By the time Kai reached the outskirts of Uije, the oppressive sensation of being watched finally began to fade, leaving him with a fleeting sense of relief. But that relief evaporated the moment he saw the village—or what was left of it. His steps faltered, and his breath caught in his throat as shock and horror took hold.

  The once-quiet settlement was gone, replaced by a charred and desolate ruin. Every building had been reduced to blackened skeletons of their former selves, their walls crumbled and roofs collapsed. The acrid smell of ash and burnt wood still hung in the air, clinging to the remains of what had once been a home for dozens of people. Bloodstains marred the dirt paths and the scorched thresholds, reminders of the violence that had swept through this place.

  But what chilled Kai to the bone was the eerie absence of bodies. Not a single corpse remained, as though the villagers had vanished into thin air. He didn’t need to think hard to guess the cause—demonic cultivators. Their vile techniques often required fresh bodies, and their attacks on mortal settlements were often seeking such vile resources. They harvested people like crops, turning the dead into tools for their twisted practices.

  “Why?” Kai muttered, his voice barely audible over the stillness of the destroyed village. His fists clenched tightly at his sides as his mind wrestled with the senselessness of it all.

  Uije was a tiny, isolated community, far from any major trade routes or areas of strategic importance. It held no rare resources, no precious minerals, no spiritual significance for cultivators of any path. If the demonic cultivators had come for corpses, even that didn’t make sense. The effort it would take to reach such a remote location hardly seemed worth the small number of people who had lived here.

  Kai stepped cautiously through the ruins, his boots crunching on burnt debris as he scanned for any signs of life—or clues to what had happened. The destruction was methodical, almost surgical, as if designed to leave no trace of resistance.

  His heart ached as he remembered the quiet, humble village from his earlier visit. He could still picture the villagers going about their day—farmers tending their fields, children playing in the dirt paths, elders sitting under the shade of an old tree, sharing stories. Now, all of it was gone, wiped away as though it had never existed.

  The question nagged at him. Why? Why would the demonic cultivators target a place so small, so unassuming? There had to be something more to this, something he wasn’t seeing.

  "Wait... could this be a full-blown raid?" Kai muttered, the weight of the possibility sinking in like a stone.

  If this attack had been random, it didn’t make sense. The demonic cultivators wouldn’t waste time or resources on a place like Uije—too remote, too insignificant. But if it were part of a larger conflict, a coordinated territorial raiding, then everything began to align. A systematic campaign of terror and destruction would explain the senseless devastation. The demonic cultivators would sweep through the Ember Sword Sect’s territory like a plague, leaving only ruin in their wake, ravaging and pillaging as they marched.

  Kai’s thoughts turned to the ominous disappearance of the Jade King Seal’s markings from his body—an enchantment placed by Long Bo, the leader of the Ember Sword Sect. Those intricate symbols had been etched into his skin as a reminder of the sect’s power over him, a constant shackle binding him to their will. When they had vanished shortly before Kai fled the sect, it had initially filled him with a flicker of hope—a fragile belief that he might finally escape his terrible fate and the suffocating weight of their unjust orders.

  Kai clenched his fists, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with grim clarity. It all made too much sense. The demonic cultivators had struck at the heart of the Ember Sword Sect, severing its leadership and leaving the entire organization in disarray. With Long Bo gone, the sect would be left vulnerable, its chain of command fractured.

  Cutting off the head of the leadership wasn’t just a random act of brutality—it was a deliberate, strategic move to pave the way for their raids. Without Long Bo, the Ember Sword Sect’s defenses would crumble, its members scattered and disorganized. The demonic cultivators were exploiting that chaos, pillaging everything they could before being driven out, and Uije a victim in all this.

  It also explained the sight Kai had witnessed as he fled—scores of Emerald Tortoise Sect disciples flying toward the Ember Sword Sect’s main grounds, their green banners shimmering against the sky. They had likely been the first wave of reinforcements, dispatched to repel the demonic pillagers. The Righteous Alliance would never tolerate demonic cultivators raiding the territory of one of its members, no matter how fractured that sect might be. The Emerald Tortoise Sect, renowned for its strength and resilience, had clearly been called upon to respond swiftly.

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  And if the Emerald Tortoise Sect was involved, it was almost certain that other powerful sects within the alliance would soon follow. A massive coalition of righteous cultivators would be mobilizing to crush the demonic incursion.

  For Kai, this was a disaster.

