The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 671

The morning after the Namgung compound burned, fear spread through the empire faster than any messenger could ride.

In teahouses and sect halls from the northern passes to the southern deltas, men spoke in hushed voices over cooling tea.

The Namgung family—one of the five great pillars of the Murim Alliance—had been erased in a single night. Their ancestral halls reduced to ash. Their disciples scattered or dead.

Their legendary patriarch, Namgung Hyuk, gone without a trace. No one knew who had struck or how.

Only that the attack had been swift, silent, and absolute. For generations, no one had dared raise a hand against that name. Now the name itself felt like a curse.

In the great hall of the Prime Minister’s pavilion in Changyi, Alex stood at the long map table, fingers tapping once against the dark wood. Zhuge Liang waited opposite him, calm and precise as always.

“Yuan Shao is moving,” Alex said. “He sent the Murim Alliance after me. What do you think?”

Zhuge Liang inclined his head. “Their strongholds lie far to the north. They favor lone blades over open war. An assassin draws less attention and invites less retaliation than an army.”

Alex’s jaw tightened. He hated the feeling—the sense that men across Xia believed they could test him, wound him, and walk away untouched. “So they see me as weak. Someone they can prod and ignore.”

He looked up, eyes cold. “Two fronts are testing us right now. Yuan Shao with his Murim blade. And the remnants of Dong Zhuo’s generals—Li Jue and Guo Si—who sent Zhang Ji against us. They still play their old games from the capital.”

Zhuge Liang’s expression did not change. “In this world, my lord, only power speaks loudly enough to be heard.”

Alex nodded once. “Then it is time they heard mine. Tonight. We strike back. You are coming with me.”

Zhuge Liang bowed. “As you command.”

***

Night fell over Liang Province like a closing fist.

Ten heavy aircraft climbed into the darkness from hidden pads outside Changyi, their hulls wrapped in shimmering camouflage fields that bent starlight around them until they vanished. Inside the lead transport, Alex stood near the forward viewport, arms crossed, watching the black landscape slide beneath them.

Five thousand Wudang disciples filled the fleet—white robes traded for dark, close-fitting gear that blended cultivation discipline with modern stealth. Their swords rested ready at their sides. The low, steady thrum of the engines vibrated through the deck plating.

Gaia’s voice spoke directly into Alex’s mind through the neural link, calm and precise. “Target compound acquired. Luoyang capital mansion. Twenty Core Formation-level threats concealed along the perimeter.”

Alex’s reply was steady over the encrypted channel. “Core Formation teams. Neutralize the outer guardians. Silent. No alarms raised.”

“Yes, young sect master.”

Small strike units detached from the main force as the aircraft held position high above the city. The disciples dropped like shadows, qi suppressed until they were almost invisible to spiritual sense.

They landed on rooftops and in courtyards without a sound. Swords moved in short, economical arcs—throats opened, vital qi points sealed before any cry could form.

Bodies were lowered silently to the ground and hidden. Within minutes the perimeter was clear. The hidden guards died without ever knowing they had been found.

From the aircraft, Alex watched the Gaia overlay bloom across his vision—real-time thermal maps, heart-rate signatures, faint qi fluctuations painting the interior of the main mansion in perfect detail.

Li Jue sprawled in his private chambers, four women tangled around him in exhausted sleep. Guo Si occupied an adjacent wing, a young woman curled against his side.

Alex’s mouth curved in cold contempt. “Eight Core Formation per target. Take their heads. Clean and fast.”

Another channel opened. “Liu Piao. Twelve men. Secure the false emperor alive. Extract him.”

“Yes, young sect master.”

The elite teams moved through the mansion like ghosts. They bypassed locked doors with precise qi techniques or forced them with minimal effort. In Li Jue’s chamber the eight disciples struck as one.

One moment the general lay lost in dreams of power and flesh. The next, cold steel found his throat and sealed his meridians. His eyes flew open in shock.

No sound escaped. His head came free in a single clean motion. The women stirred too late; a soft qi pulse dropped them into deep, dreamless sleep.

The same scene played out in Guo Si’s room—swift, professional, merciless. Head taken before the man could reach for his weapon.

Liu Piao’s team hit the false emperor’s guarded chamber at the same instant. The impostor tried to shout. His guards died before the sound left his throat. The boy was bound, gagged, and pulled from the room without raising a wider alarm.

A sudden, crushing pressure descended over the mansion like an invisible mountain crashing down from the sky.

Every Wudang disciple still standing felt their bones shake. A terrifying Nascent Soul aura erupted from the central courtyard, scorching and overwhelming, rising with ferocious speed.

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