Chapter 37: Chapter 37: Trial Of Combat
The corridor leading away from the Forest of Will was narrow and lined with silver-veined stone that seemed to pulse in time with Haoran's own heartbeat.
And as he and Xueli ventured deeper into the bowels of the inheritance space, the air suddenly grew heavy, thick with the metallic tang of ancient blood and the humming resonance of a thousand unsheathed blades.
And at that moment, they arrived in a colossal, circular arena.
"An arena, huh? Is the next test about combat skills?" Haoran muttered his breath.
"Most likely. Dammit, I'm bad at combat." Xueli cursed, feeling frustrated.
They stared at the arena, silent, waiting for the trial to began.
And just like that, a beat later, the silence was once again obliterated by that same subterranean, booming voice that echoed not in the air, but directly against the walls of their skulls.
"THE SECOND TRIAL: TRIAL OF COMBAT! ONLY THE VICTOR MAY CLAIM THE FRUITS OF ASCENSION!"
Before Xueli could even gasp, the space between them fractured as a violent spatial distortion, resembling shattered glass, swallowed them both.
When the world stopped spinning, Haoran found himself standing in the center of that colossal, circular arena.
The floor was made of obsidian, polished to a mirror sheen, and the ceiling was lost in a swirling vortex of thunderous gray clouds.
Standing twenty paces across from him was a figure that made Haoran's eyes narrow in fascination.
It was a perfect, structural duplicate of himself. However, this version was devoid of all color—its hair was a dull slate gray, its eyes were like polished ash, and its skin had the hue of weathered stone.
Even its robes were a monochromatic imitation of his own.
"So, I have to fight a mirror of my own essence?" Haoran's lips curved into a predatory, and bloodthirsty smile. "Now this is getting a little interesting. Let us see if you can replicate my skills as easily as you replicate my skin."
With a fluid motion, he reached into his spatial ring, and in a flash of dark light, he produced a pitch-black Tang Dao sword, sheathed in a deep, bruised purple, embossed with silver dragons that seemed to writhe under his touch.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, a dormant power within him roared to life.
This was his Heavenly Sword Dao Bone—a supreme physical manifestation of talent that his mother, Chu Xueyu, had surgically extracted from his father's body and implanted into him at birth to ensure his supremacy.
And at this very second, it thrummed with a rhythmic, divine heat.
As he slowly unsheathed the blade, the air in the arena began to scream, the metallic shring of the steel was not merely a sound; it was a declaration, a show of his supremacy.
Once the sword was fully bared, a sharp, suffocating Sword Intent carrying his unique Dao of Supremacy erupted from his body.
His aura was so incredibly sharp that the space around him seemed to fray, and to a lesser observer, simply looking at Haoran at this moment would feel like having their retinas sliced open by invisible needles.
Just as he reached his peak, his gray phantom mimicked his movements with terrifying precision.
It unleashed a near-identical blade, and a near-identical aura of monochromatic gray sword intent surged forward.
The two invisible forces slammed into each other in the center of the arena, creating a visible rift where the air distorted and sparked.
This was a clash of sword intent!
Sword Intent was a tier of power that existed entirely outside the standard realms of Qi.
It was a manifestation of a cultivator's conceptual understanding of the blade.
History spoke of the current Sword Emperor, an independent cultivator who stood as the strongest expert in the Tian Yuan Empire.
Legend had it he was born a common mortal with zero aptitude for Qi cultivation, yet through sheer obsession, he comprehended Sword Intent, shattering the shackles of mortality to become a god among men.
So for those mortal who couldn't cultivate Qi, becoming a sword Cultivator would allow them to walk the path of Cultivation, but the path was punishingly narrow.
To become a genuine Sword Cultivator, one had to first perceive the "flavor" of a sword intent.
This required finding a master willing to unleash their own intent for you to study, just this alone was enough to stop 90 percent of would be sword Cultivator.
After all, in a world where everyone hoarded their secrets, meeting a true Sword Cultivator, and even have them willingly show you their sword intent, was a miracle so rare that most people simply gave up and stuck to the standard path of Qi.
Despite the billions of sword-users in the Empire, those who could forge their own unique intent were as rare as phoenix feathers.
Haoran's eyes flashed with a golden, murderous light as he felt the phantom's intent pushing against his own, a perfect reflection of his current strength.
"Well then," Haoran whispered, his voice cutting through the pressure of the room. "Here I come."
At that moment, he vanished, moving in a blur of golden light and black steel, he reappeared directly in front of the gray duplicate, his Tang Dao coming down in a vertical arc designed to cleave the world in two.
