The Azure Cloud Sect was once the undisputed jewel of the Eastern Province. Its peaks were said to be carved from jade, its waterfalls flowing with liquid spiritual energy. To the mortals below, it was a sanctuary of the Heavens.
Tonight, it smelled of copper and rot.
Deep beneath the glittering facade of Cloud Peak, in a subterranean chamber sealed off by dozens of sound-dampening arrays, Fang Tianyou screamed. The sound was ragged, tearing his vocal cords as he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Blood dripped from his chin, pooling on the cold, black-stone floor.
"Hold him down!" barked Elder Li, a high-ranking enforcer whose usually pristine white robes were stained with crimson. Two inner sect deacons rushed forward, their hands glowing with suppression seals, pressing Fang Tianyou's shoulders into the ground.
Fang's chest was bare, and the sight of it was horrifying. Where a cultivator's spiritual center should have emanated a smooth, golden light, Fang's sternum was cracked open by a web of pulsing, jagged black veins. At the center, a luminous, semi-translucent root—the Innate Spirit Root stolen from Lu Chen—thrashed like a cornered animal. It was rejecting its host. Without the karmic tether to his father that Lu Chen had maliciously severed, the stolen talent recognized Fang Tianyou as an imposter.
"It's tearing my meridians apart!" Fang Tianyou gasped, his perfect, charismatic features contorted into a mask of pure agony. His eyes were bloodshot, the whites completely consumed by a sickly yellow hue. "Give me more! I need more providence! Now!"
Elder Li hesitated for only a fraction of a second. He gestured to the shadows at the edge of the chamber. "Bring them in."
A heavy iron door scraped open. Three Outer Disciples—boys barely older than fifteen, still wearing the gray robes of the lowest sect tier—were shoved into the dimly lit room. Their eyes were wide with terror, having been ripped from their beds under the guise of receiving 'special nocturnal tutelage' from the Heaven-Blessed Son himself.
"Elder Li? Senior Brother Fang?" one of the boys stammered, trembling as he took in the sight of the blood-soaked floor and the writhing prodigy. "W-what is this?"
Fang Tianyou didn't answer with words. He lunged.
Breaking free of the deacons' hold, Fang's hand shot forward, his fingers hooking into claws. He slammed his palm directly into the boy's chest. A forbidden technique—the Blood-Marrow Siphoning Array, hidden beneath the floorboards—flared to life with a sickening crimson light.
The boy's scream was cut agonizingly short. His skin grayed instantly, his flesh sinking inward as his meager, pale-golden Qi Yun was violently ripped from his soul. The wisp of providence flowed up Fang Tianyou's arm, washing over the thrashing Innate Spirit Root. The stolen root absorbed the stolen luck, its frantic thrashing subsiding just a fraction.
Fang dropped the husked corpse, moving immediately to the next screaming disciple. Within moments, three lifeless husks lay on the floor, their destinies snuffed out to buy the Heaven-Blessed Son a few more hours of stability.
Fang Tianyou fell back against a pillar, chest heaving. The golden light in his chest dimmed, stitching the black veins together into a fragile, artificial calm. But using the Luck-Binding Mirror's echo, he could feel it: the providence was too thin. Outer disciples possessed the luck of weeds.
"It won't hold," Fang rasped, dragging a trembling hand through his sweat-soaked hair. He looked up at Elder Li, his eyes burning with a desperate, feral madness. "I need a true foundation. I need the Heart of the Sword."
Elder Li swallowed hard, glancing at the corpses. The Azure Cloud Sect had completely lost its way, rotting from the inside out to protect the lie of their chosen prodigy. "The Dragon Gate Banquet is assembled in the Grand Hall, Young Master. The Saintess... she is bound."
Fang Tianyou pulled himself to his feet, a chilling, hollow smile stretching across his face. "Good. Prepare my robes. Tonight, Ye Xiyue becomes my mortar, and her providence will rebuild my Heavens."
***
Above ground, the Grand Hall of the Azure Cloud Sect was a stark contrast to the slaughterhouse below. Immense pillars of white marble, inlaid with gold and spirit stones, supported a ceiling enchanted to look like a starry night sky. Long tables were laden with spirit-fruits, roasted beast meats, and wine that smelled of lotus flowers.
Fifty of the Eastern Province's brightest young prodigies sat at these tables. They represented the elite of various allied sects, gathered under the pretense of sharing in the Azure Cloud Sect's overflowing providence.
Yet, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense.
At the very center of the hall, upon a raised dais typically reserved for the Sect Master, knelt Ye Xiyue. The Saintess of the Fallen Moon Palace was stripped of her weapons, her wrists and ankles bound by Heavenly Binding Chains—artifacts specifically designed to suppress sword intent. Her ethereal beauty was marred by a pale, exhausted complexion, but her silver eyes remained sharp, burning with a quiet, unrelenting defiance.
