My Xianxia Harem Life-Chapter 380 Music

Riley paid no attention to the murmurs that rippled through the streets or the countless pairs of eyes that followed his every step.

People whispered—some in awe, others in fear—but none of it mattered.

Their opinions were fleeting, insignificant compared to the greater purpose that occupied his mind.

What truly concerned him was the clan that had pledged allegiance to him within this city—and, above all, the spiritual mine that had once belonged to his lineage before it was stolen through deceit and bloodshed.

That mine was more than just a source of wealth or power.

It was a symbol of legacy, the foundation of his clan’s strength, and reclaiming it was not merely a task—it was destiny.

Riley’s expression remained unreadable as he continued forward.

His long cloak fluttered lightly in the dry wind, carrying with it a faint scent of sand and steel.

The sun hung low in the horizon, painting the city in the dying glow of dusk, as if the heavens themselves awaited the storm he was about to unleash.

He did not waste words.

Silent and composed, he stepped into the carriage that had been meticulously prepared for him.

A flying boat was unnecessary; he already knew the outcome of the coming battle.

To him, this was not a war of chance—it was a march toward an inevitable victory.

"Go," Riley said, his voice calm yet carrying a weight that demanded obedience.

The driver bowed his head immediately, snapping the reins.

The horses—massive, spirit-infused beasts—neighed sharply and began to move, their hooves striking the stone road with thunderous rhythm.

Dust rose behind them as the carriage rolled out of the city gates and into the vast desert beyond.

Trailing behind was a force of one thousand cultivators—his chosen warriors.

Their armor was weathered, their blades scarred, and though many possessed only average cultivation, their presence radiated a terrifying aura of violence and resolve.

Each man and woman among them bore the mark of survival—the hardened gaze of those who had danced on the edge of death more times than they could count.

As they advanced, their footsteps fell in perfect unison, the desert winds carrying the faint echoes of their killing intent.

It was not the disciplined silence of soldiers trained in comfort—it was the quiet of predators who had long accepted death as an old companion.

From within the carriage, Riley parted the curtain slightly, his crimson eyes glinting with a cold light.

Ahead lay the barren desert—endless, silent, and merciless.

He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes briefly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Let them prepare all they wish," he murmured under his breath. "In the end, everything returns to its rightful owner."

The journey through the arid wasteland stretched on for an hour.

The golden dunes rolled endlessly under the blistering sun, and the air shimmered with heat and dust.

Yet, as the horizon began to ripple with faint spiritual light, everyone in the convoy stirred.

"There it is," one of the scouts called out.

From atop the final dune, the scene unfolded before them—once sacred land, now desecrated.

The vast expanse of the spiritual mine glowed faintly beneath the desert sun, veins of radiant ore visible even from afar.

Hundreds of cultivators swarmed below, greedily excavating what was never theirs.

Layers of glowing defensive formations encased the entire site, runes flickering with a cold, blue hue that pulsed like a living barrier.

But what drew everyone’s attention were the flags.

Dozens of banners fluttered in the dry wind, their dark blue fabric emblazoned with a silver star sigil that shone proudly under the sun.

The moment the emblem came into focus, the air around Riley’s army seemed to ignite.

"That emblem—!" someone shouted, voice cracking in disbelief.

"It’s the Starry Sky Pavilion!"

"What?! The Starry Sky Pavilion? But they’re a righteous sect!"

"Righteous? They’re thieves! They actually dared to rob our spiritual mine!"

The uproar swelled like thunder.

Fury burned in the eyes of Riley’s men, their spiritual energy flaring uncontrollably.

Dust spiraled around their ranks as killing intent surged high enough to make the ground quiver.

Riley, however, stood unmoved. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

He watched the waving banners with a faint smile tugging at his lips—cold, knowing, and utterly devoid of surprise.

"Starry Sky Pavilion," he murmured, his voice calm amidst the chaos. "A righteous sect, huh? Righteous or evil—it’s all the same when profit is involved."

