Hun Yuanzi continued, “Forget one vehicle, you probably won’t even see it in your lifetime. Even my master, who has lived for a thousand years, is seeing it for the very first time today.”
“So precious?” Yang Hao was genuinely startled. He turned his gaze back to the flame, and indeed, it seemed extraordinary. No matter how intense and wild the surrounding flames became, the Primordial Flame remained calm and unmoved at its place, like a lotus rising unsullied from the mud—serene and elegant in its quietness.
Such a treasure rendered the arrogant nuclear flames mere background decoration, as if the entire sky’s chaotic battle had existed solely to highlight its appearance.
“The Primordial Flame has always belonged to legends—it is the ultimate goal of forgers and alchemists alike,” Hun Yuanzi explained. “Though there are many kinds of fire in this world, they all share the same nature. Even if their strengths vary, it’s merely the difference between ordinary fire and the Samadhi True Fire. But the Primordial Flame is different—it is the ancestor of all flames, the origin of every fire. It contains the power of all flames.”
“So powerful!” Yang Hao’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Does our Dan Ding Sect have any pills that utilize the Primordial Flame?”
“No,” Hun Yuanzi chuckled. “Because our founding ancestor never believed anyone could actually find it. Beings like the Primordial Flame are nearly extinct in this world. It might come find you, but you could never find it yourself.”
“Then how can we let this slip away?” Yang Hao didn’t know exactly what use it had, but something this valuable was definitely not to be abandoned. However, the situation had become increasingly dire. Nuclear flames were closing in from all directions, and the Titan ship had begun its self-destruction sequence, likely due to accumulated energy reaching critical levels. If Yang Hao and the others didn’t escape soon, they wouldn’t last much longer.
“The Primordial Flame is an essential ingredient for forging top-tier weapons,” Amanda surprisingly knew its use, proving that her family’s engineering legacy wasn’t just for show. “But how do we take it back with us?”
Though she disregarded the danger outside, Amanda had a point. The Primordial Flame shone brightly amidst the nuclear fire, clearly possessing a temperature in the thousands of degrees. It wasn’t just difficult to carry—it might burn right through a person’s hand just to touch it. The title ‘ancestor of all flames’ was no idle boast.
“I’ve got an idea,” Hun Yuanzi, ever the one with solutions at critical moments, said. “Take out your force barrier belt and create a gravitational barrier, like a gravitational bubble. Then inject some of your true energy into it, and we should be able to contain the Primordial Flame inside.”
With his master’s assurance, the apprentice naturally obeyed. Yang Hao seized an opening, flew down, and opened the force barrier belt in his hand, pouring a large amount of true energy into it. The belt immediately formed a spherical force barrier, like a protective shell. Timing his move perfectly, Yang Hao swiftly captured the Primordial Flame within.
“Great! With this, I can help forge a weapon for you,” Amanda exclaimed excitedly upon seeing Yang Hao successfully capture the Primordial Flame.
Seeing Amanda still willing to assist him even in such peril, Yang Hao was deeply moved. He recalled how, back at school, only Amanda had stood by him. Just then, a sudden realization struck him.
“Wait a second—if we use the belt to contain the Primordial Flame, then we won’t have any gravitational barrier left!” Yang Hao’s concern was valid. Their speed while flying on a sword could exceed the speed of light, generating unbearable heat along the way. Worse still, breaking through the sound and light barriers could result in an explosion. Without a gravitational barrier, they’d be helpless in space.
“Well…” His master hesitated. “I didn’t really think about that. My old age is catching up with me, and after saving you, I’ve been plagued by senility and Parkinson’s. It’s been terrible…”
Though his master’s excuse was pitiful, Yang Hao couldn’t blame him. However, the situation was worsening. They were standing on what was essentially a giant powder keg, and who knew when the ship’s energy source would finally detonate, causing a catastrophic explosion that would obliterate the entire vessel—and them along with it.
But escaping without a gravitational barrier was simply impossible.
In other words, they had to choose between the Primordial Flame and their own lives.
