The Crown Prince took out a document sealed with the Senate’s stamp. “Ladies and gentlemen, this morning the stewards delivered this list, just as they have every year. The Senate has nominated five hundred officials and requests the imperial family’s approval.”
The ministers murmured amongst themselves. Everyone already knew about this—it was merely being repeated here. The Senate had completely ignored recent events and submitted the list as usual. Almost all five hundred individuals on the list were noble offspring from the Ten Sword Sects. The Senate had always controlled resource-rich star systems through these sects.
“The Senate is simply delusional,” the Chief of the Privy Council, the staunch opponent of the Senate, declared. “A thousand core star systems—these are the very essence of the Galactic Empire, all strategic points and resource bases. Whoever controls even a portion of them will gain immense financial and military power. In the past, the Senate used this method to split the empire with the Emperor, which was already tantamount to treason. Now, things are different. The Senate’s power has greatly diminished. If we allow them control over the Dixin system, it would be like re-energizing them, creating endless future troubles.”
Many ministers nodded in agreement. The Chief’s words struck a chord with the current situation. In truth, the Senate itself wasn’t even confident about the list, but those five hundred resource planets were something they absolutely refused to relinquish. Hence, they sent the list in hopes that their former authority still carried weight and that Emperor Yinglie would still grant them face.
“In your opinion, what should we do?” the Crown Prince asked the Chief of the Privy Council.
“Consider it a fart!” the Chief of the Privy Council sneered. “We’ll select our own people. The Senate has been thoroughly cowed by the Emperor—what can they possibly say now?”
The Crown Prince frowned but remained silent.
However, the Minister of Domestic Affairs shook his head. “No, no, my lord, you’re being too rash, too rash.”
“Oh?”
“Those five hundred resource systems are the Senate’s final stronghold—the one thing they will never give up. Without them, the Senate would lose all its leverage,” the Domestic Affairs Minister said anxiously. “If we ignore the Senate completely, as you suggest, they will surely retaliate.”
“So what? Just a bunch of beaten dogs,” the Chief of the Privy Council scoffed arrogantly.
“May I ask, my lord, although the Ten Sword Sects have fallen and two of the stewards are gravely injured, if the remaining three hundred senators and seven stewards unite and strike, who among us can withstand it?”
This question indeed left everyone speechless.
Even if the Senate was a dying tiger, it still had sharp teeth and claws. No faction could yet afford to take it on directly. Everyone’s plan had been simply to watch it age and die quietly.
But if its bottom line were truly crossed, the Senate might strike with all its might, and the consequences would be catastrophic. No one—not even Emperor Yinglie himself—could guarantee survival, let alone the ministers standing in the palace.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, the ministers turned their gazes to Yang Hao, who had not yet spoken.
“Why are you all looking at me?” Yang Hao felt uneasy. “Oh, I get it—you all enjoy the benefits, and when it’s time to die, you send me, right?” He sneered as he shook his head. “Forget it, everyone. I’m not foolish enough to take on so many senators. The Senate has deeply entrenched itself in the empire over decades. If you think you can overthrow them all at once, you might as well give up.”
“Lord Yang Hao, what do you suggest we do?” the Privy Council Minister asked unexpectedly.
The old man was clever—he knew Yang Hao had a deep enmity with the Senate, so odds were Yang would side with him.
But no one expected Yang Hao to have changed his tune today.
He coughed and smoothly delivered his prepared response: “In my humble opinion, the Senate has rendered great service to the empire. Just granting them five hundred star systems is hardly excessive. It’s only fair and reasonable to approve their request.”
“What?” Everyone was stunned.
Except for Qin Feng and Emperor Yinglie, who remained calm and calculating, the other ministers were nearly beside themselves with rage.
Though fearful of the Senate, these officials had long stood by Emperor Yinglie. After tolerating the Senate for decades, they had finally tasted a moment of triumph—only for Yang Hao to suggest yielding again. How could they possibly accept that?
“Coward! You coward!” the Chief of the Privy Council exploded. “At a time like this, you’re still afraid of the Senate? You’re afraid of nothing! Giving them resources is just fattening them up to eventually devour you too.”
Even the conciliatory Domestic Affairs Minister thought it unwise: “Although the Senate remains strong, yielding so much at once is too humiliating. Perhaps a smaller concession would suffice to appease them.”
“He’s a traitor!” the Privy Council Chief raged.
“Hah!” Yang Hao stood up and dusted himself off. “You all talk so easily. It’s not you who has to pay with your life when you offend the Senate. Don’t I always end up fighting them? Don’t my people always suffer the losses? You want to use me as your weapon? Do I look that stupid?”
“You…” the Privy Council Chief was so furious he nearly toppled over.
Yang Hao, never one for deference to elders, continued, eyes to the heavens: “I’ll give you two options, my lord. One: reject the Senate’s proposal and lead your fleet to bomb their mountains. Two: accept their demands and coexist peacefully.”
“Don’t you fear that, once resourced, the Senate will come after your Dan Ding Sect again?” the Privy Council Chief barked.
“If things get really bad, I’ll just run back to the Oracle,” Yang Hao smiled, already resorting to his usual evasiveness.
At this point, the court discussion nearly collapsed. On one side were the furious ministers, and on the other, a grinning, nearly insolent grand lord.
Emperor Yinglie sighed and turned to the Crown Prince: “What do you think?”
The Crown Prince paled, hesitated, and finally muttered: “I think… recently, relations between the royal family and the Senate have been too tense. We really should ease things a bit…”
“Then it’s settled,” Emperor Yinglie slapped the armrest of his throne and issued the imperial decree. “We shall approve the Senate’s list in full, as suggested by Lord Yang.”
“What?” The ministers were stunned beyond belief, unable to accept that the bold and mighty Emperor Yinglie himself had truly made such a decree.
But the Emperor had already left with Qin Feng, retreating into the inner palace. Before leaving the grand hall, he cast one meaningful glance at Yang Hao.
The message was clear.
“You think I don’t know what you’re up to,” the Emperor chuckled inwardly.
Yang Hao indeed had ulterior motives—motives he hadn’t possessed before. Ever since a female strategist had joined his side, Yang Hao had begun learning the art of intrigue and scheming.
Ling Ziyan had been specially trained by the Senate from childhood, mastering every form of political manipulation and strategy. Now serving at Yang Hao’s side, she naturally took on the role of chief advisor.
Though heavily pregnant, Ling Ziyan still devoted herself tirelessly. Her beauty, accentuated by the soft glow of lamplight, gave her an almost divine presence. When she rested her chin on her hand, frowning in thought, it seemed as if the world itself paused at her furrowed brow.
Yang Hao quietly brewed tea. Tea was now a rare luxury, especially the finest varieties imported from the Oracle, reserved for imperial use. Only someone like Yang Hao, who had privileged access, could indulge in such delicacies. Watching the pale green tea swirl in the cup, its fragrant steam rising gently, he took a delicate sip, savoring its lingering aftertaste.
“Aren’t they here yet?” Ling Ziyan asked, stirred from her thoughts by the aroma.
At this moment, the two were not in the Dan Ding Sect headquarters but in a secluded house within the jurisdiction of the Merchant Guild. This house had been reserved for Yang Hao as a council member, and this was his first time using it—to meet some very special guests.
“Not yet,” Yang Hao replied, sipping his tea while still calculating in his mind. “Do you think there might be any oversight today?”
“Even the Senate, with all its cunning, couldn’t have foreseen your move,” Ling Ziyan smiled, leaning her head on Yang Hao’s shoulder. “They think you approved the list to avoid provoking them into desperate retaliation. Who would suspect you have a second move?”
“This second move wouldn’t have been possible without your intelligence,” Yang Hao said.
Ling Ziyan playfully kissed him. “Actually, the Senate prefers not to meddle in too many affairs. They simply hand over control of any system to the Ten Sword Sects. The five hundred officials on that list are all under the Ten Sword Sects’ influence.”
Yang Hao sighed. “Even the senators and elders themselves couldn’t have imagined this.”
“But once it succeeds, you’ll be the most powerful person in the world,” Ling Ziyan’s eyes sparkled. “Who could have imagined that Lord Yang Hao, the sworn enemy of both the Senate and the Ten Sword Sects, would manage to ally with and control the Ten Sword Sects?”
“Hmph!” Yang Hao exhaled deeply, needing another sip of tea to suppress his excitement.
Indeed, who could have imagined it? Ling Ziyan had come up with such a bold and imaginative plan.
She had advised Yang Hao to approve the Senate’s list while secretly undermining their foundation—turning the Ten Sword Sects to his side. If the Dan Ding Sect could control the Ten Sword Sects, it would sever the Senate’s roots entirely, leaving them isolated and powerless.
It sounded like a fantasy.
Yang Hao himself had just finished a deadly battle with the Ten Sword Sects, seizing all ten of their sacred swords and injuring five clan leaders. To expect them to switch sides under such circumstances seemed utterly impossible.
But Ling Ziyan had analyzed it meticulously. While the Ten Sword Sects feared the Senate, they feared their own annihilation even more. Now, it was Yang Hao—not the Senate—who held their fate in his hands. Thus, their greatest fear was Yang Hao himself.
The Crown Prince produced a document stamped with the Senate’s seal: “Gentlemen, early this morning, the stewards delivered this list. As in previous years, the Senate has nominated five hundred officials for royal approval.”
The ministers murmured among themselves. This was old news, merely being reiterated. The Senate acted as if recent events had never occurred, submitting their list as usual. The five hundred names were predominantly scions of noble families under the Ten Sword Schools. The Senate had always controlled resource-rich star systems through the Ten Sword Schools.
