Encirclement from All Directions, A Heavenly Tribulation Scheme

On the other side of Tianxu Peak, three Martial Gods and five Demon Gods had gathered in a secluded valley. This was the first time in thousands of years that the Human and Demon races had sat together at the same stone table to discuss the same topic.

"Wang Hao must die." Jiang Cangyun spoke first, his voice carrying a month's worth of suppressed fury. "If this brat is not eliminated, the ten-thousand-year foundation of the Central Province will be destroyed in one fell swoop."

Holy King Canglong toyed with the white bone fan in his hand, a flicker of amusement passing through his vertical pupils. "Jiang Cangyun, I heard he wounded your soul with a single sword strike, and you still haven't fully recovered?"

Jiang Cangyun's face darkened. "He ambushed me."

"Ambush or not, a Half-Step Martial God being able to wound a true Martial God is enough." Holy King Canglong snapped the fan shut. "I agree to join forces. But we need to settle the terms — after it's done, the Eastern Wastelands go to the Central Province, and the Southern Frontier goes to the Demon race. The remaining two domains are up for grabs."

Patriarch Chiyan said in a deep voice, "Deal."

Jiang Canghai remained silent for a moment, then nodded.

The auras of the eight transcendent beings converged at the stone table, coalescing into a silent pact.

Martial Gods of the Human race and Demon Gods of the Demon race had formed an alliance for the first time — all to besiege and kill a single Half-Step Martial God.

Meanwhile, the target of their siege was fast asleep in his tent, dreaming about counting spirit stones.

On the thirty-first day, dawn came unusually slowly to Tianxu Peak.

When the sun rose from the east, most of its light was blocked by a thick layer of gray clouds. Only a few pale rays leaked through the gaps, illuminating the vast white plaza.

The number of people in the plaza had dwindled compared to previous days. Most of the tens of thousands of observing cultivators had already descended the mountain early — news had spread that something major would happen today. The bold ones stayed behind; the cowardly had long since fled to the welcoming city at the mountain's base, ready to come back to collect corpses once the storm was over.

Only fifteen Imperial Sky Realm guards and the Ten Prodigies remained in the Eastern Wastelands camp. The seven hundred thousand troops had all withdrawn to the welcoming city, where Wang Wudi took command of the army, maintaining combat readiness according to Wang Hao's secret orders.

When Wang Hao emerged from his tent, he was wearing a new imperial robe. The jet-black fabric was embroidered with golden dragon patterns, nine dragons coiling from the hem up to the shoulders, all with their mouths wide open as if roaring. A new Emperor's Sword hung at his waist, its scabbard's blood-colored veins even brighter than thirty days ago — the result of absorbing too much negative emotions during the secret realm's opening.

"Your Majesty." Xiao Chen stepped forward, hugging his sword. "Demon race lookouts have appeared around Tianxu Peak — no fewer than a hundred. Core disciples from the Sixteen Holy Lands are also deploying at various strategic passages. They've blocked all routes down the mountain."

Wang Hao smiled. "They move fast. Half an hour earlier than I expected."

Ye Guyun, holding his Hanfrost Sword, said coldly, "Your Majesty, your servants can stay and assist in the battle."

"Assist what?" Wang Hao shot him a glare. "Your mission is to descend the mountain immediately, escorted by the fifteen Imperial Sky Realm elders, and rendezvous with Great-Grandfather at the welcoming city."

"But —"

"No buts." Wang Hao's voice was uncharacteristically stern. "The situation today is not for you to get involved in. Anything below the peak of the Imperial Sky Realm is nothing but an ant in a battle between Martial Gods and Demon Gods. Staying here will only distract me. Besides —" he paused, his tone shifting back to his usual jesting, "I'm going to do something big today. And when I do something big, I can't have anyone holding me back."

Lu Chenzhou became anxious. "Your Majesty, how can you possibly fight eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods alone?"

