The sky stretched wide and voiceless, painted in a shade of violet so faint it looked almost unreal—an endless canvas that shimmered like silk beneath the unseen sun. Beneath that haunting sky lay a forest unlike any other. Giants of nature stood there—trees as tall as skyscrapers, their trunks lost among drifting mists. The leaves whispered in a deep, ancient rhythm, their sound almost like the breath of the world itself.
In an open clearing within that living maze, the Sanatan Flame Sect had made camp. The air here was calm and humid, filled with the scent of green earth and distant dew. Mattresses had been spread over the lush field, and disciples lay or sat upon them in pure exhaustion—an image of rare peace in the life of cultivators.
Elder Lin Shu and Elder Liya sat gracefully upon a shared mattress, their robes soft against the grass. Platters of vegetarian dishes and sweets rested before them—rice dumplings, steamed buns, fresh fruit, and a neatly arranged plate of glistening Kaju Katli.
Beside them, Shaurya, Elder Wan, and Elder Feng Yu sat cross-legged on another mattress. Shaurya, his presence always calm yet quietly commanding, was sipping from a glass of chocolate milkshake as though it were a sacred elixir. The soft light caught the silver trim of his robes, and his relaxed posture almost made him look like an ordinary traveler.
He took a bite of Kaju Katli, his eyes closing with satisfaction.
"Hmmm... I love Cashew Slice," he murmured.
Elder Wan nodded while quietly eating a bowl of mixed fruits, and Elder Feng Yu sipped his tea, the faint steam curling into the violet light above them.
Not far away, several disciples cultivated in silence. Wang Tian, Luo Chen, Sheng Lu, and Lu Fang sat with their legs crossed, spiritual energy circulating around them in golden and red wisps. The rhythmic pulse of their breathing merged with the wind, while others—like the Single Mingle Gang—were sprawled flat on their backs, snoring softly in complete surrender to fatigue.
Shaurya’s eyes roamed over his disciples. A faint smile tugged at his lips. They’ve fought hard, he thought. He took another slow sip of his milkshake, then leaned back until his head rested on the mattress. His eyes fluttered shut. Umm... I also got tired... finally got time to relax.
The wind carried a faint, warm hum through the trees. Lin Shu turned her head slightly, her gaze softening as it fell on him. Shaurya had fallen asleep—his expression peaceful, framed by the soft glimmer of his silver hair. A small smile curved her lips.
Quietly, she rose and helped Elder Liya gather the empty plates and cloths. The rustle of fabric and the distant chirp of forest birds were the only sounds that filled the air. The world seemed to hold its breath; for once, even the Sanatan Flame Sect felt human again—resting, laughing softly, alive.
Far to the north, the serenity ended.
There, the land transformed into an icy abyss—a realm of eternal frost where glacier peaks rose like frozen fangs piercing the sky. The ground glittered beneath layers of ice, and every breath turned to mist the moment it left one’s lips.
In that pale wasteland stood figures—cold, stern, and alive with fury. They were the surviving members of the Howling Abyss Sect, those who had once been broken and bloodied but had since recovered.
At their head stood Zia Bailey, his expression hardened, his aura steady yet turbulent. Once a disciple, now a master—he had inherited the title after his grandfather, Zia Han, had fallen. Beside him stood Zia Coco, her grip tight on the hilt of her sword, eyes burning with unspoken rage.
Before them stretched a formation of armored soldiers—dark, cold, and proud. The royal forces of the Black Dragon Kingdom had arrived. Their banners whipped violently in the freezing wind. At their forefront stood a young man in a black robe embroidered with streaks of gold—a dragon’s silhouette glimmering faintly on the silk.
He stepped forward, his fan snapping open with a sharp crack. His black hair fluttered around a sharp face, and his dark-blue eyes carried the arrogance of royalty. He was Tian Bufen, the Second Prince of the Black Dragon Kingdom.
He raised his fan lazily toward the Howling Abyss Sect.
"Get out of here, you filthy people."
Zia Bailey clenched his fists, his breath heavy in the frigid air. Behind him, his disciples looked uncertain, fear flickering across their faces.
He closed his eyes briefly, teeth grinding. But then, a gentle touch fell upon his shoulder. He turned to see Xia Coco. Her eyes were steady, her tone unwavering.
"Bailey... don’t worry. No matter what decision you make, we are with you."
Her words were like a spark in the storm. Around them, elders and disciples drew their weapons, their blades catching the faint blue glow of the icy sunlight. Determination replaced fear.
Zia Bailey’s chest rose with a long, trembling breath. Then, he smiled.
