“I’ve prepared a Starspan for each of you,” Seraphine said coolly. “Once activated, it will reduce everything within several miles to dust.

  When the time comes, you only need to invoke it silently in your mind.

  Whether you choose to condense it into a focused beam to pierce a single enemy, or scatter it as an endless rain of swords to decimate a crowd: that choice is yours.”

  As she spoke, a faint glimmer passed through her eyes. Seraphine sent a mental transmission to both disciples: the precise coordinates of the Heavenreach Sect’s headquarters.

  “The Heavenreach Sect is hidden on Skypond Island, fifteen hundred kilometers east of Ashara.

  This sect practices strange and ancient arts. They’ve concealed their presence for generations; no one has been able to locate them.

  But now, I’ve found them.

  Approach from a hundred meters above the island’s perimeter. Then, use Aether vibration techniques to disrupt their shielding array. That will expose the headquarters.”

  This method, in truth, had originally been developed by Kael in the canonical timeline. Seraphine had simply appropriated it and passed it to her disciples with neither pride nor hesitation.

  Vale and Kael stepped forward and cupped their fists respectfully.

  “As you command, Master.”

  They turned to leave, cloaks stirring faintly in the wind, only for Seraphine’s voice to cut through the air once more.

  “Wait.”

  They halted mid-step.

  She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes faintly glowing.

  “How are you two planning to get there?”

  “Uh...”

  The two exchanged awkward looks. Vale replied, hesitantly:

  “We were going to... take a plane?”

  “No.”

  Seraphine’s expression didn’t change.

  “You’ll go on foot. No transportation of any kind.”

  There was no anger in her voice, just the weight of an unspoken lesson.

  Both immediately understood: this was training.

  Their Master was giving them a trial disguised as a journey.

  Vale and Kael straightened their backs. Their voices were firm now.

  “Yes, Master.”

  Seraphine turned fully now, her silver gaze distant.

  “Remember: don’t disappoint me.”

  The two disciples bowed deeply.

  “We won’t, Master.”

  And then, two streaks of wind flashed from the training grounds, vanishing across the distant sky.

  Ten minutes passed.

  A servant entered the room, opening the doors with careful urgency. He knelt respectfully before Seraphine and reported:

  “Your Highness, a summons has arrived from the Imperial Palace. His Majesty requests your presence at tonight’s royal banquet.”

  “Ah...”

  Seraphine turned slightly, her gaze turning inward.

  She whispered, half to herself:

  “A royal summons... What’s Father planning this time?”

  ...

  Night fell over Ashara.

  At the heart of the Emberlight Imperial Palace, within the grand Sunspire Hall, soft golden lights flickered to life as princes and princesses began arriving one after another.

  Five princes. Four princesses.

  The First Prince, Hawke Aurenthal, was rotund and affable, his round cheeks perpetually wearing a gentle smile. Yet behind that smile, a faint shadow of cold arrogance lurked.

  The Second Princess, Yunthae Aurenthal, known as the Eldest Princess, was cool, composed, and elegant. Though well into her forties, her every movement exuded grace and refinement.

  The Third Prince, Hestan Aurenthal, was a mountain of a man clad in military uniform. His thick beard bristled with aggression; even in silence, his presence commanded attention.

  The Fifth Prince, Cedric Aurenthal, carried himself with unshakable dignity. Handsome and noble, every inch of him looked carved for leadership.

  By contrast, the Fourth Prince, Lucien, and the Sixth Prince, Alric, lingered together at the periphery, whispering in hushed tones. Though not lacking in appearance, their bearing lacked the gravitas of their elder siblings.

  The Seventh Princess, Rainelle, and the Eighth Princess, Lanessa, still young and full of spirit, hurried toward the Eldest Princess, giggling as they clung to her arms.

  Even Yunthae’s cold countenance softened under their infectious laughter.

  Just then, Seraphine stepped into the hall, her gait unhurried, hands loosely clasped, her gaze distant and calm.

  The Seventh and Eighth Princesses turned at once, their eyes brightening.

  “Sera!” they cried in unison, running toward her. “You’ve become even more beautiful!”

  “Your skin is glowing! Not a single pore! Quick: what skincare do you use?! Tell us your secrets!”

  Seraphine gave a faint smile. “Rainelle, Lanessa. I’ve only made a small breakthrough in martial cultivation. That’s all.”

