Under the flames of total annihilation was Yang Hao’s body, completely unprotected. Under the dragon’s breath, his fragile body was like a piece of paper.
Was everything over?
This was what Bista thought.
This was what the crown prince and the princess thought.
This was what the audience thought.
Under the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, completely unprotected, as fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and the Princess thought so.
The audience thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
But silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had yet processed what had happened. It had all occurred too quickly, in the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle had already reached its climax.
But then, Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events took everyone by surprise. A dragon’s breath was supposed to tear flesh from bone, rot the skeleton, or at most reduce a person to dust.
Yet Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped, even corroded by the four streams of dragon’s breath, he seemed utterly unharmed. Instead, the flames around him, which had nearly died out, suddenly erupted in a violent explosion.
This explosion unleashed a tidal wave of fire.
A towering inferno, over five meters high, radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within a radius of dozens of kilometers.
The land turned to ash. Within this range, every living creature, every blade of grass, was reduced to a charred ruin.
Especially the hundreds of surviving magical beasts—already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, left kneeling helplessly on the ground—were now incinerated, leaving behind only bones and their inner cores.
This technique was called “Flame Burst,” the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Danding Sect’s Sword Pill style.
A group attack that erupted from a central point, unleashing a wave of fire that consumed everything in its path.
“Now’s my only chance!!” Yang Hao roared. Though he stood at the epicenter of the explosion, the massive blast that had annihilated the beasts and the surrounding space did nothing to halt the dragon’s breath.
Fire was useless against dragon’s breath.
To Bista’s eyes, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four streams of dragon’s breath washed over Yang Hao’s body like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, the “Flame Burst” ensnared the four dragons.
The flames, ferocious beyond measure, had already swept over the dragons before they could react. Three of them, sensing danger, spat more dragon’s breath and retreated into the sky.
But one was unfortunate enough to plunge into the sea of fire. In an instant, the raging flames seared its scales, inflicting wounds upon the supposedly invincible dragon.
Yang Hao lunged forward. His immunity to the dragon’s breath was no accident—back in the Divine Realm, he had nearly died from a black dragon’s breath. Only the sacrifice of Hunyuanzi, who traded his life for the legendary Dragon’s Breath Pill, had saved him.
That pill was the immortal invention of the Danding Sect’s earliest founder.
Countless lives had been lost to create it. Upon consumption, it elevated one’s spiritual power to a level where communication with dragons was possible. More importantly, it rendered the user immune to dragon’s breath.
Yang Hao feared no dragon’s breath—a secret known only to him. This was his sole opportunity, his last chance to turn the tide.
The four dragons, along with everyone else, believed Yang Hao would perish under their breath. Yet here he was, counterattacking from the jaws of death.
Seizing the moment when one wind dragon floundered in the flames, Yang Hao shot forward like lightning. With a flick of his wrist, Shadow Moon appeared—a crescent-shaped flying blade that traced a dazzling arc through the air.
The first strike sliced through the dragon’s shimmering reverse scale beneath its neck.
The reverse scale shattered.
Shadow Moon proudly spewed flames. Beneath the broken dragon scales lay the wind dragon’s pale blue flesh, now defenseless. A single slash from Shadow Moon would sever its throat, blood vessels, and meridians, making Yang Hao the first dragon slayer in the empire’s Colosseum history.
He was about to kill a dragon.
The three escaped dragons frantically counterattacked, spewing dragon’s breath, launching ice spikes, even hurling their bodies at Yang Hao to crush him to dust. No dragon could tolerate the death of one of their own at the hands of a human.
Such pride was etched into the very marrow of dragonkind.
But the three dragons were too slow, their full power restrained.
Shadow Moon was a true divine weapon—unstoppable in its speed and lethality.
The doomed dragon, its green eyes wide, stared deeply at Yang Hao as if contemplating something.
Yang Hao, too, paused. In that split-second gaze, he let out a long cry. Shadow Moon, heeding his call, withdrew from the dying dragon, abandoning the glory of dragon slaying that had been within his grasp.
The wind dragon in the flames flapped its wings, extinguishing the fire, and soared into the sky, escaping the peril.
The crowd was stunned.
Whether seasoned warriors or pampered nobles, all could see that Yang Hao had the chance to kill the dragon—yet he chose not to. He abandoned his only opportunity, his final chance.
The audience quickly rationalized his decision: had he slain the dragon, the other three would have torn him apart. Yang Hao would have perished alongside one dragon, with no hope of survival. Thus, he chose to retreat and defend.
As if confirming their speculations, Yang Hao immediately activated the second-tier ice-based sword technique of the Sword Pill style—”Frozen Quadrant.”
Massive ice walls and blocks materialized around him, encasing him entirely.
Ice-based sword techniques prioritized defense, and “Frozen Quadrant” was the pinnacle of such skills. In an instant, it erected impenetrable ice walls, shielding the swordsman within. External attacks would take considerable time to breach them.
However, those inside the ice walls couldn’t launch physical attacks outward.
This was a turtle-shell tactic—Yang Hao had hidden himself in an icy shell, refusing to emerge no matter how the four dragons assaulted him.
The Colosseum erupted in fury.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared with indignation, their curses rising in waves. To them, victory or defeat mattered little—what they craved was bloodshed and carnage. Yang Hao had been on the verge of slaying a dragon, of achieving a feat unseen in decades.
What could be more thrilling than witnessing a dragon’s death?
Yet this spectacle, so tantalizingly close, had been ruined by Yang Hao’s cowardice.
The audience, nobles, and warriors alike seethed with rage. Seeing Yanghao cower inside his icy fortress, unmoved by the dragons’ relentless attacks, the circular stands resounded with a unified chant:
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!”
Every hand gestured the same way—fingers clenched, thumb pointing down.
This was the execution signal for gladiators.
In the empire’s Colosseum, battles between humans and beasts often ended with a verdict from the nobles—thumb up for life, thumb down for death.
Now, even before the fight concluded, the crowd had already sentenced Yang Hao.
Hundreds of thousands of thumbs pointed downward. Hundreds of thousands of voices screamed:
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!”
Even without their intervention, Yang Hao wouldn’t survive. The “Frozen Quadrant” ice walls began to crack under the dragons’ furious assault. Within minutes, his turtle-shell strategy would fail.
Then, he would be torn apart by the enraged dragons.
“He’s finished,” Princess Xianlan remarked coolly from the highest balcony, a strange smile curling her lips. “Brother, your chosen one is about to die.”
The Crown Prince watched silently.
“What did you expect from him?” the princess continued, though she didn’t fully understand. “He’s not as strong as the rumors claimed. He’s useless to you.”
The Crown Prince sighed, nodding painfully. Slowly, he raised his hand—thumb pointing up.
“Kill him! Kill him!! Kill him!!!”
The sight of the Crown Prince’s gesture only amplified the crowd’s fury. Though the highest-ranking noble held the power of decision in the Colosseum, no one could override the will of hundreds of thousands.
The Crown Prince paled but held his ground, raising his thumb higher.
Up for life.
Against the sea of downward-pointing thumbs, he and his sister stood alone—two voices amidst the storm, offering Yang Hao a sliver of hope.
The four dragons were moments away from shattering the ice.
Yang Hao’s fate seemed sealed.
The Crown Prince and Princess’s defiance only incensed the crowd further. Their screams threatened to shake the heavens.
The Crown Prince closed his eyes, his face twisted in agony—not for Yang Hao’s impending death, but for his own powerlessness.
Xianlan gently grasped her brother’s hand, her voice bitter. “See, brother? You can change nothing. Not even the smallest matter in this empire.”
“Change will come,” the Crown Prince said sharply, turning away from the chaos.
“No one can change it,” Xianlan murmured, her gaze distant. “This world belongs to the Elder Council, not to the empire, nor to us.”
“Then who do you belong to?” the Crown Prince asked pointedly.
Xianlan smiled faintly and turned to leave.
But fate had other plans.
The massive ice encasing Yang Hao grew thinner, revealing his frantic movements inside. He wasn’t waiting for death—he was crafting something.
The four dragons, their eyes red with rage, clawed at the ice until it finally shattered.
The stands erupted in savage cheers. The nobles now eagerly anticipated the dragons tearing Yang Hao apart, preferably devouring him piece by piece.
Only a few sharp-eyed observers noticed the object in Yang Hao’s hands—a pill, resembling the aphrodisiacs sold by the Danding Aphrodisiac Group.
Stranger still, the moment the ice shattered, the four dragons froze mid-air. No matter how their riders prodded their reverse scales, they remained motionless, refusing to attack Yang Hao.
Yang Hao raised his hand high. Silver light shot from his palm, piercing the dragons’ minds.
