In a frozen forest, a man walks with an eagle perched atop his head. The eagle has deep blue feathers and sharp yellow eyes. It lets out a sharp cry, shifting to sit more comfortably on the man's head.
As if he understands the eagle's language, the man says, "Yes, my little ancestor. I'll feed you soon."
The eagle cries again. The man keeps walking, snow crunching under his boots. "In a few minutes, we'll reach my village. Then you can eat as much as you want."
Another cry. The man glances upward. "You want red deer meat?"
The eagle lets out a more demanding cry.
"If the village has red deer meat, I'll give it to you," the man replies.
The eagle jabs its beak against the man's head in protest. Though the eagle is a storm eagle—born with the strength of a middle-ranking samurai—the peck feels like a tickle to this man, who is a three-turn Great Samurai. Even so, he sighs with helplessness.
"Alright, alright. Even if there's no red deer meat in the village, I'll go hunt some for you."
The eagle lets out a cry of approval.
Soon, the man reaches a wide, frozen lake. Without checking the ice for safety, he steps onto it. Instantly, the scene before him shifts. The frozen lake vanishes, replaced by a massive frozen wall and a gate flanked by two guards.
He walks up and calls out, "Zi, Li. Anything happen while I was gone?"
One of the guards, Zi, replies, "Nothing happened, Xuan."
The other, Li, eyes the eagle on Xuan's head and smirks. "Xuan, I thought you went hunting. You brought back a little bird? It's so small, it won't even pluck our teeth."
The eagle straightens and releases a threatening cry. A burst of lightning leaps from its body, striking Li. Li yelps, stumbling back as the shock courses through him.
"What the hell?! Are you insane, Xuan? You caught a young storm eagle?!"
Zi glares at Xuan. "Don't you know every storm eagle carries a blood mark? The stronger ones can sense it. You've put us in danger."
Xuan calmly answers, "I didn't catch him. He's been a guest of our tribe these past few days."
Zi frowns in confusion. "Guest?"
Xuan nods. "Yes."
He walks past the guards, entering the village, heading straight for the elder's residence. Along the way, he greets everyone he meets. All the rooftops in the village are half-spherical, covered in thick layers of snow. The entire village is blanketed in white—snow falls year-round here, indifferent to the seasons.
As he moves deeper into the village, he hears a familiar voice, "Uncle Xuan!" and feels something latch onto his leg. He looks down to find a little girl clinging to him. She barely reaches his knees. Her hair is as white as the snow around them, and her pupils shimmer silver. She wears light clothes, suited for sunny days, not for the freezing cold, but it doesn't matter to her.
She awakened the bloodline of the Silver Fox. For her, this cold is like summer. Her magic absorbs the cold, fueling her energy. The colder it is, the faster she grows stronger. Despite being only five years old, her cultivation has already reached the level of a high-ranking physical cultivator. But even with her blood's high purity, her limit is the peak of the third turn of the Great Samurai Realm.
That's because even the strongest Silver Fox Yao—or beast form—can only reach the peak of the Ascension Realm. In humans, even with pure blood, the ceiling is the third turn of the Great Samurai Realm. And for her, this is deadly. Her magic constantly draws in cold energy; once she reaches her limit, any excess energy will tear her apart from the inside. Even if she moves to a hot region, the cold nights would still feed her power. It would only delay the inevitable.
There is, however, a way to break the bloodline lock: the Soul Lotus—a mutated form of the Ice Lotus. The Ice Lotus grows in Lotus Lake and, when it absorbs the essence of dying souls, transforms into a Soul Lotus. That is the reason he brought the only child of the Storm Eagle clan's leader to this village.
He bends down, ruffling the little girl's hair. "Did you cause any trouble while I was away, Lin?"
The girl's cute face brightens, silver eyes sparkling as she replies in a sweet voice, "No, Uncle. I didn't freeze the water when the aunties were bathing, didn't freeze Mao's tail, or beat Fan and the others."
Xuan stares at her, lips twitching into a suppressed smile.
Then Lin points at the baby storm eagle perched on his head. "Uncle Xuan, where's my gift? Is that chicken my gift?"
Xuan's expression shifts instantly. He hears the storm eagle's angry cry—and before it can lash out at Lin, he swiftly removes it from his head, wrapping it in his arms. The eagle releases a small bolt of lightning, and pain shoots through him. Though Xuan is a Spiritual Core cultivator, his body is only slightly stronger than that of a low-ranking physical cultivator. He grits his teeth, feeling the electric current surge through his body, his hair standing on end.
Lin steps back, worried. "Uncle, what happened to you?"
"Nothing, Lin," he says between clenched teeth, still holding the eagle tight.
Then he asks, "Can you tell me where your grandfather is?"
Lin points. "Under the Silver Bark Tree."
Xuan nods and starts walking in that direction.
But behind him, Lin calls again, "Uncle, my chicken!"
At her words, the baby eagle lets out another furious cry, and Xuan breaks into a run, lightning sparking inside him. If this eagle weren't still a baby, he might already be dead. With no defences raised, the storm eagle's innate magic could have killed him. As he runs, he channels his mental energy, absorbing natural energy from the air to slowly mend the internal injuries.
Some time later, he climbs a hill at the northern edge of the village. At its peak stands a large Silver Bark Tree, its trunk gleaming faintly under the pale light. A thick mist rises from a wide cauldron placed beside the tree. As Xuan approaches and peers into it, he sees the liquid inside swirling in three distinct colours—red, green, and silver—spiralling around each other.
Not far from the pot sits the village elder, silver hair tied in a bun, long beard trailing to his chest, eyes closed, seated cross-legged in the snow. Xuan doesn't interrupt—he watches silently as the three-colored liquid finally merges, shifting to a deep hue like the night sky sprinkled with silver specks. The potion condenses down to a tenth of its original volume, forming a thick liquid that sparkles faintly.
