News of Chen Mo's revival raced across the cultivation realms like poison through veins.
Whispers turned to shouts, then to proclamations carved on jade slips and nailed to every sect gate.
The crippled trash was crippled no longer. He walked again, sword in hand, leaving behind a marketplace turned slaughterhouse, bodies of Heaven's Ascension disciples strewn like broken dolls, blood thick enough to paint the earth red.
The tale grew with every telling: eyes burning with unholy light, a blade that severed more than flesh.
The Orthodox Alliance responded swiftly and without mercy.
A bounty appeared on Chen Mo's head, astronomical spirit stones, rare elixirs, even a promised favor from the alliance elders themselves.
A neutralization team was assembled: cold-eyed killers, peak experts in tracking and assassination, their orders clear, bring him back alive if possible, dead if necessary.
