The Forbidden Realm of Kunlun Opens, Demonic Clouds Press Down from the Sky

Elder Wugu was stunned for a good while before suddenly throwing his head back and laughing aloud. His laughter carried an indescribable sense of gratification. Having lived for three hundred years and dealt with the sixteen sacred grounds of the Central State countless times, he had never once gained the upper hand in any negotiation. Today, not only did he secure an extra half-portion of destiny for himself, but he also witnessed the sect masters of the sixteen sacred grounds collectively suffer a humiliating defeat. This made him even happier than when he broke through to the Sky Soaring Realm years ago.

Zen Master Du'e pressed his palms together and chanted a Buddhist title, "Amitabha. Excellent, excellent." However, the tone he used for these words sounded as if he had just finished a steaming bowl of vegetarian noodles, immensely satisfied.

Tuoba Xiong stood up abruptly and smashed his fist onto the armrest of his chair, shattering the green jade to pieces. Ignoring the strange looks from others, he strode over to Wang Hao, dropped to one knee, and thumped his right fist against his chest, performing the most honorable martial salute of the Northern Region.

"Your Majesty," his voice was hoarse and solemn, "from this day forward, the Snow Wolf Tribe will follow your lead. As for the twenty-six tribes of the Northern Region's snowy plains, I, Tuoba Xiong, will speak on their behalf—the affairs of the Eastern Wasteland are the affairs of the Northern Region."

Wang Hao reached out to help him up, but Tuoba Xiong grabbed his arm in return. The two exchanged a glance, everything understood without a word.

The Four Regions Alliance had truly taken shape at this very moment.

It was not forged through treaties or exchanges of interests. It was carved out by Wang Hao's sword. A single man, sword in hand, standing before a Martial God, had slashed out a path of survival for all four regions. Who would refuse to submit to such an alliance leader?

The thirty thousand people on the white jade plaza slowly exited, their discussions echoing through the Kunlun Mountains like a tidal wave. Everyone knew that after today, the landscape of the world would be completely rewritten. The Eastern Wasteland was no longer a frontier of barbarians to be casually manipulated by the Central State, and the four regions were no longer sheep waiting to be slaughtered.

And the turning point for all of this was that young emperor, wearing a blood-stained imperial robe, leaning on his sword, with a smile as bright as the morning sun.

That night, in the Great Zhou encampment within the Kunlun Reception City.

Wang Hao lay on the soft couch in the central command tent, his entire body wrapped in bandages soaked in medicinal liquid. Ye Guyun sat silently at the tent's entrance, wiping his sword. Wanyan Gu stood outside the tent like a guardian deity, while the other prodigies took turns standing guard, forbidding anyone from coming within twenty zhang of the tent.

Wang Wudi sat by the bed, looking at his pale-faced great-grandson, frowning in heartache. Yet, his mouth scolded, "That's what you get for showing off! Are you comfortable now?"

Wang Hao said with a grin, "Quite comfortable. Great-grandfather, did you notice Jiang Cangyun's expression when he heard the words 'dark side'? I reckon he was thinking—is this guy an emperor or a demon lord?"

"You still have the mood to joke," Wang Wudi sighed. "The doctor said your divine soul is heavily injured. You'll need at least three months of recuperation to recover."

"Three months? Great-grandfather, believe it or not, if the Central State tries to pull any more tricks, I'll be alive and kicking in three days."

Wang Wudi rolled his eyes.

Wei Zhongxian walked in holding a jade slip, his expression peculiar. "Your Majesty, the major gambling houses of the Reception City just sent a joint letter."

"Read it."

"They say—" Wei Zhongxian cleared his throat, "'Your Majesty's divine might is peerless, maintaining the prestige of the Eastern Wasteland even before a Martial God. We are sincerely convinced. Regarding the previous debt of 1.5 billion spirit stones, we are willing to repay it in installments, with the annual interest set by Your Majesty. Furthermore, starting today, the thirteen gambling houses of the Reception City are willing to serve as Your Majesty's intelligence stations in the Central State. All information channels will be fully open to Your Majesty, completely free of charge.'"

Wang Hao smiled.

"Old Wei, do you think my injuries are worth 1.5 billion?"

Wei Zhongxian said solemnly, "Worth it. More than worth it. Your Majesty merely suffered some flesh wounds, but the sixteen sacred grounds of the Central State lost ten thousand years of face. Face is something no amount of money can buy back."

Wang Hao closed his eyes in satisfaction.

Outside the tent, the wind of the Kunlun Mountains blew through the camp, and the campfires crackled. The camp of the seven hundred thousand iron cavalry was quiet and solemn. Every soldier knew what had happened today. Their emperor stood at the peak of Mount Kunlun, pointed his sword at the nose of a Martial God, and carved back the dignity of the Eastern Wasteland. Without any orders or organization, seven hundred thousand battle flags were raised simultaneously, fluttering fiercely in the night wind.

The Black Dragon Flag, under the Kunlun moonlight, was more dazzling than ever.

Tianxu Peak, deep within the Kunlun Law Enforcement Hall.

