The decades of Mortal Illusion were the most serene of his existence, a time of quietude that paradoxically fueled an ascent in his cultivation.

Though years had passed, the memories of that time remained vivid in his mind. A sigh escaped his lips as he thought of Da Niu, and he drained the wine in his cup.

The brew was robust, with a subtle spice that lingered on the tongue, reminiscent of the spirits Da Niu had once offered.

Thirteen remained silent, his keen eyes discerning the weight upon Wang Lin’s heart. His only solace was to refill the elder’s cup whenever it was empty.

Hu Pao, after what felt like an eternity of restraint, swallowed hard. Unable to resist, he stole a glance at Wang Lin, then furtively seized a wine jar. He cracked the clay seal, poured a generous measure, and downed it in one gulp, a surge of vitality coursing through him.

As he reached for another, he met the icy gaze of Thirteen. Hu Pao’s expression turned to one of wounded innocence. He grumbled inwardly, “I merely sample the brew, and even the Ancestor makes no issue of it. Why must Thirteen meddle?”

Yet, these thoughts remained unspoken.

Wang Lin emptied cup after cup, his eyes growing distant with reminiscence. Images of his time on the Vermillion Bird planet flickered through his mind.

Suddenly, an overwhelming urge seized him – a desperate yearning to depart this land of demons, to leave Tian Yun Star behind, and return to the Vermillion Bird, to the land of his birth and nurturing.

The impulse intensified, threatening to consume his very being. The cup in his grasp shattered, the shards embedding themselves in his flesh. But Wang Lin was oblivious, lost in the depths of his memories.

Any cultivator witnessing this would have been aghast. The path of cultivation demanded an unwavering heart, not such impulsive yearning and lingering regret!

Thirteen sensed the danger immediately. He looked up sharply at Wang Lin, a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Hu Pao, too, felt the shift in the air. His face paled, his concern no less than Thirteen’s.

Just then, the clang of armored boots echoed from beyond the tavern doors, accompanied by boisterous shouts. Seven or eight demon soldiers, clad in black armor, strode into the establishment.

Their arrogance was palpable. One of them shoved aside the approaching waiter, bellowing, “Bring us your finest wine and your best dishes!”

The waiter, thrown to the floor, scrambled to his feet, his face a mask of obsequious smiles. He nodded eagerly and scurried away.

Several patrons quickly settled their bills, eager to avoid trouble.

The armored figures dragged tables together, seating themselves with a raucous din.

At the head of the table sat a man in his thirties, his face etched with a perpetual scowl. An aura of silent menace emanated from him.

When the food and drink arrived, he seized a wine jar, shattering its seal. He drank directly from the vessel, emptying it in a single draught. Then, as if by accident, he tossed the empty jar, sending it crashing onto the floor near Wang Lin’s table.

Thirteen’s eyes narrowed. He turned, took a deep breath, and slowly faced forward again, his silence unbroken.

Hu Pao, too, frowned, but knowing that the Ancestor was in a delicate state, he suppressed his anger.

“Lord Commander,” one of the black-armored brutes boomed, “fear not! When the newcomer arrives the day after next, we will unite and teach him a lesson, showing him who truly commands here!”

“Have you learned anything of his origins?” the scowling commander asked, wiping the wine from his lips.

“He is an outsider, tested by the Demon General himself. Though he did not meet the requirements, the General made an exception, granting him the rank of Commander!” another soldier replied.

“Humph!” The commander grabbed another jar, taking a long, angry swig.

“Lord Commander, I will challenge him the day after next, to see what he is truly made of! According to our military code, if his skills are lacking, even the Demon General’s endorsement will be worthless!”

“Indeed! Why should he arrive and the Demon General demote our Lord Commander to Deputy, making this outsider the true leader? It defies reason! No one could swallow such an insult!”

“Enough!” The commander drained another jar. “I will see for myself what this one is capable of! An outsider, yes, but even among outsiders, there are weak and strong. Many outsiders have met their end under my command! If he proves too powerful, we shall unleash the Immortal Execution Formation!”

A hush fell over the table.

“What?” the commander asked, his brow furrowing. “Are you afraid?”

More patrons were leaving. Soon, only two tables remained: the demon soldiers and Wang Lin’s party.

