As Yang Hao and his companions were holding a secret meeting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyang had predicted, had erupted into chaos.
The three hundred elders, ever since learning of the Ten Swords Sect’s betrayal, had been consumed by rage. They were desperate to rush out and eradicate every traitor from the Ten Swords Sect, along with Yang Hao.
But in times like these, the nine Elder Stewards showed their seasoned experience. They quickly suppressed the elders’ fury, timely reorganized the defensive lines, and began to calculate the resources currently available.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the very mountain beneath their feet.
The nine Stewards understood the current situation better than anyone. The deadly trap they had once set for Yang Hao from the Dan Ding Sect now seemed to have returned to haunt them. The daily consumption of the three hundred elders was no small matter—they, like Yang Hao, required vast amounts of herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The current problem was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords Sect, and the family army. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real trouble was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow of Fusion. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to strike back immediately, to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would also be exhausted. It would be a pyrrhic victory, leaving the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At that moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t hand it over to him!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently. “I wish he would die right now!”
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“That’s because he’s too powerful,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her posture further, not daring to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight presiding elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he bowed to the Supreme One’s physical form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Emperor Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, make him kneel before you! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything. And how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet everything you do is for your father—covering for him, shielding him from danger. What a fine daughter you are! Do you have no loyalty to the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by blood, she knew of her father’s rebellious intentions but believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. She had secretly mediated, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Elder Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up with hatred and hurling her into a containment barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but retracted his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t insist on killing her.
“Enough!” Wu Yi acted as if he hadn’t noticed Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s physical form. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Emperor Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days later.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations. Meanwhile, the Merchant Guild’s swordmaster legions and the Western Territory’s forces infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the entire empire would be overturned, and the Senate would emerge victorious.
The night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their footsteps and exchanged commands the only sounds.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird flying past would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, but nearly impossible in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards. Secretly established by Qin Feng and rebuilt multiple times after heavy losses, the “Wind” Legion’s commander was a battle-hardened veteran, his three horrific facial scars a testament to his experience.
As the commander led his squad to the base of the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at the bizarre sight before him.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, slowly seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
This method of infiltration was unimaginable. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace and streaked toward the emperor’s bedchambers.
“Assassins!!” the commander screamed hoarsely. “Assa—”
But before he could finish, he realized his brothers-in-arms had already collapsed, their faces deathly pale.
His voice died in his throat as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his neck.
Elder Ghost glanced at the corpses of the patrol squad, satisfied, before joining his comrades in flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s bedchambers.
The nine elders stood before the bedchambers, their emotions complex. Legend held that centuries ago, this palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the nine elders took positions around the bedchambers, each pressing a hand against the thick stone walls.
As the nine most powerful beings in the universe, killing Emperor Yinglie would be simple. But they intended this assassination to send a message to the world—the Senate was inviolable and unopposable.
Thus, they resolved to bury Emperor Yinglie—using the very palace the Supreme One had built to entomb the entire imperial family.
The nine presiding elders unleashed their power simultaneously. The sky trembled as crimson clouds gathered, but compared to the elders’ unleashed might, the phenomenon was insignificant.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack crept up the bedchambers’ foundation, spreading like a flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light descended as the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks shattered. Golden tiles exploded into dust. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire bedchambers collapsed rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial palace crumbled in an unprecedented disaster—a cataclysmic earthquake.
Beyond the bedchambers, the grand hall fell next. The elders’ power, undiminished, reduced towering pillars to rubble. The golden steps melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic feature—collapsed like dominoes.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial palace, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s founding, was reduced to rubble under the nine presiding elders’ assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
Who could have guessed that Yang Hao’s side would act so swiftly and strike so fiercely, pushing them into a corner so quickly?
The Stewards naturally wanted to retaliate immediately, longing to reduce Yang Hao to dust and condemn him to eternal damnation.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. The current Yang Hao, as the most powerful military official in the Empire, commanded the entire Western Territory. His ranks were filled with experts, including more than ten sword master regiments stationed permanently in the Dan Ding Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty sword master regiments under his command.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Dan Ding Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but the centuries of accumulated strength of the Senate would also be severely depleted, possibly resulting in mutual destruction. At that time, the Imperial Court and other factions would seize the opportunity.
This was a dilemma—a death trap.
It was a grand scheme orchestrated by Yang Hao to eliminate the Senate. The Elder Stewards never imagined that such a deadly trap would eventually fall back on them. This was what people called instant retribution.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Elder Council was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were eager to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, strategically consolidated their forces, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose—leaving them with nothing but the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of their predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to have turned against them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Elder Council could barely hold on.
The current crisis stemmed from losing five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. Thus, they took turns standing watch.
Yet, no one had anticipated Yang Hao’s swift and devastating counterattack, which had cornered them in an instant.
The presiding elders naturally wanted to strike back immediately—to crush Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen Sword Master Regiments stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master Regiments to his command.
If the Elder Mountain clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might kill Yang Hao, but centuries of the Elder Council’s accumulated power would be spent in the process. The result would be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had set to strangle the Elder Council. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern.
Princess Xianlan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind roared at Xianlan. “We entrusted you with the Ten Sword Stream, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die right now!” Xianlan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xianlan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed power upon us and the Elder Council, yet we have fallen to this state. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind clenched his fists. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are its shaft, and we nine presiding elders are its tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xianlan panicked, crawling forward on her knees. “Please don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize to you—just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, her forehead striking the ground repeatedly.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. The enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—yet how have you repaid us? You claim to serve us, but in truth, you’ve always protected your father, shielding him from every danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! But have you ever considered the Elder Council that raised you?”
Xianlan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Elder Council—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true loyalty had always been to her father, Emperor Yinglie. She knew of his rebellious intentions but believed no one could defeat the elders. So, she secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Elder Council.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no defense, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike landed, Elder Rong Sui flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Sui couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body while we nine storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s head! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations, while the Merchant Guild’s and Western Territory’s Sword Master Regiments infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Elder Council noticed these movements but remained focused on their plan. They believed its execution would overturn the empire’s fate, allowing them to reverse their defeat.
The night was ink-black, thick enough to drip from the sky. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the imperial city, sending chills down spines.
Tonight, the imperial city was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their footsteps and calls the only sounds.
The barrier of radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet.
After several battles, the imperial city’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, but nearly impossible in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the imperial guards. Secretly trained by Qin Feng and rebuilt after repeated losses, its commander bore three gruesome scars—testaments to his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully entered the palace and streaked toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back to reality.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he turned to find his brothers-in-arms already collapsed, their faces ghastly pale—dead.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the corpses before following his comrades toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial bedchamber, their emotions complex. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, remnants of that power might linger within.
Exchanging glances, they positioned themselves at nine points around the chamber, palms pressed to the thick stone walls.
Killing Yinglie would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Elder Council was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their brilliance paled against the elders’ might.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation, spreading like floodwaters across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns, shaking the heavens. Dazzling light rained down, and the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks shattered. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire bedchamber collapsed rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the bedchamber, the grand hall fell next. The elders’ power lingered in the air, directed by their will. Pillars as thick as ancient trees toppled, shattered like toy blocks.
A hundred pillars supporting the grand hall screamed as they disintegrated. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the imperial city’s proudest symbol—collapsed layer by layer, like dominoes, unstoppable and sorrowful.
The officials’ and royals’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering city walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black palace—the pinnacle of the imperial city’s martial might—succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s creation, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords and Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that, within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly endure.
The immediate crisis was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing watch.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, driving them into a corner in one fell swoop?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory, commanding countless elite warriors. Over a dozen swordmaster legions were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process—a mutually assured destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions free to exploit the chaos.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Swords to you, and you handed them over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give them to Yang Hao! I wish he would die this instant!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is thriving, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“That’s because he’s too formidable,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could!”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he turned to bow before the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed power upon us and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi waved his hand dismissively. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable,” Wu Yi said coldly. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly,” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If not for our mercy during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago,” Wu Yi said, his gaze piercing Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified beyond measure, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you—just don’t kill him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow repeatedly.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face twisted with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care—and how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet everything you do is for your father, shielding him at every turn. What a dutiful daughter you are! But have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan collapsed, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true loyalty lay with her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by filial love, she had secretly maneuvered to protect him, believing no one could ever defeat the Senate. She had hoped to preserve a final lifeline for the imperial family when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a containment barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t insist on killing her.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form while we nine storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes stirred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations,” while swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but remained focused on their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and secure their victory.
Night fell like ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the imperial palace, sending chills down spines.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their synchronized footsteps and hushed commands the only sounds.
The radar and gravity barriers were invisible, but any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, but nearly impossible in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards. Secretly trained by Qin Feng and rebuilt after repeated losses, its commander bore three gruesome scars—testaments to his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an impossible sight.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality as the smoke drifted toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assas—”
But his voice died as he realized his comrades—men who had fought and bled with him—lay dead at his feet, faces frozen in terror.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the corpses before joining his comrades in their flight toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the chambers, emotions complex. Legends said the palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power centuries ago—meaning these very chambers might still hold traces of his might.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chambers, palms pressed against the thick stone walls.
Killing Yinglie would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also send a message: the Senate was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie—and the entire imperial family—using the palace the Supreme One had built.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns, shaking the heavens. Dazzling light descended as the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks disintegrated. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in seconds.
The entire structure collapsed under the elders’ power—and this was only the beginning.
The imperial palace, standing for five centuries, was reduced to rubble—a mountainous heap hundreds of meters tall.
The elders’ message was clear: defiance meant annihilation.
And Yang Hao’s reckoning would come next.
“Every time you say you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Hei Feng rebuked Xian Lan angrily. “I handed the Ten Swords Sect to you, and you actually handed them over to Yang Hao!”
“Master… I didn’t hand them over to Yang Hao. I wish he were dead right now!” Xian Lan raised her head and said forcefully.
“What happened then?” Hei Feng, even more furious at her defiance, said, “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan wept. “I’ve done everything I could.”
“Done everything?” Hei Feng sneered, “Then why didn’t you kill Kan Ling when I told you to?”
Xian Lan trembled, lowering her kneeling posture even further, too afraid to respond.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream and Yang Hao himself.
But at this critical moment, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly survive.
The trouble now was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains and feared Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory with countless experts under his command. Over a dozen swordmaster legions were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but the Senate’s centuries of accumulated power would inevitably be exhausted, possibly resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s body, all nine presiding elders were present.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before the elders, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to Yang Hao! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened up and spoke forcefully.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan trembled, lowering her kneeling posture further, not daring to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and hadn’t yet recovered.
The gazes of the eight presiding elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears falling as he turned and bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also an opportunity for us. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true power.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable,” Wu Yi said coldly. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly,” Wu Yi nodded. “We’ll kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned pale with horror.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Emperor Yinglie long ago,” Wu Yi said, his gaze like needles piercing Xian Lan’s face.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you. Please, spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his mistakes ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face was dark with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care. And how have you repaid us? You claimed to serve us, yet in everything, you acted for your father’s sake, shielding him at every turn. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no shame before the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, dripping from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always been an enchantress serving the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, she knew of her father’s rebellious intentions but believed no one could defeat the elders. So she secretly mediated, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had already understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before grabbing her with hatred and tossing her into a barrier shield.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood that Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t force the issue.
“Enough!” Wu Yi pretended not to notice Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Emperor Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days later.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s old and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations at an unprecedented pace. Meanwhile, swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the entire empire would be overturned, and the Senate would emerge victorious.
The night was ink-black, so thick it seemed to drip from the sky. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the imperial city, sending chills down the spines of those it touched.
Tonight, the imperial city felt eerily silent. Occasionally, squads of imperial guards passed by, their synchronized footsteps and shouted commands the only sounds breaking the stillness.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird flying past would suddenly collide with an unseen wall, plummeting to the ground.
After several battles, the imperial city’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the imperial guards’ “Wind” Sword Legion. Secretly established by Qin Feng and rebuilt multiple times after heavy losses, the “Wind” Legion’s commander was a battle-hardened veteran, his three horrific facial scars a testament to his experience.
As the commander led his squad to the base of the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at the bizarre sight before him.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, slowly seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering the slightest alarm.
This method of infiltration was unimaginable. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures had fully entered the imperial city and were swiftly drifting toward the emperor’s bedchambers.
“Assassins!!” the commander screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But before he could finish, he realized his comrades—those who had lived and died alongside him—were already collapsed on the ground, their faces ghastly pale, already dead.
His voice died in his throat as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his neck.
Elder Ghost glanced at the corpses of the patrol squad with satisfaction before following his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s bedchambers.
As the nine stood before the bedchambers, their emotions were mixed, but their resolve was unified. Legend held that centuries ago, this imperial city had been built by the Supreme One with divine power. If so, the bedchambers might still retain traces of that power.
Exchanging glances, the nine took positions around the bedchambers, each pressing a palm against the thick stone walls.
These nine, the most powerful beings in the universe, could easily kill Emperor Yinglie. But they intended this assassination to send a message to the world: the Senate was inviolable and unopposable.
So they resolved to bury Emperor Yinglie—using the very bedchambers and imperial city the Supreme One had built to entomb the entire imperial family.
The nine presiding elders unleashed their power simultaneously. The sky trembled as crimson clouds gathered, but compared to the elders’ unleashed might, the phenomenon was insignificant.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack crept up the bedchambers’ foundation like a nocturnal insect, spreading inexorably until the entire stone structure was veined with fractures.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like blaring horns, shook the crimson clouds. Dazzling light filled the sky as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded into powder midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the nine elders’ power, the entire bedchambers rapidly disintegrated.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade, as if struck by an unprecedented earthquake.
After the bedchambers came the grand hall. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged there. Thick stone pillars toppled like matchsticks, their collapse echoing like the lament of the heavens.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand hall shattered in a deafening chorus. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before it hit the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
And still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the imperial city’s most iconic landmark—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall unstoppable, tragic, and resolute.
The palaces housing officials and royalty fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The imperial city’s towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black palace—the pinnacle of the imperial city’s martial might—succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, built by the Supreme One and standing for five centuries, was reduced to rubble under the nine presiding elders’ full assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
The eyes of the eight Stewards all turned to Elder Wu Yi, the chief summoner.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Elder Council was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords Sect. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, strategically withdrew their forces, and tallied the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they had lost nearly everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just food—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Elder Council could barely hold on.
The real trouble was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords Sect, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. They could only take shifts in their vigil.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
The presiding elders naturally wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had already missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao stood as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruling the entire Western Territory with countless elite swordsmen under his command. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of their sword regiments to his control.
If the Elder Mountain were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might still kill Yang Hao—but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would only give the imperial family and other factions an opening to strike.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Elder Council. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern.
Xian Lan, clad in the black robes of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what happens?” Elder Black Wind snarled at her. “We entrusted you with the Ten Swords Sect, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die this instant!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking through gritted teeth.
“And yet?” Black Wind’s fury only grew at her defiance. “Yang Hao is thriving, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Kan Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering herself further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, his severe injuries had yet to heal.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed us with power and the Elder Council, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time we reshape the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill Emperor Ying Lie.”
“What?!” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Ying Lie long ago.” Wu Yi’s piercing gaze bore into Xian Lan.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan panicked, crawling forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize—I’ll bring him to beg for your mercy! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what came of it?”
“Great Master!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s rage was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet every move you make is to protect your father, to absolve him of blame, to shield him from danger. What a fine daughter you are! Do you have no loyalty to the Elder Council that nurtured you?”
Xian Lan collapsed, her heart in agony, barely able to move. Blood surged backward through her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of enchantress, serving the Elder Council—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true motive had always been to protect her father. She knew of his rebellious heart but believed no one could ever defeat the elders. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known?
In this world, there truly existed a nemesis to the Elder Council.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had known—sooner or later, a final battle would come between Elder Mountain and the imperial family. And Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, it had all come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll end your life!”
But before his strike could land, Elder Rong Sui flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her and hurling her into a sealed barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Sui couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With no one else objecting, he couldn’t force the issue.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the palace and take Ying Lie’s head. Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Ying Lie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be done in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle shifts were underway. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations,” while sword regiments from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Elder Council wasn’t blind to these movements—but they had their own plan. The presiding elders believed that once executed, the empire’s skies would turn, and the council would reverse their defeat.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the imperial palace, carrying an eerie chill.
Tonight, the palace was quieter than usual. Patrols of imperial guards passed by at intervals, their synchronized footsteps and crisp salutes the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravitational fields lay in wait—any bird flying too close would abruptly collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses appeared lax but were in truth tighter than ever.
Tonight’s main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment, a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran of countless battles, bore three gruesome scars as proof.
As he led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravitational barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back to reality.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died as he turned—his brothers-in-arms lay dead behind him, faces ghastly pale.
He couldn’t utter another sound. Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers had already closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol before joining his comrades, gliding toward Emperor Ying Lie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial quarters, emotions complex. Legends said this palace had been built by the Supreme One centuries ago with divine power. If true, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the palace, palms pressed against the thick stone walls.
As the nine most powerful beings in the universe, killing Ying Lie would be simple. But they intended this assassination to send a message—the Elder Council was invincible, unopposable.
They would bury Ying Lie—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
The nine elders unleashed their power. The heavens trembled as crimson clouds gathered, though their might dwarfed even this spectacle.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack slithered up the palace’s foundation like a creeping insect, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns, shaking the clouds. Dazzling light rained down as unimaginable energy descended.
The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined might, the entire palace disintegrated in moments.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Beyond the palace, the grand halls were next. The elders’ power lingered in the air, refusing to dissipate.
Pillars thicker than ancient trees shattered like twigs, their collapse thunderous. The roof caved in, fracturing before it even hit the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark—collapsed layer by layer, a domino effect of ruin.
The residences of officials and royalty fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
These words weighed heavily on everyone.
