The City of Silver Chains wasn't on most maps.
That's how you knew it was dangerous.
Nestled between mountains scarred by lightning, and rivers that whispered to the dead, this city thrived in secrets. And tonight, it pulsed with one thing:
The Underground Spirit Auction.
Luan walked in wearing a black robe—one size too big, stitched with fake silver—and a bored expression. He looked like a noble's bastard son pretending to be powerful.
Because… he was.
Sayra was by his side, dressed in a scarlet veil. Her dagger glinted beneath the folds, waiting for trouble.
Nia? Oh, she was undercover—posing as a rich merchant's spoiled daughter, complete with ten fake spirit rings and an attitude sharper than her tongue.
> "Remember," Yuu whispered from the back, "we're here for the Soulroot Flask. It's said to hold a fragment of an ancient Forgotten World cultivator's spirit."
> Luan raised an eyebrow. "And I'm just gonna bid on it with… what? Monopoly money?"
> Yuu winked. "Nope. With lies."
---
The auction began.
Cages filled with screaming beasts.
Bottles of jade containing whispering winds.
Even a time-locked flame from the Top-Class World—illegal in all realms.
Then came the Soulroot Flask.
It was small. Quiet. Innocent-looking.
But Luan's cursed blood howled the second it entered the room.
He stood to bid.
A few heads turned. Then scoffed.
> "Another fake cultivator?"
"He reeks of mortal."
> "Let the brat have it. It's probably cursed."
And just like that… it was his.
But as he reached for the flask—
BANG!
The doors exploded inward.
A woman entered, cloaked in bone-white fur, with eyes like fractured obsidian.
> "That artifact belongs to my sect," she growled.
"And I'll be taking it back—with your head, thief."
---
The room emptied.
Except for her… and him.
Sayra lunged—but a flick of the woman's hand sent her flying.
Nia snapped into form, throwing five talismans—but they melted in mid-air.
Luan stepped forward, clenched his fist—
And from behind his back, his Black Flame rose like a silent tsunami.
But this time, it laughed.
Yes.
Laughed.
> "So, the Mortal lights a spark. How quaint," the woman sneered.
But the laugh was not Luan's.
It was him.
That other version.
The one inside the fire.
> "She is unworthy of your fear," the voice echoed in Luan's mind.
"Borrow my claw."
Luan's eyes turned pitch-black.
The flame around him twisted into a clawed gauntlet—shadow forged from ancient sorrow.
He didn't punch her.
He erased her presence.
Gone.
Vanished like she'd never been.
As silence returned, Nia walked up, fake rings jingling.
She looked him dead in the eyes.
> "You scare me sometimes."
> "Good," he said, breathing hard. "You should."
Sayra limped back, staring at the black gauntlet as it slowly faded.
And somewhere inside the Soulroot Flask… something stirred.
Something with eyes still closed.
But dreaming of war.
End of Chapter 16
Shall we continue?