On Sunshine Avenue, the Chiba Family’s wall toppled under endless public fire, a dam giving way to a flood.

Again, that wraith roared at the crowd like a spark in dry grass: "Brothers, charge!"

He barely finished, and a tide of clueless onlookers surged through like a river breaking its banks.

On the far side of the wall, they ran headlong into a group, likely the Chiba guard squad, shields in a storm.

"Brothers, spies spotted! Grab them, get promoted, strike it rich!" The cry cracked like a whip.

It was the same wraith. Ouyang hovered with an Oil Paper Umbrella, a shadow under lantern light. Even his ruthless third persona felt a smile curl, frost thawing.

This one was too sharp, a fox in chaos. Ouyang thought not promoting him would bury talent under dust.

In an instant, the onlookers flooded toward the mere dozens in the guard squad, a wave swallowing a sandbar.

The baffled guards were flattened under a sea of bodies, breath crushed like reeds under snow.

"Dammit, back off, this one's mine." A man pinned a guard to the ground, fingers like iron hooks.

Others hugged the captive’s arms. Some clung to his legs. No one let go, barnacles on a rock.

"Screw you. I grabbed him first!" One man snapped, pride flaring like a torch in wind.

He had pounced the moment he saw the guards. He never expected a scrum like this, a hive gone mad.

"Brothers, don’t fixate here. There are more spies ahead. And those houses are full of treasures. Whoever grabs them, keeps them!"

The same wraith bellowed, a drumbeat that lit every fuse. They came to catch spies, yet free loot? That smelled like bait.

Some were blinded by profit, eyes like coins. They didn’t think about the snare behind the promise.

Others understood, but in chaos they fished in muddy water. Who would warn the clueless crowd and kill their own windfall?

Tell them they’re being used, and they’d all go home to sleep. With no mass, who dares loot on the Chiba grounds?

One side stayed in the dark like fish in a net. The other side worked to keep them there, hands over candles.

Truth is, one wraith’s shout couldn’t draw this many. The push came from “enthusiastic citizens” eager to profit, weaving lies like silk.

It was a big affair, and this city was the Empire’s capital, a bell heard miles away. Other factions couldn’t miss it.

"Hello, Commander Maiola? Our family manor was hit by terrorists. Send troops, fast!" The plea cracked like glass.

Maiola, commander of the Eastern Military District, hesitated, a mountain under heavy clouds. A soldier stepped in.

"Report, Commander. About the Chiba Family, the order from above is… act like we don’t know."

"From above?" Maiola tasted the ash of politics. He knew the games between great houses, blades behind fans.

The Chiba were powerful, a tower on a cliff. You don’t trouble them easily. Tonight’s strangeness gave rivals a window, a door in mist.

It was a crowd-pleasing spectacle, lanterns in the night. They pressed local offices not to suppress it, or the show would end.

Beat the dog when it’s down, everyone knows that trick. The Chiba stood too high and had many enemies.

Under that tacit pressure, the Chiba had no reinforcements, a fortress suddenly deaf and blind.

Worse, their enemies rallied people, then mixed them into the crowd like ink in water, smashing and looting across the Chiba estate.

The wraith who first pushed the wall feared suspicion, a fox wary of traps. But rival agents solved it, charging at the front like spears.

They carried sacks on their backs, a locust swarm. They stuffed anything they saw. What they couldn’t take, they smashed.

Clueless onlookers admired them like the Yellow River in flood, unstoppable and loud. That was professionalism, a harvest in daylight.

Someone seized the timing and drove up a truck piled with sacks, a market under torchlight.

"Boss, how much for a sack?" The question hung like a coin.

"One hundred imperial credits." The driver smiled like a cat.

"Are you kidding? A sack costs a few coins. You want a hundred?" Anger spat like hot oil.

The driver didn’t flinch. "Kid, think. With a sack, you rush in and scoop whatever. Fill it, and the haul dwarfs a hundred."

"How could you lose? It’s a sure profit." He pointed at those with empty hands, windblown and early to leave.

"They bailed because they had no sacks. No container, no harvest." His pitch glinted like fish scales.

"Holy crap, boss, genius analysis. Give me one sack." The buyer’s eyes shone like lanterns.

"I’ll take two!" Another shouted, greed swelling like a tide.

Ouyang never thought the crowd’s power would be this vast, a sea without shore. The crowd’s wisdom rolled like clouds, boundless.

The clash kept burning. The Chiba Family reacted, and artillery boomed, drums of thunder.

When people saw the dead, anger ignited like dry straw. They drew weapons and raked the buildings, bullets like hail.

