“Ten Thousand Methods Return to the Origin!”
“Ten Thousand Methods Return to the Origin!” Yang Hao felt as if struck by lightning in advance—the voice was identical to that of Hun Yuanzi. Yang Hao recalled that once on the satellite of the Saint Bear Star, Wang Mu had triggered a simultaneous atmospheric explosion on the satellite, and the situation then was just like now—critical and life-threatening, with everyone’s fate hanging on Yang Hao. It was during that crisis that Hun Yuanzi had taught Yang Hao this very technique—the first spell he had ever learned.
“Zhi Qing Xuan Ling Dan Ding True Method! Barrier Technique!!!” Yang Hao roared the incantation, tears streaming down his face. An extraordinarily brilliant light erupted from his palms, like the first ray of sunlight piercing through a blackened sky after an eclipse—so explosive, so unstoppable. His palms overlapped, becoming a continuous outlet of power, from which endless streams of silver light spewed forth, surging overhead and cascading down like mercury, forming a waterfall of radiant light around Yang Hao’s body.
Barrier Technique!!! A true spell from the Dan and Ding dual cultivation sect, fundamentally different from the innate abilities of deities—this spell was the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy heaven itself, a force of entirely different origin.
When Sa’an’s Wrath of Heaven lightning met Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision between the two unleashed a breathtaking spectacle. A magnificent five-colored rainbow shimmered in the sky, and a violent storm erupted instantly, with raindrops the size of mung beans pelting down, splattering against the ground and the bodies of the deities. Yet the deities stood frozen, stunned by the celestial spectacle above, oblivious to the pain.
For no one had ever imagined that an ordinary human could block the “Wrath of Heaven” lightning from the King of the Dark Angels. Not only had he blocked it, he had done so without a scratch. And even more shockingly, he now charged forward with sword raised, attacking Sa’an once again.
“All Methods Return to the Origin!”
“All Methods Return to the Origin!” Yang Hao felt as if he had been struck by lightning in advance—the voice was identical to Hunyuanzi’s. Yang Hao remembered the time on the satellite of Saint Bear Star when Wang Mu triggered the atmospheric explosion. The situation then was just as dire as now, with everyone’s lives hanging in the balance, all depending on Yang Hao. It was at that critical moment that Hunyuanzi taught Yang Hao this spell—the first spell Yang Hao had ever learned in his life.
“Supreme Pure Mystic Cauldron True Method! Barrier Technique!!!” Tears streaming down his face, Yang Hao roared the incantation. A dazzling burst of light erupted from his palms. It was like the first ray of light piercing through the darkness after a solar eclipse—explosive and unstoppable. Yang Hao pressed his palms together, forming an endless outlet of power. A torrent of silver light surged from his hands, shooting upward before cascading down like liquid mercury, forming a radiant waterfall around his body.
Barrier Technique!!! A true spell of the Dual Cultivation Cauldron Sect. Unlike the innate abilities of the Divine Race, spells were the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy the heavens—an entirely different source of strength.
When Sa’an’s Wrath of Heaven lightning clashed with Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision produced an astonishing spectacle. A magnificent five-colored rainbow shimmered in the sky, and a sudden downpour of rain, as large as mung beans, pelted the Divine Race below. Yet, the Divine Race seemed stunned by the sight above, none of them even registering the rain.
Because no one could have imagined that an ordinary human could block the “Wrath of Heaven” of the Dark Angel King—not just block it, but emerge unscathed. And now, he was even charging at Sa’an again, sword in hand.
Relying on the Barrier Technique protecting his body, Yang Hao gritted his teeth and surged forward against the current. The flames on his Blazing Sword erupted into a massive inferno as he thrust it toward Sa’an’s chest.
“Insolence!” Sa’an was momentarily stunned by Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, but someone of his stature would never allow himself to be struck by Yang Hao’s sword. With a flick of his hand, a silver long axe materialized in his grip.
“Night Axe!” a four-winged dark angel gasped in shock.
The others were too stunned to speak. In the past several millennia, when had anyone ever seen Sa’an draw his famed weapon, the Night Axe, in battle? Even when facing mid-tier Divine Race opponents, Sa’an had only used his bare hands. Yet now, in less than two exchanges, Sa’an had already unsheathed his weapon—proof of how seriously he regarded this ordinary human.
The Night Axe held immense prestige among the Divine Race. Everyone knew it was Sa’an’s signature weapon of execution. Among all axe-wielding races and masters in the world, none could rival the Night Axe.
The origins of this axe were bizarre. Countless years ago, when Sa’an had just fallen and become the first and only dark angel in the world, constantly hunted by the Angel Race, he extracted the purest essence from the darkness of night to forge this weapon—blacker than darkness, deeper than midnight.
From the moment of its birth, the Night Axe was pitch black, making it nearly invisible when wielded at night. But it had one peculiar trait: every time it killed an angel, a silver speck would appear on its surface. Over time, as Sa’an rose from a lone dark angel to the Dark Angel King, the Night Axe transformed from pure black to a gleaming silver—proof of how many light angels had fallen to its blade.
And now, this legendary weapon, which had slaughtered countless light angels, was being used against a mere human like Yang Hao. Whether this was an honor or a tragedy for Yang Hao was hard to say.
Sa’an, however, was utterly ruthless. His expression icy, his long hair billowing, he raised the axe with one hand and swung it down toward Yang Hao’s head.
The might of the Night Axe was unparalleled. According to obscure historical records, over 90% of all axe techniques in the world traced their origins to the Night Axe. Even the renowned “Gold-Splitting Cleave” of the Bearman Elder Hede was derived from its techniques—meaning Hede was essentially Sa’an’s disciple in spirit.
The axe descended without flourish, yet it seemed to cleave through space and time itself. Everything froze. The Wrath of Heaven lightning vanished instantly, its thousands of volts dissipating into the clouds. The wind stilled, the rain ceased.
Wherever the silver axe blade passed, all things fled in terror. Even the air dared not resist, let alone Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique. The radiant waterfall of light was instantly split in two, dissolving into nothingness.
