In the hidden chamber deep within the Sect Master's peak, the atmosphere was one of grim satisfaction. Li Yu stood with the Sect Master and the two Grand Elders, the four of them the true core of the sect's power.
"The public declarations have been sent," Li Yu said, his voice calm. "The world now knows that the Golden Shell Guild stands with our sect, protecting their interests. Most will assume it is due to the deep water menagerie, a core business of the company."
"It is a bold move, Little Yu," the Sect Master said, a deep, thoughtful look in his eyes. "To so openly tie our fates together. But I understand the logic. A hidden threat invites investigation. An open one inspires fear."
Li Yu had, of course, discussed the plan with them in detail before Fengliu had acted. He had explained the reasoning passed down from Kui and Khaos: that true peace, for a power like theirs, was not found in the shadows, but behind a wall of such terrifying and public strength that no one would dare to test it.
"We are placing our trust in you, and in your companions," Grand Elder Chen said, his voice a warm rumble. "You have always had the sect interest in mind and your judgement has proven to be in line with ours. If this is the path you believe is best to protect our home, then we will walk it with you."
"As long as we are consulted when possible," Grand Elder Mei added, her fond but firm gaze fixed on Li Yu. "Our old hearts cannot take too many more of your… theatrical surprises."
Li Yu simply smiled. "I will do my best, Grand Elder."
They were happy to see the sect grow stronger with Li Yu, his companions are already stronger than any of them. If they had so chosen, they could have already swallowed the sect whole. They put their trust in him because he has proven to have earned it.
The reaction from the Third Prince's war camp in the Boreal Frost Empire was, as expected, far less serene. The news of the Guild's first public declaration had been an insult. The news of the Black Iron Fortress's Sect Leader, Malakai, being killed and his sect's treasury being looted as 'payment for damages' was a public, humiliating slap in the face.
Inside the Prince's grand, ice-carved war tent, the atmosphere was explosive.
"They dare?!" the Third Prince roared, his handsome face a mask of purple rage as he crushed the jade slip containing the Guild's second message into a fine powder. "They annihilate my legion, and now they openly hunt and execute my allies as a form of collection? Then they ask for even more?! This is not a sect! This is a band of arrogant, murderous thugs!"
His most loyal general, Kaelen, a hulking, brutish man with a 6th-level Core Formation aura, stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his massive greatsword. "Your Highness, this humiliation cannot be allowed to stand! Give me the order! I will take the remaining legions, march south, and grind this Golden Shell Guild and their pet sect into the dirt! We will see how arrogant they are when their mountain is burning!"
"And you would be a fool to do so, General," a new voice, calm, dry, and utterly unimpressed, cut through the general's furious declaration.
From the shadows of the tent, the Prince's chief strategist and advisor, an old, scholarly man named Jian, stepped forward. He looked at the fuming General Kaelen with an expression one might give to a particularly dull-witted child.
"You would march our remaining legions south?" Jian asked, his voice dripping with a cold, analytical sarcasm. "And leave our western flank completely exposed to the Seventh Princess? She has already taken advantage of your last… southern excursion. She would be delighted for you to do so again. By the time you returned from your glorious, mountain-burning crusade, you would have no empire to return to."
"We would crush them quickly!" Kaelen snarled.
"Would you?" the advisor retorted, his gaze sharp. "Let us review the facts, shall we? The Riptide Legion, a southern power whose strength far exceeded that of the Frostwind Sword Sect, was annihilated. Their entire leadership, including their ancient sovereign, was either killed or subjugated. The force we sent, led by a 2nd-level Core Formation General, was erased. And now, another of our Core Formation allies has been eliminated, not by a grand army, but seemingly by a single, roving expert from their organization. All of this was done by this Golden Shell Guild, a force whose true leader, the one they call the 'Grand Elder,' has not yet even shown his face to us here."
He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "We do not know who they are. We do not know where they come from. We do not know the limits of their power. To march against such an unknown, when we are already in a life-and-death struggle for the throne, is not bravery, General. It is suicide. And it is a suicide that would hand the empire to the Seventh Princess on a silver platter."
The general and prince also had this information already but their rage clouded their judgement in the brief moment.
The Third Prince, his initial rage cooling in the face of his advisor's cold, impeccable logic, sank back onto his throne, a look of profound, frustrated helplessness on his face. "Then what do we do? We simply swallow this insult? We let them mock me?"
