wreathed in hellfire, swinging down in an arc meant to crush me.

I dismissed Hellcleaver.

And summoned World Aegis.

The tower shield materialized in my grip just in time...

BOOM!

Its fiery limbs collided with my shield.

The result?

Not me breaking, but its arms shattering on impact.

Bone burst through its flesh, jagged and exposed, as its own force rebounded against it.

Dave’s voice resonated through our connection.

“My Lord, I advise the use of the evolved Heavenly Punishment...”

I grinned. “Let's do it.”

As one, we activated it.

The sky darkened.

Storm clouds churned, thick and foreboding, gathering above like the wrath of the heavens itself.

In its original form, Heavenly Punishment was a gigantic sword of judgment descending from above.

But now?

The divine punishment was contained within a single sword.

My Silver Steel glowed.

Brighter. Hotter.

The storm above rumbled as I raised my sword.

Then...

I swung.

Divine Smite.

The gargantuan demon had no time to react.

The blade cut straight through it.

Bisected.

A clean, brutal split down the middle.

Because of Hollow Point, which gave me a near-perfect critical chance, the strike registered as a critical hit.

The demon never even screamed.

Its body fell apart, severed completely, its blood evaporating before it even touched the ground.

A silence, brief but heavy, hung over the battlefield.

Then...

I roared.

The catharsis burned through my veins.

The battlefield trembled in response.

A voice reached me through the chaos: old, weary, yet unmistakably alive.

Hei Yuan.

I glanced in his direction, half-expecting to see only his severed corpse. But there he was, hovering in the air, his face soaked in blood, his right arm completely gone, torn away in some battle I hadn’t seen.

And he wasn’t alone.

A handful of Shadow Clan cultivators stood with him, some barely holding themselves upright. Their ashen hair and battle-worn faces suggested they were elders, survivors of this slaughter.

Hei Yuan’s gaze locked onto mine. "Master Wei, we will fight alongside you."

My Divine Sense swept over the battlefield. The demons swarming them were roughly level 100, though I could tell some stronger ones lurked among their ranks, hiding within the lesser horde.

The Shadow Clan elders weren’t in much better shape than Hei Yuan. Wounded. Drained. Struggling.

I opened my mouth to tell them to retreat, but then, in the distance, the gargantuan demon with the missing arm moved.

It picked up an entire ruined building and hurled it toward me like a toy, carefully angling it to descend on Hei Yuan’s group.

I didn’t hesitate.

Zealot’s Stride.

The air beneath my feet solidified as I burst forward, bridging the distance between myself and Hei Yuan in an instant.

A serpentine demon, massive, sinuous, and covered in writhing black scales, lunged from the ruins of the building, its body expanding as it shot toward Hei Yuan and his group, intending to crush them whole.

Thunderous Smite.

I swung Silver Steel, and the force of my strike sent a roaring shockwave outward. The serpent reeled back, its flesh burning from holy energy, but the attack also blasted Hei Yuan and his elders backward, away from me.

It wasn’t gentle.

But it got them out of danger.

I hovered in place, glaring at Hei Yuan. “You’re a burden.”

Silence.

For a moment, just a moment, I saw something in his eyes.

Pain.

Not just physical, but wounded pride.

The other elders stared at me with grim expressions, their faces hardened, not from anger, but from the unforgiving truth of my words.

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth, then forced himself upright, blood dripping from his missing arm.

"Even so," he said, voice unwavering, "we will fight."

The other elders nodded, some summoning what remained of their strength, others gripping their weapons tightly.

Fools.

But determined fools.

The days blurred together in an endless cycle of blood and steel.

I killed.

Then I killed again.

Then I kept killing.

The Shadow Clan cultivators fought alongside me, their movements swift, precise, and merciless. We were warriors locked in a hopeless battle, drowning in the tide of demons spilling forth from the Hell’s Gate.

They died.

One by one, they fell.

But they died smiling, as if they had already accepted their fate.

Meanwhile, the demons fought like they wanted nothing more than to see me erased from existence. Their hatred for me was palpable, their screeches deafening, their attacks relentless.

It was as if my very existence offended them.

I felt no pity. No sorrow. No guilt.

Just resolve.

Hei Yuan approached me between battles, his face weary but his voice steady. "Wei, use us as you see fit. We are yours to command."

I scoffed, swinging Hellcleaver through a lesser demon’s skull before answering.

“I have no use for you.”

Hei Yuan didn’t react, only nodding in understanding.

“Then,” he said, “we will fight and die as warriors.”

I didn’t stop him.

Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, a darker part of me whispered.

“Use them.”

“Throw them at the enemy.”

“Abuse your resurrection items and keep them fighting.”

But I didn’t.

Every time a Shadow Clan cultivator fell, I snatched their body and stuffed it into my Item Box, a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Because if I lived through this day…

If I survived…

I would resurrect them.

If not, then at the very least, I would give them a proper burial.

I wouldn’t die here.

I couldn’t die here.

Not before I found Gu Jie and Ren Xun.

The thought was both sobering and suffocating.

So I swung my weapon and lost myself in the battle once more.

Time lost all meaning.

Days bled into weeks.

I fought.

I butchered.

I pushed forward.

The battlefield became a graveyard of demons, their corpses piling so high they formed mountains of the damned. My armor, once pristine, was now drenched in gore, my weapons chipped, my mana reserves strained, but I endured.

Because I had to.

Because there was no one else left.

The Shadow Clan cultivators were gone.

Every last one of them had fallen.

Their bodies were now safely stored away, a silent promise that I would bring them back... or, at the very least, lay them to proper rest.

But now, I stood alone.

At the threshold of hell itself.

I had bottlenecked the Hell’s Gate, forcing the demons to trickle out in smaller numbers, making them easier to cut down. If I could just hold this position… if I could last long enough… the incomplete gate would eventually collapse.

That was my gamble.

That was my only hope.

I had slaughtered my way forward, step by agonizing step, until I now stood inside the gate, positioned at its very mouth, where the fabric of reality twisted and screamed.

Hell’s breath burned against my skin.

The sky above was wrong, a swirling abyss of impossible colors.

The ground beneath me pulsed like a living thing.

And beyond, in the writhing depths of the infernal, I could feel them watching.

The true lords of this abyss.

The ones who had not yet emerged.

The ones waiting for me to break.

I tightened my grip on Silver Steel and Hellcleaver, my body aching, my soul screaming, but I refused to fall.

I had come too far.

I had lost too much.

I was not going to die here.

So I raised my weapons, took a deep breath, and prepared for the next wave.

Days stretched into eternity. It was hell.

I fought.

I bled.

I survived.

At first, the demons were mere fodder, low-level creatures that shattered upon my Reflect and compounding Sacrificial Zeal, their grotesque bodies bursting into pools of ichor the moment they touched me. Gargoyles, their stony forms cracking like brittle clay. Red-skinned fiends, their claws snapping against my armor. Lesser djinns, their smoky bodies torn apart by my relentless attacks.

But as the days dragged on, the enemies grew stronger.

I knew this pattern. This was a Raid.

In LLO, the waves would escalate, moving from elites to Raid Bosses, and then finally to World Bosses.

The realization sent a chill down my spine.

Because I was alone in every sense of the word.

And this wasn’t a game.

But did I let that stop me?

“No.”

The first to test me was a Fallen Angel, his wings scorched black, his golden armor warped into cruel spikes.

He descended like a comet, sword raised high. "You reek of divinity, filthy human!" His voice dripped with contempt and arrogance. "This place shall be your grave!"

I let him connect, his blade biting into my shoulder. But the moment it did, Sacrificial Zeal and the accumulated Reflect damage activated, and his form twisted. His body convulsed, veins rupturing, as my reflected damage tore him apart from the inside.

He screamed, his arrogance melting into pure agony, and then... he burst into ash.

Next came demonic nobility.

A Marquis of Ruin, his twin blades crackling with cursed lightning, moved faster than I could track.

A Countess of Slaughter, her spindly fingers dripping acid, danced around me, laughing as she conjured illusions.

A Duke of Madness, a three-headed beast, each maw chanting a different spell, weaving destruction in chaotic, unpredictable patterns.

They were nothing like the mindless demons before them.

They were tactical.

They coordinated their strikes, forcing me to burn through mana potions, to cycle through buffs and defensive spells at an unsustainable pace.

I blocked the Marquis’s twin blades with World Aegis, only for the Countess to sink her claws into my back.

I retaliated with Thunderous Smite, sending a shockwave through her skeletal frame, only for the Duke to nearly incinerate me with an Eldritch Cataclysm.

I endured.

I adapted.

I slaughtered them.

Then came the Named Ones... the true monsters.

A demon clad in black chains, his body an ever-shifting mass of shadowy tendrils.

A colossal warlord, his four arms wielding molten cleavers, his body pulsing with unstoppable bloodlust.

A sorcerer, his voice like a dying whisper, who twisted reality with every incantation.

These were the kinds of foes that, in LLO, would have required a full guild raid to take down.

But I had no raid party.

I had only myself.

And Dave.

Through Divine Possession, he shared the burden. He channeled power into me, strengthened my attacks, enhanced my defenses, and guided my hand when exhaustion blurred my vision.

Every strike felt like swinging through molten steel.

Every demon slain left a scar on my soul.

Every victory only brought another challenge.

But I did not break.

I would not break.

I roared, Divine Smite igniting my blade, and cleaved through the warlord’s chest, watching as his four arms spasmed, his molten blood turning to steam as his massive body collapsed.

The sorcerer whispered a final curse before my Hellcleaver split his skull in two.

And the shadowed demon, the one who had lurked at the edges of my vision, trying to wear me down with deception and despair, I caught his tendrils, tore them apart with my bare hands, and burned his essence away with Judgment Severance.

I stood atop a mountain of corpses, my breath ragged, my vision blurred with exhaustion.

And still... the demons came.

But they were afraid now.

I could see it.

They hated me.

They feared me.

And for the first time, I realized... they weren’t just trying to kill me anymore.

They were desperate to erase me.

Because I had become something they could not understand.

I was still standing.

I laughed in the face of death.

It was a ragged, broken sound, something between exhaustion and pure, unhinged exhilaration.

I had long stopped counting the days.

At some point, I must have breezed through Mind Enlightenment while cycling my Mana Road Cultivation mid-combat. It wasn’t intentional... Instead, I was simply fighting, adapting, and growing, my very existence pressed to the breaking point.

And before I knew it, I had stepped into Will Reinforcement.

Something changed then.

My movements sharpened. My mind refined every action into pure efficiency. Every swing, parry, dodge... everything I did carried purpose. There was no wasted effort.

No hesitation.

Only slaughter.

Yet, even with this newfound clarity, I had long lost the ability to hold a proper conversation.

At first, Dave and I spoke, exchanging strategies, reinforcing our synchronization.

Then it became one-sided, his voice pressing into my mind, but I gave no response.

Then, finally... silence.

Even the Holy Spirit’s presence faded to the edges of my perception.

There was only the battle.

Only me and the demons.

My armor had seen better days.

My helm had cracked, revealing half of my face, the exposed skin streaked with blood and soot.

A hole had been torn through my breastplate, right over where my heart should have been. The jagged edges still smoldered, remnants of whatever unholy strike had nearly taken my life.

My weapons, once pristine, were starting to chip.

Even Hellcleaver had stopped laughing, a legendary axe, showed visible wear, its edges dulled, its once flawless metal now marred with fractures.

Silver Steel, my trusted sword, was similarly worn, its once radiant glow flickering, struggling to sustain itself under the sheer onslaught of battle.

They would regenerate, given time.

But I wasn’t giving them time.

I cycled through my arsenal, alternating weapons to keep up the tempo. Whenever a weapon felt too strained, I’d dismiss it, calling forth another from my Holy Spirit’s innate conjuration or from the wealth of weapons I have from my Item Box.

Even that had become a mindless action, a practiced rhythm, like breathing.

And still, I fought.

I felt so tired.

A distant part of me, one that still remembered what it meant to be human, whispered that I should stop.

That I should rest.

But that voice was small, insignificant beneath the overwhelming fury of battle.

Because the demons were still here.

Because the Hell’s Gate was still open.

Because I wasn’t done.

And until it was over...

I would not stop.

The air trembled, a violent shudder rippling through the battlefield.

The turbulence became erratic, spiraling out of control as the Hell’s Gate began to collapse.

I had done it.

I had fought for weeks, probably a month or so, cut down everything that dared to stand against me, and now, the invasion was over.

The war was won.

A breath left my lips. something like relief, but too hollow to feel real.

I tried to cast Zealot’s Stride as my body screamed for escape. I needed to move. To leave before I was caught in the destruction.

Nothing happened.

It was dispelled.

I turned, my worn-out grip tightening around my sword, and there it was.

A black knight stood before me, wreathed in black flames that crackled with a presence far beyond any demon I had faced before.

It spoke, its voice a guttural snarl in the infernal tongue.

"Your efforts are meaningless. You may have sealed the gate, but as long as we take your life..."

The rest of its words burned into my skull, unintelligible but carrying weight, a command, a curse.

The exhaustion in my bones sank deeper.

I had fought so long. Too long. I wasn’t sure if I had anything left to fight this one.

But I raised my sword anyway.

Before I could act, spectral chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around my limbs, my torso, binding me in place.

I struggled, but my body felt heavy.

The black knight strode forward, deliberate, uncaring. It raised its sword, black steel humming with an energy I did not recognize, an energy that made even my divine defenses recoil in disgust.

Then it drove its sword into my chest.

Pain exploded through me.

The impact triggered Sacrificial Zeal and Reflect, a pulse of reflected damage shattered through barriers and armor surrounding the black knight.

Yet it did not move.

It simply stared down at me, as if mocking the very idea that my damage could reach it.

Fine.

If this was how it was going to be...

I activated Heavenly Punishment.

Not through my sword.

Not through my hands.

But through my teeth.

Everything about it felt wrong.

Heavenly Punishment wasn’t meant to be used like this. It should have been channeled through a blade, not something as crude and primal as a bite.

But I did it anyway.

A blinding backlash tore through me, the very act of forcing divine judgment into my own body nearly crushed my skull from the inside out.

I ignored it.

I sank my teeth into the black knight’s armored shoulder.

My teeth cracked.

The knight’s armor split.

And then divine light erupted, spreading like fire through dry wood, burning and bursting the corrupted metal apart.

The black knight finally reacted, its body jerking from the unexpected attack.

I triggered Flash Parry.

The chains holding me shattered.

I honestly didn’t think that would work.

With everything I had left, I kicked the black knight in the chest with War Smite, sending it flying back, crashing through ruins and debris.

I stumbled, my vision wavering.

The Hell’s Gate collapsed.

The path back to the mortal world was gone.

"Fuck."

The world blurred.

My knees buckled, and my body crashed onto my back.

I was going to die here.

Then... a voice.

"You’ve done well, God of War."

A faint green spark flickered in my dimming vision.

It grew, expanded, forming a circle beneath me.

My body fell.

I barely registered a new place, a new presence, two figures, a man and a woman.

The man looked at me and smirked.

"It’s been a hundred days."

He leaned slightly closer, as if amused.

"Now, if I recall correctly..."

"You owe me tea."

And then...

Everything went dark.

105 Hell’s Gate

Tao Long was a streak of lightning across the sky, his serpentine form twisting and coiling through the heavens as if he were a living conduit of divine power. The wind howled around him, but he paid it no mind. His focus was singular—his target, the one from Shouquan’s prophecy. But the world was vast, and even a dragon of his stature could not bend space to his will.

Continents were never meant to be crossed in an instant. Even for him, a Divine Flood Dragon, the sheer distance was an obstacle he could not simply ignore. The power of heaven and earth accelerated his speed, but the heavens had their limits, and the earth had its restraints. And he was already too late.

Dawn had begun to set in, the first rays of sunlight peeking over the horizon, but they brought no warmth, no promise of renewal. Instead, they cast light upon a scene of ruin.

Tao Long’s elementalized, serpentine form slithered through the sky before coming to an abrupt halt. His draconic body solidified, storm-forged scales shimmering before peeling away, revealing his humanoid form. In a final flash of lightning, he stood as a man once more, high above the carnage.

His breath hitched.

Below him, the lake that surrounded the Shadow Clan’s island was no longer a lake; it was an abyss, suffused with a dark miasma so thick it had become a suffocating fog. The once-still waters churned with something unnatural, something defiled.

By the shore, the remnants of battle lay strewn across the land: blood, bodies, broken weapons, and shattered hopes. Gore splattered the rocks and sand, staining the ground in a manner that only slaughter could.

And in the middle of it all stood a man.

At first glance, his presence was unremarkable. His spiritual pressure was deceptive, subtle, as if it wished to be ignored. Were it not for Shouquan’s prophecy, Tao Long would have dismissed him entirely. But he knew better.

Beside the man, a little girl knelt in the bloodstained sand, sobbing. Her presence caught Tao Long’s attention, not just because of her grief, but because of her bloodline. A trace of something sacred lingered within her, something ancient. Koi.

The sky darkened.

A crimson hue spread across the heavens, as if the very world mourned what had happened here. Malicious qi lingered in the air, thick and cloying, a stain upon the natural order.

Tao Long did not hesitate. He descended.

Lightning crackled as he landed upon the shore with a resounding blast, the sheer force of his arrival parting the fog for a brief moment.

The little girl did not react. She remained on her knees, hands clenched into fists, her tears mixing with the blood-soaked ground.

The man stood still, staring between his fingers at something unseen, something intangible. Ash drifted through the air, weightless and unbound, dissolving into the crimson sky.

Tao Long’s presence demanded recognition. His bloodline roared within him, ancient and mighty. He did not whisper his name. Instead, he proclaimed it, his voice booming like the thunder that heralded his storms.

“I am Tao Long, the Divine Flood Dragon!”

Still, the man did not look at him.

Tao Long narrowed his eyes, his majesty pressing upon the battlefield like a decree from the heavens themselves.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

Silence.

His gaze shifted to the little girl. “You,” he addressed her, softening his tone slightly. “What happened here?”

She lifted her face, tear-streaked and empty, but she did not speak. She only stared.

Tao Long’s eyes swept over the carnage once more. His mind raced, filling in the gaps. The devastation, the miasma, the unnatural qi in the air. This was not an ordinary battle. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

His gaze returned to the man. “Did you do this?”

Finally, the man looked at him.

His eyes were hollow. Grief-stricken.

His voice, when it came, was quiet, but it carried the weight of something irrevocable.

“I made a choice,” he said. “That’s what happened.”

Tao Long stilled.

The man was drowning in sorrow. Whatever had happened here, whatever destruction had been wrought, he was at its center. But he was not in a state to answer, not truly.

Tao Long exhaled slowly.

This was not what he had expected.

Tao Long’s gaze remained locked onto the man as he finally spoke. His voice was steady, but there was something hollow beneath it, a depth of grief that could not be concealed.

“I just killed my disciple,” the man said.

Tao Long’s expression darkened. He studied him carefully, sensing no falsehood, only sorrow.

“I could tell through my Divine Sense,” the man continued. “It was the only choice. Shenyuan would have escaped if I hadn’t finished him there and then.”

As his words fell upon the bloodstained shore, the very earth beneath them trembled. A low rumble echoed through the land, as though the island itself groaned in agony. The crimson light in the sky twisted, thickening into a dense fog. And then...

A mirage appeared in the center of the island.

Tao Long stiffened. It was massive, towering over the island like an omen. Though flickering like an illusion, its presence was undeniable. The shape of a colossal gate loomed within the mist, ancient and foreboding, its surface etched with unfathomable symbols.

The little girl wiped her tears, staring at the apparition with wide eyes. “What’s that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man’s gaze did not waver. “That’s a Hell’s Gate,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added, “But an incomplete one.”

Tao Long’s brows furrowed. Hell’s Gate?

Despite his time within the Ward, despite the vast knowledge he had accumulated, he had never heard of such a thing. But the name Shenyuan... that, he knew.

Shenyuan.

The One True Death.

The Abyss.

The Eternal Heir.

A peer of Shouquan himself.

Tao Long’s hands clenched into fists. He had never expected to hear that name again, let alone under these circumstances. The Grand Emperor should have ended that old monster long ago. And yet...

He forced himself to focus, pushing back the tide of thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.

His gaze returned to the man. “Was it you?” Tao Long asked, his voice sharp. “Did you summon the Hell’s Gate?”

The man met his eyes and nodded. “Not by choice,” he said. “It was the consequence of killing Shenyuan.”

Tao Long narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

The man exhaled, the weight of his next words evident in his expression. “Shenyuan prepared for his own demise. He used a unique mechanism, one that would trigger upon his death. An incomplete Hell’s Gate would be summoned, and his subordinated demons across the Empire would be driven into a frenzy.”

Silence stretched between them.

Tao Long felt his breath catch. A scheme of this scale… even for an immortal monster like Shenyuan, this was too much.

A slow rage began to build within him. This was not just one tragedy. This was a calamity waiting to unfold.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the little girl, still kneeling beside the man, clenched her fists. Her small frame trembled with barely contained fury.

“They all deserve to die,” she muttered. “The bad people. Every...”

Before she could finish, the man placed a hand on her head, silencing her gently. His fingers combed through her hair, and his other hand gave her shoulder an affectionate rub.

She flinched slightly, but after a moment, she leaned into his touch.

Tao Long’s mind raced as he pieced everything together.

Shouquan’s prophecy…

It had spoken of an unprecedented calamity, a tragedy that would shake the very foundations of the Empire. And now, as he stood amidst the ruins of the Shadow Clan’s island, gazing at the man and the little girl, he realized the truth.

This was it.

The prophecy was no longer a warning of what was to come. It had already happened. The Empire’s fate had been sealed, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

His grip tightened. He had come too late.

The man exhaled softly, his gaze settling on the little girl beside him.

“Take care, Jingyi’er,” he murmured. His voice was gentle and affectionate. “And know that I will always cherish you.”

Ren Jingyi’s tired, teary eyes looked up at him, confusion flickering across her face.

Before she could respond, the man pulled out a piece of parchment and tore it.

A golden spell formation erupted around the girl. She blinked, swayed, and then collapsed unconscious.

Tao Long’s frown deepened. “What are you...”

The man turned to him. “I need a favor.”

Tao Long’s storm-filled eyes studied him warily. He did not like the weight in the man’s tone.

“I will hear you out,” he said carefully. 

Tao Long came here, intent on slaughtering the Outsider, but...

The man nodded. “No matter what happens, you must take Ren Jingyi to the Riverfall Continent. There, you will entrust her to a man named Jiang Zhen.”

Tao Long’s frown did not ease. He had never heard of this Jiang Zhen, but the way the man spoke of him made it clear this was no ordinary request. "How dare you..."

Before he could respond, the man’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What is your weapon of choice?”

The sudden question threw Tao Long off. He hesitated, but still answered truthfully. “A spear.”

The man reached into an invisible gap in space and procured a pristine spear, blue and white in color, gleaming with power. With a casual toss, he threw it toward Tao Long.

Tao Long caught it instinctively. The moment his fingers closed around the shaft, he felt the surge of divine energy within it. This was no ordinary weapon.

“That spear is Drakon Mar,” the man said. “It is your payment.”

Tao Long studied the weapon, then returned his gaze to the man. “…You’re bribing me?”

“I am compensating you, got it from an auction... and I think I might have been wrong in its appraisal. Know that it's a dual attribute weapon: both holy and draconic. Anyways, you can have it. Be duly reminded it's a loan, so don't be overeager to claim it for yourself.”

The storm dragon warrior exhaled sharply. There was something about this whole exchange that unsettled him.

The man’s eyes sharpened. “Will you do as I ask? Answer me.”

For the first time, Tao Long felt the weight of the man’s presence.

The pressure was overwhelming.

It was not the oppressive aura of raw power that came from high-level cultivators flaunting their superiority. This was something more subtle… more terrifying. It was the feeling of absolute danger.

‘If I refuse, I will suffer. No… I will die…’

Tao Long’s instincts screamed it at him. This was the first time he met an Outsider, exuding such danger.

He gritted his teeth. He did not enjoy being forced into a decision, but neither did he see another choice.

“…Yes,” he finally answered. "I will fulfill your requirements."

The man’s gaze lingered for a moment. Then he nodded. “Good. You didn’t lie. While you are a stranger to me, it doesn't mean I can't trust you. I want you to value my trust. Fail me, and let's just say... my friends wouldn't take kindly to you... Just like me, they can detect lies.”

Tao Long frowned. “Is that a threat?” It was definitely a threat, one he was unsure was true or not, however, this man indeed had friends pertaining to a certain duo. "You are lucky my draconic nature demanded I take this treasure. I appreciate the irony of you giving me a dragon-slaying spear. Truly amusing."

The man did not answer. He simply turned away.

“Pick up the girl,” he ordered. “And go.”

Tao Long ground his teeth but said nothing.

Then, a deep groan echoed across the island.

He snapped his head toward the Hell’s Gate.

The massive doors, sealed moments ago, were now… moving.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the gate was being pried open.

Tao Long’s chest tightened.

Whatever was coming…

They did not have much time.

Tao Long tightened his grip around Ren Jingyi’s unconscious form, securing her in his arms before turning to the man one last time.

“What is your name?” he asked.

The man smiled faintly. “If you ever meet the Emperor, tell him Da Wei apologizes for being unable to attend his invitation for tea. Wish him misfortune on my stead, because fuck him.”

Tao Long’s gaze flickered with recognition. Da Wei…? It was a curious name for an Outsider. He did not know the name, but for a man to casually mention the Emperor as if he had been personally invited… However, the way Da Wei referenced the Emperor was filled with contempt.

With a slow nod, Tao Long remarked, “Rest assured, the little girl will be sent to the man you requested.”

Da Wei said nothing, only watching as Tao Long activated his movement technique.

A streak of lightning shot through the sky.

Tao Long ascended rapidly, pushing himself higher and higher, yet, no matter how far he flew, the Hell’s Gate still loomed over him.

The sheer size was suffocating.

Then, it opened.

A monstrous presence surged forth.

From the depths of the gate, a horned creature so gigantic it had to crouch just to force its way into this world emerged.

A wave of malicious qi flooded the battlefield.

Tao Long clenched his teeth. “By the heavens…” Comparing his size in his full draconic form, he was probably bigger, but still…

Da Wei took a step forward, ascending into the air. With each step, golden radiance bloomed beneath his feet, leaving a trail of light in the darkness.

Then, Da Wei took a deep breath... And roared!

The sky shuddered. The ground trembled.

Tao Long’s eyes widened. The technique was unmistakable.

Lion’s Roar.

A basic martial technique, yet in Da Wei’s hands, it shook the heavens.

The colossal demon rushed forward, its presence like a tidal wave of destruction.

The island crumbled beneath its weight. Buildings and structures that once stood as part of the Shadow Clan’s stronghold collapsed as it advanced.

Then, the demon swung its massive arm, an arc of destruction descending upon Da Wei.

Tao Long instinctively held his breath.

Yet...

Da Wei did not move.

The arm connected.

And then...

It shattered.

The demon’s limb exploded, flesh and bone bursting apart, leaving only a string of mangled, barely attached muscle.

Blood and gore rained down.

Da Wei, bathed in the carnage, stood in the air.

Unbothered.

Unharmed.

Even as Tao Long streaked across the sky with Ren Jingyi in tow, he could not resist turning his gaze back toward the island. With a breath, he activated a technique, sharpening his vision beyond his cultivation.

Da Wei.

A lone figure stood against the tide of darkness.

There was something utterly fascinating about a single warrior blocking an entire army by himself. It was a sight that defied reason, that defied fate.

The Hell’s Gate loomed, its presence suffocating, as yet another gargantuan demon emerged from its depths.

Tao Long could scarcely believe it. Even from so far away, he could see its massive size, its hulking form dwarfing the very island and lake beneath it.

And yet, Da Wei did not waver.

The warrior now wore a helm, obscuring his face. He stood alone, bathed in golden radiance, a single light amidst an endless abyss.

The demons swarmed like an ocean, an endless tide of horror and madness.

The last thing Tao Long saw before he turned away was a brilliant flash of light.

And at its center was... a bloodied warrior, carving his way through the horde.

104 One True Death

The night darkened.

The stars, once twinkling, faded as a shroud fell over the battlefield.

Shenyuan, the self-proclaimed Abyss, the One True Death, the Eternal Heir, found himself held.

An arm wrapped around his body.

Firm. Unyielding.

Like a hunter’s grip on its prey.

And then—

A voice, calm and conversational, whispered right beside his ear.

“Let me reintroduce myself.”

The tone was light. Casual.

Far too casual.

“The name’s David, but you may call me Da Wei.”

Shenyuan stilled.