The dragons writhed in agony, soaring higher into the sky as if their bones were being ripped out one by one.
Yang Hao, the condemned man, stood firm, one hand pointing skyward, his face glowing as he chanted incantations.
Something was clearly amiss.
But no one understood what.
Why had the dragons stopped attacking Yang Hao?
What had he done?
Only one man knew—Bista, leader of the Beastheart Sword Corps, stationed outside the Colosseum, now in panic.
The Beastheart Sword in his hand, linked to the seals in the dragons’ minds, had lost its glow. He could no longer command the four dragons.
Somehow, Yang Hao was disrupting the Elder Council’s seals—an impossible feat, achieved by the council only after sacrificing dozens of elders.
The answer came seconds later.
With a thunderous shout from Yang Hao, black mist exploded above each dragon’s head. Their eyes transformed—no longer filled with confusion and pain, but with vitality and the ancient pride of their kind.
Though their sealed divine powers remained locked away, their minds were free. No force could control them now.
They were dragons—the greatest beings in existence, the most powerful of the divine races.
A deafening roar, unlike any heard before, shook the Colosseum—this time directed at the audience, at the nobles who had clamored for Yang Hao’s death.
Section by section, the stands crumbled like dominoes, reducing hundreds of thousands to dust in an instant.
The four dragons, their dignity restored, ascended into the clouds. With a final nod to Yang Hao, they vanished into the horizon.
This had been Yang Hao’s plan all along.
From start to finish, he had never intended to slay a dragon. His goal was to free them. That was why he spared the wind dragon—in that critical moment, he had communicated with the dragons telepathically, a feat only possible for one who had consumed the Dragon’s Breath Pill.
Sealing himself in ice wasn’t cowardice—it was to craft the most extraordinary pill of all.
The Soul Aphrodisiac!!
A legendary creation of the Danding Sect, requiring the soul and spiritual power of dragons. Its purpose? To break the seals binding the dragons.
No pill, no matter how potent, could restore the dragons’ divine powers. But it could shatter the Elder Council’s mental shackles, the ones that forced obedience.
And so, on this ordinary afternoon in the empire, beneath a sky streaked with dragon cries and hidden sunlight, the Colosseum witnessed the unimaginable.
Four dragons of the Milky Way Empire escaped to freedom, slaughtering nearly half a million nobles in their wake.
The Beastheart Sword Corps ceased to exist.
The battle concluded in a way no one could have predicted.
Yang Hao emerged victorious.
But there was only silence; no sighs of lamentation, just shock too great to react.
After all, it had happened too quickly. In the blink of an eye, this astonishing battle had already reached its climax.
But then Yang Hao exploded.
This unexpected transformation startled everyone.
Dragon’s breath usually tore flesh from bone, rotted skeletons, or at best reduced a person to dust.
But Yang Hao truly exploded. Surrounded and even infiltrated by four dragon’s breath attacks, he seemed unharmed. Instead, the flames around him, which had nearly extinguished, exploded violently.
This explosion unleashed an ocean of raging fire.
A towering inferno over five meters high radiated outward from Yang Hao, engulfing at least dozens of kilometers.
Everything within this range turned to scorched earth. Any living creature, any plant or tree, was burned beyond recognition.
Especially the hundreds of still-living magical beasts, already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao’s earlier attacks, kneeling motionless on the ground. After the firestorm passed, only their bones and inner cores remained.
This technique was called “Flame Explosion,” the second-tier fire sword technique of the Dan Ding Sect’s sword dan combat style.
It was a group-attack maneuver, unleashing a tidal wave of flames from a central point, incinerating everything around it.
“This is the only chance!!” Yang Hao suddenly roared. He stood at the epicenter of the explosion, and although this massive detonation incinerated the magical beasts and the battlefield, it did not halt the dragon’s breath attacks.
Flames were ineffective against dragon’s breath.
It seemed as though Yang Hao intended to perish together with the four dragons.
At least that’s how it appeared to Bista.
But he was wrong.
The four streams of intense dragon’s breath poured onto Yang Hao’s body like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, the “Flame Explosion” had ensnared the four dragons.
The flames of the explosion were fierce and all-consuming, sweeping everything before reaching the dragons. Three of them reacted quickly, spewing a few more blasts of dragon’s breath before turning and flying back into the sky.
But one was not so fortunate. It fell into the firestorm, and the raging inferno instantly scorched its scales. The world’s most incredible dragon race was actually wounded by these flames.
Yang Hao had treated the dragon’s breath as a mere breeze for a reason. Back in the Divine Realm, he had nearly perished from the Black Dragon’s breath, only saved by the life-sacrificing intervention of Hun Yuanzi, who gave him a miraculous Dragon’s Breath Pill.
This Dragon’s Breath Pill was an immortal invention by the earliest founder of the Dan Ding Sect.
It had cost countless lives to obtain. Consuming it enhanced one’s spiritual power to the level of communicating with dragons. More importantly, it rendered one immune to the effects of dragon’s breath.
Yang Hao feared dragon’s breath not at all—a secret known only to him. He had kept it hidden as his sole opportunity, his final moment to turn defeat into victory.
The four dragons believed Yang Hao would surely perish under their breath attacks. Everyone believed Yang Hao would die. But he could strike back from the very brink of death.
Indeed, as one Wind Dragon fell into the firestorm, struggling painfully and attempting to take flight, Yang Hao shot forward like a bolt of lightning. With a flip of his hand, Shadow Moon appeared—a crescent-shaped flying blade, elegantly tracing an arc as it sliced across the glowing weak scales beneath the dragon’s neck.
The weak scales shattered.
Shadow Moon proudly spewed forth flames. Beneath the broken scales lay the Wind Dragon’s pale blue flesh, completely defenseless. With a single strike, Shadow Moon would tear through the dragon’s throat and blood vessels, making Yang Hao the first dragon-killer in the Empire’s Colosseum.
He would kill a dragon.
The three surviving dragons furiously retaliated, spewing dragon’s breath, launching ice spears, even willing to crush Yang Hao with their bodies. No dragon could tolerate watching a human kill one of their own.
That pride was etched into the dragon race’s very bones.
But those three dragons were already too late. Their speed was too slow, and they couldn’t unleash their full power.
Yang Hao’s Shadow Moon was a true divine artifact. Its speed, its lethal cutting force, was unstoppable.
Thus, the dragon in dire straits had already lost all hope. Its green eyes widened, staring deeply at Yang Hao, as if pondering something.
Yang Hao was also thinking. He locked eyes with the dragon for a mere tenth of a second, then suddenly let out a long cry. Shadow Moon heeded his call, gracefully withdrawing from the doomed dragon, abandoning the near-certain feat of dragon-slaying.
The Wind Dragon flapped its wings within the flames, the fire dying out. It soared into the sky and swiftly escaped the danger zone.
The entire audience was stunned.
Whether martial arts experts or ordinary noblemen, all could see that Yang Hao had the chance to kill the dragon but chose to abandon it—his only and final opportunity.
The audience quickly rationalized Yang Hao’s actions. If he had killed the dragon, he would not have escaped the other three dragons’ furious retaliation. His fate would have been mutual destruction with one dragon, leaving no chance of survival. Thus, Yang Hao chose to withdraw and defend instead.
Beneath the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, utterly unprotected, as fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and the princess thought so.
The spectators thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
Yet silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had fully processed what had just happened. It had all occurred in the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle now seemingly at its end.
But then, Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events defied all expectations. A dragon’s breath was supposed to dissolve flesh, rot bones, or at most reduce a person to dust.
Yet Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped and corroded by the four dragons’ breaths, he appeared unharmed. Instead, the nearly extinguished flames around him erupted violently.
The explosion unleashed a tsunami of fire.
A towering inferno, five meters high, radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within a radius of dozens of kilometers. The land turned to ash—every living creature, every blade of grass, was reduced to a charred ruin.
Especially the hundred or so surviving magical beasts, already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, left kneeling helplessly on the ground. The flames swept over them, leaving behind only bones and their inner cores.
This technique was called “Flame Burst,” the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Danding Sect’s Sword Pill style.
A devastating area-of-effect attack, it erupted from a central point, incinerating everything in its path.
“Now’s my only chance!!” Yang Hao roared. Though the colossal explosion had obliterated the beasts and the surrounding space, it hadn’t stopped the dragons’ breaths.
Fire was useless against dragon breath.
To Bista’s eyes, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four torrents of dragon breath washed over Yang Hao’s body like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Meanwhile, the “Flame Burst” had ensnared the dragons.
The raging flames, sweeping everything before them, had already reached the dragons. Three reacted swiftly, spewing more breath before retreating to the sky.
