Across from him, the ghost elder’s clone, as if possessed of intelligence, stretched out both hands. One hand struck the Yinglie Emperor’s heavy sword, pinning it down with immense force and preventing the Yinglie Emperor from withdrawing it.
The other hand, cold and unfeeling, pointed forward, directly at the delicate crimson flower blooming on Yinglie Huang’s chest.
Thick, suffocating death surged into the flower, slowly devouring its vitality. Emperor Ying Lie froze entirely. His body rapidly withered—his skin wrinkling, muscles slackening, his long hair turning silver. Clearly, the ghost elder had discovered Emperor Ying Lie’s weakness. He now understood that the emperor’s entire life force stemmed from a single enchantment on his chest. Destroy that enchantment, and the emperor could be defeated without bloodshed.
A deadly trap had been set.
The ghost elder’s clone had merged into the barrier. As long as the barrier remained intact, the clone would not perish. Ying Liehuang, restrained by one of the clones, would soon perish due to drained vitality.
Qin Feng, pinned beneath the Dragon-Slaying Spike, was also in mortal danger.
The only remaining Sage Domain expert, Yang Hao, was locked in a desperate struggle with the barrier. He had torn open a hole just wide enough for a person to escape through, but if he let go, the opening would immediately seal shut.
Yang Hao did not loosen his grip, because within this barrier, there was someone he had to save.
Yang Hao’s gaze remained fixed on Lan Ling. She had risen from the ground, her face pale from her earlier wounds, her blood-soaked clothes making her look like an angel of crimson. She turned and looked back at him.
At this moment, no words were needed.
The sky had gradually brightened, but the blood spilled across the ground and the loss of life made this dawn feel more like darkness.
Cries of agony echoed in people’s ears. The banners of the Imperial Guard fell like waves. Wherever the ghost elder pointed, black-armored warriors perished.
An age of hell had arrived.
Sadness and sorrow marked Lan Ling’s face. Her delicate, jade-like visage was streaked with two trails of tears—tears for Yang Hao, for the only man she had ever loved in her life.
Though their love had been fleeting, it was no less profound.
A cold wind blew through the tear Yang Hao had barely managed to create in the barrier, gently brushing Lan Ling’s long hair and slightly easing her dizziness from the bloodshed. The rising sun slowly spread its golden light across the land.
Lan Ling smiled faintly.
She gripped her silver spear tightly.
“Come out!!” Yang Hao roared, pouring all his strength into widening the opening in the barrier. “Lan Ling, come out!!”
This might not have been purely selfishness. At this moment, Lan Ling was likely the only one left within the barrier who still had a chance to escape. Ying Lie Huang was dying, Qin Feng was dying, the Snow Night Star Lion Squad was dying, and all the black-armored warriors were doomed.
This was something Emperor Jia Ran had foreseen the moment he left the palace. Yet even if only Lan Ling could escape, it would still be considered a victory for the emperor.
“Come out…” Yang Hao gasped, his voice growing weaker. Lan Lin had already turned her back, not even glancing at him. Yang Hao knew her stubbornness well, and he understood what choice she would make.
But he still had to try.
How few there were in this world who truly loved each other.
Some people might gaze at each other for a thousand years without ever finding the chance to walk together. Others could remember someone for a thousand lifetimes with just a single glance.
How could Yang Hao forget the quiet, graceful expression Lan Ling had worn when she chose to stay behind on the planet Zhinao?
How could he forget her sorrowful determination when she thrust her spear at her master inside the grand palace?
How could he forget her standing alone at the gate of the Dan Ding Sword Sect, wounded and bleeding, leaning against the door in solitude?
She was a woman who had loved Yang Hao with all her heart.
Yang Hao roared toward the heavens, “Lan Ling! Come out!”
Flames erupted from his entire body, as if he had become a god of fire.
But the blood inside the barrier was the tears flowing down Lan Ling’s cheeks. The cold steel of her silver spear represented the most solitary dignity in the world.
A warrior’s dignity.
A fighter’s dignity.
A companion’s dignity.
No one within the barrier would flee through the opening Yang Hao had torn, stepping over the blood of their fallen comrades.
