Everyone stared at Shen Haoran’s blade with eyes dilated to their limits, paralyzed by a visceral, instinctual terror that froze the marrow in their bones.
It was not merely the fear of death, nor was it the intimidation of facing a higher tier cultivator, instead it was a cosmic dread born from staring into an abyss that defied the fundamental architecture of existence.
Across the vast, blood-soaked plains, over three hundred thousand native warriors, seasoned elders of the Four Sacred Grounds, and even the proudest academy prodigies stopped moving entirely.
Their chests heaved in frantic, ragged gasps as they struggled to draw breath from an atmosphere that felt suddenly devoid of air, warmth, and vitality.
Cold, greasy sweat poured down their faces in torrents, soaking through leather tunics and enchanted robes.
Powerful Spirit Ascension commanders felt their knees violently trembling, their spiritual cores shrinking inward like terrified snails retreating into their shells.
The pitch black sword in Haoran’s right hand was not reflecting the dim light—it was actively drinking it, whispering incomprehensible madness into the deepest recesses of their souls.
"...Perish into nothingness."
Shen Haoran brought down his sword with casual, sovereign indifference, and in that instant, the world violently twisted!
CRACK—SKRRRRR—!!!!!
The three-dimensional fabric of reality buckled, warped, and folded upon itself like thin parchment thrown into an open furnace.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!!!!
From the sleek, void-dripping edge of Azathoth, a colossal, expanding wave of absolute black energy erupted outward.
It did not spread like standard sword intent; it surged forward like an apocalyptic, reality-eating tsunami of pure nonexistence, stretching over thousands of kilometers wide and towering thousands of feet into the firmament!
Where the black wave passed, the laws of the universe ceased to function.
The air did not combust, but vanished.
The earth did not fracture into rubble, but dissolved into microscopic nothingness, leaving behind a bottomless, glassy trench of absolute void.
Seeing all that destruction, whatever confidence these natives had earlier completely vanished as they immediately turned around and fled.
"RUN! FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!"
"MERCY! HEAVENS ABOVE, MERCY!"
Sheer, hysterical panic shattered the ranks of the native army.
The hundreds of thousands of indigenous cultivators completely broke formation, screaming at the top of their lungs as they scrambled in every direction like insects escaping a collapsing mountain.
Beast tamers desperately whipped their winged war-beasts, but the terrifying beasts shrieked in primal agony, throwing their riders off in a blind frenzy to flee.
Elders of the Divine Wind Palace burned their life essence to execute high-speed escape arts, while disciples of the Xuan Heavenly Sect threw hundreds of defensive jade talismans into the air, praying for a sliver of protection.
Yet all attempts at escape were utterly meaningless.
The moment the expanding black wave swept across their ranks, protective jade barriers shattered into dust without slowing the tide for a second.
Over forty thousand native cultivators, hundreds of towering Spirit Avatars, and dozens of massive iron war-galleons were instantaneously engulfed, their physical bodies, souls, and dantians cleanly erased from the mortal realm, devoured as fuel for the eldritch blade.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH—!!!!!
The destructive wave continued its unstoppable march, preparing to swallow the remaining two hundred and fifty thousand warriors and the Four Great Masters whole—
PING—!
Suddenly, right in the center of the devastated trajectory, a brilliant, blinding drop of pure golden light materialized out of thin air.
The single golden speck expanded in a fraction of a second, erupting into a towering, incandescent wall of sacred, primordial solar radiance.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!!!!
The golden light slammed violently against the descending wave of black void energy.
The catastrophic collision between absolute devouring darkness and supreme celestial radiance created a localized gravitational storm that warped the horizon, tearing open dozens of miniature black holes along the clash line.
For several agonizing seconds, the two opposing energies ground against each other in an earth-shattering stalemate—the black void energy opening thousands of ethereal, biting jaws along the barrier, while the golden light burned with pure, dragon-scaled sovereignty, refusing to yield an inch of ground.
