Thousands of miles away from River Ridge City, deep inside Verdant Edge Sword Sect territory, the mountains were still green.
That was the first thing every visitor noticed.
The sect was built across seven sword peaks, each one wrapped in ancient trees whose branches bent with the wind but never broke. Green light flowed between the peaks like rivers in the sky. Sword formations hummed beneath the roots. Disciples practiced under old pines, their blades flashing in measured arcs, each strike carrying the clean rhythm of wood-wind sword Qi.
Verdant Edge had always valued restraint.
Even their anger was supposed to be elegant.
An elder could hate a rival for three hundred years and still pour tea for him with steady hands. A disciple could lose a duel and still bow with both sleeves neat. In Verdant Edge, losing control was considered uglier than losing blood.
But today, the green mountains felt wrong.
The wind was unsettled.
Sword light no longer moved smoothly between the peaks. It flickered. Disciples lowered their voices when elders passed. Inner deacons gathered in corners and stopped speaking whenever someone approached. Even the ancient trees, nourished by generations of wood-wind sword Qi, seemed to rustle with warning.
At the center of the inner sect stood Green Wind Sword Hall.
It was not the tallest building in Verdant Edge, nor the most ancient, but it carried the greatest weight. Sect orders were debated there. War routes were approved there. Disciples who shamed the sect were judged there. Its jade pillars had been carved into sword shapes, each one covered in faint green lines that pulsed with formation light. The long stone table in the center had survived hundreds of elder meetings, three succession disputes, two sect wars, and one failed rebellion.
Now, on that table, lay two shattered life jades.
One belonged to Lu Jiangheng.
The other belonged to Luo Zhenmu.
No one in the hall looked away from them for long.
Lu Jiangheng's death was already enough to sour the air. He had only been a 2nd layer Sky Lord, but he had been a Verdant Edge envoy. His face represented the sect in the outer territories. His words carried the sect's name. For such a man to die outside the sect was not merely a loss.
It was a slap.
But Luo Zhenmu's shattered life jade was worse.
Far worse.
An inner deacon at the 4th layer Sky Lord realm was not a messenger. He was not some disposable outer blade sent to frighten city clans. Luo Zhenmu had cultivated a proper Verdant Edge inheritance. He had defensive talismans refined by sect artisans. He had access to sealed sword records and inner battle pills. In any Lower Domain city, he could suppress a clan by himself and return with his robe unstained.
Yet he had died.
And the last killing trace inside the life jade made the entire matter absurd.
It was not Sage Qi.
It was not even Sky Qi.
The final reaction left behind by Luo Zhenmu's life jade carried the aura fluctuation of Origin Core energy.
Origin Core.
Those two words had split the hall like a blade through bamboo.
At the head of the stone table sat Sect Master Yun Jianchuan.
He wore plain green robes with no unnecessary ornament. His hair was tied by a single jade clasp. A long sword rested before him on the table, still sheathed, but no one in the hall forgot what it was.
Green Burial Wind.
The sect master's personal sword.
Yun Jianchuan was a peak 7th-layer Sage Ruler. His cultivation was not the highest in Verdant Edge, just below his ancestor, but he was the sect master because he understood timing, pressure, reputation, and consequence better than most men understood their own breath.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
Only his fingers betrayed him. They rested lightly on the sword sheath, tapping once every few breaths. Whenever an elder's voice grew too heated, faint green sword lines flickered across the stone table, thin as grass blades, sharp enough to make weaker elders swallow their words.
The hall had been arguing for nearly half an hour.
Finally, Yun Jianchuan lifted his eyes.
"Speak clearly," he said. "No shouting."
His voice was not loud, but every sound inside the hall died.
"Luo Zhenmu is dead, not deaf. Screaming will not bring him back."
The silence after those words lasted three breaths.
Then Grand Elder He Zhaoling stood.
He was old, thin, and ugly in the way ancient trees became ugly after surviving lightning. His face looked like dried bark. His eyes were sunken but bright with killing intent. The green sword robe around him hung loose, yet no one mistook frailty for weakness.
He Zhaoling was a 7th layer Sage Ruler.
He had backed Luo Zhenmu for decades.
To him, this was not merely a sect loss. It was a personal insult.
His palm struck the table.
Boom!
The stone table did not crack, but every shattered piece of life jade jumped.
"They killed a Verdant Edge envoy," He Zhaoling said, voice rough as a blade dragged over stone. "They killed an inner deacon. What more is there to discuss?"
His gaze swept across the hall.
"Send the Sword Punishment Hall. Send three Sage Rulers. Burn River Ridge to its roots and drag those siblings back in chains."
Several elders nodded at once.
Elder Luo Fengyan rose beside him. He was not as old as He Zhaoling, but his face was colder. His branch family had produced Luo Zhenmu. To him, the corpse in River Ridge was not an abstract loss.
It was blood.
