Chapter 124: A Crimson Line Across the Sky
The silence that followed was deafening.
The Golden Jiao Bone Scissor hovered mid-air, gleaming with an eerie brilliance. All around, the battlefield stood still—frozen not by time, but by awe.
Everyone had seen it.
That single, ruthless strike.
A line of crimson had slashed across the Nine-Headed Golden Lion's neck, blood flowing like a stream of molten gold, sizzling as it hit the ground. The divine beast—once majestic, now staggering—wobbled as if drunk, its nine heads swaying wildly, some roaring, others eerily silent.
Shi Hao stood in place, breathing slowly, eyes calm as a still lake.
He didn't celebrate. He didn't smile.
Because he knew—it wasn't over yet.
The Nine-Headed Golden Lion wasn't dead. Not yet.
Its blood burned like fire, and with it, its rage ignited. Golden flames erupted from the wounds, as if trying to cauterize the gash. A terrifying energy storm began to rise. The beast's divine bloodline, provoked to its limits, was awakening something ancient and forbidden.
"Shi Hao...!"
The voice was no longer a roar but a low, guttural growl—a blend of rage, pain, and desperation. The Nine-Headed Golden Lion's eyes turned a deep, blazing red, each head chanting different incantations in ancient tongue.
A blood ritual.
The sky darkened instantly. Clouds twisted. Thunder snarled like beasts above. Then, without warning—
A phantom descended.
Vast and indistinct, it towered above everything, a translucent image of a primordial golden lion, hundreds of meters tall, its nine heads raised toward the heavens. It was an ancestral soul. A remnant of the Lion Clan's most ancient forefather.
Shi Hao squinted.
"So… you're calling for backup."
His voice was calm, even amused.
The onlookers below trembled. Some had already taken to the skies, fleeing. Others couldn't move, rooted by the sheer weight of divine power in the air.
"That's a Soul Manifestation!" someone screamed. "That's no longer a fight between juniors—this is clan legacy-level warfare!"
But Shi Hao didn't budge.
Instead, he stepped forward, lightly, his foot pressing into the blood-soaked grass.
Then came a sound—clang—as he slowly lifted his right arm.
The Golden Jiao Bone Scissor responded, circling him once before resting in his palm. The treasure still dripped with divine blood, steaming in the cold, charged air.
Then, behind Shi Hao—
A shadow emerged.
It wasn't a phantom.
It wasn't a projection.
It was his own Soul Manifestation.
Not a beast.
Not a divine creature.
But a figure—radiant and tall, wrapped in celestial flames, eyes closed as if meditating, its arms crossed, each hand gripping a weapon. A sword and a hammer. Two ancient weapons from two separate eras—somehow united within Shi Hao's bloodline.
The ground cracked.
The sky split.
And then—both ancestral figures moved.
The phantom lion charged down with the fury of ten thousand storms. Each of its nine mouths howled curses that shook the soul.
But Shi Hao's avatar stepped forward, raising the sword in its left hand. The moment it did, space fractured—literally. Fracture lines zigzagged in every direction like broken glass across the heavens.
Then came the clash.
BOOM.
An explosion louder than thunder, more ancient than any chant. Light and darkness collided. The battlefield vanished in white.
For a full minute, nothing could be seen.
When the light faded—
The phantom lion had vanished.
Scattered, dissolved, its divine soul burned out.
And there, in the middle of a smoking crater, lay the Nine-Headed Golden Lion.
Its eyes—dim.
Its breath—shallow.
Eight of its heads lay limp, unmoving. Only one—barely conscious—watched Shi Hao with a look that was half resentment, half surrender.
Shi Hao approached.
He didn't raise his scissor again. He didn't need to.
"You fought well," he said softly. "But this isn't your story."
The lion didn't respond.
Instead, it closed its eyes.
Whether in shame or in peace—no one could tell.
And just like that, the battle ended.
Outside the field, the crowd fell silent.
Some couldn't believe what they had just witnessed.
Others were already spreading the tale—of how the Human Clan youth, with a body forged like a divine artifact, had crushed a golden lion of the ancient bloodline with bare hands, spirit, and two borrowed treasures.
But amidst the noise, Shi Hao walked away.
No pride. No arrogance.
Just hunger.
Because fighting made him hungry.
And right now, he was starving.