A deathly silence settled over the Crimson Thunder Army's encampment. The dust from the impact of Shao Xian's previous attack had yet to fully settle, but the soldier he struck lay motionless, buried beneath shattered rock. The laughter that had once filled the air had vanished, replaced by a palpable, creeping fear.
Gao Zhen, the self-proclaimed warlord, stood at the center of the camp, his crimson cloak billowing behind him as he stepped forward. His eyes, sharp and seasoned from years of war, locked onto the lone figure standing at the edge of his domain. His men, thousands in number, now looked to him for orders, their hands gripping weapons slick with nervous sweat.
Shao Xian stood unmoving, his robes untouched by the dust and debris that swirled in the air. His golden eyes bore into Gao Zhen's soul, as if stripping him of his titles, his conquests, his very existence—leaving only a mortal man standing before an inevitability he could not escape.
The warlord's lips curled into a sneer. "A lone cultivator walks into my camp and expects me to kneel?" He laughed, though it lacked the certainty of before. "You overestimate yourself."
Shao Xian's voice was as cold as the void between stars. "I do not overestimate. I dictate."
Gao Zhen's expression darkened. He turned to his men. "Kill him."
The order was met with hesitation. The soldiers had seen the way Shao Xian moved. They had seen the effortless way he sent their comrade to his death. But Gao Zhen was their commander, and hesitation in war was weakness.
With a roar, the front line surged forward.
Shao Xian did not move.
Blades gleamed in the morning light. Arrows were nocked, ready to rain down death. Dozens of men charged, their feet shaking the earth beneath them.
And then—
A gust of wind howled through the valley, carrying with it a wave of invisible force. The moment it touched the charging soldiers, their bodies seized. Their momentum halted as if they had struck an unseen wall.
Crack.
The first man's bones shattered, his body imploding from the sheer pressure. Another followed. Then another. Blood burst into the air like crimson mist, limbs bending in unnatural angles before lifeless bodies crumpled to the ground.
Terror spread like wildfire. The archers loosed their arrows, but before they could reach their target, the air itself twisted. The projectiles halted mid-flight, suspended as if held by an unseen force. Then, with a flick of Shao Xian's fingers, the arrows reversed course, piercing the throats of the very men who fired them.
Gao Zhen's composure wavered. "Demon…" he breathed.
Shao Xian finally moved, a single step forward. It was unhurried, yet with that single movement, the ground beneath him fractured, a pulse of unseen energy rippling outward.
The remaining soldiers stumbled back. The warlord clenched his fists. "Enough!"
A surge of crimson energy exploded from his body. His cultivation, though far inferior to Shao Xian's, was still formidable in this world. The air crackled with the intensity of his aura, lightning arcing between his fingers.
"If you believe yourself a god," Gao Zhen growled, his muscles tightening, "then allow me to strike you down."
With a roar, he thrust his palm forward. The valley trembled as a torrent of blood-red energy erupted from his hands, a raging storm of destruction that promised death to all in its path. The force of his attack shattered the ground, uprooting trees and sending debris flying.
Yet, before the attack could reach its mark—
Shao Xian raised a single hand.
The moment his palm faced the incoming energy, the world fell silent. The red torrent that had promised destruction froze in mid-air, as if time itself had been shackled. The soldiers gasped, their minds unable to comprehend what they were witnessing.
Then, with the gentlest motion, Shao Xian closed his fingers.
The massive energy that Gao Zhen had unleashed collapsed in on itself, folding like a dying star. It shrank into a small, concentrated point before vanishing entirely, leaving behind nothing but empty air.
Gao Zhen staggered. His face paled, sweat dripping from his brow.
Shao Xian did not grant him time to recover.
In an instant, he was before the warlord, his golden eyes burning with the weight of judgment.
Gao Zhen barely had time to react before a hand closed around his throat.
His body was lifted effortlessly into the air, his feet dangling above the shattered earth. He clawed at Shao Xian's grip, but it was like trying to break free from fate itself.
"Warlord," Shao Xian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "A title unearned."
Gao Zhen's struggles weakened as his vision blurred. The strength in his limbs faded, and for the first time in his life, he knew true fear.
"You sought dominion," Shao Xian continued, his grip tightening. "Yet you lacked the power to claim it."
The warlord's mouth opened, a desperate plea forming on his lips—
Crack.
His body went limp. His neck, once a pillar of arrogance, now nothing more than a snapped twig in the hands of a true sovereign.
Shao Xian released the corpse. It crumpled to the ground, lifeless, just another forgotten name in the annals of history.
The remaining soldiers, those who had not yet fled, fell to their knees. Their weapons clattered against the earth, their heads bowed so low they trembled against the dirt.
"My Lord," one of them whispered, his voice shaking. "We surrender."
Shao Xian did not need their words. Their fear was enough.
"From this moment forward," he said, his voice carrying across the valley, "you do not fight for banners of men. You fight for the will of the heavens. You fight for me."
There was no hesitation. No second thoughts.
As one, they spoke:
"We serve."
The weight of their submission was absolute. The warlord was gone. The army was his. Zhenlu was his.
And this was only the beginning.