Inside the sacred hall of the Míng Gǔ Tribe.
The air was thick with incense and whispers. Lóng Xuán paced aimlessly, rubbing his hands, his eyes cast downward while his thoughts wandered.
On the throne sat the Grand Matriarch. Though blind and unable to see, her presence alone weighed heavily across the hall. She listened with growing boredom until finally she snapped.
"Lóng Xuán!"
The man nearly jumped in place, startled out of his haze.
"You are irritating me. Stop strutting around like a headless chicken and speak plainly—tell me the situation!"
"My apologies, Matriarch." He bowed low. "My mind is unsettled. Zhao—last night he returned to the ruins of his kingdom and cut down the empire's hero, Guōzhì Jìngguó. I failed to stop him. He slipped away."
"And outside?" she asked. "Any sign they're coming here?"
"None yet. But chaos spreads. Soldiers and war machines march in from the surrounding kingdoms. Zhao's threat to the emperor has roused them."
"And Zhao himself? Where is he now?"
Lóng Xuán's jaw tightened. "I don't know. That terrifies me. After the killing, he vanished—no trace left. I cannot even tell if he lives."
The Matriarch closed her eyes, drawing a long breath as if reaching for unseen threads.
Growing restless, Lóng Xuán pressed her. "You know something, don't you? Tell me. If that boy is dead, I'll follow him into the afterlife."
"Calm yourself," she said softly. "My instincts say Zhao still lives. The green dagger in my hand—the one he forged in defiance of our laws—hasn't stopped trembling since he left. Sometimes it grows so heavy I can barely hold it, as if it longs to return to its master. That means his life still burns. Sooner or later, he'll return. Our fates are tied."
Relief loosened Lóng Xuán's chest. Knowing the Shèntiān still lived steadied him.
"Then… do you know where he is?"
"I don't. If anyone does, perhaps our allies in the west. Make yourself useful—contact them."
"Yes, Matriarch. I'll send men at once."
She rose slowly from the throne, the jade dagger weighing down her hand.
"Good. I'll descend into the Forge. A great shift is coming. We must be ready."
The dagger slipped suddenly, clanging against the stone floor. Though she had gripped it tight, it fell, and the blade trembled violently where it lay. Pebbles scattered from the vibrations.
Lóng Xuán and the Matriarch stared at it, unease written on both faces. The omen was clear. Something vast was stirring—and not in their favor.
Meanwhile inside the prison.
Zhāo Han leaned against the cold bars, his mind still rattled by the nightmares he had seen.
Before him sat a man in a rough wooden chair. His armor was sea-blue leather trimmed with gold, his helm adorned with fin-like crests. His aura was sharp, cold, filled with disdain.
At last, the man spoke, sarcasm dripping from every word.
"So this is the boy who stood over Guōzhì Jìngguó's corpse last night, declaring he would bring down Xuánhǔ, swearing he would not stop until the emperor's head lay at his feet. I'll admit, boy—you have guts."
Zhao said nothing, his eyes still wet from tears born of his dream. The man continued, voice laced with contempt.
"Others might overlook you for cutting down one of the empire's champions. After all, it is their duty to die for the emperor sooner or later. But to insult the emperor? To threaten his very life before his people? That is unforgivable. That is an international crime. Death alone is not punishment enough."
He sneered. "I had thought the one bold enough to behead the empire's general before an entire battalion would be a man of great strength. Yet, seeing you now… I cannot even waste spit on you. You're nothing but a child. Thin. Weak. Hands untested by war. An orphan whimpering over his dead parents. Nothing more."
Zhao's green eyes glimmered dangerously at the insult. His blood roared; he longed to unleash his Frequency upon the man. But the string around him remained still and taut—too similar to the Grand Matriarch's. He hesitated.
The man narrowed his eyes. "Why are you staring at me like that? Don't like what I'm saying? What can you do? Strike me? Go ahead, try."
Zhao's silence only stoked the man's temper.
"Let me tell you something, Kid. Guōzhì Jìngguó was my prey. I trained my whole life to take his head with my own hands on the battlefield. And you—some snot-nosed brat—stole that from me! You sicken me!"
Zhao gave a short, bitter laugh. "For someone claiming greatness, you sound very bitter. Fact is, I did in one night what you couldn't achieve in a lifetime."
In a flash, Zhao's cheek was struck by the man's iron-gloved hand. His eyes burned red with fury at what he had just heard. How ironic—Zhao had endured insult after insult in silence, yet the man lost control the moment Zhao spoke back only once.
Clutching Zhao by the throat, the man snarled into his face.
"Arrogant brat. You should know your place. After last night, the price on your head is enough to buy a mountain of gold. I'd gladly kill you here and now without a single coin—if you weren't under the king's protection. Naïve child, blind to how the world works… a useless creature who did nothing but whimper when his kingdom was burned by another. If you truly had power, you should have done something when your father died, when your mother was slaughtered! But what did you do? You ran to save yourself! And now you dare to claim you'll destroy an empire with your own hands? Don't make me laugh. You can't even break free of your shackles!"
Zhao finally snapped. With a roar, he lunged, slamming his body into the man with all his strength. Both of them crashed to the ground, Zhao pinning him down. His fists and legs were useless against the man's armor, so he drove his forehead into the mustached man's nose with brutal force. Blood burst forth; not only was the man's nose broken, but Zhao's own forehead split open, bleeding heavily.
"You bastard!" the man bellowed. He surged back up, seizing Zhao by the neck and hurling him into the iron bars. His hand flew to the hilt of the sword at his waist, half-drawing it in blind rage, ready to slit Zhao's throat.
"General!"
A woman in maid attire rushed in just in time, stopping him before the blade left its sheath. A second later, and Zhao's life would have ended there.
"What do you want!?" the man barked, his fury unchecked.
"The king requests the prince's presence. Immediately."
Both men, faces smeared with blood, froze inside the cell. The interruption at such a critical moment was unbearable—especially for Zhao, who had been a heartbeat away from death.
At last, the general's pride relented. He exhaled sharply, glaring at Zhao.
"You're lucky, boy. Next time we meet, I won't hold back."
The general shoved Zhao out of the cell. Once the shackles on his wrists were removed, Zhao followed the maid down the corridor—toward the chamber where the king awaited.