The night after the spar, the air in Lǐ Róng's chamber was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs and unspoken tension. Duke Lǐ Róng and Xuè Lán rested on silken cushions, their bodies aching from the brutal force Jian Zhi had unleashed.

  [Xuè Lán]: "Róng, are you okay?~" Her voice was a soft, trembling melody of concern. "How could he beat an ally like that? Are you certain in your heart that this man is righteous?"

  Lǐ Róng exhaled a heavy, weary breath and turned his head, his gaze meeting hers. He saw the storm of worry for him and simmering anger for Jian Zhi swirling in her eyes.

  [Lǐ Róng]: "My lady Lán~," he murmured, a warm, forgiving smile gracing his lips. "I am sure his core is righteous. But the reason for his… fervour… perhaps lies with you injuring Lian so gravely. Or perhaps, the boy does not yet know the line between a spar and a war. His fire consumes all nuance."

  [Xuè Lán]: "[A sigh laden with frustration] But still, that kid goes too far. I pray we never have to face his fury as enemies."

  She nestled herself against Duke Lǐ Róng's chest, seeking and finding comfort in the steady, familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. Jian Zhi came to see them but paused at the threshold, observing their intimate solace. Choosing not to shatter their peace, he melted back into the shadows of the corridor.

  On his way to his chamber, he found his path blocked by Mei Lin, her expression a tapestry of conflict and concern.

  [Mei Lin]: "Your Majesty, did it truly need to go that far? Was it all for Lian? Do you… Love her that much?"

  Jian Zhi’s sharp, unshakable gaze pinned her in place, his voice low and absolute.

  [Jian Zhi]: "Mei Lin, her feelings are her own. I saved her from hell and taught her the Devil's Way, but I did not fight for her alone. I fought to measure the strength of our allies and to reveal my own. I have no inappropriate feelings for Lian. She is a soul I saved, a dedicated student, and nothing more. I am a King. The love I possess is for all who follow me, and I will protect them until the day my soul ascends to the heavens. Do you understand?"

  Mei Lin felt a shiver, a goosebump-raising wave of awe and relief, wash over her. A faint, blooming smile, soft as an English rosebud, touched her lips as she nodded mutely, watching his retreating.

  In the solitude of his room, Jian Zhi paced, the events of the day replaying in his mind like a complex battle scroll.

  [Jian Zhi]: "How did I fuse with the Fire Soul? Is it possible to harmonise with the other elements within me? Will our strategy hold when the true storm breaks?"

  His silent questions echoed in the stillness as the days bled away, finally culminating in the dawn of destiny—the day that would seal a clan's fate.

  Before the march, Jian Zhi stood tall upon a high platform, a silhouette against the warm, rising sun. The morning breeze gently caressed the faces of his assembled army, who looked up at their king with a mixture of nerves and fervent devotion.

  His voice was a roaring dragon, crashing against the walls of the palace and echoing deep within their chests, igniting the dormant embers of their will.

  [Jian Zhi]: "Today is the day you prove to the major clan of this province the unyielding strength of our kingdom! Your nerves are natural, for they are the famed Xuè Clan, the army trainers! But even the sharpest sword left in its scabbard will rust! They have grown old, comfortable in their dominance, while we are the new, unbreakable blade! It is time to clear out the old to make way for the new! ARE YOU WITH ME!?"

  A thunderous cry erupted from the very depths of their stomachs, a unified roar that shook the heavens themselves."YES, YOUR MAJESTY!"

  As Jian Zhi led his army forth, Xuè Lán and Lǐ Róng remained in the palace. Lǐ Róng’s eyes, filled with tender concern, noticed the pallor that had stolen over Xuè Lán's features.

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  [Lǐ Róng]: "Are you worried for your clan?"

  [Xuè Lán]: "Of course not," she lied, her voice tighter than she intended. "It is just… they did not earn their title through examinations. They bathed battlefields in blood to claim it. But after witnessing his… witchcraft… and that terrifying potential… a sliver of cold dread has pierced my heart."

  [Lǐ Róng]: "I understand, my lady Lán. But a forest fire, for all its destruction, makes the soil fertile for new growth. The old must be torn down so a new beginning can be built in its place. Our beginning." His smile was a beacon of warmth. "Let us forget the names Lǐ and Xuè. Let us name our child something neutral, and build a world without clans and hierarchy. What do you say?"

