Starting as the heir of a marquis's mansion, I gained access to a summoning system.

The White Lotus Sect.

The white-robed Dharma King arrived the latest and in the most secrecy.

He took off his spotless white monk's robe and put on a coarse linen outfit. His hair was disheveled and his face was smeared with ash, making him look like a down-on-his-luck old beggar.

He completely concealed his aura as a Grandmaster at the fifth level using a secret technique, so that even the rogue cultivators around him did not notice anything unusual.

He squatted in the most crowded part of the area, head down, as if asleep.

But his ears were listening.

Listen to everyone's conversation.

Listen to every word about the Azure Dragon Society.

"The Netherworld Dharma King is dead... killed by the Azure Dragon Society..."

"The Azure Dragon Society is formidable now; all six branches have joined forces, sweeping through the thirteen prefectures..."

"I heard that Li Chenzhou killed the Netherworld Dharma King with a single palm strike..."

The white-robed Dharma King's lips twitched slightly.

The Netherworld Dharma King is his junior brother.

Their master was the same person—the previous leader of the White Lotus Sect, who mysteriously disappeared thirty years ago.

"Junior brother," the white-robed Dharma King murmured in his heart, "I will avenge you."

His eyes gleamed coldly behind his disheveled hair, like two lurking venomous snakes.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard's camp was set up at the highest point.

A large flag was planted on the hillside, with the three characters "Jinyiwei" (Imperial Guard) in red on a black background, fluttering in the wind.

Yan Jingchen, nicknamed "Sky Eagle," stood with his hands behind his back, facing the stone gate and with his back to the crowd.

His figure was as upright as a pine tree, his black brocade robe motionless in the wind—not because of the weight of the fabric, but because of the condensation of his true energy. The aura of a Grandmaster at the fifth level was as deep and as imposing as a mountain, so that no one within a radius of ten feet dared to speak loudly.

"My lord." A Jinyiwei centurion stepped forward from behind, clasped his hands in a fist salute, and said in a low voice, "The Zhenfu Division has also arrived. The leader is still Xuanpan, a Grandmaster at the fifth level, leading more than twenty people."

"Um."

Yan Jingchen did not turn around, but only responded with a sound.

"Also, the rogue cultivators... there are too many of them, and their quality varies greatly, at least five or six hundred. There are quite a few at the Innate Realm, and more than a dozen at the Grandmaster Realm."

"We don't need to worry about the rogue cultivators," Yan Jingchen said calmly. "They can't cause any trouble."

"Yes."

Yan Jingchen's gaze pierced through the crowd and landed on the Zhenfu Division's camp.

Xuanpan, wearing the bronze mask, was sitting on a rock with his eyes closed, resting. Behind him, more than twenty elite soldiers from the Zhenfu Division were scattered around, seemingly casually, but actually forming a formidable formation.

"Xuanpan..." Yan Jingchen's lips curled into a slight smile, "We meet again."

The last time we met was during a case in the North. We were each serving our own masters, and we fought each other for half a month, neither of us gaining the upper hand.

This time, we'll run into each other again in the ruins.

The camp of the Zhenfu Division.

Xuanpan sat upright on the stone, his bronze mask gleaming coldly in the afterglow of the setting sun. Behind the mask, his eyes were half-open, half-closed, as if he were uninterested in everything around him.

But his hand remained on the judge's pen at his waist.

"My lord," a captain from the Garrison Command approached and whispered, "Yan Jingchen has come personally from the Embroidered Uniform Guard."

"I know."

"Should we...say hello to him?"

Xuanpan opened his eyes and glanced at the captain.

The look in his eyes behind the mask was like he was looking at an idiot.

"What's there to greet me about?" His voice was hoarse and cold. "Each serves their own master, each relies on their own abilities."

"Yes, yes, yes..." the captain replied repeatedly and withdrew.

Xuanpan closed his eyes again.

But in his mind, he kept making plans.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard, the Antarctic Sword Sect, the Iron Blood Hall, the Chaotian Palace, the Azure Dragon Temple, the Blood Nether Sect, the Heavenly Net, the Azure Dragon Society...

With so many forces crammed together, is there enough to go around in the ruins?

If there aren't enough to go around, you have to fight for them.

Robbery leads to death.

Dead people... that's what the Zhenfu Division is best at.

The Azure Dragon Society's camp was set up among everyone.

It's neither high nor low, neither in front nor behind, just on the most ordinary hillside, and looks completely unremarkable.

But those who are observant will notice that this location offers the fastest way to reach the stone gate and also the fastest way to retreat. It allows for both offense and defense.

Li Chenzhou sat in the center of the camp, with a campfire burning in front of him.

