Outside the ruin, the Crimson Guard had taken position.
Hundreds of soldiers in red armor stood in perfect military formation. Detection arrays hummed with power. Siege formations glowed at strategic points. Artillery cultivators stood ready, their techniques primed to unleash devastation.
And at the center of it all stood Oliver Malik.
The Crimson Commander's presence was overwhelming—a pressure so intense that even non-cultivators could feel it pressing against their skin like a physical weight. His expression was carved from stone, showing nothing of the turmoil beneath.
As Oliver released a fraction of his power, the sky itself responded.
A massive fissure of light split the heavens above the ruin, energy cascading outward in waves that made the entire structure tremble. The phenomenon was visible for miles—a display of overwhelming power that announced Oliver Malik's presence to everyone within the region.
The crack in the sky pulsed with crimson light, a scar across reality itself.
The main gate of the ruin opened, and Ankit Singh walked out alone.
The old cultivator moved with unhurried grace, his crimson robes stirring in a wind that touched nothing else. He stopped fifty feet from Oliver, the two Golden Body stage cultivators facing each other across empty ground.
The pressure from their mere presence made the air shimmer and crack.
"Crimson Commander," Ankit's voice carried clearly, amplified by a technique. "Welcome. I assume you're here for your family."
Oliver's response was cold as winter. "Return them. Now. And I might let some of you live."
"Such hostility. And here I thought we could negotiate like civilized men." Ankit spread his hands. "I have a proposition. You recently entered a Level Eight ruin, did you not? Obtained something... valuable?"
"You're well-informed," Oliver said flatly.
"The Dawn of Light has many eyes, Commander. And we know what you took from that ruin." Ankit's tone remained pleasant, conversational. "An artifact. Ancient. Powerful. Something our Supreme Elder has sought for many years."
"Get to the point."
"A simple exchange. The artifact for your son, daughter-in-law, and grandson. All three, unharmed, returned to you within the hour. You have my word."
Silence stretched between them. The Crimson Guard stood motionless, waiting for their commander's order. Every soldier knew what was at stake. Every soldier knew the artifact in question could change the balance of power in the region.
"No," Oliver said finally.
Ankit's eyebrows rose slightly. "No? You won't trade an object for your family?"
"That 'object' is a strategic asset. A deterrent against enemies foreign and domestic." Oliver's voice didn't waver. "And in the wrong hands, it could kill millions. I won't hand a weapon of mass destruction to terrorists."
"And your grandson's value?"
"Also incalculable. Which is why I'm going to take him back by force."
"Ah." Ankit sighed, almost regretfully. "I'd hoped you'd be reasonable. You disappoint me, Commander."
"I don't negotiate with terrorists who slaughter civilians on Christmas. Who murder innocents in the name of some twisted demonic god."
The air temperature dropped ten degrees.
Ankit's pleasant expression vanished, replaced by something cold and dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was soft—almost gentle—but it carried the promise of violence like a blade wrapped in silk.
"Careful, Commander. You speak of things you don't understand. The entity we serve is far beyond your comprehension. Beyond your petty morality." His eyes hardened. "And those 'innocents' were necessary sacrifices. Their deaths served a greater purpose than their mundane lives ever could."
"So you admit it. You're nothing but murderers hiding behind religious delusion."
"Delusion?" Ankit's smile returned, but it was razor-sharp now. "Your ignorance is almost charming. But I suppose that's to be expected from a man who serves a government built on lies." His cultivation pressure intensified, pressing down like the weight of mountains. "But I can see we won't agree on philosophy. So let me make this simple: give us the artifact, or your family dies. Starting with the boy."
Oliver's cultivation pressure spiked, and the ground cracked beneath his feet. Snow sublimated into vapor around him. "Touch him, and I'll erase the Dawn of Light from existence."
"Bold words. But can you back them up before we kill three hostages?" Ankit's own pressure rose to match Oliver's. The air between them distorted, reality bending under the weight of their power. "You're powerful, Commander. Perhaps as powerful as I am. But while we fight, my subordinates will execute your family. Is your pride worth three lives?"
The calculation was visible in Oliver's stance. Hostage situations had no good solutions. If he attacked Ankit directly, the cultists inside would kill Luther, Vanessa, and Reo. If he didn't attack, Ankit could simply withdraw back into the ruin and Oliver would gain nothing.
"Last chance," Ankit said. "The artifact. Or we end this conversation and I give the execution order."
Oliver's jaw tightened. Then he spoke, his voice carrying across the entire battlefield with cultivator technique:
"Crimson Guard. Full assault. Lethal force authorized. Priority one: extract the hostages. Priority two: eliminate all Dawn of Light personnel. Leave none alive."
