The sky above the Great Empire's eastern front darkened, thick with the stench of blood and ash. Emperor Lu Wuyue stood atop the battlements, his long robes rustling in the wind, his sharp gaze locked on the distant horizon.
At his side stood General Lin Hanyuan, a mid-stage Level 7 cultivator, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Behind them, kneeling respectfully, was Second-in-Command Xu Qing, a Peak Level 6 cultivator, sweat trickling down his brow as he delivered his report.
> "Your Majesty, the demon forces have halted their advance. They seem… to be waiting."
Lu Wuyue didn't respond immediately. His eyes narrowed.
And then—
A violent surge of demonic qi erupted in the distance. The sky pulsed crimson. The very air screamed in agony. Soldiers atop the walls staggered under the sudden pressure.
The emperor's voice turned cold.
> "It's him."
---
Far beyond the no-man's land, deep within the rotting forests of demon territory, Ancestor Mo Xuan stood with his hands behind his back. His burning red eyes, twin infernos of hatred, locked onto the direction of the human frontlines.
His voice rumbled like thunder.
> "One hundred and six years… and still, I feel it. The mark you left."
His clawed hand slowly rose, hovering over his chest—where a deep, jagged scar stretched from shoulder to heart, sealed by black spiritual chains. Even now, it ached at the emperor's approach.
> "Lu Wuyue… Dragon of the Empire…"
The wind howled. The sky trembled. War and history hung thick in the air.
---
Back atop the battlements, the emperor let out a slow breath.
> "I'm going."
> "He's waiting for me."
Without another word, his body vanished—transforming into a streak of golden light that raced toward the source of that familiar, hateful aura.
---
As Emperor Lu Wuyue approached the demon's territory, the pressure intensified with every step. His qi trembled faintly. Trees bowed as he passed. Space itself began to twist.
> "So this… is the power of a true Level 8 cultivator."
It was a storm of spiritual dominance—ancient, suffocating, absolute.
Suddenly, the air snapped. A whisper slithered through the void.
> "I've been waiting for you, Lu Wuyue."
And then—
Darkness.
The sky vanished. Wind ceased. Silence swallowed the world.
Before the emperor could react, a towering figure appeared before him—radiating a presence that bent space and time.
The Demon Ancestor, Mo Xuan.
Face to face.
His crimson eyes burned through Lu Wuyue's soul. His aura crashed like waves of fate.
And for the first time in centuries…
> The emperor felt helpless.
---
His thoughts slowed.
> "So… this is it?"
> "Perhaps… my time has come."
His fists didn't tremble. His heart remained still. But deep within, memories stirred—
His wife.
His child.
Their fleeting moments together—brief and fragile, like a lantern in stormwinds.
> "I just… wanted our son to stay out of this cursed war."
> "I wished… we three could have lived in peace. As a family."
> "But perhaps… not in this life."
---
Scene Shift — Imperial Void Chamber
Deep beneath the imperial palace, sealed away from the world, Lu Tianming sat cross-legged on a platform of soul-tempered jade. Ancient formations glowed faintly around him, preserving time and flooding the chamber with spiritual energy.
Though only one month had passed outside, four months had gone by inside.
And in that time...
> Lu Tianming had reached the Peak of Level 3.
His qi was dense and heavy. His meridians rang like steel threads. One final push—
And he would break through to Level 4, the realm where flight and true martial mastery began.
But he didn't rush.
> "No… not yet. I'm still lacking something."
His eyes opened—calm, clear, and unnaturally sharp.
Floating before him was the imperial scroll, the Lu Clan's sacred technique: the Void Palm. A legacy refined across generations.
Its might was fearsome—
A palm strike that suppressed enemies two minor realms above, preventing them from resisting or even moving. A rare technique, feared across the Void Realm.
Most would revere it as flawless.
But not Lu Tianming.
He studied the scroll again, and as his gaze intensified, the runes began to tremble—
as if afraid.
> "It's not just suppression… not just power."
> "It's space itself."
Where others saw techniques, he saw laws.
He began rewriting.
Runes shifted. Structures inverted. The scroll's very foundation trembled as his comprehension unfolded.
> "The Void Palm isn't just an attack."
> "It's a gateway to the Law of Space."
> "If I can fully grasp it… I won't just strike through realms—"
> "I'll tear space apart."
As he meditated, shadows gathered a
round him—then collapsed inward. Light dimmed. Space distorted.
From his fingers, a ripple of pure spatial essence coiled like a serpent.
Lu Tianming smiled faintly.
> "Now… I'm ready."