Here is the English translation for Chapter 155, formatted with clean prose, polished grammar, and an engaging narrative style tailored for Western fantasy readers, maintaining proper character consistency (including Barsha as a female squad leader):

155. Command for the 10 Annihilation Demons!

Moura, who had previously taken a rigid stance and provoked the crowd into open conflict hoping to claim the Moon Flower for himself, stood frozen. All his calculated maneuverings had proven entirely futile.

Moura could sense that the celestial aura had vanished without a trace. No lingering energetic residue emanated from the summit. The celestial artifact was truly gone.

Deep suspicion lingered within him regarding how Dasatama could have achieved such a feat, yet he could not detect a single lingering thread of celestial mana. It defied logic that a mortal cultivator—even one commanding supreme parameters—could subdue and obliterate a celestial artifact storing such an immense volume of energy. Was Dasatama's explanation accurate, or had something far more complex transpired behind the scenes?

Yet Moura had no evidence to launch an accusation. He had completely lost the aura signature of the celestial artifact. The energy had vanished so thoroughly that he could not detect it across the entire continent. Even if the artifact had been stowed inside a specialized spatial container designed to suppress atmospheric leakage, an energy mass of that magnitude would still leave a readable signature to a master of his standing.

Accepting defeat, Moura fell silent.

The surrounding cultivators similarly resigned themselves to the reality of the artifact's destruction. Coming from Dasatama, the explanation was accepted without further dispute; they assumed the leader of the alliance had taken such extreme measures strictly to preserve global peace and prevent catastrophic bloodshed among the righteous sects.

With the crisis resolved, the elders and disciples of the various academies approached Dasatama to offer formal farewells before departing for their respective territories. The members of the Sky Squad, though quietly harbor lingering questions regarding the precise details of the clash, gathered around the leaders of the continental alliance and military defense command.

None of the young guardians dared to challenge or question the official account after Dasatama had publicly taken responsibility for the artifact's destruction. Though doubts lingered, they maintained a respectful silence, refraining from raising the topic of the Moon Flower before the alliance leader.

Commander Dasatama requested that the Sky Squad and regular military defense divisions travel together toward the city of Samarkan. From there, they could utilize the central teleportation arrays to return to their respective headquarters, noting that traveling as a consolidated unit was far safer than dispersing into smaller parties.

The Sky Squad agreed to the arrangement, as did the military commanders. Re-forming their ranks, the joint force initiated their march toward Samarkan, united by their shared mandate to safeguard peace across the five continents.

The independent cultivators offered final bows before departing along separate routes. The military defense divisions, the Sky Squad, and the central alliance delegates formed the rear guard, setting out toward Samarkan together. The violent clash inside the Tulisma Forest and the subsequent brawl over the Moon Flower had provided a stark, humbling lesson.

The martial artists had come to realize that unbridled greed was the ultimate vulnerability of any cultivator. When the pursuit of absolute power corrupted an individual's soul, even an orthodox practitioner could degenerate into a monster driven purely by the desire for dominance and status.

The events on the coastal plain served as irrefutable proof. They had allowed themselves to be blinded by the promise of superior parameters, turning their weapons upon their own peers over an artifact that promised effortless strength.

In that moment of madness, the distinction between the righteous sects and the dark army had blurred completely. The willingness to resort to any means necessary to claim absolute power was the very hallmark of the abyss.

Greed had driven honorable cultivators to cut down their brothers in arms simply to elevate their own standing.

As they marched side by side, the martial artists quietly reflected on the tragedy they had narrowly avoided. It was a profound, sobering lesson. On one hand, they had successfully united to confront the dark army, securing a crucial victory against the Four Gates. Yet the moment the temptation of divine power presented itself, their unity had shattered into selfish infighting.

The wounded received continuous medical care from military healers, their injuries a grim reminder that they had spilled the blood of their own comrades.

Dasatama, too, reflected deeply on the tragedy of twenty years ago—when the Three Saints had sacrificed their lives to halt the dark army alone. That ultimate sacrifice had been forced upon them precisely because the martial world back then had been fractured by greed and political division, failing to stand as a united front.

Aji's warnings had been dead accurate. The enigmatic youth—who sought neither fame nor recognition—had opened Dasatama's eyes to the catastrophic danger of internal division. Aji had reminded him that humanity could not afford to repeat the fatal errors of the previous war.

Absolute unity among the righteous sects was the single key to defeating the dark army. Greed had to be conquered within their own hearts if peace was to be preserved against those who sought the world's destruction.

Dasatama glanced back at Aji once more. The youth walked casually alongside his fellow Sky Squad members as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. Chatting effortlessly with his teammates near the rear of the formation, Aji blended seamlessly into the group. Looking at their tight cohesion, Dasatama felt a profound sense of reassurance in the establishment of the Sky Squad.

