Caution stirred beneath Malcolm’s anger. Jared’s swift recovery from the Divine Bow’s backlash hinted at some hidden fortune.

After a breath, he let sarcasm bleed through a thin smile.
“Still, his timing is perfect. The Supreme Master gifted us three Reincarnation Guardians. We needed live trials anyway.”

He flicked his sleeve.
“Sound the order. Raise the Mountain-Guarding Grand Array. Have every cultivator who pledged to us gather outside the gate. I’ll grind these traitors into dust while all of Level Twelve watches.”

A chorus of aides bowed. “Yes!”

—

Half an hour later, Malcolm hovered above the mountain gate, wind tugging at his hair, the chill pleasing in its promise of violence.

Below him, a dark tide of cultivators—more than ten thousand by his rough count—pressed together, forming a living wall at his command.