# Chapter 9: The Lion's Release
"Hahaha…"
A burst of shrill laughter exploded through the hall. The sound waves weren't just heard—they rippled visibly through the blinding white light.
Riven, momentarily blinded, felt his ears ring until the world went silent. He could only stand frozen as the voice boomed again.
"Hahaha! I'm free! I'm free! After… how many years? I'm free!"
It was the kind of laugh that sounded half-choked, like its owner was struggling to contain an overwhelming joy.
The white light slowly receded, revealing what stood in front of him.
"What the hell!" Riven staggered back, almost tripping. He wanted to turn and bolt—but remembering where he was, he took only small, cautious steps, eyes locked on the figure ahead.
A lion.
Not just any lion—a towering, transparent beast over a meter tall and five meters in length, its form shimmering faintly. Narrowed, see-through eyes stared into his own.
Riven's heart sank as recognition hit him.
This was the same lion carved into the jade hall walls—a lion famed in legend for a roar powerful enough to sweep an entire battlefield clean.
Knowing exactly what it was didn't bring relief. If anything, it made him even more tense.
The air between them thickened, a heavy silence pressing down as both sides sized each other up:
A majestic, spectral predator on one side.
A skinny human with a pounding heart and trembling legs on the other.
The lion broke the silence first.
"Little one… which of the Ancient Clans are you from?"
"Ancient… Clan?" Riven blinked, confused. In all his reading, there had never been a single mention of anything like that.
The lion's eyes glinted with thought—then, in an instant, its massive form began to shrink. Fur and fangs melted into the outline of a man, until Riven found himself staring at a transparent, middle-aged figure.
The man raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Riven's ignorance. "You don't know the Ancient Clans?"
He licked his lips, a sly, unsettling smile curling across his face.
"I go by the name… Mr. Xiao. Member of the Heavenly Lion race. I was sealed here a few thousand years ago, but thanks to you—" he gave a low, wicked chuckle, "—I'm free now."
He tilted his head. "You said you don't know the Ancient Clans… correct?"
Something in Riven's gut twisted. A warning. He thought about lying, but before he could even open his mouth, Mr. Xiao let out another booming laugh.
With a single step, he appeared right in front of Riven—so close his translucent hands could rest casually on Riven's shoulders.
"Don't worry, little one. We are now… one. Hahaha!"
The grip on Riven's shoulders tightened, joints popping as though bones might snap.
On the surface, Mr. Xiao seemed lighthearted. In truth, his spiritual energy was probing, scanning every inch of Riven. He was already certain this boy wasn't part of the Ancient Clans, but he wanted to be absolutely sure.
Seconds later, the middle-aged man's expression shifted to wild delight.
"Heaven! You've actually sent me such a wonderful gift! I knew you'd never forsake me."
The moment Mr. Xiao had appeared before him, Riven's eyes had shrunk in terror. Even Wang—fast as he was—couldn't move like that. It was almost teleportation.
And now… a "gift"?
Riven's pulse roared in his ears. Survival instincts flared. Before he even thought about it, his fist shot out.
Boom!
On any other day, Riven would've been shocked at the force behind his punch. But now, there was no time for that—because Mr. Xiao was already behind him, blocking his way out.
Riven bolted deeper into the hall.
Mr. Xiao, meanwhile, stayed where he was, chanting under his breath. There was no rush. Even as a mere sliver of his soul, catching Riven would be effortless.
He'd waited years for someone like this. The cultivators and slaves thrown in here by the Argus Clan—over a thousand cultivators and tens of thousands of slaves each year—had all been worthless to him, just like the trash Argus clan.
But this one… this one was different.
"So… a dormant divine soul and a mythical body," he whispered to himself, eyes glowing with greed. "Incredible. And without even a sea of consciousness yet… crippled, perhaps? What a pity. But if I devour that soul and take this body for myself… I'll be able to reform the dantian. And then…" his smile twisted into something monstrous, "…I'll reach heights I could only dream of with my original form."
His excitement was feverish. A mortal like this was like an unclaimed palace in the middle of the road—too valuable to leave alone.
After the chant ended. And preparations completed.
And then just like a phantom—he moved.