Deep within a grand cave residence carved into the roots of a sacred mountain, the silence was profound. Polished marble walls reflected the faint orange light of spirit lamps, shimmering across intricate veins in the stone. In the center of this chamber, surrounded by lush, embroidered cushions and rare treasures, sat an old man—Woo Jin.
His bearing radiated ancient power. Long white beard cascading over his ornate robes, the air around him seemed almost to vibrate with the subtle hum of spiritual energy. For months, perhaps years, he had sat in silent meditation—his eyes shut, breath barely stirring.
But now, as ripples of distant commotion reached even these hidden depths, the old man's eyes fluttered open: clear, sharp, and unclouded by age. He gazed at the marble doorway; as though sensing his attention, the gate shuddered, lifting soundlessly. In stepped a middle-aged woman, her hair tied with silver threads of spiritual silk, her armor marked by symbols of clan and honor.
She bowed low, then kneeling, pressed her forehead to the cool marble floor. "Ancestor," she began respectfully, voice trembling slightly with awe and relief, "congratulations on your breakthrough. The heavens shook three times—the sign was clear. Our ancestors are blessed."
The old man's expression was calm but commanding. "Speak. What important matters have transpired during my retreat?"
"Much, Ancestor," the woman replied, her words spilling forth with urgency. "Lord Hun Jiao, patriarch of the Western Hun Clan, has fallen. He was ambushed—trapped in a siege by three demonic cultivators. The clan is in mourning, and several alliances have fractured."
The old man's gaze remained cold, but he waited as she continued.
"Also, the inheritance grounds of Lord Heavenly Law appeared. It manifested as a great dome—shrouded, mysterious. Countless cultivators rushed to enter: Nascent Soul, Soul Formation, and even a Soul Transformation senior were seen vanishing within. It is the greatest inheritance event of this era. The world's attention is upon it."
A subtle grin lifted the corners of the old man's mouth. "Oh? So the old fox, Wang Zhen, died but left behind an inheritance ground? My master did not finish what he started… perhaps this was fate's design all along." His eyes flashed with a glint of complex emotion—respect mixed with an undercurrent of rivalry.
He slowly rose, his movements regal and unhurried, dusting invisible particles from his robe. As he straightened his spine, the vast energy contained within him seemed almost too great for the room to hold.
"You, go and manage the sect," he commanded, his voice carrying like distant thunder. "I will see with my own eyes what the inheritance of Wang Zhen truly contains."
His spirit sense flickered; within a breath, he vanished, teleporting from marble hall to the sunlit entrance of the cave, standing ready to step into a world on the verge of chaos and transformation.
...
On the towering peak of the mountain stood a monumental structure—an expansive fortress of great halls, soaring towers, and labyrinthine passageways woven together with ancient craftsmanship and spiritual finesse. This was the Sun Mirror Sect, a place revered and feared for its strength and legacy.
Near the protective formation guarding the sect, the air shimmered as Woo Jin, the old man from the marble chamber, teleported seamlessly into view. He paused for a moment, cupping his hands near his mouth as if testing his own voice. "Hmm… hmm…," he murmured softly.
Satisfied, Woo Jin projected his voice loudly into the empty space around him, his words echoing against the vast stone and spiritual barriers. "Old man Wei, come out."The reverberations crashed against the sect's protective formation, and after a tense moment, the formation split open with the sound of thunder cracking across the sky.
From the opening stepped Old Man Wei—an imposing figure unlike Woo Jin's quiet demeanor. His body was muscular and powerful, exuding raw strength. His beard was wild and thick, reminiscent of a lion's mane, and his face held a fierce, regal quality that commanded attention.
Wei's deep voice rumbled, "Old man Jin, looks like you've made a breakthrough."
Woo Jin shook his head, responding humbly but firmly, "I wouldn't say it was luck. It's the outcome of relentless hard work."
Wei chuckled warmly, the sound tinged with both affection and challenge.
Jin's gaze sharpened as he shifted the conversation to weightier matters. "Do you know about Wang Zhen's inheritance? That man was beaten to death by my master due to their long-standing enmity. As my master's disciple, I cannot stand idly by and let his inheritance be claimed, let alone allow any successor to threaten the Moon Shadow Sect's existence. Help me annihilate his inheritance."
Wei's expression grew serious but cautious, "Why should I get involved? What business is this of mine?"
Lowering his voice, Jin sent a secret message beneath the surface of his words, "Alright, if you help, I will have a Grade 7, Top-Tier Artifact refined specifically for you."
A laugh escaped Wei, rich and sincere. "Old Jin, you know me well. With a gift like that, how could I refuse? I'll help you annihilate his inheritance and protect your sect."
The two men locked eyes, old comrades bound by loyalty, ambition, and an unshakable will to guard their domain against all threats.
...
In the shadow-filled antechamber just outside Wang Zhen's throne room, the spirit appeared silently, its flames flickering with a blue and white hue as if reflecting the unsettling news it bore. The ancient creature's form was tense, aware of the gravity resting on this moment.
Inside the dimly lit throne room, Wang Zhen sat upon his vast seat, shrouded in darkness and hidden partially by shadows. His presence, though weakened, still demanded respect—a sovereign locked within a fracturing dominion.
As the spirit entered and knelt before him, it presented several writhing caterpillars encased within a translucent sphere—condensed from the life force of body cultivators who had fallen within the blessed land. "M'lord," the spirit's voice trembled with unease, "there is something suspicious stirring in the blessed land."
