Chen Mo’s patience wasn’t passive—it was a predator’s stillness. Two weeks had passed since he and Commander Qi left Jian City, and now he sat cross-legged in the shadows of a secluded cave, aura suppressed to near nothingness, his figure blending with the stone. The air was crisp, yet undisturbed by the immense pressure he contained; even a subtle quiver of his true qi could level a hill if released.

  He had anticipated Xu Haoran’s arrival. Innate experts moved with incomprehensible speed—what would take caravans months to traverse could be crossed in mere days by someone like Xu. Chen Mo allowed a faint smile: the faster Xu pushed himself, the more reckless fatigue would make him, the easier it would be to strike.

  His confidence wasn’t born of arrogance—it was methodical. The Primordial Body Art had honed his flesh, bones, and qi beyond mortal comprehension; his newly awakened true qi was sharp, tyrannical, and utterly obedient to his will. Yet Chen Mo knew the advantage of a tired opponent: a peak enemy, fully alert, could still force miscalculations. A weary foe, however, was a puppet whose strings he could pull with terrifying precision.

  The cave was silent, save for the faint crackle of energy dancing at the edge of his awareness. Every gust of wind, every rustle outside, was cataloged in his mind. He was not merely waiting—he was calculating, preparing, and savoring the anticipation. Xu Haoran would come, and when he did, Chen Mo would be ready. The question was not if, but how quickly Xu’s pride and speed would betray him.

  Commander Qi’s composure had unraveled entirely over these two weeks. He paced the narrow cave, every step echoing against the stone walls, shoulders slumped and robes wrinkled, a man physically present but mentally frayed. Two weeks of sitting in the shadow of Chen Mo’s restrained yet oppressive presence had shredded his nerves; each tick of the clock felt like a drumbeat announcing his doom.

  He had been told yesterday to remain here, hidden, and wait for Xu Haoran. But the instruction brought little comfort. He felt like a fish on a chopping board, knowing that once the fight started, survival would depend on luck and speed rather than skill. Even so, he clung desperately to the slimmest of hopes—that in the chaos of two supreme experts clashing, a fleeting chance might appear to slip away unnoticed.

  Every distant sound made him flinch, every shadow seemed to flicker with hidden movement. And yet, despite his terror, part of him watched Chen Mo with awe. The youth radiated an aura of absolute dominance even while still seated, unbothered, relaxed, almost playing with the very air around him. Qi’s heart sank further at the realization: if Xu Haoran arrived now, it wouldn’t just be a battle—it would be a massacre. And he, the mere observer, had no say in the outcome.

  Chen Mo’s eyes snapped open, pupils sharpening like blades. From the shadows, he sensed the approaching aura—a torrent of innate-level power, fast and ruthless. He flicked a subtle hand toward Commander Qi, signaling him to move aside, and then melded with the darkness, every sinew and muscle coiled, preparing to strike.

  Xu Haoran, arriving at full speed, barely spared Qi a glance. His mind was singularly focused: the legacy. He ignored Qi’s disheveled state and barreled toward the cave behind him, expecting an easy confirmation. But in an instant, his senses screamed—skin crawling, hairs standing on end, every nerve a live wire warning of lethal danger.

  Chen Mo moved like a shadow given life, Threaded Movement at its peak, true qi flaring silently yet overwhelmingly. In a blink, he closed the distance, faster than the eye could track, a strike aimed directly at Xu’s head. Xu Haoran, a veteran innate master, reacted with supreme instinct: he tilted his head, half a step backward, narrowly avoiding the deadly precision of the blow.

  But Chen Mo’s attack did not falter. With the full tyrannical force of his true qi concentrated in his fist, he struck Xu squarely in the chest. The power was unimaginable—flesh and bone screamed, organs twisted and caved under the pressure, every breath turning into a gasp of agony. Xu Haoran was sent flying through the air, coughing blood, chest crushed, every ounce of innate mastery unable to withstand the brutal assault. He did not die, but survival seemed impossible. Even the most seasoned expert would recognize: no one should walk away from such a strike.

  Chen Mo didn’t stop. As he passed by the stunned Commander Qi, he casually tapped his head—yet the seemingly light motion carried the full force of his tyrannical true qi. Qi’s head exploded instantly, blood and brain matter splattering around, leaving him lifeless before he could even react.

  Chen Mo’s attention immediately returned to Xu Haoran, who, seeing the ghost-like figure approaching, managed to gasp: “Wait… I…,” but his words choked in his throat. Chen Mo didn’t grant him the mercy of finishing a single syllable. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance and delivered a punch to Xu’s temple.

