The sun had not yet risen, but the sky above Jade Sword Mountain had begun to pale—soft streaks of gray-blue pushing back the hellish crimson that had ruled the night. The oppressive demonic aura that once suffocated the sect grounds had dispersed into faint wisps that clung stubbornly to cracks in the earth.
The Crimson Night was over.
But victory came with a price.
The Heavenly Sword Sect's courtyard—their heart, their home—was now a graveyard of broken stone, collapsed pillars, and shattered formation plates. The scent of blood mixed with ash lingered heavily in the air.
Zhou Yu stood at the highest ridge of the ruined courtyard in complete silence.
His sword—still faintly glowing with remnants of the final strike—hung at his side. The light within it flickered like a dying flame. He exhaled softly, the breath almost imperceptible, yet every disciple nearby felt a subtle shift in the air—as if the world itself relaxed now that their Sect Master had spoken.
"It is done," he murmured.
Ling, his wolf companion, stepped forward and brushed his side gently, fur still stiff from leftover killing intent. Zhou Yu placed a hand on the wolf's head.
"We survived."
Where the battle had raged, disciples now worked with frantic urgency.
Some formed triage groups, kneeling beside wounded comrades, their robes drenched in sweat and blood. Others dragged the unconscious to patches of unbroken ground where makeshift medical tents were being erected.
Feng Lian knelt beside a disciple whose arm had been nearly severed. Her hands glowed with icy mist, freezing the wound to stop further bleeding.
"Hold still," she whispered. "Circulate your Qi slowly. I'll mend the bone first."
The disciple nodded shakily, teeth clenched.
Just a few feet away, Su Mei moved like a passing breeze—fast, efficient, calm. Every time she pressed her glowing palms against a bleeding chest or a cracked dantian, the disciples' breathing steadied.
But her face was pale.
She was consuming her own qi reserves at a dangerous rate.
"Senior Sister Su Mei!" a young disciple cried. "Take a break. Your qi is—"
Su Mei shook her head, a tired smile on her lips.
"Not yet. Too many still need help."
Han Xiang, his hands trembling, helped stabilize patients beside her.
He had no healing abilities—just panic and determination—but his presence kept the wounded from drifting toward despair.
"Breathe! Breathe! Don't close your eyes!" he shouted at one disciple, voice cracking. "If you die now, Senior Sister Su Mei will collapse trying to save you, you hear me?!"
The disciple let out a shaky laugh through bloody lips.
Zhou Yu watched them in silence.
For all their injuries…for all their inexperience…they were fighting—not demonic cultivators now, but the will to break.
He took a quiet breath.
They are stronger today than they were yesterday.
That mattered.
Near the remains of the sword formation array, Liang Chen lay propped against a collapsed stone pillar. His usually bright eyes were dulled, pupils unfocused. His arms trembled uncontrollably, veins bulging with unstable qi as he struggled to keep his Bronze Sword Core from shattering.
Han Xiang rushed to him. "Junior Brother! H-hold on!"
"I'm… fine…" Liang Chen croaked, though his voice broke on the last syllable.
"You're NOT fine!" Han Xiang snapped, grabbing his shoulders. "Your meridians are spasming!"
"Yeah," Liang Chen coughed blood, "I noticed…"
Feng Lian rushed over, eyes widening.
She placed her palm against Liang Chen's chest—cold qi spreading, soothing, stabilizing.
"Your core is cracking," she whispered. "Had the backlash lasted even one more breath, you'd be gone."
Liang Chen's lips curled into a tired grin.
"But I didn't let go."
Feng Lian hesitated.
Then nodded.
"No. You didn't."
Han Xiang flushed, wiping his eyes when he thought no one was looking. "Stupid… incredibly stupid…"
Liang Chen chuckled weakly. "Master needed me. The formation needed me. I wasn't going to run."
Behind them, Zhou Yu approached.
Liang Chen immediately tried to bow—but Zhou Yu stopped him with a simple gesture.
"You protected the sect," Zhou Yu said, voice low and steady. "Not with strength… but with will. You have done enough today."
Liang Chen swallowed hard.
The approval in his master's tone ignited something warm in his chest.
"…Yes, Master."
Just beyond the battlefield's heart, disciples gathered around a crater—twenty meters wide, still smoking. This was where Zhou Yu's final sword strike had collided with the Silver Core commander.
Or what remained of him.
"Master!" a disciple called out. "There's something… unnatural here!"
Zhou Yu descended without hurry.
Within the crater lay a single object:a cracked piece of blood-red mask, humming with dark, corrosive energy.
Even the ground beneath it was dissolving.
Feng Lian inhaled sharply. "That qi… so vile…"
Su Mei approached hesitantly. "Be careful, Master. The corruption is still active."
Zhou Yu crouched beside it.
The moment his finger hovered above the fragment—
—A whisper seeped into the air.
Soft.Fragile.Yet unmistakably chilling.
"He…is…returning…"
Every disciple stiffened.
A cold wind swept across the crater even though the air was still.
Han Xiang stumbled backward. "D-Did… did something just TALK?"
Feng Lian's face paled. "That voice… it didn't come from a person. It felt like…"
"A memory imprint," Zhou Yu finished softly.
