At the foot of Saintlight Peak, the whole sky seemed to turn. The golden warding array sealed the entire mountain peak so tightly that not a gap showed anywhere. That radiant barrier had been reinforced by countless Celestial Basilica predecessors over tens of thousands of years, and now it was running in a frenzy.
Golden runes moved across its surface like living things, while a low buzzing hum spread through the air. But in front of that dark figure, the barrier that looked impossible to break came off like paper. The sight alone sent a chill through everyone watching.
Skylar stood with his hands behind his back, feet planted in the void. His black clothes snapped hard in the wind. He was not deliberately releasing any pressure. Even so, the invisible weight around him made the air for a hundred miles lock up and go still. The ground below him cracked apart without a sound.
Thin fractures spread outward from where he stood, racing in every direction. Broken stones were lifted into the air by an unseen force, hung there for a breath, then crumbled into dust in an instant.
On Saintlight Peak, the alarm bell began to ring without stopping. No one struck the ancient bell that had been passed down for tens of thousands of years. The moment the array came under pressure, it rang on its own. Each toll came faster than the one before, sharp and bleak, like a funeral bell calling for the dead.
The Basilica disciples had gone white. Their whole bodies shook. Some had their legs give out and dropped to the ground. Some turned and tried to run, only to be yanked back by their companions. Others clutched their weapons with hands shaking so badly they could not even hold a sword steady.
“W-Who is that?!”
“Demonic aura… What a terrifying demonic aura! No ordinary demonic cultivator could ever have something like this!”
“Move! Report to Hall Master at once! Activate every ward, now!”
Down at the mountain foot, Skylar acted as if he had not heard any of it. He lifted his head and let his gaze pass calmly over the towering Saintlight Peak. He looked at it the way someone might look over a toy too trivial to matter. At the peak, the palace showed through the golden barrier in broken glimpses.
Its sweeping eaves, carved beams, and painted rafters had once been the holy sanctuary in the hearts of countless cultivators. In his eyes now, it was nothing more than ruins waiting to collapse.
Aurelius was in the rear court, regulating his breath, when the message reached him. His eyes snapped open. The color drained from his face, and in the same instant, his figure vanished from where he sat. A moment later, he was already standing on the highest Star-Gazing Platform at the summit. The second he saw the black-clad figure on the mountainside below, his pupils shrank hard.
Too young… That face looks barely past twenty…
Skylar’s skin was pale, his features sharp and handsome. If not for the demonic aura around him, so dense it almost looked solid, anyone could have believed he was the direct disciple of some great righteous sect. But those eyes… Those eyes were deep like an ancient frostpool. There was none of the heat or recklessness a young man should have had in them, only a cold distance that made the chest tighten, and a trace of weariness so faint it almost slipped past, as if nothing in this world was worth a second glance from him.
“This is… Skylar?”
Aurelius spoke under his breath. There was a thin shake in his voice, slight enough that even he didn’t catch it. His hand closed before he noticed it. His nails bit into his palm, and he held there, using the sting to force down what was rising in him. He had heard plenty about how terrifying Skylar was. From the battle at Cloudhaven City to Godric being burned to ashes in a single blaze, every one of those things had told him the same truth. The young man was not someone he could afford to provoke.
But hearing about it was one thing. Seeing him with his own eyes was something else entirely. That aura, that pressure the Mountain-Guarding Grand Array couldn’t even shut out, dragged his thoughts back to the legendary mighty figures of the elder age.
That was power sitting above everything else. The kind that crushed even the thought of resistance before it could rise. Aurelius had lived for more than ten thousand years. He had always believed he’d seen every kind of powerhouse this world could produce.
Only now did he understand how little that meant. In front of real power, everything he had taken pride in looked like a frog at the bottom of a well, smug over a sky it had never truly seen.
“Hall Master, what do we do?” A Guardian Elder edged close and asked it with a shaking voice, cold sweat pouring down his forehead.
Aurelius drew in a deep breath and forced everything down before speaking, “Hold steady. Don’t act rashly. Push the Mountain-Guarding Grand Array at full power. All Elders, take your positions and pour your spiritual power into the array core. No one leaves the mountain gate by even half a step.”
“B-But… if he attacks his way up here…” The elder’s voice shook so badly it almost broke apart.
“He won’t…” Aurelius kept his eyes on the figure below the mountain, and the steadiness in his voice looked dragged there by force. “If he wanted to attack, he would’ve done it already. He’s waiting for something.”
Waiting for what? Aurelius didn’t know. He didn’t dare guess either. But he knew this much: with that young man standing there, it was like a sword hanging over his head, ready to drop at any moment. And the only thing Aurelius could do was pray that when the sword finally came down, it wasn’t aimed at him.
At the mountain foot, Skylar stood there in silence. His gaze swept across Saintlight Peak without pausing for even a beat. Those Basilica disciples trembling all over, those Elders and protectors standing on full alert in the face of a great enemy—in his eyes, they were no different from ants. They weren’t worth a second glance.
His gaze passed over Saintlight Peak, crossed layer after layer of mountains, and settled on a market town 100 miles away. There, he caught a presence he knew.
“Jared…” The corner of Skylar’s mouth lifted just a little, drawing out the faintest hint of a smile. It was so slight it was almost impossible to see, but deep in those eyes, something gave a small stir. Expectation was in it. So was the urge to fight. And mixed in with both, there was something harder to sort out, so slight even he didn’t catch it himself.
In the market town, Jared stood by the window, looking in Saintlight Peak’s direction too. He had felt that presence. He had felt that familiar demonic aura too, the one that made his hatred bite all the way down. That aura was like a flame burning in the dark. No matter how far apart they were, he could still pick it out with perfect clarity.
“Skylar…” He said it softly. His voice stayed level, but the fist tightening at his side gave away the storm underneath. His knuckles had gone white. Veins stood out across the back of his hand. Even his breathing had turned a shade rougher.
Lydia stood behind him, her face set. “That Skylar?”
Jared nodded, then loosened his fist. He drew in a deep breath and forced down everything surging inside him. “He’s here… Good…” He turned and looked at the others. A cold glint passed through his eyes. “Let’s go. Time to meet him.”
Evelyn shrank back and, without thinking, slipped behind Grace. She only showed half her face as she peeked at Jared, watching him like she didn’t dare get any closer.
Luther tightened his grip on the wraithblade. Something sharp flashed through his eyes, and the corner of his mouth even lifted a little. Grace didn’t say anything. She just reached over and lightly took Luther’s hand. The two of them looked at each other once, and that was enough.
The group left the market town and turned into streaks of light, racing hard toward Saintlight Peak.
At the foot of Saintlight Peak, Skylar still stood there with his hands behind his back, as if he were waiting for something. He didn’t have to wait long. A moment later, several streaks of light flew in from the horizon, tore across the sky, and dropped onto the mountain foot on the other side of Saintlight Peak.
As the golden radiance faded, Jared’s figure came into view. The two of them faced each other from several hundred yards apart. One stood wrapped in golden light, dragon pressure rolling off him in great waves. Behind him, the phantom of the Five-Clawed Golden Dragon coiled faintly in the air, and its low, heavy dragon cry shook the air until it trembled.
The other stood with demonic aura churning around him and killing force stabbing into the sky. The ground beneath his feet had already been eaten away by that aura, cracking inch by inch as darker fissures spread outward like a spiderweb.
Those two completely different presences slammed into each other in midair and kicked up invisible sparks. There was no sound and no light. But the aftershock of that collision still twisted the space for miles around. Visible folds appeared in the air itself, like silk that had been crushed and wrinkled in a hand.
