Heke raised his massive cross-sword, nearly taller than a man, while a pure, milky-white aura of sacred energy surged around his body, densely covering the blade. An overwhelming pressure pierced the air, making the surrounding nobles hold their breath in fear. “Divine Retribution!” Heke roared. A torrent of white sword light, like a mountain collapsing, surged downward from his blade.
With a deafening crash, the apothecary shop was nearly halved by this single strike. The towering signboard of the Dan Ding Group swayed for a moment before finally shattering to the ground with a loud crash.
Hector raised his massive cross-shaped sword, nearly as tall as a man, high into the air. A milky-white, sacred force surged from his body, densely covering the blade.
An overwhelming pressure radiated from him, stifling the breaths of the noble youths around him.
“Divine Absolution!” Hector roared, and a torrent of white sword light cascaded down like an avalanche.
With a series of deafening explosions, half of the Chun Pharmacy was obliterated by the strike. The once-proud signboard of the Dan Ding Group swayed precariously before crashing to the ground in a cacophony of splintering wood.
“Ha!” Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd. Even among nobles, witnessing the leader of the Divine Absolution Sword Corps in action was a rare sight. The sheer power required to demolish a building with a single strike was nothing short of extraordinary.
Stranger still, the Chun Pharmacy remained eerily silent. Not a sound emerged from within, not even from the people who had previously shown themselves. This was utterly inconceivable—everyone knew that Yang Hao’s faction was notorious for their vengeful nature. Anyone who crossed them would inevitably face retaliation.
Yet now, with Yang Hao captured and his faction in disarray, not a single soul dared to resist.
Hector was pleased—so pleased that even his sword-wielding hand seemed to tremble with satisfaction. On that day in the central square, his Divine Absolution Sword Corps had been humiliatingly forced to retreat by Yang Hao’s forces, and Hector himself had suffered a crushing blow to his pride. The subsequent reprimand from the Elder Council had only deepened his resolve to reclaim everything he had lost from Yang Hao.
Today was the perfect opportunity.
With a cold smirk, Hector turned to the cowering noble youths and declared, “Yang Hao of the Dan Ding Sect stands accused of treason. His execution is imminent. From this moment, all Dan Ding Group properties shall be seized by the Ten Sword Streams.”
Hector neither sought nor needed anyone’s approval—not even the Merchant Guild’s. This was the privilege of power. With Yang Hao imprisoned and the Dan Ding Sect collapsing, the Elder Council’s influence was poised to reach unprecedented heights. Hector’s strength lay in his sword and the elite swordsmen at his back.
He basked in the nobles’ fearful gazes, relishing the terror that filled their eyes. It had been so long since he had last seen such expressions.
But from this day forward, Hector vowed, everyone would wear that same look of dread when facing the Divine Absolution Sword Corps.
“Fire!” someone among the nobles suddenly shouted.
“FIRE!”
Hector’s swordsmen immediately drew their cross-shaped swords, but they found no enemy—only the ruins of the demolished shop.
Deep within the wreckage, a tiny red spark flickered to life. Within seconds, it swelled into a raging inferno, devouring everything in its path with terrifying speed.
And at the heart of the flames stood a figure.
It was as if the fire itself had erupted from his body.
“No one takes what belongs to the Dan Ding Sect,” the figure said calmly, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames. The stench of burning flesh and boiling blood filled the air, yet his expression remained eerily serene.
The nobles recognized him—the same youth who had appeared at the window earlier. Now, he stood like a knight forged in fire, his body melting in the blaze.
This young swordsman of the Dan Ding Sect was one of the orphans Yang Hao had brought from Remon Star—an ordinary warrior who had followed Yang Hao through countless battles, pledging his life to the sect.
Now, in this moment of crisis, his meager strength was insufficient to change anything. He couldn’t even stop the Divine Absolution Sword Corps from seizing the shop.
But when a man fears nothing, even death, all things become possible.
This nameless youth, an obscure figure even within the Hao Sword Corps, had swallowed nearly fifty Fire Core Pills—a newly refined elixir never meant for consumption.
The flames erupted from his dantian, surging outward in torrents of molten fury, engulfing the entire street in an unstoppable tide of destruction.
Hector’s rage boiled over. The prize he had so nearly claimed was now being consumed by fire. “Kill him!” he bellowed, raising his sword high. “KILL HIM NOW!”
The youth smiled. “When Yang Hao returns, you’ll have no grave to bury your corpse.”
The flames had already burned through his dantian, consuming his body. Soon, he would be reduced to ashes. But today, holding this ground was all he could do.
“Yang Hao is already dead! And so are you!” Hector screamed in fury, channeling all his strength into his sword. “DIVINE ABSOLUTION! DIVINE ABSOLUTION!”
A blizzard of milky-white sword light surged toward the youth, intent on shredding him to pieces.