Those names.

Familiar, yet alien in their delivery.

His mind raced—

But Da Wei was still talking.

“They stand for the characters Great Guard.”

The grip tightened.

“So let me break this down for you—”

A chuckle.

A mocking, self-indulgent chuckle.

“Because you see, the animation sequence for the skill Final Adjudication is rather slow, and we still have a wee bit of time.”

Shenyuan snarled.

Mockery. Pure, unfiltered mockery.

“Who doesn’t like a good conversation anyway?” Da Wei continued, as if he was chatting over tea. “Ah, sorry about that. I tend to go on a tangent especially when I get emotional.”

Shenyuan’s fury boiled over.

He wasn’t about to be toyed with!

He tapped into Qi Speech, his command instantaneous.

Attack him.

The remaining undead and cultivators received his order—

And moved.

But—

They didn’t even make it a single step.

Instead, they disintegrated.

Ash.

That was all that remained.

Shenyuan’s breath hitched.

His mind reeled.

This… this wasn’t like before.

Unlike his fight against Da Wei’s clone, where he had toyed and tested, where he had been untouchable—

Now, he was facing the real deal.

And for the first time in thousand of years…

A seed of fear took root in his heart.

Shenyuan strained against the grip, but he could not move.

The arm around his body held him firmly, pressing him into a mockery of an embrace.

And the man spoke again, his voice too casual and composed.

“That was just the prelude of Final Adjudication…”

A slight chuckle escaped his lips as if amused by his own words.

“So tell me,” the man continued, his tone lighthearted, almost conversational, “Ever died before?”

Shenyuan’s pupils contracted.

A joke.

A mocking question.

But before he could respond, the man kept going.

“Honestly, I’m curious. How does it feel to die?”

Shenyuan clenched his jaw.

“Would you be my first?”

A pause.

Then—

“Ah, that came out wrongly. I reckon you won’t even be able to force my one foot on the grave. After all, look at you now—”

Shenyuan finally spoke, voice measured, but low with frustration.

“What do you want?”

The man’s grip did not falter.

His voice flattened.

Emotionless.

“Don’t you see?”

A cold truth beneath the words.

“I’m gloating about my victory.”

Shenyuan scowled.

This man—this Da Wei—he was toying with him.

Mocking him.

But Shenyuan still had power.

His saber, a manifestation of abyssal shadow, was still in his grip.

He willed it.

A surge of qi and darkness exploded from his palm—

Or rather—

It should have.

Instead, his wrist groaned.

Then—

Cracked.

Then—

Burst.

The flesh of his hand ruptured, as if he had struck the divine itself.

Shenyuan gritted his teeth.

What… happened?

Da Wei’s grip slackened for a brief moment, releasing his shattered wrist—

Only to pull him closer.

A second arm wrapped around him.

A full embrace.

Like an executioner comforting the condemned.

Shenyuan tensed.

Da Wei spoke once more.

His voice wasn’t mocking anymore.

It was calm. Absolute.

“No sudden movements.”

A pause.

“My body is covered by a unique spell and an innate ability.”

Shenyuan’s breath hitched.

Da Wei continued.

“They allow me to reflect any power, spell, or skill—”

A pause.

Then a whisper—

“Exponentially. Ad infinitum.”

Shenyuan felt it.

A presence.

A force.

Something wrong.

Something beyond.

And for the first time in centuries—

He knew.

He could not win.

Shenyuan willed his escape.

He reached for Shadow Step, but the moment he activated it—

His mind reeled.

His vision spun like the world itself had been flipped upside down.

He staggered.

He—staggered.

A slow, almost mocking chuckle sounded next to his ear.

“Oh-ho, not so fast.”

Da Wei’s voice was dripping with amusement.

Shenyuan snarled.

Da Wei’s grip was iron, his aura like a mountain crushing down on him.

“I’ve been rotating Flash Parry and Stagger, y’know?” Da Wei hummed, tone filled with malicious glee. “Just making sure you don’t use any movement techniques.”

Shenyuan stiffened.

It wasn’t an accident.

It wasn’t luck.

Da Wei was doing this on purpose.

He delighted in it.

Shenyuan growled in frustration.

He activated Shadow Swap, attempting to switch their destinies, their positions, their fates.

A dark surge rippled through his being—

Only for the world to twist again.

A nauseating wave of vertigo crashed into him.

His knees nearly buckled.

“Nah uh.”

Da Wei’s playful voice rang in his ear.

Shenyuan’s stomach churned.

“That little trick? Yeah, I just used Exorcise on you.”

Shenyuan’s breath hitched.

No—

That wasn’t possible—

“That, and my evolved Divine Sense?” Da Wei continued, grinning as if they were having an idle chat. “Unmatched. So give up, despair for me, plea for mercy, and struggle. Become my entertainment. Give me a reason to further prolong your suffering, so that you may continue to live for even one second longer.”

Shenyuan’s teeth clenched.

His mind raged.

He had to retaliate.

He had to crush Da Wei—

Tear him apart—

Trample him beneath his might—

His very existence demanded it.

Yet—

Golden cracks split the air.

Reality itself fractured, bleeding radiant power.

A colossal presence loomed over the battlefield—

Unseen.

Yet undeniable.

Shenyuan’s eyes widened.

An overwhelming weight of divine authority bore down upon them.

“NO!”

He screamed.

His Qi Speech roared across the battlefield—

A command.

An order.

All of his remaining forces surged forward.

His mind worked at lightning speed, counting his remaining warriors.

He had come here with—

Four thousand.

Six hundred.

Fifty-two.

Both undead and cultivators.

Now—

Thanks to the Shadow Clan’s resistance and that other Da Wei’s interference—

He had barely a thousand left.

Shenyuan ground his teeth.

The sounds of exploding bones, rupturing organs, and splattering brain matter filled the battlefield—

His fanatics—his loyal soldiers—dying like insects.

And Da Wei?

He just stood there.

Unmoving.

Holding him in an embrace.

A crater formed beneath them.

Shenyuan’s fanatics fought desperately, trying to free him or harm Da Wei in any way imaginable—

Yet—

Da Wei just stood there.

Not even bothering to resist.

And whenever a wound did appear—

He simply healed himself.

Casually.

Effortlessly.

As if their struggle was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Shenyuan watched in horror.

His army—his loyal devotees, his undying legions—were being slaughtered like cattle.

No.

Not slaughtered.

Erased.

The moment their weapons and spells touched Da Wei—

They burst.

Flesh ruptured.

Bones shattered.

Viscera painted the battlefield like grotesque art.

Spells meant to burn, freeze, and curse rebounded violently, consuming their casters in an instant.

Screams of agony and madness filled the air.

Yet his fanatics did not falter.

They threw themselves forward with wild fervor, heedless of the carnage.

They believed.

They believed in him.

In Shenyuan.

The Eternal Abyss.

The One True Death.

They had to believe.

Because if they didn’t—

What else was there?

They rushed, wave after wave, their bodies exploding like fragile clay dolls against a force they could not comprehend.

And Shenyuan?

He could do nothing.

Nothing except steal their souls.

Nothing except devour their shadows.

He absorbed their lingering essence, frantically grasping for power.

He was not a man to mourn.

He was not a man to regret.

The weak existed to serve the strong.

Their purpose was to fuel his ascension.

And he was not yet done.

He refused to be done.

He still had hope.

Yes—hope.

A bitter, fragile thing, but it was still there.

He drew upon the darkness—a tide of stolen vitality, of shattered wills, of a thousand desperate prayers.

His power boiled, surged, roared through his veins—

And he struck.

Hymns resounded, filling the battlefield with a divine reverberation.

It was not just a sound.

It was judgment made manifest.

The skill Da Wei activated sang into existence, its echoes rippling through flesh, qi, and spirit alike. “It’s part two of the skill already,” said Da Wei offhandedly. “Time flies by, too quickly.”

Shenyuan roared.

Enough.

His qi surged, boiling like an ocean in a storm.

His body bulged, cracked, ruptured—

And exploded.

A wave of pure destruction tore outward, a detonation of abyssal force meant to shake his foe, to force him back even for a moment.

But Da Wei did not flinch.

Shenyuan reformed instantly, tendrils of darkness knitting him back together.

He had no time for hesitation.

With his teeth, he struck.

“Gluttonous Abyssal Maw!”

His mouth warped, his jaw dislocated, his throat expanded to a void of devouring hunger.

He combined it with the Savage Jaws of Death, a martial technique designed to shred even divine flesh.

He sank his fangs into Da Wei’s exposed throat.

Blood spurted.

Shenyuan smirked, his Qi Speech mocking.

“You should have worn the helm.”

And then—

His skull exploded.

Shenyuan’s skull did.

White-hot pain.

Everything went dark.

Instinct took over.

He burned through his shadow reserves, his body rapidly reknitting itself, his head regenerating in mere moments.

When he opened his new eyes, he saw Da Wei—

Standing unharmed.

His throat good as new.

And worst of all—

Those unimpressed eyes.

As if Shenyuan was nothing.

A bug struggling in vain.

A lowly creature gasping for breath.

Unacceptable.

He struggled.

He flailed, twisting, wrenching his arms and legs, thrashing violently in Da Wei’s grip.

He bit again—his fangs now wreathed in corrosive qi.

Boom.

His lower jaw detonated.

He headbutted, summoning all his cultivation strength into a single desperate strike.

Crack.

His skull fractured from the impact before it even reached Da Wei.

He clawed, his fingers tipped with tenebrous death, his nails extending into spears of blackened bone.

Snap.

His own arms broke, bending backward as if they had struck an immovable force.

He kicked, flung his legs, tried to twist free—

His kneecaps shattered.

He even tried to twist his torso free, to writhe like a shadow slipping through cracks—

But every smallest movement he made rebounded back at him.

Every motion—

Reflected.

The pain mounted.

The more he fought, the more he suffered.

The abyss did not fear agony.

He had died before.

He had crawled from death’s maw.

But this—

This was humiliation!

Rings of celestial scripture spiraled around them, inscribed with ever-shifting verdicts, each letter burning with the weight of absolute law.

The air thrummed, charged with divine authority so pure it made the very fabric of reality strain.

Golden chains of light lashed out.

They did not move like things of the world.

They were not thrown, launched, nor wielded.

They manifested where they were meant to be.

Severing fate.

Binding the guilty.

A chain coiled around Shenyuan’s throat. Another snared his limbs.

And more—

So many more.

They slithered from the sky, from the cracks in space, from the ground soaked in gore—seeking every undead, every cultivator still standing.

Every servant of the Eternal Undeath Cult.

The battlefield was consumed.

The space around them grew hotter, charged with radiant force beyond anything Shenyuan had felt before.

A wound in the heavens split wider above them.

From its depths, golden chains poured forth endlessly, spilling like the rivers of judgment itself.

And below—

A battlefield in ruin.

Shenyuan and Da Wei stood in the center of a bloody, chaotic hellscape, standing atop a messy pool of gore.

Rotten flesh, broken bones, liquified remains—

The battlefield was now a grotesque lake of death.

Yet Da Wei stood there, expressionless, unbothered by the carnage at his feet.

Shenyuan was trapped in his arms, his own movements binding him further, the golden chains ensuring there was no escape.

Shenyuan wailed.

“Let go of me!”

He thrashed, shrieked, struggled—slamming his head against Da Wei’s bloody face again and again.

Crack.

His own skull split.

Boom.

His forehead ruptured, his brain bursting under his own force.

Yet, as his flesh reknit itself, as his darkness struggled to repair the damage, he saw it.

The look in Da Wei’s eyes.

Unbothered.

Unshaken.

Waiting.

As if none of this mattered.

As if Shenyuan’s struggle was merely the final, pitiful cries of a beast already condemned.

Why?

Why was this happening?

Shenyuan trembled, golden chains coiling tighter around his limbs, his very existence weighed by the celestial scripture spiraling through the air.

This wasn’t supposed to be his fate.

He was supposed to become a god after this.

He was meant for more.

Yet—

Here he was.

Bound. Helpless.

Staring into Da Wei’s cold, amused gaze.

Shenyuan’s voice cracked as he let out a desperate, pathetic wail.

"How… How are you so strong? What’s your secret?!”

Da Wei blinked.

Then, with the most casual shrug imaginable, he said—

“Git good.”

Shenyuan’s soul cracked a little.

But Da Wei wasn’t finished.

“Also,” he added offhandedly, as if discussing the weather, “I just broke the level cap, and my stats reached new high levels of peak.”

There was no arrogance in his tone.

No mockery.

Just simple, matter-of-fact reality.

Then Da Wei smiled, eyes twinkling with an insufferable light.

“Anyway, here’s a question.”

Shenyuan flinched.

He knew, he just knew, that whatever was about to come out of Da Wei’s mouth next would make him want to scream.

And sure enough—

“Guess what would happen if the climax of this skill, Final Adjudication, hits us like this—” Da Wei gestured at the absolute proximity between them, where their bodies were practically pressed together.

“—with my power to reflect damage still active?”

Shenyuan’s pupils contracted, struggling to get out.

Da Wei leaned in, almost whispering in his ear, “It’s almost part three of the skill, the final act.”

And then—

A colossal scales of judgment materialized in the heavens.

It was so vast that its mere presence dwarfed the battlefield, stretching far into the skies, eclipsing the heavens.

The very air groaned under its weight.

The world itself shuddered.

And beneath its all-consuming gaze, the karma of every soul present was being weighed.

A verdict was coming.

Shenyuan’s mind raced.

He had no choice.

He had to act now.

Even if it was forbidden.

Even if it would consume him.

Even if it would bring a fate worse than death.

He would ascend.

With a roar, Shenyuan raised his cultivation—pushing toward the Eleventh Realm.

Perfect Immortal.

The Godly Vessel.

This was the true start of Godhood.

It was a realm beyond the Trinity Celestial Paths, beyond the Endless Path, beyond the very limits of this godforsaken world—

A realm that was never meant to be touched.

But he reached for it anyway.

The shadows within him roared as he devoured every last fragment of power, every last drop of his existence—

He could feel it.

He was close.

He could—

No.

Something stopped him.

Something blocked him.

Something inside him.

An entity.

It stirred.

It laughed.

It denied him.

Shenyuan's breath hitched.

No—

NO—

THIS WAS UNFAIR!

THIS WAS NOT THE DEAL!

His voice broke as he screamed, his cries filled with madness, disbelief, and rage.

“THIS IS UNFAIR! THIS IS UNFAIR! THIS IS UNFAIR!”

He thrashed, his golden chains clattering, his form quivering with power he could not control.

He felt wronged.

Utterly, completely, cosmically wronged.

And then—

Da Wei simply tilted his head.

Blinking once.

Then twice.

And then, in the most disrespectfully casual voice imaginable, he asked—

“What?”

Shenyuan froze.

Da Wei’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Cry for me, more.”

And above—

The colossal scales of judgment tilted slightly.

Desperation came in many forms.

For Shenyuan—

It came in the form of pure spite.

If he couldn’t have it—

Then no one could.

His bloodstained lips curled into a twisted smile as he stared Da Wei in the eyes, his golden chains rattling as he strained against fate itself.

“You’re making a mistake,” Shenyuan warned, voice low, almost coaxing.

Da Wei didn’t look impressed.

So Shenyuan laughed.

Then he raved.

Like a madman.

Like someone who had already lost but refused to go down alone.

“Do you think you’ve won?” he sneered. “You think killing me will end this? Fool. I’ve sent my agents to various cities—across Deepmoor and beyond the continent.”

His lips curled further, voice thick with glee as he continued.

“They’ve been converting people to my cause. The weak, the lost, the forsaken—they’re already mine.”

Still, Da Wei only watched.

Expression unmoving.

So Shenyuan leaned in further, pressing on with vicious delight.

“I’ve been in league with the Demonkind.”

That finally made something flicker in Da Wei’s gaze.

Shenyuan grinned wider.

“With their help, I’ve created something truly magnificent—Blood Demons.”

He chuckled, then threw his head back, laughing.

“And if I die? If I suffer irreversible harm? Then Hell’s Gate will open, and this world will be—”

He dragged out the last word, savoring it.

“Done. For.”

Silence.

Da Wei just stared at him.

Unblinking.

And then Shenyuan pressed further.

“Oh, and let’s not forget the best part.”

From within his sleeves, he summoned two hearts—dark, pulsing things that once belonged to Da Wei.

The moment he crushed them, an overwhelming wave of malice surged forth.

A curse.

A curse woven with umbramancy so foul, so vile, it gnawed at reality itself.

Da Wei staggered.

He vomited blood.

Shenyuan didn’t hesitate.

With a vicious kick, he sent Da Wei flying, twisting the shadows beneath him—

And with a modified Shadow Step, he teleported Da Wei away.

No more reflection.

No more binding.

He would survive this judgment.

The scales above tipped fully.

And in the next instant—

Golden karmic flames engulfed him.

Shenyuan screamed.

And then Shenyuan laughed.

Even as his skin peeled, even as the golden karmic flames gnawed at his very being, he laughed.

He would escape.

No—

Better yet.

He would fulfill his end of the bargain with the Demonkind.

The Shadow Clan’s grounds—this cursed island—was the perfect place to summon Hell’s Gate. That’s why he had targetted it in the first place.

Yes.

Yes!

Even as his body burned, even as his bones cracked under divine judgment, Shenyuan poured every ounce of willpower into the formation he had prepared.

The second his undead occupied this land, the ritual had already begun.

It had been slow, insidious—weaving beneath the very foundations of the clan grounds.

Now, with a single motion, he activated it.

Power surged.

The ground shuddered.

And then—

Nothing.

His vision blurred.

His body trembled under the weight of divine punishment, his consciousness fraying like a thread unraveling at the seams.

FUCK!

“It looks like, retreat is the only option… My cultivation is too damaged to continue this…”

He reached into his robes, fingers trembling, and activated his teleportation talisman, only to fail. It probably had something to do with the golden chains still wrapped around him as the karmic flames continued to devour his shadows.

Shenyuan needed distance, quickly.

Desperately, he pulled another talisman, reinforcing it with his own essence, hoping—praying—that the golden karmic flames wouldn’t consume it.

But the moment he tried to activate them—

FWISH!

A streak of light tore through the air.

An arrow.

A perfect fusion of water and fire.

It pierced through the first talisman, reducing it to ash.

“What?!” Shenyuan snarled.

His Abyss Sight flared to track the trajectory—

And then he saw her.

A little girl.

Small. Fragile.

Yet her hands did not shake as she nocked another arrow, qi swirling at the tip.

It was the darn… goldfish.

Shenyuan clicked his tongue, suppressing his rage.

He hurled a Shadow Spear at the child—

CLANG!

The spear was parried.

A figure stepped forward frm nowhere.

Unscathed. Unbothered.

Da Wei.

Shenyuan’s eye twitched.

“Tch.” He gritted his teeth as the golden karmic flames continued to devour him.

Da Wei tilted his head, then—

He whistled.

A slow, almost mocking tune.

Then he grinned.

“Run, run, little hamster.”

Shenyuan’s entire army was gone.

His fanatics, his undead, his soldiers—

All of them had burned.

Reduced to nothing.

A game.

This was a losing game.

And as much as he loathed to admit it—

He had to retreat.

Now.

But first—

A final threat.

His voice darkened as he stared at Da Wei.

“Let me go, or you’ll regret it.”

Shenyuan’s mind raced.

There was still a way.

That little girl.

The fish-turned-human who had interfered with his escape.

If he could take her hostage, he could force Da Wei to yield.

Yes.

A bargaining chip.

A last-minute salvation.

He parted his lips to speak—

And then he froze.

A hand jutted out from his chest.

Flesh. Bone. Blood.

His heart.

Still beating.

Still trembling.

Shenyuan’s eyes widened as he stared at it.

It pulsed, veins writhing like a living entity, its bloodstained surface facing him—

As if it were watching him die.

"How?"

His voice was hoarse.

His mind refused to accept it.

He understood that his intangibility was failing—the golden karmic flames embracing him made sure of that—

But this…

This wasn't the answer he was looking for.

A voice echoed from behind him.

Casual. Amused. Cruel.

“Ever heard of a Magic Scroll of Invisibility? Or how about a Magic Scroll of Blink or Teleportation?”

Shenyuan’s spine stiffened.

He tried to turn his head—

And saw Da Wei.

Cold eyes. Indifferent. Unmoved.

The sheer lack of hatred—the sheer lack of effort in killing him—

Made something deep within Shenyuan shatter.

He had fought for so long.

Schemed for so many years.

And now—

He was going to die.

No.

No!

He had one last card to play.

Shenyuan forced his aura to shift.

His expression softened.

His voice wavered.

“…Big Brother.”

Da Wei’s eyes narrowed.

The voice. The tone. The words.

It was not Shenyuan’s.

No.

This was Hei Mao’s voice.

Trembling, uncertain—filled with desperation.

“Big Brother… if you kill me now, you will doom the Empire.”

Shenyuan stared at him, eyes full of fake innocence.

“An incomplete Hell’s Gate…” His voice shook, perfectly mimicking the fear of a child. “It will open in the Empire. The Blood Demons I created… they will go berserk. They will slaughter countless innocents. Do you want that, Big Brother?”

Silence.

Then—

A flicker of hesitation.

It was small. Almost imperceptible.

But Shenyuan saw it.

He succeeded.

The look in Da Wei’s eyes—

That brief moment of uncertainty—

It meant he had succeeded.

A small, flickering triumph bloomed in his chest.

Yes.

Yes!

He would live—

“NO! NO! NO! KILL THEM ALL!”

A shrill scream shattered the moment.

Shenyuan turned.

The little girl—

Ren Jingyi.

She descended from above, her body covered in grime, blood, and exhaustion.

A bow slung over her shoulder.

A whip in her trembling hands.

Her tear-streaked face contorted in rage.

"KILL THEM ALL!" she wailed.

Her small frame shook, her voice breaking—

But the fire in her eyes did not dim.

Shenyuan gritted his teeth.

This brat—!

“Ren Jingyi.”

Da Wei’s voice cut through the air.

Cold.

Final.

The girl stiffened.

Da Wei did not look at her.

His expression remained calm. Unreadable.

“It’s not your decision.”

Ren Jingyi visibly deflated.

Her hands trembled.

Her breath hitched.

Shenyuan felt relief flood him.

Yes.

Yes…

He had one more chance.

He had bought himself another—

“It’s mine.”

The words were spoken lightly.

But before Shenyuan could process them—

Da Wei’s hand tightened.

And crushed his heart.

Shenyuan choked.

His body convulsed—

And then—

CRACK.

Another hand pierced his abdomen from behind.

Lightning crackled.

Electricity surged through his very being, ripping through his muscles, his bones, his soul.

He felt something pull.

His intestines. His spine.

Being ripped away.

Being torn from him.

The golden karmic flames swallowed him whole.

His consciousness fractured.

And in his final moment—

As his body disintegrated into nothingness—

The last thing he saw—

Was Da Wei.

Crying.

Tears ran down his face.

But his smile…

His smile held pity.

As if disappointed.

As if saying—

You were never going to win.

Shenyuan did not understand why.

Did not understand what went wrong.

His mind faded.

His soul burned.

And then—

There was nothing.

Except—

A mournful cry.

“I’m sorry!”

A child’s voice, trembling, raw with grief.

"Hei Mao!"

The name echoed.

“Thank you!”

A wail of loss.

“Until next time!”

A scream of denial.

But there was no answer.

Because Hei Mao was never there.

There was only Shenyuan.

And now—

Not even him.

103 Run, Little Hamster

A few moments ago...

Dawn painted the desert in hues of gold and crimson.

The first thing I noticed was the silence. No whispers of the Black Forest. No rustling leaves. No gnawing abominations lurking in the dark. Only the endless dunes of sand stretching in every direction.

The skull strapped to Alice’s waist stirred, its voice dry and amused.

“This is no longer the Black Forest.”

I turned, surveying the land. It was right.

Where once there had been a world of twisted trees and horrors, now only an arid wasteland remained.

Joan let out a long breath, standing at the center of a fading golden glow. The last remnants of her Divine Descent flickered and dissolved, her halo vanishing as she let go of the power she had invoked. She winced, touching her chest, then muttered a soft prayer. A warm pulse of magic surged outward, knitting her wounds back together.

Alice took a slow breath and stretched. Then she frowned. Her crimson eyes flickered, and she touched her collarbone. “I can feel it again,” she murmured.

I raised an eyebrow.

She clenched her fist. “The Blood Pact.”

I froze.

That could only mean one thing.

“…And?” I asked. “We are back on the material plane… So?

Alice’s frown deepened, her gaze distant as if she were sensing something far away. Then, her expression twisted in alarm. “Your main body is in danger.”

My heart dropped.

That was bad.

I immediately tried activating Egress.

The skill flared to life, only for a spike of pain to lance through me.

My entire body convulsed. My stomach wrenched violently as blood surged up my throat, and I collapsed to my knees, vomiting onto the sand.

“David!” Joan was beside me in an instant, her hands glowing as she pressed them against my back, purging the backlash with a surge of healing.

I coughed, wiping my mouth. That was not normal. I’d never failed Egress that violently before. I clenched my jaw. “I strained Lu Gao too much,” I muttered, realization sinking in. “I think… I can’t use any more skills in this body.”

I reached inward, calling for Lu Gao.

Nothing.

That was… odd.

I focused harder, searching for the connection between our souls.

And there, faint, but still there. He was alive, but exhausted.

I exhaled. “He’s fine,” I reassured the others, or more like I reassured myself. “Just tired.”

Joan and Alice exchanged glances.

Then, I closed my eyes. “I’ll be dispelling Divine Possession. Take care of Lu Gao for me...”

Before I could finish, Alice grabbed my wrist.

I blinked at her.

Her grip was tight, her skin clammy.

She was nervous.

That wasn’t like her.

“…What?” I asked.

Alice licked her lips. “David,” she said slowly. “I’m getting intermittent visions.”

My brows furrowed. “Visions?”

She nodded. “From the blood left in your main body.” Her voice dropped. “And whatever is on the other side…”

She swallowed.

“…It’s on par with a God.”

Silence.

Joan stiffened.

I narrowed my eyes. “And?”

Alice stared at me. “And I’m telling you not to go.”

I scoffed, shaking her hand off. “You already know the answer to that.”

“David...”

“There are people relying on me. I have to go.”

Alice’s lips pressed into a thin line. Then, she exhaled, letting me go.

“…Then at least don’t risk your immortal soul.”

I looked at her.

Alice’s expression was grim. “Dying isn’t a big deal.” Her voice was quiet. “Not really. After all… true death only comes when your soul is extinguished.”

Joan shifted uncomfortably. “That’s… an awfully bleak perspective.”

Alice didn’t reply.

I closed my eyes.

Dying wasn’t an option. Not for me. Not yet. “…I have to go,” I repeated.

Alice sighed. “Then listen to me first.” She met my gaze. “Your Holy Spirit lost.”

I stilled.

Alice nodded. “I don't understand the full picture of your situation, however, I have an inkling. The other 'you' used Final Adjudication.” Her voice was even, but serious. “And lost. I saw it. Glimpses of memory, despair, and grief…”

The words hung in the air like a noose.

Joan turned to me with a hesitant look in her eyes. “David…” she started. Then, more softly:

“…Are you still the same Paladin I knew back in Losten?”

I didn’t answer. I closed my eyes, dispelling Divine Possession.

The desert wind howled around us.

I let my consciousness drift.

Wait for me, Dave. Everyone.

I’m coming back.

...

..

.

Dave’s existence flickered.

I felt it the moment I arrived, his presence wavering, dimming, slipping away like a candle in the wind. But before that could happen, I reached out. “Everything will be fine. I’m here.”

A surge of remorse and hope flooded through him.

His soul, battered and exhausted, hesitated for only a moment before it returned to me.

Reunited.

I exhaled slowly, feeling his presence settle back into the depths of my soul. Then, I opened my eyes. Night had fallen. Stars flickered above, their distant light barely piercing the bleak battlefield. I stretched, rolling my shoulders and cracking my neck.

The moment I moved, I heard hurried footsteps.

A figure emerged from the shadows, a Fifth Realm cultivator, his eyes wild with desperation and madness. His aura flared as he charged at me, teeth bared in some fanatic rage. I thought of using Hollow Point: Incursion.

…Only to realize I had no demonic energy.

Ah. Right.

That didn’t mean I learned nothing from Lu Gao’s technique, though. Truth be told, I picked up a lot of things. The crazed cultivator lunged at me. I sighed. Fine. Let’s test it. I raised my hand and lightly slapped him. His head flew off his shoulders. Then, it exploded. Blood and viscera painted the ground as the body collapsed, twitching.

I shook my hand off. Messy.

