In the Hall of the Great Path, geniuses bled and heads rolled, a stark sight amidst the wispy chaos mist.
Such scenes were unheard of in the past. It had always been the geniuses of the War God Academy slaughtering their sparring partners, rarely the other way around. Even if accidents occurred, they usually resulted in injuries at most—never had a “combatant” dared to kill a disciple of the academy.
The so-called “combatants” here were branded with “lowly” fates, considered worthless. Most were descendants of the Nine Heavens or death-row prisoners from various clans who had committed grave offenses.
Shi Hao stood there, unmoving, the chains on his arms dripping blood. His cold gaze swept over everyone, unflinching.
The Hall of the Great Path was a sacred place for enlightenment, where chaos swirled, rules churned, and divine chains of order intertwined. Yet now, an oppressive atmosphere hung in the air.
“Shi Hao, how dare you act so viciously!” an elder, a half-step Supreme Being tasked with guiding disciples here, snapped coldly. Though not a true scripture lecturer, his status was still significant.
Shi Hao remained indifferent, ignoring him, his eyes fixed on the elite disciples of the War God Academy.
“Enough. He was simply outmatched,” another elder interjected, glancing at the severed head on the ground with a frown. “Get up already!”
Yet the head remained motionless, its eyes wide open, life force dissipating. It did not rejoin its body.
A chill ran through the crowd.
The half-step Supreme Being’s face darkened, his gaze icy. The victim’s primordial spirit had been shattered—this was true death.
“If not for orders from above, I would have killed you on the spot! How dare you act so arrogantly!” another elder roared, his temper flaring, eyes blazing with fury.
Shi Hao remained silent, merely sweeping a cold glance over him.
Words were useless here. His special status at least ensured he wouldn’t die immediately, but the descendants of the Nine Heavens were treated worse than weeds.
As sparring partners, they lived in constant torment, never knowing when death would come. No one here treated them as equals.
“That’s enough for today!” a half-step Supreme Being declared, no longer in the mood for guidance.
Soon after, the elders left, immediately sending messages to higher authorities for instructions.
“How much longer must Shi Hao be treated specially? When can we discard him?”
In their eyes, once the so-called “discard” moment arrived, he could be treated as the lowest of sparring partners—tortured and killed without consequence.
Unfortunately, the response they received was clear: no reckless actions were permitted now.
In the following days, news spread that An Lan, Yu Tuo, and others had yet to return, stirring unease.
Many knew the Immortal Kings had entered the Burial Grounds, but they had been gone for days without returning, a cause for concern.
Still, the clans believed An Lan and Yu Tuo were invincible—they must have been delayed by something.
“Hmm, I heard Shi Hao is still as unruly as ever, even in chains. Next time, let’s go test him together!”
When word spread through the War God Academy, some narrowed their eyes, intrigued. They planned to gather allies for a joint operation.
Any news about Shi Hao drew attention.
The Armory was a cold, forbidding place, filled with weapons—some embedded in the ground, others displayed on stands. There were bone weapons, metal blades, stone tools, and more.
“Weapons are extensions of our bodies…”
After the scripture lecturer departed, a half-step Supreme Being took over, answering questions.
“To fuse a weapon with your body, making it one with your flesh and blood, you must refine it with your heart…”
Hundreds gathered in the Armory, and soon, the session turned to practical combat.
Unsurprisingly, Shi Hao and other prisoners were brought in as sparring partners.
Before arriving, Shi Hao’s restraints had been doubled—a precaution to suppress him after his last outburst.
True to expectations, after the previous incident, many students hesitated to provoke him.
“Observe this weapon—a bloodthirsty blade. Nourished with blood, its power grows. But it harms the wielder too, corroding the spirit. Prolonged use can even twist one’s nature.”
The half-step Supreme Being held a short, blood-red spear. Though unstained, it reeked of blood.
“Thus, tempering such weapons requires balance. How can one ensure the weapon’s killing intent matches their own cultivation without self-harm?”
As he spoke, the elder hurled the spear. It pierced a dozen sparring partners in quick succession.
Some screamed, exploding into crimson essence absorbed by the weapon. Others withered, drained of blood, collapsing lifelessly.
“This weapon has drunk much blood over the years. Today, it’s sated after just a dozen. More would push its killing intent beyond control,” the elder explained.
The combatants paled. The Armory was the most dangerous place—death came swiftly here.
*Thud!*
This time, the old bison beside Shi Hao wasn’t so lucky. A crimson sword pierced his chest, siphoning his essence.
*Clang!*
Shi Hao couldn’t stand by. He smashed his shackles against the blade, shattering it.
In moments, the bison’s fur had grayed—he’d paid a steep price.