She looked out at the 'geniuses' feasting below her. None met her gaze. They knew what this was. They knew she was the main course. The Imperial Bureau's hunt for the 'Sovereign of the Void' had cast a shadow of fear over the continent. The sects were terrified, willing to let the Azure Cloud Sect sacrifice a Saintess if it meant stabilizing their champion to fight the coming darkness.
Using her innate 'Heart of the Sword', Ye Xiyue didn't see the opulent hall. She saw a maelstrom of rotting threads. The providence of the Azure Cloud Sect was no longer golden; it was bleeding a sickly, infected crimson.
Lu Chen, she thought, her mind drifting to the cold, merciless young man she had saved from the Black Heavenly Tribulation. You were right. The righteous path... it is just cannibalism wearing white robes.
The heavy mahogany doors at the back of the dais opened, and the hall fell dead silent. Fang Tianyou stepped out. He was dressed in immaculate, flowing white robes embroidered with golden clouds. He looked every bit the immortal prodigy, his smile radiant and composed. Only Ye Xiyue, with her Heart of the Sword, could see the chaotic, stitched-together horror of the stolen destiny warring inside his chest.
"Honored guests, brothers and sisters of the Dao," Fang Tianyou's voice echoed through the hall, rich and magnetic. He spread his arms, walking down the steps toward Ye Xiyue. "We gather tonight under the shadow of a great threat. The Sovereign of the Void seeks to devour our world. But the Azure Cloud Sect will not let the darkness win!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the sycophants in the crowd.
Fang stopped in front of Ye Xiyue. He drew a ritual dagger from his belt, its blade etched with blood-siphoning runes. "To mend the Heavens, sacrifices must be made. The Saintess has graciously offered her Heart of the Sword to stabilize the providence of the Eastern Province. With her light, we shall burn away the void!"
He raised the dagger. Ye Xiyue closed her eyes, gathering whatever fractured sword intent she had left to shatter her own meridians before he could touch her.
She never got the chance.
BOOM!
The sound was not a physical explosion. It was the horrific, concussive boom of space itself being violently displaced.
The massive, ten-ton spiritual wood doors at the entrance of the Grand Hall didn't just break—they ceased to exist. A wave of pitch-black fire, cold enough to freeze the blood in the veins of everyone present, completely erased the grand entrance. The golden defensive arrays of the hall shattered like cheap glass, their spiritual tethers rotting away instantly.
The geniuses at the tables leapt to their feet, drawing their weapons in sheer panic. The lotus wine froze in their cups. The enchanted starry ceiling flickered and died, plunging the hall into a dim, oppressive gloom, lit only by the encroaching black flames.
A spherical object was tossed casually through the curtain of black fire. It bounced off the marble floor, rolling directly down the center aisle until it bumped against the bottom step of Fang Tianyou's dais.
Fang Tianyou lowered his dagger, his confident smile freezing as he stared down at the object.
It was a head. The face was locked in a final expression of absolute, soul-shattering terror. The fiery red hair and the scorched dragon-scale tattoo on the cheek made it unmistakable. It was Yan Lie, the Fire Dragon Prodigy of the Southern Province—one of the guests expected to sit at the head table tonight.
"Yan Lie..." one of the prodigies whispered, his sword trembling. "He... he was a Golden Core master..."
Heavy, measured footsteps echoed from the threshold.
Through the wall of Void-Mantra Fire stepped a figure draped in shadows. Lu Chen wore a dark, unadorned robe, his pitch-black hair whipping around his face despite the lack of wind. In his right hand, he held the Severing Edge, its blade dripping with a mixture of crimson blood and liquid black misfortune. But it was his eyes that stole the breath from the room—they glowed with the terrifying, golden luster of the Luck-Binding Mirror.
The oppressive weight of a perfected Void Core crushed the room. The sheer density of his corrupted cultivation forced several Foundation Establishment prodigies to their knees, their own Qi Yun actively fleeing their bodies in terror.
Ye Xiyue opened her eyes. A small, involuntary gasp escaped her lips. He had actually come.
Fang Tianyou staggered back half a step, the stolen Spirit Root in his chest violently convulsing at the mere presence of its original, rightful owner. "Lu Chen!" he shrieked, his pristine facade shattering completely, revealing the desperate, cornered animal beneath. "You dare show your face here?! Guards! Enforcers!"
Nobody came. The silence outside the hall was absolute.
Lu Chen tilted his head, his glowing eyes sweeping over the terrified prodigies before locking dead onto Fang Tianyou. He raised the Severing Edge, black flames spiraling up his arm as the threads of destiny in the room became visible to him—ripe, heavy, and ready to be severed.
"I heard you were hungry for providence, Fang Tianyou," Lu Chen's voice resonated through the hall, devoid of human warmth, echoing with the finality of a closing tomb. He smiled, a cold, predatory curve of his lips. "So, I brought you a funeral."