Clang!
The obsidian arena rang with a sound like a collapsing mountain as the two blades met, with the phantom blocking his strike.
But Haoran didn't stop with one attack, he unleashed a relentless, continuous stream of attacks that would've overwhelmed any lesser Cultivators!
Their clash was so violent it seemed to sever the very fabric of space, creating jagged ripples in the air.
Haoran's sword—which he had appropriately named the Black Imperial Sword: Azathoth—vibrated in his grip, letting out a low, hungry hum that sounded like the roar of a cosmic beast.
It was as if the weapon itself was screaming in glee at finally being unleashed upon a worthy obstacle.
Azathoth was no ordinary weapon; it was a Growth-Type Sword that evolved alongside its wielder.
Forged within the crushing gravity of the heart of a dying star and tempered using a crystallized droplet of blood from a god from outside the universe, it possessed a weight and a malice that could crush the soul of a lesser man.
And as Haoran slashed the blade, the Heavenly Sword Dao Bone in his chest pulsed with a blinding brilliance, pumping waves of supreme sword essence through his meridians.
The power burst out with even more ferocity, coating the black blade in a violet-tinged aura of destruction.
Haoran couldn't help but grin, his teeth bared in a look of predatory joy as his Sword Intent hardened, no longer just a pressure, but had become a physical force, piercing through every defensive posture and block the gray phantom attempted.
"Hahaha! It seems even though you have my strength, you are unable to properly use that strength!" Haoran laughed, his voice echoing in the vast, thundering chamber.
He had realized the phantom's fatal flaw. Sword Intent, as the name implies, is an intent—it is a manifestation of the will, a spiritual concept far more nuanced than a mere energy like Qi.
For a true Sword Cultivator, the sharpness and density of their attack were directly tied to the purity of their 'intent to cut.'
The stronger the will to sever the target, the more unstoppable the strike became.
It was true that this gray phantom possessed a physical cultivation and a reservoir of Qi equal to his own, but it was a hollow shell.
It had no genuine 'intent' to cut; it was merely a mechanical puppet, imitating the trajectory of Haoran's attacks without the underlying spiritual fire.
That was the fundamental truth of the martial path: in a battle where two opponents are technically equal in power, there is always one who will inevitably come out on top—the one with the far greater intent to win.
"How disappointing," Haoran sighed, his gaze turning cold as the excitement faded. "I thought I could finally enjoy a fight that would push me. But you're just a fraud, I guess. A shadow without a soul. Hmm, it's time to end this farce."
Haoran moved. This time, his speed transcended the phantom's ability to react as he became a streak of golden lightning, completely surpassing the speed an eye can follow.
Even though the gray copy tried to mimic his velocity, Haoran's sheer relentlessness was too much for the mimic to handle.
With a blur of motion, Haoran first severed the phantom's right arm, the gray blade clattering to the obsidian floor.
A second later, the left arm followed.
Finally, with a clean, horizontal sweep that seemed to fold the very air, he cut the phantom in half.
The monochromatic duplicate didn't bleed; it began to dissolve into a thick, black mist that was quickly swallowed by the shadows of the arena.
"Hmph. I thought I can have some fun, but what did I expect from an inheritance of an Emperor from a Desolate Region."
The moment the phantom vanished, Haoran's vision blurred, leaving those mocking words behind.
Just then, the thunderous arena dissolved, and he found himself standing in a much smaller, quieter room of white stone.
He blinked, surprised to see a familiar figure already there.
Xueli was leaning against a pillar, her clothes torn and her skin marred by several shallow cuts, but she was grinning at him with a look of pure triumph.
"Fufu, it seems this time, I'm the one who waited for you," Xueli said, her voice a bit raspy from exertion.
Haoran stared at her, his eyes sweeping over her disheveled state.
He could see from the way she was just about to sit down that she had likely emerged from her own trial only moments before him.
Even though he had wasted time attempting to "enjoy" his fight and analyze the phantom's nature, it was still undeniably impressive that Xueli—a girl from the "backwater" Eastern Region—had navigated her trial of combat before he had finished his.
He let out a short, genuine chuckle and smiled. "I'm impressed. Truly."
Xueli's grin widened, and she gave him a playful peace sign, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the glow of his praise. "So, shall we go? The big prize is just ahead, right?"
Haoran shook his head as he reached into his space ring, pulled out a translucent jade bottle, and tossed a high-grade healing pill to her. "Go and heal yourself first. Don't be impatient. I have a feeling the next trial will be the final one, and the Emperor's spirit won't be as 'kind' as these illusions."
