Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation

Four Warrior Gods from the Crimson Firmament Holy Land held the east, three from Heavenly Sword Mountain controlled the southeast, and four from the Myriad Laws Holy Sect dominated the south—a total of forty Warrior Gods, positioned according to the sixteen holy lands, had laid out a massive formation in the night sky covering tens of miles in radius.

Forty auras wove together into an impenetrable net. Eight hundred cultivators at the Imperial Flight realm simultaneously released their protective energies, pouring their strength into the formation.

Sixteen array patterns of different colors appeared in the sky, each representing the inherited power of a holy land.

Crimson Firmament Sacred Fire was yang; Azure Nether Cold Spring was yin. The sword intent of Heavenly Sword Mountain was the edge; the dao magic of Myriad Laws Holy Sect formed the backbone. Sixteen forces converged and fused within the formation, ultimately condensing into a massive circular array wheel. The wheel rotated slowly, and with each turn, the oppressive pressure increased.

"The Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation," Demon Lord said, his pupils, like black whirlpools, contracting sharply. For the first time, a tremor crept into his voice. "Seven thousand years ago, they used this very formation to execute Luo Wuji."

A flicker of deep fear crossed the death-gray eyes of Yue Ji. She had lived a thousand years, hearing only legends of this formation, never witnessing it with her own eyes. Legend held that this formation could perfectly fuse the powers of sixteen Warrior Gods, unleashing a terror that surpassed the peak of the Warrior God realm—power approaching the quasi-sage level.

High above, Wang Hao felt that power.

This was not his first time facing a formidable enemy—the joint siege of eight Warrior Gods and Demon Gods at Tianxu Peak, or the full-force strike of Shadow's Dark Demon Form in Black Wind Valley, none had ever pressed upon him this suffocating weight.

The pressure of the Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation was not mere suppression of cultivation; it was systemic suppression of "dao." Sixteen different "daos" interwove into a seamless net, sealing off all surrounding natural spiritual energy.

He could not absorb spiritual energy to replenish his protective energy. He could not borrow the power of heaven and earth to strengthen his palm techniques. Even his divine sense was confined within the ten feet around him, unable to perceive any weakness in the formation.

This was the Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation—it did not rely on brute strength but used "dao" to crush its opponent.

"Wang Hao," Li Cangming spoke from the array eye position, his blood-colored flame eyes devoid of any emotion. "The cost of activating this formation is immense. For every quarter-hour it runs, resources worth a billion spirit stones are consumed. So I am giving you one last chance—leave the Dark City, seal your own cultivation, and follow me back to the Central Dominion to confess your crimes."

Wang Hao tightened his grip on the Heavenly Sword, lifted his head to gaze at the colossal array wheel that blotted out the sky, and his smile carried a note of gravity.

"Elder Li, I have a question."

"Speak."

"Was this formation designed by you?"

Li Cangming frowned slightly. "What of it?"

"Then that's easy." Wang Hao nodded, then lowered his head to speak to the Heavenly Sword. "Sword-bitch, the array eye is Li Cangming. I'll open a path for you. Go and cut him down."

The Heavenly Sword was silent for three full breaths.

It did not hum with excitement as before, nor did it speak those arrogant words. It simply remained silent for three breaths, then uttered something that caught Wang Hao off guard.

"Can't kill him."

Three words, spoken calmly. But Wang Hao heard in them an emotion he had never sensed from the Heavenly Sword before—reluctant defiance.

"Li Cangming is half-step transcended, a full major realm above me. My sword intent can indeed counter any sword technique in the world, but Li Cangming does not use a sword—he uses Crimson Firmament Sacred Fire. Fire overcomes metal; by inherent principle, my combat strength is reduced by thirty percent."

"He stands at the array eye, backed by thirty-nine Warrior Gods and eight hundred Imperial Flight cultivators supplying him with endless power. Even if I give everything to strike my strongest blow, it could at most pierce his body armor and barely wound him. It would not damage his dao foundation."

