This was the four hundredth year of training for the preliminary disciples. The great promotion competition in five hundred years was drawing near.
The disciples' training became more urgent, and no one was seen in the region for decades.
They all wanted to successfully promote to formal disciples, and didn't want to be abandoned by the Blue Sky Sword Sea.
If they failed the promotion, the vast majority of them could only go back to their clans and inherit the status of young master or son of god.
But these titles were useless in the face of true strength.
As one of the top three existences in this star region, the Blue Sky Sword Sea had almost unlimited power over everything.
Even the lowest preliminary disciple of the ancient race was like a god when they went to other remote areas in the star region.
Not to mention the more advanced mysterious, supreme, and mythic races.
Once one became a formal disciple, their status would increase exponentially. Even if you destroyed a small planet, no one would dare say anything.
Even the once-lofty ancient elders in your own clan would have to kneel before you.
This was the sublime status of a formal disciple of the Blue Sky Sword Sea.
And the Blue Sky Sword Sea had always had no more than three hundred formal disciples, the lowest among them being of the mysterious race.
There were also ancient races who became formal disciples through their own efforts and talent, but did not last long.
Because the other formal disciples felt that an ancient race joining was an insult to their noble bloodlines. Some supreme races even said publicly:
"What precedent is there for gods and pigs dwelling together?!"
That ancient race disciple endured the insults but could not endure the beatings, and was forcibly expelled from the Blue Sky Sword Sea.
The expulsion of that ancient race disciple was 99% the responsibility of the formal disciples.
And 1% the responsibility of that ancient race disciple himself for not being strong enough.
If he had been strong enough, such discrimination would not have occurred.
For example, Chen Xia, despite having an emperor seed's title, was of no race at all, and was from the most common and weak human race in the great heavens.
But now, who would dare stop him from joining the formal disciples?
Who would dare insult or discriminate against him?
The last one who did, their tomb had been overgrown with three-zhang tall grass!
As long as you were strong enough, you would be the one oppressing others, not the other way around.
And becoming a formal disciple was the ticket to becoming a powerhouse.
Even if there were only twenty tickets among five hundred disciples, they would fight for them at all costs.
The two emperor seeds, Di Du and Qiu Li, were sure to take two of the tickets.
Some powerful supreme and mysterious races would take another seven or eight.
The rest would be contended for by ordinary supreme and mysterious races, and most other races.
One good news was that with Chen Xia imprisoned, his promotion quota would become available.
So who could get that quota? Hard to say.
In addition, a major event happened in the Blue Sky Sword Sea.
Zhang DaoMing's Pill Dao Association officially formed the Heaven Pill Dao, together with Hei Yan, Pi Hu, and Tong He.
This was good news, but there was also bad news.
They did not have someone capable of refining their flagship pill.
The one who could was imprisoned.
This meant that their Heaven Pill Dao would be at a disadvantage compared to some other powerful pill dao associations in the star region, since those all auctioned pills.
Zhang and the other three could only do business with internal disciples, which was not much different than before, just with the Heaven Pill Dao name added.
Zhang DaoMing often sighed that in terms of missing someone, he probably missed Chen Xia the most.
He thought about Chen Xia dozens of times a day, and his ten thousand spirit stones.
Without the spirit stones, he was now somewhat hard pressed buying medicinal ingredients, and often had to be very economical when refining pills, living a rather impoverished life.
Zhang DaoMing even wanted to sell his pill furnace, and borrow the others' furnaces.
These pennyless days meant he had to consider everything carefully before acting.
It was true Chen Xia had given him a dao sword on credit, but he wasn't a sword cultivator! And he didn't go out fighting people, and he couldn't sell the sword either since he wasn't its master, no one would buy it.
With just the four of them, their Pill Dao Association was really a joke now, completely lacking any reputation.
The crux of the issue was they were missing a key central figure.
There was nothing Zhang DaoMing could do. He could barely help himself now, and could only limp on like this for the time being.
Hopefully things would get better after Chen Xia got out of prison...hopefully?
Zhang DaoMing couldn't say for sure. He had heard of the thousand-meter deep Sword Sea Prison, where the last prisoner had been held three thousand years ago.
That was an emperor seed who had stolen supreme techniques from the Heavenly Pavilion and defected from the Blue Sky Sword Sea. Even as a Reaching the Void Realm cultivator, he hadn't survived three hundred years before being mangled to an unrecognizable pulp by the sword sea and hauled out dead as dead can be.
Many people were overly optimistic that Chen Xia would definitely be back after five hundred years.
Because Chen Xia had beheaded the Six Layered Empyrean of the Reaching the Void Realm's sixth layer, they thought it'd be no problem.
But Zhang DaoMing knew Chen Xia was actually only at the peak of the Moving Mountains Realm in cultivation.
The slaughter of the sword sea was not like normal combat where endurance mattered most, but more so vitality and endurance.
Because you couldn't fight back, only endure the grinding slaughter of the sword sea.
Could Chen Xia withstand five hundred years?
Zhang DaoMing didn't know. He shook his head, hoping Chen Xia could endure it. If he really couldn't, then his ten thousand spirit stones could only serve as burial objects for Chen Xia.
The nearly ten thousand year old Zhang DaoMing sighed, his diminutive body looking withered and defeated.
It was hard to say whether he grieved more for Chen Xia or himself.
The eightieth year.
In the pitch black thousand-meter deep Sword Sea Prison, in a square cell, a figure with long hair stood hunched over.
He was covered in bloodstains, and his blue clothes were tattered rags hanging off him.
Heavy shackles covered in formations were locked around his feet, hindering Chen Xia's movements and slowing him down, making even slight steps somewhat difficult.
Deep in the sword sea, huge sea beasts often swam by, randomly biting and ramming Chen Xia's cell, creating deafening sounds and shaking him.
In the not too far distance, the undercurrents started becoming turbulent, a sign that a sea beast was about to appear.
Chen Xia stood quietly.
Boom!
Enormous teeth bit down on a corner of the cell, while lantern-sized eyes stared inside at Chen Xia. Strange five colored patterns circled the eyes, and its body was covered densely in tiny, uneven sword protrusions.
The sea beast bit down on the cell, violently thrashing its tail in an attempt to fling Chen Xia into its mouth.
Chen Xia's eyes suddenly shot open, filled completely with refined sword intent. His hand reached out from his robe, grasping the sharp sword intent he had seized from the sword waves.
The heavy shackles rang violently, formations flashing brightly but unable to restrict Chen Xia's movements at all.
In a flash he arrived at the top of the cell, and the sharp sword intent completely stabbed into the sea beast's head, directly gouging out its psychedelic colored eyeball.
The sea beast wailed in pain, loosening its bite on the cell. It quickly fled.
Chen Xia held up the colorful eyeball and directly swallowed it whole.
The eyes were the windows to the mind.
So this was an organ of the sea beast rich in sword intent.
His inner sword sea churned, and after just several circulations, over ten ordinary flying swords became spirit swords.
Chen Xia wiped his mouth, and made another minor cut on himself, letting the blood containing sword intent and spiritual qi spread into the deep sea, awaiting the next unfortunate fool.
Did they understand what was meant by "fishing law enforcement"?
g Yu was preparing for retirement when her organization decided to eliminate her. She transmigrated to a zombie apocalypse world. However, a tiny unexpected situation occurred: She somehow transformed into an adorable little girl?!
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
