The next morning.
A veil of morning mist clung to the ancient stones of the Ashen Pavilion. Sacred bells tolled, not with sorrow, but with awakening. The silver fog shifted as if recognizing the one who now walked among gods and immortals — a man newly reborn.
Yang Xuan stood at the Pavilion's cliffside, now clad in deep black battle robes lined with faint gold — the formal garb of a Sovereign Disciple.
His aura had changed.
No longer did it suppress itself.No longer did he hide.
The disciples in the courtyard watched him descend the stairs, each step resonating like a war drum. He did not walk quickly, nor arrogantly — but with the calm, undeniable power of someone who knew even gods might someday kneel.
At the base of the Pavilion, Master Kong awaited.
His aged eyes twinkled.
"The heavens will stir with your name, Zang Xuan."
Yang Xuan nodded slowly.
"Then let them listen."
The Grand Departure Ceremony
The Ashen Pavilion was never one to indulge in ceremony.
But today was different.
Today, a Sovereign Seed was leaving.
And so the sky itself opened above the courtyard. Celestial banners shimmered into existence, floating midair, woven from divine threads that bent time and light. Thunder rumbled not from storm, but from presence — as if the heavens were watching.
A thousand inner disciples, two hundred core disciples, and all seven Pavilion Elders gathered in formal attire.
The great bell of ascension tolled nine times.
With each toll, Yang Xuan's presence grew heavier — more defined, like a sovereign star being born in the mortal world.
Then the final toll struck.
And Master Kong raised his palm, revealing a scroll etched in blood-gold ink.
"By decree of the Ashen Pavilion,Let it be known —
From this day forth,Zang Xuan shall travel the mortal realm as our Shadow Sovereign.
He shall uphold the laws of balance and power.
He shall act without permission, bound by no elder.
His word, should he speak it, shall carry the same weight as mine."
The crowd gasped.
Even among the most powerful sects, such authority was unheard of.
Zang Xuan — Sovereign in all but name.
First Followers
After the decree, three figures stepped forward and knelt:
Lan Yue – the Spear Mistress, known as the Silent Lightning of the West.Former number one among the core disciples, she offered her spear to serve Yang Xuan, her eyes shining with challenge and loyalty.
Du Han – the alchemist of bone and fire, a crippled genius who reconstructed his entire body using demonic flame and phoenix marrow. He wished to follow Yang Xuan to perfect his final immortal pill.
Meng Shi – the Shadow Fist, an orphan raised in the Pavilion's assassination hall. She bowed, not out of reverence, but because she believed no one else could lead them through the world that was to come.
Yang Xuan looked over them all. These were not servants.
They were comrades — the foundation of a future empire.
He said only one thing:
"Then rise… and follow me."
Ambush at the Desolate Ridge
Three days after his departure, the Sovereign entourage neared the Desolate Ridge — a ruined mountain range between empires, a place where ancient remnants slept and lawless powers reigned.
It was also a trap.
They were attacked not by bandits or rogue cultivators, but by disciples of the Nine Lotus Sect — cloaked figures wielding jade talismans and blood-fueled techniques.
"Kill the Sovereign Seed!""His rise ends today!"
A hundred cultivators surrounded them, releasing dozens of spirit beasts and soul-sucking worms.
Lan Yue raised her spear.Du Han ignited his internal furnace.Meng Shi vanished into shadow.
But Yang Xuan?
He merely raised a single finger.
And the sky cracked.
Sovereign Manifestation: The Silent Throne
With a flash of golden light, an invisible throne descended behind him.
Not physical — but conceptual.
It bent the battlefield, made weaker cultivators vomit blood just by looking at him.
With a wave of his hand, a hundred enemies were flattened under an unseen force — no visible energy, no glowing sword techniques.
Just raw, conceptual dominance.
The Nine Lotus disciples were stunned.
"He... he hasn't even formed his core yet! How is this possible?!"
Their leader, a Nascent Soul Elder, lunged with a nine-petal lotus blade. "Fall, usurper!"
But Yang Xuan caught the blade mid-swing.
"You bring a flower," he whispered, "to slay a sovereign?"
And then he crushed the blade — and the elder — with a casual flick.
The war was over before it began.
Beyond the Battle
After the battle, the sovereign group scoured the ruins, discovering a forgotten portal under the Desolate Ridge — an ancient gateway once used by celestial messengers.
