The moment he emerged from the array, a unified, murderous roar erupted from the ten thousand black-armored demon soldiers. The roar, imbued with demonic power, possessed a force no less potent than the bellow of a nascent soul cultivator.

The Adjutant, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes, cleared his throat and surveyed the ranks of the black-armored warriors. “Commander Sima, where are you?” he boomed.

His words were met with the thunderous beat of hooves from afar. A monstrous beast, horned and obsidian-scaled, charged forth in a whirlwind of dust. It surged like a tidal wave, its speed breathtaking.

Upon its back sat a figure encased in black armor, etched with veins of violet. A helm concealed his features, save for two eyes that blazed with unrestrained killing intent.

A flicker of surprise had crossed his gaze when Wang Lin first appeared, but it was swiftly extinguished by a wave of murderous rage.

He thundered toward the center of the camp, the demon soldiers parting before him in perfect unison. Thirty paces from Wang Lin, his mount screeched to a halt, unleashing a cloud of dust that billowed around them.

With a flick of his sleeve, the Adjutant summoned a gust of wind to dispel the dust. He turned to the armored figure. “This is your new commander, Sima – *Vice* Commander, that is. You will pay your respects!” He emphasized the word ‘vice’ with deliberate weight.

The armored figure, Sima Yan, cast a dark look upon Wang Lin. “Sima Yan greets the Commander,” he snarled.

Wang Lin, unfazed, returned his gaze. “We have already met,” he replied evenly.

Sima Yan scoffed and removed his helmet, revealing the same sullen face Wang Lin had seen in the tavern.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through the Adjutant’s eyes. He bowed to Wang Lin. “Commander Wang, now that I have delivered you, I must take my leave and report to the Demon General.”

Wang Lin offered a slight smile. “Farewell, Adjutant.”

The Adjutant nodded, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and stepped back into the array, vanishing without a trace. His departure left a heavy silence in the encampment, broken only by the sound of breathing.

Sima Yan glared at Wang Lin. “Commander, the Black Armor Army numbers ten thousand demon soldiers, all present save for six who remain unconscious.”

Wang Lin remained composed, calmly observing the assembled warriors. He saw only contempt and hostility in their eyes. A cold light flickered in his own. “You may stand down,” he said quietly.

Not a single soldier moved. Their gazes remained fixed on Sima Yan. Without his command, they would obey no one, not even their new commander.

Ignoring the assembled soldiers, Wang Lin turned and walked away, passing through the ranks of the ten formations. Thirteen and Tiger Howl followed close behind, their faces grim and silent.

As they departed, a thunderous wave of laughter erupted from the ranks. It was a sound filled with scorn and disrespect. Sima Yan alone did not laugh. A frown creased his brow. He knew little of this new commander, but he was certain that if he were in Wang Lin’s place, he would not have left so calmly. He would have made a scene.

“Stand down,” Sima Yan commanded, his voice low but resonating with power, “Continue your training.” At his words, the ten thousand soldiers snapped to attention and retreated, each formation resuming their drills.

Beyond the rows of barracks, there stood a modest dwelling, protected by a simple array. A single black banner stood beside it, emblazoned with two golden characters: “Sima.” This was clearly Sima Yan’s residence.

Nearby, scattered ruins suggested that other dwellings had once stood there.

Tiger Howl, his face dark with anger, gazed at the scene before him and the distant taunts of the demon soldiers. “Ancestor, these demons go too far!” he growled.

Wang Lin remained impassive. “Pay them no mind. Since there is no dwelling for us, we shall meditate under the open sky.” He found an open space and sat down, beginning to meditate.

Tiger Howl, barely containing his rage, glared at the retreating demon soldiers and sat down to Wang Lin’s left, acting as a guardian.

Thirteen, his face grim, remained calm. He cared nothing for the demons’ contempt. He only knew that he would obey Wang Lin without hesitation, even if it meant his life.

He sat down to Wang Lin’s right, closed his eyes, and began to practice the body-refining techniques of the Giant Demon Clan.

Time passed. As night fell, the camp remained a cacophony of shouts and activity. The ten thousand demon soldiers continued their training, focused on battle tactics and formations. Those who passed near Wang Lin often cast him a look of undisguised contempt.

But Wang Lin’s expression never wavered, remaining as placid as a still pond.

Thirteen, emulating his master, also meditated in silence, suppressing the waves of anger that threatened to surface.

