A day after Kaelan's departure, a large carriage rolls toward the capital of the Tang Kingdom.
As it nears the towering gates, the heavy doors creak open on their own, and the guards at their posts stare ahead blankly, faces drained of emotion.
The carriage glides through without pause.
Moments after it disappears into the city, the guards blink as if waking from a dream, glancing at one another in confusion.
None of them remembers opening the gate.
Fear flashes across their faces, and they hurry to seal the entrance again before their superiors notice.
The carriage continues through the bustling streets, its wheels echoing softly, and yet—not a single guard or passerby reacts to its presence.
It is as if the entire capital cannot see it.
Soon, it reaches the royal palace.
Inside the vast courtyard, guards stand frozen like statues as the carriage halts before the throne hall.
The door opens, and a figure in flowing black robes steps down.
His presence ripples through the air, dark and heavy.
At once, three figures appear from the shadows and kneel.
They are the elders of the Divine Puppet Sect.
"Lord," one says softly, head bowed, "the king is waiting for you."
The robed man says nothing and walks forward.
Each step seems to darken the air around him.
He climbs the marble stairs and enters the throne room.
Inside, the Tang King sits upon his throne, flanked by two courtiers, his gaze cold and questioning.
"Are you," the king begins, voice firm, "the leader of the Divine Puppet Sect?"
The man in black remains still.
To the sect, he is their leader—but never their god, never the true source of their power.
He kept that secret buried, for if word reached his sister or brother-in-law, it would bring trouble too soon.
But now, the time has come.
He has prepared everything.
The world will kneel again beneath his feet—starting with the Tang Kingdom.
His eyes flash.
At once, the Tang King's expression changes.
He rises, descends the steps, and falls to his knees before the stranger.
Then, like a beast stripped of will, he begins licking the man's boots.
The courtiers gasp in horror.
A moment later, the king blinks and staggers back, realising what he has done.
"Guards! Guards!" he shouts in panic.
The robed man walks past him and ascends the throne steps.
He sits upon the golden seat as if it has always belonged to him.
"Have you finished shouting?" he asks quietly.
The king trembles, voice breaking.
"Who are you?"
A low chuckle fills the hall.
"Nyxarin," he says. "That is the name I took. The world calls me the God of Night."
The next morning, the black carriage departs the palace as silently as it came.
And later that day, during court, the Tang King—his face pale and eyes hollow—issues a decree.
Every city, town, and village is to build an altar.
A week later, as the sun sinks beyond the horizon, the Mu Rice House convoy halts at the border between the Tang and Chen Kingdoms.
The camp comes alive with movement—tents rising, fires being lit, guards taking their posts.
Kaelan steps down from his carriage, silent as ever, and walks away from the flickering lights of the camp.
A few glance his way, but no one calls out.
They are used to it.
From the first day of their journey, he would vanish into the night and return only at dawn.
And with his strength and position, none from the Mu Rice House dares to question him.
He moves beyond the last torchlight, lifts off the ground, and soars through the cool night air.
After a short flight, he lands in a clearing far enough not to disturb the camp—but close enough to return within a minute.
The forest around him hums with the sound of insects and rustling leaves.
He closes his eyes for a moment, centring his breath, then opens them with a sharp focus.
Lifting his palm, he murmurs, "Fierce Flame."
A transparent fire blossoms from his hand, blazing hotter and brighter than before.
The air ripples.
In seconds, the flames devour the trees before him, turning them to ash.
Even when he releases the technique, the inferno continues to rage, spreading faster than he intended.
Not wanting to scorch the entire forest, he waves his hand.
The flames vanish, leaving only glowing embers and drifting smoke.
He exhales, eyes reflecting the dying light.
"Finally," he whispers, "I've mastered the Fierce Flame Great Magic Power."
He had long been proficient with the spell—yet only after a week of relentless practice did he truly command it completely.
The power of the Fierce Flame Great Magic marked it as an initial-rank Great Magic Power—deadly enough to kill a Stage Two Transcend and even wound those above.
He possessed three more Great Magic Powers: Thirty-Six Solar Term Sword, Dark Sinking, and Dark Seal.
By affinity and future path, his focus should have been on the Dark Sinking and Dark Seal techniques, both tied to the Law of Darkness that awaited his mastery.
Yet the Fierce Flame and the Thirty-Six Solar Term Sword were the first Great Magics he had created after arriving in this world.
He could not abandon them halfway.
It wasn't just attachment—it was his nature.
He would never leave anything incomplete, no matter how tempting greater strength might be.
And since he had already reached proficiency in both, he resolved to perfect them before moving on.