"The so-called Origin Core trace is a joke," Luo Fengyan said. "A stain on common sense. No Origin Core cultivator can kill Luo Zhenmu. Not with raw strength. Not in a fair fight."
A younger sword elder leaned forward. "Then they used something."
"Of course they used something," Luo Fengyan snapped. "A Saint-rank remnant. A forbidden talisman. A corpse puppet. Some old monster's sealed strike. Whatever it was, it was not their own power."
His fingers curled into a fist.
"If we start trembling because two juniors waved a borrowed blade, then Verdant Edge should close its gates and let dogs piss on our mountain tablets."
A few elders gave cold laughs.
The revenge faction had found its rhythm.
Another elder, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, spoke next. "The Qin Family has already been branded. River Ridge is no longer under our outer influence. If we hesitate now, every city tied to us will start calculating. They will wonder if Verdant Edge's protection is still worth obedience."
"That's the real wound," someone muttered.
The elder continued, "If an inner deacon dies and the sect answers with investigation instead of punishment, our outer networks will rot within a month. Families will delay tribute. Vassal clans will hide resources. Young geniuses meant for our sword peaks will be offered elsewhere."
He looked directly at Yun Jianchuan.
"Sect Master, reputation is also a formation. Once a crack appears, everyone presses on it."
The argument was reasonable.
That made it dangerous.
Yun Jianchuan did not answer immediately. His gaze moved from the revenge faction to the quieter elders on the opposite side.
"Xu Mingyuan," he said. "You have not spoken."
A thin elder seated halfway down the table opened his eyes.
Elder Xu Mingyuan managed Verdant Edge's outer intelligence. He did not look like a sword cultivator. His robes were too neat. His hands were too clean. His face was pale from years spent reading reports under formation lamps instead of roaring beneath open skies.
Many martial elders disliked him.
They called him a man who saw shadows in daylight.
Xu Mingyuan did not mind. In his experience, daylight was where the best killers hid.
He folded his hands inside his sleeves and spoke mildly.
"If Long Shenyu and Long Shenyin only used tricks, why did Zhao Chuan and Lei Yunhe flee alive but crippled?"
The hall cooled.
Grand Elder He's eyes narrowed. "Heaven's Edict people are not our concern."
"They are everyone's concern when they return broken," Xu Mingyuan said. "Zhao Chuan and Lei Yunhe are not nameless. They carried Heaven's Edict's arrogance with them. If they could win, they would not have fled. If they could seize the siblings, they would not have abandoned Ning Huang. If the matter were only a forbidden talisman, they would have waited for the talisman's aftereffect to fade and killed the users."
No one immediately replied.
Xu Mingyuan continued, "And then there is the Thousand-Veil Thunder-Mist Judgment Cage."
At that name, even He Zhaoling's expression shifted.
The damaged Saint Artifact remnant.
Even damaged, even old, even incomplete, it had still carried Saint-level law traces. It could threaten early Sage Rulers. It could distort distance, suppress divine sense, and trap cultivators far above Origin Core.
Yet it had broken.
Not escaped.
Broken.
Xu Mingyuan's tone remained even. "We do not know how they broke it. Until we know, sending three ordinary Sage Rulers may only send three more life jades into the ancestral hall."
"Cowardice wrapped in clever words," He Zhaoling said.
Xu Mingyuan finally looked at him.
"I am alive," he said. "That often looks like fear to men who mistake speed for courage."
The hall froze.
Several elders' sword Qi stirred at once.
A green line flashed across the stone table.
Not from any elder.
From Yun Jianchuan's sheathed sword.
The message was clear.
Draw your swords here, and I will personally cut the hand that moves first.
The pressure settled.
He Zhaoling's face darkened, but he sat back down.
Xu Mingyuan acted as though nothing had happened. "Revenge is simple. Survival is more expensive. Verdant Edge can afford blood. We cannot afford stupidity."
A woman with silver-threaded hair gave a soft laugh from the far side of the hall.
"Spoken like a man who never has to bleed first."
Xu Mingyuan turned his head slightly. "And you speak like someone eager to volunteer."
The woman's smile vanished.
Yun Jianchuan tapped the sheath once.
Enough.
The second faction had made its point.
Then came the third.
They were fewer in number. They did not shout. They did not pound the table. They watched, listened, and carried the uncomfortable air of people who had already imagined worse possibilities than everyone else.
Their leader was Elder Qiu Renshu.
Keeper of old sect records.
He was neither famous for battle nor beloved by disciples. Most martial elders considered him too fond of dead history. He spent his days reading ancient bloodline accounts, broken inheritance warnings, old calamity scrolls, and sect disasters no one else cared to remember.
Normally, his caution was tolerated.
Today, it felt useful.
Qiu Renshu rose slowly and placed an image jade on the table.
"I asked River Ridge's remaining record marks to be cleaned," he said. "The recordings are damaged. The pressure from the battle ruined most formations. But enough remains."
