Chapter 1
**Title: The Shame of the Silver Moon Realm** Evelyn Windrose felt like a disgrace to the Realm of the Silver Moon. After narrowly escaping the depths of the Dark Pit, she clawed her way back to The Guild only to find that her beloved master, elder brother, and parents had all found a substitute for her. But this substitute was no ordinary girl. Lady Seraphina was delicate and fragile, with a body that bruised at the slightest touch. “Lord, it's my fault,” Order lamented sadly. “I shouldn’t have taken the love that was meant for you.” “Tiger, you must protect Lady Su,” rebuked her father, Lord Cedric. “Evelyn, you’ve caused Lady Su so much distress. If you continue to act so disrespectfully, you will face punishment,” her master, Mistress Isolde, warned sternly. Evelyn, feeling utterly powerless, could only respond with silence. Because of Lady Seraphina, Evelyn found herself living a life filled with constant reprimands and minor punishments. At her wit's end, she decided to escape, spending her days wandering aimlessly. One fateful day, she stumbled upon a secluded mountain. A striking man with dark hair and cold eyes observed her, his handsome, indifferent face marked with magical runes that hinted at his otherworldly power. --- Evelyn Windrose had once dreamed a dream where her parents adored her, her master cherished her, and eventually, her master pursued her to become her partner in the celestial way, much to the envy of others. But in reality, Lady Seraphina had been practicing her sword skills so relentlessly that her hands had become raw and bloody, while her parents and master held her hands, their eyes full of concern. They explained that they had erred in taking Lady Seraphina as a substitute and that it was necessary to compensate her for the wrongs done. Little did they understand how lonely and miserable Evelyn felt wandering the Dreadlands. While her family fawned over Lady Seraphina, one careless moment saw Evelyn whisked away by the Great Demon King, Liam Greyhawk, flaunting his strength. When her parents finally came to their senses and realized the disconnect between them and their daughter, and when her master recognized the true object of his affection, Evelyn was already trapped in the grip of the Great Demon King, unable to escape his clutches. **Scene:** “Listen, I have no concept of love,” Liam Greyhawk stated coldly. At that very moment, Evelyn happened to walk by him, her crimson dress swirling around her. She caught his gaze and tilted her head, “Did you call me?” Liam, expressionless, turned away, his ears reddening. Inwardly, he thought, *If it’s her, then no one knows better than I what love truly is.* --- **Chapter 1: A Strange Dream** The black mountains loomed like menacing beasts, their jagged peaks resembling the claws of an ancient demon ready to pounce on passing travelers. The sky was drenched in crimson, a haunting silence pressing down upon the realm. The birds of the Mystical Woods sat eerily quiet, and the beasts on the forest floor lay still, hiding in their burrows. Evelyn Windrose found herself shielded by a man clad in tattered, blood-stained garments that smelled faintly of pine and snow. His face was lean and ghostly, teetering on the edge of consciousness. A languid voice drifted through the air, nonchalant yet dripping with condescension. “This is the pinnacle of The Right Path’s strength. Nothing more than this.”
