As the words left Sun Yunshan’s lips, a bolt of violet lightning, a rainbow of arcane energy, tore across the distant horizon. It descended with impossible speed, a celestial lance piercing the very fabric of the sky, and struck the ground with a resounding thrum. From the dissipating energy emerged Wang Lin, his robes settling around him.

“My apologies, Brother Sun,” Wang Lin said, a gentle smile gracing his features as he clasped his hands in greeting. “Matters arose that delayed my journey. I did not expect you to await me here.”

Sun Yunshan roared with laughter. “Nonsense, my friend! I had planned to depart for the Eastern Sea Demon Spirit Gate but yesterday. However, upon learning that the esteemed Tian Yunzi himself had singled you out, Brother Wang, I deemed it wise to tarry. What could be more pleasant than traveling in such company?”

Wang Lin returned the smile with warmth. “You are too kind.” His gaze swept over the figures flanking Sun Yunshan.

“Ah, these three,” Sun Yunshan explained, “are elders of my Xuan Yuan Sect. They are tasked with ensuring my safety on this perilous journey. I do not possess your profound cultivation, Brother Wang, and the Eastern Sea is rife with peril. Alas, were it not for my father’s insistence, I would gladly avoid such dangers.”

Wang Lin chuckled softly. “You are a man of amusing candor, Brother Sun.”

Nearby, a maiden clad in rose-colored silks turned her gaze upon Wang Lin, her eyes widening with a flicker of surprise.

Sun Yunshan gestured to the maiden. “Brother Wang, allow me to introduce my younger sister, Sun Ruonan.” He turned to the girl, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “This is Daoist Wang Lin, disciple of the venerable Tian Yunzi! Show him proper respect.”

Sun Ruonan wrinkled her nose but offered a shallow curtsy. Her voice, like the tinkling of bells, echoed, “Greetings, Brother Wang.”

Wang Lin merely nodded politely, his attention already drawn to the arcane formations dominating the landscape.

Ever perceptive, Sun Yunshan recognized Wang Lin’s interest. “Brother Wang, time presses upon us. Shall we depart?”

With a shared nod, they stepped forward, their movements perfectly synchronized, and began to traverse towards the heart of the array.

“Xuan Yi, return to us,” Sun Yunshan said without looking back as he walked.

Without a word, Xuan Yi turned and followed, joining the two elder disciples as they passed into the glowing formation. Only the girl in pink remained outside, stamping her foot in frustration and calling out in a plaintive voice, “Brother, please, allow me to accompany you!”

“Absolutely not!” Sun Yunshan retorted without hesitation.

“Activate the formation!”

At his command, the hundreds of disciples stationed around the array opened their eyes in unison. Spiritual energy surged from their bodies, a torrent of power channeled into the ancient runes etched into the ground.

This was no ordinary spell circle, but a conduit to the very stars. Its activation demanded a staggering quantity of spirit stones and celestial jade.

A deep rumbling echoed as the array shuddered to life. A wave of cosmic power erupted outward, a palpable surge of energy that buffeted the surrounding area.

The disciples strained against the force, their robes whipping wildly in the unseen wind. Their faces grew pale, but their stance remained unwavering.

Then, with a deafening roar, a pillar of light, hundreds of feet in diameter, erupted from the heart of the formation, piercing the heavens. Rings of iridescent energy rippled outward, washing over the land, until nearly half the sky above the planet was awash in ethereal light.

As the echoes of the surge subsided, a knowing glint sparked in the eyes of the maiden still standing outside the array. With a swift movement, she reached into her storage bracelet and withdrew a jade slip.

“Hmph! If he won’t take me, I’ll follow anyway,” she whispered to herself. “Father’s translocation talisman. He’ll never miss it.”

As the talisman appeared in her palm, it flared with blinding light, engulfing her entire form. In a flash of pure white, she vanished, her essence compressed into a slender thread of light that shot into the heavens, merging with the pillar of energy and disappearing without a trace.

Far away, beyond the celestial sphere surrounding Tian Yun Star, at the Eastern Sea Demon Spirit Gate…

Three days remained until its opening.

Thousands of cultivators had already gathered, a teeming mass drawn to witness the prophesied tide. Not all intended to brave the dangers within the gate; many came merely to witness the spectacle, for this quadrennial event could alter a cultivator’s destiny, even determine their very immortality.

Those who could not transcend the duality of Yin and Yang, of illusion and reality, remained bound by the limitations of mortal flesh. Their lives were forfeit, their souls destined for oblivion long before the passage of five millennia.

Ancient beings, reclusive figures rarely seen in the mortal realm, began to arrive, some in person, others sending forth their chosen disciples. Each arrival was marked by an arrogant display of power, a forceful claiming of territory that brooked no challenge.

But the strength of these beings was self-evident, a force so overwhelming that no one dared object. These titans recognized one another, their interactions governed by an unspoken code of respect and restraint. Even Yao Xixue, the daughter of the Blood Ancestor, commanded a hundred-foot radius of empty space around her, a void that no one dared to breach.

Only two days remained until the gate’s opening.

Suddenly, a wave of light, like a million distant stars, erupted in the heavens. The sheer volume of these pinpricks of brilliance was staggering, as if the cosmos itself was hurtling towards this single point.

