The imperial palace was vast, and ordinary people could easily get lost within its walls. Some areas were akin to miniature worlds, laid out with spatial arrays that made them unimaginably expansive. At this moment, Shi Hao and his companions stepped into a sparsely vegetated area, stretching endlessly before them. The ground ahead was crimson, littered with gravel, resembling a desolate wasteland. Fortunately, after walking a considerable distance, they finally reached their destination—an ancient temple bathed in the glow of dawn, radiant and serene.
This was the most sacred place of the royal family—the Scripture Temple. If divided further, it housed the Scripture Pavilion and the Treasure Arts Hall, but as a whole, it stood as a solemn and dignified ancient temple. Under the sunlight, its tiles shimmered with a faint golden hue, exuding both an air of antiquity and the majesty of royalty. This temple had endured since ancient times, standing unshaken through the ages. All the royal family’s secret scriptures were stored here, forming the very foundation of the nation’s Great Dao.
As Shi Hao approached, his heart swelled with excitement, surpassing even the thrill he had felt upon seeing the divine materials and artifacts in the treasury. This was the place he had yearned for the most. The surroundings were silent and vast, with only an ancient pine tree standing before the temple, its bark cracked like the scales of an old dragon coiled upon the earth. Strangely, there were no guards, lending an eerie tranquility to the place.
“Before the great calamity, royal elders stood guard here. Being within the palace, it was impregnable. But now…” The War King sighed. The calamity had swept away the elders, leaving behind only traces of blood.
“Hmm?” Shi Hao was startled as he ascended the temple steps, sensing an indescribable Dao rhythm that left him momentarily dazed. The War King and the old attendant exchanged glances, refraining from speaking lest they disturb him.
This temple was extraordinary. Over countless years, numerous emperors had studied its scriptures, leaving behind an indelible aura of the Great Dao. Over time, the temple itself seemed to have gained sentience. Rarely, some would enter a state of enlightenment here, not by reading scriptures but simply by the temple’s influence. For Shi Hao to resonate with the Dao on his first visit, without even glancing at the bone scriptures, was astonishing.
In an instant, golden lotuses bloomed at the temple’s entrance, enveloping Shi Hao. He stood at their center, bathed in golden radiance, his body glowing with an ethereal light and emitting a faint fragrance—a sign of his body nearing harmony with the Dao, resonating with heaven and earth.
“Truly remarkable. The younger generation surpasses the old,” the War King murmured, awed despite knowing of Shi Hao’s prodigious talent. The old attendant nodded. “Such aptitude is rare even in the Upper Realm. May the new emperor one day ascend and suppress those arrogant beings.”
Half an hour later, Shi Hao awoke, his mind clear. The insights he had gained during the calamity had now solidified and ascended further. His body had become more spiritual, not just indestructible but also attuned to the Dao, making it easier to inscribe glyphs. In a way, this was more significant than a mere breakthrough—it was the accumulation of latent potential, unlocking the boundless treasures within his flesh.
With renewed clarity, Shi Hao stepped into the temple. Though seemingly unguarded, a few powerful battle puppets stood watch inside. The temple’s interior exuded grandeur and sanctity, suffused with imperial majesty. Yet, Shi Hao frowned immediately. The jade tables within were missing many bone scriptures, clearly looted.
The War King explained with frustration that after the calamity, certain princes, princesses, and royal uncles had raided the temple, taking away precious texts. Shi Hao’s brow twitched in displeasure—these were the same individuals who had colluded with foreign sects, vying for the throne while plundering their own heritage.
“Originally, there was a Golden-Winged Roc Soaring to the Heavens painting here, a priceless Dao diagram containing the true essence of the Roc Clan,” the old attendant said, pointing to an empty wall. Shi Hao’s heart skipped a beat. Even an incomplete Roc technique would be invaluable—had he not already mastered the true Kun Peng method, he would have been furious.
“Here once hung a Lion-Dragon Thunderstrike painting, depicting it ascending amidst lightning to strike the heavens,” the old attendant continued, gesturing to another blank space. This time, Shi Hao couldn’t remain calm. Though he had mastered thunder techniques and the Lion-Dragon’s incomplete art, he longed for its perfected form.
“Do you know who took it?” Shi Hao asked darkly.
“Your Majesty need not worry. Though the painting is lost, I am well-versed in this technique and can impart it to you,” the War King interjected.
Shi Hao brightened. The old attendant added, “Indeed, our Stone Nation possesses two supreme national treasures—both heavenly-rank beast arts from the primordial era. One is the Lion-Dragon method.”
The War King shook his head. “We’ve searched but found nothing.”
“Fear not. These arts cannot be lost. They must be recorded elsewhere, reserved for the emperor,” the old attendant reassured.
Shi Hao was astounded. In ancient times, the Stone Nation had possessed three world-shaking arts—two now lost or incomplete, leaving only the Lion-Dragon method. Yet, this was more than enough. As a master of thunder techniques, obtaining a pure-blooded heavenly-rank beast art would perfect his path.
They pressed onward, perusing numerous bone scriptures, though many of the most precious—jade bones, silver tomes—were gone. Shi Hao’s expression darkened with each loss recounted.
The War King chuckled. “Worry not. If you wish to learn these arts, I can summon the nobles. Their ancestors once practiced royal techniques when the clans branched out.”
“Truly?” Shi Hao’s eyes gleamed.
“Without a doubt.”
Relieved, Shi Hao settled onto a meditation cushion in a quiet chamber within the temple, hoping to re-enter his enlightened state. The War King and the old attendant withdrew to stand guard outside.
“Where is the Lion-Dragon’s supreme method?” Shi Hao murmured. Then, struck by inspiration, he retrieved the Imperial Seal and channeled his energy into it.
Suddenly, the chamber trembled. Purple mist surged from the east, intertwined with golden lightning, transforming the room into a storm. Upon the wall materialized a colossal Lion-Dragon, its golden and violet stripes radiating ferocity as if it might leap from the stone.
“The Lion-Dragon’s treasure art!” Shi Hao exclaimed, bursting into laughter. It truly was linked to the Imperial Seal!
This was an immense gain—a heavenly-rank beast’s supreme technique, more valuable than anything else. With this, his combat prowess would soar to new heights. Thunder, the most fearsome of forces, now lay within his grasp.
“Now is not the time to study it. There are traitorous generals and nobles to deal with,” Shi Hao reminded himself, committing the Lion-Dragon’s imprint to memory.
Then, with a smirk, he produced a bronze fragment, unleashing a golden pathway. “Ah yes, there’s still that beautiful captive.”
The Lunar Grace Goddess had been imprisoned within a pocket realm since her capture.
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