Miles away, deep within the Heaven's Fall Sect, the five Supreme Elders gathered in the Main Hall.
The Main Hall crowned a tall, slender mountain that rose like a solitary finger at the eastern edge of the sect. Far below, the mountain slopes teemed with activity: caves carved into stone, wooden cabins clinging to cliff faces, and disciples hurrying along winding paths as cultivation and duty continued unabated.
But at the summit, silence reigned. The hall felt like a realm apart from the slopes below; still and heavy, as if sealed away from the rest of the world.
The five Supreme Elders stood at its center, their gazes fixed on the sect leader seated high above them on the raised platform. His expression mirrored theirs: solemn and restrained, yet bearing an unspoken weight.
For a long moment, no one spoke, their faces that of pondering. Then, the burliest of the elders broke the silence as he stepped forward, his broad shoulders casting a long shadow beneath the high decorated ceiling. His presence was oppressive, even without the release of his aura.
"What should we do?" he asked, his voice echoing faintly through the hall. "Should I personally go and scout the area?"
The sect leader tapped his fingers slowly against the armrest, each faint thud echoing in the hall. His brows were drawn tight in consideration until, after a long moment, he stilled his hand and lifted his gaze.
"No," he stated firmly. "We wait." His voice was steady, yet a thread of unmasked fear ran beneath it; a fear the five elders heard clearly but did not dwell on, for their own ran deeper.
"That aura was unsettling. Profoundly so," he continued. "Though I have never faced a Soul Transformation cultivator, what we felt… I do not believe it belonged to that realm." As he spoke, a cold trace of memory—the aura from the Heaven Burial Coffin—traveled down his spine, raising the hair on his neck. It was a primal warning etched into both flesh and soul.
"Indeed," agreed another elder, his voice tightly controlled. He was tall and muscular, a plain greatsword strapped across his back. "That is not something we can afford to pry into. Had it carried even a trace of artistic concept, I would have gone to greet them myself." His attempt at levity fell into a heavy silence, met only by strained, knowing looks.
The others, including the sect leader, steadied their breaths, each wrestling with the unease coiled within. They offered the swordsman a faint, acknowledging smiles, enough to dispel his slight embarrassment, but no more.
All of them understood: fear was a poison to the Dao Heart. Left unchecked, it could erode will, fracture resolve, cloud comprehension, and, worst of all, halt progress forever.
On the path of immortal cultivation, those with weak wills never reach great heights. Without an unshakable Dao Heart, the mysteries of the heavens remained sealed. Most cultivators sought to replace fear with awe. Few succeeded.
For fear was the one constant shared by all, mortal and immortal alike, a silent companion walking beside every being who dared to tread the road toward eternity.
That shared truth—that fear was the sole companion on the road toward eternity—hung heavily in the silent hall.
"Enough." The Sect Leader finally broke the silence with a low snort. "We dwell on something we cannot control. For now, let us return to tangible enemies; as for that aura, time will tell. We are powerless against it." He paused, his gaze focusing on one of the elders. "Have you uncovered anything further about those demonic scum?"
"So far, nothing concrete," the elder replied, stepping forward. "However, we have formed reasonable speculations regarding their motives."
"During discreet investigations several days ago, we uncovered multiple demonic spies. After some… simple persuasion, we learned of their intentions."
"And?" the Sect Leader prompted, his brow furrowing.
"They feel threatened by the Twin Sword Elders' potential. Their aim was to shake their Dao Hearts, to cripple their advancement before they could achieve a breakthrough."
"Despicable," another elder spat. He was tall and lean, with a slender sword strapped tightly to his back. "Do they truly believe we would fall for the same petty scheme twice?"
"You did well," the Sect Leader said, his voice calm yet edged with anger. "We cannot afford to lose another potential candidates, not with the Hundred Alliances Tournament approaching."
As he spoke, a sliver of killing intent flickered in his eyes. Behind him, a solid golden arc etched with natal glyphsmanifested silently. At its center, a crimson gem shaped like a sword pulsed once, radiating a pressure so sharp it seemed capable of cutting through thought itself.
The Sect Leader exhaled slowly, and the golden arc faded into nothingness.
"How are the twins progressing?" he asked. "When will they advance to Core Formation?"
"Under the current allocation of resources, they should require about another year," another elder replied with a faint smile. "The pace is slow, but appropriate for the path they have chosen to walk."
"Where are they now?" the Sect Leader asked.
"In the outer sect," answered the lean elder. "They are navigating the trials of love and separation to temper their ruthless Sword Dao and solidify their Dao Hearts."
The Sect Leader fell silent, stroking his chin in thought. "Time is tight," he murmured at last. "How much progress can they realistically make in twenty years? Is it enough to align with the opening of the secret realm?"
The elders paused, each calculating silently. "Realistically, the time is too short," the bulky elder finally said. "Even with our current resources, reaching peak Core Formation would likely take them thirty years."
"Far too long," the Sect Leader stated without hesitation. "The stakes are too high for such patience."
"There is a way," said the lean elder, taking a seat among the stone chairs lining the hall. "And they are already walking it."
The Sect Leader's brows drew together. "The Path of Severing Ties, is it? But that requires time, forging bonds only to cut them cleanly."
He paused, his eyes sharpening with sudden realization. "Wait. Do they not still have their father?"
At his words, a palpable unease settled over the elders. Their expressions darkened, but the Sect Leader understood at once.
"There is no cause for concern," he said calmly. "We would merely be settling karma. The Ye family has been sheltered by this sect for generations. The life of one old man is not an excessive price for such accumulated grace."
Though their initial hesitation eased, a heavier silence followed. After a moment, one elder spoke in a low voice. "That may not be possible."