His gaze swept over the mine, over the thieves who had dared to touch what was his.

He had expected this long before they even departed.

That was why he hadn’t brought a flying boat—he knew exactly how this day would end.

He stepped down from the carriage, the desert wind tugging at his cloak.

Every step he took carried silent authority. His men instantly quieted, their outrage simmering into anticipation.

"I’ll give you ten breaths," Riley said softly, his tone almost casual.

"Ten breaths to leave this place and abandon everything you’ve stolen."

He paused, his eyes gleaming like cold steel.

"Otherwise..." His voice deepened, resonating with spiritual power. "You’ll meet death here today."

His words spread outward—not just as sound, but as will.

His intent rippled through the desert, reaching every cultivator within the mine, echoing off the defensive formations themselves.

Even the air seemed to grow heavier beneath the weight of his promise.

The miners hesitated, their picks freezing mid-swing.

Cultivators stationed around the mine’s perimeter turned pale, their spiritual energy faltering as an invisible pressure pressed down on them.

Then—on the third breath—the world trembled.

A surge of spiritual power exploded from above, shaking the sands and making the heavens darken.

A streak of light descended from the sky, halting midair above the mine.

The old man who appeared radiated authority like a god descending upon mortals.

His long silver hair fluttered behind him, and his eyes gleamed with ancient arrogance.

"It’s him!" one of Riley’s men shouted, his voice shaking.

There was no mistaking that oppressive aura.

This was the same elder who had appeared the previous night—the one whose power had crushed Riley’s vanguard into retreat.

A cultivator of the Primordial Dao Fragment Realm.

The old man’s spiritual pressure spread like a storm, pressing down on the thousand soldiers until the weaker ones bled from their noses and ears.

But even as the ground trembled beneath that suffocating force, Riley remained perfectly still.

He looked up at the elder, expression unreadable. His hair whipped in the storm, his cloak fluttering behind him, but his stance never wavered.

"So," Riley said quietly, his voice cutting through the roaring wind, "they’ve sent out their guardian already. How considerate."

The old man narrowed his eyes. "You dare threaten the Starry Sky Pavilion, boy? Do you understand whose property you’ve stepped into?"

Riley’s lips curled into a faint, dangerous smile.

"Property?" he echoed softly. "You mean my mine."

For a brief moment, silence fell. The desert seemed to hold its breath.

Then, Riley’s spiritual energy erupted like a violent tempest, shattering the still air around him.

The thousand cultivators behind him roared as one, their combined killing intent rising to pierce the heavens. The dunes shook beneath their feet.

Riley’s eyes gleamed like molten gold as he raised his hand, his aura spreading wide enough to distort the very air.

"Ten breaths have passed," he said, his voice calm but merciless.

"Now... face the consequences."

"Let’s see who faces the consequences!" the old man bellowed, his voice booming like thunder across the desert expanse.

He thrust both hands toward the sky, and the spiritual energy within miles of the battlefield suddenly began to churn violently.

"Rise!"

The command ripped through the heavens.

The earth cracked beneath his feet, and massive pillars of light burst upward from the sands.

Each pillar carried glowing runes that interlocked with others, forming a titanic sigil that blanketed the desert in a red-gold glow.

A deep hum resonated through the land—ominous, rhythmic, like the beating heart of a slumbering beast.

The light twisted into whirling patterns, and soon, the entire area was enclosed in a massive formation that stretched for hundreds of meters.

The ground burned. The air shimmered.

And then the desert erupted.

A storm of spiritual fire spiraled out from the formation’s core, engulfing Riley and his thousand cultivators in an inferno so intense that the very sands beneath turned to molten glass.

High above, the old man hovered proudly, his white hair fluttering, his eyes blazing with arrogance.

"The Heaven-Devouring Flame Array," he announced.

"A killing formation created by the Pavilion’s founder himself. Even ten Primordial experts could not endure it for long—much less a self-proclaimed Ash Maker!"

