It's easier to invite a god than to send it away.

The golden avatar raised its foot once again. This time, it was not a single stomp, but three consecutive stomps—left, right, left. The three strikes covered all of Wang Hao's possible evasion routes. The exquisite coordination and precise timing did not seem like the work of an eight-hundred-year-old man, but rather the strategic deployment of a battle-hardened veteran general.

Wang Hao did not dodge.

He thrust the New Son of Heaven Sword into the ground, formed hand seals with both hands, and his liquid astral aura erupted like a volcano, condensing into a massive golden palm print above his head. The Heaven-Imprisoning Earth-Overturning Palm, the fourth stance—no, it was the overlay of the fourth, fifth, and sixth stances. With three palms merged into one, the palm print expanded from ten zhang to a hundred zhang, and then from a hundred to three hundred zhang. The golden radiance almost swallowed the entire Heavenly Void Peak.

Push it back for Us!

Wang Hao pushed his arms upward, and the three-hundred-zhang golden palm print surged upward against the momentum, colliding head-on with the giant golden foot.

This time, it was not Wang Hao's palm print that shattered.

The giant golden foot was bounced upward by the palm print. The avatar's knee bent slightly, and the entire phantom illusion wavered. Although it was only for an instant, all thirty thousand people present saw it—the Martial God avatar had been shaken.

Jiang Tianchen's expression finally changed. It was not because Wang Hao could shake the avatar; having the combat power to defeat thirty-seven Holy Sons and Holy Daughters in three palm strikes made shaking an avatar unsurprising. What made his expression change was the combat rhythm Wang Hao maintained even under the avatar's oppressive aura. From the very beginning, this young man had not been crushed by the Martial God's imposing manner. His judgment, reactions, and moves were all as precise as if he were sparring with an opponent of the same realm.

What did this mean? It meant Wang Hao's mental fortitude had at least reached the peak of a half-step Martial God, and he might have even touched the threshold of the Martial God realm itself.

Impossible, Jiang Tianchen murmured. How old is he? Twenty? Thirty? How can anyone at this age possess such mental cultivation?

He naturally did not know that Wang Hao possessed a system. He knew even less that from the first day Wang Hao transmigrated, he had been going up against all sorts of entities far stronger than himself. Being assassinated, besieged, schemed against, and set up—he had experienced far too much. No matter how strong a Martial God's oppressive aura was, could it be more despairing than being jointly targeted with a kill order by over a dozen Holy Lands? Could it be more chilling than being betrayed by trusted aides and backstabbed by allies?

To Wang Hao, Jiang Cangyun's avatar suppression was merely another routine situation in his long history of intrigue where the opponent was stronger, but he held a trump card.

A routine situation meant a routine response. What was there to fear?

The golden avatar's attack rhythm was disrupted by a single beat. In the gap of that single beat, Wang Hao moved.

He pulled the New Son of Heaven Sword from the ground, his figure transforming into a streak of black light that charged straight at Jiang Cangyun's true body. Any cultivator above the Sky Soaring Realm understood one principle: when fighting an opponent with an avatar, never waste your effort on the avatar. No matter how strong the avatar was, it was formed of astral aura; even if dispersed, it could be condensed again. The true key to victory lay with the main body.

The Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Pagoda spun madly above his head, and three levels of pagoda doors opened simultaneously. The sixth level, a white lightning snake. The seventh level, a red lightning eagle. The eighth level, a white lightning phoenix spread its wings and soared out, throwing its head back to let out a resonant cry that pierced the clouds.

The bolts of lightning struck out in unison, weaving into a web of lightning in the sky that covered a thousand square zhang. The lightning web descended from above, enveloping the golden avatar within it. As the lightning clashed with the avatar's golden astral aura, a sizzling sound of scorching rang out. White smoke filled the air, and a pungent burnt smell permeated Heavenly Void Peak.

A decent strange artifact, Jiang Cangyun nodded slightly. But you forgot one thing—the avatar is only a part of me, not my entirety.

He raised his hand and struck out with a palm.

That palm strike was devoid of any flashy movements. There was no golden light and no avatar enhancement; it was just an ordinary, unremarkable palm strike.

Yet when that palm was struck, Wang Hao felt the space in front of him lock down entirely. It was not locked by power, but by laws. The reason a Martial God was a Martial God was not due to how immense their strength was, but because they could touch the very edges of the laws of heaven and earth.

