Blackwood Clan, Spirit Hall.

Inside a coffin.

Damien Blackwood’s chest heaved. Feeling slowly returned to his limbs as his soul rejoined his body from the distant battlefield beyond the realm.

"Brothers, elders—those who fell in battle—I swear, I’ll return to the outer battlefield!"

"And when I do, I’ll give everything I’ve got to mend this broken sky, to bring your souls back home!”

A dark fury surged deep in his eyes.

“And those bastards who sealed off our retreat, who left us to die? I’ll make them pay.”

A faint glow pulsed in Damien’s right palm—a mysterious mark began to surface.

It was the shadow of a sword, pressing down on nine chaotic prisons.

This was Damien’s deepest secret—the “Nine-Prison Sword Seal.”

Three years ago, it was this very seal that had pulled his soul into the outer battlefield.

A strange, almost unreal experience.

But now, remembering it, it felt all too vivid.

“Good. The heirlooms, the entrusted relics, and my identity token—they’re still here. I wasn’t dreaming!”

He murmured in his mind, watching as a worn token appeared within his soul.

Name: Damien Blackwood.

Age: Fourteen.

Bloodline: Direct descendant of the Blackwood Clan of Tianhe Prefecture.

Cultivation: First Realm—Spirit Calling Stage.

Position: Scout.

This was the token he'd received upon entering the battlefield three years ago. It had stayed with him ever since.

“Hmm?”

Just as he tried to sit up, something clicked in his mind.

“A coffin? I’m lying in a coffin?!”

Before he could sort it out, a mournful voice from outside rang out, reciting a eulogy:

“Frederick Blackwood, Grand Elder of the Clan. Gold Altar Realm. Fell at Greed Wolf Pass in service to the nation!”

“Gerald Blackwood, Second Grand Elder. Gold Altar Realm. Fell at Greed Wolf Pass in service to the nation!”

“Anthony Blackwood…”

On and on it went—eighteen names in total.

Damien reeled the moment he heard the first. His grandfather… dead?

They were all gone?

By the end of the eulogies, Damien’s chest felt crushed, breath ragged.

The elders—why had every last one of them fallen?

Forcing calm into his thoughts, he pushed his spirit outward.

A vision formed—

Outside the Spirit Hall, nineteen coffins stood in a straight line.

Inside, nineteen ancestral tablets rested solemnly atop the altar.

White drapes hung along the walls. A massive black “Mourning” character filled the center.

Every member of the Blackwood Clan knelt in silence, draped in mourning robes.

Incense smoke curled. Funeral money drifted through the air.

An old man, eyes wet with sorrow, spoke the final tribute aloud:

“Damien Blackwood, second son of the Clan Chief. Chosen heir by unanimous vote of the Council.”

“At three, he entered cultivation. Advanced like a blade through wool.”

“At six, he slew a savage tiger, tore apart a wild bear.”

“By nine, he ranked on the Empire’s Prodigy Register, betrothed to the heiress of the Everett House—acclaimed across all of Cangzhou.”

“At fourteen, he passed the autumn trials, claimed all three top Scholar Titles, becoming the youngest champion in the Empire’s past three centuries!”

“His Majesty himself once said: ‘The Blackwood Clan has birthed a peerless qilin son.’ And for his deeds, the Clan’s standing rose by one whole rank!”“Sigh... Heaven takes the brilliant early. Damien Blackwood suffered misfortune three years ago. After sleeping for years... he breathed his last this morning.”

The sound of weeping surged even louder around the ancestral hall.

Faces were drawn in grief.

Had Damien still been alive, even with the clan in ruins, there'd still be hope for rising again.

But now…

Damien was stunned—Dead? Me?

Then he noticed, among the nineteen memorial tablets, one had his name carved on it.

And he was lying in one of the coffins.

“Has heaven truly forsaken the Blackwoods?”

A voice cried out in sorrow, “All our top warriors died in this disaster. It’s like snapping the spine of the clan!”

“What I want to know is, who’s taking charge now?”

“By clan rules, power stays with the direct line. Naturally, Ethan should lead.”

Someone shook their head. “He may be firstborn, but he’s sickly and can’t cultivate. Letting him take charge won’t work.”

Many nodded silently. It was true. Compared to the once-brilliant Damien, Ethan was like a cripple.

“With the elders dead, the clan head and his wife gone for years, and second young master also deceased, shouldn’t the strongest step up?”

“I say the Grand Steward should lead! He’s the most senior!”

“I vote for the Third Steward! He’s the strongest!”

“My pick’s Sixth Uncle! He’s the fairest!”

