A slender figure strolled leisurely across the ancient divine mountain, gazing at the nine heavens with an ethereal yet profoundly lonely aura—this was the Willow God. “These mountains, these waters, this world… all shall eventually fade into illusion,” they murmured softly. Unconcerned with the conflicts of the Celestial Race, the Golden Roc, and other mighty clans, they walked the Divine Mountain solely because they had detected a trace—footsteps left by someone.
Once, this figure had stood at the pinnacle of the divine path, supreme and untouchable, hailed as a taboo. Many believed they had perished, yet here on the Divine Mountain, remnants of their presence lingered. Half a stone bore a faint, incomplete footprint, yet it resonated deeply with the Willow God. Was this left behind when that person was gravely wounded?
A sensation, an acute intuition, surged through the Willow God. Silver threads of light shimmered in their eyes, mingling with chaos as visions unfolded—one scene after another. “Was it you who left behind this ancient formation, using the gate of life to escape death? Or do you still linger in this realm?” The Willow God’s gaze pierced through the desolate lands, searching, yearning to see that person once more.
“Are your words true?” A booming voice echoed from the distant palaces. The mighty True Howl Clan had arrived, their terrifying auras shaking the heavens as they questioned Shi Hao.
Among them stood a youth, his body gleaming like forged bronze. Though not yet twenty, he had already attained the rank of king, a powerhouse of the Array Formation Realm. The True Howl Clan, like the Golden-Winged Roc, were apex beings of the ancient era, descendants of celestial beasts whose pure-blooded lineage still commanded awe.
“Defeat a Golden Roc, and you gain an additional slot for crossing realms,” Shi Hao said with a smirk.
Howl Tian narrowed his eyes. “Why bother? My clan could simply force you—suppress you and that bald bird. Wouldn’t that grant us as many slots as we desire?”
“Do I look like an easy target?” Shi Hao retorted sharply. “I’ve even considered cooking a Golden Roc for dinner. You think I’d fear you? I’m only using you to stir trouble for them.”
“You’re… utterly shameless,” Howl Tian rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but find the brash youth oddly endearing. He, too, despised the Roc Clan.
Soon, the Azure Luan Clan arrived, closely allied with the Divine Mountain—else they wouldn’t have joined forces to explore the Kun Peng’s Nest in the past. Their hostility toward Shi Hao was palpable; had they not sensed something amiss, they might have already struck.
One by one, six or seven pure-blooded clans descended, all once revered as gods or demons, their lineages boasting celestial-tier powerhouses.
“Hey, Jin Yunxiao! Come here—let’s see if you’ve improved these past two years!” Howl Tian’s challenge stunned the crowd. No one expected him to actually provoke the Roc Clan.
“Enough!” An elder of the Howl Clan bellowed. His form remained untransformed, his obsidian fur gleaming, his aura terrifying. Symbols flickered around him like a divine halo, marking him as a beast-god incarnate.
From afar, Shi Hao’s mouth watered. A pure-blooded black howl—such rare prey! Even a scrap of its hide or a primal bone would be a fortune.
“Brat! Are you drooling at me?!” the elder roared, eyes bulging.
“N-no, Elder! You’re mistaken!” Shi Hao denied vehemently. “I was just thinking… shouldn’t you let him fight?”
Other clan elders glared at him, having long noticed his covetous glances. The audacity!
Soon, a deafening screech tore through the sky as golden feathers rained down. Jin Yunxiao, the Roc Clan’s prodigy, was carried back, half-dead after a brutal defeat.
“Howl Tian! You reckless whelp!” the Roc elder thundered.
“Howl Tian, you’re a true hero,” Shi Hao interjected. “For this, I’ll grant you an extra slot.”
“Deal!” Howl Tian grinned, enduring his clan’s reprimands before securing Shi Hao’s promise.
As the day wore on, more clashes erupted. The Roc Clan’s faces darkened with each humiliation, their pride wounded.
“This brat dares mock the Golden-Winged Roc lineage? Does he think we won’t crush him?” an elder hissed.
But Shi Hao had already moved on, engrossed in his “formation project.” The treasures amassed by the Roc, Howl, and Luan Clans glittered temptingly—mountains of divine materials ripe for the taking.
A seductive voice whispered in his ear, urging him to “help” and pilfer a share.
“No!” Shi Hao shook his head, resisting the bone tower’s temptation.
“Trade me an action for these riches. Would you let such an opportunity slip?” the tower coaxed.
Just then, the Willow God arrived. A single glance silenced the tower, leaving it sheepish.
“The Divine Mountain is amiss. Leave swiftly,” the Willow God warned Shi Hao and the Bald Rogue.
The gravity of their words struck deep. If the Willow God sensed danger, it was dire indeed.
“We’re still short three materials. Hurry,” the Bald Rogue urged.
A roar erupted from the mountains—a Golden Roc clashed with a thunderous Lion-Dragon, their battle shaking the heavens. A rogue cultivator, hearing of the Roc’s challenge, had come to test their might.
Shi Hao gaped. He’d expected minor skirmishes, not a full-blown duel between powerhouses. Though not pure-blooded, this Lion-Dragon had reached the Monarch Realm, overwhelming the Roc in a storm of lightning and feathers.
Victorious but battered, the Lion-Dragon stood triumphant.
“Does the Roc Clan take us for fools?” an elder snarled, murder in his eyes.
Yet the tide turned as clan leaders intervened, quelling further chaos. Shi Hao, heeding the Willow God’s warning, prepared to depart.
“Give them the armguard. This formation is… peculiar. Beware the karma it may invoke,” the bone tower cautioned.
For once, it revealed hidden truths—the repaired formation pulsed with an eerie energy, and the half-footprint on the stone grew clearer.
“It’s calling a forbidden existence. If completed, who knows what may awaken,” the tower murmured gravely.
“Who?” Shi Hao pressed.
The tower deferred to the Willow God, its own memories fragmented.
“Will this endanger us? Is repairing the formation even wise?” Shi Hao asked.
“The Celestial Race may depart unharmed—their ties to the formation’s creator run deep. Others… less so,” the Willow God stated plainly.
White mist coiled around the formation, invisible to all but the Willow God and the tower. Through the tower’s power, Shi Hao glimpsed the eerie aura—and the footprint, as if its owner might stride through the void at any moment.
A chill ran down his spine. Petty squabbles paled before this looming mystery. What could lure such beings to the desolate lands? What schemes were unfolding?
The Willow God’s prophecy echoed in his mind: the world would soon be upturned.
“Sever all ties here. Avoid the coming storm,” the tower urged.
This wasn’t what Shi Hao had envisioned. He’d dreamed of extorting tolls from crossers, amassing wealth. Now, he had to flee.
A sudden tremor coursed through him, his hairs standing on end.
“What’s happening?” he gasped.
“The great calamity begins,” the tower whispered.
“Why can’t others sense it?”
“Because you bear my presence. My awareness becomes yours.”
The tower’s tension was palpable—even it feared this cataclysm.
A blinding light split the sky—brighter than lightning, more radiant than the sun.
“What is that?!” Shi Hao tensed.
“A fracture in space. The upper realm’s powers are probing. You see it only through me.”
The tower’s solemn tone left no doubt: the reckoning was near.
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