"It indeed is," High Elder nodded. "Young Master has advanced in his Sword Dao. He should have reached level 7 of the Timeless Sword Manual."

  "Seventh Sword, Meteor Fall!" Tian whispered, performing delicate, swift moves. Each strike hit the ground without leaving a trace.

  The Meteor Fall Sword Art was a mystery, and everyone understood it differently. The Sword Emperor saw it as the movement of thought, describing a powerful and invincible thread connecting thoughts with the physical. This thread made it possible to comprehend what we saw.

  Tian took that theory and added the Yin and Yang Mantra, enhancing his strikes tenfold. He saw the sword as the extension connecting Yin and Yang, bridging the gaps between Night and Day, Heaven and Earth.

  With this concept, Tian unleashed a barrage of strikes, each untraceable until they hit their point.

  "Ten Thousand Sword Storm," Tian unleashed a second series of techniques.

  All the swords swirled into a menacing vortex and pierced a distant mountain. The scene was as if Autumn leaves were rushing towards the mountain and as soon as they collided, the entire mountain was quickly leveled.

  "I've finally mastered the seventh Sword of the Timeless Sword Manual!" Tian was elated with his success. "I am now just a few steps from being a Sword Immortal."

  Tian stood at the High Peak like a young god, looking absolutely stunning and charming after having gone through the 3-9 Soulflare Tribulation.

  In one smooth motion, Tian drew his hand back, dispersing his domain. The dark mist and gold flames vanished, leaving behind the icy stillness of the mountain. He took a deep breath, his chest heaving as he absorbed the final remnants of the Heavenly Tribulation’s power. The ground beneath him shimmered with residual heat, and the golden light from the heavens faded, leaving the Elder Peak bathed in a tranquil glow.

  Then, breaking the silence, Yingsha gave a small laugh, perhaps to mask the awe and fear in his voice.

  “Well, looks like there was nothing to worry about after all!”

  murmurs rippled through the crowd, tense at first, but then, as Tian remained silent, it grew more natural. They were relieved, thrilled—and perhaps just a little scared. The Young Master had returned to them, but he was no longer the same.

  Tian looked out over them, his eyes still ablaze with the energy of his transformation. Yet there was a hint of kindness, a reminder of the person he had once been.

  The echoes of the Heavenly Bell had barely faded, and the Sect was still caught in the throes of awe. Tian's ascension—the birth of the Phoenix Sovereign—had left every disciple and elder speechless, marveling at the raw power and untamed energy that now radiated from him. The skies, once blackened with clouds and thrumming with the fury of tribulation, were calm and pristine as if they too recognized Tian’s transformation.

  Disciples gathered around the central arena, exchanging glances filled with disbelief, excitement, and a touch of fear. Whispers buzzed through the air as they glanced up at the mountaintop where Tian had undergone his transformation, his silhouette framed against the golden sky. A sense of triumph, of victory hard-won, filled the Sect’s grounds as the disciples celebrated their new Phoenix Sovereign.

  But just as the thrill of victory reached its peak, a chilling presence settled over the Sect like an unwelcome shadow.

  The High Peak, where Tian had transcended, still bore traces of celestial energy, an ethereal mist lingering like the memory of lightning. Whispers about his transformation rippled among the disciples as they trained, awe and excitement glinting in their eyes. Life in the Sect felt grander, filled with hope and potential.

  Then, without warning, a chill swept through the Sect grounds, a subtle change in the air that made every disciple pause mid-action. The temperature dropped, and the vibrant energy that had suffused the atmosphere moments before was suddenly veiled by a heavy, unfamiliar aura. The clang of weapons stopped, the chants faded, and an unnatural stillness settled over the Sect.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  At the gates, a lone figure approached the Sect gates.

  Riding on a horse, he was draped in a not so modest but well-kept cloak, woven from a dark fabric that seemed to drink in the morning light. His face was stern yet dignified, his eyes sharp and piercing, like twin voids that absorbed everything in their gaze. He carried himself with a quiet authority, an intensity that seemed to demand attention. Each step he took toward the heart of the Sect was slow and deliberate, his movements fluid but controlled. As he advanced, disciples and lower-ranking elders instinctively stepped aside, caught between curiosity and an unnamed fear.

