Days later, in a mountain cave far from the site of the cataclysm, Gen and Juxian sat around a low wood fire. The flames cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, painting their weary faces in warm light and deep hollows.
Gen's expression was serene, but it held a depth that had not been there a few months ago. The weight of command, of loss, of understanding, had settled into his bones. The third year of their five-year doom had ended. He nudged a piece of wood into the fire with the toe of his boot, the action silent, his gaze shifting to his friend lying on a bed of furs in the corner.
Juxian had been grievously wounded by Buqu. It had taken weeks of focused healing and Gen's careful tending just to pull him back from the edge. He was out of danger now, but pale and weak, his hands still wrapped in thick bandages. Gen could not travel with him. Not like this.
Juxian lifted his head slightly, his voice a dry rasp. "The portal that brought you here… it was a one-way trip, meant to bring you to Lorel and the others. To return to the Lost Triangle, you will need to find the way back. But it should be easier for you now." He coughed, a wet, shallow sound.
Gen nodded, his movements economical. "You should not talk too much. I will find a way." His voice was deeper now, the timbre of an eighteen-year-old man. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, though his hair, oddly, never seemed to grow past a certain, stubborn length. Only the sharpness in his eyes spoke of the years compressed into months.
Juxian laughed slightly, the sound bitter. "I am not crippled. At least, not completely." He struggled to sit up, waving off Gen's helping hand with a bandaged stump. "The world will not wait for us, Gen. You need to return. Now." His eyes, usually bright with competitive fire, were grave. "Liang… and his new abilities. They worry me. The Revolutionaries, the Bliss Palace, those working in the shadows, plus Juo Si's machinations… there is too much in play now for you to stay here with me."
Gen hesitated, biting his lower lip. But in the end, he nodded. He understood Juxian better than anyone. His friend was right.
The implication of the second Damocles disappearing was not just about the defeat of a Divine General. It was a seismic event. Every name involved—Gen Jiang, Liang the Fire-Bearer, the Lost Triangle, even Juxian of the Agile Mountain—would now ripple across the world with terrifying speed. What that meant for each of them was uncertain. But one thing was sure: the world would change, violently and rapidly, in the upcoming months.
This fourth year was the one before the last. The fifth and final year Zeph had given them. They didn't have time to explore, to wander. There were still Zeph, Deshia, Wushia, and Anming to face. They had a year and eleven months.
Later that day, Gen bid his friend farewell. He did not know when or how they would meet again, but he hoped it would be under better, or at least more peaceful, circumstances.
Watching from the cave mouth, leaning heavily on a crude cane, Juxian gave a final nod. Gen turned and began his descent.
As he moved down the mountain, he cast a long look back at the distant peak where the battle had raged. Even from here, he could see the faint, stubborn glint of **Forged Destiny**, still plunged into the earth like a nail holding a dead god's memory to the world. He sighed, a deep, weary sound that carried the ghosts of Buqu, Shelia, and the Titan Ape.
Then, he vanished. Not in a blur, but in a smooth, silent transition into a beam of condensed light.
With the speed granted by his understanding of **Infinity**—not raw velocity, but a contraction of the space he needed to traverse—he traveled in a way that had been impossible for him in the past. He was a thought crossing the landscape. Mountains, plains, and forests became streaks of color beneath him. In a matter of days, he had crossed the vast continental plane that separated Juxian's sanctuary from the Lost Triangle's domain, yet his destination still felt impossibly far.
One evening, he stood at the edge of a high cliff, gazing at the purple twilight pooling in the valleys below, when he felt it. A presence, approaching him. It did not trigger alarm. Its aura was weak, deliberate, like a whispered word.
Quickly, a bird coalesced from the darkening sky. It was not flesh and blood, but a creature made entirely of shimmering, green-tinged energy, intricate as stained glass. It landed with impossible grace on Gen's extended forearm. Its weight was nothing, a thought given form.
To create a living creature was one thing. To create one that could last over a vast distance, hold a message, and find its target… that was a feat far beyond any common cultivator.
