Next Morning

The Imperial City woke beneath a sky that felt heavier than usual.

The sunlight was pale and sickly, filtered through layer of dense cloud. The air was filled with tension, by unease. Ever since the night before, a single rumor had spread like wildfire through the city's crowded streets—

Demons had infiltrated the city, wearing human faces.

No one knew who had started it, yet it had already infected every tavern, market, and courtyard.

Whispers slithered through alleys like shadows. Smiles between friends had turned stiff. Trust, once the unseen bond among cultivators, now crumbled into suspicion.

Anyone could be a demon—your friend, your servant, your sworn brother.

Even laughter carried an edge now.

Inside a tavern in the outer city—just a few kilometers from the Phoenix and Dragon Dojo—the air was thick with alcohol, blood, and fear.

"Clang!"

Two swords collided, sending sparks scattering like dying fireflies. Tables splintered. Chairs flew. The crowd backed away, forming a trembling circle around the duel.

The combatants weren't strangers. They were once brothers-in-arms—men who had bled together on the same battlefield.

"Bastard!" one of them roared, his face contorted with hatred. "I knew you were a shameless brute! How dare you harbor such filthy thoughts about my Dao partner!"

The other man, equally bloodshot, spat to the side and raised his sword again. "You've gone mad, Hu Wei! It's the demons whispering in your mind!"

"Lies!"

Their blades met again, and this time, one didn't rise back up.

Such scenes had become common.

Lifelong brothers, trusted partners, even master and disciple were now turning on one another—each convinced the other was a demon.

The city had become a cauldron of paranoia, boiling over with every hour.

Before the demons even attacked, the people were already destroying themselves.

In the heart of the city, Song Po stood alone in his grand hall, staring at the chaos reports piling up before him.

Each scroll was another fire he couldn't extinguish. Each message, another body.

The air around him trembled as his temper broke.

"Damn these cunning demons!"

His palm slammed onto the ancient ironwood table. The thousand-year-old artifact shattered instantly, splinters flying like shrapnel. The walls groaned beneath the pressure of his qi, and for a moment, even the wind outside seemed to stop.

A Golden Core cultivator's rage was not something the world tolerated lightly.

But before Song Po could release another breath, the air above him warped.

A shadow materialized silently in the courtyard—no warning, no fluctuation of qi, nothing.

When Song Po raised his head, his face drained of all color.

A young man stood suspended in midair, looking down upon him with thinly veiled disgust.

Tall. Slender. Robes of violet silk embroidered with silver swords. His eyes gleamed like blades, sharp and cold, and every inch of him radiated effortless superiority.

Even before sensing the man's cultivation, Song Po's instincts screamed.

Nascent Soul.

The realization struck like a thunderbolt. His heart stuttered, his qi trembling in submission.

And then—relief.

He spotted it. The faint insignia of a sword carved into the man's left shoulder.

A Thousand Sword Sect envoy.

Song Po immediately bowed, sweat trickling down his temples. His expression softened into forced deference, his back bending like a grass in the wind.

The envoy's lips curled into a faint sneer.

"Hmph."

A voice like sharpened glass sliced through his mind. It wasn't spoken aloud—it was transmitted directly through divine sense, cold and merciless.

"So, you're the pathetic insect who begged for my noble sect's aid?"

The tone was filled with disdain, carrying the weight of someone used to obedience.

The young man floated lazily down, not even bothering to meet Song Po's eyes.

"It will forever remain a mystery to me what the Sect Master saw in worthless trash like you," he said, his voice dripping contempt. "Why waste time and effort? This continent is already doomed to fall to the demons. Why waste our resources saving it?"

The words struck Song Po like knives.

He stood perfectly still, head bowed low, fists trembling at his sides.

The once-proud City Lord of the Imperial Capital—Golden Core cultivator, patriarch of the Song Family—now looked more like a servant awaiting punishment.

It wasn't lack of pride that kept him quiet. It was necessity.

The city stood on the edge of annihilation. He couldn't afford to offend the only power that could still help him.

But then came the words that froze his blood:

"This continent is doomed."

His face went pale, his breath shallow.

The envoy—Rong Lua—smiled faintly, as if savoring the despair in Song Po's eyes.

"Enough chatter," Rong Lua said coolly. "Where is the payment?"

Irritation flickered across his face, and the air around him crackled faintly with killing intent.

Song Po immediately scrambled to act. With trembling hands, he reached into his spatial ring and began producing item after item. In moments, the entire hall glittered with light—piles of spirit stones, rare pills, and Heaven-and-Earth treasures stacked high like miniature mountains.

The envoy's expression didn't change. With a casual flick of his sleeve, everything vanished—sucked into his storage artifact as though swallowed by the void.

The oppressive pressure eased, though not by much.

For the first time since his arrival, Rong Lua finally looked at Song Po directly, his tone almost amused.

"Relax. I'm not going to kill you—yet. I'll do what I was sent to do. Consider your pitiful city protected."

Song Po exhaled shakily, but the relief didn't last long.

Rong Lua's gaze grew distant, his lips curling into a thin smile. "Still… there's someone I'd like to meet while I'm here."

"Someone?"

Rong Lua's tone darkened.

"Ying Yue's childhood sweetheart. Lin Huang, I believe his name was."

His words were casual, but his eyes gleamed with venom.

Everyone in the Thousand Sword Sect knew Rong Lua's obsession with Ying Yue—the Sect Master's favored disciple, radiant as moonlight.

But few knew the full story. That she had once loved someone else.

"Hmph. How dare that mortal touch my Yue with his filthy hands," he murmured. "I'll find him soon enough. Maybe turn him into a puppet to guard her courtyard."

The malice in his words made Song Po's chest tighten. The air itself seemed colder.

Not daring to meet his eyes, Song Po bowed deeper, forcing his trembling hands to remain steady. "Y–Yes, Honored Envoy. I will see to it that your wishes are fulfilled."

The young Nascent Soul expert's faint smirk deepened.

Song Po eyes, once filled with pride and ambition, now burned with only one emotion—helpless fury.

But for now, he could only whisper to himself, voice shaking, "For the city… I must endure."

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