“All five of them are Sword Saints!” Yang Hao sat on the fourth step, still in the mood to comment. “Just how many Sword Saints are hidden in this empire?”
Yang Hao shook his head, feeling that this conspiracy was growing larger and more interesting by the minute.
But what happened next wasn’t the least bit amusing. Because Qin Feng made his move. Naturally, Qin Feng didn’t join the slaughter inside the hall. Instead, he effortlessly floated up to a higher step—the fourth golden tier, a height that didn’t belong to him, yet he ascended all the same.
“You’re impressive, Yang Hao. Truly impressive,” Qin Feng sighed deeply. “At such a young age, to wield such power—you could become a ruler in any corner of the universe. But unfortunately, you’ve provoked someone you shouldn’t have. The Elder Council is not something you can oppose.”
“Someone has to stand against them,” Yang Hao stood up, meeting Qin Feng’s gaze without fear.
“But you’ve lost,” Qin Feng shook his head. “All your strength is here. You have no means left to turn the tables.”
Yang Hao glanced down with concern. Maya was barely holding back the ever-increasing tide of imperial guards, while Xie Fengting, besieged by four elite warriors, was barely holding his own, relying solely on divine artifacts to stay afloat.
Qin Feng was right. Yang Hao had already played all his cards, yet the situation remained unchanged. Even with the arrival of the Oracle Dominion’s elite, the Elder Council’s influence remained unshaken. By all accounts, Yang Hao had already lost.
“So now, it’s your turn to choose,” Yang Hao actually managed to smile—a man with an empty dantian, already a prisoner, smiling at the empire’s most enigmatic master.
Qin Feng nodded, his expression grave. “Yes. I choose your death.”
This was Qin Feng’s choice—the choice of the highest leader of the Imperial Guard system.
Without a doubt, Qin Feng’s sole loyalty lay with the emperor, a latent force against the Elder Council. But Qin Feng’s strength was the emperor’s last resort, so this choice had to be made with extreme caution.
The Merchant Guild had long decided to abandon Yang Hao to save themselves. But Qin Feng had only made his choice now—a final judgment on the situation.
His judgment was that Yang Hao lacked the power to turn the tide, so Yang Hao had to die.
With Yang Hao dead, the Imperial Guard could regain control, the Merchant Guild could survive, and more nobles would be spared from civil strife.
Sacrificing Yang Hao’s faction would preserve the empire’s current balance. That was Qin Feng’s decision.
But Yang Hao shook his head, scoffing. “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Qin Feng frowned.
“I’m not impressive. Not at all,” Yang Hao patted his empty dantian, where only Hunyuanzi remained—the once-boundless energy now completely drained. “The power I’ve shown you—none of it was mine.”
“Then whose was it?”
“It belonged to everyone who opposes the Elder Council,” Yang Hao coldly pointed at the battle in the hall. “The Oracle Dominion, the Divine Clan, the merchants, the nobles—those fighting are the gathering of all anti-Elder Council forces. These powers have been suppressed for far too long. They follow me because I resist. I fight. If you cut them down, you’re only weakening yourselves. The Elder Council’s influence will only grow, and what will you have left? What will those behind you have left?”
Qin Feng’s expression darkened further, especially when Yang Hao mentioned “those behind him.” A flicker of murderous intent even flashed in his eyes.
“You don’t understand. Or maybe you do, but you can’t act on it,” Yang Hao nodded. “But someone does.”
“Before the Elder Council returns, you die, and I’ll ensure your people escape,” Qin Feng said.
Yang Hao nodded but said nothing.
Qin Feng rubbed his hands together, and a surge of black energy suddenly erupted—a cold, sinister force that coalesced into a straight line in the air, like a long black needle, shooting straight for Yang Hao’s throat.
The power Qin Feng displayed now was beyond what any Sword Saint could muster.
If he wished, he could easily become the Tenth Elder.
Yet this master had now decided to kill Yang Hao.
The black needle shot unerringly toward Yang Hao’s neck.
But Yang Hao widened his eyes, as if waiting for something—perhaps the arrival of light, a spark of silver—completely oblivious to the pain of the dark energy piercing his throat.
And he did wait for it.
A flash of silver. Sparks flew. The entire hall brightened as if light had truly arrived early.
Qin Feng actually took half a step back—this peerless master, forced to retreat by the sudden silver light. The old man’s beard and robes fluttered wildly in his fury. “Ling’er! Have you lost your mind?!”
Yang Hao smiled bitterly, turning to look at Lan Ling, who had just saved him from Qin Feng’s grasp.
This woman had somehow returned to the hall, abandoning her Snow Night Star Lion in her haste, charging alone onto the golden steps.
The clash of silver spear and black energy—
Qin Feng retreated half a step, but Lan Ling suffered severe internal injuries. Her face was deathly pale, a streak of blood vivid at the corner of her lips, her long hair disheveled.
Yet in her eyes was an unshakable resolve—a determination no one could fully understand. All her past hesitation and doubt when dealing with Yang Hao were now buried beneath this resolve.
When does a woman truly realize she’s fallen for a man?
Not in moments of romantic intoxication or misty rain, but at the brink of life and death, when instinct drives her choice.
Lan Ling could have captured Yang Hao, could have barred his followers from the steps. But she could never bear to see him die, to watch his blood spill down the golden stairs.
That night on Zhinao Star, Yang Hao had left his master’s sword with Lan Ling—and Lan Ling had left the most precious part of her heart with Yang Hao.
She had never spoken of it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Before this moment, Lan Ling had been the empire’s most beautiful woman, Qin Feng’s beloved disciple, the leader of the Snow Night Star Lion Corps.
But now, she was simply a woman in love.
Tears fell as she bit her lip and cried out, “Master…”
“You’re really siding with him?” Qin Feng’s hands trembled. The person before him was his most cherished disciple.
“Master…” Lan Ling’s voice was choked with sorrow. Gone was the demeanor of a Saint Realm expert—her silver spear dragged on the ground, not daring to point at Qin Feng.
Qin Feng’s black energy surged, his very body seeming to expand, radiating an oppressive aura that silenced the entire palace.
All fighting ceased. Everyone was stunned by the turn of events—especially the four elite warriors battling Xie Fengting, Lan Ling’s senior brothers, who knew all too well how cold she could be, earning her the title of “Ice Beauty.”
Yet today, she had cried for a man.
Today, she had betrayed her master for a man.
And the instigator, Yang Hao, simply smiled warmly, taking Lan Ling’s hand and saying,
“So you would grieve if I died.”
“Bastard!” Lan Ling bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. In such dire straits, Yang Hao still had the audacity to tease her—she could almost… almost stab him a dozen times with her spear.
But despite her thoughts, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She let Yang Hao lead her, walking toward the palace doors.
No one dared to stop them.
Though Qin Feng’s power had surged, his body trembled, and he didn’t strike. Lan Ling glanced back every few steps, her eyes filled with sorrow as she looked at her master. She knew that no matter how furious he was, he would never harm her. But today, she had truly severed all ties to her sect.
Was it worth it?
Lan Ling didn’t know. She didn’t even dare to think too deeply. She had acted from her heart.
And so now, it was the powerless Yang Hao leading her away. His steps were steady, firm on the palace’s blue bricks, as if all the chaos around them meant nothing. He simply held his woman’s hand, leaving this place of slaughter behind.
Xie Fengting and Maya also disengaged, cautiously guarding Yang Hao’s rear.
Today’s events had unfolded too quickly—even Xie Fengting hadn’t foreseen this turn. He had come prepared to die alongside Yang Hao. Who could have imagined they’d actually have a chance to escape?
But escape to where? How? How to flee the Elder Council’s reach?
That was for Yang Hao to figure out. As a leader, he had already shown remarkable brilliance. From now on, they only needed to follow his lead—and perhaps the empire’s skies would change.
Yang Hao, holding Lan Ling’s hand, led Xie Fengting and Maya to the palace doors—then suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Lan Ling turned in surprise.
Yang Hao sighed. It was never that simple. From his sigh to the faint, restless stirring in the air, only a moment had passed.
But Lan Ling’s expression had already changed.
Because right at the palace doors, the air was twisting violently—glimmers of light flickering as if multiple spaces were converging, about to tear open a rift.
Lan Ling stomped her foot, her silver spear flashing like lightning, shooting straight for the forming spatial wormhole.
Even Yang Hao had to admire this strike. Lan Ling truly was the empire’s youngest Saint Realm warrior. Even in emotional turmoil, she could deliver such a flawless attack—pure speed, pure power, devoid of any unnecessary flourish.
Yang Hao was certain that even Situ Hai, faced with such a perfect thrust, would have no choice but to retreat.
Perhaps only Situ Hai’s Heaven-Defying Sword could match it.
But Yang Hao was wrong.
The figure emerging from the spatial rift didn’t retreat—didn’t even deign to acknowledge Lan Ling’s full-force strike. The leading figure simply raised a hand and flicked the spear aside as if swatting a twig.
Worse, the moment the spear made contact, it glowed red-hot, as if dipped in a furnace at thousands of degrees.
Lan Ling released it instantly, but a faint burn already marked her palm.
Only the three Grand Elders could so effortlessly deflect a Saint Realm expert’s attack.
Stepping out of the forcibly torn spatial rift were Grand Elders Wu Yi, Hei Feng, and Rong Li. They had returned far sooner than expected, though their appearances were slightly disheveled.
Rong Li’s hair was slightly messy, and Hei Feng’s left arm seemed injured—an almost unthinkable sight. The Grand Elders were among the empire’s most exalted figures, counted among the universe’s nine supreme experts. Few could threaten them besides the Emperor himself.
Yet now, not only did the three look disheveled, but one was even lightly wounded—proof that their battle in the Alchemy Cavern had been no small matter.
Sure enough, Wu Yi abandoned his usual immortal demeanor, advancing on Yang Hao with a snarl.
Yang Hao had no choice but to retreat. If this man could deflect a Sword Saint’s perfect strike with a flick, what hope did he have, even with two Sword Saints by his side?
Yang Hao, Lan Ling, Xie Fengting, and Maya retreated back into the hall.
Wu Yi floated upward, bathed in a holy radiance that amplified his voice: “Six Sword Saints conspired to assassinate the Emperor’s body. Fortunately, we returned in time to thwart them.”
This proclamation was for the assembled ministers, many of whom gaped in shock. Lower-ranking officials knew the empire had only three Sword Saints—yet Wu Yi spoke of six Saint Realm experts attempting regicide? What was happening?
Only the Privy Council ministers and Imperial Guard Commander Qin Feng’s expressions shifted subtly.
Wu Yi’s lofty stance and booming voice were also directed at them—particularly Qin Feng. But in focusing on Qin Feng, he neglected Yang Hao, who, despite being cornered, didn’t despair. Instead, a strange smile played on his lips at Wu Yi’s words.
Captured again, yet still smiling. Lan Ling marveled at her foolhardy lover’s unshakable courage.
“Since when did your Alchemy Sword Sect possess such strength?” Wu Yi looked down at Yang Hao, his voice icy. “Six Sword Saints—sacrificed just to buy you time. Don’t tell me they’re remnants from your sect’s glory a thousand years ago.”
“Not at all!” Yang Hao patted his chest emphatically.