But one, caught in the inferno, found its scales scorching instantly—an inconceivable injury for the proudest of creatures.
Yang Hao lunged. His immunity to dragon breath was no accident. Back in the divine realm, he had nearly died from a black dragon’s breath. Only by consuming the legendary “Dragon Breath Pill,” crafted by the Danding Sect’s ancient founder at the cost of countless lives, had he survived.
That pill not only elevated one’s spiritual power to commune with dragons but, more crucially, granted immunity to their breath.
This was Yang Hao’s secret, his trump card—the sole reason he could turn the tide when all believed him doomed.
While the dragons and spectators assumed Yang Hao would perish, he seized the moment to strike back.
As one wind dragon writhed in the flames, struggling to take flight, Yang Hao moved like lightning. With a flick of his wrist, his weapon, Shadow Moon, appeared—a crescent-shaped blade that traced a dazzling arc, slicing through the dragon’s vulnerable under-scales.
The scales shattered.
Shadow Moon flared with fire. Beneath the broken scales lay the dragon’s unprotected blue flesh. One more strike would sever its throat, veins, and meridians—making Yang Hao the first dragon-slayer in the empire’s history.
The three escaped dragons turned back in fury, spewing breath, hurling ice spikes, even attempting to crush Yang Hao with their bodies. No dragon could tolerate a human killing one of their own.
Their pride was etched into their bones.
But they were too late.
Shadow Moon, a true divine weapon, moved with unstoppable speed and lethality.
The doomed dragon stared into Yang Hao’s eyes, its green orbs filled with unspoken thoughts.
Yang Hao hesitated.
In that split-second exchange, he let out a long cry. Shadow Moon withdrew, sparing the dragon at the last moment.
The wind dragon shook off the flames and soared into the sky, escaping death.
The crowd was stunned.
Everyone—martial experts and pampered nobles alike—saw that Yang Hao could have slain the dragon but chose not to. He had abandoned his only chance at victory.
They quickly rationalized it: killing the dragon would have left him vulnerable to the others’ retaliation. Better to retreat and defend.
As if confirming their theories, Yang Hao immediately activated “Frozen Quartet,” the second-tier ice-based sword technique of the Danding Sect.
Massive ice walls encased him, forming an impenetrable fortress.
This was a turtle-shell tactic—Yang Hao had barricaded himself inside, refusing to engage further.
The arena erupted in outrage.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared in fury. They craved bloodshed, and Yang Hao had denied them the spectacle of a dragon’s death.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!”
The chant swelled, unified and deafening.
Thumbs turned downward—the gesture for execution.
Even as the four dragons battered the ice, the crowd had already sentenced Yang Hao to death.
On the highest balcony, Princess Xianlan observed coldly. “He’s finished,” she murmured, a strange smile playing on her lips. “Brother, your chosen one is about to die.”
The Crown Prince remained silent, his face a mask of pain. Slowly, he raised his hand—thumb up.
A plea for mercy.
But the crowd’s fury only intensified.
Xianlan, though disliking Yang Hao, stood by her brother, her delicate hand also raised in clemency.
Amidst the sea of downward thumbs, theirs were the only two raised.
Yet it changed nothing.
The ice shattered.
The dragons closed in.
Yang Hao’s fate seemed sealed.
But then—
Something unexpected happened.
The dragons froze mid-attack, ignoring their riders’ commands.
Yang Hao stood firm, holding aloft a small, glowing pill.
Silver light shot from his palm, piercing the dragons’ minds.
They convulsed in agony, writhing as if their bones were being torn out one by one.
Then—
A thunderous crack.
Black mist exploded above each dragon’s head.
Their eyes cleared, regaining their ancient pride and awareness.
With a deafening roar, they turned on the spectators.
The stands crumbled like dominoes, tens of thousands of lives extinguished in moments.
The four dragons, now free, soared into the clouds, nodding once at Yang Hao before vanishing into the horizon.
This had been Yang Hao’s plan all along.
Not to slay dragons—but to liberate them.
While trapped in ice, he hadn’t been hiding. He’d been crafting the legendary “Soul Aphrodisiac,” a pill capable of breaking the elders’ mental seals on the dragons.
And so, on this ordinary afternoon, beneath a sky veiled by clouds, the empire witnessed the impossible.
Four dragons, symbols of the gods’ might, reclaimed their freedom.
Before departing, they exacted vengeance—slaughtering nearly half a million nobles.
The Beastheart Sword Corps ceased to exist.
The battle concluded in a way no one had foreseen.
Yang Hao emerged victorious.
Massive ice walls and blocks formed around Yang Hao, enclosing him completely.
Beneath the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, utterly unprotected, as fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and the princess thought so.
The spectators thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
But silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had yet processed what had happened. It had all occurred too quickly. In the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle had reached its climax.
Yet, Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events defied all expectations. A dragon’s breath was supposed to tear flesh from bone, rot the skeleton, or at most reduce a person to dust.
But Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped, even corroded by four streams of dragon’s breath, he seemed completely unharmed. Instead, the flames around him, which had nearly died out, erupted violently.
This explosion unleashed a tidal wave of fire.
A towering inferno, over five meters high, radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within a radius of dozens of kilometers. The land turned to ash—every living creature, every blade of grass, was reduced to a charred ruin.
Especially the hundreds of surviving magical beasts, already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, left kneeling helplessly on the ground. The flames swept over them, leaving behind only bones and their inner cores.
This technique was called “Flame Burst,” the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Danding Sect’s Sword Core.
A group attack that erupted from a central point, unleashing a wave of fire to incinerate everything in its path.
“Now’s my only chance!!” Yang Hao roared. Though the massive explosion had cleared the area of beasts and obstacles, it hadn’t stopped the dragon’s breath.
Fire was useless against dragon’s breath.
To Bista’s eyes, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four streams of dragon’s breath splashed onto Yang Hao’s body like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, the “Flame Burst” ensnared the dragons.
The raging flames, sweeping across everything, had already reached the four dragons before they could react. Three of them, sensing danger, spat more dragon’s breath and swiftly retreated to the sky.
But one was unfortunate enough to fall into the sea of fire. In an instant, its scales burned red-hot—something unimaginable for the legendary dragons.
Yang Hao lunged. His immunity to the dragon’s breath was no accident. Back in the divine realm, he had nearly died from a black dragon’s breath. Only by consuming the extraordinary “Dragon’s Breath Elixir,” obtained at the cost of Hunyuanzi’s life, had he survived.
That elixir was an ancient invention of the Danding Sect’s earliest founder, achieved at the cost of countless lives.
Consuming it not only elevated one’s spiritual power to a level where they could communicate with dragons but, more importantly, rendered them immune to dragon’s breath.
Yang Hao feared no dragon’s breath—a secret known only to him. This was his only chance, his final opportunity to turn the tide.
While everyone believed Yang Hao would perish under the dragon’s breath, he seized the moment to strike back from the jaws of death.
As one of the wind dragons struggled in the flames, writhing in pain and trying to take flight, Yang Hao moved like lightning. With a flick of his wrist, the Shadow Moon appeared—a crescent-shaped blade that traced a dazzling arc through the air.
The first strike sliced through the dragon’s shimmering reverse scale beneath its neck.
The scale shattered.
Shadow Moon erupted in flames. Beneath the broken scales lay the wind dragon’s pale blue flesh, now defenseless. A single slash would sever its throat, veins, and meridians—and Yang Hao would become the first dragon slayer in the empire’s Colosseum.
He was about to kill a dragon.
The three escaped dragons turned back in a frenzy, spewing dragon’s breath, launching ice spikes, even hurling their bodies at Yang Hao to crush him to dust. No dragon could tolerate the death of one of their own at the hands of a human.
That pride was etched into the very marrow of their bones.
But the three dragons were too slow, their full power restrained.
Shadow Moon was a true divine weapon—unstoppable in its speed and lethality.
The trapped dragon, its green eyes wide, stared deeply at Yang Hao as if contemplating something.
Yang Hao, too, paused. In that split-second exchange, he let out a long cry. Shadow Moon, heeding his call, withdrew from the doomed dragon, abandoning the chance to achieve the legendary feat of dragon slaying.
The wind dragon in the flames flapped its wings, extinguishing the fire, and soared into the sky, escaping the danger.
The crowd was stunned.
Whether seasoned warriors or pampered nobles, all could see that Yang Hao had the chance to kill the dragon—yet he chose to spare it, forfeiting his only opportunity.
The spectators quickly rationalized his decision: had he slain the dragon, the other three would have torn him apart. Yang Hao would have died alongside one dragon, with no hope of survival. So, he chose to retreat and defend instead.
