The Capital Awaits
Dawn broke over the imperial capital, Yunlong City, but the sky was not blue — it was crimson. The rising sun bathed the world in a deep blood-red glow, as though the heavens themselves acknowledged the sovereignty of one man.
The streets were swept, banners raised, and an imperial decree had summoned all citizens to witness the Procession of Red Veils — an ancient rite revived and rewritten in your name.
At the heart of the city, the Heavenly Pathway stretched ten li long, flanked by ivory pavilions and golden lotus torches. And at the far end of that path… stood your obsidian throne, high on a ceremonial platform of coiled dragons and bloodsteel.
You would not walk through the city today.
You would be worshipped by it.
The Procession Begins
The drums sounded — slow, thunderous, and tribal. A hush fell over the crowd.
Then came the women.
Hundreds of them.
Each one an offering from the conquered sects, royal families, and beast clans. Some were once noble. Some were warriors. All now wore the Red Veil of Submission.
The veils flowed like wine around their forms, translucent and ceremonial.
Anklets of celestial iron jingled softly as they walked, each step controlled, graceful, trained.
Golden chains linked their wrists, not to bind, but to display unity in obedience.
Their eyes — unveiled — looked forward with burning mix of reverence, resignation, and longing.
At your command, their bodies had been marked — not in shame, but in power. Along their spines and hips shimmered glowing runes: your crest, your will, made flesh.
The people bowed.
Not to the women… but to the power that ruled them.
The Three Pillars of Devotion
At the front of the procession were your most notable recent conquests:
Lin Xian'er, the Heaven-Eyed OracleHer eyes no longer scanned the skies. They were lowered, veiled in shadow. A chain of starmetal glinted from her collar to her navel, humming softly with your Qi.She walked barefoot, holding a scroll of fate rewritten in your name.
Madam Yunmei, Mistress of the Ice Orchid SectThe former empress of sword and silence, now clad in a sheer red robe embroidered with chains and lotuses. A gag of silk hung loosely from her shoulder — no longer needed.
Lianhua, the Stormblade MistressWith every step, lightning flickered across her skin — not from resistance, but from devotion. Her wrists bore storm-seal cuffs, now ornamental. Her expression? Half-defiant, half-aching.
Behind them came the others — fox spirits, sky witches, tigress warriors, spirit maidens — every type of woman the continent could offer. Together, they became a tapestry of surrender.
Your Descent
When the procession reached the altar, a silence deeper than death fell over the city.
You rose.
Clad in robes of flowing obsidian with threads of soul-gold, your presence crushed the air. The earth stilled. Birds fell silent. Your eyes met every woman's in the square.
Then — you descended the stairs. Slowly. Deliberately.
Your steps were greeted by bowed heads, trembling breaths, and the sound of one thousand veils fluttering in unison.
"Today," you said, "is not a celebration of war. It is a revelation of order."
"Look around you. This is harmony. This is devotion. This is the future."
You raised your hand — and the world exhaled.
Cultivation Through Reverence
As the veiled women dropped to their knees in unison, chanting your name with rhythmic precision, the divine Qi of submission filled the capital.
You absorbed it, not through conflict, but through reverence.
Your body thrummed with divine resonance.
Your cultivation surged.
The sky above cracked — not with lightning, but with the roar of a thousand invisible spirits bowing to your rise.