The alliance of cultivators resided in a place most clandestine, upon the border where the Fire Fiend Shire met the Gold Fiend Shire, a land perpetually shrouded in a miasma most treacherous.

“This, then, is the place,” Sun Yunshan declared, then hesitated, his gaze tentative. “Brother Wang, do you intend…?”

“To undo your bindings?” Wang Lin’s lips curved in a subtle smile. “Though I cannot promise success, I suspect this ‘Old Ancestor’ of theirs possesses the ability.”

Sun Yunshan drew a deep breath, stepped back, and offered a profound bow to Wang Lin. When he raised his head, his eyes shone with a fervent light. “Brother Wang, words cannot express my gratitude. This deed, Sun Yunshan will etch upon his very soul. Should I ever return to the Star of Heaven’s Fortune, I shall repay this debt tenfold!”

“Such words are unnecessary, Brother Sun.” Wang Lin waved a dismissive hand. “Truthfully, even had our paths not intertwined, I would have sought out this alliance. Twice has this Old Ancestor dared provoke me. Were I to leave his transgressions unanswered, who knows when the third, the fourth, would come, an endless tide of insolence.”

“Regardless, Brother Wang,” Sun Yunshan insisted, his voice sincere, “I shall forever remember this kindness.”

Wang Lin chuckled softly, dismissing the matter with a shake of his head. He retrieved the shattered jade talisman and stowed it within his pouch. With a flick of his sleeve, he enveloped Sun Yunshan in a surge of power, whisking him away from the pagoda. As they departed the Soul Refining Tribe, Wang Lin casually swept up the dozen or so cultivators hovering in the air, and they, too, vanished without a trace.

The war in the Fire Fiend Shire raged unabated, each day seeing torrents of blood soaked into the parched earth, leaving the entire land choked with a gruesome stench.

Such a conflict between two shires could not escape the notice of the other seven, especially with the Fire Fiend Shire embroiled in such savage infighting, and the forces within the Heaven Fiend Shire so diminished. To the remaining shires, this was an opportunity, a chance unseen in millennia!

On this day, at the northernmost boundary where the Fire Fiend Shire met the Gold Fiend Shire, beyond the swirling, poisonous miasma, a streaking star plummeted from the heavens. As it neared the oppressive fog, the celestial glow faded, revealing the figure of Wang Lin. With a wave of his hand, he released the dozen cultivators, who stumbled to the ground beside him.

Sun Yunshan stood beside Wang Lin, his heart a tempest of apprehension and exhilaration. These warring emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

“Brother Sun,” Wang Lin said, his gaze steady, “hold fast to the jade slip I gifted you. Though its enchantments cannot completely dispel the Immortal Seed, it will grant you precious respite in times of dire peril.” With that, Wang Lin stepped forward, venturing into the suffocating miasma.

He held a conjecture about the nature of the Immortal Seed, but that understanding could only be verified by confronting the so-called Immortal Ancestor.

Deep within a fortress nestled at the heart of the miasma, a wizened, diminutive elder sat in lotus position. Before him knelt three women, each possessing a delicate beauty. One of them was Sun Yunshan’s sister, Sun Ruonan.

Tendrils of rosy vapor streamed from the women’s orifices, coalescing in the air into shimmering, ethereal figures, dancing with an otherworldly grace around the elder.

These phantom dancers gradually solidified, revealing themselves to be celestial maidens clad in vibrant hues. With a ravenous gulp, the elder devoured them, as though swallowing them whole.

The moment Wang Lin’s foot crossed the threshold of the poisonous haze, the diminutive elder’s eyes snapped open, a flash of golden light blazing within. As his eyes widened, the illusory maidens dispersed, and the faces of the three women grew gaunt with fatigue, hinting at a premature aging.

Wang Lin’s body cut through the thick miasma. The poisonous vapor, sensing his presence, parted before him, swirling and coalescing around him like sentient spirits.

As Wang Lin moved deeper, the miasma swirled more densely about him, accompanied by ghostly whispers that echoed from every direction.

Wang Lin remained unfazed, his expression cold. “To attempt such sorcery of souls before Wang Lin is an act of utter folly!” he declared. He formed a series of hand seals and thrust them outwards, chanting, “Soul Whirlwind!” The words themselves became part of the seal, and as his fingers moved, the miasma stirred into a violent tempest, hurtling towards Wang Lin with astonishing speed.

It was as if a vortex had appeared before Wang Lin, forcefully dragging in the endless miasma from all around. In an instant, all the poisonous fog vanished, and the land, for the first time in countless years, was exposed to the light of the sun!

In Wang Lin’s hand, a fist-sized ball of condensed mist pulsed with strands of dissipated energy.

In the distance, a white fortress stood revealed. Before it, nearly a hundred cultivators hovered, their faces etched with shock as they stared at the mist-orb in Wang Lin’s hand.

Wang Lin’s gaze swept over them, and the faces of these cultivators etched themselves in his memory. Some were among the ranks that had entered the Demon Spirit Land with him; others were unfamiliar.

Yet, there was one who caught Wang Lin’s attention. A slender, middle-aged man clad in azure robes.

This man, upon seeing Wang Lin, seemed momentarily frozen. He instinctively averted his gaze, his face flushed with a subtle shame.

