My Xianxia Harem Life

"I did not know a fellow Daoist resided on this desolate continent," the old man in dark robes said, his voice echoing eerily across the sky.

He floated a few dozen feet above the clouds, arms clasped behind his back, long sleeves billowing in the wind like ghosts.

His eyes, cold and sunken, carried the sharpness of someone who had seen centuries pass.

"I am Daoist Ghosty Zealot of the Black Gate Sect. It seems I was unaware that this criminal had taken shelter under your name. Please, fellow Daoist, do not be deceived—she is not as she presents herself. She is neither innocent nor worthy of your trust."

Below, Riley stood silently on the stone steps of his mountain peak, a calm but unyielding presence. The wind stirred his robes gently as he looked up, his expression unreadable.

The woman beside him clutched his sleeve lightly, her eyes filled with fear but trust in the man standing between her and the storm in the sky.

"I don't care what you say she is," Riley said finally, his voice low but carried by spiritual force so that each word boomed through the heavens. "I know my wife. And I love her."

He raised his hand, palm open, not in peace but in warning.

"Leave. You have ten seconds. If you're still here after that, you'll be leaving headless and dead."

The sky darkened ever so slightly, not due to weather—but due to pressure. Spiritual energy twisted in the air like unseen coils of a great serpent ready to strike. The clouds trembled.

The mountain peaks nearby echoed with the faint groan of stressed stone.

Daoist Ghosty Zealot's face twitched slightly, his eyes narrowing as he examined Riley more closely. He tried to probe, to sense the flow of cultivation beneath Riley's calm exterior—but came up with nothing.

It was as if the man standing below was shrouded in fog.

Both of them were in the Void Tribulation Realm—one of the final steps before ascension. But within that realm lay ten sub-stages, each more treacherous and powerful than the last.

Trying to determine who stood where among those stages was like trying to measure the depth of the sea from the surface. Especially now, when both men were deliberately suppressing their cultivation.

Riley still gave off the aura of someone in the Golden Core Realm, a weak presence to any who merely glanced. But that was no accident.

He had discovered long ago that hiding his true strength was far more beneficial, especially around disciples of the sect.

If he let his Void Tribulation presence leak even slightly, every cultivator within miles would be brought to their knees, gasping for breath, crushed by the sheer weight of his power.

It would breed fear, panic—and worse, blind devotion.

And Riley detested both.

"To speak to me of deception," Riley continued coldly, "when you fly into my domain without notice, hurling accusations and threats from the sky—who is truly the one deceiving here?"

Ghosty Zealot's face hardened. "You're making a mistake, fellow Daoist."

"I'm not your fellow anything," Riley said, and for the first time, his eyes flashed with a hint of killing intent. "Six seconds."

The air thickened. Lightning coiled in the darkened sky, silent but waiting. Somewhere in the forest below, birds took flight in panic. Animals burrowed underground.

Even the spiritual veins running through the mountain shifted slightly, responding to the growing storm.

Ghosty Zealot clenched his jaw, eyes flicking between the silent woman at Riley's side and the man himself.

"Very well," he said slowly. "But know this—sheltering her may cost you everything."

Riley didn't reply. He simply raised a single finger.

"One."

Ghosty Zealot turned, his robes flaring out with a gust of wind as he vanished into the sky like a shadow blown away.

Only after the oppressive energy dispersed did the sky begin to clear.

Riley turned to his wife, the edge in his eyes softening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "No one's taking you away. Not while I still draw breath."

She looked up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. "You're really going to fight the Black Gate Sect for me?"

He smiled faintly, though there was no humor in it. "They should pray I don't take this personally."

Ghosty Zealot narrowed his eyes at Riley, the air between them shimmering from the rising spiritual pressure. His fingers twitched slightly at his side—then stilled.

In that brief pause, the weight of a millennia-old legacy settled on his shoulders.

He had lived through eras, watched dynasties rise and fall like waves on the sea. He had crushed demons, slain rogue cultivators, and survived calamities that had shattered continents.

The Black Gate Sect had not raised him to cower before threats—no matter how veiled or confident they might be.

