Feng Hao didn't turn immediately. He let the Ancestor finish processing the last figures, letting the silence stretch so that the weight of those numbers sank fully into the room. Then, his voice cut through—calm, precise, and impossible to ignore.
"Now," he said, "I want details about your peer forces."
The Ancestor's pupils constricted. Not subordinates—this was about forces on the same tier as the academy itself.
"Senior," he said carefully, "there are several known forces roughly equal in strength and scope to Myriad Dao Heavenly Academy."
Feng Hao nodded. "Give me the numbers. Population. Territory. Spirit-level disciples. All of it."
The Ancestor counted silently, visualizing the records stored in memory and within spiritual formations. His voice was measured, careful:
"Force One: 6,200 Tier 1 Spirit-level Forces 4,000 Tier 2–3, 1,500 Fourth Level, 500 Fifth Tier. Population: ~500 trillion. Territory: 15 trillion km²."
"Force Two: 5,800 Tier 1, 3,900 Tier 2–3, 1,400 Fourth Level, 450 Fifth Tier. Population: 480 trillion. Territory: 14.5 trillion km²."
"Force Three: 6,100 Tier 1, 3,950 Tier 2–3, 1,480 Fourth Level, 480 Fifth Tier. Population: 495 trillion. Territory: 14.8 trillion km²."
"Force Four: 5,900 Tier 1, 4,100 Tier 2–3, 1,520 Fourth Level, 470 Fifth Tier. Population: 490 trillion. Territory: 14.7 trillion km²."
"Force Five: 6,000 Tier 1, 4,050 Tier 2–3, 1,500 Fourth Level, 500 Fifth Tier. Population: 500 trillion. Territory: 15 trillion km²."
"Force Six: 5,850 Tier 1, 4,000 Tier 2–3, 1,450 Fourth Level, 460 Fifth Tier. Population: 485 trillion. Territory: 14.6 trillion km²."
The Ancestor paused, letting the scale of the numbers sink in.
Feng Hao didn't respond immediately. His golden eyes swept across the inner heavens of the academy, over the flowing Dao paths and still-reflective lakes, measuring not just the raw numbers—but the potential contained within.
"Good," he said finally. "Monitor them continuously. Population. Territory. Any changes, any fluctuation, record it. Nothing escapes notice."
The Ancestor inclined his head. "As you wish, Senior."
Feng Hao turned and walked toward the prepared resting quarters, the cadence of his steps carrying the quiet authority of a presence that now had the full map of every force on its level.
Feng Hao's Chariot glided through the inner heavens, the usual calm stretching infinitely around him. Ahead, a wide gap yawned across the ground, hundreds of kilometers long. Its edges were jagged, spiritual veins exposed, raw and pulsing faintly with lingering energy.
Above the chasm, cultivators had gathered—some floating midair, others on mounts or chariots. The aura concentration was noticeable, though nothing that could compare to the forces Feng Hao had already mastered.
Three figures hovered above at a distance. Their robes flowed in the spiritual winds, faces calm but critical. These were the Ancient Elders Feng Hao had summoned, observing silently. One spoke, voice carrying across the void:
"Junior… this is merely a Lord Taoist-level inheritance. Not worth your attention."
Another Elder added, tone measured but firm:
"Indeed, Junior. Such triviality hardly warrants your intervention."
The third, slightly more animated, called out:
"You persist in stubbornness. Is this a wise use of your time?"
Feng Hao didn't respond immediately. His golden eyes swept across the gap, the gathered cultivators, the mounts, and chariots hovering above. Curiosity—a quiet, calculating interest—shifted his posture slightly forward.
Then, calmly, he spoke:
"Nine Divine Golden Dragons."
The massive creatures stirred above the central domain. At Feng Hao's command, they moved with precision, coiling and stretching above the gap. Shadows stretched hundreds of kilometers, and the cultivators below froze mid-motion, sensing the overwhelming presence that now dominated the void above them.
The three Ancient Elders flinched slightly, exchanging silent glances. One muttered, almost in awe:
"Junior… again, your patience in inspecting trivial matters surpasses ours."
Feng Hao ignored them. The dragons hovered directly above the gap, bending the surrounding Dao subtly with their sheer existence. The chasm itself seemed to shrink, reality quivering in respect to their dominance.
