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The golden screen flickered, and the world watched as the powerhouses of the Cangxuan Realm's Void Transformation stage rushed toward the heart of the Hundred Thousand Mountains.
Each was a sovereign in their own right—some were ancient monsters who had endured countless eras, leaving behind enduring legends. Others were newly risen geniuses who had surged into power like comets, cutting through old forces with unmatched momentum.
Normally aloof and never seen together, they now assembled for a single reason—to glimpse the realm of gods.
Even in the vast heavens and myriad worlds, observers frowned upon seeing this, their hearts filled with unease for Shen Lian.
"This gathering… is not to be taken lightly."
"Though Emperor Lian is strong, he's still too young. Facing these veterans, his lack of experience may cost him dearly."
"But this also proves how extraordinary His Majesty's talent is! In only five years, he has reached a level others spend eons to approach."
"With that brilliance, perhaps this time he will win not by force—but by wit."
"Where is the Little Monkey? We want to see the Little Monkey!"
"So many monsters are descending upon the Hundred Thousand Mountains. The little monkey and his father… might be in real danger."
All across the heavens, cultivators watched the evolving scene with bated breath.
The golden screen played on.
Deep within the Hundred Thousand Mountains, legends gathered.
The Seventh Prince of Dayan.
The Ancient One of Tiangu.
The Drunken Maniac.
The Peerless Sword God.
The Divine Spear Immortal.
The Wisteria Clan.
Marquis Ling Jian…
Powerhouses of the Void Transformation Realm arrived one after another, each taking their place beneath the heavens, gazing down upon the rune-carved passageway below.
Within that passage—lay the fabled divine treasure.
A secret realm that offered a chance to ascend into godhood.
These mighty cultivators, normally stoic and detached, were now visibly burning with desire.
To step into godhood meant casting off the mortal shell, entering an entirely different world.
It meant a lifespan of five thousand years.
An immortal peak state of blood and essence.
Even if one's flesh was destroyed or soul shattered, rebirth was possible with just a single drop of blood.
Who would not crave such transcendence?
Even these paragons of cultivation were no exception.
"Interesting," a cold, mocking voice echoed from within a luxurious carriage adorned with wisteria emblems and flaming wheels. "To think you old monsters would crawl out one by one. And you, the Seventh Prince of Dayan—since when did your proud royal clan descend to wallow in the filth? Could the rumors from within your palace… be true?"
As the voice faded, all other Void Transformation experts turned, frowning toward the wisteria-branded carriage.
"Hmph. Someone who dares not even show their face speaks so freely?" the Peerless Sword God sneered, his gaze sharp enough to split mountains. He stood like an unsheathed divine blade, his aura trembling with pride.
"Wisteria Clan… that elusive family from the ancient past?" an ancient cultivator mused, narrowing his eyes with recognition.
The Seventh Prince, clad in an imperial python robe, gave a cold smile. "So it's you making such noise. I wondered who stirred such a commotion, only to find it's a wandering cur from the ancient era. You mock Dayan? Were it not for my father sweeping the ancient beasts into these mountains, your Wisteria Clan would've perished ages ago. Do you truly think you can rise again, just because the skies are dark?"
His words struck deep, revealing long-buried truths and provoking silent fury.
From within the wisteria-carriage, silence lingered before a venomous voice replied:
"If Emperor Dayan himself had said that, we'd let it pass. But you—merely his seventh son—dare speak of conquest? Your father yet lives, and already you dream of divinity? Are you preparing to usurp the throne?"
Prince Yan Wuliang remained calm. "Were my father in good health, I would naturally serve him without question. But his condition is failing. If I have the strength to reach godhood and lead Dayan, why should I not compete for the throne? In our family, strength determines right. Always has."
Old grudges between both sides resurfaced instantly, their hostility sharp as blades.
"Interesting," the Drunken Maniac muttered, raising his jug and taking a deep swig. His gaze was dazed but faintly amused.
He remained detached from the rising tensions. Even now, with the divine treasure near, his only concerns were wine and spectacle.
Suddenly, a deep, decaying voice emerged from the imposing black sedan chair, borne by four golden warriors.
"Enough, fellow Daoists. The old man will not enter the field first. Let's observe, then discuss how to divide the treasure later."
Silence fell.
All eyes turned to the black sedan chair.
It was him.
The Ancient One of Tiangu.
Even the Drunken Maniac had to refer to him as senior.
His strength was the most unfathomable among them. In ancient times, he had reached the peak of the Ninth Stage of the Void Transformation Realm and once fought Emperor Dayan as an equal.
"Senior Tiangu speaks true," the Peerless Sword God bowed, his once-aloof demeanor subdued.
"Indeed, Senior Tiangu is wise," added the elegant scholar standing on a broken sword.
Yan Wuliang cupped his hands respectfully. "Junior Yan Wuliang greets Senior Tiangu. Some time ago, Father spoke of you as his greatest rival in the Void Realm. Though enemies then, he held you in high regard."
From the sedan chair, a tired chuckle echoed.
"Ashamed. Your father reached godhood and built an empire. I'm still stuck on the path. No need to say more."
He paused.
"Tell me… has Emperor Yan truly reached that stage?"
Yan Wuliang sighed. "I dare not deceive you. Had Father not deteriorated so gravely, how could such news escape the palace?"
Tiangu let out a long sigh of sorrow.
So it was true.
Even such a towering figure, once the unrivaled human sovereign, had finally been broken by time.
In his youth, Yan Nine Heavens defied destiny, subdued the wilds, and built an empire—but the wounds sustained then were never healed. Time had made them fatal.
As the ancient one reflected, he felt not joy, but profound loneliness.
His rival, once the brightest star, was now fading.
Their era had passed.
Only he remained.
If he too failed to grasp godhood, if this chance slipped through his fingers…
He would vanish as well.
"Clear the field," the ancient man whispered.
The battle for the divine treasure was about to begin.
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