Xueli caught the pill and nodded, recognizing the wisdom in his words. "Thank you."
She sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor, tossed the pill into her mouth, and closed her eyes.
As the potent medicine began to knit her wounds together and replenish her Qi, Haoran stood guard, his hand still resting on the hilt of Azathoth, his gaze fixed on the final set of silver doors at the end of the hall.
Chapter 38: Chapter 38: Awakening
Once Xueli was fully healed, the two of them continued their journey deeper into the heart of the inheritance realm, their footsteps echoing against the obsidian floors.
"So, how did you beat your phantom?" asked Haoran, walking in front of her, his hands were clasped behind his back, his stride steady and rhythmic.
"Honestly? I don't know. I just wanted to win, badly. And for someone like me who knew nothing of combat, I was just swinging around my dagger like a wild woman," said Xueli, her face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and lingering adrenaline.
She felt that her performance lacked the elegance of a true martial artist.
Haoran nodded, though he didn't turn around. "No need to feel embarrassed. Any shame will be washed away by victory. It doesn't matter if one has to lie or cheat; as long as you win in the end, that's all that matters."
He paused for a moment, the silver light of the corridor casting long, sharp shadows across his profile. "The world itself isn't fair, and only the victor can be remembered. The losers will be left forgotten by time, their stories rewritten or erased."
Xueli also stilled behind him, staring at his profile.
"Pride? Dignity? You can feed those useless things to the dogs," he continued, his voice cold and devoid of sentiment. "What is the use of such things when you lose? At that moment, your so-called pride and dignity will be trampled upon by the victor. They are merely shackles for those who fear to do what is necessary."
"....Is that how it is?" asked Xueli.
During her time in the Ogre Academy, the Grandmaster and the teachers always emphasized that they must hold themselves up with pride, and that even if they lose, they must lose with dignity.
It was the "way of the warrior" she had been raised on.
But now, looking at Haoran's back, those teachings felt like bedtime stories for children.
"Of course." Haoran turned to stare at her, his golden eyes burning with a terrifying intensity—a will that demanded absolute dominance. "Loss is unacceptable. That's why, Xueli, you must always win, and use whatever means necessary. To lose is to cease to exist."
Xueli stared into his eyes and couldn't help but gulp.
She felt like a small bird caught in the gaze of a predator, but surprisingly, she couldn't look away from those eyes, eyes that seemed to know nothing of defeat and only Victory.
She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Yeah, I understand."
Haoran nodded back, satisfied with her answer, and the two continued walking.
Finally, they arrived in a massive hall that defied the laws of architecture.
The ceiling seemed to reach the very sky, lost in a swirling vortex of silver clouds and starlight.
In the center of the hall, a grand staircase with exactly 999 steps rose toward the heavens.
At the very top, shrouded in a divine silver mist, sat an ancient altar.
"This must be it..." Xueli muttered, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Hm." Haoran nodded, his gaze fixed on the summit.
Just then, the booming, ancient voice once again resounded through the space, more powerful than ever before.
"FINAL TRIAL: TRIAL OF ENDURANCE! CLIMB THE IMPERIAL STAIRS AND CLAIM THE INHERITANCE OF THE EMPEROR!"
"Let's go," Haoran said, and he immediately took the first step.
The moment his foot touched the stone, he felt a weight press down on his shoulders—a spiritual pressure that attempted to grind his bones into the floor.
However, at this level, it was weak and could be easily shrugged off by anyone with a decent foundation.
Even for Xueli, this much was nothing.
They began to climb, slowly but surely.
The first hundred steps were bearable, even easy. But the moment they stepped onto the 101st step, the pressure suddenly spiked.
It felt as though the air had turned into lead.
After a careful observation, Haoran noticed that the pressure exerted on him was significantly heavier than what Xueli was experiencing.
He realized the stairs were intelligent; the gravity was being adjusted to match their respective cultivation levels.
They continued to climb, and by the time they reached the 201st level, Xueli's face was pale, and suddenly dropped to her knees, gasping for breath, her sweat soaking into the stone.
Haoran frowned and stood over her. "Relax. Don't fight the pressure; channel it. Circulate your Qi through your meridians and use this weight to hammer your bottleneck. Breakthrough to the Foundation Establishment realm right here."
Xueli, exhausted and trembling, stared up at him in disbelief. "B-But, I just broke through to the 9th stage of Qi Gathering earlier today! This... this isn't good, is it? It's too fast!"