But Wu Yi suddenly changed his tone: “But now, this is also an opportunity for us. We have already lost everything, so there is nothing left to lose. We should go all out and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true strength.”
“What should we do?” Hei Feng clenched his fists eagerly. “Shall we immediately gather people and storm the Dan Ding Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head: “What is the most powerful thing on the Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Hei Feng’s words made the other elders frown.
“If the Elder Mountain is a gun, then the three hundred elders are the barrel, and we nine Stewards are the tip. The barrel can be severed at any time, but the tip is unbreakable,” Wu Yi’s expression was cold and grim. “Now it’s time for us to do something, just like the thirty-six royal branches’ war. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Heh…” Tian Ce seemed to understand Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly,” Wu Yi nodded. “We will go to kill Emperor Ying Lie!”
“What?” At least three Elder Stewards exclaimed in shock, and Xian Lan, kneeling on the ground, was even more horrified.
“There aren’t many experts in the Imperial City. If we hadn’t been too soft-hearted back then, we could have killed Emperor Ying Lie during the Dragon-Imprisoning Formation,” Wu Yi’s gaze was like needles piercing Xian Lan’s face.
“Master!” Xian Lan was in extreme panic, crawling forward on her knees. “Master? Please don’t kill my father. I’ll make him come and apologize to all of you. Please don’t kill him.”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Can his sins ever be atoned for? We already gave him a chance during the Dragon-Imprisoning Formation. What was the result?”
“Master!” Xian Lan cried out, trembling all over, unable to speak further, only pounding her head on the ground.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly strategizing, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred senators had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were eager to charge out and slaughter the traitors of the Ten Sword Stream and Yang Hao himself.
But at this critical moment, the nine presiding senators demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the senators’ rage, tightened their defensive lines, and took stock of the resources still available to them.
The situation was indeed dire. The senators realized that within just a year, they had lost nearly everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding senators understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred senators weren’t just limited to food—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these resources, the Senate could barely hold on.
The current crisis stemmed from losing five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The senators had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding senators had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. Thus, they took turns standing guard.
No one expected Yang Hao to strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant.
Naturally, the presiding senators wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military official, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen Sword Master Regiments stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master Regiments to his command.
If the Senate were to engage in an all-out battle with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would be exhausted in the process. The outcome could be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had laid to strangle the Senate. The presiding senators never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding senators stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Master… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, ruling the seas with beauties in his arms.”
“It’s because he’s too powerful,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could!”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan trembled, lowering her kneeling posture further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight presiding senators turned to Elder Wu Yi, their leader.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he bowed to the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also an opportunity for us. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind clenched his fists. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on the Senate Mountain?”
“The three hundred senators?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If the Senate Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred senators are the shaft, and we nine presiding senators are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding senators gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you. Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Master!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan spat blood, flung far away. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by a senator.
Wu Yi’s face twisted with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like our own daughter, taught you everything. And how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet always protecting your father, helping him evade danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! Do you have no shame before the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart in agony, barely able to move. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, orchestrating both the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, she had secretly intervened on his behalf, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the inevitable conflict arose.
But who could have known that a nemesis for the Senate truly existed in this world?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between the Senate and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing her lack of rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face. With a look of hatred, he grabbed her and flung her into a barrier seal.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood that Rong Wei, unwilling to kill his own disciple, had saved her. With no one else objecting, he couldn’t insist on executing her.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all senators will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s desperate struggle before death.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations. The Merchant Guild’s and Western Territory’s Sword Master Regiments infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate was aware of these movements but remained focused on their own plan. The presiding senators believed that once executed, the entire empire would be overturned, and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night fell like ink, thick enough to drip from the sky. The wind howled through the forests outside the imperial palace, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed by occasionally, their footsteps and exchanged commands the only sounds.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird attempting to fly through would collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses appeared lax on the surface but were tighter than ever.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the imperial guards. Secretly established by Qin Feng and rebuilt multiple times after heavy losses, the regiment’s leader bore three gruesome scars—testaments to his experience.
As the regiment leader led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an impossible sight.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method was beyond comprehension. The leader stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace and darted toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assas—”
But before he could finish, he realized his comrades—those who had fought and survived alongside him—lay dead at his feet, their faces ghastly pale.
His voice died in his throat as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his neck.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol before following his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine stood before the chambers, their emotions complex. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If true, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chambers, pressing their palms against the thick stone walls.
These nine, among the most powerful beings in the universe, could easily kill Yinglie. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Senate was invincible and unopposable.
They would bury Yinglie, using the very palace and city the Supreme One had built to annihilate the imperial family entirely.
As the nine exerted their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their display paled against the senators’ unleashed might.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation, spreading like floodwaters across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns. The sky blazed with light as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace shook—then collapsed.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in an instant.
Under the nine’s power, the entire palace disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending catastrophe—an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the chambers, the grand hall fell next. The senators’ energy, still concentrated in the air, reduced towering pillars to rubble. The roof shattered before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark—collapsed like dominoes, layer by layer, unstoppable and sorrowful.
The officials’ and royals’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black hall, symbolizing the palace’s highest martial power, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s reign, was reduced to rubble under the nine senators’ assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly strategizing, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred senators had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream—along with Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine senior stewards of the Senate demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the senators’ rage, tightened their defensive lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was dire. The senators realized that, within just a year, they had lost nearly everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine stewards understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred senators weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy sources to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real problem was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The senators had been cut off from their supply lines.
Since returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the stewards had been guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. So they took turns standing watch.
No one had expected Yang Hao to strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant.
The stewards naturally wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao stood as the most powerful military officer in the empire, commanding the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen Sword Master Regiments stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of their own Sword Master Regions to his control.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance at killing Yang Hao—but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process. The outcome could be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock. A death trap.
One that Yang Hao had set for the Senate. The stewards never imagined that the very scheme they had devised to annihilate others would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine stewards stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress—though without her veil—knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind snarled at her. “We entrusted you with the Ten Sword Stream, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him!” Xian Lan straightened, her voice strained. “I wish he would die right now!”
“And yet?” Black Wind’s fury flared at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, ruling the seas with beauties in his arms.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling’er when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her head further. She didn’t dare respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight stewards turned to Chief Steward Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred senators?” Black Wind’s answer made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred senators are the shaft, and we nine stewards are the tip,” Wu Yi said coldly. “The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable. Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time we changed the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill the Heroic Emperor.”
“What?!” At least three stewards gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed the Heroic Emperor then.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan crawled forward in terror. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize—I’ll bring him to beg for your forgiveness! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his crimes? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling so violently she could barely speak. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi flicked his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. The enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by the elders.
Wu Yi’s face twisted with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet every move you make is for your father’s sake, shielding him from danger at every turn. What a fine daughter you are! Do you have no shame before the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xian Lan lay crumpled, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood seeped from her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Annihilation Scheme—her true loyalty had always been to her father, the Heroic Emperor. She knew of his rebellious heart, but she believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve some hope for the imperial family when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had known that war between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and that Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike could land, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a barrier seal.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple, so he had saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s frustration. “In three days, all senators will guard the Supreme One’s form. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
What could be done in three days?
Beneath the silent surface of the imperial capital, subtle changes were unfolding. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations.” Sword Master Regiments from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but remained focused on their own plan. The stewards believed that once executed, the entire empire would be overturned—and the Senate would emerge victorious once more.
The night was thick as ink, the wind cutting cold through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily quiet. Patrols of imperial guards passed by occasionally, their footsteps crisp, their calls of recognition sharp in the stillness.
The barrier of radar and gravitational fields was invisible—but any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and drop lifelessly to the ground.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the imperial guards—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Their commander, a veteran of countless battles, bore three gruesome scars across his face as proof of his experience.
As he led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped silently through the gravitational barrier. Not a single alarm sounded.
The intrusion method was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality when the smoke-like figures had fully entered the palace grounds, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he roared hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he turned to find his brothers-in-arms already collapsed, their faces ghastly pale—dead before they could react.
His own cry was cut short as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
With a satisfied smirk at the corpses of the patrol, Ghost followed his companions toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
Standing before the imperial bedchamber, the nine stewards felt a mix of emotions. Legends said that centuries ago, this palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chamber, each pressing a palm against the thick stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also send a message—the Senate was invincible, unopposable.
They would bury the Heroic Emperor in the very palace the Supreme One had built, entombing the entire imperial family beneath its ruins.
As the nine stewards unleashed their power, the heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their glow paled against the overwhelming energy radiating from the elders.
A tremor erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“HAH!”
“HAH!”
Nine thunderous shouts echoed like war horns. The sky blazed with light as unimaginable energy descended. The palace, built by the Supreme One, began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles shattered midair. Crystal windows vaporized in an instant.
Under the stewards’ combined might, the entire bedchamber disintegrated in moments.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial palace crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the bedchamber, the grand hall was next. The stewards’ energy, still swirling in the air, converged upon it. Towering pillars shattered like twigs, reduced to powder.
The hundred pillars supporting the hall wailed as they exploded. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before it even hit the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall both inevitable and tragic.
The residences of officials and royalty crumbled.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls collapsed.
Even the black hall of Qin Feng, symbolizing the palace’s highest martial authority, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial palace, standing for five centuries since its creation by the Supreme One, was reduced to rubble under the nine stewards’ assault—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart more broken than her body, unable to move almost. Blood flowed from her meridians, trickling down the corners of her mouth.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Elder Council was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were eager to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their defensive lines, and tallied the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a single year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing remaining was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to have turned against them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these resources, the Elder Council could hardly survive.
The immediate crisis was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long periods guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. Thus, they took turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s forces would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he would never reincarnate.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled over the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions under his command.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao. But the centuries of accumulated power within the Elder Council would also be exhausted, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would only give the imperial family and other factions an opportunity to strike.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Elder Council. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress—though without her veil—knelt before the elders, looking pitiful and fragile.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind roared at Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to Yang Hao! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened her back and spoke forcefully.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“That’s because he’s too powerful,” Xian Lan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan trembled, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Summoner Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he turned to bow before the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Elder Council, yet we have fallen to such depths. If the Great Master were to return from his immortal journey, how could we face him?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone present.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also an opportunity for us. We have lost everything—there is nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Elder Council.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Hah…” Tian Ce seemed to understand Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill the Heroic Emperor!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, we could have killed the Heroic Emperor then.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified beyond measure, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you. Please, spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his mistakes ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face was filled with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like our own daughter, teaching you with care. And how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet in everything, you think only of your father—covering for him, helping him escape danger. What a fine daughter you are! Do you have no loyalty to the Elder Council that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always been an enchantress, serving the Elder Council—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true motive had always been to protect her father, the Heroic Emperor. Bound by familial love, she knew of her father’s rebellious intentions but believed no one could ever defeat the elders. So she had secretly mediated, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Elder Council.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had already understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing her lack of rebuttal, Elder Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up with a look of hatred and tossing her into a barrier seal.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t insist on killing her.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s desperate struggle before death.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect—its downfall was near.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for “vacations,” while the Merchant Guild’s and Western Territory’s swordmaster legions infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Elder Council wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the entire empire would be overturned—and the Elder Council would emerge victorious.
The night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed by occasionally, their footsteps and calls the only sounds breaking the stillness.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards—a core force secretly established by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Their commander, his face scarred by three gruesome marks, was a veteran of countless battles.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at the bizarre sight before him.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—slowly seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
This method of infiltration was unimaginable. The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality when the smoke-like figures had fully entered the palace grounds, speeding toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he realized his brothers-in-arms lay dead behind him, their faces ghastly pale.
His own voice failed him as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Elder Ghost glanced at the corpses of the patrol before following his companions toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
Standing before the chambers, the nine elders felt a mix of emotions. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One himself with divine power. If so, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the elders positioned themselves at nine points around the chambers, pressing their palms against the thick stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Elder Council was inviolable and unopposable.
They would bury the Heroic Emperor—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor rose from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns, shaking the crimson clouds. Dazzling light filled the sky as unimaginable energy descended. The palace built by the Supreme One began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire chamber collapsed rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial palace crumbled in an unprecedented disaster—a cataclysm like no other.
Behind the chambers, the grand hall fell next. The elders’ power, still lingering in the air, converged there. Towering pillars shattered like matchsticks under the primordial force.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand hall wailed as they disintegrated. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
And still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic feature—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall unstoppable, tragic, and resolute.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even the black hall housing Qin Feng—the palace’s strongest warrior—collapsed beneath the mournful night wind.
The imperial palace, standing for five centuries since its creation by the Supreme One, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
But who would have known that there was indeed an opponent capable of defeating the Senate in this world?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan already understood that there would eventually be a battle between Elder Mountain and the royal family, and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, everything had become a reality, but what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing that Xian Lan had almost no rebuttal, Elder Hei Feng was even more furious. He rushed forward, summoning his artifact: “I want your life!”
But before Elder Hei Feng’s artifact could land, Elder Rong Li’s figure flashed, and with a slap, four handprints were left on Xian Lan’s face. With full hatred, he grabbed the woman and with a wave of his hand, threw her into a sealed barrier.
Elder Hei Feng grunted in dissatisfaction but retracted his artifact. Even he, as dull as he was, understood that Elder Rong Li was reluctant to kill his own apprentice, thus saving her life. However, since no one else spoke, Elder Hei Feng had no way to insist on killing her.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate erupted into chaos just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, exploded with fury. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to have turned against them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly hold on.
The trouble now was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had already missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military official, ruled the entire Western Territory with countless elite warriors under his command. Over a dozen Sword Master regiments were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master regiments to his control.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would also be exhausted—likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to annihilate the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would rebound upon them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical body, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Princess Xianlan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Blackwind roared at Xianlan. “We entrusted you with the Ten Sword Stream, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Master… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die right now!” Xianlan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Blackwind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xianlan wept. “I did everything I could!”
“Everything?” Blackwind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” said Tiance, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears falling as he turned to bow before the Supreme One’s body. “Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wuyi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What do we do?” Blackwind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wuyi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Blackwind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wuyi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tiance seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wuyi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xianlan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, we could’ve killed Yinglie then.” Wuyi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Masters!” Xianlan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you—just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Master!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further, only kowtowing desperately.
Wuyi waved his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like our own daughter, taught you with care—and how have you repaid us? Claiming to serve us, yet in everything, you’ve only thought of your father, shielding him at every turn. What a fine daughter you’ve been—but have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xianlan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wuyi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Annihilation schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, she had secretly maneuvered to mitigate his rebellious stance, believing no one could ever defeat the Senate. She had hoped to preserve a final lifeline for the imperial family when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan had known that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xianlan do?
Seeing her lack of rebuttal, Blackwind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Blackwind could strike, Elder Rongwei flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a sealed barrier.
Blackwind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rongwei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Blackwind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Blackwind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days later.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations, while the Merchant Guild’s and Western Territory’s Sword Master regiments infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and reverse their fortunes overnight.
The night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed by occasionally, their footsteps and exchanged commands the only sounds.
The radar and gravity barriers were invisible, but any bird flying too close would abruptly collide with an unseen wall and plummet.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, but near-impossible in reality.
Tonight’s main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the imperial guards. Secretly trained by Qin Feng and rebuilt repeatedly after heavy losses, its commander bore three gruesome scars—testaments to his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The method of infiltration was beyond belief. The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality as the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace and darted toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assas—”
But his voice died as he realized his comrades lay dead behind him, faces ghastly pale.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Elder Ghost surveyed the corpses before following his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the chambers, emotions mixed but resolve firm. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power—meaning traces of his might might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the nine took positions around the chamber, palms pressed against the thick stone walls.
Killing Yinglie would be easy for these nine most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Senate was inviolable and betrayal unthinkable.
They would bury Yinglie with his palace, using the Supreme One’s own creation to annihilate the imperial family.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation like a creeping insect, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light rained down as the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks disintegrated. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
The entire chamber collapsed under the elders’ power—and this was only the beginning.
The imperial palace crumbled in an unprecedented disaster, like a catastrophic earthquake.
Behind the chamber, the grand hall followed. The elders’ power, undiminished in the air, converged upon it. Pillars as thick as ancient trees shattered like twigs, their collapse echoing like mournful wails.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand hall exploded into dust. The roof collapsed mid-descent, fracturing further. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
And still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic feature—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall inexorable and tragic.
The officials’ and royals’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black hall, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, succumbed to the night wind’s lament.
The imperial palace, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s creation, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
Elder Wu Yi gazed into the distance, as if he could see through the thick stone walls and into the days ahead, witnessing Emperor Ying Lie’s desperate struggle before his death.
And Yang Hao’s Dan Ding Sect was not far from destruction either.
Three days, how much could be done in that time?
The seemingly silent capital was quietly undergoing changes. The Empire’s veteran ministers and key officials were fleeing the Milky Way for vacations faster than ever. Meanwhile, sword master regiments from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory were secretly infiltrating Earth but then disappeared without a trace.
The Senate was not unaware of these movements, but they had their own plans. The Stewards believed that once this plan was executed, the heavens over the Empire would be overturned, and the Senate would immediately turn the tide and win.
The night was as dark as ink, so thick it seemed ready to drip from the sky. The wind blew through the trees outside the Imperial City, sending a chill through the air.
While Yang Hao and his allies were deep in their secret discussions, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream—along with Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, strategically consolidated their forces, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they had lost nearly everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Dan Ding Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy sources to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real trouble was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. Their supply lines had been severed.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Dan Ding Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. So they took turns standing watch.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
The presiding elders naturally wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, the most powerful military officer in the empire, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen Sword Master Regiments stationed within the Dan Ding Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master Regiments to his command.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Dan Ding Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power. It would be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to swoop in.
This was a deadlock. A death trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Karma had come full circle.
At this moment, inside the Dan Ding Cavern, before the Supreme One’s body, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress—though without her veil—knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you’ll kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind snarled at her. “We entrusted you with the Ten Sword Stream, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him!” Xian Lan straightened, her voice strained. “I wish he’d die right now!”
