The Emperor’s Emissary, a blur of motion, sped towards Wang Lin. Swiftly closing the distance, he knelt ten paces away, reverence etched upon his face. “My Lord Emperor Elect!” he boomed, bowing low with a respectful smile.

Nor was he alone in his haste. From the shimmering gateway poured forth a throng of cultivators, their faces alight with awe. They halted just beyond the Emissary, a silent chorus of respect. “Hail, Lord Emperor Elect!” they proclaimed in unison.

A hush fell over the starscape, thick and heavy as a tomb’s silence. Among the hundreds of tribes and tens of thousands of cultivators present, faces paled, eyes widened in disbelief and shock. They stared, transfixed, at Wang Lin and his retinue.

The existence of an Emperor Elect! Had not the Lord Emperor himself declared it months prior in a jade decree, circulated amongst the clans? Yet the name, the face, had remained a mystery until this very moment.

“Lord… Lord Emperor Elect?!” The Soul Serpent Clan’s elder sputtered, his face ashen, horror blooming in his eyes. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the silence. Dryness choked his throat, and a cold sweat slicked his brow as his gaze, now utterly frozen, clung to Wang Lin.

The Thirteenth Elder of the Fallen Star Society fared no better. He stumbled backward, his mind reeling, his heart gripped by a chilling fear. His unspoken conjecture had been confirmed!

“I should have known when I saw the Dragonscale Guard… the Ninth Elder was stripped of his title for offending this very being! And I… I sought to establish myself at his expense…”

The Patriarch of the River Clan trembled, his tongue darting out to moisten his parched lips, a maelstrom of anxiety swirling within him.

“Forgive our tardiness, Lord Emperor Elect,” the Emissary stammered, bowing again and again. “The rupturing of the Magnetic Rift, the opening of the Gate, requires… a certain deliberation. Hence, the delay.”

His words stirred the assembled thousands from their stupor. Indeed, the gate was not due to open for some hours yet.

“To open the Gate ahead of time… this Emperor Elect…”

“In the Fallen Lands, there have only been two Lords Emperor Elect. And now a third!”

“Clearly, this third is held in far greater esteem by the Emperor! Would he have otherwise hastened the Gate’s opening? Such a thing has never occurred!”

“Hah! The Thirteenth Elder is a fool, courting the ire of an Emperor Elect! Let us see how he weasels his way out of this!”

“And the Soul Serpent elder! He, too, will face the reckoning.”

The Emissary’s words had unleashed a tidal wave of whispers and conjecture. Wang Lin, however, remained impassive, offering the barest of nods to those who knelt before him.

“Lord Emperor Elect, enter the Emperor’s Star!” The Emissary moved aside, bowing deeply, clearing a path for the young lord.

Wang Lin strode forward, bathed in the scrutiny of a thousand eyes. The Emissary, at his side, led him towards the gateway, a swirling vortex of magnetic mists.

The Thirteenth Elder, watching Wang Lin’s approach, dared to hope. Perhaps the young lord was not one to harbor grudges. Perhaps he would see the value of an alliance.

*After all, I am an Elder of the Fallen Star Society. Surely even an Emperor Elect would afford me some respect. Perhaps he would even seek to enlist my aid.*

“He is of a kind heart,” the Thirteenth Elder thought, growing emboldened. “Although an Emperor Elect, he is not beyond manipulation…” Suddenly, his eyes snapped wide, pupils shrinking to pinpricks.

Wang Lin, who had already taken several steps toward the gate, stopped abruptly. He turned, his gaze sweeping across the assembled throng, settling upon the Soul Serpent Clan’s elder.

His eyes were ice. As the Emperor Elect’s gaze fell upon him, the elder trembled, sweat pouring from his brow. It felt as if the Emperor Elect’s gaze had physically manifested, each glance becoming sharp blades that would piece his being.

The Emissary, taken aback, halted beside Wang Lin, then followed his gaze. His face darkened with sudden understanding.

“Seize him!” the Emissary barked, his voice like a winter wind. At once, a figure detached itself from the retinue, lunging towards the Soul Serpent Clan’s elder.

The elder of the Soul Serpent Clan gasped, his eyes wide with despair. Behind him, the members of his clan recoiled in horror.

“He is not worthy of death,” Wang Lin spoke, his voice calm, yet every word carried across the silent expanse. “But the Soul Serpent Clan will not have their leader!”

The soldier, closing on his prey, checked his advance, then swiftly retreated to Wang Lin’s side.

The elder of the Soul Serpent Clan shuddered, his face as pale as death. The Emperor Elect’s words were more devastating than any physical blow. Even in death, the wrongdoer would be absolved.

Now the man became a stain on his race for the rest of his life. A traitor. “Thank you for your mercy,” the elder croaked, bowing deeply, his voice thick with bitterness.

Wang Lin ignored him, his gaze now fixed upon the River Clan’s Patriarch and the Fallen Star Society’s Thirteenth Elder.

The Thirteenth Elder’s heart plummeted.

