Martial God's Dharma Aspect

Tianxu Peak, White Jade Plaza.

For the third meeting, the thirty thousand seats were fully occupied. Unlike the clamor of yesterday, the plaza today was as quiet as the sea before a storm. Everyone knew what would happen today—the Martial God would descend, and the Emperor of the Eastern Wastelands would either submit or die.

On the high platform of the Sixteen Holy Lands, there was an extra chair today. The chair was made entirely of Kunlun profound jade, and the back of the chair was carved with the Azure Dragon Coiling the Sun pattern of the Tianque Holy Land, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. The chair was empty, but the faint, almost imperceptible pressure it exuded had already frozen the atmosphere of the entire plaza.

Jiang Tianchen stood beside the chair, his expression respectful, like a servant waiting for his master's arrival. The other fifteen sect masters also stood up, not daring to take a seat.

In the seats of the four regions' representatives, Elder Wugu, Zen Master Du'e, and Tuoba Xiong sat side by side, their faces solemn. Behind them, hundreds of leaders from the four regions remained silent, and an oppressive sense of resolve filled the air.

Then, Wang Hao arrived.

He wore a profound black dragon-patterned imperial robe, with the New Emperor's Sword hanging at his waist. Above his head floated the Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower, and in his hand, he held the Great Zhou Black Dragon Banner.

He walked step by step onto the White Jade Plaza, his pace neither hurried nor slow. The distance of each step was the same, and the rhythm of each step was the same. It was as if he was not here for a life-and-death battle, but rather for a leisurely stroll.

He walked to the center of the plaza and planted the Black Dragon Banner into the ground.

The flagpole pierced three feet deep into the white jade ground, the banner snapping fiercely in the wind. Then, Wang Hao turned around to face the empty chair on the high platform of the Sixteen Holy Lands, his smile remaining.

"Sect Master Jiang, I have arrived. Where is your old Martial God? Could it be that he's so old he overslept?"

Jiang Tianchen did not respond to his teasing. Instead, he bowed deeply toward the void.

"Respectfully welcoming the Ancestor."

Boom—

The clouds above Tianxu Peak suddenly split open. They were not blown apart by the wind, but forcefully torn apart by a pressure descending from the sky. The clouds rolled back to both sides, revealing a rift tens of thousands of feet long. In the center of the rift, a golden light slowly descended. The light was neither blinding nor ostentatious, yet it carried an ancient aura that made people tremble from the depths of their souls.

The light dissipated, and an old man appeared on the profound jade chair on the high platform.

He did not look old. With a youthful face and white hair, his features were lean and his eyes were closed. His body did not release any imposing aura. Yet, when his eyelids fluttered slightly, the spiritual energy of the entire Tianxu Peak seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand—thirty thousand people simultaneously felt it difficult to breathe, their hearts skipping a beat.

The Martial God of Tianque Holy Land, Jiang Cangyun.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Those eyes were very calm, devoid of killing intent or pressure, possessing only an indifference that had seen through eight hundred years of vicissitudes. His gaze swept across the summit of Tianxu Peak, over the high platform of the Sixteen Holy Lands, past the seats of the four regions' representatives, and finally landed on Wang Hao.

"Are you that little emperor of the Eastern Wastelands?"

His voice was not loud, yet it seemed to echo from all directions simultaneously, every word vibrating painfully against everyone's eardrums.

Wang Hao smiled and cupped his hands in greeting. "Junior Wang Hao greets Senior Jiang. Senior looks so hale and hearty, you maintain yourself so well. I wonder what skincare products you normally use?"

Dead silence fell over the entire plaza.

Elder Wugu almost fell out of his chair. Zen Master Du'e's prayer beads snapped with a crack. Tuoba Xiong's eyes widened in disbelief.

He was chatting about skincare products with a Martial God?

Jiang Cangyun's expression also stiffened slightly. Having lived for eight hundred years, he had seen countless people—those who feared him, respected him, hated him, and begged him. But he had never met someone who chatted about skincare products in front of him. This completely disrupted the rhythm of the imposing pressure he had prepared.

"Junior," Jiang Cangyun spoke indifferently. "Your tongue is quite sharp. But a sharp tongue cannot block a fist. I did not come here today to chat with you. Yesterday, at the Kunlun Assembly, you incited the four regions to oppose the Central Continent, disrupting the order of the assembly. According to the rules of the Kunlun Assembly, your cultivation base shall be crippled, and you shall be expelled from Kunlun."