The Night Axe loomed over Yang Hao’s head. With his barrier shattered, his only hope was to withdraw his Blazing Sword to defend himself—a move Sa’an had anticipated, hence his counterattack.
But Yang Hao often acted unpredictably. Just as everyone thought he had no choice but to defend, he did the unthinkable—he let go of his sword, casting the Blazing Sword aside.
Yang Hao could have raised his sword to block. Though the Night Axe was incomparably stronger, it might have given him a slim chance of survival. Even if he had resolved to perish together with Sa’an, he could have ignored defense and continued his thrust, ensuring at least a mutual wound.
Yet he chose neither. Instead, he dropped his sword as if surrendering—no longer attacking, no longer defending. He lifted his head, eyes tightly shut, offering his neck to the blade.
This stunned everyone. Just moments ago, Yang Hao had been brimming with confidence, challenging Sa’an with unyielding determination. Now, he stood unresisting, waiting for the axe to cleave him in two.
No one could understand it—not even Sa’an himself. The Dark Angel King’s wrist tensed, halting the descending Night Axe mid-swing. The axe, already in motion like a falling star, would have been unstoppable by anyone else. Even so, the residual force split Yang Hao’s scalp, sending a trail of bright blood down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver axe blade hovered a hair’s breadth from his eyelids, exuding a sinister, bloodthirsty aura.
Yet Yang Hao smiled—a triumphant smile. It was as if he had known all along that Sa’an would show mercy at the last moment, that the proud Dark King would not slay an unarmed human.
“Wind Split!” Yang Hao’s voice tore through the air like rending silk, a sound that seemed to echo from ancient times, shaking the hearts of all who heard it.
Sa’an hesitated for a split second at Yang Hao’s smile—but in battles between masters, victory and defeat often hinge on such moments. When Yang Hao uttered those two words, only Xin Mei among the onlookers might have grasped their meaning.
No one could have imagined that someone as weak as Yang Hao still had a killing move. These lofty Divine Race beings would never understand that any lowly race, when pushed to the brink of life and death, could unleash extraordinary power. They would never comprehend that every individual held unique value, with talents beyond others’ understanding.
Though Sa’an didn’t know what “Wind Split” was, he sensed an icy chill—a sensation he hadn’t felt in ages, reminiscent of the endless solitude after his fall into darkness.
A shiver ran down Sa’an’s spine. In a thousand years, no one had evoked such a feeling in him. And when Yang Hao clenched his fists after speaking, a formidable surge of spiritual energy erupted from his body, looming over Sa’an’s head.
Now, even those with minimal spiritual perception could see it—a blue glint materialized above Sa’an’s head. This small sword had been hidden in the air, completely undetectable until now. Even Sa’an, who had allowed it to approach, had mistaken it for empty space.
Only when Yang Hao channeled his spiritual energy into the sword did its overwhelming power reveal its presence. But by then, it was too late. Yang Hao had already ensured that no one could stop it.
Because of speed. In all the world’s techniques, everything can be countered—except speed.
The hidden sword struck with velocity beyond perception, aiming straight for Sa’an’s crown. This assassination technique was something Yang Hao had conceived long ago, but his spiritual power had been too weak to accelerate the sword with his mind. Previously, he could only deploy it stealthily.
Now, after being tempered by dragon’s breath and undergoing his first metamorphosis, Yang Hao’s spiritual strength rivaled that of a dragon. His mind could now infuse energy into the hidden sword from a distance, accelerating it to its maximum speed in an instant—making this assassination possible.
An ambush against a true master.
Sa’an was powerless. Even as the Dark Angel King, even with the Night Axe in hand, how could he possibly raise his weapon to block in such a fleeting moment?
Everyone could see Sa’an’s peril. The Divine Race held their breath in shock. An ordinary human had pushed the Dark Angel King to the brink—what kind of heaven-defying situation was this?
Some dark angels even collapsed weakly on the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their king being slain by this upstart.
Even Yun Shang had already prepared to unleash his reality-altering “Reverse Flow” technique, intending to freeze time momentarily to save Sa’an.
“All Laws Return to the Origin!”
“All Laws Return to the Origin!” Yang Hao felt as if struck by lightning—the voice was identical to Hunyuanzi’s. Yang Hao remembered the time on the satellite of the Sacred Bear Star when Wang Mu triggered the atmospheric explosion. The situation then was just as dire as now, with everyone’s lives hanging on Yang Hao’s actions. It was at that critical moment that Hunyuanzi taught him this spell—the first spell Yang Hao ever learned in his life.
“Supreme Purity Mystic Cauldron True Method! Barrier Technique!!!” Tears streaming down his face, Yang Hao roared the incantation. A dazzling burst of light erupted from his palms. It was like the first ray of light breaking through the darkness after a solar eclipse—explosive and unstoppable. Yang Hao pressed his palms together, forming an inexhaustible outlet of power. Endless silver light surged forth, shooting upward before cascading down like liquid mercury, forming a radiant waterfall around his body.
Barrier Technique! A true spell of the Dual Cultivation Cauldron Sect. Unlike the innate abilities of the Divine Race, spells were the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy heaven itself—a force of an entirely different origin.
When Sa’an’s Wrath of Heaven lightning clashed with Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision produced an astonishing spectacle. A magnificent five-colored rainbow illuminated the sky, and a torrential downpour instantly followed. Raindrops the size of green beans pelted the Divine Race below, yet they stood frozen, utterly stunned by the sight above.
No one had ever imagined that an ordinary human could withstand the “Wrath of Heaven” of the Dark Angel King—not only withstand it but emerge unscathed. And now, sword in hand, Yang Hao was launching another attack at Sa’an.
Bolstered by the Barrier Technique, Yang Hao gritted his teeth and surged forward against the current. The flames on his Blazing Sword erupted into a colossal inferno as he thrust toward Sa’an’s chest.