"I can hold him off for thirty breaths," the Heavenly Sword said, a note of frustration creeping in. "Within those thirty breaths, you must find a way to break the formation. If you can't—"

It did not finish.

But Wang Hao understood.

If he could not break it, he would die.

Wang Hao took a deep breath and held the Heavenly Sword before him. His hands were steady, the blade without a quiver; his heartbeat remained calm, his breathing even. His face could even still hold that bright smile.

But only he knew that an icy chill ran down his back.

Forty Warrior Gods. The Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation. A half-step transcended cultivator at the array eye—this was the strongest lineup he had faced since his rebirth. The joint siege of eight Warrior Gods at Tianxu Peak was child's play compared to this.

"Great-grandfather," he spoke softly.

From the void, a gray shadow appeared silently behind him. It was Wang Wudi, originally Wang Hao's hidden ace. But the gap was too great now. At least their target was him. The Great Xia still had at least one Warrior God guarding it—his two unborn children would be safe.

"Great-grandson."

"Send word of what's happening here back to the Eastern Wasteland. Tell the Duke of Britain and Wei Zhongxian to pull the army back; withdraw at full speed into Eastern Wasteland territory. Tell the cabinet and the six ministers at court to activate the highest war alert. All cities must raise their defensive arrays. Spend all the spiritual stone reserves—defend the Eastern Wasteland's borders no matter the cost."

"Inform all generals above the Imperial Flight realm: from this moment on, the Eastern Wasteland is in a state of war. The enemy is not the demon tribes—it is the sixteen holy lands of the Central Dominion."

Wang Wudi's body quivered slightly, but he steadied himself quickly. "Understood."

Wang Wudi had always been fiercely proud, but he knew this was no time for blind stubbornness.

"One more thing." Wang Hao lowered his voice further. "If I do not return, the throne shall pass to—Great-grandfather, act as regent. When my two unborn children are born, whichever shows the most aptitude shall inherit."

"Tell him to remember my rule—the Eastern Wasteland may kneel to survive, but it must not kneel to die. If those from the Central Dominion demand he disband the Eastern Wasteland, let him agree first—he can wait until I return."

"Great-grandson—"

"Go."

Wang Wudi grit his teeth, and his form vanished into the void.

Wang Hao raised his head again to face the Sixteen Heavenly Net Formation in the sky.

The array wheel had completed three full rotations. The pressure was now at least thirty percent stronger than before. Fine cracks were beginning to appear on his imperial robes under the crushing force. The golden glow of his nation-protecting providence flickered violently, each breath consuming massive amounts of national fate energy.

"Wang Hao," the Heavenly Sword suddenly spoke. "There's something I never told you."

"What is it?"

"After I took human form, I gained an additional ability." The sword's voice carried a reluctant tone. "I can devour souls. The more I devour, the stronger my combat power. But each time, the residual consciousness of the devoured target pollutes my personality, so I prefer not to use it."

Wang Hao froze for a moment, then a flash of understanding crossed his face. "So those sarcastic, off-kilter remarks you make—besides coming from my dark side, there's also junk you've eaten?"

"No." The sword's tone was dead serious. "Those are entirely my own thoughts. I just genuinely despise these old bastards."

"Then what do you mean by pollution?"

"It means I'd become even more venomous in my speech."

Wang Hao fell silent.

A moment later, he pulled three items from his sleeve—Shadow Guard equipment seized from the Battle of Black Wind Valley, including Shadow's own cursed artifact, "Dark Annihilation."

"Eat."

On the blade of the Heavenly Sword, a phantom mouth materialized and swallowed Dark Annihilation in one gulp. A piercing shriek erupted from the artifact, but it lasted only half a breath before being abruptly cut off. A faint emerald-green pattern briefly appeared on the sword's edge before being consumed by golden light and vanishing without a trace.

Wang Hao did not hesitate. Quickly retrieving fifty sets of standard Shadow Guard gear from his storage ring—flying daggers, bone blades, armor, and formation disks—he fed them one by one into the Heavenly Sword.