  “Martial arts?” Rainelle blinked. “Ugh, that sounds exhausting...”

  “Let’s just forget it,” Lanessa sighed. “Beauty first.”

  “Seraphine, you’re too modest.”

  A warm voice cut in.

  Cedric Aurenthal approached with an elegant smile. “You’re the number one martial artist in all of Emberlight. A slight breakthrough? I’d say that’s underselling it.”

  There was no hostility in his tone, but Seraphine caught the undertone.

  Victor and his men, Cedric’s people, had perished in her courtyard.

  He knew.

  He hadn’t expected it. Seraphine, the overlooked Ninth Princess, had been hiding a monster beneath the veil.

  When he first received the intelligence report, Cedric had thought someone had made a mistake.

  “Seraphine!”

  A massive hand shoved Cedric aside.

  Hestan Aurenthal stormed forward, his voice booming.

  “If you’re so capable, why haven’t you joined the army?! What a damn waste! Here’s what: we finish the banquet, you come with me to the Ministry of War. I’ll make you a captain.

  You’re of age. Don’t waste your life like Fourth and Sixth, lounging around in idleness.

  Come train my men. Pass your strength to those who actually serve Emberlight!”

  His tone was commanding, undeniable, like thunder.

  Seraphine looked up at him, her voice icy.

  “Hestan Aurenthal, are you trying to order me?”

  The entire hall fell silent.

  Eyes widened. No one could believe it.

  The Ninth Princess had spoken his full name and challenged him openly.

  No one ever interrupted Hestan. Not since they were children. Not once.

  Even the proud princes and graceful princesses avoided confrontation with their Third Brother.

  Hestan froze. His thick face reddened. His brows drew low; he was about to erupt.

  “Alright.”

  The tension snapped.

  Hawke, the First Prince, strolled over, his voice calm.

  “This is the palace,” he said gently. “Not a place for petty squabbles. Disperse.”

  Rainelle and Lanessa let out breaths of relief, giggling as they scurried off.

  Cedric gave Hestan a long look, then Seraphine, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He turned and left without a word.

  Hestan clenched his fists. Then, with a grunt, he stormed away toward the front of the hall.

  Only Hawke and Seraphine remained.

  He turned to her with his usual smile.

  “I understand your reputation, Seraphine Bellamy,” he said softly. “But this is the palace. Keep a low profile.

  Brute force, no matter how impressive, is only one path. For royals like us, wisdom and courage matter far more.”

  He clasped his hands, preparing to leave.

  But behind him, Seraphine’s voice floated like a blade of wind.

  “Without strength, even the greatest wisdom and courage are castles built on clouds. Don’t you agree?”

  Hawke paused mid-step. His body stiffened ever so slightly. Then he walked away, saying nothing.

  Seraphine watched him go, smiling faintly.

  “How dull. The games of mortals scrambling in the mire of power.”

  With her vast Mental Power, Seraphine could sense it all: the emotional landscape of the palace. Cold, hollow. Affection was a performance.

  Even the bright laughter of Rainelle and Lanessa, even Cedric’s pleasantness, even Hawke’s gentle words: none of it was real.

  All warmth in this family was manufactured illusion.

  For a brief moment, Seraphine found herself wondering.

  If I revealed power enough to flatten cities, to bring kingdoms to their knees...

  How would these so-called royals react?

  That thought... amused her.

  At that moment, the golden doors at the end of the hall slowly opened.

  Servants stepped forward, gently supporting a frail figure clad in black and gold.

  The Emperor of Emberlight, Muren Aurenthal, entered.

  With slow but deliberate motion, he settled atop the dragon throne.

  He raised one hand.

  Silence fell instantly across the Sunspire Hall.

  The assembled princes and princesses moved to their respective square tables, settling down in silence.

  Dozens of nimble court servants moved gracefully between them, setting down plates of gilded delicacies and crystal chalices filled with fragrant wines.

  In mere moments, every table gleamed with a small feast of rare and exquisite dishes.

  Yet no one touched the food.

  At the front of the grand hall, the Emperor of Emberlight spoke leisurely, his voice drifting like smoke.

  “The reason I summoned you all here tonight... is nothing more than to select a successor.”

  The words fell like thunder.

  The atmosphere shifted immediately.

  Hawke, Hestan, and Cedric straightened in their seats. Their pupils gleamed, their hearts racing beneath composed exteriors.

