Chapter 100: A tale of a sect war

The moment the words left her mouth, Chen Ren felt the urge to sit down. He wanted to sit down and slowly process whatever she’d said—if it was any truth.

He didn’t; he didn’t sit down. But the impulse was heavy. His fingers twitched at his side, and he felt his muscles spasming. He looked around the workshop and noticed that this wasn’t the place for this kind of conversation.

He gestured for her to follow and led her out of it, across the hallway, and into his room. No one ever came here, not wanting to disturb the sect leader.

And fortunately, even Yalan wasn’t in the room.

He shut the window, latched the door and looked at her again, fully.

“You’re telling me that you’re the daughter of the previous sect leader of the Void Blade Sect?”

Anji nodded like her background was of a farmer's daughter rather than a sect leader's. “Yes.”

Chen Ren stared at her. A second passed. And another. And a third.

“Adopted.” she muttered. “I was adopted, so I didn't get the family name. But he treated me the same. My father, Ilang—he never married. He was one of those who’d die for cultivation and thought starting a family would just take his time from it. He had disciples, but none of them survived.”

As she spoke, Chen Ren felt something change.

The air around her… shifted. Not literally, but perceptibly. Previously, whenever they’d interacted, he’d noticed a quiet nervous energy surrounding her, like the way she looked around a room, the way she spoke—hesitantly. They were all gone now. She was staring directly into his eyes. She stood taller, shoulders squared, and spoke like someone who used to be listened to.

Was this who she truly was? Or was this simply the version of her that emerged now that the masks were off?

Maybe both.

But what she said made sense now. With no blood kin, no surviving disciples, she would have been the closest thing Ilang had to an heir. Adopted or not, that meant something—especially in a sect as serious and deadly as Void Blade.

It explained the vault.

But it also raised more questions than it answered. Still, there was one question he needed answered before anything else.

“How did you get adopted by a sect leader? No offense, but… someone like that doesn’t just pick up an ordinary child out of pity.”

Anji sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

Anji pressed her lips together, sighing again, she gave a firm nod.

“My village was destroyed. I was one of the survivors. Demonic cultivators raided the area. Void Blade Sect came to handle it.”

The way she spoke was too casual. Like she was talking about a trade caravan getting robbed, not a massacre. It was the kind of detachment that came only with time… or trauma.

“They scattered the survivors, dropped them off at nearby villages. But my father… he took me in.”

She stopped there.

Chen Ren watched her carefully. Her face was still, but the pause wasn’t empty—it lingered. There was more. Of course there was more. No matter how kind Ilang might have been, a sect leader didn’t adopt a random child with no spirit roots unless there was a reason.

A good reason.

And Chen Ren intended to find out what it was. The rest of her story was believable enough.

Sects led clean-up missions after demonic attacks weren’t uncommon—especially a decade ago when chaos ran deeper across the empire and demonic cultivator attacks were much more common. And children orphaned by such raids? Even more common. But Chen Ren wasn’t satisfied with half the truth.

He leaned back slightly, folding his arms.

“I thought mortals in sects were mostly assigned to menial tasks. Working farms. Cleaning. Maybe carrying resources for outer disciples if they were lucky.”

Anji’s lips twitched—not quite a smile. “They are. But there are perks to being adopted by a sect leader.”

Her voice wasn’t arrogant. Just matter-of-fact.

“I wasn’t a princess, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she continued. “I didn’t have a courtyard of my own or servants at my beck and call. But I didn’t scrub floors either. My father believed that even if I couldn’t cultivate, I could still be useful.”

He tilted his head slightly, curious.

“So?”

“So… I was sent to the alchemical halls. I studied ingredients, measured qi emissions, learned how to control flame temperature and track the quality of a pill by scent alone. I worked as an alchemist’s assistant.”

Her tone faltered at the last sentence, softening in a way that made Chen Ren notice.

She’d never told him that before.

He blinked, registering the weight of her words. Alchemy assistant? That was no minor thing. Not in a sect that size. She might know techniques or processing methods that could help him refine his own systems. Temptation passed through his thoughts—wondering how he could use that knowledge—but he shoved it away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Because she wasn’t done.

“Until the war,” she finished.

Chen Ren frowned, his mind already pulling up what little he knew. He’d heard of the Void Blade Sect’s fall. Back in Cloud Mist City, it had been a favorite rumor of the tea houses and gossip-hungry cultivators for a while until Gu Tian had changed that. Theories ranged from betrayal by a core disciple to the sect being far weaker than its reputation.

But no one really knew what had happened. He hadn’t even heard of the name of the sect that had brought them down and had never expected to learn more about it. Until now. She must’ve noticed his thoughts spinning, because she spoke again.

“You want to know what happened in the war,” Anji said.

Chen Ren gave a slow nod. “Let me guess—the vault is a hidden treasure your sect managed to protect. One the invaders didn’t get. And now you want to reach it before anyone else does.”