“Ah, I nearly forgot. If you wish to temper a tyrannical weapon, today’s your chance,” the elder said, pointing at Shi Hao. “This is Shi Hao. Many of you have heard of him. His blood is extraordinary—perfect for weapon refinement.”
“I’ve been waiting for this!” someone shouted.
A prince of a noble clan, stout as a bronze bell, wielded a blood-red parasol. When opened, its edges gleamed lethally.
Such weapons were extreme, avoided by most due to their self-destructive nature. Only the reckless dabbled in them.
In the Imperial Pass, few cultivated blood weapons. But in the foreign realm, where battle was revered, they were more common.
Many had already conspired to target Shi Hao, unleashing their most vicious attacks.
“Kill!”
The parasol shot forth first, spinning, radiating crimson light, its killing intent overwhelming.
This prince was formidable.
Simultaneously, other weapons—a soul-reaping bell, bone blades, stone daggers—all streaked toward Shi Hao, their wielders cold with vengeance.
Their clansmen had died by Shi Hao’s hand.
In a real duel, they stood no chance. This was their opportunity for revenge.
Shackled twice over, Shi Hao’s eyes turned icy. A terrifying killing intent erupted as he swung his chains, smashing the parasol.
*Crack!*
The parasol shattered.
The crowd gasped. With double shackles, Shi Hao couldn’t use magic—this was pure physical strength.
His opponent had poured his full power into the strike, yet this was the result.
The prince coughed blood. His weapon’s destruction wounded him deeply—such blades were fed with their wielder’s blood, bound intimately.
*Snap! Snap! Snap!*
Despite his shackles, Shi Hao moved like lightning, shattering weapon after weapon.
Soon, many were coughing blood.
Finally, a half-step Supreme Being ended the session, his face dark.
“Shi Hao’s run amok again?!” The news spread through the academy, sparking debate.
Thankfully, though many were injured, none died this time.
“Are these disciples so weak they can’t even handle a shackled Shi Hao, or is he truly that strong?” a scripture lecturer finally remarked.
Such beings were at least Supreme—sometimes even Immortals presided.
Lecturers often hid their true strength, vanishing after sessions.
Two days later, in another ancient hall, something even more shocking occurred.
After the lecturer left, half-step Supreme Beings took over, singling out Shi Hao.
This was the Hall of Magic, brimming with overwhelming power. Ordinary people would be crushed inside.
Several shackled combatants were tossed in, their bodies exploding instantly—a gruesome sight.
This time, there was no sparring—just pure terror.
Academy disciples pushed deeper into the hall, honing their magic under immense pressure.
Shi Hao’s shackles were removed, and he was locked in a mobile divine-metal cage, shoved deep into the hall.
The old bison and others suffered, used as test subjects, nearly crushed midway. The students, eager to see Shi Hao’s limits, gleefully pushed him to the hall’s depths.
At the core, survival demanded unleashing one’s full power.
They knew Shi Hao was strong, so they hurled him into the most crushing depths.
But this triggered disaster.
At first, Shi Hao resisted silently, straining against the pressure.
Those watching smirked. They’d freed him just to witness his suffering.
*Boom!*
A deafening explosion rocked the hall.
Many turned pale, their souls trembling as they screamed in terror.
Their magic had failed, while the hall’s power bore down on them.
This was Shi Hao’s doing.
He possessed a unique ability—magic immunity. Over the years, he’d refined it, transforming it from passive resistance to active nullification.
Now, he could dissolve others’ magic from afar.
The result was catastrophic.
Over a hundred screamed as the hall’s power crushed them, their bodies cracking, then exploding.
The hall itself brimmed with magic—Shi Hao had selectively targeted them.
The tragedy unfolded.
Elite disciples burst like the earlier combatants, reduced to bloody mist.
“Ah—!”
A half-step Supreme Being roared, rushing to save them.
But eighty-three elite disciples died.
This was a calamity beyond imagination.
“That damn… walking disaster!”
Later, a high-ranking figure bellowed in rage.
A mere prisoner, yet Shi Hao kept causing havoc, slaughtering students. Unforgivable.
“Interesting. It’s our turn. Such a fine sparring partner shouldn’t be wasted.”
“We’ve been exploring these Immortal King ruins, delaying our visit. Now he’s caused such a stir—time to put him to use as a whetstone.”
These were the words of young Imperial Clansmen.
They’d arrived at the academy but hadn’t sought Shi Hao immediately, busy exploring the sacred land left by Immortal Kings.
Yet they were too late.
“What? The Gu Clan took Shi Hao?!”
The Gu Clan stood equal to Imperial Clans, transcendent, originating from the Nine Heavens.
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