  Even the usually uninspired Fourth Prince Lucien and Sixth Prince Alric stiffened, their eyes flickering with long-repressed desire.

  Only a few of the princesses remained outwardly calm, yet even their gazes sharpened.

  After all, Emberlight had known female sovereigns before.

  The old Emperor's gaze flicked, pausing briefly on Seraphine, unblinking, unreadable.

  Then he turned his head and said softly:

  "Liora. You may begin."

  From behind the throne, Liora, the black-robed monk, stepped forward.

  His kasaya whispered with every step. He bowed deeply to the Emperor, then turned around and swept his gaze across the room, his eyes ancient, his presence like a mountain in mist.

  Strangely, he seemed not to be looking at the princes and princesses... but through them.

  Past them.

  To something far beyond.

  The old Emperor’s voice rang again, cold and weighty:

  "You are all aware of the return of Ether, are you not?

  The age is changing. The old rules, what governed before, may no longer suit what is to come.

  I must find the one... most suited for the new era."

  He gestured to the monk beside him.

  “This is Master Liora, the foremost fate-calculator in all of Emberlight.”

  He gave no long speech, only a short, solemn acknowledgment of Liora’s power. Then declared:

  “This time, he shall read your destinies. And based on that... I will decide who is worthy to become my successor.”

  A storm of emotions erupted across the hall.

  Though the tables overflowed with rich delicacies, no one dared eat.

  Instead, every gaze locked onto Liora, who began to walk slowly.

  “Amitabha.”

  The monk’s solemn voice drifted like fog as he approached the Sixth Prince’s table. With measured calm, he sat cross-legged on the ground.

  He said nothing.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  He merely looked at Alric.

  And under that gaze, the young prince began to tremble uncontrollably.

  “M-Master, I—”

  But before he could finish, Liora’s eyes ignited with divine light.

  A wave of invisible force pulsed outward. The very air in Sunspire Hall grew still, thick, as if time itself were caught in prayer.

  Then, Liora raised his hands and began forming seals.

  One after another, his fingers weaved mudras so quickly they blurred into afterimages.

  At the same time, he chanted.

  The incantations were ancient, solemn, incomprehensible, and terrifying.

  Each syllable struck the spirit like a drumbeat from the void.

  Even those who could not understand the words... could feel their meaning.

  A whisper that pressed into every mind:

  “With life as payment, I beseech the Heavenly Dao,

  Show me destiny.”

  At once, the last shreds of contempt the princes had held toward this monk shattered.

  Even the skeptical looked upon him with awe, and dread.

  And at the side of the hall, Seraphine watched with faint amusement.

  “Interesting… this technique of channeling spiritual force.”

  A glint appeared in her eyes.

  She remembered now.

  In the original narrative of 《Dragonblood》, Liora had only made a brief appearance.

  Just a few lines.

  And yet his fate-reading power had left an impression on every reader.

  Of course, the original work had been vague, deliberately evasive in describing the deeper mechanics of “observing fate.”

  But some lore-seekers had unearthed the truth.

  The so-called fate calculation...

  Its essence was this:

  Liora, by drawing on his immense soul cultivation and burning his own lifespan, performed an esoteric ritual.

  Through obscure spiritual techniques, he reached out to touch the faded echoes of the once-existent Gaia consciousness.

  That, the will of the Earth, served only as a gate.

  Through it, he would plunge into something far greater,

  The Collective Unconsciousness of mankind.

  A spiritual ocean, vast and unknowable.

  There, in that abyss, lie the sum of all human instincts, ancestral memories, and primordial desires.

  It was similar, yet distinct, from the Counter Force Alaya of a certain anime.

  It had no shape. No voice. No judgment.

  Only a silent, natural phenomenon, a well of shared archetypes and psychic truths that influenced every living soul.

  Within it, two things reigned:

  Instinct, the source of all action.

  Archetype, the form that gives those instincts meaning.

  Together, they wove the threads of destiny.

  Perhaps, Seraphine thought, this was also something like the Akasha Records,

  But more primitive, more raw.

  A terrestrial mirror of the divine book of fate.

  Throughout the ages, spirit cultivators had grasped fragments of this great truth.

  But only Liora had dared to refine it, to climb it, to grasp its principles and stand at its summit.