"No, it's just right," Haoran countered. "A breakthrough under extreme pressure is far more stable than a breakthrough achieved through pills or peaceful indoor cultivation. The pressure acts as a forge, compressing your Qi until it soldifies. I said it earlier, didn't I?"
Xueli nodded weakly, trusting him implicitly as she immediately sat cross-legged, ignoring the crushing weight, and began to forcefully circulate her Qi.
'Hmm, no wonder those Ogre Seven in Chu Fang's timeline broke through so fast,' Haoran hummed to himself. 'This staircase was essentially a high-intensity training facility.'
However, he could feel that this level of pressure was only truly useful to those at the Core Formation realm or lower.
For him, this was still a walk in the park.
Not to mention his physique was far stronger than his own cultivation due to the trifecta of power within him: the Infinity Dragon God Divine Physique, the Heavenly Sword Dao Bone, and a childhood spent bathing in precious herbs and the blood of ancient beasts.
He stared at Xueli for a moment longer, seeing her enter a deep state of meditation, and decided to go on ahead.
Without hesitation, he began to sprint.
He easily climbed to 300, then 400, then 700, his speed didn't slacken until he reached the 901st step.
At that level, he finally stopped, his brow furrowing as for the first time, he felt a genuine pressure, his knees trembled slightly, and his breath hitched.
But at the same time, something deep within his blood began to roar.
His unawakened Infinity Dragon God Divine Physique stirred.
"What...is happening?" He frowned, feeling his body trembling.
This physique had never truly been his; it was a treasure his mother had taken from a child of a branch family and surgically implanted into him.
Because it wasn't his by birth, awakening its true power had been an incredibly tedious and frustrating process.
For over a decade, it had remained dormant.
But now, under the weight of a Supreme Emperor's will, it was finally showing signs of life.
'Could the pressure from this place be the key?' Haoran thought, a dark smile playing on his lips. 'After all, this physique originally belonged to a "protagonist," and this inheritance was also destined for one. Like calls to like, as they say.'
But he just shook his head, clearing the fog of confusion from his mind as he continued his ascent, but with every inch he gained, the atmospheric weight multiplied exponentially.
Right now, every step felt like a literal mountain was being stacked upon his shoulders, the gravity threatening to fuse his boots to the ancient stone.
But he endured. His back remained as straight as a spear, his posture as arrogant and majestic as it had been on the day of his birth.
For Haoran, he would never allow himself to kneel—not to an emperor, not to a god, and certainly not to a staircase.
His Dao of Supremacy was not a mere philosophy; it was a fundamental law of his existence that would never allow such a humiliating sight.
Finally, as he arrived at the 999th step, the threshold of the heavens, Haoran felt his Infinity Dragon God Divine Physique stirring wildly within his veins.
It was no longer a dull hum; it was a frantic, violent thrashing, as if a primordial beast was on the verge of tearing its way out of his body.
The pressure of the Supreme inheritance had acted as the ultimate catalyst, grinding away the layers of rejection between his soul and the stolen bloodline.
He sat down cross-legged at the very peak, the silver mist of the altar swirling around him like a cyclone.
He closed his eyes, focusing every ounce of his concentration on circulating his Qi to stir his physique even further, pushing the dragon blood to its absolute limit.
This was the best chance he had ever been granted to awaken this dormant power, and he would never let it go to waste!
Ignoring the pain, he forcefully stirred his physique, trying to awaken it from its slumber!
His ears, nose, and eyes began to bleed, veins bulging in his forehead as he endured the soul breaking pain that no man should be capable of enduring.
'Come on! Endure! Endure it! To reach the pinnacle, to climb beyond that apex...this level of pain is nothin!'
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of agonizing compression and refinement, a roar of a dragon resounded—not just through the hall, but throughout the entire Prime Origin Realm.
The sound was so profound it bypassed the physical and struck the metaphysical, waking even the ancient, slumbering Supremes in the furthest corners of the universe.
They felt it.
The rhythmic, thundering sound of a heartbeat that resonated with the cosmos.
This is the feeling of someone awakening of a Divine Physique!
Back in the Shen Clan, Chu Xueyu suddenly stood up from her throne, her golden eyes widened in a rare display of genuine shock, followed immediately by an overflowing, motherly joy.
Then, from the subterranean depths of the Shen Clan's ancestral grounds, several Supremes who had remained in deep slumber for centuries began to stir.
