Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

Time passed, and two years went by in a flash.

For the people of the Ancient Heaven Star, the world changed so fast most of them didn’t even have time to react.

Two cycles of four seasons had swept over the soil, and the landscape was barely recognizable.

Where blackened craters and broken bones had once littered the earth, massive spirit-gathering towers built from pale white stone now rose into the clouds.

The Shen Clan had moved quickly.

Their engineering teams had paved straight avenues across ancient battlegrounds, dug out clear canals filled with fresh, glowing water, and planted fast-growing spirit trees along mountain ridges that had been barren for generations.

Yet underneath this clean surface, a deep emptiness remained.

For one, with the death of most experts of the world, the cultivator level plummeted.

And with the exception of those who helped the academy students like the Sun Tribe, the strongest native cultivator being only at the early stages of Spirit Ascension realm.

Generations of knowledge and martial skill had vanished in a single afternoon.

When the old sect masters, elders, and grand ancestors were wiped out during the siege of the Rising Dragon Sect, their secret arts and personal techniques were buried with them.

The native martial artists who were left behind in the smaller towns and border cities were mostly youngsters, outer court disciples, or common town guards.

If a young man managed to condense his sea of energy and break through the gate of Spirit Ascension, he was already treated as a great ancestor by all of the surviving natives.

Without the old masters around to guide them, the standard of native cultivation across the continents had hit rock bottom.

Even with the help of the Shen Clan, it is expected that it will take decades before they can fully recover, and even more for a Saint to be born.

After all, Shen Clan wouldn’t really allocate that much resources to this world, since they also have thousands more lower realm under their control.

Aside from that, the resources of the Four Sacred Grounds and top tier sects were all plundered by the students as well.

Not a single stone of value was left behind.

The academy students had been thorough and methodical.

They had opened every hidden underground vault, cracked open every treasury behind sealed iron doors, and dug up every garden of century-old ginseng and spirit roots.

Carts loaded with sparkling stones, weapons made of meteorite iron, and stacks of secret books had been transported up into the sky, filling the storage rings of the young masters and mistresses who had joined the expedition.

The remaining local factions had nothing left to fight over except broken walls and empty fields.

And speaking of the Four Sacred Grounds, since this world is going to be owned by the Shen Clan, Haoran had decided to appoint the Four Local Powers to replaced the Four Sacred Grounds.

The land could not be left completely empty after all, or else chaos would swallow the mortal towns and ruin the tax collections.

New rulers had to be set in place to hold the borders and keep order.

The New Four Sacred Lands had already been decided.

First is the Sun Tribe, which was renamed the Eternal Sun Sect.

Their sun blessed warriors, who had fought fiercely under Augusta with their heavy brass blades and hot solar fire, were given the sunny plains and volcanic ridges of the east.

They established grand stone temples atop high plateaus, their fires burning day and night as they watched over the trade roads.

Second is the coalition of beast-kin tribe that Ziyan had conquered, and they were collectively called the Hundred Beast Alliance.

The deep southern jungles, towering mountain ranges, and wide valleys where wild monsters roamed were handed over to them.

The clans of the bird-riders, wolf-tamers, and clawed hunters banded together under one grand banner, their drums sounding through the misty hills to warn any wandering bandits away from their borders.

Third is the Ascalon Tribe, the swordsman tribe led by Shen Xinye, they were now called the Church of Ascalon.

They occupied the jagged northern peaks where cold winds howled day and night.

The silent swordsmen who had lived in the forgotten shadows for thousands of years finally built high stone towers, their gray banners hanging from steep cliffs as they practiced their clean, merciless sword forms under the gray sky.

As for the fourth one....

Inside a quiet tea room located in the highest pavilion of the newly constructed regional headquarters, the smell of sweet, dried leaves drifted through the air.

Haoran sat on a soft couch, and was having a fragrant spirit tea.

His white robes were as pristine and neat as ever, falling in clean lines over the woven bamboo mat, watching the steam rise from his dark clay cup with half-lidded eyes.

Across the low wooden table sat Su Xishi, her dark purple dress spreading around her like blooming petals, her fair face calm, though her fingers toyed with the jade ring on her thumb.

Su Xishi sighed and nodded, ”Very well. The Demonic Lotus Sect will be part of the Four Sacred Grounds.”

Her sect, the Demonic Lotus Sect, which she had taken over, had long operated in the shadowy corners of the world, never quite accepted by the so-called orthodox paths.

As for why the White Dragon Emperor didn’t bother making them orthodox...well, who knows what that man was thinking?

But now, through a single decree from Shen Haoran, they were being pushed to the forefront, given direct control over the wide western provinces and the rich mineral valleys that ran along the river mouths.

”Don’t worry, I will still grant you and your sect the authority to freely descend in this realm and develop,” said Haoran.

His voice was steady, relaxed, and cool as he took another slow sip, not pressing her at all.

He knew very well that Su Xishi took the Demonic Lotus Sect as a subordinate so that they will have a base of operation for upcoming future lower realm trials.

But now that Shen Clan took over, it became useless.

Still, he doesn’t want her effort to go to waste, and will still allow them an open gate to travel down, gather herbs, recruit disciples, and establish trading halls.

It was a generous gift that few could refuse.

”Then, you have my thanks,” Su Xishi nodded and stood up, preparing to leave.

She smoothed the folds of her skirt, bowed her head with practiced elegance, and took a step toward the sliding wooden door.

