My Xianxia Harem Life

This development stirred quiet discussions among the cultivators who had chosen to remain with Riley. Whispers drifted through the ranks like a cold wind, carrying both doubt and apprehension.

Agitation was palpable more than anything else.

"Shouldn't we follow them too?" one of the Void Tribulation experts finally voiced what many had been thinking. His brows were furrowed in uncertainty as he looked toward the horizon where the others had departed. "What if they find a better opportunity? What if we're left behind?"

An old man seated cross-legged on a flat rock slowly opened his eyes. His hair was long and silver, and a strange, star-like gleam shimmered in his pupils. He was known only as Daoist Third Eye, a revered seer whose divinations had, over the years, proven disturbingly accurate.

This was also a man that was already old even in the Void Tribulation powerhouses who followed Riley to come in this continent.

"No," he said in a gravelly voice that carried a weight beyond the physical. "We must not follow them. I've gazed into the currents of fate. I've seen the path they walk, and it ends in suffering. Many of those who left will die horribly—ambushed, betrayed, enslaved. Their fates are sealed."

There was a long silence as his words sank in. The initial disbelief was replaced by solemn nods. Though some remained skeptical, none dared question him openly. His reputation was not one built on exaggeration.

"If Daoist Third Eye says so, then it must be true," another expert murmured, and the rest gradually agreed. They chose to stay within the protective bounds of the Gray Clan's stronghold, watching and waiting.

Days passed uneventfully. But on the fourth day, a group of elders returned bearing grim expressions and blood-stained robes. Their arrival sent a wave of unease rippling through the camp.

"I'm sorry for your loss," one of the elders said solemnly as he bowed. "We've received confirmation. The group that left… was ambushed not far from the Crimson Ridge. Dozens perished. Some were captured alive, their fates unknown, but likely worse than death."

The news struck the camp like a thunderclap. Even seasoned cultivators—those who had fought through life and death many times—grew pale. A suffocating silence descended, broken only by the whisper of the wind through dry grass.

How could such a powerful group, led by Void Tribulation experts, fall so easily?

"It's this realm," someone finally muttered, voice shaking. "This place… it devours strength. It mocks cultivation. We're simply too weak."

The realization settled in their hearts like a heavy stone: strength alone wasn't enough here. Even great power couldn't guarantee survival.

In the aftermath, many approached Daoist Third Eye with newfound reverence. They bowed deeply, some even offering incense or spirit stones in gratitude.

"Thank you, Elder," they said one after another. "If not for your warning, we might have shared their fate."

Daoist Third Eye simply closed his eyes once more, as if he had seen it all before. But the atmosphere had changed. No one would question his words again.

From that day onward, his voice held even greater weight among them—and the fear of the unknown world beyond the Gray Clan's walls grew ever more profound.

As for Riley, he too received word of what had befallen those who had chosen to leave. The news came with little fanfare—a quiet report from a messenger, hushed tones among the elders, and a few mournful sighs in the wind. Riley offered only a silent prayer for their souls.

He wasn't their guardian. Nor was he naïve enough to view them as innocents. In the cultivation world, everyone carried blood on their hands—some fresher than others.

Betrayal, ambition, selfishness… these were not sins, but the price of survival. If one couldn't stomach it, they had no place on the path. He knew this truth all too well. And so, with no hesitation, he moved on, discarding the news like a leaf in the wind.

There was still much to do.

At present, he was seated opposite Veronica's father in a serene courtyard nestled within the Gray Clan's inner sanctum. Tall, ancient pines stood around them like silent sentinels.

A soft breeze rustled their leaves, carrying the scent of tea and pine needles. A stone table stood between them, adorned with an elegant game of celestial chess. On the side, a rare spirit tea brewed in a jade kettle, its scent subtle and calming, yet infused with qi.

Veronica's father was a dignified man. Though he looked to be in his early forties—with streaks of gray at his temples and a gaze sharpened by time—his true age numbered in the thousands. He wore simple robes of deep slate, with a silver clan emblem stitched at the breast, understated yet full of authority.

