The fate line is not ordinary—it is a rare bond that weaves three souls together. Once formed, it cannot be cut. Only if all three step into the Dao stage can the line be severed.
After learning this truth, the three resign themselves to fate. Lin Yu and Cai Liyun resume the double cultivation technique, drawing strength from their bond, while Wen Xinya also shares in the connection through the fate line.
Days pass, and they finally approach the mountain at the centre of the secret land. There, Cai Liyun and Wen Xinya ascend the slopes, regaining their true Immortal Emperor cultivation. For Lin Yu, stepping onto the mountain would be suicide—anyone who dares to climb the mountain could crush him with ease.
Instead, he hides at the mountain's base, focusing wholly on cultivation. This is his only chance—once he leaves the secret land, his cultivation will be sealed again.
Several days later, he feels the shift. The time has come to leave the secret space. Emerging from his hiding place, Lin Yu sees a massive hole tearing open in the sky, golden light pouring down. The light seizes him, pulling him upward.
Cai Liyun appears beside him, and once more they are enclosed in a golden bubble. Hundreds of figures rise with them, carried into the void.
The next moment, Lin Yu lands hard on the flying boat he came with. The bright sunlit sky suddenly darkens, laughter echoing across the heavens as space rips apart. From the void, a massive fleet of flying ships emerges, blotting out the horizon.
Lin Yu's face stiffens as the stench of blood and decay fills the air. He murmurs, "Ancient Divine Race."
Above the enemy fleet, a man steps forward, his presence swallowing all light. Lin Yu only spares him a single glance before bowing his head, blood seeping from his eyes. The mere sight of the man tears at his soul. The oppressive aura presses into his mind, as if he is being drawn into the man's essence, assimilated without resistance.
Cai Liyun's voice cuts through the suffocating pressure. "He's not controlling his Dao Fruit?" She quickly averts her gaze, her expression tense.
Though her cultivation stands only a step away from the Dao stage, that step is an unbridgeable abyss. Compared to an ordinary Immortal Emperor, the gap is even greater. A Dao stage cultivator can assimilate a small world simply by releasing their Dao aura.
For Lin Yu, the danger is unimaginable. With two great realms separating him from the Dao stage, even a moment's gaze risks complete assimilation. His only option is to lower his head and suppress his trembling body, praying that the Dao cultivator's attention does not linger on him.
The next moment, the suffocating oppression fades as another Dao stage cultivator descends onto the field. His aura is sharp yet restrained, steadying the hearts of those beneath it.
Cai Liyun's eyes narrow as recognition flashes. "Gu Jin… from the Ancient Sword Sect."
Lin Yu risks a glance and feels relief—Gu Jin's Dao Fruit is firmly suppressed, his aura controlled. Unlike before, Lin Yu does not feel the threat of assimilation gnawing at his soul.
High above, Gu Jin and the Ancient Divine Race's Dao cultivator lock gazes. Their presences collide, an invisible clash that warps the very air. The sea below churns violently, flying boats trembling as an oppressive breath spreads across the battlefield.
All around, their fleet scrambles into formation, but the truth is clear. Their flying boats were built for travel, not war, and the enemy's massive fleet bristles with weapons designed for slaughter. Worse still, the enemy's numbers far outstrip their own.
Amidst the tension, a steady voice enters every cultivator's mind, firm and unyielding. "Everyone must hold on… until reinforcements arrive."
The next moment, the two Dao stage cultivators vanish from sight, their auras exploding beyond the world's edge. Their battle shakes the void itself, unreachable to those below.
The two fleets face each other, silence breaking as the enemy's massive warships surge forward. Their prows glow with deadly arrays, each one brimming with destruction.
An immortal emperor from the Ancient Sword Sect rises from his vessel, his sword radiating endless sharpness. "We cannot fight them trapped in our fleet. We strike first!"
Cai Liyun's eyes flash with thought, then resolve. Her black flames erupt, and she soars into the sky. In answer, the other immortal emperors rise, their auras like mountains splitting the sea. With a single wave, they charge toward the oncoming fleet.
Behind them, immortal kings burst upward, their laws colliding like storms. At the rear, Lin Yu and the immortal lords surge into the chaos, their speed dragging the weaker cultivators into the tide of battle.
Before Lin Yu, countless lights of law bloom, dazzling and deadly. He summons his Storm Law, thunder swirling into violent winds. All around, spiritual energy twists into chaos as cultivators wrestle for control, forcing the heavens themselves into disorder.
War erupts. Flying ships explode like firecrackers as spells, blades, and thunder tear through them. Cultivators from both sides clash in midair, bodies breaking into dust under the force of law.
The sea below roars, then vanishes—vaporised under the weight of their battle. The battlefield becomes a wasteland of shattered waves and empty seabed.
Above, the sky turns dark as countless thunder laws awaken. Red, blue, green, violet—multicoloured bolts rip through the firmament, forged by cultivators who had just emerged from the secret realm. They pour everything into the fight, twisting spiritual energy into thunder to carve a chance of survival.
