Long Chen waited, but the drop of blood that had been accumulating over the body of the man in the coffin never fell.

He blinked. The figure that had been lying there just a moment ago—completely still, lifeless—was gone. Vanished. Even the drop of Blood Essence he had painstakingly drawn forth, after sacrificing the female disciple from his own sect, had disappeared without a trace.

His first instinct was disbelief. Was he hallucinating?

Long Chen rubbed his eyes hard, but the scenery before him remained unchanged—except for the complete absence of the man. There was no blood, no corpse, no lingering aura. Nothing. The silence of the ruin weighed heavily on his chest.

Behind him, Mei Xueyin's breathing had grown labored, each breath drawn with great effort, long and weak—an unmistakable sign. She was nearing her end.

Long Chen could have saved her. A pill would have stabilized her injuries and pulled her back from the brink. But he didn't.

If he did, she would no doubt report everything to the sect. Even if the elders dismissed the complaint of one disciple, rumors would spread like wildfire. People would begin to talk. He had already offended too many within the sect—elders, geniuses, even those with ties to the inner council. It would take very little for them to use Mei Xueyin's survival as fuel to cast him out or worse—strip him of his current standing.

So, he ignored her.

She lay there, her eyes still open, barely conscious, staring at Long Chen's back as he turned away from her. Regret filled her eyes. She cursed herself for ever following him into this damned ruin. To die here, in a forsaken corner of a secret realm, nameless and alone—it was a cruel fate.

Strangely, she didn't resist it.

After all, she had done many things in her life that weighed on her conscience. As a spy for her organization, she had crossed lines, betrayed allies, and stepped on others to rise in rank. She had long forfeited the right to dream of an ordinary life—one filled with peace, love, or warmth.

Death seemed almost... fitting.

A faint, bitter smirk curled on her cracked lips. She recalled how she'd turned down Wei Rong's advances and how Xu Mo had once tried to set them up. Back then, it felt like she still had time. Like she still had choices.

Now, she knew better.

Wei Rong would find someone else. Xu Mo—he might not even remember her after a few decades.

Her chest tightened. Something lodged in her throat, though she couldn't tell if it was blood or emotion. Her limbs were growing cold, numb. Even her hearing began to fade. The world was slipping away, soundlessly, slowly.

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Was Long Chen still there?

She didn't know. It didn't matter. He wasn't going to save her anyway.

Meanwhile, Long Chen suddenly tensed.

It wasn't his own senses that detected it—but the soul in his ring. A harsh voice roared directly into his consciousness: "DUCK!!"

Without hesitation, Long Chen dropped. His knees hit the ground hard as he folded down just in time.

Swoosh!!

Something sliced through the air just above his neck—so fast it tore a sharp vacuum in its wake. Long Chen didn't even think. He rolled to the side instinctively, his breath caught in his lungs.

Whump!

A hand—rigid, its fingers fused into a blade—cut through the empty space where his head had been. It shimmered with killing intent. Not a warning. Not a test.

It was a killing blow.

Had he hesitated even for a blink, his spine would have been severed clean through.

Heart pounding, Long Chen rolled across the marble floor, catching his breath as his reflection shimmered beneath him. In that polished reflection, he saw it.

A hand.

The same hand that had been lifeless moments ago, resting peacefully over the chest of the man with pale cyan hair—the one in the coffin.

But it wasn't just the hand.

The man was now standing. Alive.

The Dragon Lord.

He stood calmly, gaze drifting from Long Chen to Mei Xueyin, and then back again.

"I like you," the man said at last.

His voice no longer carried the tranquil cadence it had before. Now, it was low and immense—each syllable resounding like the breath of a dormant god awakening.

"Ah... killing fellow comrades for opportunities. I miss those days," he murmured nostalgically. Then, with sudden interest, he glanced at Long Chen. "Don't you agree?"

Long Chen froze, unsure how to respond. One moment, the man was reflecting on the ancient era. The next, he was speaking to him directly—as if asking for his input on a casual topic.

"Haha…" Long Chen forced a dry chuckle. "Esteemed Dragon Lord, I welcome you back to the world. Together, we will revive the glory of the ancient era."

The Dragon Lord's expression twisted instantly into disgust.

"Shut up, you imbecile."

Long Chen felt as though the air had been knocked from his lungs.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Foundation Building trash," the man sneered. "I was talking to the fragment of a soul inside the ring on your middle finger."

The blood drained from Long Chen's face. He stared at the ring. Cold sweat formed on his brow, and his pale face almost merged into the marble floor beneath him.

For the first time, he heard his master's real voice—deep, firm, unfiltered by spiritual transmission.

A moment later, dark smoke began to swirl from the ring. It condensed into the shape of a man, tall and imposing, the temperature in the hall plummeting around him.

The pressure that followed made Long Chen's bones ache.

Even standing before the Dragon Lord, this figure's momentum was equal—perhaps even superior.

The man looked up and met the Dragon Lord's gaze.

"You always were dramatic, Moon-Burial Warden," he said coldly.

Long Chen's mind reeled.

Moon-Burial Warden? That was the Dragon Lord's true title?

And more importantly, the Dragon Lord had called his master... the Sun-Severing Monarch.

Long Chen had long been curious about his master's true identity. The fragmented soul had often made outrageous claims about his past—battles with immortals, destruction of sects, and legendary conquests. Long Chen had always taken it with a grain of salt.

But now…

Hearing that title from the mouth of the Moon-Burial Warden himself—an ancient existence that had clearly lived through eras—made it all too real.

The two ancient powers stood before each other, silent for a heartbeat that stretched on like eternity.

"It's unpleasant seeing you again," the Moon-Burial Warden said, narrowing his eyes.

"And yet," the Sun-Severing Monarch replied, his tone flat, "here we are."

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