“Then who sent them?” Wu Yi smirked. “Tell me, and I’ll spare your life.”
Qin Feng’s face paled—even more than when Lan Ling had betrayed him. He looked as if he wanted to strike Yang Hao dead on the spot.
Who else in the empire could command six hidden Sword Saints? The answer was obvious.
But if Yang Hao said it aloud, everything would change.
Regicide reframed as an attempt on the Emperor’s proxy—the implications were vastly different. Qin Feng could almost see the empire crumbling, the imperial city awash in blood.
Shaking his head, Yang Hao felt the conspiracy was growing larger and more intriguing. However, what happened next was no longer amusing at all. Qin Feng had made his move. Naturally, Qin Feng would not engage in the melee inside the grand hall. Effortlessly, he floated up to a step—though the fourth golden step was not meant for him, he still arrived.
“You’re impressive, Yang Hao, truly impressive,” Qin Feng sighed. “At such a young age, mastering such power, you could become a dominant force anywhere in the universe. Unfortunately, you’ve angered the wrong people. The Senate is beyond your ability to oppose.”
“Someone has to stand up,” Yang Hao stood up, staring fearlessly at Qin Feng.
“But you’ve lost,” Qin Feng shook his head. “All your strength is already here. You no longer have the power to turn the tide.”
Yang Hao glanced down anxiously. Maya was barely holding back the increasing number of Imperial Guards, while Xie Fengting was at a disadvantage against the four elite fighters surrounding him, relying solely on his divine artifact to barely survive.
Qin Feng was right. Yang Hao had already revealed all his strength, yet the situation hadn’t changed. Even with the arrival of experts from the Divine Prophecy Territory, they still couldn’t shake the Senate’s power. Judging from the current situation, Yang Hao had already lost.
“All five of them are Sword Saints!” Yang Hao sat on the fourth step of the golden stairs, still in the mood to comment. “Just how many Sword Saints are hidden in this empire?”
He shook his head, feeling that this conspiracy was growing larger and more intriguing by the minute.
But what happened next was anything but fun. Because Qin Feng made his move.
Naturally, Qin Feng didn’t join the slaughter inside the grand hall. Instead, he effortlessly floated up the steps. The fourth golden stair wasn’t his usual domain, but he ascended it all the same.
“You’re impressive, Yang Hao. Truly impressive,” Qin Feng sighed deeply. “At such a young age, to wield such power—you could become a ruler in any corner of the universe. But you’ve provoked the wrong people. The Elder Council is not something you can oppose.”
“Someone has to stand against them,” Yang Hao stood up, meeting Qin Feng’s gaze without fear.
“But you’ve lost,” Qin Feng shook his head. “All your strength is here. You have no means left to turn the tide.”
Yang Hao glanced down anxiously. Maya was barely holding back the ever-increasing tide of Imperial Guards, while Xie Fengting was at a disadvantage against the four elite warriors, relying solely on divine artifacts to barely stay afloat.
Qin Feng was right. Yang Hao had already exhausted all his forces, yet the situation remained unchanged. Even with the arrival of the Oracle Dominion’s elites, the Elder Council’s dominance remained unshaken. By all accounts, Yang Hao had already lost.
“So now, it’s your turn to choose,” Yang Hao actually managed to smile—a man with an empty dantian, already a prisoner, smiling at the empire’s most enigmatic master.
Qin Feng nodded, his expression grave. “Yes. I choose your death.”
This was Qin Feng’s decision—his choice as the highest leader of the Imperial Guard system.
Undoubtedly, Qin Feng’s sole loyalty lay with the Emperor, making him a latent force against the Elder Council. But Qin Feng’s strength was the Emperor’s last resort, so this choice had to be made with utmost caution.
The Merchant Guild had long decided to abandon Yang Hao to save themselves. But Qin Feng had only made his choice now—a final judgment on the situation.
His verdict was clear: Yang Hao lacked the power to turn the tide, so he had to die.
Yang Hao’s death would allow the Imperial Guards to regain control, the Merchant Guild to survive, and countless nobles to avoid perishing in civil strife. Sacrificing Yang Hao’s faction would preserve the empire’s current balance. That was Qin Feng’s decision.
But Yang Hao shook his head, scoffing. “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Qin Feng frowned.
“I’m not impressive. Not at all,” Yang Hao patted his empty dantian, where only Hunyuanzi remained—the once-boundless cosmic energy long since drained. “The power I’ve shown you isn’t mine.”
“Then whose is it?”
“It belongs to everyone who opposes the Elder Council,” Yang Hao coldly pointed to the battle in the hall. “The Oracle Dominion, the Divine Clan, the merchants, the nobles—those fighting are the collective strength of all who resist the Elder Council. This power has been gathering for far too long. They follow me because I resist. Because I fight. If you cut them down, you’re only weakening yourselves. The Elder Council’s influence will grow unchecked. And what will you have left? What will those behind you have left?”
Qin Feng’s expression darkened further, especially when Yang Hao mentioned “those behind him.” A glint of murderous intent even flashed in his eyes.
“You don’t understand. Or maybe you do but can’t act on it,” Yang Hao nodded. “But someone does.”
“Before the Elder Council returns, you die. I’ll ensure your people escape,” Qin Feng declared.
Yang Hao nodded but said nothing.
Qin Feng rubbed his hands together, and a surge of black energy erupted—a cold, sinister force that coalesced into a straight line, like a long black needle, shooting straight for Yang Hao’s throat.
The power Qin Feng displayed now was beyond that of a Sword Saint.
Had he wished, he could’ve easily become the Tenth Elder.
Yet this master had now decided to kill Yang Hao.
The black needle shot unerringly toward Yang Hao’s neck.
But Yang Hao widened his eyes, as if waiting for something—perhaps the arrival of light, a silver spark—oblivious to the pain of the dark energy piercing his throat.
And he did wait for it.
A flash of silver. Sparks flew, illuminating the entire hall as if light had truly arrived early.
Qin Feng took half a step back—this peerless master, forced to retreat by the sudden silver light. The old man’s beard and robes fluttered wildly in his fury. “Ling’er! Have you lost your mind?!”
Yang Hao chuckled wryly, turning to look at Lan Ling, who had just saved him from Qin Feng’s grasp.
This woman had somehow returned to the hall, abandoning her Snow Night Star Lion in her haste, charging alone up the golden stairs.
The clash of silver spear and black energy had forced Qin Feng back half a step, but Lan Ling had suffered internal injuries. Her face was deathly pale, a streak of blood vivid at the corner of her lips, her long hair disheveled.
Yet in her eyes was an unshakable resolve—a determination no one could fully comprehend. All her past hesitation and doubt when dealing with Yang Hao were now buried beneath this iron will.
When does a woman truly know she’s fallen for a man?
Not in moments of romantic intoxication, nor in hazy, dreamy interludes. Only at life’s final crossroads, when instinct drives her choice, does she truly understand.
Lan Ling could have captured Yang Hao, could have barred his followers from the stairs. But she could never bear to see him die, to watch his blood stain the golden steps.
That night on Zhinao Star, Yang Hao had left his master’s sword with her. And in return, she had left something far more precious in his care.
She never spoke of it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Before this moment, Lan Ling had been the empire’s most beautiful woman, Qin Feng’s beloved disciple, the Snow Night Star Lion’s commander.
But now, she was simply a woman in love.
Tears fell as she bit her lip and whispered, “Master…”
“You’d truly side with him?” Qin Feng’s hands trembled. The person before him was his most cherished disciple.
“Master…” Lan Ling’s voice was choked with sorrow. Gone was the demeanor of a Saint Realm expert—her silver spear dragged on the ground, no longer aimed at Qin Feng.
Qin Feng’s black energy surged, his very body seeming to expand, radiating an oppressive aura that silenced the entire palace.
All fighting ceased. Everyone was stunned by the turn of events—especially Xie Fengting’s four opponents, Lan Ling’s senior brothers, who knew all too well how cold she usually was. The title “Ice Beauty” wasn’t given lightly.
Yet today, she had cried for a man.
Today, she had betrayed her master for a man.
And the instigator, Yang Hao, simply smiled warmly, taking her hand.
“So you’d still grieve if I died.”
“Bastard!” Lan Ling’s teeth drew blood from her lip. Even in such dire straits, Yang Hao could still tease her. She wanted to—oh, how she wanted to—run him through a dozen times.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She let him lead her, step by step, toward the palace gates.
No one dared stop them.
Though Qin Feng’s power had surged, he stood trembling, unable to strike. Lan Ling glanced back every few steps, her heart breaking at her master’s expression. She knew he would never harm her, no matter how furious. But today, she had severed all ties of master and disciple.
Was it worth it?
Lan Ling didn’t know. She didn’t dare dwell on it. She had acted from the heart.
And so now, it was the powerless Yang Hao leading her away. His steps were steady, firm on the palace’s blue tiles, as if the chaos around them meant nothing. He was simply taking his woman away from this slaughterhouse.
Xie Fengting and Maya disengaged, cautiously guarding Yang Hao’s retreat.
Today’s events had unfolded too quickly. Even Xie Fengting hadn’t foreseen this twist. He’d come expecting to die alongside Yang Hao. Who could’ve imagined they’d actually have a chance to escape?
But escape to where? How? How to flee the Elder Council’s reach?
That was for Yang Hao to figure out. As a leader, he’d already shown remarkable brilliance. From now on, they’d follow his lead—and perhaps the empire’s skies would change.
Yang Hao, holding Lan Ling’s hand, with Xie Fengting and Maya in tow, reached the grand palace’s entrance—and suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Lan Ling turned, puzzled.
Yang Hao sighed. It was never that simple.
From his sigh to the faint, unsettling disturbance in the air, only a moment passed.
But Lan Ling’s expression had already changed.
Because right at the palace entrance, the air was twisting violently. Glimmers of light flickered within, as if multiple spaces were converging—as if a rift was about to tear open.
Lan Ling stomped her foot, her silver spear shooting like lightning toward the forming spatial wormhole.
Even Yang Hao had to admire the strike. Lan Ling, the empire’s youngest Saint Realm warrior, could deliver such a flawless attack even in emotional turmoil. No technique, no impurity—just pure speed and power.
Yang Hao was certain that even Situ Hai would’ve had no choice but to retreat before such a strike.
Only Situ Hai’s “Heaven-Defying Sword” might’ve countered it.
But Yang Hao was wrong.
The figure emerging from the spatial rift didn’t retreat. He didn’t even deign to acknowledge Lan Ling’s full-force strike. The leading figure simply flicked his hand, swatting the silver spear aside like a twig.
Worse, upon contact, the spear glowed red-hot, as if freshly pulled from a forge.
Lan Ling released it instantly, but a faint burn already marked her palm.
Who else but the three Elders could so effortlessly deflect a Saint Realm expert’s attack?
Stepping out of the forcibly torn spatial rift were Elders Wu Yi, Hei Feng, and Rong Li. They’d returned far sooner than expected, though their appearances were slightly disheveled.
Rong Li’s hair was tousled; Hei Feng’s left arm seemed injured—a shocking sight. The Elders were the empire’s most revered figures, counted among the universe’s nine supreme experts. Few could threaten them besides the Emperor himself.
