Chapter 138: The Shadow That Walks

A chill wind whispered through the outer spires of the Celestial Winds capital, curling like a serpent around the peaks before slipping into the arteries of the palace halls. It was the kind of night where even the stars blinked cautiously, shrouded behind veils of ash-gray clouds, as if hesitant to witness what would unfold beneath.

Zhao Lianxu stood alone atop the highest balcony of the Astral Pagoda, eyes closed, sensing the pulse of the world beneath him. His robes billowed in the wind, laced with stardust and dark thread—an echo of the contradiction within him.

The Multiverse Destructive Body had begun evolving again.

Ever since his encounter with the lingering essence of the Sealed One, Zhao's internal world had grown more complex. The three bloodlines—the temporal dominion of the ancient cultivator, the abyssal chaos of his demon mother, and the regal order of his father—were beginning to fuse, not in conflict, but in convergence. Yet, with convergence came danger.

His meridians had flared like volcanic veins, and the dark energy he'd taken from the Realm of Chaos had begun to infect his spiritual sea, staining it with a subtle, living void. Meditation only staved off the symptoms; there was something alive in him now—something older than the known multiverse.

He exhaled slowly, calling forth the star-forged sword at his side, Tianyi's Whisper. It sang softly in response, resonating with his core.

"Master," came a quiet voice behind him.

It was Yun'er, no longer the timid girl from the Bamboo Spirit Sect. Her once-gentle aura had hardened. She now walked with the bearing of a storm contained in a flask, her eyes sharper, her qi fiercer.

"You're late," Zhao said without turning.

"There was interference at the southern boundary. A dark formation—one I've never seen before. It wasn't just demonic. It had a signature like yours."

He turned at that, brows narrowing. "Mine?"

She nodded. "But twisted. As if someone tried to recreate the Destructive Body… from fragments."

The silence that followed was heavy. Zhao's grip on Tianyi's Whisper tightened. "It's begun then. The Shadow Walker is no longer hiding."

In the northern edge of the capital, deep beneath the city in a catacomb long sealed by ancient wards, a figure cloaked in ink-black silk moved through darkness as though born of it. Every step he took left no footprint, every breath erased behind him like mist.

This was the Shadow Walker.

He was not a man, not entirely. Born from the failed experimentations of those who had sought to emulate the Multiuniverse Destructive Body using relics left behind by the Sealed One, he was a vessel of imperfect chaos. Where Zhao's power was harmonized through lineage, the Shadow Walker's was stitched together by blood rites and forbidden alchemy.

He knelt before a sarcophagus veiled in writhing shadows. Upon it, glyphs shifted restlessly, alive with intent. A voice seeped from within.

"You are not yet complete."

"I will be," the Shadow Walker replied, his voice layered—one tone his own, the other borrowed, mimicking Zhao's timbre.

"The Prince must fall. Take his blood, complete the trinity."

"And the girl?"

"The girl carries the key. Her betrayal, when it comes, will burn him. Use it. Twist it."

A pause.

The Shadow Walker stood. "So be it."

Meanwhile, Zhao convened with his inner circle in the Mirror Chamber—a sanctum guarded not by warriors, but by truth itself. The chamber reflected only intentions. Any deceit would ripple across the mirrored floor.

Present were Yue Qingshuang, Jin Wei, Yun'er, Lady Lian'er, and Elder Shuihan from the Void Shroud Sect.

Zhao's voice was low but firm. "There's a copy. A failed one. But dangerous nonetheless."

Elder Shuihan stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Such constructs usually collapse. But if this one has survived, it means a guiding will sustains him."

Jin Wei's eyes narrowed. "The Tribunal."

Zhao nodded. "They needed a contingency. I suspect he was meant to replace me if I refused their path."

Lady Lian'er leaned forward. "If they made him to destroy you, he will come soon. And he will not come alone."

A long silence fell.

Yue Qingshuang was the one to break it. "Then we take the battle to him. We strike before the convergence."

Zhao's gaze lifted, slow and sure. "No. He will come here. And when he does, I will face him not as a prince, but as what I have become. He wants my blood? He'll have to earn it."

That night, Lian'er came to his chambers, her face shadowed by candlelight. He could see the war behind her eyes.

"There's something you need to know," she whispered.

He watched her. Said nothing.

She stepped closer, took his hand.

"I was contacted. By the Tribunal. Days ago. They offered me the same thing they once offered my mother—clemency for my dynasty, peace for my people... if I help them."

His breath caught.

"I refused," she said quickly. "But they left a mark on me. A sigil tied to the Shadow Walker. If I am captured… he will see through my eyes."

Zhao looked down, fighting the fury rising in his blood.

"You should have told me."

"I didn't want you to see me as weak."

He stepped forward and pressed his forehead to hers.

"You are the strongest person I know. And they will not break us. Not now."

When the Shadow Walker came, it was not through the gates. He came through the fractures in reality itself, tearing the sky open like silk. He stood atop the horizon, black energy spiraling around him, wearing a face eerily close to Zhao's—but wrong. Hollow. Empty.

Zhao stood waiting, alone.

The world paused. The wind died. And the stars held their breath.

"To kill me," Zhao said, "is to kill yourself."

"I am not you," the Shadow Walker replied. "I am the perfection you failed to become."

They clashed, light against void. The collision rippled across dimensions. The force tore mountains, shattered rivers, and cracked the sky.

Tianyi's Whisper screamed through air, matching blow for blow with the twin blade the Shadow Walker wielded—an imperfect mirror forged from stolen blood.

But Zhao fought not just with power. He fought with memory. With love. With all the pain, triumph, and sacrifice that had shaped him.

And in the heart of the storm, Lian'er's voice broke through.

"Zhao!"

The sigil on her hand burned as the Shadow Walker turned.

In that instant, Zhao struck—not to kill, but to reclaim.

He pierced the hollow chest of his doppelganger and reached in—not with blade, but with will. He poured into the void all that the other lacked: identity.

"You were never real," Zhao whispered. "But now, you will rest."

And with that, the Shadow Walker crumbled, like dust returning to a place that never was.

Later, as the sky mended, and the heavens turned once more, Zhao knelt alone where the battle had ended. The air smelled of ozone and fading sorrow.

Yue Qingshuang stood beside him. "It's over?"

He nodded. "For now."

Jin Wei approached, eyes cast toward the horizon. "The Tribunal will come harder next time."

"They will," Zhao said. "But so will we."

He stood slowly, sword sheathed, heart scarred but steady.

Because now, he was more than prince, more than heir. He was the stormbreaker. The soulbearer. The Emperor yet to rise.

And the multiverse would know his name.