The roar of the river and the groaning of the living statue filled the valley. On the shattered bank, a cultivator from the Crimson Plateau lay half-submerged, his ribs visibly caved, gasping through bloody lips. Liang rushed to him, hauling him up as Gen knelt beside the water's edge.
"An hour," the man wheezed, clutching his side. His face was pale with pain. "We hit it with everything. Spells of crushing earth, blades of cutting wind. They just… shatter. Or it regenerates. Its core is protected. The limbs… they never stop. It doesn't let anyone get close to its body. It's like fighting a mountain that can think."
Gen looked from the wounded man to the titan. The False Deity stood amidst the chaos, a thousand stone-and-shadow limbs moving in a slow, defensive rhythm, like the cilia of a deep-sea creature. Each limb was thicker than a tree trunk. The single violet slit on its face pulsed with a dull, rhythmic light, surveying the battlefield with a patient, inhuman intelligence.
He felt it then, a cold knot in his gut beneath the thrill. Awe. And beneath that, a thin, sharp wire of fear. This wasn't a beast to be outsmarted in a flashy duel. This was a force to be weathered, a wall to be broken with bloody knuckles and shattered will. The kind of challenge that could break you before you ever laid a hand on it.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder. A gentle, solid tap. Gen looked back.
Liang stood there, his face smudged with dirt and sweat. There was no grand speech in his eyes. Just a simple, unwavering look, and a small smile that didn't reach his mouth but lit his gaze. It was the smile of the boy who had jumped onto a path of swords without a second thought. The image was still fresh: Liang, cornered by the Li, and Gen rushing in, not asking for explanations, not weighing the politics. Just siding with his brother in arms. The bond wasn't spoken. It was lived.
Gen gave a single, sharp nod. The fear didn't leave, but it found its place. It became fuel.
A ripple in the air announced another's approach. The girl from the Doom College, Dou Yi, descended from her position on a spur of rock. The personal micro-tempest around her—a visible, shimmering vortex of compressed forest air—hummed softly as she landed nearby. She studied their group with calm, assessing eyes that missed nothing: the wounded Kang Mao, Chubbs's protective stance, Lorel's quiet alertness, Gen's focused intensity. Her gaze lingered on Gen for a moment longer, then she gave a slight, formal nod.
"The Sleeping Deity," she said, her voice clear and carrying over the din. It held no arrogance, only the flat certainty of observed fact. "Its movements are slow, deliberate. But its power is absolute. Alone, I cannot breach its guard. Nor, I suspect, can any single one of us here."
She looked from Gen to the distant, floating form of Baili on his cloud, then back. "I propose a coordinated assault. A concentrated strike on a single point, overwhelming its localized defense. I will take the lead in disruption."
Gen's eyes were drawn to her. It wasn't just her striking features, sharp and intelligent. It was her bearing. The stillness at the center of her self-made storm. The confidence wasn't boastful; it was as natural and unshakeable as a mountain's peak. He could feel the gulf between them—not just in raw power, but in cultivated control. She was a master of her Wheel, and it showed in every poised line of her body.
A slow, genuine grin spread across Gen's face. Now this is interesting.
Dou Yi's glasses—fine crystals held in a thin wire frame—caught the odd light. She noticed his prolonged stare, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, then mild irritation. She gave a soft huff and turned her head away, focusing back on the titan.
"I agree," Gen said, his voice cutting through his own thoughts. "The name's Gen."
She glanced back, her expression unreadable. "I know. Son of the Immortal Jiang." There was a weight to the title in her mouth, a respectful gravity. "I had immense respect for your father. A true master of the Wheels. It is a shame our paths never crossed." She met his eyes squarely. "I hope you live up to his legacy."
The words weren't a taunt. They were a statement of expectation, and they landed with the weight of the scarred sky. Gen's grin didn't fade, but it hardened at the edges. He simply nodded, once.
Her call seemed to draw the other elites. Juxian bounded over the broken ground, light as a leaf, the small, unmarked clay jar tied with a red cord around his neck bouncing gently. A bright, open smile was on his face, but his eyes were sharp, scanning their group.
