The air snapped.
A thunderclap shook the administration hall. The jade tiles beneath his feet groaned. Outside, shouts rose, the unmistakable hum of the defensive array awakening with a low, resonant moan.
Then came the fire.
It bloomed beyond the gate in a pillar, a twisting inferno that clawed at the sky. The horizon itself bled red. Huang Ke froze, ink brush hovering just above the contract parchment. The clerk was already scrambling, scrolls forgotten, as alarms screamed across the compound.
For a heartbeat, Huang Ke stood motionless, the sack of precious point slips still in his hand.
Then instinct took over.
He bolted outside.
The square had become a sea of flame. Workers ran screaming. Slaves and retainers trampled one another, trying to escape the blaze. Heat shimmered in the air, distorting stone and soul alike.
And in the sky, three figures hovered, unmoving as the world below burned.
A woman in a black military suit, crisp and spotless despite the chaos. A commander's cap crowned her head, marked with an unfamiliar emblem.
A man in a suit and tophat, cane in hand, but no part of him was truly human. His form shimmered like a living constellation, skin inked in shifting stars. He was not flesh, but night sky itself, shaped into a man's silhouette.
And the third…
"Oliver…?"
Huang Ke's breath caught.
The boy still wore his ragged clothes, threadbare and soot-streaked. But fire licked along his arms, dancing like a second skin. His hair was a burning halo, his eyes alight with power he did not have before.
Huang Ke was stunned.
Confused.
Terrified.
And more than anything—pissed.
This was supposed to be his day. His one damn day.
Then the woman's voice rang out piercing the air:
"This realm," she declared, "is now under the jurisdiction of the United Realm Republic. The Qin family is to surrender immediately. This land and its people are no longer yours."
Her words echoed through the burning square like a divine edict.
A ripple of spiritual pressure surged from deep within the compound—and then, rising from the inner sanctum, came Qin Chun.
His robes were white as untouched snow, hair bound high in a knot. His spiritual pressure poured out in waves heavy, oppressive. A storm of qi encircled him as he rose into the sky.
"So," Qin Chun said, voice smooth as polished jade, "the United Realm Council finally bares its teeth. And you bring only three?"
He sneered.
"Three sixth-step cultivators dare provoke me in my land? I, Qin Chun, am on the seventh step and the branch of Qin Clan is here in full."
As if summoned by his voice, dozens of cultivators appeared at his side, shimmering into view robes fluttering, swords gleaming.
"You're courting death juniors." Qin Chun declared.
Huang Ke's fingers curled into fists.
Qin Chun.
The man who had lured him here with honeyed words.
Every time Huang Ke saw that face, he wanted to scream. Or kill. Or both.
Up in the sky, the woman didn't flinch. She met Qin Chun's gaze with a smirk.
"You've said enough, old man."
She tilted her head.
"Cultivation realm? What an oldie, who even cares about such things anymore."
Then she laughed in amusement.
"And who said we came alone?"
She turned to her comrades.
"Oliver, clear the battlefield. Burn all the Qin dogs."
The boy nodded, eyes alight with fire.
"Cheng Nan—cover me. I'll deal with the elder."
The man gave a shallow bow.
"As you command."
Then he tapped his cane against the empty air.
Space rippled.
Time groaned.
And in that moment, the cultivators of the Qin Clan drew their blades. Hundreds of them, each humming with blood-forged will.
But the woman did not falter.
From beneath her coat, she pulled a flare.
She fired.
The flare screamed into the sky—higher, higher—then burst.
A flower of light, crimson and white.
From it, a portal bloomed—like a wound torn in the heavens.
And from that wound… something stepped through.
From the portal, they came rows upon rows of soldiers clad in the same storm-gray uniform, rifles shouldered with ritual precision. Their boots struck the air as if it were stone, marching on invisible lines, each step echoing with a rhythm that did not belong to this world.
Then came the gunfire.
The first volley cracked like thunder across the sky. Musket balls flared with embedded spirituality, shattering barriers, piercing flight. Cultivators answered with blade and treasures, qi rippling like banners, light and flame clashing midair.
And in the midst of it all, the woman moved.
From her coat, she drew a handful of small black cubes, ordinary at a glance, save for the hum of spirit metal beneath their skin. With a flick of her fingers, they expanded midair, unfolding with the sound of grinding brass and whispering glyphs. Each transformed, humanoid shapes with gleaming limbs and weapon-etched arms. Automatons of war, each distinct, each lethal.
One shifted further—into a massive greatsword, way too big compared to her body.
It spun once, then dropped.
The woman caught it.
And with that, she charged.
Her form blurred a bolt of black lightning streaking toward Qin Chun.
Their blades met with the ring of worlds colliding.
A ripple tore through the sky.
And then the battlefield descended into chaos.
Figures blurred in and out of reality. Cultivators leapt from rooftop to rooftop, clashing with musket-men and automatons. The sky became a war of lights: fire and shadow, steel and thunder.
Below, the town burned. But this time, the flame did not kill.
It guided.
Oliver's fire flowed like a living river, carving safe paths through the smoke. The heat parted gently for the workers, forming bridges, clearing rubble, herding them away from danger.
Some cultivators shouted, calling to the slaves, commanding, threatening.
"Stay and fight!"
But none obeyed.
None listened.
The fire would not let them.
It flicked toward the screaming cultivators like a warning serpent, scorching away command and fear alike.
Huang Ke ran.
He didn't know where. Didn't care. Just away, away from the blades, away from the dreams turned nightmare.
Then—
A familiar voice, soft and steady, came to him through the fire itself.
"Sorry, man."
It was Oliver.
The fire bent around Huang Ke gently.
"It wasn't my intention to ruin your 10 years of hard work. Today was just the scheduled date for the attack. It was planned long before…."
Huang Ke slowed.
Breathless. Tired. But listening.
Oliver's voice was warm. Earnest. Still laced with that same hope, now tempered with power.
"But you'll be free nonetheless once this is over. I just want to tell you that. The republic will take care of you. They are much better than the great clans."
The words eased something in Huang Ke's chest. Not entirely, but enough. His hands loosened.
The world still burned. But someone had thought of him.
Then a scream rang out and the fire parted.
A cultivator, a man, no older than Oliver, clad in the gold-trimmed robes of the Qin burst through the flames. His eyes burned with righteous fury, and a flying sword zipped behind him like a hawk mid-dive.
He'd pierced the firewall.
The fire parted, revealing Oliver's human form.
The sword lunged forward.
But Oliver stood firm.
"It will finish soon."
Then he turned, fully facing the enemy, flames curling around him like wings.
"Oh—and by the way… everything I said? About Earth. About who I am. It was partially true."
He smiled one last time.
Not a farewell.
But a promise.
"I'll see you around."
Then Oliver stepped forward, flames flaring. The young cultivator met him with a roar and the two vanished into the blaze.
Huang Ke stood, rooted, as fire and smoke swept past him.
Then he turned.
And he ran out of the town.