The Roar of the Evil Dragon

The Archon's spine turned icy at this moment.

His entire body trembled in terror.

Only now did he realize—

the man before him was not just the nightmare of Great Xia, but his own as well.

"You... how dare you lay hands on me?"

"I am the Archon of the Western Continent!"

Zhang Bowen patted his cheek with his left hand and chuckled,

"I was just checking your heart."

"Don’t get angry so easily. Traditional medicine says rage is bad for the heart."

With that, he slowly withdrew his right hand.

A forceful flick sent the blood splattering across the conference room walls.

The Western Continent’s Archon clutched the wound on his chest in horror,

slumping weakly to the floor.

For a moment, he had felt death breathing down his neck.

Zhang Bowen turned to the Martial Sages, baring two rows of pristine white teeth in a grin.

His smile grew even brighter.

"Well? Are you fighting or not?"

"If you’re going to, hurry up!"

"I’d love to test how much of my strength has recovered."

The tension in the room thickened to suffocating levels.

The oppressive aura of the Martial Sages reached its peak,

as if a cataclysmic battle could erupt at any second.

In the conference hall, including Zhang Bowen, there were eighteen Martial Sages in total.

Among the sixteen who had risen to their feet, two were refugees from the Eastern Islands.

One remained seated—

a Martial Sage who had emigrated from Great Xia,

and the reigning champion of the last World Martial Arts Tournament.

Now, this Martial Sage stood with a placating smile.

"A minor misunderstanding, everyone. We’re all on the same side."

"Let’s sit down and discuss this calmly."

The Western Continent’s Archon staggered to his feet, his voice frail.

"I’m fine! No need for alarm."

He was the one most terrified of a fight breaking out.

As a mere Martial Venerable,

if these Sages clashed, he had no idea whether Zhang Bowen would die—

but he certainly wouldn’t survive.

The Archons of the Southern and Northern Continents also hurriedly intervened.

"Our greatest enemy is Great Xia."

"Infighting benefits none of us."

The sixteen Martial Sages glared at Zhang Bowen.

After a long silence, one finally sat down, and the others reluctantly followed.

These Sages were all elders nearing a century of life.

They knew better than anyone—

even if they killed Zhang Bowen now, it would gain them nothing.

And his strength was unfathomable.

No one could be certain of the outcome.

If Zhang Bowen had some means of escaping, the consequences would be dire.

"You had me worried for a second!"

"I really thought you’d throw down!"

"Hahaha—"

Zhang Bowen’s laughter boomed through the room.

The sixteen Martial Sages felt their blood pressure spike again,

but they could only grit their teeth and endure.

The more casually Zhang Bowen treated them, the more they feared him.

In the end, it was the Great Xia emigrant Sage who played mediator.

"Master Bowen, what do you propose we do next?"

Outwardly,

Zhang Bowen was the youngest-looking person present.

He appeared no older than eighteen or nineteen.

The youngest in the room was at least in his sixties.

Yet everyone knew the truth—

the oldest among them was this seemingly youthful man.

A three-hundred-year-old monster.

The Northern Continent’s Archon spoke up.

"According to intelligence, Great Xia has replaced the head of their Martial Arts Guild."

"Moreover, the Eight Great Clans are preparing to move against you."

"Perhaps we should focus on defense."

Zhang Bowen nodded.

"The best defense is a strong offense."

"I’ll wait for them right here."

"But with all of you present, they won’t dare act recklessly."

"So you should all return home—give them the chance to come for me."

"When they attack, you lead your forces straight into Great Xia’s Sacred Capital."

"Give them a little... surprise."

The room fell into uneasy silence.

No one understood Zhang Bowen’s motives,

but the plan was undeniably effective.

Using him as bait to weaken Great Xia’s power.

---

Sacred Capital.

Martial Arts Guild Headquarters, Conference Room.

Liu Shen had reclaimed his position as Guildmaster.

Last time, he had been a proud Martial Venerable.

Now, his hair was white, and his cultivation had reached the Sage realm.

Seated at the head of the table, representing the Liu Clan, he listened as representatives of the Seven Great Clans voiced their concerns.

"A pity we failed to eliminate Zhang Bowen back then. Now he’s become a scourge."

"Martial arts are the foundation of Great Xia. We cannot allow him to spread techniques freely."

"If the other three continents grow stronger, Great Xia is doomed."

"Zhang Bowen is cunning. He’s likely anticipated our response and prepared countermeasures."

Among the Eight Great Clans, only the Wang Clan opposed immediate action.

Everyone understood the unspoken motives—

if their clan’s techniques were leaked,

their interests would be the first to suffer.

The Wang Clan, however, cared little.

Their Tai Chi had long been public knowledge.

Easy to learn, but mastery was painstakingly slow.

In stark contrast was the Wei Clan’s Sunflower Manual.

Aside from the... initial sacrifice,

it accelerated qi cultivation at an unprecedented rate—a shortcut to power.

But mastering its techniques required grueling practice.

By spreading the Sunflower Manual, Zhang Bowen was forcing their hand.

Once the others had spoken, Liu Shen finally interjected.

"Li Kong has also ascended to Sagehood."

"Currently, Great Xia has only fourteen known Martial Sages."

"Intel suggests the other three continents have eighteen combined."

"Killing Zhang Bowen won’t be easy."

"We need the right opportunity."

The room fell silent.

Even these elites of Great Xia were at a loss.

---

As the New Year approached,

Chen Feng planned to revisit the Kunlun Mountains after the holidays.

He hoped to retrieve martial techniques from the forest of inscribed stelae—

provided they didn’t overlap with the Eight Clans’ core methods.

He would use them to expand his Chosen Martial Hall.

As a hero of Great Xia,

Chen Feng was invited to the Spring Festival Gala.

He had tried to decline,

but his refusal was no match for the persuaders.

In the end, he performed an awkwardly wholesome skit with Jin Youxi and Liu Weiwei.

The script was written for him, his lines coached, and applause guaranteed—

no matter how poorly he acted.

To Chen Feng, it was trivial.

But to some, the sight of master and disciples laughing onstage was a knife to the heart.

---

Jiang City.

New Year’s Eve.

Xiao Ruohan’s hair had turned white.

Her sunken, bloodshot eyes fixated on Chen Feng’s image on TV.

A surge of hatred twisted her words into a guttural snarl.

"Chen... Feng!"

In the next instant, she channeled all her fury into her palm.

With a roar, a shadowy black dragon erupted from her strike—

Wrathful Dragon’s Howl!

The spectral beast lunged at the television,

shattering it into pieces.