As the boy's hand touched the dark, rune-etched stone, a powerful surge of ancient energy rippled outward, brushing against the skin of every cultivator like a cold wind from a forgotten era. The glowing inscriptions on the stone flared with golden light and began to rearrange themselves, shifting and spinning across the stone's surface until they formed a coherent line of symbols.
The boy's golden, draconic eyes narrowed as he began to read aloud in a deep, solemn voice—his tone resonating with the very walls of the ancient temple.
> "This temple is not a place of inheritance… it is a prison."
Silence followed his words, so thick it felt like the air had turned to stone. No one moved. Every cultivator stood frozen in place, the weight of the revelation sinking in.
He continued, translating the text that now flowed like a tale lost to time:
> "Long ago, during the Age of Shattered Skies, a portal to the Netherworld was torn open—whether by mistake or treachery, none could say. From that dark rift, creatures of nightmare emerged: Nether Beasts, twisted demons, and corrupted spirits that devoured the very life force of the mortal world."
The temperature in the room dropped. Flames on nearby torches flickered unnaturally.
> "The ancient clans rose in defense. The Phoenixes, the Titans, the Star-Blessed… but it was the Dragon Clan who bore the greatest burden. Their king at the time, Lord Yel'zhun the Crimson Tempest, led the final assault. For three days and nights, they fought the invading horrors."
Now the entire room echoed with a low humming sound—as if the very memory of that battle was stirring the temple awake.
> "They managed to close the portal—but a Tenth Stage Nether Demon had already crossed. It was unlike anything ever seen. The skies darkened when it roared, and entire mountain ranges crumbled under its feet. Even Lord Yel'zhun could not kill it."
The boy's hands clenched into fists, his body subtly trembling—not with fear, but awe and fury.
> "So instead, the Dragon Clan performed the Crimson Binding Ritual, sacrificing their lives and lineage to create this temple as a living seal—built not to protect treasure, but to imprison evil."
One of the cultivators staggered back, horrified. "We… we came here looking for an inheritance…"
The boy turned slowly to face them, the golden light still reflecting in his eyes. "And now you know the truth. There is no inheritance here. There is only a sleeping demon, bound by sacrifice and time. But that seal… it is weakening."
Behind him, the stone began to crack, hairline fractures running through the glowing inscriptions. The golden light dimmed, and a pulse of dark, heavy energy escaped into the air like a breath held for millennia being exhaled.
A cultivator choked, falling to his knees, blood trickling from his nose. "This energy… it's like it's eating my spirit!"
The boy looked down at his own arm. The veins beneath his draconic skin were glowing faint red. He could feel it—the heartbeat of the demon, slow but waking, like a volcano stirring beneath the crust of the earth.
"This isn't just a seal," he muttered. "It's a timer. And it's almost done."
Panic broke out. Some cultivators turned and ran. Others screamed prayers. A few dropped to their knees, realizing the depth of their mistake.
The boy, however, stood tall.
"I carry the blood of the Dragon King," he said. "If that demon awakens, then I will do what my ancestors died trying to do—I will kill it."
The temple groaned as another tremor passed through it. Dust fell from the ceiling, and a muffled roar echoed from the deepest pit below.
The seal was no longer holding.
The air in the temple had already grown thick with tension—centuries-old secrets exposed, dark truths bleeding into the light. But then, like a thunderclap that shattered the silence of an ancient tomb, a single voice echoed through the temple halls, shaking dust loose from the towering walls:
> "I am Iye-Shang, son of the Dragon King.
I will kneel only before my ancestors… and never before anyone else."
The statement wasn't shouted—it was spoken with an iron certainty, a tone etched with lineage, power, and pride older than most mortal bloodlines. And yet, the words themselves seemed to carry the force of a storm. The walls trembled faintly.
Iye-Shang stood tall amidst the gathered cultivators—his massive, muscular frame like that of a celestial beast in human form. His two spiraled horns, crackling faintly with draconic energy, shimmered gold and crimson. His eyes glowed with ancient fire. The insignia of the Royal Dragon Bloodline pulsed across his chest, like a sacred brand from the heavens.
Then, without warning, he closed his eyes.
The entire room held its breath.
For a heartbeat, everything stilled—as if the temple itself bowed in silence to that prideful bloodline. But in the next moment—
> He roared.
Not a mere shout. Not even a battle cry.
But a roar that carried the weight of the heavens and the fury of dragons who once ruled skies and shattered continents. It was the sound of a legacy that had not died, but slept—and now awakened, furious and unstoppable.
The ground split beneath his feet in jagged lines. The massive pillars of the hall groaned. Stone cracked. The seal trembled. And every cultivator, no matter their stage or pride, was thrown to their knees.
Some cried out. Some vomited blood. The sheer pressure that burst from Iye-Shang's body was suffocating—an unseen weight that crushed the spirit and pierced the soul.
> "This… this pressure…!" one cultivator gasped, eyes wide with terror.
"This must be the power… of a 7th stage cultivator! But how can it feel so ancient—so primordial?"
