CHAPTER 711: THE NEW SECT MASTER’S ORDERS (PART-2)

The hall had barely settled after Mark’s first announcement when he lifted his hand again, signaling that he was far from finished.

The elders braced themselves; robes rustled, backs stiffened, and even the grand elders exchanged uneasy glances.

Mark didn’t soften his tone. If anything, his voice grew firmer, colder, sharper, like a blade pressing against their throats.

"Secondly," he said, "as I have already announced in the clan, which you might have heard through rumors, I am also introducing a new profession to our sect, the Gunmaster. Each of you is aware that cultivation alone limits the growth of countless disciples. Of the 100, we only find one good seedling that has the potential to grow into a tree. Of the 100 good seedlings, we can only find one that indeed becomes a tree. That means, for every 10,000 people we find, only one ends up being talented enough to enter our inner sect, which takes up almost 90% of our resources in the end. Under my rule, that changes."

He gestured mildly, and two adamantine guns materialized in his hands, silent, gleaming symbols of a new era. A few elders flinched instinctively at the sight. Mark dismissed the weapons just as casually.

"I will be stocking our warehouses with such guns. I believe those who watched my battles have seen how these mere guns could suppress even a transcendent. Unlike the artifacts and divine weapons, these are the creation of mankind, giving the power to even a mortal. Some of you might think it is beneath your level to depend on external or foreign weapons like this to fight for you, and some of you think it goes against the principle of culture or whatnot. But that doesn’t give you the right to berate those who want to depend on them. I won’t ask you to change your opinion, but those who wish to train in this new path, you must not block their path.

I don’t know how it will be after me, but as long as I am the sect master, Gunmasters will receive additional support and resources. Outer sect disciples with mediocre talent will have a new chance. Inner sect disciples with agility and precision will have a new advantage."

Mark then leaned back and continued. "We will expand the training grounds and restructure portions of the sect to accommodate Gunmaster divisions. Once we sort out the division in the sect, we will announce sect recruitment. This is the second decree."

He didn’t wait for their reactions.

"Third," he said, "I intend to form peace and friendship with the Fire Clans."

That statement alone felt like a bomb thrown into the hall. Many elders’ faces twisted in disbelief, others in confusion. Frost narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing the waves of shock rolling through the room. Pyro’s lips curled, half-smirk, half-challenge, as if mocking those who hated fire clans.

Before any elder dared to speak, Mark continued with a commanding calmness.

"Regardless of whether you all like it or not, I will make this happen. The age-old division ends under my leadership. Prepare yourselves, for sooner or later, our sect grounds may be filled with disciples from the fire clans. And when they come, I expect tolerance, cooperation, and respect. Once the Empire formally gives its acknowledgment of our independence, we will proceed with forming an alliance with the Fire tribes. More specifically, the Immortal Pavilion Sect, our bitterest ally. How I do it is up to me. I just want all of you to be prepared and do nothing else about it."

His voice carried no room for objection. Even the grand elders remained silent.

Mark inhaled slowly, then delivered his fourth decree, the one that drew every breath from the chamber.

"And lastly... You all know that I have written the letter of independence to the Imperial Palace. Given the current atmosphere, those disciples and elders whose roots lie in the imperial cities or outer dominions must return to their families temporarily, until I form a peace treaty with the Emperor."

His eyes then sharpened. "If peace is signed, they may return. If peace is refused, they will have two choices: bring their families and live here permanently... or remain in the imperial dominions for good."

A few elders suddenly looked pale at that order, as some of them have roots and many of them have relatives in the inImperial City. Others clenched their fists, feeling as if their sect master was fulfilling their lifelong wishes. After all, not everyone is loyal to the throne.

"I am giving them three days to leave for their homes. On the fourth day, they will be restricted to their residences until my negotiations are complete."

The weight behind his words felt absolute.

Mark paused, then slowly swept his gaze across the elders, especially those whose eyes wavered, the ones whose loyalties were uncertain.

"And let me be clear about one thing: leaving this sect and joining another in the same dominion is not an option."

His voice dropped colder.

"They will not take you in. Even if you are a first-stage transcendent."

A suffocating stillness filled the hall. Frost’s aura began to chill the air; Pyro’s heat curled faint embers through her hair. The combination made the elders’ backs tremble in remembrance.

Mark ended with a single phrase, calm, yet carrying the heaviness of fate: "I will make sure of that."

The elders bowed low, their hearts trembling, their loyalty shaken, rebuilt, and reshaped all in the span of a single meeting.

They had barely recovered from the weight of Mark’s previous decrees when he lifted his hand again, stopping anyone from moving toward the door.

Mark did not raise his voice; he didn’t need to. His tone remained steady and calm, but every word sank into the hall like a hammer striking iron.

"Fifth... and final order."

A few elders stiffened visibly. Someone swallowed audibly.

"I am not as gentle or generous as the former Sect Master," Mark continued, his eyes never leaving the line of elders. "I am not old, I am not endlessly wise, and I certainly do not possess the patience many of you seemed to rely on when you thought you could twist his goodwill to your advantage."

A few elders flinched, knowing exactly which decisions he was referring to. Mark continued anyway, not bothering to hide the disdain.

"I seldom care about other people’s opinions, especially when they are rooted in cowardice, bias, or tradition that should have died a thousand years ago. When I don’t like something, I won’t hesitate to punish the one who caused it. That is who I am. And I’m not hiding it."

He leaned forward, placing his hand on the arm of the sect master’s seat, and the room suddenly felt colder.

"Bullying," he said, stressing the word, "is something I despise. If disciples have problems with each other, they will settle it through the official channels or the justice panel. What they should not do is run to the elders who favor them and ask them to crush their opponent on their behalf. You will not use your cultivation or your position to suppress a weaker disciple. If I see it, I will deal with it. Personally. Was that clear?"

A wave of unease swept across the elders. Some lowered their heads slightly, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark let them stew in the silence for a moment before lifting the sect head token and showing it to them, the medallion gleaming under the lantern light.

"For those who were still in ignorance, let me remind you that this was not gifted to me. I passed the trials set by the tribunals. I snatched this position with my own strength. Do not assume I am sitting here because I am the great-grandson of the former sect master."

Several elders exchanged stiff looks. Mark was right; they all knew it and wouldn’t need any reminder. The trials were absolute. No one could cheat through them, not even a favored descendant.

Mark sighed softly and leaned back again, his expression unreadable.

"What I do, what I will do in the future, many of you will find it difficult to accept. Traditionalists like you are not easy to convince, and I’m not naïve enough to expect your immediate approval. That’s fine. But here is what you must understand: I will act for the sect’s future, not for your comfort."

He paused, giving time for the meaning to sink in.

"And those who dislike my decisions... may leave. I would rather have 100 loyal sect disciples who share my vision, put their trust in my actions and cooperate with my orders, than 100,000 disciples who are against me and make obstacles for me with their reluctance."

Shock rippled like a silent wave, though no one dared to gasp aloud.