Shi Hao’s body tensed, unable to relax. He had thought he controlled his own destiny, refusing to compromise with the foreign sects, believing his fate was in his own hands. But now he realized that before the giants of the Upper Realm, no matter how prodigious his talent or even if he became a Human Emperor, it was all meaningless—a single finger could reduce him to ashes.
“I must transcend!” Shi Hao muttered to himself, his tone resolute, his voice firm.
The disheveled old man from earlier was one thing, but that old woman clearly treated this place as nothing more than a medicinal field, only refraining from acting because she had yet to find the right “herbs.” In that instant, Shi Hao felt a chill run through his entire body—his fate was in someone else’s hands. The sacred forbidden land of the Stone Country, the imperial palace of a nation, was being looked down upon as if it were mere farmland.
He had been ignored because he hadn’t reached the Noble King Realm, unworthy of their attention, and thus spared. The absurdity of it—being overlooked because he wasn’t strong enough, and that was the very reason he survived. Was it irony, or just plain ridiculousness and sorrow?
“Damn it!” In the end, those were the only two words Shi Hao could spit out. Yet he wasn’t disheartened—he was still young, with plenty of time to grow stronger.
“Sooner or later, I’ll break into the Upper Realm!” Shi Hao exhaled a turbid breath.
Across the heavens, thunderous light occasionally streaked through the sky, filling the world with oppressive energy—the radiance of a great calamity. Supreme beings were clashing, shattering the barriers between realms, casting disdainful gazes upon the Desolate Wasteland.
“Pity I can only stay here now, not even qualified to watch the show,” Shi Hao murmured, mocking himself.
With the little pagoda gone and no one to control the ancestral altar, the mirror surface was too blurry to capture the distant battles. He had no idea how far the conflict had escalated.
At the edge of the Desolate Wasteland, the old woman carried a medicine basket, dressed in simple, ancient robes like a peasant, yet her methods and aura were enough to terrify anyone to death. With a light touch, she tore through the boundary wall and stepped steadily into another domain.
This day was like the dawn of creation for the Desolate Wasteland. The giants of the Upper Realm waged war, staining the celestial river with blood, their killing intent shaking past, present, and future—a brutality never before seen. For the other seven domains, it was a long-overdue calamity.
And it wasn’t just the old woman—others had also made their move, harvesting the “great medicines” of the mortal world, intent on taking everything, leaving nothing behind. For Noble Kings and others, it was an unimaginable disaster.
Shi Hao hadn’t witnessed it, but he could imagine—he had seen the upheaval in the Desolate Wasteland before.
“Ah… no!” A flood dragon roared, but it couldn’t escape its fate. It howled at the sky, its body shimmering with cold azure light, stretching tens of thousands of feet as it tried to soar into the heavens and escape beyond the domain. But it was futile.
A rough, enormous hand reached out. No matter how many divine abilities or spells it unleashed, it couldn’t evade—it was plucked up between two fingers like a mere loach.
“Oh? What luck—a true dragon’s descendant, with extraordinary bloodline. In the Upper Realm, we wouldn’t dare hunt you so casually, lest we provoke the wrath of the Dragon Valley,” the peasant-like creature grinned, nodding as she examined the flood dragon pinched between her fingers. “I’ll take you back and raise you for a while. Once your dragon blood condenses into divinity, you’ll make for a fine medicinal ingredient.”
In another domain, a Daoist walked—his appearance ordinary, his demeanor unrefined, though his skin occasionally shimmered with violet-gold radiance. He had six arms, one holding a horsetail whisk, another carrying a massive gourd on his back.
He too made his move. With a single point of his finger, a flash of clear light erupted, causing mountains to crumble into dust, leaving only a single towering peak—which then split open.
Within the mountain’s belly coiled a silver serpent, tens of thousands of feet long, its tongue flicking nervously, trembling uncontrollably.
“Good. On the verge of breaking into the Noble King Realm. Just in time—I need some silver serpent gallbladders. You should have advanced sooner,” the Daoist remarked.
The gourd on his back emitted a violet light, sucking the silver serpent inside.
Tens of thousands of miles away, within a deep pool, a golden-eyed beast with emerald scales—resembling a qilin—sensed danger and immediately burrowed through the earth, fleeing toward the planet’s core.
“My mountain’s front pond lacks some spiritual creatures. You’re lucky—I’ll raise you there.”
The Daoist took a single step and arrived. The gourd on his back released wisps of auspicious energy, pulling the Noble King-level beast from the depths.
It wasn’t that these creatures were weak—it was that the Daoist and the old woman were simply too terrifying. They stood among the mightiest beings since the dawn of creation, hailed as undying giants.
That day, powerhouses across the domains trembled, realizing that no matter what divine abilities they used, what treasures they wielded, it was all useless. Before such supreme beings, all resistance was laughably futile.
Chaos reigned. Those who had fled the Desolate Wasteland earlier now lamented—they had only delayed the inevitable, suffering the same fate as the denizens of the other seven domains.
“What is happening in this era? Ancient times had calamities, but never one so thorough—they’re hunting down every last divine being, leaving none behind!” someone roared in despair.