“And yet?” Black Wind’s fury flared at her defiance. “Yang Hao is thriving, ruling the seas with beauties in his arms.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Still recovering from his injuries in the Hidden Dragon Pavilion battle, he sighed. “We need to focus on what we can do now.”
The eight elders turned their gazes to Chief Summoner Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we’ve fallen to this state. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true power.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Dan Ding Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the Thirty-Six Royal Branch Wars. It’s time to change the world again.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie.”
“What?” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could’ve killed Yinglie then.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan panicked, crawling forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize—I’ll bring him to beg for your forgiveness! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Master!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, her forehead striking the ground repeatedly.
Wu Yi flicked his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s rage burned. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything. And how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet always protecting your father, shielding him from every danger. What a dutiful daughter you’ve been—but what of the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xian Lan lay crumpled, her heart in agony, blood seeping from her lips as her meridians reversed.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had played the role of an enchantress, scheming the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold, her true loyalty had always been to her father. She had secretly intervened for him, knowing his rebellious heart, yet believing no one could ever defeat the Senate. She had hoped to preserve the royal family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood—sooner or later, war would come between Elder Mountain and the imperial family. And Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike landed, Elder Rong Wei flashed forward, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple. The others remained silent, leaving him no choice but to relent.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s frustration. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the palace and take Yinglie’s life. Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s dying struggles days from now.
And the Dan Ding Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
Three days—how much could change?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle shifts were underway. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations. Merchant Guild and Western Territory Sword Master Regiments infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the empire’s skies would turn, and the Senate would reverse their defeat.
Night hung thick as ink, the wind cutting cold through the trees outside the palace.
Tonight, the imperial city felt eerily still. Patrols of guards passed by, their footsteps and calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay hidden—until a bird collided mid-flight, plummeting to the ground.
After past battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax. Easy to breach in appearance, nearly impossible in truth.
Tonight’s main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the Imperial Guard. Secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt after repeated losses, their leader bore three scars as testament to his experience.
As the captain led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black specks drifted like smoke, seeping through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method defied belief. The captain stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Then he snapped back.
“Assassins!!” he screamed. “Assas—”
His voice died as he turned—his brothers-in-arms lay dead behind him, faces ghastly.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s lifelessly cold hand closed around his throat.
Ghost surveyed the corpses with satisfaction before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
Standing before the chambers, the nine elders felt complex emotions. Legends said the palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power centuries ago. If so, remnants of that power might linger here.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chamber, palms pressed to the stone.
Killing Yinglie would be easy for these nine most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also send a message—the Senate was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie with his own palace, the very city the Supreme One had built, erasing the imperial family entirely.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, paling against the energy radiating from them.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation, spreading like floodwaters across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns. Dazzling light filled the sky as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace shook—then collapsed.
Massive stones crumbled. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows turned to gas in seconds.
The entire chamber disintegrated under the elders’ power.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Beyond the chamber, the grand palace fell next. The elders’ energy lingered, directed by their will. Pillars shattered like toy blocks.
A hundred columns supporting the grand palace screamed as they exploded. The roof tore apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the city’s iconic monument—collapsed like dominoes, layer by layer, unstoppable and sorrowful.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s creation, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountain of wreckage hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But at this critical moment, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still available to them.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a single year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Dan Ding Sect now seemed to have turned back on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy sources to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly hold on.
The immediate problem was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long periods guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Dan Ding Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body recklessly, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had already missed their best chance to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions permanently stationed within the Dan Ding Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate were to engage the Dan Ding Sect in an all-out battle, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao. But centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would inevitably be exhausted, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opportunity to strike.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Karma had come full circle.
At this moment, inside the Dan Ding Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what happens?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Master… I didn’t hand it over to him! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened up, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to the Chief Summoner, Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he turned to bow before the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also an opportunity for us. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Dan Ding Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill the Heroic Emperor.”
“What?” At least three elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, we could have killed the Heroic Emperor long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified beyond measure, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you. Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Master!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face twisted with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care. And how have you repaid us? You claimed to serve us, yet in everything, you acted for your father’s sake—covering for him, helping him evade danger. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no shame before the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate and even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Strangling Scheme, her true motive had always been to protect her father, the Heroic Emperor. Bound by familial love, she knew of her father’s rebellious intentions but believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. So she had secretly mediated, hoping to preserve a final chance for the imperial family when the inevitable reckoning came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had already understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t force the issue.
“Enough!” Wu Yi acted as if he hadn’t noticed Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s death throes days later.
And the Dan Ding Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations at an unprecedented pace. Meanwhile, swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire’s balance of power and allow the Senate to reverse their defeat.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. The wind howled through the forests outside the imperial palace, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed by in tight formations, their footsteps crisp, their calls of challenge echoing briefly before fading.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird that flew too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively relaxed on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards—a core force secretly established by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. The legion’s commander, his face scarred by three gruesome marks, was a veteran of countless battles.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at the sight before him.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures had fully infiltrated the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he bellowed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died in his throat. Behind him, his brothers-in-arms lay dead, their faces ashen.
He could no longer speak—Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand had already closed around his neck.
Satisfied, Elder Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol before following his companions toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
As the nine elders stood before the imperial chambers, their emotions were complex. Legends said that centuries ago, this palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the elders positioned themselves at nine points around the chamber, pressing their palms against the thick stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also serve as a message—that the Senate was inviolable, its authority absolute.
They would bury the Heroic Emperor—using his own palace, the very structure the Supreme One had built, to annihilate the imperial family entirely.
Simultaneously, the nine elders unleashed their power. The sky trembled as crimson clouds gathered, though their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light erupted from the sky, raining down unimaginable energy. The palace built by the Supreme One began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined power, the imperial chambers disintegrated rapidly.
But this was only the beginning.
The entire palace complex crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the chambers, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, still concentrated in the air, now converged upon it. Towering pillars shattered like matchsticks, their fragments scattering like debris.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand hall wailed as they collapsed. The roof, torn apart before it could hit the ground, dissolved into the air. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
And still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark, once revered by millions—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its descent unstoppable, tragic, and resolute.
The residences of officials and royalty crumbled.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls toppled.
Even Qin Feng’s black fortress, the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial palace, standing for five centuries since its creation by the Supreme One, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
After several battles, the Imperial City’s defenses were now loose on the outside but tight on the inside. It seemed easy to attack at first glance, but in reality, it was extremely difficult.
While Yang Hao and his allies were deep in discussion, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were eager to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real trouble was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory, commanding countless elite warriors. Over a dozen Sword Master regiments were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master regiments to his control.
If the Senate truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process—likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to strike.
This was a deadlock. A death trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress—though unmasked—knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted you with the Ten Sword Stream, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently. “I wish he would die right now!”
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could!”
“Everything?” Black Wind scoffed. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also our opportunity. We have lost everything—there is nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind clenched his fists. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize—I swear! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything. And how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet every move you make is for your father—covering for him, shielding him from danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! But have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true loyalty had always been to her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by blood, she had secretly maneuvered to protect him, believing no one could ever defeat the Senate. She had hoped to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had known that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his weapon could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his weapon. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had saved her. With the others silent, he couldn’t insist on killing her.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be done in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes stirred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations. Sword Master regiments from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the empire’s balance would shift—and the Senate would turn defeat into victory.
The night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the palace.
Tonight, the imperial city was eerily silent. Patrols of guards passed by, their footsteps and calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay hidden. Any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet.
After past battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, but near-impossible in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the Imperial Guard. Its commander, a veteran of countless battles, bore three gruesome scars as proof of his experience.
As he led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion was unfathomable. The commander stood stunned, forgetting to sound the alarm—until the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace, speeding toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assas—”
But his voice died as he turned to see his brothers-in-arms already fallen, faces ghastly in death.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Ghost surveyed the dead guards with satisfaction before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the chambers, emotions complex. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, remnants of that power might linger within.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chambers, palms pressed to the thick stone walls.
As the nine most powerful beings in the universe, killing Yinglie would be simple. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Senate was inviolable, unopposable.
They would bury Yinglie using the very palace the Supreme One had built, entombing the entire imperial family.
The nine elders unleashed their power simultaneously. The sky trembled, crimson clouds gathering—but this was nothing compared to the energy radiating from them.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation, spreading like floodwaters across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns. The sky blazed with light as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles shattered midair. Crystal windows vaporized in seconds.
The entire chamber collapsed under the elders’ power—and this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade, like an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the chambers, the grand palace fell next. The elders’ energy hadn’t dissipated—it converged there. Pillars thicker than ancient trees shattered like twigs.
A hundred pillars supporting the grand palace wailed as they disintegrated. The roof collapsed mid-descent, dissolving into fragments. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic feature—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable and sorrowful.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even the black hall of Qin Feng, symbolizing the palace’s mightiest force, crumbled beneath the night’s mournful wind.
The imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly strategizing, the Senate erupted into chaos just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred senators, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords, exploded with fury. They were eager to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords and Yang Hao himself.
But at this critical moment, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the senators’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The senators realized that within just a year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once laid for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred senators weren’t just limited to food—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy sources to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly endure.
The immediate crisis lay in the loss of five hundred core planets, the defection of the Ten Swords, and the collapse of the family armies. The senators had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form within the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing watch.
Who could have anticipated that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also longed to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had already missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate were to engage the Alchemy Sword Sect in an all-out battle, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions free to exploit the chaos.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s physical form within the Alchemy Cavern.
Princess Xianlan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, her demeanor pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Blackwind berated Xianlan. “We entrusted the Ten Swords to you, and you handed them over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give them to Yang Hao! I wish he would die this instant!” Xianlan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Blackwind, incensed by her defiance, roared. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the seas!”
“It’s because he’s too formidable,” Xianlan wept. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Blackwind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tiance, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had yet to recover from his severe injuries.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Summoner Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears falling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s physical form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wuyi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What should we do?” Blackwind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wuyi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred senators?” Blackwind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred senators are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wuyi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tiance seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wuyi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wuyi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xianlan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize—I’ll bring him to beg for your forgiveness. Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wuyi waved his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care—and how have you repaid us? Claiming to serve us, yet in truth, you’ve always prioritized your father, shielding him at every turn. What a dutiful daughter you’ve been—but have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xianlan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wuyi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate and even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Strangling Scheme, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, she had known of his rebellious intentions but believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve a final lifeline for the imperial family when the inevitable reckoning came.
Yet who could have foreseen that a nemesis for the Senate would truly emerge?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan had known that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and that Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, all her fears had materialized. But what could she do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no rebuttal, Blackwind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Blackwind could strike, Elder Rongwei flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a containment barrier.
Blackwind snorted in dissatisfaction but retracted his artifact. Even he understood that Rongwei, unwilling to kill his own disciple, had saved her. With the others silent, Blackwind couldn’t press the issue.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Blackwind’s displeasure. “In three days, all senators will guard the Supreme One’s physical form. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the cavern walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now—and the impending downfall of Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect.
Three days—how much could be accomplished in that time?
Beneath the seemingly silent capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations, while swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate was aware of these movements but remained focused on their own plan. The presiding elders believed that once executed, the empire’s balance of power would flip—and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. The wind howled through the forests beyond the imperial city, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the imperial city was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their synchronized footsteps and crisp calls the only sounds.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible—but any bird flying too close would abruptly collide with an unseen wall, plummeting to the ground.
After several battles, the imperial city’s defenses appeared lax but were in fact tighter than ever. What seemed easy to breach was now nearly impossible.
Tonight, the primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards. Secretly established by Qin Feng and rebuilt repeatedly after heavy losses, the Wind Legion’s commander was a battle-hardened veteran, his three gruesome facial scars a testament to his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an uncanny sight.
Beneath the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The method of infiltration was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality as the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace grounds, darting toward the emperor’s quarters.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he realized his brothers-in-arms behind him had already collapsed, their faces ghastly pale—dead.
His own voice failed him as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol before following his comrades toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial quarters, their emotions varied but uniformly complex. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power—meaning traces of his might might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the elders positioned themselves at nine points around the palace, pressing their palms against the thick stone walls.
Killing Emperor Yinglie would be simple for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also serve as a message—that the Senate was inviolable and unopposable.
Thus, they resolved to bury Yinglie—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
Simultaneously, the nine elders unleashed their power. The sky trembled as crimson clouds gathered, though their display paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A shockwave erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the palace’s foundation like a creeping insect in the night, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine thunderous cries echoed like war horns. The crimson clouds convulsed as blinding light descended from the heavens, infusing the Supreme One’s palace with unimaginable energy.
The grand structure trembled—then collapsed.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined power, the imperial quarters disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the imperial quarters, the grand palace fell next. The elders’ unleashed energy hadn’t dissipated; they had no intention of letting it. The power converged upon the grand palace, where towering pillars toppled like dominoes, shattering into fragments.
A hundred pillars supporting the structure wailed their final lament before disintegrating. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the imperial city’s most iconic landmark—collapsed layer by layer, an unstoppable, tragic descent.
The officials’ and royals’ residences fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering city walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black palace—the imperial city’s pinnacle of martial power—succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, standing for five centuries since its creation by the Supreme One, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ full assault—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
Under the bright light of the artificial moon, nine black dots, like smoke, slowly infiltrated the defensive barrier formed by the gravitational device, not triggering even a single alarm.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate erupted into chaos just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords, exploded with fury. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords and Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the rage of the Senate, tightened their defensive lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Danding Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The current crisis stemmed from losing five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Danding Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. Instead, they took turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s forces would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had already missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Danding Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Danding Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process—likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had set to annihilate the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At that moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s body in the Danding Cavern.
Xianlan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time, you claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Blackwind roared at Xianlan. “We entrusted the Ten Swords to you, and you handed them over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give them to Yang Hao! I wish he would die this instant!” Xianlan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Blackwind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xianlan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Blackwind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Kan Ling when ordered?”
Xianlan trembled, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tiance, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight presiding elders turned to their leader, Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wuyi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What should we do?” Blackwind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Danding Sword Sect?”
Wuyi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Blackwind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wuyi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. We will change the world.”
“Ah…” Tiance seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wuyi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?!” At least three presiding elders gasped, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If not for our mercy during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wuyi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xianlan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you. Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow repeatedly.
Wuyi waved his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care—and how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet in truth, you’ve always schemed for your father, shielding him at every turn. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no loyalty to the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xianlan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wuyi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress for the Senate, orchestrating both the Dragon Trap and the Annihilation schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by filial love, she had secretly mediated for him, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when all else failed.
But who could have known that a true nemesis to the Senate would emerge?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan knew that war between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no rebuttal, Blackwind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Blackwind could strike, Elder Rongwei flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before seizing her and hurling her into a barrier.
Blackwind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood that Rongwei, unwilling to kill his own disciple, had saved her. With the others silent, Blackwind couldn’t press the issue.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Blackwind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body while we nine storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Danding Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations, while swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but remained focused on their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and secure their victory.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the imperial city, carrying an eerie chill.
Tonight, the palace was quieter than usual. Patrols of imperial guards passed by at intervals, their footsteps and hushed commands the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay in wait—any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively relaxed on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guard—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran of countless battles, bore three gruesome scars as proof.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an impossible sight.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality as the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace and darted toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he realized his comrades—men who had fought and bled with him—were already collapsed on the ground, their faces ghastly pale in death.
His own voice failed him as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Ghost glanced at the corpses of the patrol with satisfaction before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial bedchamber, their emotions complex. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power—meaning these very walls might still hold traces of his might.
Exchanging glances, they took positions at nine points around the chamber, pressing their palms against the thick stone.
Killing Emperor Yinglie would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination was also a message—a declaration that the Senate was inviolable and unopposable.
They would bury Yinglie in the very palace the Supreme One had built, entombing the imperial family in their own legacy.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A shockwave erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine thunderous cries echoed like war horns. The sky blazed with blinding light as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire bedchamber disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Beyond the bedchamber, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged there. Towering pillars shattered like matchsticks under the primordial force.
A hundred pillars supporting the hall wailed before disintegrating. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before it hit the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall both inevitable and tragic.
The residences of officials and royals fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high was all that remained.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly strategizing, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords Sect, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords Sect, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that, within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real trouble lay in the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords Sect, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory. Under his command were countless elite warriors, with over a dozen swordmaster legions permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Senate truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao. But centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would inevitably be exhausted, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before the elders, looking pitiful and fragile.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted you with the Ten Swords Sect, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t hand it over to Yang Hao! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind, seeing her defiance, grew even angrier. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“It’s because he’s too powerful,” Xian Lan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, not daring to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he turned and bowed to the Supreme One’s physical form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If the Supreme One were to return from his celestial journey, how could we face him?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also an opportunity for us. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed at any moment, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace has few true experts. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified beyond measure, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize—make him kneel before you! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be atoned for? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow repeatedly.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face was dark with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care. And how have you repaid us? Claiming to serve us, yet in everything, you’ve prioritized your father—finding excuses, shielding him from danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! Do you have no shame before the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, dripping from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Strangulation schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, she knew of her father’s rebellious heart but believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve a final lifeline for the imperial family when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had already understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a barrier seal.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t force the issue.
“Enough!” Wu Yi acted as if he hadn’t noticed Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s physical form. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s desperate struggles before death.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect—Yang Hao’s faction—would soon follow in destruction.
Three days. How much could be done in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations” at unprecedented speed. Meanwhile, swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements. But they had their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire’s heavens in an instant, allowing the Senate to reverse their defeat.
The night was ink-black, so thick it seemed to drip from the sky. A cold wind whistled through the forests outside the imperial palace, sending chills down the spines of those it touched.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Occasionally, squads of imperial guards passed by, their synchronized footsteps and crisp salutes the only sounds breaking the stillness.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible—until a bird, mid-flight, suddenly collided with an unseen wall and plummeted to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses appeared lax on the surface but were tighter than ever. What seemed easy to breach was, in reality, nearly impossible.
