But outside, the real battle had only just begun.
Inside the burning stronghold of the Black Wind Gang, four figures stood still—the agents of the Origin Clan. Veyron, Kaelvar, Sylreth… and the black-clothed leader. All four were late-stage cultivators, with the black-clothed leader standing at the Eighth Stage, while the other three hovered at Seventh Stage high-tier.
Their expressions were grim.
Dharan was missing.
That single fact changed everything.
"We can't wait any longer," Veyron said coldly.
The next moment, all four released their cultivation.
A terrifying pressure exploded outward.
Kaelvar stepped forward first, his aura flaring violently. "Crimson Break Fist!" His punch tore through the air, compressing it into a visible shockwave that blasted through three attackers at once—bones shattered, bodies thrown like broken dolls.
Sylreth moved like a ghost. "Phantom Sever Steps." His figure split into afterimages, appearing behind enemies before they could react. A thin blade of chakra formed along his fingers—"Silent Vein Cut"—and throats opened silently before the victims even realized they were dead.
Veyron raised his palm calmly. "Stonefall Domain." The ground beneath dozens of enemies trembled, then collapsed inward. Invisible pressure crushed them into the earth, blood spraying upward as if squeezed out by the world itself.
At the center, the black-clothed leader finally moved.
He lifted one hand.
"Obsidian Pulse."
A dense wave of black chakra surged outward like a tidal force. Everything in its path—men, weapons, fire—was blown back or crushed flat.
For a brief moment, the battlefield belonged entirely to them.
They were unstoppable.
But only for a moment.
A chilling laugh echoed across the battlefield.
"Did you think we wouldn't come prepared?"
The air trembled.
Five figures stepped forward.
At the center stood a man radiating overwhelming pressure—Half-step Ninth Stage, peak existence. His presence alone suppressed the surroundings. Behind him were four Seventh Stage elites, each with stable, battle-hardened auras.
The battlefield flipped instantly.
"…Ghost Claw's elites," the black-clothed leader muttered, his eyes narrowing.
The Ninth Stage expert stepped forward slightly, smiling faintly. "Let's see how long you last."
"Engage."
The moment the word fell, the world seemed to collapse.
The Ninth Stage expert raised his hand. "Heaven Rend Palm."
A massive arc of compressed force descended like an invisible blade. The black-clothed leader met it head-on— "Obsidian Guard: Black Shell"—a hardened barrier formed around him just as the attack struck.
BOOM.
The ground beneath him shattered, cracks spreading dozens of meters outward. Even he was forced one step back.
At the same time, the four Seventh Stage Ghost Claw elites surged forward.
One roared, "Iron Blood Charge!" His entire body hardened as he rammed into Kaelvar. The impact sounded like colliding metal—Kaelvar was pushed back several meters before stabilizing.
Another raised twin blades. "Twin Fang Spiral!" The blades spun with violent chakra, forming a shredding vortex aimed at Sylreth.
Sylreth's eyes sharpened. "Too slow." He vanished— "Phantom Sever Steps"—but the vortex suddenly shifted direction mid-air, grazing his side and drawing blood.
A third Ghost Claw expert slammed both hands into the ground. "Earth Lock Burial!" The terrain rose and folded, trapping Veyron's legs before compressing inward.
Veyron gritted his teeth. "Stonefall Counter!" He reversed the pressure, causing the earth to explode outward instead, but the delay had already cost him.
The fourth Ghost Claw elite moved silently behind one of the Origin Clan's Seventh Stage members.
"Shadow Pierce."
A hand coated in condensed chakra pierced straight through the Veyron's chest.
He froze.
Then collapsed.
Veyron Dead.
The battle escalated instantly.
No hesitation. No mercy.
Kaelvar roared, veins bulging. "Crimson Overdrive!" His fists burned red as he unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike detonating on impact, forcing two Ghost Claw elites to retreat.
Sylreth's movements became sharper, faster. "Phantom Domain: Split Illusion." Multiple afterimages attacked simultaneously, forcing his opponent to defend blindly.
But it wasn't enough.
The Ninth Stage expert stepped in again.
"Heaven Rend—Second Form."
This time, it wasn't a single strike.
It was continuous.
Wave after wave of invisible force crashed forward.
The black-clothed leader countered with "Obsidian Pulse: Reversal Tide!" but the clash forced him back step by step.
Then—
Sylreth was caught off guard.
"Twin Fang Spiral!"
His body was torn apart mid-defense.
The second one fell.
Two Seventh Stage Origin Clan members—dead.
On the Ghost Claw side, Kaelvar finally landed a direct hit.
"Crimson Break—Full Collapse!"
His fist smashed into one elite's chest, crushing ribs and sending him flying. The man hit the ground hard, barely alive, coughing blood as he was dragged away.
The balance was breaking.
The black-clothed leader's expression darkened.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Not like this.
"STOP!"
His voice cut sharply across the battlefield.
To everyone's surprise, the Ninth Stage expert raised his hand.
The battle halted.
Smoke drifted. Bodies lay scattered. Blood soaked the ground.
"There is no ore mine," the black-clothed man said coldly. "We'll give you time to search if you doubt us."
Silence.
The Ninth Stage expert stared at him, then exhaled slowly. "…You're telling the truth."
Because if there had been a mine, they wouldn't have stopped.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
"The information came from Dharan."
The words fell like thunder.
"He claimed he wanted to defect to the Ghost Claw Clan."
