Silence.
A deathly silence.
In the vast main hall, the elites, prodigies, and renowned elders who had fought their way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood unconsciously slowed their breathing.
The words struck their ears like thunder.
None of them were fools.
In a corner of the hall, wariness flashed through a one-eyed Wanderer's remaining eye.
This is the Embroidered Uniform Guard of the Wu Dynasty, the Eastern Depot of the Former Dynasty...
The one-eyed Wanderer murmured silently to himself.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Eastern Depot had long since become bywords for bloodshed, slaughter, and privilege.
Kill first, report later—by imperial decree.
Once someone donned that uniform, they became the court's lackey, the sharpest hound in the hands of the supreme ruler.
People of the martial world valued loyalty above all and prized the freedom to roam as they pleased.
For centuries, the traditions of the Three Teachings and Nine Classes and the foundations of the Hundred Schools of Thought had worked to maintain a delicate balance with secular imperial power: close but never too close, like well water that never crossed into river water.
Who would willingly put shackles on themselves and become a court lackey, cursed in secret by their peers across the land?
Worse still, the scope of this so-called Juntong's authority was outrageous.
To oversee every Profession holder in the land meant that anyone in their world, from the leader of a great sect to a Rogue Cultivator wandering the streets, would fall under its watch.
Agreeing to join meant standing against everyone in the land who refused to be bound.
That burden of cause and consequence was too heavy.
So heavy that most people present dared not take it on lightly.
Li Xiang sat to the right of the main seat,