Yet now, not only were they disheveled, but one was even lightly wounded. Clearly, their battle in the Alchemy Cavern hadn’t been trivial.
Sure enough, Wu Yi abandoned his usual sage-like demeanor, advancing on Yang Hao with a snarl.
Yang Hao had no choice but to retreat. If this man could deflect a Sword Saint’s perfect strike with a flick, what hope did he have, even with two Sword Saints by his side?
Yang Hao, Lan Ling, Xie Fengting, and Maya retreated back into the grand hall.
Wu Yi floated upward, bathed in a holy radiance that amplified his voice. “Six Sword Saints conspired to assassinate the Emperor’s vessel. Fortunately, we returned in time to thwart them.”
This proclamation was for the assembled ministers, who gaped in shock—especially the lower-ranked ones, who knew the empire had only three Sword Saints. Yet Wu Yi spoke of six Saint Realm assassins? What was happening?
Only the Privy Council members and Qin Feng’s expressions shifted subtly.
Wu Yi’s lofty declaration was aimed squarely at them—particularly Qin Feng. But in focusing on the Imperial Guard leader, he’d overlooked Yang Hao.
Cornered, Yang Hao showed no despair. Instead, at Wu Yi’s words, a strange smile tugged at his lips.
Captured again, yet still smiling. Lan Ling marveled at her foolhardy lover’s fearlessness.
“Since when did your Alchemy Sword Sect possess such strength?” Wu Yi’s voice dripped with icy malice. “Six Sword Saints, sacrificed just to buy you time. Don’t tell me these are remnants from your sect’s glory days a millennium ago.”
“Not at all!” Yang Hao thumped his chest.
“Then who sent them?” Wu Yi’s smile was sinister. “Tell me, and I’ll spare your life.”
Qin Feng’s face paled. Even when Lan Ling betrayed him, he hadn’t looked so panicked. He seemed ready to kill Yang Hao on the spot.
Who else in the empire could casually deploy six hidden Sword Saints? The answer was obvious.
But if Yang Hao said it aloud, everything would change.
Regicide reframed as an attempt on the Emperor’s vessel—the implications were vastly different. Qin Feng could already envision the empire in turmoil, the imperial city awash in blood.
Qin Feng nodded solemnly, “Yes, my choice is for you to die.”
This was Qin Feng’s decision, the choice of the highest leader of the Imperial Guards. Without a doubt, Qin Feng’s only loyalty was to the Emperor himself, representing a latent force opposing the Senate. However, Qin Feng’s power was the Emperor’s foundation, so this choice had to be made with utmost caution.
The Merchant Guild had long decided to abandon Yang Hao for self-preservation. But Qin Feng only made his choice now after carefully assessing the situation—an ultimate judgment.
Qin Feng’s judgment was that Yang Hao lacked the ability to reverse the situation, so Yang Hao had to die.
With Yang Hao dead, the Imperial Guards could control the situation, the Merchant Guild could survive, and more nobles could avoid dying in the chaos.
Sacrificing Yang Hao’s faction would preserve the current balance of the empire. This was Qin Feng’s decision.
But Yang Hao shook his head, scoffing, “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong where?” Qin Feng was puzzled.
“I’m not impressive at all,” Yang Hao patted his empty dantian. Only Yuan Hun Zi remained there; the once mighty, universe-like internal energy had long been exhausted. “The power I displayed, the strength I showed you, none of it was mine.”
“Then whose was it?”
“It was the power of all who resist the Senate, all the rebels.” Yang Hao coldly pointed at the melee inside the hall. “The Divine Prophecy Territory, the Divine Race, the Merchants, the nobles—those fighting are the combined forces of all anti-Senate factions. This power has been gathering for far too long. They follow me because I resist. I fight desperately. If you eliminate this force, you’re also cutting off your own wings. What will remain of the Senate’s power? What will remain of your people?”
Qin Feng’s expression grew increasingly grim, especially when Yang Hao mentioned his people, his eyes even flashing a glint of ferocity.
“You don’t understand, or perhaps you do but can’t decide,” Yang Hao nodded. “But someone does understand.”
“Before the executive elders return, you die, and I guarantee your people’s safe retreat,” Qin Feng declared.
Yang Hao nodded but said nothing.
Qin Feng clapped his hands together, and a sudden surge of black qi erupted. This cold, chilling black qi coalesced into a straight line in the air, resembling a long black needle, aiming straight for Yang Hao’s throat.
The power displayed by Qin Feng at this moment could no longer be described as that of a mere sword saint.
If he wished, even becoming the tenth executive elder was not impossible.
Yet such a master had now unleashed a deadly strike against Yang Hao.
The black needle charged unrelentingly toward Yang Hao’s neck.
But Yang Hao widened his eyes, as if waiting for something—perhaps the arrival of light, silver sparks, and so on, seemingly unaware of the pain from the black force piercing his throat.
He indeed waited for it.
A flash of silver light, sparks flying, the entire hall brightened momentarily, as if true light had indeed arrived early.
“All five of them are Sword Saints!” Yang Hao sat on the fourth step of the golden stairs, still finding the energy to comment. “Just how many Sword Saints are hidden in this empire?”
He shook his head, feeling that this conspiracy was growing larger and more intriguing by the minute.
But what happened next was anything but fun. Because Qin Feng made his move.
Qin Feng naturally wouldn’t involve himself in the slaughter inside the grand hall. Instead, he effortlessly floated up the steps—though the fourth golden stair wasn’t his usual domain, he ascended it all the same.
“You’re impressive, Yang Hao. Truly impressive,” Qin Feng sighed deeply. “At such a young age, to wield such power—you could become a hegemon anywhere in the universe. But it’s a shame you provoked someone you shouldn’t have. The Elder Council is not something you can oppose.”
“Someone has to stand against them,” Yang Hao said, rising to his feet and meeting Qin Feng’s gaze without fear.
“But you’ve lost,” Qin Feng shook his head. “All your strength is here. You have no means left to turn the tide.”
Yang Hao glanced down with concern. Maya was barely holding back the ever-increasing tide of Imperial Guards, while Xie Fengting was struggling against the combined assault of four masters, barely managing to hold his ground with the help of divine artifacts.
Qin Feng was right. Yang Hao had already played all his cards, yet the situation remained unchanged. Even with the arrival of the Oracle Dominion’s elite, the Elder Council’s dominance remained unshaken. By all accounts, Yang Hao had already lost.
“So now, it’s your turn to choose,” Yang Hao said, still managing a smile. A man with an empty dantian, already a prisoner, smiling at the empire’s most enigmatic master.
Qin Feng nodded, his expression grave. “Yes. I choose your death.”
This was Qin Feng’s decision—his choice as the highest leader of the Imperial Guard system.
There was no doubt that Qin Feng’s sole loyalty lay with the Emperor, making him a latent force against the Elder Council. But Qin Feng’s strength was the Emperor’s last resort, so this choice had to be made with extreme caution.
The Merchant Guild had long decided to abandon Yang Hao to save themselves. But Qin Feng had only made his choice now—a final judgment on the situation.
His judgment was simple: Yang Hao lacked the power to turn the tide, so he had to die.
With Yang Hao dead, the Imperial Guard could regain control, the Merchant Guild could survive, and more nobles would be spared from civil war.
Sacrificing Yang Hao’s faction would preserve the empire’s fragile balance. That was Qin Feng’s decision.
But Yang Hao shook his head, scoffing. “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Qin Feng frowned.
“I’m not impressive. Not at all,” Yang Hao patted his empty dantian, where only Hunyuanzi remained—the once-boundless energy now completely drained. “The power I’ve shown you—none of it was mine.”
“Then whose was it?”
“It belonged to everyone who opposes the Elder Council,” Yang Hao said coldly, pointing at the battle in the hall. “The Oracle Dominion, the Divine Clan, the merchants, the nobles—those fighting are the combined strength of all who resist the Elder Council. This power has been gathering for far too long. They follow me because I resist. Because I fight. If you cut them down, you’re only weakening yourselves. The Elder Council’s influence will only grow. And what will you have left? What will those behind you have left?”
Qin Feng’s expression darkened further, especially when Yang Hao mentioned “those behind him.” A flicker of murderous intent even flashed in his eyes.
“You don’t understand. Or maybe you do, but you can’t act on it,” Yang Hao nodded. “But someone does.”
“Before the Elder Council returns, you die. And I’ll ensure your people escape,” Qin Feng said.
Yang Hao nodded but said nothing.
Qin Feng rubbed his hands together, and a surge of black energy erupted—a cold, malevolent force that coalesced into a thin, needle-like line, shooting straight for Yang Hao’s throat.
The power Qin Feng displayed now was beyond what any Sword Saint could muster.
Had he wished, he could have easily become the Tenth Elder.
Yet this very master was now delivering a killing blow to Yang Hao.
The black needle shot unerringly toward Yang Hao’s neck.
But Yang Hao merely widened his eyes, as if waiting—for light, for silver sparks—utterly oblivious to the pain of the dark energy piercing his throat.
And he did wait.
A flash of silver. Sparks erupted, illuminating the entire hall as if light itself had arrived prematurely.
Qin Feng was forced back half a step—this peerless master, pushed back by a sudden burst of silver radiance. His robes flapped wildly, his beard bristling with fury.
“Ling’er! Have you lost your mind?!”
Yang Hao chuckled wryly, turning to see Lan Ling, the woman who had just saved him from Qin Feng’s strike.
She had somehow returned to the hall, abandoning her Snow Night Star Lion in her haste, charging up the golden stairs alone.
The clash between her silver spear and Qin Feng’s dark energy had forced him back half a step—but Lan Ling had suffered internal injuries. Her face was deathly pale, a trickle of blood stark against her lips, her long hair disheveled.
Yet in her eyes was an unshakable resolve—a determination no one could fully comprehend. Gone was the hesitation and uncertainty she had once shown around Yang Hao.
When does a woman truly realize she’s fallen for a man?
Not in the intoxication of romantic nights, nor in the haze of gentle rain. Only at the brink of life and death, when instinct drives her choice, does she know for sure.
Lan Ling could have dragged Yang Hao back. She could have barred his followers from the stairs. But she could never bear to watch him die, to see his blood stain the golden steps.
That night on the Mind Star, Yang Hao had left his master’s sword with her—and she had left something far more precious in his hands.
She had never spoken of it. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Until this moment, Lan Ling had been the empire’s most beautiful woman, Qin Feng’s beloved disciple, the Snow Night Star Lion’s commander.
But now, she was simply a woman in love.
Tears fell as she bit her lip and whispered, “Master…”
“You’re really siding with him?” Qin Feng’s hands trembled. The woman before him was his most cherished disciple.
“Master…” Lan Ling’s voice was choked with sorrow. Gone was the demeanor of a Saint Realm expert—her silver spear dragged on the ground, no longer aimed at Qin Feng.
Qin Feng’s dark energy surged, his very body seeming to expand as an overwhelming pressure filled the hall, silencing all within.
Every battle in the palace paused. Everyone was stunned by the turn of events—especially the four masters fighting Xie Fengting, Lan Ling’s senior brothers, who knew better than anyone how cold she could be. The “Ice Beauty” wasn’t just a nickname.
Yet today, she had cried for a man.
Today, she had betrayed her master for a man.
