The battlefield shifted. Just like that. A heavy, almost suffocating tension rolled through the air. Every eye turned instinctively, sensing the change. It wasn’t just nerves—something about the atmosphere felt wrong. Thick. Dangerous.Kaelen Viremont’s skin seemed to twitch under its own life. Then, strands of jet-black hair burst out of him, writhing like snakes. They weren’t just moving—they had a mind of their own, twisting, surging, hungry. The faint tang of danger clung to the air, subtle but undeniable.“The Celestial Venom Sect’s curse…” Kael’s voice cracked, disbelief written across his face.Kael, the Shadowfang Sect master’s personal disciple, had heard stories. Terrifying, bone-chilling stories of the curse. Legends meant to warn even the boldest of cultivators. But seeing it happen? That was different. Panic flickered across the Flame Woman’s delicate features. She had warned him—clear as day—not to step into the forbidden grounds. And yet, here he was, right in the heart

Three days had passed since Kaelen Viremont and his companions returned from their decisive victory. Every step, every clash of blades, had sent shockwaves across the Eldravan Empire. Word of Kaelen, Kael, and the young disciples of the Shadowfang Sect spread like wildfire. People couldn’t stop talking, couldn’t stop staring in disbelief.Crowds flocked toward the ruins of the Celestial Venom Sect. Once a towering fortress of power, unchallenged for centuries, it now lay in rubble. Smoke curled lazily from the remnants of the main halls, dust and burned timber mingling with the faint trace of spiritual energy. The destruction left onlookers silent, hearts pounding, unable to comprehend the scale of the devastation.Everyone knew, right then: Kaelen Viremont—the young dragon of the Shadowfang Sect—had arrived. His name carried weight now, not just among ordinary people, but in the minds of powerful sects and noble houses. And the rumor that spread fastest? The Celestial Venom Ancestor

Kaelen Viremont’s eyes narrowed as he watched the space where the Water and Fire Elders had just vanished. Something had shifted in his understanding. He had underestimated Lorian Zethar badly.He had thought that founding the Veilborn Alliance meant Lorian Zethar was just influential among certain factions within the disciples. Influence, Kaelen had assumed, was just political leverage. But no. The truth was far darker.Behind Lorian Zethar stood a network of veterans—ancient monsters, cultivators whose mere presence radiated authority. Silent, poised, and ready. And, according to what the Elders had let slip, Lorian Zethar wasn’t coming alone. Supreme experts would accompany him—powerful enough to crush everything in their path.Kaelen’s gaze flicked to the Sect Master. Calm, steady, but urgent beneath the surface.“What… exactly is the force behind Lorian Zethar?”Kaelen’s miscalculation hit him like a physical blow. He had struck from the shadows, killed, and even seized the Light

The Sect Master let out a long sigh. The kind that comes from deep in the chest, heavy and tired. His shoulders sagged, as if everything he’d been holding up for years had finally decided to collapse at once. He looked at Kaelen Viremont and managed a bitter smile—half apology, half regret.“I wanted to hold a proper baptism ceremony for you,” he said quietly. “Something grand. Something worthy.” He paused, then shook his head. “But now… that honor doesn’t belong to you anymore. Tell me—are we really at the point where the Shadowfang Sect has no choice but to leave?”His gaze drifted down the empty halls. Too quiet. The kind of silence that hurts your ears if you listen too closely. Even their last pillar—the Ancestor Heavenly Sword—was gone. And with the Ancestor’s final words urging retreat, there was no one left to rely on. No miracle waiting around the corner.When the Sect Master finally turned to leave, his steps were light, almost fragile. Before going, he stopped and looked ba

While chaos churned outside the Sword Sect, deep within its neglected depths, a black-clad youth sat surrounded by towers of books and seas of scrolls. His eyes were sharp, calculating, locked onto a single yellowed tome. Every line, every symbol absorbed him entirely. The hall itself was humble—just two connected rooms, wooden beams warped with age, dust thick in every corner, cobwebs stretching across the ceiling like forgotten memories. No one came here anymore. Not for months.Except him.Vaelin had been the first in half a year to dare enter these silent halls, chasing knowledge the rest of the sect dismissed. To ordinary disciples, this place held nothing but archaic legends, obscure techniques from the Dragon Abyss Continent, writings from a time long gone—cryptic nonsense that couldn’t help in the real world. Martial cultivation today? They laughed at these texts. They were curiosities, left to gather dust.But Vaelin… he saw potential.His gaze didn’t waver from the yellowed