Everything clicked—the attack, the timing, the missing leader, the empty base.
They had all been played.
The black-clothed leader's aura surged violently. "Killed our people… used us…"
His voice trembled with rage.
"That bastard…"
He pulled out a bronze disk, ancient and etched with patterns. It flickered, revealing a point of light.
"…Found you."
The direction pointed downward.
The tunnel.
Without hesitation, he moved. The remaining Origin Clan agents followed instantly.
Ghost Claw didn't interfere.
Because now, they wanted answers too.
The hunt was no longer for resources.
It was for Dharan.
Meanwhile, inside the tunnel, darkness pressed in from all sides. The air was cold, suffocating.
Roma swallowed. "…I have a bad feeling."
Arun stayed silent behind him.
Ahead, the tunnel stretched into unknown darkness.
And somewhere within it—
something was waiting.
Or someone.
Outside, the battlefield fell into an uneasy silence. Two bodies lay still—Sylreth and Veyron, both dead. The black-clothed leader stood among the ruins, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot with fury. His aura surged uncontrollably, cracking the ground beneath his feet. "That idiot… that scheming, backstabbing dog—Dharan!" His voice trembled with rage. "Used us… killed our people… dragged Ghost Claw into this…!" His grip tightened until his nails dug into his palm. "I'll tear him apart myself." Without another word, he turned toward the tunnel.
Deep underground, Roma and Arun moved slowly through the narrow passage. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, the sound echoing faintly as the cold, damp air carried a metallic scent. Roma's steps were overly cautious; every few seconds he stopped, glanced around, then whispered, "Did you hear that?" Arun replied flatly, "…No." Roma hesitated. "…You're sure?" "Yes." "…What if it's invisible?" "…Then stopping won't help." Roma paused. "…That's not comforting."
After several minutes, the tunnel widened, then suddenly opened into a massive underground cave. The ceiling arched high above, jagged stone formations hanging like the fangs of some ancient beast. Dim blue crystals embedded in the walls cast an eerie glow, barely illuminating the vast space. A still underground lake stretched along one side, its black surface reflecting nothing. At the center lay three corpses, their bodies twisted and lifeless, signs of violent death evident even from a distance. Standing beside them were two figures.
Dharan. Riz.
Both calm. Both watching. Both radiating power far beyond before—Seventh Stage.
Roma froze. Arun froze. Even the air seemed to stop moving.
Dharan's eyes narrowed slightly. "…Sixth Stage." Riz tilted his head. "…Two of them." A brief pause followed. "…Spies?" Dharan asked casually.
Roma's thoughts exploded into panic. We are dead. Completely dead. Why is he here? Why is Riz here? Why are they stronger? Why am I here? "No! No, no, no—misunderstanding!" Roma raised both hands instantly, voice cracking. "We're not spies! We're just… passing through! Very peaceful passing! Extremely non-spy-like passing!"
Dharan stared at him. Riz stared at him. The cave felt colder.
"We only came here to escape," Roma rushed out, sweat forming instantly. "We hate fighting. We avoid violence. We run professionally."
"…Run professionally?" Riz repeated slowly.
Roma nodded with full seriousness. "Yes."
Arun suddenly stepped forward. "Yes. We are from the Association."
Roma's soul left his body.
He turned his head very slowly. "…What did you just say?"
Arun remained calm. "The Association."
Roma grabbed his shoulder. "…Why… would you say that… here… now?"
"…Because it's true?"
Roma shook him violently. "THIS IS NOT A JOB INTERVIEW!"
Dharan raised an eyebrow. "…Association?" Riz crossed his arms, mildly interested. "…Explain."
Arun straightened. "We follow the glorious purpose of our leader—to save victims of war and suffering."
Silence filled the cave.
Dharan blinked once. Riz blinked once. Even the corpses seemed confused.
"…Save… victims?" Dharan repeated.
"Yes," Arun nodded. "We help people."
Roma covered his face. I'm going to die because of charity.
"…Who is this leader?" Riz asked.
Arun didn't hesitate. He pointed.
At Roma.
Everything froze again.
Roma slowly lowered his hands. "…Don't."
Dharan looked at Roma. Riz looked at Roma. Then both looked back at Arun. Then back at Roma.
"…You?" Dharan said.
"…Him?" Riz added.
Roma forced a strained smile. "…There has been a misunderstanding on a spiritual level."
Riz narrowed his eyes. "…You don't look like someone who saves people."
Roma nodded immediately. "Correct. Very correct. Extremely correct. I don't. He is confused."
Arun frowned. "But you said—"
Roma clamped his hand over Arun's mouth.
Dharan suddenly laughed, a low amused sound echoing in the cave. "…Interesting." Riz smirked faintly. "…Very interesting."
Roma felt a deep sense of impending disaster.
Just as he was about to say something—
The ground trembled.
A powerful aura surged from the tunnel behind them, followed by more, each heavier than the last.
Roma slowly turned.
Multiple figures entered the cave.
The black-clothed leader, Kaelvar, and behind them, the Ghost Claw elites (excluding the injured), including the half-step Ninth Stage expert.
The temperature dropped instantly.
Everyone stopped.
Everyone looked at everyone.
Then, slowly—
Everyone looked at Roma.
Roma blinked. "…Why is everyone looking at me?"
No one answered.
Arun, still half-covered by Roma's hand, mumbled, "…Because you're the leader?"
Roma closed his eyes.
This is how it ends.
Not by enemies…
But by teammates.
To be continued… 🔥