My Xianxia Harem Life

Somewhere on the Nine Cauldrons Continent, a massive exodus was underway.

A group of nearly five thousand stunningly beautiful women followed a man cloaked in shadows, their expressions a mix of relief and determination.

"Wahhh… we’re free at last!"

"Thank you, Master, whoever you are!"

"I swear, I’ll kill Lucas Prince with my own two hands!"

Each woman in the crowd had suffered at the hands of Lucas Prince—a man whose wickedness knew no bounds.

Many had perished in his gruesome experiments, while others had been imprisoned for years, denied even a glimpse of sunlight.

His atrocities had left deep horrors, both physical and emotional.

Among the crowd was a woman whose angelic beauty had been marred by an ugly scar that ran across her face, a permanent reminder of her torment.

As they marched, one of the women called out hesitantly, "Thank you for saving us, Master. Can we know your name so that we may properly address the one who rescued us?"

The procession came to a halt.

All eyes turned toward the shadowy figure at their center.

Though they knew he was a man, his form was completely obscured by a shroud of darkness, rendering him a featureless silhouette.

Even his voice, when it emerged, was distorted and artificial, clearly not his true tone.

"Shadow Master," the figure said simply, his voice carrying an ominous weight.

Unbeknownst to the women, their savior was none other than Lucas Prince himself—or rather, what remained of him.

The real Lucas Prince was long dead, killed by Riley, who had resurrected his corpse and turned him into a puppet using the powerful Sovereign Marionette technique.

Now a mere tool, the Lucas Prince aka Shadow Master was entirely under Riley’s control, his actions and words dictated like a piece on a chessboard.

What made this technique even more extraordinary was Riley’s ability to fully take over the puppet at will, inhabiting its body and wielding all the powers of his original form.

It was as if he were playing a game, directing his "unit" with precision and ease.

And so, from that day forward, the legend of the Shadow Master began, a tale born of liberation, vengeance, and secrets that none of the freed women could ever fathom.

***

After another day of flying, Riley and his company finally arrived at the Heavenly Sword Sect.

The place was nothing short of awe-inspiring. The air was thick with sword qi, so dense and potent that even a casual cultivator could feel its oppressive intensity.

Towering mountains surrounded the sect, grand and majestic, far surpassing the Stone Mountain Sect in both size and splendor.

It was immediately apparent that the Heavenly Sword Sect was far wealthier and more powerful than Riley’s own sect back home.

"Look! That’s the Stone Mountain Sect!"

"They actually survived! Is Lucas Prince really dead?"

"I heard there wasn’t even a piece of him left behind!"

The whispers of nearby cultivators filled the air, their curiosity and disbelief palpable.

News had traveled quickly—unsurprising for an event of this magnitude.

The downfall of Lucas Prince and the involvement of the Phantom Abyss Sect and the Prince Clan were topics too monumental to be suppressed for long.

Riley and his companions could clearly hear the conversations around them, the murmurs rippling through the crowd like waves.

"Cheer up! We’ve already become famous," Riley said with a carefree laugh, his confidence shining through.

It was likely that the fight had been so massive it naturally drew the attention of countless unseen spectators, many of whom later reported the events—particularly the shocking news of Lucas Prince’s death.

Without hesitation, he strode forward to lead the group, exuding an air of authority that was hard to ignore.

Even Elder Michael, a figure of considerable power and influence himself, chose to walk a step behind Riley.

Despite his years of experience, he felt no shame in deferring to the younger man.

Riley possessed extraordinary treasures and a strength that could rival, or even obliterate, a 10th-stage Golden Core Realm cultivator.

In this world, strength was the ultimate currency, the foundation of status and respect.

For Elder Michael, there was nothing unusual about following the lead of a 25-year-old whose power far outstripped his own.

Riley’s ascent in reputation and influence was just beginning, and those around him couldn’t help but acknowledge the undeniable force that he represented.

"WHOOSH!"

A dozen disciples surged into the skies, their faces grim and resolute.

Each stood tall atop their flying swords, their robes fluttering in the wind, radiating an aura of authority and strength.

They stopped a few feet before Riley and his companions, their elevated positions giving them an almost divine presence that forced the crowd to look up in reverence—or fear.

"Didn’t they say flying within the sect grounds is strictly prohibited?" someone whispered nervously from the crowd, their eyes wide as they stared at the hovering disciples.

"Shhhhh! Don’t you know who they are? They’re from the Disciplinary Pavilion of the Heavenly Sword Sect," another murmured in a hushed but urgent tone.

"They’re the only ones allowed to fly here. It’s their duty to supervise law and order in the Heavenly Sword Sect."

The leader of the group stepped forward on his sword, his sharp features and piercing gaze adding weight to his commanding presence.

He raised a hand, silencing any further whispers in the crowd.

His voice, steady and authoritative, rang out over the gathering.

"Elder Riley Mason of the Stone Mountain Sect, you are invited by Daoist Three Swords for an audience. Please come with us at once."

All eyes turned to Riley. The crowd held its collective breath, their anticipation almost palpable.

Most expected him to comply immediately—after all, Daoist Three Swords was a name that carried immense weight in the cultivation world.

To decline such an invitation would be unthinkable for most.

But Riley was not like most people, and those who knew him well braced themselves for what he would say next.

Riley’s gaze swept over the disciples in the air, his expression calm and unbothered.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he folded his arms across his chest.

"We’ve spent three days traveling to get here," he began, his tone even but laced with subtle defiance.

"Faced trouble along the way, too. If someone wants to see me, let him come to my door, not the other way around."