Three months have passed since the snowstorms of the Empire. It was officially the time of spring when flowers bloomed and everything revived. However, the Earth no longer had its former spring scenery; at most, artificial suns emitted a few more rays of warm light, letting the wind carry the fragrance of a hundred flowers.
But regardless, this was rare warmth for the people of the Imperial Capital. The harsh winter of three months had passed, and peaceful yet luxurious days seemed ready to return.
Yet could the truth really be so simple, especially after the Empire’s turbulent changes, with various factions taking their stances in a whirlwind of events? In the end, a trial within the palace led the Emperor to formally declare a split from the Senate—an outcome no one had anticipated, not even the high-ranking senators, who had poured their energy and thoughts into this for a long time.
The Senate’s momentary confusion gave Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the palace, Sir Yang Hao, the Lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory and the Princess’s fiancé, was immediately sent back to his fief. The atmosphere and dangers of the Imperial Capital were simply unsuitable for Yang Hao to recuperate. In contrast, the Autonomous Territory was guarded by experts like Hede, beyond the Senate’s reach.
However, not long after Yang Hao left the Imperial Capital, news came from a senior senator: during the final moments of the court trial, Elder Wu Yi had placed his palm on Yang Hao’s head, injecting a deadly force into his body. This lethal energy would erupt two months later and was enough to kill an expert.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Stream, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The senior senator’s words were naturally credible due to his high status. Moreover, Yang Hao had gone silent after leaving the Imperial Capital, leading people on Earth to believe that this young man could hardly survive. In the Empire, any emerging expert not integrated into the Senate’s framework would suddenly die—an established pattern, so people didn’t care much.
Moreover, during this period, another shocking piece of news emerged.
The Empire’s army suppressing the rebellion suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory was the western front, targeted by the Empire for pacification. Conversely, the eastern front, centered around the Angel Star, faced a full-scale assault from the Empire.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion, the most powerful force stationed in the Milky Way, along with three family armies as the main attacking forces. One of the Three Sword Saints was also sent to assist. This army was the most formidable in the Empire and the main force stationed in the Milky Way.
Yet such a powerful army suffered a crushing defeat in the eastern campaign.
In a decisive battle larger by a hundredfold compared to the Dual Sun Battle, the Glory Legion fell into an ambush, surrounded and annihilated by the eastern rebels. Nearly half of the warships were lost. Ten fleets named in honor of glory were again on the brink of destruction.
Even one of the Three Sword Saints, Muses, was severely injured in battle with the rebels and had already been transported back to the Empire, unlikely to wield martial power for a long time.
The impact of this defeat far exceeded what the surface of the battle reports indicated.
The Glory Legion was the main force of the Privy Council stationed in the Milky Way. Its destruction directly led to a vacuum in the fleet’s military power within the Milky Way. During the critical moments of the campaign, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Stream, accompanying the army, refused to help and preserved their strength intact. As the Glory Legion was destroyed, the three family armies responded to the Senate’s call, directly returning to the Milky Way. They assisted the Four Guard Sword Sects in controlling the four acceleration channels of the Milky Way, monitoring all ships traveling between the Milky Way and the universe.
Now, the Milky Way and Earth were under the Senate’s absolute control. Except for the Dan Ding Sword Sect and the Imperial Guards, no other forces could rival them.
This massive change was almost a long-planned coup, but the Senate’s power was too overwhelming for ordinary nobles to dare to voice their anger.
Just as the military power structure within the Milky Way reversed, the Ten Sword Stream’s Chief Assembly was convened as the first spring breeze swept over the Elder Mountain. However, this time, the main players at the meeting were no longer the usual eight family heads of the Ten Sword Stream. A mysterious woman, known as the Temptress, who had been secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years, suddenly appeared. This woman, covered entirely in a black cloak, coldly announced the two grand strategies: “Dragon Imprisonment” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies triggered the first internal conflict in the Ten Sword Stream’s century-long history.
Especially the proposal of the “Dragon Imprisonment” strategy, which almost all eight family heads opposed. Even the usually serene cultivator Lin Zongzhu and Wang Ha Wang of the Wang family were furious, ready to confront the Temptress.
In the end, the leader of the Shadow Assassination Group even attempted to assassinate the Temptress, trying to kill the woman at the Ten Sword Stream’s meeting table. But at the same time, at least three senior senators appeared, shattering the leader of the Shadow Assassination Group into pieces.
When the bloody remains fell before them, the family heads of the Ten Sword Stream realized that today was unlike any other. The Ten Sword Stream was no longer an indispensable force but merely a tool for the senators.
After this meeting, the mysterious Temptress officially replaced the Chief Assembly of the Ten Sword Stream, taking control of the entire Ten Sword Stream’s command authority. The Imperial Guards system also began to be completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure starting with the assassination of the Shadow leader.
The two grand strategies of “Dragon Imprisonment” and “Annihilation” officially began their blood-red curtain.
In the palace, the blood on the platform outside the grand hall had long been washed away. On the ashen square bricks, carvers had etched countless dragons representing the royal family, but these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
It was already deep into the night, but the pale artificial moon still stubbornly shone here. The artificial moon, hovering in low Earth orbit, always directed its largest illuminated surface over the entire imperial city.
The imperial city was very quiet, eerily so. In this deathly silence, one could smell the stench of blood. Those who had been to the battlefield knew this was not true silence but a brief moment of calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood at the top of the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands lightly resting on the white jade balustrade, overlooking the entire Imperial Capital. This was his capital, his empire. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he had dominion over the seas, commanded countless soldiers, and the vastest city on Earth, the center of the universe, was but a humble servant at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie was old. At over eighty years old, even if he had once been strong, he was now somewhat frail. His hands resting on the balustrade were bony, veins protruding from his skin. No one could imagine that this was the same youth who, many years ago, had been full of vigor and ambition, determined to conquer the universe under his feet.
But he had achieved it. Now, there was only one empire in the universe—that was his empire. Yet, what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Even though his eagle-like gaze had never dimmed.
But could he regain his former glory? Had he ever truly possessed this nation that, in name, belonged entirely to him?
Emperor Yinglie stood in the wind, the night wind howling past him, blowing his curly, long white hair backward, making the old emperor appear as majestic as a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” Qin Feng, dressed in black, calmly stepped out from the darkness, standing beside him.
Three months had passed since the empire’s blizzard. It was officially the season of spring’s warmth and blooming flowers, a time of revival for all things. However, Earth no longer bore the familiar spring scenery of the past. At most, the artificial sun cast a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this was a rare warmth.
The three months of bitter winter had passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seemed poised to return.
Yet, the truth was never so simple—especially when the empire was in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace had ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate, something no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and dangers of the imperial capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate there. In contrast, within the autonomous territory, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the imperial capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial when he withdrew his palm from Yang Hao’s head, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body. This force would erupt in two months, powerful enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words were naturally credible given their status, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the imperial capital, people on Earth also believed the young man was doomed. Such was the way of the empire—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. This had become an unspoken rule, so few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress rebellions, had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main assault force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most elite army, the backbone of the galaxy’s military forces.
Yet, this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again on the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Sai, was severely wounded in battle against the rebels. He had been transported back to the empire and would be unable to fight for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat went far beyond what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galaxy’s fleet strength dangerously depleted. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the expedition, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the critical moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three family armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy. They then assisted the Four Guardian Sword Sects in securing the galaxy’s four acceleration channels, effectively controlling all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s iron grip. Aside from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no other force could oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that ordinary nobles dared not speak out, even in anger.
As the galaxy’s military landscape reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council convened with the first breath of spring over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the dominant voice was no longer the eight family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a mysterious woman—secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies triggered the first major internal strife among the Ten Sword Schools in centuries.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, provoked fierce opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the mysterious woman.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared, reducing the assassin leader to bloody fragments.
When the gory remains landed before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but mere tools of the Senate.
From that meeting onward, the mysterious woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Twilight leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” strategies officially unveiled their blood-red curtain.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand platform outside the throne hall had long been washed away. The gray-green stone tiles were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The man-made moon in low orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s pinnacle.
The palace was eerily quiet—so quiet it sent chills down one’s spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Those who had been on the battlefield knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled the cosmos, commanding countless soldiers. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie was old. At over eighty, his once-powerful frame had grown frail. His hands on the railing were bony, veins protruding beneath thin skin. Few could imagine this was the same spirited youth who had once vowed to conquer the universe.
And yet, he had done it. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Even though the fire in his hawk-like eyes had never dimmed.
Could he reclaim his former glory? Had he ever truly possessed this empire that nominally belonged to him?
Standing in the wind, the emperor’s long, silver-white hair billowed behind him like a lion’s mane, lending him a majestic air.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following the emperor’s finger was a sight that sent shivers down the spine.
Outside the imperial palace walls—where none had dared approach before—stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
There were thirty-six of these beings. Though they resembled humans, they were not truly alive. Their bodies were semi-transparent, like virtual shadows. Each Ghost Shade stood in the same posture—head bowed, hands clasped in humility. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an unbroken circle around the palace.
The cold wind howled, blurring their forms, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand corpses of Imperial Guards. None had breached the ten-pace mark—marked by a blood-red line. To cross it meant death.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng said, his face expressionless as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder—one of the nine presiding elders—has done only one thing: sought out the thirty-six strongest ghostly spirits in the world and refined them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the white jade railing. Decades of palace life had dulled the fire in his heart, stripping him of the decisive ruthlessness of his youth. Now, even the sight of these half-human, half-ghost beings sent a chill through him.
Emperor Yinglie smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng shook his head. “There is no end.”
“I am a hero. There is no end.” The emperor savored these words, feeling a warmth surge in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young Yinglie of the past. In the eyes of this old man, once called Jaran but now too feared to be addressed so, a sharp light gleamed. No matter the era, he was always the emperor who ruled the world. Yinglie nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were barely sixteen. We dared to leave the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said that every place you had heard of would become part of the empire. And you achieved it.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed. “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the Senate back then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze passing through his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world would still be yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even leave the palace?” Emperor Yinglie sighed, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie had always been indomitable, fighting to the last man without a hint of regret.
Had the hero truly reached his end?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, you may use my life as the price.” His words were resolute, the result of countless calculations. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable. If he were willing to sacrifice himself in a life-or-death struggle against the Ghost Shades, he might buy the emperor a chance to escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie threw his head back and laughed, his voice shaking the heavens—even the artificial moon high above seemed to tremble. When his laughter subsided, his expression turned solemn. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, his hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for seven steps outside the palace was the greatest honor.
Meanwhile, the Ghost Shades—which Qin Feng had regarded as thorns in his side—stood unwavering in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question whether they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest master could only tear a seven-step breach in their barrier. Truly, this was an inescapable trap.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared with finality:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury in unison.
The wind shattered, the very air splintering under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. He laughed, head held high. “A true hero does not rely on brute strength.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “In the past, you fought by my side. With you, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you still stand with me. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—not kill me outright.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s silver-white hair, billowing in the wind like a lion’s mane. Even in old age, the lion’s majesty remained. Finally, Qin Feng withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “How can a dragon be caged? I have failed you.”
Without waiting for the emperor’s order, he turned and commanded into the palace’s darkness: “Summon the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions. Order them to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier. The Wind and Slaughter Legions were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Following the emperor’s finger, an awe-inspiring sight lay beyond the palace walls.
Three months have passed since the blizzard of the empire. It is now the season of spring, when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, the Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of the past. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, this warmth is rare for the people of the imperial capital.
The three-month-long harsh winter has passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seem about to return.
But the truth is never so simple, especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate—something no one had expected. Even the high-ranking presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the imperial capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate. Instead, in the autonomous territory, with experts like He De guarding him, the Senate’s influence could not reach him.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the imperial capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial when he withdrew his palm from Yang Hao’s head, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words were naturally credible given their status, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the imperial capital, people on Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, this was the norm—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly die. It had become a pattern, so no one paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, even more shocking news arrived.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress the rebellion, suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most powerful force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main attacking force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this army was the empire’s most formidable and the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet, this mighty force suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” once again faced annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle against the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, unable to fight for a long time.
The impact of this defeat far exceeded what the battle reports suggested.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s main force in the galaxy. Its destruction directly led to a vacuum in the galaxy’s military power. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the expedition, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the critical moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three family armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, assisting the Four Guardian Sword Sects in securing the galaxy’s four acceleration channels, controlling all ships traveling between the galaxy and the universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s control. Apart from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force could oppose them.
This drastic change was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not speak out against it.
As the military balance in the galaxy shifted, the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council convened with the first spring breeze sweeping over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the leading figures were no longer the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a woman secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—the Enchantress—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies triggered the first internal strife among the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The proposal of the “Dragon’s Cage” strategy drew fierce opposition from the eight family heads, even provoking the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest and the Duke of Haiwang from the Wang family to fury, willing to defy the Enchantress.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate the Enchantress at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared, tearing the assassin leader apart.
When the bloody remains fell before them, the family heads of the Ten Sword Schools realized that things were no longer as they once were. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the elders.
From that meeting onward, the Enchantress—whose identity had always been a mystery—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, taking command of the entire Ten Sword Schools. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Twilight Assassin leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The two deadly strategies, “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation,” officially unveiled their blood-red curtain.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand platform outside the great hall had long been washed away. The gray-green bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
It was deep into the night, but the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The man-made moon in low orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s pinnacle.
The palace was quiet—so quiet it sent chills down one’s spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Those who had been on the battlefield knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
The Heroic Emperor stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing, overlooking the entire imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled the cosmos, commanding countless soldiers. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
The Heroic Emperor had aged. His eighty-year-old frame, once robust, was now somewhat frail. His hands on the railing were bony, veins protruding. No one would believe this was the same young man who, decades ago, had been full of vigor, determined to conquer the universe.
Yet he had done it. Now, the universe had only one empire—his empire. But what had the Heroic Emperor truly gained?
Even though his hawk-like gaze had never dimmed.
But could he restore his former glory? Did he truly possess this empire that nominally belonged to him?
The Heroic Emperor stood in the wind, his long, curly white hair swept back by the night breeze, making the old emperor look as majestic as a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” The Heroic Emperor tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following the emperor’s finger was a sight outside the palace walls that sent shivers down one’s spine.
Beyond the palace walls, where no one had dared approach before, stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
There were thirty-six of these beings. Though they resembled humans, they were not truly alive—their bodies were semi-transparent, like virtual shadows. Each Ghost Shade stood in the same posture, bowing slightly with hands clasped in humility. One stood every few hundred meters, forming an encirclement around the palace.
The cold wind blew, making the shadows flicker, but no one could underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand corpses of Imperial Guards—none had been able to breach the ten-pace line. A blood-red boundary marked the limit; crossing it meant death.
“They are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng said, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders has done only one thing—gathering the thirty-six strongest ghostly spirits in the world and refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
The Heroic Emperor slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the white jade railing. Decades of palace life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ferocity of his youth. Even seeing these half-human, half-ghost beings sent a chill through him.
The Heroic Emperor smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng shook his head. “There is no end.”
“I am a hero. There is no end.” The Heroic Emperor savored these words. A warmth stirred in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young emperor he once was. The old man, whose true name was Jaran (though no one dared call him that now), had a sharp glint in his eyes. No matter the era, he was always the ruler of the world. The Heroic Emperor nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were sixteen. We dared to venture beyond the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said that every place you had heard of would become part of the empire. You achieved it.”
The Heroic Emperor mocked himself, “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the elders back then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze passing through his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world would still be yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even step out of the palace?” The Heroic Emperor sighed softly.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. The Heroic Emperor had always been indomitable, fighting to the last man for decades without ever sighing in despair.
But now, was this truly the end of a hero?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy you passage.” His words were resolute, as if he had calculated this a thousand times. Qin Feng’s current strength was unfathomable. If he were willing to sacrifice himself in a life-or-death struggle against the Ghost Shades, he might create an opening for the emperor.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
The Heroic Emperor laughed heartily, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon high above to tremble slightly. The laughter faded as Jaran, the Heroic Emperor, composed himself. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, his hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, exchanging his life for seven steps outside the palace was the greatest honor.
The Ghost Shades, which Qin Feng had always regarded as thorns, stood unwavering in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question if they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest warrior could only tear open the barrier for seven steps—proof that this was indeed an unbreakable trap.
The Heroic Emperor took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared firmly:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar. All the hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury at once.
The wind shattered, and the air itself trembled under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. He laughed, raising his head. “A true hero does not rely on brute strength.” He turned to Qin Feng. “Back then, you fought by my side. With you, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you still stand with me. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—they dare not kill me.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s flowing white hair, billowing in the wind. Even in his twilight years, the old lion’s majesty remained. Qin Feng finally withdrew his hands from his sleeves. “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed you.”
Without waiting for the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s darkness:
“Send word. Order the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
The Heroic Emperor listened to Qin Feng’s dry voice, feeling blood rise in his throat. He suppressed the discomfort and looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives lived and died like ants.
What could the true ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was trapped within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier. The Wind and Slaughter Legions were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now the season of spring warmth and blooming flowers, a time of renewal for all things. However, Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of old. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is a rare blessing.
The three-month-long harsh winter has passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
Yet, the truth is far from simple—especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate, an outcome no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary disarray bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Dominion, and the princess’s fiancé—was swiftly returned to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and dangers of the capital were too great for his recovery, whereas in the dominion, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, in the final moments of the palace trial, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left Yang Hao’s head. This force would erupt in two months, powerful enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. Given the high status of the presiding elders, their words were naturally credible. Moreover, after leaving the capital, Yang Hao vanished without a trace, leading people on Earth to believe the young man was doomed. Such was the way of the empire—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish, a pattern so common that few paid it much heed.
And then, during this very period, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s forces, sent to suppress rebellions, suffered an unprecedented and crushing defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. The Oracle Dominion, where Yang Hao resided, belonged to the western front and became a target of imperial appeasement. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main offensive units. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most elite military force, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet, this mighty army suffered a devastating defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger in scale than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” once again faced annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle against the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, rendering him incapable of combat for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary military force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet severely weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion in its hour of need, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration channels, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s iron grip. Aside from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. Yet, the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice their anger.
As the military balance in the galaxy reversed, the Ten Sword Schools convened their chief council meeting with the first breath of spring over Elder Mountain. But this time, the dominant voice was no longer the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a mysterious woman—clad in a black cloak that concealed her entirely—emerged, a figure secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years. With an icy voice, she announced two grand strategies: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies ignited the first major internal strife among the Ten Sword Schools in centuries.
The proposal of the “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the cloaked woman.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at that moment, at least three presiding elders appeared, reducing the assassin to a bloody pulp.
As the mangled remains landed before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but mere tools of the elders.
From that meeting onward, the cloaked woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, following the assassination of the Twilight leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The bloody curtains had been drawn for the “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” strategies.
In the imperial palace, the bloodstains on the grand platform outside the great hall had long been scrubbed away. The gray-green bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons now lay trapped, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The man-made moon in near-Earth orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s pinnacle.
The palace was eerily quiet—so quiet it sent chills down the spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the metallic tang of blood. Veterans of war knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he surveyed his capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, he commanded countless soldiers and held sway over the cosmos. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie had aged. His once-powerful frame, now in his eighties, had grown frail. His bony hands, veins protruding, rested on the railing—a far cry from the vigorous youth who had once vowed to conquer the universe.
And yet, he had done it. The universe now knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Though the fire in his hawk-like eyes had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Had he ever truly possessed this empire that bore his name in title alone?
Standing in the howling night wind, his long, silver-white hair billowing behind him, the old emperor still carried the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That,” Emperor Yinglie struck the railing and pointed, “are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, beyond the palace walls, stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
Thirty-six in total, these beings resembled humans but were not truly alive. Their semi-transparent forms flickered like virtual shadows, each standing with bowed heads and clasped hands in a posture of humility. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an unbroken circle around the palace.
The cold wind blurred their outlines, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guards—none had survived crossing the blood-red boundary line.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders has done only one thing—gathered the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps through forbidden arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the jade railing. Decades of court life had tempered the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ferocity of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
With a bitter smile, the emperor murmured, “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng shook his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end…” Emperor Yinglie savored the words. A warmth stirred in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young emperor he once was. The old man, whose true name was Jaran (though none dared speak it now), sharpened his gaze. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled all under heaven. Nodding, he said, “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were but sixteen. We ventured beyond the galaxy in a tiny ship, swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty declared that every place you heard of would become part of the empire. And you achieved it.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed, “Did I ever rely on the Senate or the elders then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze passing through his heart. “Even without them, the world was yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to step beyond the palace?” The emperor sighed, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable spirit had carried him through decades of conquest, rarely expressed such resignation.
Was this truly the end for a hero?
