Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne-Chapter 35: You lost something. I’m returning it
The sky above the Iron Dragon Sect was gray. Not stormy. Not threatening rain. Just... colorless. As if the world itself was holding its breath.
On the sect's main courtyard, daily life carried on. Young disciples fought on designated arenas, their Qi flaring with every clash of fists and dull blades. The air was thick with the scent of metal and sweat, soaked in years of discipline.
Then... a sound. Not loud. Not shrill. Just a word. Spoken like a whisper, yet heard by all.
"Sect Master. You have five seconds."
Disciples froze. Elders paled. The masters glanced at each other. And then, things began to unravel.
Qi exploded across the sect mountain—but it wasn't theirs. It wasn't even Qi they recognized. It had no shape. No form. It was like a weight dropped from the sky, crushing their souls.
In the meditation hall, Elder Wen dropped to his knees, clutching his throat. "Impossible..."
In the forge, Elder Huang released a red-hot sword, not even noticing as it scorched his skin. "That's... not human..."
And in the courtyard, all eyes turned in one direction. Toward the main gate.
He stood there. Not like a god. Not like a demon. He simply... was.
A man in a blue hood, hands in his pockets, as if strolling through a park—not entering the most heavily defended sect in the region.
No one had announced him. No one saw him arrive. But everyone knew—he was here for a reason.
Senior Disciple Yun turned pale, feeling his knees tremble. "Why... does it feel like I'm already dead?"
Then, the voice returned.
"Sect Master. You have five seconds. Stand before me."
He hadn't spoken loudly. He hadn't moved. But the words echoed inside their skulls like whispers from behind.
The clouds above the sect shifted. Then split.
Figures burst into the sky—fast, desperate. Elders. Division Heads. Court Masters.
And then came the one.
Sect Master Taranis. A man once said to have stopped a falling mountain with a single punch. His Qi was like iron.
But now... Doubt lingered in his eyes.
Dozens of cultivators floated above the courtyard, like gods descending.
Kaen didn’t even look up.
He bent down and picked up a small moss-covered stone. Rolled it between his fingers as if weighing its right to exist. Then tossed it.
No force. No intent. Just a lazy flick.
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The stone rolled across the courtyard stones with a faint clack. Soft. Subtle. Yet to everyone watching, it echoed like thunder.
"Come down. I don't like being looked down on."
He didn't release Qi. Didn't project an aura. He just spoke.
And they obeyed.
One by one, like leaves drifting to the ground, they descended to the stone courtyard.
Sect Master Taranis stepped forward and bowed low.
"It is an honor to welcome Kaen to our humble sect," he said, his voice trembling only slightly. "A legend among cultivators, a being whose power even ancient records struggle to define." "What brings the most powerful being in this world... to our humble sect?"
Kaen didn’t respond immediately.
He reached behind his back. And tossed something forward.
A heavy shape hit the ground with a sickening thud.
A head.
Everyone recognized it.
Rhaegar.
The pride of their sect. One of their greatest talents.
Gone.
Silence fell—not just the absence of sound, but the kind that hangs between heartbeats. Every eye stared at the severed head resting on the stone tiles, as if unable to accept its reality. Hearts pounded like war drums, the air thickening with each passing moment.
Only Kaen remained motionless, as if none of it concerned him.
He rolled his neck casually.
"You lost something. I'm returning it. Unless... you have a problem with that."
Taranis bowed immediately, voice nearly submissive.
"We would never dare protest, Master Kaen. Your generosity is... beyond value."
Kaen exhaled, a bored sound more than a breath.
"Who trained him?"
The crowd turned in unison. As if summoned by fate, all eyes drifted to the right—to Elder Lang. He stood still, but tension coiled in every muscle. His hands were clenched so tightly blood seeped from between his fingers. Fury and shame burned in his eyes.
And still, he hadn't moved.
Kaen smiled lazily.
"Like master, like disciple..."
He took a single step forward.
"Let's see what the master is worth."
Then his gaze locked with Lang's.
"Come. Don't be shy."
He added, his smile widening with mockery, "If you manage to land even one hit on me... I'll do you a favor and let you live. Maybe I'll even consider you something more than just another piece of trash."
Lang flinched, his body coiled to move—but then someone else stepped forward.
A young man, dressed in the robes of the inner sect, face twisted with rage and uncertainty.
"How dare you act like this in our sacred grounds?!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger. "This is holy ground! Not even you can—"
He never finished.
The sound came like splitting steel. His body collapsed into two perfect halves—cleaved cleanly, as if by an invisible blade.
Silence.
Only the sound of blood hitting the stone.
Kaen didn't look away from Lang. He hadn't blinked.
"If you want the honor of speaking to me..."
His voice was calm.
"Prove you're more than background noise."
Murmurs rippled through the disciples. Some stepped back instinctively. Others froze, breath caught in their throats.
Sect Master Taranis trembled—not for himself, but for everything he had built. The elder council exchanged glances thick with dread. No one hid their fear now.
This wasn't a duel.
This was an execution.
Lang stepped forward. One footfall—a single note of defiance striking the courtyard.
He lifted his head, met Kaen's eyes.
"Your words..." he rasped. "Did you truly say them? If I hit you even once, you'll spare me?"
Kaen grinned, devoid of warmth.
"Hoping for a miracle?" he mused, tilting his head. "Fine. Impress me. Fight your heart out. I'll play with you until I get bored."
Lang gritted his teeth. His fingers twitched.
Then he moved.
His figure blurred, vanishing like a shadow cast by the setting sun.
