The faces of the jailers turned ashen. How could Shi Hao still win despite such arrangements?
As for the cultivators from various clans, ninety-nine percent of them were unaware of the hidden schemes. Only a select few knew that underhanded methods had been employed to ensure Shi Hao’s crushing defeat.
Thus, when the crowd witnessed the Flood Dragon’s humiliating defeat in a single move, an uproar erupted. It wasn’t that they didn’t know Shi Hao was formidable—but this level of dominance was simply outrageous.
The place erupted into chaos, voices clamoring in disbelief.
However, Shi Hao had also paid a price. His flesh was torn apart, starting from within, like a glass bottle struck by force, riddled with cracks.
Blood drenched his body, and his origin was wounded.
This was serious. Back in the Divine Medicine Mountain Range, he had once suffered damage to his origin, an injury that refused to heal and nearly cost him his life. Only after breaking through to the Severing Self Realm did he fully recover.
Now, he was wounded again, sabotaged in secret by those old men.
“Shi Hao is injured! He’s not as invincible as we thought. To kill his opponent in one move, he paid a heavy price!” someone shouted.
Indeed, his wounds were visible to all—gashes covered his body, even his glabella was cracked, blood trickling down.
*Cough!* Shi Hao spat out a mouthful of blood. His gaze swept across the crowd, lingering on the jailers as he sneered. “Is this the pride of your world? Is this what your so-called battle-hungry clans are made of?”
Yet before he could continue, a terrifying force surged from the shadows, stabbing toward his glabella, silencing him.
Shi Hao understood—the jailers feared exposure.
The creatures of the Foreign Land did have their pride. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be so many warriors insisting on dueling Shi Hao one-on-one, driven by sheer self-respect.
But among the older generation, some were not so noble. Not all were unyielding. Some, like the jailers, cared only for victory by any means necessary.
They had resorted to underhanded tactics, weakening Shi Hao’s chances, ensuring his public humiliation to quell the unrest.
To them, whether Shi Hao was truly defeated or merely sabotaged into submission, the result was the same.
A crushing victory would not only settle the turmoil but also boost morale!
Only an overwhelming triumph could satisfy the battle-hungry clans, allowing them to vent their frustration and rage.
“Young man, what are you implying? Have you not insulted our warriors enough? Must you slander us too?” a jailer asked coldly, refusing to admit anything.
“Despicable!” In the end, Shi Hao could only force out those two words, as even his divine sense transmissions were blocked.
“I’ll be the one to slay you!”
A thunderous roar echoed as a golden goat strode forward—an unusual sight, as most who revealed their true forms were rare species.
“The Golden Sheep, inheritor of the Heavenly Sword lineage!” someone exclaimed in shock. This lineage had unexpectedly resurfaced.
This was no ordinary creature. Its golden horns were sheaths, concealing twin Heavenly Swords—the clan’s ultimate weapons, passed down from the Heavenly Sword lineage.
Yet this clan had declined, its bloodline no longer pure. In ancient times, they had been glorious, nearly producing two Immortal Kings. Alas, those peerless figures fell just short—one perished in battle, the other died in seclusion.
Since their zenith, the clan had remained low-key for over an era, with few strong members emerging.
“Seal me and execute me outright,” Shi Hao said to the jailers, blood seeping from his glabella as he struggled to speak.
“What nonsense is this? You keep insulting our warriors—have you no shame?” a jailer barked.
Shi Hao sat cross-legged, motionless, refusing to fight.
“Shi Hao, do you dare not face me?” the Golden Sheep sneered.
Ignoring it, Shi Hao exhaled a stream of light, attempting to carve words in the void—only for a jailer to shatter them with a cold snort.
Among them was one who had half-stepped into the Supreme Realm, possessing overwhelming power to suppress such actions effortlessly.
*Hahaha…* Shi Hao laughed, a sound that rang with scorn in the ears of the Foreign Land’s cultivators.
Suddenly, a voice whispered in the shadows: “The Imperial Clan is coming. Finish Shi Hao quickly. If those young masters engage him in a real duel and lose, the shock and disappointment will be catastrophic!”
The jailers stiffened.
The Imperial Clan *should* be able to defeat Shi Hao—but if they failed, the repercussions would be dire. It was better to ensure Shi Hao’s defeat beforehand.
Yet now, Shi Hao sat silently, refusing to act, infuriating them.