Wang Hao tilted his head. "Who set the rules of the Kunlun Assembly?"

"The Martial Gods from ten thousand years ago."

"Did those Martial Gods from ten thousand years ago say that the Sixteen Holy Lands could arbitrarily reduce the destiny share of the Eastern Wastelands?"

Jiang Cangyun fell silent for a moment.

"Such is the ancestral system."

"Ancestral system?" Wang Hao laughed. "Senior, you have lived for eight hundred years, so you should know better than anyone else—the so-called ancestral system is nothing but a ledger written by the victors. Ten thousand years ago, the Central Continent had more Martial Gods, so the ancestral system they wrote favored the Central Continent. Ten thousand years later, if the Eastern Wastelands has more Martial Gods than the Central Continent, shouldn't the ancestral system be changed as well?"

Jiang Cangyun's eyes narrowed.

"Does the Eastern Wastelands have any Martial Gods?"

"Not at present." Wang Hao spread his hands. "But there will be in the future. I will be the first. Xiao Chen will be the second. Ye Guyun will be the third. Lu Chenzhou will be the fourth. Wanyan Gu will be the fifth—" He counted them off on his fingers. After listing ten heaven-chosen geniuses, he turned to point at the military camp at the foot of the mountain. "—And among my eight hundred thousand iron cavalry, a few will eventually emerge. When that time comes, we can discuss again what constitutes an ancestral system."

Jiang Cangyun looked at the young emperor with a bright smile before him, a trace of serious scrutiny appearing in his eyes for the first time.

He was a Martial God; he could see through a person's root bone, destiny, and potential. In his perception, Wang Hao was like a burning sun—no, more blazing and more unpredictable than the sun. The sheer abundance of this person's destiny was something he had never seen in his eight hundred years of life. It was as if the destiny of the entire Eastern Wastelands had been absorbed by him alone, concentrated on his single person, burning, expanding, and ready to erupt at any moment.

What was strange was that such massive destiny seemed to be rejected by heaven and earth.

Moreover, the tower floating above his head—the Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower—did not rank high, only fifty-sixth, but the aura sealed within it made even a Martial God like him feel faintly uneasy. That was not ordinary lightning; that was the power of heavenly tribulation.

Then there was the sword at his waist. It exuded a rich imperial dragon aura and an almost perverse negative emotion. Such an evil and bizarre artifact was unheard of, yet it somehow elevated the sword's grade to a level that could not be measured by common sense.

"Interesting." Jiang Cangyun suddenly smiled. "You, young man, are indeed somewhat interesting. I'm almost reluctant to cripple you now."

He stood up.

In that instant, the sky over the entire Tianxu Peak darkened. The sunlight was twisted and devoured by some invisible force, plunging the space within a radius of tens of thousands of feet into a hazy gloom. The might of a Martial God could trigger heavenly phenomena. Thirty thousand people simultaneously felt as if their bodies were crushed under a massive mountain, unable to even lift a single finger.

Only one person was still moving.

Wang Hao reached out and grasped the hilt of the New Emperor's Sword.

"Senior, before we make our moves, this junior has one thing to say."

Jiang Cangyun said indifferently, "Speak."

Wang Hao drew his sword from its sheath and pointed the blade at Jiang Cangyun. The smile on his face remained unchanged, but all traces of playfulness had vanished from his eyes, leaving behind only icy resolve.

"You have lived for eight hundred years and weathered countless storms. But you have absolutely never seen an Emperor of the Eastern Wastelands, standing at the summit of Mount Kunlun with a sword in hand, pointing at your nose and saying—"

He paused after every word.

"Old fossil, give back the ten percent of the Eastern Wastelands' destiny. Otherwise—"

The sword light suddenly flared, illuminating the gloomy sky.

"Today, I shall stain the Kunlun stone stele with the blood of a Martial God."

These words echoed across the peak of Tianxu Peak, heard clearly by thirty thousand people. Some thought he was crazy, some thought he was boundlessly arrogant, but no one thought he was joking—because the person speaking held a sword in his hand, had a pagoda suspended above his head, and had fire burning in his eyes.

Jiang Cangyun remained silent for a breath, and then smiled.

It was not mockery, nor was it anger. It was the unexpected joy of seeing something completely novel.

"Good. What a blood-stained stele." He slowly raised his right hand, his five fingers gently clenching the void. "This old man would like to see if your sword is sharp enough."

As his words fell, the sky abruptly changed.

