Those who had gathered here to witness the beast battle were all either wealthy or influential, with countless hidden forces among them. Each of them was filled with anticipation, eager to see whether Yang Hao was truly as powerful as the rumors claimed—powerful enough to shake the Ten Sword Sects to their core and even pose a threat to the Elder Council.
Silence enveloped the arena. The gravitational field kept the wind and mist outside, even dimming the sky’s hue slightly, while the massive colosseum remained brightly illuminated as ever. From this vantage point, it was indeed a magnificent structure. Aside from the spectator stands, the colosseum itself was purely a natural formation. Towering mountains encircled it, their cliffs as smooth as mirrors. Once someone descended into the arena, it was nearly impossible to climb back out—only a fight to the death remained.
The grass covering the arena floor was strangely peculiar. Though it resembled ordinary green weeds, each blade bore tiny red fruits no larger than a fingernail, exuding a fragrant aroma.
Yang Hao scanned the arena. There seemed to be no beasts still lurking about; naturally, the crown prince’s son had already retreated to safety.
“Lord Yang Hao,” the crown prince beckoned him closer. “You must be careful. The Emperor plans to formally bestow the title of Lord and noble upon you in a few days.”
“If the young prince can slay a magic beast, I won’t be afraid either,” Yang Hao replied confidently.
Perhaps recalling how Yang Hao had helped his son, the crown prince gave a final warning: “The Beast-Heart Sword Sect is unlike ordinary magic beasts. Each of the Ten Sword Sects has unique techniques, but the Beast-Heart Sword Sect commands dominion over all beasts.”
“Oh?” Yang Hao hadn’t yet grasped the severity.
The crown prince sighed. “The Empire’s expansion has been rapid. Many uncharted, savage planets are plagued by monstrous beasts, some even matching the strength of sword masters or grand sword masters, causing great difficulties for the Imperial Army. The Beast-Heart Sword Sect was specifically created to counter these beasts. With this sword sect, the Empire no longer fears the threat of monstrous creatures.”
Yang Hao furrowed his brow. He could already sense some trouble ahead.
“It’s not the men who are formidable, but the beasts,” the crown prince concluded. He had done his part, repaying the favor Yang Hao had done for his son.
As Yang Hao re-entered the colosseum, he sensed something unusual.
Initially, the arena had seemed like an ordinary grassy field, but upon stepping onto the grass again, he felt an inexplicable bloodthirsty aura.
Yang Hao glanced up at the stands. Bista was still standing there, apparently choosing not to engage personally. However, he had already drawn the Beast-Heart Sword, pointing it high into the air. The blade, adorned with beast motifs, was faintly glowing red.
A wave of nausea overcame Yang Hao, and a metallic, blood-like taste filled his throat.
“The red fruits are the problem,” said Hunyuanzi, a grandmaster of herbalism. “The Beast-Heart Sword can extract the bloodthirsty essence from these red fruits. This essence likely drives the beasts into a frenzied, more aggressive state.”
“No worries. Let’s see what happens,” Yang Hao said. After all, he had slain magic beasts before. When he first arrived, he had seen the young prince kill one too—though it was somewhat stronger than average, even ten of them wouldn’t pose much of a challenge for him.
However, if the Beast-Heart Sword Sect of the Ten Sword Sects were truly this simple, how could they have earned a place within the Empire? Their mentor, the Elder Council member, was an extremely formidable figure.
Soon enough, Yang Hao spotted his opponents.
To be precise, it was more like a swarm of adversaries.
In the Outer Regions, Yang Hao had once slain a black magic beast, though it had been immature and relatively weak in combat power. The adult fire magic beast the young prince had killed during his coming-of-age ceremony had exceeded level ten in strength.
Now, Yang Hao faced creatures of similar might—magic beasts of various elemental attributes, each with a different appearance. Red, blue, and black in color, each stood over five meters tall, their skin as thick as armor, with teeth extending beyond their lips, gleaming menacingly. Each beast bore a warrior from the Beast-Heart Sword Sect atop its head. These warriors resembled beasts themselves, their upper bodies bare, their muscles grotesquely bulging.
But what truly left Yang Hao stunned wasn’t their appearance—it was the sheer number of beasts.
Over a hundred magic beasts had appeared all at once. This wasn’t a duel anymore—it was a massacre.
Even the crown prince in the stands frowned in disapproval.
Princess Xianlan, however, was brimming with excitement, her demeanor anything but regal.
“Dear older brother, the crown prince,” she exclaimed joyfully, “you wanted to see his strength, right? Now you can see it clearly!”
“We only wanted to assess his abilities—we never intended for him to die,” the crown prince replied.
“Anyone too weak to serve Father deserves to die,” Princess Xianlan muttered under her breath.
Yang Hao indeed faced serious trouble—huge trouble. His strength had surged dramatically, but he was still just a swordsman. Against such a massive horde of beasts, his body might not withstand the onslaught.
The cheers and waving white handkerchiefs from the stands had turned the arena into a sea of white.
Bista stood atop the largest black beast, its forehead embedded with a palm-sized green crystal. His face darkened as he drew the Beast-Heart Sword, raising it high while standing atop the beast.
The blade immediately turned red, emitting strange waves of energy. Yang Hao felt the bloodthirsty aura intensify, as if the red fruits were rotting and oozing blood.
Indeed, the Beast-Heart Sword had extracted the essence from the red fruits, enhancing the beasts’ strength. The green crystal on Bista’s beast glowed, and in an instant, all the beasts roared into a frenzy.
“Roar!!!” Bista bellowed, and the beasts’ collective roar formed a shockwave, crashing toward Yang Hao like a tidal wave.
Sound itself could be a weapon. This was the Beast-Heart Sword Sect’s signature technique. Against weaker armies, a roar from the beasts could be enough to kill opponents outright.
But today, they faced Yang Hao. Amid the sonic onslaught, he remained unmoved—his hair was the only thing disturbed by the foul gusts.
“Damn it!” Yang Hao raised his middle finger in frustration. “What the hell did you feed these beasts, Bista? They stink like hell—don’t they know how to brush their teeth?”
The roar passed, and some spectators in the stands staggered, while those nearby even bled from their ears.
Yet, aside from a slight pallor, Yang Hao showed no other reaction. As the rumbling faded, he even chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s a roar? Pathetic. Let me show you what a real roar sounds like!”
Yang Hao raised a finger and gently stroked it.
It was the Dragon Roar Ring, one of the five divine rings bestowed by the gods. He had intended not to use it lightly, but with countless eyes watching, he had no choice but to display his strength or risk a bleak future.
As he stroked the ring, the air around him shimmered with a strange vibration, almost visible to the naked eye, like ripples spreading across water.
Then came a faint chirp, subtle yet brimming with fury hidden in the heavens.
The over a hundred beasts looked terrified, the frontmost ones instinctively retreating.
Those who can watch the beast fights here are either wealthy or noble, with countless hidden influences lurking among them. Everyone is eagerly anticipating whether Yang Hao truly possesses the strength as rumored—enough to turn the Ten Sword Sects upside down and even pose a threat to the Elder Council.
The surroundings fell silent. The gravitational field blocked out the wind and clouds, even dimming the sky slightly, leaving only the colossal arena brightly illuminated. Now, it truly appeared as a magnificent structure—aside from the spectator stands, the arena was purely a natural formation. Encircled by towering mountains with mirror-smooth cliffs, once an ordinary person descended into the arena, there was no way out except to fight to the death.
The grass on the field was peculiar as well. Though it looked like ordinary green weeds, each blade bore tiny red fruits no larger than a fingernail, emitting an intoxicating fragrance.
Yang Hao scanned the arena but saw no signs of any beasts lurking. The crown prince’s son had naturally retreated to safety long ago.
“Lord Yang Hao,” the crown prince beckoned him closer. “You must be careful. His Majesty plans to formally appoint you as a lord and noble in a few days.”
“If the young prince could slay a magical beast, I certainly won’t be afraid,” Yang Hao replied with confidence.
Perhaps recalling Yang Hao’s earlier assistance to his son, the crown prince offered a restrained warning: “The Beastheart Sword Sect is nothing like ordinary magical beasts. Each of the Ten Sword Sects has its own unique techniques, and the Beastheart Sword Sect specializes in controlling all beasts under the heavens.”
“Oh?” Yang Hao still didn’t grasp the severity.
The crown prince sighed. “The empire expands rapidly. Many untamed planets are plagued by monstrous creatures—some with power rivaling even sword masters or grand sword masters, causing the imperial army great suffering. The Beastheart Sword Sect is their natural nemesis. With them, the empire no longer fears the scourge of beasts.”
Yang Hao frowned, sensing trouble ahead.
“The men aren’t strong—the beasts are.” These were the crown prince’s final words.
With that, he had repaid his son’s debt of gratitude.
When Yang Hao re-entered the arena, he felt something was different.
At first glance, it had seemed like an ordinary grassy field. But stepping onto it now, an inexplicable bloodlust surged within him.
Yang Hao looked up at the spectator stands. Bista still stood motionless, seemingly unwilling to engage personally. Yet, he had already drawn the Beastheart Sword, raising it high into the air. The blade, adorned with beastly engravings, glowed faintly red.
Yang Hao felt a wave of nausea, a metallic taste of blood rising in his throat.
“The red fruits are tainted,” Hunyuanzi, a master of herbalism, observed. “The Beastheart Sword can draw out their bloodthirsty essence. This scent drives beasts into a frenzy, amplifying their lethality.”