The thought flickered briefly in Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His tone was resolute, the result of countless calculations. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he sacrificed himself against the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How far?”
“Seven steps.”
Emperor Yinglie threw back his head and laughed, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his laughter subsided, he fixed Qin Feng with a solemn gaze. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps beyond the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, those seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the highest honor.
Meanwhile, the Ghost Shades remained motionless in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question whether they still held power. Yet, even the palace’s greatest master could only tear open the barrier for seven steps at the cost of his life—proof that this was indeed an inescapable trap.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury in unison.
The wind shattered, the very air fracturing under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already regained his composure. Laughing, he said, “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he added, “In the past, we fought side by side. With you at my side, the Imperial Army was invincible. Today, we stand together again. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—they dare not kill me.”
Qin Feng studied the emperor’s silver-white hair, flowing wildly in the wind. Even in old age, the lion’s majesty remained. Slowly, he withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed you.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s darkness: “Send word—order the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard regiments to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the sensation, he looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier. The Wind and Slaughter regiments were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Three months had passed since the empire’s blizzard. It was officially the season of spring warmth and blooming flowers, a time of renewal for all things. However, Earth no longer bore the spring scenery of the past. At most, the artificial sun cast a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this was a rare warmth.
The three months of bitter winter had passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seemed poised to return.
But the truth was far from simple, especially as the empire’s political landscape shifted like a revolving lantern, with various factions taking their turns to declare allegiances. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate—something no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had expended immense effort over this.
The Senate’s momentary disarray bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the imperial capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate there. Instead, in the autonomous territory, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
But shortly after Yang Hao left the imperial capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left Yang Hao’s head. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words were naturally credible given their status, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the imperial capital, people across Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, this was the norm—any rising master who didn’t align with the Senate would suddenly perish. It had become an unspoken rule, so few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, even more shocking news arrived.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress rebellions, had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main strike force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most elite military force, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” once again faced annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle with the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, where he would remain incapacitated for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat went far beyond what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s main force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet critically weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the crucial moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration channels in and out of the galaxy, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Apart from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that ordinary nobles dared not speak out, even in anger.
As the galactic military landscape reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ leadership convened their first meeting as the spring breeze swept over Senate Mountain. But this time, the dominant figures were no longer the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a woman known as the Enchantress, secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years, suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies sparked the first internal strife in the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The “Dragon’s Cage” plan, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the Enchantress.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate the Enchantress right at the Ten Sword Schools’ conference table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared, tearing the assassin leader apart.
As the bloodied remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the elders.
From that meeting onward, the Enchantress—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ leadership council, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, following the assassination of the Twilight leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” strategies officially began, drawing a blood-red curtain over the empire.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand terrace had long been washed away. The gray-green stone tiles were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The man-made moon in near-Earth orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s apex.
The palace was eerily quiet, a silence so profound it chilled the bones. In this deathly stillness, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Veterans knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon his capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, he commanded countless soldiers and held sway over the cosmos. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie was old. His eighty-year-old frame, once robust, had grown frail. His hands on the railing were bony, veins protruding. Few could imagine this was the same spirited youth who had once vowed to conquer the universe.
Yet he had done it. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Though his hawk-like ambition had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Had he ever truly possessed this empire that bore his name in title alone?
Standing in the howling night wind, his long, curly white hair billowing behind him, the old emperor still carried the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That,” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed, “are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, a terrifying sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Outside the once-forbidden imperial walls stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
Thirty-six in total, these beings resembled humans but were not truly alive. Their semi-transparent bodies flickered like virtual shadows, each standing in the same humble posture, hands clasped in deference. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an unbroken circle around the palace.
The cold wind blurred their forms, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guard corpses—none had breached the invisible boundary marked by a line of blood.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses meant nothing. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders has done only one thing—gathering the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“Hmm.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold jade beneath his palm. Decades of palace life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive fury of his youth. Even these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
With a bitter smile, the emperor murmured, “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng shook his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end…” Emperor Yinglie savored the words. A warmth stirred in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young emperor he once was. In the eyes of this old man, once called Jaran but now feared too much to name, a sharp light gleamed. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled the world.
“Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were but sixteen. We dared to venture beyond the galaxy in a tiny ship, swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said every place you heard of would become part of the empire. You achieved it.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed, “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the elders then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze in his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world was yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even leave the palace?” The emperor sighed, a rare moment of vulnerability.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable spirit had driven decades of conquests, had never sighed in defeat before.
Was this truly the end for a hero?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he bowed his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His tone was resolute, the offer calculated a thousand times over. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable—if he sacrificed himself to fight the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie threw back his head and laughed, the sound shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his laughter faded, his gaze sharpened. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps beyond the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked in his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the highest honor.
The Ghost Shades, still standing motionless in the cold wind, seemed almost powerless. Yet even the palace’s strongest warrior could only tear open the barrier for seven steps—proof of its unbreakable nature.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury.
The wind shattered, the very air splintering under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. He smiled proudly. “A true hero does not rely on brute strength.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “In the past, you fought by my side, and with you, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you still stand with me. Because of you, the Senate dares only trap me—not kill me.”
Qin Feng studied the emperor’s weathered hair, the white curls dancing in the wind. Even in old age, the lion’s majesty remained. At last, Qin Feng drew his hands from his sleeves. “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed you.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s depths:
“Send word—order the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard regiments to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the sensation, he looked up at the starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults—the Wind and Slaughter regiments were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Three months had passed since the empire’s blizzard. It was officially the season of spring’s warmth and blooming flowers, a time of renewal—yet Earth no longer bore the familiar sights of spring. At most, the artificial sun cast a slightly warmer glow, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift on the wind.
Still, for the people of the imperial capital, this was a rare warmth.
The three-month-long bitter winter had ended, and it seemed that peaceful, even indulgent, days were about to return.
But the truth was never so simple—especially when the empire was in turmoil, with factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace had ultimately led the emperor to openly declare a break with the Senate, something no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this outcome.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. Rescued from the palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, lord of the Oracle Dominion, and the princess’s betrothed—was swiftly returned to his fief. The capital’s atmosphere was too dangerous for his recovery, whereas in his dominion, with experts like He De guarding him, the Senate’s reach was limited.
Yet, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, word spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, in the final moments of the palace trial, had infused a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left the young man’s head. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words carried weight, and with Yang Hao vanishing from the capital, the people of Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, it was a pattern: any rising master who didn’t align with the Senate would meet a sudden end. Few paid it much mind.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s forces, sent to suppress rebellions, had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Dominion belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main offensive. One of the Three Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most elite military force, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrisons.
Yet this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a battle a hundred times larger than the Twin Suns Campaign, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again pushed to the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle against the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, where he would remain incapacitated for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet critically weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion in its direst hour, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration passages—effectively monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were firmly under the Senate’s thumb. Apart from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This seismic shift was nothing short of a long-planned coup. Yet the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice dissent.
As the galactic military landscape turned upside down, the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council convened with the first breath of spring over Elder Mountain. But this time, the dominant figure was no longer the eight great family heads. Instead, a mysterious woman—cloaked in black and secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—emerged. With an icy voice, she announced two grand strategies: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies sparked the first major internal strife among the Ten Sword Schools in centuries.
The “Dragon’s Cage” plan, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, openly defying the woman.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the council table. But before he could strike, at least three presiding elders appeared, reducing him to a bloody pulp.
As the mangled remains landed before them, the family heads realized that the Ten Sword Schools were no longer the indispensable force they once were—they had become mere tools of the elders.
From that moment, the enigmatic woman, whose identity remained unknown, officially replaced the chief council as the supreme authority over the Ten Sword Schools. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, following the assassination of the Twilight leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
Thus, the bloody curtains rose on the twin strategies of “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
In the palace, the bloodstains on the grand terrace had long been scrubbed away. The gray-blue bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons now lay trapped, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. Hovering in low orbit, this artificial satellite always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s apex.
The palace was eerily silent—so silent it sent chills down the spine. In this deathly quiet, one could almost smell the metallic tang of blood. Veterans knew this was not true silence, but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade balustrade as he gazed down upon his capital. This was his city, his empire. As the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, he commanded countless legions, and the grandest capital on Earth—the center of the universe—lay prostrate at his feet.
But Emperor Yinglie had grown old. His once-powerful frame, now in his eighties, had withered. The veins on his bony hands stood stark against his skin. Few could believe this was the same fiery youth who had once vowed to conquer the cosmos.
And yet, he had done it. The universe now knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Even now, his hawk-like eyes burned with undimmed intensity.
But could he reclaim his former glory? Had he ever truly possessed this empire that bore his name in title alone?
The night wind howled past, whipping his long, silver-white hair behind him like a lion’s mane, lending the aged emperor a regal majesty.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly at his side.
“There.” Emperor Yinglie struck the balustrade and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, a terrifying sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Where none had dared approach before, a ring of faint gray figures now stood, their forms emitting an eerie glow.
Thirty-six in total, these beings resembled humans but were not truly alive. Their semi-transparent bodies flickered like virtual shadows, each standing in the same posture—heads bowed, hands clasped in deference. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an unbroken circle around the palace.
The cold wind blurred their outlines, yet none could underestimate them. Within ten paces of their perimeter lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guards—none had breached that boundary. A crimson line marked the limit; to cross it meant death.
“Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder—one of the nine presiding elders—has done nothing but seek the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world. Through forbidden arts, he forged the Ghost Shade Corps and erected this barrier, said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times. Over a thousand casualties. Not a single step gained.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold jade beneath his palm. Decades in the palace had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive fury of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities, he felt a chill.
With a bitter smile, the emperor murmured, “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end.” Emperor Yinglie savored the words. A warmth stirred in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young emperor he once was. The man once called Jaran, though none dared use that name now, sharpened his gaze. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled all under heaven. He nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you but sixteen. We ventured beyond the galaxy in a single small ship, swords pointed at the cosmos.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said every place you heard of would become the empire’s domain. You achieved it.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed. “Did I rely on the Senate or the elders then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like spring breeze in his heart. “Even without them, the world was yours.”
“Who could have imagined that today, I’d be trapped by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even leave my palace?” The emperor sighed, a rare moment of vulnerability.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable will had carried him through decades of conquest, had never wavered—even when fighting to the last man.
Was this truly the end of a hero?
The thought flickered briefly in Qin Feng’s mind before he bowed his head again. “If Your Majesty wishes to leave, take my life in exchange.” His tone was resolute, the offer calculated. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he sacrificed himself against the Ghost Shades, the emperor might gain a brief reprieve.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie threw back his head and laughed, the sound shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his mirth subsided, his expression turned grave. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are seven steps outside the palace all your life is worth?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps of freedom was the highest honor.
Meanwhile, the Ghost Shades remained motionless in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question if they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest warrior could only tear open the barrier for seven steps—proof that this was indeed an inescapable trap.
Emperor Yinglie drew a deep breath, slammed the balustrade, and declared:
“The sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury in unison.
The wind shattered, the very air splintering under the overwhelming killing intent.
Yet the emperor had already regained his composure. He smiled up at the sky. “A true hero does not rely on brute strength.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “Once, you fought by my side, and with you there, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you stand with me still, and because of you, the Senate dares only cage the dragon—not slay it.”
Qin Feng studied the emperor’s silver hair, billowing in the wind. Even in twilight, the old lion’s majesty remained. At last, Qin Feng withdrew his hands from his sleeves. “A dragon cannot be caged. This subject is unworthy.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s depths: “Send word. Command the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard legions to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the sensation, he looked up at the starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the ruler of all under heaven truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within his palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults. The Wind and Slaughter legions were annihilated. Thousands perished.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
“Hmm.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guards have charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties, unable to advance even a step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the coldness of the white jade balustrade against his palm. Decades of palace life had gradually extinguished the fire in his heart, leaving him without the decisiveness of his youth. Even now, seeing these half-human, half-ghost creatures, he felt a chill.
Emperor Yinglie smiled bitterly, “Is there truly an end for heroes?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng shook his head. “There is no end.”
“I am a hero, with no end.” Emperor Yinglie savored these words. He felt a warm current pass through his chest, a mark left by a woman on the once-young Emperor Yinglie. The old man, whose real name was Jaran but was no longer dared to be called so, had a sharp light in his eyes. At any time, he was the emperor ruling over all. Emperor Yinglie nodded, “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were just sixteen. We dared to venture out of the Milky Way in just a small spaceship, pointing our swords at the universe.”
“At that time, Your Majesty said that wherever you heard of would become the Empire’s domain. You achieved it.”
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now the season of spring, when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, the Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of old. At most, the artificial sun casts a slightly warmer glow, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift in the wind.
Yet, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is a rare blessing.
The three-month-long harsh winter has ended, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
But the truth is far from simple, especially as the empire undergoes turbulent changes, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a rupture with the Senate—an outcome no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had expended immense effort to reach this point.
The Senate’s momentary disarray bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial city, Yang Hao—now a noble, lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was swiftly escorted back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and dangers of the capital were too great for his recovery, whereas in his territory, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
Yet, shortly after Yang Hao’s departure, news emerged from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left the young man’s head. This force would erupt in two months, powerful enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words carried undeniable authority, and with Yang Hao vanishing from the capital, the people of Earth also believed the young man was doomed. Such was the way of the empire: any rising master who did not align with the Senate would inevitably meet a sudden end. It had become an unspoken rule, and few paid it much heed.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news surfaced.
The empire’s forces, sent to suppress rebellions, had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main strike force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also deployed to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most elite military, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet, this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Twin Suns Campaign, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again pushed to the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle and had to be transported back to the empire, rendering him incapable of combat for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet severely weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the critical moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration channels, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were firmly under the Senate’s thumb. Aside from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This seismic shift was nothing short of a long-planned coup. Yet, the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice dissent.
As the military balance in the galaxy reversed, the Ten Sword Schools convened their chief council meeting with the first spring breeze sweeping over Elder Mountain. But this time, the leading role was no longer played by the eight great family heads. Instead, a mysterious woman—secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—made her sudden appearance. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies sparked the first internal strife in the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The “Dragon’s Cage” plan, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, openly defying the cloaked woman.
Matters escalated when the leader of the Nether Assassins launched a desperate attempt to assassinate her right at the council table. But in that instant, at least three presiding elders appeared, reducing the assassin to a bloody pulp.
As the mangled corpse fell before them, the family heads realized the stark truth: the Ten Sword Schools were no longer the indispensable force they once were. They had become mere tools of the elders.
From that meeting onward, the enigmatic woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, assuming command over the entire organization. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Nether Assassins’ leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The bloody curtains had been drawn on the “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” campaigns.
In the imperial palace, the bloodstains on the grand platform outside the throne hall had long been scrubbed away. The gray-green bricks bore carvings of dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons now lay trapped, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. Hovering in low orbit, it cast its brightest light upon the palace’s highest point.
The imperial city was eerily silent—a silence so profound it sent chills down the spine. To those who had seen battle, this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless clashes, carrying the scent of blood.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he surveyed his capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, he commanded countless armies and held sway over the cosmos. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie had aged. At over eighty years old, his once-powerful frame had grown frail. His bony hands, veins protruding, rested on the railing—a far cry from the vigorous youth who had once vowed to conquer the stars.
Yet, he had achieved it. The universe now knew only one empire: his. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Though the fire in his hawk-like eyes had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Did he ever truly possess this empire that bore his name?
The night wind howled past, whipping his long, silver-white hair behind him like a lion’s mane.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“There.” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, beyond the palace walls, stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
Thirty-six in total, these beings resembled humans but were not truly alive. Their semi-transparent forms flickered like virtual shadows, each standing in a humble, bowing posture. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they encircled the palace like an impenetrable barrier.
The cold wind blurred their outlines, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their perimeter lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guard corpses—none had breached that deadly boundary.
“Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable as if the carnage outside were illusory. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders has done nothing but seek the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps. Their barrier is said to be unbreakable.”
“Hmm.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times. Over a thousand casualties, not a single step gained.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold jade beneath his palm. Decades of court life had tempered the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive fury of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities, he felt a chill.
With a bitter smile, he murmured, “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero with no end.” Emperor Yinglie savored the words, feeling a warmth stir in his chest—a mark left by a woman from his youth. The man once called Jaran, though none dared use that name now, sharpened his gaze. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled the world. He nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, you sixteen. We boarded a tiny ship and dared to venture beyond the galaxy, our swords pointed at the cosmos.”
“Back then, Your Majesty declared that every place you heard of would become part of the empire. You succeeded.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed. “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the elders then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze in his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world was yours.”
“Who could have imagined that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to step beyond the palace?” The emperor sighed, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable spirit had carried him through decades of conquest, rarely lamented—even in the direst straits.
Was this truly the end for a hero?
The thought flickered briefly in Qin Feng’s mind before he bowed his head again. “If Your Majesty wishes to leave, my life can buy the way.” His tone was resolute, the result of countless calculations. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he sacrificed himself to break through the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie threw back his head and laughed, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his mirth subsided, he fixed Qin Feng with a solemn gaze. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps beyond the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos; nothing is beyond your reach. If you truly wish to leave, those seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the highest honor.
The Ghost Shades, meanwhile, remained motionless in the wind, their power unchallenged. Even the palace’s greatest master, staking his life, could only tear a seven-step breach in their barrier—proof of its invincibility.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury.
The wind shattered, the very air fracturing under the overwhelming killing intent.
Yet the emperor had already calmed. He smiled proudly. “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “Once, you fought by my side, and with you, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you stand with me still, and with you here, the Senate dares only cage the dragon—not slay it.”
Qin Feng studied the emperor’s silver hair, billowing in the wind. Even in twilight, the old lion’s majesty endured. At last, he withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “How can a dragon be caged? This subject is unworthy.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s darkness: “Summon the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Breach, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions. Full assault on the Ghost Shade barrier.”
As Qin Feng’s dry voice echoed, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he gazed at the starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the Dragon’s Cage was sealed. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults. The Wind and Slaughter Legions were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Three months had passed since the empire’s blizzard. It was now the season of spring, when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, Earth no longer bore the spring scenery of the past. At most, the artificial sun cast a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, this warmth was a rare blessing for the people of the imperial capital.
The three months of bitter winter had passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seemed poised to return.
Yet, the truth was far from simple—especially when the empire was in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace had ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate, something no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and dangers of the imperial capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate there. In contrast, within his autonomous territory, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s influence could not reach him.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left the young man’s head. This force would erupt in two months, powerful enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words carried weight, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the capital, people across Earth believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, it had become a pattern—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. So, few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress rebellions, had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. The Oracle Autonomous Territory, where Yang Hao resided, belonged to the western front and had become a target of imperial appeasement. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main offensive force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this army was the empire’s most powerful, the backbone of the galaxy’s military might.
Yet, this mighty force suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” once again faced annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle against the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, where he would remain incapacitated for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet severely weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the expedition, abandoned the Glory Legion in its hour of need, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration passages leading in and out of the galaxy, effectively monitoring all interstellar traffic.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Apart from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This dramatic shift was nothing short of a long-planned coup. Yet, the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice their anger.
As the military balance in the galaxy reversed, the Ten Sword Schools convened their chief council meeting when the first spring breeze swept over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the dominant voice was no longer the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a mysterious woman—trained in secret by the Senate for over twenty years—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies sparked the first major internal strife among the Ten Sword Schools in centuries.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, provoked fierce opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest and the Haiwang Duke of the Wang Family were incensed, openly defying the mysterious woman.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at that moment, at least three presiding elders appeared, tearing the assassin apart.
As the bloodied remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the Senate.
From that day onward, the mysterious woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, following the assassination of the Twilight Assassin leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” strategies had now drawn open the crimson curtain of bloodshed.
In the imperial palace, the bloodstains on the grand platform outside the great hall had long been washed away. The gray-green bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons now lay trapped on the ground, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. Hovering in low orbit, the artificial moon cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s highest point.
The palace was eerily quiet—so quiet it sent chills down one’s spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Those who had been on the battlefield knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
The Heroic Emperor stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled over countless worlds, commanding billions of soldiers. The vastest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
The Heroic Emperor had aged. His eighty-year-old frame, once robust, was now gaunt. His hands, resting on the railing, were bony, veins protruding beneath the skin. Few could imagine that this was the same young man who, decades ago, had been filled with ambition, determined to conquer the universe.
And yet, he had succeeded. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had the Heroic Emperor truly gained?
Though the fire in his falcon-like eyes had never dimmed, could he ever reclaim his former glory? Did he truly possess this empire that nominally belonged to him?