Tonight, the main defense was the imperial guards’ “Wind” Sword Legion. Secretly established by Qin Feng and rebuilt multiple times after heavy losses, the “Wind” Legion’s commander was a battle-hardened veteran. The three gruesome scars on his face were testament to his experience.
As the commander led his squad to the base of the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an uncanny sight.
Beneath the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—slowly seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
This method of infiltration was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures had fully entered the palace grounds, speeding toward the emperor’s bedchambers.
“Assassins!!” the commander screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died in his throat. Behind him, his brothers-in-arms—those who had fought and survived countless battles together—lay dead, their faces ghastly pale.
He could no longer speak, for Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers had already closed around his neck.
Elder Ghost glanced at the corpses of the patrol squad with satisfaction, then followed his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
As the nine stood before the bedchambers, their emotions varied—but all were complex. Legend held that centuries ago, this palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power for the imperial family. If so, these chambers might still retain traces of that power.
Exchanging glances, the nine elders wordlessly took positions around the bedchambers, each pressing a palm against the thick stone walls.
Killing Emperor Yinglie would be simple for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also serve as a message to the world: the Senate was inviolable, its authority absolute.
Thus, they resolved to bury Yinglie—using his own bedchambers, the very palace built by the Supreme One, to entomb the entire imperial family.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered abruptly, yet their might paled in comparison to the energy radiating from the elders.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack appeared at the bedchambers’ foundation, creeping forward like a nocturnal insect. Soon, it multiplied uncontrollably, spreading like floodwaters across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine thunderous shouts echoed like war horns, shaking the crimson clouds. Dazzling light erupted in the sky, unleashing unimaginable energy. The palace built by the Supreme One began to quake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair, reduced to powder. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined might, the entire bedchambers disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial palace crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake of apocalyptic scale.
Beyond the bedchambers, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged upon it. Towering stone pillars—each thicker than ancient trees—shattered like matchsticks under the primordial force.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand hall wailed as they exploded into fragments. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before it even hit the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark, a structure inspiring awe and reverence—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes. Its fall was inexorable, tragic, resolute yet sorrowful.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black hall—the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might—succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The entire imperial palace, standing tall for five centuries since its creation by the Supreme One, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ full assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
But before his voice could fully escape his lips, he noticed that his comrades-in-arms behind him had already fallen to the ground, their faces turning blue-black, already dead.
His voice could no longer escape, for the icy, almost living hand of Elder Gui had already gripped his throat.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury, itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream—along with Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, tightened their defensive lines, and tallied the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The current crisis stemmed from losing five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. Instead, they took turns standing watch.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would ensnare them instead. Karma, it seemed, had come full circle.
At that moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xianlan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, her demeanor pitiful.
“Every time, you claim you can kill Yang Hao—yet what’s the result?” Elder Blackwind roared at Xianlan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him!” Xianlan straightened, her voice strained. “I wish he would die right now!”
“And yet?” Blackwind sneered at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xianlan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Blackwind’s grin turned vicious. “Then why didn’t you kill Kan Ling when ordered?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” Tiance, the only one seated due to severe injuries from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion battle, interjected. “We should focus on what we can still do.”
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s form. “Great Master, you bestowed power upon us and built the Senate—yet we have fallen to this state. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wuyi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What do we do?” Blackwind cracked his knuckles eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wuyi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Blackwind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are its shaft, and we nine presiding elders are its tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wuyi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tiance seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wuyi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?!” At least three elders gasped, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie then.” Wuyi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xianlan panicked, crawling forward on her knees. “Please—don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, beg for your forgiveness—just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, her forehead striking the ground repeatedly.
Wuyi flicked his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. The enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet always protecting your father, shielding him from every danger. What a devoted daughter you are—but have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xianlan lay crumpled, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood seeped from her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wuyi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true loyalty had always been to her father. She knew of his rebellious intentions but believed no one could defeat the elders. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan had known—the day would come when Elder Mountain and the imperial family clashed, and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, it had all come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no defense, Blackwind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Blackwind could strike, Elder Rongwei flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before hauling her up and hurling her into a containment barrier.
Blackwind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rongwei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple, sparing her life. With the others silent, Blackwind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Blackwind’s frustration. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the palace and take Yinglie’s head. Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
Three days—how much could be done?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle shifts occurred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations.” Merchant Guild and Western Territory swordmaster legions infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed but had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once executed, the empire’s skies would flip—and the Senate would reverse its defeat.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. Wind howled through the palace’s outer woods, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace felt eerily still. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their synchronized footsteps and crisp calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay hidden—until a bird mid-flight suddenly collided with an unseen wall, plummeting lifelessly.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, near-impossible in reality.
Tonight’s primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion, a core force secretly built by Qin Feng, rebuilt repeatedly despite heavy losses. Its commander, scarred from countless battles, led his squad down the grand staircase—only to freeze at an impossible sight.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black specks, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back as the smoke drifted toward the emperor’s quarters.
“Assassins!!” he screamed—but his voice died as he turned to find his brothers already fallen, faces blue in death.
His own throat was seized by Elder Ghost’s lifelessly cold hand.
Satisfied, Ghost followed his comrades toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
Standing before the imperial quarters, the nine elders felt complex emotions. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power—meaning traces of his might might linger within.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the palace, palms pressed to its thick stone walls.
Killing Yinglie would be easy. But they intended this assassination to send a message—the Senate was inviolable, unopposable.
They would bury Yinglie—using his own palace, the Supreme One’s creation, to annihilate the imperial family entirely.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, paling against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the palace’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns. The sky blazed with blinding light as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows turned to gas in less than a second.
The entire palace imploded under the elders’ power—and this was just the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unprecedented catastrophe, a seismic disaster of historic proportions.
Behind the palace, the grand hall fell next. The elders’ lingering energy toppled pillars like matchsticks, reducing them to powder.
A hundred pillars supporting the hall shattered with deafening wails. The roof collapsed mid-descent, disintegrating before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s iconic monument—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable and tragic.
Officials’ residences fell.
Barracks fell.
The towering outer walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
In the end, the imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Elders’ Council was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were desperate to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao.
But at this critical moment, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still available to them.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a single year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing remaining was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Elders’ Council could barely hold on.
The real trouble was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long periods guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body recklessly, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and ruthless, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he would never reincarnate.
But they had already missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military official, commanded the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Elders’ Mountain were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of the Elders’ Council’s accumulated power would surely be exhausted. The result might be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had set to strangle the Elders’ Council. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of the Enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time, you claim you can kill Yang Hao. And what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Kan Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, not daring to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he turned and bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed power upon us and the Elders’ Council, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to stake it all and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Elders’ Council.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on the Elders’ Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If the Elders’ Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill the Heroic Emperor.”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace has few experts left. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed the Heroic Emperor then.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize—I’ll make him kneel before you! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This Enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by the elders.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything. And how have you repaid us? You claim to serve us, yet in everything, you’ve acted for your father’s sake—covering for him, shielding him from danger. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no loyalty to the Elders’ Council that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart in agony, barely able to move. Blood reversed in her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of the Enchantress, serving the Elders’ Council—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true motive had always been to protect her father, the Heroic Emperor. Bound by blood, she had known of his rebellious intentions but believed no one could ever defeat the elders. So she had worked behind the scenes, hoping to secure some last hope for the imperial family when the day of reckoning came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Elders’ Council.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between the Elders’ Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Elder Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Sui flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a barrier formation.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Sui couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind had no choice but to relent.
“Enough!” Wu Yi acted as if he hadn’t noticed Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s desperate struggles in his final moments.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent imperial capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations at unprecedented speed. Meanwhile, swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Elders’ Council wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the entire empire would be overturned—and the Elders’ Council would emerge victorious once more.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. The wind howled through the forests outside the imperial palace, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their synchronized footsteps and crisp salutes the only sounds breaking the stillness.
The barrier formed by radar and gravitational arrays was invisible, but any bird attempting to fly through would suddenly collide with an unseen wall, plummeting to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses appeared lax on the surface but were tighter than ever. What seemed easy to breach was, in truth, nearly impossible.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a battle-hardened veteran, bore three gruesome scars across his face as proof of his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an impossible sight.
Under the glow of the artificial moon, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—seeped through the gravitational barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The method of infiltration was beyond belief. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoky figures had fully entered the palace grounds, speeding toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he roared hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died as he realized his comrades—men who had fought and bled beside him—were already collapsed on the ground, their faces ghastly pale in death.
He couldn’t utter another word. Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers had already closed around his throat.
With a satisfied nod at the corpses of the patrol, Elder Ghost followed his companions toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial quarters, their emotions complex. Legends said that centuries ago, this palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power for the imperial family. If so, these chambers might still retain traces of that might.
Exchanging glances, the elders took positions at nine points around the palace, pressing their palms against the thick stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Elders’ Council was inviolable, unopposable.
They would bury the Heroic Emperor in his own palace, using the very city the Supreme One had built to annihilate the imperial family entirely.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered abruptly, but their display paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the palace’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“HAH!”
Nine roars echoed like war horns, shaking the crimson clouds. Dazzling light erupted across the sky, raining down inconceivable energy. The palace built by the Supreme One began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair into powder. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined power, the entire palace disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented seismic cataclysm.
Behind the palace, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged upon it. Towering pillars shattered like kindling under primordial force, their collapse thunderous.
A hundred pillars supporting the hall wailed their demise before disintegrating. The roof collapsed, fracturing mid-descent. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark, once revered by millions—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall inexorable, tragic, and resolute.
The residences of officials and royalty toppled.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls crumbled.
Even the black hall housing Qin Feng, the palace’s strongest warrior, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the elders’ assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
And atop this ruin, the nine presiding elders stood triumphant. Their message was clear:
The Elders’ Council could not be defied.
While Yang Hao and his allies were deep in their secret discussions, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a single year, they seemed to have lost everything they could possibly lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy sources to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The immediate trouble was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s counterattack would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military official, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance at killing Yang Hao, but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process. The outcome would likely be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to swoop in and seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock. A fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. This was the so-called “karma.”
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Master… I didn’t give it to Yang Hao!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking with force. “I wish he would drop dead this instant!”
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered, angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, ruling the seas with beauties in his arms.”
“That’s because he’s too powerful,” Xian Lan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind’s grin turned vicious. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he turned to bow before the Supreme One’s body. “Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true power.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s answer made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie.”
“What?!” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie then.” Wu Yi’s gaze pinned Xian Lan like needles.
“Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize—I’ll make him kneel before you! Just don’t kill him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Master!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything. And how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet in everything, you’ve only thought of your father—covering for him, shielding him from danger. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no loyalty to the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by blood, she knew of his rebellious heart but believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. So she had worked behind the scenes, hoping to preserve a final lifeline for the imperial family when the inevitable reckoning came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing her silent, Elder Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up with a hateful glare and tossing her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had saved her. With the others silent, he couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wu Yi acted as if he hadn’t seen Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be done in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes stirred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations.” Swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the empire’s balance would flip—and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. Wind howled through the forests outside the imperial city, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace felt eerily still. Patrols of imperial guards passed by, their synchronized footsteps and hushed commands the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay hidden. Any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and drop lifelessly.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion, a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran of countless battles, bore three gruesome scars as proof.
As he led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back when the smoke-like figures fully entered the palace and darted toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died as he turned to see his brothers-in-arms already collapsed, faces blue in death.
His own voice failed him next—Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
With a satisfied glance at the corpses, Ghost followed his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s quarters.
Standing before the chambers, the nine elders felt complex emotions. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If true, remnants of that power might still linger here.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the building, palms pressed to the thick stone walls.
Killing Yinglie would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination was also a message—the Senate was invincible, unopposable.
They would bury Yinglie with his own palace, the very city the Supreme One had built, erasing the imperial family entirely.
Simultaneously, they unleashed their power. The sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but compared to the elders’ unleashed might, they were insignificant.
A tremor rose from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light erupted as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows turned to gas in seconds.
Under the elders’ combined might, the entire structure disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the chambers, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, still concentrated in the air, tore through it. Pillars thicker than ancient trees shattered like twigs.
A hundred columns supporting the hall wailed as they exploded. The roof collapsed mid-descent, fracturing into fragments. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase, the palace’s most iconic landmark, collapsed tier by tier like dominoes—inevitable, tragic, resolute.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering outer walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, crumbled beneath the night’s mournful winds.
In mere moments, the imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble by the nine elders’ full-force assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
This was their declaration: the Senate’s wrath would obliterate all who opposed it.
And Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect would be next.
While Yang Hao and his allies were deep in discussion, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were eager to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
Yet, in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a single year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. All that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once laid for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to have turned back upon them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders were not merely rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly endure.
The immediate crisis lay in the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form within the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body recklessly, nor did they wish to provoke Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. Thus, they took turns standing guard.
Who could have anticipated that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders longed to strike back immediately, to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military official, commanded the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Elder Mountain were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao. But centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would inevitably be exhausted, likely resulting in mutual destruction. This would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would ensnare them instead. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, within the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood assembled.
Princess Xianlan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before the elders, her demeanor pitiable.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Blackwind roared at Xianlan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Master… I didn’t give it to Yang Hao! I wish he would die this instant!” Xianlan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Blackwind, incensed by her defiance, grew even angrier. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“It’s because he’s too formidable,” Xianlan wept. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Blackwind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tiance, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had yet to recover from his severe injuries.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s form. “Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on all present.
Yet Wuyi’s tone shifted abruptly. “Now is also an opportunity for us. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What should we do?” Blackwind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wuyi waved a hand dismissively. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Blackwind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are its shaft, and we nine presiding elders are its tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable,” Wuyi said coldly. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tiance seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly,” Wuyi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If not for our mercy during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago,” Wuyi said, his gaze piercing Xianlan like needles.
“Masters!” Xianlan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, make him beg for your forgiveness. Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be atoned for? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Master!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wuyi waved a hand, and Xianlan spat blood, flung far away. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care. And how have you repaid us? Claiming to serve us, yet always prioritizing your father, shielding him at every turn. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no shame before the Senate that raised you?”
Xianlan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wuyi’s accusations were not unfounded. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, Xianlan knew of her father’s rebellious sentiments toward the elders. Yet she believed no one could ever defeat the Senate, so she secretly mediated, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope when all else failed.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan knew a final clash between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. Yet what could Xianlan do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no rebuttal, Elder Blackwind’s rage burned fiercer. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Blackwind could strike, Elder Rongwei flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a containment barrier.
Blackwind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rongwei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple, thus sparing her. With the others silent, Blackwind couldn’t insist on executing her.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Blackwind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the cavern walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days hence.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the capital’s veneer of silence, subtle shifts were underway. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations,” while swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but remained focused on their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and secure their victory.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests beyond the imperial city, carrying an eerie chill.
Tonight, the imperial city was quieter than usual. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their synchronized footsteps and crisp commands the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay in wait. Any bird flying too close would collide with an unseen wall, plummeting abruptly.
After multiple battles, the imperial city’s defenses appeared lax but were tighter than ever. What seemed easy to breach was, in truth, nearly impossible.
Tonight, the primary defense fell to the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards. Secretly trained by Qin Feng and rebuilt repeatedly after heavy losses, the Wind Legion’s commander bore three gruesome scars—testaments to his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at an uncanny sight.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black specks, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method defied belief. The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke-like figures fully infiltrated the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back to reality.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His cry died as he realized his comrades—brothers who had fought and bled alongside him—lay dead behind him, faces ghastly pale.
His voice failed him entirely as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Surveying the corpses of the patrol, Elder Ghost nodded in satisfaction before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial chambers, emotions varied but equally complex. Legends spoke of the palace being built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If true, remnants of that power might linger within.
Exchanging glances, the elders positioned themselves at nine points around the chambers, palms pressed against the thick stone walls.
Killing Emperor Yinglie would be simple for these nine, the most powerful beings in the cosmos. But this assassination would also serve as a message—the Senate was inviolable, its authority absolute.
Thus, they resolved to bury Yinglie within this very palace, within the imperial city the Supreme One had built, entombing the entire imperial lineage.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, yet their display paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack crept along the chamber’s foundation, like a nocturnal insect, spreading inexorably until the entire stone structure was veined with fractures.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the crimson clouds. Dazzling light erupted from the sky, unleashing unimaginable energy. The Supreme One’s palace began to quake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows dissolved into gas in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined power, the imperial chambers disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented seismic cataclysm.
Behind the chambers, the grand palace fell next. The elders’ power, undiminished in the air, converged upon it. Towering pillars shattered like kindling under primordial force, their collapse echoing like lamentations.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand palace exploded into fragments. The roof tore apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the imperial city’s most iconic monument, a symbol of reverence—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its descent inexorable, tragic, and resolute.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering city walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s obsidian stronghold, the pinnacle of the imperial city’s martial might, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s founding, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his associates were secretly deliberating, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, was in complete chaos.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources they could still mobilize.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a single year, they seemed to have lost everything they could possibly lose. The only thing remaining was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once laid for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these resources, the Senate could barely hold on.
The trouble now was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long periods guarding the Supreme One’s physical body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains recklessly, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he would never reincarnate.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the most powerful military officer in the empire, commanded the entire Western Territory, with countless experts under his banner. Over a dozen swordmaster legions were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would inevitably be exhausted—perhaps resulting in mutual destruction. That would only give the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock. A fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s remains, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xianlan, dressed in the black gown of the Enchantress but without her veil, knelt before the elders, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind berated Xianlan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to Yang Hao. I wish he would die right now!” Xianlan straightened up and spoke forcefully.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xianlan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Lin when we ordered you to?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her kneeling posture further, not daring to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” Tian Ce, the only one seated, spoke up. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears falling as he turned and bowed to the Supreme One’s remains. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If the Supreme One were to return from his immortal journey, how could we face him?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wuyi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true power.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wuyi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wuyi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s time for us to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s our turn to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wuyi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie.”
