The call was distant, faint, almost imperceptible, yet undeniably real—not an illusion.
Shi Hao stood there, his body and soul trembling. He yearned to step forward, but what could he truly accomplish if he ascended the altar?
The cauldron could not cross over, unable to manifest fully.
Moreover, the altar was broken, too ancient, and further damaged by the great battles of the past. Half of it was lost, rendering it incapable of transporting living beings or objects anymore.
“Hum!”
The altar glowed, its glyphs ancient and incomprehensible, each one shrouded in profound mystery. Were these the patterns of the Immortal Dao?
“Boom!”
Then, the indistinct three-legged, two-eared cauldron trembled violently, piercing through time and space, through the laws of reality, as if it were about to truly manifest upon the altar.
“Fang…”
A voice called out, but the rest of the words were abruptly severed, leaving only silence.
The cauldron was too archaic and sacred. In an instant, it materialized, standing atop the ancient Immortal Path altar left behind from ages past. At that moment, it shook the heavens and earth.
The cauldron was enigmatic beyond measure, adorned with countless engravings—flowers, birds, fish, insects, plants, all living things, and the stars of the cosmos. Every creature depicted seemed alive, vivid and lifelike.
Yet, it was stained with blood—not just one or two types, but crimson that exuded supreme, transcendent auras, suffusing the air.
A remnant of divine will emanated from the cauldron, calling him forth, urging him to ascend the altar, enter the cauldron, and depart with it to a vast battlefield.
There was no hostility, no illusion—only a real and desperate summons, demanding that he cross over.
“What happened? Do I know you?” Shi Hao’s breathing grew ragged. Several times, he nearly took the step forward, onto that ancient altar.
An impulse surged within him—to traverse the heavens and earth, to roam through the ages, to battle the mightiest beings!
“Whoosh!”
The cauldron rapidly blurred, dimming as it faded from the altar, leaving only a phantom shadow. It could not fully manifest here.
Clearly, crossing over required immeasurable power.
It could only linger in the hazy void, waiting for guidance, waiting for someone to lend a hand. It endured endless resistance from the laws of reality.
“Why call me? Do you know me?” Shi Hao was lost in thought.
Unconsciously, he had already taken steps forward, nearing the altar. He truly wanted to see where the cauldron would take him.
Suddenly, his hair stood on end, his muscles tensed, and he swiftly retreated, putting distance between himself and the altar.
Since embarking on his own path, taking that final step and cultivating a wisp of immortal energy, his divine senses had become extraordinarily sharp. He could always perceive danger before it struck.
Now, his scalp tingled with numbness. Clearly, this place held immense peril. If he advanced further, he would surely perish, his Dao extinguished.
“Is this a trap? A bewitchment, luring me in only to strike me down?” He wavered, his heart chilled, retreating step by step.
The broken yet grand altar shimmered with strange radiance, streams of light swirling around it, dazzling and resplendent.
The light was terrifying. Even someone as strong as Shi Hao felt his soul tremble, as if his primordial spirit might leave his body and merge into the brilliance.
He understood now—the occasional Immortal Dao auspicious glow seen above the abyss was likely this very phenomenon. People mistook it for an immortal artifact emerging from the depths. In truth, it was merely the light of this ancient teleportation array.
“Hmm, this light…”
Shi Hao’s expression turned grave. He saw how the strange, multicolored light twisted space, tearing open rift after rift. In those fleeting gaps, he glimpsed floating ancient corpses.
Moreover, the attire of the beings in different rifts varied, as if they belonged to different eras.
“Is there… the aura of living beings? Do these spatial rifts connect to ancient realms?”
His mind reeled, the place chaotic, inducing a sense of unreality—as if he himself might dissolve, vanishing into those vast spatial fissures.
“Thud!”
Suddenly, creatures fell from above the abyss—four in total.
Two landed at the edges, crashing into piles of bones without incident. The other two appeared near the altar, swept by the light, undergoing astonishing transformations.
“What kind of power is this?!” Shi Hao’s eyes widened in shock.
One corpse, originally a young man, aged rapidly in an instant. His black hair turned snow-white, his once-lustrous skin sagged, cracked, and peeled away.
The change was too swift, completed in a flash. The man withered, then crumbled into dust, utterly decayed.
“This altar… is terrifying!” Shi Hao shuddered. Had he not retreated, he would have met the same fate.
The other corpse transformed differently, leaving Shi Hao stunned as he stared.
Originally a middle-aged man, his body grew younger, his face gradually turning childlike under the blinding radiance.
But when the altar trembled, the child disintegrated into ashes.
Shi Hao’s eyes flickered as he gazed at the altar, silent for a long time. This place was sinister, its power absurdly overwhelming, beyond mortal resistance.
He, too, possessed techniques of reincarnation, but against the altar, it was like a grain of sand facing the ocean—utterly incomparable.