Even those at the peak of the 6th stage felt themselves breaking down inside. They could feel it—not just power, but authority, the kind that could only be inherited from a bloodline that once fought gods and monsters.
Iye-Shang opened his eyes again. Golden fire danced in his pupils.
He looked at the crowd—not with contempt, but with divine indifference. To him, they were not enemies. They were not even obstacles. They were simply mortals—people born into a world too small to understand the storm that now stood before them.
> "If you wish to flee, then flee," he said coldly.
"But know this: if you stand in my way when the seal breaks… I will not spare you."
And with that, he turned, walking toward the heart of the temple—the place where the ancient demon pulsed like a beating heart. Every step he took left faint scorch marks on the floor, remnants of power barely contained.
No one followed.
No one dared.
Outside the ancient temple, the sky had turned a strange hue—half golden, half blood-red, as if the heavens themselves sensed the turmoil rising within. A fierce wind blew through the forest surrounding Dong City, carrying whispers of chaos. The elders and family leaders, standing outside in wait, suddenly felt it—a jolt, like lightning striking their cores. Their spiritual seas trembled, and even the most powerful among them involuntarily took a step back.
Then—boom!
A wave of oppressive pressure exploded from within the temple, rippling outward like a storm's pulse. The cultivators who stood at the threshold staggered, some collapsing to one knee, others gasping for breath as the raw force struck them. It wasn't just power—it was ancestral might, something ancient and unrestrained, crashing against their souls.
Among those present stood Su-Shen, the formidable elder of the Su family. He sat on a raised stone chair like a warlord on a battlefield, his long white robes flowing in the wind. His face, normally composed and icy, began to twist with fury as he felt the tremor.
Just then, a young cultivator burst from the forest, covered in dust and blood. His robes were torn, and his breath came in ragged gasps. He rushed through the gathered crowd and knelt before Su-Shen, lowering his head.
> "Elder Su-Shen," the boy whispered urgently into his ear, voice trembling, "the temple… a dragon-blooded cultivator has awakened. And someone—someone has released part of the seal."
Su-Shen's eyes widened, and for a moment the silence around him deepened. His face turned stone-like. Then—
> Crack!
A vein bulged in his temple. The very chair he sat on shattered beneath him, crushed under the weight of his sudden fury. His spiritual pressure exploded outward, and the ground beneath his feet caved in with a deep rumble. Many cultivators nearby were thrown backward, coughing blood, unable to withstand the wrath of a 6th-stage peak cultivator letting go of all restraint.
His voice rang out like thunder:
> "FIND HIM! FIND THE ONE WHO'S DONE THIS!"
Each word was laced with murderous intent, each syllable like a spear piercing the air. Trees in the vicinity cracked. Birds in the sky scattered like frightened insects. Several weaker cultivators fell to their knees, shivering under his spiritual pressure, their faces pale and drenched in sweat.
> "Do you think we are insects to be toyed with!?" Su-Shen roared, his eyes glowing crimson with rage.
The wind had barely settled from Su-Shen's earlier outburst when another cultivator rushed through the gathered crowd, his face pale, his breathing ragged, and his robes soaked in blood.
He fell to his knees in front of Su-Shen, trembling.
> "E-Elder Su-Shen… bad news…"
Su-Shen's piercing eyes locked onto the trembling figure. His presence was already seething with fury, but at those words—something colder crept in. A chill that made the air itself feel like shards of ice.
> "Speak," he said, voice low and sharp, like the blade of a sword sliding out of its sheath.
The cultivator bowed his head lower.
> "Your… your elder niece, Miss Su… She—she is dead, my lord."
A silence descended like a guillotine. No one around him dared breathe. Even the wind seemed to retreat in fear.
Su-Shen stood frozen for a long moment. Not a muscle moved. Then—his fists clenched so hard, blood dripped from his palms. His face remained still, but his eyes… they were no longer human. They blazed like molten fire.
His voice, when it came, was terrifyingly calm:
> "How…?"
The messenger hesitated. "We… we don't know.
Su-Shen closed his eyes for a brief second—and then erupted.
> "Enough!"
A shockwave burst from his body, tearing the ground in a perfect circle around him. Stone cracked, trees nearby split, and several cultivators were knocked backward, coughing up blood just from the force of his rage.
He stepped forward, eyes burning like red stars.
> "The world thinks we are falling. That the Su name can be trampled and forgotten."
His voice echoed like thunder, carrying through the forest, shaking leaves from trees.
> "But from this moment, I declare a family-wide hunt."
He raised his hand, and a crimson formation circle lit up above him in the sky—an ancient Su family command sigil, known only to direct bloodline elders.
> "Whoever finds the killer, dead or alive, will be rewarded with everything I possess."
> "And if they hide among friends, families, or sects—burn them all."
"Who dares humiliate our Su family in front of the world!? Who dares disturb the balance of Dong City!?"
Gasps escaped from even the bravest cultivators nearby. This wasn't just vengeance. This was war.
Su-Shen stood tall, his robes whipping violently in the wind, the light of the command circle illuminating his face. But in his eyes was no grief—only cold fury and the beginning of a massacre that would shake Dong City to its core.