Ling Ziyun’s face turned ashen.
When she saw Yang Hao, her face had already gone pale, but now, her heart had died completely. She had fallen into despair. Others might not know, but Ling Ziyun understood all too well what the Final Judgment truly meant.
In the Galactic Empire, everyone trembled at the mention of the Mingse Assassination Group, but each feared something different. Ordinary officers and nobles feared Mingse’s omnipresent assassinations. The Swordsmen Corps feared the mass attacks and mass killings of the Mingse Three-Slaughter Theory. Such offensive power was probably insurmountable for any sword group.
Even the upper-tier martial artists, the Great Swordsmen and Sword Saints, harbored hidden fears of Mingse, particularly dreading the power of the “Final Judgment.”
The most mysterious elder in the Senate, who was in charge of assassination duties, had spent ten years cultivating these assassins of Mingse. During those ten years, he devoted himself to creating one assassination method after another. He even molded an entire generation of young martial experts in the Empire into killing machines, yet he still felt unsatisfied.
Due to Mingse’s duties, they inevitably posed a threat to the nobility within the Empire. No one could ever know when Mingse might thrust their assassination blade straight into their hearts. Thus, those nobles with guilty consciences spared no expense in trying to eliminate the Mingse Assassination Group. Throughout the years of Mingse’s reconstruction, they had encountered countless threats.
It wasn’t until the emergence of the “Final Judgment” that this elder finally felt satisfied. He had condensed all his lifelong knowledge into this single technique. After teaching the “Final Judgment” to the violet-clad assassins, the elder’s already ageless visage rapidly aged. It turned out he had exhausted all his energy.
However, since Mingse had the “Final Judgment,” they were finally able to truly suppress the threats against them. Because the power of this technique was simply too great—not only could swordsmen not resist, neither could Great Swordsmen. Even if facing a Sword Saint, a level considered supreme, it would likely be difficult to withstand.
Even the elder who created the “Final Judgment” himself claimed that if ten violet-clad experts launched the “Final Judgment” together, even he himself would only be able to turn and flee.
This was the ultimate praise, and also the ultimate threat.
According to legend, the “Final Judgment” of Mingse had only been used twice. No one knew when exactly, nor what the process was like. But it was clear that two generals, nearly at the level of Sword Saints, suddenly disappeared. The reason was simple: their cultivation methods were completely beyond the Senate’s control.
In this world, everyone’s cultivation must be controlled by the Senate. Anyone beyond their control should die.
That was the Final Judgment.
Now, the black aura from the ten violet-clad assassins had already gathered.
Yang Hao suddenly felt as if he had fallen into an abyss. It was as if all the vitality in the world, all hope and dreams, had vanished. Before him appeared a black hole, absorbing not only light but also the soul and the courage to live.
The ten experts stood cold and immovable like mountains. That solidified black aura had turned into a physical form, forming a massive dark cross-sword in the air. This sword contained cruelty, gloom, and brutality—every unbearable emotion. Slowly, this enormous sword began to thrust toward Yang Hao and Ling Ziyun.
Yang Hao glared fiercely at the black sword. His Shadow Moon Blade had already appeared in the air, emitting an unprecedented golden glow, as if even the Shadow Moon itself knew this was the most critical moment.
But Yang Hao still wanted to try. He wanted to see whose Shadow Moon was more powerful, or whether the Mingse’s Final Judgment was even more formidable.
He was waiting—for the moment when Shadow Moon and the black sword would clash in a world-shaking collision.
But before Yang Hao could act, Ling Ziyun moved first. This woman had indeed already resolved herself to die. She was nominally the leader of Mingse and naturally knew their strength all too well. Thus, when the ten experts targeted her, she had already given up all hope.
Ling Ziyun only wanted Yang Hao to survive.
Therefore, she acted. She struck Yang Hao with her palm.
Yang Hao’s entire focus was on the front, completely unprepared for the woman behind him. Ling Ziyun’s palm struck his back. The blow seemed peculiarly weak, as if merely a gentle caress from her jade hand. Yet Yang Hao’s entire body tingled as if struck by an electric current.
This brief jolt made Yang Hao hesitate for half a step. He turned in shock, wanting to see why Ling Ziyun had attacked him.
But Ling Ziyun had already flown forward. This was the first time Yang Hao had seen Ling Ziyun unleash her true power. Her figure was graceful and exquisite, like a fairy gliding through the air. Ling Ziyun transformed into a purple rainbow, drifting like a celestial being toward the front. Facing the massive black sword of the Final Judgment, Ling Ziyun still kept her hands empty, but within her palm was a dazzling five-colored radiance, brilliant like a fiery gemstone.
“Ziyun!!” Yang Hao cried out desperately, wanting to grab her but already too late.
Although Ling Ziyun’s figure was graceful as she flew forward, she no longer focused on the opponent ahead. Instead, she turned her head, leaving Yang Hao with a sorrowful smile.
The Final Judgment was no match for Ling Ziyun. She was merely throwing herself as cannon fodder, letting Yang Hao witness the opponent’s power.
This was probably the last thing Ling Ziyun could do for Yang Hao.
It was like a dream—starting with beauty, only to end like a soap bubble bursting.
Yang Hao didn’t know what had happened to Ling Ziyun, just as he didn’t know what had happened to Amanda or Shining. Yang Hao had changed the lives of these women, yet he himself remained completely unaware.
Ling Ziyun was a war orphan. In the endless star wars of the Empire, such orphans were countless. The Empire’s treatment of them was simple: males were conscripted or killed, females were prostituted or killed.
Thus, only five years old, Ling Ziyun was sent to the training camp of Ling Fei Star Sea, where specific instructors taught them seduction techniques and various skills. But Ling Ziyun was different from her peers, and unlike those angelic beings who believed they were born to be prostitutes.
She fled—twenty times in total. At the age of five, she endured the tortures of Ling Fei Star Sea’s trainers and persisted in escaping relentlessly. Eventually, fate favored her. Ling Ziyun was discovered by Rong Li, the only female elder in the Senate, who took her as her only disciple.
From then on, Ling Ziyun’s life was completely transformed. She became a cultivator. Elder Rong Li taught her a unique cultivation method. This cultivation not only made Ling Ziyun powerful but also changed her personality.
Ling Ziyun became cold and ruthless. The shadows of her childhood and the side effects of her cultivation method made her exude a bone-deep chill, from her appearance to her very soul. It seemed nothing in this world could warm her heart. Whatever she desired, she would do anything to achieve—even killing everyone in her way.
Cultivation also made Ling Ziyun incredibly beautiful. With her coldness laced with allure, her eyes flashing with icy brilliance—sometimes captivating, sometimes tender—Ling Ziyun became the most enchanting and eye-catching emissary in the Senate.
But in terms of power, no one dared covet her anymore. Not to mention her master, Rong Li, was not someone to be trifled with. Ling Ziyun became a direct emissary of the Senate. Although to outsiders she seemed seductive and exuded sensuality, in reality, no man had ever truly possessed her body.
Until she met Yang Hao. He was probably the strangest opponent Ling Ziyun had ever encountered. He was just an ordinary civilian student, yet no matter how powerful his opponents were, he could always defeat them effortlessly.
Yang Hao, who seemed to have no ambitions, had quickly grown into a true expert and leader in a short time. His development trajectory and the old ghost inside him had caused the Senate great concern.
Under strict orders from the Senate, Ling Ziyun, after multiple failures, had no choice but to risk her body, mingling among the prostitutes of Ling Fei Star Sea, hoping to get close to Yang Hao and lure him into the encirclement of the King Swordsmen Group.
But Ling Ziyun failed again. This time, not only did she fail her mission, but she also brought unexpected consequences.
Ling Ziyun became pregnant. This accidental pregnancy, which she considered the greatest failure of her life, quietly changed her personality over a long period of time. Her heart, already frozen, began to melt—not for Yang Hao, but for the child she carried with Yang Hao.
The unborn baby had already become linked to Ling Ziyun’s life. She could always sense the little life growing inside her, every movement, even feeling her own blood flow into that life and return.
Ling Ziyun had completely changed. She was no longer the multifaceted queen, no longer the enchanting businesswoman. She had become a mother—a mother of Yang Hao’s child.
Therefore, she also tried to love Yang Hao, even going so far as to betray the Empire and stand by his side. She didn’t want her child to become a war orphan like herself the moment it was born.
Now, at this moment, Ling Ziyun suddenly realized she was even willing to sacrifice herself for Yang Hao.
She stopped Yang Hao and threw herself toward the “Final Judgment.”
The massive black sword had already formed in the air. It controlled everything, absorbing all the good and beautiful things from people. For it represented death, the end of everything. Its mission was to take lives.
Ling Ziyun’s dazzling palm was about to collide with the black sword. Everyone knew she was purely going to her death. No matter which level she had reached, she could not withstand the full force of the black sword’s strike.
“Ziyun…” Yang Hao roared in fury. He rushed forward with all his might, even though he could no longer stop her act of self-sacrifice. Only by doing this could he suppress the fire within his heart.
He was wrong. Yang Hao knew he was wrong. Perhaps only at this moment did Yang Hao finally understand—he was truly someone who didn’t understand love. He didn’t know what a woman would do for love, and he had never truly trusted Ling Ziyun.
