Ransacking a House Is a Technical Job

The two flew three hundred miles from Jieying City to a stretch of barren mountains, surrounded by peaks with a dry riverbed at the center. Wang Hao swept the area with his divine sense, confirming there was no human presence for a hundred miles in all directions, before allowing Wang Wudi to take the pill.

Wang Wudi sat cross-legged in the middle of the riverbed, holding the nine-colored pill in both hands. He took a deep breath and swallowed it. The moment the pill entered his mouth, the aura around him began to surge wildly. The supreme energy he had accumulated for sixty years at the Consummation of the Imperial Flight Realm exploded like a powder keg ignited. Golden waves of force burst from his body, sending the gravel in the riverbed flying, shattering it to dust in midair.

The clouds in the sky began to spin, forming a vortex that covered a radius of ten miles. Lightning flickered at the center of the vortex—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. Seven-colored lightning churned within the clouds. This was a normal Martial God tribulation: seven-colored heavenly thunder, three strikes in total, with a range of only ten miles.

Compared to Wang Hao’s own tribulation, which had covered a vast expanse of ten thousand miles with nine colors of lightning, this one seemed as gentle as a spring drizzle.

“Is that it?” Wang Hao stood at the edge of the riverbed, staring at the seven-colored lightning in the sky with a peculiar expression. “Seven-colored thunder? Only three strikes? A ten-mile range? Ancestor, your treatment is seriously lacking.”

Wang Wudi had no time to respond. He was fully focused on circulating his supreme energy, channeling the immense medicinal power surging through his body to break through the threshold of the Martial God Realm. Sixty years of accumulated foundation were released all at once. The door that had trapped him for six decades groaned under the combined assault of the pill’s power and his own reserves, as if it could barely withstand the pressure.

When the first lightning strike descended, Wang Hao raised his hand and summoned the Violet Lightning Demon-Suppressing Tower.

The black tower spun rapidly above the riverbed, its surface engraved with lightning patterns that blazed with dazzling light. All nine layers of the tower’s doors swung open, and from the white lightning serpents on the first layer to the transparent Thunder Emperor projection on the ninth, nine types of lightning beasts surged out, forming a thunderous grand formation that covered ten miles in every direction.

The seven-colored lightning struck the formation but didn’t even stir a ripple. The lightning beasts devoured it all. The transparent Thunder Emperor projection on the ninth layer didn’t even move—it despised lightning of this caliber. The second and third strikes followed, and the result was exactly the same. The Violet Lightning Demon-Suppressing Tower was like an insatiable glutton, swallowing every bit of lightning that came its way. After devouring it all, it hummed contentedly, almost as if asking, “Is that it? Got more?”

After the three lightning strikes, the vortex in the sky began to dissipate slowly. At that moment, the aura within Wang Wudi underwent a qualitative transformation—from something gaseous into something solid. In his dantian, a Martial God foundation crystallized into form. Six dao lines emerged on that foundation: metal, wood, water, fire, earth, and wind. Each element accounted for one line.

It wasn’t the nine-element perfect foundation like Wang Hao’s, but six dao lines were still impressive. After all, he relied on sixty years of accumulation and a single pill. Six dao lines proved his foundation was deep enough.

Wang Wudi opened his eyes, and two beams of golden light shot from his pupils, carving scars of light a hundred feet long across the night sky. He slowly stood up, looking down at his hands. The wrinkles on his palms vanished as if by magic, the skin smoothing and tightening. His bones crackled, and within just a few breaths, he had transformed from an ancient elder back into a middle-aged man of around forty.

The Martial God realm granted five thousand years of life. He had already lived for several hundred years, and breaking through to Martial God meant he now had an additional four thousand years to call his own.

“I…” Wang Wudi’s voice trembled. “I really broke through…”

“Congratulations, Ancestor.” Wang Hao stowed away the Violet Lightning Demon-Suppressing Tower and walked over with a smile. “How do you feel?”

Wang Wudi looked up at him, his eyes shimmering with unprecedented light. “Fantastic. Great-grandson, I feel like I could shatter a mountain with one punch.”

“Then that’s right,” Wang Hao said, patting his shoulder. “But shelve the mountain-smashing for now. Let’s head back to Jieying City first. There’s a lot to take care of.”

The two rose into the air, flying toward Jieying City. Across the night sky, two Martial God auras streaked by like meteors, startling the scouts and informants of every faction along the way.

Within half an hour, news spread through all of Jieying City: another Martial God had emerged from the Eastern Wastelands.

