My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 378 Logic

The Sacred Heart Sword Sect and all the influences Riley had gathered were located within the Ancient God Region, a place revered by mortals and cultivators alike.

Though it was merely a small corner of the vast Immortal Realm, its land was already teeming with life, ambition, and endless conflict.

Tens of thousands of sects and ancient clans had taken root here, each one harboring its own pride, secrets, and ambitions to rise above the heavens.

It was said that even the smallest sect within the Ancient God Region could possess more power than entire empires in the mortal world.

And if such abundance existed here, one could only imagine the vastness of the Immortal Realm as a whole—an ocean of divine lands and celestial territories, where trillions of sects and clans competed for dominance.

The Immortal Realm was endless, boundless, and cruel—a place where the strong devoured the weak, and where even immortals could fall overnight.

***

Hot Sand City.

The sun above blazed mercilessly, baking the golden dunes until they shimmered like molten glass.

Waves of heat distorted the horizon, and the wind carried fine grains of sand that bit at the skin like needles.

Amid this harsh wilderness, a group of cultivators stood before a newly uncovered tunnel, their robes fluttering as spiritual energy hummed faintly in the air.

"Patriarch! Is that what I think it is?!" a young cultivator shouted, his voice trembling with disbelief.

He pointed toward the dark tunnel carved into the heart of the desert.

Deep inside, faint glimmers of light twinkled—stones that sparkled like diamonds beneath the faint illumination of spirit torches.

Yet everyone present knew that what they had found was far more precious than mere gemstones.

The patriarch stepped forward, his weathered face reflecting the golden glow.

His eyes lingered on the glittering stones, and his voice carried both awe and caution.

"Yes," he said slowly, "it's a spiritual stone mine… and not just an ordinary one. This is the largest deposit I've seen in my lifetime."

The cultivators gasped.

Spiritual stones were the foundation of cultivation—currency, energy source, and life itself for many sects.

The discovery of such a mine could raise a sect to prominence or bring ruin if others learned of it.

"Patriarch," one of the men asked hesitantly, "why do you look so troubled? Isn't this a blessing from the heavens?"

The old man's expression darkened.

His long beard stirred in the dry wind, and for a moment, his eyes carried the weight of countless memories—wars fought over treasures, sects destroyed overnight, families erased from existence.

"Of course, it is a blessing," he murmured.

"But treasures of this scale rarely bring peace. Lesser discoveries have sparked great wars. Greed is an instinct none can suppress—not even the righteous."

He turned sharply to face his followers, his tone now cold and commanding.

"Seal this place immediately. Tell no one—no friends, no family. Not a single word must spread beyond this sand. We will wait for Master Riley to decide how to proceed."

The cultivators nodded hastily, sensing the gravity in his voice.

The desert wind howled through the tunnel as if echoing his warning, carrying away their words into the endless expanse.

Far above, the blazing sun seemed to burn even hotter—as though the heavens themselves were watching, waiting for blood to be spilled over what lay hidden beneath the sands.

A day later, a full legion of cultivators arrived in Hot Sand City.

They came from a faraway place through, their presence commanding silence across the scorched desert.

The wind howled through the endless dunes as hundreds of figures descended from the sky, their robes fluttering like banners of war.

Though they tried to remain discreet, the power they carried was impossible to hide.

The air itself seemed to bend beneath their combined spiritual pressure.

Every merchant, wanderer, and local cultivator who caught a glimpse of the descending forces quickly turned away, pretending not to see.

In the Immortal Realm, curiosity was a sin that could end one's life.

The legion wasted no time.

Under the patriarch's orders, they began constructing a vast protective formation around the spiritual mine.

Dozens of formation masters etched runes across the sand, infusing the ground with glowing lines of spirit light.

Crystals were buried at key points, creating a network that hummed with energy.

Within a single day, a barrier rose like a shimmering dome, enclosing the mine and cutting it off from the outside world.

By the end of the week, the mining process began in earnest.

Cultivators worked in shifts, extracting glittering stones that radiated soft spiritual energy.

Even a single fragment could be worth a fortune.

The mine's value was beyond imagination — enough to elevate an entire sect into a great power.

Yet, as always, greed is a silent poison.

Even those who once swore loyalty found their gazes lingering too long on the piles of spirit stones.

***

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Without warning, the desert erupted.

The ground heaved as explosions tore through the dunes, sending columns of sand high into the air.

A violent tremor shook the formation, its barrier flaring under the impact.

The once-quiet mine became chaos — shouts, screams, and the sound of blades being drawn filled the air.

"Formation masters! Reinforce the barrier!" someone yelled.

The defensive array groaned as cracks spread like lightning across its surface.

The glowing runes flickered unsteadily, barely holding against the assault.

If not for the strength of the formation, the casualties would already have been countless.

"Who dares attack the people of Riley Rice?!" the lead cultivator roared, his voice carrying across the battlefield.

