Chapter 8

The Grand Dragon Throne Hall of the Heavenly Mandate Empire was a monument to imperial majesty.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine pillars of heavenly jade rose to a vaulted ceiling painted with the constellation of the Imperial Dragon, each star a fist-sized spirit gem that glowed with captured starlight. The floor was a single seamless slab of primordial goldstone, etched with formation lines that could suppress even Chaos Sovereign cultivators if activated. At the hall’s heart, upon a dais of ninety-nine steps, sat the Dragon Throne, carved from the spine of a true primordial dragon ancestor, its eyes two burning suns that watched all who entered.

Today, the hall was filled with thunderous silence.

Emperor Tian Longba sat upon the throne, his imperial robes of golden dragon silk immaculate despite the fury burning in his eyes. His presence alone made the air heavy, as though heaven itself pressed down. Around him stood his family and most trusted advisors.

To his right, Empress Xia Yuelian, a beauty like a phoenix descended to earth, stood with perfect poise, her raven hair bound in phoenix crowns, her expression serene yet laced with quiet sorrow. Her hand rested lightly on the arm of the throne, a subtle anchor.

Crown Prince Tian Haoran knelt at the foot of the dais, his martial robes still bearing dust from the front lines. His face was stone, fists clenched so tight that qi cracks appeared in the goldstone beneath him.

Second Princess Tian Lanyue and Third Prince Tian Xuanyuan stood behind their mother, faces pale with restrained anger. Youngest Princess Tian Meiyin, only fourteen years old, clung to her mother’s sleeve, eyes wide but unafraid. She had been raised in the shadow of imperial power.

At last, the scrying vision zoomed, focusing on one of the main avenues where the carnage had reached its peak. Buildings toppled in slow motion, each collapse sending up a wave of dust that glittered with fragments of gold and jade. The ground itself was cracked open, littered with shattered bodies—imperial soldiers, merchant lords, servant girls, even children clutching at one another in their final moments. Blood ran in rivulets, pooling in the gutters before vanishing into the city’s shattered aqueducts.

What had once been a glittering metropolis of golden pavilions, bustling trade streets, and towering auction halls was now a smouldering wasteland. Half the city was reduced to rubble. Bloodstains painted the streets like macabre art. Corpses, some whole, most not, lay where they had fallen. The Great Eastern Wall was breached in three places. The Myriad Treasures Pavilion’s central complex was a blackened crater, its vaults cracked open like robbed graves.

The emperor’s voice is low thunder, rumbling through the Grand Dragon Throne Hall, shaking banners and even the breath of the gathered. The sound lances through marble and marrow both, and all present bow their heads further, as if the weight of heaven itself has pressed them lower.

“They dared.”

The two words, little more than a growl, ring out like an executioner’s bell.

Even the imperial concubines and visiting sect envoys, arrayed like a tapestry of humanity at the far end of the hall, cannot help but tremble. The throne’s dragon eyes, twin suns captured in stone, burn with a white-hot glare, illuminating every dust mote in their path. The great formation circles on the floor pulse, as if eager to be unshackled and unleashed.

“They dared strike a city under my direct protection. My people. My territory.”

At those last two words, the emperor rises half from the throne, and invisible waves of qi pinion the audience in place, a pressure so immense that even the seasoned generals among them grunt in pain. The tension is a living thing, coiling, searching hungrily for a target.

Crown Prince Tian Haoran, who has knelt since the beginning of the report, now bows his head even deeper, body trembling, not from fear, but from rage so sharp it draws blood at the corners of his lips. His hands are fists, white-knuckled and trembling. He is young, still not quite at the threshold of absolute power, but the edge of him is steel, and the heat of his anger matches the emperor’s own.

“Imperial Father, permit me to lead the expedition!” Haoran’s voice is a clash of blades, echoing off the gilded walls. “I will take the Dragon Guard and three legions straight into the Blood Lands. I will bring back the heads of every Asura King who participated!”

He throws his head back, eyes bloodshot and wild. “They ate our citizens! In my empire! This is a slap to the face of the Heavenly Mandate itself!”

