Chapter 282: Chapter 282 Torment
The Forge Clan was one of the revered immortal clans of this vast realm, standing shoulder to shoulder with other legendary lineages such as the Immortal Raven Clan.
To be recognized as an immortal clan was not merely a matter of prestige—it was a declaration of absolute dominance, for at the head of such a family sat an immortal cultivator, a transcendent being who had stepped beyond the confines of mortal life and ascended to the heights of power.
These immortals were not just powerful—they were ancient, cunning, and unfathomable.
Their means were endless: they could erase mountains with a wave of their hand, seal entire clans in timeless prisons, or curse generations unborn with a single utterance.
To speak carelessly in the presence of such a clan was to gamble not only with one’s life, but with the future of one’s entire bloodline.
This was why the immortal clans were feared and respected in equal measure.
No wise cultivator would ever think to provoke them.
Even those backed by great sects or noble families would tread lightly, for challenging an immortal lineage was akin to courting oblivion.
And while death might seem the natural punishment for such hubris, there were far crueler ends to suffer.
Eternal imprisonment in a hellish realm, being turned into a soulless puppet to serve the clan’s whims, or having one’s existence erased from the karmic threads of the heavens themselves—these were just some of the whispered fates that could befall those who drew the ire of an immortal.
In this world, survival often depended not just on strength, but on knowing whom never to offend.
And among them, the immortal clans stood highest—untouchable, unchallengeable, and utterly supreme.
"They’re here, Master!" someone shouted urgently, dropping to one knee before a young man who stood with the bearing of a monarch and the sharp presence of an unsheathed blade.
He was handsome in a way that felt almost divine—his features chiseled, his robe flowing like mist in the wind, and his eyes calm yet piercing, as if they saw through the illusions of the world.
He stood atop a stone platform at the peak of a majestic hall, the wind tugging lightly at his sleeves.
Behind him, countless disciples and elders waited in solemn anticipation.
"Open the gates," he said coolly.
"And deactivate the formation. Let us welcome our guests with the respect they deserve."
His voice, though soft, carried power. The surrounding cultivators sprang into motion the moment he spoke.
Massive spiritual gates began to creak open, the runes engraved into them shimmering faintly as the grand defensive formation began to unravel.
Layers of invisible energy peeled away like mist in the sun, exposing the inner sanctum of the clan to the sky above.
This was no casual welcome.
For the formation to be undone and the main gates thrown open, it could only mean the arrival of someone—or something—extraordinary.
The young man began walking forward, his stride slow but unwavering.
Around him, elders in flowing robes moved in silence, forming a solemn procession behind their young master.
Though they were men and women of immense cultivation and authority, none dared to walk beside him.
They walked behind, not out of fear, but respect.
For he was the clan’s patriarch, and already someone many considered unmatched in prestige and presence.
They made their way to the ceremonial field, a massive open expanse designed for the reception of noble guests.
The ground was paved with spiritual stone, and towering banners bearing the clan’s sigil swayed gently in the breeze.
The air buzzed faintly with spiritual energy, and a sense of expectation hung heavy over the field.
Then, the skies darkened.
It wasn’t the coming of a storm—but the shadow of something massive.
All eyes turned upward as a colossal flying boat pierced through the clouds, descending with grace and power.
The vessel was nothing short of a floating fortress, stretching nearly two million square feet from bow to stern.
Its hull was forged from celestial metals, glimmering with layered enchantments that flickered across its surface like ripples on water.
Ancient glyphs etched along its spine pulsed with suppressed power, and one could feel the presence of immortal qi radiating from within its hull.
This was not the kind of ship ordinary sects could hope to build.
It was a symbol of dominance—proof that the clan aboard it wielded wealth, power, and history far beyond the common.
Moments later, dozens of smaller flying vessels descended in perfect formation around the mothership.
Each moved with mechanical precision, guided by formation arrays and piloted by skilled cultivators in uniform.
They settled smoothly onto the landing pads one after another, like stars arranging themselves in a cosmic dance.
But that wasn’t all.
The skies themselves seemed to come alive as a horde of enlightened beasts emerged from the clouds—winged tigers with scales of jade, phoenix-like birds with feathers of flame, serpents of mist that coiled through the air like living rivers.
Their eyes gleamed with intelligence, and their majestic roars echoed like divine drums.