"Monkey, what happened? Wake up! Tiger bro said you’d be hall master!" Despair tore like cloth.

"Dammit, those beasts killed my brother. Kill them!" Rage howled like a wolf.

Blood spilled, and reason fled like birds at dusk. Rival factions stirred it, spoons in a boiling pot.

They looted in secret with one hand and stoked the crowd’s fire with the other, a wind feeding flames.

By now, Ouyang and the wraiths didn’t need to guide anything. The baton had passed, a relay in chaos.

Ouyang stopped watching the crowd-pleasing spectacle. He followed Youwen’s hint toward the core of the Chiba grounds, a heart behind walls.

As heir, Chiba Jing would live there, a pearl in a shell. That was the target.

Black fog coiled around him. Under his Oil Paper Umbrella, Ouyang stepped forward, slow as falling ash.

Ahead, lights blazed. Guard squads patrolled back and forth, ants along a rim.

Ouyang waved, and countless wraiths scattered like crows. They pounced on the guards, claws in shadow.

Gunshots cracked. Explosions bloomed. With their bodies’ control fraying, guns misfired and bullets wandered, sparks in dry reeds.

Crunch, crunch. A red skull appeared, its jaw grinding the dead like bones under wheels.

It chewed and then spat out more wraiths from its mouth, a furnace birthing smoke.

Boom. A warrior with a lightblade burst in, his slash splitting a wraith cleanly, silver lightning in hand.

The wraith shrieked, a high tearing note. It was hurt, which meant this man wasn’t ordinary.

Of course not. A top-three family in the Empire keeps masters, dragons under silk.

Gluttony opened wide and swallowed the bisected wraith, a pit with no bottom.

It chewed for a moment. Then it spat that same wraith back out, whole again, clay reformed.

"Young Master Chiba… long time no see." A figure took shape in the air, inked in moonlight.

He held an Oil Paper Umbrella, wore black, and hid behind a white mask, a ghost at a festival. Ouyang spoke.

Young Master in the Chiba Family meant only one heir: Chiba Jing, a name like a seal.

Chiba Jing watched Ouyang with sharp wariness, a cat under thunder. Ouyang’s voice had turned cold, winter in a well.

He never bothered remembering small fry, so he didn’t recognize Ouyang. A white-haired elder with a lightblade pushed Jing behind him.

He felt the danger, keen as ice. The man before him was terrifying, a walking nuclear bomb, heat trapped in skin.

"Who are you? This way of visiting seems improper." The elder’s tone tried for calm, a pond in wind.

Ouyang didn’t answer. His cold eyes locked on Chiba Jing, frost on steel. In his hand, the umbrella flowed into a sword.

"Do you know how strong thunder on the storm clouds is?" His words dropped like stones in water.

The elder’s eyelids twitched hard, drums under skin.

Thunder rolled across heaven and earth, a sky herd stampeding. Ouyang raised the sword and looked up, calm as a crane.

The blade became a lightning rod. A bolt speared down and struck it, white fire biting iron.

The sword and Ouyang’s body blazed with lightning. Sizzle, crackle. He drove the sword into the ground, a stake through earth.

At once, countless cracks spidered across the dirt, and lightning welled up from the seams like spring water.

One strike, and most present died to the storm, silhouettes erased. Gluttony kept crunching bodies, mouth a mill.

One by one, wraiths poured from its lips, a river of shades.

Done with that, Ouyang drifted toward Chiba Jing, unhurried, like a man strolling a garden after rain.

Finally, the white-haired elder couldn’t hold back. As an Earth-ranked warrior, he was a master even in the Western Empire, a boulder in a stream.

He swung the lightblade at Ouyang’s head, a decoy star. At the last instant, he cut low for the legs, a fox’s feint.

Whoosh. The blade passed through Ouyang’s legs like mist. "No resistance?" His breath hitched.

Not far away, Ouyang appeared beside Chiba Jing, a shadow stepping through space.

"Damn it—space movement. You’re a Western Empire spy. Let Jing go!" The elder’s shout cracked like ice.

Puchi. Ouyang’s sword plunged down through Chiba Jing’s crown, a stake through a gourd.

The long blade sank all the way in. That sword was Youwen made flesh, a vow in steel.

Ouyang had many ways to erase the Chiba Family like ash on wind. He chose this one.

He wanted Youwen to take revenge personally. Only the enemy’s blood could wash the grievance clean, a red river finally stilled.

Blood. Only blood pays for blood.

For Youwen, that debt ended here, a page burned closed. For Ouyang, nothing ended.

The fall of the Chiba Family was only a beginning, a dawn before storm. His target was the whole world.