Rest assured, My Fate is Strong

A piercing sword cry, sharp enough to tear eardrums, exploded from the sky. Amidst the sound of the sword cry, a black humanoid figure separated from the blade of the Celestial Sword.

It was a young man who appeared to be about twenty years old. His figure was tall and lean, with features that bore a seventy percent resemblance to Wang Hao, but his temperament was completely different. Wang Hao’s smile was radiant yet calculating, while this young man’s smile was purely arrogant—the kind of arrogance that wouldn’t bat an eye even if he punched a hole through the heavens.

He wore a black robe embroidered with sword patterns. His long hair hung loose over his shoulders, each strand as sharp as a blade’s edge. With his arms crossed over his chest, he looked up at the forty Martial Gods and then spoke a first line that left everyone present utterly dumbfounded.

“That’s it?”

Two words, lightly spoken, carrying a contempt that made blood boil.

On the Swordless Peak, Jian Wuchen’s expression shifted instantly.

He was the Supreme Elder of the Swordless Peak, the owner of a lifbound flying sword ranked thirty-first on the Artifact Anomaly List, and the foremost sword expert on the continent. Now, a mere weapon spirit manifested from an anomalous artifact dared to evaluate the forty Martial Gods he had brought with two smug words: “That’s it?”

“You insolent artifact spirit, how dare you—” Jian Wuchen began coldly, but the Celestial Sword cut him off mid-sentence.

“What’s wrong with being an artifact spirit?” the Celestial Sword said, casting him a sidelong glance. “Old man, that rusty piece of junk hanging from your waist is ranked thirty-first, right? I’m ranked one hundred and sixteen. Do you think someone ranked one hundred and sixteen should grovel before someone ranked thirty-first?”

Jian Wuchen sneered. “At least you know your place.”

“Know my place?” The Celestial Sword let out a derisive laugh. “You’ve been alive for thousands of years, and yet you’re only ranked thirty-first. I’ve lived for less than a year, and I’ve climbed from outside the top three thousand to one hundred and sixteen. Sword old man, calculate this: at this rate, where will I be next year? By the time I break into the top ten, that rusty junk of yours won’t even be fit to shine my shoes.”

Jian Wuchen’s face turned a deep shade of livid.

In his six thousand years of life, no one had ever dared to call his flying sword “rusty junk.”

“Utter insolence!” Jian Wuchen waved his hand, and the flying sword at his waist shot forth, transforming into a hundred-zhang-long cyan blade of light that slashed toward the Celestial Sword. The sword intent was condensed to its peak, and before the blade even arrived, the ground beneath had been plowed open into a gully dozens of zhang deep by the sheer force of that intent.

The Celestial Sword raised his right hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together. He made a light cutting motion toward the hundred-zhang-long cyan blade.

A golden sword light shot from his fingertips. Though only three feet long, it struck precisely at the nexus of the cyan blade—the single weak point of Jian Wuchen’s strike.

The cyan sword light shattered inch by inch just three inches away from the Celestial Sword’s brow, scattering into a sky full of cyan sparks that faded into the air.

Jian Wuchen’s pupils contracted sharply.

“How did you know the nexus of that strike?”

“Because I am the sword.”

The Celestial Sword withdrew his fingers, blowing on them as if to dust off nonexistent ash. “You wield a sword, and I am the sword itself. Fighting me with a sword is like trying to drown water with water—Sword old man, your technique is indeed exquisite, but you’ve forgotten one thing.”

He raised his head, his golden pupils reflecting Jian Wuchen’s livid face, and spoke slowly, emphasizing each word: “In the presence of a sword, all sword techniques are transparent. So, don’t pull out your sword in front of me. You’re not worthy.”

On the observation platform, Yue Ji’s lifeless gray eyes went wide.

“His weapon spirit—can it suppress Jian Wuchen?”

The Demon Lord did not speak, but a deep wariness flickered in his pitch-black, vortex-like eyes. He recalled that during his earlier confrontation with Wang Hao, the Celestial Sovereign Sword had never once been drawn from its sheath.

If Wang Hao had allowed that spirit of the sword to act back then, the question would not have been whether the eighth palm strike could be blocked.

Jian Wuchen’s face shifted through several shades of color before he finally swept his sleeve and retreated back into the formation. He could not bear the disgrace—the foremost master of the sword in six thousand years, bested in swordsmanship by a sword spirit that had lived less than a year. If word got out, he would lose all face.

