Chapter 45: The Roar That Shook the City
Shadow stretched over the Greenveil foothills as the Lei Clan search party, grim and silent, made the long, weighted return to Wu City. They carried no torch. Every step seemed heavier: in their bundle, beneath layers of cloth and bloody silk, lay all that remained of Lei Hanwu—Second Elder's only son, the prodigy of whom so much had been promised and for whom so many schemes had once turned.
When they had found him—if indeed the collection of flesh and tattered bone fragments could still be called him—the beasts had already done half their work. What sword and fist left unfinished, Greenveil's predators completed by dawn. They'd searched the tangled underbrush with desperate discipline: collecting scraps, smoothing what remained of Hanwu's distinctive torn robe, even recovering the shattered clan token that, years before, he'd vowed would one day mark his ascension as Stormrise's brightest.
They knew the killer wouldn't remain nearby. Whoever had done this had either fled or was hiding deeper within the vast wilderness. Staying here was pointless. It was better to return to Wu City and report directly to Lei Fengzhan—Lei Hanwu's father.
Once back in Wu City, the Lei Clan entourage did not announce anything publicly, but their grim faces and the blood-soaked bundle they carried spoke louder than words. No one spoke as they slipped through Wu City's alleys like a shadow given shape, their burden swaying between them. No curse or cry broke the silence—only the measured footfalls of men who carried more than flesh and bone. Those few who glimpsed the bloodstained bundle stepped aside instinctively, as if fearing the chill that trailed in its wake.
No matter how the Jiang Clan tried to conceal the sudden mobilization and ongoing search, the major clans had already noticed something unusual. Eyes and ears were everywhere, and the Wu Clan had long since begun spreading quiet whispers—suggesting that those mysterious people are from Lei Clan of Stormrise mountain.
Although no concrete evidence had yet emerged, the other major clans weren't fools.
And now, the Lei Clan had returned with body parts—remnants of a young cultivator who had entered Wu City just days ago, proud and unafraid. A powerful prodigy now reduced to nothing more than blood and bones.
To the clans of Wu City, the implications were chilling.
They didn't know yet who the dead junior truly was. But if the rumors were true—if this corpse was indeed Lei Hanwu, son of Stormrise Mountain's Second Elder—then this wasn't just a tragic loss.
It was a declaration of war.
And Wu City was about to be caught in the center of a storm no one was prepared for.
Soon, the group returned to the courtyard the Lei Clan had rented within Wu City. Several Lei Clan members were already waiting, restless and uneasy from two days of silence.
But when they saw the returning party carrying a heavy cloth bag—stained with blood and clearly holding bones—everyone froze in place.
"What's going on…?" one elder muttered, dread gripping his chest.
The air turned cold.
Lei Fengzhan stood still for a moment, his eyes locked on the bundle. His face, already pale from worry, seemed drained of all color. When the bag was opened and the contents revealed—shredded, half-devoured remains of flesh and bone—he nearly collapsed on the spot.
The others helped steady him, but he shoved them aside and knelt down beside the remains. With trembling hands, he picked through the broken pieces, examining every fragment with terrifying care.
Then his fingers stopped.
Clutched between them was a piece of Lei Hanwu's distinctive clan token, half-broken but unmistakable.
His fingers closed around the jagged shard of the clan token, and for a long, unbearable heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to that single broken piece. The rough edges bit into his palm, but he did not loosen his grip. His breath came uneven, each inhale catching in his throat, his chest rising and falling as if straining under a weight too heavy to bear. The murmurs of the others faded into a distant hum; even the night air seemed to still, waiting. His shoulders trembled—not with weakness, but with the force of grief coiling tighter and tighter inside him, a bowstring drawn to its limit.
And then, the night was torn apart by a thunderous roar.
"Hanwuuuuuuuuu!"
The courtyard trembled. All of the Lei Clan members bowed their heads in grief, their worst fears confirmed. There was no more doubt. These were the remains of Lei Hanwu—the Second Elder's only son.
Before anyone could utter a word of consolation, Lei Fengzhan suddenly stood up, eyes blazing with murderous intent.
Without a second of hesitation, he stormed out of the courtyard.
"Wu Clan bastards!" he roared into the open street. "Come out and face your DEATH!"
His voice rang through the night like a war drum. Buildings shuddered, birds scattered, and the quiet of Wu City was shattered in an instant.
The declaration was not a cultivated challenge. It was a shriek of war—a sound born of loss and defiance that would not, could not, be reined in.
Windows slammed shut. Dogs howled. Out in the merchant quarters, men sleeping on gambling debts awoke with their hearts racing. Some paled, others simply shivered at the conviction and madness in the air.
The Lei Clan members were left dumbfounded. They hadn't expected him to lose control like this—not in enemy territory.
Even more stunned were the people of Wu City.
Did… did he just openly declare blood vengeance against the Wu Clan?
Did the this idiot of the Lei Clan truly not care whether he lived or died anymore?
Hearing the Second Elder of the Lei Clan—disguised as a Jiang—roaring for blood outside their walls.
On the Wu Clan's side, activity bloomed instantly. Guards rushed to the walls, weapons out, shields raised. But the patriarch, Wu Lingtian, ordered composure with a single raised hand.
He ascended the central gate, moonlight glinting off the golden edges of his robe, cloak thrown back, visage serene as a mountain in a storm. He faced the direction of the commotion not with panic—but with a calculating focus born of a lifetime mediating enemies and survival.
