Laughter and music fill the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of wine and perfume. Inside the lavish music and dance hall, silk curtains shimmer under the lamplight, and the rhythm of drums guides the graceful steps of women swaying across the floor.
In one of the private banquet rooms, Chen Wei sits surrounded by his friends, wine cups raised high, laughter spilling from every corner.
The table is crowded with steaming dishes, roasted meats, and golden wine jars, while the soft strumming of a zither drifts in from outside.
"Brother Chen, your strength has grown again! You surpass all of our fathers!" one of them shouts, and the room bursts into cheers.
Chen Wei smiles faintly, lifting his cup, but his attention drifts.
The lighthearted chatter fills the room until another friend leans closer, grin wide from drink. "My father says he'll break through to the Master Realm in a few days," he boasts. "Once that happens, the city lord will surely reward him. They say he's preparing a great hunt with the Demon Hunter Association, the Wang family, and the Spring Cloud Sect—to exterminate that crow demon across the Dahe River."
The laughter fades from Chen Wei's lips. His hand, still holding the cup, tightens until the wine trembles inside it.
He forces a smile, finishes his drink, and soon after ends the banquet, leaving the hall before anyone can question him.
Outside, the night air is cool and sharp. He mounts his horse, and as he rides out of the city, the echo of his friend's words rings again in his mind.
"I have to inform the lord… of the new development."
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The next morning, golden light spills over the barren lands as Kaelan returns to the ancient battlefield.
The air carries the faint scent of decay, the silence broken only by distant winds whispering through broken stones.
He sits cross-legged near a mound of blackened soil and begins to absorb the deathly aura that lingers there.
Yun Zhen is nowhere to be seen today, but several other figures appear across the desolate field—demons, each drawn by the remnants of death power.
Some meditate amid piles of bones, others stand motionless, absorbing the pale mist that rises from the ground. No one speaks.
Their gazes meet briefly, but each soon sinks back into silence, immersed in their own comprehension.
As the sun sinks behind the ruined hills, Kaelan ends his cultivation and leaves the battlefield. Shadows lengthen as he glides back toward the Demon City, disappearing into its maze of black stone alleys.
Late that night, within his quiet chamber, wings beat softly against the window.
The black crow lands before him, eyes glinting faintly in the lamplight.
Through their silent bond, Kaelan learns of the city lord's conspiracy—the hunt being planned across the Dahe River.
"The time has come," he whispers, his tone cold. "To teach the city lord a lesson."
He stands and walks to the window. "Tell Chen Qi to deliver a letter to Wang Xian's family in Qingyu City. The letter must be written as if by Wang Xian himself, saying only that he is alive. And investigate which Wang family members are present in the city."
The crow lets out a low caw, spreads its wings, and vanishes into the darkness.
When the first rays of dawn pierce the sky, Kaelan steps out of his chamber.
Outside the city walls, his form shifts—bones cracking, feathers unfurling—until a massive black crow soars into the morning air, heading once more toward the ancient battlefield.
A day later, in Qingyu City, one of Ji Lianhua's guards notices a sealed letter lying at the entrance of the Wang family residence.
The guard brings it to the head maid without opening it. She studies the seal, frowning, then slowly unrolls the letter.
The words inside claim to be from Young Master Xian.
At first, she doubts, but her eyes widen as she spots a hidden mark at the corner of the page—a secret symbol known only to the Wang family's core members.
The letter slips from her trembling hands as realization dawns. She gathers her skirt and rushes toward the inner courtyard.
"Madam… Madam!" she cries breathlessly. "Young Master Xian is alive!"
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The next evening, the crow returns, landing softly beside Kaelan's window.
Through its eyes, Kaelan learns that Wang Xian's mother herself has arrived in Qingyu City, searching for her missing son.
He leans back in thought, fingers tapping the table. "Better this way," he murmurs. "She can be easily guided."
Under the dim candlelight, he writes a second letter—this one in his handwriting.