The outburst is met with a sharp intake of breath throughout the hall. Even the old viziers, whose faces are carved from centuries of boredom and jaded cynicism, look up, startled. Across the marble, the imperial siblings stand still; Tian Lanyue’s grip on her fan cracks the lacquer, and third prince Xuanyuan’s jaw works like he is chewing glass.

Empress Xia Yuelian moves then, a ripple of grace. Her steps are feather-light, yet inexorable; her presence, a cooling mist in the heart of a volcano. She approaches her eldest son, her hand coming to rest atop his shoulder with the gentlest of touches, a gesture that stills his quaking with a shock of yin energy.

“Haoran, my son… calm your heart,” she says. Her tone is the distilled patience of centuries, but there is a current of unyielding force beneath its surface. The phoenix crowns in her hair seem to shimmer with their own inner fire, as if answering the challenge of the throne’s twin suns.

Haoran shudders, the tumult of his qi settling half a degree, but the beast within is only caged, not slain.

The empress turns her gaze, not at the emperor, but at the open air before the throne, addressing both the court and the spirits of those lost. “The Blood Asura Sect is cunning. This raid was too bold, too perfectly timed. A traitor opened the portal from within. Someone with access to the central bank vault. They wanted us to respond with fury. They are waiting for us to charge into their corrupted lands where their blood formations are strongest.”

Her words fall into the room like seeds onto fertile loam. Instantly, the ministers and generals begin to murmur. The Chancellor of the Left, a gaunt man with a face like a dried pomegranate, bows deeply. “Your Imperial Majesty, Her Excellency speaks wisdom. The Asuras have always struck from the shadows, but this attack is… a provocation beyond measure. The city’s defensive arrays were circumvented, not broken. There must be a hand within our own walls.”

General Iron-Blooded Long, the commander of the northern armies, slams his fist on the floor with a sound like an avalanche. “Even if it is a trap, we cannot let this insult stand! Let them pile their dead and dye the rivers crimson, our children’s bones have been gnawed by beasts, and we are to sit and count the traitors among ourselves!? With respect, Your Excellency, the time for caution is passed!” His moustache bristles with every syllable.

The tension in the hall ratchets higher than before. The emperor says nothing, but his hands flex upon the dragon-throne’s arms, and the primal need for action is written in the corded lines of his neck. All eyes turn toward him, waiting for a fury or a verdict.

Before the emperor can speak, Tian Haoran surges to his feet, etiquette abandoned. “Father—if we hesitate, the world will think the Heavenly Mandate is a paper tiger! The weak and the faithless will gather to the Asura banner. Our authority must be absolute! Let me cleanse the Blood Lands with dragonfire—”

His voice breaks, and for a moment, the child beneath the prince peeks through the mask of royal resolve. “Let me avenge our people. I beg you!”

His siblings are both silent and alive with competing emotions. Tian Lanyue’s eyes are narrow slits of ice, the calculation behind them racing; she is poised to speak, but holds her tongue, knowing the winds of strategy are still in play. Tian Xuanyuan, tall and cold, stares intently at the emperor, as if measuring the gap between their souls.

Youngest Princess Tian Meiyin, at fourteen, is the only one who dares to step forward from her mother’s shadow. Her voice is clear and unbroken by doubt. “Imperial Father, I do not understand all the ways of war. But if we do not protect the smallest among us, what is the point of ruling heaven and earth?”

The words break the chamber’s spell, and a tremor of surprise and pride vibrates through the nobles.

Empress Xia Yuelian lifts her daughter’s chin, pride and fear warring in her gaze. “Meiyin, you have a true heart. But the world is not made safe with honesty alone.”

She addresses her husband directly this time, every syllable a polished gem: “Longba, you are the pillar of the Eternal Sky Realm. If you fall into a trap, so too will ten million more. The Asuras have not yet played their final card. Our dynasty cannot win a war of attrition.”