That was Hollow Point. No Incursion, just Hollow Point.

So, what was Hollow Point?

In simple terms, it meant I had nearly a 100% critical chance.

To be more humble and accurate, it was roughly 99%.

That was why even a light slap from me could kill instantly.

A sharp intake of breath resounded from the few living beings around me.

I turned.

Another man had appeared. He was standing at a distance, watching me with narrowed eyes. He looked… familiar. For a moment, I wondered if he was Hei Mao. But then he opened his mouth and started yapping.

Oh. No.

It was the annoying kind of yapping.

The kind where they go on and on about power, fate, vengeance, destiny, or some other nonsense.

At first, I thought he would stop eventually.

So, I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But he just wouldn’t stop. I felt my patience fraying. Deep breath. I sighed. Then, finally, I asked,

“Who are you?”

The man flamboyantly introduced himself.

“I am Shenyuan!”

He hovered in the air, arms spread wide like he was delivering a grand performance. His voice carried the irritation of a man forced to explain something beneath him. I stared at him. Then past him.

My eyes swept across the island.

I imagined rolling for perception, but there was no need as a familiar scent hit me. Death. So many deaths. I sighed.

Meanwhile, Shenyuan was still talking. Glory. Prison. The Black Forest. The Greater Universe. Secrets to reach Godhood. And then, the invitation. “What do you think of joining me?”

I took a slow, deep breath.

Am I angry?

No.

Far from it.

I was… sad.

This was the man who had schemed and outplayed me? Was this the person responsible for everything that had happened? The fact that so many people had died under my care spoke of just how weak my thinking was and how misplaced I was. Of course, the Shadow Clan was not my people.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, I should have been here.

I wished... Alice and Joan were here. But alas, that wasn’t the case. My grip tightened on Silver Steel. And slowly, I felt anger rear its ugly head. I had been forcibly suppressing my emotions, shoring them up using my Intelligence and Wisdom stats—logically reasoning through my pain, detaching from it.

But even that had its limits.

I activated Silver Soul, the skill imbued within my blade. A wave of calm washed over me. And just like that, I returned to sadness. Around me, cultivators and undead tensed. Shenyuan frowned.

“What… was that just now?” asked Shenyuan.

"That’s me. Mourning." I answered flatly.

I tried Voice Chat.

Hei Mao? …Nothing.

Ren Xun? …Nothing.

Gu Jie? …Nothing.

My fingers clenched around Silver Steel. I exhaled. "How did you kill my disciples?"

Shenyuan smirked. "Kill? Oh no, I did much worse."

He gestured to the Puppet Armor standing nearby.

"I can detach pieces of my soul, embedding them into my shadows," he said, voice dripping with pride. "A little trick of mine. You recognize this armor, don’t you? Meant as a vessel for your soul-clone, yes? Such a fine design, but…"

His smile widened. "It lacked a master to truly use it. So I… volunteered. In a sense, raising undead is just like puppet arts, you know?"

My heart sank.

"You used it."

"Oh yes. And through it, I destroyed your beloved disciples."

I moved.

Flash Step.

A golden afterimage trailed behind me. I reached the Puppet Armor and cast Exorcise, holy light flaring as I purged the remnants of his presence. Then, without hesitation, I stashed it into my Item Box.

Shenyuan scoffed. "How rude."

The ground rumbled.

More cultivators and undead rushed toward me. I counted ten. No, fifteen. They ranged from the Third to the Fifth Realms. They thought they were fast. I cast Holy Aura. The moment my divine light unfurled, their movements dragged to a crawl.

I took a single step forward. Silver Steel gleamed. I swung lightly, aiming for their throats.

One breath. One stroke.

A thread of silver danced through the air. Their heads fell. And then their bodies followed.

Shenyuan sighed. "What a pity," he said. "You truly insist on being my enemy."

His eyes gleamed.

"I could resurrect them, you know."

I froze.

"All your disciples. I could bring them back."

His voice was almost gentle.

"All you need to do…"

He spread his arms.

"Is submit."

"No thanks, I’m fine," I told him. "I can handle it."

I crouched down, grabbing my helm from the ground.

Inside was a head. I tilted it slightly, letting the starlight illuminate the face. My head. It was smiling. Creepy. For a brief moment, I wondered what Dave had thought before the lights went out. 

That aside, he had lost.

And not just barely.

Beheaded. While in my body. I sighed, stuffing both the helm and the head into my Item Box. Not that I particularly liked wearing a helmet. It made me feel claustrophobic. Sure, I’d trained to get used to them. But in the end, it still wasn’t me. I had worn one for David_69.

But for David the Gamer?

No, thanks.

Maybe some other time.

Shenyuan chuckled. "You should wear your helm," he suggested.

I glanced at him. "Why?"

"I’d hate for you to lose and whine about not being at full power," he said smoothly.

Childish.

I exhaled. "It would just get in the way."

Then, I lifted my sword and added, "After all, I want a good view of your face when I slaughter you."

I moved.

Zealot’s Stride.

Holy energy flooded my veins, burning like a sun in my chest. I cast Divine Smite. Silver Steel glowed. I swung. Superheated air blasted outward, tearing the ground apart. Divine light cut through the dark, a crescent arc racing straight toward Shenyuan’s chest.

And then... 

It passed right through as if he were intangible.

Shenyuan laughed.

"Inept," he sneered. "A fool."

I narrowed my eyes. Searing Smite.

Nothing.

Shenyuan hovered above, watching, his expression an infuriating mix of amusement and mockery. I clenched my jaw. I could feel anger boiling under my skin, but I forced it down. Intangibility was such a bullshit ability. There had to be a way.

I thought of a certain fish. Ren Jingyi. I reached out through Voice Chat.

And it... connected.

"His Eminence?" came the voice, soft and hesitant.

I exhaled. "Tell me everything that happened."

I swung my sword. Again. Again.

Venting anger.

Testing skills.

As I fought my own uselessness, I listened.

—

"It was dark. It was so, so dark."

"The miasma came first. Thick and choking, creeping through the island like a living thing."

"Then came the dead."

"They weren’t just corpses. They were… wrong. Corrupted. Twisted. They whispered things in voices that weren’t their own."

"Big Sister Gu Jie... she..."

She paused. A shuddering breath.

"She fought until the end. She tried to protect us, but..."

"The sword came so fast. I didn’t even see it. Her head… just… rolled."

A choked sound.

"Stupid Bro Ren Xun suffered the same. He didn’t even get to curse before his body fell apart."

"Hei Mao… Hei Mao knew we couldn’t win. He knew it."

"He smiled at me before he ran straight into them. He..."

"He tore him apart, devoured him."

Her voice wavered.

"Senior Dai Fu… he tried to save us. Me and Hei Mao. He tried so hard. He threw himself into that sea of death, cutting them down one by one."

"But he failed."

"He failed miserably."

Silence.

I exhaled slowly, gripping my sword tightly. I stopped swinging. I stared at Shenyuan as he finally descended, his feet touching the blood-soaked ground of the island.

He smirked. “Tired?”

I ignored him.

"Ren Jingyi."

Her breath hitched through Voice Chat.

"Run away."

"What? No! I..."

I cut the connection. I had no time for arguments. I took a deep breath, focusing. Options. What were my options?

—One spell slot left for an Ultimate Skill.
—Plenty of mana.
—A decent stockpile of treasures and consumables.

Not great. But not hopeless.

Shenyuan sighed. “This is getting boring.”

Then he vanished.

I saw him through my Divine Sense.

Appearing... behind me.

But knowing wasn’t the same as reacting.

A wet, sickening sound.

Pain.

His hand punched through my back, bursting past ribs, flesh, and muscle.

I looked down.

Saw it.

My own beating heart.

Blood dripped from his fingers.

Shenyuan chuckled. “It’s fascinating, really. The human heart.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t panic. I waited.

The moment he squeezed, I moved. My fingers clamped around his wrist, my grip like iron. And then I squeezed. A flash of divine light. Flash Parry. The skill's flavor text was clear, something along the lines of parrying anything at the speed of light. A skill born from Parry, but evolved into something faster and deadlier.

CRACK.

Shenyuan’s wrist snapped like a dry twig.

His form flickered, vanishing, only to reappear meters away. Holding a twisted, mangled hand. He stared at it, then at me, lips curling.

"A heart for a hand? Seems like an uneven trade."

I wiped the blood from my lips.

“I don’t think so.”

I raised a hand. Cure.

Warmth spread through my chest. Flesh knit back together. Ribs reformed. A new heart took its place. I could feel it beating under my chest once more, vigorous and powerful.

Shenyuan’s eyes narrowed.

“I take it you’re confused,” I said. “After all, just how did I touch you?”

I grinned.

“Why don’t you try again? Maybe you’ll get it right this time.”

I watched Shenyuan.

His intangibility wasn’t some crude phasing ability. He could interact with what he wanted and ignore what he didn’t.

—My armor? Ignored.
—My blade? Passed right through.

Yet... I touched him.

That was enough to give me confidence.

Shenyuan’s mangled hand began to knit itself back together.

I looked around with Divine Sense.

One of the undead, standing in the loose circle of monsters watching us, collapsed into a heap of dry bones and rotting flesh. Ah. So it was that kind of healing. It was time to get serious. I raised my hand.

Compel Enemy.

A halo burst into existence, floating above me.

A second halo formed over Shenyuan’s head.

His smirk faded.

I followed up.

Designate Holy Enemy.

A red, reversed cross appeared, floating atop his head like a brand of judgment.

I wasn’t done.

Blessed Regeneration.

Warmth flooded my body, knitting my wounds at a constant rate.

Sacred Bulwark.

A shimmering aura surrounded me, increasing my Reflect Damage.

And then...

Blessed Weapon.

My Silver Steel gleamed, infused with the power of the divine.

One final set...

Holy Wrath.

Radiant Dawn.

The light surrounding me flared, empowering my next attack with explosive divine energy.

The night dimmed.

Even the stars seemed to fade.

Because Shenyuan was finally taking me seriously.

From the depths of his shadow, he pulled something out.

A saber.

So black, it seemed to consume the very light around it.

Shenyuan held it with ease.

His gaze met mine.

"You should be honored," he said, voice mocking, yet cold.

"Few get to see my full power and live to tell the tale."

My TriDivine passive shifted into Divine Flesh.

The change was immediate. I stood still. Unmoving. Unshaken. Yet, something inside me stirred. A calm, seething anger, buried deep, pressed down beneath sheer will. And then, my presence grew. I could feel it. The very fabric of my existence sharpened. My muscles compressed and condensed. Every fiber of my being undergoing a subtle, yet profound metamorphosis. This was the result of Mana Road Cultivation, the method Lu Gao and I had created together.

A technique that turned mana into a path. A path into stars!

And now...

First star.

A shift.

Second star.

The night air trembled.

Third star.

Shenyuan’s eyes narrowed.

He finally realized my peculiarity.

“Kill him.”

His voice snapped like a whip.

The undead and cultivators surged forward.

Spells, swords, spears...
All crashed against me.
Against my armor.
Against my skin.
Against my face.

But I did not move.

I remained unharmed.

Fourth star.

A few of my attackers flinched.

They had started suffering the effects of Reflect Damage bleeding into their forms.

Fifth star.

And still, I did not fall.

Instead...

With every blow I took, my Sacrificial Zeal kicked in. It amplified the damage I returned. Multiplied it. My Blessed Regeneration ensured I would not die from these small attacks. It went round and round, into a cycle.

Sixth star.

I raised my hand.

Righteous Reckoning.

A judgment skill.

It doubled my reflected damage, and empowered my next skill.

Seventh star.

My attackers continued to suffer.

Every time they landed a hit, they exploded.

Not all at once.

Some just lost limbs. Some were annihilated entirely.

The cultivators stopped. The braver ones hesitated.

And the ones who had their masks cracked? They stared at me in fear.

Eighth star.

Shenyuan finally had enough.

“Fall back!”

His forces retreated.

But his face and his ever-present smirk was gone.

He looked furious.

Ninth star.

I exhaled.

And my aura erupted.

Wild. Unchecked. A storm of divine might.

I turned to Shenyuan.

I asked him, “Can you run?”

His jaw tightened. The usual amusement was gone. In its place was only pure irritation.

I smiled.

And added, “I want you to run.”

A pause.

Then I whispered,

“So run for me, little hamster.”

Shenyuan laughed. No, he raved. Mad, unhinged, his voice echoed across the battlefield, a fevered delirium soaked in arrogance.

"I have a grand destiny to fulfill!" he declared, eyes burning with twisted conviction. "One day, I will be a god! And you—"

His gaze bore into me, pupils dilated with sheer mania.

"—are nothing but rubble beneath my feet!"

He raised his saber. A black tide followed his swing... Darkness, formless and thick, rushed toward me like a flood of death. It was invisible to the naked eye. But not to me.

My Divine Sense laid it bare. I could smell the rot. I could taste the bitterness. I could hear the wails. I could see the writhing souls within. It was not a mere attack. It was devouring fate itself.

And so, I did not move.

Not yet.

I waited.

And then, at the very last moment... I used Flash Parry.

Not immediately. I delayed it.

Let the darkness strike me.

Let it touch me.

And the first microsecond it did, I switched my TriDivine passive into Divine Speed.

The world slowed.

I activated Flash Step.

In an instant, I disappeared.

And reappeared.

Right in front of Shenyuan.

His smirk froze.

My hand shot out, fingers locking around his wrist.

His saber trembled.

I let go of Silver Steel, returning it to my Item Box. Buffing the sword had been a bluff all along.

I leaned in. 

Embraced him.

Close.

Close enough to whisper.

"Final Adjudication."

102 Who are you?

Hei Mao’s breath hitched as time seemed to rewind within his mind, forcing him to relive the last few seconds with dreadful clarity. The battle began within the Umbral Scripture Hall. Hei Mao could barely process the chaos as he and the others fought with everything they had. Scrolls burned, shelves toppled, ink spilled onto the stone floor, yet none of it mattered.

Their struggle carried them outside.

The Puppet Armor was relentless. An unfeeling executioner, cutting through their efforts as if their resistance was meaningless.

Ren Xun had managed to slow it down with a series of formation traps and a trace of internal formation he left behind. For a moment, just a fleeting, fragile moment, hope flickered.

Then the Puppet Armor caught up.

Hei Mao saw it happen.

Brother Ren Xun, kneeling in the dirt, desperately working to repair the island’s killing array. His hands blurred, forming seals, each motion filled with the same fury and determination that he often tried to hide. But he never finished.

Even Ren Xun had his limits.

The Puppet Armor made quick work of him.

A clean, efficient beheading.

The world spun. Blood splattered across the stones, staining the formation scripts he had worked so hard to repair.

Hei Mao felt his breath catch, unable to draw more arrows.

His body froze.

Ren Xun was gone.

And then...

Big Sister Gu Jie was the second to fall. She fought with everything she had. Every technique, every trick, every ounce of her desperation. But it wasn’t enough. She, too, was beheaded.

Hei Mao barely registered his own screams.

It was too fast. Too sudden.

And then...

The Puppet Armor turned to him. It didn’t hesitate. A strange power emanated from it, something that made Hei Mao’s very soul tremble. It reached for him, as if intending to consume him whole.

Hei Mao was going to die.

And then...

Ren Jingyi lost it.

The memory stopped there.

Hei Mao’s eyes snapped open. He gasped, body jerking as reality crashed back into him.

A girl was staring down at him, her face twisted in anguish.

Tears streaked down her cheeks, her lips trembling.

“Mao!”

Her voice broke.

His breath caught.

It was Ren Jingyi.

But not the little goldfish he had always known.

Her body was that of a human girl, her appearance no longer resembling a fish but someone around his age. They were hidden inside a small shed. The air was thick with the stench of blood and decay.

Hei Mao’s mind raced. What happened? He tried to push himself up, but Ren Jingyi suddenly clung to him.

Her body shook violently.

She sobbed.

“I did what Big Sister told me to do…” she whispered, voice raw. “I forced myself to break through. I… I became human. But when I finished...” Her words choked off. Her fingers clawed into his robes. “It was already too late.”

Hei Mao’s breath hitched. He understood what she meant.

Ren Jingyi had reached the Fifth Realm, Soul Recognition.

She had achieved her Human Transformation.

And yet, despite that power, despite the impossible feat of breaking through in the heat of battle... She had still lost everything.

Hei Mao swallowed, his throat dry. He raised a trembling hand and rested it on her head.

She flinched, then stilled.

He didn’t know what to say. But he knew one thing. It was his responsibility to calm her down.

The shed was barely holding together, its wooden walls warped and cracked, the scent of rot heavy in the air. Hei Mao's breath came in quiet, controlled exhales as he held onto Ren Jingyi’s trembling hand. The girl had stopped crying, but her red, puffy eyes and the occasional sniffle gave away the turmoil within.

Outside, the low groans of undead echoed through the night. Their heavy, shuffling footsteps scraped against the ground as they dragged their half-decayed bodies across the ruined battlefield. The once-proud stronghold of the Shadow Clan was now a graveyard—one that reeked of death, miasma, and lingering resentment.

Hei Mao knew he had to keep Ren Jingyi calm.

‘What better way than to make her focus on something else?’ he thought.

With a hushed voice, he whispered, "Where’s my bow?"

Ren Jingyi blinked, wiping the back of her sleeve across her nose before standing up slightly. From within her robe was an oversized garment that nearly swallowed her small frame. Ren Jingyi carefully pulled out the Eye of the Sun. The fabric draped over her slender shoulders, the sleeves far too long for her arms, forcing her to push them back as she moved. It was black, embroidered with intricate red serpents that coiled and slithered along the silk, their gleaming scales almost alive under the dim light.

It was unmistakably Gu Jie’s, or at least, one of her robes. A robe that once belonged to someone strong, confident, and unshakable. But now, wrapped around Ren Jingyi’s tiny body, it looked more like a child trying to fit into an adult’s world: too big, too heavy, a lingering reminder of someone who was no longer there to wear it.

Hei Mao swallowed hard, his fingers briefly tightening into fists. He didn’t have the luxury of grief right now. Not when death prowled just outside the door.

“Thanks,” said Hei Mao as he secured the bow in his hand.

The Eye of the Sun’s polished surface gleamed faintly in the dim light. It was the magical bow lent to him by Senior Dai Fu. The sight of it made Hei Mao feel something, perhaps hope, perhaps desperation, but at least he knew he wasn’t entirely defenseless.

Ren Jingyi sniffled, holding out the bow. "What now?" she whispered, her voice still thick with emotion.

Hei Mao didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled her back into the haystack piled against the shed’s wall. The dried stalks rustled softly around them as they crouched low.

"Quiet," he whispered, voice barely audible.

Ren Jingyi’s lip quivered, but she obeyed.

The sounds outside grew louder. The groaning of the undead was joined by something worse: soft and deliberate footsteps. Not the dragging steps of corpses, but those of people who still had reason, intelligence, and purpose. Hei Mao tensed as the wooden door creaked. A shudder ran through the shed as something heavy pressed against it.

And then... BANG.

The door was forced open.

Dust scattered in the air as two figures entered. They were clad in dark robes, faces obscured by black masks inscribed with red scripture. Unlike the mindless undead, their presence exuded a cold, calculating menace.

Behind them, several rotting corpses lurched into the shed, their glowing eyes scanning the dim interior. Hei Mao pressed himself further into the hay, feeling Ren Jingyi’s tiny fingers clutching at his sleeve.

He knew they had to act fast.

With careful movements, he reached into his robe, fingers brushing against a precious gift from Big Sister Gu Jie, the Magic Scroll of Invisibility.

Slowly, he unfurled it. The parchment was fragile, the edges slightly frayed from repeated handling, but the golden characters inscribed upon it still pulsed with hidden power. He turned to Ren Jingyi and, in a whisper barely louder than a breath, said:

"Touch the edge of the parchment."

Ren Jingyi hesitated for only a second before doing as he instructed.

Hei Mao then tore the paper in half.

A surge of energy washed over them, the spell activating instantly. Their bodies shimmered, outlines fading like mist under the morning sun. Within moments, they were gone.

But the masked cultivators weren’t fooled so easily.

One of them stepped further inside, his boots grinding against the wooden floor. His voice was hoarse, but filled with eerie amusement.

"Smell that?" he asked his companion.

The second cultivator nodded. "Two living rats. Close by."

Hei Mao held his breath.

The undead shuffled in, their soulless eyes scanning the room, sniffing at the air with unnatural hunger. Hei Mao gripped the Eye of the Sun tightly, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

They had to get out.

But could they?

The tension in the shed was suffocating. Hei Mao held his breath, his body rigid as stone, his small hands clutching at Ren Jingyi’s sleeve as if afraid she would vanish if he let go. The cultivators in black masks stalked through the small space, their eyes scanning for any trace of life.

Then, suddenly, a rat squeaked.

One of the black-masked cultivators cursed under his breath. “Filthy vermin,” he muttered before flicking his fingers. A small pulse of dark energy shot forward, and the rat screeched once before falling still, its body twitching before it lay lifeless.

The other cultivator, however, wasn’t so easily distracted. He narrowed his eyes and muttered, “I swear someone was here.”

The two argued in hushed voices, the first one insisting it was nothing but pests, while the second refused to believe it.

Hei Mao didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Ren Jingyi trembled beside him, her fingers clenching the oversized robe.

After what felt like an eternity, the second cultivator finally let out a frustrated huff. “Fine. If you’re so sure, report it to the commander. I’m not wasting my time chasing ghosts.”

With that, they turned and left.

Hei Mao waited. One second. Two.

Then, he let go of Ren Jingyi. The magic crumbled, its effect dissipating as their invisibility faded.

Ren Jingyi sniffled, wiping her tears away with her oversized sleeve. “That was too close,” she whispered.

Hei Mao took a deep breath. “We don’t have time to be scared. I have a plan. We’re getting Big Sister Gu Jie’s and Brother Ren Xun’s bodies back.”

Ren Jingyi’s eyes widened. Then, slowly, they began to glow with excitement. “If we bring them back, His Eminence can resurrect them!”

But just as quickly, the light in her eyes dimmed, replaced with uncertainty. Her small fingers clutched at the robe. “But… does His Eminence still care about us? Did he abandon us?”

Hei Mao shook his head without hesitation. “Senior Dai Fu is still out there fighting. Big Bro Da Wei would never leave us.” His voice wavered only slightly, but he forced himself to believe it. He had to.

Ren Jingyi’s lips quivered before she nodded, the fire in her eyes reigniting. “I kind of miss Lu Gao too.”

Hei Mao smiled faintly. “Me too. But first, we need to stop Shenyuan.”

Ren Jingyi blinked. “Who?”

Hei Mao’s expression darkened. “The guy controlling the Puppet Armor.”

Ren Jingyi frowned. “Wait, how do you know his name?”

Hei Mao hesitated, his mind still a mess of jumbled memories. But as he dug through the haze, the fragments pieced together, forming a picture he didn’t want to see.

His breath hitched. His hands clenched.

The night his family was slaughtered. The masked figures. The whispers. The shadow that loomed over him, consuming everything.

And then... the face of the man who stole his body.

Hei Mao shuddered.

His voice was hoarse as he answered. “…Because it was him. He was the one. The one who killed my family. The one who took my body.”

“Shenyuan.”

Hei Mao took a deep breath and steadied himself. The weight of what he had just remembered threatened to crush him, but he couldn’t afford to break down. Not now. Not when they still had a chance to set things right.

He turned to Ren Jingyi. In the dim light, her small face was still streaked with tears, but there was a fierce determination in her golden eyes.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, “but we don’t have a choice. If we’re doing this, you have to understand the risk. We could die.”

Ren Jingyi lifted her chin, her expression hardening. “I don’t care. I’ll do everything I can.”

Hei Mao searched her face for doubt, for hesitation. He found none.

“…Alright.”

Together, they moved through the ruined landscape of the island, keeping low, keeping silent. The scent of death and rot hung heavy in the air, thick enough that Hei Mao had to breathe through his mouth. Undead roamed in the distance, hunting for any remaining survivors.

They didn’t have much time.

They found the bodies easily enough. Gu Jie and Ren Xun. Motionless, lifeless, and missing their heads.

Hei Mao clenched his jaw. This wasn’t enough. If they wanted even the slimmest chance of resurrecting them with Da Wei’s power, they needed their heads.

Closing his eyes, Hei Mao traced the lingering energy in the air. A dark, curling presence clung to the battlefield, a shadowy trail leading away from the bodies. Shenyuan’s energy.

Something shifted in his vision.

A sharp gasp came from Ren Jingyi. “Hei Mao! Your eyes… they’re completely black!”

Hei Mao blinked. The world was sharper, the darkness richer, layered with depth and movement.

Is this… like Elder Yuan’s Abyss Sight?

He didn’t understand it. But he would use it.

“I can see where he took them.” He turned to Ren Jingyi, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Listen to me. I’ll distract Shenyuan. When I do, you get the heads and get out. No matter what.”

Ren Jingyi’s hands clenched at her sides. “But...”

“No matter what.” Hei Mao’s voice was firm.

Ren Jingyi hesitated, then slowly nodded.

They moved.

Guided by the trail of shadowy energy, they crept forward. The ruined remains of the Shadow Clan’s stronghold loomed around them, a broken skeleton of what had once been a sanctuary.

Then, they saw him.

Shenyuan sat on a throne of bones.

The structure was hastily assembled from the remains of dead Shadow Clan cultivators. It was crude, but powerful, radiating a miasma of death and resentment.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

At the foot of the throne, forced onto his knees...

...was Dai Fu.

Hei Mao couldn’t hear their conversation, but he didn’t need to. The sight of Dai Fu, kneeling before Shenyuan, was enough.

They needed to save him, too.

Ren Jingyi, still breathing heavily from their previous escape, gave a firm nod. “We’ll have better chances if we do.”

Hei Mao took a slow breath. “Then listen to me. When you get them, don’t look back. Run. Stick close to Senior Dai Fu.”

Ren Jingyi’s golden eyes flickered with hesitation. “…What about you?”

Hei Mao forced a confident smirk. “I’ll be right behind you.”

He reached for the Eye of the Sun and held it out to her.

Ren Jingyi’s hands clenched. “But, this was lent to you! And I’m already carrying Big Sister Gu Jie’s Accursed Serpent...”

“It’s fine,” Hei Mao insisted. “Just take it.”

She still looked reluctant.

To reassure her, Hei Mao took off his Storage Ring and handed it over as well. “Here. Keep this too. Everything inside will be more useful to you than to me.”

Ren Jingyi stared at him. Something in her small face twisted, but before she could argue, Hei Mao cut her off.

“When I say go,”

She was still mid-word saying ‘okay’, when...

“GO!”

Hei Mao bolted.

It happened in an instant.

Shenyuan gestured, and from the sack beside him, the severed heads floated.

Ren Jingyi’s breath hitched.

Dai Fu laughing and mocking Shenyuan only served as more of a distraction.

Ren Jingyi moved.

The Accursed Serpent whip lashed out, coiling around the fallen heads in a series of hoops. With a sharp flick, she reeled them in, stuffing them into her Storage Ring.

That was when Shenyuan moved.

In a single flicker, he was at Ren Jingyi’s flank.

But Hei Mao saw it.

And so did Dai Fu.

For Dai Fu, it was because he was using Da Wei’s body, empowered by powerful passive skills, gear, and stats.

For Hei Mao, it was because of his connection to Shenyuan and his recently unlocked Abyss Sight.

Dai Fu moved first. Zealot’s Stride. Flash Step. In a single breath, he scooped Ren Jingyi by the waist, his blade flashing as he cut down two interfering cultivators. Then, he ran.

Hei Mao moved next. He lunged at Shenyuan from behind, his small frame barely making a sound. His hand shot forward, and he dug his arm into him.

Ren Jingyi screamed. “HEI MAO!” She struggled in Dai Fu’s grip, reaching toward him. “It’s time! Let’s go! Come with us!”

Hei Mao looked back at her.

A small, sad smile touched his lips.

“…I’m sorry.”

“MAAAAO~!” cried Ren Jingyi.

“I will distract him!” Hei Mao shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

His qi flared, small yet unwavering, as he glared at Shenyuan.

“Give me my body back!”

Hei Mao thrust his hands forward, grasping at Shenyuan’s robes, and they sank in. No, not just the robes. His hands sank into Shenyuan’s body itself. His very flesh. And the soul. And everything.

"Nice try," Shenyuan rolled his eyes and scoffed. “But you see... You should have run, boy.”

A vice-like grip clamped around Hei Mao’s skull.

Pain exploded through him.

Hei Mao gritted his teeth. He refused to let go.

A vague impression flickered in his mind, a technique he had glimpsed in the depths of his dreams, something half-formed yet instinctively understood.