  He had distilled the teachings of ancient sages, monks, philosophers, and prophets.

  And then, with a clarity that no one before him had achieved, he stepped beyond them all.

  To put it simply,

  After performing his fate calculation, Liora could see a person’s overall trajectory after countless interactions, collisions, and entanglements with both other beings and the material world.

  Together, these threads wove the complete outline of a life.

  Of course, given Liora’s soul cultivation still lingered within the mortal realm, Seraphine speculated that he likely hovered only around the outer fringes of that spiritual database, the Ocean of All Beings, known in obscure doctrine as Alaya.

  Exhausting his essence for each reading, all he could grasp was a blurred silhouette of one’s life, painted in broad strokes.

  Yet even so, Seraphine's gaze shimmered faintly.

  “In a world barren of Ether… and still capable of creating such a world-shaking, unconventional art.”

  She softly shook her head.

  “What a pity. You’re bound by this world. Had you been born elsewhere in the cosmos, perhaps in a star system brimming with Ether, you might’ve ascended to become the overlord of that star system.”

  Her thoughts were still lingering when the reading concluded.

  Liora now appeared visibly older, his skin more ashen, his posture heavier. By contrast, the Sixth Prince looked utterly dazed, clearly unaware of what had just occurred.

  At the front of the hall, the Emperor of Emberlight asked lightly:

  “Liora. What of the Sixth Prince’s destiny?”

  The monk slowly rose, his expression solemn.

  “The Sixth Prince possesses a destiny of foolish mediocrity.”

  The old Emperor gave a slight shake of his head. He said nothing more.

  The hall fell into silence, thick with awkwardness.

  Foolish mediocrity.

  A cruel verdict, yet brutally honest.

  The Sixth Prince’s face darkened instantly. His lips trembled, but he remained silent.

  At the other tables, a few people allowed the corners of their mouths to curl slightly in amusement.

  Liora continued.

  He stepped before Cedric, the Fifth Prince, and sat once more.

  Cedric maintained his trademark gentle smile, but in his eyes flickered a trace of unease.

  The spiritual wind stirred again.

  Moments later, Liora’s voice rang out:

  “The Fifth Prince is shrewd and secretive, adept at borrowing external forces to strike down his foes. He weaves ties with merchants and builds bridges to the outside world.

  Should he ascend, the nations surrounding Emberlight would find themselves vexed and cornered.”

  “This... is the indistinct sign of a Sly Dragon.”

  Cedric’s brows relaxed, his smile blooming with quiet satisfaction.

  Sly Dragon, clearly a far cry from foolish mediocrity.

  Yet the Emperor frowned.

  “A Sly Dragon may suit a small kingdom, but Emberlight is no mere borderland. A faint Dragon aura won’t suffice.”

  From nearby, Hestan let out a low snort and muttered:

  “To put it plainly, just a coward hiding behind coins.”

  Hawke, who had been sipping calmly with his head slightly raised, allowed a flicker of contempt to surface at the edge of his lips.

  Cedric's smile froze. His back stiffened; his face turned pale.

  Seraphine didn’t look up, her gaze fixed on a piece of pear blossom cake as she took another graceful bite.

  Next, Liora approached the Fourth Prince.

  Not long after beginning, the monk’s calm voice declared:

  “A destiny of mediocrity.”

  Pfft~!

  Hestan spat out his wine in laughter.

  “No wonder you two always stick together like a pair of bumbling shadows. A perfect duo of fools!”

  The Fourth Prince hastily covered his face, humiliated, refusing to meet the Emperor’s gaze.

  Then, Liora turned toward the First Prince.

  As he sat before him, Hawke Aurenthal maintained his dignified composure: head high, chin lifted slightly, a noble smile on his plump face.

  Moments passed.

  Then the monk spoke:

  “Noble and proud. Of extraordinary value. Views the common folk as mere straw and earth, attuned to the order of the aristocratic few.

  Should he ascend the throne, the world will be... stable.

  This is the sign of a Golden Jade Dragon.”

  Hawke’s smile burst forth with restrained brilliance.

  Yes. That was right.

  He had always believed: the masses were ignorant and crude.

  Emberlight stood not upon their backs, but upon the elite: the noble, the gifted, the blooded. The Royal Family!

  He, as the emperor’s eldest son, was the elite of elites, the crown upon the crown.

  The throne was his by right.