Standing in the wind, the emperor’s long, silver-white hair billowed behind him, lending him the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” The Heroic Emperor tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, a terrifying sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Outside the imperial walls—where none had dared approach before—stood thirty-six faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow. Though they resembled humans, they were not. Their semi-transparent bodies seemed like virtual shadows, each standing in the same humble posture, hands clasped in deference. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed a perfect circle around the palace.
The cold wind blurred their forms, yet none could underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand corpses of Imperial Guards—none had managed to breach the ten-pace boundary. A line of blood marked the limit; crossing it meant death.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders has done only one thing—gathered the thirty-six strongest ghostly souls in the world and refined them into the Ghost Shade Corps. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guards charged twelve times. Over a thousand casualties. Not a single step gained.”
The Heroic Emperor slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the white jade railing. Decades of palace life had dulled the fire in his heart, stripping him of the decisiveness of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost beings sent a chill through him.
The emperor smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end.” The emperor savored the words, feeling a warmth stir in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young Heroic Emperor of the past. The old man, once called Jaran (a name none dared utter now), sharpened his gaze. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled the world. Nodding, he said, “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were sixteen. We boarded a tiny ship and dared to venture beyond the galaxy, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty declared that every place you heard of would become part of the empire. And you achieved it.”
The emperor scoffed. “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the Senate back then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like spring breezes passing through his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world would still be yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even step out of the palace?” The Heroic Emperor sighed, his voice tinged with melancholy.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. The Heroic Emperor had always been indomitable, fighting to the last man without hesitation.
Had the hero truly reached his end?
The thought flickered briefly in Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His tone was resolute, as if he had already calculated this a thousand times. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he were willing to sacrifice himself against the Ghost Shades, the emperor might have a chance to escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
The Heroic Emperor threw his head back and laughed, the sound shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his laughter subsided, his expression turned solemn. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the universe. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, his hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside the palace was the greatest honor.
The Ghost Shades, which Qin Feng had regarded as thorns, remained motionless in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question whether they still held power. Yet, even if the palace’s strongest master sacrificed himself, he could only tear open the barrier for seven steps—proof that this was indeed an inescapable trap.
The Heroic Emperor took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared firmly:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as all the hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury in unison.
The wind shattered, the air itself splintering under the overwhelming killing intent.
Yet the emperor had already calmed. Laughing, he raised his head. “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “In the past, you fought by my side. With you, the Imperial Army was invincible. Today, you still stand with me. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—they dare not kill me.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s silver-white hair, billowing in the wind. Even in his twilight years, the old lion’s majesty remained. Finally, Qin Feng withdrew his hands from his sleeves. “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s darkness: “Summon the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions. Order them to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Listening to Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, the Heroic Emperor felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he looked up at the starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of the universe truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guards launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier. The Wind and Slaughter Legions were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now the season of spring warmth and blooming flowers, a time of renewal for all things. However, the Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of old. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift on the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this is a rare warmth.
The three-month-long harsh winter has ended, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
But the truth is never so simple, especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate—an outcome no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, lord of the Oracle Dominion, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the capital were too great for him to recuperate there. In contrast, within the dominion, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
Yet not long after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had infused a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left Yang Hao’s head. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words were naturally credible given their status, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the capital, people on Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, this was the norm—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. It had become an unspoken rule, so few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress rebellions, suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Dominion belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main assault force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most powerful military force, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” once again teetered on the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle with the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, rendering him unable to fight for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s main force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet critically weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the crucial moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration channels, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Apart from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that ordinary nobles dared not speak out, even in anger.
As the galactic military landscape reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council convened with the first breath of spring over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the leading role was no longer played by the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a woman secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—the Enchantress—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced in an icy voice two grand strategies: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies sparked the first internal strife in the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the Enchantress.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate the Enchantress right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared, reducing the assassin to pieces.
When the bloodied remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the elders.
From that meeting onward, the Enchantress—whose identity had always been a mystery—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, taking command of the entire organization. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Twilight leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The two ruthless strategies, “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation,” officially unveiled their blood-red curtain.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand platform outside the great hall had long been washed away. The gray-green bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. Hovering in low orbit, the artificial moon always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s pinnacle.
The palace was quiet—so quiet it sent chills down the spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Veterans of the battlefield knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles’ clamor.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled over all lands, commanding countless mighty soldiers. The vastest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, knelt at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie had aged. His eighty-year-old frame, once robust, was now somewhat frail. His hands on the railing were bony, veins protruding. Few could imagine this was the same spirited youth who had once vowed to conquer the universe.
Yet he had done it. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Even if the fire in his falcon-like eyes had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Had he ever truly possessed this empire that nominally belonged to him?
Standing in the wind, the emperor’s long, curly white hair streamed behind him, lending him the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following the emperor’s finger, a breathtaking sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Outside the once-forbidden palace walls stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
There were thirty-six of these beings. Though they resembled humans, they were not truly alive—their bodies were semi-transparent, like virtual shadows. Each Ghost Shade stood in the same posture, heads bowed and hands clasped in humility. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an encircling barrier around the palace.
The cold wind blew, blurring the shadows, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their perimeter lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guard corpses—none had breached the ten-pace line. A blood-red boundary marked the limit; crossing it meant death.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng said, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder—one of the Nine Presiding Elders—has done nothing but seek the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the white jade railing. Decades of palace life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ferocity of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
The emperor smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng shook his head. “There is no end.”
“I am a hero. There is no end.” Emperor Yinglie savored these words, feeling a warm current stir in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the once-young emperor. In the eyes of this old man, once called Jaran but now too revered to be named, a sharp light gleamed. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled the world. The emperor nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were but sixteen. We dared to venture beyond the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said that every place you had heard of would become part of the empire. You achieved it.”
Emperor Yinglie mocked himself, “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the elders then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze passing through his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world would still be yours.”
“Who could have imagined that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even step out of the palace?” The emperor sighed softly.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable spirit had carried him through decades of conquest, rarely sighed in regret—even when fighting to the last man.
Was this truly the end for a hero?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His words were resolute, the result of countless calculations. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he were willing to sacrifice himself against the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie laughed heartily, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon high above to tremble. Then, composing himself, he said solemnly, “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps out of the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules all under heaven. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for seven steps outside the palace was the greatest honor.
Meanwhile, the Ghost Shades Qin Feng had regarded as thorns remained motionless in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question if they still held power. Yet even the palace’s greatest master, willing to die, could only tear a seven-step breach in the barrier—proof that this was indeed an unbreakable trap.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared firmly:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as all hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury in unison.
The wind shattered, and the very air trembled under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. Laughing, he raised his head. “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “In the past, you fought by my side. With you, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you still stand with me. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—they dare not kill me.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s flowing white hair, the once-mighty lion now aged but still regal. At last, he withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “How can a dragon be caged? I have failed you.”
Without waiting for the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s dark depths: “Summon the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions. Order them to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he looked up at the starry sky, where countless lives lived and died like ants.
What could the true ruler of all lands truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was confined within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier. The Wind and Slaughter Legions were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Qin Feng looked up, his eyebrows raised, his heart shocked beyond measure. Emperor Yinglie had been ambitious for decades, waging wars in the south and north. Even when fighting to the last person, he rarely lamented.
But now, was it truly the end for a hero?
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now the season of spring warmth and blooming flowers, a time of renewal. Yet, Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of old. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of flowers to drift on the breeze.
Still, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is a rare blessing.
The three-month-long harsh winter has ended, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
But the truth is far from simple—especially when the empire is in turmoil, with factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a rupture with the Senate, an outcome no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial city, Yang Hao—now a noble, lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s betrothed—was swiftly returned to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the capital were too great for his recovery, whereas in his territory, with experts like He De guarding him, the Senate’s reach was limited.
Yet, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had infused a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left the young man’s head. This force would erupt in two months, powerful enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words carried weight, and with Yang Hao vanishing from public view after leaving the capital, people across Earth believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, it had become a pattern: any rising master who did not align with the Senate would meet a sudden end. Few paid much attention anymore.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s forces, sent to suppress rebellions, had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main strike force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most elite military unit, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet, this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a battle a hundred times larger than the Twin Suns Campaign, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again pushed to the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle and had to be transported back to the empire, where he would remain incapacitated for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galactic fleet critically weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion in its direst hour, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration channels, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were firmly under the Senate’s thumb. Aside from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This seismic shift was nothing short of a long-planned coup. Yet, the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice dissent.
As the balance of military power in the galaxy reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ leadership convened at the first breath of spring over Elder Mountain. But this time, the meeting’s protagonist was not the eight family heads of old. Instead, a mysterious woman—secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—emerged. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies sparked the first internal strife among the Ten Sword Schools in centuries.
The “Dragon’s Cage” plan, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, openly defying the cloaked woman.
Matters escalated when the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the meeting table. But in that instant, at least three presiding elders appeared, reducing the assassin to a bloody pulp.
As the mangled remains landed before them, the family heads realized the times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but mere tools of the elders.
From that day forward, the mysterious woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ leadership, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, beginning with the Twilight Assassin leader’s death, was entirely purged from the Senate’s power structure.
The bloody curtains had been drawn on the “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” campaigns.
In the imperial palace, the bloodstains on the grand platform outside the throne hall had long been scrubbed away. The gray-green bricks beneath were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons now lay trapped, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. Hovering in low orbit, it cast its brightest light upon the palace’s pinnacle.
The palace was eerily silent—so silent it sent chills down the spine. In this deathly stillness, one could almost smell the metallic tang of blood. Veterans of war knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon his capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme ruler of the Galactic Empire, he commanded billions of soldiers and held sway over the cosmos. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie had aged. At over eighty, his once-powerful frame had grown gaunt. The veins on his bony hands stood out starkly against his skin. Few could believe this was the same fiery youth who had once vowed to conquer the stars.
Yet he had done it. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Though the fire in his falcon-like eyes had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Did he ever truly possess this empire that bore his name?
The night wind howled past, whipping his long, silver-white hair behind him like a lion’s mane.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly at his side.
“There.” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, a terrifying sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Where none had dared approach before, a ring of faint gray figures now stood, emitting an eerie glow.
Thirty-six in total, these beings resembled humans but were not truly alive. Their semi-transparent forms flickered like virtual shadows, each bowing humbly with clasped hands. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they encircled the palace like a noose.
The cold wind blurred their outlines, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their perimeter lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guard corpses—none had breached that deadly boundary. A line of blood marked the limit; to cross it meant death.
“Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the carnage outside were illusory. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders has done only one thing: gather the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps. Their barrier is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times. Over a thousand casualties, not a single step gained.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold jade beneath his palm. Decades of court life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive fury of his youth. Even these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
With a bitter smile, he murmured, “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end.” Emperor Yinglie savored the words. A warmth stirred in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young emperor he once was. In the eyes of this old man, whose true name, Jaran, none now dared speak, a sharp light flashed. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled all under heaven. Nodding, he said, “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, you barely sixteen. We boarded a tiny ship and dared to leave the galaxy, our swords pointed at the cosmos.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said every place you heard of would become the empire’s territory. You succeeded.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed, “Did I rely on the Supreme Ones or the elders then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze in his heart. “Even without the Supreme Ones, the world was yours.”
“Who could have imagined that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to leave the palace?” Emperor Yinglie sighed, a rare moment of vulnerability.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable will had carried him through decades of conquest, had never been one to lament—even when backed into a corner.
Was this truly the end of a hero?
The thought flickered briefly in Qin Feng’s mind before he bowed his head again. “If Your Majesty wishes to leave, my life can buy the way.” His tone was resolute, the offer calculated a thousand times over. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he staked his life against the Ghost Shades, the emperor might yet escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie threw back his head and laughed, his voice shaking the heavens. Even the artificial moon seemed to tremble. When his mirth subsided, he fixed Qin Feng with a solemn gaze. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps beyond the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, those seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the highest honor.
The Ghost Shades, whom Qin Feng had watched like thorns, stood unwavering in the cold wind. Their stillness made one question if they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest expert could only tear a seven-step breach in their barrier—proof of its invincibility.
Emperor Yinglie drew a deep breath, then slammed the railing and declared:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” A thunderous roar erupted from the silent palace as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury.
The wind shattered, the very air trembling under the overwhelming killing intent.
Yet the emperor had already calmed. Laughing, he said, “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he added, “In the past, we fought side by side. With you at my side, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, we stand together again. With you here, the Senate dares only cage the dragon—not slay it.”
Qin Feng studied the emperor’s silver hair, billowing in the wind. Even in his twilight, the old lion’s majesty remained. At last, Qin Feng withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “How can a dragon be caged? I have failed you.”
Without awaiting orders, he turned and commanded the shadows, “Send word. Order the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Breach, and Wolf Imperial Guard regiments to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he looked up at the starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the Dragon’s Cage was complete. The Galactic Emperor, encircled by thirty-six Ghost Shades, remained trapped in his palace. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults. The Wind and Slaughter regiments were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades stood unscathed.
“How many steps?”
“Seven steps.”
Emperor Yinglie threw his head back and laughed loudly, his laughter shaking the sky. Even the artificial moon hanging high in the sky, like a jade plate, seemed to tremble slightly. Emperor Jaran stopped laughing, focused, and said, “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps out of the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules over the four seas; there is nothing you cannot do. If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave the palace, these seven steps are Qin Feng’s life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, his hands hidden in his sleeves, unruffled. It seemed as if using all his strength to exchange for seven steps outside the palace for the emperor was already his greatest honor.
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now officially spring, a time when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of the past. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is rare.
The three-month-long harsh winter has passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
But the truth is never so simple, especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate—something no one had anticipated. Even the high-ranking executive elders had exhausted themselves deliberating over this outcome.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate there. In contrast, within his autonomous territory, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the executive elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left Yang Hao’s head. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The executive elders’ words were naturally credible given their status, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the capital afterward, people on Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, this had become a pattern: any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. So, few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress rebellions, suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the most formidable force in the galaxy—the Glory Legion—along with three family armies as the main attack force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most powerful military force, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet, this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again pushed to the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle with the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, rendering him unable to fight for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat went far beyond what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s main force stationed in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galaxy’s fleet strength dangerously depleted. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the expedition, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the critical moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three family armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy. They then joined forces with the Four Guardian Sword Schools to control the galaxy’s four acceleration channels, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Apart from the Alchemy Sword School and the Imperial Guard, no force could oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that ordinary nobles dared not speak out, even in anger.
As the military balance in the galaxy reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ leadership convened a meeting when the first spring breeze swept over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the meeting was not dominated by the eight family heads as before. Instead, a mysterious woman—trained in secret by the Senate for over twenty years—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These strategies triggered the first major internal conflict among the Ten Sword Schools in centuries.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the mysterious woman.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the Ten Sword Schools’ meeting table. But at that moment, at least three executive elders appeared, tearing the assassin apart.
As the bloodied remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the elders.
From that meeting onward, the mysterious woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ leadership council, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Twilight Assassins’ leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The bloody curtains were drawn for the “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation” strategies.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand platform outside the throne hall had long been washed away. The gray-green stone tiles were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
It was deep into the night, but the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. Hovering in low orbit, the artificial moon always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s apex.
The palace was eerily quiet, a silence so profound it sent chills down the spine. To those who had been on the battlefield, this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles, carrying the scent of blood.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down at the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled over countless worlds, commanded billions of soldiers, and even the grandest capital on Earth—the center of the universe—bowed at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie had aged. His once-powerful frame, now in his eighties, had grown frail. His bony hands, veins protruding, rested on the railing. Few could imagine this was the same young man who had once brimmed with ambition, determined to conquer the universe.
Yet he had succeeded. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Even as his falcon-like gaze never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Did he ever truly possess this empire that nominally belonged to him?
Standing in the howling night wind, his long, curly white hair billowing behind him, the old emperor still carried the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, a terrifying sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Outside the once-forbidden palace walls stood thirty-six faintly glowing, translucent figures—humanoid but not truly human. Each stood in the same humble posture, hands clasped in deference. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an eerie circle around the palace.
The cold wind blurred their ghostly forms, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand Imperial Guard corpses—none had breached the ten-pace boundary marked by a line of blood.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder—one of the Nine Executive Elders—has done nothing but seek the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold jade beneath his palm. Decades of court life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ruthlessness of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
Emperor Yinglie smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end.” The emperor savored the words, feeling a warm current in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young Yinglie of the past. The old man, once called Jaran (a name none dared speak now), sharpened his gaze. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled the world. He nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were sixteen. We dared to leave the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said every place you’d heard of would become part of the empire. You succeeded.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed. “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the elders back then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze in his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world was yours.”
“Who could have imagined that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to leave the palace?” The emperor sighed, a rare moment of vulnerability.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie, whose indomitable spirit had carried him through decades of conquest, had never sighed in defeat before.
Was this truly the end for a hero?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he bowed his head again. “If Your Majesty wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His tone was resolute, the result of countless calculations. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he sacrificed himself to fight the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How far?”
“Seven steps.”
Emperor Yinglie threw his head back and laughed, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his laughter subsided, he fixed Qin Feng with a solemn gaze. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules all. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the highest honor.
The Ghost Shades, still standing motionless in the cold wind, seemed almost powerless. Yet even the palace’s strongest warrior could only tear a seven-step breach in their barrier—proof of its invincibility.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury.
The wind shattered, the very air trembling under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. He smiled proudly. “A true hero does not rely on brute strength.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “In the past, we fought side by side. With you at my side, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, we stand together again. With you here, the Senate dares only trap me—not kill me.”
Qin Feng studied the emperor’s weathered hair, white locks dancing in the wind. Even in old age, the lion’s majesty remained. At last, Qin Feng drew his hands from his sleeves. “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed you.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s order, he turned and commanded the shadows: “Send word. Order the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard regiments to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Emperor Yinglie listened to Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, feeling blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he looked up at the starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of all truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults, resulting in the complete annihilation of the Wind and Slaughter regiments and thousands of casualties.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unharmed.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the balustrade, and shouted decisively:
“My long sword is still in my hand!”
“Hu!!” A deafening response erupted from the quiet palace. All the hidden Imperial Guards simultaneously unleashed their fury.
The wind shattered, and the air broke into the void amidst the astonishing killing intent.
But the Emperor of the Empire had already calmed down. He raised his head and laughed, “A true hero does not show off the courage of a mere man.” The emperor turned to look at Qin Feng, “Back then, you fought side by side with me. With you, Qin Feng, the Imperial Army was invincible. Today, you still stand beside me. With you, Qin Feng, the Senate dares only to set up the Dragon Imprisonment Formation and dares not kill me.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s desolate long hair, his curly white hair fluttering in the wind. The once-mighty lion, though aged, still had his heroic spirit. Qin Feng finally stretched his hands out from his narrow sleeves and said faintly, “How can a dragon be trapped? I have failed as a subject.”
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now officially spring, a time when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of old. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift on the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is rare and precious.
The three months of bitter winter have passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
Yet, the truth is far from simple—especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate, an outcome no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary disarray bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate there. In contrast, within the autonomous territory, with experts like He De standing guard, the Senate’s reach was limited.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had infused a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left Yang Hao’s head. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words carried weight, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the capital afterward, people across Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, this was the norm—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. It had become an unspoken rule, so few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s forces suppressing the rebellion had suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the Glory Legion—the most formidable force stationed in the galaxy—along with three family armies as the main offensive force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this army was the empire’s most powerful and the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet, this mighty force suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” once again faced annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle with the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, rendering him unable to fight for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat ran far deeper than what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s primary force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galaxy’s fleet strength critically weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the crucial moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration channels connecting the galaxy to the wider universe, monitoring all incoming and outgoing ships.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Aside from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force could oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice their anger.
As the military balance in the galaxy reversed, the Ten Sword Schools convened their chief council meeting when the first spring breeze swept over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the meeting was not dominated by the eight family heads as before. Instead, a mysterious woman—trained in secret by the Senate for over twenty years—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies sparked the first internal strife in the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the woman known as the Enchantress.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate the Enchantress right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared, tearing the assassin leader apart.
As the bloody remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the Senate.
From that meeting onward, the Enchantress—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council, taking full command. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Twilight leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The two ruthless strategies, “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation,” officially began their bloody enactment.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand platform outside the throne hall had long been washed away. The gray-green stone tiles were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The man-made moon in near-Earth orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s pinnacle.
The palace was eerily quiet—so quiet it sent chills down the spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Those who had been on the battlefield knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
Emperor Yinglie stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled over all lands, commanding countless mighty soldiers. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
Emperor Yinglie had grown old. His once-strong body, now in his eighties, had withered. His bony hands rested on the railing, veins protruding beneath thin skin. Few could imagine this was the same spirited youth who had once vowed to conquer the universe.
Yet he had done it. Now, the universe knew only one empire—his empire. But what had Emperor Yinglie truly gained?