But now Ling Ziyun was going to die for him.
Yang Hao’s heart could no longer be described by guilt alone. His Shadow Moon Blade erupted with raging flames, spinning like the sun, wanting to fly over and save Ling Ziyun.
But in an instant, Ling Ziyun was about to collide with the Final Judgment—Yang Hao was already too late to act.
Just then, a strange fragrance wafted through the air. Yang Hao felt a distortion in the space before Ling Ziyun, as if a crevice had appeared.
Before he could look closer, the crevice suddenly expanded, transforming into a dazzling colorful portal. From the portal flew out a middle-aged beauty wearing a white linen robe, her long hair tied into an ancient bun. Flying out from the portal, she stood before Ling Ziyun and extended her palm. On that palm, just like Ling Ziyun’s, burst forth a dazzling five-colored radiant light—only this light was even brighter, shining as if a star had exploded.
This light collided with the “Final Judgment,” and the thunderous explosion shook the entire Comet Source violently. Even the cliff began to constantly crumble, the existing cracks extending and expanding violently due to the shockwave from the explosion.
The ten violet-clad assassins of Mingse were thrown back, and the black sword of the Final Judgment also vanished into nothingness. Yet the beauty on that side didn’t fare much better. She let out a low cry and was sent flying back into the radiant, colorful portal.
“Master!” Ling Ziyun cried out in shock, staring at the portal.
This beautiful woman was actually Ling Ziyun’s master, Rong Li—one of the nine executive elders of the Senate.
Before Ling Ziyun’s cry could even fade, another milky-white radiant rope flew out from the portal, wrapping around Ling Ziyun’s waist and pulling her into the portal as well.
The portal instantly closed, and everything fell silent.
Yet the Comet Source was not quiet at this moment. The massive energy wave from just now had activated all the energy within the Comet Source. Now, chunks of stardust rock were being launched outward due to the internal energy explosion. The cliff where Yang Hao stood was also shaking violently, as if the very walls would collapse at any moment.
Around Yang Hao, countless massive rocks were ejected from the ground like rockets, shooting into the sky, forming a dense cluster of intense flames in space.
Yang Hao stood as if amidst fireworks, witnessing the most dazzling comet display in the universe. Thousands of comets erupted at once. The crimson trails against the dark blue cosmic backdrop were incredibly brilliant, like a painting on the celestial dome.
But Yang Hao had no heart to admire this wondrous beauty. He was still immersed in deep shock. First was the shock at Ling Ziyun’s master. That woman, Rong Li, didn’t look at all like an elder. It seemed that cultivators truly could preserve their youth eternally. Even more astonishing was the portal the woman had suddenly emerged from. Hun Yuan Zi said it was a spatial rift torn open by powerful and pure energy, a method of instantaneous movement over vast distances.
This method of movement was simply miraculous. In Yang Hao’s eyes, it was something that could only appear in legends. The elders of the Senate were truly the most elite cultivators, not in the least inferior to Hun Yuan Zi’s peers back in his day.
The Empire has a strict hierarchical classification for martial strength. For instance, Yang Hao has already surpassed level fifty, roughly equivalent to a Great Sword Master. Yet, Rong Li’s power is beyond Yang Hao’s comprehension, resembling the divine race from the celestial realm—a pure mass of energy.
However, what shocked Yang Hao even more was that the “Final Judgment” could actually force back someone as inconceivably formidable as Rong Li. Although the ten purple-robed experts had fallen to the ground, slightly injured internally, they had still managed to repel an Elder-level opponent.
It certainly made sense that the “Final Judgment” was regarded as a unique miracle within the Empire.
Ling Ziyan had been rescued by her master and was temporarily out of danger. However, Yang Hao’s crisis had not yet passed. Though the ten purple-robed assassins were injured, they one by one rose back to their feet. Amidst the chaos of Mengxingyuan, with meteors crashing and icy currents surging, the earth shaking and mountains trembling, their breath remained steady. After a brief recovery, they merged their energies again, slowly solidifying their formation.
Death’s aura once again enveloped this place on the verge of destruction. This time, their sole target was Yang Hao.
Yang Hao’s expression turned grave. Even with all his arrogance, he dared not underestimate this miraculous sword technique anymore. If even Rong Li, who was far superior in power, had been driven back, how could he possibly fare better?
He hastily grabbed three sword pills and swallowed them without a second thought, disregarding the warning from Hun Yuanzi that the pills’ energies might clash. In a battle of this magnitude, there was no time left to take additional pills.
The Ten Dark assassins’ breath once again solidified, and a black sword began to take form amidst the chaos. Although the earth trembled and crumbled, the assassins remained as steady as mountains, unaffected by the destruction around them.
Yang Hao was also transforming. He became a purely existent being, as if devoid of soul, sound, or color—merely a soul-like entity.
His transformation momentarily disrupted the Dark assassins’ formation, but their breath only paused slightly before resuming its gathering.
However, a streak of blood began to drift through the wind.
Accompanying the blood was a hissing sound.
Besides the wind, there was the sound of blood spurting from a throat, spraying into the air.
Amidst the crimson mist, a shadow blade glowing with blood-red light flew at an impossible angle, followed by a long trail of Yang Hao’s bloodied figure.
One of the purple-robed experts fell. Until his dying moment, he couldn’t understand how he had been killed. Yang Hao was still standing there, like a lifeless figure, yet how had the shadow blade, carrying Yang Hao’s afterimage, sliced across his neck?
The Dark assassins were stunned.
This was the “Blood Strike,” the first technique of the Dual Cultivation Sect. After consuming the “Shadow Dissolution Pill,” Yang Hao’s Yuan Ying (Natal Soul) could briefly become invisible. This invisibility was of the highest level—not only undetectable to the naked eye but also imperceptible in terms of energy. Combining his invisible Yuan Ying with the Shadow Moon’s invisibility attribute, Yang Hao could unleash an overwhelming attack, decapitating the Dark assassin in an ambush.
As the opponent’s blood sprayed from his throat, Yang Hao’s Yuan Ying faintly shimmered within the blood mist, leaving behind a long crimson trail—hence the name “Blood Strike.”
Yang Hao successfully eliminated one opponent, immediately returning his Yuan Ying to his body to avoid exposing his vulnerable physical form. He had assumed that killing one of them would break the “Final Judgment” sword formation, as he had experienced in previous battles where each member was indispensable, and the loss of even one would collapse the entire formation.
But this time, Yang Hao was wrong.
The “Final Judgment” did not stop despite losing one member. The remaining nine assassins, seemingly unfazed by their fallen comrade, continued gathering dark energy, preparing to materialize the black sword in the air.
“This isn’t a sword formation, but a single sword move!” Hun Yuanzi timely reminded him. “A sword formation requires coordination among all members, but a sword move does not. Any assassin from the Dark faction can execute this move. The number of participants merely affects its power. Killing one opponent only reduces its strength by a tenth.”
“What do I do then!” Yang Hao roared. At the speed of the Blood Strike, by the time he killed a second opponent, the full might of the “Final Judgment” would strike him down.
“The only flaw of the ‘Final Judgment’ is its speed,” Hun Yuanzi, the seasoned veteran, insightfully pointed out. “It requires a long time to gather energy. Kill them all before it completes.”
The Dark assassins were currently channeling dark energy to form the sword, presenting Yang Hao’s only opportunity. During this time, the purple-robed assassins were at their most vulnerable. If they completed the formation, the devastating power of the “Final Judgment” would end Yang Hao’s life.
As Hun Yuanzi spoke, Yang Hao’s body transformed again. In an instant, rings of flame surged up from beneath his feet, engulfing his entire body in fire.
Suddenly, he let out a long roar and soared into the air. The Shadow Moon erupted in a blazing inferno, merging with Yang Hao’s form into a dragon—a dragon of flame. This dragon was not made of flesh and blood but of true celestial fire, its golden and red flames seemingly drawn from the very essence of nature, carrying unimaginable power as it charged toward the nine purple-robed assassins still silently gathering the “Final Judgment.”
Just as Yang Hao’s Flame Dragon Sword was about to strike, seemingly capable of destroying their formation before completion and engulfing all nine in his fiery blade…
The Dark formation made a terrifying adjustment. Three of the purple-robed assassins broke away from the formation and lunged forward. They did not even activate their energy or draw their swords, simply rushing out naturally to intercept Yang Hao’s Flame Dragon Sword.
It was like a massive volcanic eruption. The Flame Dragon Sword instantly engulfed the three, melting their bodies away. Yet, Yang Hao’s momentum was broken. These three had not come to counterattack but had sacrificed their lives to block his assault, buying precious time for the others.
They succeeded. Although their lives were lost, they had indeed halted Yang Hao’s Flame Dragon Sword.
At that moment, the “Final Judgment” was completed.
Yang Hao felt suffocated—not due to a lack of oxygen in his protective field, but because he felt the very essence of life being slowly drained from his body. The sky grew darker, even the erupting meteors lost their color, and the entire Mengxingyuan seemed to sink into a hellish abyss.
It was a hell of death, a hell of the dead—a hell belonging to the Dark faction.
Under the immense pressure, Yang Hao’s body began to collapse.
The “Final Judgment” could repel Elders, wound Sword Saints, and certainly kill a Great Sword Master.
