Chapter 256: Three Thousand Extraordinary Lives

The old sword saint waved his wrist and pointed at the black-clad figures kneeling beneath the rubble mountain:

“Have you not always been searching for how many disciples I truly have? These people are my disciples, exactly three thousand of them.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one became Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old sword saint’s aged face. “These three thousand cannot reach the Saint Realm, but they are not useless. They have been hiding, waiting for this very day. Their entire strength is not for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will still be here. Each can sustain this barrier for a year. These three thousand disciples can imprison you for three thousand years.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine stewards’ faces turned pale; even their magical treasures trembled in their grasp. “This is my finale,” the old sword saint said solemnly, uttering his final words. “Remember, my real name is Xu Youli.”

This ridiculous name brought no laughter, for the old sword saint added proudly, “Since I began learning swordsmanship, no one has dared utter this name.”

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the black-clad figures kneeling at the foot of the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was like Situ Hai,” the old Sword Saint said, tears streaming down his aged face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this day. Their strength was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will take over. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The faces of the nine overseers turned ashen, their hands shaking so violently they could barely hold their treasures.

“This is my final act,” the old Sword Saint declared solemnly, uttering the last words of his life. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the old Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first gripped a longsword. From that day forward, his world changed. No longer was the Supreme One the sole deity in this world.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship—but also his schemes.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever stepped into the light. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final act.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The corpse of the old Sword Saint, unmoving, was gradually carried away by the breeze, leaving behind a long, lingering mist—a trail that seemed as though it would never fade, even after years.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. A surge of grief overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here forever?

The alarms of the Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth awake.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there even a way?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their predicament had already died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I have ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records contain no mention of it. It is the old madman’s creation—his most astonishing feat.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would already be dead.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe, a legacy of his power, his teachings, his faith. Every elder on that mountain was a disciple of the Supreme One, a bearer of his cosmic might.

The nine overseers suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell simultaneously from their eyes.

How many years had it been since they last felt such weakness? Once they became overseers, they had stood as the mightiest in the world, taking and giving as they pleased, unopposed.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had left behind.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders across the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that it was all for the Supreme One, so that one day, when the Supreme One returned, he would see what had been done in his name.

Suddenly, Wu Yi felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another, who had always kept his distance. For the first time, he placed his hand, uncertain of life or death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, yet one tinged with an eerie blue glow.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice cool yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching as his companions’ expressions shifted. “My friends, we have walked together for a hundred years. Today, we must part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said, his face expressionless. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of light and darkness. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior had a reason.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well,” Ghost Elder said, shaking his head. “But his body is of light—even his power is of light. If a force of pure darkness collides and merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without that power, the barrier will vanish, and you can return to the Elder Mountain, slaughtering Yang Hao without mercy.”

“But—” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? The Elder Mountain holds our subordinates, the Supreme One’s physical form—it is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained blank, yet the others felt he was smiling. “This is a wager, and wagers require stakes. The old swordsman bet his life. I will bet mine.”

The meaning of his words struck the eight overseers like a thunderbolt. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness,” Ghost Elder said, pride in his voice. “The old swordsman knew this, but he thought we would never do it. He believed elders were selfish, cold creatures. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them, finally settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has stood firm. Through cosmic wars, royal strife, noble feuds, and galactic turmoil—never once has the Elder Council fractured.

“We nine have walked together for a hundred years, living as one. Never have we turned against each other.”

“Never,” the eight overseers whispered, tears flooding like a broken dam.

“No matter what others think, we have always been the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one,” Ghost Elder nodded. “We would sacrifice ourselves for another.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi fell to his knees before Ghost Elder.

Ghost Elder had already begun walking slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unyielding corpse.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted a millennium, the Elder Council centuries—because we never betrayed, never abandoned,” Ghost Elder murmured as he stood before the old Sword Saint. He drove his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble, right beside the longsword. “Old foe, old rival—let us merge at last.”

A thick, dark aura began to seep from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed away this power. This pure darkness was the essence of Ghost Elder’s being—collected by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the universe, through untold dangers.

Now, it was all being returned.

Ghost Elder’s dark energy, carried by the cold wind, drifted toward the old Sword Saint’s corpse. As it mingled with the milky-white mist, the two forces neutralized each other, dissolving into nothingness.

The barrier in the sky grew fainter, thinner.

One by one, the old Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the boundless void.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing through their tears as Ghost Elder slowly faded.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from the Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

Another sword deity was growing wildly.

The old sword saint’s two centuries of invincibility came not only from his strength and sword techniques but also from his careful planning.

He had cultivated three thousand disciples, but only three appeared publicly. The rest remained hidden, waiting silently for this final night.

Wu Yi watched helplessly as the old sword saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought against all his life slowly dissipated into the wind. The old sword saint’s body continued to emit a long, white mist, drifting slowly in the wind without dispersing, as if it would never fade even after many years.

Even if it eventually dissipates, beneath him remain his three thousand disciples, who can still support the barrier for another three thousand years.

What will the world be like in three thousand years? What will become of the nine stewards, or the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he want to. He felt an urge to cry bitterly—for having such an opponent, for having such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing was dead before him, yet what about himself? Would he remain trapped here forever?

The alarm at Elder Mountain grew louder. At this moment, the three hundred elders must have already engaged Yang Hao; the alarm had even disturbed the Earth’s slumber.

“What do we do?” Elder Heifeng’s question startled the other eight.

Was there still a way?

The nine looked at each other helplessly. Not far from them, the instigator had already died triumphantly, leaving them to taste this enduring bitterness.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the black-clad figures kneeling at the foot of the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—just for this day. Their power was not meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my strength is exhausted, they remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. These three thousand disciples will seal you away for three thousand years.”

“Three thousand years?” The faces of the nine overseers turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint spoke solemnly, uttering the last words of his life. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the old Sword Saint declared with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed. In this world, there was no longer just one supreme god.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship—but also his schemes.

He nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated in the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse, unmoving, was gradually carried away by the breeze, leaving behind a long, lingering mist—a trail that seemed as though it would never fade, even after years.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, who could sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he want to. He felt an overwhelming urge to weep—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here?