Of course, Riley already knew everything about him.

Before this meeting, he had silently copied the man's memories—sifting through years of experience, connections, and secrets.

He also did the same to the most powerful cultivators in the Gray Clan.

He had learned much: the intricate power dynamics of the continent, the influence of ancient clans, the unspoken alliances and buried feuds, even the locations of hidden ruins and restricted territories.

The web of politics, grudges, and ambitions here was far more tangled than in the lands he had known before. And it intrigued him.

Still, this meeting was necessary. Not for information—but for respect.

"My daughter tells me you intend to seek retribution against the Austere Clan," Veronica's father finally said, moving a chess piece forward with delicate precision.

"I do," Riley replied, lifting his teacup. The spirit tea was exquisite—fragrant, smooth, and rich with vitality. It reminded him of something ancient… something nostalgic.

Veronica's father gave a soft hum, nodding slowly. "And how do you assess your chances?"

There was no arrogance in his tone, only the curiosity of a man who had lived long enough to know that power alone didn't always guarantee victory. His gaze sharpened, focusing entirely on the young man before him.

He had gathered all he could about Riley—through spies, informants, and diviners. Yet the picture that emerged was more mystery than clarity.

Riley's true origins were a blank slate, his strength growing at a pace that defied reason. He appeared calm and courteous, but hidden beneath that demeanor was something ancient… and unfathomable.

Most experts with such a presence were reincarnators—beings from a past age, born anew with hidden memories and power. But such matters were taboo to question.

To ask directly was to invite offense… and possibly death. Only fools pried into the origins of someone who could bend the world with a thought.

Riley set his cup down gently and met the older man's gaze.

"I have absolute confidence," he said, his voice quiet but unwavering. "The Austere Clan will pay for what they did to my wife."

For a breathless moment, silence reigned.

And then it struck.

A wave of spiritual pressure radiated from Riley like a silent storm. It wasn't loud or explosive—but it was terrifyingly heavy. The air in the courtyard seemed to crystallize. The breeze halted mid-motion. Even the birds fell silent, as if nature itself dared not interrupt.

Veronica's father stiffened, his pupils shrinking. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his teacup—and missed it by a finger's breadth. The crushing weight bore down on him, familiar yet no less horrifying.

This pressure…!

His heart pounded as realization dawned.

This man… is at the peak of the Void Tribulation Realm!

He forced his face into a calm expression, but his breath came a little shorter. Only three in their entire clan had ever reached such a height—and even they rarely revealed their strength so brazenly.

Yet here this man was, veiled in serenity, playing chess as if nothing had happened, while exuding an aura that could flatten armies.

Who exactly are you?

The thought echoed in his mind, unspoken and unanswered.

But despite the fear curling in his gut, there was also a strange reassurance. This man was no petty schemer. He didn't bluff, didn't boast. He simply stated what would happen—then made it so.

Veronica's father finally moved his next piece, carefully.

"I see," he said slowly, voice steadying. "Then I shall pray the heavens grant you victory… though I suspect you won't need it."

Riley smiled faintly.

"I never rely on the heavens."

The two continued their game in silence, the soft clack of chess pieces the only sound between them. Veronica's father eventually lost the match, but he paid it no mind.

His thoughts were far from the board. The pressure he had felt from Riley still lingered in his chest like a shadow, and though his face remained composed, his mind churned with unease.

Just what kind of force has my daughter brought into our clan?

Still, he said nothing. There was wisdom in restraint, especially when facing a storm one could not weather.

True enough, barely a month later, the storm broke.

From the eastern valleys to the shadowed mountains, the ground trembled as a vast army of cultivators surged into motion. Their banners darkened the skies, their killing intent palpable even from miles away. This was not a diplomatic mission, nor a ceremonial display of power.

Their purpose was clear—and it was anything but peaceful.