Somewhere far from Gao Ling City
Endless plains of green stretched as far as the eye could see, the landscape painted with rolling meadows and ancient trees swaying gently in the breeze. The land looked as if it had been blessed by the heavens themselves — serene, fertile, and full of life.
But human ambition never slept.
Even in this remote paradise, civilization had taken root. What began as a humble village had grown into a city, and from that city, a kingdom. The kingdom stood as a symbol of unity among men, a declaration that humanity could thrive even amidst the vastness of nature.
Yet peace, no matter how long it endured, could never fully erase conflict.
Within this kingdom stood a city much like any other on the continent — bustling streets, high walls, and a palace that dominated the skyline. The royal palace, perched on a gentle hill, towered over the surrounding landscape. Its ancient architecture spoke of power and legacy — sweeping eaves, golden rooftops, and towering stone pillars etched with runic carvings. It was the beating heart of the empire.
Inside that grand palace, a middle-aged man with long silver-white hair sat upon the throne. His golden robes glimmered faintly under the torchlight, but the expression on his face was one of exhaustion and concern. A deep frown creased his brow as his hand rested against his forehead.
Before him, rows of advisers and guards knelt respectfully — the tension in the room thick enough to chill the air.
"Your Majesty," one of the advisers finally spoke, his tone grave. "It seems the rumors were true. The patriarch of the Yan Clan has broken through."
The king let out a slow, heavy sigh. "So it has come to this," he murmured, voice filled with weariness. "Even now, fate chooses to test me. To think that the calamity threatening our peace would come from my own blood…"
He closed his eyes briefly, a shadow of sadness passing across his face.
The adviser bowed his head. "It was expected, Your Majesty. The late king chose you as his successor over him. Resentment was bound to fester."
The king gave a bitter laugh — hollow, quiet. "Father merely chose the one he thought most capable of ruling. My brother could never understand that. From the moment he heard Father's final decree, he rebelled. He even raised his voice against him in his dying moments…" His voice trailed off, a flicker of regret softening his tone. "And yet, despite it all, he is still my brother."
A heavy silence fell over the court. The flickering light from the torches cast long shadows across the marble floor, and the distant rumble of thunder echoed faintly outside.
One of the generals stepped forward, bowing. "Your Majesty, it seems the Yan Clan has pledged their support to your brother's cause."
The king's gaze darkened. "The Yan Clan… so they've chosen their side."
He leaned back in his throne, the weight of his crown suddenly feeling heavier than ever. "Tell me," he said, his voice low, "how strong is the Yan Clan now?"
Another adviser cleared his throat nervously. "They have grown far beyond what our intelligence had estimated, Sire. Once, they were content to remain isolated in the northern valleys, uninterested in worldly affairs. But it appears they have been gathering strength in secret — training their younger generation in a hidden sect, stockpiling resources, and forging alliances."
The king's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest, his expression grim. "And all this time, we allowed them to flourish unchecked…"
"Because they never posed a threat, Your Majesty," another adviser said quickly. "The Yan Clan followed the ancient custom — they did not interfere with the rule of the crown. There was no reason to act against them."
The king rose slowly from his throne, his golden robes flowing like molten sunlight as his aura surged faintly through the chamber. The atmosphere grew heavy; even the air seemed to still.
"There is always a reason," he said quietly. "It simply hides until the day it's ready to strike."
He turned toward the great doors of the throne room, his eyes distant but resolute. "Send word to the Royal Guardians. If my brother intends to bring war to this kingdom… then we shall be ready to meet him."
The adviser relayed the latest reports from the frontier with a steady voice. "Your Majesty, our messengers confirm the Yan Clan's patriarch has broken through to the Seventh Level of the Earth Profound Realm. The Yan Clan has gathered forces enough to rival our own."
A hush fell over the throne room. The words landed like thunder.
"And our Fifth-Level Earth Profound Realm Imperial Protectors will never be able to stand against such power," the king said, his voice heavy with the weight of the truth. In the outer lands, the Earth Profound Realm was treated as near-divinity — a class of cultivator whose might reshaped battles and toppled cities. For their kingdom to field five Earth Profound Realm protectors had long guaranteed their dominance; neighboring states barely counted Spirit Profound cultivators among their guardians.
The adviser continued, the tone edged with concern. "Sire, the patriarch once refused the royal offer to join the household — his price was too steep. He withdrew quietly, and we assumed neutrality. We never expected him to break through and surpass our own protectors. Worse still, your brother has allied with him and openly declared rebellion."
Treason, spoken plainly in the throne room, tasted like ash. If the Yan Clan's power could truly contest the crown, then the kingdom's stability would shatter.
An adviser cleared his throat and offered the only pragmatic option left. "Your Majesty, should we consider evacuation?"
The king closed his eyes for a heartbeat, thinking of honor, of duty, of the accusations his brother would spearhead should he flee. The idea of running angered him more than the enemy at the gate. He opened his eyes, resolve hardening like steel. "No."
Before anyone could protest, he continued decisively, "Prepare an organized evacuation of the citizens near the palace. Secure shelters, protect the people. We will not let the cost of war fall upon the innocent."
Soldiers bowed and dispersed to carry out the orders. The king watched them go, then turned to his adviser with a new question burning behind his calm exterior. "What of my wife and child?"
The adviser paused, then bowed deeper. "Her Majesty and the prince have been evacuated under the protection of our Spirit Profound Realm cultivators. However, Her Majesty has many questions and will not be easily calmed."
"Then guard her closely." The king's voice was low, resolute. "If I fall, my brother will aim for them. Make sure they are beyond his reach."
The adviser hesitated, curiosity peeking through the fear. "I never expected you to put their safety before your own, Sire."
A faint, wry shadow crossed the king's features — the sort of look a ruler gives when duty and love collide. He did not answer with words. He only nodded. The throne room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the next move in a game that might decide the fate of a kingdom.
"I defeated her in battle and asked for her hand in marriage," the king said quietly, the memory etched deep in his eyes. "Since that day, she has stood by me—loyal, graceful, steadfast. But my selfish brother… he could not contain his desires. Time and again, he tried to make advances toward her."
The king's tone darkened, his fingers curling around the armrest of the throne. "She always refused him, out of loyalty and dignity. I did everything I could to protect her, but his lust was relentless. He coveted what was mine—my throne, my people, even my wife."
The adviser lowered his head in disbelief. The revelation was scandalous, yet it explained everything.
"So," the king continued bitterly, "he saw me as a thorn in his side. I gained the throne, won the people's love, and married the woman he could never have. His envy has now turned to rebellion."
