"Lady Aurora! Young Master Sylas has also fallen victim to the same unknown curse. He trained this morning and then suddenly dropped unconscious. It's the same fate that has befallen the patriarch and the elders," a masked cultivator reported to the exceptionally beautiful woman, urgency lacing his voice.
Aurora, with her striking features and ethereal presence, remained composed as she absorbed the information. "I know. Keep everything secret for now. Punish those who will disobey, mark them as traitors, and lock them up in the dungeon. Do you have the report regarding the matter I sent you?" she asked, her tone steady and authoritative, betraying none of the concern that simmered beneath the surface.
"I have it here, but what's the connection to a useless young m—"
"Stop. Do not utter such ignorant words in my presence," Lady Aurora interrupted, her voice turning cold as an oppressive spiritual pressure descended upon the masked cultivator.
The air around them grew heavy, filled with the palpable weight of her authority and the fierce intensity of her aura. He felt it constrict around him, a reminder of her formidable power.
"I apologize, Lady Aurora," the cultivator stammered, bowing low and kneeling on the floor in submission, his heart racing with a mix of fear and respect.
He hastily delivered the materials regarding a particular individual before quickly excusing himself from the room, eager to escape the intensity of her gaze.
Left alone in the chamber, Lady Aurora began to sift through the reports, her brows furrowing in disbelief as she read.
"Quinn Thorne, 20 years old, cannot cultivate... trash…" she murmured, her mind racing as theories began to form about this young man.
The descriptions didn't align with what she had personally seen of the young man.
As she continued to read, Aurora's sharp intellect connected the dots. "Could it be that an old expert has taken over the body of this young man?" she speculated aloud, considering the most plausible explanation for the strange occurrences that plagued her clan.
The idea was both surprising and troubling; the power of an ancient cultivator within a seemingly weak vessel could lead to unpredictable consequences.
Yet, even with this possibility in mind, she realized that she had little recourse to address the situation directly. The curse was spreading, affecting not just individuals but the very top fabric of their clan.
Determined, she stood up, her resolve solidifying. She would not allow fear to dictate her actions.
She retrieved a piece of paper from her storage ring, feeling the smooth texture beneath her fingers as she pulled it out.
With a swift motion, she summoned a pen and began to write, her elegant script flowing effortlessly across the surface.
Each stroke was deliberate, infused with purpose and clarity as she carefully crafted her message. The ink shimmered in the soft light of the room, reflecting her focused intent.
Once she finished, she released the paper, watching as it fluttered from her hands like a fallen leaf caught in a gentle breeze. It began to transform, twisting and folding until it became a delicate dove.
Its wings spread wide, feathers gleaming like freshly fallen snow as it took flight.
With a soft coo, the dove soared toward the ceiling, its movements graceful and fluid. As it reached the surface, it passed through as if the barrier were mere smoke, vanishing into the ether beyond.
Lady Aurora watched the dove disappear, her heart quickening with anticipation. She knew the message would reach its intended recipient, a crucial step in her plan.
The air around her seemed to hum with energy, the weight of the moment settling upon her shoulders.
She felt a mix of hope and anxiety; this was a pivotal juncture in her quest to uncover the truth behind Quinn Thorne and the curse that threatened her clan.
"Now all I have to do is wait," Aurora murmured, her voice barely audible as she gazed out of the window.
A thoughtful expression crossed her face, the weight of countless concerns settling over her like a heavy mantle.
* * *
The days stretched on, each one seeming longer than the last, and another week passed.
Seven more top members of Aurora's clan had succumbed to the mysterious curse, their once-vibrant auras now snuffed out like candles in a storm.
The decline of the Harlow Clan was becoming impossible to ignore, and if this continued for another month, the disappearances of its most powerful figures would surely spark rumors that could not be contained.
The very foundation of the clan was at risk, and the atmosphere within its walls grew thick with tension, the air filled with whispers of dread and uncertainty.
Servants moved with hurried steps, their eyes downcast, while the remaining elders held hushed meetings, their faces etched with worry.
Aurora felt the weight of their unspoken fears pressing down on her. The burden of leadership was heavy, and the responsibility to protect her people gnawed at her soul.
It was this relentless pressure that had driven her to send an urgent letter to the one person she could trust, the one person who might hold the solution to this deadly situation.
Two days after, an old man finally appeared on Aurora's doorstep.
He arrived without fanfare, his presence almost ghostly as he seemed to materialize from the shadows, a figure of quiet power that demanded respect.
His eyes, though aged, held a sharpness that belied his years, and his posture, straight and unwavering, spoke of a lifetime of discipline and mastery.
