He had watched it.

The way she devoured fortune.

The way the laws twisted around her.

She was far more terrifying than the demon.

Fate itself bent for her.

And my disciples can't stay near her much longer…

Pushing the thought aside, he moved beside Li Mei and scanned her with swift, precise perception.

Chaotic qi flow.

No injuries.

Alive.

He exhaled again.

Then, his gaze snapped upward, locking onto Rong Lua still floating in dazed disbelief.

"Help her recover."

Rong Lua jolted as if struck by lightning.

Still stunned by the earlier sword strike, the demon's death, and Chronoblade's impossible ripple, he obeyed without thinking, lowering himself like a scolded disciple.

Li Mei looked between Wang Chen and Rong Lua, confusion deepening.

Why… is the envoy of the Ten Thousand Sword Sect following Master's command?

Somewhere above, Song Po finally regained his voice and nearly choked on it.

It's over. It's all over. Even a Nascent Soul envoy… is being treated like a servant…

His despair was almost comical.

But no one cared.

Because on the lake shore, the sword saint's killing aura still hadn't fully faded. The air shivered. Space rippled.

And Wang Chen's eyes were fixed on Zhao Yunfei—

—who had unknowingly drawn the attention of powers far beyond the Azure Dragon Continent.

Just as Song Po thought he could quietly slip away into the wind, Wang Chen's calm, idle voice drifted across the battlefield.

"Fellow Daoist… why not show yourself?"

Song Po stiffened.

Wang Chen's eyes appeared to be resting casually on him, but Song Po wasn't fooled—the gaze wasn't meant for him. It pierced past him, toward the empty sky overhead.

A low, eerie chuckle echoed.

"Kekeke… I never expected to encounter a fellow Manifestation Realm cultivator in this barren little continent."

A ripple spread through the air.

A middle-aged man stepped out of nothingness, dressed in a spotless white robe—spotless except for the blood pouring down the front. He chewed leisurely on a half-raw hunk of meat still dripping fresh crimson. The splattering blood turned his robe into a grotesque painting.

He looked like a man who had murdered his way through a banquet and decided to bring dessert.

His eyes locked onto Wang Chen with hungry curiosity.

The pressure that leaked from his body was enough to make Song Po's knees shake uncontrollably.

Wang Chen, however, remained perfectly calm. With the Sword Saint's power still circulating in him, his invisible presence slammed into the white-robed man like a tidal wave.

The man's smile faltered for a breath.

Then he quickly straightened up, wariness flickering in his eyes.

"It seems it was a misunderstanding," he said, licking the blood off his fingers with deranged elegance. "The terrifying fluctuations here made me think a natural heaven-and-earth treasure had appeared."

Wang Chen didn't bother responding.

He couldn't waste time—the Sword Saint inheritance was close to its limit.

But before either of them could move—

Both Wang Chen and the white-robed Daoist turned sharply toward an ancient oakwood tree.

A soft tap echoed.

A slender figure stood atop one of its massive branches as if she'd been there all along.

She wore a single-piece black dress that hugged her body like a second skin, every curve shaped as if crafted to break nations. Crimson hair spilled down her back like flowing molten ruby, and her eyes—glowing scarlet—looked as if they could peel apart the souls of men.

Even the wind didn't dare touch her.

"Interesting," she murmured, voice like velvet drowned in poison. "I heard the world crying for help. I never imagined I'd find two… such intriguing little creatures instead."

A shiver ran down Wang Chen's spine.

Not fear.

Instinct.

His Sword Saint perception—currently at its peak—couldn't sense even a wisp of aura from the woman. She didn't feel like a cultivator, demon, or anything he had ever encountered.

She felt like an absence of reality.

Next to him, the white-robed man's face tightened.

"Crimson Queen… of the Soaring Dragon Continent?"

His voice trembled.

Wang Chen blinked.

That name he had heard before—only once.

A ghost in ancient records.

A calamity wrapped in the form of a woman.

A being who should not, by any logic, be standing here.

The Crimson Queen's crimson lips curved, slow and dangerous, as her gaze slid lazily toward Wang Chen.

She licked the corner of her mouth, leaving a glistening trail of crimson.

"Little brother…" she purred, her eyes bright with manic fascination, "why don't you tell big sister about that lovely technique you used to destroy this demon's true soul?"

Her tone was sweet.

Her aura was nonexistent.

Her presence was suffocating.

And for the first time since the demon appeared—

Wang Chen felt his bones chill.

The Crimson Queen hadn't appeared because she cared.

She never cared.

She had simply felt a ripple—no, a tear—in the karmic fabric of the world.

A whim, nothing more. Normally, these karmic pulses were the world's pathetic attempts to protect its favorite pieces, the chosen little insects it needed for its own survival. They were rarely worth her attention.

But this time…

something felt different.

A faint gleam flickered in her crimson eyes as she drifted through the torn karmic strands, following the echo like a predator hunting wounded prey.

And when she arrived—

Her steps halted.

Her pupils contracted, gleaming like freshly drawn blood.

A sword—hundreds of meters long—split the world apart, annihilating a demon's body as if it were made of wet clay.

That alone was enough to pique her interest.

But the moment Wang Chen activated Chronoblade…

The moment that thin film of transcendental law wrapped around him—

The Crimson Queen's expression changed.

Her smile froze.

Her crimson eyes widened, then narrowed with razor-sharp hunger.

A mortal-stage cultivator…

no—Manifestation Realm, at best—using traces of transcendental law?

Impossible.

Unacceptable.

Irresistible.

If she could put that in her hands…

If she could dissect it…

If she could integrate it into her own cultivation…

Her realm would soar past the boundary she had been stuck at for centuries.

Her lips curved into a deadly, delighted smile.

This wasn't a karmic ripple.

This was a cosmic invitation.

Moments passed like stretched silk threads as her voice echoed and wrapped around the battlefield, every syllable crawling into the ears of every cultivator present.

Down below, Li Mei—who had barely managed to calm her chaotic breathing—heard the white-robed man whisper her title.

And her pupils thinned in pure horror.

Crimson Queen.

She had heard of her. Everyone had.

The Sect Master of the Crimson Sect—one of the apex powers of the Soaring Dragon Continent. Equal in prestige to the Ten Thousand Sword Sect, but infinitely more feared.

Her reputation was carved in blood.

Once she set her eyes on something…

she hunted it until the ends of the earth.

No bribe.

No threat.

No plea.

Nothing could stop her.

Li Mei's heart chilled.

Her palms trembled.

This woman… is a calamity dressed as beauty.

And she was staring at their master with hungry eyes.

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