I'll settle the score with you after crossing

Wang Hao did not answer. He looked up at the sky, where the ninth heavenly tribulation was coalescing at the center of the vortex. It was no longer a rainbow of nine-colored thunder—it was a thunder that transcended color: a transparent bolt. That transparent lightning contained the purest power of annihilation. Just looking at it from afar sent a shiver through the very soul of a War God.

Wang Hao took a deep breath and formed hand seals.

“Let the emperor endure the tribulation first. Afterward, we will settle accounts.”

With a flicker of movement, he shot directly toward that transparent ninth tribulation lightning in the sky.

Above his head, the Lightning Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower spun rapidly. The eighth-floor Thunder Emperor’s phantom tilted its head skyward and let out a soundless roar, joining Wang Hao as they charged together to meet the final judgment of the Heavenly Dao.

Boom—

The transparent lightning collided with Wang Hao’s silhouette in midair. The explosion of light illuminated the entire Kunlun Mountain Range. Dazzling white radiance flooded Heavenly Void Peak, flooded the seventy-two auxiliary peaks, and flooded everything for a thousand miles around. No one could see what was happening within the light—only the earth-shattering roar was heard, followed swiftly by a crisp, clear phoenix cry.

When the white light faded, the tribulation clouds above Heavenly Void Peak slowly dissipated, revealing a long-lost blue sky.

Heavenly Void Peak had vanished. Not collapsed, not shattered—the entire mountaintop had been shorn off by the final heavenly tribulation. The original height of nine thousand zhang was now only eight thousand zhang. The remains of the jade plaza, the seating areas, and the Kunlun stele were all obliterated, as if they had never existed.

In the center of that flattened mountaintop stood Wang Hao.

His imperial robes were tattered and scorched by lightning; a trace of blood hung at the corner of his mouth; his face was pale as paper. But his eyes were brighter than ever, and the Dao flame burning within his pupils burned even more fiercely.

Above his head, the Lightning Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower spun slowly. The ninth-floor tower gate had stabilized completely, the gaps between the pavilions slightly wider than before. And atop the tower, a transparent ring of lightning had appeared—the Heavenly Dao Tribulation Ring, condensed from a fraction of the ninth tribulation’s power, an anomaly that the tower had never manifested before.

Inside his dantian, the nine attribute Dao patterns on his War God foundation had fully solidified. Every single Dao pattern radiated a dazzling light. And those two Life-Death Profound Patterns—after absorbing the power of the ninth tribulation—one had fully coalesced: the Death Dao Pattern. That pattern was pitch-black like ink, radiating pure destruction. Its mere existence accelerated the circulation of his true essence by a full thirty percent.

He had formally stepped into the War God realm. Not a weakling at the threshold, but a powerful War God who possessed ten Dao patterns on the very first day of his breakthrough.

All around, eight transcendent-level beings lay scattered on the ground. Patriarch Chiyan was still soaking in the lava lake, unable to climb out. Jiang Canghai hugged his shattered bronze ancient mirror, trembling with heartache. Jiang Cangyun’s soul injuries were so severe that he could not even stand.

Among the five demon gods, Madam White Feather hung unconscious from a cliff face. The withered old man curled up among the fragments of his own carapace, shivering. The Cyan-skinned Kui Bull had finally collapsed. The crimson-robed youth was embedded in a boulder like a twisted mural.

Only Holy King Canglong remained in a half-kneeling posture, barely managing to keep himself from falling over.

Wang Hao looked around and laughed out loud.

He walked over to Holy King Canglong, crouched down, and met his gaze. With Wang Hao crouching and the Holy King half-kneeling, their eyes were level.

“Holy King Canglong, now we can talk. The demon race wanted to join forces with the Central Continent to kill the emperor. How do we settle this account?”

Holy King Canglong looked up at him. A flicker of complex emotion passed through his slitted pupils. This human emperor could have taken the chance to slaughter them all—but he had not acted. Not out of kindness, but because killing eight transcendent-level beings would bring no benefit to the Eastern Wastelands and would instead trigger an all-out war between humans and demons. Sparing their lives was meant to secure better bargaining chips.

“What do you want?” Holy King Canglong asked again. The same four words, but this time there was no resentment in his tone—only the calm of accepting defeat.

Wang Hao smiled.

“The emperor’s demands are simple. Three things.”

He raised one finger.