“Not a problem. Let’s see what happens,” Yang Hao replied, undaunted. After all, he had slain magical beasts before. Even if ten came at him, he could handle them easily.
But if the Beastheart Sword Sect—one of the Ten Sword Sects—were this simple, how could they hold their ground in the empire? Their mentor, an Elder Council member, was an exceptionally formidable figure.
Soon, Yang Hao saw his opponents.
Or rather, a horde of them.
During his time in the outer territories, Yang Hao had killed a juvenile Blackbeast, which wasn’t particularly powerful. The adult Firebeast slain by the young prince during his coming-of-age ceremony had surpassed Level 10 in strength.
Now, Yang Hao faced similar beasts—each with different attributes, giving them distinct appearances: red, blue, and black. Towering over five meters tall, their hides were as thick as armor, their fangs protruding menacingly from their lips. On each beast’s head stood a warrior from the Beastheart Sword Sect—half-naked, their muscles grotesquely bulging, resembling beasts themselves.
But what left Yang Hao stunned wasn’t their appearance—it was their sheer numbers.
Over a hundred beasts had emerged at once. This wasn’t a duel—it was a massacre.
Even the crown prince on the spectator stands frowned in disapproval, sighing deeply.
Princess Xianlan, however, was ecstatic, her excitement unbefitting of royalty.
“Dear brother, didn’t you want to see his true strength? Now you’ll witness it firsthand.”
“We merely wished to assess him, not see him die,” the crown prince said.
“Those without sufficient strength to serve Father might as well perish,” Princess Xianlan muttered through gritted teeth.
Yang Hao was indeed in trouble—serious trouble. Though his skills had advanced rapidly, his swordsmanship alone might not withstand the onslaught of so many beasts.
The cheers and waving white handkerchiefs from the stands had turned the spectator area into a sea of white.
Bista stood atop the largest Blackbeast, its forehead embedded with a palm-sized green crystal. His face darkened as he raised the Beastheart Sword high and swung it forcefully.
The blade glowed crimson, emitting strange waves of power. The scent of bloodlust thickened around Yang Hao, as if the red fruits had begun rotting, oozing crimson blood.
The Beastheart Sword indeed amplified the beasts’ power by drawing out the fruits’ essence. The Blackbeast’s crystal pulsed with green light, and in an instant, all the beasts roared skyward.
“ROAR!!!” Bista bellowed, and the beasts’ combined voices formed a shockwave, crashing toward Yang Hao like a tidal wave.
Sound as a weapon—this was the Beastheart Sword Sect’s signature. Against weaker armies, the sonic assault alone could kill.
But today, they faced Yang Hao. He stood unshaken, only his hair ruffled by the stench-laden shockwave.
“Damn it!” Yang Hao flipped the bird and cursed. “Bista, what the hell did you feed these beasts? They reek! Ever heard of brushing teeth?”
The roar left even some spectators reeling, their ears bleeding from the force.
Yet Yang Hao merely paled slightly before shaking his head with a smirk. “That’s a roar? Pathetic. Let me show you what a real roar sounds like!”
He raised a finger and gently stroked it.
That finger bore the Dragon’s Roar Ring—one of the five divine rings bestowed by the gods. He hadn’t planned to use it recklessly, but with countless eyes on him today, he had to demonstrate his strength to secure his future.
As he touched the ring, the air around him rippled visibly, like water disturbed by a stone.
Then, a faint but unmistakable sound emerged—a whisper carrying the fury of the heavens.
The hundred-plus beasts froze in terror, the front rows instinctively backing away.
Suddenly, a clear, piercing cry erupted—a dragon’s roar capable of splitting metal and stone, exploding midair with boundless draconic might.
The beasts didn’t dare move, trembling uncontrollably. No matter how Bista brandished the Beastheart Sword, he couldn’t rally them.
Yang Hao gazed at the sky, now overcast with thunder rumbling like celestial war chariots.
A true dragon’s roar—one that shook the earth, rattled mountains, and dimmed the sun—finally cascaded from above.
When this divine wrath-like roar resounded, everyone present momentarily lost their hearing. The circular stands trembled violently, the weaker civilian sections collapsing as alloy plates—strong enough for spacecraft—shattered. Thousands plummeted, saved only by the anti-gravity fields below.
The beasts directly facing the roar fared far worse.
Dragons were the kings of all beasts—divine beings in their own right. The draconic fury within the Dragon’s Roar Ring was something no beast could endure.
The first ten beasts were torn apart by the hurricane-like roar, their flesh obliterated, leaving only their cores scattered aside. Dozens more had their hides stripped away, blackened flesh bleeding profusely, their heads exploding gruesomely.
Even the outermost hundred beasts—farther from the roar’s epicenter—had their bones shattered, kneeling with blood streaming from their eyes and ears, trembling uncontrollably.
The entire beast legion was effectively annihilated.
To outsiders, Yang Hao had merely stroked his finger.
Bista stood dumbfounded. His mount, on the periphery, was least affected but could barely move. As the Beastheart Sword Sect’s leader, he had full confidence in his forces. He knew Yang Hao was strong—but never imagined this strong.
Without lifting a finger, Yang Hao had summoned a dragon’s roar—and not just any dragon’s, but a Black Dragon’s, the mightiest of all. This surpassed human capability. Was Yang Hao’s true power far beyond what he’d shown?
Bista’s heart ached unbearably. This beast legion had taken the sect a decade to assemble from across the cosmos—their strongest assets, his pride.
And now, obliterated in one strike.
He had to retaliate. No matter what, Yang Hao couldn’t leave alive today. If he walked out unscathed, the Beastheart Sword Sect was finished—disgraced, abandoned even by the Elder Council, who had no use for failures.
“You’d never guess… I have one last move.” The thought soothed Bista’s pain, replacing it with anticipation for what Yang Hao would soon face.
Among the Ten Sword Sects, the Beastheart Sword Sect ranked higher than even the Lightblade Sect. Bista’s enduring position wasn’t just due to surface-level strength.
His true trump card had always remained hidden—known to only a handful in the empire, not even the other sects. It could only be unleashed under orders from the Elder Council or the emperor.
And moments ago, Princess Xianlan had given the command: go all out.
So Bista could act without restraint. Yang Hao was doomed—utterly doomed. His death would justify today’s losses, even elevate Bista’s status further.
Thus, he stood tall once more, raising the Beastheart Sword high, muttering an incantation under his breath.
As Bista chanted, Yang Hao noticed something odd.
He knew today’s events wouldn’t end simply.
On the surface, this was just an arena duel. But in truth, it was a political tug-of-war between factions centered around him. It felt surreal—ever since arriving on Earth, Yang Hao had sensed an unseen force aiding him. Thanks to them, neither the Ten Sword Sects nor the Elder Council had moved against him.
Even when he’d hung that defiant couplet, no one came knocking.
His enemies were the supreme Elder Council. Who dared oppose them covertly? And why?
Yang Hao needed to know who backed him—and their motives. To survive today, he had to win. This confrontation was a test of strength between the Elder Council and that hidden faction, with Yang Hao and the Beastheart Sword Sect as proxies. If he lost, that support would vanish.
Who would back someone powerless?
Hence, Yang Hao had struck decisively, crippling the Beastheart Sword Sect’s foundation in one move.
Yet now, instead of relief, he felt a chill—as if unseen, murderous eyes watched him from the shadows, freezing him to the bone.
Following that gaze, his heart sank.
Far beyond the stands, a group observed the battle calmly. What horrified Yang Hao was that they, too, were beast riders—but unlike the Beastheart Sword Sect’s.
Snow-white hooves, jade-green eyes—these weren’t beasts, nor even ordinary creatures. Yang Hao stared in disbelief at these proud beings who’d appeared from nowhere.
This time, the beasts didn’t dare move at all. They stood frozen in terror, trembling uncontrollably, unable to respond no matter how Bista wielded the Beast-Heart Sword.
Yang Hao gazed at the sky. Dark clouds gathered, and thunder rumbled like celestial chariots rolling across the heavens.
Those who can watch the beast fights here are all either wealthy or noble, with countless hidden influences lurking among them. Each of them is eagerly anticipating whether Yang Hao truly possesses the strength as rumored—enough to turn the Ten Sword Sects upside down and even pose a threat to the Elder Council.
The surroundings fell silent. The gravitational field blocked out the wind and clouds, even dimming the sky slightly, leaving only the colossal arena brightly lit as before. Now, it truly appeared to be a magnificent structure. Apart from the spectator stands, the arena was a purely natural formation, surrounded by towering mountains with cliffs as smooth as mirrors. Once an ordinary person descended into the arena, there was no way out—only a fight to the death awaited.
The grass on the field grew peculiarly. Though it looked like ordinary green weeds, each blade bore tiny red fruits, no larger than a fingernail, emitting an intoxicating fragrance.
Yang Hao scanned the arena, but there seemed to be no beasts lurking about. The crown prince’s son had naturally retreated to safety long ago.
“Lord Yang Hao,” the crown prince beckoned him closer. “You must be careful. His Majesty the Emperor plans to officially confer upon you the titles of lord and noble in a few days.”
“If the young prince could slay a magical beast, I certainly won’t be afraid,” Yang Hao replied with confidence.
Perhaps recalling Yang Hao’s earlier assistance to his son, the crown prince offered a subtle warning: “The Beastheart Sword Sect is unlike ordinary magical beasts. Each of the Ten Sword Sects possesses unique techniques, and the Beastheart Sword Sect specializes in taming all beasts under heaven.”
“Oh?” Yang Hao didn’t yet grasp the severity.