“Insolence!” Sa’an was momentarily stunned by Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, but someone of his stature could never be struck by Yang Hao’s sword. With a mere flick of his wrist, a silver battle-axe materialized in his grasp.
“Night Axe!” a four-winged Dark Angel gasped in shock.
Others were too stunned to speak. In thousands of years, no one had ever seen Sa’an draw his famed weapon, the Night Axe, in battle. Even against mid-tier Divine Race opponents, Sa’an had only ever fought barehanded. Yet now, within just two exchanges, he had unsheathed his weapon—proof of how seriously he regarded this ordinary human.
The Night Axe held legendary status among the Divine Race. It was widely known as Sa’an’s ultimate killing tool, revered as the pinnacle of axe-wielding mastery across all races and experts.
The origins of this axe were shrouded in mystery. Countless years ago, when Sa’an had just fallen and become the first and only Dark Angel, hunted relentlessly by the Angel Race, he forged this weapon by extracting the purest essence of the night. The result was an axe darker than darkness itself, deeper than the deepest midnight.
From the moment of its creation, the Night Axe was black, blending seamlessly into the night, invisible to all. But it had one peculiar trait: every time it slew an angel, a silver speck would appear on its surface. Over the ages, as Sa’an rose from a lone Dark Angel to the Dark Angel King, the Night Axe transformed from pure black to a gleaming silver—testament to the countless Light Angels it had slain.
And now, this weapon of angelic slaughter was being wielded against a mere human like Yang Hao. Whether this was an honor or a tragedy for Yang Hao remained unclear.
Sa’an, however, was utterly ruthless. His expression icy, his long hair billowing, he raised the axe with one hand and brought it down toward Yang Hao’s head.
The Night Axe’s power was unparalleled. According to obscure legends, over 90% of all axe techniques in the world traced their origins to this weapon. Even the renowned “Gold-Splitting Cleave” of the Bearman Elder Hede was derived from the Night Axe’s techniques—making Hede little more than a disciple of Sa’an.
The axe descended without flourish, yet it seemed to cleave through dimensions, freezing time itself. The Wrath of Heaven vanished instantly, its thousands of volts dissipating into the clouds. The wind stilled, the rain ceased.
Where the silver blade passed, all things fled. Even the air dared not resist, let alone Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique. The radiant waterfall of light was split in two and scattered into nothingness.
With the Night Axe looming over his head, Yang Hao had no defense left. His only option was to withdraw his Blazing Sword to block. Sa’an had anticipated this, shifting from defense to offense.
But Yang Hao was full of surprises. Just as everyone thought he would retreat to save himself, he did the unthinkable—he let go of his sword, casting it aside.
Yang Hao could have raised his sword to defend, though the Night Axe was incomparably stronger. At least that would have given him a slim chance of survival. Even if he had resolved to die with Sa’an, he could have ignored the attack and continued his thrust, ensuring mutual injury.
Yet he chose neither. Instead, he dropped his sword, as if abandoning all resistance. He neither attacked nor defended. Lifting his head, he closed his eyes tightly, offering his neck to the blade.
This was beyond anyone’s expectations. Moments ago, Yang Hao had been brimming with confidence, challenging Sa’an with unyielding determination. Now, he stood unresisting, waiting for the axe to cleave him in two.
No one could understand this sudden shift—not even Sa’an. Startled, Sa’an tightened his grip, halting the descending axe mid-swing. The weapon, already in motion, was nearly unstoppable—only Sa’an himself could have arrested its fall. Yet even so, the sheer force of the swing split Yang Hao’s scalp, blood streaming down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver edge of the axe hovered a hair’s breadth from his eyelids, exuding a sinister, bloodthirsty aura.
Yang Hao smiled—a triumphant smile. It was as if he had known all along that Sa’an would show mercy, that the proud Dark King would not slay an unarmed human.
“Wind Split!” Yang Hao’s voice tore through the air like rending silk, a sound that seemed to echo from ancient times, shaking the hearts of all who heard it.
Sa’an faltered for a split second at Yang Hao’s smile. But in battles of this level, victory and defeat often hinged on such moments. When Yang Hao uttered those two words, none present—save Xin Mei—understood their meaning.
No one could have imagined that a seemingly weak human could still have a killing move. These lofty Divine Race members would never comprehend that any lowly race, when pushed to the brink of life and death, could unleash extraordinary power. Nor would they understand that every individual held unique value, with talents beyond others’ grasp.
Though Sa’an didn’t know what “Wind Split” was, he sensed an icy chill—a sensation he hadn’t felt in ages, reminiscent of the endless solitude after his fall into darkness.
A shiver ran through Sa’an’s heart. In a thousand years, no one had evoked such a feeling in him. And as Yang Hao clenched his fists, a formidable surge of spiritual energy erupted from his body, looming over Sa’an’s head.
Now, even those with the slightest spiritual perception could see it—a blue glint materialized above Sa’an’s head. This tiny sword had been concealed in the air, undetectable until now. Even Sa’an, who had allowed it to approach, remained oblivious.
Only when Yang Hao channeled his spiritual energy into the sword did its overwhelming power reveal its presence. But by then, it was too late. Yang Hao had already ensured that nothing could stop it.
Because of speed. In all the world’s techniques, only speed was unbreakable.
The Hidden Sword moved faster than anything, its trajectory invisible as it shot toward Sa’an’s crown. This killing move was something Yang Hao had conceived long ago, but his spiritual power had been too weak to accelerate the sword with his mind. Previously, he could only deploy it stealthily.
But now, after being tempered by dragon’s breath and undergoing his first metamorphosis, Yang Hao’s spiritual strength rivaled that of a dragon. His consciousness could now infuse energy into the Hidden Sword from a distance, accelerating it to its maximum speed in an instant—enabling this assassination attempt.
An ambush against a true master.
Sa’an was powerless. Even as the Dark Angel King, even with the Night Axe in hand, how could he possibly react in such a fleeting moment?
Everyone could see Sa’an’s peril, yet the Divine Race stood breathless in shock. An ordinary human had pushed the Dark Angel King to the brink—a defiance of heaven itself.