"Alright then," he said, stepping forward and drawing his sword. "We will face them!"
He pointed the glowing blade toward the prince.
Tian Bufen’s expression twisted. "Tsch... You filthy bastard. How dare you challenge me? I am the Second Prince of the Black Dragon Kingdom! You are nothing but mere insects."
He turned with disdain, gesturing to his men.
The soldiers roared as one, hundreds of armored warriors surging across the ice, weapons raised. The air trembled with the force of their charge. Behind them, twelve cultivators in black robes remained still, their auras sharp and demonic, watching the carnage unfold with cold amusement.
"Get ready, everyone!" Zia Bailey’s voice rang out. "Protect each other! Don’t show mercy—charge!"
The two forces collided with an earth-shaking boom.
Steel met steel. Sparks and frost filled the air. Googlᴇ search 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹·𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾·𝗇𝖾𝗍
The frozen plains cracked beneath their feet as spiritual energy burst outward in rippling waves. Fifty-five disciples and three elders of the Howling Abyss Sect stood against one hundred ten soldiers of the Black Dragon Kingdom.
Blood splattered. Swords screamed. The clash was merciless.
Though outnumbered, the Howling Abyss Sect fought like a storm. Many were wounded, but none faltered. Zia Bailey’s aura surged as he leaped high into the air, his sword blazing with blue energy.
A radiant slash of azure light tore across the ice, cracking the ground open. Several soldiers fell screaming, sucked into the freezing waters below.
"We have the upper hand!" Xia Coco shouted, her sword slicing arcs of blue light through the air. "Let’s show them our wrath!"
Dozens of soldiers fell under her strikes, their bodies scattering crimson across the snow. The elders fought beside them, their weapons singing with destructive power.
But Tian Bufen’s expression darkened.
"Useless... pathetic losers." He turned to the man at his side—a towering cultivator with a broad frame and sharp eyes.
The man bowed. "Allow me, Your Highness."
He stepped forward, drawing a massive saber from his back. Spiritual energy flared golden around it. With a single swing, he unleashed a devastating yellow slash—so bright it blinded the battlefield.
The wave of energy tore through the remaining soldiers and raced toward the Howling Abyss Sect.
"Defensive formation!" Zia Bailey roared.
They gathered quickly, forming a spiritual barrier—but they were too late. The golden slash struck with apocalyptic force.
The frozen ground shattered. The shockwave flung ice and blood into the air. Many disciples were caught in the blast—some thrown into the water, others crushed under debris. Those beneath the barrier trembled as cracks splintered across it.
Zia Bailey clutched Xia Coco as they landed upon a drifting sheet of ice. His body shook, his eyes wide with horror. The once-mighty Howling Abyss Sect was reduced to barely thirty survivors.
Tian Bufen laughed coldly.
"See this? You are too weak. End them!"
His servant raised the saber once again—but then stopped. A sudden chill rippled through the air.
He froze, his instincts screaming. His gaze lifted.
From above, a violet slash descended from the heavens like divine judgment.
The servant barely leaped back before it struck, carving through the ice and splitting the battlefield in two. The ground collapsed beneath his feet, and he fell into the freezing water below.
"What—!" Tian Bufen staggered back, his eyes wide.
A new figure descended gently upon the fractured ice. A young man—no older than twenty—his violet hair flowing with the wind, his purple eyes cold and distant. He wore a white robe that shimmered faintly with spiritual light, and in his hands rested two black swords that pulsed with quiet power.
Zia Bailey instinctively raised his blade toward the stranger—but before he could speak, an invisible pressure crashed down upon him. His breath caught in his throat. His body trembled.
The boy’s aura was suffocating.
The servant, drenched and gasping, climbed from the icy water and froze mid-step. His instincts told him one truth—this was no ordinary cultivator.
He rushed to Tian Bufen’s side, bowing low. "Prince, we must leave."
Tian Bufen frowned, enraged. "What happened? Are you scared of that boy?"
The servant’s tone was grave. "Prince, I am afraid that even if we combined all our strength... we are still no match for him."
Tian Bufen’s eyes widened in disbelief. "What!?"
Without hesitation, the servant grabbed him by the shoulder. "Forgive me, Your Highness. We must go."
And with that, they vanished into the icy mist, their soldiers long scattered.
Zia Bailey stepped back, his sword trembling in his hand.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The violet-haired boy turned his gaze toward him, his voice calm and cold.
"Are you familiar with the Sanatan Flame Sect?"
The icy wind howled across the shattered battlefield, carrying the scent of blood and frost.