Night hung heavy over the northern border of Youzhou.
A cold wind howled through the darkness, driving black clouds across the sky until even the stars and moon were swallowed whole. The frontier city of Liuchuan lay in eerie stillness—once lively with smoke and chatter, now silent as a tomb. The city gates yawned open, unguarded. A thick, metallic scent of blood drifted outward with every gust of wind.
"The whole city… it's like death itself devoured it," murmured Mu Xueyin, her face pale as frost.
Li Tianyuan narrowed his eyes, gripping his spear tighter. His chest felt weighed down by something unseen. For miles before reaching Liuchuan, they'd passed farmers and merchants, heard the barking of dogs. But since crossing into the city's outskirts—nothing. Not a single soul. No beasts, no footsteps. Just silence.
Qin Yue's face was grim. He drew his sword with a metallic hiss and ordered, "All troops—on guard! Something here is wrong."
Thousands of armored soldiers stood ready, yet their presence brought no comfort—only a chill that pressed closer with each breath, as if they marched not through streets, but through a corridor of ghosts.
Inside the city, the houses stood with doors flung open and windows shattered. Tables were overturned, bowls broken mid-meal, as if every resident had been snatched away in an instant. No struggle. No bodies. Only trails of dark, dried blood, snaking along the cobblestones toward the city's heart.
"An entire city—thousands of people—gone without a sound," Fu Yuan said, his tone low and cold as winter steel.
Li Tianyuan's pulse quickened. A memory stirred—the name he'd seen once in the archives of the Inverse Spirit Sect: The Twelve Silent Envoys.
"Could it be… them?" he whispered.
Before anyone could reply, a faint sound drifted through the city—part sigh, part infant's cry. It was so soft it might have been imagined, yet it made the soldiers freeze in place. The wind died. The night fell utterly still.
Then—whoom!
A wave of blood-red mist erupted from the city's center, rolling toward them with a chill that bit through armor and flesh alike.
"Formation! Break the fog!" Qin Yue roared, swinging his sword. The arc of light split the mist for a heartbeat—but it closed again immediately, writhing like a living thing. In an instant, soldiers were swallowed whole. Screams echoed, rising and vanishing like stones dropped into water.
"An illusion!" Li Tianyuan realized, too late.
The world warped. His vision spun. When it cleared, he was standing on a barren plain soaked in blood. All around him, comrades slashed at each other in madness, their faces twisted, their eyes void of reason. The air stank of iron and despair.
"This is… dream magic," came Fu Yuan's distant voice, echoing through the haze. "Among the Twelve, the Nightmare Envoy—Yansi—is master of illusion. He traps souls within their own fears, feeding on their agony."
Li Tianyuan's heart pounded.
Across the battlefield, Mu Changfeng charged at him, sword flashing. His eyes glowed red, mindless and feral. Li raised his spear to parry; each clash rang heavy and desperate.
"Changfeng! Wake up!"
His shout tore through the dream, yet it reached no ears. Mu Changfeng pressed harder—and behind him, even Mu Xueyin appeared, eyes glassy, tears frozen as she raised her blade to strike him down.
Blood sprayed. Screams rang. Brothers killing brothers. The sight tore into Li Tianyuan's chest like knives.
That was the true terror of the Nightmare Envoy—turning those you love into executioners of your own will.
"Struggle all you like," came a voice, smooth and cold. "Your blood, your soul—they will all become offerings."
Li Tianyuan spun toward it. The air rippled, and from the blood mist emerged a cloaked figure—tall, thin, face obscured by shadow. Only his eyes were visible: two endless pits of black.
"Yansi…" Li Tianyuan breathed.
The figure's voice was a whisper that cut like frost. "The Saint has already foreseen your fate, child of destiny. The power in your body will consume you from within. When it awakens fully… it will end you."
Li Tianyuan's rage ignited. The force within him—the Power of the Cauldron—burst forth like thunder.
"Then I'll break fate itself!"
He lunged. His spear blazed with golden light, tearing through the illusion. The sky split open, the blood fog exploding outward in a shockwave of light and sound.
For a moment, he saw Yansi recoil—then vanish with a mocking laugh that echoed across the void.
"Impressive," the disembodied voice said. "You are worthy of the Saint's gaze."
And with that, the blood mist collapsed.
Reality snapped back. Li Tianyuan stood once more within the ruins of Liuchuan—but now the streets were littered with corpses. Hundreds of soldiers lay dead, their eyes wide in horror, their souls drained. They had killed one another under the nightmare's thrall.
Li Tianyuan's fists clenched until blood seeped between his fingers. His heart burned with fury—and guilt.
The wind rose again, carrying the last echo of Yansi's laughter:
"The Saint knows of you now. When your power awakens in full… that will be the day you die."
Li Tianyuan trembled, veins standing out on his temples.
Fu Yuan stepped beside him, his voice low and unreadable. "Now do you see? The Cauldron's power is not merely strength. It is hunger."
Li Tianyuan said nothing. His breath came ragged, his eyes fixed on the dead around him.
For he understood—this moment had changed everything.He was no longer just a soldier on the battlefield.He had become a piece on the board of fate itself—a chosen pawn, under the gaze of gods and demons alike.