“Ah, members of the Rain Clan are moving among those peaks—they arrived just as swiftly as we did. Let’s hurry!” the second young master of the ancient Tuoba clan muttered under his breath.
In the mountain ranges, figures from the Rain Clan had emerged, nearly keeping pace with them—an ominous sign. By now, everyone knew that the holy terror carried the Bronze Divine Book, a treasure beyond measure, coveted by all. Aside from the major sects that genuinely sought his life, countless others pursued him for the legendary artifact, sparking fierce competition.
“Hmm, there are others over there—several ancient remnant beasts. The situation is turning dire.”
At that moment, the Rain Clan also spotted the Tuoba clan, along with powerful figures from the Western Mausoleum Beast Mountain. A group surged forward, their treasures glowing as they skimmed over the forests, leaving trails of radiant light in their wake. The mountains became a dazzling spectacle as multiple ancient factions raced toward the depths, all eager to be the first to find Little Rascal.
“It seems the child is somewhere in these mountains. Quick, send word—inform the sect leader to bring reinforcements at once!”
Many cultivators chose not to approach but instead turned back, activating their treasure arts to speed toward distant lands and report to their elders. In an instant, the skies shimmered with streaks of light, like shooting stars vanishing into the horizon. The once-tranquil mountains were now on the brink of chaos.
Amid the escalating competition, the Tuoba clan and the Rain Clan surged ahead, their main forces partially deployed, their numbers overwhelming. They charged deep into the primordial mountains, neck and neck.
“There he is!”
A sharp-eyed scout spotted Little Rascal, excitement flashing in his eyes—this meant untold riches. Killing him would secure the Bronze Divine Book. To them, the holy terror was already as good as dead, a toothless tiger no longer a threat. Even if they didn’t kill him, he’d perish soon enough.
Sure enough, amidst the trees, pools of blood stained the grass—evidence of severe blood loss. His life hung by a thread.
The Tuoba clan members rallied, swiftly encircling the area to prevent another escape. The Rain Clan, unwilling to be left out, forced their way in from another direction. The treasure was within reach—how could they miss their share?
“Staring blankly even at death’s door? Still wallowing in regret after failing to open the tenth Heavenly Passage? I love seeing you like this,” sneered the sixth young master of the Tuoba clan, his laughter cold and mocking as he stared at the youth seated on a boulder.
The others joined in the laughter—what better outcome could there be? The Rain Clan, however, clenched their teeth in hatred. Just half a month ago, this brat had ravaged their sacred land, leaving a trail of blood and bone-deep vengeance.
Little Rascal was indeed lost in thought, perched on a rock, utterly perplexed. Why had he received no reward? He must have broken a record—no one in the Desolate Region had ever opened the tenth Heavenly Passage in the Void God Realm before.
“Why?” The holy terror frowned, his large eyes brimming with frustration. Something felt off.
Then, indignation flared. The Void God Realm was woven from laws and order—perhaps it hadn’t fully registered his feat. He glared skyward and shouted, “Pay your debts! You owe me a treasure book—deliver it now!”
The crowd gaped. Had he gone mad in his desperation? Bargaining with the Void God Realm?
“Stay sharp—don’t let him trick us again. This time, he won’t escape!” the Rain Clan hissed, ready to strike the killing blow.
“Your panic is pointless. Feigning madness only makes you pitiable. You failed the tenth Heavenly Passage—your fate is sealed in regret,” the Tuoba clan’s second young master mocked.
A crimson needle gleamed in his palm—the Soul-Severing Needle, designed to annihilate both body and spirit, ensuring no chance of survival.
Little Rascal, having vented his frustration skyward, finally regarded them with a sidelong glance, utterly unfazed.
The crowd seethed. How dare a dying wretch show such contempt?
Just as they surged forward, infighting erupted—Tuoba and Rain Clan members clashed, each determined to claim the kill and the treasure.