He let out a cruel laugh that echoed across the desert, confident in his inevitable triumph.

He had heard the rumors—that Riley controlled clouds of fire, that he bent flames to his will.

So he had come prepared.

The ground shook violently as torrents of crimson flame rose like dragons, swallowing everything.

The old man’s grin widened as the fire burned higher and higher, until even the distant dunes glowed red.

"Let’s see how much ashes remain of you now," he muttered coldly.

But as moments passed, something felt wrong. The air had gone unnaturally still.

The array’s runes began to flicker faintly—almost as if struggling to sustain themselves.

There were no screams.

No cries of agony.

No sound of battle. Only silence.

And then—

"Playing with fire..." a calm voice echoed behind him, soft and mocking, "in front of me?"

The old man’s eyes widened.

"You remain dumb... even for an ancient monster."

The mocking tone slid into his ears like a whisper from death itself. His body stiffened.

Slowly—almost unwillingly—he turned around.

Riley stood there.

Untouched. Unburned. Unbothered.

The infernal flames that had once consumed the desert now curled gently around his body like obedient serpents.

Every strand of his black hair glowed faintly red, reflecting the firelight.

His cloak, once coated in dust, now shimmered as if woven from embers.

The fire no longer belonged to the array—it belonged to him.

"Impossible..." the old man breathed, his voice trembling for the first time in centuries.

He tried to move, to summon his spiritual power, but his limbs felt heavy.

His body refused to obey. Panic surged within him as he realized—he was trapped.

"W-What did you do!?" he roared.

Riley’s eyes glinted with a faint, merciless light. "What I always do," he said simply.

He took a step forward, and the air rippled. The old man felt his soul itself recoil.

His instincts screamed run, but even his soul was bound—caught in an unseen web of power that Riley had cast the moment he appeared.

"You’ve lived long enough," Riley said softly, almost like a priest delivering a benediction. "But you chose the wrong ashes to stand upon."

He raised his fist.

The movement was unhurried—almost casual—but the world seemed to still as that hand moved.

The old man tried to summon a defensive barrier, but the energy collapsed before it could form.

The difference between them was too vast.

"This is... impossible!" he thought, despair flooding him.

He had battled countless cultivators, slain three other Primordial Dao Fragment experts in his lifetime, survived sect wars and heavenly tribulations alike.

And yet before Riley, he felt like a child staring up at a mountain that pierced the heavens.

Then—impact.

A blinding flash tore through the desert as Riley’s fist struck his chest.

The sound was like thunder shattering the sky.

The old man’s body convulsed violently as a massive hole burst open where his heart had been.

His soul screamed once before disintegrating completely—devoured by the fiery energy that surrounded Riley.

No rebirth. No recovery. No trace left behind.

Only ash.

The elder’s body dissolved into glowing dust, scattering in the wind.

The killing formation trembled once before collapsing entirely, its runes shattering like glass and fading into the void.

Riley stood amid the dying embers, his cloak swaying in the hot breeze.

All around him, his thousand cultivators gazed in silent awe.

Where moments ago death had loomed, now only the living remained—untouched, protected by the very flames that should have destroyed them.

Riley lowered his hand slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Clean up the corpses," he said calmly.

His cultivators bowed instantly. "Yes, my lord!"

As they surged forward to reclaim the mine, Riley lingered, his gaze fixed on the drifting ashes in the air.

"Primordial Dao Fragment Realm..." he murmured quietly. "You stood above countless lives, yet in the end, even your flames were borrowed."

He turned and began walking toward the spiritual mine, the winds parting before him as if afraid to touch him.

The crimson sky dimmed into gold as the sun began to set behind him, and for a brief moment, his figure seemed to merge with the firelit horizon—majestic, cold, and unstoppable.

By the time he reached the mouth of the mine, the Starry Sky Pavilion banners had already begun to fall, one by one, collapsing into ash that blew away in the desert wind.