Don't give him any reason to come knocking on your door.

Lu Chenzhou strode in, holding an urgent classified letter. The usual playful expression on his face had vanished, replaced by a carefully suppressed murderous intent.

"Your Majesty, a letter was delivered by the Shadow Guard," he said, placing the letter on the table. It had already been opened. The black envelope bore no markings, but a faint smell of blood emanated from the paper — a peculiar metallic scent, not human blood, but a strange mix of rotting flesh and rust. It was the warning signal exclusive to the Shadow Guard of the Dark City.

Wang Hao picked up the letter and unfolded it.

There were only eight characters, written in blood, each stroke sharp as a blade's edge.

"Emperor of the Eastern Wastelands, you shall die within seven days."

Beneath the words was printed a black handprint, five fingers spread open. In the center of the palm was carved a closed eye — the emblem of the Eight-Pronged Alliance of the Dark City.

By the laws of the Dark City, no one who received such a Blood Letter had ever survived seven days. That included three Martial Gods.

Wang Hao stared at the eight characters for a moment.

Then he smiled, as if he had found something amusing.

"Old Wei, take a look," he said, handing the letter to Wei Zhongxian. "The people of the Dark City are surprisingly polite. They send a letter before killing someone. That's more courteous than me. I never warn anyone before I take their head."

Wei Zhongxian glanced at the letter and frowned. "Your Majesty, the Shadow Guard is the most elite assassination force in the Dark City. According to the intelligence I've gathered, they have successfully assassinated at least three late-stage Martial Gods. Their methods are extremely professional — poison, formations, cursed artifacts, human wave tactics, nothing is off the table. They never attack head-on. They always strike in one fatal blow at the moment their target lets down their guard."

"Three Martial Gods?" Wang Hao raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"Poison. A rare toxin called 'Tears of the Abyss.' It's colorless and odorless, useless against those below the Skysoar Realm, but capable of penetrating the qi barrier of early-stage Martial Gods. Once it enters the body, it corrodes the dantian within three breaths and erodes the Martial God's foundational path. This toxin is only available to the Shadow Guard of the Dark City. Its formula is a closely guarded secret. All three Martial Gods assassinated over the years were poisoned first, stripped of their combat power, and then surrounded and killed by the Shadow Guard."

The tent fell silent for a breath.

Then Wang Hao's expression grew even more interested. There was no fear in his eyes, no anger. Only the curiosity of a researcher encountering a fascinating subject.

"It can penetrate the qi barrier of early-stage Martial Gods? Now that's something valuable."

He stroked his chin. "If I can get my hands on that formula, dealing with those old fossils in the Central Continent wouldn't be such a headache anymore."

Lu Chenzhou grew anxious. "Your Majesty, can you be serious for once? They've issued a death warrant against you!"

"What about it?" Wang Hao shot back. "Since I ascended the throne, how many assassination attempts have I survived? Yet here I sit, counting spirit stones as if nothing happened. Meanwhile, they've put their assassins' heads on my merit board. And think about this — I was besieged by eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods on Tianxu Peak, and I'm still alive. How could a mere assassin organization be more dangerous than eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods?"

He stood up, walked to the entrance of the tent, and gazed southward, toward the direction of the Dark City.

In the night sky, the stars in the south were sparser and dimmer than in other directions, as if veiled by an unseen layer of shadow. That was the ten-thousand-year-old dark clouds above the Dark City—not naturally formed mist, but the congealed resentment of past generations of Dark City experts who had fallen there, so thick that even sunlight could not penetrate.

“Perfect,” he said softly. “I was just thinking I needed an excuse to cause them trouble. And they’ve handed me the blade themselves.”

The next morning, at the Great Xia military camp in the Gateway City.

Old Master Ren stood ready with ten Soaring Void Realm ancestors, their armor polished to a gleaming shine. Their storage rings held the one billion spirit stones Wang Hao had given them—special funds for rebuilding Great Xia’s border defenses. At the entrance of the general’s mansion, the old master looked at Wang Hao, his lips parting as if to speak, then stopping himself. He wanted to say “Your Majesty, take care,” or “Your Majesty, beware of the Shadow Guards,” but in the end, he said nothing, merely clapping Wang Hao heavily on the shoulder.

“Worthy great-grandson-in-law, I will be waiting for you in Great Xia.”

Wang Hao grasped his hand. “Grand Elder Ren, after you return, do three things: First, reinforce Great Xia’s border defenses. Don’t skimp on the spirit stones; spend what must be spent. Second, have Grandfather the Emperor come to Gateway City—I have matters to discuss with him in person. Third, keep an eye on the southern border situation. Though the demon clan signed the treaty, that old dragon, Canglong Sacred King, has a mind full of tricks. Don’t let him exploit any openings.”

“Your humble servant understands.” Old Master Ren cupped his fists, then led the ten Soaring Void Realm ancestors into the air, flying eastward.

Wang Hao watched them disappear into the morning light from the mansion’s entrance, then turned and went back to the meeting hall. His expression darkened, no longer the relaxed demeanor he had shown Old Master Ren just moments ago.

“Old Wei, bring out all the intelligence on the Dark City.”

Wei Zhongxian took a jade slip from his sleeve, infused it with true energy, and a massive map materialized above it.

The map marked the power distribution of the Dark City—the positions of the Eight Gang Alliance, secret outposts of the Shadow Guards, the three main routes leading to the Dark City, and the attitudes of surrounding factions. Every piece of intelligence was tagged with its source and reliability, as clear as a military sand table.

Wang Hao stared at the map for a long time, then suddenly pointed to a marker on the outskirts of the Dark City. “Here—the Shadow Guards’ outpost, two days’ journey from the Dark City itself. If they dared to send that letter, this outpost is already set up with an ambush.”

