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Two black-robed law enforcement disciples with grim auras had already appeared silently behind him.

"Golden Halo Master, thirty-seven years ago, during the ’Yinfeng Valley Trial,’ you secretly acted to protect your Direct Disciple, severely injuring three fellow sect members and destroying their Dao Foundations. You concealed this matter and failed to report it, thereby deceiving the Sect.

By the law, you are stripped of your qualifications as a core master and sentenced to the Ninth Layer of Siguoya to face the wall for three hundred years."

Golden Halo Master trembled, nearly losing his footing. His face was ashen.

The Ninth Layer of Siguoya was a place reserved for grave offenders, a land sealed off from all Spiritual Mechanisms. Three hundred years of facing the wall there was tantamount to a slow, agonizing decay of one’s Dao.

"Red-haired Master..."

"Nether Bone Master..."

One transfer order after another, one punishment after another, was steadily issued from Qi Yun’s lips.

Without exception, every person implicated was a capable commander or trusted confidant from Black Mountain Master’s old guard.

Some were transferred to stand guard in desolate, remote lands on the fringes of the Sect’s territory, where Spiritual Qi was thin;

Others had past transgressions of sect rules, both overt and covert, brought to light and were ordered to face the wall, fined their stipends, or stripped of their authority.

There were no harsh words, no thunderous rage.

There was only the clear, ice-cold pronouncement of sentences, delivered article by article, in accordance with the Sect Law Iron Scroll.

With every name read aloud, the atmosphere in the hall grew heavier.

The crowd to the rear on the left was like autumn grass in an unseen, chilling wind. One by one, they lowered their heads, their auras wilting. Some even began to tremble uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, at the front on the right, Qian Xin, Qing Li, and the others did their best to maintain solemn expressions.

But the glint of vindicated delight deep in their eyes was impossible to hide.

They had waited for this day for far too long.

The Black Mountain Lineage, relying on the tacit support of True Monarch Wu Dao, had operated within the Sect for many years. Its power was deeply entrenched, and it had suppressed dissent and monopolized Resources, long becoming a thorn in the side of many.

Now, this seemingly unshakable mountain was beginning to crumble apart amid the flat, indisputable pronouncements.

No one dared to voice any dissent.

The new Sect Leader’s authority stemmed from the endorsement of two True Monarchs.

What he was doing now, while appearing to be a purge, was in fact meticulously tied to the Sect’s laws. Every action was justified under the righteous banner of "enforcing discipline."

Although the Holy Sect was a Demon Sect,

Its internal laws were, paradoxically, all the more strict.

Otherwise, if these Demon Daoist Masters were allowed to act on a whim, they would likely tear the heavens asunder. How could the Sect possibly continue to function?

Qi Yun’s voice continued, issuing one command after another like a surgeon’s scalpel, excising, transferring, or neutralizing the Black Mountain Lineage’s influence in every key position within the Sect.

When the final directive—announcing a change of Steward for the Black Water Peak Spirit Medicinal Garden—was complete, Qi Yun closed the Sect Law Iron Scroll.

The hall fell into a dead silence.

Only the faint CRACKLE of the oil lamps could be heard.

Qi Yun placed the iron scroll on a side table, raised his eyes, and once again swept his gaze across the hall.

This time, his gaze was far more tranquil.

"The prosperity of the Sect lies in the clarity of its laws and the unity of all its members, from the highest to the lowest," he said slowly, his voice regaining its initial gentle warmth.

"Past matters have been judged according to the law and will be put to rest.

I trust all of you, my fellow disciples, will take this as a lesson. Henceforth, practice self-discipline, serve the Sect selflessly, cultivate the Great Dao diligently, and together, let us bring glory to our Holy Sect."

"We respectfully obey the Sect Leader’s decree!"

This time, the response from below was perfectly unified, the voices loud and clear, without the slightest trace of discord.

Whether or not they had truly submitted in their hearts, at this very moment, everyone understood one thing—

The sky over the Wuji Holy Sect,

had changed.

...

The cave was nameless.

There was no light within, nor was any needed.

In its center was a pool, not large, perhaps thirty feet across. The water was a profound, inky black, yet bizarrely, it was clear enough to see straight to the bottom.

The surface was as still as if it had been frozen for ten thousand years, without a single ripple.

The True Monarch of No Dao Extreme Law sat cross-legged, suspended in the air three feet above the very center of this pool.

He still wore the same simple black robes, his expression as cold and hard as ever, with not a single trace of aura leaking from his body.

Suddenly, on the mirror-still, inky black surface of the water, a silent, almost imperceptible ripple spread outward.

The ripple expanded to the edge of the pool and then folded back on itself. As the waves intersected and overlapped, the surface of the water gradually brightened, emitting a hazy, pure radiance from within.

Within this pure radiance, the silhouettes of four figures slowly emerged, shifting from faint to solid.

The figures were blurry, their features and details impossible to discern. One could only sense that some were tall and some short, some stood erect and others were stooped. Yet the august majesty of a True Monarch—vast as a Star Sea, profound as the Returning Ruins—still emanated from the water’s surface, adding a heavy pressure to the utterly silent cave.