In one smooth, practiced motion, he raised his hand. A void tore open in the sky, and from it descended a dark, twisted weapon—his scythe.

It was forged from obsidian soulsteel, humming with the cries of a thousand defeated enemies. The moment it touched his palm, the world seemed to fall silent.

Then came the roar.

"Cut!" he bellowed, voice booming like thunder across the heavens.

The clouds churned violently as an enormous spectral reaper took shape behind him. It towered above the mountain, cloaked in ragged shadows, eyes burning red with malevolence.

The reaper's movements mirrored his, and when he swung the scythe, so too did the ghostly figure.

The air split.

The very atmosphere seemed to crack as the attack descended—a single, clean arc of annihilation.

Terror rippled through the sect like wildfire.

"OH NO! We're going to die!"

"I don't want to die young!"

"I never even kissed anyone!"

"I'm still a virgin! And a single dog! Heaven, show mercy!"

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

Screams rose from all corners of the sect as disciples scrambled for cover. Cultivators launched their own defensive techniques in desperation, only to watch them shatter before the incoming strike. Elders activated ancient talismans, but even they knew it was hopeless—the speed, the force, the intent to kill—it was unlike anything they'd ever seen.

Even the mountains groaned under the pressure.

And then—

Ding!

A single, crystalline chime rang out as the scythe landed.

The impact was devastating. The outer defensive formation—hundreds of years old, reinforced by countless spiritual ores and maintained by the sect's formation masters—shattered instantly, crumbling like dry clay under the scythe's wrath.

Dust and spiritual fragments exploded into the sky. The heavens seemed to weep under the sheer power.

But just when it seemed like the sect would be obliterated—

A second layer flickered to life.

It appeared almost lazily, like sunlight catching on glass. A dome of brilliant, translucent light spread outward, revealing an intricate barrier etched with divine runes and flowing lines of pure qi. The moment the scythe's force struck it, everything halted.

The reaper's attack slammed against the hidden barrier with a thunderous boom—

—and was stopped.

Cold silence fell.

The disciples, who had shut their eyes in terror, slowly opened them, one by one.

"…We're alive?" one whispered.

"I'm still breathing?" another gasped.

"I—I just peed myself," someone admitted.

"Shut up, don't ruin the moment!" snapped another who literally shit himself in fear at this time.

Laughter. Disbelieving, relieved, shaky laughter broke out as cultivators fell to their knees in gratitude. Several of them began offering prayers to whoever had built the formation, hands shaking.

Even the high elders stared in awe. One of them, Grand Elder Lei, whispered hoarsely, "That wasn't our array… That wasn't ours."

Above them all, Ghosty Zealot floated in stunned silence. His spectral reaper slowly dissipated, unable to maintain form after such a blow was rendered useless.

He stared at the barrier. Not just for its strength—but for its elegance. Its design was far beyond what most sects could produce. It hadn't even retaliated. It hadn't needed to.

He had attacked with full force.

And it had simply… stopped him.

Riley hadn't moved an inch. He stood at the mountain's edge, relaxed, fingers idly brushing the sleeve of his robe. He looked up, meeting Ghosty Zealot's stunned gaze.

"I forgot to mention," he said, voice light, almost amused, "that formation? I built it myself. Took me a whole night. Got bored, so I thought, 'why not?'"

Ghosty Zealot's mouth opened slightly—then closed.

That calm tone, that offhanded arrogance—either this man was insane…

…or he was terrifying.

Riley stepped forward once, and with that simple movement, the sky seemed to pulse.

"Let's be clear," he said, eyes sharpening. "You don't get to come into my land, threaten my wife, attack my home, and then walk away like nothing happened."

His spiritual pressure surged—finally, undeniably.

Gone was the illusion of a Golden Core cultivator. In its place rose a monstrous, suffocating presence that bent space and crushed the air itself. It felt like a god awakening.

Now, it was Ghosty Zealot's turn to flinch.

Riley narrowed his eyes. "You want a war, old man?"

The sky darkened again. The mountain behind Riley began to tremble as invisible lines of power formed around it.

"I'll give you one."