“Shadow Bind!”

Dark tendrils burst from Hei Mao’s arms, latching onto Shenyuan.

For the first time, Shenyuan paused.

But before he could react, a voice cut through the air.

“Let go of him," said Dai Fu. "And I’ll give you what you want.”

Hei Mao’s eyes widened. “Run!” Hei Mao yelled. “I can’t hold him for long!”

But Dai Fu, Dave, refused to see it his way. Instead, Dai Fu pulled out a Magic Scroll of Greater Teleportation. Hei Mao barely had time to register it before Dai Fu grabbed Ren Jingyi’s wrist and forced her to rip the parchment.

The magic activated instantly.

Ren Jingyi vanished with tears in her eyes.

Dai Fu moved again. Another Magic Scroll. This time, he shoved it into Hei Mao’s limp hand. “GO!” he bellowed as he swung his sword at him. But Shenyuan just laughed. It was a slow, delighted chuckle. "Shenyuan! FIGHT ME!"

Finally, Shenyuan had regained control from the Shadow Bind. He tilted his head, his fingers tightening on Hei Mao’s scalp. “You want your body back?” His voice was mocking. “You want it so badly?”

Hei Mao’s mind reeled. A whisper of something called to him. He reached deeper, searching for Shenyuan’s essence. And what he found was... Darkness. It swallowed him whole.

Everything happened too fast.

The next second, it was already finished.

Hei Mao stared at Dai Fu’s beheaded body. Dai Fu, in the end, had let his guard down, allowing himself to be beheaded so easily in the decisive moment. Of course, Dai Fu would lose, especially since he was already on the brink of death anyway.

The helm rolled across the bloodied ground, coming to a stop with its faceplate now open, revealing a smile... It was unmistakably a smile. That damned smile. Joyful. Radiant. Almost… satisfied. Weird.

No.

“Who am I again?”

Not Hei Mao.

Ah, right. Shenyuan, that was his name, wasn’t it?

"Yes, my name is Shenyuan."

He almost forgot.

The sudden change in perspective was jarring.

The boy’s fate was powerful. That much was undeniable. A child of destiny. It was expected.

After all, Hei Mao was the original owner of this body. This vessel was born for greatness. That must be why, despite the chasm of their cultivation, the kid almost succeeded. Shenyuan had inhabited many bodies in his long life. Some warriors. Some scholars. Some kings.

But this one… this one had potential.

Hei Yuan’s bloodline… Shenyuan licked his lips.

It reminded him of the Heavenly Eye.

Ah, that one... a freak of nature. A true aberration.

Shenyuan laughed.

“Take off the armor.”

His lackeys moved at once.

Then...

Something ridiculous happened. The shadow of the dead foreigner expanded. First, it swallowed the shore. Then, the entire island. No. The entire lake. Shenyuan’s breath hitched. His Abyss Sight was reacting strangely.

A power that allowed its wearer to peer beyond the darkness, to learn the secrets of the abyss, to see the shadows of all life.

And then...

The dead man’s body jerked. A flicker of movement. An ordinary-looking ring, barely noticeable, began to glow. And in an instant, the head regenerated. Brain matter. Bone. Flesh. Dark hair. Whole again.

A cultivator lurched forward in panic, sword drawn...

Only to be backhanded.

His head flew. It was a clean and effortless strike.

"That was a Fifth Realm cultivator!" cried one of his subordinates.

Shenyuan casually remarked, "Now, isn't this interesting?"

The foreigner stretched. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders, utterly unbothered.

Shenyuan gritted his teeth. His mind screamed in disbelief. But he forced himself to smile.

“Impressive,” Shenyuan’s mocking smile widened as he studied the resurrected man before him. "To escape the Black Forest, the sacred treasure of my Immortal Ancestors refined over time from the body of a fallen Immortal... Truly impressive. That alone speaks of your skill."

His voice was rich with amusement, but beneath it, there was a thread of unease. He had seen many impossible things in his long existence, but this? This was unnatural. Shenyuan narrowed his eyes, studying the foreigner’s body.

The energy and the very essence within him... It was all… wrong.

No. Not wrong.

Changed.

His lips curled into a smirk.

"I never thought your True Soul would be able to return to your main body."

It was unnerving. A soul severed from its body should be lost. Even with techniques that allowed soul projection or possession, a practitioner would still face severe consequences or would have to pay a hefty cost.

And yet... Here he was.

Whole.

Intact.

No signs of soul damage, no lingering instability...

Just pure, undeniable presence.

Shenyuan's eyes gleamed. “How’s your other disciple? Lu Gao, is it?” He tilted his head, lips stretching into something between curiosity and cruelty. "Did you kill him?" His tone was teasing, but his gaze was sharp. "To forcibly eject your soul and return to your main body? In order to do that, you would have to kill him, yes? It was certainly a strange technique."

There was no doubt about it.

That must have been what happened.

And yet... There were gaps in his understanding.

Shenyuan had stolen countless lives, claimed countless bodies.

He understood possession techniques intimately.

They were always rooted in dominion and subjugation of another’s spirit.

A battle of will. A conquest.

But this?

This was not how it normally worked.

Shenyuan’s fingers tightened over the armrest.

"For a possession technique, it was bizarre how you used the righteous principles."

He scoffed.

The very foundation of possession was parasitic, a forceful occupation, an invasion, a war between the possessor and the possessed.

But this?

This was orderly.

Refined.

It was as though the foreigner had… stepped aside, allowing the other soul to take over without resistance—and then returned, as if called back by divine right. Shenyuan frowned. His unease deepened. That was not how it worked.

“I truly thought I had eliminated one of my strongest rivals.”

Shenyuan tilted his head, eyes gleaming.

“Unfortunately,” He gestured grandly at the wreckage. “You are already too late. Your disciples are dead. The Shadow Clan has been decimated.”

The foreigner...

No.

The man turned to him.

Slowly.

His gaze was calm.

His voice was soft.

“Who are you?”

101 The Fool’s Delusion

Hei Yuan’s voice rang with desperation, his cry cutting through the chaos of battle.

“What’s the meaning of this?! Shadow Patriarch Hei Ben...”

The man in Dave’s grasp let out a deep, mirthful chuckle, tilting his head as if amused by the accusation.

“Ah… yes, I was called that once, wasn’t I?” His voice dripped with nostalgia, but there was no warmth in it, only amusement at Hei Yuan’s disbelief. “But names are shackles, and that one is no longer fitting for me. Please call me by my divine name.” His grin widened as he leaned in slightly. “You may call me… Shenyuan.”

Hei Yuan trembled, his face pale. His breathing hitched, his composure shattering as tears welled in his eyes. “Why…? Why did you do it?” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “Why corrupt Hei Mu? Why take away Patriarch Hei Ten and turn him into… into that?!”

Shenyuan sighed, almost bored. “You’re so noisy, little Yuan. Let’s do something about that.”

Hei Yuan’s body convulsed violently as black miasma erupted from his seven orifices: his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth spilling forth the foul essence of corruption. His screams turned to gasps as his body stiffened, then fell like a broken marionette, plummeting into the lake below.

Splash!

One of the Shadow Clan cultivators darted down, catching Hei Yuan before he could sink, retreating to the rear lines. But the sight of their leader falling shook the defenders, and the undead pressed forward with renewed aggression.

Dave’s grip on Shenyuan’s throat tightened, his voice steady despite the fire of holy energy coursing through him. “What did you do?”

Shenyuan merely smiled, unbothered by Dave’s strength. “What I had to. What I was meant to. You see, boy, I am the Abyss Clan. I am the Black Clan. I am the Shadow Clan and the One True Death.” His eyes gleamed with a mad certainty. “I am the rightful heir of the Eternal Undeath Cult, and I will stop at nothing to reclaim my place in the Infinity.”

Dave’s expression remained unreadable, but his grip did not loosen. He could feel the aura of something ancient, something deeply wrong emanating from this man.

This wasn’t just a battle over the island anymore.

It was a battle for the fate of the Shadow Clan itself and the rest of the Deepmoor Continent.

Shenyuan’s smirk didn’t waver, even as Dave ignited Searing Smite in his palm. Holy flames wreathed his gauntlet, the heat searing the air itself. Without hesitation, he clenched his fist, attempting to burn his foe with righteous fire.

But Shenyuan merely laughed. His body blurred, dissolving into shadow before slipping past Dave’s grasp like mist through his fingers.

“Thunderous Smite.”

Dave swung Silver Steel, still empowered by Heavenly Punishment, cutting through the space where Shenyuan reformed. A jagged arc of lightning and divine force surged forth, crackling with the authority of judgment itself. It cleaved through the battlefield, illuminating the night in blinding brilliance.

The strike landed. Or rather, it should have.

But once again, Shenyuan merely slipped, his form scattering like a phantom, untouched.

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Useless. You can’t harm me.” His grin widened, arrogance dripping from every word. “I am invincible. There’s no way for you to bypass my intangibility. You cannot strike what does not exist.”

Dave exhaled slowly.

Then, he pointed Silver Steel directly at Shenyuan.

“It’s over.”

For the first time, Shenyuan’s smirk faltered.

The night trembled. The heavens themselves seemed to listen.

“Final Adjudication.”

Dave had been buying time, just enough time to channel his most powerful area-of-effect spell.

Yes, he had exhausted his every spell slot.

But he wasn’t done yet.

His armor’s ability, Ephemeral Touch, allowed him to cast Ultimate Skills regardless of cooldown, mana consumption, or spell slots. However, it didn’t shorten Final Adjudication’s channeling time. That was why he needed every second he could steal.

And now...

A divine verdict was being rendered.

A golden fissure split the heavens, stretching across the battlefield. The very air groaned as reality cracked, bleeding radiant power. Darkness recoiled. The sky turned void-black, swallowing the stars, leaving only judgment.

Then the hymns began.

Voices beyond mortal comprehension sang in celestial harmony, their words not of any known language, yet understood by all.

Rings of celestial scripture spiraled around Dave, inscribed with ever-shifting verdicts, glowing with the absolute authority of divine law. The ground trembled beneath his feet.

The guilty would not escape.

Golden chains of light erupted forth, lashing across the battlefield, seeking those who had sinned against the natural order. The undead—their wretched souls bound to this plane—had no means of resisting. Hundreds. Thousands. They burned in an instant, reduced to nothing but ash.

The black-masked cultivators mixed among the undead fared no better. Those who had defied fate, who had walked the path of forbidden arts, found themselves snared. The chains constricted, dragging them toward judgment.

And Shenyuan...

He, too, was caught.

The space around him twisted, warping as divine light consumed him. His smugness was gone, replaced by something else.

Recognition.

Above them, a colossal Scales of Judgment materialized. It hung in the heavens, its size unfathomable, stretching beyond mortal sight. Its weight bore down on the battlefield, an absolute force of karma manifest.

It was time to weigh the guilty.

A laugh.

Loud. Overwhelming. It echoed across the battlefield, sweeping over the lake, the island, and beyond. A laughter so deep and resonant it sent ripples through the very air.

Shenyuan laughed.

His mirth was not mocking, nor was it derisive. It was genuine amusement, rich with delight. “This power… this righteousness… it sickens me!” His voice rang out, filled with something close to exhilaration. "Frankly, I'd probably die receiving a direct hit from this or that heavenly sword... but..."

Dave narrowed his eyes. Final Adjudication was absolute. There was no escape. No way to defy judgment.

Then he blinked.

The golden chains, once wrapped around Shenyuan, constricting him in divine law, were no longer there.

They were wrapped around him.

Dave’s breath hitched. His gaze snapped downward, his Silver Steel trembling in his grip. The radiant shackles coiled around his arms and his legs, binding him in celestial scripture, as if he were the condemned.

The hymns continued, unrelenting. The battlefield burned.

Undead wreathed in golden karmic fire howled in agony as they crumbled into ash. Black-masked cultivators writhed, their very souls ignited from within, consumed by the weight of their sins.

Dave looked up at the sky. The Scales of Judgment loomed, its colossal form beyond human comprehension.

He had good karma. That much he knew.

His actions and his path... it was righteous. Wasn’t it?

Then, the scale tilted.

An agonizing burst erupted from within him.

Golden karmic flames ignited in his essence.

Dave gritted his teeth as pain racked his soul. Why? This wasn’t supposed to happen. This judgment wasn’t meant for him. He wasn’t guilty!

The fire burned deeper. It didn’t just scorch his body... it sought his very being.

With rigid control, Dave began casting Cure in even intervals, his mind sharp despite the agony. Divine Word: Life surged through him, reinforcing his own healing, fighting against his own spell.

Shenyuan tilted his head, watching.

Then, he smiled.

“Let me enlighten you.”

His voice was calm, almost gentle, as though explaining something trivial. “What’s happening? Easy. I just made it so that we swapped our shadows.”

Dave’s eyes widened.

Swapped… shadows?

A realization struck him like a blade to the gut. Final Adjudication targeted the guilty. The spell sought karmic weight, and Shenyuan had, somehow, shifted that weight onto him.

He had turned Dave into the condemned.

Shenyuan chuckled. “Impressive spell, though. What did you call it? Ah, yes... Final Adjudication?” He spread his arms wide. “I must say, the chains, it suits you rather well.”

The flames raged.

They did not consume his flesh... they devoured his very soul.

Dave roared in agony, his voice raw as the divine fire burrowed deeper, searing into his essence. Final Adjudication demanded judgment, and now it was branding him as guilty.

And then he saw.

The visions struck like a blade to his mind, each one sharper than the last.

Bloodied halls.

Shattered families, their corpses strewn across the floor.

Siblings turning against one another, only for all to be slain.

A mother, clutching her child, eyes frozen in horror as her heart was ripped from her chest.

Fathers crushed beneath falling rubble, their screams lost in the chaos.

Entire sects, once mighty, now turned to ruins.

Nations burned, their skies darkened with the smoke of countless pyres.

Dave staggered, his breath choking in his throat. These weren't his sins, but Shenyuan’s.

Yet the weight of them was unbearable.

The sheer vileness of it—the absolute, unrepentant malice—sank into his very bones. It was not just the sight of atrocities, but the emotions behind them. The sheer, unfiltered joy that Shenyuan had felt in the slaughter.

A mind so wretched, so utterly devoid of remorse, that Dave wanted—no, needed—to end it all.

Make it stop.

And then, a voice.

A melody.

Soft.

Slow.

Shenyuan began to sing.

A lullaby. A eulogy.

“Hush, hush, lay down your sword,
The weight you bear is much too hard.
Close your eyes, surrender your breath,
Embrace the peace that lies in death.”

“They whisper low, they cry and weep,
But all shall rest in shadows deep.
No more pain, no more fight,
Slip away into the night.”

The words were poison.

A creeping, insidious whisper in his mind.

Dave’s grip on Silver Steel trembled. His limbs felt so heavy. His heartbeat slowed, lulled by the haunting tune. His mind clouded. The fire still burned, but it felt so distant now.

Just… rest.

No!

With a snarl, Dave gritted his teeth and forced himself forward. He powered through the pain, through the weight, through the suffocating sins that weren’t his own.

He swung.

Silver Steel lashed out in a gleaming arc, Heavenly Punishment crackling along its edge as it cleaved through the air toward Shenyuan.

And Shenyuan didn’t move.

He just stood there, smiling.

Dave’s blade struck true and passed straight through.

Like mist.

Like nothing.

Dave’s breath hitched. He swung again and again.

Each strike and every slash slipped through Shenyuan’s body like cutting through air.

The man remained standing, untouched and utterly unbothered.

Dave’s arms shook. His attacks were landing, and he could see them hitting, but there was no impact. No resistance.

Shenyuan tilted his head, lips curling into a smirk. “Oh dear. You do seem tired.”

His voice was mocking.

"Give up already, foreigner. No one is gonna save you."

The Shadow Clan was losing.

The white fog that once protected the island had been swallowed by dark miasma.

Screams resounded from the island as undead poured in, tearing through defenses like brittle paper. Shadow Clan cultivators fought desperately, but for every undead they slew, two more clawed their way into existence.

The scent of blood and decay thickened the air.

Shenyuan, perched high above, let out a disappointed sigh. "What a pity."

His malicious pitch-black eyes glowed with eerie amusement as he looked over the carnage. "I could have taken the island without so much loss, you know. But you..." he motioned toward Dave, "...just had to ruin it for me."

The flames stopped.

Final Adjudication, his most powerful divine judgment, ceased.

Dave's body convulsed as the last embers of divine energy flickered out. His vision blurred. The weight of exhaustion crashed into him all at once.

And then he fell.

Cold air rushed past his skin as his body plunged from the sky. The next thing he knew... water.

A thunderous splash.

The freezing lake swallowed him whole, its depths dark and endless.

Then hands.

Clawed, rotting hands.

Undead lurked beneath the surface, their eyes glowing dimly in the abyss. They reached for him, their nails scraping against his flesh.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t fight.

Dave was losing.

No.

He was dying.

His Lordship's body would perish. And it would be his fault.

He had fought.

He had tried.

But he had lost.

He wanted to believe he had no regrets. That he had done everything he could.

But that would be a lie.

He prayed, not for himself, but for the others. He prayed that Gu Jie, Ren Jingyi, Ren Xun, Hei Mao...

That they had escaped.

Then a hand.

Strong. Unyielding.

It grabbed him, dragging him upward.

The world lurched as he was pulled from the depths, coughing up lake water as he collapsed onto wet sand.

The battle was still raging.

Shadow Clan cultivators were fleeing in panic.

Undead hunted them down.

Figures in dark robes, black-masked cultivators, moved among the battlefield, herding survivors like cattle.

Dave lay on the shore, gasping. He reached for his sword, for the familiar pulse of Heavenly Punishment.

But the moment his fingers brushed Silver Steel, he felt nothing.

The divine power had vanished.

And then, shadows loomed over him.

Black-masked cultivators encircled him, their presence cold and methodical. They did not attack. Instead, they moved in perfect unison, forming two parallel lines as he was forced onto his knees.

And before him was a throne of bone.

It sat freshly constructed, its frame built from the skeletons of fallen Shadow Clan cultivators. The marrow still glistened red, their lingering resentment saturating the air.

Shenyuan sat atop it, resting his chin on his palm. "Hmm."

He tapped his fingers against the armrest, the bones creaking beneath his touch.

"This isn’t bad." His lips curled into a smirk. "But I should refine it further. Yes... The resentment in these bones is powerful. This could make quite the treasure."

He chuckled. "Wouldn't you agree, foreigner?"

Snap.

With a surge of strength, Dave broke free.

The black-masked cultivators flinched as he surged forward, Silver Steel in hand, divine energy flickering around his blade. The bone throne shattered beneath his charge as he swung his sword at Shenyuan’s neck.

"Shadow Bind."

A whisper.

The world froze.

Dave’s body locked in place, his limbs unresponsive. It was as if unseen shackles had seized him mid-strike, anchoring him to the very ground he stood on.

Shenyuan sighed. "Tsk. That was predictable." With a wave of his hand, the throne he was sitting on mended itself.

Dave struggled, his muscles straining. His breath came in ragged bursts, but he couldn’t move. Not even an inch.

Shenyuan rose from his throne of bones, brushing nonexistent dust from his robes.

"That armor of yours... it's wasted on you."

He lazily waved a hand. "Take it off him."

The black-masked cultivators advanced. Hands reached for Dave’s armor. They were grasping, pulling, and prying.

Nothing happened.

They grunted and applied more force... still, nothing.

Shenyuan’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head. "Oh?"

The masked lackeys tried again, now with growing frustration. Fingers clawed at the clasps, attempting to remove the plates piece by piece. Yet no matter what they did, the armor remained.

It wasn’t their lack of effort.

It simply refused to be taken.

Shenyuan clicked his tongue. "How stubborn. A shame, really. That treasure would be better in my hands."

He sighed, stretching his fingers. "You’re leaving me with no choice, Dave."

Then he gestured.

A familiar silhouette approached.

Dave’s breath hitched. His eyes widened in disbelief.

It wasn’t an undead.

It was his Puppet Armor.

The very gift His Lordship had bestowed upon him.

It moved with unnatural grace, its once-gleaming frame now tainted with dark miasma. The way it walked was wrong. Like a marionette, strings unseen.

A sack hung from its grasp.

Dave’s instincts screamed.

The Puppet Armor lifted it high and then dropped it.

The sack landed with a sickening thud.

The Puppet Armor, his own armor, knelt down, fingers—his fingers—untying the sack with mechanical precision.

The contents spilled onto the ground.

Two heads.

Lifeless. Pale. Cold.

Gu Jie.

Ren Xun.

Dave stopped breathing.

His knees buckled. His vision blurred.

No.

No, no, no.

His mind refused to comprehend what he was seeing. His stomach twisted into knots, imaginary bile rising up his throat. His fingers shook. A choked sound escaped him. A strangled breath, somewhere between a gasp and a sob.

His heart shattered.

"Huh."

A weak sound.

"Hah."

His chest ached.

"HAAAAH—!"

Tears streamed down his face.

Like a child.

Like a helpless, broken child.

Under his helm, his expression twisted in agony. He knew how pathetic he must have looked.

But he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t understand why he was crying like this.

In his life before this, he had lost people. Friends. Loved ones.

He had suffered.

But never like this.

Never with this unbearable weight.

His body trembled, wracked with sobs.

He howled. He screamed.

A wreck.

A failure.

He had failed.

Not just His Lord.

But everyone who trusted in him.

Shenyuan leaned back, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his crude throne of bones, watching Dave with something resembling amusement.

“What a pity,” he mused, exhaling like a man disappointed by a bad gamble. “I truly thought I’d get my hands on the kid. But I have to give credit where it is due... the traps set on the puppet have been... interesting... It made me lose a few shadows, really.”

Dave’s lips parted. His voice came out hoarse, raw from grief. “This is an illusion.”

Even as he said it, he reached out with Divine Sense, grasping for some deception, a flaw, a detail out of place.

Nothing.

Cold, harsh reality pushed back against his senses.

This wasn’t an illusion.

This was real.

Shenyuan tilted his head with a grin playing on his lips. “You know you’re lying. I wonder... are you buying time? Or are you truly that deep in despair? Oh, I enjoy despair... Well, as long as I am not on the receiving end. Hmmm... Is that it? Are you in despair just yet?”

Dave clenched his fists. “You don’t know despair.”

"The fact I am asking does indicate I might not know it the intimate way you do now," Shenyuan chuckled. “But... Oh? You think I don’t? You’re amusing, foreigner. Really, you are.” He leaned forward, golden eyes glinting. “Here’s the deal... I’ll give you a choice. Surrender your treasure, and I’ll let the kid go. I won’t chase him. And, as a bonus,” he smirked, “I won’t go after the fish either.”

Dave’s breath hitched.

Hei Mao.

Ren Jingyi.

They were alive.

A small ember of relief flickered in his chest, but it was crushed beneath rage.

Shenyuan wasn’t done. His smile turned almost conversational. “During the time I swapped our shadows, I saw into your life, Dave.” He tapped his temple, mockingly. “War. Slaughter. Faith. Your world... it’s nothing like I’ve ever seen before.”

Dave said nothing.

Shenyuan sighed, then leaned back, spreading his arms wide. “As a consolation prize for your inevitable death, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

His golden eyes darkened.

“This world? It’s a prison.”

Dave blinked. “...What?”

“The real world,” Shenyuan continued, “is out there. Beyond the Infinity.”

His voice turned almost reverent, but madness lurked beneath his words. “Greater lifeforms exist in the Greater Universe. Beings of power beyond comprehension. But those gatekeeping bastards—” his fingers curled into fists “—they kept interfering. Blocking my ascension. They don’t want me to leave this rotten prison.”

His laughter was laced with frustration. “Immortality? It can screw itself. I don’t want to live forever. Forever is overrated,” He grinned. “I want to be a God.”

His gaze snapped back to Dave. “Your armor, your treasure, will help me achieve that. Give it up, and I’ll grant you an honorable death. I’ll bury you properly, let you rest in peace. You won’t have to suffer the indignity of becoming one of my undead.”

Silence.

Dave stared.

Then, he laughed.

A low, breathless chuckle at first, and then it grew.

Louder. Sharper. A pure, mocking cackle.

The black-masked cultivators shifted uncomfortably.

Shenyuan frowned. “Something funny?”

Dave’s laughter didn’t stop. It rang through the battlefield, raw and unfiltered.

Then, he spoke.

"Godhood?

“You know nothing about Godhood!

“You never loved. Never was loved. Never cared.

“Did you truly believe people would worship you? Revere you?

“Why?

“Because you have power?

“You are a joke. And the punchline has always been your ignorance.

“Foolish, foolish man!

“People will bow out of fear.

“They will sing lies out of selfishness.

“They will beg for survival.

“But you will never have their souls.

“Their love.

“Their true worship.

“A God?

“Dream on.

“Because you’d never be a God.

“Wake up to reality!”

The battlefield was silent.

And for the first time…

Shenyuan didn’t laugh.

100 Everlasting Feast

The Black Forest groaned around us, its trees shuddering like creatures in agony. A chill ran down my spine as I gazed at the sky—or what should have been the sky. Instead, it was occupied by a grotesque visage, a twisted mockery of a face so vast that it seemed to stretch across the heavens. Its eyes, if they could be called that, were unfocused, unseeing, yet I felt its presence pressing down on us. From the storm-choked clouds above, writhing tentacles descended, their slick forms glistening in the unnatural light. And beneath that yawning maw—gods above—it was the stuff of nightmares.

“SUSTENANCE. FOOD. FOOD. FEED. SUSTENANCE.”

The thing above us had two eyes: two massive, staring orbs that dominated its grotesque face. And yet, they were more than just eyes. They were the moons themselves.

“FOOD. SUSTENANCE. FOOD.”

Each moon, once distant celestial bodies, now bore countless smaller eyes opening and closing across its surfaces like blooming flowers of pure horror. They pulsed with eerie light, gazing down at us with unfathomable intent. The sky itself seemed to breathe, shifting as if alive, as the tentacles slithered down from the storm-laden clouds.

I exhaled sharply. "Anyone got a weapon to spare?" I asked, not taking my eyes off the horror above. "Better yet, does anyone have a Featherhome?"

Joan scoffed, shaking her head. "If only. I no longer have the blessing of the Lost Supreme and have lost access to my Item Box. So no, I don’t have a Featherhome."

I grimaced. That was expected, but still frustrating. Back in LLO, NPCs always referred to the game mechanics as ‘Blessings’ from the Lost Supreme. Players loved abusing the ‘World Map,’ ‘Fast Travel,’ ‘Item Box,’ ‘Voice Chat,’ and such... It was a list of things that made life so much easier for the sake of gameplay.

Those were all gone. No easy escapes now. No teleportation.

They weren’t completely gone, since I could still use some of them. Voice Chat worked fine, but something like Item Box? That required my main body. And as for Fast Travel or World Map privileges… well, those were as good as useless now.

I let out a breath, trying to steady myself. "I was hoping we'd have a bit more time to prepare for this fight."

Alice stepped forward, her expression unreadable, and reached into her Shadow Space. A flicker of darkness coiled around her fingers as she pulled out a weapon: a single-edged katana, its ominous presence almost tangible. The blade shimmered with an eerie light, its surface like a deep, endless abyss.

I accepted it with a nod. "Much appreciated."

Joan adjusted her grip on her reins, her unicorn shifting nervously beneath her. "You’re thinking about what’s the biggest thing we fought back home, aren’t you?"

"Yeah," I admitted. “This guy’s definitely on my top ten.”

I stretched out my Divine Sense, trying to get a better feel for what we were up against. The sheer scope of it made my stomach turn. It wasn’t just large. It was as if we had been transported to an entirely separate celestial body. My senses struggled to grasp the enormity of it.

The ground trembled. Roots as thick as city streets burst forth, cracking the earth as they spread like the grasping fingers of a buried titan. And from above, the tentacles lashed downward, moving not with intelligence, but instinct.

It wasn’t attacking us because it recognized us as a threat. It was simply reacting, like a dead immortal's body twitching long after their soul had faded.

"Move!" I barked, activating Zealot’s Stride. My body surged forward, mana thrumming through me as I dashed across the battlefield, leaping over the grasping roots.

Alice soared above me, her vampire wings unfurled, carrying her with effortless grace. Joan spurred her unicorn into motion, the beast galloping through the chaos, its hooves leaving faint ripples in the air.

We weren’t ready for this fight.

But ready or not, we had no choice but to fight.

I surged forward, Flash Step propelling me through the battlefield in rapid bursts. Twisted, malformed trees lunged at me with claw-like branches, their gnarled limbs reaching as if they hungered for flesh. I swung my katana in swift, precise arcs. The blade cut cleanly, cleaving through the unnatural wood with ease.