The Chancellor of the Right, a sly fox of a man whose eyes never rest, bows so low he practically kisses his own knees. “Your Majesty, there is another matter. If we strike now, our southern border will be exposed. The Jade River Alliance has already begun mobilising their vassal sects and is gathering at the border as well.” His voice is oily, but the news is sharp and bitter.

The murmurs grow louder. Some nobles remember old wars, others old debts. The dragon throne’s eyes seem to glow hotter with every word uttered.

General Iron-Blooded Long speaks again, more softly this time: “Sire, if you wish, I can dispatch the Red Scales as a surgical force—no massed armies, just an elite strike. It will show our power, but keep our hand in reserve for greater foes.”

The emperor does not answer immediately. His mind is a storm, though his expression is a mask. He considers the lives of millions, the shifting alliances of a thousand hungry sects, the honour of the dynasty, and the safety of his own children. Every heartbeat is thunder; every second, an age.

Finally, he speaks. A voice so calm it is terrifying. “We will do both. The dragon cannot ignore the insult, nor can it leap blindly into a net. Haoran, assemble the Dragon Guard and the Red Scales. Your target is not the Blood Asura Sect’s main fortress, but their eastern shadow base. You will destroy it so utterly that no stone remains upon another. Use only imperial bloodline elites. No outsiders, no vassals.”

He turns to the generals. “General Long, you will shadow the prince’s force with ten thousand cavalry, but do not enter the Blood Lands unless ordered. Chancellor, I want the names of every servant, minister, and merchant with access to the central vaults. Cross-reference them with all known Asura sympathisers. We will find the traitor before the next moon rises.”

He takes a breath, but it is clear he is far from finished. “As for the southern border, deploy the Jade Tiger Legion in parade formation. Make it look like we are preparing for war with the Alliance, but keep them in reserve. No one moves unless I say so.”

The orders crackle through the assembly, and for the first time since the invasion, the hall feels alive with purpose instead of dread.

Empress Xia Yuelian nods once, her approval a subtle tilt of her chin. Crown Prince Haoran bows to the ground, his rage distilled into a singular purpose. The siblings, even the usually fractious Xuanyuan, exchange glances of solidarity.

But the emperor’s eyes never cease to burn.

“Let them come,” he says, the words almost a whisper, but the power in them is absolute. “Let

Then a jade talisman at his sash vibrates with a force that threatens to shatter its delicate arraywork. An unearthly, resonant chime splits the air, instantly silencing every whisper in the hall. Even the generals fall still. The entire throne room turns as one organism to witness the intrusion. In that moment, the very air seems to crystallise, each breath suspended in the certainty that a new calamity now approaches.

The emperor’s hand hovers above the talisman for a heartbeat, then closes around it with the gentle care of a predator sheathing claws. His eyes, already fierce, sharpen further. With a flick of his wrist, the air above the assembly ripples, the scrying formation shifting from the carnage of Jade Prosperity City to a resplendent new scene: a chamber of preposterous opulence, hung with gold-threaded tapestries, the floor an unbroken mirror of celestial jade. At its heart sits a solitary figure in white and silver robes upon a throne fashioned from purest spirit-gold:

Shangguan Tianbao.

Principal of the Myriad Treasures Pavilion, merchant emperor of the east.

Marshal Wei Qing’s lips curled. “The merchant calls to collect his due.”

“Your Imperial Majesty, this humble merchant offers deepest condolences for the tragedy at Jade Prosperity City. The loss of so many loyal subjects… heartbreaking. The empire’s pain is the pavilion’s pain.”

Emperor Tian Longba’s expression did not change. “Save your pretty words, Tianbao. Speak plainly.”

The smile never wavered, but something cold flickered in Shangguan Tianbao’s eyes.

“Very well, Majesty. The Myriad Treasures Pavilion has suffered catastrophic losses. Our greatest eastern hub, which vaults containing three calamity relics, eighteen primordial pill furnaces, trade records worth trillions, and liquid assets to fund a decade of realm-wide auctions. All gone. Destroyed or looted by blood demons.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“The city was under imperial protection. The legions were stationed mere hours away. Yet the attackers struck with perfect coordination. This merchant wonders… where was the empire’s vaunted vigilance?”

