“Fellow Daoists, the battle for Sharp Sand Island is over,” Lan Yun announced, her voice calm amidst the wreckage. The male Qingyuan Sect cultivator beside her nodded in confirmation. “We are now in the mop-up phase. Please, rest on the warship and await True Monarch Baili’s return.”

Wang Hao frowned. “True Monarch Baili hasn’t returned? I saw the demon patriarch; he was merely an early-stage Golden Core. He shouldn’t be a match for the Master.”

“Naturally,” Lan Yun replied, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. “However, the demon is Proficient in evasion. The Master has gone in pursuit. We need only wait.”

A cold premonition settled in Wang Hao’s gut. Since when is a Golden Core cultivator easy to catch?

Night fell before True Monarch Baili returned. His expression was a thunderhead of suppressed rage. The family cultivators, already terrified of Lu Chengfeng’s potential retaliation, shrank back, not daring to breathe too loudly. But their fear was palpable, and Baili saw it.

“I know what you fear,” Baili said, his voice cutting through the humid night air. “I will not deceive you with empty comforts. Lu Chengfeng escaped.”

A ripple of panic went through the crowd.

“However,” Baili continued, his tone hardening, “he took a full-force strike from me. He will need at least a decade to recover his cultivation base. His priority now is finding a hole to lick his wounds, not hunting down Foundation Establishment insects like you. And make no mistake—the Qingyuan Sect will hunt him to the ends of the earth.”

The cultivators exchanged glances. A decade? To mortals, it was an era. To a Golden Core cultivator with a five-hundred-year lifespan, it was a blink of an eye. Lu Chengfeng wasn’t even three hundred yet. The threat of annihilation hung over them like a suspended blade.

Suddenly, Baili slammed his hand onto the table, splintering the wood. He turned to his disciples. “The Lu family colluded with the demonic path, betraying their own kind. Their crimes are unforgivable. Execute every surviving member of the Lu clan immediately! Let their blood be a warning to all!”

The order was performance art; the Lu family had already been slaughtered. The warning was for them—the vassal families standing on the deck.

Despite the victory, the cost had been steep. The coalition had lost twenty Foundation Establishment cultivators—mostly from the vassal families—and countless Qi Refining disciples. The Qingyuan Sect had successfully used the Lu family’s treason to prune the strength of its subordinates.

Wang Hao checked his own ranks. Only fourteen remained. Two had fallen to the island’s formation, but the rest had vanished—likely killed by traps or Qingyuan enforcers while trying to loot the Lu family compounds against orders. Wang Wenxin, fortunately, was alive. The man had been smart enough to prioritize his life over loose change, earning a massive contribution from the family just for showing up.

Smart man, Wang Hao thought. Greed is the quickest path to the grave.

Baili dismissed them with a speech that mixed imperial benevolence with veiled threats. As Wang Hao boarded the return vessel, he felt a nagging sense of dissatisfaction.

Tiger head, snake tail, he mused. All that buildup, and it ends like this?

Was the Qingyuan Sect truly this efficient? A medium sect with three Golden Core masters and a few hundred Foundation Establishment disciples… something felt off.

Standing at the prow of the flying boat, Wang Hao stared into the dark clouds. Who taught the Lu family these demonic arts? Who provided the cultivation manuals? There were shadows behind shadows here.

He turned to his surviving clansmen, his face grim. “When we return, seal your mouths. Not a word about the demonic cultivators. Do you understand?”

“Elder, rest assured!” they chorused, pale-faced. They knew the stakes. If rumors spread and reached the ears of the escaped Lu Chengfeng, the Wang family would be the first to burn.

A month later, they arrived at Green Bull Market, only to find that bad news traveled faster than their ship.

On his return route, True Monarch Baili had been ambushed.

The reports were fragmented but terrifying. Demonic cultivators had intercepted the Qingyuan flagship. The battle had been cataclysmic. True Monarch Baili had escaped, but he was severely wounded. The family cultivators traveling with him had been slaughtered in the crossfire.

The balance of power had shattered. The Qingyuan Sect possessed three Golden Core masters: one at each stage of early, mid, and late. With Baili—the mid-stage pillar—incapacitated, the sect was vulnerable. Only the early-stage Jin Heng and the late-stage Du Guangchao (Du Xiandie’s granduncle) remained combat-ready.

“The storm is approaching, Young Friend,” Li Yaozu said, his face etched with worry as they prepared to part ways. “If Golden Core masters are being ambushed, families like ours are nothing but grass before a wildfire. I must return to make preparations.”

“Take care, Senior,” Wang Hao replied. He wasted no time, rushing Wang Wenxin and the others back to Wang Family Ridge.

The atmosphere in the main hall was heavy. Wang Yanzhao and Wang Longyou were waiting, and even the reclusive Patriarch Wang Guang’an had emerged from seclusion.

“Wenhao,” Wang Yanzhao demanded the moment Wang Hao entered, “what is happening?”

Wang Hao shook his head. “I wish I knew. The raid on Sharp Sand Island was a success, strategically. We wiped out the Lu family, though Lu Chengfeng escaped. Li Yaozu and I even recovered a significant amount of stolen goods from a hidden lair. But the ambush on True Monarch Baili… I only heard of it at the market.”

“Since our Ancestor established this family, we have never seen true Demon Cultivators in this region,” Wang Longyou muttered. “Where are these Golden Core demons coming from?”

“Wenhao,” Patriarch Wang Guang’an interjected, his voice low and thoughtful. “Are you certain the Lu family were Demon Cultivators?”

Wang Hao paused. “They used demonic arts, yes. But… now that you mention it, it was strange. Legends say demonic arts twist the mind, making practitioners violent and irrational. But the ones I fought, while ruthless, seemed… disciplined. I assumed they were just new to the path.”

Wang Guang’an narrowed his eyes. He waved a hand, and a spectral map of the Leizhou Peninsula unfurled in the air.

“Look here,” the Patriarch said, pointing to the borders. “The Leizhou Peninsula has over ten medium-sized powers. But bordering the Qingyuan Sect are the Burning Heaven Sect and the Boundless Palace.”

He traced the lines of the territories.

“Three hundred years ago, a great war broke out between these three. Four Golden Core masters fell. The Burning Heaven Sect took the heaviest blow, losing two masters and vast swathes of territory to Qingyuan.”

“Qingyuan wanted to swallow them whole,” Wang Guang’an continued, “but the Boundless Palace intervened. They understood the principle of ‘when the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold.’ They allied with Burning Heaven to stop Qingyuan’s expansion. It was an alliance of convenience, fraught with distrust, so they never managed to reclaim the lost land.”

“Since then, a fragile peace has held. But in those three hundred years, the Burning Heaven Sect has quietly rebuilt. They have nurtured three new Golden Core masters. Even with one passing away, they now possess four Golden Core experts. They have gone from the weakest to the strongest.”

The Patriarch looked up, his eyes grave.

“They have spent three centuries preparing. I fear they are finally coming for their revenge.”