“Your Imperial Majesty sees clearly.”

Wei Zhongxian nodded.

“This outpost is outwardly a Blackwind Merchant Caravan station under the Eight Gang Alliance, but it actually houses at least fifty Shadow Guards. The perimeter is layered with three killing formations, and the core area has a teleportation array—one that can go straight to the Dark City headquarters. By now, the Shadow Guard elites should have arrived. Their assassination plan will likely be executed here, because this is the only road from Gateway City to the Dark City—a strategic choke point, perfect for an ambush.”

“Fifty Shadow Guards.” Wang Hao smiled. “According to what you said before, a single Shadow Guard can assassinate a Martial God. Fifty of them—that’s enough to assassinate fifty Martial Gods. They really do think highly of me.”

"Your Majesty, the Shadow Guard's assassinations rely not on direct combat strength, but on poison and formation. Fifty Shadow Guards, combined with a three-layer killing formation and the Abyssal Tears, do have the potential to slay a Martial God. Of the three Martial Gods assassinated back then, one was even at the mid-stage of the Martial God realm."

"Then I should go all the more."

Wang Hao rose to his feet.

"Since they've laid out a banquet and invited me, if I don't attend, wouldn't that be a discourtesy?"

At the very moment Wang Hao spoke these words, a thousand miles away from Conduit City, the Canglong Saint King sat within a makeshift Beast Deity Hall, a black recording stone pinched between his fingers. The recording stone played the entire process of Wang Hao's property confiscation in Conduit City.

Inside the hall, four Beast Deities sat on either side.

"The Celestial Tribulation still hasn't made them obedient."

The Canglong Saint King spoke calmly, tapping the recording stone lightly with his finger, freezing the image on the scene of Wang Hao directing the imperial guard to transport the gambling den's treasury.

"I have lived for three thousand years, and I have never seen a human like this. But it's fine—Darkness City wants to kill him, and we'll just watch the show. Notify the Ten Thousand Beasts Hall: before Darkness City's matter concludes, constrain all tribes from rashly entering the Eastern Wasteland. Additionally, send men to monitor the Southern Border. If Darkness City and Wang Hao clash, the Central Plains will surely seize the chance to stir up trouble. We must be prepared to profit as the fisherman—but do not be the first to stick our necks out."

The white-feathered woman hesitated briefly. "Holy King, what about that treaty..."

"The treaty is signed, but it doesn't forbid watching the show."

The Canglong Saint King put away the recording stone. In his vertical pupils reflected the rolling demonic clouds outside the hall; deep within the clouds, faint flashes of thunder flickered, reminding him of the terrifying Celestial Tribulation on Tianxu Peak.

"This human is harder to deal with than we imagined. He still has at least one trump card he hasn't revealed—Darkness City's operation this time will help us force that card out. Then we'll decide our next move."

Meanwhile, in the Central Plains, at the Chixiao Holy Land.

Li Tianxing sat in the Grandmaster's hall, his face ashen like iron. On the jade table before him lay three urgent reports—the first was intelligence on the auction from a covert spy surnamed Zha in Conduit City, the second was a secret liaison letter from the Eight Gang Alliance of Darkness City, and the third was a plea for help written in blood by his nephew, Manager Li.

"Grandmaster."

A white-haired elder said in a low voice, "That boy Wang Hao has become a force to be reckoned with. At the early stage of the Martial God realm, he can suppress eight super-rank experts. With that old relic Wang Wudi backing him up, in another ten years, no one will be able to rein him in. Since Darkness City plans to strike, this is a godsend for us—we should use the knife of another to kill and secretly lend our aid."

Li Tianxing did not answer. He closed his eyes, his mind replaying over and over the scene on Tianxu Peak—Wang Hao standing in the midst of the Celestial Tribulation, his imperial robe fluttering, a lightning tower spinning above his head, as eight Martial Gods and Beast Deities were torn to pieces before him like paper. And that transparent ninth heavenly thunder—even now, when he recalled it, a shudder of fear ran deep in his soul.

"Pass my command."

He finally spoke, his voice hoarse.

"All true disciples of the Chixiao Holy Land are forbidden from participating in any action of Darkness City. Nor shall they offer any form of support to Darkness City. Any violator will be stripped of their cultivation and expelled from the Holy Land."

The elder was stunned: "Grandmaster, why is that? This is a golden opportunity—"

"Opportunity?"

Li Tianxing opened his eyes, a flicker of immensely complex emotion gleaming in his pupils.

“Do you really think the City of Darkness can kill Wang Hao? The eight of us, peerless War Gods and Demon Gods combined forces — and we couldn’t finish the job. What makes you think a pack of shadow-struck assassins stands a chance? Because of the Abyss Tears? You think Wang Hao’s black tower is a pushover? That tower swallowed heavenly tribulation lightning whole. A smear of poison? Please. It wouldn’t even tickle.”

He rose and walked to the great hall’s entrance, gazing eastward toward the horizon.

“That kid’s itching for someone to make trouble. If the City of Darkness rushes in blindly, he’ll just flip the script and eat them alive. Take a look at the ledgers from Reception City — thirteen gambling dens owed him spirit stones. He settled every single debt in one day, then opened a bank of his own and roped the entire capital network of Reception City into his pocket. A man like that? Give him an excuse, and he’ll swallow you bones and all. The City of Darkness didn’t send a kill order — they sent him a declaration of war.”

He spun to face all the elders assembled in the hall, his gaze as sharp as a blade.

“Mark my words, every one of you — from now on, Crimson Sky Sacred Ground’s policy toward Wang Hao is this: no dealings, no friction, and absolutely no reason for him to come knocking on our door.”