I had no idea what this weapon was called, but it was sharp, unnaturally so. A legendary weapon at the very least.

To my side, Alice reached into her Shadow Space and pulled out a pole weapon—long-handled, with a curved blade gleaming ominously under the flickering light of the corrupted moons. I recognized the shape.

"A naginata?" I muttered.

Alice smirked. "Close enough."

Further back, Joan kept her distance, her unicorn galloping effortlessly across the battlefield. She was multitasking, one hand gripping the reins, and the other casting Holy Smite and Holy Arrow with practiced ease. Every spell she flung burned with divine brilliance, searing through the twisted creatures around us. Multi-casting made it look effortless.

I exhaled and activated Holy Aura.

A golden radiance pulsed outward from my body, washing over the battlefield like a tide of faith. The effect was immediate. Alice’s strikes became sharper, Joan’s spells burned brighter, and even my own movements felt lighter. The malformed trees recoiled, their grotesque limbs blackening as if the very presence of my aura was an anathema to their existence.

"Never been this glad for type-advantages favoring me... Whatever this was, it hated the divine..."

The Holy Aura skill wasn’t cheap. Holy Aura strengthened allies while suppressing enemies, but it was eating into my already limited resources. Lu Gao's body was severely lacking for this fight, but I had to carry through.

I had two Spell Slots left. One was already dedicated to Divine Possession, keeping my hold over Lu Gao intact. That left me with only two uses for Ultimate Skills.

And then... laughter.

It wasn’t coming from anything on the ground.

The sky itself was laughing.

A deep, resonating mirth rumbled through the air, shaking the earth beneath us. The grotesque face looming above split into something resembling a grin, its countless eyes crinkling at the edges. More of its writhing tentacles slithered downward, unfurling from the clouds like grotesque appendages.

And from their depths, humanoid figures descended.

Tall, emaciated beings with octopus-like heads, their slick skin glistening as they touched down with unnatural grace. Their limbs were long and thin, each hand ending in elongated, barbed fingers. Their mouths, if they had mouths, were hidden beneath masses of shifting tentacles.

They stood silently for a moment, their eyes were bulbous and unblinking as they locked onto us.

Then they moved.

I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip on the katana. "Great. Just what we needed."

Alice twirled her naginata, a dark grin spreading across her face. "Looks like they want to play."

Joan exhaled sharply, lifting her hand as divine light gathered in her palm. "Then let’s not disappoint them."

The sky laughed again.

"FOOD. SUSTENANCE. FLESH. DRINK. ALL. ALL. ALL."

Its voice was not a sound but a force, an overwhelming pressure that crushed against my thoughts, trying to drown them in endless hunger.

"LIFE IS A CYCLE OF CONSUMPTION. ALL THAT LIVES EXISTS TO BE TAKEN. GIVE YOURSELVES TO ME. RETURN TO THE VOID. RETURN TO THE EVERLASTING FEAST."

The laughter returned, echoing through the air like a thousand voices all speaking at once—some whispering, some shrieking, some merely exhaling in grotesque satisfaction. The moons grew more eyes, rolling in their sockets and shifting their gaze from us to the land around us as if sizing up a banquet.

"FEED. ENDURE. YOU WILL NOT DIE. YOU WILL BECOME. JOIN THE ETERNAL FLESH. LIVE FOREVER IN ME. RETURN TO THEE."

I clenched my teeth, forcing my mind to push back against the waves of madness creeping into my thoughts.

The sky’s laughter grew louder.

The octopus-headed creatures moved like a tide, their elongated limbs flowing unnaturally as they charged. But not all of them attacked. Some reached out with their barbed fingers, grasping at the malformed trees around us.

The reaction was immediate. The trees trembled, writhing like living things before the grotesque creatures melted into them. Bark twisted, warped, and split apart like gaping wounds. The trunks bulged as flesh merged with wood, reshaping into something new... something worse.

What had once been vaguely humanoid trees were now hulking monstrosities. Their twisted limbs stretched longer, pulsing with veins of black ichor. Multiple heads sprouted from their bark, a disturbing fusion of wood, flesh, and tentacled horror. Some bore twisted human-like faces, half-formed and frozen in expressions of silent agony. Others had full octopi heads, their tendrils writhing as they snapped at the air. Their bodies groaned like bending timber, but their movements were disturbingly fluid, their forms shifting like they weren’t fully bound by solid matter.

Alice whistled as she twirled her naginata. “Well, that’s disgusting. I’ve seen necromancers do some patchwork abominations before, but this? This is a whole new level of ugly.”

“They’re adapting,” I muttered, tightening my grip on my sword.

Joan rode up beside us, her unicorn pawing at the ground nervously. “How many spell slots do you guys have left?”

I exhaled. “Still got two. I’ll use them if I have to, but I’d rather not—I’ve got another fight waiting for me after this.”

Alice smirked. “Oh, holding back for the grand finale?” She spun her naginata effortlessly, the blade catching the corrupted moonlight. “I’ve got five left. Though I burned one earlier for an Ultimate Summon.”

Joan nodded. “Same. I had six, but I used one already.”

“I remember,” I frowned. “Yeah… on me… You used it on me, I remember.”

Joan gave me an innocent look. “You survived.”

“Yeah, after you dropped divine wrath on me.”

“Details.”

They have a lot of spell slots because they were casters after all... and honestly, I was envious.

“So, got a plan?” asked Alice as she hurled a series of Pain Burst multiple times.

I adjusted my grip on my sword, my Holy Aura flickering around me. “I’m thinking.”

The monsters didn’t wait for me to finish.

One of the twisted tree-beasts lunged forward, its malformed arms stretching unnaturally. I Flash Stepped, disappearing from its path in a burst of speed. The next instant, I activated Zealot’s Stride, dashing into a flanking position before the creature could react. My blade ignited with golden light as I swung with Divine Smite. The katana carved through its bark-like flesh, searing it apart with divine energy.

Alice followed up, vaulting into the air with a powerful leap. Her naginata gleamed with dark energy as she slashed through another creature’s elongated neck, severing it in a single strike. But instead of collapsing, the thing’s wound morphed, sprouting fresh tendrils that whipped toward her. She spun midair, deflecting the incoming strikes with a precise parry before landing gracefully.

Joan stayed mobile, keeping her unicorn galloping as she multi-cast Holy Smite and Holy Arrow. Every spell she loosed burned into the monstrosities, charring their grotesque forms. Even with their regenerative properties, they shrieked in agony, writhing as divine energy ate away at them.

A massive tentacle crashed down from the sky, aiming to flatten us all.

I barely had time to react before I activated Flash Step again, darting away from the impact zone just as the ground shattered beneath the blow. Splinters and debris flew in all directions.

Alice dodged backward, using her unnatural agility, while Joan’s unicorn leapt clear, hooves barely touching the fragmented ground before stabilizing midair.

I reappeared beside another abomination and drove my sword straight through its pulsing core. Divine Smite surged through the blade, erupting in a burst of golden flames. The thing convulsed violently before disintegrating, its remnants dissolving into blackened ash.

Alice whirled her naginata, using its extended reach to cleave through multiple creatures at once, her strikes both precise and relentless. Joan unleashed a barrage of Holy Arrows, piercing through their heads and torsos.

But the sky was still laughing.

And more of them were coming.

This was becoming pointless.

I cut down another one of those twisted, tentacle-infested tree monsters, only for three more to take its place. Their numbers were relentless, and while their attacks weren’t particularly powerful, their sheer durability and disruptive nature made them a serious problem.

The worst part? Even a slight graze from them would dispel or disrupt any skill activation. I could feel it each time one of their attacks passed too close, like an oppressive force pressing against my mana flow, threatening to collapse any spell mid-cast.

At least they couldn't cancel my Divine Possession outright. If they could, Lu Gao would be a sitting duck right now.

Still, their durability was absurd. I’d say each of these monsters had the defense of a Sixth Realm cultivator, and to make matters worse, they shifted randomly under parameters I still didn’t understand. One moment my attacks would carve through them like butter, the next they’d harden like stone, barely flinching under my Divine Smite.

I clicked my tongue and Flash Stepped back beside Alice and Joan. “This isn’t working. We need to find a weakness fast.”

Alice spun her naginata, flicking blackened ichor off the blade. “Go for the eyes?” she suggested, her tone almost playful. “Always a classic.”

I followed her gaze upward to the moons. Those massive, unblinking eyes staring down at us from the sky, shifting and pulsing like living things.

"...That's quite something," I muttered. “We’d need something big to even make a dent.”

“And a way to shorten the distance,” Joan added.

Silence fell between us as we processed the problem, while we fought the monsters.

Then Joan snapped her fingers. “How does a Mass Teleport sound?”

Alice shook her head immediately. “Not possible. Space is all messed up here, and you know it. I can’t even use simple spatial tricks, so no way you’re pulling off something that large-scale.”

Joan narrowed her eyes. “I should be able to do it… if I limit it to just this battlefield.”

I frowned, considering her words. “You sure?”

Joan shrugged. “Nope. But I can try.”

I sighed. That left me with one option.

“I’ve got something big,” I admitted. “But I need two minutes to channel it.”

Alice quirked an eyebrow. “That long? Sounds troublesome.”

“Yeah. You got anything better? I could channel it while fighting, but these monsters have ‘dispel’ in their touch, so yeah, no… Troublesome is an understatement.”

If these two were offensive casters, they would have spammed their ults from the get-go already, but clearly, they could.

"Let's do this," Alice smirked, then cursed herself.

And I don’t mean that figuratively. She literally cast Curse and Greater Curse on herself, stacking all sorts of debuffs onto her own body. Her aura grew darker, twisting unnaturally. The air around her distorted, as if it wasn’t sure what to make of her anymore.

“I also have something, but I would need time,” she said. "I should be able to chain a few spells."

Ah. That kind of setup.

Whatever she was planning, it involved some kind of combo, one that required her to be in an absolutely wretched state before activating it.

Joan watched her with a mixture of fascination and concern. “I don’t have the firepower you two do, but I can hold the line while you both get your stuff ready.”

I nodded. “Then let’s do this.”

Joan took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a brief moment. Then she muttered, “Divine Descent.” She began glowing in resplendent gold, red, and silver.

I frowned. Divine Descent? That was… unexpected. Her patron god was related to healing, not barriers, not shields. While it would definitely boost her support abilities, it shouldn’t be enough to hold against that thing in the sky.

But before I could question her, Joan raised her staff and invoked, “Shield of Faith.”

A golden barrier flared to life, surrounding both Alice and me in a protective dome. Holy symbols glowed faintly in the air, shifting and rotating like celestial engravings. It wasn’t just resilient—it felt absolute. A fortress of divinity.

Joan exhaled softly and whispered, “Invoke: Divine Right.”

My thoughts screeched to a halt.

Wait. What?

I remembered a certain cinematic promotion of LLO, when it first introduced the Lost Gods. A rush of power surged outward from Joan, rippling through the battlefield like a divine proclamation. The aura surrounding her shifted, deepened, changed. It wasn’t just a buff. It was something far greater.

She wasn’t just borrowing an aspect of her patron with Divine Descent.

She was staking a claim.

Joan’s voice rang out clear and unwavering: “I challenge the seat of Godhood and draw upon the Divine Authority of Ephryn, Goddess of Love, Healing, Fertility, and Loyalty.”

I was shell-shocked.

In LLO, using Divine Descent allowed a character to borrow an aspect of their patron, granting them powerful buffs based on the deity’s nature. But this wasn’t just borrowing.

Joan was claiming the goddess’s power for herself.

Alice whispered to me, her voice barely audible over the rising storm of energy. “Let her do her job.”

I glanced at her, seeing the seriousness in her gaze. She wasn’t surprised. She knew.

Alice continued, “A lot has changed in Losten. Dead gods. Ending worlds. The Great Enemy making their moves. Joan’s making hers. If she’d succeed, we don’t know.”

I swallowed my questions and focused on the battlefield.

Joan’s blonde hair shimmered, taking on a brighter, almost ethereal sheen. A halo flickered to life above her head, spinning slowly, radiating a gentle yet overwhelming presence. Her clothes shifted, transforming into something more… divine. Flowing, adorned with golden embroidery, yet shockingly revealing for someone once so modest. The classic look of a newly ascended goddess, albeit temporarily.

She thumped her staff against the ground, her voice steady as she commanded, “Empower: Shield of Faith.”

A second layer of holy protection shimmered into existence, reinforcing the first. Then Joan raised her staff again, invoking more barriers in rapid succession:

“Dome of Deniability.” A shimmering dome expanded outward, warping reality around us, hiding us from fate’s gaze.

“Protection.” A radiant veil settled over our bodies, resisting curses and corruption.

“Holy Barrier.” Layers upon layers of divine defenses stacked, turning the battlefield into a fortress of faith.

Then the sky screamed.

Not a rumble. Not an earthquake. A voice.

"YOU CHEAT. YOU CHEAT. YOU CHEAT. YOU CHEAT."

My frown deepened. I hadn’t thought the thing was truly conscious, and assumed it was more like a corpse moving out of instinct. But this? This was rage.

The two moons in the night sky twisted and stretched, forming grinning mouths filled with massive, smiling teeth—the kind you’d see on a cow.

Then, with a grotesque rip, the mouths opened and from within came giant arms bursting forth.

The massive hands reached down, each larger than a fortress, and smashed against Joan’s defenses with terrifying force.

The ground shook. Reality shuddered. The air trembled under the sheer weight of their power.

Joan stood firm.

Her barriers held.

The earth cracked.

A terrible shudder rippled through the land, and the air itself seemed to fracture. The twisted trees, the writhing octopi, the monstrous amalgamations: all of them disintegrated into ash, their forms unable to withstand the sheer wrongness that was being revealed.

Above us, the twin moons contorted, revealing a pair of faces. One was sad and the other was happy. Too suddenly, their faces twisted into expressions of pure madness.

They stared at each other, eyes wide and unseeing, their grotesque mouths opening in unison to let out wailing sobs.

And then, they began to devour each other, arms flailing around.

Flesh folded into flesh. Teeth crunched against bone. The sky itself bled as the moons consumed themselves, screaming in anguish, in ecstasy, in something beyond mortal comprehension.  

And when the feeding was over, when the heavens had collapsed into themselves, there was nothing left but a writhing mass of flesh.

It quivered, a pulsing blob of shifting forms, as if the essence of the sky itself had been reduced to a single tumor.

Then, the filth began to rise.

From the remnants of the grotesque fusion, a figure emerged.

A naked giant, its sheer size dwarfing the landscape, standing tall as a skyscraper.

His skin was a deep, sickly purple, devoid of genitalia, of anatomy, of humanity. Instead, his entire body was covered in faces.

Hundreds. Thousands.

Each one squirmed and twisted, their mouths moving in silent screams, in whispered prayers, in pleas for the Everlasting Feast to never stop.

I felt my stomach churn.

The mad thing grinned, not with its mouth, but with its entire existence.

And then, without hesitation, it reached out, grabbing onto the outermost layer of Joan’s divine barrier.

And shattered it.

Joan screamed.

Blood poured from her lips as her body convulsed from the backlash.

I cursed. She stacked multiple barriers, but that thing—

Joan gritted her teeth through the pain, raising her trembling hands. And then, she spoke an Ultimate Skill.

“Divine Word: Rest!”

A pulse of absolute authority surged outward.

The mad thing staggered.

One of the faces on its body froze, its expression going slack and its eyes closing as it fell into an unnatural slumber.

But the rest of them…

“FOOD. FOOD. FEED. FEED.”

The monster laughed.

The faces on its writhing body still screamed, still cried for sustenance. But slowly, one by one, more and more began to fall asleep.

It jerked, its movements growing sluggish, its form trembling with something that almost resembled panic.

It knew.

It knew that if too many of its faces fell asleep…

It would be helpless.

The monster howled, clawing at the ground, slamming its hands against the barriers, desperate to shatter them.

Joan gritted her teeth and cast another.

And another.

Each time the monster broke a barrier, Joan coughed more blood.

Her divine radiance dimmed with each blow.

Her body shook as the strain of channeling Divine Descent and an Ultimate Skill at the same time was tearing her apart.

I frowned. This wasn’t just backlash, but something like True Damage.

If this continued, Joan was going to die.

The two minutes were up.

The last of the monster’s countless faces fell silent.

Its grotesque, skyscraper-tall body lurched—unsteady, its movements now sluggish. The nightmare of shifting flesh and screaming mouths staggered, its knees crashing into the ruined earth.

It slumbered.

I exhaled. Finally.

Alice let out a breath as well, her hands shaking as she bagged her naginata back into her Shadow Space.

Her hair had gone completely white.

Her once vibrant pink hair had turned ashen, her usually pale skin now hollow and sunken. She looked… ancient. A corpse at death’s door.

I frowned and reached for the sword she had loaned me. Without a word, I handed it back.

“I don’t need it anymore,” I told her.

Alice stared at it for a moment before silently taking the blade and storing it away.

Then, she muttered a quiet incantation, barely above a whisper.

“Curse Reversal!"

A tremor of power rippled outward as her Ultimate Skill came to life.

Alice’s body shook, her brittle frame suddenly surging with vitality.

The color of youth returned to her cheeks, her withered hair growing long and glossy again, flourishing into soft pink strands. The fatigue and decay that had drained her moments ago were erased in an instant.

Her aura blazed.

The air shuddered from the sheer force of her presence, the weight of overwhelming power pressing against reality.

Alice flexed her fingers, rolling her shoulders as her lips curled into a sharp smirk. “Much better,” she said.

Then, she lifted her palm.

A straw doll materialized within it: a grotesque mimicry of the slumbering giant.

She muttered, “Malevolent Grasp.”

A phantasmal hand—withered, skeletal, and rotting—manifested in the air and clamped around the doll, squeezing with vice-like force.

Alice’s eyes gleamed. With a slow, deliberate motion, she crushed the effigy between her fingers.

“Wretched Effigy.”

The effect was instantaneous.

The monster screamed.

Every single face on its twisted, fleshy body contorted in agony, their silent slumber shattered by overwhelming pain.

More than half of its body turned to ash.

The sheer damage was unreal, so much that the monster jerked upright, shrieking.

“FOOD… FOOD HURTS ME—!!”

The nightmare was awake again.

The ground trembled as fresh abominations sprouted from the blackened dirt with trees twisting into humanoid horrors, their faces eerily blank.

I narrowed my eyes. Enough.

I reached within, drawing upon the demonic taint buried in Lu Gao’s soul.

The dark essence coiled at my command, responding to my will as I fused my Ultimate Skill with the principle of his technique.

I raised my arm, gathering every ounce of faith within me.

And then, I closed my hand into a fist as I spoke.

"Final Adjudication."

Power gathered.

The husk around us disintegrated.

The very dirt blackened, rotting from the inside out before crumbling into ash.

In an instant, the entire wretched forest collapsed—the monstrous trees, the faceless horrors, the land itself—all reduced to dust.

A lifeless, gray desert of ash remained.

The already night sky, further darkened as if it couldn’t get any darker.

Golden cracks split the air, fracturing reality itself.

From those fractures, radiant power bled through.

A colossal presence loomed over the battlefield—unseen, yet undeniable. The weight of divine authority pressed upon existence itself, making even the air strain and vibrate.

Hymns resounded.

Rings of celestial scripture spiraled around me, inscribed with ever-shifting verdicts, glowing with the absolute decree of law.

The very air trembled under the force of my judgment.

Then...

Golden chains of light lashed out.

They snapped forward, piercing through the void, twisting like serpents before they coiled around the monster’s form.

It screamed.

The space around it burned.

Above us, the heavens trembled, and a colossal Scales of Judgment materialized.

The weight of karmic balance pressed down upon the battlefield, an omnipresent force that no existence could escape.

The monster struggled.

It thrashed against its bindings, writhing like a dying insect trapped in a spider’s web.

But it was useless.

The golden chains darkened, the divine power reflecting the corruption of Lu Gao’s Incursion technique. The monster’s own internal energy—tainted, mad, and insatiable—began to rebel against itself.

It was being consumed from within.

The faces screamed.

The monster shrieked, its cry rising to the heavens, its final desperate plea echoing across the broken world.

"THIS IS UNFAIR—!!"

The chains tightened.

The Scales of Judgment tipped.

And the monster was erased.

099 Shadow of The Past

Hei Mao felt anxious.

The distant echoes of battle rumbled beyond the halls, and though he tried to steady his breath, his fingers twitched at his sides. He wasn’t confident—wasn’t even sure how skilled he really was. Strong? Weak? Competent? Incompetent? He didn’t know.

Elder Yuan had taken a strange liking to him and taught him some stealth techniques, whispering cryptic advice about patience and precision. “Move with intent. See without being seen.” But stealth alone wasn’t enough.

Big Brother Dai Fu—no, Senior Dai Fu—had taught him how to handle his strength, how to recognize his own limits and push them. “Power without control is self-destruction. Feel the weight of your strikes. Know your enemy.”

Big Sister Gu Jie had sharpened his instincts. “People reveal more than they intend. Watch, listen, understand.”

And then there was that stupid Big Brother Ren Xun, who, of all things, taught him how to run away. “Retreating is survival. The living have more chances than the dead.”

He hated to admit it, but there was wisdom in their words.

Right now, they were inside the Umbral Scripture Hall, the one place they had been permitted to stay. Even with all the knowledge at their fingertips, Hei Mao couldn’t focus on any of it.

Instead, he watched Ren Xun as he worked, adjusting and fine-tuning the Puppet Armor—the very same armor that had once been Senior Dai Fu’s body.

After a few final tweaks, Ren Xun straightened. “Finished.”

Hei Mao stiffened. “So… can we go now?”

Gu Jie shook her head before he could even take a step. “No.”

Hei Mao frowned. “Why not?”

Gu Jie crossed her arms. “Because I was put in charge of making sure we stay safe.”

Hei Mao scowled, frustration rising. Outside, the Shadow Clan was fighting off an invasion. He wasn’t useless—he had trained, learned, adapted. Yet here he was, stuck inside while others risked their lives.

As if sensing his frustration, Ren Jingyi twirled around Gu Jie, her translucent fish-like form floating in her sphere of water. She shimmered, twisting through the air before turning to Hei Mao.

“It will be fine,” she whispered, her voice only for him.

He glanced away, unwilling to argue with a fish.

Meanwhile, Ren Xun jerked his fingers slightly, and the Puppet Armor shifted.

The construct’s joints groaned as it raised an arm in stiff, jerky movements. Then, with another twitch of Ren Xun’s fingers, it adjusted its stance, standing straighter.

Ren Xun let out a slow breath. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Hei Mao narrowed his eyes. “You sound surprised.”

Ren Xun gave an awkward chuckle. “I, uh… had to dismantle some parts of the Floating Dragon.”

Hei Mao stared. “What?”

Gu Jie sighed. Ren Jingyi twirled through the air again, humming softly.

Ren Xun just grinned. “Eh. It’s fine. Probably.”

Hei Mao watched as the Puppet Armor settled into an unnatural stillness. The way it moved earlier—stiff, mechanical—didn’t inspire much confidence. If this was supposed to be their trump card, then they were already in trouble.

Gu Jie studied the armor with sharp eyes before turning to Ren Xun. “How long can you maintain control over it?”

Ren Xun tapped the pouch at his waist, considering. “With the spirit stones I have? Probably fifteen minutes, give or take.”

Gu Jie didn’t hesitate. She reached into her robes, retrieved her own spirit stones, and transferred them to him. “Now?”

Ren Xun weighed the pouch in his hand, furrowing his brow. “Eighteen to twenty minutes.”

Gu Jie nodded, as if this outcome was expected. “That’s good. In an emergency, we’ll at least have a Seventh Realm-level force to rely on.”

Ren Xun snorted, shaking his head. “Not exactly. It wouldn’t be anywhere near Seventh Realm strength. Might not even be comparable to the Sixth or Fifth.” He adjusted his grip on the Puppet Armor’s control talisman and shot Hei Mao a glance. “The only reason I can even move it is because of how well-read I am in formations. The problem is… I’m just a Martial Tempering cultivator. If I’m at Second Realm at least, we’d have better chances.”

Hei Mao frowned. So it was strong, but not that strong.

Still, it wasn’t useless.

“What will it take for us to rejoin the fight?” he asked, glancing between them.

Gu Jie remained silent for a moment. She had let them engage before, running a few hit-and-run tactics—but then, all of a sudden, she had pulled them back.

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re too eager.”

Hei Mao didn’t deny it.

Gu Jie turned to Ren Xun. “What’s your take?”

Ren Xun leaned back against a pillar, arms crossed. “I rigged the whole library with whatever talismans I had. Place is well-protected.” He shrugged. “Theoretically, we could hole up in here for a while.”

Hei Mao opened his mouth to speak, but Ren Xun raised a hand, cutting him off.

“But—that would be strategically unwise.”

Gu Jie nodded, prompting him to continue.

“Not using resources when we could use them gives the enemy more chances to win. The library might be safe, but staying in one place means we’re reacting, not acting.” He smirked slightly. “Not to mention, we’re sitting on a lot of valuable knowledge. If the enemy gets in, it’s a problem. And trust me, they will want to get in. If not to secure the place and protect them, probably burn the place.”

“No,” Gu Jie said one word and Ren Xun was quiet.

Hei Mao clenched his fists. The frustration had been building inside him, and he could no longer hold it back.

"Why are we here instead of helping?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care.

Gu Jie turned her gaze toward him.

Hei Mao continued, his jaw tightening. "I need to grab one of those black-masked bastards and ask them what happened. Why my parents, why my sister—why did they have to die like that?" His fingers twitched, itching to draw an arrow. But what would that do? A bow wasn’t the right weapon for the kind of confrontation he wanted. If he could, he’d throw it away and carve the truth out of them with his bare hands.

But there was another problem. A simple yet infuriating one.

"For the short time we were out there," he said bitterly, "we didn’t even fight a real cultivator. Not one that was alive, at least. I want someone… who can tell me the truth."

That was what disturbed him the most.

The battlefield outside was a nightmare—a legion of undead roamed, as if something had raised an entire graveyard to march against the living.

Where were the black-masked cultivators? Surely they weren’t all hiding behind their creations?

“I am sorry, but this is for the best,” Gu Jie exhaled and explained. "Because if we were out there, it would only get worse."

Hei Mao frowned. "That... what? That doesn’t make any sense."

She met his gaze, her voice calm but firm. "My Sixth Sense Misfortune tells me so."

A chill ran down his spine. He had heard about her ability before, but this was the first time she was relying on it so decisively.

"Misfortune doesn’t tell me what will happen," Gu Jie continued, "only that something will happen. And the longer we stay out there, the greater the disaster."

Hei Mao gritted his teeth. He hated this. The feeling of being held back. The thought that somewhere out there, the people responsible for his family's death were walking freely while he sat here, doing nothing.

But Gu Jie wasn’t someone who made decisions lightly. If she said it would get worse, she meant it.

And that meant one thing.

Something was coming.

The moment stretched, heavy with an unnatural stillness.

Then, it came.

A shadow shifted by the doorway. Silent. Unannounced. As if it had always been there, watching.

Hei Mao's breath hitched as his instincts screamed at him—danger.

The figure stepped forward, the dim light of the Umbral Scripture Hall barely illuminating his form. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a teasing smile that sent a chill down Hei Mao’s spine.

"Wow," the man drawled, voice smooth and amused. "I never thought I’d see you again..."

And then, he locked eyes with Hei Mao.

The world narrowed. A sudden, suffocating pressure settled on Hei Mao’s shoulders, and he had to force himself to breathe.

This wasn’t a stranger.

This was someone who knew him.

Hei Mao narrowed his eyes and lifted Eye of the Sun, his magic bow radiating a faint golden light as he drew the string, though no arrow had yet formed.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Before an answer could come, Gu Jie acted. Her Accursed Whip lashed out, striking through the air with lethal speed—

Only to pass harmlessly through the man, as if he were nothing but mist.

The figure chuckled, shaking his head. "Sweetheart, that won’t work. I’m just a shadow. My real body is outside, fighting your Master… or at least, a fragment of him."

Hei Mao tensed, his grip tightening around his bow. Master Da Wei?

"Your Master has quite an interesting technique," the shadow continued, tone rich with amusement. “It took a chunk of my forces, but I managed to exile him to the Black Forest.”

Ren Xun was breathing nervously, his gaze sharp. "Why do you look so much like Hei Mao?"

The man clapped his hands together, clearly entertained.

"Ah, introductions, right? Let’s do that properly."

There was something unbearably casual about his tone, as if he were indulging them rather than answering seriously.