“Sharp-tongued brat,” Li Cangming finally spoke, his blood-red flame-like eyes now regarding the Celestial Sovereign Sword with a touch more seriousness. “But in the end, you are merely a sword spirit ranked one hundred and forty-six. Special as you may be, being able to overpower Jian Wuchen’s sword techniques does not mean you can stand against everyone here.”

“What’s wrong with being ranked one hundred and sixteen?” The Celestial Sovereign Sword raised an eyebrow. “All you old fogies who showed up have lived for thousands of years, yet the highest cultivation among you is barely half-step transcendence. I have lived less than a year and can already slay a Martial God. Old Li, what cultivation had you reached at my age? The Bone-Tempering Realm, or the Organ-Tempering Realm?”

Li Cangming’s expression finally changed—into killing intent. No one had ever dared speak to him in such a tone.

The last person who spoke to him like that was Luo Wuji, the final emperor of the Tianluo Imperial Dynasty, seven thousand years ago—a man he personally killed and obliterated, soul and all.

“You want to provoke me,” Li Cangming said, his voice still flat, but the blood-red flames around him churned violently, their heat causing the air within a hundred feet to warp. “Provoking me, making me lose my cool, so you can find an opening. A decent strategy. Unfortunately—before me, no strategy has any meaning.”

He raised his hand, fingers spread apart, and a fist-sized blood-red flame gathered in his palm.

The moment it appeared, the temperature of the entire night sky soared to a terrifying degree. Trees outside the Dark City began to spontaneously combust, rocks on the ground turned red-hot, and even the ghostly green runes of the Eternal Night Veil started to melt.

“The Crimson Sun Sacred Flame,” the Demon Lord gasped from his watchtower. “That’s the signature technique of the Crimson Sun Sacred Ground. Legend says its first patriarch refined a wisp of true fire from the heart of the sun, capable of burning everything to nothing.”

Wang Hao’s pupils contracted slightly, but the Celestial Sovereign Sword grew excited.

“Crimson Sun Sacred Flame? Good! Let me see whether your fire burns hotter or my sword strikes faster!”

He held his hands as if gripping the air, and a golden longsword, forged from pure sword intent, materialized in his palms. Flowing across the blade of the sword was the same platinum-white light as Wang Hao’s—the power of the Annihilation Dao Marks.

With a thought, Wang Hao opened three layers of the Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower at once.

From the first layer, a full-force strike from the Skin-Tempering Realm—a bolt of silver-white lightning serpent shot out.

From the second layer, a full-force strike from the Muscle-Tempering Realm—another lightning serpent followed.

From the third layer, a full-force strike from the Bone-Tempering Realm—a third serpent joined them.

The three lightning serpents interwove in the air, merging into a single silver-white whip as thick as an arm. It was not aimed at Li Cangming but instead coiled around the body of the Celestial Sovereign Sword—lightning and flame fueled each other, and the sword’s golden radiance instantly swelled threefold.

“Wang Hao,” the Celestial Sovereign Sword said without turning his head. “If it comes down to it later and we can’t win, you run first. I’ll hold them off for you.”

Wang Hao blinked, then smiled. “Since when did you learn to care about me?”

“Care about you?” The Celestial Sword let out a cold laugh. “I’m afraid you’ll die and leave no one to feed me aberrations. You promised to let me feast on the number one. Until I reach that rank, you can’t die.”

“Got it.” Wang Hao tightened his grip on the Celestial Sword’s blade, frenetically pouring his internal energy into the sword. The power of the nation and the force of fate coalesced into a streak of gold-and-white sword light on the edge. “If I die, who’ll find you food? Don’t worry, I’m stubbornly tough.”

With those words, he struck first.

Not to defend, but to attack.

Sky-Confining Earth-Covering Palm, Fifth Palm.

A golden palm print descended from the heavens, hurtling toward Li Cangming’s face. The palm was only a hundred spans wide—far from the overwhelming momentum he had used against the Shadow—but it was far more condensed than before. The essence of the Fifth Palm lay in concentration: focusing every ounce of power into a single point, breaking the surface with a pinpoint strike.

Li Cangming raised his hand expressionlessly, and the Crimson Sun Sacred Flame transformed into a wall of fire before him.

The palm print collided with the fire wall, producing a dull, heavy roar. The fire wall cracked under the force, but the palm print was also incinerated by the flames.

“Is that all—” Before Li Cangming could finish, Wang Hao’s Sixth Palm was already upon him.

Sky-Confining Earth-Covering Palm, Sixth Palm.

Faster, larger, and fiercer than the Fifth. The palm print swelled from a hundred spans to three hundred spans, a platinum light illuminating the entire night sky.