But when the light struck, the youth didn’t scream in pain. Instead, his lips curled into a strange, knowing smile.
**BOOM!!!**
A volcanic eruption of crimson fire burst from his shattered body, an endless tide of flames that painted the sky red, melted the snow, and scorched everything in its path.
Even those who stood too close were swallowed by the inferno.
Hector barely escaped, scrambling onto a rooftop several streets away. Gasping for breath, he watched as the twisted, burning corpses of his swordsmen littered the entrance of the Dan Ding shop—men who had once been invincible, now reduced to ashes by a single youth’s self-destruction.
The fire, like a dragon, continued its slow, relentless advance.
For the first time in his life, Hector felt fear. He realized that what he faced was no longer just Yang Hao. If every man under Yang Hao’s command possessed such courage…
Could the Elder Council truly claim victory?
Who could answer that question?
The snow fell endlessly, the cold wind slicing like knives through the hearts of those below.
For the Dan Ding Sect, caught in the eye of the storm, this crisis was but a single ripple in a sea of raging tides.
In just one week, the capital had been turned upside down. When news broke that Yang Hao had stormed the Elder Mountain in an attempt to assassinate the emperor, disbelief spread like wildfire. The nobles couldn’t fathom why Yang Hao—a rising star, a man of influence—would commit such an act.
But when the Nine Grand Elders personally confirmed the accusation, the truth became undeniable. Overnight, the once-thriving Dan Ding Sect became a ghost town. The outer disciples, terrified of being associated with the Dan Ding name, fled in droves.
Amidst this upheaval, Yang Hao himself remained eerily calm.
Currently imprisoned within the Imperial Guards’ barracks—a cluster of simple houses within the palace grounds—Yang Hao was kept under constant watch by elite swordsmen and grandmasters.
Taifeng, recognizing that Yang Hao had lost all his power, had spared him the dungeons, confining him instead to a small courtyard. The courtyard had three rooms—two occupied by his guards, while Yang Hao was free to move about the open space.
At the center of the courtyard was a skylight, allowing snow to drift lazily down from the heavens. The flakes swirled in the air, occasionally colliding before settling on a snowman nearly half a man’s height.
The snow had piled so thickly around the snowman that it resembled a miniature mountain. But upon closer inspection, one might notice faint traces of breath—an occasional flutter of eyelashes shaking off the snow.
The snowman was alive.
It was Yang Hao.
With nothing left to do but await his execution, he had taken to meditating, attempting to absorb the sparse remnants of cosmic energy left in the galaxy. But the effort yielded little—just enough to keep his body from freezing in the snow.
With a sigh, Yang Hao shook himself free of the snowdrift. Steam rose from his body as he gazed up at the oppressive gray sky. Cut off from the outside world—his spirit unable to escape, his Five Divine Rings confiscated by Taifeng, even his connection to Maya severed—he had no way of knowing what had become of his followers.
Facing death, Yang Hao found himself less concerned with his own fate than with the uncertain futures of those who had sworn loyalty to him.
He knew them too well. They would never give up on him.
But what he didn’t know was that he had become bait in a trap. Any attempt to rescue him would only lead his followers straight into the Elder Council’s clutches. The Ten Sword Streams and the Elder Council were poised to use this opportunity to eradicate Yang Hao’s entire faction.
The blizzard over the capital was already suffocating in its brutality.
But when would the next storm of bloodshed begin?
Yang Hao’s instincts were correct—his followers had not abandoned him.
Though the Dan Ding Sect was no longer the bustling hub it once was, its inner disciples moved with quiet determination, their eyes red-rimmed but their hands steady as they carried out their duties.
Deep within the sect’s White Tower, the leadership was locked in heated debate over how to rescue Yang Hao. The tension was palpable, and it wouldn’t be long before true war erupted.
The White Tower, now blanketed in snow, echoed with furious shouts.
Long Yun sat at a table, studying a three-dimensional map of the imperial palace—an act that would normally be treasonous, but for men planning to break a condemned prisoner free, it was the least of their concerns.
“According to our spies, Yang Hao will stand trial here in two days,” Long Yun said, jabbing a thick finger into the projection of the palace’s main hall. “The trial is a formality. The Elder Council has already sentenced him to death. At least three Grand Elders will be present, along with no fewer than ten elders and eight sword corps from the Ten Sword Streams reinforcing the Imperial Guards.”
“Reinforcing? More like spying,” Zhuge Jian snapped, his fan forgotten in his agitation. “The palace has always been the Imperial Guards’ domain. The Elder Council’s forces were never permitted inside. But now, just to ensure Yang Hao’s execution, they’ve sent three Grand Elders.”
In the room with Long Yun and Zhuge Jian were Maya, XII, and Xie Fengting of the Merchant Guild.