The advisers exchanged uneasy glances, their silence confirming his words.
Then—
"STUPID LITTLE BROTHER! COME OUT HERE AND HAND OVER YOUR LIFE!!!"
The furious voice shattered the heavy air of the throne room. It boomed across the palace like thunder, carrying pure, murderous intent.
The king froze for an instant. He knew that voice all too well.
Before he could even reply—
BOOM!!!
An explosion ripped through the silence. The ground trembled. Dust and debris fell from the ceiling as the shockwave reached the throne room. The enemy hadn't come to negotiate—they'd come to destroy.
"Your Majesty!" A soldier burst through the grand doors, armor scorched and breathing ragged. "They're here! The palace watchtower has been destroyed!"
The king straightened, his expression calm despite the chaos. "So impatient… Tell me, where are they now?"
"They've reached the imperial courtyard, Sire!" the soldier replied urgently. "The first prince is leading them—with the Yan Clan's patriarch right behind him. Dozens of Spirit Profound Realm warriors march with them. What are your orders?"
The king's gaze hardened. "Summon the Imperial Protectors. Gather our finest troops. I will meet them myself."
The advisers looked horrified. One of them stepped forward, pleading, "Your Majesty, please—your cultivation cannot match theirs! Let the Protectors—"
"Enough."
The single word cut through the air like a blade.
"It doesn't matter," the king said firmly. "If I flee, he will chase me to the ends of the earth. There's no running from this. If my kingdom is to fall, I will fall with it—as its king."
He rose from the throne, golden robes swaying like rippling sunlight. His aura flared—not the strongest, but resolute enough to shake the hearts of every man in the room.
"Prepare the courtyard," he commanded, striding toward the open doors. "If my brother wishes to settle this with blood, then he shall have it."
As he walked through the halls of his palace, the echoes of distant explosions followed him like a grim drumbeat.
Outside, beneath the darkening sky, thunder roared once more—heralding not a storm of nature, but the beginning of a war between brothers.
The king stepped into the courtyard and was met by a wall of steel and spirit: dozens of Spirit Profound Realm warriors arrayed before him, their auras prickling like winter lightning. A handful of Peak Spirit elders stood among them, faces carved with years of battle; even together their strength would crush most men, and his cultivation only reached the Peak of the Spirit Profound Realm. The calculus of survival narrowed to a single, bitter truth—he might not live this day.
"Elder brother—why are you doing this?" the king asked, voice steady though his jaw tightened. Across the yard, atop a black warhorse, his brother sat wrapped in robes of the same gilded hue. The resemblance between them was undeniable, but there was a cruelty in the elder's smile that had no place in the king's memories of his youth.
"Why ask?" the elder answered, voice curling like smoke. "I will take what is rightfully mine. If Father would not name me king, then I will seize it by force." He dismounted with deliberate grace, his aura flaring to match the king's. "When I am done with you, I will have your head on my throne—and every influence you had will bend to me."
"If you want the throne, take it," the king said, the offer a blade wrapped in sorrow. "But end this madness—leave the people out of it."
"You dare speak of the people?" the elder sneered. "You who were chosen while I was rejected. You enjoy their adoration while I starved for it. I will not be denied." He spat the words like venom, sword flashing as he raised it high. "If you refuse—then die."
"DEATH TO THE ROYAL FAMILY!" he roared.
The courtyard answered—Yan Clan banners whipped the air as their men surged forward with a single, terrible cry. "KILL!" The royal guards rushed to meet them, armor clashing with blade and profound energy. Shouts, the screams of war, and the thunder of summoned techniques filled the courtyard as the two sides collided in a brutal, close-quarters storm.
Steel sang. Spirit light flared. The king met his betrayer with grim resolve, sword to sword, as the palace itself seemed to shudder at the beginning of fratricide.
The elder brother's grin turned cruel as he scanned the chaos. He spat an order to one of the Yan commanders without even looking away from the battlefield.
"Find his wife. Bring her to me. I've waited long enough for that bitch to open her legs to me — tonight I'll take what's mine."
A rank of royal officers answered with a roar, steel and spirit flaring. "PROTECT THE KING! DEATH TO THE YAN FAMILY!"
The king's jaw clenched. He drew his blade, eyes blazing despite the counsel pleading for flight. "ELDER BROTHER! If you have the skill, fight me to the death!" he shouted, voice steady in the blast of war.
The elder brother only sneered, mounting his horse with contempt. "Hmph. Equal cultivation does not make you stronger." He turned away—then slowly looked back, a mocking light in his eyes. "If you insist on dying here, I'll oblige you."
The king felt the taunt like a blow. "Then die knowing your cowardice forced your men to do your fighting!" he snapped.
That finally drew a reaction. The elder brother dismounted with a smooth, lethal grace. Sword drawn, he pointed it at the king. "You dare call me a coward?" His voice was cold steel. "Very well—entertain me."
They met in the center of the courtyard as battle surged around them. Their blades collided in a storm of Spirit Profound energy—each clash singing like thunder. Sparks and spiritual light danced in the air as wave after wave of technique and strike met strike, but neither man yielded. Their powers matched, perfectly balanced, every movement answered in kind.
"Hmph—still the same, but I am better," the elder brother taunted, pressing forward with a flurry of cuts.
The king parried, breath ragged, then suddenly everything changed. The elder's expression sharpened into something darker—satisfied, almost hungry. With a cold, deliberate motion he extended his free hand and pointed.
A golden aura roared to life around him, coalescing into a vast, spectral finger that towered like a monument of light behind the elder. The silhouette glowed with oppressive force—an instant godlike presence that distorted the air.
The king's eyes widened; he did not have time to react.
The giant golden finger fell like divine judgment. It smashed into the king with a sound like a mountain collapsing, energy detonating outward in a blinding concussion. The impact shattered the ground beneath him; stone and frost exploded into the air.
For a breathless heartbeat, the world stood still—then the battle thundered on, louder than before, as warriors on both sides redoubled their fury in the wake of a slaughter that had just become far crueler.
The king screamed as the impact hurled him like a broken kite across the courtyard. He struck the palace stairs and skidded to a halt in a crumpled heap, coughing blood into the snow. His closest guards abandoned the fray and threw themselves around him like a shield.
"MY LIEGE!" they cried, forcing a healing pill into his mouth. Color bled back into his cheeks as the medicine worked. He coughed once more, eyes blazing with fury as they found the figure of his elder brother among the attackers.
