Hao walked out of the school and continued cultivating the Dan Ding technique. It could be said that he encountered a series of extraordinary adventures, and the responsibilities placed upon him grew heavier with each passing day.
The leader of the Saint Bear Star had not yet stepped down when he was forced to take on the leadership of the Anti-Empire Alliance. The Dan Ding Sect’s vendetta remained unavenged, yet the divine race added an impossible task to his burden. This string of events left Yang Hao deeply troubled—he no longer knew exactly what he should do.
These were matters he could not ask Hun Yuanzi about; the old immortal was consumed solely by his own hatred, with little thought for anything else. For Yang Hao himself, his most prominent identity was now clearly that of the leader of the Anti-Empire Alliance, and for a long time to come, people would likely view him through that lens. But for Yang Hao, did he truly want to take on this role?
The Galactic Empire was clearly rotting from within—blind men could see that. Yet there was still a difference between a sick giant and one already collapsing. A tiger with broken teeth could still kill, and even if Yang Hao didn’t take the Empire seriously, he knew he could not easily overthrow such a massive regime.
Moreover, Yang Hao was merely a nominal leader; the cursed Anti-Empire Alliance was never actually under his control. He didn’t even have the authority to stop the launch of the Doomsday’s Kiss, which Steve had stripped from him. So how could he hope to control anything else?
Thus, in Yang Hao’s eyes, the Galactic Empire was certainly a diseased tree needing to be uprooted, but the Anti-Empire Alliance was no paragon of virtue either. Neither side offered anything Yang Hao could trust or fight for.
So what was he supposed to do? Was he born merely to settle the grudge of the Dan Ding Sect? And what then, after revenge?
Or was it only to save the divine race? Why were the gods imprisoned in the first place? Would releasing these wolf-like, tiger-like deities be a blessing or a curse for the universe’s living beings?
These questions had long haunted Yang Hao. He desperately needed answers.
But now was clearly not the right time. The glowing orb of the Doomsday’s Kiss was speeding through space. Through the porthole of the warship, it could be seen clearly—within seconds, this deadly light would kiss the Titan warship.
“Do you want to know the answers?”
“Do you know?” Yang Hao shouted.
“There’s no time,” the AI replied calmly, calculating its imminent demise. “Yang Hao, if you get the chance, go to Earth and see the King of AIs. It will tell you everything.”
“Earth!!!” Yang Hao stumbled slightly, taking a deep breath, shocked.
In this universe, there were probably many planets named Earth, but whenever Earth was mentioned, it usually referred to one specific place. It was a blue, medium-sized planet located at the center of the Milky Way, the heart of this universe and the Galactic Empire. All technology, politics, and military power revolved around it.
Or rather, the entire universe was controlled from Earth—a tiny planet so small it could be obliterated in a single shot, yet it harbored incomprehensible power and countless individuals who wielded it.
It was where the Galactic Emperor resided, where the Galactic Senate and the Privy Council were based, and where the Grand Merchants’ Guild was headquartered. Naturally, it was also home to the largest central AI in the universe.
Go to Earth? Yang Hao, branded a rebel, going to Earth? Wasn’t that just asking for death?
And what was this King of AIs? Everyone knew there was only one Emperor in the Galactic Empire—where did this King of AIs come from?
As Yang Hao’s mind swirled with thoughts, the situation turned dire—the Doomsday’s Kiss had truly kissed the Titan.
The massive warship, as large as a planet, shuddered gently, as if kissed tenderly by a lover. But viewed from the dark void of space, one could see the true transformation taking place.
Upon contact with the Titan, the massive glowing orb did not explode. Instead, it clung to the steel hull of the warship. Although the Doomsday’s Kiss was indeed massive, compared to the Titan, it was like a firefly attaching itself to a giant.
But there was no doubt—it was a deadly firefly.
For soon, within seconds, countless tiny golden lights crawled out from the orb. Moving at faster-than-light speed, these lights spread across the Titan’s entire hull, wrapping it in a luminous net like layers of silk.
As if pre-calculated, every photon in the net underwent fusion simultaneously.
Each beam of light contained countless photons, and each photon generated the power of a nuclear fusion reaction. The cumulative effect of these simultaneous fusions was beyond even the calculations of small AIs.