Here, space was unstable, and time itself seemed chaotic, wielding terrifying destructive force!
Shi Hao retrieved two sacred herbs, tossing them precisely to different spots. Opening his Heavenly Eye, he observed their changes closely.
One herb shrank instantly, becoming tender and fresh, then regressed into a seed before exploding in the unstable space.
The other herb changed even more dramatically. It grew rapidly, its buds blooming, then withering, bearing fruit that fell to the ground.
The plant itself withered at an alarming rate. Even sacred herbs could not last forever—they, too, decayed, returning to dust.
The seeds, however, sprouted instantly, glowing brilliantly as they matured into full-grown sacred herbs.
Soon, they, too, bore seeds, which fell to the ground while the plants themselves crumbled into nothingness.
Shi Hao was dumbfounded. In mere moments, that area had become a field of sacred herbs, radiant and fragrant, the medicinal aura so potent it felt intoxicating.
This altar was beyond comprehension. The light that could reverse aging or accelerate growth was world-shaking.
If someone harnessed this power, what couldn’t they achieve?
A field of sacred herbs, shrouded in mist, their fragrance so rich it formed holy light, enveloping the area. Shi Hao felt as if he might ascend to immortality on the spot.
“Pfft!”
Alas, as the altar trembled, the surroundings destabilized.
All the herbs shattered at once, turning to ash, obliterated without a trace.
A sweep of light later, the area around the altar was pristine again, as if nothing had ever existed.
For a long time, Shi Hao remained silent, staring at the altar and the faint cauldron. This place was awe-inspiring, stirring endless thoughts and conjectures.
Clearly, time here was disordered, space unstable—a place defying the natural order!
“The Three-Life Copper Coffin fled—I understand that.”
After a long pause, Shi Hao spoke.
“But what of this cauldron? It seeks to come here, yet I’ve never seen it before. It wasn’t among the visions when the coffin opened on the Great Grasslands of Fire Province.”
Frowning, his heart unsettled, he harbored startling speculations but no way to confirm them.
“Where does it come from? It never appeared in the past, nor is it spoken of in the present. Why does it call to me?” he murmured.
Yet, as he was now, stepping onto the altar was impossible. The moment he did, he would either age to death or revert to infancy, erased by the void.
This place’s time and space were too volatile, impossible to stabilize. Few beings in this era could set foot here—to approach was to court death.
Shi Hao stood in silence for a long while, unmoving as if petrified, his gaze fixed on the altar, desperate to unravel its secrets.
But the mysteries here were too profound, veiled in fog. At his current strength, they were utterly beyond him.
“One day, I will return, step onto this altar, and journey to that unknown place to uncover the truth!” Shi Hao vowed.
Without answers, his heart would never be at peace. He would have to return.
“I must grow stronger!”
Even if he could board the altar now and leave with the cauldron, what could he do?
At his current level, he was unfit for the unimaginably brutal battles awaiting.
Moreover, he thought of other things—the world was on the brink of change. The borderlands were unstable, and chaos would soon sweep across the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths.
The war of the Immortal Ancient Era might reignite amidst this turmoil, continuing into the present. The world then would be a place of unparalleled terror.
After all, even figures like the Willow Deity had been defeated in the past, forced to flee.
All these events intertwined—not just one battlefield, but many, spanning eternity, with the passage of time and shifting eras to consider.
Space, time, ancient and modern, different realms, different battlefields—the future would be both devastating and, perhaps, incomparably glorious.
“I must grow stronger, reach the pinnacle of divinity, and crush all enemies!” Shi Hao declared.
With that, he turned resolutely and left, climbing back toward the abyss’s rim. From this moment on, he would push his limits, squeezing out every ounce of his potential.
As he reached the cliff face and began his ascent, he cast one last glance backward—and froze in shock.
The faintly visible cauldron suddenly manifested a figure stepping out from within!
The figure was indistinct, blurred beyond recognition, standing upon the altar.
“This is…” Shi Hao could hardly believe his eyes, halting in his tracks, staring dumbfounded.
“Whoosh!”
The altar trembled, unstable. A hazy passageway appeared, and the figure vanished into it, gone without a trace.
“Someone came through, entering the spatial tunnel… Where did they go?” Shi Hao’s voice trembled.
After a long silence, his gaze hardened with resolve. “This must be an echo of the past, a remnant imprint. What I saw didn’t happen just now.”
Who was that person? Would he ever meet them?
If he did, he might finally learn who was calling him and what war they wanted him to join.
Shi Hao lingered no longer. Scaling the cliff swiftly, he ascended toward the abyss’s rim.
Above the abyss, countless beings gathered.
“Where is Fang? My master summons him to an audience,” a voice called out, approaching Qing Yi and the others.
“Disciples of the Fallen God Ridge!” Cao Yusheng’s expression darkened.
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