Seven Western Provinces, Heavenly Envoys from the Sacred Land

After the Battle of Heaven-Severing Ridge, it was as if the sky over the Eastern Wasteland had finally been wiped clean.

The blood clouds dispersed, and the eerie mist receded. Even the gloomy, cold energy that had entrenched itself deep within the mountain ridges year-round was refined into blue smoke bit by bit by the Demon Suppression Array. An army of seven hundred thousand camped along the southern foothills of Heaven-Severing Ridge. Iron armor stood like a forest, banners waved like an ocean, and military tents stretched for a hundred miles. When night fell, campfires were lit one by one. From a distance, it looked as if a galaxy of stars had fallen upon the earth in the mortal realm.

Wang Hao stood at the highest peak of Heaven-Severing Ridge, draped in a black robe. The residual patterns of the white lightning had completely faded beneath his skin, but occasionally, when his gaze flashed, a sliver of white light could still be seen swimming deep within his pupils.

He did not speak.

Wei Zhongxian stood half a step behind him, his head bowed and eyes lowered, like a silent shadow.

The New Emperor Sword was thrust into a nearby rock. Its blade was a mix of black and gold, and its spine now bore many dense, vertical pupil-like patterns. It did not look like a sword of the imperial path; rather, it resembled a rice spoon freshly unearthed by some evil god.

It let out a burp.

"Burp... Tyrant, I feel very strong right now."

Wang Hao glanced at it. "How strong?"

The New Emperor Sword fell silent for a moment before answering cautiously, "Strong enough... to duel Wanyan Gu one-on-one."

In the distance, Wanyan Gu, who was currently carrying rocks to set up an array, suddenly raised his head. "Who called me? Is someone speaking ill of me?"

Wang Hao remained expressionless. "Keep moving rocks."

Wanyan Gu broke into a wide grin, hefting an array foundation stone that was fully thirty feet tall and running down the mountain. As he ran, he shouted, "Rest assured, Your Majesty! I am the best in the world at moving things!"

Pavilion Master Heavenly Sword stood on the other side, his eye twitching as he listened.

The dignified Crown Prince of the Northern Barbarians, the self-proclaimed number one genius of the North, a ruthless peak seventh-realm expert, was being used to move rocks—and he was doing it with such overflowing joy. The Great Zhou imperial court truly possessed a demonic nature that traditional martial arts factions could not comprehend.

But no one dared to laugh right now.

In the Battle of Heaven-Severing Ridge, Xie Wujiu died, the Nightmares were exterminated, and the main headquarters of the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion was flattened by Pavilion Master Heavenly Sword himself, who led his men in the assault. That mountain gate, which had stood for ten thousand years, was reduced from one of the "Four Pavilions of the Eastern Wasteland" to a "historical ruin" in just half a day.

When the disciples of the Heavenly Sword Pavilion charged in, the surviving elders of the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion had attempted to activate their mountain defense array. As a result, Wang Hao casually placed the Thunder Abyss Demon Suppression Pagoda in front of the mountain gate. Only a sliver of white light lit up on its ninth floor, and the entire defense array went completely paralyzed, like a mouse spotting a cat.

Pavilion Master Heavenly Sword remained silent for a long time, eventually offering only a single comment: "Your Majesty's pagoda is very reasonable."

Ye Guyun added, "It speaks the reason of the Heavenly Dao."

Xiao Chen almost laughed until he choked at the time.

The remnant forces of the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion were purged very quickly. It wasn't that they lacked strength; rather, their backbone had been scattered to the winds by Wang Hao, and their core technique, the Myriad Manifestations Heavenly Mystery Art, had fallen into his hands. Those who excelled at calculation collapsed faster than ordinary martial artists once they realized they could no longer calculate the future.

Some surrendered, some fled, and some tried to use "the heavenly mystery must not be extinguished" as a bargaining chip.

Wang Hao replied with just a few words: "I will continue it."