The sixteen sect masters gathered once again, but this time, the atmosphere was even heavier than yesterday. Jiang Tianchen's face was ashen, Perfected Chiyan had murderous intent showing in his eyes, Li Tianxing's brows were tightly furrowed, and Su Muzhe's face was as dark as water.

"If this boy is not eliminated, the Central State will never have a day of peace," Perfected Chiyan said word by word, his voice carrying the fury of churning magma.

Li Tianxing nodded: "If he could land a sword strike on Patriarch Jiang today, he could strike us down tomorrow. We must take advantage of his severe injuries—"

"Severe injuries?" Su Muzhe sneered. "Standing beside him are Southern Border's Elder Wugu, Western Frontier's Zen Master Du'e, and Northern Region's Tuoba Xiong. Down the mountain, there are eight hundred thousand iron cavalry. Which of you can guarantee a one-hit kill?"

The crowd fell silent.

Jiang Cangyun had already left Kunlun and returned to the Tianque Sacred Ground to enter seclusion and heal. Without a Martial God making a move, no one had the confidence to kill Wang Hao under such heavy protection. Moreover—even if they killed him, then what? The Four Regions Alliance had already formed. Killing Wang Hao would only drive the eight hundred thousand iron cavalry of the Eastern Wasteland completely mad. One Wang Hao was already enough of a headache; adding eight hundred thousand maddened iron cavalry would mean the flames of war sweeping across the entire world.

"There is one last move," Jiang Tianchen suddenly spoke up.

Everyone looked at him.

"The Kunlun Secret Realm," Jiang Tianchen's voice was low and sinister. "The final agenda of the Kunlun Assembly is to open the Kunlun Secret Realm and allow the prodigies from all sides to enter for trials. Inside the secret realm, life and death are left to fate. If the top ten prodigies of the Eastern Wasteland 'accidentally' perish within the realm—no matter how furious Wang Hao gets, he won't be able to blame it on us."

The secret hall was quiet for a moment.

Then, the sixteen sect masters nodded simultaneously.

It was a venomous scheme.

But it was also their last chance to turn the tables.

On the third day of the Kunlun Assembly, the atmosphere on Tianxu Peak was even more eerie than the previous two days.

The cracks on the white jade plaza had not yet been repaired. The ten-zhang footprint stomped out by Jiang Cangyun was still emitting residual golden astral energy, like the claw mark left by a giant beast, silently reminding everyone—just yesterday, a twenty-something emperor from the Eastern Wasteland had injured an eight-hundred-year-old Martial God with his sword.

As the thirty thousand spectating cultivators took their seats, their gazes uniformly turned towards that green jade chair on the third tier.

Wang Hao hadn't arrived yet.

But no one thought he would be absent. A man who dared to smile and chat about skincare products in front of a Martial God wouldn't miss out on any good show.

Sure enough, when the Kunlun Bell rang for the third time, Wang Hao's figure appeared on the stone steps of Tianxu Peak. He was still wearing that profound black dragon-patterned imperial robe, with the New Son of Heaven's Sword hanging at his waist, and the Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Pagoda floating above his head. The only difference was his complexion—it was much paler than yesterday, and his lips were devoid of color, clearly showing the unhealed state of his traumatized divine soul.

But he walked up. Step by step, unhurriedly, exactly the same as yesterday. It was as if the pain of a wounded divine soul was nothing more than a trifle to him.

Elder Wugu stood up to welcome him, lowering his voice: "Your Majesty, your injuries—"

"A minor injury." Wang Hao waved his hand with a smile. "I drank a bowl of ginseng soup last night, and it's already half healed."

Wugu's mouth twitched. Ginseng soup could heal a soul injury? Not even a ghost would fall for that lie. However, he didn't press the issue, because he noticed a change in the people following behind Wang Hao. Yesterday, Wang Hao was only accompanied by ten great prodigies. Today, there were fifteen additional Skysoar Realm cultivators. Each of them possessed an aura as deep as an abyss; they were the top protector elders of the Great Zhou Dynasty in the Eastern Wasteland. And Wang Wudi was not among them.

A strange look flashed across Wugu's eyes, but he kept his silence.

He knew this young emperor was full of schemes, and every move he made had a calculated purpose.

After taking his seat, the first thing Wang Hao did was not to look at the high platforms of the Sixteen Sacred Grounds, but to turn his head toward Wei Zhongxian.

"Old Wei, have today's betting pools opened yet?"

Expressionless, Wei Zhongxian pulled out a jade slip. "Your Majesty, the thirteen casinos in Reception City jointly opened a major pool last night. They are betting on whether today's conference agenda will be completed smoothly. A smooth completion pays out one to two, while unexpected changes pay one to one point five. There is also a side pool—betting on whether the Demon Race will show up, paying one to three."

"Buy the Demon Race showing up," Wang Hao said without hesitation. "Wager one hundred million spirit stones."

"The Demon Race?"

Wei Zhongxian's eyelids twitched. "Your Majesty, one hundred million?"

"What, is my private treasury out of money?"