The crown prince sighed. “The empire has expanded rapidly. Many untamed planets are plagued by monstrous creatures, some with power rivaling that of sword masters or even grand sword masters, causing great losses to the imperial army. The Beastheart Sword Sect is their natural nemesis. With them, the empire no longer fears the scourge of beasts.”
Yang Hao frowned, sensing trouble ahead.
“The men aren’t formidable—it’s the beasts that are.” These were the crown prince’s final words.
With that, he had repaid his son’s debt of gratitude.
When Yang Hao re-entered the arena, he felt something was different.
At first, it had seemed like an ordinary grassy field, but stepping onto it now, an inexplicable bloodlust surged within him.
Yang Hao glanced up at the spectator stands. Bista was still standing there, seemingly unwilling to engage personally, though he had already drawn the Beastheart Sword. Held high, the sword, adorned with beastly engravings, glowed faintly red.
Yang Hao felt a wave of nausea, a metallic taste of blood rising in his throat.
“The red fruits are tainted,” Hunyuanzi, a master of herbalism, observed. “The Beastheart Sword can draw out their bloodthirsty essence. It should drive the beasts into a frenzy, enhancing their lethality.”
“Not a problem. Let’s see what happens,” Yang Hao replied, undaunted. After all, he had slain magical beasts before. Even if ten came at him, he could handle them easily.
But if the Beastheart Sword Sect—one of the Ten Sword Sects—were this simple, how could they hold their ground in the empire? Their mentor, an Elder Council member, was an exceptionally formidable figure.
Soon, Yang Hao saw his opponents.
To be precise, it was a horde of opponents.
During his time in the outer regions, Yang Hao had killed a juvenile black magical beast, which hadn’t been particularly powerful. The fire beast slain by the young prince during his coming-of-age ceremony, however, had been fully grown, surpassing level ten in strength.
Now, Yang Hao faced beasts of similar caliber—red, blue, and black, each standing over five meters tall, their hides thick as armor, teeth protruding menacingly from their lips. On the head of each beast stood a warrior from the Beastheart Sword Sect, their appearances almost bestial, bare-chested with terrifyingly bulging muscles.
But what left Yang Hao stunned wasn’t their appearance—it was their sheer numbers.
Over a hundred beasts had appeared at once. This wasn’t a duel—it was an outright brawl.
Even the crown prince in the stands frowned and sighed in disapproval.
Princess Xianlan, however, was ecstatic, her excitement unbefitting of royalty.
“Dear brother, didn’t you want to see his true strength? Now you’ll see it clearly.”
“We merely wished to assess him, not to see him die,” the crown prince said.
“Those without sufficient strength to serve the emperor are better off dead,” Princess Xianlan muttered through gritted teeth.
Yang Hao was indeed in trouble—big trouble. Though his skills had advanced rapidly, his swordsmanship alone might not withstand the onslaught of so many beasts.
The cheers and waving white handkerchiefs from the stands had turned the spectator area into a sea of white.
Bista stood atop the largest black beast, its forehead embedded with a palm-sized green crystal. His face darkened as he raised the Beastheart Sword high and swung it forcefully.
The sword glowed red, emitting strange waves of power. Yang Hao sensed the bloodlust around him intensifying, as if the red fruits were rotting and oozing blood.
The Beastheart Sword truly could amplify the beasts’ power by drawing out the fruits’ essence. The green crystal on Bista’s black beast pulsed with light, and in unison, all the beasts roared skyward.
“ROAR!!!” Bista bellowed, and the beasts’ combined voices formed a shockwave, crashing toward Yang Hao like a tidal wave.
Sound could be a weapon—a signature technique of the Beastheart Sword Sect. Against weaker armies, the sonic assault alone could kill.
But today, they faced Yang Hao. He stood motionless amidst the deafening roar, only his hair ruffled by the stench-laden shockwave.
“Damn it!” Yang Hao flipped the bird and cursed. “Damn you, Bista! What the hell did you feed these beasts? It reeks! Ever heard of brushing teeth?”
The roar left some spectators reeling, their ears bleeding from the sheer force.
Yet Yang Hao merely paled slightly before shaking his head with a smirk. “That’s a roar? Pathetic. Let me show you what a real roar sounds like!”
He raised a finger and gently stroked it.
That finger bore the Dragon’s Roar Ring—one of the five divine rings bestowed by the gods. He had hesitated to use it again, but with countless eyes watching today, he had no choice but to display his strength.
As he touched the ring, the air around him rippled visibly, like water disturbed by a stone.
Then, a faint cry emerged—soft yet brimming with celestial fury.
The hundred-plus beasts froze in terror, the front rows instinctively backing away.
Suddenly, a clear, piercing dragon’s cry erupted, shattering the air with its overwhelming might.
The beasts trembled uncontrollably, paralyzed despite Bista’s desperate attempts to command them.
Yang Hao gazed skyward, where dark clouds gathered, thunder rumbling like celestial chariots.
A true dragon’s roar—one that shook heaven and earth, dimmed the sun and moon—finally cascaded from the skies.
As the divine roar echoed, everyone present momentarily lost their hearing. The circular stands trembled violently, the weaker civilian sections collapsing entirely. Thousands plummeted, saved only by the anti-gravity fields below.
The beasts bore the brunt of the roar.
Dragons were the kings of all beasts, their divine wrath unbearable to any creature.
The first ten beasts were torn apart, their flesh obliterated, leaving only their cores scattered. Dozens more had their hides shredded, blood gushing from their exposed flesh. Several beasts’ heads exploded gruesomely.
Even the outermost hundred beasts, though farther from the epicenter, had their bones shattered, kneeling with blood streaming from their eyes and ears.
The entire beast legion was decimated in an instant.
To outsiders, Yang Hao had merely stroked his finger.
Bista stood dumbfounded. His mount, on the periphery, was least affected but could barely move. Trembling, he realized his worst fears—Yang Hao’s power far exceeded expectations.
Summoning a dragon’s roar effortlessly, let alone that of the mightiest black dragon, was beyond human capability. Had Yang Hao been hiding his true strength all along?
Bista’s heart ached. The beast legion had taken the Beastheart Sword Sect a decade to assemble—their pride and foundation. Now, it lay in ruins.
He had to retaliate. If Yang Hao left the arena unscathed, the Beastheart Sword Sect would be finished, abandoned even by the Elder Council—who had no use for failures.
“You’ll never guess—I still have one last move.” The thought soothed Bista’s pain, filling him with anticipation for Yang Hao’s impending doom.
The Beastheart Sword Sect ranked higher among the Ten Sword Sects than even the Light Sword Sect. Bista’s survival wasn’t due to mere luck—he had a hidden trump card, known to few in the empire, even among the other sects.
This ultimate weapon could only be unleashed under orders from the Elder Council or the emperor.
And Princess Xianlan had just given the command: “Go all out.”
With that, Bista’s heart settled. Yang Hao was as good as dead. His death would justify today’s losses, securing Bista’s rise in status.
Rallying, Bista raised the Beastheart Sword again, chanting an incantation under his breath.
As the chant began, Yang Hao noticed something odd.
He knew today’s events wouldn’t end simply.
On the surface, it was just an arena duel. But in truth, it was a political tug-of-war centered around him.
Since arriving on Earth, Yang Hao had sensed an unseen force aiding him—one that kept the Ten Sword Sects and the Elder Council at bay.
Even his audacious defiance of the Elder Council had gone unchallenged.
Who dared oppose the supreme Elder Council? And why?
Yang Hao needed answers. To survive, he had to win today. This was a test—a contest between the Elder Council and a hidden power, with Yang Hao and the Beastheart Sword Sect as proxies.
Losing meant losing that support.
No one backed the powerless.
Thus, Yang Hao had struck decisively, crippling the Beastheart Sword Sect in one move.
Yet instead of relief, a chill ran down his spine—as if unseen, murderous eyes watched from the shadows.
Following the sensation, Yang Hao’s heart sank.
Far beyond the stands, a group of riders observed the battle calmly.
But these were no ordinary beast riders.
Their mounts had snow-white hooves and emerald-green eyes—not beasts, but creatures of elegance and pride.
Yang Hao stared, bewildered, as these majestic beings approached from nowhere.
As for the beasts directly facing the dragon roar, their fate was even more gruesome.
The dragon was the king of all beasts in this world, the divine sovereign of creatures.
Those who can watch the beast fights here are all wealthy or noble, with countless hidden forces lurking among them. Everyone is eagerly anticipating whether Yang Hao truly possesses the strength as rumored—enough to turn the Ten Sword Schools upside down and even pose a threat to the Elder Council.
The surroundings have fallen silent. The gravitational field blocks out the wind and clouds, even dimming the sky slightly, leaving only the colossal arena brightly illuminated. Now, it truly appears as a magnificent structure—apart from the spectator stands, the arena is a purely natural formation. Encircled by towering mountains with cliffs as smooth as mirrors, an ordinary person who steps into the arena would never make it out alive, forced to fight to the death.
The grass on the field is bizarre as well. Though it appears as ordinary green weeds, each blade bears tiny red fruits no larger than a fingernail, emitting an intoxicating fragrance.
Yang Hao scanned the arena, but there seemed to be no beasts lurking about. The crown prince’s son had naturally retreated to safety long ago.
“Lord Yang Hao.” The crown prince beckoned him closer. “You must be careful. His Majesty plans to officially appoint you as a lord and noble in a few days.”
“If the young prince could slay a demonic beast, I certainly won’t be afraid,” Yang Hao replied with confidence.