The world itself groans as thunder covers heaven and earth, and the true war begins.
Lin Yu roars as black lightning erupts across his body, forming a jagged armour of thunder that clings to his frame like a second skin. Each step he takes shatters the seabed beneath him, his storm-like aura clashing against the chaos around.
He raises his hands, channelling the three thunders that churn violently within him. Green wooden thunder arcs through his fingers, pulsing with life and growth. Black nether thunder snarls like a beast, devouring the very light around it. Grey shadow thunder coils silently, its edges fraying like mist, cutting into reality itself.
The three bolts bloom in his palm, unstable and destructive. He thrusts forward, the clash of colours exploding into his opponent's chest, tearing through layers of defence. The man screams, half his body dissolving under the unnatural fusion before retreating into the chaos.
Lin Yu pants, his body trembling under the strain. The three thunders resist one another, refusing harmony, yet he forces them tighter, inch by inch. In the storm of battle, there is no time for perfection—only survival.
Another enemy lunges, blade wreathed in golden thunder. Lin Yu meets him head-on, armour crackling as his strike collides. His three-colored thunder bursts again, mangling the foe's arm and hurling him back into the sea of clashing cultivators.
Though he cannot always kill, every clash leaves his enemies scarred, bleeding, or broken.
Amidst the chaos, his green, black, and grey thunder blooms again and again, a storm tearing holes in the battlefield.
Yet Lin Yu's gaze sharpens as he notices more of his teammates crashing into the ocean below, their bodies unconscious but not dead.
Immortal stage cultivators are hard to kill outright, but when their energy is drained and wounds pile high, their bodies give out, casting them from the sky like broken stars.
They are losing. Outnumbered, their fleet buckling under the weight of the enemy's advance, every breath Lin Yu takes tastes of desperation. From the fate line threading his soul, he feels Cai Liyun's iron-hard anxiety and Wen Xinya's barely concealed fear, their emotions twisting into him as though they were his own.
Three enemy cultivators descend on him at once, blades and thunder tearing apart the air around him.
Lin Yu roars, releasing both his Nether Spirits—the thunder rhino surges forward, shattering defences with brute strength, while the shadow serpent coils through the void, its whip-like thunder striking from blind angles.
Together, they push the attackers back just enough for Lin Yu to breathe.
But his body quakes, armour flickering, the storm fruit in his core trembling as his energy bleeds away too quickly.
Every clash drains him more, and the enemy fleet vomits out yet another wave of cultivators, their endless numbers pressing down like the sea itself.
Lin Yu's strikes grow heavier, slower, yet he refuses to yield, even as his strength frays thin and the battlefield closes in around him.
The battle rages on, the sea and sky drowned in thunder, fire, and blood. Lin Yu's two Nether Spirits howl in defiance, but both are torn apart by enemy strikes, their bodies cracking and dimming until they collapse. Gritting his teeth, Lin Yu recalls them into his inner world, unwilling to see them destroyed fully.
A blast of fire and blood-force slams into his chest, sending him spiralling down into the ocean. Water engulfs him, crushing his body as he sinks, blood leaking from his mouth. He forces his battered form upward, breaking the surface, only to see a shadow fall over him.
Above, an enemy cultivator hovers with cold eyes, forming a lance woven from blood, fire, and spirit. Its sharp aura pierces the sea itself, locking onto Lin Yu's soul. Death closes in.
Lin Yu's eyes harden. He gathers his remaining storm essence, preparing to ignite his body, ready to scatter his cells through the void—his only chance at resurrection.
But before the lance falls, the sky tears open with a roar of steel. A colossal sword-light rips apart the heavens, and countless immortal stage cultivators riding swords descend like a rain of stars. Their blades sing, sharp enough to cleave space itself.
The enemy lance shatters mid-strike, its wielder driven back as a cultivator from the Ancient Sword Sect intercepts with a dazzling arc of sword qi.
Across the battlefield, more sword cultivators sweep in, their unity and ferocity tilting the tide.
Slowly, steadily, the fleet of the Ancient Divine Race is forced back, their warships breaking formation, pushed out of the sea region under the relentless assault. Lin Yu exhales, his body trembling, relief flooding through him—he is alive, the war seems won.
But just as the enemy prepares to retreat, the main ship of the Ancient Divine Race glows ominously. Its core cannon hums with a power that shakes the heavens, and a final beam erupts, tearing through the sea and sky.
Lin Yu's entire vision turns blood red, his body seized by a violent pull. In the next breath, where he and many others stood is swallowed by nothingness—an endless black void of space.
High above, the Immortal Emperors' duel halts as both sides recoil from the sudden devastation. Cai Liyun and Wen Xinya hover close, their faces pale as they gaze at the ruptured void.
Through the fate line, they can still feel Lin Yu's pulse, proof he is alive. Yet no matter how hard they try, they cannot sense his location. It is as if he has been torn from their world entirely.