"For now, Your Highness," the advisor said with a slight bow, "we do exactly that. We are at war. A wise ruler knows which battles to fight, and which to postpone. This southern power is a steel plate we cannot afford to kick right now. So, we pay the bill. We send them their tribute. We soothe their 'wounded spirits.' And we focus on the true prize: the throne. Once you are Emperor, once the full might of the empire is consolidated under your hand, then… then you can revisit this southern debt. And perhaps, by then, it will be more profitable to consider them as a trading partner than as an enemy. A power that can so easily dispatch Core Formation experts is a valuable ally to have."
The Third Prince listened, his face a mask of cold fury. He hated it. He hated every word of it. But he knew, with a bitter certainty, that his advisor was right. He had to at least tolerate them, if they can't become friends, then at least not enemies. His luck, it seemed, had been truly abysmal.
Another week passed. A small, but incredibly high-value, delegation from the Third Prince arrived at the gates of Traveler's Rest. They came not in warships, but in a simple, unadorned carriage. They were led by a 2nd-level Core Formation General, a man known for his diplomatic skills, and they came bearing a tribute so vast it made even the greedy Fat Pig's eyes water.
Kui received them in the main hall of the Guild's new headquarters, his smile as wide and cheerful as ever. He did not gloat. He did not mock. He treated the imperial general as an honored guest, a fellow professional engaged in the high-stakes business of nations.
The general, who had come expecting to be humiliated, was surprised by the reception. He had been prepared to face the terrifying, divine ancestor he had heard whispers of. Instead, he was met by a portly, cheerful merchant who seemed more interested in discussing the price of southern sea silk than in the politics of empires.
But as he sat across from Kui, he could feel the immense, ancient power that lay just beneath the merchant's cheerful facade. This Guild Master, he realized with a jolt, was stronger than him. His advisor had been right. To have provoked this nest of hidden dragons had been an act of profound foolishness.
He presented the tribute, the apology was formally accepted, and he was sent on his way with a fine bottle of wine and a promise of future business opportunities. Kui had not just accepted their surrender; he had opened the door for them to become a future customer. It was a masterclass in mercantile diplomacy.
While the world outside was being reshaped by the Guild's bold new strategy, another, quieter mission was reaching its own conclusion.
In a hidden, snow-bound valley on the chaotic borderlands of the northern wastes, Fengliu, in his elegant sky-prince form, stood before a small, heavily warded wooden hut. For a while, he had followed the faint trails left by his quarry, his network of informants and his own sovereign senses finally leading him to this remote, forgotten corner of the world.
He knocked gently on the door. After a long moment, it creaked open, and a woman looked out, her face beautiful but etched with a deep, weary caution. She was no longer the pampered consort of an emperor; she was a refugee, a survivor. It was Su Ling's mother.
The moment she saw the elegant, powerful, and utterly unfamiliar figure before her, her hand moved to a hidden talisman.
"There is no need for alarm, my Lady," Fengliu said, his voice a calm, melodic baritone. He did not mention her daughter at first. That was not the correct approach. "My name is Fengliu. I am an associate of an old friend of your family's. An elder of the Green Mountain Sect, by the name of Jin Wei."
The woman's defensive posture faltered, a flicker of surprised recognition in her eyes. "You know Elder Jin?"
"I do," Fengliu replied. "And it is on behalf of his sect that I have come. They have been made aware of the… troubles in the north. And they are aware of your plight. They have sent me to find you, and to offer you sanctuary."
Her caution remained, a wall of hardened ice. "Why? Why would they risk the wrath of an empire for a forgotten consort?"
"Because," Fengliu said, his voice now imbued with a gentle, sincere weight, "they are also protecting your daughter."
The woman's carefully constructed composure shattered. Tears welled in her eyes, a mixture of terror and a hope she had not dared to feel in months. "My daughter? Xiaowei? She is… she is safe?"
"She is," Fengliu confirmed. "They have already faced down one of the Third Prince's legions to protect her. They will not abandon her. And they will not abandon her mother. I have come to escort you home, to your daughter."
She looked at the elegant, seemingly powerful man before her, at the sincerity in his sky-blue eyes, and for the first time since her husband's death, she felt a flicker of true, unshakeable hope.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice a choked sob. "Please. Take me to my daughter."