Tianmo’s laughter was a broken, wretched thing. It echoed in the shattered throne room, the sound of a cornered beast baring its last, poisoned fang.
“Kill me, Junior Brother,” he spat, blood dribbling from his lips. “Do it. And you will never see Master again. His soul will flicker and die in a place you cannot even imagine.”
Lu Feng’s expression did not change. His face was a mask of cold indifference, as if Tianmo were discussing the price of cabbage, not the fate of the man who had raised them both.
Bai Li, the peerless War Goddess, stood rigidly behind him. Her hand rested on the hilt of her divine sword, her killing intent a storm held back by a single thread of her Lord’s will.
“A place I cannot imagine?” Lu Feng’s voice was low, flat. Devoid of emotion. “You always had a flair for theatrics, Senior Brother.”
Confidence surged back into Tianmo’s eyes. He saw a flicker of hope. He thought he had found leverage. A fatal miscalculation.
“It’s no threat. It’s a fact!” Tianmo pushed himself up on one elbow, his shattered meridians screaming in protest. “I used the forbidden Soul-Binding Ritual. His spirit is imprisoned within the Nether Soul Lantern. It is hidden, guarded. Without my guidance, you could search for a thousand years and never find it. He will suffer for eternity, his essence slowly drained to power my Dark Alliance!”
He laughed again, a mad, triumphant cackle. He believed he had won. He held the ultimate bargaining chip.
Lu Feng took a slow step forward. The sound of his simple cloth shoe on the stone floor was louder than a thunderclap. It silenced Tianmo instantly.
“You think you can bargain with me?” Lu Feng asked. The question was not born of curiosity. It was a statement of utter contempt.
“I hold Master’s life in my hands!” Tianmo insisted, desperation creeping into his voice.
“No,” Lu Feng corrected him, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried more weight than any shout. “You hold nothing. You are nothing.”
He raised a hand. It was not a martial arts stance. It was a lazy, dismissive gesture. As if reaching for a cup of tea.
“Guidance is for the weak,” Lu Feng stated. “A Sovereign does not ask. He takes.”
Before Tianmo could even process the words, Lu Feng’s hand was on his forehead. There was no surge of Inner Qi, no brilliant flash of true essence. There was only a cold, absolute pressure that crushed Tianmo’s will like glass.
“What… what are you doing?!” Tianmo shrieked. His eyes widened in pure, primal terror.
Lu Feng said nothing. He simply closed his eyes.
And he tore through Tianmo’s mind.
It was not an interrogation. It was a plundering. A violation of the soul itself. Lu Feng’s consciousness, vast and ancient as a starless night sky, descended upon Tianmo’s spirit. He did not sift through memories; he ripped them out by the root.
Images flooded Lu Feng’s perception. A dark, obsidian altar dripping with blood. Chanting in a forgotten demonic tongue. A small, flickering flame—their master’s soul—being forced into a bronze lantern etched with screaming faces. The lantern being handed off to shadowy figures whose power dwarfed even a grandmaster’s.
Tianmo screamed. It was a sound beyond pain, the sound of a soul being unmade. His body convulsed on the floor, foam frothing at his lips. His memories, his secrets, his very identity were being consumed, digested by a will so powerful it defied comprehension.
Bai Li watched, her face impassive, but her heart shaking. This was not the power of a mere Grandmaster of Jianghu. This was the divine might of a true Sovereign. The Lord of the Dragon Order was not just a title; it was a fundamental truth of the universe.
In seconds that felt like an eternity, it was over. Lu Feng withdrew his hand. He looked at it for a moment, a flicker of disgust in his eyes, as if he had touched something unclean.
Tianmo lay broken on the floor. His eyes were vacant, drool pooling beneath his chin. He was a shell. The arrogant, scheming leader of the Dark Alliance was gone, his mind shattered into a million useless pieces.
“You see, Senior Brother,” Lu Feng said to the empty vessel before him. “I never needed you.”
He had the location. He had the ritual. He had the names of the guardians. He had everything.
Tianmo had nothing left to offer. He was redundant.
“For betraying our master,” Lu Feng said, his voice the final judgment. “For destroying his body and imprisoning his soul…”
He slowly clenched his fist.
“...you will be erased.”
There was no explosion. No grand display of power. One moment, Tianmo’s body was there. The next, it began to disintegrate. It did not burn; it simply came apart. His skin, his bones, his very Inner Qi unraveled into motes of shimmering dust. His true essence, stolen from their master, was released from its corrupted prison and dissipated back into the world.
A faint breeze, born from nothing, swept through the throne room, carrying the last ashes of the traitor away. Silence descended. The Dark Alliance was finished. The Sovereign’s vengeance was complete.
Bai Li dropped to one knee, her head bowed low. “My Lord is supreme. All of Jianghu will tremble before your might.”
Lu Feng stood motionless, his back to her, processing the stolen memories. The information was… disturbing. Far more complex than a simple demonic sect’s plot.
“Bai Li,” he said, his voice distant. “Did you see the sigil on the robes of those who took the lantern?”
“I saw it in the memory fragments that escaped your search, my Lord,” she replied, her head still bowed. “A golden palace floating amidst clouds. I do not recognize it. No Martial Sect uses such a crest.”
Lu Feng turned. For the first time, there was a chilling seriousness in his eyes, a cold fire that made even the War Goddess’s blood run cold. He had crushed grandmasters with less effort than swatting a fly, but this was different.
“That is because they are no mere Martial Sect,” Lu Feng stated. “Tianmo, in his foolish ambition, made a deal with beings he could not possibly comprehend.”
He finally gave them a name. A name whispered only in the most forbidden of ancient texts, a name that was supposed to be a myth.
“The Celestial Palace.”
Bai Li’s head snapped up, her perfect composure finally shattering. Her face, usually a mask of battle-hardened ice, was now pale with disbelief and a trace of pure fear. “The Celestial Palace? My Lord… that is impossible! They are legends! A fairy tale told to children about cultivators who ascended to godhood before the Dragon Order was even forged!”
Lu Feng’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, seeing something far beyond the broken walls of the fortress.
“They are very real,” he said, his voice a blade of ice. “And they made the mistake of taking something that belongs to me.”
He gave his final command, a declaration that would shake the foundations of the world. “Summon the Four Dragon Kings. Tell them to awaken the legions.”
Bai Li’s breath hitched. “My Lord… you cannot mean…”
“We are going to war,” Lu Feng declared, his killing intent soaring to the heavens. “Not with a sect. Not with an alliance. We are marching on the gods themselves.”