Finally, with a deafening detonation that blew away the lingering clouds for thousands of leagues, the two opposing energies exploded simultaneously and completely dissipated into shimmering golden sparks and fading black mist.
Down below, Tang Lin’s bloodshot eyes widened to their tearing limit, his breath catching violently in his throat.
’It’s him! He’s finally here!’
Under everyone’s stunned, trembling eyes, as the explosive mist slowly drifted away, a single figure slowly appeared, descending gently from the high sky onto the scorched earth.
He wore a plain, unadorned white robe that fluttered softly in the desert breeze, completely devoid of any lavish clan crests or ostentatious embroidery.
He had sharp, neatly cut short silver hair that shimmered with faint metallic luster under the pale sky, and deep, crystalline blue eyes that seemed to contain the vast, untamed depths of primordial oceans.
In his right hand, he held a sleek, double-edged golden sword whose blade was etched with the coiled scales of an ancient, celestial dragon.
He did not release a booming aura, nor did he intentionally summon a world-shaking Spirit Avatar.
Yet, despite looking like an ordinary, unassuming human youth, the unfathomable, terrifyingly dense power concealed within that slender physical frame was so monstrous, so immensely heavy, that it completely dwarfed even the combined presence of the Four Great Masters—the Sword Saint, the Wind Emperor, the Xuan Yuan Saint, and the Nine Lives Demon King—reducing them to mere flickering candles beside a blazing sun.
Tang Lin swallowed a heavy mouthful of dry saliva, his palms drenched in cold sweat.
That man was definitely as domineering, as terrifying, and as peerless as he remembered from his previous life.
’Chen Feng, the White Dragon Emperor.’ Tang Lin thought, staring at the figure.
The native monster of the Ancient Heaven Star who was destined to slaughter the academy legions, break the world boundary, ascend to the Prime Origin Realm, and eventually sit upon the throne of a Supreme Emperor.
Seeing him appear out of the void and effortlessly neutralize a strike that had just erased forty thousand warriors, the hundreds of thousands of surviving native cultivators, along with the Four Great Masters, suddenly gained overwhelming, tearful confidence.
Which was completely understandable, as Chen Feng was the undisputed, strongest expert in the entirety of this world.
He was a living miracle who came from the most humble, impoverished mortal beginnings, clawing his way up through sheer unyielding will, ancient draconic fortune, and peerless battle talent to single-handedly create his own untouchable legend.
To the people of the Ancient Heaven Star, he was not merely a cultivator—he was their guardian deity, their supreme champion, and the idol admired and worshipped by all living beings across the continent.
"LORD CHEN FENG! IT’S LORD CHEN FENG!"
"THE WHITE DRAGON EMPEROR HAS DESCENDED! WE ARE SAVED!"
"GREETINGS, SUPREME EMPEROR CHEN! PLEASE SLAUGHTER THESE CELESTIAL DEMONS AND AVENGE OUR FALLEN DISCIPLES!"
Hundreds of thousands of native cultivators dropped to their knees in the mud, bowing and prostrating themselves with fanatical devotion, their booming cheers and praises shaking the vast plains.
Even the Four Great Masters lowered their proud heads, offering deep, respectful salutes toward the silver-haired youth.
Yet, Chen Feng completely ignored them all.
He did not spare a single glance at the prostrating elders, nor did he acknowledge the fanatical praises echoing across the wasteland.
His cold, piercing blue eyes remained locked entirely onto the young man floating calmly in the air before him—Shen Haoran.
Chen Feng slowly lifted his golden blade, his brow furrowing into a deep, heavy frown as he sensed the profoundly unsettling sovereignty radiating from the black-robed youth.
"You..." Chen Feng spoke, his voice clear, resonant, and carrying the natural, bone-chilling roar of an ancient dragon. "Who are you?"
Shen Haoran, still holding the pitch-black sword with effortless grace, looked at the world’s ’destined protagonist’ standing before him.
His lips slowly curled upward into a sharp, condescending, and thoroughly amused smirk.