Their ancient bloodlines boiled in anticipation, vibrating in sympathy with the frequency of the dragon's roar.
They could feel it in their very marrow: their most promising descendant, the heir they had gambled the clan's future on, had finally mastered the stolen gift.
Chu Xueyu let out an almost crazed, triumphant laughter that shook the foundations of the jade palace.
"Hahaha! Oh heavens above, have you seen that!?" she cried, her voice carrying the weight of a decree. "No matter how many anomalies or 'sons of destiny' you throw at us, the fact will never change! This era belongs to the Shen Clan! Haoran has finally become the True Dragon!"
Chapter 39: Chapter 39: Minor Completion
"Infinity Dragon God Divine Physique, Minor Completion!"
Shen Haoran stood up in a surge of pure, unadulterated excitement, his very presence causing the air around the altar to ripple and distort.
His blood and Qi were no longer merely flowing, but were now boiling with a primordial, extreme power that defied the conventional laws of cultivation.
He can feel it, a boundless, heavy strength that went beyond human reason, as if the essence of an ancient star was now anchored within his chest.
Although it was only at the level of Minor Completion, the divine physique had already fundamentally rewritten his biological and spiritual makeup.
He could feel the first of its legendary traits: Rapid Regeneration, with cells now vibrating with a life-force so potent that even deep wounds would knit together in heartbeats, and his stamina replenished itself as quickly as he could expend it.
Accompanying this was Extreme Durability, which made his flesh take on a subtle, metallic sheen, and his bones were now denser than dragon-tempered steel.
He also now possessed an extreme resistance to both physical trauma and elemental onslaughts; to an ordinary cultivator, he was no different to an immovable fortress.
Then there was the Dragon Aura, which is a low, subsonic hum radiated from his skin, a frequency that marked him as a sovereign among beasts.
This aura would not only increase the favorability of any dragonkin he encountered but, in the face of lesser draconic bloodlines, would force them into absolute, shivering submission.
Lastly, and perhaps most crucially, was the acquisition of a Dragon Core.
His Golden Core, the very heart of his power, had been refined and hardened into a true Dragon Core, this gave his Qi a draconic aspect—turning it into a domineering, golden-purple energy that felt like liquid lightning.
Furthermore, it provided a perpetual circulation; his Qi never rested, constantly refining itself even while he stood still, and will never ran out.
Haoran marveled at the sensation.
This was only Minor Completion, and it was already so powerful! He found it difficult to even imagine the sheer, world-ending power this physique would grant him once it reached its full potential.
In the vast history of the Cultivation world, the awakening of a physique followed a strict, brutal progression: first was Minor Completion, which Haoran just achieved, followed by Major Completion, then the world-shaking Grand Completion, and finally, the legendary Perfect Integration.
In the case of Divine Physiques, legends whispered that once a user reached Perfect Integration, the barriers of Cultivation ranks became meaningless; even a mortal could theoretically possess the raw, conceptual power to slaughter a Supreme Emperor once their divine physique had reached Perfect Integration.
It was for this reason that in the ancient eras, possessors of this physique were feared and whispered about as the "Emperor Slayers."
The Supremes of old, gripped by a rare and cold fear, had organized Great Hunts to erase these bloodlines from history.
Even in the modern era, that fear persisted, as those born with Divine Physiques—especially those without the protection of a Hegemon Clan—were hunted like rare prey.
If found as infants, their physiques would be cruelly harvested, stripped from their bodies to be integrated into the descendants of the existing Supremes.
Haoran was the living proof of this cold reality; his own physique was a stolen trophy, now fully claimed by his will.
Just then, Shen Haoran clenched his fist, feeling the bones pop with the force of a thunderclap.
"I've also broken through to the 3rd Stage of the Golden Core Realm," he murmured, his voice carrying a new, draconic resonance.
The excess energy from the awakening had acted as a flood, washing away his previous bottlenecks with ease.
He then turned his gaze downward, looking past the hundreds of steps he had conquered.
There, far below, he saw Xueli, who had successfully shattered her own limits, her aura now radiating the strength of a 3rd Stage Foundation Establishment expert.
However, the climb was taking its toll on her, as she was currently struggling at the 601st step, her body trembling under the weight, her face a mask of gritted teeth and sheer, stubborn defiance.
He observed her for a long moment, watching the way her spirit flickered but refused to go out and a trace of a smile touched his lips.
He decided to wait, just as he promised.
He sat back down on the cold stone of the 999th step, perched at the edge of the heavens, quietly watching her ascent, still with a gentle smile on his face.