“What?” At least three elders gasped in shock, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace has few experts now. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wuyi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xianlan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, make him kneel before you—just don’t kill him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xianlan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further, only kowtowing desperately.
Wuyi waved his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This Enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet in everything, you’ve only thought of your father, shielding him at every turn. What a fine daughter you’ve been—but have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xianlan collapsed, her heart in agony, barely able to move as blood reversed in her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wuyi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as the Enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by familial love, she had known of his rebellious heart but believed no one could defeat the Senate. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve a final chance for the imperial family when all seemed lost.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan had already understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xianlan do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Sui flashed into motion, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before dragging her up with a look of hatred and hurling her into a barrier seal.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but retracted his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Sui couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Black Wind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s remains. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then.”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s death throes days later.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations. Swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the entire empire would be overturned—and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed by, their footsteps crisp, their salutes sharp.
The barrier of radar and gravity devices was invisible—until a bird collided mid-flight with an unseen shield, dropping lifelessly.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion, a core force secretly built by Qin Feng, repeatedly shattered and rebuilt. Its commander, a battle-hardened veteran, bore three gruesome scars as proof.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully infiltrated the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back to reality.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he realized his comrades lay dead behind him, faces ghastly.
His own voice choked off as Elder Ghost’s icy hand closed around his throat.
Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol with satisfaction before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the palace, emotions complex. Legends said the palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power centuries ago—meaning traces of his might might still linger.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the palace, palms pressed to the stone.
Killing Yinglie was easy. But they intended this assassination to send a message: the Senate was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie—and the entire imperial family—using the palace itself, the Supreme One’s creation, as their tomb.
The nine elders unleashed their power. The sky trembled, crimson clouds gathering—but it was nothing compared to the energy radiating from them.
A shockwave erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the palace’s foundation, spreading like floodwaters across the stone.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light descended as the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stones shattered. Golden tiles vaporized. Crystal windows turned to gas in an instant.
The entire palace collapsed under the elders’ power—and it was only the beginning.
The imperial city quaked in an unprecedented disaster.
The grand hall behind the palace was next. Pillars toppled like dominos, the golden throne melting into molten streams.
The ten-thousand-step staircase, the city’s proudest landmark, collapsed layer by layer.
Officials’ residences fell.
Barracks crumbled.
The towering walls toppled.
Even Qin Feng’s black palace, the pinnacle of imperial might, succumbed to the night wind’s lament.
In moments, the imperial city—standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble, a mountain of wreckage hundreds of meters high.
The nine Elder Stewards exerted their power simultaneously, causing the sky to tremble. Crimson clouds gathered in one place, but compared to the immense power radiating from the Elders, it was far too weak.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury, itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream—along with Yang Hao himself.
But in moments like these, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that, within just a year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The problem now was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao stood as the most powerful military official in the empire, commanding the entire Western Territory, backed by countless elite warriors. Over a dozen swordmaster legions were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own legions to his control.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power. The battle would likely end in mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to swoop in and seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock. A fatal trap.
One that Yang Hao had laid for the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised to annihilate others would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s body, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress—though without her veil—knelt before them, her expression pitiful.
“Every time, you claim you can kill Yang Hao. And yet?” Elder Black Wind snarled at her. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die this instant!” Xian Lan straightened, her voice trembling with defiance.
“And yet?” Black Wind’s fury only grew at her retort. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Kan Ling when we ordered it?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering herself further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. We need to focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had yet to recover from his severe injuries.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Summoner Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we ever face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone present.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now, this is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill the Heroic Emperor.”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed the Heroic Emperor long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, panic-stricken, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize—I’ll bring him to beg for your forgiveness! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What came of it?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi flicked his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face twisted with rage. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? You claim to serve the Senate, yet in everything, you’ve only ever protected your father, shielded him from danger. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have no loyalty to the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Annihilation Scheme—her true motive had always been to protect her father, the Heroic Emperor. Bound by blood, she had known of his rebellious heart but believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. So she had worked behind the scenes, hoping to preserve a sliver of hope for the imperial family when the inevitable reckoning came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike could land, Elder Rong Sui flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her with a hateful glare and hurling her into a barrier prison.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Sui couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus spared her. With the others silent, Black Wind had no choice but to relent.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s frustration. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s desperate struggle before death—and the imminent downfall of Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect.
Three days. How much could be done in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent capital, subtle shifts were underway. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for vacations. Swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate was aware of these movements but had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the entire empire would be overturned—and the Senate would emerge victorious once more.
The night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed by at intervals, their footsteps crisp, their calls of recognition sharp in the stillness.
The invisible barrier of radar and gravity devices remained unseen—until a bird, flying too close, collided with the transparent shield and plummeted to the ground.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guard—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a battle-hardened veteran, bore three gruesome scars across his face as proof of his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The method of infiltration was beyond belief. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm—until the smoke-like figures had fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he bellowed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died mid-cry. Behind him, his brothers-in-arms lay dead, their faces ashen.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol before following his companions toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
As the nine stood before the palace, their emotions were mixed. Legends said that centuries ago, this palace had been built by the Supreme One himself with divine power. If so, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the nine took positions around the palace, each pressing a palm against the thick stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But this assassination would also serve as a message to the world—the Senate was invincible, unopposable.
They would bury the Heroic Emperor—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
As the nine unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their display paled in comparison to the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor rose from the planet’s core.
The first crack snaked up the palace’s foundation, creeping like an insect in the night, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
Nine voices boomed like war horns, shaking the heavens. Dazzling light erupted from the sky, raining down unimaginable energy. The palace built by the Supreme One began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ combined power, the entire palace collapsed in moments.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the palace, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, still concentrated in the air, now converged there. Thick stone pillars shattered like twigs, roofs disintegrated before hitting the ground, and the golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable, tragic, resolute.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial palace, standing tall for five centuries since its creation by the Supreme One, was reduced to rubble under the elders’ assault—a mountainous heap of wreckage hundreds of meters high.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, was in complete chaos.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords and Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, strategically consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real trouble was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing watch.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, driving them into a corner in one fell swoop?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power. It would be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At that moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern.
Princess Xianlan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Blackwind roared at Xianlan. “We entrusted the Ten Swords to you, and you handed them over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give them to Yang Hao! I wish he would die right now!” Xianlan straightened, speaking through gritted teeth.
“And yet?” Blackwind sneered, angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is thriving, embracing beauties and ruling the seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xianlan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Blackwind scoffed. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xianlan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to Chief Summoner Elder Wuyi.
Wuyi sighed deeply, tears in his eyes, then bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed us with power and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wuyi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What should we do?” Blackwind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wuyi shook his head. “What is the greatest strength of Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Blackwind’s answer made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wuyi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the Thirty-Six Royal Branch Wars. It’s time we reshape the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wuyi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wuyi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?!” At least three elders gasped, while Xianlan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If not for our mercy during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wuyi’s gaze pierced Xianlan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xianlan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, beg for your forgiveness—just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wuyi laughed coldly. “Can his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xianlan wailed, trembling, unable to speak further, only kowtowing desperately.
Wuyi waved his hand, and Xianlan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never been struck by an elder before.
Wuyi’s fury was palpable. “Xianlan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet always protecting your father, helping him evade danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! Do you have any loyalty to the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xianlan lay on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wuyi wasn’t wrong. Though she had acted as an enchantress, scheming the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold, her true motive had always been to protect her father. She knew of his rebellious heart but believed no one could defeat the Senate. So she worked behind the scenes, hoping to preserve the royal family’s last hope.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xianlan knew war between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xianlan offer no defense, Blackwind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged, summoning his artifact. “I’ll end your life!”
But before his strike landed, Elder Rongwei flashed forward, slapping Xianlan four times across the face before dragging her up and tossing her into a barrier.
Blackwind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rongwei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had saved her. The others remained silent, leaving Blackwind no choice but to relent.
“Enough!” Wuyi ignored Blackwind’s frustration. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the palace and end Yinglie’s life. Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens!”
Wuyi’s gaze seemed to pierce the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
Three days—how much could be done?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle shifts occurred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations.” Swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed but had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once executed, the empire’s balance would shift—and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night draped the sky like ink, thick enough to drip. Wind howled through the trees outside the palace, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace was eerily quiet. Patrols of imperial guards marched in disciplined silence, their footsteps and occasional calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay in wait—any bird flying too close would abruptly collide with an unseen wall and plummet.
After past battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax. Easy to breach on the surface, but nearly impossible in reality.
Tonight’s main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion, a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran with three gruesome scars, led his squad down the grand staircase when he froze—
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died as he turned to see his brothers-in-arms already fallen, faces ghastly in death.
His throat closed—Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers had already closed around it.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the dead patrol before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial bedchamber, emotions complex. Legends said the palace was built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, remnants of that power might linger here.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chamber, palms pressed to the thick stone walls.
Killing Yinglie was easy for these nine—the most powerful in the universe. But this assassination would also send a message: the Senate was inviolable.
So they would bury Yinglie—using his own palace, the Supreme One’s creation, to entomb the entire royal family.
Simultaneously, they unleashed their power. The sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their might dwarfed even this celestial disturbance.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light rained down impossible energy. The Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks powdered. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
The entire bedchamber collapsed under the elders’ power—but this was only the beginning.
The palace complex crumbled in an unending cascade, a catastrophe rivaling history’s greatest earthquakes.
Beyond the bedchamber, the grand hall fell next. The elders’ energy lingered, refusing to dissipate. Pillars thicker than ancient trees shattered like twigs.
A hundred pillars supporting the grand hall wailed before disintegrating. The roof collapsed mid-descent, shredding to pieces. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s iconic monument—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable, tragic, resolute yet sorrowful.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s obsidian stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial might, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The Supreme One’s palace, standing for five centuries, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Elders’ Council was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords Sect, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords Sect, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, strategically consolidated their forces, and tallied the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that, within just a year, they had lost nearly everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy sources to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Elders’ Council could barely hold on.
The current crisis stemmed from losing five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords Sect, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. Thus, they took turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
The presiding elders naturally wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao stood as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruling the entire Western Territory with countless elite swordsmen under his command. Over a dozen swordmaster legions were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own legions to his control.
If the Elders’ Mountain were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power. The battle would likely end in mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to swoop in and seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had set to strangle the Elders’ Council. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Karma had come full circle.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s body, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time, you claim you can kill Yang Hao—and what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind roared at her. “We entrusted you with the Ten Swords Sect, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he’d die right now!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking through gritted teeth.
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, ruling the seas with beauties in his arms.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind’s grin turned vicious. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, his severe injuries had yet to heal.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Elders’ Council, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Elders’ Council.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elders’ Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s answer made the others frown.
“If Elders’ Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the Thirty-Six Royal Branch Wars. It’s time we reshape the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie.”
“What?!” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s piercing gaze bore into Xian Lan.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan panicked, crawling forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize—I’ll bring him before you to beg for mercy! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, her forehead striking the ground repeatedly.
Wu Yi flicked his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet scheming for your father at every turn, shielding him from every danger. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Does the Elders’ Council, which nurtured you, deserve this?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood seeped from her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Elders’ Council—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true loyalty had always been to her father. She knew of his rebellious heart but believed no one could ever defeat the elders. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve some hope for the imperial family when the inevitable reckoning came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Elders’ Council.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood that a final battle between Elders’ Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, it had all come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike could land, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a sealed barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, he couldn’t press the matter.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s frustration. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s head. Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the cavern walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles—and the imminent downfall of Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect.
Three days—how much could change in that time?
Beneath the surface of the silent capital, subtle shifts were underway. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations,” while swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Elders’ Council wasn’t blind to these movements, but they had their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and secure their victory.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the imperial palace, carrying an unspoken tension.
Tonight, the palace was eerily quiet. Patrols of imperial guards moved in disciplined silence, their footsteps and occasional calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravitational fields lay in wait—unseen but deadly to any intruding bird that might collide with them mid-flight.
After past battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight’s primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guard—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran marked by three gruesome scars, led his squad down the grand staircase when he suddenly froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black specks drifted like smoke, seeping through the gravitational barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The commander stood dumbfounded, only snapping back to reality as the smoke fully infiltrated the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died as he realized his comrades lay dead behind him, faces frozen in death.
His own breath was cut short as Elder Ghost’s icy fingers closed around his throat.
With a satisfied glance at the corpses, Ghost followed his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s quarters.
Standing before the imperial chambers, the nine elders felt a mix of emotions. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One himself—imbued with divine power.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the chamber, palms pressed to the stone walls.
Killing Yinglie would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Elders’ Council was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie in the very palace the Supreme One had built, crushing the imperial family beneath its ruins.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their might paled against the elders’ unleashed energy.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns. The sky blazed with light as unimaginable energy descended, shaking the Supreme One’s palace.
Massive stone blocks crumbled. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows turned to gas in an instant.
The entire chamber collapsed under the elders’ power—but this was only the beginning.
The imperial palace crumbled in a catastrophic, unprecedented earthquake.
The grand hall followed, its pillars shattering like twigs under the elders’ relentless force. The golden throne melted into liquid, flowing like lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—a symbol of imperial might—collapsed like dominoes.
Officials’ quarters fell.
Barracks collapsed.
The towering walls crumbled.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might, succumbed to the night’s destruction.
In moments, the imperial palace—built by the Supreme One five centuries ago—was reduced to a mountain of rubble under the elders’ assault.
A monument to their wrath.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream, along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once laid for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The immediate crisis was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow of Fusion. All they could do was take turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s counterattack would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders wanted to strike back immediately—to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power. The battle would likely end in mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to swoop in.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had set to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time, you claim you can kill Yang Hao—and what happens?” Elder Black Wind roared at her. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Masters… I didn’t give it to him!” Xian Lan straightened, her voice strained. “I wish he would die right now!”
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered as she dared to argue. “Yang Hao is thriving, embracing beauties and ruling the seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind’s grin turned vicious. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, his severe injuries had yet to heal.
The gazes of the other eight elders turned to Chief Summoner Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s form. “Master, you granted us power, you granted us the Senate… yet we’ve fallen to this. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What do we do?” Black Wind cracked his knuckles. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the Elder Mountain’s greatest weapon?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If the Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are the shaft—easily severed. But we nine presiding elders are the tip—unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act. Just like in the war of the thirty-six imperial branches, we will change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie.”
“What?” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If not for our mercy during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize—I’ll bring him to beg for your forgiveness. Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what came of it?”
“Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet every move you make is for your father’s sake, shielding him at every turn. What a fine daughter you are—but have you ever considered the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xian Lan lay crumpled, her heart in agony, her meridians ruptured, blood trickling from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true loyalty had always been to her father. She knew of his rebellious heart, but she believed no one could defeat the elders. So she had secretly maneuvered, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s survival when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had known—sooner or later, the Elder Mountain and the imperial family would clash, and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, it had all come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike could land, Elder Rong Wei flashed forward, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple. The others remained silent, leaving him no choice but to relent.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s frustration. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s form. We nine will storm the palace and take Yinglie’s life. Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
Three days—how much could be done?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle shifts were underway. The empire’s old ministers and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations. The Merchant Guild’s swordmaster legions and the Western Territory’s forces infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements—but they had their own plan. The presiding elders believed that once executed, the empire’s skies would turn, and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night fell like ink, thick enough to drip from the heavens. The wind howled through the forests beyond the palace walls, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the imperial palace seemed quieter than usual. Patrols of imperial guards passed by in orderly formations, their footsteps and calls the only sounds breaking the silence.
The barrier of radar and gravity devices was invisible—but any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall, plummeting to the ground.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight’s primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guards—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran of countless battles, bore three gruesome scars as proof.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm—until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he realized his comrades—those who had fought and bled beside him—were already sprawled on the ground, their faces ghastly in death.
His own voice choked off as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol with satisfaction before joining his comrades, flying toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
The nine elders stood before the imperial chambers, their emotions varied but equally complex. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If so, these chambers might still hold traces of his might.
Exchanging glances, the elders took positions around the chambers, pressing their palms against the thick stone walls.
These nine, the most powerful beings in the universe, could kill Yinglie easily. But they intended this assassination to send a message—the Senate was inviolable, unopposable.
So they would bury Yinglie—using the very palace the Supreme One had built to entomb the entire imperial family.
The nine elders unleashed their power as one. The heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but compared to the elders’ unleashed might, they were insignificant.
A tremor erupted from the planet’s core.
The first crack slithered up the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the skies. Dazzling light descended, and the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks shattered. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire palace collapsed rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Beyond the chambers, the grand hall fell next. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged there. Pillars as thick as ancient trees toppled like toy blocks.
The hall’s hundred supporting pillars shattered with a deafening wail. The roof collapsed, tearing apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
And still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic landmark, once worshipped by millions—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable, tragic, resolute yet sorrowful.
The residences of officials and royals fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls fell.
Even the black hall of Qin Feng, symbolizing the palace’s highest martial power, crumbled beneath the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault. A mountain of debris, hundreds of meters high, was all that remained.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury, wishing they could charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream—along with Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their battle lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose. The only thing left was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing around them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly endure.
The immediate trouble was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. All they could do was take shifts standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to strike back immediately—to crush Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory with countless experts under his command. Over a dozen swordmaster legions were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own swordmaster legions to his control.
If the Senate truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao—but centuries of the Senate’s accumulated power would also be exhausted. The result would likely be mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. This was the so-called “karma.”
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress—though without her veil—knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, but what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind roared at Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Master… I didn’t give it to him!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking forcefully. “I wish he would die right now!”
