Choice of the Dark City

"What’s the strategy?"

"Drag it out." A glint of sharp intelligence flashed in Yue Ji’s eyes. "Drag it out until the Central Continent can’t sit still, until the Monster Race makes a move, until problems crop up inside the Eastern Wasteland. However strong Wang Hao is, he’s still just one man. His seven hundred thousand troops consume an astronomical amount of grain, fodder, and spirit stones every single day. He can’t afford a prolonged war."

She walked back to her stone seat and sat down, her gaze turning icy. "Send word down the line: the three defensive lines are to hold at all costs. Activate the city-protecting grand formation. No attacks, no decisive battles. Stall for one day if we can, stall for ten if possible. At the same time, send people to contact the Seven Sacred Lands of the Central Continent and tell them—if Wang Hao takes Dark City, they’ll be next."

"Also, contact the Ten Thousand Demon Cavern. Request the Demon Lord to emerge from seclusion."

A profound silence fell over the hall.

Requesting the Demon Lord to emerge from seclusion—this meant Dark City had reached its final resort. When the Demon Lord had entered seclusion three hundred years ago, he had expressly stated that no one was to disturb him unless Dark City faced a matter of life and death.

Now, that time had come.

Yue Ji closed her eyes, murmuring a silent prayer in her heart: Demon Lord, if you do not emerge now, Dark City is truly finished.

Just then, a scream rang out from outside the hall, followed by a series of clashes, and then deathly stillness.

Yue Ji’s eyes snapped open.

The hall’s door was kicked open from the outside.

Wang Hao stood in the doorway, his imperial robe speckled with a few drops of blood. In his hand, he held a severed head—the head of the outer defense zone commander, whose face was still frozen in a moment of terror.

He casually tossed the head into the center of the hall, then raised his gaze to the seven sect leaders, flashing a brilliant smile.

"Good evening, everyone. The Emperor has come to collect his debts."

As Wang Hao strode into the council hall, all seven sect leaders rose to their feet at once.

Eight auras of the Martial God Realm exploded in the hall—seven from the sect leaders, and one from Shadow, who was kneeling in the corner.

Those eight auras pressed down on Wang Hao from all sides like eight immense mountains.

If he were an ordinary Martial God, he would have collapsed under such pressure. But Wang Hao simply flicked his sleeves, as casually as swatting away a swarm of flies.

Yue Ji stared at him. A faint green light flickered in her eyes—a sign of activating her illusion technique.

Her lifebound artifact, the Moonwheel of Illusions, spun silently within her sleeve, releasing wave after wave of invisible spiritual ripples, attempting to invade Wang Hao’s consciousness.

Then she felt it—a pitch-black tower.

The Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower instantly flew to the top of Wang Hao’s head. Its nine tiers were wrapped in silver-white lightning, blocking all of Yue Ji’s spiritual waves. She tried to break through that layer of lightning, but found her spiritual power crashing against a wall formed of thunder. Every strike was rebounded, sending tremors through her own spiritual world.

Yue Ji’s face paled slightly, and she withdrew her illusion.

"Your Majesty, paying a visit so late at night—what business might you have?" Her voice remained calm, but the faint trembling of her fingers within her sleeve betrayed her inner wariness.

Wang Hao walked boldly to the round table, pulled out the empty seat belonging to the Demon Lord of the Ten Thousand Demon Cavern, and plopped down into it.

The seven sect leaders’ expressions shifted simultaneously—that seat had not been dared to be sat in for three hundred years.

"Don’t be nervous." Wang Hao leaned back, crossing his legs. "The Emperor just came for a little chat. Have you prepared the three hundred billion spirit stones you owe me?"

Silence filled the hall once more.

Feng Wanli took a deep breath and spoke. "Your Majesty, we can repay that three hundred billion. But we need time—at least ten years."

"Ten years?" Wang Hao laughed. "Sect Leader Feng, do you think I’m running a bank? In ten years, the interest alone could buy another Dark City."

"Then what does Your Majesty want?" Yue Ji took over the conversation. She had recovered from the shock of having her illusion broken, and her dead-gray eyes fixed directly on Wang Hao. "If Your Majesty had come only to collect debts, you wouldn’t have brought seven hundred thousand troops. Speak plainly—what is your true aim?"

Wang Hao looked at her, a hint of approval appearing in his eyes.