And the man responsible—Yang Hao—merely smiled warmly, taking her hand and saying,
“So you *would* be sad if I died.”
“Bastard!” Lan Ling bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Even in this situation, Yang Hao still had the nerve to tease her. She wanted—no, *needed*—to stab him full of holes.
But despite her thoughts, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She let him lead her, walking toward the palace gates.
No one dared to stop them.
Though Qin Feng’s power had surged, he remained frozen, unable to strike. Lan Ling glanced back every few steps, her heart aching at the sight of her master. She knew he would never harm her, no matter how furious he was—but today, she had severed all ties to her sect.
Was it worth it?
Lan Ling didn’t know. She didn’t even dare to think too deeply. She had simply followed her heart.
And so now, it was the powerless Yang Hao leading *her*. His steps were steady, firm against the palace’s blue tiles, as if the chaos around them meant nothing. He was simply taking his woman away from this place of slaughter.
Xie Fengting and Maya disengaged from their battles, cautiously guarding Yang Hao’s rear.
Today’s events had unfolded too quickly—even Xie Fengting hadn’t foreseen this turn. He had come expecting to die alongside Yang Hao. Who could have imagined they’d actually have a chance to escape?
But escape to where? How? How could they flee the Elder Council’s reach?
That was for Yang Hao to figure out. As a leader, he had already proven his brilliance. From now on, they would simply follow his lead. Perhaps the empire’s skies would never be the same again.
Yang Hao led Lan Ling, Xie Fengting, and Maya to the palace gates—then suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Lan Ling turned in confusion.
Yang Hao sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
From the moment he sighed to the faint disturbance in the air, only an instant passed.
But Lan Ling’s expression had already changed.
Because at the palace gates, the air itself was twisting violently—glimmers of light flickering as if multiple spaces were converging, tearing a hole in reality.
Lan Ling stomped her foot, her silver spear shooting like lightning toward the forming spatial rift.
Even Yang Hao had to admire the strike. Lan Ling truly was the empire’s youngest Saint Realm warrior. Even in emotional turmoil, she could deliver a flawless attack—pure speed, pure power, devoid of any unnecessary flourish.
Yang Hao was certain that even Situ Hai would have no choice but to retreat before such a spear.
Only Situ Hai’s “Heaven-Defying Sword” could match it.
But Yang Hao was wrong.
The figure emerging from the spatial rift didn’t retreat. He didn’t even deign to acknowledge Lan Ling’s strike—merely flicking it aside as if swatting a branch.
Worse, the moment the spear touched his hand, it glowed red-hot, as if freshly pulled from a forge.
Lan Ling recoiled, but not before a faint burn marked her palm.
Only one group of people could so effortlessly deflect a Saint Realm expert’s attack—the Three Elders.
Stepping out from the torn rift were Elders Wu Yi, Hei Feng, and Rong Li. They had returned far sooner than expected, though their appearances were slightly disheveled.
Rong Li’s hair was mussed, and Hei Feng’s left arm seemed injured—an almost unthinkable sight. The Elders were among the empire’s most revered figures, counted among the universe’s nine greatest masters. Few besides the Emperor himself could threaten them.
Yet here they were—not only looking worse for wear, but one even lightly wounded. Whatever battle they had faced in the Dan Cauldron’s sanctum had clearly been no small matter.
Sure enough, Wu Yi abandoned his usual immortal demeanor, advancing on Yang Hao with a snarl.
Yang Hao had no choice but to retreat. If these men could casually deflect a Sword Saint’s strike, what hope did he have, even with two Sword Saints at his side?
Yang Hao, Lan Ling, Xie Fengting, and Maya fell back into the hall.
Wu Yi floated upward, bathed in a holy radiance that amplified his voice.
“Six Sword Saints conspired to assassinate the Emperor’s vessel. Fortunately, we returned in time to stop them.”
His words were meant for the assembled ministers, who gaped in shock—especially the lower-ranked ones, who believed the empire had only three Sword Saints.
But Wu Yi spoke of *six* Saint Realm experts attempting regicide. What was happening?
Only the Privy Council and Qin Feng’s expressions shifted slightly.
Wu Yi’s lofty proclamation was also directed at them—though his focus was on Qin Feng. He failed to notice Yang Hao, who, despite being cornered, wore a strange smile.
Trapped again, yet still smiling. Lan Ling couldn’t help but admire her fool’s fearless audacity.
“Since when did the Dan Cauldron Sect possess such strength?” Wu Yi’s voice dripped with icy malice. “Six Sword Saints, sacrificed just to buy you time. Don’t tell me these are remnants from your sect’s glory days a thousand years ago.”
“No, absolutely not!” Yang Hao patted his chest in assurance.
“Then who sent them?” Wu Yi smirked. “Tell me, and I’ll spare your life.”
Qin Feng’s face paled—even more than when Lan Ling had betrayed him. He looked ready to kill Yang Hao on the spot.
Who else in the empire could command six hidden Sword Saints? The answer was obvious.
But if Yang Hao said it aloud, everything would change.
Regicide reframed as an attack on the Emperor’s vessel—the implications were staggering. Qin Feng could already envision the empire drowning in blood.
—
**Note:** The translation maintains the original’s tone, pacing, and stylistic elements while ensuring clarity and natural flow in English. Key terms (e.g., “Sword Saint,” “Elder Council”) are preserved for consistency. Let me know if you’d like any refinements!
Yang Hao smiled bitterly, turning to look at Lan Ling, the woman who had saved him from Qin Feng’s hands.
When she had returned to the hall, no one knew. In desperation, she had even abandoned her Snow Night Star Lion, rushing alone onto the golden steps.
The collision between the silver spear and the black force,
Qin Feng took half a step back, but Lan Ling suffered significant internal injuries. Her face was unusually pale, a streak of blood vividly red at the corner of her lips, her long hair disheveled and falling.
Yet in Lan Ling’s eyes was an indescribable determination, a kind of resolve that no one could easily understand. The hesitation and indecision she had shown in her past interactions with Yang Hao were completely overshadowed by this determination.
When does a woman truly realize her feelings for a man? Not during romantic nights or misty rains, but only at the final moment of life and death, when instinctively making a decision—that is when it becomes real.
Lan Ling could have brought Yang Hao back, could have prevented his subordinates from stepping onto the golden steps, but she could never bear to see Yang Hao die, watching his blood flow down the golden steps.
That night on Zhi Nao Star, Yang Hao left his master’s sword with Lan Ling, and Lan Ling left her most precious treasure in Yang Hao’s hands.
Lan Ling never spoke of these things, but that didn’t mean they didn’t happen.
“All five of them are Sword Saints!” Yang Hao sat on the fourth step of the golden stairs, still finding the energy to comment. “Just how many Sword Saints are hidden in this empire?”
He shook his head, feeling that this conspiracy was growing larger and more interesting by the minute.
But what happened next was anything but fun. Because Qin Feng made his move.
Qin Feng naturally wouldn’t involve himself in the slaughter inside the grand hall. He effortlessly floated up to a higher step—the fourth golden stair wasn’t his usual domain, but he ascended it all the same.
“You’re impressive, Yang Hao. Truly impressive,” Qin Feng sighed deeply. “At such a young age, to wield such power—you could become a ruler in any corner of the universe. But you’ve provoked the wrong people. The Senate is not something you can oppose.”
“Someone has to stand against them,” Yang Hao stood up, meeting Qin Feng’s gaze without fear.
“But you’ve lost,” Qin Feng shook his head. “All your strength is here. You have no means left to turn the tide.”
Yang Hao glanced down with concern. Maya was barely holding back the ever-increasing tide of Imperial Guards, while Xie Fengting was at a disadvantage against the four elite warriors, barely holding on thanks to his divine weapon.
Qin Feng was right. Yang Hao had played all his cards, yet the situation remained unchanged. Even with the arrival of the Oracle Dominion’s elites, the Senate’s power remained unshaken. By all accounts, Yang Hao had already lost.
“So now, it’s your turn to choose,” Yang Hao actually managed to smile—a man with an empty dantian, already a prisoner, smiling at the empire’s most enigmatic master.
Qin Feng nodded, his expression grave. “Yes. I choose your death.”
This was Qin Feng’s decision—his choice as the highest leader of the Imperial Guard system.
Without a doubt, Qin Feng’s sole loyalty lay with the Emperor, making him a latent anti-Senate force. But Qin Feng’s strength was the Emperor’s last resort, so this choice had to be made with extreme caution.
The Merchant Guild had long decided to abandon Yang Hao to save themselves. But Qin Feng had only made his choice now—a final judgment of the situation.
His judgment was simple: Yang Hao lacked the power to turn the tide, so he had to die.
With Yang Hao dead, the Imperial Guard could regain control, the Merchant Guild could survive, and more nobles would be spared from civil war.
Sacrificing Yang Hao’s faction would preserve the empire’s current balance. That was Qin Feng’s decision.
But Yang Hao shook his head, scoffing. “You’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?” Qin Feng frowned.
“I’m not impressive. Not at all,” Yang Hao patted his empty dantian, where only Hunyuanzi remained—the once-boundless energy now completely drained. “The power I’ve shown you—none of it was mine.”
“Then whose was it?”
“It belonged to everyone who opposes the Senate,” Yang Hao coldly pointed at the battle in the hall. “The Oracle Dominion, the Divine Clan, the merchants, the nobles—those fighting are the gathering of all anti-Senate forces. This power has been accumulating for far too long. They follow me because I resist. Because I fight. If you cut this force down, you’re only weakening yourselves. The Senate’s influence will only grow. And what will you have left? What will those behind you have left?”
Qin Feng’s expression darkened further, especially when Yang Hao mentioned “those behind him”—a flicker of murderous intent even flashed in his eyes.
“You don’t understand. Or maybe you do, but you can’t act on it,” Yang Hao nodded. “But someone does.”
“Before the Senate Elders return, you die, and I’ll let your people leave,” Qin Feng said.
Yang Hao nodded but said nothing.
Qin Feng rubbed his hands together, and a surge of black energy erupted—a cold, sinister force that condensed into a straight line in the air, like a long black needle, aimed straight for Yang Hao’s throat.
The power Qin Feng displayed now was beyond what a Sword Saint could muster.
If he wished, he could easily become the Tenth Senate Elder.
Yet this master had now decided to kill Yang Hao.
The black needle shot unerringly toward Yang Hao’s neck.
But Yang Hao widened his eyes, as if waiting for something—perhaps the arrival of light, a silver spark—completely oblivious to the pain of the dark energy piercing his throat.
And he did wait for it.
A flash of silver. Sparks flew, illuminating the entire hall as if light had truly arrived early.
Qin Feng was forced back half a step—this peerless master, pushed back by the sudden silver light. The old man’s beard and robes fluttered wildly in his fury. “Ling’er! Have you gone mad?!”
Yang Hao chuckled wryly, turning to look at Lan Ling, who had just saved him from Qin Feng’s strike.
This woman had somehow returned to the hall, abandoning her Snowy Night Star Lion in her haste, charging alone up the golden stairs.
The clash of silver spear against black energy—
Qin Feng had been forced back half a step, but Lan Ling had suffered internal injuries. Her face was deathly pale, a trail of blood stark against her lips, her long hair disheveled.