The alarms of the Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth awake.

“What do we do?” Blackwind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there even a way?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Not far from them, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I have ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records contain no mention of it. It is the creation of that old madman—his most astonishing feat.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Blackwind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would die first.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A symbol of the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe, of the power, legacy, and faith he had left behind. Every elder on that mountain was a disciple of the Supreme One, a bearer of his cosmic might.

The nine overseers suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell from their eyes in unison.

How many years had it been since they last felt such weakness? When they became overseers, they had become the strongest in the world—untouchable, unopposed.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders in conquering the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that it was all for the Supreme One, so that when he returned, he would see what had been done in his name.

Suddenly, Wu Yi felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched his companions. For the first time, he placed his hand, uncertain of life or death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing with an eerie blue light.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice cool yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching his companions’ expressions shift. “My friends, we have stood together for a hundred years. Today, we must part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said without emotion. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of darkness and light. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior had a purpose.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body is of light—even his power is luminous. If a force of pure darkness collides and merges with his, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, the seal will vanish, and you can return to the Elder Mountain, slaughtering Yang Hao without mercy.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? The Elder Mountain holds our followers, the Supreme One’s physical form—it is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained expressionless, yet the others felt he was smiling. “This is a wager, and wagers require stakes. The old swordsman bet his life. So shall I.”

The others understood, but the eight overseers were horrified. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old swordsman knew this, but he believed we would never do it. He thought elders were selfish, cold-hearted creatures. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them, finally resting on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has endured. Through cosmic strife, royal rebellions, noble feuds, and galactic wars—never once has the Council fractured.

“We nine have lived as one for a hundred years. Never have we turned on each other.”

“Never,” the eight overseers wept, their tears like a collapsing dam.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before Ghost Elder.

Ghost Elder was already walking slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unyielding corpse.

“The Supreme One has endured for millennia, the Elder Council for centuries—because we never betrayed, never surrendered.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old man, old rival… let us merge.”

A thick, black aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed away this force. This pure darkness was the essence of Ghost Elder’s being—gathered by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the universe, through untold dangers.

Now, it was all being returned.

Ghost Elder’s dark energy, carried by the cold wind, drifted toward the Sword Saint’s corpse, merging with the milky mist—until both dissolved into nothingness.

The two forces intertwined, neutralizing each other, becoming the purest void in existence.

The barrier in the sky grew fainter, thinner.

One by one, the old Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing through their tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from the Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

“What if we attack together?” Heifeng asked.

“The rebound will kill us all,” Tiance calculated grimly. “Even if the barrier breaks, will it still matter? Everyone inside will already be dead.”

“Truly no solution at all?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the countless black-clad figures kneeling at the foot of the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was a prodigy like Situ Hai,” the old Sword Saint said, tears streaming down his aged face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this day. Their power was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my strength is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine overseers turned ashen, their grips on their artifacts faltering.

“This is my final act,” the old Sword Saint declared solemnly, uttering the last words of his life. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first gripped a longsword. From that day forward, his world changed. No longer was the universe ruled by a single supreme deity.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or skill—but also his schemes.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse, unmoving, was gradually carried away by the breeze, leaving behind a long, misty trail that lingered stubbornly, as if it would never fade—even years from now.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. He felt an overwhelming urge to weep—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before him. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here forever?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth awake.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question left the other eight stunned.

Was there even a way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their predicament had already died with the air of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s ancient texts make no mention of it. It is the old madman’s greatest creation.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would die first.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the cosmos, a repository of his power, legacy, and faith. Every elder on that mountain was a disciple of the Supreme One, a bearer of his divine will.

The nine overseers suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell simultaneously from their eyes.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming overseers had once meant standing at the pinnacle of the world, wielding absolute power.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the new generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept uncontrollably. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders across the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that it was all for the Supreme One, so that one day, when the Supreme One returned, he would see what they had accomplished in his name.

Suddenly, a cold hand rested on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another soul. For the first time, he placed his hand, cold with the uncertainty of life and death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, tinged with an eerie blue glow.

Unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice chilling yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching as his companions’ expressions shifted. “My friends, we have walked together for a century. Today, we part ways.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said emotionlessly. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons. I have seen the clash of darkness and light. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior meant something grave.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well,” Ghost Elder said, shaking his head. “But his body is of the light—even his power is luminous. If a force of pure darkness clashes and merges with his, the barrier will dissolve. Without that power, the barrier will vanish, and you can return to Elder Mountain, slaughtering Yang Hao and his followers.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Elder Mountain holds our subordinates, the Supreme One’s mortal vessel—our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained expressionless, yet the others felt he was smiling. “This is a wager. One must stake their life. The old swordsman bet his. I bet mine.”

The others understood instantly. The eight overseers were aghast. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old swordsman knew this, but he assumed we would never do it. He thought elders were selfish, cold creatures. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them, finally settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has endured. Through cosmic wars, royal strife, noble feuds, and galactic turmoil—never once has the Elder Council fractured.

“We nine have walked together for a century, living as one. Never have we turned on each other.”

“Never,” the eight overseers whispered, tears flooding like a broken dam.

“No matter how others see us, we remain the Supreme One’s disciples, united as one,” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for one another.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before Ghost Elder.

Ghost Elder was already walking slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving corpse.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted a millennium, the Elder Council centuries—because we never betrayed, never surrendered,” Ghost Elder murmured as he stood before the Sword Saint. He drove his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the embedded sword. “Old foe, let us merge.”

A thick, dark aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed this power away. This pure darkness was the essence of Ghost Elder’s being—collected by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the universe, through untold perils.

Now, it was all being returned.

Ghost Elder’s dark energy, carried by the cold wind, drifted toward the Sword Saint’s corpse. As it mingled with the milky mist, the two forces neutralized, dissolving into nothingness—the purest void in existence.

The barrier in the sky grew fainter, thinner.

One by one, the Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the boundless void.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing through their tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

The nine stewards suddenly felt powerless, tears streaming down their faces simultaneously.

