Before a desk, Luo Chen lowered his head with a Golden Bamboo brush in hand, slowly tracing characters across a sheet of rice paper. This was not the usual practice of copying classics for calligraphy or painting, but the drafting of a letter of great importance.0

Since Luo Chen transmigrated, he had understood the language of this world through the inherited memories of the body's original owner. However, his knowledge had been only at the level of recognising words. When it came to writing, he was rather mediocre. Thankfully, due to Min Longyu's advice, he had taken up a habit of daily practice copying the writings of ancient cultivators. A couple years in, his calligraphy had become passable. Even so, he still weighed each stroke with repeated deliberation.0

Only after a long while did he set the brush down. As he waited for the ink to dry, Luo Chen's mind was already scheming what must be done next. The Flame Alliance had to be dealt with swiftly. They could not be allowed to recover their strength.0

A few days had passed since the Falling Cloud Sect carried out a massacre. For them to rest, recuperate, and return to form would take years, but for Luo Chen to reach Golden Core would take decades at best. He could not afford to wait so long. He would strike in the shortest time possible and would not allow them recovery, nor grant the remaining Adepts the time they needed to heal.0

Yet to march upon their gates was not so simple. The Luo Tian Society's strength was still meager. So he would have to rely on external powers. Luo Chen intended to leverage every force within his reach, and the first he turned to was the Ice Fortress, with whom ties already ran deep.1

The ink on the letter had dried. Luo...0