Chapter 1310: The Fifth Dao

A thumb-sized ant crawled, bumping into a snow-white skull with a hollow *thud*.

*Clatter, clatter.*

The skull rolled down the steep mountain slope, disturbing the silence with its descent.

Finally, with a *thump*, it landed at the foot of the mountain, wobbled a few times, and lay still—a silent testament to past cruelty and sorrow.

The wind howled across the desolate land, carrying a mournful wail. The battlefield was frigid, devoid of life, without a single blade of grass or tree, like a graveyard of utter stillness.

Countless mighty warriors had been buried here, their bones lost to time, their souls extinguished in this place.

Yet, all the corpses had vanished—either buried beneath the earth or truly rotted away.

Time erases all, even the greatest prodigies and supreme overlords. None can resist or struggle against its relentless march.

Too long ago, true immortals had perished here, their blood staining the mountains and valleys in an eternal, unyielding crimson.

The oppressive hues weighed heavily, making it hard to breathe. The faint echoes of history’s tragedy and the weight of time pressed down, suffocating.

An epoch had passed. Everything had changed.

At the foot of the mountain stood a man, motionless as if petrified, weathered by centuries of wind and rain, buried in dust.

A cold wind lifted the hem of his robes and stirred his black hair, revealing a delicate face lost in thought, his mind adrift in the river of time.

“Am I in a cycle of reincarnation? The same place, yet a different scene,” he murmured, his expression unreadable—neither joy nor sorrow, only quiet melancholy, regret, confusion, and reminiscence.

On his shoulder perched a tiny golden ant.

The young man lowered his gaze to the snow-white skull on the ground, then to the thumb-sized ant on the mountain—the one that had pushed the skull down.

“It looks a lot like you,” the young man said, turning his head slightly toward the golden ant on his shoulder.

“If that ant resembles me, then the skull on the ground must resemble you,” the golden creature replied.

“Is that so? Where was I a hundred million years ago? Maybe it really does have something to do with me.” The young man crouched, picking up the weathered skull.

Marked by frost and eroded by time, it was pitted with countless holes, on the verge of crumbling entirely.

“Such boasting. Do you really think you can reincarnate? Whether reincarnation even exists in this world is debatable,” the golden ant scoffed.

Yet, it too was lost in thought. Had what they experienced been real? A dream spanning millennia, like a rebirth, witnessing themselves from an epoch ago.

For a long time, neither spoke, standing in silence, lost in recollection and contemplation. The experience had been too bizarre—and terrifying.

This was Shi Hao and the Little Heavenly Horned Ant.

Both were bewildered. Not long ago, their perception had been distorted in the most eerie way, as if they had truly faced the most dreadful battle.

“Was there really someone like He Wushuang?” Shi Hao muttered.

They had followed that path into this so-called ultimate trial ground, only to encounter something utterly inexplicable.

“We clearly saw countless corpses of supreme beings, blood soaking the earth, the Refining Immortal Pot hovering in the sky, draining their essence… and that He Wushuang, terrifyingly powerful beyond measure…” the little ant murmured.

In that “experience,” Shi Hao had fallen in battle, his final furious punch piercing the golden-haired man’s forehead, killing him.

Yet, he too had been slain—his brow split by the enemy’s finger-sword, his soul extinguished.

But when everything blurred, when the world fell into silence and all sensation faded, he had slowly awakened, freed from that state.

Now, standing here, all he saw was a desolate battlefield—no ancestral corpses, no formidable enemy, as if none of it had ever happened.

Yet, why did he feel exhausted, his body wracked with pain?

No wounds could be found, but when he touched his forehead, the lingering ache remained, as if it had once shattered and not fully healed.

“A dream? Or a cycle of reincarnation? It felt too real,” Shi Hao said, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t understand either. This place is too mysterious. What kind of power could create such illusions—so real they’re indistinguishable from reality?” the little ant sighed.

If not for the fact that they still stood here, if not for Shi Hao’s survival, and if not for the absence of He Wushuang and the Blood Phoenix Lion, it would have believed the entire ordeal had been brutally real.

“Do the Immortal-Slaying Art and the Annihilation of Ten Thousand Laws truly exist?” Shi Hao asked.

“They do. The former is an invincible offensive technique, mastered by few even in the foreign realm—a supreme art created to slay true immortals. The latter is peerless defense, capable of neutralizing all attacks and erasing the laws of order,” the golden ant replied, its expression growing solemn.

“I saw them in advance,” Shi Hao murmured, narrowing his eyes. If it was a dream, how could it be so vivid? If an illusion, how could it feel so real?

Shi Hao examined himself, including all his artifacts.

