Mloif stood tall and brooding atop the bow of his massive warship, his arms crossed behind his back as the salty breeze carried his dark robes like smoke. His black hair, tied high, danced with the wind like the flags of vengeance. Below him, five of his strongest elders—handpicked disciples trained by him personally—lay broken and bloodied across the battlefield, slain by the Lotus Elders.
A short distance away, Elder Mo sat under a silken tent beside the envoy, the tent had been bought by one of the guards. Both sipping fragrant tea from small porcelain cups. They were watching the destruction unfold with calm expressions.
"Why didn't you step in to assist your fellow elders?" the envoy asked with a mild chuckle, his tone more playful than accusing.
Elder Mo let out a relaxed sigh. "I'm just an old man. The fire in these bones doesn't burn as hot as it used to."
The envoy laughed aloud. "That's a poor excuse. I remember you as one of the strongest pillars of Thousand Lotus. They used to say you could level mountains with a flick of your hand."
Elder Mo's eyes crinkled with a smile. "If I did that, how would the younger generation grow? If I always solved everything, the disciples would become lazy, and the elders... complacent. It's better they struggle and gain experience."
The envoy chuckled again, taking another sip. "You're still as cunning as ever."
Back on the battlefield, the remaining Thousand Lotus Elders gathered, standing proudly over the broken bodies of Mloif's five subordinates. The wind picked up as their robes flowed around them like banners of war.
"Are these really the best your ship has to offer?" Elders Huo called out, his voice echoing across the now-silent plains.
"You should have trained them better, Mloif," Elder Ren added. "We didn't even get a scratch."
Their taunts sliced the air with arrogance, but Mloif did not answer. His body tensed, eyes narrowing as his knuckles whitened. Thunder cracked in the sky above as dark clouds gathered.
"Fools…" he whispered, before leaping from his ship like a descending god of war.
He landed with earth-shattering force, the paved stone cracking like brittle glass beneath his feet. The ground quaked and wind erupted like a geyser, scattering debris and stirring dust into a whirlwind.
The Thousand Lotus Elders leapt into the air to avoid the shockwave, but even they were forced to descend, their clothes fluttering violently as they faced the storm Mloif had become.
"You mock me," Mloif growled, "but you forget who I am."
His black hair began to shimmer, the color draining slowly, replaced by a vibrant crimson as if blood itself was infusing his scalp. It flowed like liquid fire, glowing with infernal energy.
The Elders tensed.
"You will regret taunting me!" Mloif roared.
With a roar that cracked the sky, he dashed forward, moving faster than the eye could follow. His palm struck one elder's chest, sending the man flying through three stone pillars. The other elders jumped in, surrounding Mloif, but he spun mid-air, launching a wave of energy from his heel that slammed two others to the ground.
One elder tried to trap him in a defensive formation, but Mloif shattered it with a single punch that resonated like a gong. Another's sword pierced his side—but Mloif didn't flinch. He caught the blade with his bare hand and snapped it, slamming his fist into the elder's jaw.
The elders regrouped, bloodied and winded. They formed a formation, glowing with brilliant blue lotus symbols, and charged again. Mloif grinned like a beast, his eyes now glowing red.
"You're not ready for me."
The next exchange was a blur of raw power. Lightning flashed, wind howled, and the battlefield trembled under their clashing might. But despite their combined skill, the Lotus Elders were slowly pushed back.
Above, Elder Mo's hand shook slightly, tea splashing from his cup. His knuckles clenched as the ceramic shattered under his grip.
"Impossible…" he whispered. "He's evolved since last we crossed paths."
The envoy leaned forward, lips tightening. "Shall we step in?"
Elder Mo didn't reply. He stood slowly, dusting off his robe.
On the ground, the Thousand Lotus Elders were downed—wounded, panting, barely able to stand. Mloif laughed, hair blazing red, his arms raised as he summoned a sphere of dark energy in his palms.
"You fought well," he mocked. "But this... this is the end. Your sect will remember this moment as the day hope died. And there's no one left to stop me."
The black energy orb grew in size, its hum vibrating the air. He hurled it at the helpless elders.
"No!" Elder Mo shouted as he launched from his place.
But before he could reach them, a sudden flash of silver tore through the sky.
A single sword strike.
The orb split clean in half, exploding into harmless sparks. Smoke enveloped the battlefield, rising like a curtain.
From within that veil, a slow clap echoed.
Mloif's eyes widened in fury and confusion. "Who—?!"
A cloaked figure stepped out, leisurely lowering his hands. The silver sword dripped with residual energy at his waist.
The Thousand Lotus Elders, still on their knees, looked up in astonishment and curiosity.
The figure chuckled, voice rich with sarcasm. "Now that was quite the monologue. Are you always this theatrical?"
Mloif's rage boiled over.
"Who dares interrupt ME?!"
The figure pulled his hood down slightly, revealing a glint of pale skin and wild hair. It was Aithur.
Mloif's voice cracked with fury. "You think a mere rogue like you can stop me?! Look at your rags! You're no cultivator—you're a beggar at best!"
Aithur's smirk deepened. "And yet… here I am, ruining your grand moment."
"You dare mock me?!" Mloif's voice shook the earth as his aura exploded, the ground beneath him fracturing.
"Mocking?" Aithur said, feigning innocence. "Oh no. I'm just stating facts. You needed five elders, and now you're panting from fighting just a handful. You say no one can stop you... but here I am."
"RAAAAAH!" Mloif's hair flared brighter red, his aura becoming a storm of fury.
With a final roar, he lunged forward.
Aithur stepped forward with a calm gait, sword still at his waist.
In the final moment before their clash, their faces inches apart—Mloif twisted with a snarl of rage, while Aithur only smirked.
A heartbeat of silence.
Then, the world erupted.