The stench of blood and salt clung to Hua Yang Zhenjun's tattered robes as he fled through collapsing corridors, his once-pristine cultivation robes now indistinguishable from beggar's rags. Every gasping breath tore at the gaping wound where Zhao Rui's Rahu Arrow had pierced his golden core—a violation that left his qi leaking like smoke from a dying censer. Behind him, the distant roar of pursuing cultivators echoed through waterlogged halls, their vengeful cries harmonizing with the Dragon Palace's death rattle.
Pathetic, Hua Yang thought, bile rising with each limping step. To be hunted by insects I once brushed aside with a sleeve's flick. His remaining hand clutched the empty spatial pouch where the Dragon King's Golden Blood had rested—its absence a phantom pain sharper than any physical wound.
Echoes of Scattered Glory
In the coral-choked outskirts of the ruins, Li Yongzhe watched the True Monarch's escape through a fractured scrying mirror. The Demon Sect's Six Paths Master traced the blood trail staining seawater pink, his silver brows knitting. "Cha Feixiong. Do you smell it?"
The Demonic Master inhaled deeply, his scarred nostrils flaring. "Fear. Desperation. And... burnt cinnamon?"
"The stench of a collapsing golden core." Li's lacquered nails tapped the mirror's edge. "Hua Yang's dao heart has shattered. Even if he survives, he'll never reclaim his former glory."
Cha's laughter sent skeletal fish scattering. "Let the righteous sects hunt their wounded lion. We'll find the true prize elsewhere." His clawed finger stabbed toward the palace's central spire where shadowed figures slipped through a crumbling archway. "The vermin who orchestrated this farce."
Shadows in Celestial Light
Zhao Rui materialized on the jade-etched platform of Celestial Blessings Mirage, the Ten Thousand Laws Tome humming against his hip. Around him, the eternal marketplace of cultivators buzzed with fresh gossip—merchant spirits hawking Phoenix Tail Feathers paused mid-pitch to whisper behind silk sleeves.
"—heard the True Monarch's golden core now decorates the Moonwell's floor—"
"—Five-Clawed Bone Dragon's curse ripped his meridians bare—"
"—that upstart from Yellow Springs wielded a bow that drank starlight—"
Dun Che's ear twitched beneath his glamoured human guise. "Brother, they're composing ballads about us."
"Quiet." Zhao Rui's gaze swept the crowd. Three stalls down, a River Sect disciple's eyes lingered too long on his spatial ring. "We're phantoms here. Remember that."
The fox demon adjusted the stolen scholar's robe clinging to his bulky frame. "But the Tome—"
"—remains silent unless provoked." Zhao Rui brushed past a giggling flower spirit vendor, his steps quickening toward the spiraling pagoda of the Artificer's Guild. "And we are here to listen."
Artificer's Revelation
Master Xuanling nearly dropped his jade calipers when Zhao Rui placed the artifacts on his alchemy bench. The wizened artificer's breath fogged the Dragon King's Golden Blood vial as he examined its swirling luminescence. "You tread where even immortals hesitate, Ghostspire."
"Do they?" Zhao Rui leaned against a shelf of screaming soul jars. "The dragons left only bones and echoes. I merely... followed the whispers."
Xuanling's chuckle rattled like dried bones. "To the Dragon Throne's corpse, it seems." His finger traced cracks in the amphora where Hua Yang's desperate grip had left indentations. "This blood once fueled the Nine Heavenly Tribulations. A single drop could resurrect mountains from seabeds—or unravel a cultivator's dao foundation if misapplied."
Dun Che snorted. "We saw the resurrection bit. Needs work on the unraveling part."
"Ah, but you witnessed its diluted power." The artificer's milky eyes gleamed. "Pure Golden Blood hasn't flowed since the Dragon Emperor ascended. What you possess is but runoff from celestial veins—yet potent enough to make Hua Yang's avarice seem prudent."
Zhao Rui's mask remained impassive, but the Tome flared in response to his spiking pulse. "And the Ten Thousand Laws?"
Xuanling recoiled as if burned. "That accursed scripture should have died with Bei Mang Eaglefiend! Its pages chronicle soul-rending techniques that make the Crimson Fiend Devourer Art seem child's play." His gnarled hands sketched warding sigils in the air. "The Eaglefiend used it to strip nine dragon lords of their essence during the Ocean's Desolation. Their screams reportedly froze an entire sea for a millennium."
Marketplace Whispers
As Xuanling detailed purification rituals for the Golden Blood, Zhao Rui's attention drifted to the guild's open window. Below, a Thunder Peak Sect elder dramatically reenacted Hua Yang's flight for a crowd of wide-eyed novices.
"—and then the upstart archer loosed a arrow woven from dead stars!" The elder's staff sparked for emphasis. "Pierced the Tyrant's golden core like a hot nail through snow!"
A young disciple clasped her hands in mock prayer. "May the heavens grant me such a shot against my sister in the upcoming tournament!"
Zhao Rui's lips twitched beneath his mask. Let them weave legends, he thought. The truth would curdle their dao hearts.
Dun Che's elbow jabbed his ribs. "Brother. The old man's staring."
Xuanling had fallen silent, his gaze locked on the Tome's newly manifested illustrations—depictions of Zhao Rui standing amidst collapsing stars, the Golden Blood vial empty and the Tome burning in his hands.
"Ghostspire..." The artificer's voice trembled. "You understand these artifacts aren't mere tools? They're legacies—and legacies demand heirs."
Zhao Rui gathered the relics with deliberate slowness. "Then let the Dragon Throne's heirs come. I'll add their bones to Hua Yang's."
As they exited, Xuanling's final warning followed like a funeral dirge: "Beware the blood's song, wanderer. What dragons abandon, the deep hungers to reclaim."