Yet in her eyes was an unshakable determination—one that no one could truly understand. All her past hesitation and doubt when dealing with Yang Hao were now buried beneath this resolve.
When does a woman truly realize she’s fallen for a man?
Not in the intoxication of romantic nights, nor in the haze of gentle rain. Only at the brink of life and death, when instinct drives her choice, does she truly know.
Lan Ling could have captured Yang Hao, could have barred his followers from the stairs. But she couldn’t bear to see him die, to watch his blood stain the golden steps.
That night on the Wisdom Star, Yang Hao had left his master’s sword with her—and she had left something far more precious in his care.
She had never spoken of it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.
Before this moment, Lan Ling had been the empire’s most beautiful woman, Qin Feng’s beloved disciple, the leader of the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps.
But now, she was simply a woman in love.
Tears fell as she bit her lip and cried out, “Master…”
“You’d truly side with him?” Qin Feng’s hands trembled. The person before him was his most cherished disciple.
“Master…” Lan Ling’s voice was filled with sorrow. Gone was the demeanor of a Saint-level expert—her silver spear dragged on the ground, not daring to point at Qin Feng.
Qin Feng’s black energy surged, his very body seeming to expand, radiating an oppressive aura that silenced the entire palace.
All fighting within the hall ceased. Everyone was stunned by the turn of events—especially the four elite warriors battling Xie Fengting, all Lan Ling’s senior brothers, who knew well how cold she usually was. The title “Ice Beauty” wasn’t given lightly.
Yet today, she had cried for a man.
Today, she had betrayed her master for a man.
And the instigator, Yang Hao, simply smiled warmly, taking her hand and saying,
“So you’d still be sad if I died.”
“Bastard!” Lan Ling bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. In such a dire situation, Yang Hao still had the nerve to tease her—she could almost… almost stab him full of holes.
But despite her thoughts, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She let Yang Hao lead her, walking toward the palace doors.
No one dared to stop them.
Though Qin Feng’s power had surged, his body trembled without striking. Lan Ling glanced back every few steps, her heart aching at her master’s expression. She knew he would never harm her, no matter how angry—but today, she had truly severed all ties of master and disciple.
Was it worth it?
Lan Ling didn’t know. She didn’t even dare to think too deeply. She had acted from her heart.
And so now, it was the powerless Yang Hao leading her. His steps were steady, firm on the palace’s blue bricks, as if all the chaos around them meant nothing. He simply held his woman’s hand, walking away from this place of slaughter.
Xie Fengting and Maya also disengaged, cautiously guarding Yang Hao’s rear.
Today’s events had unfolded too quickly—even Xie Fengting hadn’t foreseen this turn. He had come prepared to die alongside Yang Hao. Who could have imagined they might actually escape?
But escape to where? How? How to flee the Senate’s reach?
That was for Yang Hao to figure out. As a leader, he had already shown remarkable talent. From now on, they need only follow his lead—and perhaps the empire’s skies would change.
Yang Hao, holding Lan Ling’s hand, led Xie Fengting and Maya to the grand palace doors—then suddenly stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Lan Ling turned in surprise.
Yang Hao sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
From his sigh to the faint, restless stirring in the air, only a moment passed.
But Lan Ling’s expression had already changed.
Because right at the palace doors, the air was twisting violently—glimmers of light flickering within, as if multiple spaces were converging, about to tear open a rift.
Lan Ling stomped her foot, her silver spear flashing like lightning, shooting straight at the forming spatial wormhole.
Even Yang Hao had to admire this strike. Lan Ling truly was the empire’s youngest Saint-level warrior. Even in emotional turmoil, she could deliver such a flawless attack—no technique, no impurity, just pure speed and power.
Yang Hao believed that even if Situ Hai were here, he’d have no choice but to retreat from such a perfect spear thrust.
Only Situ Hai’s heaven-defying sword could match it.
But Yang Hao was wrong.
The figure emerging from the spatial rift didn’t retreat—didn’t even deign to acknowledge Lan Ling’s full-force strike. The leading figure simply raised a hand and flicked the spear aside as if swatting a twig.
Worse, the moment the spear touched that hand, it glowed red-hot—as if dipped in a furnace at thousands of degrees.
Lan Ling let go instantly, but a faint burn already marked her palm.
Who else but the three Senate Elders could so effortlessly deflect a Saint-level attack?
Stepping out from the forcibly torn spatial rift were the three Senate Elders: Wu Yi, Black Wind, and Molten Path. They had returned far sooner than expected, though their appearances were slightly disheveled.
Molten Path’s hair was mussed; Black Wind’s left arm seemed injured—an almost unthinkable sight. Senate Elders were the empire’s most exalted figures, counted among the universe’s nine supreme experts. Few beyond the Emperor himself could threaten them.
Yet now, not only did the three look worse for wear, one was even lightly wounded—proof that their battle in the Alchemy Cavern hadn’t been trivial.
Sure enough, Wu Yi abandoned his usual immortal demeanor, advancing on Yang Hao with a snarl.
Yang Hao had no choice but to retreat. If these figures could deflect a Sword Saint’s perfect strike with a wave, what hope did he have, even with two Sword Saints by his side?
Yang Hao, Lan Ling, Xie Fengting, and Maya retreated back into the grand hall.
Wu Yi floated upward, bathed in a holy radiance that amplified his voice:
“Six Sword Saints conspired to assassinate the Emperor’s vessel. Fortunately, we returned in time to stop them.”
This proclamation was for the assembled ministers, who gaped in shock—especially the lower-ranked ones, who believed the empire had only three Sword Saints. Yet Wu Yi spoke of six Saint-level assassins? What was happening?
Only the Privy Council ministers and Imperial Guard Commander Qin Feng’s expressions shifted slightly.
Wu Yi’s lofty declaration was aimed at them—particularly Qin Feng. But in focusing on Qin Feng, he neglected Yang Hao, who, despite being cornered, wore a strange smile upon hearing Wu Yi’s words.
Captured again, yet still smiling. Lan Ling couldn’t help but admire her foolhardy lover’s fearless nature.
“Since when did your Alchemy Sword Sect possess such strength?” Wu Yi looked down at Yang Hao, his voice icy. “Six Sword Saints—sacrificed just to buy you time. Don’t tell me these are remnants from your sect’s glory a thousand years ago.”
“Not at all!” Yang Hao patted his chest in assurance.
“Then who sent them?” Wu Yi smirked darkly. “Tell me, and I’ll spare your life.”
Qin Feng’s face paled—even more than when Lan Ling had betrayed him. He looked ready to strike Yang Hao dead on the spot.
Who else in the empire could casually deploy six hidden Sword Saints? The answer was obvious.
But if Yang Hao said it aloud, everything would change.
Regicide reframed as an attack on the Emperor’s vessel—the implications were vastly different. Qin Feng could almost see the empire crumbling, the imperial city awash in blood.
“That’s…” Yang Hao drawed it out deliberately, teasing their curiosity, “reinforcements from the Oracular Territory.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Of course. As the Lord of the Oracular Territory, naturally there would be reinforcements when something happens to me.” Yang Hao said mysteriously, “Master Hede has trained more than thirty disciples, each of whom has reached the Saint Realm. What’s the big deal about sacrificing six of them?”
Yang Hao’s words were half-truths wrapped in falsehoods, but just plausible enough for others to struggle discerning fact from fiction. Elder Hede, as the spiritual leader of the resistance, had become the Empire’s greatest internal threat in recent decades. Moreover, Hede had already entered the Saint Realm, and his current strength was difficult to estimate. If he had indeed trained a force to oppose the Empire, it wouldn’t be surprising at all.
The Oracular Territory was simply too far from Earth, and its forces were primarily composed of exiled rebels. Even the King of AI Minds couldn’t determine the exact size of its military, let alone Elder Wu Yi.
“That is…” Yang Hao deliberately drew out his voice, teasing the audience, “reinforcements from the Oracle Dominion.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Of course. As the lord of the Oracle Dominion, it’s only natural that reinforcements would come when I’m in trouble.” Yang Hao said mysteriously, “Old Bear Herd has trained over thirty disciples, each of whom has reached the Saint Realm. Sacrificing six of them is nothing.”
Yang Hao’s words were a mix of truth and lies, mostly lies, yet no one could discern the deception. Elder Herd, as the spiritual leader of the resistance, had been the empire’s greatest internal threat in recent decades. Moreover, Herd had long since entered the Saint Realm, and his current strength was beyond estimation. If he had indeed nurtured an anti-empire force, it was entirely plausible.
The Oracle Dominion was too far from Earth, and its forces were primarily composed of rebels from the outer realms. Even the King of Artificial Intelligence couldn’t analyze exactly how many troops they had, let alone Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi frowned, half-convinced. “So what if they’re reinforcements? They’re just here to die. No matter how many external allies you have, you won’t lay a finger on the Supreme One.”
As Wu Yi spoke, the two elders, Molian and Black Wind, also moved. With a flick of his finger, Molian caused Blue Ling’s blood to violently reverse within her body, as if her entire bloodstream had been seized. She endured the surging agony, desperately striking her meridians before vomiting blood and collapsing. The bright red blood bloomed like flowers on her white robes, a stark and dazzling sight.
Molian had shown mercy because he had watched Blue Ling grow up. Otherwise, that seemingly effortless move would have completely crippled her cultivation.
The situation on the other side wasn’t as fortunate. Elder Black Wind, who had been injured earlier while fighting several Sword Saints, was now seething with rage and eager to vent. He attacked without restraint, wielding his signature weapon—a black, paperweight-like ingot of crude iron that seemed to emit the wails of tormented souls when swung.
“The Thousand Soul Seal!” Xie Fengting recognized it, shouting in panic.
“Good, you know it.” Black Wind raised the black iron proudly. “My Thousand Soul Seal has absorbed the souls of 998 masters. Just two more, and it will reach perfection. Consider it an honor to be sealed beneath my treasure.”
Xie Fengting’s last shred of fighting spirit nearly vanished. Black Wind’s Thousand Soul Seal was a notorious weapon in the universe, rumored to rank within the top ten on the Celestial Strategy Elder’s weapon leaderboard.
To put that into perspective, the top spots on that list were occupied by divine artifacts like the Night Axe. For Black Wind to have his self-cultivated weapon make the list was unprecedented.
As the name suggested, the Thousand Soul Seal required absorbing a thousand souls to reach perfection. But Black Wind had only targeted those who had broken through to the Great Sword Master level. Each kill infused the weapon with the victim’s power, and by the time he reached 200 kills, the weapon’s might was already formidable.
The Thousand Soul Seal’s most glorious moment came years ago during the rebellion of the royal family’s thirty-six branches. In a single night, it traversed thousands of miles, assassinating four Saint Realm experts from afar, instantly earning its fearsome reputation. The souls of those four experts further enhanced the weapon’s sinister power.
Black Wind had been waiting for this day. If he could kill two more Saint Realm experts and complete the thousand souls, his weapon would officially ascend to divine artifact status.
Creating a divine artifact was something only gods could achieve. If Black Wind succeeded, his status among the Elders would skyrocket.
Xie Fengting’s shortsword was also a divine artifact, but the gap in power between them was too vast. Despite unleashing several dazzling bursts of aurora light—bright enough to blind—the attacks were swallowed by the Thousand Soul Seal without a trace.