He was a member of the Azure branch of the Heaven’s Fortune Sect, and had entered the Demon Spirit Land alongside Wang Lin!

“Make way!” Wang Lin’s voice echoed with an underlying power.

His single command caused the throng to disperse, seemingly of their own accord. None among them dared possess a cultivation exceeding the Ascendant realm. Prudence dictated that they retreat before a cultivator capable of manipulating the very miasma of the land! Yet, some remained foolhardy, perhaps emboldened by the self-proclaimed Immortal Ancestor. One such was a young man garbed in a Daoist robe, who cried out, “Insolent one! Who are you? State your name! I am of the cultivator’s alliance…”

Before he could complete his boast, Wang Lin’s icy gaze pierced through him like a blade, silencing his bravado with a gush of blood.

Wang Lin was a cultivator of the Slaughter Immortal Art, imbued with a heart of cold resolve. His stare alone held the weight of a tangible weapon.
A collective gasp rippled through the assembled onlookers. They recoiled as one, each man taking several hasty steps backward. Even those who had initially held their ground, the errant sorcerers who had dared linger too long, swiftly changed their minds. Ignoring the perilous throbbing of their forbidden tattoos, they scattered, abandoning all pretense of courage.

Before them stretched a pristine avenue, a stark white path leading unerringly to the forbidding fortress that loomed in the distance.

“Slay him!” A voice, heavy with authority and menace, boomed from within the castle walls, its echoes chilling the very air.

The words painted terror across the faces of the assembled mages, leaving them paralyzed with indecision.

Then, a blur of shadow erupted from the castle’s maw, a dark figure hurtling towards Wang Lin with unnatural speed.

“A Seneschal of the Order!” someone cried out, the exclamation laced with either feigned or genuine astonishment.

Wang Lin remained unmoved. Without so much as a glance at the onrushing figure, he continued his relentless march towards the castle. His pace was deliberate, unhurried, yet with each step, the eyes of the onlookers narrowed in mounting awe.

In that moment, Wang Lin projected the aura of a venerable elder, the sort of presence usually reserved for the heads of ancient lineages. Such composure, such unwavering confidence, could only emanate from one who possessed an unshakeable mastery of their craft.

Among the crowd was a disciple of the Azure lineage from the Celestial Fortune Sect. His gaze was filled with conflicted admiration as he studied Wang Lin. He had heard whispers of this man, and witnessed firsthand his challenge against Chen Tao for the coveted title of Seventh Son of Celestial Fortune. Wang Lin’s performance had stirred considerable interest then, but merely as a fleeting spectacle, for his cultivation was deemed unremarkable.

But now… now he dared not underestimate the newcomer. Wang Lin had not only ascended to the esteemed state of Ascendancy in an impossibly short span, but also…miraculously… he somehow, in his presence, evoked the presence of Celestial Fortune himself.

Though faint, the sensation was undeniably present. As a disciple of Celestial Fortune, his senses were keenly attuned to the subtle energies that flowed within the sect and its masters. He knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within his soul, that this was a manifestation of the Dao.

To possess such an awareness meant that Wang Lin had forged his own path. In the realms of cultivation, those who could truly grasp the nature of the Dao, nurture its essence within their hearts, and draw it forth from the very fabric of reality, held the power to found their own schools, to establish their own legacies.

Indeed, all cultivators possessed their own path, but to solidify that understanding, to give it form and substance, was a feat of unparalleled difficulty.

“He…he has reached such a level…” The Azure-clad man felt a pang of bitter regret. For a fleeting moment, he forgot the parasitic seed planted within him, his mind overwhelmed by the impossible gulf between Wang Lin, once derided as a crude barbarian from the half-forgotten world of Vermillion Bird, and this towering figure, a master of the Dao, a potential founder of a new lineage.

As Wang Lin strode onward, the onrushing Seneschal unleashed a torrent of spells, each infused with a bestial fury. Vicious apparitions of monstrous beasts materialized, their jaws agape, eager to devour Wang Lin whole.

To merely achieve Ascendancy was not enough. Without a firm understanding of the Dao, even the most elevated cultivation was nothing more than a hollow shell, vulnerable to a single, decisive blow.

Wang Lin raised a single finger, his voice barely a whisper, “Be shattered.” A tendril of obsidian energy crackled from his fingertip, tearing through the air. Having reached Ascendancy, Wang Lin had intertwined his soul and his understanding of the Dao. The very energies of the cosmos were at his beck and call. Each gesture was infused with his understanding of the Dao, turning even the simplest spell into a potent force.

The Shadow Shattering Finger descended, carrying with it the weight of Wang Lin’s path. It pierced through the spectral beasts, rending them asunder, and struck the chest of the black-clad Seneschal.

Beasts, shattered.

The Seneschal, extinguished.

It wasn’t that he lacked the will to dodge, but rather that he, a mere puppet elevated to Ascendancy, was utterly incapable of evading a blow infused with the true understanding of a genuine master of the Dao.

“Who… are you?” The voice from within the castle trembled with a newfound apprehension.

Undaunted, Wang Lin did not pause. He pressed on, his footsteps unwavering, towards the white fortress that loomed before him.