These weren’t tamed mounts—they were proud creatures, allies of immortals, and their presence elevated the scene to one of myth.
Together, the flying ships and the beasts formed an awe-inspiring spectacle.
The sky was filled with color and movement, and the sheer energy radiating from the visitors was enough to make even seasoned cultivators hold their breath.
The patriarch of the Forge Clan narrowed his eyes slightly as he observed the scene.
He could feel the pressure—an invisible weight pressing down on the field.
It wasn’t hostile, but it was a reminder.
A reminder of the power that the visiting immortal clan wielded.
Still, he stood tall, unshaken.
"The Immortal Raven Clan has arrived," one of the elders said quietly.
"Yes," the young master replied. "Let us see what they’ve come for."
A minute later, the grand flying boat let out a low mechanical hum, and golden lines of runes shimmered across its surface as the central gate slowly opened.
A soft mist rolled out from within, glinting with residual spiritual energy.
From that mist emerged a lone figure.
Riley stepped forward, descending the golden ramp with steady, measured steps.
His expression was calm, his eyes relaxed, and there was not a trace of arrogance in his bearing.
He looked almost too ordinary, especially for someone at the forefront of such a majestic entourage.
There were no swirling Dao patterns around him, no divine aura or pressure that marked the presence of a great cultivator.
His footsteps made no sound, and yet the world seemed to quiet in response to his arrival.
Behind him followed two striking women—Evangeline and Ruby.
Their beauty was ethereal, their presence like that of celestial beings descended from the upper heavens.
Evangeline, draped in white and gold, moved with an effortless grace that could silence a battlefield, while Ruby’s crimson robes and piercing gaze radiated a quiet intensity.
Then came the others—his wives and companions, each unique, each carrying her own presence.
Some were demure, some regal, some powerful enough that their auras trembled faintly, barely restrained.
Together, they formed a dazzling procession that made the waiting crowd stir in awe and curiosity.
At the head of the Forge Clan, the patriarch watched in silence.
He was composed, regal, his long robe fluttering in the wind.
He narrowed his eyes as Riley approached.
He had expected someone... different.
His spiritual senses reached out instinctively, trying to probe Riley’s cultivation, but came back with nothing.
No spiritual fluctuations. No trace of Dao rhythm. No immortal pressure. Nothing.
The patriarch frowned slightly.
Is he really just a mortal? But that couldn’t be.
Not with Evangeline at his side. That woman... he recognized her.
Her name was whispered among immortal circles. They could be considered friends.
Close friends even.
Evangeline Raven was a powerful existence known not just for her strength, but for her ruthless elegance.
She was not someone who would defer to a weak man.
Nor would the other women—many of whom seemed to carry hidden depths far beyond their appearances.
Is he concealing his cultivation? Suppressing it somehow? Or... is he something else entirely?
The patriarch glanced at Evangeline again, trying to read her expression.
She gave nothing away—only the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
It wasn’t directed at him, but at Riley.
His thoughts whirled. What kind of man is this, to draw such respect to his side?
Still, whatever questions or doubts he held, he buried them behind a well-practiced smile.
Now was not the time to offend or challenge.
This visit was politically delicate, and the stakes were far too high to let suspicion cloud courtesy.
With practiced ease, he stepped forward, his posture proud, his voice loud and warm.
"Welcome, honored guests!" he announced, spreading his arms wide.
"The Forge Clan is deeply honored by your presence. My humble home is not worthy of such grand figures, yet you grace it all the same. Please, come in and be at ease. Treat this place as your own."
Polite words, but everyone present could feel the subtle weight behind them.
This was no casual visit.
Servants and disciples of the Forge Clan lined the path, bowing in deep respect.
Spiritual beasts growled softly in the distance, as if sensing the strange balance of power in the air.
The elders of the clan watched quietly, their gazes flicking between Riley and the women behind him, trying to assess who truly held authority among them.
As Riley finally stepped onto the ceremonial platform, the patriarch cupped a fist toward him.
"You must be... Riley Mason, yes? I am Julius Forge, the father of the Forge Clan. On behalf of my clan and all who serve under our banner, I welcome you and the abode of the ancient one."
Riley looked at the man, smiled faintly, and grasped it with quiet confidence.
"Thank you, master Julius," he said. "We come in peace and with an apology."