Feng Hao's gaze swept across the crowd below, measuring the arrangement, the hierarchy, the aura flow. A Lord Taoist-level inheritance might attract some attention, but he wanted to see exactly what made these cultivators gather in such numbers.
The Ancient Elders remained in observation, muttering occasionally about his stubbornness and impatience, but Feng Hao's attention was fully on the chasm.
Finally, he spoke, low but resonant:
"Let's see what makes a Lord Taoist inheritance draw so many."
The cultivators hovering above the chasm froze mid-motion as the Nine Divine Golden Dragons coiled directly above them. Shadows stretched across the jagged edges, each scale glimmering with the weight of uncountable Dao rhythms.
Immediately, subtle ripples ran through their cultivation senses. Peak Eternal Ancestral Lord-level aura—so vast, so incomprehensible—pressured the gathered cultivators' souls like gravity.
Whispers ran through the crowd, mental and unspoken:
"What… what kind of person rides such a mount?"
"This… this is not merely a Elder…"
"They say the Golden Dragons belong only to the great existences… and yet—why would they care about a Lord Taoist-level inheritance?"
A few of the most senior among them, cultivators who had clawed their way to the top of Lord Taoist ranks, felt their hearts constrict. They were part of the force competing for the inheritance—this opportunity was supposed to shift their destiny. Yet now… it paled. It didn't even compare.
"Even if we secure this inheritance, it will mean nothing to them," one muttered inwardly, voice trembling.
The rest shifted uneasily, sensing the presence not just of a cultivator, but of an endpoint. A being whose scale and understanding rendered their ambitions trivial. They could feel every nuance of the dragons' power, every ripple of Feng Hao's aura—even at a distance, even without seeing him.
In unison, a quiet, collective realization dawned: this wasn't just a competition for wealth or power—it was an exhibition of perspective. To someone of this caliber, a Lord Taoist-level inheritance was inconsequential.
And yet… he lingered.
The assembled cultivators exchanged glances, the kind that betrayed both excitement and terror. It was an opportunity they had sought all their lives—but standing beneath the shadow of the Nine Divine Golden Dragons, they understood something fundamental: this would not be a contest against them. It would be a measurement.
Feng Hao's golden eyes swept across the chasm, taking in the arrangements, the formations, the cultivators' mounting anticipation. His presence, magnified by the Nine Divine Golden Dragons above, made even the boldest Lord Taoist-level disciples pause.
Then his voice cut through the tension, calm and commanding, yet carrying the unmistakable weight of authority:
"Do not worry," he said, each word resonating like a steady pulse through the void. "I am not here to challenge you. I am here to observe."
The gathered cultivators stiffened. Eyes widened. Thoughts raced. Some assumed a trap, others expected a sudden strike—but none could ignore the certainty in his tone.
The dragons above shifted slightly, their movements smooth, almost languid, yet every coil and sweep subtly measured the entire gap below. It was a quiet declaration of supremacy, a reminder of how insignificant a Lord Taoist-level inheritance was to him, yet how seriously he still regarded the flow of talent.
Feng Hao continued, his voice carrying clearly despite the distance:
"You may proceed as you will. Show your methods, your techniques, your ambition. I am watching."
A ripple of cautious relief passed through the cultivators. Some exhaled slowly, others relaxed their stances just enough to continue their maneuvering. Yet beneath that relief was an unspoken truth: every action, every fluctuation of aura, every arrangement of mounts or formations, was now under the scrutiny of a Peak Eternal Ancestral Lord.
The three Ancient Elders hovering at the edges of the void exchanged glances. One muttered, almost begrudgingly:
"Junior… stubborn, yes. But even in observing, he imposes a presence none can ignore."
Feng Hao ignored them. His focus remained on the gap, the competition, the subtle interplay of power and ambition. His eyes flicked from one cluster of cultivators to another, noting who sought advantage, who hesitated, and who moved with reckless confidence.
And quietly, almost imperceptibly, the Nine Divine Golden Dragons above the chasm adjusted their formation. Each movement didn't threaten—they measured. They ensured that nothing would be missed.
Feng Hao's calm voice echoed once more:
"Perform as you must. I will watch. Nothing escapes notice."
Even as the cultivators resumed their attempts to claim the inheritance, a part of each soul remained frozen in awe, measuring the man who observed—not as an opponent, but as a judge, a force beyond their comprehension, and a standard they could never reach.