Chapter 2
Evelyn Windrose stood before the man, her heart racing as he spoke with a calm demeanor, yet the reality around her was anything but tranquil. The man before her, the Right Path's foremost Master Alaric, was ensnared by another, tortured like a mouse at the mercy of a cat, delighting in his suffering. Unable to bear the psychological torment any longer, Evelyn lunged forward, her sword—shimmering with cold starlight—aimed at the villain hovering in the air above. Even if it meant her death, it would be a more dignified end than this prolonged agony. Evelyn's weapon was steady, slicing through the wind, yet she hit an invisible barrier that stopped her advance dead in its tracks. She could neither move forward nor retreat. Frozen, Evelyn's breath caught in her throat as the chilly night air filled her lungs, mingling with the metallic scent of blood and decay. Bodies lay scattered on the ground, a gruesome testament to the battle that had raged, staining the sky with deep crimson hues. A murderous intent loomed over her, sending a chill through her body. She lifted her gaze and locked onto a pair of icy, lethal eyes. The owner exuded a chilling arrogance, and although Evelyn could not discern his face, she couldn't ignore the allure of his gaze. But what struck her most was the unmistakable impatience in those eyes—as if they were voicing disdain: “I’ve slain so many, yet how is there still one more pest alive? How tedious.” In an instant, his hand flicked, a gesture filled with annoyance. Evelyn felt a sudden twist at her neck as her world spun violently, blackness swallowing her as her body crumpled. A jolt of pain surged through her, making her legs tremble. Just before consciousness slipped away, she heard an anguished voice from a man on the ground call, “Honey...” An absurd cold sweat broke out across Evelyn's body. Her heart raced erratically as she bolted upright in her bed, gasping for breath. What a fool she was. Inside Evelyn's chamber, calming incense burned—an aromatic swap she had negotiated with the merfolk—filling the air with a soothing fog that danced, captivating like a beautiful maiden. Her heart, still racing, stirred with self-recrimination. “Fool!” she muttered. In her dreams, she had acted with such audacity. That was her master, the one who called her ‘dearest,’ a title she often dreamed of hearing. How could she dare entertain such thoughts about the one who guided her like a father? She paused, clutching her heart in anguish. How could she be this low, harboring such desires for the one who had nurtured and shaped her? These nights had turned into a cycle of the same recurring dream—a romantic affair with her master, a perfect balance worshipped by onlookers. Yet, there was always an enigmatic man lurking at the edges of her subconscious. This man was shrouded in mystery and exuded an immense power. In her dreams, the entire Realm of Ascendance was under his chaotic command. Time and again, the eight major sects and five significant families banded together to eradicate him, only to find themselves bested by his singular force. And in those nightmarish sequences, her master—the revered first among the Ascendants—was met with the same fate, dragging Evelyn down with him into the abyss. Her breath hitched at the haunting images, the specter of overwhelming dread weighing on her heart. How could she escape the nightmare that wove dark paths around her even in her sleep?
Chapter 3
Evelyn Windrose stood in her chamber, her long, flowing hair cascading like a waterfall down her back. The soft peach fabric of her dress clung to her pale skin as she contemplated the vivid scenes from her dreams. In a strange way, she concluded that she had indulged herself too much in dreams of men. Haunted by desires, she was daring enough to entertain thoughts about her revered mentor. Perhaps it was the comfort of her daily life, one marked by stability, that bred these destructive fantasies of the notorious Great Demon. It hadn’t even crossed her mind to question whether this dream could be interpreted as a prophetic vision. With her current fledgling cultivation level, why would the heavens choose her to receive such an ominous message regarding the very existence of the Ascendant Realm? She chuckled to herself, wondering how many deluded notions the divine must entertain to grant her a dream like that. Though the languidness of spring had a way of luring one back to sleep, Evelyn found herself restless. Every time she closed her eyes, it felt as if she were dishonoring her master, leaving her with a dismal experience. After a moment’s hesitation, she swept off her bed and donned her disciple robes, which were a pristine white adorned with silver embroidery depicting various floral patterns. The elaborate motif of peony blossoms brightened her attire, yet it hung loosely around her waist. Annoyed, she stared at her empty midsection before reluctantly retrieving a long, matching ribbon from her vanity. She wrapped it around her waist twice before tying it into a lovely bow. With no intention of indulging in another nap, she decided to occupy herself with something productive. As she opened her chamber door, the sun bathed her in warmth reminiscent of blooming cherry blossoms, golden rays reflecting off