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered, angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Black Wind’s grin turned vicious. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he turned to bow before the Supreme One’s body. “Master, you granted us power and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We’ll kill Emperor Yinglie.”
“What?” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize—I’ll beg him to kneel before you! Just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Master!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how have you repaid us? Claiming to serve us, yet always scheming for your father, shielding him from every danger. What a fine daughter you’ve been! Do you have any loyalty left for the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xian Lan lay sprawled on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, dripping from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always played the role of an enchantress, serving the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold—her true motive had always been to protect her father. She knew of his rebellious heart, but she believed no one could ever defeat the Senate. All she could do was secretly maneuver, hoping to preserve some sliver of hope for the imperial family when the inevitable reckoning came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had understood: a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable, and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her with hatred and hurling her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes stirred. The empire’s veteran ministers fled the galaxy for “vacations,” while swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate wasn’t blind to these movements—but they had their own plan. The presiding elders believed that once executed, the empire’s skies would flip, and the Senate would reverse their defeat.
Night hung thick as ink, the wind cutting cold through the forests outside the palace.
Tonight, the imperial city felt eerily still. Patrols of guards passed occasionally, their footsteps and calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay hidden—until a bird, mid-flight, would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and drop lifeless.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in truth.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the Imperial Guard. Secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt repeatedly after heavy losses, their commander bore three gruesome scars—testaments to his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up—and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbstruck until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
His voice died as he turned to see his brothers-in-arms already collapsed, faces ghastly in death.
His own voice failed as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost surveyed the dead guards before following his comrades toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
Standing before the imperial quarters, the nine elders felt complex emotions. Legends said the palace had been built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power. If true, remnants of that power might linger here.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the palace, palms pressed to the stone.
Killing Yinglie would be easy. But they intended this assassination to send a message: the Senate was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their might dwarfed even this phenomenon.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack slithered up the palace’s foundation like a creeping insect, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light erupted as unimaginable energy descended. The Supreme One’s palace began to shake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows turned to gas in less than a second.
The entire palace crumbled under the elders’ power.
And this was only the beginning.
The imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Beyond the palace, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged there. Pillars thick as ancient trees shattered like twigs.
A hundred pillars supporting the hall wailed as they disintegrated. The roof collapsed, shredding before it hit the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s grand symbol, once worshipped—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable and tragic.
The officials’ quarters fell.
The guards’ barracks fell.
The towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city—built by the Supreme One, standing for five centuries—was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
But this was only the beginning.
The entire Imperial City was continuously collapsing, like a disaster, an unprecedented earthquake.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Swords Sect, erupted in fury. They were eager to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Swords Sect, along with Yang Hao himself.
Yet, in such moments, the nine senior elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their defensive lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that, within just a year, they seemed to have lost nearly everything they could lose. The only thing remaining was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine senior elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The very scheme they had once devised to annihilate Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be turning against them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t merely rice—they, like Yang Hao, required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these resources, the Senate could hardly endure.
The immediate crisis lay in the loss of five hundred core planets, the defection of the Ten Swords Sect, and the collapse of the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the senior elders had spent long periods guarding the Supreme One’s body within the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk provoking Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. Thus, they took turns standing guard.
Who could have predicted that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating? In one fell swoop, he had backed them into a corner.
Naturally, the senior elders yearned to strike back immediately—to crush Yang Hao to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military commander, ruled the entire Western Territory. His forces were vast, with over a dozen swordmaster legions stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its own swordmaster legions to his command.
If the Senate were to engage the Alchemy Sword Sect in open battle, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao. But centuries of accumulated power would inevitably be exhausted, likely resulting in mutual destruction. Such an outcome would only invite the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to annihilate the Senate. The senior elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would ensnare them instead. Such was the irony of fate.
At that moment, within the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s body, all nine senior elders stood assembled.
Xian Lan, clad in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, her demeanor pitiful and fragile.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what is the result?” Elder Black Wind snarled at Xian Lan. “We entrusted you with the Ten Swords Sect, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Master… I didn’t give it to him!” Xian Lan straightened, her voice strained. “I wish for his death more than anyone!”
“And yet?” Black Wind’s fury only grew at her defiance. “Yang Hao thrives, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas!”
“He is simply too formidable,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could—”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her posture further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, his severe injuries had yet to heal.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to the Chief Summoner, Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your celestial journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on all present.
Yet Wu Yi’s tone then shifted. “But now, this is also our opportunity. We have lost everything—there is nothing left to lose. It is time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor the true might of the Senate.”
“What must we do?” Black Wind clenched his fists. “Shall we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are its shaft, and we nine are its tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip remains unbreakable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it is our turn to act—just as in the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It is time for us to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s intent.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We shall kill the Heroic Emperor!”
“What?” At least three elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. Had we not been merciful during the Dragon Trap, even a ghost could have slain the Heroic Emperor.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Masters!” Xian Lan, trembling in terror, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, spare my father! I will bring him to apologize—to kneel before you! Do not kill him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Master!” Xian Lan wailed, her body shaking violently as she kowtowed desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you as our own daughter, taught you with care—and how have you repaid us? Claiming to serve us, yet scheming endlessly for your father, shielding him from every danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! But have you ever considered the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay crumpled, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi’s accusations were justified. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate—even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Annihilation Scheme—her true loyalty had always been to her father, the Heroic Emperor. Bound by filial love, she had secretly intervened on his behalf, knowing his rebellious heart yet believing no one could ever defeat the Senate. She had hoped to preserve a final chance for the imperial family when all else failed.
Yet who could have foreseen that a nemesis for the Senate would truly emerge?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan knew war between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and that Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the final blow.
Now, all had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no rebuttal, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike could land, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up with hatred and hurling her into a sealed barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but retracted his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, he had no choice but to relent.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders shall guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s final struggles days hence.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
Three days—how much could be done in that time?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle shifts occurred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for “vacations.” Swordmaster legions from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but remained focused on their own plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and secure their victory.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests beyond the imperial city, carrying an unspoken dread.
Tonight, the palace was eerily silent. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their footsteps and hushed commands the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay in wait—any bird flying too close would collide with an unseen wall and plummet.
After multiple battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in truth.
Tonight, the primary defense was the “Wind” Sword Legion of the imperial guard—a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, bearing three gruesome scars, was a veteran of countless battles.
As he led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots—like wisps of smoke—seeped through the gravity barrier undetected, triggering no alarms.
The intrusion method was unfathomable. The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers. Only then did he snap back to reality.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he turned to find his comrades already fallen, their faces ghastly in death.
His own cry was cut short as Elder Ghost’s lifelessly cold hand closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Elder Ghost surveyed the corpses before joining his comrades in flight toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
Standing before the chambers, the nine elders felt a mix of emotions. Legends spoke of the palace being built by the Supreme One’s divine power centuries ago—surely some of that power lingered within.
Exchanging glances, they took positions at nine points around the chambers, palms pressed to the stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be simple for these nine most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—that the Senate was inviolable and unopposable.
Thus, they resolved to bury the Heroic Emperor—and the entire imperial family—within the very palace the Supreme One had built.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the heavens trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, yet their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor rose from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns, shaking the clouds. Dazzling light erupted from the sky, raining down unimaginable energy. The Supreme One’s palace began to quake—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles exploded midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire chamber imploded rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unending cascade—a catastrophe, an unprecedented earthquake.
Behind the chambers, the grand palace fell next. The elders’ power, lingering in the air, converged there. Pillars thicker than ancient trees shattered like kindling, their collapse thunderous.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand palace wailed as they disintegrated. The roof collapsed mid-descent, tearing apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic monument—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, its fall inexorable and tragic.
The residences of officials and royalty fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold—the pinnacle of the palace’s martial might—succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
In the span of moments, the imperial city—built by the Supreme One five centuries ago—was reduced to rubble by the elders’ full-force assault. A mountain of debris hundreds of meters high now stood where glory once reigned.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted, descended into chaos.
The three hundred elders, upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream, erupted in fury. They were itching to charge out immediately and slaughter every last traitor of the Ten Sword Stream and Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, promptly consolidated their defensive lines, and took stock of the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose, leaving only the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao’s Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could hardly endure.
The immediate trouble was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s physical form in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s body recklessly, nor did they dare provoke Yang Hao’s Flame Bow. They could only take turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao’s offensive would be so swift and devastating, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the presiding elders also wanted to strike back immediately, to grind Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed the best opportunity to kill Yang Hao. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military official, ruled the entire Western Territory, commanding countless elite warriors. Over a dozen Sword Master regiments were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master regiments to his control.
If the Elder Mountain truly clashed head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but the Senate’s centuries of accumulated power would also be exhausted, likely resulting in mutual destruction. This would leave the imperial family and other factions an opening to exploit.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, inside the Alchemy Cavern, before the Supreme One’s physical form, all nine presiding elders stood gathered.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before the elders, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, but what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to Yang Hao! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened her back and spoke forcefully.
“And yet?” Black Wind grew even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, embracing beauties and ruling the four seas.”
“That’s because he’s too powerful,” Xian Lan said tearfully. “I did everything I could!”
“Everything?” Black Wind sneered. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan trembled, lowering her kneeling posture further, too afraid to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. Let’s think about what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight presiding elders turned to Chief Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling in his eyes as he bowed to the Supreme One’s physical form. “Great Master, you bestowed upon us strength and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also an opportunity for us. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true power.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the other elders frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, then the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine presiding elders are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable,” Wu Yi said coldly. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like during the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time for us to change the world.”
“Hah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly,” Wu Yi nodded. “We will kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?” At least three presiding elders gasped in shock, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, turned deathly pale.
“The imperial palace isn’t heavily guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, we could have killed Yinglie then,” Wu Yi said, his gaze piercing Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified beyond measure, crawled forward on her knees. “Please don’t kill my father! I’ll make him come and apologize to you. Please spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Can his mistakes ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap. What was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s face twisted with fury. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you with care, and how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet everything you do is for your father—covering for him, helping him evade danger. What a fine daughter you are! Do you have no shame before the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the Stranglehold schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father, Emperor Yinglie. Bound by deep familial love, she knew of her father’s rebellious intentions toward the elders but believed no one could ever defeat them. She had secretly maneuvered to preserve the imperial family’s last hope for survival.
But who could have known that a nemesis for the Senate truly existed in this world?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan had already understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the one to deliver the killing blow.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could Xian Lan do?
Seeing her lack of rebuttal, Black Wind’s fury burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up with hatred and tossing her into a shielded barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood that Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had thus saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t insist on killing her.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s physical form. The nine of us will storm the imperial palace and take Yinglie’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the thick stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s desperate struggles before his death.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall would not be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the seemingly silent capital, subtle changes were afoot. The empire’s veteran ministers and high-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations. The Merchant Guild’s and the Western Territory’s Sword Master regiments infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate was not blind to these movements, but they had their own plans. The presiding elders believed that once their scheme was executed, the empire’s balance of power would flip, and the Senate would emerge victorious.
The night was as dark as ink, the wind cutting through the trees outside the imperial palace, carrying a biting chill.
Tonight, the palace seemed quieter than usual. Occasionally, squads of imperial guards passed by, their synchronized footsteps and exchanged commands the only sounds breaking the silence.
The barrier formed by radar and gravity devices was invisible, but any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and plummet to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax on the surface but impenetrable in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment of the imperial guards. Secretly established by Qin Feng and rebuilt multiple times after heavy losses, the regiment’s commander was a battle-hardened veteran, his three gruesome facial scars a testament to his experience.
As the commander led his squad to the base of the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze at the bizarre sight before him.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, slowly seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
This method of infiltration was beyond comprehension. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures had fully entered the palace and were darting toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” the commander screamed hoarsely. “Assas—”
But before he could finish, he realized his comrades-in-arms behind him had already collapsed, their faces ghastly pale—dead before they could react.
His voice died in his throat as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless hand closed around his neck.
Satisfied, Elder Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol squad before following his companions toward Emperor Yinglie’s chambers.
As the nine stood before the imperial chambers, their emotions were mixed. Legend held that centuries ago, the Supreme One had built this palace with divine power. If so, remnants of that power might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, the nine took positions around the chamber, each pressing a palm against the thick stone walls.
Killing Emperor Yinglie would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message: the Senate was inviolable, its authority absolute.
They would bury Yinglie—and the entire imperial family—using the very palace the Supreme One had built.
The nine elders unleashed their power simultaneously. The sky trembled as crimson clouds gathered, but compared to the elders’ unleashed might, the phenomenon was insignificant.
A tremor emanated from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation like a creeping insect in the night, spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light erupted in the sky, raining down unimaginable energy. The Supreme One’s palace began to tremble—then collapse.
Massive stone blocks crumbled to dust. Golden tiles shattered midair. Crystal windows vaporized in less than a second.
Under the elders’ power, the entire chamber disintegrated rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial palace crumbled in an unending cascade, like an unprecedented, catastrophic earthquake.
Behind the chambers, the grand hall was next. The elders’ power, still concentrated in the air, now converged there. Towering pillars collapsed like toy blocks, reduced to rubble.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand hall shattered with deafening wails. The roof collapsed, disintegrating before hitting the ground. The golden steps symbolizing imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like golden lava.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase—the palace’s most iconic feature, once revered by all—collapsed layer by layer like dominoes, unstoppable and tragic.
The officials’ and royals’ quarters fell.
The imperial guards’ barracks fell.
The palace’s towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black hall, representing the palace’s highest martial authority, crumbled under the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial palace, built by the Supreme One and standing for five centuries, was reduced to rubble under the nine elders’ full assault—a mountain of debris hundreds of meters high.
And this was still not over.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders had been furious ever since they learned of the betrayal of the Ten Swords. They were itching to charge out and slaughter the traitors of the Ten Swords and Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine senior elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They quickly suppressed the anger of the Senate, tightened their defensive lines, and took stock of the resources still available to them.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they seemed to have lost everything they could lose—all that remained was the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine senior elders understood the current predicament better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just rice—like Yang Hao, they required vast amounts of medicinal herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The real trouble was that they had lost five hundred core planets, the Ten Swords, and the family armies. The elders had been cut off from their supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the senior elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow, so they took turns standing guard.
Who could have imagined that Yang Hao would strike so swiftly and ruthlessly, cornering them in an instant?
Naturally, the elders wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had already missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, the most powerful military officer in the empire, ruled the entire Western Territory with countless elite swordsmen under his command. Even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its sword regiments to his control.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sect, they might have a chance to kill Yang Hao, but centuries of accumulated power would be spent in the process. It could end in mutual destruction, leaving the imperial family and other factions to seize the opportunity.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A trap Yang Hao had set for the Senate. The senior elders never imagined that the very scheme they had devised would now ensnare them. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine senior elders stood before the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“Every time you claim you can kill Yang Hao, what happens?” Elder Black Wind roared at Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Swords to you, and you handed them over to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give them to Yang Hao! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened up, speaking forcefully.
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered, angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is alive and well, ruling the seas with beauties in his arms.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan said, tears falling. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Black Wind scoffed. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when we ordered you to?”
Xian Lan trembled, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated. Since the battle at the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, he had been severely injured and had yet to recover.
The gazes of the eight elders turned to the Chief Elder, Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears in his eyes, then bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed power upon us and the Senate, yet we have fallen to such depths. If you were to return, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to strike back and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true strength.”
“What should we do?” Black Wind rubbed his hands eagerly. “Should we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful thing on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine are the tip. The shaft can be broken, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the war of the thirty-six imperial branches. It’s time to change the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to understand Wu Yi’s plan.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill the Heroic Emperor.”
“What?” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace is lightly guarded. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed the Heroic Emperor long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan, terrified, crawled forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, make him kneel before you—just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could he ever atone for his sins? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further. She could only kowtow desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, raised for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? You claim to serve us, yet everything you do is for your father, shielding him at every turn. What a dutiful daughter you are! Do you have no loyalty to the Senate that nurtured you?”
Xian Lan lay on the ground, her heart in agony, barely able to move. Blood surged backward through her meridians, trickling from the corners of her mouth.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, even orchestrating the Dragon Trap and the assassination plots, her true motive had always been to protect her father. She knew of his rebellious intentions but believed no one could defeat the Senate. So she worked behind the scenes, hoping to secure the imperial family’s survival when the time came.
But who could have known? In this world, there truly existed a nemesis for the Senate.
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan understood that a final battle between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, everything had come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll end your life!”
But before Black Wind could strike, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before dragging her up and hurling her into a sealed barrier.
Black Wind snorted in dissatisfaction but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood—Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple and had saved her. With the others silent, Black Wind couldn’t push further.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s displeasure. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the imperial palace and take the Heroic Emperor’s life! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens upside down then.”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning the Heroic Emperor’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sect’s downfall would soon follow.
Three days—how much could be done in that time?
Beneath the silent capital, subtle changes were unfolding. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations. Sword regiments from the Merchant Guild and the Western Territory infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed these movements but had their own plans. The elders believed that once their scheme unfolded, the empire’s balance would shift—and the Senate would emerge victorious.
Night was thick as ink, the wind cutting coldly through the trees outside the imperial palace.
Tonight, the palace was eerily quiet. Patrols of imperial guards passed by, their footsteps and calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields surrounded the palace. Any bird flying too close would suddenly collide with an unseen wall and fall stunned to the ground.
After several battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, but nearly impossible in reality.
Tonight, the main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment, a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt time and again despite heavy losses. Its commander, a veteran warrior, bore three gruesome scars on his face as proof of his experience.
As the commander led his squad beneath the grand staircase, he glanced up and froze.
Under the artificial moonlight, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier without triggering a single alarm.
The intrusion method was beyond belief. The commander stood dumbfounded, forgetting to sound the alarm until the smoke-like figures had fully entered the palace, speeding toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he screamed hoarsely. “Assass—”
But his voice died as he realized his comrades lay dead behind him, faces ghastly pale.