Only Tiger Howl found no peace. He could not quiet his mind, and his eyes darted about, filled with hatred for any demon soldier who dared to cross his path.

Wang Lin was not merely meditating. He was observing, his divine sense subtly scanning each of the ten thousand soldiers.

Each thousand-man unit was led by a commander, and these ten commanders were, for the most part, Sima Yan’s loyal men. The six soldiers from the tavern, though of middling skill, were clearly influential within the ranks.

He had not acted rashly because he understood the rules and customs of the Demon Spirit Land, knowledge gleaned from the records left behind by Luo Yun’s ancestors.
In the Nine Demon Warlordships, martial law reigned supreme, a stark contrast to the ways of cultivators. Here, unless one’s power rivaled the Demon Emperor himself, obedience to military code was the only path to influence.

For any outsider daring to set foot within this demonic realm, assimilation into one of the nine warlordships was paramount. Securing a position of military authority was the only way to establish a foothold. A lone wanderer stood little chance. Facing even a mere contingent of ten thousand demon soldiers was a battle already lost. While individually unremarkable, these ranks contained hidden masters of dark arts and formidable battle formations, capable of unleashing unexpected and deadly ambushes.

Worse still, excessive slaying of demon soldiery would inevitably draw the attention of the Warlordship’s commanders, even Demon Generals. At that point, any lone cultivator would find themselves unwelcome in that Warlordship, forced into flight to another. But repeated offenses would lead to a nomadic existence, shunned by each warlordship in turn, until finally, one would be reduced to seeking refuge in isolated seclusion. Yet, in such isolation, there would be no chance to earn war merit, no opportunity to unlock the secrets of ancient demonic fusion.

This harsh reality forced every cultivator who entered the Demon Warlordships to seek a position within their ranks.

And with such a position came the absolute necessity of obeying military law. Any transgression meant the forfeiture of everything.

Wang Lin understood this with crystal clarity. A rash, unauthorized intervention, no matter how well-intentioned, would inevitably spill blood. Moreover, the fiercely loyal demon soldiers, once bonded to a leader, would be difficult to sway, even with the threat of death. In the end, he would achieve nothing but a violation of military code and a failed attempt to assert control, leaving him with no choice but to abandon his post.

Many cultivators, masters of great power, had fallen at this very hurdle. Of the thousands who ventured into this realm, only a select few ever managed to truly establish themselves.

Some, with fiery tempers, would lash out against insubordinate soldiers. But these cultivators were, after all, outsiders. The Demon Emperors of each warlordship would never favor them over their own. Thus, all positions of authority granted to outsiders came with a carefully worded caveat:

The insubordination of one soldier is the fault of that soldier. But the insubordination of ten is the fault of the commander.

The meaning of “ten” was broad, encompassing both a ten-man squad or the cumulative insubordination of ten individuals.

And so, Wang Lin remained patient. He was a hunter, biding his time.

He awaited an opportunity.

A chance to strike decisively, to establish order with a single, well-timed blow.

Time flowed onward. Wang Lin had meditated in the dusty clearing for three days. Thirteen remained steadfast, having committed the contents of a jade scroll given to him by Wang Lin to memory.

However, Torba was growing increasingly restless. With each passing hour, more demon soldiers openly disregarded Wang Lin and his retinue, treating the new commander as insignificant.

But Sima Yan felt a growing unease. Something was amiss. The new commander was defying all expectations. For three days, he had remained aloof, uninvolved, and nearly silent, lost in meditation.

If the commander’s servant had not been consumed with barely-veiled rage and frustration, Sima Yan might have felt relief. He was not afraid of open confrontation, of outbursts, or of interference. He had ways to embarrass or even expel anyone who challenged him. What truly frightened him was this unreadable calm, this unsettling composure.

“What is this new commander planning?” Sima Yan muttered in his chambers. Below him sat eight figures, the company commanders.

“Lord Commander,” boomed a voice from a hulking, bald warrior with a scorpion tattooed on his scalp, “Xu You and Zhou Kai have always been distant from us. They have not answered the commander’s summons. What do you suggest we do?” The scorpion tattoo seemed almost alive, stirring a disquieting sense within those who looked upon it.

Sima Yan rubbed his temples. These last three days had felt like an eternity. Wang Lin’s silence only heightened his sense of impending doom.

“Their disobedience is a matter for another time,” Sima Yan said wearily. “I have summoned you here to hear your thoughts on this new commander. Speak freely. This is a council of trusted allies.”