  Soft murmurs rippled through the grand hall.

  Even the normally aloof princesses nodded to one another: those words, “Golden Jade Dragon” and “the world will be stable”, were no low evaluation.

  Cedric’s eyes darkened. Hestan’s remained unmoved, faint pride hidden in their depths.

  Then, suddenly:

  The Emperor of Emberlight let out a long laugh.

  “To become a puppet of the nobles, hidden away in deep courtyards, cut off from the affairs of the world... of course the realm will be stable! Ha!”

  His voice turned cold.

  “A ruler must cherish the people. Must be kind, yes—but never blind.”

  “Power doesn’t arise from bloodlines or courtly pedigree. It erupts from the ground beneath our feet! From the will of millions of commoners, not nobles clinging to their ancestry!”

  The words cracked through the still air like thunder.

  The Sunspire Hall fell into dead silence.

  And Hawke’s proud face, stiff and pale, became a frozen mask.

  “Ah~”

  Hestan chuckled, lifting his goblet to sip, utterly satisfied.

  Just then, Liora, now visibly aged decades, slowly walked to Hestan’s table.

  The Third Prince tilted his head, grinning.

  “Master monk, tell me: can your fate arts be used in war?”

  Liora paused. He shook his head.

  “This monk reads fate. I do not command armies.”

  “Tsk~ Useless, then.” Hestan waved a hand, disappointed.

  Still, the ritual began.

  The winds shifted.

  Liora’s lips moved. His fingers blurred. And after a long, still moment, his face—finally—changed.

  A hint of fear.

  He opened his mouth, voice slower this time, resonant:

  “The Third Highness is domineering in nature, born to command, mastering the art of force.

  His entire life is entwined with chaos and fire.

  He will wage war across the world, toppling thrones and kingdoms alike.”

  “This is the destiny of a Heavenly-Appointed Military Lord.”

  A heartbeat of silence.

  Then: laughter. Roaring and bright.

  Hestan’s chest swelled with pride. His face lit up with blazing ambition.

  This was the fate he dreamed of.

  This was the future that fit his hands like a sword’s hilt.

  Meanwhile, not far away:

  Hawke’s and Cedric’s gazes turned cold as steel.

  Seraphine, however, remained indifferent.

  Tilting her head slightly in recollection, she murmured softly,

  "I remember... in the original plot, the Third Prince became the successor. Later, he was casually killed by me."

  She poured herself another cup of wine, her gaze lazy and cool.

  "Fate, ah ~ nothing more than a toy in the hands of the strong."

  The words lingered in the quiet air, untouched by tension.

  At the front of the hall, the Emperor of Emberlight wore a strange expression: caught between joy and hesitation.

  “Such a fierce destiny... in the past, it wouldn’t have been a good choice. But... an unprecedented change looms…”

  The moment those words left his lips, everyone understood.

  The old emperor had already made a choice in his heart.

  If no stronger destiny emerged, then the Third Prince Hestan would likely seize the title of Successor.

  A subtle silence fell across the hall.

  The Emperor of Emberlight glanced at the old monk, who now swayed unsteadily like a dying flame, and said gently:

  “Liora, do you wish to rest?”

  But Liora shook his head.

  He walked forward, step by unsteady step, and sat cross-legged before Seraphine.

  Then: he began the fate calculation.

  Buzz—

  The spell ignited.

  A strange, spiraling force of spiritual power—twisted, intricate, and obscure—enveloped Seraphine’s soul.

  The world fell into a state of absolute stillness.

  She tilted her head slightly, observing it.

  “Complex and intricate... mysterious and eerie.”

  The Eye of True Revelation activated on its own, absorbing everything, learning rapidly.

  At this rate, Seraphine thought, it wouldn’t be long before she, too, could perform this so-called "fate calculation."

  But for Liora, the spellcaster, it was a descent into hell.

  The moment he looked into the Ninth Princess’s fate, his spiritual field collapsed completely.

  In the depths of his vision, a boundless, formless deity suddenly filled all space.

  His body locked.

  His spirit shattered.

  It felt like a thousand dull knives stabbing from the inside out.

  That moment, Liora understood.

  So you… Ninth Princess… you are my destined calamity!

  The thought, so sharp and clear, sliced through his fear.

  And for the first time, the old monk smiled: a faint, contented smile.

  For Liora had long stopped fearing death.

