Two days later, the convoy halts.
An army stands across the path, blocking their way like a wall of steel.
Kaelan descends from the carriage, the manager hurrying beside him, both walking toward the front.
The manager squints at the banners fluttering in the wind. "From the flag, they're from the Ji family—a powerful clan in this region."
Kaelan gives a brief nod, stepping ahead of the convoy, his expression unreadable.
Above, crows caw endlessly against the grey sky, and a faint smirk curves Kaelan's lips.
The manager swallows hard. "Let me negotiate with them, see what they want."
Kaelan nods again, silent, while his mana begins to circulate—steady and cold. He already knows the truth. Negotiation will not prevent what's coming.
The manager shouts toward the soldiers, introducing himself and demanding to know why the Ji family blocks their path.
A reply soon follows—the Ji family wants every carriage filled with rice. Only then will they allow passage.
The manager refuses at first, but his voice trembles. He doesn't know Kaelan's strength and fears conflict with such a large army.
After a moment of hesitation, he offers half the rice carriages in exchange for safe passage.
But the Ji family rejects the offer, insisting on taking it all.
Tension thickens. The servants and guards of the Mu Rice House turn pale, whispering anxiously, pressuring the manager to accept.
Then, from among the enemy ranks, a voice roars, "That's the demon princess's husband—Kong Wuya! He's the one spreading false tales about a new martial realm!"
Another man shouts, "Kong Wuya? Then he must not leave alive!"
"Everyone, attack!"
Kaelan exhales slowly, his smirk deepening.
"They can't even act properly," he mutters.
The army surges forward, a tide of bodies shouting as they lower their spears and charge.
Most are martial artists beneath the Master Realm—too weak to threaten him, yet loud enough to fill the air with chaos.
The manager stumbles back, panic flashing across his face, and turns to flee toward the convoy.
From behind, the guards of the Wuya Escort Agency rush out, their eyes burning with fierce devotion.
They line up behind Kaelan without hesitation, ready to charge at his command, for the blood of their god flows faintly within them.
Kaelan raises a hand, signalling them to stay back.
This is his stage alone.
His gaze sweeps across the incoming soldiers. The front ranks are nothing but conscripts—poorly dressed citizens forced into battle, meant only to drain his mana.
Behind them stand three Ultimate Martial Masters, the true backbone of the Ji family's force.
No true experts among them. No Masters, no Great Masters, no Supremes. Just arrogance built on numbers.
Kaelan waits silently as the soldiers thunder closer, their cries echoing like waves crashing on stone.
When they cross halfway, his eyes narrow, and cold mana floods from his core.
The season is shifting—the last days of autumn fading, winter near.
"Then," he whispers, voice low as the wind, "let them feel winter early."
"Ice Hell."
The words leave Kaelan's mouth like a verdict.
A deep rumble answers him as mana surges outward, the ground trembling beneath his feet. A ghostly chill sweeps across the field, rolling forward in a white-blue wave.
The air before Kaelan turns pale, then cracks.
The temperature plummets so fast that breath turns solid, falling as shards of frost.
A freezing gust rushes through the ranks of charging soldiers, and the ground beneath them crystallises in an instant.
The frost spreads like wildfire, ice racing across the field, climbing up their boots, legs, and armour.
The first screams echo as men slip and collapse, their skin turning blue, their eyes wide with terror. Spears shatter like glass when they strike the frozen ground.
The sky distorts above the field, a heavy distortion pressing down like an invisible mountain. The gravity thickens, twisting the air with a low, suffocating hum.
The soldiers' movements stop. Knees buckle, backs bend, and weapons fall from trembling hands. Even their screams die halfway, crushed under the sheer weight.
For a moment, time itself seems to hold its breath.
The world darkens.
The light fades into a deep indigo hue as Kaelan lifts his hand slightly. From the frozen clouds above, jagged ice spears—black at the core, blue at the edges—materialise in silence.
They fall.
The impact is cataclysmic.
Each spear pierces through armour, flesh, and soul, carrying void-chilled energy that spreads through the body faster than blood can flow.
The victims freeze from within—their eyes, their hearts, even their mana veins turning to glass.