her silky black hair. “Brother Rowan,” she called out, spotting a male disciple named Rowan just as he passed her door, a bowl of dark concoction clutched in his hands. “What is that you have there?” she inquired, intrigued. Rowan snapped back to reality, tearing his gaze from her delicate features and bright, clear eyes. Beneath the surface, he certainly didn't dare to let his eyes linger on her graceful curves. His heart raced as he considered that this Sister Lark did not appear as haughty and aloof as rumors claimed. Yet, he couldn’t help but remember the cunning ways of women—perhaps her lovely demeanor was merely a façade. If Evelyn Windrose truly was as charming as she seemed, then Sister Elara wouldn’t have taken such drastic measures upon her return. Brother Rowan sighed internally, feeling empathy for Sister Elara. In truth, when he looked upon Evelyn, he perceived her as a fragile flower, beautiful but lacking the grit of the formidable Sister Elara. Evelyn seemed devoid of the fierce spirit typically found in the Blade Keepers, a glaring contrast to the resilient strength of Sister Elara. Ultimately, for those in the Ascendant Realm, cultivation levels mattered most. Clearing his throat, Brother Rowan finally responded, “I’m taking some medicine to Sister Elara.” A hint of derision crept into his voice without intention, but Evelyn remained oblivious to it. During her years in the Dreadlands, everyone she encountered either bore a murderous glare or a smile laced with hidden malice. As for mockery and disdain, the members of Dreadlands were accustomed to it; thus, Brother Rowan's expressions had little impact on Evelyn, comparable to someone merely inquiring if she had eaten today. With an unperturbed demeanor, she encouraged, “Then you should hurry, or the medicine will go cold, and Sister Elara will suffer.” Rowan stifled a retort, muscles tensing as he struggled to suppress an incredulous question. How could she still be so calm knowing that, because of her, Sister Elara had nearly ended her life? Rooted in place, Brother Rowan hesitated, caught between the tumult of emotions and the discomfort that filled the air.
Chapter 4
Evelyn Windrose raised an eyebrow. “Brother Rowan, why are you still here? The medicine is getting cold.” Brother Rowan, taken aback by her remark, stared at her as if she’d just spoken a foreign language. In a deep, gravelly voice, he responded, “Sister Lark, don’t you have any thoughts about Sister Elara’s situation?” Thoughts, Evelyn Windrose pondered. “Tell her to drink more hot water.” Brother Rowan looked at her as if she had just conjured a ghost, speechless for a moment. Keeping her composure while he scrutinized her, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel a sense of comfort. Back in the Dreadlands, it had always been a solitary existence for her—encountering threats or becoming one herself. Now, Brother Rowan gazed at her with simple curiosity. It was nice, indeed; people were social creatures by nature. As for Sister Elara, Evelyn Windrose hadn’t intended to throw Brother Rowan under the bus. The story unfolded like this: Eight years ago, Evelyn had fallen into the Dreadlands, a treacherous place where survival was a brutal game. Legends spoke of a man who once declared, “If I die and my bones are returned to my homeland, I’ll take that as a sign my ancestors are watching over me. You all must honor me as your father, and I'll ensure you return home in one piece.” Shortly after, that same man was literally cut into pieces and incinerated by a fire sorcerer, his ashes scattered to the winds. Evelyn managed to endure the cruel Dreadlands and exerted all her energy to return to the Hall of Lost Blades, where her parents and mentors awaited her. Yet before she could even mend her family’s ancestral grave, rumors swirled about her parents and mentor finding her a stand-in. Before she could fully process this shocking news, she heard that the woman they had chosen as her replacement, Sophie Nightingale, had attempted suicide upon learning she was just a substitute for Evelyn. Ironically, Sophie had initially chosen to stay at the Hall of Lost Blades out of pride, believing she could fill Evelyn’s shoes in her absence. Sophie, however, was well-loved at the Hall for her gentle nature, resilience, and thoughtfulness toward others. Hence, when word spread of Sophie’s suicide attempt, many disciples at the Hall began to blame Evelyn for the tragedy. Evelyn thought the accusations were ludicrous—she returned to The Guild only to find that Sophie had already attempted to take her life. It was unfair to place the blame on her. Having spent over three months back at The Guild, Evelyn heard that Sophie’s health had been in a state of limbo, with bitter medicine being constantly delivered to her room. Evelyn felt deep sympathy for Sophie, and even her mentor didn’t lay any fault at her feet. All she could advise was for Sophie to drink more hot water. While Evelyn Windrose and Brother Rowan exchanged stares, a tall middle-aged man clad in black robes, Bartholomew the Innkeeper, stormed in, his sleeves billowing dramatically. He looked anxious and said, “Lark, why hasn’t your medicine reached Nyx’s room yet? Her injuries are serious; we can’t afford to delay Master Alaric.”