He could feel it—deep within the innermost sanctum of his soul, the dormant, primordial majesty of his Infinity Dragon God Physique suddenly stirred, letting out an ancient, resonating cry that echoed through his spiritual meridians like the call of blood meeting blood, as if recognizing an estranged relative across the vast river of cosmic time.
He knew immediately, with unwavering certainty, that this silver-haired man standing before him was no mere lower-realm fluke.
Chen Feng, the so-called White Dragon Emperor, also possessed one of the legendary, mythical Nine Dragon God Physiques that Xiao Long’s system had detailed to him in the past.
A dark, predatory amusement ignited in the depths of Haoran’s golden eyes.
He slowly raised the tip of his tongue and licked his lips, his gaze tracking Chen Feng’s physical frame like a monarch eyeing a prized, divine feast waiting to be harvested and assimilated.
Across the shattered expanse, Chen Feng frowned deeply, his sharp silver brows knitting together as a sudden, violent turbulence erupted within his own core.
He could feel it too—deep within the primordial roots of his soul, his supreme physique, the Heavenly Order Dragon Body, was trembling in unbridled, frantic excitement.
Yet, it was not the joyous thrill of a reunion; it was a dark, feral, and voracious hunger, vibrating in a distinctly sinister and unsettling way.
It felt as if the ancient, celestial dragon coiled around his dantians could barely restrain itself, desperate to leap out of his own physical flesh and tear into, devour, and swallow the black-robed young master standing down below.
The unnatural sensation felt raw, intrusive, and profoundly irritating, honestly grating on his proud nerves as his blood burned with an erratic, foreign fever.
What is this strange resonance?
Chen Feng thought internally, his grip tightening around the hilt of his dragon-etched golden blade.
Why is my ancestral physique reacting so violently to an invader from the upper realms?
However, since he did not possess the omniscient knowledge of cosmic systems and knew nothing of the wider overarching mythos of the Nine Dragon God Physiques, Chen Feng forcefully suppressed the chaotic shudder in his meridians and decided to forget about it for now.
There were far more urgent matters demanding his focus—namely, the tens of thousands of slaughtered native cultivators and the upper-realm invaders standing upon the soil of his home.
Chen Feng slowly lifted his golden sword, the edge humming with pure, brilliant celestial light that pierced through the gloomy sky.
He raised his chin, his azure eyes radiating the cold, unyielding resolve of a protector whose back supported an entire world.
He turned his gaze toward the surviving two hundred and fifty thousand native warriors, raising his voice to boom across the desolate plains like a sacred bell, delivering a thunderous, impassioned speech to boost their shattered morale.
"Warriors of the Ancient Heaven Star! Sons and daughters of the Four Sacred Grounds!" Chen Feng proclaimed, his voice infused with pure, draconic authority that washed over the trembling hearts of the indigenous army like a warm, revitalizing tide. "Do not be intimidated by their alien blades or their empty, devouring darkness! For ten thousand years, the heavens have tested our endurance, but our spirit has never broken! We were born from the soil of this realm, nourished by its ancient mountains, and tempered by its unyielding winds! Today, we do not fight merely to survive—we fight to reclaim our sky, to avenge our fallen ancestors, and to show these arrogant invaders that the Ancient Heaven Star will never bow its neck to a celestial cage! Raise your blades! Stand behind me! Together, we shall drive these devils from our world and restore our rightful glory!"
That was all it took, and the demoralized army immediately let out a roar.
"YEAHHHH! FOR LORD CHEN FENG! FOR THE ANCIENT HEAVEN STAR!"
The surviving hundreds of thousands of native cultivators, alongside the Four Great Masters—the Sword Saint, the Wind Emperor, the Xuan Yuan Saint, and the Nine Lives Demon King—erupted into a deafening, fanatical roar.
Their blood burned with renewed fire, their spirits reignited by the presence of their invincible idol as they prepared to charge forward—
ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR—!!!!!