Some Dark Angels even collapsed onto the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their king falling to a mere mortal.
Even Yun Shang, poised to unleash his time-altering “Reverse Flow” technique to freeze time and save Sa’an, hesitated.
“Night Axe!” one of the four-winged Dark Angels gasped aloud.
Others were already too stunned to speak. In all the millennia, when had anyone ever seen Sa’an actually draw his legendary weapon, the Night Axe, in battle? Even when fighting mid-tier deities, Sa’an had always used his bare hands. Yet now, within just two moves, he had drawn his weapon—revealing just how seriously he regarded this ordinary human.
The Night Axe was legendary among the deities, known to all as Sa’an’s ultimate weapon. It was said that among all axe-wielding races and masters across the world, none surpassed the Night Axe wielded by Sa’an.
The origins of this axe were shrouded in mystery. Long ago, when Sa’an had just fallen from grace and become the first Dark Angel, hunted relentlessly by the Angel race, he forged the axe by extracting the purest essence from the darkness of night. The result was a weapon darker than darkness itself, deeper than the deepest night.
From the moment of its creation, the axe had been black, nearly invisible in the dark. But it had a unique trait: each time it killed an angel, a silver speck would appear on its surface. Over the centuries, as Sa’an transformed from a solitary Dark Angel into the King of Dark Angels, the axe had changed from pure black to gleaming silver—testament to the countless Light Angels he had slain with it.
And now, this weapon of divine slaughter was being used against Yang Hao, a mere mortal. Whether this was an honor or a tragedy for Yang Hao, none could say.
Sa’an wielded it like a butcher’s knife against a chicken, his expression cold, his long hair fluttering as he swung the axe down toward Yang Hao’s head with one hand.
What power did the Night Axe possess? According to obscure historical records, over ninety percent of all axe techniques in the world originated from the Night Axe. Even the famed “Golden Severance” technique of Elder Herd of the Human Bear Clan was derived from the Night Axe’s style. In a sense, Herd was merely Sa’an’s distant disciple.
As the axe descended in a motion devoid of flourish, it seemed to cleave through dimensions themselves, freezing time and space. The Wrath of Heaven lightning vanished instantly, its tens of thousands of volts absorbed into the clouds. The wind ceased, the rain stopped.
Wherever the silver edge of the axe passed, all things fled in terror—not even the air dared to resist, let alone Yang Hao’s barrier. The radiant waterfall of protection shattered into two halves, dissipating into nothingness before the Night Axe’s strike.
“All Methods Return to the Source!”
“All Methods Return to the Source!” Yang Hao felt as if struck by lightning—the voice was identical to Hunyuanzi’s. He remembered back on the satellite of Saint Bear Star, when Wang Mu triggered the atmospheric explosion. The situation then was just as dire as now, with everyone’s lives hanging by a thread, resting solely on Yang Hao’s shoulders. It was at that critical moment that Hunyuanzi taught him this spell—the first spell Yang Hao had ever learned in his life.
“Supreme Purity Mystic Cauldron True Method! Barrier Technique!!!” Tears streaming down his face, Yang Hao roared the incantation. A dazzling burst of light erupted from his palms. It was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through the darkness after an eclipse—explosive and unstoppable. His hands pressed together as if forming an inexhaustible outlet of power, from which endless silver radiance surged forth, shooting past his head before cascading down like liquid mercury, forming a luminous waterfall around his body.
Barrier Technique!! A true spell of the Dual Cultivation Sect of the Cauldron. Unlike the innate abilities of the Divine Race, spells were the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy heaven itself—a force of an entirely different origin.
When Sa’an’s Wrath of Heaven lightning clashed with Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision produced an astonishing spectacle. A magnificent five-colored rainbow shimmered in the sky, and a torrential downpour instantly followed. Bean-sized raindrops pelted the Divine Race below, yet they stood frozen, utterly stunned by the sight above.
For no one had ever imagined that an ordinary human could block the “Wrath of Heaven” of the Dark Angel King—not just block it, but emerge unscathed. And now, sword in hand, Yang Hao was launching another attack at Sa’an.
Bolstered by the Barrier Technique, Yang Hao gritted his teeth and surged forward against the current. The flames on his Blazing Sword erupted into a colossal inferno as he thrust toward Sa’an’s chest.
“Insolence!” Sa’an was momentarily stunned by Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, but someone of his stature could never be struck by such a blade. With a mere flick of his wrist, a silver battle-axe materialized in his grasp.
“Night Axe!” a four-winged dark angel gasped in shock.
The others were too stunned to speak. In thousands of years, no one had ever seen Sa’an draw his famed weapon, the Night Axe, in battle. Even against mid-tier Divine Race opponents, he had only ever fought barehanded. Yet now, within just two exchanges, Sa’an had unsheathed his weapon—proof of how seriously he regarded this ordinary human.
The Night Axe held immense renown among the Divine Race. It was widely known as Sa’an’s ultimate killing tool, revered as the pinnacle of axe-wielding techniques across all races and masters.
The origins of this axe were shrouded in mystery. Countless years ago, when Sa’an had just fallen and become the first and only dark angel, hunted relentlessly by the angelic race, he forged this weapon by extracting the purest essence of the night. The result was an axe darker than darkness itself, deeper than the blackest midnight.
From the moment of its creation, the Night Axe was pitch black, invisible in the night. But it had one peculiar trait—every time it slew an angel, a silver speck would appear on its surface. Over the eons, as Sa’an rose from a lone dark angel to the Dark Angel King, the Night Axe transformed from pure black to a gleaming silver, a testament to the countless angels it had slain.
And now, this weapon, once used to massacre angels of light, was being wielded against a mere human like Yang Hao. Whether this was an honor or a tragedy for Yang Hao remained unclear.
Sa’an, however, was utterly ruthless. His expression icy, his long hair billowing, he raised the axe with one hand and brought it down toward Yang Hao’s head.