“The Senators are delusional,” the Chief of the Privy Council, a staunch opponent of the Senate, declared. “The thousand core star systems are the essence of the Galactic Empire—each a strategic stronghold or resource base. Whoever controls even a fraction gains immense wealth and military power. In the past, the Senate used this method to share power with His Majesty, which was already treasonous. But times have changed. The Senate’s influence has waned. If we grant them control over the Di System now, it would only replenish their strength, leading to endless consequences.”
Many ministers voiced their agreement. The Chief of the Privy Council had struck a chord. In truth, the Senate wasn’t entirely confident about the list either. But those five hundred resource-rich planets were too precious for them to relinquish, hence their desperate submission, hoping their lingering prestige would sway the Emperor.
“What do you suggest, Your Excellency?” the Crown Prince asked the Chief of the Privy Council.
“Treat it as nonsense!” the Chief sneered. “We’ll select our own people. The Senate has been humiliated by His Majesty—what can they possibly say now?”
The Crown Prince frowned but remained silent.
The Minister of Internal Affairs, however, shook his head. “No, no, Your Excellency is far too reckless.”
“Oh?”
“Those five hundred resource systems are the Senate’s last stronghold. They’ll never let go. Without them, the Senate would be left with nothing.” The Minister looked troubled. “If we disregard the Senate entirely, as Your Excellency suggests, they’ll retaliate fiercely.”
“So what? They’re just drowning dogs,” the Chief retorted arrogantly.
“Your Excellency, even if the Ten Sword Schools have collapsed and two stewards are severely injured, what if the remaining three hundred Senators and seven stewards strike with full force? Can you stop them? Can I?” the Minister sighed.
That question silenced the Chief.
Even a dying tiger still has claws. No faction in the Empire could currently swallow the Senate whole. Everyone was waiting for it to wither and die naturally. But if pushed to the brink, the Senate’s full retaliation would be catastrophic. Not even the Emperor himself could withstand it, let alone the ministers standing in the grand hall.
Realizing the gravity of the situation, the ministers turned their gaze to Yang Hao, who had yet to speak.
“Why look at me?” Yang Hao squirmed uncomfortably. “Ah, I see—you all want the benefits, but you want me to take the fall, is that it?” He chuckled darkly and shook his head. “Forget it, gentlemen. I’m no match for so many Senators. The Senate has entrenched itself in the Empire for centuries. Trying to topple them overnight is wishful thinking.”
“What does Lord Yang Hao propose?” the Chief of the Privy Council suddenly asked humbly.
The old man was shrewd. He knew Yang Hao harbored an irreconcilable hatred for the Senate and would likely side with him.
But today, Yang Hao seemed to have changed his tune.
He coughed and delivered a rehearsed speech: “In my humble opinion, the Senate has served the Empire diligently. Granting them these five hundred systems is a reasonable request—nothing excessive. We should approve it.”
“What?!” The ministers were stunned.
Apart from Qin Feng and the Emperor, who watched Yang Hao with narrowed eyes, the other officials nearly erupted in fury. Though they feared the Senate, they stood with the Emperor. After decades of enduring the Senate’s dominance, they had finally tasted some triumph—only for Yang Hao to suggest yielding again.
“Coward! You spineless coward!” the Chief of the Privy Council roared. “How can you still fear the Senate at a time like this? Giving them resources only fattens them up—they’ll devour you eventually!”
Even the peace-seeking Minister of Internal Affairs found this unacceptable. “While the Senate remains formidable, conceding so much at once is too humiliating. A smaller compromise would suffice to placate them.”
“You’re nothing but a traitor!” the Chief fumed.
“Ha!” Yang Hao stood and dusted himself off. “Easy for you all to say. It’s not your necks on the line. Seems like I’m always the one fighting the Senate while you use me as a pawn. Am I really that stupid?”
“You—!” The Chief trembled with rage.
Yang Hao, never one for deference, looked skyward and continued, “Two choices for Your Excellency: First, reject the Senate’s proposal and lead the fleet to bomb Mount Senate. Second, accept their demands and coexist peacefully.”
“Aren’t you afraid the Senate will turn on your Alchemy Sect once they regain strength?” the Chief challenged.
“If it comes to that, I’ll just retreat to the Oracle,” Yang Hao grinned, already resorting to shamelessness.
The council descended into chaos—furious ministers on one side, a smirking super-lord on the other.
The Emperor sighed and turned to the Crown Prince. “What do you think?”
The Crown Prince paled, hesitating before stammering, “I believe… given the recent tensions, reconciliation is necessary. Truly…”
“Very well.” The Emperor struck the throne and decreed, “As Lord Yang suggested, approve the Senate’s list in full.”
“What?!” The ministers couldn’t believe their ears—or that the bold Emperor would yield.
But the Emperor had already retired to the inner palace with Qin Feng, leaving only a meaningful glance for Yang Hao.
The message was clear:
*”I know exactly what you’re up to.”*
And the Emperor was right. Yang Hao had an ulterior motive—one he hadn’t considered until a certain strategist entered his life.
Ling Ziyan, raised in the Senate’s halls of intrigue, had mastered every scheme and power play. Now at Yang Hao’s side, she served as his chief advisor, guiding him with wisdom—even while heavily pregnant.
Under lamplight, her beauty shone as she pondered, her furrowed brow carrying the weight of empires.
Yang Hao sipped tea—a rare luxury imported from the Oracle, reserved for royalty and privileged lords like him. The fragrant brew swirled in his cup, its aroma lingering.
“Are they here yet?” Ling Ziyan asked, roused by the tea’s scent.
The two weren’t at the Alchemy Sect but in a forest within the Merchants’ Guild territory, in a lodge reserved for Yang Hao as a guild director. Tonight, he awaited special guests.
“Not yet,” Yang Hao mused. “Do you think there are flaws in today’s plan?”
“Even if the Senate foresees everything, they’d never expect this move.”
Ling Ziyan smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. “They’ll assume you approved the list to avoid provoking them. Who’d guess you have another play?”
“All thanks to your intelligence.”
She kissed his cheek. “The Senators prefer detachment, delegating control to the Ten Sword Schools. Those five hundred officials are all their puppets.”
Yang Hao sighed. “Not even I imagined such a scheme—until you suggested it.”
“Succeed, and you’ll become the most powerful man alive.” Her eyes sparkled. “Who’d think Yang Hao, the Senate’s sworn enemy, could co-opt the Ten Sword Schools?”
“Ha!” Yang Hao exhaled, downing another cup to steady himself.
Indeed, who could have foreseen Ling Ziyan’s bold plan?
Approve the Senate’s list—then undermine them by winning over the Ten Sword Schools. Control them, and the Senate’s roots would wither, leaving them isolated.
A masterstroke of imagination.
Initially, it sounded like fantasy. Yang Hao had just clashed with the Ten Sword Schools, seizing their ten sacred blades and injuring five family heads. Reconciliation seemed impossible.
But Ling Ziyan’s analysis was flawless:
The Ten Sword Schools feared the Senate, but they feared annihilation more. Their survival now depended on Yang Hao, not the Senate. Worse, losing the sacred blades—gifts from the Supreme One—brought shame and vulnerability. The Senate might turn on them.
Thus, with a mix of threats and promises, Yang Hao could sway the remaining six schools.
Of the original ten, three—the Beastheart, Divine Mercy, and Cosmic Circus—had fallen to Yang Hao. The Black Wind Sect’s leader was the Black Wind Steward, leaving only six active factions:
The Wang Clan (Sea Gaze), Lightblade School, Nether Assassins, Yan Clan, Phantom Feather Sect, and Cultivators’ Grove.
Tonight, Yang Hao summoned their leaders.
An odd invitation for enemies, hence their tardiness. Yet all six arrived, exchanging silent glances. The Wang Clan’s Sea Gaze Duke and the Cultivators’ Grove’s Qilian Elder, as leaders, sat opposite Yang Hao, radiating hostility.
“Tea?” Yang Hao offered, devoid of his earlier combativeness. Overwhelming strength rendered intimidation unnecessary.
“No need,” Sea Gaze snapped, slamming his cane. “Why summon us, Lord Yang? More humiliation?”
“Not at all.” Yang Hao leaned back, relaxed. “I’m here to discuss returning your six sacred blades.”
“Return them?!” All six gasped.
Yang Hao hid his glee. The carrot-and-stick approach worked—mention the blades, and these elders lost composure.
“The sacred blades are your treasures. Keeping them feels improper.” Yang Hao sipped tea. “Drink up.”
Reluctantly, they drank—surprised by the tea’s fragrance.
Qilian cleared his throat. “Lord Yang, past misunderstandings aside…”
“No need. We served different masters—I understand.” Yang Hao waved magnanimously. “The stubborn ones are gone. Those present are elders who could become… friends.”
“Friends…” The word hung heavily.
Could the Ten Sword Schools and Yang Hao be friends? After years of conflict—from Lei Meng Star to Earth—three schools had fallen, their blades lost. They should be mortal enemies.
Yet, on reflection, there was a sliver of possibility.
To Yang Hao, the Ten Sword Schools were now too weak to oppose him. A flick of his wrist could erase the remaining six like the others.
But perhaps, just perhaps, they could be allies.
Therefore, at this moment, if Yang Hao combined both threat and promise, offering the remaining sects safety, success might be possible.
The Ten Sword Sects were now merely shadows of their former selves. The Beastheart Sword Sect, Divine Retribution Sword Sect, and Starlight Circus had already been destroyed by Yang Hao. The Blackwind Sword Sect’s leader was the Blackwind Steward, so only six sects remained active: the Wang Clan, Lightblade Sect, Shadowshade Assassins, Flame Clan, Illusory Feather Sect, and the Xiulian Sect.
Today, Yang Hao had invited the leaders of these six sects.
Being summoned by an enemy was indeed strange, so the six arrived late. But regardless, they all arrived, unspokenly understanding the gravity of the meeting.
Wang Haiwang of the Wang Clan and Qi Lian of the Xiulian Sect, the two most prominent among the six, sat down without a word, their gazes filled with hatred toward Yang Hao.