…The hall erupted in noisy debate.

“Enough.”

A cold, commanding voice cut through the chaos.

A woman clad in mourning white stepped forward—elegant, calm, and sharp-eyed.

“This is the ancestral hall. The funeral’s not even over. Can’t you control yourselves?”

Everyone fell silent at once, the air turning solemn.

Damien recognized the woman—Isabella Sterling, his sister-in-law. Ethan’s wife. Pearl of the powerful Sterling family of Cangzhou, and more than that, a saintess of the spiritual sect Lingchu Daoist Temple.

With a background like that, she easily outshone the whole Blackwood clan.

“With her keeping order, things might not fall apart,” Damien thought, letting out a small breath.

“A clan without a leader plunges into chaos.”

Her icy gaze swept the room. “I don’t care who takes charge. But I’ll say this: anyone trying to grab power or wealth while our elders aren’t even cold in the ground—I’ll kill them myself.”

Her voice rang through the hall like a blade.

No one dared speak. The pressure she gave off was enough to freeze blood.

Damien nodded to himself. At least there’d be no in-fighting—that was a start.

But just then, Henry Blackwood, the third steward, gave Isabella a subtle glance. Then he stepped forward slowly and said,

“Lady Isabella, with you here, we know there’ll be no infighting. But there’s still danger outside our walls.”

Many looked uneasy. Word had it that the Cross and Noble families in Tianhe County wanted to carve up the Blackwood territory and crush them completely.

Henry went on, “But if Lady Isabella takes charge… we may yet turn the tide and save the clan.”

His words stirred the room like a heavy stone thrown into still water.Everyone knew Lady Isabella Sterling had the backing of House Sterling and the Lingshu Sect. With her around, the Blackwoods might survive the storm.

But in the end, Isabella was still an outsider—not true Blackwood blood.

"Enough. Even if you all agree, I won't."

Isabella shook her head. "I'm a woman. It's not proper for me to stand in the spotlight. If I do, the world will mock the Blackwoods for having no real heirs—it'd be a disgrace to our house."

The hall fell silent. Surprise flickered across several faces.

Henry Blackwood spoke gravely, "Then let Ethan take charge. With you by his side, the clan can weather this."

Many nodded—seemed like a solution.

Yet, some frowned. Didn't this just make Ethan a puppet?

Ethan Blackwood sat motionless, eyes locked on Damien's coffin. Grief shadowed his face, silent tears falling. In his hand, the ancestral copper seal was crushed so tight it nearly drew blood.

A young man in a silver robe suddenly sneered. “And why the hell should House Sterling clean up your mess? Just 'cause my sister married into your family? What a joke.”

He was Bertrann Sterling—Isabella’s younger brother.

At once, the hall’s atmosphere turned awkward.

True enough. Why should House Sterling risk it all for a tie by marriage?

Isabella shot her brother a look and said calmly, “I have a suggestion—let Bertrann serve as acting heir to the Blackwoods. That way, House Sterling will commit everything to helping.”

Bertrann? As heir of the Blackwoods?

Shock rippled across the room. Had they misheard? It was madness.

Damien Blackwood’s brows twitched. Something wasn’t right.

“My brother is well-respected by our elders,” Isabella continued smooth as silk. “If he leads, the Sterlings won’t stand idle. Besides, it’s only temporary. He’ll hand power back when the time’s right.”

Bertrann laughed coldly. “Sis, I don’t give a damn about being heir to some crumbling house. Let them rot.”

Smack!

Isabella struck him across the face. Her tone sharp, cutting, “I am a Blackwood now. Their troubles are mine. You're helping—no arguments.”

Bertrann held his cheek and shut up.

Even the Blackwood elders were startled.

"No more useless talk," Isabella said, her eyes sweeping the crowd. Her voice was clipped and hard. "This is the only way forward. So tell me—who agrees, who objects?"

Faces shifted. Some angry, some bitter, some helpless. They began to see her intent.

At that moment, Ethan finally turned away from Damien’s coffin and looked at his wife.

Disgust filled his eyes—alongside deep sorrow and defeat.

In Damien’s mind, a phrase surfaced like a blade drawn from the dark:

Outsider usurps, seeks to take the nest.

So this... was her real goal.

The hall was silent. Isabella's presence hung over them like a stormcloud.

Tension built. The air felt like it might crack.

Bang!

Suddenly, a thunderous noise split the silence.

The lid of one coffin shattered, fragments flying.

A pale hand reached out from within.

“I object.”

—

【ps: New story! Good to see you, folks. Let the dead speak!】