Long ago, the arcane artisan Tu Si poured his heart and soul into the creation of a wondrous artifact. Yet, as it neared completion, a spirit began to coalesce within its form. To achieve true perfection, Tu Si cast the fledgling treasure upon a distant world, transforming it into three towering peaks, intending to imbue it with the very essence of the planet’s mountain spirit.

He planned to retrieve the artifact after a scion of the royal bloodline underwent their divine separation. Alas, that journey led to his eternal absence.

When the Trident vanished into the black vortex with Tian Yunzi, a flicker of sorrow crossed Wang Lin’s eyes – a sorrow echoed from Tu Si’s forgotten memories.

Ling Tianhou and the purple-robed man transformed into streaks of light, hurtling towards the abyss, only to falter and halt their advance.

As Wang Lin prepared to enter the void, he abruptly turned, gazing into the starry expanse. Before him, the old man upon the gourd and Si Tu Nan had already turned their gaze towards the approaching presence.

Across the cosmos, a ripple distorted the fabric of space, and an ancient figure materialized in an instant, closing the distance with a single step.

Ling Tianhou and the purple-robed man, poised to enter the black hole, froze in place. An unprecedented reverence filled the purple-robed man’s face as he bowed, “Sun Shan greets the Grand Elder.”

Though titled an elder, Sun Shan was not a member of the Alliance Elders Council. The sincerity etched upon his face was undeniable, betraying a profound respect for the newly arrived patriarch.

“This humble one greets the Grand Elder,” Ling Tianhou echoed, his countenance mirroring the same reverence. Few could inspire such humility in the man.

Wang Lin’s pupils constricted. The elder’s arrival had been marked by a mastery of space, an integration with the very essence of the world. An aura emanated from him that sent shivers down Wang Lin’s spine.

This power differed greatly from that of Tian Yunzi. If Tian Yunzi was a fathomless ocean, then this elder was a mountain, piercing the heavens, its awe-inspiring presence causing those of lesser cultivation to pale, many even coughing blood as they scrambled to retreat.

Si Tu Nan’s eyes flashed, muttering, “Shattered Nirvana!” A moment of silence, then a cold smile crept across his face. The indomitable spirit that had always dwelled within him blazed anew.

“To truly revel in this world of cultivation, one must possess power that surpasses even the heavens! Shattered Nirvana… Perhaps I have been too complacent.”

The elder, adorned in a golden robe, his hair streaked with the silver of age, radiated an aura of antiquity. He regarded Ling Tianhou with a faint smile of approval.

“How long has it been since our paths last crossed?”

Ling Tianhou replied with a wistful gaze, “I have lost count, it has been far too long.”

The golden-robed elder sighed, “So many years ago, you and Tian Yunzi were both deemed worthy. I personally escorted you to the Kun Xu Holy Land. Now, decades have flown by. One of you has risen to become an Alliance Elder, a figure even I must regard with caution. The other has attained such heights of power.”

Ling Tianhou remained silent, lost in a reverie of the past.

“When I received your jade scroll months ago, I pondered whether to make this journey. I hesitated, as the war against the Luo Tian rages, and my senior brother Chong Xuanzi cannot spare his aid. Yet, the matter between you and Tian Yunzi weighed on my mind. I decided to come and put an end to this ancient rivalry!” A glint of resolution and profound intent shone in the elder’s eyes.

Ling Tianhou’s heart skipped a beat as he looked up at the elder, his voice filled with gratitude, “I thank you, Senior Void Wanderer.”

“Come, I have only heard tales of this Demon Spirit Land. Let us venture within and see what awaits!” The elder waved his sleeve, casting a glance at the plain-looking middle-aged woman in the distance, his gaze lingering on the pink-clad maiden at her side with a benevolent smile. He then stepped into the swirling vortex.

Ling Tianhou and the purple-robed man followed closely behind, entering the abyss.

Wang Lin, after a moment of contemplation, leapt forward, joined by Si Tu Nan. Floating Wind and the silver-clad woman followed, with Dust Dao’s three disciples and Big Head bringing up the rear, all heading for the vortex.

Lei Ji shrunk to the size of a towering man and stepped into the swirling gateway alongside the others.

The old man seated upon the gourd and the aloof black-clad warrior also vanished into the darkness. The unassuming middle-aged woman hesitated, glancing at the pink-clad maiden by her side.

The pink-clad maiden smiled, like a blooming rose, and spoke softly, “Aunt Xia, do not fret. I have the treasures granted to me by Senior Sister. I am more than capable of protecting myself in this Demon Spirit Land. Furthermore, did not Second Senior Sister send Senior Void Wanderer?”

The middle-aged woman pondered for a moment, then nodded. Accompanied by the four women, she entered the black hole. Among them, Qian Qin’s gaze was filled with a complex mix of emotions as she watched Wang Lin. The thought of venturing into the Demon Spirit Land with him filled her with a secret hope. “I wonder if he still remembers me,” she whispered to herself.