The gray clouds suddenly began to burn. It was not firelight, but astral qi—the Martial God's protective astral qi overflowed from his body, shooting straight into the heavens like thousands of golden streaming flames, reflecting the sky above the entire Tianxu Peak into a purgatory of interwoven gold and red. The astral qi gathered into a golden phantom a thousand zhang tall. Its outline vaguely resembled Jiang Cangyun, but it carried an imposing weight countless times greater than his true body. The phantom stepped on the summit of Mount Kunlun, its head reaching the stars in the firmament. Just by standing there, it shattered and dispersed the sea of clouds within a radius of a hundred miles.

Martial God Avatar.

Thirty thousand people simultaneously felt their knees go weak. Thousands in the viewing stands slumped directly to the ground, their faces as pale as paper. Elder Wugu gripped his armrests tightly, his knuckles turning white; the thirty-six Gu insects inside his body shrieked madly, as if they had encountered their natural predator. Zen Master Du'e pressed his palms together, continuously chanting Buddhist mantras as fine beads of sweat seeped from his forehead. Tuoba Xiong gritted his teeth, his cheeks bulging with hard muscle as he forcefully held himself up without bowing his head.

On the high platform of the Sixteen Sacred Grounds, fifteen sect leaders simultaneously took three steps back. Although they were Half-Step Martial Gods (Great Perfection of the Qi-Control Realm), they knew that when a true Martial God fully unleashed their Avatar, the mere aftershocks were enough to severely injure a Half-Step Martial God.

Jiang Tianchen stood rooted to the spot. His cultivation was the highest among the sixteen sect leaders, separated from the true Martial God realm by only a thin veil. He stared dead at Wang Hao—he wanted to see with his own eyes this Emperor of the Eastern Wastelands being crushed into powder by the Martial God Avatar. He wanted to remember this person's gruesome death, to remember the final expression of this ant who dared to provoke the Sixteen Sacred Grounds at the Kunlun Assembly.

But Wang Hao's expression disappointed him.

There was no fear, no despair. Not even solemnity. Wang Hao looked up at the thousand-zhang tall golden Avatar, a greedy gleam flashing in his eyes like a collector seeing a rare treasure.

"An Avatar," he muttered. "When I reach the Martial God realm, I definitely have to get one bigger than this."

The New Son of Heaven Sword buzzed in his hand, "Tyrant, can you be a bit more serious? That thing is about to stomp down!"

"What's the rush?" Wang Hao narrowed his eyes. "Let me see just how strong a Martial God is."

The golden Avatar raised its right foot and stomped down with the momentum of a collapsing heavenly pillar. Before that foot even landed, the white jade plaza on Tianxu Peak began to shatter. The white jade slabs, engraved with ten-thousand-year-old reinforcement array patterns, cracked inch by inch, the fissures spreading in all directions like a spiderweb. In the face of a Martial God's power, the protective arrays were as fragile as paper lanterns; they lit up layer by layer, and shattered layer by layer, failing to hold on for even a single breath.

Wang Hao struck with his sword.

It was not one strike, but three. The Heaven-Cleaving Nine Swords: the first sword Wind Splitter, the second sword Sea Severer, and the third sword Mountain Crusher. The three strikes were launched in rapid succession, their sword qi overlapping to form a hundred-zhang long black sword aura that clashed head-on against the sole of the giant golden foot.

Boom!

Tianxu Peak shook three times.

The black sword aura shattered the moment they made contact, turning into a sky full of fragments that carved countless sword marks several zhang deep into the mountain walls surrounding the white jade plaza. The descending momentum of the giant golden foot was slightly hindered, its downward speed slowing by thirty percent—but only thirty percent. Taking advantage of this brief gap, Wang Hao's figure shifted horizontally for a hundred zhang like a phantom, narrowly escaping the core stomping range of the giant foot.

The giant foot stomped onto the white jade plaza, leaving a footprint ten zhang deep. The jade around the footprint was directly melted by the high temperature, turning into flowing magma.

Wang Hao stood at the edge of the magma, looking down at the hem of his imperial robe—a row of small holes had been burned into it by the splashing magma. He frowned, looked up at Jiang Cangyun, and spoke with a trace of dissatisfaction in his tone, "Senior, today is the first time I've worn this robe. You have to pay for it."

Jiang Cangyun stood with his hands behind his back, his expression indifferent. "Not a bad dodge. But you dodged one foot; can you dodge ten?"