“Have some tea!” Yang Hao said casually, completely unlike the fierce warrior who had recently defeated and humiliated them. When one’s power is absolute, there’s no need to intimidate with brute force.
“We don’t need tea,” Haiwang snapped, thumping his cane. “Lord Yang, what do you want with us? Another humiliation?”
“Of course not,” Yang Hao smiled, leaning back comfortably. “I’m here to discuss returning the six sacred swords to you.”
“Return them?” All six gasped in unison.
Yang Hao inwardly smiled. His carrot-and-stick approach was working. At the mere mention of reclaiming their sacred swords, the old masters were already showing signs of desperation.
“The sacred swords are your sects’ treasures. It’s not right for me to keep them,” Yang Hao said calmly. “Drink your tea. Drink.”
This time, even if they didn’t want to, they had to drink. They exchanged glances and, closing their eyes, downed the tea as if it were poison.
To their surprise, it was harmless—and delicious.
Qi Lian coughed lightly and softened his tone. “Well… Lord Yang, we did have some misunderstandings in the past, but…”
“No need for ‘but,'” Yang Hao waved dismissively, feigning magnanimity. “Those who refused to yield have already been dealt with. You all are respected elders, and perhaps even potential allies.”
“Friends…” The word hung heavily in the air, leaving the leaders momentarily stunned.
Could the Ten Sword Sects and Yang Hao truly be friends? They had been enemies for so long—from the days of Leimeng Star all the way to Earth. One by one, the Ten Sword Sects had been defeated by Yang Hao until only six remained, and not a single sacred sword was left in their hands.
Yang Hao and the Ten Sword Sects were enemies—bitter enemies.
But upon reflection, perhaps there was still a sliver of hope.
Because to Yang Hao, the Ten Sword Sects were now too weak—too weak to even be considered adversaries. If Yang Hao so much as lifted a finger, the remaining six sects would vanish like the Divine Retribution and Beastheart Sects before them.
The sight of the still youthful and invincible Yang Hao left both Hui Wanggong and the Qilian cultivator, along with the others, feeling an involuntary sense of fear—something they hadn’t even felt in the presence of the elders.
This was the very person, Yang Hao, who had once been a weak student but had, in such a short time, become the most powerful and unfathomable existence in the universe. His terror lay in the fact that all who had opposed him were already dead, and every faction that had stood against him had been crushed.
The Qilian cultivator knew well that they had arrived here as defeated foes, like beaten dogs. Yet, surprisingly, Yang Hao had said something extraordinary—he was willing to return their divine swords and even become friends.
This unexpected generosity shocked the six leaders, making their hearts tremble.
Finally, the Qilian cultivator regained his composure. He sipped some tea before asking, “Lord Yang Hao, may I ask what conditions you require before you would return our divine swords?”
“There are no conditions. In the past, we were on opposing sides, but from now on, if that conflict no longer exists, I will naturally return them,” Yang Hao replied calmly, still pouring tea for his guests with apparent hospitality.
Even the most obtuse person could now sense the hidden meaning behind his words.
Hui Wanggong’s face darkened. “Lord Yang Hao, don’t forget—the Ten Sword Sects have always been under the Elder Council. That has never changed. What do you mean by saying we are no longer on opposing sides?”
“In ancient times, even fire had to be made by drilling wood, but now spaceships can cross entire star systems in an instant,” Ling Zhiyan chimed in with a silvery laugh. “Everything in this world changes. What is there that cannot change?”
“Your meaning…?” The Qilian cultivator seemed to hear the most terrifying news. “Your meaning is… that you want us to… betray the Elders?”
The moment he said it, the Qilian cultivator turned pale himself. He glanced left and right anxiously—if the Elder Council ever found out, even ten heads wouldn’t be enough to pay the price.
“You’ve followed the Elder Council for many years, but now it’s clear—their power is waning. If you continue down this path, you’ll only meet your doom,” Yang Hao’s voice turned cold.
“Impossible!” Hui Wanggong and the leader of the Light Sword Sect shouted in unison. “That can’t be!”
The six of them simultaneously wiped sweat from their brows—cold sweat, indeed.
“The life and death of your Ten Sword Sects no longer lies in the hands of the Elders, but in mine!” Yang Hao suddenly slammed the table, causing unease among the group.
His expression turned fierce and domineering. “Back then, I wiped out the Beast Heart Sword Sect and the Divine Wrath Sword Sect with just a wave of my hand. How much effort would it take to eliminate your six factions?”
“Yet the Ten Sword Sects have stood for centuries, with a history no shorter than that of the Elder Council. To see it end like this…” Ling Zhiyan sighed with genuine regret.
“With the Elder Council still standing, it won’t be easy for you to eliminate us!” Qilian cultivator still tried to hold his ground.
Hai Wanggong and the Qilian cultivator looked at the young and invincible Yang Hao before them, feeling an involuntary sense of fear—something they had never even experienced in the presence of the Elder Council.
This man, this Yang Hao, was once a weak student. Yet, in an astonishingly short time, he had become the most powerful and unfathomable existence in the universe. His terror lay in the fact that all who had opposed him were dead, and all factions that had stood against him had been crushed.
The Qilian cultivator knew full well that he was here as a defeated man, a drowning dog.
But Yang Hao, unexpectedly, said he could return their divine swords—even become their friend.
This left the six leaders stunned, their hearts trembling.
In the end, it was the Qilian cultivator who regained his composure first. He took another sip of tea before asking, “Lord Yang Hao, what conditions must we meet for you to return our divine swords?”
“No real conditions,” Yang Hao replied calmly, pouring tea for everyone. “In the past, we served different masters. If that’s no longer the case, of course, I’ll return them.”
Even the dullest among them could read between the lines now.
Hai Wanggong’s face darkened. “Lord Yang Hao, do not forget—the Ten Sword Sects have always belonged to the Elder Council, unchanged since ancient times. What do you mean by ‘no longer serving different masters’?”
“In ancient times, people had to drill wood to make fire,” Ling Ziyan interjected with a silver-bell-like laugh. “Now, starships can cross galaxies in an instant. Everything in this world changes—why should this be any different?”
“You mean…” The Qilian cultivator’s face paled as if he had heard the most terrifying news. “You want us… to betray the Elders?”
The moment he uttered those words, his own expression turned deathly white. He glanced around nervously—if the Elder Council heard this, he wouldn’t survive even with ten heads.
“You’ve followed the Elder Council for years,” Yang Hao’s voice turned cold. “But now, their power is clearly waning. If you continue down this path, you’ll only meet death.”
“Impossible!” Hai Wanggong and the leader of the Radiant Sword Sect shouted in unison. “How could that be?”
All six men wiped sweat from their brows—cold, genuine sweat.
“The fate of the Ten Sword Sects isn’t in the hands of the Elders,” Yang Hao slammed the table, startling them. “It’s in mine!”
His expression turned fierce and domineering. “When I destroyed the Beastheart Sword Sect and the Divine Mercy Sword Sect, it took no more than a flick of my wrist. How much effort do you think it would take to wipe out the six of you?”
“The Ten Sword Sects have a legacy spanning centuries, nearly as long as the Elder Council itself,” Ling Ziyan sighed, shaking her head with genuine regret. “To see it all end like this…”
“With the Elder Council’s backing, destroying us won’t be so easy!” The Qilian cultivator clung to his last shred of defiance.
But Yang Hao tore away their final veil of dignity. “Still counting on the Elder Council? The Elders see you as nothing more than disposable tools. Why else would they send a mere enchantress to oversee you? And now that you’ve lost the divine swords left by the Supreme One—how long do you think the Elder Council will tolerate you?”
Each word struck the leaders like a hammer to the heart.
They were all trembling inside. The ten divine swords had been entrusted to the Ten Sword Sects by the Supreme One, but they were merely custodians. Though they treated them as sacred treasures, losing them meant incurring the wrath of the Supreme One—and the Elder Council could punish them at any time.
For now, the sword sects still had some use, so the Elders wouldn’t act rashly. But if the Elders regained their dominance, the Ten Sword Sects would be in grave danger.
The bigger issue was that the divine swords were the symbols of the Ten Sword Sects—their very identity. With them, they could expand their influence and recruit disciples. Now that the swords were lost, the future of these six sects was uncertain.
Watching the shifting expressions of the six leaders, Yang Hao dangled the carrot again. He turned and laid out a large bundle on the table.
The eyes of the six leaders gleamed. Before them lay not only their six divine swords but something extra—small, unassuming additions that made their hearts race.
“These are appointment decrees for the governors of ten outer-galaxy systems,” Yang Hao said, sliding the decree and the Immortal Sword toward Hai Wanggong. “If the Wang family agrees, you won’t just reclaim your sword—you’ll gain permanent control over these ten galaxies.”
Hai Wanggong’s eyes turned greedy. The Wang family had long dreamed of establishing a foothold in the outer galaxies, but Yang Hao’s repeated attacks had crushed those plans. After the destruction of the Celestial King Fleet, Hai Wanggong thought his ambitions were lost forever. Yet here was Yang Hao, offering an unimaginable gift.
Before the Cultivator Forest and the Phantom Feather Sect, Yang Hao placed their divine swords alongside a few tattered ancient books. “These are profound cultivation manuals from the ancient era—lost even to the Elder Council. If you agree, they’re yours.”
The Qilian cultivator’s hands trembled, nearly fainting from shock. As a true expert, he recognized the authenticity of these texts. After the Supreme Immortal Sect unified the universe, nearly all cultivation methods and manuals had been seized by the Elder Council. Only the highest-ranking Elders had full access; ordinary Elders were lucky to glimpse one or two. The Ten Sword Sects had it worse—they had to earn scraps through centuries of service, and even then, the manuals they received were carefully curated to ensure the Elders could counter them.