The old Sword Saint, however, waved his wrist and pointed at the kneeling figures in black robes covering the rubble of the mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was as exceptional as Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they were not useless. They hid, they waited—all for this moment. Their entire strength was not for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine High Stewards turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint spoke solemnly, uttering the last words of his life. “Remember, my true name was Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the old Sword Saint declared with pride, “From the day I took up the sword, no one dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed. No longer was the Supreme One the sole deity in this world.

Another Sword God was growing—madly, unstoppably.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship, but also his schemes.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest had hidden in silence, waiting for this final act.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s body, still standing, was slowly enveloped by a long, misty trail that refused to fade, as if it would linger for years.

And even if it did fade, beneath him were his three thousand disciples, who could sustain the barrier for another three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine High Stewards? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. He felt an overwhelming urge to weep—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes, yet what of himself? Was he to be trapped here forever?

The alarms from the Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred Elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there truly no way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I have ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records make no mention of it. It is the old madman’s creation—his most astonishing feat.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The rebound would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would already be dead.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol, a testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe. It housed his legacy, his power, his faith. Every Elder upon it was his disciple, inheritors of his divine might.

The nine Stewards suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell from their eyes in unison.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming Stewards had meant ascending to the pinnacle of power—untouchable, unopposed.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the Elders across the cosmos, forging an empire—not for himself, but so that one day, when the Supreme One returned, he would see that all had been done in his name.

Then, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another. For the first time, he placed his hand, uncertain of life or death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing with an eerie blue light.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice chilling yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching their expressions shift. “Brothers, we have walked together for a century, yet today, we must part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi gripped his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said emotionlessly. “You do not know, but I do. I have witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of light and darkness. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange demeanor meant something grave.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body is of light, as is his power. If a force of pure darkness clashes and merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, you can escape—return to the Elder Mountain and crush Yang Hao utterly.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into his. “Do you not wish to return? The Elder Mountain holds our kin, the Supreme One’s flesh—our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained blank, yet the others sensed a smile. “This is a wager of lives. The old swordsman staked his. I stake mine.”

All understood, yet the eight Stewards were aghast. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only flaw,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old swordsman knew, but he thought us too selfish, too cold to act. He was wrong.”

His gaze swept over them, finally resting on the eight. “For centuries, the Elder Council has stood unshaken amidst cosmic strife, royal feuds, noble wars, and galactic turmoil. Never have we turned on one another.

For a hundred years, we nine have lived as one. Never have we fractured.”

“Never,” the eight whispered, tears flooding like broken dams.

“No matter how others see us, we remain the Supreme One’s disciples—united.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before him.

Ghost Elder walked slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving body.

“The Supreme One’s reign endures for millennia, the Elder Council for centuries, because we never betray, never abandon.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, let us merge.”

A thick, black aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life, the essence of death—the breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from the Heavenly Tribulation, he had sealed this power away. It was pure darkness, the very core of Ghost Elder’s being—collected by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the universe.

Now, he returned it all.

The dark energy, carried by the cold wind, entwined with the Sword Saint’s milky mist, dissolving into nothingness.

The two forces merged, neutralized, becoming the purest void.

The barrier in the sky dimmed, thinning with each passing moment.

One by one, the three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight Stewards knelt, kowtowing through tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from the Elder Mountain drew ever closer.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the kneeling figures in black robes beneath the rubble of the mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was a prodigy like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “The rest never reached the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this moment. Their power was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my strength is exhausted, they will take over. Each can sustain the barrier for a year. Together, they will seal you away for three thousand years.”

“Three thousand years?” The faces of the nine Grand Stewards turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint spoke solemnly, uttering the last words of his life. “Remember, my true name was Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one dared to mock it again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed forever. No longer was the universe ruled by a single supreme deity—another Sword God was born, growing with relentless fury.

The old Sword Saint’s undefeated reign was not just due to his strength or swordsmanship, but also his cunning.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting silently for this final act.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse, unmoving, was gradually enveloped by a long, misty trail that lingered in the air, as if it would never fade—even years later.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine Grand Stewards? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. A surge of sorrow overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes, yet here he was—trapped.

The alarms of the Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred Elders must have clashed with Yang Hao, their battle shaking the very earth.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there even a way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen—not even the Supreme One’s records mention such a thing. It is the old madman’s greatest creation.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would die first.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol, a testament to the Supreme One’s divine presence in the cosmos. It housed his power, his legacy, his faith. Every Elder upon it was his disciple, inheritors of his cosmic might.

The nine Stewards suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell in unison.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? As Stewards, they had stood as the mightiest in the world, taking and ruling without opposition.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the new generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept freely. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led them across the cosmos, forging an empire—not for himself, but so that one day, when the Supreme One returned, he would see it all.

Then, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who never touched others. For the first time, he placed his hand, uncertain of life or death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful visage, tinged with an eerie blue glow.

Unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder’s voice was cool, yet calming. “The youngest among you has served the Council for a century.” He paused, watching their expressions shift. “My friends, we have walked together for a hundred years. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi gripped his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said impassively. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of light and darkness. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior meant something grave.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well,” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body and power are of the light. If a force of pure darkness merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, the seal will vanish. You can return to the Elder Mountain and crush Yang Hao.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Our subordinates are there. The Supreme One’s flesh is there. It is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained blank, yet they all felt his smile. “This is a wager. The old man staked his life. So shall I.”

The others gasped. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the only weakness,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old man knew it, but he thought we would never act—that we Elders were selfish and cold. He was wrong.”

His gaze swept over them, finally settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Council has stood unshaken. Through cosmic strife, royal feuds, noble wars, and galactic turmoil—we never fractured.”

“Never,” the eight Stewards wept like crumbling dams.

“No matter what others think, we have always been the Supreme One’s disciples, united as one,” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before him.

Ghost Elder walked slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving body.

“The Supreme One’s reign endures for millennia, the Council for centuries—because we never betrayed, never abandoned,” Ghost Elder whispered as he stood before the Sword Saint. He drove his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, let us merge.”