The light alone generated an unimaginable pressure, a celestial storm that tore across the void.

All but the most powerful of the gathered cultivators recoiled, their faces etched with apprehension. Even Yao Xixue, daughter of the Blood Ancestor, opened her eyes, staring intently at the approaching tide of celestial luminescence.

“‘Sword Sovereign’,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

As the approaching light drew closer, it resolved into countless ancient swords, each radiating a divine aura, a fragment of heaven’s wrath. These were not mere blades, but embodiments of pure sword energy, and as they descended, the gathered cultivators parted, creating a wide, reverent path.

This spectacle eclipsed the arrival of even the most formidable elders, a testament to the power and prestige of the one who commanded them.
Beneath a storm of shimmering sword-light, a monstrous, fur-clad behemoth lumbered, its passage echoing across the desolate plains. Upon the beast’s back, which bore scales like a dragon’s hide, sat Sword Saint Ling Tianhou, his gaze piercing like the point of a honed blade.

Behind him, four ethereal projections of swords flickered violently, adding to the imposing aura that clung to him like a second skin. These were not mere illusions; they pulsed with ancient power.

Following the Sword Saint came twelve figures, each bearing upon their backs a massive, archaic sword. Upon these swords, spectral forms of beasts writhed and shifted, a phantasmagoria coalescing into the visages of the Twelve Guardians.

“The Twelve Sword-Kin!” a voice hissed from the assembled throng of cultivators, the recognition spreading like wildfire.

Throughout the celestial sphere of Tianyun, it was known that Sword Saint Ling Tianhou and the Celestial Fortune Seer were locked in an eternal, bitter rivalry. For ages beyond counting, their feud had raged, a cosmic dance of defiance and one-upmanship.

Yet, the Sword Saint perpetually found himself outmaneuvered, though he never yielded, never broke, never ceased his opposition.

Where the Celestial Fortune Sect boasted the Seven Fortunes, Sword Saint Ling Tianhou forged the Twelve Sword-Kin of the Great Luo Sword Sect!

Where the Seven Fortunes inherited celestial arts, the Twelve Sword-Kin were bound to guardian spirits of the wilds!

With the Sword Saint’s arrival, a vast emptiness opened before the Gate of the Eastern Sea’s Spirit, a hundred leagues cleared solely for Ling Tianhou and his Twelve Sword-Kin.

Ling Tianhou’s face was a mask of grim determination. He had not desired to arrive early, but this pilgrimage to the Spirit Gate held paramount importance. His gaze swept towards the floating sea before him, his eyes clouding with a dark and haunting memory.

Years ago, upon his return from the Immortal Realm, a malevolent Sword Spirit had latched onto him, a parasitic presence he could not shake. To his dismay, its power proved formidable. In desperation, he had plunged it deep within the Eastern Sea Spirit Gate, ensnaring it with forbidden techniques.

Now, he sought to harness the cyclical surge of the tides, a phenomenon occurring only once every five millennia, to draw the Sword Spirit irrevocably into the ocean’s abyssal depths, banishing it forever.

“This Sword Spirit belonged to the Celestial Empress of the Immortal Realm,” he muttered, his voice tight with suppressed fury. “It is a thing of immense power, yet I cannot command it. Thus, it must never fall into the hands of another, least of all that old fox, the Celestial Fortune Seer!”

As Ling Tianhou wrestled with these thoughts, his senses sharpened, and he lifted his gaze to the distant void, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

From the inky expanse of space, a wave of chilling miasma surged forth, a morbid green tide. As it drew nearer, the miasma solidified into colossal, spectral skulls, their numbers legion, a nightmarish army numbering in the thousands.

Some skulls still clung to vestiges of rotting flesh. Amongst them, one loomed larger than the rest, the ossified cranium of an ancient, monstrous beast. Upon this macabre throne sat a man wreathed in an aura of death, his features obscured by the swirling gloom. Around him, phantom skulls flickered and pulsed, an endless forest of bone and shadow.

He tore through the fabric of reality, ignoring all in his path, and materialized within the hallowed ground before Ling Tianhou, where none dared tread.

“Ling Tian, old friend!” the figure croaked, his voice like the rasping of bone against bone.

A thin smile touched the lips of Sword Saint Ling Tianhou. “Gralon,” he acknowledged.

Gralon, the Star-Wolf, who hunted ancient cultivators upon the Vermillion Bird Star, seeking to consume their essence and regain his lost power. He was the one who craved the glimpse of Heavenly Tribulation, and who sought out the wanderer, Wang Lin.

He who snatched the Celestial Pearl from Situ Nan so many years ago!

Fleeing the wrath of Situ Nan, he had abandoned the Vermillion Bird Star and sought refuge with his old comrade, Sword Saint Ling Tianhou!

“Your injuries,” Sword Saint Ling Tianhou observed, his eyes piercing the veil of death. “They are grievous.”

“A tale for another time,” Gralon rasped. “I sought you at the Great Luo Sword Sect, only to discover your journey here. I hastened after you, bearing tidings of a grand opportunity. Should we seize this chance, my friend, you shall crush the Celestial Fortune Seer beneath your heel with ease!” A dark light glimmered in Gralon’s eyes.