The response was immediate. The Crimson Guard surged forward as one, a wave of red armor and killing intent crashing against the ruin's defenses.
Ankit sighed. "So be it."
The two Golden Body cultivators moved.
They didn't clash there—that would have killed everyone within a mile. Instead, they vanished, their forms blurring and disappearing as they took their battle elsewhere. To the wasteland beyond. To a place where reality-breaking power could be unleashed without restraint.
But their presence could still be felt. The distant thunder of their combat. The way the air itself trembled with each exchange. Mountains in the distance shaking from the shockwaves.
The negotiation had failed.
The war had begun.
Inside the palace, Luther stood at the window of their prison room, hands pressed against the glass.
He couldn't see the negotiation—the palace was too deep within the ruin's interior. But he saw the moment his father arrived.
The sky cracked.
Through the narrow window, Luther watched as a massive fissure of light split the heavens above the ruin, energy cascading outward in waves that made the entire structure tremble. The phenomenon was visible even from his position deep inside—a crimson scar across reality that pulsed with overwhelming power.
Luther's breath caught. His father had arrived with the full force of the Crimson Guard.
He turned from the window immediately. "Vanessa. We need to leave. Now."
She looked up from where she sat with Reo, understanding dawning on her face. "The negotiation?"
"Will fail. I know my father. He won't trade a strategic weapon for hostages, no matter who they are." Luther's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. Fifteen years of estrangement hadn't changed his understanding of Oliver Malik's priorities. "The moment talks break down, this entire ruin becomes a battlefield. We need to be gone before that happens."
Vanessa stood, gathering Reo into her arms. The boy was drowsy from stress and fear, but he clung to his mother without complaint. "How do we get out?"
"I'll break through—"
Luther stopped mid-sentence.
A circular pattern had appeared on the door—glowing lines of energy forming complex geometric shapes that pulsed with power. The pattern was intricate, beautiful, and completely unfamiliar to Luther's eyes. It looked nothing like the martial cultivation formations his father had taught him to recognize.
"What is that?" he asked.
Vanessa moved closer, studying the glowing pattern with sudden intensity. Her eyes widened. "A formation," she breathed.
"A formation? Like a locking array?"
"Yes, but not the kind martial cultivators use. This is one of the paths Immortal Cultivators use to fight and defend." She handed Reo to Luther and stepped up to the door, her fingers tracing patterns in the air inches from the glowing lines. "Formations are spell structures—geometric arrangements that channel spiritual energy to create effects. Barriers, traps, illusions, attacks. They're fundamental to Immortal Cultivation."
Luther held Reo close, watching his wife work. "Can you break it?"
"Give me a moment."
Vanessa's eyes moved rapidly, following the flow of energy through the formation's structure. Her lips moved silently, as if calculating or reciting something from memory. The pattern was complex—far more sophisticated than anything a martial artist would create. Multiple layers interwoven, channels of spiritual energy feeding into central nodes, redundancies built into every section.
Behind the Immortal Cultivation techniques was something else. Something that made Vanessa's expression darken.
"This formation..." she murmured. "The base structure is from my realm, but it's been modified. Enhanced. Someone with deep knowledge of both Immortal and martial cultivation designed this."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the Dawn of Light has backing from cultivators far more powerful than we thought." Her voice was grim. "This isn't something local cultists could create. Someone from the higher realms is involved."
The implications sent a chill down Luther's spine, but there was no time to dwell on it. In the distance, he could hear the first sounds of battle beginning. Explosions. Shouting. The clash of energy against energy.
"Can you break it or not?" he pressed.
Vanessa's focus sharpened. "Yes. But we need to be precise. This formation is connected to the palace's security systems. If we break it wrong, we might trigger defensive measures."
"And if we don't break it at all, we're trapped when the fighting reaches us."
"Exactly." She studied the pattern for another moment, then pointed to a specific spot where five lines of energy intersected, forming a small nexus that glowed brighter than the rest. "There. The convergence point. The formation draws power through multiple channels, but they all meet here. It's the structural weakness. Strike there with your Sword Qi—concentrate all your power into a single point. Don't hold back."
Luther handed Reo back to Vanessa carefully. The boy whimpered slightly but stayed quiet, as if sensing the tension in the room.
Luther moved to the door and raised his right hand. Silver-white Sword Qi gathered around his fingers, compressing and condensing until the energy blazed like a small star. The light was so intense it cast stark shadows across the room.
He could feel the formation resisting already, trying to disperse his energy before it could strike. But Luther had broken through to Sword Qi just hours ago. The technique was still fresh, still sharp, and he poured everything he had into this single point.
Then he struck.
His fist impacted the convergence point with a sound like thunder.