The might of the Night Axe was legendary. According to obscure historical records, over 90% of all axe techniques in the world traced their origins back to it. Even the renowned “Gold-Splitting Cleave” of the Bear Clan elder, Hurd, was derived from the Night Axe’s techniques—making Hurd little more than a disciple of Sa’an.
The axe descended without flourish, yet it seemed to cleave through dimensions themselves. Everything froze—the Wrath of Heaven vanished, the tens of thousands of volts dissipating into the clouds. The wind stilled, the rain ceased.
Where the silver blade passed, all things fled. Even the air dared not resist, let alone Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique. The luminous waterfall shattered instantly under the Night Axe’s strike, dissolving into nothingness.
With the Night Axe looming over his head, Yang Hao had no defense left. His only option was to withdraw his Blazing Sword to block—a move Sa’an had anticipated, hence his counterattack.
But Yang Hao was full of surprises. Just as everyone assumed he would either defend or strike back in desperation, he did the unthinkable—he let go of his sword.
He could have raised his blade to block, though the Night Axe was incomparably stronger. At least that would have given him a slim chance of survival. Or, if he sought mutual destruction, he could have ignored defense and thrust forward, wounding Sa’an even as he was struck.
Yet he chose neither. Instead, he dropped his sword, as if surrendering all resistance. He neither attacked nor defended. Lifting his head, he closed his eyes tightly, offering his neck to the blade.
This stunned everyone. Moments ago, Yang Hao had been brimming with confidence, challenging Sa’an with unyielding determination. Now, he stood unresisting, waiting for the axe to cleave him in two.
No one could comprehend this shift—not even Sa’an himself. Startled, Sa’an tightened his grip, halting the descending axe mid-swing. The weapon, already in motion, was nearly unstoppable—only Sa’an himself could have stopped it. Yet even so, the sheer force of the swing split Yang Hao’s scalp, blood trickling down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver edge hovered a hair’s breadth from his eyelids, exuding a chilling, bloodthirsty aura.
And Yang Hao smiled—a triumphant smile. It was as if he had known all along that Sa’an would hold back, that the proud Dark King would never slay an unarmed human.
“Wind Split!” Yang Hao’s voice tore through the air like rending silk, a sound that seemed to echo from ancient times, shaking the very souls of those who heard it.
Sa’an faltered for a split second at Yang Hao’s smile—a fatal hesitation in a battle of this caliber. When Yang Hao uttered those two words, none present, save Xin Mei, understood their meaning.
No one could have imagined that a human, weak beyond measure, could possess a killing move. These lofty Divine Race members would never comprehend that even the lowest of beings, when pushed to the brink of life and death, could unleash extraordinary power. Nor would they understand that every individual held unique value, with talents beyond others’ grasp.
Though Sa’an didn’t know what “Wind Split” was, he sensed an icy dread—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in ages, reminiscent of the endless solitude after his fall into darkness.
A chill ran down his spine. In a thousand years, no one had evoked such a sensation in him. And as Yang Hao clenched his fists, a surge of formidable spiritual energy erupted from his body, looming over Sa’an’s head.
Now, even those with the slightest spiritual perception could see it—a blue glint materialized above Sa’an. This tiny sword had been concealed within the air itself, undetectable until Yang Hao infused it with his spiritual energy, unleashing its latent power.
But by then, it was too late. Yang Hao had already ensured that no one could intercept it.
Because of speed.
In all the world’s techniques, there was always a counter—except for speed. Unmatched speed was invincible.
The hidden sword shot toward Sa’an’s crown with a velocity beyond perception. This killing move was something Yang Hao had conceived long ago, but his spiritual power had been too weak to accelerate the sword effectively. Now, after being tempered by dragon’s breath and undergoing his first metamorphosis, his mental strength rivaled that of a dragon. His spirit could now channel energy into the sword from a distance, accelerating it to its maximum speed in an instant—making this assassination possible.
An ambush against a true master.
Sa’an was powerless. Even as the Dark Angel King, even with the Night Axe in hand, how could he possibly react in such a fleeting moment?
Everyone could see Sa’an’s peril. The Divine Race held their breath in shock. An ordinary human had pushed their king to the brink—an inconceivable reversal of fate.
Some dark angels collapsed onto the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their king falling to a mere mortal.
Even Yun Shang prepared to act, ready to unleash his time-altering “Reverse Flow” technique to freeze time and save Sa’an.
But Yang Hao’s actions were often unpredictable.
“All Methods Return to the Origin!”
“All Methods Return to the Origin!” Yang Hao felt as if he had been struck by lightning in advance—the voice was identical to Hunyuanzi’s. Yang Hao remembered the time on the satellite of Saint Bear Star when Wang Mu triggered the atmospheric explosion. The situation then was just as dire as now, with everyone’s lives hanging on Yang Hao’s actions. It was at that critical moment that Hunyuanzi taught him this spell—the first spell Yang Hao had ever learned in his life.
“Supreme Purity Mystic Cauldron True Method! Barrier Technique!!!” Tears streamed down Yang Hao’s face as he roared the incantation. A dazzling burst of light erupted from his palms. It was like the first ray of light piercing through the darkness after a solar eclipse—explosive and unstoppable. Yang Hao pressed his palms together, forming an endless outlet of power. Silver radiance gushed forth, soaring above his head before cascading down like liquid mercury, forming a waterfall of light around his body.
Barrier Technique! A true spell of the Dual Cultivation Sect of the Cauldron. Unlike the innate abilities of the divine race, spells were the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy heaven itself—an entirely different source of strength.
When Sa’an’s “Wrath of Heaven Lightning” clashed with Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision produced an astonishing spectacle. A magnificent five-colored rainbow shimmered in the sky, and a sudden torrential downpour erupted. Raindrops the size of mung beans pelted the divine race below, yet they stood frozen, as if stunned by the spectacle above.
No one had ever imagined that an ordinary human could block the “Wrath of Heaven Lightning” of the Dark Angel King—not only block it but emerge unscathed. And now, he was even charging at Sa’an again, sword in hand.