In the distance, a towering divine manifestation filled the heavens, its sacred radiance boundless and flawless—a true deity!
Yet no matter how he roared, how he shook the heavens, wielding divine artifacts and unleashing world-shaking power, it changed nothing. A massive hand descended, plucking him up and tossing him into a vessel.
“A mere false god, daring to make such noise. You’ll be refined into medicine.”
Such scornful words plunged the world’s powerhouses into despair. How could they resist? Even a divine being like this was captured effortlessly—what hope did they have?
The great calamity had arrived. The mighty, once lofty and untouchable, now scurried like stray dogs, fleeing for their lives—the contrast was too cruel.
Many wailed, cursing the heavens, powerless against such a disaster.
“That’s… a Supreme Being!” someone gasped, recognizing the Daoist.
Across the eight domains, there were dilapidated temples from ages past, enshrining that very Daoist. Such a figure had descended to the Lower Realm!
It was unspeakably terrifying. Legends said he had come down many years ago, fading into history—yet here he was again in this era.
Before the Everlasting Mountain in the Profound Domain, the old woman appeared, basket in hand, smiling kindly as if she were the picture of benevolence.
“What a fine medicinal field… though it has an owner—the legacy of that man.”
The mountain was majestic, purple qi soaring into the heavens, clearly a land of dragons, the ancestral root of ten thousand peaks.
“Well, a few herbs taken in the chaos shouldn’t be a problem,” the old woman chuckled, flicking her wrist. Clear light scattered, seeping into the Everlasting Mountain.
Instantly, symbols erupted, formation power surging violently enough to slaughter Noble Kings—even deities.
“Who dares attack? This is the Everlasting Mountain, the legacy of an immortal Upper Realm orthodoxy!” someone shouted, voice trembling with fear.
A terrifying pressure enveloped them, shaking their very souls. With the eight domains in turmoil, panic was inevitable.
**Boom!**
Deep within the Everlasting Mountain, several ancient caves exploded. Secluded experts were forcibly extracted, their bodies blazing with boundless light as they struggled—yet it was futile.
No matter how they roared, how they unleashed their might, their fate was sealed—plunged into the old woman’s basket.
Howling winds, surging violet qi, inverted rivers of stars—all manner of phenomena unfolded. When calm returned, the Everlasting Mountain’s higher-ups were livid. Several ancestral figures had vanished, their retreats reduced to rubble.
“We must report this to the Upper Realm! Do they think the Everlasting Mountain has no one left?!”
But it wasn’t just them—other immortal legacies were also under attack.
The Western Sect, with its countless sacred peaks, radiated Buddhist light in all directions, serene and harmonious. Golden rivers flowed, ancient medicines perfumed the air. Auspicious beasts roamed, five-colored deer carried spiritual herbs, sacred birds danced among radiant orchids—a true paradise.
“The Western Sect—what a fine place. Far better than this old Daoist’s broken temple,” the Daoist sneered, his voice laced with resentment.
**Swoosh!**
He flicked his horsetail whisk, and three thousand silver threads shot out like a celestial river, sweeping through the sacred mountains. Several Noble Kings were instantly ensnared and tossed into his gourd.
“Who dares violate our pure land?!” a voice thundered. Buddhist light blazed as all formations activated.
“Hmm, that divine pond holds something good. Excellent,” the Daoist murmured, his eyes gleaming with violet light.
He extended a massive hand, piercing through countless divine formations, reaching straight into the grandest temple. Dao energy swirled, unstoppable.
Within the hall lay a divine pond, its golden waters fragrant, suffused with Buddhist radiance. He reached in and plucked a rare treasure—a divine lotus, glowing with boundless brilliance.
“Stop!” someone roared.
At the same time, a statue enshrined in the temple trembled, emitting a mighty voice as it manifested an immortal dharma body.
“Daoist, you have overstepped!”
**Boom!**
The sound shook heaven and earth. Limitless light erupted from the Western Sect.
“My legacy in the Lower Realm was once flourishing, but you schemed against it, leaving it in ruins. Today, the debt is repaid,” the Daoist sneered amidst the radiance.
The gourd on his back rose, sucking in entire spiritual mountains, medicinal fields, and sacred relics.
“Legacies compete, disciples contend—victory and defeat are transient. For you to descend personally is beneath your station,” the statue intoned, its voice growing mightier as it emitted blazing light.
A golden figure, six feet tall, stepped forth, confronting the Daoist—its majesty shaking past and present.
“Since you’re here, let us spar,” the Daoist said.
The golden figure remained silent, raising a hand. A golden bridge materialized, stretching into the heavens. He gestured—an invitation.
In a flash of light, the two ascended the bridge, heading for the domain beyond. Battles of this level could shatter worlds and sever stars—the golden figure clearly wished to spare the pure land below.
Amidst the chaos, as immortal sect masters clashed, Shi Hao stood atop a high platform in the imperial palace, silent, waiting for the battle to end.
He knew—this conflict would reshape the Upper Realm’s landscape and determine the fate of the eight domains.
“It must be ending soon…”
He stood through the night. As dawn broke, a sliver of light pierced the horizon, the oppressive aura in the world fading.
The battle was drawing to a close.
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