He closed his hand around the fragment.
It pulsed once.
Twice.
A third time—
Zhou Yu's Sword Intent flared gently.
Light cut through the corruption like sunlight through night fog.
—crack—
The mask fragment shattered into dust.
But the whisper lingered.
Not in the air.
But in the minds of those who heard it.
Liang Chen swallowed hard. "Master… what does 'he is returning' mean?"
Zhou Yu stood slowly.
Then answered with words that made every disciple present stop breathing.
"That Silver Core commander… was not alive."
They froze.
Not alive?
Feng Lian whispered, "Master… then what was he?"
"A corpse puppet," Zhou Yu replied. "Refined through ancient demonic arts. His movements, his strength, his very presence… were artificially created."
Su Mei felt her legs weaken.
Han Xiang's mouth fell open.
Liang Chen clenched his fists despite the pain.
"Then… the real commander…"
"…never came," Zhou Yu said.
Silence swept over the crater.
Horror settled into the disciples like a shadow.
If THAT monster was just a puppet—
—what level of power did the real Scarlet Moon commander possess?
Feng Lian stepped closer to Zhou Yu, voice trembling.
"Master… the whisper. What did it mean? Who is returning?"
Zhou Yu didn't answer immediately.
He looked east—toward the endless horizon beyond the mountains, where the Scarlet Moon Sect's territory lay hidden beyond mists and cursed valleys.
"The whisper referred to a single entity," he said finally. "A being sealed during the Great Cataclysm."
Han Xiang's breath hitched.
Liang Chen felt chills run up his spine.
Su Mei covered her mouth in disbelief.
Zhou Yu continued.
"A being capable of turning seas into blood. Capable of corrupting entire sects with a single breath."
Ling growled, fur rising.
Zhou Yu spoke the name.
"The Blood Moon Monarch."
The world seemed to dim.
Even the sunlight struggled to break through the clouds.
Liang Chen shook his head violently. "M-Master… the Monarch is a legend! A myth! A bedtime story told to scare children!"
Zhou Yu's gaze hardened.
"He was real."
"And he is returning."
Panic rippled through the disciples.
"W-we can't fight a Monarch…""We're too small… too weak…""Even the top sects wouldn't dare oppose him…""The world isn't ready…"
Zhou Yu raised his hand.
The courtyard fell utterly silent.
His voice was calm.
"Fear is natural. But fear is not our master."
Ling stopped growling and lowered himself beside Zhou Yu.
Zhou Yu continued:
"We will not fight the Blood Moon Monarch alone. Nor will he awaken tomorrow. The Scarlet Moon Sect still lacks the strength, the ritual, and the sacrifice needed to restore him fully."
Liang Chen exhaled in relief.
But Zhou Yu wasn't finished.
"However…"
His next words chilled them more than the last.
"They will return. Soon. With true elites, not puppets."
The disciples exchanged nervous glances.
"How long do we have?!" Han Xiang blurted.
Zhou Yu looked toward the horizon once more.
"According to the message Yun Feixue sent during the battle…"
Everyone leaned forward.
"…One month."
A heavy silence dropped over the courtyard.
One month.
Han Xiang's knees nearly buckled. "T-that's not time! That's a death sentence!"
But Zhou Yu simply turned away.
"No. One month is all the time we need."
Zhou Yu led them deeper into the sect grounds, toward a place no disciple had ever entered.
A place even Zhou Yu himself hadn't unveiled—until now.
At the farthest edge of the sect stood a massive stone structure, its walls swallowed by vines and age. Ancient sword runes pulsed faintly beneath layers of dust and moss. A colossal stone gate sat at its center, sealed by talisman layers that flickered weakly.
"Master…" Liang Chen whispered. "W-what is this place?"
Zhou Yu stepped forward.
"This is the heart of the Heavenly Sword Sect."
His fingers brushed the ancient seals.
"Sword Saint Tian Jian sealed this place himself, ten thousand years ago."
The disciples froze in awe.
Feng Lian's voice trembled. "Then… this place contains—"
"Yes," Zhou Yu said.
"The Sword Saint's legacy. His formations. His techniques. His knowledge of the Cataclysm. His weapons."
He turned toward them.
"To face what comes… we must awaken it."
He placed his palm against the gate.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
—BOOM.
The earth shook.
Sword light erupted from the cracks in the stone, racing across the vanished talisman lines. The vines disintegrated. Dust burst into the air. Ancient runes awakened, spinning with blinding brilliance.
The gate trembled…
…groaned…
…and slowly began to open.
Revealing a dark staircase descending into the mountain's heart.
The air spilling out was cold.Older than the sect.Filled with sleeping sword intent.
Zhou Yu stepped forward.
"From now on…"
He looked back at his disciples—injured, exhausted, frightened, but standing.
"…the true revival of the Heavenly Sword Sect begins."
He descended into the darkness without hesitation.
Ling followed.
Feng Lian swallowed hard and stepped in after him.
Liang Chen limped behind her, jaw set.
Han Xiang and Su Mei exchanged terrified looks—then entered together.
The stone gate closed behind them.