A thick, black aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life and death, vitality and sorrow. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed this darkness within him—the pure essence of shadow, gathered from the farthest corners of the cosmos.

Now, it was all returned.

The black energy, carried by the cold wind, entwined with the Sword Saint’s milky mist. The two forces merged, dissolving into nothingness—the purest void in existence.

The barrier in the sky dimmed, thinning with every passing moment.

One by one, the three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight Stewards knelt, kowtowing through tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant echoed into the heavens, carried by the wailing wind.

And the sounds of battle from the Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

Suddenly, Wu Yi felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

It was Elder Ghost, the one who had never touched a companion before. For the first time, he placed his uncertain hand on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up in shock.

Elder Ghost had already removed the veil that always covered his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful face glowing faintly blue.

Never seen before, yet strangely familiar.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the kneeling figures in black robes covering the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in all.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this moment. Their strength was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will take over. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The faces of the nine overseers turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint’s expression was solemn as he spoke his last words. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day, his world changed. No longer was the universe ruled by a single god—the Supreme One.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship, but also his schemes.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse, unmoving, was gradually enveloped by a long, misty trail that lingered stubbornly, as if it would never fade—even years from now.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he want to. A surge of grief overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes, but what of himself? Was he to be trapped here forever?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there even a way?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their predicament had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records contain no mention of it. It is the old madman’s creation—his most astonishing feat.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would die first.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol, a testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe. It housed his legacy, his power, his faith. Every elder on that mountain was his disciple, inheritors of his divine strength.

The nine overseers suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell simultaneously from their eyes.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming overseers had meant ascending to the pinnacle of power—they took what they wanted, answered to none.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders to dominate the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that it was all for the Supreme One, so that one day, when he returned, he would see what had been done in his name.

Suddenly, a cold hand rested on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another. For the first time, his hand, uncertain of life or death, settled on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, startled.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing faintly with a ghastly blue light.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow deeply known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice cool yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching his companions’ expressions shift. “Brothers, we have walked together for a hundred years. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said emotionlessly. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of light and darkness. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior had a purpose.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body, his power—they are of the light. If a force of equal darkness collides and merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, the prison will vanish, and you can return to Elder Mountain, slaughtering Yang Hao and his followers.”

“But—” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Our subordinates are there, the Supreme One’s body is there—it is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained blank, yet the others felt he was smiling. “This is a wager. Lives must be staked. The old swordsman bet his. I bet mine.”

The others understood, but the eight overseers were aghast. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness.” Ghost Elder’s voice was proud. “The old swordsman knew this, but he thought we would never do it. He believed elders were selfish, cold. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them, finally settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One built the Elder Council. Through cosmic strife, royal feuds, noble wars, and galactic rebellions—never once did the Elder Council fracture.

“We nine have lived as one for a hundred years. Never have we turned on each other.”

“Never,” the eight overseers wept like crumbling dams.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples, united as one.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before Ghost Elder.

Ghost Elder was already walking slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving corpse.

“The Supreme One endured for millennia, the Elder Council for centuries—because we never betrayed, never abandoned.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, old friend, let us merge.”

A thick, dark aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the breath of life, the sigh of death—the essence of existence and the sorrow of demise. For centuries, since the Supreme One saved him from divine calamity, Ghost Elder had never unleashed this power. This pure darkness was the core of his being, the dark essence the Supreme One had gathered from the farthest corners of the universe.

Now, he returned it all.

Ghost Elder’s dark energy, carried by the cold wind, entwined with the Sword Saint’s milky mist—and together, they dissolved into nothingness.

The two forces merged, neutralizing into the purest void.

Above, the barrier’s glow dimmed, thinning with every passing moment.

One by one, the three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing through tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping the hand. “What are you planning?”

“There is a way out,” Elder Ghost’s expression remained unchanged. “You don’t know, but I do. I witnessed the God-Demon War, saw the clash of darkness and light. I know how to escape.”

“How?” Wu Yi exclaimed, then swallowed his words. He knew Elder Ghost’s unusual behavior must have a reason.

“The old swordsman gambled his body as the barrier’s foundation, and he calculated correctly,” Elder Ghost shook his head. “But his body is of light, even his power is light-colored. If we introduce a force of darkness, let it collide and merge with his, the barrier can be neutralized. Without that force, the barrier will naturally collapse, allowing you to return and slaughter Yang Hao without mercy.”

“But…” Wu Yi felt something amiss.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the countless black-clad figures kneeling at the foot of the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this day. Their strength was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of sealing you away.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine overseers turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint’s expression was solemn as he spoke his last words. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name drew no laughter, for the Sword Saint declared with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day, his world changed. No longer was the universe ruled by a single god—the Supreme One.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship, but also his schemes.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse continued to drift, leaving behind a long, misty trail that lingered, as if it would never fade—even years from now.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. A surge of grief overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before him, yet here he was—trapped.

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao, their warnings shaking the very earth awake.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there truly no way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste eternity’s bitterness.

“Heaven’s Strategy” shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records mention nothing like it. It is the old madman’s greatest creation.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Heaven’s Strategy calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would die first.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi’s gaze turned toward distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the cosmos, a legacy of his power, his teachings, his faith. Every elder on that mountain was his disciple, a bearer of his will.

The nine overseers felt powerless. Tears fell simultaneously.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming overseers had meant becoming the strongest in the world, taking and ruling without opposition.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the new generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led them across the cosmos, forging an empire—not for himself, but so that one day, when the Supreme One returned, he would see it all.

Suddenly, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another. For the first time, his hand, uncertain of life or death, settled on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing faintly with a ghastly hue.

Unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder’s voice was cool, yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching their expressions shift. “My friends, we have walked together for a century. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out.” Ghost Elder’s face remained impassive. “You do not know, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of light and darkness. I know how to leave.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior had meaning.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body, his power—they are of the light. If a force of equal darkness collides and merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, you can escape, return to Elder Mountain, and crush Yang Hao.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Our people are there. The Supreme One’s body is there. It is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face was expressionless, yet they all felt him smile. “This is a wager. Lives must be staked. The old swordsman bet his. I bet mine.”