Yang Hao gazed longingly at the cold, diamond-like brilliance in his hand. For now, survival had to come first. But Amanda tightly gripped his hand, refusing to let him discard the treasure. She was clearly ready to risk her life for it.
Just as Yang Hao was about to make his decision, another force barrier belt suddenly appeared above them. This one bore the standard Imperial insignia, complete with a special purple sword emblem. It descended from a rupture overhead, clearly being held by someone trying to rescue them.
The nuclear flames below were rising fast. With no time to think, Yang Hao grabbed the belt and quickly ascended to the rupture above.
There, indeed, stood someone—
But seeing that person made Yang Hao’s head ache. If it weren’t for Amanda being beside him, he’d rather have jumped back down to face the nuclear fire than be rescued by this person.
Hunyuanzi chimed in, “Forget a cartload—you probably won’t even see one in your lifetime. Even my master, who has lived for a thousand years, is seeing it for the first time today.”
“So rare?” Yang Hao was genuinely startled. He turned to look at the flame again and indeed found it extraordinary. No matter how fiercely the surrounding nuclear fires raged or how wildly they surged, the Primordial Flame remained unmoved, like a lotus rising untainted from the mud—serene and quietly elegant.
Such a treasure made even the overwhelming nuclear fire seem like mere background, as if the entire battle today had been staged solely to herald its appearance.
“The Primordial Flame is a thing of legends, the ultimate pursuit of forgers and alchemists,” Hunyuanzi explained. “Though flames in this world vary in type, their essence is the same. At most, they differ in power—ordinary fire, Samadhi True Fire, and so on. But the Primordial Flame is different. It is the progenitor of all flames, the origin from which all others derive. One could say it contains the power of every flame in existence.”
“That incredible?” Yang Hao’s eyes gleamed with greed. “Does our Alchemy Sect have any elixirs that use the Primordial Flame?”
“No,” Hunyuanzi chuckled. “Because our founder never believed anyone could find it. A primordial ancestor like this is practically extinct in this world. It finds you—you can’t possibly seek it out.”
“Then we can’t miss this chance.” Though Yang Hao didn’t know its exact uses, something so rare couldn’t be abandoned lightly. But the situation was growing dire. The nuclear fires were closing in from all sides, and the Titan battleship had begun its self-destruction sequence—likely due to an energy overload. If they didn’t flee soon, they wouldn’t last much longer.
“The Primordial Flame is essential for forging supreme weapons,” Amanda surprisingly knew its application, proving her engineering lineage was no mere reputation. “But how do we take it back?”
Despite ignoring the surrounding danger, she had raised a crucial point. The Primordial Flame shimmered brilliantly within the nuclear fire, its temperature undoubtedly reaching thousands of degrees. Merely touching it would burn through flesh, let alone carrying it away. The title “progenitor of all flames” was no exaggeration.
“There’s a way,” Hunyuanzi always had a solution at critical moments. “Take out your gravity barrier belt and form a containment field—like a bubble. Then channel some of your qi into it. The Primordial Flame should fit inside without issue.”
If the master said it would work, the disciple obeyed. Seizing a gap in the flames, Yang Hao swooped down, activated the belt in his palm, and poured in a surge of qi. Instantly, the belt formed a spherical force field. With precise timing, he enveloped the Primordial Flame, capturing it effortlessly.
“Perfect! With this, I can forge a weapon for you,” Amanda exclaimed, thrilled that Yang Hao had succeeded.
Touched that she still prioritized helping him despite the peril, Yang Hao recalled how Amanda had always stood by him back in school. Just then, a pressing concern struck him.
“Wait—if the belt’s holding the flame, doesn’t that mean we’ve lost our gravity barrier?” His worry was justified. His sword-flight speed exceeded light, generating unbearable heat and explosive shockwaves upon breaking the sound and light barriers. Without the barrier’s protection, he and Amanda would be immobilized in space.
“Ah… I didn’t consider that,” Hunyuanzi admitted sheepishly. “My old age is catching up—senility and Parkinson’s, especially after sacrificing myself to save you. Pitiful, really…”
Yang Hao couldn’t bring himself to blame him, given the pitiful tone. But their surroundings worsened—they stood atop a massive powder keg. Any second now, the battleship’s energy core would detonate, annihilating everything, including them.