Xie Fengting toyed with a small divine sword in his palm, his voice heavy. “How many men do we have?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with silence. Just days ago, the Dan Ding Sect could boast of being the universe’s foremost sword sect, with disciples numbering in the hundreds of thousands. But with Yang Hao’s fall, the outer disciples had vanished overnight, too afraid to even admit they had trained under the Dan Ding banner.
Long Yun did a quick calculation. “The Hao Sword Corps still has at least a hundred capable fighters—enough to hold their own against a sword corps. The inner disciples haven’t deserted, but their five hundred men are weak. They can only serve as a distraction.”
“With numbers like that, we can’t even match a single sword corps,” Xie Fengting said, shaking his head. “We’re charging into the dragon’s den. Amateurs won’t cut it.”
“I have a sword corps,” Zhuge Jian revealed, laying his cards on the table. “After Yang Hao’s arrest, I shut down all our shops and spent ten times the usual price to hire two hundred elite swordsmen—veterans from the imperial army.”
Long Yun turned to XII. The robot had been in contact with the Shenyu Autonomous Region and knew the situation there best.
XII’s electronic voice buzzed, “The Shenyu Autonomous Region is in chaos. A month ago, He De allied with leaders from dozens of star systems to stage a coup—a plan he and Yang Hao had long prepared. The resistance groups from Waimeng infiltrated the Three Crystal Seas, finally suppressing the forces of Governor Steve.”
“He De says he needs two more days to fully secure the region. He can’t come himself yet, but he’s sent the Demon Bear Corps. They’ll arrive in a week.”
“A week?” Long Yun sighed. “By then, the Demon Bear Corps will only be able to collect Yang Hao’s corpse.”
“Even with two sword corps and four dragons, we can’t break through the Ten Sword Streams’ defenses,” Xie Fengting said grimly. “Forget rescuing Yang Hao—you’ll be lucky to save yourselves.”
Even more bizarre was the eerie silence from inside the Dan Ding apothecary. No one even peeked out anymore. It was simply unfathomable. Everyone knew that Yang Hao’s disciples were the type to retaliate fiercely for any offense. If someone wronged them, they would always strike back.
Yet now, with Yang Hao captured, the entire sword sect was crumbling, and not a single soul dared to step forward in resistance.
Heke was delighted. His very grip on the sword trembled with satisfaction. Back at the central plaza, his Divine Retribution Sword Corps had been forced into retreat by Yang Hao’s forces, and even he himself had suffered a humiliating defeat, enduring scolding from the elders upon his return. At that time, Heke had resolved to reclaim everything he had lost from Yang Hao.
Today was the perfect opportunity.
Smirking coldly, Heke turned to face the cowering noble youths around him and declared, “Yang Hao of the Dan Ding Sect has been charged with treason. He will be executed immediately. All shops under the Dan Ding Group will now be taken over by the Ten Sword Sect.”
Heke didn’t need anyone’s approval, not even the Merchant Guild’s consent. This was the manifestation of power. With Yang Hao captured and the Dan Ding Sect on the verge of collapse, the Elder Council’s influence would rise to unprecedented heights. His power lay in the sword in his hand and the swordsmen behind him.
He savored the fearful glances from the nobles, a sight that filled him with immense satisfaction. He could hardly recall when he last saw such expressions on people’s faces.
But no matter what, Heke had decided—he would ensure that everyone would face the Divine Retribution Sword Corps with such fear from this day forward.
“Fire!!” someone among the nobles shouted suddenly.
“Fire!!!”
The swordsmen behind Heke noticed the anomaly too. Swords were drawn, but there was no opponent in sight—only pointing at the half-destroyed shop.
Deep within the shop, a small red point emerged. Within seconds, it rapidly grew into a blazing fireball, engulfing everything around it and spreading at an unnaturally accelerated speed.
Even more strangely, there was someone standing at the heart of the flames.
It seemed as though the fire itself was erupting from this person’s body.
“No one can take everything from the Dan Ding Sect,” the figure said calmly. His body exuded a stench of charred flesh and boiling blood, yet his expression remained serene, showing no sign of pain.
The surrounding nobles recognized the young man now engulfed in flames. He was the same youth who had peeked out from the window earlier, but now he resembled a knight forged in fire.
This young swordsman from the Dan Ding Sect was one of the orphans Yang Hao had brought from the planet Laimon—just an ordinary swordsman. He had followed Yang Hao through countless battles and had long since dedicated his life to the sect.
At this critical moment, with his meager strength, there was little he could do to stop the Divine Retribution Sword Corps from seizing the shop.
But when one fears no death, anything becomes possible.
This unknown youth, unnoticed and unremarkable within the sword sect, had already consumed nearly fifty Fire Mechanism Pills—newly refined elixirs that were never meant for him to ingest.
The fierce flames of the Fire Mechanism Pills erupted from his dantian, shooting out in every direction at his will, like torrents of molten lava engulfing the entire street in roaring fire.
