While Hope recuperated in isolation, the Crimson Phoenix Empire descended into chaos.

  The once vibrant streets of Serene Sun City now thrummed with an air of unease and trepidation. What had been a bustling trade hub just a week ago was now marked by subdued whispers and furtive glances.

  The cause? An outer disciple of the Phoenix Cry Pavilion had nearly reduced the city to rubble. Though the physical structures remained intact, the peaceful atmosphere was irreparably shattered.

  Merchants, once lively and eager to hawk their wares, now spoke in hushed tones, their voices tinged with fear as they recounted the devastation.

  "Did you see the destruction he caused?" one murmured.

  "What kind of monster could wreak such havoc?" whispered another.

  The incident had left an indelible mark on the city's psyche, a reminder that power unchecked could turn serenity into chaos in an instant.

  Inside the city hall, the toll of the event was etched deeply on Julian's face. Once a figure of authority and composure, he now stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, his disheveled appearance betraying sleepless nights and unrelenting stress. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his face bore the weary expression of a man aged far beyond his years.

  Rumors swirled among the city officials, but none dared to address the incident in Julian’s presence. It was as if the entire city had reached a silent, collective agreement: to survive, it was better to stay silent and avoid drawing attention to themselves.

  Despite his appearance, Julian hadn’t been idle.

  Over the past week, he had mobilized every resource at his disposal, ordering investigations into the identity of the boy responsible for the destruction. Yet every lead came to a dead end. No records, no connections, nothing. It was as if the boy had emerged from thin air, wreaked havoc, and vanished just as mysteriously.

  He didn’t have enough power to ask the higher-ups of the Phoenix Cry Pavilion to tell him who that boy was, and until the sect involved themselves in the situation, nobody could demand the boy’s name from them in the Crimson Phoenix Empire.

  The only information Julian's trusted aides had managed to uncover was that the boy was indeed an outer disciple of the Phoenix Cry Pavilion. This confirmation only deepened the pit in his stomach. It meant his own daughter had courted death and, in doing so, had helped nine of his most loyal men to go to the underworld.

  Julian often found himself muttering bitterly under his breath, “What a good daughter I raised. My city nearly fell because of her actions.” The words felt venomous on his tongue, but they echoed his anger and despair.

  What gnawed at him more than his daughter’s recklessness was the unknown. Would the boy return after growing stronger to exact vengeance and slaughter everyone? Or would he let them go, considering the incident resolved? Julian couldn’t tell, and it terrified him. The thought of a boy not even 16 years old possessing such overwhelming power was enough to send shivers down his spine. The boy’s potential was monstrous, and Julian knew it.

  Desperation drove him to action. He’d exhausted every connection and resource he had, attempting to contact someone—anyone—within the Phoenix Cry Pavilion who could mediate the situation. He didn’t want his trusted men, or himself for that matter, to die a fool’s death. He needed a breakthrough in this situation, and he needed it fast.

  The city was already feeling the ripple effects of the disaster. Merchants and customers had begun to leave, unwilling to risk being caught in the crossfire of another confrontation. The longer Julian waited, the closer the city seemed to edge toward collapse—and his own sense of dread deepened with each passing day.

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  It was in the midst of this suffocating pressure that a guard burst into the room.

  The guard bowed deeply before speaking, his voice tinged with urgency. “Sir, we managed to find an elder from the Phoenix Cry Pavilion willing to conduct a background check on the boy, but…”

  Julian’s gaze sharpened, his bloodshot eyes locking onto the guard. His voice was like steel as he ordered, “Continue.”

  The guard took a deep breath before continuing, “They want 20% of the city’s annual revenue…”

  Julian’s eyes narrowed as anger flickered across his face. Twenty percent of the city’s income wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a fortune. It would make someone one of the wealthiest individuals in the empire within a single year. Before he could speak, Julian noticed the guard hesitating, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Out with it” Julian demanded, his tone sharp and cold. “If there’s more, say it.”

  The guard gulped, visibly trying to steady himself before delivering the next blow. “He… he wants it for the next hundred years.”

  The air in the room seemed to shift. A faint mist began to form as droplets of water condensed in midair, trembling as if mirroring Julian’s growing fury. His voice dropped to a biting whisper, cold enough to make the guard shiver. “A hundred years?”

  The guard stood still, his body rigid despite the beads of sweat rolling down his face. He tried to suppress the fear threatening to overwhelm him, but his trembling hands betrayed him.

  Julian inhaled deeply, the mist slowly dissipating as he regained control of his emotions. After a long, tense pause, he finally spoke, his voice measured but firm. “Tell him ten years. That’s my offer. And he’d better act quickly to uncover the boy’s background. On top of that…” Julian’s gaze sharpened, his eyes cutting through the guard like daggers. “I want him to petition the sect to ensure that boy doesn’t attack this city again.”

  The guard gulped a mouthful of saliva, nodded quickly, and said, “Yes, sir.” Without wasting another second, he stood up and left the room, his footsteps hurried as though fleeing from Julian’s oppressive presence.

  Julian sat back, his expression dark. After a moment of silence, he muttered under his breath, “Black-hearted elders... draining every coin they can get their hands on.” His voice dripped with frustration as he leaned back into his chair, closing his tired eyes.

  Meanwhile, in the Phoenix Cry Pavilion, the atmosphere was tense in the Sect Master’s grand hall.

  A rare gathering had been called, with elders and grand elders seated in their designated positions. Their faces carried a mixture of curiosity and unease. Among the crowd, a few young men and women dressed in pristine white uniforms stood out—they were the Legacy Disciples, the future of the sect. One of them was Ren, his sharp eyes scanning the room as he stood among his peers, his usual confidence tinged with intrigue.

  At the center of the room, the Sect Master’s gaze swept over the assembly like a hawk watching its prey. His voice broke the silence, calm yet carrying a weight that demanded attention. “Does anyone here have any idea who this ‘kid’ might be?”

  The room erupted into hushed murmurs, each elder turning to their neighbours, whispering theories and conjectures. Yet despite the chatter, no one stepped forward. The notion of an outer disciple being so powerful was absurd—no such anomaly had ever existed in the history of the sect.

  After a long pause, an elder finally spoke up. His tone was cautious, but his words carried a hint of suspicion. “Sect Master, if I may…” He hesitated, then continued, “In my opinion, there’s a possibility that this ‘kid’ isn’t a kid at all. What if he’s an old monster disguising himself in our sect’s uniform, masking his true appearance and age?”

  The Sect Master listened calmly, though a faint sigh escaped his lips. He shook his head and said, “Any other ideas?” His tone carried a slight edge, hinting at his growing impatience.

  The room fell silent once more. Despite the unusual circumstances, nobody dared to step forward. The possibility of such a prodigy existing in their sect seemed too far-fetched, and most couldn’t fathom that such a talent had gone unnoticed under their watch.

  Breaking the silence, an elder stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. “Do we have any description of the boy? His appearance, cultivation realm—anything concrete we can use?”

  The Sect Master’s gaze softened slightly as he nodded. It was the first practical question raised thus far. His voice was measured as he replied, “Yes, we do. According to the report, the boy doesn’t appear to be older than sixteen. His cultivation realm is estimated to be early or mid-stage Soul Resonance. He has black hair. That’s all the information we’ve received.”

  A wave of murmurs swept through the hall as the elders absorbed this new information. For a moment, the room was filled with the low hum of speculation.

  Then, amidst the crowd, a figure stepped forward. His movements were deliberate, and his expression carried a mix of confidence and intrigue. “Sect Master,” he began, his voice cutting through the noise, “I believe I know who that person might be.”

  Patreon!