The hall’s temperature dropped. Crown Prince Tian Haoran’s qi surged, cracking the floor further.

Emperor Tian Longba’s voice was ice. “You dare imply fault lies with the throne?”

Shangguan Tianbao’s smile widened fractionally. “Merely seeking clarity, Majesty. The pavilion has always been the empire’s loyal partner. We arm your legions at favourable rates. We supply pills for your cultivators. In return, we expect… protection for our investments.”

The emperor’s eyes narrowed to slits. “And I have learned, from sources within your own vaults, that the portable void portal was opened from inside your central bank. Your security failed first, merchant. Perhaps you should explain how blood demons acquired a formation key that only your highest elders possess.”

For the first time, Shangguan Tianbao’s smile faltered. Just a flicker.

“Preposterous,” he said smoothly. “The pavilion’s arrays are flawless.”

“Are they?” the emperor countered. “Or did your greed blind you to infiltration? You sell to everyone! Righteous, demonic, rogue! Perhaps one of your ‘customers’ bought more than weapons!”

Silence stretched.

Shangguan Tianbao recovered his smile, but it was sharper now.

“Then we are at an impasse, Majesty. The pavilion seeks compensation for losses incurred under imperial protection. The empire seeks answers for security failures. Perhaps… a joint investigation?”

The emperor’s laugh was cold. “You will receive neither compensation nor investigation privileges! You will rebuild your hub with your own gold, as the empire rebuilds its city with its own blood! And you will continue supplying the legions, because if you withhold even a single pill, the empire will remember who truly holds the mandate of heaven!”

The connection cut abruptly.

********

In his golden chamber, Shangguan Tianbao stared at the darkened mirror. His smile vanished entirely. The temperature plummeted as his qi surged.

“How dare he.......”

His hand clenched. The jade mirror cracked, then shattered into dust.

An elder dared speak. “Master… the empire is our largest customer.”

Shangguan Tianbao’s eyes gleamed with calculation.

“Then we make up losses elsewhere!”

He turned to his attendants.

“Convene the inner council. Liquidate non-essential relics. Flood the market with weapons, tribulation-grade, blood-forged, poison-quenched! Sell to every faction willing to buy! Righteous crusaders want to punish the Blood Asura? Arm them to the teeth! Demonic sects want to escalate? Sell them siege breakers!”

His smile returned, cold as void steel.

“War is profitable! Let the realm bleed! We will grow fat on their desperation!”

********

Deep within the Blood Asura Sect’s crimson heartlands, in a cavern where rivers of fresh blood converged into a vast central pool, Sect Master Xue Wuhen floated in ecstasy.

The pool was thick, warm, and pulsing with harvested essence. Thousands of lives from Jade Prosperity City had been refined into this bath, cultivators’ qi cores dissolved, mortals’ vitality distilled, even the fear and despair crystallized into crimson gems that floated around him like fireflies.

His six blood arms spread wide, Xue Wuhen’s demonic form soaked in the essence. His skin drank it greedily, meridians glowing with stolen power.

“Magnificent,” he murmured, voice echoing like grinding bones. “The harvest exceeds all projections.”

An attendant asura knelt trembling at the pool’s edge.

“Master… the empire’s pursuit was repelled with acceptable losses. Three junior kings advanced minor realms from the devoured essence.”

Xue Wuhen’s blood eyes opened, voids of hunger and joy.

“Acceptable? We gained more in one raid than in a century of minor sacrifices. The emperor rages impotently. The merchant weeps over empty vaults. The righteous sharpen blades they will never wield wisely.”

He laughed. A sound that made the blood pool boil.

“Let them come. Let them all come. Every drop of their fury feeds us.”

He sank deeper, luxuriating.

“Today is perfect! No executions! Tell the sect: the great Blood Emperor is merciful.”

His laughter echoed through crimson halls, promising more chaos to come.

The Eternal Sky Realm turned, its twelve overlords stirring like dragons in restless sleep.