Blue Feathers slowly rose into the air, her determination evident in her posture. Blood dripped from her wounds, creating a crimson rain as she ascended.
Her silver spear aimed upward—toward the ghost elder in the sky.
An invincible target, yet one she had to strike.
The Thirty-Six Ghost幽 Barrier, the Dragon-Slaying Spike, the undead corpses—everything originated from the ghost elder. Now, as everyone within the barrier neared death, this was the only thing Lan Ling could do.
Raise her spear and charge toward the ghost elder.
Toward a foe she was destined never to defeat.
Toward a fate she was destined to die.
This was the only thing she could do for her comrades. For this, she was willing to die before the eyes of the man she loved.
Perhaps, in doing so, she would find happiness.
She had done everything she could for Yang Hao.
Now, Lan Ling was ready to die.
The scene in the sky was tragic and brutal. Lan Ling soared like a fragile leaf, pale and delicate, rushing toward the ghost elder. Blood poured from her body, creating a crimson mist around her.
The morning sunlight bathed everything in holy brilliance, a sanctity tinged with cold, merciless blood.
“The sword is still in my hand,” the valiant emperor, now frail and withered, chuckled weakly, summoning his last breath to roar, “The sword is still in my hand!”
“Haaa!” Those still alive roared back in response.
Yang Hao bit his lip tightly, watching Lan Ling’s final ascent. Tears streamed from his eyes, burning like fire.
“Ahh!” Suddenly, Yang Hao let go. The ghostly barrier shimmered with white light and quickly sealed the opening. Everything returned to its original state, as if nothing had changed—except now, thousands more corpses lay scattered on the ground. Perhaps Emperor Yinglie, Qin Feng, and Lan Ling would soon join them.
But Yang Hao no longer cared. He stumbled backward, flames erupting from his dantian, from his mouth, from his eyes. He became a fountain of fire, spewing forth searing power.
The Flame-Fusing Bow reacted in an incredible way. The soul within the bow sang an ancient song, a hymn of fire deities that hadn’t been heard for millennia. Once again, it echoed through the skies above Earth.
The raging flames enveloped Yang Hao and fused with the Flame-Fusing Bow, merging the two into one.
At last, the ultimate secret of fire erupted from the bow, pouring into Yang Hao’s mind. An infinite wealth of fire’s mysteries, long hidden, now revealed themselves to him.
Yang Hao seemed to have entered a boundless treasure trove. Every flame, every spark of fire essence in the world, unveiled its secrets to him. All flames became his children.
In that instant, Yang Hao had grasped the essence of fire deities. Zhurong’s power took root and revived within him.
Now, Yang Hao was the Yang Hao of the Dan Ding Sect, the Yang Hao of Hunyuanzi, and the Yang Hao of Zhurong—the Fire Yang Hao.
Indeed, he had become the God of Fire.
Blazing flames illuminated the earth. The heavens trembled, and the seas churned wildly.
Yang Hao sang the mournful fire hymn with a loud voice, the sorrow of Zhurong sealed within the bow for a thousand years. A long arrow composed entirely of flame formed at his fingertips.
He drew the Flame-Fusing Bow.
With a song fiercer than rage, hotter than fire itself.
The first arrow of the Flame-Fusing Bow was released—a torrent of fire, faster than the eye could follow, striking the first ghost.
Across time and space, the power of fire’s origin erupted from that arrow.
Even the ghost You, and even the ghost elder’s clone, could not evade it. The ghost You, which contained a fragment of the elder’s energy, howled in agony. It tried to withdraw its power but could not escape the flames. This fire burned from deep within its very soul, making it impossible to extinguish.
The ghost had no life, but it retained fragments of its soul. As long as even a sliver of soul remained, it could not escape this fire.
Watching the once-mighty ghost reduced to a pitiful, writhing creature, shrieking as it was consumed, soon vanishing into smoke.
Yang Hao, like a fire god reborn, stunned everyone once again.
Everyone came to a halt, staring in horror at Yang Hao. Although he had already reached the peak of the Saint Domain, he had only been a match for the elder steward before. But now, he had shattered a barrier that no one in the world could break, and even burned one of the ghost elder’s clones to death.