The law Jiang Cangyun had cultivated for eight hundred years was Suppression—suppressing everything, subjugating all creation. This seemingly unremarkable palm actually contained the suppression laws he had comprehended over eight centuries. With one palm strike, heaven and earth became a prison.

Wang Hao's forward charge came to an abrupt halt.

He felt as though his limbs were bound by invisible chains. The circulation speed of the astral aura within his meridians slowed down tenfold, and even his heartbeat became sluggish. This was suppression on the level of laws; it was not something that could be broken free from with mere physical strength.

Jiang Cangyun looked at Wang Hao, who was trapped in mid-air, a trace of regret flashing through his eyes. You are a good seedling. Given another hundred years, you might not have been unable to step into the Martial God realm. What a pity—you were too impatient.

He extended his hand, and a speck of golden light lit up at the tip of his index finger. That golden gleam was only the size of a grain of rice, yet it radiated an aura far more terrifying than the golden avatar. That was Martial God astral aura compressed to the absolute limit. Once fired, it was enough to pierce straight through a mountain peak.

This finger will cripple your dantian. Sparing your life is this old man's leniency toward a junior.

As his voice fell, the golden gleam shot forth.

In that very instant, Wang Hao suddenly smiled.

His smile looked exceptionally eerie illuminated by the golden light, and his lips moved silently. Jiang Cangyun read his lips; what he said was—

Fooled you.

A surge of black mist suddenly erupted from Wang Hao's body. That black mist was as thick as ink, radiating the ultimate negative emotions—greed, brutality, cunning, shamelessness, ruthlessness... All the dark emotions that the New Son of Heaven Sword had ever absorbed were fed back into Wang Hao's body in this exact moment. This power was completely incompatible with orthodox cultivation, yet it possessed a characteristic that all righteous cultivators were unwilling to admit—it was unbound by laws.

Because negative emotions themselves were chaotic, so chaotic that even laws could not bring them into order. It was like a puddle of muddy water; you could not filter it with a sieve—it was inherently a loophole, a rule existing outside of the rules.

The chains of the suppression laws snapped inch by inch under the corrosion of the black mist. Wang Hao regained his freedom. Amidst the excited shrieks of the New Son of Heaven Sword's artifact spirit, Wang Hao's figure vanished in the exact instant before that golden gleam could strike him.

It was not spatial teleportation; it was pure speed. A speed so fast that even the Martial God's perception was momentarily disrupted by the black mist. The golden gleam pierced through his afterimage, blasting a distant hill into fine dust.

Meanwhile, Wang Hao had already appeared ten zhang away from Jiang Cangyun's side. The blade of the New Son of Heaven Sword in his hand was coated with an extra layer of dark, bloody hue; that was the starting stance of the Heaven-Cleaving Nine Swords' ninth sword, God Slayer. In his left hand, a jade talisman had appeared at some unknown point. That was a special item signed in from the system—the Realm-Breaking Talisman. Upon use, it could ignore all defenses, ensuring the next attack would directly strike the target's true body. It was one of his most deeply hidden trump cards, one he had always been reluctant to use, but now he finally had to.

The Realm-Breaking Talisman shattered in his palm, transforming into a transparent ripple that attached itself to the edge of the sword. Then, Wang Hao struck. Heaven-Cleaving Nine Swords, Eighth Sword: God Slayer. The sword light was silent and traceless; it was not fast, not bright, and not fierce. It was like a ray of moonlight skimming over the surface of the water, light and airy, without stirring up even the slightest ripple.

But Jiang Cangyun's pupils shrank to the size of pinpricks.

He had lived for eight hundred years, yet for the first time, he felt the threat of death. He retreated abruptly, deploying a seven-layer golden shield before him while letting out a low shout. The Martial God Avatar instantly shrank, transforming into golden armor that wrapped around his entire body. Seven layers of shields, Martial God Avatar condensing into armor—this was Jiang Cangyun's ultimate defensive state, used only twice in eight hundred years, both times against Martial Gods of the same realm.

However, Wang Hao's sword light passed through all the shields. First layer, second layer, third layer... the seven layers of shields remained completely intact, but the sword light phased through them like a ghost. The armor formed by the Martial God Avatar failed to block it either—the sword light passed through the armor, passed through the physical body, and slashed directly at the divine soul.

The God-Slaying Sword. It ignored physical defenses and directly severed the origin of the divine soul. This was the true meaning behind the words God-Slaying.