Even though the fire in his hawk-like eyes had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Did he ever truly possess this empire that nominally belonged to him?
Standing in the howling night wind, his long, curly white hair billowing behind him, the old emperor still carried the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” Emperor Yinglie tapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, beyond the palace walls, stood a ring of faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow.
There were thirty-six of these beings. Though they resembled humans, they were not truly alive—their semi-transparent bodies seemed like virtual shadows. Each Ghost Shade stood in the same posture, heads bowed and hands clasped in humility. Spaced hundreds of meters apart, they formed an encirclement around the palace.
The cold wind blurred their forms, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their circle lay nearly a thousand corpses of Imperial Guardsmen—none had been able to breach the ten-pace boundary marked by a line of blood.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng said, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder—one of the Nine Presiding Elders—has done nothing but seek out the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“I see.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
Emperor Yinglie slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the white jade railing. Decades of palace life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ferocity of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
Emperor Yinglie smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero with no end.” The emperor savored the words. A warmth stirred in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the once-young Yinglie. The old man, whose true name was Jaran (though none dared call him that now), had a sharp glint in his eyes. No matter the era, he was the sovereign who ruled the world. Emperor Yinglie nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were sixteen. We dared to venture beyond the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said every place you heard of would become part of the empire. You achieved it.”
Emperor Yinglie scoffed. “Did I rely on the Supreme or the Senate back then?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze passing through his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world was yours.”
“Who could have imagined that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even leave the palace?” The emperor sighed softly.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. Emperor Yinglie had always been indomitable, fighting to the last man without hesitation.
Had the hero truly reached his end?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His tone was resolute, as if he had calculated this a thousand times. Qin Feng’s strength was unfathomable—if he were willing to sacrifice himself against the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
Emperor Yinglie laughed heartily, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his laughter subsided, he said solemnly, “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules all. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the greatest honor.
Meanwhile, the Ghost Shades remained motionless in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question if they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest expert could only tear open the barrier for seven steps—proof that this was indeed an unbreakable trap.
Emperor Yinglie took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared firmly:
“The sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guardsmen unleashed their fury in unison.
The wind shattered, and the air itself trembled under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. He raised his head and smiled. “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he said, “Back then, you fought by my side. With you, the Imperial Army was unstoppable. Today, you still stand with me. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—not kill me outright.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s flowing white hair, the once-mighty lion now aged but still regal. Finally, he withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “How can a dragon be caged? I have failed you.”
Without waiting for the emperor’s order, he turned and commanded into the palace’s darkness, “Send orders. The Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard legions are to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, Emperor Yinglie felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the sensation, he looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of all lands truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier. The Wind and Slaughter legions were annihilated, with thousands dead or wounded.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Emperor Yinglie listened to Qin Feng’s dry voice, and he felt the blood rising in his throat. He forcefully suppressed this unpleasant feeling, raised his head, and looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives lived and died like ants.
What could a true master of the four seas control?
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now officially spring, a time when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of the past. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of a hundred flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is rare.
The three months of bitter winter have passed, and peaceful, extravagant days seem poised to return.
But the truth is never so simple—especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate, something no one had anticipated. Even the lofty presiding elders had exhausted themselves in deliberation over this matter.
The Senate’s momentary confusion bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the imperial capital were too great for Yang Hao to recuperate there. In contrast, the autonomous territory, guarded by experts like He De, was beyond the Senate’s reach.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the imperial capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial when he withdrew his palm from Yang Hao’s head, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body. This force would erupt in two months, enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words carried weight, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the imperial capital, people on Earth also believed the young man was doomed. In the empire, it had become a pattern—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. So, few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, even more shocking news arrived.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress rebellions, suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the most powerful force stationed in the galaxy—the Glory Legion—along with three family armies as the main attacking force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most formidable army, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet this mighty force suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again on the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle against the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, unable to fight for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat went far beyond what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s main force in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galaxy’s fleet defenses dangerously weak. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the campaign, stood by and watched at the critical moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three family armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy. They then joined forces with the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the galaxy’s four acceleration channels, monitoring all ships traveling between the galaxy and the wider universe.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Apart from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guards, no other force could oppose them.
This drastic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not speak out against it.
As the galaxy’s military landscape reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council convened with the first breath of spring over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the leading role was no longer played by the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a mysterious woman—secretly cultivated by the Senate for over twenty years—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies sparked the first internal strife in the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, drew vehement opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Haiwang Duke of the Wang Family were incensed, willing to defy the mysterious woman.
In the end, the leader of the Twilight Assassins attempted to assassinate her right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared and tore the assassin apart.
When the bloodied remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but merely tools of the Senate.
From that meeting onward, the mysterious woman—whose identity remained unknown—officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council and took command of the entire organization. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guards system, starting with the assassination of the Twilight Assassins’ leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The two ruthless strategies, “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation,” officially began their blood-soaked execution.
In the imperial palace, the blood on the grand platform outside the main hall had long been washed away. The gray-green bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
It was deep into the night, but the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The artificial moon in low orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s apex.
The palace was quiet—so quiet it sent chills down the spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the stench of blood. Veterans of war knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
The Heroic Emperor stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled over countless worlds, commanded billions of soldiers, and even the grandest capital on Earth—the center of the universe—lay prostrate at his feet.
The Heroic Emperor had aged. His eighty-year-old frame, once robust, was now somewhat frail. His bony hands, veins protruding, rested on the railing. Few could imagine that this was the same young man who, decades ago, had been full of vigor, determined to conquer the universe.
Yet he had succeeded. Now, the universe had only one empire—his empire. But what had the Heroic Emperor truly gained?
Even though his hawk-like gaze had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Did he truly possess this empire that nominally belonged to him?
The Heroic Emperor stood in the wind, his long, curly white hair billowing behind him, making the old emperor seem as majestic as a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“That.” The Heroic Emperor slapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, a terrifying sight unfolded beyond the palace walls.
Outside the once-forbidden imperial walls stood thirty-six faint gray figures emitting an eerie glow. Though they resembled humans, they were not truly alive—their semi-transparent bodies seemed like virtual shadows. Each Ghost Shade stood in the same posture, heads bowed and hands clasped in humility, forming a perimeter around the palace, spaced hundreds of meters apart.
The cold wind blew, distorting their forms, yet no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand corpses of Imperial Guards—none had been able to breach the ten-pace boundary marked by a line of blood.
“Those are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng said, his expression unreadable, as if the corpses outside were mere illusions. “For decades, the Ghost Elder—one of the Nine Presiding Elders—has done only one thing: sought out the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences in the world and refined them into the Ghost Shade Corps through secret arts. The barrier they form is said to be unbreakable.”
“Hmm.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guards charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
The Heroic Emperor slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the white jade railing. Decades of court life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ruthlessness of his youth. Even now, facing these half-human, half-ghost entities, he felt a chill.
The Heroic Emperor smiled bitterly. “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng said, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“I am a hero. There is no end.” The Heroic Emperor savored these words, feeling a warm current flow through his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young emperor he once was. The old man, whose true name was Jaran (though none dared call him that now), suddenly radiated a sharp light from his eyes. No matter the era, he was always the ruler of all under heaven. The Heroic Emperor nodded. “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were sixteen. We dared to venture beyond the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said that every place you heard of would become part of the empire. You succeeded.”
The Heroic Emperor scoffed. “Back then, did I ever rely on the Supreme or the Senate?”
“If they insisted on helping, why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories of the past drifting through his mind like a spring breeze. “Even without the Supreme, the world would still be yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to even step out of the palace?” The Heroic Emperor sighed softly.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. The Heroic Emperor had always been indomitable, fighting to the last man for decades without ever lamenting his fate.
But now—was this truly the end of a hero?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he lowered his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy you passage.” His tone was resolute, as if he had already calculated this a thousand times. Qin Feng’s strength was unfathomable. If he were willing to sacrifice himself against the Ghost Shades, he might create an opening for the emperor.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
The Heroic Emperor laughed heartily, his voice shaking the heavens—even the artificial moon high above seemed to tremble. Then, his expression turned solemn. “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the universe. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, his hands tucked into his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for seven steps outside the palace was the greatest honor.
Meanwhile, the Ghost Shades—whom Qin Feng had regarded as thorns in his side—stood unwavering in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question whether they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest warrior could only tear open the barrier for seven steps at the cost of his life—proof that this was indeed an unbreakable trap.
The Heroic Emperor took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared firmly:
“The sword is still in my hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as all the hidden Imperial Guards unleashed their fury at once.
The wind shattered, and the air itself seemed to fracture under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. He raised his head and laughed. “A true hero does not rely on brute strength.” He turned to Qin Feng. “Back then, you fought by my side. With you, the Imperial Army was invincible. Today, you still stand with me. With you here, the Senate dares only set a ‘Dragon’s Cage’—they dare not kill me.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s flowing white hair, the once-mighty lion now aged but still regal. Finally, he withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed you.”
Without waiting for the emperor’s command, he turned and issued an order into the palace’s darkness: “Send word. Order the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Listening to Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, the Heroic Emperor felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the discomfort, he looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of the universe truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was trapped within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guards launched over two hundred assaults on the barrier, resulting in the complete annihilation of the Wind and Slaughter Legions and thousands of casualties.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Three months have passed since the empire’s blizzard. It is now the season of spring, when flowers bloom and all things revive. However, the Earth no longer boasts the spring scenery of old. At most, the artificial sun casts a bit more gentle sunlight, allowing the fragrance of flowers to drift in the wind.
But no matter what, for the people of the imperial capital, this warmth is rare.
The three-month-long harsh winter has passed, and peaceful, even extravagant, days seem poised to return.
But the truth is never so simple—especially when the empire is in turmoil, with various factions shifting allegiances like a revolving lantern. A trial within the imperial palace ultimately led the emperor to formally declare a break with the Senate, something no one had anticipated. Even the high-ranking presiding elders had to expend immense effort to deal with the fallout.
The Senate’s momentary disarray bought Yang Hao precious time. After being rescued from the imperial palace, Yang Hao—now a noble, the lord of the Oracle Autonomous Territory, and the princess’s fiancé—was immediately sent back to his fiefdom. The atmosphere and danger in the capital were too great for him to recuperate there. In contrast, the autonomous territory was guarded by experts like He De, making it beyond the Senate’s reach.
However, shortly after Yang Hao left the capital, news spread from the presiding elders that Elder Wu Yi, at the final moment of the palace trial, had injected a lethal force into Yang Hao’s body as his palm left Yang Hao’s head. This force would erupt in two months, strong enough to kill even a master.
Thus, in the eyes of the Ten Sword Schools, Yang Hao was already a dead man. The presiding elders’ words were naturally credible given their status, and with Yang Hao disappearing from the capital afterward, people across Earth also believed the young man was doomed. Such was the way of the empire—any rising master who did not align with the Senate would suddenly perish. This had become an unspoken rule, so few paid much attention.
Moreover, during this time, an even more shocking piece of news emerged.
The empire’s army, sent to suppress the rebellion, suffered an unprecedented defeat.
The empire’s rebels were divided into eastern and western fronts. Yang Hao’s Oracle Autonomous Territory belonged to the western front, which the empire sought to pacify. Meanwhile, the eastern front, centered around Angel Star, faced the empire’s full assault.
The Privy Council dispatched the most formidable force in the galaxy—the Glory Legion—along with three family armies as the main strike force. One of the Three Great Sword Saints was also sent to assist. By all accounts, this was the empire’s most powerful military force, the backbone of the galaxy’s garrison.
Yet this mighty army suffered a crushing defeat on the eastern front.
In a decisive battle a hundred times larger than the Battle of Twin Suns, the Glory Legion was ambushed and encircled by the eastern rebels, losing nearly half its warships. Ten fleets bearing the name “Glory” were once again on the brink of annihilation.
Even one of the Three Great Sword Saints, Miu Se, was severely wounded in battle with the rebels and had to be transported back to the empire, where he would remain incapacitated for a long time.
The repercussions of this defeat went far beyond what the battle reports revealed.
The Glory Legion was the Privy Council’s main force stationed in the galaxy. Its destruction left the galaxy’s fleet strength critically weakened. Meanwhile, the three family armies of the Ten Sword Schools, which had accompanied the expedition, refused to aid the Glory Legion at the crucial moment, preserving their strength intact. As the Glory Legion fell, these three armies heeded the Senate’s call and returned to the galaxy, joining the Four Guardian Sword Sects to control the four acceleration passages between the galaxy and the wider universe, monitoring all incoming and outgoing ships.
Now, the galaxy and Earth were entirely under the Senate’s thumb. Aside from the Alchemy Sword Sect and the Imperial Guard, no force remained to oppose them.
This dramatic shift was essentially a long-planned coup. But the Senate’s power was so overwhelming that even the nobility dared not voice their anger.
As the galaxy’s military landscape reversed, the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council convened with the first breath of spring over the Senate’s mountain. However, this time, the leading role was no longer played by the eight great family heads of the Ten Sword Schools. Instead, a mysterious woman—trained in secret by the Senate for over twenty years—suddenly appeared. Cloaked entirely in black, she announced two ruthless strategies in an icy voice: “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation.”
These two strategies sparked the first internal strife in the Ten Sword Schools in over a century.
The “Dragon’s Cage” strategy, in particular, provoked fierce opposition from the eight family heads. Even the usually composed leaders of the Cultivator Forest Sect and the Wang Family’s Lord Haiwang were incensed, willing to defy the woman.
In the end, the leader of the Nether Assassins launched a desperate attempt to kill her right at the Ten Sword Schools’ council table. But at the same time, at least three presiding elders appeared, blasting the assassin leader to pieces.
As the bloody remains fell before them, the family heads realized that times had changed. The Ten Sword Schools were no longer an indispensable force but mere tools of the elders.
From that day on, the mysterious woman, whose identity remained unknown, officially replaced the Ten Sword Schools’ chief council in wielding command over them. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard system, starting with the assassination of the Nether leader, was completely expelled from the Senate’s power structure.
The two ruthless strategies, “Dragon’s Cage” and “Annihilation,” officially began their bloody enactment.
In the imperial palace, the bloodstains on the grand platform outside the great hall had long been washed away. The bluish-gray bricks were carved with dragons symbolizing the imperial family—yet these dragons were trapped on the ground, unable to move.
Deep into the night, the pale artificial moon stubbornly illuminated the scene. The man-made moon in near-Earth orbit always cast its brightest light upon the imperial palace’s apex.
The palace was eerily quiet—so quiet it sent chills down one’s spine. In this deathly silence, one could almost smell the scent of blood. Those who had been on the battlefield knew this was not true silence but the fleeting calm after countless battles.
The Heroic Emperor stood atop the ten-thousand-step staircase, his hands resting lightly on the white jade railing as he gazed down upon the imperial capital. This was his city, his domain. As the supreme emperor of the Galactic Empire, he ruled the cosmos, commanding billions of soldiers. The grandest capital on Earth, the center of the universe, lay prostrate at his feet.
The Heroic Emperor had aged. His eighty-year-old frame, once robust, was now somewhat frail. His hands on the railing were bony, veins protruding beneath the skin. Few could imagine this was the same spirited youth who had once vowed to conquer the universe.
Yet he had done it. Now, the universe had only one empire—his empire. But what had the Heroic Emperor truly gained?
Even if the fire in his falcon-like eyes had never dimmed, could he reclaim his former glory? Did he ever truly possess this empire that nominally belonged to him?
The Heroic Emperor stood in the wind, his long, curly white hair swept back by the night breeze, lending him the majesty of a lion.
“Qin Feng!”
“Yes.” The black-clad Qin Feng emerged from the shadows, standing calmly beside him.
“There.” The Heroic Emperor slapped the railing and pointed. “Are those the Ghost Shades?”
Following his finger, outside the palace walls, stood thirty-six faintly glowing, translucent figures—humanoid yet not truly human. They stood in a circle around the palace, heads bowed in humility, hands clasped. Each was spaced hundreds of meters apart, forming an impenetrable barrier.
The cold wind blurred their forms, but no one dared underestimate them. Within ten paces of their encirclement lay nearly a thousand corpses of Imperial Guardsmen. None had breached the ten-pace mark—a bloody line where death awaited any who crossed.
“They are the Ghost Shades,” Qin Feng confirmed, his expression unreadable, as if the carnage outside were illusory. “For decades, the Ghost Elder of the Nine Presiding Elders sought the thirty-six strongest ghostly essences, refining them into the Ghost Shade Corps. Their barrier is said to be unbreakable.”
“Hmm.”
Qin Feng continued, “Tonight, the Imperial Guard charged twelve times, suffering over a thousand casualties without advancing a single step.”
The Heroic Emperor slowly lowered his hand, feeling the cold touch of the jade railing. Decades of court life had dulled the fire in his heart, leaving none of the decisive ferocity of his youth. Even these half-human, half-ghost entities sent a chill through him.
With a bitter smile, the emperor murmured, “Do heroes truly meet their end?”
“Your Majesty is a hero,” Qin Feng replied, shaking his head. “There is no end.”
“A hero without an end.” The emperor savored the words, feeling a warmth in his chest—a mark left by a woman on the young Heroic Emperor of old. In the eyes of this man once called Jaran (though none dared use that name now), a sharp light gleamed. No matter the era, he remained the sovereign who ruled the world. Nodding, he said, “Sixty years ago, I was twenty, and you were sixteen. We dared to leave the galaxy in a tiny ship, our swords pointed at the universe.”
“Back then, Your Majesty said every place you heard of would become part of the empire. You succeeded.”
The emperor scoffed. “Did I ever rely on the Supreme or the elders then?”
“They insisted on helping—why refuse?” Qin Feng smiled faintly, memories like a spring breeze in his heart. “Even without the Supreme, the world was yours.”
“Who would have thought that today, I’d be trapped here by thirty-six Ghost Shades, unable to leave the palace?” The Heroic Emperor sighed, a rare moment of vulnerability.
Qin Feng looked up, startled. The Heroic Emperor, who had fought countless battles without flinching even at the brink of death, now sighed. Was this truly the end of a hero?
The thought flashed through Qin Feng’s mind before he bowed his head again. “If Your Majesty truly wishes to leave, my life can buy your passage.” His tone was resolute, the result of careful calculation. Qin Feng’s power was unfathomable; if he sacrificed himself to fight the Ghost Shades, the emperor might escape.
“How many steps?”
“Seven.”
The Heroic Emperor laughed, his voice shaking the heavens, even causing the artificial moon to tremble. When his laughter faded, he said solemnly, “Qin Feng, you are my brother. Are you worth only seven steps outside the palace?”
“Your Majesty rules the cosmos. There is nothing you cannot do. If you truly wish to leave, these seven steps are my life.” Qin Feng spoke calmly, hands tucked in his sleeves, utterly composed. To him, trading his life for the emperor’s seven steps outside was the highest honor.
The Ghost Shades, which Qin Feng had regarded as thorns, stood unmoving in the cold wind outside the palace walls. Their stillness made one question if they still held power. Yet even the palace’s strongest master could only tear open the barrier for seven steps—proof of its unbreakable nature.
The Heroic Emperor took a deep breath, slammed the railing, and declared:
“The long sword is still in hand!”
“HAH!!” The silent palace erupted with a deafening roar as hidden Imperial Guardsmen unleashed their fury.
The wind shattered, the very air trembling under the overwhelming killing intent.
But the emperor had already calmed. Laughing, he said, “A true hero does not rely on brute courage.” Turning to Qin Feng, he added, “In the past, you fought by my side, and the Imperial Army was invincible. Today, you stand with me still, and the Senate dares only trap me—not kill me.”
Qin Feng gazed at the emperor’s flowing white hair, the lion’s mane still majestic despite age. At last, he withdrew his hands from his sleeves and said softly, “A dragon cannot be caged. I have failed.”
Without awaiting the emperor’s order, he turned and commanded into the palace’s darkness: “Summon the Wind, Fury, Slaughter, Ruin, and Wolf Imperial Guard Legions. Order them to assault the Ghost Shade barrier with full force.”
Hearing Qin Feng’s hoarse voice, the Heroic Emperor felt blood rise in his throat. Suppressing the sensation, he looked up at the vast starry sky, where countless lives flickered like ants.
What could the true ruler of the cosmos truly control?
That night, the “Dragon’s Cage” was complete. The Galactic Emperor was imprisoned within the palace by thirty-six Ghost Shades. The Imperial Guard launched over two hundred assaults, resulting in the annihilation of the Wind and Slaughter Legions and thousands of casualties.
The thirty-six Ghost Shades remained unscathed.
Far more than just Emperor Yinglie was in deep trouble.
Outside the Dan Ding Sword Sect, battles had raged for nearly a month. The bones and blood had blocked all the surrounding roads, and even the sect’s signboard had turned dark red from the blood.