"Sect Leader Yue is a straightforward person. Then I won’t beat around the bush."

He stood, placed his hands on the round table, and swept his gaze from left to right over each sect leader’s face.

"I want Dark City. I won’t destroy its seven-thousand-year legacy, but I will take it over. The Eight Sect Alliance can be preserved, but it must accept reorganization under the Eastern Desolate Empire. Your spirit stone mines, underground trade routes, and intelligence networks will all be integrated into the Imperial Bank and the Secret Guard system. Your people—those willing to stay will be assigned positions according to their abilities; those unwilling can take their money and leave."

A dead silence fell over the hall.

Then Xue Wuhen exploded first.

"Screw that!" He slammed a palm down, shattering the armrest of his stone chair. Blood-red mist surged wildly around him, coalescing into a massive blood python that lunged at Wang Hao. "I’ll fight you to the death!"

Wang Hao didn’t even glance at the blood python. He simply raised his hand and struck.

Prisoner-Sky Overwhelming-Earth Palm · First Palm.

A golden palm print exploded before the blood python, blasting it into a mist of blood in midair. The residual force slammed squarely into Xue Wuhen’s chest, sending him, chair and all, crashing into the hall wall, smashing a huge crater into it.

Xue Wuhen struggled to his feet, a trace of black blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

He looked down at his chest—the protective battle qi there had been shattered by a single palm strike. A clear golden handprint marked the flesh, and the skin around the print was visibly cracking. White light flickered within the fissures, corroding his very Martial God foundation.

"Annihilation Dao Pattern." Feng Wanli’s pupils shrank sharply. "You really have mastered the Annihilation Dao Pattern."

Wang Hao withdrew his palm, his expression as calm as if he had just swatted a fly. "Sect Leader Xue, my patience is limited. Next time, I won’t hold back."

He sat back down in the Demon Lord’s chair and looked at the remaining six sect leaders. "My terms have been laid out. You have half an hour to consider. After that, either sign this agreement—"

He pulled a thick roll of documents from his sleeve and tossed it onto the round table. On the cover were eight big characters: The Merger Agreement Between the Eastern Desolate Empire and Dark City.

"Or, at dawn tomorrow, I will order the assault. When that happens, I won’t care about Dark City’s seven-thousand-year legacy. What I’ll be coming for are your heads."

The atmosphere in the hall grew so thick it felt as though it might drip water.

The six sect leaders stared at the document on the table, then at Xue Wuhen still struggling to climb back up from the wall. Each of their faces was a complex storm of emotions.

Ghost Granny spoke first. Her voice was as raspy as sandpaper. "Your Majesty, your conditions are too harsh. The Eight Sect Alliance has seven thousand years of heritage. You want to take it all with a single piece of paper—that’s impossible."

"Impossible?" Wang Hao raised an eyebrow. "Granny, do you think I’m negotiating with you?"

"That’s not what this old woman means." Ghost Granny shook her head, her ten dark fingernails tapping lightly on the armrest.

"The old woman is saying, Your Majesty wants the Dark City, that can be arranged. But not like this. The Eight Banners Alliance is not something Your Majesty can simply swallow whole. There are seven thousand years of tradition here, hundreds of rules, and the tangled interests of thousands of major and minor factions."

"Even if Your Majesty kills the seven of us, there will be a price to pay. If that price is too heavy, the scattered forces throughout the land will not submit. They will break into smaller cells and continue operating in the underworld. When that happens, all Your Majesty will gain is an empty shell, not the foundation of the Dark City."

Wang Hao was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Ghost Granny makes a good point. What does Granny suggest?"

A sharp glint flashed in Ghost Granny's eyes. She hadn't expected Wang Hao to be so reasonable. "The old woman suggests a step-by-step approach. Your Majesty should first take over the Dark City's spirit stone mines and trade routes. These are the core assets."

"As for the Eight Banners Alliance's armed forces, they can be reorganized in batches. The alliance's governance system can transition slowly. The entire process will take at least three years."

"Three years?" Wang Hao laughed. "Granny, are you trying to stall me to death here? Three years is enough time for the Central Plains factions to react, enough for the demon clans to change their minds, enough for you all to pull strings behind my back. Granny, you're even more calculating than Yue Ji the Phantom."

Ghost Granny's face stiffened.