He wasn't wearing battle robes, but rather a dark blue long gown, his long hair tied up with a wooden hairpin, making him look like a traveling scholar. But his eyes were deep and unfathomable; when he occasionally glanced at the crowd, they sent chills down the spines of those he looked at.

Gongzi Yu sat to his left, dressed in white with a long sword at his waist, his face as cold and stern as frost. He was wiping the sword in his hand, his movements slow and meticulous, as if he were polishing a work of art.

Zhuo Donglai stood to one side, his purple robes gleaming eerily in the firelight. A faint smile played on his lips as his gaze swept back and forth between the camps of the various factions.

"They've all arrived," Zhuo Donglai said in a low voice. "The Antarctic Sword Sect, the Iron Blood Hall, the Chaotian Palace, the Qinglong Temple, the Blood Nether Sect, the Heavenly Net, the Embroidered Uniform Guard, the Zhenfu Division... and the White Lotus Sect should also be here, but they're hiding."

"Mm," Li Chenzhou replied.

"Is there any news from Young Master?" Young Master Yu stopped what he was doing and looked up.

"We've arrived," Li Chenzhou said. "We're with the rogue cultivators."

Gongzi Yu nodded and continued wiping his sword.

Zhuo Donglai tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the group of rogue cultivators, but he said nothing.

With Ximen Chuixue around, they don't need to worry about the young master's safety.

Their task is to preserve the ruins.

Dongfang Weiwo stood among the group of independent cultivators, completely inconspicuous.

He wore an ordinary blue robe, his hair was casually tied up, and his aura was concealed at the early stage of the Innate Realm. Around him, groups of two or three scattered cultivators were either squatting or standing; some were talking loudly, some were resting with their eyes closed, and some were eating meat and drinking wine.

No one noticed the quiet, reserved boy.

But Dongfang Weiwo's eyes never stopped.

He's watching.

Look at each and every one of them.

Ling Yunzi of the Antarctic Sword Sect is as steady as a mountain, clearly a seasoned veteran.

Iron Blade King of the Iron Blood Hall is rugged and domineering, but there is shrewdness hidden in his eyes—he is not a brute.

Qingfeng Daoist of Chaotian Palace had a gentle smile, but behind his eyes lay a bottomless cunning.

The Blood Shadow Elder of the Blood Dark Cult is as cold and sinister as a snake.

The Xuanpan of the Zhenfu Division is mysterious and unpredictable.

Yan Jingchen, a member of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, is aloof and sharp.

Dongfang Weiwu shifted his gaze from the Imperial Guards to the old monk under the pine trees.

Master Liaochen continued to pluck his prayer beads, his eyes half-closed, seemingly uninterested in his surroundings. Yet, his chanting, like an invisible net, enveloped the entire valley.

"Grandmaster level seven..." Dongfang Wei murmured to himself.

Ximen Chuixue was in the shadows.

That sword strike could kill a Grandmaster at the fifth level.

Whether he could kill a Grandmaster at the seventh level—he didn't know, nor was he interested in knowing. Because he didn't need to be enemies with Liao Chen.

At least not now.

"This old Zen master is probably here to keep things in check," Dongfang Weiwo thought to himself. "He's not here to steal anything. As long as we don't provoke him, he won't make a move."

He looked away and continued to observe the others.

Sudden.

A deafening roar echoed from deep within the mountains.

"boom--!!"

The sound didn't come from the ears, but exploded from the soles of the feet, from the bones, from the depths of the soul.

The earth trembled violently, and countless golden rays shot into the sky from the depths of the mountains, illuminating the sky for miles around as if it were daytime.

Everyone was startled by this sudden turn of events and stood up.

"It's about to open!"

"The ruins are about to open!"

Exclamations erupted from the crowd; some were flushed with excitement, some gripped their weapons tightly with nervousness, and some had already begun to move toward the stone gate.

The golden light lasted for the duration of an incense stick burning.

Then, it gradually dissipated.

As the light faded, everyone witnessed a breathtaking scene—

Deep within the Endless Mountains, in an area previously shrouded in mist and restrictions, a massive stone gate has appeared.

The stone gate is a hundred zhang high and fifty zhang wide—what does a hundred zhang mean? It's as high as a thirty-story building.

It was cast entirely from an unknown black stone, its surface covered with ancient runes. The runes were densely packed, stretching from the lintel to the foot of the door, their lines ancient and intricate, shimmering with a faint golden light, as if they were slowly flowing with life.

Millions of years ago, who built this gate?

Millions of years ago, what kind of world was on the other side of the door?

The stone gate was tightly closed.

But the spiritual energy emanating from the crack in the door was so rich it was almost condensed into liquid.

Standing a hundred feet away from the stone gate, every breath felt like swallowing fine nectar.