My Xianxia Harem Life

"We'll go at noon," Riley announced with calm finality, his voice slicing through the murmur of uncertainty like a blade.

Without another word, he turned and strode away from the gathering, his long golden robes billowing behind him in the wind, leaving the crowd in a stunned silence.

For a moment, no one moved. The elders of the Austere Clan exchanged uneasy glances.

The weight of Riley's declaration pressed heavily on their minds.

Everyone had their own thoughts on the situation.

Going to the Black Gate Sect was no trivial matter—it was a gamble with potentially devastating consequences.

The Black Gate Sect was not simple at all. Their current sect master was long known to be at the peak of the Void Tribulation Realm, a realm few ever reached in their lifetimes.

But what truly inspired dread was the unknown: how many more of such figures lay hidden in their depths?

Five? Ten? Twenty?

No one could say for certain. The higher one climbed on the path of cultivation, the more one tended to retreat into seclusion, avoiding the world's affairs to focus on the relentless honing of skills, the pursuit of immortality, and the transcendence of mortal limits.

And the Black Gate Sect had seen many sect masters also.

That was the kind of enemy they were now preparing to provoke.

"I'll see you later, my friends," one elder from the Austere Clan finally said, breaking the silence as he turned to leave.

"You're going?" another asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Of course I am. Only dumb fools would choose to stay behind," the first elder said, smirking with a spark of ambition flickering in his eyes.

"If Senior Riley could slaughter five of our top ancestors like it was nothing, do you really think the elders of the Black Gate Sect will fare any better? We're not going there to fight—we're going to watch the show, to ride the wave of his strength."

He chuckled, clearly pleased with his reasoning. "I plan to grab onto that thick thigh while I can. A man like Riley—he's going places."

"You're really wise, my friend," another elder muttered, nodding slowly. "I'll go too."

"Same here," said a third. "Opportunities like this don't come twice."

"Count me in," added a fourth.

And just like that, the tide turned easily.

One by one, the hesitant elders began to step forward, lured by the possibility of aligning themselves with Riley, of basking in the light of his power.

Fear gave way to ambition. Doubt gave way to desire.

In a matter of minutes, the majority of the Austere Clan's elders had decided to follow.

Not because they believed in the cause.

Not because they were brave.

But because they saw in Riley a rising star—and none of them wanted to be left behind in the shadow of his ascension.

***

Noon arrived, and just like the day before, the skies above the region turned chaotic with spiritual energy.

Flying boats, spirit beasts, and sword-riding cultivators filled the air like flocks of migrating birds—but today, the numbers had more than doubled.

The heavens themselves seemed to groan under the weight of so many powerful auras.

Compared to the day prior, today's formation was a spectacle bordering on the mythical.

Elders from the Austere Clan had arrived in full force, each bringing their own entourage.

Veterans clad in ornate robes stood at the fronts of their ships, their long hair and beards billowing in the wind as they overlooked the land below.

Some even brought their personal armies—battle-hardened cultivators clad in spiritual armor, faces solemn, weapons at the ready.

And curiously, among them were the young. Cultivators barely twenty years of age, wide-eyed and tense, stood respectfully behind their elders.

They had been brought along not to fight, but to witness.

This was a rare opportunity—to see power, ambition, and history in motion.

To observe firsthand the kind of man who dared march toward the Black Gate Sect with nothing but confidence and killing intent.

They were here to broaden their horizons, but more than that, they were here to be shaped by the shadow of a legend in the making.

Riley remained silent. As the origin of this spectacle, he neither encouraged nor discouraged the flood of followers.

He paid no attention to the chatter, the admiration, or the fear. His eyes were fixed ahead, his presence unwavering.

He led the vast procession like a war god, calm yet absolute, his spirit pressing down on the world like a silent storm.

The convoy followed him without question.

Thirty minutes passed, and the skies trembled beneath the unified march of thousands.

The sound of rushing wind, the faint hum of spiritual artifacts, and the occasional roar of beasts echoed through the clouds.

Flags bearing the sigils of various noble families and ancient clans fluttered in the air.

