The battlefield remained eerily silent. Shao Xian stood atop the frozen wasteland that had once been a warzone, his golden eyes scanning the ruins of the Boulder King's forces. The snow beneath his feet was stained crimson, and the shattered weapons of fallen warriors lay scattered like forgotten relics.
Behind him, Zhou Fan and Minister Han observed with quiet reverence. The Boulder King, a warlord who had ruled the western mountains for decades, was gone. Elder Mu of the Frozen Spear Sect had vanished without a trace, his disciples either slain or surrendering.
Zhou Fan took a step forward, his voice steady. "The Northern Wastes are now under your command, my Lord. There is no one left to oppose you."
Shao Xian did not respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where storm clouds churned like a restless beast.
"No," he finally said. "There will always be opposition."
His voice was calm, yet absolute.
Minister Han, ever the strategist, furrowed his brow. "With the Boulder King and Frozen Spear Sect eliminated, only scattered remnants remain. Who would dare rise against you now?"
Shao Xian turned, his expression unreadable. "The foolish. The desperate. And those who do not yet understand."
He glanced toward the corpses littering the ice. This battle had been too easy. The warlords had underestimated him, believing he could be stalled. But someone had guided them. Someone had whispered in their ears, convincing them to resist even when the outcome was inevitable.
Zhou Fan clenched his fist. "There was an unknown force behind them."
Shao Xian nodded. "A mere shadow, for now. But shadows do not act without a source."
His eyes glowed briefly, his divine sense sweeping across the land. He could feel the echoes of foreign Qi—subtle, almost undetectable, yet unmistakably present. Someone beyond the Northern Wastes had taken an interest in him.
And that meant they feared him.
A small smirk formed on his lips. "Good. Let them watch."
Two days later, inside the grand hall of the newly conquered Blackstone Keep, Shao Xian sat upon the throne that had once belonged to Geng Tianhu. The keep had been restored swiftly, banners of his newly formed dominion replacing the tattered insignias of the fallen warlords.
Before him knelt the leaders of the remaining factions—those who had chosen to surrender rather than face annihilation. They trembled under his gaze, their spirits crushed by the weight of his presence.
One of them, a middle-aged man with a scar across his cheek, dared to raise his head. "Lord Shao Xian… we accept your rule. The Northern Wastes belong to you now."
Shao Xian leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne. "You accept because you have no other choice. That is not loyalty. It is survival."
The man paled. "W-We will prove ourselves! We will serve you faithfully!"
A long silence stretched between them. Then, Shao Xian spoke.
"You will not be given the chance to prove anything."
The man's eyes widened, but before he could speak, an invisible force crushed him into the ground. His body crumpled, lifeless.
Gasps filled the hall. None dared to move.
Shao Xian's voice was calm, almost indifferent. "Survival is not enough. I do not need weaklings who bow out of fear. You will not serve me. You will serve my empire. And if you cannot, you will be replaced."
His golden gaze swept over the remaining warlords, his intent clear.
Minister Han stepped forward, unrolling a scroll. "The Northern Wastes will be restructured. Those who prove themselves capable will govern under Lord Shao Xian's rule. Those who fail… will not see another sunrise."
The assembled warlords bowed deeply, their voices unsteady. "We obey, Lord Shao Xian!"
A quiet smirk touched Shao Xian's lips.
They would either become useful… or they would become examples.
Far beyond the Northern Wastes, in a hidden chamber deep within the Jade Celestial Pavilion, a group of figures sat in a dimly lit hall. Their robes bore the insignias of various sects and factions, each one representing an ancient power that had existed long before Shao Xian's return.
At the head of the gathering, an elder with a long silver beard tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. His expression was unreadable.
"The warlords have fallen," he stated. "Shao Xian now controls the Northern Wastes."
A man clad in crimson robes scoffed. "As expected. They were nothing but rabble. But now that he has unified the region, he will set his sights beyond. We must act before he gains more momentum."
Another elder, his face veiled beneath a hood, spoke in a cold voice. "He is powerful. More powerful than the reports suggested. If we engage him directly, we may lose more than we gain."
A woman with jade-colored eyes chuckled softly. "Then we shall not fight him directly."
The room fell silent as she continued, her voice like silk. "Shao Xian is not a mere conqueror. He is something far worse—a ruler with purpose. He does not seek power for its own sake. He seeks dominion."
The silver-bearded elder exhaled slowly. "Then what do you suggest?"
The woman's lips curled into a smile. "We must make him bleed. Not through war, but through chaos. Let his empire crumble before it can take root. If we cannot strike the dragon down, then we shall poison the ground beneath its feet."
The others exchanged glances. Slowly, nods of agreement spread through the room.
The silver-bearded elder finally spoke. "Then it shall be done. Let the seeds of rebellion take root."
Back in Blackstone Keep, Shao Xian sat alone in his chambers, his gaze fixed upon the map spread before him. The Northern Wastes had been secured, but his true path had only begun.
Zhou Fan entered, his expression serious. "My Lord, we have received word. The Jade Celestial Pavilion has begun to move."
Shao Xian's fingers traced over the map. He had expected resistance. He had expected fear. But if they thought they could delay the inevitable… they would learn otherwise.
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the weight of the world shifting. The game had begun.
And he never lost.