  Boom.

  Xu Haoran’s head shattered, leaving his body slumped in a crater, the earth scorched by the terrifying power of true qi. Dust settled in the air, and the silence that followed was absolute.

  Chen Mo adjusted his clothes, his gaze calm and indifferent, and said "one problem solved"

  Sheng Zhen’s steps faltered mid-stride as the tremor rolled across the wilderness, a vibration that spoke of unimaginable force. His eyes narrowed, instincts screaming. That bastard Xu—he could sense it—was at the heart of this chaos. Without another thought, Sheng Zhen surged forward, every motion a blur, racing toward the origin of the devastation.

  Chen Mo was about to move, his senses screaming a threat as a powerful aura closed in at impossible speed. But before he could react, a figure in a flowing white robe materialized nearby, eyes scanning the scene with sharp scrutiny. Sheng Zhen’s gaze fell on the headless corpses and the strange youth standing unflinching among them. His heart tightened—Xu Haoran? Could it be that Xu had perished here? And who was this formidable youth? One thing was immediately clear: this was a dangerous situation.

  “Did you kill Xu Haoran?” Sheng Zhen asked, his voice steady but laced with tension. He did not question the youth’s identity; in this moment, the fate of the legacy was all that mattered.

  Chen Mo said nothing. Without hesitation, he activated Threaded Movement and bolted toward Sheng Zhen, intent on ending the threat before words could interfere. Sheng Zhen, however, was prepared. He drew on his innate power, instinctively summoning barriers of energy and shifting his stance to counter the approaching strike.

  The collision of their auras tore at the air—Chen Mo moved with blinding speed, each motion precise and overwhelming, while Sheng Zhen strained to parry, his face paling as he realized the extent of the youth’s advantage. Panic flickered in his eyes; he had expected Xu, not this unknown force, and the sheer dominance pressing down on him left little room to think. The attack pressed him back, his defenses barely holding, every breath a struggle against the onslaught.

  Sheng Zhen knew that after the grueling journey from the capital, exhausting both body and qi, he could not maintain a prolonged fight. But as the Second Prince and a prime candidate for the throne, he had access to the empire’s rarest treasures—gifts bestowed by the emperor himself. Among them was an immortal talisman, the most precious artifact he had kept for years, and the thought of using it now made his heart ache. Gritting his teeth, he produced the talisman and said, “Boy, let’s see if you can contend with an immortal treasure.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed. Instantly, he activated Threaded Movement to put distance between himself and Sheng Zhen. As the talisman began to hum and Sheng Zhen poured his true qi into it, a brilliant blue protective membrane flared into existence, enveloping his body. Only then did he allow himself a breath of relief, the aura of the treasure warding off the immediate threat.

  Chen Mo’s eyes narrowed, instinctively resolving to nip the threat from the bud ,No hesitation, no questions.

  He unleashed the full might of his Primordial Body Art, the tyrannical true qi within him coiling and snapping like living chains, striking outward to entangle Sheng Zhen. The Second Prince’s protective talisman flared, forming a shimmering blue membrane around him, but even as it held, Chen Mo’s overwhelming true qi bombarded it relentlessly. The air around them vibrated violently, a storm of raw, domineering power that seemed almost unnatural.

  Sheng Zhen’s heart raced. He had no idea why this youth’s true qi was so terrifyingly potent, so unrestrained. Even with the talisman—an imperial treasure bestowed by the emperor himself and guarded as his most precious possession for years, used now with aching reluctance—he felt the defense straining under the assault. Every strike, every coil of energy was beyond anything he had ever faced.

  As the blue protective membrane began to crack, Sheng Zhen forced even more energy into it, his voice booming in desperation: “I am the Second Prince of the Hua Empire! Do you dare to kill me?!”

  Chen Mo’s eyes flared with excitement. What a perfect catch… saves me the trouble of searching, he thought, his true qi surging like a storm.

  With a deafening boom, the membrane shattered, and Sheng Zhen was hurled through the air, landing miserably on the ground. Chen Mo didn’t slow. Each movement carried his tyrannical true qi, and relentless punches tore through the unprotected Second Prince. In moments, Sheng Zhen was shredded to pieces, leaving only silence and devastation.

  Chen Mo stood amid the torn earth, chest rising and falling like a bellows pushed to its limit. The final strike had drained him more than he expected. Shattering that blue membrane had devoured most of his strength.

  So this was an immortal treasure. Even cracked and forced into ruin, it had demanded a brutal price.