What Yang Hao had produced were the true treasures—stolen from the Elder Mountain during the Hidden Dragon Pavilion’s rebellion. Any one of these manuals could empower a sect to rival even the Yan family.
For the Yan family, Yang Hao’s offer was simpler: “My master was once the leader of the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect. He’s willing to share a few secret formulas with you.”
That was more than enough.
If not for his self-control, the Yan family leader would have dropped to his knees in gratitude—swearing undying loyalty.
The Alchemy Sect was the origin of all pill and elixir refinement. The Yan family had built their entire sect on mere fragments of its knowledge. If they could obtain the Alchemy Sect’s true secrets, their survival would be guaranteed—and they might even rise to become the most powerful faction in the universe.
Yang Hao made promises to each of the six sects, leaving them overjoyed and indebted. But promises were just promises—the final move had yet to be revealed.
He then placed six black pills before the tempted leaders, who were already reaching for their swords. “These are special elixirs from our Alchemy Sect. Please, try them.”
Yang Hao was no fool, and neither were Hun Yuanzi and Ling Ziyan. They knew the Ten Sword Sects couldn’t resist such offers. The real question was whether they would remain loyal under pressure from the Elder Council.
Thus, Yang Hao and Hun Yuanzi had devised the “Soul Devouring Pills.”
In the Great Cultivation Era, these pills were classified as forbidden—a major reason the Breath Cultivation Sect condemned the Alchemy Sect as heretical. Even within the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect, their creation and distribution were strictly banned. Only someone like Hun Yuanzi, a former sect leader, could possess the formula.
The Soul Devouring Pills were designed to control the mind. After ingestion, there were no immediate effects—but each pill lasted a month. If not renewed, the victim’s will would shatter, leaving them obedient to the pill’s provider.
The horror lay in the choice: obey and take a pill monthly, or refuse and lose your mind anyway.
Once taken, there was no escape.
The six leaders stared at the pills, frozen. Though they didn’t know what they were, they had experienced the Alchemy Sect’s power before. They understood—Yang Hao wouldn’t let them go so easily.
To take the pill meant eternal servitude.
To refuse meant certain death.
What choice did they have?
Even someone as fiery as Hai Wanggong had no choice but to yield. “Lord Yang Hao, we’re just small players. Surely we don’t need such… precious medicine?”
Yang Hao tapped the table, displeased. “I’ve shown my sincerity. Now it’s your turn.”
But this “sincerity” came at a steep price.
The six leaders stared at the pills, fully aware of the implications. Swallowing them meant the Ten Sword Sects would forever belong to the Alchemy Sect—with no hope of freedom.
The empire’s centuries-old order, the division of power among trillions, would be overturned. The Elder Council would be backed into a corner, their influence stripped away until Yang Hao could finally overthrow them.
All of it hinged on six small pills.
How could they possibly swallow them?
Yang Hao smirked, raising the stick again. “If you refuse, the Elder Council’s fate won’t matter to you. I guarantee that within forty-eight hours, the Ten Sword Sects will vanish from the universe—and the Elders won’t lift a finger to save you. But if you take these pills, even if the Elder Council falls, your sects will retain their glory—perhaps even thrive. Isn’t it true that every man for himself is the way of the world? As leaders, is the Elder Council’s survival worth dying for?”
His words left the six leaders uneasy. Though harsh, they rang true. The Ten Sword Sects had always been tools of the Elder Council—a relationship of mutual exploitation. Now that Yang Hao’s power had surged and the Elders suffered defeat, why tie themselves to a sinking ship?
Yet the stakes were enormous. Every move could reshape the universe. Though tempted, none dared act first—whoever did might face the Elders’ wrath.
Ling Ziyan, understanding their hesitation, had prepared for this. She raised a finger, her nail glinting under the light as she made a subtle gesture.
Suddenly, the newly appointed leader of the Netherkill Assassins—who had remained silent until now—stood abruptly. He grabbed Yang Hao’s pill and swallowed it without hesitation. “The Netherkill Assassins pledge allegiance to Lord Yang Hao.”
The move shocked everyone. Of all the sects, the Netherkill Assassins were believed to be the most loyal to the Elder Council—their members painstakingly trained by the Elders for generations.
Yang Hao smiled. This was the trap he and Ling Ziyan had set.
Though the Netherkill Assassins had once been the Elder Council’s deadliest blades, the battles at Comet’s Origin and the Strangulation Bureau had decimated their ranks. Ling Ziyan, a former leader, had quietly cultivated loyalists—including the current leader.
This was the opening they needed.
Yang Hao waved his hand, sending a package to the Netherkill leader. “The Judgment Sword and the ‘Blood Assault’ manual are yours.”
The leader drew the sword, its dark power flooding the room. After so long, the Netherkill Assassins had their sacred weapon back.
The other five leaders’ resolve crumbled.
If everyone resisted, that was one thing. But if one sect submitted, the balance shifted entirely.
The Yan family leader swallowed his pill in a flash, eyes gleaming as Yang Hao handed him the Healing Sword and several secret formulas.
From there, the rest fell like dominoes.
One by one, willingly or reluctantly, they consumed the Soul Devouring Pills.
As Hai Wanggong swallowed the last pill, Yang Hao exhaled in relief.
He had every right to feel at ease. Since his journey began on Thunderstar, Yang Hao had been locked in conflict with the Ten Sword Sects. Their battles had defined his life.
Now, it was over.
The mighty Ten Sword Sects—once the Supreme One’s vanguard—had all submitted to Yang Hao.
Tonight, the forest outside was silent. But those gathered under the lamplight knew: the empire’s night, its day, every inch of its land—had changed forever.
These words struck the hearts of the leaders like hammers.
Hai Wanggong and the Qilian Cultivator gazed at the still young and invincible Yang Hao before them, an involuntary sense of dread creeping into their hearts—a fear they had never even felt in the presence of the Elder Council.
This man, this Yang Hao, had once been a weak student. Yet, in an astonishingly short time, he had transformed into the most powerful and unfathomable existence in the universe. His terror lay in the fact that every person who had opposed him was now dead, every faction that had stood against him had been crushed.
The Qilian Cultivator knew full well that he was here as a defeated man, a drowning dog.
Yet, to their shock, Yang Hao had unexpectedly offered to return their divine swords—even proposing friendship.
The six leaders trembled, their hearts quivering.
It was the Qilian Cultivator who regained his composure first. After taking another sip of tea, he asked, “Lord Yang Hao, what conditions must we meet for you to return our divine swords?”
“No real conditions,” Yang Hao replied calmly, pouring tea for them. “In the past, we served different masters. If that’s no longer the case, of course, I’ll return them.”
Even the dullest among them could read between the lines now.
Hai Wanggong’s face darkened. “Lord Yang Hao, do not forget—the Ten Sword Sects have always belonged to the Elder Council, unchanged since ancient times. What do you mean by ‘no longer serving different masters’?”
“In ancient times, people had to drill wood to make fire,” Ling Ziyan interjected with a silvery laugh. “Now, starships can cross galaxies in an instant. Everything in this world changes—why should this be any different?”
“You mean…” The Qilian Cultivator paled as if hearing the most horrifying news. “You want us… to betray the Elders?”
The mere utterance left him ashen-faced. He glanced around nervously—if the Elder Council heard this, he wouldn’t survive, even with ten heads.
“You’ve followed the Elder Council for years,” Yang Hao’s voice turned icy. “But it’s clear now—their power is waning. If you keep clinging to them, you’ll only meet your doom.”
“Impossible!” Hai Wanggong and the leader of the Radiant Sword Sect shouted in unison. “How could that be?”
All six men wiped cold sweat from their brows—genuine, fear-induced sweat.
“Your fates aren’t in the Elders’ hands—they’re in mine!” Yang Hao slammed the table, startling them. His expression turned fierce and domineering. “When I wiped out the Beastheart Sword Sect and the Divine Mercy Sword Sect, it took no effort. How much harder would it be to destroy the six of you?”
“Centuries of legacy, rivaling even the Elder Council’s history—gone just like that,” Ling Ziyan sighed, shaking her head with exaggerated regret.
“The Elder Council won’t let you destroy us so easily!” the Qilian Cultivator stubbornly insisted.
But Yang Hao tore away their last shred of dignity. “Still counting on the Elders? They see you as disposable tools. Why else would they let a mere enchantress command you? And now that you’ve lost the divine swords left by the Supreme One—how long do you think they’ll tolerate you?”
Each word struck like a hammer to their hearts.
The truth was, they were already wavering. The ten divine swords, though bestowed upon them by the Supreme One, were merely entrusted to their care. Losing them meant disgrace—punishable at the Elders’ whim.
For now, the sects still had some use, so the Elders wouldn’t act rashly. But if the Elders regained power, the Ten Sword Sects would be doomed.
Worse yet, the divine swords were their symbols—their very identity. Without them, their influence would wane, their recruitment falter. The future of these six sects now hung in the balance.
Watching their uncertain expressions, Yang Hao dangled the carrot. He produced a large bundle, spreading it across the table.
The six leaders’ eyes gleamed. Before them lay not just their six divine swords—but something extra with each, something small yet irresistible.
“These are appointment decrees for governors of ten outer-galaxy systems,” Yang Hao said, sliding one toward Hai Wanggong alongside the Undying Sword. “If the Wang Family agrees, you’ll not only reclaim your sword but govern these systems permanently.”
Hai Wanggong’s eyes turned greedy. The Wang Family had long sought an outer-galaxy stronghold, but Yang Hao’s repeated strikes had crushed those plans. With the Celestial King Fleet’s destruction, he’d thought his dream lost forever—until Yang Hao offered this unimaginable gift.
