Chapter One: Ye Huang

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Legend has it that six million years ago, in the Battle of the Gods’ Fall, the deities sacrificed themselves to repel the enigmatic horrors from beyond the realm. After that war, the age of gods ended, and for countless ages, no gods remained. The sole divine relic, the Immortal God-Slaying Sword, vanished without a trace...

Lower Five Domains, Heaven Martial Sect, Martial Cliff Peak.

The sprawling mountains stretched endlessly, veiled in mist, their ridges rising sharply like blades cleaving the heavens. The sheer force of their presence seemed to overshadow the entire world. Upon the lofty peaks, countless sword columns encircled the summits, forming innumerable arenas for battle.

There were tens of thousands of these arenas—places for Heaven Martial Sect disciples to spar, to test their skills, and even to settle life-and-death disputes. Amid this grand and imposing scene, a lone, slender figure stood out, standing atop one of the platforms.

It was a youth, his body battered and bloodied, thorns of pain etched into his skin—clearly, he’d just survived a fierce struggle. His torn white robe snapped in the wind, his bright eyes now streaked with blood, and though he gripped a sword in his palm, his gaze was fixed unwaveringly upon his opponent, not daring to relax for even a breath.

"Ye Huang, no matter how stubborn you are, it's futile! Do you still think yourself the genius of old?" sneered the man in the tiger-embroidered robe, glaring at the youth with contempt.

Yet the youth was unmoved. With a flash of cold steel, he lunged forward, but just as his blade neared, a fierce gust struck—his opponent had lashed out with force, sending him flying from the platform.

To be cast from the arena was to lose.

“How many times has this happened now? Aren’t you ashamed to keep showing your face?” jeers erupted from the crowd below, most of them mocking.

The youth was named Ye Huang. Three years ago, he’d been a prodigy without question—now, he was a complete and utter failure.

The tiger-robed man pointed a single finger at Jiang Ling, his tone dripping with disdain. “I’ve advanced to the seventh tier of the Profound Martial Realm. Useless as you are, you’re not fit for Liu Xinyue.”

“Chen Zhan’s reached the seventh tier of Profound Martial Realm!” a commotion rippled through the crowd, first in awe, then, swept along by Chen Zhan’s bravado, turning to angry shouts.

“Trash, leave the Heaven Martial Sect!” For nothing else but that his fiancée was Liu Xinyue—the greatest talent of the sect, a goddess in the hearts of countless disciples. Three years ago, they were a perfect match. Now...

Hearing the ridicule and curses below, Jiang Ling clenched his fists so tightly his nails pierced his flesh.

It all began three years ago. He had been a genius, mastering every martial art at a glance. Yet fate’s whims are cruel. His dantian harbored a strange force that devoured any energy he gathered, leaving his cultivation stagnant at the third tier of the Spirit Martial Realm for three years. He became notorious as a good-for-nothing, forced to watch as those he once defeated surpassed him, one after another.

Chen Zhan, who’d secretly admired Liu Xinyue for years, was kindled with rage and, raising his hand, summoned another blast of force straight at Ye Huang.

But in a flash, that fierce energy was gently dissipated.

“Enough!” rang out a clear, crisp voice, tinged with restrained anger. A subtle fragrance wafted through the air as a young woman approached, her step as graceful as a lotus. She was delicate and charming, her skin as fair as snow, her face unadorned yet striking.

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“Xin... Xinyue?” Chen Zhan faltered upon seeing her. He was not alone—the crowd erupted in startled whispers.

“The goddess Xinyue is here! She’s actually standing up for that useless Ye Huang!” the crowd gasped.

Li Xinyue glanced at Ye Huang. He nodded faintly to assure her he was unhurt, and only then did she turn to Chen Wu, her expression turning cold.

Her tone was calm but brooked no argument: “The duel has been decided. To strike again is to harm a fellow disciple, is it not?” Chen Wu, embarrassed, shook his head repeatedly, swallowing his retort when he saw her frosty gaze. She was, after all, the sect’s brightest jewel—he dared not offend her.