A throng of cultivators surged forward after them, rushing towards the black hole. Yet, their numbers were too great. As some began to enter, the vortex faltered, reversing its spin and vanishing into nothingness.

Those who were halfway through the portal found their bodies torn apart in the sudden shift, their agonizing screams echoing through the air. The remaining cultivators recoiled in horror.

The black hole, now tinged with the scent of blood, vanished as if a door had been slammed shut, barring all further entry.

With disappointment hanging in the air, the remaining cultivators slowly dispersed, some refusing to give up hope, but after several days, they, too, abandoned their futile vigil. The tides of the East Sea returned to their tranquil rhythm.

***

On the scorched earth of the Fire Demon County, the crimson sun beat down, the waves of heat rising with the wind. Corpses littered the ground, the stench of decay attracting vultures and other scavenging demons, drawing essence from the dead.

This was but a single corner of the Fire Demon County. Across the region, corpses lay scattered like discarded toys, rotting under the relentless sun. The wind whipped through the tattered remains of their clothing, revealing blackened skin beneath.
War, a ravenous inferno, consumed the Fire Sprite County. The Soulforger Horde, a tide of necromantic malice, crashed against its fractured borders, leaving shattered kingdoms and ruined keeps in their wake. Submit, or be annihilated, was their chilling decree.

Far off, the once-proud capital of the Fire Sprite County, once home to one of the Nine Ancient Spirits, now stood as the final bastion of defiance. Occupied by the remnants of the Fire Sprite Legion, the last true force of the county. Centuries past, these warriors were the elite, forged in the fires of countless battles.

Two Demon Marshals and eight Demon Generals commanded the Legion. They were the strongest of what remained, a flicker of defiance against the encroaching darkness, stubbornly clinging to the fallen kingdom’s heart.

Now, a sea of Soulforger warriors encircled the city. The skies above roiled with a legion of sorcerers, each wielding spectral banners that choked the air with an oppressive, black fog.

Within the fog’s chilling embrace, a chorus of tormented wails pierced the heavens. These were the cries of enslaved souls, a harrowing symphony of despair that drowned out all other sound. At the vanguard of the Soulforger Horde, monstrous, dark stone effigy of their patriarch. It was borne upon the shoulders of zealots, chosen from millions, who viewed their burden as a sacred honor.

Above the throng, an ancient sorcerer floated, his face a mask of grim authority. A swirling vortex of black banners enveloped him.

“Demon Marshals, Woodwhisper and Scorpiongold,” the sorcerer’s voice echoed, cold as a crypt. “Do you yield, or face utter destruction?” As his words ripped through the air, the spectral banners around him unleashed shrieks that clawed at the very sky.

Then, the millions of Soulforger warriors roared as one.

“Yield! Yield!”

The cacophony was an earthquake of sound, a maelstrom that threatened to shatter the very earth. Within the city’s walls, the remaining Sprite warriors staggered, their minds reeling, some collapsing in bloody silence.

“Ouyang Hua, cease your threats!” A voice, laced with fury, erupted from the battlements. A towering warrior clad in scorpion-shaped armor leaped into the air. Rather than attacking the floating sorcerer, he charged towards the stone effigy.

“I will defile this idol, even in death!” The warrior surged forward, a blur of vengeful energy, until he stood before the effigy. Raising his hand, he prepared to strike a devastating blow.

But the Soulforger horde merely smirked, and even Ouyang Hua remained still, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

As the warrior’s hand fell, a voice, colder than death, echoed in his ears:

“He who defiles the Master’s image, dies.” The speaker was a man, seemingly ordinary, garbed in black, yet radiating an unnatural chill. A faint resemblance to another, long lost. Stepping forward, he unleashed a single, casual blow. A tempest of tormented souls erupted from his fist, slamming into the Sprite warrior.

Armor shattered, bones splintered, and blood sprayed.

“Thirteen, the Soulforgers’ second mightiest warrior,” the dying warrior gasped, then his form was torn apart. The life that remained was quenched.

Ouyang Hua bellowed with laughter. He pointed a skeletal finger towards the city. “Annihilate!”

At his command, a million banners surged into the sky, a tidal wave of enslaved souls coalescing into a suffocating darkness that fell upon the Fire Sprite County.

“Woe,” a woman in azure armor sighed upon the city’s walls.

The Fire Sprite County was consumed, forever to be the heart of the Soulforger Horde. The dark stone effigy would be placed upon the ancient altar, as a focal point for all, much as the ancient spirits once were.

Just as Thirteen turned to enter the conquered city, his body convulsed. His icy demeanor crumbled, replaced by an emotion he had not felt in centuries: joyous shock. He lifted his gaze to the heavens.

“The Ancestor… has returned!”