The formation shrieked—a high-pitched wail that made Reo cry out and cover his ears. Energy lashed outward in wild arcs, scorching the walls and ceiling. Cracks spread through the glowing pattern like a shattered mirror, each fracture releasing a burst of spiritual energy.
For a heartbeat, the formation held. Then, with a deafening crack, it collapsed.
The door swung open.
Luther sagged slightly, breathing hard. The effort had reopened some of his previous wounds. Blood seeped through his shirt, warm and wet. But they were free.
"Let's go," he said, straightening despite the pain.
Vanessa moved toward the door, then froze. Her eyes widened. "Luther. Get back."
But it was too late.
Commander Indra stood in the corridor with six cultists, all armed, all radiating killing intent. They must have been approaching when Luther broke the formation—drawn by the alarm or simply doing a routine patrol.
The commander's scarred face showed surprise for just a moment—clearly, they hadn't expected the formation to break so quickly—but she recovered instantly, her expression hardening into professional focus.
"Well," she said quietly. "This is unexpected. But it changes nothing. Secure the hostages. Use lethal force if they resist."
Luther pushed Vanessa and Reo back into the room with one hand while stepping into the corridor himself. He placed his body between his family and the cultists, his stance settling into something his father would have recognized—the ready position of someone prepared to kill or die.
He had no weapon. His Black Dragon Sword was back in Southern Town, gathering dust in storage. The borrowed blade from the agents had been lost during his capture. But that didn't matter. He'd trained since childhood to kill with his bare hands if necessary.
He recognized Commander Indra immediately from the courtyard earlier—the scarred woman who'd been at Ankit Singh's side. Peak innate stage cultivation radiated from her like heat from a forge, the same realm as Luther himself. The six others ranged from mid to advanced innate stage. Together, they represented overwhelming force.
Under normal circumstances, Luther would have hesitated to fight seven opponents of this caliber. But these weren't normal circumstances. His son was behind him. His wife was behind him. And there was nowhere to run.
"Last chance," Luther said quietly, his voice carrying the absolute certainty of someone who'd already accepted what came next. "Walk away."
Commander Indra's answer was to attack.
She moved like lightning, her blade technique creating arcs of dark energy that screamed through the air—demonic cultivation, twisted and wrong. Luther dodged left, his hands coming up empty, forced to evade rather than counter.
The six cultists spread out immediately, trying to flank him and reach Vanessa. Luther couldn't let that happen. He identified the weakest link in an instant—a mid-stage innate cultivator on the left, his stance uncertain, his grip on his sword too tight.
Fear. The man was afraid.
Luther exploded toward him, using Lightning Descent to close the distance before the cultist could react. The man raised his sword defensively, but Luther was already inside his guard. A palm strike to the wrist made the cultist's fingers spasm open. The sword fell.
Luther caught it mid-air with his right hand.
The blade was cheap—mass-produced military issue, poorly balanced, nothing like his Black Dragon Sword. But it was sharp and it was steel, and that was enough.
Before the disarmed cultist could recover, Luther's newly acquired sword swept across in a horizontal arc. The cultist's head separated from his shoulders, both falling in different directions.
One down. And now Luther was armed.
But Commander Indra was already on him, her blade whistling toward his neck with killing intent. Luther brought his stolen sword up to parry. The impact sent shockwaves down his arms—her blade was of much higher quality, reinforced with demonic energy.
His borrowed sword held, but barely. A hairline crack appeared along its length.
He didn't have much time before the weapon broke.
Luther twisted away from Commander Indra's follow-up strike and countered with Viper's Reply—a sword thrust that flowed from defense into offense in one seamless motion. The strike was aimed at her throat.
She blocked with her forearm, but Luther's Sword Qi—channeled through the blade now—cut through her guard like it wasn't there. Blood sprayed in an arc. She stumbled back, eyes wide with pain and surprise, her free hand going to the deep gash.
The remaining five cultists attacked as one, coordinating their assault with practiced efficiency.
Luther shifted into Unyielding Bastion, his movements becoming purely defensive, economical. He couldn't afford to waste energy on flashy techniques—not with this many opponents, not with his injuries still bleeding, not with a weapon that might shatter at any moment. Block, redirect, counter. Each movement as precise as his father had drilled into him. Each strike designed to kill, not injure.
A cultist came from the left, weapon raised high. Luther parried the strike, feeling another crack spread through his borrowed blade, then stepped inside the man's guard and drove his sword through the cultist's throat. Blood fountained. The cultist gurgled and fell.
Two more tried to rush past him toward Vanessa and Reo. Luther's Sword Qi blazed brighter through his failing weapon, silver-white light filling the corridor. He moved between them like flowing water—Cascading River Form.
His blade cut through the first cultist's defense and opened his chest from shoulder to hip. The second took a thrust through the heart. Both fell before they'd taken three steps past Luther.