For the Cultivator’s Grove and the Phantom Feather Sect, Yang Hao presented tattered ancient tomes alongside their swords. “These are lost cultivation manuals from antiquity—even the Elder Council no longer possesses them. Agree, and they’re yours.”
The Qilian Cultivator trembled, nearly fainting from shock. As a true expert, he recognized their authenticity. After the Supreme Immortal Sect’s unification, nearly all cultivation methods had been seized by the Elder Council—accessible only to the highest-ranking Elders. Ordinary Elders might glimpse one or two; the Ten Sword Sects had to earn scraps through centuries of service. And even those scraps came with countermeasures.
But these? These were the essence—stolen from the Elder Mountain during the Hidden Dragon Pavilion’s rebellion. Any single manual could found a mighty sect.
For the Yan Family, Yang Hao kept it simple: “My master was once the leader of the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect. He’s willing to share a few secret formulas with you.”
That alone was enough—more than enough.
Had the Yan Family leader not possessed immense self-control, he’d have knelt in gratitude, swearing undying loyalty. The Alchemy Sect was the ancestral origin of pill refining. With just fragments of its knowledge, the Yan Family had founded their own school. Receiving its core secrets? Survival would be the least of their gains—they could rise as the most powerful faction.
One by one, Yang Hao made his offers, leaving the leaders dazzled and grateful. But promises were just promises—the final move remained.
Yang Hao placed six black pills before the tempted leaders. “A special elixir from our Alchemy Sect. Please, try one.”
Neither Yang Hao, Hun Yuanzi, nor Ling Ziyan were fools. They knew the Ten Sword Sects couldn’t resist such offers.
The real question was: Would they stay loyal under the Elder Council’s pressure?
Hence, the “Soul-Devouring Pills.”
Forbidden even in the Great Cultivation Era, these pills were why the Breath Sect denounced the Alchemy Sect as heretical. Even within the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect, their creation was banned. Only as its former leader did Hun Yuanzi possess the formula.
The pills enslaved the mind. After ingestion, nothing happened at first—but each dose lasted a month. Without a follow-up dose, the victim’s will would shatter, leaving them obedient to the pill-giver.
The horror? Victims either obeyed and took monthly doses—or resisted and still fell under control.
One pill, and freedom was lost forever.
Staring at the pills, the leaders froze. Though they didn’t recognize them, they knew the Alchemy Sect’s prowess—and that Yang Hao wouldn’t let them go easily.
Take the pill, and eternal servitude awaited.
Refuse, and death was certain.
What choice was there?
Even hot-tempered Hai Wanggong had to yield. “Lord Yang Hao, we’re just small players. Surely such precious pills are unnecessary?”
Yang Hao rapped the table, displeased. “I’ve shown my sincerity. Now, it’s your turn.”
But this “sincerity” came at a steep price.
The six leaders stared at the pills, knowing full well their implications. Swallowing them meant the Ten Sword Sects would forever belong to the Alchemy Sect—with no chance of rebellion.
The empire’s millennia-old order, the power balance of trillions—all hinged on these six pills.
How could they possibly swallow them?
Yang Hao smirked, raising the stick. “Refuse, and the Elder Council’s fate won’t matter—within forty-eight hours, the Ten Sword Sects will vanish from the universe. The Elders won’t lift a finger to save you. But take the pills? Even if the Council falls, your sects will thrive—perhaps even rise higher. Self-preservation is natural. As leaders, is the Council’s survival worth your lives?”
His words left the six leaders grimacing. Harsh, but true. Their allegiance to the Elders had always been transactional. With Yang Hao ascendant and the Elders failing, why tie themselves to a sinking ship?
Yet the stakes were cosmic. The first to act might also be the first to fall to the Elders’ retaliation.
Ling Ziyan, understanding their hesitation, had prepared for this. With a subtle gesture of her glowing nails, she signaled.
Suddenly, the silent new leader of the Netherkill Assassins stood, snatched a pill, and swallowed it without hesitation. “The Netherkill Assassins pledge allegiance to Lord Yang Hao.”
The move stunned everyone. The assassins were supposed to be the Elders’ most loyal—their members handpicked and groomed for generations.
Yang Hao smiled. This was their backup plan. Though the assassins had once been fanatically loyal, the Comet Source and Strangulation Bureau battles had decimated their ranks. Ling Ziyan, as their former leader, had quietly cultivated loyalists—including the current leader.
The breach began here.
Yang Hao tossed a bundle forward. “The Netherkill’s Judgment Sword and *Blood Assault* manual—all yours.”
The leader drew the sword, its dark power flooding the room. After long separation, their divine sword had returned.
The other five leaders’ resolve crumbled.
Collective refusal was one thing—being the lone holdout was another.
The Yan Family leader swallowed his pill in a flash, eyes alight with greed.
Yang Hao flicked his wrist, delivering the Healing Sword and promised formulas.
From there, the rest fell like dominoes—some willingly, some grudgingly, but all ultimately submitting.
Watching Hai Wanggong swallow the last pill, Yang Hao exhaled in relief.
He had every right to feel relieved. Since his journey began on Remon Star, his life had been a constant battle against the Ten Sword Sects.
Now, it was over. The mighty Ten Sword Sects, once the Supreme One’s vanguard, now bowed to Yang Hao.
Tonight, the forest outside was silent—but those under the lamplight knew: the empire’s day, its night, every inch of its land, had changed forever.
For now, these sword sects still had some use, so the Elders wouldn’t act rashly. But if the Elders ever regained power, the Ten Sword Sects would be in grave danger.
Even more crucially, the Ten Divine Swords were the symbol and identity of the Ten Sword Sects. With them, they could expand their influence and recruit disciples. Without the swords, the future of the six major sects was uncertain.
Observing the fluctuating expressions on the six leaders’ faces, Yang Hao began to dangle the carrot again. He turned around and took out a large package, spreading its contents across the table.
The eyes of the six leaders of the Ten Sword Sects lit up instantly. Yang Hao had indeed brought back their six divine swords—but not only that. Alongside each sword, he had added something small yet enticing.
“These are the appointment decrees for the governors of the Ten Outer Star Systems. As long as the Wang family agrees, you not only reclaim the Immortal Sword but also gain permanent control over these ten systems.”
Yang Hao pushed the decree and the Immortal Sword toward Hui Wanggong.
Hui Wanggong’s eyes turned green with greed. The Wang family had long sought to establish a family base in the outer territories, but after repeated defeats at Yang Hao’s hands, this dream had seemed lost forever. When the Wang fleet was destroyed, he thought his dream was gone. Yet now, Yang Hao had presented him with such a generous gift.
Before the leaders of the Xiu Shi Lin and Huan Yu Sect lay several tattered books along with their divine swords. Seeing the confused expressions on their faces, Yang Hao explained, “These are ancient cultivation scriptures, long lost even to the Elder Council. If you agree, these texts will all be yours.”
Hai Wanggong and the Qilian Cultivator looked at the young and invincible Yang Hao before them, an involuntary sense of fear rising in their hearts—a fear they had never even felt in the presence of the Elder Council.
This man, this Yang Hao, had once been a weak student. Yet, in an astonishingly short time, he had become the most powerful and unfathomable existence in the universe. His terror lay in the fact that all who had opposed him were now dead, and all factions that had stood against him had been crushed.
The Qilian Cultivator knew full well that he was here as a defeated man, a beaten dog.
Yet, to their shock, Yang Hao made an unexpected offer—he would return their divine swords and even proposed friendship.
This left the six leaders stunned, their hearts trembling.
Finally, the Qilian Cultivator was the first to regain his composure. After taking another sip of tea, he asked, “Lord Yang Hao, what conditions must we meet for you to return our divine swords?”
“No real conditions,” Yang Hao replied calmly, pouring tea for everyone. “In the past, we served different masters. If that division no longer exists, then of course, I’ll return them.”
Even the dullest among them could read between the lines now.
Hai Wanggong’s face darkened. “Lord Yang Hao, do not forget—the Ten Sword Sects have always belonged to the Elder Council, unchanged since ancient times. What do you mean by ‘no longer serving different masters’?”
“In ancient times, people had to drill wood to make fire,” Ling Ziyan interjected with a silver-bell laugh. “Now, starships can cross galaxies in an instant. Everything in this world changes—why should this be any different?”
“You mean…” The Qilian Cultivator’s face paled as if he had heard the most terrifying news. “You want us… to betray the Elders?”
The moment he uttered those words, even he turned deathly white. He glanced around nervously—if the Elder Council ever learned of this, he wouldn’t have enough heads to spare.
“You’ve followed the Elder Council for years,” Yang Hao’s voice turned cold. “But now, their power is waning. If you continue down this path, you’ll only meet death.”
“Impossible!” Hai Wanggong and the leader of the Radiant Sword Sect shouted in unison. “How could that be?”
All six leaders wiped sweat from their brows—cold, genuine sweat.
“The fate of the Ten Sword Sects isn’t in the hands of the Elders,” Yang Hao slammed the table, startling them. “It’s in mine!”
His expression turned fierce and domineering. “When I destroyed the Beastheart Sword Sect and the Divine Mercy Sword Sect, it was as easy as lifting a finger. How much effort do you think it would take to wipe out the six of you?”
“Centuries of legacy, rivaling even the Elder Council’s history—gone just like that,” Ling Ziyan sighed, shaking her head with genuine regret.
“With the Elder Council behind us, destroying us won’t be so easy!” the Qilian Cultivator stubbornly insisted.
But Yang Hao tore away their last shred of dignity. “Still counting on the Elder Council? They see you as nothing more than disposable tools. Why else would they let a mere enchantress command you? And now that you’ve lost the divine swords left by the Supreme One, how long do you think the Elders will tolerate you?”
Each word struck like a hammer to their hearts.
Deep down, they were already wavering. The ten divine swords had been entrusted to them by the Supreme One, but losing them meant incurring the wrath of the Elders—punishment could come at any moment.