Yang Hao’s life was being drained by the “Final Judgment.” His face paled, his eyes filled with reluctant despair. Yet, his body was already powerless to resist. Perhaps at this moment, Yang Hao would think of the few women in his life—Shi Mingyuan, Amanda, and even Ling Ziyan.
But it was too late.
Was it really too late?
A thunderous roar echoed from the sky. Though there were no clouds, the forces of heaven and earth seemed to beat war drums. Darkness tightly wrapped around Yang Hao’s neck, suffocating him. The massive sword of the “Final Judgment” hovered above, ready to strike down with supreme arrogance.
“Disciple!” Hun Yuanzi’s voice rang out like a god’s.
“Yes.” Though on the brink of unconsciousness, Yang Hao’s expression was not one of fear. “Master.”
“Never underestimate anyone again,” Hun Yuanzi said. “Even if you become a Golden Immortal or the King of the Universe, never underestimate anyone.”
“Yes.” Yang Hao nodded heavily, even as his life hung by a thread. What he had learned in this moment far exceeded anything he had learned before.
Hun Yuanzi sighed.
A milky-white force surged from Yang Hao’s dantian, rapidly spreading through his meridians and shooting into one of his fingers.
The empire has a strict hierarchy for measuring combat strength. For instance, Yang Hao has already surpassed level fifty, roughly equivalent to a Great Sword Master. However, Rong Sui’s power is something Yang Hao finds immeasurable—like the divine energy of the gods, a pure, concentrated force.
What shocked Yang Hao even more was that the “Final Judgment” could repel someone as terrifyingly powerful as Rong Sui. Though the ten purple-clad elites lay on the ground, seemingly suffering minor internal injuries, they had still managed to force back an elder of the Council—a figure of such formidable standing.
It seemed the “Final Judgment” was rightfully considered the empire’s one and only divine miracle.
Ling Ziyan had been rescued by her master, her life temporarily spared. But Yang Hao’s crisis was far from over. Despite their injuries, the ten purple-clad assassins slowly rose to their feet. Even as the comet’s core erupted in chaos, with meteoric debris collapsing around them and frigid currents surging through the trembling earth, their auras remained unshaken. After a brief moment of adjustment, their energies fused once more, solidifying into an unbreakable force.
Death loomed over this soon-to-be-destroyed place.
And this time, their sole opponent was Yang Hao.
Yang Hao’s expression turned grave. No matter how arrogant he was, he couldn’t afford to underestimate this godlike sword technique. The gap between Rong Sui and him was vast—if even she had been forced back, what chance did he have?
He grabbed three sword pills at once and swallowed them without hesitation, ignoring Hunyuanzi’s warning about potential clashes in their energies. In the heat of battle, there was no time for caution.
The auras of the ten Netherblade assassins solidified once more, and a shadowy black sword began to take form in the air. Despite the earth shaking and collapsing around them, the assassins stood unmoved, unaffected by the chaos.
Yang Hao, too, underwent a transformation. He became something pure—devoid of soul, sound, or color—merely a spectral existence.
This change briefly disrupted the Netherblade assassins, but their auras only faltered for a moment before continuing to coalesce.
Yet, amidst the wind, a streak of crimson appeared.
Accompanying the blood-red hue was a hissing gale—and the sound of blood spraying from a slit throat, misting the air.
From within the bloody haze, a shadowy blade, shimmering with a sanguine glow, arced through the air at an impossible angle, followed by Yang Hao’s bloodstained silhouette.
A purple-clad elite collapsed, dying without ever understanding how. Yang Hao had seemed to remain motionless, an inanimate husk—so how had his shadow-blade severed his neck?
The Netherblade assassins shuddered in shock.
This was “Blood Ambush”—the first assassination technique of the Dual Cultivation School of Alchemy and Swordsmanship. After consuming the “Shadow Dissipation” pill, Yang Hao’s Nascent Soul could briefly turn invisible—not just to the naked eye, but undetectable even to energy senses. Paired with the stealth properties of Shadowmoon, his Nascent Soul could unleash devastating force in an instant, beheading a Netherblade assassin before they could react.
As blood sprayed from the slit throat, Yang Hao’s Nascent Soul flickered within the crimson mist, leaving behind a long, bloody afterimage—hence the name “Blood Ambush.”
Having slain one opponent, Yang Hao immediately withdrew his Nascent Soul to avoid exposing his true body to counterattacks. He had assumed that killing one would disrupt the “Final Judgment” formation, as most sword formations relied on every member’s presence.
But this time, he was wrong.
The “Final Judgment” did not falter. The remaining nine assassins acted as if their fallen comrade meant nothing, continuing to condense dark energy, solidifying the black sword in the air.
“This isn’t a formation—it’s a technique!” Hunyuanzi urgently warned. “Formations require coordination, but techniques don’t. Any Netherblade assassin can execute this. The number of participants only affects its power. Killing one merely reduced its strength by a tenth.”
“What do I do?!” Yang Hao roared. At this rate, after killing two more, the full force of the “Final Judgment” would crush him.
“Its only weakness is speed,” Hunyuanzi, ever the seasoned veteran, saw through its flaw. “It requires a long channeling time. Kill them before they finish.”
The assassins were now channeling dark energy to manifest the sword—Yang Hao’s only window of opportunity. During this phase, they were at their most vulnerable. Once complete, the “Final Judgment” would claim his life.
Following Hunyuanzi’s words, Yang Hao’s body transformed again. Flames erupted from his feet, engulfing him entirely in an instant.
With a fierce cry, Yang Hao soared into the air. Shadowmoon blazed with scorching fire, merging with his body to form a dragon—a flaming wyrm of pure celestial fire, its golden-red flames carrying unimaginable destructive force as it lunged at the nine remaining assassins.
They were still silently channeling the “Final Judgment.”
Yang Hao’s Flaming Dragon Sword was moments away from obliterating them before they could complete their technique—incinerating all nine in its inferno.
But the Netherblade faction made a terrifying move. Three assassins abruptly broke formation, charging forward without hesitation. They didn’t even draw their swords—just hurled themselves bodily into Yang Hao’s Flaming Dragon Sword.
Like a volcanic eruption, the Flaming Dragon Sword consumed them, melting their flesh. But Yang Hao’s momentum was halted. These three hadn’t attacked—they had sacrificed themselves to buy time for the others.
And they succeeded. Though they perished, they had stalled Yang Hao’s assault.
Now, the “Final Judgment” was complete.
Yang Hao felt suffocated—not from lack of oxygen, but as if life itself was being drained from his body. The sky darkened further, the comet’s eruptions fading into monochrome. The entire comet’s core felt like a descent into hell.
A hell of death, of lost souls—a hell belonging to the Netherblade.
Under the overwhelming pressure, Yang Hao’s body began to crumple.
The “Final Judgment” had repelled an elder of the Council, wounded a Sword Saint—killing a Great Sword Master was effortless.
Yang Hao’s life force was being siphoned away. His face paled, his eyes dim with unwillingness. But his body could no longer fight back. In this moment, he thought of the women in his life—Shi Mingyuan, Amanda, even Ling Ziyan.
But it was too late.
Or was it?
Thunder rumbled in the sky, though there were no clouds. The very forces of heaven and earth seemed to beat a war drum. Darkness coiled around Yang Hao’s neck, choking him. The colossal sword of the “Final Judgment” hung high above, descending with arrogant finality.
“Disciple!” Hunyuanzi’s voice boomed like a god’s.
“Yes.” Though on the brink of unconsciousness, Yang Hao showed no fear. “Master.”
“Never underestimate anyone again,” Hunyuanzi said. “Even if you become a Golden Immortal, even if you rule the cosmos—never look down on others.”
“I won’t.” Yang Hao nodded solemnly. Even if his life was fleeting, he had learned more in this moment than ever before.
Hunyuanzi sighed.
A milky-white energy surged from Yang Hao’s dantian, racing through his meridians like lightning before concentrating in one finger—where a black ring rested.
With a resonant hum, space itself twisted. The power of the Dark Angel King Satar, sealed within the “Ring of Thunder’s Wrath,” awakened.
Satar was a god of the dark realm, master of thunder. The ring he had bestowed upon Yang Hao was named for his fury. But only now did Yang Hao realize—Satar had not sealed lightning within it, but the inconceivable “Great Radiance Technique,” a divine art that once baffled the heavens.
Boundless white light erupted from the ring, bleaching the black sky into purest white. Hell transformed into paradise in an instant. The descending “Final Judgment” collided with the Great Radiance Technique—and vanished without a sound.
Yang Hao kept his eyes closed, oblivious to the outside world. Yet he felt power—limitless, cosmic power. He floated as if in the void of the universe, where everything—wind, starlight, existence itself—originated from this force.
The Great Radiance Technique spread endlessly, silently annihilating the “Final Judgment” before enveloping the Netherblade assassins. To his shock, the white light set their bodies ablaze, their flesh burning away as their souls—saturated with Nether Qi—were purified and extracted.
Even the souls of those Yang Hao had slain earlier now floated in the white expanse, circling him like spectral satellites.
The comet’s core reached its peak eruption. The cliff beneath Yang Hao trembled violently, fissures widening to reveal the heart of the comet—a torrent of blue energy, the source of its frigid power, the pinnacle of icy force in this world.