Perhaps recalling that Yang Hao had once helped his son, the crown prince offered a restrained warning: “The Beastheart Sword Sect is nothing like ordinary demonic beasts. Each of the Ten Sword Schools has its own unique techniques, and the Beastheart Sword Sect’s specialty is controlling all beasts under heaven.”
“Oh?” Yang Hao still didn’t grasp the severity.
The crown prince sighed. “The empire has expanded rapidly. Many untamed planets are plagued by monstrous creatures, some with power comparable to sword masters or even grand sword masters, causing great losses to the imperial army. The Beastheart Sword Sect is their natural nemesis. With them, the empire no longer fears the scourge of beasts.”
Yang Hao frowned, now sensing trouble.
“The men aren’t strong—it’s the beasts that are.” These were the crown prince’s final words.
With that, he had repaid his son’s debt of gratitude.
When Yang Hao re-entered the arena, he felt something was different.
At first, it had seemed like an ordinary grassy field, but stepping onto it again, an inexplicable bloodlust surged within him.
Yang Hao glanced toward the spectator stands. Bista was still standing motionless, seemingly unwilling to engage personally, though he had already drawn the Beastheart Sword. Holding it high, the blade, adorned with beastly engravings, glowed faintly red.
Yang Hao felt a wave of nausea, a metallic taste rising in his throat.
“The red fruits are tainted,” Hunyuanzi, a master of herbalism, observed. “The Beastheart Sword can draw out their bloodthirsty essence. This scent drives beasts into a frenzy, amplifying their lethality.”
“Not a problem. Let’s see what happens,” Yang Hao replied, unfazed. After all, he had slain demonic beasts before. Upon arriving, he had even witnessed the young prince kill one—though stronger than average, even ten of them wouldn’t pose a challenge.
But if the Beastheart Sword Sect, one of the Ten Sword Schools, were truly this simple, how could they hold their ground in the empire? Their mentor, an Elder Council member, was an exceptionally formidable figure.
Soon, Yang Hao saw his opponents.
To be precise, it was a horde of them.
During his time in the outer territories, Yang Hao had killed a juvenile black demonic beast, which wasn’t particularly powerful. The one slain by the young prince during his coming-of-age ceremony, however, was an adult fire demonic beast, surpassing level ten in strength.
Now, Yang Hao faced beasts of similar caliber—varying in attributes, each with distinct appearances: red, blue, and black. Towering over five meters tall, their hides were as thick as armor, their fangs protruding menacingly from their lips. On each beast’s head stood a warrior from the sect, their half-naked bodies rippling with terrifying muscle, resembling beasts themselves.
But what left Yang Hao dumbfounded wasn’t their appearance—it was their sheer numbers.
Over a hundred demonic beasts had appeared at once. This wasn’t a duel—it was an outright brawl.
Even the crown prince in the stands frowned in disapproval, sighing repeatedly.
Princess Xianlan, however, was ecstatic, her excitement unbefitting of royalty:
“Dear brother, didn’t you want to see his true strength? Now you’ll witness it firsthand.”
“We merely wished to assess him, not see him die,” the crown prince said.
“Those without the strength to serve our father might as well perish,” Princess Xianlan muttered through gritted teeth.
Yang Hao was indeed in trouble—serious trouble. Though his skills had advanced rapidly, his swordsmanship alone might not withstand the onslaught of so many beasts.
The cheers and waving white handkerchiefs from the stands had turned the spectator area into a sea of white.
Bista stood atop the largest black demonic beast, its forehead embedded with a palm-sized green crystal. His face darkened as he raised the Beastheart Sword high and swung it downward.
The blade instantly turned crimson, emitting a strange energy. Yang Hao sensed the bloodlust in the air intensifying, as if the red fruits were rotting and bleeding.
The Beastheart Sword truly could unleash the fruits’ essence, amplifying the beasts’ power. The black beast beneath Bista pulsed with green light from its crystal, and in an instant, all the demonic beasts roared skyward.
“ROAR!!!” Bista bellowed, the beasts’ voices merging into a shockwave that crashed toward Yang Hao like a tidal wave.
Sound as a weapon—this was the Beastheart Sword Sect’s signature. Against weaker armies, the sonic assault alone could shatter eardrums and kill.
But today, they faced Yang Hao. He stood unshaken, only his hair ruffled by the stench-laden shockwave.
“Damn it!” Yang Hao flipped the bird and cursed. “Damn you, Bista! What the hell did you feed these beasts? It reeks! Ever heard of brushing their teeth?”
The roar left even some spectators disoriented, those closest bleeding from their ears.
Yet Yang Hao merely paled slightly before shaking his head with a smirk. “That’s a roar? Pathetic. Let me show you what a real one sounds like!”
He raised a finger and gently stroked it.
That finger bore the Dragon’s Roar Ring, one of five divine rings bestowed by the gods. He had intended to use it sparingly, but with countless eyes on him today, he had no choice but to display his strength—or risk losing credibility.
As his finger brushed the ring, the air around him rippled visibly, like water disturbed by a stone.
Then, a faint cry emerged—soft, yet brimming with celestial fury.
The hundred-odd demonic beasts froze in terror, the front rows instinctively retreating.
Suddenly, a clear, resonant roar erupted—a sound capable of splitting metal and stone, as if thunder had cracked the heavens. The sheer draconic majesty of it was overwhelming.
The beasts didn’t dare move, trembling uncontrollably. No matter how Bista brandished the Beastheart Sword, he couldn’t rouse them again.
Yang Hao gazed at the sky, now thick with storm clouds, thunder rumbling like celestial chariots.
Then, a true dragon’s roar—one that shook the earth, rattled mountains, and dimmed the sun—poured from the heavens.
The moment that godlike roar resounded, everyone present found themselves temporarily deafened. The circular stands trembled violently, the weaker civilian sections collapsing entirely. Alloy plates sturdy enough for spacecraft shattered, sending thousands plummeting. Fortunately, anti-gravity devices cushioned their fall, preventing mass casualties.
The beasts directly facing the roar fared far worse.
Dragons were the sovereigns of all beasts, their very essence divine. The draconic wrath channeled through the ring was something no beast could endure.
The first ten beasts were torn apart, their flesh disintegrating, leaving only their cores scattered. Dozens more had their hides stripped away, blackened flesh bleeding profusely, their heads exploding gruesomely.
Even the outermost hundred beasts, though farther from the epicenter, had their bones shattered, kneeling with blood streaming from their eyes and ears, trembling uncontrollably.
The entire demonic beast legion had been crippled in an instant.
To outsiders, it seemed Yang Hao had merely stroked his finger.
Bista stood dumbfounded. His mount, being farthest, suffered the least damage but could barely move. As the Beastheart Sword Sect’s leader, he had been confident in his forces. Though he knew Yang Hao was strong, he never imagined this level of power.
Summoning a dragon’s roar—especially one as devastating as a black dragon’s—without lifting a finger? This surpassed human capability. Was Yang Hao’s true strength far beyond what he’d shown?
Bista’s heart ached unbearably. This beast legion had taken the sect a decade to gather from across the cosmos—their pride, their foundation.
And now, obliterated in a single strike.
He had to retaliate. Bista resolved that Yang Hao would not leave this arena alive. If he did, the Beastheart Sword Sect would be finished—discarded even by the Elder Council, who had no use for failures.
“You’d never guess… I still have one last move.” The thought soothed Bista’s pain, even sparking anticipation for what Yang Hao would soon face.
Among the Ten Sword Schools, the Beastheart Sword Sect ranked higher than even the Light Sword Sect. Bista’s enduring reign wasn’t built on surface-level strength alone.
His true trump card had always remained hidden, known to only a handful in the empire—not even the other sword schools were aware. It could only be unleashed under orders from the Elder Council or the emperor.
And moments ago, Princess Xianlan had given the command: *Go all out.*
So Bista could act without restraint. Yang Hao was doomed. His death would justify today’s losses, even elevate Bista’s status further.
Thus, he rallied, raising the Beastheart Sword high, muttering an incantation under his breath.
As Bista chanted, Yang Hao noticed something peculiar.
He knew today’s events wouldn’t end simply.
On the surface, this was just an arena duel. But in truth, it was a political tug-of-war between factions centered around him. It was a strange sensation. Since arriving on Earth, Yang Hao had sensed an unseen force aiding him. It was this force’s influence that kept the Ten Sword Schools and the Elder Council at bay.
Even when he’d hung that defiant couplet, no one had come for retribution.
His enemy was the supreme Elder Council. Who, then, dared oppose them in secret? And why?
Yang Hao needed to know who was helping him—and to what end. To survive today, he had to win. This confrontation was a test of strength between the Elder Council and that hidden force, with Yang Hao and the Beastheart Sword Sect as proxies. If Yang Hao lost, his backers would abandon him.
Who would support a powerless man?
That was why he’d struck decisively, crippling the Beastheart Sword Sect’s foundation in one move.
Yet now, instead of relief, Yang Hao felt a chill—as if unseen, murderous eyes were boring into him, freezing his veins.
Following that sensation, his heart sank.
Far beyond the stands, a group of riders watched calmly. What unsettled Yang Hao most was their mounts—beast riders, yet entirely different from the Beastheart Sword Sect’s.
Snow-white hooves, emerald-bright eyes—these were no demonic beasts. They couldn’t even be called mere beasts. Yang Hao stared, bewildered, at these proud creatures that had appeared from nowhere.
The ten beasts at the forefront were torn to shreds by the hurricane-like dragon roar. Even their flesh and blood were annihilated, leaving only their cores scattered on the ground. The dozens behind them had their tough hides ripped away by the roar, blood gushing from their black flesh. Several beasts’ heads exploded, a horrifying sight.
