His frigid stare swept the chamber like a steel scythe. Under that weight, every throat sealed tight. Elders and stewards bent in trembling unison. “Your will is law, sir…”
The order raced through the sect faster than ever. Across the Blood-Scar Plains, spears of demon light shot skyward from mines, fortresses, and shadowed shrines, converging on the sect’s citadel like crows returning to a single carcass.
Forge halls shrieked day and night, birthing hell-black blades and armor. Apothecaries emptied their vaults, hurling battle elixirs into waiting hands. Tamed war beasts, snarling under iron saddles, pawed the cracked earth, hungry for slaughter.
The Infinite Soul Demon Sect, an engine built for war, roared to life at full throttle. Murderous energy punched into the rusty clouds above, then barreled straight toward the distant Myriad Beast Mountains.
In the council hall of the Myriad Beast Sect, panic seeped into every corner.
Unlike the Infinite Soul Demon Sect’s feverish aggression, this grand chamber quaked with the dread of an oncoming storm. Triumphs won in earlier skirmishes now felt like brittle glass pressed against a hammer.
A scout burst through the doors, sliding on his knees.
“Urgent report!” he screeched, voice warped by terror. “The Infinite Soul Demon Sect is massing; Sheldon Soulsby himself vows to lead every warrior and grind us into dust!”
The words struck like a meteor, shattering the fragile calm into towering waves of fear.
“Their entire force? Are they mad?”
“Sheldon is a Level Nine Heavenly Immortal; how do we block such a monster?”
“Dozens of Heavenly Immortal elders stand behind him… We’re finished!”
“If only we had never provoked them…”
Despair spread like plague spores.
Some disciples blanched white, bodies shaking beyond control. Even seasoned elders pressed bloodless lips together, eyes dim, as if already watching their sect drown in blood.
At last, every gaze climbed to the high seat, to the young man in plain green robes who had yet to speak.
Gavin and Yvette flanked Jared, fists clenched until nails cut flesh. All their hopes, and the sect’s survival, rested on this quiet miracle-worker.
Paxton, eyes dark with worry, faced Jared. His voice fell like iron. “Sir, their might dwarfs ours. A head-on clash would smash us like eggs against a rock. Should we scatter into the deep mountains, avoid their attack until another dawn?”
Jared lifted his eyelids at last. The black of his pupils ran deep and still—dark water at the bottom of an ancient well, utterly untouched by the earthquake of danger rumbling outside these walls.
His fingertip tapped the wooden armrest, steady, metronomic. Each muted knock rolled outward like a spell.
Whispers faltered. Shuffling feet froze. A hush, heavy as snowfall, settled across the council hall.
“Why the panic?” Though he spoke no louder than a calm aside, the syllables threaded through the hall with iron certainty.
“When the enemy’s spear looks too sharp, step aside for the moment. An army that empties its nest leaves the nest unguarded—simple military law. What, exactly, is there to fear?”