"I am Shenyuan," he declared. "Founder of the Abyss Clan… and the late Patriarch of the Shadow Clan."

Hei Mao’s breath hitched. The late Shadow Patriarch?

Shenyuan strolled around the hall, his gaze tracing the intricate formations and talismans etched into the walls and floor.

"Hmm… these resemble the work of the Heavenly Eye quite a bit."

Ren Xun frowned. "You mean the Grand Emperor, right?"

Shenyuan scoffed, waving his hand as if brushing away dust. "So that’s what he’s called now? Almost forgot."

There was something unsettling about the way he spoke—like someone recalling an old acquaintance rather than a legendary figure.

Then he sighed, shaking his head in exaggerated lament.

"A shame I can’t be here with my main body. The formations and talismans here are quite the divine work of a genius."

Ren Xun scoffed. "Don’t call me that. That word is reserved for people who are truly special."

Shenyuan smirked. "How humble."

Gu Jie’s frown deepened, and sweat glistened on her brow. She didn’t speak, but her grip on the Accursed Whip tightened.

Ren Xun, for all his usual bravado, wasn’t unaffected either. His fingers twitched slightly, but he still maintained a steady pace, adjusting his glasses with an air of calm. "Are you his father?" he asked.

Shenyuan laughed. "What an odd assumption."

Hei Mao scoffed before the shadow could continue. "I know what my father looked like."

"Ah, so cold!" Shenyuan clutched his chest in mock hurt, before flashing an easy grin. "But you’re right. I am no father to you. Merely an ancestor, that’s all. Distant, yet ever-present in your bloodline."

Hei Mao’s eyes widened. Something clicked.

Like a whisper in the void, a raving voice stirred at the back of his mind. His past—his past as a ghost—peeked out from the depths of his memories, ugly and raw.

The words tumbled from his lips, almost incoherent. "That’s my body," he murmured, staring at Shenyuan.

The realization clawed its way out of him, spilling into the air, louder.

"That’s my body."

Again.

"That’s my body!"

Memories flooded in—his parents, his twin sister. The warmth of family. The security of home. Then the horror. The day it was all stolen from him. The day his own body was possessed.

A suffocating dread gripped his chest. The murky, half-forgotten images of that time became clear, sharpening like a blade against the whetstone of his fractured mind.

"No! No!" Hei Mao choked, his breath ragged.

A tide of wickedness, dark and suffocating, crashed into him. He remembered the moment his heart was filled with terror and rage—how he had watched everything he loved burn.

How he had dragged his little sister’s lifeless body from the ruins.

How he had slit his own throat.

How he had sundered his own soul.

Shenyuan clicked his tongue, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. "If not for that meddling fragment of Da Wei, my main body would already be here, tearing through these defenses. Impressive work, by the way. Immaculate, even. But ultimately futile in the face of my might. Hey, your Master is putting up quite a fight."

Hei Mao barely heard him.

His breath quickened. His chest rose and fell, uneven. A sickening sensation crawled up his throat, and suddenly, he was there again—his fingers wrapped around his twin sister’s neck, her struggling form beneath him.

He felt it. The resistance. The terror. The way her small hands had clawed at his arms, the light in her eyes dimming as he—

"No… no…" His knees buckled, and his vision swam as inky black tears rolled down his face.

"Hei Mao!" Gu Jie’s voice snapped through the haze, sharp as a blade. "Shut up, you bastard!" she roared at Shenyuan, her whip coiling and tightening with barely restrained fury.

Ren Jingyi twirled through the air, the fish’s ethereal form gliding in a soft, reassuring glow. "It’s okay, Hei Mao," she said, her voice soft yet insistent. "Everything will be okay."

A familiar warmth settled over him as her Bless spell took effect. Light pulsed through his body, clearing the suffocating weight from his chest. The inky black tears rising from his eyes turned to mist and dissolved into nothing.

Hei Mao steadied himself, fingers curling into fists.

He stared directly at Shenyuan, his eyes burning with newfound resolve.

"Why did you kill my family?" His voice was steady. Cold.

Shenyuan sighed, rubbing his temple as if the question exhausted him. "Why else?" he said lazily. "To erase any evidence of my escape. If the Heavenly Eye had found me, I’d have been ended long ago. Simple self-preservation, really."

Hei Mao’s fingers curled tighter around Eye of the Sun, his knuckles stark white against the dark wood of the bow. His voice was steady, but the fury beneath it trembled like a drawn string ready to snap.

"I will kill you."

Shenyuan shrugged, entirely unbothered. "Nah, I’m all good."

Before anyone could react, his form collapsed into a formless shadow and lunged—not toward them, but toward the Puppet Armor.

Ren Xun blanched. "Fuck."

The runes carved into the armor flared to life, reacting to the invasion, but it was too late. The dark mass seeped through the cracks, vanishing inside like ink bleeding into paper.

The armor twitched.

Then, Shenyuan’s voice echoed from within, smooth, amused. "No worries, I’ll kill you last."

The Puppet Armor’s joints creaked as it took a step forward, its dull metal eyes igniting with an unnatural gleam.

"And as for the kid, the lass, and the fish?"

The armor lurched, raising a hand that crackled with stolen power.

"Farewell."

098 Black Forest

"So, do either of you have a plan to leave this accursed place?" I asked, sweeping my gaze over Alice and Joan. “Or we just hanging out?”

They stood among the gnarled trees of the Black Forest, their figures barely visible under the sickly light filtering through the twisted canopy. The air hung heavy with damp earth and a faint metallic tang—blood, perhaps. Shadows slithered unnaturally along the roots, and the deeper one peered into the gloom, the more the space seemed to fold upon itself, mocking the very notion of escape.

Joan exhaled sharply, folding her arms. "If it were that simple, we’d already be gone. This place is a dimensional prison, severed from reality. Whoever cast us here made certain we couldn’t just walk out."

She explained further. The Black Forest was no ordinary cursed land—it was a sealed domain, a realm of exile. Time ebbed and flowed unpredictably, and distances meant nothing. No matter how far one walked, the scenery remained unchanged, as if the world itself refused to permit an exit.

"Wonderful," I muttered. "Has anyone at least attempted to break free?"

"Our best option was to wait," Joan admitted. "Whoever imprisoned us will come eventually. When they do, we kill them and leave."

I frowned. That was far too passive. The Shadow Clan was fending off an invasion, and my party was in peril—time was not a luxury we could afford.

Before I could argue the point, a deep, theatrical laugh echoed through the glade.

"Oho! To be trapped in such a realm with two divine beauties—surely, the heavens have smiled upon me! In my prime, I would have relished this sight in peace, savoring every moment… But alas! With you here, young master, the pleasure is halved."

The skull strapped to Alice’s waist shuddered as it spoke, its tone dripping with lecherous delight.

I narrowed my eyes. The sheer absurdity of its pompous airs, contrasted with its current state—a mere skull dangling from a rope—bordered on ridiculous.

"If a talking skull is your idea of entertainment, then your desperation must be truly boundless," I said flatly. “Eh… You could do worse.”

The skull let out a dramatic sigh. "Ah, young master, you wound me! Once, I was a lord of great renown! Even in death, my appreciation for beauty remains undiminished—"

Alice snapped her fingers.

The sockets of the skull dimmed at once, its voice cut off.

"Enough," she said coldly. "I don’t need distractions."

Joan smirked. "Should’ve done that earlier."

I exhaled slowly, casting aside the brief flicker of amusement. "Waiting isn’t an option. We have no way of knowing how time flows outside while we remain trapped here. There must be another way out."

Alice and Joan exchanged glances but did not refute me.

The question remained—what path led out of this forsaken realm?

Closing my eyes, I reached inward.

"Lu Gao, what do you know of this place?"

A pause. Then, his voice resonated within my mind, steady yet thoughtful.

"The Black Forest… I have only heard whispers. It was once a sacred land of the Black Imperial House, a place of immense significance. But it was lost during the Empire’s great calamity. No one knows precisely what transpired, only that entry was severed and the Black Clan suffered dearly for it."

"How so?"

"Without their sacred ground, the Black Clan was left vulnerable. Many saw it as a sign of heaven’s abandonment. For a time, they were hunted—prey to those who sought to carve up their remaining power. Even now, that belief lingers. There are those who still see them as a remnant, a shadow of what once was."

I frowned. A sacred land turned prison… or had it always been a prison?

Opening my eyes, I looked at Joan and Alice.

"So? Any ideas on how to leave, aside from waiting for our captors to arrive?"

Joan shook her head, her expression resigned. "If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Alice, however, focused on something else entirely. Her crimson gaze locked onto mine, and her voice dropped to a quiet murmur.

"Do you remember our Blood Pact?"

I tensed.

Now? Of all times?

This wasn’t the moment for it, but I wasn’t foolish enough to dismiss her outright—not even with Joan here. Named NPCs in LLO had always been built differently.

"I remember," I said carefully. "If I were to find a cure for your vampirism, you would owe me a great debt."

Alice’s lips curled into a faint smirk. "Yes. And?"

I exhaled. "I don’t even know what the reward is supposed to be. It was one of those quests with a ‘mystery reward,’ wasn’t it? So… let’s just say my motivation to complete it isn’t exactly high."

Alice hummed, as if entertained. "And the penalty? Are you truly willing to risk the consequences of breaking a Blood Pact?"

I hesitated.

I could only hope there wasn’t one. That she wouldn’t turn on me the moment I failed.

Before I could dwell on it, Alice leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. "What’s your progress?"

I swallowed.

Truthfully… I hadn’t thought about the quest in a long time. Between dueling in LLO, fighting for survival, navigating the Shadow Clan’s schemes, and adjusting to this world, it had slipped my mind entirely.

Lying wasn’t an option. Not to Alice.

"I’m far from making real progress," I admitted. "But I’m trying."

Alice studied me for a long moment before leaning back, her smirk fading.

"Good. You have an obligation to me. Remember that."

Easier said than done.

But right now, there was a more pressing issue—escaping this wretched forest.

"Now that’s out of the way, what’s the plan?" Joan asked, arms crossed.

I exhaled, glancing at the twisting trees around us. The Black Forest was an anomaly, a sealed domain with unknown laws. If we were going to escape, we had to understand how it functioned.

"Explore," I said simply. "My Divine Sense doesn’t reveal much, but there must be something."

Joan raised a brow. "You sure? This place isn’t normal. Walk far enough in any direction, and you’ll end up right back where you started. I’ve seen it. We’ve experienced it."

"And staying put won’t get us anywhere either," I countered. "If this place has rules, we need to discern them. Moreover, you have me—I trust in my Divine Sense."

Alice gave a slow nod. "Agreed. Even the most cursed lands follow some pattern. Let’s see what the Black Forest conceals."

Joan sighed. "That’s not how Divine Sense works, does it?" She rubbed her temple before gesturing ahead. "Fine. Let’s do it your way."

With that, we moved.

The deeper we went, the more unnatural the forest became. The trees weren’t merely gnarled—they contorted in ways that defied logic. Some spiraled endlessly, others fused into grotesque, knotted masses. The ground beneath us was not soft with soil, but with something unsettlingly pliant—almost like flesh.

A few steps in, I noticed something else. Our footprints vanished the instant they were made, as if the land itself refused to acknowledge our passage.

The air thickened, laden with the scent of rot, yet it wasn’t the simple decay of wood or carcass. No, this was something older. Something tainted.

Joan brushed a hand against the bark of a nearby tree, only to recoil. "It’s warm," she muttered, her voice tinged with unease.

Alice narrowed her eyes, then turned to me. "See that?"

I followed her gaze.

At first, I wasn’t sure what she meant. Then, as I focused, I saw it.

The shadows between the trees weren’t merely shifting. They were watching.

I halted. "We’re not alone."

Joan followed my gaze and stiffened. "I was hoping I was imagining that."

Alice’s fingers twitched dangerously. "No. This place is alive."

If I treated this like an instance dungeon, there had to be a way forward.

The key to clearing an instance wasn’t just wandering aimlessly—it was about understanding its mechanics. The Black Forest wasn’t merely a physical space; it was a construct, designed with intent, whether by nature or by something greater. The shifting shadows, the vanishing footprints, the unnatural warmth of the trees… none of it was random.

I exhaled, steadying my thoughts. "If this place follows dungeon logic, there’s a way forward. We just have to figure out what triggers it."

Joan shot me a look. "Dungeon logic?"

Alice, however, understood immediately. "You mean progress isn’t about movement—it’s about conditions. Now, praytell... what are the conditions we have to fulfil to gain progress?"

I nodded. "If this were a normal forest, we could walk in any direction and eventually leave. But this place wants to keep us trapped. That means there’s a requirement. Something we need to do, or something we need to trigger."

Joan frowned. "And how do we find out what that is?"

I scanned our surroundings. The trees, the shadows, the pulsing ground—there had to be a pattern. In dungeons, progression wasn’t about aimless movement. It forced engagement. A test, a puzzle, a sacrifice.

I stepped forward, pressing my palm against the bark of a nearby tree. Warm. Faintly pulsing beneath my fingertips. Like a heartbeat.

I pressed harder. The heat surged.

Alice and Joan tensed as the air thickened. The shadows between the trees shifted, their movements growing erratic.

Joan stepped back. "I don’t like this."

"Neither do I," I muttered. "But I think this is it."

A dungeon wouldn’t allow progress without interaction. And right now, the Black Forest was reacting.

The only question was—what exactly had I just triggered?

Before I could react, the tree swallowed me whole.

One moment, I was standing before its gnarled bark. The next, I was drowning in absolute darkness. The world outside vanished as something pulled me deeper, as if the forest itself had decided I didn’t belong. The air was thick, suffocating, pressing against me from all sides.

Not good.

I activated Hollow Point: Incursion.

A pulse of energy surged through my body. In the next instant, I tore through the tree from the inside out. Bark and blackened sap exploded outward as I burst free, landing in a crouch. My breath came sharp, but I was out.

Alice barely spared me a glance. "They're immune to curses."

Great. So no debuffing them into submission.

Joan, however, had a more direct approach. Raising her staff, she chanted a series of incantations in rapid succession. Multiple golden halos materialized above her, their radiance slicing through the gloom.

Holy Smite. Multi-cast.

A barrage of sacred light rained down, striking the forest floor like falling stars. Wherever the projectiles landed, the twisted trees convulsed, their warped limbs freezing mid-motion. The shadows animating them flickered, then dissipated entirely.

For a brief moment, all was still.

I exhaled, brushing splinters from my shoulder. "So do we touch the trees or not touch the trees?"

Alice shot me a flat look. "Avoid them. Even with our levels and skills, we’ll be overwhelmed. There are too many."

She wasn’t wrong. The Black Forest stretched endlessly, a sea of cursed trees. Fighting our way out wasn’t an option—we’d burn through our resources before we even understood what we were dealing with.

Joan, however, had a different view. "We should give it a try. With you on the frontlines, things change."

I raised a brow. "How so?"

"A Paladin isn’t just a warrior, you know that," she said. "You’re a force multiplier. A proper frontline changes how a battle plays out."

Alice crossed her arms. "That’s assuming he’s at full strength. He’s not."

She had a point. My skills were adapting to this world, but I wasn’t at my peak. Especially with me riding Lu Gao… We couldn’t afford unnecessary risks, but standing around wasn’t going to get us out either.

I mulled it over, then something else crossed my mind.

How did these two even end up here?

I turned to them. "By the way, how did you two get into this world?"

Joan sighed. "Long story."

Alice, however, was more forthcoming. "I traced your existence through our Blood Pact," she admitted. "Then I followed the remnants of the magic that brought you here. It wasn’t perfect, but I managed."

Huh. That was interesting. And definitely going to be a long story.

I shook my head. "We’ll talk about it later. Right now, we focus on getting out."

A sudden, grating cackle shattered the uneasy silence.

Alice flinched, eyes snapping down to her waist. "You—!"

The skull had woken up.

"Ohoho! What a pleasant nap!" His usual pompous tone was laced with an unfamiliar edge and urgency. "And, oh! Would you look at that! I remember something!"

Joan’s grip on her staff tightened. "Spill it. Now. Or I’ll grind you into bone meal."

The skull let out an exaggerated gasp. "Such hostility! But very well, since you insist—"

His voice dropped lower, almost conspiratorial. "The Black Forest… is no ordinary land. It is, in fact, the remains of a Perfect Immortal!"

I froze. "What?"

The skull cackled again. "Oh yes! You heard me correctly! You are standing upon the corpse of a being who once touched the peak of cultivation itself!"

Joan paled slightly, her usual bravado slipping. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious," the skull said, clearly amused by his own joke. "And I highly recommend you never—ever—attack the moving stuff around! Especially the trees, when they are feeling emotional!"

Emotional?

The moment those words left the skull, the earth shuddered.

I barely had time to steady myself before the air thickened, pressing against my skin like an unseen force. Then, as if the world itself had decided to shift—night fell in an instant.

I looked up.

Two massive moons hung in the sky, staring down at us like unblinking eyes.

No. Not moons.

The sky smiled.

Rows upon rows of jagged teeth formed a saw-like maw, stretching wider than mountains. From its depths, writhing tendrils of grey matter slithered downward, dripping with something dark and viscous.

My grip on my weapon tightened. I took a step back, falling into formation with Alice and Joan.

"Well, ladies," I said, voice laced with forced amusement. "Looks like we got ourselves a World Boss."

Joan shot me a sharp glare. "Not funny."

097 Holy Spirit

What was a Holy Spirit?

What was his purpose in life?

Dave didn’t have an answer to that.

At least, not one that felt profound. Not one that could be inscribed in scripture or spoken of in legend. He just knew he wanted to stay by His Lordship. To do good. To keep moving forward, no matter what.

Just like they always had.

“Perish!”

Divine Smite connected.

A searing, radiant arc of holy light cleaved through Hei Mu’s body.

For a moment, her face twisted—not in anger, not in hatred, but in something like disbelief.

Then—

She fell.

Her severed halves tumbled through the air, sinking into the dark waters of the lake below.

The ripples spread. The battle did not pause.

Hei Yuan’s voice cut through the chaos.

"Hold the line!"

He unleashed a series of invisible attacks, guiding his energy strikes to rip apart the encroaching undead. Every movement was precise, every shadowed blade that shot forth unseen to all but those who could perceive his shadow.

The reanimated bodies crumpled and vanished under his onslaught.

But the fight was far from over.

A new wave of enemies approached.

Thousands of cultivators, clad in porcelain black masks, sprinted across the water’s surface.

Who was undead? And who was not was hard to identify.

They moved as one, their steps synchronized, their blades reflecting the eerie glow of the moon.

The Shadow Clan cultivators did not meet them on the ground.

They hovered in the air, unleashing spell after spell, thinning their numbers before they could reach the shore.

Yet for every masked figure that fell, two more took their place.

“They are using a cloning ability…”

Dave exhaled, stretching his Divine Sense outward.

Voice Chat, a power Dave was only recently starting to get a hang of. “Gu Jie, what’s your situation?”

Her voice came through the link, steady but firm.

“We’ve secured the opposite side. The enemy forces there were weaker than expected.”

Dave’s brow furrowed. That was strange.

If this was a full-scale attack, why would their defenses on the other end be so lax?

“We’re fine for now,” Gu Jie continued. “But if anything changes, we’ll retreat immediately.”

Dave nodded to himself. “Understood. I’ll catch up with you soon.”

But Gu Jie’s voice cut in sharply.

“No.”

Dave blinked. “No?”

“Stay where you are.” Her voice carried an edge of something unusual—concern?

“I feel… an ominous misfortune. Something too much even for you, Senior. But I believe you shall triumph.”

Dave frowned, tightening his grip on his sword.

A sudden chill crawled up Dave’s spine.

He tried to move.

But—

He couldn’t.

The world slowed.

Then—

A hand tore through his armor and his chest.

Dave stared.

His own beating heart was poking out from his chest.

It pulsed.

There was no pain.

No blood.

But—

He knew something was wrong.

His body felt… hollow.

Dave swung his Silver Steel, empowered with Heavenly Punishment, in a desperate counterattack.

But his blade hit nothing.

He staggered, breath shallow, as he looked down at his chest.

His armor was intact. His flesh was unbroken.

Yet—

He could feel it.

His heart was gone.

Dave’s vision blurred.

His body plummeted.

The lake’s dark waters rushed to meet him.

And there—beneath the waves—

She waited.

Hei Mu.

Resurrected.

Her nails, long as daggers, plunged into the gaps of his armor.

She smiled—a twisted, monstrous thing.

Dave felt his life fading.

His thoughts were sluggish. His limbs were weak.

He had been unable to cast buff spells on himself.

His evolved Heavenly Punishment consumed mana at a constant, stable rate.

He had no leeway to heal himself.

But—

That didn’t mean he was helpless.

A surge of power—

Sacrificial Zeal activated.

His passive skill. The more his health dipped, the stronger he became.

And—

There was also his Reflect.

The moment Hei Mu’s nails connected—

She exploded.

The force ripped through the water, sending shockwaves in every direction.

Dave landed on the surface of the lake, standing through Zealot’s Stride.

His chest still felt wrong.

Empty.

A few Shadow Clan cultivators rushed to him, forming a protective circle.

Hei Yuan appeared in a flicker of darkness.

His gaze sharp. "What happened?"

Dave took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain upright.

Then, with a wry, breathless chuckle—

"There's a powerful expert lurking around."

He lifted his gauntleted hand to his chest.

His fingers trembled.

"And they just stole my heart."

Dave coughed, his gauntleted hand catching flecks of dark red blood.

His body trembled. His vision blurred. He was running out of time. He only had one spell slot remaining for his Ultimate Skill. Two, if he included his armor’s Ephemeral Touch.

His heart had been stolen. He had barely survived.

But.

The battle wasn’t over.

Hei Yuan and a group of elite Shadow Clan cultivators fought around him, fending off the relentless waves of attackers.

Dave staggered, but forced himself to move.

His Item Box flashed as he retrieved mana potions, uncorking them with his teeth.

Gulp.

He chugged.

Gulp.

The bitter liquid burned his throat, but he ignored it.

He needed mana. Now.

Hei Yuan flickered beside him, cleaving through an undead with a blade of pure darkness. "Hurry up!" he barked.

Dave wiped his mouth. "Already on it."

Then—

He activated Holy Sanctuary.

The air around them erupted in white light.

Waves of divine power rippled outward.

The Shadow Clan cultivators stood taller, their fatigue fading. Their wounds began to mend.

Meanwhile—

The enemies screamed.

The holy power seared them, weakening their bodies, shattering their unnatural resistances.

The battlefield descended into chaos.

The Shadow Clan cultivators—despite their lower numbers—fought like cornered beasts.

Because of Dave.

Because of his buffs.

Dave drank another mana potion, then another.

His mana flared back to life.

And now—

He made a decision.

He would use his last spell slot.

He took a deep breath.

His voice rang out like a sacred command.

"Divine Word: Life."

A pulse of gold and green energy surged through his body.

Veins of divine power stretched across his armor and skin.

Life itself answered.

Divine Word: Life didn’t just heal.

It fortified health.

It carried a sacred buff—one that removed debuffs at random and empowered future healing.

With his body glowing with radiant light, Dave cast another spell.

"Blessed Regeneration."

A warm sensation flooded his chest.

Then—

His heart began to regrow.

His breath evened.

His strength returned.

But—

The enemies weren’t stopping.

The undead and the black-masked cultivators were still surging forward.

Dave exhaled sharply. "Retreat!"

The Shadow Clan cultivators obeyed without hesitation.

They leaped backward, regrouping.

Dave remained.

He gripped Silver Steel.

He could feel it—Heavenly Punishment still crackling within the blade.

But that wasn’t enough.

His mana surged.

His sword ignited.

"Searing Smite."

The divine karmic flames clung to his weapon.

Then—

He swung.

A horizontal arc of blazing light erupted forth.

The flames rushed ahead, forming a blazing barrier.

But—

The undead ignored it.

They walked straight through.

Dave tensed, gripping Silver Steel tightly.

The undead charged straight through the blazing barrier.

At first, it seemed like they were unaffected.

But then—

They began to crumble.

One by one.

Their bodies turned to ash, disintegrating as they rushed past the divine flames.

The ones behind them kept running, completely ignoring their predecessors' fate.

It was as if they felt no fear.

As if they did not care.

Dave exhaled, his grip on his sword relaxing just slightly. "Thought so."

Holy flames still burned the wicked, even if they pretended otherwise.

Just then, a blur streaked toward him from the sky.

A Shadow Clan cultivator, balancing effortlessly on a flying sword, landed beside Hei Yuan.

"Report!" Hei Yuan barked.

The cultivator clasped his fist. "The invaders are splitting their forces. They're flanking from both sides!"

Hei Yuan’s expression darkened. "They’re trying to get to the island. To the Clan premises!"

Dave clicked his tongue. "Figures. The undead are just a distraction."

Hei Yuan acted immediately.

"Split into three groups! First squad, maintain aerial bombardment! Second squad, engage the flying cultivators! Third squad, form a defensive perimeter on the island!"

The Shadow Clan moved with practiced efficiency.

Meanwhile, Dave used Zealot’s Stride to ascend in the air.

The sky crackled with energy as cultivators unleashed a barrage of spells, forcing the enemy’s aerial squad to scatter.

Below, the undead continued their mindless charge, heedless of the slaughter.

Dave readied Silver Steel.

Even with the battlefield completely chaotic, he could feel it—

Something worse was coming.

His Divine Sense pulsed, stretching toward the island.

A sensation of rotting qi flooded his mind, accompanied by the faint echoes of a voice.

A whisper.

“You cannot stop what is inevitable.”

Dave’s grip on his sword tightened.

"Hei Yuan."

The elder turned, sensing the shift in his tone.

Dave’s voice was firm. "Something else is here."

A wicked melody slithered through the battlefield.

It was a song—dark, insidious, and playful.

“Oh, dance and drown in sorrow’s tide,
Let shadows feast, let hope subside,
A heart that beats is such a waste,
Come now, let me have a taste…”

Dave’s muscles went taut.

His breath hitched, and for the second time that night, he froze.

His buffs had kept the Shadow Clan cultivators from collapsing, but they still swayed, eyes glassy, jaws slack.

A soft voice whispered in his ear, too close, too knowing.

"Would you let me pluck your heart a second time, I wonder?"

Dave’s eyes widened.

He barely had a second to react before a hand poked through his chest again.

A cruel grip tightened around his heart.

No pain. No blood.

Just wrongness.

But this time—he was ready.

"Stagger!"

A pulse of force blasted outward.

The grip loosened.

"Holy Smite!"

A radiant halo erupted behind him, releasing a barrage of blazing projectiles.

He twisted around—

Nothing.

Whoever—or whatever—had stolen his heart vanished.

But his heart… it was gone again.

Dave stumbled, coughing.

His Divine Word: Life still lingered, preventing his immediate death, but the feeling of emptiness in his chest was unbearable.

He had to regain control.

He had to anchor his allies.

He took a deep breath and drew upon his Lion’s Courage.

"LION'S ROAR!"

His voice thundered across the battlefield, empowered by holy might.

A wave of silver-gold force washed over the Shadow Clan cultivators, shattering the grip of the Shadow Song.

"Steel your hearts!" Dave’s voice rang clear, cutting through the lingering haze of the enemy’s wicked melody.

"Cowards fall to fear, but we are not cowards! We stand because we have something worth protecting! We fight because we refuse to kneel! And tonight—"

Dave raised Silver Steel high.

Its divine radiance blazed like a beacon.

"—Tonight, we defend our home!"

The Shadow Clan roared in response.

Their fear broke.

Their spirits rose.

To the Shadow Clan, the island was their home.

To Dave, his home was not a place—it was His Lordship, Gu Jie, Ren Jingyi, Lu Gao, Ren Xun, and Hei Mao.

That was what he fought for.

The divine radiance of his Silver Steel gleamed with unshakable resolve as the Shadow Clan cultivators steadied themselves. The song’s influence faltered, though the eerie notes still lingered in the air, slithering like unseen serpents through the battlefield.

The masked invaders surged forward, their formation tightening, pressing against the defenses with renewed aggression.

Hei Yuan barked, "Hold the line! Keep them from stepping on our land!"

Spells ignited the night. Blades clashed in the air. Dave exhaled, regaining his footing as his Divine Word: Life continued to sustain him, keeping him standing despite the gaping void in his chest.

But his instincts screamed—

The real threat was still watching.

From the shadows.

From the dark.

Blessed Regeneration kicked in—and Dave’s heart grew again.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitching as the sensation of restored flesh filled the cavity in his chest. The battlefield was a storm of steel and sorcery, but Dave barely registered it as he exhaled sharply, steeling his mind.

