The flight touched down in Rome just after sunset.
The sky blazed deep crimson and violet, casting long shadows over the city’s terracotta rooftops and ancient stone ruins.
Zhang Jiuxuan stepped out into the cool evening air, the two seals resting side by side under his shirt—both thrumming sharp and restless, as if growling at something hidden nearby.
Lin Weiyao adjusted his coat, glancing around at the passing cars and pedestrians.
“This city sits on seven hills, each one aligned to the stars.
For thousands of years, it’s drawn power like a magnet.
The Black Cross built their main stronghold right where the old imperial heart once beat—buried deep beneath the ruins of the Forum.” Huo Yunxi unfolded a fragile map recovered from the Macau altar.
“Three layers of defense.
First, the curse of forgotten oaths.
Second, the army of fallen zealots.
Third, the central sanctuary where they’ve been channeling all the stolen dragon energy.
That’s where they keep the World Key—the final relic that lets them rewrite the laws of every land.” They walked slowly through the narrow streets of the historic center.
The closer they drew to the Forum, the stranger the air grew: laughter faded into silence, streetlamps flickered and dimmed, and the faint scent of old incense mixed with iron and rot hung thick everywhere.
When they reached the edge of the ancient ruins, the whole area was wrapped in a pale, shimmering veil—completely invisible to the tourists walking only a few dozen yards away.
“Veil of severance,” Zhang Jiuxuan said softly.
“It cuts this place off from the rest of the world.
No one sees what happens here.
No one hears the cries.” He stepped through the veil first.
The moment he crossed, the sky turned black, lit only by three pale, sickly moons.
The ruins of temples and arches stood twisted, their stone stained dark red, the ground cracked as if something huge had torn it open from below.
Before they could go further, figures rose from the rubble—hundreds of them: knights in rusted armor, monks in tattered robes, soldiers from every century, their eyes hollow and burning with cold white light.
Each carried a weapon wrapped in shadow, each moved as if pulled by an invisible string.
“Spirits of those who died believing the Order’s lies,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
“They think they fight for a holy cause.
They don’t know they’re just fuel.” The lead knight raised his sword, and the whole army surged forward.
Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t summon fire or thunder.
He simply held up both seals, and a clear, chime-like sound rang out—so bright it cut through the roar of the charge.
“Your cause was twisted,” he called.
“Your sacrifice was stolen.
But your courage is still yours.
Lay down your arms.
No one asks you to fight for lies anymore.” The charge slowed.
The knights hesitated.
One by one, swords lowered.
The white glow in their eyes softened to warm gold.
The lead knight bowed low, then dissolved into light that drifted upward, followed by every other spirit in the army—all finally free.
As the last light faded, a slow, cold clap echoed from the top of the ruined Senate house.
“Truly impressive,” a voice called.
“You undo centuries of work with nothing but kindness.
But you cannot undo what is already written.” A man stepped out onto the broken portico—tall, wrapped in a cloak of black velvet embroidered with gold crosses, his face sharp and pale, his eyes burning with the same violet light Valerius had carried long ago.
“I am Grand Master Aldric,” he said.
“And I have waited a very long time to meet the last Celestial Master.” Zhang Jiuxuan looked up at him, his grip tightening on the seals.
“You’ve waited to steal,” he said.
“To take what you did not earn, to break what you did not build.
And today, you wait for nothing but the end.” Aldric smiled—a cold, cruel curve of the lips.
“Then come,” he said, gesturing to a massive set of iron doors that had appeared where there had been only empty ground.
“Walk into my sanctuary.
And see how small your light truly is.”