"You—!" he rasped, each word a struggle. He had never expected such treachery. The golden-finger strike had smashed into his chest before he could even bring his guard up; if not for the imperial armor, he might already be dead.
The elder brother chuckled, unrepentant. "We would have been deadlocked forever," he said, voice cold as steel. "So I made a bargain with the Yan Clan. They taught me this technique in return for a favor. Consider it… an investment."
Before the king could answer, five elderly men in gilded robes descended into the courtyard as if fallen stars had alighted on the stone. The air around them shifted — heavier, denser; the world itself seemed to pause. Every soldier who saw them straightened, hope and awe surging back through the ranks.
"It's the Imperial Protectors!" someone shouted. The defenders rallied at once; where the Protectors stood, the balance of the battle could still be turned.
"Impudence," the eldest Protector intoned, voice like hammered bronze. "You dare trespass the royal household?"
The attacking lines did not break. The first prince — mounted, arrogant, and flanked by Yan banners — sneered at the protectors' challenge.
"Hmph," he mocked. "This will be my palace soon. You old men should be the ones to scram."
At the insult, the Protectors' faces soured. One of them stepped forward and flared his aura; even the snow trembled at that pressure. "First Prince," he said slowly, "we tolerated you because you belonged to the royal house. You have betrayed that trust. Give us a reason not to end you now."
For a heartbeat the courtyard held its breath. The prince's expression hardened; far behind him, among the ranks of the Yan Clan, a presence shifted — a subtle, terrible readiness as if a deeper game had just been called.
"He doesn't need to."
The voice rolled across the courtyard like thunder — calm, commanding, and filled with a weight that made even the wind hesitate.
The five Imperial Protectors turned sharply, scanning the palace gates.
"Who goes there?!"
"Hmph," the voice scoffed, followed by slow, deliberate footsteps echoing against marble. "The five of you still have the gall to stand against me?"
An old man stepped out from the shadow of the gate, his robes embroidered with the emblem of a golden flame — the unmistakable seal of the Yan Clan Patriarch. Each stride he took pressed against the air itself, and when he finally stopped, his aura flared like a golden tempest that swallowed the entire courtyard.
At once, every cultivator — friend and foe alike — felt their hearts tighten.
The Protectors' eyes widened in alarm, their expressions shifting from confidence to dread.
"You…" the eldest among them whispered, his voice trembling. "You're the Patriarch of the Yan Clan. But how—?! You were only at the Fifth Level a year ago. How did you reach the Eighth Level of the Earth Profound Realm?"
The old man smiled, faint and cruel. "Hmph. You believed those foolish reports, did you? I allowed your spies to think I had stagnated. In truth, I broke through last night. And now…" — his golden aura rippled outward, shaking the stones beneath his feet — "…I possess the strength to sweep the five of you aside with ease."
The Protectors exchanged tense glances, then drew their weapons as one, their combined auras surging in defiance.
"Even if you stand three levels above us," the first Protector said coldly, "you cannot hope to defeat all five of us together. We will end this tonight!"
The patriarch gave a mocking bow, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, how nostalgic. You speak as if numbers still matter to those who've transcended them. But by all means—let's test that theory."
"Impudence!"
The Protectors roared as one, their weapons blazing with spirit energy as they lunged. The ground fractured under the pressure of their collective strike, a hurricane of power tearing through the courtyard.
But the old man didn't flinch.
He merely raised his hand.
Golden light surged, devouring the world around him in an instant. His aura erupted skyward, radiant and absolute — the mark of someone whose cultivation had pierced through to a higher realm entirely.
The wounded king, still clutching his chest on the stairs, felt the oppressive power wash over him and froze.
That aura…
His eyes widened in horror. It was the same golden aura his brother had used moments ago — the same technique that had nearly killed him.
Realization hit him like a dagger of ice.
"Impossible…" he whispered. "That power—my brother learned it from him…"
The golden radiance intensified, swallowing the Protectors' counterattack whole. Their techniques shattered like glass. In the blinding light that followed, the courtyard trembled as if the heavens themselves recoiled from what was about to unfold.
"IMPERIAL PROTECTORS! GET AWAY FROM HIM!!!"The king's voice cracked across the battlefield, raw and desperate. His body trembled from his wounds, yet the authority in his command carried through the chaos.
But it was already too late.
The Yan Patriarch rose into the air like a golden specter, robes flaring in the furious wind. He raised one hand skyward, and his aura exploded outward — vast, suffocating, divine. A colossal golden finger took shape behind him, shimmering with the radiance of a false sun.
Then it descended.
BOOOOM!!!
The heavens screamed as the golden finger crashed toward the earth.
The five Imperial Protectors braced themselves, channeling every shred of their profound energy to reinforce their bodies. Their combined barrier shimmered like glass before a hammer.
"Hold the line!" one shouted—
But the impact came like judgment itself.
Spurt!
Blood erupted from five mouths at once. The ground caved beneath their feet. Their barrier shattered in an instant, the shockwave hurling debris and soldiers in every direction.
Before they could even steady themselves, the Patriarch's mocking voice echoed from above.
"One finger isn't enough? Then let this be your burial rite."
A second golden finger, even larger than the first, coalesced in the heavens. The Protectors barely had time to look up before it fell like a mountain.
BOOOOOM!!!
The courtyard vanished in an explosion of light and stone. The shockwave blasted through the palace gates, tearing tiles from rooftops and toppling pillars. The five Protectors were flung from the sky like broken stars, crashing into the ground with devastating force.
The earth split. Dust and smoke filled the air.
When the light finally faded… silence.
The five men — the pride of the royal house, the guardians of the realm — lay motionless amidst the rubble.
The sight shattered what little courage remained in the soldiers' hearts. Murmurs turned into cries; cries into despair.
"The Imperial Protectors… are down…" someone whispered.
The king's sword slipped from his hand. He fell to his knees, eyes wide, his breath caught between disbelief and grief. Those five had stood by the throne for decades — protectors of his father, of him, of the realm itself.
And now, with a single move, they were gone.
His fingers curled weakly into the dirt as he whispered, voice trembling, "May the heavens… at least protect my wife and child…"
Around him, the loyalists rallied — battered, bloodied, but resolute. They formed a human wall around their fallen king, raising their blades for one final stand.
"Protect His Majesty!"
"FOR THE KING!!!"
The Yan Clan's army closed in, surrounding them in a tightening ring of steel and spirit. Golden banners flared in the firelight, and the patriarch's laughter rolled over the battlefield — deep, cruel, and certain.