These young guardians were the true beacons who would preserve peace and shield the continents from the darkness. Smiling softly, Dasatama refocused his gaze forward, spurring his steed to lead the column. Looking up at the clear sky, he felt a renewed confidence that this war against the dark army would yield a different outcome. He saw the brilliant light of hope in the emerging unity of the martial world.

Meanwhile, in a hidden sanctuary at the far edge of the Phosphite continent...

Veiled behind ancient spatial barriers and shifting illusions, a subterranean stronghold lay hidden—a haven reserved exclusively for high-tier dark practitioners. Constructed deep within uncharted territory, the sanctuary was utterly undetectable to the specialized intelligence networks of military defense command.

Enveloped in suffocating, high-density dark magic, the stronghold remained safe from mortal eyes.

From these hidden depths, dark cultists emerged only to launch terror raids, harvesting sacrifices and spreading dread across the provinces. Reports of their atrocities frequently reached central command, prompting military divisions to launch months-long search operations across the wilderness.

Yet despite exhaustive sweeps lasting months or even years, military task forces consistently failed to uncover the location of the dark army's hidden bastions.

Deep within the innermost chamber of the stronghold—behind a dense barrier of dark energy—sat a towering, heavily muscled warrior. Thick, iron chains were wrapped tightly around his massive torso and arms, connected to heavy, razor-sharp boomerang blades strapped across his back. He let out a low rumble, resting his broad frame against a massive throne.

Macabre carvings decorated every inch of the throne and the surrounding stone walls, which were adorned with the terrifying skeletons and horned skulls of ancient beasts.

Assembled below the dais were his personal honor guards. Sitting on lower stone benches, these elite dark combatants were shrouded in pitch-black armor.

Suddenly, a communication bracer strapped to the giant warrior's wrist ignited with a dark glow. An incoming transmission pinged—a high-density signal sent directly from the head of dark intelligence: Nesia, one of the Five Gates.

Surprise flickered across the giant's features. It had been years since a member of the Five Gates had contacted him directly. He wondered if the signal marked the final preparation for the global invasion.

Has Lord Demon Shura fully recovered at last? Twenty years ago, he had received a similar deployment order, instructing him to mobilize his legions for a global strike. Yet two days before the scheduled invasion, a countermand had been issued, canceling the offensive after the Three Legends launched a surprise assault that severely wounded Shura, forcing the Demon Lord into deep hibernation.

At that time, Shura had not yet achieved total synthesis with the Blood Supreme. The giant warrior had been ordered to retreat into hibernation until Shura completed his recovery and fully integrated the divine dark artifact.

Pressing his palm against the glowing bracer, the giant warrior injected a surge of dark magic to decode the incoming transmission. As his dark aura saturated the rune, Nesia's sharp, authoritative voice echoed clearly within his mind.

"Tora, Warlord among the 10 Annihilation Demons. The hour has arrived. Lord Demon Shura has achieved flawless synthesis with the Blood Supreme, his recovery complete. Mobilize your entire legion immediately and bring total destruction to the five continents! The time is now!"

Tora—one of the supreme 10 Annihilation Demons—rose slowly from his massive throne. He clenched his giant fists, causing his heavy iron chains to rattle loudly. His elite honor guards looked up, recognizing that their master had long yearned for open war after decades of hiding in the shadows, limited to minor slaughter raids against isolated villages and patrolling guards.

A suffocating wave of violent killing intent erupted from Tora's vessel, sending a chill through the dark cultists present. For a warrior commanding supreme parameters, decades of forced isolation had felt like a agonizing imprisonment.

The sudden release of his unbridled, bloodthirsty aura paralyzed his subordinates in awe.

"We await your command, Lord Tora!" the honor guards shouted in unison. They, too, had heard Nesia's directive. After twenty years of silent hibernation following the unexpected intervention of the Three Legends, they were finally being called to take the field once more.

"Assemble every legion under my command and prepare for total mobilization!" Tora's thunderous laughter boomed through the chamber, making the iron chains wrapped around his frame clatter violently against his armor. "Today, we shall drink our fill of mortal blood! Bwahahaha!"

"By your command, Lord Tora!"

The honor guards rose swiftly, pressing their right fists against their left chests in formal salute. Turning on their heels, they dispersed to relay the mobilization order to their respective sub-commands. Each guard commanded a division within Tora's standing legion.

Tora stepped down from the dais, his heavy boots shaking the stone floor. He knew Nesia was simultaneously transmitting the activation sequence to the other nine Annihilation Demons. The victory denied to them twenty years ago would finally be claimed today.

Soon, the dark army would emerge as the supreme overlords of the realm, subjugating human civilization and reducing all mortals to obedient thralls. For two decades, they had been forced to hide like rats, hunted as dark practitioners and reviled by the righteous sects.

Now, the world would bow before them. Tora's face twisted into a sinister grin as he anticipated ascending as a regional sovereign, exactly as Shura had promised. His thunderous laughter echoed deep into the subterranean darkness.