Fire devours the Chen capital.
Buildings burn.
Streets crack under explosions of qi and spells.
Screams, steel, and magic climb into the night sky like a dying beast thrashing against fate.
Kaelan descends through the smoke—cloak torn, wings folding behind him as he lands atop a broken watchtower.
His gaze sweeps the city once.
Silence forms inside him.
Chen Luzai… is not here.
He extends his spirit—cold, sharp, vast—like the shadow of a mountain falling across the land.
Nothing.
Not a trace of Luzai's aura.
Only despair, blood, and chaos.
Kaelan's eyes narrow.
Then, without another thought, he releases his pressure.
It sweeps across the capital like a falling heaven.
The burning streets fall silent.
Qi refiners freeze mid-strike.
Martial artists stagger under the weight of his aura, some dropping to one knee as if the heavens themselves pressed down upon their backs.
Their wide eyes lock onto the watchtower.
Recognition ripples.
Whispers tremble across the battlefield like wind through dry leaves.
"Lord Kong…"
"Lord Kong Wuya…"
The name spreads—fearful, hopeful, awestruck.
Behind broken doors and shattered windows, civilians peek out, breath held, because for the first time in hours—
—There is silence.
Then a voice breaks through that silence, desperate and raw.
"Lord Kong! We, the people of the Chen Kingdom, beg you—help us!"
Another voice follows, hoarse with fury and grief.
"Help us drive out those Ren-Kingdom dogs!"
Then, from the other side, rage answers rage.
A core-formation Qi refiner shouts back.
"You called us here—now Chen Luzai is dead, and our elder too!"
"And now you want us gone!?"
Accusations rise.
Voices sharpen.
The fragile silence fractures, and both sides step forward, ready to drown the kingdom in blood again.
Kaelan stands still atop the tower.
He has already understood.
Chen Luzai is gone—fallen alongside the Great Elder of the Shadowwind Sect.
A worthy death—and a costly one.
Kaelan's eyes narrow, mind calculating.
So the Chen Kingdom has no Divine Mind cultivator left.
No stabilising pillar.
No one is strong enough to control this chaos.
Which means—
—This kingdom is now a vessel waiting for a new hand on the helm.
And his three months of work—the transformed Medicine Body Refining technique—must not go to waste.
He will not allow it.
His aura crashes down once more, sharp and absolute.
"Enough."
The quarrelling stops mid-breath.
Even the wind seems to freeze.
Kaelan's voice cuts cold and clear across the broken capital.
"Answer me."
His gaze sweeps the kneeling figures below.
"Is any member of the Chen Royal Family still alive?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Loaded.
Then at last, an ultimate realm martial artist forces himself to speak.
"The Chen royal line in the capital… is gone."
"But branches outside the city still live."
Kaelan's brows tighten.
Supporting the Chen line had been the simplest path—politically clean, symbolically strong, and already tethered to him through Chen Luzai.
Now the board is shattered.
The pieces scattered.
And yet—
—opportunity gleams through ruin.
Because a kingdom without a ruler…
…is a kingdom waiting for the Wizard Way.
He looks down at the shaken survivors, voice cold and absolute.
"Those not of the Chen Kingdom—leave the capital."
The Ren-Kingdom cultivators open their mouths to protest—but the killing intent that rolls off him freezes breath, thought, and courage.
Sweat beads across their foreheads.
One looks at another.
Then another.
And without a single word of defiance, they begin to withdraw.
Street by street, roof by roof—until the last foreign Qi Refiner disappears beyond the gates.
Silence returns.
Only Kaelan remains standing above the sea of broken stone and shaken warriors of the Chen Kingdom.
Their gazes rise to meet his.
Hostility.
Fear.
Hope.
All tangled together, sharp enough to draw blood.
Kaelan speaks again.
"I have matters to discuss. Send your representatives to the throne room."
Wind stirs.
His form dissolves into it—blurring, then gone.
In the next breath, he stands inside the ruined throne room.
Empty.
Cold.
A palace meant for rule—now filled only with distant cries and the ghost of authority.
He walks forward.
Step by step.
Up the jade platform.
And sits.
Not on a seat.
But on the weight of a kingdom.
Minutes later, footsteps approach.
Five enter.
