Chapter 186: Urgency

**Boom!**

The Leviathan Roc swooped down from beyond the Nine Heavens, plunging into the boundless ocean before transforming once more into a colossal fish—the Kun. It churned the endless waves, sweeping across the heavens. Legend had it that the Kun alone could overturn seas, shatter the skies, refine the stars, and shape all creation, standing unrivaled beneath the heavens! The Kun embodied the Yin aspect. Yet, it also possessed the form of the Peng—a creature of unyielding Yang, soaring through the void, its wings splitting the primordial chaos, too vast for the cosmos to contain.

When Kun and Peng merged as one, their might became immeasurable. No wonder, in an era teeming with ancient powerhouses, they ranked among the Ten Great Divine Birds and Fierce Beasts.

Now, having truly taken this step and mastered the rudiments of the Leviathan Roc’s divine technique, the runic transformations multiplied exponentially, and with them, the power surged beyond measure—unstoppable divine might!

Little Rascal sat cross-legged in silence, yet behind him, the world seemed to split apart. The Leviathan Roc, wreathed in mist, could fill the four seas and tower above the Nine Heavens, its majesty unparalleled.

After a long while, his eyes finally opened. The visions behind him faded—the boundless ocean, the Nine Heavens, and the Leviathan Roc slowly submerged into the mouth of a volcanic crater. A single rune flickered within, nourishing the divine beast within a single Heavenly Passage.

Finally, all phenomena vanished.

Little Rascal rose to his feet, his eyes gleaming with vitality, his spirit brimming with clarity. This evolution and sublimation of his divine technique had granted him profound insights.

For over a month, he had repeatedly transformed into the Leviathan Roc, leaping from the ocean into the Nine Heavens, experiencing its life—a journey unlike any other.

Without a doubt, this supreme divine technique far surpassed the Lion-Dragon’s. Once unleashed, it would sweep aside all techniques of its tier, forging the beginnings of an invincible momentum!

“My training in the Leviathan Roc’s technique has reached a temporary conclusion,” he muttered, scratching his head with pure joy. His bright eyes shimmered with hope—perhaps one day, he too would soar through the void like the divine birds, shattering the heavens themselves.

For over a month, he had secluded himself in the Pure Land, unseen by outsiders, yet far from lonely. Every moment had been filled with growth and exhilaration.

Emerging from the Pure Land, he first sought out Qing Feng, then tracked down Er Meng, whose eyes gleamed with greed as he eyed the Spirit Beasts of the Sky Mending Pavilion. Together, they feasted heartily.

In the world of the Holy Terror, happiness was simple—good food every day was enough.

The golden-furred creature, Little Rascal, had also sneaked over recently. It had been lying low after pilfering several spirit herbs from the Sky Mending Pavilion, fearing discovery.

“*Squeak! Squeak!*” The tiny golden thing chattered incessantly, its body glowing from too much Monkey Wine. It stumbled around drunkenly, nearly tumbling into the fire several times.

“Hmm, something’s off.” Little Rascal’s sharp instincts kicked in. He snatched up the furry creature and probed its body, sensing a dazzling brilliance within—signs of runes condensing!

Excitement surged through him. This was a Zhu Yan, possibly a true ancient Fierce Beast! The divine technique it carried was said to be earth-shattering.

“My Three Heads and Six Arms! My Seventy-Two Transformations! Hurry up and manifest!” He shook the drunken creature vigorously, its golden fur ruffled, its tiny body swaying in confusion.

“This thing is terrifying… Could it be a supreme powerhouse undergoing Nirvana?” Er Meng muttered suspiciously, eyeing the fist-sized golden furball.

Little Rascal scratched his head. Back in the depths of the mountains, during the battle of the four mighty beings, aside from the fiery divine sparrow, there had been a fleeting glimpse of a golden creature.

“*Squeak! Squeak!*” The golden furball grabbed a cup as tall as itself, trying to drink again, only to nearly faceplant into it.

“That bird is insane. It took down a whole group of senior brothers—so fierce!”

“It said it was looking for the ‘feral kid.’ Could it really be Little Junior Brother’s friend?”

Members of the Genius Camp arrived, chatting as they searched for Little Rascal.

“What’s going on?” Little Rascal asked, puzzled.

“Little Junior Brother, a huge crow showed up at the mountain gate, cawing nonstop. It claims to be your elder brother and says it knows the ‘big fatty’—Princess Huo Ling’er. It wants both of you to greet it,” a senior brother explained.

They had been patrolling the gate when the black crow descended from the sky, spouting nonsense and provoking them. The crow’s mouth was so foul that a group of disciples challenged it—only to be knocked flat. It wasn’t until a elder appeared that the crow finally cowered and stated its purpose.

Little Rascal’s eyes widened. He immediately guessed who it was.

This was a journey spanning hundreds of thousands of miles, across endless wilderness. That guy had actually crossed it all to find him—impressive!

