As the night fell, a deathly chill swept through Purple Stone City. Dark clouds coiled across the moon, veiling the sky in unsettling gloom.
In the shadows, masked figures slithered through alleyways like specters, their auras soaked in bloodlust.
From the top of an abandoned building, the Wailing Bell Sect gathered—hooded, silent, and brimming with murderous intent.
A haunting bell echoed faintly in the wind—one only cultivators attuned to death could hear.
Its toll was not of metal, but of howls of despair.
And as the final echo faded, a hundred shadowy blades descended toward the Thousand Wealth Chamber—each whispering the same promise:
"No survivors."
Meanwhile, at the back of the Thousand Wealth Chamber, Mo Jian, Zhao Tian, and Merchant Tao were planning next action when a deafening sound echoed.
"Hmm? What's that? Are we under attack?" Merchant Tao's face was full of confusion.
Who would dare attack the chamber?