Heke was furious. Just when victory was in his grasp, everything was being destroyed before his eyes. He raised his sword violently, “Kill him! Kill him now!!”
The youth smiled faintly, “When Yang Hao returns, you will have no place to bury your corpse!”
The flames had already consumed his dantian, even burning his body to ashes. Soon, he would be nothing but dust. But today, protecting this place was all he could do.
“Yang Hao is doomed to die! And so are you!” Heke howled furiously, raising his sword high, channeling all his strength into the blade. “Divine Retribution! Divine Retribution!!”
A cascade of milky-white sword light, like falling snow, surged toward the youth. Heke wanted to carve him into a thousand pieces.
The sword light struck the youth, yet he felt no pain—only a strange smile.
Boom!!!
A torrent of red fire erupted from the youth’s body like a volcanic eruption. Endless flames turned the sky crimson, swallowed the snow, and scorched everything around them, even those nearby.
The surrounding people could not escape the unstoppable inferno.
Heke barely managed to flee, landing on the snowy roof several streets away, panting as he looked back at the twisted, charred bodies at the entrance of the Dan Ding shop—his own Divine Retribution swordsmen, once arrogant and invincible, now reduced to ashes in the youth’s self-destruction.
The flames, like divine dragons, continued their slow but relentless spread.
A fear unlike any he had ever known gripped Heke’s heart. He realized he was no longer facing just Yang Hao alone. If every person under Yang Hao’s command possessed such courage…
Could the Elder Council truly win?
Who could answer such a question?
The snow-covered sky stretched endlessly, the cold wind like knives cutting into the hearts of those below.
For the Dan Ding Sect caught in this storm, this was merely the smallest ripple in a sea of chaos.
Within a week, the capital was thrown into upheaval. When the news broke that Yang Hao had stormed Elder Mountain to assassinate the Emperor, it first sparked widespread disbelief. The nobles could not fathom how Yang Hao, the rising star of the capital, could commit such an act.
But when the Nine Elder Councilors personally confirmed the event, people finally understood the gravity of the situation. Overnight, the once-thriving Dan Ding Sect became deserted. Noble disciples feared any association with the sect and fled back home in droves.
Amid this upheaval, the one at the eye of the storm—Yang Hao—was surprisingly calm and idle.
Currently, Yang Hao resided within the barracks of the Imperial Guard. Originally a residential area within the palace, it housed swordsmen and great swordsmen of the Imperial Guard, scattered throughout for both defense and rest.
Yang Hao was lodged in the very center of this compound.
Tai Feng had determined that Yang Hao had completely lost his powers, so he was not imprisoned but instead placed in a square courtyard. Within this courtyard were three rooms—two occupied by the great swordsmen guards, while Yang Hao was free to move about the yard.
In the middle of the courtyard was a skylight well, through which snowflakes drifted down like petals, slowly spiraling in the air, occasionally colliding with each other, following some invisible fate.
Eventually, all the snow settled on a snowman standing nearly half a person tall.
Layer upon layer of snow had piled up around the snowman, forming a small mountain. Upon closer inspection, one could detect faint traces of energy circulating within the snow, and occasionally, eyelashes would flutter, scattering the snow covering the figure.
The snowman was alive—only buried beneath so much snow that it appeared to be nothing more than a sculpture.
Only someone with such leisure and whimsy could be playing at being a snowman—Yang Hao himself. Captured by the Imperial Guard with no hope of escape, the only thing Feng had told him was that the Elder Council had set a trial date. And this trial was merely a formality. Yang Hao, already condemned for grave crimes, would be executed on that day.
The Elder Councilors themselves would carry out the execution, ensuring Yang Hao’s complete annihilation, leaving no chance of rebirth.
Thus, Yang Hao had nothing to do but wait for death, occasionally attempting to absorb the surrounding energy to restore his strength.
But reality was harsh. Despite his efforts to connect with nature and draw power from the cosmos, the Milky Way had long since perished, leaving only a trace amount of star energy. Yang Hao absorbed as much as he could, but it was barely enough to keep his body from freezing in the snow.
With a long sigh, Yang Hao shook his body. The small mountain of snow collapsed instantly, and with a cloud of steam rising from his body, he looked up at the sky. The oppressive clouds above seemed to press down on him. He had long lost contact with the outside world—his Yuan Ying could not escape, his five divine rings had been taken by Qin Feng, and even Maya could not be summoned. He had no idea how the others were faring.
Yang Hao was not worried about his own fate—he was more concerned about the uncertain fates of his subordinates.
Knowing his men as he did, they would never give up on him.
But what he didn’t know was that he had become bait in a trap. Anyone attempting to rescue him would fall into the Elder Councilors’ snare. The Ten Sword Sect and the Elder Council were waiting for this opportunity to eradicate all of Yang Hao’s forces.