“Remove him from his seat. He will journey to the Dark Scorpion Star and kneel for a century!” Wang Lin commanded, his voice directed at the Emissary.

The Emissary hesitated, then bowed in silent assent.

“And of the River Clan, remove them from the Fallen Star Society. Cloud Wanderer, break your arm.” Wang Lin looked towards the Clan’s Patriarch. “Do this now, let this be a reminder.”

The Clan head gasped. He could only hope that an act of self harm could bring forgiveness from a man with such great power. With no hesitation the man brought his arm up, aimed his fingers at his shoulder and broke his arm with a wave of force.

“Thank you for your kindness.” the man said.

Wang Lin returned to the pathway, the mist awaiting him.
A profound silence descended, broken only by the subtle hum of arcane energies. The gaze of tens of thousands of cultivators converged upon Wang Lin, each mind reeling. Some were struck with awe, while others, their hearts poisoned with envy, sneered at his pronouncements. They whispered that he was merely basking in borrowed glory.

“Hmph. Were he not the Chosen Emperor, would he dare act with such arrogance!”

“Chosen Emperor, indeed. He is but one of many! His presence on this Emperor Star signifies his participation in the Emperor Trials. Only through success there can he truly claim the title!”

“Aye, the Emperor Trials are fraught with peril. Though not directly ordained by the Great Emperor, none who have dared the trials in recent memory have emerged victorious. Even with the Emperor’s favor, his passage is far from assured!”

“The mantle of Chosen Emperor carries immense responsibility. He could command all cultivators of the Fallen Land, and even the esteemed Elder Council of the Ancient Star Domain would treat him with deference.”

The Emperor’s Emissary, trailing behind Wang Lin, drew closer to the portal. As Wang Lin stepped across the threshold, he was immediately assaulted by shearing forces that clawed at his very being. Within this tempestuous energy, a relentless magnetic pull tugged at his core, threatening to unravel his essence.

Yet, the power of this inner vortex was negligible. Outside the portal, the magnetic maelstrom raged with untold ferocity. Gathering his wits, Wang Lin strode onward.

But scarcely ten paces into the passage, he paused, his senses prickling. A thunderous roar echoed from afar, shattering the stillness that had blanketed the Emperor Star. Every eye turned, even that of the Emperor’s Emissary, whose face paled with unease.

Across the heavens, a gargantuan, octagonal wheel hurtled towards them. Hundreds of feet in diameter, it radiated blinding light, its surface etched with pulsating runes of immense power.

The wheel drew closer, and upon it stood two figures.

The first was a maiden, her raven hair cascading down her back. Her beauty was striking, her eyes shimmering like twin moons, possessing a captivating allure.

She stood serene, a vision of ethereal grace, her silken robes dancing around her like a living dream.

Beside her stood a middle-aged man, his face etched with a grim severity, his presence radiating an oppressive aura. A palpable storm of power emanated from him, forcing the surrounding cultivators to recoil in fear.

Whorls of phantom smoke spiraled around him, each containing a multitude of tormented faces, their silent screams echoing through the void.

Countless, they numbered in the millions.

“The power of Incense! A being of the Third Step!!!” a voice cried out, recognition dawning with horrifying speed.

“I am Yun Luo, representing the Elder Council, paying respects to the Great Emperor. We have been invited to observe the ascension ceremony of Elder Luo Sheng, and extend our greetings to the cultivators of the Fallen Land,” the maiden said, her voice soft and melodious, a delicate smile gracing her lips.

“Si Mozi greets the Great Emperor!” The middle-aged man’s voice was a rasping growl. His gaze fell upon the Emperor Star, but in an instant, his eyes locked onto a point within the portal. His face twisted with murderous intent.

He had seen Wang Lin!

Wang Lin, too, had seen Si Mozi!

Their gazes met, locking with the force of two celestial blades, colliding in a silent explosion.

“Little cur!!” Si Mozi spat, his voice a venomous hiss.

“Defeated dog! Your boasts are as empty as your power!” Wang Lin replied, his voice calm and measured.

“You! Do you dare face me in combat?!” The humiliation of his slain avatar burned within Si Mozi, fueling a murderous rage.

Wang Lin laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “Dare you enter the magnetic maelstrom and sacrifice your cultivation to the Fifth Decay of Heaven and Man, to face me in battle?”

A gasp swept through the assembled crowd.

Si Mozi faltered, his fury momentarily eclipsing his senses.

He… dared not.

“Your words are sharp, good sir. May I inquire as to your name, that Yun Luo may know it?” The maiden’s smile remained, but in Wang Lin’s eyes, it was a shallow mask of artifice.

“The Grand Scribe of the Elder Council, a lineage of ancient standing, regardless of cultivation. You are but a green girl, scarcely a thousand years old. Do you presume to address me as an equal? Have you no respect for elders? Is this how your master taught you to inquire after the names of your betters?” Wang Lin’s voice dripped with scorn, cutting through the saccharine sweetness of her demeanor.