The others understood, but the eight overseers were aghast. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness.” Ghost Elder’s voice was proud. “The old man knew, but he thought we would never do it. He believed elders were selfish, cold. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them, finally resting on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has stood firm—through cosmic wars, royal strife, noble feuds, galactic turmoil. Yet we have never turned on each other.”

“Never,” the eight whispered, tears flooding like broken dams.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before him.

Ghost Elder was already walking toward the Sword Saint’s unmoving corpse.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted a millennium. The Elder Council has stood for centuries—because we never betrayed, never surrendered.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old rival, let us merge.”

A thick, black aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the essence of life—and death. The sorrow of existence and the melancholy of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed this power away. This pure darkness was the core of Ghost Elder’s being, gathered by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the universe.

Now, he returned it all.

The cold wind carried Ghost Elder’s darkness to the Sword Saint’s corpse, where it mingled with the milky mist—neutralizing into nothingness.

The two forces merged, dissolved, becoming the purest void.

Above, the barrier’s glow dimmed, thinning into transparency.

One by one, the Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the endless void.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing through tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength. Master grants me power. Master grants me strength. Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the sobbing wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

“Why us?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Elder Ghost showed no expression, but others sensed a smile: “This is a gamble; naturally, it requires a life as the stake. The old swordsman used his life—I use mine!”

Everyone understood Elder Ghost’s words, but the eight stewards were shocked to the extreme: “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break this barrier?”

“This is the barrier’s only weakness,” Elder Ghost said proudly. “The old swordsman knew this, but he calculated we wouldn’t do it. He believed elders are selfish and cold-hearted. He was wrong.”

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the black-clad figures kneeling at the foot of the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was a prodigy like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this day. Their power was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my strength is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine overseers turned ashen, their hands shaking so violently they could barely hold their artifacts.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint’s expression was solemn as he spoke his last words. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name drew no laughter, for the old Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first gripped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed. No longer was the universe ruled by a single god—the Supreme One.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or swordsmanship, but also his schemes.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse continued to drift, leaving behind a long, misty trail that refused to fade, as if it would linger for years.

But even if it did fade, his three thousand disciples remained below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. A surge of grief overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth awake.

“What do we do?” Black Wind’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there even a way?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Not even the Supreme One’s records mention such a thing. It is the old madman’s greatest creation.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The rebound would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would die first.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi’s gaze turned toward distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the cosmos, a legacy of his power, heritage, and faith. Every elder on that mountain was his disciple, inheritors of his divine might.

The nine overseers suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell simultaneously.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming overseers had meant ascending to the pinnacle of power—untouchable, unopposed.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation razed all that the Supreme One had left behind.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders across the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that it was all for the Supreme One, so that one day, when he returned, he would see what they had built in his name.

Suddenly, a cold hand rested on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another. For the first time, he placed his hand, cold with uncertainty, upon Wu Yi.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing faintly with an eerie blue light.

Unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder’s voice was cool, yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching his companions’ expressions shift. “My friends, we have stood together for a century. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi gripped his hand tightly. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder’s face remained impassive. “You do not know, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of light and darkness. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior meant something.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body and power are of the light. If a force of equal darkness collides and merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, the prison will vanish. You can return to Elder Mountain and crush Yang Hao.”

“But—” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Our subordinates, the Supreme One’s vessel, our home—all lie there!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face showed no emotion, yet the others felt him smile. “This is a wager. Lives must be staked. The old swordsman bet his. I bet mine.”

The eight overseers trembled in shock. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“This is its only weakness,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old man knew, but he thought us too selfish, too cold to act. He was wrong.”

His gaze swept over them, finally resting on the eight. “For centuries, the Elder Council has endured—through cosmic wars, royal strife, noble feuds, galactic turmoil. Yet never have we turned on each other.

For a hundred years, we nine have lived as one. Never once have we fractured.”

“Never,” the eight whispered, tears streaming like broken dams.

“No matter how others see us, we remain the Supreme One’s disciples—united.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before him.

Ghost Elder walked slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unyielding corpse.

“The Supreme One’s reign spans millennia. The Elder Council stands for centuries because we never betray, never abandon.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, let us merge.”

A thick, dark aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the essence of life—and death. The sorrow of existence, the melancholy of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed this power away. This pure darkness was the core of Ghost Elder’s being—the Supreme One had ventured to the cosmos’ edge, braved countless dangers to gather this essence for him.

Now, it was all returned.

The cold wind carried Ghost Elder’s darkness to the Sword Saint’s corpse, where it mingled with the milky mist—and vanished.

The two forces merged, dissolved, neutralizing into the purest void.

The barrier above dimmed, thinning into nothingness.

One by one, the three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing through tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength. Master grants me power. Master grants me strength. Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant echoed into the heavens as the wind wailed.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain drew ever closer.

We nine have lived for a century, yet always acted as one. We’ve never had internal strife.”

“Never,” the eight stewards’ tears flowed like broken dams.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the kneeling figures in black robes covering the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they were not useless. They hid, they waited—just for this day. Their strength was not for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples can seal you away for three thousand years.”

“Three thousand years?” The faces of the nine Grand Stewards turned ashen, their hands shaking so violently they could barely hold their treasures.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint spoke solemnly, uttering his last words. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the old Sword Saint declared with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day forward, his world changed. No longer was the Supreme One the sole deity in this world.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship—but also his schemes.

He raised three thousand disciples, yet only three ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting silently for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s body, still standing, was gradually carried away by the breeze, forming a long, lingering mist that refused to fade—as if it would remain for years.

But even if it faded, what then? Below him were his three thousand disciples, who could sustain the barrier for three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine Grand Stewards? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. He felt an overwhelming urge to weep—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before him. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth awake.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there any way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Not far from them, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste this eternal bitterness.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I have ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records contain no mention of it. It is the creation of that old madman—his most astonishing feat.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The rebound would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would already be dead.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A symbol of the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe, of the power, legacy, and faith he left behind. Every elder on that mountain was his disciple, inheritors of his cosmic might.