For now, the Elder Council still had use for them, but if the Elders regained power, the Ten Sword Sects would be in grave danger.
More importantly, the divine swords were their symbols, their pride. Without them, their ability to expand and recruit disciples was in jeopardy.
Watching their uncertain expressions, Yang Hao dangled a carrot. He turned and laid out a large bundle on the table.
The six leaders’ eyes gleamed—it was their six divine swords, each enhanced with something small but irresistible.
“These are appointment decrees for governing ten outer galaxies,” Yang Hao said, sliding the decree and the Immortal Sword toward Hai Wanggong. “If the Wang Family agrees, not only will you reclaim your sword, but you’ll also gain permanent control over these territories.”
Hai Wanggong’s eyes burned with greed. The Wang Family had long dreamed of establishing a foothold in the outer galaxies, but Yang Hao’s repeated strikes had crushed those plans. Now, with this offer, his ambitions seemed within reach again.
Before the Cultivator’s Forest and the Phantom Feather Sect, Yang Hao placed their swords alongside tattered ancient manuals. “These are lost cultivation texts from the Supreme Era,” he explained. “Even the Elder Council no longer has them. If you agree, they’re yours.”
The Qilian Cultivator trembled, nearly fainting from shock. As an expert, he recognized the authenticity instantly. These were treasures even the Elders coveted.
For the Yan Family, Yang Hao’s offer was simpler: “My master was once the leader of the Alchemy Twin Cult. He’s willing to share some secret formulas with you.”
That alone was enough to make the Yan Family leader nearly kneel in gratitude. The Alchemy Twin Cult’s secrets could elevate their sect to unprecedented heights.
One by one, Yang Hao made offers that left the leaders ecstatic. But promises were just promises—the final test remained.
He placed six black pills before them. “A special elixir from our sect. Please, try one.”
Yang Hao wasn’t foolish, and neither were Hun Yuanzi and Ling Ziyan. They knew the leaders would be tempted, but loyalty was another matter.
Thus, the “Soul-Devouring Pills” had been crafted—a forbidden drug from the Great Cultivation Era. Once taken, the victim would need a monthly dose or lose their mind, becoming a puppet to the giver.
The six leaders froze. They didn’t know what the pills were, but they knew Yang Hao wouldn’t let them off easily.
Swallow the pill, and be bound forever.
Refuse, and face annihilation.
Even the fiery Hai Wanggong softened. “Lord Yang Hao, must we take such… precious medicine?”
Yang Hao tapped the table impatiently. “I’ve shown my sincerity. Now it’s your turn.”
The price of that sincerity was steep.
The six leaders stared at the pills, knowing full well the consequences. Swallowing them meant submitting to Yang Hao forever—and upending the cosmic order.
Yang Hao smirked, raising the stick. “If you refuse, the Elder Council’s fate won’t matter—within forty-eight hours, the Ten Sword Sects will vanish. But if you take the pills, even if the Elders fall, your sects will thrive. Why die for them?”
His words struck home. The Ten Sword Sects had always been tools to the Elders—why tie their fate to a sinking ship?
Yet the decision was monumental.
Just as hesitation gripped them, the new leader of the Netherkill Assassins stood abruptly. Without hesitation, he swallowed the pill. “The Netherkill Assassins pledge loyalty to Lord Yang Hao.”
The move shocked everyone. The Netherkill Assassins had been the Elder Council’s most loyal enforcers—or so they thought.
But Yang Hao and Ling Ziyan had planted their own agent long ago.
With that, the dam broke.
One by one, the leaders swallowed the pills—some willingly, others reluctantly.
As Hai Wanggong finally gulped his down, Yang Hao exhaled in relief.
From the moment he began his journey on Thunderstar, his life had been intertwined with the Ten Sword Sects. Now, at last, the great sects—once the Supreme One’s vanguard—had all bowed to him.
Outside, the forest was silent. But beneath the lamplight, everyone knew—the empire would never be the same again.
What Yang Hao had brought out were the precious scriptures that the Hidden Dragon Pavilion had once seized from the Elder Council. Any one of them could be enough to establish a massive sect.
As for the Yan family leader, Yang Hao simply said, “My master was once the head of the Pill & Cauldron Sect. He said he would write some formulas for you.”
That was more than enough.
If not for his ironclad self-control, the Yan family leader would have knelt and kowtowed in gratitude, pledging absolute loyalty.
The Pill & Cauldron Sect was the ancestor of all alchemy sects. The Yan family had only learned a tiny fraction of its techniques and had built their own school upon it. If they could obtain the secret formulas of the Pill & Cauldron Sect, it wouldn’t just ensure their survival—it could elevate them to become the most powerful and influential sect in existence.
Yang Hao made promises to each of the six sword sects, filling them with joy and gratitude. But promises were just promises—ultimately, the time had come to reveal the final move.
Yang Hao then placed six black pills before the leaders who were already tempted and ready to reach for their swords. “These are special pills from our Pill & Cauldron Sect. Please, try them.”
Yang Hao wasn’t foolish, nor were Hun Yuanzi and Ling Zhiyan. They knew well that the Ten Sword Sects would inevitably be tempted by such immense rewards. Accepting the conditions was inevitable.
The real question was—once they accepted, would they remain loyal to Yang Hao? Would they defect back to the Elder Council under pressure?
That was why Yang Hao and Hun Yuanzi had developed these “Soul Devouring Pills.”
Hai Wanggong and the Qilian Cultivator gazed at the still young and invincible Yang Hao before them, an involuntary sense of dread creeping into their hearts—a fear they had never even felt in the presence of the Elder Council.
This man, this Yang Hao, had once been a weak student. Yet, in an astonishingly short time, he had become the most powerful and unfathomable existence in the universe. His terror lay in the fact that all who had opposed him were dead, and all factions that had stood against him had been crushed.
The Qilian Cultivator knew full well that he was here as a defeated man, a drowning dog.
Yet, to their shock, Yang Hao made an unexpected offer—he would return their divine swords and even proposed friendship.
The six leaders trembled in disbelief.
It was the Qilian Cultivator who regained his composure first. After sipping his tea, he asked cautiously, “Lord Yang Hao, what conditions must we meet for you to return our divine swords?”
“No conditions, really,” Yang Hao replied nonchalantly, pouring tea for them. “In the past, we served different masters. If that’s no longer the case, of course, I’ll return them.”
Even the dullest among them could read between the lines.
Hai Wanggong’s face darkened. “Lord Yang Hao, do not forget—the Ten Sword Sects have always belonged to the Elder Council, unchanged since ancient times. What do you mean by ‘no longer serving different masters’?”
“In ancient times, people had to drill wood for fire,” Ling Ziyan interjected with a silver-bell laugh. “Now, starships traverse galaxies in an instant. Everything in this world changes—why should this be any different?”
“You mean…” The Qilian Cultivator paled, as if hearing the most horrifying news. “You want us… to betray the Elders?”
The mere suggestion left him trembling. If the Elder Council heard this, even ten heads wouldn’t be enough to atone.
“You’ve followed the Elder Council for years,” Yang Hao’s voice turned icy. “But now, their power is waning. If you persist, you’ll only meet death.”
“Impossible!” Hai Wanggong and the leader of the Light Sword Sect shouted in unison. “How could that be?”
Six men wiped cold sweat from their brows—genuine fear.
“Your fate isn’t in the Elders’ hands,” Yang Hao slammed the table, startling them. “It’s in mine!”
His expression turned fierce. “Destroying the Beastheart and Divine Mercy Sects was effortless. How much effort would it take to wipe out the six of you?”
“The Ten Sword Sects have centuries of history, nearly as long as the Elder Council,” Ling Ziyan sighed, feigning regret. “To see it all end like this…”
“The Elder Council still stands!” the Qilian Cultivator insisted stubbornly. “Destroying us won’t be so easy!”
Yang Hao tore away their last shred of dignity. “Still counting on the Elders? They see you as disposable tools. Why else would they let a mere enchantress oversee you? And now that you’ve lost the divine swords left by the Supreme One—how long do you think they’ll tolerate you?”
Each word struck like a hammer.
The leaders knew the truth. The ten divine swords were merely entrusted to them by the Supreme One—lost, they’d be charged with blasphemy, punishable at the Elders’ whim.
For now, the sects still had use. But if the Elders regained power, the Ten Sword Sects would be doomed.
Worse, the divine swords were their symbols—without them, expansion and recruitment would falter. The future of these six sects now hung in the balance.
Watching their shifting expressions, Yang Hao dangled a carrot. He produced a large bundle, spreading it across the table.
The leaders’ eyes gleamed. Before them lay not only their six divine swords but something extra—small yet irresistible additions.
“These are appointment decrees for governors of ten outer galaxies,” Yang Hao said, sliding the documents and the Undying Sword toward Hai Wanggong. “If the Wang Family agrees, you’ll not only reclaim your sword but govern these systems permanently.”
Hai Wanggong’s eyes burned with greed. The Wangs had long sought an outer domain stronghold, but Yang Hao’s repeated strikes had crushed those plans. With the Celestial King Fleet’s destruction, he’d thought all hope lost—until now.
Before the Cultivator’s Grove and Phantom Feather Sect, Yang Hao placed tattered ancient tomes alongside their swords. “These are lost cultivation manuals from antiquity—even the Elder Council no longer possesses them. Agree, and they’re yours.”
The Qilian Cultivator trembled, nearly fainting. As an expert, he recognized their authenticity. After the Supreme Immortal Sect’s unification, all cultivation methods had been seized by the Elder Council. Ordinary Elders could barely glimpse a manual or two; the Ten Sword Sects had to earn scraps through centuries of service—and even those came with countermeasures.
These were the true treasures stolen from the Elder Mountain during the Hidden Dragon Pavilion’s rebellion. Any single manual could found a mighty sect.