As if confirming their speculations, Yang Hao immediately activated the second-tier ice-based sword technique of the Sword Core—”Frozen Quadrants.”
Massive ice walls and blocks formed around him, encasing him completely.
Ice-based sword techniques prioritized defense, and “Frozen Quadrants” was the pinnacle of such skills. In an instant, it erected impenetrable barriers, shielding the swordsman inside. External attacks would take considerable time to breach it.
However, those inside the ice walls couldn’t launch physical attacks outward. It was a turtle-shell tactic—Yang Hao had hidden himself in an icy shell, refusing to emerge no matter how the dragons assaulted him.
This move enraged the entire Colosseum.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared in fury, their jeers and curses rising in waves. To them, victory or defeat mattered little—they craved bloodshed. Yang Hao had been on the verge of slaying a dragon, of achieving a legendary feat unseen in decades.
What could be more thrilling than witnessing a dragon’s death? Yet, Yang Hao’s cowardice had robbed them of that spectacle.
The crowd—nobles and warriors alike—erupted in rage. Seeing Yanghao cower inside his icy fortress, unmoved by the dragons’ relentless attacks, the circular stands erupted in a deafening, unified chant:
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!!”
Every spectator made the same gesture—a clenched fist with the thumb pointing downward.
The gesture of execution.
In the empire’s Colosseum, battles between humans and beasts often ended with a victor. If a beast defeated a warrior but left him alive, the nobles would decide his fate.
Thumbs up meant life. Thumbs down meant death.
Now, even before the battle concluded, the entire crowd had already sentenced Yang Hao. Hundreds of thousands of thumbs pointed downward, hundreds of thousands of voices screaming:
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!!”
Even without their intervention, Yang Hao wouldn’t survive. The ice walls of “Frozen Quadrants” began to crack under the dragons’ furious assault. In minutes, his turtle-shell strategy would fail.
Then, he would be torn apart by the enraged dragons.
“He’s finished,” Princess Xianlan said coolly from the highest balcony, a strange smile curling her lips. “Brother, the man you favored is about to die.”
The Crown Prince watched silently.
“What did you expect from him?” the princess continued, though she didn’t fully understand. “You’ll be disappointed. He’s not as strong as the rumors claimed. He’s useless to you.”
The Crown Prince sighed, nodding painfully. Slowly, he raised his hand—thumb pointing upward.
“Kill him! Kill him!! Kill him!!!!”
The crowd’s fury only intensified at the Crown Prince’s gesture. Though the highest-ranking noble in the Colosseum held the power of decision, no one could defy the will of hundreds of thousands.
The Crown Prince paled but held firm, raising his thumb higher.
Thumb up.
Hundreds of thousands of thumbs pointed the opposite way. These spectators cared nothing for Yang Hao’s life—they only knew he had denied them the thrill of witnessing a dragon’s death. He had to die, his blood the only appeasement for their rage.
These hundreds of thousands were nobles, the empire’s elite, who treated lives as casually as plucking weeds, prioritizing their own entertainment above all else.
Not even the Crown Prince could overturn their verdict.
His face turned ashen. The chants of “Kill him!” flooded his ears like a tidal wave, leaving him as fragile as grass in the wind.
No matter how he resisted, the storm of voices would overwhelm him.
Another hand rose—slender, exquisitely beautiful, also signaling life.
Princess Xianlan stood beside her brother. Though she disliked Yang Hao, the Crown Prince was still family.
Amidst a sea of downward-pointing thumbs, only these two dared to defy the furious nobles, offering Yang Hao a sliver of hope.
The four dragons were moments away from shattering the ice.
Yang Hao’s fate was already sealed.
The defiance of the Crown Prince and princess only fueled the crowd’s rage. Their roars threatened to bring down the heavens.
The Crown Prince closed his eyes, his face twisted in agony—not for Yang Hao’s impending death, but for his own powerlessness.
Xianlan gently covered his hand, her voice bitter. “See, brother? You can change nothing. Not even together can we alter the smallest matter in this empire.”
“Change will come,” the Crown Prince said sharply, turning away from the chaos.
“No one can change it,” Xianlan murmured, her gaze distant. “This world belongs not to the empire, nor to us. It is the Senate’s domain.”
“And you?” The Crown Prince fixed his sister with a piercing stare. “Who do you belong to?”
Xianlan smiled faintly and turned to leave.
But in that moment, the seemingly inevitable shifted once more.
The massive ice encasing Yang Hao had thinned, revealing his figure inside. Far from passively awaiting death, he was frantically working on something unseen.
The four dragons, their eyes red with fury, clawed at the ice until it finally shattered.
The stands erupted in savage cheers. The nobles now eagerly anticipated the dragons tearing Yang Hao apart—preferably devouring him in pieces.
Only a few sharp-eyed observers noticed Yang Hao holding something in his hands—a pill, resembling the aphrodisiacs sold by the Danding Sect.
Stranger still, the moment the ice broke, the four dragons froze mid-air. Despite their riders stabbing their reverse scales, the dragons endured the pain, unmoving, refusing to attack Yang Hao.
Yang Hao raised his hand high. Silver light shot from his palm, piercing the dragons’ minds.
The dragons suddenly convulsed, soaring higher into the sky, writhing as if their bones were being ripped out one by one.
Yang Hao, the condemned man, stood firm, one hand raised to the heavens, his face glowing as he chanted under his breath.
Now, everyone knew something was wrong.
But no one understood what.
Why had the dragons stopped attacking Yang Hao?
What had he done?
Only one man knew—Bista, leader of the Beastheart Sword Corps, now panicking at the Colosseum’s edge.
The Beastheart Sword in his hand, linked to the seals in the dragons’ minds, had dimmed. He could no longer control the four dragons.
Somehow, Yang Hao was disrupting the Senate’s seals—an impossible feat, achieved by the sacrifice of dozens of elders.
The answer came seconds later.
With a thunderous shout from Yang Hao, black mist exploded above each dragon’s head. Their eyes transformed—no longer clouded with pain, but alight with their ancient vitality.
Though their divine power remained sealed, their minds were free. No one could command them now.
They were dragons—the greatest beings in existence, the mightiest of the divine races.
A deafening roar, unlike any heard before, shook the Colosseum—this time directed at the spectators, at the nobles who had clamored for Yang Hao’s death.
The stands crumbled like dominoes, section by section, reduced to dust.
Hundreds of thousands of lives were extinguished in an instant, crushed beneath the might of four liberated dragons.
The dragons, now proud and free, ascended into the clouds. With a final nod to Yang Hao, they vanished into the horizon.
This had been Yang Hao’s plan all along.
From the start, he had never intended to slay the dragons. His goal was to free them. That was why he spared the trapped wind dragon—in that moment, he had communicated with it telepathically. Only he, having consumed the Dragon’s Breath Elixir, could speak to dragons.
His retreat into the ice wasn’t cowardice—it was to concoct a pill, the greatest of all:
The Soul Aphrodisiac.
A peerless creation of the Danding Sect, requiring the soul and spiritual power of dragons. Its purpose? To break the Senate’s seals.
No pill could restore the dragons’ divine power, but it could shatter the mental shackles forcing them to obey.
And so, on this ordinary afternoon in the empire, beneath a sky filled with dragon cries and hidden sun, the Colosseum witnessed an unprecedented event.
Four of the empire’s most extraordinary dragons escaped to freedom—but not before slaughtering nearly half a million nobles.
The Beastheart Sword Corps ceased to exist.
This legendary duel had an ending no one could have predicted.
Yang Hao won.
However, the same time, the person inside could not launch any physical attacks outward. It was a turtle-shell tactic. Yang Hao had hidden himself inside an icy shell, refusing to emerge no matter how the four dragons attacked.
This act enraged the entire arena.
Tens of thousands of spectators erupted into furious shouts and curses. To them, whoever won or lost didn’t matter—as long as there was blood and carnage, they would be thrilled. Yang Hao had the chance to kill a dragon, and with just a little more effort, he could have perished alongside it. This would have been the first dragon-slaying feat in the Empire in decades.
What could be more glorious than witnessing a dragon’s death before one’s eyes? Such a scene had been within reach, only to be ruined by Yang Hao’s cowardice.
The audience, nobles, and warriors were furious beyond measure, especially seeing Yang Hao cowering inside his ice shell, refusing to budge no matter how the four dragons spewed their breath or hurled ice spears. Across the circular stands, a unified, thunderous chant arose.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!”
They all made the same gesture: four fingers clenched into a fist, thumb pointing downward.
It was the execution signal for gladiators.
In the Empire’s Colosseum, duels between humans and magical beasts often ended with either side victorious.
If the beast triumphed and the gladiator survived but was severely wounded, the decision of life or death was made by the Empire’s nobility.
