Chapter 80: The Master of the Dao!

The holy sword cleaved through the blood wolf, its momentum undiminished as it shot straight toward the figure shrouded in a crimson aura, the white flames rising a full ten feet high.

Clang!

The figure enveloped in blood drew a blade of the same hue, intercepting the holy sword. As the two weapons collided, creation and annihilation seemed to manifest in that instant. The holy sword, though immaculate, was no less deadly.

“Today, none of you will leave here alive!”

The winged being withdrew his sword and retreated, his tone icy and commanding.

“How laughable. Even the God-Kings of your line were never so arrogant!”

Another figure emerged from the void, his face as fair as jade, draped in Daoist robes, a canopy of purple aura crowning his head, swirling like an ocean mist.

Behind the winged being, six wings beat furiously, his energy surging as if a vital nerve had been struck. He roared,

“How dare you blaspheme the All-Father!”

“Baccharel, calm yourself.”

The turbid river flowed past, filled with the shrieks of endless lost souls. A battered wooden boat drifted slowly along, its hull little more than scattered planks, upon which stood a figure in black robes, slowly rowing with a single oar.

“The Ferryman of the Underworld? What a rare sight—two enemies from opposing pantheons joining forces. If your followers could see this, how their hearts would break, ha ha…”

The man crowned with purple aura clapped and laughed, the purple mists expanding and contracting as though laughing with him.

“Heh heh, but if every soul on these eight warships perishes here, how heartbroken will you be then?”

The black-robed figure on the boat let out an eerie laugh.

“I wouldn’t say heartbroken. There might be a period of decline, but soon enough, great powers enraged by your actions will spare no effort to root you out completely.”

The purple-clad Daoist responded earnestly, as if he had truly considered this possibility.

“Who are all these people?”

Inside the ship’s cabin, Zhou Tian muttered, speechless. The conversations of these mighty beings rang perfectly clear for all to hear.

Today, the grand hall of the cabin was packed. Amidst the chaos, many wore faces of terror, unsure what was happening. Yet others, like the exiled immortal and Nan Qing, remained calm and composed. Those with keen minds had already guessed most of the truth: they were being used as bait to lure out a great foe.

And then there was a certain fool laughing boisterously.

“I told you something big would happen, but none of you believed me. See? I was right all along!”

Zhang Yi grinned like an idiot, utterly pleased with himself, completely untroubled by the danger at hand.

“If I’m fated to die here today, no resistance will save me. If I’m not, I could lie here motionless and nothing would harm me.”

Such were his exact words—truly exasperating.

In the void, the Ferryman of the Underworld was momentarily at a loss for words. Beside him, Baccharel said coldly,

“To root us out completely—even the alliance of the Eight Ancient Realms would not dare such arrogance!”

Rumble!

Sudden thunder cracked the air, bolts of lightning striking down like the arrival of a thunderous prison. From this storm emerged a figure wreathed in lightning, tall and slender, long hair cascading down his back, clad in gleaming silver armor. In his right hand he held a short silver hammer carved with intricate runes, arcs of electricity dancing along its surface. His eyes blazed with blue lightning as his voice boomed like a thunderclap,

“Enough talk. Kill them all!”

“Lord Erto, the Thunder God? The pantheons of the ancient divine realms are nearly assembled—what a colossal catch!”

A vortex of blue space unfurled, and from it stepped a figure clad in black and gold mech armor, his voice processed to a mechanical timbre.

Clang!

Golden light erupted from Baccharel’s abdomen; the very fabric of space shattered as a shadowy figure appeared—his features strange, his cloak trailing longer than his legs, a black dagger in hand. He cackled,

“Assassination? Not without my say!”

Beside the purple Daoist appeared a figure in white robes, his head concealed beneath a white hood, a short sword hidden within his sleeve. A resonant voice sounded,

“Sardok, Lord of Shadows? Now this is interesting.”

Before more could be said, a wretched scream pierced the air.

“Quick, contact the Heavenly Gate!”

A golden figure tumbled from the void. On closer inspection, it was the body of a Buddha, but only half remained, mangled and bloody. Golden blood dripped down, and the wounds still festered with corrosive energy, swiftly consuming what little life remained. In moments, even his soul flickered and vanished.

A shudder ran through the crowd—they knew this man, a Buddha from the Luotian Monastery, one of the powerful companions who had journeyed with them. Dispersed among the eight warships, how could such a thing have happened?

Before they could investigate—

Rumble!

An ancient chariot burst from the void, radiant and resplendent, its shining light suppressing the heavens as spatial storms for ten thousand miles fell still.

The chariot thundered onward, drawn at great speed by nine ancient beasts.

Each of the nine beasts radiated boundless might, their heads fierce and horns menacing, covered in scales as sharp as blades. They resembled true dragons, yet were not, belonging to a race never before seen in all the Nine Provinces.

Stepping through space, the nine-headed beasts bore the nine-colored immortal gold chariot straight into the fray.

Upon the chariot, a surge of Daoist might erupted, followed by a rain of divine light. A formidable figure stood tall, gazing down over the scene.

“Impressive—you slipped away while my attention was elsewhere.”

He stood atop the chariot, wielding a long spear, its tip dripping with blood—the blood of a Buddha.

“Daoist Lord?!”

The figure in the crimson aura cried out in shock. As the blood mist faded, he was revealed as a general clad in armor, fangs jutting from his mouth.

The purple Daoist’s brows furrowed deeply.

“Impossible—the Daoist Lord cannot have smuggled himself into the Nine Provinces…unless…”

“Unless two beings of Celestial Lord rank have concealed my presence!”

The man atop the chariot finished the thought for him.

“All your Celestial Lords are too busy plotting the invasion of that newly discovered world to intervene. That left an opening for me!”

“So that new world is part of your schemes as well?”

The man beneath the white hood asked.

“Not exactly. We’re not that ambitious. We haven’t conquered that world either, but we did reveal it to you on purpose, to tie up your elite forces.”

The figure descended from the chariot, the very fabric of chaos crumbling beneath his steps. He raised his bronze spear, still dripping blood, its tip flickering with demonic light.

“Don’t waste your efforts. I have sealed this area with an array. No message will escape. Now—die!”

The spear thrust forward, piercing the cosmos. It was a casual strike, not his full strength, yet it felt as though the heavens themselves were collapsing.

The four defenders unleashed all their might—a dazzling display of divine powers, symbols filling the sky, waves of overwhelming energy surging forth. But not even for a moment could they halt the spear’s advance.

Bang!

The four were hurled back, armor shattered, purple aura dispersed, blood spraying across the stars.

“You are far beneath me. Give up this futile resistance.”

Shrouded in chaotic mist, his features obscured, the spear-wielding giant’s voice rang out across the heavens like a great bell at dawn or dusk.