For the Yan Family, Yang Hao’s offer was simpler: “My master was once leader of the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect. He’s willing to share a few secret formulas.”
That alone was enough—more than enough.
Had the Yan leader not possessed deep self-control, he’d have knelt in gratitude, swearing eternal loyalty.
The Alchemy Sect was the progenitor of all pill refining. The Yans had built their faction on mere fragments of its knowledge. With its true secrets, survival would be the least of their gains—they could rise as the most formidable force in existence.
One by one, Yang Hao made his offers, leaving the leaders dazzled and indebted. Yet promises alone weren’t enough.
Finally, he revealed the dagger beneath the velvet.
Six black pills appeared before the tempted leaders. “A special elixir from our Alchemy Sect. Please, partake.”
Yang Hao was no fool, nor were Hun Yuanzi and Ling Ziyan. They knew the Ten Sword Sects couldn’t resist such offers.
The real question was loyalty—would they remain steadfast under the Elder Council’s pressure?
Thus, the “Soul Devouring Pills” were born.
In the Great Cultivation Era, these were Class One forbidden drugs—a key reason the Qi Refining Sect denounced the Alchemy Sect as heretical. Even within the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect, their creation was banned. Only as its former leader did Hun Yuanzi possess the formula.
The pills enslaved the mind. Initially inert, their effects lasted a month. Without a fresh dose, the victim’s will would shatter, obeying the giver’s commands.
The horror lay in the choice: obey and take a pill monthly, or refuse and lose your mind anyway.
One pill meant eternal bondage.
The six leaders froze. Though ignorant of the pills’ nature, they knew the Alchemy Sect’s prowess. Yang Hao wouldn’t let them go easily.
To take the pill was eternal servitude.
To refuse was death.
What choice was there?
Even hot-tempered Hai Wanggong softened. “Lord Yang Hao, we’re but small players. Must we take such… precious medicine?”
Yang Hao rapped the table. “I’ve shown my sincerity. Now it’s your turn.”
But the price was steep.
The leaders stared at the pills, knowing full well their implications. To swallow one meant the Ten Sword Sects would forever belong to the Alchemy Sect—no turning back.
The empire’s millennia-old order, the power balance of trillions, would shift irrevocably. The Elder Council would be cornered, its roots severed, facing overthrow by Yang Hao.
All hinged on six pills.
How could they swallow them?
Yang Hao smirked, raising the stick. “Refuse, and the Elder Council’s fate won’t matter—within forty-eight hours, the Ten Sword Sects will vanish. The Elders won’t lift a finger to save you. Take the pills, and even if the Council falls, your sects will thrive. Self-preservation is natural—why die for the Elders?”
His words struck home. The leaders knew their alliance with the Council was mutual exploitation. With Yang Hao ascendant and the Elders failing, why chain themselves to a sinking ship?
Yet the stakes were cosmic. Though tempted, none dared move first—whoever acted might face the Elders’ wrath.
Ling Ziyan, well-versed in such games, had prepared for this. With a subtle gesture, her nail glinting in the light, she signaled.
Suddenly, the silent new leader of the Nether Shades Assassins stood, seized a pill, and swallowed without hesitation. “The Nether Shades pledge allegiance to Lord Yang Hao.”
The move stunned everyone. The Nether Shades were the Elders’ most loyal—their members handpicked and groomed for generations.
Yang Hao smiled. This was their plan. Though the Nether Shades had been diehard loyalists, the Comet Source and Slaughter Bureau battles had purged most elder-trained killers. Ling Ziyan, their former leader, had planted her own agents—including the current head.
The breach began here.
With a wave, Yang Hao sent over a package. “The Nether Shades’ Judgment Sword and *Blood Assault* manual.”
The leader drew the blade, its dark power flooding the room. After long absence, their divine sword had returned.
The other five leaders’ resolve crumbled.
Collective refusal was one thing; standing alone was another.
The Yan patriarch swallowed his pill in a flash, eyes alight with anticipation.
Yang Hao tossed him the Healing Sword and several formula scrolls.
From there, the rest fell like dominoes—some willing, some reluctant, but all compelled to swallow the Soul Devouring Pills.
As Hai Wanggong gulped his down, Yang Hao exhaled in relief.
He had every right to. Since his journey began on Thunderstar, Yang Hao had clashed endlessly with the Ten Sword Sects. Their conflict had defined his life.
Now, it was over. The mighty Ten Sword Sects, once the Supreme One’s vanguard, now bowed to Yang Hao.
Tonight, the forest outside lay silent. But those gathered under the lamplight knew—the empire’s day, its night, every inch of its land, had changed forever.
These Soul Devouring Pills were mind-control pills. After ingestion, they initially had no effect. But each pill had a one-month effective period. If the person didn’t take another pill within that time, their mind would be completely lost, leaving them under the control of the pill giver.
The terrifying thing about this pill was that the person who took it would either obey Yang Hao’s commands and take a pill every month—or refuse to obey but still be controlled after losing their mind.
Once taken, there was no way to reverse it.
Staring at the six Soul Devouring Pills, the leaders of the Ten Sword Sects were stunned. Though they didn’t know exactly what the pills were, they had already experienced the power of the Pill & Cauldron Sect’s pills. They naturally understood that Yang Hao wouldn’t let them go so easily.
If they took the pills, they would be under Yang Hao’s eternal control.
If they refused, they would face death.
How could they choose?
Even someone as hot-headed as Hui Wanggong could only yield now. “Lord Yang Hao, we are just small people. Perhaps there’s no need for such valuable pills?”
Yang Hao tapped the table in displeasure. “I’ve already shown my sincerity. Now it’s your turn to show yours.”
But this “sincerity” came at too high a price.
The six leaders stared at the pills before them, fully aware of what they represented. If they truly swallowed them, the Ten Sword Sects would forever belong to the Pill & Cauldron Sect, never to rise again.
The empire’s centuries-old order, the division of power among countless trillions of people, would be completely overturned. The Elder Council would be pushed into a corner. Once their influence and roots were severed, the Elder Council might truly be overthrown by Yang Hao.
All of this hinged on the six pills before them.
How could they possibly swallow them?
Yang Hao smirked coldly and raised the stick again. “If you refuse the pills, whether the Elder Council lives or dies is no longer your concern. I guarantee that within forty-eight hours, the Ten Sword Sects will be completely erased from the universe. At that point, the Elder Council won’t even extend a hand to save you. But if you take the pills, even if the Elder Council falls, the Ten Sword Sects can still maintain their former glory—or even thrive further. After all, no one looks out for you but yourself. As leaders of the Ten Sword Sects, is the Elder Council’s survival worth dying for?”
Yang Hao’s words left the six leaders with awkward expressions. Though harsh, they were the truth. The Ten Sword Sects had always been a tool for the Elders, and the Elders had used them in return. Now that Yang Hao’s power had grown and the Elders had suffered repeated defeats, there was no need for them to die together.
Though they thought this way, the decision was still momentous. Every action could trigger a cosmic upheaval. The six leaders’ eyes flickered with temptation, yet none dared to act first. Whoever moved first might be the first to fall to the Elders’ retaliation.
Ling Zhiyan understood this well. She and Yang Hao had prepared for this moment and had already laid the groundwork.
Now the time had come. Ling Zhiyan raised her finger, her crystalline nail gleaming under the light. She made a subtle gesture.
Suddenly, the newly appointed leader of the Mysterious Shadow Assassination Corps, who had remained silent until now, reacted. He abruptly stood, grabbed Yang Hao’s pill, and without hesitation, swallowed it. “The Mysterious Shadow Assassination Corps will follow Lord Yang Hao’s lead.”
This move shocked everyone. In the minds of the other leaders, the Mysterious Shadow Assassination Corps should have been the most loyal to the Elder Council, as nearly all its members had been personally trained by the Elders and were rarely deployed unless absolutely necessary.
But Yang Hao merely smiled. This was indeed the hidden card he and Ling Zhiyan had prepared.
Though the Mysterious Shadow Assassination Corps had once been fiercely loyal to the Elder Council, that was before the battles at Comet Source and the Slaughter Bureau. Most of the loyal Purple-Robe assassins had been killed, and Ling Zhiyan, who had once been the leader of the Mysterious Shadow Corps, had quietly cultivated a loyal following—even the current leader was one of her trusted agents.
Thus, the breakthrough had begun here.
Yang Hao waved his hand, sending something over. “Here is the Mysterious Shadow Corps’ Judgment Sword and the《Blood Strike》sword technique.”
The new leader of the Mysterious Shadow Corps drew the Judgment Sword with a flash. The dark power of judgment surged forth. After so many days apart, the divine sword of the Mysterious Shadow Assassination Corps had finally returned.
At this point, the balance in the hearts of the other five leaders was completely overturned.
If none accepted, it was one thing—but if only one sect refused, that would be another.
The Yan family leader quickly swallowed the pill, his eyes shining as he looked at Yang Hao.
Yang Hao raised his hand, and the Healing Sword, along with several pre-written medicinal formulas, landed in the Yan family leader’s hands.
At this point, the rest followed naturally.
One by one, either willingly or reluctantly, they all swallowed the Soul Devouring Pills prepared by Yang Hao.
As Hui Wanggong finally swallowed the pill, Yang Hao felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders.
He truly deserved to feel relieved. Since his journey began on Laimeng Star, he had constantly battled the Ten Sword Sects. His struggle with these ten sects had defined his entire life.
Hai Wanggong and the Qilian Cultivator gazed at the still young and invincible Yang Hao before them, an involuntary sense of dread creeping into their hearts—a fear they had never even felt in the presence of the Elder Council.
This man, this Yang Hao, had once been a weak student. Yet, in an astonishingly short time, he had become the most powerful and unfathomable existence in the universe. His terror lay in the fact that every person who had opposed him was now dead, and every faction that had stood against him had been crushed.