And so, the negotiations ended.

The disciples of the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion finally realized one thing: His Majesty didn't want to exterminate the art of heavenly mystery; he just felt that the Heavenly Mystery Pavilion's brand was too old and needed to be replaced by the Great Zhou Royal Heavenly Mystery Academy.

This was very reasonable.

So reasonable that no one could refute it.

And on the seventh day after the Battle of Heaven-Severing Ridge, news of the Western Regions' complete pacification was delivered to Wang Hao's desk.

The remnants of the Crimson Moon Demonic Cult had been wiped out.

Of the surviving royal families of the Western Region nations that had been controlled by the Righteous Path Alliance and the Western Region evil cults, some surrendered, some fled, and some died. Those petty monarchs who had once swaggered between the desert oases were now lined up on their knees outside the Great Zhou military tent. Under the scorching sun, with their respective national flags planted on their backs, they looked like a string of sun-dried bacon.

Duke of Ying personally escorted the royal seals of the thirty-seven nations of the Western Regions.

Wang Hao looked at the pile of gold, silver, and jade seals, his expression very calm.

Wei Zhongxian understood perfectly. He immediately stepped forward and said softly, "Master, the Western Regions cover a vast territory. If we continue to govern them as the old nations, it will easily breed rebellion. This old slave believes we should establish provinces, set up prefectures, dispatch officials, and station troops to unify them under the laws of the Great Zhou."

Wang Hao nodded. "Divide the Western Regions into seven provinces."

A sharp glint flashed in Duke of Ying's eyes.

More than forty ancestors also looked at Wang Hao.

They knew that the fall of these words meant far more than just a simple expansion of territory.

From today onward, the landscape of the Eastern Wasteland would be fundamentally changed. The Great Zhou would no longer be just a Central Plains dynasty, but a colossus spanning the Central Plains, the Western Regions, and the Northern Barbarian borders. Its national destiny would continue to skyrocket, its army would gain more resources, and its laws would pierce through the Gobi, the snow-capped mountains, and the seas of sand, driving like iron nails into lands that once recognized only fists and not courts.

Wang Hao picked up a vermilion brush and drew seven lines on the map.

"Xiliang Province, to guard the gateway to the Western Regions."

"Liusha Province, to control three thousand miles of trade routes."

"Chihai Province, the former heartland of the Crimson Moon Demonic Cult, to house the Western Regions General Headquarters of the Demon Suppression Division."

"Kunwu Province, to consolidate the ore veins, with craftsmen from the Ministry of Works relocated there."

"Yueya Province, with the most oases, to establish military farming colonies."

"Heishan Province, where the eerie remnants are the heaviest; the Demon Suppression Army shall not be withdrawn for three years."

"Tianque Province, the gateway to the Central Province, to be heavily garrisoned."

As the names of the seven provinces were set, the originally fragmented and mottled Western Regions on the map seemed to be molded back into a skeleton by an invisible giant hand. The position of Deputy Governor-General of the Western Regions Protectorate was given to the Ren family, which made Old Master Ren very happy, while the Governor-General was an ancestor in the late stage of the Qi Condensation Realm from the royal Wang family.

Duke of Ying cupped his fists. "This minister receives the decree."

Wang Hao continued, "The various tribes of the Western Regions must not be slaughtered blindly. Those willing to join the Great Zhou registry shall be recorded, granted land, and taxed. Their children may enter the army, schools, and martial academies. Those who resist shall be dealt with as traitors."

The generals replied in unison, "We obey the decree!"

Wanyan Gu scratched his head as he listened from the side. "Your Majesty, what if those Western Region people submit on the surface but curse us behind our backs?"

Wang Hao said indifferently, "Let them curse."

Wanyan Gu was stunned.

Wang Hao continued, "Cursing costs nothing; rebelling costs lives. What I want from them right now is to pay taxes, perform labor, build roads, mine ores, and farm the land. It doesn't matter if they are unyielding in their words. Once they've been kneeling for a long time, their descendants will naturally get used to it."

