The Dustfan Kingdom, the Dark Prison.
“Master, another batch of inferior subjects has been delivered,” an elderly man said respectfully, bowing with a hint of fear as he gazed at the white-robed middle-aged man seated cross-legged on a heated stone bed.
Nearly all the high-ranking figures of the Dustfan Kingdom feared their ruler.
And for good reason—the king was a second-level Cosmic God! Within the Dustfan Kingdom, no one dared defy him. Everyone could only obey.
“Oh?” The Dustfan King opened his eyes indifferently. “Will this batch be enough to fill a bottle?”
“Yes,” the old man replied, a chill running down his spine.
“Then proceed,” the Dustfan King said dismissively.
“As you command.”
The old man quickly withdrew.
The Dustfan King smirked coldly. He despised those foolish fiends who, in pursuit of their own cultivation paths, required countless lives as resources. But slaughtering too many subjects would inevitably draw the attention of a few powerful Cosmic Gods.
“Unlike them, I rule an entire kingdom. Through the kingdom’s laws, I harvest lives at will, minimizing the repercussions. And by serving the Divine Emperor of Annihilation… it’s effortless. Far easier than those fiends could ever imagine,” the Dustfan King mused with pride.
—
Meanwhile, the old man arrived at one of the Dark Prison’s levels. The prison itself was a vast spatial treasure, each layer immense beyond measure, housing countless weak subjects.
At a glance, the old man saw that this level was filled with subjects who had not yet become deities in twenty years—mere youths, their lives just beginning by the standards of the Heartcontinent Realm.
“So powerful!”
“Is he sent by the king?”
“Will he train us, temper us, and select the best among us?” The younglings trembled under the overwhelming aura of the old man, a Chaos Realm expert. To them, his presence was like an endless sea of clouds—terrifying yet inspiring hope.
They dreamed of being the chosen ones, the survivors.
“Pitiful. They have no idea they’re all destined for slaughter,” the old man thought, shaking his head inwardly. Occasionally, the king would spare a batch for life-and-death trials to maintain the illusion that this was the norm.
But ninety-nine percent never even got the chance to struggle—they were simply butchered.
“Who made you so weak?” As the king’s trusted disciple, the old man had grown accustomed to such bloodshed. His ruthlessness and efficiency earned him the king’s favor and rewards.
He produced a dark-red bottle.
“What is that elder doing?”
“What’s that bottle for?”
The younglings watched in confusion as the overwhelmingly powerful figure retrieved the ominous vessel.
They had no idea what it truly signified.
“The Dustfan King has three favored executioners under his command. You must be one of them,” a voice suddenly echoed in the old man’s mind.
His eyes widened as a faint finger-shadow materialized from the void and tapped his body.
Instantly, his form dissipated like smoke.
Dead.
The dark-red bottle clattered to the ground.
—
Elsewhere.
Dongbo Xueying arrived at the Dark Prison—and soon stood before the Dustfan King.
“Who are you?” The king’s expression darkened as he eyed the unfamiliar white-robed youth.
This intruder had teleported directly into his domain using Void Piercing! Yet his aura was merely that of a Chaos Realm cultivator.
“Bold of you to trespass here,” the Dustfan King growled. A faint melody began to resonate around them, seeping into Xueying’s ears.
But Xueying, a master of the Illusory Dao at the second level of Cosmic God, with a soul surpassing even a Supreme’s, was utterly unfazed.
“What?” The king was stunned. A Chaos Realm cultivator resisting his technique?
“Dustfan King, you rule this land, yet you slaughter half of every generation of newborns. The lives you’ve taken are as countless as mountains and seas. Do you feel nothing?” Xueying demanded.
Even killing so many ants would weigh on one’s conscience.
The king smiled faintly. “Of course I care, fellow Daoist. On the path of cultivation, those ants are my stepping stones. Their deaths serve my progress, and for that, I am grateful. Without them, how could I have come so far? Different paths demand different means—surely you understand.”
“In my Dao, one like you is a demon,” Xueying stated.
With a thought, he annihilated the Dark Prison’s three executioners. The Southcloud Sacred Sect’s intelligence had long documented their atrocities, and Xueying’s perception revealed the monstrous karma clinging to them.
“And demons must die.”
Xueying struck.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—
Nine white-robed figures appeared simultaneously, each extending a finger for a single, delicate tap.
The Dustfan King’s surroundings twisted into chaos. The chamber fractured into countless bubbles, each occupying a separate space.
As Xueying’s fingers pressed forward, the bubbles burst—one after another, a chain reaction of destruction.
The collapsing force grew, converging upon the king for a final, cataclysmic implosion.
Pop!
The last bubble—the one encasing the Dustfan King—shattered, and with it, the king himself.
His body disintegrated into nothingness.
Dustfan King—dead.
This was the third killing technique of the *Flying Snow Combat Arts*—*Infinite Bubbles, All Vanished*.
A seemingly gentle strike, yet it bypassed all external defenses to annihilate the target from within. Against a mere second-level Cosmic God without peak treasures, Xueying hadn’t even needed to deploy the *Voidfire Lotus*. His nine avatars, each wielding Supreme-level power, were more than enough. Had he used the lotus, even an ordinary Sovereign would have perished.
“Karma is karma. Retribution comes not when it’s absent, but when the time is ripe,” Xueying murmured coldly.
Now, the time had come.
—
The Dustfan King was dead.
By whose hand? A mystery. The top-tier Cosmic Gods of the Heartcontinent Realm were baffled—how could a second-level Cosmic God vanish so abruptly?
Though many factions attempted to trace the event or reverse time to observe, all investigations were thwarted. Any attempt to glimpse the past was met with interference.
With the king and his three executioners gone, the Dark Prison dissolved, freeing its countless prisoners. Though other malevolent forces remained in the Dustfan Kingdom, none dared emulate the king’s atrocities—such brazen cruelty required strength as a shield.
And even the Dustfan King’s power hadn’t saved him.
The kingdom underwent drastic changes, attracting the covetous eyes of other Cosmic Gods. As a second-rate nation, its remaining forces lacked the might to maintain control.
—
News reached the Divine Emperor of Annihilation, one of the Five Ancestors of the Myriad Ancient Kingdoms.
“Your Majesty, the Dustfan King is dead. The killer remains unknown, and no witnesses saw the battle,” a subordinate reported respectfully.
Seated upon his throne, clad in obsidian armor, the towering Divine Emperor radiated dominance. In all the Heartcontinent Realm, none matched his arrogance or might—his path of cultivation demanded nothing less.
“Interesting. Investigate. Though he was merely a guest under my banner, we should still determine who did this,” the emperor said casually.
“As you command.”
Suddenly—
A figure materialized beside them—a silver-robed elder with a gentle demeanor.
“The Wanderer?” The subordinate gasped. This was one of the Five Ancestors, a being of transcendent detachment.
The Divine Emperor waved his hand, dismissing the subordinate before smiling down at the elder.
“What brings you here?”
“Annihilation, I require some Primordial Sand. Sell it to me,” the Wanderer said.
The emperor laughed. “You, of all people, lack Primordial Sand? Even if you’re short, a little more time gathering would suffice. Why come to me?”
The Wanderer shook his head lightly. “I have my uses. Do not ask further.”
“Very well. If you need it, take it.”
The Divine Emperor nodded.
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