"It's been ten years, my disciple," the old man said, his deep, resonant voice carrying a hint of both reproach and amusement, "and yet the first thing I hear from you is a problem. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."
Aurora felt a pang of guilt at his words but quickly buried it beneath her determination. "Greetings, Master," she replied, bowing low in respect, her hands clasped together in a gesture of humility.
"I had no other choice. I don't know who I'm facing this time, and I am at a loss for whom to ask for help. I could only plead for the greatest man I know. Thank you for coming, master." Her voice trembled slightly, the enormity of the situation weighing heavily upon her.
This man was not just her mentor; he was the sect master of the Silver Blossom Sword Sect, a prestigious and righteous order known far and wide for its formidable warriors and unwavering principles.
To call upon him was to admit that she could not handle this on her own—a hard truth for a disciple to face in front of her master.
Her greatest assurance lay in the fact that her master had dominated this region for over 10,000 years. This old man was truly at the pinnacle of power, reigning supreme over all others.
The old man's gaze softened as he studied her, sensing the turmoil within her. "That's alright," he said, his tone gentler now.
"If it's merely the lingering will of an old powerhouse taking over the body of that boy you mentioned, then it should be relatively easy to dispel." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as if seeing beyond the physical realm, his thoughts a whirl of calculations and strategies.
"But we must tread carefully. Even a lingering will can carry remnants of great power, and we cannot afford to underestimate our opponent." His eyes gleamed with a mix of wisdom and determination as he reached a decision.
"Come, let's not waste any more time." With that, the old man turned and strode out of the room, his movements surprisingly agile for someone of his age.
The years had not dulled his reflexes, and each step he took was deliberate and sure, a testament to his enduring strength. Aurora quickly followed, her heart pounding with a mix of hope and apprehension.
She knew that with her master by her side, they had a fighting chance, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead gnawed at her resolve.
They moved through the city like shadows, unnoticed by the servants, guards, and people who went about their business. Just half a dozen breaths later then arrived at the Thorne clan.
The clan grounds were vast, a sprawling estate that had stood for centuries, its walls steeped in history and power.
Yet, as they approached at a desolate part of the estate, Aurora couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that unseen eyes were tracking their every movement.
When they finally arrived at the entrance of this faraway sanctum, where a lonesome courtyard laid barren and empty, Aurora hesitated.
She glanced at her master, seeking reassurance, but before she could speak, a cold, imperious voice echoed through the surroundings.
"You appear in my abode like thieves in the night. I don't appreciate such obvious, unwanted ploys. This disrespect will come at a price—a price paid in blood." The voice was calm yet commanding, each word laced with an undercurrent of lethal intent.
It was a voice that carried the weight of authority, one used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.
Our op MC had taken to playing the role of an old expert powerhouse, finding the facade not only useful but immensely entertaining.
He had the power to back up his claims, even if he lacked the years of experience, so why not play the part to its fullest?
Aurora's heart skipped a beat as she recognized the voice. It was the very boy she had mentioned to her master—the one she had thought possessed by an ancient will.
But now, hearing him speak with such chilling authority, she realized how much she had underestimated the situation. This was no mere boy and no mere lingering will of an old expert. This was a true monster!
Aurora and the old sect master froze where they stood, their bodies locking up as if the very air around them had solidified.
The oppressive force bearing down on them was unlike anything they had ever encountered. It was as if the space around them had turned to stone, binding them in place with an iron grip.
They couldn't move, couldn't even blink. Panic welled up within Aurora as she realized just how dire their situation was. They had walked straight into a trap.
"I'm sorry, my disciple," the old sect master said, his voice resonating through their shared spiritual sense, his tone laced with a rueful humor despite the gravity of the situation. "It seems we've encountered a formidable enemy indeed. Hahaha!" His laughter, though soft, was filled with an acceptance of fate, and Aurora could feel the finality in it.
A breath later, his physical form crumbled into ashes, his body disintegrating as if consumed by an invisible fire.
The wind, which had been still moments ago, picked up with a sudden, unnatural force, scattering his remains to parts unknown.
Aurora stood paralyzed, her mind reeling. In the span of a few heartbeats, her master, the man she had relied upon, had been reduced to nothing more than dust.
She felt a crushing sense of loss, her hope evaporating like morning mist under the harsh sun. Now, she was truly alone, standing before a being whose power she could barely comprehend.
The weight of the curse, the danger to her clan, and the overwhelming presence of this unknown force bore down on her all at once, threatening to break her spirit.
But now, more than ever, she finally grasped the true face of the threat she faced. The veil of uncertainty had been lifted, revealing the formidable power and malevolent intent that lay behind it.
The realization sent a chill down her spine, as she understood with stark clarity just how dangerous and insurmountable her enemy truly was.