Hunyuanzi inhaled sharply. The unfolding events surpassed even his expectations.
The comet’s core was on the verge of destruction, unleashing its deepest glacial energies. Ten potent souls, brimming with Nether Qi, orbited Yang Hao. The Great Radiance Technique’s purity surpassed even celestial fire—making it the perfect catalyst for alchemy.
Now, all the ingredients for refining the “Netherfrost Celestial Fire Sacred Pill” were present.
Unbeknownst to him, Yang Hao had already initiated the pill’s refinement.
This master pill used the cultivator’s body as the furnace, absorbing all materials within. The celestial fire would burn relentlessly, imprinting the Nascent Soul with the mark of the Void Realm.
True to form, as Yang Hao meditated on the cosmic power surrounding him, the converging energies were rapidly drawn into his body by an unseen force. The comet’s frigid torrent ceased its flow, condensing into a mere trickle before being absorbed entirely, turning his meridians a pale blue.
Next came the ten assassins’ souls. These spirits, steeped in Nether Qi, would have otherwise lingered as vengeful wraiths. But now, drawn by the power, they streamed one by one into Yang Hao’s slightly parted lips, merging with his being.
The Great Radiance Technique finally ceased, but the milky light began to reverse its flow—piercing Yang Hao’s pores, surging back into his Nascent Soul with overwhelming force, as if summoned by a divine presence.
Within Yang Hao’s body, three diametrically opposed energies clashed—igniting a miniature cosmic explosion. At times, flames ten meters long erupted from him; at others, an icy aura so cold it froze the air. His skin alternately crusted with thick ice or lay serene as if in slumber.
Throughout it all, Yang Hao remained motionless, eyes shut. His spirit was busy assimilating the myriad energies within his personal cosmos.
His inner and outer universes seemed to merge. He could feel the cosmic winds, the gravitational pull between stars, even the birth of a new celestial body.
At last, a light—pure and primordial—erupted from his Nascent Soul. Its brilliance spanned hundreds of thousands of kilometers, affecting planets within its reach.
Yet within Yang Hao, the conflicting forces had vanished—fully absorbed. His Nascent Soul now bore a mark: a swirling, ever-turning cosmos, teeming with endlessly cycling stars.
Sathor was a god of the dark world, ruling over lightning, hence the ring was named the Thunder Wrath Ring. However, at this moment, Yang Hao realized that what Sathor had sealed within the ring was not lightning power, but the Great Light Art, which had astounded the celestial realm.
An endless white light radiated from Yang Hao’s ring, illuminating the entire dark sky with blinding brilliance, instantly transforming hell into paradise. The hovering “Final Judgment” sword silently disintegrated upon colliding with the Great Light Art.
Yang Hao closed his eyes, not witnessing the changes outside. Yet, he felt the power—an infinite, boundless force. He felt as if floating in the universe, where everything around him, even the wind, even the starlight, originated from this force.
The Great Light Art spread endlessly, silently destroying the “Final Judgment” and engulfing the Dark assassins. Surprisingly, upon encountering the white light, the assassins’ bodies seemed to catch fire, their flesh burning away in the milky glow. Their souls, filled with dark energy, were extracted. Along with the previously slain assassins’ souls, they floated into the white space, revolving around Yang Hao.
The eruption of Mengxingyuan had reached its peak. The cliff beneath Yang Hao’s feet kept shaking, the existing cracks widening further, revealing the core of Mengxingyuan. A blue torrent surged forth, the source of the icy power permeating the entire comet source, the ultimate embodiment of cold in this world.
Hun Yuanzi inhaled deeply. The changes around him even exceeded his imagination.
The empire has strict classifications for the levels of martial prowess. For instance, Yang Hao has already surpassed level fifty, nearly reaching the rank of a Great Sword Master. However, Rong Lian’s power is something Yang Hao finds immeasurable—like the divine clans of the heavenly realm, a pure mass of energy.
Yet what shocked Yang Hao even more was that the “Final Judgment” could repel someone as terrifyingly formidable as Rong Lian. Though the ten purple-clad experts had fallen to the ground, seemingly suffering minor internal injuries, they had still managed to force back an elder of the council, a figure of such high standing.
It seemed there was absolute justification in considering the “Final Judgment” as the empire’s one and only divine miracle.
Ling Ziyan had been rescued by her master, her life temporarily out of danger. But Yang Hao’s crisis was far from over. Though injured, the ten purple-clad assassins rose one by one. Even as the comet’s core erupted in chaos, with meteoric debris collapsing around them and frigid currents surging, their auras remained unshaken. With only slight adjustments, they merged once more, their power slowly solidifying.
Death loomed once again over this soon-to-be-destroyed place.
And this time, their sole opponent was Yang Hao.
Yang Hao’s expression was grave. No matter how arrogant he might be, he dared not underestimate this godlike sword technique. The gap between Rong Lian and him was vast—if even she had been forced back, what chance did he have?
He grabbed three sword pills at once and swallowed them, disregarding Hunyuanzi’s warning about potential clashes in their energies. In the heat of such a battle, there was no time to consume pills one by one.
The auras of the ten assassins of the Nether Shade solidified once more. A black sword began to take form in the unseen, and though the earth trembled and crumbled, the assassins stood unmoved, unaffected.
Yang Hao, too, was changing. He became something pure—like a being without a soul, without sound or color, merely a spiritual entity.
This transformation briefly disrupted the Nether Shade assassins, but their auras only paused momentarily before continuing to coalesce.
Yet, in the wind, a streak of crimson appeared.
Accompanying the blood-red hue was the hissing of the wind—and the sound of blood spurting from a slit throat, spraying into the sky.
Amid the bloody mist, a shadow blade, shimmering with a sanguine glow, rose at an impossible angle, trailing behind it Yang Hao’s bloodstained figure.
One of the purple-clad assassins fell. Even in death, he did not understand how he had died. Yang Hao had seemed to stand there, lifeless as a corpse, yet the shadow blade had carried his afterimage across his neck.
The Nether Shade assassins shuddered in shock.
This was “Blood Ambush”—the first sword technique of the Alchemy and Sword Dual Cultivation Sect’s assassination arts. After consuming the “Shadow Dissipation” pill, Yang Hao’s nascent soul would briefly become invisible—an invisibility of the highest order, not just unseen by ordinary eyes but undetectable even to energy senses. His invisible nascent soul, combined with the shadowy properties of the Shadow Moon, could unleash an overwhelming force in an instant, ambushing the enemy and severing the heads of the Nether Shade assassins.
As blood sprayed from the slit throat, Yang Hao’s nascent soul flickered faintly in the bloody mist, leaving behind a long crimson trail—hence the name “Blood Ambush.”
Having successfully slain one of the assassins, Yang Hao immediately withdrew his nascent soul back into his body to avoid exposing his true form to counterattacks. He had assumed that killing one would disrupt the entire “Final Judgment” formation, as most formations relied on every member being indispensable.
But this time, Yang Hao realized he was wrong.
The “Final Judgment” did not stop with one less member. The remaining nine seemed oblivious to their fallen comrade, continuing to gather dark energy, solidifying the black sword in the air.
“This isn’t a formation—it’s just a sword technique!” Hunyuanzi warned urgently. “Formations require coordination, but techniques don’t. Any Nether Shade assassin can execute this move. The number of participants only affects its power. Killing one merely reduces the Final Judgment’s strength by a tenth.”
“What do I do then?!” Yang Hao roared. At the rate of Blood Ambush, by the time he killed two, the full might of the Final Judgment would descend upon him.
“The only flaw of the Final Judgment is its speed,” Hunyuanzi, ever the seasoned veteran, saw through its essence. “It requires a long channeling time. Kill them all before they finish channeling.”
The Nether Shade assassins were now channeling dark energy to form the sword—Yang Hao’s only window of opportunity. During this time, they were at their most vulnerable and defenseless. Once they completed the channeling, the Final Judgment’s devastating power would claim Yang Hao’s life.
As Hunyuanzi spoke, Yang Hao’s body transformed once more. In an instant, rings of flame surged from beneath his feet, engulfing his entire being in fire.
With a sudden roar, Yang Hao soared into the air. The Shadow Moon erupted in blazing flames, merging with his body, transforming into a dragon—a fiery dragon of flames. This dragon was not flesh and blood but pure celestial fire, gold and red intertwined, as if drawn from the primal forces of nature. It surged toward the nine remaining assassins, who were still silently channeling the Final Judgment…
Just as Yang Hao’s Flame Dragon Sword was about to strike—on the verge of annihilating their formation before they could complete it—the Nether Shade assassins made another terrifying move.
Three of them abruptly broke away from the formation, lunging forward without hesitation. They didn’t even draw their swords or channel their energy—they simply threw themselves at Yang Hao’s Flame Dragon Sword.
Like a volcanic eruption, the Flame Dragon Sword instantly consumed the three, melting their bodies. But Yang Hao’s sword momentum was broken. These three had not attacked to counter him—they had sacrificed themselves to stall his assault, buying the others precious seconds.
They succeeded. Though they perished, they had halted Yang Hao’s Flame Dragon Sword.
And now, the “Final Judgment” was complete.