Escape without a gravity barrier was impossible.
Meaning, Yang Hao had to choose: the Primordial Flame or their lives.
Reluctantly, he gazed at the cold yet dazzling flame in his hand. Survival had to come first. But Amanda gripped his wrist tightly, refusing to let him discard it—as if willing to risk her life for the treasure.
Just as Yang Hao steeled himself to act, another gravity barrier belt descended from above. Standard Imperial issue, embroidered with a distinctive purple sword insignia, it dangled from a fracture overhead—someone was trying to rescue them.
With the nuclear fire surging beneath them, Yang Hao had no time to hesitate. Grabbing the belt, he soared upward, pulling Amanda and Hunyuanzi with him.
Someone was indeed there.
But the sight of their rescuer made Yang Hao’s head throb. If not for Amanda’s presence, he might’ve preferred jumping back into the nuclear fire.
Smiling brightly, utterly unfazed by the danger, was none other than Ling Ziyan—the proprietress of the Stellar Sea Tavern and leader of the Netherblade mercenaries.
She had fled earlier with her elite squad, heading away from the fleet. Yet somehow, she’d circled back and saved them.
Ignoring Yang Hao’s dark expression, Ling Ziyan tied herself to him with the belt. A pale blue force field swiftly encased all three.
“Move!” she barked. “Or do you want to die here?”
There was no time to argue. The explosion beneath them erupted like an ancient beast awakening within the Titan’s wreckage, the shockwave nearly knocking Yang Hao off balance.
His flaming sword blazed anew, propelling them like a meteor away from the doomed battleship.
By the time the cosmos bloomed with the eerie orange glow of the ship’s final detonation, they were already far into the void.
Behind them, the grandest battle spectacle of the era reached its climax. The Imperial fleet, once a symbol of dominance, met its fiery end. The night of space shone brilliantly, as if illuminated by a lightning bolt heralding the collapse of an age.
A lightning bolt poised to strike the decaying body of the Galactic Empire.
The Battle of Twin Suns in the Three-Crystal Sea ended in total Imperial defeat and a resounding victory for the Anti-Imperial Alliance. By Imperial war standards, it was a minor setback—a single fleet lost, far from a crippling blow.
Yet its repercussions exceeded all expectations. Like a hurricane, it shook the Empire’s rotting foundations, making even the common folk realize the dynasty’s decline.
Another ripple was Yang Hao’s ascension to the Empire’s political stage. Once a minor figure, he now drew scrutiny not just from the Senate’s spies but also the Privy Council, the Emperor, and merchant factions.
The battle’s name—Twin Suns—referred to Yang Hao’s Doomsday battleship and the annihilated Sunset Fleet. Rumor had it the Emperor himself coined it. The warlord monarch, rarely defeated in his lifetime, read the Privy Council’s report and merely chuckled thrice.
Those three laughs echoed ominously through the palace, chilling all who heard them. None could guess what thoughts lay behind the ruler of a vast empire.
Meanwhile, the Senate, having long monitored Yang Hao, likely learned of the outcome before the Emperor. Before the Three-Crystal Sea’s shockwaves settled, the Senate’s presiding elders convened—all nine of them.
The Imperial Senate was a taboo subject, its inner workings known only to the highest echelons. To the public, it was a sanctum where elders moved like gods—appearing and vanishing at will, killing effortlessly. The Emperor had granted them Earth’s oceans, so they could emerge on any island at any time.
Those privy to its secrets feared it more. Even the weakest elder could slay thousands with a gesture. The famed Ten Sword Schools? Mere disciples of a few elders. The Senate’s secret operatives were everywhere—even the Emperor was the First Elder’s pupil.
For such an enigmatic institution to gather nine presiding elders—twice now—over a mere Yang Hao spoke volumes.
“That boy’s luck is uncanny,” Elder Blackwind mused, stroking his hands. Though aged, they remained dry and warm, still fit for the sword. But his famed “Gravity Blade” now rested in Yang Hao’s possession. “He grows stronger by the month. Soon, he’ll come for us.”