With each item it devoured, the Heavenly Sword's aura grew stronger. By the thirty-seventh piece, the golden radiance on its blade had become so intense that it flowed like liquid gold across the surface.

Watching the sword consume ravenously, Wang Hao silently calculated the gap in combat power.

From the early stage of Martial God to the half-step Transcendence—a full major realm stood between him and victory.

After devouring all the equipment, the Heavenly Sword's power barely reached the late Martial God stage. With the enhancement of the Annihilation Dao Mark, it could hold its own against Li Cangming for about thirty seconds in a direct confrontation.

The Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower still had enough energy for two full-powered strikes at the Ninth Realm, enough to disrupt coordinated attacks from other Martial Gods at crucial moments. The Nation's Fortune Protection could still neutralize one full-force strike from a peak Martial God.

Was it enough?

No.

Forty Martial Gods and eight hundred Imperial Sky Realm cultivators—a lineup capable of crushing most of the continent. He could never win alone. Even stalling for time was useless—the eight faction leaders of Dark City could betray him at any moment, the demon clan had already broken their oath, and the Eastern Wasteland army was still retreating.

No reinforcements. No retreat. No chance of victory.

This was his reality.

The Heavenly Sword swallowed the last piece of equipment, its aura reaching an unprecedented peak.

It let out a loud, satisfied belch and then spoke: "Wang Hao, I've made up my mind."

"About what?"

"If I'm going to die here today, I want it to be with style," the Heavenly Sword said, its tone serious. "When the fight starts, I'll slice off Li Cangming's beard first, then torch Jian Wuchen's robe, and finally smash Chilian Xianzi's alchemy cauldron. Before I go down, I'll stomp every bit of face these old bastards have left into the dirt."

Wang Hao couldn't help but laugh. The tension of facing certain death eased a little at the sword's words.

"Fine. I'll be right there with you."

In the sky, the Sixteen Celestial Snare Array finally stopped spinning.

The formation was complete—a colossal circular array spanning fifty li, its disk woven from sixteen different colors of Dao Marks, each radiating an aura comparable to a peak Martial God.

At the center of the array, Li Cangming clasped his hands in a seal. The Chixiao Sacred Flame around him transformed into nine hundred-foot fire dragons, coiling and wheeling to guard the formation's heart without a gap.

"Wang Hao, I'll ask you one last time," Li Cangming's voice emerged from the array, every word carrying overwhelming force. "Will you retreat, or not?"

Wang Hao gave no answer. He looked down at Dark City below.

Under the oppressive might of the Sixteen Celestial Snare Array, the Eternal Night Barrier's eerie green glow had dimmed to near invisibility. The city's streets were packed with terrified crowds. Three million people looked up at the sky-covering formation, despair etched into every face.

He saw those faces.

They weren't his subjects. He had only annexed Dark City yesterday and had yet to truly hold their fates in his hands. Yet, in this moment, the lives of three million people hung on his choice alone.

If he retreated, Dark City would return to the Eight Alliance. Those three million might not die under that banner, but they would forever become vassals of the Central Continent Holy Lands, generations living in their shadow.

If he didn't retreat, he might die—but their fate might take another path.

He also saw the complex expressions of the eight faction leaders in the council hall.

The Demon Lord's vortex-like eyes burned with reluctance—after three hundred years in seclusion, he had emerged only to face his city's doom.

Yue Ji's dead-gray eyes betrayed nothing, but her fingers wouldn't stop trembling. Xue Wuhen's chest still ached from the palm strike, but now his fury was directed not at Wang Hao but at the Holy Land Martial Gods in the sky who saw them as nothing more than ants.

Feng Wanli's fists were clenched tight, his aged face ashen. Ghost Granny's ten pitch-black nails dug deeply into her stone armrest's grain. Yin Jiuyou's form flickered, his surrounding aura more chaotic than ever before.

They had been defeated by Wang Hao—but the man who defeated them at least offered a path to survival.

Those in the sky only offered death.