Yes, for Haoran, as long as she doesn't give up, he will always wait for her, no matter how long it takes.
*
*
*
At this moment, in the sterile, echoing silence of the white stone transition chamber, Xia Mengyao stood like a figure of serene perfection.
His auburn hair was undisturbed, and his robes remained crisp, showing no signs of the chaotic battle he had just endured within the Trial of Combat.
His gaze swept the empty room, finding no trace of Shen Haoran or the girl in blue.
'Hmm, as expected, they are already done with the trial,' Mengyao thought, his eyes narrowing. 'To clear these trials so swiftly... the gap between the outskirts and the Imperial Capital is truly a chasm.'
However, his mind wondered to that girl in blue who accompanied like a wet puppy to its owner.
She was a 1st Stage Foundation Establishment nobody, how did she became so close to that distinguished heir of the Shen Clan?
Was she also someone from a Hegemon Clan, but was untalented? Or did he pick her up in this Desolate Region?
If he did, then that is one lucky girl. She probably saved the universe in her previous life to have such good karma.
Just then, the silence was broken by a sudden swirling of space as a figure stumbled into the room.
It was Jin Pei, his golden armor was dented, and a trickle of blood ran down his chin, but his eyes were wide with a manic, defiant energy.
"Hah! You think you can beat me just by creating a copy of me!? Don't make me laugh!" Jin Pei snorted in disdain, spitting a glob of blood onto the white floor.
His bravado faltered, however, when he looked up and saw Xia Mengyao standing there, looking as though he had just stepped out of a tea ceremony.
He clicked his tongue, sounding rather bitter. "So you finished the trial before me, and you don't even look injured. As expected of the 'number one genius' in the Central Region."
When he spoke of the Central Region, the Imperial Capital was naturally excluded, after all, to the inhabitants of the vassal kingdoms and border sects, the Capital was not just a city; it was a higher plane of existence, a place where the air was filled with the breath of gods and the children of Hegemon Clans were born with the strength to crush kingdoms.
Moments later, a spatial ripple heralded the arrival of Ao Long, the Crown Prince of Blue Wind who was also in no better shape than Jin Pei; his blue robes were shredded at the shoulders, and his breathing was heavy.
The moment he saw the two of them, his triumphant expression, an expression of a man who had survived a life-or-death struggle, immediately shifted into a mask of pure annoyance.
"What's with that expression? Wanna die?" Jin Pei asked, his temper flaring as his body was instantly engulfed in a golden spirit-fire that licked the ceiling.
"I can look at others how I want to look. What? You wanna stop me?" Ao Long stared at him with cold disdain, a violent gust of wind swirling around him, turning the small room into a pressure cooker of competing auras.
"Enough." Xia Mengyao's voice was soft, but it carried the weight of a mountain as he stared at the two princes with a look of profound boredom. "If you want to act like children, then go play in your house and not here. We are in the tomb of a Supreme; show some respect, or the tomb will show you none."
The two princes stared at him, their faces twisting, but the sheer difference in their states—one pristine, two battered—was enough to make them click their tongues and allow their auras to subside.
"Whatever. I'm going ahead. I'm not letting some backwater treasure slip through my fingers," Jin Pei muttered, marching toward the far door.
"Hmph." Ao Long cast a final, lingering glare at Mengyao before following close behind Jin Pei, neither wanting to give the other a head start.
Mengyao waited in the silence for a few more minutes, his patience seemingly infinite.
Finally, after another few minutes, another figure emerged with a ripple of space, it was Luo Mingye.
She looked slightly winded but otherwise unharmed, it seems like she was able to easily handle her phantom, but it just took time.
A moment later, Yun Li stepped out behind her, his face pale and his clothes dusty, his jaw set in a tight line.
Mingye looked around and immediately noticed Mengyao, as she walked towards him, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern."Brother Mengyao, you shouldn't have waited for me. Now look, those two idiots have probably already gone in ahead of you."
Mengyao shook his head slowly. "With that young master here, whatever we managed to find will just be consolation prizes. The true legacy—the heart of the Emperor—will surely fall into his hands."
"I don't know about that," Yun Li interjected, his voice carrying a smug, arrogant edge as he smoothed his robes, trying to regain his composure. "The inheritance is given to the most skilled and talented. Every trial is designed to be fair. Whoever receives the legacy will be up to fate—and I believe fate favors those who work the hardest."
"That's right," Mingye agreed, nodding her head. "The inheritance will surely fall to the most talented. That's why Brother Mengyao said that Young Master Shen will be the one to take it."