Bolstered by the Barrier Technique, Yang Hao gritted his teeth and surged forward against the current. The flames on his sword erupted into a massive blaze as he thrust toward Sa’an’s chest.
“Insolence!” Sa’an was momentarily stunned by Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, but someone of his stature could never be struck by Yang Hao’s flaming sword. With a mere flick of his wrist, a silver battle-axe materialized in his grasp.
“Night Axe!” a four-winged dark angel gasped in shock.
The others were too stunned to speak. In thousands of years, no one had ever seen Sa’an draw his legendary weapon, the Night Axe, in battle. Even when facing mid-tier divine beings, Sa’an had only used his bare hands. Yet now, within just two exchanges, he had unsheathed his weapon—proof of how seriously he took this ordinary human.
The Night Axe held immense prestige among the divine race. Everyone knew it was Sa’an’s ultimate killing tool, revered as the pinnacle of all axe-wielding races and masters across the world.
The origin of this axe was bizarre. Countless years ago, when Sa’an had just fallen and become the first and only dark angel, hunted relentlessly by the angelic race, he extracted the purest essence from the night itself to forge a weapon darker than darkness, deeper than midnight.
From the moment of its birth, the Night Axe was black, invisible in the night. But it had one peculiar trait—every time it killed an angel, a silver speck would appear on its surface. Over time, as Sa’an rose from a lone dark angel to the Dark Angel King, the Night Axe transformed from pure black to gleaming silver, a testament to the countless angels it had slain.
And now, this legendary weapon, once used to slaughter angels of light, was being wielded against a mere human like Yang Hao. Whether this was an honor or a tragedy for Yang Hao remained unclear.
Sa’an, however, was utterly ruthless. His expression icy, his long hair billowing, he swung the axe downward with one hand, aiming for Yang Hao’s skull.
The Night Axe’s power was unparalleled. According to obscure legends, over 90% of all axe techniques in the world traced their origins to it. Even the renowned “Gold-Splitting Cleave” of the Bear Clan elder, Hurd, was derived from the Night Axe’s techniques—making Hurd little more than Sa’an’s disciple in spirit.
The seemingly simple downward strike seemed to cleave through time and space itself. Everything froze. The Wrath of Heaven Lightning vanished instantly, its thousands of volts dissipating into the clouds. The wind died, the rain ceased.
Wherever the silver axe blade passed, all things fled in terror. Even the air dared not resist, let alone Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique. The radiant waterfall of light split in two under the Night Axe’s strike, vanishing without a trace.
The Night Axe descended upon Yang Hao’s head. With no barrier left, his only option was to withdraw his flaming sword to defend himself—a move Sa’an had anticipated, hence his counterattack.
But Yang Hao often defied expectations. Just as everyone thought he would retreat to save himself, he did the unthinkable—he let go of his sword, casting it aside.
Yang Hao could have raised his sword to block. Though the Night Axe was incomparably stronger, it might have given him a slim chance of survival. Even if he sought mutual destruction, he could have ignored defense and thrust at Sa’an, ensuring at least a wound in return.
Yet he chose neither. Instead, he dropped his sword as if surrendering all resistance—no attack, no defense. He lifted his head, eyes tightly shut, offering his neck to the blade.
This stunned everyone. Moments ago, Yang Hao had been brimming with confidence, challenging Sa’an with unyielding determination. Now, he stood motionless, waiting for the axe to cleave him in two.
No one could understand it—not even Sa’an, who abruptly tightened his grip, halting the Night Axe mid-swing. The axe, already in motion like a falling star, would have been unstoppable by anyone else. Even so, the residual force split Yang Hao’s scalp, sending a trail of bright blood down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver blade hovered a hair’s breadth from his eyelids, exuding a sinister, bloodthirsty aura.
Yet Yang Hao smiled—a triumphant smile, as if he had known all along that Sa’an would hold back at the last moment, that the proud Dark King would never slay an unarmed human.
“Wind Split!” Yang Hao’s voice tore through the air like rending silk, a sound that seemed to echo from ancient times, shaking the hearts of all who heard it.
Sa’an faltered for a split second at Yang Hao’s smile—a fatal hesitation in a battle of masters. When Yang Hao uttered those two words, only Xin Mei among the onlookers had any inkling of their meaning.
No one expected a human as weak as Yang Hao to possess a killing move. These lofty divine beings could never comprehend that even the lowliest races, when pushed to the brink of life and death, could unleash extraordinary power. They would never understand that every individual held unique value, with talents beyond others’ grasp.
Though Sa’an didn’t know what “Wind Split” was, he sensed an icy chill—a sensation he hadn’t felt in ages, reminiscent of the endless solitude after his fall into darkness.
A shiver ran through Sa’an. In a thousand years, no one had evoked such a feeling in him. And as Yang Hao clenched his fists, a formidable surge of psychic energy erupted from his body, looming over Sa’an’s head.
Now, even those with minimal spiritual perception could see it—a blue glint materialized above Sa’an, a small sword that had been hidden in the air, undetectable until now. Even Sa’an, who had let it drift near unnoticed, was caught off guard.
Only when Yang Hao channeled his psychic energy into the sword did its overwhelming power reveal its presence. But by then, it was too late to stop.
Because of speed. In all the world’s techniques, only speed was unbreakable.
The hidden sword struck with velocity beyond perception, aiming for Sa’an’s crown. This killing move was something Yang Hao had conceived long ago, but his psychic strength had been too weak to accelerate the sword effectively. Now, tempered by dragon’s breath and having undergone his first metamorphosis, his spiritual power rivaled that of a dragon. His mind could now infuse the sword with energy from a distance, accelerating it to its maximum speed in an instant—making this assassination attempt possible.
An ambush against a true master.
Sa’an was powerless. Even as the Dark Angel King, even with the Night Axe in hand, how could he possibly raise his weapon in time to block?