Everyone: "..."

These words sounded a bit wicked.

But upon careful thought, they sounded very much like the true way to govern a country.

Old Master Ren stroked his beard, his gaze growing increasingly complex as he looked at Wang Hao. In his youth, he had seen many ambitious rulers; some were domineering, some were benevolent, and some were deeply cunning. But an emperor like Wang Hao—who constantly claimed to be "very reasonable" while simultaneously zoning other people's ancestral graves to be used as provincial government offices—was truly a rare sight.

Yet, the results were absurdly good.

The moment the Western Regions were divided into seven provinces, the national destiny of the Great Zhou experienced an anomaly that very night.

In the dead of night, a dragon's roar echoed from the direction of the capital. Even across thousands of miles of mountains and rivers, one could feel that heavy tide of national destiny. A black dragon coiled in the sky, its golden scales faintly visible. Within the Great Zhou Ancestral Temple, the spirit tablets of successive generations of emperors vibrated in unison.

Wang Jingyuan stood on the roof ridge of the ancestral temple, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed westward.

This Emperor Zhangwu, who had once single-handedly suppressed the Eastern Wasteland until it could barely breathe, revealed a rare trace of a smile on his face.

"This kid really turned the Eastern Wasteland into his own backyard."

Nearby, a member of the Wang imperial clan whispered, "Patriarch, the Western Regions have been pacified, and the Heavenly Secret Pavilion has been destroyed. The Great Zhou's providence is flourishing like never before in a thousand years. Should we ask His Majesty to return to the capital to offer sacrifices to the ancestors?"

Wang Jingyuan said indifferently, "He will return."

"When?"

"When he finishes moving everything that can be moved."

The clan member was speechless.

The Great Grand Supreme Emperor's understanding of His Majesty was so accurate that it was almost heartbreaking.

Sure enough, Wang Hao did not return to the capital immediately.

He stayed at the Heaven-Severing Ridge for a full ten days.

During those ten days, the Demon Suppression Array was spread out over three hundred miles, the headquarters of the Heavenly Secret Pavilion was thoroughly cleaned out, the list of the first batch of officials for the seven provinces of the Western Regions was finalized, the seven hundred thousand strong army was rotated for garrison duty, and over forty patriarchs were each assigned tasks—some went to suppress residual anomalies, some to escort supplies, and others to oversee the new provinces.

At first, these patriarchs were unwilling.

They were all patriarchs of reclusive aristocratic families, often entering secluded cultivation for decades at a time. When had they ever acted as coolies for the imperial court?

Then, Wang Hao showed them a glimpse of the white lightning.

Not much, just a single glance.

Old Master Ren was the first to change his tune, "I feel that since I am old, I should make more contributions to the Eastern Wasteland."

The Old Master of the Li family closely followed, "Indeed, everyone is responsible for suppressing anomalies."

Wanyan Gu patted his chest, "My Northern Barbarians also have a responsibility!"

Wang Hao nodded in satisfaction.

The masses had a very high level of awareness.

On the eleventh day, the army marched back in triumph.

Seven hundred thousand cavalry and infantry advanced toward the capital along the official road, their battle flags fluttering as triumphant songs shook the heavens. The commoners lined the streets to welcome them; some knelt and kowtowed, some scattered flower petals, and old men holding their grandchildren's hands stood by the roadside, their eyes turning red as they watched the blood-stained flags returning.

They did not know exactly what had happened at the Heaven-Severing Ridge.

They only knew that His Majesty had won again.

The Western Regions were pacified.

The Nightmares were destroyed.

The Heavenly Secret Pavilion had fallen.

Those sects and aristocratic families that were once high and mighty, often looking down upon the mortal world, had finally bowed their heads before the Great Zhou's iron cavalry.

For ordinary people, this was enough.

Wang Hao sat in the imperial carriage, not lifting the curtain.