  Xuè Lán's face flushed a brilliant, flustered crimson.

  [Xuè Lán]: "H-How can you think so far ahead in the midst of this crisis?"

  On the battlefield, an oppressive silence had fallen. Jian Zhi’s forces had arrived first, and under his calm, precise commands, they transformed the field into a killing ground. The Divine Rain artillery was positioned, and soldiers took their formations. The only sound was the mournful rustle of wind through the grass, a haunting prelude to the storm.

  Jian Zhi closed his eyes, slipping into his focus mode. Then, he heard it—a faint, growing thunder that vibrated up through the soles of his boots. The ground began to tremble as the Xuè Clan army descended, a tide of a thousand soldiers and thundering horses, their approach shaking the very earth.

  Jian Zhi’s hand lifted, a single, poised command. The moment the war horn’s baleful cry撕裂 (shredded) the air, his hand fell.

  Hell was unleashed.

  A symphony of devastation erupted from the lines of the Divine Land of Justice. The Divine Rain artillery sang its shrill, whistling song, raining down piercing steel. Archers loosed volleys that darkened the sky. And then came the new terror—explosive balls hurled through the air, their fuses sputtering like angry fireflies before they landed amidst the Xuè ranks. The detonations were deafening, blossoming into flowers of fire and shrapnel that tore men and horses apart.

  The Xuè Clan soldiers, who had never faced such otherworldly carnage, could do nothing but die. Their numbers were halved in that first, cataclysmic salvo.

  [Xuè Yàn]: "Tch! What devil's sorcery is this?!" he snarled, his face a mask of incandescent rage. "Have you pledged your soul for this power? I will not allow it!"

  He launched himself forward, a bolt of pure fury aimed directly at Jian Zhi, with Xuè Gāng following like an enraged bull. As Xuè Yàn advanced, arrows and shrapnel seemed to veer away, deflected by an invisible wall—his Kinetic Dominion (念动统御 - Niàndòng Tǒngyù).

  Simultaneously, Xuè Gāng roared, his Hún Guāng erupting around him to form the Primal War-Armor (兽形罡甲 - Shòuxíng Gāng Jiǎ) of a colossal, spectral elephant. With a sweep of its trunk, it hurled soldiers of the Divine Land through the air like discarded ragdolls.

  Lian became a jade-and-silver blur, her Qilin's Grace (麒麟步 - Qílín Bù) leaving afterimages on the wind as she darted across the field, catching falling comrades and setting them down with impossible, gentle speed.

  Mei Lin and Captain Zhào saw their opening. As another soldier was flung skyward, Mei Lin screamed, "OPEN YOUR EYES, Captain Zhào!"

  Lian saw the man at the last second, but she was too far, too occupied. Just before his skull was dashed upon the earth, Captain Zhào’s Hún Guāng surged out, condensing into a pair of giant, shimmering hands that materialised in the air, cupping the soldier safely.

  A smirk of triumphant pride flashed across Captain Zhào’s face. At Mei Lin's signal, his focus snapped to Xuè Gāng. He launched himself forward, his spectral hands of solid light seizing the elephantine trunk of the war-armor.

  "NOW!" he grunted, straining with all his might.

  Mei Lin raised The Devil's Whisper. The rifle did not merely aim; it seemed to hunger. As she pulled the trigger, it did not fire silently. It let out a low, piercing wail that scratched at the soul—a sound that felt like damnation itself. Enemy soldiers nearby clutched their ears and dropped to the mud, believing celestial punishment was upon them.

  Crack! Crack! CRACK!

  Twelve projectiles, sheathed in dragon-scale and screaming with malevolent energy, shattered Xuè Gāng’s armor into a thousand glittering shards.

  The moment his protection failed, The Conductor began his symphony.

  His soul-scratcher became a maestro's baton, moving faster than the eye could follow. It was not a series of strikes, but a single, continuous motion—a crack to the neck, a crunch against the chest, a wet thud against the face, a snap against the arms and thighs. Xuè Gāng was not just hit; he was painted in a brutal tapestry of his own blood, each impact spraying crimson into the air before he collapsed to the ground, a broken and motionless heap.

  The Conductor rested his soul-scratcher on his hip, his symphony complete.

  The first blood from the Xuè Clan's top echelons had been spilt, staining the grass a deep, prophetic crimson.