The grand hall of the Jin Clan residence was suffused with a heavy, suffocating tension. The air itself seemed thick with anger and fear, the echoes of loss reverberating off the marble floors. The Ancestor's eyes burned like coals as he surveyed the room, taking in the battered faces of the clan's top echelons.
"…We have lost more than half of our fighting power," he said, his voice low but cutting, slicing through the silence. "Two guardians are dead. Out of our clan elders, save for the Grand Elder, seven have fallen. Thirty of our nominal elders are gone. And don't even get me started on our losses at the Auction House. Entirely decimated."
The Ancestor's gaze turned icy as it fixed upon the Clan Leader. "…Now tell me," he barked, "how did this happen? Who in this damn clan have you—or any member—offended?"
The Clan Leader bowed his head, silent under the withering intensity of the Ancestor's stare. Before the room could grow any tenser, a group entered. At their head was a young man whose presence demanded attention; every step was measured, elegant, commanding.
"What is going on here?" His voice cut through the hall like a blade.
The Ancestor straightened, hurriedly explaining the dire state of the Jin Clan. "We are in crisis. Our forces have been decimated—two guardians, the Grand Elder, two elders, twenty nominal elders… and we still do not know who struck us."
The young man's eyes swept over the room, calculating, discerning. Then he turned back to the Ancestor. "…Could it be the Qin Empire?"
The Ancestor's expression tightened for a brief moment before he allowed himself a small measure of composure. "Third Prince Zhang Wei… although the Jin Clan has maintained ties with the Zhang Empire for a millennium, it is impossible for the Qin Empire to notice us. There are far more important matters that demand their attention, and we are, by their standards, insignificant."
"…I see." The third prince's voice was calm, but it carried a dangerous weight. "Then who do you suspect is responsible?"
"That… is the problem, Prince Zhang," the Ancestor admitted, his voice tight with frustration. "I have no idea. And I do not know if they will strike again."
The prince's gaze sharpened, a quiet storm brewing behind his eyes. "…This matter is indeed complicated. Send your men throughout the city. Find any individuals behaving suspiciously. Leave no stone unturned."
The Ancestor turned his attention back to the remaining Jin Clan members in the hall. "You heard the prince. Now, what are you still doing here? Move, or be of no use to this clan!"
"My prince," the Ancestor added as he gestured to Zhang Wei. "You may return to your rest. We will handle this program."
"Very well," said the prince, his tone unreadable. "Do not fail. Ensure these culprits are found swiftly, or they may interfere with our plans."
---
Back at the stronghold
Alaric's gaze swept across his battered team, lingering on the men and women who had fought beside him. Exhaustion hung in the air, heavy as smoke, but determination glimmered faintly in their eyes. Despite meticulous preparation, they had barely survived the Ancestor's assault.
He let out a long, measured sigh and turned to Alex, who sat quietly in the corner. "You holding up?"
Alex's expression was tense but resolute. "I'm fine… for now. That last attack… the Jin Ancestor… it wasn't even his full strength. Terrifying doesn't even begin to describe it."
Alaric's lips pressed into a thin line as he studied his younger brother. "…Listen carefully. You'll absorb both the Demon Core and the 6-Star Essence Stone. That should be enough to break through to the Third Stage of the Sage Realm. Only then will we have the capacity to fight back next time."
Alex's eyes met his, steady and unwavering. "And you?"
"There's no time for me to reach a level where I can threaten the Jin Clan directly. You… you take this. All of it." Alaric's voice was firm, carrying the weight of command and trust.
Alex inhaled deeply, feeling the gravity of the moment settle into his chest. "…I'll try my best."
Outside, the wind whispered against the walls of the stronghold, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and iron—the distant echo of the war that had begun, a war that had already claimed so much, yet promised far more bloodshed to come.