Peak Martial God I Beat the Peak Itself

The Demon Lord stood beside Wang Hao, black flames dancing wildly around him. Even his perpetually arrogant face was now etched with gravity:

"Your Majesty, the beings who lay in these four coffins were, in their lifetime, peerless experts who dominated their era. Even as ancient corpses now, nourished by this emperor's formation, their battle strength is in no way inferior to the current pinnacle War Gods!"

"Pinnacle War Gods, so what?" Han Shanyue was drenched in blood, the halberd in his hand letting out a resonant hum. Though his tiger's mouth had already split open, the old soldier's bones held only the frenzy of death before retreat. "Wherever Your Majesty points, this old minister will strike!"

Wang Hao rolled his eyes. You're at the Spiritual Aura Realm—your loyalty is admirable, but don't cause trouble, otherwise you're just walking into the slaughter.

"Han, my dear minister, take all soldiers below the War God Realm and withdraw to the spirit vessel. Stand by to cover our retreat at any moment."

"Your Majesty—"

Han Shanyue tried to say more.

"Go now."

"Sigh... your minister obeys the decree."

"Gahaha! What pure, unadulterated Yin energy!"

A discordant, strange laughter rang out.

The spirit of the new Celestial Sword manifested as a sinister young man draped in black-gold demonic tattoos, carrying the sword blade on his shoulder, licking his lips with undisguised excitement.

It was the perfect embodiment of the darkest, most rabid side of Wang Hao's personality—this environment, this high-pressure battle, did not frighten it in the least. In fact, it was so thrilled it was on the verge of ecstasy.

"Wang Hao, leave one of these four pickled hags to me! I'll chop them into dumpling filling and eat them raw!" the Sword Spirit crowed.

Wang Hao's gaze was deep and unfathomable as system prompts flooded his mind in a torrent.

[Intel update: The first quadrant's four coffins have been unsealed. Inside lie the corpses of four great generals slain in the ancient emperor-fall war. Current cultivation: Pinnacle War God.]

[Weakness noted: The ancient corpses hold only fragmented remnants of consciousness, acting on battle instinct. Their death qi is linked to the emperor's formation, granting extreme defense, but their turning movements are stiff and rigid.]

"So they're just four hired thugs." A cold smirk of disdain curled at the corner of Wang Hao's lips.

"Ji Wushang, I thought you'd deign to step onto the field yourself. But all you've managed is to stay hidden like a turtle in its shell, sending dogs to bite instead."

"To kill you, why would this lord lift a finger?" Ji Wushang raised his hand coldly and pointed at Wang Hao.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The lids of the four bronze ancient coffins exploded outward. Four towering, broad-shouldered figures, clad in tattered primordial heavy armor, rose stiffly from their coffins, standing upright bone by bone.

Their eyes were hollow—no whites, no pupils—only two orbs of burning emerald corpse-fire. As they stood, the very space around them shattered inch by inch. A suffocating, oppressive grandeur, like ten thousand mountains, pressed down upon every soul present.

Sky and sun obscured, the Dao itself seemed to wail in lament.

Such was the legacy of those Pinnacle War Gods of antiquity. Even as mere husks, the fluctuations their physical bodies emitted were enough to make contemporary low-tier War Gods spontaneously combust.

"Kill." Ji Wushang spat out a single syllable.

Boom!

The air burst apart underfoot. The four Pinnacle War God corpses turned into four blurred afterimages, hurtling toward Wang Hao and the others with devastating force!

"Come on!" Wang Hao's eyes blazed with golden light as he refused to give ground. "Demon Lord, Yue Ji—the eight of you hold the two on the left! Sword-aholic, that one on the right is yours. If you retreat even half a step, I'll personally assign you to the royal latrines!"

"Nonsense! The word 'retreat' does not exist in my dictionary!" the Celestial Sword Spirit roared as it charged forward, blade in hand.

As for Wang Hao himself, he finally crushed the void beneath his feet and flew head-on toward the corpse that charged at the front, radiating the most ferocious aura—the peak War God corpse.

"Mere dead things, daring to play the hero before me?"

Wang Hao sneered, exploding outward with the cultivation of a first-layer War God. Nine five-clawed golden dragon phantoms burst from his body, coiling around both arms. An overbearing, peerless imperial pressure somehow withstood the corpse-qi pressure of that Pinnacle War God!

At the depths of the abyss, a cataclysmic battle spanning ten thousand ages erupted into white-hot frenzy.

"Die—"

The Pinnacle War God corpse at the front let out an ancient, gravelly syllable from its throat.