“Brothers, we found him first. First come, first served, no?” the Tuoba sixth young master said, his tone dripping with insincerity.
“He owes us a blood debt—his death is ours to claim!” the Rain Clan retorted, pressing forward.
Tensions flared, the air thick with hostility. To them, Little Rascal was already defeated—a prize to be carved up.
“Enough. Kill him first, then we’ll discuss dividing the Bronze Book,” an elder from the Tuoba clan interjected, wary of delays inviting more competitors.
The Rain Clan elder nodded. “Agreed.”
A ring of experts closed in, their auras blazing, murderous intent palpable. At long last, they would claim the holy terror’s life.
Yet, Little Rascal only smirked, his disdain deepening—infuriating the hunters poised to claim their prize.
That look—it was as if he were dismissing stray dogs! No fear, no tension—just sheer audacity.
“You think death will be quick? I’ll show you the true horror of crossing the Rain Clan!” a warrior snarled.
“How horrifying?” Little Rascal asked.
“Worse than death!”
“I hate being pointed at.”
With a flick of his finger, a rune flashed—and the Rain Clan warrior exploded.
Gasps erupted. How? A single gesture, a life extinguished?
“Nothing special—he’s spent. Remember his last battle? He’s on his last legs,” someone insisted.
“Ah, the fall of a hero. Even my divine brilliance meets its end,” Little Rascal sighed, his eyes feigning sorrow.
The crowd brightened. If even he admitted defeat, what was there to fear?
“Hand over the Bronze Book, and your death will be swift,” an elder demanded.
But not all were so patient.
“Second Brother, our wager stands, yes?” the Tuoba sixth young master murmured.
“Of course. The killer claims the glory—no sharing,” the second young master replied, stepping forward.
Yet neither struck directly, instead ordering their subordinates to deliver the final blow.
Simultaneously, the Rain Clan unleashed a barrage of radiant arts.
“Enough of your ugliness. Time to send you off!”
Little Rascal’s smile vanished. A terrifying aura erupted—his body blazed with runes, radiating a pressure that forced souls to tremble.
“This—this is the might of a Supreme Being!” an elder shrieked. Legends spoke of this—the divine presence accompanying the tenth Heavenly Passage.
**BOOM!**
A golden domain unfolded around him, sacred symbols swirling like a gateway to the divine.
**SPLAT!**
Those who charged forward burst apart, their bodies disintegrating into bloody mist. Even their techniques shattered midair, dissolving into glittering petals.
Amid the radiance, a black-haired youth strode forth, his gaze piercing, his presence that of a young deity descending upon the mortal realm.
“N-No! What’s happening?!”
Terror gripped them. How could they oppose this?
“Stop him! Don’t let him near!”
Panic spread—some turned to flee.
Useless.
With a mere gesture, Little Rascal yanked the Tuoba sixth young master through the air.
“No! NO!” The young master flailed helplessly, a chick before a hawk.
In one motion, Little Rascal snatched the crimson needle and drove it through the sixth young master’s skull.
Silence.
Then—screams.
The Tuoba clan howled in disbelief. Their prized genius, dead—so pathetically.
**SHING!**
Little Rascal caught another needle midair—launched by the second young master, now fleeing on a treasure artifact.
“Come back.”
His voice resonated like divine decree. A golden ripple surged from his lips, shattering the artifact beneath the second young master.
The crowd quaked. A single word—destroying a treasure?
The second young master was dragged back, the stolen needle piercing his brow. Death followed instantly.
Chaos erupted. The survivors scattered like startled birds.
But Little Rascal’s decree echoed:
“None shall leave.”
**BOOM!**
Golden runes erupted, sealing the battlefield. Time itself seemed to freeze—figures hung suspended, their terror etched in place.
Then—release.
Bodies ruptured en masse, reduced to ash under the weight of a Supreme Being’s wrath.
Without a backward glance, Little Rascal strode from the carnage, his radiance undimmed.
The hunt was over.
Now—he would face the world.
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