The Qilian Cultivator knew full well that he was here as a defeated man, a drowning dog.
Yet, to their shock, Yang Hao made an extraordinary offer—he would return their divine swords and even proposed friendship.
This left the six leaders stunned, their hearts trembling.
Finally, the Qilian Cultivator was the first to regain his composure. After taking another sip of tea, he asked, “Lord Yang Hao, what conditions must we meet for you to return our divine swords?”
“No real conditions,” Yang Hao replied calmly, pouring tea for everyone. “In the past, we served different masters. If that division no longer exists, of course, I’ll return them.”
Even the dullest among them could read between the lines now.
Hai Wanggong’s face darkened. “Lord Yang Hao, do not forget—the Ten Sword Sects have always belonged to the Elder Council, unchanged since ancient times. What do you mean by ‘no longer serving different masters’?”
“In ancient times, people had to drill wood to make fire,” Ling Ziyan interjected with a silver-bell laugh. “Now, starships can cross galaxies in an instant. Everything in this world changes—why should this be any different?”
“You mean…” The Qilian Cultivator paled as if hearing the most horrifying news. “You want us… to betray the Elders?”
The moment he uttered those words, his face turned deathly white. He glanced around nervously—if the Elder Council ever learned of this, he wouldn’t have enough heads to spare.
“You’ve followed the Elder Council for years,” Yang Hao’s voice turned icy. “But now, their power is waning. If you continue down this path, you’ll only meet death.”
“Impossible!” Hai Wanggong and the leader of the Radiant Sword Sect shouted in unison. “How could that be?”
All six men wiped cold sweat from their brows—this was no exaggeration.
“Your survival isn’t in the Elders’ hands,” Yang Hao slammed the table, startling them. “It’s in mine!”
His expression turned fierce and domineering. “When I wiped out the Beastheart Sword Sect and the Divine Mercy Sword Sect, it took no effort at all. How much harder would it be to destroy the six of you?”
“The Ten Sword Sects have a legacy spanning centuries, nearly as long as the Elder Council itself,” Ling Ziyan sighed, shaking her head with genuine regret. “To see it end like this…”
“The Elder Council still stands!” the Qilian Cultivator stubbornly insisted. “Destroying us won’t be so easy!”
But Yang Hao tore away their last shred of dignity. “Still counting on the Elder Council? Do you really think the Elders see you as anything more than disposable tools? Why else would they let a mere enchantress command you? And now that you’ve lost the divine swords left by the Supreme One—how long do you think the Elder Council will tolerate you?”
Each word struck like a hammer to their hearts.
The leaders were already wavering. Though the ten divine swords had been bestowed upon the Ten Sword Sects by the Supreme One, they were merely custodians. Losing them meant incurring the wrath of the Supreme One—punishment from the Elder Council could come at any moment.
For now, the sword sects still had some use, so the Elders wouldn’t act rashly. But if the Elders regained power, the Ten Sword Sects would be in grave danger.
More crucially, the divine swords were their symbols—their very identity. Without them, their ability to expand and recruit disciples would vanish. The future of these six sects now hung in the balance.
Watching their uncertain expressions, Yang Hao dangled a carrot. He turned and laid out a large bundle on the table.
The six leaders’ eyes gleamed. Before them lay not only their six divine swords but something extra—small yet irresistible additions to each blade.
“These are appointment decrees for governing ten outer-galaxy star systems,” Yang Hao said, sliding the decree and the Undying Sword toward Hai Wanggong. “If the Wang Family agrees, you’ll not only reclaim your sword but also gain permanent control over these territories.”
Hai Wanggong’s eyes burned with greed. The Wang Family had long sought to establish a foothold in the outer galaxies, but Yang Hao’s repeated strikes had crushed those plans. After the fall of the Celestial King Fleet, he thought his dream was lost forever. Yet here was Yang Hao, offering an unimaginable gift.
Before the Cultivator’s Grove and the Phantom Feather Sect, Yang Hao placed their divine swords alongside a few tattered ancient tomes. “These are profound cultivation manuals from antiquity—lost even to the Elder Council. Agree, and they’re yours.”
The Qilian Cultivator trembled, nearly fainting from shock. As a true expert, he recognized the authenticity instantly. After the Supreme Immortal Sect unified the cosmos, nearly all cultivation methods and manuals had been seized by the Elder Council. Only the highest-ranking Elders had access; ordinary ones were lucky to glimpse one or two. The Ten Sword Sects fared worse—only after centuries of service might they be granted a single manual, always one the Elders could counter.
But these were the true treasures—stolen from the Elder Mountain during the Hidden Dragon Pavilion’s rebellion. Any one of them could elevate a sect to rival the Yan Family.
For the Yan Family, Yang Hao’s offer was simpler: “My master was once the leader of the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect. He’s willing to share a few secret formulas with you.”
That was more than enough.
Had the Yan Family’s leader not possessed remarkable self-control, he would have knelt in gratitude, swearing undying loyalty.
The Alchemy Sect was the ancestral origin of pill refinement. The Yan Family had built their entire sect on mere fragments of its knowledge. To receive its deepest secrets? It wasn’t just survival—it was the potential to become the most powerful faction in existence.
One by one, Yang Hao made his offers, leaving the leaders dazzled and grateful. But promises were just promises—the final move was yet to come.
Yang Hao produced six black pills, placing them before the tempted leaders. “A special concoction from our Alchemy Sect. Please, try one.”
Yang Hao was no fool, nor were Hun Yuanzi and Ling Ziyan. They knew the Ten Sword Sects couldn’t resist such offers. The real question was loyalty—would they remain faithful under the Elder Council’s pressure?
Thus, the “Soul-Devouring Pills” were born.
In the Great Cultivation Era, these had been classified as forbidden. Even within the Alchemy Twin Cultivation Sect, their creation was banned. Only someone like Hun Yuanzi, a former sect leader, would possess the formula.
The pills enslaved the mind. After ingestion, there were no immediate effects—but each dose lasted a month. Without a subsequent pill, the victim’s will would shatter, leaving them obedient to the giver.
The horror lay in the choice: obey and take a pill monthly, or refuse and lose your mind anyway.
One pill, and you were bound for eternity.
The six leaders stared at the pills in stunned silence. Though they didn’t know the specifics, they understood the Alchemy Sect’s power. Yang Hao wouldn’t let them go so easily.
Take the pill, and be enslaved forever.
Refuse, and face certain death.
What choice was there?
Even the fiery-tempered Hai Wanggong had to yield. “Lord Yang Hao, we’re just small players. Surely such potent medicine isn’t necessary?”
Yang Hao rapped the table impatiently. “I’ve shown my sincerity. Now it’s your turn.”
But the price was steep.
The six leaders hesitated, knowing full well what those pills represented. Swallowing them meant the Ten Sword Sects would forever belong to the Alchemy Sect—with no chance of rebellion.
The empire’s millennia-old order, the balance of power across countless lives—everything hinged on these six pills. The Elder Council would be cornered, its influence stripped away until Yang Hao could topple it entirely.
All of it rested on these six tiny orbs.
How could they possibly swallow them?
Yang Hao smirked and raised the stick. “If you refuse, whether the Elder Council lives or dies won’t matter to you. I guarantee the Ten Sword Sects will vanish from the universe within forty-eight hours. The Elders won’t lift a finger to save you. But take the pills, and even if the Council falls, your sects will thrive—perhaps even rise higher. Self-preservation is natural. Is the Elder Council’s fate worth your lives?”
His words left the leaders grimacing. Harsh, but true. Their alliance with the Elder Council had always been one of mutual exploitation. With Yang Hao’s rise and the Elders’ decline, why chain themselves to a sinking ship?
Yet the stakes were cosmic. The first to act might also be the first to face the Elders’ wrath.
Ling Ziyan, understanding their hesitation, had prepared for this. With a subtle, nearly imperceptible gesture of her shimmering nails, she gave the signal.
Suddenly, the newly appointed leader of the Nethershade Assassins stood. Without hesitation, he grabbed a pill and swallowed it. “The Nethershade Assassins pledge loyalty to Lord Yang Hao.”
The move shocked everyone. The Nethershade Assassins were believed to be the Elder Council’s most loyal—their members handpicked and groomed by the Elders themselves.
But Yang Hao only smiled. This was the plan.
After the battles at Comet’s Origin and the Strangling Bureau, the Council’s loyalists within Nethershade had been decimated. Ling Ziyan, once their leader, had quietly placed her own people in power—including this new head.
The dam had broken.
Yang Hao tossed him a bundle. “The Judgment Sword and the ‘Blood Ambush’ manual—all yours.”
The Nethershade leader drew the sword, its dark power flooding the room. After so long, their divine blade had returned.
The other five leaders’ resolve crumbled.
When none had acted, refusal was easy. But now?
The Yan Family’s leader swallowed his pill in a flash, eyes alight with anticipation.
Yang Hao flicked his wrist, sending the Healing Sword and several pill formulas into the man’s hands.
From there, the rest fell like dominoes.
Some took the pill willingly, others with gritted teeth—but all swallowed it in the end.
As Hai Wanggong gulped down the last pill, Yang Hao exhaled in relief.
He had every right to. From the moment his journey began on Thunderstar, his life had been intertwined with the Ten Sword Sects. Their battles had defined him.
Now, it was over.
The mighty Ten Sword Sects, once the Supreme One’s vanguard, now bowed to Yang Hao.
Tonight, the forest outside was silent. But those gathered under the lamplight knew—the empire’s night, its day, every inch of its land, had changed forever.
From this night onward, the forest outside was silent, but under the lamplight, all knew that the empire’s night, its day, and every inch of its soil had undergone a monumental transformation.
Now, the most powerful force in the universe and the player with the greatest resources to play the game of chess has already become Yang Hao.
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