"No. It's just that the casino bosses in Reception City sent a joint message last night, pleading for Your Majesty to show mercy. They said that if Your Majesty keeps winning, they won't even be able to protect their ancestral graves."

Wang Hao sighed, looking thoroughly disappointed. "These casino people, their vision is too narrow. If you open a casino, you must have the resolve to lose everything. They don't even understand this basic principle? Tell them that I am giving them a vivid lesson in risk management. As for the tuition fee, we'll set it at one hundred million spirit stones."

Wei Zhongxian expressionlessly replied with a "Yes," and turned around to send the message.

Nearby, Elder Wugu of the Southern Border and Zen Master Du'e of the Western Frontier exchanged a glance, both seeing an undeniable trace of confusion in the other's eyes. They had heard the words "Demon Race."

"Your Majesty," Elder Wugu lowered his voice. "You said the Demon Race will show up? What does this mean?"

Wang Hao peeled a Fire Spirit Fruit and popped it into his mouth, mumbling, "Elder Wugu, let me ask you something. What is inside the Kunlun Secret Realm?"

"Opportunities left by Martial Gods," Wugu answered without hesitation. "Legend has it that the Kunlun Secret Realm is an independent space jointly created by Martial Gods ten thousand years ago. Inside are cave dwellings, dao rhythms, and heavenly treasures left behind by them. Among the prodigies of past generations who entered the secret realm, there have always been those who broke through their realms, and some even obtained Martial God inheritances. This is also why the final agenda of the Kunlun Gathering is always the opening of the secret realm—it is the greatest trump card the Sixteen Sacred Grounds use to win over people's hearts."

"Then, with such a fat piece of meat, do you think the Demon Race would want a bite?"

Wugu was stunned.

He had never considered this question. The Kunlun Secret Realm was jointly managed by the Sixteen Sacred Grounds, and the authority to open it was also in their hands. For ten thousand years, only human prodigies had been able to enter the secret realm to temper themselves; the Demon Race had never been allowed to participate. This was not an explicit rule, but a generally accepted convention—the Demon Race were aliens and were not worthy of enjoying the opportunities left by the Martial Gods.

But conventions were things maintained by strength. If the Demon Race's strength was great enough, great enough to shatter the convention...

Wugu's pupils suddenly contracted.

"Your Majesty, you mean..."

Wang Hao raised a finger and pointed at the sky beyond Tianxu Peak.

"Look at that cloud."

Wugu looked up. Above Tianxu Peak, the sky was cloudless for ten thousand miles, as clear as if it had been washed. The weather today was better than the previous two days; the sunlight spilled across the white jade plaza, warm and comforting.

"There are no clouds."

"Correct," Wang Hao smiled. "There aren't any right now, but that might not be the case in a moment."

Less than three breaths after his words fell, the sky changed.

It didn't change slowly; it changed in an instant. It was as if someone had violently thrown a pitch-black cloth over the sky above the Kunlun Mountains. The azure vault of heaven suddenly tore open down the middle, revealing a pitch-black rift. The rift was tens of thousands of feet wide, its edges burning with ghastly green flames. Within the flames, countless twisted figures could faintly be seen writhing.

Then, the demonic aura arrived.

That demonic aura was not tangible and substantial like the astral qi of humans, but rather a more primal, more savage presence. It was like tens of millions of wild beasts roaring simultaneously; the entire world suddenly transformed into a massive beast cage.

Nearly half of the thirty thousand spectator cultivators slumped to the ground the instant the demonic aura enveloped them.

On the high platforms of the Sixteen Sacred Grounds, the sixteen sect masters stood up at the same time. Jiang Tianchen's expression changed three times in a single instant—from shock to anger, and from anger to deep dread.

"The Demon Race!" he shouted in a low voice, a tension in his tone that hadn't been there for eight hundred years. "Activate the grand sect-defending array!"

Seventy-two auxiliary peaks of the Kunlun Mountain Range lit up simultaneously. Array runes emerged from the mountainsides, weaving together into a golden light barrier that covered a radius of a thousand miles. This was the Kunlun Sect's grand sect-defending array—the Myriad Mountains Demon-Suppressing Array. It had been jointly established by the founding ancestors of the Sixteen Sacred Grounds ten thousand years ago and reinforced over millennia. It was claimed to be capable of blocking a full-force strike from a peak Martial God.

However, just as that golden barrier rose, a hand reached out from the black rift.

That hand was massive; the palm alone covered half the sky. Each of its five fingers was a thousand feet long, with nails as black as ink. The lines on the palm looked as if they were drawn with magma, flowing with a dark red light. This hand reached out of the rift, spread its five fingers, and gently pressed against the golden barrier of the Myriad Mountains Demon-Suppressing Array.

Crack.

A crisp sound rang out, like the sound of an eggshell cracking.

A fissure appeared on the golden barrier, spreading in all directions from where the hand pressed. The fissures grew in number and density until they eventually covered the entire barrier. Then, the five fingers of that hand squeezed with just a little bit of force—the Myriad Dragons Demon-Suppressing Array shattered.