”We’ll be having a party, why don’t you come and stay for awhile?” Haoran asked, his eyes remaining on his cup.

”Thank you, but no need. I need to prepare,” with that, Su Xishi walked out of the room and left.

Her soft footsteps faded down the wooden floorboards outside, leaving the room quiet once more.

Haoran put down his cup of tea and stood up, also walking out of the room.

He smoothed the sleeves of his robe, stepped out into the corridor, and began to make his way through the palace.

He walked the long hallway, and entered a massive double door, and on the other side, is a massive hall.

The moment the heavy wooden doors swung inward, a wave of warmth, bright lantern light, and cheerful laughter washed over him.

The ceiling of the grand hall was high, supported by twelve massive white pillars carved with flowing clouds.

Long tables made of polished redwood stretched from one end of the room to the other, piled high with roasted meats, sweet buns, baskets of glowing fruit, and countless jars of fragrant wine.

”Oh! Haoran’s here! Come! Come!”

A loud, playful shout came from the center of the room, immediately drawing dozens of eyes toward the doorway.

The entire place was alive with celebration.

The students, the attendants, and the tribal warriors who had fought through the bitter battles two years ago were all gathered together, completely letting their guards down for the first time in years.

In the middle of the floor, Huo Yue was performing tricks with her flames.

She wore a bright red dress that twirled with her steps as she spun around, laughing freely.

With a wave of her wrist, ribbons of golden and orange fire leaped from her palms, forming bright flaming birds that flew into the air, circled the rafters, and burst into showers of warm, harmless sparks.

Ning Xueli and Gu Xunyi were leaning against a low table nearby, their cheeks pink from wine, giggling as the sparks floated past their noses.

Ning Xueli tapped her delicate feet in rhythm with the fire-dance, her usual demeanor completely melted away, while Gu Xunyi cheered and clapped her small hands every time Huo Yue made a ring of fire jump through the air.

Shen Xinye, Shen Xun’er, and Shen Ying sat on the side.

Shen Xinye leaned back against a cushioned seat, her straight sword resting across her knees, holding a small porcelain cup with two fingers.

She listened quietly as Shen Xun’er, sitting gracefully with her legs tucked beneath her blue dress, described how the southern leylines had finally settled after the Shen Clan array masters laid down the stone anchors, and how she had helped them.

Beside them, Shen Ying simply remained as emotionless as ever, taking small sips from a wine glass, listening to the conversation, but not offering any words herself.

Qian Yunxi sat with her back straight, her pale robes clean, her fair face bright under the lanterns as she poured fresh tea for the both her and Ling Luochen.

Ling Luochen sat across from her, wearing a simple dark robe, her hair loosely tied behind her neck.

The black markings beneath Ling Luochen’s skin were calm and silent now, and the blue square that only she could see rested quietly in the back of her thoughts.

The holy girl and the dark fighter, two people who would normally draw blades on sight in the outside world, shared a plate of sweet rice cakes, talking quietly about how Ling Luochen’s physical body had healed after two years of steady recovery.

In a quiet, raised corner near the wide windows, Luo Mingye’s pale fingers moved gently across the strings of her wooden instrument.

A soft, flowing melody drifted out, sounding like clear mountain water trickling over smooth pebbles.

Xia Mengyao sat right beside her with her eyes closed, leaning her head against a wooden pillar, holding a warm cup of herbal brew, tapping her finger lightly against the cup to the slow rhythm of the music.

Ziyan and Xu Xiansu, two quiet women, simply sat on the side, watching everyone while drinking wine.

Ziyan’s velvet cat ears twitched occasionally as she took small sips from her cup, her long, dark hair draped over her shoulder.

She sat next to Xu Xiansu, whose face was calm and steady as a lake.

Neither of them spoke much, but they shared a jug between them, trading small nods as they watched the younger students run around and play games on the wooden floorboards.

Near the long banquet tables, the noise was ten times louder.

Shen Ji had his collar pulled open, his face red from strong liquor, slamming his wooden mug onto the table as he roared with laughter at a joke.

Shen Jian, usually quiet and deadpan during a fight, was leaning over the table with a wide, messy grin, pouring wine straight from a jar into Shen Cai’s cup until it spilled all over the clean table.

Shen Cai didn’t care at all, laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach while counting a pile of silver coins she had won from a dice game.

Shen Tao stood with his arms crossed behind the drunken trio, sighing loudly as he caught a wine jar that almost rolled off the edge.

”Watch the dishes, you fools,” he grumbled, though a small smile sat on his scarred face.

Beside him, Shen Fei shook his head in amusement, carefully pushing plates of roasted beef away from Shen Ji’s flailing arms so they wouldn’t end up on the floor.

Around the outer edges of the grand hall, groups of warriors from the Eternal Sun Sect were arm-wrestling with the swordsmen of the Church of Ascalon, cheering and shouting as muscles strained and tables shook.

The beast tamers and beast-kin of the Hundred Beast Alliance sat cross-legged on sheepskin rugs, sharing big chunks of roast lamb with the academy’s junior disciples, showing them how to whistle to call down hunting hawks.

There were no grand titles, no cold rules of upper and lower status in the room tonight—only the warm, loose joy of people who had survived the storm and were finally able to eat their fill without looking over their shoulders.

Haoran stepped forward into the warm light, a faint, relaxed smile touching his lips as his people called out his name and waved him over to take his seat at the center table.