The Thousand Soul Seal, saturated with tormented souls, was the epitome of darkness. Anything related to light would be absorbed.
Black Wind sneered arrogantly. He looked down on Saint Realm experts like Xie Fengting—their souls were only useful as fuel for his weapon, stepping stones to his ultimate success.
The pitch-black seal soared high, ready to smash down onto Xie Fengting’s head. Having hidden his strength as a Sword Saint for so long, Xie Fengting had never faced such peril. At the brink of death, he no longer cared about the divine artifact’s fate. With a flick of his wrist, the finger-length shortsword shot out, clashing against the Thousand Soul Seal.
Black Wind grinned savagely. “Fool, are you giving me your divine sword?” He reached out arrogantly, attempting to seize the shortsword.
But at that moment, an ominous sensation crept up behind him.
Discomfort.
As an Elder, Black Wind was a full tier stronger than Saint Realm experts, making him nearly impossible to ambush. However, while attacking Xie Fengting, the only person behind him was Yang Hao, who had supposedly lost his cultivation. Naturally, he paid no attention to a cripple.
Yet who could have guessed that even a cripple could strike?
Just as Black Wind reached for the sword, an invisible divine artifact shot out from Yang Hao’s body. Though he hadn’t consumed any Sword Pills, Yang Hao had previously devoured two Master Pills, pushing his realm into the Saint Realm. If his cultivation were fully restored, becoming a Sword Saint would be effortless.
By the time Black Wind sensed the disturbance behind him, it was too late. Yang Hao’s Shadow Moon sliced a chunk of flesh from his arm before continuing its trajectory, leaving a bloody arc in the air as it collided with Xie Fengting’s divine sword against the Thousand Soul Seal.
A dull, earth-shaking impact reverberated through the palace, cracking the stone floor beneath them.
The clash of two divine artifacts against the Thousand Soul Seal was too much, even for its wielder. The seal, which had never suffered such damage before, let out a mournful wail before falling back into Black Wind’s arms.
“How dare you?!” Black Wind roared in fury, staring at his beloved weapon. Two deep gashes had been carved into the black iron.
The essence of the weapon had been grievously wounded, its trapped souls spilling out uncontrollably. In an instant, Black Wind’s Thousand Soul Seal was ruined. Forget ascending to divine artifact status—even restoring it to its former glory would be nearly impossible.
“You!” Wu Yi no longer dared to underestimate Yang Hao. He landed on the ground, using his true power to immobilize him. “You’ve recovered your strength?”
“N-no… nonsense!” Yang Hao panted, his entire body trembling.
Yang Hao had kept this secret hidden until now. If Xie Fengting hadn’t been on the verge of death, he wouldn’t have acted. Ever since being captured from the Artificial Intelligence Planet, Yang Hao had been meditating, hoping to absorb the spiritual energy of the universe for his own use. But the energy in this galaxy was too sparse—only a trickle seeped in each day, making it nearly unusable.
Having an immortal in his dantian had its perks. Hunyuanzi had taken on the task of gathering spiritual energy, capturing every wisp like a butterfly before condensing it into a usable form.
After many days, Hunyuanzi had finally amassed a tiny clump of energy, no larger than a fingernail. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have been enough for anything. But Yang Hao had already broken through two major thresholds, entering the Frostwalking Realm.
Given his latent combat power, he should have officially stepped into the Saint Realm. Thus, even this minuscule amount of energy was enough for one attack—no matter how weak—especially when combined with Shadow Moon’s divine power and the element of surprise.
And it worked. That sudden strike had not only destroyed Black Wind’s prized weapon but also pulled Xie Fengting back from the brink of death.
Wu Yi was livid. Today’s plan had seemed flawless—layered defenses to crush Yang Hao’s meager forces like moths to a flame. But the unexpected kept piling up. Not only were Yang Hao’s subordinates stronger and more numerous than anticipated, but the Supreme One’s physical body had nearly been ambushed. And now, Black Wind’s decades of cultivation had been ruined in an instant.
Wu Yi’s face darkened as he scrutinized Yang Hao’s jade-like complexion. Just how many secrets did this young man hide? How had he pushed the Elders into such a corner?
Wu Yi decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He suddenly realized that Yang Hao was a genuine threat—one that sent chills down his spine. No one knew what Yang Hao would become if given more time, or how terrifying an opponent he could grow into.
Black Wind and Molian shared the same thought as they approached. The three Elders simultaneously placed their hands on Yang Hao’s head, resolved not to use him as a weapon but to annihilate him completely, ensuring he could never cause trouble again.
The combined power of the three Elders gathered above Yang Hao’s head. Now, truly, Yang Hao could struggle no more—immobilized by Wu Yi’s force.
Yet Yang Hao’s expression was oddly expectant. Feeling the killing intent above him, he showed no fear, only anticipation. His starry eyes shimmered with genuine hope.
Beside him, Blue Ling lay on the cold floor, her hair splayed to one side, lips tightly pressed as she silently watched Yang Hao.
Yang Hao smiled at her.
A woman’s heart was sometimes a mystery even to herself. Blue Ling’s icy heart had completely melted because of Yang Hao. In truth, she had always wanted to tell him that the happiest days of her life were the ones spent with him on the Artificial Intelligence Planet.
That was her everything.
The empire’s endless strife had kept Blue Ling trapped in stagnant waters. Her heart wasn’t cold—the world was. It had never given her a chance to leap.
If only they could have lived together under the sun. Blue Ling regretted not agreeing to Yang Hao’s offer earlier.
Now, it was too late. Watching as the Elders slowly pressed their power toward Yang Hao’s forehead, she could only smile faintly, silently bidding him farewell in her heart.
But Yang Hao remained hopeful. He was certain that what he awaited would arrive at the final moment.
And that moment would mark a new chapter in the empire’s history—a turning point for the ages.
No one knew what Yang Hao, on the brink of death, was waiting for.
But it came.
Just as the Elders’ power was about to crush Yang Hao’s skull—
“Imperial Decree!” A panting voice echoed through the grand hall. “The Emperor’s Decree!!!”
“Long live His Majesty!” The ministers, though stunned, knelt halfway and shouted in unison.
The three Elders didn’t kneel. They remained frozen in their execution stance, turning their heads toward the messenger.
Standing on the sixth golden step was the Imperial Crown Prince, clutching a decree stamped with the royal seal. He announced loudly, “By the decree of the Galactic Empire’s Great Emperor: Yang Hao, Lord of the Oracle Dominion and Imperial Viscount, has rendered meritorious service in protecting the throne and establishing the Alchemy Sword Sect, expanding the empire’s territories. By imperial decree, Yang Hao is hereby promoted to Count, with the Oracle Dominion as his fiefdom. Furthermore, Princess Xianlan and Lord Yang Hao are deeply in love. Their marriage is hereby approved and shall be scheduled at an auspicious date.”
The Crown Prince finished reading in one breath, not even pausing to wipe his sweat before urgently addressing Wu Yi, “Elders, have you all heard His Majesty’s words clearly?”
Wu Yi was dumbfounded. So was everyone else.
If the ministers here hadn’t weathered countless storms, they might have gone mad from the sheer absurdity. The world changed fast, but this was beyond ridiculous.
Yang Hao had been convicted of attempting to assassinate the Emperor, yet the decree praised him for protecting the throne? From what? A fly that needed slaying with a flying sword?
Yang Hao was the leader of the Anti-Empire Alliance—since when had he been expanding the empire’s territories? For a rebel to be legitimately ennobled was unprecedented in imperial history.
And the most outrageous claim was that Princess Xianlan and Yang Hao were deeply in love. That was a stretch beyond the heavens. The two had met only once, and their interactions had been anything but amicable. Yet the decree ordered them to marry.
Had the Emperor truly lost his mind?
“Is this truly the Emperor’s decree?” Wu Yi asked.
The Crown Prince wiped his sweat with a bitter smile. “Elders, even if you gave me the courage, I wouldn’t dare forge an imperial decree. I watched Father write this with my own eyes.”
“Did he know what he was saying?” Wu Yi’s voice was icy, his dissatisfaction with the Emperor thinly veiled.
The ministers had risen, led by the Privy Council, all displaying deep wariness. As the Emperor’s staunchest supporters, the Privy Council had always been at odds with the Elder Council. If not for Yang Hao’s execution, these ministers wouldn’t have shown the Elders such deference.
As Wu Yi spoke, Elders Rongli and Heifeng also sprang into action. Elder Rongli flicked his finger, and Lanling suddenly felt her blood reversing violently within her body, as if her entire circulatory system was being controlled. She gritted her teeth against the turmoil surging through her body, forcefully tapped several meridians, spat out a few mouthfuls of blood, and then collapsed weakly. On Lanling’s white clothes, the bright red blood blossomed into flowers, strikingly vivid.
This was already Rongli showing mercy because he had watched Lanling grow up. Otherwise, that seemingly casual move just now could have completely destroyed Lanling’s cultivation.
The situation wasn’t so forgiving on the other side. Elder Heifeng had previously been injured while fighting several Sword Saints and was now filled with rage looking for an outlet. Thus, he showed no mercy and brought out his usual weapon. It was a black piece of iron resembling a paperweight, but when swung, one seemed to hear the wails of tortured souls.
“The Thousand Soul Crusher!” Xie Fengting recognized it, exclaiming furiously.
“Glad you know,” Elder Heifeng arrogantly raised the black iron, “My Thousand Soul Crusher has already absorbed the souls of 998 experts. Just two more and it will be completed. It’s truly your fortune to be crushed beneath my treasure.”
Xie Fengting was nearly losing his last vestiges of fighting spirit. Elder Heifeng’s Thousand Soul Crusher was a weapon famously known throughout the universe. It was said to rank within the top ten on the list of weapons belonging to the Elders of the Council.
Remember, weapons at the top of that list were all divine artifacts like the Night Axe. For Elder Heifeng to make it onto the list with a self-cultivated item was an unprecedented feat.
As the name suggests, the Thousand Soul Crusher required the absorption of a thousand souls to reach completion. However, when Elder Heifeng was cultivating it, he only chose to kill those who had broken through to the Grand Sword Master level, absorbing each victim’s power into the weapon. By the time he had killed two hundred people, the item’s power was already formidable.
The Thousand Soul Crusher’s most glorious moment was during the rebellion of the royal family’s thirty-six branches years ago. That night, it traveled a thousand miles and assassinated four Saint Realm experts from a distance, making it famous overnight. Those four Saint Realm souls further enhanced the evil artifact’s power.
Elder Heifeng had been waiting for this day. If he could kill two more Saint Realm experts and complete the thousand souls, the weapon could officially ascend to the status of a divine artifact.
Creating a divine artifact was something only gods could do. Now that Elder Heifeng could achieve it, his status among the Council Elders would rise sharply.
Xie Fengting’s short sword was also a divine artifact, but the power gap between them was too great. Xie Fengting released several auroras in succession, their dazzling light almost blinding, but before the Thousand Soul Crusher, they were like oxen entering the sea—completely absorbed without a sound.
The Thousand Soul Crusher, having absorbed countless tormented souls, was the darkest of dark artifacts, and it absorbed anything related to light.