Chapter 5
Sophie Nightingale, that was the name of the girl known as Su. Brother Rowan, sensing someone approaching, discreetly glanced at Evelyn Windrose before bowing slightly to the visitor. He then hurried off with medicine in hand towards Sophie Nightingale, who was recuperating at Springwater Peak. Evelyn Windrose felt a flutter of anxiety upon seeing the newcomer. It wasn’t just anyone; it was her father. Originally, Evelyn had been thrilled to reunite with her parents after such a long separation and looked forward to rebuilding those connections. But now, due to the distressing incident with Sophie’s attempted suicide, her parents seemed more preoccupied than ever, leading to awkward encounters filled with unease. She remembered the last time she had faced her father's questioning. It was because she had taken a stroll at Springwater Peak and inadvertently let Sophie, who was recovering nearby, see her. The moment Sophie laid eyes on her, it felt like a dagger to her heart, triggering a relapse in her wounds due to overwhelming sorrow. That incident had caused her father, Gideon Riverstone, to scold Evelyn and advise her to stay away from Springwater Peak. Just before that, she had walked down the wrong path and nearly stumbled into her old room, where her mother had seen her. Her mother admonished her to be mindful during this visit; that room now belonged to Sophie, and Evelyn mustn’t intrude, as it would tarnish the sisterly bond they shared. Having faced parents' reprimands so frequently left Evelyn on edge, especially when she saw her father's expression darkening now. Sensing the gravity, she quickly blurted out, “Dad, I haven’t been near Sophie’s room or even Springwater Peak these last few days! I haven’t so much as seen a single hair of hers.” “That Brother Rowan? I bumped into him by accident. I didn't stop him from delivering medicine. If you don’t believe me, ask him, okay? I’ll just head out now.” She sighed as she spoke the last part, feeling relieved to have defended herself. Gideon Riverstone paused in surprise, his usual lecture derailed by Evelyn’s sudden rush of words. He frowned so deeply it seemed he could crush a fly, snapping, “What’s this? Is that how you speak to your father?” Evelyn thought to herself that if she didn’t defend herself, he’d surely find another reason to trouble her. Gideon further scrutinized Evelyn, noting how she stood awkwardly, like a poorly-positioned sword, and said, “Stand properly! You look like you were trained at a swordplay academy with no formal teachings.” Exasperated, Evelyn fought the urge to argue with this old-world mindset of her father. His belief that a young woman should always present herself with decorum seemed archaic. Back in the Dreadlands, if she had to stand there like that night and day without a break, she would have lost her head long ago. The life of a Blade Keeper revolved around response time—quick strikes and steady wrists. What sense was there in all this unnecessary formality? Once Gideon saw Evelyn standing properly, his expression softened slightly, yet he couldn’t resist a stern reminder: “Remember, a Blade Keeper must always stand firm as a pine tree and sit as still as a clock, just like Nyx.” Evelyn could barely hold back a laugh, responding, “What about Brother She from Snake Mountain? What does he do, then?” The snake sword style he practiced was swift as lightning, its movements mimicking a snake, with techniques requiring bending and twisting. Gideon's face shifted, disbelief overtaking his features. Forecasting trouble, Evelyn quickly added, “Dad, I have a task to accomplish. I need to gather some herbs at Hinterland Hill. Could you send a fellow disciple to accompany me, please?” Evelyn felt a twinge of shame asking for help, recognizing that her parents’ favoritism towards Sophie Nightingale was not unfounded. Sophie possessed formidable skills and talent, while Evelyn, due to her injuries sustained in the Dreadlands, had stalled in her progress. Her capabilities were at a standstill, almost feeling like a burden. Gideon Riverstone waved her concerns aside dismissively, his face stern. “What do you need to go to Hinterland Hill for?”
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