The door slid open with a thunderous slap—"MASTER!!"Durandal and Arhatam burst in like a pair of startled boars, eyes red, tears streaming down their faces.
For a heartbeat, the room froze.
Masha's form—half-draped in shadow, the faint shimmer of her pale skin glowing under the lantern light—was instantly swallowed by darkness as if the shadows themselves rushed to obey her command. Her expression twisted for a single flicker, a glint of disappointment flashing across her amber eyes before she masked it beneath a calm, sharp exhale.
Her aura cooled like winter. Her presence became still, serene, yet the air thickened with silent fury.
Durandal froze mid-sob, Arhatam's hiccup died in his throat. The two exchanged terrified glances, their feet glued to the floor.
Masha turned slowly, her tone smooth and icy."…You two," she said, her voice deceptively calm, "have the worst timing I've seen in a century."
The weight of her glare nearly made the torches flicker. She brushed past them, shadows peeling off her like mist, and paused at the doorway without looking back."Rest, Lord Kazel," she said softly, her voice returning to its melodic warmth. "You'll need it."
Then she left—leaving the scent of cold rain and the echo of restrained wrath lingering in the air.
Durandal and Arhatam stood stiff for a long, painful second before Durandal sniffled, "Uh… was that the Grandmaster?"Kazel just groaned, rubbing his temple. "…You two… are so dead."
---
The morning mist still clung to The Fang like a fading ghost of the storm, curling along rooftops and drifting through the narrow streets. The city was slow to wake — merchants sweeping rainwater from their stalls, the scent of wet stone and ash still hanging in the air. The carcass of the Blue Phoenix remained in the center of the trade avenue, a massive monument of defeat and power. Its feathers had lost their luster, dulled from the rain, but every once in a while, a faint flicker of frost still danced between them, like the soul refusing to fade.
Then came them.
A distant tremor echoed through the ground — not an earthquake, but the rhythmic pounding of hooves. Dozens, maybe more. The rumble grew louder until even the birds fled from the roofs. Then the first crimson banner appeared from the main gate, its fabric glinting gold at the edges, adorned with the sigil of a blazing phoenix tearing through the clouds.
The envoy of the Crimson Phoenix Sect had arrived.
They rode in formation, their spirit steeds adorned with jeweled harnesses and bronze armor that gleamed despite the dim light. The horses' breath steamed in the cold morning air, their hooves splashing through puddles like drumbeats of war. Behind them trailed several ornate carriages, each carrying an elder — the proud, the powerful, the untouchable.
When they entered the city, the silence was immediate. Commoners moved aside like waves parting before a ship. The usual bustle of The Fang froze under their collective aura. The merchants who dared whisper did so with trembling lips, glancing at one another as though any sound might invite wrath.
At the forefront walked Elder Ruan — a man draped in red silk lined with phoenix feathers, his long beard reaching his chest. His eyes burned faintly, like embers refusing to die. In his right hand, he held a fan crafted from the bones of a fire serpent, opening it with a sharp snap that cut through the still air.
"So this is it," he said, voice deep and coarse. "The carcass of the Blue Phoenix… our sect's sacred kin, our lineage's pride." His tone turned bitter. "Left to rot in the street like some common beast. What a disgrace."
Another elder, slender and younger, stepped forward beside him. His robes shimmered faintly with spiritual heat. "Elder Ruan, this cannot stand. The soul of the beast remains untouched — unclaimed. To leave it here is to mock our sect's name. We must take it back."
"Indeed," Ruan said, folding his fan with a flick. "It shall be escorted back to the Crimson Phoenix Sect, where it belongs. No one here has the right to its soul. Not the merchants, not the stray sects, not even that—" He paused, his lip curling. "That Immortal Sect they whisper of."
Gasps rose from the bystanders. Some exchanged wary glances. Others simply lowered their heads, pretending not to hear.
