Chapter Book 2 Epilogue 1

Shen Linao's face folded into slow wrinkles as he listened, the report scratching at his ears like chalk on a board. The sect reagent of the Blazing Ember Sect had grown accustomed to silence, to reports filled with praise, submission, and the occasional minor dispute—nothing that stirred the flame in his chest beyond a flicker.

But this… This brought a bitter taste to his tongue. Not unlike that affair, months ago. One of his favored concubines had shared her bed with a lowly outer disciple. A moment of amusement, perhaps. A lapse in desire. He had incinerated her personally, leaving no bones behind—only the scent of jasmine and ash.

And yet, despite the punishment, the bitterness never left. It sat like char on his soul.

Now it has returned again.

He took a slow sip of tea, his qi swirling around the cup to hold the temperature perfectly—a small act of control in a world tilting toward chaos.

"Are you certain Wang Fu has betrayed the sect?"

The disciple, Tu Wei across from him knelt, eyes low. "It’s either that, or he was killed. I found no trace of him in the Void Blade Sect vault. Not even bones."

"By whom?" Shen Linao asked softly. Fire coiled beneath the words.

"No clear signs. I searched thoroughly—traps, escape paths, even spiritual residue. Nothing useful remained. Whoever did it was careful. Or strong."

Shen Linao’s fingers tapped once against the lacquered wood. The silence between them crackled.

"Did you find anything from the nearby town?" he asked next, already suspecting the answer would not please him.

Tu Wei nodded. "There was an altercation. Our group clashed with a young master from a minor clan. They denied everything, even after I killed one of their top cultivators. Still—"

"Still?" Shen Linao’s voice cooled, like embers before a coming wind.

"Still… I don’t believe they’re lying. Their highest cultivator is a single foundation establishment realm one, and he belongs to a sect barely a hundred years old. An Emerging Sect, master. Their background isn't strong enough to threaten ours."

Shen Linao stared into his tea and nodded slowly, eyes narrowing like slits of molten iron. “So… not strong enough to do anything,” he murmured.

Tu Wei, still kneeling, took it as a cue to press on. “Hence, I believe it must be betrayal. When I reached the vault, the main chamber had been opened. Everything was gone. Even the library—picked clean. Only the minor sections were left untouched, mostly where the beast guardians were hibernating. Perhaps Wang Fu didn’t find them worth the risk.”

A long breath escaped Shen Linao’s lips. It wasn’t quite a sigh. Not yet. His gaze didn’t leave the tea cup, still rippling faintly from the heat of his qi. He listened—truly listened—not just to the words, but the weight behind them.

What he was hearing… it wasn’t a lie. But it was being shaped into one.

It could be subtle or intentional. He knew this tone. Knew this disciple. The hunger behind the words wasn’t for justice or truth—it was the desire to see a rival fall. Wang Fu, the most backed among the inner disciples, the one who had grown fastest, given the most techniques, survived the harshest of trials. Tu Wei had always hated him.

Shen Linao closed his eyes for a breath. And then opened them.

His aura flared—silent, formless, but heavier than a mountain. It crushed the air around them and fell upon his kneeling disciple like the sky itself. The man froze mid-sentence, blood draining from his face as his limbs trembled under the pressure. His breath hitched. He dared not look up.

“Do you have definite proof?” Shen Linao asked, voice like a slow-burning flame. “That he ran away? That he betrayed the sect?”

When no answer came, Shen Linao's voice dropped to a growl. “Answer me!”

Tu Wei collapsed into a kneeling position, his forehead touching the floor. “I—I’m sorry, Master! I have no proof. It’s only what I assumed… based on what I know of Wang Fu—”

“You know nothing,” Shen Linao snapped. “He wasn’t alone. I placed others beside him for a reason. You think I gave him resources without securing his leash? All of them had family bound to the sect by oaths. They wouldn’t dare turn traitor.”

Tu Wei hesitated, swallowing hard. “What if… What if Wang Fu killed them?”

Shen Linao’s gaze didn’t waver.

“That can’t be,” he said. Cold certainty laced every word. “Wang Fu is strong. But more than that—he knows our sect. He clawed his way up from the outer ranks. Spent blood and years just to earn a seat at the inner sect. He wouldn't betray us. Not unless his mind was shattered.”

He looked past the kneeling disciple, into the distant flicker of the lanterns behind.

“Even if the vault held the secret to reaching the nascent soul stage… he wouldn’t risk turning on us. And we both know it doesn’t. That cursed Void Blade Sect never had a cultivator break through beyond core formation in hundreds of years. Only the founder did. Their inheritance was always second-rate.”

Tu Wei remained silent, shoulders tight.

“The most plausible explanation,” Shen Linao muttered, “is that he was killed. Alongside the others. Then burned cleanly—so thoroughly not even the bones remained. No qi traces. No marks of technique. Just silence.”