Even the outermost beasts, slightly farther from the epicenter, were not spared. Their bones shattered, they knelt on the ground, blood flowing from their eyes and ears, trembling uncontrollably.
The entire beast army was utterly annihilated.
To the spectators, it seemed as though Yang Hao had merely stroked his finger.
Bista stood frozen. His mount, positioned at the outermost edge, had sustained the least damage but was still barely able to move. Trembling all over, Bista, as the leader of the Beast-Heart Sword Sect, had always had full confidence in his sect. Though he knew Yang Hao was formidable, he had never imagined such overwhelming power.
Without lifting a finger, Yang Hao had summoned a world-shaking dragon roar—moreover, it seemed to be the roar of a black dragon, the most powerful of all. This was beyond human capability. Could Yang Hao’s true strength far exceed what he had displayed?
The pain in Bista’s heart was indescribable. This beast legion had taken the Beast-Heart Sword Sect ten years to gather from every corner of the universe. It represented their greatest strength, their very foundation.
And now, it had been destroyed in a single strike.
He wanted revenge. Bista resolved that no matter what, Yang Hao would not leave this arena alive today. If Yang Hao emerged unscathed, the entire Beast-Heart Sword Sect would collapse, and even the Elder Council would no longer support them—they had no use for failures.
“You can’t imagine I still have one final move,” Bista thought. His heart immediately calmed, even filled with anticipation for what Yang Hao was about to face.
The Beast-Heart Sword Sect held a higher status among the Ten Sword Sects than even the Light Sword Sect. Bista’s continued dominance as the wielder of the Beast-Heart Sword was not merely due to his surface-level strength.
His ultimate secret technique had always remained hidden, known only to a handful in the entire Empire, even unknown to the other sects of the Ten Sword Sects. This ultimate technique could only be unleashed upon orders from the Elder Council and the Emperor himself.
Just now, Princess Xianlan had issued the command to use full force.
Therefore, Bista could now relax. For Yang Hao was as good as dead. As long as Yang Hao perished, all today’s losses would be justified and recoverable, and Bista’s status would rise even further.
Thus, he stood bravely once more, raising the Beast-Heart Sword high, muttering incantations under his breath.
As Bista began chanting, Yang Hao also noticed something strange.
Of course, Yang Hao knew this wouldn’t end so simply.
It was supposed to be just a duel in the colosseum. Yet, in reality, it was a political struggle among several factions centered around himself. It was a peculiar sensation. Ever since arriving on Earth, Yang Hao had sensed a hidden force aiding him. It was precisely this force that had kept the Ten Sword Sects and the Elder Council at bay.
Even when Yang Hao had provocatively displayed that audacious couplet, no one had dared to confront him.
After all, his enemies were the supreme Elder Council. Who could dare oppose the Elder Council in secret? And why were they helping him?
Yang Hao needed to know who was aiding him and for what purpose. That was why he had to win today, to survive. Today’s battle was a contest between the Elder Council and another hidden force, with Yang Hao and the Beast-Heart Sword Sect as the opposing arms. If Yang Hao lost, that hidden force would abandon him.
Who would support a powerless man?
Precisely for this reason, Yang Hao had unleashed his thunderous might, annihilating the Beast-Heart Sword Sect’s foundation in a single strike.
Yet now, Yang Hao did not feel relieved. Instead, a chill crept over him. It was as if several murderous gazes were locked onto him from the darkness, piercing through his entire being, leaving him icy cold.
Following the source of that chill, Yang Hao’s heart sank.
Far in the sky, beyond even the spectator stands, a group of figures calmly observed the battle. And what made Yang Hao’s heart sink further was that this group was also beast riders.
However, they were entirely different from the Beast-Heart Sword Sect.
Their steeds’ hooves were whiter than snow, their eyes bright as emeralds. These were certainly not magic beasts, nor could they even be described as beasts. Yang Hao gazed in stunned awe at the proud, mysterious creatures drifting in from who knew where.
If one had to describe these creatures, they would resemble lions, but over twice their size, with pure white fur as immaculate as fresh snow. On each of these lions’ heads was a silver, single horn radiating a holy glow.
“Amazing,” Yang Hao sincerely marveled. These lions exuded a very pure energy, completely different from the power cultivated by humans.
If one were to truly describe these creatures, they would resemble lions in form but stand more than twice as tall, with pure white fur as pristine as snow. On each of these lions’ heads was a silver horn that shimmered with a holy radiance.
“Impressive,” Yang Hao couldn’t help but marvel. These lions exuded an incredibly pure energy, entirely different from the cultivated power of humans.
Mounted on each lion was a knight, the foremost of whom was particularly striking. Clad in pure white armor and a white war helmet, a cascade of silver hair flowed from beneath the helmet. This knight wielded a silver spear—a weapon rarely seen in the empire, and only the most skilled dared to use it.
The group of six were all formidable warriors. With just a glance, Yang Hao could tell that at least five of them surpassed the combat strength of a Sword Master, while the leader… actually exceeded that of a Great Sword Master, coming dangerously close to a Sword Saint.
Weren’t there only three Sword Saints in the Galactic Empire?
Yet, in just a few days, Yang Hao had encountered several quasi-Sword Saints. Just how many hidden forces existed within this empire?
If those six White Lion Knights were enemies Yang Hao had to face immediately, he would have no choice but to flee—better to escape than to die.
“The Snow Night Star Lion Corps has arrived,” Princess Xianlan gasped from the spectator stands.
She had been immersed in shock ever since Yang Hao summoned the Dragon’s Roar and annihilated the Beast Corps in a single strike. Her face had paled, and her eyes betrayed a complex mix of emotions.
“They’re just here to observe,” the Crown Prince said with a pleased smile. “To see just how powerful Yang Hao is. The Snow Night Star Lion Corps only obeys the Emperor’s orders—they won’t act recklessly.”
“Brother, it seems you’ve won,” Xianlan said, slowly regaining her composure.
“Let’s wait and see,” the Crown Prince replied, glancing at her with slight unease. “Allowing Bista to wield that power was far too bold.”
“I did it for Father’s sake,” Xianlan said impassively.
“Hmph!” The Crown Prince snorted. “Don’t kill Yang Hao. I have use for him.”
Xianlan nodded and gestured to Bista.
The gesture meant: Teach him a lesson, but don’t kill him.
To those privy to the conspiracy, it seemed Yang Hao was already doomed—whether he lived or died was entirely in their hands.
Or rather, in Bista’s hands.
And Bista’s Beastheart Sword was radiating black fury. What kind of power was he about to summon?
Soon, a sound descended from the dark clouds above.
At the noise, the spectators who had just climbed back into their seats nearly tumbled out again in terror.
Yang Hao’s eyes widened in disbelief—he could barely breathe.
What emerged from the clouds was utterly staggering, something that made his heart race so violently it felt like it might explode.
The stands erupted in chaos. Those with heart conditions or high blood pressure collapsed en masse. Fortunately, the empire had a vast population—a few deaths were hardly a concern.
Those who remained alive fell to their knees, kowtowing to the beings that had appeared in the sky.
What creatures in this world could command such reverence from humanity, the so-called rulers of all things? What beings were worshipped as gods?
Yang Hao didn’t know of any others, but he was certain of one thing: facing these creatures would be far worse than battling the Snow Night Star Lion Corps.
At least against the lions, he stood a chance to escape. But against these beings? Death was the only possible outcome.
Because soaring through the sky, piercing the clouds again and again, and gazing coldly upon the masses below were…
Dragons.
Dragon’s Roar! Dragon’s Cry! Dragon’s Might!!
In an instant, the puny humans felt the overwhelming grandeur of the dragon race.
These were four small, pale-blue Windrider Dragons. But regardless of size, they belonged to one of the universe’s most formidable dark god races—the dragons. Among their kind, Windrider Dragons were among the weaker, but four appearing together was a force even Black Dragons wouldn’t dare underestimate.
Yang Hao had seen true Black Dragons in the divine realm—he had even nearly tricked a young one to its death. So he understood the power of dragons better than anyone.
A dragon’s roar could terrify beasts to death. Their breath was an immensely destructive force—even a touch could strip flesh from bone.
Their strength and bodies were indomitable. Their scales were impervious to blades; only divine weapons could pierce them.
In short, against a Sword Master, dragons were invincible—nearly flawless, with innate power that never waned.
What truly baffled Yang Hao was: How could the Beastheart Sword Corps possibly control dragons?
As kings among the dark gods, dragons possessed unimaginable pride. Any lesser race daring to look at them would face annihilation.
Yet now, atop each Windrider Dragon stood a Dragon Knight, riding them effortlessly through the sky without the slightest hint of rebellion.
But soon, Yang Hao figured it out—one of the few in the world who could.
When “that person” sealed the divine races’ power, all dragons were confined within barriers, ruling only their own domains. But some had remained outside, their strength reduced to a mere fraction of what it once was.
Though even a fraction was formidable, it was no longer divine. That was why these Windrider Dragons were subjugated by the Beastheart Sword.
But Yang Hao’s guess wasn’t the full truth—not even the Beastheart Sword Corps knew everything.
These four Windrider Dragons had indeed been weakened by divine seals, but even their diminished power was beyond human control. Dragons were too mighty, too proud.
To tame them, an Elder from the Senate led a hundred others in a desperate effort to engrave a new seal into the dragons’ minds.
But a dragon’s mental fortitude was one of their greatest weapons. The battle was brutal—over sixty Elders perished before the four dragons were finally subdued. It was the greatest loss the Senate had ever suffered.