It carried no weapon, merely raised a withered right fist and struck downward at Wang Hao with a single blow.

That fist carried no flashy aura projection, only pure, unrefined physical force and moribund martial intent. Where the fist passed, the void shattered like fragile glass. A spatial crack a thousand zhang long spread from the fist's tip, hurtling straight for Wang Hao's face.

"Solid punch. But just right for testing my new moves."

Wang Hao schemed darkly to himself but didn't choose to block head-on.

Like a phantom, he shifted his body with uncanny grace. In one motion, he seized the nape of the shouting Celestial Sword Spirit's neck—still charging forward like a lunatic—and yanked it in front of him as a shield.

"Goddamn it—Wang Hao, you shameless, bottom-feeding tyrant!"

The Celestial Sword Spirit let loose an ear-piercing shriek. Though it inherited the darkest, most battle-hungry side of Wang Hao, its combat power was currently capped at the pinnacle of Martial Cultivation Realm Level 8. Facing a punch from a Pinnacle War God was nothing short of murder! Then again, at least it was a sinister weapon—it could take the hit.

"CLANG—!!!"

A thunderous metallic clash resounded across the abyss.

The main blade of the Celestial Sword stood horizontally, taking the full force of that punch. The sword body bowed violently, groaning under the strain. The Sword Spirit itself was blasted away like a black comet, slamming deep into the cliff face behind, carving out a crater of immeasurable depth.

"Tsk. Decent quality. Didn't break. If I feed it one of these, it'll even rank up."

Wang Hao used the half-breath of time that momentary block had bought him. In an instant, he had appeared above the ancient corpse.

He was intimately familiar with the shameless philosophy of "better my comrade dies than I." A sword spirit? Honestly, what better use for it than a shield? Why feel sorry for it? Hadn't it been screaming day and night for a fight anyway?

"Pickled corpse, taste my divine thunder punishment!"

A chill burst from Wang Hao's gaze as he raised one hand toward the sky.

"Hum—"

A nine-story ancient pagoda wreathed in violet-black lightning materialized above the abyss—the artifact known as the Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower, ranked number 56 among sinister relics!

The moment the tower appeared, the corpse-qi-filled dome of the ten-thousand-blood abyss was swallowed whole by an endless expanse of thunderclouds.

This was a thing of extreme Yang and pure righteousness—made specifically to counter evil aura and corpse-qi.

"Open for me!"

Wang Hao poured every ounce of his War God aura into the Thunder Abyss Demon-Suppressing Tower without hestitation. He didn't hesitate—he immediately activated the most powerful attack he currently commanded.

The eighth floor's gate crashed open!

"SCREEE—!"

A phoenix's cry cut through metal and stone, shaking heaven and earth. Endless silver-blue lightning coalesced in the void, forming a thunder phoenix a thousand zhang long. The lightning phoenix spread its wings, sweeping away all the corpse-mist in the abyss with its cataclysmic thunder might, slamming directly into the War God corpse's back.

"BOOM-BOOM-BOOOM!!!"

Violent thunder shattered around the ancient corpse, blowing apart its ragged primordial heavy armor into eternal fragments. Vast patches of withered flesh were scorched black by the lightning.

Yet the toughness of that Pinnacle War God husk borders beyond the imagination. Even after such a devastating hit, it merely dropped to one knee—only to suddenly jerk its head up and spit a rancid stream of corpse-fluid, morphing into a poison arrow aimed straight at Wang Hao in midair.

"So it can take that much? Then let's add some more spice!"

Wang Hao remained utterly unfazed, a trace of mocking amusement even tugging at the corner of his lips.

He pointed a finger, and the ninth-floor gate at the very top of the Thundersource Demon-Suppressing Tower slowly creaked open a crack with a heavy, rumbling boom.

The ninth floor corresponded to the full-force strike of the ninth realm of martial arts—the pinnacle of the Martial God stage!

“ROAR—!”

This time, it was no phoenix cry, but the furious dragon’s bellow of the Nine Heavens Tribulation Thunder!

A massive lightning dragon, thick as a water barrel and tinged with an eerie violet hue, burst forth from the ninth-floor gate. Within that violet lightning lurked a sliver of the heavens’ destructive aura. The moment it appeared, even Ji Wushang in the distance furrowed his brow slightly.

The violet lightning dragon locked onto the ancient corpse, opened its thunderous maw, and sank its jaws into the corpse’s head!

“BOOM!!!”

Lightning engulfed half the abyss.