The Wang Family and the Light Sword Stream from the Ten Sword Streams had revealed all their strength. Although their main forces had been nearly destroyed by Yang Hao previously, the remaining forces surged like waves toward the gates of the Dan Ding Sword Sect, determined to turn this place into a sea of blood and corpses.
Yet strangely, despite the vast size of the Dan Ding Sword Sect, which usually had at least a thousand people stationed there, the sect was unusually empty today. Under the siege of the Ten Sword Streams, only Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a wide sword, and Xie Fengting, whose face was growing paler and whose faceplate was smeared with blood and flesh, stood to defend the sect.
The disciples of the Ten Sword Streams and the Wang Family, whether swordsmen or sword masters, each had their own unique techniques. However, the disciples defending the gate lacked any experts above the Grand Sword Master level. Yet they relied on sheer numbers, attempting to overwhelm the two defenders and completely engulf them.
In this wave of attack, more than thirty swordsmen charged forward, stepping through the blood of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what sword techniques or killing moves they used, none could withstand Long Yun’s simple, clean slash. With a single downward strike, he repeatedly cut down his opponents.
Five of them were thus cleaved in half by Long Yun.
But at the same time, they had left various wounds on Long Yun’s body, and even his heirloom heavy armor had been cracked.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s battle was much simpler. Most of the corpses on the ground were his doing. Without a swordsaint-level guardian at the gate, Long Yun alone would have been unable to withstand the Ten Sword Streams’ attrition tactics.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would open his tightly clenched fist, revealing the divine short sword inside. Its radiant light, known as the “Aurora,” moved like fine needles through the air, making it nearly impossible to guard against.
However, this latest wave of swordsmen belonged to the Light Sword Stream. Trained in the same sect as Xie Fengting, they were well familiar with the characteristics of the Aurora. As the radiant sword light spread, they immediately raised several reflective shields in front of them for defense.
Yang Hao had once used such reflective shields to counter the Aurora, and it was considered the greatest weakness of this sword technique.
But Xie Fengting, having reached the Saint Realm, was far beyond what these junior swordsmen could resist. Seeing the Light Sword Stream disciples raise their reflective shields, Xie Fengting let out a long roar. Instantly, every fine strand of the Aurora flared with brilliance like shining stars. Amidst screams of agony, the light pierced through the shields, leaving the disciples of the Ten Sword Streams riddled with bloody holes, their crimson blood spurting like arrows.
With this final strike, the battlefield fell silent once more, except for the addition of thirty more corpses of the Ten Sword Streams at the gate of the Dan Ding Sword Sect.
Despite repelling the attack, Long Yun and Xie Fengting showed no sign of joy. They lowered their heads and retreated into the sect.
The Ten Sword Streams were not trying to eliminate the Dan Ding Sword Sect with these third-rate fighters—they were merely trying to pin down the sect’s forces, giving them no chance to catch their breath. In other words, the ones who died in this wave were just expendable pawns.
The real issue was that while the Senate didn’t mind losing some pawns, the Dan Ding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting tried to lighten the mood, though walking through the blood-soaked ground was no easy feat. “I see your strength improving rapidly. Perhaps soon you’ll break through to the Saint Realm.”
Long Yun turned his head, looking helplessly at Xie Fengting. “What good is breaking through the Saint Realm if I’m still stuck here? As for you, every time you break through their reflective shields, you suffer internal backlash. Even with your strength as a swordsaint, how many times can you endure this? If this continues, even these third-rate fighters will end up rupturing your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to speak some comforting words, when suddenly his expression changed drastically.
The troubles were far from limited to Emperor Ying Lie.
Outside the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, the battle had raged for nearly a month. The piles of bones and rivers of blood had sealed off all surrounding roads, and even the sect’s signboard had been stained a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Schools, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword School had already revealed their full strength. Though their main forces had been nearly wiped out by Yang Hao earlier, their remaining power surged like a relentless tide, crashing against the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, determined to turn the place into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, the vast Danding Sword Sect, which usually housed at least a thousand defenders, now stood eerily deserted. Amid the siege by the Ten Sword Schools, only two figures remained: Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword, and Xie Fengting, whose face grew increasingly pale, his visor caked in a deep red from blood and gore.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Schools, whether swordsmen or swordmasters, each had their own deadly techniques. Those assaulting the gates were no masters above the Great Swordmaster level, but they relied on sheer numbers, swarming forward in an attempt to overwhelm the two defenders.
In this latest wave, over thirty swordsmen charged forward, trampling over the blood of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employed, none could withstand Long Yun’s straightforward, brutal slashes. His simplest, most unadorned strikes—merely downward chops—proved devastatingly effective in his hands.
Five of the attackers were cleaved in half by Long Yun’s blade.
But they, too, left their mark. Long Yun’s body bore wounds of varying severity, and even his ancestral heavy armor had been split open in places.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s battles were far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground were his handiwork. Without a Sword Saint like him guarding the gates, Long Yun alone would never have withstood the Ten Sword Schools’ relentless onslaught.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would loosen his tightly clenched fist, revealing a divine short sword that erupted in dazzling light. The radiant sword beams of “Polaris” weaved through the air like fine needles, impossible to defend against.
But this wave of attackers belonged to the Light Sword School—Xie Fengting’s own former sect. They knew the secrets of Polaris better than anyone. As the luminous sword beams scattered in all directions, they raised reflective shields, blocking the attack.
This method of countering Polaris had been used before, even by Yang Hao. It was the technique’s greatest weakness.
But Xie Fengting had reached the Saint Realm. How could mere junior swordsmen hope to defend against him? Seeing the reflective shields, he let out a long cry. Instantly, every needle-thin beam of light in the air blazed like a star, piercing through the shields and riddling the Ten Sword School disciples with bloody holes. Crimson blood sprayed like arrows from their bodies.
With that final strike, the clamor of battle subsided once more. Thirty more corpses from the Ten Sword Schools now lay at the gates of the Danding Sword Sect.
Though they had repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting showed any joy. They trudged back into the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Schools’ assault wasn’t meant to overwhelm them with these third-rate fighters. Their goal was simply to wear down the defenders, denying them any respite. In other words, the waves of attackers were nothing more than cannon fodder.
The problem was, the Senate could afford to lose cannon fodder without a second thought. But the Danding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting said, trying to lighten the mood, though walking through blood into the sect’s courtyard was hardly uplifting. “You’ve improved quickly. At this rate, you might break through to the Saint Realm soon.”
Long Yun turned his head, giving Xie Fengting a weary look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. Meanwhile, every time you counter those reflective shields, your internal energy backlashes. Even with your Sword Saint strength, how many more times can you endure? If this goes on, even these third-rate fighters will shatter your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to offer some words of comfort, when his expression suddenly twisted in alarm.
Long Yun reacted instantly, spinning around and swinging his broadsword behind him. Sure enough, the head of a black-clad assassin from the Shadowkill Guild rolled to the ground.
But as wisps of black smoke curled up, four more assassins materialized—three in black robes, and one in purple. Yang Hao had once wiped out ten of the Shadowkill Guild’s purple-robed assassins, dealing them a crippling blow. Now, each purple-robed killer was irreplaceable, rarely deployed.
This strike was all-out, aimed squarely at Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Schools weren’t fools. They had spent days wearing down Long Yun and Xie Fengting with cannon fodder, waiting for this moment to strike. With Yang Hao absent, Long Yun was the Danding Sword Sect’s pillar. Eliminate him, and the sect would crumble.
The Shadowkill Guild’s assassination plan was flawless.
Long Yun had barely beheaded one black-robed assassin when another closed in. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was pinned down by two black-robed killers, unable to assist in time.
The purple-robed assassin, poised for the killing blow, brandished his sword and dissolved into a violet mist, his murderous intent hidden within the haze.
Long Yun, already engaged with the black-robed assassin, struggled to parry with his broadsword. But the sword within the mist was another matter entirely.
The Shadowkill Guild’s Threefold Assassination Technique—a legendary move from history’s greatest killers, impossible to block or evade.
The violet mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent within it shattered his heavy armor, sending the pieces clattering to the ground.
Long Yun felt an icy, piercing pain in his back, as if death itself were creeping toward his organs. His vitality drained rapidly.
“Saint’s Invincibility—BREAK!”
A clear voice rang out. A silver dragon’s eyes snapped open within the violet mist. With a flick of its claws, it sent the purple-robed assassin flying.
“HAH!” The owner of the silver spear—a member of the Imperial Guard—let out their signature battle cry. Before the sound faded, the spear’s tip had already pierced the assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watched as the Shadowkill assassin slid off her spear and collapsed, his blood arcing through the air like a fountain.
She said nothing, turning coldly and riding her Snowy Night Star Lion back into the Danding Sword Sect. Today, as always, Lan Ling wore white armor that matched the sect’s white cloaks, making her nearly indistinguishable from its members. But her pale face, now streaked with the blood of the Ten Sword Schools, bore a resolve unseen before.
Even in simpler attire, Lan Ling’s beauty was striking. It wasn’t the coquettish charm of other women but a composed, untouchable grace. Just standing there, cold and silent, she could steal any man’s heart.
Yet her own heart had been stolen by a man who wasn’t here.
Since Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling had often visited the Danding Sword Sect alone. She rarely spoke, simply standing beneath the Dragon Tower, lost in thought while her Snowy Night Star Lion chatted with the Windrider Dragon.
When the Senate launched its “Dragon Trap” and “Strangulation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning to her post as captain of the Imperial Guard, she stayed to help defend it.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finished off the remaining Shadowkill assassins and returned to the sect, the bleak scene inside made them grimace, though they’d seen it countless times before.
On the training grounds where inner disciples once practiced, hundreds of Danding Sword Sect members now sat in solemn silence, their faces deathly pale. Some, too weak to meditate, lay sprawled awkwardly on the ground. At a glance, it was clear these men—the sect’s inner disciples and members of the Hao Sword Regiment—were barely clinging to life. Once the backbone of Yang Hao’s forces, they now lay listless, a far cry from the fearless warriors who had stormed the palace.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun said, driving his broadsword into the ground with a clang before sitting heavily. He didn’t mention the assassination attempt that had nearly killed him.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, his voice tinged with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya stayed close to the inner disciples, but they were powerless to help. No method could revive these brothers-in-arms.
The desolate scene even moved Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without elixirs, how long can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks. At most. The Danding Sword Sect’s techniques rely on elixirs. Without ingredients, they can’t hold on. We’ve exhausted our reserves. If the Oracle Dominion doesn’t send supplies soon… some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. We can’t save them.”
Long Yun spat blood, his eyes burning with hatred. “That damned witch must have learned our secret. She’s blockaded every entrance to the galaxy, barring the Oracle Dominion’s supply ships. No ingredients mean no elixirs. Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“That’s the Strangulation Strategy,” Xie Fengting said dully, gazing at the sky. It was unclear whether he admired or scorned the tactic. “The witch doesn’t need to lift a finger. Cut off your elixir supply, and the entire Danding Sword Sect collapses. Yang Hao’s foundation is severed in one stroke.”
“The galaxy has no herb-producing planets left. Nearly all ingredients come from ships beyond the borders,” Zhuge Jian explained. “The Ten Sword Schools’ three clan armies and four guardian sects have blockaded every entrance. The Oracle Dominion’s ships can’t get through—we haven’t even received messages. The Senate’s Dragon Trap and Strangulation strategies are brutally effective. Within a month, the emperor and the Danding Sword Sect’s strength will vanish without a trace, and the Senate won’t have lost a thing.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt, growling, “I’ll fight my way out.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting shot back. “Charging out is suicide. Staying here means slow strangulation. It seems there’s no way out.”
“There is,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice brimmed with confidence. “We never abandoned him. He won’t abandon us now.”
Though spoken softly, his words struck like a hammer to the heart, even rousing the barely conscious inner disciples. A glimmer of hope shone in their dull eyes.
These men had once risked their lives to rescue Yang Hao from imprisonment. Now, they believed—no matter where he was—he would never forsake them.
“What can we do?” Xie Fengting finally tore his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear, its silver radiance enveloping her. After the bloody battle, she had regained her usual calm and serenity.
The Galactic Empire had stood for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its territory had been confined to the Milky Way’s vicinity. The empire’s military had long been plagued by the limitations of interstellar travel. Despite early mastery of warp and wormhole technology, such methods were woefully inadequate for traversing the astronomical distances measured in light-years.
This problem was only solved with the advent of the quantum supercomputers. Massive computational arrays devised a method to propel ships beyond natural laws, allowing them to traverse space directly to their destinations.
This was the precursor to the acceleration space stations now scattered across the cosmos.
These colossal spaceports, floating in the void, housed enormous platforms where ships could dock. By harnessing immense energy, the stations could propel vessels directly to the next station in the network.
After centuries of construction, most major star systems now had at least one acceleration station. Traveling from the western to the eastern reaches of the empire—spanning nearly its entire breadth—required passing through sixty such stations.
Strategically, each station was vital. Controlling one meant controlling all passage through that system. At key junctions, a blockade could paralyze interstellar travel across the universe.
The current situation wasn’t that dire—but it was close.
The Milky Way had four acceleration stations, one at each cardinal direction, serving as mandatory checkpoints for all incoming ships. But the once-orderly flow had devolved into chaos. Countless vessels now crowded the stations’ peripheries, floating like a dense swarm of tiny boats.
The troubles were far from limited to Emperor Ying Lie.
Outside the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, the battle had raged for nearly a month. The piles of bones and rivers of blood had blocked all surrounding roads, even staining the sect’s entrance plaque a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Schools, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword School had already thrown their full strength into the fray. Though their main forces had been decimated by Yang Hao earlier, the remnants of their power surged like tidal waves toward the Danding Sword Sect’s gates, vowing to turn the place into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, despite the Danding Sword Sect’s usual garrison of at least a thousand disciples, today the place seemed desolate. Under the siege of the Ten Sword Schools, only two figures stood firm—Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword, and Xie Fengting, whose face grew increasingly pale, his visor caked in blood to a deep maroon.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Schools, whether swordsmen or swordmasters, each had their own deadly techniques. Those charging the gates were not masters above the Great Swordmaster level, but their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm the two defenders.
In this latest assault, over thirty swordsmen charged forward, trampling over the blood of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employed, none could withstand Long Yun’s simple, clean strikes—just straightforward downward slashes, unadorned but devastatingly effective.
Five of the charging swordsmen were cleaved in half by Long Yun’s blade.
Yet, in return, they left wounds of varying sizes on Long Yun’s body, even cracking his ancestral heavy armor.
On the other flank, Xie Fengting’s battle was far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground were his handiwork. Without a Sword Saint like him guarding the entrance, Long Yun alone could never have withstood the Ten Sword Schools’ relentless onslaught.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would loosen his clenched fist, unleashing the radiant shortsword within. The dazzling sword light of “Polaris” weaved through the air like fine needles, impossible to guard against.
But this time, the attackers were disciples of the Light Sword School—Xie Fengting’s former brethren, who knew the weaknesses of Polaris all too well. As the sword light scattered, they raised reflective shields to block the attack.
This method of countering Polaris had been used before, even by Yang Hao—it was the technique’s greatest flaw.
Yet Xie Fengting, having reached the Saint Realm, was no match for these lesser swordsmen. Seeing the reflective shields, he let out a long cry, and every needle of light in the air erupted with starlike brilliance. Amid screams, the shields shattered, and the Ten Sword disciples were riddled with bloody holes, crimson spraying like arrows.
With this final strike, the clamorous battlefield fell silent once more. Thirty more corpses of the Ten Sword Schools now lay before the Danding Sword Sect’s gates.
Though they had repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting showed any joy. They trudged back into the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Schools’ assault wasn’t meant to annihilate them with these third-rate fighters—it was merely to exhaust the Danding Sword Sect, denying them any respite. In other words, the fallen were nothing but cannon fodder.
The problem was, the Senate could afford to lose cannon fodder, but the Danding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting forced a lighthearted tone, though walking through blood was hardly pleasant. “Your strength has improved rapidly. Soon, you might even break through to the Saint Realm.”
Long Yun turned, giving Xie Fengting a helpless look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. But you—every time you break their shields, your internal energy backlashes. Even with your Sword Saint strength, how many more times can you endure? If this goes on, even these third-rate fighters will shatter your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to offer some comfort, when his expression suddenly twisted in alarm.
Long Yun reacted instantly, swinging his broadsword behind him—just in time to sever the head of a black-clad assassin from the Shadowkill Sect.
But as dark smoke billowed, four more assassins emerged—three in black, and one in purple. Yang Hao had once wiped out ten of the Shadowkill Sect’s purple-clad elites, dealing them a heavy blow. Now, each purple-clad killer was irreplaceable, rarely deployed.
Yet this strike was all-out, targeting Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Schools weren’t fools. They had spent days wearing Long Yun down with cannon fodder, waiting for this moment of assassination. With Yang Hao absent, Long Yun was the Danding Sword Sect’s pillar. Kill him, and the sect would crumble.
The Shadowkill Sect’s plan was flawless.
Long Yun had barely slain one black-clad assassin when another engaged him. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was pinned down by two black-clad killers, unable to assist.
The purple-clad assassin, poised for the final strike, vanished into a violet mist—his killing intent completely concealed within.
Long Yun, already hard-pressed by the black-clad assassin, struggled to parry. But the sword in the mist was no ordinary threat.
**Three Shadows Assassination Technique**—the deadliest assassination art in history, impossible to block or evade.
The purple mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent shattered his heavy armor, sending fragments scattering.
A cold, piercing pain shot through Long Yun’s back, threatening to reach his organs.
His life force was rapidly fading.
**”Saint’s Invincibility—BREAK!”**
A clear voice rang out. A silver dragon’s eyes snapped open within the mist, its claws flicking—and the purple-clad assassin was hurled out, exposed.
**”Hah!”** The silver spear’s wielder—a member of the Imperial Guard—let out their signature battle cry. Before the sound faded, the spear tip had already pierced the assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watched as the Shadowkill assassin slid off her spear and collapsed, blood gushing like a fountain.
Without a word, she turned coldly, riding her Snowy Night Star Lion back into the Danding Sword Sect. Today, as always, she wore white armor that matched the sect’s white cloaks, making her nearly indistinguishable. But her pale face was now marked by a resolve unseen before, her body drenched in the blood of the Ten Sword Schools.
Even in the bleakest of times, Lan Ling’s beauty was striking. Unlike the coquettish charm of other women, hers was a composed, unshakable grace. Just standing there, cold and silent, she could steal any man’s heart.
Yet her own heart had long been stolen by a man who wasn’t here.
After Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling often visited the Danding Sword Sect alone, speaking little, just standing beneath the Dragon Tower in thought, letting her Snowy Night Star Lion chat with the Windrider Dragon.
When the Senate launched their “Dragon Trap” and “Annihilation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning to her post as captain of the Imperial Guard, she stayed to aid in the defense.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finished off the remaining assassins and returned, the grim scene inside made them frown despite having seen it countless times.
On the training grounds where inner disciples once practiced, hundreds of Danding Sword Sect members sat in solemn silence, their faces ashen. Some, too weak to meditate, lay sprawled on the ground. At a glance, it was clear these men were barely clinging to life—mostly inner disciples and members of the Hao Sword Brigade, once Yang Hao’s backbone. Now, they were listless shadows of their former selves, who had once stormed the imperial palace with fearless courage.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun grunted, driving his broadsword into the ground before sitting heavily. He didn’t mention the near-fatal ambush.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, his voice tinged with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya stayed close to the inner disciples, but they were powerless to help. No method could revive these brothers-in-arms.
The bleak sight even moved Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without elixirs, how much longer can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks—at most. Danding Sword techniques rely on elixirs. Without ingredients, they can’t hold on. We’ve exhausted our reserves. If the Divine Mandate doesn’t send supplies soon… Some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. We can’t save them.”
Long Yun spat blood, his eyes burning with hatred. “That damned witch—how did she know to blockade all routes into the galaxy, barring the Divine Mandate’s supply ships? No ingredients mean no elixirs. Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“This is the Annihilation Strategy,” Xie Fengting murmured, staring blankly at the sky—whether in admiration or scorn, it was unclear. “The witch doesn’t need to lift a finger. Cut off your ingredients, and the entire Danding Sword Sect collapses. Yang Hao’s foundation is severed in one stroke.”
“The galaxy has no herb-producing planets left. Almost all materials come from outer domains. The Ten Sword Schools’ three clan armies and four guardian sects have blockaded every entrance,” Zhuge Jian explained. “The Divine Mandate’s ships can’t get through—we don’t even have word from them. The Senate’s Dragon Trap and Annihilation strategies are too effective. In a month, the emperor and the Danding Sword Sect’s power will vanish without a trace—and the Senate won’t lose a thing.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt, growling, “I’ll fight my way out.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting shot back. “Charging out is suicide. Staying means slow strangulation. It seems… we have no way out.”