A thumb up meant life; a thumb down meant death.
Yet now, even before the duel ended, the entire audience had already sentenced Yang Hao. Tens of thousands of thumbs pointed downward, tens of thousands of voices roared.
“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!”
Beneath the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, completely unprotected, as fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and the princess thought so.
The spectators thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
But silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had yet processed what had happened. After all, it had been too fast. In the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle had reached its climax.
Yet, Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events defied all expectations. A dragon’s breath should only tear flesh from bone, rot the skeleton, or at most reduce a person to dust.
But Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped, even corroded by four streams of dragon breath, he seemed utterly unharmed. Instead, the nearly extinguished flames around him erupted violently.
This explosion unleashed a tsunami of fire.
A five-meter-high inferno radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within dozens of kilometers. The land turned to ash—every living creature, every blade of grass, was reduced to a charred ruin.
Especially the hundreds of surviving magical beasts, already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, left kneeling helplessly on the ground. The flames swept over them, leaving behind only bones and their inner cores.
This technique was called “Flame Burst,” the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Alchemy Sect’s Sword Pill.
A group attack that erupted from a central point, incinerating everything in its path.
“Now’s my only chance!!” Yang Hao roared. Though the massive explosion had cleared the beasts and the battlefield, it hadn’t stopped the dragon breath.
Fire was useless against dragon breath.
To Bista, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four streams of dragon breath washed over Yang Hao like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, the “Flame Burst” ensnared the dragons.
The raging flames, spreading faster than thought, had already reached the four dragons. Three reacted swiftly, spewing more breath before retreating to the sky.
But one, caught in the inferno, found its scales scorching instantly—an unprecedented injury for the legendary dragons.
Yang Hao lunged. His immunity to dragon breath had a reason. Back in the divine realm, he had nearly died to a black dragon’s breath. Only by consuming the legendary “Dragon Breath Pill,” crafted by the Alchemy Sect’s founder at the cost of countless lives, had he survived.
That pill not only elevated one’s spiritual power to commune with dragons but, more crucially, rendered the user immune to dragon breath.
Yang Hao’s secret weapon.
While everyone believed him doomed, he seized this moment—his only chance to turn the tide.
As one wind dragon struggled in the flames, Yang Hao moved like lightning. His weapon, Shadow Moon, flashed in a crescent arc, slicing through the dragon’s vulnerable under-scales.
The scales shattered.
Shadow Moon flared with fire. Beneath the broken scales lay the dragon’s unprotected flesh—one more strike, and its throat, veins, and meridians would be severed.
Yang Hao would become the empire’s first dragon slayer.
The three escaped dragons turned back in fury, unleashing breath, ice spikes, even hurling their bodies to crush Yang Hao. No dragon would tolerate a human killing one of their own.
Their pride was bone-deep.
But they were too late.
Shadow Moon, a true divine weapon, moved with unstoppable speed.
The trapped dragon stared at Yang Hao, its green eyes filled with contemplation.
Yang Hao hesitated. In that split-second gaze, he suddenly withdrew Shadow Moon, sparing the dragon.
The wind dragon shook off the flames and soared away.
The crowd was stunned.
Everyone saw Yang Hao’s chance to kill—yet he let it go.
They quickly rationalized: killing the dragon would mean his own death under the others’ retaliation. Better to retreat and defend.
As if confirming their thoughts, Yang Hao activated the second-tier ice technique, “Frost Quadrant.”
Walls of ice encased him—a turtle-shell strategy.
The arena erupted in outrage.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared, thumbs down—the gesture for execution.
Even the Crown Prince’s raised thumb couldn’t sway the bloodthirsty crowd.
The ice walls cracked under the dragons’ assault.
Yang Hao’s fate seemed sealed.
“He’s finished,” Princess Xianlan murmured, a strange smile playing on her lips.
The Crown Prince remained silent, his thumb still raised—a lone defiance against the tide.
But then—
The dragons froze mid-attack.
Yang Hao stood, holding something aloft—a pill, glowing silver.
Beams of light shot into the dragons’ minds.
They writhed in agony, then suddenly calmed.
Their eyes cleared—no longer enslaved.
With a deafening roar, they turned on the spectators.
The stands crumbled like dominoes.
Tens of thousands perished in moments.
The four dragons, now free, nodded to Yang Hao before vanishing into the sky.
This had been his plan all along—not to slay, but to liberate.
Sealed in ice, he had crafted the ultimate pill—the “Soul Aphrodisiac,” capable of breaking the dragons’ mental shackles.
On this ordinary afternoon, the empire witnessed the unthinkable: four dragons, freed, slaughtering nearly half a million nobles before escaping.
The Heartblade Corps disbanded.
The battle ended in a way no one predicted.
Yang Hao—victorious.
At that point, he would likely be torn apart by the four enraged dragons.
“He’s finished,” Princess Xianlan said calmly from the highest balcony. Then, a strange smile curled her lips. “Brother, the man you chose is about to die.”
The crown prince gazed silently, saying nothing.
“What expectations did you have for him?” The princess didn’t quite understand, but she said, “I think you’ll be disappointed. This person isn’t as strong as the rumors claim. He’s of no use to you.”
The crown prince sighed, nodding painfully. Slowly, he raised his hand, thumb pointing upward.
“Kill him! Kill him!! Kill him!!”
Seeing the crown prince’s gesture, the surrounding fury only roared louder. Although in the Colosseum, the highest-ranking noble had the final say, no one could override the collective voice of tens of thousands.
The crown prince’s face paled, yet his gesture remained unchanged, even raised higher.
Thumb up.
Tens of thousands of fingers opposed him. These tens of thousands cared nothing for Yang Hao’s life or death. They only knew that Yang Hao had robbed them of the thrill of witnessing a dragon’s death. Thus, he must die. His blood must appease their fury.
These tens of thousands were nobles, the highest echelon of the Empire. To them, killing was as trivial as removing a blade of grass, placing their own senses above all.
Even the crown prince could not override their decision.
The crown prince’s face turned deathly pale. Each roar of “kill” poured into his ears like a flood, making him as fragile as a blade of grass in the wind.
Even as he persisted, these cries would eventually knock him down.
Another hand extended—a slender, exquisitely beautiful hand, making the gesture of life.
Princess Xianlan stood beside the crown prince. Though she disliked Yang Hao, the crown prince was still her brother.
Across the entire arena, every hand pointed downward in execution. Only the two of them stood against the storm of rage, striving to grant Yang Hao a chance to live.
The four dragons were about to crush the thick ice.
Yang Hao’s fate seemed already sealed.
Yet the crown prince and princess’s actions only further enraged the audience, their shouts nearly shaking the sky apart.
The crown prince closed his eyes, his face filled with pain—not from Yang Hao’s impending death, but from his own sense of helplessness.
Xianlan gently covered the crown prince’s hand, her voice bitter: “See it now, brother? You can change nothing. Even if you and I combine our efforts, we cannot alter even the smallest matter in the Empire.”
“There will always be change,” the crown prince suddenly opened his eyes, turning away from the violent scene behind him.
“No one can change it,” Xianlan’s gaze was calm. “This world does not belong to the Empire, nor to you and me. It belongs to the Senate.”
“And you?” The crown prince sharply looked at his sister.
“Who do you belong to?”
Xianlan smiled faintly, turning to leave.
Yet in that seemingly doomed place, something changed.
The massive ice block enclosing Yang Hao had grown increasingly thin, and his silhouette could now be seen inside. He was not passively awaiting death but frantically working on something.
The four dragons’ fury had turned their eyes red. Under their massive claws, the ice developed tiny cracks, finally shattering completely.
A savage cheer erupted from the stands. Now the nobles eagerly anticipated the dragons killing Yang Hao. Tearing him into pieces and swallowing him would be even better.
Only a few sharp-eyed observers noticed something in Yang Hao’s hands—something that looked like a pill, similar to the elixirs sold by the Dan Ding Spring Medicine Group.
Even more strangely, when the ice shattered, the four dragons suddenly halted mid-air, motionless. No matter how hard their riders jabbed at their weak scales, they endured the pain without moving, completely ceasing their attack on Yang Hao.
Yang Hao raised his hand high. From his palm, several silver beams shot out, piercing into the dragons’ brains.
The dragons suddenly became wild again, soaring higher into the sky, rolling in agony as if every bone in their bodies was being pulled out one by one.
Yet the seemingly condemned Yang Hao still stood there, one finger pointing skyward, his face flushed red as he muttered incantations.
At this moment, anyone could tell something was wrong.
But no one understood what.
Why had the four dragons stopped attacking Yang Hao?
