As the sun dips below the horizon, the convoy halts near the Chen–Tang border. The camp is soon alive with the usual noise of setting up tents and tending to the mounts. Kaelan prepares to leave for his nightly training when the manager of the Mu Rice House hurries toward him, face pale, eyes uneasy.
Kaelan pauses, turning slightly. "What do you want?"
The manager bows, voice trembling. "Lord… we'll be crossing into the Tang Kingdom soon. What should we do?"
Kaelan studies him, sensing the tension beneath the man's words. The news had spread fast—whispers of the Tang King's death by Heaven's wrath and the rebellions igniting across the land.
He doesn't care for the King's death. The man was only his father-in-law by title. But his wife—Li Niyue—matters. If she still lives, she is his only bridge to seize the Tang throne legitimately. Before his death, the King had sent her to her fief, far from the capital. That is where she must be.
Kaelan's expression remains calm. "Do not worry. We'll fulfil the contract."
The manager stares at him, stunned that he still intends to proceed through chaos. But Kaelan has already risen into the air, leaving the camp behind.
He knows most would turn back now—no merchant would risk their goods, no escort would risk their lives in a land of rebellion.
Yet if Wuya Escort completes this mission while others flee, the name Wuya will echo across every kingdom. Once closed doors will open freely.
He descends into a clearing deep within the forest, the night wind cold against his skin. Sitting cross-legged, he closes his eyes.
The contract is secure. His path is set.
Now, only one thought occupies his mind—what new magic power should he create next to completely master the Thirty-Six Solar Term Sword?
Though he has already completed the four small magic powers—Dark Ice Sword, Scorching Sand Sword, Spring Rain Sword, and Silent Wind Sword—it is not yet true mastery.
To master the Thirty-Six Solar Term Sword, he must merge the four into one seamless cycle, each feeding the next without conflict, their powers revolving like the seasons themselves.
He closes his eyes, the idea forming clearly in his mind.
This new power will not be a simple combination but a cycle—fire giving birth to earth, earth to metal, metal to water, water to wood, wood to fire—life and destruction flowing endlessly.
Mana bursts from his body, rushing into the sky. Clouds gather, darkening the heavens, flickering with lightning.
The air trembles. Then the rain begins to fall, gentle at first, then violently fast.
Hot air surges from the ground, clashing with the descending cold.
Tornadoes twist into being, spiralling upward, dragging sheets of rain with them. Water merges with wind; lightning streaks through the roaring pillars.
Kaelan stands unmoving at the centre, his robes snapping in the storm.
The tornadoes tear through the forest, uprooting trees, shattering boulders, flattening the earth.
When the storm finally dies, silence follows.
Half a mile of forest lies erased—mud, splintered trunks, and the faint cries of wounded beasts and demons echo in the air.
From the devastation alone, one could tell what concept he had chosen. The unified form of the Thirty-Six Solar Term Sword—the essence that ties all elements together—was the storm.
The storm embodies change.
It carries the heat of fire, the chill of ice, the weight of earth, and the fury of wind. It destroys and renews. It is both chaos and balance, and that duality is what Kaelan seeks.
He breathes out slowly, raising his hand again.
The air grows dry, shimmering with heat. Mana flares from his body, scarlet and fierce, spiralling upward.
Flames twist into the air, pulled by the rising wind, forming a vortex that ignites the heavens.
A firestorm roars to life.
The air burns, the ground cracks, and within moments, the forest beyond the earlier ruin turns to a wasteland.
Trees collapse into cinders, stones melt and fuse, and half a mile of earth becomes a scorched plain. Even the soil glows faintly red, baked under the heat of his creation.
He moves his hand again, shifting the flow of mana. The wind changes colour—golden, heavy, filled with grit.
The fire dies, replaced by a growing wall of dust and sand. The sky darkens into brown haze as he forms the third storm—the Sandstorm.
It rages with deafening fury, grains of sand slicing through what remains of the trees, stripping bark, skin, and stone alike.
When it ends, there is no sound but the hiss of settling dust.
Then comes the fourth—Winter Storm. His mana turns pale blue, and the temperature plummets.
Clouds twist overhead, releasing a storm of snow, ice, and howling wind.