"Sister Lorel! You're here!" he called out, his tone friendly, almost relieved. His gaze swept past Gen and settled on her with focused attention. "When the chaos started, I was concerned. I'm glad to see you safe."
A short distance away, Ning approached with silent steps. The simple black blindfold covered his eyes, and the long, plain scabbard of his sword rose over his shoulder. He offered no greeting, only a slight, deliberate tilt of his head in the direction of Gen's group—an acknowledgment, nothing more.
High above, Baili Feng's voice drifted down, cold and clear as ice cracking. "I am not ganging up with anyone. Only the weak join hands. I will break this thing myself, or not at all."
Dou Yi looked up, her tempest swirling a little faster. "Your strength is not in question, Baili Feng. But stubbornness is not a Wheel. It will only carry you so far. If we truly wish to challenge ourselves, to test our limits against something of this magnitude, cooperation is the logical path. Or are you afraid to share the stage?"
Before Baili could retort, Chubbs spoke up, scratching his head. He'd been listening, his thief's mind turning over the angles. "Hold on, now. If this big ugly is so clever and careful… is that not a good thing for us? A stupid, roaring beast charges in. You can lead it around. But a clever one… it holds back, does it not?"
All eyes turned to the large young man hovering protectively near Lorel. Chubbs shifted awkwardly under the collective gaze of the continent's top talents, a flush creeping up his neck.
Dou Yi, however, did not dismiss him. She considered the question seriously. "It is the right question. And it is why we have a chance. Its intelligence means it values its own survival above all. We do not need to destroy it. We need to convince it that the cost of staying here, of fighting us, is too high. That we can injure it meaningfully. Force it to retreat. Achieving that… would be a greater testament to our combined strength than slaying a dozen mindless Infants."
A spark lit in Gen's eyes. A battle of wills. A test of pressure. He cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. "Then I'm taking the front line. Draw its attention, make it commit."
Liang's voice was low, meant only for Gen. "You sure? After the Bear-Dragon…"
"I'm still Gen Jiang," Gen said. It wasn't a boast. It was a simple fact. With or without his peak power, he was the one who stepped into the fire.
Liang let out a long-suffering sigh. "You're impossible." But he was already moving, falling into step beside Gen, his hands curling as if already reaching for his Kalash.
Dou Yi watched this exchange, her head tilting. A flicker of genuine interest passed behind her glasses. She gave a curt nod. "Very well. I will create the opening." She turned to address the gathered few. "The difference between an Infant and an Adult Milky Beast is not just the power. Rare among them are even said to grasp the basic principles behind the Wheels of Destiny. Some can reinforce their bodies like a Jingdao user. Others can… create things that should not be possible. But the worst is their intellect. They are extremely careful. They will not engage unless they are certain of crushing their opponent."
Chubbs blinked, confused. "But… that sounds bad. If it's sure it can win, why would it ever run?"
Dou Yi almost smiled. "That is the point. It is not sure. Not yet. We must make it unsure. We must present a threat it did not calculate. That is our only path to victory here—not to defeat it, but to be powerful enough, coordinated enough, to make it choose retreat. That alone would be a leap forward for all of us."
Before anyone else could speak, Gen was already walking toward the basin's edge, massaging one shoulder. "Then let's stop talking and start making it nervous."
Liang slapped his own forehead but followed without hesitation.
Dou Yi stared at Gen's back, her interest now plain. Around them, the other auras—powerful, watchful—held their distance. Some thought challenging the Sleeping Deity was suicide. They would learn the difference between Infant and Adult the hard way.
From a far ridge, Li Zhan observed with the rest of the Li family, his expression one of cold displeasure. He made no move to join.
Juxian hopped from one foot to the other, his jar swinging. "A joint operation! This will be instructive!" Ning's hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Baili Feng remained aloft on his Cloud Juggernaut, a silent, scornful statue.
They gathered, a loose ring of the strongest young cultivators in the Four Kingdoms, facing the thousand-armed titan. The air grew thick with intent, the hum of Dou Yi's wind, and the deep, grinding breath of the False Deity.
The first move, for all of them, was about to be made.