A third elder — a woman with fiery eyes and streaks of silver in her crimson hair — gave a cold laugh. "Let them whisper all they want. The weak cannot hold the treasures of the heavens. If this city burns for defying us, so be it."
Her words sent a shiver down the street.
Through the rolling thunder of hooves and the searing aura of the Crimson Phoenix entourage, a different presence descended — quieter, yet sharper than any blade among them.
From the western archway of The Fang came Elder Juni of the Heavenless Bow Sect. She did not arrive with fanfare, nor with banners or guards. Her approach was carried by wind — cold, clean, and cutting. Her white robe bore faint frost patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim light, and her silver bow was slung diagonally across her back, wrapped in pale cloth.
Where the Crimson Phoenix elders made the earth tremble, Juni's presence made the world still.
Those who recognized her stepped aside instinctively. She was no ordinary elder — she was one of the three who had helped bring down the Blue Phoenix Beast, before Kazel himself delivered the final strike that ended the creature's grandmaster soul.
Her boots made no sound against the soaked stone. Only when she stopped before the beast's corpse did she speak, her voice calm yet carrying effortlessly through the square.
"So it begins," she said, eyes narrowing at the Crimson Phoenix elders. "The scavengers come before the blood has even dried."
Elder Ruan turned, his fan half-open. His expression twisted between recognition and annoyance. "Ah, the Heavenless Bow's wandering shadow. I had wondered if the scent of death would draw you out as well."
Juni's lips twitched faintly — not a smile, not yet. "You talk too much for someone standing over another sect's kill."
Gasps rippled again through the gathered crowd. The air thickened — the faint hum of suppressed aura prickled against skin.
Elder Ruan's fan snapped shut with a sharp clack. "Watch your tongue, archer. That beast's lineage belongs to us. It was born of the Crimson Phoenix flame — and by right, it returns to us."
Juni tilted her head slightly, her eyes gleaming with frost. "By right? I don't recall your sect lifting a finger when its claws tore through our lines. Nor when it burned three of my disciples alive. The ones who bled, who broke, who aimed their bows through fire — they were Heavenless Bow."
She stepped closer. "And the one who ended its suffering — who burned its spirit to ash — was not you."
At that, the crowd murmured louder. Even the envoys behind Ruan shifted uneasily.
Elder Mei — the silver-haired woman from the Crimson Phoenix trio — let out a low, mocking laugh. "Ah, yes. That boy. The one with blue eyes and arrogance fit for a corpse. I heard he's been gathering strays under some 'Immortal Sect.'" She smirked. "How poetic. Perhaps we should pay him a visit after we take what's ours."
Juni's gaze darkened — but she said nothing. Instead, she turned her eyes toward the balcony where Kazel stood, his blue eyes faintly glimmering through the mist.
Their gazes met across the distance.
The wind shifted again — this time, carrying a scent like crushed petals and old wine.
Before Elder Ruan could retort, the air grew heavier, thicker, filled with a pressure that even the Crimson Phoenix entourage couldn't ignore. A calm, honeyed laugh echoed across the street, low and slow — like someone who had seen far too much to be impressed by the proud elders of a distant sect.
From the southern street, Liodra strode in, her long amethyst robes fluttering with every step. The black sleeves hugged her arms, outlining sinewy muscle that spoke of brutal precision. Her violet hair flowed down her back, untamed but regal. At her hip swung the ever-present gourd, clinking faintly with each step.
Beside her walked Yasha, biting on a fresh petal, eyes half-lidded yet sharp enough to slice through any illusion of superiority. And behind them — a formation of female cultivators followed, each emanating an aura that distorted the very air around them. The ground seemed to vibrate faintly as they moved, though their expressions were serene.
Together, they painted a picture of elegance and quiet dread — the unmistakable Five Ladies Sect.
"Oh, what a morning," Liodra drawled as she stopped beside Juni, glancing toward the massive corpse of the Blue Phoenix. "The streets still smell like burnt feathers and arrogance."
Yasha smirked, a petal shifting in her mouth. "And guess what's back to rot first."