What kind of power was this?
In the flames, reborn, Yang Hao’s long hair flowed. Now it was a brilliant red. His bare feet touched the ground, and illusions of fire artifacts danced around him. He looked just like the fire deity Zhurong descending upon the world.
Yang Hao did not stop. Another arrow of wrath was placed on the Flame-Fusing Bow. With each verse of the mournful fire hymn, he released another arrow of vengeance.
Each arrow was the most powerful weapon in the world.
Among the thirty most powerful divine weapons in the universe, the Flame-Fusing Bow ranked first. It was not only a weapon to kill mortals, but even capable of slaying gods.
Each arrow was not only Yang Hao’s fury, but also Zhurong’s thousand-year-old hatred sealed within the bow—an eternal hatred that could not be erased even by heaven or earth.
Hunyuanzi’s hatred, the grief of losing his wife, the vengeance for his slaughtered sect. Yang Hao’s hatred, for the loss of his brothers and the injury to his beloved.
All this hatred became arrows.
Arrows that none could stop.
Yang Hao fired twelve arrows of wrath, each brimming with hatred, incinerating all twelve clones of the ghost elder and twelve ghost yōu. The so-called indestructible ghost yōu barrier finally cracked under the pressure, tearing open a massive hole. Thousands of imperial guards escaped with their lives. Although the deadly trap had not been completely dismantled, at least half of the people survived.
Now, only three remained in mortal danger.
Yinglie Huang was still restrained by one clone, his life force being drained away. Qin Feng struggled beneath the Dragon-Slaying Spike. Lan Ling was in the worst condition—struck down by the ghost elder’s true form, he was now suspended midair, held by the throat like a fragile sheet of paper trembling in the wind.
With just a little pressure, the ghost elder could kill Lan Ling—the young warrior who had surpassed the Saint Realm, the most beautiful woman in the capital.
But he did not move. He could not. He dared not.
Yang Hao’s arrow of wrath was now aimed directly at the ghost elder’s true form. Each of the twelve arrows had weakened the ghost elder, and now his power had diminished by a third—centuries of cultivation lost.
Even more terrifying was the Flame-Fusing Bow, the most powerful divine weapon of all. Alone, the ghost elder could not destroy it, nor did he dare.
So when Yang Hao coldly aimed the arrow at him, the ghost elder felt a fear he had not known since his mortal days, a fear only experienced when facing heavenly tribulations.
The flames erupting from Yang Hao’s body, the icy coldness in his eyes—these caused the ghost elder to hesitate, his hand still gripping Lan Ling’s throat, unable to tighten.
The glow of the wrathful arrow shone brilliantly in Yang Hao’s palm.
This was no fleeting brilliance from a divine weapon. Yang Hao had mastered the ultimate secrets of fire. He was now the embodiment of fire itself in this world.
Could the ghost elder fight against a god?
Especially when he had lost twelve clones and a third of his power. He could barely maintain the barrier, let alone continue to suppress the Emperors of Valor and Qin Feng.
So, the ghost elder had no choice but to retreat.
Clutching the blue feather like a shield, his body faded into the air. The ghost elder’s mysterious figure finally vanished from the skies above the capital.
Even the Thirty-Six Ghostly Barrier vanished in an instant.
Ying Lie Huang and Qin Feng felt the pressure lift and collapsed to the ground, too exhausted to continue chasing the ghost elder. They immediately sat cross-legged to recover.
Lan Ling, like a falling leaf, drifted down from the sky. Pale and light, she seemed more like a feather, following a drifting path.
Finally, she landed in Yang Hao’s arms.
“I saved you,” Yang Hao exhaled in relief.
Lan Ling struggled to open her eyes slightly and murmured, “I don’t like red hair.”
Then, she drifted into unconsciousness once more.
The morning sun bathed the land in golden light, and a warm breeze caressed the wounded, bringing a sense of intoxicating peace.
The bloodiest battle in the history of the capital had ended on this beautiful morning.
But for the empire as a whole, the darkest hour had only just begun.
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