What had Yang Hao done?
Only one person understood. This person stood at the edge of the arena, panic-stricken.
Under the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, completely unprotected, as fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and the Princess thought so.
The spectators thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
But silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had processed what had just happened. It had all occurred too quickly, in the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle was already nearing its end.
Yet, Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events defied all expectations. A dragon’s breath was supposed to tear flesh from bone, rot the skeleton, or at most reduce a person to dust.
But Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped, even corroded by four streams of dragon’s breath, he seemed utterly unharmed. Instead, the flames around him, which had nearly died out, erupted violently.
This explosion unleashed a tsunami of fire.
A towering inferno, five meters high, radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within a radius of dozens of kilometers.
The land was reduced to ashes. Within this range, no living creature, no plant, remained intact.
Especially the hundreds of surviving magical beasts—already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, they knelt motionless on the ground. When the flames swept over them, only their bones and inner cores remained.
This technique was called “Flame Burst,” the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Danding Sect’s Sword Pill.
A group attack that erupted from a central point, incinerating everything in its path.
“Now’s my only chance!!” Yang Hao roared. Though the massive explosion had cleared the area of beasts and obstacles, it hadn’t stopped the dragons’ breath.
Fire was useless against dragon’s breath.
To Bista, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four streams of dragon’s breath washed over Yang Hao’s body like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, the “Flame Burst” ensnared the dragons.
The raging flames, unstoppable in their fury, had already reached the four dragons before they could react. Three of them, sensing danger, spat more breath and retreated into the sky.
But one was caught in the inferno. The searing flames instantly scorched its scales—the most inconceivable thing happened: a dragon was injured by fire.
Yang Hao lunged. His immunity to dragon’s breath was no accident. Back in the Divine Realm, he had nearly died from a black dragon’s breath. Only by consuming the legendary “Dragon’s Breath Pill,” obtained at the cost of Hunyuanzi’s life, had he survived.
That pill was an ancient invention of the Danding Sect’s earliest founder, a treasure forged through countless sacrifices.
Consuming it elevated one’s spiritual power to a level where communication with dragons was possible. More importantly, it granted immunity to dragon’s breath.
Yang Hao feared no dragon’s breath—a secret known only to him. This was his only chance, his final opportunity to turn the tide.
While everyone believed Yang Hao would perish under the dragons’ breath, he struck back from the jaws of death.
Seizing the moment when one wind dragon floundered in the flames, Yang Hao moved like lightning. With a flick of his wrist, his weapon, “Shadow Moon,” appeared—a crescent-shaped blade that traced a dazzling arc.
The first strike sliced through the dragon’s shimmering reverse scale beneath its neck.
The scale shattered.
Shadow Moon erupted in flames. Beneath the broken scales lay the wind dragon’s pale blue flesh, now defenseless. A single slash would sever its throat, veins, and meridians—and Yang Hao would become the first dragon-slayer in the empire’s history.
He could kill a dragon.
The three escaped dragons turned back in a frenzy, spewing breath, hurling ice spikes, even risking their bodies to crush Yang Hao into dust. No dragon could tolerate the death of a comrade at human hands.
Their pride was etched into their bones.
But they were too late. Their movements were sluggish, their full power restrained.
Shadow Moon was a true divine weapon—unstoppable in its speed and lethality.
The doomed dragon’s green eyes widened, locking onto Yang Hao as if contemplating something.
Yang Hao hesitated. In that split-second gaze, he let out a long cry. Shadow Moon obeyed, withdrawing from the dragon’s throat, abandoning the chance to slay it.
The wind dragon beat its wings, extinguishing the flames, and soared into the sky, escaping the danger.
The crowd was stunned.
Everyone—whether martial experts or pampered nobles—could see that Yang Hao had the chance to kill the dragon but chose not to. He had abandoned his only opportunity.
They quickly rationalized his decision: had he slain the dragon, the other three would have torn him apart. Yang Hao would have died alongside his prey, with no chance of survival. So, he chose to retreat and defend.
As if confirming their speculation, Yang Hao immediately activated the second-tier ice-based sword technique, “Frozen Barricade.”
Massive ice walls encased him, forming an impenetrable shield.
Ice-based sword techniques prioritized defense, and “Frozen Barricade” was the pinnacle—creating near-indestructible walls in an instant.
But it was a double-edged sword. While protected, Yang Hao couldn’t attack from within.
This was a turtle-shell tactic—Yang Hao had barricaded himself in an icy fortress, refusing to emerge no matter how the dragons attacked.
The coliseum erupted in fury.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared in outrage. To them, victory or defeat mattered little—bloodshed was all they craved. Yang Hao had been on the verge of slaying a dragon, of achieving a legendary feat unseen in decades.
What could be more thrilling than witnessing a dragon’s death?
Yet, Yang Hao’s cowardice had robbed them of that spectacle.
Nobles and warriors alike seethed, especially as they watched him cower inside his icy shell, unmoved by the dragons’ relentless assault.
A thunderous chant rose from the stands:
“Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!!!”
A sea of fists clenched, thumbs pointing downward—the gesture condemning a gladiator to death.
In the empire’s coliseum, battles between man and beast often ended with the crowd deciding the loser’s fate.
Thumbs up meant life. Thumbs down meant death.
Now, even before the battle concluded, the verdict was unanimous.
Tens of thousands of thumbs pointed down. Tens of thousands of voices roared:
“Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!!!”
Even without their intervention, Yang Hao was doomed. The Frozen Barricade was crumbling under the dragons’ fury. Within minutes, his turtle-shell strategy would fail.
Then, he would be torn apart by four enraged dragons.
“He’s finished,” Princess Xianlan remarked coolly from the highest balcony, a strange smile playing on her lips. “Brother, your chosen one is about to die.”
The Crown Prince remained silent, watching impassively.
“What did you see in him?” the princess mused. “You’ll be disappointed. He’s not as strong as the rumors claimed. He’s useless to you.”
The Crown Prince sighed, nodding painfully. Slowly, he raised his hand—thumb pointing upward.
“Kill him! Kill him!! KILL HIM!!!!”
The crowd’s fury intensified at the Crown Prince’s gesture. Though the highest-ranking noble held the power to decide, no one could override the will of hundreds of thousands.
The prince paled but held firm, his thumb raised higher.
Against a sea of downward-pointing thumbs, he and Princess Xianlan stood alone, defying the bloodthirsty masses.
The dragons were moments away from shattering the ice.
Yang Hao’s fate seemed sealed.
Yet, the Crown Prince and Princess’s defiance only incensed the crowd further. Their screams threatened to bring down the sky.
The prince closed his eyes, his face twisted in agony—not for Yang Hao’s impending death, but for his own powerlessness.
Xianlan gently covered his hand, her voice bitter. “See, Brother? You can’t change anything. Not even the smallest matter in this empire.”
“Change will come,” the prince said suddenly, opening his eyes and turning away from the chaos.
“No one can change it,” Xianlan murmured, her gaze distant. “This world belongs to the Elder Council—not the empire, not you or me.”
“Then who do you belong to?” the prince asked sharply, studying his sister.
Xianlan smiled faintly and turned to leave.
But fate had other plans.
The ice encasing Yang Hao had thinned, revealing his frantic movements inside. He wasn’t waiting for death—he was preparing something.
The dragons’ eyes burned red with rage. Their claws struck, and the ice cracked—then shattered completely.
The crowd erupted in savage cheers, eager to see the dragons tear Yang Hao apart.
Only a few sharp-eyed observers noticed the pill in Yang Hao’s hand—something resembling the aphrodisiacs sold by the Danding Sect.
Stranger still, the dragons froze mid-air, ignoring their riders’ desperate prodding.
Yang Hao raised his hand, silver light shooting from his palm into the dragons’ minds.
The beasts convulsed, writhing as if their bones were being ripped out one by one.
Yang Hao stood firm, one hand raised to the sky, chanting fervently.
Something was wrong.
No one understood what, but the dragons had stopped attacking.
What had Yang Hao done?
Only one man knew—Bista, leader of the Beastheart Sword Corps, now panicking at the coliseum’s edge.
The Beastheart Sword in his hand, linked to the dragons’ mental seals, had dimmed. He could no longer control them.
Yang Hao was dismantling the Elder Council’s seals—something thought impossible.
The answer came seconds later.
With a thunderous shout, black mist exploded above each dragon’s head. Their eyes cleared, regaining their ancient pride.
Though their divine power remained sealed, their minds were free. No one could command them now.
They were dragons—the mightiest beings in existence.
A deafening roar shook the coliseum, this time directed at the spectators who had clamored for Yang Hao’s death.
Row after row of seating crumbled to dust, lives extinguished in an instant.