Everyone could see Sa’an’s peril. Every divine being held their breath in shock. An ordinary human had cornered the Dark Angel King—a defiance of heaven’s order beyond comprehension.
Some dark angels collapsed onto the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their king falling to a mere mortal.
Even Yun Shang, poised to unleash his reality-altering “Reverse Flow” technique to freeze time and save Sa’an, braced himself for action.
“All Methods Return to the Origin!”
“All Methods Return to the Origin!” Yang Hao felt as if he had been struck by lightning in advance—the voice was identical to Hunyuanzi’s. Yang Hao remembered that on the satellite of the Sacred Bear Star, when Wang Mu triggered the atmospheric explosion, the situation had been just as dire, with everyone’s lives hanging in the balance. It was at that critical moment that Hunyuanzi had taught Yang Hao this spell—the first spell he had ever learned in his life.
“Supreme Purity Mystic Cauldron True Method! Barrier Technique!!!” Tears streaming down his face, Yang Hao roared the incantation. A dazzling burst of light erupted from his palms. It was like the first ray of sunlight breaking through the darkness after an eclipse—explosive and unstoppable. Yang Hao pressed his palms together, forming an endless conduit of power. Silver light surged from his hands, shooting upward before cascading down like liquid mercury, forming a radiant waterfall around his body.
Barrier Technique!! A true spell of the Dual Cultivation Sect of the Cauldron. Unlike the innate abilities of the Divine Race, spells were the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy the heavens—a force of an entirely different origin.
When Sa’an’s Wrath of Heaven lightning clashed with Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision produced an astonishing spectacle. A magnificent five-colored rainbow shimmered in the sky, and a torrential downpour instantly began. Raindrops the size of green beans pelted the Divine Race below, yet they stood frozen, stunned by the sight above.
No one could have imagined that an ordinary human could withstand the “Wrath of Heaven” of the Dark Angel King—not only withstand it but emerge unscathed. And now, sword in hand, Yang Hao was launching another attack at Sa’an.
Bolstered by the Barrier Technique, Yang Hao gritted his teeth and surged forward against the current. The flames on his Blazing Sword erupted into a massive inferno as he thrust toward Sa’an’s chest.
“Insolence!” Sa’an was momentarily stunned by Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, but someone of his stature would never allow himself to be struck by Yang Hao’s sword. With a flick of his wrist, a silver battle-axe materialized in his grasp.
“Night Axe!” a four-winged Dark Angel gasped.
The others were too shocked to speak. In thousands of years, no one had ever seen Sa’an draw his legendary weapon, the Night Axe, in battle. Even against mid-tier Divine Race opponents, Sa’an had always fought bare-handed. Yet now, within just two exchanges, he had unsheathed his weapon—proof of how seriously he took this ordinary human.
The Night Axe was renowned among the Divine Race. Everyone knew it was Sa’an’s ultimate killing tool, revered as the pinnacle of all axe-wielding races and masters in the world.
The origins of this axe were bizarre. Countless years ago, when Sa’an had just fallen and become the first and only Dark Angel, hunted relentlessly by the Angel Race, he had distilled the purest essence of the night to forge a weapon darker than darkness itself—a weapon deeper than the deepest midnight.
From the moment of its creation, the Night Axe was black, invisible in the night. But it had one peculiar trait: every time it killed an angel, a silver speck would appear on its surface. Over time, as Sa’an rose from a lone Dark Angel to the Dark Angel King, the Night Axe transformed from pure black to gleaming silver—a testament to the countless Light Angels it had slain.
And now, this weapon of angelic slaughter was being wielded against a mere human like Yang Hao. Whether this was an honor or a tragedy for Yang Hao remained unclear.
Sa’an, however, was utterly ruthless. His expression icy, his long hair billowing, he raised the axe with one hand and brought it down toward Yang Hao’s head.
The power of the Night Axe was legendary. According to obscure historical records, over 90% of all axe techniques in the world traced their origins to the Night Axe. Even the renowned “Gold-Splitting Cleave” of the Bear Elder, Hurd, was derived from its techniques—making Hurd little more than a disciple of Sa’an.
The axe descended without flourish, yet it seemed to cleave through time and space itself. Everything froze. The Wrath of Heaven vanished, its thousands of volts dissipating into the clouds. The wind stilled, the rain ceased.
Where the silver blade passed, all things fled. Even the air dared not resist—let alone Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique. The radiant waterfall of light split in two under the Night Axe’s strike, vanishing without a trace.
The Night Axe loomed over Yang Hao’s head. With no barrier left, his only chance was to withdraw his Blazing Sword to defend himself—a move Sa’an had anticipated, shifting from offense to defense.
But Yang Hao was full of surprises. Just as everyone thought he had no choice but to retreat, he did the unthinkable—he let go of his sword, casting it aside.
Yang Hao could have raised his sword to block. Though the Night Axe was incomparably stronger, it might have given him a slim chance of survival. Even if he had chosen mutual destruction, he could have ignored defense and thrust at Sa’an, ensuring at least a wound in exchange for his own death.
Yet he chose neither. Instead, he dropped his sword, as if surrendering all resistance. He neither attacked nor defended. Raising his head, he closed his eyes tightly, offering his neck to the blade.
This stunned everyone. Moments ago, Yang Hao had been brimming with confidence, challenging Sa’an with unyielding determination. Now, he stood motionless, waiting for the axe to cleave him in two.
No one could understand it—not even Sa’an himself. The Dark Angel King’s wrist tensed, halting the descending Night Axe mid-strike. The axe, already in motion, was nearly unstoppable—yet Sa’an managed to arrest its fall. Even so, the sheer force of the swing split Yang Hao’s scalp, blood streaming down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver blade hovered a hair’s breadth from his eyelids, exuding a sinister, bloodthirsty aura.
And Yang Hao smiled—a triumphant smile. It was as if he had known all along that Sa’an would show mercy at the last moment, that the proud Dark King would never slay an unarmed human.
“Wind Split!” Yang Hao’s voice tore through the air like rending silk, a sound that seemed to echo from ancient times, shaking the hearts of all who heard it.