The capital was already blanketed in a bitter snowstorm.
But when would the next storm of blood begin?
Yang Hao’s guess was correct—his men had never given up.
Though the Dan Ding Sword Sect no longer bustled with activity, the compound remained orderly. Occasionally, a disciple with red, swollen eyes would pass by, exchanging a glance with another before returning to their tasks.
The core disciples of the sect knew that the elders were gathered in the White Mansion, urgently discussing how to rescue Yang Hao. Perhaps in just a few days, a true war would erupt.
The White Mansion, now blanketed in snow, was the focus of all disciples.
Inside, the atmosphere was intense, with shouts of anger occasionally breaking out.
Long Yun sat at the table, studying the three-dimensional topographic map of the imperial palace. Normally, this would be forbidden, but for those preparing to rescue a condemned prisoner, it was trivial.
“According to intelligence from our inner circle, Yang Hao will be tried here the day after tomorrow,” Long Yun pointed his thick finger at the palace hall in the holographic projection. “The trial is just a formality—the Elder Council has already decided on the death penalty. At least three Elder Councilors will be present, and no fewer than ten elders will be on guard duty. The Ten Sword Sect will also deploy eight sword teams to assist the Imperial Guard.”
“What do you mean by ‘assist’? It’s just surveillance,” Zhuge Jian stopped fanning himself, exasperated. “The palace has always been the domain of the Imperial Guard. The Elder Council’s military forces were never allowed in. This time, they’re sending three Elder Councilors just to monitor Yang Hao’s execution.”
In the room were Long Yun, Zhuge Jian, Maya, XII, and Xie Fengmo from the Merchant Guild.
Xie Fengmo lowered his head, fiddling with the small divine sword in his palm, his voice heavy, “How many people do we have now?”
This simple question made everyone fall silent. Just days ago, the Dan Ding Sword Sect could proudly claim to be the greatest sword sect in the universe, with disciples numbering in the hundreds of thousands. But the moment Yang Hao was captured, all the outer disciples fled, even denying any connection to the sect. How could they be counted on now?
Long Yun did a quick calculation, “The Hao Sword Corps still has at least a hundred fighters, capable of holding their own against a sword team. The inner sect disciples haven’t defected either, though their five hundred or so are weak and can only serve as a distraction.”
“These forces are barely enough to match a single sword team. We’re storming a dragon’s den. These novices won’t be enough,” Xie Fengmo shook his head.
“I have a sword team,” Zhuge Jian revealed his trump card. “After Yang Hao was captured, I shut down all the group’s stores and used a fortune to hire mercenaries. At ten times the usual cost, I managed to recruit over two hundred swordsmen of considerable strength—former imperial soldiers, quite capable.”
Long Yun turned to XII. The robot had been in constant contact with the Shen Yu Autonomous Territory and was most familiar with the situation there.
XII’s unique electronic voice buzzed, “The Shen Yu Autonomous Territory has been in chaos recently. A month ago, Hurd allied with the leaders of dozens of star systems to launch a coup—an action secretly planned with Yang Hao long ago. The outer Mongolian resistance groups have all infiltrated the Three Crystal Sea, finally suppressing the forces of Three Crystal Sea’s governor, Steve.
Hurd says it will take him another two months to fully control the situation and cannot come here for now. However, he has already dispatched the Bear Demon Corps, which should arrive in a week.”
“A week?” Long Yun sighed. “By then, the Bear Demon Corps will only be able to collect Yang Hao’s remains.”
“Even with two sword teams and four dragons, it’s still not enough to break through the Ten Sword Sect’s defenses,” Xie Fengmo said bitterly. “Let alone rescuing him—it would be hard to even protect ourselves.”
“So that’s why we invited you here,” Long Yun got straight to the point, his gaze serious as he looked at Xie Fengting. “Yang Hao once said that the Merchant Guild is far more complicated than it appears. Hidden within the Guild is a formidable force. You have forty sword master squads and an elite group of powerful experts. If the Guild is willing to deploy them, we can definitely rescue Yang Hao.”
Xie Fengting ran his fingers over the mask on his face, suddenly stood up, and slowly walked to the window. The glass was covered with droplets of condensed moisture. Outside, the world was blanketed in snow, like a fairy-tale landscape.
“Forty sword master squads—sounds impressive, enough to even overshadow the Ten Sword Schools,” Xie Fengting murmured. Each time he exhaled, the fog on the glass obscured his reflection, making him feel hazy and uncertain. “But these are the Guild’s accumulated resources over decades, the merchants’ last bargaining chips. Forty sword master squads… will they even matter? Even if we doubled their number, we wouldn’t stand a chance against a full-scale assault from the Elders’ Council. Even if we managed a mutual destruction scenario, the Council still has the Elder Executives and the Supreme Elders backing them. What does the Merchant Guild have left? Without any other leverage, they’d be at the Empire’s mercy.”