Yang Hao felt suffocated—not from lack of oxygen in his protective field, but because the breath of life was being siphoned from his body, strand by strand. The sky darkened further, even the comet’s fiery eruptions losing their color. The entire comet’s core seemed submerged in hell.
This was the hell of death, the hell of lost souls, the hell of the Nether Shade.
Under the immense pressure, Yang Hao’s body began to crumple.
The “Final Judgment” could repel council elders, wound sword saints—naturally, it could kill a Great Sword Master.
Yang Hao’s life was being drained by the “Final Judgment.” His face paled, his eyes dim with unwillingness. But his body could no longer fight back. Perhaps, in this moment, he thought of the women in his life—Shi Mingyuan, Amanda, even Ling Ziyan.
But it was too late.
Or was it?
Thunder rumbled in the sky—cloudless, yet the heavens seemed to beat war drums. Darkness coiled around Yang Hao’s neck, choking him. The colossal Final Judgment sword hung high above, poised to strike down with supreme arrogance.
“Disciple!” Hunyuanzi’s voice boomed like a god’s.
“Yes.” Though on the verge of unconsciousness, Yang Hao showed no fear. “Master.”
“Never underestimate others again,” Hunyuanzi said. “Even if you become a Golden Immortal, even if you rule the cosmos—never look down on anyone.”
“Understood.” Yang Hao nodded heavily, even as his life flickered away. What he had learned now surpassed all his past lessons.
Hunyuanzi sighed.
A milky-white force surged from Yang Hao’s dantian, racing through his meridians like lightning, converging on one of his fingers.
On that finger was a black ring—the “Thunder Wrath Ring”—which suddenly emitted a sharp hum. The world twisted as the power of the Dark Angel King Satul, sealed within the ring, awakened.
Satul was a god of the dark realm, master of thunder and lightning. The ring he had bestowed upon Yang Hao was named for his wrath. But only now did Yang Hao realize—Satul had not sealed lightning within the ring, but the “Great Radiance Technique,” a power once deemed inconceivable even by the gods.
Boundless white light erupted from the ring, illuminating the blackened sky in blinding purity. Hell transformed into heaven in an instant. The hovering “Final Judgment” collided with the Great Radiance Technique—and dissolved without a sound.
Yang Hao kept his eyes closed, not witnessing the changes outside. But he felt the power—an infinite, cosmic force. He floated as if in the universe itself, where everything—even the wind, even starlight—originated from this energy.
The Great Radiance Technique spread endlessly, silently annihilating the “Final Judgment” before enveloping the Nether Shade assassins. Astonishingly, the assassins burst into white flames upon contact, their bodies incinerated by the radiant light while their malice-laden souls were purified, extracted, and left floating in the white expanse. Along with the souls of those Yang Hao had slain earlier, they circled him in the luminous void.
The comet’s eruption reached its peak. The cliff beneath Yang Hao trembled violently, cracks widening until the comet’s core was exposed—a blue torrent gushing forth. This was the source of the comet’s icy power, the pinnacle of frigid force in this world.
Hunyuanzi took a deep breath. The unfolding events exceeded even his expectations.
The comet’s core was on the brink of destruction, unleashing even its deepest glacial energies. Ten potent souls, steeped in malice, orbited around them. The Great Radiance Technique’s purity surpassed even celestial fire—making it the perfect catalyst for alchemy.
Now, all the materials for refining the “Frostflame Celestial Pill” were ready.
Unintentionally, Yang Hao had even initiated the pill’s refinement within himself.
This master pill used the cultivator’s body as the cauldron, absorbing all materials before celestial fire burned with full intensity, imprinting the nascent soul with the mark of the “Void Realm.”
Sure enough, as Yang Hao immersed himself in the cosmic force surrounding him, the raging energies were swiftly drawn into his body by an unseen power. The comet’s icy torrent ceased its flow, condensing into a mere trickle that entered Yang Hao, turning his meridians a pale blue.
Next were the ten assassins’ souls—frigid, malice-forged spirits that would otherwise haunt the world as vengeful wraiths. But now, these translucent, wispy souls answered the call of power, one by one slipping past Yang Hao’s parted lips, merging into his being.
The Great Radiance Technique finally ceased, but the milky light seemed only to begin moving—now in reverse, flowing back into Yang Hao. It pierced his pores, surging into his nascent soul with overwhelming force, as if summoned by a divine presence.
Within Yang Hao’s body, three opposing forces clashed—each carrying energies that collided like a miniature cosmic explosion. At times, flames ten meters long erupted from him; at others, an extreme chill seeped out. His skin alternately froze thick with ice or lay serene as if in slumber.
Throughout it all, Yang Hao remained motionless, eyes shut. Yet his spirit was busy harmonizing the myriad energies within his personal cosmos.
His inner and outer universes seemed unified. He could feel cosmic winds, gravitational pulls between stars, even the birth of new celestial bodies.
Finally, a light—pure and primordial—erupted from his nascent soul. This radiance projected hundreds of thousands of kilometers, affecting planets in its range.
But within Yang Hao, the clashing forces had vanished—absorbed entirely. Upon his nascent soul, a mark was stamped.
This mark resembled an ever-spinning cosmos, teeming with endlessly cycling stars.
Now, the materials for refining the “Cold Celestial Fire Holy Pill” were fully prepared.
Even Yang Hao had unknowingly initiated the main pill’s refinement.
The empire has a strict hierarchy for measuring combat strength. For instance, Yang Hao has already surpassed level fifty, roughly equivalent to a Great Sword Master. However, Rong Sui’s power is something Yang Hao finds impossible to gauge—like the divine energy of the gods, it is a pure, concentrated force.
What shocked Yang Hao even more was that the “Final Judgment” could repel someone as unfathomably powerful as Rong Sui. Though the ten purple-clad experts lay on the ground, seemingly suffering minor internal injuries, they had still managed to force back an elder of the council—a figure of immense standing.
It seems there is undeniable reason why the “Final Judgment” is regarded as the empire’s one and only divine miracle.
Ling Ziyan had been rescued by her master, her life temporarily out of danger. But Yang Hao’s crisis was far from over. Despite their injuries, the ten purple-clad assassins rose one by one. Even as the comet’s core erupted in chaos, with meteoric debris collapsing around them and frigid currents surging through the trembling earth, their auras remained unshaken. After a brief adjustment, they seamlessly merged once more, their energy slowly solidifying.
Death loomed once again over this soon-to-be-destroyed place.
And this time, their sole opponent was Yang Hao.
Yang Hao’s expression turned grave. No matter how arrogant he might be, he dared not underestimate this otherworldly sword technique. The gap between Rong Sui and him was vast—if even she had been forced back, what chance did he have?
He grabbed three sword pills at once and swallowed them without hesitation, disregarding Hunyuanzi’s warning about potential clashes in their energies. In the heat of battle, there was no time for caution.
The auras of the ten assassins of the Nether Shade solidified once more, a black sword faintly taking shape in the air. Despite the earth shaking and collapsing around them, the assassins stood unmoved, unaffected.
Yang Hao, too, underwent a transformation. He became something pure—devoid of soul, sound, or color—merely an ethereal existence.
This change briefly disrupted the Nether Shade assassins, but their auras only paused momentarily before continuing to coalesce.
Yet, amidst the wind, a streak of crimson appeared.
Accompanying the blood-red hue was the hissing of the wind—and the sound of blood spurting from a slit throat, spraying into the sky.
Within the mist of blood, a shadow blade, glowing with a sanguine light, arced through the air at an impossible angle, trailing Yang Hao’s bloodied silhouette behind it.
One of the purple-clad assassins fell. Even in death, he did not understand how he had died. Yang Hao still stood there, a lifeless husk—so how had the shadow blade, carrying Yang Hao’s afterimage, slashed across his neck?
The assassins of the Nether Shade shuddered in horror.
This was “Blood Ambush”—the first sword technique of the Alchemy and Sword Dual Cultivation Sect’s assassination arts. After consuming the “Shadow Dissipation” pill, Yang Hao’s Nascent Soul could briefly turn invisible—not just to the naked eye, but undetectable even to energy senses. Paired with the shadow-attuned Moonblade, this allowed him to unleash a devastating strike, beheading the assassin before they could react.
As blood sprayed from the severed throat, Yang Hao’s Nascent Soul flickered within the crimson mist, leaving behind a long, bloody trail—hence the name “Blood Ambush.”
Having successfully slain one opponent, Yang Hao immediately withdrew his Nascent Soul to avoid exposing his true body to counterattacks. He had assumed that killing one would disrupt the “Final Judgment” formation, as most formations relied on every member’s presence.
But this time, he was wrong.
The “Final Judgment” did not falter with one less participant. The remaining nine assassins acted as if their fallen comrade meant nothing, continuing to condense their dark energy, solidifying the black sword in the air.
“This isn’t a formation—it’s a single sword technique!” Hunyuanzi urgently warned. “Formations require coordination, but techniques don’t. Any assassin of the Nether Shade can execute this move. The number of participants only affects its power. Killing one merely reduced its strength by a tenth.”
“What do I do then?!” Yang Hao roared. At the rate of his Blood Ambush, by the time he killed two more, the full force of the “Final Judgment” would descend upon him.
