The night was heavy with killing intent. Clouds moved across the blood-red moon like fish in a water, and the forest beneath shivered under the cries of slaughter. Blades clashed, qi tore through the earth, and the stink of burning flesh filled the air.
Instructor Pain's roar cut through the chaos.
"Press forward! Do not let a single one escape!" with his Fame Star realm cultivation. He led the attack.
The disciples behind him surged, their crimson robes fluttering in the wind. They were elites of the Imperial Heaven Sect, hand-picked for this mission. For weeks they had traced rumors of a Night Shadows Sect hideout, whispers of demonic cultivators draining heirs' bloodlines to fashion puppets. Tonight, the trail ended here.
Pain swung his massive glaive, cleaving three cultists in one stroke. Black blood splattered across his arm, sizzling against the defensive qi that coated his skin. His face was grim but unwavering. He had seen the schemes of the demonic sects before, but tonight was different—this hideout reeked of sacrificial intent, of ancient rituals meant for something larger than simple slaughter.
"Seal formation—NOW!" he barked.
Six disciples leapt to their positions, throwing jade talismans that formed glowing chains of light. The air trembled as the hideout's dark barrier was crushed by the Imperial Heaven Sect's power. Screams echoed as cultists were dragged into the open, their shadowy disguises torn apart.
A monstrous figure stepped from the hideout, its eyes glowing with a bloody light. It was no longer human—its body swelled with corrupted qi, veins pulsing like worms.
"A puppet…" Pain muttered, tightening his grip.
The thing lunged at him, claws flashing. Pain's glaive met it mid-air with a thunderous boom, the impact shaking the ground. Sparks exploded. Pain's arms trembled, but his stance did not falter. With a snarl, he twisted, slicing the abomination in two.
Yet the battlefield was far from done. Dozens of Night Shadows cultists poured out, their voices chanting in eerie unison. The very air grew heavy with demonic pressure.
"Disciples, HOLD YOUR LINES!" Pain roared, even as blood dripped from a gash across his shoulder.
He was bleeding, but his qi surged like a storm. For every cultist that came close, his glaive carved arcs of crimson death. Still, even Pain felt the strain. There were too many, and their strength was not ordinary—many had force-fed themselves with bloodline essence, pushing their cultivation into unstable realms.
The tide shifted only when a squad of Imperial Heaven elders descended from the sky, their auras like mountains crushing down on the cultists. With their aid, the battle ended swiftly, hundreds of demon cultivators slaughtered in the flames of righteous qi.
When silence returned, Pain stood amidst the corpses, panting heavily. His arm throbbed from wounds, his glaive was chipped, but his eyes remained sharp. He had survived.....barely.
And he had seen something none of the others had.
Deep in the hideout, among shattered altars and blood-runes, he had glimpsed symbols tied not to the Night Shadows Sect alone, but to something older. Something that whispered of the ancient Eternal Night Clans' Seal.
---
The Council Converge
Two days later, the great hall of the Imperial Heaven Sect blazed with light. Long banners of scarlet and gold hung from its towering pillars, while a vast jade table stretched across the chamber.
Representatives had gathered.
From the Flame Sect Hall, Elder Zhuron—his presence hot as burning embers.
From the Mystic Sword Hall, Lord Aratan—serene, sharp, his eyes glinting like blades.
From the Mysterious Saints Hall, Saint Elder Morvek—draped in white, his tone righteous, though his gaze shifted with unsettling calm.
At the head of the chamber sat the Imperial Heaven Sect Master himself, flanked by his highest advisors.
Instructor Pain, though wounded, stood at the far end of the chamber. His survival and eyewitness account had earned him a seat at this council, though compared to the great sect masters, he was but a boy among men.
Sect Master's voice echoed like thunder.
"The Night Shadows' hideout has been destroyed. Hundreds of cultists lie dead. Yet signs discovered there point toward a deeper plot. Instructor Pain, speak."
Pain stepped forward, his glaive resting at his back. His voice was grave,still worn from the battle, but his voice was firm.
"In the hideout we uncovered blood altars, inscriptions older than any simple cult practice. They were not draining bloodlines merely for strength. They were preparing a ritual tied to the Nine Clans' Seal."