Ling Ziyan had clearly escaped with several high-level experts from Mingse, flying in a direction away from the fleet. Yet somehow, she had returned and now, for reasons unknown, had come to save Yang Hao and the others.
Ling Ziyan paid no heed to Yang Hao’s dark expression. She casually moved closer, binding herself to him with the belt. A pale blue force barrier quickly enveloped the three of them.
“Still not leaving?” Ling Ziyan called out. “Do you really want to die here?”
Before Yang Hao could protest, the explosion erupted beneath his feet, like an ancient beast trembling within the wreckage of the Titan ship. The massive shockwave was already making it hard for Yang Hao to stand.
The sword flared with brilliant light once more, and the trio shot out like a meteor from the ship, now completely engulfed in flames and explosions.
By the time the vast expanse of space was illuminated by the fiery orange glow of doomsday, Yang Hao and the others were already far away in the distant stars.
Behind them, the most spectacular war scene of their era was drawing to a close. The grand Imperial fleet, once a symbol of might, was now consumed in a chain of endless explosions, marking its final demise. The night sky of the cosmos was lit up so brightly it seemed as if this very light was a lightning bolt ready to tear through the age itself.
And that lightning bolt was about to strike the weary and decaying body of the Galactic Empire.
The battle of the Three Crystal Seas, under the twin suns, ended with the complete defeat of the Imperial forces and a decisive victory for the anti-Empire Alliance. Though, in terms of the Empire’s long military history, this was merely a minor setback—losing a fleet, but not a crippling blow.
Yet the shockwaves from this battle far exceeded expectations. The twin suns battle was like a hurricane, shaking the Empire’s rotting foundations until they trembled on the brink of collapse. Even the most ordinary Imperial citizens could now see that the Empire’s fortune had reached its twilight.
Another ripple from this battle was that Yang Hao had finally stepped onto the political stage of the Galactic Empire. If before he had merely been a rising minor figure, now every move he made was being watched not just by the Senate’s spies, but also by the Privy Council, the Emperor himself, and even influential merchant groups.
The battle’s name, “Twin Suns,” came from Yang Hao’s dreadnought, the Doomsday, and the annihilated Sunset Fleet. It was said that the Emperor himself had named it. The battle report from the Privy Council had reached him, and though he had rarely tasted defeat in his military career, the Emperor did not rage—he merely chuckled softly three times.
That laughter echoed through the vast palace halls, sending chills down the spines of the nobles present. Yet none could fathom what the Emperor, who ruled over a vast empire, was truly thinking.
Meanwhile, the Senate had already deployed its spies to monitor Yang Hao, likely even before the Emperor received the news. Before the shockwaves of the Three Crystal Seas system had even settled and the smoke had cleared, the Senate’s presiding elder had convened the other eight executives for an emergency meeting.
The Senate was a topic shrouded in secrecy even within the Empire. Few outside the highest echelons of the various institutions truly understood its workings. But every citizen knew it was like a sacred temple, where the elders were like gods, appearing and vanishing in an instant, capable of killing silently with a mere gesture. The Emperor had granted the Senate dominion over all the oceans of Earth, so the elders could appear on any island at any time.
Those who knew the truth feared the Senate even more. They understood the elders’ immense power—any one of them, even a minor one, could kill thousands with a single wave of their hand. The Ten Sword Schools were already renowned martial arts groups, but they were merely disciples of a few elders within the Senate. Moreover, the elders controlled secret intelligence networks, and even the Emperor himself was a disciple of the Senate’s presiding elder.
Such a mysterious and powerful institution rarely convened its nine executive elders for any matter. Yet for a mere youth like Yang Hao, it was already the second time they had gathered.
“That kid sure has good luck,” Elder Heifeng gently stroked his hand. Though aged, his hands remained dry and warm—still capable of wielding a sword. Yet his famous “Gravitational Sword” was now in Yang Hao’s possession. “He grows stronger every month. Before long, he might come knocking on our door.”
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