Xie Fengting’s words were as cold as the wind outside, each one striking deep into the heart, like his breath against his own reflection on the glass.
“The Merchant Guild won’t risk throwing all its resources into a gamble it’s destined to lose,” Xie Fengting’s voice was grim beneath his mask. “Assassinating the Emperor is a crime severe enough to eradicate both the Dan Ding Sect and the Merchant Guild entirely. The Elders’ Council is waiting for us to make our move to rescue Yang Hao. Sacrifice the Guild’s entire commercial interests for him? Yang Hao isn’t that important.”
“But to us,” Long Yun said quietly, “Yang Hao is that important. We’ve shared life and death together.”
“No matter what the cost, we will save him,” Zhuge Jian’s eyes burned with unwavering determination.
Xie Fengting took a deep breath and slowly traced his fingers through the fog on the window.
“I heard Yang Hao had already arranged for your escape before the assassination attempt. Why didn’t you leave?”
“That was his plan,” Long Yun shook his head. “Not ours.”
“Do you even realize what you’re up against?” Xie Fengting asked, his voice distant. “The Ten Sword Schools have deployed eight squads—their strongest force. Even with Yang Hao, you might not be able to defeat them. Ten Elders, three Elder Executives—these are formidable figures far beyond your reach. Any one of them could wipe you out completely. Not to mention the unpredictable Imperial Guards. And Master Qin and his disciple’s strength—no one’s even seen it before. You’re walking straight into a trap set to eliminate the Dan Ding Sect. Are you really ready to die?”
“The seeds of the Dan Ding Sect—fifty men and women skilled in alchemy—are already on their way. They’ll establish themselves in the Shen Yu Autonomous Territory. In no time, the Dan Ding Sword School will rise again,” Zhuge Jian, the overseer of all these plans, said. “As for those of us who remain, we’re prepared to die.”
“What’s the point of dying?”
“The meaning of dying lies in choosing not to run away,” Zhuge Jian, a lifelong merchant, said—perhaps the most unprofitable deal he’d ever made. “If we go, Yang Hao still has a chance. If we don’t, he’s truly doomed.”
Xie Fengting let out a long sigh—not meant for the people in the room, but for himself. His entire life had been filled with betrayal and distrust. Once the most promising disciple of the Light Sword School, even designated as the heir to the school’s legacy, Xie Fengting had been gravely wounded in internal strife and expelled from his sect.
Even during his time with the Merchant Guild, he had seen too much infighting and deals. Never before had he witnessed anything like the Dan Ding Sect—united in a suicidal mission.
A group willing to die for another person—this was something mythical in Xie Fengting’s memory. Yet here it was, unfolding before him.
Something deep within Xie Fengting’s blood began to burn. He felt like the young, reckless boy he once was—passionate and ready to fight for his sect.
Time had passed. That boy now wore a mask, hiding his identity as a Light Sword School disciple. But on this snowy day, Xie Fengting felt his blood stir again. He felt warm.
“The Merchant Guild will not intervene. That’s the unanimous decision of the Nine Directors—the final verdict,” Xie Fengting turned around, finally able to face the people in the room. “The only thing I can do is go with you. Even if it’s a gamble we’re destined to lose, I’ll take the risk alongside you.”
Long Yun smiled.
Zhuge Jian smiled.
Everyone laughed as if reborn. Who would have thought—they were a group ready to face death.
No matter how fierce the wind and snow outside, their hearts remained warm.
Judgment Day felt like a grim banquet, the air thick with the scent of blood.
All eyes in the Imperial Capital were fixed on the solemn Imperial Palace, especially the grand hall with ten thousand steps leading to it—a palace almost touching the clouds. This sacred hall, where the Emperor usually issued commands, was today entirely handed over to the Elders’ Council and the Imperial Guards for Yang Hao’s trial.
At the center of the whole affair, the Emperor himself was said to be injured from the assassination attempt and did not appear. The news of the Emperor’s injury only reinforced people’s belief that Yang Hao deserved death.
The Galactic Empire’s palace complex was built in a celestial manner. Surrounding the palace were the barracks of the Imperial Guards—the largest area, housing the mysterious and powerful guards.
Above these barracks were the administrative palaces where ministers conducted daily affairs. These palaces stood two hundred meters high—towering skyscrapers of their time.
Higher still were five separate palace complexes—the Emperor’s harem, home to the royal family. Over six hundred meters tall, these palaces were beyond the reach of ordinary people.
And at the very top, the central palace—the moon among the stars. This grand and solemn palace was built entirely of massive stones, almost reaching into the clouds.
To reach this central palace, one had to climb ten thousand steps—a seemingly endless staircase that many in the Empire could never even dream of treading.
