High on the slopes of Mount Buzhou, within the newly consecrated Dao field of the Demon Sect, the celebratory air was beginning to sour. The gathered titans of the Zixiao Palace sermon were all present, their shimmering auras weaving a tapestry of power that felt, for a moment, untouchable.
East King Duke, draped in his official robes, looked across the assembly and let out a soft, tsk-ing sound. "Fellow Daoist Nuwa," he began, his voice carrying a practiced edge of surprise, "I notice a glaring vacancy. Why have the Golden Crows not arrived to offer their felicitations?"
He smoothed a sleeve, his eyes flickering toward the other guests. "The Crows were born of moisture and hatched from eggs; by the very laws you've laid down, they belong to the Yao kind. It is a grave breach of etiquette for them to ignore such a monumental occasion."
A ripple of murmurs followed his words. The Three Pure Ones—Laozi, Yuanshi, and Tongtian—shared a knowing, thin-lipped smile. They had nearly forgotten the Sun Star's recluses. Rumors had reached them that the one called Lingxiao had attained the Quasi-Saint rank, a claim that struck them as a desperate bid for relevance. To them, it seemed the Crows were finally beginning to lag behind the true masters of the age.
"East King Duke," Kunpeng interjected, a cold chuckle vibrating in his throat. "As the Head of the Male Immortals, those Crows fall squarely under your jurisdiction. If their absence offends you, why not exercise your mandate and summon them here?"
Kunpeng had not forgotten the humiliation he suffered at the hands of Dijun and Taiyi back at the Palace. This was a perfect opportunity to use the Duke's vanity as a whetstone to sharpen his own revenge. With a sister-sect leader like Nuwa behind him, he felt no fear toward Lingxiao, Quasi-Saint or not.
Nearby, Bai Ze's brow furrowed. He opened his mouth as if to intervene, but then, seeing the mood of the room, he fell silent and retreated into the shadows.
"I had the very same thought," East King Duke laughed, his chest puffing out. "On the day the Demon Sect is born, all Yao kind must pay their respects." He turned to his attendants, ready to dispatch them to the Sun Star.
His logic was simple: the arrival of the Queen Mother of the West had threatened his prestige. By forcing the powerful Golden Crows to bow to his summons in front of Nuwa, he would cement his status as the true Head of Immortals. He believed that even if Lingxiao were strong, the Crow would never dare defy the combined weight of the Saint's mandate and the new Yao coalition.
"Enough. Let the matter drop."
Nuwa's voice was flat, a sheet of ice cutting through the Duke's posturing. "Whether the Three Crows come to congratulate us is their choice. There is no need for Fellow Daoist East King Duke to trouble himself with such trifles."
The Duke shrugged, signaling his subordinates to stand down. If the host refused the gift of his authority, he would not force it.
But the silence that followed was not peaceful. Suddenly, the very roots of Mount Buzhou began to groan. A violent tremor surged through the earth, followed by a rhythmic, bone-deep thudding.
"What is this?" one minor immortal cried out, stumbling as the Dao field buckled.
The smiles vanished from the faces of the Sanqing and Nuwa. They didn't need to ask. The scent of ancient, primal earth and stagnant blood was already thick in the air.
Rumble!
"Hahaha! The Wu Race has come to offer its congratulations!"
A long, jagged howl tore through the sky from the base of the mountain. Twelve colossal shadows erupted from the mists, growing with terrifying speed until they blotted out the sun itself. They loomed over the waist of Mount Buzhou, their heads piercing the clouds to look down upon the assembly like gods judging insects.
Di Jiang, master of space, had used his divine ability to fold the distance, bringing his siblings to the very doorstep of the Yao before their auras could even be sensed. Now, they revealed their true forms—twelve pillars of primal power that made the very atmosphere feel like lead.
"Six... six Quasi-Saints," Laozi whispered. The Three Pure Ones stood close, their eyes wide with a rare, cold dread. In the thousand years of their seclusion, two more Ancestral Witches had crossed the threshold of the Hun Yuan Golden Immortal rank.
Below the Quasi-Saint level, the gathered creatures were paralyzed. Their minds shook under the weight of the Witches' collective malice. Behind the giants, tens of millions of Wu warriors stretched to the horizon, a sea of heartless war-engines ready to harvest the mountain.
"Fellow Daoist Di Jiang," one guest stammered, his face pale and flattering. "I am merely... passing through. I have no bond with these Yao. Might I be allowed to depart?"
"Passing through?" Di Jiang sneered, his eyes sweeping over the "mighty" guests. He lingered on the Sanqing. Those three shameless thieves are here too, he thought. If they join the Yao, this will be a messy slaughter.
His smile vanished. "This is a debt between the Wu and the Yao," he said, his voice a flat, lethal command. "Those who do not wish to be buried with them should vanish. Now."
Laozi, Yuanshi, and Tongtian didn't wait for a second invitation. They turned and walked away with a swagger that poorly hid their haste. They were here for a spectacle, not to bleed for Nuwa's fledgling sect.
Seeing the Sanqing depart, the rest of the guests scattered like birds before a hawk. The "brothers" of the Yao Race disappeared in an eyeblink, leaving the Demon Sect standing alone.
Nuwa, Kunpeng, and Fuxi watched the exodus with grim faces. Without the guests, their numbers were pitiful against the tide.
East King Duke felt the urge to flee prickling at his skin. He began to edge toward the exit, but a hand cupped in a respectful salute stopped him.
"Bai Ze greets the Immortal Head," the strategist said smoothly.
The title—Immortal Head—acted like a drug on the Duke's ego. He paused, his posture straightening slightly. "Bai Ze? You have something to say?"
"I would ask you to stand with us," Bai Ze whispered via voice transmission, his eyes urgent. "To jointly resist the barbarism of the Twelve."
The Duke's expression soured. "Bai Ze, I am not a fool. They have six Quasi-Saints. We have three. Even with me, we are outnumbered. This is not a battle; it is an execution."
"Immortal Head," Bai Ze replied, his voice calm and steady. "Look at the Queen Mother of the West. She has no intention of leaving her sister-leader's side. If the Yao Race owes their survival to her alone, where does that leave your authority tomorrow?"
The Duke's gaze frozen. He looked at the Queen Mother and saw her standing firm beside Nuwa. Jealousy, hot and sharp, flared in his chest.
Seeing the opening, Bai Ze dropped the killing blow. "The Saint mentioned recruiting disciples at the next sermon. If you maintain the primordial order here—today—against the greatest threat to the world, I believe the Saint will see no one more fit than you to be his First Disciple."
"The First Disciple?" the Duke breathed. The clouds in his mind parted. He saw it: the Saint's favor, the ultimate rank, the power to look down on even the Sanqing.
"The third sermon is not far off..." Bai Ze added, his voice a silken thread of destiny.
East King Duke stood tall, his aura erupting with a sudden, desperate radiance. He stepped forward, his voice booming over the mountain.
"With me, the Head of the Male Immortals, present, who dares to disrupt the primordial order?"