“There is,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice carried unshakable confidence. “We never abandoned him before. He won’t abandon us now.”
Though spoken softly, his words struck like a hammer on everyone’s hearts—even rousing the barely conscious inner disciples. Their dull eyes flickered with light.
These men had once risked their lives to rescue the imprisoned Yang Hao.
Now, they believed—no matter where he was—he would never abandon them.
“What can we do now?” Xie Fengting finally tore his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear, silver radiance enveloping her. After the bloodshed, she had regained her serene calm.
The Galactic Empire had stood for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its borders barely extended beyond the Milky Way. The greatest obstacle to imperial expansion was the time required for interstellar travel. Despite early mastery of warp and wormhole technology, such speeds were still negligible against the astronomical distances measured in light-years.
This problem was only solved with the advent of the quantum supercomputers. Massive computational arrays devised a method for ships to bypass natural laws, traversing space directly to their destinations.
Thus, the acceleration space stations now dotting the cosmos were born.
These colossal spaceports floated in the void, housing enormous platforms. Ships entering these platforms could harness immense energy concentrations to leap instantly from one station to the next.
After centuries of construction, most major star systems boasted at least one acceleration station. To cross the empire from the outer western domains to the outer eastern domains required passing through sixty such stations.
Strategically, each system’s acceleration station was vital. Controlling one meant controlling all passage through that system. A blockade at key hubs could paralyze interstellar transport entirely.
The current situation wasn’t that dire—but it was close.
The Milky Way had four acceleration stations—north, south, east, and west—each a mandatory passage for incoming ships. But the once-orderly flow had devolved into chaos. Countless vessels now crowded the stations’ peripheries, drifting like a dense flotilla of tiny boats.
This time, however, they were going all out, targeting Long Yun directly.
The Ten Sword Streams weren’t stupid. They had used expendable pawns to wear down Long Yun and the others for days, waiting for this moment of opportunity. With Yang Hao gone, Long Yun was the pillar of the Dan Ding Sword Sect. Eliminate him, and the sect would collapse.
The troubles were far from limited to Emperor Ying Lie.
Outside the Dan Ding Sword Sect, the battle had raged for nearly a month. The bones and blood had sealed off all surrounding roads, and even the sect’s gate plaque had been stained a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Schools, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword School had thrown their full weight into the fight. Though their main forces had been decimated by Yang Hao earlier, the remnants surged forward like relentless tides, determined to turn the Dan Ding Sword Sect’s entrance into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, the usually bustling Dan Ding Sword Sect, which typically housed at least a thousand disciples, now stood eerily deserted. Against the onslaught of the Ten Sword Schools, only two figures held the line: Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword, and Xie Fengting, whose face grew paler by the day, his visor caked in a deep, bloody red.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Schools, whether swordsmen or sword masters, each had their own deadly techniques. Though none among the attackers were grandmasters, their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm the two defenders.
In this latest assault, over thirty swordsmen charged forward, trampling over the blood of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employed, none could withstand Long Yun’s straightforward, brutal slashes. His unadorned, overhead strikes proved lethally effective time and again.
Five of the attackers were cleaved in half by Long Yun’s blade.
But they, too, left their mark—wounds of varying sizes on Long Yun’s body, and even his ancestral armor was split open in places.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s battles were far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground were his handiwork. Without a sword saint like him guarding the gate, Long Yun alone would have been ground down by the Ten Sword Schools’ relentless assaults.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would loosen his clenched fist, unleashing the radiant glow of his divine shortsword. The dazzling “Polaris” technique sent needle-thin beams of light dancing through the air, impossible to defend against.
But this wave of attackers belonged to the Light Sword School—Xie Fengting’s own former sect. They knew the weaknesses of Polaris all too well. As the light beams scattered, they raised reflective shields to block them.
This tactic had been used before, even by Yang Hao, and was the greatest flaw of the Polaris technique.
Yet Xie Fengting, having reached the Saint Realm, was no match for these lesser swordsmen. Seeing the shields, he let out a sharp cry, and every beam of light erupted with star-like brilliance. Screams filled the air as the shields shattered, and the Ten Sword School disciples were riddled with bloody holes, crimson spraying like arrows.
With that final strike, the clamor of battle faded. Thirty more corpses from the Ten Sword Schools now lay at the Dan Ding Sword Sect’s gates.
Though they had repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting showed any joy. They trudged back into the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Schools weren’t trying to overwhelm them with these cannon fodder—they were simply wearing them down, denying them any respite. In other words, the dead were nothing more than expendable pawns.
The problem was, the Senate could afford to lose pawns, but the Dan Ding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Congratulations, old Long,” Xie Fengting said weakly, trying to lighten the mood as they walked through the blood-soaked courtyard. “You’ve improved so much—soon, you might even break through to the Saint Realm.”
Long Yun turned, giving him a weary look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. But you—every time you break their shields, your own energy backlashes. Even with your sword saint strength, how many more times can you take it? At this rate, even these third-rate fighters will cripple you.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to offer some comfort, when his expression suddenly twisted in alarm.
Long Yun reacted instantly, spinning and slashing behind him. A black-clad assassin from the Nether Shades Guild tumbled to the ground, head severed.
But dark smoke billowed, revealing four more assassins—three in black, and one in purple. Yang Hao had once wiped out ten of the Nether Shades’ purple-ranked killers, leaving them severely weakened. Now, every loss was irreplaceable, and they rarely deployed them.
This strike, however, was all-out—aimed squarely at Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Schools weren’t fools. They had spent days wearing Long Yun down with cannon fodder, waiting for this assassination attempt. With Yang Hao gone, Long Yun was the Dan Ding Sword Sect’s pillar. Kill him, and the sect would crumble.
The Nether Shades’ plan was flawless.
Long Yun had barely beheaded one assassin when another black-clad killer engaged him. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was pinned down by two assassins, unable to assist.
The purple-ranked assassin, poised for the killing blow, vanished into a cloud of violet mist, his murderous intent hidden within.
Long Yun, already struggling against the black-clad assassin, had no defense against the mist’s lethal strike.
The Nether Shades’ Threefold Kill—a legendary technique, impossible to evade or block.
The violet mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent shattered his heavy armor, scattering it to the ground.
A cold, piercing pain shot through his back, threatening to reach his organs. His life force was draining fast.
“Saint’s Might—BREAK!”
A clear voice rang out. A silver dragon’s eyes gleamed within the mist, its claws flicking out to send the purple assassin tumbling into view.
“HAH!” The silver spear’s wielder—a member of the Imperial Guard—shouted as the blade pierced the assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watched as the Nether Shades killer slid off her spear and collapsed, blood fountaining into the air.
Without a word, she turned coldly, riding her Snowy Night Star Lion back into the sect. Clad in white armor that matched the Dan Ding Sect’s banners, she was nearly indistinguishable—save for the blood of the Ten Sword Schools staining her. Her pale face bore a resolve unseen before.
Yet even in battle-worn attire, Lan Ling’s beauty was undeniable. It wasn’t the delicate charm of other women, but a composed, untouchable grace. Just standing there, cold and silent, she captivated every man’s gaze.
But her heart belonged to one man—who wasn’t here.
Since Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling had often visited the Dan Ding Sword Sect alone, standing beneath the Dragon Tower in silence, letting her Snowy Night Star Lion chat with the Windstrider Dragon.
When the Senate launched their “Dragon Trap” and “Strangulation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning as the Imperial Guard’s captain, she stayed to help defend.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finished off the assassins and returned, the sight inside made them grimace—no matter how many times they’d seen it.
Hundreds of Dan Ding Sword Sect disciples sat in the training yard, their faces pale and solemn. The weaker ones couldn’t even sit upright, lying limply on the ground. At a glance, they were barely clinging to life. These were the sect’s elite—the inner disciples and the Hao Sword Corps—now lifeless shadows of their former selves.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun muttered, driving his broadsword into the ground before sitting heavily. He didn’t mention the near-fatal ambush.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, despair creeping into his voice.
He and Maya stayed close to the disciples, helpless to ease their suffering.
The bleak scene even moved Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without medicine, how long can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks—at most. Dan Ding’s techniques rely on elixirs. We’ve exhausted our stock. If the Oracle doesn’t send supplies soon… some of the weaker ones have already lost their cultivation. They can’t be saved.”
Long Yun spat blood, eyes burning with fury. “That damned witch—how did she know? She’s blockaded every entrance to the galaxy, stopping the Oracle’s supply ships. No herbs, no elixirs. Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“That’s the Strangulation Strategy,” Xie Fengting said dully, staring at the sky. “No need for the witch to lift a finger. Cut off your herbs, and the Dan Ding Sect falls. Yang Hao’s foundation—gone.”
“There are no herb-producing planets left in the galaxy. Almost all materials come from beyond,” Zhuge Jian added. “The Ten Sword Schools’ three family armies and four guardian sects have blockaded every entrance. The Oracle’s ships can’t get through—we can’t even send messages. The Senate’s Dragon Trap and Strangulation plans are too effective. In a month, the emperor and the Dan Ding Sect will be powerless—without the Senate losing a single man.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt. “I’ll break through.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting shot back. “That’s suicide. Staying here means slow death. Seems we’re out of options.”
“There is one,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice brimmed with confidence. “We never gave up on him—he won’t give up on us.”
His words, though quiet, struck like a hammer, stirring even the weakest disciples. A glimmer of hope lit their dull eyes.
These were the same people who had once risked everything to free Yang Hao from captivity.
Now, they believed—no matter where he was—he wouldn’t abandon them.
“What can we do?” Xie Fengting finally tore his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear, bathed in silver radiance. After the bloodshed, she had regained her serene calm.
The Galactic Empire had stood for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its reach barely extended beyond the Milky Way. The limiting factor was interstellar travel—despite mastering warp and wormhole technology, the vast distances measured in light-years remained daunting.
The solution came with the advent of AI mainframes. Massive computational arrays devised a method for ships to bypass natural laws, traversing space directly between designated points.
This was the birth of the acceleration stations now scattered across the cosmos.
These colossal spaceports housed enormous platforms where ships could dock. By harnessing immense energy, they could “jump” from one station to the next.
After centuries of construction, most major star systems had at least one station. Crossing the empire from the outer western to the outer eastern regions required sixty such jumps.
Strategically, these stations were vital. Controlling one meant controlling all traffic through that system. A blockade at key hubs could paralyze interstellar travel.
The current situation wasn’t that dire—but close.
The Milky Way had four acceleration stations—north, south, east, and west—each a mandatory passage for incoming ships. But the usual order had dissolved into chaos. Countless ships now floated outside the stations, packed together like a dense flotilla.
Long Yun cut down one Black Robe, but another Black Robe had already engaged him. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was being held back by two Black Robes and couldn’t come to his aid.
The Purple Robe assassin, poised for the final strike, swung his sword and transformed into a mass of purple mist. Within that mist, the complete killing intent was hidden.
The troubles were far from limited to Emperor Ying Lie alone.
Outside the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, the battle had raged for nearly a month. The piles of bones and rivers of blood had sealed off all surrounding roads, and even the sect’s signboard had been stained a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Factions, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword Faction had thrown everything they had into the fight. Though their main forces had been decimated by Yang Hao earlier, the remnants of their power surged toward the Danding Sword Sect’s gates like a relentless tide, determined to turn the place into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, despite the Danding Sword Sect’s usual garrison of at least a thousand disciples, today the place seemed deserted. Under the siege of the Ten Sword Factions, only Long Yun—clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword—and Xie Fengting, whose face grew paler by the day, his visor caked in dark red gore, stood their ground.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Factions, whether swordsmen or swordmasters, each had their own deadly techniques. Those charging the gates were no masters above the Great Swordmaster level, but they relied on sheer numbers, swarming forward to overwhelm the two who were barely holding on.
In this latest wave of attacks, over thirty swordsmen charged forward, trampling over the blood-soaked corpses of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employed, none could withstand Long Yun’s straightforward, brutal slashes. His simplest, most unadorned strikes—merely cleaving downward—proved devastatingly effective in his hands.
Five of the charging swordsmen were split in half by Long Yun’s blade.
But they, too, left their mark on Long Yun, carving wounds of varying sizes across his body. Even his ancestral heavy armor had been hacked open in places.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s battle was far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground were his handiwork. Without a Sword Saint-level expert like him guarding the gates, Long Yun alone would never have withstood the Ten Sword Factions’ relentless assaults.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would loosen his tightly clenched fist, revealing the radiant shortsword within—a divine artifact. The dazzling sword light of “Polaris” weaved through the air like fine needles, impossible to guard against.
But this time, the attackers were disciples of the Light Sword Faction, Xie Fengting’s former comrades. They knew the nature of “Polaris” all too well. As the sword light scattered in all directions, they raised reflective shields before them, blocking the deadly rays.
This method of countering “Polaris” had been used before—even by Yang Hao—and was the technique’s greatest weakness.
Yet Xie Fengting had reached the Saint Realm. How could mere junior swordsmen hope to defend against him? Seeing the reflective shields, he let out a long cry, and in an instant, every needle-like ray of light erupted with a brilliance like starlight. Amidst screams of agony, the shields shattered, and the Ten Sword Faction disciples were riddled with bloody holes, crimson jets spraying like arrows.
With that final strike, the clamor of battle subsided once more. Thirty more corpses of the Ten Sword Factions now lay before the Danding Sword Sect’s gates.
Though they had repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting showed any joy. They trudged back toward the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Factions’ assault wasn’t meant to overwhelm them with these third-rate fighters—it was merely to pin down the Danding Sword Sect, denying them any respite. In other words, the waves of attackers were nothing but cannon fodder.
The problem was, the Elder Council didn’t care about losing cannon fodder, but the Danding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting said, trying to lighten the mood despite the blood underfoot. “Your strength has improved quickly. At this rate, you might break through to the Saint Realm soon.”
Long Yun turned back, giving Xie Fengting a helpless look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. Meanwhile, every time you break their shields, your internal energy backlashes. Even with your Sword Saint strength, how many more times can you endure this? If this goes on, even these third-rate fighters will shatter your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to offer some words of comfort, when his expression suddenly twisted in alarm.
Long Yun reacted instantly, swinging his broadsword behind him—just in time to sever the head of a black-clad assassin from the Shadowkill Sect.
But as wisps of black smoke curled up, four more Shadowkill assassins appeared. Three were black-clad, and one—a rare sight—was clad in purple. After Yang Hao had wiped out ten of their purple-clad elites, the Shadowkill Sect had been crippled. Now, every purple-clad assassin was irreplaceable, and they rarely ventured out.
This strike was all-out, aimed squarely at Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Factions weren’t fools. They had used cannon fodder to wear down Long Yun and Xie Fengting for days, waiting for this moment of assassination. With Yang Hao absent, Long Yun was the Danding Sword Sect’s pillar. If he fell, the entire sect would crumble.
The Shadowkill Sect’s plan was flawless.
Long Yun had just beheaded one black-clad assassin when another lunged at him. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was pinned down by two black-clad assassins, unable to assist in time.
The purple-clad assassin, poised for the killing blow, brandished his sword and dissolved into a cloud of violet mist. His murderous intent vanished into the haze.
Long Yun, already engaged with the black-clad assassin, struggled to parry with his broadsword. But the sword hidden in the mist was no ordinary weapon.
The Shadowkill Sect’s Threefold Assassination Technique—a legendary killing art, impossible to defend against or evade.
The violet mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent within it shattered his heavy armor, sending the pieces clattering to the ground.
A bone-chilling pain pierced Long Yun’s back, threatening to reach his organs.
His life force was rapidly fading.
“Saint’s Invincibility—BREAK!”
A clear voice rang out. A silver dragon’s eyes snapped open within the violet mist. With a flick of its claws, it sent the purple-clad assassin flying.
“Ha!” The owner of the silver spear—Lan Ling—let out the battle cry unique to the Imperial Guard. Before the sound faded, her spear tip had already pierced the Shadowkill assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watched coldly as the assassin slid off her spear and collapsed, blood gushing like a fountain.
Without a word, she turned and rode her Snowy Night Star Lion back into the Danding Sword Sect. Today, as always, she wore white armor that matched the sect’s white cloaks, making her nearly indistinguishable from its disciples. But her pale face was now marked by a resolve unseen before, her body drenched in the blood of the Ten Sword Factions.
Yet even in the midst of battle, Lan Ling’s beauty was undeniable. It wasn’t the coquettish charm of other women but a serene, unshakable grace. Even the Ten Sword Faction disciples might hesitate to strike her down.
But Lan Ling’s heart had long been stolen by a man who wasn’t here.
After Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling often visited the Danding Sword Sect alone. She rarely spoke, simply standing beneath the Dragon Tower in contemplation while her Snowy Night Star Lion chatted with the Windrider Dragon.
When the Elder Council launched their “Dragon Trap” and “Annihilation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning to her post as captain of the Imperial Guard, she stayed to aid in its defense.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finished off the remaining Shadowkill assassins and returned to the sect, the bleak scene inside made them grimace despite having seen it countless times.
On the training grounds where inner disciples once practiced, hundreds of Danding Sword Sect members sat in solemn silence. Their faces were deathly pale; some, too weak to even meditate, lay sprawled on the ground. At a glance, it was clear these men—the sect’s inner disciples and the Hao Sword Regiment—were barely clinging to life. Once the backbone of Yang Hao’s forces, they now lay listless, a far cry from their valiant assault on the palace.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun muttered, driving his broadsword into the ground before sitting heavily. He didn’t mention the assassination attempt that had nearly killed him.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, his voice tinged with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya stayed close to the inner disciples, but they were powerless to help. No method could revive these brothers-in-arms.
The desolate scene even moved Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without elixirs, how much longer can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks. At most. The Danding Sword Sect’s techniques rely on elixirs. Without ingredients, they can’t hold on. We’ve exhausted all our reserves. If the Divine Mandate doesn’t send supplies soon… some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. We can’t save them.”
Long Yun spat blood, his eyes burning with hatred. “That damned witch—how did she know to blockade all the galaxy’s entry points? She’s stopped the Divine Mandate’s supply ships. No ingredients mean no elixirs. Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“This is the Annihilation Strategy,” Xie Fengting said dully, gazing at the sky. “The witch doesn’t need to lift a finger. Cut off your ingredients, and the entire Danding Sword Sect collapses. Yang Hao’s foundation is severed in one stroke.”
“The Milky Way has no herb-producing planets left. Almost all materials come from supply ships beyond the galaxy,” Zhuge Jian explained. “The Ten Sword Factions’ three clan armies and four guardian sects have blockaded the entry points. The Divine Mandate’s ships can’t get through—we don’t even have word from them. The Elder Council’s Dragon Trap and Annihilation strategies are ruthless. In a month, the emperor and the Danding Sword Sect’s strength will vanish without a trace, and they won’t have lost a thing.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt. “I’ll fight my way out.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting shot back. “Charging out is suicide. Staying here means slow strangulation. It seems… we have no way out.”
“There is,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice was firm with conviction. “We never abandoned him before. He won’t abandon us now.”
His words, though quiet, struck like a hammer to the heart. Even the barely conscious inner disciples stirred, their dull eyes flickering with hope.
These men had once risked their lives to rescue the imprisoned Yang Hao.
Now, they believed—no matter where he was—he would never abandon them.
“What can we do?” Xie Fengting finally tore his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear, its silver radiance enveloping her. Amidst the bloodshed, she had regained her calm.
The Galactic Empire had stood for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its borders barely extended beyond the Milky Way. The greatest obstacle to imperial expansion was the time required for interstellar travel. Despite early mastery of warp and wormhole technology, such speeds were still negligible against the astronomical distances measured in light-years.
This problem was only solved with the advent of the AI Core. Massive AI arrays calculated a method to allow ships to traverse space in defiance of natural laws, reaching their destinations directly.
This was the prototype of the acceleration space stations now scattered across the universe.
These colossal spaceports floated in the void, housing massive platforms where ships could dock. Through immense energy concentration, a ship could instantly jump from one station to the next.
After centuries of construction, most major star systems now had at least one acceleration station. To cross the empire from the outer western reaches to the outer eastern regions required passing through sixty such stations.
Strategically, each system’s acceleration station was vital. Controlling one meant controlling all passage through that system. At key hubs, a blockade could paralyze interstellar travel entirely.
The current situation wasn’t that dire—but it was close.
The Milky Way had four acceleration stations—north, south, east, and west—each a mandatory passage for incoming ships. But the once-orderly flow had devolved into chaos. Countless ships now hovered outside the stations, packed together like a dense flotilla of tiny boats.
The most legendary assassination technique in history—impossible to guard against, impossible to evade.
The purple mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous snake, its tongue flickering. The thick armor on his back shattered instantly under the piercing killing intent.
Long Yun felt a bone-chilling pain in his back, about to pierce through his flesh and into his organs.