Heifeng was elated. Naturally, he looked down on Xie Fengting, a mere Saint Realm expert. In his eyes, the only value of a Saint’s soul was to be absorbed by the Thousand Soul Crusher, eventually becoming the cornerstone of his success.
The dark divine artifact soared high, ready to smash down onto Xie Fengting’s head. Xie Fengting, having hidden his Sword Saint status for so long, had never encountered such a crisis. In this life-or-death moment, he no longer cared about the ownership of the divine artifact. He raised his hand, and the tiny sword, only finger-length, flew out to confront the Thousand Soul Crusher.
Elder Heifeng sneered: “Fool, do you want to hand your divine sword over to me?” He arrogantly stretched out his hand, trying to grip the divine short sword in his palm.
But just at that moment, an ominous feeling came from behind him.
An uncomfortable feeling.
As a Council Elder, his strength surpassed the Saint Realm experts by a whole level. Naturally, Elder Heifeng wasn’t easy to be ambushed. While attacking Xie Fengting, only Yang Hao, who had lost his powers, was behind him, so he naturally didn’t bother to guard against a cripple.
But who could have guessed, even a cripple might strike back.
Just as Elder Heifeng reached out to seize the sword, an invisible divine artifact shot forth from Yang Hao’s body. Although he had no sword core to consume, Yang Hao, who had already devoured two primary cores, had long since entered the Saint Realm. If his powers were fully restored, becoming a Sword Saint would be more than sufficient.
When Elder Heifeng sensed the air splitting behind him, he hurriedly retracted his hand and dodged, but it was already too late. Yang Hao’s Shadow Moon had sliced a chunk of flesh from Heifeng’s arm.
Then, without losing momentum, the Shadow Moon drew a blood trail through the air, joining Xie Fengting’s divine sword in colliding with the Thousand Soul Crusher.
An unusually dull sound caused the palace floor to tremble three times, and the smooth stone tiles covering the ground were shattered into pieces.
When two divine artifacts collided with the Thousand Soul Crusher, even its master couldn’t withstand the impact. This was the first time since its creation that the Thousand Soul Crusher had suffered such a heavy blow. It wailed and fell back into Heifeng’s arms.
“How dare you!!” Elder Heifeng was furious, heartbroken as he looked at his beloved treasure. Two deep gashes had been forcibly carved into the black iron.
The essence of the weapon had suffered unprecedented damage, and the souls inside were spilling out uncontrollably. This time, Elder Heifeng’s Thousand Soul Crusher was completely ruined. It would be difficult to restore it to its former power, let alone complete it as a divine artifact.
“You!” Elder Wu Yi no longer dared to underestimate him, landing on the ground and using his true power to pin Yang Hao down, immobilizing him. “You’ve regained your powers?”
“O… obviously!” Yang Hao gasped, his breath so labored it felt like his liver was shaking.
Yang Hao had concealed this secret until now. If Xie Fengting hadn’t been in imminent danger, he wouldn’t have easily revealed his hand. Since being captured back from the AI Planet, Yang Hao had been meditating constantly, hoping to absorb the universe’s spiritual energy for his own use. However, the power in this Milky Way Galaxy was far too weak. Each day, only a tiny trickle of energy seeped in, insufficient for any practical use.
Having a deity inside his dantian did have its advantages. Hunyuanzi proudly took on the additional task of capturing spiritual energy. Whenever a wisp of cosmic energy entered, Hunyuanzi would dart after it like a butterfly chaser, capturing and condensing it together.
After many days, Hunyuanzi finally condensed all the spiritual energy into a tiny ball the size of a thumbnail. Normally, such a small amount of spiritual energy wouldn’t be particularly useful, but Yang Hao had broken through two major thresholds and entered the Frostwalking Realm.
With his current combat capability, he should have officially entered the Saint Realm. Therefore, this tiny ball of spiritual energy was enough for Yang Hao to launch one attack. Even if it was the weakest attack, as long as it was unexpected and combined with Shadow Moon’s inherent power as a divine artifact, it could still be effective.
Indeed, this sudden strike had destroyed Elder Heifeng’s prized weapon and pulled Xie Fengting back from the brink of death.
“That is…” Yang Hao deliberately drew out his voice, teasing the audience, “reinforcements from the Oracle Dominion.”
“Reinforcements?”
“Of course. As the lord of the Oracle Dominion, it’s only natural that I’d have backup when trouble arises.” Yang Hao said mysteriously. “Old Bear Herd has trained over thirty disciples, each of whom has reached the Saint Realm. Sacrificing six of them is nothing.”
Yang Hao’s words were a mix of truth and lies, mostly lies, yet no one could discern the deception. Elder Herd, as the spiritual leader of the resistance, had been the empire’s greatest internal threat in recent decades. Moreover, Herd had long since entered the Saint Realm, and his current strength was beyond estimation. If he had indeed nurtured an anti-empire force, it was entirely plausible.
The Oracle Dominion was too far from Earth, and its forces were primarily composed of rebels from the outer realms. Even the King of Intelligent Machines couldn’t analyze exactly how many troops they had, let alone Elder Wu Yi.
Wu Yi frowned, half-convinced. “So what if reinforcements come? They’re just here to die. No matter how many external allies you have, you won’t even scratch the Supreme One.”
As Wu Yi spoke, the two other elders, Molian and Heifeng, moved into action. With a flick of his finger, Molian caused Lan Ling’s blood to violently reverse within her body, as if her entire bloodstream had been seized. She endured the surging agony, desperately striking her meridians before vomiting blood and collapsing. The bright red blood bloomed like flowers on her white robes, a stark and dazzling sight.
Molian had shown mercy because he had watched Lan Ling grow up. Otherwise, that seemingly effortless move would have completely crippled her cultivation.
The situation on the other side was far worse. Elder Heifeng, who had been injured earlier while fighting several Sword Saints, was now brimming with rage and eager for vengeance. He attacked without restraint, wielding his signature weapon—a black, paperweight-like ingot of crude iron that seemed to emit the wails of tormented souls when swung.
“The Thousand Soul Seal!” Xie Fengting recognized it instantly, his voice frantic.
“Good, you know what it is.” Heifeng raised the black iron proudly. “My Thousand Soul Seal has absorbed the souls of 998 masters. Just two more, and it will reach perfection. Consider it an honor to be sealed beneath my treasure.”
Xie Fengting’s last shred of fighting spirit nearly vanished. Heifeng’s Thousand Soul Seal was a notorious weapon in the universe, rumored to rank among the top ten in the Celestial Strategy Elder’s weapon rankings.
To put that into perspective, the top spots on that list were occupied by divine artifacts like the Night Axe. For Heifeng to have his self-crafted weapon listed was unprecedented.
True to its name, the Thousand Soul Seal required the absorption of a thousand souls to reach perfection. But Heifeng had only targeted those who had broken through to the Great Sword Master level. Each kill infused the weapon with the victim’s power, and by the time he had slain two hundred, its might was already formidable.
The Thousand Soul Seal’s most glorious moment came years ago during the rebellion of the royal family’s thirty-six branches. In a single night, it traversed thousands of miles, assassinating four Saint Realm experts from afar, instantly cementing its infamy. The souls of those four only amplified the weapon’s dark power.
Heifeng had been waiting for this day. If he could kill two more Saint Realm experts and complete the thousand souls, his weapon would officially ascend to divine artifact status.
Creating a divine artifact was a feat only gods could achieve. If Heifeng succeeded, his standing among the Elders would skyrocket.
Though Xie Fengting’s shortsword was also a divine artifact, the gap in their power was too vast. Xie Fengting unleashed several bursts of radiant light, bright enough to blind, but the Thousand Soul Seal absorbed them effortlessly, like mud sinking into the sea.
The Thousand Soul Seal, saturated with tormented souls, was the epitome of darkness. Anything related to light was devoured.
Heifeng sneered in triumph. He looked down on Saint Realm experts like Xie Fengting—their souls were merely stepping stones for his weapon’s ascension.
The pitch-black seal soared high, ready to crush Xie Fengting’s skull. Having hidden his strength as a Sword Saint for so long, Xie Fengting had never faced such peril. In this life-or-death moment, he no longer cared about the divine artifact’s fate. With a flick of his wrist, his finger-length shortsword shot forth to clash with the Thousand Soul Seal.
Heifeng grinned savagely. “Fool, are you gifting me your divine sword?” He reached out arrogantly, intending to seize the weapon.
But at that very moment, an ominous sensation crept up behind him.
Discomfort.
As an Elder, Heifeng was a full tier stronger than any Saint Realm expert, making him nearly impossible to ambush. But while attacking Xie Fengting, the only person behind him was the powerless Yang Hao—someone he had no reason to guard against.
Yet who could have guessed that even a “useless” man could strike?
Just as Heifeng reached for the sword, an invisible divine weapon shot out from Yang Hao’s body. Though he had no Sword Pills to consume, Yang Hao had previously devoured two Master Pills, propelling him into the Saint Realm. If his strength fully recovered, becoming a Sword Saint would be effortless.
By the time Heifeng sensed the disturbance behind him, it was too late. Yang Hao’s Shadow Moon sliced a chunk of flesh from his arm before continuing its trajectory, leaving a bloody arc in the air as it collided with Xie Fengting’s divine sword against the Thousand Soul Seal.
A dull, earth-shaking impact reverberated through the palace, cracking the stone floor into fragments.
The clash of two divine artifacts against the Thousand Soul Seal was too much, even for its wielder. The seal, never before so grievously wounded, whimpered before falling back into Heifeng’s arms.
“You dare?!” Heifeng roared in fury, cradling his treasure. Two deep gashes now marred the black iron, its essence grievously wounded as souls leaked out uncontrollably.
His Thousand Soul Seal was ruined. Not only would it never become a divine artifact, but even restoring its former power would be nearly impossible.
“You!” Wu Yi no longer underestimated Yang Hao. He descended, pinning Yang Hao with his true energy. “You’ve recovered your strength?”
“D-dumb question!” Yang Hao panted, his liver trembling.
Yang Hao had kept this secret hidden until now. Only Xie Fengting’s dire straits had forced his hand. Since being captured from the Intelligent Machine Planet, Yang Hao had been meditating, hoping to absorb the world’s spiritual energy. But the power in this galaxy was too weak, trickling in too slowly to be of use.
Having an immortal in his dantian had its perks. Hun Yuanzi had taken on the task of gathering spiritual energy, capturing every wisp like a butterfly before condensing it.
After days of effort, Hun Yuanzi had finally amassed a fingernail-sized clump of true energy. Normally, this would be insignificant, but Yang Hao had broken through two realms, entering the Frost Treading Stage.
With his latent combat power, he should have officially entered the Saint Realm. Thus, even this tiny clump of energy was enough for one attack—no matter how weak—especially when combined with Shadow Moon’s divine power.
And it worked. This sudden strike had not only destroyed Heifeng’s prized weapon but also saved Xie Fengting from death’s brink.
Wu Yi was livid. Today’s plan had seemed flawless—layered defenses to crush Yang Hao’s meager forces. But the unexpected kept piling up: Yang Hao’s followers were stronger and more numerous than anticipated, the Supreme One’s body had nearly been ambushed, and now Heifeng’s decades of cultivation were ruined.
