Eye of the Storm

“Contract the defensive line.” Li Cangming’s voice steadied, but beneath that calm lay a decisive, gut-wrenching resolve. “Issue orders to the Sixteen Sanctified Lands: cede all seventeen spirit stone mines on the outskirts of the Central Plains to the surrounding powers. Recall every disciple currently wandering abroad, and awaken all slumbering ancestors. Abandon every peripheral interest and focus all efforts on defending the core region of the Central Plains.”

“Abandon seventeen spirit stone mines?” Li Tianxing’s head shot up. “Ancestor, that’s thirty percent of the Central Plains’ spirit stone production—”

“Which matters more: lives or mines?” Li Cangming cut him off. “Let me tell you something: ever since Wang Hao swallowed the Dark City, it has controlled seven major spirit stone mines in the southern gray zone. Add those to the mines he already holds in the Eastern Wastelands, and his spirit stone output has already surpassed half of the Central Plains’.”

“Right now, he doesn’t lack spirit stones—he lacks time. Give him three years to digest the Dark City’s resources, and his national power will swell to the point that the Central Plains can’t even hope to catch up.”

“So what we need to do now isn’t to compete with him for mines—it’s to buy time. Contract the defenses, preserve our strength, wait for my injuries to heal, wait for the Sixteen Sanctified Lands to rebuild their power. At the same time—” A chilling glint flickered in his blood-red, flame-like eyes. “Redirect this tide of aberrations to the Eastern Wastelands.”

Li Tianxing froze. “Redirect it to the Eastern Wastelands?”

“The ninth-rank aberrations in the South Sea.” Li Cangming lowered his voice, so only the eleven people in the hall could hear. “The Central Plains has been using the ‘Aberration-Suppressing Formation’ to hold back the South Sea aberrations for years—only the higher-ups of the Sixteen Sanctified Lands know about this. Send word: dismantle three Aberration-Suppressing Formations along the South Sea coast.”

“Ancestor!” Jian Wuchen blurted out. “If we dismantle those formations, the South Sea aberrations will erupt completely—by the time that happens—”

“By the time that happens, the aberrations won’t come to the Central Plains.” Li Cangming let out a cold laugh. “There’s a place called Zhennan Pass at the junction of the Eastern Wastelands, the Southern Wastelands, and the South Sea—it’s the Southern Wastelands’ gateway to the Eastern Wastelands. Once the aberration tide erupts, the first target it will hit is the Eastern Wastelands.”

“Isn’t Wang Hao so formidable? Let him fight the aberrations. When he’s battered and bruised from battling ninth-rank aberrations, the Sixteen Sanctified Lands will step in to clean up. Everything he’s swallowed, we’ll make him spit back out.”

The hall fell silent for ten full breaths.

Then Jian Wuchen spoke first: “Old Li, this plan… it’s too vicious.”

“Vicious?” Li Cangming closed his eyes. The pain from the wound on his left arm made his voice tremble slightly. “Wasn’t it vicious when he butchered twenty-nine Martial Gods of our Sanctified Lands?”

The ten Martial Gods fell silent.

Three days later, the three Aberration-Suppressing Formations along the Central Plains’ South Sea coast vanished without a trace.

Those formations had stood for forty-eight thousand years, seals laid down by ancient sages of the Central Plains at the cost of their own lives. They held back the aberrations sleeping in the depths of the South Sea, allowing the South Sea Dragon Clan to survive in relatively safe waters.

But Li Cangming had dismantled them.

The night the formations disappeared, a hair-raising roar erupted from the depths of the South Sea.

It wasn’t a sound any known creature could make—it was like countless mouths screaming at once, mingled with the awakening of some colossal being from an ancient age.

The roar pierced through the barrier of the sea itself, tore through the limits of space, and exploded directly above the South Sea.

When South Sea Dragon Lord Ao Guang heard that roar, every scale on his body bristled upright. He had lived for fifty-three thousand years and witnessed countless aberrations, but the power contained in that roar made him feel despair for the first time.

“Relocate the clan.” Ao Guang’s voice echoed through the Dragon Palace, thick with the grim finality of a leader making an impossible choice. “Notify all thirty-six tribes of the South Sea Dragon Clan: abandon all territories. The entire clan migrates northward!”

“Northward to where?” The Dragon Queen’s voice trembled.

“The Northern Domain. We’ll take shelter in the North Sea for now.” Ao Guang’s vertical pupils reflected the black mist gathering on the distant horizon. “The Central Plains dismantled the Aberration-Suppressing Formations to send us to our deaths.”

“But the Eastern Wastelands border troops—”

“They can block us or not—we still have to go. Three hundred and twenty thousand subjects of the South Sea Dragon Clan can’t all die here.”

When news of the Dragon Clan’s northward migration reached the Eastern Wastelands, Wang Hao was en route back to the capital.

He sat in his black dragon carriage, idly twirling a blood-jade thumb ring he’d lifted from Xue Wuhen’s storage ring, humming a half-hearted tune under his breath. Xiao Chen and Ye Guyun flanked the carriage on either side, the lingering relief of their narrow escape still visible on their faces.