The borrowed sword finally gave out. The blade snapped in half with a sharp crack, leaving Luther holding just the hilt and a jagged stump of steel.
He threw the broken weapon aside and ripped the sword from the nearest corpse's hand—this one slightly better quality, an advanced-stage cultist's personal blade. It would have to do.
Commander Indra attacked again, her wound forgotten or ignored, rage and determination driving her forward. Her blade technique had evolved—now she was channeling pure demonic energy, black tendrils wrapping around her weapon like living things. The corruption was visible, the technique eating at her life force to generate more power.
She was willing to die if it meant completing her mission.
Luther met her head-on with his new blade.
For thirty seconds, they exchanged blows at speeds that would have killed normal men to watch. Sword against sword. Sword Qi against demonic blade. Technique against technique. Two peak innate stage cultivators pushing their absolute limits. The corridor walls cracked under the pressure of their clash. Stone dust rained from the ceiling.
The remaining two cultists tried to intervene, but they were too slow, too weak. Luther killed them almost as an afterthought—one with a sword thrust through the eye socket that pierced his brain, the other with a slash that opened his throat to the spine.
Now it was just Luther and Commander Indra.
She was breathing hard, blood streaming from multiple wounds. The demonic energy around her blade was flickering, unstable. But her eyes held no fear. Only determination.
"You and your family are going to die here," she said.
Luther's response was cold, absolute. "Not on my watch."
Then she attacked with everything she had left, burning her remaining life force in one final, desperate assault.
Luther saw his opening.
She overextended on a downward slash, putting too much power into the strike, sacrificing defense for offense. Luther sidestepped, let the blade pass inches from his face, and discarded his sword—it would only slow what came next.
His hands came up, both palms glowing with silver-white Sword Qi.
Moonlight Severance.
The Sword Qi erupted from his palms in a crescent arc—the technique he'd unlocked just hours ago in his desperate battle against the cultists in Southern Town. The energy was pure, cutting, absolute. No weapon needed. Just will made manifest.
The crescent caught Commander Indra across the torso.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. She stood there, blade still raised, eyes still burning with determination.
Then her body split.
The two halves fell in opposite directions with wet, heavy sounds. Blood pooled rapidly across the stone floor.
Silence fell in the corridor.
Luther stood among the bodies, breathing hard. Blood—some his, mostly theirs—dripped from his hands and arms. His previous injuries had fully reopened during the fight. Pain radiated through his shoulder and back like fire. His vision swam slightly from blood loss.
But they'd won.
"Luther." Vanessa's voice was tight with concern. She stood in the doorway with Reo pressed against her, the boy's face buried in her shoulder to shield him from the carnage. "Are you—"
"I'm fine." He straightened despite the pain, despite his body screaming at him to stop. "We need to move. That fight made noise. More will come."
He took a step toward them, and that's when he felt it.
A deep rumble, like something massive awakening from sleep. The walls around them began to glow with faint lines of energy—formations activating throughout the palace structure. The air itself seemed to thicken, to press down with invisible weight.
Vanessa's face went pale as she studied the energy flows around them. "It's happening. The security systems are activating—the protocol is engaging."
Luther kept his voice calm despite the situation. "Can you navigate it?"
"Yes." She nodded, her eyes tracking patterns only she could see. "The formations follow rules. I can guide us through."
"Then let's move."
As if to confirm Vanessa's words, the corridor ahead twisted, bending at an impossible angle that hurt to look at. Doors appeared on walls that had been solid stone moments ago. The floor beneath their feet rippled like water, though it remained solid when Luther tested his weight.
Space itself was coming undone.
Luther moved to take Reo from her arms. "You focus on the formations. I'll carry him and handle any more cultists we meet."
Vanessa transferred Reo carefully. The boy whimpered slightly but didn't cry. His small hands clutched at Luther's blood-soaked shirt.
"It's okay," Luther whispered to his son. "Dad's here. We're going to get out of this."
Vanessa stepped into the corridor, her entire focus on the energy patterns swirling around them. Luther followed close behind, one arm holding Reo securely, the other hand ready to channel Sword Qi at a moment's notice.
The corridor that had been straight and normal now twisted like a snake. The walls rippled with formations. Doors appeared and disappeared. The ceiling seemed to breathe.
The maze had fully awakened.
Vanessa took a deep breath and stepped forward, reading the patterns, following the rules only she could see.
"This way," she said quietly. "Stay close. And whatever happens, don't let go of me. If we get separated in this..."
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Luther shifted Reo's weight and placed his free hand on Vanessa's shoulder, maintaining contact.
Together, the family moved deeper into the awakened palace, into the maze's heart.