Gen smiled, a touch of awe in his expression. "Uncle Wood."
The energy-bird opened its beak, but the voice that emerged was not its own. It was the calm, measured tone of Black-Green Wood, delivered with the flat precision of a recorded message.
"Gen Jiang. If you find this message, then things must have turned truly south in the Four Kingdoms and beyond."
"Who?" Gen asked, his voice sharp.
"They are rising from the shadows," the bird replied, its words unhurried. "The Dark Wheel Masters. It is an art that allows normal cultivators to surpass the common fold in a matter of days, not months or years. The creator behind this deviation… is called Xian. A very complicated figure in the history of the Four Kingdoms."
Gen's frown deepened. The pieces, scattered and mysterious, began to slam together in his mind with terrifying clarity.
*That day in the clearing. The man speaking through Kirin. The one Ting and Varja had called 'the crowned shadow.'*
The bird continued, imparting Wood's intelligence. Xian was the architect. The reason for the rise of the hopeless Revolutionary cultivators and their chaos. He was the silent backer of the Bliss Palace's recklessness. He was the one who had provided Juo Si with the means to poison Varja.
The more Gen learned, the colder the knot in his stomach became. *Why? Why would he do all of this?*
As if anticipating the question, Black-Green Wood's message provided an answer. "My guess, Gen, is that Xian's goal is to prove a point. To prove that the Wheels of Destiny are a failed system that could not save our world. And that we must embrace the new one: the Dark Wheels."
Gen's hands clenched into fists. The Wheels of Destiny were the art his father had taught with pride his entire life. The art that had allowed Jiang to reach the apex, to become the Immortal who had held back the sky. It was their heritage, their hope. And Xian was trying to burn it all down, to desecrate his father's legacy. For vanity? For some deeper, twisted reason?
The bird spoke on, a damning litany. "Xian, from the height of his obsidian castle, has had a hand in everything you have come into contact with. From the start… to the finish."
The words landed like physical blows. *Even Liang.* The anger that boiled in Gen's chest was pure, white-hot. Hatred and frustration twisted together. How had he been so blind? The puppet master had been in front of him all along, his strings touching every tragedy, every betrayal.
But the most chilling realization came next, not from the bird, but from his own racing mind, connecting Wood's facts to the grand, silent puzzle of the world.
*Even if he proves his point and the Dark Wheels are adopted… what is the plan for the Damocles? For a world about to be destroyed?*
The moment he formed the question, the answer crystallized with terrifying, absolute clarity.
*This was why all the strongest powers in the world had been silent.* It wasn't that there were no more legends—like the Lost Triangle or Varja—who could harm, or even clash with, a Divine General. They had waited. Not out of fear, but out of *planning*.
Xian had never given up on their world. He had been patient, setting the board again and again, piece by meticulous piece, for *this very moment*. Now that the second Divine General had been cleared, his plan could enter its final phase.
What better way to prove the Dark Wheels were superior than to let them shine against a Divine General? First with Liang… and next with…?
Gen wasn't sure of the specifics, but he was bone-certain of one thing: this fourth year would mark the brutal, final turning point in the war for their future.
Finally, as its energy began to fray at the edges, the bird delivered its last message. "Head to the Four Kingdoms directly. There is nothing left for you at the Lost Triangle." Before Gen could ask for more, for clarification, for a location, the construct dissolved into a shower of harmless green sparks that faded on the wind.
Standing alone on the cliff as full night fell, Gen felt a storm of emotions—worry for Lorel, Li Fen, Madame Su; dread for what had already happened in the Four Kingdoms; and a fierce, grim thrill for the battle to come.
He looked east, toward the heart of the old world. The final characters were making their move. The board was set. The silent war was over.
Now, the loud one began.
He took to the sky, his form turning into a beam of impossible light—not just speed, but **Infinity** given direction. He shot toward the Four Kingdoms, a comet aimed at the heart of the gathering storm.