The Yan Patriarch spat disdainfully at the fallen Protectors. "Hmph. In the end, they were too weak. I once trembled at their name—no more."
He descended and landed beside the first prince with the easy grace of a man who had already claimed destiny. The prince bowed formally. "Yan Clan Patriarch, I thank you for fulfilling our agreement."
"As long as you held up your part, I have no regrets," the patriarch replied, voice flat. "My revenge is complete."
The first prince's eyes glittered with triumph as he turned to face the ruined ranks of the royal guard and his brother. "Little brother," he announced with cold ceremony, "your time has passed. Tomorrow a new ruler will take this throne."
The king met him with neither fear nor flinch. He looked upon his men—bloodied, battered, unwavering—and a sad smile touched his lips. "Men," he said softly, "it has been an honor."
The commander at his side straightened, voice steady despite the chaos. "Your Highness, even in death we will stand with you. We will never serve him. It is an honor to die beside our king."
The soldiers around them raised their voices in a defiant cry that shook the courtyard. Tears welled in the king's eyes at their loyalty. His hand tightened on his sword. "If I must die," he said, voice low and terrible, "know this: the people will not accept you. A throne built on blood will not prosper while anyone remains willing to stand and fight."
The prince sneered. "Still spouting the same old speeches. Men—kill him. Bring me his head."
"DEATH TO THE ROYAL FAMILY!" the Yan Clan roared, and the remaining loyal soldiers braced for the onslaught.
Suddenly…
A single snowflake drifted across the king's vision.
It shimmered as it passed his eyes — delicate, pure — and for an instant, the chaos around him seemed to still. He blinked. Snow…? But snow was not due for another year.
Then, more came.
One flake became ten. Ten became hundreds. Soon, snow began to fall from the cloudless heavens — each flake glittering under the blazing sun. The air grew crisp and cold, yet gentle; sunlight refracted through the falling frost, scattering a halo of brilliance across the palace ruins.
The warriors on both sides stopped mid-swing. The clamor of battle faded into stunned silence as every gaze turned skyward.
And then—
She appeared.
A collective gasp rippled through the courtyard.
Descending from the sky, bathed in a swirl of dancing snowflakes, came a figure so radiant that even the sun seemed to dim around her.
"Heavens…" whispered the king, his voice trembling in disbelief. "What… am I witnessing?"
The figure drifted downward, light as a feather carried by the wind. Each step — no, each movement — stirred the falling snow like petals in spring. Her presence alone stilled the air, softened the light, and banished every trace of bloodlust that lingered in the hearts below.
Her robes flowed like liquid sapphire, threads of frost glimmering along the hem. A translucent veil fluttered behind her, trailing shards of light as if the stars themselves obeyed her. The faint scent of ice lilies filled the courtyard, pure and faintly sweet.
Every man who saw her — friend or foe — froze as though struck by divinity. Their weapons drooped; even the Yan patriarch's golden aura dimmed.
The fairy landed gently upon the cracked courtyard stones, her feet barely touching the earth. Snow gathered around her form like worshippers before a goddess. Flowers forced through the frozen ground, blooming out of season — their petals bowing toward her in reverence.
In that instant, under the same sun that had witnessed war and death, beauty itself had descended upon the mortal world.
Even the king, bloodied and broken, could not tear his eyes away. His heart whispered in awe, This… is no mortal woman.
As the fairy's feet touched the ground, snow blossomed beneath her steps — delicate flakes swirling like a living carpet, unwilling to let her bare soles touch mortal soil.
Her long, silken hair — a soft cascade of silver with faint brown hues — drifted upward as if stirred by divine breath. Then her eyes opened.
A pair of luminous silver irises shimmered like twin moons through morning mist, framed by impossibly long lashes. Every man who looked into them felt an unfamiliar pull — awe mixed with longing, reverence tangled with desire. Those eyes seemed to reach inside them, drawing out their breath, their thoughts, their will.
Her face remained hidden beneath a thin, translucent veil — yet that mere concealment only deepened her allure. The faint outline of her lips, the delicate curve of her chin, the subtle shimmer of her breath behind the silken fabric — it was enough to drive mortal hearts to madness.
Whispers rippled through the stunned crowd. Even the most disciplined warriors felt their composure slip.
If a glimpse of what lies beneath could be bought, they thought, the kingdom itself would be sold in an instant.
That veil was no simple cloth; it was a barrier between heaven and earth. And the men who stood before her knew, instinctively, that to lift it would mean to trespass upon the divine.
She moved forward slowly, wrapped in a gentle frost that radiated warmth instead of cold. Each motion of her hips carried the fluidity of falling snow, soft yet impossibly graceful.
At her side hung a strange weapon — a sheathed blade unlike any they had ever seen. Its hilt was shaped like a blooming flower, elegant and intricate, and the sheath curved slightly, adorned with patterns that glimmered faintly with spiritual light. It was beautiful in the way a winter moon is beautiful — silent, pure, and deadly.
No one dared to breathe too loudly. Even the blood-stained soldiers lowered their weapons as the air filled with the faint scent of snow lilies.
The first prince, transfixed, felt his lust twist into something far deeper — obsession. The thought of his brother's wife vanished like mist before the sun. No woman he had ever seen could compare to the being standing before him now.
I must have her, his corrupted mind whispered.
Even the Yan Clan Patriarch, whose heart had long been hardened by years of cultivation, felt a tremor within his soul. The desires he had buried decades ago now stirred violently under the weight of her beauty.
The fairy walked through them as though through an illusion. Men instinctively parted to make way, eyes wide, hearts racing, yet she gave them no glance — not even the smallest acknowledgment. Her focus was elsewhere.
She passed the first prince and the Yan Patriarch without pause, each step deliberate, each motion perfectly calm. The light snow swirled around her in admiration, glinting against the sunlight as she made her way toward the wounded king lying amidst his loyal guards.
The first prince clenched his fists. His teeth ground audibly as envy coiled through him like venom. How dare she ignore him — him, the soon-to-be ruler of this kingdom?
Unable to bear it, he rushed forward, forcing himself into her path. "D–Dear Goddess!" he called, voice shaking with a mixture of greed and awe. "Why have you descended to our humble kingdom? Is there… is there something this lowly prince can do for you?"
He bowed, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest. But his eyes — those hungry, feverish eyes — betrayed his reverence.
All around them, the world seemed to hold its breath. The king's remaining soldiers watched, uncertain whether to fear or worship.
The fairy finally stopped walking.
The sunlight dimmed. The air dropped to freezing.
