“Ten Thousand Methods Return to the Origin!”
“Ten Thousand Methods Return to the Origin!” Yang Hao felt as if struck by lightning in advance—the voice was identical to that of Hunyuanzi. Yang Hao recalled that once, on the satellite of the Saint Bear Star, Wang Mu had triggered a simultaneous explosion of the satellite’s atmosphere. Back then, just like now, everything had hung in the balance, and the lives of everyone had depended on Yang Hao alone. At that critical moment, Hunyuanzi had taught Yang Hao this very technique—the first magical art Yang Hao had ever learned.
“Zhi Qing Xuan Ling Dan Ding True Art! Barrier Technique!!!” Tears streaming down his face, Yang Hao roared out the incantation. An extraordinarily brilliant light erupted from his palms. It was like the first ray of light breaking through a total eclipse—so explosive, so unstoppable. His hands overlapped, becoming a continuous outlet of power, from which endless silver radiance spewed forth, surging upward like a waterfall and then cascading down like mercury, enveloping Yang Hao’s body in a luminous cascade.
Barrier Technique!!! A true magical art of the Dan and Ding dual cultivation sect, fundamentally different from the innate abilities of deities. Magic was the crystallization of human cultivation, possessing the power to defy heaven itself—a completely opposite source of strength.
When Sa’an’s Celestial Wrath Lightning met Yang Hao’s Barrier Technique, the collision between the two unleashed astonishing brilliance. A magnificent five-colored rainbow shimmered in the sky, and a violent storm suddenly erupted, with raindrops as big as mung beans pelting down onto the ground, striking the divine beings below. Yet, the deities stood transfixed, stunned by the spectacle above, oblivious to the rain.
For no one had ever imagined that an ordinary human could block the “Celestial Wrath Lightning” of the Dark Angel King—not only block it, but emerge completely unscathed. Even more unimaginable was that he now dared to charge forward with his sword raised, attacking Sa’an once again.
Yang Hao, shielded by his barrier, managed to withstand Sa’an’s assault and even fought back against the tide. Gripping his Flame Sword, the blade suddenly erupted into a blazing inferno, lunging straight at Sa’an’s chest.
“Insolence!” Sa’an was momentarily stunned by Yang Hao’s barrier, but someone of his stature would never allow himself to be struck by the Flame Blade. With a casual wave of his hand, a silver battle-axe materialized in his grasp.
“The Night Axe!” A four-winged dark angel gasped aloud.
Others were already too shocked to speak. In thousands of years, when had anyone ever seen Sa’an actually draw his famed weapon, the Night Axe, during a battle? Even when fighting mid-tier deities, Sa’an had always relied solely on his bare hands. Yet now, within just two moves, he had already drawn his weapon, clearly showing just how seriously he regarded this ordinary human.
The Night Axe was renowned throughout the divine realm. Everyone knew it was Sa’an’s legendary weapon of annihilation. Among all axe-wielding races and masters across the world, none surpassed the Night Axe of Sa’an.
The axe’s origin was shrouded in mystery. Long ago, when Sa’an had first fallen into darkness and become a lone dark angel, hunted relentlessly by the angelic race, he forged this weapon from the purest essence of night itself. The result was a blade darker than darkness, deeper than the deepest shadows.
From the moment of its creation, the Night Axe had been pitch black, nearly invisible in darkness. But it had a unique trait—each time it slayed an angel, a silver speck would appear on its blade. Over centuries, as Sa’an evolved from a solitary dark angel into the King of Dark Angels, the axe transformed from pure black into gleaming silver, a testament to the countless light angels it had slain.
Now, this legendary weapon, forged in slaughter, was wielded against a mere mortal—whether it was Yang Hao’s honor or tragedy, none could say.
Sa’an wielded it like using a butcher’s knife to kill a chicken, his expression icy, his long hair billowing, as he swung the axe down toward Yang Hao’s head.
The Night Axe’s power was legendary. According to obscure historical records, over ninety percent of all axe techniques in the world originated from it. Even Elder Herd of the Human Bear Clan, famed for his “Golden Severance” technique, had merely derived his skills from the Night Axe. In essence, Herd was but a distant disciple of Sa’an.
As the axe descended without flourish, it seemed to cleave through dimensions themselves, freezing all motion. The Celestial Wrath Lightning vanished instantly, tens of thousands of volts dissipating into the clouds. The wind ceased, the rain stopped.
Wherever the silver blade passed, all things fled in terror—not even air dared to resist, let alone Yang Hao’s barrier. The radiant waterfall of protection shattered into two halves, vanishing into nothingness.