Suddenly, Chen Feng’s grand, inspiring speech and the rising battle cries of the native army were violently, brutally interrupted!
An earth-shattering, primordial draconic roar detonated from Shen Haoran’s frame, so monstrously loud, so infinitely heavy, and so fundamentally alien that it completely shook the nine heavens and cracked the tectonic plates beneath the plains!
The soundwave alone blew away the clouds for ten thousand leagues, forcefully choking the voices of three hundred thousand warriors back into their throats.
Without waiting for their pathetic formation to finish organizing, Shen Haoran’s eyes flared with incandescent majesty as he immediately summoned his Spirit Avatar.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM—!!!!!
The atmosphere above the plains did not merely part; it completely shattered into a brilliant, cosmic kaleidoscope of gold, purple, and silver light.
From the blinding pillar of divine qi that erupted into the stratosphere, a colossal, god-like entity materialized into physical reality.
It was a magnificent, ethereal sovereign figure that possessed Haoran’s exact, breathtakingly handsome appearance—draped in flowing, multi-layered emperor’s robes woven from dense golden lightning and royal purple energy!
On its broad, regal forehead, an incandescent golden third eye burned with the blinding radiance of an unyielding solar star.
Its left eye shone with the creation majesty of brilliant silver, while its right eye burned with the deep, intoxicating destructive fire of profound purple.
And most terrifying of all... it stood at a colossal, mind-boggling one thousand meters tall!
The titanic avatar’s crown pierced straight through the upper atmospheric layers, casting an immense, shadow-draped eclipse over the entirety of the vast plains!
The entire world froze in absolute, soul-crushing horror.
Every single living being on the battlefield—native and academy student alike—stared upward with their mouths hanging wide open, their eyes bulging as their minds completely failed to process the sheer, impossible magnitude of what they were witnessing
In the cultivation world, a Spirit Avatar was not just a giant energy construct; it was the physical actualization of a cultivator’s personal Dao, their comprehension of universal laws, and the literal crystallization of their internal concept of absolute invincibility.
Most legendary powerhouses and ancient sect leaders in this world could only manifest avatars ranging from thirty to fifty meters.
And in their ignorant view, Geniuses of the upper realms might reach a hundred or so meters after centuries of painful refinement.
Even the legendary White Dragon Emperor only has a three hundred meter avatar!
Yet here stood a young man, barely in his youth, manifesting a one-thousand-meter sovereign titan.
The sheer, unfiltered arrogance, the bottomless depth of his personal Dao, and the terrifying reality that this man genuinely viewed himself as an untouchable, supreme god looking down upon the cosmos sent a wave of paralyzing, existential dread crashing down upon the souls of everyone present.
"O-One... one thousand meters...?" the Sword Saint stammered, his ancient hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped his beloved blade. "How... how can a mortal Dao support a manifestation of such grotesque, arrogant proportions?!"
"Monster..." the Wind Emperor whispered, his knees buckling beneath him. "Is this guy so arrogant he believes himself to be invincible!?"
Even high above the battlefield, floating before the chest of this titanic colossus, Chen Feng’s deep blue eyes widened in pure, unprecedented shock!
For the first time in his legendary life of defying the heavens, an icy, suffocating chill gripped his heart as he looked upon a concept of power that completely dwarfed his own imagination.
Shen Haoran, now standing comfortably and regally suspended inside the radiant, crystalline forehead core of his thousand-meter Spirit Avatar, looked down upon Chen Feng and the swarming native army.
A cold, dismissive smirk curled along Haoran’s lips.
Without a single word of warning, Haoran casually lowered his right hand.
In terrifying, flawless synchronicity, the one thousand meter Spirit Avatar, holding an enormous, thousand-meter pitch black energy sword that hissed with the devouring, void born sludge of Azathoth, also brought its titanic sword crashing down.
WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH—!!!!!
The falling black blade cleaved through the sky with the apocalyptic, world-ending momentum of a collapsing dimension!
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