Chapter 149: Golden-Winged Roc

**”Such arrogance!”** the crimson bird clicked its tongue in disbelief.

The golden avian soared through the heavens, its entire body bathed in radiant light, resembling a celestial deity—terrifying and exuding an aura of supreme dominance, its gaze sweeping contemptuously across all beneath it. The Nine-Headed Lion, the Five-Colored Luan Bird, the Fire Crow—all shuddered in its presence. This creature’s overwhelming might was matched only by its domineering presence, its very essence chilling to the bone. Even the twin brothers of the Three-Eyed Clan, renowned for their ocular prowess, trembled in fear, unable to meet its gaze, for the golden beast’s pupils swirled like golden vortexes, capable of devouring souls.

Little Rascal didn’t even glance upward, ignoring the golden avian entirely. Instead, he swung his sword toward the half-crippled White Tiger, whose eyes had dimmed, determined to leave no loose ends.

**”No! You can’t kill me!”** the White Tiger roared, its eyes brimming with terror. No living being feared death, but in this final moment, even a god would tremble.

Little Rascal remained silent. After a battle of this magnitude, mercy would only invite future calamity.

**”Brother Peng, save me!”** the White Tiger shrieked, its voice hysterical, casting a desperate, frenzied gaze toward the sky, pleading for aid from that golden beast.

At those words, a chill ran through the crowd. A wave of dread and astonishment swept over them—could this truly be a **Roc**?!

Expressionless, Little Rascal showed no hesitation. His broken sword descended with a **thud**, blood spraying as a tiger’s head flew through the air, trailing crimson petals.

The White Tiger’s eyes burned with unwillingness. In its final moment, its pupils blazed like fire, its skull splitting apart before it shattered its own fangs in self-destruction.

Little Rascal sighed. **”What a waste.”** Even in death, the White Tiger had the power to obliterate its Primordial Bone Runes, denying him its treasure technique.

This was the tragedy of all clans—their most guarded secrets were nearly impossible to steal, for even in death, their warriors would shatter their own bones rather than let them fall into enemy hands.

The golden avian remained indifferent from start to finish, its oppressive aura like a mountain’s weight pressing down. It watched from the heavens as the White Tiger was slain, making no move to intervene.

**”One walks their own path. To live as half a corpse is a sin in itself.”** Its words were merciless.

**”Crimson, catch!”** Little Rascal tossed the White Tiger’s remains downward. Having just acquired the Qiankun Pouch, he hadn’t yet mastered its use and couldn’t store the carcass directly.

**”Such a delicacy!”** The crimson bird drooled. This was a rare, potent tonic.

With the battle concluded, Little Rascal finally looked skyward, his anger flaring. **”Damnable chick! You forced my hand, ruining the White Tiger Battle Armor! How will you repay me?!”**

The ancient beasts stared in disbelief. **Chick?!** To address the golden avian so casually—such audacity!

This was likely a **Golden-Winged Roc**, yet here it was being mocked as a mere hatchling. The sheer disrespect left the ancient beasts speechless.

Above, the golden avian itself froze. Never in its life had it been insulted so brazenly. This human child’s arrogance knew no bounds!

**”Kill him!”** A command thundered from the sky.

The dozen ancient beasts surged forward, unleashing their treasure techniques in unison. The heavens trembled as divine birds clashed, monstrous roars shook the moon, and the battlefield erupted in chaos.

Brilliant runes illuminated the sky as gales howled, lightning crackled, and flames surged. Any young prodigy witnessing this would flee in terror.

The Nine-Headed Lion, the crimson bird, the Purple Marten, and the Fire Crow all paled. The combined might of these creatures could level mountains.

Yet Little Rascal stood unshaken. His broken sword swept forward, unleashing a tidal wave of sword energy that shattered all incoming attacks.

The sword’s power surged like a waterfall, drowning the battlefield in a white deluge, aiming to annihilate every foe.

Everyone trembled. This rusted, seemingly worthless blade held unimaginable might. A single strike would reduce them to pulp.

The ancient beasts faltered. Even their combined strength couldn’t withstand this weapon—it was an unstoppable force.

A cold snort echoed from the heavens as the golden avian descended, its aura suffocating. A gray boulder shot from its beak, expanding into a towering peak that blocked the sword’s onslaught.

**”What treasure is this?!”** the crimson bird shrieked, horrified.

The Five-Colored Luan Bird and the Fire Crow gaped. The broken sword’s power was undeniable, yet this golden avian had countered it effortlessly.

The gray mountain pulsed with eerie magnetism, its power warping metal.

**”The Magnetic Peak!”** The Nine-Headed Lion gasped. **”A legendary artifact that suppresses all metal weapons!”**

Little Rascal’s sword trembled violently, nearly torn from his grip by the overwhelming magnetic force.

**”Submit!”** the golden avian commanded. This was its trump card—a treasure that rendered all weapons useless.

**”Careful! That mountain has slain countless experts!”** the Nine-Headed Lion warned.

This was no ordinary artifact. Many ancient beasts had fallen to its power.

**”Hah!”** Little Rascal roared, channeling his full might. The broken sword erupted with blinding radiance, its rust flaking away to reveal a jet-black blade.

The golden avian’s confidence wavered. The sword’s power **kept escalating**—far beyond its initial estimates.

**”I am the harbinger of slaughter. You shall fall today!”** the avian declared, its body igniting with golden flames.

A golden fan materialized beside it—another **ancient treasure**, forged from the wing of a Golden Crow.

The battlefield erupted in cataclysmic fury as sword clashed against mountain, flames battled lightning, and the very air trembled under their duel.

Blood sprayed as both combatants suffered grievous wounds.

Little Rascal’s body was battered, his clothes in tatters, yet his eyes burned with unyielding resolve.

The golden avian, too, bled from deep gashes, its feathers singed.

**”You’re strong,”** it admitted grudgingly. **”But today, you die.”**

With a thunderous cry, it dove once more, the Magnetic Peak suppressing the sword while the golden fan unleashed apocalyptic flames.

Little Rascal met the assault head-on, his sword howling like a storm.

The two clashed in a final, earth-shattering explosion of light.

When the dust settled, both stood wounded—but neither had fallen.

The golden avian’s chest bore a deep gash, while Little Rascal’s arms trembled from exertion.

**”You’re no ordinary human,”** the avian hissed.

**”And you’re no pure-blooded Roc,”** Little Rascal shot back, panting. **”But you’ll make a fine meal.”**

The battlefield fell silent.

This was no longer just a fight—it was a battle of **destinies**.

And neither would yield until only one remained standing.