The streets of Lu City stirred with the hum of bartering voices, the rustle of cloth, and the creak of old wooden stalls. Lu Sang walked calmly beneath the hanging red banners fluttering in the wind, his long coat dusting the cobblestone as he approached the district where markets thrived on the left and the slave stalls darkened the right. Soldiers stood tall behind him, their polished steel glinting beneath the morning sun, while merchants bowed slightly as he passed. Lu Sang ruled this city—but he walked it like a man with purpose, not pride.

The slave row reeked of sweat, fear, and desperation. But in the middle of it all, a small group stood differently. A young mother with hollow eyes, a father holding his thin son close, and a girl no older than ten—wiry, with dirt on her cheeks but resolve in her gaze. Lu Sang stopped before them, observing their stance. They had nothing, yet they didn’t shrink from his gaze.

“You three,” Lu Sang said firmly, “Your strength lies not in muscle, but in spirit.”

The father nodded and dropped to one knee. “Lord Lu Sang… you are mercy made flesh. We pledge ourselves to you. Our hands are yours.”

The mother wept silently, mouthing blessings as her child clung to her skirt. Lu Sang dropped 30 gold coins into the broker’s greedy palms without a second glance. "Let them be taken to the palace. Fed. Given work and purpose."

As they were led away, Lu Sang’s attention turned to the far end of the row. Chained beside a barrel, under a tattered canvas, sat a humanoid catgirl. Her ears twitched as he approached, her tail lashing once in warning. Her eyes—amber, sharp—glimmered with energy. Not submission. Not yet.

“What’s her price?” Lu Sang asked, noting the subtle aura around her—spiritual pressure thick as mist.

“She’s a cultivator, Great Sage,” the slave broker whispered, almost trembling. “Enlightened Foundation Spirit Stage… her essence is between 750,000 and 1.5 million. She’s dangerous. Bound to a demon’s wrath. The price is high—750 gold coins.”

Without hesitation, Lu Sang handed the pouch over. “She’s mine.”

Later that night, within the candle-lit corridors of his palace, Lu Sang addressed the three freed commoners. “You will cook and clean. Live without chains, and be watched—not because I don’t trust you, but because some will still see you as property. I have placed one hundred soldiers on this estate to ensure no harm comes to you—or from you.”

Then he turned to the catgirl, now unchained, seated cross-legged before a hearth. She hadn’t said a word since arriving. Until now.

“You’re not like the others,” she said softly, tail swaying. “You see things not as they are—but how they could be.”

“What is your name?” Lu Sang asked.

“Ki’Rha. Of the Purri Tribe.”

He reached into his satchel and dropped a leather pouch filled with 15 cultivation pills onto the rug before her.

“If you follow me,” he said, his voice low but resolute, “I will not just give you a cause. I will offer you the means to wage war against those who dragged you into this hell.”

Ki’Rha’s ears perked up, her pupils narrowing with surprise. Then she spoke.

“My people were once proud… until we were taxed, starved, and broken. We prayed to Purri, our god. She appeared with twelve flowing tails. Each one with a divine purpose. One tail could create cultivation duos—bonded growth. Another controlled the elements—she aided us during the rebellion.”

Lu Sang leaned forward, intrigued.

“But the revolt failed. The Human King sent his general. Our defenses shattered. In the end… Purri herself intervened. Her twelve tails shimmered with celestial fire. She banished us six miles from the slum city. A year ago. I was captured just one week back.”

“Who?” Lu Sang asked. “Who took you?”

“Someone cloaked in the robes of the Holy Sword Kingdom. They asked me to spy on you. I refused.” She hissed lightly. “So they branded me a slave.”

Silence hung for a moment. The flames in the hearth flickered.

“Purri came to me in a dream. She showed me that cursed kingdom. I want vengeance—but I don’t want my tribe to suffer again. I want to fight… but alone, if I must.”

She looked up at Lu Sang, her tone uncertain. “Will you help me in this madness… or give me space to breathe and think?”

Lu Sang walked toward the window, his gaze landing on the dark sprawl of the city.

“I will ask Queen Pan Lian of the Fanism Empire,” he said. “She will know how to move in these matters.”

He turned back to her, eyes gleaming with resolve.

“But if your god bears twelve tails and sends visions to her people, then I believe Purri and I… may share a common enemy.”

The fire crackled, and in the glow, Ki’Rha’s eyes softened.

She did not bow. Not yet.

But for the first time in a year, she felt hope.

The warm winds of the south coast brushed across the marble towers of the Fanism Empire’s capital. Within the imperial gardens, Queen Pan Lian stood among the flowering jade lilies, their petals humming softly from cultivation essence. A falcon landed gently on her armguard, its talons wrapped around a message sealed in the crest of Lu Sang’s wolf sigil.

She broke the wax seal, eyes scanning the parchment.

"One of their own captured a cultivator slave from another realm. Tried to turn her against me. She refused. Now I ask you—what is the price for protecting someone who commits such crimes under your banner?"
—Lu Sang

Her gaze turned sharp.

"Prepare my carriage," she ordered, folding the message. "We ride to Lu City by nightfall."

The Palace of Lu City loomed strong and proud under the moonlight, its black banners lined with silver threads fluttering above. The guards bowed low as Queen Pan Lian arrived, clad in obsidian armor with the Fanism crest etched into her shoulder plate.

Lu Sang met her in the war chamber, where candles flickered over a map of the continent. His expression was calm, yet there was a familiar fire in his eyes.

“They took one of ours, Lian,” Lu Sang began, voice cold and controlled. “A cat-humanoid cultivator from the Purri tribe. Dragged her into slavery. One of their priests—a man in Holy Sword robes—asked her to spy on me.”

Pan Lian placed her gloves on the polished oak table. “And she refused?”

“She did. And for that, she was chained. That priest is protected by the Holy Sword Kingdom. He wore their symbols. Carried their rites.”

Pan Lian took a breath. “Do you have witnesses?”

“The slave broker. My own soldiers. And the girl herself… her aura doesn’t lie. She carries the trauma of divine injustice.”

Lu Sang leaned over the table and pointed at a small village near the eastern border of the Holy Sword Kingdom.

“I want to bury one of their villages,” he said without blinking. “Just one. Burn it, break it, and leave nothing but ash. Let them understand—this is the cost of preying on my people.”

Pan Lian’s gaze didn’t waver. “That would spark a full war, Sang. Not a skirmish. Not a border raid. Mei Lan will retaliate—and she has the allegiance of the Crimson Order.”

“Let them come,” he muttered.

But Pan Lian raised her hand. “Your emotions speak. I don’t blame you for it—but listen to mine: if we declare war now, we must be ready to move the full legions of Fanism. I will not send half-hearted messages through fire and death. Either we strike Mei Lan and her kingdom fully—or we stay the blade.”

Lu Sang stepped back, arms folded. “Then what do you suggest?”

Pan Lian turned to the window, looking out over Lu City.

“I will send an envoy—publicly. We’ll demand the surrender of the priest who abducted Ki’Rha. If they refuse, then we have our answer. But let the world see who raised the blade first.”

“And if Mei Lan refuses?”

Pan Lian’s voice dropped to a whisper laced with steel.

“Then we won’t bury a village, Lu Sang. We will bury a kingdom.”