Wei Zhongxian stood before the carriage, holding a stack of freshly arrived message jade slips. Expressionless, he recited:

“The Sixteen Sanctified Lands of the Central Plains have announced they’re ceding seventeen outer spirit stone mines and retreating fully to the core region.”

“Li Cangming, Supreme Elder of the Red Dawn Sanctified Land, has gone into seclusion to recover from his injuries, expected to emerge in three years.”

“Urgent report from the Southern Wastelands’ Canglong Tribe of the Demon Clan: The South Sea Dragon Clan’s three hundred and twenty thousand subjects are migrating north en masse. Their destination is our Great Xia’s Southern Wastelands coastline.”

“Urgent report from the Great Xia Southern Border Army: A large-scale black mist of aberrations has appeared above the South Sea, determined to be a high-rank aberration awakening. An aberration tide is forming and is expected to reach Zhennan Pass within seven days.”

Wei Zhongxian paused briefly as he flipped to the last jade slip.

“The Canglong Holy King of the Southern Wastelands’ Ten-Thousand-Demon Hall has submitted a diplomatic letter—requesting—requesting that Your Majesty grant asylum to the South Sea Dragon Clan.”

Wang Hao stopped twirling the blood-jade ring.

He gave the ring one last spin on his thumb, then said, unhurriedly: “I haven’t even gone to settle accounts with him yet, and here he is, coming to beg a favor from me. Where’s his face?”

Xiao Chen’s mouth twitched. “Your Majesty, that night with the Demon Clan—”

“I know.” Wang Hao waved a hand. His smile remained bright, but into it crept a chill that made spines tingle. “When that Holy King Canglong said he’d pull back his fifty thousand elite troops, I already knew he couldn’t be relied on. No matter. I could use a proper chance to settle scores with him.”

He turned to Wei Zhongxian. “Send word to the Southern Wastelands border: not a single dragon gets through. If the South Sea Dragon Clan wants entry? Fine. First, let their North Sea Dragon King—the Holy King Canglong himself—come to the capital and kowtow to me three times.”

“Your Majesty.” Wei Zhongxian hesitated. “The South Sea Dragon Clan is being driven by the aberration tide. If we refuse them entry, those three hundred and twenty thousand water tribes might all perish in the tide.”

Wang Hao was silent for three breaths.

Then he took the blood-jade thumb ring off his thumb and casually tossed it to Xiao Chen beside him. “All yours—last one didn’t fit, and this one doesn’t either. I’ll find you a proper one later.”

Xiao Chen caught the ring and was about to speak, but Wang Hao had already moved on: “Issue orders: reinforce the Southern Wastelands border with three additional defensive lines. All border troops enter maximum combat readiness. The South Sea Dragon Clan may enter, but on conditions.”

He raised one finger.

“First: all thirty-six tribes of the South Sea Dragon Clan must submit to temporary Great Xia administration. Every tribal chieftain hands over his Dragon Pearl, to be uniformly held by the Great Xia Southern Border Army. A Dragon Pearl is the lifeblood of a dragon—handing it over means handing over their lives. But they have no choice.”

A second finger.

“Second, send a message to the South Sea Dragon King, demanding that his sworn brother, the Holy King Canglong, must come to the capital in person. Not to kowtow to me—I have no need of his head. I need him, when the time comes for Great Xia, to bring the elite of the demon race and fight alongside me.”

“This is not an alliance; it is subordination. His troops will be under my command, and his territory will be under my jurisdiction. He disagrees? Then let the entire South Sea Dragon Clan die in the tide of aberrations—I won’t shed a single tear.”

A third finger.

“Third—and the most important clause.” A hint of chilling calculation crept into Wang Hao’s smile. “I will not kill a single one of the South Sea Dragon Clan’s three hundred and twenty thousand subjects. But the South Sea waters—from this day forward—belong to Great Xia.”

Xiao Chen nearly dropped the blood-jade thumb ring in his hand.

“Your Majesty, the northern part of the South Sea spans eighty thousand li—”

“What about eighty thousand li?” Wang Hao spread his hands with an air of entitlement.

“I saved the South Sea Dragon Clan’s three hundred and twenty thousand lives. I’m not taking the entire South Sea, just a scrap of their borderlands as payment for their medical bills. Is that too much? Ask them—which is more important: their lives, or their sea?”

Xiao Chen opened his mouth, then suddenly realized he couldn’t muster a rebuttal.

Not because Wang Hao’s reasoning was sound—but because this accursed emperor was simply too skilled at dressing up the most shameless demands as fair and square deals.

Wei Zhongxian, stone-faced, recorded Wang Hao’s edicts, his brush flying across the paper. He had long since grown accustomed to the emperor’s style—His Majesty never made a losing deal. Saving people was sincere was genuine, but collecting debts was equally serious.

The two went hand in hand, and every single transaction was accounted for with clarity.