At those words, Yun Li froze.
He stared at her in genuine shock, as if he couldn't believe his ears. The woman he had marked as his future wife, the woman who was supposed to be impressed by his rapid growth and "unique" aura, actually held a higher opinion of a man she barely knew than of him!
'Why isn't she encouraging me?' Yun Li screamed internally. 'Shouldn't she be saying that I still have a chance? That with my talent and my determination, I won't lose to some pampered heir? Why is this different from every novel I've ever read?!'
Xia Mengyao stared at Yun Li silently for a heartbeat, seeing the turbulent emotions flickering across the "trash" heir's face as he gave a tiny, imperceptible shake of his head before turning toward the exit.
"Let's go," Mengyao said. "Even though it is merely consolation prizes, this is still the inheritance of a Supreme Emperor. Finding a Rank 9 Saint-Grade Artifact or even a higher-tier items is still possible. It would be a waste to leave empty-handed."
"Hm!" Mingye nodded, her bright smile returning as she skipped to catch up with Mengyao.
Meanwhile, Yun Li stood alone for a moment in the center of the white room.
His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and a dark, violet Qi from the Falling Immortal Sutra flickered dangerously around his fingertips.
He looked at the backs of the two people and swore that he would show them all what a true "Son of Heaven" was capable of.
Chapter 40: Chapter 40: Suppression
The heavy, metallic scent of ancient silver, and the lingering power of an ancient expert hung in the air as Mengyao, Mingye and Yun Li arrived at the deepest section of the inheritance space.
And as the three of them stepped into the hall, they were immediately greeted by the sight of the two princes—Jin Pei and Ao Long—standing frozen at the base of the colossal staircase.
Their arrogance had been replaced by a stiff, wary tension, like soldiers standing at the edge of a precipice, or a subject standing before their emperor.
"Is this all of you?"
The voice descended from above, reverberating as if it was a low growl of a dragon that made the marrow in their bones shiver.
Yun Li looked up, his neck craning, as high above, seated upon the 999th step as if it were a throne of the gods, was Shen Haoran.
He looked down on them with a gaze of absolute, frigid detachment, while a hundred steps below him, the girl in blue sat in deep meditation, her body wreathed in the shimmering light of her own breakthrough.
6th Stage Foundation Establishment? How is this possible?! She was at first stage earlier! Was she purposely hiding her cultivation? Thought Yun Li.
"That's right, Young Master Shen," Mengyao replied, stepping forward and cupping his hands in a respectful salute. "The others were... preoccupied. Some are likely still fighting over the herb garden, while the rest are struggling within the first two trials. Only we five have made it this far."
"Hmm. And you are?" Haoran raised an eyebrow.
His golden eyes, now sharpened by the awakening of his Infinity Dragon God Divine Physique, swept over Mengyao.
'This man... no, that is a woman,' Haoran thought instantly, his heightened senses pierced through the auburn hair, the bound chest, and the artificial Adam's apple.
'Why is she disguised as a man?' though he was curious, he kept the observation to himself; in the Central Region, everyone carried a mask, and her secrets were currently of no consequence to him.
He had even heard that some perverted ancestors would disguise themselves as a woman just so they can openly peek and molest women without much consequence.
"Greetings, young master. I am Xia Mengyao, Heaven's Chosen of the Flower Mountain Sect," she replied, her voice steady. "I once had the honor of seeing the Young Master during your sixteenth birthday celebration at the Imperial Capital."
Flower Mountain Sect? Haoran's memory shifted through the vast archives of his mind.
He immediately recalled the name—a powerful Second-Rate entity that sat on a mountain of resources, merely waiting for a Heavenly Saint to emerge so they could ascend to the First-Rate ranks.
If he remembered correctly, they are incredibly popular because of their wine, where it is said that beautiful wood spirits uses their jade feet to crush the grapes to make that particular wine.
He doesn't know if it's true or just propaganda, but it was certainly very popular.
He offered a curt nod of acknowledgment before his gaze turned cold and inclusive of the entire group. "The final trial is to climb this staircase. But understand this: I will crush anyone who attempts to ascend. There are many side chambers in this place filled with treasures I have neither opened nor explored. You are free to take whatever you find within those rooms, but this inheritance... this heart of the Emperor... is mine."
Hearing that, Jin Pei and Ao Long exchanged a glance and gave a stiff nod.
They have already thought of this outcome, or rather, this is even better than what they have thought.
