The forest road grew quiet after the ambush.
Broken arrows lay scattered across the dirt, some half-buried, others snapped cleanly in two. A few fallen trees bore shallow cuts where blades had struck but failed to bite deep enough. The air still carried the faint scent of blood and frost, mingled with the sharp metallic tang of mana that had yet to fully dissipate.
Sirius stood near the center of the path, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. Around him, the Frost Clan elites moved efficiently, checking the surroundings and confirming that no enemies remained alive to spread word of the failed ambush.
They were disciplined warriors—each movement precise, every decision deliberate. These were not ordinary guards, but cultivators who had survived countless battles in harsh territories. To them, the Lagan Clan's ambush had been little more than a poorly planned provocation.
Lisa Frost sheathed her sword, her chest rising and falling slightly from exertion. Her eyes flicked toward Sirius, curiosity burning within them.
"So… this is what you expected?" she asked quietly.
Sirius nodded. "Not today, perhaps. But it was inevitable."
The Frost Clan commander, a tall man with frost-blue markings etched faintly along his arms, approached and bowed slightly. "Young Master Sirius, the attackers bore the insignia of the Lagan Clan. Their strength was mediocre, but their intent was clear. They were aiming to kill you and seize your belongings."
Sirius let out a soft breath. "Then they chose the wrong timing—and the wrong target."
The commander hesitated before asking, "Should we pursue?"
"No," Sirius replied calmly. "Let them run back with fear in their hearts. A warning is sometimes more effective than a massacre."
The commander nodded, clearly impressed by Sirius's composure. This young man didn't act like someone intoxicated by sudden power or backing. Every decision was measured, purposeful.
The group soon resumed their journey.
As the silhouette of Grey Mountain Town appeared on the horizon, nestled between rolling hills and jagged cliffs, Sirius felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. To outsiders, it looked like a quiet, unremarkable settlement—a backwater town clinging to the edge of the wilderness.
But Sirius knew better.
The Frost Clan entourage drew attention as they approached the town gates. Merchants, guards, and townsfolk paused in their work, eyes widening at the sight of armored elites bearing frost sigils.
"Who are they?"
"That crest… Frost Clan from Crimson Bloom Town!"
"What business do they have here?"
Whispers spread quickly.
Sirius dismounted calmly and walked through the gates, Lisa close behind him, her eyes darting around with interest. To her, Grey Mountain Town felt rustic, almost quaint compared to Crimson Bloom, but there was a strange sense of solidity to it—like a place that endured rather than thrived.
They made their way directly to the Arya Clan estate.
The Arya Clan guards stiffened the moment they saw the approaching group.
"Identify yourselves!" one shouted, gripping his spear.
Before tensions could rise, Sirius stepped forward. "Stand down. They are allies."
The guards froze, recognition flashing across their faces. "Young Master Sirius!"
Word spread quickly. By the time Sirius entered the main courtyard, his father, Robert Arya, was already waiting, flanked by several key clan elders.
Robert's gaze swept over the Frost Clan elites, sharp and assessing. Then his eyes landed on Sirius.
"You returned… and not alone," he said.
Sirius inclined his head. "Father, allow me to introduce the Frost Clan's representatives. They are here as allies."
Before Robert could respond, a composed female voice rang out.
"I am Yuelan Frost, Clan Head of the Frost Family."
Robert's eyes narrowed briefly before he stepped forward and clasped his fist respectfully. "Robert Arya. Grey Mountain Town welcomes you."
There was no servility in his tone, nor arrogance. Only quiet authority.
Yuelan studied him carefully. She had heard stories—the Blazing Lion General who chose seclusion over glory. Standing before him now, she understood why such tales persisted.
"We came to escort Sirius safely," she said, then added evenly, "And to formalize cooperation between our clans."
A ripple went through the Arya elders.
Cooperation… with the Frost Clan?
Before anyone could ask further, Yuelan continued, "On the road here, we were attacked by the Lagan Clan."
Robert's eyes hardened instantly.
"So they've made their move."
Sirius spoke calmly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This ambush confirms their intent. They will not stop at intimidation."
Robert nodded slowly. "Then it seems we must respond."
Later that evening, the main hall of the Arya Clan was sealed off. Only core members were allowed inside. Oil lamps burned steadily, casting long shadows across the polished stone floor.
Sirius sat beside his father. Across from them sat Frost Yuelan, her posture elegant yet unyielding. Lisa sat slightly behind her, unusually quiet.
Yuelan spoke first. "Let us be direct. The Frost Clan will provide protection, resources, and military support to the Arya Clan. In exchange, Sirius will supply us with Ice Spirit Pills—thirty per month."
Several elders gasped openly.
Thirty.
Even Robert's brow lifted slightly, though he quickly masked his surprise.
"And what of payment?" one elder asked cautiously.
Yuelan smiled faintly. "This arrangement is not purely transactional. The Frost Clan values long-term alliances over short-term profit."
Sirius added calmly, "The Arya Clan will also gain access to Frost Clan trade routes and intelligence channels."
Silence fell.
This was no longer a simple pill contract. This was the foundation of a regional alliance.
Robert finally spoke. "The Arya Clan accepts."
The pact was sealed with mutual acknowledgment, no written contract needed. Among cultivators, such agreements were bound by reputation and consequence.
Lisa finally spoke, unable to contain herself. "Sirius—will you continue guiding me in the Ice Phoenix Sword Art?"
Sirius met her gaze. "If you're willing to endure hardship, then yes."
Her eyes immediately lit up.
Meanwhile, in the Lagan Clan estate, chaos reigned.
Morris Lagan slammed his palm onto the table, shattering it into splinters. "Useless! All of them—useless!"
A trembling subordinate knelt before him. "Clan Head… the Frost Clan elites slaughtered our men. Not a single objective was achieved."
"Frost Clan?" Morris's face twisted. "Why would they protect Sirius?"
Another elder spoke cautiously. "There are rumors… Sirius has become an alchemist. A powerful one."
Morris froze.
An alchemist?
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
If the Frost Clan was backing Sirius, then everything changed. What he thought was a simple ambush had turned into a declaration of war.
"Prepare defenses," he growled. "And send word to the Black Lotus Sect."
The name alone made the elders flinch.
The Black Lotus Sect was no great power. It was a shadowy regional sect known for poisons, assassinations, and dirty work. But they specialized in silencing troublesome figures discreetly.
"At this point," Morris continued grimly, "we have no other choice."
That night, Sirius stood on the rooftop of the Arya estate, gazing at the stars above Grey Mountain Town.
The world was moving again. Pieces were moving into place.
Factions were aligning. Allies were revealing themselves. Enemies were growing desperate.
Small ripples would soon become waves.
Lisa stood beside him, her sword resting against her shoulder. "You don't look concerned."
Sirius smiled faintly. "Because this is how things move forward."
In his previous life, he had ruled from the heavens. In this life, he would rise step by step—firmly rooted, unshakable.
"Let them scheme," he murmured. "Every move they make only shortens the distance to their end."
Far above, unseen by mortal eyes, the ancient God-Annihilating Star Sword Array shimmered faintly—as if acknowledging its master once more.
The calm was over. The game had begun.