“The only flaw of the ‘Final Judgment’ is its speed,” Hunyuanzi, ever the seasoned veteran, saw through its weakness. “It requires a long channeling time. Kill them all before they finish channeling.”
The assassins were now in the midst of channeling their dark energy to form the sword—Yang Hao’s only window of opportunity. During this time, they were at their most vulnerable. Once the channeling was complete, the “Final Judgment” would claim his life.
Following Hunyuanzi’s words, Yang Hao’s body transformed once more. In an instant, rings of fire surged from his feet, engulfing his entire being in flames.
With a resounding cry, Yang Hao soared into the air. The Moonblade erupted in blazing fire, merging with his body to form a dragon—a flaming dragon of pure celestial fire, its body woven from gold and crimson flames, carrying unimaginable destructive force as it lunged at the nine remaining assassins.
They were still silently channeling the “Final Judgment”…
Just as Yang Hao’s Flaming Dragon Sword was about to strike—mere moments before the assassins completed their technique—it seemed he would obliterate them all, consuming them in his fiery onslaught.
But the Nether Shade forces made another terrifying move. Three assassins abruptly broke away from the formation, charging forward without hesitation. They didn’t even draw their swords—they simply threw themselves at Yang Hao’s Flaming Dragon Sword.
Like a volcanic eruption, the Flaming Dragon Sword instantly devoured the three, reducing them to ashes. But Yang Hao’s momentum was broken. These three had not attacked to counter him—they had sacrificed themselves to buy the slightest sliver of time for their comrades.
And they succeeded. Though they perished, they had stalled Yang Hao’s assault.
Now, the “Final Judgment” was complete.
Yang Hao felt suffocated—not from lack of oxygen, but as if the very essence of life was being siphoned from his body. The sky darkened further, the comet’s eruptions fading into obscurity. The entire comet’s core felt like it had descended into hell.
A hell of death. A hell of the undead. A hell belonging to the Nether Shade.
Under the overwhelming pressure, Yang Hao’s body began to crumple.
The “Final Judgment” had forced back an elder of the council. It had wounded a Sword Saint. Naturally, it could kill a Great Sword Master.
Yang Hao’s life was being drained away. His face paled, his eyes dim with unwillingness. But his body could no longer fight back. Perhaps now, he thought of the women in his life—Shi Mingyuan, Amanda, even Ling Ziyan.
But it was too late.
Or was it?
Thunder rumbled in the sky, though there were no clouds. The very forces of heaven and earth seemed to beat war drums. Darkness coiled around Yang Hao’s neck, choking him. The colossal sword of the “Final Judgment” hung high above, poised to strike down with absolute supremacy.
“Disciple!” Hunyuanzi’s voice boomed like a god’s.
“Yes.” Though on the brink of unconsciousness, Yang Hao showed no fear. “Master.”
“Never underestimate others again,” Hunyuanzi said. “Even if you become a Golden Immortal, even if you rule the cosmos—never look down on anyone.”
“Understood.” Yang Hao nodded firmly, even as his life flickered. What he had learned now outweighed all his past lessons combined.
Hunyuanzi sighed.
A milky-white energy surged from Yang Hao’s dantian, racing through his meridians like lightning before concentrating in one of his fingers.
On that finger was a black ring—the “Ring of Thunder’s Wrath.” With a resonant hum, space itself twisted as the power of the Dark Angel King Satar, sealed within the ring, awakened.
Satar was a god of the dark realm, master of thunder. The ring he had bestowed upon Yang Hao was named for his wrath. But only now did Yang Hao realize—Satar had not sealed lightning within the ring, but the “Great Radiance Technique,” a divine art that once baffled the heavens.
Boundless white light erupted from the ring, illuminating the blackened sky in blinding purity. Hell itself transformed into paradise. The hovering “Final Judgment” clashed with the Great Radiance Technique—and silently dissipated into nothingness.
Yang Hao kept his eyes closed, unaware of the external changes. But he felt the power—an infinite, cosmic force. He floated as if in the void of the universe, where everything—wind, starlight, existence itself—originated from this energy.
The Great Radiance Technique spread endlessly, effortlessly annihilating the “Final Judgment” before enveloping the remaining assassins. To Yang Hao’s shock, the white light set their bodies ablaze, their souls—steeped in Nether Qi—purified and extracted. Along with the souls of those he had slain earlier, they now orbited Yang Hao in the radiant space.
The comet’s eruption reached its peak. The cliff beneath Yang Hao trembled violently, fissures widening to reveal the comet’s core—a torrent of blue energy, the source of the extreme cold that permeated the comet’s heart.
Hunyuanzi took a deep breath. The unfolding events had surpassed even his expectations.
The comet was on the verge of destruction, unleashing its deepest frost energies. Ten powerful souls, infused with Nether Qi, swirled around them. And the Great Radiance Technique—purer than celestial fire—was the perfect catalyst for alchemy.
Now, all the materials for refining the “Netherfrost Celestial Fire Sacred Pill” were present.
Unbeknownst to him, Yang Hao had already initiated the pill’s refinement.
This pill used the cultivator’s body as the cauldron, absorbing all materials within. The celestial fire would burn relentlessly, imprinting the Nascent Soul with the mark of the Void Realm.
True to form, as Yang Hao meditated on the cosmic energy around him, the converging forces were rapidly drawn into his body by an unseen power. The comet’s frigid torrents ceased their flow, condensing into droplets that entered his meridians, turning them a pale blue.
Next came the ten assassins’ souls—frigid, Nether Qi-infused remnants that would have otherwise haunted the world as malevolent wraiths. Instead, they were pulled one by one into Yang Hao’s slightly parted lips, merging with his being.
The Great Radiance Technique finally ceased, but the milky light reversed its flow, piercing Yang Hao’s pores and surging into his Nascent Soul—as if answering a divine summons.
Within Yang Hao’s body, three opposing energies clashed—like a miniature cosmic explosion. At times, flames ten meters long erupted from him; at others, an icy aura so cold it froze the air. His skin alternately encased in thick ice or serene as if in slumber.
Throughout it all, Yang Hao remained motionless, his spirit harmonizing the chaotic energies within his inner universe.
His inner and outer worlds seemed unified. He felt the cosmic winds, the pull of stars, even the birth of new celestial bodies.
Finally, a light—pure and primordial—erupted from his Nascent Soul. Its radiance stretched hundreds of thousands of kilometers, affecting planets in its wake.
Yet within Yang Hao, the conflicting forces had vanished—fully absorbed. Upon his Nascent Soul, a mark now rested.
A mark resembling an ever-spinning cosmos, teeming with stars in an endless cycle of creation and rebirth.
Sure enough, as Yang Hao closed his eyes, sensing the boundless cosmic power around him, massive energies from unknown sources rapidly flowed into his body. The icy torrent from the depths of Mengxingyuan ceased its turbulence, condensing into a tiny stream that entered Yang Hao’s body, turning his entire meridian system a pale blue.
The empire has strict classifications for the levels of martial prowess. For instance, Yang Hao has already surpassed level fifty, roughly equivalent to the rank of a Great Sword Master. However, Rong Lui’s power is something Yang Hao finds immeasurable—like the divine clans of the Celestial Realm, a pure mass of energy.
Yet, what shocked Yang Hao even more was that the “Final Judgment” could repel someone as terrifyingly formidable as Rong Lui. Though the ten purple-clad experts had collapsed to the ground, seemingly suffering minor internal injuries, they had still managed to force back an elder of the council—a figure of such high standing.
It seemed there was absolute justification in considering the “Final Judgment” a unique divine miracle within the empire.
Ling Ziyan had been rescued by her master, her life temporarily out of danger. However, Yang Hao’s crisis was far from over. Though injured, the ten purple-clad assassins rose one by one. Even as the comet’s core erupted in chaos, with meteoric debris collapsing and frigid currents surging, their auras remained unshaken. After a brief adjustment, they merged once more, their energy slowly solidifying.
Death’s shadow once again loomed over this soon-to-be-destroyed place.
And this time, their sole opponent was Yang Hao.
Yang Hao’s expression turned grave. No matter how arrogant he was, he dared not underestimate this godly sword technique. The gap between Rong Lui and him was immense—if even she had been forced back, what chance did he have?
He grabbed three Sword Pills at once and swallowed them, disregarding Hunyuanzi’s warning about potential clashes in their energies. In the heat of such a battle, there was no time to consume pills one by one.
The auras of the ten assassins of the Nether Shades solidified once more. A black sword began to take form in the air. Despite the earth shaking and collapsing around them, the assassins stood unmoved, unaffected.
Yang Hao, too, was changing. He became something pure—an existence devoid of soul, sound, or color, merely a spiritual entity.
This transformation briefly disrupted the Nether Shades, but their auras only paused momentarily before continuing to coalesce.
Yet, amidst the wind, a streak of crimson appeared.
Accompanying the blood-red hue was the hissing of the wind—and the sound of blood spurting from a slit throat, spraying into the sky.
Within the bloody mist, a shadow blade, gleaming with a sanguine glow, arced through the air at an impossible angle, followed by Yang Hao’s bloodied silhouette.
One of the purple-clad experts fell. Even in death, he didn’t understand how he had died. Yang Hao had seemed to stand there, lifeless as a corpse—so how had the shadow blade, trailing Yang Hao’s afterimage, slashed his throat?