A sudden descent of shadow marked Hei Yuan’s arrival.

“The rearguard has been breached—” Hei Yuan began, but Dave didn’t need to hear the rest.

His hand shot out, grabbing Hei Yuan by the throat.

His fingers clenched around flesh—but something was wrong.

The shadow that had cloaked the presence of the mysterious expert faded, peeling away like dying mist—

Revealing a face.

A face that was shocking.

A face that was familiar.

Dave’s grip tightened, his Divine Sense flaring, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

But Hei Yuan’s voice was far heavier and far more shaken.

“W-Why…” Hei Yuan’s whisper was barely audible over the chaos of battle. His pupils shrank, his breath hitched. “Why is the missing late Shadow Patriarch here!? A-and… you haven’t aged a year!”

A playful smile spread across the man’s lips.

He shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m back.” His voice was smooth, almost casual, like an old friend returning home. His pitch-black eyes gleamed with amusement. “And I’d like to get my island back.”

096 The Stumbling Block

Hei Mu’s voice echoed across the battlefield, her song weaving a melody of despair and triumph. The Shadow Clan’s suffering was not a sight she relished, but it was necessary.

For too long, they had been nothing but remnants of a bygone era—forgotten, weak, hidden in the dark corners of the world.

No more. She would see them rise once again.

She remembered the cold nights spent huddled beside Hei Ma, their stomachs empty, their robes thin. The Shadow Clan was a mighty name in the past, but in her time, they were little more than ghosts lingering in obscurity.

Their island home, meant to be a bastion of darkness, was nothing more than a rotting husk. The great halls once filled with warriors were empty, the shelves of their libraries covered in dust, and the few elders who remained clung to old traditions with stubborn futility.

She had always known—if they continued like this, they would disappear.

She was born with strength. She had been trained to kill, to fight, to hide in the darkness. But it wasn’t enough.

So, when she came of age, she made a vow.

She would restore the Shadow Clan to its rightful place.

She would do whatever it took.

Even if it meant embracing something greater than shadow itself.

Hei Mu’s eyes burned with resolve as she sang.

“Cry not, my kin, for sorrow is naught,
The world is but dust, and life but a thought.”

Her father, the former Patriarch, stood like a lifeless puppet, his body responding to her will. Through him, she commanded the Mirage Dragon, its serpentine form twisting in the sky, its mist-covered body gliding through the air.

She saw the glow build within its throat—the sign of an imminent breath attack.

It would be beautiful.

”Let flesh be broken, let spirit be freed,
A song of the abyss, a hymn of the seed.”

It would be the rebirth of the Shadow Clan.

But then—

The sky darkened.

Something else was coming.

A golden divine sword peeked from the heavens, parting the clouds like an omen of destruction. Its sheer presence made the very air tremble, its holy aura oppressive even from a distance.

Hei Mu’s eyes flickered downward.

A figure stepped out onto the wooden harbor.

The outsider.

Da Wei.

Hei Mu’s voice never wavered. Instead, she poured more qi into her Shadow Song, amplifying its power, making the very air vibrate with her melody.

“Surrender, surrender, let darkness devour,
The shadow’s embrace, the final hour.”

But Da Wei did not flinch.

His fingers moved to his robes, discarding them in a single motion.

Beneath the cloth, he wore rustic blue and golden armor, an ethereal green cape billowing behind him. It was a strange thing—almost like mist, almost like water, as though it refused to fully exist in this world.

Hei Mu narrowed her eyes.

She had underestimated him once before. She would not do so again.

Da Wei raised his hand.

A holy spear formed in his grasp, glowing with radiant energy. Without hesitation, he hurled it toward her.

Hei Mu’s scythe pulsed with power.

With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed Negative Pulse, a surge of abyssal energy that collided with the spear mid-air. The two forces canceled each other out, dispersing into nothingness.

Da Wei’s expression did not change.

Instead, he raised his left hand, fingers curled.

The golden divine sword hanging in the sky descended at once.

Hei Mu’s instincts screamed at her.

With a flicker of motion, she flapped her wings and vanished, reappearing deep within the forest, far from the blade’s reach. The earth below pulsed with electricity as if magnet and the sword was the lightning.

She exhaled sharply.

Her father sank into the depths of the shadows, the Mirage Dragon dispersing into the fog, blending with the mist once more.

Hei Mu was not done yet.

Raising her scythe, she channeled her power into its form.

At the tip of its pole, a sphere of death began to coalesce, its darkness pulsing like a dying star.

She sang louder.

“Fear not the end, nor the breaking of bone,
For in silence eternal, we all are alone.”

She would level the entire island.

She would make it her offering to the new age.

But then—

She frowned.

The dark clouds above began to part.

Something was tracking her.

She looked up.

The giant golden divine sword had locked onto her presence, moving as if bound by fate itself. It was following her, its descent relentless, a homing technique.

Hei Mu grit her teeth.

The outsider was more troublesome than she thought.

Hei Mu flapped her wings with all her might, her figure flickering through the sky like a phantom. Every time she thought she had escaped, ominous clouds and the golden divine sword found her once again. 

She clicked her tongue.

Annoying.

Hei Mu had never thought highly of Da Wei.

To her, he was nothing more than a troublesome outsider with an overdeveloped sense of arrogance. True, he possessed a stealth technique beyond comprehension, capable of masking his cultivation so well that even the elders had misjudged him. But that was all he amounted to.

A trickster. A coward who refused to stand in the open.

And yet—

Hei Mu flickered through the air, her movements unpredictable. The heavens themselves darkened as she wove between the twisting mists, a blur of black and white wings.

But no matter where she went, the golden divine sword was there.

Tracking her. Hunting her.

Like an executioner’s blade descending without pause.

Her breath hitched.

Hei Mu’s grip tightened on her scythe, its form still brimming with dark energy.

She had thought herself strong enough to contend with the outsider.

When she received the grace of her master—the One True Death—she believed she had surpassed the limits of her former self. The old Hei Mu, the one burdened by weakness, had been stripped away, leaving only her new self, empowered and reborn.

And yet—

Wherever she fled, it followed.

The golden sword closed in with every passing second.

Hei Mu clenched her jaw.

She had no choice.

With a sharp turn, she dived toward the lake.

The shadows stirred beneath the surface as she extended her will, calling forth the Mirage Dragon.

“Come, my beast!”

The waters split apart, and from the abyssal depths, a colossal serpentine form emerged. The Mirage Dragon’s scales shimmered, its massive body twisting like mist, as if existing between reality and illusion.

Without hesitation, Hei Mu flew into its maw.

The dragon swallowed her whole.

Inside, she let out a slow breath, her connection to the beast solidifying.

She could not control the dragon directly, but through her father’s body, she could.

Her Abyss Sight burned as she reached through the shadows, weaving her power through the former Patriarch’s lifeless form. He was nothing more than a puppet now, but through him, she could act.

Her command surged through the void.

Empower the dragon.

The Mirage Dragon let out a roar, its body swelling with power. Black mist spread from its scales, coiling around the battlefield like a living nightmare.

And yet—

Through her father’s eyes, she saw it.

The divine sword had found them.

It descended like a decree from heaven, impaling the Mirage Dragon straight through the skull.

The beast’s roar was drowned in an explosion of golden light.

A divine pillar of radiance erupted, consuming everything in its path.

And deep within the dragon’s body, Hei Mu screamed.

The light was burning her—!

Her grip tightened around her scythe, her blackened wings trembling under the force.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to let go of the power she had gathered.

No.

She would not fall here.

The Mirage Dragon’s death cry echoed through the battlefield, its massive body dissolving into nothing but scattered ash and mist. The lake, once roiling with its presence, became eerily still, as if mourning the loss of the ancient beast.

Yet—

Hei Mu lived.

She hovered in the air, her body trembling, not from pain, but from hunger.

Such a great loss.

The Mirage Dragon had been a cornerstone of her plans. Without it, the battle had shifted into uncertainty.

But—

“I can still salvage this.”

She exhaled, then inhaled.

From the fading remnants of the Mirage Dragon’s body, Hei Mu dragged forth its shadow, forcing it into herself. The black miasma coiled around her like living veins, sinking into her skin.

And then—

She turned to the empty husk that was once her father.

“Rest, Father.”

With a single motion of her hand, she pulled forth his essence, consuming it whole.

Power surged through her veins like wildfire. Her cultivation erupted beyond its limit, crashing into the Eighth Realm—the Heart Path.

Unstable. Chaotic. Terrifying.

Her back arched as she screamed, her body warping under the weight of so much raw energy. A serpentine tail burst from her spine, flickering between corporeal and ethereal. Her wings darkened, taking on a black glass-like sheen, reflecting the dying battlefield like shattered memories.

And her body—

Exposed.

Every fiber of her being was laid bare under the waning moonlight, her very existence reshaped into something beyond human.

She panted, her gaze locking onto Da Wei.

A slow, creeping smile curled her lips.

“You’re done for, Da Wei.”

With a flick of her wrist, she raised her scythe, a pitch-black orb forming at its tip—small, unassuming, yet so dense with death that the air itself trembled around it.

One attack.

That was all it would take to erase him from existence.

But—

Hei Mu was not without mercy.

“Surrender.” Her voice rang clear, carrying over the battlefield. “I will grant you the honor of kneeling before me. If you do, I may even spare your life.”

Da Wei merely tilted his head.

And then—

He laughed.

“Why are you so confident?” asked the arrogant man.

Hei Mu’s grin widened.

She raised a hand, gesturing to the horizon.

“Because I have an army.”

As if on cue—

The undead stirred.

The Eternal Undeath Cult moved as one, their eyes glowing with eerie malice. The battlefield shuddered under their combined killing intent, an overwhelming tide of bodies and rotting souls prepared to drown any resistance.

And yet—

Da Wei simply let out a long, exhausted sigh.

“Finally,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “You stopped clucking that stupid song.”

Hei Mu froze.

Her smug satisfaction wavered as she finally took in the state of the battlefield.

The Shadow Clan cultivators—her kin—

They were—

Crying. Trembling.

A broken mess of bodies, their spirits shattered by the twisted lull of her Shadow Song.

A twinge of something foreign stirred in her chest.

Doubt?

No—impossible.

She clenched her fists, pushing the thought away.

But then—

A whisper.

A hum.

Lips curled and stretched on her own cheeks, ones that were not hers.

And from them, the Shadow Song began anew.

Hei Mu’s breath caught.

Her own face—singing back at her.

The Shadow Clan cultivators, still broken, still shaking—

Yet they sang.

Their own mouths moved against their will, their expressions twisted in horror as they became her chorus.

Hei Mu grinned.

“I have an army…” She spread her arms, her scythe glowing with death.

“And a song.”

She narrowed her eyes at Da Wei.

“What do you have?”

For the first time, Da Wei’s eyes darkened.

And then—

He whispered.

“Lion’s Courage.”

A flicker of silver light. Multiple times, scattering to the others.

“Bless.”

A second, golden and silver radiance.

“Shield of Faith.”

The battlefield erupted.

Flashes of holy light surged across the Shadow Clan cultivators. Silver and gold burned away the despair, wrapping around their bodies like armor, like shields, like hope.

Hei Mu’s grin faltered.

And then—

Da Wei spoke.

“I have an army too…”

He took a step forward.

And then, softly—

“And a Lion’s Roar.”

The air shattered.

The very qi of the battlefield shook as Da Wei’s voice boomed like divine thunder, shaking souls to their core.

“STEEL YOUR HEARTS! EMBRACE YOUR DUTIES!”

The Shadow Clan cultivators stirred.

“TODAY—”

Their hands tightened around their weapons.

“WE EITHER DIE WITH HONOR—”

The despair in their eyes faded.

“OR WE BECOME VICTORIOUS!”

A war cry erupted, shaking the very heavens.

Hei Mu hissed, baring her teeth.

But Da Wei merely raised his hand.

And with a single flick of his wrist—

A longsword materialized in his grasp, its silver sheen radiant against the darkened sky.

For the first time—

Hei Mu felt cold.

And then—

Da Wei murmured.

A whisper—almost lost amidst the battle cries.

“His Lordship was not alone in his journey to gain more strength.”

The sword trembled.

“Witness my evolved—”

A golden light ignited.

“Heavenly Punishment.”

And with a single leap—

Da Wei appeared right in front of her face.

Hei Mu’s pupils contracted.

Da Wei’s blade gleamed with divine radiance, its sheer presence suffocating.

He was too fast. Too decisive. Too dangerous.

She had to end this now.

"Dimensional Slash!"

With a cry that tore from the depths of her soul, Hei Mu swung her scythe, slashing through the black orb at its tip.

A slash beyond the constraints of reality manifested.

A cut that could sever anything—flesh, qi, space, time.

Invincible. Absolute.

But then—

Da Wei exhaled.

His stance shifted.

And in the quietest whisper—

"Flash Parry."

His sword moved.

Not with force, nor with power—

But with precision.

A single, elegant movement, and the Dimensional Slash—the attack that could cut anything—was deflected.

Hei Mu’s mind reeled.

Impossible!

Her cultivation was higher! Her technique was absolute!

Yet Da Wei had brushed it aside like nothing.

Her chest heaved.

But there was no time to process it.

Because—

“Thunderous Smite.”

A surge of lightning coiled around Da Wei’s blade—no, not just lightning—heavenly wrath given form.

Hei Mu flickered away.

But—

Too late.

Her arm—the one wielding her scythe—

Severed.

Pain exploded through her body.

Her blood—thick, dark, corrupted—splattered against the ground.

She screamed, clutching at the wound, trying to stop the surge of her escaping essence.

And then—

Da Wei’s hand closed around her scythe.

She reached for it instinctively—

But before she could even form a thought, the weapon vanished into his Storage Ring.

No.

No!

Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.

She couldn’t feel it.

Not just the connection severed—it was gone.

Her artifact. The scythe blessed by her master. The vessel of her Shadow Song.

Gone.

This couldn’t be real.

This couldn’t be happening!

She staggered back, trembling.

And then—

Da Wei raised his sword.

For the first time—with both hands.

His voice, steady. Unshaken. Absolute.

“Divine Smite.”

095 Shadow Song

Hei Yuan hovered in the air, his Essence Gathering cultivation allowing him to defy gravity with ease. Beside him, Hei Mu and Hei Ma stood atop their swords, the blades shimmering with the faint glow of their qi. From their vantage point above the Shadow Clan’s hidden island, the scene below was dire.

Thick, unnatural fog had long shrouded the land, but now it writhed as something darker devoured it. A black miasma, corrosive and writhing like living tendrils, seeped through the mist, creeping toward their people. The valley’s natural defenses were being consumed.

“This is bad,” Hei Ma said, his voice tense.

Hei Mu narrowed her eyes. “We should evacuate.”

“To where?” Hei Yuan asked flatly. He swept his gaze over the valley’s perimeter. Thousands of cultivators surrounded them, their presence like a wall of swords pressing ever closer. The Shadow Clan had less than a hundred fighters left, and even those were weary from constant battle.

Hei Ma suddenly yelped, his fingers twitching as though recalling something. “That miasma… I’ve read about it before. The old texts mention a way to manipulate it—using shadows.”

Hei Yuan frowned. Manipulating miasma with shadows? It was a dangerous notion, but one that made sense given their clan’s ancient techniques. He glanced at Hei Mu, who seemed lost in thought.

“The dragon,” she murmured.

Hei Yuan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The dragon sealed within the lake,” she clarified, her gaze meeting his. “Our ancestor locked it away centuries ago. If we free it—”

Hei Ma gasped audibly. “Without the Patriarch, we wouldn’t be able to control it!”

Silence fell over them.

Hei Mu turned her sharp gaze to Hei Yuan. “Where is the Patriarch?”

Hei Yuan didn’t answer immediately. He looked down at the island, then at the distant encroaching forces. His fingers curled slightly. The truth was, he didn’t know.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, voice barely audible against the howling wind.

Hei Yuan floated above the island, his robes billowing in the wind as his mind replayed his last conversation with the Patriarch. It had been nearly a month since he last stood before the clan’s highest authority, offering up the spirit stones that the outsider, Da Wei, had paid them.

"Use them wisely," the Patriarch had said instead. His voice, always enigmatic, held an undertone of weariness that Hei Yuan had not yet deciphered.

Yet now, with the island besieged and their defenses crumbling, the Patriarch was nowhere to be found.

Hei Yuan exhaled, his golden eyes sweeping over Hei Mu and Hei Ma. “As the Elder of the Shadow Clan and the highest authority present, I will break the seal,” he declared solemnly. “Only those with the Abyss Sight can do this.”

Hei Mu nodded, her expression unreadable. Hei Ma, however, hesitated, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

“If there is no other choice,” Hei Ma finally said, his voice taut with tension, “then we can only support you.”

Hei Yuan gave him a rare, approving glance. “I need your support,” he admitted. “Protect me, while I remove the seal!” He said in his Qi Speech, sending the order to everyone.

At his command, the remaining Shadow Clan cultivators poured their strength into the island’s protective formation. The layers of spells, already strained, shimmered and thickened, reinforcing their veil of concealment. For now, the enemy would be delayed—but only for a moment longer.

Hei Yuan turned toward the shore, where the layers of enchantments covered the lake’s every surface. It was an ancient place, one that had not been disturbed for centuries.

As he descended, his fingers moved in precise gestures, tracing symbols in the air. Dark inscriptions manifested, orbiting around him in spirals of shifting shadow. The air pulsed with an eerie hum, the power of the Shadow Clan’s forbidden arts coming to life.

The black fog continued to consume the white mist around them. It devoured, twisted, hungered. Hei Yuan felt an ill premonition claw at the back of his mind. He dared not imagine what lay at the end of this path.

But he had no choice.

The Mirage Dragon had to be unleashed.

Hei Yuan pressed his palm to the surface of the lake. The water, still as a mirror, did not ripple—until the first whisper of his incantation passed his lips.

“By the will of the Abyss, I call upon the pact of old. Let shadow unbind, let illusion take form. I sever the chains, I release the beast.”

The ancient inscriptions that had lain dormant for centuries flared to life beneath the lake’s surface, glowing with a ghostly blue light. They coiled and twisted, unraveling the seal that their ancestor had once placed. The water trembled. The very air trembled.

A deep rumble resounded from beneath.

The sigils orbiting Hei Yuan accelerated, their energy crackling with unstable power. The lake, once calm, now roiled with dark currents as something immense began to stir.

The Mirage Dragon was waking.

Hei Yuan braced himself. This was only the beginning.

The lake’s surface fractured like shattered glass, jagged ripples distorting the reflections of the sky. The very air trembled as something immense stirred beneath. Then, with a roar that sent waves crashing against the island’s shores, the Mirage Dragon burst free.

It was a fearsome sight.

A serpentine body, longer than the tallest spire of the Shadow Clan’s stronghold, coiled through the air. Its scales shimmered between reality and illusion—one moment an abyssal black that drank in the light, the next a radiant silver like moonlit mist. Eyes of molten gold burned with ancient malice, and its mane, dark as midnight, flowed as if submerged in unseen currents. The creature’s every motion distorted space itself, a mirage given terrifying form.

The dragon inhaled deeply, its massive chest expanding as power flooded its lungs. Then, it spoke—its voice vast, echoing from the depths of time itself.

“He who dances in his sleep has finally awakened! Freed at last, this seat shall enact his vengeance upon the Shadow!”

The proclamation was a thunderclap to Hei Yuan’s ears. His breath caught in his throat. Vengeance?

The dragon’s golden gaze locked onto him, unreadable yet seething with an ancient grudge. Its jaws parted, revealing rows of fangs that shimmered with barely restrained power. This was no mere beast. It was a being of the Heart Path—the Eighth Realm. A step beyond mortals, one who could imprint their will upon the world itself.

Hei Yuan’s heart pounded. ‘We are doomed.’

Yet even as despair threatened to take hold, he steeled himself. He was the Elder of the Shadow Clan, and if his life was the price to pay, so be it.

Summoning every ounce of his cultivation, he raised his hands, shadows coiling like living serpents around his arms. He would pour his very life force into this spell—if nothing else, he would make the dragon bleed before it destroyed them.

But before he could unleash his power—

Darkness erupted from the lake.

Black tendrils of shadow surged upward, wrapping around the Mirage Dragon’s massive form, entwining like chains reforged. The beast thrashed, its scales shimmering in and out of existence as it fought against the unseen force.

“No! This cannot be!” the dragon roared, its vast body writhing as it was dragged downward.

Hei Yuan’s eyes widened. The mark. The seal placed upon the dragon long ago—the binding technique used to control it. Someone had activated it.

Then, he saw him.

A lone figure hovered above the battlefield, robes billowing in the wind, his face lined with age yet still exuding undeniable authority.

The Patriarch.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, the Shadow Clan’s remaining cultivators erupted into cheers.

“The Patriarch has returned!”

“We are saved!”

Hei Yuan, however, did not celebrate. Something felt wrong. The way the dragon struggled, the way its fury was not wild but… betrayed. He had no proof, no evidence, only instinct screaming at him.

Then—

A whisper behind him.

“I am sorry, Elder.”

Hei Mu’s voice.

A sharp, searing pain exploded in his back. The world tilted as his body lurched forward. Hei Yuan barely registered the attack before the force of it sent him staggering.

He turned—

Hei Mu stood behind him, hammer in hand, her expression cold and unreadable.

Hei Ma’s shout cut through the chaos. “Why?!”

His face twisted in raw betrayal as he turned toward his wife, his hands trembling. The shock in his eyes made it clear—he had not known.

Hei Mu’s only response was silence.

Then she moved.

Her flying sword separated from her in a blur of silver, streaking toward Hei Ma like a viper striking its prey. The blade pierced his shoulder, driving him to the ground.

It happened too fast.

Hei Yuan tried to force his body to move, to retaliate, but the pain lanced through him, his limbs sluggish. His mind reeled.

Hei Mu slowly ascended into the air. The oppressive weight of her spiritual energy unfurled, pressing down upon the battlefield like the hand of a god.

Seventh Realm.

Bloodline Refinement.

As she hovered above them all, black and white wings unfurled from her back—ethereal yet solid, their colors shifting like yin and yang, the mark of one who had stepped beyond mere mortality.

A traitor had been among them all along.

Hei Mu gazed down at Hei Yuan with an emotionless expression—save for the glint of remorse buried within her cold, determined eyes.

“This could only end this way,” she murmured, almost to herself.

She bit her thumb, allowing dark blood to flow freely. Then, with deliberate slowness, she dragged her bloodied hand across the haft of her hammer.

A ripple of dark energy pulsed outward. The weapon warped and twisted, its heavy form elongating, its head thinning into a wicked crescent. In mere breaths, it had transformed into a giant scythe, its blade gleaming with a malevolent sheen.

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth and tried to stand, but his legs refused to obey. His body trembled from the force of the blow he had taken. Blood soaked the inside of his robes, and every breath sent fire through his ribs.

But he would not fall here.

Forcing his qi to flow, he willed himself upward, hovering into the air. His mind screamed at him to remain calm, to push away the whirlwind of emotions threatening to cloud his judgment.

He turned his gaze to her. “Why?” His voice was hoarse, but the single word carried the weight of his breaking composure.

Then, he looked beyond her, to the old man hovering above the battlefield.

The Patriarch. Their revered leader. The man who had guided the Shadow Clan for as long as Hei Yuan had lived.

A trembling breath left him. “Why?! Patriarch, why? Is this your will?!! I told you, didn’t I? I would die for you, so why?!”

The words barely escaped his lips, his voice shaking despite himself.

Hei Mu scoffed, her response immediate and unhesitating.

“This is the only way for the Shadow to thrive once more.”

The wind howled between them.

She lifted her scythe, and the air around her trembled with suppressed energy. Her gaze was cold, but within it lay a zeal that burned brighter than any flicker of doubt.

“The Black Monarch will perish,” she declared. “And the Eternal Undeath Cult shall rise once more to the peak of its prosperity.”

A chill ran down Hei Yuan’s spine.

The Eternal Undeath Cult—an ancient force long thought to be a fractured remnant of history. A name that should not have resurfaced. Yet, before him stood one of their own, declaring its rebirth with unwavering certainty.

His fingers curled into fists. If words were meaningless, then he would let the shadows speak for him.

Dark qi surged through his veins. He wove his hands through practiced motions, and the shadows around him quivered in answer, rising and shaping themselves into a hundred jagged points.

Hundred Shadow Spears.

A silent execution.

The spears were invisible to those who lacked the Abyss Sight. A technique honed over generations—unseen, unfelt, and utterly lethal.

Hei Mu had not moved.

“YOUR ARROGANCE KNOWS NO BOUNDS!”

Hei Yuan would end this before she could strike again.

Focusing his Abyss Sight to its utmost limit, he let his vision darken, draining the world of color until nothing remained but shadow and form. His eyes turned completely black—like the abyss itself.

The spears struck.

And then—

A pulse.

A single, effortless release of her qi.

The Hundred Shadow Spears disintegrated.

Hei Yuan froze, disbelief locking his breath in his throat.

That was… impossible.

Hei Mu’s gaze did not waver. Her scythe gleamed, and her wings unfurled further, casting a long shadow across the battlefield.

He had miscalculated.

This was not the same Hei Mu he once knew.

“The difference between the Seventh Realm and the Sixth Realm is that wide?

Hei Yuan stared in horror.

Hei Mu’s eyes—black as the abyss itself—gazed back at him.

Impossible. Abyss Sight was a rare gift, awakened only to those who had immersed themselves in the deepest teachings of the Shadow Clan and were lucky enough to perceive the fringes of the dimension hidden in the shadows. It was not something that could simply be… acquired, because they wanted to.

Yet there she stood, her gaze swallowing the light, the darkness within them even more profound than his own.

“How…?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

Hei Mu’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile. “A gift,” she said. “From my master.”

A slow chill crept through Hei Yuan’s veins. “Your… master?”

Her smile widened. “The One True Death.”

The words were spoken with reverence, as if she had uttered the name of a divine being.

A deathly silence fell between them, broken only by the howling wind.

Hei Yuan turned to the Patriarch, desperation clawing at his chest. “Patriarch,” he called, his voice tight with urgency. “You must see reason! The clan—our people—”

Hei Mu scoffed. “It’s no use, Elder.” She waved a hand lazily, as if swatting away a pointless plea. “The Patriarch is already dead.”

A slow, dreadful realization settled in Hei Yuan’s bones.

She turned to him, her voice calm, unwavering. “Transformed by Death himself.”

His breath caught in his throat.

Undead.

The Patriarch—leader of the Shadow Clan, the pillar of their people—had been defiled, his soul stolen, his body remade into a puppet of this so-called master.

A sharp gasp broke the moment.

Hei Ma.

His expression twisted with rage as he staggered to his feet, blood still flowing from his shoulder wound. He yanked the sword from his flesh, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.

“How dare you—” he roared.

His entire body tensed as he pushed off the ground, soaring into the air. His sword flashed in the light, trailing golden arcs of qi as he swung with all his fury.

Hei Mu met his rage with nothing but cold amusement.

“As my husband,” she said, “I would show you preferential treatment.” Her tone was almost fond. “I offer you a place at my side in the new Empire.”

“Never!” Hei Ma bellowed.

His blade descended.

But he was far too slow.

Hei Mu’s wings pulsed. In a blur, she was above him, her scythe arcing in a single, fluid motion.

A spray of crimson.

Hei Ma’s body froze in midair. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came.

A thin, black line appeared across his torso. Then—

He split in two.

But it did not end there.

A sickening force compressed his bisected form before his body even hit the ground. His limbs crumpled inward, bones snapping, flesh folding in on itself. His very existence was reduced—reshaped—into something unrecognizable.

By the time his body finally landed, it was not a corpse.

It was nothing more than a grotesque, pulped sphere of mangled flesh.

Unrecognizable.

A ball of meat.

“W-what? T-that’s your… husband…”

Hei Yuan’s body trembled, though whether from pain or sheer horror, he could not tell. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stared at Hei Mu, who now hovered above them with her black-and-white wings unfurled.

Blood still dripped from her scythe, the remnants of Hei Ma—her husband—reduced to an unrecognizable mass of flesh.

Yet she smiled.

A slow, almost delighted flush crept across her cheeks.

Then, she began to sing.

Her voice was sweet, sultry, filled with a terrible beauty that sent shivers down the spines of all who heard it.

“Rejoice! Rejoice! The chains are undone,
The night has come, the shadow won.
No more shall we kneel, no more shall we bow,
In death’s embrace, we rise here and now.”

“Cry not, my kin, for sorrow is naught,
The world is but dust, and life but a thought.
Let flesh be broken, let spirit be freed,
A song of the abyss, a hymn of the seed.”

Hei Yuan’s eyes widened in horror.

