A thick sea fog blanketed the horizon. Wang Xiao stood at the very front of the warship's deck, hands gripping the railing, trembling ever so slightly.
He was not only the vice-commander of the Imperial Dragon Soul Master Regiment but also a sworn retainer of Xu Zihuang's family. The soldiers who had defected alongside him were all loyal retainers from Xu Zihuang's direct bloodline.
A young man who appeared no older than thirty stepped quietly from the cabin onto the deck and stopped behind Wang Xiao. His frame was slim, and his features delicate and refined to the point of androgyny—were it not for the prominent Adam's apple at his throat, one might easily mistake him for a woman.
His long black hair was immaculately combed, cascading over both shoulders. He carried himself with the graceful bearing of a refined gentleman. Unlike the other soldiers in their deep-purple dragon-patterned armor, he wore a luxurious white soul master's robe.
The young man stepped forward to lean on the railing beside Wang Xiao, his deep black eyes following Wang Xiao's gaze into the dim, mist-covered sea ahead.
"Uncle Wang," he said.
"Yaoyang… you didn't have to come with us," Wang Xiao replied without turning. "If this mission fails, you'll be branded a traitor too—and forced to live on the run just like us. Your family's noble title, passed down for generations, will be stripped away."
Wang Xiao's tiger-like eyes, usually stern and unshakable, flickered with a rare trace of emotion as he stared into the distance.
Yaoyang gave a bitter smile and shook his head, his voice unwavering.
"If not for the prince and you back then, I wouldn't be alive today. My bloodline would've ended with me—what use would a hereditary title have been? So what if I become a fugitive? I've grown tired of this so-called peaceful life anyway. I owe the prince a debt I could never repay in a lifetime. Now that his only son is in danger… if I stand by and do nothing, I could never forgive myself."
"If we do succeed in rescuing the young master," Wang Xiao said, glancing at him, "I'm afraid you may not be able to give up your title as Viscount of Yuenan so easily."
A flash of nostalgia passed through Wang Xiao's eyes. Yaoyang's response didn't surprise him. He chuckled softly, clapped him on the shoulder.
Yaoyang's eyes brightened instantly.
"Uncle Wang, does that mean you've agreed to my earlier proposal?"
"We'll talk about that once the young master is safe," Wang Xiao replied, waving his hand to dismiss the topic. He turned and strode toward the soldiers who had already gathered in formation.
Among them stood Meng Cang, still bearing traces of the heavy injuries he had sustained earlier. Thanks to the healing of a soul master, his external wounds had mostly healed—but deeper injuries were not so easily mended.
Wang Xiao gave him a cold glare and, without a word, kicked him out of the formation.
His authority among the former Imperial Dragon Soul Master Regiment was unquestioned. The deck fell completely silent. Meng Cang opened his mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing.
Wang Xiao then selected five more soldiers to remain behind with Meng Cang. He gave no explanation—just a simple wave of his hand—and leapt from the deck directly into the sea.
Yaoyang and more than forty other former regiment members followed immediately. Flashes of soul power sparkled in the dark.
One by one, small boats emerged from their soul tools, floating onto the sea's surface.
These boats were peculiar—narrow, without sails, each with only three seats. In truth, they were tier-three soul devices, each inscribed with a propulsion array that allowed for high-speed travel with the infusion of soul power.
The group took turns infusing the boats to maintain peak soul power while steadily heading toward the faint silhouette of an island on the horizon.
As Yaoyang shared a boat with Wang Xiao, his entire demeanor changed.
His long black hair flowed in the wind, and the previously gentle aura around him turned icy cold. His form became ghostly and vague, as if fading into a shadow. A thick black mist rose at his feet. His black eyes turned a blood-red hue.
Eerie.
A soul ring configuration of yellow, three purple, and three black—seven rings total—rose beneath his feet, each one surpassing the average distribution of soul masters. Though appearing under thirty, he had already reached the rank of Soul Sage.
As the fifth ring lit up, he spoke in a low voice:
"Stay within the range of my fifth soul skill."