“Perceptive as usual.”

Then her gaze darkened, brows drawing together as she looked past him—as if remembering something bitter.

“It was a war between the Void Blade Sect and the Blazing Ember Sect.”

Chen Ren narrowed his eyes.

Blazing Ember Sect?

That name was vaguely familiar. He briefly recalled it was one of the Established sects focused on the flame arts and alchemy.

“We were from the same region,” Anji continued. “Always had minor conflicts. Nothing serious. Border disputes, resource allocation, recruitment scuffles. But two years ago…

“…a disciple entered our sect. Quiet. Talented. Rose quickly through the ranks. His name was Wang Fu. He was undefeated in sword combat and skilled in alchemy—so much that he created improved recipes of common pills. Our sect had always been weak on the alchemy side, so people began to see him as someone who would raise our foundation.”

Chen Ren listened silently, heart slowly picking up speed. Because if this was heading where he thought it was, the real story behind the Void Blade Sect’s fall was going to be far uglier than gossip ever hinted.

“But soon,” Anji continued, “Blazing Ember Sect accused him of stealing those alchemical recipes.”

Chen Ren’s brows drew together.

“They claimed he’d taken the formulas directly from their archives. There was a whole scandal about it. They wanted his head.”

He could almost see it—how it would’ve played out. Accusations flaring like wildfire through both sects, pride and blood boiling beneath the surface.

“My father was furious,” she went on without minding his silence. “He interrogated Wang Fu personally. And eventually… he admitted it. Said he’d found the recipes on the corpses of some Blazing Ember Sect disciples after a skirmish. Apparently, he’d been out on a mission when they attacked him, trying to steal his belongings. He fought back. Killed them. Found the ring with the formulas.”

“And in his mind, that made it worth it,” Chen Ren said.

Anji nodded. “Exactly.”

Chen Ren closed his eyes briefly, mind piecing it all together.

It was messy. Not just betrayal or theft. It was about honor. About lines blurred by violence. Either Ilang gave up a promising disciple—or stood against a rival sect demanding blood. And it was clear what choice he had made.

“So… he didn’t give him up.”

“No,” Anji said quietly. “He was a good sect leader. He would have defended even an outer disciple, let alone someone the whole sect had pinned their hopes on.” She looked down, fingers curling slightly at her side. Chen Ren didn’t miss it.

“He tried to defuse the situation. He gave the recipes back. Sent additional tributes—spirit stones, rare herbs. Everything short of groveling. But…”

She hesitated.

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“One of the disciples Wang Fu killed… was an elder’s first grandson. That’s why he had the spatial ring in the first place.”

“So there was no walking back from it.”

“No,” she said. “The elder wanted vengeance. The sect wanted face. And before anyone realized it, the tension had already begun to rot the peace.”

“Then how did it spiral into a full sect war?” he asked.

“Negotiations dragged on for over a year. During that time, small clashes between our sects increased. At first it was just words. Then fists. Then blades. Outer disciples started dying. Missions turned into ambushes. Beast hunts became bloodbaths. If you left the sect borders, you didn’t come back in one piece. If you came back at all.” She sighed, closing her eyes as if remembering everything. “And the worst part was… once disciples with strong backers started dying, elders got involved. ‘Personal revenge’ they called it. ‘Justice for their kin.’ But all they did was fan the flames. It stopped being about the sect and became about grudges.”

Fire and void tearing through forests, mountains scarred from the power of two factions clashing unchecked. The imagination sent a shiver down Chen Ren’s spine, knowing these two were one of the most destructive elements other than lightning.

Anji’s tone grew bitter. “The sect war lasted barely over a month. But for that month, everything burned. Fire and void—pure destruction. And in the end… Void Blade Sect lost. I still remember the moment I saw my father. In the sky, fighting half a dozen elders from Blazing Ember Sect. He was still standing. Still holding his blade. Until he wasn’t.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, but Chen Ren could feel the storm behind it.

“It was a complete victory for them,” she said softly. “When I saw him fall, I knew it was over. I took one of the hidden pathways out of the sect. I ran. From city to city. Hid my name. Burned everything that could tie me back. Eventually, I ended up in Cloud Mist City.”

She gave a hollow laugh. “Being a mortal has its perks. No one bothered chasing me.”

Silence followed.

“You know the rest,” she finished.

Her voice was a mixture of guilt, sadness, and a venom so cold it could freeze flame. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t asked for pity. But there was something to her words that left the room feeling smaller.

Chen Ren stared at her, unsure what to say. Part of him wanted to offer a shoulder. But the look on her face told him not to.

She wasn’t asking for comfort. She just needed him to understand.

And now… he did.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Anji didn’t respond, but a faint nod acknowledged his words.

Still, one question gnawed at him. The kind of question that didn’t leave room for sentiment.

