The Kunlun Mountains rose like jagged teeth against a pale blue sky, their peaks capped with eternal snow.
The air here was thin and biting, carrying the sharp tang of ice and ancient stone.
No roads led this far; Zhang Jiuxuan, Lin Weiyao, and Huo Yunxi walked for three days across rocky slopes and frozen streams, guided only by the faint glow of the Imperial Seal.
On the fourth morning, they reached a high valley ringed by sheer cliffs.
At its center stood a spring locked beneath a sheet of clear ice, and around it, rows of weathered stone pillars carved with winding dragon patterns.
Every pillar was wrapped in thick black chains that dug deep into the rock.
“The source of all western dragon veins,” Zhang Jiuxuan said, his voice soft but tight.
“The Mother Spring.
Where the first waters rose to feed the rivers and nourish the earth.” Huo Yunxi ran a hand over the nearest pillar.
Frost spread outward from her touch, but the black chains stayed unnaturally warm.
“They’re not just blocking the flow.
They’re siphoning it—draining the life straight out of the ground and sending it somewhere far away.” Before they could step closer, the ground shook.
The ice over the spring cracked open, and shapes rose from the freezing water—guardians made of solid ice, their bodies carved in the form of great serpents, their eyes glowing with pale blue light.
But twisted black marks marred their scales, and their jaws dripped with venom that hissed and melted the snow.
“Ice spirits,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
“Born from this spring, bound to protect it.
The Black Cross has poisoned their hearts.” The lead ice serpent lunged, fangs striking fast.
Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t fight back; he held up both seals, and a wave of warm golden-blue light washed over the valley.
The serpent faltered, its black marks flickering as if burning from within.
“You do not serve poison,” he called.
“You serve the water that flows, the life that grows, the cold that rests so the land may wake again in spring.
Remember who you are.” The serpent paused.
For a long moment, it swayed, as if torn between two commands.
Then it let out a low, mournful cry, and the black marks shattered and fell away like ash.
One by one, the other spirits followed, bowing their great heads before sinking back into the spring’s depths.
Zhang Jiuxuan walked to the edge of the broken ice.
He knelt, pressing his palm to the freezing water.
The seals glowed bright, and golden light seeped down through the spring, traveling along hidden underground channels that stretched for thousands of miles.
“Now we see where it goes,” he said.
The light revealed a dark thread of energy winding west, across deserts and mountains, straight toward the Mediterranean coast.
“Rome,” Lin Weiyao breathed.
“Their central temple.
The heart of the whole order.” Zhang Jiuxuan stood and looked at the black chains still wrapped around the pillars.
He raised his hand, and golden fire wrapped each link.
The chains screamed and melted, vanishing completely.
As the last one fell away, the spring began to bubble and flow once more, clear and warm, steaming gently in the cold air.
“Their roots here are cut,” he said.
“But the main tree still stands.
We cannot stop until we pull it up from the very ground it grows in.” He turned to his companions, his gaze steady and unyielding.
“Tomorrow we cross the border.
We follow the stolen power home.
And we end this, once and for all.”