This was not just a song.

This was Shadow Song.

A forgotten bloodline power of their clan—one just as potent as Abyss Sight, if not more so. It was a power that turned voice into weapon, song into suffering.

The moment the first verse left Hei Mu’s lips, agony rippled through the battlefield.

Shadow Clan cultivators—his people—twisted and writhed as though unseen hands gripped their very souls. Their bodies convulsed, veins bulging as black qi surged through them uncontrollably. Some clawed at their ears, desperate to block out the sound. Others dropped their weapons, falling to their knees as blood trickled from their eyes, ears, and mouths.

At each word Hei Mu sang, the pain deepened.

“Surrender, surrender, let darkness devour,
The shadow’s embrace, the final hour.
Fear not the end, nor the breaking of bone,
For in silence eternal, we all are alone.”

Screams filled the air.

The sound of bones snapping, of qi running wild, of bodies collapsing—one after another.

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth, forcing his qi to surge through his body, shielding his mind from the song’s insidious influence. Even then, it felt as though something was clawing at his very core, trying to rip apart his sense of self.

He turned his gaze back to Hei Mu.

She was looking straight at him.

Her eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, and her voice—so sweet, so inviting—never faltered.

“Rejoice! Rejoice! The chains are undone,
The night has come, the shadow won…”

Hei Yuan clenched his fists.

“No more shall we kneel, no more shall we bow,
In death’s embrace, we rise here and now.”

Thus, the song that even shadows could hear killed one, two, three, and more…

094 Reunion

I hung suspended in the sky, staring down at the vast blackened forest stretching endlessly below.

A thick stillness filled the air.

I tried using Egress again—nothing.

A deep frown settled on my face.

“Anything wrong?” Lu Gao’s voice rang in the back of my mind, tinged with concern.

I exhaled. “We’ll be fine.”

At least, that was what I told him.

I opened Voice Chat, trying to call Dave—again, nothing.

This was bad.

Reaching into my sleeve, I pulled out Featherhome and activated it.

The feather burst into blue flames.

“Shit—!”

The flames licked up my arm, scorching the fabric of my robe. A dull pain blossomed, not just in my flesh, but somewhere deeper—like it was burning something beyond the physical.

In my mind, Lu Gao screamed in pain.

A strange reaction. Divine Possession shouldn’t have let him feel this.

The flames shifted. A face took shape within the flickering blue light—blackened eyes, a laughing mouth.

I knew this skill.

Santelmo.

An Ultimate Summoning Skill—a spirit bound by fire, clinging to its prey until it consumed them whole.

“Persistent bastard,” I muttered.

A light flared—Holy Smite. It wasn’t mine, but it was meant for me.

I Flash Stepped to the side just in time for a blazing column of divine energy to explode where I had been floating.

Then, a mirage of a weathered, skeletal hand reached from thin air—Malevolent Grasp.

The sight of familiar skills from LLO sent me into a frenzy.

I twisted mid-air, dodging it by a hair’s breadth.

“Getting real tired of this,” I grumbled, pouring more mana into Zealot’s Stride, weaving through the sky in a chaotic zigzag pattern.

Santelmo still burned me.

I clenched my teeth and cast Cleanse.

Nothing.

I cast it again—still nothing.

Damn it. Ultimate Skills weren’t so easily undone.

Lu Gao’s panic flickered in the back of my mind, but so did something else—his unwavering belief that I would figure it out.

I spread my Divine Sense, searching for my opponent.

Still nothing.

They probably used a stealth-based skill to hide themselves.

I stopped mid-air, forcing myself still. Waiting.

I needed them to move first, so that I could track the trajectory of there spells..

Nothing came.

I clicked my tongue. “Fine, let’s try this.”

I activated Hollow Point: Incursion, letting the dark flames consume me.

A purple blaze engulfed my body, spreading out in waves.

Then, I focused—channeling Hollow Breath Technique and Mana Road Cultivation, directing the flames of Santelmo inward, pulling them into my core.

The flames shrieked—resisted—but I pressed harder, forcing them into submission.

A twisted grin spread across my face.

I devoured the fire.

"Thanks for the meal!" I shouted, voice ringing across the sky.

Silence.

Still no reaction.

Then, the air changed.

A deep pressure settled around me, making my skin prickle.

The clouds darkened.

Above me, the sky split apart—

—and a golden sword descended.

Larger than a mountain, its radiant form cast everything below it in a searing divine glow.

I narrowed my eyes.

I knew this skill.

A single-target Ultimate Skill—

Heavenly Punishment.

"Of course," I muttered.

This day just kept getting better.

I remained still.

No dodging. No blocking. I took it head-on.

A golden pillar of light engulfed me, swallowing the sky in divine radiance.

The world turned white.

This was Heavenly Punishment—a skill that factored karma into its damage.

Last time I checked, my karma value was still on the greener side.

Of course, it still had a massive base damage, and if my karma had somehow dipped into the negative, I might have been atomized on the spot—but who was I?

I’m a Paladin, damn it.

No need for Ultimate Skills just yet.

Besides, there was an attack going on in the Shadow Clan, and now that I had a moment to think, I had a good guess who my attackers were.

With a deep breath, I tanked it.

The divine light tore through me, scorching flesh and muscle. It was like being peeled apart layer by layer.

I clenched my jaw and activated Blessed Regeneration, stacking it with Cure to patch myself up. While at it, I also used Delay Damage.

I had no plans of letting Lu Gao die on me.

The golden sword finally dissipated, leaving me half-naked, my robes burned away, but my body still intact.

I exhaled, steam rising from my wounds as they stitched back together.

That was annoying.

I took another deep breath—then unleashed Lion’s Roar.

My voice thundered across the sky, tearing through the lingering divine light.

I shouted in a familiar language:

“Alice! Joan D’Arc! Stop hurling your damn spells! I’m a friendly!”

A tense silence followed.

I remained vigilant.

What were the chances it wasn’t them?

A silver flash streaked through the air, striking me before I could react.

Halo of Restriction.

My arms and waist tightened as rings of divine light formed, locking me in place.

But my Wanderer’s Aegis skill activated, dispelling it instantly.

Then, more flashes of silver rained down on me.

I counted four more—only one of them failed.

Halo of Restriction could stack three times.

I let myself get caught.

I knew the pros and cons of this gamble.

If this was a mistake, I’d just break free and fight to the death—even if I was outclassed.

A shadow flickered in front of me.

Then, she appeared.

The air stilled.

No more spells came.

Only silence.

Then, a voice—unmistakable, sharp with disbelief.

“…David?”

Alice.

A pink-haired woman descended, bat-like wings folding behind her.

She wore a dark gown, an eerie contrast to her pale skin.

And at her waist, strung with a simple linen rope—

A skull.

I didn’t remember her having that in my LLO days.

A skull? Seriously?

Before I could dwell on it, the damn thing spoke.

In a familiar language not of this world, the skull drawled in a lecherous tone:

“Ugh, I don’t like guys at all… but if it’s Alice, I wouldn’t mind a snuggle.”

Alice scowled and smacked the skull.

“Shut up.”

She turned back to me, expression wary.

“…David? Is that really you?”

Right.

I was still in Lu Gao’s body—my disciple’s body.

To her, I must have looked like some random stranger.

Then again, it wasn’t like I had ever known Alice as David_69, my game avatar.

But I was very familiar with her.

"It's me," I said, keeping my voice calm.

Alice hovered closer.

Then, without warning—

Her hand shot out, gripping my throat.

A sharp pressure crushed my windpipe, but before she could tighten her hold, I forced more mana into Zealot’s Stride—

Shattering the Halo of Restriction.

My body lurched to move, but Alice's claws dug into my skin before I could slip away.

Her nails elongated, turning into vicious, black-tipped talons.

And then came the spells—

“Curse.”

“Great Curse.”

“Maximized Magic: Greater Curse.”

A triple-layered debilitation.

I felt my strength drain. My vision blurred. A dull weight settled into my limbs like lead chains.

Alice tilted her head, smiling playfully.

"Where's David?" she asked, her voice smooth but laced with danger.

I struggled to shake off the curses and answered, "I am David."

Her smile faded.

Alice’s crimson eyes narrowed, scrutinizing me.

Then, she leaned in closer, inhaling deeply.

“…Why can’t I smell your blood?” she murmured, brows furrowing.

A memory clicked.

The Blood Pact.

Back when I still knew LLO as a game, we had made a Blood Pact, linking us in some way.

She must be referring to that.

I exhaled. "This body is under the effect of my Divine Possession. I am David, yet not… David…"

Alice’s expression flickered with realization.

“…Ah.”

Her grip loosened slightly.

“No wonder I could feel David’s presence in you,” she admitted.

"But still—how do I know that for sure?"

She wasn’t convinced yet.

Honestly, I never thought it’d be this difficult proving my identity.

I thought about it.

Alice was an ally.

At least, she had been in LLO.

I decided it was a risk worth taking.

Taking a deep breath, I locked eyes with her. “Use Charm on me.”

Alice tilted her head, intrigued. “If you’re really David,” she mused, “then it shouldn’t work at all.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Back in LLO, I had stacked absurd levels of resistance to mental effects. It was part of my Paladin build—divine protection, resistance to mind control, the whole package.

But then, a thought struck me.

“…Wait,” I muttered. “We’ve never actually fought before, have we?”

Alice’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “No, we haven’t.”

Which meant—

She had never tested whether her Charm could work on me in practice.

And Divine Possession only left me with roughly half the stats of my original body. 

I sighed.

"I'm going to regret this," I muttered. "But this body is weaker than my main body—so your spell might actually work.”

Alice smirked. “Then let’s find out.”

She raised a hand, casting Charm.

It failed.

She frowned slightly and cast Great Charm.

Still failed.

Her expression darkened. “Alright, let’s do this properly.”

Malevolent Grasp.

A mirage of a giant, weathered hand enclosed around me. My breath hitched as a crushing, nauseating force wrapped around my soul. My stomach twisted—I felt like I was going to puke.

Alice then used Maximized Magic: Greater Charm.

I felt my mind loosen.

My thoughts blurred.

It wasn’t complete mind control, but my usual iron-clad willpower was suddenly a lot softer around the edges.

Alice leaned in, her voice smooth as silk.

“Do you love me?”

I blinked.

What the hell kind of question was that?!

This was no time to get zesty, woman!

Before I could struggle to answer, the damn skull on her waist interrupted, complaining in perfect xianxia speech:

“Why is it not I, oh wretched heavens?! Shall the beauty of Lady Alice be wasted upon this unworthy cur?!”

Alice slapped the skull, scowling. “Shut. Up.”

And then—

The answer came out of my mouth.

I couldn’t stop it.

I couldn’t fight it.

“Always.”

Alice raised an eyebrow.

…Okay, fine.

I had been crushing on this vampire since she first appeared in LLO, okay?!

“Stop playing around.”

A sharp voice cut through the tension.

Joan.

She descended from the sky, seated atop her unicorn. The holy beast's mane shimmered like flowing starlight, and its hooves left faint golden trails in the air.

Joan’s silver-white robes fluttered around her, and in her hand, she held her ornate staff, the holy relic pulsating with divine power.

The moment her emerald eyes landed on me, they narrowed with open disdain.

She raised her staff, and I felt the weight of her divine presence.

"You’re tainted.”

That was the first thing she said.

Not exactly friendly, huh?

Her gaze flickered to my pitch-black left hand, where the lingering corruption from Hollow Point: Incursion still pulsed faintly.

I tried to speak—to explain—but I couldn’t.

I was still under Alice’s Charm.

Alice, ignoring Joan’s reaction, tilted her head at me.

"Are you truly David?" she asked, her voice slow, thoughtful.

“I am.”

But…

“Not in the context you understand.”

Both Joan and Alice frowned.

I knew how it sounded. Cryptic. Evasive. Bullshit.

But how the hell was I supposed to explain that David_69 from LLO and the current David in this world were both me and not me?

Joan’s grip on her staff tightened.

“Explain,” she demanded.

Holy energy crackled at the tip of her staff, faint and restrained, but definitely a threat.

Alice, however, raised a hand.

“No need,” she said simply.

Joan’s frown deepened.

Alice rubbed her chin, deep in thought.

Then, a slow smirk crept onto her lips.

“I think… I get it,” she murmured.

She turned to me, her red eyes gleaming with curiosity.

She let out a small chuckle and released the Charm spell.

The sudden mental fog lifted, and I stumbled back in the air before quickly regaining my balance with Zealot’s Stride.

I shook my head, rubbing my temple.

“That was unpleasant,” I muttered.

Alice shrugged. “You asked for it.”

I took a deep breath, eyeing her warily.

"What do you mean you ‘get it’?” I asked.

Alice tapped a finger to her lips.

“I have a feeling I know what’s going on,” she admitted.

“But I can’t quite put it into words yet.”

Her expression turned serious.

“It probably has something to do with Godhood.”

Joan still wasn’t satisfied.

Her piercing emerald eyes locked onto mine, her grip tightening on her staff.

"Prove it."

I blinked. “Huh?”

Joan lifted her chin, her voice firm.

“If you’re really David, tell me something only we would know.”

I frowned at her, my mind scrambling for something—anything—that could convince her. Then, on impulse, I blurted out—

"Karen, is that you?"

Joan’s scowl deepened into a full-on glare.

“My name is not Karen.”

I sighed.

Damn it.

For a second, I had hoped—really hoped—that my fellow gamer and, ugh, online girlfriend from back in LLO had come to this world to save my ass.

No such luck.

This was unpleasant on so many levels.

I forced myself to focus, sifting through my memories. Not just my memories as David, but the ones I had inherited from David_69—the ones that felt both mine and not mine at the same time.

I turned my gaze back to Joan.

“Our first quest together. Goblin subjugation.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing.

I continued.

“You carried that entire playthrough.”

Joan’s brow twitched.

“I was… impatient when it came to questing,” I admitted. “Didn’t like the slow grind, so you basically did all the work.”

A flicker of recognition flashed across her face.

I smirked. “You remember, don’t you? How grimdark things got? How we swore we’d never take another goblin quest again?”

Joan’s expression remained unreadable, but I could tell she was listening.

Then, I turned to Alice.

“And you,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“The first time we met, we nearly killed each other. And then we agreed on a Blood Pact.”

Alice’s smirk widened.

Now that got a reaction.

I crossed my arms.

“Do you believe me now?”

Joan let out a slow breath.

“…I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” she muttered.

Alice, on the other hand, seemed far more interested in something else.

She tilted her head, her red eyes gleaming.

“So?” she asked. “How’d you end up here?”

I didn’t bother sugarcoating it.

“Black-masked cultivators.”

The moment I said it, their expressions changed.

Alice and Joan exchanged a look.

A silent understanding passed between them.

I had a feeling they came here the same way I did.

093 Invading the Shadow

The Shadow Clan’s headquarters was steeped in a suffocating atmosphere.

Inside Hei Yuan’s office, Ren Xun and Dave sat across from the Clan Elder, their expressions unreadable. The tension in the air had reached its peak, but Ren Xun, ever the sharp-tongued one, leaned back in his chair and smirked.

“I told you so.”

Hei Yuan exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the dark wood of his desk. “I thought you were exaggerating.”

Dave and Ren Xun exchanged a glance.

The Shadow Clan elder sounded regretful, but there was no true admission of fault in his tone—just the acknowledgment that he had underestimated the situation.

“I did put thought into your warnings,” Hei Yuan continued, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “But I struggled to trust Gu Jie’s words.”

That got a reaction.

Ren Xun scoffed, folding his arms. “Because of her lower realm?”

Hei Yuan nodded, unbothered by Ren Xun’s disdain. “A person’s cultivation dictates their insight into the Dao. You can hardly blame me for doubting a mere Spirit Mystery cultivator’s ability to predict disaster.”

“Mere?” Dave raised an eyebrow. “She’s been in Spirit Mystery for quite some time now. That’s not exactly a low realm.”

Hei Yuan sighed. “I recognize that. And I understand that those who reach Spirit Mystery manifest supernatural abilities. I even admit that her prophetic ability is valuable.” He glanced toward the window, as if searching for answers beyond the confines of the office. “But even so, I needed more than just ‘a feeling of misfortune’ to move an entire clan.”

Ren Xun clicked his tongue. “And what about now? Do you need more proof?”

Hei Yuan frowned. “The people I sent outside haven’t made any reports.”

Dave’s expression darkened. “That’s because the island is surrounded.” He leaned forward, his voice lowering. “And we’ll be hard-pressed if we don’t make a decision soon. The people you sent are all probably dead.”

Hei Yuan was silent for a moment, his brows furrowed in thought.

Then he spoke. “The fog formation should hold them back.”

Dave shook his head. “For how long?”

“If it comes to it,” Hei Yuan continued, ignoring Dave’s skepticism, “our clan still has the lake’s dragon. It has promised to protect us in our time of need.”

Before either of them could respond—

BAM!

The doors slammed open, and a familiar figure stormed in.

Hei Mu.

She was seething, her sharp eyes locking onto Hei Yuan with unrestrained frustration.

“Why are the outsiders still here?!” she demanded, her voice filled with anger. “It’s been a month, hasn’t it?! We had an agreement!”

Hei Yuan’s eyes lingered on Hei Mu’s furious face, his expression unreadable. But when he finally spoke, his tone was measured.

“The clan is in a time of crisis,” he admitted. “I’d like to get whatever help I can get my hands on.”

Hei Mu’s scowl deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Hei Yuan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple. “I sent out scouts to investigate the gathering misfortune, but they never reported back.”

That made Hei Mu pause. “What misfortune?” Her arms, which had been folded across her chest in irritation, loosened slightly.

Dave took the opportunity to step in. “We’re surrounded.”

Hei Mu’s gaze snapped toward him.

“The island is surrounded,” he continued. “The Shadow Clan could use every bit of help it has.”

Hei Mu’s expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then, her glare returned in full force, directed solely at Dave and Ren Xun.

“Out.”

Dave raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Get out!” Hei Mu snapped. “You outsiders have already overstayed your welcome. This is a discussion for the Clan Elder and me.”

Dave held up his hands, shrugging. “Fine.”

Ren Xun sighed but didn’t argue, following Dave out of the room.

—

They walked toward the eastern wing, their steps slow and deliberate. Neither of them spoke for a while, the tension settling between them like a heavy fog.

Eventually, Ren Xun broke the silence.

“You think we’ll be fine?”

Dave glanced at him. “You mean without His Lordship?”

Ren Xun nodded.

Dave’s expression remained calm. “I was given a mission—to protect. And I intend to do that.”

Ren Xun exhaled sharply. “Then what about evacuating? We could use more of those teleportation scrolls.”

Dave didn’t answer immediately. He understood the thought process. The teleportation scrolls were their best bet for getting people out safely.

But he also understood something far more pressing.

“It wouldn’t work,” Dave finally said.

Ren Xun frowned. “Why not?”

“Because we’d be caught sooner or later.” Dave’s tone was grim. “If we don’t have the mobility of the Floating Dragon, we won’t get far. Making a run for it isn’t an option.”

Ren Xun went quiet, digesting the words.

Dave didn’t need to explain further. With his Divine Sense, he could feel the sheer number of hostile forces waiting beyond the fog.

The only thing separating the Shadow Clan from complete annihilation was the fog formation and the lake surrounding the island.

And Dave had a sinking feeling that wouldn’t be enough for long.

Ren Xun frowned as they walked through the dimly lit halls of the Umbral Scripture Hall, the library that had served as their base of operations for the past month.

“What about Senior Da Wei?” Ren Xun asked. “Have you heard from him?”

Dave shook his head. “No. I tried contacting His Lordship, but for some reason, I can’t reach him.” He paused, a slight frown creasing his usually impassive face. “It seems he’s caught up in something.”

Ren Xun clicked his tongue, clearly displeased with the answer. But there was nothing either of them could do about it.

Inside the library, Gu Jie sat beside Ren Jingyi’s aquarium, whispering something to the goldfish. The gentle glow of lanterns cast shadows along the wooden shelves, their flickering light barely illuminating the ancient tomes stacked around them.

Ren Xun scoffed. “What’s the use of talking to a fish?”

Gu Jie ignored him completely.

Instead, she turned her attention to Dave. “What’s our next course of action, Senior?”

Before Dave could answer, Hei Mao spoke up. “I want to stay.”

Dave shook his head. “We had no plans of recklessly leaving anyway.”

If it were just him, he was confident he could escape. The stats of His Lordship’s body were far beyond human limitations. In fact, beyond superhuman. Dave could abuse that to slip past the enemy encirclement.

But that wasn’t an option.

His Lordship had given him a mission: Protect them.

So, escape was out of the question.

Dave took a deep breath. “I have access to His Lordship’s Item Box. There are a few treasures inside that might be useful.”

The others exchanged glances.

“Item Box?” Hei Mao asked, tilting his head.

Dave realized the term was foreign to them. “A storage space only His Lordship can access. However, the problem is that many of the items inside have a level restriction.”

Gu Jie frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means you can only wield them if you’re worthy of them,” Dave explained. “The artifacts won’t recognize you unless you meet certain conditions.”

For the next hour, they tested various items from Da Wei’s collection.

The equipment distribution took some time, but they arrived with something satisfactory.

Hei Mao selected a magic bow called Eye of the Sun. It was lightweight, yet the string hummed with latent energy. When he pulled the bowstring, a golden arrow of light formed, illuminating the dim library.

Gu Jie claimed a whip called Accursed Serpent. The moment she gripped the handle, the whip writhed like a living thing, its dark scales gleaming with eerie runes.

Hei Mao, amused, glanced at Ren Jingyi’s aquarium. “The fish wants to fight too.”

Dave blinked, looking at the goldfish.

Ren Jingyi was staring at him intensely, her tiny body floating in the water expectantly.

“…Fine,” Dave muttered, searching for something suitable.

After some consideration, he handed Ren Jingyi a ring that granted extra stats with a Magic Missile spell imbued in the ring.

To everyone’s shock, Ren Jingyi swallowed it whole.

“Makes sense,” commented Dave. “After all, it wasn’t like Ren Jingyi could wear a ring.

A moment of silence passed.

Then, to their absolute disbelief, Ren Jingyi flew out of her aquarium.

Water coalesced around her form, shaping itself into a serpentine cloak that allowed her to glide through the air.

“She—she’s flying?!” Ren Xun exclaimed, stunned.

“She’s only at Will Reinforcement,” Gu Jie muttered, watching as Ren Jingyi twirled mid-air, flicking her tail. “And yet…”

Hei Mao, who had the ability to speak to fish, smiled.

“She says thank you,” he said, bowing his head slightly toward Dave.

Dave simply nodded.

Even a fish wanted to fight.

That was all the more reason to make sure none of them fell behind.

As the artifact distribution wrapped up, Dave turned his gaze toward Ren Xun.

Unlike the others, Ren Xun had yet to find a suitable artifact.

It wasn’t for lack of trying—he had tested several items from His Lordship’s Item Box, but none had responded to him.

It probably had something to do with his realm. Martial Tempering was only the first step on the path of cultivation. Most artifacts worth wielding required at least Mind Enlightenment to properly activate. That was how it appeared to Dave at least.

Ren Xun sighed and crossed his arms. “Forget it,” he muttered. Then, as if suddenly coming to a decision, he turned to Dave. “Can I use your Puppet Armor instead?”

Dave blinked. “You want this?” Dave accessed His Lordship’s Item Box. With a flicker of thought, the Puppet Armor materialized before them, standing like an empty sentinel in the dimly lit library.

Ren Xun’s eyes gleamed as he stepped forward, running his hands over the intricate engravings.

“I won’t wear it myself,” Ren Xun explained. “I’ll modify the formation inscriptions so I can control it remotely.”

Dave watched as Ren Xun got to work, inscribing new formations into its inner framework with rapid, precise movements.

The Puppet Armor was incredibly advanced, packed with all sorts of abilities. In fact, Dave himself couldn’t believe that His Lordship had managed to acquire something so masterfully crafted in just four days.

Ren Xun, as if reading his thoughts, let out a small chuckle. “You’d be surprised.”

Dave turned to him. “What do you mean?”

Still focused on his work, Ren Xun confessed:

“I was actually involved in the crafting process. Secretly.”

Dave’s brows furrowed. “Explain.”

Ren Xun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “At the time, I wasn’t sure if I could trust Senior Da Wei, so I left loopholes in the design.”

“…Loopholes?” Gu Jie’s eyes narrowed.

Ren Xun raised his hands in defense. “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I wasn’t planning anything bad! I just… made sure I had a fail-safe in case Da Wei ever turned against us.”

Gu Jie scowled at him.

But Dave simply shrugged. “That’s fine.”

Ren Xun blinked. “You’re not mad?”

“I understand why you did it,” Dave said. “You were looking out for your father, for the Empire, and for your own interests. I can’t fault you for that.”

Ren Xun stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “You’re too forgiving.”

Dave shook his head. “No. I just consider you a friend.”

Ren Xun froze. Then, after a moment, his shoulders relaxed, and he let out a genuine chuckle. “Well, thanks for that.”

With that, he resumed his work, adjusting the Puppet Armor’s formations.

“This should let me control it from a distance,” Ren Xun explained. “Not as good as having it fully equipped, but still useful.”

For a brief moment, he reminisced.

“I spent a few vacations at Master Hua’s smithy,” Ren Xun muttered absentmindedly. “I guess that experience is finally paying off.”

Dave took a step back, surveying everyone.

They were ready.

Or at least, as ready as they could be.

But was it enough?

Dave knew the enemy forces were overwhelming. Hundreds of hostile presences lingered just beyond the fog formation, waiting for an opening.

He was tempted to equip the others with more artifacts, but they’d likely reached their limit.

Artifacts were powerful, but lesser cultivators lacked the fortitude to endure them. The artifacts he had already distributed would push them to their absolute peak. Any more, and they might face penalties for forcefully wielding items beyond their means.

Even the strongest treasures were useless if they crippled their user.

“…This will have to do.”

He exhaled deeply, steeling himself for the battle ahead.

Dawn arrived, casting a dim, gray light over the Umbral Scripture Hall.

Dave had kept vigil throughout the night, standing watch while the others rested. He had spent hours trying to contact His Lordship through Voice Chat, but there had been no response.

Still nothing.

The silence unnerved him.

By now, His Lordship should have checked in, even if only to scold Dave for worrying too much. But there was nothing—not even a static buzz.

Something was wrong.

A soft rustling pulled Dave from his thoughts as the others began to stir.

Gu Jie stretched, rolling her shoulders as she sat up. Hei Mao followed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Ren Xun let out a groggy sigh, running a hand through his hair.

Nearby, Ren Jingyi floated lazily in the air, her translucent form cloaked in a thin film of water.

Gu Jie turned to Hei Mao, her gaze steady.

“…Are you sure about this?” she asked.

Hei Mao’s expression hardened, but he didn’t hesitate. “I am.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to fight,” Gu Jie continued. “You don’t have to force yourself. The same goes for you, Jingyi.”

Hei Mao shook his head. “I want to.”

Ren Xun scoffed, still groggy. “Since when did you become a fighter? I don’t remember you doing anything.”

Hei Mao glanced at him, then smirked. “That’s because I’ve been training when no one was looking.”

Ren Xun frowned. “...Huh?”

Hei Mao crossed his arms. “Elder Hei Yuan took time to teach me some entry-level techniques. Stealth, mainly.”

Ren Xun’s eyes narrowed. “Since when did Elder Yuan have the time for that?”

Hei Mao shrugged. “Guess he thought it was worth it.”

Dave listened quietly, arms crossed, until Hei Mao turned to him with a grateful nod.

“And Senior Dai Fu here helped me refine my combat sense.”

Dai Fu. Right. The name still felt strange, but Dave let it slide.

Gu Jie sighed. “Just don’t get yourself killed.”

Hei Mao gave her a mock salute. “No promises.”

Just then, a rumbling quake shook the hall.

The walls trembled, dust falling from the ceiling as a deep, resonant hum filled the air.

Dave snapped to attention.

The others froze, eyes wide.

A moment later, the distant sound of panicked footsteps echoed through the corridors.

A Shadow Clan member burst in, face pale.

“The fog formation has been broken!” he shouted. “Elder Hei Yuan, Hei Mu, and Hei Ma have awakened the Guardian Dragon!”

Dave’s frown deepened.

So, it had begun.

The attack was coming.

A heavy weight settled in his chest, but he forced it down. He had anticipated this, prepared for it.

Still… something felt off.

If Elder Hei Yuan, Hei Mu, and Hei Ma were already taking action, then why hadn’t the Shadow Clan’s Patriarch made an appearance yet? Why was he still absent?

Dave didn’t like this.

Not one bit.