Sa’an hesitated for a split second at Yang Hao’s smile—and in battles of this level, victory and defeat often hinged on such moments. When Yang Hao uttered those two words, few present, save for Xin Mei, understood their meaning.
No one expected that a human, weak beyond measure, could still possess a killing move. These lofty Divine Race would never comprehend that any lowly race, when pushed to the brink of life and death, could unleash extraordinary power. Nor would they understand that every individual held unique value, with talents beyond others’ grasp.
Though Sa’an did not know what “Wind Split” was, he sensed an icy chill—a sensation he had not felt in ages, reminiscent of the endless solitude after his fall into darkness.
A shiver ran through Sa’an’s heart. In a thousand years, no one had evoked such a feeling in him. And as Yang Hao clenched his fists, a formidable surge of psychic energy erupted from his body, hovering above Sa’an’s head.
Now, even those with the slightest spiritual perception could see it—a blue glint materialized above Sa’an. This tiny sword had been concealed in the air, undetectable to all, even Sa’an himself, who had mistaken it for empty space as it drew near.
Only when Yang Hao channeled his psychic energy into the sword did its overwhelming power reveal its presence. But by then, it was too late. Yang Hao had already ensured that no one could stop it.
Because of speed. In all the world’s techniques, everything can be countered—except speed.
The Hidden Sword struck with velocity beyond perception, its trajectory invisible as it aimed for Sa’an’s crown. This killing move was something Yang Hao had conceived long ago, but his psychic strength had been too weak to accelerate the Hidden Sword with his mind. Until now.
Having undergone the baptism of dragon’s breath and completed his first metamorphosis, Yang Hao’s spiritual power now rivaled that of a dragon. His mind could now channel energy into the Hidden Sword from a distance, accelerating it to its maximum speed in an instant—making this assassination attempt possible.
An ambush against a true master.
Sa’an was powerless. Even as the Dark Angel King, even with the Night Axe in hand, how could he possibly raise his weapon in time to block?
Everyone could see Sa’an’s peril. The Divine Race held their breath in shock. An ordinary human had pushed the Dark Angel King to the brink—what kind of heaven-defying situation was this?
Some Dark Angels even collapsed onto the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their king being slain by a mere mortal.
Even Yun Shang, poised to unleash his reality-altering “Reverse Flow” technique to freeze time and save Sa’an, was ready to act.
But he did neither. Instead, he relinquished his sword, as if renouncing all combat, no longer attacking, not even defending. Yang Hao raised his head, tightly closed his eyes, and exposed his neck as if inviting the killing blow.
This move truly caught everyone off guard. Moments ago, Yang Hao had been defiant and challenging, determined to see his mission through. Now, he stood motionless, raising his head to await the axe that would cleave him in two.
It wasn’t just others who were confused—even Sa’an, his opponent, was taken aback. He tightened his grip and forcefully halted the descending axe. The massive weapon had already begun its unstoppable arc, and without Sa’an’s intervention, no one could have stopped it. Even so, the residual force of the axe’s swing had already sliced open Yang Hao’s scalp, a stream of blood trickling down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver blade hovered just a hair’s breadth from his eyelids, exuding a bloodthirsty chill.
Yet Yang Hao smiled—a smile of triumph, as if he had known all along that the proud Dark King would hesitate at the last moment, unwilling to strike down an unarmed human.
“Wind Slash!” Yang Hao’s voice rang out like the tearing of metal, echoing through time itself, shaking the soul.
Sa’an hesitated slightly at Yang Hao’s smile. Yet in the realm of top-tier combat, victory or defeat often hinged on such a moment’s hesitation. As Yang Hao uttered those two words, no one present—except perhaps Xin Mei—had any idea what they meant.
No one had imagined that a human so weak could possess a killing move. These lofty deities would never understand that when any race, no matter how lowly, was cornered at the brink of survival, it could unleash extraordinary power. They would never grasp that every life had its own value, and that every being possessed unique abilities beyond comprehension.
Though Sa’an didn’t know what “Wind Slash” was, he clearly sensed a chilling coldness—an icy sensation he hadn’t felt in ages, like the endless loneliness of falling into eternal darkness.
A chill ran through Sa’an’s heart. In the past thousand years, no one had made him feel this way. And now, as Yang Hao spoke those words, he clenched his fists, and a powerful consciousness surged from his body, rising above Sa’an’s head.
At that moment, anyone with even a modicum of spiritual perception saw it—a sudden flash of blue light above Sa’an’s head. This tiny sword had been hidden in the air all along, invisible to all, even to Sa’an himself, who had mistaken it for empty space and allowed it to approach undetected.
Only when Yang Hao infused his spiritual will into the sword did its immense power erupt, revealing the hidden blade. But even then, what could they do? Yang Hao had already ensured there was no way to stop it.
Because of speed. All techniques in the world can be countered—except for sheer speed.
The hidden sword moved faster than anything conceivable, its trajectory invisible as it struck toward Sa’an’s crown. This was a killing move Yang Hao had long planned. In the past, his spiritual power had been too weak to accelerate the hidden sword with his mind, so he could only attempt it in secret.
But now, everything had changed. Yang Hao had undergone his first transformation after being tempered by dragon fire. His spiritual power was now comparable to that of a dragon. His mind could now channel energy into the hidden sword from a distance, accelerating it to its peak speed in an instant—making this assassination possible.
A sneak attack on a true master.
Sa’an was helpless. Even as the King of Dark Angels, even with the Night Axe in hand, how could he possibly raise his axe in time to block such an instantaneous strike?
Anyone could see Sa’an’s peril now, yet every deity stood frozen in awe. An ordinary human had actually pushed the King of Dark Angels to the brink—what an unfathomable turn of events.
Some Dark Angels had already collapsed in the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their King being slain by a mere mortal.
Even Yun Shang had begun to prepare his legendary “Reverse Flow” technique, capable of bending time itself, ready to halt the moment and save Sa’an.
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