Before the words even faded, the soldiers and their boats vanished completely from the sea, as if the scene had never happened at all.
Back on the deck, Meng Cang slammed his fist down in frustration, expression dark with resentment.
A youth of seventeen or eighteen quickly rushed over to help him up. The boy's face bore a strong resemblance to Meng Cang's—about eighty percent alike—and was filled with indignation.
"Father, you earned great merit this time. The commander treating you like that is completely unfair!"
His anger wasn't only on behalf of his father—it was his own too. This had been his first mission after joining the Imperial Dragon Soul Master Regiment. He had dreamt of proving himself, only for it to end like this. Of course he had strong feelings about it.
But before he could say another word, Meng Cang's frustration exploded. He swung his arm and delivered a thunderous slap across his son's face.
Bang—bang—bang!
Meng Lang was sent flying across the deck, bouncing three times before crashing into the iron railing. The sheer force of the slap was evident.
"You little bastard!" Meng Cang's chest heaved with rage, his wounds flaring up again. He spat a mouthful of blood.
Meng Lang, face flushed and burning with pain, looked at his furious father with fear and grievance. He lowered his head in silence.
Only after a long pause did Meng Cang sigh, pressing a hand to his forehead. He muttered,
"Didn't you notice? Aside from Old Cheng, everyone left behind has soul power under rank 50. You're only at rank 40—and haven't even gotten your fourth ring. What would you have done if you went? You'd be nothing but a burden. That island is guarded by two soul master regiments. The Western Sea Regiment might not match ours, but it's still one of the elite units of the Sun-Moon Empire."
"Let it go, old Meng," said one of the older soldiers left behind. "Meng Lang's just a little hot-blooded. Weren't we all like that back in the day?"
This man, called Old Cheng, stepped forward to help Meng Lang up.
"Don't make excuses for this brat," Meng Cang barked. Though his glare was still fierce, he held back from lashing out further out of respect for his old comrade.
Meng Lang rubbed his swollen cheek and looked aggrieved. He was simple and honest, but not stupid. Knowing better than to provoke his father further, he stayed quiet.
---
In the great hall on the first floor of the castle, beneath the soft light of soul lamps, Xu Zihuang sat silently in the main seat, sipping a glass of freshly pressed juice made from fruits imported directly from the Sun-Moon Empire.
To his left sat Haixiao; to his right, Yu Yun, the regiment commander of the Lan Hai Soul Master Regiment, who had been assigned to escort the hundred noble young ladies.
Yu Yun commanded a soul master regiment formed by a coastal city on the Sun-Moon Empire's western seaboard. His troops were far less capable than those of Haixiao's Western Sea Regiment, and numbered only a hundred.
Though Yu Yun was decades older than Haixiao, his cultivation had only just crossed into the Soul Sage level—and even then, it was with medicinal help. He would likely never progress further. In front of Haixiao, a level-eight soul engineer, he was incredibly deferential.
Xu Zihuang rested his chin on his right hand, glancing lazily across the room. The hall was filled with the chatter of noble young women, all dressed in their finest and engaging in polite conversation.
But Xu Zihuang knew full well: many of their eyes were secretly fixed on him.
He chuckled to himself with faint irony. The scene reminded him of his days before exile.
Back then, he had been the powerful heir of a prince. Noble families across the empire had bent over backward trying to send their daughters into his household, all vying for the slimmest chance at an alliance through marriage.
Now, the setting was the same—but his status had changed completely.
Among the noble girls—some icy, some pure—all tried to display their best side before him, whether intentionally or not.
But the joys and sorrows of people do not truly intersect. To Xu Zihuang, they were merely noisy.
Still, to satisfy his cousin Xu Tianran, he feigned interest and acted as if carefully selecting among them.
Perhaps, as Haixiao had suggested, he could keep them all. But that wasn't in line with the persona he had carefully cultivated.
To avoid unnecessary complications, he decided he would only choose ten.
Of course, based on his own preferences. After all, there was no reason to compromise.
---
(End of Chapter)
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