The former Ember Sword sect member's stomach plummeted at Jiahao’s words. Another war? The very idea sent chills down Kai’s spine. The last Great Righteous-Demonic War had been fought three millennia ago, and its catastrophic legacy still lingered in the minds of cultivators across the continent. That conflict had left the cultivation world in shambles, reshaping not just the power dynamics of the sects but also the very land itself.

  Kai had grown up hearing the stories, grim tales passed down from elders and inscribed in sect records. The war had been a clash of unimaginable scale, with righteous and demonic cultivators throwing their full might against one another. Legendary figures had risen and fallen, their names now etched into history. Entire regions had been decimated, their populations wiped out or scattered.

  The battles were said to have been so destructive that they altered the face of the continent itself. Mountain ranges were leveled, rivers rerouted, and forests turned to barren wastelands. The scars of that ancient war were still visible—blighted lands where demonic energy ran rampant, cursed ruins haunted by the remnants of unthinkable power.

  For all the devastation, the righteous cultivators had emerged victorious. The demonic sects had been shattered, their survivors scattering like ash in the wind. Yet even in victory, the cost had been unbearable. Hundreds of millions of cultivators had perished, sects had crumbled, and countless innocent mortals had been caught in the crossfire.

  And now, it seemed that history was on the verge of repeating itself.

  “You can’t be serious,” Kai said, his voice tinged with disbelief. He stared at Jiahao, searching the man’s face for any sign that this was some kind of jest. But Jiahao’s expression was grim, his eyes shadowed with a weariness that spoke of hard truths. “Is what you’re saying real? Are you sure?”

  Jiahao sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back against a nearby crate. “It’s just a rumor, but it’s one I’ve heard from multiple people. They’re saying there have been attacks in at least three other regions, maybe more. And the folks I’ve talked to—they think this might be the real thing. A full-blown war, like the ones in the old stories.” He paused, his gaze distant, as if recalling something from long ago. “I heard those stories when I was a little boy, you know? Tales of the last Great Righteous-Demonic War. I never thought I’d live to see something like that happen in my lifetime. But here we are.”

  Kai’s mind raced as he processed Jiahao’s words. The information was secondhand, little more than hearsay, but it carried a weight that was hard to ignore. He had no reason to doubt Jiahao—the man had no reason to lie, and his tone was too earnest to dismiss. Still, the idea of a full-scale war was almost too much to grasp. If the demonic cultivators were launching coordinated attacks across multiple regions, then this wasn’t just a localized conflict. It was something far bigger, far more dangerous.

  The Righteous Alliance, Kai realized, might not have had the time or the inclination to make an official announcement about the situation. Their priorities would lie with mobilizing their forces, shoring up defenses, and coordinating their response—not with informing every mortal in the territories about the exact nature of the threat. To the cultivators, mortals were often an afterthought, their lives and concerns secondary to the larger struggle for power and survival. It was a harsh reality, but one that Kai understood all too well.

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  “If this is true,” Kai said slowly, his voice low and measured, “then we’re in more trouble than I thought. A war on this scale… it’s not something anyone can escape. Not cultivators, not mortals. No one.”

  Jiahao nodded, his expression grim. “That’s what I’m afraid of. If the demonic cultivators are really pushing this hard, then there’s no telling how far they’ll go. And if the righteous alliance is stretched thin, trying to fight on multiple fronts…” He trailed off, leaving the unspoken implication hanging in the air.

  Kai clenched his fists, his mind churning with a mix of fear and determination.

  Kai’s thoughts churned as he weighed his options, each one more fraught with peril than the last. My plans to head south are not looking good, he silently mused, his mind racing. Initially, he had hoped to make his way to the Blue Storm Crane Sect’s territory, a region known for its relative isolation. It had seemed like the perfect place to disappear, to live quietly and avoid the chaos engulfing the rest of the continent.

  But, if Jiahao’s rumors were true—if this was indeed a full-scale war—then the demonic cultivators were likely invading every corner of the righteous alliance’s territories, including the south. The Blue Storm Crane Sect’s lands would be no safer than anywhere else. The thought of walking straight into another battlefield made his stomach churn.

  His other option was to head east, deeper into the heart of the righteous alliance, where the largest and most powerful sects were based. On the surface, it seemed like the logical choice—after all, the stronger the sect, the better their chances of repelling the demonic cultivators. But Kai knew better. Venturing into the core territories as a rogue cultivator was tantamount to suicide. The large righteous sects were notoriously territorial and suspicious of outsiders, especially in times like these. He’d be lucky if they simply turned him away; more likely, they’d kill him on sight. The risk was too great, the odds too stacked against him.

  That left only one option, a path he had been desperately trying to avoid.

  I didn’t want to do this, he thought, his chest tightening with reluctance. But I’m out of options. I’ll have to head north to Zan.

  “Thank you, my friend. Truly,” Kai said, his voice low and earnest. “May you stay safe in these troubled times.”

  The old man’s eyes softened, a quiet warmth flickering in their depths. “And you as well,” he replied, his tone steady but tinged with something unspoken—perhaps concern, or maybe a shared understanding of the world’s fragility.

  Kai nodded, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. He rose to his feet and turned away, leaving the old man to his steaming bowl of broth. As he walked, the weight of uncertainty settled heavily on his shoulders, a familiar burden he had carried for too long. Yet, mingled with the unease was a faint, almost imperceptible sense of relief. He glanced back once more at the towering walls of Mungsu, their imposing silhouette stark against the fading light. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel grateful—grateful that he wouldn’t have to brave the labyrinthine streets of the city, wouldn’t have to navigate its dangers or outwit the ever-watchful eyes of the Emerald Tortoise sect.

  His earlier plans of slipping into Mungsu, of finding passage on a southbound boat, now felt like the remnants of a dream. Those worries had dissolved, replaced by the reality of his new path. The risk of being discovered by the sect still loomed in his mind, but for now, at least, he wouldn’t have to walk into a city controlled by the Emerald Tortoise sect. A small comfort, but one he clung to as he walked along by some tents.

  As he contemplated his next move, Kai weighed the idea of resting within the encampment. It was a tempting thought, but he quickly dismissed it. Being too close to anyone associated with the righteous sect felt like a dangerous gamble. He needed to keep his distance, to remain inconspicuous as he made his way north.

  With resolve, he turned his back on the encampment and set off toward the north, heading for the spiritual wasteland known as Zan.