The storm began screaming before the first blade was drawn.
Not thunder.
Not lightning.
A sound deeper than both—like the sky itself tearing apart under unbearable strain.
Noesin Jin stood alone at the highest spire of the Mount Cheonroe, his silver-etched robes snapping violently in the wind. His eyes were closed, but his awareness stretched far beyond sight, piercing valleys, forests, and hidden paths alike.
They were coming.
Not as scattered scouts.
Not as probing shadows.
But as an army.
Qi signatures flooded the world—dense, layered, disciplined. Tens of thousands moved in coordinated silence, their auras suppressed by formation arts refined through centuries of slaughter.
Righteous sects.
Orthodox clans.
And hidden among them—
Filth.
Demonic Qi slithered between the formations like rot beneath clean flesh.
Noesin Jin exhaled slowly.
"So even you chose this path," he murmured.
The storm above the mountains churned violently, lightning flashing red for a fraction of a heartbeat.
Deep within the Noesin domain, bells rang.
Not alarms.
Funeral chimes.
A low, resonant sound that vibrated through stone, bone, and blood alike.
Every Heavenly Lightning warrior froze.
They knew what it meant.
The elders emerged from their meditation halls, expressions grim and resolute. Disciples were ushered into inner sanctums. Formation masters activated ancient arrays that had not been used since the clan's founding.
Lightning barriers rose across the mountains, crackling walls of raw authority.
At the center of it all, Noesin Cheon was dragged from his chambers by two elders.
"Father—?" he asked, fear tightening his throat.
Noesin Jin appeared before him instantly.
He knelt.
The world stilled.
Noesin Cheon's eyes widened.
His father had never knelt before anyone.
Not Heaven.
Not ancestors.
Not even the storm.
Noesin Jin placed both hands on Noesin Cheon's shoulders.
"You must listen carefully," he said quietly. "And you must remember every word."
Noesin Cheon nodded frantically.
"No matter what you hear," Noesin Jin continued, "no matter what you feel—do not release your power."
Noesin Cheon trembled.
"Why?" he whispered.
Noesin Jin's gaze softened for the briefest instant.
"Because if you do," he said, "the world will die with you."
He raised his hand.
An intricate seal formed midair—layer upon layer of ancient lightning script, glowing with oppressive authority.
"This will bind you," he said. "It will hurt. It will suffocate you. It may even cripple you."
Noesin Cheon's breath hitched.
"But it will keep you alive."
The seal slammed into Noesin Cheon's chest.
Pain exploded.
Noesin Cheon screamed as his lightning was forcibly compressed, crushed into a dormant core deep within his dantian. His Thunder Body screamed in protest, meridians tearing as power was sealed away.
Blood poured from his mouth.
Noesin Jin caught him before he fell.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Then he stood.
And the Patriarch of the Heavenly Lightning Sect turned toward war.
The first clash shattered the mountains.
Lightning met formation Qi in a collision so violent that entire peaks collapsed instantly. Noesin warriors surged forward like living storms, their techniques annihilating the first wave of attackers.
Bodies fell by the hundreds.
Blood steamed on stone.
Righteous disciples screamed as lightning tore through their defences, ripping apart meridians and souls alike.
For a moment—
Just a moment—
Murim remembered fear.
Then the elders stepped forward.
Core Formation cultivators unleashed their full might. Nascent Soul experts bent the battlefield with soul pressure alone. Sect treasures activated—blades that drank lightning, talismans that devoured Qi.
The Heavenly Lightning warriors began to fall.
Not because they were weak.
But because they were outnumbered.
Ten to one.
Twenty to one.
The Six Storm Guardians entered the fray.
The sky split open.
Each of them was a calamity incarnate—lightning bodies perfected, techniques refined beyond mortal limits. Wherever they moved, righteous elders died screaming.
Namgoong swords shattered.
Shaolin monks were reduced to ash.
Sky Pillar formations collapsed like paper.
The battlefield turned into hell.
And then—
Everything went silent.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
The wind stopped.
Lightning froze midair.
A presence descended.
Demonic Qi flooded the battlefield like a corpse-filled swamp.
From the shadows emerged a towering figure clad in black and crimson, his horns crowned with chains etched in forbidden runes.
The Demon God.
Behind him followed the Seven Deadly Sins, each radiating twisted authority.
And behind them—
The Ten Commandments.
Five hundred elite demon soldiers took position, their auras suffocating.
Even the righteous clans froze.
Namgoong Il-Seon's face went pale.
"You dare show yourselves here?" he demanded.
The Demon God laughed.
A sound like bones grinding together.
"We were invited," he said.
Before anyone could respond—
The Demon Clan attacked.
Not the righteous.
But the Heavenly Lightning Clan.
Chaos erupted.
Righteous formations collapsed as demonic techniques tore through everything indiscriminately. Lightning clashed against corrupted Qi, warping space itself.
The Heavenly Lightning warriors were surrounded.
Three sides.
No retreat.
Noesin Jin stepped forward.
His eyes glowed.
Black lightning erupted from his body.
The Divine Wrath Body awakened fully.
He raised his gaze—
And half the battlefield collapsed.
Meridians shattered.
Souls extinguished.
Elders fell screaming, their cultivation erased in an instant.
Even the Demon God took a step back.
For the first time in centuries—
Someone matched him.
The sky screamed.
Red lightning descended.
Noesin Jin moved like a god of judgment, each step erasing lives. Demon Commandments were torn apart. Righteous patriarchs severely injured.
But even gods bleed.
A blade pierced his side.
A demonic chain wrapped around his arm.
A Nascent Soul elder detonated himself at point-blank range.
Blood stained the storm.
One by one—
The Six Storm Guardians fell.
Not retreating.
Not surrendering.
But choosing death.
"FOR THE HEIR!" they roared as their bodies exploded in blinding lightning, taking entire battalions with them.
The battlefield burned.
And still—
They came.
Noesin Jin staggered.
His vision blurred.
He looked toward the inner sanctum.
Toward his son.
He smiled.
Deep beneath the collapsing temple, Noesin Jin appeared before Noesin Cheon one final time.
The chamber shook violently.
"Father—!" Noesin Cheon cried, tears streaming down his face.
Noesin Jin knelt again.
He pressed his forehead against Noesin Cheon's.
"You must live," he whispered.
The chamber sealed.
Stone slammed shut.
Darkness swallowed Noesin Cheon whole.
Above, the Heavenly Lightning Clan died screaming.
Noesin Jin stood alone atop the ruins.
He raised his hand.
Lightning answered.
Not blue.
Not black.
But crimson.
The sky split open.
Heaven turned its face away.
And the storm fell.
Silence followed.
Ash drifted through the air.
The Mount Cheonroe burned.
From the shadows, a single figure watched—
Master Pung Hyeon.
His fists trembled as he felt the sealed presence beneath the ruins.
Alive.
He turned away.
And carried the storm into exile.
End of Chapter 4