  What he feared was the unknown.

  This monk’s journey ends today!

  Suddenly:

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  Clear sounds of shifting bones echoed from within him.

  He had broken through the final shackle of his mind:

  Evershield Body, achieved in the face of death.

  It seems heaven lends me a final gift… Ninth Highness, allow me to perceive you completely!

  Liora gritted his teeth, enduring the searing agony as his brain boiled, his soul fraying at the edges.

  His eyes gleamed, blazing with divine fire.

  Then:

  Within his vision, the immense deity slowly turned its gaze upon him.

  Eyes cold.

  Eyes empty of all warmth.

  Eyes that belonged not to a human, nor even a god, but to something far beyond comprehension.

  The old monk’s body froze.

  And in the next breath:

  His eyes burst.

  Blood and fluid sprayed in torrents.

  “Ah—! Ggghhh!”

  He let out a strangled cry, but only for a second.

  Then he suppressed it with inhuman willpower.

  And continued the calculation.

  By now, the surrounding princes and princesses had all noticed something was wrong.

  Even the Emperor stood up, sharp light flashing in his ancient eyes.

  Such an intense reaction…

  Could it be that Seraphine’s fate far surpassed even Hestan’s?!

  Suddenly—

  Liora’s body ignited.

  Not with fire from this world, but with strange blood-colored flame, ghastly and ancient.

  Within the rising, blistering heat, he opened his cracked lips.

  His voice was hoarse yet filled with awe.

  “The Ninth Highness… is she a divine physician? Or a demon?”

  “Like a deity fallen into the mortal realm...”

  “Before her, all under heaven...”

  “To overturn the world’s order… to soar through the cosmos… all is but a passing thought.”

  The hall exploded into uproar.

  What was this pronouncement?!

  Could it be that the Ninth Princess was truly something beyond mortal comprehension?

  At the far end, Cedric sat paralyzed, his wine forgotten, whispering in despair:

  “Impossible…”

  “Good! Good! GOOD!”

  The Emperor of Emberlight roared with laughter, his voice booming through the pillars.

  “Liora! What destiny is this?! Speak clearly!”

  By now, the old monk had become nothing more than a charred husk, standing amid the ghastly flames.

  And yet

  He clasped his blackened hands together and smiled.

  “The Ninth Highness bears a destiny to bury all eternity…”

  “And to defy heaven, defy the dao!!!”

  His voice faded.

  CRACK

  Liora’s body collapsed into ash and scorched bone.

  His fate calculation, his final act in this life, was complete.

  "HA! HA! HA! HA!!"

  The Emperor of Emberlight threw his head back and laughed to the sky.

  His ancient face shone with mad joy.

  “Heaven has mercy! Heaven has mercy!! My Emberlight… prospers!!!”

  He flicked his sleeves, pointed directly at the unhurried Seraphine, and declared in a firm, sonorous voice:

  “From this day forth, I declare Seraphine the successor to Emberlight!”

  The words struck like thunder.

  The three princesses widened their beautiful eyes, staring at Seraphine in shock. Now that Liora had perished, it was no longer possible to read their destinies.

  Hawke rubbed his temples, silent.

  Cedric’s lips twitched slightly, his expression grim and defeated.

  BOOM

  Hestan slammed his fist into the square table, shattering it into pieces. His face contorted into something feral and ugly.

  The three men, each with their own brand of turmoil, turned their gazes toward the distant Seraphine.

  She, sensing their scrutiny, whether probing, dark, or blazing with wrath, simply smiled. Calmly, she lifted her head and met their eyes.

  BOOM!!!

  It was as if a psychic blast exploded within their minds.

  Their skulls rang. Their vision dimmed and blurred. Their heads throbbed with stabbing pain.

  They dared not look at her any longer.

  They knew it was Seraphine’s doing.

  But they also knew, they no longer had the qualifications to resist her.

  And so, they all quietly sat back down, suppressing their rage, swallowing their pride, and said nothing.

  What they did not know was that Seraphine had done nothing at all.

  She had merely released a trace, no more than a thread, of her natural aura through her gaze.

  That alone had been enough to overwhelm them.

  Had it not been for the faint bonds of blood and the presence of their father the Emperor...

  Seraphine, by her own temperament, would have already reduced the three to dust this very night.

  As her soul continued to expand and deepen, Seraphine had long since confirmed:

  She was not an intruder within this body.