The Night Axe descended upon Yang Hao. With no barrier left, his only hope was to recall the Flame Sword to defend himself. Sa’an had calculated precisely this, which was why he had shifted from defense to attack.
Yet Yang Hao’s actions often defied expectations.
Just when everyone thought Yang Hao had no choice but to counterattack to save himself, he did something utterly unthinkable—he released the Flame Sword, letting it fall.
Yang Hao could have raised his sword in defense. Although the Night Axe was immeasurably superior to the Flame Sword, it at least offered a chance to survive. Even if Yang Hao had resolved to die together with Sa’an, he could have ignored the incoming attack and thrust his sword into Sa’an anyway, ensuring injury to his opponent even as he fell.
But he did neither. Instead, he dropped his sword, as if renouncing all combat. He ceased both attack and defense, lifting his head, tightly closing his eyes, and baring his neck to the blade.
This was truly beyond anyone’s expectations. Moments ago, Yang Hao had exuded confidence, challenging Sa’an with unyielding determination. Now, he stood motionless, awaiting the fatal strike of the descending axe.
It wasn’t just others who were baffled—even Sa’an, his opponent, was momentarily stunned. Instinctively tightening his grip, he halted the axe mid-swing. The blade had already begun its deadly descent, and had it not been for Sa’an himself, no one could have stopped it. Even so, the axe’s residual force had already sliced open Yang Hao’s scalp, a crimson streak of blood trickling down his forehead.
Only then did Yang Hao open his eyes. The silver blade hovered mere millimeters from his eyelids, exuding a chilling, bloodthirsty aura.
Yet Yang Hao smiled—a smile of triumph. As if he had known all along that Sa’an would show mercy at the last moment, that the proud dark monarch would not strike down an unarmed human.
“Wind Slash!” Yang Hao’s voice rang out like tearing metal, a sound echoing through eternity, shaking the soul.
Sa’an hesitated slightly at Yang Hao’s smile. Yet in the realm of supreme combat, victory or defeat often hinged on the briefest hesitation. As Yang Hao uttered those two words, none present—save perhaps Xīn Mèi—had any idea of their meaning.
No one could have imagined that a human, seemingly weaker than the weakest, could possess a killing move. These lofty deities would never understand that when any lowly race is pushed to the brink of survival, extraordinary power can erupt forth. They would never grasp that each being has its own value, its own unique abilities beyond comprehension.
Though Sa’an did not know what “Wind Slash” was, he distinctly felt a chill—something he had not experienced in ages. It was like the endless solitude of eternal darkness.
A coldness gripped Sa’an’s heart. In a thousand years, perhaps no one had made him feel this way. And now, as Yang Hao spoke those words, clenching his fists, a mighty consciousness surged forth from his body, rising above Sa’an.
At that moment, anyone with even a modicum of spiritual perception saw it—suddenly appearing above Sa’an was a blade of piercing blue light. This small sword had been hidden in the air all along, completely undetected. Even Sa’an himself had mistaken it for mere air, allowing it to drift close without notice.
Only when Yang Hao channeled his spiritual intent into the blade did its immense power manifest, revealing the hidden sword. But even then, what difference did it make? Yang Hao had already seized the advantage.
For speed—there is no law in the world that cannot be broken, except speed itself.
The hidden sword, moving faster than anything conceivable, struck Sa’an’s crown without leaving a trace of its path. This killing move had been in Yang Hao’s mind for a long time. In the past, his mental strength had been insufficient to accelerate the hidden sword with his spiritual intent, so he could only attempt it secretly.
But now, everything was different. Having undergone the Dragon’s Breath purification and completed his first transformation, Yang Hao’s spiritual power had become comparable to that of a dragon. His consciousness could now channel energy into the hidden sword from a distance, accelerating it to its peak velocity in an instant—making this assassination possible.
A sneak attack on a true master.
Sa’an was helpless. Even as the King of Dark Angels, even wielding the Night Axe, how could he possibly raise his axe in time to block such an instantaneous strike?
Anyone could see Sa’an’s peril now, yet every deity stood frozen in breathless awe. An ordinary human had actually driven the Dark Angel King to the brink—what an impossibly absurd turn of events.
Some dark angels had already collapsed in the clouds, unable to bear the thought of their king being slain by a mere mortal.
Even Yun Shang had begun to prepare his legendary “Reverse Flow” technique, capable of altering time itself, ready to halt the moment and rescue Sa’an.
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