But rather than acknowledge the challenge directly, Wu Lingtian stood atop the courtyard gate and looked straight toward the Jiang Clan's residence. His voice, sharp and commanding, rang out through the night.
"Brother Jiang!" he called. "What's the meaning of this?"
Gasps ran through the spectators.
"Is the Jiang Clan declaring war on the Wu Clan in the middle of the night? If so, then so be it! The Wu Clan does not fear anyone!"
The crowd erupted into hushed murmurs. Many didn't fully understand what was happening—but those with sharp eyes and ears were stunned.
That man who just shouted... wasn't he from the Lei Clan?
Wu Lingtian clearly knew that.
And yet—he deliberately called out to the Jiang Clan instead.
A masterstroke. A calculated check: calling out to the Jiang Clan, drawing them into the conflict.
The Jiang Clan was now cornered.
A low murmur rippled through the crowd gathered along Wu City's streets.
"Clan Head, what do you think?" Mu Yao, wife of the Mu Clan head, spoke just loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Will the Jiang respond… or will they swallow this whole?"
"If they admit it, they own him and all his words," Mu Rong murmured. "If they don't, they strip the mask from the Lei—and destroy their own alliance."
Across the square, Jiang elders traded uneasy glances. One's knuckles whitened around a lacquered folding fan until the polish cracked; another's gaze slid toward the Lei courtyard before snapping away, as though the very sight burned. None of them moved to speak.
The silence pressed in from all sides. It seemed even the wind held its breath. Every eye in the street shifted as one toward the Jiang Clan's shuttered gates—waiting, weighing, judging—while the air between the opposing courtyards stretched taut as a drawn bowstring.
From the shadows, many cultivators, merchants, and clan representatives watched with growing interest.
"This move…" one elder whispered. "Wu Lingtian truly lives up to his name. That old fox is too dangerous."
Indeed, the Wu Clan might be weakened, but they weren't powerless. Their strength was still enough to threaten a single clan in Wu City.
What they feared was not the Jiang Clan alone—it was the possibility of being besieged by multiple powers working together.
But Wu Lingtian had just disrupted that possibility.
From the Jiang clan courtyard walls, a calm but guarded voice finally responded.
"Brother Wu, what are you trying to say?"
The voice came from none other than Jiang Zhaoxu, Clan Leader of the Jiang Clan.
Wu Lingtian didn't miss a beat.
"I'm asking why a member of your clan stood outside our gates in the middle of the night, shouting threats and declaring death upon the Wu Clan."
He paused, letting the silence stretch, then continued coldly:
"Is the Jiang Clan now so strong that it believes it can execute anyone in Wu City on a whim?"
The weight of his words sank deep.
He wasn't just accusing. He was planting doubt in the minds of every listener.
If the Jiang Clan didn't act, the Wu Clan could retaliate freely.
And if the Jiang Clan admitted the man wasn't one of their own, they would unravel the Lei Clan's scheme.
Either way… the alliance was weakening.
And Wu Lingtian was smiling faintly behind his beard.
The old fox was more than just a cultivator—he was a master of war without swords.
The crowd that had slipped out to watch now found their breathing synched to the rising and falling of words upon the air.
Within the Wu Clan, kinsmen muttered anxiously. Some whispered, "Clan Jiang must act—they cannot let this go unanswered. If we move now, can we finish this before any counter?"
Others shook their heads, voices tense. "No. Clan Head is right. We must not provoke now. Let them respond for all to witness—then we can ride the tide of city opinion."
Before anyone could speak or react—
From the street below, Lei Fengzhan's furious roar exploded, shaking rooftops and cracking tiles. His qi surged like a tempest, making the very air tremble like a struck war drum.
"Wu Clan! Murderers! COME OUT! Today, don't expect to leave here alive!"
"This idiot! What does he think he's doing? Doesn't he realize he's only causing more trouble for us?" the Jiang elder muttered through gritted teeth, face darkening with frustration.
Jiang Zhaoxu's eyes narrowed. Letting this escalate would be a disaster—he had to act now.
Stepping away from the Jiang Clan's position, he crossed the open space toward the Wu Clan's side. Earlier, the exchange had been shouted across the street, each voice amplified by cultivation, but now he closed the distance so they could speak face-to-face.
"Brother Wu," he said evenly, "how is this matter related to the Jiang Clan? A challenge against your clan does not make the challenger one of mine."
Jiang Zhaoxu's words made Wu Lingtian stunned for a moment.
"Brother Jiang," Wu Lingtian pressed, "isn't he from your clan? For the past few days, juniors in similar attire—faces hidden beneath their hoods—have been challenging Wu Clan disciples in the duel ring. I believe those were your Jiang Clan juniors, were they not?
"Or…" his eyes narrowed, a smirk curling at the edge of his lips, "are you going to tell me those weren't your juniors either—just like this fool here?"
Gasps rippled through the gathered crowd, a wave of whispers breaking out like wind in dry grass. Some onlookers stepped back, wary of being caught in the crossfire; others leaned forward, eyes gleaming at the prospect of a public clash. From beyond the Wu Clan gates, the heavy thud of footsteps echoed—steady, deliberate—growing louder with each passing second.
Wu Lingtian strode out from the Wu Clan's gates, his presence as sharp as drawn steel.
The moment Lei Fengzhan's eyes locked on Wu Lingtian, the last thread of restraint snapped.His qi flared like a storm breaking its cage. With a roar that rattled the gate hinges, he hurled himself at Wu Lingtian—rage given flesh.