The winds that carried whispers of blood and betrayal grew heavier as Mo Lianyin stood before the collapsing shrine of the Moon Ancestors. Behind him, the air shimmered with the remnants of the forbidden seals he had broken—three already unleashed, four still bound within his soul. Each seal torn away left cracks in his body, but also gave him power that made even the Heavens tremble.
The cultivators who had followed him this far—loyalists, outcasts, and those bound by old debts—waited in the ruins. Their breaths were ragged, their eyes fearful. They had seen him crush elders who once stood untouchable. They had seen him burn sect banners with one cold sweep of his hand. But what unsettled them most was not his strength, but the silence in his eyes, the kind of silence that had forgotten the meaning of mercy.
"Lord Mo," one of the men whispered, dropping to one knee. "The shrine is gone, but the Crown remains hidden. If the Shadow Crown falls into the Emperor's hands…"
Lianyin's gaze drifted upward, to the broken fragments of moonlight filtering through the shattered roof. His lips curled faintly. The Shadow Crown. The artifact of the first Moon Sovereign, said to bind the heavens themselves to the will of its bearer. His parents had died searching for it, betrayed by those closest to them. His uncle had seized the Thompson—no, the Veris clan's inheritance—while he, the rightful heir, had been cast aside.
"Do you think I would let him touch what belongs to me?" His voice was soft, deadly.
The man bowed lower. None dared answer.
The ground trembled. From the shadows, an army approached—the Emperor's personal guard, clad in black iron, their aura suffocating. At their head rode Prince Zhao Jinhai, the man whose name carried both reverence and fear. His sword gleamed with divine light, a weapon forged from the spine of a dragon.
"Mo Lianyin," Jinhai's voice thundered, echoing across the ruined shrine. "Surrender. You are wounded. You have torn three seals—your body cannot hold for long. Hand over the Forbidden Arts and the Shadow Crown, and I will grant you a clean death."
The cultivators behind Lianyin flinched. To hear a prince promise mercy was itself terrifying—it meant he was serious.
Lianyin, however, only chuckled. The sound was low, almost broken, but threaded with a cold amusement that sent chills down every spine.
"Clean death?" he whispered. "Did you grant my mother that mercy when she bled at your palace steps? Did you grant my father that when his head was paraded before the people?" His eyes, dark and glimmering with moonlight, fixed on Jinhai. "No, Prince Zhao. You and your Crown will drown in the same silence you gave me."
With a flick of his sleeve, shadows erupted like a storm. The air twisted, collapsing under the weight of forbidden energy. His third seal burned inside him, tearing his veins, but he stood unmoving, his figure like a solitary blade piercing the heavens.
The battlefield roared alive.
Swords clashed, shadows screamed, and divine light split the sky. Lianyin's body moved as if consumed by madness, but every strike carried precision—every death was deliberate. He was no longer simply fighting; he was cutting his way toward the destiny he had been denied.
The Shadow Crown appeared at last, hovering above the ruins, called forth by blood and sacrifice. Its surface was dark, swallowing moonlight itself, and yet it radiated a pressure greater than any divine treasure. Both armies froze for a heartbeat, eyes locked on the artifact that could rewrite fate.
Jinhai moved first, leaping into the air, dragon-spine sword blazing. But Lianyin was already there, his hand outstretched, shadows coiling.
Their power collided. Light against darkness. Order against chaos.
The world cracked.
For an instant, all sound vanished. Only the Crown pulsed, whispering in forgotten tongues.
Blood ran from Lianyin's lips. His body trembled from the backlash of three seals unbound. Yet his eyes—cold, determined, filled with grief and vengeance—did not waver.
"Mine," he whispered, as his hand closed around the Shadow Crown.
The battlefield erupted in screams. The forbidden power surged into him, fusing with the broken seals, tearing him apart and remaking him in the same breath. His aura swelled, rising beyond mortal limits. He stood no longer as a mere cultivator, but as something else—something that carried both destruction and salvation in his palm.
The loyalists fell to their knees, tears mixing with terror. The enemies recoiled, uncertain whether they faced a man or a god.
Prince Zhao Jinhai's expression twisted with fury. "You think power will save you, traitor? You think the heavens will bow to your cursed soul?"
Mo Lianyin lifted his gaze, the Shadow Crown glowing faintly on his brow.
"I don't need the heavens," he said softly. "I only need their silence."
And when he raised his hand, the shadows obeyed.