The coordinated movement of so many high-level cultivators was a scene rarely witnessed even in times of great war.

Naturally, such a commotion couldn't remain unnoticed.

Hidden in forests, caves, clouds, and cliffs, countless spies watched with bated breath.

Their hearts raced as they activated jade talismans and sound transmission scrolls, hurriedly reporting every detail to their superiors.

"He's on the move," whispered one, concealed behind a veil of spiritual mist.

"He's not alone. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Maybe a million. It's like an army."

"Where are they going?" came the question through the talisman.

"With that kind of force… it can only mean war," the spy replied, voice taut with anxiety.

Others watched from a distance—rogue cultivators, wandering sectless warriors, and mercenaries who had no allegiance to any side.

All of them looked up at the magnificent display, their expressions a mixture of awe, fear, and confusion.

"I just hope he doesn't come knocking on our doors," a wandering cultivator muttered, adjusting his blade on instinct.

A chilling wind swept across the region, though the sky remained clear.

For those who had lived long enough, it was a familiar sensation—the stillness before a storm.

Not a storm of rain or thunder, but of power. A shift in the heavens. A clash between giants.

And Riley was at the center of it all. Someone who just arrived in the continent.

Back at their sects and fortresses, the leaders of regional powers sat in silence, receiving reports with furrowed brows and uncertain eyes.

Some ordered their disciples into lockdown.

Others began preparing defenses, unsure whether Riley's march would veer toward them next.

Still others quietly began reaching out—sending messengers, offers of alliance, and desperate pleas to avoid conflict.

Riley said nothing.

But the world was already reacting.

***

A few hours later, Riley's formidable procession arrived at the gates of the Black Gate Sect.

Unlike the Gray Clan or other regional powers whose influence soared through the skies with grand palaces and floating pavilions, the Black Gate Sect remained grounded—silent, brooding, and terrifying in its stillness.

A dense, eerie darkness hung in the air around the sect, swallowing light and sound alike.

It rolled like a living mist, impenetrable to the eye, stretching in all directions and making it impossible to see what lay beyond.

Only one thing stood visible in the void: the gate.

A towering black monolith, the size of a mountain, it loomed above the land like a sentinel of death.

Wrought from a strange, obsidian-like metal that shimmered with an unnatural luster, the gate pulsed faintly with a cold, ancient energy.

Even a single glance was enough to send chills down the spine.

This was no ordinary entrance—it was a divine treasure in its own right, a relic from an era long lost to time.

Riley's flying boat descended slowly from the skies, and the rest of the convoy followed his lead.

Thousands of cultivators landed in formation, their presence stirring the wind and shaking the earth beneath them.

As the flying boat touched down, Riley stepped off first. His boots met the dark soil with a quiet thud.

Calmly, without fanfare, he walked forward—closer and closer to the massive black gate.

Compared to its immense size, he was no more than an insect, a speck of dust before a giant.

Yet, every step he took radiated confidence and command, as if he were the one towering over it.

The cultivators behind him held their breath.

Even those who had marched with him began to feel the suffocating pressure emanating from the gate.

That thing… it wasn't just a door. It was a boundary—between the living and the dead, between invaders and annihilation.

But Riley remained unfazed.

He stopped a few paces from the gate, looked up briefly, and then spoke.

"Come out," he said, his voice calm yet charged with an invisible force. "I'm here to seek justice for my wife."

Though he spoke in a normal tone, his voice rolled across the skies like thunder.

It echoed through the mist, through the mountains, and through the hearts of every cultivator present.

It was as if a divine being had spoken—one whose presence dwarfed even the legendary gate behind him.

For a few long breaths, there was no response.

And then—suddenly—space twisted.

The air rippled. The darkness surged.

A figure materialized in front of Riley without warning, as though they had stepped from another dimension entirely.

No grand entrance, no spiritual energy surge, just… presence. Absolute, chilling, and immediate.

And when the cultivators finally got a clear look, gasps rang out.

It was someone no one expected to see.

Not even in their wildest imagination.