He paused, then asked sharply, “Did you see any signs of battle?”

Tu Wei blinked, clearly sifting through memory. “There were… cracked tiles in the vault chamber. And claw marks on the stone near the main vault doors. I assumed it was from a scuffle with one of the beast guardians. Maybe it awakened, or resisted him during the raid—”

“Can it be more?” Shen Linao cut in.

Tu Wei flinched. “...Yes, Master. It can.”

Shen Linao leaned back slightly, his hand absently brushing over the runes etched into the armrest of his chair. His eyes stayed locked on the man in front of him.

“Then tell me everything. Which rooms did you check? What was intact, and what wasn’t?”

As the disciple began listing chambers—inner storage, pill vaults, scroll sanctums, talisman archives—Shen Linao listened in silence. Every word a hammer forging certainty in his mind. Most of the chambers had nothing inside of them, age crumbling the valuables, but the main vault and the library did.

They hadn’t been simply looted. It had been systematically erased. Not haphazardly, but professionally. And worst of all, when the disciple finally mentioned the last detail—

“There were no footsteps in the secondary passageways. At first, I thought it odd, but I assumed… the paths had naturally cleared. Or perhaps the qi flow had scattered the traces.”

Shen Linao’s face darkened.

“No,” he said flatly. “That was deliberate. It means whoever attacked them covered their tracks. Perfectly. If Wang Fu’s group and the enemy clashed inside, then their footsteps would’ve overlapped. A simple earth-aspected technique could blend the stone surface, reset it. Make it unreadable.”

He clenched his fist.

“It was no accident. No beast rampage. This was a surgical strike. Someone knew the vault’s location. They knew when it would be vulnerable. And they had the skill to wipe out an entire team of elite inner disciples without leaving behind a single corpse.”

The tea in his cup boiled suddenly, his qi flaring uncontrolled.

“All my investment in Wang Fu… wasted,” Shen Linao muttered, more to himself than to the disciple. “A vessel I prepared for years, broken and scattered like ash in the wind.”

His knuckles whitened.

“And someone… someone thinks they can do that to me.”

Although Wang Fu had still done much—especially infiltrating the the Void Blade Sect—Shen Linao knew his potential was far from spent. The boy had promise, fierce instincts, and enough cruelty to survive this sect’s path of fire and ambition.

Shen Linao had plans. So many plans. Wang Fu was to serve their Lord when the time came—one of the chosen vessels to carry his will into the next century. His death didn’t just remove a talented disciple. It disrupted a carefully laid future.

And now, another force had clearly inserted themselves into the game.

But how? How did they know about the vault’s location?

His thoughts churned like smoldering coals before he asked calmly, “Was the vault gate damaged?”

Tu Wei shook his head. “No, Master. I saw no marks on it. No burn, no cracking. Though… I did find parts of the guardian puppets Broken. Strewn across the hallway and the outer perimeter.”

Shen Linao's gaze lowered, shadow falling across his face. “…That’s bad.”

He said it quietly.

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“We let someone go. Someone from the Void Blade Sect who knew how to open the vault. There’s no other way in. The door requires a specific method to enter—one lost even to most of their elders. And even I have no idea on it.”

Tu Wei hesitated, brow furrowing. “Are you sure, Master?”

Shen Linao lifted his head and stared straight into the man’s eyes.

“Obviously, I’m sure.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I learned nothing of the vault after torturing every captured Void Blade elder for months?”

Tu Wei flinched.

“You don’t even realize the weight of what we’re facing.” Shen Linao exhaled slowly, expression unreadable.

From the man’s blank stare, it was obvious. He didn’t get it.

Of course he didn’t. This disciple—Tu Wei—was the kind who crushed problems with fists, not thoughts. If it weren’t for the others being tied up in searching for the medallion, Shen Linao would never have sent someone like him to investigate Wang Fu’s disappearance.

So he explained it plainly.

“What this means, Tu Wei,” he said in a cold tone, “is that at least one elder of the Void Blade Sect escaped the purge. Someone important. Someone who knew the vault’s access methods. And worse…”

He stood, robe flowing behind him as the warmth in the room dropped several degrees.

“…They’ve allied with an Established sect. One that has, at the very least, a meridian expansion realm cultivator among them. No one beneath that level could have killed Wang Fu—not with everything I gave him. Not unless he was ambushed. Surrounded.”

Tu Wei stayed kneeling, mind slowly catching up.

“A sect strong enough to hide their strength,” Shen Linao continued. “Smart enough to erase all traces. And ruthless enough to kill everyone.” A dark chuckle escaped him, humorless and hollow.

“Whoever they are… they are dangerous.”

Shen Linao paused, then let out a long, weary sigh.

