My Xianxia Harem Life

Riley spoke with quiet finality, his voice cold as steel. He did not waste breath on the dead.

"Boundless Stone Mountain Secret Technique: Overturning Heaven Sword Art."

The words left his lips in a calm murmur, the name grand and ostentatious—just enough to fool any onlookers who might have been listening.

In truth, the technique was meaningless, a smokescreen designed to mask what he was really doing. Behind the theatrics, a different force stirred—one ancient, formless, and impossibly lethal.

A faint shimmer passed through the air. Nothing more. No flash of light, no thunderous roar. And yet—

"Puchi!"

The sound was soft, almost gentle. Like a fruit being sliced open.

One moment, Daoist Ghosty Zealot hovered proudly in the sky, exuding boundless arrogance and the aura of an untouchable expert. The next, his vision tilted.

His world spun sideways, and for a split second, he couldn't comprehend why.

Then he saw his own body—still standing, still poised in midair, unmoving.

A cold terror surged through him.

"I... I've been beheaded!" the old daoist gasped, realization crashing over him like a tidal wave.

Panic flared. He instinctively attempted to retreat, to send forth his divine soul wisp and escape, but it was too late. A second wave of pain—no, not pain, just oblivion—washed over him.

A sword strike had descended silently, made entirely of pure sword intent. Not forged from qi, not summoned from a technique—but shaped by will and honed to perfection.

It cut through flesh, bone, and soul alike, reducing his very essence into a trillion fragments, each one severed from the next so cleanly that no thought or sensation remained.

Daoist Ghosty Zealot died in the sky, never knowing who had struck him down.

Riley exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable. He had used only his divine sense to kill the old man. Swift, surgical, absolute.

He could've slain him in a hundred other ways but he chose the most mysterious, the most untraceable.

Because Riley wasn't just hiding his power.

He was hiding who he truly was.

No one could know that behind this ordinary name stood a legend that had recently arrived in this cultivation world.

Daoist Scarecrow.

"Is… is that it? The old invader… died just like that?" one of the younger disciples stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at the empty sky where Daoist Ghosty Zealot had once hovered—just moments ago brimming with arrogance and murderous intent. Now, there was nothing left. No trace of the man remained. Not even dust.

"Of course! Elder Riley is the strongest of all!" shouted another disciple, pumping his fist into the air.

"He could've probably killed that old freak while napping! Hahaha!" someone else added, laughter bubbling up as the tension of the moment finally broke.

The disciples of the Stone Mountain Sect erupted in celebration. Cries of victory rang through the mountain range as the younger members leapt and embraced one another.

Some fell to their knees in relief. They had truly believed death was at their doorstep—but now they were saved. Not by formations or sect defenses.

Not even by a grand elder deploying a forbidden artifact. No, it was one man. One man who had stepped forward and ended a terrifying enemy in an instant.

Their Elder Riley.

But while the lower disciples cheered and reveled in their survival, the senior members of the sect—the inner elders, grandmasters, and guest cultivators from afar—stood frozen. Silent. Uneasy.

And they weren't alone.

Far beyond Stone Mountain, in distant sects and hidden cultivation realms, powerful figures had been observing the battle through projection mirrors and divine senses. Now, they too stood in stunned silence.

"Confusing… how did he do that?" murmured a Void Tribulation realm expert, his brows deeply furrowed.

"I watched the entire thing," another replied slowly, "and I still have no answer. There was no build-up. No qi fluctuations. No sword light or divine art. He didn't even lift a finger."

"I agree," an old matriarch said gravely. "I felt no spiritual essence. No divine might. It was as if… he simply decided the man would die, and the world obeyed."

Another elder, seated in a lotus position upon a floating spirit cloud, spoke in a shaken voice. "It was like… Elder Riley just looked at him. That's all it took."

The idea struck them like thunder.

"The Eyes of an Immortal…" someone whispered. "Eyes that pierce beyond the mortal realm. Eyes that judge. Eyes… that kill."

Those words spread like wildfire.

Cultivators who had reached the peak of the mortal path—Void Tribulation experts, half-step Saints, hidden monsters from ancient clans—trembled at the thought.

To kill a fellow cultivator at that level without moving, without a shred of spiritual energy expended, was something only beings of legend were said to be capable of.

Riley Mason was no ordinary cultivator. That much was now beyond dispute.

Who exactly was he? What secrets lay beneath that calm, unassuming exterior?

The answer remained elusive.

But one truth was clear—etched into the hearts of every cultivator who witnessed the battle.

