The return to Floating Cloud City was a somber procession of triumph and terror. The Luo clansmen, their armor stained with the blood of the Iron Sword Sect disciples, rode with a grim pride, their faith in their young master now absolute, unshakeable, and tinged with a healthy fear of the god-monster they served. Su Mei'er rode silently, her body aching from her wounds and the aftermath of the Netherbone Pill's transformation. Feng Lian, the City Lord's daughter, was placed on a spare horse, her sobs having subsided into a numb, silent shock. The wagons laden with the City Lord's "tribute" rolled behind them, a tangible symbol of their victory.
Luo Zhen rode at the head, a placid expression on his face that belied the storm of power swirling within him. The second level of Foundation Establishment was a profound leap. His senses were sharper, his control over demonic energy more precise, his connection to the negative emotions around him—the fear of his captives, the awe of his men, the simmering hatred of the city—was like a constant, nourishing symphony. He was the eye of the hurricane, and the storm was his to command.
As they approached the city gates in the late afternoon, the guards took one look at the party and scrambled to open them wide, their faces pale with terror. News traveled fast in a city gripped by fear. The sight of the Luo young master returning unharmed, with loot and a captured maiden, told a story more eloquent than any rumor.
Instead of heading directly to the compound, Luo Zhen directed the procession to take a detour through the main thoroughfare. It was a calculated move. The citizens of Floating Cloud City, from merchants to beggars, stopped to watch the grim parade pass. They saw the bloodstains, the cold-eyed Luo clansmen, the beautiful, broken Feng Lian, and the terrifyingly calm Luo Zhen at its head. Whispers died in throats. The message was clear: resistance was futile. The Luo Clan was now the undisputed power.
Finally, they arrived at the City Lord's mansion. The guards at the ornate gates trembled, lowering their weapons without a word being spoken.
Luo Zhen dismounted. "Bring the gift," he said to Luo Cheng.
Luo Cheng and another clansman hauled a large, heavy chest from one of the wagons and carried it to the mansion's main doors. Luo Zhen followed, with Su Mei'er and a trembling Feng Lian trailing behind him.
The doors were thrown open before they reached them. City Lord Feng Jun stood there, his face a mask of panic and dawning horror. He had heard of their return. He saw his daughter, alive but clearly a prisoner. He saw the chest.
"L-Lord Luo!" Feng Jun stammered, his diplomatic facade crumbling. "What... what is the meaning of this? My daughter...!"
"Your daughter is safe," Luo Zhen said, his voice devoid of emotion. "She is under my... protection now. A guest of the Luo Clan, you could say." The word 'guest' was laced with sinister implication. "I have returned to thank you for your generous gift."
He gestured to the chest. Luo Cheng dropped it with a heavy thud at Feng Jun's feet, the lid springing open.
Feng Jun looked inside and recoiled with a choked scream, stumbling back and falling onto his posterior.
Inside the chest was not treasure. It was Leng Feng.
Or what was left of him.
The former Foundation Establishment expert was alive, but he was a hollow ruin. His eyes were vacant, his mouth slack. His hair was white, his skin clung to his bones like parchment, and his body emitted the faint, pathetic aura of a mortal who had never cultivated a day in his life. He was curled in the fetal position, naked and shivering, a living testament to utter defeat.
"A... a m-mortal?" Feng Jun gibbered, pointing a shaking finger. "You... you turned a disciple of the Iron Sword Sect into a... a..."
"I merely collected the debt he owed for threatening me," Luo Zhen corrected calmly. "I have returned him to you. Consider it a message. Your attempt to manipulate the Iron Sword Sect has failed. The 'demonic fiend' you warned them about is now stronger because of your foolishness."
He took a step closer, looming over the fallen City Lord. The demonic pressure emanating from him was a physical weight, crushing Feng Jun's spirit.
"You sought to use a bigger predator to eliminate me," Luo Zhen whispered, the words slithering into Feng Jun's soul. "You failed to understand that I am not a predator in your petty jungle. I am the cataclysm that ends all jungles. Your city is mine. Your guards are mine. Your life is mine. You will continue to sit in this mansion and play City Lord. You will sign whatever edicts my steward brings you. You will be my puppet. And if you ever attempt to betray me again..."
He didn't finish the threat. He didn't need to. The living horror in the chest was a more potent warning than any words.
"Am I understood?" Luo Zhen's voice was soft, yet it echoed in the deathly silent courtyard.
