"Interesting. Do you know who they were?" Riley asked, his tone calm and almost fond, like he was observing a curious detail rather than a threat.
There was no alarm, no anger, and not even a hint of surprise on his handso face.
It was as if he had expected this exact event to unfold, as if it had been inevitable from the start.
"I’m sorry, Patriarch. They didn’t announce their nas or sects, but one thing is certain—their leader is a primordial dao fragnt powerhouse," the old man reported, bowing slightly, his voice steady but laced with a hint of awe.
He had seen enough of Riley’s opponents to know when to tread carefully, but the sheer strength of that great expert made him wary.
Riley’s gaze lingered on the old man for a mont, sharp and calculating.
Then, as if dismissing the weight of the information, he said, "It doesn’t matter. Gather a thousand of our strongest n. We leave at dawn." His command was effortless, carrying the authority of soone who had faced countless threats and erged victorious.
There was no hesitation in his voice, no doubt in his mind—only certainty.
The old man’s eyes lit up with excitent, and he could barely contain a smile.
Finally, the chance for retribution was at hand.
The people who had dared to steal their spiritual mine would soon face justice.
And now that Riley himself was going, personally leading the charge, the problem no longer felt like a threat—it felt like a foregone conclusion.
A quiet tension hung in the room, charged with anticipation.
Servants and guards moved with heightened alertness, knowing that sothing significant was about to unfold.
Riley, however, remained composed, a pillar of confidence amid the mounting excitent.
His presence alone seed to steady those around him, inspiring both loyalty and awe.
"Prepare them well for they will have to see much bloodshed soon. Make sure the n are ready to move at first light," Riley continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as if already envisioning the coming battle.
"I want no surprises. Leave nothing to chance."
"Consider it done, Patriarch," the old man replied, his voice trembling slightly with eagerness.
The thought of exacting revenge, of striking back at those who had wronged them, made his blood race.
And with Riley leading the charge, he knew victory was all but certain.
Riley leaned back slightly, his expression serene, almost indifferent, yet a spark of anticipation flickered in his eyes.
The night was quiet now, but tomorrow would bring a storm, and he was ready for it.
***
The next morning arrived with a crimson dawn, painting the skies in streaks of fire and gold.
Riley stood at the forefront, his figure calm yet commanding, as a thousand of his strongest warriors followed behind him, moving with disciplined precision.
Each step they took resonated with authority, a testant to their loyalty and their leader’s unstoppable reputation.
The ground seed to acknowledge their passage, trembling faintly under the weight of their combined aura.
Among Riley’s retinue was his most trusted and calculating follower, an ancient man nad Roger.
The sa old man who led the retreat before and reported to Riley.
Opportunist by nature, Roger had already lived for more than one hundred thousand years, surviving countless trials, wars, and the rise and fall of empires.
His mind was sharp, his instincts honed to perfection, and his experience made him cautious yet ambitious.
He understood that in a world where so cultivators had lived for over a million years, longevity alone could grant one imnse power—but it did not guarantee relevance.
One had to act, to align oneself with those rising forces, to seize opportunities when the world’s balance shifted.
Roger knew exactly why he had pledged allegiance to Riley.
The young cultivator, barely a century old, had already accomplished what even the most ancient feared: he had slain Elder Harren, a famous primordial dao fragnt powerhouse.
Such a feat was unheard of in recent mory and had rippled through the cultivation world like a thunderclap.
While others his age were still struggling to master their techniques and chosen daos, Riley had already cented himself as a force that could challenge even the old monsters of legend.
To Roger, serving Riley was more than ambition—it was pragmatism.
Aligning with a rising star of unmatched strength promised influence, protection, and a front-row seat to history in the making.
And yet, beneath the calculation, there was awe. Few had ever seen soone so young wield power so devastatingly, and fewer still commanded such respect and fear from both peers and elders alike.
Riley himself moved with ease and confidence, his presence radiating authority that made the ground beneath him seem smaller, as if the world itself bent to acknowledge him.
His eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the horizon, calculating, assessing, always steps ahead.
There was no arrogance in his movents—only the quiet certainty of soone who knew his own worth and capabilities.
When Roger knelt before him, the act was both strategic and sincere.
He pledged his loyalty to Riley Rice, the Ash Maker, fully aware that this alliance would bring him closer to unimaginable power, yet also recognizing the rare brilliance of the young cultivator.
This was not simply a matter of survival or convenience—it was a conscious choice to stand with soone who would shape the future of the cultivation world, soone whose na would echo through eternity.
Around them, the army stirred with anticipation.
The warriors felt the tension in the air, the silent promise of confrontation with forces that had dared to challenge Riley.
The energy of their leader imbued them with courage, and even the faintest whisper of the young Ash Maker’s reputation sent shivers through their adversaries before a single blow was struck.
In that mont, dawn was more than a beginning—it was a declaration.
Riley Rice had arrived, and the tides of power were about to shift irreversibly.
For Roger, for the thousand warriors, and for the world that had grown complacent under the weight of ancient powers, nothing would ever be the sa again.
***
When Riley and his n arrived at the portal, the crowd around them barely flinched in surprise.
After all, anyone who ca for a precious resource of this magnitude would never surrender it willingly—everyone knew a fight was inevitable.
Yet despite the looming danger, the citizens didn’t scatter.
Instead, a low murmur spread through the gathering like rippling water, curiosity and excitent interwoven in every whisper.
"Is that... the Ash Maker?" soone asked, eyes wide as they studied Riley’s figure.
"He’s as handso as the tales," another replied, admiration clear in their voice.
The way Riley carried himself—the effortless confidence, the sharp gaze—made him look like a figure straight from legend.
"But he looks so young," a third said skeptically, frowning. "I don’t sense any strong spiritual pressure from him. Are you sure he’s really a primordial dao fragnt cultivator?"
A laugh cut through the tension. "Why don’t you step forward and test it yourself?" soone suggested with a teasing grin.
"Do I look like a fool?" the first scoffed. "No thanks. I’ll wait for the show. I’ll get so wine, so food, and enjoy the battle from a safe distance."
"Sa here," another echoed, and laughter spread through the crowd.
Vendors wove through the gathering, hawking their food and drink with a cheeriness that contrasted sharply with the tense anticipation of what was about to unfold.
Plates clinked, glasses rattled, and the faint sll of roasted at mixed with the cool morning air, creating a surprisingly festive atmosphere amidst the looming danger.
Eyes followed Riley as he moved, noting every detail—the glint in his eyes, the easy posture of soone utterly confident in his own power, the calm way his n surrounded him without speaking a word.
Every step he took seed asured, deliberate, as if even the ground itself was aware of who had arrived.
Whispers continued to ripple through the crowd. So were filled with awe: "He’s young, yet I can feel... sothing from him. It’s subtle, but it’s there... an aura, a presence. Could he really have killed Elder Harren?"
Others were more pragmatic, focusing on the spectacle rather than the legend:
"Let’s see if he’s worth the fuss. I just want a good fight—wine, food, and a story I can tell my grandchildren."
Children peeked from behind their parents’ legs, wide-eyed with excitent, while older cultivators sized him up, debating quietly amongst themselves.
A few of them leaned on walking sticks or the edge of walls, smiling faintly at the thrill of witnessing history in the making.
The city itself seed to hold its breath.
The portal shimred faintly, casting a pale glow that reflected in the eyes of the onlookers.
Birds scattered from nearby trees, sensing the tension, while the wind carried the faint scent of smoke and anticipation.
Every person in the crowd felt it: sothing monuntal was about to happen, and they were at the very edge of the unfolding legend.
Riley’s presence had transford the simple arrival of a cultivator into an event, a spectacle that had every eye glued to him.
The murmurs and laughter of the crowd rged with the rising energy of expectation, creating a charged atmosphere that seed almost tangible.
It was more than a fight—they were about to witness history, and everyone knew it.
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