Jiang Cangyun let out a muffled groan, a trace of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. His physical body was completely unharmed, but his divine soul had been cleaved with a fine fissure. For a Martial God, physical injuries could be healed, but damage to the divine soul was irreversible and had to be slowly nurtured back to health. This single sword strike had shaved off at least thirty years of his cultivation.

Wang Hao didn't fare much better. The backlash of the God-Slaying Sword erupted the moment he struck—he felt as if his own divine soul was being torn apart, like someone dragging a saw back and forth through his brain. Blood seeped from his seven orifices simultaneously, and his vision darkened in waves. But he gritted his teeth and refused to fall. Instead, he plunged the New Son of Heaven's Sword into the ground, leaning heavily on the hilt to steady himself.

The black dragon on his imperial robes was dyed dark red with blood. Paired with his deathly pale face, he looked like a malicious spirit crawling out of hell.

Senior Jiang, his voice was as hoarse as a broken gong, yet it still carried that infuriatingly punchable smile. I said earlier that I would dye the stone stele with the blood of a Martial God, and I keep my word. Your blood has been shed—though not on the stele, but into your own mouth. Is it a bit bitter?

Jiang Cangyun wiped the blood from his mouth and looked at Wang Hao with an incredibly complex gaze.

There was anger, killing intent, wariness, and an indescribable sense of admiration. Having cultivated for eight hundred years, he had seen countless geniuses, but never one like this—someone with only a Half-Step Martial God cultivation base who could unleash a strike that threatened a true Martial God's soul. Someone who was bleeding from all seven orifices from the backlash, yet could still smile and spout such aggravating words.

In the cultivation world, there was a universal term for people like him: a menace. A menace lives for a thousand years. A menace is the hardest to kill.

Jiang Cangyun remained silent for a long time, so long that everyone thought he was about to deliver a fatal blow. Then, he suddenly retracted his aura. The thousand-foot avatar dissipated, the golden light in the sky faded, and the dreary clouds merged together once more. Sunlight leaked through the gaps in the clouds, shining down on the devastated white jade plaza.

The ten percent of the Eastern Wasteland's destiny, I return it to you.

These words were like a massive boulder smashing into a tranquil lake; the resulting ripples left everyone stunned.

Jiang Tianchen jerked his head up, unable to believe his ears. Patriarch—

Shut up. Jiang Cangyun shot him an indifferent glance. Since when do I need to explain my actions to you?

Jiang Tianchen's face flushed crimson, but he didn't dare say another word. The other sect masters of the Sixteen Holy Lands looked at each other in dismay. Someone wanted to speak up but was suppressed by a single glare from Jiang Cangyun. The words of a Martial God were heavenly law—at least while the Martial God was still alive.

Jiang Cangyun turned around, looked at Wang Hao, and suddenly asked a question that surprised everyone: That sword of yours, what is its name?

Wang Hao grinned, revealing teeth stained red with blood. The New Son of Heaven's Sword.

Who forged it?

I forged it myself. Using my own dark side as the material.

Jiang Cangyun fell silent for a moment before suddenly bursting into hearty laughter. The laughter shook the loose rocks on Heaven's Void Peak, sending them tumbling down. Thirty thousand people watched in dead silence as this eight-hundred-year-old Martial God laughed until he bent over.

Good! What an emperor, forging a sword with his own dark side! Jiang Cangyun stopped laughing, his eyes flashing with a sharp light. Wang Hao, I will remember you. After the Kunlun Gathering concludes, come visit the Heavenly Pavilion Holy Land. I want to have a drink with you.

Wang Hao cupped his hands. Since Senior invites me, this junior will definitely be there. But who's paying for the drinks?

Jiang Cangyun's mouth twitched.

You are.

Deal. Wang Hao's smile grew even brighter.

Jiang Cangyun turned and left, taking a step into the void before his figure faded away. Only a single sentence echoed over the summit of Heaven's Void Peak: Jiang Tianchen, the Eastern Wasteland's share of destiny is restored to twenty percent. The other three domains will each receive an additional five percent, deducted from the share of the Sixteen Holy Lands.

Jiang Tianchen's face turned completely black.

The expressions of the sect masters of the Sixteen Holy Lands were uglier than the last. They had invited the Martial God to suppress Wang Hao, but not only did the Martial God fail to suppress him, he ended up slashing the destiny share of the Sixteen Holy Lands instead. What was this? Dropping a rock on their own feet? Easy to invite a god, but hard to send one away?

Yet, no one dared to utter a single word of dissent.