The Dragon Kin’s takeover of the Basiloth Empire landed like a single stone in a still pond—one ripple, then calm. For common folk, the name on the throne is just a shadow on the wall; what matters is a warm hearth and a full bowl. As for the nobles, no one dared breathe against it—cross the Dragon Kin and you also cross the Mizumi Clan, like stepping between thunder and blade.

Let the Dragon Kin keep the empire rather than let princes fight like wolves under a blood moon; it was rain on dry fields. As a vassal, the battered Basiloth Empire could still anchor itself as the first empire of the Northern Abyss Continent; every sign pointed to pure gain, no hidden thorns.

Saint Cole soon fetched a slate of elders and a clutch of talented, idle young dragons from the Dragon Realm, like pulling steel from an old mountain and sparks from fresh flint.

Imperial Palace, Council Hall—lamps glowed like fireflies in amber dusk.

“Your Majesty Dragon God, now that the Basiloth Empire is under the Dragon Kin, I believe we should change the nation’s name and city names,” an elder said, words neat as cut jade. “Why not remake it from root to branch?”

The elder bowed to Saint Cole. He was Rihat Dir Victor, second son to the current clan chief—eyes like eagles tasting wind.

Rihat had carried grand designs like a sheathed sword since childhood, but the Dragon Realm’s peace pressed that blade back into scabbard. Appointed acting emperor of Basiloth by Saint Cole, he felt dawn break across a long night—his aim was to raise Basiloth into a superpower like the Elven Empire, a high peak among peaks.

The Elven Kind sits first among the four great races like a cedar on a ridge, and the Elven Empire is its trunk and roots. On the Southern Spirit Continent, their lone banner stretches like a river to the horizon; that vista tugged at Rihat’s heart like the sea pulls at the moon.

As for Yugong Sacred Sound, it was her first time away from the Central Continent; the wider world gleamed to her like frost on new grass. She handed the grindstone work to Saint Cole, then slipped off to stroll Cerol City, as light as a swallow cutting through market lanterns.

“No problem. Rihat, you and yours take full charge,” Saint Cole said, voice drifting like a cloud that won’t be caught. He had little taste for building Basiloth; if not for Yugong Sacred Sound’s word, he wouldn’t have spared it a glance.

“By your command. Thank you for your trust, Your Majesty Dragon God.” Gratitude warmed Rihat like coal in winter; in his heart he swore not to stain that trust, oath tight as a bowstring.

Evening settled after dinner like ink in water. Yugong Sacred Sound and Saint Cole spoke on what to do about Wilsar and Molor, their words circling like hawks over a ravine.

In the last battle, they hadn’t chased when Wilsar and Molor fled. It wasn’t fear of speed, but the mountain-sized shadow of an Origin Realm being tied to Wilsar. If they chased into that storm, who knew what lightning would strike? An Origin Realm being could crush them like an ant between two fingers.

“Since this touches Origin Realm beings, it’s beyond our reach,” Saint Cole said after ten minutes of back-and-forth, his tone like a shutter lowering.

“We can’t just let them run wild,” Yugong Sacred Sound answered, the line of her brows a drawn blade. “If that Wilsar truly had an Origin Realm patron standing right behind him, he wouldn’t have fled like leaves before wind. Given his Inner World background, I’d bet that patron isn’t in this world.”

“Mm… that tracks. The timing with the Worldgate incident links like chain to chain,” Saint Cole murmured, sinking into thought like a stone into a deep well. “And if an Origin Realm being really came out to stir the pot, Sir Xino wouldn’t sit and watch the house burn.”

“Exactly. So let’s stop overthinking and hunt Wilsar and Molor,” she said, eyes bright as stars before dawn. “I already had Wansheng and Wanling set tracking marks on them. With their strength, those two shouldn’t notice a thread this fine.”

“Caution keeps the boat upright,” Saint Cole said after a beat, palm settling like snow. “I hear the Elven Kind are preparing to deal with Molor, too. Let’s go to the Elven Realm and consult the Elven Queen Elunis. We decide after we’ve weighed the map and the wind.”

“That makes sense. We’ll plan with both hands, rest tonight, and head for the Elven Realm tomorrow,” Yugong Sacred Sound agreed, the nod small as a ripple yet steady as a keel. Better a careful voyage than a sudden capsize in a ditch.

Elsewhere, on a lonely island tucked into a corner of the Endless Sea, waves gnawed black rock like wolves on bone.

“We should be safe from pursuit here,” Wilsar said, setting Molor down and watching the surf slam white against stone. His breath let go like a fist opening.

Good thing that before today’s fight, hedging against the worst, he’d had Lixin and the others haul away everything movable in the Basiloth Empire. The losses stayed lean, like a fire stopped at the courtyard wall.

“Relax. Saint Cole won’t risk a chase,” Molor rasped, forcing down a healing elixir that burned like spring wine and soothed like rain. “They’re wary of your link to an Origin Realm being.”

To live this long and get hammered by that thirty-something girl, Yugong Sacred Sound—it stung like salt in an old wound. When he thought of Wansheng and Wanling’s terror-tier strength, he knew that even at his peak he couldn’t claw out revenge; that truth was a cold iron weight in his gut.

The helplessness made Molor seethe, smoke under a lid. Once, he had strutted under banners and set millennia of war ablaze like prairie fire—though he was felled in the end by the Yugou Sage. Now, even a young girl from the Mizumi Clan could press him to the dirt; the era felt like winter to an old tree.

“Don’t dwell,” Wilsar said, voice steady as a hand on a shoulder. “A Semi Origin Artifact pushed to full flare isn’t something we can stand against.”

He glanced back toward distant shores, eyes narrow as knife-edges. “That Allsaints Spirit Staff in Yugong Sacred Sound’s hand is top-tier, no doubt. It’s likely the handiwork of an Origin Realm being. That’s a wall we can’t climb.”

The deeper he dealt with the Mizumi Clan, the deeper the well seemed—no bottom, only dark water. If not for Xiyue’s order, he wouldn’t have chosen them as enemies; to fight that house, you need strength at least at the Origin Realm, like you need wings to chase the sun.

Those at the Origin Realm stand on the world’s highest ridge; they no longer chase grain and gold. And with Sir Xino behind the Mizumi Clan, what Origin Realm being would court death by stirring their nest? At least in the Prime Realm, no one with sense.

“Sigh… let’s finish Lord Xiyue’s task first,” Wilsar said, pulling out a crystal orb that caught sea light like ice catching dawn. Xiyue had sent it through the Worldgate not long ago; within glowed coordinates, bright as fireflies in glass.

“What task?” Molor asked, pushing himself up and brushing dust and salt from his clothes, each pat like a drumbeat on damp cloth.

“According to Lord Xiyue, there’s a seal in the deep sea beneath this island,” Wilsar said, pointing at the floating mark inside the crystal, his finger a compass needle.

“A seal?” The word hung like mist over cold water.

“Yeah. Lord Xiyue has an acquaintance sealed there. We’re to break the seal, pull him out, and ask for his aid,” Wilsar replied, each word set like stones across a stream.

“That acquaintance… he’s probably an Origin Realm being too. Can we manage that?” Molor’s doubt rose like smoke from wet wood.

“Should be fine. Lord Xiyue gave me the key to the seal,” Wilsar said, tapping the orb, light pulsing like a heartbeat. “But now’s not the time. We rest. When you’re healed, we dive.”

“Alright. We’ll do it your way,” Molor answered, closing his eyes as the surf kept time like a giant, patient drum.