Nearly half a million nobles perished under the dragons’ wrath.
The four majestic creatures soared into the clouds, nodding once at Yang Hao before vanishing into the horizon.
This had been Yang Hao’s plan all along.
He had never intended to slay the dragons—he sought to free them.
That was why he spared the wind dragon, using that moment to communicate telepathically. Only he, having consumed the Dragon’s Breath Pill, could speak to them.
The Frozen Barricade wasn’t a retreat—it was a crucible. Inside, he had forged the most extraordinary pill of all:
Soul Aphrodisiac.
The Danding Sect’s legendary creation, requiring dragon souls and spiritual energy to craft. Its purpose? To break the Elder Council’s seals.
No pill could restore the dragons’ divine power, but it could shatter the mental chains forcing their obedience.
And so, on an ordinary afternoon, beneath a sky veiled by clouds, the empire’s coliseum witnessed the unimaginable.
Four dragons escaped.
Before fleeing, they slaughtered nearly half a million nobles.
The Beastheart Sword Corps ceased to exist.
The battle ended in a way no one could have predicted.
Yang Hao won.
Unbelievable! The Senate had sacrificed dozens of elders to forge that seal. Could someone actually break it? Could Yang Hao actually do it?
The answer was revealed seconds later.
With a thunderous roar from Yang Hao, a black mist exploded above each dragon’s head. Then, the four Wind Dragons’ eyes underwent a tremendous transformation.
Once clouded and pained, their eyes now brimmed with vitality, regaining the former majesty of the dragon race. Though their sealed divine powers could not return, their consciousness had awakened. In this state, no one could control them.
They were dragons, the greatest beings in the world, the most powerful of the divine races.
A mighty dragon roar, unprecedented, erupted in the Colosseum. This time, it was directed at the stands, at those nobles who had just moments ago screamed for Yang Hao’s death.
The stands collapsed one after another, like dominoes, shattering into dust.
Tens of thousands of lives were instantly reduced to powder before the four now-freed dragons.
The four proud dragons ascended to the middle of the clouds, turned to nod at Yang Hao, then let out a light cry and vanished into the distant horizon.
This was Yang Hao’s plan. Like a statue, he stood gazing at the fading shadows of the dragons in the sky.
From beginning to end, Yang Hao had never intended to slay the dragons. Quite the opposite—he had come to rescue them. That was why he had spared the trapped Wind Dragon. In that moment, he had communicated with the dragons mentally. In this world, only Yang Hao, who had consumed the Dragon’s Breath Pill, could communicate with the dragon race.
Yang Hao had sealed himself in ice not as a defensive tactic, but to concoct a pill—a most extraordinary pill.
The Soul Spring Pill!!
The ultimate elixir of the Dan Ding Sect. This miraculous pill required the soul and spiritual power of the dragon race to complete. Its effect was to remove the seals upon the dragons.
Of course, no matter how powerful the pill, it could not restore the divine race’s former strength. But it could dissolve the Senate’s command seals etched into the dragons’ brains, the seals forcing them to obey.
Thus, on that ordinary afternoon in the Empire, the sky echoed with dragon cries, sunlight hiding behind the clouds, and the Imperial Colosseum no longer remained as tranquil as usual.
Under the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, completely unprotected, as fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and Princess thought so.
The audience thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
But silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had yet processed what had happened. It had all occurred too quickly. In the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle had reached its climax.
Yet Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events defied all expectations. A dragon’s breath should only tear flesh from bone, rot the skeleton, or at most reduce a person to dust.
But Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped, even corroded, by the four streams of dragon breath, he seemed utterly unharmed. Instead, the nearly extinguished flames around him erupted violently.
This explosion unleashed a cataclysmic inferno.
A towering blaze, over five meters high, radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within dozens of kilometers. The land turned to ash—every living creature, every blade of grass, was reduced to a charred ruin.
Especially the hundred or so surviving magical beasts, already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, left kneeling helplessly on the ground. The flames swept over them, leaving behind only bones and their inner cores.
This technique was called **”Flame Burst”**—the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Alchemy Sword Sect.
A devastating area-of-effect attack, erupting from a central point to incinerate everything in its path.
**”The only chance!!”** Yang Hao roared. Though the colossal explosion had obliterated the beasts and the surrounding space, it hadn’t stopped the dragon breath.
Flames were useless against dragon breath.
To Bista, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four torrents of dragon breath washed over Yang Hao like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, **”Flame Burst”** ensnared the dragons.
The inferno, fierce beyond measure, had already engulfed the four dragons before they could react. Three of them, sensing danger, spat more dragon breath and retreated into the sky.
But one, caught in the flames, found its scales searing under the heat—an inconceivable wound for a dragon, the mightiest of creatures.
Yang Hao lunged. His immunity to dragon breath had a reason. Back in the Divine Realm, he had nearly died to a black dragon’s breath. Only by consuming the legendary **”Dragon Breath Pill”**, forged at the cost of Hunyuanzi’s life, had he survived.
That pill, an ancient invention of the Alchemy Sword Sect’s earliest founder, granted immunity to dragon breath—a secret known only to Yang Hao.
This was his **only** chance—the final opportunity to turn defeat into victory.
While everyone believed Yang Hao would perish under the dragon breath, he struck back from the jaws of death.
Seizing the moment when the wind dragon struggled in the flames, Yang Hao moved like lightning. With a flick of his wrist, **Shadow Moon** appeared—a crescent-shaped blade that traced a dazzling arc, slicing through the dragon’s shimmering reverse scale.
The scale shattered.
Shadow Moon erupted in flames. Beneath the broken scales lay the wind dragon’s unprotected blue flesh. One more strike, and its throat, veins, and meridians would be severed.
Yang Hao would become the first dragon slayer in the Empire’s Colosseum.
He would kill a dragon.
The three escaped dragons turned back in a frenzy, spewing breath, launching ice spikes, even hurling their bodies to crush Yang Hao into dust. No dragon could tolerate a human killing one of their own.
That pride was etched into their bones.
But they were too late. Their speed was lacking, their strength incomplete.
Shadow Moon was a true divine weapon—unstoppable in its lethal arc.
The doomed dragon stared at Yang Hao with wide green eyes, as if contemplating something.
Yang Hao hesitated too. In that split-second gaze, he let out a long cry. Shadow Moon obeyed, withdrawing from the dragon’s throat, abandoning the glory of dragon slaying.
The wind dragon shook off the flames and soared into the sky, escaping the peril.
The crowd was stunned.
Everyone—whether martial experts or pampered nobles—saw that Yang Hao could have killed the dragon. Yet he chose not to. He gave up his only chance.
They quickly rationalized it: If Yang Hao had slain the dragon, the other three would have torn him apart. Better to retreat and defend.
As if confirming their thoughts, Yang Hao immediately activated the second-tier ice-based sword technique—**”Frozen Quartet”**.
Massive ice walls encased him, forming an impenetrable fortress.
A turtle-shell tactic. Yang Hao had barricaded himself inside, refusing to emerge no matter how the dragons attacked.
The Colosseum erupted in fury.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared in outrage. They wanted blood, carnage—they had been denied the thrill of witnessing a dragon’s death.
**”Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!!”**
A sea of thumbs turned downward—the gesture of execution.
In the Empire’s Colosseum, the audience decided the fate of the combatants. Thumbs up meant life; thumbs down meant death.
Even before the battle ended, the crowd had condemned Yang Hao.
Even if they didn’t act, Yang Hao wouldn’t survive. The ice walls were cracking under the dragons’ relentless assault. In minutes, his defense would fail.
Then, the enraged dragons would tear him apart.
**”He’s finished,”** Princess Xianlan said coolly from the highest balcony, a strange smile curling her lips. **”Brother, your chosen one is about to die.”**
The Crown Prince remained silent, his face pale.
**”What did you expect from him?”** the princess continued. **”He’s not as strong as the rumors claimed. He’s useless to you.”**
The Crown Prince sighed, nodding painfully. Slowly, he raised his hand—thumb pointing upward.
**”Kill him! Kill him!! Kill him!!!”**
The crowd’s fury only intensified. Even the Crown Prince’s gesture couldn’t sway them.
Princess Xianlan stood beside him, her delicate hand also raised—thumb up.
Two lone figures amidst a storm of condemnation.
But it was futile.
The ice shattered.
The dragons descended.
Yang Hao’s fate was sealed.
Yet, in that final moment, something changed.
The dragons froze mid-air, ignoring their riders’ commands.
Yang Hao stood firm, holding something aloft—a pill, glowing silver.
Beams of light shot from his palm into the dragons’ minds.
The beasts writhed in agony, soaring higher as if their bones were being ripped out.
