My Xianxia Harem Life

The sky darkened—not with storm clouds, but with the sudden appearance of a massive flying vessel, unlike anything anyone in the Stone Mountain Sect had ever seen.

Towering, metallic, and shaped like a ghostly warship from an ancient myth, it hovered silently above the clouds, casting a vast shadow over the sect grounds.

Its origin was unknown, its intentions unclear. For several long breaths, it simply floated there—ominous and still.

The silence was deafening.

Though the vessel made no move, the Stone Mountain Sect was already in chaos.

Alarm spread like wildfire through the peaks and valleys of their mountainous territory.

Bells rang out from the watchtowers, sharp and frantic.

From the highest halls where the elders meditated, to the training grounds where disciples sparred, all activity ceased.

"We're under attack!" someone shouted.

"Summon the elders—immediately!"

"Who are these people?!"

Panicked voices echoed across the sect. Disciples scrambled in confusion, some preparing for battle, others simply staring skyward in awe and terror.

The ship bore no familiar crest, no flag, no sign of allegiance to any known force in the region.

It didn't carry the markings of the demonic cults or the rogue sects the Stone Mountain Sect had long stood against.

But that only made it more unsettling. It was a stranger to their world, and strangers were rarely harmless.

Ding!

With a flash of azure light, the great defensive formation of the Stone Mountain Sect activated, enveloping the mountaintop in a shimmering dome of protective energy.

Runes glowed along the peaks, pulsing with ancient power. The sect wasn't about to wait and see what would happen—they had survived for centuries through vigilance and force.

High above, the flying vessel remained still, as though watching.

Time passed. Moments stretched painfully long. The tension could be felt in every breath.

Then, at last, movement.

From the highest platform of the Grand Hall, a figure emerged—an old man with flowing white hair and a beard that touched his chest.

His presence was commanding, and even the wind seemed to still in his presence.

Clad in ornate robes embroidered with the crest of the Stone Mountain Sect, he raised his hand and gathered his qi.

When he spoke, his voice was like thunder.

"This is the domain of the Stone Mountain Sect! You trespass upon sacred ground. Speak your purpose, or begone!"

His words echoed across the mountains, rumbling through the valleys and reaching even the hidden recesses of the sect. It was not just a challenge—it was a declaration. A warning.

All eyes turned to the flying vessel, waiting for a reply.

But none came.

The ship remained motionless, like a slumbering beast perched in the clouds, its silence more terrifying than any open threat.

A full minute passed.

The oppressive silence stretched thin, wrapping around every disciple, elder, and guardian of the Stone Mountain Sect like a noose.

Then, without warning, a ripple of movement disturbed the clouds above.

A figure descended from the massive flying vessel, slicing through the sky like a blade.

He did not soar with flourish, nor did he descend with urgency. Instead, he floated down with measured, absolute control—like someone who had long since transcended fear, resistance, or the need for haste.

He wore deep black cultivator's robes, their hems embroidered with strange silver patterns that glowed faintly against the gray light of the sky.

His hair, though streaked with white, was neatly tied back, and his face bore the calm indifference of one who had walked the path of cultivation for centuries.

His back was straight, his gaze sharp and unflinching. Though aged, he radiated a strength that made the surrounding qi itself tremble.

When his feet touched the air just above the highest platform of the sect, the mountain groaned as if straining under his mere presence.

He looked down upon them—on the sect master, the elders, the hundreds of disciples—as though they were nothing more than ants beneath his feet.

Then came the pressure.

A suffocating force descended like a tidal wave, rolling over the entire sect.

Many disciples collapsed to their knees, gasping for breath, unable to resist the weight pressing down on their bodies and spirits.

Even the elders gritted their teeth, barely able to stand as they activated their protective qi. Beads of cold sweat rolled down their foreheads.

"A… Void Tribulation realm powerhouse!" gasped Elder Xu, his voice trembling with disbelief.

Panic erupted.

Whispers turned into cries of alarm. Disciples clutched their weapons. Protective barriers flared to life, though everyone knew it was futile.

