Once his supplies were in order, Jared did not remain in the town. He slipped away and, on the barren fringe of the Myriad Sword Mountains, located a lonely ravine where even the thinnest strand of spiritual energy struggled to survive.


    There, he nned the heart of his ruse-a forged Infinite Soul Demon Sectmand.


    He produced the finest nkmunication device, crossed his legs, and let his consciousness sink into the crystalttice.


    Soul power surged through him like a midnight tide. With it, he mimicked the Infinite Soul Demon Sect''s signature aura-icy, treacherous, and forever quivering with distant screams.


    Minute by minute, the words he had drafted earlier settled into the glowing script inside the device. Hebed his memory for every scrap of style he had gleaned from Gavin, Yvette, captured manuals, and looted tokens—grammar, jargon, even the order they listed titles. Not a single syble could betray him.


    He shaped the text as a top-secret order from Sheldon to an embedded operative codenamed "Shadow."


    "Shadow, hear mymand. The sect will wage full war on the Mystic Sky Sword Sect and seize the spirit veins of the Myriad Sword Range. From this instant, you are to watch the sword sect''s every move. At midnight three days hence, unite with our main force and strike from within. Target the Alioth Nexus of their Big Dipper Swordsteel Array. The Alioth Nexus anchors one of seven cores. Destroy or cripple it -whatever it takes. I will lead the frontal assault. Inner and outer des will snap their gate in a single night. Sess alone is permitted; failure equals death. Dy or leak this n, and pay with your head."


    The terms "Big Dipper Swordsteel Array" and "Alioth Nexus" were Jared''s own deductions, pieced together from marketce rumors, obscure pamphlets, and his mastery of arrays.


    Attacking an array''s core was the boldest deration of war a sect could make.


    Inscribing the message, however, was only half the battle.


    The linchpin was a soul-seal unique to Soulsby.


    Jared kneaded the y with a thread of purified demonic essence drawn from shattered relics.


    Then, breath by careful breath, he sculpted Sheldon''s oppressive soul signature-every rise, every ti tremor A single misstep would copse the forgery.


    For half an hour he worked, fingertips aglow like jeweler''s torches, until the frigid seal burned at the slip''s tail. Only after multiple he finally exhale


    inspections ar


    From substance to syntax to


    soul-print, the piece was seamless. Unless Sheldon himself probed it, no one would sense the lie.


    Yet that was not enough. The order needed evidence.


    Merging with the night, Jared glided toward a sparsely guarded outpost on the sword sect''s perimeter. The sentries never saw him; a few


    precise taps sent them into harmless sleep.


    Low-grade demon artifacts in hand, he wed fresh scars into nearby rock and let


    wisps of foul miasma drift, staging the aftermath of a vicious raid.