Elder Ruan's fan trembled in his hand. "The Five Ladies Sect too?" His voice wavered with restrained irritation. "This is not your affair, Lady Liodra."
"Not our affair?" Liodra lifted her brow lazily, tapping her gourd. "You bring your fiery parade into our trade city, claiming corpses that aren't yours, and call it not our affair?" She looked over her shoulder, her eyes cutting through the crowd of her followers. "Girls, what do you think?"
A dozen smirks, a dozen sharp gazes — each woman's spirit energy pulsed briefly, cracking the stone beneath their feet.
Yasha's voice was soft, but her tone dripped venom. "I think the Crimson Phoenix should learn to bow their heads when they enter another's home."
Juni crossed her arms, her gaze flicking to Liodra and Yasha. "Took you two long enough."
"Had to look pretty for the party," Liodra said with a wink.
Then, without warning, the heat in the air shifted.
From beyond the parted crowd, a single crimson feather floated down — not from the dead beast, but from the embroidered cloak of the man who approached. His steps were measured, his expression unreadable, but his presence alone made even the boldest cultivators quiet their breath.
Ashborn, Prince of the Crimson Phoenix Sect, had arrived.
The murmur of the crowd turned to whispers, and then — silence. Every sect disciple, every mercenary, every watcher on the rooftops turned to him. His crimson hair flowed freely like liquid fire, a streak of gold woven through it catching the morning sun. His eyes, sharp as polished rubies, carried both warmth and command — the kind that needed no words to assert dominance.
The Crimson Phoenix elders stiffened immediately. Some bowed halfway, others exchanged panicked glances. Their brows furrowed in confusion — they hadn't expected the prince himself. Elder Ruan, however, was quick to act.
"Your Highness Ashborn!" Ruan said, voice loud and clear, spreading his fan with a flourish. "What a glorious surprise! With your arrival, I believe the matters of this wild city will now be handled with order!"
Liodra clicked her tongue, muttering to Yasha, "He's trying to spin a leash around the prince's neck."
Yasha smirked lazily. "A bold move. Let's see if he lives through it."
Ruan continued, stepping forward as though Ashborn's presence granted him more ground. "The Blue Phoenix — once a mighty spirit beast — fell upon our territory, under the heavens watched by all. The Crimson Phoenix Sect cannot allow such a divine soul to go astray. Surely, Your Highness agrees that the phoenix should return to its rightful lineage."
He turned to the crowd, arms outstretched, voice booming. "Behold! The Prince himself has come to bring divine order!"
A murmur of awe and apprehension rippled through the gathered cultivators.
But Ashborn didn't immediately answer. His gaze traveled — past Ruan, past Liodra and Yasha, past the crowd — until it landed on Kazel.
Their eyes met. A long silence stretched between them, a mutual recognition without a single word exchanged.
Then Ashborn's calm voice broke the tension.
"No."
The word dropped like thunder.
"I will not claim the phoenix."
The entire street froze.
Even the wind hesitated.
"What—?! Your Highness—!" Elder Ruan stumbled forward, his fan trembling in his hand. "Surely you jest! This spirit is of your bloodline! Its essence—its flames—belong to the Crimson Phoenix! It's our legacy!"
Ashborn's gaze shifted to him, and for a moment, Ruan's voice cracked into silence. There was no anger in the prince's eyes, only authority — quiet, heavy, and absolute.
"I came not to claim," Ashborn said, his tone even. "I came to witness."
"Then witness well."
The voice was clear, cutting across the square, familiar to the few who had fought on the front lines.
Ashborn's brow raised slightly. His gaze, along with every other head, snapped from the balcony. A shadow vaulted through the mist-filled air.
With impossible lightness, a silhouette landed directly on the massive, feathered head of the Blue Phoenix.
He stood above them all, looking down on the four factions from his blue eyes. And on his face was the challenging, dangerous smirk of a youth who had just laid claim to a legendary beast