The Sect Leader's eyes lifted sharply. "Why?"
"He was killed during the demonic attack," the elder replied flatly.
"Dead?" The word hung in the air as the Sect Leader's hand froze against the armrest.
"Yes."
Silence descended, thick and heavy. After a long moment, the Sect Leader spoke again, his voice precise. "What about his body? Can it be recovered?"
The supreme elders understood his plans immediately. He intended to place Wuji's corpse before the brothers—not to speak of loss, or grief with them, but to force its undeniable truth upon them. To make them confront the absolute end of mortal attachment, and in that searing moment of clarity, sever their worldly ties completely.
Their Ruthless Sword path attainments would surge, tempered by raw grief and the manifestation they might forge could even surpass the founder's.
But the lean elder shook his head. "Too late," he sighed quietly. "No trace of the body remains."
The Sect Leader fell silent once more. His fingers resumed their slow, thoughtful tapping against the armrest as he searched for another catalyst, another path to force their enlightenment, but none came.
Ultimately, the current method was still the most viable. Let them forge families, love deeply, and drown in mortal emotion. Then, let them discard it all without hesitation. It could even prove more effective than using their father, provided they invested deeply enough.
Yet the risk was also greater—the possibility that the brothers might choose love over the ruthless path. That would be a failure the sect could not afford with the tournament so near.
Finally, the Sect Leader rose to his feet. "If that is the case," he said resolutely, "then proceed as planned. Maintain vigilance against the demonic faction. Leave the spies in place; they may yet be of use."
The Supreme Elders bowed in unison and turned to depart.
"Fuxi—"
The Sect Leader's voice held them. The other four paused, their eyes shifting briefly to the slender, sword-bearing elder before they continued out, leaving him alone in the vast hall.
Fuxi stepped forward, stopping just below the raised platform. He lifted his head, waiting.
The Sect Leader rose and descended the steps until they stood face to face. Then, he clasped his fists and offered a formal bow.
"Uncle Fuxi."
"Aiy, Dugu," Fuxi waved a hand, his tone softening. "There's no need for such formality with me. What is it?"
Dugu hesitated only a moment. "It concerns… that matter."
"The Celestial Fiend Body Forging Art?" Fuxi's reply was casual, but his wrist flicked as he spoke. A dense barrier of sword intent bloomed soundlessly around them, sealing the space. The very air sharpened, humming under his absolute control.
Dugu's pupils contracted in a flash of shock, then profound respect. "Congratulations, Uncle. On your breakthrough."
"Aiy, no need for that," Fuxi said with a faint, fleeting smile. "My breakthrough is the sect's breakthrough."
The smile vanished as quickly as it appeared, and Dugu's expression hardened in turn.
"Uncle," Dugu's voice dropped, turning cold. "It seems certain forces are already aware of the map we obtained."
Fuxi's hand settled on his sword hilt, his eyes narrowing to slits.
"That map was meant to be known only by the six of us and the Ancestor," Dugu continued.
Fuxi understood at once. His voice flattened into a blade's edge. "Who do you suspect? We can draw them out."
"I don't know yet," Dugu admitted. "But I felt you should be warned. At the very least, be prepared. It seems the Ancestor has… plans for the traitors, once he emerges from seclusion."
Fuxi gave a slow nod. "I understand," he said, his mind already turning as he moved to leave. "For now, those two children need guidance and protection."
The Sect Leader watched Fuxi's figure vanish from the hall, his gaze lingering on the empty space for a moment before shifting to the guards at the gate.
"Do not allow anyone to disturb me," he stated flatly. Without waiting for a response, he returned to his seat. His robes settled, his spine straightened, and as his eyes closed, a silent tide of sword intent gathered around him. He turned inward, resuming the endless refinement of his path.
Far below, Fuxi hovered soundlessly above the outer courtyard.
The sect unfolded beneath him in a scene of orderly chaos. Disciples practiced sword forms on the training grounds, blades flashing with fervent youth. Others refined their natal spells—clouds of fireballs, slashes of wind—their qi fluctuating with uneven control.
Some gathered at the mission hall, preparing to depart in pursuit of merit points, resources, or the faint chance of heavenly fortune.
Amid the bustle, Fuxi's gaze instantly found them: Ye Jianxu and Ye Jianheng, Wuji's two sons.
To any other observer, they were merely ordinary newcomers, junior disciples blending seamlessly into the crowd. But Fuxi, with a slight, knowing smile, saw through the disguise at a glance, his ocular art revealing the truth.
"The Transfiguration spells they etched into their dantian have served them well," he murmured, a thread of pride in his voice. He remembered clearly the day they had revealed their choice—how the other four elders had shaken their heads in disappointment as the twins selected spells that ran counter to their innate affinities and paths.
Now, the layered Transfiguration spell, reinforced by a grade-two pill, thoroughly dulled their presence. Their auras were suppressed to the Qi Gathering stage, their demeanors carefully altered to look like some nonchalant young men. Only a cultivator at the Core Formation realm or above might notice anything amiss.
"And that," Fuxi thought, his smile fading into quiet vigilance, "is only if I allow it."
Fuxi observed as the twins conversed with a group of junior female disciples. The young women were artless—their smiles open, their laughter unburdened, perhaps genuinely drawn to the two promising newcomers. The brothers played their parts flawlessly. Their words were measured, and their smiles were calibrated to kindle affection without overreaching.
A faint, approving smile touched Fuxi's lips.
Youth was easily beguiled; that was never the true variable. His real concern was not the female disciples' willingness, but the brothers' Dao Hearts' fortitude. Would they be resilient enough to withstand the severing that was to come?