The ground hardens under layers of frost, and what moments ago was molten heat now lies buried beneath white silence.
Four storms, each carrying a piece of the world, each cycling into the next—Fire to Sand, Sand to Wind, Wind to Ice, and Ice returning to Water and Lightning.
The cycle completes. The balance holds.
Kaelan's consciousness drifts upward, beyond his body.
His mind slips into an ethereal state—where the world's laws flow like rivers of light and shadow around him.
His thoughts quicken, his comprehension deepens, and every breath aligns with the rhythm of creation itself.
He sees the structures of mana, the truth of elements, the interwoven nature of light and dark, life and death.
In that clarity, he begins to practice the Dark Sinking and Dark Seal, great magic powers.
His understanding of darkness was already complete; all that remained was perfecting its use. Within moments—inside that timeless state—he fully masters both techniques, his control absolute.
Yet his mind doesn't rest.
Still attuned to the world's laws, he begins to shape a new idea—one that will merge the powers of darkness and death into a single, unique magic power.
Something born not from destruction alone, but from the stillness that follows it.
As he delves deeper into the fusion of the two laws, the ethereal clarity begins to waver. The brilliance fades. The world's structure blurs before his eyes.
He feels the connection slipping. The divine pulse that guided his comprehension scatters, and in an instant, the ethereal state collapses.
He exhales slowly and checks his body, trying to understand what has changed.
Then—without warning—a ripple spreads across the world.
It moves through sky and soil, through ocean and mountain, vibrating the very laws that govern creation.
Every god feels it.
They turn their gaze toward the mortal realm, sensing the birth of something new—a divine law taking shape where none should exist.
Far away, in his abyssal dominion, Nyxarin halts. The God of Night lifts his head, his eyes gleaming with unease.
He feels the disturbance clearly—the formation of a new divine law.
But he cannot discern what it is. Its nature eludes even him.
Still, he knows what its emergence means: the birth of a new god.
And he cannot allow that—not before his plans reach completion.
So he sends forth his puppets, shadows wearing mortal faces, to scour the world and find the place where this new god is being born.
The God of Dawn and the Goddess of Evening also feel the tremor in the laws.
They exchange silent glances across the divine sky, each knowing what the other intends.
Both send their divine children into the mortal world, tasked with finding the newborn god and bringing them into their fold—before the God of Night does.
Meanwhile, Kaelan opens his eyes.
The world feels heavier, quieter, like it's waiting for him to move.
A strange expression crosses his face, caught between disbelief and irony.
His goal has always been to destroy the world.
But now, the world itself calls him to become its god.
After he formed the concept of storm, a new law took shape in existence.
There had always been storms before—but never bound by a unified cycle, never complete in balance or pattern.
Now the world reaches out to him, asking him to finish what it cannot, to perfect the Law of Storm and, in return, ascend as its god with immortal life.
But the offer holds no interest for Kaelan.
As a Void Monster of the fifth stage, his very existence already equals that of this world's essence.
Why should he kneel and become a servant to something so small?
If it were a large world, perhaps he would have considered it.
But this one is too minor to deserve his submission.
He brushes off the world's plea, his focus shifting instead to the golden energy sphere floating within his spirit space.
According to the world's whisper, it is a reward—one that, if consumed, would return him to the ethereal state, or if left untouched, would bless him with heightened luck.
Yet, as Kaelan inspects it closely, realisation dawns.
This is no mere gift.
It is the *origin of the world*.
His purpose—the destruction of worlds—has always been to claim this very essence and strengthen his cultivation.
But now, to gain it without ruin, without death or decay… does he still need to destroy this world at all?
He falls into deep thought, brows furrowed, as confusion ripples through his calm.
Why has no mention of such a path existed in the inheritance memories of the Void Monsters?
The answer comes on its own.
Because his soul is human.
Unlike other Void Monsters, whose newborn souls are consumed and reshaped entirely by the inheritance, his remains whole.
They are creatures moulded by destruction—born to erase, not to question.
But Kaelan can choose. He can restrain the hunger that defines their kind.
The morning light pulls him from his thoughts.
Warm sunlight touches his face, melting away the last traces of the winter storm he had conjured.
He opens his eyes, calm once more, and rises from the ground.
Then, with a flicker of motion, he soars toward the convoy.