Shi Hao struck without mercy, severing Yuan Qing’s right arm while regarding him with disdain. This man had no backbone at all—despite his imposing appearance, he was nothing more than a coward.
Back then, this man had been domineering, attempting to suppress Shi Hao with a single gesture upon their first meeting, posturing as a supreme being who looked down upon him.
Yet now, cornered by Shi Hao, he adopted a submissive stance, eager to compromise without a shred of dignity, earning nothing but contempt.
Had this man truly once commanded storms and ruled over a domain? Perhaps he only dared to bully those weaker than himself—a despicable trait.
Blood dripped as Yuan Qing’s face twisted in pain, yet he endured, suppressing his rage. He swallowed his pride and spoke again, offering to negotiate.
“Have you no shame, begging for your life now? Did you ever imagine this day when you exiled me to the Primordial Ancient Mine?” Shi Hao regarded him coldly.
Yuan Qing’s face paled momentarily before he forced composure. He truly hadn’t anticipated this—that the insignificant cultivator he once thought he could crush with a single hand would now threaten him.
Hao—how old was he? Barely in his twenties, yet already a cultivator at the Dunyi Realm, a rising powerhouse to be feared!
Regret churned within Yuan Qing—not for provoking Shi Hao, but for failing to eliminate him without hesitation back then.
Back then, acting on the Feng Clan’s orders to suppress the descendants of the Sinful Bloodline, he never imagined that this “Hao” would rise so swiftly to such heights.
He sighed inwardly. The only reason he hadn’t struck decisively was due to another powerful figure’s warning. Otherwise, he might have acted ruthlessly.
Even now, he felt no remorse—only frustration that he had missed his chance to kill Shi Hao.
“Still defiant, aren’t you? I see the resentment and poison in your eyes. Are you regretting not killing me sooner?” Shi Hao said.
Yuan Qing’s heart lurched. Could Shi Hao truly read his thoughts? His perception was terrifyingly sharp.
“Just a guess—testing you. But it seems you really are ‘regretful,'” Shi Hao’s voice turned icy.
“N-No, young friend, you misunderstand. I harbor no such thoughts,” Yuan Qing stammered.
*Crack!*
A crisp sound echoed as Shi Hao wrenched off Yuan Qing’s left arm, sending blood spraying in a gruesome display.
Yuan Qing groaned, staggering back, his body swaying as he nearly collapsed. His face turned deathly pale.
Shi Hao formed a sword seal, severing his other arm—a devastating blow that twisted Yuan Qing’s face in terror.
It wasn’t that Yuan Qing didn’t want to fight—he had already calculated that resistance meant certain death.
“Friend, I was wrong. Give me a chance to explain,” Yuan Qing pleaded.
“You’re just a lackey. What secrets of the Supreme Realm could you possibly know? The mysteries of the Immortal Dao?” Shi Hao scoffed, unmoved.
Yuan Qing’s expression darkened. He desperately wanted to live—the more cowardly one was, the more they feared death. He didn’t want to end up like the Feng Clan members.
Most would rebel against such humiliation, but Yuan Qing bowed his head, submitting to Shi Hao.
He endured, clinging to the slim hope of survival.
“Friend, do you realize how dangerous your situation is?” he said, trying to divert Shi Hao’s attention.
Shi Hao watched him coldly, silent.
For a moment, Yuan Qing felt suffocated by indignation. He wanted to lash out, to curse and defy, even if it meant death.
But he swallowed his rage. “The Three Thousand Provinces hold more than just the Immortal Palace’s crippled immortal. There are at least one or two others. If they target you, the consequences will be dire.”
“You know of them?” Shi Hao finally responded.
He had heard rumors—that besides the Immortal Palace’s existence, at least two or three other crippled immortals lurked in secrecy.
“Swear to spare me, and I’ll tell you everything,” Yuan Qing bargained.
Shi Hao smiled coldly and raised his hand again.
“Force me, and I’ll say nothing! And searching my soul will be futile!” Yuan Qing shrieked, backing away in fear.
*Thud!*
A sword beam shot from Shi Hao’s fingertip—his answer. Ruthless and decisive, it pierced Yuan Qing’s body.
“Ah—!” Yuan Qing screamed as half his body was shredded by the terrifying sword energy.
“Speak now, and I’ll grant you a quick death,” Shi Hao said.
*Boom!*
Yuan Qing roared, igniting his potential in a desperate bid to self-destruct and take Shi Hao with him.
But he underestimated Shi Hao’s power. A radiant halo enveloped the area, freezing Yuan Qing in place—his suicidal attack failed.
“You dare claim knowledge of crippled immortals? Even the Eternal Clans may not know their secrets!” Shi Hao sneered.
“I know one wields an ancient battle-axe!” Yuan Qing blurted.
“And?” Shi Hao pressed. He had heard of this weapon—a broken relic.
Years ago, during the Three Thousand Provinces’ genius competition, when he emerged from the Ancient Immortal Ruins, many sought to kill him. It was then that the Willow Deity appeared, slaughtering sect masters.
A decree had descended from the heavens, accompanied by a broken battle-axe wreathed in immortal light and chaos, carving words in the void—pleading for mercy.
That battle-axe’s master must have been a crippled immortal.
Shi Hao sighed, reminiscing about the Willow Deity. Where was it now? When would they meet again?
The Willow Deity’s path had been arduous—destroyed, reborn, rising and falling. From an Ancient Immortal Guardian to a sprouting sapling, it had endured countless trials.
Shi Hao had pieced together fragments of its past.
The Willow Deity had perished, reformed, grown mighty again, only to willingly weaken itself—why? Then came the heavens’ thunderous wrath.
In this life, perhaps it was no longer the Ancient Immortal Guardian.
Starting anew, it had severed not just its power but its memories.
Yet, if it reached the pinnacle once more, it would surely remember everything.
From supreme strength to frailty, rising and falling, only to return—it had survived against all odds.
Shi Hao believed the Willow Deity had now fully recovered. During his accidental journey to the Immortal Domain with San Zang and Shen Ming, he had seen traces of its passage—proof enough.
That dam, those roaring waves—they foretold much! Even true immortals had perished there, yet the Willow Deity had ventured beyond—it had grown strong enough.
Snapping back to the present, Shi Hao said, “You know only of a weapon. Useless.”
He raised his hand to strike again.
He didn’t need Yuan Qing’s information—Qin Changsheng knew far more.
“Wait! I know a great secret!” Yuan Qing screamed.
Shi Hao responded with another sword beam, bisecting him at the waist. Only in utter terror would Yuan Qing speak truthfully.
“The Primordial Ancient Mine! There may be a path to another world!” he howled in panic.
Shi Hao paused.
A path to another world? Where did it lead?
He recalled the descendants of the Guardians, who had once ventured into the mine seeking their ancestors’ secrets, only to trigger a flood of black blood.
Was it like the Immortal Tomb? Would peerless beings return from there one day?
“Elaborate!” Shi Hao demanded.
“I—” Yuan Qing stammered, too terrified to speak coherently.
“You know nothing more. Worthless.” Shi Hao’s voice was ice.
“No—!” Yuan Qing shrieked.
But Shi Hao gave him no further chances. A single sword stroke annihilated his soul, reducing his body to motes of light.
With Yuan Qing’s death, Shi Hao exhaled softly—a karmic debt settled.
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