The sun hung low in the sky over the Iron Sword Sect, casting long shadows across the sprawling compound. The air buzzed with tension, a palpable unease spreading among the disciples and elders alike. The dungeon riot that had erupted the previous night had shaken the sect to its core, leaving more questions than answers in its wake.

  Elder Wu Ren, a stern and imposing figure with streaks of gray in his otherwise jet-black hair, stood at the center of the sect's grand hall. His sharp eyes scanned the assembled elders and sect leaders, each of them wearing expressions ranging from confusion to thinly veiled panic.

  "This is an embarrassment," Wu Ren growled, slamming his palm on the table before him. The sound echoed through the hall, silencing the murmurs of the gathered cultivators. "A riot in our dungeon. Prisoners escaped. Guards killed. And the body of my son... missing."

  Wu Ren turned to the head jailer, a burly man who had barely survived the riot. His face was pale, and a bandage wrapped around his arm hinted at a narrow escape. "Report," Wu Ren demanded, his tone cold.

  The jailer swallowed hard, bowing deeply. "Elder Wu, the riot began when one of the prisoners—a known demonic cultivator—broke free of his cell. He released others, and chaos erupted. By the time reinforcements arrived, most of the prisoners were dead, and the dungeon was burning."

  Wu Ren's eyes narrowed. "And my son? Wu Lian?"

  The jailer hesitated, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "We... we found no trace of him, Elder. His body wasn't among the dead."

  A tense silence filled the hall. The absence of Wu Lian's body raised troubling questions, ones that Wu Ren was unwilling to voice aloud.

  "You're telling me my son disappeared in the chaos?" Wu Ren asked, his voice low and dangerous.

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  The jailer nodded quickly. "Y-yes, Elder. But... there's more."

  Wu Ren's gaze hardened. "Speak."

  The jailer lowered his voice, his words hesitant. "We found traces of corrupted Qi near the cells and signs of a demonic fire"

  The hall erupted into murmurs, the elders exchanging alarmed glances. Such techniques were rare and highly dangerous, their use often leading to madness or death of the user.

  Wu Ren raised a hand, silencing the room. "And what of the prisoner records? The one responsible for this riot—what do we know about him?"

  The head jailer hesitated again, his voice faltering. "The prisoner... was one of the last remnants of the Fallen Moon Sect. His name was Wei Liang."

  "Just a lowly disciple," another elder scoffed, crossing his arms. "How could someone like that cause such destruction?"

  Wu Ren's lips thinned, his mind racing. A lowly disciple shouldn't have been capable of such feats. And yet, the evidence suggested otherwise. The traces of forbidden techniques, the missing body of his son, and the unaccounted-for prisoners all pointed to something far more sinister.

  "Someone with skill... and cunning," Wu Ren muttered to himself.

  Wu Ren stood abruptly, his gaze sweeping over the gathered elders. "Send patrols to Death Mountain," he commanded, his voice cold and resolute. "If this Wei Liang—or whoever he truly is—escaped, that's where he would go to hide."

  The elders exchanged uneasy glances. Death Mountain was a place few dared to tread, its dangers claiming the lives of even the most skilled cultivators.

  "Elder Wu," one of them began cautiously, "if he is truly in Death Mountain, sending disciples will only add to the casualties. Shouldn't we—"

  "I don't care about casualties," Wu Ren snapped. "I care about finding my son's body and bringing whoever is responsible to justice."

  His voice dropped, the cold fury in his tone sending chills through the room. "No one defies the Iron Sword Sect and lives."

  As the meeting adjourned, Wu Ren lingered in the grand hall, his thoughts heavy. His son, while illegitimate, was still his blood. The idea that someone had used Wu Lian's body for a forbidden technique filled him with a rage he could barely contain.

  But something else gnawed at him—a sense that there was more to this than what the jailer had reported. A lowly prisoner shouldn't have been capable of orchestrating such a calculated escape.

  "I underestimated you, Wei Liang," he murmured, his eyes narrowing. "But I will find you. And when I do, you will beg for death."

  Meanwhile, in the outer sect, the disciples buzzed with rumors. The riot in the dungeon had become the topic of every whispered conversation, with each retelling growing more dramatic.

  "I heard the prisoner wasn't even human," one whispered. "They say he was a demon in disguise."

  "Or maybe he made a deal with the mountain," another suggested, shivering. "Death Mountain only spares those it deems worthy."

  "Either way, the sect won't let this go," a third disciple said. "Whoever escaped is as good as dead."

  End of the Chapter.