Feng Jun, tears of terror streaming down his fat cheeks, could only nod frantically, kowtowing where he sat. "Y-Yes! Yes, Lord Luo! Understood! Perfectly understood!"
"Good." Luo Zhen turned away. "Come," he said to Su Mei'er and Feng Lian.
He walked away, leaving the City Lord weeping before the chest containing the ruins of his ambitions. The takeover of Floating Cloud City was now complete. Not through mass slaughter, but through the absolute, terrorizing domination of its leadership.
Back in the Luo compound, the atmosphere was electric. The clansmen celebrated their victory and the immense haul of resources. Luo Zhen immediately ordered the distribution of a portion of the spirit stones and pills to his core followers, further cementing their loyalty.
He assigned Feng Lian to Su Mei'er's care. "She is your charge. Teach her the rules. Her well-being is your responsibility."
Su Mei'er looked at the terrified, pampered daughter of the City Lord and felt a strange sense of... superiority. She was no longer at the bottom of this new hierarchy. She had fought. She had survived. She had been forged in pain. Feng Lian was just a new piece of loot, unproven and weak. She gave a curt nod. "Yes, Master."
As night fell, Luo Zhen retreated to the ancestral shrine. The energy from the slaughtered disciples and the devoured Leng Feng was still settling within him. He needed to consolidate his gains and plan the next step. The Iron Sword Sect would not take this lying down. Losing a dozen disciples and a Foundation Establishment core disciple was a major provocation. They would send an Elder next. A real one, not a freshly advanced junior.
He was pulled from his meditation by a hesitant presence at the door. It was Su Mei'er.
"Master," she said, her voice steadier than before. "Feng Lian is settled. She... weeps a lot."
Luo Zhen didn't open his eyes. "And?"
"And... I require guidance," she said, the words clearly difficult for her pride. "The energy within me... it is volatile. I can feel it, but I cannot control it. The Netherbone Pill gave me strength, but no path to wield it."
This was what Luo Zhen had been waiting for. The first conscious step towards his darkness.
"Your old technique is useless," he stated. "It is a spoon trying to ladle a tidal wave. You need a new vessel. A demonic vessel."
He opened his eyes and gestured for her to kneel before him. He placed a finger on her forehead.
A flood of information, not words but pure intent and energy patterns, slammed into her mind. It was a fragment, a tiny shard of the Nine Profound Heavens Demonic Art—not the core technique that would allow her to devour others, but a subsidiary method for channeling and refining the negative energy within herself.
The Art of the Sorrowing Veil.
It was a technique that transformed pain, hatred, fear, and sorrow into a cold, corrosive energy that could be used for defense and subtle attack. It was perfect for her.
Su Mei'er gasped, clutching her head as the knowledge burned itself into her consciousness. It was painful, but it was also a revelation. The chaotic, dark power within her suddenly had a structure, a flow, a purpose.
"Practice it," Luo Zhen commanded. "Use your suffering. Use Feng Lian's tears. Use the fear in this city. Make it your strength. When you can form a Veil of Sorrow that can shatter a spirit stone at ten paces, you will have taken your first true step."
Overwhelmed, but with a terrifying new sense of direction, Su Mei'er bowed and retreated.
Alone again, Luo Zhen's smile returned. He was not just building an army; he was creating a masterpiece. A broken jewel, polished by pain and set in a crown of darkness.
His thoughts were interrupted by a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in the energy at the very edge of his perception. It was a powerful, focused aura, containing a sharp, metallic righteousness. It was moving fast towards the city from the direction of the Iron Sword Sect.
It was not the slow, cautious approach of an investigating force. It was the swift, furious flight of a single individual. An individual whose power radiated far beyond the first level of Foundation Establishment.
Luo Zhen's smile widened into a predatory grin.
Finally, he thought, standing up and stretching his limbs like a great cat. The main course has arrived.
The Iron Sword Sect's response was faster and more direct than he had anticipated. They had not sent a group. They had sent a single sword.
A very powerful, very angry sword.
Luo Zhen walked out of the shrine and into the moonlit courtyard. He looked up at the night sky, towards the approaching storm.
"Luo Cheng! Sound the alarm! We have a guest!" he shouted, his voice ringing with anticipation. "A high-level one! Prepare the welcome party!"
The calm was over. The real storm was about to break. And Luo Zhen was ready to feast.