The pinnacle Martial God corpse let out an inhuman shriek, its entire upper body scorched black by the annihilating force within the violet lightning. Half its shoulder shattered outright into bone fragments, and its aura instantly withered by a full three-tenths.

Meanwhile, the battle on the other side—Demon Lord and his eight companions—was turning gruesome.

Demon Lord manifested a towering demonic shadow ten thousand zhang tall, while Yue Ji and the others unleashed their respective arts, furiously trading blows with an ancient corpse wielding a broken war spear. Every exchange was a life-for-life gamble. Though Demon Lord’s black flames could erode the corpse energy, the absolute gap in accumulated cultivation meant he was being crushed, with several gaping holes now torn through his demonic body.

“BOOM!”

At that moment, the Celestial Sword Spirit, having clawed itself out of the stone-wall pit, charged in with bloodshot eyes and a face twisted in frenzy, hurtling toward the corpse that had been attacking Han Shanyue.

“Daring to use this lord as a shield! This lord will chop you to pieces, you damned old husk, just to vent!” The Sword Spirit dared not curse Wang Hao, so it poured all its pent-up fury onto the ancient corpse. Its sword qi erupted into a black storm, forcibly blocking a fatal blow that would have struck Han Shanyue.

Wang Hao took in the entire scene at a glance, his eyes glinting with sharp calculation.

“Four pinnacle Martial God corpses—wearing them down won’t work. This has to end fast.”

His gaze turned cold and ruthless as it locked onto the lightning-crippled corpse below. He drew a deep breath, and the imperial dragon qi within him began cycling along with his Martial God true power in an extraordinarily profound pattern.

“Striking while the dog is down—that’s a specialty of mine.”

Wang Hao sneered, his body plummeting like a meteor from the sky. A terrifying palm intent, capable of sealing heaven and earth and overturning seas, swiftly took shape in his palm.

In the skies above the Myriad Abyss, the big shots of the sixteen sacred lands of the Central Continent, who had been spying on this battle through water-mirror sorcery, had utterly lost their composure.

“Th-this... how is this possible?!”

The Sacred Master of the Mystic Empyrean Sacred Land shot to his feet, staring fixedly at the overbearing figure in the mirror, his voice trembling:

“He’s only just stepped into the Martial God realm—the first layer, no less! Those are ancient pinnacle Martial God corpses, their bodies impervious to all techniques, and he’s actually beating one down? Exactly what level of treasure is that lightning tower?”

“It’s not just the tower—look at his aura! There’s something wrong with his cultivation method!” White Void True Man of the Heavenly Wheel Sacred Land wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes brimming with envy and shock. “The depth of his true qi is like a vast ocean—it doesn’t resemble the foundation of a starting Martial God at all!”

What they didn’t know was that behind Wang Hao’s seemingly reckless barrage lay a perfect coordination between his system and his calculating, scheming mind.

At the bottom of the abyss.

[System Notice: The corpse’s regenerative power originates from the death-qi nourishment of the nine-coffin altar beneath its feet. Sever its connection between both feet and the ground to break its undying body!]

“So that’s it—cut off the network, and watch its health bar fail to download.”

Wang Hao sneered inwardly. His body halted mid-air, and blinding golden light erupted from between his palms like a blazing sun.

God-tier martial technique, Heaven-Sealing Earth-Encompassing Palm!

“First palm: Seal the Heavens!”

Wang Hao pressed down with one hand. The void above the abyss collapsed with a cataclysmic roar as a monstrous golden palm, a thousand zhang across, materialized out of thin air, carrying the momentum of suppressing all creation as it slammed viciously onto the corpse whose shoulder had already been blown apart by violet lightning.

The corpse howled. Its remaining left arm erupted with towering corpse qi as it punched upward at the golden palm in the sky.

“BOOM!”

Palm and fist clashed, shredding the void like paper. The corpse reeled back half a step—but somehow, it had withstood the blow.

“Heh, has some strength. But this emperor’s martial technique has never played by the rules.” A shameless grin curved across Wang Hao’s lips.

The Heaven-Sealing Earth-Encompassing Palm consisted of nine strikes in total, each one stacking power upon the last. Once all nine landed in succession, the combined force multiplied geometrically—enough to squash even a mid-stage Martial God into paste in an instant! And right now, Wang Hao intended to pour the entire power of all nine strikes into one stationary target that didn’t know how to dodge.

“Second palm! Third palm! Fourth palm!”

Wang Hao gave the corpse not a single breath of respite. His hands became blurs.

Three ever-larger, ever more solid golden palm prints cascaded down like an overturned galaxy, slamming down in endless succession.