Against a cultivator of that realm, they might as well have been made of paper.

This man… he wasn't someone they could reason with. He wasn't someone they could resist.

He floated there in silence for a moment longer, surveying them with disinterest.

Then, he finally spoke.

"I am searching for someone," he said, his voice as calm and cold as an eternal glacier.

"A criminal. She is here—I can sense her presence."

He raised one hand, palm open toward the sect.

"Veronica Gray. Come out and surrender yourself. If you do not… I will slaughter everyone here. You have ten breaths."

The words were spoken not in anger, nor in cruelty. They carried no fire, no fury. Only cold inevitability.

The tone of someone who had delivered that same message countless times before—and had never once been forced to make a second threat.

His words echoed across the mountains, reverberating deep into the sect's caverns and sanctums. The silence that followed was louder than thunder.

"Veronica Gray…?" a voice whispered among the gathered disciples.

"Isn't that…"

"Yes. One of Elder Riley's wives," another replied in hushed tones.

Ten breaths.

The seconds dragged.

No one moved.

Not yet.

But the storm had arrived, and it would not leave without blood.

A few seconds passed—and then, at last, movement.

From the eastern part of the sect, a figure walked out into the open square beneath the looming flying vessel.

It was a woman, tall and graceful, dressed in pale violet robes embroidered with silver lotuses.

Her long black hair flowed freely behind her, and her eyes held the kind of calm that made others uneasy—not out of fear, but because it seemed nothing in the world could shake her composure.

Veronica Gray.

She walked forward without hesitation, without fear, and yet… she was not alone.

A second figure followed her, radiating a wild, unruly kind of power.

Elder Riley stepped into view, his robe thrown on hastily, his chest still bare and glistening with sweat.

His long hair was slightly tousled, as though he had been dragged out in the middle of… something.

And behind him came a tide of women—his wives.

All 10 of them now and more like Eve and Ruby.

Each one of them was beautiful in her own right, but together, they were a force of nature.

Some looked gentle, others fierce but all of then impossibly beautiful.

There was no trace of fear in their group.

Not even a flicker.

If anything, Riley looked thoroughly annoyed.

He moved with the swagger of a man who had been pulled away from something much more enjoyable than a potential sect-destroying confrontation.

His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed—not from concern, but from deep, seething irritation.

The tension in the air cracked when a small, high-pitched voice rang out.

"Beeeeeeee!" Even the cute little creature seemed to have had enough of this disturbance.

Gasps and murmurs spread through the sect like wildfire.

"Elder Riley is here!"

"We're saved!"

"Quiet, you fool!" hissed another voice. "Do you even know what a battle between Void Tribulation realm experts means?"

"If they fight… we'll all die. The shockwaves alone could obliterate the entire sect. We'll be vaporized before we even hear the first strike."

Disciples gripped their weapons with trembling hands. Some turned to run, while others stood frozen, caught between awe and terror.

Elders exchanged glances, not knowing whether to intervene or retreat.

The sheer spiritual pressure leaking from the two powerhouses was enough to make the stone beneath their feet crack and groan.

Yet Elder Riley stood calmly beneath the sky, arms crossed over his muscled chest.

His gaze met the dark-robed stranger's without flinching, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried with it the weight of a man who did not bluff—ever.

"You've got one chance," he said coldly. "Scram if you still want to live."

The temperature around him dropped sharply, the air itself seeming to freeze from the force of his suppressed aura.

"No one touches my wife but me."

The moment those words left his mouth, the world seemed to shift.

The very sky rippled.

A deep tremor rumbled through the sect grounds as Riley's spiritual pressure surged, answering the threat in the sky with a power equal—and perhaps even greater.

The ground cracked beneath his feet, lightning danced among the clouds, and winds howled around the mountain peaks.

The flying vessel above began to groan, reacting to the force now challenging it from below.

The dark-robed man narrowed his eyes, the cold disinterest in his expression finally cracking into something else—wariness.