Lord Tasan’s gaze was as frigid as a mountain peak in winter. With a casual sweep of his hand, a gale of unimaginable force erupted, shattering the approaching cultivators’ swords into glittering shards. Both men coughed crimson onto the cobblestones as an unseen wall slammed into them, sending them reeling backwards.

The martial artists who had charged forth fared no better, each impacting the invisible barrier with bone-jarring thuds. Blood painted the air as they, too, were hurled back, defeated.

Not a single soul escaped the wrath of Tasan’s gesture, yet none were slain, only grievously injured.

The silk-clad youth, a scion of the Imperial family, stared, momentarily stunned. A twisted rage contorted his features as he shrieked, “I am of the House of Wang! To wound my servants is to sign your death warrant upon the Vermillion Bird Star!”

Wang Lin, with a swiftness that belied his age, raised his hand and struck the youth across the face. The blow, though delivered with the strength of a mortal, was enough to send the youth sprawling. His cheek swelled grotesquely, and his teeth rained down like scattered pearls. It was not merely the youth who suffered, but something dark residing within.

For within the young man’s being lurked a spectral serpent, an entity of pure malevolence. At the moment of impact, it writhed free, its jaws agape to devour Wang Lin’s soul.

Only Tasan and the cherubic disciple beside him could perceive this dread creature; those behind Wang Lin merely felt a chilling gust of wind.

“So, there are those who dare to nurture wraiths with the blood of my kin!” Wang Lin’s eyes flashed with righteous fury. His gaze, piercing and ancient, revealed the truth: the youth’s very soul had been consumed, replaced by the festering spirit. He raised a hand and, with a single, decisive point, unleashed his power.

Terror flooded the serpent’s eyes. It tried to flee, but it was too late. With a sickening pop, its spectral form disintegrated, collapsing into a cloud of black miasma. Wang Lin seized the cloud, crushing it into a single, malevolent brand.

Bereft of the serpent, the silk-clad youth shuddered, spitting a torrent of blood. The malice that had driven him vanished, leaving behind only a hollow emptiness. His eyes, once bright with arrogance, were now dull and lifeless.

Silence descended upon the street, a brief respite before the inevitable storm. Then, screams erupted as the townsfolk scattered, fleeing with desperate haste. In moments, the once bustling thoroughfare lay abandoned.

Wang Lin’s heart seethed with cold fury. He had sensed the city’s oppressive aura from afar but had dismissed it as mere suffering. Now, face to face with this grotesque perversion, the truth became undeniable. Someone was sacrificing members of the Wang family to cultivate wraiths, potent spirits fueled by pain and despair.

The power of such entities grew with the city’s suffering, promising a weapon of horrifying potential.

His anger burning like a star, Wang Lin cast the brand of blackened miasma into the air. The mark pulsed, floating forward, guiding him on his grim quest.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Wang Lin followed the brand, his every step measured. Behind him, Lord Tasan and the disciple trailed silently, unwavering in their loyalty.

News of a prince slain spread like wildfire, reaching the ears of the Imperial court. Soon, streaks of light descended upon the capital, each carrying a cultivator from the Vermillion Bird Star’s various sects. Their eyes blazing with righteous anger, they assailed Wang Lin with a barrage of enchanted weapons, offering no words, no explanations.

Wang Lin’s expression remained impassive. With a casual flick of his sleeve, every weapon was turned back upon its wielder. The furious cultivators found themselves caught in a whirlwind, swept away and deposited leagues from the city walls.

“What sorcery is this?!”

“That man… He seems familiar…”

Stunned and afraid, the cultivators fled back to their respective sects, their arrogance replaced by fear.

Wang Lin continued his inexorable march, his rage growing with each step. Imperial soldiers rushed to intercept him, but he would not harm them. With another flick of his sleeve, he banished them leagues away, clearing his path.

The Royal Palace loomed, its grandeur failing to mask the festering darkness within. In the throne room, the Emperor, a middle-aged man clad in dragon robes, sat upon his gilded throne, his face a mask of barely concealed panic. Beside him stood a woman, regal and beautiful, yet her eyes were clouded with black mist, betraying a hidden terror.