The warmth that had accompanied her vanished in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming, absolute cold.
The men who had dared to breathe in her presence suddenly found their lungs refusing to move.
And the first prince… realized, too late, that he had just spoken to something far beyond mortal comprehension.
The prince's syrupy flattery rolled on like cheap incense, but the veiled fairy did not so much as glance his way. She walked past him, slow and deliberate, her footsteps stirring the halo of snowflakes at her heels.
Undeterred, the prince lunged forward again, face flushed with desperation. "My lady—your beauty graces this humble court! Name it and I shall do it. Anything, anything you desire—" He spread his arms, throat trembling with false humility. "You are a flower unmatched by any other—"
She stopped, at last, and looked down at him.
Her voice was a cold bell, clear and final. "You're in my way."
The words struck him silent. His extravagant compliments collapsed like brittle glass. He swallowed, spluttered, tried to recover with more obsequious words—but she merely stepped around him as if he were a fallen leaf. Humiliation flamed across his face; fury followed close behind.
The Yan Patriarch watched the scene with a thin, cruel smile. He dismounted and approached with practiced politeness, cupping his hands. "Beautiful one," he intoned, "I am the Patriarch of the Yan Clan—head of the kingdom's strongest house. Allow my family to host you in our manor. Any wish, any need, and it shall be met."
The fairy did not slow. She continued past him as well, silent and unreadable. The patriarch's polite smile faltered into surprise—then calculation. He had expected deference; instead he found dismissal. To be ignored by such a presence stung like ice.
If she truly had no cultivation to speak of, he thought, then she must be backed by treasure, or secret power beyond our grasp.
If that were true, imprisoning her—or possessing her—might grant him leverage beyond his current standing. He could not openly offend such a force, but a cunning plan formed behind his eyes.
The fairy continued her silent walk, each step light as drifting frost. Wherever she moved, men instinctively parted, unable to bear standing in her path. Even the Yan Patriarch and the first prince—once so haughty—stood rooted and pale, shamed by the weight of her indifference.
The commander of the royal guard, whose duty was to shield his king with his life, hesitated only a heartbeat before stepping aside as well. His instincts screamed not of danger, but reverence.
The king, still kneeling, could only stare as she approached. The mixture of warmth and frost that surrounded her blanketed the courtyard, snow now falling in earnest though the sun still hung in a blue sky.
When she stopped before him, her silver eyes softened slightly.
"Are you the ruler of this kingdom?" she asked, her voice gentle yet echoing with a cold authority that resonated through bone and spirit alike.
The king's lips parted. "Ye…s…" The word stumbled out, half-breath, half prayer.
The fairy inclined her head with effortless grace and cupped her hands together in formal respect. "Then forgive my intrusion," she said. "I have watched from above. I did not intend to interfere." Her tone, though distant, carried sincerity. "I came for a single wish."
For a being of such impossible beauty and presence to bow—even slightly—before him was beyond comprehension. The king blinked, struggling to find his voice. "Wh–what… kind of wish could one such as you seek from us?"
Before the fairy could answer, a too-familiar voice slithered through the silence.
"Beautiful fairy," the first prince said, forcing a charming smile. "Whatever you desire, I can fulfill. I would cross the seven seas, dive into the flames of purgatory itself, if only you—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
The air changed.
The warmth that had filled the courtyard vanished. The sunlight dimmed as if swallowed by storm clouds. A chilling stillness fell, sharp as the edge of a blade.
The prince's voice failed him completely, breath freezing in his throat. His body locked as the fairy's gaze turned upon him — not fully, but merely from the corner of her eye.
That single glance was enough to drain the color from his face. The weight of it crushed him, made his knees tremble.
"Keep your mouth shut."
The words were soft, almost tender — yet each syllable struck with the weight of divine judgment.
Frost rippled outward from where she stood. The ground around her shimmered with thin webs of ice. Those who had lingered too near instinctively staggered back, clutching their chests as though their hearts had been gripped by unseen hands.
Even the Yan Patriarch, who moments ago had dreamed of capturing her, retreated several steps, his breath frosting in the air. For the first time, true fear entered his eyes.
The fairy turned her gaze back toward the king, her expression calm once more. The cold receded slightly, though the echo of it lingered in the hearts of all who had witnessed that transformation.
"This fairy… whatever she is…" the Yan Patriarch muttered under his breath, his composure cracking as sweat beaded across his forehead. "That aura — not even I can withstand it. Is she an Earth Profound Realm as well? No… higher… far higher…"
His pupils constricted as the truth dawned on him.
Don't tell me… she's from the Inner Lands…
A wave of dread coursed through him. He might be revered as the strongest man in this remote kingdom, but compared to cultivators from the Inner Lands, his power was nothing more than a candle in the face of a storm. If this fairy truly hailed from there — if she sided with the king — then every life under his command was already forfeit.
The fairy exhaled softly, her voice drifting like a melody woven from frost and wind. "Can you tell me the direction to the Blue Wind Empire's vanguard city — Gao Ling City?"
The question, so gentle and simple, fell upon the devastated courtyard like a whisper of snow.
The king blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "G–Gao Ling City?" he repeated, almost dazed by the sound of her voice.
She nodded once, her movements measured, eyes calm. "I wish to meet someone there."
For a moment, he could only stare, unable to fathom why such a heavenly being would need directions from mortal men. He found his words again and bowed low, careful not to offend. "I would gladly help you, my lady, but… under these circumstances…" He gestured weakly toward the battlefield, the bloodied soldiers, the smoldering ruins. "…it may not be possible for now."
Then, despite the pain that wracked his body, the king straightened and bowed again — this time deeper, his forehead nearly brushing the frozen stone.
"Fair maiden," he said, voice trembling not from fear, but reverence, "this lowly king is caught in a struggle for the throne — a calamity born from my brother's betrayal. I no longer have the power to protect my own people. But if you would lend me your aid, even for a single moment, I would dedicate all that remains of this life to your wish. Please…" His voice broke. "Please, help me quell this disaster. And this king will do anything to honor your grace."
The fairy turned slightly, her veil fluttering as her silver gaze swept over the scene.
Men ringed the courtyard, weapons trembling in their hands. The bodies of the fallen Protectors lay still amid the rubble, their sacrifice now little more than ash in the wind. The Yan Patriarch stood rigid, wary, measuring her every movement.
It was all clear now.
She had watched from above before descending — uncertain whether she should involve herself in mortal conflict. Her purpose had been simple: to ask directions in a distant land she did not know. But now, the truth before her was unmistakable.
