The sun set in a crimson orb, blood-red and ominous. Along the long street, a young man sprinted like a tempest, charging alone toward the imperial palace of the Shi Kingdom. His hair whipped backward, his form resembling a flood dragon as he tore through the air with a thunderous roar.
“He’s back!” someone whispered, their face flushed, fists clenched—a mix of deep hatred, wariness, and an icy chill. “Shi Hao has returned. What storm will he bring? Who will inherit the throne of the Shi Kingdom?” Others trembled as they gazed down the street.
Shi Hao’s return had drawn the attention of many cultivators. In truth, his brief battle at Misty Rain Tower had spread like wildfire. A figure like him couldn’t avoid scrutiny the moment he appeared! Among the onlookers were hostile factions like the Rain Clan, powerful princes, and others—tension gripped the capital as everyone sensed an impending upheaval.
From the direction of the palace, imperial qi surged like a dragon, as if the emperor himself had emerged. A true dragon coiled in the sky, startling the entire royal family.
“Whoosh!” A rain of violet light descended, sizzling as it enveloped the air with overwhelming pressure, bearing down on Shi Hao. With a single flick of his finger, the violet rain shattered, exploding upward in defiance—unable to halt his advance.
“Fellow Daoist, stay your steps!” A voice called out, and a middle-aged Taoist appeared, blocking Shi Hao’s path.
Shi Hao’s expression was cold. With the palace undergoing strange changes, this man’s obstruction was nothing short of treason—clearly meant to bar him from entering at this critical moment.
“Move!” Two simple words, yet they carried boundless killing intent. Though still a youth, Shi Hao exuded an oppressive aura, unshaken by threats.
“Young friend, calm your wrath. Why such hostility? Sit, and let this humble Taoist speak with you.” The man hovered mid-air, dignified, and began chanting scriptures.
“Rustle—” Above his head, a violet scripture manifested, flipping autonomously, its pages shimmering with radiant light, suffused with the essence of the Great Dao.
Shi Hao sensed that the imperial qi within the palace was connected to him—it had appeared the moment he entered the city. The Stone Emperor, with his heaven-defying means, had possibly ignited his divine flame and left something behind for him. Now, deliberately obstructed, Shi Hao’s killing intent surged. Though his features were refined, almost celestial, his aura transformed into that of a god of slaughter.
“Young friend, be at ease. Let us discuss the Dao in peace,” the Taoist said, his eyes glinting with violet light, a single horn emerging on his forehead, resonating with the scripture.
“Are you serving the Heaven Mending Sect, the Immortal Mountain, or the Western Paradise Sect?” Shi Hao raised his fingers like a sword, wasting no time—even as he spoke, he struck.
“Clang!” A colossal sword beam pierced the heavens, radiant and razor-sharp—one of his strongest techniques, the Sword Intent of a Single Blade of Grass, learned from a beast-hide scroll.
A single blade of grass could sever the sun, moon, and stars! This was the power described in the scroll, the ambition Shi Hao pursued—to cleave celestial bodies from the cosmos with a mere gesture!
“Hmm?” The Taoist paled. His origins were extraordinary, far surpassing his peers—otherwise, how could he serve as a guardian of his sect? Yet, he felt an icy killing intent, the sword beam terrifying not just to the flesh but to the soul itself.
Above him, the violet scripture flipped violently, unleashing a storm of runes that formed a massive formation, pressing down on Shi Hao.
“Clang! Clang!” The sword hummed deafeningly. Shi Hao’s blade shattered swathes of runes, but the scripture was no ordinary artifact—it swiftly intensified the formation tenfold.
“Boom!” At last, the formation locked Shi Hao within. The Taoist sat cross-legged, his horn glowing as it synchronized with the scripture.
“Fellow Daoist, will you not sit?” the Taoist urged, channeling the scripture’s power—a vast violet mist surged forth, seeking to crush Shi Hao to the ground.
From afar, kings trembled—such force, and the artifact even more fearsome.
“Cease this insolence! Do you think the Marquis of Desolate Heaven’s estate has no one?” A group of elderly cultivators arrived—Shi Hao’s grandfather’s old comrades, rushing to his aid. They too sensed that the palace’s anomalies might concern Shi Hao’s fate.
“Hum!” A cyan spear shot forth, gleaming with treasure light—yet the moment it neared, it shattered into fragments, dissolved by the violet mist.