And his life force was rapidly fading.
The troubles were far from limited to Emperor Ying Lie alone.
Outside the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, the battle had raged for nearly a month. The piles of bones and rivers of blood had sealed off all surrounding roads, even staining the sect’s entrance plaque a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Sects, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword Sect had thrown their full might into the fray. Though their main forces had been decimated by Yang Hao earlier, their remaining strength surged like a tidal wave, relentlessly crashing against the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, determined to turn the place into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, the once-thriving Danding Sword Sect, which usually housed at least a thousand disciples, now stood eerily deserted. Under the siege of the Ten Sword Sects, only two figures remained to hold the line: Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword, and Xie Fengting, whose face grew paler by the day, his visor caked in a deep crimson from blood and gore.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Sects, whether swordsmen or swordmasters, each had their own deadly techniques. Though none among the attackers were Grand Swordmasters or higher, their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm the two defenders through sheer force.
In this latest assault, over thirty swordsmen charged forward, trampling over the corpses of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employed, none could withstand Long Yun’s straightforward, brutal slashes. His simplest downward strikes, devoid of any flourish, proved devastatingly effective.
Five of the attackers were cleaved in half by Long Yun’s blade.
But the battle took its toll. Long Yun’s body bore wounds of varying severity, and even his ancestral heavy armor had been split open in places.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s fight was far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground were his handiwork. Without a Sword Saint guarding the gates, Long Yun alone would have been unable to withstand the Ten Sword Sects’ relentless onslaught.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would loosen his clenched fist, unleashing the radiant glow of his divine shortsword. The dazzling swordlight, like fine needles dancing through the air, was impossible to defend against.
However, this wave of attackers hailed from the Light Sword Sect—Xie Fengting’s own former sect. They knew the weaknesses of his “Polaris” technique all too well. As the swordlight scattered in all directions, they raised reflective shields to block the deadly rays.
This method of countering Polaris was one Yang Hao had once used, exposing the technique’s greatest flaw.
But Xie Fengting was no ordinary swordsman—he had reached the Saint Realm. As the Light Sword Sect disciples raised their shields, he let out a long cry. Instantly, every needle-like ray of light erupted with a brilliance akin to starlight, piercing through the reflective barriers and riddling the attackers with bloody holes. Crimson sprays erupted like arrows, and the battlefield fell silent once more.
Thirty more corpses of the Ten Sword Sects now lay before the gates of Danding.
Though they had repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting showed any joy. They trudged back into the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Sects’ strategy wasn’t to overwhelm them with these expendable fighters but to wear them down, denying them any respite. In other words, the fallen were mere cannon fodder.
The problem was, the Elder Council could afford to lose such pawns without a second thought, but the Danding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting said weakly, trying to lighten the mood despite the blood-soaked path back to the sect. “Your strength has grown rapidly. At this rate, you might break through to the Saint Realm soon.”
Long Yun turned, giving Xie Fengting a weary look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. Meanwhile, every time you break their shields, your internal energy backlashes. Even with your Sword Saint strength, how many more times can you endure this? If this continues, even these third-rate fighters will shatter your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to offer some words of comfort, when his expression suddenly twisted in alarm.
Long Yun reacted instantly, spinning around and slashing behind him. A head—belonging to a black-clad assassin from the Shadowkill Sect—rolled to the ground.
But dark smoke billowed, revealing four more assassins: three in black and one in purple. Yang Hao had once wiped out ten of Shadowkill’s purple-ranked killers, dealing them a heavy blow. Now, each purple-ranked assassin was irreplaceable, rarely deployed.
Yet here they were, striking with full force—targeting Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Sects weren’t fools. They had spent days wearing Long Yun down with cannon fodder, waiting for this moment. With Yang Hao absent, Long Yun was the Danding Sword Sect’s pillar. Eliminate him, and the sect would crumble.
Shadowkill’s assassination plan was flawless.
Long Yun had barely beheaded one black-clad assassin when another engaged him. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was pinned down by two more, unable to assist.
The purple-ranked assassin, poised for the killing blow, vanished into a cloud of violet mist—his murderous intent concealed within.
Long Yun, already struggling against the black-clad assassin, had no defense against the hidden blade in the mist.
Shadowkill’s Threefold Assassination Technique—a legendary killing art, impossible to evade or block.
The violet mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent within shattered his heavy armor, sending fragments scattering across the ground.
A cold, piercing pain shot through Long Yun’s back, threatening to reach his organs. His life force rapidly drained away.
“Saint’s Invincibility—BREAK!”
A clear voice rang out. A silver dragon’s eyes snapped open within the violet mist. With a mere flick of its claws, it sent the purple-ranked assassin flying.
“Ha!” The silver spear’s owner—a member of the Imperial Guard—let out a battle cry. Before the sound faded, the spear’s tip had already pierced the assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watched as the Shadowkill assassin slid off her spear and collapsed, blood gushing like a fountain.
Without a word, she turned coldly, riding her Snowmoon Star Lion back into the Danding Sword Sect. Clad in white armor that matched the sect’s banners, she was nearly indistinguishable from its disciples—save for the blood of the Ten Sword Sects staining her pale face, now etched with a resolve unseen before.
Even in the midst of battle, Lan Ling’s beauty was undeniable. Unlike the coquettish charm of other women, hers was a quiet, unshakable grace. Merely standing there, cold and composed, she could steal the hearts of any man.
Yet her own heart had long been stolen—by a man who wasn’t even here.
Since Yang Hao’s departure from the capital, Lan Ling had often visited the Danding Sword Sect alone, standing beneath the Dragon Tower in silence while her Snowmoon Star Lion chatted with the Windstrider Dragon.
When the Elder Council launched their “Dragon Trap” and “Strangulation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning to her post as captain of the Imperial Guard, she stayed to aid in its defense.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finished off the remaining assassins and returned, the sight inside the sect—though familiar—still made them grimace.
Hundreds of Danding Sword Sect disciples sat in the training grounds, their faces pale and solemn. Some, too weak to even meditate, lay sprawled on the ground. At a glance, it was clear they were barely clinging to life. These were the sect’s elite—the inner disciples and members of the Hao Sword Brigade. Once fearless warriors who had stormed the imperial palace, they now lay listless, their vitality fading.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun muttered, driving his broadsword into the ground before sitting heavily. He didn’t mention the near-fatal ambush.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, his voice tinged with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya hovered near the disciples, helpless. No method they tried could revive their comrades.
The bleak scene even softened Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without medicine, how long can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks. At most. The Danding Sword Sect’s techniques rely on elixirs. Without ingredients, they can’t hold on. We’ve exhausted our reserves. If the Divine Mandate doesn’t send supplies soon… some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. We can’t save them.”
Long Yun spat blood, his eyes burning with hatred. “That damned witch—how did she know? She’s blockaded every entrance to the galaxy, barring the Divine Mandate’s supply ships. No ingredients mean no elixirs. Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“This is the Strangulation Strategy,” Xie Fengting murmured, gazing blankly at the sky. “The witch doesn’t need to lift a finger. Cut off your ingredients, and the entire Danding Sword Sect collapses. Yang Hao’s foundation—gone in an instant.”
“The galaxy has no medicine-producing planets left. Almost all materials come from beyond,” Zhuge Jian explained. “The Ten Sword Sects’ three family armies and four guardian sects have blockaded every entrance. The Divine Mandate’s ships can’t get through—we don’t even have word from them. The Elder Council’s Dragon Trap and Strangulation strategies are ruthless. Within a month, the emperor and the Danding Sword Sect’s strength will vanish—without the Elder Council suffering a single loss.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt. “I’ll fight my way out.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting shot back. “That’s suicide. Staying here means slow strangulation. It seems… there’s no way out.”
“There is,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice carried unwavering confidence. “We never abandoned him. He won’t abandon us now.”
His words, though quiet, struck like a hammer to the chest—even stirring the barely conscious disciples. A glimmer of hope flickered in their dull eyes.
These were the same people who had once risked everything to rescue Yang Hao from imprisonment.
Now, they believed—no matter where he was—he would never forsake them.
“What can we do?” Xie Fengting finally tore his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear, bathed in silver light. Amidst the bloodshed, she had regained her serene composure.
The Galactic Empire had stood for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its borders barely extended beyond the Milky Way. The greatest obstacle to imperial expansion had always been the vastness of space. Despite mastering warp and wormhole technology, traversing light-years remained a daunting challenge.
This changed with the advent of the quantum supercomputers. Massive computational arrays devised a method to bypass natural laws, allowing ships to traverse cosmic distances instantaneously via designated waypoints.
Thus, the Acceleration Space Stations were born—now spanning every major star system.
These colossal spaceports housed enormous platforms where ships could dock. Through immense energy concentration, vessels could “jump” from one station to the next, bridging interstellar distances in moments.
After centuries of construction, most star systems boasted at least one station. Crossing the empire from the outer western reaches to the outer east required sixty such jumps.
Strategically, these stations were invaluable. Controlling one meant controlling all traffic through its star system. A blockade at key hubs could paralyze interstellar travel entirely.
The current situation wasn’t that dire—but it was close.
The Milky Way had four Acceleration Space Stations—north, south, east, and west—each a critical gateway for incoming ships. But the once-orderly flow had devolved into chaos. Countless vessels now idled outside the stations, adrift like a dense flotilla of tiny boats.
The troubles extend far beyond just Emperor Ying Lie.
Outside the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, the battle has raged for nearly a month. The piles of corpses and rivers of blood have blocked all surrounding roads, even staining the sect’s entrance plaque a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Streams, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword Stream have thrown everything they have into this fight. Though their main forces were previously decimated by Yang Hao, their remaining strength still surges forward like a relentless tide, determined to turn the Danding Sword Sect’s gates into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, despite the Danding Sword Sect’s usual garrison of at least a thousand disciples, today the place is eerily deserted. Under the siege of the Ten Sword Streams, only two figures stand guard—Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword, and Xie Fengting, whose face grows paler by the day, his visor caked in a deep, bloody red.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Streams, whether swordsmen or swordmasters, each wield their own deadly techniques. Though none among the attackers are Grand Swordmasters, their sheer numbers threaten to overwhelm the two defenders.
In this latest assault, over thirty swordsmen charge forward, trampling over the blood-soaked corpses of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employ, none can withstand Long Yun’s straightforward, brutal slashes. His unadorned, downward strikes, though simple, prove lethally effective.
Five of the attackers are cleaved in half by Long Yun’s blade.
But the battle takes its toll. Long Yun’s body is riddled with wounds of varying severity, and even his ancestral heavy armor is split open in places.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s fight is far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground are his handiwork. Without a Sword Saint like him guarding the gates, Long Yun alone would never withstand the Ten Sword Streams’ relentless onslaught.
Whenever enough enemies surround Xie Fengting, he loosens his clenched fist, unleashing the radiant glow of his divine shortsword. The dazzling swordlight of “Polaris” weaves through the air like fine needles, impossible to defend against.
However, this wave of attackers consists of disciples from the Light Sword Stream—Xie Fengting’s own former sect. They know the weaknesses of Polaris all too well. As the swordlight scatters, they raise reflective shields to block the attack.
This method of countering Polaris is one Yang Hao himself once used, exposing the technique’s greatest flaw.
But Xie Fengting, having reached the Saint Realm, is no match for these lesser swordsmen. Seeing their shields, he lets out a long cry, and every strand of swordlight suddenly erupts with starlike brilliance. Screams fill the air as the shields shatter, and the Ten Sword Stream disciples are riddled with bloody holes, crimson spraying like arrows.
With this final strike, the battlefield falls silent once more. Thirty more corpses now litter the Danding Sword Sect’s entrance.
Though they’ve repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting shows any joy. They retreat into the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Streams’ assault isn’t meant to overwhelm them with these cannon fodder—it’s to wear them down, denying them any respite. In other words, those who died just now were mere sacrifices.
The problem is, the Senate doesn’t care about losing expendable troops, but the Danding Sword Sect can’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting says, trying to lighten the mood, though trudging through blood is hardly uplifting. “You’ve improved quickly. Maybe soon, you’ll break through to the Saint Realm.”
Long Yun turns, giving him a helpless look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. You, on the other hand—every time you break their shields, your internal energy backlashes. Even with your Sword Saint strength, how many more times can you endure? If this keeps up, even these third-rate fighters will shatter your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighs, about to offer some comfort, when his expression suddenly twists in alarm.
Long Yun reacts instantly, spinning and slashing behind him. A black-clad assassin from the Nether Shades Guild collapses, his head rolling away.
But dark smoke billows as four more assassins appear—three in black, and one in purple. Yang Hao once wiped out ten of the Nether Shades’ purple-ranked killers, dealing them a heavy blow. Now, each loss is irreplaceable, making them hesitant to deploy their best.
Yet this time, they’ve gone all out—their target: Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Streams aren’t fools. They’ve spent days wearing Long Yun down with cannon fodder, waiting for this assassination attempt. With Yang Hao absent, Long Yun is the Danding Sword Sect’s pillar. Kill him, and the sect crumbles.
The Nether Shades’ plan is flawless.
Long Yun dispatches one assassin, but another black-clad killer engages him. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting is pinned down by two assassins, unable to assist.
The purple-ranked assassin raises his sword, dissolving into a violet mist—his killing intent completely concealed within.
Long Yun, already struggling against the black-clad assassin, can barely defend himself. The mist’s hidden blade is deadly.
**Three Strikes of the Nether Shades!**
The most lethal assassination technique in history—impossible to block or evade.
The violet mist coils around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent within shreds his heavy armor, scattering it to the ground.
A cold, piercing pain sears his back, threatening to reach his organs.
His life force drains rapidly.
“**Saint’s Invincibility—BREAK!**”
A clear voice rings out. A silver dragon’s eyes snap open within the mist, its claws flicking to send the purple assassin flying.
“**Hah!**” The silver spear’s owner—a member of the Imperial Guard—lets out their signature battle cry. Before the sound fades, the spearpoint pierces the assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watches as the Nether Shades killer slides off her spear and collapses, blood fountaining into the air.
Without a word, she turns coldly, riding her Snowy Night Star Lion back into the sect. Today, as always, she wears white armor, blending seamlessly with the Danding disciples’ white cloaks. But her pale face is streaked with blood, her expression more resolute than ever.
Even in the grimmest of times, Lan Ling’s beauty is undeniable. It’s not the delicate charm of other women, but a composed, unshakable grace. Just standing there, cold and silent, she steals the hearts of all who see her.
Yet her own heart belongs to a man who isn’t here.
Since Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling has often visited the Danding Sword Sect alone, standing beneath the Dragon Tower in silence, letting her Snowy Night Star Lion chat with the Windrider Dragon.
When the Senate launched their “Dragon Trap” and “Strangulation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning to her post as Imperial Guard Captain, she stayed to help defend.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finish off the remaining assassins and return inside, the bleak scene within makes them grimace despite having seen it countless times.
Hundreds of Danding Sword Sect disciples sit in the training yard where inner disciples once practiced. Their faces are solemn, their complexions deathly pale. Some, too weak to even meditate, lie sprawled on the ground.
At a glance, these hundreds seem to have only the barest breath left in them. They are the sect’s inner disciples and the Hao Sword Regiment—Yang Hao’s core followers. But now, they’re listless shadows of the warriors who once stormed the palace.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun grunts, driving his broadsword into the ground before sitting heavily. He doesn’t mention the near-fatal ambush.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighs, his voice tinged with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya stay close to the inner disciples, but they’re powerless to help. No method revives these brothers-in-arms.
The desolation moves even Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without elixirs, how long can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowers his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks. At most. Danding’s martial arts rely on elixirs. Without ingredients, we can’t sustain them. We’ve exhausted our reserves. If the Oracle Dominion doesn’t send supplies soon… some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. We can’t save them.”
Long Yun spits blood, his eyes burning with hatred. “That damned witch—how did she know? She’s blockaded every entrance to the galaxy, barring the Oracle’s supply ships. No ingredients mean no elixirs. Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“This is the Strangulation Strategy,” Xie Fengting murmurs, gazing blankly at the sky—whether in admiration or scorn is unclear. “The witch doesn’t need to lift a finger. Cut off your ingredients, and the Danding Sect falls. Yang Hao’s foundation is severed.”
“There are no herb-producing planets left in the galaxy. Almost all materials come from beyond,” Zhuge Jian explains. “The Ten Sword Streams’ three clan armies and four guardian sects have sealed the galaxy’s entrances. The Oracle’s ships can’t get through—we don’t even get messages. The Senate’s Dragon Trap and Strangulation plans are too effective. In a month, the Emperor and the Danding Sect’s strength will vanish without a trace, and the Senate won’t lose a thing.”
Long Yun grips his sword hilt, growling, “I’ll fight my way out.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting dismisses the idea. “Charging out is suicide. Staying means slow strangulation. It seems… there’s no way out.”
“There is,” Zhuge Jian says.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice brims with confidence. “We never gave up on him before. He won’t give up on us now.”
His words, though quiet, strike like a hammer on everyone’s hearts. Even the barely conscious inner disciples stir, their dull eyes flickering with hope.
These are the same people who once risked everything to rescue the imprisoned Yang Hao.
Now, they believe—no matter where he is—he won’t abandon them.
“What can we do?” Xie Fengting finally tears his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently strokes her spear, silver light enveloping her. After the bloodshed, she regains her serene calm.
The Galactic Empire, though centuries old, once struggled with interstellar travel. Even with warp and wormhole technology, crossing light-years was daunting.
Only with the advent of AI supercomputers was a solution found. Massive AI arrays calculated a method for ships to bypass natural laws, traversing space directly between designated points.
Thus, the Acceleration Stations were born.
These colossal spaceports float between star systems, featuring vast platforms where ships gather. Through immense energy concentration, a ship can jump from one station to the next.
After centuries of construction, most major star systems now have at least one station. Crossing the empire from the outer western to outer eastern regions requires sixty such jumps.
Strategically, these stations are vital. Controlling one means controlling all passage through that system. A blockade at key hubs could paralyze interstellar travel.
Now, though not that severe, the situation is dire.
The Milky Way has four Acceleration Stations—north, south, east, west—each a critical entry point. But the usual order has collapsed. Countless ships hover outside the stations, a dense flotilla of stranded vessels.
Lan Ling watched silently as the assassin slid off the spear and collapsed, blood gushing like a fountain into the air.
She said nothing, merely turning coldly and riding her Snow Night Star Lion back into the Dan Ding Sword Sect. Today, Lan Ling was still clad in her white armor, blending with the white cloaks of the sect, making it hard for others to distinguish her. Yet her armor was also stained with the blood of the Ten Sword Streams, and on her pale face was a new look of determination that hadn’t been there before.
Even in her less glamorous days, Lan Ling still exuded a beauty that turned heads. Even the members of the Ten Sword Streams might have hesitated to strike her. Her beauty was not the delicate charm of other women, but a calm and composed elegance. Just standing there silently and coldly, she could steal the hearts of every man.
Yet her heart had already been stolen by a man who was not here.
After Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling often came alone to the Dan Ding Sword Sect. She didn’t speak much, merely standing beneath the Dragon Tower, letting her Snow Night Star Lion chat with the Wind-Running Dragon.
When the Senate launched its “Imprison the Dragon” and “Strangle the Dragon” plans, Lan Ling happened to be inside the Dan Ding Sword Sect, so as the commander of the Imperial Guard, she didn’t return to the capital but instead stayed to assist in the defense.
After Long Yun and Xie Fengting killed the assassins and returned to the sect, the desolate scene inside, though seen countless times, still made both men frown.
On what used to be the training ground for inner sect disciples, hundreds of Dan Ding Sword Sect disciples sat in rows. Each face was solemn and pale. Some with weaker cultivation couldn’t even meditate and could only lie there helplessly. From afar, they looked like people barely clinging to life, clearly unable to last much longer. These were the core members of the sect—the inner disciples and the Hao Sword Group, the backbone of Yang Hao’s forces. Yet now they were listless and lifeless, far from the bravery they once showed storming the palace.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun said, slamming his wide sword into the ground with a clang before sitting down, not mentioning the near-fatal ambush.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, his expression filled with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya stood by the inner disciples, but were powerless to help. No matter what methods they tried, they couldn’t restore the health of their comrades.
The sight of so many dying disciples moved even Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without medicine, how much longer can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying to prevent panic from spreading. “Two weeks. At most two weeks. The martial arts of the Dan Ding Sword Sect rely heavily on medicinal pills. Without herbs, we can’t last long. We’ve already consumed all our reserves. At most two weeks. If the Divine Prophecy doesn’t send more herbs, some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. They can’t be saved…”
The troubles were far from limited to Emperor Ying Lie.
Outside the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, the battle had raged for nearly a month. The piles of bones and rivers of blood had sealed off all surrounding roads, even staining the sect’s signboard a dark crimson.
