The assassin’s blade, forged in abyssal fire and quenched in a grandmaster’s blood, lay in glittering shards upon the silk sheets. It had failed. It had shattered against the skin of a sleeping man. Lu Feng’s eyes were open. They were not the eyes of the meek son-in-law from the Su family. They were voids, swirling with an ancient coldness that could freeze souls. The assassin, a famed Nether Phantom of the Dark Alliance, was frozen in place. Not by fear, but by force. An invisible pressure had locked his every joint, choked the Inner Qi in his meridians, and turned his blood to ice. “Just one?” Lu Feng’s voice was a low whisper, yet it echoed in the assassin’s skull like a thunderclap. From the shadows, a dozen more figures materialized. Clad in black, their faces obscured by masks, they were the complete squad of Nether Phantoms. Each one possessed the power to assassinate a minor sect leader. Together, they had once slain a peak Grandmaster. Their leader hissed, his voice strained against the immense pressure. “The Dragon Sovereign… the rumors were false. You are not weakened.” Lu Feng did not move from his bed. He merely propped himself up on one elbow, his expression one of utter boredom. “The Dark Alliance grows bold. Crawling from your pits to test my strength?” He lifted a single finger. A wave of pure, unadulterated sovereign’s pressure rolled through the room. It was not an attack. It was a statement of existence. The air grew thick, heavy, crushing. The twelve Nether Phantoms, elite killers of the martial world, crumpled. They didn’t scream. They couldn’t. Their lungs collapsed, their bones cracked, and their true essence was extinguished in an instant. Like candles snuffed out by a gale, their life force vanished. Their bodies dissolved into fine motes of dust that scattered on the moonlit floor. Silence returned. The door slid open. The War Goddess, Bai Li, stood there, her divine sword half-drawn, her beautiful face a mask of cold fury. She had sensed the killing intent and rushed to her lord’s side. Her eyes scanned the room, saw the dust settling, and landed on Lu Feng, who was now casually brushing a shard of metal from his sleeve. She immediately dropped to one knee. “This subordinate was slow. I have failed my Lord.” “They were insects,” Lu Feng said, his voice flat. He swung his legs off the bed, his simple nightclothes seeming more regal than any emperor’s robes. “But even insects can signal a storm.” He walked to the grand window overlooking the sprawling estate. The city lights twinkled in the distance, oblivious to the silent execution that had just occurred. “The Dark Alliance wants to know if the dragon has lost its claws,” Lu Feng murmured, more to himself than to Bai Li. “They send assassins to test the waters. A foolish, predictable move.” “My Lord, give me the order! I will lead the Eight Legions and wipe the Dark Alliance from the face of this earth!” Bai Li’s voice burned with loyalty and righteous fury. “War?” Lu Feng almost scoffed. “War is for equals. They are not worthy.” He turned, his gaze piercing. “We will not declare war. We will simply remind them who rules the Jianghu.” His hand opened. A small, intricately carved jade token materialized in his palm, glowing with a soft, golden light. It was the Dragon Order. The ultimate symbol of authority in the entire martial world. For three years, it had remained dormant. “Bai Li,” he commanded. “Raise the Order above the Dragon Spire.” Bai Li’s eyes widened in shock, followed by a surge of fierce excitement. “My Lord… you mean… a full summons?” “They want a demonstration,” Lu Feng said, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “Let us give them one they will never forget.” Bai Li took the Order with trembling, reverent hands. “At once, my Lord!” She vanished in a blur. Moments later, from the central spire of the Dragon Sovereign’s Estate, a pillar of golden light erupted into the night sky. It pulsed once, twice, three times. A silent command that transcended sound, carried on the very flow of the world’s Qi. And the Jianghu answered. In the Wudang mountains, an old man meditating beneath a waterfall snapped his eyes open. “The Sovereign calls!” He became a streak of light, abandoning his seclusion of fifty years. At the Shaolin Temple, the abbot struck the ancient bell. “All grandmasters, assemble! Our Lord has returned!” From the frozen peaks of the Heavenly Mountain Sect to the bustling ports of the Four Seas Guild, the masters of the martial world felt the summons. Old monsters in hidden training, feared sect leaders, wandering heroes, and righteous masters—they all stopped. They turned their gaze in one direction. And they moved. Within the hour, the sky above the Dragon Sovereign’s Estate was filled with figures. They descended like silent raindrops, their powerful auras carefully contained in deference to their master. They landed in the vast, moonlit courtyard, their faces etched with awe and unwavering fealty. The Sword Saint of Qingcheng. The Five Elemental Kings. The Abbess of Emei. Grandmaster Tian, the Unbreakable Fist. Legendary names that made the world tremble. They flowed in, a river of power. Ten thousand. Fifty thousand. A hundred thousand. The entire courtyard, miles wide, was filled. And as one, without a word or signal, a hundred thousand grandmasters and sect leaders fell to one knee. Their heads bowed, their fists pressed to the ground in the ultimate gesture of submission. The silence was absolute. The combined pressure of so many masters, even restrained, made the very air vibrate. It was a power that could shatter mountains and boil seas. Yet here, it was offered in tribute. Lu Feng stood on his balcony, looking down upon the sea of kneeling figures. His expression was indifferent, as if observing a simple garden. This was his true power. Not the strength to kill, but the authority to command the entire Jianghu with a single token. He raised his hand, and his voice, calm and clear, washed over the kneeling masses. “The Dark Alliance has forgotten its place.” A collective killing intent rose from the hundred thousand masters, a chilling promise of annihilation for the Sovereign’s enemies. But as Lu Feng was about to issue his decree, Bai Li’s sharp gaze darted to the edge of the crowd. Her voice was a tense whisper. “My Lord! There is one who does not kneel!” At the far back, amidst the endless sea of bowed heads, a single figure remained standing, cloaked in shadow and defying the absolute authority of the Dragon Sovereign. Lu Feng’s eyes narrowed, his gaze traveling across the miles to lock onto the defiant silhouette. A ghost of a smile, cold and sharp, touched his lips. “Do not be alarmed, Bai Li,” he said, his voice laced with a strange, ancient familiarity. “That is not an enemy. It is a very old friend.”

Chapter 6: A Hundred Thousand Kneel