The nine stewards suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell simultaneously from their eyes.

How many years had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming stewards had meant becoming the strongest in the world—untouchable, unopposed.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders across the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that all of it was for the Supreme One, so that upon his return, he would see what had been done in his name.

Suddenly, Wu Yi felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another. For the first time, he placed his hand, cold as death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing faintly with a ghastly blue light.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice chilling yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching his companions’ expressions shift. “We have been comrades for a hundred years. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi gripped his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said emotionlessly. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of darkness and light. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange behavior meant something.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body is of light—even his power is luminous. If a force of pure darkness clashes and merges with his, the barrier will dissolve. Without that power, the seal will vanish, and you can return to Elder Mountain, slaughtering Yang Hao and his followers.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes burned into him. “Do you not wish to return? Our subordinates are there. The Supreme One’s body is there. It is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained blank, yet the others felt him smile. “This is a wager. One must stake his life against another’s. The old swordsman bet his. I bet mine.”

All understood, yet the eight stewards were horrified. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old swordsman knew this, but he thought we would never do it. He believed elders were selfish, cold. He was wrong.”

His gaze swept over them, finally resting on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has stood firm. Through cosmic wars, royal strife, noble feuds, galactic turmoil—never has the council fractured.

“We nine have lived as one for a hundred years. Never have we turned on each other.”

“Never,” the eight whispered, tears streaming like broken dams.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before him.

Ghost Elder walked slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving body.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted millennia; the Elder Council has stood for centuries—because we never betrayed, never surrendered.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, let us merge.”

A thick, dark aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. For centuries, since the Supreme One saved him from heavenly tribulation, Ghost Elder had never unleashed this force. This pure darkness was the essence of his being—collected by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the cosmos, through untold dangers.

Now, he returned it all.

Ghost Elder’s dark energy, carried by the cold wind, entwined with the Sword Saint’s milky mist. The two forces merged, dissolving into nothingness—neutralized into the purest void.

The barrier in the sky grew fainter, thinner.

One by one, the Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight stewards knelt, kowtowing with tears as Ghost Elder faded.

“Master grants me strength. Master grants me power. Master grants me strength. Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain drew ever closer.

“Hmph!” Wu Yi knelt before Elder Ghost.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the countless black-clad figures kneeling at the foot of the rubble-strewn mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in all.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was a prodigy like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this day. Their strength was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine overseers turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint’s expression was solemn as he spoke his last words. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name drew no laughter, for the Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed. No longer was the universe ruled by a single god—the Supreme One.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship, but also his schemes.

He had raised three thousand disciples, yet only three ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting silently for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s body, still standing, was gradually carried away by the breeze, forming a long, misty ribbon that lingered in the air—as if it would never fade, even after years.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand more years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine overseers? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he want to. A surge of grief overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for being bound by such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here forever?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth.

“What do we do?” Black Wind’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there even a way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records mention nothing like it. It is the old madman’s greatest creation.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would already be dead.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A testament to the Supreme One’s godlike dominion over the cosmos. It housed his power, his legacy, his faith. Every elder on that mountain was his disciple, inheritors of his divine might.

The nine overseers suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell from their eyes in unison.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming overseers had once meant standing at the pinnacle of the world, wielding absolute power. But now, they were as helpless as dying heroes, watching as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders across the universe, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew well that it was all for the day the Supreme One would return and see what they had done in his name.

Suddenly, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—a man who had never once touched his companions. For the first time, he placed his hand, uncertain of life or death, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, startled.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, tinged with an eerie blue glow.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow familiar.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder’s voice was cool, yet it brought stillness to the others. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching as their expressions shifted. “My friends, we have walked together for a hundred years. Today, we must part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi frowned, gripping his hand. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder’s face remained expressionless. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons. I have seen the clash of darkness and light. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange demeanor meant something.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body is of light, as is his power. If a force of equal darkness collides and merges with it, the barrier will dissolve. Without that power, the prison will vanish, and you can return to Elder Mountain—to slaughter Yang Hao and his ilk.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Elder Mountain holds our followers, the Supreme One’s physical form—it is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face showed no emotion, yet the others felt him smile. “This is a wager. One must stake their life. The old swordsman bet his. I will bet mine.”

The others understood, but the eight overseers were stunned. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break this barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness.” Ghost Elder’s voice was proud. “The old swordsman knew this, but he thought we would never do it. He believed elders were selfish, cold creatures. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them, finally settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has endured. Through cosmic strife, royal rebellions, noble feuds, and galactic wars—never once has the Elder Council fractured.

“We nine have walked together for a hundred years, living as one. Never have we turned on each other.”

“Never,” the eight overseers wept like crumbling dams.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi knelt before Ghost Elder.

Ghost Elder was already walking slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unyielding corpse.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted a millennium. The Elder Council has stood for centuries—because we never betrayed, never surrendered.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, old rival… let us merge.”

A thick, dark aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed this power away. This pure darkness was the essence of Ghost Elder’s being—gathered by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the universe, through untold dangers.

Now, it was all being returned.

Ghost Elder’s dark energy, carried by the cold wind, drifted toward the Sword Saint’s corpse. There, it mingled with the milky mist—dissolving into nothingness.

The two forces merged, neutralizing each other, becoming the purest void in existence.

The barrier in the sky grew dimmer, thinner.

One by one, the old Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the endless void.

The eight overseers knelt, kowtowing with tears as Ghost Elder faded away.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me power. Master grants me strength, Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

A dense black aura emanated from Elder Ghost’s body.

The old Sword Saint, however, waved his wrist and pointed at the kneeling figures in black robes beneath the rubble of the mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was a prodigy like Situ Hai.” Tears streamed down the old Sword Saint’s face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this day. Their power was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my strength is exhausted, they will remain. Each of them can sustain this barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The faces of the nine Grand Stewards turned ashen, their hands shaking so violently they could barely hold their artifacts.