"But—" Wang Hao shifted his tone, "Granny is also right that you can't swallow a fat man in one bite. I can give you a buffer period. Three months. Within three months, all of the Dark City's spirit stone mines, underground trade routes, and intelligence networks will be transferred to the Imperial Treasury and the Military Intelligence Bureau."

"The Eight Banners Alliance's armed forces will be reorganized on-site into the Eastern Wasteland Empire's Dark Legion, under my direct command. The alliance's governance system will be retained for a one-year observation period. After one year, their fate will be decided based on performance."

He raised one finger. "This is my final offer. I will not yield further."

The six masters exchanged glances.

Three months to hand over the core assets—alarmingly fast, but at least better than surrendering everything by tomorrow morning. As for the one-year observation period, that meant the Eight Banners Alliance would have at least another year to maneuver.

Yue Ji was about to speak when a violent tremor suddenly shook the hall from outside.

It wasn't an earthquake. Someone was breaking through from deep underground.

The tremors grew stronger. The floor of the grand assembly hall began to crack. The eight alliance banners on the walls rustled violently, and even the Eternal Night Canopy above started to shudder.

A terrifying aura surged from beneath the earth—dark, ancient, carrying a deathly chill that made the soul quiver.

The faces of the six masters changed at once—this time, with elation.

"The Demon Lord!"

"The Demon Lord has emerged from seclusion!"

Wang Hao's eyes narrowed slightly as he rose from the empty chair.

The chair that no one had dared to sit in for three hundred years split in two the moment he stood up. A jet-black beam of light erupted from the crack, coalescing in the center of the hall into a towering humanoid form.

The form gradually solidified, revealing a middle-aged man.

He stood nine feet tall with a slender build, waist-length black hair, and a face so handsome it was almost demonic. But his eyes held no pupils—only two swirling black vortexes, as if they could devour all light.

He wore a black robe with no adornments, yet countless tiny runes flowed within the fabric, each pulsing with a heart-stopping energy.

The master of the Ten Thousand Demon Cave—the Demon Lord.

Late-stage Martial God. The most powerful being the Dark City had ever known.

He had entered secluded meditation three hundred years ago to break through to a higher realm, and now he had emerged. His aura was at least three times stronger than before his seclusion.

The Demon Lord's gaze swept across the hall, pausing briefly on the palm print on Xue Wuhen's chest before landing on Wang Hao.

"So you're the one who wants to swallow my Dark City?"

His voice was calm, but every word carried a strange echo, as if two people were speaking at once—his own voice and a reply from an endless abyss.

Wang Hao looked at the Demon Lord without fear. His eyes held only the excitement of a hunter finding worthy prey.

"So you're the Demon Lord?" He sized the man up. "Late-stage Martial God. Not bad. Stronger than I imagined."

"A paltry early-stage Martial God like you dares to say 'not bad'?" The Demon Lord's lips curled into an icy smile. "I may have been in seclusion for three hundred years, but I've slaughtered more Martial Gods than you've ever laid eyes on."

"So what?" Wang Hao shot back. "You've slaughtered Martial Gods. I've struck them down. On Heaven's Void Peak, eight Martial Gods and Demon Gods joined forces to ambush me. I chopped every last one of them into dogs. Can one man alone beat eight?"

The swirling vortexes of the Demon Lord's eyes flickered slightly. He clearly hadn't received the full report on the Battle of Heaven's Void Peak.

"Enough talk." The Demon Lord raised his hand, fingers spread, a ball of pure darkness forming in his palm—a darkness that didn't lack light but actively consumed it. "Let me see what gives you the nerve to sit in my chair."

Without another word, the darkness shot from his palm, transforming into a black beam that streaked straight for Wang Hao's face.

Wang Hao didn't retreat. He raised his hand and struck.

Palm of Boundless Heaven, Fourth Form.

A golden palm print collided with the black beam in midair, producing a muffled, thunderous boom. The palm print shattered inch by inch under the beam's assault, but each shattered fragment gave birth to new golden light that filled the gaps.

The Fourth Form and the black beam struggled for three breaths. In the end, the beam pierced through the palm print, but seventy percent of its power had been spent. The remaining thirty percent struck Wang Hao, only to be casually absorbed by the golden barrier of his empire's protective aura.

Wang Hao stood completely unharmed.