This was no simple kingdom at peace. This was a realm consumed by betrayal — a ruler besieged by his own blood, a loyal guard dying for honor, and a tyrant reveling in cruelty.
And among them all, the king — broken, bleeding, still bowing with sincerity — had asked not for riches or revenge… but for salvation.
Her silver eyes softened behind the veil. The snow thickened. The temperature dropped further, the air trembling faintly with spiritual energy.
It seemed the heavens themselves were listening.
She hesitated.
Part of her wanted to turn away — to let these mortals settle their own squabbles. This was not her concern. She had only descended to ask a simple question, not to stain her hands with their foolishness.
But as she turned, her steps faltered.
A quiet thought whispered through her mind:
What would he do in this situation?
Her breath caught.
If it had been before — if she were still the same cold, detached person she once was — she would have ignored all of this. She would have asked for directions and departed without a second glance.
Yet the memory of him came unbidden: a swordsman who had once saved her from despair, though she was nothing to him. He could have walked away. It wasn't his battle. It wasn't his duty.
But he stayed. He fought.
And he saved her.
That same man, with his calm voice and unshakable resolve, had told her once that power means nothing if you never use it to protect something.
The faintest blush touched her cheeks beneath the veil — a warmth that bloomed through the frost like the first flower of spring. The air around her seemed to shimmer brighter, her aura growing more divine, more terrifyingly beautiful.
The men watching from the sides couldn't breathe. Their throats went dry as the temperature dropped, their hearts pounding in dread. Even her faint blush carried enough charm to steal reason from their minds.
She exhaled softly, the corner of her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile behind the veil. Then, in a tone as casual as it was chilling, she whispered words that made every soul in the courtyard tremble. The words that only he would say.
"I suppose… I might as well kill some time."
The sentence was light — almost playful — but the moment it left her lips, the world itself seemed to freeze.
The snow that drifted lazily before now halted midair. The wind ceased. Even sound seemed to retreat from her presence.
The soldiers on both sides swallowed hard, their hands shaking uncontrollably as they tightened their grips on their weapons.
Kill some time?
No one dared to move.
The first prince's face went pale as realization struck him — she wasn't leaving. She was choosing a side.
"F–Fair lady, wait—this…" he stammered, unable to finish. His voice quivered, his arrogance gone, replaced by panic. His gaze darted to his younger brother, now kneeling beneath her shadow, and jealousy flared once more in his chest.
Why him? he thought bitterly. Why does she stand with him, just because he offered her directions?
But it didn't matter. He could feel it — her decision had already been made.
And the silent promise behind her calm words carried a weight that even the Yan Patriarch could sense:
Someone here… was about to die.
The Yan Patriarch's breath caught in his throat. His instincts screamed danger, but his pride — and fear of losing face — forced his tongue to move.
"Fair maiden," he said, voice cracking slightly despite his attempt at dignity, "this is not your affair. This is a matter between the Yan Family and the royal house. Outsiders cannot interfere. Leave now, before you bring ruin upon yourself."
The veiled fairy didn't even blink.
Her aura, calm until now, pulsed once — soft, almost imperceptible — yet the temperature of the courtyard dropped instantly. Frost crept across shattered tiles and corpses alike.
"If I ask the king for a favor," she said, voice cold enough to still the blood in their veins, "then a favor I shall owe him."
Her words carried no anger, no emotion — only inevitability.
The Patriarch's pride twisted into anger. "Then do not blame this old man for teaching a foolish maiden to stay out of matters beyond her reach!"
With a flash, he leapt onto the palace gateway, his golden aura flaring with full might. The sky itself seemed to recoil. His robe billowed wildly as he pointed a single finger toward her.
Once again, that same golden finger silhouette blazed to life behind him, vast and radiant. Its power split the clouds, humming with destructive energy. Even the king, standing behind the fairy, felt his legs weaken at the familiar sight — the same technique that had crushed his Imperial Protectors moments ago.
The colossal golden finger descended — a mountain of light and power falling from the heavens.
The fairy didn't move.
She only sighed.
A small, almost weary exhale, as if disappointed by the spectacle before her.
Then she raised one delicate hand and made a casual motion — a soft wave, like brushing away a strand of hair.
The effect was immediate.
The golden finger slowed.
Then stopped.
Just inches from her face.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. The Patriarch froze midair, his expression warping from confidence to disbelief.
And then the sound began.
Crack.
Tiny fractures spread like lightning through the glowing construct.
Crack… crack… crack…
The golden light dimmed, veins of frost crawling across its surface — white, crystalline, beautiful — devouring the energy from within. The finger shuddered once, then shattered completely.
BOOM!
Fragments of frozen gold cascaded through the air, glimmering like dying stars before disintegrating into harmless dust.
Every man in the courtyard stood frozen, mouths agape, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.
The Yan Clan's strongest technique — a power that had defeated five Earth Profound Realm cultivators in one strike — had been undone with a sigh and a gesture.
The fairy lowered her hand gracefully, her expression unchanged, as though she had merely brushed away a stray leaf.
The Patriarch staggered backward on the palace gate, his aura flickering in shock. His body trembled as cold sweat trickled down his brow.
He could no longer sense the depth of her strength — only the boundless, suffocating truth that stood before him.
He had not angered a mortal.
He had angered something far, far greater.
The courtyard fell silent.
All eyes were on her — the woman who had just erased the kingdom's most feared technique as though it were a passing breeze.
She tilted her head slightly, her silver eyes narrowing with faint disappointment."Is that it?"
Her voice was calm. Almost bored.
The words sliced deeper than any blade.
The Yan Patriarch staggered back, his composure shattering. "Y–You… You're from the Inner Lands, aren't you?!"
The words hit like thunder. The royal soldiers and Yan clansmen alike froze mid-breath.
Inner Lands…
Whispers rippled through the ranks, spreading like wildfire.
If she truly came from there… then she was a being beyond their comprehension. Someone who walked among Thrones, Overlords, even Monarchs — cultivators whose power could crush entire kingdoms with a flick of their hand.
They all understood the same, terrible truth — offending such a person meant not just death, but annihilation.
The fairy, however, blinked once in quiet confusion.
"Inner Lands?" she murmured inwardly. "What in the world is that?"
The term was unfamiliar. Her sect had never used it — perhaps this land had its own way of dividing realms of strength. She didn't dwell on it long. It mattered little.
The Yan Patriarch's lips trembled. His heart screamed that he had just committed the gravest mistake of his life. He thought her a solitary wanderer, perhaps even a minor noble. But now… now he saw the truth.