The dragon carriage pressed northward, churning dust into long gray ribbons along the official road as nearly a million cavalry followed in its wake.

Wang Hao leaned back against the soft cushions of the dragon carriage, closing his eyes to rest. But no sooner had he shut them than a sharp sword’s cry exploded in his mind.

“Wang Hao!”

The Heavenly Sword’s voice brimmed with barely contained excitement. “There are a lot of level-9 aberrations in the South Sea! I want to eat them!”

“Eat my foot.” Wang Hao cursed inwardly. “We’ve run into level-9 aberrations before, haven’t we? They’re extremely troublesome. One Nightmare nearly cost us our lives. You’re only ranked one hundred and sixteenth—you’d barely be a toothpick stuck between their teeth.”

“I won’t be ranked one hundred and sixteenth for much longer!” the Heavenly Sword’s voice shot up. “I don’t care, I don’t care—you promised me—let me rise to number one. If I don’t eat level-9 aberrations, how am I supposed to climb the ranks?”

“We need to climb the ranks, but we also need to stay alive.” Wang Hao opened his eyes and gazed southward at the black mist looming faintly on the horizon. A note of gravity crept into his smile.

“I have a feeling—this aberration tide isn’t simple. For the Sixteen Holy Lands of the Central Continent to withdraw their aberration-suppressing arrays at this critical moment—nine times out of ten, it’s their revenge against me.”

“Then we have to fight even more!” The Heavenly Sword grew more excited. “Slap their faces, eat their aberrations, seize their sea—”

“Can you stop throwing around the word ‘seize’ every single time? I am the emperor. An emperor must act according to the rules—”

“You and rules?” The Heavenly Sword sneered. “When you butchered forty Martial Gods in a trap, was that following the rules? When you set ambushes, was that following the rules? When you blackmailed the South Sea Dragon Clan into handing over their territory, was that following the rules?”

Wang Hao fell silent.

After a moment, he sighed with genuine feeling. “Sword-bitch, have you noticed something?”

“What?”

“You’ve learned my dark side too well. So well that sometimes I can’t tell whether you’re a sword spirit, or just another head of mine.”

“You taught me all of it,” the Heavenly Sword said with insolent self-assurance. “Keep good company and you learn good habits; wallow with scoundrels and you become a jackal. Whatever you are, that’s what kind of sword I become.”

Wang Hao said nothing more.

He leaned back against the cushions, that trademark smile still on his lips, but his mind raced through the coming storm.

The South Sea aberration tide. The revenge of the Central Continent Holy Lands. The wavering of the demon race. The migration of the Southern Dragon Clans.

Four crises tangled together, enough to overwhelm any emperor.

But he was Wang Hao.

The Wang Hao who could smile and scheme even when backed into a corner.

“Old Wei,” he suddenly spoke.

“This servant is here.”

“Issue edicts to the Grand Secretariat—within three days of returning to the capital, I want a detailed comprehensive war plan for the Eastern Wastelands. Inventory all spiritual stone reserves in every mine. Recall every general above the Void-Walking realm to the capital. Inspect the defensive formations of every city.”

“Issue edicts to the Ministry of Works—the defenses of Zhennan Pass need to be tripled in height, and the protective formation must be upgraded from seventh to ninth tier. I don’t care by what method, but it must be completed within one month. Fail to finish? The Minister of Works can go carry bricks for Zhennan Pass himself.”

“Issue edicts to the Ministry of Revenue—this year’s taxes will all be collected in kind. Food, iron ore, spiritual stones, pills—as much as can be gathered. I don’t care if the people curse me. This is a life-or-death juncture. There’s no time for benevolent governance.”

“Issue edicts to the Ministry of War and the Five-Army Protectorate—transfer forty garrisons from the Imperial Guard and Metropolitan Army southward, with priority given to runic firearm units; expand the southern border army by threefold. If there aren’t enough new recruits, draw them from the Dark City. Xue Wuhen and his crew still owe me five hundred billion spiritual stones. Let them pay off the interest with military service.”

Wei Zhongxian’s brush moved faster and faster, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

He had served Wang Hao for two years, yet never seen the emperor issue so many edicts in such rapid succession. Every single decree was enough to send the court into an uproar—tax hikes, expansion levies, conscriptions, commandeered labor—any one of them would earn the censors half a year’s worth of remonstrations.

But Wei Zhongxian did not try to dissuade him.

Because he knew—Wang Hao was not joking.

The aberration tide was coalescing in the South Sea. The vengeance of the Central Continent was fermenting. The demon race’s situation was shifting.

This was the calm before the storm.

And Wang Hao was using his signature style—seemingly casual, yet meticulously calculated—to prepare for the coming tempest.

The dragon carriage rolled on, its dust blotting out the sky.

Wang Hao leaned back on the cushions, lifted his eyes to the thickening black mist on the southern horizon, and a hint of excitement he hadn’t even realized crept into his smile.

“Level-9 aberrations,” he murmured to himself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve crossed blades with them.”

At his waist, the Heavenly Sword hummed an impatient quiver.