"Who said I'm fighting all eight alone?" Wang Hao countered. "Have I ever fought a battle I wasn't confident about? You all head down the mountain safely. There's going to be a thunderstorm atop Tianxu Peak soon. I love thunderstorms — I'm in an especially good mood when lightning strikes."

No one understood what he meant.

But no one dared to disobey his orders. Led by Xiao Chen, the fifteen Imperial Sky Realm guards and the Ten Prodigies quietly descended via a secret path behind the Eastern Wastelands camp — a route Wang Hao had had scouted out thirty days ago to avoid the blockade between the Demon race and the Central Province.

After everyone had left, Wang Hao walked alone toward the white jade plaza.

He walked very slowly. Each step was steady and deliberate, as if he were measuring every inch of the ten-thousand-year-old plaza. He passed by the ten-zhang footprint Jiang Cangyun had stomped into the ground, passed by the four ancient characters "Kunlun Discourse on the Dao" on the Kunlun stone tablet, passed by the foundation of the mountain-protecting formation that had been fractured by demonic pressure.

The plaza was empty.

But the surrounding pressure had become nearly tangible. On the eastern side of Tianxu Peak, the auras of the five Demon Gods erupted simultaneously. Five beams of demonic light — dark green, deep cyan, snow white, withered yellow, and crimson — shot into the sky, dyeing half the heavens into a resplendent tapestry. On the western side, three golden Martial God auras responded. Jiang Canghai's white light, Patriarch Chiyan's red light, and Jiang Cangyun's gold light converged into a tricolored pillar, mirroring the five-colored demonic radiance from the opposite side.

Eight transcendent presences locked onto the figure standing at the center of the white jade plaza from two directions.

Wang Hao stopped walking and stood at the very center of the plaza — the exact spot where he had planted the Black Dragon Flag.

He looked around, and suddenly laughed.

"Eight esteemed seniors, since you're all here, stop hiding. Come on out. I specially wore new clothes today, just to meet you."

Silence fell for one breath.

Then, eight figures appeared simultaneously at the edges of the plaza.

On the eastern side stood the five Demon Gods led by Holy King Canglong. He still wore that dark green robe, a faint, almost playful smile on his handsome face. The four Demon Gods behind him were not as composed — all of them glared fixedly at Wang Hao.

On the western side stood the three Martial Gods: Jiang Canghai, Patriarch Chiyan, and Jiang Cangyun. Jiang Cangyun's soul injury was clearly not fully healed — his complexion was even paler than thirty days ago. But his eyes were even colder and more ruthless, staring at Wang Hao as if looking at a dead man.

Holy King Canglong spoke first, his tone as easy as if chatting with an old friend: "Wang Hao, where are your Eastern Wastelands army and your Ten Prodigies? What, did they all run away?"

"They've all gone down the mountain." Wang Hao answered honestly. "I was afraid the scene was going to be too big later on, and I didn't want to scare them."

"Too big a scene?" Holy King Canglong raised an eyebrow. "How big a scene can one man create?"

Wang Hao did not answer the question. He turned to Jiang Cangyun, still smiling. "Senior Jiang, has your injury recovered somewhat? That sword strike of mine only used about eighty percent of my strength, so please don't take it to heart."

Jiang Cangyun's eyelid twitched. "Wang Hao, slick talk won't save you. Today, eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods have joined forces to lay down an inescapable net. How much chance to live do you think you have left?"

"Zero percent." Wang Hao spread his hands. "But I have a trait — the less chance I have to live, the more likely I am to carve out a sliver of hope."

He reached into his sleeve, grasping the Martial God Breakthrough Pill, while his fingertips also brushed the edge of the Yin-Yang Twin Birth Talisman.

He looked up at the sky, the smile on his face gradually growing fierce.

“Esteemed seniors, all of you have lived for over a thousand years and weathered countless storms. But you’ve never seen a half-step Martial God, surrounded by eight super-tier beings hunting him down, still able to—”

He paused.

Then he shoved the Martial God Breakthrough Pill into his mouth and swallowed it in one gulp.