From this day forward, no one with a shred of sanity would dare provoke Elder Riley.

***

What happened next was, surprisingly, simple.

Riley went to the sky in silence, not a shred of arrogance on his face. He landed softly beside the decapitated body of Daoist Ghosty Zealot. There was no ceremony, no prayers, no rituals.

Just a calm wave of his hand, and the corpse vanished into his storage ring like it was nothing more than trash on the side of the road.

But to the spectators—especially the elders and disciples of the Stone Mountain Sect—it was anything but ordinary.

That corpse belonged to a Void Tribulation cultivator. A monster. An invader from beyond the Abyss Ocean. A man whose name had struck fear into sects across multiple continents.

Yet here it was, lifeless, powerless, scooped up like spoiled meat by a man who didn't even blink.

Riley then turned his attention to the massive flying vessel floating in the distance. It loomed ominously above the clouds, dark and vast, an ancient ship outfitted for long-range spiritual travel.

Its hull bore scars from countless battles, and arcane runes lined its frame—seals forged in distant lands, powered by laws unknown to most cultivators on this continent.

Riley stepped onto the deck, scanning the interior with his divine sense. It was empty.

No ambush. No reinforcements. No fleeing enemies in hiding.

Just eerie silence and faint residual energy clinging to its frame.

He didn't linger. Without even stepping inside, he reached out again, and the ship—despite its enormous size—was sucked into his storage ring in a blink.

Such a feat would have been impossible for almost anyone else. But Riley's storage ring wasn't ordinary. It defied the logic of space. Just like its owner.

That was that.

No words spoken. No dramatic declarations.

But the continent was already in uproar.

Though the sun had not yet set, emissaries from the great sects had already begun moving.

Spiritual lights dotted the sky. Carriages drawn by cloud-walking beasts streaked across the heavens. Floating palaces and divine ships tore through the skies, headed straight for Stone Mountain Sect like comets homing in on a star.

Inside the sect, disciples stared wide-eyed as more and more celestial vessels arrived, each one more extravagant than the last. Their banners fluttered proudly in the wind, each bearing the emblem of an ancient force.

The first to arrive made the most impact.

Boom.

A golden chariot descended through the clouds, pulled by six qilin-like beasts wreathed in divine fire. It landed before the gates of the Stone Mountain Sect, and out stepped a man dressed in white and gold robes, surrounded by a dozen elite disciples glowing with power.

He bowed deeply before the gates.

"The Primordial Dao Temple pays its respects!" he called out, his voice infused with power.

"We congratulate Daoist Riley Mason for his unparalleled might in repelling the invaders from beyond the Abyss Ocean. We come bearing gifts in the spirit of peace and admiration."

With another wave, dozens of storage pouches floated forward, each overflowing with unimaginable treasures: celestial ores, divine-grade spirit herbs, peak-tier artifacts, even ancient scrolls penned by long-dead saints.

Gasps erupted behind the gates.

"Th-The Primordial Dao Temple?!" one elder nearly stumbled forward in shock. "A superpower that holds a Void Tribulation realm ancestor as its head?! Why would they come here?!"

The disciples couldn't believe it. Many had only heard of the Primordial Dao Temple in books. Now their emissaries stood humbly outside their sect's gates, offering gifts like courtiers to a king.

And this… this was only the beginning.

Soon after, Skyblaze Pavilion arrived, bearing phoenix plumes said to boost cultivation by a whole minor realm.

Thundercry Valley followed, bringing lightning-forged weapons blessed by the will of the storm.

The Scarlet Lotus Palace, famed for its reclusive female cultivators, arrived with spirit springs sealed in jade urns—each one capable of healing mortal wounds or extending life by a century.

Even the Nine Cauldron Sect, once known for their arrogance and disdain of lesser sects, came with a solemn offering—an ancient cauldron passed down for ten generations.

By sundown, the once humble Stone Mountain Sect had become the epicenter of the entire continent.

The sect's elders stood dumbfounded as they tried to process it all. Courtyards overflowed with gifts. Mountains of spirit stones formed miniature hills.

Cultivation manuals of lost arts were being offered like candy.

And the cause of it all?

Riley Mason, who stood calmly at the summit of the sect, arms folded behind his back, watching the sunset with indifference.

To him, this was nothing.

But to the world… it was everything.

In a single afternoon, Riley Mason had transformed from a low-profile elder into a continent-shaking figure. No longer just a hidden powerhouse—he was now a symbol, a legend in the making.