The vast hall was filled with members of the Wang family, each adorned in fine silks, their gazes fixed upon the palace gates.

Outside, the courtyard was packed with soldiers, their ranks stretching as far as the eye could see, their pikes glinting under the oppressive sky. An air of impending doom hung heavy in the air.

“Who dares strike down one of the Royal line?! Have you discovered their allegiance?” the Emperor roared, slamming his fist upon the jade table.

Silence reigned for a moment before a white-haired Taoist priest stepped forward hesitantly. “Your Majesty, the three who dare commit this offense appear to be masters of immense power. As for their affiliation… We are currently investigating.”

The Emperor’s frown deepened. “It seems my House has enjoyed peace for far too long, if nameless vagrants dare to defile us. Grand Master! Where are you?”

A resounding laugh echoed through the palace. “Fear not, Your Majesty. My disciples shall handle this!”
Upon the plaza, amidst swirling shadows, three figures coalesced from the ethereal gloom! Wraiths of midnight, they materialized as two men and a woman, their countenances betraying a youth robbed by spectral torment.

Ignoring the gilded spires of the palace, they dissolved into streaks of obsidian, a vengeful wind tearing through the air.

Wang Lin, his gaze sharpening with glacial resolve, pressed onward. Before him, runes pulsed near the very gates of the imperial city. Beyond, a legion of soldiers stood grim, their eyes fixed upon the approaching figure.

Then, like a tempest unleashed, the three wraiths descended, a cacophony of tormented wails preceding them. A palpable dread washed over the land, a harbinger of their wrath.

Wang Lin saw them for what they were – mere wraiths, imbued with but the essence of nascent Immortals, yet their spectral power, fueled by hatred, bordered upon the might of Ascendants.

Within their ethereal forms pulsed no drop of royal blood, only the endless echo of suffering. They were the product of vile necromancy,怨靈 perfected.

Murderous intent flared in Wang Lin’s eyes. In a single stride, he stood before them. With fingers shaped like a celestial blade, he struck at the shoulder of the closest wraith. His speed was blinding, his touch a cataclysm. The nascent power he possessed, a reservoir of immense energy, surged forth, inundating the wraith’s very being.

The wraith, powerless against such an onslaught, dissolved in a thunderous burst of black vapor, its spectral screams swallowed by the void. It was a desperate attempt to flee, to scatter, but Wang Lin’s wrath was an inescapable net.

With a surge of destructive energy, the wraith was torn asunder, its essence scattered and gone, leaving behind only wisps of bitter resentment.

The other wraiths watched in horror, seeing their companion extinguished with a single, swift gesture. Terror seized them.

With a single motion of his hand, a shockwave erupted, creating a tempest in the heavens. The second wraith was consumed, its form obliterated in the maelstrom.

Turning with the speed of lightning, Wang Lin locked his gaze upon the remaining wraith, the female of the three. From within her ethereal body, bolts of lightning manifested, tearing through her from the inside.

Undaunted, Wang Lin strode towards the Imperial City, his footsteps echoing with grim purpose. The soldiers, frozen in awe, watched him pass, their minds numb.

He stepped through the gate, his destination the imperial palace. He saw them then, the ranks of soldiers drawn up before the palace, and within the great hall, the members of the royal house.

A contingent of cultivators stood amongst them, their eyes filled with a bloodlust that none dared act upon.

They could not fathom Wang Lin’s power, but they knew that none of them could have so easily vanquished the royal enchanter’s apprentices. Fear held them captive.

Wang Lin halted above the plaza, his voice like the chilling winds of winter. “Very well,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembly, “you have done… well indeed!” He counted perhaps hundreds of the royal bloodline gathered, but the faces of many were missing.

Each of those present bore a dark mark upon their brow, save for one – the man upon the dragon throne.

Beside him, a woman in vibrant silks stood motionless, the shadows banished from her eyes, the energy of magic absent. She was as a mortal.

Wang Lin’s voice echoed through the plaza, sending shivers down the spines of all who heard him.

The man in the dragon robes saw Wang Lin, and in his eyes was first disbelief, then calculation, then cold resolve. “Royal Guards,” he roared, “Slay this traitor!”