Huo Ling’er received the news as well. She flipped a jade table in fury, gathered her entourage, and stormed toward the mountain gate.

*Big fatty?!*

Who knew how that cursed nickname had spread? Only that little thief had ever called her that! How dare a bird mock her like this?!

At the mountain gate, the big crow was strutting around, boasting to a group of young disciples about its legendary feats—eating White Tigers, gnawing on Rocs, even battling Zhujian and wrestling humanoid pure-blooded Fierce Beasts.

It even shamelessly schmoozed with an elder, chatting away merrily.

Little Rascal arrived and spotted the crow at once. It looked travel-worn, its feathers disheveled—clearly, it had flown an incredible distance.

“Er Meng! Your big brother’s here! Why aren’t you bowing?!” it crowed loudly.

It was the Big Red Bird.

The featherless freak was livid. In terms of seniority, it could have been the Big Red Bird’s ancestor! Yet here it was, being disrespected by this mangy bird.

“Why isn’t the fatty here? So ungrateful! And here I was, bringing her local specialties!” The Big Red Bird preened, though it dared not provoke Little Rascal—it knew all too well how ruthless he could be.

Unbeknownst to it, a curvaceous, devilishly beautiful young woman had already circled around with her entourage, cutting off its escape.

“Attack!”

A sharp command rang out. Huo Ling’er’s eyes flashed with fury, her flawless face darkening. Her voluptuous figure trembled with rage as countless runes surged forth like rain, pelting the black bird.

“*Screeeech!*” The Big Red Bird wailed—its big mouth had finally earned it retribution.

“Beat it up! Pluck its feathers! No mercy! We’ll make fans out of them—one for each of us! This is an Ancient Descendant, rare and precious!” Huo Ling’er shouted, rallying her fellow disciples.

“An Ancient Descendant?! Top-tier materials! Grab them!”

The crowd erupted in excitement, eyes gleaming with greed as they charged.

One person couldn’t take down an Ancient Descendant, but a mob? No problem! The disciples surged forward like bloodthirsty wolves, each eager to yank out dozens of feathers.

“*@#$%!*” The Big Red Bird cursed inwardly, regretting its life choices. It turned to Little Rascal for help.

“Save me! This beautiful fatty’s gone mad!”

But Little Rascal remained utterly calm, propping his chin on his hand as he settled onto a large rock to enjoy the show.

“Fatty, remember? It was the Feral Kid who first called you that—”

“*Shut up!*” Huo Ling’er seethed. Her figure was slender and graceful, her curves exquisite—how could anyone associate her with the word “fatty”? Infuriating!

“I’m poisonous! My black feathers corrode even divine bones! Look for yourselves!”

With a violent shake, black smoke billowed from its body.

“It *is* toxic! The feathers are shedding black… and bleeding?!” someone cried out.

The dye washed away, revealing crimson feathers beneath, glistening like blood.

“Don’t worry, it’s actually red—just dyed black,” Er Meng chimed in, utterly shameless.

From the crowd, it delivered a sneak kick, sending the Big Red Bird tumbling into a pond by the gate.

Splashing wildly, the bird’s true form was revealed—its red feathers now vibrant and radiant, pulsing with divine light.

“Er Meng! I’ll get you for this!” the Big Red Bird howled as the mob descended upon it.

The featherless freak explained calmly, “See how I look? That’s the result of donating my feathers. We’re of the same kind—our feathers possess supreme divinity. Once made into fans—”

Before it could finish, the crowd had already surged into the pond.

The Big Red Bird shrieked as, in no time at all, it was stripped bare—a true “Big Baldie” now.

“Fatty, that’s enough,” Little Rascal transmitted to Huo Ling’er, trying to mediate.

Naturally, this sparked another battle.

Last time, he had called the Fire Nation Princess “big fatty” alongside Xia Youyu and the War Goddess, nearly provoking her fury.

This time, she exploded.

Enraged, she clashed with the Holy Terror—only to be swiftly subdued.

“Junior Sister, you’re still not quite there yet. You need more practice in wrestling,” Little Rascal remarked, crouching to tap her flawless forehead before rummaging through her belongings for treasures.

“*You little thief!*” Huo Ling’er’s eyes blazed with fury, her peerless beauty twisted in indignation. Yet, pinned beneath him, she could only struggle helplessly as he looted her thoroughly.

“Everyone! Suppress him!” the Fire Nation Princess shouted.

Fortunately, the Holy Terror was strong enough to avoid being mobbed like the Big Red Bird. Still, he had to flee in the end.

The Big Red Bird was in a pitiful state—not a single feather left. It slunk behind Er Meng as they entered the Sky Mending Pavilion.

“Little Junior Brother, your tastes are… unique. First a weird featherless bird, now another one?” a passing disciple remarked, eyeing the dejected, plump bird with curiosity.