In the General’s Mansion of Jieying City.

When Wang Hao and Wang Wudi landed in the training grounds, the fifteen Imperial Flight Realm guards and the ten Heavenly Pride disciples were already waiting. Xiao Chen was the first to step forward. Feeling the unfathomable aura radiating from Wang Hao, he bowed respectfully. “Congratulations, Your Majesty, on achieving Martial God.”

“Enough, enough. No more congratulations—I’ve heard it hundreds of times today.” Wang Hao waved dismissively and scanned everyone present. “Inside, all of you. I have something to announce.”

The crowd filed into the council hall. Wang Hao took the main seat, with Wang Wudi seated to his left. The rest arranged themselves in two lines—the fifteen Imperial Flight Realm elders on the left and the ten Heavenly Pride disciples on the right.

Wang Hao swept his gaze across the group and began. “First—you’ve all heard about what happened at Heavenly Void Peak. I’ve signed the Kunlun Treaty with the Central Continent and the Demon Clan. From now on, the Eastern Wastelands will have the same voting power as the Central Continent at the Kunlun Assembly. That’s the biggest benefit I could secure in the treaty. But it’s only words on paper. Whether it actually works depends on the strength of the Eastern Wastelands.”

He paused and looked toward Old Master Ren. “Grandpa Ren, I need you to take ten Imperial Flight Realm elders back to Great Xia immediately and guard the capital. News of Ancestor and I both breaking through to Martial God will spread across the world soon. There might be some reckless fools within the Eastern Wastelands looking to stir up trouble. Go back and keep the home fires burning for me.”

Old Master Ren cupped his fist. “Rest assured, grandson-in-law. With me there, the capital will be as steady as a mountain.”

“Second,” Wang Hao continued, turning to the Heavenly Pride disciples. “Xiao Chen, Ye Guyun, Lu Chenzhou, Wanyan Gu, and Su Lie—you five stay behind. You’re coming with me to collect debts. The remaining five Heavenly Pride disciples, return to Great Xia with Old Master Ren. Go into closed cultivation and digest the gains from the secret realm. The next time I see you, I expect progress in your cultivation.”

The five Heavenly Pride disciples who were to return cupped their fists in unison. “Your subjects obey.”

“Third,” Wang Hao said, leaning back in his chair with a smile that sent chills down everyone’s spines. “Lao Wei, how much spirit stone do the casinos in Jieying City owe me?”

Wei Zhongxian stepped out from the corner, holding a thick ledger in his hands. His voice was as flat as water. “Reporting to Your Majesty. The thirteen casinos in Jieying City owe Your Majesty a total of 700 million spirit stones. Among them, the Red Cloud Casino alone owes 300 billion, because Your Majesty placed a bet on surviving the Kunlun Assembly at odds of one to ten thousand, and Red Cloud accepted the wager. By the rules, they must pay out 300 billion spirit stones.”

The council hall went silent for a moment.

Then everyone turned to look at the ledger in Wei Zhongxian’s hands with burning eyes. 700 million was already absurd enough. But 300 billion? That would be selling off the entire Red Cloud Holy Land—including its mountain gates and ancestral graves—and still not scraping together even a fraction of that amount.

“Your Majesty.” Lu Chenzhou raised his hand to ask a question, his eyes blazing with intensity. “Are we off to collect debts?”

“Collect debts.” Wang Hao nodded, his smile radiant. “Debts must be repaid; it’s only natural. Thirteen gambling houses, every single one of them—if they don’t have enough spirit stones, they can pay with assets; if assets fall short, with cultivation techniques; and if techniques aren’t enough, with people. I, the Emperor, am a very reasonable man—I will never resort to violent collection, but I won’t allow anyone to renege on their debts, either.”

Xiao Chen stood with his sword in his arms, his face expressionless as he asked, “Your Majesty, what if they still refuse to pay?”

Wang Hao’s smile grew even brighter.

“Xiao Chen,” he said, “when you did business with those prodigies from the Central Continent’s demon clans in the secret realm, what did you do with those who tried to renege?”

“Your servant has never encountered such a situation,” Xiao Chen replied calmly. “Because I never give them the chance to renege.”

“Well said.” Wang Hao rose to his feet. “At dawn tomorrow, seven hundred thousand troops will be arrayed beneath the city walls. Twenty Air-Sovereign Realm elders will accompany me into the city. The Ten Prodigies will lead the way, and Wei Zhongxian will keep the accounts. Let’s see who dares to withhold my spirit stones.”