A flicker of shadow crept across Wang Zhen's face. His voice was low, filled with a mix of cold curiosity and simmering frustration. "Ho... what is suspicious?"
The spirit's form pulsed as it revealed its concern, "Someone has absorbed the life force of more than two hundred people—and I have scoured far and wide but could not discover who this mysterious force is."
Wang Zhen's eyes darkened, deep pools of shadow reflecting his dwindling power and fractured pride. "If I had not suffered such humiliating defeat," he said slowly, voice hoarse from slumber and injury, "if I had not weakend to the degree where even a mortal could kill me… I would have ruled this blessed land unchallenged. I would have found that thief of life force and crushed it without any effort."
His expression twisted into a grimace of regret and rage. "A pity… truly a pity. But no more. Once I have healed, once I have reclaimed my strength, I will take vengeance. I will reclaim what was lost, paying back my sufferings with unyielding interest."
The spirit lowered its form humbly, kneeling deeper as it spoke, its voice filled with remorse. "Lord, I accept full responsibility… it is my failure. I deserve death for my negligence."
Wang Zhen's gaze softened slightly. "No," he said firmly, "this is not your fault. I was weakened beyond reason, reduced to a state where even mortals could strike me down." He sighed deeply, weariness bleeding into his words. "The only hope for me now lies in refining these gathered essence of body cultivators and breaking through the Deity Transformation realm. Only then can I truly heal and live again."
Yet his voice faltered near the end, revealing the fragile thread of uncertainty: "But if I fail… that's it."Silence hung heavy in the room. The spirit, bound by duty and fear, remained wordless—understanding the magnitude of the storm brewing in their world.
...
Deep within the blazing heart of the Fire Alliance's stronghold, a tense assembly unfolded. Six individuals, the last remaining cultivators of Nascent Soul Realm, knelt in solemn reverence on the polished stone floor. Their eyes downcast, they whispered a fervent apology as their voices blended in unison.
"Forgive us, Grand Elders, but Lord Hizler insisted on departing—and he did not come alone. He took the Fire Devil and the Magma Ghost with him. We advised him to seek the counsel of the esteemed Grand Elders first, but he would not heed. Remarkably, he also took the Fifth Grand Elder with him."
Across from the six supplicants, four great thrones stood—two on the left and two on the right—positioned to face each other in silent judgment. Rising in altitude above this formidable setup was a magnificent throne that held the four Grand Elders of the Fire Alliance—formidable masters in the Soul Formation realm.
Just above them all, in a throne that commanded not only height but immense spiritual authority, sat the Supreme Elder of the Fire Alliance, a peerless cultivator of the Soul Transformation realm.This gathering was no mere ceremony. It was a show—and a tool—of crushing might that demonstrated the chain of command and the sheer power housed within the alliance.
This terrifying lineup existed solely because of the Law of Infinite Energy and the Law of Infinite Mass. Together, they birthed a world so absurdly charged with power that even the most insignificant insect crawling through the dust pulsed with the strength of a Nascent Soul cultivator. Random wanderers reached Soul Formation, and beings barely worthy of notice could touch Soul Transformation. In a place where the air itself could crush mountains, weakness simply had no right to exist.
With a surge of his spiritual pressure, the Supreme Elder caused the gathered Nascent Souls to collapse to the ground, battered by overwhelming force. Agonized screams and pleas filled the chamber.
"Supreme Elder, forgive us," they gasped.
"We could not defy the Alliance Leader given our low cultivation," murmured another.
"There was nothing we could do…"
The spiritual pressure withdrew slowly as they folded back onto their knees, the weight of fear and regret heavy in their hearts.
Then, the Supreme Elder's voice thundered through the hall, saturated with disdain and fury.
"Do you worthless insects know this?" he spat, glaring down at the trembling cultists. "Aldrof was the most gifted child I have ever seen. How on Earth did you let him slip away? Into the lair of a Deity Formation cultivator, no less? Even I would not dare venture there!"
The rage in his tone was palpable, radiating through the room."You miserable fools," he bellowed, "you will accompany me to the dome! We will retrieve Aldrof. I will not stand idly by while he throws away his life. He was destined to rule this world, and I will see to it."
Without another word, the Supreme Elder rose from his throne with a surge of spiritual power and vanished, teleporting instantly toward the dome.
The four grand elders rose as well, one by one. Each vanished with similar displays of force, responding to their leader's command without hesitation.
Left behind were the six Nascent Souls, remaining solemnly kneeling, whispering among themselves."If the leader refuses to heed our counsel, what choice do we have?" one murmured, voice tinged with reluctant acceptance.
"Now, we must go retrieve him as well. There is no alternative," another agreed.
Their forms shimmered then disappeared into the void, setting their course for the dome and the crucible awaiting them.
...
In the swirling storm of power that enveloped the Zhao continent—the birthplace of the Heaven-Desecrating Devil Immortal—numerous cultivators, both mighty and lesser, converged in a brewing conflict that threatened to shake the heavens themselves. On one side stood Wang Zhen, Lord Heavenly Law, whose command over the laws of the cosmos was so profound that even Ascendants regarded him as a force to be reckoned with. Opposing him were the Old Man Jin and Old Man Wei, along with their numerous loyal followers—formidable veterans whose names carried weight across the land.
Among these titans, Han Chen appeared as the smallest and seemingly weakest figure—like a mere ant in the explosion radius of an atom bomb. This stark disparity painted him as insignificant, a mere insect in the eye of a cosmic storm.
What will he do !?
-----TO BE CONTINUED-----