The result? The empire’s military now wielded the power of four dragons.
The cost had been horrifying, so the Senate tightly controlled when the dragons were deployed.
So far, the dragons had been unleashed only twice—each time achieving unimaginable victories.
And today, their target was Yang Hao.
“Master, get out here!” Yang Hao called for Hunyuanzi. The old man had been unusually silent lately—so much so that Yang Hao had wondered if he was asleep.
But he knew Hunyuanzi was cultivating. Their shared body and core held distinct powers. Though Hunyuanzi couldn’t leave Yang Hao’s body, his strength as a loose immortal remained. He was learning to wield it without being hindered by Yang Hao’s form.
“Busy,” came Hunyuanzi’s odd reply. “I’m at a critical stage. Deal with it yourself.”
“Damn it! Do you not see? Dragons! Four of them!” Yang Hao wanted to drag Hunyuanzi out by the throat.
“What’s there to fear?” Hunyuanzi scoffed. “We nearly took down a Black Dragon. Why worry about four Windriders—especially ones with sealed power?”
“Bullshit!” Yang Hao flipped him off. That Black Dragon had fallen for a trick—without Yun Shang’s help, Yang Hao would’ve died.
This was different. These four dragons were trained killers, with riders controlling them. A single dive would be agony.
“Fine!” Yang Hao gritted his teeth, pulling a silver case from his belt. Inside were three pills—red, blue, and black. These were the Sword Pills he’d recently refined. The Merchant Guild had sent three crates of rare materials, yet only nine pills had been made. Each was priceless.
But life was worth more than wealth.
Yang Hao swallowed all three.
A strange sensation surged within him—three distinct energies intertwined in his dantian, forming a cosmic vastness. This inner universe faintly connected to the outer one, though Yang Hao sensed the planets of the galaxy had lost their original power. The link was one-sided.
As he absorbed the second-tier Sword Pill’s power, the four dragons dove.
Winds howled! The sun and moon dimmed!
The mere gusts from their wings shook the arena. Their roars carried crushing force, enough to pulverize a man.
But Yang Hao was gone.
When he reappeared, he was high in the sky—moving faster than ever, his speed reminiscent of the divine technique, Lightflow Shadowstep.
Indeed, it was Lightflow Shadowstep. His time in the divine realm, even bedding a goddess, had its perks.
Divine techniques were mostly innate—bestowed by the Creator. But some, like mortal arts, could be learned with the right methods.
Lightflow Shadowstep was an esoteric art, so complex that ordinary humans could never master it. Many speed-enhancing techniques—like Shrinking Earth or Flying Petal Phantom Steps—were derived from it.
Yang Hao hadn’t mastered it fully, but the goddess’s power lingered in him. She had helped refine his core, leaving traces of her energy.
So he could use a sliver of divine power.
Just enough to evade the dragons’ lethal strike.
Hovering above, Yang Hao watched as the four dragons halted mid-dive—any further, and they’d have collided, turning into bloody pulp.
Dragons were too noble for such mistakes. With a flap of their wings and a tap of their claws, explosions erupted before them, arresting their momentum.
But their riders weren’t so lucky—flung off by inertia, they were obliterated in the blasts.
The crowd erupted in cheers, waving white handkerchiefs wildly. To these nobles, the arena was just beasts and men killing each other. Death and bloodshed were all they craved.
Bista roared, and more Dragon Knights emerged, taking their places atop the Windriders.
Clearly, rider casualties were expected—the Beastheart Sword Corps always had spares.
The dragons, momentarily free, had barely lifted their heads when new riders mounted them, driving long spikes not at Yang Hao—but into the dragons’ necks.
Their weak spot: the reverse scale.
The dragons wailed, but their many seals left them helpless.
Now Yang Hao understood fully. These dragons weren’t just weakened by “that person’s” seal—their minds bore additional restraints, forcing obedience.
It was tragic.
Yang Hao knew the pride of dragons. As gods for eons, their might placed them atop the divine hierarchy. Even among gods, only Saan, the Dark Angel King, earned their slight respect—they barely acknowledged others like Yun Shang.
He remembered when Saan spread his wings in the divine realm—all dark gods knelt in reverence. The dragons merely nodded.
Yet now, this noble race was ridden by humans, their heads stepped on by those wielding nothing but sharp spikes.
It was a disgrace.
This group of six could indeed be considered masters. Yang Hao had only briefly glanced at them and already sensed that at least five of them had surpassed the strength of sword masters, while the leader had actually surpassed even the power of a grand sword master—she was very close to the level of a sword saint.
Wasn’t the Milky Way Empire only supposed to have three sword saints?
Yet in just a few days, Yang Hao had encountered several near-saint-level warriors. How many unknown forces were still hidden within this empire?
If those six White Lion Knights were his immediate enemies, Yang Hao would probably have turned and fled. After all, running away was better than dying.
“The Snow Night Star Lion Corps have arrived,” Princess Xianlan exclaimed in astonishment from the stands.
She had been immersed in shock the entire time. When Yang Hao summoned the dragon’s roar and instantly killed the beast squad, her face turned pale, and her eyes revealed a complex expression.
“They’re just here to observe,” the crown prince smiled, clearly in a good mood. “To see just how powerful Yang Hao really is. The Snow Night Star Lion Corps only obey the emperor’s commands and will never act recklessly.”
“Brother, it seems you’ve won,” Xianlan slowly regained her composure.
“Not yet,” the crown prince replied somewhat awkwardly, glancing at Xianlan. “You dared to allow Bista to use that power—it’s quite bold of you.”
“I did it for Father’s sake,” Xianlan remained expressionless.
“Hmph!” the crown prince snorted coldly. “Don’t kill Yang Hao. I still have use for him.”
Xianlan nodded and gestured to Bista.
The meaning of this gesture was clear: just teach him a lesson, don’t kill him.
In their eyes, those who understood the conspiracy, Yang Hao was already destined to lose, his life and death entirely in their grasp.
Or perhaps, entirely in Bista’s hands.
Bista’s Beast-Heart Sword was already radiating black fury. What kind of power was he about to summon?
Soon, a sound descended from the top of the dark clouds.
Hearing this sound, those spectators who had just climbed back into their seats after being shaken off nearly fell again in terror.
Yang Hao’s eyes widened more and more, and he could barely even breathe.
It was simply too shocking. What flew swiftly from the clouds was absolutely—absolutely heart-stopping.
The stands erupted into chaos. Those with heart conditions or high blood pressure collapsed in droves. Fortunately, the empire had a large population, so the deaths were not considered a major issue.
Those who survived the shock all knelt on the ground, bowing reverently toward the creatures appearing in the sky.
In this world, what kind of creature was worthy of worship by humanity—the crown of creation—and even revered like a god?
Yang Hao wasn’t sure about other creatures, but he clearly knew that facing these beings would be worse than fighting the Snow Night Star Lion Corps directly.
At least then he might have a chance to escape. But before these creatures, what other fate awaited him besides death?
Because now soaring through the sky, repeatedly piercing through the clouds and coldly gazing down at the crowd, were—
DRAGONS!!
If one were to truly describe these creatures, they would resemble lions in form but stand more than twice as tall, with pure white fur as pristine as snow. On each of these lions’ heads was a silver horn that shimmered with a holy radiance.
“Impressive,” Yang Hao couldn’t help but marvel. These lions exuded an incredibly pure energy, entirely different from the cultivated power of humans.
Mounted on each lion was a knight, with the one at the forefront being particularly striking. Clad in pure white armor and a white war helmet, long silver hair cascaded like a waterfall from beneath the helmet. This knight wielded a silver spear—a weapon rarely seen in the empire, and only the most skilled dared to use it.
The group of six were all formidable warriors. With just a glance, Yang Hao could tell that at least five of them surpassed the combat strength of a Sword Master, while the leader… the leader actually exceeded the power of a Grand Sword Master, coming dangerously close to that of a Sword Saint.
Weren’t there only three Sword Saints in the Galactic Empire?
Yet, in just a few days, Yang Hao had encountered several quasi-Sword Saints. Just how many hidden forces existed within this empire?
If those six white lion knights were enemies Yang Hao had to face immediately, he would have no choice but to flee. Running was far better than dying.
“The Snow Night Star Lion Corps has arrived,” Princess Xianlan gasped from the spectator stands.
She had been utterly stunned ever since Yang Hao summoned the dragon’s roar and annihilated the beast horde in a single strike. Her face had paled, and her eyes flickered with complex emotions.
“They’re just here to observe,” the Crown Prince said with a satisfied smile. “To see just how powerful Yang Hao is. The Snow Night Star Lion Corps only obeys the Emperor’s orders—they won’t act recklessly.”
“Brother, it seems you’ve won,” Xianlan said, gradually calming down.
“Let’s wait and see,” the Crown Prince replied, casting an uneasy glance at her. “Allowing Bista to wield that power was far too bold.”
“I did it for Father’s sake,” Xianlan said impassively.
“Hmph!” The Crown Prince snorted. “Don’t kill Yang Hao. I have use for him.”
Xianlan nodded and gestured to Bista.
The gesture meant: Teach him a lesson, but don’t kill him.
To those privy to the conspiracy, it seemed Yang Hao was already doomed—whether he lived or died was entirely in their hands.
Or rather, in Bista’s hands.
And Bista’s Beastheart Sword was radiating black fury. Just what kind of power was he about to summon?
Soon, a sound echoed from the depths of the dark clouds.