But what left an even deeper impression was that officials who failed in their duties often had their heads severed by the Emperor. Their bloodied heads would be thrown from the palace, rolling down the stairs. Before even reaching halfway, the blood would drain, and the head would be unrecognizable.
By the time they reached the bottom, the Imperial Guards often had nothing left but mangled flesh to clean up.
When Yang Hao was brought before the ten-thousand-step staircase, the Imperial Guard sword masters watching him looked at him as if he were already a headless corpse.
Lower-ranking sword masters escorted Yang Hao to the foot of the stairs, then a high-ranking officer would lead him to the grand palace at the top.
Yang Hao looked up and saw the person coming to escort him—he smiled. “So it’s you.”
The person didn’t seem amused. Dressed in white, holding a silver spear, her black hair cascaded over her white coat like waves. Her eyes carried a faint sorrow, her bangs gently resting on her forehead. Her face seemed shrouded in a mist, making it hard to see clearly.
Lan Ling sat atop her Snow Night Star Lion, wings spread. Without flapping, the lion hovered effortlessly in the air.
“Are you ready?” Lan Ling resumed her icy demeanor, making it hard to believe she had once cried uncontrollably on the Intelligence Planet.
“Ready for what?” Yang Hao asked.
“To die,” Lan Ling’s voice seemed emotionless, but her gaze betrayed the turmoil within the ice queen’s heart. “The Elders’ Council is ready to execute you. All that remains is to announce your crime of treason to the Empire. Once you step onto these ten thousand steps and enter the palace, you won’t leave again.”
“Nice,” Yang Hao straightened his posture. “I’m ready.”
Lan Ling’s lips trembled, then she couldn’t help but say, “The Elders won’t kill you quickly. The Elder Executives know what you cultivate. They’ll destroy your physical body, then place your yuan-embryo into a refining fire. Finally, a weapon-forging Elder will forge it into a soul-bound weapon. Your consciousness and power will be sealed inside a weapon forever, never to be reborn.”
As she spoke, Lan Ling’s voice trembled. She had seen how the Elder Executives treated traitors—eternal confinement, neither alive nor dead. It was the most tormenting fate imaginable.
Lan Ling had expected to see fear on Yang Hao’s face—after all, fear was innate. But she was disappointed.
Yang Hao still smiled, his eyes like stars as he looked at her. “If I die, will you be sad?”
Lan Ling lowered her head, eyes closed, her fingers gripping the silver spear so tightly that they almost bled. With great restraint, she managed to say, “No.”
Yang Hao narrowed his eyes, glancing at the grand palace hidden in the clouds. The tense atmosphere around him made his smile bitter. “Return my master’s sword. A thousand-year-old love—let it accompany me and my master in death.”
The sword was a gift from Hun Yuanzi to his wife. Yang Hao had retrieved it from the sword tomb and lent it to Lan Ling to stabilize her broken bones. Even Yang Hao himself didn’t know why he was asking for it back—perhaps, in his final moments, he didn’t want Lan Ling to shed more tears for him.
Lan Ling’s breathing grew heavier, her already full chest rising and falling dramatically. Suddenly, she pressed something into Yang Hao’s palm. “I’m returning your things.”
Yang Hao looked down. In his hand were several Ling Xiao Pills. Back on the Intelligence Planet, when Yang Hao thought he couldn’t survive the Celestial Transformation, he had given these pills to Lan Ling so she could escape.
But who would have thought she never left, and the Ling Xiao Pills remained unused.
Back then, the two had embraced the idea of dying together. But today, at the foot of these ten-thousand steps, Lan Ling was leading Yang Hao to his death. The change made Yang Hao chuckle softly.
Lan Ling didn’t take out the sword. She remained cold as she asked, “The Imperial Palace today is heavily guarded, many times more than usual. Not just the Imperial Guards, but also the Ten Sword Schools and the Elders’ Council. You should know that many will die for you. The Elders have set this trial precisely to eliminate everyone in one strike.”
“Do you think they’ll come to rescue me?”
“Aren’t they?” Lan Ling asked, puzzled.
“I guess so,” Yang Hao nodded, his expression calm.
“Then why won’t you die?” Lan Ling finally burst out. “If you die, those outside can live. They won’t have to sacrifice themselves in vain.”
Yang Hao laughed heartily. He had thought about this question countless times. During his house arrest by the Imperial Guards, buried in snow, this seemingly simple question had consumed his mind.
But was death really the best solution?
He shook his head. “You’re wrong. I can’t die.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is a gamble—a high-stakes bet between me and someone else. The Ten Sword Schools are the stakes. The Elders’ Council is the stake. The Dan Ding Sword School is the stake. Even my friends have willingly become part of the bet.”
Lan Ling’s voice turned cold. “You’ve already lost this bet. Why keep playing?”