The moment the pill entered, the sky changed.

Not slowly—instantly. It was as if some switch of the heavenly Dao had been violently flipped to its highest setting. The gray clouds above Ten Void Peak abruptly began spinning wildly, forming a colossal vortex that covered a thousand miles in radius. At the vortex’s center wasn’t blackness, but a hue darker than black—the bare void of space revealed after the heavenly Dao tore through it.

Then, a bolt of lightning ignited at the vortex’s heart.

That bolt was only as thick as a finger, a tiny silver needle before the thousand-mile-wide maelstrom. Yet when it flared, all eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods changed color at once. For this was no ordinary lightning—it was Calamity Lightning, the heavenly Dao’s own judgment. And its aura was more terrifying than the tribulations they had faced when breaking through to the Martial God realm.

“He’s breaking through to Martial God!” Jiang Canghai cried out. “Stop him!”

Too late.

The moment Wang Hao swallowed the pill, within his dantian, the mass of liquid qi began spinning wildly, condensing, compressing, collapsing at a visible pace. At the core of the collapse, the liquid qi formed a minuscule singularity.

The qi around that singularity was voraciously absorbed, creating a black hole of energy that devoured everything. When the absorbed qi reached a critical threshold, the singularity exploded—not outward, but inward, birthing a brand-new substance. It was existence beyond liquid qi: the foundation of the Martial God realm.

The threshold of martial arts’ ninth realm, the Martial God realm, was shattered under his heel.

His aura evolved from half-step Martial God to true Martial God—the genuine article. The aura radiating from his body coalesced into a pillar of golden light visible to the naked eye, shooting straight into the heavens, colliding head-on with the tribulation vortex above. A newly ascended Martial God’s aura had sent a declaration of war to the heavenly Dao, proclaiming the birth of another being surpassing mortality.

And the tribulation responded.

The lightning at the vortex’s center suddenly swelled—from the thickness of a finger to a water bucket, then to covering the entirety of Ten Void Peak. The lightning was not one but ninefold: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, black, white—these nine colors writhed, intertwined, and coiled within the vortex, finally merging into a single nine-colored heavenly tribulation lightning, crashing down from the uppermost heavens. It was a hundred times more terrifying than the tribulation Wang Hao had weathered when he slew the Child of Fate.

The tribulation’s range wasn’t limited to Ten Void Peak—it spanned ten thousand paces.

All eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods were within that ten-thousand-pace radius.

“Retreat!” Holy King Canglong barked, his form vanishing backward.

But the tribulation lightning was faster than a Martial God. In the instant the nine-colored heavenly lightning struck the summit of Ten Void Peak, it exploded. Countless lightning serpents radiated outward from the point of impact, each serpent carrying power beyond a Martial God’s full-force attack. The white jade plaza melted instantly under the radiance—not shattered, but melted. The ten-thousand-year-old white jade stone slabs turned into flowing magma, crisscrossing the plaza with rivers of molten stone.

The Kunlun Stele issued a piercing screech as all nine formation inscriptions lit up, struggling with all their might to resist the tribulation’s aftershocks. The ten-pace radius around the stele was the only area not melted—and even that was barely maintained.

The retreat paths of the eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods were sealed off by the nine-colored lightning serpents. Patriarch Chiyan was the first to bear the brunt: a red serpent slammed directly into his chest, blasting him backward. Mid-flight, he spat a golden mist of blood, a fist-sized charred wound opening on his chest.

Jiang Canghai crossed his arms in defense; two lightning serpents struck him simultaneously. His feet carved two hundred-pace furrows into Ten Void Peak’s ground, the soles of his boots ground through, revealing his scorched soles.

Jiang Cangyun fared the worst. Already injured in soul from a previous attack, the tribulation’s violet lightning—specifically targeting souls—sought him out, piercing through his physical defenses to land another blow on his spirit. He grunted, dropping to one knee as blood seeped from all seven orifices, making him look like he’d just been hauled out of a blood pool.