Bang!Bang!Heavy thunder rolled across the skies—strange for this season.
Rain poured down in thick sheets, turning the road into a pit of mud. The wheels of the carts carrying Han Tiancei and the rest of his group sank deep, refusing to move. Horses neighed restlessly, their eyes wide with fear as soldiers struggled to calm them and push the carts free.
The mud sucked at their boots. The rain blurred their vision.For a while, it seemed hopeless—until, with one last heave, the cart jerked free of the sludge.
"Finally!" someone shouted through the storm.
Not far ahead, a rocky slope offered a shadow—a cave. They quickly decided to take shelter there.
Inside, the sound of the rain outside dulled into a steady rhythm. The soldiers set up a small fire to dry their soaked clothes. Steam rose, flickering orange in the dim light.
The young prince, still curious and restless, leaned forward."So, tell me more about your travels," he asked eagerly, his eyes turning toward Han Tiancei and his companions.
The commander, whose duty was to guard the prince, quietly listened as well. He didn't trust strangers easily, but something about this group commanded respect.
At last, they introduced themselves.
The old man with the calm voice and weathered hands turned out to be a musician—a wandering bard who sang for coins in taverns and palaces alike. His melodies had calmed kings and silenced beasts. They said once, deep in the Desolate Spirit Forest, his zither notes lulled a rampaging bone monkey to stillness.
The woman with the sharp eyes and graceful smile was a seductress from an all-female sect. But unlike others of her kind, she spoke with poise and carried herself like a warrior—deadly and serene. She once crossed blades with a saintess from the White Desolation Continent and left with both victory and a scar that never faded.
Next sat a monk, his robes travel-worn, his prayer beads darkened by years of blood and sweat. He had once been from the Northern Buddhist Monastery, but now wandered the world seeking enlightenment in battle rather than silence. It was said he broke through to the Ninth Realm of True Spirit after defeating three demonic cultivators in the Western Abyss without shedding any blood.
And lastly, there was a small boy, barely past his tenth year. His hands were stained faintly green, the mark of someone from the Poison Valley—a place feared for its assassins and healers. He was said to be a prodigy in both poison and medicine. Once, on the borders of the Southern Swamps, his venom saved a thousand soldiers by killing a thousand demonic cultivators.
Each one of them was the best of their generation.But none of them had come seeking fame or fortune.
Around the fire, their stories spilled out—of battles fought in forgotten valleys, of sects burned to ash, of victories earned with blood.
They spoke of their journeys beyond the continent—across the Great Void Sea, where ancient beasts larger than mountains slept beneath the waves; through the Scarlet Flame Desert, where flame spirits devoured the sky; and even into the lands of the Sky Continent, where cultivators manipulated time itself.
Each encounter tempered them like steel.
They spoke of the Justice Alliance, of what kind of people were drawn to it, of how it gathered both saints and devils under the same banner.
"They call themselves just," the old bard said softly, "but justice has many faces. Some are kind. Some are cruel."
The prince leaned closer. "And what of ranks? Who leads them?"
The monk opened his eyes slightly. "The Justice Alliance is divided into Twelve Seats. Each seat represents a pillar of strength and virtue—or at least what the Alliance claims as virtue. From the Twelve rise the Ten Blades, those whose strength can shake nations."
The seductress added with a faint smile, "Han Tiancei is ranked third among those Ten. Not because of politics or backing—but because no one, not even the Sword Saint himself, can match his spear's precision."
The boy from Poison Valley chuckled faintly, tossing a pebble into the fire. "They say the first and second ranked have vanished into seclusion. Which makes Han Tiancei the strongest among the ones still walking the mortal realm."
The prince's eyes widened. "And all of you—?"
"Within the top thousand," said the bard, voice calm. "But ranks mean little. It's not glory that matters—it's that we survived."
Outside, thunder rolled again—deep, distant, and heavy, as though echoing the battles still to come.
The rain did not cease, but within that cave, the flame burned bright. The tales of their past seemed to carry the scent of blood, rain, and destiny—remnants of a world that no longer knew what horror meant.