“Shi Hao, if you stay silent, we’ll grant you a fair duel. No more interference,” a jailer finally transmitted in secret.
Shi Hao swept them with a cold gaze before nodding after a long pause. “Fine.”
Many noticed something amiss—Shi Hao’s behavior was too strange.
“Shi Hao, your contempt for our world will cost you dearly!” The Golden Sheep stepped forward, shifting into human form only at the last moment.
A man in his thirties appeared, with golden hair and a pair of golden horns.
“Kill!”
The battle erupted instantly. The Golden Sheep unleashed a storm of sword light—100,000 streaks of lethal intent, all aimed at Shi Hao.
Shi Hao summoned the Thunder Emperor’s technique, manifesting a thunder pool that spat endless lightning, clashing with every sword beam.
*Boom!*
The collision was deafening—swords shrieking, thunder roaring, the very space trembling.
*Clang!*
The Golden Sheep roared as its horns detached, releasing two blinding golden sword beams that split the heavens, carrying the aura of time itself.
Shi Hao’s blood surged. Bone scripts ignited across his body, especially on his chest, where a radiant pattern flared—his innate Supreme Technique: *Samsara*.
As the time-infused sword beams slashed toward him, he formed a seal and unleashed the Samsara Treasure Art.
*Boom!*
A thunderous detonation shook the world as temporal forces collided.
“So it’s him!” someone murmured, recognizing the Golden Sheep’s true identity—a mysterious genius from a thousand years ago, renowned for his time-wielding swordplay.
A top-tier Heavenly King of his generation!
Yet even such a powerhouse couldn’t subdue Shi Hao.
*Thud!*
The Golden Sheep, now at the Dunyi Realm, sensed impending doom as Shi Hao’s fist grazed him.
His body withered instantly, aging rapidly as time was stolen from him. His own temporal blades had failed, while Shi Hao’s Samsara had drained his years.
“Ahhh—!” The Golden Sheep screamed as his golden hair turned brittle, his body decaying before his eyes.
“Die!”
With a final roar, he channeled his horns—originally sword sheaths, but secretly enhanced by the jailers for emergencies.
*Swoosh!*
A sword beam pierced Shi Hao’s chest, while another nearly skewered his glabella, grazing his cheek instead.
This power surpassed the Golden Sheep’s own.
*Boom!*
The horns exploded, unleashing a storm of light and cryptic runes—a miniature killing array detonating with devastating force.
To outsiders, it seemed like a desperate suicide attack. Only Shi Hao knew the truth—the horns had been tampered with.
*Splat!*
The Golden Sheep burst apart, dead.
Simultaneously, Shi Hao was torn asunder, on the verge of annihilation.
The jailers would never let him truly die—he was a captive brought from Imperial Pass. But before they could intervene, Shi Hao’s body flickered. Though mangled, he didn’t explode.
Blood gushed from gaping wounds, but immortal mist swirled as his flesh knitted rapidly. His resilience was monstrous.
*Hahaha…* Shi Hao laughed—cold, mocking, furious. Even his victories were being stolen from him?
He could’ve triumphed cleanly, yet interference had forced him into this state. The jailers wanted him humiliated before all.
*Thud!*
Golden radiance surged as a peerlessly handsome man approached, golden wings folded behind him, a divine halo enveloping his saintly form.
“Leave him to me. A fair duel,” he declared.
“He Zi Ming!” Gasps arose.
The descendant of He Wushuang, hailed as the strongest of the younger generation—rumored to surpass even the dormant Imperial Clan youths.
Recently, whispers claimed he’d been tempered by a supreme expert, his power skyrocketing.
Behind him, four more figures emerged, wreathed in chaotic mist—each emanating overwhelming pressure.
Four members of the Imperial Clan had arrived at once!
“Interesting. Worthy of our attention. But no outside interference—he’s a fine whetstone for our blades,” one of them declared with absolute confidence.
Among them, a woman stepped forward, her veil of chaos parting to reveal peerless beauty—skin like jade, eyes like stars, an ethereal grace untouched by mortal dust.
As Shi Hao studied her, a sense of familiarity struck him. Then it clicked—*Mo Xian!*
Rumored to be human, yet even the Imperial Clan marveled at her talent. She’d been taken under the wing of an Immortal, training in the Imperial Clan’s sacred grounds.
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