The assassins of the Nether Shades shuddered in shock.
This was “Blood Ambush”—the first sword technique of the Alchemy and Sword Dual Cultivation Sect’s assassination arts. After consuming the “Shadow Dissipation” pill, Yang Hao’s Nascent Soul could briefly turn invisible—an advanced form of concealment that masked not just his form but even his energy. Paired with the shadow-attuned Moonblade, this allowed him to unleash an overwhelming strike in an instant, decapitating the Nether Shades’ expert.
As blood sprayed from the slit throat, Yang Hao’s Nascent Soul flickered within the crimson mist, leaving a long, bloody trail—hence the name “Blood Ambush.”
Having successfully slain one opponent, Yang Hao immediately withdrew his Nascent Soul to avoid exposing his true body to counterattacks. He had assumed that killing one would disrupt the “Final Judgment” formation, as past formations had relied on each member’s presence.
But this time, he was wrong.
The “Final Judgment” did not stop with one less participant. The remaining nine acted as if their fallen comrade meant nothing, continuing to condense dark energy, solidifying the black sword in the air.
“This isn’t a formation—it’s a technique!” Hunyuanzi warned urgently. “Formations require coordination, but techniques don’t. Any assassin of the Nether Shades can execute this move. The number of participants only affects its power. Killing one merely reduces the Final Judgment’s strength by a tenth.”
“Then what do I do?!” Yang Hao roared. At the rate of Blood Ambush, by the time he killed two, the full force of the Final Judgment would descend upon him.
“The only flaw of the Final Judgment is its speed,” Hunyuanzi, ever the seasoned veteran, saw through its nature. “It requires a long channeling time. Kill them all before they finish.”
The assassins were now channeling dark energy to form the sword—Yang Hao’s only window of opportunity. During this time, they were at their most vulnerable. Once the channeling was complete, the Final Judgment’s devastating power would claim his life.
Following Hunyuanzi’s words, Yang Hao’s body transformed once more. In an instant, rings of fire surged from beneath his feet, engulfing his entire form in flames.
With a sudden roar, Yang Hao soared into the air. The Moonblade erupted in scorching flames, merging with his body to form a dragon—a blazing inferno dragon. This dragon was not flesh and blood but pure celestial fire, gold and red intertwined, carrying unimaginable force as it lunged at the nine assassins still silently channeling the Final Judgment.
Just as Yang Hao’s Inferno Dragon Sword was about to strike—mere moments before the assassins completed their channeling—the Nether Shades made a terrifying adjustment.
Three assassins broke from the formation, charging forth without hesitation. They didn’t even draw their swords or channel their energy—they simply threw themselves at Yang Hao’s Inferno Dragon Sword.
Like a volcanic eruption, the Inferno Dragon consumed the three, melting their bodies. But Yang Hao’s sword momentum was broken. These three hadn’t attacked—they had sacrificed themselves to stall him, buying time for the others.
And they succeeded. Though they perished, they halted Yang Hao’s assault.
Now, the Final Judgment was complete.
Yang Hao felt suffocated—not from lack of oxygen, but as if life itself was being siphoned from his body. The sky darkened further, even the comet’s fiery eruptions losing their color. The entire comet’s core seemed submerged in hell.
A hell of death, of lost souls, of the Nether Shades.
Under the immense pressure, Yang Hao’s body began to crumple.
The Final Judgment could repel council elders, wound sword saints—naturally, it could kill a Great Sword Master.
Yang Hao’s life was being drained. His face paled, his eyes dim with unwillingness. But his body could no longer fight back. Perhaps now, he thought of the women in his life—Shi Mingyuan, Amanda, even Ling Ziyan.
But it was too late.
Or was it?
A thunderous roar echoed across the cloudless sky, as if the heavens themselves were beating war drums. Darkness coiled around Yang Hao’s neck, choking him. The colossal Final Judgment sword hung high, poised to strike.
“Disciple!” Hunyuanzi’s voice boomed like a god’s.
“Yes.” Though on the verge of unconsciousness, Yang Hao showed no fear. “Master.”
“Never underestimate others again,” Hunyuanzi said. “Even if you become a Golden Immortal, a ruler of the cosmos—never look down on anyone.”
“Understood.” Yang Hao nodded firmly, even as life slipped away. What he learned now surpassed all past lessons.
Hunyuanzi sighed.
A milky-white force surged from Yang Hao’s dantian, coursing through his meridians like lightning before gathering at his fingertip.
On that finger rested a black ring—the “Thunder Wrath Ring”—which let out a sharp hum. The world twisted as the power of the Dark Angel King Satul, sealed within the ring, awakened.
Satul was a god of the dark realm, master of thunder. The ring he bestowed upon Yang Hao was named for his wrath. But only now did Yang Hao realize—Satul had not sealed lightning within the ring, but the “Great Radiance Technique,” a power that once baffled the Celestial Realm.
Boundless white light erupted from the ring, illuminating the blackened sky in blinding purity. Hell transformed into heaven in an instant. The hovering Final Judgment clashed with the Great Radiance Technique—and dissipated without a sound.
Yang Hao kept his eyes closed, oblivious to the outside world. Yet he felt power—vast, infinite power. He floated as if in the cosmos itself, where everything—wind, starlight—originated from this force.
The Great Radiance Technique spread endlessly. After silently annihilating the Final Judgment, it enveloped the Nether Shades’ assassins. Astonishingly, the white light set their bodies ablaze, their souls—steeped in malevolent energy—extracted and purified. Along with the souls of those Yang Hao had slain earlier, they now orbited him in the white void.
The comet’s eruption reached its peak. The cliff beneath Yang Hao trembled, fissures widening to reveal the core—a blue torrent of frigid energy, the source of the comet’s icy power and the pinnacle of cold in this world.
Hunyuanzi took a deep breath. The surrounding changes exceeded even his expectations.
The comet’s core was on the verge of destruction, unleashing even its deepest frost. Ten potent souls, brimming with malevolence, circled around. The Great Radiance Technique’s purity surpassed celestial fire—making it perfect for alchemy.
Now, all materials for refining the “Frigid Flames Celestial Pill” were present.
Unknowingly, Yang Hao had even initiated the main pill’s refinement.
This main pill used the cultivator’s body as the cauldron, absorbing all materials within. Celestial fire would burn at full force, imprinting the Nascent Soul with the mark of the Void Realm.
Sure enough, as Yang Hao immersed himself in the cosmic power around him, the raging energies were swiftly drawn into his body by an unseen force. The comet’s frigid torrent ceased its flow, condensing into a mere trickle before entering Yang Hao, turning his meridians a pale blue.
Next came the ten assassins’ souls. These spirits, long tempered by malevolence, would have lingered as vengeful wraiths. But now, drawn by the power, they streamed one by one into Yang Hao’s slightly parted lips, merging with his being.
The Great Radiance Technique finally ceased, but the milky light seemed to stir anew—this time flowing backward, piercing Yang Hao’s pores with immense force to converge in his Nascent Soul, as if summoned by a divine presence.
Within Yang Hao’s body, three opposing forces clashed, their collisions like miniature cosmic explosions. At times, flames ten meters long burst from him; at others, an icy aura permeated his form. His skin alternated between thick ice and serene slumber.
Throughout, Yang Hao remained motionless, eyes shut. His spirit, however, was harmonizing the myriad energies within his personal cosmos.
His inner and outer universes seemed unified. He sensed cosmic winds, gravitational pulls between stars, even the birth of new celestial bodies.
Finally, a light—pure and primordial—erupted from his Nascent Soul. Its radiance spanned hundreds of thousands of kilometers, affecting planets in its wake.
Yet within Yang Hao, the clashing forces had vanished—absorbed entirely. Upon his Nascent Soul, a mark now rested.
This mark resembled an ever-spinning cosmos, teeming with endlessly cycling stars.
The Great Light Art finally ceased, but the milky-white light seemed to only begin its movement—this time flowing back toward Yang Hao, piercing his pores, and shooting into his Yuan Ying with immense force, as if summoned by a god-like power within.
Inside Yang Hao’s body, three completely opposing substances surged, their energies colliding like a miniature cosmic explosion. Yang Hao’s body alternately erupted in ten-meter-long blazing flames, exuded bone-chilling cold, his skin forming thick layers of ice, then turning peaceful as if sleeping.
Throughout this process, Yang Hao remained motionless with his eyes closed. His consciousness, however, was fusing various energies within his inner cosmos.
Yang Hao’s inner and outer universes seemed to merge. He could feel the wind of the cosmos, the gravitational pull between stars, even the birth of a new star.
Finally, a light—pure and primordial—erupted from Yang Hao’s Yuan Ying. This light traveled tens of thousands of kilometers, affecting planets within its range to varying degrees.
Yet, within Yang Hao’s body, the previously clashing energies had vanished, fully absorbed by him. On his Yuan Ying, a mark had been imprinted.
This mark resembled an infinite, constantly rotating universe, within which endless cycles of stars were born and reborn.
Yang Hao opened his eyes, his gaze seemingly capable of piercing through the dark void of the cosmos to glimpse the light beyond…
In one month, Yang Hao traversed half the universe.
Such a long journey was only the second time in his life.