This is the Starry Night Potion, a rare brew that aids Spiritual Core cultivators in refining their mental essence. Xuan turns his gaze to the elder, who is now standing, eyes locked on the baby storm eagle clutched against Xuan's chest. The elder speaks, "Did the patriarch of the Storm Eagle clan say anything?"
Xuan loosens his grip. The baby eagle struggles free, lets out a sharp cry, and flutters onto a branch of the Silver Bark Tree.
"He said," Xuan replies, "if he survives after the plan is complete, he'll take his son back. Otherwise, let our village raise him until adulthood."
The elder nods slowly. As Xuan speaks, the elder moves his hand, and the Starry Night Potion lifts from the cauldron, dividing into three streams that flow into the crystal vials prepared nearby.
Xuan continues, "Elder, can our plan really succeed? Will they be able to kill—"
Before he can finish, the elder raises a hand. "Don't say his name. He will feel it."
Xuan nods quickly, correcting himself. "Can we really kill the Blood Snake?"
The elder's eyes narrow. "The plan has been revised countless times. The chance of success is high. And we must kill it."
Xuan nods again. He knows that even though their village isn't acting on the front lines, their involvement is deep enough that failure would mean annihilation.
The elder continues, "I believe the plan will succeed. But we must still prepare for failure. If you hear that I've died or that the plan has failed, take the villagers and flee to the Nillian Desert. Lin's condition can be sustained there for a few more decades. By then, a new method might be discovered."
Xuan frowns. He wants to say nothing will happen to the elder, but he can't. What they're attempting is to kill one of the Nine Strongest in the world. Anything could happen.
Instead, he asks, "Did the others agree to let the Holy Blood Master take his place?"
The elder nods. "Without our Spiritual Masters, the plan couldn't even begin. And only the human race lacks an Ancestral Realm cultivator. So yes, they agreed."
Xuan exhales in relief. If the plan succeeds, it would shift the balance of power, finally freeing humanity from the shadow of the beast race.
The elder gazes at the sky, where night begins to fade. "I must discuss with them one last time."
He sits cross-legged on the snowy ground and closes his eyes. A thin blue thread of light rises from his head and vanishes into the void.
When the elder opens his eyes again, he finds himself standing in an empty room. He thinks to himself—it seems he's the first to arrive.
Moments later, shadowy figures begin to appear, cloaked in the same energy. One by one, they materialise until the number reaches twelve. Then, the gathering is complete.
One of them says, "Looks like everyone is here except them."
No one asks who "they" are—each figure already knows.
Another shadowed figure, cloaked in the essence of darkness—its aura thick with shadow power—speaks, "I will represent them. They're under surveillance. This is the first time soul fragments will be collected through the formation, and we all know how terrified they are of entering any spiritual array."
A master of wood element speaks next, his voice sharp with concern, "Are you certain only the Blood Ancestor is coming? If even one of the other five appears, our plan will collapse—and we will all die."
The master of darkness responds calmly, "Don't worry. Only the Blood Ancestor will come. According to the dark ancestor, after watching them for decades, he said they are allies, yes, but also afraid of one another. As the saying goes, anyone who gathers all nine Ancestral Crystals will rule the world and gain eternal life. That's why we can scheme against them—they all want to live longer, but none trusts the others enough to risk aiding them."
Another shadowy figure, his presence laced with freezing cold, speaks, "We created this organisation and agreed to destroy them because we, too, wish to live longer."
His gaze turns toward four figures—those emanating the powers of blood, illusion, wood, and thunderfire.
"Are you truly certain," he continues, "that you can create a method for us to enter the Ancestral Realm? I have no desire to gather the Ancestral Crystals myself, nor the illusion I ever could."
He turns toward two figures wrapped in the aura of water.
One of the water masters replies coolly, "As it should be. And even if you wished it, you would not succeed."
The wood master speaks next, his voice calm but firm, "We are confident, but for that, one among us must become an Ancestral cultivator."
His gaze shifts to the figure who commands the power of blood, one who would be the next blood ancestor.
He sighs why the wood ancestor doesn't swallow other life to extend his life. If the wood ancestor did, then they would plan to kill the wood ancestor, and he could be the next wood ancestor. His situation mirrors that of the ice master.
Among the nine Ancestral Realm cultivators, the darkness, wood, and water ancestors are not their targets. The Dark Ancestor, though a beast, chose the spiritual path. If he had been born human, they might never have planned to kill one of the other six.
Those six are the Fire, Earth, Wind, Thunder, Yin, Yang, and Blood Ancestors. They chose the Blood Ancestor because his life is nearing its end—a cycle that has repeated many times over the long ten thousand years. Each time, the Blood Ancestor and the others, along with the previous Dark Ancestor, extended their lives by devouring other souls, including those of their own descendants.
The other three ancestors—Dark, Wood, and Water—joined this cause for a different reason. The current Dark Ancestor was only born after the previous one died a century ago. The Water Ancestor is the first life of the world, and like the Wood Ancestor—who was the first life on land—has prolonged existence through long slumbers.
They are called the Guardians of the World.
Together, the Wood and Water Ancestors, with the aid of pure human Spiritual Masters, created the organisation. Their goal: to eliminate the other six. The will of the world, according to the two Guardians, now demands the death of the six Ancestors. Though once blessed as protectors, they have long outlived their purpose—ten thousand years extended by sacrificing the lives of countless others.
The elder of the Silver Village steps forward, his voice solemn, "The time has come. I must inform them to begin. For the world."
And with that, he vanishes.
Another voice rises, "Let us fight together. Victory to the world."
Then disappears.
One by one, the remaining ten figures echo the same words—"Victory to the world"—and vanish into the void.