His eyes burned with rage as he rose into the air, his sword gleaming under the harsh desert light.

"Do you not fear the wrath of the Ash Maker?!"

But as he lifted his gaze toward the heavens, his fury turned to disbelief.

The sky was no longer blue.

It was filled with shadows — thousands of cultivators floating in midair, forming an unbroken wall of killing intent.

Their auras blazed like stars, each one strong enough to crush mortals with sheer pressure.

War banners fluttered in the wind, marked with unknown insignias from rival sects.

Behind them, spiritual beasts roared — winged serpents, flaming lions, and spectral hawks circling above.

The entire sky had become a battlefield waiting to descend.

"So… they've come," the patriarch whispered bitterly. "It seems word of the mine couldn't be contained."

The lead cultivator clenched his fist. "Those traitorous dogs! Someone among us must have leaked it!"

The legion moved in unison.

Swords flared with light, talismans ignited, and spiritual energy surged like a raging storm.

Above, the besieging army began to descend.

The desert winds howled louder, carrying the scent of blood and the weight of impending slaughter.

"This desert does not belong to the Ash Maker. Leave now… or perish."

The voice was ancient, like the whisper of time itself.

It rolled across the endless dunes with the weight of mountains, resonating through heaven and earth.

A wave of spiritual pressure followed, so dense that even the sands of the desert seemed to bend under it.

The entire world seemed to freeze.

The air rippled, and cultivators all around the mine felt their spiritual energy recoil in terror.

Some fell to their knees instantly, their meridians trembling under the suffocating force.

The leader of Riley's forces, standing near the edge of the formation, raised his head slowly.

His vision blurred as he gazed into the distance—where a solitary figure hovered above the horizon, wrapped in an aura of endless power.

The old man's hair fluttered in the scorching wind, his eyes like twin suns, ancient and cold.

Even from afar, his presence crushed the will of those who met his gaze.

The leader's breath caught. His face went pale. "This… this aura…!" he whispered hoarsely. His expression twisted with dread.

"Not good! It's a Primordial Dao Fragment powerhouse! Everyone, retreat—now!"

For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, as the truth sank in, chaos erupted.

"Retreat! Activate the escape formation!" the leader roared, his spiritual power surging to stabilize the portals.

Brilliant circles of light flared to life across the camp—emergency teleportation arrays prepared for only the most desperate situations.

The earth continued to shake as spiritual pressure bore down like the hand of a god.

The defensive formation around the mine cracked, fissures spreading like lightning across its glowing surface.

"Move! Get everyone through!"

The cultivators scrambled, forming lines as they jumped into the flickering portals.

One by one, they vanished into beams of light, their faces pale with fear.

The air filled with the humming of collapsing arrays as the pressure grew even stronger.

The old man in the sky didn't move.

He merely watched them leave, as though the presence of lesser beings wasn't worth his attention.

When the final cultivator entered the last portal, the leader took one last look at the glittering mine and clenched his jaw.

"We'll be back," he muttered before stepping into the light.

The portals flickered—and then shattered into dust.

Silence reclaimed the desert.

The oppressive aura faded, but a faint shimmer in the air lingered, like an unseen guardian watching from beyond the veil.

The mine, bathed in sunlight, once again became part of the endless, unforgiving sands.

***

Moments later, space rippled within a distant outpost far from Hot Sand City.

Dozens of glowing portals tore open, releasing one cultivator after another.

The air was thick with exhaustion and disbelief. Some collapsed to their knees, gasping for breath.

"Damn it…" one muttered, pounding the ground in frustration. "We were so close. The spiritual stones—there must have been millions buried there!"

The leader remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking. "Count our people."

"Everyone made it through, Master," another replied quickly. "No casualties."

The leader exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing. "Good." His eyes drifted toward the horizon, where the faint shimmer of the teleportation light still lingered.

"Master," a young cultivator asked after a pause, his tone uncertain, "won't Patriarch Riley be furious? We deserted the mine without a fight… such a treasure—"

The leader turned to him sharply, cutting him off. "You think the Patriarch values stones over lives?" His voice was calm but cold, carrying the weight of authority.

"He has said it countless times—our lives are worth more than a hundred spiritual mines. The Ash Maker doesn't waste loyal men for pride."

The younger cultivator lowered his head, chastened.

But the leader wasn't finished. He looked up at the red evening sky, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"Still… don't think this matter will be forgotten. You saw what that old man did. That kind of power doesn't appear without purpose."

A tense silence followed.

Finally, he continued, his tone quiet but filled with certainty.

"The Patriarch won't take this offense lightly. When the Ash Maker moves… the entire Ancient God Region will tremble."

The wind picked up, carrying with it the faint scent of scorched sand.

In the distance, thunder rumbled—not from the heavens, but from the gathering of power far beyond mortal sight.