Yang Hao opened his eyes, his gaze seemingly piercing through the darkness of the universe to glimpse the light beyond…
A month had passed, and Yang Hao had traversed half the cosmos.
Such a long journey was only the second of his life.
But this time, the voyage was far from dull—after all, he was aboard his own Doomsday-class battleship. As the supreme captain and leader of the Sword Corps, he could spend his days tormenting XII and his underlings.
Especially tormenting his subordinates—it had become Yang Hao’s recent favorite pastime.
His repeated clashes with the Empire’s Ten Sword Schools had made him realize the importance of having a loyal following. Thus, Yang Hao began focusing his efforts on training the young members of the Hao Sword Corps. Over the past several months, as those kids came of age one by one, a major weight was lifted from Yang Hao’s mind.
After all, the cultivation methods of the Alchemy Sect required dual cultivation between men and women. Letting minors engage in promiscuous relationships was hardly befitting the image of a corps leader. Seizing the opportunity, Yang Hao divided the talented members of the Hao Sword Corps into thirty groups of eight, pairing them off two by two.
Those who had already been eyeing each other were free to pair up. If no suitable match was found, Yang Hao and Long Yun were more than happy to play matchmaker. However, among them, over a dozen individuals had clear homosexual tendencies, which proved quite a headache.
But Yang Hao solved the problem with a single stroke—he locked those men and women in a room and flooded it with aphrodisiac gas. Within hours, chaos ensued, and after twenty-four hours, the “homosexual crisis” was completely resolved. Everyone obediently paired off with their designated partners for dual cultivation.
Yang Hao expended a considerable amount of qi to lay the foundation for each member of the Hao Sword Corps. Now, they each possessed combat strength equivalent to Level Five or higher. Combined with the “Wounded Sword” formation Yang Hao had previously devised, their eight-member squads could unleash power comparable to Level Ten, rivaling ordinary sword corps.
During the month-long journey to Earth, Yang Hao led the Hao Sword Corps on various excursions—hunting monsters, mining resources—without any urgency to reach their destination. That damned Earth was fraught with dangers, and who knew what kind of creepy uncles awaited him there? He certainly wasn’t in a hurry to rush to his doom.
Yet, despite his delays, he still arrived at Earth’s outer port on the final day of the month.
No one could accurately count the current population of the Galactic Empire. But the total number of Earth-born immigrants and their descendants amounted to at least 1.2 trillion—far beyond what Earth or even the entire Milky Way could accommodate.
Thus, Earth-born immigrants became the majority race across the cosmos, spread across every corner of the Empire. It was through this vast population that the Empire controlled and exploited the universe’s resources.
Though Yang Hao was also Earth-born, he had never set foot on Earth—nor even visited the Milky Way before. This was now a gathering place for nobles and the military, off-limits to commoners.
The Empire’s most elite forces and its sprawling, hundreds-of-kilometers-wide technological core were all concentrated in the Milky Way. Countless fleets were stationed there. Yang Hao had once believed the military forces he witnessed in the Three Crystal Seas were the most awe-inspiring sight in the universe. But as he flew through the Milky Way, the view outside his window surpassed even that spectacle tenfold.
If, in the outer regions, Yang Hao could sense the Empire’s decay and decline, then upon entering the Milky Way, he realized that beneath its towering facade, this colossal empire still harbored astonishing power.
Especially bullying his underlings, which had recently become Yang Hao’s favorite pastime.
Multiple encounters with the Ten Sword Sects of the Empire made him realize the importance of having a loyal group of followers. Therefore, Yang Hao began focusing on cultivating the young members of Hao Sword Corps. Over the past several months, these kids had gradually come of age, finally relieving Yang Hao of a major concern.
Yang Hao opened his eyes, his gaze seemingly piercing through the darkness of the universe to glimpse the light beyond…
In just one month, Yang Hao had traversed half the cosmos.
Such a long journey was only the second of his life.
But this time, the trip wasn’t dull—after all, he was aboard his own Doomsday-class battleship. As the supreme captain and leader of the Sword Corps, he could spend his days tormenting XII and his underlings.
Especially tormenting his subordinates—that had become Yang Hao’s recent favorite pastime.
His repeated clashes with the Empire’s Ten Sword Schools had made him realize the importance of having a loyal crew. So, Yang Hao began focusing his efforts on training the young members of the Hao Sword Corps. Over the past year, as those kids came of age, a major weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
After all, the Dan Ding Sect’s cultivation required dual cultivation between men and women. Letting minors engage in such relationships was hardly befitting of a leader. Seizing the opportunity, Yang Hao divided the promising members of the Hao Sword Corps into thirty groups of eight, pairing them off two by two.
Those who had already been eyeing each other were free to pair up. If no suitable match was found, Yang Hao and Long Yun were more than happy to play matchmaker. However, among them, over a dozen had clear homosexual tendencies, which proved quite the headache.
But Yang Hao solved the problem with a single stroke. He locked those men and women in a room and pumped it full of aphrodisiac gas. Within hours, chaos ensued, and after twenty-four hours, the “homosexual crisis” was completely resolved—everyone obediently paired off with their designated partners for dual cultivation.
Yang Hao expended a considerable amount of qi to lay the foundation for each member of the Hao Sword Corps. Now, they all possessed combat strength around the fifth level. Combined with the “Wounded Sword” formation he had previously devised, their eight-member squads could unleash power equivalent to the tenth level, rivaling ordinary sword corps.
During the month-long journey to Earth, Yang Hao led the Hao Sword Corps on various excursions—hunting monsters, mining resources—without any rush to reach their destination. That damned planet was fraught with dangers, and who knew what kind of creepy uncles awaited him there? He wasn’t in a hurry to march to his death.
Yet, no matter how much he delayed, he still arrived at Earth’s outer port on the last day of the month.
No one could accurately count the current population of the Galactic Empire. But the total number of Earth-born immigrants and their descendants exceeded at least 1.2 trillion—far beyond what Earth or even the entire Milky Way could accommodate.
Thus, Earth-born immigrants had become the majority across the cosmos, spread across every corner of the Empire. It was through this vast population that the Empire controlled and exploited the universe’s resources.
Though Yang Hao was also of Earth descent, he had never set foot on Earth—nor even visited the Milky Way before. This was now a gathering place for nobles and the military, off-limits to commoners.
The Empire’s most elite forces and its sprawling, hundreds-of-kilometers-wide technological core were all concentrated in the Milky Way. Countless fleets were stationed there. Yang Hao had once believed the military forces he saw in the Three Crystal Sea were the most awe-inspiring sight in the universe. But as his ship navigated the Milky Way, the view outside his window surpassed even that spectacle tenfold.
If, in the outer regions, Yang Hao could sense the Empire’s decay and decline, then upon entering the Milky Way, he realized that beneath its grand facade, this colossal empire still harbored astonishing power.
Those who had already shown mutual interest were allowed to form pairs freely. For those without suitable partners, Yang Hao and Long Yun were more than happy to act as matchmakers, even if it meant randomly pairing them up. However, there were over a dozen individuals who clearly identified as homosexual, which posed somewhat of a headache.
But Yang Hao resolved this issue with one clever move. He locked those dozen or so individuals—regardless of gender—into a single room and released a sufficient amount of aphrodisiac gas. Within hours, chaos erupted inside. After twenty-four hours, the homosexual “crisis” was completely resolved, and everyone obediently paired off with their opposite gender counterparts to begin dual cultivation.
Yang Hao expended considerable spiritual energy to establish foundational training for each member of the Hao Sword Corps. Now, each of them possessed combat strength around level five. Combined with the “Sword of Wounds” formation Yang Hao had previously devised, these groups of eight could unleash power equivalent to level ten, making them capable of rivaling ordinary swordsmen corps.
During the month-long journey toward Earth, Yang Hao leisurely wandered around with the Hao Sword Corps, hunting monsters and mining resources, in no rush to reach their destination. That cursed Earth was brimming with danger, and he had no intention of rushing to his death without knowing what creepy uncles might be waiting for him there.
Still, no matter how much he delayed, he eventually arrived at Earth’s outer port on the last day of the month.
The exact population of the Galactic Empire was no longer something anyone could calculate. But the total number of Earth-descended immigrants and their descendants exceeded at least twelve trillion. Not only could Earth no longer contain them, but even the entire Milky Way galaxy couldn’t hold them all.
Thus, Earth-descended immigrants had become the majority ethnic group throughout the universe, scattered across every corner of the Empire. It was precisely these masses of people that allowed the Empire to control and dominate cosmic resources.
Although Yang Hao himself was also of Earth descent, he had never returned to Earth, nor had he ever visited the Milky Way Galaxy before. This region had long become a stronghold for nobility and military forces, not a place ordinary civilians could enter.
The Empire’s elite forces and its technology core, stretching hundreds of kilometers, were located right here in the Milky Way. Innumerable fleets were stationed here. Yang Hao had originally believed that the military forces he saw at the Three Crystal Sea were already an unimaginable spectacle. Yet, while flying through the Milky Way, what appeared outside his ship’s window was a scene ten times more magnificent than the Three Crystal Sea.
If Yang Hao could sense the Empire’s decay and decline in the outer territories, then upon entering the Milky Way, he realized that beneath its majestic exterior, the Empire still possessed astonishing strength at its core.
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