“If I die, the game ends, and all the stakes are wasted. No one survives. But as long as I live, the game continues. I still have a final chance.”
“I don’t see any hope.”
“There will be,” Yang Hao’s voice grew confident. “I still have a few hidden cards.”
Lan Ling’s voice trembled again. “Whether you win or lose, you won’t survive the day. Even Elder Wu Yi has come. The Elders’ Council has already decided your fate.”
“Elder Wu Yi is here?” Yang Hao wasn’t surprised. “So what if I die? After all, you wouldn’t be sad.”
With that, Yang Hao laughed loudly and began walking up the steps on his own.
Ten thousand cold, unfeeling steps stretched before him. Behind him, Lan Ling stood motionless, her eyes reddening. Her lips moved silently, whispering something inaudible.
But regardless, the judgment had already begun the moment Yang Hao stepped onto the stairs.
Elder Wu Yi stood in the grand palace, the central figure of today’s trial. Looking down from the lowest of the nine golden steps, he saw the Empire’s highest-ranking nobles and officials standing respectfully with their heads bowed. Almost every top official had come today—the Chief Foreign Minister, the Chief Domestic Minister, even the Chief Minister of the Privy Council, all dressed formally, their faces solemn.
Not far from Elder Wu Yi stood the lofty throne of the imperial emperor. Wu Yi sneered inwardly. Although he could not sit on that throne right now, the true master of the Galactic Empire was the Senate, and even the person seated on the throne had to obey him.
Elder Wu Yi, Elder Hei Feng, and Elder Rong Zhe, the three executive elders, were satisfied with the day’s arrangements. The emperor had feigned illness to avoid appearing, yet had vacated the grand palace, effectively acquiescing to the Senate’s judgment. The presence of all the chief officials made this trial legitimate. Wu Yi and the others believed that as long as the three of them stood here, Elder Feng would have no choice but to comply obediently; the Imperial Guards would certainly dare not attempt any trickery.
Moreover, there were ten other elders and the combat forces of the Eight Great Sword Groups.
What they now anticipated was no longer merely a trial, but rather a massacre, a splendid carnage amidst the blizzard.
Therefore, when Yang Hao was brought into the palace by people from the Snowy Star Lion, Elder Wu Yi smiled. This smile startled the other two executive elders. They couldn’t recall the last time Elder Wu Yi had smiled—perhaps it was many years ago after repelling an attack by two sword saints, or maybe twenty years ago on the night he slaughtered thirty-six royal branches.
But this smile definitely contained profound implications. Wu Yi had become the convener of the Nine Executive Elders due to his wisdom surpassing ordinary men and his decisiveness in ruthless actions. Thus, this smile sent shivers down people’s spines.
Inside the grand palace, only Yang Hao understood the meaning of this smile. Yet he was unafraid, even feeling it was only natural, and became proud.
When someone has lived through thousands of years of solitude and loneliness, drifting through the universe filled with hatred, he will understand what loneliness truly is. And when someone meditates sitting in snow deep enough to cover their entire body, feeling the piercing cold and the vast emptiness within, he will also realize that life is lonely like snow.
Yang Hao understood that Wu Yi’s smile meant he had recognized Yang Hao as his opponent. In Wu Yi’s snow-like solitude, a touch of color belonging to Yang Hao had finally been added.
For an upper-level powerhouse like Elder Wu Yi, who had stood at the peak of the universe for centuries, his greatest loneliness was the lack of a worthy opponent. Twenty years ago, there had still been the rebellion of the royal family’s thirty-six branches to challenge him, but in recent years, there had only been the insignificant challenges of two sword saints.
After Elder Wu Yi repelled the two sword saints with a single finger, the sorrow in his heart was something others could hardly understand. Not until today could this lofty executive elder hang a smile on his lips again.
Because he recognized that Yang Hao was a true opponent.
Perhaps in terms of strength, Yang Hao was hardly worth mentioning; sending one elder could easily kill him on the spot. But Yang Hao’s value did not lie there. In just one year, he had risen from an unknown commoner student to amass an unimaginable force—this was an unbelievable feat.
He was the leader of the Resistance Alliance, the lord of the Shen Yu Autonomous Territory, the owner of the Dan Ding Group—one of the top hundred commercial powers in the universe, a top ten council member of the Merchant General Association, and the leader of the number one Dan Ding Sword Sect in the universe. He had defeated the Ten Sword Streams so thoroughly they were left in disarray, and had even gained the favor of the divine race.
Such a person was undeniably a worthy opponent. Irrespective of age or strength, anyone who could cause Elder Wu Yi to smile was already the most dazzling star in the universe.
But today was precisely the day to destroy this shining star. Thinking that Yang Hao would soon become his new divine weapon and that Yang Hao’s forces would be eradicated today, Elder Wu Yi couldn’t help smiling again.
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