When the last scream fades, nothing living remains.
The entire front of the Ji family's army stands frozen in grotesque stillness—thousands of crystal statues gleaming under the pale sun.
Some kneel, some raise hands to defend, some mid-step, forever locked in that instant of despair.
A thin mist of black frost lingers in the air.
Kaelan exhales softly, lowering his hand. The ground ahead is silent, lifeless—a frozen wasteland that stretches for hundreds of meters.
The guards behind him stare in reverent horror, not daring to breathe.
Kaelan's eyes stay calm, detached.
He looks over the silent ice field and murmurs, almost to himself,
"Winter has come."
Kaelan's breath fades into the still air, white mist curling before his lips.
For a moment, he lets his mind drift back to the world's proposal—the offer of godhood. He once dismissed it, but now the thought no longer feels absurd. If becoming this world's god allows him to obtain its origin, then there's no need to destroy it.
He had been a law-abiding man in his previous life, someone who never took a life beyond insects. In this one, blood had long stained his path—demons, humans, countless enemies—but each death had purpose. None without reason.
The destruction of this world had been only a means to ascend further. But if the same result could be reached without ruin, then destruction served no purpose.
He exhales, feeling a strange lightness inside. The weight of countless silent justifications loosens. Maybe it's the bonds he's formed in this world, the lives that brush against his own. Whatever the cause, the burden thins, and for the first time in a long while, he feels at ease.
His gaze drifts over the ice field.
The soldiers remain frozen mid-charge, their faces twisted in eternal fear.
Beyond them stand three men—the Ji family's ultimate martial artists, brothers bound by blood and ambition.
When Kaelan began his attack, they had not joined the charge. Instead, they stared across the frost in disbelief.
"First brother," the youngest said, his voice tight with dread, "his attack—it's not a martial technique. It feels like… a Qi Refiner's magic power."
The second brother nodded sharply. "You're right. That wasn't martial arts. His energy flows differently—refined, concentrated, detached from the body."
The eldest, calm even as the wind howled, didn't look away from the storm of ice. "Do you know why the great martial sects fear him?"
Both turned toward him.
He continued, eyes reflecting the glimmer of frozen corpses. "Because when he created his new realm, he called it Wizard Way — Body Refining Path: Holy Fetus Realm."
The youngest frowned. "What does that even mean?"
The middle brother's expression darkened as understanding dawned. "It means… his so-called next step of martial arts isn't martial arts at all. It's a new path entirely—the wizard way."
The youngest swallowed hard. "Then why claim it as the next realm of martial arts?"
The eldest's tone was quiet, almost cold. "Because he fused the martial path into the wizard way. Those who follow him cease to be martial artists. They become something else."
The eldest's eyes harden, his resolve sharp as the frost beneath his feet.
The youngest swallows. "First brother, what should we do? The three of us together are likely no match for him."
The middle brother answers before the eldest can. "They said his strength equals that of a peak Core Formation cultivator. If we fight him, we're walking through death's gate ourselves."
The eldest slams the butt of his spear into the frozen ground, a deep crack splitting the silence. Frost shatters, corpses crumble to powder beneath the shockwave. "They told us to begin. Once we engage, they'll join the fight."
The youngest hesitates. "And if they don't?"
"Then we die." His voice carries no fear—only grim certainty. He raises his spear, its golden aura flaring against the cold, and charges.
The middle brother exhales once, a crooked smile tugging his lips. "If we don't, we die anyway. Better by his hand than those snakes hiding behind us." With a shout, he follows his brother, spear cutting the air.
The youngest stares at their backs, trembling. "But I don't want to die…"
Still, he grips his spear tight and runs after them, qi bursting from his body. Their true qi merges mid-charge—three streams of light twisting together into one searing flow. The combined force hums with violent resonance, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
Kaelan's smirk deepens. "I thought they were ants. Looks like they've got a little bite after all."
In his sight, the three vanish, replaced by a single colossal spear of golden light, tearing through the frozen plain toward him. The air splits under its pressure, the force so immense it locks his limbs in place—gravity, qi, and intent fusing into one unstoppable thrust.
Their combined strike… reaches the peak of the Core Formation Realm.