Night fell like ink, soaking the streets and alleys of Windfall City.
Inside Lin Chen's private chamber, the lamp glow was dim and yellow.
He sat cross‑legged on the bed, his single arm resting on his knee, eyes lightly closed. The strange poison within him and the residual power of the Shadow Prison Poison Core intertwined and flowed, bringing a faint tingling sensation to his meridians—a sign that the venom was being slowly refined and integrated into his body.
The blue‑black poison veins on his neck flickered on and off, like dormant venomous snakes.
Outside the window, the wind grew stronger.
Several cold auras clung like gangrene, lingering around the inn, sometimes drawing near, then suddenly retreating, filled with testing and dread.
Were they dissenters from the Shadow Assassins, or hidden agents of the Ten Thousand Poison Cave?
A cold glint flashed in Lin Chen's eyes, yet he remained still with eyes closed.
He was waiting.
Waiting for them to make the first move, waiting for the fatal flaw.
Time passed slowly, and the night deepened.
Suddenly—
Buzz—!
An extremely low vibration erupted without warning from the top floor of the inn.
It was not a sound, but a resonance born from the laws of heaven and earth.
The tremor did not enter through the ears, but pierced directly through the walls, along the bed and floor, drilling deep into the bone marrow. Lin Chen's meridians tensed violently, his heart squeezed by an invisible hand, and his breath caught instantly.
The entire Returning Cloud Inn, and even half the streets of Windfall City, fell into dead silence at that moment.
The noise of crowds, the rumble of carriages, the shouts of merchants—all vanished.
The wind stopped.
Candle flames froze mid‑air, no longer flickering.
Splashing wine, falling hair, even floating dust—everything stood motionless.
Time had been pressed to a halt.
Lin Chen's eyes snapped open, his pupils shrinking sharply.
He abruptly raised his head, staring toward the top‑floor private chamber.
There, a black‑robed figure stood silently by the window, still appearing ordinary, his face hidden in shadow. Only one hand slowly lifted.
No surging true essence, no glowing radiance.
Not even a wisp of killing intent leaked out.
Yet the moment that hand rose, the entire night sky seemed covered by an invisible giant palm.
Moonlight vanished, stars dimmed.
The thousands of lights in Windfall City dimmed simultaneously, like guttering candles barely clinging to life.
Outside the inn, three black figures were frozen mid‑air as they prepared to break through the window. Their ferocity and cruelty solidified instantly into utter terror.
They were trusted followers of rebellious elders within the Shadow Assassins, all at the Spiritual Sea realm. Usually, they dominated the borderlands and killed without mercy.
But now, beneath the shadow of that hand, their bodies shrank drastically. Their true essence shields cracked like thin ice under the scorching sun, not a single thought of resistance rising.
"Tran… Transforming Sea…"
One of them gurgled, his voice broken, his pupils filled with endless despair.
The Pavilion Master did not turn around, did not even glance at them.
His fingertip pressed down gently.
No sound.
No breath.
Before they could even scream, the three Spiritual Sea experts exploded.
Blood mist sprayed, flesh splattered.
Scorching blood dripped from the eaves, blooming dark red flowers on the bluestone slabs.
Splintered bones, torn tendons, shattered organs—mixed with thick plasma—slowly flowed along the stone cracks, exuding a sickening sweet‑and‑rank stench.
No explosion, no shockwave.
Only pure, absolute power crushing everything beneath it.
The next instant, the confinement lifted.
Time resumed its flow.
Wind howled again, candle flames flickered once more, and the street noise rushed back in a roar.
As if the dead silence and terror of that moment had never happened.
Only the thick, cloying stench of blood in the air, and the still‑damp dark stains on the bluestone, silently told of the horror that had just occurred.
Cold sweat beaded in Lin Chen's palm, his single arm tensing slightly.
He looked down at his hand, sensing the feeble True Martial essence within him, and for the first time felt a suffocating realization.
So‑called Spiritual Sea experts, so‑called border tyrants.
Before the Transforming Sea realm, they were nothing but blood‑mud to be casually crushed.
By the top‑floor window, the black‑robed figure slowly lowered his hand.
A cold voice penetrated the walls, reaching Lin Chen's ears:
"Before absolute power, schemes and calculations are meaningless."
"Remember this bloodshed."
"The path ahead of you is long."
The night deepened.
The lights of Windfall City still shone brightly.
But Lin Chen knew that beneath the city's noise, an invisible shadow had already enveloped everything.
That was the might of the Transforming Sea.
A reign soaked in blood, unshakable and absolute.