Wu Yi’s face darkened as he scrutinized Yang Hao. Just how many secrets did this young man hide, capable of pushing the Elders to such extremes?
Wu Yi decided to wait no longer. He suddenly realized Yang Hao was a true danger—one that chilled him to the bone. Given time, who knew what kind of terrifying adversary Yang Hao could become?
Heifeng and Molian shared the same thought. The three Elders placed their hands on Yang Hao’s head, resolved not to use him as a weapon but to annihilate him completely, ensuring he could never cause trouble again.
The combined power of three Elders loomed over Yang Hao, who was now truly immobilized by Wu Yi’s restraint.
Yet Yang Hao’s expression was oddly expectant. Feeling the killing intent above him, he showed no fear—only anticipation, his starry eyes gleaming with hope.
Beside him, Lan Ling lay on the cold floor, her hair splayed, lips pressed tightly as she gazed at Yang Hao.
He smiled at her.
A woman’s heart was sometimes a mystery even to herself. Lan Ling’s icy heart had melted entirely because of Yang Hao. She had always wanted to tell him that the happiest day of her life was the one they spent together on the Intelligent Machine Planet.
That was her everything.
The empire’s endless strife had trapped Lan Ling in stagnant waters. Her heart wasn’t cold—the world was.
If only they could have lived together under the sun. She regretted not agreeing to Yang Hao’s offer earlier.
Now, it seemed, there would be no more chances. As the Elders slowly pressed their power toward Yang Hao’s forehead, Lan Ling smiled faintly, bidding him a bitter farewell in her heart.
But Yang Hao remained hopeful. He was certain that what he awaited would arrive at the last moment.
And that moment would mark a new chapter in the empire’s history—a turning point for the ages.
No one knew what Yang Hao, on the brink of death, was waiting for.
But it came.
Just as the Elders’ power was about to crush Yang Hao’s skull—
“Imperial Decree!” A breathless voice echoed through the grand hall. “The Emperor’s Decree!!”
“Long live His Majesty!” The ministers, though stunned, knelt and shouted in unison.
The three Elders didn’t kneel, frozen in their half-executed execution as they turned to the messenger.
Standing on the sixth golden step was the Imperial Crown Prince, holding a decree stamped with the royal seal. He announced loudly:
“By decree of the Galactic Empire’s Great Emperor: Yang Hao, Lord of the Oracle Dominion and Imperial Viscount, has rendered meritorious service in protecting the Dan Cauldron Grotto and establishing the Dan Cauldron Sword Sect, expanding the empire’s territories. By imperial decree, Yang Hao is hereby promoted to Count, with the Oracle Dominion as his fiefdom. Furthermore, Princess Xianlan and Lord Yang Hao are deeply in love. Their marriage is hereby approved and shall be scheduled at an auspicious date.”
The Crown Prince finished in one breath, not even pausing to wipe his sweat before urgently addressing Wu Yi: “Elders, you’ve all heard His Majesty’s words, correct?”
Wu Yi was dumbfounded. So was everyone else.
If the ministers hadn’t weathered countless storms, they might have gone mad. The world changed rapidly, but this was beyond absurd.
Yang Hao had been condemned for attempting to assassinate the Emperor, yet the decree praised him for “protecting the Emperor”? From what? Flies?
He was the leader of the Anti-Empire Alliance, yet now he was being honored for expanding the empire? A rebel being legitimately ennobled was unprecedented.
And the most outrageous claim—that Princess Xianlan and Yang Hao were “deeply in love.” They had met once, and their interaction had been anything but amicable. Yet the decree ordered them to marry.
Had the Emperor gone senile?
“Is this truly the Emperor’s decree?” Wu Yi asked.
The Crown Prince wiped his sweat with a pained smile. “Elder, I wouldn’t dare forge an imperial decree. I watched His Majesty write this himself.”
“Did he know what he was saying?” Wu Yi’s voice dripped with barely concealed contempt for the Emperor.
The ministers, led by the Privy Council, rose in alert. As staunch supporters of the Emperor, the Privy Council had always opposed the Elder Council. If not for Yang Hao’s execution, they wouldn’t have shown the Elders such deference.
Elder Wu Yi’s face turned dark green. He looked carefully at Yang Hao, whose face was as smooth as jade. Just how many unknown secrets did this young man possess, to have pushed the Council Elders into such a desperate situation?
Elder Wu Yi decided he couldn’t wait any longer. He suddenly realized that Yang Hao was a dangerous individual, someone who could send chills down his spine. No one could predict what Yang Hao might become if given more time—what a terrifying opponent he could turn into.
Elders Heifeng and Rongli shared the same thoughts as they approached. The three Council Elders simultaneously extended their hands and placed them on Yang Hao’s head. They had made up their minds: they wouldn’t capture Yang Hao for use as a weapon anymore. Instead, they would kill him instantly, reducing him to dust so that he could never cause trouble again.
The immense power of the three Council Elders gathered above Yang Hao, ready to strike. At this moment, Yang Hao was truly unable to resist. Wu Yi had pinned him down, rendering him completely immobile.
Yet Yang Hao’s expression was strange. Feeling the killing intent pressing down on him, he showed no fear—only anticipation. His eyes sparkled with expectation.
Beside Yang Hao, Lanling lay on the cold ground, her hair spread to one side, her lips tightly pressed, silently watching Yang Hao.
Yang Hao smiled at her.
Sometimes, even women themselves can’t fully understand their own hearts. Lanling’s icy heart had completely melted because of Yang Hao. In fact, she had always wanted to tell Yang Hao that the happiest day of her life was the day they spent together on the AI Planet.
That was her entire world.
The Empire’s history of wars and battles had always kept Lanling living in a stagnant pool. Her heart wasn’t cold—it was just that the world around her was too cold for her to feel alive.
If only there had been a chance, to live together in a place bathed in bright sunshine—that would have been wonderful. As Lanling thought this, she felt a little regret for not accepting Yang Hao back then.
There would probably be no more chances. As she watched the Council Elders slowly channeling their power toward Yang Hao’s forehead, she could only smile faintly, silently saying goodbye with a heavy heart.
Yang Hao, however, remained full of anticipation. He firmly believed that whatever he was waiting for would arrive at the very last moment.
And when that moment came, it would mark a brand new chapter in the Empire’s history—a turning point that would define an era.
No one knew what Yang Hao, facing imminent death, was waiting for.
But that moment truly arrived.
Just as the Council Elders’ power was about to crush down onto Yang Hao’s forehead, only a tiny bit more force needed to shatter his skull.
“Imperial Decree!” A breathless messenger appeared in the grand palace, “The Emperor’s command!!”
“Hail the Emperor!” Though momentarily stunned, the ministers in the hall half-knelt and shouted in unison.
The three Council Elders naturally didn’t need to kneel. They remained in their killing stance, turning their gaze toward the messenger.
Standing on the sixth golden step was the Imperial Heir, holding an imperial decree sealed with the royal insignia. He loudly announced, “By the decree of the Supreme Emperor of the Milky Way Empire, Lord Yang Hao of the Oracular Territory, who has been granted the title of Viscount, has rendered meritorious service in protecting the Emperor and establishing the Dan Ding Sword Sect, thereby expanding the Empire’s territory with extraordinary achievements. Therefore, by imperial command, Yang Hao is promoted to the rank of Baron, and the Oracular Territory is granted as his fief. Furthermore, Princess Xuanlan and Lord Yang Hao are mutually fond of each other, and their marriage is hereby approved and shall be arranged on an auspicious date.”
The Imperial Heir finished the decree in one breath, not even having time to wipe the sweat from his brow, before urgently addressing Elder Wu Yi: “Esteemed Elders, did you all hear the Emperor’s words clearly?”
Elder Wu Yi was in a daze—not only him, nearly everyone in the hall was stunned.
Stunned wasn’t even the word for it. If the ministers hadn’t all been seasoned veterans of the Empire, they might have even lost their minds. Indeed, times change, and anything can happen. But even so, could things really shift this quickly?
Yang Hao had been condemned for attempting to assassinate the Emperor, yet the decree spoke of him protecting the Emperor? Protecting from what? Could it possibly be that the Emperor had a fly in front of him, and Yang Hao used a flying sword to swat it?
Yang Hao was clearly the leader of the anti-Empire alliance. When had he become someone who expanded the Empire’s territory? To officially bestow a title upon a rebel was unprecedented in the Empire’s history.
Even more absurd was the claim that the Princess and Yang Hao were mutually fond of each other. That was stretching things to the heavens. Princess Xuanlan and Yang Hao had only met once, and they had clashed so intensely that there was no room for reconciliation. Where was the mutual affection? Mutual hatred would have been more accurate. Yet the decree commanded them to marry on an auspicious date.
Could it be that the Emperor had truly gone senile?
“Is this really the Emperor’s decree?” Elder Wu Yi asked.
The Imperial Heir smiled bitterly, wiping sweat from his brow: “Esteemed Elder, do you think I would dare to forge an imperial decree? I personally watched Father the Emperor write it.”
“Does he know what he’s saying?” Elder Wu Yi coldly replied. His words clearly showed deep dissatisfaction with the Emperor.
The ministers in the hall had already risen, led by the Privy Council Minister, all displaying great alertness. As the core force loyal to the Emperor, the Privy Council had always been at odds with the Elders. If it weren’t for the execution of Yang Hao, these ministers wouldn’t have been so respectful toward the Elders.
“Senior Elder Master,” Qin Feng spoke slowly. “In that case, please release Sir Yang Hao. Princess Xianlan is still waiting to marry him.”
“Marry…” Yang Hao felt somewhat dizzy. To be honest, since the imperial decree was announced, he had been the most bewildered. Actually, what he had been waiting for all along was the Emperor’s stance. Yet no one had expected that the final part of the decree included an order to marry the princess.
Isn’t this ridiculous? Yang Hao didn’t have the slightest affection for that meddler, Xianlan. From his impression, she was nothing but a shrew who constantly berated others and sowed discord, damaging Yang Hao’s reputation wherever she went.
Make Yang Hao marry her? That’s just absurd!
Even if she were stripped naked and delivered to Yang Hao’s bed, he might only feel… slight interest.
“Sir?” Elder Wu Yi’s gaze was cold enough to freeze the entire world. He still maintained his posture of suppressing Yang Hao, with a white glowing sphere hovering above his hand, ready to crush Yang Hao’s head at a moment’s notice.
But was he really going to do it?
“Yang Hao, did you really protect the Emperor?” Elder Wu Yi suddenly asked softly.
“Whether to kill or protect, isn’t it all up to him?” Yang Hao smiled naturally. “Don’t forget, he is the master of this empire, he is the Emperor of this empire.”
“Even with the Emperor’s backing, don’t think you can oppose the Senate,” Elder Wu Yi’s rising unease was indescribable to ordinary people, yet he couldn’t bring himself to deliver the killing blow into Yang Hao’s skull. Although this act would be simpler than crushing an ant, he couldn’t do it. Instead, he issued the gravest threat in the softest voice, “Don’t forget, you only have the Emperor behind you, while behind us, there is still the Supreme.”
“The Supreme?” Yang Hao said. “What if… the Supreme is already dead? What would happen to this world then?”
The three senior elders were deeply shocked, their faces showing expressions of incredulous fury.
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