Even a tiny area of the ship, no larger than a fingernail, was subjected to the force of a nuclear fusion explosion. The continuous chain of explosions released a blinding light that turned the vast darkness of space into a sea of brightness.
Such a universe-shaking explosion not only shook the Three Crystal Sea system but even reached Earth, the heart of the Galactic Empire—though by then, centuries had passed.
But at that moment, when the cataclysmic explosion erupted, the Titan was not the first to fall. The shockwaves from the photon fusion destroyed everything around it—space, light, and gravity. The unimaginable heat and blast waves first annihilated the fleet of the setting sun. Hundreds of warships, each with a proud history of battle, including dreadnoughts hailed as invincible, were reduced to the most insignificant cosmic dust in the blink of an eye.
All their valor, their immense power, the lives and honor of their crews—all vanished. Decades of struggle, hundreds of billions of credits—gone in an instant.
Yang Hao had no time to lament such a scene, yet he was experiencing it firsthand.
Although the Doomsday’s Kiss was aimed at the Titan, Yang Hao was still alive—at least barely. This was partly because the Titan was heavily armored and Yang Hao had been in the center of the ship. But more importantly, it was due to the unique nature of the weapon’s attack.
The weapon’s assault was divided into two waves. The first was the photon fusion explosion that clung to the hull. Although powerful, this wave was directed outward, targeting the surrounding ships. The explosion wave and fusion shockwaves annihilated the smaller vessels around the Titan.
The second wave was the true main attack. A flood of nuclear fire engulfed the entire Titan, burning it to ashes. This flame was like the primal fire of the universe itself—unquenchable, capable of burning endlessly without fuel, only ceasing when no matter remained.
Yang Hao and Amanda had narrowly survived the first wave but were now engulfed by the second. The inescapable nuclear fire spread into the ship from all directions. The AI had long fallen silent, likely with most of its core components already destroyed.
Now was no time for Yang Hao to ponder his journey to Earth—he was focused only on escaping this hellish fire.
Fortunately, fate was not yet ready to claim Yang Hao. Just as he seemed to have nowhere to run, the entire Titan shattered.
It was a spectacular sight—how many had seen a planet split in two? And now, a warship breaking apart looked just as magnificent. Amid a deafening roar, the massive fortress, carrying both the Light-Hunting Weapon and the dreams of countless souls, truly split in two.
The air inside the Titan rushed out violently, filling tens of kilometers of surrounding space with oxygen. Countless repair drones, having lost control of the AI, still worked frantically, though they did not realize that such a massive breach was beyond their capabilities.
Hundreds of imperial soldiers and officers were hurled from their cabins, some consumed by the flames, others sucked into the void of space, flailing helplessly as they drifted away, becoming eternal wandering souls in the cosmos.
It was truly a cosmic tragedy.
But Yang Hao was not destined to be a victim of this tragedy. Seeing the massive breach in the Titan, he was naturally overjoyed. He immediately activated his personal forcefield barrier and prepared to escape with Amanda on his sword.
But Amanda, stubborn as ever, grabbed Yang Hao and pointed downward, shouting, “Look! Look quickly!!”
Their position was quite strange. The ship had broken in such a way that they were standing on a broken wall, with what used to be the floor now a vertical corridor below them, ablaze with raging flames. And where Amanda was pointing was the most intense part of the fire.
Blue flames spread like peacock feathers, dazzling and magnificent. But where Amanda pointed, several streams of nuclear fire converged, forming the heart of the inferno. The flames had multiple layers—blue on the outside, purple at the tips, and in the center, a solid-looking red flame, within which was a glowing golden core.
It seemed as if the fire itself was protecting a sacred treasure, radiant and dazzling amidst the chaos, clearly brimming with immense energy.
“We should be escaping for our lives, not staring at pretty things!” Yang Hao was exasperated. At a time like this, she was still admiring beauty.
But Amanda was insistent. Seeing that strange flame, she nearly jumped down in excitement: “That’s no ordinary fire! That’s Primordial Flame! The Primordial Flame!”
“What Primordial Flame? I’ll get you a truckload next time!” Yang Hao just wanted to get Amanda—who was already acting a little unhinged—out of there as quickly as possible.
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