The Ancient Playing Card Organization

Elsewhere, deep in the northwestern reaches of the Demon Realm, pitch-black demonic clouds churned ceaselessly year-round above the Eternal Night Demon Abyss. A palace forged from the bones of ancient ferocious beasts and dark-gold demonic jade hovered in the void, its structure wreathed in undying dark demonic energy, radiating a terrifying pressure that made every living creature across the northwestern Demon Realm tremble.

Upon the highest throne in the great hall sat Mo Jinyuan, the supreme leader who now ruled the entire northwest of the Demon Realm. He wore a black robe embroidered with infernal demonic patterns, and demonic energy coiled and surged around him like a living thing. One half of his face was sharply defined, cold and stern as a demon god descended to earth; across the other half ran a hideous old scar that cleaved straight down from his brow through his jaw. The scar was twisted and blackened, its flesh curled outward-a fatal wound that no demonic art could repair, every inch branded with the despair and terror of a century ago.

Below him, a demon general knelt with his body bowed, holding a shimmering memory crystal in both hands as he carefully projected its images into the air. Within the projection, a tall, straight-backed figure appeared, wearing a cold greater joker mask. Clearly etched into the mask's lower right corner was a sharp numeral-one.

Mo Jinyuan, who had been resting with his eyes closed, abruptly opened them the instant he saw that mask! His blood-dark crimson demonic pupils contracted sharply, and his dormant demonic energy instantly erupted like a raging tsunami. The entire palace of bone and jade groaned beneath the strain, fine cracks spreading across the stone pillars.

He suddenly leaned forward, his fingers clenching the throne's armrests in a death grip. For the first time, a barely concealed tremor of shock crept into his steady voice:

"What tier of strength... does this figure have?"

The demon general immediately focused on probing the fluctuations of aura within the projection. A moment later, he respectfully lowered his head and answered in a solemn voice:

"Reporting to you, Leader, this person's cultivation realm is the second tier."

"Second tier..."

Mo Jinyuan repeated the words under his breath. His fingertips rose uncontrollably and gently touched the hideous, terrifying scar on his face. The instant he touched it, a blood-soaked memory sealed away for a full hundred and thirty years burst through the seal deep in his heart like floodwaters breaching a dam.

A hundred and thirty years ago marked the tenth year since the demons had descended upon Blue Star.

Humanity had already been weak then. After the demons' aggressive invasion, humanity's living space was ruthlessly squeezed once more, leaving them on the brink of annihilation. Yet at humanity's most desperate hour, the Playing Card Organization emerged out of nowhere, as though walking out of nothingness, leaving no traces to follow, mysterious and unfathomable.

With invincible might, they helped humanity rise to power, bringing humans to equal standing with the beast race and the spirit race in a single stroke. At the same time, they dealt a devastating blow to the demons' foundations and greatly weakened the Demon Realm's power, ultimately bringing the demons' strength down to parity with humanity and the spirit race. The order of heaven and earth was utterly rewritten.

And within that organization, the powerhouse who wore the greater joker mask marked with a one in its lower right corner was the most terrifying existence of all-and likewise wielded the space element. He tore through the void, used Teleportation without a trace, and took lives invisibly with blades of space. Back then, with just one casual move, that man had sheared away half of Mo Jinyuan's face, shattering his demonic bones and blood essence along with it, reducing him from a high-spirited Demon Lord at the peak ninth tier to a scarred wreck for the rest of his life. That terror had been carved into the deepest reaches of his soul, and he had never dared forget it over the past century.

The chill around Mo Jinyuan surged. His voice was as cold as a freezing wind sweeping through the abyss of the Nine Hells as he asked heavily, each word distinct:

"Do you think he belongs to that Playing Card Organization from back then?"

A chill struck his subordinate's heart. He hurriedly scrutinized the aura within the projection once more, then lowered his head and replied in a trembling voice:

"Leader, this person's aura is completely different from that of the Playing Card Organization back then. He lacks that terrifying pressure that towered above all living beings. In my judgment, this should be a newly established human faction imitating the Playing Cards of old, not the originals themselves."

"Let us hope so."

Mo Jinyuan closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the depths of his dark crimson eyes had turned entirely shadowed. The Playing Card Organization of old had come without a shadow and departed without a trace, emerging from nowhere to stir the winds and clouds of the three realms, helping humanity reach the summit and holding the demons in check. After reaching its pinnacle, it had vanished completely when the time came for its disappearance, as though it had never existed, leaving behind only endless legends and terror, becoming a taboo that none of the races dared mention lightly.

"Bring it out," Mo Jinyuan said flatly.

His subordinate immediately understood and withdrew. Before long, he hurried back carrying an ancient black box covered in demonic patterns. Mo Jinyuan raised a hand, and a swirl of demonic energy slowly lifted the lid. Inside lay an old, hideous mask-a six of clubs design, with a bloodstained numeral seven carved into its lower right corner. The mask's surface was covered in bloodstains long since dried and blackened, its edges pitted and battered. Baleful energy surged skyward from it, as though the dead person's shrill resentment from that year still lingered.

This mask was the sole piece of evidence seized when the Playing Card Organization disappeared: the most elite warriors under his command had risked their lives in a sneak attack and killed one of its members, obtaining it only at the cost of their entire force being wiped out. It was also the only physical remnant of that terrifying organization preserved anywhere in the northwestern reaches of the Demon Realm.

Mo Jinyuan's fingertips slowly brushed over the cracks and bloodstains on the mask. The demonic energy around him grew ever colder and denser, and the entire hall fell into deathly silence.

"The space element, greater joker one..."

"Have you truly returned to this world, or is a pack of juniors who know not the heights of heaven or the depths of earth dancing in imitation of the god of death?"

The atmosphere within the demonic palace was as deathly still as an abyss. A messenger demon general, drenched in blood and clad in shattered armor, staggered into the hall and fell to his knees with a thud, his voice utterly shrill with terror.

"Lord Demon Lord! Disaster! Something terrible has happened!"