It required not spiritual energy, but willpower to activate — the raw soul signature of someone fated to defy the heavens.
Yang Xuan placed his palm against the stone.
The runes flared.
The gate opened.
Beyond it lay a pathway of stars, leading not to a city or battlefield — but to a floating continent long lost to history:
The Tomb of the First Warlord.
A Gateway to Forgotten Glory
The portal shimmered with ancient symbols, pulsing softly like the heartbeat of a buried god.
As Yang Xuan stepped forward, the world behind him faded.Time bent.Space cracked.
And in the next breath, he and his companions stood on floating stone platforms suspended above an endless sea of stars. These were the boundary edges of the Divine Rift — a forbidden void where only Sovereign-class legacies dared to linger.
At the heart of the floating realm loomed a titanic temple, carved from obsidian and godsteel, crowned with banners long tattered by battles that outlived nations. Above the gates was a single inscription in an ancient martial tongue:
"Here Sleeps the First Warlord — Whose Wrath Shaped the Sky."
Visions of the Ancient Past
As Yang Xuan crossed the threshold, the air thickened.
A ghostly pressure sank into his bones — not malevolent, but demanding. The tomb did not welcome guests; it weighed and measured them. Those without fate or spine would be obliterated before stepping ten feet.
Inside, celestial murals lined the walls.They moved.
Not as illusions, but as living memories, caught in an eternal loop.
Yang Xuan's eyes widened as he watched a man — cloaked in blood, holding a blade that wept fire — carve through immortal beasts and slay a golden-winged god with a single thrust.
The man turned.
And though it was merely a vision, he stared directly at Yang Xuan.
"Child of Shadow and War," the warlord's echo said, "Your blood screams of battle yet unwritten."
The echo pressed a seal onto Yang Xuan's forehead.
"Prove your will. Claim the Sovereign Armament. Or die."
Trial of the Thousand Generals
The tomb trembled.A black gate opened within the main chamber, revealing a circular arena of impossible scale — tens of miles wide, beneath a sky stained red with lightning.
Here, Yang Xuan would face the Thousand Generals — spectral remnants of the warlord's army, each a martial emperor in their time, each bound by oath to kill all unworthy successors.
One by one, they came.
The First General: Wielder of the Tyrant Halberd, who had split mountains in the Great Divide War.
The Seventh General: Mistress of Moonlight Death, who could sever fate with her shadow blade.
The Sixty-Third General: A monk of flame, whose chants caused souls to combust.
Yang Xuan fought them all.
Not just with fists or blade — but with martial will.
Each victory etched a sigil into his spine — divine runes of conquest. Painful. Permanent.
By the time the thousandth general collapsed into stardust, Yang Xuan could barely stand. His robes were torn. His bones cracked. Yet his eyes burned with fury and focus.
"More," he whispered."Test me again."
Forging the Sovereign Armament
The arena collapsed.The sky split open.
Descending from above came the Heartforge, a sentient forge once used by the First Warlord himself. Its flames were made from divine tribulation, and its anvil was the spine of a fallen Void Dragon.
A voice rumbled through the tomb:
"Name your weapon, Sovereign Seed."
Yang Xuan stepped forward, bleeding but defiant.
"I name it… Requiem of the Fallen Sky."
From his blood, soul, and martial path, the forge took what it needed — then gave him what he deserved.
When it was over, he held a blade unlike any other.
Its body shimmered with the constellations of extinct realms.
Its edge bent time slightly every time it was unsheathed.
It had no scabbard — for it refused to be hidden.
This was not merely a sword.It was a divine statement:
"I am coming."
Departure from the Tomb
When Yang Xuan emerged from the Tomb, three days had passed — in mortal time.
But in the Divine Rift, it had been three months.
He walked out barefoot, his robes stitched by starlight, his hair streaked with ash and gold.
Lan Yue dropped to a knee.
Du Han trembled with excitement.
Meng Shi didn't speak. She simply bowed — head touching the earth.
Yang Xuan looked toward the horizon.
The empires of the mortal world still played their little games.The gods watched from their lofty thrones, smug and detached.And the immortals of the Azure Heaven Sect still plotted in silence.
But now, something new walked among them.
A warlord reborn.
A sovereign awakened.
A storm named Zang Xuan.