“This is my final act.” The old Sword Saint’s expression was solemn as he spoke his last words. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name did not provoke laughter, for the Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first gripped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed forever. No longer was the universe ruled by a single supreme god.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s two centuries of invincibility were not just due to his strength or his swordsmanship—but also his meticulous planning.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting silently for this final act.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse, still standing, was gradually carried away by the breeze, forming a long, misty trail that lingered in the air—as if it would take years to fully vanish.

But even if it did, beneath him were his three thousand disciples, ready to sustain the barrier for three thousand more years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine Grand Stewards? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think. He didn’t want to. A surge of grief overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before him. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here forever?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred Elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth.

“What do we do?” Black Wind Elder’s question stunned the other eight.

Was there any way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Not far from them, the architect of their predicament had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s ancient texts never recorded such a thing. It is the old madman’s greatest creation.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would already be dead.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol. A testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe, a legacy of his power, his teachings, his faith. Every Elder on that mountain was his disciple, a bearer of his will.

The nine Grand Stewards suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell from their eyes in unison.

How many years had it been since they last felt such weakness? Once they became Grand Stewards, they had stood as the mightiest in the world, taking and giving as they pleased, answering to none.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the new generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the Elders across the cosmos, forging an empire. None of it was for himself—he knew that. All of it was for the day the Supreme One would return and see what had been done in his name.

Then, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

It was Ghost Elder—the one who had never touched another soul. For the first time, he placed his hand, cold with uncertainty, upon Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Ghost Elder removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, yet tinged with an eerie blue glow.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Ghost Elder said, his voice cool yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching as his companions’ expressions shifted. “My friends, we have walked together for a century. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi grasped his hand tightly. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Ghost Elder said, his face expressionless. “You do not know it, but I do. I have witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of darkness and light. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Ghost Elder’s strange demeanor meant something grave.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well.” Ghost Elder shook his head. “But his body, his power—they are of the light. If a force of pure darkness clashes and merges with his, the barrier will dissolve. Without its foundation, the prison will collapse, and you can return to Elder Mountain, slaughtering Yang Hao and his ilk.”

“But—” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Ghost Elder’s eyes burned into his. “Do you not wish to return? Elder Mountain holds our followers, the Supreme One’s legacy—our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Ghost Elder’s face remained blank, yet the others felt he was smiling. “This is a wager. One must stake their life. The old swordsman bet his. I bet mine.”

The others understood instantly. The eight Grand Stewards were aghast. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness,” Ghost Elder said proudly. “The old man knew this, but he thought we would never do it. He believed Elders were selfish, cold. He was wrong.”

Ghost Elder’s gaze swept over them before settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has stood unshaken. Through cosmic wars, royal strife, noble feuds, galactic turmoil—never have we turned on each other.

“We nine have lived as one for a hundred years. Never have we betrayed one another.”

“Never,” the eight whispered, tears flooding like broken dams.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one.” Ghost Elder nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi fell to his knees before Ghost Elder.

Ghost Elder was already walking slowly toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving corpse.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted a millennium. The Elder Council has stood for centuries—because we never betrayed, never abandoned.” Ghost Elder stood silently before the Sword Saint, driving his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble beside the longsword. “Old foe, old rival… let us merge.”

A thick, dark aura seeped from Ghost Elder’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Ghost Elder from divine retribution, he had sealed this power away. This pure darkness was the essence of Ghost Elder’s being—collected by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the cosmos, through untold dangers.

Now, it was all being returned.

The dark energy swirled in the cold wind, merging with the milky mist surrounding the Sword Saint’s corpse. The two forces dissolved into nothingness, becoming the purest void.

The barrier in the sky grew fainter, thinner.

One by one, the old Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight Grand Stewards knelt, kowtowing with tears as Ghost Elder faded away.

“Master grants me strength. Master grants me power. Master grants me strength. Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant echoed into the heavens, carried by the weeping wind.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

The old Sword Saint waved his wrist, pointing at the kneeling figures clad in black robes beneath the rubble of the mountain:

“You’ve always wondered how many disciples I truly have, haven’t you? These are my disciples—three thousand in total.”

“Three thousand disciples!” Wu Yi’s hands trembled.

“Among these three thousand, only one was like Situ Hai,” the old Sword Saint said, tears streaming down his aged face. “None of them could reach the Saint Realm, but they are not worthless. They hid, they waited—all for this moment. Their strength was never meant for battle, but for this barrier. When my power is exhausted, they will sustain it. Each of them can maintain the barrier for a year. Three thousand disciples—three thousand years of imprisonment for you.”

“Three thousand years?” The nine elders turned ashen, their grips on their treasures faltering.

“This is my final act,” the old Sword Saint declared solemnly, uttering the last words of his life. “Remember, my true name is Xu Youli.”

The ridiculous name drew no laughter, for the Sword Saint added with pride, “Since the day I took up the sword, no one has dared to call me by that name again.”

Two hundred years ago, a young man named Xu Youli first grasped a longsword. From that day on, his world changed. No longer was the Supreme One the sole deity in this world.

Another Sword God was born, growing with terrifying speed.

The old Sword Saint’s undefeated reign of two centuries was not just due to his strength or swordsmanship—it was also his cunning.

He had nurtured three thousand disciples, yet only three had ever revealed themselves. The rest remained hidden, waiting for this final night.

Wu Yi stared blankly as the old Sword Saint closed his eyes for the last time. The man he had fought his entire life slowly dissipated into the wind. The Sword Saint’s corpse, unmoving, was gradually carried away by the breeze, leaving behind a long, misty trail that lingered, as if it would never fade, even after years.

But even if it did fade, there were still his three thousand disciples below, ready to sustain the barrier for another three thousand years.

What would the world be like in three thousand years? What would become of the nine elders? What of the Elder Mountain?

Wu Yi dared not think, nor did he wish to. A surge of sorrow overwhelmed him—for having such an opponent, for such a fate.

The man he had dreamed of killing had died before his eyes. But what of himself? Was he to remain trapped here?

The alarms from Elder Mountain grew louder. By now, the three hundred elders must have engaged Yang Hao in battle, their warnings shaking the very earth.

“What do we do?” Elder Black Wind’s question left the other eight stunned.