Among the Ten Sword Factions, the Wang Clan and the Light Sword Faction had already revealed their full strength. Though their main forces had been nearly wiped out by Yang Hao earlier, their remaining power still surged like a tidal wave toward the gates of the Danding Sword Sect, determined to turn the place into a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood.
Strangely, the usually bustling Danding Sword Sect, which typically housed at least a thousand defenders, now stood eerily deserted. Under the siege of the Ten Sword Factions, only two figures remained—Long Yun, clad in heavy armor and wielding a broadsword, and Xie Fengting, whose face grew increasingly pale, his visor caked in a deep red from blood and gore.
The disciples of the Wang Clan and the Ten Sword Factions, whether swordsmen or swordmasters, each had their own deadly techniques. Though none of the attackers were above the level of a grand swordmaster, they relied on sheer numbers, swarming forward in an attempt to overwhelm the two exhausted defenders.
In this latest assault, over thirty swordsmen charged forward, trampling over the corpses of their fallen comrades. Yet no matter what techniques or killing moves they employed, none could withstand Long Yun’s simple, clean strikes—just straightforward downward slashes, unadorned but devastatingly effective in his hands.
Five of the attackers were cleaved in half by Long Yun’s blade.
But they, too, left their mark. Long Yun’s body bore wounds of varying sizes, and even his ancestral heavy armor had been split open in places.
On the other side, Xie Fengting’s battles were far simpler. Most of the corpses littering the ground were his handiwork. Without a sword saint like him guarding the gates, Long Yun alone would never have withstood the Ten Sword Factions’ relentless onslaught.
Whenever enough enemies surrounded Xie Fengting, he would loosen his tightly clenched fist, unleashing the radiant glow of his divine shortsword. The dazzling sword beams of “Polaris” weaved through the air like fine needles, impossible to defend against.
But this time, the attackers were disciples of the Light Sword Faction—Xie Fengting’s own former sect, who knew the secrets of Polaris all too well. As the sword beams scattered in all directions, they raised reflective shields, blocking the deadly light.
This method of countering Polaris had been used before, even by Yang Hao—it was the technique’s greatest weakness.
But Xie Fengting had already reached the Saint Realm. How could mere junior swordsmen hope to defend against him? Seeing the reflective shields, he let out a long cry, and in an instant, every needle-thin beam erupted with starlike brilliance. Amid screams of agony, the beams pierced the shields, riddling the attackers with bloody holes as crimson sprays shot out like arrows.
With that final strike, the clamor of battle subsided once more. Thirty more corpses of the Ten Sword Factions now lay at the gates of the Danding Sword Sect.
Though they had repelled the attack, neither Long Yun nor Xie Fengting showed any joy. They trudged back into the sect, their spirits low.
The Ten Sword Factions’ assault wasn’t meant to overwhelm them with these third-rate fighters—it was simply to wear them down, denying them any respite. In other words, the waves of attackers were nothing more than cannon fodder.
The problem was, the Senate didn’t care about losing cannon fodder, but the Danding Sword Sect couldn’t hold out much longer.
“Old Long, congratulations,” Xie Fengting said weakly, trying to lighten the mood, though walking through blood-soaked grounds was hardly comforting. “Your strength has improved quickly. At this rate, you might break through to the Saint Realm soon.”
Long Yun turned back, giving Xie Fengting a helpless look. “What good would that do? We’re still trapped here. Meanwhile, every time you counter those reflective shields, your internal energy backlashes. Even with your sword saint strength, how many more times can you endure? If this keeps up, even these third-rate fighters will shatter your meridians.”
Xie Fengting sighed, about to offer some words of comfort, when his expression suddenly twisted in alarm.
Long Yun reacted instantly, swinging his broadsword behind him—just in time to send the head of a black-robed assassin from the Shadowkill Guild rolling to the ground.
But as wisps of black smoke rose, four more assassins appeared—three in black robes, and one in purple. Yang Hao’s earlier massacre of ten purple-robed assassins had dealt the Shadowkill Guild a heavy blow, making each remaining purple-robed killer irreplaceable. They wouldn’t deploy them lightly.
This time, however, they were going all out—their target was Long Yun.
The Ten Sword Factions weren’t fools. They had spent days wearing Long Yun and Xie Fengting down with cannon fodder, waiting for this very moment of assassination. With Yang Hao absent, Long Yun was the Danding Sword Sect’s pillar. Killing him would spell the sect’s collapse.
The Shadowkill Guild’s plan was flawless.
As Long Yun beheaded one black-robed assassin, another closed in. Meanwhile, Xie Fengting was pinned down by two black-robed killers, unable to assist in time.
The purple-robed assassin, poised for the final strike, brandished his sword and dissolved into a cloud of purple mist—his killing intent completely concealed within.
Long Yun, already engaged with the black-robed assassin, struggled to parry with his broadsword. But the sword hidden in the mist was no ordinary threat.
The Shadowkill Guild’s Threefold Assassination Technique—the most lethal assassination art in history, impossible to block or evade.
The purple mist coiled around Long Yun like a venomous serpent. The sheer killing intent within shattered his heavy armor, sending fragments scattering across the ground.
A bone-chilling pain pierced Long Yun’s back, threatening to reach his organs.
His life force was rapidly fading.
“Saint’s Invincibility—BREAK!”
A clear voice rang out. A silver dragon’s eyes snapped open within the purple mist, and with a flick of its claws, it sent the purple-robed assassin flying.
“HAH!” The owner of the silver spear—a member of the Imperial Guard—let out their signature battle cry. Before the sound faded, the spear’s tip had already pierced the assassin’s throat.
Lan Ling watched as the Shadowkill assassin slid off her spear and collapsed, blood gushing like a fountain into the air.
Without a word, she turned coldly and rode her Snowy Night Star Lion back into the Danding Sword Sect. Today, as always, Lan Ling wore white armor that matched the sect’s white cloaks, making her nearly indistinguishable from its members. But her pale face, now streaked with the blood of the Ten Sword Factions, bore a resolve unseen before.
Even in the bleakest of times, Lan Ling’s beauty remained striking—a quiet, unshakable grace that stood apart from the coquetry of other women. Just her calm, cold presence was enough to captivate any man.
Yet her heart had long been stolen by a man who wasn’t here.
Since Yang Hao left the capital, Lan Ling had often visited the Danding Sword Sect alone, speaking little and simply standing beneath the Dragon Tower in silent reverie, letting her Snowy Night Star Lion chat with the Windrider Dragon.
When the Senate launched its “Dragon Trap” and “Annihilation” strategies, Lan Ling happened to be at the sect. Instead of returning to her post as captain of the Imperial Guard, she stayed to help defend.
As Long Yun and Xie Fengting finished off the remaining Shadowkill assassins and returned to the sect, the desolate scene inside—though familiar—still made them grimace.
Hundreds of Danding Sword Sect disciples sat in the training grounds where inner hall disciples once practiced. Their faces were solemn and pale; some, too weak to even meditate, lay sprawled on the ground. At a glance, it was clear these men—the sect’s inner hall disciples and members of the Hao Sword Brigade, Yang Hao’s core forces—were barely clinging to life, their vigor a far cry from their fearless assault on the palace.
“Another wave repelled,” Long Yun muttered, driving his broadsword into the ground with a clang before sitting heavily. He didn’t mention the assassination attempt that had nearly killed him.
“Another day survived,” Zhuge Jian sighed, his voice tinged with despair.
Zhuge Jian and Maya stayed close to the inner hall disciples, but they were powerless to help. No method could revive these brothers-in-arms.
The bleak sight even moved Lan Ling’s icy demeanor. “Without elixirs, how much longer can they last?”
Zhuge Jian lowered his voice, trying not to spread panic. “Two weeks—at most. The Danding Sword Sect’s techniques rely on elixirs. We’ve exhausted all our reserves. If the Divine Mandate doesn’t send more herbs soon… some of the weaker disciples have already lost their cultivation. We can’t save them.”
Long Yun spat blood, his eyes burning with hatred. “That damned witch must have found out somehow. She’s blockaded every entrance to the galaxy, barring the Divine Mandate’s herb shipments. Without herbs, how can we refine elixirs? Are we just supposed to watch them die?”
“This is the Annihilation Strategy,” Xie Fengting murmured, gazing blankly at the sky—whether in admiration or disdain, it was hard to tell. “The witch doesn’t need to lift a finger. Just cutting off your herbs will destroy the entire Danding Sword Sect. Yang Hao’s foundation will crumble.”
“There are no herb-producing planets left in the galaxy. Almost all materials come from shipments beyond the borders,” Zhuge Jian said. “The Ten Sword Factions’ three clan armies and four guardian sects have been deployed to blockade the galaxy’s entrances. The Divine Mandate’s ships can’t get through—we don’t even have news. The Senate’s Dragon Trap and Annihilation strategies are ruthless. In a month, the emperor and the Danding Sword Sect’s strength will vanish without a trace—and the Senate won’t lose a thing.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt, growling, “I’ll fight my way out.”
“With hundreds of immobile disciples?” Xie Fengting shot back. “Charging out would be suicide. Staying here means slow strangulation. It seems… there’s no way out.”
“There is,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we live, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s voice brimmed with confidence. “We never gave up on him before. He won’t give up on us now.”
Though spoken softly, his words struck like a hammer to the chest, jolting even the barely conscious inner hall disciples awake. A glimmer of light returned to their dull eyes.
These men had once risked their lives to rescue the imprisoned Yang Hao.
Now, they believed—no matter where he was—he would never abandon them.
“What can we do?” Xie Fengting finally tore his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear, its silver radiance enveloping her. After the bloody battle, she had regained her usual serenity.
The Galactic Empire had stood for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its borders had barely extended beyond the Milky Way. The greatest obstacle to imperial expansion was the time required for interstellar travel. Despite early mastery of warp and wormhole technology, such speeds were still negligible against the astronomical distances measured in light-years.
This problem was only solved with the advent of the quantum supercomputers. Massive computational arrays finally devised a method to allow ships to traverse space in defiance of natural laws, jumping directly between designated points.
This was the prototype of the acceleration space stations now scattered across the cosmos.
These colossal spaceports, floating in the void, housed enormous platforms where ships could dock. Through massive energy concentration, a vessel could instantly transit from one station to the next.
After centuries of construction, most major star systems now had at least one acceleration station. Traveling from the western outer domains to the eastern—spanning nearly the entire empire—required passing through sixty such stations.
Strategically, each system’s acceleration station was vital. Controlling one meant controlling all passage through that region. A blockade at key hubs could paralyze interstellar transport entirely.
The current situation wasn’t that dire—but it was close.
The Milky Way had four acceleration stations—north, south, east, and west—serving as the only entry points for incoming ships. But the once-orderly flow had devolved into chaos. Countless vessels now crowded the stations’ peripheries, floating like a dense swarm of tiny boats.
“This is the ‘Strangle the Dragon’ strategy,” Xie Fengting said, gazing blankly at the sky, whether in admiration or disdain. “She doesn’t even need to lift a finger. Just cut off your herbs, and the entire Dan Ding Sword Sect collapses. Yang Hao’s entire foundation is broken.”
“All the herb-producing planets in the Milky Way have been exhausted. Nearly all the materials must come from outer territories. The three family armies and four guardian sword sects of the Ten Sword Streams have already been dispatched to block the entrances to the Milky Way,” Zhuge Jian said. “The Divine Prophecy’s ships can’t get through, and we’ve received no messages. The Senate’s ‘Imprison the Dragon’ and ‘Strangle the Dragon’ strategies are truly brilliant. In just a month, the Emperor and the Dan Ding Sword Sect will be erased without a trace, while the Senate suffers no losses.”
Long Yun gripped his sword hilt, muttering, “I’ll break out.”
“With hundreds of helpless people?” Xie Fengting immediately rejected the idea. “Rushing out would only mean dying earlier. Staying here means being slowly strangled. It seems we truly have no way to survive.”
“There is one,” Zhuge Jian said.
“What?”
“As long as we’re alive, we can wait for one person.” Zhuge Jian’s expression was filled with unwavering confidence. “We never abandoned him before. Now, he won’t abandon us either.”
Though Zhuge Jian’s words were not loud, they struck each person’s heart like a heavy hammer, even awakening the dazed inner disciples, whose dull eyes lit up with hope.
These were the people who had once risked their lives to rescue Yang Hao from imprisonment.
Now, they all firmly believed that no matter where Yang Hao was, he would never abandon them.
“What else can we do?” Xie Fengting finally turned his gaze from the sky.
“Wait for him to return.”
Lan Ling gently stroked her spear. Its silver glow surrounded her like a halo, returning her to her calm and serene state after the bloodshed.
The Galactic Empire had existed for centuries, but even a hundred years ago, its territory was limited to the nearby regions of the Milky Way. The biggest obstacle to the Imperial Army had always been the issue of interstellar travel time. Even though they had mastered warp and wormhole technology early on, such speeds were still inadequate for the astronomical distances measured in light-years.
This problem was only solved with the emergence of artificial intelligence. Massive AI arrays finally discovered a way to allow ships to traverse space beyond natural laws, directly reaching their destinations.
This was the prototype of the acceleration stations now scattered across the galaxy.
An acceleration station was a massive spaceport floating in space. Within it were several large platforms. Any ship needing acceleration simply entered the platform, and through the concentration of massive energy, it could instantly jump from one acceleration station to the next.
Through centuries of development, most major star systems now had at least one acceleration station. To travel from the western edge of the universe to the eastern edge—nearly the entire span of the Empire—required passing through sixty such acceleration stations.
Strategically, each acceleration station in a star system was of utmost importance. Control one, and you controlled all traffic through that system. Blocking key hubs could bring all interstellar transport to a halt.
The current situation wasn’t quite that dire, but it was close.
In the Milky Way, there were four acceleration stations, positioned in the east, south, west, and north, serving as the only entry points for all ships entering the galaxy. However, the usual orderly operations had turned chaotic. Countless ships hovered outside the acceleration stations, like densely packed little boats floating in space.
Since the defeat in the eastern campaign, these four acceleration stations have fallen into the hands of the Ten Sword Sects. Originally the four sword sects that guarded Yuanlao Mountain, they have now been stationed at the four space stations to serve as guards and inspectors.
Their mission is actually quite simple: inspect every spacecraft and prevent any ships bearing the insignia of the Oracular Autonomous Territory from passing through—naturally including merchant vessels carrying pharmaceutical ingredients.
Over the past few months, at the Tuo Hai Acceleration Station, responsible for western transport, at least ten batches of cargo ships from the Oracular Territory have been intercepted. The people from the Oracular Territory are nearly driven mad with frustration. Yet no matter what methods they employ—even attempting to smuggle medicinal herbs through with thousands of individual couriers—they are coldly blocked by the station’s guards.
The force guarding the Tuo Hai Acceleration Station is the Sacred Absolution Sword Order, one of the Ten Sword Sects. This military group differs from the other families of the Ten Sword Sects in that it originally lacked support from any aristocratic lineage. The Sacred Absolution Sword Order’s predecessor was an ancient knightly order on Chi Qiu, devoted to a certain deity to gain strength through faith.
Since the defeat in the Eastern Front campaign, these four acceleration space stations have fallen into the hands of the Ten Sword Stream. The four great guardian sword sects that originally protected the Elder Mountain have now been stationed at these four space stations, tasked with guarding and inspection duties.
Their mission is quite simple: to inspect every spacecraft, prohibiting any ships affiliated with the Oracle Dominion from passing through—naturally, this includes merchant vessels carrying pharmaceutical ingredients.
Over the past few months, at least ten batches of Oracle cargo ships have been intercepted at the Tuohai Acceleration Space Station, responsible for the Western Front transport. The Oracle forces are nearly driven to madness, but no matter what methods they employ—even smuggling medicinal materials with thousands of individuals—they are ruthlessly blocked by the station’s guards.
The Tuohai Acceleration Space Station is guarded by the Divine Mercy Sword Corps, one of the Ten Sword Stream.
Unlike the other families of the Ten Sword Stream, this armed force has no aristocratic backing. The Divine Mercy Sword Corps originated from an ancient knightly order on Chi Planet, devoted to a certain deity and drawing power from that belief.
After the Immortal Sect unified the cosmos, the Supreme declared that all gods in the universe had ceased to exist. The Divine Mercy Sword Corps then pledged allegiance to the Supreme to preserve their strength. Through unwavering faith, they became one of the four great guardian sword sects and wielded the Divine Mercy Sword, one of the Ten Divine Artifacts.
For ages, the Divine Mercy Sword Corps has remained a core force within the Ten Sword Stream. Even as other sword sects clashed fiercely with Yang Hao, they retained enough power to suppress all rivals. Such strength is also the foundation of Haike, the leader of the Divine Mercy Sword Corps.
It is precisely because of this power that Haike confidently left only a single swordmaster squad at the acceleration space station. With the Alchemy Sword Sect now cornered and Yang Hao’s fate uncertain, it seems no one dares to challenge this checkpoint.
The squad leader at the acceleration space station is Haike’s younger brother, Luther, also a Divine Mercy Swordmaster. In terms of strength, he ranks between a swordmaster and a grand swordmaster—above average, though naturally incomparable to Haike. However, with the Ten Sword Stream’s declining talent pool, Haike promised his brother that if he performed well in this mission, he could be promoted to deputy leader of the Divine Mercy Sword Corps at any time.
Of course, if one is to rise in rank, they must bring their trusted followers along.
“This time, we’re fortunate to have Grand Swordmaster Luther here—otherwise, how could things be so peaceful?” Sycophant A’s specialty was seizing every opportunity to flatter.
“Absolutely, absolutely. Just look at who we’re talking about—Grand Swordmaster Luther, the future Grand Sword Saint and leader of the Divine Mercy Sword Corps!” Sycophant B excelled at chiming in, twisting any statement into praise.
A smug smile played on Luther’s lips. He was truly a favored child of destiny, born into nobility with a twenty-year age gap between him and Haike. Still young, Luther was hailed as the most handsome master in the Divine Mercy Sword Corps—his image wielding a cruciform sword was even used in recruitment advertisements.
Gazing at the long queues of ships in the port, Luther saw nothing amiss. Instead, he basked in self-satisfaction, crediting his management for the impeccable order.
“The people of the Oracle Dominion are nothing special,” Luther sneered. “No matter how many tricks they’ve tried these past few days to break through, I’ve stopped them all.”
“All thanks to you! Anyone else would’ve missed those smugglers hiding medicine among passengers. Those rebels are craftier than monkeys,” Sycophant B eagerly piled on. “With Leader Luther here, even if that Yang Hao showed up, he’d meet his end.”
Over countless years, the Sacred Absolution Sword Order has remained a core force within the Ten Sword Sects. Even when other sword sects battled fiercely against Yang Hao, they preserved enough strength to suppress any rivals. This power is the very foundation of the Sword Order leader, Haake.
Precisely because of this strength, Haake felt confident leaving only a small team of swordsmen at the acceleration station. Currently, the Dan Ding Sword Sect is cornered like a trapped beast, while Yang Hao’s fate in the Oracular Territory remains uncertain. It seems no one dares to challenge this checkpoint.
The leader of the station’s small team is Haake’s own younger brother, Lushe, also a swordsman of the Sacred Absolution Sword Order. In terms of skill, he stands somewhere between a swordsman and a grand swordsman—considered above average. Naturally, he cannot compare to Haake, but with the Ten Sword Sects suffering from a lack of talent, Haake promised his brother that upon successfully completing this mission, he could be promoted to deputy commander of the Sacred Absolution Sword Order.
When it comes to promotion, naturally one wants to bring along trusted allies.
“This time, fortunately we had Grand Swordsman Lushe here; otherwise, how could things have been so peaceful?” the sycophant A seized every opportunity to flatter.
“Exactly! Just look at who it is—Grand Swordsman Lushe, the future Grand Sword Sage and commander of Sacred Absolution!” Sycophant B was skilled in picking up threads of conversation, turning any remark into flattery.
Lushe wore a proud smile on his face. He was a true golden boy, born into nobility, with a twenty-year age gap between him and Haake. Still young, he was known as the most handsome expert in the Sacred Absolution Sword Order. His image wielding a cross-shaped sword was even used in recruitment advertisements for the order.
Looking at the long line of ships waiting at the port, Lushe felt nothing but satisfaction. He smugly believed that the order and discipline here were entirely thanks to his capable management.
“The people from the Oracular Autonomous Territory aren’t that impressive, are they?” Lushe sneered. “They’ve tried so many ways to sneak through these past few days, but I blocked them all.”
“It’s all thanks to you! If it were anyone else, how could they have discovered those scoundrels smuggling herbs through passengers? Those rebels are craftier than monkeys!” Sycophant B chimed in, “As long as Commander Lushe is here, even if Yang Hao himself dares to show up, he’ll find nothing but death.”
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