“Hmm?!” Suddenly, his body stiffened, his mind blank.

Where was the Longevity Elixir? The medicinal sap given to him by the White Turtle Bearing Immortal—gone!

Had he truly consumed it in the dream? This was too strange.

Then, he raised his palm and saw a faint new mark beside four others—mysterious patterns resembling gates of reincarnation.

“Five Reincarnation Seals!”

A chill ran down Shi Hao’s spine. His pupils contracted, sharp as lightning.

Last time, after consuming the Yellow Spring Fruit, he had experienced inexplicable phenomena, as if living through multiple lifetimes, leaving four seals on his palm.

Now, a fifth had appeared.

“But that’s not what matters. Where is the Indestructible Scripture? If what we experienced was real—or partially real—then where are those golden beast-skin pages from the mountain?” The Heavenly Horned Ant grew frantic.

They had come for the Indestructible Scripture—the most crucial treasure. If it was gone, their journey would be in vain.

“If He Wushuang truly exists, if he came here before us and didn’t die, then did he take the scripture?” The little ant panicked.

If their deductions were correct, He Wushuang belonged to the end of the Immortal Ancient Era—an entire epoch before them. If so, what could possibly remain?

*Whoosh!*

They leaped into the mountain range, swiftly ascending the colossal divine peak.

In the “dream,” this was where Shi Hao had fought He Wushuang to mutual destruction.

Back then, sacred light had bathed the land, golden beast-skin pages flipping endlessly, their scripture symbols pulsating with awe-inspiring power.

Now, nothing remained. The mountain was dull, stained with dark blood that refused to fade even after countless years.

“Gone! Where is it?!” the little ant cried. Had they come all this way for nothing?

Shi Hao crouched, picking up the thumb-sized ant—the one that had pushed the skull down.

He probed its consciousness, hoping for answers.

In this lifeless wasteland, where no plants grew and vitality was nearly extinct, finding any living creature was rare.

But he was disappointed. The ant was unenlightened, its spirit dull, not yet evolved—just an ordinary, albeit strong, ant.

No trace of the bizarre or miraculous could be found in it.

“Where is the Indestructible Scripture?” Shi Hao’s calm wavered. They had come for this scripture. To leave empty-handed would be crushing.

Especially if He Wushuang was real. The thought was chilling.

That man had come before them, at the end of the Immortal Ancient Era. If the scripture was missing now, the implications were clear.

Shi Hao and the little ant unleashed their spiritual senses, scouring the area, even attempting to dismantle the mountain in their search.

*Boom!*

The colossal divine peak trembled, rumbling as dark light erupted—no longer radiant but tainted by some ancient, malevolent force.

The shockwave flung them back.

The mountain remained unscathed.

*Caw!*

A crow took flight, emerging from the dark radiance—an ominous sight in this desolate burial ground of fallen heroes.

“A crow!” The golden ant raised its fist, ready to strike.

*Caw! Caw! Caw!* The crow flapped its wings, retreating before landing atop a distant skull.

“What manner of creature are you?” Shi Hao demanded.

He refused to believe this was an ordinary crow—not after emerging from that dark light.

“Spare your attacks. I am here to answer your questions,” the crow sighed, its eyes brimming with endless sorrow and weariness.

Though crows were omens of ill fortune, this one carried no malice—only the melancholy of one who had endured the ages.

“What are you, truly?” the Heavenly Horned Ant pressed, unconvinced.

The crow stood upon the skull, black mist swirling behind it. Then, the air erupted with the deafening cries of battle as countless spectral figures emerged—souls of the fallen!

Black flames surged into the sky.

Bathed in mist and fire, the crow grew even more enigmatic.

Giant faces materialized within the darkness, watching them.

“Heroic spirits,” Shi Hao murmured. These were the lingering wills of the mighty warriors who had perished here—remnants of their shattered souls.

Most heroic spirits lacked true consciousness, but this crow was different—far beyond the ordinary.

“Let me dispel some of your confusion,” the crow said.

Shi Hao and the little ant fell silent, listening intently.

“What you see now is the true ultimate trial ground—the ancient battlefield of old.”

“The corpses and rivers of blood you witnessed earlier were real—the aftermath of the final battle when this land fell into the hands of the foreign realm. You saw the bodies of your ancestors, the fallen supreme beings.”

“He Wushuang exists. He was indeed titled ‘Peerless Under Heaven,’ one of the foreign realm’s leading champions at the end of the Immortal Ancient Era, born to slay the young supremes of our world.”

“The battle in your dream was real—a trial. If you could not defeat He Wushuang, you were unworthy of the Indestructible Scripture.”

With just these few words, Shi Hao understood everything. His mind reeled, his spirit trembling.