"Is it wise, taking in a madman like that?"

A voice emanated from the water’s surface.

Its timbre was strange—neither male nor female, old nor young. It had the grating texture of Golden Stone being scraped, yet it also sounded like the hollow whistle of wind through countless holes. It resonated not through the air, but directly within the cave’s profound stillness.

True Monarch Wu Dao did not even lift an eyelid. His voice was as flat and placid as if he were stating a fact that had nothing to do with him:

"Madness has its uses."

"Oh?" another voice chimed in. This one was more ethereal, like countless overlapping echoes, and held a probing tone.

"That Great Sun Purple Extreme is clearly using the young Qi Yun as a stepping stone to hide in our Holy Sect. He offended so many on Spirit Mountain; without our Holy Sect’s protection, that mob of Buddhist Cultivators would never let him go."

The corner of True Monarch Wu Dao’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, in a ghost of a smile.

"So what? He wants to use the Holy Sect as a temporary perch, and I want to use his... hard-headedness."

"Hard-headedness?" a third voice asked, a hint of amusement in its tone.

"Mm," True Monarch Wu Dao said slowly, his gaze seeming to land on the reflection of one of the figures in the water.

"He may appear gentle and peaceful, like some sort of compassionate teacher, but inside he is utterly savage. A reckless ferocity runs in his very bones.

He had just attained his station as a Monarch, his position not yet stable, yet he dared to clash head-on with an ancient being of the Bodhisattva Fruit Position like Vidyārāja. He risked his life for his Dao and forcibly ripped away a sliver of his opponent’s golden essence.

He’s a true desperado. The soft are afraid of the tough, and the tough are afraid of those who don’t fear death.

Ordinary True Monarchs cherish their lives and their Dao; they can’t help but weigh their options carefully when trouble arises.

With his name on our Sect’s roster, those others—be it that sword-maniac Qingyuan or that old ghost from the Nine Netherworld—will have to think twice before trying anything against our Holy Sect.

They’ll have to consider whether it’s worth having a complete falling out with a madman who might flip the whole table and smash his own Dao Fruit at any moment."

Silence fell over the water’s surface, the pure radiance rippling gently.

After a moment, a fourth voice spoke, tinged with an indifference that suggested nothing in the world could ever trouble it:

"That whelp, Qi Yun, has used this man’s momentum to ascend to the position of Vice Sect Leader, take charge of the Holy Sect’s day-to-day affairs, and purge the Black Mountain Lineage... and you’re not going to do anything about it?"

"Intervene?"

True Monarch Wu Dao asked in return, his tone still perfectly level.

"The Holy Sect has existed for millennia. Sect Leaders change like the seasons, and factions rise and fall like the tides.

Today, it’s the Black Mountain faction; tomorrow, it will be Qi Yun’s.

As long as the fundamental destiny of the Sect remains unharmed, and the flow of Resources for our enlightenment is not cut off,

what difference does it make who sits on that throne or who wields that power?"

He paused, his voice growing a few degrees colder, as if speaking of something utterly disconnected from himself.

"To beings like us, the Sect is merely a slightly larger cultivation abode, and its members are but a crowd of servants to manage chores.

When it prospers, we receive more tribute. When it’s in a state of tranquility, there is less noise.

If it falls to ruin... we simply find another place.

In all the heavens and ten thousand realms, where can one not seek the Dao?"

The words were incredibly blunt and exceedingly callous.

He regarded the Wuji Holy Sect—the preeminent Northwest Demon Path Champion Scholar, a sect with an ancient and orderly heritage—as nothing more than a disposable, temporary shelter.

The auras of the four figures in the water fluctuated slightly, but no one spoke in refutation. It was clear they all agreed completely.

Upon reaching their Realm, worldly power and the honor or disgrace of a sect were nothing but smoke and passing clouds.

The only thing that could still stir their Heart and Spirit was the faint, unpredictable, yet supremely alluring... path of the Great Dao that lay ahead.

Silence returned to the cave. Only the pure radiance and the reflections on the inky water’s surface proved that this conversation across the void was not yet over.

After a long silence, True Monarch Wu Dao spoke again.

This time, his eternally frozen tone held a rare, extremely faint, yet indissoluble trace of gravity.

"The matter on Spirit Mountain... although it was ultimately shattered by that wisp of Sword Intent left behind by the Sword Pavilion’s founder, and the golden light was dispersed... you all should understand the implications."

For an instant, the silhouettes of the four figures on the water seemed to sharpen.

After a pause, True Monarch Wu Dao’s voice dropped so low it was almost inaudible, yet his words were seared clearly into every one of their Divine Thoughts:

"Judging from this incident on Spirit Mountain..."

"The Daoist Masters..."

"...seem to be showing signs of ’awakening’."

Above the water, the pure radiance froze solid.

The projections of the four vast figures fell into absolute stillness.

The profound water of the pool reflected a silent, heavy gravity.

...

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