The words ask her to report every move related to the city lord's plan and include precise instructions on how to send letters back without exposing his true identity.
The crow takes the sealed parchment and disappears into the night.
Two nights later, another message returns.
Kaelan opens it carefully.
From the contents, he learns that the city lord has been in constant discussion with powerful allies.
A golden envoy of the Demon Hunter Association, Liu Kong, and the Spring Cloud Sect elder, Feng Ming, are confirmed to be leading the hunt.
The city lord still pressures Wang Xian's mother to contact her clan's Great Elder for additional support, while Liu Kong intends to summon another golden envoy.
Kaelan's eyes narrow, a faint chill leaking from his body.
He picks up his brush once more and writes the reply.
The letter orders her to agree to the city lord's request but delay the operation for at least half a month.
He seals the letter and ties it to the crow's leg. "Go," he says softly. "And do not fail."
The bird vanishes into the blackness, wings slicing through the cool air.
Kaelan closes his eyes and turns his focus inward.
His demonic qi churns violently within, brushing against the final barrier of the second realm.
The dense death energy he absorbed in the battlefield still flows restlessly through his meridians.
By dawn, his cultivation has reached its peak, pressing at the edge of breakthrough. He rises, cold determination flashing in his eyes, and leaves his chamber.
Outside the Demon City, his body shifts again—feathers unfolding, wings spreading wide—and with one powerful flap, he soars into the morning sky, heading back to the ancient battlefield.
Kaelan sits cross-legged at the base of the bone mountain, surrounded by drifting grey mist.
The air hums faintly with the whisper of dead souls, their wails blending with the faint pulse of his own mana.
For days, he has refined the fifty wisps already gathered within his body, tempering each one until not a trace of impurity remains.
Now, his eyes open, gleaming faintly with silver light. His mana has reached its limit of refinement—dense, stable, and heavy like iron. He exhales once, slow and steady, and the air in front of him distorts.
With a thought, he guides the first thread of death energy into his core.
It twists and swirls around his meridians, merging into his dantian.
The fifty-first wisp of mana begins to form, thin and pale at first, then gradually solidifying into a spinning strand of black light.
The death energy around him senses the change.
It rushes toward him in a flood, seeping into his pores, veins, and bones.
His core vibrates violently.
The fifty-second, fifty-third, and fifty-fourth wisps take shape one after another, each one forming faster and thicker than the last.
Dark fog spreads around his body, twisting into faint rings of energy. The ground beneath him cracks from the pressure.
His mind sharpens, focused entirely on balance—too much energy, and his body could shatter from the strain.
Too little, and the formation would collapse halfway.
Time fades. The count rises.
Sixty... seventy... eighty-two.
The moment the eighty-second wisp stabilizes, a thunderous pulse bursts from his body, scattering the surrounding mist.
The dense death aura around the ancient battlefield recoils briefly, as if bowing to a higher presence.
Kaelan's body glows faintly from within.
His blood surges with new vitality, even as his veins darken from the merging death energy.
He has stepped into the third realm—firmly, and far beyond ordinary cultivators of the same stage.
He exhales again, steam rising from his skin. "Eighteen more…" he murmurs, feeling the rhythm of the mana circulating through him. "Then, the fourth realm."
He knows it won't be easy.
Condensing a hundred wisps into one will demand perfect precision.
Even the smallest imbalance could cause the collapse of his mana foundation, crippling his body and setting him back weeks—or worse.
Still, he smiles faintly. "No risk, no strength."
The sky darkens above. Shadows crawl across the dunes of bones. Kaelan does not leave. He remains seated, his aura calm but sharp, like a drawn blade waiting for battle.
He's waiting—for the figure from before.
The clash between them will not only test his newfound realm but also temper his iron body magic power to its limit.
As the sun disappears beyond the wasteland, the familiar chill rises from the depths of the battlefield. The fog thickens, and faint echoes stir once more in the darkness.