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Far from the warmth of the coastal inn, deep beneath a mist-veiled mountain range, a vast sect hall carved into black stone pulsed with chilling pressure.

This was the domain of the Dark Heaven Family—one of the most secretive and feared hidden clans in the Douluo Continent.

Their lineage stretched back over a hundred years. Once nearly wiped out during a brutal power struggle, the family had survived by retreating underground—literally. From there, they began a slow but deliberate recovery, marrying only into bloodlines with rare martial spirits, and training their offspring with brutal efficiency.

Now, a century later, they had grown into a force whispered of in fear and respect. Unlike clans that valued numbers, the Dark Heaven Family valued purity and power.

At present, they boasted no less than eight Titled Douluo, with two of them known to be Super Douluo, and one—a recluse said to be at Level 98—rumored to have reached the threshold of Ultimate Douluo.

But in the central war chamber—lit by dim spirit lanterns and echoing with solemn silence—tension reigned.

A large obsidian table dominated the space, around which sat several elders in heavy robes adorned with ink-black turtle-shell patterns. Their auras were suppressed, but the air still thrummed with the weight of their cultivation.

At the head sat the current Sect Master, a middle-aged man with pale gray eyes and a long scar that ran across his jaw. His name was Hei Wuya, a powerful Titled Douluo and master of the Dark Heaven Suppression Art.

"The reports are confirmed," he said, his voice low and grim. "Elder Guo Ren… is dead."

Murmurs erupted across the table.

Guo Ren—Level 97 Super Douluo. Unyielding. Feared. Revered. And now… gone.

"How?" a woman with cold blue eyes asked sharply. "He was sent on a retrieval mission. A bloodline defector, barely a Level 95 at best. How did he die?"

"The spirit fluctuations at the scene were… chaotic," said an old man hunched at the far end. "But one trace was unmistakable—Frostflame resonance."

A beat of silence fell.

"A Martial Spirit with both Frost and Fire, I don't think I know any such Martial Spirit" A Woman said as others nodded too.

" The Wolrd is big there is bound tobe some we don't know" Hei Wuya Said as others nodded,

A younger man, dressed in sect armor and bearing a commander's insignia, stepped forward and bowed. "Sect Master. Should we declare a blood feud? The outsider clearly interfered in clan matters and killed a ranked elder."

"No," Hei Wuya said slowly. "Not yet. We act too soon, and we reveal ourselves."

He narrowed his eyes. "Instead… we observe. If this entity—resurfaces again, we strike then. But only with overwhelming force."

"And what of the traitor?" another voice growled—this one deeper, laced with venom. "The Hidden Dragon brat, Xing Longchen. He ran once. Now he dares resist again?"

Hei Wuya smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes.

"He won't run forever. And next time, we won't send one elder."

He looked up at the gathered elders, his tone final.

"This insult to the Dark Heaven Family… will not be forgotten."

The silence that followed the Sect Master's decree was heavy with dangerous intent.

Then, one of the robed elders leaned forward—his face gaunt, and his pupils snake-like slits glowing faintly beneath his hood.

"Allow me to dispatch the Serpent Envoys, Sect Master," he hissed. "No noise. No trace. The girl will be taken. The outsiders—erased."

Hei Wuya regarded him for a long moment. "No. Not yet, Elder Qian. We are not dealing with amateurs. Whoever destroyed Guo Ren was… beyond expectations. I won't risk more of our power without clarity."

He waved his hand, and a ghostly projection flickered into life above the obsidian table—a frozen snapshot from the battlefield.

It showed only chaos.

The ground scorched and rimmed in frost. Trees shattered mid-bloom, flames still hissing in frozen air. And at the heart of the destruction… a hazy silhouette—blurry from spirit interference—stood with one hand ablaze in crimson fire and the other wrapped in icy mist.

No face. No name.

But the energy was undeniable.

Frost and Flame.

A dual-element resonance almost unheard of. And most certainly not from any known Dark Heaven bloodline.

Hei Wuya's gaze turned sharp, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the chamber.

"Run this through the Heaven's Archive. Search every recorded Martial Spirit across all sects—ancient and modern. I want to know who this being is, and where they come from. No sect or clan is to be overlooked."

"Yes, Sect Master," intoned a robed figure seated near the end of the table. His mask shimmered with inscription runes—marking him as one of the Archive Keepers. With a low chant, he vanished into a stream of dark spirit light.

Another elder, leaning on a cane wrapped in bone talismans, rasped bitterly, "Whoever this is… they killed Elder Guo Ren. At Level 97, he should've been invincible to anyone short of a peak Super Douluo. This kind of power… it's a threat."

Hei Wuya's fingers steepled beneath his chin. "And threats must be understood… before they are eliminated."

The room grew colder.

Another voice chimed in from the right—dry and calculating. "What about the traitor's daughter? She was spotted fleeing. And there are whispers that she already possesses four spirit rings—at barely twelve years of age."

Hei Wuya's pale eyes narrowed.

"A threat in the making," he agreed. "And threats left to grow… become disasters."

He turned to his right, where a silent figure had stood unmoving the entire meeting.

Clad in pitch-black robes embroidered with bone-white threads, the figure wore no name sigil, no sect crest. Only a porcelain mask—its surface unmarked, save for a blood-red vertical slash running down from brow to chin.

"Send Shadow Reaper Hui."

The air in the hall grew tenser instantly. A few elders instinctively looked away.

He was their secret blade.

A rogue Titled Douluo. No known spirit rings. No known limit.

Raised within the darkest chambers of the sect, Hui had never failed a mission. His name wasn't written in records—but whispered in the aftermath of deaths that had no known cause.

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