Truthfully, they actually hope that Haoran would be generous enough to give them even a single piece of Saint Grade Artifact or something, but they didn't expect that Haoran would only take the emperor inheritance and give everything to them!
As for thinking of taking that inheritance for themselves... are you joking? With Shen Haoran's strength and background, there are far quicker and more painless method to kill themselves.
Mengyao and Mingye similarly dipped their heads.
This outcome was better than they expected. At least they would have something to bring back to their sect and clan.
They were about to start moving when the silence was shattered by a voice trembling with indignant rage.
"That's unfair! This inheritance should fall to those with true ability and luck! Not to those who simply rely on their backgrounds to bully others!"
Yun Li stepped forward, his face flushed, his finger pointed accusingly at the figure on the golden heights.
Jin Pei and Ao Long turned to look at him as if he were a pig that had suddenly sprouted wings and begun to recite poetry.
Buddy, are you serious? they thought in unison. Who speaks about fairness in a world where the strong eat the weak? If you have the "ability," then climb! Don't stand there acting like a righteous martyr.
Ao Long himself felt a surge of genuine bewilderment.
He couldn't believe Luo Mingye had even spared a glance for this fool, a guy who would talk about "background" in front of the literal number-one talent of the Empire was the height of delusional idiocy.
It was like a village boy challenging a storm to a wrestling match because the wind wasn't being "fair."
"Unfair? Abilities? Luck?" Haoran snorted, the sound echoing like a crack of thunder.
He didn't rise from where he was sitting, but his Dragon Core pulsed into life, and suddenly, a golden-purple aura burst from his body with such density that the air itself seemed to shatter.
Boom!
The spiritual pressure was so immense that his Qi began to liquify in mid-air, manifesting as a heavy, shimmering rain that fell throughout the hall.
Each droplet carried the weight of a boulder; to be touched by this "rain" was to feel as though one were being drowned in a sea of molten lead.
"If you have them, then come," Haoran declared, his voice a low, terrifying growl. "If you can take even a single step upon these stairs while I am here, then I shall admit defeat and hand you the legacy."
Jin Pei, Ao Long, and Mengyao groaned, their legs shaking.
Even though as Golden Core experts, they were still able to hold their ground, but even so, they still felt like they were undergoing a form of water torture, with every breath already a struggle against the drowning weight of Haoran's Qi.
As for Luo Mingye, a 9th Stage Core Formation cultivator, and Yun Li, who was merely at the Foundation Establishment stage, were both utterly devastated.
They felt as though a primordial dragon had gripped them and plunged them into the depths of a dark abyss.
"You cannot even handle the weight of my presence, yet you dare speak to me of ability?" Haoran's gaze was emotionless, looking at Yun Li as one might look at a speck of dust. "Crawl your way out of this hall. I have no patience to teach an infant how to breathe."
Under the sheer, tyrannical force of the aura, Yun Li collapsed, his knees hit the stone with a sickening crack.
Then, his eyes began to roll back into his head, showing only the whites, and blood began to leak from his nose, ears, and the corners of his eyes.
He clutched his throat, his mouth agape as he tried to gasp for air that had been squeezed out of the room.
Jin Pei, Ao Long, and Mengyao roared, releasing their own Qi in a desperate, joint effort to shield themselves, with Mengyao immediately standing before Mingye to try and shield her from the sheer suffocating pressure.
But, despite their efforts, their legs started buckled, their spines curving under the weight, and they were now seconds away from a total collapse.
Haoran noticed this, and concluded that if he increased the intensity of his aura for just a tiny bit, they will surely start bleeding and pass out.
"Hmph." Haoran snorted, and as quickly as it had appeared, the crushing pressure vanished.
Immediately, the group fell to all fours, gasping for air like landed fish, their chests heaving in the sudden vacuum.
Haoran stared at them before he began to turn his head away, his voice cold. "I don't want to repeat mysel—"
He stopped, his brow furrowed as his newly awakened senses picked up a strange, discordant frequency.
There, within the broken, bleeding body of Yun Li, a hidden power was beginning to circulate.
It wasn't the standard Qi of this world; it was a dark, resilient energy—the Falling Immortal Sutra—reacting to the near-death experience.
It was rapidly knitting Yun Li's internal injuries together and, more importantly, it was using the remnant pressure of Haoran's Draconic Qi to hammer Yun Li's foundation, forcing a sudden, violent breakthrough.
What... is that? Haoran wondered, his eyes narrowing. That energy... it doesn't belong to this world's Laws.
This boy...could he be an anomaly as well?