The valley's air quivered, suffused with dread, even before the Ancient Crypt's final arches collapsed. Ruins disintegrated into golden ash that danced upon a spectral wind, drifting upward, as if the very memory of that place sought to flee existence. Below, cultivators stood petrified—eyes wide, hearts stilled—centuries of myth evaporating into motes of light.
But silence was not permitted for long.
A violent roar rent the sky as thunder gripped the earth. Two sects manifested in tandem: the Dragon Vein Sect and the Heavenly Sword Sect. Their arrival was not subtle—it cleft the lingering mist as though a celestial blade had sliced through silk.
A resounding KRAK‑BOOM echoed as the ground convulsed. Dragon Vein's senior cultivators commanded the terrain: vines writhed like serpents, uprooting trees and bending roots until the valley floor rearranged itself into a smooth, paved thoroughfare. Senior Chao, at the vanguard, surveyed with narrowed gaze the obedient landscape, each leaf trembling in deference.
Behind them, the Heavenly Sword disciples moved like shadows given form: quiet, swift, lethal. Their sword qi hummed—a fine, deadly vibration—and it severed the escape of beasts that had fled Li Wei's mount. Smoke curled from charred remains. The air tasted of burnt sinew and ozone.
At their center stood Patriarch Wu—Wu Kuan by name—his emerald eyes hidden beneath the rim of a bamboo‑canopied hat. His luminous moonstone‑lined robes glowed with an eerie luminescence even in daylight, casting spectral light upon his cragged countenance.
"We have at last arrived," he intoned, his voice rough as grinding stone. "But our vigilance hath been in vain. Outsiders have defiled these hallowed grounds."
He swept his gaze over the assembly, and a weight of qi descended like a mountain's shadow. "You were prudent not to enter. But mark me—where are the ruin‑bringers who dared to breach the seal?"
A voice broke that stillness, dry as autumn leaves: it drifted down from a jagged outcrop above. An old man, perched amid shattered stone, glowered at the crowd. His eyes—though blind—seemed fixed upon every face. Vines wound through his silvery beard; his purple silk robes bore golden engravings laced and slithering as though alive.
"Patriarch Wu," came the measured rumble, "temper thy ire. The ignorant rush to their doom as moth to flame. Why waste breath on corpses long since tumbled to dust?" It was Tao Hong of the Dragon Vein Sect.
Wu Kuan's jaw tightened. "Silence, aged harbinger. Decades were spent erecting those restrictions. That some insolent wretch should sunder them is an insult to the blood that consecrated this land!"
Murmurs wound through the onlookers, as memories of legends stirred: warriors who had entered, never to emerge; souls broken by horrors beyond mortal ken. The seal had been placed to halt that tide of suffering. And now—it was undone.
Suddenly, a young Dragon Vein disciple pointed skyward, voice quavering. "What in the heavens—?!"
All eyes swiveled upward. The last pillar of the crypt shimmered in spectral aurora, swirling ribbons of celestial color spilling onto the sky. And there—there atop the drifting cloud‑high firmament—stood two figures: Li Wei and Leng Yue, striding as if the world were their garden.
Senior Chao exhaled sharply. Grip tightening around his staff, he hissed, "So it was them!"
Patriarch Wu's emerald orbs flared. "Arrogant wretches! They dare to flaunt their theft before us?!"
Tao Hong, blind-eyed yet amused, replied with cold levity: "And pray, dear Patriarch, how dost thou intend to reach them? Shall we sprout wings and chase the wind?"
Wu Kuan's fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword. But before any riposte could form, the crypt's remnants collapsed entirely. The stone, the hallways, the ancient carvings—all disintegrated into golden motes that dispersed like fireflies into the heavens.
A single, wrenching voice broke the silence: "NO!" A minor‑sect disciple slid to his knees, voice ragged. "The treasures… the legacy… all gone!"
Then Wu Kuan's rage detonated, volcanic. "I SWEAR BY THE BLOOD OF MY ANCESTORS!" His roar rent the valley and sent fleeing birds scattering in panic. "THOSE VAGRANTS WILL PAY FOR THIS TRANSGRESSION! THEIR BONES SHALL BE GROUND TO DUST BENEATH MY BOOT!"
High above, Li Wei's laughter rang out, crystalline and mocking. "Hahahaha! Oh, this is priceless! Observe, Leng Yue! All this pomp, all this posture—and for what? A pile of ash!"
Leng Yue said not a word, yet a faint smirk curved her lips. Her glance swept across the valley, watching the elephant mount transform—yellow sparrow now—as it darted after them with careless grace.
Wu Kuan thundered, sword qi surging in righteous fury: "You think this ends? The Protector of the Northern Provinces shall hunt you across realms!"
Li Wei lazily waved a hand. "How adorable. Tell your so‑called Protector this: should he kneel before me, I might spare his pathetic province."
That insult stung deeper than any blade. Gasps rippled the assembly. Even Tao Hong's posture stiffened. Ba Zi—the formidable Protector of the Northern Provinces—was no legend but a titan in truth. To mock him was folly bordering on damnation.
Yet Li Wei cared naught. His gaze dared the heavens themselves—where reality seemed to ripple as though the firmament were untreated cloth.
He leaned close to Leng Yue, voice low as an arcane whisper: "Come, Leng Yue. The very Heavens shall tremble before we are done."
Then—nothingness. They vanished among the drifting clouds, leaving behind a valley thick with trembling cultivators and a legacy scorched crimson with fury.
Silence unfurled in the wake of their departure. Even the wind hesitated.
Patriarch Wu alone remained motionless, sword raised in suspended fury. His breath billowed through the valley as if heating the air with peril. Around him, the cultivators looked to each other, terror and rage entwined.
Tao Hong lowered his head, vines rustling softly in the hush. "We must prepare," he murmured. "For they have not only taken the relics—they have taken our dignity. And soon, if Ba Zi seeks vengeance, all provinces shall tremble."
Wu Kuan's reply was a single guttural sound—a vow without words, oath without mercy.
This was no mere theft. It was a declaration of war.