Now that the Fierce Flame had reached true mastery, it was time to turn his focus toward the Thirty-Six Solar Term Sword.
Despite its name, it was not truly a sword-based magic power. The "sword" in its title existed because, before reaching mastery, one required either a spiritual treasure sword or four high-grade spiritual swords to channel the energy safely.
The Great Magic Power was composed of four lesser techniques—Spring Rain Sword, Scorching Sand Sword, Silent Wind Sword, and Dark Ice Sword. Attempting to merge them before mastering each was suicidal, as their elemental forces clashed violently within the body.
Kaelan had already reached proficiency in the technique, and with his tempered physique, he could safely refine each aspect one at a time.
He decided to begin with the Dark Ice Sword.
Drawing in his mana, a translucent blade of frost took shape in the air, cold mist swirling around it. He willed it forward, testing its motion and control.
The Dark Ice Sword itself was divided into nine moves, the first being the simplest—Ice Sword. When the Ice Sword's power reached the level of a peak Magic Power, it would mark the completion of that move.
To test its strength, he conjured a flame imbued with the might of an initial-stage small magic power and hurled it against the sword. The ice hissed and cracked, melting under the blaze. Kaelan steadied his breath, channelling mana to reforge the sword, condensing the ice particles ever more tightly.
Normally, one would need Ice Crystal spiritual resources to perfect this move, but lacking them, he chose this gruelling method instead: if a flame of peak magic power failed to melt his ice sword, it would mean the blade's strength had reached the peak of small magic power.
He trained through the night, relentless and focused, and by dawn, even a mid-level magic power flame could no longer melt the ice sword.
He paused his training and sat cross-legged, entering quiet meditation to restore his depleted mana. When half of it returned, he rose to his feet and took to the air, streaking back toward the convoy. It was time to rejoin them.
An hour after his return, the convoy set off once more, crossing the border and leaving the Tang Kingdom behind as they entered the lands of the Chen Kingdom.
Inside his carriage, Kaelan continued his comprehension of the sandstone—the final step toward completing the basic Earth Element Visualisation Map.
Gradually, the image solidified in his mind, each line and rune forming into a stable pattern of the earth's law. But before he could stabilise it completely, a strange fluctuation from the Tang Kingdom rippled through the air, sharp and unnatural.
The entire convoy came to a halt.
From outside, he heard murmurs of awe and the soft cadence of prayers.
Kaelan stepped out of the carriage and raised his gaze. Across the distant horizon, radiant beams of light descended from the heavens, piercing the Tang Kingdom in countless places.
The people around him knelt, hands clasped, voices trembling with devotion as they prayed to the God of Night, believing the lights to be divine blessings.
But Kaelan's eyes darkened. He could sense the destructive rhythm hidden within the light—it wasn't a blessing. It was an attack.
An attack from the Twilight Protoss.
Elsewhere, beneath a pale sky, Nyxarin watched the rain of divine light with cold amusement.
"They reacted rather violently," he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips.
He had expected as much. In fact, it was his goal.
Now they knew he had returned—and that knowledge would drive them to act. They would begin searching, verifying the locations where each fragment of his body was sealed.
His body was divided into seven parts: both hands, both legs, his torso, his heart, and his head.
He already knew the locations of one hand, one leg, and his torso. The remaining four were still hidden from him.
But he had already regained his core—the indestructible metal once sold at the auction.
During his battle with the Day Goddess, his sister, and his brother-in-law, he had cast his core into the Immortal Volcano. Not because he was about to lose, but because he had chosen to. There had been a flaw in his cultivation, something deep and unfixable, and he needed to start anew.
Their combined assault had given him the opportunity to "die." And as an innate god born of the world itself, true death was never an option.
He let himself fall and was reborn six hundred years ago—beginning again in secret, founding the Divine Puppet Sect to rebuild his power.
When his cultivation reached its peak once more and progress became impossible, he chose reincarnation again—this time dividing his consciousness into two halves.
One carried all his memories and his darkness—the self standing now.
The other carried his strength and his light.
He had not yet found that other half, nor was he seeking it.
The time for that had not yet come.
For now, his goal was simple—learn the locations of all his divine body parts and reclaim them one by one.
His actions in the Tang Kingdom would force his sister and brother-in-law to inspect the seals themselves. All he needed to do was follow their trail.
He vanished from the cliff, leaving only the whisper of wind behind.
High above, the clouds rippled and shifted, and thousands of wooden eyeballs opened within the mist.
They turned in eerie unison, gazing down at the earth below—waiting for the Twilight Protoss to descend.