“Ah, they’re brothers. This one’s Big Baldie, that one’s Little Baldie,” Little Rascal explained nonchalantly.

“He’s my kin,” Er Meng added shamelessly, long since inured to embarrassment.

The Big Red Bird wished it could bury its head in the ground, its face burning with humiliation.

“*Woe is me!* Er Meng, this isn’t over!” it wailed, lunging at its featherless counterpart. Now, they truly looked like twins.

The Big Red Bird was nothing if not determined. After parting in the Hundred Shattered Mountains, it had traversed endless wilderness, evading countless dangers, all to seek out Little Rascal—hoping to learn from him and obtain that divine feather it coveted.

“Enough fighting. I’ll teach you some divine techniques and dao arts to boost your speed,” Little Rascal offered.

With upheaval looming over the Sky Mending Pavilion, he imparted fragments of runes to the Big Red Bird—techniques from the Zhulu Academy, inherited from the Golden-Winged Roc, to enhance its flight.

From that day onward, the Big Red Bird endured hellish training, mastering the new techniques. Its newly grown feathers shimmered with crimson and faint gold. Unlike Er Meng, whose condition was permanent, it had only been temporarily plucked. Within half a month, its plumage regrew—and its speed soared even higher.

Streaks of gold now laced its fiery wings as it darted through the skies like lightning. The once-dejected bird quickly regained its swagger.

In the following days, Little Rascal buried himself in the Scripture Pavilion, devouring every text he could find—regardless of type. At first, it seemed mundane, but with each passing day, his spirit grew sharper, his body more vibrant.

Over three months, he perused most of the bone scriptures, occasionally consulting the Sacrificial Spirit—especially eyeing the soil at its roots, where the Leviathan Roc’s bone had been unearthed.

Alas, he found nothing. The ancient vine seemed dormant, utterly silent.

In the end, he focused solely on the Scripture Pavilion, gleaning several minor divine techniques.

One day, the guardian of the pavilion—Old Liu—selected several scriptures for him, each crackling with lightning, their runes profound and intricate.

Little Rascal’s eyes lit up. These were the Sky Mending Pavilion’s legacy divine techniques—lightning-based. Though incomplete, their value was immeasurable.

Coincidentally, he already knew the Lion-Dragon’s technique, another lightning art. The two complemented each other perfectly.

“Thank you, Elder!” he said sincerely.

Old Liu’s hair was perpetually disheveled, his eyes often half-lidded as he lounged on a wicker chair by the entrance. Yet, he had grown increasingly fond of Little Rascal.

“The Sky Mending Pavilion’s techniques emphasize gradual mastery. The more scriptures you study, the deeper your understanding—and the greater your future achievements. I withheld the legacy techniques earlier because your foundation wasn’t solid enough. You advanced too quickly—more scripture study was needed to stabilize you,” Old Liu explained.

Little Rascal was stunned. This elder was terrifyingly perceptive—like Ghost Grandpa, he had seen through his rapid progress.

Undoubtedly, this was a supreme powerhouse!

Stationed in the Scripture Pavilion, he knew every bone scripture by heart. His earlier reluctance had been to prevent Little Rascal from rushing ahead and courting disaster.

This was a true master. Every disciple who came here likely received his guidance, their paths illuminated by his wisdom.

“Our sect’s supreme divine technique… was the Sky Mending Art. But it was lost in antiquity, during that cataclysmic war. Saints clashed, deities raged—even the Sacrificial Spirit nearly perished,” Old Liu sighed, his white hair wild, his face etched with sorrow.

Especially now, with calamity looming over the Sky Mending Pavilion, his despondency deepened.

From that day forth, Little Rascal immersed himself in lightning techniques, bathing in thunder, his body crackling with electricity. He lost himself in the laws of lightning, forgetting all else—tempering his flesh, refining his bones, even his breath now laced with sparks.

“You’ve come.”

This was a sacred mountain, its peak wreathed in lightning—a tempestuous ocean of thunder. Here stood the abode of Thunder Ancestor Mu Yan.

A single hall stood atop the summit, exuding an indomitable aura amidst the storm. Lightning was one of the Sky Mending Pavilion’s supreme arts, and this place was its holy ground—ordinarily forbidden to all.

Little Rascal had come here once before, pleading for the golden-furred creature’s life. This was his second visit—to seek the Thunder Ancestor’s guidance on the legacy technique.

“Please enlighten me, Senior,” he said respectfully.

The Thunder Ancestor was an imposing figure, his hair like steel needles, his eyes flashing with lightning. Even his breath crackled with thunder, a terrifying sight.

Yet, his smile was kind.

“You have great potential. One day, your name will shake the earth—perhaps even beyond the Wasteland,” he said warmly.

Despite his fearsome appearance, his guidance was patient and thorough, imparting all his insights without reservation. Under his tutelage, Little Rascal’s mastery of lightning surged forward by leaps and bounds.