“But how?” he asked, his brows drawing close. “How did the Blazing Ember Sect manage to win so decisively? Were they just… better at large-scale warfare?”

“No. Both sects were evenly matched. Our sect might’ve even had the edge in terms of defensive techniques. It’s just…”

She hesitated.

“There was a betrayal from inside.”

“Huh?”

“Yes,” she said. “Wang Fu was compromised. Maybe he wasn’t a spy when he first joined,” she continued. “But somewhere along the way… he turned. Everything he did—the stolen recipes, the conflict that started it all—it was a setup. A trap to push the sects into war.”

“And how do you know that? Did he reveal his betrayal?” he asked.

Anji’s voice dropped lower. “Yes. During the war, I saw him kill our disciples. The ones who called him senior brother. He didn’t hesitate. I believe he shared everything he knew about our formations, our defenses, weaknesses and our emergency protocols. Everything.

“We had background checks. Screening. Protocols to catch spies, especially demonic ones. His background was clean. Too clean, in hindsight. And none of us expected someone we had invested so much into to turn on us.”

Chen Ren fell silent. It seemed like the rumours about a betrayal was true in the end, but if that was the case, then Blazing Ember Sect had prepared this for a long time. It was clear that there was a rivalry between both sects, but will they do something like this just for that? He wasn't sure and decided it was better to ask.

“Was it for something specific? Some treasure your sect had? It sounds like they planned this long before any conflict started and took a lot of risk with everything.”

“Yes. They wanted our inheritance.”

She looked him dead in the eye.

“According to sect war rules in the Empire… the victor takes everything—techniques, land, spirit veins, artifacts, even the buildings if they’re still standing. The Emperor allows it. Says it’s the most effective way to resolve deep-rooted conflict. He even takes a share of the spoils. A tax on death.” She paused. “And the Blazing Ember Sect had always coveted our sect’s inheritance.”

“So they engineered a war,” Chen Ren muttered, disgusted.

“Yes,” Anji said. “And they won.”

Chen Ren nodded slowly, arms crossed once more.

In the world of cultivation, inheritances were everything. They were the foundation of power, the roots of legacy. A single inheritance could birth a sect, elevate a family, or change the fate of an empire. Of course it would be coveted. Of course someone would wage war over it. There was a reason even Hong Yi was chased so much.

Still… knowing it and listening to everything about it were two very different things.

“So going after the sect vault,” he said, bringing the topic back to the vault, “would mean opposing the Blazing Ember Sect.”

Anji nodded, but then added quickly, “They won’t know. I don’t think they even have a clue where the inheritance is. Only my father knew the exact location. He never told anyone else—not even the elders or his own disciples. It was something passed only to his direct successor.

“He told me before the war… in case he didn’t make it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I didn’t think he would lose. But now…”

Her voice tightened.

“Now it haunts me. If I had the strength, I would’ve gone to retrieve it long ago. But I can’t. I’m too powerless.”

“Hence, you need my help.”

Anji nodded again. And Chen Ren sighed.

There it was again—that feeling. Like he was stepping into another mess. One more fire waiting to burn him alive.

He doubted he could even back out. Not easily. The qi oath was there, and he suspected Anji knew that. Still, he couldn’t say he hadn’t expected this. Nothing valuable in this world came without risk.

Inheritances didn’t come easy.

Fighting through the Corpse Lands was dangerous—but so was this. Blazing Ember Sect was an Established sect. Going for the vault could put him on their radar. And worse, the inheritance technically belonged to them

now

—at least, in the eyes of the empire. If anyone found out…

Still, maybe no one would. It wasn’t like they’d put up a sign saying “We’re robbing a dead sect’s vault.” If Anji was right, and only her father had known the true location, then even Blazing Ember might have given up looking by now. They could’ve assumed it was destroyed. Lost. Gone forever.

But if they were still looking…

That would be a problem.

Even so, the rewards… the manuals, the techniques, the weapons, the artifacts—an entire sect’s foundation. That could solve so many of his problems in one move. Not just strengthen his sect, but attract true cultivators to it. No more scraping together scraps. No more having to settle.

As he thought it through, Anji must have noticed the silence in his expression, the gears turning behind his eyes.

“You don’t have to help me.” Chen Ren’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“The qi oath?” he asked.

“It only binds you if we actually go for the inheritance. If you decide not to, that’s fine. I only used the oath to make sure you wouldn’t reveal anything without my permission. I didn’t want to force you.”

Chen Ren let out a breath, this time deeper, the weight in his chest easing just a little.

That… was a better deal than he expected.

He’d already started to feel bitter—like he’d been maneuvered into standing against an Established sect. But this? This gave him control. Gave him the choice.

So now the real question hung before him like a blade.

Would he risk it all to go against an Established sect, gambling for a chance at power, legacy, and growth? Or would he walk away… and put his hopes into the danger of the Corpse Lands instead?

***

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