“First, the demon race and the Eastern Wastelands sign a ten-thousand-year pact. During the term of the pact, the demon race shall not set foot into the Eastern Wastelands by so much as half a step. Moreover, when the Eastern Wastelands face foreign invasion, the demon race must send troops to assist.”

A second finger.

“Second, territorial disputes between the Southern Wastes, the Western Border, the Northern Domain, and the demon race shall be arbitrated by the Eastern Wastelands. The demon race may not resort to unilateral force.”

A third finger.

“Third—the demon race owes the emperor a favor. In the future, if the emperor needs to call upon this favor, you may not refuse.”

Holy King Canglong was silent for a long time.

The first two terms were acceptable—they were treaty-style clauses, restrictive to the demon race but not impossible to endure. The third was the most ruthless. No specific content, no scope—just a simple favor. It meant that no matter what Wang Hao demanded in the future, as long as he invoked this favor, the demon race could not refuse.

Such a blank check was the most terrifying thing of all.

But did he have a choice?

All eight transcendent-level beings had lost their combat effectiveness. Wang Hao was now the sole War God on Heavenly Void Peak. If the Holy King refused, Wang Hao could kill the demon gods first, then the other War Gods, turning the events of today into an unsolved mystery. With the witnesses dead, Wang Hao could tell any story he wished.

“Fine.” Holy King Canglong ground the words out through clenched teeth. “This saint king agrees.”

Wang Hao nodded in satisfaction. He rose to his feet and walked toward the three War Gods on the western side.

Jiang Canghai hugged his shattered bronze ancient mirror. When he saw Wang Hao approaching, a deep wariness flickered in his eyes. Patriarch Chiyan had just crawled out of the lava lake, his entire body charred black like a piece of burnt firewood. Jiang Cangyun, worst off of all, had fainted due to the combined damage of soul injuries and the tribulation’s backlash.

Wang Hao stopped before the three War Gods. His smile was even more brilliant than when he had faced the demon race—brilliant enough to send chills down one’s spine.

“Three seniors, it’s your turn now.”

Jiang Canghai spoke in a low voice, “Wang Hao, you have won today. Do with us as you will—kill or cut—we will accept it.”

“Kill? Cut?” Wang Hao shook his head. “Is the emperor such a cruel person? This emperor only wants to discuss a few small matters with you three seniors.”

He raised one finger.

“First, the sixteen holy lands of the Central Continent and the Eastern Wastelands shall sign a permanent peace agreement. Within the agreement’s period, the Central Continent may not interfere in the internal affairs of the Eastern Wastelands in any form, may not reduce the Eastern Wastelands’ share of qi luck, and may not impose any form of economic blockade on the Eastern Wastelands.”

A second finger.

“Second, the Eastern Wastelands shall have equal voting rights as the Central Continent in the Kunlun Conference. Henceforth, the distribution of Heaven and Earth’s qi luck shall be decided jointly by all four sides, not dictated by your sixteen houses alone.”

A third finger.

“Third—Headmaster Jiang.” He looked toward the unconscious Jiang Cangyun. “You once said at the Kunlun Conference that rules are set by you. Today, the emperor returns those words to you. From now on, rules shall be set by all of us together.”

Jiang Canghai looked at the young emperor before him, whose smile was radiant, and felt a wave of powerlessness he had never known before. He had lived for twelve hundred years and seen countless heroes and tyrants, but never anyone like this. This man defeated him yet refused to kill him. He held every advantage yet only demanded a treaty. He didn’t seek a momentary life—he sought control over the power structure for a thousand or ten thousand years to come.

A man like this was far more terrifying than any bloodthirsty demon. A bloodthirsty demon only kills, but this man—he rewrites the rules.

“I, representing the Sixteen Holy Lands of the Central Continent—” Jiang Canghai closed his eyes, his voice carrying the desolation of a lost cause, “accept your terms.”

Wang Hao clasped his hands in salute. “Three venerable elders, your understanding is profound. I, the Emperor, am deeply impressed. Oh, by the way, there’s one small matter—rebuilding Heavenly Void Peak after it’s been cleaved like this will cost quite a bit, won’t it? The Emperor is willing to donate a hundred million spirit stones to support the reconstruction of Kunlun Mountain. However, this hundred million spirit stones can be deducted from the debts owed to me by the thirteen gambling houses in Reception City. You can just collect it from them directly.”