The next day, the moment the gates of the Junction City swung open, the guards on duty were so terrified their legs gave way at the sight before them.

Seven hundred thousand soldiers were arrayed outside the city, a vast black formation stretching from the foot of the walls all the way to the horizon. The Eastern Wasteland Imperial Guards were in the center, clad in black armor beneath black dragon banners, their ranks neat and imposing, exuding murderous intent. The Northern Desert Legion was on the left, their cavalry mounted on purebred prairie stallions, curved sabers hanging from the saddles, wolf-head totems carved into the scabbards. The Western Frontier Legion was on the right, their infantry formations interspersed with over a thousand armored camels, each carrying a small rune-powered cannon on its back.

The three armies stood in perfect formation, so silent that the snorts of the horses were clearly audible.

On the wall, the commander of the Junction City garrison turned pale. He had lived two hundred years and witnessed countless grand spectacles, but never anything like this—seven hundred thousand troops laying siege to the city, led by two War Gods. He didn’t even dare send anyone to inquire; he could only watch helplessly as the procession slowly approached the gates.

Wang Hao rode a black stallion at the very front. Today, he wasn’t wearing his imperial robes; instead, he was dressed in a dark, jet-black martial outfit, the new Heavenly Emperor’s Sword hanging at his waist, the blood-red patterns on the scabbard faintly glowing in the morning light. Wang Wudi rode beside him, clad in a dark gold battle armor with a five-clawed golden dragon engraved on the chestplate—the emblem of the Wang clan.

Behind them followed the twenty Air-Sovereign Realm elders, and further back, five of the Ten Prodigies—Xiao Chen, carrying the heavy ruler that had never been drawn from its scabbard; Ye Guyun, holding the Cold Abyss Sword with an impassive face; Lu Chenzhou, his face alight with eagerness as if he could barely contain himself; Wangu Yan, shouldering an axe as large as a door; and Su Lie, clutching a stack of formation discs, muttering something under his breath as if calculating some demolition plan.

Behind them came Wei Zhongxian, riding a black horse with a thick ledger clutched to his chest. His expression was as flat as ever, but those who knew him could detect a hint of barely suppressed excitement in his narrowed eyes—nothing delighted him more than confiscating property.

On both sides of the procession, two hundred thousand Eastern Wasteland Imperial Guards lined the way. The guards wore gleaming armor, their blades and spears standing like a forest, their steps so uniform they seemed measured with a ruler. With every step, the dull thud of iron boots on the stone pavement made the hearts of the soldiers on the wall beat faster.

When the procession reached the city gate, Wang Hao reined in his horse and looked up at the commander on the wall.

“Open the gates.”

Just two words. The commander’s forehead was already beaded with cold sweat; his legs trembled, because he could feel the faint but suffocating pressure emanating from Wang Hao—the pressure of a War God, far beyond what his True Intent Realm could withstand.

“K-King… Your Majesty…” The commander swallowed hard. “The Junction City is a neutral city of the Central Continent. By the rules, no large army may enter the city…”

“The large army won’t enter the city.” Wang Hao smiled, then turned to point behind him at the two hundred thousand Imperial Guards. “These men are my honor guard. An honor guard doesn’t count as a large army. As for the five hundred thousand troops outside the city, they’ll stay out there and won’t set foot inside. Does that satisfy you?”

The commander opened his mouth to speak, but found he didn’t even have the courage to refuse. Because although Wang Hao was smiling, the new Heavenly Emperor’s Sword at his waist gave a faint tremor in the scabbard, emitting a sword hum only the commander could hear. That hum carried a chill killing intent, whispering into his ear: Say one more word, and you’ll face the consequences.

“Open the gates.” The commander gritted his teeth and ordered his men.

The city gates slowly swung open. Wang Hao spurred his horse forward, and the honor guard followed.

On the main street of the Junction City, the usual bustling scene had vanished. Shops on both sides were all shuttered, and behind the windows, countless pairs of eyes peeked through the cracks, secretly watching this menacing procession.

News of yesterday’s leveling of the Heavenly Void Peak had already spread throughout the city. Everyone knew that the Eastern Wasteland Emperor had just crossed the tribulation to become a War God, crippling eight transcendence-level beings in the process. Now he had come with his army to collect debts—who would dare to stand in his way?

Wang Hao didn’t go anywhere else. He led the group directly to the busiest street of gambling houses in the Junction City.