He touched the jade.
A blurred image rose above the table.
River Ridge appeared in fragments.
Broken roofs. Distorted sky. Dust. Thunder mist fading in the distance.
Then Long Shenyin appeared.
The recording was unstable, but her figure was clear enough.
A woman in dark battle robes, spear resting in her hand, black-red slaughter aura coiling around her like a living thing.
Luo Zhenmu stood before her.
His sword Qi erupted. Layered green arcs formed a barrier of wood-wind resonance. It was a proper Verdant Severing defense, swift and refined, the kind of sword art an inner deacon could be proud of.
Then Long Shenyin's spear descended.
The hall watched the first layer shatter.
Then the second.
Then the third.
The image trembled violently, losing detail for a breath.
When it cleared, Luo Zhenmu's body was already falling.
No one spoke.
The jade pulsed again.
A second recording appeared.
A sword light crossed the air.
It was too fast for the recording formation.
A white-black flash.
A tearing line.
The distant thunder mist cage shattered.
And before anyone knew why, Long Shenyu was already standing by Ning Huang, hands around her waist, his posture completely relaxed.
The image failed at that moment.
The hall remained silent.
Qiu Renshu let the silence sit before speaking.
"Look at their posture."
An elder frowned. "Their posture?"
"Yes."
"What does posture prove?"
Qiu Renshu's eyes stayed on the fading image of Long Shenyu. "Habit."
Luo Fengyan snorted. "Speak plainly."
"They do not look like juniors borrowing power," Qiu Renshu said. "They do not look frightened by the force they wield. They do not look shocked that Sky Lords are dying in front of them. Long Shenyin kills Luo Zhenmu as if she is cleaning mud off her spear. Long Shenyu stands beside Ning Huang while a Saint Artifact remnant shatters before him, and he looks bored."
He paused.
"That is not the posture of children who found a treasure. That is the posture of people accustomed to deciding life and death."
Someone said coldly, "Are you claiming two Origin Core brats are old monsters?"
"I am saying," Qiu Renshu replied, "we should stop calling them brats until we know what is wearing those faces."
The words slithered through the hall.
What is wearing those faces.
No one liked it.
That did not make it easy to dismiss.
A younger elder forced a laugh. "Rebirth tales? Possession? Ancient souls? You read too many rotten scrolls."
Qiu Renshu turned to him.
"In the eighty-third year of Ancestor Qingmu's rule, Verdant Edge dismissed a wandering boy as a treasure thief. He was later revealed to be the surviving soul vessel of a fallen Emperor clan. We lost two peaks."
The younger elder's laugh died.
"In the one hundred and twelfth year of the Gray Bamboo Calendar," Qiu Renshu continued, "a girl from a ruined city killed four peak 8th layer Sky Lords while only at the 5th layer. The sect that chased her discovered too late she carried an incomplete Saint corpse heart. Their ancestor died refining it."
He tapped the image jade.
"History is not useful because it repeats exactly. It is useful because fools repeat themselves."
Grand Elder He's killing intent thickened. "Then what? We hide behind formations while two Origin Core cultivators piss on our name?"
"No," Qiu Renshu said. "We do not hide. We also do not rush into a fog because pride says fog cannot contain blades."
The argument did not end that day.
It lasted until night.
Then through the next morning.
Then into the second day.
Messengers came and went. Reports from River Ridge were read, questioned, reread, burned, and rewritten. The Qin Family's surviving channels confirmed the deaths. Hidden observers confirmed Long Shenyu had branded major River Ridge cultivators. Loose rumors from Heaven's Edict territory claimed Zhao Chuan and Lei Yunhe had returned in disgrace, stripped of storage rings and weapons, their wounds refusing to close cleanly.
Every new report deepened the divide.
The revenge faction wanted immediate blood.
The cautious faction wanted scouts, probes, poison routes, divination, and pressure through vassal clans.
The origin faction wanted distance, containment, and information before contact.
Yun Jianchuan refused to let Verdant Edge charge blindly.
He also refused to let the sect look weak.
That was the knot.
A sect's blade could not remain sheathed forever after being slapped. But drawing it at the wrong time could expose the wrist.
On the third evening, the hall doors opened.
A younger elder with status entered, bowed deeply, and kept his forehead lowered.
"Sect Master. Elders. A guest requests entry."
Yun Jianchuan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Name."
"Night Ledger Sect. Elder Wen Canglu."
The hall shifted.
The reaction was immediate and ugly.
Several elders frowned. Luo Fengyan's lip curled. He Zhaoling's face hardened like old iron.
Verdant Edge was a sword sect. It valued visible edges, clean victories, and the dignity of open battle.
Night Ledger was the opposite.
Debt contracts. Shadow routes. Hidden recordings. Poisoned favors. Oath registries written so carefully that three generations could be strangled by one careless signature.
Many sword elders despised them.
Many of those same elders had used their services.
That was the embarrassing part.