His own voice failed him as Elder Ghost’s icy, lifeless fingers closed around his throat.
Ghost surveyed the corpses of the patrol with satisfaction before joining his companions, flying toward the Heroic Emperor’s chambers.
Standing before the chambers, the nine elders felt a mix of emotions. Legends said the palace had been built by the Supreme One’s divine power centuries ago—meaning remnants of his might might still linger within.
Exchanging glances, they positioned themselves at nine points around the chambers, palms pressed against the thick stone walls.
Killing the Heroic Emperor would be easy for these nine, the most powerful beings in the universe. But they intended this assassination to send a message—the Senate was invincible, unopposable.
They would bury the Heroic Emperor, using the very palace the Supreme One had built to annihilate the imperial family.
As the nine elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, but their brilliance paled against the elders’ unleashed might.
A tremor rose from the planet’s core.
The first crack split the chamber’s foundation, creeping like a nocturnal insect before spreading like an unstoppable flood across the stone walls.
“Roar!”
“Roar!”
Nine shouts, like war horns, shook the heavens. Dazzling light descended as the Supreme One’s palace began to crumble.
Massive stone blocks shattered. Golden tiles exploded into dust. Crystal windows vaporized in an instant.
Under the elders’ power, the entire palace collapsed rapidly.
And this was only the beginning.
The entire imperial city crumbled in an unprecedented disaster—a cataclysmic earthquake.
Beyond the chambers, the grand palace fell next. The elders’ power lingered in the air, directed toward its destruction. Pillars thicker than ancient trees shattered like kindling.
The hundred pillars supporting the grand palace wailed before disintegrating. The roof collapsed midair, tearing apart before hitting the ground. The golden steps of imperial authority melted into liquid, flowing like molten gold.
Still, it didn’t end.
The ten-thousand-step staircase, the palace’s most iconic feature, collapsed layer by layer like dominoes—inevitable, tragic, resolute.
The residences of officials and royals fell.
The barracks of the imperial guards fell.
The towering palace walls fell.
Even the black palace of Qin Feng, the empire’s strongest warrior, succumbed to the night wind’s mournful howl.
The imperial city, standing for five centuries since the Supreme One’s reign, was reduced to rubble under the elders’ assault—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
The palaces where officials and members of the royal family lived also collapsed.
The quarters of the Imperial Guard also collapsed.
The towering walls of the Imperial City also collapsed.
Even the highest military power in the Imperial City, the black palace where Qin Feng resided, also collapsed amidst the howling night wind.
While Yang Hao and his allies were secretly plotting, the Senate was in chaos, just as Ling Ziyan had predicted.
The three hundred elders had erupted in fury upon learning of the betrayal of the Ten Sword Stream. They were eager to charge out and slaughter the traitors of the Ten Sword Stream and Yang Hao himself.
But in such moments, the nine presiding elders demonstrated their seasoned wisdom. They swiftly quelled the elders’ rage, strategically consolidated their battle lines, and assessed the resources still at their disposal.
The situation was indeed dire. The elders realized that within just a year, they had seemingly lost everything they could lose—leaving them with nothing but the mountain beneath their feet.
The nine presiding elders understood the gravity of the situation better than anyone. The trap they had once set for Yang Hao and the Alchemy Sword Sect now seemed to be closing in on them. The daily needs of the three hundred elders weren’t just food—like Yang Hao, they required vast quantities of herbs and energy to sustain their cultivation. Without these, the Senate could barely hold on.
The immediate crisis was the loss of five hundred core planets, the Ten Sword Stream, and the family armies—effectively cutting off the elders’ supply lines.
After returning from the Hidden Dragon Pavilion, the presiding elders had spent long hours guarding the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern. They dared not disturb the Supreme One’s remains, nor could they risk Yang Hao’s Flaming Bow. Thus, they took turns standing guard.
Yet, no one had anticipated Yang Hao’s swift and devastating counterattack, which had cornered them in an instant.
The presiding elders naturally wanted to retaliate immediately—to crush Yang Hao’s bones to dust and ensure he never reincarnated.
But they had long missed their best chance to kill him. Now, Yang Hao, as the empire’s most powerful military officer, ruled the entire Western Territory, commanding countless elite warriors. Over a dozen Sword Master regiments were permanently stationed within the Alchemy Sword Sect, and even the Merchant Guild had transferred forty of its Sword Master regiments to his control.
If the Senate were to clash head-on with the Alchemy Sword Sect, they might kill Yang Hao—but at the cost of centuries of accumulated power, likely resulting in mutual destruction. That would only give the imperial family and other factions an opportunity to strike.
This was a deadlock—a fatal trap.
A grand scheme laid by Yang Hao to strangle the Senate. The presiding elders never imagined that the very trap they had set would ensnare them instead. Such was the irony of fate.
At this moment, all nine presiding elders stood before the Supreme One’s body in the Alchemy Cavern.
Xian Lan, dressed in the black gown of an enchantress but without her veil, knelt before them, looking pitiful.
“You always claim you can kill Yang Hao, yet what’s the result?” Elder Black Wind berated Xian Lan. “We entrusted the Ten Sword Stream to you, and you handed it straight to Yang Hao!”
“Great Masters… I didn’t give it to him! I wish he would die right now!” Xian Lan straightened, speaking vehemently.
“And yet?” Black Wind sneered, growing even angrier at her defiance. “Yang Hao is thriving, embracing beauties and ruling the seas.”
“He’s just too powerful,” Xian Lan whispered, tears falling. “I did everything I could.”
“Everything?” Black Wind mocked. “Then why didn’t you kill Ling when ordered?”
Xian Lan shuddered, lowering her head further, unable to respond.
“Scolding her is pointless. We must focus on what we can still do,” said Tian Ce, the only one seated, still recovering from severe injuries sustained in the Hidden Dragon Pavilion battle.
The eight elders turned their gazes to Chief Summoner Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi sighed deeply, tears welling as he bowed to the Supreme One’s body. “Great Master, you bestowed us with power and the Senate, yet we have fallen to this state. If you were to return from your immortal journey, how could we face you?”
His words weighed heavily on everyone.
But then Wu Yi’s tone shifted. “Yet now is also our opportunity. We’ve lost everything—there’s nothing left to lose. It’s time to gamble everything and show Yang Hao and the old emperor our true might.”
“What’s the plan?” Black Wind clenched his fists. “Do we gather our forces and storm the Alchemy Sword Sect?”
Wu Yi shook his head. “What is the most powerful asset on Elder Mountain?”
“The three hundred elders?” Black Wind’s suggestion made the others frown.
“If Elder Mountain is a spear, the three hundred elders are the shaft, and we nine are the tip. The shaft can be severed, but the tip is unstoppable.” Wu Yi’s expression turned icy. “Now, it’s our turn to act—just like in the Thirty-Six Royal Branch Wars. It’s time we reshape the world.”
“Ah…” Tian Ce seemed to grasp Wu Yi’s intent.
“Exactly.” Wu Yi nodded. “We kill Emperor Yinglie!”
“What?!” At least three elders gasped, while Xian Lan, still kneeling, paled in horror.
“The imperial palace has few elites. If we hadn’t been soft-hearted during the Dragon Trap, Ghost could have killed Yinglie long ago.” Wu Yi’s gaze pierced Xian Lan like needles.
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan panicked, crawling forward on her knees. “Please, don’t kill my father! I’ll make him apologize, beg for your forgiveness—just spare him!”
“Apologize?” Wu Yi laughed coldly. “Could his sins ever be forgiven? We gave him a chance during the Dragon Trap—what was the result?”
“Great Masters!” Xian Lan wailed, trembling uncontrollably, unable to speak further, only kowtowing desperately.
Wu Yi waved his hand, and Xian Lan was sent flying, blood spraying from her mouth. This enchantress, nurtured for over a decade, had never before been struck by an elder.
Wu Yi’s fury was palpable. “Xian Lan! We raised you like a daughter, taught you everything—and how do you repay us? Claiming to serve us, yet always protecting your father, helping him evade danger. What a dutiful daughter you are! Do you have any loyalty left for the Senate that raised you?”
Xian Lan collapsed, her heart aching more than her wounds. Blood flowed backward through her meridians, dripping from her lips.
She knew Wu Yi wasn’t wrong. Though she had always acted as an enchantress for the Senate, orchestrating both the Dragon Trap and the Strangulation schemes, her true motive had always been to protect her father. She knew of his rebellious intentions but believed no one could defeat the Senate. So, she secretly mediated, hoping to preserve the imperial family’s last hope.
But who could have predicted that a nemesis for the Senate truly existed?
When Yang Hao appeared, Xian Lan knew a final clash between Elder Mountain and the imperial family was inevitable—and Yang Hao would be the executioner.
Now, it had all come to pass. But what could she do?
Seeing Xian Lan offer no defense, Black Wind’s rage burned hotter. He lunged forward, summoning his artifact. “I’ll take your life!”
But before his strike landed, Elder Rong Wei flashed into motion, slapping Xian Lan four times across the face before seizing her and tossing her into a barrier.
Black Wind snorted in displeasure but withdrew his artifact. Even he understood Rong Wei couldn’t bear to kill his own disciple, thus sparing her. With the others silent, he couldn’t force the issue.
“Enough!” Wu Yi ignored Black Wind’s discontent. “In three days, all elders will guard the Supreme One’s body. We nine will storm the palace and kill that old fool Yinglie! Let’s see if Yang Hao can still turn the heavens!”
Wu Yi’s gaze seemed to pierce through the stone walls, envisioning Emperor Yinglie’s final struggles days from now.
And the Alchemy Sword Sect’s downfall wouldn’t be far behind.
What could be accomplished in three days?
Beneath the capital’s silent surface, subtle changes stirred. High-ranking officials fled the galaxy for vacations. Merchant Guild and Western Territory Sword Master regiments infiltrated Earth, vanishing without a trace.
The Senate noticed but remained focused on their plan—one they believed would overturn the empire and secure their victory.
Night fell like spilled ink, thick and suffocating. A cold wind swept through the forests outside the palace, carrying an eerie chill.
Tonight, the palace was quieter than usual. Patrols of imperial guards passed occasionally, their footsteps and calls the only sounds.
Invisible barriers of radar and gravity fields lay undetected—until a bird collided mid-flight, plummeting to the ground.
After past battles, the palace’s defenses were deceptively lax—easy to breach in appearance, near-impossible in reality.
Tonight’s main defense was the “Wind” Sword Regiment, a core force secretly trained by Qin Feng, rebuilt repeatedly after heavy losses. Its commander, scarred from countless battles, led his squad down the long steps when he froze.
Under the artificial moon’s glow, nine black dots, like wisps of smoke, seeped through the gravity barrier—triggering no alarms.
The commander stood dumbfounded until the smoke fully entered the palace, streaking toward the emperor’s chambers.
“Assassins!!” he roared—but his voice died as he turned to find his comrades already dead, faces ghastly pale.
His own cry was cut short as Elder Ghost’s icy hand closed around his throat.
Satisfied, Ghost followed his peers toward Emperor Yinglie’s quarters.
The nine elders stood before the chambers, emotions complex. Legends said the palace was built centuries ago by the Supreme One’s divine power—meaning remnants of his might might linger here.
Exchanging glances, they took positions around the building, palms against the stone.
Killing Yinglie was easy for these nine, the cosmos’ mightiest. But this assassination would send a message: the Senate was inviolable.
They would bury Yinglie—using his own palace, the Supreme One’s creation, to annihilate the imperial family.
As the elders unleashed their power, the sky trembled. Crimson clouds gathered, paling against the energy radiating from below.
A tremor surged from the planet’s core.
The first crack crawled up the chamber’s foundation, spreading like floodwaters across the stone.
“Roar!”
Nine shouts echoed like war horns. Dazzling light rained from the sky as the Supreme One’s palace shook—then collapsed.
Massive stones crumbled. Golden tiles vaporized midair. Crystal windows turned to gas in seconds.
The entire structure disintegrated under the elders’ might—just the beginning.
The palace compound crumbled in a catastrophic, unprecedented earthquake.
Next fell the grand hall. The elders’ power lingered, toppling pillars like dominos.
A hundred supports shattered, their mournful cries lost as the roof collapsed into fragments. The golden throne melted into liquid, flowing like lava.
Still, it continued.
The ten-thousand-step staircase, the palace’s iconic monument, collapsed layer by layer—unstoppable, tragic, resolute.
Officials’ quarters fell.
Barracks fell.
The towering walls fell.
Even Qin Feng’s black stronghold, the palace’s pinnacle of martial power, succumbed to the night’s lament.
The Supreme One’s palace, standing for five centuries, was reduced to rubble—a mountainous ruin hundreds of meters high.
“The Empire, from this day forth, shall have no more Imperial City.” Elder Wu Yi, together with eight other executives, stood atop the mountain of rubble, watching the chaos all around and the Imperial Guards approaching with cries and screams.
The cold wind blew sand across the faces of the executives, making them feel the weight of history.
This city, founded by the Supreme Sovereign and symbolizing the highest imperial power of the Empire, had finally fulfilled its mission in the hands of the Supreme’s disciples—if the wind could indeed blow from the past, through the present, and into the future.
Perhaps it could also carry away the executives’ sense of loss.
From this day onward, the Empire would no longer have royalty.
Elder Wu Yi did not say this, but it was carved into the hearts of the executives. They had ended an era with their own hands—the era left behind by the Supreme. When they felt the Supreme’s warm and familiar power, they couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia.
“Is that so?” a voice came from atop the ruins of the palace on the edge of Wu Yi’s head.
Elder Wu Yi was not particularly surprised. They had anticipated that Emperor Ying Lie would not be so easily killed, after all, he was a master at the peak of the Saint Realm. There was still a fierce battle to come today.
However, when they turned around, standing at the highest point of the entire ruins was an old man in dark robes, gently holding a sword between two fingers.
Not Emperor Ying Lie, but the true guardian of the Imperial City—the old sword saint who had never tasted defeat and had fought against the Elder Council until now.
“Where is Ni Ran?” Wu Yi asked.
“He’s not here,” the old sword saint lightly waved his sword, as if he were stroking the wind. “I’ll accompany you all. Isn’t that enough?”
“Old scoundrel!” Black Wind immediately hurled abuse at the old sword saint upon seeing him.
“Who isn’t?” the old sword saint laughed. “Who isn’t a scoundrel? Anyone who tries to resist the tide of the world with their own strength is a scoundrel.”
“This is our world!” Wu Yi roared, and the nine executive elders simultaneously extended their hands toward the old sword saint. The power capable of crushing heaven and earth gathered in the palms of their nine hands. “Where is Jia Ran? Let him come out and die.”
“It’s enough to have me tonight,” the old sword saint casually swung his sword. “The children have all gone, I can’t leave. I’ve been here for over a hundred years, I can’t leave anymore. I am the guardian and watchman of this place. I have to help the children watch over their home.”
“Can you hold it?” Wu Yi’s face twisted with rage, pointing at the rubble beneath his feet. “It’s all destroyed, the entire Imperial City. Did you manage to protect it?”
“You’re wrong,” the old sword saint shook his head and laughed loudly. “The Imperial City is me, and I am the Imperial City. As long as I exist, the royalty still exists. I am the sky of the royalty, the land of the royalty, the city and palace of the royalty.”
“Then die! Just die!!!” Wu Yi roared. “Tonight is your doom, old scoundrel. Let’s settle the accounts of the past two hundred years.”
Nine beams of blazing light shot from the palms of the executives, all aimed at the old sword saint.
“The sword is still in my hand!” The old sword saint’s blade spun out a dazzling arc. The nine beams powerful enough to collapse the Imperial City vanished without a trace under the old sword saint’s swing.
However, the old man’s long beard and robe were suddenly whipped into chaos by a sudden gust of wind.
“Treasures!!” Wu Yi cried out in alarm.
The nine executive elders simultaneously summoned their respective treasures. From Wu Yi’s bosom flew a milky-white small sword for the first time, rushing straight toward the old sword saint’s face.
The dragon-slaying nails from Elder Gui descended from the sky, sharp and piercing.
The Thousand Soul Pillar! The Auspicious Cloud Chain!
A total of nine treasures, each infused with a hundred years of energy from the universe, fell upon the old sword saint.
“Hmph!” The old sword saint sighed. His entire body radiated the ultimate brilliance of the Saint Realm, while another golden light quietly began to develop.
It was a seed that had lain dormant for a hundred years, ready to take root and sprout today. But fate is unpredictable, and no one can achieve perfection easily.
The old sword saint turned his blade and collided with the nine treasures.
The heavens and earth trembled, and everything turned pitch black for a moment.
Even a corner of the universe cracked open because of this extraordinary collision.
The golden brilliance within the old sword saint suddenly erupted into the most vivid colors, like a flower that blooms only once in a lifetime, desperately absorbing the energy released in this collision.
“Divine Realm light?” Wu Yi was stunned. Though it was only a fleeting moment, he had clearly seen that the light hidden within the old sword saint’s body was indeed the Divine Realm light possessed only by the Supreme.
Could it be that this guardian of the royalty, this opponent who had never been defeated by the Elders, had actually become a god?
The old sword saint’s eyes dimmed. After withstanding the power of the nine treasures, the Divine Realm light within him rapidly faded, eventually disappearing completely.
This seed of divinity was thus destroyed.
If not for tonight, if not for this battle, perhaps the old sword saint really could have become a god, just as the Supreme had once said.
“There will always be gods after my god.”
Even though the Elder Council had gathered the strongest beings in the universe over several centuries, and even though the Supreme had destroyed all methods of becoming a god, they still could not stop some people from re-entering the realm of gods through their own understanding and creation.
Wu Yi and the others stood there, watching the Divine Realm light of the old sword saint bloom and then fade away.
They forgot to attack, as if everything in the world had vanished in that instant, and they were merely witnessing a miracle unfolding.
But this miracle was quickly fading.
The old sword saint swung his sword, his face pale, his beard and hair broken: “Indeed formidable. A joint strike from the nine executives might even be hard for the Supreme to withstand. Come again, and I will die.”