At the noise, the spectators who had just climbed back into their seats after being thrown off nearly tumbled down again in terror.
Yang Hao’s eyes widened in disbelief—he could barely breathe.
What emerged from the clouds was utterly staggering—something that made his heart race so violently it felt like it might explode.
The stands erupted in chaos. Those with heart conditions or high blood pressure collapsed on the spot. Fortunately, the empire had a vast population, so a few deaths weren’t a major concern.
Those who remained alive fell to their knees, kowtowing to the creatures that had appeared in the sky.
What beings in this world could command such reverence from humanity—even worship as gods?
Yang Hao didn’t know of any others, but he was certain of one thing: facing these creatures would be worse than fighting the Snow Night Star Lion Corps.
At least against them, he stood a chance to escape. But against these beings, death was the only possible outcome.
Because soaring through the sky, piercing the clouds repeatedly, and gazing coldly upon the world below were…
Dragons!
Dragon roars! Dragon cries! Dragon might!
In an instant, the insignificance of humanity was laid bare before the majesty of the dragon race.
These were four small, pale blue dragons. But regardless of size, they belonged to one of the universe’s most formidable dark god races—the dragons. Among their kind, the pale blue Windrunners were among the weaker, but four appearing together was a force even black dragons wouldn’t dare underestimate.
Yang Hao had seen true black dragons in the divine realm—even nearly tricked a young one to its death. So he understood the power of dragons better than anyone.
A dragon’s roar could instill terror in all beasts, even shattering them to death. Their breath was an overwhelmingly destructive force—mere contact could strip flesh from bone.
Their strength and bodies were indomitable. Their scales were impervious to blades; only divine weapons could cut through.
Against a Sword Master, dragons were invincible—nearly flawless, with innate power that never waned.
What truly baffled Yang Hao was how the Beastheart Sword Corps could possibly control dragons. As rulers among dark gods, their pride was unimaginable. Any lesser race daring to look at them would invite annihilation.
Yet now, atop each Windrunner’s head stood a dragon rider, guiding them through the skies without the slightest resistance from the dragons.
But soon, Yang Hao figured it out. Few in the world could grasp the reason—Yang Hao was undoubtedly one of them.
After “that person” sealed the divine power, all dragons were confined within barriers, ruling only within their prisons. But some had remained outside, their strength reduced to a mere fraction of what it once was.
Though even a fraction was formidable, it was no longer true divine power—which was why these Windrunners obeyed the Beastheart Sword’s commands.
But Yang Hao’s guess wasn’t the full truth. Even the Beastheart Sword Corps didn’t know everything.
These four Windrunners had indeed been weakened by divine seals, but even their diminished power was beyond human control. Dragons were too mighty, too proud.
To subdue them, an Elder from the Senate led a hundred others in a desperate effort to engrave a new seal into the dragons’ minds.
But a dragon’s mental fortitude was one of their greatest weapons. The battle was brutal—sixty Elders perished before the seals were complete. It was the Senate’s greatest loss since its founding.
The result? The imperial army now wielded the power of four dragons.
The cost of controlling these Windrunners was horrifying, so the Senate tightly restricted their deployment.
So far, the dragons had been unleashed only twice—each time achieving unimaginable victories.
Today, their target was Yang Hao.
“Master, get out here!” Yang Hao called for Hunyuanzi. Lately, the old man had been unusually silent—so much so that Yang Hao thought he might be asleep.
But he knew Hunyuanzi was cultivating. Their shared body and core held distinct powers. Though Hunyuanzi couldn’t leave Yang Hao’s body, his strength as a loose immortal remained. His current training focused on harnessing that power without being hindered by Yang Hao’s form.
“Busy,” came Hunyuanzi’s odd reply. “I’m at a critical stage. Deal with it yourself.”
“Damn it! Do you not see? Dragons! Four of them!” Yang Hao wanted to drag the old man out by his beard.
“Scared?” Hunyuanzi scoffed. “We nearly killed a black dragon together. Why fear four weakened Windrunners?”
“Bullshit!” Yang Hao flipped him off. That black dragon had fallen for a trick—and even then, without Yun Shang’s help, Yang Hao would’ve been obliterated.
This was different. These four dragons were clearly trained to kill, with riders guiding their every move. A single dive would be agony.
“Fine!” Yang Hao gritted his teeth, pulling a silver case from his belt. Inside were three pills—red, blue, and black. These were his recently refined Sword Pills. The Merchant Guild had delivered three crates of rare materials, yet only nine pills were made. Each was priceless.
But life was worth more than riches.
Yang Hao swallowed all three.
A strange sensation surged within him—three distinct energies intertwined in his dantian, forming a vast, cosmic force. This inner universe resonated faintly with the cosmos outside, though Yang Hao sensed the planets of the galaxy had lost their original power. The connection was one-sided.
As Yang Hao immersed himself in the second-tier Sword Pill’s power, the four dragons dove.
Winds howled! The sun and moon dimmed!
The mere gusts from their wings shook the arena. Their roars carried overwhelming pressure—enough to crush a man to pulp.
But Yang Hao was gone.
When he reappeared, he was high in the sky. His speed surpassed even his previous Flower Shadow Steps—almost resembling the divine technique, Lightstream Tread.
And it was.
Having spent so long in the divine realm—even bedding a goddess—had its perks.
Divine power was mostly innate, bestowed by the Creator. But some techniques, like mortal arts, could be learned with the right methods and incantations.
Lightstream Tread was one such arcane art—so complex that ordinary humans couldn’t master it. Many speed-enhancing techniques, like Earth Shrinking or Flower Shadow Steps, were derived from it.
Yang Hao hadn’t mastered it fully, but the goddess’s power lingered in him. Her body had helped refine his core, leaving traces of divine energy.
So he could muster a sliver of divine technique.
A sliver was enough to evade the dragons’ lethal strike.
Hovering high above, Yang Hao watched as the four dragons halted mid-dive. Had they not, they’d have collided, turning into bloody pulp.
Dragons were too noble for such blunders. With a flap of their wings and a tap of their claws, explosions erupted before them, arresting their momentum.
But their riders, caught by inertia, were flung into the blasts and obliterated.
“Whoa—!” The crowd erupted in cheers, waving white handkerchiefs wildly. To these nobles, the arena was just beasts and men fighting—winner or loser didn’t matter. Death and bloodshed were the real entertainment.
Bista bellowed, and more dragon riders emerged, taking their places atop the Windrunners.
Clearly, riders dying wasn’t uncommon—the Beastheart Sword Corps always had spares.
The dragons, momentarily free, had barely lifted their heads in relief before being mounted again. This time, each rider held a long spike—not aimed at Yang Hao, but driven deep into the dragons’ necks.
The location? Their reverse scales—the most vulnerable spot.
The Windrunners wailed, but their many seals left them powerless.
Only now did Yang Hao fully grasp the truth. These obedient dragons weren’t just weakened by “that person’s” seals—their minds bore additional restraints, forcing compliance.
Yang Hao was shaken.
He knew the depth of dragon pride. As gods for eons, their might placed them atop the divine hierarchy. Their arrogance was soul-deep. Among dark gods, only Saan earned their slight respect—even Yun Shang’s Flash Clan was beneath their notice.
Yang Hao remembered when the Dark Angel King Saan spread his wings in the divine realm—all dark gods knelt in reverence. Only the dragons gave a mere nod.
Yet now, this noble race was ridden, their heads trodden upon by humans—weaklings armed only with sharp spikes.
It was tragic.
In an instant, the tiny humans felt the might of the dragon race.
These were several small, light-blue dragons. Yet regardless of their size, they belonged to one of the greatest races of the dark gods—the dragon race. Among their kind, the light-blue Windrunners were considered weaker, but with four of them appearing together, their power was formidable enough to be feared even by black dragons.
Yang Hao had seen real black dragons in the Divine Realm and had even nearly tricked and nearly killed a young black dragon. Thus, he understood better than anyone the might of dragons. A dragon’s roar could instill fear in all beasts, even killing them with sheer force. Dragon breath was an extremely powerful force; even a slight touch could tear flesh from bone.
The strength and physical resilience of dragons were also immense. Their scales were impervious to blades and spears, and only true divine artifacts could pierce them.
In short, before sword masters, dragons were unbeatable creatures, nearly without weaknesses, their power innate and endless.
What truly puzzled Yang Hao was how the Beast-Heart Sword Corps could possibly control dragons. As kings among the dark gods, dragons possessed pride beyond imagination. Any lowly race daring to look upon them would invite destruction.
Yet now, atop each Windrunner stood a dragon rider, skillfully guiding the dragons through the air. The Windrunners didn’t even show the slightest sign of rebellion.
But soon, Yang Hao figured it out. In this world, perhaps only a few people could understand this mystery—and Yang Hao was undoubtedly one of them.
After the divine race’s power had been sealed by that person, all dragons were trapped within restrictions, only able to dominate within them. But there were always some dragons that remained outside these restrictions, though their power was often only a mere one percent of what it once was.
Although even one percent of their former might was still incredibly powerful, it was no longer divine power. Thus, these Windrunners were now under the control of the Beast-Heart Sword.
In fact, what Yang Hao guessed was not the full truth. Even the Beast-Heart Sword Corps didn’t completely know the real story.
These four Windrunners indeed had their power sealed by divine restrictions, but even with their power sealed, they were still forces humans couldn’t control. Dragons were simply too mighty and proud. To make these dragons controllable, a senior elder from the Senate, leading a hundred elders, had launched a full-scale effort to imprint a new seal within the dragons’ minds.