Then—liberation.
The dragons’ eyes cleared. The confusion and pain vanished, replaced by the ancient pride of their kind.
With a deafening roar, they turned on the audience.
The stands crumbled like dominoes, tens of thousands of lives extinguished in an instant.
The four dragons, now free, ascended into the clouds. With a final nod to Yang Hao, they vanished into the horizon.
This had been Yang Hao’s plan all along.
Not to slay dragons—but to free them.
The **”Soul Aphrodisiac”**, the Alchemy Sword Sect’s most legendary pill, had broken the seals in their minds.
On this ordinary afternoon, beneath a sky veiled by clouds, the Empire’s Colosseum witnessed the impossible.
Four dragons escaped.
Nearly half a million nobles perished.
The Beastheart Sword Corps was no more.
And Yang Hao—
**Yang Hao won.**
Beneath the extinguished flames lay Yang Hao’s body, completely unprotected, fragile as a sheet of paper under the dragon’s breath.
Was it all over?
Bista thought so.
The Crown Prince and Princess thought so.
The audience thought so.
Even the Snowy Night Star Lion Corps in the sky thought so.
Yet silence reigned—not out of sorrow, but because no one had processed what had just happened. It had all occurred too quickly, in the blink of an eye, this earth-shattering battle was already nearing its end.
But then, Yang Hao exploded.
This turn of events defied all expectations. A dragon’s breath should only tear flesh from bone, rot the skeleton, or at most reduce a person to dust.
Yet Yang Hao truly exploded. Enveloped, even corroded by four streams of dragon’s breath, he seemed utterly unharmed. Instead, the flames around him, which had nearly died out, suddenly erupted in a violent explosion.
This explosion unleashed a tsunami of fire.
A towering inferno, five meters high, radiated from Yang Hao, scorching everything within a radius of dozens of kilometers. The land turned to ash—every living creature, every blade of grass, was reduced to a charred ruin.
Especially the hundred or so surviving magical beasts, already deafened and blinded by Yang Hao, left kneeling helplessly on the ground. The flames swept over them, leaving behind only bones and their crystallized cores.
This technique was called **”Flame Burst”**—the second-tier fire-based sword technique of the Alchemy Sword Sect.
A devastating area-of-effect attack, it erupted from a central point, unleashing waves of fire that incinerated everything in its path.
**”The only chance!!”** Yang Hao roared. Though the colossal explosion had reduced the magical beasts and the surrounding space to cinders, it did nothing to halt the dragon’s breath.
Fire was useless against it.
To Bista’s eyes, it seemed Yang Hao was determined to perish alongside the four dragons.
But he was wrong.
The four streams of dragon’s breath washed over Yang Hao’s body like a gentle breeze, utterly ineffective.
Instead, the **”Flame Burst”** had ensnared the dragons.
The flames, ferocious beyond measure, had already licked at the dragons before sweeping outward. Three of them reacted swiftly, spewing more breath before retreating to the sky.
But one was caught in the inferno. In an instant, the raging fire seared its scales—an inconceivable sight, as the legendary dragons, impervious to most harm, were now wounded by mere flames.
Yang Hao lunged. His immunity to the dragon’s breath was no accident. Back in the Divine Realm, he had nearly perished under a black dragon’s breath. Only by consuming the **”Dragon’s Breath Elixir”**, a priceless treasure obtained at the cost of Hunyuanzi’s life, had he survived.
That elixir was the legacy of the Alchemy Sword Sect’s earliest founder—an invention forged through countless sacrifices.
Consuming it elevated one’s spiritual power to a level where communication with dragons was possible. More importantly, it granted immunity to their breath.
Yang Hao feared no dragon’s breath—a secret known only to him. This was his sole opportunity, his final chance to turn the tide.
While the dragons and the crowd believed him doomed, Yang Hao struck back from the jaws of death.
Seizing the moment when one wind dragon floundered in the flames, Yang Hao moved like lightning. With a flick of his wrist, **”Shadow Moon”** materialized—a crescent-shaped blade tracing a dazzling arc.
The first strike sliced through the dragon’s shimmering **”reverse scale”** beneath its neck.
The scale shattered.
Shadow Moon erupted in flames. Beneath the broken scales lay the wind dragon’s unprotected, azure flesh. One more slash would sever its throat, veins, and meridians—and Yang Hao would become the first dragon-slayer in the empire’s history.
He was about to kill a dragon.
The three escaped dragons turned back in a frenzy, spewing breath, hurling ice spikes, even charging bodily to crush Yang Hao into dust. No dragon could tolerate the death of a kin at human hands.
Their pride was etched into their very bones.
But they were too late. Their speed was lacking, their strength incomplete.
Shadow Moon was a true divine weapon—unstoppable in its lethal trajectory.
The doomed dragon’s emerald eyes locked onto Yang Hao, as if contemplating something profound.
Yang Hao hesitated. In that split-second gaze, he let out a long cry. Shadow Moon withdrew, sparing the dragon at the brink of death.
The wind dragon shook off the flames and soared into the sky, escaping the peril.
The crowd was stunned.
Every spectator—whether a martial expert or a pampered noble—could see that Yang Hao had the chance to slay the dragon. Yet he chose to spare it, abandoning his only opportunity.
They quickly rationalized his decision: had he killed the dragon, the other three would have torn him apart. Better to retreat and defend.
As if confirming their assumptions, Yang Hao immediately activated the second-tier ice-based sword technique—**”Frozen Quartet”**.
Massive walls of ice encased him, forming an impenetrable fortress.
Ice-based techniques prioritized defense, and **”Frozen Quartet”** was the pinnacle—a near-instantaneous barrier that could withstand prolonged assaults.
But it was also a double-edged sword. Trapped within, Yang Hao could neither attack nor escape.
A turtle-shell strategy.
The crowd erupted in fury.
Tens of thousands of spectators roared in outrage. To them, victory or defeat mattered little—only bloodshed and carnage thrilled them. Yang Hao had robbed them of the spectacle of a dragon’s death, a historic moment within their grasp.
Their rage crescendoed into a deafening chant:
**”Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!!”**
Thumbs turned downward—the imperial gesture condemning a gladiator to death.
Even as the battle raged, the audience had already sentenced Yang Hao.
The ice barrier began to crack under the dragons’ relentless assault. Within minutes, it would shatter, leaving Yang Hao at the mercy of four enraged dragons.
**”He’s finished,”** Princess Xianlan murmured from the royal balcony, a strange smile playing on her lips. **”Brother, your chosen one is about to die.”**
The Crown Prince remained silent, his expression unreadable.
**”What did you see in him?”** the princess pressed. **”He’s not as formidable as the rumors claimed. He’s useless to you.”**
The Crown Prince sighed, pain flickering in his eyes. Slowly, he raised his hand—thumb pointing upward.
**”KILL HIM! KILL HIM!! KILL HIM!!!”**
The crowd’s fury only intensified at the Crown Prince’s defiance. Though the highest-ranking noble held the power of life and death, even he could not override the will of hundreds of thousands.
His face pale but resolute, the Crown Prince kept his thumb raised.
Xianlan joined him, her delicate hand mirroring his gesture. Though she disliked Yang Hao, she stood by her brother.
Amidst a sea of downward thumbs, only two pointed upward—a lone plea for mercy in a storm of bloodlust.
The ice shattered.
The dragons descended.
Yang Hao’s fate seemed sealed.
Yet in that moment, something shifted.
As the ice collapsed, the dragons froze mid-air. No matter how their riders spurred them, they refused to attack.
Yang Hao stood firm, holding aloft a small, glowing pill—something resembling the aphrodisiacs sold by the Alchemy Sword Sect.
Silver light shot from his palm, piercing the dragons’ minds.
They convulsed, writhing as if their bones were being torn out one by one.
Then—liberation.
The dragons’ eyes cleared, their ancient pride restored. Though their divine power remained sealed, their minds were free.
With a deafening roar, they turned on the crowd.
The stands crumbled like dominoes, tens of thousands of nobles reduced to dust in seconds.
The four dragons, now sovereign once more, ascended into the clouds. With a final nod to Yang Hao, they vanished into the horizon.
This had been Yang Hao’s plan all along.
Not to slay dragons—but to free them.
Inside his icy prison, he had forged the **”Soul Aphrodisiac”**, a legendary elixir capable of breaking the dragons’ mental shackles.
And so, on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, beneath a sky veiled by clouds, the empire witnessed the impossible.
Four dragons escaped.
Nearly half a million nobles perished.
The Beastheart Sword Corps ceased to exist.
And Yang Hao—against all odds—emerged victorious.
This astonishing duel ended in a way no one could have predicted.
Yang Hao won.
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