  He steadied his breathing, guiding the remnants of tyrannical true qi back into silence. The wilderness slowly reclaimed its stillness. Wind through dry grass. Dust settling. The metallic scent of blood hanging faint and stubborn in the air.

  His gaze fell upon the scattered remains of Sheng Zhen. There was nothing of value left. If the Second Prince had carried rare treasures, they had likely been pulverized along with him under the storm of true qi. Pride, authority, ambition, imperial blood… all reduced to fragments indistinguishable from butchered flesh.

  Chen Mo showed no expression.

  He gathered the severed pieces without ceremony, bundling them together as one might collect discarded refuse. Then he returned to the shallow crater where Xu Haoran’s headless corpse lay and where Commander Qi’s remains stained the soil.

  One by one, he buried them beneath the earth. No markers. No names. No proof.

  When the last mound of dirt was pressed flat beneath his palm, only the quiet wilderness remained. Three powerful figures had vanished from the world as though they had never existed.

  Chen Mo dusted off his sleeves and went back to the city.

  Chen Mo returned to the Sun Mansion as though he had merely stepped out for a stroll.

  He bathed first.

  Warm water washed away dust, blood, and the faint scent of violence clinging to his skin. By the time he changed into fresh robes, he looked like a refined young master again, not someone who had erased three towering figures from existence in the span of an afternoon.

  He settled into a reclining chair in his courtyard. Winter sunlight filtered through sparse branches, laying pale gold across the stone tiles. The world felt quiet. Manageable.

  “Summon Sun Bo,” he told a servant.

  Not long after, Sun Bo hurried in. He bowed deeply, his posture respectful to the extreme.

  Two weeks had passed since Chen Mo disappeared without explanation. In that time, Sun Bo had not dared to ask questions. But what truly unsettled him was not the disappearance. It was that day before Chen Mo left.

  The day he broke through to Innate Realm.

  Sun Bo had witnessed it with his own eyes. The oppressive aura. The suffocating pressure. That was no illusion.

  Innate.

  A realm that countless martial artists chased until their hair turned white. A realm that separated mortals from something greater. And this young master had stepped into it as though crossing a shallow stream.

  Even now, standing before Chen Mo, Sun Bo could not fully suppress the tremor in his heart. The aura was restrained, yes, almost nonexistent. But that only made it more terrifying.

  A drawn blade gleams.

  A sheathed one kills without warning.

  Sun Bo lowered his head even further.

  “This old servant greets Master.”

  Chen Mo flicked his wrist and tossed a small, blood-soaked bundle onto the stone table between them. It landed with a dull, heavy sound.

  Sun Bo’s pupils tightened. A chill crept up his spine.

  “Master… this is…?”

  “Your ticket to the capital.”

  The words were light. Almost bored.

  Sun Bo swallowed. His hands trembled despite his effort to steady them. He stepped forward, unwrapped the bundle with careful fingers—

  —and froze.

  A severed hand.

  Pale. Rigid. The flesh already losing warmth.

  But what made his breath stop were the rings.

  Several of them. Intricate. Heavy. Inlaid with rare gemstones. One bore the unmistakable imperial dragon engraved in miniature relief. And another… another carried the personal seal of the Second Prince.

  Sun Bo’s voice came out hoarse.

  “Master… this…”

  “Your Second Prince,” Chen Mo replied calmly. “You once said you wanted his head. Unfortunately, it exploded. This was the only presentable part worth bringing back.”

  Sun Bo’s legs gave way. He collapsed onto his knees with a thud, staring at the grisly proof before him as if reality itself had cracked.

  The Second Prince.

  A royal candidate for the throne.

  Dead?

  Killed so casually that only a hand was deemed convenient enough to carry home?

  His mind screamed disbelief. This was madness. Treason. Catastrophe.

  Yet his eyes kept drifting to the rings.

  Royal property could not be forged. The weight. The craftsmanship. The imperial insignia etched with techniques only palace artisans possessed. And that seal… that seal was used to authorize military movements and treasury disbursements.

  It was genuine.

  Slowly, something strange happened.

  The terror in Sun Bo’s heart did not disappear. It transformed.

  Shock twisted into awe. Awe melted into feverish excitement.

  If the Second Prince was dead… if Xu Haoran was gone… if all competing forces had been quietly erased…

  Then the balance of the capital would shatter like thin glass.

  And in the ruins of that collapse—

  Sun Bo lifted his head, eyes burning now, no longer merely fearful.

  The young man seated before him was not just Innate.

  He was a storm wearing human skin.