The chamber rippled with murmurs. Elder Zhuron's brow furrowed, heat flickering around him. Lord Aratan narrowed his eyes, fingers tapping the jade table. Only Saint Morvek smiled faintly, hiding something in his calm.
"The Eternal Night Clans' Seal," the Sect Master repeated. His voice carried weight, as though speaking the name itself awakened old ghosts. "Three seals hold back what was once defeated. One rests here, guarded by Imperial Heaven. Another by the Mystic Sword Hall. The last by the Mysterious Saints Hall."
Pain's voice dropped low.
"In that hideout, the runes I saw matched those of sealing inscriptions. They were trying to mirror, distort, or unravel the seal itself."
A heavy silence fell.
Then Elder Zhuron slammed his fist on the table, sparks erupting.
"Madness! If the seal weakens, the calamity of the Ninth Clan will resurface. We cannot allow this!"
Lord Aratan's calm voice cut in, sharp as a blade.
"And yet, should we panic without proof? One hideout, one set of markings—it may be a false trail meant to mislead us."
Pain clenched his jaw. "With respect, my lord, I know what I saw. They are preparing for something greater than scattered ambushes."
Saint Morvek chuckled softly, spreading his hands. His white robes glowed under the hall's light, his tone dripping with righteousness.
"And perhaps Instructor Pain is right. But ask yourselves—who benefits from spreading fear of broken seals? Fear creates division. And division weakens us. Surely the Night Shadows would love nothing more."
His words seemed noble, but Pain felt a chill. That faint smile, those calculating eyes—there was something wrong.
The Sect Master raised a hand. "Enough. We are not children squabbling. Whether deliberate misdirection or truth, the possibility must be considered. We will inspect the seals ourselves."
---
The next day, a joint delegation traveled to the sites of the seals.
The first seal, deep within Imperial Heaven's sacred grounds, pulsed faintly with red light. Its core was intact, but fractures spider-webbed across its surface, as if something unseen pressed against it from the other side.
The second, guarded by Mystic Sword Hall, shone faintly blue. Yet its aura was weaker than recorded, the energy flow sluggish.
The third, within Mysterious Saints Hall, appeared flawless—radiant, untouched, even stronger than expected. Morvek spoke proudly of their vigilance, but Pain's eyes lingered on it uneasily. It was too perfect, too clean—as if someone had dressed a corpse to look alive.
The council reconvened at the Imperial Heaven Hall.
---
Sect Master spoke first.
"Two seals show signs of strain. Only the Saints' seal remains pristine. The timing is not coincidence. The demonic sects move."
Elder Zhuron's flames burned hotter.
"We must strike immediately! Burn every shadow nest we can find before they gather strength!"
Lord Aratan's voice was calm but stern.
"And risk scattering our forces thin, chasing ghosts? No. We must fortify the seals, investigate in silence, and move only when we know their true aim."
Saint Morvek folded his hands, his expression saintly.
"Perhaps both. Strengthen our defenses, yes, but temper our hearts. If we strike recklessly, we may play into their hands. If the demonic sects truly work with Poison Valley and Illusion Hall, then their web is wider than we imagine."
Arguments rose, each side pushing. Pain stood silent, his body tense. He was not a master, not a great elder. But he felt the weight of what he had seen—that altar, those runes—it was no illusion.
Finally, the Sect Master's voice cut through the chaos.
"Caution. We will strengthen the seals immediately. Every sect will increase vigilance. And we will not act as though blind. Instructor Pain, your testimony has been heard. You will lead a specialized force to track the remnants of the Night Shadows. Find proof of their goal."
Pain bowed, his wounds aching but his spirit firm.
"As you command."
---
Aftermath
When the council dispersed, whispers lingered. Alliances strained. The Flame Sect burned for war, the Mystic Sword waited for clarity, the Saints cloaked themselves in righteousness.
And in the shadows beyond the hall, unseen eyes watched. Somewhere deep, the Night Shadows Sect laughed in silence, their schemes unfurling like a black tide.
Instructor Pain walked from the hall, his glaive heavy on his back. His body throbbed, but his heart was heavier. He had lived through the battlefield, through blades and blood, but this… this was a different kind of war.
One fought not with swords, but with whispers, masks, and seals old enough to bind nightmares.
And for the first time, Pain wondered if even survival would be enough.