But the dragons’ mental strength was one of their most formidable weapons. Thus, the sealing process was extremely brutal. In the end, over sixty elders had died before the sealing of the four Windrunners was completed. This was the greatest loss the Senate had suffered since its founding.
The final result was that the imperial army gained the power of four dragons.
The price paid by these four Windrunners was horrifying, so in many battles, the Senate tightly held the control over the dragons, never allowing them to fight.
To date, these four dragons had only been deployed twice, each time achieving incredible victories.
And today, their target was Yang Hao.
“Master, come out quickly!” Yang Hao began calling out to Hunyuanzi. During this time, Hunyuanzi had been truly silent, so silent that Yang Hao had thought he was asleep.
But Yang Hao knew that Hunyuanzi was actually cultivating. This kind of cultivation was quite mysterious—two beings sharing one body, one inner elixir, yet possessing different powers. Though Hunyuanzi couldn’t leave Yang Hao’s body, his power as a scattered immortal still remained. What he was cultivating now was how to utilize his own strength without being restricted by Yang Hao’s body.
“I’m busy,” Hunyuanzi’s reply was odd. “I’m at a crucial stage. I need to keep training. Handle it yourself.”
“What the hell! Don’t you see? Those are dragons—four of them!” Yang Hao almost wanted to pull Hunyuanzi out from inside his belly.
“What’s there to fear?” Hunyuanzi actually sounded disdainful. “We’ve even nearly defeated a black dragon before. Are we afraid of four Windrunners whose power has already been sealed?”
“What the hell!” Yang Hao flipped him off. That black dragon hadn’t been defeated—it had simply fallen for Yang Hao’s trick and nearly been killed. Moreover, without Yunshang’s help, Yang Hao would have been destroyed long ago.
The current situation was far worse. These four dragons were clearly specially trained for killing, with dragon riders controlling them. Even a simple dive could cause Yang Hao endless trouble.
“Damn it!” Yang Hao gritted his teeth, unclipped a silver box from his belt, and pinched out three pills. These red, blue, and black pills were the three sword pills he had recently refined. The Merchants’ Guild had delivered three chests of rare materials, but from them, only nine sword pills had been successfully made—each one priceless.
If his life was in danger, money wouldn’t matter anymore.
He knew this well.
As the three sword pills dissolved in his stomach, a strange sensation arose. Three different kinds of power surged from his dantian, intertwining together, creating a vast, cosmic-like energy. This inner microcosm of energy connected with the universe outside. However, Yang Hao could sense that the entire Milky Way’s planetary energies were no longer as they should be, so the connection between his inner and outer worlds was only one-way.
As Yang Hao was still experiencing the power of the second-level sword pill, the four dragons dived down.
The winds and clouds changed! The sun and moon lost their luster!
The mere wind created by the four dragons diving down was enough to shake the circular stands violently. Combined with their roars, the rolling force was nearly enough to crush a person alive.
But Yang Hao was already gone.
When he reappeared, he was already high in the sky, floating effortlessly. His speed was even greater than his previous Feihua Phantom Steps, almost reaching the level of the Light-Stream Shadow Steps.
Indeed, it was the Light-Stream Shadow Steps. After spending so much time in the Divine Realm—even sleeping with a goddess—he naturally gained some benefits.
The divine race’s powers were usually innate, bestowed by the Creator upon their creation, something others couldn’t even learn. However, there were some techniques similar to human cultivation arts. As long as one mastered the techniques, methods, and incantations, one could learn them.
The Light-Stream Shadow Steps was one such mysterious technique. However, this technique was extremely complex—so complex that ordinary people couldn’t even learn it fully, let alone use it.
In this world, there were many techniques for rapid movement, such as the Earth-Compressing Steps or even the Feihua Phantom Steps. They were all derived from the Light-Stream Shadow Steps, but even the most profound cultivation techniques could only reach this level.
Yang Hao hadn’t fully mastered it either. However, he did carry the goddess’s power within him. The goddess had used her own body to help Yang Hao refine the core elixir of the Nascent Divinity Stage, leaving a portion of her energy within him.
Therefore, Yang Hao could use just a tiny bit of divine magic.
Just this tiny bit allowed him to evade the dragons’ certain killing strike.
High above the sky, Yang Hao floated, watching as the four dragons halted mid-dive. If they hadn’t stopped, they would have collided head-on, turning into a bloody mess.
Being mighty dragons, they naturally wouldn’t make such a basic mistake. They simply retracted their wings and lightly tapped their front claws in the air, causing a massive explosion before them. The sheer force of this explosion halted their charge.
However, the dragon riders on their backs were thrown off by the inertia and crushed into dust amidst the explosion.
“Whoa…” The audience erupted into cheers, waving their white handkerchiefs more wildly than ever before. To these nobles, the arena was merely a place for beasts and humans to fight to the death. Whether one won or lost didn’t matter—so long as lives were lost, and blood and brutality were present, they were satisfied.
Bista let out a long shout, and soon, several more dragon riders appeared, flying and mounting the Windrunners once again.
It seemed that such accidental deaths of dragon riders had happened many times before, so the Beast-Heart Sword Corps always had replacements ready.
The four dragons had just lost their riders and were about to lift their heads in relief when they were immediately stepped on again. Each rider held a long, sharp spike, but instead of aiming at Yang Hao, they viciously stabbed it into the dragons’ necks.
This was the dragons’ weak spot—their most vulnerable area. Dragon scales were extremely thick, nearly impervious to anything except divine artifacts. Only this area could be pierced and cause pain.
The Windrunners howled in pain but were helpless under the heavy seals upon them.
Only at this moment did Yang Hao finally understand the truth. These four dragons, obedient to commands, were not only sealed by that person’s restrictions but also had other seals implanted in their minds, forcing them to obey the dragon riders.
Yang Hao was deeply shaken.
He clearly understood how proud the dragon race was. Having been part of the divine race for countless years, their power had always ranked among the highest of the gods. Their pride was etched into their very souls. Even among the divine races, perhaps the only one they truly feared was Sa’an. Even Yunshang, a lightning race god, was looked down upon by them.
Yang Hao still remembered in the Divine Realm, when the Dark Angel King Sa’an spread his wings, all the dark gods knelt halfway in respect, while only the dragons gave a slight nod—an act of immense courtesy.
Yet such a proud race was now being ridden by humans, their heads trampled by beings of such inferior power, relying only on sharp spikes in their hands. It was truly a tragedy.
But now it was not Yang Hao’s turn to pity others, as that “other” turned around and charged straight at Yang Hao. This time, it was not just a physical charge, but a mental one as well.
The might of the dragon’s spiritual power was fully displayed at this moment.
Four pale-blue ice spears quietly appeared in the air, silently shooting toward Yang Hao.
These ice spears were actually physical manifestations of the dragon’s spiritual force. Even with its power sealed to one percent of its original strength, the dragon still possessed such power—it was truly miraculous.
However, Yang Hao did not dodge. He stood firm in midair, a powerful sword aura circulating within his body, even overflowing into the air as brilliant flames.
This time, the flames were completely different from before. They were not only fierce and forceful, but also carried a hint of inclusiveness and tolerance—an intense, concentrated flame.
Each tiny flame contained more than ten times the density and heat than usual.
“There’s only one chance,” Yang Hao knew in his heart. Facing four Windrider Dragons, even two Sword Saints would have no escape from death. The person who wanted to test his strength had truly gone too far this time.
But he still had one last opportunity—one he had fought for with his life alongside Hun Yuanzi.
The ice spears shot forward, but the flames surrounding Yang Hao had already begun to burn them away piece by piece. Only a fire of this intensity could resist the dragon’s spiritual attack.
Yet the four dragons roared again and dove down toward him.
Yang Hao suddenly dropped.
He plummeted like a flaming meteor straight toward the ground.
The four dragons, now fully committed to the kill, folded their wings and made a breathtaking turn, diving vertically after him.
The change happened so fast that the spectators were left dazed, unable to comprehend what was happening—four massive figures suddenly falling from the sky.
Yang Hao crashed into the earth, sending up a cloud of dust and debris. He lay motionless, only a mass of flames continuing to burn furiously. Even as the four dragons dove down upon him, he made no move to evade.
The four Windrider Dragons naturally would not miss such a golden opportunity. They opened their mouths in unison and exhaled four jets of blue dragon breath.
Dragon breath!
The strength of a dragon lay in the fact that its entire body was a weapon, with almost no weaknesses. However, with its powers sealed, dragon tongue magic was no longer possible. Its spiritual attack had already been tried and burned away completely by Yang Hao. As for physical attacks, while crashing into him would certainly kill Yang Hao, it would also risk the four dragons colliding with each other—an outcome no less dangerous.
Thus, they resorted to their most powerful weapon: dragon breath. Though varying in attributes, dragon breath shared one common trait—if it made contact, a human’s flesh and bones would melt away.
Whether it burned, poisoned, or froze its target was merely a matter of process.
The four jets of dragon breath erupted forth, instantly condensing and thinning the surrounding air. The green grass and red fruits turned instantly to ash. Even nearby living magical beasts howled in agony as their flesh rapidly decayed.
As for the riders on the dragons’ backs, they were completely vaporized the moment the breath was unleashed. It seemed that riding these dragons came at a heavy cost to the riders.
This was dragon breath weakened a hundredfold due to the seal. In its original state, these four blasts could have melted every living soul here into bones.
Yang Hao, engulfed in raging flames, could resist the ice spears—but not the dragon breath.
When the four most concentrated jets struck, even the flames were extinguished completely, as if the strongest wind had blown through, snuffing out every ember.
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