He was reading an intelligence report.

After the Sign-in System signed in at the Heavenly Secret Pavilion's headquarters, it gave him a very short but glaring piece of information—

[Intelligence: Xie Wujiu's failure in deduction was no accident. His fate line was plucked by an external force ten years ago, and the source points to the Kunlun Mountains in the Central State.]

Wang Hao narrowed his eyes slightly.

Central State.

Kunlun Mountains.

He rolled up the intelligence report, his fingertips gently tapping the armrest.

Wei Zhongxian whispered from the side, "Master, does the Heavenly Secret Pavilion still have a backup plan?"

"It's not the Heavenly Secret Pavilion."

"Then who is it?"

Wang Hao smiled. "Even bigger bastards."

Wei Zhongxian immediately shut his mouth.

He knew that once his master started using terms like "bastards," it meant someone was going to be out of luck.

On the day the army returned to the capital, the city streets were packed with people.

Bells and drums sounded in unison above the city gates. The civil and military officials had lined up early, the imperial clan and nobles knelt all over the ground, and the commoners crowded the streets and alleys. Wang Hao stepped out of the imperial carriage, his black dragon robe unfurling in the wind. The New Emperor Sword hung at his waist, and the black dragon of national providence faintly coiled behind him.

He took a step into the capital.

The entire imperial city seemed to come alive.

The Great Zhou's national providence soared into the sky, a golden pillar of light piercing through the clouds. A dragon's roar shook the nine heavens, tearing a massive rift even in the sea of clouds on the horizon.

The officials cheered like a mountain, "Long live His Majesty!"

The commoners cheered, "Long live His Majesty!"

The army roared, "Victory to the Great Zhou!"

The sound waves rolled out, as if the entire mortal realm was crowning one man.

Wang Hao raised his hand, and the myriad voices gradually died down.

Just as he was about to speak, a bell toll suddenly echoed from the firmament above.

Dong—

That bell toll did not come from the capital.

It came from beyond the heavens.

The next moment, the sea of clouds parted, and a massive flying ship emerged.

Eighteen pillars of light descended from the sky from the ship, each as heavy as a mountain, pressing down so hard that the array patterns on the capital's city walls lit up in unison. Within the pillars of light, human figures slowly appeared. Their robes fluttered, divine light coiled around their bodies, and they stepped on ancient runes, looking like celestial beings stepping out of a myth.

Eighteen peak Sky-Soaring Realm experts.

The aura of each person far surpassed an ordinary eighth-realm expert.

Standing before the eighteen people was a man in white, standing with his hands behind his back. He had a vertical golden mark between his eyebrows, and his aura was half-step transcendent. Although he had not truly stepped into the Martial God realm, he had already touched that chasm.

A Quasi-Martial God.

The cheering in the capital abruptly stopped.

The air felt as if it had been gripped by an invisible giant hand.

The soldiers on the city walls turned pale, the officials' hearts pounded wildly, and even the many generals who had just experienced the bloody battle at the Heaven-Severing Ridge felt a heavy oppression.

The man in white looked down at Wang Hao, his expression calm, like a person looking at a young beast that had just learned to stand.

"Emperor of the Great Zhou in the Eastern Wasteland, Wang Hao."

His voice fell from the sky, neither hurried nor slow, but carrying a natural sense of superiority.

"The envoys of the eighteen holy lands of the Central State have descended."

"The Kunlun Gathering is about to begin."

"You, receive the decree."

Standing before the city gates, the smile on Wang Hao's face gradually faded.

The New Emperor Sword in its scabbard quietly let out an excited low hum; this person had already found a way to die.

Wei Zhongxian's eyelids twitched.

He was too familiar with this expression.

His master was very displeased.

And not just ordinarily displeased.

Wang Hao looked up at the holy land envoys in the sky, who were stepping on pillars of light and striking arrogant poses, and suddenly said softly:

"These bastards really know how to pick their moments."