He had struck at a celestial.
He turned instantly toward the first prince, panic overtaking all sense of pride. "First Prince! I agreed to fight the royal family — but not this! This is madness!"
"What are you saying?!" the prince shouted, desperate. "We had a deal! You can't just walk away now!"
"I don't want to die here!" the Patriarch roared, his voice trembling. "I will not fight that kind of power!"
He spun on his heel to flee — but never made it two steps.
A sound like cracking glass filled the air.
The Patriarch froze mid-motion.
Literally.
Frost burst from beneath his feet, spreading in jagged veins of crystal across the ground and up his legs. He let out a strangled scream as the ice raced upward, devouring flesh and bone alike.
"NO! NO—PLEASE!! I JUST—just attained this power! I can't— I can't die like this! Spare me! I beg you!"
The plea barely left his lips before the ice reached his chest… his throat… his face.
Silence.
In seconds, the mighty Patriarch of the Yan Clan stood frozen — a flawless sculpture of despair, encased in glittering blue ice that shimmered like diamond in the sun.
The sound of his final breath lingered for only a moment… then faded completely.
The courtyard was still.
Weapons clattered to the ground as the remaining men — both royal and rebel — dropped to their knees in terror. The first prince's face drained of all color as he stared at the frozen figure of his greatest ally.
Even the king, though spared by her favor, could barely breathe in her presence.
The fairy lowered her hand — the same hand that had undone a life with a single thought — and turned her gaze toward the prince.
Her tone was soft. Cold. Absolute.
"Would you like to join him?"
The prince fell to his knees instantly, trembling so violently that he could barely form words.
"Is this… the power of the Inner Lands?"
The king's thoughts trembled as he stared at the veiled fairy. The shards of ice that were once the Yan Patriarch sparkled in the sunlight like fragments of glass — proof that with a mere flick of her hand, she had ended the mightiest man in his kingdom.
A being beyond comprehension stood before him.
A celestial in mortal form.
The first prince, still on his knees, could only grind his teeth in despair. His hands clawed at the frozen earth as bitterness consumed him.
"Why… why her? Why did this woman come from nowhere to save him?" he hissed, voice cracking between rage and madness. "It's always him! The younger one! I'm the eldest! She should help me, not him… WHY?!?!"
His voice echoed through the silent courtyard, pitiful and shrill.
The fairy did not even glance at him. Her aura — calm yet vast — stirred once more, and the wind around her shifted.
The frozen statue of the Yan Patriarch, still standing in eerie perfection atop the gate, began to tremble.
A single breeze was all it took.
SMASH!!!
The sculpture shattered into glittering dust, scattering across the courtyard like thousands of tiny stars before vanishing into the air.
The Yan Clan's legacy — their pride, their power, their patriarch — was gone in an instant.
What remained of his followers broke immediately. Their weapons fell from trembling hands, clattering onto the icy stone. One by one, they collapsed to their knees before her.
"Please, spare our lowly lives!"
"We were only following orders!"
"We never wished for this! Have mercy!"
Their voices overlapped, desperate, choking with terror.
But the fairy merely stood there — her silver eyes half-lidded, veil unmoving, expression unreadable.
She had seen such scenes countless times before. The weak always begged for mercy when strength abandoned them. Their loyalty melted faster than snow in the sun.
The sight brought a cold weight to her chest — not anger, but disappointment.
There was nothing to be gained from slaughtering insects.
Her gaze turned toward the king, who was still standing behind her in stunned reverence. With a quiet grace, she lowered her hand.
"They are no longer mine to deal with," she said softly, her voice like falling snow. "They belong to your judgment now."
At her words, a wave of relief and awe swept through the king's soldiers.
The fairy stepped aside, her presence parting the frozen mist that lingered in the air. Even as she withdrew, her aura lingered like a whisper of divinity — the scent of winter and sanctity intertwined.
The king bowed low, trembling, unsure whether to speak or even breathe.
For he now understood one thing beyond doubt —
This woman was not merely from another land.
She was from another world.
When the storm of battle finally settled, silence fell over the ruined courtyard. The snow still drifted gently in the air — soft, peaceful, and eerily at odds with the destruction below.
The king, his golden robes stained with blood and soot, took slow, measured steps toward his kneeling brother. The man who had once shared his childhood dreams now knelt as a trembling shadow of ambition and envy.
"Give yourself up, brother," the king said quietly. His voice carried neither hatred nor triumph, only weary sorrow. "There is nothing left to gain from this pointless fight."
The first prince glared up at him through eyes wild with desperation. His lips curled into a trembling snarl. "Nothing to gain?!" he spat, voice breaking. "If I am to die here, then I'll take you with me!!!"
With a roar, he lunged forward — but the world froze before he could take a single step.
Literally.
A gust of frost swept through the courtyard, wrapping around him like invisible chains. His momentum halted mid-leap. Crystals of ice spread across his limbs, crawling faster than thought.
"Wha—!?"
The words never left his mouth.
In the blink of an eye, the first prince was encased in shimmering blue ice, frozen in a twisted expression of fury. A moment later, gravity reclaimed him.
SMASH!
The frozen statue shattered upon the stone steps, scattering shards of ice across the courtyard — fragments of what once was a man driven by envy.
The king could only stand in silence. His heart clenched as he gazed upon the remains of the brother he had once loved. He exhaled a long, tired sigh.
"It seems… there was no other way," he murmured.
Though he hadn't lifted a hand, the weight of that death fell upon him all the same. But he understood — it was justice. The fairy had merely acted before tragedy could strike again.
He composed himself, then turned toward the veiled woman who still stood serenely amidst the falling snow. Her presence alone seemed to calm the chaos that lingered in the air.
The king cupped his hands respectfully and bowed deeply. "This lowly king offers his deepest gratitude. Were it not for your divine intervention, my family… my people… would have perished beneath the hands of traitors."
The fairy inclined her head slightly, her silver eyes half-lidded. "I have had my fun," she said, her tone quiet but absolute. "Now, I wish to leave. But… it would be wise for you to uphold your end of the bargain."
Her voice, though soft, left no room for refusal.
The king immediately straightened. "Ah—yes, of course! At once!"
He turned to his trembling adviser, who scrambled to his feet. "Bring me the imperial map — the one that marks the Empire's borders and trade routes!"
"At once, Your Majesty!" the adviser said, bowing hurriedly before rushing inside.