Wang Lin still clutched the shattered remnants of his cup, lost in his memories. A faint aura of immortal energy began to emanate from him, and the suppressed demonic influence within him grew stronger, reaching out like tendrils. “Ancestor!” Thirteen whispered, his voice laced with concern.

Across the room, the scowling commander scoffed. “If any of you are afraid, then get out!”

One of his soldiers spoke cautiously, “Lord Commander, if we use the Immortal Execution Formation against our own, the Demon General might disapprove.”

“By then, the outsider will be dead, and I will have my position back. I will bear any punishment alone!” the commander declared, draining his jar and hurling it across the room.

This time, the jar flew directly toward Wang Lin’s table, with terrifying speed. Thirteen reacted instantly, catching the jar with one hand. But as he did so, his face twisted in pain, and he was forced to stumble backward, his chair splintering beneath him.

He managed to regain his footing, swallowing the blood that rose in his throat.
“Out of my way, curs! My mood is foul this day, and of all within this hall, only you three dare to defy me!” The man’s voice, a thunderous growl, echoed through the tavern.

Tigerhowl’s gaze, sharp as winter’s bite, fixed upon the table of demon soldiers. He sensed the potent demonic energies swirling around them. He reckoned he could best one in single combat, but two would be a struggle. The one who threw the wine jug, especially, exuded a contained power. Tigerhowl’s eyes met his and a bolt of pain shot through his mind. He quickly looked away.

Thirteen drew a deep breath, set down his own jug, and approached Wang Lin. “Ancestor,” he whispered.

Wang Lin remained still and silent as stone, heedless of the brewing storm.

The grim-faced leader, from the moment he entered the tavern, had been studying Wang Lin. There was something unsettling about the man. It was as if two warring forces raged within his very being.

The first thrown jug had been a probe, but this second showed his true intent.

Seeing the trio still lingered, a black-armored demon soldier snarled, “Seeking death, are you?” He stormed towards Wang Lin and reached out to shove him.

Thirteen’s eyes flashed with fury. Without a word, he launched a fist. The soldier, quick to react, cried out, his hand transforming into a fist wreathed in an eerie light. This light coalesced into the spectral form of a snarling tiger, which infused his fist as it collided with Thirteen’s.

A sickening crack echoed. The soldier coughed blood, hurled back by a force as strong as a raging river. He crashed into a table, splintering it into fragments, and landed heavily on the floor, crimson staining his lips.

Thirteen staggered back, a trickle of blood escaping his mouth. He’d already been injured catching the first wine jug. This forced exertion of his physical strength only worsened the wound, leaving his right hand numb. His body refinement technique was incomplete, a flaw that diminished its power.

Seeing Thirteen engage, Tigerhowl drew forth a clutch of small banners from within his robes. As he waved them, a chilling wind howled into being around him.

Enraged by the injury to their comrade, the demon soldiers rose, their eyes burning with murderous intent. Veterans of countless battles, their killing intent amplified their already formidable presence tenfold.

Only the grim-faced leader remained seated, his gaze fixed on Wang Lin.

“Barbarians, daring to cause trouble in Ancient Demon City!” one of the soldiers sneered. They surged forward like unleashed predators.

The six soldiers attacked as one. Tigerhowl cursed inwardly, frantically waving his soul banners. A swarm of tormented spirits erupted, filling the tavern.

Thirteen vanished into the swirling mass of souls, engaging in a deadly dance.

“Demonic magic! Brothers, shatter it with demonic energy!” one of the soldiers roared.

With practiced precision, the six warriors unleashed their full demonic power. Six streams of raw energy, each rivalling thirty armored warriors in might, erupted like raging dragons. The spirits recoiled from the onslaught, forced back into the banners.

Thirteen’s face was ashen. Tigerhowl felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach. They exchanged a look, a silent promise of unwavering resolve.

Even in death, they would protect their ancestor. For the first time, Tigerhowl found himself not disliking Thirteen so much.

The grim-faced leader, still seated, suddenly paled. He leaped to his feet, roaring, “Withdraw your energy! Now!”

But his command came too late. The six streams of demonic energy, now beyond their control, surged towards Wang Lin. In the soldiers’ bewildered gazes, the energies plunged into him, entering through his brow.

Wang Lin, eyes clearing of their distant, haunted look, exhaled slowly. Comprehension dawned. “A powerful demonic influence!” he whispered, a flicker of alarm in his eyes.