All stand straight, backs rigid, eyes wary—as if approaching a thunderstorm wearing human skin.
Kaelan's voice is steady.
"Introduce yourselves."
They bow in turn.
"Jiang Lan, of the Jiang family."
"Su Ren, of the Su clan."
"Ji Anyun, Rising Tiger Sect."
"Hu Bulan, Joint Chamber of Commerce."
"Dugu Jian."
He nods once.
"The Chen Kingdom now has no one standing at the Divine Mind realm."
No one speaks.
He continues.
"And without protection, you know what will follow."
The five exchange looks—grim understanding passing silently.
It is Dugu Jian who finds the strength to speak.
"Lord Kong… what do you require in exchange for your protection?"
Kaelan doesn't hesitate.
"I had an agreement with Chen Luzai—to spread the Wizard Way here."
"Now—I expect the same agreement from all of you."
Protective silence hangs in the air.
Then Jiang Lan steps forward—not with enthusiasm, but with necessity.
"We agree."
Kaelan nods.
"And until the Chen Kingdom stabilises—none of you may spread the Wizard Way on your own."
They hesitate—but nod.
They know the alternative is chaos… or death.
Kaelan continues.
"You are too evenly matched. None of you can rule alone."
A flicker of discomfort passes across their eyes—because it's true.
"So," Kaelan says, voice firm, "you will govern through a council. A parliament."
Confusion flickers first.
Then curiosity.
"A representative from each major force."
"These representatives vote to select a single Head Minister."
"No individual faction holds absolute power."
"Solve disputes through negotiation—not blades."
Silence stretches—long, thoughtful.
Then, one by one, they bow.
"We… accept."
They leave the throne room.
Kaelan remains seated, eyes half-closed.
The throne once belonged to the Chen family.
Now it is merely a chair—waiting for a future ruler.
I should send word to Xueyao.
His gaze drops.
Here is your scene—cleaned, sharpened, and made more immersive without changing the meaning or sequence:
---
"A clone will return."
As a void-monster hybrid, every cell of his body carries a shard of consciousness. His current form itself is already a kind of clone of his original existence.
Creating more is easy.
But maintaining strength is not.
The Ren Kingdom's royal clan, their three dukes, and the five great Qi-Refining sects will not quietly accept his influence over the Chen Kingdom. They may fear him—but they will resist him.
Trouble is inevitable.
So conserving power becomes necessary.
Kaelan lifts a hand and presses a fingertip to his palm. A single drop of blood rises—dark and luminous.
Mana surges.
The drop expands—twisting, reshaping, growing bones, flesh, features.
Moments later, a humanoid version of himself stands beside the throne, pale and silent.
Kaelan wraps the clone in a robe with a flick of mana.
This body carries only one per cent of his strength—but forming it cost him five. Too inefficient.
Unacceptable.
"I need a true clone technique," he murmurs. "One that does not diminish my foundation."
The clone bows, walks out of the throne room, arranges a carriage, and quietly departs the capital—slipping beyond Kaelan's spiritual range hours later.
Kaelan leans back slightly, thinking.
Five per cent lost for one per cent returned… wasteful.
His mind turns like a silent storm.
Formulas.
Structures.
Runic sequences.
Life, spirit, mana, and void.
A framework of a technique begins forming—unfinished, but promising.
For now, he rests his attention inward and cultivates.
---
The next day, the five representatives return. Their expressions are resigned—but determined.
"We accept the new structure."
And so, parliament begins to take form.
The land is still called the Chen Kingdom—but the seat of power shifts. Nobility, sects, merchants, and forces become branches of governance—no longer unchecked rulers.
Kaelan remains in the throne hall, cultivating, refining ideas, and watching silently as a new order takes shape.
Days pass.
A week later, his eyes open.
He senses someone.
A woman stands at the centre of the long crimson carpet. Stunning—so beautiful she could stand beside Li Xueyao without being overshadowed. Yet unlike Li Xueyao's youthful grace, this woman radiates a mature, dangerous allure.
Her gaze meets his.
She does not speak.
Instead, she lets her outer robe fall to the floor.
Silk slips. Skin gleams beneath torchlight.
A silent offering.
A dangerous invitation.
Kaelan's eyes narrow—not with desire.
But with calculation.