“Moreover,” he said quietly, “if I’m right… Wang Fu isn’t the type to go down without using every trick he had. No true cultivator is. Which means... something slipped.” He looked away. “Our secret might already be out—loosened and floating somewhere in the folds of fate. Another power now knows what we’ve been hiding. What we’ve pledged ourselves to.”

He turned back toward Tu Wei, gaze sharp enough to cut bone. “Do you understand how much risk we’re in now?”

Tu Wei’s lips parted, but no words came.

“They’ll go to the Emperor,” Shen Linao continued, voice rising a fraction. “If they haven’t already. A Royal Inquisition will follow. And if even a whisper leaks—just a whisper—about who we serve…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Tu Wei’s face drained of all color. “A-Are any of the inquisitors… really that strong, Master?”

Shen Linao’s expression turned grim. “They have domain holders among them. That is strength above anything in this realm. Strength that could flatten this entire sect without lifting a finger. So yes. They’re strong enough to kill every last one of us.”

Tu Wei’s shoulders trembled as he lowered his head again. “Then what… what should we do, Master?”

Shen Linao didn’t respond immediately.

His mind whirred. If the Great Lord caught wind of this failure, he’d be deemed a liability. Burned away without hesitation—just like every other pawn who overstayed their usefulness. And if the Emperor caught wind?

The result would be no different. His choices narrowed. The cost would be immense—but the path to immortality was paved in blood and buried truths.

At last, he spoke.

“I’ll reach out to my contacts in the royal palace. We’ll monitor every whisper, every scroll, every tavern drunk who mutters ‘Blazing Ember’ into a cup. If talk begins to spread, we’ll hear of it.”

Tu Wei nodded stiffly, still pale.

“As for the sect—whoever has taken our rightful reward—they must be found. And when they are…”

His voice dropped, seething. “…we’ll crush them.”

“But… but we don’t know who they are,” Tu Wei said helplessly.

Shen Linao stood tall, power thrumming beneath his robes like a volcano waiting to erupt.

“Then we’ll find out.”

He turned toward the window, where dusk had begun to descend like ink spilled across the sky.

“We’ll activate the [Grand Divination Array]. A full-scale scrying. We’ll find out what happened in that vault… and which sect dares to raise their hand against us.”

His voice echoed with the weight of flame and judgment.

“And once we know…” His fingers curled into a fist. “…we’ll make sure they are burned to the ground, all of them.”

Tu Wei opened his mouth… then closed it again.

He understood. Even with his brute instincts, even with his limited grasp of subtler arts—he understood the price.

Divination wasn’t just some ritual. It was a discipline of cultivation in itself—one that bled qi and burnt lifespan. It meant opening a window through the veil of time and fate, peering into threads that were never meant to be touched.

“We’ll… we’ll need to halve all cultivators in our sect that know any form of divination,” Tu Wei finally said, voice dry in his throat.

“A small price,” Shen Linao replied without hesitation, “to avoid death.”

He turned his back to the disciple, gaze sweeping over the shadowed chamber as if already seeing the flames of war licking at their doorstep.

“They will agree… if I offer them what they all desire—concessions for their families, open access to our inner treasury, and a fast-track to inner sect discipleship for their children. If they refuse…”

He paused. His voice, when it came again, was sharp as glass.

“…then I’ll make them agree.”

There was no outrage. No pause for ethics. The situation was far past that.

“But,” he continued slowly, “at the same time…” His gaze turned, pinning Tu Wei with a spear-sharp intensity. “…you will join the others in searching for the medallion.”

Tu Wei blinked. “The medallion, Master?”

“If we have it,” Shen Linao said, “then we can call upon the Great Lord’s favor. And if he supports us directly… then even if the Empire comes, even if the Heavens descend—we will not fall.”

Tu Wei’s eyes widened. He bowed so low his head scraped the floor. “I will do my best to bring it to you, Master.”

Shen Linao gave a single nod of dismissal. Tu Wei turned and left in hurried steps. The chamber was silent again.

Shen Linao moved toward the window and stood still. Outside, the sky had darkened further—clouds rolling overhead like bruises painted across the heavens.

Was this fate’s punishment?

Was it Heaven itself, condemning him for choosing the easy path to immortality?

For pledging his soul to something other than the Heavenly Dao?

His lips curled slightly.

Let Heaven try. Let them throw their lightning, their righteous cultivators, their domain-wielding heroes. He would break them all.

Because he was not Wang Fu—destined to die a dog’s death in a stolen vault. He was not another pawn discarded by fate.

He was Shen Linao. Infernal Spear of the Empire. And a future immortal, rising not through virtue—but through fire. And when he stood at the peak, looking down at the righteous path shattered beneath him, he would laugh.

Because in the end… the Heavens never chained those born of flame.

***

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