“First among five hundred years,” Elder Gui suddenly said. “That’s you, old scoundrel.”
This was the highest praise, not from anyone else, but from the enemy’s mouth. Even though the old sword saint had fought against the Elder Council for centuries, and the Elders had wanted to break his bones and suck his marrow.
Yet they still had to say it, because they were facing a real enemy, an immortal myth that generations of countless Elders had never managed to defeat.
Two hundred and fifty years ago, the old sword saint had already come into the Elders’ sights, though the executives at that time were not the ones present now. The old sword saint had defeated several Elders with his own sword techniques, but refused to join the Elder Council, thus beginning thirty years of pursuit and thirty years of escape.
Two hundred and twenty years ago, the old sword saint finally reached the peak of the Saint Realm, at which time Wu Yi had just become an executive Elder.
The battles that spanned history had erupted countless times among these people.
The old sword saint grew more and more courageous in battle, not only fighting himself but also cultivating disciples, entering the Imperial City, and even becoming the protector of the entire royalty.
During these two hundred years, the Elder Council had attempted assassinations countless times, consuming hundreds of Saint Realm and even peak Saint Realm experts, yet no one had ever been able to defeat this old man.
If Yang Hao was the immortal war god,
Then the old sword saint was the undefeated myth.
This was the most incredible and indestructible myth in the universe.
And yet, it would end tonight.
Everyone must eventually take their perfect bow at the end of their life. Tonight was the old sword saint’s final act.
He laughed loudly, as arrogantly and defiantly as in his youth, as if he were pointing his sword at his opponents, looking down on them with disdain.
The nine executives summoned their respective treasures once more. They had already realized that the Divine Realm light from just now had exhausted the old sword saint’s strength. Except for the vital energy protecting his life, he had almost no strength left to resist the next attack.
The myth of invincibility seemed about to end.
The executives did not feel joy. They raised their treasures more heavily than ever before. When you eliminate an enemy who has spanned several generations, it does not bring happiness.
“Die!” Wu Yi said. “We will have Ni Ran buried with you.”
“You’re wrong,” the old sword saint, however, forcefully plunged his long sword into the rubble beside him. This sword, which had accompanied him all his life, finally left his fingertips. “It is you who will be buried with me. Ni Ran has already left. He has gone to your place.”
“What?” The executives were startled, a bad omen forming in their hearts.
As if to confirm their suspicions, a rumbling thunder came from the horizon. In the direction of the Elder Mountain, strange lights shone, and dark clouds and lightning covered the summit of the Elder Mountain.
“They attacked the Elder Mountain?” Wu Yi suddenly realized. “Is it today?”
“Exactly today,” the old sword saint pointed far ahead. “My disciples, Ni Ran and Qin Feng, and my successor Yang Hao have already brought everyone. Today, they will flatten the Elder Mountain.”
“How dare you!!” Wu Yi’s eyes were almost bloodshot with rage.
“It’s already happening,” the old sword saint laughed again.
Everything culminated tonight. While the nine executives were fully deployed to assassinate Emperor Ying Lie, the royalty and the Dan Ding Sword Sect, who had been preparing for a long time, also fully deployed to attack the Elder Mountain.
The greatest battle in the universe was happening tonight.
As the nine executives turned the Imperial City into a pile of rubble, Yang Hao’s people had probably already flattened the manor of the sword sect that guarded the mountain, and the swordsmen of the Dan Ding Sect were stepping into the forbidden area of the Elder Mountain.
“We can go back anytime, even after killing you,” Wu Yi gritted his teeth but did not panic. “Haven’t you considered that? We can always make it back in time. Can it still be considered a surprise attack?”
“What if you can’t go back?”
“Just you!!” The nine people’s treasures simultaneously launched, emitting deafening whistles in the air and solidly hitting the air in front of the old sword saint’s chest.
The explosion’s light penetrated the old sword saint’s body, making it seem like a mist, uncertain and insubstantial.
It was only at this moment that Wu Yi noticed something strange. The surroundings had unknowingly filled with many people. Below the mountain of rubble, there were thousands of black-clothed figures. They were of different ages and appearances, yet they seemed like the same person, possessing exactly the same power. These people were not the Imperial Guards, not swordsmen, nor any of the high-level experts they had seen before. They were completely unfamiliar, even blank.
Even more strangely, the old sword saint’s condition was peculiar. His body was no longer substantial. Before the second strike from the nine treasures, the old sword saint’s body had already become like a mass of milky-white mist, dispersing in the pitch-black night wind.
The cold wind blew through his chest, carrying white whirlpools, blowing the milky-white mist from his back, stretching out a long white ribbon, dancing in the wind.
Like cherry blossoms swirling on the lake after a spring breeze.
“It’s time to end this,” the old sword saint looked at Wu Yi and Elder Gui. “I’m old, we’re all old. It’s time to take our final bow.”
“What are you going to do?” Wu Yi finally felt a bit panicked. He sensed something unusual.
“Have we not fought for over two hundred years? Aren’t you tired?” the old sword saint smiled bitterly. “I’m tired. I don’t even want to be a god anymore. If the Supreme wants to be the only god, let him be. This burden is only for him. My dear friends who have accompanied me for a hundred years, today, let’s grow old together.”
As the old sword saint spoke, the milky-white mist rushed out wildly, yet in the sky above the Imperial City, it formed a white net, a white barrier.
“He’s creating a sealed space!” Elder Gui was the first to realize, but it was already too late.
“Hmph!” The old sword saint grew more and more weary. “Save your strength. This barrier is built with my life force, the last energy of an old man who nearly entered the Divine Realm. You can’t break it. None of you can break it.”
“You want to trap us here?” Black Wind’s face was filled with fear. “You’re going to use your life to trap us here so Yang Hao can capture the Elder Mountain?”
The old sword saint’s increasingly thin and dim body still stood in the wind. His proud expression truly did not place the nine executives in his eyes. For hundreds of years, he had never been defeated, and at the final moment of his life, he still had not been defeated.
Elder Gui and Elder Tian Ce had already continuously attacked the barrier several times, even the nine treasures had attacked together, but they always fell short.
“From this day forth, the empire shall have no imperial city.” Elder Wu Yi stood atop the rubble mountain with eight other stewards, surveying the chaos and the weeping, screaming imperial guards closing in from all sides.
The cold wind whipped up sand and grit, stinging the faces of the stewards, making them feel the weight of history.
This city, built by the Supreme One and symbolizing the highest imperial authority, had finally fulfilled its purpose—destroyed by the hands of the Supreme One’s own disciples. If the wind could truly blow from the past to the present and into the future, perhaps it could also carry away the melancholy in the stewards’ hearts.
From this day forth, the empire shall have no royal family.
Wu Yi did not say these words, but they were etched into the hearts of the stewards. With their own hands, they had ended an era—the era left behind by the Supreme One. When they felt the warm, familiar power of the Supreme One, they couldn’t help but sigh.
“Is that so?” A voice came from above Wu Yi, from the ruins of the palace.
Wu Yi was not entirely surprised. They had anticipated that the Heroic Emperor would not die so easily. After all, he was a peak Saint Realm expert. There was still a fierce battle ahead.
But when he turned, standing at the highest point of the ruins was not the Heroic Emperor, but an old man in flowing black robes, lightly holding a sword between two fingers.
Not the Heroic Emperor, but the true guardian of the imperial city—the undefeated Sword Saint who had fought the Elder Council to this day.
“Where is Ni Ran?” Wu Yi asked.
“He is not here,” the old Sword Saint said, gently waving his sword as if caressing the wind. “Is my company not enough for you all?”
“You old fool!” Black Wind sneered at the Sword Saint.
“And who isn’t?” The Sword Saint laughed. “Who isn’t a fool? Anyone who tries to stand against the tide of history is a fool.”
“This is our world!” Wu Yi roared. The nine steward elders simultaneously raised their hands toward the Sword Saint, their power—enough to strangle heaven and earth—condensing in their palms. “Where is Jia Ran? Bring him out to die.”
“Tonight, I alone am enough,” the Sword Saint said casually, twirling his sword. “The children have all left. I cannot. After a hundred years here, I can no longer leave. I am this place’s guardian, its watchman. I must keep watch for the children.”
“Can you even protect anything?” Wu Yi sneered, pointing at the rubble beneath his feet. “It’s all destroyed. The entire imperial city—did you protect it?”
“You are mistaken,” the Sword Saint shook his head and laughed. “The imperial city is me, and I am the imperial city. As long as I live, the royal family lives. I am the sky, the earth, the walls and palaces of the royal family.”
“Then die! Just die!!!” Wu Yi bellowed. “Tonight is your death, old fool. Let us settle the debts of two hundred years.”
Nine scorching beams of light erupted from the stewards’ palms, shooting toward the Sword Saint.
“My sword is still in hand!” The Sword Saint’s blade traced a brilliant arc in the air. The nine beams of power—enough to collapse the imperial city—vanished without a trace under his sword.
Yet the old man’s long beard and robes were whipped into chaos by the sudden gale.
“Artifacts!!” Wu Yi howled.
The nine steward elders summoned their artifacts simultaneously. From Wu Yi’s chest, a milky-white short sword flew out for the first time, aiming straight for the Sword Saint’s face.
Ghost Elder’s Dragon-Slaying Nail descended from the sky, its edge sharper than anything.
Thousand Soul Seal! Auspicious Cloud Refinement!
Nine artifacts, each containing centuries of cosmic energy, converged upon the Sword Saint.
“Ha!” The Sword Saint sighed deeply. The light of the Saint Realm around him had reached its peak, and another golden radiance was quietly brewing within him.
It was a seed—planted a hundred years ago, ready to sprout today. But fate was fickle, and no one could achieve perfection.
The Sword Saint twisted his blade, meeting the nine artifacts head-on.
Heaven and earth shook. The world plunged into darkness.
Even a corner of the universe cracked open from the force of this collision.
The golden light within the Sword Saint’s body erupted in its most vivid hue, like a flower that blooms only once in a lifetime, desperately devouring the energy unleashed by the clash.
“Divine Realm light?” Wu Yi was stunned. Though only for an instant, he had clearly seen it—the radiance within the Sword Saint was indeed that of the Divine Realm, something only the Supreme One had possessed.
Had this guardian of the royal family, this undefeated opponent of the Elder Council, truly ascended to godhood?
The Sword Saint’s eyes dimmed. After withstanding the power of the nine artifacts, the Divine Realm light within him rapidly withered, fading away until it vanished without a trace.
The seed of divinity had been crushed.
If not for tonight, if not for this battle, perhaps the Sword Saint truly could have become a god—just as the Supreme One had once prophesied:
“After my divinity, there shall be another.”
Even if the Elder Council gathered the universe’s strongest over centuries, even if the Supreme One destroyed all paths to godhood, there would always be those who, through their own understanding and creation, could step into the Divine Realm once more.
Wu Yi and the others stared dumbfounded as the Sword Saint’s Divine Realm light flared and died.
They forgot to attack, as if the entire world had vanished in that moment. They had witnessed a miracle—one that was now withering before their eyes.
The Sword Saint swung his sword once more, his face pale, his beard and hair severed. “Truly formidable. The combined strike of nine stewards—even the Supreme One might not have endured it. Strike again, and I will die.”
“The greatest in five hundred years,” Ghost Elder suddenly said. “It is you, old fool.”
This was the highest praise—not from an ally, but from an enemy. Though the Sword Saint had fought the Elder Council for centuries, though the elders wished to grind his bones to dust, they still had to admit it.
For they faced a true adversary—a legend that generations of elders had never been able to defeat.
Two hundred and fifty years ago, the Sword Saint had first caught the Elder Council’s attention. The stewards then were not the ones here today. With his self-taught swordsmanship, he had defeated several elders in succession, yet refused to join the Elder Council. Thus began thirty years of pursuit and thirty years of evasion.
By two hundred and twenty years ago, the Sword Saint had reached the peak of the Saint Realm—just as Wu Yi became a steward elder.
The battles that spanned history had erupted countless times between them.
The Sword Saint grew stronger with each fight. Not only did he fight himself, but he also nurtured disciples, entered the imperial city, and became the protector of the entire royal family.
Over these two hundred years, the Elder Council had attempted assassination over a thousand times, expending countless Saint Realm and even peak Saint Realm experts. Yet no one had ever defeated this old man.
If Yang Hao was the undying God of War, then the Sword Saint was the undefeated myth.
The most inconceivable, unbreakable myth in the universe.
And tonight, it would end.
Every life must have its perfect finale. Tonight was the Sword Saint’s final act.
He laughed, as arrogant and unrestrained as in his youth, as when he had pointed his sword at his foes with disdain.
The nine stewards summoned their artifacts again. They had already seen that the Divine Realm light had drained the Sword Saint’s strength. Beyond his life-preserving energy, he had almost no power left to withstand another assault.
The undefeated myth seemed about to be shattered.
Yet the stewards felt no joy. As they raised their artifacts, their hearts were heavier than ever. Destroying an enemy who had spanned generations did not bring happiness.
“Die,” Wu Yi said. “We will have Ni Ran join you in death.”
“You are mistaken,” the Sword Saint said, driving his sword deep into the rubble beside him. The blade that had accompanied him his entire life finally left his fingertips. “It is you who will join me in death. Jia Ran has already left—he has gone to where you came from.”
“What?” The stewards were stunned, a bad premonition rising in their hearts.
As if confirming their fears, thunder rumbled in the distance. Over the direction of Elder Mountain, strange lights flashed, dark clouds and lightning shrouding its peak.
“They’re attacking Elder Mountain?” Wu Yi suddenly realized. “Today?”
“Today,” the Sword Saint said, pointing into the distance. “My disciples Jia Ran, Qin Feng, and my successor Yang Hao—they have gathered everyone. Today, they will raze Elder Mountain.”
“You dare!!” Wu Yi’s eyes burned with fury, as if blood would drip from them.
“It is already done,” the Sword Saint laughed again.
The final reckoning was tonight. While the nine steward elders had launched their full assault to assassinate the Heroic Emperor, the royal family and the Alchemy Sword Sect had also mobilized their full strength to besiege Elder Mountain.
The greatest battle in the universe was unfolding simultaneously this very night.
While the nine stewards turned the imperial city to rubble, Yang Hao’s forces had likely already flattened the Sword Sect’s manors, and the Alchemy Sword Masters had set foot on Elder Mountain’s forbidden grounds.
“We can return at any time—even after killing you,” Wu Yi said through gritted teeth, though he remained calm. “Did you not consider that? If we can return in time, is this even an ambush?”
“And if you cannot return?”
“With just you?!” The nine artifacts unleashed simultaneously, their deafening howls filling the air as they struck the empty space before the Sword Saint’s chest.
The explosion’s light passed through the Sword Saint’s body, making him seem as insubstantial as mist.
Only then did Wu Yi notice something strange. The surroundings had filled with countless people—thousands of black-clad figures at the base of the rubble mountain. They varied in age and appearance, yet all seemed to possess identical power. They were not imperial guards, nor sword masters, nor any known experts. They were entirely unfamiliar—blank slates.
The Sword Saint’s condition was even stranger. His body was no longer solid. Before the nine artifacts struck again, his form had dissolved into a milky-white mist, dispersing in the dark night wind.
The cold wind blew through his chest, carrying white swirls that stretched into long ribbons, dancing in the air like cherry blossoms scattered by a spring breeze over a lake.
“It is time to end this,” the Sword Saint said, looking at Wu Yi and Ghost Elder. “I am old. We are all old. It is time to take our final bow.”
“What are you doing?” Wu Yi finally felt a trace of panic. Something was wrong.
“We have fought for over two hundred years. Are you not tired?” The Sword Saint smiled bitterly. “I am tired. I do not even wish to be a god. Let the Supreme One be the only god—he alone is willing to bear that burden. My friends, you who have accompanied me for a century, tonight, grow old with me.”
As the Sword Saint spoke, the milky-white mist surged wildly, spreading across the imperial city’s sky to form a white net—a white barrier.
“He’s creating a sealed space!” Ghost Elder realized first, but it was already too late.
“Ha!” The Sword Saint grew weaker. “Save your strength. This barrier is forged from my life force—the final energy of an old man who nearly stepped into the Divine Realm. You cannot break it. None of you can.”
“You mean to trap us here?” Black Wind’s face twisted in fear. “You would sacrifice your life to stall us, just so Yang Hao can take Elder Mountain?”
The Sword Saint’s increasingly faint and translucent form still stood proudly in the wind. His arrogant expression showed no regard for the nine stewards. In centuries past, he had never been defeated. Even at life’s end, he remained undefeated.
Ghost Elder and Tian Ce Elder had already attempted to breach the barrier multiple times. Even the combined might of the nine artifacts had failed.
The stewards realized with horror that the barrier the Sword Saint had erected was even more unbreakable than the Ghost Nether Barrier. This was truly impenetrable.
“You madman!!” Wu Yi pointed at the Sword Saint and roared. “You’re insane! With just you—how long can you hold us? How much energy do you have left to seal us away?”
The sounds of battle from Elder Mountain seemed to carry even here. The nine stewards’ hearts pounded like war drums. They knew full well that tonight, Yang Hao and the Heroic Emperor had mobilized their elites. The battle at Elder Mountain was desperate. Without the nine of them, the three hundred elders there would likely be unable to hold.
Would the last remnants of the Supreme One’s lineage end here?
“Old scoundrel!!” Wu Yi pointed at the old sword saint and roared. “You’re crazy! Are you crazy? Just you alone, how long can you keep us trapped here? How much vital energy can you use to seal us away?”
The sounds of battle from the Elder Mountain seemed to have already reached here. The nine executives’ hearts were like war drums, wildly beating. They knew very well that tonight, Yang Hao and Emperor Ying Lie must have sent out all their elites. The battle at the Elder Mountain was extremely urgent. Without the nine of them to hold the line, relying only on the three hundred elders there, it would probably be difficult to resist.
Was the last bit of the Supreme’s bloodline also about to come to an end?
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