“Such power! Break!” Another cultivator hurled a bronze seal, swelling to the size of a small mountain—a king-tier treasure. Yet, as it descended into the formation, the violet scripture swept it with a single beam.
“Crack!” The seal shattered, erupting into dust.
The onlookers were stunned. The scripture was even mightier than imagined—able to dismantle king-tier artifacts effortlessly. What pressure must Shi Hao be enduring within?
“Uncles, step back. I need no aid,” Shi Hao declared. From the start, he had not underestimated this Taoist—anyone bold enough to challenge him now was no ordinary foe.
Within the formation, Shi Hao felt the scripture’s pressure—it was no trivial artifact. The Taoist alone could never have stopped him.
“Break!” Shi Hao roared, his body erupting with light—every pore exuding sword energy, a terrifying sight. Like a blazing sun, he ascended, charging straight at the scripture.
What technique was this? The crowd gasped.
Shi Hao’s sword energy clashed against the scripture in a deafening symphony, forcing it back. The Taoist panicked—his scripture was slipping from his control!
“Anchor!” Biting his tongue, the Taoist spat blood, reigniting the scripture’s power. It descended once more, pressing Shi Hao down with tenfold force.
Even Shi Hao, with his indomitable physique, was nearly crushed.
“The Mountain God Scripture!” someone cried.
“Beyond the Heaven Mending Sect, a mountain god attained enlightenment, leaving behind his fetal membrane as a scripture. It was brought to the Desolate Wastelands?” Outsiders recognized it, astonished.
Near the Heaven Mending Sect stood a violet mountain, nourished by spiritual energy until it gained sentience. It listened to the sect’s teachings, cultivating great power before departing to establish its own lineage.
Though not part of the sect, it revered them—acting as a guardian.
“But this is only a replica, not the true divine artifact… yet it carries traces of divine essence!”
The more they understood, the more they marveled—how could Shi Hao withstand such a relic?
“Whoosh!” A dark streak flashed—Shi Hao wielded a broken sword, amplifying his blade’s might. The scripture was sent flying.
“Thud!” With a swipe of his hand, the Taoist’s head tumbled, blood fountaining.
The crowd was stunned. A king, slain so effortlessly—Shi Hao’s only concern had been the scripture.
Crimson light surged as the Taoist’s essence was absorbed by the scripture. Instead of retreating, it emanated divine aura.
“Bad news!” The Marquis of Desolate Heaven’s men tensed—this replica, empowered by divine essence, could unleash true divine might.
But Shi Hao showed no fear. He had come prepared.
Yet before he could act, imperial qi erupted from the palace, obliterating the scripture into dust.
“A scripture empowered by divine essence was destroyed! The palace holds something extraordinary!”
From afar, the Lunar Grace Goddess spoke softly, “You see? He has grown formidable. With the Venerables vanished, few in this world can suppress him now.”
Beside her, prodigies from distant lands nodded gravely.
Shi Hao, as if sensing their gaze, turned. “I lack a handmaid. You’ll do.”
The crowd froze. Was he addressing the Lunar Grace Goddess? Such audacity! Who dared treat the Heaven Mending Sect’s peerless fairy so irreverently?
Even she was taken aback before replying coolly, “Are you capable?”
“Time will tell,” Shi Hao said, turning away.
Both knew—from this day forth, there would be no reconciliation. The next meeting would be a battle to the death.
Along the way, Shi Hao faced four more ambushes—all powerful marquises wielding sinister artifacts. None survived. Four heads rolled, silencing all dissent.
The palace loomed ahead, majestic. A dragon-shaped cloud coiled above, its oppressive might making all tremble.
“Halt! The palace is forbidden!” a guard barked from the walls, arrows nocked—enchanted to slay high-level cultivators.
Runes lit up along the battlements—a formation activating to suppress Shi Hao.
“The formation is damaged, broken in the cataclysm,” Shi Hao observed, yet he still felt immense pressure.
The Marquis of Desolate Heaven’s men raged—they had heard of an imperial decree summoning Shi Hao, but it had been suppressed.
“Stand down! The Emperor’s decree is here!” An old guard ascended the wall, proclaiming it aloud.
The opposing general hesitated, then withdrew with his men into the palace depths.
The gates swung open. Shi Hao strode in.
He had come with no intention of compromise.
If blood must flow like a river, so be it.
The Shi Kingdom’s legacy would not fall into the hands of outsiders.
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