Then came the Seventh Palm.

Sky-Confining Earth-Covering Palm, Seventh Palm.

The palm print expanded from three hundred to five hundred spans, the power of the Annihilation Dao pattern exploding within it, dyeing the whole night sky platinum.

Three palms stacked on top of each other—each one stronger and faster than the last—battering Li Cangming’s Crimson Sun Sacred Flame wall until it trembled violently.

Li Cangming’s pupils narrowed slightly. The power of these three palms exceeded his expectations—a newly ascended Martial God, and yet he could unleash palm strikes on par with a late-stage apex cultivator? No wonder Li Tianxing had been so thoroughly wrecked by him on Tianxu Peak.

But this wasn’t enough.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Li Cangming’s cold voice rang out as he brought his hands together sharply. The Crimson Sun Sacred Flame fire wall abruptly expanded, engulfing all three palm prints. A series of booming sounds came from within the flames—the sound of the palm force being burned away.

“What about adding one sword stroke?” Wang Hao’s voice rose above the roar of the flames.

The Celestial Sword made its move.

Man and blade spirit seized the hilt together, two figures overlapping in midair before unleashing a single slash.

Heaven-Opening Nine Swords, First Sword.

A sword beam condensed to its absolute limit shot from the Celestial Sword’s blade. The beam was only three feet long, but wherever it passed, space silently collapsed—not because of speed, but because the sword’s intent was so powerful that even space could not withstand it.

This sword pierced through the Crimson Sun Sacred Flame wall, stopping only three feet from Li Cangming, blocked by an invisible wall of protective energy.

Li Cangming lowered his eyes and looked at the hair-thin sword scar three feet from his chest. It had genuinely breached the Crimson Sun Sacred Flame’s defense and cut into his protective aura.

Though it had only penetrated half an inch before being shattered by his energy—half an inch was more than anyone had achieved in seven thousand years.

“Excellent swordsmanship.” Li Cangming raised his head, a flicker of seriousness appearing for the first time in his blood-red, flame-filled eyes. “Heaven-Opening Nine Swords—the lost art of the ancient Sword God. It’s been lost for at least eighty thousand years. Where did you learn it?”

“A gift from a white-bearded old man.” Wang Hao grinned. “What, senior Li wants it too? How about this: you kneel down and kowtow to me three times, call me grandpa, and I’ll consider teaching you the first move of the sword.”

Even Li Cangming, a man of profound composure, couldn’t suppress the violent twitch in his blood-red flame-like eyes at the words “kowtow three times.”

He said nothing more. His hands formed seals, and the Crimson Dawn Sacred Flame coalesced before him into nine colossal fire dragons. Each dragon stretched a hundred zhang long, their bodies forged from pure true fire. Every detail—the horns, whiskers, and scales on their heads—was unmistakably clear, as if nine genuine fire dragons had descended upon the world.

“The Nine Dragon Crimson Dawn Seal.” In the assembly hall, Feng Wanli’s voice trembled. “That’s a forbidden technique of the Crimson Dawn Sacred Ground—said to be capable of incinerating nine War Gods simultaneously. And Li Cangming leads with a forbidden art right from the start—”

On the watchtower, Yue Ji said nothing, but a flicker of worry passed through her dull gray eyes. It wasn’t concern for Wang Hao’s life, but fear of how the Dark City would answer to the Central Plains if he perished under the Nine Dragon Crimson Dawn Seal.

In the sky, the nine dragons opened their maws at once, and nine crimson pillars of flame shot toward Wang Hao from every direction. The heat, arriving before the flames themselves, already caused Wang Hao’s imperial robe to smolder. The protective runes on the robe flickered madly, but couldn’t block the penetrating inferno.

Wang Hao took a deep breath. The Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower above his head suddenly expanded, and all nine of its gates swung wide open.

From the first through the seventh floors, they released simultaneously.

Seven streaks of lightning surged out from the tower gates—one a serpentine bolt of lightning, six coiling like lightning pythons, and from the seventh floor came a lightning phoenix wreathed in devastating silver-white thunder. Its wings stretched three hundred zhang, crackling with pure destruction.

The thunder phoenix let out a piercing cry, beating its wings as it charged toward the nine pillars of flame.

Thunder and fire collided in midair with a cataclysmic roar.

Like a tidal wave, the shockwave of lightning and flame swept across the land, shredding and crushing everything in its path. The trap fields outside the Dark City were obliterated instantly. Half the watchtowers toppled, and the disciples on the outer defensive lines scrambled into the corridor tunnels, their screams and wails merging into a single, desperate chorus.