Meanwhile, the king barked additional orders to his remaining officers. "Tend to the wounded. Gather the bodies of our loyal men and prepare the rites. As for the remnants of the Yan Clan…" He paused, his tone growing firm. "…spare their lives. Let them serve to rebuild what they helped destroy."
The soldiers saluted. "Yes, Your Majesty!"
The king turned back toward the fairy, awe still glimmering faintly in his eyes. "You have my word," he said earnestly. "Before the sun sets, I will ensure you have what you seek."
The fairy gave a simple nod, her expression unreadable behind her veil. Snow swirled gently around her as she stood silent — a being out of place in their mortal world, her beauty still untouchable, her calm presence like winter's final breath.
For a moment, even the wounded forgot their pain. They simply watched her — the one who had turned calamity into silence — and knew that they would speak of this day for generations.
As one of his men hurried into the palace to fetch the map, the king turned once more toward the fairy, still standing amid the swirling snow.
"Fair lady," he said, bowing deeply, "this king humbly invites you to rest within the palace as our honored guest. It would bring us great honor to host the one who saved our realm."
The veiled fairy shook her head gently, her silver hair brushing against the edge of her robe. "There is no need for such ceremony," she replied, her tone calm but distant. "I only wished to know the way to the city. I am in haste."
Her words were soft, but they left no room for persuasion.
Moments later, the soldier returned, panting, and handed the king an aged parchment inked with the empire's borders and routes. The king accepted it and unfolded the map, his fingers trembling slightly as he pointed toward the eastern expanse.
"Yes… based on this chart, the city you seek lies in this direction." He traced the route with care. "If you travel by horse or carriage, it would take at least a month to reach Gao Ling City. Allow me to prepare a royal carriage and escorts for your journey."
The fairy's silver eyes flickered in surprise behind the veil. A month…? She hadn't realized how far she had been sent astray. Even with her cultivation, time would not wait. Would she still find him if she arrived too late?
Her gaze lowered briefly. Then she exhaled, steadying her heart. "I require no such thing," she said softly. "You have already fulfilled your part. My gratitude, Your Majesty."
She cupped her delicate hands in a graceful bow before stepping lightly into the air. Frost and snow rose with her as she ascended, her form surrounded by a faint halo of glimmering light.
Without another word, she soared upward — her figure growing smaller against the sky until she vanished beyond the mountains. The lingering aura she left behind was both cold and warm, carrying the scent of snow and serenity through the ruined courtyard.
The king and his men stood frozen in awe, watching as the divine silhouette faded into the heavens. For a long time, no one spoke. Then, almost as one, they dropped to their knees and bowed deeply toward the mountains.
"May the heavens bless the fairy of snow and salvation," the king whispered.
Though she asked for nothing, she had given them everything.
In the days that followed, the king ordered the finest artisans to capture her likeness — the veiled maiden who descended from the heavens to save a kingdom doomed to fall. Yet no painting, no sculpture, no dream could ever match the memory burned into his mind.
Her ethereal grace. Her quiet strength. The mingling of warmth and frost in her voice.
He often found himself standing in the palace courtyard, gazing toward the distant peaks where she had vanished.
And each time, he whispered the same words beneath his breath — a quiet prayer of gratitude, and a lingering question he would never answer:
Who was she… and who was the one she sought?
===================
The cold wind whispered softly above the clouds as a lone figure soared through the sky, her robes rippling like silk in moonlight.
After a while, she slowed and hovered amidst the endless blue, the world beneath hidden by waves of mist. With a quiet motion, she reached up and loosened the veil that concealed her face.
The fabric slipped away, revealing the serene, breathtaking beauty of Chu Yueli, the Fairy of Frozen Glass of the Frozen Cloud Asgard — the same woman once rescued from the collapsing tomb of the Empire's first ruler.
For a long moment, she simply breathed. The wind brushed her hair — silver-blue under the sun — and for the first time in days, her heart felt unburdened.
"I don't even know how to gauge my own strength…" she murmured.
She raised her hand, letting her profound energy flow. The air around her shimmered with cold radiance — the sheer pressure of her Grand Perfection Emperor Profound Realm aura rippling outward like a tide.
Even she blinked in surprise.
Back in the kingdom, she had meant only to restrain the Yan Patriarch and the prince… yet her energy had frozen them solid before she even realized it.
Mihawk was right, she thought quietly. I may have the strength — but I still lack the control.
She exhaled, her breath forming a delicate frost that drifted across the air. "It's a good thing I didn't freeze the king and his men as well…"
A faint smile curved her lips — soft, wistful.
Her thoughts then turned homeward, and the smile faded. "If I return to Asgard like this, Mother would pry the truth from me no matter what I say. And if she learns about… him..." She sighed. "That would only bring more trouble."
She needed a way to hide her cultivation — to walk unnoticed again.
As she pondered, a faint glimmer caught her eye.
Her gaze dropped to the flowery silver ring on her right hand — the one he had given her before he pushed her into the formation.
Mihawk…
Curiosity stirred within her. She closed her eyes and reached out with her spirit sense, probing gently into the ring's space.
What she found left her speechless.
It wasn't just a spatial ring. It was an entire world.
Vast, boundless — easily dozens of times larger than any high-grade ring she had ever seen. The treasures within gleamed faintly like stars, yet none of them radiated chaos or malice. Everything was neatly arranged, precisely organized… just like him.
Her eyes softened. "So… this is what you left me."
After a few moments of searching, she withdrew a small sapphire bracelet, elegant yet unassuming. The instant she held it, she could sense its faint suppression aura — gentle and refined, much like the diamond necklace her sister once wore.
"This will do."
Sliding the bracelet around her wrist, she felt her energy retract, folding in on itself until her cultivation settled at a comfortable level — that of the Sixth Level of the Sky Profound Realm, her stage of cultivation before the tomb.
The aura around her calmed. The biting frost that once surrounded her melted into a faint, tranquil chill.
Satisfied, she looked toward the eastern horizon, where mountains and light merged into mist.
"Now then…" she whispered, the wind tugging softly at her hair. "Gao Ling City."
Her silver eyes flickered — a mix of determination and quiet longing.
Even if she found nothing… even if the swordsman named Mihawk had already gone far beyond her reach…
She needed to know.
She needed to see for herself what had become of him — the man who had given her strength, warmth… and the memory that still lingered in her heart.
With that thought, Chu Yueli drew a deep breath, gathered her profound energy, and soared eastward.
The clouds parted before her flight, and for a brief moment, sunlight broke through the sky — reflecting off her form like a celestial arc, a streak of silver vanishing into the horizon.