Despite Chen Wu’s retreat, Ye Huang showed no trace of relief, for he knew Liu Xinyue had not intervened for his sake, but only to preserve the reputation of her nominal fiancé. It was not her fault—he was but a shield she had chosen in haste, and now, known as the ‘Heaven Martial’s foremost failure’, her protection today was the limit of her obligation.

“Thank you,” Ye Huang said sincerely. No matter what, she had helped him today, and otherwise he would not know how to face the consequences.

“It’s nothing.” Then, as if recalling something, Li Xinyue turned aside, her tone tinged with apology. “You could have refused, you know.”

Ye Huang smiled in response. “If you were challenged, would you refuse?” His gaze was resolute. “If I ran away, I would have no place left in this sect, and even I would despise myself.”

“But with your strength...” Liu Xinyue’s brows furrowed, but she left the rest unsaid.

Ye Huang’s smile turned bitter. “Consider it the last remnants of a former genius’s pride.” With that, he said no more, sheathed his sword, and left.

Liu Xinyue watched his departing figure, dazed, unsure what she felt. After a moment, she too turned to leave, not sparing Chen Zhan another glance.

Perhaps such proud prodigies as she could never understand his feelings. His fate was no longer his own—his fists were too weak, so others dictated his life.

Lost in thought, Ye Huang arrived at his quarters. In truth, calling it “quarters” was generous—it was little more than a shack of thatch and rotting wood.

With a creak, Jiang Ling pushed open the rickety door. The hut was shabby but spacious enough, with a patch of open ground for training.

He sat cross-legged at once, raising his fingers skyward. Immediately, a powerful surge of profound energy gathered, swirling into a vortex, pouring into his dantian. But just as he sought to condense it—

Bang! A muffled shock.

The energy shattered and scattered, as if confronted by some terrifying unknown, routed and destroyed, then drawn inexorably into his dantian, disappearing without a trace. His cultivation had not advanced a single step.

For three years, he had attempted countless times to gather energy in his dantian, but always failed. His dantian was like a bottomless pit—never satisfied, devouring every last ounce of energy, draining it dry.

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“Damn you, Heaven! Are you mocking me?” He roared skyward, venting all his frustration and unwillingness.

“I refuse to accept this! I can master any technique at a glance, but without energy to wield them, what use is talent?” Ye Huang sighed. Yet after the outburst, his mind calmed again. The scorn of those around him these past years had only hardened his resolve.

He began once more, trying to condense his energy. He was not one to bow to fate. He didn’t know what monster had taken up residence in his dantian, but he would not give up.

Today, Li Xinyue had helped him settle the duel—but what about next time? In the end, his fists were simply not strong enough. Even Chen Wu, whom he once could have defeated ten times over, now lorded over him, even seeking his life. “When the tiger falls to the plain, even dogs dare to bite,” he silently marked this debt.

An eye for an eye—revenge would come, sooner or later!

Three years stuck at the third tier of Spirit Martial Realm—had it not been for this disaster, he was confident he could have reached the Heaven Gang Realm in that time.

On the Profound Sky Continent, the martial path was divided into countless ways, each cultivation realm split into nine tiers: Spirit Martial, Profound Martial, Earth Fiend, Heaven Gang, Tribulation Breaker, Rebirth, King Sealing, and the supreme Saint Realm...

“If I cannot become a mighty martial artist and master my own fate, then I’d rather die!” Ye Huang’s fists clenched until his knuckles cracked.

“You must not die!” A hoarse, ancient voice echoed from the depths of his soul, and at that moment, a strange phenomenon erupted in Ye Huang’s dantian.

In an instant, his organs seemed to ignite, burning with excruciating pain that nearly made him faint.

“Boy, this ancestor has waited millions of years for you,” the voice resounded, carrying a soul-shaking power. In a haze, Ye Huang found himself floating upon a vast, endless ocean, the sun blazing overhead—ten suns circling, scorching the very sky.

“Who’s there?” Ye Huang croaked, but no reply came.

Thunder roared. Above the clouds, the shadow of a mighty dragon appeared and vanished. As Ye Huang stared, awestruck, the five-clawed azure dragon suddenly dived, transforming into a blue sword that shot straight into the center of Ye Huang’s brow.