  Caught between two warring factions, neither side offered him safety. The righteous cultivators, bound by their rigid codes and disdain for rogue cultivators, would see him as little more than a traitor deserving of death. The demonic cultivators, on the other hand, were even worse—he was nothing to them but raw material for their horrific rituals or a tool to be enslaved.

  Kai felt his chest tighten as the weight of his precarious situation bore down on him. This was a deadly maelstrom, and he was trapped in its center.

  Kai’s chest tightened at the thought of what lay ahead. If this truly was a full blown raiding skirmish, it would mean that Uije wasn’t an isolated tragedy—it was a harbinger of what was to come. The devastation would spread across the Ember Sword sect’s territories, consuming other villages, towns, and even cities as the demonic cultivators advanced.

  Kai took a steadying breath, forcing himself to focus. There was no sense dwelling on the Ember Sword Sect’s fall—whatever remained of it was beyond his reach now. Survival was his only priority.

  With renewed determination, Kai approached one of the burnt-out homes nearby, its blackened beams jutting upward like skeletal remains. He sifted through the wreckage carefully, his hands dirtying as he overturned debris and ash. The task was grueling, but he pushed forward, determined to find something useful. After nearly an hour of combing through the ruins, his persistence was rewarded.

  Beneath a collapsed section of roof, he uncovered a set of simple brown Hanfu. Though slightly singed at the edges, the fabric was largely intact and, most importantly, would fit him.

  “Perfect,” he muttered, holding up the garment.

  This was exactly what he needed—something plain, unassuming. Dressed in these humble clothes, he would look like an ordinary mortal farmer, blending seamlessly with the countless commoners who populated the outskirts of sect territories. As long as he refrained from using any qi techniques, there would be no obvious signs that he was a cultivator.

  Kai shrugged off his old clothes, their fine embroidery still betraying their origin as sect-issued garb. The distinctive markings of the Ember Sword Sect were dangerous to carry now, a beacon that could draw trouble to him from either side of the conflict. He folded them neatly and tucked them into his storage ring, a quiet farewell to the life he had left behind.

  He slipped into the simple brown Hanfu, adjusting the loose fit until it sat comfortably on his frame. The transformation was subtle but effective; even his reflection in the glass shards of a broken window looked less like a rogue cultivator on the run and more like a weary traveler.

  Having secured what he needed, Kai began making his way toward the center of the devastated village. His steps were cautious, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings for any sign of lingering danger. The eerie silence of the ruins gnawed at his nerves, every faint rustle of the wind setting him on edge. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his blade, ready to react at the first hint of a threat, but the village remained as empty and desolate as it had been when he arrived.

  Once he reached the center, Kai paused to take in the scene. The scorched earth and charred remnants of once-thriving homes told the story of what had happened here, but there was no one left to mourn, no bodies to lay to rest. He knelt down, scooping the dry soil with his hands, and began forming a small mound in the heart of the village square.

  From the rubble, he found a sturdy wooden stick and placed it upright into the mound. The makeshift grave was crude, far from the proper honors these villagers deserved, but it was all he could offer.

  Kai stood over the mound, his expression solemn. "I wish I could do more," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the gentle breeze.

  The weight of his own helplessness settled heavily on his chest. Had he arrived sooner, perhaps he could have done something—warned them, fought alongside them, saved at least one life. But the truth was clear: he was too late. All that remained were ashes, memories, and the faint echo of lives unjustly snuffed out.

  He bowed his head, allowing a brief moment of silence for the souls lost here. Though he couldn’t linger, leaving without acknowledging their fate felt wrong. This mound, simple as it was, stood as a testament to their existence.

  Kai’s grip tightened on the straps of his bag as he straightened up, his resolve hardening. The people of Uije deserved more than this senseless destruction, more than to become another forgotten tragedy in the shadow of war.

  “I’ll survive,” he whispered, as if speaking to them. “And I’ll remember.”

  In a world where cultivators often dismissed the lives of mortals as insignificant, Kai vowed that he would not do the same. He would remember the faces of the innocent, the stories lost to the flames, and the silent echoes of their lives cut short. If no one else in this chaotic conflict would honor them, he would carry their memory.

  Kai lingered a moment longer, his gaze fixed on the crude mound with its solitary wooden marker. It wasn’t enough—it could never be enough—but it was all he could offer. The wind stirred softly, carrying the faint scent of ash and burnt wood, as if the village itself mourned its fallen.

  Finally, he turned away, his heart heavy with sorrow and guilt. His footsteps were measured as he left the ruins behind, each step taking him farther from Uije and deeper into the unknown. The burnt village faded into the horizon, but the weight of his promise stayed with him, a burden he willingly carried.