The cold, tense atmosphere enveloped the two individuals sitting across from each other in a narrow stone-walled chamber. The torch in the corner crackled, its flickering shadows dancing uneasily against the walls, making the space feel oppressive. Only the two of them were here— the Matriarch and Zhāo— and the weight of tension between them was almost palpable.
The Matriarch examined Zhāo's green dagger with deliberate, assessing fingers. The blade trembled as if yearning to return to its master's hand.
"This dagger is truly unique," she said in a chilling tone.
"That dagger belongs to me."
"No, Zhāo. You know our tradition. Every warrior must forge their own blade, not coerce others into making it for them. Is this how you show respect to us?"
"I didn't force Shen Jian to forge my dagger."
"You think I'm unaware of what you did to him? Just because I am blind doesn't mean I cannot see everything."
Zhāo remained silent, offering no defense.
"We saved you from the empire that invaded your home. In return, you insulted traditions that have endured for centuries. You need to learn respect, boy."
"Give me my dagger now, and I won't repeat it."
"No. This blade stays with me. You will forge a new one with your own hands."
"What? Impossible! That dagger is mine, and only I can wield it!" Zhāo nearly shouted, his frustration bleeding through.
"I know. The dagger clearly rejects me. But that does not mean I will simply hand it back to you."
"You—damn old hag!" Zhāo's brow furrowed, his eyes flaring with anger. He tried to unleash his power on the Matriarch. "I command you to give me that dagger, now!"
But the Matriarch remained still, unmoved. The glowing threads flowing from her body showed no reaction to Zhāo's command. Zhāo was stunned—his power had no effect on her. Until now, every time he spoke, others had obeyed.
"Were you trying to control me?" the Matriarch asked with a mocking smile.
"Why won't you obey me?!"
"Foolish child. Don't think I'm just some helpless old woman. I have seen power like yours before. Long ago, when I was still a child…"
"I'm not interested in your stories. Hand over my dagger!"
The Matriarch remained calm. "Sit down, now!"
Her voice struck Zhāo's subconscious like a hammer. His body froze, and without realizing it, he sat back down, obeying her command.
"You… how is that possible?" Zhāo asked, astonished and furious.
The Matriarch chuckled softly. "You look surprised. You are not the only one who possesses the Frequency Power. Though not as strong as yours, I too can wield it."
"Frequency Power?" Zhāo stared, bewildered.
"My grandfather told me tales of this power—a gift of the ancients, the ability to command others with words alone. It first appeared when invaders seized our home. We call it the Frequency Power."
Zhāo listened in silence, every word sinking deep.
"They say this power emerged as heaven and earth's answer to mankind's greed and destruction. The chosen ones were given this gift to end the suffering of endless wars. But no one knows what became of the true lineage that day. Almost all were wiped out. Only one line survived—my own."
"Then, you are…"
"Yes. I am the last descendant of the original wielder of the Frequency. All in my line inherit it, though never as strong as the original. Before his death, the last heir gave a prophecy."
"'One day, a messenger will appear to lead the Mínggǔ back into the sunlight, back to the paradise long lost. His power will surpass my own. When he speaks, the world will bow without resistance. Heaven's promise rests in his hands—the Shèntiān…'"
"That's exactly what Lóng Xuán told me."
"We waited generations, nearly losing hope. But seeing your power, I believe our vigil may be ending. In my long life, I never imagined meeting the true bearer of the Frequency."
"If you already had that power, why wait for a messenger to save you? You could have led your people back to reclaim your home."
"My power is not enough. Only the true bearer of the Frequency can achieve that. But now, after meeting you, I am uncertain. You wield immense power, Zhāo, but you are not ready to shoulder its weight. Your strength will grow, but if you wield it recklessly, your hands will forever be drenched in blood and sin."
"If I must lead toward paradise, then blood will be spilled."
"You may stain your hands, but a prophet never sins—unless he is a false prophet."
Zhāo fell silent, feeling his power stripped of meaning before the Matriarch's greater understanding.
"Now, I expect you to show us proper respect. Return to the Forge and craft your blade yourself—this time without mixing Gogonit with Kraiman."
Zhāo stormed out of the Matriarch's chamber in fury. The realization that he was powerless against the old woman only stoked his rage. The commanding voice he always relied on was useless here, when he needed it most.
Thirty minutes later, Ruò Yún knocked on the chamber door.
"Enter," came the voice within.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Matriarch, but I came looking for Zhāo. Is he here?"
"No, he left half an hour ago. I sent him to reforge his blade at the Forge."
"I didn't see him there—especially since the Forge was damaged after the explosion earlier."
"Then where has he gone?"
Oh no…
Panic swept across Ruò Yún's face. She rushed out of the room in search of Zhāo. After asking Lóng Xuán, the big man admitted he didn't know. Shen Jian gave the same answer.
"Oh no, Zhāo… where did you go?" Ruò Yún's heart raced in terror.
"Did he… did he go to the monster's cave?"
"What?!"
Ruò Yún's chest seized in shock at those words. Her heart screamed out Zhāo's name again and again, desperate and unyielding.