Was there truly no way out?

The nine exchanged glances, helpless. Nearby, the architect of their plight had died with the bearing of a victor, leaving them to taste the bitterness of eternity.

Tian Ce shook his head. “This barrier is the strongest I’ve ever seen. Even the Supreme One’s records mention nothing like it. It is the creation of that old madman—his most astonishing feat.”

“What if we strike with all our might?” Black Wind asked.

“The backlash would kill us,” Tian Ce calculated coldly. “Even if the barrier shattered, what then? Those inside would already be dead.”

“Is there truly no way?” Wu Yi turned his gaze toward the distant Elder Mountain.

That mountain was no longer just a mountain—it was a symbol, a testament to the Supreme One’s godlike presence in the universe. It housed the Supreme One’s power, legacy, and faith. Every elder on that mountain was a disciple of the Supreme One, a bearer of his cosmic might.

The nine elders suddenly felt powerless. Tears fell from their eyes in unison.

How long had it been since they last felt such weakness? Becoming elders had once meant standing at the pinnacle of the world, wielding absolute power.

But was this truly the end? Like dying heroes, they could only watch as Yang Hao and the younger generation tore down everything the Supreme One had built.

Wu Yi wept openly. Since becoming the Grand Summoner of the Elder Council, he had led the elders in conquering the cosmos, forging an empire—not for himself, but for the day the Supreme One would return and see all that had been done in his name.

Suddenly, a cold hand rested on his shoulder.

It was Elder Ghost—the one who had never touched another soul. For the first time, he placed his hand, trembling with uncertainty, on Wu Yi’s shoulder.

Wu Yi looked up, stunned.

Elder Ghost removed the veil that had always concealed his face. Beneath it was a handsome, youthful countenance, glowing faintly with an eerie blue light.

Unfamiliar, yet somehow known.

“I have followed the Supreme One for five hundred years,” Elder Ghost said, his voice cool yet calming. “The youngest among you has been in the Elder Council for a century.” He paused, watching as his companions’ expressions shifted. “We have stood together for a hundred years. Today, we part.”

“Ghost!” Wu Yi gripped his hand tightly. “What are you doing?”

“There is a way out,” Elder Ghost said impassively. “You do not know it, but I do. I witnessed the War of Gods and Demons, the clash of darkness and light. I know how to break free.”

“How?” Wu Yi demanded, then swallowed his words. He knew Elder Ghost’s strange demeanor meant there was a price.

“The old swordsman used his body as the anchor for this barrier. He calculated well,” Elder Ghost said, shaking his head. “But his body is of light, as is his power. If a force of pure darkness clashes and merges with his, the barrier will dissolve. Without that power, the barrier will vanish, and you can return to Elder Mountain—to crush Yang Hao utterly.”

“But…” Wu Yi sensed something amiss.

“But what?” Elder Ghost’s eyes bore into him. “Do you not wish to return? Our followers are there. The Supreme One’s body is there. It is our home!”

“Why ‘you’?” Wu Yi finally understood. “What about you?”

Elder Ghost’s face remained expressionless, yet the others felt he was smiling. “This is a wager. The old swordsman staked his life. So shall I.”

The eight elders gasped in horror. “Your life? You would sacrifice yourself to break the barrier?”

“It is the barrier’s only weakness,” Elder Ghost said proudly. “The old swordsman knew this, but he thought we would never do it. He believed elders were selfish and cold. He was wrong.”

His gaze swept over them before settling on the eight. “For centuries, the Supreme One’s Elder Council has endured. Through cosmic strife, royal feuds, noble wars, and galactic turmoil—never once have we turned on each other.

For a hundred years, the nine of us have lived as one. Never have we betrayed one another.”

“Never,” the eight elders whispered, tears falling like a broken dam.

“No matter what others think, we are the Supreme One’s disciples—united as one,” Elder Ghost nodded. “We sacrifice for each other.”

“Ah!” Wu Yi fell to his knees before Elder Ghost.

Elder Ghost had already begun walking toward the old Sword Saint’s unmoving body.

“The Supreme One’s reign has lasted a millennium. The Elder Council has stood for centuries—because we never betrayed, never surrendered,” Elder Ghost murmured as he stood before the Sword Saint. He drove his Dragon-Slaying Spike into the rubble, right beside the longsword. “Old rival, old foe… let us merge.”

A thick, black aura seeped from Elder Ghost’s body.

It was the power of life—and death. The breath of existence, the sorrow of demise. Centuries ago, when the Supreme One saved Elder Ghost from divine retribution, he had sealed this power away. This pure darkness was the essence of Elder Ghost’s being—gathered by the Supreme One from the farthest corners of the cosmos.

Now, it was all being returned.

The cold wind carried Elder Ghost’s dark energy toward the Sword Saint’s corpse, where it mingled with the milky mist—neutralizing into nothingness.

The two forces merged, dissolved, becoming the purest void.

Above, the barrier’s glow dimmed, thinning with every passing moment.

One by one, the old Sword Saint’s three thousand disciples perished in the boundless emptiness.

The eight elders knelt, kowtowing through their tears as Elder Ghost faded away.

“Master grants me strength. Master grants me power. Master grants me strength. Master grants me power…”

The mournful chant, carried by the weeping wind, drifted beyond the heavens.

And the sounds of battle from Elder Mountain grew ever closer.

Now, all of it was being returned.

Elder Ghost’s dark force drifted with the cold wind, reaching the old sword saint’s upright corpse, merging with the milky white mist, and suddenly vanished.

The two forces continuously fused and dissipated, neutralizing each other, transforming into the purest emptiness.

The barrier’s color in the sky grew increasingly dim, thinner and thinner.

The old sword saint’s three thousand disciples also perished one by one in this boundless void.

The eight steward elders knelt on the ground, weeping as they paid homage to the dying Elder Ghost.

“Master grants me strength, Master grants me ability. Master grants me strength, Master grants me ability. Master grants me strength, Master grants me ability…”

The cold wind howled, carrying this mournful chant beyond the heavens.

Meanwhile, the battle at Elder Mountain drew closer and closer.