Jiang Canghai’s eye twitched. Using money owed by gambling houses to curry favor? This shamelessness had truly reached its peak.

Wang Hao paid no attention to his expression. He turned and walked to the edge of Heavenly Void Peak, standing atop the sheared-off summit, gazing down at the vast mountains and rivers of the Kunlun range.

Sunlight leaked through the clouds, casting light on his tattered imperial robe, projecting the faint shadow of nine golden dragons onto the scorched earth at his feet.

He took a deep breath.

Martial God. He had done it. From the very first day he crossed over, he knew he had to become strong enough—strong enough that no one could bully the Eastern Wastelands, strong enough that no one could look down on him. Today, he had finally crossed that threshold.

But he knew this was not the end. What lay beyond the Martial God realm? What was the Heavenly Dao? What did the condensation of the Annihilation Dao Pattern mean? And that unformed Life Dao Pattern—how was he supposed to cultivate it?

The answers to these questions still lay ahead, waiting for him.

He turned around and pulled out the Yin-Yang Twin Life Talisman he had obtained from the system’s daily check-in—he hadn’t used it yet. He had originally planned to use a substitute to confuse enemies during the heavenly tribulation. But the tribulation’s power had far exceeded his expectations; there was no need for a decoy. The tribulation alone had blasted eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods into cripples.

“What a shame.” He tucked the talisman back into his sleeve. “Such a good item. I’ll save it for next time.”

Then he pulled out the communication jade slip Wei Zhongxian had given him, injecting a strand of vital energy into it.

“Old Wei, tell my great-grandfather—the matter at Heavenly Void Peak is settled. The eight venerable elders were all very understanding and reached some friendly agreements with me. Also, mention the new betting pool. The one claiming I wouldn’t survive the Kunlun Assembly, with one-to-ten-thousand odds—who’s running the house?”

There was silence on the other end of the jade slip, then Wei Zhongxian’s voice came through.

“Reporting to Your Majesty, the house is the Red Cloud Gambling House, run by the Scarlet Cloud Holy Land. Their branch in Reception City took bets that you wouldn’t survive the Kunlun Assembly at one-to-ten-thousand odds, collecting a total of thirty million spirit stones.”

“Tell them to pay out,” Wang Hao said, his smile as bright as the rising sun. “Thirty million spirit stones at one-to-ten-thousand odds makes a total of—let me count—thirty billion? No, three hundred billion spirit stones.”

From the jade slip came the sharp intake of breath from Wei Zhongxian.

“Your Majesty, three hundred billion spirit stones. The Scarlet Cloud Holy Land would be bankrupt if they tried to pay that.”

Wang Hao burst into laughter, the sound echoing from the peak of Kunlun Mountain, startling a flock of distant snow sparrows.

“Then let them pay slowly. Charge an annual interest rate of one point five percent. If the Scarlet Cloud Holy Land can’t pay, they can use their mines, spirit veins, and cultivation methods to settle the debt. I’m in no rush. After all, they’ll owe me spirit stones until their descendants can’t ever finish paying them off.”

He put away the jade slip and once again gazed at the rivers and mountains below, then turned and walked down the mountain.

Behind him, amid the ruins of Heavenly Void Peak, eight transcendent beings struggled to their feet, watching that battered black dragon-embroidered imperial robe slowly descend the mountain. No one made a move to stop him. No one spoke. Because everyone knew—from this day forward, the Eastern Wastelands would no longer be a borderland barbarian ground for the Central Continent to toy with at will.

From this day forward, the Eastern Wastelands had its own Martial God.

And that Martial God was only in his twenties.

On the thirty-first day of the Kunlun Assembly, at noon, Wang Hao succeeded in transcending the tribulation and stepped into the Martial God realm. The heavenly tribulation covered an area ten thousand _zhang_ wide, shearing off a thousand-_zhang_ peak from Heavenly Void Mountain and severely injuring eight transcendent beings. That evening, the Eastern Wastelands, the Central Continent, and the Demon Tribe signed an agreement later known as the _Kunlun Treaty_, formally ending the ten-thousand-year power structure in which the Sixteen Holy Lands of the Central Continent had ruled the world.

When the historians of the realm recorded this day, the phrase they most commonly used was: “One man transcended the tribulation; eight venerables were buried with him.”

Of course, what was buried wasn’t lives—it was their dignity.

But for Martial Gods and Demon Gods, sometimes dignity mattered more than life itself.