The Blood Veil dispersed like a collapsing world.
The sphere of crimson mist cracked with a low, resonating thrum—thump… thump… thump—as if the beating of a colossal heart was echoing through the night sky. Then, with a sound reminiscent of tearing fabric, the bloody shell unraveled into strands of vapor that twisted upward and vanished beneath the pale moon.
And within that moonlit emptiness… Aelric stood.
Suspended above the roof, balance weightless, posture unshaken, his expression calm as if nothing happened. His clothes fluttered with the breeze, dried blood glimmering faintly like dark rubies under starlight. His crimson eyes—calm, fathomless, merciless—scanned the battlefield below as if he were the silent judge of a dying world.
The Azure Heaven Sect froze.
Disciples, elders, guards—all stared upward, breath stolen from their lungs. Some trembled. Some knelt subconsciously. Others simply stood with empty, hollow expressions as if questioning the very reality in front of them. The fear was instinctive, primal—born of witnessing something beyond their comprehension.
Even the assassins halted their steps mid-strike.
A lone dagger clattered onto stone.
Someone whispered, voice shaking, "I–Is he… a Martial Master?"
Another shook his head violently, "No… no, even a Martial Master cannot manipulate blood like that! That was… that was a domain-like phenomenon!"
"Could he be… an Immortal Realm cultivator?"
"Or… or… a demonic follower?"
Sect Leader Jian Wuhen had the same thought—that unsettling, dangerous possibility—but he quickly dismissed it. He had watched Aelric for days. The youth's bearing was too calm, too rational. No madness, no derangement, none of the unpredictable cruelty demonic cultivators were infamous for.
And yet the sight he witnessed…
Jian Wuhen muttered unconsciously, throat dry:
"Just… what level have you reached… Divine Doctor?"
He wasn't sure if he wanted the answer.
⸻
The moment Aelric's aura stabilized in the air, panic spread among the assassins like wildfire.
"R–Retreat! RETREAT!"
"He's not human! THAT'S NOT HUMAN!"
"Scatter! Scatter!"
Some tried to flee into the forest. Others darted across rooftops. A few simply dropped their weapons and ran blindly in any direction they could find. But fear was a poison—it made their movements sloppy, their judgment clouded.
Azure Heaven Sect disciples, fueled by rage and grief, chased them relentlessly.
Blades flashed. Screams echoed. Blood splashed against stone and wood.
Some assassins escaped. Many did not.
A handful—those whose greed outweighed fear—stayed behind. They stared at Aelric with burning crimson eyes filled with obsession.
"Spirit stones… Ten thousand spirit stones…!"
"If we kill him… we become legends…"
But their delusions lasted less than a breath.
Aelric did not even look at them.
The sect disciples did.
And those assassins died before they ever reached the wall beneath Aelric.
⸻
The courtyard, once filled with the sound of disciples training, now lay drenched in blood instead of sweat. The metallic smell hung so thick in the air that some younger disciples gagged upon breathing.
Bodies—dozens—covered the tiles.
Some still warm. Some already cold.
Weapons were scattered everywhere, like fallen leaves of a battlefield that should never have existed within a sect's borders.
The moonlight, pure and soft, contrasted painfully with the harshness of the scene.
Aelric slowly descended toward the ground. As his feet touched the blood-stained tiles, the surrounding disciples instinctively took a step back. No one dared to speak. No one dared to approach.
At that moment, every single person in the sect had the same thought:
Thank the heavens that this man is not our enemy.
⸻
Sect Leader Jian Wuhen finally stepped forward, face twisted between fury, guilt, and exhaustion.
His eyes swept across the corpses—his disciples, his responsibility. His breathing turned ragged. His shoulders trembled. He clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into flesh.
This is my fault.
He thought back to his sons—
One weak and recovering.
One a coward without talent or courage.
My sons cannot fight.
My disciples died instead.
My sect bleeds because I… failed.
Rage surged through him, blazing so fiercely that even standing near him felt like standing beside a furnace.
"Divine Doctor…" he said hoarsely. "What should we do now? Tell me. I want to strike the Flowing Cloud Sect tonight and skin them alive."
Voices erupted from behind him.
"Yes! Sect Leader, give the order!"
"Kill every last one of the Flowing Cloud dogs!"
"They dared to attack us—we will erase them!"
"Senior brother died… I will cut down ten of them for him!"
Anger. Grief. Hatred.
The disciples were no longer thinking. They were drowning in emotion.
While the sect roared with fury, Aelric felt nothing.
No anger.
No joy.
No sadness.
Only understanding.
Human beings were creatures shackled by emotion and desire. Invisible threads controlled their choices—fear made them irrational, rage made them reckless, grief made them fragile. They acted not from reason but from impulses.
Aelric watched them quietly.
He, too, once felt emotions.
But a thousand years of slaughter had carved them out of him. He had transcended that human fragility long ago.
He waited until the noise died down slightly—then spoke:
"Attacking them directly now is foolish."
Silence hit the courtyard like a hammer.
Even Jian Wuhen blinked.
Aelric continued, voice calm and steady:
"We first visit someone."
"Who?" Jian Wuhen asked.
Aelric's gaze lowered slightly.
"Branch Manager Bai."
The sect leader stiffened—not in rejection, but in understanding.
White Dragon Hall.
Neutral merchants.
Greedy, powerful, unpredictable.
Everyone had nearly forgotten their role in this conflict—except Aelric.
⸻
White Dragon Hall – Branch Estate
Not long after, Aelric and Jian Wuhen arrived at the White Dragon Hall's branch estate.
The building reflected the nature of merchants—elegant without excess, dignified without arrogance. Soft lanterns lined the entrance, illuminating a wide stone path leading to the central courtyard. The fragrance of rare incense lingered in the air, calming yet intoxicating.
Two servants—both young women dressed in simple, light-blue robes—bowed deeply.
"Branch Manager Bai has been expecting Sect Leader Jian," one said respectfully.
Their steps echoed softly as they guided Aelric and Jian Wuhen deeper into the estate. The architecture was balanced—neither luxurious nor humble. Everything served a purpose.
They crossed a wooden bridge leading toward a circular open pavilion built atop an artificial lake. The water below reflected the moon so perfectly it felt like a second sky had been placed beneath their feet.
Under the moonlight, the lake looked like liquid crystal.
In the center of the pavilion sat an old woman—hair silver-white, tied in a bun, wearing plain yet refined robes. Her posture was dignified, her gaze sharp enough to cut stone.
This was not a merchant one could deceive.
This was a woman who had seen decades of schemes, betrayals, and negotiations—and survived every one of them.
Her eyes slid toward Aelric first… then Jian Wuhen.
"Come," she said, voice calm but unyielding. "Sit."
Even the night wind seemed to pause at her words.
And so, the meeting that would alter the fates of three factions began.