  His pace was measured, and steady, each step imbued with an authority that didn’t need to be announced. He exuded an aura that seemed to compress the air around him, as though the very world bent slightly under his presence. The light around him dimmed, and the temperature dropped, sending chills down the spines of those near enough to sense his approach.

  The man was not tall, nor was he adorned in lavish robes, yet his presence commanded attention with a weight that was almost tangible. His gaze, sharp and dark, held a depth that seemed to devour everything in sight, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. He stopped just within the Sect’s threshold, and his piercing eyes scanned the scene, taking in the triumphant disciples with a detached sort of interest. Then, with a soft, nearly inaudible sigh, he stepped forward.

  A handful of younger disciples in the courtyard noticed him first, their laughter dying in their throats as they turned to see this stranger’s approach.

  The man walked with purpose, his stride unwavering, until he stopped in the center of the courtyard, his gaze calm and unyielding. Around him, murmurs began to ripple through the crowd.

  "Who is he?"

  "Do you feel that aura? He’s no ordinary visitor."

  "Is he a messenger from another Sect?"

  The disciples whispered among themselves, exchanging confused and wary glances. Some clutched their weapons more tightly, while others simply watched in silent fascination, unsure whether this man was friend or foe.

  In the Elder Hall, several senior members of the Sect had gathered, still discussing Tian’s astonishing feat. Their voices carried excitement and pride, their faces alight with the prospect of what the Flame Sovereign’s ascension might mean for the future of their Sect. But just as they delved deeper into the possibilities, an acolyte hurried in, his face pale and tense.

  “Honored Elders,” he began, bowing low. “A stranger has arrived at the Sect. His presence… it’s unsettling. He asked for an audience.”

  The Sect Elders turned, their expressions shifting from reverence to suspicion in a heartbeat. One of the older Elders, his gaze sharp with years of experience, stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Who dares enter our sacred grounds unannounced?” he demanded, his voice firm but laced with underlying caution. The Elders felt his power; none could deny the aura he carried, like a sword held just barely in check.

  The High Elder, a man with a long silver beard and piercing eyes, narrowed his gaze. “A stranger? Did he state his purpose?”

  The acolyte hesitated, looking unsure. “No, but… he carries himself with the bearing of someone formidable. He appears to be… waiting.”

  Curiosity mixed with suspicion as the elders exchanged glances. Rising from their seats, they moved toward the courtyard, their expressions wary.

  Outside, Li Jinan stood, his gaze sweeping over the disciples who dared to meet his eyes. When the elders arrived, his focus shifted, and he inclined his head in a slight bow—a gesture of respect, though his gaze remained cold and unreadable. His movements were precise, calculated, as if every action was a piece of some grand design.

  The High Elder approached, his eyes narrowing as he studied the man before him. “You arrive at our Sect unannounced,” he said, his tone formal yet edged with suspicion. “We do not know who you are or why you come, yet you bring with you an aura that disrupts our harmony. State your purpose.”

  Li Jinan lifted his head, his expression impassive. “I apologize if my arrival has disturbed your peace. I am Li Jinan,” he said, his voice low but carrying a gravitas that seemed to fill the entire courtyard. “I am a servant of the Ashen Clan.”

  The mere mention of the Ashen Clan sent a ripple of shock through the assembled crowd. Gasps echoed among the disciples and elders alike, their eyes widening in recognition and disbelief. Sixteen years had passed since anyone had spoken openly of the Ashen Clan, a name that had slipped into the realm of legend after their sudden disappearance.

  The head elder’s face tightened, his brow furrowing as he measured the stranger’s words. “The, the… The Sacred Family… vanished many years ago. What connection do you, a so-called servant, have with them? And what business could a servant of a fallen clan have with our Sect?”

  Li’s expression remained calm, unreadable. “The Ashen Clan may have disappeared, but not all of its lineage is lost,” he replied, his eyes shifting to meet the head elder’s gaze with a piercing intensity. “I have come to retrieve the one I serve—the son of my Mistress.”

  A hushed silence fell over the crowd as his words hung in the air. Disciples exchanged bewildered looks, while the elders stiffened, their expressions hardening with disbelief and confusion.

  "The son of your Mistress?" one elder echoed, skepticism etched into his voice. "What do you mean by this? No one here is of the Ashen bloodline."