  She had never stolen someone else’s body.

  She was, and had always been, the Ninth Princess Seraphine.

  ...

  Thousands of miles southeast of Emberlight, in Zen City, within a sprawling manor.

  “Master, we found the young master… in the Ashara landfill. At the time he was... with several female dogs”

  “Enough! Stop talking!”

  A plump, well-dressed middle-aged man raised a hand, cutting the servant off with an icy snap.

  In the next room, a woman clutched a filthy, foul-smelling young man in her arms, crying out hoarsely:

  “My son! Alec! My poor son, what have they done to you?!”

  But Alec, eyes rolling madly, tongue lolling out like a beast, only panted and whimpered, his gaze darting around the room in panic.

  The middle-aged man, Xander Chur, clasped his hands behind his back and sighed deeply.

  “Ah... this is karma. A karmic debt…”

  “Xander!!”

  His wife, Meira, whirled on him, her eyes wild and red with rage.

  “That’s your son lying there like a dog! Don’t stand there sighing, find a way to fix him! Or are you going to let him stay like this forever?!”

  “Fix him?!”

  Xander’s expression turned thunderous.

  “If it weren’t for you spoiling him rotten, making him arrogant and blind, how would he have provoked the Ninth Highness and ended up like this?!”

  “AAAAAAAHHH!!”

  Meira let out a shriek and lunged at him, grabbing his collar and shaking him like a madwoman.

  “I don’t care if she’s a princess or a demon! She turned my son into a monster! I want her dead!!”

  “Nonsense!”

  With a loud CRACK, Xander slapped Meira to the floor.

  “You brainless woman! Do you want to drag the entire Chur family into destruction?!”

  Meira, cradling her face, hissed with venom:

  “Don’t think I don’t know! You just want to bring those bitches from outside into our house!”

  She staggered up, pointing a trembling finger at her husband.

  “But listen to me, Xander Chur! As long as I’m still alive, no woman you bring in will ever set foot inside this house! They’ll die first!”

  “Shut your damn mouth!”

  Xander snarled and stormed out.

  Behind him, a white-robed Daoist, who had been sitting quietly in the corner, silently followed.

  Inside the room, Meira continued sobbing, stroking her broken son’s hair like a beast guarding her cub.

  After a while, her tears stopped.

  Her eyes went cold.

  She took out her phone, her voice low, hollow, and chilling:

  “Don’t worry, Alec… Mother will avenge you.”

  With practiced precision, she dialed a 15-digit number.

  The call rerouted to a blank, black webpage.

  She entered a second, longer string of numbers.

  Facial scan.

  Identity confirmed.

  She logged in.

  The page loaded, a website marked with a black skull.

  A forbidden place.

  Outside.

  Xander rubbed his temples, exhaling. He turned to the Daoist beside him.

  “Hakuzi… you’ve seen my son’s condition…”

  Hakuzi nodded solemnly, stroking his beard.

  “I’ve examined him. The young master’s soul... has been transformed into that of a dog.”

  “Wh what?!”

  Xander paled. “How could that even happen?! Is there no way to save him?!”

  The Daoist narrowed his eyes.

  “A soul transforming into a beast… I have never witnessed such a thing in this life.”

  “I’ve only read vague accounts in ancient texts. Legends of immortals and demons, not methods practiced by mortal hands.”

  He paused, eyes sharpening.

  “However... for such a technique to appear beside a mere princess, this Ninth Highness must have an unfathomable master of dark arts supporting her.”

  “I think so too,” Xander muttered grimly.

  “To think she always presented herself as modest, unremarkable. But now I see, it was all a fa?ade. Hidden for years, biding her time…”

  He sighed.

  “That woman inside doesn’t understand. She doesn’t realize the royal family, for all its illusion of frailty, is deep… far deeper than anyone imagines.”

  He turned to Hakuzi.

  “So? Is there a way?”

  The Daoist’s eyes gleamed.

  “There might be.”

  Xander immediately straightened.

  “Quick, tell me!”

  Hakuzi nodded.

  “Though martial artists dominate the world, there are still ancient sects, hidden in remote mountains, who specialize in soul cultivation.”

  “To save the young master, we must seek one of these sects.”

  Xander’s expression shifted sharply.

  “You mean…”

  “The Heavenreach Sect, don't you?!”