The ice dragon formed from the Ice-Soul Coagulating Dragon Sword let out an unwilling roar at Ling Xuzi. Dragon might surged violently, rebounding upon its wielder!

  Ling Xuzi’s expression remained indifferent. He raised a finger and lightly flicked the sword’s body.

  “Buzz—”

  The sword’s chime rang out clear and sharp, carrying within it a suppressive rule-like power that seemed to subdue all spirits. The ice dragon’s body convulsed violently; the light in its eyes dimmed at once. With a mournful cry, it shrank back into the sword. Instantly, the blade’s radiance withdrew, becoming as unremarkable as common steel.

  Ice-Soul Realist and Han Jing Realist exchanged glances, both seeing in the other’s eyes a deep exhaustion and despair.

  “Enough…” Ice-Soul Realist’s voice was hoarse, as if she had aged a hundred years in an instant.

  “Disciples of the Xuanfrost Sect—those willing to leave with us, rise into the air at once. Those unwilling… take care of yourselves.”

  With that, she cast one final look at the sect that had borne eight hundred years of wind, snow, and inheritance. Her figure slowly lifted into the air.

  Ling Xuzi narrowed his eyes slightly and suddenly spoke, his voice echoing across Ice-Soul Peak:

  “The Snowfield Alliance opens its gates today. Any who are willing to join us may remain here. Past matters will be forgiven.”

  The words fell like ice.

  A deathly silence enveloped the crowd.

  More than ten Foundation Establishment elders exchanged uneasy looks. After a moment, only three silently rose into the air, positioning themselves behind Ice-Soul Realist and Han Jing Realist. The remaining eight lowered their heads, unmoving.

  Han Jing Realist’s expression shifted. His lips parted as if to speak, but in the end, it became a long sigh. He shook his head and rose into the air.

  “Each chooses their own path,” Ice-Soul Realist said coldly, suppressing her fury. “Those who do not wish to follow will not be forced.”

  Among the peak masters of Huanglong Realist’s generation, choices had to be made as well.

  The red-faced Elder Ling Shuang gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and rose into the air behind the two Core Formation ancestors. Dao Xu Realist remained silent for a long while, then slowly followed.

  The remaining six or seven either stood with heads lowered or eyes flickering. In the end, they all stayed where they were.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Among the dozens of inner disciples, only a little over ten mounted their artifacts and flew up. Far more chose to remain—before the pressure of a Nascent Soul ancestor and the harsh reality of survival, sect loyalty proved unbearably fragile.

  Yun Han clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He looked up at Dao Xu Realist—his master—who stood with eyes closed, his body trembling slightly in the cold wind. Yun Han lifted his foot, set it down, then repeated this three times before finally bowing his head deeply and choosing to stay.

  The Zhou-surnamed female disciple bit her lip. She glanced at several familiar senior sisters beside her. Seeing none of them move, she let out a soft sigh and withdrew her step as well.

  Sun Li, however, had long since made up his mind. With mediocre talent and little favor within the sect, he would never miss such a chance to change his fate. He quietly edged closer to the Snowfield Alliance disciples.

  From within the crowd, a pale, weakened young man struggled forward to stand beside a gray-robed youth—it was Wang Hao.

  He forced a bitter smile and whispered to Yun Che, “Yun Che… I’m not going anywhere. My father is still in the town below the mountain. I’ll go back and stay with him. As for your family… if anything happens, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  Only then did Yun Che notice Wang Hao’s abnormal state. He frowned, grabbed Wang Hao’s wrist, and swept his spiritual sense over him. His expression immediately turned grave.

  “Your cultivation… how did it disperse completely?”

  Wang Hao smiled faintly and shook his head. “It’s a long story… a path I chose myself. Don’t ask.”

  Yun Che looked at him deeply, then said nothing more.

  His gaze swept across the field—those who stayed were mostly opportunists; those who left faced an uncertain future. With the Heaven-Defying Pearl and Li Han’s remnant soul hidden within him, either path carried enormous risk.

  After a brief silence, his decision was made.

  Ice-Soul Realist and Han Jing Realist waited for another half cup of tea. Seeing no one else rise, they exchanged bitter smiles.

  “Let us go,” Ice-Soul Realist said wearily, transforming into a streak of ice-blue light and heading east.

  Han Jing Realist, Huanglong Realist, Ling Shuang Realist, Dao Xu Realist, and the dozen inner disciples followed in silence.

  More than ten streaks of light cut across the sky, like homeless strays, vanishing into the endless wind and snow.

  Thus, the remnants of the Xuanfrost Sect split into three paths:

  One followed the Core Formation ancestors into exile, their future uncertain;

  One remained behind, defecting to the Snowfield Alliance;

  The last quietly descended the mountain—some returning to mortal life, others seeking new chances.

  Yun Han chose to stay. Watching the departing lights, complex emotions flashed through his eyes, soon replaced by resolve—he would become strong, strong enough to never look up to anyone again.

  Sun Li stepped without hesitation to the edge of the Snowfield Alliance ranks, his face already plastered with a fawning smile.

  Wang Hao walked alone down the mountain path, dragging his weakened body. The setting sun stretched his shadow long and thin, bleak and desolate.

  Yun Che chose to leave.

  He was insignificant to begin with, and no one stopped him. Ling Xuzi did not even spare him a glance—a mere Qi Condensation third-layer registered disciple, no more than an ant.

  At the sect gate, Yun Che looked back.

  The blood-red sunset illuminated the shattered Ice-Soul Peak, the collapsed jade pillars, and the former fellow disciples who chose to remain. At Ling Xuzi’s signal, Snowfield Alliance members had already begun taking control of key locations.

  The eight-hundred-year-old Xuanfrost Sect now existed in name alone.

  Yun Che took a deep breath and turned away.

  His figure disappeared into the wind and snow, never looking back.

  Not through complete annihilation, but through something far crueler—

  hearts scattered, paths divided.